Cyprus in Texts from Graeco-Roman Antiquity 9004529489, 9789004529489

Table of contents :
Cyprus in Texts from Graeco-Roman Antiquity
‎Contents
‎Preface
‎Abbreviations
‎Notes on Contributors
1 Introduction
Bibliography
‎Part 1. Myth and Literature
2 Ancient Cyprus: From Myth to History and Literature
1 From Myth to History
2 Ancient Cypriot Literature
2.1 The Homerising Archaic Epic Poetry of Cyprus
2.2 Epigrams
Acknowledgements
Bibliography
‎Part 2. Archaic Poetry: Composition and Performance
3 Cyprias and the Cypria
Acknowledgements
Bibliography
4 Reflecting upon Cyprus as a Sacred Place in Homeric Hymn 6
1 Introduction
2 Aphrodite and Cyprus
2.1 Poetic Testimonies
2.1.1 Homer, Odyssey 8.362–366 and Homeric Hymn 5.58–66
2.1.2 Hesiod’s Theogony 192–206
2.2 Epithets and Cult Names
2.3 A Brief Summary of Archaeological Evidence
3 Homeric Hymn 6
3.1 Hymn Structure
3.2 Hymn in Praise of Aphrodite in Paphos
4 Performance of Homeric Hymn 6 in Paphos
5 Conclusion
Bibliography
‎Part 3. Wandering Heroes
5 Stesichorus, Cyprus, and the Heroes of Athens
1 Introduction
2 Papyrus
3 Demophon in Cyprus
4 Acamas and Theseus in Cyprus
5 Athenian Associations with Cyprus
6 Stesichorus and Athenian Mythology
7 The Value of Unprovable Hypotheses
Acknowledgements
Bibliography
6 The Theme of Teucer’s Exile and its Reception in Latin Literature
1 Pacuvius and the Dramatic Tradition
2 The Augustan Teucer
2.1 Vergil
2.2 Horace
3 Teucer the Exile, the Leader, and the Founder: A Cypriot Aeneas
Acknowledgments
Bibliography
7 Heroic Mettle and Roman Thought: Cyprian Venus and Foundational Bronze
1 Cashing in on aes
2 Copper, Coins, and Iconography
3 Etymologising aes in the First Century
4 Cypria and the Men of Bronze
5 Conclusions
Bibliography
‎Part 4. Divine Presence on the Island: Literature and Ritual
8 In the Footsteps of Cypris
Bibliography
9 On the Track of Venus’ Cult: The Cypriot Stories in Ovid’s Metamorphoses
1 The Propoetides (10.238–242)
2 Iphis, Anaxarete, and Venus Prospiciens (14.698–771)
3 Pygmalion (10.243–297)
4 Cinyras and Myrrha (10.298–502)
5 Concluding Remarks
Acknowledgements
Bibliography
10 Imagined Sacral Landscape? Cult Sites of Apollo Hylates in the Ancient Literary Sources
Acknowledgements
Bibliography
‎Part 5. Cyprus as a Place and topos
11 “It Was Always Far Away”: Othering Cyprus in Greek Comedy
1 Between Self and Other: Cyprus in the Greek Imaginary
2 The Island of Aphrodite
3 The Products of the Land
4 Travelling to Cyprus, Land of (Ridiculous) Kings
5 Conclusion
Bibliography
12 War and Peace: Cyprus in Greek Comedy
Bibliography
13 Real and Imagined Geographies of Cyprus in Imperial Greek Literature
Bibliography
14 Cyprus in Greek Prose Fiction of the Roman Period
1 Tracing the Background to Cyprus’ Image as an Island of Love
2 References to Erotic Myths Connected with Cyprus
3 Cyprus as Place of the Action in Ancient Novelistic Literature
Bibliography
‎Part 6. Exploring the Sources: fragmenta and testimonia
15 A Hellenistic Philosopher from Cyprus in the Greek Anthology: Epigrams on Zeno of Citium
1 Hellenistic Epigrams
2 Epigrams of the Imperial Age
3 Conclusion
Acknowledgements
Bibliography
16 Xenophon the Cypriot and his Novel
1 Introduction
2 Author and Title
3 The Story
4 The Novel of Cinyras, Myrrha, and Adonis
5 Concluding Remarks
Bibliography
17 Archelaus of Cyprus and Alexander of Paphos: Two Enigmatic Figures in the History of Ancient Scholarship and Rhetoric
1 Archelaus of Cyprus on Stesichorus
2 Alexander of Paphos on Homer
3 Archelaus and Alexander in Context of Ptolemaeus Chennus’ Καινὴ ἱστορία
4 On Archelaus’ and Alexander’s Identity: A Re-consideration
5 Concluding Remarks
Appendix
1 Archelaus of Cyprus
2 Alexander of Paphos
Bibliography
18 Cyprus and Cypriots in the Greek Documentary Papyri and Inscriptions
1 Sources and Limitations
2 References to Cyprus in Official Documents
3 Cypriots as Permanent Residents of Egypt
4 Visits of Administrative Officials from Cyprus to Egypt
5 Cypriot Visitors (Travellers, Mercenaries) to Egyptian Antiquities
6 Cypriot-Egyptian Commercial Relations—The Use of Cypriot Measures / Jars Πάφιον and Κουριακόν in Egypt
7 Cypriots and the Fine Arts
8 The Worship of Apollo Hylates in Egypt
9 Cyprus and Cypriot Cities as Toponyms in Graeco-Roman Egypt
10 The Proper Names Κύπριος, Κυπρία, Σαλαμίνιος, Ἰδάλιος, Κιτιάς
11 The Origin of the Cypriots Mentioned in Papyri and Inscriptions of Graeco-Roman Egypt
12 Conclusion
Appendix
Bibliography
‎General Index

Citation preview

Cyprus in Texts from Graeco-Roman Antiquity

Mnemosyne Supplements monographs on greek and latin language and literature

Executive Editor C. Pieper (Leiden University)

Editorial Board K.M. Coleman (Harvard University) A. Heller (University of Tours) C.C. de Jonge (Leiden University) J.J.H. Klooster (University of Groningen) T. Reinhardt (Oxford University)

volume 467

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

Cyprus in Texts from Graeco-Roman Antiquity Edited by

Katerina Carvounis Andreas Gavrielatos Grammatiki Karla Amphilochios Papathomas

leiden | boston

The Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is available online at https://catalog.loc.gov lc record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2022049595

Typeface for the Latin, Greek, and Cyrillic scripts: “Brill”. See and download: brill.com/brill‑typeface. issn 0169-8958 isbn 978-90-04-52948-9 (hardback) isbn 978-90-04-52949-6 (e-book) Copyright 2023 by Koninklijke Brill nv, Leiden, The Netherlands. Koninklijke Brill nv incorporates the imprints Brill, Brill Nijhoff, Brill Hotei, Brill Schöningh, Brill Fink, Brill mentis, Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, Böhlau, V&R unipress and Wageningen Academic. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, translated, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without prior written permission from the publisher. Requests for re-use and/or translations must be addressed to Koninklijke Brill nv via brill.com or copyright.com. This book is printed on acid-free paper and produced in a sustainable manner.

Contents Preface ix Abbreviations x Notes on Contributors 1

xiii

Introduction 1 Katerina Carvounis and Grammatiki Karla

part 1 Myth and Literature 2

Ancient Cyprus: From Myth to History and Literature Andreas Voskos

13

part 2 Archaic Poetry: Composition and Performance 3

Cyprias and the Cypria 49 Adrian Kelly

4

Reflecting upon Cyprus as a Sacred Place in Homeric Hymn 6 Marcela Ristorto and Silvia Reyes

67

part 3 Wandering Heroes 5

Stesichorus, Cyprus, and the Heroes of Athens P.J. Finglass

91

6

The Theme of Teucer’s Exile and its Reception in Latin Literature Andreas Gavrielatos

7

Heroic Mettle and Roman Thought: Cyprian Venus and Foundational Bronze 125 Diana Spencer

104

vi

contents

part 4 Divine Presence on the Island: Literature and Ritual 8

In the Footsteps of Cypris Michael Paschalis

157

9

On the Track of Venus’ Cult: The Cypriot Stories in Ovid’s Metamorphoses 174 Emilia Savva

10

Imagined Sacral Landscape? Cult Sites of Apollo Hylates in the Ancient Literary Sources 200 Fritz Mitthof

part 5 Cyprus as a Place and topos 11

“It Was Always Far Away”: Othering Cyprus in Greek Comedy Antonis K. Petrides

12

War and Peace: Cyprus in Greek Comedy Athina Papachrysostomou

13

Real and Imagined Geographies of Cyprus in Imperial Greek Literature 246 William Hutton

14

Cyprus in Greek Prose Fiction of the Roman Period Christos Fakas

213

231

264

part 6 Exploring the Sources: fragmenta and testimonia 15

A Hellenistic Philosopher from Cyprus in the Greek Anthology: Epigrams on Zeno of Citium 311 Vassilios P. Vertoudakis

16

Xenophon the Cypriot and his Novel Nikoletta Kanavou

326

vii

contents

17

Archelaus of Cyprus and Alexander of Paphos: Two Enigmatic Figures in the History of Ancient Scholarship and Rhetoric 339 Stephanos Matthaios

18

Cyprus and Cypriots in the Greek Documentary Papyri and Inscriptions 362 Amphilochios Papathomas General Index

399

Preface The present volume arose from the conference entitled ‘Cyprus: a place and topos in ancient literature’, which took place on the 21st and the 22nd September 2018 in Athens, Greece. Most of the papers originally presented there were subsequently revised for publication in this volume, which was further enriched with the welcome addition of four new papers (C. Fakas, N. Kanavou, S. Matthaios, and D. Spencer). The contributors’ editorial preferences when citing ancient sources have been respected throughout, including the use of [ ] and { } where necessary. It is our pleasure to acknowledge here the contribution of people and institutions which helped the original conference and the present volume come to life. We would first like to thank all the speakers and participants in the conference for their papers and for stimulating discussion. We would also like to acknowledge the financial support of the A.G. Leventis Foundation that made it all possible, and we are grateful to the ‘House of Cyprus’ in Athens for providing an excellent venue for the conference. Thanks are also due to the Brill publishing house for accepting this book in the Mnemosyne Supplements series, to the anonymous reviewer for constructive feedback, and to Giulia Moriconi and Bart Nijsten for their patience and for the professional handling of the publication process. Finally, we would like to record a long-standing debt to Andreas Voskos, Emeritus Professor of Greek Literature at the University of Athens, for motivating us to explore further Cyprus in ancient literature.

Abbreviations A–B

Austin, C., and Bastianini, G. eds. (2002). Posidippi Pellaei quae supersunt omnia. Milan. ACL1–6 [Ancient Cypriot Literature] A.I. Voskos et al. (1995–2008). Αρχαία Κυπριακή Γραμματεία. 6 vols. Nicosia. ACL1 / ACL1b Voskos, A.I. (1995)/(20082). Ποίηση. Επική, Λυρική, Δραματική. Nicosia. ACL2 Voskos, A.I. (1997). Επίγραμμα (with the collaboration of A. Theodoropoulou). Nicosia. ACL3 Voskos, A.I. (2002). Πεζογραφία (with the collaboration of A. Theodoropoulou). Nicosia. ACL4 Voskos, A.I. (2008). Ιατρική. Nicosia. ACL5 Michaelides, K.P. (1999). Φιλοσοφία. Ζήνων ο Κιτιεύς. Nicosia. ACL6 Taifacos, I. (2008). Φιλοσοφία. Κλέαρχος, Περσαίος, Δημώναξ, και άλλοι Κύπριοι φιλόσοφοι. Nicosia. Assistants: A. Loucas–E. Hatziantoniou-Demosthenous. AncCy Papademetriou, N., and Toli, M., eds. (2017). Αρχαία Κύπρος. Πρόσφατες εξελίξεις στην αρχαιολογία της ανατολικής Μεσογείου. Athens. B. Bernabé, A. (1996). Poetae epici graeci. Testimonia et fragmenta. Stuttgart/Leipzig. BNJ Brill’s New Jacoby ChyOS Centre Culturel Hellénique de Paris (1996). Chypre et les origines du Stoïcisme (Actes du Colloque, Paris 12–13 Mai 1995, publiés à la mémoire de l’Ambassadeur Anastasios G. Léventis avec le concours de la Fondation A.G. Léventis). Paris. CIG Boeckh, A., ed. (1828–1877). Corpus Inscriptionum Graecarum. Berlin. CIS Nicolaou, I. (1971). Cypriot Inscribed Stones (Plates i–xlviii). Nicosia. CPG Leutsch, E.L.A., and Scheidewin, F.G., eds. (1839–1851) Corpus Paroemiographorum Graecorum. 2 vols. Göttingen (repr. Hildesheim 1958). EGF Davies, M. (1988). Epicorum Graecorum Fragmenta. Göttingen. F. Davies, M., and Finglass, P.J. (2014). Stesichorus. The Poems. Cambridge. FAC Edmonds, J.M., ed. (1957). The Fragments of Attic Comedy. Leiden. FGE Page, D.L. (1981). Further Greek Epigrams. Cambridge. FGrH Jacoby, F. (1923–1930). Die Fragmente der griechischen Historiker. Berlin. FHG Müller, C. (1841–1870). Fragmenta historicorum graecorum. 5 vols. Paris. FRHist Beck, H., and Walter, U., eds. (2001–2004). Die frühen Römischen Historiker I. Von Fabius Pictor bis Cn. Gellius. ii. Von Coelius Antipater bis Pomponius Atticus. Darmstadt. G.–M. Goldberg, S.M., and Manuwald, G. (2018). Fragmentary Republican Latin. Ennius. 2 vols. Cambridge, MA.

abbreviations G.–P. GEF GVI HCy1–6 ICS IEG2 IG IGR K.–A. LBW LSJ

M.–W. OCD OCT OGIS OLD PCG PMG PMGF RE SalCy

SEG SH SVF

xi

Gow, A.S.F., and Page, D.L. (1965). The Greek Anthology. Hellenistic Epigrams. Cambridge. West, M.L. (2003). Greek Epic Fragments. From the Seventh to the Fifth Centuries bc. Cambridge, MA/London. Peek, W. (1955). Griechische Vers-Inschriften. Vol. 1: Grabepigramme. Berlin. Papadopoullos, Th., ed. (1996–2011). Ἱστορία τῆς Κύπρου. 6 vols. Nicosia. Masson, O. (1983). Les inscriptions chypriotes syllabiques. Paris. West, M.L. (1989–1992). Iambi et elegi Graeci ante Alexandrum cantati. Oxford. Inscriptiones Graecae (1873– ). Cagnat, R. et al., eds., (1901–1927). Inscriptiones Graecae ad Res Romanas Pertinentes. 3 vols. Paris. Kassel, R., and Austin, C. (1983). Poetae comici Graeci. Berlin. Le Bas, P., and Waddington, W.H. (1870). Voyage archéologique en Grèce et en Asie Mineure. Vol. 3. Paris. Liddell, H.G., Scott., R., and Jones, H.S. (19689). A Greek-English Lexicon. Revised Supplement (ed. by P.G.W. Glare, with the assistance of A.A. Thompson, 1996). Oxford. Merkelbach, R., and West, M.L. (1967). Fragmenta Hesiodea. Oxford. Hornblower, S., and Spawforth, A. (19963). Oxford Classical Dictionary. Oxford. Oxford Classical Texts Dittenberger, W. (1903–-1905). Orientis Graeci Inscriptiones Selectae. 2 vols. Leipzig. Oxford Latin Dictionary [See K.–A.] Page, D.L. (1962). Poetae Melici Graeci. Oxford. Davies, M. (1991). Poetarum Melicorum Graecorum Fragmenta. Vol. 1: Alcman. Stesichorus. Ibycus (post D.L. Page). Oxford. Pauly, A.F. ed., (1894– ). Paulys Real-Encyclopädie der classischen Altertumswissenschaft. Stuttgart. Rogge, S., Ioannou, C., Mavrojannis, T., eds. (2019). Salamis of Cyprus. History and Archaeology from the Earliest Times to Late Antiquity. Münster/New York. Supplementum epigraphicum Graecum (1923– ). Lloyd-Jones, H., and Parsons, P.J., eds., (1983). Supplementum Hellenisticum. Berlin. von Arnim, H., ed. (1903–1924). Stoicorum Veterum Fragmenta. 4 vols. Leipzig.

xii TGrF TSal1 TSal2

abbreviations Snell, B., Radt, S., and Kannicht, R., eds. (1971–2004). Tragicorum Graecorum Fragmenta. Göttingen. Chavane, M.J., and Yon, M. (1978). Salamine de Chypre, x. Testimonia Salaminia. Vol. 1. Paris. Pouilloux, J., Roesch, P., Marcillet-Jaubert, J. (avec la collaboration de L. Darmezin). (1987). Salamine de Chypre, xiii: Testimonia Salaminia. Vol. 2. Corpus épigraphique. Paris.

Notes on Contributors Katerina Carvounis is Assistant Professor of Ancient Greek Literature at the National and Kapodistrian University of Athens, Greece. Her main research interests include early hexameter poetry and the later epic tradition, and she has published widely in these areas. Her most recent works include A Commentary on Quintus of Smyrna, Posthomerica 14 (Oxford University Press: 2019) and (with Sophia Papaioannou and Giampiero Scafoglio) an edited volume entitled Latin Literature and Later Greek Epic: Further Explorations (de Gruyter: 2022). Christos Fakas is Assistant Professor in Greek Literature at the Classics Department of the National and Kapodistrian University of Athens, Greece. He read Classics at the Aristotle University of Thessaloniki, and obtained his PhD from the University of Hamburg, where he taught as wissenschaftliche Assistent (2001–2008). His research interests include Greek Drama, Hellenistic Poetry, and the Ancient Novel. He has written Der hellenistische Hesiod. Arats Phainomena und die Tradition der antiken Lehrepik, Wiesbaden 2001, as well as articles and contributions to edited volumes primarily on Greek Literature of the Hellenistic and the Imperial periods. He is currently working on a book-length study concerning the Ancient Greek Novel. P.J. Finglass is Henry Overton Wills Professor of Greek at the University of Bristol, UK. Having recently completed terms as Director of the AHRC-funded South, West and Wales Doctoral Training Partnership and as Head of the Department of Classics and Ancient History, he now holds a Leverhulme Major Research Fellowship whose goal is a new edition with commentary of Sappho and Alcaeus. He has published a monograph Sophocles (2019) in the series Greece & Rome New Surveys in the Classics, as well as editions of Sophocles’ Oedipus the King (2018), Ajax (2011), and Electra (2007), of Stesichorus (2014), and of Pindar’s Pythian Eleven (2007) in the series Cambridge Classical Texts and Commentaries; has co-edited (with Adrian Kelly) Stesichorus in Context (2015) and (with Lyndsay Coo) Female Characters in Fragmentary Greek Tragedy (2020); and edits the journal Classical Quarterly, all with Cambridge University Press. Andreas Gavrielatos is Lecturer in Classics and Ancient History at the University of Reading, UK, and he has previously taught at the University of Edinburgh and the Open Uni-

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versity of Cyprus. His research revolves around Roman thought and literature and in particular Persius, and he is currently preparing a commentary on his satires alongside a series of articles. He has also published on Roman onomastics and cultural and linguistic contacts in the Roman world. He is the editor of volumes on Roman identities, pedagogy theory, and the multiculturalism of the Roman world. William Hutton is Professor of Classical Studies at William & Mary in Williamsburg, Virginia, USA. He is a specialist in Greek literature of the Roman imperial period, particularly of literature dealing with space and mobility. He is the author of Describing Greece: Landscape and Literature in the Periegesis of Pausanias (Cambridge University Press: 2005), and is one of the founders and managing editors of the Suda On Line. Nikoletta Kanavou studied Classics at the Universities of Athens and Oxford (DPhil 2005) and is currently Associate Professor at the National and Kapodistrian University of Athens, Greece. She previously held a fellowship of the German Research Foundation (DFG) at the University of Heidelberg. She has taught ancient Greek language and literature at the Universities of Oxford, Cyprus, Crete, Heidelberg, and at the Cypriot and Hellenic Open Universities. Her research interests include the Greek novel, archaic poetry, literary papyri, inscriptions and onomastics. Her latest monograph is entitled Philostratus’ Life of Apollonios of Tyana and its Literary Context (München [C.H. Beck]: 2018). Grammatiki Karla is Associate Professor of Ancient Greek Literature at the National and Kapodistrian University of Athens, Greece. She is the author of Überlieferung, Sprache und Edition einer frühbyzantinischen Fassung des Äsopromans (Wiesbaden 2001), and editor of Fiction on the Fringe. Novelistic Writing in the Post-Classical Age (Leiden/Boston 2009). Her research interests include ancient Greek popular literature and rhetorical texts of Late Antiquity. She is completing the edition of the MORN-Recension of the Life of Aesop (Writings from the GrecoRoman World, SBL) and she is also preparing the edition of version G of the Life of Aesop with C. Jouanno (Belles Lettres). Adrian Kelly is Tutorial Fellow in Ancient Greek at Balliol College, Oxford, and Associate Professor and Clarendon Lecturer in the Faculty of Classics, University of Oxford,

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UK. Recent projects include co-editing (with P.J. Finglass) The Cambridge Companion to Sappho (Cambridge University Press: 2021) and (with Christopher Metcalf) Gods and Mortals in Early Greece and the Ancient Near East (Cambridge University Press: 2021). He is completing a commentary on Homer, Iliad xxiii for the Cambridge Greek and Latin Classics and co-editing (with Henry Spelman) Text and Intertexts in Archaic and Classical Greece (Cambridge University Press: forthcoming). Stephanos Matthaios is Associate Professor of Ancient Greek Philology at the National and Kapodistrian University of Athens, Greece. His research interests include ancient linguistics, scholia and commentaries, ancient and Byzantine lexicography, Homeric scholarship in Antiquity, the history of Greek language as well as the scientific literature in the Hellenistic period. He is the author of the book Untersuchungen zur Grammatik Aristarchs: Texte und Interpretation zur Wortartenlehre (Göttingen 1999) and co-author and co-editor (together with F. Montanari and A. Rengakos) of Brill’s Companion to Ancient Greek Scholarship (2 vols., Leiden/Boston: 2015). An edition of the philological-grammatical fragments of Eratosthenes is under publication; he is also preparing the edition of the still unpublished letters Χ–Ω of Photius’ Lexicon. Fritz Mitthof is Professor of Roman History and Latin Epigraphy at the University of Vienna, Austria (1996 Promotion, University of Heidelberg; 2004 Habilitation, University of Vienna). In 2017 he became a Corresponding Member at the Austrian Academy of Sciences. His main focus of research includes the history of the Roman Empire (1st–7th c. ad), with special attention to inscriptions and papyri; the history of the Lower Danube and the Balkan region from pre-Roman times to Late Antiquity; and the history of Roman and Late Antique Egypt. His current project is an edition of the papyrus collection of Grigol Zereteli at the Georgian National Centre of Manuscripts in Tbilisi, and a major imminent publication includes the Sunday Legislation of Constantine the Great. Athina Papachrysostomou is Associate Professor of Ancient Greek Literature at the Department of Philology, University of Patras, Greece. She is a collaborator of the “KomFrag” international project and an alumna of the Onassis Foundation and the Fulbright Foundation (Visiting Scholar at Harvard and Boston Universities). She has published widely on Greek Drama, Athenian Democracy and Textual Criticism; apart from several articles and volume contributions, she has published six

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monographs (the latest being Ephippus: Introduction, Translation, Commentary, Göttingen 2021) and has co-edited two collected volumes (the latest being Myth and History: Close Encounters, with M. Christopoulos and A.P. Antonopoulos). Amphilochios Papathomas is Professor of Ancient Greek Literature and Papyrology and Chair of the Faculty of Philology of the National und Kapodistrian University of Athens, Greece (2016–2022). He holds a BA in Classics from the University of Athens and a PhD in Classics and Papyrology from the Ruprecht–Karls University of Heidelberg, Germany. He has held an Alexander von Humboldt Fellowship for advanced scholars at the University of Heidelberg as well as a Lise Meitner Fellowship at the University of Vienna, Austria. He is the author and co-author of twenty-seven books and two hundred scientific articles and book reviews written in German, English, Modern Greek, Italian and French. His main research interests include Papyrology, Ancient Greek Historiography, Attic Drama, Attic Oratory, Palaeography, and Greek Literature of Late Antiquity. Michael Paschalis is Professor Emeritus of Classics, University of Crete, Greece. He has published over one hundred and seventy articles and book reviews and written or (co-)edited fourteen books on Hellenistic, Roman and Imperial literature, the poetry of Late Antiquity, the reception of the Classics (in Italian, English, and French literature), and Modern Greek literature. He is the author of Virgil’s Aeneid: Semantic Relations and Proper Names (Oxford University Press: 1997), the editor of three volumes of Rethymnon Classical Studies (2002–2007) and co-editor of seven volumes of Ancient Narrative Supplements (2002–2019). His most recent books deal with intertextual issues in the poetry of Andreas Kalvos (20162) and in the novels of Nikos Kazantzakis (2015). His monograph on Cretan Renaissance literature and the local Academies is in press, and he is preparing a second book on Andreas Kalvos. Antonis K. Petrides is Associate Professor of Classics at the Open University of Cyprus, where he has been teaching since 2007. He has also held visiting research fellowships at the universities of Cambridge, Princeton, and Harvard. His main research interests lie in the field of Ancient Greek and Roman Drama and their reception in Modern Greek literature and culture. His full publication record is accessible online at https://antonispetrides.academia.edu/. Currently, he is finishing a new edition and commentary on Menander’s Dyskolos, under contract by Oxford University Press.

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Silvia Susana Reyes obtained a Bachelor’s degree in Social Communication and qualified as a literary, technical and scientific translator. She works as a part-time lecturer of “Ancient Greek ii” at the National University of Rosario (Argentina). She is pursuing a Master’s degree in Theoretical Linguistics and Language Acquisition and doing her dissertation on the automatic morphological processing of the ancient Greek participle. She has published on ancient Greek literature and computational linguistics. Her interests include ancient and modern Greek language and literature, languages, linguistics and computational linguistics. Marcela Alejandra Ristorto is Associate Professor of “European Literature i” (Greco-Roman and Medieval Literature) and researcher at the National University of Rosario (UNR, IECH, Argentina). She is the director of the Centre for Hellenic Studies and Classical Tradition (UNR). Her work focuses on Greek hymnody. She currently leads the research project “Polis religion and beyond polis religion: from the Homeric Hymns to the PGM” (UNR) and is a member of the research project “Contexts of performance in Ancient Greece” (University of Buenos Aires). She has published book chapters and articles in specialised journals in the country and abroad. Emilia Savva is a doctoral student at the University of Oxford (University College), UK. She obtained her BA (Classics) and MPhil (Classics with specialisation in Latin Literature) from the National and Kapodistrian University of Athens, both summa cum laude. Her thesis, supervised by Stephen Heyworth, looks at magic and philosophy in Ovid’s Metamorphoses and Fasti, focusing on theosophies and mystery cults. Her DPhil studies are funded by the Onassis Foundation and the A.G. Leventis Foundation. She has also published on religion in Propertius, 4.7 (Vita Latina 195–196, 2017). She is a SYLFF fellow and a junior member of the Augustan Poetry Network. Diana Spencer is Professor of Classics and the Dean of Liberal Arts and Natural Sciences at the University of Birmingham, UK. Her most recent monograph is Language and Authority in De Lingua Latina: Varro’s Guide to Being Roman (2019). Her earlier book is Roman Landscape: Culture and Identity. Greece & Rome New Surveys in the Classics 39 (2011). Other recent publications include contributions to The Companion to the City of Rome (2018) and Varro Varius: The Polymath of the Roman World (2015).

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Vassilios P. Vertoudakis is Associate Professor of Ancient Greek Philology in the Faculty of Philology of the National and Kapodistrian University of Athens, Greece. He studied Classics at the Universities of Athens, Heidelberg and Thessaloniki (PhD 1996). His research interests focus on Greek epigram, erotic literature, tragedy, epistolography, as well as the reception of Classical Antiquity in modern times. Select recent publications (in Greek): Aristaenetus, Erotikai epistolai (2018); Friedrich Nietzsche on Philology (2019); King and Pharmakos: Sophocles’ Tragedy Oedipus Tyrannos (with A. Papathomas, 2020); Hyperion in the Ruins of Athens: The Idea of Greece and Friedrich Hölderlin (2021). Andreas Voskos is Emeritus Professor of Ancient Greek Literature at the National and Kapodistrian University of Athens, Greece. His research interests focus around Homer and archaic poetry, textual criticism, comparative literature, and especially ancient Cypriot literature. His main works include Μελέαγρος—Ἀχιλλεὺς καὶ Φοῖνιξ (Συμβολὴ εἰς τὴν ἔρευναν τῆς ἐνότητος τῆς Ἰλιάδος), Nicosia 1974 / Mélágre— Achille et Phénix (Contribution à la recherche de l’unité de l’Iliade), Nancy, 20102; and Αρχαία Κυπριακή Γραμματεία, vols. 1–4, Nicosia / Athens, 1995–2008 (with digital edition in 2015).

chapter 1

Introduction Katerina Carvounis and Grammatiki Karla

Cyprus features in Greek and Latin literature as the birthplace of Aphrodite/Venus and as the land of kings and mythological heroes, such as Evagoras, Onesilus, Teucer, Pygmalion, Cinyras, Myrrha and Adonis. At the same time, Cyprus as a geographical place has a unique cultural identity, since it has been shaped under multiple interrelations, contacts, and assimilations of indigenous Cypriot, Greek, and eastern elements. Some of the papers in this volume explore how the cultural identity of the island and its inhabitants is reflected and nuanced in ancient literature, while others further explore the literary tradition associated with the island; all papers, however, focus on the presence of Cyprus in Greek and Latin texts. The connection of Cyprus with Aphrodite in particular and the representation of the island as a familiar but distant place are two features that resurface already from the limited references to the island in the early hexameter tradition. In the Iliad Cyprus features only once, and this is in connection with Cinyras in the context of Agamemnon’s arming scene (Il. 11.19–23): Cinyras, who is destined in the later tradition to occupy a more prominent place in myths associated with the island,1 once gave Agamemnon his breastplate as a guest gift (ξεινήιον, Il. 11.20) when he heard in Cyprus that the Greeks were about to set sail to Troy and he thus wanted to offer the breastplate as a favour to the king. Given the intricacy of the breastplate and the reference to the rumour (μέγα κλέος, Il. 11.21) that Cinyras heard, it has been tentatively inferred that Cyprus is imagined as a particularly distant place, and its king as a rich ruler.2 In the Odyssey Cyprus is mentioned as a point of reference in the travels of Menelaus (Od. 4.83) and in the tales of the disguised Odysseus (Od. 17.442– 444) alongside Egypt (and places further away, in the case of Menelaus). This is also the case in the Homeric Hymn to Dionysus, where the captain of the ship thinks that Dionysus, whose divinity has not yet been recognised, is on his way to Egypt, Cyprus, the Hyperboreans or a place even further away (Hom. h. 7.28– 29).

1 See Fakas (this volume). 2 See Hainsworth 1993, 218.

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The connection between Cyprus and Aphrodite is strong throughout the early hexameter tradition already from the Odyssey: at the end of Demodocus’ second song to the Phaeacians (Od. 8.362), the goddess departs from the setting of her adulterous affair with Ares to her temple in Paphos, Cyprus, while in the long Homeric Hymn to Aphrodite she is once again shown adorning herself in her temple in Paphos (h.Hom. 5.66). Furthermore, Aphrodite is said to rule over the whole of Cyprus (h.Hom. 5.292; h.Hom. 6.2) and, in particular, over the city of Salamis, Cyprus (h.Hom. 10.4). The reason for this connection is, of course, described at length in the Hesiodic narrative of the birth of Aphrodite from the foam that was created around the genitals of Uranus when they fell into the sea after he was castrated by his son Cronus; the goddess emerged from the sea and took her first steps in Cyprus (Hes. Th. 193), which explains her description as the ‘Cyprus-born’ goddess (Hes. Th. 199). This myth is at variance with the Homeric formula Διὸς θυγάτηρ Ἀφροδίτη underlining her descent from Zeus (Il. 3.374, 5.131, etc.), while in Iliad 5 Aphrodite seeks comfort from her mother Dione (Il. 5.370–372).3 Nevertheless, Aphrodite’s cult in Cyprus, both in Paphos and beyond (Golgi, Idalium), remains prominent in the poetic tradition.4 In the subsequent literary and scholarly tradition, Aphrodite’s pervasive effect on the island relates to natural wealth and fertility, as this becomes apparent in the attempt recorded in the Etymologicum Magnum to offer an etymology for the word ‘Cyprus’ based on phonological similarities (s.v. Κύπρος p. 546, 9–10, ed. Gaisford): Κύπρος: Παρὰ τὸ κυοφόρον καὶ λιπαρὰν γῆν ἔχειν.5 This attempt to offer an etymology for the name of the island is representative of a trend witnessed among later authorities to explain numerous appellatives recorded for Cyprus that evoke associations with mythological figures and characteristic traits. Through such etymologies our sources open a window into different perspectives from which Cyprus was viewed and offer ‘insular

3 For Aphrodite’s association with Dione in the subsequent literary tradition cf. also Theoc. 15.106 Κύπρι Διωναία, D.P. 509 Διωναίης Ἀφροδίτης. The two different versions on Aphrodite’s parentage are pursued in further directions in Plato’s Symposium within the speech of Pausanias (180c), who distinguishes between the older, motherless Aphrodite, daughter of Ouranos (Οὐρανία), and the younger Aphrodite, daughter of Zeus and Dione (Πάνδημος). 4 Cf., e.g., Lyc. 586 (Γολγῶν ἀνάσσης), Theoc. 15.100 (Γολγώς τε καὶ Ἰδάλιον), Catull. 64.96 (Golgos … Idalium frondosum). Aphrodite’s cult in Golgoi in particular is said by Pausanias (8.5.2) to be older than that at Paphos: Gow 1952, 292. According to Pausanias (loc. cit.), Paphos was founded by Agapenor after the fall of Troy, and the goddess until then was worshipped by the Cypriots in Golgoi. 5 Translation (our own): ‘Cyprus [Κύπρος]: from the fact that it has a fertile [κυοφόρον] and rich [λιπαράν] soil’. We are grateful to our colleague Stephanos Matthaios for discussing this point with us.

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topoi’ emerging from morphological aspects of the island.6 To illustrate the idea of islands moving in the sea in the Greek mythic tradition and toponomy, for example, Kopaka explains that “an island may even tremble, like the Donousa (vibrating in Greek e.g. Sch. D.P.132.1 530.3); or, perhaps, be pushed in the atmosphere by the winds, if the name Ἀερία—used, for example, for Crete and Thasos (Hdn. P.C. 3, 1 298.24–28; St. Byz. E. 306.20, 384.11–12) and for Cyprus and Sicily (Hsch. 1391)—does not only mean ‘foggy’ (Hsch. 1391) or just ‘windy’ ”.7 Of particular interest in this context are the lists in Pliny’s Natural History from the first century ad and, five centuries later, in the Ethnica by Stephanus of Byzantium. Pliny lists earlier authorities credited with a number of appellatives attested for the island; some are derived from associations with mythological heroes (such as Acamantis and Amathusia) and others have been inspired from the island’s geomorphology (such as Cerastis, Macaria, Cryptos): HN 5.35 vocatam ante Acamantida Philonides, Cerastim Xenagoras et Aspeliam et Amathusiam et Macariam, Astynomus Crypton et Colinian.8 The later entry on Cyprus by Stephanus of Byzantium (Ethnica 283, ed. Billerbeck) is of special interest: Κύπρος· νῆσος μεγάλη ἐν τῷ Παμφυλίῳ κόλπῳ, ἀπὸ Κύπρου τῆς θυγατρὸς Κινύρου, ἢ ἀπὸ τοῦ φυομένου ἄνθους κύπρου. Ἀστύνομος (FHG iv 343) δέ φησι Κρύπτον κεκλῆσθαι διὰ τὸ κρύπτεσθαι πολλάκις ὑπὸ τῆς θαλάσσης. εἶτα Κύπρος. ἐκαλεῖτο δὲ καὶ Κεραστίς ἀπὸ τοῦ πολλὰς ἄκρας ἔχειν καὶ Κεραστιὰς καὶ Ἀμαθουσία καὶ Μηιονίς καὶ Σφήκεια καὶ Ἀκαμαντίς …9 Stephanus’ attempt to explain various epithets that have been applied to Cyprus unravels an intricate web characteristically linking the island’s mythical past to its literature, culture, landscape, and distinct flora. That the island 6 Kopaka 2008, 179. As Kopaka loc. cit. explains, diachronic island names and epithets constitute evidence that “literally and metaphorically involves mirrors and maps, and transcribes important parameters of an eloquent cognitive geography, forged from long-established knowledge and empirical wisdom, and relevant to modern scientific insights, including archaeological ones”. 7 Kopaka 2008, 184. 8 Translation (Rackham): ‘According to Philonides it was previously called Acamantis, according to Xenagoras Cerastis, Aspelia, Amathusia, and Macaria, and according to Astynomus Cryptos and Colinias.’ 9 Translation (our own): ‘Cyprus, a large and famous island, lying in the Pamphylian bay. [It was so named] from Cyprus, daughter of Cinyras; or from the growing plant of henna. Astynomus also says that it was called Crypton because it often lay hidden under the sea; then Cyprus. However, it was also called Cerastis from its many mountain tops and Cerastias and Amathusia and Maeonis and Sphekeia and Acamantis’.

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was associated with inventive etymologies can be witnessed by two differing explanations suggested for the epithet κεραστίς / Cerastis, which was one of the epithets for Cyprus included in the statements cited above by both Pliny and Stephanus of Byzantium. Whereas the latter claims that this epithet is applied to Cyprus because the island has many mountain tops (cf. Σ Lyc. Alex. 447), Nonnus of Panopolis in the mid-fifth century ad includes in his Dionysiaca, an epic poem of forty-eight books, a myth locating in Cyprus the birth of Centaurs, and thus offers for κεραστίς an etymology based on this myth.10 According to Nonnus’ narrative, the birth of these horned Centaurs resulted from Zeus’ desire for Aphrodite, which is recalled in Dionysiaca 5: as Zeus gazes at Persephone, he experiences a desire greater than what he had previously experienced over the Cyprus-born goddess; this leads the narrator to relate how Aphrodite escaped being raped by Zeus, who lusted after her and with his seed thus fertilised the soil of κεραστίδος … Κύπρου, which gave rise to the race of the Φηρῶν εὐκεράων (‘well-horned Pherae’) (D. 5.614–615). The birth of the horned Centaurs associated with Cyprus is also related in Dionysiaca 14 (D. 14.193–194 Κενταύρων … διφυὴς … γενέθλη / Κυπριάς), where reference is made again to Zeus’ lustful desire for Aphrodite that led to the Centaurs as an ἀλλοφυῆ κερόεσσαν … γενέθλη (D. 14.202).11 According, then, to Nonnus, the birth of these horned Centaurs, children of Zeus, in Cyprus accounts for the island’s epithet κεραστίς.12 Another myth of horned individuals in Cyprus called Cerastae is related in Ovid’s Metamorphoses 10. The foreheads of the people in Amathus were rough with double horns (Met. 10.222 gemino … cornu) and this is how they acquired their name (Met. 10.223 unde etiam nomen traxere Cerastae), for when they sacrificed humans to the altar of Jupiter, Venus, offended at these deeds, considered abandoning her cities before noticing their horns and deciding to punish them by transforming them into bulls (Met. 10.220–237).13 While the

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According to H.J. Rose (ap. Rouse 1940, i.212, a), this myth is unparalleled. This group of Centaurs follows another (D. 14.143–192), who acquired horns as a punishment by Hera because they had nursed Dionysus when he was very young (D. 14.144–145); this first group of Centaurs, however, are not related to Cyprus. Chuvin 1976, 105–106, argues that Nonnus’ description of the horned Centaurs is unlikely to be a product of the poet’s own imagination and that it must rest on local tradition. He elsewhere suggests that representations of horned Centaurs found in Cyprus from 750– 600 bc may have inspired the myth of horned individuals in Cyprus (see also Ovid, Met. 10.220–223, below): Chuvin 1991, 89–90. See also Rose op. cit. (see n. 10, above) for a similar suggestion. Chuvin 1991, 90, points out that the versions by Ovid and Nonnus explaining the epithet κεραστίς for Cyprus involve the same gods, namely Zeus and Aphrodite. For a succinct

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readiness of Ovid and Nonnus to link the epithet κεραστίς to Cyprus is characteristic of their own wit, playfulness, and innovation, it is also indicative of the extent to which the island triggered their imagination. Although Cyprus has long attracted archaeological attention,14 interest in literature relevant to Cyprus and Aphrodite has only recently started to grow. Particular attention has been drawn to the Homeric Hymns to Aphrodite and to the archaic Cypria,15 as well as to the legendary multi-faceted figure of Cinyras, who, as we saw earlier, is mentioned already in the Iliad and was subsequently depicted as king and as an important priest-king of Aphrodite.16 Relevant research has also been lately carried out on the representation of the island itself in ancient Greek literature as an ‘incongruous peripheral entity’,17 and on cultural divergencies between Cypriots and the mainland Greeks in Herodotus’ work in particular.18 Ancient sources containing references to Cyprus and to works by authors associated with the island from the archaic period to late antiquity can now be found in the multi-volume Ancient Cypriot Literature (= ACL1–6),19 which has made (often fragmentary) works relevant to Cyprus in a broader sense more easily accessible, while it has also paved the way for a systematic exploration of the role of the island and its literary character in the ancient Greek and Latin tradition. The individual chapters of the present volume draw on the Greek and Latin tradition from the archaic to the imperial period and beyond, exploring literary

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discussion of these two myths in Nonnus and Ovid see also Fakas (in this volume), pp. 275– 276 (n. 52). Let us mention here the most recent, important new series from 2017 of the publisher Holzhausen ‘Κυπριακά. Forschungen zum Antiken Zypern’, which focuses on the study of ancient Cyprus from an archaeological, historical, epigraphical, mythological, and linguistic perspective (https://www.verlagholzhausen.at/singleview/article/neue‑reihe‑for schungen‑zum‑antiken‑zypern: accessed in 11.2022). The last decade or so in particular has seen a rise in scholarly study of these early poetic works. For book-length discussions of the Cypria and the poems of the Epic Cycle relevant to the Trojan War see now Davies 2019 and West 2013 respectively; on the Homeric hymn(s) to Aphrodite see, e.g., Olson 2012 and Faulkner 2008, and for Aphrodite herself (including her connection with Cyprus) see Pirenne-Delforge 2010 and Smith–Pickup 2010. On Cinyras as ‘an example of wealth’ in Tyrtaeus and Pindar see the references in Hainsworth 1993, 218. See Franklin 2014 for the epic tradition relating to Cyprus. Kearns 2018, 67. Serghidou 2007. ACL1–6 [see Abbreviations] is an edition in six volumes of ancient texts with apparatus criticus, translation and commentary (in Modern Greek). There are also more recent electronic publications of this work (2010 / 20122): https://www.pi.ac.cy/pi/index.php?option​ =com_content&view=article&id=594&Itemid=341&lang=en (accessed in 11.2022).

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as well as documentary material. Part 1 of the volume (‘Myth and Literature’) consists of a chapter by Andreas Voskos exploring the extant literary production composed in Cyprus or by authors known to be associated with the island: he discusses the intersection of mythical and historical elements in the cultural history of the island and offers a survey of literary works related to Cyprus before focusing on epic poetry and epigram. Part 2 (‘Archaic Poetry: Composition and Performance’) comprises two papers that discuss poetry relating to Aphrodite (Cypris) in the archaic period. Adrian Kelly explores the concept of allusion (and its limitations) among archaic epic poems through a close examination of Aphrodite’s dressing scene in two fragments of the Cypria; he argues that it is important to consider the motifs and sequences in these fragments within the context of similar ‘seduction scenes’ in the early hexameter tradition, which the audience of the Cypris would have in mind. Marcela Ristorto and Silvia Reyes discuss the structure, content, and religious significance of Homeric Hymn 6 to Aphrodite to argue for its performance in a ritual context in a sanctuary of the goddess in Cyprus. Part 3 (‘Wandering Heroes’) focuses on key figures associated with Cyprus from the heroic world after the end of the Trojan War. P.J. Finglass examines a fragment of Stesichorus that mentions how the Athenian Demophon, son of Theseus, stopped in Egypt on his way back from Troy; in arguing that Cyprus would have been a likely stop in his itinerary, he thus draws attention to the island as an absent presence in Stesichorus’ poem. Andreas Gavrielatos explores how the identity of the exiled Teucer, founder of the new Salamis in Cyprus after the end of the Trojan War, is shaped in the Latin poetic tradition, and he further investigates Roman adaptations of Greek prototypes. Diana Spencer then turns her attention to Roman prose and verse literature and to text and images on coins to discuss links between Cyprus and Rome, Aphrodite, and Aeneas through interplay between material culture and language (cyprum and aes). Part 4 of the volume (‘Divine Presence on the Island: Literature and Ritual’) opens with Michael Paschalis’ exploration of Aphrodite’s ‘generative steps’, as she treads upon Cyprus shortly after her birth while grass grows under her footsteps, from Hesiod’s Theogony to Graeco-Roman antiquity (Lucretius, Persius, Claudian, Nonnus) and into the early modern period. Emilia Savva then discusses the Ovidian stories of the Propoetides and Pygmalion, king of Cyprus, in Metamorphoses 10, and of Iphis and Anaxarete in Metamorphoses 14; she pursues the links between these stories and Aphrodite’s cult in Cyprus, while underlining the importance of religious practices for Ovid’s narrative. Fritz Mitthof turns to the cult of Apollo, who is honoured near the city of Curium in Cyprus in the late Hellenistic and Roman periods; he explores the meaning of

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Apollo’s name Hylates and the terms used by ancient sources for the name of the location of his shrine. Part 5 (‘Cyprus as a Place and topos’) explores how literary texts deal with the geographical position of the island near the borders of the Greek world. The first two papers deal with Greek comedy: Antonis Petrides examines the representation of Cyprus as ‘other’ in Greek comedy, and discusses how associations with Aphrodite and with products of the island are handled in relevant references in Middle and New comedy, drawing attention to the perception of Cyprus and its inhabitants as entities familiar to, yet distant from, the mainland Greeks. The theme of sumptuousness with which the island and its kings were associated also features in the study by Athina Papachrysostomou, whose focus, however, is on Greek comedy as a reflection of political circumstances in Cyprus; she thus draws attention to the value of comedy as a window into the historical context of Cyprus. William Hutton’s contribution nuances this perception of Cyprus as a familiar yet foreign place on the fringes of the Greek world in the writings of Greek-speaking authors in the Roman period; he argues that the silence reserved for Cyprus could be owed to the fact that it seems to lack foreign elements that might have otherwise triggered such reactions from the authors in question. The paper by Christos Fakas focuses on erotic local myths of Cyprus, such as those of Ariadne and Theseus, Pyramus and Thisbe, the ‘woman at the window’ (parakyptousa), and Cinyras, which are alluded to in the fictional prose literature of the imperial period; he moreover examines Cyprus as place of action in comic-realistic and in idealistic novels, and attempts to interpret the absence of Cyprus in Achilles Tatius’ novel. The contributions in Part 6 of the volume (‘Exploring the Sources: fragmenta and testimonia’) further investigate entries in mediaeval lexica and commentaries that shed light on individuals associated with Cyprus who distinguished themselves in philosophical, literary, and scholarly pursuits, as well as direct evidence on the activity of Cypriots that is recorded on contemporary material. Vassilios Vertoudakis first discusses extant epigrams about the Stoic philosopher Zeno of Citium, in order to examine how his literary representation emerges from these epigrams and builds upon his philosophical inclinations and biographical details; funerary epigrams underscore his self-control and wisdom, and the moral virtues normally associated with Stoicism, while love epigrams use his persona as a counterexample. Nikoletta Kanavou then takes as her starting-point a brief entry in the Suda lexicon on Xenophon the Cypriot, author of erotic stories on mythological heroes associated with Cyprus, and explores the incestuous tale of Myrrha and Cinyras in the Greek and Latin tradition within a potential novelistic context; Cyprus thus emerges both as a place

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of travel for novelistic heroes and as a place of this Xenophon’s literary activity. Stephanos Matthaios explores and seeks to contextualise the fragments of two ancient scholars of Cypriot origin, namely Alexander of Paphos and Archelaus of Cyprus, whose fragments have been preserved in the works of Eustathius of Thessalonica and Ptolemaeus Chennos respectively; it is argued that the views recorded by these two scholars depart from mainstream mythography and that this was acknowledged already from antiquity. Amphilochios Papathomas follows the evidence on papyri and inscriptions for the presence of Cyprus and the (agricultural and commercial) activities of Cypriots beyond the confines of the island and in Egypt in particular. Far from seeking to offer a comprehensive treatment of literature from and about Cyprus, the present volume aims to bring to the foreground various literary representations of the island and its heroes, gods, and figures recorded in literature and contemporary sources. Issues that arise from these explorations bear on questions about literary landscapes and stereotypes, the intersection of multiculturalism and its impact on poetic production, and the documentation of the cultural activity of Cyprus. It is hoped that this volume may offer new approaches to different texts, authors, and genres, while inviting further thought about representations of the island in the ancient Greek and Latin texts, and the mythological and historical figures associated with it.

Bibliography Chuvin, P. (1976). Nonnos. Les Dionysiaques. Tome ii, Chants iii–v. Paris. Chuvin, P. (1991). Mythologie et géographie dionysiaques. Recherches sur l’œuvre de Nonnos de Panopolis. Clermont. Davies, M. (2019). The Cypria. Cambridge, MA. Faulkner, A. (2008). The Homeric Hymn to Aphrodite: Introduction, Text, and Commentary. Oxford/New York. Franklin, J.C. (2014). Greek Epic and Kypriaka: Why “Cyprus Matters”. In: J. Goodnick Westenholz et al., eds., Music in Antiquity: The Near East and Mediterranean. Berlin/Boston, pp. 213–247. Gow, A.S.F. (1952). Theocritus. 2 vols. Cambridge. Hainsworth, B. (1993). The Iliad. A Commentary. Volume iii, Books 9–12. Cambridge. Hornblower, S. (2015). Lykophron. Alexandra. Oxford. Kearns, C. (2018). Cyprus in the Surging Sea. Spatial Imaginations of the Eastern Mediterranean. TAPhA 148, pp. 45–74. Kopaka, K. (2008). What is an Island? Concepts, Meanings and Polysemies of Insular Topoi in Greek Sources. European Journal of Archaeology 11, pp. 179–197.

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Olson, S.D. (2012). The Homeric Hymn to Aphrodite and Related Texts. Text, Translation, and Commentary. Berlin/Boston. Pirenne-Delforge, V. (2010). Flourishing Aphrodite: An Overview. In: A.C. Smith and S. Pickup, eds., Brill’s Companion to Aphrodite. Leiden, pp. 3–16. Rackham, H. (1942). Pliny the Elder. The Natural History. Cambridge, MA. Rouse, W.D.H. (1940). Nonnos. Dionysiaca. 3 vols. Cambridge, MA. Serghidou, A. (2007). Cyprus and Onesilus: An Interlude of Freedom (5.104, 108–116). In: E. Irwin, and E. Greenwood, eds., Reading Herodotus. A Study of the Logoi in Book 5 of Herodotus’ Histories. Cambridge, pp. 269–288. West, M.L. (2013). The Epic Cycle. A Commentary on the Lost Troy Epics. Oxford.

part 1 Myth and Literature

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chapter 2

Ancient Cyprus: From Myth to History and Literature Andreas Voskos

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From Myth to History

Cyprus emerged millions of years ago from the depths of the sea in the northeastern Mediterranean tip;1 and the goddess of the island, Cypris Aphrodite (Κύπρις), also emerged from the foam of the sea off the southwestern coast of Cyprus, outside Paphos.2 A crossroad between East and West and between North and South, with immense commercial and military importance because of its geographical position, and generously endowed by nature,3 Cyprus was frequently under the authority of foreign conquerors. Its copper,4 and other metals, together with the different plants and flowers of Cyprus,5 which were used as raw materials for renowned mineral and compound medicines (as also for perfumes, and garlands),6 made the island even more appealing to

1 Pantazes–Karouzes 1997, 1–55 and figs. i–xii; Galoukas 2011, 469–475. 2 Karageorghis 2005, esp. 2–11; h.Hom. 6 / Aphr. [= ACL1b 5] Υ2 (pp. 107–109, 284–285, 464–473); West 1966, 221–225. 3 See e.g. h.Hom. 5 / Aphr. Y1.292 Κύπροιο ἐϋκτιμένης (more: below p. 31 with n. 83); Alcm. fr. 55 PMGF. Κύπρον ἱμερτάν, cf. Antisthenes of Paphos 11 Ε1.7 v. πα]τρ̣ ̣ὶς ἐραννά (more: below n. 61); Strabo 14.6.5; Eust. on Il. 11.21; Hor. C. 3.26.9 (cf. 3.29.60–61), Amm. Marc. 14.8.14 multiplici fertilitate abundant rerum omnium eadem Cyprus. 4 Κύπρος [Kypros / Cyprus]: the ‘Island of copper’ (see Tatton-Brown 1997, 30–35) > adj. Κύπριος (Mycen. adj. ku-pi-ri-jo) > Lat. aes Cyprium [Κύπριος or μέλας χαλκός, dark copper] > cuprum —Κύπρις, and Κoῦπρις [Cypris]: the goddess of the island of copper, as adjective or noun; probably, a similar Eteocypriot word for copper. See also AncCy 2017, 111–158 and Spencer (in this volume). 5 See Pantelas et al. 1993 (esp. nos. 53–55 Crocus cyprius, 56 Crocus Veneris); Zannettou-Panteli 1998 (pp. 19–20: Adonis annua and Adonis microcarpa, 79–80: Crocus cyprius, 129–130: Legusia speculum-veneris or Venus’ looking-glass, etc.); André 1985 (s.vv.). 6 See esp. Diagoras of Cyprus and Apollodorus of Citium (ACL4 nos. 34 and 35, 3rd c. bc), 34 T1 (Plin. HN 1. fontes libr., Ex auctoribus externis): on physicians who wrote about perfumes, garlands and medicines; famous was the ‘collyrium diarrodon of Diagoras called the great’ (34 F5). See also ACL1b Cypria [3.] F4–F5 v. / EGF (Athen. 15.682d–f), with comm.; ACL4 35

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foreigners and provided to its inhabitants lengthy periods of prosperity. Another important source of glamour for Cyprus in antiquity was the worship of Cypris Aphrodite with the sanctuary in Paphos,7 which was already renowned from the Homeric Odyssey and the fifth Homeric Hymn to Aphrodite,8 as well as the enthusiastic references of distinguished Greek and Roman authors who found themselves in Cyprus from time to time and / or wrote about the island, with Galen being the most characteristic case.9 Cyprus, which has been inhabited from the eleventh millennium bc, gradually built close relations with both its eastern neighbours and the Aegean,10 as well as with Crete (with the Cypro-Minoan syllabary greatly resembling the Minoan Linear A).11 When the Achaeans arrived in Cyprus in consecutive waves during the last quarter of the second millennium (especially after the Trojan War, during the twelfth and the first part of the eleventh century bc), they brought along their language, religion, customs, myths and poetry, music and songs. Interaction with the locals, a more direct communication with the eastern peoples, initiation to local worship and other individual factors broadened their horizons and opened new paths of expression. The Greek civilisation of Cyprus was established this way, thanks to the close, age-old relationships with the mother-cities and the whole Greek world (mainly with the worship centres and the panhellenic games); and despite the long-standing periods of domination by foreign peoples, this civilisation remained unchanged throughout

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*F9 (Athen. 15.675a–e), esp. the comm. on vv. 37–38, cf. ACL2 11 E37 (epigram from Citium, 2nd/3rd c. ad), with comm. on vv. 1–3 ἐν ἀρώμασι καὶ στεφάνοις ῥοδίνοις (…), οὕτω θέτε μ[ε], ἂν ἀποθά[νω]. See, e.g., Plin. HN 2.210: Celebre fanum habet Veneris Paphos; Maier–Karageorghis 1984 (esp. iii.2, with figs. 64–85, and vi.2, with figs. 243–253); Iacovou 2017 (with figs. 1, 4, 6). See also Smith–Pickup 2010; Hadjigavriel et al. 2017 (esp. pp. 29–34, with figs. 1–34). Od. 8.362–366, and h.Hom. 5 / Aphr. Y1.58–66 (ACL1b, pp. 268, 269, 433–466): also, below p. 20 with n. 34 and part 2.1; cf. Hdt. 1.105 (but see Lebel 1994, 313–314: “En fait, au dire de Pausanias, le cult d’Aphrodite à Paphos est becaucoup plus ancient que celui d’Askalon”). See esp. ACL4 pp. 80–81 with n. 12, 31 T3 s.v. Γαληνός (pp. 365–373); 31 Τ1 s.v. Στράβων (pp. 345–347); 34 T1 s.v. Plinius (pp. 596–598); 34 F4 s.v. Διοσκουρίδης (pp. 610–615); 34 F5 (a.) s.v. Ὀρειβάσιος and (b.) s.v. Ἀέτιος ὁ Ἀμιδηνός (pp. 617–621); 35 F8 s.v. Ἀθήναιος (pp. 644– 647); 37 Τ4 s.v. Λιβάνιος (pp. 680–681). See, e.g., Karageorghis 2002; AncCy 2017, esp. pp. 8–9, 17–41, 43–68, 159–188, 325–335. See also Maier 1982; Karageorghis–Stampolidis 1998; Mantzourani 2010; Stampolidis– Karageorghis 2003; Iacovou 2012; Papantoniou 2013; Kourou 2019; Prokopiou 2022. See e.g. Nicolaou 1971, Plates i–ii; Karageorghis 1989, 60–61 (fig. 62). See also Ferrara 2012/2014.

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the centuries12 and was revived through the gradual advent of Christianity,13 yielding rich fruits in every respect.14 The Trojan War together with Homer are important milestones in this path, which exceeds three millennia. The well-known foundation-aetiological legends, which attribute the establishment of the main kingdoms of Cyprus to Homeric heroes in the years after the Trojan War, are strong links between these two milestones.15 These legends, beyond the Cypriot oral tradition that survived throughout the centuries, have been immortalised in numerous ancient sources: Teucer the Telamonian, the famous Homeric archer,16 disembarks with his companions in what has been known ever since as the Achaeorum litus (Ἀχαιῶν ἀκτή) in the northeast of Cyprus; he arrives at the fertile bay of modern-day Ammochostos (Famagusta) and founds the most glorious kingdom of ancient Cyprus, Salamis.17 Agapenor, who leads the Arcadians to Troy (Il. 2.603–614), lands upon the western coast of Cyprus and becomes the settler of New Paphos and founder of the sanctuary of Aphrodite in Palaepa-

12

13 14

15 16

17

As J. Chadwick says (Karageorghis–Masson 1988, xvii): “These people, the people who call themselves ‘Hellenes’ were already established in Cyprus in antiquity, but … I do not think they ever lost close touch with their roots. Cyprus despite its remoteness from the Aegean became and has remained ever since a part of the Greek world and in spite of all the historical vicissitudes and invasions it has unfortunately undergone, it remains culturally Greek down to the present day.” See also Voskos 2004/2018b, 264–266 and 275– 277. See Oikonomou 2005, 23–105 (esp. p. 23); Voskos 2018b, 264–266 and 277–279 (esp. nn. 3, 32). See ACL1b pp. 55–70, 125–133. See also: (i.) Language: Karageorghis–Masson 1988; Baurain 2000; Egetmeyer 2010; Voskos et al. 2010; Steele 2013 and Steele 2019 (esp. ch. 2). (ii.) Religion: Karageorghis 1998; Hadjioannou 2000. (iii.) Customs: e.g., (a) funeral games (see Isocr. Evag. §1: Nicocles of Salamis honours his father’s memory, cf. Il. 23.258–897 and Od. 8.100ff., esp. 244–249); see Voskos 2004, esp. 22–25; Alexiou 2010, 65–68; (b) ‘couvade’ or ‘arrenolocheia’ (Paeon of Amathus F1.15–17: see below, passim, esp. p. 26 and p. 27 n. 65). See also: Peltenburg 1989; Karageorghis 2003; Voskos 2016c, 3–11; Varvounis 2017; Christodoulou 2019, 279–280 with nn. 103–107; Raptou 2007 / 2017b / 2019 (esp. 218–224); Costanza 2020; Katsagani 2020; Mantzourani–Voskos 2022. (iv.) Music: ACL1b pp. 131–133 with nn. 84–89; Georgiou 2007. See Gjerstad 1944; Karageorghis 1990 / 1994a, (esp.) 1994b; Georgiou 2011; Christodoulou 2014; Hatzopoulos 2014; Voskos 2016a (esp. 1–14); Xydopoulos 2019. In the Iliad Teucer is the best Achaean archer (12.350/363 τόξων ἐῢ εἰδώς, etc.) and displays aristeiai (8.266–334, 15.437–470, al.). He is consistently referred to as son of Telamon and as brother of (Telamonian) Ajax (8.281–283/330, 12.370–372, al.). See also Kakridis 1986.3, 310–317 / 1986.5, 322–324; ACL2 422–423 and ACL4 350–352. See Voskos 2012a; Christodoulou 2014 and 2019; SalCy 2019, esp. introductory remarks by Mavrojannis 2019a, Sections ii–v, concluding remarks by Funke (2019). Also: TSal1; TSal2.

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phos.18 Theseus’ sons, Acamas, after whom a mountain and a peninsula of northwestern Cyprus is named, as well as Demophon and/or Phaleros settle in Soli/Aepeia,19 while Acamas’ grandson Chytros settles in Chytri.20 The Laconian Praxandrus and the Achaean Cepheus, both warriors in Troy according to Lycophron, founded Lapethos and Keryn(e)ia.21 According to Herodotus, the people of Curium ‘are said to be settlers of the Argives’; and, as Strabo puts it, Curium is the ‘foundation of the Argives’.22 It is worth noting that, in discussing where Greek leaders are buried, [Arist.]’s Peplos refers to Teucer buried in Salamis of Cyprus (Ἰῶν ὠκυμόρων ταμίην Τελαμώνιον ἥδε / Τεῦκρον ἀποφθίμενον γῆ Σαλαμὶς κατέχει, ‘Telamonian Teucer, dealer of swift-killing arrows; him this land of Salamis holds dead’) and to Agapenor (Ἀρχὸς ὅδ᾽ ἐκ Τεγέης Ἀγαπήνωρ Ἀγκαίου υἱὸς / κεῖθ᾽ ὑπ᾽ ἐμοὶ Παφίων πελτοφόρων βασιλεύς, ‘This leader from Tegea, Agapenor, Ancaeus’ son, king of the shield-bearing Paphians, lies dead here’, sc. in Paphos).23 Moreover, in the earliest surviving relevant testimonia, Pindar (Nem. 4.46–47) refers to ‘Cyprus, where Teucer, son of Telamon, reigns far away from home’ (Κύπρῳ, ἔνθα Τεῦκρος ἀπάρχει / ὁ Τελαμωνιάδας), and Aeschylus (Pers. 891–895) to Salamis of Cyprus, of which Attic Salamis is the motherland (Κυπρίας τε πόλεις / Πάφον ἠδὲ Σόλους / Σαλαμῖνά τε, τᾶς νῦν ματρόπολις τῶνδ᾽ / αἰτία στεναγμῶν); both poets mention this connection very briefly, clearly drawing on a lengthy familiar source, just like Euripides in his Helen (412 bc) and Isocrates in his Evagoras later did (ca. 370bc), albeit more extensively.24 18 19

20 21 22

23

24

See Maier–Karageorghis 1984 (esp. iii.1, pp. 50–81, with figs. 64–85); Masson–Mitford 1986; Iacovou 2017; Raptou 2007 / 2017b; Karageorghis–Raptou 2018; Hatzopoulos 2019. See Il. 9.149–156 (and 291–298); Steph. Byz. Ethn. 53.15: Αἰπεῖα πόλις Λακωνικῆς, (…) οὕτω καὶ ἡ Κύπρου. γ´ Κρήτης, ὡς Ἑλλάνικος; Plut. Sol. 26.1–2. Gjerstad et al. 1934–1972; Voskos 2016a, 39–41 / 2020, 94–95; Neumann 2000, s.vv. (pp. 1078, 1095, 1106); Chrestou 2020. Voskos 2016c, 1–27 (figs. 1–9.2), esp. 11–15 (with nn. 20–31). See Lycoph. Alex. 586–591; Paus. 3.19.9–20.1, 7.6.1 and 7.25.5–12; Strabo 14.6.3. See also Fraser 1979, 328–343; Voskos 1999, 21–39 / 2016a, 7–14 / 2018a, 11–27. Hdt. 5.113.1: οἱ δὲ Κουριέες οὗτοι λέγονται εἶναι Ἀργείων ἄποικοι; Strabo (loc. cit.): πόλις Κούριον … Ἀργείων κτίσμα. See Chrestou 2013 (vols. i–ii); Mitford 1971 (esp. pp. 1–350); Prokopiou 2022. Remarkable is the ‘Royal sceptre’ from tomb no. 40 in the necropolis of Curium (gold and enamel); see Karageorghis 1989, 53–54, no. 54 and fig. 54 (11th c. bc): “The sceptre must belong to one of the ‘sceptred kings’ of Curium”; cf. HCy2 fig. ccli. [Arist.]’s Peplos 640.8 / 30 Rose (Αcl2 11 *Ε54–55, pp. 128–129 and 420–424). See Christodoulou 2019 (esp. 275–278). / Mavrojannis 2013, 110–111; Raptou 2017b, 215. See also Paus. 8.5.3 (ACL2 11 Ε56, pp. 130–131 and 424–426), about Agapenor’s descendant Laodice. See esp. Eur. Hel. 148–150; Euripides drew on the Cypria for significant material on the myth of Helen, among other things. Cf. Hor. C. 1.7.21–29; Verg. Aen. 1.619–622 and the relevant scholia of Servius; and so on. See also, e.g. (on Euripides and the Cypria) Jouan 1966; Davies 2019, esp. 8–9; (on Euripides Helen and Teucer) Christodoulou 2014, 203–210; (on

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On the other hand, with good reason, a parallel trend of the relevant mythological tradition—in part very ancient and in part more recent—links names of Cypriot cities with the worship of Aphrodite and Adonis, Pygmalion and Cinyras (who lie at the beginnings of Cypriot mythology),25 but also with eponymous heroes. So, for example, the city Golgoi was named after Golgos, son of Adonis and Aphrodite (Steph. Byz. Ethn. s.v. Γόλγοι; Schol. on Theocr. 15.100/101); the city Amathus was named after Heracles’ son Amathos or after Cinyras’ mother Amathusa (Steph. Byz. Ethn. s.v. Ἀμαθοῦς), and Paphos, father of Cinyras, founded the city of Paphos (Schol. on Dion. Perieg. 509, cf. Ovid. Met. 10.295–299: Paphos daughter of Pygmalion, Hygin. Fab. 142.4: Cinyras Paphi filius, and so on).26 The following two references are remarkable: first, Tacitus’ mention in Annales (3.62) of three renowned shrines in Cyprus, ‘the oldest erected by their founder Aërias to the Paphian Venus; the second by his son Amathus to the Amathusian Venus; and a third by Teucer, exiled by the anger of his father Telamon, to Jove of Salamis’ (trans. by Moore/Jackson). Whereas two new names are added in the tradition for the towns of Paphos and Amathus, Teucer remains the founder of Salamis.27 Second, Nonnus’ references (a) to the Cypriot leader Lapethos and ‘the city named after him, Lapethos’, and (b) to KINYR(E)IA (Κινύρεια or Κινυρία, and Κινύρειον), ‘fatherland of ancient Cinyras still bearing his name’,28 for KERYN(E)IA [Κερύνε(ι)α], which belonged

25

26

27

28

Isocrates and the Teucrids) Alexiou 2010, esp. 89–97 (on Evag. §§ 12–18); Bianco 2015; Cannavò 2015; Ioannou 2019, esp. 98–101. ACL1b 1. Cinyras, T1–7, pp. 71–78, 192–203, 343–355; Tsavli 2009; Stamatis 2016.—ACL3 16. Asclepiades of Cyprus, F1a–b, about Pygmalion and the σαρκοφαγία or κρεοφαγία (eating of flesh or meat): see also Voskos 2022, 113 with n. 55; 25. Istros of Paphos (3rd c. bc), F45 (: Steph. Byz. Ethn. s.v. Κύπρος): ἀπὸ Κύπρου τῆς θυγατρὸς Κινύρου …, cf. Eust. on Dion. Perieg. 508–509: ἀπὸ Κύπρου υἱοῦ Κινύρου …; 28. Xenophon of Cyprus, F1.4–5: see below p. 26 and p. 27 n. 65; cf. Schol. Pind. Nem. 8.32c and 34a; Jos. Ant. Jud. 19.94 (TGrF ii, Adesp. 5d): a tragedy [δρᾶμα] entitled Cinyras, of an unknown poet (4th c. bc): see ACL1b p. 138 with n. 97 and ACL3 28 F1.4–5 (with comm., pp. 600–601). About Cinyras see also below, passim (esp. pp. 24–25 with n. 54). Pygmalion founded Karpasia (according to Steph. Byz. Ethn. s.v. Καρπασία, and Herod. De prosod. cath. i. 294.9–13 Lentz). See ACL3 17 F1a and F1b: Demetrios Salaminios (uncertain chronology), pp. 81, 126–129, 414–425; see also Neumann 2000, s.v. Καρπασία (p. 1083). For the Latin text of this reference from Tac. Ann. 3.62 see Spencer’s second epigraph (in this volume). Tacitus visited Palaepaphos and wrote the most detailed description of the Paphian Sanctuary; see Maier–Karageorghis 1984, 272; TSal1 1978, no. 37; Kantirea 2014; (on the Temple of Venus at Amathus:) Voskos 2022, 102 with n. 11; (on the Temple of Zeus at Salamis:) Callot 2019; Yon 2019, esp. pp. 40–47, with figs. 2, 3, 4a–b; Papantoniou–Satraki 2019. Nonn. Dion. 13.431ff.: (432ff.) Λάπηθος (the leader) … Λαπήθου (of the city Lapethos), / ὕστερον ἣν ἐκάλεσσαν ἐπώνυμον ἡγεμονῆος, / ὃς τότε λαὸν ἄγειρεν, and (451–452) πόλιν Κινύ-

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until the end of the classical period to the kingdom of Lapethos. These two— aurally similar—names (Κινύρεια and Κερύνεια) represent two different strands of local tradition, perhaps also resonating with the older Eteocypriot name of the city. Different forms are also encountered in other place-names, such as: Πελ(λ)άνα,29 Σαλαμίς (acc. Σαλαμῖνα, adj. Σελαμινία), Λάπαθος/Λάπεθος (and Λάπηθος, also Λάπιθος, etc.), Σάτραχος/Σέτραχος, also Σέρ(ρ)αχος and Σερ(ρ)άχης (river, today’s Σερράχης), etc.30 This picture as a whole is relevant to the entire Greek world: the older generations of heroes and relevant mythological variations mostly refer to a preor proto-historic time, and they attest, in part, to close relations with the East; and the ancient surviving names of places and people are adjusted every time to new linguistic data. The case of names in the Homeric poems constitutes a characteristic example: most are genuinely Greek names, constructed mostly by Ionian epic poets, whereas other names, like Pelops, Theseus, Achilleus, and Odysseus, which cannot go back to Greek roots and appear to be preHellenic, were adjusted to morphological laws of the Greek language, and many were linked paretymologically with Greek words; relevant myths were then constructed and the names themselves were Hellenised.31 What exactly most of this means and how best to account for the many ancient names found both in Cyprus and in other Greek cities, especially in the Peloponnese, is yet to be further determined, and so is the relationship between foundationaetiological legends of Cyprus and the historical reality; the almost entire loss of works by Cypriot historians and mythographers, of Cypriaca (that is, works of Cypriot interest) composed by non-Cypriot authors, of the Cypria and of the Nostoi, perhaps even of the Little Iliad, imposes great limitations upon us. Nevertheless, what emerges as a safe, basic conclusion is the picture of a decisive gradual descent en masse of the Greeks on Cyprus and a gradual Hel-

29

30 31

ρειαν ἐπώνυμον εἰσέτι πάτρην / ἀρχεγόνου Κινύραο, with a likely inversion of the relationship between the two, not unlike his reference to ‘Cyprus … bearing the name of Cypris the selfproduced’ (435–436, Κύπρον … Κύπριδος αὐτογόνοιο φερώνυμον). See also: Neumann 2000, s.vv. Κερύνεια and Κινύρεια (pp. 1084–1085); Voskos 2016a, esp. 7–9 (with nn. 10–13) / 2018a, 19–21 (with nn. 19–28). Hesych. s.v. Πελάνα· ἡ Σαλαμὶς ἐν τοῖς Εὔκλου χρησμοῖς (Salamis in the oracles of Euclus, 7th c. bc); ACL1b 2 F9 (pp. 214–215, 367–368). Cf. Paus. 3.21.2–3 Πελλάνα / 7.26.12–27.12 Πελλήνη (in Sparta and Corinth respectively); see Voskos 2016a, 10 with n. 18. Voskos 2016a, 3–6 (esp. nn. 2, 9), 14–20 (esp. nn. 29, 35), 39–41 (esp. nn. 91–92); Neumann 2000, s.vv. (p. 1104 Σέτραχος), esp. 1104–1106. Kakridis 1986.1, 79–80; Voskos 2012 (esp. 3–4 n. 2: with relevant bibliography); see also Mills 1997, 4–5 with n. 13.

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lenisation of the island, with the widely circulated and beloved relevant myths exerting an important influence on the art and life of Cypriots (largely until the present day). As I.Chr. Voskos has put it, “Indeed, the influx of Aegean traits in several categories of material culture was a phenomenon that peaked during the 12th–11th centuries bc in Cyprus. The gradual transformation of daily life and collective identities on the island, including sensitive aspects such as ideology, burial ritual, dietary customs, and language, suggests a largescale migration of Greek-speaking populations; rather than being conquerors or colonists that manipulated the locals, these migrants along with the surviving Bronze Age population gradually transformed the existing socio-political situation. In addition, judging also by the existing ancient Cypriot literature, Geometric Cyprus was not only orientated towards the West, but also seems to have had an active role in the formation of archaic/classical Greek identity. This point of view is largely at odds with misconceptions such as the supposed Hellenisation of Cyprus shortly after the dissolution of its kingdoms in the Hellenistic period when the island was integrated into the Ptolemaic kingdom.”32 Homer’s immense influence, both direct and indirect, on Cypriot culture and various other aspects of Cypriot life, has been crucial and has to a significant extent shaped the national identity of the vast majority of the residents of Cyprus.33 The relationship between Homer and Cyprus can be seen not only in the foundation-aetiological legends of Cyprus which were widely prominent across the centuries and still remain alive today (see above, pp. 15–16 with nn. 15–24), but also in the following respects: (a) The overall picture of Cyprus in the Homeric epics, especially the explicit connection of Aphrodite with Cyprus in the Odyssey (8.362–366: see above, p. 14 with n. 8) and Homer’s repeated presentation of the Cyprian goddess as Cypris in Iliad 5 (vv. 330, 422, 458, 760, 883); moreover, the island itself is also mentioned in Iliad 11.19–23 in connection with Cinyras who heard in Cyprus (Κύπρονδε, 11.21) the important news that the Achaeans were about to sail to Troy, and gave to Agamemnon an elegant cuirass as a gift of hospitality. In the Odyssey too, Menelaus mentions Cyprus, Phoenicia and Egypt as the first stations of his return from Troy (4.83, cf. 3.302a) and Odysseus tells the suitors one of his false stories (17.415ff.) about how he was captured in Egypt and was subsequently

32 33

I.Chr. Voskos (PhD in Prehistoric Archaeology), personal communication. See ACL1b pp. 125–133, with rich relevant bibliography (esp. 129–131).

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given to the king of Cyprus, Dmetor Iasides (v. 444, Δμήτωρ Ἰασίδης: name and surname obviously Greek). Although the number of the “passages where either Cyprus itself or Cyprian places, persons, gods and products are mentioned … is admittedly modest”, according to Panagl, “what is said on each occasion is of definite interest”. (b) Salamis of Cyprus was one of the towns that claimed Homer. (c) Cypriots write about Homer, interpret and translate and/or teach the Homeric poems: e.g., Alexander of Paphos (according to Eustathius, on Hom. Od. 10.305 and 12.63) relates a mythic tale (μυθολογεῖ) about the Giant Pikoloos, Kirke and her father Helios, and says that the name of the fabulous herb μῶλυ is derived from the word μῶλος (the war, πόλεμος), whereas the same Alexander tells a story (ἱστορεῖ) about Homer’s birth and infancy, with reference to Sibylla, his nurse (τροφός); Zeno of Citium, the Stoic philosopher, writes about ‘Five Homeric problems’ (Προβλημάτων Ὁμηρικῶν πέντε); and Kilikas, who died at the age of forty, ‘at one time ‘distinguished himself in the pages of the Homeric epics making known the deeds of heroes of old’.’34 Relevant to these points are also the following considerations: (i.) Rich archaeological finds in every corner of Cyprus, such as the impressive geometrical and archaic finds from the Nekropolis of Salamis (late eighth century / ca. 600 bc) that refer back to Homer, according to V. Karageorghis: a ‘silver-studded sword’ (cf. Il. 2.45, Od. 8.406, etc.); an amphora bearing a Cypro-syllabic inscription, which “recalls the burial custom of offering oil on the pyre of the dead, as described in the 23rd book of the Iliad”; an ivory throne, (p. 146) “a superb throne, which could easily recall ‘the throne of Penelope’ described by Homer in the Odyssey” (19.53–59); an ivory bed, “recalling the bed which Odysseus made for himself, decorated with ivory and gold” (Od. 23.184–204).35 (ii.) Count-

34

35

(a.) See Panagl 1988, 36–37; also, ACL1b 1. Cinyras, Τ1 (= Il. 11.19–28), pp. 192, 193, 343–345; Bowra 1934; Voskos 2010b / 2016b.—(b.) See West 2003b, ‘Lives of Homer’, 4. *Plut. Hom. 2.2, οὐκ ὤκνησαν δέ τινες καὶ Σαλαμίνιον αὐτὸν (sc. Ὅμηρον) εἰπεῖν ἀπὸ Κύπρου (‘Some have not shrunk even from making him a Salaminian from Cyprus’), cf. 3. *Plut. Hom. 1.4 (Antip. Thess. Epigr. 72 G.–P. v. 3); 6. Hesych. Mil. §2; 7. Anonym. i. Βίος Ὁμήρου (Vita Romana) § 2, cf. Anonym. iii. ἄλλως (Vita Scorialensis ii) §1; more: below, pp. 28–29 (esp. n. 72): Paus. 10.24.3, with reference to Euclo(u)s.—(c.) Alexander of Paphos (1st c. bc): see ACL3 13 F1a– b and F2 (pp. 81–82, 102–105, 314–350); Zeno of Citium (4th/3rd c. bc): see esp. Diog. Laert. 7.4 (ACL5 fr. 69, pp. 80–83); Kilikas (sepulchral inscription on verse, epitaph from Citium, probably 3rd c. bc): see ACL2 11 E24 (pp. 92–95 and 294–299), cf. CIS, plate xl (‘2nd cent. a.d.’). Karageorghis 1999, pp. 110–169. See also: HCy2, figs. ccxli, ccxcv, ccxcviii, ccci; Voskos 2010b, 20–21; Vlachou 2019, 115–118; Vonhoff 2019, esp. figs. 1, 5–6.

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less artistic representations, such as (a) the so-called ‘Homeric’ or generally ‘epic’ scenes, on ‘the sarcophagus of Kouklia’ (Palaepaphos, ca. 480 bc): (1) on the one long side the scene depicts either (1.1) Odysseus and Diomedes who kill Rhesus and take his famous horses to the Greek camp (Il. 10.460 ff.), or (1.2) the siege of a city by Heracles, perhaps the first siege of Troy, in which Telamon, father of Teucer, founder of Salamis, took part (Il. 5.638–642, 14.250–251, etc.); (2) on the other long side, Odysseus and his companions escape from the hands of the Cyclops Polyphemus (Od. 9.424ff.); (3) the short side depicts Ajax carrying on his shoulders the corpse of Achilleus, and (4) the other short side depicts a struggle between a lioness and a boar (Il. 11.293–298, 12.41–42, etc.).36 (b) The scenes with Achilleus in the court of Lycomedes (Curium: Building of the Achilleus mosaic, 1st part of the 4th c. ad), (c) those with the Dioscouri (Nea Paphos: House of Dionysus, early 3rd c. ad), (d) and the story of Theseus and Ariadne (Nea Paphos: House of Theseus, late 3rd c. ad), which refer to the Cypria;37 and many others, such as (e) the rape of Ganymedes (Nea Paphos: House of Dionysus, early 3rd c. ad),38 and (f) Aphrodite’s adornment, (Alassa: Bath Building, 5th c. ad),39 which refer both to Homer and to the Homeric Hymns to

36

37

38 39

(ii.) (a) See Flourentzos 2007b (esp. pp. 18–27, with figs. 14–17: Fl. below) / (Raptou 2007, 316–325; 2017a; 2017b, 228–229 with figs. 15, 16α–δ: R. below): for (1.1) see Fl. (pp. 20–24) and Chrestou 2008, 44–47; for (1.2) see R. (cf. Fl. pp. 22–24, and Koiner 2018, esp. pp. 75–76, 79– 80, fig. 1a–b); cf. also, e.g., Pind. Nem. 4.24–27 and Isthm. 6.26–35, and Cleon of Curium ACL3 6 F4 (P. Mich. inv. 1316 verso), vv. 3–8 with comm. (p. 479), see also above p. 17 on the city Amathus and Heracles’ son Amathos; more: Kakridis 1986.4, 90–92 with figs. 63–65. (2.) Figs. 15 Fl. / 16β R. (see Kakridis 1986.5, 206–211 with figs. 170–175). (3.) Figs. 16 Fl. / 16δ R. (see Kakridis 1986.5, 122–126 with fig. 103, cf. pp. 130–131, with fig. 109). (4.) Figs. 17 Fl. / 16γ (cf. Od. 4.456–458, al.). (ii.) (b) Achilleus in the court of Lycomedes: Mitford 1971, 360–361 no. 207; Michaelides 1992, 65–66 no. 33 (figs. 33–33a); Karageorghis 1998, 289–291 (fig. 235); see Cypria: ACL1b [3] T7.44–45, F16 (B.: Procl. Chrest. 39–40, fr. 19). (c.) Castor and Pollux: Michaelides 1992, 27 no. 10 (figs. 10a–10b); Karageorghis 1998, 262–263 (figs. 212–213); see Cypria: ACL1b 3 Τ7.23–27, F6, F7, F7a, F10, F11, F11a, *F20 (B.: Procl. Chrest. vv. 21–24 [p. 40], frr. 8, 9, 13, 15). (d.) Theseus and Ariadne: Masson 1983 (Pl. xxiv.3: fig. 173); Michaelides 1992, 47–48 no. 23 (fig. 23); Karageorghis 1998, 87 (fig. 43), 272–274 (figs. 221–222); see Cypria: ACL1b 3 T7.32– 33 (: Procl. Chrest., 29 B. / 4.8 GEF); cf. Paeon of Amathus: ACL3 30 F1 / ACL4 * 33 F1 (see below p. 26 and p. 27 n. 65). (ii.) (e) Michaelides 1992, 33 no. 14 (fig. 14); Karageorghis 1998, 270–271 (fig. 220); ACL1b fig. 118 (p. 452). Il. 20.231–235 (cf. 5.266); h.Hom. 5 / Aphr. [ACL1b 5] Y1.202–217. Michaelides 1992, 93 no. 51 (fig. 51); Karageorghis 1998, 292 (fig. 236); ACL1b fig. 64 (p. 269). Od. 8.362–366; h.Hom. 5–6 / Aphr. (ACL1b 5) Y1.58–91,Y2.5–18; Cypria: ACL1b 3 F4–F5 (4–5 EGF). See also below p. 32 with n. 85.

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Aphrodite (the last also to the Cypria). (iii.) The overall picture of extant works of the Homeric (indeed Homerising) archaic epic poetry of Cyprus (see below, part 2.1). Moreover, there are: (iv.) philological findings for the Arcado-Cypriot dialect and the Cypro-syllabic script (similar to Linear B), such as the syllabic inscription on a spit (ὀβελός) from Palaepaphos (ca. 1075bc) with what seems to be the name of the owner: o-pe-la-ta-u (Ὀφέλταυ, gen. sing. in the Arcado-Cypriot dialect rather than the Homeric -ao).40 (v.) Countless ancient Greek place names (beyond those mentioned earlier), which, despite the never-ending periods of slavery, survive throughout the millennia until the present day in Greece and Cyprus, or only in Cyprus (e.g.): Vassae in Arcadia with the temple of Epicurius Apollo and the temple of Aphrodite / (compare:) Vas(s)a, Gerovas(s)a (holy βᾶσσα [βῆσσα]: wooded combe, glen) and Geras(s)a in the area of Curium,41 with the temple of Apollo Hylates, the temple of the neighbouring Amathusian Aphrodite and the grove (alsos) of Ariadne Aphrodite;42 Aegial(e)ia or Aegialos and Aegion / Aegialous(s)a > Gialous(s)a, and Gialia;43 Asine > Asinou;44 Morphou, from the name of Morpho Aphrodite in Sparta;45 Zotia or Zoteia (east of Morphou), known today as Zodeia and in the Cypriot dialect as Zothkia, from the Zoteatas Apollon of Argos and the Arcadian chorion (χωρίον, place) of the same name mentioned by Pausanias (8.35.6–7): Ζοιτία or Ζοίτεια and Ζοίτειον (pronounced Ζω-, cf. Ζωτεάτας Ἀπόλλων), Zona also in old foreign maps, later Ζωνάτι (‘Zonati’) and Ζουνάτι (‘Zounati’), today

40

41

42

43 44

45

Arcado-Cypriot nom. Ὀφέλτας (rather than the Att. Ὀφέλτης) < verb ὀφέλλω (to sweep). Maier–Karageorghis 1984, 133–134, 137 fig. 114; Karageorghis–Masson 1988, 2–3; Raptou 2017b, 218 with fig. 5; HCy1 285 (with n. 114 and fig. lxii), 293–294 (with nn. 34–36), 349 / HCy2 751 n. 110, 942, and fig. i; Voskos 2022, 103 with n. 18.—There are also in Cyprus countless wondrous linguistic survivals throughout the millennia: see below, passim (esp. 2.2, Epigrams). In the same area there is the ‘Peak of Zeus’: Μούττη τοῦ Δκιᾶ, and the ‘Cliff of Hera’: Κρεμμὸς τῆς Ἕρας, i.e. τῆς Ἥρας, with a very old long ε instead of the η; see also below 2.2 (Epigrams). Paeon of Amathus (Plut. Thes. 20.7): ACL4 33 F1.17–19 καλεῖν δὲ τὸ ἄλσος Ἀμαθουσίους, ἐν ᾧ τὸν τάφον δεικνύουσιν, Ἀριάδνης Ἀφροδίτης (pp. 260–261, 590–591 with fig. 121). See Mitthof (in this volume). Voskos 1999, 23 and 43 n. 10 / 2016a, 10 (8–12 with nn. 13–19). See Il. 2.559ff.: Ἑρμιόνην Ἀσίνην τε; Steph. Byz. Ethn. 131.11: Ἀσίνη· πόλις Λακωνικὴ … δευτέρα Μεσσήνης παρὰ τὴν Λακωνικήν, οἰκισθεῖσα ὑπὸ Ἀργείων. τρίτη Κύπρου. τετάρτη Κιλικίας … ; cf. Eustath. in Il. 2.560. See Voskos 2016a, 35–39. Nom. ἡ Μορφώ (Aphrodite) > gen. τῆς Μορφοῦς > nom. ἡ Μόρφου (the city); see Voskos 2016a, 12–27 (with nn. 22–51).

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Ζώνη (‘Zone’).46 (vi.) Undisputable historical facts,47 like that about the kings of Salamis who were ‘descendants of Teucer’ (Τευκρίδαι) and the battles against the Persians.48 And, of course, (vii.) the entire ancient Cypriot literature (see below, part 2). The end of the classical period finds the whole of Cyprus free, fully integrated in the Greek world on Alexander the Great’s side,49 with new ‘myths’ of its own: those of Onesilus and Evagoras.50 A six-line honorary epigram from Argos for Nicocreon (332/331–311/310bc), the last ‘Teucrid’ king of Salamis of Cyprus (who boasts about his father and his descent from Zeus’ son, Aeacus, father of Peleus and Telamon, and grandfather of Peleus’ son Achilleus and Telamon’s 46

47

48

49

50

In the same area of Cyprus: Κομήτης (‘Cometes’, stream) and Ναός (‘Naos’, ravine): names of mythical Peloponnesian heroes, and Γερανός (‘Geranos’, a ravine); ‘Ageranos’ and ‘Goranoi’, in Laconia; γέρανος (Suda s.v.) is also the ὄμβρος (rain). Voskos 2016a, 27–34. See HCy1 (esp. Karageorghis 1997 and Courtois 1997)—HCy2 (esp. Stylianou 2000, Mehl 2000, and Potter 2000). See also Forrest 1994, esp. the reference in his prologue and his epilogue (pp. 365 and 375, with relevant questions) to a Cypriot at Chios (‘about 900 bc’, probably later) called Kyprios, as is inscribed on the tombstone of his 14th descendant, ‘an important man’: funerary inscription of Heropythos (from Chios, no. 800, ca. 475bc, see Archontidou-Argyri et al. 2000, 211–212), which record not only his and his father’s name (ΗΡΟΠΥΘΟ | ΤΟ ΦΙΛΑΙΟ, gen.: the son of Philaios) but also the names of thirteen more ancestors; the last (the fourteenth ancestor of Heropythos): ΤΟ ΚΥΠΡΙΟ = τοῦ Κυπρίου (‘of the Cypriot’). In any case, it is not impossible that some of his descendants who lived in Chios during the peak of epic poetry—if not he himself—knew Homer himself; a reasonable hypothesis is that they had something to contribute to the development of epic poetry in Cyprus (cf. what is known about the rich family of the Salaminian Simalos and the epigrams of Antisthenes of Paphos: see below pp. 25–26 with n. 61). See, e.g.: Isocr. Evag. 12–18; Paus. 1.3.2: Εὐαγόρας … γενεαλογῶν ἐς προγόνους ἀνέβαινε Τεῦκρον καὶ Κινύρου θυγατέρα (‘Evagoras, speaking about his ancestors, reached back to Teucer and Cinyras’ daughter’); Christodoulou 2019 (esp. 267–274); see also below, n. 48.—Stylianou 2000, 531–606; Flourentzos 2007a; Ramou-Chapsiade 2010; Voskos 2010b / 2018b, esp. pp. 271–273; Balandier 2019; Körner 2019; Zournatzi 2019. See also Maier–Karageorghis 1984 (esp. iv.4 and iv.5, pp. 192–219, with figs. 180–202). See ACL2 11 Ε16 (Soli, perhaps last decade bc), esp. the comm. on v. 2 s.v. Πασικράτεα; Voskos 2000, 173–176 and 179. Also, e.g., Stylianou 2000, 606–613; Mehl 2000, esp. 621–627 (with nn. 12–17).—Among those who wrote about Alexander we find two Cypriot historians: Aristos of Salamis and Asclepiades of Cyprus (both 3rd c. bc, see below): ACL3 14 F2 / 16 F2 (Arr. Alex. Anab. 7.15.4–6), see also 14 F1 (Strab. 15.3.7–8), and pp. 78–80 with nn. 40–43. Ὀνήσιλος: Hdt. 5.104–115; ACL2 11 Ε3 (Amathus, early 5th c. bc); Nicolaou 1971, Plate ix. See also, Voskos 1997, 3–20 / 2007, 285–290 (with nn. 5–21: pp. 293–296) / 2022, 116–118; Lebel 1994, 312–313, 318; Stylianou 2000, 520–531.—Εὐαγόρας: Isocr. Evag., esp. §§ 21–22 and 64– 65 (Alexiou 2010, 100–104 and 157–160). See also, Stylianou 2000, 570–606; Flourentzos 2007a; Voskos 2018b, 272–273; Funke 2019, 775–778; Yon 2019 (see also above, p. 17 n. 27); Christodoulou 2019, esp. 275–278.

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son Teucer), sheds plenty of light on the close relationship between Cyprus and the rest of the Greek world, while drawing attention to the intensity of the shared sense of having ancient Greek origins:

5

5

2

Μ̣ατρ̣[όπο]λ̣ίς μοι χθὼν Πέλοπος τὸ Πελαζγικὸν Ἄργος, Πνυταγόρας δὲ πατὴρ Αἰακο̣ῦ ἐκ γενεᾶς· εἰμὶ δὲ Νικοκρέων, θρέψεν δέ με γᾶ περίκλυστος Κύπρος θειοτάτων ἐκ προγόνων βασιλῆ. στᾶσαν δ᾽ Ἀργεῖοί με χάριν χαλκοῖο τίοντες, Ἥραι ὃν εἰς ἔροτιν πέμπον [ἄε]θλα νέοις.51 My mother-city is Pelops’ land, the Pelasgian Argos, Pnytagoras is my father, from the race of Aeacus; I am Nicocreon; a land washed all around by sea, Cyprus, nourished me, from ancestors of divine descent, to become king. The Argives erected my statue as a reciprocation for the bronze I was sending as a gift in the feast of Hera for prizes to the youth.

Ancient Cypriot Literature52

As in other Greek areas too, we can assume that at least from the Late Cypriot iii Bronze Age (1200–1050 bc, with the arrival of the Achaeans on the island) and throughout the Cypro-Geometrical period (1050–750bc), myth was spreading in the form of simple prose narratives or epic verse. No relevant fragments survive in writing from this period. The archaeological and written testimonies, however, lead to the conclusion that from around the mid-eighth century bc, Cyprus seems very ‘Homeric’, whereas references to Phrasios (Φρασίος, and Thrasius) as a seer who gives an oracle to Busiris about the drought that plagues Egypt,53 and especially the references to Cinyras as an ‘artist of music who

51

52 53

ACL2 11 Ε9 (from Argos, pp. 76–79, 229–235); Christodoulou 2009; Katsagani 2015, Ε59 (IG iv 583, phot., p. 321: Museum of Argos, E166: ‘312/311 protenditur’); Xydopoulos 2019, 421; see also Loizou 2019 (Nicocreon). ACL1–6, see esp. ACL1b pp. 55–70 (with figs. 4–11) and 125–126; Papasolomontos et al. 2011; Rodosthenous et al. 2017. See ACL1b pp. 71–72: his names Φρασίος (Apollod. Bibl. 2.113) and Thrasius (Hygin. Fab. 28: Pygmalionis fratris filius, and Ov. Ars am. 1.649) as ‘speaking names’: see Voskos 2012b; and

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competed with Apollo in singing’, and as ‘a priest of Aphrodite’ and an ‘oraclemonger’, for whom, according to Pindar, ‘hymns of the Cypriots’ resound,54 indicate that the oracular tradition, poetry and song in general, have a lengthy history in Cyprus. The first noteworthy fruit of this lengthy process, where the influence of the Homeric poems is most obvious, is the archaic epic poetry of Cyprus.55 There follows a period that is lengthy and ‘dark’, in terms of extant intellectual output, which mostly corresponds with the years of Egyptian rule (560–545bc) and with the first part of Persian rule (545–333 bc). But from the time of Evagoras i, king of Salamis (411–374bc), there is, once again, a solid foundation for important intellectual output, which is built on the close links between Cyprus and Athens,56 and bears rich fruit in all sectors of science and art throughout the Hellenistic period in particular, with Cyprus being fully integrated in the kingdom of the Ptolemies and with Alexandria as an additional pole of attraction for Cypriot intellectual creators.57 Lyric poetry is represented by (a) Cleon Courieus (4th/3rd c. bc), ‘composer of elegies’ (Κλέων ὁ Κουριεύς, ἐλεγειοποιός or ἐλεγοποιός), probably author of the Argonautica, from which Apollonius Rhodius also drew;58 (b) the following authors of iambi: (i.) Hermias of Curium (3rd c. bc, flor. 2nd quarter of this century), who parodies the Stoics;59 (ii.) Kastorion of Soli (4th/3rd c. bc), whose surviving verses To Pan were composed in such a way that every dipodia (διποδία, double-foot) of eleven letters gives meaning in full, so that it can both precede or follow in the same verse, and verses in honour of Demetrius of Phaleron, sung by the Chorus at the Dionysia (in 309/308 bc);60 (c) Antisthenes of Paphos (ca. 100bc), ‘maker of songs’ (μελοποιός), by whom two epi-

54 55 56 57 58

59 60

below, passim (esp. p. 27 n. 65, p. 34 with n. 90, pp. 35–36 with nn. 97–99); also ACL1b pp. 128–129: oracles in ancient Cyprus; Varvounis 1989. ACL1b 1 T1–T7, pp. 74–78, 192–203, 342–355, esp. T4 (Pind. Pyth. 2.13–17); Voskos 2012b, 24– 26 (Κινύρας and κινύρα—κινυρός and κινύρομαι). ACL1b pp. 79–123; Karalles et al. 2010, Papasolomontos et al. 2011, and below part 2.1 Isocr. Evag., esp. §§47–51; see Alexiou 2010, esp. 136–145 (on Evag. §§ 47–51); see also, ACL1b 125–133, and Christodoulou 2019 (esp. 265–266 and 278–282). ACL1b pp. 125–189 (with extensive bibliography). ACL1b 6 F1–F5, pp. 144–154, 288–295, 476–486; esp. 6 F2 (Schol. Apollon. Rhod. Arg. 1.623– 626a): according to Asclepiades of Myrlea (FGrH 697 F 5), Apollonius drew everything from Cleon (παρὰ Κλέωνος τὰ πάντα μετήνεγκεν Ἀπολλώνιος). See also Voskos 2022, 99–100 with nn. 5–6. ACL1b 8 F1–F2, pp. 170–179, 302–305, 495–497; esp. F1 (Athen. 13, 563d–e: Ἑρμείου τοῦ Κουριέως ἐκ τῶν Ἰάμβων). See also Voskos 2022, 99 with n. 4. ACL1b 7 F1–F3b, pp. 154–170, 296–301, 487–494; esp. F1 (Athen. 10, 454 f–455b), vv. 1–5.

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grams survive on Delos (and display strong Homeric influence),61 and (d) many anonymous epigrammatists.62 Dramatic poetry flourished in particular with Sopatros of Paphos (ca. 300 bc), author of comedies, parodies and phlyax plays; in all likelihood, he can be identified with Sosipatros.63 The tragic poet (ποιητὴς τραγωδιῶν) Dionysios, together with an anonymous author of satyr plays and a poet of comedies are also mentioned in an honorary inscription of the second century (probably 142 bc, from Paphos), as well as very many other people working at or for the theatre.64 Prose literature flourishes in all genres: (a.1) History, mythography and/or paradoxography, and scholarship, e.g. Aristos of Salamis (flor. ca. 230bc) and Asclepiades of Cyprus (perhaps 3rd c. bc), both of whom wrote, among other things, about Alexander (τῶν τὰ Ἀλεξάνδρου ἀναγραψάντων); the ‘historian’ Xenophon of Cyprus (3rd c. bc) whose work Cypriaca is ‘an ἱστορία of love-affairs about Cinyras and Myrrha and Adonis’; Alexander of Paphos who wrote about Homer (1st c. bc); Paeon of Amathus (perhaps 4th/3rd c. bc) who wrote a peculiar story (an ἴδιον λόγον) about Theseus and Ariadne, with reference to the custom of the ‘couvade’ or ‘arrenolocheia’ and to the grove (ἄλσος) of Ariadne Aphrodite (probably among other things about Amathus, perhaps in a book Cypriaca). (a.2) Rhetoric, e.g. Zeno of Citium (2nd c. ad), ‘rhetor or philosopher’, who wrote Περὶ στάσεων, Περὶ σχημάτων, Ὑπόμνημα εἰς Ξενοφῶντα, εἰς Λυσίαν, εἰς Δημοσθένην, Περὶ ἐπιχειρημάτων; Onasimus, of Cyprus or Sparta (4th c. ad), ‘historian and sophist’ (instead of ‘rhetor’), who wrote on Στάσεων διαιρέσεις,

61

62 63 64

ACL2 11 Ε1–Ε2 (Ἀντισθέν[ους Παφίου]—Ἀντισθένους Παφίου με[λοποιοῦ]), pp. 60–62, 64–69, 151–194; see e.g. Ε1.1–10: Ἀλκινόου μελάθροισι προσ̣[είκ]ελα δώματα ναίων … εἴθε χρόνοις κείνοις [σε λοχ]εύσα[το πα]τρ̣ ̣ὶς ἐραννά, / Τρώων καὶ Δαναῶν ἁν̣ίκ̣[α] μ̣έ[λπε μ]άχα̣ς / Μαιονίδας … (‘Equal to Alcinous’ halls are the dwellings you inhabit … if only your lovely homeland had brought you forward when the battles of the Trojans and the Greeks were sung by Maeon’s son [= Homer]’).—πα]τρ̣ ̣ὶς ἐραννά (v. 7) is Simalos’ (v. 2) lovely mother city, Salamis of Cyprus (E1.d–e Σίμ[α]λον̣ | Τιμάρχου Σαλ[αμί]νιον), and/or Cyprus, the mother country of Simalos and of the Paphian poet Antisthenes (see ACL2 E1.d–e and E1.7, with comm.). ACL2 pp. 49–62; Voskos 2000; Karalles et al. 2007. See also below part 2.2. ACL1b 10a. Σώπατρος ὁ Πάφιος, and 10b. Σωσίπατρος, pp. 180–189, 310–339, 502–557; Stamatis 2014; Nesselrath 2016. ACL1b pp. 125–127, 137–144 (esp. 139–149 with n. 100: the inscription); also ACL3 12 E6 on vv. 2–3 (pp. 303–304); Aneziri 1994, 179–198 (esp. 194 no. 1). See also (with the relevant scholia) two funerary epigrams: ACL2 11 Ε36 (from Citium, 2nd c. ad), for Agathocles or Agathocleon, poet and/or actor of mimes, who represents to the life (μιμολόγος and βιολόγος: see LSJ / LSJ Suppl. s.vv.); ACL2 11 E47 (ca. ad 200, perhaps from Paphos), for Paphios, author of comedies.

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Τέχνην δικανικὴν πρὸς Ἀψίνην, etc.; cf. Archelaus of Cyprus (1st c. bc), who wrote a strange story about Stesichorus and Helen. (a.3) Noteworthy is the chapter about Κύπριος αἶνος (“of a fable or other story with an implied message in it for the hearer”, according to M.L. West) and Κύπριος μῦθος; cf. the Κύπριος λόγος about Demonassa, ‘both a politician and a legislative woman’.65 (b) Medicine,66 with the doctor Apollonius of Citium (flor. 1st half of 1st c. bc) as a most characteristic example, whose work ‘On joints’ (Περὶ ἄρθρων πραγματεία) in three books is the only medical work from the Hellenistic period that survives in full (in the codex Laurentianus Graecus 74.7, containing thirty impressive examples of reduction of dislocated limbs of the human body).67 (c) Philosophy: the famous Stoic philosopher Zeno of Citium (4th/3rd c. bc), Clearchus of Soli (4th/3rd c. bc), Persaeus of Citium (3rd c. bc), Demonax of Cyprus (2nd c. ad), and other Cypriot philosophers.68 All of these genres are represented by a multitude of

65

66

67 68

See ACL3, nos. 12–30. (a.1) Ἄριστος ὁ Σαλαμίνιος (no. 14) and Ἀσκληπιάδης ὁ Κύπριος (no. 16), τῶν τὰ Ἀλεξάνδρου ἀναγραψάντων (see above p. 23 with n. 49); see also, 14 T1–T3 and F3– F5: Ἄριστος, as ‘author’ (συγγραφεύς, Τ1.12) on various things, and 16 F1a–b: Ἀσκληπιάδης about Pygmalion and the σαρκοφαγία (see above, p. 17 n. 25). Ξενοφῶν, Κύπριος ἱστορικός, Κυπριακά (28 F1: Suda s.v.). Ἀλέξανδρος ὁ Πάφιος (no. 13): see above p. 20 with n. 34. Παίων ὁ Ἀμαθούσιος (ACL3 no. 30 / ACL4 *33; Voskos 2022, 100–113 with figs 4–8; above nn. 12, 37, 42), F1; see also F2. Paeon who wrote τὰ περὶ Ἀμαθοῦντα; cf. * F3: Κρέων ἐν τῶι πρώτωι τῶν Κυπριακῶν; Παίων is probably a ‘speaking name’: the physician, ὁ ἰατρός, probably after the Homeric divine healer Παιήων (see esp. Il. 5.401–402 and 5.901–902), and Κρέων his real name (see Voskos 2012b, 30–31 with nn. 54–57).—(a.2) Ζήνων, Κιτιεύς, εἰ δὲ ῥήτωρ τις ἦν ἢ φιλόσοφος ἄδηλον (21 T1: Suda s.v.). Ὀνάσιμος, Κύπριος ἢ Σπαρτιάτης, ἱστορικὸς καὶ σοφιστής (29 T1: Sud. s.v.). Ἀρχέλαος ὁ Κύπριος (ACL3 15 F1): Ptol. Chenn. Hist. nov. fr. iv.17 Chatzis (Phot. Bibl. 190, 149b), perhaps the same with the τεχνογράφος ῥήτωρ of the same name (15 *T1.3–4: see pp. 390–391, s.vv.). More: Varvounis 1990, 20–27; Karalles et al. 2009 (esp. pp. 15–25); Matthaios (this volume)—(a.3) See West 1978 on Hes. Op. 202 s.v. αἶνον, cf. Heubeck and Hoekstra 1989 on Od. 14.508 s.v. αἶνος: “originally simply a ‘tale’, but here already a ‘tale containing an ulterior purpose’”; more: ACL3 pp. 71–75; see also Verdenius 1962, and Richardson 1993 on Il. 23.651–652. Δημώνασσα, πολιτική τε ὁμοῦ γυνὴ καὶ νομοθετική; see ACL3 9 F1: pp. 75–76, 132–133, 434–442 (* Dio Chrys., Orat. 64.2–4: De fort. ii); see also Varvounis 1990, 12–13, 26–27, 28–38; van Dijk 1997 (esp. pp. 79– 80). ACL4, pp. 77–91, nos. 31–47, with figs. 1–153, and plates i–xxx (nos. 38–47: doctors mentioned only on inscriptions; see, e.g., ACL4 44 [Πνυτοκράτης] F1, pp. 332–333 with fig. 94 and 725–729 with figs. 148 and 149, cf. TSal2 pp. 18–19 no. 30 with plate 3 nos. 30A–B); above pp. 13–-14 with nn. 6 and 9. See also: Karalles et al. 2009 (esp. pp. 25–36); Voskos 2011. See ACL4 no. 31, pp. 81–84 with nn. 15–24, 112–253 (with figs. 12–53), 345–565, plates i–xxx; von Staden 1994, esp. 24, 455–456, 512–513, 624 (s.v.); Voskos 2011, 57–61 and plate 2. ACL5, Zeno of Citium (esp. pp. 15–39); ACL1b 9 F1–F3 (frr. in verse), pp. 179–180, 306–309, 498–501; above p. 20 with n. 34 (about Homer). See also Hadjioannou vi 1992, 89–135; Gabaude 1996.—ACL6, esp. pp. xv–lxviii; Hadjioannou vi (Clearchus), pp. 12–23, 139–156.

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Cypriot authors, who overcame the difficulties caused by distance and became more widely famous within the Greek world. Extremely interesting in many different aspects and especially concerning the use and evolution of the Greek language and script in Cyprus, are the countless prose inscriptions, most of which are Greek,69 as are all the verse inscriptions. Particularly worth noticing is an inscription from Palaepaphos, ca. 100 bc (ACL3 12 E7, fig. 9): Ἀφροδίτηι Παφίαι τὸ Κο̣[ινὸν τὸ Κυπ]ρ̣ίων ̣ / Ποτάμωνα Αἰγύπτου, τὸν ἀντιστρ̣ά̣τη̣ ̣ γ̣ον τῆς / νήσου καὶ ἐπὶ τῶν μετάλλων, τὸν γυμνασίαρχον, / εὐνοίας χάριν (‘To the Paphian Aphrodite. The Cypriots collectively [offered the statue of] Potamon, son of Aegyptus, who was Deputy General of the island, responsible for the mines, gymnasiarch, as a favour for his good disposition’). As Ino Nicolaou says (CIS, plate xxxi), “[t]he importance of this text lies in the fact that it contains the first mention of the Κοινὸν Κυπρίων in Hellenistic Cyprus and of the title ἐπὶ τῶν μετάλλων held by the person who was responsible for island’s mines. This is further evidence of the significant role that these mines played under the Ptolemies, more particularly in the minting of coins”. According to Maier and Karageorghis, this inscription, like others from the same area, “illustrate the life of the city and the importance of the Sanctuary” of the Paphian Aphrodite.70 The extant fragments of ancient Cypriot authors are scanty (even those of the famous Stoic philosopher Zeno of Citium), and most are transmitted through the indirect tradition. Nevertheless, names of authors and titles of their works attest to the very rich and often remarkable intellectual output on the part of the Greek Cypriots. 2.1 The Homerising Archaic Epic Poetry of Cyprus (i) Pausanias (10.24.3: ACL1b 2 F1) notes that the Cypriots (who also claim Homer as their own) say that his (sc. Homer’s) mother is Themisto, one of the

69

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With the exception, obviously, of the Phoenician and the Latin inscriptions, all prose, as are also the so-called Eteocypriot texts (see Masson 1983, pp. 57 and 85–87; Steele 2019, esp. chapter 3, 128–146). Maier–Karageorghis 1984, 278 (with fig. 251 and n. 34). See ACL3 pp. 69–71 with nn. 1– 14, and 12 Ε1–Ε9: select prose inscriptions, pp. 88–101 (with figs. 1–9) and 284–313 (with figs. 66–68). See also Voskos 2022, passim (esp. 99–105, with fig. 3, and 121–122).—The syllabic inscriptions: Masson 1983 (see esp. pp. 30–87), Masson–Mitford 1986, Steele 2013 / 2019 (see also the epigrams ACL2 11 E5, E6, Ε7; cf. the alphabetic epigrams 11 E8, E15, E59, E61: more, below p. 35 with nn. 94–96).—The alphabetic inscriptions (among others): Mitford 1950, 1961a, 1961b, 1971; Nicolaou 1963–1994 (ICA1–33), 1967–1969 (esp. ii); Mitford and Nicolaou 1974; Kringos 2008; Mehl 2019; Kantirea–Summa 2020; see also this paper, passim (on Salamis, Paphos, etc.).

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native women; he then mentions that they say that Homer’s birth had been foretold through six Homerising verses by Euclo(u)s (Εὔκλους/Εὖκλος71), which refer to the birth of a great singer ‘in sea-girt Cyprus’ (ἐν εἰναλίῃ Κύπρῳ) and which are included in Pausanias’ text72 (2 F1 vv. 1–6):

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καὶ τότ᾽ ἐν εἰναλίηι Κύπρωι μέγας ἔσσετ᾽ ἀοιδός, ὅν τε Θεμιστὼ τέξει ἐπ᾽ ἀγροῦ δῖα γυναικῶν νόσφι πολυκτεάνοιο πολύκλειτον Σαλαμῖνος. Κύπρον δὲ προλιπὼν διερός θ᾽ ὑπὸ κύμασιν ἀρθείς, Ἑλλάδος εὐρυχόρου μοῦνος κακὰ πρῶτος ἀείσας ἔσσεται ἀθάνατος καὶ ἀγήραος ἤματα πάντα. And then in sea-girt Cyprus there will be a mighty singer, Whom Themisto, lady fair, shall bear in the fields, A man of renown, far from rich Salamis. Leaving Cyprus, tossed and wetted by the waves, The first and only poet to sing of the woes of spacious Greece, For ever shall he be deathless and ageless. trans. jones / ormerad 1918

71 72

ACL1b 2. ΕΥΚΛΟ(Υ)Σ: Τ1–Τ3, F1–F10, pp. 79–83, 204–215, 356–368; Lebel 1994, 321–322, with translation of the six verses (see also below, n. 73); Kringos 2003; Stamatis 2012. Paus. 10.24.3: Κύπριοι δέ (οἰκειοῦνται γὰρ δὴ καὶ οὗτοι Ὅμηρον) Θεμιστώ τε αὐτῶι μητέρα εἶναι τῶν τινα ἐπιχωρίων γυναικῶν λέγουσι καὶ ὑπὸ Εὔκλου προθεσπισθῆναι τὰ ἐς τὴν γένεσιν τὴν Ὁμήρου φασὶν ἐν τοῖσδε (vv. 1–6). Ταῦτα ἡμεῖς ἀκούσαντές τε καὶ ἐπιλεξάμενοι τοὺς χρησμούς … οὔτε ἐς πατρίδα οὔτε περὶ ἡλικίας Ὁμήρου γράφομεν. (‘The Cypriots, for they too own Homer, say that his mother is Themisto, one of the local women, and claim that Euclus prophesied the events concerning Homer’s birth with the following verses [vv. 1–6]. After we heard these things and collected the oracles … we write neither about Homer’s homeland nor about his time’).—What exactly Pausanias says before and after the six verses is ambiguous; the verbs οἰκειοῦνται, λέγουσι, φασίν can be variously translated (see LSJ s.vv.). Salamis of Cyprus (v. 3) was one of the towns that claimed Homer (see above, pp. 19–20 with n. 34), and Θεμιστώ is his mother (cf. Θεμίστην as his mother’s name in the Certamen Hom. et Hes.; see West 2003b, ‘Lives of Homer’ 1.3, μητέρα δὲ οἳ … Θεμίστην … with n. 4: ‘Θεμιστώ Barnes e Paus. 10.24.3’, i.e. Pausanias’ text on Euclus cited here). As Lebel 1994, pp. 321–322 (cf. pp. 316–317 on Hdt. 2.116–117: Cypria [ACL1b 3] F9 / fr. 14 B. and GEF, 12 EGF), says: “Pausanias, à l’instar de Strabon, lit et cite des oracles, rapport ce qu’il a entendu dire, sans exprimer d’opinion personnel. Par example, au sujet d’Homère, de sa naissance et de son âge. Les Chypriotes le tenaient pour l’un des leurs, comme ils tenaint Stasinos pour l’auteur des Chants Cypriens … Pausanias, comme Hérodote, ne se prononce pas sur la question d’Homère”.

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The references, however, to ‘rich Salamis’ as the birthplace of the ‘great singer’ and of Themisto as his mother seem to lead to Euclus himself (vv. 2– 3). We have a comparable autobiographical comment in the Homeric Hymn to Apollo (h.Hom. 3), vv. 166–173, where the poet instructs the chorus of Delian maidens, whenever a stranger arrives and asks who the sweetest singer is, to answer that he is a blind man, who dwells in rocky Chios; since the hymn was (mistakenly) attributed to Homer, the obvious consequence was that he was the one referred to here.73 These six verses of Euclus, ‘the Cypriot diviner’,74 seem to have formed the main part of a larger oracle. In the oracular tradition the typical phrase ‘and then’ (καὶ τότε) usually follows the phrases ‘but when (ever)’ (ἀλλ᾽ ὅταν / ἀλλ᾽ ὁπόταν), which introduces in two or more verses the time and / or circumstances whereby the oracle will come into effect. Although Pausanias (10.14.6 / ACL1b 2 F2) also shows Euclus prophesying before the prophet Bacis the campaign of the ‘barbarian’ against Greece, he does not preserve the relevant verses of the oracle.75 We can simply assume that the usual vagueness in oracles allowed in this case too the oracle to adjust to the circumstances. It cannot be ruled out that one such reference to a barbarian attack or, in general terms, to the confrontation between Greeks and barbarians was, for Euclus, the landmark for the birth of a great singer in Cyprus, one who, ‘leaving Cyprus’ (Κύπρον προλιπών) and singing about the disasters that befell Greece, becomes immortal and forever ageless.76 There survive from Hesychius, in any case, idiomatic words (γλῶσσαι, ‘glossae’) by Euclus recalling the very ancient Cypriot dialect77 and giving a different

73 74

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We may also say that this comment contributed to, and may have possibly triggered, the rumour that Homer was blind. See ACL1b 1 T6.3 s.v. χρησμολόγοι, pp. 350–351, and 2 T1.1 s.v. χρησμολόγους, p. 356 (also, on 1 T6.4–28 [pp. 351–354] and 2 T2 [pp. 356–357] about the seers, prophets, etc. mentioned there); How–Wells 1990 on Hdt. 6.3 s.v. χρησμολόγος (p. 127). Paus. 10.14.6 Στρατείαν δὲ τὴν ἐπὶ τὴν Ἑλλάδα ἀπὸ τοῦ βαρβάρου (sc. τοῦ Μήδου) ἔστιν εὑρεῖν προρρηθεῖσαν μὲν ἐν τοῖς Βάκιδος χρησμοῖς, πρότερον δ᾽ ἔτι Εὔκλωι τὰ ἐς αὐτὴν πεποιημένα ἐστίν. (‘One can find the prophecy about the barbarians’ (sc. Medes’) expedition against Greece in Bacis’ oracles; but even earlier, however, matters related to it were composed by Euclus’).—Pausanias says nothing more here about these oracles of Euclus (cf. 10.24.3: ACL1b 2 F1) and Bacis (cf. 4.27.4 [two oracles with two verses each], 9.17.5–6 [with six verses: ἀλλ᾽ ὁπόταν … καὶ τότε δὴ … ], 10.12.11 [2 T1.3–5], esp. 10.32.8–11 [with reference to Herotodus and the Persian Wars, and to the relevant oracles of Bacis]; cf. also Hdt. 8.20.1–2, 77.1–2, 96.2, and 9.43). About Bacis and Bacides see How–Wells 1990 on Hdt. 8.20.1. More: ACL1b 1 T6.3–4 s.v. Βάκιδες (p. 351) and 2 T2 on v. 8, Βάκιδoς (p. 357). ACL1b 2 F1–F2: pp. 79–83, 206–209, 358–363. ACL1b 2 F3–F10: pp. 207–215, 363–368. See also: Hadjioannou iiib (Kυπρίων γλῶσσαι), s.vv.

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dimension to his work, since he appears to be moving between myth and history, so that he can be compared in part to Orpheus and in part to Homer and Stasinus (see below), while his floruit can reasonably be placed around the mid-seventh century bc.78 (ii) Stasinus of Cyprus (Στασῖνος ὁ Κύπριος) is the most likely poet of the Cypria; this work must be set, in its current form, after Homer and Hesiod, that is, close to them in terms of both chronology and style.79 Hegesino(u)s (or Hegesias, from Salamis) is also linked in ancient sources with the composition (or, perhaps, a more recent variation) of the Cypria,80 and perhaps even Cyprias of Halicarnassus, according to one suggestion (he could be linked, perhaps, to a local variation of the Cypria).81 (iii) The question of authorship for the extant Homeric Hymns to Aphrodite (Εἰς Ἀφροδίτην, h.Hom. 5, 6, 10 / Aphr. [ACL1b 5] Y1, Y2, Y3) is still unanswered. Many indications, however, seem to lead to Cyprus and to the festivals in honour of Aphrodite and Adonis (an important part of which were also poetic contests).82 In the longest of these three hymns (h.Hom. 5 / Aphr. Y1) the ‘all-gold Cypris Aphrodite’ of the prologue (1–2 Μοῦσά μοι ἔννεπε ἔργα πολυχρύσου Ἀφροδίτης / Κύπριδος) is saluted in the epilogue with the words Χαῖρε θεά Κύπροιο ἐϋκτιμένης μεδέουσα (292 ‘Hail, goddess, ruling the well-built Cyprus’).83 The latter verse

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80 81

82 83

ACL1b p. 83: after Homer and Hesiod (close to them in terms of both chronology and style).—The exact and safe chronological order of the poets and poems of the early archaic period remains still largely unattainable. For the Cypria and the other archaic epic poems of Cyprus, see more below; also ACL1b, esp. pp. 83, 88–93 and 95, 122–123; Voskos 2016b, 342–346. ACL1b 3. ΚΥΠΡΙΑ ΕΠΗ T1–T7 and F1–F26, pp. 83–93, 216–259, 369–411; see also: Papathomas 2017; Carvοunis 2020. According to Bernabé 19962 p. 43: ‘KYPRIA, auctor Stasinus Cyprius, saec. vii’; cf. West 2003a, p. 13 / 2013, pp. 63–65, and Davies 2019, pp. 1–3 and 6–8; alii alia. ACL1b 4. ΗΓΗΣΙΑΣ / ΗΓΗΣΙΝΟ(Υ)Σ T1–T2 and F1, pp. 93–95, 260–263, 412–414. See ACL1b F4, pp. 232–234 (text and apparatus criticus, translation and note) and 377–381, esp. 2–4 s.v. Δημοδάμας [ca. 300 bc] (…) Κύπρια, Ἁλικαρνασσέως: see also 3 Τ1–7 p. 369, with reference to West 2003a, 64–65 (65, translation): ‘Halicarnassian inscription (second century bc). (This city) sowed the seed of Panyassis, famous master of epic verse; it gave birth to Cyprias, the poet of Trojan epic’ (64, text: ἔσπειρεν Πανύασσιν ἐπῶν ἀρίσημον ἄνακτα / Ἰλιακῶν Κυπρίαν τίκτεν ἀοιδοθέτην). See Voskos 2004, 22–41 (esp. 22–25) / 2016c, 3–11; also, below, p. 82 with n. 86. West 2003b, 183 translates v. 292 as follows: ‘I salute you, goddess, ruling queen of wellcultivated Cyprus’. See LSJ [a.] s.v. ἐϋκτίμενος, cf. [b.] s.v. μεδέων. See also: below, pp. 32–-33 on h.Hom. X / Aphr. Y3.3–4 Χαῖρε θεὰ Σαλαμῖνος ἐϋκτιμένης μεδέουσα / εἰναλίης τε Κύπρου (West’s translation: ‘salute you, goddess, queen of well-cultivated Salamis and of all Cyprus’).

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recalls, inter alia, an incomplete silver cup, dated to around 700bc. (ca. 710– 675 bc), that appears to have belonged to the famous ‘Treasure of Curium’ and is housed in the Cesnola Collection of the Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York (74.51.4557).84 In its external zone a sympotic scene is represented with Cypro-syllabic inscriptions over a male and a female figure: [pa-si]-le-se (= [βασι]λής, dialectic variant of βασιλεύς, the king) and ku-po-ro-[?]-to-u-sa (Κυπρομέδουσα, which appears to be the name of the queen, probably referring to the great Anassa [Ἄνασσα] of the island, the one ‘ruling the well-built Cyprus’). The hypothesis that the Hymn was composed or, at least, changed to this form—in Cyprus, perhaps ca. the mid-seventh century bc, after Homer and Hesiod, near them chronologically and under their influence, as it appears from the overall comparative analysis, is credible. From among all hymns, both Homeric and other, only here and in what is, in all likelihood, a Cypriot hymn, in six verses, to the ‘Cyprus-born’ goddess (h.Hom. 10 / Aphr. Y3), is there a special mention in the greeting within the epilogue of the place of worship of the deity to whom the hymn is addressed. In the long Hymn to Aphrodite (h.Hom. 5 / Aphr. Y1), Cyprus is also mentioned in verses 58 ff., where the goddess of love dresses up and adorns herself before leaving to meet Anchises, with many verses in this section drawn from the Odyssey and the Iliad. The scene of Aphrodite’s adornment also appears in the Cypria (F4–F5 v., B., EGF / 5–6 GEF) and in the sixth Homeric Hymn to Aphrodite,85 where there is mention of the ‘entire Cyprus, surrounded by the sea’ (h.Hom. 6 / Aphr. Y2.2–3, πάσης Κύπρου εἰναλίης) and reference to poetic contests in the epilogue (h.Hom. 6 / Aphr. Y2.19–21); the latter recalls the certamen between Homer and Hesiod, but also contests in ancient Cyprus as well as in the more recent poetic tradition of the island, where poets improvise with short oral poems (‘τσιαττίσματα’).86 The tenth, brief Homeric Hymn to Aphrodite, the ‘Cyprus-born Cytherea’ (h.Hom. 10 / Aphr. Y3.1 Κυπρογενῆ Κυθέρειαν ἀείσομαι …),87 is of special interest, as it mentions Salamis in particular and Cyprus in general in its epilogue:

84 85 86

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See Karageorghis 2000, 188–190, and ACL1b, 463–464 (with further bibliography). See also above, p. 21 with n. 39. Cf. Pandora’s adornment in Hesiod’s Th. 570–584 and Op. 69–82; see West 1966, 325–329 and West 1978, 160–167. ACL1b 5 Y2.19–21 Χαῖρ᾽ ἑλικοβλέφαρε γλυκυμείλιχε, δὸς δ᾽ ἐν ἀγῶνι / νίκην τῶιδε φέρεσθαι, ἐμὴν δ᾽ ἔντυνον ἀοιδήν. / αὐτὰρ ἐγὼ καὶ σεῖο καὶ ἄλλης μνήσομ᾽ ἀοιδῆς: (West 2003) ‘I salute you, o sweet-and-gentle one of curling lashes: grant me victory in this competition, and order my singing. And I will take heed both for you and for other singing.’ See also our comm. on these vv., esp. s.v. ἐν ἀγῶνι (ACL1b pp. 471–473), and below h.Hom. 10 / Aphr. Y3, with our comm. on vv. 1 s.v. ἀείσομαι and 5 s.v. ἱμερόεσσαν ἀοιδήν (ACL1b pp. 474 and 475). ACL1b 5 Y3, pp. 101–107 and 121–122, 286–287, 474–475; see pp. 102 and 474 on Κυπρογενὴς Κυθέρεια, with reference to Hes. Th. 188–205, esp. 198–199: gods and men call Aph-

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Κυπρογενῆ Κυθέρειαν ἀείσομαι, ἥ τε βροτοῖσι μείλιχα δῶρα δίδωσιν, ἐφ᾽ ἱμερτῶι δὲ προσώπωι αἰεὶ μειδιάει καὶ ἐφ᾽ ἱμερτὸν θέει ἄνθος. Χαῖρε θεὰ Σαλαμῖνος ἐϋκτιμένης μεδέουσα εἰναλίης τε Κύπρου· δὸς δ᾽ ἱμερόεσσαν ἀοιδήν. αὐτὰρ ἐγὼ καὶ σεῖο καὶ ἄλλης μνήσομ᾽ ἀοιδῆς. Of Cyprus-born Cytherea I will sing, who gives mortals honeyed gifts. On her lovely face she is always smiling, and a lovely bloom runs over it. I salute you, goddess, queen of well-cultivated Salamis and of all Cyprus: grant me beautiful singing. And I will take heed both for you and for other singing. trans. west 2003b

The phrase Σαλαμῖνος ἐϋκτιμένης μεδέουσα recalls the epilogue of the longer Homeric Hymn to Aphrodite (h.Hom. 5 / Aphr. Y1) with the metrically equivalent Κύπροιο ἐϋκτιμένης μεδέουσα (as well as Κυπρομέδουσαν). The mention in the epilogue (h.Hom. 10 / Aphr. Y3.3–4) of the Cypriot Salamis (not Paphos, home of the widely renowned sanctuary of Aphrodite) appears to show the place of composition—or, at least, recitation and change to its current form—of this tenth Homeric Hymn, in the context of local festivals of the ‘Cyprus-born’ goddess. On the other hand, the phrase εἰναλίης τε Κύπρου (varia lectio καὶ πάσης Κύπρου) recalls the beginning of the sixth hymn (h.Hom. vi / Aphr. Y2.2–3) through the phrase πάσης Κύπρου εἰναλίης (‘the sea-girt Cyprus’), and Euclus’ ‘oracle’ through the phrase ἐν εἰναλίῃ Κύπρῳ, where there is the reference to πολυκτεάνοιο Σαλαμῖνος (‘the exceedingly rich Salamis’) as the birthplace of the great singer, Euclus himself. All this, together with the reference to ἐϋκτιμένης Σαλαμῖνος (‘well-built Salamis’, h.Hom. 10.4) in a way that projects Salamis of Cyprus as the most likely place of the hymn’s composition, render credible the hypothesis that Euclus, ‘the Cypriot diviner’ (χρησμολόγος), is the most likely composer of this tenth Homeric Hymn to Aphrodite. Moreover, it is credible that he himself could also have composed—in its current form—the long Homeric Hymn to Aphrodite 5 / Aphr. Y1) with the strong Homeric influence and the famous prophecy about the birth and future of Aeneas, but also with the mention of Cyprus in the epilogue—and perhaps also the sixth Homeric Hymn to Aphrodite (h.Hom. 6 / rodite Κυθέρειαν, ὅτι προσέκυρσε Κυθήροις· Κυπρογενέα δ᾽, ὅτι γέντο περικλύστῳ ἐνὶ Κύπρῳ (‘“Cytherea”, since she arrived at Cythera, and “Cyprogenes”, since she was born on seagirt Cyprus’, Most). See also ACL1b 5 Y1.6 s.v. ἐϋστέφανος Κυθέρεια; Voskos 2016c, 25–27.

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Aphr. Y2).88 It is worth noting that West, in his 2003 Loeb edition of the Homeric Hymns, argues that not only the tenth but also the sixth Homeric Hymn were composed in Cyprus (in Salamis and Paphos respectively).89 It is with these hymns, alongside other things, that Euclus must have gained his μέγα κλέος. But what was his real name, since ‘Euclo(u)s’ (Εὔκλους/Εὖκλος) is probably a ‘speaking name’ (ὁ εὐκλεής)?90 What was the rest of his work about and what is his relationship with Stasinus of Cyprus, with Hegesias/Hegesino(u)s of Salamis, and with Cyprias of Halicarnassus? How unreasonable would it be to say that he himself, the ‘Cypriot diviner’ and ‘author’ (συγγραφεύς), could also have something to do with a first form of the Cypria (*Πρωτο-Κύπρια), as this ‘Homerising’ epic poem is surely rich in prophecies?91 On the basis of our limited evidence, however, these questions remain open, and challenging. 2.2 Epigrams From among the surviving epigrams of ancient Cyprus, all written in the Greek language, most are engraved in inscriptions (mostly from different parts of Cyprus and only nine from elsewhere), whereas very few have been transmitted through the literary tradition.92 Apart from the two epigrams of Antisthenes that were mentioned above (ACL2 E1 and E2), and perhaps also the two-verse E57 about the weaver Helicon,93 the other ones seem to be anonymous. The oldest of these epigrams belong to the classical period, many to the Hellenistic 88 89

90 91

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See ACL1 pp. 89 (72ff.), 343; ACL1b pp. 123 (99ff.), 463, 474–475. West 2003b, pp. 16–17: “Hymn 6, again to Aphrodite, is notable for its explicit reference to a rhapsodic contest which the poet hopes to win [vv. 19–20]. The emphasis on the goddess’s power in Cyprus suggests that island as the venue; the panegyris at Old Paphos (Strabo 14.6.3) might be a plausible occasion. The description of Aphrodite’s dressing and adornment resembles fragments 5–6 of the Cypria [F4–F5 v., EGF], an epic that also came from Cyprus (…). Hymn 10 (Aphrodite), like Hymn 6, dwells on the goddess’s power in Cyprus, and in this case the city of Salamis is specifically mentioned. That is where the poem is likely to have been performed.” Voskos 2012b, 23–24 (with nn. 39–41); see also above p. 24 n. 53 (with more references in this essay). See esp. ACL1b pp. 81–83, 92–93, 122–123 (and pp. 356–357, on 2 T2: Εὔκλους and other συγγραφεῖς); see also Davies 2019, 201f., esp. 202: ‘That poem [sc. the Cypria] was certainly rich in oracles and prophecies (see Kullmann 1960: 221–224)’. ACL2, see esp. pp. 52–62. See also: Karalles et al. 2007; Voskos 2000 / 2022, 116–120 and 123–127 with figs. 9–12; Theodoropoulou 1997; Gavrielatos 2020. ACL2 [11] Ε1 and E2: see above, pp. 25–26 with n. 61; Ε57 (Athen. 2, 48b): dedicatory epigram of an elegiac distich on an embroidered textile dedicated in Delphi, a work of Helicon, son of Acesas, of Salamis in Cyprus, ‘on whose hands the revered Pallas dispensed divine grace’ (vv. 1–2): Τεῦξ᾽ Ἑλικὼν Ἀκεσᾶ Σαλαμίνιος, ὧι ἐνὶ χερσὶ / πότνια θεσπεσίην Παλλὰς ἔχευε χάριν (ACL2 pp. 130–131, 426–428).

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period, and a large part to Roman times. Until the end of the Cypro-classical period, they are largely inscribed in a Cypriot syllabary or accompanied by a prose syllabic inscription; eventually, however, the alphabetic script dominates (and this, in a larger scale, is also the case for prose texts). As in other cases, there is no lack, here too, of epigrams in the local dialect,94 or ones which have a heavy presence of Cypriot dialectal types, sometimes up to late antiquity, like E49 from Paphos, from the third century ad, with forms such as τοὺς ὑμήλικας (‘peers’, ‘of the same age’, mostly of young persons), ὁ σσπείρας (‘father’), ὀσστᾶ (‘bones’), μητὰ σσοῦ/μητά σσου (‘with you/together with you’). On the whole, both in terms of diction and metre and in terms of structure and content, the epigrams of Cyprus basically present the same characteristic traits as the epigrams of every other Greek area. Characteristic examples, all written in Greek, with idioms of the ancient Cypriot dialect: (a) the sole surviving votive epigram of Androcles, the last king of Amathus, in alphabetic script accompanied by prose syllabic inscription (ACL2 Ε15): ‘A treasure to Cypria and this image of the form of his son Orestheus were offered by king Androcles.’95 (b) Four alphabetic epigrams of the Paphian king Nicocles (ACL2 11 E12, E13, E14, E59); here is the first: ‘This spacious city with your impulse, Nicocles, set a high garland around it from the towers. (This altar to the goddess) was set up by Archaeus.’96 Of exceptional importance in the epigrams is the sophisticated use of ‘speaking names’.97 Examples can be drawn from the one-line epigram E29 about Polemon (Πολέμων), son of Aristarchus, who ‘lost the battle for his life at the

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Mostly in an archaic Cypriot dialect: Arcado-Cypriot in the inscriptions in Cypriot syllabary, partly because of the connection between language and writing. See Masson 1983, esp. p. 84; Egetmeyer 2010; see also above n. 13. ACL2 Ε15 (Amathus, ca. 315–310 bc): Θ̣ησαυρὸν Κυπρίαι κ̣α̣ὶ ̣ [Ὀρε]σ̣θέως ̣ εἰ[κόνα] μορ[φ]ῆ̣̣ [ς] / υἱοῦ τήνδε ἀνέθηκε Ἀνδρ̣οκλῆς βασιλεύς.—Supra distichon elegiacum literatura alphabetica incisum, ta|-i-te-o—|i, τᾶ|ι θε|ῶι (‘à la déesse …’) literatura syllabica incisa dubitans leg. et suppl. Masson coll. ICS 6, 7, 90 etc. (…). Accompanied by prose syllabic inscription are also the alphabetic epigrams 11 E8 (Paphos, perhaps late 4th c. bc), 11 E59 (see below), 11 E61 (Paphos, 5th/4th c. bc). ACL2 Ε12 (Paphos, ca. 312 bc): Εὐρύχορος πόλις ἅδε τεᾶι, Νικόκλεες, ὁρμᾶι / ὑψηλὸμ πύργων ἀμφ[έ]θετο στέφανον. / Ἀρχα]ῖος τ[έ]λεσε[ν]. Ε13 (Ledra [Nicosia], ca. 312 bc): Λ̣εδρίωι ἐν τεμένει Π[αφίαι γέρας ἐκ πολυκλείτων] / Ἀρχαῖος πατέρων ἔστ[ασ’ ἀγασσάμενος] / υἱὸν Τιμάρχου Παφίων [βασιλῆα φέριστον,] / Νικοκλέα, Κινύρου θε[ιοτάτου γενεᾶς]. Ε14 (Paphos, ̣ ca. 312 bc): [ … Π]α̣φίαι γέρας εἰκόνα τάνδε / [ … μ]νᾶμα θυαπολίας / [ … ]ω̣ν ἱερὸν νόον ἤθεσι τέχνας / [ … Κινύ]ρα κλειζόμενος γενεᾶς. E 59, accompanied by prose syllabic inscription (Paphos, ca. 312 bc). See also: Voskos 2000, 171–173, 178. Voskos 2012b, pp. 31–39, on epigrams (esp. pp. 33–36 on ACL2 11 E29 and E33); see also above p. 24 n. 53 (with more references in this essay).

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age of three’ (Υἱὸς Ἀριστάρχου Πολέμων τριετὴς λίπεν ἦμαρ),98 and from epigram E33 about Sosipatra (Σωσιπάτρα),99 whose father Gamos (Γάμος) raised her with the most tender care in expectation of a good marriage (γάμος) for his daughter; she, however, ‘was torn like a tender olive branch by the wind’s gusts from the bed-chamber of her father’s house, ἄγαμος (unmarried)’: Ὡς] δ᾽ ἁπαλὸν ῥειπαῖς ἀνεμώδεσιν ἔρνος ἐλαίας Σωσ[ιπάτρα] ἐκ πατρικῶν ἐξεκόπην θαλάμων. οὔνομά σοι κενεὸν παρῆν Γάμο[ς]· ἃν γὰρ ἔθρεψες φροντίσιν ἁδίσταις, νῦν γενόμαν ἄγαμος.100 Overall, the Cypriot epigrams attest to a noteworthy intellectual production and there is no lack of poetic masterpieces amongst them, such as epigram E6 from Golgoi of the end of the fourth century bc, the first verse of which recalls the well-known Cypriot saying: μεάλοβ βοῦκκοβ βάλε τζιαὶ μιάλολ λόομ μὲμ πεῖς101 (‘take a big mouthful, but do not speak a big word’):

5

98 99

100 101

102

103

Χαίρετε. Γράσθι, Ϝάναξ, κὰ(π) πῶθι· Ϝέπο(μ) μέγα μή ποτε Ϝείσης. θεοῖς πόρο ἀθανάτοις ἐρεραμένα πά(ν)τ᾽ ἀκοράστως.102 οὐ γάρ τι ἐπίσταἱς ἀ(ν)θρώπωι θεῶι, ἀλ(λ)᾽ ἔτυχ᾽ ἁ χεὶρ θεῶι κυμερῆναι πά(ν)τα, τὰ ἀ(ν)θρώποι φρονέωἱ.103 Χαίρετε.

ACL2 11 Ε29, pp. 100–101, 316–318; Karalles et al. 2007, pp. 34–35 with fig. Ε29. (v. 2) Σωσ[ιπάτρα] dubitanter supplevimus; num Σωσ[τράτa]?; Σωσ[τράτη] Peek: Σώσ[θενες] Mitford (falso) / (v. 3) Γάμος Peek, et nos coll. RDAC 1981 200 no. 19 et SEG 31 (1981) 353 no. 1342 Π̣ρῖμ̣ ̣ ε̣ / Γάμου | χ̣ ρ̣η̣σ̣τέ,̣ χα̣ῖρ̣ ̣ε,̣ al. (vid. adnot. ad loc.): γάμο[ς] Mitford et al. (cf. the ̣ apparatus criticus in my edition with the relevant comments). See also Voskos 2000, 177, 181 (fig. E33) / 2016c, 23–24 (with fig. 8). See ACL2 for further commentary on these epigrams (see, additionally for this volume, earlier bibliography on the epigrams.). Mὲμ πεῖς!: with a long ε (μὲν πεῖς > μὲμ πεῖς), instead of μὴν πεῖς; cf., among others, μὲλ λαλεῖς: ‘don’t babble’ (< μὲν λαλεῖς, instead of μὴν λαλεῖς), μὲφ φωνάζεις: ‘don’t shout’ (< μὲν φωνάζεις, instead of μὴ φωνάζεις); see also above, p. 22 n. 40; Papangelou 2001, s.v. μέν. pa-ta-ko-ra-sa-to-se = ΠΑΤΑΚΟΡΑΣΤΩΣ: πά(ν)τ᾽ ἀκοράστως (insatiately), or / and πά(ν)τα κοραστῶς (satiately). We translate v. 2 (ACL2 p. 73): Στοὺς θεοὺς ἀνήκει τοὺς ἀθάνατους ὅσα ἀκόρεστα ποθοῦν νὰ τά ’χουν (see also pp. 216–218, commentary on v. 2). On the accentuation of the word ἀ(ν)θρώποι (a-to-ro-po-i), with -οι as a long syllable (without epic correption here, because of metrical requirements), cf. present day forms in the Cypriot dialect (e.g. δημάρχοι, δασκάλοι).

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Hail! Eat, master, and drink. Never speak a boastful word. It becomes the immortal gods to own everything they desire insatiately. Because man has no power upon god, but the hand of god happens to rule all that is in man’s mind. Hail! Although Homer was not, of course, born in Cyprus, the island rightly boasts about its Homeric legacy: its rich archaic Homerising poetry; its ancient and modern literature inspired by Homer; and its Homeric diction, customs, and ideals. In the words of the Nobel laureate Giorgos Seferis (Ἡμερολόγιο Καταστρώματος, Γ’, Στὰ περίχωρα τῆς Κερύνειας, vv. 40–41), “Αὐτὸς ὁ κόσμος δὲν εἶναι ὁ δικός μας, / εἶναι τοῦ Ὁμήρου, / ἡ καλύτερη φράση ποὺ ἄκουσα γι᾽ αὐτὸ τὸν τόπο” (‘This world is not ours, it’s Homer’s, the best phrase I heard for this place’).

Acknowledgements This chapter was written especially for the present volume and it is an updated version in English of older research that has, to a large extent, appeared within the volumes of ACL (1995–2008, esp. volumes 1–4). References to secondary literature in this overview of ancient Cypriot history and literature are, of course, selective, and I have opted to point readers both to more recent works and to those containing detailed discussion of the issues at hand and useful bibliography. Finally, for their helpful suggestions as I was planning this introductory chapter, I would like to thank Grammatiki Karla and Katerina Carvounis (the latter also for help when translating into English poetic texts included in this paper, when translations are not otherwise mentioned).

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Mavrojannis, Th. (2019b). The Temple of Zeus Olympios at Salamis as Capitolium and the Temple of Zeus Olbios at Olba-Diocaesarea in Cilicia between Antiochus iv Epiphanes and Ptolemy vi Philometor. In: SalCy, pp. 509–544. Mehl, A. (2000). Ἑλληνιστικὴ Κύπρος. In: HCy2, pp. 619–761. Mehl, A. (2019). The Epigraphical Representation of Ptolemaic Personel and the Position of Hellenistic Salamis among the Cypriot Cities. In: SalCy, pp. 469–489. Michaelides D. (1992). Cypriot Mosaics. Revised edition. Nicosia. Michaelides, D., ed. (2013). Epigraphy, Numismatics, Prosopography and History of Ancient Cyprus. Papers in honour of Ino Nicolaou. Uppsala. Michaelidou-Nicolaou, I. (1976). Prosopography of Ptolemaic Cyprus. Göteborg. Mills, S. (1997). Theseus, Tragedy and the Athenian Empire. Oxford. Mitford, T.B. (1950). New Inscriptions from Roman Cyprus. OArch 6, pp. 1–95. Mitford, T.B. (1961a). Further Contributions to the Epigraphy of Cyprus. JAA 56, pp. 93– 143. Mitford, T.B. (1961b). The Hellenistic Inscriptions of Old Paphos. ABSA 56, pp. 1–41. Mitford, T.B. (1971). The Inscriptions of Kourion. Philadelphia. Mitford, T.B., and Nicolaou, I. (1974). The Greek and Latin Inscriptions from Salamis. Nicosia. Moore, C.H., and Jackson, J. (1931). Tacitus, Histories: Books 4–5. Annals: Books 1–3. Cambridge, MA. Morris, I., and Powell, B., eds. (1997). A New Companion to Homer, Leiden/New York/Cologne. Most, G.W. (2018). Hesiod. Theogony, Works and Days, Testimonia, Edited and Translated. Cambridge, MA/London (2006, revised 2018). Nesselrath, H.-G. (2016). Sopater of Paphus and the Phlyax Plays. In: G. Colesanti and M. Giordano, eds., Submerged Literature in Ancient Greek Culture. Berlin/Boston, pp. 25–40. Neumann, G. (2000). Τοπωνύμια τῆς Ἀρχαίας Κύπρου. In: HCy2, pp. 1077–1109. Nicolaou, I. (1963–1994). Inscriptiones Cypriae Alphabeticae (ICA1–33). i. 1960–1961, Berytus 14 (1963), pp. 129–141 / ii.–xxxiii. 1962–1993, RDAC 1963–1994. Nicolaou, I. (1967–1969). The Ethnics in Hellenistic Cyprus, I. The Epitaphs. Κypriakai Spoudai 31 (1967), pp. 15–36 / ιι. The Honorific Inscriptions. Κypriakai Spoudai 32 (1968), pp. 23–44—ιιι. The Dedications and other Documents. Κypriakai Spoudai 33 (1969), pp. 155–164. Nicolaou, I. (1971). Cypriot Inscribed Stones (Plates i–xlviii). Nicosia. Oikonomou, C. (2005). Ἡ εἰσαγωγὴ τοῦ Χριστιανισμοῦ καὶ ἡ θεμελίωση τῆς Κυπριακῆς Ἐκκλησίας. In: HCy3, 23–105. Panagl, O. (1988). Cyprus and Cypriots in the Homeric Poems. In: Karageorghis and Masson, eds., pp. 31–37. Pantazes, T., and Karouzes, G. (1997). Φυσικογεωγραφικὴ εἰσαγωγή. In: HCy1, pp. 1–55.

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Pantelas, V., Papachristophorou, T., and Christodoulou, P., eds. (1993). Cyprus Flora in Colour. The Endemics. Nicosia. Papangelou, R. (2001). Τό Κυπριακό ἰδίωμα. Μέγα Κυπρο-ἑλληνο-ἀγγλικό (καί μέ λατινική ὁρολογία) Λεξικό / R. Papangelou, Dictionary of the Cypriot Dialect. A Comprehensive Cypro-Greek English (and with Latin Terminology) Lexicon. Athens. Papantoniou, G. (2013). Cyprus Autonomus Polities at the Crossroads of Empire: The Imprint of a Transformed Islandscape in the Classical and Hellenistic Periods. BASOR 370, pp. 169–205. Papantoniou, G., and Satraki, A. (2019). Extra-urban Sanctuaries and the Territorial Formation of Salamis. In: SalCy, pp. 340–353. Papasolomontos, C. (gen. ed.) and Orphanides, G., Kringos, A. et al., eds. (2011), Αρχαία Κυπριακή Γραμματεία, Πρακτικά ΙΣΤ´ Συμποσίου: “Το Ανθολόγιο Αρχαίας Κυπριακής Γραμματείας στη Μέση Εκπαίδευση—Η Αρχαία Κυπριακή Γραμματεία ανά τους αιώνες” (Λευκωσία, 14–15 Οκτωβρίου 2011). Nicosia. Papathomas, Α. (2017). Παπυρικές Μαρτυρίες για τα Κύπρια ἔπη. In: Rodosthenous et al., eds., pp. 67–76. Papathomas, A., Karla, G., and Stamatis, D. eds. (2020). Ἤματα πάντα. Τιμητικός τόμος στον Kαθηγητή Ανδρέα Ι. Βοσκό (Studies on Classical, Byzantine and Modern Greek Literature, Philosophy and Culture in Honour of Prof. Andreas I. Voskos). Athens. Peltenburg, E., ed. (1989). Early Society in Cyprus. Edinburgh. Potter, D. (2000). Ἡ Κύπρος ἐπαρχία τῆς ρωμαϊκῆς αὐτοκρατορίας. In: HCy2, pp. 763–864. Prokopiou, E., ed. (2022). Η Λεμεσός στα βάθη των αιώνων. Πρακτικά Α´ επιστημονικού συνεδρίου: Αρχαίες προχριστιανικές λατρείες, δοξασίες και ταφικά έθιμα, 4–5 Νοεμβρίου 2016. Limassol. Ramou-Chapsiade, A. (2010). Εξεγέρσεις Κυπρίων κατά την αρχαιότητα (έως τους ελληνιστικούς χρόνους). In: Voskos (2010b), ed., pp. 70–83. Raptou, E. (2007). Culture grecque et tradition orientale à Paphos. In: Actes du Colloque international en l’honneur de A. Caubet, Paris, Juin 2007, CCEC 37, pp. 307–328. Raptou, E. (2017a). Σαρκοφάγος αρχαϊκών χρόνων από την Παλαίπαφο. RDAC 2017, pp. 547–584. Raptou, E. (2017b). “Ηρωικές” ταφές στην Παλαίπαφο. In: AncCy (2017), 215–232. Raptou, E. (2019). La nécropole Cellarka de Salamine—une réévaluation. In: SalCy, pp. 208–227. Richardson, N. (1993). The Iliad: A Commentary. Vol. 6: Books 21–24. Cambridge. Rodosthenous, E. (gen. ed.) and Panayotou Triantafyllopoulou, A., Georgiadou, A., eds. (2017). Η Αρχαία Κυπριακή Γραμματεία ανά τους αιώνες. Πρακτικά Α´ διεθνούς επιστημονικού συνεδρίου Αρχαίας Κυπριακής Γραμματείας (Κύπρος, 20–22 Μαρτίου 2015). Nicosia. SalCy [= Salamis of Cyprus: see List of Abbreviations] Smith, A.C., and Pickup, S., eds. (2010). Brill’s Companion to Aphrodite. Leiden/Boston. Stamatis, D. (2012). Εξάμετροι της φθοράς και της αναγέννησης. Εύκλο(υ)ς, ο Κύπριος χρησμολόγος. Stasinos 13, pp. 67–111.

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Stamatis, D. (2014). Σωσίπατρος, ὁ ποιητὴς τοῦ Καταψευδομένου. Ἔναυσμα γιὰ μιὰν ἀρχικὴ μελέτη τοῦ Φλύακα. Diss., National and Kapodistrian University of Athens. Stamatis, D. (2016). Κίρρις ἐν κρυπτῷ. Τεκμήρια περί Αδωνίων μυστηρίων στην Κύπρο. Stasinos 15, pp. 49–101. Stampolidis, N.C., and Karageorghis, V., eds. (2003). Πλόες, Sea Routes. Interconnections in the Mediterranean, 16th–6th c. bc (Proceedings of the International Symposium held at Rethymnon, Crete, September 29–October 2, 2002). Athens. Steele, P.M., ed. (2013). Syllabic Writing on Cyprus and its Context. Cambridge. Steele, P.M. (2019). Writing and Society in Ancient Cyprus. Cambridge. Stylianou, P. (2000). Τὰ ἀρχαῖα βασίλεια. In: HCy2, pp. 465–618. Tatton-Brown, V. (19972). Ancient Cyprus. London. Theodoropoulou, A. (1997). Έρευνες στο Κυπριακό επίγραμμα. Diss., National and Kapodistrian University of Athens. TSal1 [= Testimonia Salaminia, 1: see List of Abbreviations] TSal2 [= Testimonia Salaminia, 2: see List of Abbreviations] Tsavli, E. (2009). Κινύρας. Μελέτη στον αρχαίο κυπριακό μύθο. Diss., National and Kapodistrian University of Athens. V. [= Voskos; see ACL1–6, List of Abbreviations] van Dijk, G.-J. (1997). ΑΙΝΟΙ, ΛΟΓΟΙ, ΜΥΘΟΙ. Fables in Archaic, Classical and Hellenistic Greek Literature (with a Study of the Theory and Terminology of the Genre). Leiden/New York/Cologne. Varvounis, M.G. (1989). Ὁ μύθος τοῦ Φρασίου. Kypriakai Spoudai 52–53, pp. 21–27. Varvounis, M.G. (1990). Μυθολογικὰ καὶ λαογραφικὰ μελετήματα. Athens. Varvounis, M.G. (2017). Λαογραφικές ενδείξεις περὶ αρρενολοχείας στον Παίονα τον Αμαθούσιο. In: Rodosthenous et al., eds., pp. 165–181. Verdenius, W.J. (1962). ΑΙΝΟΣ. Mnemosyne 15, p. 386. Vlachou, V. (2019). Death and the Elite: Thrones and Beds from the ‘Royal Tombs’ at Salamis in an Aegean and East Mediterranean Context (13th to 7th Centuries bc). In: SalCy, pp. 114–142. von Staden, H. (1989 / 1994). Herophilus. The Art of Medicine in Early Alexandria. Edition, Translation and Essays. Cambridge. Vonhoff, C. (2019). Iron Weapons from the Archaic Royal Tombs at Salamis. In: SalCy, pp. 177–194. Voskos, A.I. (1997) Ὀνήσιλος: ἀπὸ τὸν Ἡρόδοτο στὴ σύγχρονη Κυπριακὴ Λογοτεχνία. Kypriakai Spoudai 61, pp. 3–33. Voskos, A.I. (1999). Μορφὼ παροικήσουσι (Λυκόφρονος Ἀλεξάνδρα 446). Nicosia. Voskos, A.I. (2000). Κριτικὰ καὶ ἑρμηνευτικὰ στὸ Κυπριακὸ Ἐπίγραμμα. In: Ioannides and Hadjistylles, eds., pp. 171–181. Voskos, A.I. (2004). Ἡ Κυπριακὴ συμβολὴ στοὺς Πανελλήνιους ἀγῶνες τῆς ἀρχαιότητας. In: G. Karalles, ed., Η διδασκαλία της Ελληνικής Γλώσσας και Πολιτισμού. Πρακτικά Η´

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Σεμιναρίου του Συμβουλίου της Ευρώπης: Οι Ολυμπιακοί αγώνες ως διαχρονικός θεσμός προαγωγής της ειρηνικής συνύπαρξης των λαών σε δημοκρατικές κοινωνίες (12–16 Μαΐου 2003, Λεμεσός—Κύπρος), Nicosia, pp. 22–41. Voskos, A.I. (2007). 6 + 3 ηροδότεια ποιήματα του Κυριάκου Χαραλαμπίδη. Porphyras 23, pp. 285–296. Voskos, A., Goutsos, D., and Mozer, A., eds. (2010). Introduction, pp. 7–14, Η Ελληνική γλώσσα στην Κύπρο από την αρχαιότητα ως σήμερα (Πρακτικά ομότιτλου Συμποσίου, Αθήνα, 23–24 Μαΐου 2008). Athens. Voskos, A.I. (2010a). Ἡ γλώσσα τοῦ ἀρχαίου Κυπριακοῦ ἐπιγράμματος. In: Voskos, Goutsos, and Mozer, eds., pp. 17–35. Voskos, A.I., ed. (2010b). Κύπρος. Αγώνες Ελευθερίας στην Ελληνική Ιστορία. Athens (repr. 2021). Voskos, A.I. (2011). Κριτικὰ καὶ ἑρμηνευτικὰ στὴν Ἀρχαία Κυπριακὴ Ἰατρική (Πίνακες 1–3). In: Demetriou, ed., i.i., pp. 57–66 / ii.ii, Plates 1–3. Voskos, A.I. (2012a). Η Αμμόχωστος του θρύλου και της ιστορίας. Από τον Τεύκρο και τον Ονήσιλο στον Ευαγόρα και τον Νικοκρέοντα. Aetolica 18, pp. 10–22. Voskos, A.I. (2012b). Ὁμιλοῦντα ὀνόματα στὴν Ἀρχαία Κυπριακὴ Γραμματεία (Χαρακτηριστικὰ παραδείγματα). Stasinos 13, pp. 3–39. Voskos, A.I. (2016a). Ἐς γῆν ἐναλίαν Κύπρον: Ἡ τοπωνυμικὴ μαρτυρία. Stasinos 15, pp. 3–47. Voskos, A.I. (2016b). Η ομηρική κληρονομιά της Κύπρου. Nea Hestia 179 (no. 1871: Αφιέρωμα στην Κύπρο. Ιστορία, λογοτεχνία, τέχνη), pp. 340–350. Voskos, A.I. (2016c). Χύτροι, η Κυθρέα των αρχαίων χρόνων: Από τον μύθο στην ιστορία. In: C.S. Yialoucas and C.P. Papaconstantinou, eds., Χύτροι—Κυθρέα: Χιλιάδες χρόνια ιστορίας, πολιτισμού και προσφοράς (Πρακτικά Α´ επιστημονικού συνεδρίου, Λευκωσία, 17 Οκτωβρίου 2015). Nicosia, pp. 1–27. Voskos, A.I. (2018a). Τὸ διαχρονικὸ ταξίδι τοῦ Κηφέα καὶ τοῦ Πράξανδρου: ἀπὸ τὸν ἀρχαῖο μύθο στὴ νεώτερη κυπριακὴ λογοτεχνία. Aetolica 31, pp. 11–27. Voskos, A.I. (2018b). Ἐς γῆν ἐναλίαν Κύπρον: Ἀγῶνες Ἐλευθερίας. In: Ἐπετειακὸς τόμος ἐπὶ τῇ ἑκατονταετηρίδι τοῦ περιοδικοῦ “Ἀπόστολος Βαρνάβας”, 1918–2018. Nicosia, pp. 264–300. Voskos, A.I. (2022). Γραμματειακὲς μαρτυρίες γιὰ λατρεῖες καὶ δοξασίες στὴν προχριστιανικὴ Λεμεσό (εἰσαγωγικὴ θεώρηση, μὲ χαρακτηριστικὰ παραδείγματα). In: Prokopiou, ed., pp. 97–134. Webb, J.M. (2017). The Prehistory of Cyprus: Current Perspectives and Future Challenges. In: AncCy, pp. 325–330. West, M.L. (1966). Hesiod, Theogony. Oxford. West, M.L. (1978) Works and Days. Oxford. West, M.L. (2003a). Greek Epic Fragments (From the Seventh to the Fifth Centuries bc). Cambridge, MA/London. West, M.L. (2003b). Homeric Hymns, Homeric Apocrypha, Lives of Homer. Cambridge, MA/London.

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part 2 Archaic Poetry: Composition and Performance

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chapter 3

Cyprias and the Cypria Adrian Kelly

When I was first asked to speak about the Cypria, and for a conference about Cyprus, my thoughts went immediately to the fact that the island is rather poorly represented in the Iliad and the Odyssey (Il. 11.21–23, Od. 4.83, 8.362–366, 17.442–444, 447–448),1 a fact even more jarring when we consider the obvious importance of Cyprus in Mediterranean history.2 This kind of reaction represents a very common scholarly reflex, in that we often rely upon Homer to illumine other early texts (epic or not); such ‘Homerocentrism’ partly reflects the nature of the evidence, but more importantly it’s typical of the way we are trained to think, as Classicists: we are taught to explain a text or an artefact largely in relational terms, in the light of other texts and artefacts, frequently by looking for its identifiable and knowable sources. And when one figure dominates the landscape as much as Homer does, almost compelling us to filter everything through the remarkable prisms of the Iliad and Odyssey, then the appreciation of poems which haven’t survived into the modern world becomes even more difficult. This is particularly true when it comes to the fragmentary poem we know as ‘the Cypria’.3 We don’t know the name of its author, its date, nor even what the title (τὰ Κύπρια ἔπεα) actually means—is it ‘things/verses to do with Cyprus’ or ‘things/verses from or current in Cyprus’ or even ‘things to do with Aphrodite’, since one of her epic epithets is Κύπρις, ‘the Cyprian’?4 In fact, if we’re honest, we don’t really ‘know’ this poem in any meaningful, independent way at all.5

1 As with the episode from Odyssey Book 8 cited above, most further references in early Greek poetry to Cyprus occur in connection with Aphrodite: h.Ven. 5 (passim), Th. 193–200, Alcm. fr. 55.1, Sapph. fr. 35.1, 65.6; cf. h.Hom. 1.8. 2 For a recent overview, see Steele 2019: 147–155, with bibliography. 3 For the most recent summary of the questions surrounding this work, see Currie 2015; for a recent monograph-length treatment, Davies 2019. 4 The adjective Κύπρια itself means nothing more than ‘Cyprian things’, usually qualified (as in the passage we are about to discuss) with ἔπεα ‘verses’; I use Cypria throughout this chapter as a convenient shorthand for the poem’s title. 5 See especially Barker 2008 for a clear outline of the way in which our records of this poem are invariably and entirely inflected by the dominance of the Homeric tradition.

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The nature of the problem—and the way scholarship habitually refuses to face it—can be illustrated with reference to the famous discrepancy between the summary of the Cypria devised by Proclus in the third (or fifth) century ad and the poem’s fr. 14 B. (= Herodotus 2.117): κατὰ ταῦτα δὲ τὰ ἔπεα καὶ τόδε τὸ χωρίον οὐκ ἥκιστα ἀλλὰ μάλιστα δηλοῖ ὅτι οὐκ Ὁμήρου τὰ Κύπρια ἔπεά ἐστι ἀλλ᾽ ἄλλου τινός· ἐν μὲν γὰρ τοῖσι Κυπρίοισι εἴρηται ὡς τριταῖος ἐκ Σπάρτης Ἀλέξανδρος ἀπίκετο ἐς τὸ Ἴλιον ἄγων Ἑλένην, εὐαέϊ τε πνεύματι χρησάμενος καὶ θαλάσσῃ λείῃ· ἐν δὲ Ἰλιάδι λέγει ὡς ἐπλάζετο ἄγων αὐτήν. Ὅμηρος μέν νυν καὶ τὰ Κύπρια ἔπεα χαιρέτω. And especially in these verses and this passage it is clear that the Cyprian verses (τὰ Κύπρια ἔπεα) are not Homer’s but someone else’s work. For in the Cyprian (τοῖσι Κυπρίοισι) (sc. verses) it is said that on the third day from Sparta Alexander came to Ilion with Helen, experiencing a favourable breeze and a gentle sea. But in the Iliad (Homer) says that he wandered with her. Enough, then, about Homer and the Cyprian verses. My translation

Here the historian seeks to differentiate Homer from the author of the Cypria— part of a long process by which the old epic poems were sorted into authors and places, and disassociated from ‘Homer’ as a convenient cover-all originator of all early epos6—on the basis of a factual disagreement: in the Iliad, Helen and Paris were said to come from Sparta to Troy via Sidon, where they seem to have picked up some rather glamorous souvenirs (6.288–292); but in the Cypria they sail home in three days without any real interruption. The only problem with Herodotus’ statement is that, by the time we get to Proclus, the record has shifted, and now the Cypria both agrees with and elaborates on the Homeric version: not only did Paris stop at Sidon as the Iliad has it, but he also sacked it (arg. 18–19 B.). How we go about dealing with this discrepancy depends entirely on how we approach the question of early Greek epic history. A Neoanalyst, for example, might look at the issue in terms of the Cypria being or representing a poem on which Homer drew directly or indirectly, i.e. through an earlier version, whether (sometimes) oral or (more usually) written. Thus, we could believe that (i) the later-attested sack of Sidon reflects the original story which Homer knew and to which he was alluding with the reference to the city in Iliad 6;

6 See Graziosi 2002.

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or (ii) Herodotus’ uneventful three-day journey is the original, which Homer wished to challenge and replace with his own.7 An oralist (like me) takes a different view: the three-day voyage in Herodotus is probably a typical length of time for an easy journey (cf. Il. 9.362–363), and this may show that the Cypria is an authentic witness to a still-thriving tradition of oral composition, perhaps entirely independent of the Iliad; the later story would then indicate the openness of the Cypria to processes of interpolation, to bring it into line with the Iliad (or, perhaps less likely, it might show that Paris’ journey progressed like an heroic nostos, with a suitable military adventure of its own).8 Furthermore, if one is an oralist of the ‘crystallisation’ school associated with Gregory Nagy (as I am not), then one holds that a discrepancy of this sort is natural for an oral tradition, in which the text changes from one performance to the next without being fixed (something he terms mouvance): to this way of thinking, the divergence in the records of the Cypria reflects precisely the expected lack of fixity in the oral tradition, as the poets respond to the changing desire or needs of their audiences.9 Perhaps the range of possible conclusions tells us something important about the nature of the evidence, and the limitations of our knowledge about literary production and transmission in this period. Much is uncertain. But all these mutually exclusivising views suffer from several drawbacks. Firstly, they rarely focus on the Cypria itself: what does it mean for that poem, for instance, for Paris and Helen to have a three-day, easy journey home? Might it indicate a surprising absence of divine hostility—itself a typical feature in a nostos tale (e.g., Il. 14.252–254, 15.24–28)10—for the returning hero and his stolen bride? Perhaps the ease of the journey in the version known to Herodotus expresses an overall divine support for Helen’s Trojan sojourn, and thus the ultimate sack of the city, given the inability or disinclination of any one deity to impede their progress. On the other hand, what of the more troubled return as recorded by Proclus, for example the sack of Sidon or the storm sent by Hera to impede him

7

8 9 10

See, e.g., Dowden 1996, 48; Currie 2016, 229 n. 3 opts instead for later interpolation into the Cypria to bring it into line with the Iliad, which is indeed possible, no matter one’s methodological inclinations. For the nostos theme in early epic, see Bonifazi 2009. For an early statement of this (often repeated) theory, see Nagy 1996; for critique, see Finkelberg 2000. For the typical role of the storm in the Odyssey, see de Jong 2001, 83, 594–595. That we should consider this story to be a nostos may seem controversial, but consider the prominence of the wedding entry in Trojan myth (see most recently Spelman 2017) and the notion of returning home with the bride in these tales (e.g., Il. 22.468–472). It is not important for my general point, but an intriguing consideration nonetheless.

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(χειμῶνα δὲ αὐτοῖς ἐφίστησιν Ἥρα: arg. 18), as a means of making Paris seem more personally and physically impressive? Like Heracles in the Iliad passages cited above (whether or not they were the inspiration for the version of the story Proclus knew), Paris becomes a figure worthy of direct divine hostility, which he nonetheless manages to overcome, while his ability to sack a city renders him a more straightforwardly heroic figure, given the prestige attached in epos to being a ‘city-sacker’. It has been proposed that Hector is a recent import into the story as the chief defender of Troy, and that Paris was originally a much more important and imposing figure; these details could reflect a trace at least of his ‘original’ standing,11 and at the very least a conception of Paris as a much more imposing character. In either case, we should be thinking also about the effects on the poem, and what more we can say about it, rather than worrying only about sources. However these versions come about, they say something about the requirements of their various audiences, and the ambition and purpose of their poets/authors. Secondly, the standard approaches also reveal something, unwittingly, about themselves—their absolutism and mutual preclusivity, and this despite the fact that the predicates of each of these ways of thinking are rather uncertain. That is not to say we don’t need predicates; we do—in fact it is impossible to say anything without having predicates and assumptions—but we need to get them as reasonable as possible if we are to put ourselves in a position to say anything about this poem which doesn’t simply reinforce those predicates. Some recent steps in this direction have been taken by Jonathan Burgess and Benjamin Sammons,12 both of them explicitly trying to take Homer out of the equation, as though the Iliad and Odyssey were quite independent creations with little if no practical effect on the Cypria (and the other poems of the ‘Cycle’). That’s not quite my approach here, since their method—though very close to my own position—takes as its starting point something which we cannot know, viz that the Homeric poems had no influence on the later attested poems of the epic ‘cycle’, or on the sources we use to reconstruct that material.13 Instead, my first recommendation is that we have to stop using exclusivising

11 12 13

See the discussion of Wathelet 1988, 856–868. Burgess 1996, 2012; Sammons 2018. See Kelly 2006 for the argument that Pindar’s sixth Pythian, which narrates the death of Antilochus and is frequently deployed as evidence for the story in the Aethiopis, actually shows considerable knowledge of the Homeric Iliad, and cannot therefore be used uncritically as evidence of the cyclic poem; see contra Currie 2016, 247–253, though I am unconvinced by his arguments.

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models, in the form of confident statements that the audience either definitely did or definitely did not know their Homer. We can’t approach the evidence for the Cypria on the basis that either of these assumptions is true, and we can’t use methods which take them, openly or implicitly, as their foundation. There may have been people in the audience who did know the Iliad, and who knew it in sufficient detail to grasp fairly complex allusion to it. Though I am sceptical of the extent to which this is possible in a culture where familiarity would have been largely confined to performance, that’s probably true of at least some people in the audiences of Stesichorus and Ibycus in the middle of the sixth century, as I have argued elsewhere,14 so it could theoretically be true of an audience for the undated (but probably sixth-century) Cypria as well. No-one, however, would suppose that such people would have comprised the totality or even the majority of any given early audience, or that the Iliad would have constituted the majority of their experience of epic poetry about Troy. They would have heard dozens, if not hundreds, of such performances during their lifetime, so that the majority of their inherited conglomerate, as it were, would have comprised these other songs / versions / texts. Any epic poet, therefore, would have to deal with the totality and variety of this audience experience. By focusing initially on this aspect of the audience’s access to the tradition, as we shall see, we don’t exclude the possibility of allusion to single versions within the inherently interterxtual phenomenon of early Greek epic, but we don’t bet the house on it either:15 instead, we shall try to put them back into that framework in a way that neither overestimates nor underestimates their importance. Let us proceed by looking at Cypria frr. 4 and 5 B. (= frr. 5 and 6 GEF, 4 and 5 EGF) and the narrative context into which they are usually placed. fr. 4 εἵματα μὲν χροῒ ἕστο, τά οἱ Χάριτές τε καὶ Ὧραι ποίησαν καὶ ἔβαψαν ἐν ἄνθεσιν εἰαρινοῖσιν, οἷα φέρουσ᾽ ὧραι, ἔν τε κρόκωι, ἔν θ᾽ ὑακίνθωι, ἔν τε ἴωι θαλέθοντι ῥόδου τ᾽ ἐνὶ ἄνθεϊ καλῶι

14 15

Kelly 2015a. There is, however, no compelling evidence of this in Sappho: see Kelly 2020. As Hinds 1998, 34–47, I distinguish in this chapter between ‘allusion’ as a reference to a particular version of a song or story, and ‘intertextuality’ as a reference to a more generic, less reified (and in this case, traditional) background. This latter phenomenon is very close to Kristeva’s original conception. In my view, allusion develops from the general (universal?) context of intertextuality as a result of the proliferation of writing, and the greater levels of textual fixity it provides, as the archaic period proceeds.

54 5

5

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ἡδέι νεκταρέωι, ἔν τ᾽ ἀμβροσίαις καλύκεσσιν ⟨αἰθέσι⟩16 ναρκίσσου καλλιπνόου. ὧδ᾽ Ἀφροδίτη ὥραις παντοίαις τεθυωμένα εἵματα ἕστο. Clothes she put around her skin, which the Charites and the Hours made and dipped in spring flowers, such as the seasons bring, in crocus, and in hyacinth, and in blooming violet and in the rose’s bloom—fair, sweet, nectarine—and in ambrosial cups ⟨gleaming?⟩ of fair-breathing narcissus. Thus Aphrodite dressed herself in clothes fragrant with all kinds of flowers. My translation

5

fr. 5 ἣ δὲ σὺν ἀμφιπόλοισι φιλομμειδὴς Ἀφροδίτη πλεξάμεναι στεφάνους εὐώδεας ἄνθεα ποίης ἂν κεφαλαῖσιν ἔθεντο θεαὶ λιπαροκρήδεμνοι, Νύμφαι καὶ Χάριτες, ἅμα δὲ χρυσέη Ἀφροδίτη, καλὸν ἀείδουσαι κατ᾽ ὄρος πολυπιδάκου Ἴδης.

5

And she, with her attendants, laughter-loving Aphrodite weaving crowns fragrant, the flowers of the meadow, put them upon their heads, the gleaming-veiled goddesses, the Nymphs and the Charites, and with them golden Aphrodite, singing beautifully along Ida of many springs. My translation

This scene is now usually held to denote the beautification of Aphrodite for her appearance to Paris before his eponymous judgement, though it was once considered to refer to Helen.17 Events of this sort are very common in Homer and early epos in general, and several critics18 have sought to link the Cypria’s scene directly and allusively with Hera’s so-called ‘Deception of Zeus’ in Iliad Book 14, and with Aphrodite’s own dressing scene in Odyssey Book 8 and/or in the sixth Homeric Hymn, another undated poem which may well have been

16 17 18

The reading here is disputed. The question is irrelevant for my purposes in this chapter. See Bernabé 1996 ad loc., 46. Most recently, Currie 2016, 147–160, with reference to previous treatments and very full bibliography.

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known to the Cypria poet.19 This allusive nexus can be configured variously: e.g., the Odyssey scene alludes to the Iliad’s scene, whilst the Cypria alludes to the Iliad and Odyssey scenes together whilst also alluding to the Homeric Hymn, or the Iliad alludes to the Cypria and the Homeric Hymn, and so on. In all these cases, however, the meaning and function of the Cypria’s scene depends upon a reconstruction of specific relationships, almost (and sometimes actually) to the exclusion of all other considerations: i.e., if the Iliad alludes to the Cypria (or a forerunner), then Hera and Zeus’ behaviour is seen as a counterpoint to Aphrodite and Anchises’ love affair, or even to the apparent seduction of Paris; if, conversely, the Cypria alludes to the Iliad, it claims some kind of filiation with that famous text (if it was famous by that time, of course), or seeks to appropriate, contest or even supplant its primacy as a record of the Trojan War; if, finally, it alludes to the Homeric Hymn as well as or instead of the Iliad, then it makes the war a quasi-cosmic event, by linking it with the history of Aphrodite’s power and its subjugation to Zeus. Now, this kind of direct stemmatology is precisely the kind of thing which was being done by later ancient readers and, if we were dealing with Vergil’s use of Homer and Apollonius, few of us would bat an eyelid at such an intricate chain of association and interpretation. But, in the archaic period, where the required detailed textual knowledge might not be possible, where the audience came into contact with poetry largely through performances, is this really likely? There’s no particular verbal reminiscence to work with (see below), since all of the very few similarities with other such scenes (and elsewhere in early Greek epic) look to be formulaic or variations thereupon,20 as one can see below: fr. 4 1: | εἵματα μὲν χροῒ ἕστο ~ περὶ χροῒ εἵματα ἕστο | (5× Hom.) 1: Χάριτές τε καὶ Ὧραι ~ ἐϋπλόκαμοι Χάριτες καὶ ἐΰφρονες Ὧραι | (h.Ap. 194) 3: ἔν τε κρόκωι, ἔν θ᾽ ὑακίνθωι ~ κρόκον ἠδ᾽ ὑάκινθον (Il. 14.348, h.Hom. 19.25) fr. 5 1: φιλομμειδὴς Ἀφροδίτη (6× Hom., 5× h.Hom., 1× Hes.)

19 20

For citations and tabulation of typical elements, see below, Table 1. So Davies 2019, 60, and even West 2013, 76 (on fr. 4 = his fr. 5): “the diction of the fragment is largely conventional.”

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5: καλὸν ἀείδουσαι ~ καλὸν ἀείδοντες (Il. 1.473), καλὸν ἀειδῆισιν (Od. 19.519), cf. καλὸν ἀείδ—-× | (3× Hom., 2× h.Hom.). 6: πολυπίδακος Ἴδης (5× Hom.) This is not a promising list, allusively speaking, while the most typical part of it, the catalogue of flowers in fr. 4, may be compared with several related passages in early epos, but there is no close phraseological reminiscence: all of the flowers are found in other passages, but not in the same order or in a standard number, and only the pairing of the crocus and the hyacinth (itself typical) appears in precisely the same order as that in another scene (Il. 14.348); while other passages have other flowers, as well: the Deception of Zeus in Iliad 14, for instance, uses the lotus, crocus and hyacinth (14.348) as the covering on which the copulating Zeus and Hera do their business. A particular relationship might be supposed with the Homeric Hymn to Demeter (6–8), which contains 5 of the 6 flowers listed in Cypria fr. 4—the rose, crocus, violet, iris, hyacinth and narcissus—though they do not occur in the same order (except for ending with the narcissus)21 nor do the two poets use the same phraseology. It looks, then, as though this kind of catalogue and its material is a traditional unit, which poets could learn, alter and reproduce as they saw fit.22 Certainly there is no reason from this evidence to believe that the Cypria poet had any other such catalogue known to us before his eyes, or in his memory, as he was composing. Thus, we lack triggers for a direct, allusive relationship with another passage, indeed any particular analogous passage, in early Greek epos. Let us, then, try to configure a method which does not employ allusion (which is certain for later periods) as its first—almost its only—interpretative principle; let us turn instead to the traditional resources, the inherent intertextuality, of archaic oral epic. Luckily, we have several examples of this kind of material across a range of texts, periods and places with which to work, material from which to see what the Cypria poet and his audiences may have understood by what modern

21 22

The order in the Cypria is crocus, hyacinth, violet, rose, and narcissus. So Richardson 1974, ad Dem. 4–6, 140–141. Indeed, the hymnist even alters both the order and the substance of the catalogue at the end of the h.Hom. (426–428): crocus, iris, hyacinth, rose,—replacing the violets with the leiria (? white lily)—and narcissus. Thus, saying that a list is traditional is not to imply that there must have been one such list which all poets learned, merely that the notion of a flower catalogue was shared across many poets and strands of the tradition, to be deployed in a variety of ‘erotic’ contexts. How we untangle that, or relate those strands to a single, clean line of transmission or influence, seems to me both unlikely as an historical fact and impossible as a scholarly method.

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scholars call the ‘seduction scene’, the larger sequence of narrative in which the Cypria’s dressing fragments definitely stood (certainly in the Adornment section).23 Before getting to the typology in its broadest terms, let us note that flowers and catalogues of flowers don’t generally play a role in these scenes,24 except— sort of—in the Dios Apate, where vegetation springs up beneath Zeus and Hera as they copulate (Il. 14.347–348). In fact, they tend to occur at moments of actual ‘seduction’, whether or not the wider scene of this sort is taking place.25 This is therefore the only epic dressing scene we know of in which such a catalogue appears. So the Cypria poet did something original and, apparently, unique;26 its import seems to be relatively clear, in that the catalogue— and the very dressing of Aphrodite—looks forward, synecdochically, to the moment of consummation between Paris and Helen, and perhaps also the successful pseudo-seduction of Paris himself by the goddess.27 The Cypria poet didn’t have to do that, but he did, and it deploys the usual associations of the flower catalogue in a new setting, and does something quite novel with it. Looking at the scene beyond the flower catalogue, we see that several things are consistent across these examples of narrative; as a typical scene, it would be odd were this not the case.28 Notably, there are no exact verse-length parallels between the Cypria’s two fragments and the other scenes listed here, and only one formulaic repetition with one other scene (3, ἔν τε κρόκωι, ἔν θ᾽ ὑακίνθωι ~ κρόκον ἠδ᾽ ὑάκινθον, Il. 14.348), a fact which should have made speculation

23 24 25

26

27 28

The table follows Forsyth 1979, 109 (with my additions); cf. also Sowa 1984, 71–72, Janko 1992, 170–171; Brown 1997; Currie 2016, 147–160. Currie 2015, 299; Davies 2019, 58–68 makes no mention of this fact in his discussion of the fragment. H.Cer. 3–16, Hesiod fr. 26.18–23, 140 M.–W.; Richardson 1974, 141; cf. h.Hom. 19.25–26 (with the connotations of καταμίσγεται); also Archilochus fr. 196a.42–44 IEG2, with Swift 2019, 364–365 for more examples. The other adornment scenes for Aphrodite in her two Homeric Hymns make no mention of flowers. It is of course unwise to make claims of uniqueness, given the tiny amount of material which has survived, but the point is that the Cypria poet is capable of poetic composition not derived from, or limited to, the extant texts. Our picture, at the very least, is imperfect. Currie 2015, 299. Currie 2016, 147–160 does not really concern himself with the traditional background of these scenes, except to discount it as quickly as possible (typically by restricting the notion of the ‘traditional’ to verbatim repetition or rigidly fixed structures), so as to get down to the business of constructing implausibly elaborate stemmata of direct influence.

Il. 3.121–160 Il. 3.383–446

Il. 14.159–351

Od. 6.13–284

Od. 8.267–366

Od. 18.187–213

Od. 21.1–78

h.Ven. (5) 47–154 h.Ven. (6) 2–18 Th. 570–613 Op. 57–89

Helen 1 Helen 2

Hera

Nausicaa

Aphrodite 1

Penelope 1

Penelope 2

Aphrodite 2 Aphrodite 3 Woman Pandora

(Zeus) 47–52, 58f. (Aphr.) 2–5 (Zeus) 570 (Zeus) 57–71

(Athena) 1–3

(Athena) 187–190

(Ares)* 267–296

(Athena) 13–40

(to Aphr.) 188–224

(Iris) 121–138 (Aphr.) 383–394

Visitation

61–65 (95) 6–13 572–584 65, 73

(51–60)

190–196

364–365

(141, 158) 383–397, 415, 420 166–223 (267– 268) 18 (80, 96)

Adornment

45–46, 53–58 – – (56–57)

203–204 (253ff.) 56, 75–78

163 (208– 209) 27, 66–67, etc. 291–294

137–140 390–394

Suggestion

585–587 (83–85)

66

58–63

206

362–363

50, 74–83

188, 292

142 419

Movement

– 14–15 – –

61, 66

207, 211

18, 84, 99– 109 –

–

143 420–422

(85–90) 14–15 (574–575) (76)

65

210

–

(74) 100

184–185

141 419

Attendants Veil

72, 84–88, 103–110ff. 91, 144–154 15–18 588–589 85–89

(113, 135– 136), 149 f. (290–294, 326–357) 212–213

294–328

154–160 441–446

Reaction

X (X) (X) (X)

(X)

→

(→ Penelope 2) (X)

346–351

→ X

Sex

58 kelly

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about supposed allusions to those other scenes somewhat harder to advance than it has proven. Nonetheless, I am more interested in the sequence’s overall effects and implications.29 Firstly, a(nother) god is always involved in motivating the action, so that the dressing figure is usually acting at another’s behest, however that may dovetail with her own interests or purposes, and she may be entirely powerless in the situation:30 thus, for instance, (1) and (2) Helen’s subordination to the will, firstly of Iris and then of Aphrodite, and in the latter example the desire of Paris, is acted out well before she enters his room; (4) Nausicaa’s intentions are placed directly into her head by Athena; (5) Aphrodite’s scene begins with Ares’ lustful arrival; (6) Penelope has no idea why she is doing what she’s doing, nor does she again in (7); (8) Aphrodite has no idea why she’s come to Anchises; (10) and (11) Pandora is Zeus’ means for revenge on Prometheus. The self-control of Hera (3), the only figure not to receive such a visitation but instead to visit Aphrodite to get some more bling to ready herself for the encounter with Zeus, stands out here, given the usual disparities in power in the other scenes.31 Secondly, therefore, deception is always present, shrouding the heralded or promised sexual activity: (2) Helen’s renewed sexual pact with Paris enacts in Troy the fatal decision taken on the battlefield, and caps the process by which Menelaus is defrauded of his reward for victory (however qualified); (3) Hera wishes to weaken Zeus’ control over the battle; (4) the disjunction between what Nausicaa tells her father and what he understands as her motivation, aside from its nice psychological touch, makes even more sense within the traditional parameters of this scene; (5) the deception is twofold, as the adulterers think they deceive Hephaestus, but he has been too cunning for them; (6) unaware of her own motives, Penelope tricks the suitors into giving up presents and (7) sets up the bow contest; (8) although unaware of Zeus’

29

30 31

I omit (9), from the second of Aphrodite’s Homeric Hymns, from much of the discussion, since it is a very abbreviated form of the sequence, but even then shows the same intimations as above: acting at another’s behest is submerged in the notion of her receiving her lot (λέλογχεν)—i.e., from Zeus—and her conveyance to the island by Zephyros; deception is inherent in the gods’ desirous reactions and the potentially destabilising nature of her beauty among them (15–18; cf. the Ares and Aphrodite story in Odyssey Book 8), and her sexual allure will be both her main power but also the source of her greatest weakness in epos, whilst its potential to cause damage is thoroughly evidenced in the Greek epic history of the world. In what follows, I use the example numbers of each scene for ease of reference. This kind of associative alteration is central to the way early Greek epos uses its traditional background: see Kelly 2007, 67 n. 3 for the number of such alterations surrounding Achilleus in the Iliad.

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plan in the Homeric Hymn, Aphrodite has her own deception ready, pretending to be a mortal female specifically whisked to Ida to be married to Anchises; (10) and (11) to counteract Prometheus’ protection of mankind, Zeus intends woman/Pandora to inflict damage on them via an unwitting Epimetheus. Thirdly, someone is always disadvantaged, and most often it is the reacting male—(3) Zeus, (5) Hephaestus after the fact, (10) and (11) Epimetheus and mankind, (6) & (7) the suitors, etc. But disadvantage may also be felt more widely: (1) & (2) Helen’s renewed sojourn with Paris is one in a series of scenes at the start of the Iliad re-enacting the original story and reason for Troy’s downfall, the negative effect of which for her reputation—and the city’s fate—she and others are all too aware of (Paris’ reputation, of course, is too sordid to require much further elucidation); (3) Hera eventually fails to get her way, and (4) Nausicaa’s desire for a husband—in the form of Odysseus—remains unfulfilled; (5) everyone suffers the shame of the event, and the other gods’ laughter at their discomfiture; and (8) Aphrodite keenly feels the shame of her human association and its implied weakness. This associative trio—external agency, deception, disadvantage—isn’t really surprising, given that early Greek poetry is full of sexual activity viewed as both duplicitous and dangerous. It also fits well, for instance, with the shady and dangerous reputation of marriage in early narrative epos, as Johannes Haubold and Ettore Cingano have shown.32 So the Cypria’s original audiences must have known many examples of this narrative sequence beyond those few which have survived. Put this framework—non-version specific, traditional, intertextual—back into play for the Cypria, and our scene acquires a newly expansive potential. Firstly, in the most general sense, the trio bestows upon Aphrodite the illusion of power in entering upon this action, when the ultimate purpose is that of Zeus, in the destruction of Troy and the race of heroes. The goddess and Paris are each in their own way deceived, and both to their ultimate disadvantage, he to his death and the doom of his city, and she to the ignominy of being on the losing side in this most important of wars (one among several events in this vein in her ‘history’ throughout early epos). That is the generic background in the broadest of terms, its reference unlimited by character and story, unbound by specific instantiations. This kind of semantic is readily comparable to the kind of meaning denoted by John Miles Foley’s term

32

Haubold 2000, 137–143; Cingano 2005. Think of Penelope’s remarriage contest in the Odyssey; the just-averted violence of Helen’s first marriage as apparently told in the Cypria itself (arg. 19–20 B.) and in the Catalogue of Women (frr. 196–204 M.–W.), and the disaster of her second and third (Little Iliad arg. 10, fr. 4 B.); the battle of the Lapiths and Centaurs (Il. 1.262–268); and so on.

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‘traditional referentiality’ or, if you prefer, ‘resonance’ (the roughly equivalent term used by Barbara Graziosi and Johannes Haubold).33 This traditional intertextuality, i.e. knowledge gained from the scene ‘type’ in the broadest sense, doesn’t preclude more specific types of source-derived meaning, since audiences gain their knowledge of the tradition through individual performances and poems, which may comprise more precise or reified potential in the semantic resources on which poets and audiences could draw. In other words, when Aphrodite beautifies herself before appearing to Paris, she now becomes instantly relatable to any and all particular scenes in which sexual attraction was thus arrayed, however motivated and to whatever end, whatever character was involved, and in whatever story. The Aphrodite of the Cypria is herself in this and many other situations—and she is Helen, and Penelope, and Hera, and so on. She is all of these figures and more, a distillation of all the many occasions in epos on which a female, mortal or immortal, has used sexual manoeuvering to inveigle a male into a dangerous situation for her own (or someone else’s) ends. Of course, no member of the Cypria’s audience would have had exactly the same repository of stories and narratives as any other, so individual differences must be countenanced, perhaps based on or privileging nothing more than the most recent story or poem encountered. There’s no reason for that person to focus on one character to the exclusion of all others either, so that almost any combination of specific characters and circumstances can be imagined. The poet must have had some inkling of that variety of experience, and thus a desire to capture the widest possible audience within the referential framework. The success of the poem, indeed its very survival, depends on its ability to appeal beyond a narrowly defined or exclusivising interpretative moment. And, precisely because of this variety of experience, it must be possible that some scenes might have been more implicated in the Cypria poet’s mind than others, scenes to which he might have intended a direct allusion. Thus, the kinds of allusive chains we spoke about at the beginning, where e.g. the Homeric Hymn (or its background story) was invoked as the informative frame for the Cypria’s scene, should not be ruled out as a matter of principle. Indeed, if we do read these texts directly together, then Aphrodite indulges once more in a sexual game whose outcome she does not herself appreciate or fully understand: the beginning of the Trojan War invokes the same kind of reputational

33

Foley 1999; Graziosi and Haubold 2005; Kelly 2007, esp. 1–14. For an attempt to apply this kind of reading to Sappho’s interaction with the epic tradition, see Kelly 2020.

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damage, where she will end up on the losing side, as did the ‘earlier’ episode with Anchises, which was intended by Zeus to end the freedom with which she dominated the sex lives of the other gods. It also signals that this action, in which Aphrodite will enjoy temporary success, will conform to the wider plan of Zeus as signalled famously at the start of the Cypria (fr. 1 B. = fr. 1 GEF = fr. 1 EGF). And it suggests that this action in the Cypria is as fundamentally connected to Aphrodite’s position within Zeus’ order as was the original act of taming through parturition staged in the Homeric Hymn. But notice now that all these conclusions develop from the traditionally derived intertextual meanings we identified above. This fact is important in two ways. Firstly, a traditionally intertextual dynamic in this case results in no conflict or undermining of the ‘surface’ narrative, as for instance in Oliver Lyne’s famous ‘Two Voices’ reading of intertextuality and allusion in Vergil.34 Nor should one imagine a Verrallian duality in the audience, with the idiots in the gods getting their typical fare whilst the literati smile from the circle at the poet’s gentle undertone of Euripidean mockery. Instead, the specific allusion grows from within traditional and performative sources of meaning, and represents a more focused, more stable development of those dynamics—one that relies on a greater level of audience knowledge and familiarity, certainly, and on a greater proximity between the moments of composition, performance and recording, perhaps, but a development nonetheless. Secondly, that allusive knowledge is not the whole story; both the traditional reference of the scene type, as well as the audience’s intertextual recall of many performances of that scene, means that any person in the audience who did not know the potentially referenced texts, or did not know them to the extent required to make and sustain the allusion, would hardly feel any interpretative loss. The success of the poem, in other words, does not depend upon a single allusion to another specific text or episode. Therefore, just as writing doesn’t cancel out orality but preserves its conceptions and structures whilst transforming them, so allusion doesn’t cancel out less precise forms of intertextuality or referentiality, but pushes their capacities and semantic potential further: these qualities must have been able to interact with one another as the poetic culture of archaic Greece developed, and their relationships changed as that period went on, with allusion playing an ever more prominent role in the poetry we have inherited. My own view is that an increasing proliferation of written texts is the best explanation

34

Lyne 1987. For a piquant critique of the way Classicists have developed Kristeva’s original notion of intertextuality, see Weeden 2021.

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for this phenomenon, though allusion never entirely replaces other semantic dynamics. They co-exist, instead, in a tense, jostling, and shifting interactive balance. The distinctions and method advanced here are, I suggest, necessary, for two reasons. At the moment, scholars spend time arguing about whether or not an allusion is possible or probable, and this unduly limiting contest means that the two sides generally end up in mutually preclusive disagreement, and thus, inevitably, reinforce the predicates they brought to the process.35 By contrast, the method offered in this chapter does not rule out allusion a priori. Indeed, its very strength comes precisely in the fact that allusion may not alter fundamentally the interpretation of a specific poem or scene. But, in every case, the analysis gives us a richer, more nuanced and—I suggest—a more historically authentic reading of the Cypria’s dressing scene, and it allows us to recapture something of the poet’s ambition when faced with an audience of varied experience and knowledge. More importantly, it avoids the pitfalls of the solely allusive reading, as we find it, for instance, in Currie’s recent (2016) treatment of this material. His approach depends on assuming the dominant presence of Homer (or Gilgamesh) in the minds of the Cypria poet and his audiences, which is deeply uncertain. That is just not a defensible first position, and so it is no surprise at all when he concludes that his assumptions have been justified by the discussion: if one begins by assuming what one sets out to prove, that ‘proof’ tends not to be very difficult. Currie’s method also ignores the other available interpretative avenues derived from the performative culture of archaic epos. That is a wasted opportunity, a wilful failure to hear all there is to hear. This is all the more reprehensible when we remember that we lose nothing by beginning with the traditional and performance background: we can still see wonderful, intricate and sophisticated things being done with a more generically defined or articulated tradition, while our conclusions are considerably expanded in the way they depict the Cypria’s scope and subsequent appeal. If we can, against this

35

This charge can be brought with some justice against my own previous work (esp. Kelly 2015a), which sought mainly to deny the kinds of allusive references increasingly popular in scholarship on this period. I would maintain that this is important, since we cannot simply allow any and all allusions without having a rigorous method to identify them, and one which takes into account the particularities of the archaic period and its literary dynamics (largely performative and oral, lack of written texts, etc.). But we need a positive complement to the pars destruens, so as to move beyond a rigidly dichotomising approach, as Rutherford 2019, 235–236 well notes in an explicit comparison of my methods with those of Currie 2016.

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background, make a case for a particular allusion, then all well and good, but we simply cannot start—or end—with allusion as the fundamental, central semantic strategy of early Greek poetry. Indeed, in this case, there is no warrant to think in allusive terms, since there is no significant similarity in phraseology which could possibly trigger such an interaction in the case of Cypria frr. 4 and 5 B. But noting that doesn’t place the poem in an hermetically sealed vacuum: instead, the audience’s awareness of the generic background to these scenes, filtered through their actual experience of versions of narrated seductions in early epic poetry (and beyond), allows them to contextualise and ‘place’ this current scene within that framework, with whatever individual contours informing the specific individual’s experience. That process bestows enormous meaning on frr. 4 and 5, explaining both the several characters’ motivations and predicting their future. To conclude: the dressing of Aphrodite in these two fragments of the Cypria can make a wider point about the literary culture of the archaic period, and thus have I aligned myself with those scholars I maligned at the start of this chapter, and for the very reason I maligned them—using the Cypria to say something about other texts. Nonetheless, however suitable it is for the topic of this volume, I offer the foregoing method as a starting point for appreciating and exploring the Cypria, which is probably the most famous Greek literary text directly associated with this fascinating island. If we proceed thus, eventually we may discover the second part of this chapter’s title, and not just keep going round and round on the first.

Acknowledgements Thanks to the organising committee of the conference ‘Cyprus: a place and topos in ancient literature’, held under the auspices of the National and Kapodistrian University of Athens at the ‘House of Cyprus’ in Athens (the event where the paper on which this chapter is based was first delivered)—Katerina Carvounis, Andreas Gavrielatos, Grammatiki Karla, and Amphilochios Papathomas—not only for their exemplary hospitality in Athens but also for their attention to this chapter and its material. Elton Barker read and much improved an earlier version.

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Bibliography Barker, E.T.E. (2008). Momos Advises Zeus. Changing Representations of ‘Cypria’ Fragment 1. In: E. Cingano and L. Milano, eds., Papers on Ancient Literatures. Greece, Rome, and the Near East. Proceedings of the “Advanced Seminar in the Humanities” Venice International University 2004–2005. Padua, pp. 33–74. Bonifazi, A. (2009). Inquiring into Nostos and its Cognates. AJP 130: 481–510. Brown, A.S. (1997). Aphrodite and the Pandora Complex. CQ 47, pp. 26–47. Burgess, J. (1996). The Non-Homeric Cypria. TAPhA 126, pp. 77–99. Burgess, J. (2012). Intertextuality without Text in Early Greek Epic. In: Ø. Andersen and D. Haug, eds., Relative Chronology in Early Greek Epic Poetry. Cambridge, pp. 168–183. Cingano, E. (2005). A Catalogue within a Catalogue. Helen’s Suitors in the Hesiodic Catalogue of Women (frr. 196–204). In: R. Hunter, ed., The Hesiodic Catalogue of Women. Constructions and Reconstructions. Cambridge, pp. 118–152. Currie, B. (2015). Cypria. In: Fantuzzi and Tsagalis, eds., pp. 281–305. Currie, B. (2016). Homer’s Allusive Art. Oxford. Davies, M. (2019). The Cypria. Cambridge, MA. Dowden, K. (1996). Homer’s Sense of Text. JHS 116, pp. 47–61. Fantuzzi, M., and Tsagalis, C., eds. (2015). The Epic Cycle and its Ancient Reception. Cambridge. Faulkner, A. (2008). The Homeric Hymn to Aphrodite. Oxford. Finkelberg, M. (2000). The Cypria, the Iliad, and the Problem of Multiformity in Oral and Written Tradition. CPh 95, pp. 1–11. Foley, J.M. (1999). Homer’s Traditional Art. Philadelphia. Forsyth, N. (1979). The Allurement Scene: A Typical Pattern in Greek Oral Epic. California Studies in Classical Antiquity 12, pp. 107–120. Graziosi, B. (2002). Inventing Homer. The Early Reception of Epic. Cambridge. Graziosi, B., and Haubold, J. (2005). Homer. The Resonance of Epic. London. Haubold, J. (2000). Homer’s People. Epic Convention and Social Formation. Cambridge. Hinds, S. (1998). Allusion and Intertext: Dynamics of Appropriation in Roman Poetry. Cambridge. Janko, R. (1992). The Iliad. A Commentary. Vol. 6: Books 13–16. Cambridge. de Jong, I.J.F. (2001). A Narratological Commentary on the Odyssey. Cambridge. Kelly, A. (2006). Neoanalysis and the Nestorbedrängnis: A Test Case. Hermes 134, pp. 1– 25. Kelly, A. (2007). A Referential Commentary and Lexicon to Homer Iliad viii. Oxford. Kelly, A. (2015a). Stesichorus’ Homer. In: P.J. Finglass and A. Kelly, eds., Stesichorus in Context. Cambridge, pp. 21–44. Kelly, A. (2015b). Ilias parva. In: Fantuzzi and Tsagalis, eds., pp. 318–343. Kelly, A. (2020). With, or without, Homer. Hearing the Background in Sappho. In:

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P. Finglass, A. Rengakos, and B. Zimmermann, eds., More than Homer knew. Studies on Homer and his Ancient Commentators. In Honor of Franco Montanari. Berlin, pp. 269–292. Lyne, R.O.A.M. (1987). Further Voices in Virgil’s Aeneid. Oxford. Nagy, G. (1996). Poetry as Performance: Homer and Beyond. Cambridge. Richardson, N.J. (1974). The Homeric Hymn to Demeter. Oxford. Rutherford, R. (2019). Homer. Iliad Book xviii. Cambridge. Sammons, B. (2018). Device and Composition in the Greek Epic Cycle. Oxford. Sowa, C. (1984). Traditional Themes and the Homeric Hymns. Chicago. Steele, P. (2019). Writing and Society in Ancient Cyprus. Cambridge. Swift, L. (2019). Archilochus. The Poems. Introduction, Text, Translation, and Commentary. Oxford. Wathelet, P. (1988). Dictionnaire des Troyens dans l’Iliade. 2 vols. Liège. Weeden, M. (2021). The Scholar and the Poet: Standard Babylonian Gilgameš 6 vs. Iliad 5. In: A. Kelly and C. Metcalf, eds., Gods and Mortals in Early Greek and Near Eastern Mythology. Cambridge, 80–106. West, M.L. (2013). The Epic Cycle: A Commentary on the Lost Troy Epics. Oxford.

chapter 4

Reflecting upon Cyprus as a Sacred Place in Homeric Hymn 6 Marcela Ristorto and Silvia Reyes

1

Introduction

The purpose of this paper is to reflect upon Cyprus as a literary topos associated with Aphrodite, not only because mythology assumes the island to be the birthplace of the goddess, but also because she may have risen to become its divine benefactor and custodian, who guarded over the island. This connection between Aphrodite and Cyprus is recognised by archaeological evidence, which indicates that the links between the goddess and the island are not mere poetic invention. Likewise, the references found in ancient Greek literature enable us to consider that Homeric Hymn 6 may have been not only a literary composition providing entertainment, but also a cult hymn probably performed in the temple of Aphrodite in Paphos. In several cities, testimonies of the goddess’ worship are found, with Paphos being her main cult centre. Bearing this in mind, we shall analyse how the island is configured as a ‘sacred place’, where Aphrodite’s myth may have been created by ritual and where her cult may have been founded and legitimised by hymn performance. We must state that when we use the expression ‘sacred place’ we do not necessarily refer to places where there has been a temple or where archaeological research has discovered inscriptions or figurines with an implicit religious significance. We regard these ‘archaeological’ traces of considerable importance but will mostly take into account the enclosures or locations mentioned in poetical texts as places of residence and recreation of the gods. This is because cult aetiology and praise of a deity are recurrent elements in hymnody, and provide a referent beyond the formal features of hymns. The analysis of Homeric Hymn 6 relies on an approach to ancient hymnody which is the result of debates and assumptions shared in a research project whose aim is to study the performance of poetic texts in ancient times and their relationship to the context of production. The research corpus includes not only Orphic hymns, epigraphic hymns or the hymns whose ritual performance is attested, but also hymns usually considered to be ‘literary hymns’, such as the Homeric Hymns, the hymns by Callimachus and the hymns inserted in

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dramatic genres. We will thus analyse the close link between music, dance, poetry, and cult in ancient Greece. On the other hand, to accept these assumptions implies the recognition of the value of hymns in the tradition of rites and cults. Previous studies share a similar viewpoint on hymnody and three of them will be mentioned for illustration. When speaking about the Homeric Hymn to Apollo, Lonsdale1 holds that “the Hymn to Apollo contains a sort of myth of origin for khoreia and festivity in general”. In other words, the description of a possible festival of Apollo in Delos is in the first place anticipated by an initial description of a festival to Zeus at Mount Olympus, where Apollo, Artemis and the Muses sing and dance to delight the gods (182–206). The bard depicts the panegyris in Delos, where humans ‘imitate’ the Olympians by honouring Apollo with dances and songs (146–176). The poet refers to the pleasure the Olympians feel, especially Zeus and Leto, at the choral performance (204–206), while we would deduce that Apollo delights himself together with those who listen to the Delian girls (161). As Lonsdale2 points out, “the insistence on the reception of the spectacle by an audience encourages an interpretation of the passages on the level of performance”, and he suggests, moreover, that the hymn constitutes an aition for the festival that took place in Delos.3 On her part, Johnston4 considers that the Homeric Hymns were composed to be performed in particular rituals and analyses the Homeric Hymn to Hermes in relation to an Athenian festival. She says that “athletic festivals called Hermaia, which eventually were celebrated all over the Greek world, particularly stress Hermes’ connection to maturing males in this setting …” (p. 116). The authoress also considers that the hymn is an aition of another ritual and adds that “the poet similarly adapts the story of Hermes’ sacrifice to remind his audience of experiences they have had or hope to have. After raiding the cattle, Hermes stops on the banks of the Alpheus and sacrifices two of them, offering their meat to twelve gods (h.Hom. Merc. 112–137).” This sacrifice of Hermes could explain the institution of sacrifice to the twelve gods in Olympia. In his analysis of the Homeric Hymn to Demeter, Parker5 points out that although in the hymn it is not possible to find all the elements and ritual moments of the Eleusinian mysteries, nevertheless it can be thought of as a possible aition of the institution of Eleusinian mysteries. This is due to the fact

1 2 3 4 5

Lonsdale 1994–1995, 25. Lonsdale 1994–1995, 30. Lonsdale 1994–1995, 36. Johnston 2002, 109–132. Parker 1991, 1–17.

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that the sufferings and experiences of Demeter, Persephone, Metaneira and the daughters of Celeus, constitute a mimesis of the initiation experience, which begins with pain, desperation and darkness, and ends in final revelation and bliss. The study of hymnodic performance, which is conceived as an interchange process of χάρις between men and gods, goes hand in hand with the study of rites performed in temples, sanctuaries, and along processional routes. From this performative and cultic perspective, we shall provide a revaluation of this hymn and of Greek hymnody in general. In hymns, the mythical narrative or εὐλογία6 plays an important role that must be analysed from a double perspective. On the one hand, the account of divine deeds is intended to ‘attract’ the benevolence of these powers through poetical prayer. On the other hand, by narrating the exploits of the gods, the Homeric Hymns define their characteristics and spheres of power, which become the basis and legitimation of cult. This leads Parker7 to call them ‘theogonic’. He points out that the scenes where the deity visits Mount Olympus for the first time are among the most important mythical themes, and in this way the hymn shows the place and function assigned to the new deity in the pantheon. Another essential motive is how the deity settles in his or her favourite sanctuaries. For this reason, it has been argued that the Homeric Hymns were composed for a particular occasion, to honour the altar where they were performed (as it is certainly plausible in the case of Delos in the Homeric Hymn to Apollo). Parker8 also suggests another possibility, namely, that some deities are closely linked to certain sacred places (for example, Apollo to Delphi and Delos, Demeter to Eleusis, Aphrodite to Cyprus), and that the story of how that association arose has become a theogonic theme. Thus, in the εὐλογία of Homeric Hymn 6 Aphrodite’s arrival to Cyprus is described, how she was received and dressed by the Hours, defining in this way Aphrodite’s characteristics and areas of power. Moreover, the scene on which the goddess visits Mount Olympus for the first time is recounted, and the hymn shows the place assigned to her in the Olympian universe. That is why it may be stated that the hymn is part of the cult ‘propaganda’. We consider that Homeric Hymn 6 was composed to honour Aphrodite in one of her Cypriot sanctuaries, probably the one in Paphos, since it is the one most frequently mentioned in poetical texts. To prove this, our paper is divided into three sections. Firstly, the relationship between Aphrodite and Cyprus 6 Cf. Janko 1981, 9–24; Clay 1997, 489–507; Furley–Bremer 2001.1, 1.50–63. 7 Parker 1991, 1–17. 8 Parker 1991, 1–17.

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is examined. Secondly, the formal structure and religious significance of the hymn are analysed. And third, in the last section, we focus on the debated issue about the context of performance of the so-called Homeric Hymns, and will review the reasons leading us to hold that Homeric Hymn 6 was composed to be performed in a religious context, in a Cypriot sanctuary.

2

Aphrodite and Cyprus

In Homer there are only a few mentions of Cyprus. In the Iliad, the island is mentioned when Agamemnon’s armour is described, since it was a gift received from Cinyras, king of the island (Il. 11.16–18). In the Odyssey, Cyprus is one of the places visited by Menelaus when he returns home, as well as Egypt, Phoenicia, and Ethiopia (Od. 4.83). And Cyprus is also mentioned in Odysseus’ ‘false’ tales (Od. 17.442–444). In this way, it can be seen that the island occupies a marginal place within the limits of the known world, like Phoenicia and Egypt. But it was this geographical location that made it possible for the island to serve as a link between the Greek and oriental worlds, allowing commercial, cultural and religious contacts between those civilisations. 2.1 Poetic Testimonies In the mythico-poetic tradition, Cyprus is like a ‘sacred place’ inhabited by Aphrodite, and by other related deities as well, like the Graces or the Hours, and it is from Cyprus that Aphrodite starts to exert her power. Besides, the poetic description of her sanctuary in Paphos also highlighted the goddess’ area of power, since the ‘fragrant altars’ and the fragrant gardens, filled with the perfume of frankincense and myrrh, not only refer to an essential feature of her cult, but also to her sensuality, i.e., to one of her privileged spheres of action, according to the eminently Greek conception of the goddess. 2.1.1 Homer, Odyssey 8.362–366 and Homeric Hymn 5.58–66 Demodocus’ song is the oldest Greek testimony of a Cypriot sanctuary devoted to Aphrodite:9 ἡ δ’ ἄρα Κύπρον ἵκανε φιλομμειδὴς Ἀφροδίτη, ἐς Πάφον, ἔνθα τέ οἱ τέμενος βωμός τε θυήεις. ἔνθα δέ μιν Χάριτες λοῦσαν καὶ χρῖσαν ἐλαίῳ,

9 Hom. Od. 8.362–366. Translation by A.T. Murray.

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ἀμβρότῳ, οἷα θεοὺς ἐπενήνοθεν αἰὲν ἐόντας, ἀμφὶ δὲ εἵματα ἕσσαν ἐπήρατα, θαῦμα ἰδέσθαι. … but she, the laughter-loving Aphrodite, went to Cyprus, to Paphos, where is her demesne and fragrant altar. There the Graces bathed her and anointed her with [365] immortal oil, such as gleams upon the gods that are forever. And they clothed her in lovely raiment, a wonder to behold.

A reading of the preparation episode of Aphrodite on Cyprus—where she is bathed, anointed, and dressed by the Graces—which does not take into account its religiousness may consider it to be a mere typical scene, that is, an epic resource. However, this action refers to one of the deity’s typical spheres of action: seduction and sexual relations. In addition, the sacredness of the space is indicated by the terms ‘precinct’ (τέμενος) and ‘altar’ (βωμός). This passage is closely related to Homeric Hymn 5 to Aphrodite (58–66):10

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ἐς Κύπρον δ’ ἐλθοῦσα θυώδεα νηὸν ἔδυνεν ἐς Πάφον· ἔνθα δέ οἱ τέμενος βωμός τε θυώδης· ἔνθ’ ἥ γ’ εἰσελθοῦσα θύρας ἐπέθηκε φαεινάς. ἔνθα δέ μιν Χάριτες λοῦσαν καὶ χρῖσαν ἐλαίῳ ἀμβρότῳ, οἷα θεοὺς ἐπενήνοθεν αἰὲν ἐόντας, ἀμβροσίῳ ἑδανῷ, τό ῥά οἱ τεθυωμένον ἦεν. ἑσσαμένη δ’ εὖ πάντα περὶ χροῒ εἵματα καλὰ χρυσῷ κοσμηθεῖσα φιλομμειδὴς Ἀφροδίτη σεύατ’ ἐπὶ Τροίης προλιποῦσ’ εὐώδεα Κύπρον. She went to Cyprus, to Paphos, where her precinct is and fragrant altar, and passed into her sweet-smelling temple. [60] There she went in and put to the glittering doors, and there the Graces bathed her with heavenly oil such as blooms upon the bodies of the eternal gods—oil divinely sweet, which she had by her, filled with fragrance. And laughter-loving Aphrodite put on all her rich clothes, [65] and when she had decked herself with gold, she left sweet-smelling Cyprus …

Fragrances are also evoked here, since her temple is ‘fragrant’ (θυώδεα) and her altar is ‘sweet-smelling’ (θυώδης), and oil has also been ‘filled with fragrance’ (τεθυωμένον) to embellish the goddess. The repetition of the word serves to

10

H.Hom. 5. Translation by H.G. Evelyn-White.

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mark the fragrance distinguishing Aphrodite and her temple.11 The adjectives (and the participle) allude to a cult feature of Aphrodite, namely, the profusion of incense, myrrh, and other aromatic substances. These scents had an intoxicating and ecstatic effect, proper both to sensual relations and to encounters with the divinity within the framework of mystery cults. These references also allude to Cyprus’ reality, since the island was famous for its perfumes.12 Some editors, instead of Κύπρον ‘Cyprus’ (66), read κῆπος ‘garden’, since Aphrodite’s cult was associated with sacred gardens (Strabo xiv 683–684), whereas Richardson13 prefers the first reading, ‘Cyprus’, for it would allow the closure of the preparation scene by taking again the noun already mentioned at verse 58. However, the possible reference to the sacred gardens beside the temple, the enclosure and the altar of the goddess is quite suggestive to us. 2.1.2

Hesiod’s Theogony 192–20614

πρῶτον δὲ Κυθήροισι ζαθέοισιν ἔπλητ’, ἔνθεν ἔπειτα περίρρυτον ἵκετο Κύπρον. ἐκ δ’ ἔβη αἰδοίη καλὴ θεός, ἀμφὶ δὲ ποίη 195 ποσσὶν ὕπο ῥαδινοῖσιν ἀέξετο· τὴν δ’ Ἀφροδίτην {ἀφρογενέα τε θεὰν καὶ ἐυστέφανον Κυθέρειαν} κικλήσκουσι θεοί τε καὶ ἀνέρες, οὕνεκ’ ἐν ἀφρῷ θρέφθη· ἀτὰρ Κυθέρειαν, ὅτι προσέκυρσε Κυθήροις· Κυπρογενέα δ’, ὅτι γέντο περικλύστῳ ἐνὶ Κύπρῳ· 200 ἠδὲ φιλομμειδέα, ὅτι μηδέων ἐξεφαάνθη. τῇ δ’ Ἔρος ὡμάρτησε καὶ Ἵμερος ἔσπετο καλὸς γεινομένῃ τὰ πρῶτα θεῶν τ’ ἐς φῦλον ἰούσῃ· ταύτην δ’ ἐξ ἀρχῆς τιμὴν ἔχει ἠδὲ λέλογχε μοῖραν ἐν ἀνθρώποισι καὶ ἀθανάτοισι θεοῖσι, 205 παρθενίους τ’ ὀάρους μειδήματά τ’ ἐξαπάτας τε τέρψίν τε γλυκερὴν φιλότητά τε μειλιχίην τε. First she drew near holy Cythera, and from there, afterwards, she came to sea-girt Cyprus, and came forth an awful and lovely goddess, and grass [195] grew up about her beneath her shapely feet. Her gods and men 11 12 13 14

Cf. Olson 2012 ad loc. Pirenne-Delforge 1994, 323. Richardson 2010 ad loc. Hes. Th. 192–206. Text and translation by H.G. Evelyn-White.

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call Aphrodite, and the foam-born goddess and rich-crowned Cytherea, because she grew amid the foam, and Cytherea because she reached Cythera, and Cyprogenes because she was born in billowy Cyprus, [200] and Philommedes because she sprang from the members. And with her went Eros, and comely Desire followed her at her birth at the first and as she went into the assembly of the gods. This honour she has from the beginning, and this is the portion allotted to her amongst men and undying gods,—[205] the whisperings of maidens and smiles and deceits with sweet delight and love and graciousness. Two of the most important cult centres of Greek Aphrodite are mentioned in this Hesiodic passage: Cythera (192) and Cyprus (193), and the Boeotian poet explains the meaning of the goddess’ usual epithets. It should be noted that the well-known appellation ‘Cyprus-born’ (Κυπρογενής) is the most frequently used expression in Greek poetry.15 Aphrodite’s birth is an essential moment in the cosmic scheme of the universe. As the deity rises from the foam produced by Uranus’ genitals, she is linked to fertility and generation. When she puts her feet on the island, grass grows beneath them.16 But fruitfulness of the earth, even in Hesiod, is also related to human fertility, since the poet adds that from the beginning Aphrodite’s scope of action relates to the joys of sensual love (205–206).17 2.2 Epithets and Cult Names Such is the importance of the island that it provides one of the most usual epithets of Aphrodite: ‘Cyprus-born’, ‘Cypris’. In the Iliad, especially in Book 5 (330, 422, 458, 760, 883), ‘Cypris’ functions not only as an epithet but also as the goddess’ name, turning the deity, according to Pirenne-Delforge’s words,18 into “ ‘la Chypriote’ par excellence”. Thus, the goddess’ name underlines her close relationship with the island. And at the same time these epithets turn her into the only goddess of the Greek pantheon to be geographically defined by her birthplace.19 It should be noted that Cypris will be the most usual denomination used by the Greeks to refer to the Cypriot local goddess.20

15 16 17 18 19 20

Cf. h.Hom. 10. 1; Sapph. 22.16, 134; Pi. O. 10.105, P. 4.216, etc. The reception of this detail is traced by M. Paschalis (this volume) from Hesiod to the early modern period. Cf. Furley 2011, 218. Pirenne-Delforge 1994, 3. Pirenne-Delforge 1994, 316. Cf. Farnell 1896, 619–620.

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However, these divine names not only allude to the place to which she arrives after rising from the sea foam (Uranus’ semen), but also to her main field of intervention, to sexuality, as these names could be related to the verb κύω, to ‘fertilise’.21 2.3 A Brief Summary of Archaeological Evidence Pirenne-Delforge22 points out that “le sanctuaire de la déesse de Paphos remonte à la fin de l’âge du Bronze, mais l’absence de structure monumentale antérieure à cette époque n’exclut pas l’existence d’un culte remontant à une date plus ancienne; on sait en effet que des forces de fécondité étaient adorées à Chypre depuis le Chalcolithique au moins.”23 However, archaeological testimonies again confirm that from the third millennium bc a goddess of sexuality and fertility was worshipped in the temple of Aphrodite in Paphos.24 Excavations have evidenced that the first monumental architecture of the sanctuary is from the twelfth century bc, when the Achaean emigration came to the island. The remains show traces of an open ‘temenos’ surrounded by a Cyclopean wall, and a room covered with columns, the ‘cella’, following a scheme very similar to that of the temples of the Near East. Karageorghis’ proposal25 is of great importance for our analysis since he points out that thanks to the vases found in Salamina’s tomb 79 (ca. 750– 600 bc) we can reconstruct the possible rituals performed in honour of this Cypriot goddess, which essentially may have consisted in processions carrying flowers down the sacred gardens. The name of the goddess worshipped there is unknown, since in dedicatory inscriptions she was mentioned as Wanassa, ‘Queen’. MacLachlan26 points out that “she was called Aphrodite by Homer, but Paphian syllabic inscriptions refer to her only as Wanassa (‘Ruling Lady’) until the end of the classical period. This title is found in Mycenaean texts and may reflect the survival of Greek traditions introduced by immigrants from mainland Greece”. Thus, the goddess of

21

22 23 24 25 26

There is no sure etymology for the name Aphrodite neither for the epithet Cytherea. However, scholars have provided possible etymological derivations, puns, or phonetic associations; cf. Pironti 2005, 136. Pirenne-Delforge 1994, 339. As our paper is not a study on archaeology, we will only remark on some elements that would enable us to corroborate our reading hypothesis. The old city of Paphos was renamed Palaepaphos when in the sixth-century king Nicocles founded Nea Paphos; cf. Young 2005, 23. Karageorghis 2004, 184ff. MacLachlan 2002, 370.

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fruitfulness, according to Karageorghis,27 was adopted by Mycenaean Greeks, who included her in their pantheon with the name of Aphrodite and converted her into the goddess of love and beauty.

3

Homeric Hymn 628

3.1 Hymn Structure In the ἐπίκλησις the poet mentions the name of the goddess and one of her favourite residences (1–5), from which the most characteristic deity’s epithet is precisely derived:

5

Αἰδοίην χρυσοστέφανον καλὴν Ἀφροδίτην ᾄσομαι, ἣ πάσης Κύπρου κρήδεμνα λέλογχεν εἰναλίης, ὅθι μιν Ζεφύρου μένος ὑγρὸν ἀέντος ἤνεικεν κατὰ κῦμα πολυφλοίσβοιο θαλάσσης ἀφρῷ ἔνι μαλακῷ· I will sing of stately Aphrodite, gold-crowned and beautiful, whose dominion is the walled cities of all sea-set Cyprus. There the moist breath of the western wind wafted her over the waves of the loud-moaning sea [5] in soft foam …29

The poet uses a non-traditional epithet, Αἰδοίην, whose meaning is rather ambiguous, since it could refer to αἰδώς, a feeling of ‘shame’, apparently at odds with the goddess’ sphere of action. But on the other hand, it should be noted that the audience would probably relate the term Αἰδοίην to the plural neuter noun τὰ αἰδοῖα (‘external sexual organs’), which alludes to sexuality. However, Olson30 states that Αἰδοίην is a proper epithet for the Lady of Cyprus (2–3), who presumably also receives the title of Κυπρομέδουσα, ‘she who reigns over Cyprus’.31 The two other epithets, καλήν ‘beautiful’ and χρυσοστέφανον ‘goldcrowned’, are traditional as well. The first is obvious, for it refers to the divin-

27 28

29 30 31

Karageorghis 2004, 111. Although Allen-Halliday-Sikes state that there are no traces to date the hymn, they consider it feasible that the author may be the very same author of the Epic Cycle poem, the Cypria, which would allow the hymn to be dated back to the seventh century (19362, 372). All translations of h.Hom. 6 are by H.G. Evelyn-White. Olson 2012 ad loc. Karageorghis 2004, 180.

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ity of love and beauty; the second alludes to her jewels as divine attributes. Moreover, gold is, par excellence, a divine metal, and given the nature of the deity being praised, the reference is not accidental. It should be noted that the narration of the theogonic myth of Aphrodite’s ‘birth’ takes again, albeit modified and softened, the Hesiodic version of this myth. Hence, the poet’s mention of Aphrodite being carried by the west wind Zephyr to the coast of Cyprus amid ‘soft foam’ (5) conceals the point that the real origin of this gentle foam was Uranus’ castrated genitals.32 Aphrodite’s journey, her arrival to Cyprus, evokes the query on “whether the cult places mentioned in the text can tell us something about the place of the performance of the hymns themselves”.33 We think we can give a positive answer to this question, thanks to the device used by the poet when he describes the goddess as ἣ πάσης Κύπρου κρήδεμνα λέλογχεν / εἰναλίης (2–3), ‘who protects the battlements crowning the walls of Cyprus, all surrounded by the sea’ (our own translation). The verb λέλογχε, perfect indicative of λαγχάνω, has the ‘religious’ meaning ‘to be the tutelary deity of a place, protect it’, as in h.Hom. 19.6–7.34 It is interesting to note that the perfect covers the aspectual meaning of status, which explicitly specifies that the beginning of a process has led to a stable result and emphasises that the verbal action continues to develop, expressing the idea of a permanent situation.35 The use of the perfect indicative introduces the ‘here and now’ of the performance as a result of a past action whose validity is still in force, for Aphrodite has become, and continues to be, the protectress of the island. The εὐλογία centres on praising Aphrodite’s power through a mythical narrative that acquires the dimension of a theogonic account, which describes the fertilising power of the goddess through an ekphrasis depicting how the Hours adorned her with jewels after she steps on Cypriot land (5–15). Then the poet narrates how they took her to the assembly of the gods, who admired her appearance and were filled with desire for her (15–18). By the use of this description the poet clearly states the goddess’ τιμαί: love and sexual desire. 5

τὴν δὲ χρυσάμπυκες Ὧραι δέξαντ’ ἀσπασίως, περὶ δ’ ἄμβροτα εἵματα ἕσσαν,

32 33 34

Cf. Furley 2011, 219. de Jong 2012, 39. H.Hom. 19.6–7: ὃς πάντα λόφον νιφόεντα λέλογχε / καὶ κορυφὰς ὀρέων καὶ πετρήεντα κέλευθα (‘He has every snowy crest and the mountain peaks and rocky crests for his domain’). Translation by H.G. Evelyn-White. Duhoux 2000, 142–143.

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κρατὶ δ’ ἐπ’ ἀθανάτῳ στεφάνην εὔτυκτον ἔθηκαν καλὴν χρυσείην, ἐν δὲ τρητοῖσι λοβοῖσιν ἄνθεμ’ ὀρειχάλκου χρυσοῖό τε τιμήεντος, δειρῇ δ’ ἀμφ’ ἁπαλῇ καὶ στήθεσιν ἀργυφέοισιν ὅρμοισι χρυσέοισιν ἐκόσμεον οἷσί περ αὐταὶ Ὧραι κοσμείσθην χρυσάμπυκες ὁππότ’ ἴοιεν ἐς χορὸν ἱμερόεντα θεῶν καὶ δώματα πατρός. αὐτὰρ ἐπεὶ δὴ πάντα περὶ χροῒ κόσμον ἔθηκαν ἦγον ἐς ἀθανάτους· οἱ δ’ ἠσπάζοντο ἰδόντες χερσί τ’ ἐδεξιόωντο καὶ ἠρήσαντο ἕκαστος εἶναι κουριδίην ἄλοχον καὶ οἴκαδ’ ἄγεσθαι, εἶδος θαυμάζοντες ἰοστεφάνου Κυθερείης. … and there the gold-filleted Hours welcomed her joyously. They clothed her with heavenly garments: on her head they put a fine, well-wrought crown of gold, [10] and in her pierced ears they hung ornaments of orichalc and precious gold, and adorned her with golden necklaces over her soft neck and snow-white breasts, jewels which the gold-filleted Hours wear themselves whenever they go to their father’s house to join the lovely dances of the gods. And when they had fully decked her, [15] they brought her to the gods, who welcomed her when they saw her, giving her their hands. Each one of them prayed that he might lead her home to be his wedded wife, so greatly were they amazed at the beauty of violet-crowned Cytherea.

The emphasis on her jewels’ richness may reflect oriental traditions. Her crown (στεφάνην χρυσείην) and necklaces (ὅρμοισι χρυσέοισιν) are made of gold. The adjective ‘golden’ refers to a characteristic epithet of the goddess. Boedecker36 points out that the epithet necessarily refers to ornaments, luxury, and Aphrodite’s condition as the goddess of love. This crown is also ‘well-wrought’ (εὔτυκτον) and alludes to one of Cyprus’ distinguishing features: its excellence in metal working. This feature is underlined by the description of her earrings, which are ‘ornaments of orichalc and precious gold’ (ἄνθεμ’ ὀρειχάλκου χρυσοῖό τε τιμήεντος). Orichalc probably refers to a copper alloy with bronze—and copper was as precious as gold37—, since the island owed its flourishing position

36 37

Boedecker 1974, 23. Karageorghis 1977, 117.

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precisely to this metal. The necklaces round her neck and on her chest, her earrings and crown, all refer to ornaments similar to the ones oriental goddesses of fertility wore, because these jewels are not only aesthetic ornaments but talismans as well. Figurines wearing elaborate jewels as the ones mentioned in the poem have been found on Cyprus.38 The choruses in which the Hours take part at Zeus’ sacred residence are alluded to at verses 11–13. Although the Hours can be thought of, according to Burkert,39 as a group of goddesses whose prime activity is to sing and dance, it is possible that the mention of the performance at Mount Olympus provides a divine model for human celebrations to gods through hymns and it is useful to remember that through hymn performance men accomplish a cult act considered to be the mimesis of a divine antecedent. Olson40 points out that verse 14 could be thought of as a sort of summary of the actions undertaken by the Hours: thanks to her clothes and ornaments, Aphrodite displays the splendour of her beauty at its highest degree. The effect produced on the Olympians is described at verses 15–18: Aphrodite arouses in them erotic desire and they all aspire to marry her. In this way the poet defines the τιμαί the goddess will have and which will distinguish her from the other Olympians.41 Furley42 holds that the poet has centred on the aesthetic quality of Aphrodite’s appearance, both at the moment of her birth and when she is introduced to the Olympian gods, and that he omits any mention to her filiation, namely, that she is engendered out of her father’s genitals, and says nothing about her divine powers.43 However, in this paper, we argue that the detailed description of her clothes and jewels does not merely provoke aesthetic pleasure; rather, the aim of the poet was to indicate Aphrodite’s main area of influence: sexual desire and fertility. Consequently, her clothes and jewels allude to desire and eroticism, and the golden and well-worked jewellery refer to the abundance of metals, a source of wealth for the island. Moreover, we have to remember the

38 39 40 41 42 43

Cf. Richardson 2010, 234; Karageorghis 1977, 117. Burkert 2007, 234–236. Olson 2012 ad loc. Cf. Brillet-Dubois 2011, 112. Furley 2011, 219. This lack of reference to Aphrodite’s sexuality or divine qualities would seem amazing when it is compared with the scene in Demodocus’ song and in h.Hom. 5, but it is due to the allusive character of the hymn, probably because of its briefness, since the mere allusions to the exuberance or opulence of Aphrodite’s robes would allow the worshippers to remember the sexual powers attributed to the goddess.

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magic and religious function performed by necklaces, bracelets and earrings in Cypriot as well as oriental votive figurines.44 Finally, in the εὐχή, Aphrodite’s help to win the poetic competition is requested (19–21):

20

Χαῖρ’ ἑλικοβλέφαρε γλυκυμείλιχε, δὸς δ’ ἐν ἀγῶνι νίκην τῷδε φέρεσθαι, ἐμὴν δ’ ἔντυνον ἀοιδήν. αὐτὰρ ἐγὼ καὶ σεῖο καὶ ἄλλης μνήσομ’ ἀοιδῆς. Hail, sweetly-winning, coy-eyed goddess! Grant that I may gain the victory in this contest, [20] and order you my song. And now I will remember you and another song also.

The poet closes the hymn with his explicit wish to win the poetic contest with the aid of Aphrodite. It is interesting to note that in the Homeric Hymns’ corpus this is the only reference to a concrete competition.45 3.2 Hymn in Praise of Aphrodite in Paphos46 Although the hymn is a praise to Aphrodite, this name is neither used in the temple of Paphos, nor in any other temple on Cyprus. As a matter of fact, this name is found in later Cypriot inscriptions. As we have already said, on the island the goddess was simply called Ἄνασσα, or ‘the Paphian’.47 This great goddess was a deity of fertility and sexuality closely related to royalty, who was considered to be the protectress of the king and of warriors. The existence of a fertility deity can be traced back to the Chalcolithic period, who, as a result of different migrations, is assimilated to Cretan and oriental goddesses. From this confluence of various religious traditions arises a new deity, the Cypriot goddess, who will later be known as Aphrodite. Serwint48 points out that the Cypriot goddess’ complexity was due to the influence of Sumerian Inanna, her later manifestation as Acadian Ishtar, as well as to the influence of Cananaean Astarte, Anath and Asherah. In fact, the

44 45 46

47 48

On this subject see, among others, Karageorghis 2004; Karageorghis 1977; MacLachlan 2002, 365–378; Richardson 2010. Cf. Olson 2012 ad loc. This brief characterisation of Cypriot Aphrodite is based on the studies of Farnell 1896, Karageorghis 1977, Pirenne-Delforge 1994, Serwint 2002, Pironti 2005, among other authors. On Aphrodite Ἄνασσα see Voskos (in this volume). Serwint 2002, 325.

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name with which she was usually invoked in Cyprus, Ἄνασσα ‘Sovereign’, was an appellative of Astarte.49 For her part, Karageorghis50 considers that this appellative comes from the oriental tradition of not uttering the real name of a deity, since it was regarded to be ineffable and tremendously powerful. It should also be noted that these oriental goddesses had influence over three spheres of activity: sexuality, fertility, and warrior prowess, which belong to the scope of action of Cypriot Aphrodite as well. Fertility and sexuality, as distinctive characteristics of oriental goddesses, are associated with nakedness. Figurines of naked goddesses laden with jewels, which were considered to be amulets to promote fertility and wealth, are common. This iconographical model is also found on Cyprus. Thus, when speaking about the Cypriot goddess, Serwint51 argues that “her nudity and heavy jewellery recall a tradition of Near Eastern fertility goddesses, and the placement of the goddess on top of her cult symbol is in keeping with the established Near Eastern convention of deity on sacred token”. Aphrodite’s priests were called Cinyradae (Κινυράδαι) because they were descendants of Cinyras, the mythic king loved by the goddess. In the classical period, as attested by numerous inscriptions, the king is also the goddess’ priest.52 This evidence shows the close link between the ‘Paphian’ deity and royalty, for she was considered to ensure prosperity to the royal house, and also to protect the sovereign during war. The connection between Aphrodite and war is attested by multiple representations of the goddess using weapons.53 Budin54 points out that for the Greeks ‘the Paphian’ and Aphrodite were the same goddess. In Homeric Hymn 6 the process through which the powerful Cypriot goddess becomes Greek Aphrodite can be clearly seen. She is still presented as a pre-Olympian deity,55 but her attributes are limited to the sphere of sexuality and marriage, since soil fertility and the protection of kings and warriors are discarded.56

49 50 51 52 53 54 55

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Valdes Guía 2013, 57. Karageorghis 1977, 109. Serwint 2002, 337. Pirenne-Delforge 1994, 346. Serwint 2002, 342–343. Budin 2004, 119. The process of the goddess’ submission ends in Homeric Hymn 5 and in the Iliad, especially in Book 5, where she is already considered to be the daughter of Zeus, and consequently, subjected to his authority. Cf. Ristorto and Reyes 2016. Bonnet and Pirenne-Delforge 1999, 253.

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Performance of Homeric Hymn 6 in Paphos

Most scholars argue that hymns were prooemia, that is, mere preludes preceding a rhapsodic performance of epic poetry.57 For this reason, it can be asserted that the context of performance was a civic and religious festival or a symposium. Furthermore, it is often said that the Homeric Hymns are not associated with a particular city, nor were they composed for a special religious festivity, i.e., they are considered to be literary hymns,58 not related to a religious occasion.59 Alternatively, Parker60 points out that certain hymns were almost undoubtedly performed at specific festivals, such as, for example, the Homeric Hymn to Delian Apollo, which must have been performed at the annual festival of this god in Delos (cf. 156–176). As public festivals in honour of Aphrodite are only known from later sources,61 Clay62 points out that the most probable context of performance for our hymn is a symposium, giving as an example the hymn sung by Demodocus in honour of this same goddess and her husband Hephaestus in Od. 8.499 ff. However, if we consider that some hymns were only performed merely as entertainment in a banquet, we would be neglecting the pragmatic function of the hymn and its mimetic nature. The mimetic poetics of Greek hymns is related to the poet’s intention to establish a close relationship between the god and its worshippers: thanks to mimesis the god is present in the cult celebration, which is considered to be the 57

58

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60 61 62

In ancient times the Homeric Hyms were considered προοίμια, recitations “sung as introductions to other hexameter compositions” (see p. 715 of the OCD). So it is attested by Thucydides (3.104.4–6). Among recent authors who work on this aspect we shall point out Furley and Bremer 2001 (1), Torres Guerra 2002/2003, 39–44; Furley 2011, 206–231. The expression ‘literary hymns’ has a broad sense, since it includes works composed to be read rather than works to be performed, but also works whose manufacture and skilfulness contrast with ‘popular’ poetry. Among the renowned philologists who point out a symposium performance or a performance in other non-religious or non-ritual context are Clay 1989, Furley–Bremer 2001 (1). For her part, Stehle 1997 points out that the poems were performed in Panhellenic instances, for example, rhapsode contests, but without considering their religious aspect. She rather considers that in the Homeric Hymns poets use self-referential techniques to show their knowledge of the truth ‘about the gods’ and their role of mediators not only among men and gods but also among men of different Panhellenic communities. The Homeric Hymns would rather be “generators of a cultural and religious feeling” shared by all the Greek cities. Parker 1991, 1–17. Strabo xiv 683c, Clement of Alexandria Prot. ii.14.2, and Himerius Or. xvii, in Photius Bibl. (243) 372b i 10–20 (R. Henry) and Tacitus ii.2. Clay 1989, 7.

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‘reproduction’ of a divine antecedent (cf. 11–13). In this way, the worshippers attending the goddess’ festivals in Paphos ‘imitated’ the joyful Hours participating in the divine χοροί. Thus, it would not be unreasonable to propose that Homeric Hymn 6 was composed and performed in a ritual context, at a festival in honour of Cypriot Aphrodite. Young63 considers that the central moment of Aphrodite’s Cypriot festival might have been the performance of hymns, perhaps of Homeric Hymn 5, and for our part, we add, the performance of Homeric Hymn 6. On Cyprus, Aphrodite had temples and figurines, and the major religious festival of the island was celebrated in her honour. However, only later sources mention and describe the rituals performed at this festival. Several preserved testimonies also suggest the existence of mystery cults. Thus, in the first place, we have Himerius’ testimony (Or. xvii, in Photius Bibl. (243) 372b i 10–20 (R. Henry)), who narrates that in the Paphos sanctuary, in profound religious silence, certain μυστικοὶ λόγοι were revealed, the ones that explained how, on the occasion of Aphrodite’s birth, the sky and the sea united.64 On the other hand, Strabo (xiv 683c) mentions that there was an annual Panegyris. The historian narrates that all men and women of the island walked together, in procession, from Nea Paphos to nearby Palaepaphos, where Aphrodite’s famous sanctuary stood (cf. Nilsson 1957, 364). Clement of Alexandria (Prot. ii.14.2) also mentions the existence of a mystery cult (τελετή) set up by Cinyras to honour the marine goddess of pleasure (πελαγία ἡδονῆς). The rite, according to the report of the contentious Father of the Church, consisted in the distribution of salt and a phallus among the worshippers, before their initiation into the sensual art of the goddess. It would be a mystery cult centred on the revelation of the circumstances of Aphrodite’s birth on Cyprus’ seashore. Following Pirenne-Delforge,65 we consider that these later authors report the ceremonies performed at their time, but these rituals probably date back to times immemorial. Clement of Alexandria, without grasping the real meaning of these rites, considered them to be only an allusion to Aphrodite’s birth myth. However, as Pirenne-Delforge66 points out, it is likely that from the end of the second millennium on Cyprus, where the myth narrated by Hesiod originated, there existed a cult intended to encourage fertility and the renewal

63 64 65 66

Young 2005, 29. Cf. Pirenne-Delforge 1994, 343. Pirenne-Delforge 1994, 344. Pirenne-Delforge 1994, 343f.

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of life, which was practised by the sea. Similarly, even when the above procession mentioned by the Greek geographer had only been introduced in the third century bc, we must not reject the possibility that in Aphrodite’s temple in Palaepaphos processions, libations and choral performances to encourage fertility and the renewal of cosmic forces might have been celebrated. From the information provided by these later sources, we dare say that in the seventh century bc, which is the performance date of Homeric Hymn 6, and influenced by very ancient customs and traditions, festivals in honour of the lady of the sanctuary were performed, with the aim not only of praising her but also of encouraging the fertility of the soil, of animals and of men, and prosperity as well. As every religious festival included a procession (πομπή), choral singing and dancing (χοροί), and sacrifices around the altar,67 we believe that this Paphian festival would include a procession by the sea to ‘imitate’ the circumstances of Aphrodite’s birth and her arrival to the coast of Cyprus. This mimesis contributes to the rebirth of vital forces, since the performance of the rites mime not only the goddess’ birth on Cyprus but also the performance of the Hours, who are goddesses related to renewal. As it was presumably usual, hymns were sung during the procession. Analysing the festival mentioned by Strabo, Pirenne-Delforge68 points out that “l’existence d’un lieu-dit ‘Jardin sacré’ sur la route en question donne à penser que certaines stations intervenaient en chemin”. And it is possible that in these sacred ‘Gardens’ worshippers performed dances and songs, given that at all Greek religious festivals choruses were an essential element. Corroborating this peculiar character of all Greek cult acts, Pirenne-Delforge69 remarks, from the information provided by inscriptions, that “les calendriers et règlements cultuels envisagés à propos des sacrifices offerts à la déesse concernent les fêtes en son honneur puisque le sacrifice est le cœur de la célébration festive”. In this way it is feasible to think that inside the sanctuary itself more dances would be performed, more hymns would be sung, and that another usual element of religious festivals would probably take place, i.e. the rhapsodic competitions in honour of the same divinities worshipped in festivals. It can be argued that a proof of this is found in the εὐχή of Homeric Hymn 6 when the poet asks the goddess’ help to win the contest (19–21).

67 68 69

Burkert 2007, 137. Pirenne-Delforge 1994, 342. Pirenne-Delforge 1992, 393.

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Conclusion

Our work relies on present discussions about the occasion and performance of Homeric Hymns and the references to the institution of Aphrodite’s worship. To support our reading of Homeric Hymn 6 as a performative composition to praise Aphrodite mainly in her Cypriot sanctuary in Paphos, we arranged our literary-religious study in three parts. First, we examined the relationship between Aphrodite and Cyprus as expressed in literary texts (Odyssey, Homeric Hymn 5 and Theogony), the deity’s epithets and cult names mentioned from Homer’s Iliad onwards, and some evidence provided by archaeological discoveries. Second, we analysed its formal structure and religious significance. And third, we focused on its religious context of performance to argue that the hymn was composed to be performed in Aphrodite’s Paphian sanctuary on Cyprus. We know that there are other reading hypotheses70 and that in Homeric Hymn 6 there is no explicit reference to a public festival of the goddess. But there are indeed references to cultic places, not only Cyprus but also Cythera, as indicated by Aphrodite’s epithet (18). The presentation of cultic elements such as choruses, ointments, perfumes, fine dresses and jewels, enable us to relate the performance of this hymn to a ritual context, in a sanctuary of the goddess on Cyprus. For this reason, we consider it quite possible to assert that Aphrodite’s arrival to Cyprus constitutes “a climatic revelation of divine power, which may lead to the foundation of a cult”.71 And in a certain way this celebration of the goddess explains how her arrival to the divine world and the delimitation of her spheres of activity in the past have an impact on the present of the performance. This coincides with Richardson’s affirmation72 about the Homeric Hymns, that “they also celebrate the deity as a permanent power in the world, and they move with relative ease between these two temporal modes, to such an extent that sometimes one is not sure where the boundary lies”. This link between the past and the present enables us to think that the Homeric Hymns are not only poetic exercises performed at rhapsodic competitions, but also ritual hymns, which celebrate the power of a deity and at the same time legitimise cults, such as the cult Aphrodite receives on Cyprus. This

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Faulkner 2008, 4 points out that “the hymn to Aphrodite has often been understood as a poem intended to pay honour to a family of Aineiadai who once held power in the Troad.” However, he also considers that beyond this palace context, the hymn could have been executed in a series of successive performances at a certain festival in honour of the goddess (Faulkner 2008, 3–7, 47–50). Cf. Parker 1991, 2. Richardson 2015, 20.

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twofold function of hymns explains that “their overriding interest lies with the (often aetiologically charged) cult sites and cult objects of the gods they hymn, which are crammed in whenever possible, even when the story does not need them”.73 Furthermore, from the literary sources and the data provided by archaeological remains, and relying on the proposal of Pirenne-Delforge74 that ritual has influenced myth, we plausibly consider the possibility that Homeric Hymn 6 may have been performed at the goddess’ festivals, in her most important sanctuary, the one in Paphos. On the one hand, the mythical narration refers to Aphrodite’s journey to Cyprus. And the worshippers performing the hymn would ‘imitate’ the goddess’ route, in the here and now, during the procession towards her sanctuary.75 On the other hand, the hymn indicates what the sphere of power of the new deity will be, and it is assumed that Aphrodite’s festivals aimed at bringing about fruitfulness and fertility. Although the poet expresses his wish to win the contest76 carried on within the festival context, it cannot be denied that the hymn still celebrates Aphrodite as the sovereign of Cyprus and recalls her attributes.

Bibliography Allen, T.W., Halliday, R.W., and Sikes, E.E. (19362). The Homeric Hymns. Oxford. Belayche, N. et al. (2005). Nommer les dieux: théonymes, épithètes, epiclesis dans l’Antiquité. Rennes. Boedecker, D.D. (1974). Aphrodite’s Entry into Greek Epic. Leiden. Bolger, D., and Serwint, D., eds. (2002). Engendering Aphrodite. Women and Society in Ancient Cyprus. Boston.

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de Jong 2012, 53. Pirenne-Delforge 1984, 343ff. Hymns were sung while the performers approached the temple or sanctuary. And this seems to be the original way of singing paeans, as it is suggested by the aetiological passage in the h.Ap. (514–518). In the archaic and classical periods—although our information source is the Hellenistic historian Polycrates, cited by Athenaeus (iv 139d–140b)—, during the Hyacinthia, paides sang and practised worship while they headed from Sparta towards Amyclae. In the classical period, in a parodic tone, Aristophanes offers attestation that these hymns were sung near a temple or a sacrificial altar (Av. 851–858). Cf. Calame 1977; Nagy 1994. An inscription of the imperial period found in Athens, where the goddess is mentioned as Ἀφροδίτη Ἐναγώνιος, may refer to the function of the goddess as protectress of dramatic competitions (cf. Farnell 1896, 658).

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Bonnet, C., and Pirenne-Delforge, V. (1999). Deux déeses en interaction: Astarté et Aphrodite dans le monde égéen. In: C. Bonnet and A. Motte, eds., Les syncrétismes religieux dans le monde méditerranéen antique. Brussels/Rome, pp. 249–273. Brillet-Dubois, P. (2011). An Erotic Aristeia. The Homeric Hymn to Aphrodite and its Relation to the Iliadic Tradition. In: Faulkner, ed., pp. 106–132. Budin, S. (2004). A Reconsideration of the Aphrodite-Ashtart Syncretism. Numen 51: 2, pp. 95–145. Burkert, W. (2007 [1977]). Religión griega arcaica y clásica. Trans. H. Bernabé. Madrid. Calame, C. (1977). Les chœurs de jeunes filles en Grèce archaïque. I Morphologie, function religieuse et sociale. Rome. Càssola, F. (1994). Inni omerici. Milan. Clay, J. Strauss (1989). The Politics of Olympus. Form and Meaning in the Major Homeric Hymns. Princeton. Clay, J. Strauss (1997). The Homeric Hymns. In: I. Morris and B. Powell, eds., A New Companion to Homer. Leiden/New York/Cologne, pp. 489–507. Duhoux, Y. (2000). Le verbe grec ancien. Éléments de morphologie et de syntaxe historiques. Leuven. Evelyn-White, H.G. (1914). Hesiod, The Homeric Hymns and Homerica. Cambridge, MA/London. Farnell, L.R. (1896). The Cults of the Greek States. Vol. 2. Oxford. Faulkner, A. (2008). The Homeric Hymn to Aphrodite. Introduction, Text, and Commentary. Oxford. Faulkner, A., ed. (2011). The Homeric Hymns: Interpretative Essays. Oxford. Furley, W. (2011). Homeric and Un-Homeric Hexameter Hymns. A Question of Type. In: Faulkner, ed., pp. 206–231. Furley, W.D., and Bremer, J.M. (2001). Greek Hymns. Vol. 1: The Texts in Translation. Vol. 2: Greek Texts and Commentary. Tübingen. Hornblower, S., Spawforth, A., and Eidinow, E., eds. (2012). The Oxford Classical Dictionary. Vol. 1. Oxford. Janko, R. (1981). The Structure of the Homeric Hymns: A Study in Genre. Hermes 109, pp. 9–24. de Jong, I.J.F. (2012). The Homeric Hymns. In: I.J.F. de Jong, ed., Space in Ancient Greek Literature, Leiden/Boston, pp. 39–53. Johnston, S.I. (2000). Myth, Festival, and Poet: The “Homeric Hymn to Hermes” and its Performative Context, CPh 97, pp. 109–132. Karageorghis, J. (1977). La Grande Déese de Chypre et son culte. À travers l’iconographie de l’époque néolithique au vième s. a. C. Lyon/Paris. Karageorghis, V. (2004 [2002]). Chipre. Encrucijada del Mediterráneo Oriental (1600– 500 a.C.). Trans. J. Vivanco Gefaell. Barcelona. Lonsdale, S.H. (1994–1995). “Homeric Hymn to Apollo”: Prototype and Paradigm of Choral Performance. Arion 3, pp. 25–40.

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MacLachlan, B. (2002). The Ungendering of Aphrodite. In: Bolger and Serwint, eds., pp. 365–378. Murray, A.T. (1919). Homer. Odyssey. Vol. 1: Books 1–12. Cambridge, MA. Nagy, G. (1994). Genre and Occasion. Métis 9–10, pp. 11–25. Nilsson, M.P. (1957). Griechische Feste von religiöser Bedeutung, mit Ausshluss der Attischen. Stuttgart. Olson, S.D. (2012). The Homeric Hymn to Aphrodite and Related Texts. Berlin/Boston. Parker, R. (1991). The ‘Hymn to Demeter’ and the ‘Homeric Hymns’, G&R 38, pp. 1–17. Pirenne-Delforge, V. (1994). L’Aphrodite grecque: contribution à l’étude de ses cultes et de sa personnalité dans le panthéon archaïque et classique. Liège. Pironti, G. (2005). Au nom d’Aphrodite: réflexions sur la figure et le nom de la déesse née de l’aphros. In: Belayche et al., pp. 129–142. Richardson, N. (2010). Three Homeric Hymns: To Apollo, Hermes, and Aphrodite. Cambridge/New York. Richardson, N. (2015). Constructing a Hymnic Narrative: Tradition and Innovation in the Longer Homeric Hymns. In: A. Faulkner and O. Hodkinson, eds., Hymnic Narrative and the Narratology of Greek Hymns. Leiden/Boston, pp. 19–30. Ristorto, M.A., and Reyes, S.S. (2016). Ἱερὸς γάμος and ἐπιφάνεια in the Homeric Hymn to Aphrodite (v). Paper presented at Academia Homerica 2016 Scholars’ Session, Chios. [unpublished] Serwint, N. (2002). Aphrodite and her Near Eastern Sisters: Spheres of Influence. In: Bolger and Serwint, eds., pp. 325–350. Stehle, E. (1997). Bardic Poetry. In: E. Stehle, ed., Performance and Gender in Ancient Greece: Nondramatic Poetry in its Setting. Princeton, pp. 170–212. Torres, D.A. (2017). El Himno Homérico a Afrodita (v) como matriz del elogio a héroes y hombres en la lírica. In: D.A. Torres, ed., La himnodia griega antigua. Culto, performance y desarrollo de las convenciones del género. Buenos Aires, pp. 18–39. Torres Guerra, J.B. (2000). El himno en Grecia, un género narrativo. RILCE 16, pp. 657– 672. Torres Guerra, J.B. (2003). Sobre la conclusión de los himnos homéricos y sus circunstancias de ejecución. Minerva 16, pp. 39–44. Valdés Guía, M. (2013). Afrodita y los fenicios en el Egeo. Gerión 31, pp. 51–87. von der Mühl P. (1962). Homeri Odyssea. Basel. West, M.L. (1966). Hesiod. Theogony. Oxford. Young, Ph.H. (2005). The Cypriot Aphrodite Cult: Paphos, Rantidi, and Saint Barnabas, Journal of Near Eastern Studies 64, pp. 23–44.

part 3 Wandering Heroes

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chapter 5

Stesichorus, Cyprus, and the Heroes of Athens P.J. Finglass

1

Introduction

Stesichorus was one of the great Greek poets of the archaic period whose works today are almost entirely lost. Active during the first half of the sixth century bc, he composed lyric narratives, lasting for thousands of lines, on mythological subjects.1 Despite his birth in Metaurus in modern Calabria, and his association with Himera on the north coast of Sicily, the mythological stories found in his poetry are not associated with any particular region of the Greek world, but range widely in space across the Mediterranean and beyond, from Tartessus beyond the Pillars of Heracles, through Greece itself, to the coast of Asia Minor, all the way (as we will see in this chapter) to Egypt. In their focus on the myths of Heracles, Helen, and other well-known figures, Stesichorus’ poems had not an epichoric but a panhellenic vision, and could be appreciated wherever in the Greek world he travelled to perform his monumental compositions.2 For all this broad geographical vision, there is no mention of Cyprus in his fragments—aside from the adjective κ]υπρογενήϲ ‘Cyprian-born’,3 probably from a reference to Aphrodite. He is therefore a surprising addition to a volume dedicated to the portrayal of Cyprus in Graeco-Roman literature. This note examines a possible place where Cyprus might have featured in Stesichorus’ poetry. It makes no attempt to prove that it was; this is a case which remains firmly within the domain of hypothesis. It does however argue that this hypothesis is plausible; that, if true, it would be significant; and that it is worth making hypotheses of this kind at all.

1 For an overview of Stesichorus, with further documentation and argumentation for different points simply asserted here, see Finglass 2014a. 2 The topic is explored further in Carvalho 2017 and Carvalho 2022. 3 Stesichorus fr. 113.6 F.

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Papyrus

The following is a transcription and translation of a column from an early second-century papyrus containing a work discussing lyric poetry, dating to some time between 150 bc and ad 100:4

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[μέμφεται τὸν Ὅμηρο[ν ὅτι Ἑλέ]νην ἐποίηϲεν ἐν Τ[ροίαι καὶ οὐ τὸ εἴδωλον αὐτῆ[ϲ, ἔν τε τ[ῆι] ἑτέραι τὸν Ἡϲίοδ[ον μέμ[φετ]αι· διτταὶ γάρ εἰϲι παλινω⟨ι⟩δ[ίαι ⟨δια⟩]λλάττουϲαι, καὶ ἔϲτιν ⟨τ⟩ῆ⟨ϲ⟩ μὲν ἀρχή· δεύρ’ αὖτε θεὰ φιλόμολπε, τῆϲ δέ· χρυϲόπτερε παρθέν̣ ̣ε, ⟦ερ⟧ὡϲ ἀνέγραψε Χαμαιλέων [fr. 29 Giordano]· αὐτὸ[ϲ δ]έ φηϲ[ιν ὁ] Στηϲίχορο[ϲ τὸ μὲν ε[ἴδωλο]ν ἐλθεῖ[ν εἰϲ Τροίαν, τὴν δ᾽ Ἑλένην π[αρὰ τῶι Πρωτεῖ καταμεῖν[αι· οὕτωϲ δὴ ἐκ[α]ινοποίηϲε τ[ὰϲ ἱϲτορ[ί]αϲ [ὥ]ϲτε Δημοφῶντ[α μὲν τ[ὸ]ν Θηϲέωϲ ἐν τ[ῶ]ι νόϲτωι με[τὰ] τῶν Θε ̣[ ̣ ̣ ̣]δων̣ [ ἀπενεχ[θῆναι λέγ]ειν ε[ἰ]ϲ ̣ ̣ [Αἴγυπτον, [γενέϲθα]ι δὲ Θη[ϲεῖ Δημοφῶ[ντα μ]ὲν ἐξ Ἰό[πηϲ τῆϲ Ἰφικ[λέουϲ, Ἀ]κάμαν[τα δὲ ἐκ] Φ̣α̣[ίδραϲ,] ἐκ̣ δ̣ὲ τῆϲ ̣ Ἀμ[αζόνοϲ Ἱππο]λ̣ύ̣τη[ϲ] ε̣ λη ̣ ̣[ ] περὶ τ[ο]ύτων [ ̣ ̣ ]τηϲ [Ἑ]λένηϲ[ ]ε Ἀγαμέμ[ν] ̣ον τον ̣[ Ἀ]μφίλοχον [ ]ωνουδε[ [τ]

4 P.Oxy. 2506 fr. 26 col. i = Stesichorus fr. 90 F. For the papyrus see further Finglass 2014a, 81.

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… he finds fault with Homer, because he put Helen at Troy, and not her phantom, and in the other he finds fault with Hesiod. For there are two different Palinodes, and the beginning of one of them is “Come here once more, goddess who delights in song”, and of the other, “Goldenwinged maiden”, as Chamaeleon wrote. For Stesichorus himself says that the phantom came to Troy, but Helen resided with Proteus. So innovative was he in his treatment of mythology that he said that Demophon, son of Theseus, on his voyage home with the sons of The—, was brought to Egypt, and that Demophon was born to Theseus by Iope daughter of Iphicles, and that Acamas … and from the … concerning these … of Helen … Agamemnon … Amphilochus … First published in 1962, the papyrus is well known because of its statements that, according to the fourth-century Peripatetic scholar Chamaeleon, Stesichorus wrote two Palinodes (whereas Plato and Isocrates had referred to only one), and that his Helen stayed in Egypt during the Trojan War. What these two Palinodes were, if indeed there were two, has been endlessly debated; the ending of the papyrus, by contrast, which refers to the return of Demophon, prince of Athens and son of Theseus, from Troy via Egypt, has been virtually ignored.5 Demophon’s companions on his journey home to Athens are said to be the children of The–, and the most likely restoration of this lacuna is The[stor], father of the seer Calchas, whose return from the Trojan War took him down and round the coast of Asia Minor, where he died; various cities are credited with being his resting-place, especially Colophon.6 With Calchas as a travel partner, Demophon will have followed a path along the coast, and then down the east Mediterranean littoral; the alternative, that he reached Egypt because his ships were blown off course while crossing the Aegean, seems much less likely given the association with Calchas.7

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Demophon in Cyprus

Whereas Calchas died on his journey back, Demophon made it at least as far as Egypt: an intriguing and unique reference.8 A sea journey from the coast

5 See Finglass 2013 for a discussion. 6 Mac Sweeney 2018. 7 This modifies my previous view as expressed in Davies–Finglass 2014, 333, which presented these two possibilities as equally likely. 8 In Euripides’ Helen Teucer is brought to Cypriot Salamis via Egypt: this appears to be a Euri-

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of Asia Minor to Egypt will typically involve travelling to or past Cyprus, whose connections with Egypt were well established. In one of Odysseus’ lying tales in the Odyssey he takes part in a raid on Egypt which led to his enslavement by the Cypriot prince Dmetor.9 In the same poem, Menelaus describes how his voyage home involved wandering to Cyprus, Phoenicia, and Egypt.10 Solon on departing from Athens is said to have headed first to Egypt, and then to Cyprus;11 while in the late sixth century Arcesilaus iii, king of Cyrene adjacent to Egypt, sent his foes to be killed in Cyprus.12 The Athenian expedition to Cyprus in ca. 450 sent a detachment of sixty ships to Egypt, which rejoined the main expedition before it returned to Attica;13 and the island continued to be within the ambit of Egypt into the Hellenistic period, when it was usually under Ptolemaic control. So a visit by Demophon to Cyprus on such a journey in Stesichorus would be entirely possible. What lends plausibility to that possibility is the association attested between Demophon and that island. In the epitome of Apollodorus, Demophon is said to have sailed to Thrace on his return from Troy, where Phyllis, the king’s daughter, fell in love with and was married to him, with the kingdom as her dowry.14 In time Demophon wanted to return home, and left Thrace; Phyllis was unwilling to see him go, and, accompanying him as far as Ennea Hodoi (‘Nine Roads’), gave him a casket, telling him not to open it unless he had abandoned any intention to return. Demophon then travelled to Cyprus, where one day he opened the casket, leading him to be struck with fear; his horse started galloping wildly and, thrown from it, he fell on his sword and was killed. Demophon’s men then settled in Cyprus. This account “evidently comes from another source [sc. than the archaic epic cycle]”.15 Ennea Hodoi is where Athens founds a colony in 465, and then again (as Amphipolis) in 437, so that element of the story, at least, cannot predate the fifth century;16 nor does the emphasis on doomed romantic love feel suited to the archaic period. That does not mean, however, that every detail in the story must be so late.

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pidean innovation (as noted by Allan 2008, 164), which makes Teucer’s journey roughly the reverse of Demophon’s. Homer, Odyssey 17.419–445 with S. West 2018, 72. Homer, Odyssey 4.83. Plutarch, Solon 26. Herodotus 4.164.1–2 with Malkin 2018, 97. For associations between Egypt and Cyprus in this period more generally see Michaelides, Kassianidou, and Merrillees 2009, Cannavò 2003. Thucydides 1.112.1–4. Apollodorus, Epitome 6.16–17. West 2013, 250 n. 8. Thucydides 1.100.3.

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Acamas and Theseus in Cyprus

The same story is referenced by Aeschines, though he associates it with Demophon’s brother Acamas.17 In the scholia on that passage, as in Apollodorus, the marriage is between Phyllis and Demophon; unlike in Apollodorus, though, they have sons together, called Acamas and Amphipolis, a detail which again cannot predate 437.18 In another version, found in Ovid, Phyllis curses the Athenians after her abandonment by Demophon; ‘this is surely no earlier than the loss of Amphipolis, explaining the Athenian lack of success in the area.’19 Demophon’s brother Acamas had prominent Cypriot connections beyond his associations with his brother’s story; this may indeed be why Aeschines associates him rather than Demophon with the Phyllis story, even if his reference does not actually mention Cyprus. The north-west promontory of Cyprus was known as ‘Acamas’, as it still is today;20 and the fourth-century historian Philonides states that Cyprus as a whole was once called ‘Acamantis’.21 Acamas is one of the five warriors said by Lycophron to have colonised Cyprus, the others being Teucer (of Salamis in Greece, who was himself claimed by the Athenians, as will be noted below), Praxander, Cepheus, and Agapenor.22 Soli on the north coast of Cyprus is said by Strabo to have been founded by Acamas and Phalerus, an honour given by Plutarch to Demophon.23 An Attic pelike from ca. 450 attributed to the Birth of Athena Painter, which depicts Pompeus and Dosippus saying farewell to Phalerus, Demophon, and Acamas (all figures are named), has been taken to depict this myth.24 Chytri, lying inland to the west of Cypriot Salamis, was founded by Acamas’ grandson Chytros, according to the Hellenistic historian Xenagoras.25 The pair’s father was also given a Cyp17 18 19 20 21 22 23

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Aeschines 2.31. Σ Aeschin. 2.31. Ovid, Heroides 2; Kearns 1989, 89 n. 49. Σ Lyc. 495, Hesychius α 2253 L–C, s.v. Ἀκάμαντα. Philonides FGrH/BNJ 121 F 1. Lycophron, Alexandra 450–478; Fraser 1979, Hornblower 2015 ad loc. For other colonisers see Ruiz 2007. For the historical Hellenisation of Cyprus see Fourrier 2008, Iacovou 2008. Strabo 14.6.3, Plutarch, Solon 26.2; cf. Lycophron, Alexandra 494–498. Phalerus is involved “because Phaleron was the starting point for all the mythical departures from Attica” (Gjerstad 1944, 121, noting the altars in Phalerum to the sons of Theseus and to Phalerus mentioned by Pausanias, 1.1.4). Kron 1981 §13 and pp. 443–444, with bibliography, Michaelides 2009, 205 n. 32. Xenagoras FGrH 1757 F 2b = BNJ 240 F 26a. Vanschoonwinkel 2006, 80, 82 attributes the origins of the stories about Soli to Athenian political interests, though in the case of Chytri considers it “hardly probable that this legend would have been the creation of Athenian

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riot connection: according to Plutarch, Theseus was forced by a storm to leave Ariadne on Cyprus.26 In that account, “the detail of the Amathusian women trying to cheer Ariadne with forged love letters sounds Hellenistic, but the myth will have an older core”.27

5

Athenian Associations with Cyprus

For one scholar writing on Demophon, “just as his connection with the Troad, Thracian Chersonese, and the region of Strymon was due to the Athenian penetration of these districts in the sixth cent⟨ury⟩ b.c. we should see his appearance in Cyprus in connection with the political interrelations of Athens and Cyprus in the 5th cent⟨ury⟩ b.c.”28 Whether the fifth century is indeed the most likely date for the creation of this myth requires us to look at associations between Athens and Cyprus over time. How early did Athens develop the kind of political links with Cyprus that could lead to the inclusion of the island within Athenian myth? The association is most obvious in the figure of Evagoras, king of Cypriot Salamis (ca. 411–374), who claimed descent from Teucer, son of Aeacus’ son Telamon and half-brother of Ajax. Teucer was from the island of Salamis off mainland Greece and founded Salamis on Cyprus after his banishment by Telamon after his return from the Trojan War without his half-brother, who had committed suicide at Troy.29 Our source for Evagoras’ claim is the encomium Evagoras written by the Athenian rhetorician Isocrates after the king’s death.30 Evagoras’ rule involved a pro-Athenian foreign policy, something reflected in his emphasis on his supposed Aeacid ancestry.31 After the battle of Cnidus in 394, in which Evagoras provided vital support to the Athenians, statues of him and the Athenian general Conon were erected in front of Zeus Stoa in the Athenian agora;32 he was made an Athenian citizen in 410 or 409, and proxenos in 393/392.33

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political mythology”; but there seems no reason not to see both myths as parallel developments. Paeon of Amathus FGrH 757 F 2, recorded by Plutarch, Theseus 20.2–4. Franklin 2014, 220 n. 22. Gjerstad 1944, 120. Cf. Kearns 1989, 88–89; Parker 1996, 86. See Gavrielatos in present volume. Costa 1974, Pinto 2009, Alexiou 2010. For the parallelism cf. Isocrates, Nicocles, or the Cyprians 27; Cannavò 2015. Pausanias 1.3.2; cf. Isocrates, Evagoras 56–57. Isocrates, Evagoras 54; IG ii-iii2 20; Rhodes and Osborne 2007, 50–55.

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But Evagoras was highlighting a nexus observable in earlier periods. Cimon’s expedition to Cyprus in ca. 450, which led to a battle off Salamis, has already been mentioned. The specific link between Greek and Cypriot Salamis, and thus between Cypriot Salamis and Athens,34 is first attested in Aeschylus’ Persians (472), where the chorus of Persian elders sing of the lands over which Xerxes held sway: these include ‘the Cyprian cities Paphos, Soli, and Salamis, whose mother-city is now the cause of our groanings’ (892/3–895/7). Salamis of Cyprus is here glorified through its association with the battle in which the Athenians were victorious; so too Xerxes’ rule over the city is implicitly delegitimised through the emphatic assertion of its Greek origin. The Cypriots who sail in a hundred and fifty ships in Xerxes’ expedition belong to a series of tribes, according to Herodotus; some, he says, ‘are from Salamis and Athens’.35 The earliest source for the association of Teucer with Cypriot Salamis is in a Pindaric ode from the late 470s, which mentions how Teucer reigned over the city.36 Written in honour of an Aeginetan victor, the ode makes this mythological point because of Teucer’s Aeginetan associations: Telamon, his father, was born there (as son to Aeacus, king of that island) before moving to Salamis. But from an Athenian point of view, Teucer and his half-brother Ajax were quasi-Athenian thanks to their association with Salamis, an island regarded by Athens as essential to its security since at least the days of Solon in the early sixth century.37 An interpolated, probably sixth-century, passage in the Iliad associated Ajax’s Salaminian forces with those of the Athenians; and one of the ten tribes instituted by Cleisthenes in 509 was named after Ajax, the only such tribe not named after a hero actually from Attica, because (Herodotus tells us) Ajax was ‘a neighbour and an ally’.38 Still, the association of Teucer with Cypriot Salamis in Pindar, in a poem where he had no interest in advancing Athenian claims, indicates “that this tradition … was no mere derivative of fifth-century Athenian-Cypriot relations, although it may have been exploited to good effect at that time, or again some generations later under Euagoras”.39 Teucer was repeatedly a subject of Athenian tragedies, which connected him with Cyprus. Although the contents of Aeschylus’ Women of Salamis (ca. 500– 34 35 36 37 38 39

Pouilloux 1975 = 1986: 543–554. Herodotus 7.90. Pind. N. 4.46–47. Sol. frr. 1–3 IEG2. Il. 2.557–558 with Burkert 2007, 60–62; Herodotus 5.66.2 with Mikalson 2003, 129–130. Franklin 2014, 220. Contrast Pouilloux 1975, 111: “on pouvait même douter que la légende de la fondation par Teucros au retour de Troie fût autre chose qu’une invention destinée à justifier les ambitions d’une famille régnante ou d’une politique impérialiste”.

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458) are unknown, on the basis of the title it is generally believed to depict Teucer’s return to Salamis in Greece and his banishment to Cyprus by his father.40 This was also almost certainly the plot of Sophocles’ Teucer (ca. 470– 416), of which rather more fragments survive; one is delivered by Telamon, and a tragedy that contains Telamon and Teucer can scarcely have avoided the father’s banishment of his son.41 The hero’s voyage to the East is anticipated in Sophocles’ Ajax (440s?), in which, after discovering the body of his dead brother Ajax, Teucer imagines how Telamon will probably expel him from Salamis for having failed to protect his brother.42 No ultimate destination is mentioned, since such a specific mention would have been jarring given that the banishment itself is merely hypothetical. The destination is specified in Euripides’ Helen (412), where Teucer tells Helen that Apollo has prophesied that he must found a city in Cyprus named after his homeland, Salamis, from where Telamon has banished him after learning of Ajax’s suicide (144–150, 87– 96). Teucer also featured in Athenian statuary celebrating their involvement in the Trojan War. Writing in the second century ad, the travel-writer Pausanias describes a bronze statue of the Wooden Horse located in the Athenian agora that portrayed all the Athenian warriors who took part in the conquest of Troy: Acamas and Demophon; Menestheus, leader of the Athenians according to Homer;43 and Teucer.44 The Ionian revolt in the 490s provides a further moment when the link could have been invoked, when all the cities of Cyprus apart from Amathus revolted from the Persians, and were led by Onesilus, brother of the pro-Persian king of Salamis, Gorgus.45 The Cypriot revolt lasted only a year, though (498–497), and although Onesilus solicited aid from Ionia (where the Athenians had already committed twenty ships in support of their revolt), Herodotus makes no reference to his doing so directly from Athens. And while Onesilus was briefly ruler of Salamis, after displacing his brother, in the crucial land battle against the Persians the Salaminian troops went over to the other side, dooming the Cypriot cause; Salamis also was the one city which had revolted and immedi40 41 42

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Radt 1985, 333; also Sommerstein 2008, 222–225 (with an additional proposed fragment). For the trilogy see Finglass 2011: 33–34. Sophocles, Teucer fr. 577; Finglass 2011, 34–35 (and 1–11 on the date). Sophocles, Ajax 1006–1021. Since it is most unlikely that Sophocles’ Ajax and Teucer were part of a connected trilogy (Finglass 2011, 35–36, 2015, 214), Sophocles probably turned to this story on at least two separate occasions. Il. 2.546–556. Pausanias 1.23.8. The statue base has survived and dates the work to ca. 420 (IG i³ 895); cf. Higbie 1997, 290–292, Ferrari 2000, 119, and especially Lefkowitz 2020. Herodotus 4.104–116; Serghidou 2007.

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ately returned to its Persian allegiance by restoring its former king Gorgus. So this remains no more than a tantalising possibility in the history of AthenianCypriot relations. On the other hand, Herodotus does suggest an association between Cyprus and Athens by pointing to Solon’s encomium of the ruler Philocyprus of Soli;46 Solon is said by Plutarch to have visited Cyprus and persuaded king Philocyprus to move the site of the city of Soli,47 and Plutarch’s preservation of poetry by him referring to Cyprus lends credence to the story.48 So while we have plenty of evidence for the association of Athens with Cyprus in the fifth and early fourth centuries, thanks to Solon we can push that connection back into the early sixth century. There is no reason why Stesichorus could not have made use of it—or why the tradition, or at least a part of it, might not go back to a reference in Stesichorus, which later authors put to use.

6

Stesichorus and Athenian Mythology

For a poet who has no known associations with Athens, Stesichorus takes a surprisingly detailed interest in Athenian mythology. As well as Demophon in the Palinode, he includes both Demophon and Acamas in his poem Sack of Troy, where (according to the Tabula Iliaca Capitolina, fr. 105 F., a calcite tablet of Augustan date that claims to be depicting Stesichorus’ poem) the pair rescue their grandmother Aethra.49 The same poem (fr. 110 F.) includes Clymene among the captives after the sack—one of the two maidservants to Helen in our manuscripts of the Iliad, the other being Aethra (Il. 3.143–144). The lines containing their names are likely to have been an Attic interpolation, but if Stesichorus associated Clymene with Aethra then he may have known the interpolated Iliad. The Sack of Troy seems to have been a poem full of incident, yet Stesichorus found room to include these typically Athenian figures. Stesichorus was not the only archaic poet from outside Athens who nevertheless included Athenian myth within his works: Demophon and Acamas 46

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Herodotus 5.113.2 with Hornblower 2013 on 113.2, further noting that the city is listed as ‘Sillua’ in seventh-century lists of the Assyrian kings Esarhaddon and Ashurbanipal, and thus that there is no possibility that it is named after Solon. Cf. Serghidou 2007, 282: “the mention that Aristocyprus elicits of a Solonian poem glorifying his father, Philocyprus, further strengthens the cultural and political impact of the Cypriot claim to a Greek past”. Plutarch, Solon 26.2–4. Solon fr. 19 IEG2. Finglass 2014b.

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appeared in at least two poems of the Epic Cycle, which suggests that they had already achieved panhellenic fame.50 Indeed, Stesichorus himself would hardly have mentioned them if they had not, since his poetry, as already noted, was panhellenic in style. In neither the Sack of Troy nor the Palinode was Demophon or Acamas the central figure; they are unlikely to have been important in the former, whereas the significance of Demophon’s role in the latter is hard to gauge. Stesichorus might have performed at Athens, as Anacreon and Simonides did a generation or two later, but the inclusion of these figures does not require us to believe that he did.51

7

The Value of Unprovable Hypotheses

If Stesichorus did bring Demophon to Cyprus, that would provide valuable confirmation that associations between that island and Athens were firmly established in the archaic period; that these associations were not limited to the Athenian poet Solon, but had already made it into the panhellenic mythical tradition; and that myths of later attestation which bring Demophon to Cyprus, while evidently incorporating later material, have their origin in the lyric poetry of the sixth century. But is it worth raising such an unprovable hypothesis at all, when on present evidence we are unable to confirm that it is true? My reply to this objection is that the nature of fragmentary evidence means that not every plausible hypothesis which it stimulates us to put forward will be provable; and as long as we are honest in stating the level of confidence that can be placed in a particular hypothesis, we do no harm in responsibly advancing an idea in this manner. In this particular case, the frequent association between Cyprus and Egypt in journeys in archaic literature, as well as the connection drawn between Demophon (and his brother and father) and Cyprus in later tradition, together with the information provided in the papyrus that Stesichorus’ Demophon travelled from Troy to Egypt (probably, as noted above, via the coast of Asia Minor), combine to make this, in my view, a proposition worth advancing.52 We may hope for more papyrological evidence in the future that could either confirm the hypothesis or show definitively that it is false. But in the meantime, this

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Iliu Persis arg. 4 and fr. 6 GEF; Little Iliad fr. 17; Finglass 2013, 38. West 1999, 380 = 2011–2013, i 433. Compare the hypothesis advanced by Bowie 2015, 123 that “the Thracian links of Demophon and Acamas might … have been developed by Stesichorus”, which he calls ‘necessarily speculative’.

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engagement at the margins of what is known reminds us of the fragility of our evidence base in general, of just how much we do not know.

Acknowledgements This seems a suitable topic for a volume arising from a conference held in Athens on Cyprus in ancient literature. I am grateful to the organisers for the invitation, for the smooth running of the event, and for careful editing of the volume; and to the volume’s referee for helpful comments.

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Finglass, P.J., and Kelly, A., eds., (2015). Stesichorus in Context. Cambridge. Finglass, P.J., Collard, C., and Richardson, N.J., eds. (2007). Hesperos. Studies in Ancient Greek Poetry presented to M.L. West on his Seventieth Birthday. Oxford. Fourrier, S. (2008). Légendes de fondation et hellénisation de Chypre. Parcours historiographique. Cahier du Centre d’Études Chypriotes 38, pp. 103–118. Franklin, J.C. (2014). Greek Epic and Kypriaka: why “Cyprus Matters”. In: Westenholz et al., eds., pp. 213–247. Fraser, P.M. (1979). Lycophron on Cyprus. Report of the Department of Antiquities of Cyprus, pp. 328–343. Gjerstad, E. (1944). The Colonization of Cyprus in Greek Legend. Opuscula Archaeologica 3, pp. 107–123. Higbie, C. (1997). The Bones of a Hero, the Ashes of a Politician: Athens, Salamis, and the Usable Past. CA 16, pp. 278–307. Hornblower, S. (2013). Herodotus. Histories v. Cambridge. Hornblower, S. (2015). Lykophron. Alexandra. Oxford. Hornblower, S., and Biffis, G., eds. (2018). The Returning Hero. Nostoi and Traditions of Mediterranean Settlement. Oxford. Iacovou, M. (2008). Cyprus: from Migration to Hellenisation. In Tsetskhladze, ed., vol. 2, pp. 219–288. Irwin, E., and Greenwood, E., eds. (2007). Reading Herodotus. A Study of the Logoi in Book 5 of Herodotus’ Histories. Cambridge. Kearns, E. (1989). The Heroes of Attica. London. Kron, U. (1981). Akamas und Demophon. Lexicon Iconographicum Mythologiae Classicae i/1, pp. 435–446. Lefkowitz, M. (2020). The “Wooden” Horse on the Athenian Acropolis. Hesperia 89, pp. 581–591. Mac Sweeney, N. (2018). Failed Nostoi and Foundations: Kalchas at Kolophon. In: Hornblower and Biffis, eds., pp. 245–265. Malkin, I. (2018). Returning Heroes and Greek Colonists. In: Hornblower and Biffis, eds., pp. 83–104. Michaelides, D., Kassianidou, V., and Merrillees, R.S., eds. (2009). Egypt and Cyprus in Antiquity. Proceedings of the International Conference, Nicosia, 3–6 April 2003. Oxford/Oakville, CT. Mikalson, J.D. (2003). Herodotus and Religion in the Persian Wars. Chapel Hill, NC/London. Pinto, P.M. (2009). P. Kellis iii Gr. 95 and Evagoras i. ZPE 168, pp. 213–218. Pouilloux, J. (1975). Athènes et Salamine de Chypre. Report of the Department of Antiquities, Cyprus, pp. 111–122. [= 1986: 543–554] Pouilloux, J. (1986). D’Archiloque à Plutarque. Littérature et réalité. Choix d’articles de Jean Pouilloux. Lyon.

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Radt, S.L. (1985). Tragicorum Graecorum Fragmenta. Vol. 3. Aeschylus. Göttingen. Rhodes, P.J., and Osborne, R. (2007). Greek Historical Inscriptions 404–323 bc. Oxford/ New York. [Corrected version of 2003 edn.] Ruiz, A. (2007). Anonymous, On Cyprus (De Cypro) (758). BNJ. Serghidou, A. (2007). Cyprus and Onesilus: An Interlude of Freedom (5.104, 108–116). In: Irwin and Greenwood, eds., pp. 269–288. Sommerstein, A.H. (2008). Aeschylus. Fragments. Cambridge, MA/London. Tsetskhladze, G.R., ed., (2006–). Greek Colonisation. An Account of Greek Colonies and other Settlements Overseas. 2 vols to date. Leiden/Boston. Vanschoonwinkel, J. (2006). Mycenaean Expansion. In: Tsetskhladze, ed., pp. i 41–113. West, M.L. (1999). The Invention of Homer. CQ 49, pp. 364–382. [= (2011–2013) i 408– 436]. West, M.L. (2011–2013). Hellenica. Selected Papers on Greek Literature and Thought. 3 vols. Oxford. West, M.L. (2013). The Epic Cycle. A Commentary on the Lost Troy Epics. Oxford. West, S. (2018). Odysseus’ Eclectic Itinerary. In: Hornblower and Biffis, eds., pp. 65–82. Westenholz, J.G., Maurey, Y., and Seroussi, E., eds. (2014). Music in Antiquity. The Near East and the Mediterranean. Berlin/Boston/Jerusalem.

chapter 6

The Theme of Teucer’s Exile and its Reception in Latin Literature Andreas Gavrielatos

Teucer was the mythical founder of the city of Salamis in Cyprus. He is the son of Telamon, King of Salamis in Greece, and Hesione, a Trojan princess.1 Teucer fights alongside his brother Ajax in the Trojan War. When he returns, his father accuses him of failing to protect his brother, who has committed suicide. It is possible that his father also accused him of abandoning his nephew Eurysaces, Ajax’s son, on the way back. Telamon condemns Teucer and sends him into exile as a result of his misdeeds. He travels across the sea, stopping in Egypt and the city of Sidon before arriving in Cyprus. There, he founds a new city that he names Salamis after his hometown.2 Teucer’s departure from Troy and wanderings until he founds the new Salamis in Cyprus are well-attested in Greek literature. In Homer’s Iliad (8.281–285), Teucer is an illegitimate son of Telamon, the brave Ajax’s brother, and an exceptional archer who performs aristeia in Book 8. In later depictions, he is primarily a tragic hero, appearing as a main character in Aeschylus and giving his name to a now-lost Sophoclean tragedy. Sophocles’ Teucer revolved around the events of the Ajax and Telamon’s disagreement with Teucer, which resulted in the latter’s exile. Teucer moreover appears in Euripides’ Helen, where he is given the opportunity to speak about his paternally-compelled expulsion. Later, in Lycophron’s Alexandra (450–469), we also learn about Teucer. The current chapter investigates Teucer’s presence in Latin literature and identifies how this Greek-Trojan-Cypriot hero is appropriated and made relevant in a Roman context. Teucer’s story presents a popular theme in Republican tragedy, and he also appears in Augustan poetry. The literary Teucer is no onedimensional hero: his relationship with his father, his attitude toward misfor-

1 Gantz 1993, 224–225, 694–695. 2 It was common for exiles to found new cities and settlements resemblant to their homelands, see especially Bettini 1997, 18–19. Another version by Trogus (1st c. bc) also wants him later to have become the founder of New Carthage in Spain; this tradition is also mentioned by Silius Italicus. See Gantz 1993, 695. For the foundation myth, see also Christodoulou 2014, 200–210.

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tunes, his exile and travels, and finally the founding of a new city in Cyprus (which may be superior to his lost hometown) all combine to render him a polysemous character.

1

Pacuvius and the Dramatic Tradition

Teucer was clearly a popular theme among Roman tragedians. According to Varro (Ling. 7.3), Livius Andronicus wrote a tragedy entitled Teucer or Telamo. Several fragments have also been identified as coming from Ennius’ tragedy Telamo. Teucer mentions his father’s accusation in one of these (140 Jocelyn): eandem me in suspicionem sceleris partivit pater (‘The same suspicion of the crime my father has apportioned to me’).3 Accius also wrote Eurysaces, and Teucer was most likely one of its main characters, based on lines mentioning exile (Acc. Eur. 327–328 Warmington): nunc per terras vagus extorris / regno exturbatus, mari (‘now wandering over lands, an exile, banished from my kingdom, over sea’). Teucer’s exile is the most appealing aspect of his story to Roman tragedians. Teucer’s tragic portrayal may be more nuanced in surviving passages of Pacuvius, who appears to have had a special interest in intra-family relationships.4 His Teucer is almost certainly based on the lost tragedies of Aeschylus’ Salaminiae (TGrF 3 F216–220) and Sophocles’ Teucer (TGrF 4 F576–579b).5 Teucer’s failed relationship with his father, as well as the latter’s cruelty, which leads to Teucer’s exile, appear to be themes in Pacuvius’ tragedy. Telamon, upon learning of Ajax’s death, repudiates his son upon his arrival (Pac. Teuc. 244 Schierl): te repudio nec recipio; naturam abdico: facesse! (‘You I reject and receive not; I renounce your birth. Take yourself away!’). The line reflects the tragic relationship of Teucer with his father, which was a popular subject. Telamon is a tragic figure as well. In the more grounded and everyday literary expression found in both the Greek and Latin epigraphic records, the deep sorrow of parents for the loss of their children is a topos.6 Telamon’s misfortune, on the other hand, is far more severe. Not only does he learn of his son’s tragic end, but he also fails to receive his son’s body, depriving him of the right to pay trib-

3 4 5 6

Aricò 1997, 65–66; Jocelyn 1967, 403–404. Manuwald 2003, 54–55. See also Fantham 2003, 116–117. See comments in Wright 2018; Sutton 1984, 132–139. See also Schierl 2006, 474. Manuwald 2003, 57: “gerade die Liebe des Vaters zu den Kindern fuhrt dann zum Konflikt mit Teucer.”

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ute to the dead.7 At the same time, the tragic aspect of the story is heightened by the implied comparison between the sons, to Teucer’s detriment. This is most likely due to Teucer’s illegitimacy. Whereas the Homeric tradition depicts Telamon and his son as having a caring relationship despite the latter’s illegitimacy, when used in tragedy, this relationship is now minimal and leads to cruelty and unfair exile. On the other hand, Pac. Teuc. 251* Sch. could refer to Teucer’s mother: flexamina tamquam lymphata aut Bacchi sacris commota, in tumulis Teucrum commemorans suum Deranged just frenzied or excited by Bacchus’ worship shouting in the tombs the name of her Teucer! If this is correct, the mother’s lament for the son she is losing serves as a positive counterbalance to Telamon’s reaction, highlighting its harshness.8 From another passage, we can sense Telamon’s tragic situation and reconstruct his reactions (Pac. Teuc. 243* Sch.): Telamo: Segregare abs te ausu’s aut sine illo Salamina ingredi, neque paternum aspectum es veritus, quom aetate exacta indigem liberum lacerasti orbasti exstinxti, neque fratris necis neque eius gnati parvi, qui tibi in tutelam est traditus So you dare separate him from you or set foot on Salamis without him, and you respected neither the sight of your father, whom exactly at this age bereft of his sons you shattered, deprived, destroyed, nor the thought of your dead brother nor of his little offspring, who was handed to you for protection. Telamon accuses Teucer of the charges already known from the literary tradition: failing to prevent Ajax’s suicide and returning without him. Teucer may also be accused of failing to avenge his brother’s death, or even of being responsible for his death.9 These words may appear unfair to an audience famil7 Gavrielatos 2020, 424–426. 8 Manuwald 2003, 63. 9 Schierl 2006, 479–480. See S. Aj. 1016; Lyc. Alex. 452ff.

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iar with Ajax’s story, while they heighten fear of the unjust exile. However, the topos of a father mourning a child’s death, as well as his lament and sorrow for the unnatural death involved, evoke sympathy and make Telamon’s lamentation timeless. When Cicero quoted the passage, the Republic had been through several crises, and many Romans had likely lost their children, heightening the story’s relevance.10 Cicero (De Orat. 2.46.193) sheds light on this; the sorrow of these verses is moving, affecting both actor and tragedian: Flens ac lugens dicere videbatur. Quae si ille histrio, cotidie cum ageret, tamen agere sine dolore non poterat, quid Pacuvium putatis in scribendo leni animo ac remisso fuisse? Fieri nullo modo potuit. He seemed to speak sobbing and mourning. If that actor, although he acted every day, was still unable to perform these without sorrow, why do you think that Pacuvius was light-hearted and calm when he wrote them? There’s no way he could be. Or, at the very least, this is what Cicero considers plausible and invokes as an example of effective oratory. A good actor empathises with the tragic character and shares their emotions. And, because oratory is a higher art, the advocate must be able to show, or at least feign, emotions.11 Teucer’s exile, on the other hand, appears to have gone beyond the tragic depiction of Telamon, becoming the focal point of the tragedy’s reception in antiquity. Teucer is forced into exile, but he responds solemnly and says a proverb (Pac. Teuc. 250 Sch.): patria est, ubicumque est bene (‘a homeland is wherever things go well’). This concept is similar to what Aristophanes’ Hermes says (Plut. 1151): πατρὶς γάρ ἐστι πᾶσ᾽ ἵν᾽ ἂν πράττῃ τις εὖ (‘a country is wherever one fares well’). The god is willing to forego Olympus in exchange for the wealthier world of the humans, thereby proclaiming that one’s country exists where one’s happiness is.12 The proverbial use is appropriate for the speaker’s divine persona, and Aristophanes could be quoting from a tragedy.13 If this is the case, then both authors could be referring to Sophocles’ lost Teucer. At Clouds 583 (423bc), Aristophanes quoted from the same tragedy, which serves as a terminus ante quem for dating Sophocles’ lost tragedy.14 The line that Aris-

10 11 12 13 14

Aricò 1997, 67. Hall 2014, 143–144; Fantham 2004, 144–145. See also Manuwald 2003, 103 n. 115. Sommerstein 2001, 212. Wright 2018; Sutton 1984, 136.

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tophanes quotes is from the description of a storm (TGrF 4 F578): οὐρανοῦ δ᾽ ἄπο ἤστραψε, βροντὴ δ᾽ἐρράγη δι᾽ ἀστραπῆς, which is also the model for Pacuvius’ similar description (239, 5 Sch.): flamma inter nubes coruscat, caelum tonitru contremit (‘flames strike amid the clouds and heaven shudders with thunder’).15 Whether it is another allusion, a translation of an original Sophoclean idea, or a proverb, this particular line from Pacuvius’ Teucer endows the character of Teucer with a philosophical, even Stoic attitude, pointing towards a kind of cosmopolitanism.16 Rather than lamenting, Pacuvius’ hero accepts his fate and bears his exile for the sake of the new city that he is destined to found. Similarly, Cicero, who preserves the line in his Tusculan Disputations (5.108), remarks on its universality: ad omnem rationem Teucri vox accommodari potest (‘Teucer’s words can apply to every condition’). Cicero was well-versed in Roman drama; he selects the extracts that best suit the situation he wishes to address, emphasising their relevance.17 For Cicero, Teucer’s words are entirely apposite and make him a moral exemplum as he writes of exile and urges that one should adopt the right attitude in such an event instead of lamenting and seeking consolation.18 This accords with Schierl’s contention that Cicero accepts and preserves Pacuvius’ heroes because he prefers them to their wailing Sophoclean counterparts.19 After Teucer, Cicero recalls Socrates, a wise man, who considered himself a ‘world citizen’.20 Cicero’s perspective on exile is most likely influenced by his own exile in 58–57 bc. Some years later, during Caesar’s dictatorship, Cicero expands on his views on exile, emphasising the significance of his remark on Teucer’s words. Cicero adopts the Stoic cosmopolitan belief in the universality of the life of a sapiens in his elaboration on the theme of exile (Parad. 18):

15 16

17

18 19 20

For Pacuvius’ influential description see Schierl 2006, 474–478. The idea of the ‘cosmos’ is best articulated by Seneca a century later. Edwards analyses Seneca’s claim that the Stoic wise man, as a citizen of the universe, is ‘at home anywhere’ (Edwards 2018, 169–173). Edwards also points to two of Seneca’s sententiae: omnem locum sapienti viro patriam esse (‘to the wise man every place is a fatherland’, Ad Helv. 9.7, trans. Edwards) and patria mea totus hic mundus est (‘my fatherland is all this world’, Ep. Mor. 28.4, trans. Edwards). For Cicero’s use of Roman drama in his philosophical works, see Caston 2015. For comments on Cicero’s methods in his inclusion of philosophical quotations from drama followed by examples, see also Aricò 2004, 7–8. Most recently the topic has been discussed in Čulík-Baird 2022. The topos of ‘world citizenship’ is a consolation itself for the exiled wise man, see Claassen 1999, 48–68. Schierl 2015, 60–62. See Claassen 1999, 49.

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[terribile est] exilium autem iis quibus quasi circumscriptus est habitandi locus, non iis qui omnem orbem terrarum unam urbem ducunt. Exile [is terrible] to those whose living place is as if it’s stockaded, not to those who conceive the whole world as a single city. This passage, according to Cohen, is particularly revealing of Cicero’s views of exile, which are dependent on “having a place to be exiled from”.21 Cicero’s views on exile allow us to better understand why he quotes Teucer. Teucer is not an exile in the traditional sense. He no longer desires to return to his homeland, and it is no longer the longed-for country he hoped to reach after his long sojourn in Troy (Pac. Teuc. 234 Sch.): quam te post multis tueor tempestatibus (‘after so many seasons I look upon you!’). Telamon’s attitude, as well as driving his own son into an unjust exile, renders his rule tyrannical, and Salamis a different place. Cicero may have aspired to a tyrannical portrayal of Telamon’s rule, as his writings on exile can also be read politically, as a criticism of Caesar’s rule in Rome. It is clear from the preceding passage that Cicero views his exile as merely geographical, and that “his status as a good citizen is independent of its physical location”.22 Teucer, likewise, will preserve the values he aspires to and bring them with him to the new country, thereby making the new Salamis his patria. This strengthens Cicero’s use of Teucer as an exemplum of Roman virtue; Teucer is not simply the Greek hero with a tragic story, but a Romanised one who embodies the characteristics that apply to the ideal Roman that Cicero portrays. Cicero finds a new way to reinterpret his own experience by linking the concept of cosmopolitanism to exile through the example of Teucer.23 Another instance in which Teucer’s story gains relevance with Cicero comes from Accius’ Eurysaces. In this tragedy, Teucer returns to Salamis after Telamon’s death, but he is rejected by Eurysaces, the island’s new ruler. Cicero recounts the story of a performance by Clodius Aesopus, one of the most famous actors of his time, who had attended Q. Hortensius Hortalus’ speeches and had taught Cicero elocution. Aesopus played Teucer with remarkable suc-

21 22 23

Cohen 2006, 115–116. See also Narbucci 1997, 56–58, 71. Cohen 2006, 126–1277. See also Gaertner 2006a, 15–16. Cf. Epictetus, 1.9.1–9; Thuc. 7.77.7: ἄνδρες γὰρ πόλις, καὶ οὐ τείχη οὐδὲ νῆες ἀνδρῶν κεναί. For the relation of exile to cosmopolitanism in Cicero, see Grasmück 1978, 124–127. In his Letters to Atticus however, Cicero expresses his need to be in the city, see Edwards 2018, 185.

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cess in this 57bc performance.24 Cicero (Pro Sest. 56.120) comments on his performance, emphasising Aesopus’ gesture to the audience: vestros ordines monstrabat. And when the actor said, o pater (Acc. Eur. 355 Warm.), Cicero recalls, emphatically, that the actor was referring to him: me, me ille absentem … putarat (‘he meant me, yes me, although so far away’). Aesopus then bravely chastises the Romans for Cicero’s exile (Acc. Eur. 358–359 Warm.): O ingratifici Argivi, immoenes Grai, immemores benefici! Exulare sinitis, sistis pelli, pulsum patimini! O unthankful Argives, ungrateful Greeks, unmindful of kindness! You allow him to become an exile, you let him be banished, you tolerate a thrust! The Bobbio scholiast of Cicero makes it clear that Aesopus tampered with these last lines, if not all the lines Cicero quotes, so that clear allusions to Cicero were made (ad Cic., Pro Sest., 133). Even if the surviving fragments do not reproduce Accius’ original lines, they show how Teucer’s unjust exile becomes a familiar story with multiple connotations and implicit parallels in contemporary political life.25 Although Aesopus’ perversion of Accius’ lines is unrecoverable, Teucer is clearly appropriated here by the contemporary Roman scene.26 This is yet another example of the parallel between Cicero and Teucer. Because they are mentioned through the medium of tragedy, the cultural and political aspects of Cicero’s story of exile make an impression on the audience. We can now turn to another reception, or a parody, of Pacuvius’ Teucer in Plautus’ Mercator. Augoustakis, who suggests that Charinus, the protagonist, is the comic counterpart of Teucer, has recently strengthened the suggestion that this is a parody. Charinus goes into voluntary exile in Cyprus after his father Demipho exposes his son’s immorality by seizing Pasicompsa, his son’s lover.27 There are several reversals of the original situation here, which correspond to Plautus’ treatment of tragedy: Charinus leaves voluntarily, rather than being rejected by his father. Furthermore, the father is mocked because he exhibits

24 25 26 27

Aricò 2004, 32; Beacham 1991, 156. Sutton 1985, 68, however, suggests it is possible that Aesopus played Eurysaces. Sutton 1985, 69. See also Sutton 1985, 70. Augoustakis (2010) reinforces the idea first proposed by Frank (1932). More recently, the resemblances between the two works have been doubted as perhaps insufficient by Lowe (2018, 200).

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immorality and represents “a civitas in turmoil”.28 Teucer’s exile is expected to result in the foundation of a new city in Cyprus that will embody the values that his father’s cruelty has negated. This is not the expected outcome in the case of Charinus, but it is what occurs. Charinus will establish a new city far away from his father’s immorality, which harms Charinus’ homeland. Augoustakis suggests that, in addition to the virtue that Cicero appears to recognise in Teucer as an exile and founder of a new city, the Teucer myth of the foundation of Salamis in Cyprus is also relevant to Pacuvius’ contemporary historical circumstances. Pacuvius’ line on cosmopolitanism indicates the many opportunities and possibilities the new world offers during a period of Roman expansion.29

2

The Augustan Teucer

The refugee/exile narratives are also relevant to Roman imperialistic ideology, which is one of the reasons why the refugee theme is popular among Augustan writers of Rome’s mythic history.30 The founder of the city himself is a refugee, and this is emphasised throughout the Aeneid, as is Rome’s representation as a refugium.31 Refugees and exiles, according to the authors of the time, contributed significantly to the city’s foundation and strength.32 Although Teucer did not contribute or take part in the founding of Rome, Vergil’s and Horace’s treatment of his story cannot be dismissed, and his inclusion among the many refugee and exile narratives of the time emphasises the prominence of his story. 2.1 Vergil When Aeneas arrives in Carthage, he is astounded to see the war that has caused his trials and the destruction of his city depicted on the temple of Juno (Aen. 1.453–463). He then realises that the Carthaginians are aware of Troy’s destruction, though the source of their knowledge is not revealed until much later, when Dido welcomes him to her palace. The Carthaginian Queen recalls Teucer’s visit to her land during his wanderings on his way to a promised land, when he sought help from her father, in her eloquent speech (Aen. 1.615–630):33

28 29 30 31 32 33

Augoustakis 2010, 83. Augoustakis 2010, 87–88. Lee-Stecum 2008, 77–79. See Lee-Stecum 2008, 71–72 for the Vergilian etymology of Latium from hiding Saturn, himself a divine exile. Lee-Stecum 2008, 74–77. For Dido’s speech see Lovatt 2013.

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quis te, nate dea, per tanta pericula casus insequitur? quae vis immanibus applicat oris? tune ille Aeneas, quem Dardanio Anchisae alma Venus Phrygii genuit Simoentis ad undam? Atque equidem Teucrum memini Sidona venire 620 finibus expulsum patriis, nova regna petentem auxilio Beli; genitor tum Belus opimam vastabat Cyprum et victor dicione tenebat. tempore iam ex illo casus mihi cognitus Urbis Troianae nomenque tuum regesque Pelasgi. 625 ipse hostis Teucros insigni laude ferebat seque ortum antiqua Teucrorum ab stirpe volebat. quare agite, o tectis, iuvenes, succedite nostris. me quoque per multos similis fortuna labores iactatam hac demum voluit consistere terra. 630 non ignara mali miseris succurrere disco. 615

What misfortune, son of the goddess, amidst such perils chases you? What power brings you to savage shores? Are you that Aeneas, whom to Dardanian Anchises gracious Venus bore by the wave of the Phrygian Simois? And in fact, I personally remember Teucer arriving at Sidon 620 exiled from his paternal land, seeking a new kingdom by the aid of Belus; my father Belus was then plundering rich Cyprus and victorious was holding it under his dominion. From that time on has been known to me the sack of the city of Troy and your name and the Pelasgian kings. 625 Himself a foe, he spoke of the Trojans with remarkable praise and claimed to be born from the Trojans’ ancient line. Come then, men, come under the shelter of our halls. Myself too, a similar fortune has wanted to be thrown into many toils and at last to settle in this land. 630 Not ignorant of trouble I get to know to help the unfortunate. 615

Teucer’s visit to Sidon during his wanderings shares elements with his appearance in the Prologue of Euripides’ Helen, where Teucer visits Egypt to seek help from the local princess Theonoe (Hel. 144–150), after Apollo prophesies that he will found a new Salamis in Cyprus. The stop in Sidon appears to be Vergil’s invention; it is unclear whether Vergil intended the stop in Carthage to replace Teucer’s visit to Egypt or if it was an addition. Teucer is now even further east,

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and thus closer to Cyprus, thanks to Vergil’s invention. Vergil may have wanted his audience to believe that Teucer is told to find Belus in Egypt. Vergil’s Teucer, like Euripides’, pays a visit to a woman and becomes an informant. In Helen, Teucer informs Helen that Menelaus has not returned to Mycenae following the end of the Trojan War. In the Aeneid, he informs Dido of the war’s outcome and the Trojans’ misfortune, which prompts Aeneas’ arrival. His role as an informant is also reminiscent of Pacuvius’ Teucer, in which Teucer informs his father of the war’s outcome and Ajax’s death.34 In the Aeneid, Teucer also seeks assistance from a royal person, but Euripides’ Theonoe has been replaced by Belus. Nevertheless, in both cases, our attention is drawn to the princesses: Theonoe in Helen and Dido (now a queen) in the Aeneid. These changes to Teucer’s travels aid in revealing the dramatic background. They are also structurally clever. Although Vergil only mentions Teucer briefly, his presence is crucial in Dido’s self-presentation.35 She begins her speech by mentioning Aeneas’ name and his misfortunes (615–618), and then introduces Teucer as her informant. However, she quickly shifts from Teucer’s troubles (619–620) to her father Belus (621–622), before emphasising her own admiration and sympathy for the Trojans (623–624). She then returns to Teucer’s Trojan origins (625–626), only to confirm that Trojans have always been welcomed and supported in her land before offering hospitality (627).36 Dido and Teucer’s thematic exchanges in her speech reach their apotheosis at the end: Dido’s self-presentation as another exile (628–630) attempting to connect with Aeneas. Dido’s emphasis on Teucer’s post-Homeric identity as an exile makes him necessary for establishing her connection to Aeneas at this point. Vergil’s Teucer becomes the link between Aeneas and Dido: he “triangulates the similarity between Aeneas and Dido” as an example of ktistes.37 He is not a random example, but his selection is justified by the traits of his character that Dido emphasises the most, namely his exile, Trojan roots, and Trojan War experience. The most noticeable of these is Teucer’s exile identity: he is a ktistes, on a quest for the land promised him by a god (Apollo). His inclusion in the Aeneid is due to Dido’s recollection of him, but he is the first of many examples

34 35 36

37

Seo 2013, 46. Pacuvius’ Teucer has been alluded to again in Book 1, through the storm scene in Aen. 1.81–91 (Serv. ad Aen. 1.87). Seider 2013, 98. Dido claims a connection with the Trojans, since her father helped a half-Trojan, Teucer, although her claim is expressed with some reservation, as the frequent elisions in 625–627 may reveal. See Lovatt 2013, 7–8. Seo 2013, 46–47. See also Schafer 2016, 450–451; Doblhofer 1987, 187–188.

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of ktistic exiles that Aeneas will encounter, each adding to Vergil’s picture of Aeneas.38 Another reason Teucer resembles Aeneas is his Trojan ancestry on his mother’s side. Despite being Greek, his name conjures up images of Teucer, the ancestor of all Trojans. And the reader of the Aeneid is reminded of these origins every time the Trojans are referred to as Teucri, most emphatically in Dido’s speech (625–626). For Giusti, his dual Greek-Trojan identity serves as a link between East and West, Troy and Greece, the Trojans and the Carthaginians, and, effectively, Aeneas and Dido.39 Finally, Teucer, like Aeneas, is a victim of the Trojan War: despite being on the winning side, war was just as destructive to him as it was to the Trojans. As a wanderer, he follows in the footsteps of a long line of wanderers following the Trojan War.40 Teucer’s character is then shaped by emphasising the three elements that he shares with Aeneas. This will allow Aeneas to relate to him and, through him, to Dido. To ensure that Teucer fulfils his symbolic function, Vergil tailors his story to the context in which it appears.41 One of the traits attributed to Teucer deserves special attention. If we accept that Vergil’s frequent use of Teucri implies that the name Teucer is an allusion to an older Teucer, the founder of Troy, his ktistic identity is enhanced. In Book 3, Anchises interprets Apollo’s omen as wanting them to travel and settle in Crete, and Vergil tells the story of the foundation of Troy briefly (Aen. 3.104–109):

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39 40

41

Creta Iovis magni medio iacet insula ponto, mons Idaeus ubi et gentis cunabula nostrae. centum urbes habitant magnas, uberrima regna; maximus unde pater, si rite audita recordor, Teucrus Rhoeteas primum est advectus ad oras optavitque locum regno.

See Harrison 2006, 129–134. Evander is another example of an exile with a significant role in the Aeneid; for further discussion see Lee-Stecum 2008, 71–74. Papaioannou (2003, 695– 696) points out the similarities as well as the differences between Evander and another pair of founders Aeneas has encountered, Helenus and Andromache, in Book 3. The significance of Helenus’ and Andromache’s parva Troia is that it signifies that Aeneas will found a new and great city, not another Troy, see Bettini 1997. Giusti 2018, 135–138. The wanderers are not always necessarily ktistes, e.g. Odysseus. Those who become mythic founders offer links between the newly found cities and Rome, since they shared a common Trojan past. Although Teucer is not included in the examples studied, Erskine (2001) presents the paradigm of the ‘Trojan wanderer’ with a thorough analysis that is applicable also here, see especially Erskine 2001, 131–143. Harrison 2006, 134.

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Crete, the island of great Jove, lies in the middle of the ocean, where Mount Ida and the cradle of our race are. Men live in a hundred great cities, richest realms; From this place our earliest ancestor, if I recall the tale correctly, Teucer first arrived on the Rhoetean shores, and chose a site for his kingdom.

The ancient Teucer, the founder of Troy and our Teucer’s ancestor, appears to have left his homeland in search of a new land in this tradition. History repeats itself. Teucer’s ancestor’s name serves as a constant reminder of his Trojan roots as well as a foreshadowing of his fortune: he is also destined to become a founder. Vergil’s frequent use of Teucri applies the same links to Aeneas’ story, making Teucer a crucial character. Teucer’s Troy on the Rhoetean shores, Aeneas’ Rome in Italy, and Teucer’s Salamis in Cyprus are all destined for glory. 2.2 Horace Teucer appears in Augustan poetry again, this time in a more active role. Horace mentions him in C. 1.7, not as a reference, but as a leader who gives a speech to his comrades. When Horace’s Teucer speaks, he demonstrates tragic elements, engaging with Pacuvius’ Teucer while also creating resonances with Greek lyric poetry.42 L. Munatius Plancus, consul in 42 and 41 bc, is addressed in the ode:43

5

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42 43

Laudabunt alii claram Rhodon aut Mytilenen aut Epheson bimarisve Corinthi moenia vel Baccho Thebas vel Apolline Delphos insignis aut Thessala Tempe; sunt quibus unum opus est intactae Palladis urbem carmine perpetuo celebrare et undique decerptam fronti praeponere olivam; plurimus in Iunonis honorem aptum dicet equis Argos ditisque Mycenas: me nec tam patiens Lacedaemon nec tam Larisae percussit campus opimae quam domus Albuneae resonantis et praeceps Anio ac Tiburni lucus et uda mobilibus pomeria rivis. Nisbet–Hubbard 1970, 103–104. For Plancus’ career, see Lohmann 1994, 431–432; Nisbet–Hubbard 1970, 90–91.

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Others will praise the brilliant Rhodes, or Mytilene, or Ephesus, or the walls of Corinth with its two seas, or Thebes known for Bacchus, or Delphi known for Apollo or the Thessalian Tempe; there are some whose only goal is the city of virgin Pallas to celebrate in a continuous poem and olive plucked from every source to display on the forehead. A good many in the honour of Juno will tell of Argos known for its horses and of rich Mycenae. But neither tough Lacedaemon affects me as sharply nor the fertile plain of Larisa as much as the home of the echoing Albunea and the steep Anio and the grove of Tiburnus and the orchards wet by high-speed streams.

While lines 1–21 focus on Plancus, the ode begins with a priamel of famous Greek cities that others praise. Tibur is the poet’s favourite (1–14). Various places are mentioned, powerfully and stereotypically portrayed as idyllic, only to yield to Plancus’ hometown, Tibur (10–14).44 Following a long tradition of encomiastic poetry, Horace emphasises Tibur as the one city that embodies all the virtues of the cities that preceded it. However, not only was Tibur Plancus’ hometown, it was also a topos that it welcomed exiles.45 Horace advises Plancus in the following section to be optimistic about his troubles, to enjoy life, and to drown his sorrows in wine (15–21): 15

20

albus ut obscuro deterget nubila caelo saepe Notus neque parturit imbris perpetuos, sic tu sapiens finire memento tristitiam vitaeque labores molli, Plance, mero, seu te fulgentia signis castra tenent seu densa tenebit Tiburis umbra tui.

15

Bright as it often cleans away the clouds from the dark sky the South Wind and produces not continuous rain, so you, as a wise man, remember to end the gloom and the troubles of your life,

44 45

The cities also have Homeric tones; see West 1995, 34. Schafer 2016, 458, with literature on this matter.

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Plancus, with mild wine, whether the camp glittering with its emblems holds you or the dense shade of your Tibur will keep you.

The section concludes with a reference to Tibur, implying that Plancus is either not in Italy and is in the East, or that he is in Rome but wishes to return to his hometown. It is unknown when in Plancus’ career he may have yearned for his hometown.46 Tibur as a place of exile, on the other hand, implicitly associates longing for one’s hometown with the theme of exile on a more universal level. Teucer reverts to being a typical mythological exemplum for exile. Teucer is given a voice in the poem’s concluding section and speaks to his comrades after his father’s rejection (21–32):

25

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25

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Teucer Salamina patremque cum fugeret, tamen uda Lyaeo tempora populea fertur vinxisse corona, sic tristis adfatus amicos: “quo nos cumque feret melior fortuna parente, ibimus, o socii comitesque. nil desperandum Teucro duce et auspice Teucro. Certus enim promisit Apollo ambiguam tellure nova Salamina futuram. o fortes peioraque passi mecum saepe viri, nunc vino pellite curas; cras ingens iterabimus aequor.” When Teucer from Salamis and his father had to flee, round his head wet by the liberator Bacchus he is said to have fastened a garland of poplar and thus to have spoken to his dispirited friends: “Wherever Fortune, kinder than my parent, takes us, we will go, my comrades and companions. Despair of nothing, with Teucer as your leader and as your augur Teucer. For certain Apollo has promised that there will be a different Salamis in a new land. O brave men who have suffered worse things often at my side, now with wine banish your worries! Tomorrow over the vast sea we shall set out again.” West 1995, 35; Nisbet–Hubbard 1970, 92–93.

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The seemingly abrupt change of scenery from the praise of Tibur and Plancus to Teucer’s speech in line 21, as well as the shift from the priamel to Plancus in 15, have been discussed for their impact on the ode’s structure and unity.47 The poem’s addressee, Plancus, and the use of Teucer as an exemplum have also been debated. If there were any parallels between the two men’s stories, then Teucer’s presence would confirm the ode’s organic unity. Nisbet and Hubbard believe there is no relationship between the two, and West believes the relationship between Teucer and Plancus is “unprovable historical speculation”.48 He does, however, note subtle parallels between Plancus’ career and Teucer’s story, one of which is Teucer’s populea corona in 23. This may constitute a reference to the worship of Hercules in Tibur.49 Plancus’ importance to Teucer, according to Moles, is significant for the poem’s content, allusions, and unity.50 Teucer uses first-person plural forms in 25–26 (nos … ibimus), which culminate in 27 and emphasise his position as the men’s leader from the start of his speech. Teucer’s nominal duplication (Teucro duce et auspice Teucro) emphasises the Father-Leader aspect of his identity.51 The repetition also serves as a reminder of his Trojan origins, as the plural form of his name is a common designation among the Trojans. The use of duce and auspice reinforces a Roman appropriation of the hero. Tatum focuses on these two new elements to argue that Teucer gains historicity through the parallel with Plancus and thus becomes a proconsul with imperium.52 In C. 1.15, Horace depicted Teucer as a fearless Greek warrior and Troy’s adversary.53 There is no need to ponder whether a more Greek or Trojan/Roman Teucer would be preferable. The presence of both is due to the ode’s all-encompassing and universal character, as demonstrated by Moles.54 The presence of Teucer, who embodies the timeless, universal philosophical values and ideas that Horace expresses in C. 1.7, contributes significantly to the ode’s universality and timeless nature. Teucer’s speech is optimistic, echoing Horace’s ideas about life in the first book of his Odes, e.g., such as his famous carpe diem in C. 1.11. The speech also serves as a consolation for exile, or, more broadly, for a departure from 47 48 49 50 51 52 53 54

Moles 2002, 88–91; West 1995, 32; Lohmann 1994, 430–431, 446–448; Davis 1991, 197–199; Nisbet–Hubbard 1970, 93–94; Quinn 1980, 135. West 2000, 54. West 2000, 54; See also Nisbet–Hubbard 1970, 93, 105; West 1995, 35–36. Moles 2002, 90ff. Lohmann 1994, 449. Tatum 2005, 114–116. 23–24: urgent impavidi te Salaminius / Teucer. Moles 2002, 89–91, 100. See also Schafer 2016, 482–483.

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one’s hometown, and it does so in optimistic tones. Teucer describes his companions’ fortune as melior (25): a better, ‘kinder’ place than the homeland from which they are exiled (personified by his father: parente). The certainty associated with the name of Apollo in 28 reinforces the strong likelihood of better luck, whose promise emphatically points to the new beginning in the next line, elaborating on ‘the kinder fortune’: ambiguam tellure nova Salamina futuram. The adjectives are prominently placed in the verse: ambiguam mirrors futuram, and both envelop the centralised nova. On ambiguam, the ancient scholiast remarks that it is a new Salamis. Its ‘ambiguity’ may also be relevant to the fact that it shares the same name as the old city. The new city represents the future, one that, while unknown, cannot be worse than what Teucer has already endured, as he admits in 30–31. Their future will be different, better, and entirely new. He must abandon what he knew and what disappointed him in order to build a new and better city, something that may have been an underlying idea in Pacuvius’ Teucer, as we have suggested. The final verses of Teucer’s speech emphasise the significance of the sympotic lifestyle in Horace’s work and bestow philosophical traits on the speaker: nunc vino pellite curas.55 Teucer looks to the future and awaits his destiny with piety, denoting a mind free of geographical constraints, whose happiness is independent of place, based on an intratextual understanding of the role of wine in Horace’s odes. This immediately evokes an intertext, a philosophical proverb from Pacuvius’ Teucer (250 Sch.): patria est, ubicumque est bene.56 However, the intertextual aspect of this ode that has received the most attention in scholarship is the possibility of Vergil’s influence. It has been debated whether Horace is referring to Vergil or vice versa in this passage, but this is beyond the scope of this paper. Schafer, who believes Horace is exploiting Teucer’s appearance in Vergil, has recently made a compelling case.57 The argument that Horace’s Teucer mirrors Vergil’s Aeneas is based on the verbal and thematic similarity of Teucer’s speech in the Ode to Aeneas in Verg. Aen. 1.195–209. Commenting on the presence of wine in both scenes,58 Schafer suggests that in 55 56 57

58

Davis 2007, 217–218; Davis 1991, 198–199. See also Commager 1957, 70–71 for the role of wine in liberating one from the past. See also Moles 2002, 97; Commager 1962, 174. Schafer 2016. See also the very convincing case made by Moles 2002, 99–100 before him, as well as Lohmann 1994, 449–450. However, other scholars, mainly on the Aeneid, maintain the view that Vergil is influenced by Horace, e.g., Harrison 2007, 214–217; Giusti 2018, 138–139, mostly after Nisbet–Hubbard 1970, 107. Gilbert 1972, 195 merely acknowledges the similarities. Verg. Aen. 1.195–197: vina bonus quae deinde cadis onerarat Acestes / litore Trinacrio dederatque abeuntibus heros / dividit, et dictis maerentia pectora mulcet. (‘Next the wine, which

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the character of Teucer, Horace, as it were, corrects Aeneas, making him more optimistic and intrepid.59 Aeneas, worn down by his misfortunes, transforms into an optimistic Teucer. Horace intertextually appropriates Teucer’s character, heightening his significance within the literary context of this ode.60 At the same time, Teucer’s association with the most glorious period of exile in Roman history, that of Aeneas, strengthens Teucer’s power as a symbol of wandering. Teucer comes to represent Roman attitudes. His character also reflects Stoic and possibly Epicurean ideas, as well as Roman life principles, which include, above all, a manly and serious attitude toward misfortune.61 Horace exploits all literary presentations of the literary tradition by using the mythological exemplum of Teucer, creating an enriched, multi-nuanced character. Horace’s Teucer exists outside of mythology because of his importance to Plancus. He gains contemporaneity in the same way Pacuvius’ Teucer gains relevance through Cicero’s quotations from the play and association with the current situation. In Roman thought, Teucer becomes both historical and timeless, a highly relatable character who is aptly parallel to the respective social and political context.

3

Teucer the Exile, the Leader, and the Founder: A Cypriot Aeneas

After Horace, Teucer does not appear as a central character in any surviving Latin poetry, but he is mentioned as the founder of another city, New Carthage in Spain. He is most clearly identified as such by Silius Italicus in his Punica, who mentions Teucer twice in his two references to the city. First, in Pun. 3.368: dat Carthago viros, Teucro fundata vetusto. Carthage, founded by ancient Teucer, supplied men. And again, in Pun. 15.192–195: urbs colitur, Teucro quondam fundata vetusto, nomine Carthago; Tyrius tenet incola muros.

59 60 61

good Acestes had stored in jars / on the Trinacrian shore and offered to the departing, as a hero / he shares and with his words calms the grieving hearts’). Schafer 2016, 461, 465. Lohmann 1994, 450: “Horaz hat seinen Teucer bewusst als alter Aeneas konzipiert.” Although drawn from later authors (Seneca, Musonius Rufus, and Epictetus), Stephens’ outline of the Stoics’ perception of exile (2020, 290–298) is most relevant here.

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ut Libyae sua, sic terris memorabile Hiberis haec caput est.

195

There is a city, founded long ago by ancient Teucer, with the name Carthage; a Punic population lives in her walls. As the same city in Libya, this is a famous capital in the Iberian lands.

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Trogus was already aware of the foundation of New Carthage in Spain.62 This new element heightens the significance of Teucer’s journeys across the Mediterranean. However, the most interesting aspect about Silius Italicus’ references is the city of New Carthage rather than the character of Teucer, and they add little to the details of his character. To summarise, the story of Teucer is a popular theme in Latin literature, at least until the late years of the Republic, meaning he becomes a common mythological exemplum during this period. With a few exceptions, two themes run throughout Teucer’s story: (a) his exile at the hands of his own father, and (b) the foundation of a new city in Cyprus. These two fundamental aspects of Teucer’s heroic identity remain unchanged, and each is highlighted in diverse ways depending on the context. Whereas Teucer’s dramatic portrayal appears to revolve around the themes of his relationship with Telamon and his expulsion, or the loss of his father and/or country, his portrayal in both the Aeneid and Horace’s Ode 1.7 looks ahead, towards the new Salamis that he will found. Although most of Teucer’s treatment in Republican tragedy has not survived, the fragments of Pacuvius’ Teucer give us an idea of the hero’s influence. Teucer’s tragedy has a heartfelt theme to which the reader can relate. Teucer, as an exile, serves as a vehicle for expressing various perspectives on exile, while as the founder of a new city, he represents the values to which the Romans aspired. Beacham accurately described the constant interactions between theatrical performance and political oratory as a ‘symbiosis’ that benefited both actors and orators.63 Republican tragedy appears to have provided many examples of pathos that required the performer’s full engagement in order to be expressed. The unhistorical and mythical character of Teucer becomes relevant to the contemporary historical, cultural, and political context. Teucer adopts Roman mores, becomes a Stoic, and becomes a citizen of the vast Roman world. As a result, Roman authors use him as a model who adheres to Roman standards 62

63

According to Trogus (Just., Epit. 44.3), Teucer returned to his homeland years after he founded Salamis in Cyprus, this time to be rejected by his nephew Eurysaces. Then, he sailed to Spain, where he founded New Carthage. Beacham 1991, 156.

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and resembles Rome’s mythical founder. In doing so, they cast doubt on his Greek ancestry in favour of a Trojan ancestry shared by them and their hero, effectively making Teucer a Roman. Teucer’s transformation into a Roman symbol is a result of intertextual interactions and historical significance. His association with Aeneas brings him even closer to the epicentre of the Roman understanding of exile and foundation. His Trojan origins help him fit in with the Roman heroic exempla. Rather than a Trojan foe, he is another victim who looks to the future with trepidation and optimism. He wanders, spreads his message, and broadens his spheres of influence. He travels to the East and founds a new city that embodies the values that a Roman would be proud of. Teucer is an example of the Romans’ morals and expansion, an embodiment of everything that makes them proud of their own city, from its foundation to its glorious future. Cyprus is transformed into a new Italy, where Teucer must fight in order to found the new city. Lavinia, Aeneas’ wife, becomes another local wife, symbolising the cultural integration that follows. And Salamis becomes a new Rome: a better city with positive divine omens. Teucer is another exile who rises to become a great leader and the founder of a great city, a reflection of Aeneas in every Roman’s heart.

Acknowledgments All translations are my own. The texts follow the respective OCT editions, unless noted otherwise. I am grateful to Professor Barbara Goff for reading and providing insightful comments on an early draft of this chapter.

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Christodoulou, P. (2014). Les mythes fondateurs des royaumes chypriotes. Le nostos de Teukros. CCEC 44, pp. 191–215. Claassen, J.-M. (1999). Displaced Persons: The Literature of Exile from Cicero to Boethius. London. Cohen, S.T. (2006). Cicero’s Roman Exile. In: Gaertner, ed., pp. 109–128. Commager, S. (1957). The Function of Wine in Horace’s Odes. TAPhA 88, pp. 68–80. Commager, S. (1962). The Odes of Horace: A Critical Study. New Haven. Čulík-Baird, H. (2022). Cicero and the Early Latin Poets. Cambridge. Davis, G. (1991). Polyhymnia: The Rhetoric of Horatian Lyric Discourse. Berkeley/Los Angeles/Oxford. Davis, G. (2007). Wine and the Symposium. In: S. Harrison, ed., The Cambridge Companion to Horace. Cambridge, pp. 207–220. Doblhofer, E. (1987). Exil und Emigration: Zum Erlebnis der Heimatferne in der römischen Literatur. Darmstadt. Edwards, C. (2018). On Not Being in Rome: Exile and Displacement in Seneca’s Prose. In: W. Fitzgerald, and E. Spentzou, eds., The Production of Space in Latin Literature. Oxford, pp. 169–194. Erskine, A. (2001). Troy Between Greece and Rome: Local Tradition and Imperial Power. Oxford/New York. Fantham, E. (2003). Pacuvius: Melodrama, Reversals and Recognitions. In: D. Braund and C. Gill, eds., Myth, History and Culture in Republican Rome. Studies in Honour of T.P. Wiseman. Exeter, pp. 98–118. Fantham, E. (2004). The Roman World of Cicero’s De Oratore. Oxford. Frank, T. (1932). Two Notes on Plautus. AJP 53: pp. 243–251. Gaertner, J.-F. (2006a). The Discourse of Displacement in Greco-Roman antiquity. In: Gaertner, ed., pp. 1–20. Gaertner, J.-F., ed. (2006b). Writing Exile: The Discourse of Displacement in Greco-Roman Antiquity and Beyond. Boston. Gantz, T. (1993). Early Greek Myth: A Guide to Literary and Artistic Sources. Baltimore/ London. Gavrielatos, A. (2020). Ἀνδρόμαχος μέγα πένθος Ἀριστώνακτος ἀδελφοῦ: Revisiting IG xii 1. 140 (= ΑΚυΓ2 Ε19) with Examples of a Brother’s Lament in Greco-Roman Poetry. In: A. Papathomas, G. Karla, and D. Stamatis, eds., ΗΜΑΤΑ ΠΑΝΤΑ. Studies on Classical, Byzantine and Modern Greek Literature, Philosophy and Culture in Honour of Prof. Andreas I. Voskos. Athens, pp. 423–442. Gilbert, H. (1972). The Speeches in Vergil’s Aeneid. Princeton. Giusti, E. (2018). Carthage in Virgil’s ‘Aeneid’: Staging the Enemy under Augustus. Cambridge/New York. Grasmück, E.L. (1978). Exilium. Untersuchungen zur Verbannung in der Antike. Paderborn.

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chapter 7

Heroic Mettle and Roman Thought: Cyprian Venus and Foundational Bronze Diana Spencer

Conditorem templi regem Aeriam vetus memoria, quidam ipsius deae nomen id perhibent. fama recentior tradit a Cinyra sacratum templum deamque ipsam conceptam mari huc adpulsam.1 tac. Hist. 2.3

… Exim Cyprii tribus delubris, quorum vetustissimum Paphiae Veneri auctor Aerias, post filius eius Amathus Veneri Amathusiae et Iovi Salaminio Teucer, Telamonis patris ira profugus, posuissent.2 tac. Ann. 3.62

∵ By the end of the second century bc, political, economic and cultural forces in Rome were redefining how citizens’ relationship to the world around them was understood.3 Rapid territorial expansion was being matched by social and demographic changes, prompting a newly sophisticated and ‘vibrant’ literature that could reflect on, and even help shape them.4

1 ‘The founder of the temple was Aerias, according to ancient tradition; but there are some who attribute that name to the goddess herself. A more recent notion holds that the temple was consecrated by Cinyras and that the goddess herself, conceived from the sea, was brought to land here’. All translations are the author’s unless specified otherwise. 2 ‘Next came the Cypriots, with an appeal for three shrines, of these the most ancient their founder Aerias had established in honour of Paphian Venus; next, his son Amathus’ (to Venus Amathusiae); then that of Teucer (exiled by the rage of his father Telamon) to Jove of Salamis’. 3 All subsequent dates are bc unless otherwise specified. 4 Taking ‘vibrant’ from the sense in Bennett 2010.

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Rome’s new literary-textual adventures were embedded in the growing empire’s acquisitive, translational, and commodity dynamics. This chapter explores how aes—as material and metaphor as much as in morphology—links Cyprus to Rome’s foundations, and makes Cyprus’ famed cyprum (copper, [aes] Cypr[i]um) one measure of success and civilisation in the Roman cultural imaginary.5 This link is realised in Venus, Cypria: my protagonist. As this chapter’s epigraphic quotations demonstrate, she connects Cyprus and Rome through practicalities of economics as well as through powerful legend and mythography. Venus’ Cypriot significance aligns the island’s famous raw material with humankind’s indebtedness to the gods for metallurgy, and it works deeply into the Roman psyche. Cash (‘copper’, aes) and its physical site in the city of Rome (the treasury, aerarium) and metonymic frame (religious and economic), as well as its role in commodification, produce a wealth of symbolic possibilities for examination, some of which this chapter explores. It is against these contexts that Rome’s mints were implicitly cashing in on Venus Cypria’s role as a marker for historical and civic consciousness. Section one draws in the copper-tin alloy bronze (also aes) and its complex semiotic substance in the iconography of Rome’s accelerating cash (aes, ‘copper’) production as the second century drew to a close. Section two explores some examples of coinage where the material and mythology illustrate the potential for this new entangling of Venus Cypria with tangible experience of value. Section three draws out the potential for language games, and the distinctive multivalence of aes in Latin literature. Finally, section four focuses specifically on aes as metal (copper, bronze, and brass) and symbol, and especially its family ties with Venus, in Lucretius and Vergil. My argument explores what Liv Mariah Yarrow has termed “the premise that repetition through different actions could allow the deciphering of a cultural construction” so that, for this chapter’s conclusions, aes becomes emblematic of the myriad and repetitive encounters and interactions linking habitus, sociocultural experimentation, and iconography (its formation, interrogation, repetition, individuation to time and circumstance, and deliquescence into wallpaper).6 Through an emphasis on big questions concerning authenticity, identity and destiny, Cyprus’ production of copper and Venus, and Venus’ production

5 OLD s.v. Cyprius2 -a -um 1b, 2; cyprum1; Cyprus2 -a -um. For a comparable project, but investigating the literary mythmaking connecting Teucer, Cyprus, and Rome, see Gavrielatos (in this volume) and Giusti 2018, 135–140. I am taking ‘metaphor’ in the sense that aes will, in my argument, often function as the point of convergence between dissimilars, but in this case materialising what might otherwise be an implicit comparison. 6 Yarrow 2013, 366.

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of ‘brazen’ A(h)eneas, this chapter proposes conclusions on the metonymical power of ‘bronze’ and ‘brass’ as materials related in Latin intimately to copper, both by way of Venus and Aeneas, and through the materiality and linguistic nuances bound up in aes as a Cyprian sign.7

1

Cashing in on aes

Aes exemplifies the tangled ways in which human interaction with raw materials was framed in the Roman world through literary, material- and visualcultural objects, and art. Everyday experience of copper was primarily as an alloy (bronze, brass), and metalworking was directly associated with the expertise and environmental force of one deity, Vulcan (Greek Hephaestus)—god of destructive, but also at least by the late Republican era, constructive, fire— and exercised at, or in explanation of, key moments in civilisation.8 Unusually, at Rome, Vulcan’s spouse Venus (Greek Aphrodite) gained an etymological association with copper through the type of wordplay that late-Republican thinkers foregrounded within antiquarian research. Venus’ legendary birthplace was the copper-rich island of Cyprus, and Latin took this connection, articulated in the attributive naming of Venus as Cypria, to produce for Roman metallurgy an alternative ‘copper’ term cuprum.9 Greek (ὁ) χαλκός (copper, bronze) and (ἡ) Κύπρος (Cyprus) were standard until after Greece’s incorporation into Rome’s empire; the wordplay between Cyprus and copper made for a new modality in conceptualising Roman-era Cyprus through a Latin lens. Latin aes has the word-power to produce distinctive and significant intertextual effect, but this section emphasises the materiality of aes in order to explore the convergence of ‘Cyprian’ metal and meaning in one of its most ubiquitous forms, coinage. Since at least the fourth millennium, Cyprus had been developing a strong copper-producing and -working economy. Through copper, Cyprus’ influence extended; its richness in a desirable resource made it attractive to the

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For ‘Aeneas’, see OLD s.v. a(h)eneum; a(h)eneus -a -um. On metals and cultural step-change: section 3 below. Speculatively, the trade-route links which seem to inform Italic deity Cupra’s pre-Roman significance in Umbria and for Picenum may also have significance for the convergence of copper and Venus. On Cupra, see Betts 2009, who notes the line in Gaius Asinius Pollio: Veneris antistita Cupra. From a Greek perspective, (ἡ) κύπρος was the plant (and dye) henna. Many thanks to Ken Dowden for a thorough conspectus of Greek ‘copper’ terminology and its implications for Latin.

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developing empires of the Mediterranean and Mesopotamia.10 Cyprus’ mineral wealth was not simply raw material for trade and metallurgy, important though that was, but also for pigments (ceramics, painting), the technology of warfare (bronze for naval rams), and medicine. Cyprian copper thereby evoked and existed within a wide range of socio-cultural and economic frames of reference.11 For strategic territorial reasons too, Cyprus was an obvious target for Assyrian, Persian, and Egyptian expansion and defensive imperialism.12 Cyprus allied with Alexander the Great in support of his siege of Tyre (332), and after his death Cyprus eventually came under Ptolemaic control. This lasted from the third century until annexation as a Roman province in 58, but the strategic geopolitical and economic significance of Cyprus within Ptolemaic dynastic struggles is evident in its ongoing patterns of factional realignment.13 The familial dynamic underlying aes and Venus in Roman foundation narratives in the later Republic draws on powerful assumptions based in stories located amidst versions of Cyprus’ early history. Pliny the Elder recounts how one Cinyra (son of Agriopa) invented tiles, copper (presumably copper-mining or production), and the equipment for metalworking—all on Cyprus (HN 7.195, 34.2). If this is a conflation from Cyprus’ legendary king, Cinyras, then a connection to Aphrodite becomes especially interesting.14 Pindar has Cypriots revere Cinyras as beloved priest of Aphrodite and favourite of Apollo (Pyth. 2.15–16); fabulously wealthy too (Nem. 8.18). From these poems Cinyras emerges as a pan-Cyprus figure comparable in Pindar’s verses to Hieron of Syracuse (Pyth. 10 11

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The copper deposits of Cyprus’ Troodos mountain range remain among the richest globally, relative to the island’s size. Kassianidou 2013, 50, 53; see also e.g. Strabo and Galen, in Kassianidou 2004a. On the power of coin (and other) iconography in Cyprus’ recalibration of political identities from east to west, see Papantoniou 2013, 1780–174. The ‘natural’ quality of Cyprus’ wealth is evoked in Ovid’s account of the golden tree, native to wealthy Tamasus, whose fruit Venus gives to enable Atalanta’s defeat (Ov. Met. 10.644–650). Counts–Iacovou 2013a, 7, introducing a special edition of the Bulletin of the American Schools of Oriental Research, show the resource and strategic issues at stake. In more detail, Iacovou 2013; Kassianidou 2013. Papantoniou 2013, 182–187 briefly outlines Cyprus’ development into the world of Hellenistic kingdoms; on the detail of Cyprus’ shifting position with regard to Ptolemaic power struggles, see Keen 2012. Voskos–Knapp 2008 discuss the dangers in over-emphasising retrojective accounts, but this chapter is all about the backward gaze; it is not an attempt to reconstruct the reality of cult, copper, and Cyprus’ earliest polities and governments. On this complex of associations for Cinyras, a figure pulled in many directions, see Franklin 2015, 1–4, 322–332, 432–436, 498–516, providing an overview, and discussion of Cinyras as great, wealthy king, metallurge, mariner, perfumer; on the name; on Aphrodite, Cyprus, Paphos, Syrian/Cilician connections, and genealogies.

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2) and entangled with the cult worship of Aphrodite at Paphos, where her birthplace was localised and celebrated. Pindar therefore underlines the riches which tie island, hero-king, and gods together. Paphos—a Cypriot kingdom with a foundation legend tracing its royal family back to Cinyras and a place in the Homeric frame—was, however, one of the island’s less copper-rich states, and was not the only site in Cyprus with a prominent Aphrodite cult.15 The kingdom, therefore, had much symbolic capital to gain from claiming descent from marvellously rich Cinyras, and in connecting this lineage with Aphrodite’s origin as a potent ideological and iconographic package.16 The third century was an era of change for Rome, a city coming to terms with both territorial imperialism and a newly paradigmatic identity that was shaping what lands and provinces might come to expect from colonial foundations and Roman infrastructure.17 Within a couple of generations, at least by the second and first centuries, novelties (including coinage18) were producing a culture increasingly comfortable with, but also sensitised to, discontinuity, with not only negative, but also radically exciting possibilities. As recounted by Pliny the Elder (HN 33.44–45), Rome’s first silver coinage (in the consulship of Q. Ogulnius and C. Fabius) saw the denarius calibrated at ten pounds of bronze (thus setting aes as the referent), followed by the PunicWar-debt as issue, standardised with Janus Geminus on one side, and a naval ram (rostrum navis) on the other. Thus novelty, military and economic crisis 15 16

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Il. 11.15–46, compare Od. 8.362–363. On Paphos and copper, Iacovou 2008, 2012; Kassianidou 2004b, 2013, 58–59. On the impact of naval ‘ram’ technology on the copper industry and bronze production, Mark 2008, 270– 271. On the tradition of Aphrodite at Paphos, and its fame, Franklin 2015, 400 sums up, before discussing Cinyras, Aphrodite, and genealogies of power at Paphos in detail in chapter 16. In the wake of his own governorship of Cilicia, Cicero would exhort Sextilius Rufus to be especially obliging to the Paphians (Fam. 13.48) and he notes it in the context of Pompey’s flight after Pharsalus (Philipp. 2.39; cf. Val. Max. 1.5.6; Lucan, bc 8.456–459), but save for my opening quotations from Tacitus, Pliny’s brief assertion of the significance of Venus’ shrine at Paphos (HN 2.210), and snippets such as (e.g.) Suet. Tit. 5.1 alluding to the significance of the oracle at Paphos, it rarely features in extant Latin historical prose. Horace (e.g. C. 1.30.1–2), Vergil (Aen. 1.415; 10.51, 86), and Pomponius Mela (De chorographia 2.102) allude to Venus’ specific links with Paphos, but Ovid’s cycle in Metamorphoses is the most interesting; as ‘sung’ by Orpheus: Ov. Met. 10.243–297 (the story of Pygmalion and Paphos’ birth); 10.298–355 (Paphos’ son Cinyras; Cinyras’ daughter Myrrha); 503–559 (Venus and Adonis—son of Cinyras and Myrrha). Depending on the version of this legend consulted, Paphos is either daughter or son to Pygmalion. On the economic manifestation of forces transforming Rome in coinage, a feature of Roman life from about 300, Tan 2017; Bernard 2018a, 2018b. On the east/west pulls of Rome’s gaze, e.g. Vanotti 1999. On Rome’s coinage in Italian contexts, Burnett 2012. Woytek 2012.

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modes, and a direct relationship between everyday cash, aes, and a sign of maritime success, converged. The prow symbolises and memorialises not only the specific conflict, but wider Mediterranean political entanglement, new technologies of warfare (the three-pronged rostrum), and the economic and trading networks that delivered the raw materials and manufactured commodities, the crucial aes, Cyprus’ fame, that underpinned the production and deployment of battleship rams. This section has outlined some of the ways in which aes, the materiality of coinage, and the political transformation of Rome’s place in the Mediterranean converge around Cyprus and Venus, through whose associative areas of signification and linguistic interrelation a kind of interoperability develops. Section two takes a series of case studies to home in on how changes in Roman coin iconography, becoming evident in the third century, would amplify the significance of this developing cultural nexus.

2

Copper, Coins, and Iconography

The third century saw something new in Roman coinage: the representation of gods as portrait heads on coin obverses, so that deities began to move into everyday physical contact with the economic life of Rome.19 Rome’s willingness to embrace change and novelty in numismatic iconography was increasingly matched with a realisation that something more than mos maiorum was necessary if elite families were to continue to monopolise high office and make a success of an oligarchic approach to empire-building.20 We also know that metallurgy more broadly was a topic for scientific and philosophical enquiry within a couple of centuries of my earliest examples, and as Ernesto Paparazzo has argued, Pliny the Elder’s complex approach to metals is indebted to ideas current in Rome at least as early as the first half of the first century, in the Stoic thinking of Posidonius, bringing us to within a generation of the first coins that I discuss.21 Of particular significance for my argument is that from 211, the goddess Roma, branding the city and empire, was the standard obverse type of the den-

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Woytek 2018 summarises and contextualises. Woytek 2014, 50–51. E.g. Pliny the Elder, HN 34. Paparazzo 2008. See also, Healy 1981, 1999; Paparazzo 2003a, 2003b, 2011 Paparazzo 2003a, 2003b, 2011. For coin dates and images, I refer to Crawford 1974 [RRC], as Coinage of the Roman Republic Online [CRRO, http://numismatics.org/​ crro/] using the RRC numbering scheme.

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arius, although by the 110s the—by then standardly variable—reverses were joined by iconographic variation on the obverse, with few examples of the former traditional standard after 100.22 For a century, then, Romans routinely carried gods in their pockets and purses as never before or (in quite the same way) after. As an introduction to the rich metonymic complexity this approach offers, I suggest the year 129. At Rome, C. Sempronius Tuditanus and Manius Aquillius were consuls; there was military engagement on a number of fronts— notably, concluding the conflict with Pergamon that would lead to its incorporation by the Res Publica—and Sextus Iulius Caesar (possibly the same individual who was Praetor Urbanus in 123) was Triumvir Monetalis. It seems plausible that he was the son of the Sextus Iulius Caesar who was Consul in 157 (the first of the gens Iulia to gain prominence, and consular authority for some time).23 Meanwhile, Ptolemaic Cyprus, bouncing back and forth between spheres of influence and direct rule, was providing an ideal base for threatening whomever held power in Syria,24 which, combined with increasing frictions of interest between Rome and Egypt, make it unsurprising that within a generation before Sextus Iulius Caesar’s assumption of the role of moneyer, Cyprus (and especially her goddess) was also causing ripples at Rome.25 The mid-third century and the beginnings of numismatic evidence already show Rome’s embrace of Troy within foundation narratives,26 and an assimilation of Aphrodite/Venus was manifest in temples changing the urban fabric in this era. This awareness is clear, as Yarrow points out, in Roma’s depiction wearing a Phrygian helmet, and in the inclusion of a Trojan woman called Roma in storylines around Aeneas’ foundation of Rome.27 Iulus’ link to Ascanius and Silvius (Aeneas’ son with his Latin wife Lavinia) was also already in circulation.28 In this context, Venus’ 22 23

24 25 26 27

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I am grateful to Liv Mariah Yarrow, and a Twitter conversation, for putting my argument into clearer context with this insight. Farney 2013, 49. The previous Julian consul was L. Iulius Libo (267) and the family was not often distinguished by significant magistracies between the fourth and second centuries. See also Badian 2009. See e.g. Polyb. 5.34.6; 5.59. Baronowski 2011, 83–84. Yarrow 2021: I am very grateful for advance sight of a draft. Yarrow 2021 directs us to: FGrH 560 F4 = Festus 266; FGrH 564 F5a and b = D.H. 1.72.5 and Festus 269. For the likely beginning of the crossover in the literary imagination, Od. 8.266– 366 (Aphrodite/Venus returns home to Cyprus after the disastrous discovery of her liaison with Ares/Mars) and Livius Andronicus’ third-century Latin retelling. On Venus’ integration, e.g. Liv. 22.9, 10; 23.30. Cato ap. Serv. et Auct. A 1.267 = FRH 3F1.9a. For discussion of ‘Iulus’ attaching to Silvius, Badian 2009.

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sharpening identity as a desirable and legitimising foremother and tutelary figure in second-century Rome is important. Sextus Iulius Caesar’s novel step as moneyer was therefore the interlinking of public and familial conceptions of Venus to the still recognisably and evocatively normative numismatic personification of Roma in a denarius that matches that formerly standard obverse, Roma (helmeted), with a reverse reading ROMA, showing Venus, being crowned by her son Cupid (drawing in the imagery of lineage), and driving a biga.29 There was nothing especially remarkable about 129, taking that as the date of this coin issue, but it exemplifies how holders of high office were recognising and acknowledging that their control over the routes to political elevation necessitated more satisfying, more richly imagined, more networked and ‘Mediterranean’, and thus also more metaphorically flexible props. The appearance of deities on Roman coins was not new in the late second century, but newly resonant within this sensitive context, as civil society flexed creatively to accommodate change, and individual experience of the metonymic power of money as a constituent element in the Res Publica raised both its participatory and its dialogic quality: its standing as a contributing socio-economic entity, possessed of its own distinctive agency.30 My next example, a denarius serratus issued by Lucius Memmius (perhaps) in 106, shows how the iterative power of this iconographic suite develops.31 Laureate Saturn, accompanied by the inscription ROMA (obverse), shares the glory with Venus (reverse), commanding a biga and accompanied by a flying Cupid.32 Memmius’ set also included an as (laureate Janus, obverse; reverse, L·MEMMI ROMA, accompanying a ship with prow to the right and a Venus wreathed by Cupid at the prow),33 and a semis (combining the two iconographic types).34 The quadrans of the set (CRRO 313/4) depicts (obverse) Her29

30 31 32

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CRRO 258/1 X (crossed): Helmeted head of Roma, right; behind, mark. Border of dots. Reverse: ROMA SEX·IVLI; Venus in biga right, holding reins in left hand and whip in right hand; behind, Cupid, crowning Venus. Line border. On ROMA, Bernard 2018b. On the significance of Cupid, Farney 2013. On the wider development and appropriation of legendary genealogies, Wiseman 1974. If dated to 129, the Venus of CRRO 258/1 does not fit exactly with the iconographic innovations as described by Woytek 2014, 51, but this does not affect my argument. Mattingly 1998 suggests dating to 103. CRRO 313/1b: ROMA: Laureate head of Saturn left; behind, harpa [type of sickle] and inscription. Border of dots. Reverse: L·MEMMI GAL: Venus in biga right, holding sceptre and reins in left hand and reins in right hand; above, flying Cupid with wreath. Border of dots. CRRO 313/2. CRRO 313/3 exhibits obverse of 313/1b, and reverse of 313/2. Obverse: laureate Saturn, right;

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cules (in lion-skin) facing right, and on the reverse, the same Venus-on-theprow, with ROMA text, as the as and the semis. To sum up, Memmius’ denarius serratus juxtaposes a commanding Venus who, in this one instance, flips to a Saturn with the text ROMA, while in the rest of the series (as, semis, quadrans) the combination of text and image locates Venus ‘on the side of’ ROMA. The prow and—recalling the denarius serratus—the chariot, make her over as a successful Roman seafarer and conqueror. The prow was a relatively common image in Rome’s later third-century coinage, and understandably part of a territorially expanding thought-world. Narrowing the focus to Roman minting, we see it featuring on the reverse of numerous issues, anonymous and authored, but partnering only a small range of deities.35 Only six examples of those collected in CRRO unite Venus with the prow: the as, semis, and quadrans of L. Memmius (as described), a denarius from 83 (obverse: diademed head of Venus; reverse: prow and other symbols),36 and the denarius issue of Gaius Egnatius, in 75, which is the first instance of Roma and Venus sharing a coin face.37 What is significant for my argument and Venus’ association with Mediterranean mobility (especially, a dynamic nexus directing activity towards Rome) is that this iconographic development links seafaring and maritime supremacy with clear enthusiasm for Trojan imagery in Roman coinage, exemplified in Roma’s iconic Phrygian helmet.38 Power, commanding behaviour, and maritime excellence converge just as in Ennius’ assertion that ‘Navorum imperium servare est induperantum’—imperium wielded in shipshape fashion, fast and

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behind, denominational mark. Reverse: L·MEMMI ROMA: Prow right, with head of Venus decorating prow-stem; below and before (facing left), Cupid placing wreath on prow-stem and at inscription. CRRO search (filters ‘prow’, with mint ‘Rome’, and terminus of 14 ad) produces 685 results; unsurprisingly, the early cluster is in the 220s. It continues in popularity through the late third and early second centuries. Where a deity appears with a prow, in these early instances, it is Roma; examples also exist with a dog (e.g. CRRO 122/3, 122/4, 122/7; other animals, e.g. ram, 123/2; bull, 142/2, 142/2; bird, 117B, 141; dolphin, 160/1; butterfly, 184); in the second century, Victory appears with a prow (e.g. CRRO 114/4, 145/2, 240), as do the Dioscuri (caps; e.g. CRRO 278/2); the mid-second century provides a she-wolf suckling twins (CRRO 183). CRRO 357/1a, 357/1b. Obverse: VIIII C·NORBANVS: Head of Venus right, wearing diadem; behind, control-mark; border of dots. Reverse: Prow-stem, fasces with axe, caduceus and corn-ear. Border of dots. CRRO 391/3. CRRO—fourteen examples spanning ca. 275–114. A Phrygian cap then reappears on CRRO 408/1a, 1b, a denarius issue (67) of C·PISO·L·F·FRVG. Obverse: Greek Φ: Laureate head of Apollo right; behind, control mark. Reverse: C·PISO·L·F·FRVG: Horseman right, with Phrygian cap; above, control mark.

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direct and vigorous, is the mark of a leader.39 When we set this against Cyprus’ likely associative links with the production of the raw and alloyed materials, and indeed the bronze rams whose technology fully weaponised the prows of warships in this era, the allusive quality of these coins is sharpened. They combine with the ‘Cyprian’ nuances present in aes and Venus, and the significance of the ‘ram’ at the heart of Roman political and spatial iconography and rhetorical monumentality (the ‘rams’ of the rostra in the Forum Romanum, in particular), as a potentially powerful and tangible example of contact culture at work.40 Memmius’ coins further emphasise the emblematic and assertively textual quality of this iconographic suite, and its sophisticated metonymic potential. When Trojan-helmeted ‘ROMA’ meets victorious naval Venus (first-beached in Cyprus), celebrated by her Trojan-diasporic progeny, the convergence of imagery and symbolism adds a pointedly familial quality transforming the wider and traditional popularity of the prow. Drawing this together, Venus’ motherly, fertile aspect meets her affinity with the sea, her ancestral relationship to the victorious Roman line through Aeneas and his voyage to Italy from Troy (echoing Dido’s flight from Tyre to Carthage, with Cyprus as multivalent way station41), and her potential role as divine advocate for Roman greatness and its fated character. The combination of ‘mother’ Venus and the rostrum opens a topopoetic conversation in the Forum. Forged prows daily echoed to the stamping of coin as people moved between the moneyers of the Tabernae, the Aerarium, and the Volcanal (where the Capitoline slope rose from the Comitium). Venus herself lived nearby, at the Vicus Argentarius—adjacent to the tabernae novae ‘shopping arcade’ and the moneyers and merchants who constituted Rome’s economic powerhouse—as Venus Cloacina, whose infrastructural support sig39 40

41

Ennius, Ann. 16.412. The strands connecting bronze and rams/prows are already appearing in e.g. Aesch. Persians 408, 415 (bronze rams). Pliny the Elder makes clear that rostra connote bronze (and vice versa), e.g. HN 10.63, 32.3, 33.45 (compare Verg. Aen. 10.223–224; Serv. In Verg. 5.198; Sil. Ital. Pun. 6.357–358); Cyprus is crucial to the copper/bronze industries throughout the era of my focus. For an example of the powerful iconography of bronze rams attributed to Cyprus, see e.g. the Athlit ram whose symbolic decoration has resulted in productionascription to Ptolemaic Cyprus. Its single-cast form became popular by the fourth century. On the Athlit ram and its ideological significance, e.g. Murray 2012, 32–48, drawing in Augustus’ Actian victory monument, and the Egadi rams (on which last, Prag 2014). Thanks to a lively 2019 Twitter conversation, including @peterbcampbell, @bernard_prof, and @Sicilyepigraphy, consensus suggests the Egadi rams were cast at various sites, including Ostia. Justin (Trogus) 18.5.

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nalled the great early technological solution to the drainage problem.42 Political, economic, and religious possibilities reverberate further through the relationship between these sites and Juno Moneta’s temple on the Arx.43 Arx and Volcanal embed Juno’s man-of-bronze son at the heart of his wife Venus’ referential environment, stamping his mark on every coin implicitly, regardless of the specific iconography. Vulcan, supposed father of Praeneste’s legendary founder Caeculus (ancestor of the Caecilii), had some form on coins issued at Rome. One example that demonstrates the complex linking Venus, Vulcan, Rome, and Cyprus is a denarius of 112/111 (CRRO 298/1), perhaps the last denarius issue to include ROMA as standard.44 The reverse of L. Caesius’ coin shows the Lares Praestites (‘LA RE’) seated, facing right with staffs in left hands, with a friendly-looking dog standing between them, and a bust of Vulcan (facing left) accompanied by his tongs (over his shoulder) above the group. Dogs in this context might operate in tutelary mode: associated with the foundation of the Roman people and polity, and a watchdog could also evoke dreams of pastoralism and the protoRomans. Acca Larentia—whose worship emphasised chthonic powers and the presence of the dead—hints at Hecate, who with her dogs patrolled crossroads and boundary nodes. Some who handled the coin might have seen the wolf whose cross-over symbolism works for both legends, when the stories of Romulus and Remus, and of the Lares as sons of Acca Larentia, are laid across each other.45 If we accept the idea that sometime in the fourth century, and at least by 300, an early foundation legend centred on Acca Larentia and her twin sons was being overlaid with a story of Ilia/Rhea Silvia, Romulus and Remus, Faustulus,

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On Venus Cloacina, see Hopkins 2012, 2007. Overlooking the tabernae (until the first century) were the Aerarium—housed in the Temple of Saturn—and Juno Moneta. The financial identity that the tabernae argentarii developed in the fourth century saw moneychangers, bankers in effect, displacing the shopkeepers and other commercial enterprises. This north run of tabernae, rebuilt after the fire of 210, was subsequently known as the tabernae novae, and in turn displaced by the rebuilding/reconstruction of the Basilica Aemilia (as those to the south were displaced by the Basilica Julia). See imaginary reconstruction at http://www.digitales‑forum‑romanum.de/gebaeude/tabernae/?lang​ =en. According to Livy (26.11.7), Hannibal took these tabernae argentarii ‘quod circa forum Romanum essent’ as shorthand for the Forum’s significance and identity. A filial relationship between Vulcan and Juno, produced from the equivalency mapping Vulcan onto Hephaestus, and canonised in Homer (Il. 1.577, 584–585; cf. Hes. Th. 927–928), is clearly unsurprising in Rome by the time Ovid composed his Metamorphoses (4.173). Mattingly 1998, 157 n. 35. Coarelli 2003, 51. Plutarch Quaest. Rom. 51 notes the ‘dogginess’ of the Lares Praestiti. Cf. Ov. Fast. 5.142. On the Acca Larentia/wolf mashup, Tabeling 1932, 52, 64–68.

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and a lupa who may have been called Acca Larentia, we can see that the Lares Praestiti carry foundational significance within a story reflecting wider processes of multimedia contamination. Wolfish Faunus, sharing that animal companionship with Mars, was sometimes Acca Larentia’s companion—thus the Mother of the Lares’ role might link with wolves not only through the version where Acca is the name of shepherd Faustulus’ wife, and thus adoptive mother of Romulus and Remus, but also by association with Faunus, through Lavinia to Aeneas Silvius, and eventually back into the tangle around the Romulean foundation legends. In the mythographic context of this tangle, the obverse of L. Caesius’ denarius (CRRO 298/1) showcases how numismatic materiality and iconography lay groundwork for Vergil’s and later development of new ways to consider old stories. This denarius presents Apollo, a reasonably and increasingly popular image on coins,46 but in an unusual mode that might cause users to pay particular attention: a bust, back to the viewer, looking towards but not quite over the left shoulder; holding a thunderbolt—Vulcan’s handiwork—in his right hand, raised above his shoulder.47 The image picks out neatly the tapestry effect that Vergil would go on elegantly to achieve in the Aeneid’s juxtapositions of Daunus (through Turnus) and Faunus (through Latinus) through which to hint at Apollo’s occasional association with wolfishness, and Etruscan ‘Vulcan’.48 Vulcan’s appearance on L. Cotta’s denarius serratus (dated to 105) broadly exemplifies some of these available nuances and their wider intertextual or allusive currency: the obverse depicts Vulcan, facing right, wearing a laurelwreath-bound cap and equipped with his tongs (above his right shoulder); the coin edge is marked by a laurel-wreath border.49

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See Luce 1968, 31–34. CRRO 354/1. See Luce 1968, 34–36. This version of Apollo recurs in a denarius (re)issue of 84 by C. Licinius Macer. Ptolemy v Epiphanes minted an Apollo/thunderbolt bronze, but it never went into circulation (see Lorber 2012, 220). On this image of Apollo and Etruscan ‘Vulcan’, Hekster–Rich 2006, 161–162. Serv. ad Aen. 4.377 (cf. Paus. 2.9.6, Lykios). For context, e.g. Hor. C. 1.17, 1.22, 3.18. See Noonan 1993, 119–120 For an even more ambitious interweaving, Parodo 2015, 12–13 drawing inter alia on Coarelli 2003, 51–53 For the associations between Apollo and rustic deities, Brown 1981, 63; Piccaluga 1968. On wolves, Mastino 2004. CRRO 314/1b. Reverse: L·COT: Eagle on thunderbolt right; around, laurel-wreath. Border of dots. Vulcan’s potential ideological value was already evident on a dodrans issued by M. Caecilius Metellus—also facing right and wearing a distinctive laurel-wreathed cap, carrying his smith’s tongs over his shoulder (CRRO 263/2, dated 127). It is with Vulcan that ‘M·METELLVS·Q·F’, juxtaposed with ‘ROMA’, stages Metellus’ Italian and familial backstory as a Roman; the others in his set only match the inscription of M. Metellus with Roma

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Whether or not we want to read these moneyers’ iconography simply as examples of a more pervasive free experimentation on coin issues, we can see the potential scope for end-user interpretative intermediality. The same two coins never rub together twice, their iconographies and physicalities are forever shape-shifting and recombining. This ambiguity adds to my argument that when we examine coins as texts whose material and semiotic vocabularies were registered through and embodied by aes (word, material, metonym) they illuminate connections between Rome and Cyprus otherwise constrained to literary and historiographic evidence. As Roma loses traction in the limited field available on coins for displaying individualised family messages, moneyers have creatively adapted the medium to suit personally powerful stories, yet within the semiotics of the medium (aes) all of these annually refreshed messages are complicated by the linguistic frames within which Cyprus plays a subtle but pervasive emblematic role. What emerges from the range of examples is a new understanding of how entangled Venus, copper, coinage, and Cyprus are in the habitual and perhaps unexamined experience of Roman life in the later Republic. The porosity between aes as material and as metonym is what draws together Venus, Cyprus, and copper, exemplified in the developing coin iconography and the verbal coinage cupra for the metal. By considering specific coins as metal objects that were economically storyboarding Venus into the religio-cultural relations between Rome and the legendary histories of the Italian states, it becomes possible to take a new approach to the physical and semiotic syncretism of objects jostling for position in the purse. These coins stand in metaphorically for the metals fuelling Roman expansion (and Cyprus’ significance in this story), but to understand the richness of their symbolism in greater detail, we need to turn to aes itself.

(semis, triens, quadrans), or (as in the denarius), Roma only appears on the obverse; see Wiseman 1974, 155. The set included a denarius (CRRO 263/1a, 1b), semis (CRRO 263/3a, b), triens (CRRO 263/4), quadrans (CRRO 263/5a, b). The denarius as expected has Roma on the obverse (reverse: M·METELLVS·Q·F: Macedonian shield decorated with elephant’s head; around, inscription. Laurel-wreath border); the others: Saturn, Minerva, Hercules; reverse: M·METELLVS ROMA, prow, right, inscribed. The polyvalence of divine attributes, simply looking at Vulcan as an example, is further evident when one considers the denarius of T. Carisius (CRRO 464/2, in 46): here, an obverse of Juno Moneta (‘MONETA’) is paired with a reverse picturing what is possibly a punch die, with (Vulcan’s) tongs (left) and hammer (right), see Woods 2013 (the punch die, with garland, has been interpreted as Vulcan’s cap).

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Etymologising aes in the First Century

The third section of this paper moves from visual and material culture to literary context, and in particular, how literature draws on the emblematic power of aes. Bronze had long defined key domains, boundaries, and cult production.50 In a very real way the defining significance of aes was therefore daily trodden in the footsteps negotiating ways and means between key sites in the Forum. It was tangible (as a price equivalence at point of exchange; as a physical entity at once materially unique and classified, and changing tangibly in relation to volatile external forces and points of encounter), and also imaginary (what status its owner believes it confers, the transfer-value proposed, and the commodities it prospectively foretells). Eventually, for Republican citizens, it also acted as a sorting device whereby citizen-status and rank were renewed or redefined.51 The texts that will be discussed in this section draw on these different modes of experience of aes to illuminate points of encounter between the raw power and mystery of nature and the development of technocracy and empire.52 They also build on the role of aes in linking Venus, Vulcan, and Cypriot copper inferentially in Rome’s economies of cash. The polysemy of copper is exemplified in a couple of instances in Varro’s weighty investigation of Latin, with his emphasis on the Italian and Mediterranean qualities of Latin patterns of signification. In one of his gazetteers of Roman toponyms he observes on the production of an unexpected etymology: on the Esquiline, two vici trace in name two elements in Rome’s history, the Vicus Africus—said to be named for the Africans held hostage there in the Punic War—and Vicus Cyprius, recalling as a good omen the location where the Sabines who gained Roman citizenship settled, since cyprum was their word 50

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Constantinidou 1992, and on Cyprus, 150–153. The ‘bronze threshold’ has Homeric form for gods’ homes (e.g. Od. 8.321, Hephaestus). Ovid’s imagining of the net which captured Venus and Mars as woven from inescapably strong, gossamer-thin aes visually develops the metaphorical quality of the material as a boundary and control device (Met. 4.176). Over and above wealth qualifications for rank, citizen delinquency might result in a censorial relegation to the status of aerarius. The term draws together punitive and classificatory identifications with the semiotic range of aerarium, housed (with the state archives) in the Temple of Saturn. On aerarius, Oakley 2005, 436–437 (on Liv. 9.34.9) considers key evidence. On the archives, Royo 2002, 514–516; Moatti 2011, 124–126. Erdkamp 1999 argues that the relationship between people, food production and processing, and nature remained fluid throughout antiquity, with few urban communities without porous and symbiotic relationships—seasonal and economic—with small- and large-scale agriculture. Exceptionally, as Bernard 2018a, 16 suggests, the mid-Republic was the moment when Rome specifically diverged from other urban centres in antiquity (the farmer-citizen model) to emphasise the centrality of urban labour.

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for ‘good’ (Ling. 5.159). Cyprum and aes Cyprium entangle the toponym and raw material inextricably, yet Varro chooses to leave the Cyprus connection implicit by juxtaposition (Africa, Cyprus), dwelling instead on Sabine integration at Rome, and the implication present across De lingua Latina that Rome’s embrace of other peoples and cultures—with his own Sabine background part of the mix—strengthened the res publica significantly. Written in the mid-40s, this optimistic and inclusive embrace takes an insider’s ‘outsider’ perspective on citizenship as a ‘good’ (materially, culturally), but the metonymic field is complicated by a passage from Varro’s discussion of the etymologies for Rome’s mural gates. The ‘copper’ (raudus[cula]) gate once defined the route from Ostia across the Aventine hill with (we might assume) gleaming magnificence. At least in Varro’s Roman imaginary, sales in mancipiis were long-ago sealed with the fall of raudus on the scales.53 For raudus here evokes the earliest coinage aes rudus, and locates at this barrier a sense of the metonymic possibilities connecting defence, power, economic and material prosperity, and the transformation of all of these since days of yore—the gate has lost its gleam, but aes has spread across the cityscape to become a very different and integral part of a complex iconographic marketplace of ideas. Varro’s emphasis on the polysemy of the metallic terminology, brokering a deep connection between Rome’s legendary early heterogeneity and current sophistication, is not dissimilar to the development of traditions designed to centralise Paphos in a Roman perspective on the eastern Mediterranean. Legends of the primacy of its sanctuary to Venus draw on older and prehistoric Cypriot roots in ways that eventually enable Tacitus’ riff on the significance of Titus’ visit to Paphos’ famous oracle in ad 69.54 In Tacitus’ vetus memoria (Hist. 2.3) ascribing the foundation of Aphrodite’s temple at Paphos to one Aerias, we see a ‘tradition’ both muddied and charged up by the idea that Aphrodite’s temple once honoured a deity Aeria. Neither Aeria nor Aerias feature in earlier extant accounts,55 and in this novelty and context they suggest cross-cultural appreciation of the linguistic significance of Latin’s aes Cypr[i]um—and its potential etymological power. Copper and bronze, in defining, defending, and monetising political identities, matter not just for Rome but also for Cyprus and especially for its oracular centrality within a Mediterranean whose political dynamic was rebalancing around Rome.56

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Varro, Ling. 5.163. On both passages, Spencer 2019, 151. See also Val. Max. 5.6.3. The two key Tacitean passages (Ann., Hist.) are this chapter’s epigraphs. Based on searches of TLG, TLL. Tac. Ann. 3.62: a gathering in Rome (ad 22) of representatives from across the provinces made the case to the Senate for their respective temples’ claims to divine authority, his-

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In this scheme, aes becomes a Latin echo of Aerias the temple founder, honouring Aeria (who finds herself Rome’s Venus), and then ripples towards A(h)eneas the son of Venus Cypria, herself born into the island’s copper (cyprum) wealth. Cicero’s outline of various origins for Venus (Nat. D. 3.33.59) is important context for her ‘Cyprian’ identity in Roman thought, but to draw out my point about the localisation and power of her role as foremother in this specific context means investigating how copper becomes bronze in Aeneas. To see this in practice we can return to Cicero’s habitual sparring partner, Varro, on the portent of the sow that appeared to Aeneas. Colour is already part of this legend’s sensorium. Thirty white piglets foretold the foundation of Alba, Varro says, and they continue to remind citizens of the story ‘even now’, as bronze representations (simulacra ahenea) erected in public spaces.57 This is a significant indicator of how the specific combination of language, materiality and monumentality, and metonymy shape the intellectual horizons for aes. As Callie Williamson has argued, the symbolic value of bronze as the material from which legislation ‘spoke’ polyphonously to Romans emphasises the community-forming value of aheneus, and its signal of cultural monumentality.58 It is also significant that rather than using adjectival aeratus—which typically characterises the kitting out with bronze or brass of objects, ships, and troops—or aereus—whose referential frame includes synesthetic properties associated with weaponised copper, Varro uses a(h)eneus.59 With a(h)eneus, the legend and its material manifestation within Roman civic space bring sharply into focus the politics of Copper Venus and her brazen son—a genealogically rich product of etymological and metallurgical derivation. When mother Venus is evoked, her various consorts are also part of the picture.60 Unlike Mars, Vulcan—smith god and supreme metallurgist—tends to

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torical legitimacy, and (the key to the matter) the right to continue to grant asylum. Note Paphos’ apparent upper hand in the narrative: Aerias’ son Amathus is here the founder of the (thereby secondary) temple of Venus Amathusia. Scheer 2003 introduces the wider agenda already shaping Hellenistic states’ self-fashioning with regard to deities and legendary founders. Varro, Rust. 2.4.18. Williamson 1987. Vergil later makes a direct comparison between the arts, beginning with breathing life into bronze, and Rome’s own supreme art, the imposition of peace across nations (Aen. 6.847–853). OLD aeratus -a -um 1; OLD aereus1 -a -um, sense 3. Aereus also invokes an audio-visual sensorium resounding from bronze or brass objects. It is potentially possible to find Venus and Mars on coinage of the early third century if one follows Haeberlin 1910. The identification is Minerva/‘goddess’ in Crawford 1974.

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receive less attention, either in terms of appearances on coins or more generally as a co-creator, in the divine tragic-comedy that leads to Rome’s legendary foundation. His significance and functionality are hard to pin down in the years before Actium, but one only has to examine Vergil’s Aeneid to see Vulcan’s serious potential.61 To get a sense of what the connotative frameworks contextualising Venus and Vulcan looked like before Vergil we can turn again to Varro.62 The power and identity of Varro’s Venus centres on her role as enforcer of reproduction and binder of unities to form new generative bodies. This speaks clearly to her potential as a symbol of Roman destined development out of a complex of peoples, sites, and cultures, but also evokes Vulcan’s technocratic and transformative control over metals. As Varro sets it out, the vis that powers what comes from the conjunction of fire and moisture is the force of life (vita), and Venus.63 Varro’s sequencing of this cosmic chronology suggests a common frame of reference with Memmius’ coin issue (CRRO 313/1b), discussed in section one. The matching pair of Saturn and Venus find a parallel in Varro’s system, whereby fire and moisture brought forth the vis of Venus, and thus vita; the next item for Varro is the assertion that since Sky and fire are the beginnings of life, and the ‘seed’ for Venus fell from the Sky, therefore ‘sowing’ is personified in Saturn (ab satus est dictu Saturnus, Ling. 5.64). Varro’s placement of an etymology of Vulcan (Ling. 5.70) emphasises his seniority amongst the gods (although junior to Venus) and his part in the development of a nature-culture cosmos: Sky and Earth are progenitors of everything; once heat and moisture exist, from there emerges Venus (the productive force that binds unities into productive dyads). Fire and Vulcan are discussed after explanation of sowing and harvesting and other phenomenological personifications and syncretistic gods. Vulcan, Varro recounts, is named for the vis ac violentia of fire (Ling. 5.70), which by echoing the quote from Lucilius with which Venus was characterised just a little earlier, makes the connection between the two: Vis est vita vides, vis nos facere omnia cogito (Ling. 5.63). Varro’s expansion of Vulcan’s etymology argues that because fire blazes and flickers, it gives the name to lightning ( fulgur) and thunderbolt ( fulmen).64 This nexus maps easily onto the political topography of the Volcanal and Capitoline Jupiter, and situates Vulcan etymologically in the heart of state cult polit-

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Verg. Aen. 8.370–406; see Abbot 2000, 75. See Spencer 2015, 79–80, Spencer 2019: 199–200, 204, 234. Varro, Ling. 7.11 quotes Accius to connect Cabirii, Vulcan, and fire. Varro, Ling. 5.62–63. Fire: propter splendorem fulget (Ling. 5.70).

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ics and the legendary landscape. Add to this Varro’s emphasis on the antiquity of Vulcan’s Roman worship, with Sabine King Tatius supposedly having dedicated altars to Vulcan and other primal deities, and we can see that Vulcan is a weightier iconographic figure than one might imagine. We can also see how carefully tangled up with Venus Varro’s Vulcan is: a signal of the generative force of destruction and unification, but also symbolising the weaving together of nature, technology, civilisation and commodification within the consensusdriven enthusiasm of Varro’s vision of the signs and symbols of Roman identity.65 Whatever one makes of his etymologies, Varro understands that there are complex historical and cultural encounters hiding in plain sight. When we acknowledge these deities, and the everyday experiences they encapsulate, we find that he drives his point home by concluding this discussion with the addition of one of his most famous metaphors encouraging readers to explore the hidden roots and boundaries of meaning, however far afield they may take one.66 This section has used Varro, briefly, to introduce how language games might subtly but consequentially modulate and (re)frame Rome’s gaze toward wealthy Cyprus, Venus, and in particular (as Franklin emphasises), oracular Paphos.67 It also contextualises langue and parole as important considerations when teasing out potential backstories, offering structural and associative frameworks against which Venus’ Roman authority and import weave in and out of material, visual, and literary cultures of the late Republic.

4

Cypria and the Men of Bronze

First-century Rome was buzzing with new ideas of how its elite citizens might come to know the world around them, and thereby derive advantage. Stoicinfluenced systems attributed the hidden force of the universe to an animating ‘fire’; Epicureanism, with its countless unchanging and indivisible atoms, falling through an infinite void, stipulated that somatic experience and material perception were created by the particular ways that atoms were shed by entities. Yet alongside these heuristic models, ancient Roman citizens continued to

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Varro, Ling. 5.74. Varro, Ling. 5.74, which is echoed at 7.4 (unknown ‘roots’ can be inferred from the visible ‘pear’) and the dark wood metaphor (5.4) for scholarship. Franklin 2015, 402. On the etymological waves connecting aes, -ris to this semiotic landscape, I am in agreement with Franklin 2015, 403–404, although we arrive at the reading by different means.

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dwell in a world structured and given meaning by civic religion. With its rituals and cult practices, civic religion and its more local or special-group spin-offs were an acknowledgement of the contingency of divine relationships and the forces invisibly animating entities such as trees, waters, mountains, fire, and earth in the material world.68 Around the same time as Varro was locking aes into his etymological landscape and producing an Italian verbal kinship linking Sabines and Cypriots in Rome’s historical topography, Lucretius was opening his scientific, philosophical epic of everything with Aeneadum. His metaphorical and natural-scientific use of bronze as a material and metaphor, and the interweaving of Venus as a particularly and increasingly ‘material’ force in the didactic programme of his poem—especially in the description of the body as a composite—show this man-of-bronze distinctly coming into focus.69 The opening phrase Aeneadum genetrix insinuates a thought-provoking allusion not only to Aeneas’ transmissible mettle but to mother Venus’ alternative identity as Cyprian, or CopperBorn (to produce bronze), setting the tone for the poem’s tangle of approaches to the relationship between humans, the cosmos, and the materials of reality. In Lucretius’ exploitation of metallurgy as a way of thinking about the forces that underpin reality, we can see how his dictum on matter (nothing can come from nothing, 1.205; cf. 1.265–267) can have both metapoetic and real-worldmaterials nuances. It is clear that bronze, not copper, is on Lucretius’ mind when he describes how glacial bronze, conquered by fire, liquefies (1.493), but the passage in full is also worth attention: Yet it is difficult to believe that anything with solid body can be discovered in material existence [in rebus solido reperiri corpore posse]. For heaven’s thunderbolt passes through the walls of houses, like noise and voices; iron glows white in fire and stones shatter with fierce fervent heat; the hardness of gold is softened and dissolved by heat, while the ice of bronze [glacies aeris], overcome by fire, liquifies; warmth and cold seep through silver: as we hold the cup in hand we feel them both when dewy water is poured in from above. So truly, in material existence, there seems to be nothing solid [in rebus solidi nil esse videtur]. lucretius 1.487–497

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See e.g. Rüpke 2007, and with trees as particular, but also expansive, focus (from which wider conclusions become available), Hunt 2016. For Venus as praeceptor on Cyprus, making the link between corporeality, place, and genre, e.g. Enn. (Euhemerus) Var. 142–145.

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Embedded here is a richly evoked understanding of the dialogic and active relationships that connect natural phenomena, human experience, and civilisation. This is also where the complexity of aes becomes significant. When Lucretius later discusses its discovery as a raw material (5.1241, 1257), it is clearly copper. Copper’s discovery (copper, gold, iron, ‘heavy’ silver, lead, in that order, 5.1241–1249) is predicated on fiery conflagrations on mountains, either from thunderbolts or human agency, causing blazes in forests of such devastating heat that the earth’s veins ‘bleed’ metals (5.1255–1261). The development of metallurgy, inspired by these conflagrations and earth’s wounds, produced transmuted bronze; but the new alloy still recalled its family history through nomenclature, aes. This then gives Lucretius the opportunity to contrast then and now, gold and bronze, and the rise and fall in value that aes has suffered as a result of the changes to material perception that time’s rolling wheel produces (5.1262–1274): nunc iacet aes, aurum in summum successit honorem (5.1275). The terminological slippage between copper and bronze, and relative chronology of the material(s) with regard to iron, is immediately then militarised in a direct address to Memmius regarding the development of iron (5.1281–1282). After hands, nails, teeth, stones, branches, and fire, come ‘forged’ weapons, first against the earth, then against fellow humans: First there was bronze [prior aeris], before the use of iron was known, because its nature is more malleable [ facilis magis est] and it is plentiful [copia maior]. With bronze they tilled [tractabant] the soil of the earth, and with bronze they stirred [miscebant] the waves of war and sowed [serebant] devastating wounds and pillaged [adimebant] herds and fields. For readily, when some were armed, did all those naked and unarmed give way. Then little by little the iron sword marched on, and the type of the bronze sickle fell into contempt, and with iron they began to rend the soil of the earth; and the struggles of uncertain war became equal for all. lucretius 5.1286–1296

Lucretius’ opening invocation of the line of Aeneas, stretching back to Venus, is the crux for understanding his invocation of Venus’ assistance. Nowhere does he explicitly invoke her as Cyprian, or Coppery, yet in characterising Mother Earth, through whom Venus’ force flows, as daedala (1.7), Lucretius makes available a very distinctive image of the goddess: as one who crafts things, a divine engineer (cf. 1.21)—and in this guise he conjures up a more evolved personification of the elemental forces that underpin Vulcan’s sway over metalworking. The analogy becomes distinct in Book 2 as Venus and Cybele overlap:70 70

See Fratantuono 2015, 16–17 for the beginnings of this idea.

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In the beginning the earth contains those first bodies whence the everrolling cool springs assiduously renew the limitless sea, and contains the source whence fires blaze. For in many places aflame the earth’s crust burns, while from the depths shoot Etna’s fires. Moreover, she contains that whence the shining corn and happy trees for the human peoples can be raised, whence even rivers and leaves and pleasing pastures for the mountain-ranging wild beasts she may supply. Therefore Great Mother of the gods, and Mother of wild beasts, and creator [genetrix] of our human body, are her names alone. lucretius 2.589–599

The poetics of Vulcan’s craft, and its volcanic location, have been highlighted by Philip Hardie, writing on Horace Odes 1.3—and drawing a connection to the end of the Ars Poetica.71 Hardie picks out the ‘hazardous embarkation’ of the poet setting out on the treacherous waters of Aeneas’ journey, and reads the overreaching, Empedoclean poet, who closes the Ars Poetica by throwing himself into Etna’s fiery depths from its heights, as a representation of Lucretius.72 Lucretius characterises Empedocles’ works as having far outdone Etna’s pyrotechnic extravaganzas (1.722–733), but in none of his vivid description of flames and lightning does Lucretius ask his audience to consider Vulcan. Instead, Lucretius subsumes Vulcan into Venus, through his use of daedala (1.7) and his weaving together of Venus as ‘Great Mother’ with fire, earth, mountains, metal, metallurgy, and civilisation. Lucretius’ association of Empedocles, poet and natural philosopher, with skills directly comparable to Vulcan’s achievements, emphasises this union. Lucretius’ Venus may only, explicitly, romp with Mars, but she is possessed of the blazing fires and violent energies of Etna, and is Mother of Copper(s) and the powerful composite beauty of alloyed bronze, through Aeneas’ line. Support for this reading comes from Ovid’s Fasti. Its narrator, being instructed on the Megalesia and Cybele’s arrival at Rome, is told that it was aes flowing in from the people as a whole, that funded Metellus’ work on the Palatine Temple of Magna Mater, before Augustus’ restoration project (Fasti 4.350–352). Aeneas/Aheneus was therefore already a part of the Roman people and embodied in their literal and metaphorical support for rebuilding Cybele’s home on the hill which sheltered his descendants Romulus and Remus, and in historical time, located at the overlook of the landmark Tomb of Acca. 71 72

Hardie 2007, 121–122. Canfora 1993, 100–103. On the eruptions, probably specifically that of 122, Lucr. 6.639– 646—cf. 2.589–599 (Mother Earth’s fires); 6.669–679, 6.680–702.

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As part of Varro’s explanation of his densely associative mode of argument, he says: the likenesses in utterances are not only in form but also in some associated strength and power, which is usually hidden from eyes and ears. varro, Ling. 9.92

As Lucretius puts it (6.958), everything is complicated, and as we saw, Caesius’ denarius (CRRO 298/1) exemplifies this. That coin linked Apollo with the Vulcanic thunderbolt and proffered Vulcan with the Lares, two suites of imagery that approach Rome’s foundation from different angles, and draw out the significance of Vulcan’s role in the Aeneid: a powerful and creative force with the ability to turn the opaque twists and turns of a fated future, promised by Jupiter, into a real-world clarity and solidity unmatched elsewhere in the poem’s depiction of the future human sphere of existence. It is through Vulcan’s metamorphic power to bend the material reality experienced by humankind, with metal flowing like rivers, as hard steel comes to life (Verg. Aen. 8.445–446), that Rome’s destiny can be taken up by Aeneas, however unknowingly. It is Vulcan’s vision, ignipotens (Verg. Aen. 8.414, 423), that makes the narrative told through Aeneas’ shield possible (Verg. Aen. 8.627–628).73 Vulcan transfers the vision to Aeneas by way of the shield, but just as the labor of crafting the shield is undertaken by the Cyclopes (Verg. Aen. 8.452), and despite Vergil’s echo of this motif in his description of Aeneas’ acceptance of the weighty gift (Verg. Aen. 8.731), the heavy lifting of delivering on that fate will be the work of countless subsequent generations. If we turn to Cacus, son of Vulcan, and characterised by Vergil with ‘a mouth vomiting forth black flames’ (Verg. Aen. 8.198–199), and the flames of desire from which Vulcan’s creation of the shield emerges (Verg. Aen. 8.387–390), the relationship between fiery liquefaction and forging something new from the destructive forces (e.g. Verg. Aen. 8.421, the smithy fires) becomes more clearly nuanced.74 Without Cacus, perhaps no counterpoint legend juxtaposing his monstrosity with Hercules’ civilising perspective, a convergence that further embedded the relationship between local and transient in the production of Rome. Moreover, as Stephen Scully has noticed, although Aeneas through his 73

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Cf. Verg. Aen. 7.629–640: five Italian cities begin to forge bronze, silver, and gold into weapons, and Italy becomes militarised. At Aen. 7.462–466 Turnus’ emotional chaos and violent thoughts are like water boiling over in a bronze cauldron (see Quint 2018, 116). Also for ignipotens: 8.628; 710; 10.243 (Vulcan’s forging of the shield); 12.90 (fashioning the sword of Daunus). Scully 2000, 105.

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conception might be ainos (unspeakable; causing terror),75 Venus’ dread at the consequences of her sexual encounter with mortal Anchises, the union of mater Venus and pater Vulcan in Vergil’s epic is fruitful too.76 Scully identifies the shield as the progeny, but I read this differently—their sex makes real, through the gift of the shield, a new Aeneas: reborn in an epic, military identity as Rome’s founder for the first time. This reading is strengthened when we consider the intratextual phrasing connecting Book 12’s Aeneas to Book 8’s (Hercules killing) Cacus—two sons of Vulcan? One brother must die?—through the fires of rage or of metallurgy.77 Vulcan, and to an extent Cacus, add bandwidth to the function of metal and technology in the poem’s maker-political agenda. Cyprus’ significance intersects with these strands through Venus’ instrumentalisation of Dido (during which she retreats happily to Paphos, Aen. 1.415–417, and transports Ascanius, substituted out for Cupid, to Idalia, Aen. 1.691–694). On Vulcan’s shield Actium is the culmination, with Augustus, brow shooting forth twin flames,78 the heroic victor (Verg. Aen. 8.680–681); as David Quint puts it, “they light up the sea at Actium in the long ekphrastic description of the shield that concludes the book: classis aerates … auroque effulgere fluctus (8.675–677)”.79 Yet as we have seen, Vulcan’s role in liquefying bronze (aes) and gold when forging the shield might emphasise the ideological as well as physical malleability of these metals. Aes is a semantically rich term, as I began by observing. In denoting copper, bronze, cash, and the economics of exchange and value that sit amongst these meanings, investigation of the word is especially important for understanding how coinage operates throughout as a metaphorical and literal agent of translation. This is the case even when, as in the Aeneid, it is not explicitly in the frame.

5

Conclusions

First through key iconographic examples (coins depicting deities with a potential relationship to aes) and then by testing the resulting ideas against pas75 76 77

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H. Hom. 5.196–199. Scully 2000, 107. Pater: 8.394, 454; mater: 8.370, 534. Scully 2000, 111: “Aeneas’ fiery fury ( furiis accensus and feruidus, 12.946 and 951) at the end of the poem to Hercules’ fiery rage when combating Cacus (cf. furiis exarserat and feruidus ira, 8.219 and 230)”. Romulus too will be associated with twin flames (Aen. 6.779–780); this emphasises the twinishness of Aeneas. Quint 2018, 114.

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sages from major literary works, with case studies on Lucretius and Vergil, this chapter proposes some of the inferential patterns connecting Rome, Cyprus, and aes across a range of material and intellectual developments at a time of political and cultural change, during which Cyprus would become a Roman province. Although it was the late third-century bc temple of Venus from Mount Eryx which was the first concrete syncretisation of Aphrodite and Venus embedded at Rome, from the time of Livius Andronicus’ early third-century Latin versification of Homer’s Odyssey, associations between Venus and Cyprus were part of a developing cultural engagement between Roman, Italic, and wider traditions of the Hellenised Mediterranean. My investigation into Venus on late Republican coins emphasised her generative and transformative power as a goddess who creates and produces foundations through unifying different qualities or elements. For this volume, her legendary relationship with Mars, important for some versions of Rome’s foundation stories, is in this context less interesting than her relationship with Vulcan, metallurgy, and Cyprus.80 Aes was a metal like, but not the same as, gold; a metal whose transformation from buried element (copper) to alloyed strength (bronze, brass), visually evincing its glittering but ideally composite genealogy, and standing as a product of a human-nature collaboration, told a story of positive (r)evolution dependent upon continuity. As Vergil makes clear early in Book 8 (Aen. 8.22–25), bronze Aeneas’ thoughts are akin to light reflecting off waters in bronze vessels, shimmering and refracting onto the ceiling.81 As Roman thinkers began to appropriate and to individuate literary genres and intellectual modes for Latin, they were also characterising a world in which the divide between human and nonhuman, mediated by a more or less pervasive sense of numen or ‘divine force’ at work in the cosmos, has many of the kinds of blurred lines that are only now, in western European post-Enlightenment traditions, beginning to re-emerge in studies locating humanity as one among many agencies occupying and animating the universe.82 When we investigate the world of Rome’s collapsing Republican order through the literary texts that provide descriptive and evaluative accounts of material reality and humanity’s place within it, in this instance with Rome, Cyprus, Venus and copper as a focus, we find intellectual models that are constructively comparable to new thinking on environment and agency, and sufficiently convergent with them to make for interesting and challenging questions 80 81 82

For Venus and Mars, and a link to Paphos, see e.g. Ov. Ars 588 (in the wake of Od. 8.362– 363). Cf. Lucr. 4.211–213. See e.g. Jane Bennett’s work, for instance 2004. See also e.g. Iovino and Oppermann 2014; Oppermann and Iovino 2017.

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around how people feel, speak, and write their material realities, and the kinds of experience we may hope to recuperate. Within a dynamic ‘humanufactured’ environment, as I term it, we can be clear that Romans of the later centuries bc did not automatically and comprehensively conceive the cosmos and all existing entities to be sentient, animate, nor to be suffused or vitalised by a divine energy or persona. Yet we can also recognise that Roman environmental thinking and material understanding of the cosmos appreciated the role of the unknown, understood that a part of existence was played out by forces invisible and incomprehensible to most if not all humans, and that there were in some sense ‘natural’ laws which governed and united the world, and which (in effect) made possible heuristic understanding and scientific enquiry. For copper’s alloy bronze, as coinage (and substantially more common than gold or brass), a likeness to gold adds value and evokes weight in important ways; the idea of aligning alloyed coinage with gold as a means of enriching the experience of coin currency becomes obvious when we consider the introduction of aurichalcum, (probably) a gold-seeming alloy, into the currency for the sestertius and dupondius issues from the late 20s.83 Visually, perceiving difference between silver and bronze Republican-era coinage, noticing annual changes in iconography, and factoring in the relative values of heft, appearance, and value required a myriad of fast evaluative decisions at point of use. The challenge laid down by aes within the countless material encounters of a Roman’s day was thus always engaging mental processing and encouraging intellectual observation and evaluation, even in the most unstructured encounters. A key question to consider, for the specific relationship between Rome and Cyprus, is the extent to which a coin’s ‘metalness’ is more or less significant for its perception and experience as material, and to what extent associated issues of implied or acculturated meaning and value impinge upon, or shape, what might be termed its shitsukan.84 Coins, of course, are not only subject to tooling and surface intervention to introduce distinctive iconography, but they are also, even where extremely gradual and operating on a microscopic basis, dynamic by design—in use, tumbling through hands and purses, in strongboxes and

83

84

Gold coin issues of the Republic: 60 as (CRRO 44/2, marked ↓X), 40 as (CRRO 44/3, marked XXXX) and 20 as (CRRO 44/4, marked XX). All featured a head of Mars on the obverse and an eagle with outspread wings standing on a thunderbolt on the reverse. See Crawford 1974, 154. Komatsu–Goda 2018.

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counting-houses, their surfaces must change. Areas of unintended ‘polish’ will develop; other areas of roughness will appear over time. Their changing state may prompt users to reconsider their physicality and their relationship to the different associative fields of aes as unevenness produces variation in reflection, touch, and sound. Coinage represents one dynamic and polysemic point of convergence wherein the micro-politics of materiality, individual and collective practices of metaphor, repeated negotiations around commodification, exchange and value, and the reality of human transformation of and by metal, are daily manifest. We must recall that although few citizens will have been personally involved in metalworking, the extraction of and skills in working with metal were not only vividly embedded in historical teleologies and cosmography, but were also evident in the tactile and visual evidence of coinage as it evolved over time from new-minted precision through to a point of ageing wherein its youthful perfection was only a ghostly presence. I have proposed some ways in which we can see aes, copper and bronze, as indicative of a way of conceptualising and materialising a story of immigration (from Troy), assimilation and repurposing (Venus Cypria), cultural conflict (within the plurality of Rome’s origin stories), and desire better to understand in human terms the forces of the cosmos (Lucretius) and of epic history (Vergil). Through this multimedia analysis I have shown how these confusing and intellectually difficult strands in Roman culture, and their inferential and material links to Cyprus within the Roman imaginary, became manifest in the weight, feel, and iconography of Roman coins and literary texts in the late second and early first centuries.

Bibliography Abbot, J.C. (2000). The Aeneid and the Concept of Dolus Bonus. Vergilius 46, pp. 59– 82. Badian, E. (2009). From the Iulii to Caesar. In: M. Griffin, ed., A Companion to Julius Caesar. Malden, MA, pp. 11–22. Baronowski, D.W. (2011). Polybius and Roman Imperialism. Bristol. Bennett, J. (2004). The Force of Things: Steps toward an Ecology of Matter. Political Theory 32 (3), pp. 347–372. Bennett, J. (2010). Vibrant Matter: A Political Ecology of Things. Durham, NC. Bernard, S. (2018a). Building Mid-Republican Rome: Labor, Architecture, and the Urban Economy. Oxford. Bernard, S. (2018b). The Social History of Early Roman Coinage. JRS 108, pp. 1–26.

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Betts, E. (2009). CUBRAR MATRER Goddess of the Picenes? Accordia Research Papers 12, pp. 119–146. Brown, E.L. (1981). The Lycidas of Theocritus’ Idyll 7. HSCP 85, pp. 59–100. Burnett, A. (2012). Early Roman Coinage and its Italian Context. In: Metcalf, ed., pp. 297–355. Canfora, L. (1993). Vita di Lucrezio. Palermo. Canu, N. (2004). Le valenze del lupo nel mondo romano. Periodo arcaico ed età repubblicana. Diss., Università degli Studi di Sassari. Coarelli, F. (2003). Remoria. In: D. Braund, and C. Gill, eds., Myth, History and Culture in Republican Rome: Studies in Honour of T.P. Wiseman. Exeter, pp. 41–55. Constantinidou, S. (1992). The Importance of Bronze in Early Greek Religion. Δωδώνη 21, pp. 137–164. Counts, D.B., and Iacovou, M. (2013a). New Approaches to the Elusive Iron Age Polities of Ancient Cyprus: An Introduction. In: Counts and Iacovou, eds., pp. 1–13. Counts, D.B., and Iacovou, M., eds. (2013b). New Approaches to the Elusive Iron Age Polities of Ancient Cyprus. Bulletin of the American Schools of Oriental Research 370. Crawford, M.H. (1974). Roman Republican Coinage. 2 vols. Cambridge. Erdkamp, P. (1999). Agriculture, Underemployment, and the Cost of Rural Labour in the Roman World. CQ 49, pp. 556–572. Farney, G. (2013). The Trojan Genealogy of the Iulii before Caesar the Dictator. Ancient History Bulletin 27, pp. 49–54. Franklin, J.C. (2015). Kinyras: The Divine Lyre. Washington, DC. Fratantuono, L. (2015). A Reading of Lucretius’ De Rerum Natura. Lanham, MD. Giusti, E. (2018). Carthage in Virgil’s Aeneid: Staging the Enemy under Augustus. Cambridge. Haeberlin, E.J. (1910). Aes Grave: das Schwergeld Roms und Mittelitaliens einschliesslich der ihm vorausgehenden Rohbronzewährung. 2 vols. Frankfurt. Hardie, P. (2007). Lucretius and Later Latin Literature in Antiquity. In: S. Gillespie, and P. Hardie, eds., The Cambridge Companion to Lucretius. Cambridge, pp. 111–128. Healy, J.F. (1981). Pliny the Elder and Ancient Mineralogy. Interdisciplinary Science Reviews 6 (2), pp. 166–180. Healy, J.F. (1999). Pliny the Elder on Science and Technology. Oxford. Hekster, O., and Rich, J. (2006). Octavian and the Thunderbolt: The Temple of Apollo Palatinus and Roman Traditions of Temple Building. CQ 56, pp. 149–168. Hopkins, J. (2007). The Cloaca Maxima and the Monumental Manipulation of Water in Archaic Rome. The Waters of Rome 4, pp. 1–15. Hopkins, J. (2012). The “Sacred Sewer”: Tradition and Religion in the Cloaca Maxima. In: M. Bradley, and K. Stow, eds., Rome, Pollution and Propriety: Dirt, Disease and Hygiene in the Eternal City from Antiquity to Modernity. Cambridge, pp. 81–102. Hunt, A. (2016). Reviving Roman Religion: Sacred Trees in the Roman World. Cambridge.

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Iacovou, M. (2008). “The Palaepaphos Urban Landscape Project”: Theoretical Background and Preliminary Report 2006–2007. Report of the Department of Antiquities, Cyprus, pp. 263–289. Iacovou, M. (2012). From Regional Gateway to Cypriot Kingdom. Copper Deposits and Copper Routes in the Chora of Paphos. In: V. Kassianidou, and G. Papasavvas, eds., Eastern Mediterranean Metallurgy in the Second Millennium bc. Oxford, pp. 56–67. Iacovou, M. (2013). Historically Elusive and Internally Fragile Island Polities: The Intricacies of Cyprus’s Political Geography in the Iron Age. In: Counts and Iacovou, eds., pp. 15–47. Iovino, S., and Oppermann, S., eds. (2014). Material Ecocriticism. Bloomington, IN. Kassianidou, V. (2004a). “And at Tamassos There Are Important Mines of Copper …” (Strabo, Geography, 14.6.5). Cahiers Du Centre d’Etudes Chypriotes 34, pp. 33–46. Kassianidou, V. (2004b). Recording Cyprus’s Mining History through Archaeological Survey. In: M. Iacovou, ed., Archaeological Field Survey in Cyprus: Past History, Future Potentials. BSA 11. London, pp. 95–104. Kassianidou, V. (2013). The Exploitation of the Landscape: Metal Resources and the Copper Trade during the Age of the Cypriot City-Kingdoms. In: Counts and Iacovou, eds., pp. 49–82. Keen, P.W. (2012). Land of Experiment: The Ptolemies and the Development of Hellenistic Cyprus, 312–58 bc. Diss., The University of Chicago. Komatsu, H., and Goda, N. (2018). Neural Mechanisms of Material Perception: Quest on Shitsukan. Neuroscience 392, pp. 329–347. Lorber, C.C. (2012). The Coinage of the Ptolemies. In: Metcalf, ed., pp. 211–234. Luce, T.J. (1968). Political Propaganda on Roman Republican Coins: Circa 92–82b.c. AJA 72, pp. 25–39. Mark, S. (2008). The Earliest Naval Ram. International Journal of Nautical Archaeology 37, pp. 253–272. Mattingly, H.B. (1998). Roman Republican Coinage c. 150–90 bc. In: A. Burnett, U. Wartenberg, and R. Witschonke, eds., Coins of Macedonia and Rome: Essays in Honor of Charles Hersh. London, pp. 151–164. Metcalf, W.E., ed. (2012). The Oxford Handbook of Greek and Roman Coinage. Oxford. Moatti, C. (2011). La mémoire perdue. À la recherche des archives oubliées de l’administration romaine. Cahiers du Centre Gustave Glotz 22, pp. 123–130. Murray, W.M. (2012). The Age of Titans: The Rise and Fall of the Great Hellenistic Navies. New York. Noonan, J.D. (1993). Daunus/Faunus in Aeneid 12. Classical Antiquity 12, pp. 111–125. Oakley, S.P. (2005). A Commentary on Livy: Books vi–x. Vol. 3: Book ix. Oxford. Oppermann, S., and Iovino, S., eds. (2017). Environmental Humanities: Voices from the Anthropocene. London. Papantoniou, G. (2013). Cypriot Autonomous Polities at the Crossroads of Empire: The

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Imprint of a Transformed Islandscape in the Classical and Hellenistic Periods. Bulletin of the American Schools of Oriental Research 370, pp. 169–205. Paparazzo, E. (2003a). Organic Substances at Metal Surfaces: Archaeological Evidence and the Elder Pliny’s Account. Archaeometry 45, pp. 615–624. Paparazzo, E. (2003b). Pliny the Elder on the Melting and Corrosion of Silver with Tin Solders: Prius Liquescat Argentum … Ab Eo Erodi Argentum (HN 34.161). CQ 53, pp. 523–529. Paparazzo, E. (2008). Pliny the Elder on Metals: Philosophical and Scientific Issues. CPh 103, pp. 40–54. Paparazzo, E. (2011). Philosophy and Science in the Elder Pliny’s Naturalis Historia. In: R. Gibson, and R. Morello, eds., Pliny the Elder: Themes and Contexts. Leiden, pp. 89– 111. Parodo, C. (2015). Angerona e il silenzio del confine. Tempi e spazi liminari di una dea romana muta. Medea 1, pp. 1–23. Piccaluga, G. (1968). Lykaon, un tema mitico. Rome. Prag, J.R.W. (2014). Bronze Rostra from the Egadi Islands off NW Sicily: The Latin Inscriptions. Journal of Roman Archaeology 27, pp. 33–59. Quint, D. (2018). Virgil’s Double Cross: Design and Meaning in the Aeneid. Princeton, NJ. Royo, M. (2002). Une mémoire fragile et fragmentaire: les archives du monde romain. Bibliothèque de l’École des chartes 160, pp. 513–521. Rüpke, J. (2007). Religio and Religiones in Roman Thinking. LEC 75, pp. 67–78. Scheer, T.S. (2003). The Past in a Hellenistic Present: Myth and Local Tradition. In Erskine, A., ed., A Companion to the Hellenistic World. Malden, MA, pp. 216–231. Scully, S. (2000). Refining Fire in Aeneid 8. Vergilius 46, pp. 93–113. Spencer, D. (2015). Varro’s Romespeak: De Lingua Latina. In: D.J. Butterfield, ed., Varro Varius: The Polymath of the Roman World, Cambridge, pp. 73–92. Spencer, D. (2019). Language and Authority in De Lingua Latina: Varro’s Guide to Being Roman. Madison, WI. Tabeling, E. (1932). ‘Mater Larum’, zum Wesen der Larenreligion. Frankfurt am Main. Tan, J. (2017). Power and Public Finance at Rome, 264–49 bce. Oxford. Vanotti, G. (1999). Roma Polis Hellenis, Roma Polis Tyrrhenis. Mélanges de l’Ecole Française de Rome. Antiquité 111, pp. 217–255. Voskos, I., and Knapp, A.B. (2008). Cyprus at the End of the Late Bronze Age: Crisis and Colonization or Continuity and Hybridization? American Journal of Archaeology 112, pp. 659–684. Williamson, C. (1987). Monuments of Bronze: Roman Legal Documents on Bronze Tablets. CA 6, pp. 160–183. Wiseman, T.P. (1974). Legendary Genealogies in Late-Republican Rome. G&R 21, pp. 153–164. Woods, D. (2013). Carisius, Acisculus, and the Riddle of the Sphinx. American Journal of Numismatics 25, pp. 243–257.

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Woytek, B.E. (2012). The Denarius Coinage of the Roman Republic. In: Metcalf, ed., pp. 315–334. Woytek, B.E. (2014). Heads and Busts on Roman Coins: Some Remarks on the Morphology of Numismatic Portraiture. Revue Numismatique 171, pp. 45–71. Woytek, B.E. (2018). The Depth of Knowledge and the Speed of Thought: The Imagery of Roman Republican Coins and the Contemporary Audience. In Iossif, P.P., De Callataÿ, F., and Veymiers, R., eds., ΤΥΠΟΙ. Greek and Roman Coins Seen Through Their Images: Noble Issuers, Humble Users? Proceedings of the International Conference Organized by the Belgian and French Schools at Athens, 26–28 September 2012 (Liège, 2018). Liège, pp. 355–387. Yarrow, L.M. (2013). Heracles, Coinage and the West: Three Hellenistic Case-Studies. In Prag, J.R.W., and Quinn, J.C., eds., The Hellenistic West: Rethinking the Ancient Mediterranean. Cambridge, pp. 348–366. Yarrow, L.M. (2021). The Roman Republic to 49bce: Using Coins as Sources. Cambridge.

part 4 Divine Presence on the Island: Literature and Ritual

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chapter 8

In the Footsteps of Cypris Michael Paschalis

In the Hesiodic account of the birth of Aphrodite (Th. 188–206) the goddess grows inside the foam that was formed around Uranus’ genitals cut off and thrown into the sea by Cronus, approaches Cythera and eventually reaches Cyprus, where she is born and is given the name ‘Cyprus-born’ (Κυπρογενής). Already in Iliad 51 she is known, apparently for her strong association with Cyprus, as ‘Cypris’ (Κύπρις), which became a widespread alternative to the name ‘Aphrodite’. Here is a section of the Theogony narrative concerning the goddess’ birth and appellatives:2 πρῶτον δὲ Κυθήροισιν ζαθέοισιν ἔπλητ᾽, ἔνθεν ἔπειτα περίρρυτον ἵκετο Κύπρον. ἐκ δ᾽ ἔβη αἰδοίη καλὴ θεός, ἀμφὶ δὲ ποίη ποσσὶν ὕπο ῥαδινοῖσιν ἀέξετο· τὴν δ᾽ Ἀφροδίτην ἀφρογενέα τε θεὰν καὶ ἐυστέφανον Κυθέρειαν κικλήσκουσι θεοί τε καὶ ἀνέρες, οὕνεκ᾽ ἐν ἀφρῷ θρέφθη· ἀτὰρ Κυθέρειαν, ὅτι προσέκυρσε Κυθήροις· Κυπρογενέα δ᾽, ὅτι γέντο πολυκλύστῳ ἐνὶ Κύπρῳ· ἠδὲ φιλομμειδέα, ὅτι μηδέων ἐξεφαάνθη. First she approached holy Cythera, and from there she went on to seagirt Cyprus. She came forth, a reverend, beautiful goddess, and grass grew up around her beneath her slender feet. Gods and men call her (a) “Aphrodite,” the foam-born goddess and (b) the well-garlanded “Cytherea,” (a) since she grew in the foam, (b) and also “Cytherea,” since she arrived at Cythera, (c) and “Cyprogenea,” since she was born on sea-girt Cyprus, (d) and “genial,” since she came forth from the genitals. trans. most 2006

1 Il. 5.330, 422, 458, 760, 883. 2 Hes. Th. 192–200; text by Most 2006.

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The first manifestation of Aphrodite’s divinity in Cyprus is natural fertility: as she walks on the ground of the island ‘grass grows around her beneath her slender feet’. The image is unique in archaic Greek poetry. I would not be surprised if its origin were Eastern, and in this respect the Cypriot connection may not be irrelevant: Cyprus was both ‘Greek’ and ‘Eastern’, and Aphrodite’s links with the Near East are strong,3 although her origins are still debated. Despite the increased scholarly interest in Aphrodite in recent years, no scene identical or similar to her walk upon Cyprus has so far been detected, and as a matter of fact the passage in question is rarely discussed. In his commentary on Hesiod’s Theogony Martin West compares Hom. Il. 14.347–349, which belongs to the episode of the so-called ‘Deception of Zeus’. In this passage fresh grass and flowers grow from the earth to accommodate the intercourse of Zeus with Hera, and West concludes that the image is in Hesiod appropriately applied to the goddess of sex.4 The two scenes have the spontaneous fertility in common, but the circumstances that produce it and the deities involved are different. Breitenberger’s comment on the Hesiodic passage focuses likewise on fertility in relation to Aphrodite’s oriental associations and on sexuality but without adducing a parallel for her walk.5 Aphrodite’s ‘generative footsteps’6 did not exactly become a topos but its later history, ancient and modern, presents intriguing features. The task of tracing it is not easy, because the Hesiodic association is not always evident and especially because after the fifth century ad the thread is lost and is again picked up, clearly and unambiguously, only in the second half of the Italian fifteenth century (Quattrocento) with Angelo Poliziano’s Stanze per la giostra. A century before Poliziano the generative footsteps had been ‘revived’ with reference to Laura in Petrarch’s Canzoniere. It was mainly through Petrarch that they became a topos in Early Modern poetry, until Ugo Foscolo recaptured the Hesiodic thread in the beginning of the nineteenth century.

3 On Aphrodite’s Near-Eastern origins and her ties with Cyprus see recently Serwint 2002; Karageorghis 2005; Breitenberger 2007, 7–20; Ulbrich 2010. 4 West 1966, 223; further West 1997, 384 on possible oriental associations. 5 Breitenberger 2007, 12–13: “When the grass starts growing immediately after she has put her tender feet on the earth (194–195), we are reminded that Aphrodite, as the oriental Queen of Heaven, is linked to reproduction and fertility. In the subsequent context of the Theogony, however, her responsibility in this sphere seems limited to the sexuality of the anthropomorphic gods, as the formulaic expressions with which her name is connected seem to indicate”. 6 I thought of this term quite independently of Villas 1969, who had applied it to the use of the motif in Petrarch’s Canzoniere (see below).

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Ironically the only clear trace of Aphrodite’s generative footsteps in later Greek poetry is one in which the goddess’ emergence on Cyprus is contested.7 This is done explicitly and emphatically in the Dionysiaca of Nonnus. The Greek poet of the fifth century ad claims that the inhabitants of Cyprus ‘lied’ in narrating that the goddess coming out of the sea first stepped on their island. His own rival story places Aphrodite’s arrival at Beroe (modern Beirut) and contains a long and elaborate variation of the Hesiodic passage in question composed in his prolific style (Dion. 41.97–129). I quote lines 41.117–128:8 καὶ Βερόης ἐπέβαινε· ποδῶν δ᾽ ἐπίβαθρα θεαίνης ἐξ ἁλὸς ἐρχομένης ναέτης ἐψεύσατο Κύπρου. πρώτη Κύπριν ἔδεκτο· καὶ ὑψόθι γείτονος ὅρμου αὐτοφυεῖς λειμῶνες ἐρευγόμενοι βρύα ποίης ἤνθεον ἔνθα καὶ ἔνθα, πολυψαμάθῳ δ᾽ ἐνὶ κόλπῳ ἠιόνες ῥοδέοισιν ἐφοινίσσοντο κορύμβοις, πέτρη δ᾽ ἀφριόωσα θυώδεος ἔγκυος οἴνου πορφυρέην ὠδῖνα χαραδραίῳ τέκε μαζῷ, ληναίαις λιβάδεσσι κατάσκιον ὄμβρον ἐέρσης ἀργεννὴ κελάρυζε γαλαξαίῳ χύσις ὁλκῷ, αὐτοχύτου δὲ μύροιο μετάρσιον ἀτμὸν ἑλίσσων ἠερίους ἐμέθυσσε πόρους εὔοδμος ἀήτης. and [she] emerged at Beroe. Those footsteps of the goddess coming out from the sea are all lies of the people of Cyprus. Beroe first received Cypris; and above the neighbouring roads, the meadows of themselves put out plants of grass and flowers on all sides; in the sandy bay the beach became ruddy with clumps of roses, the foamy stone teemed with sweetsmelling wine and brought forth purple fruit on its rocky bosom, a shadowing shower of dew with the liquor of the winepress, a white rill bubbled with milky juice: the fragrant breeze wafted upwards the curling vapours of scent, selfspread, and intoxicated the paths of the air. trans. rouse 1940

If the first ironic aspect of this passage is that the only clear later trace of the Hesiodic passage contests its truth, the second one is that Nonnus persists in 7 Ap. Rhod. Arg. 1.1142–1143 ἀμφὶ δὲ ποσσὶν / αὐτομάτη φύε γαῖα τερείνης ἄνθεα ποίης is probably a conflation of Hom. Il. 14.347 τοῖσι δ᾽ ὑπὸ χθὼν δῖα φύεν νεοθηλέα ποίην with Hes. Th. 194–195; cf. Vian 1974, 104 n. 3. 8 Text of Chuvin–Fayant 2006.

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calling Aphrodite ‘Kύπρις’, despite the fact that he rejects her association with Cyprus. The Panopolitan does not represent the goddess as actually walking at the site of Beroe, but this is inferred from the allusion to the Hesiodic account. Conspicuous among the miracles associated with the goddess’ emergence at Beroe is the spontaneous flow of wine, which is consonant with the topic of the Dionysiaca and specifically with the arrival of Dionysus at Beroe and the introduction of viniculture (Dion. 41.1–9). In Latin antiquity the generative footsteps reappear independently of Aphrodite and of Cyprus. There are two known instances, both applied to humans perceived or portrayed as divinities. One occurs in the second satire of Persius, in a passage where the Roman satirist of the age of Nero ridicules the practice of women in the nursery to make wishes that have no connection with reality: quiquid calcaverit hic, rosa fiat (2.38 ‘let roses grow wherever he treads’).9 Furthermore around ad 400 the Roman poet Claudian, who was active in the court of Honorius, son of Theodosius i and emperor of the Western Roman Empire, used the motif to praise Serena, the wife of general Stilicho, who was the most powerful figure of the period (Laus Serenae, 89–91):10 quacumque per herbam reptares, fluxere rosae, candentia nasci lilia; Roses sprang wherever you crept over the grass and white lilies blossomed there. trans. platnauer 1922, modified

Before tracing further the motif of the generative footsteps it is necessary to turn back to the late Roman Republic and examine a section of the general Proem to Lucretius’ philosophical-didactic poem De rerum natura. The Proem is addressed to the Roman goddess Venus, who absorbed qualities, myths, and iconography of Greek Aphrodite. Here are lines 1.6–16:11 te, dea, te fugiunt venti, te nubila caeli adventumque tuum, tibi suavis daedala tellus summittit flores, tibi rident aequora ponti placatumque nitet diffuso lumine caelum. 9 10 11

Quoted from Clausen 1992. Quoted from Hall 1985. Text of Bailey 1986.

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nam simul ac species patefactast verna diei et reserata viget genitabilis aura favoni, aeriae primum volucris te, diva, tuumque significant initum perculsae corda tua vi. inde ferae pecudes persultant pabula laeta et rapidos tranant amnis: ita capta lepore te sequitur cupide quo quamque inducere pergis. You, goddess, at your coming hush the winds and scatter the clouds; for you the creative earth thrusts up fragrant flowers; for you the smooth stretches of the ocean smile, and the sky, tranquil now, is flooded with effulgent light. Once the door to spring is flung open and Favonius’ fertilizing breeze, released from imprisonment, is active, first, goddess, the birds of the air, pierced to the heart with your powerful shafts, signal your entry. Next wild creatures and cattle bound over rich pastures and swim rushing rivers: so surely are they all captivated by your charm and eagerly follow your lead. trans. smith 2001

In Lucretius Venus is addressed as ‘Mother of Aeneas’ descendants’ (Aeneadum genetrix) but her attributes recall and exceed those of Aphrodite in Homeric Hymn 5. She is identified with springtime in vegetation and arouses sexual and reproductive passion in animals; she possesses a cosmic, all-controlling power approaching that of Zeus and other deities (quieting the winds, scattering the clouds, calming the seas); she represents the origin of authorial inspiration and bringer of peace to the Roman Empire. Regarding the way her appearance affects vegetation, no generative footsteps are mentioned but the effect on nature is analogous: at the ‘arrival’ of the goddess (adventumque tuum) and for her sake ‘the creative earth thrusts up fragrant flowers’ (7–8 tibi suavis daedala tellus / summittit flores). The Proem became known as ‘Hymn to Venus’ and in the Early Modern poetry, after the rediscovery of the De rerum natura in 1417 by Poggio Bracciolini and its publication in 1473, it was frequently translated, paraphrased, and imitated.12 In Early Modern and later poetry Hesiod’s account of Aphrodite and Lucretius’ ‘Hymn to Venus’ may function independently or may interact. This is not uncommon in classical reception: starting with Renaissance humanism, Greek intertexts and their Latin reflections, like the Homeric epics and the

12

Prosperi 2007a and 2007b.

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Aeneid or Theocritus and Vergil’s Eclogues or Pindar and Horace, may figure side by side within the same text, may overlap and interact as kaleidoscopic reflections of the Graeco-Roman literary past. Suffice here one example, because I will refer again below to the combination of Hesiodic and Lucretian traits in poetic descriptions of human or divine beings exercising power over nature. In 1530 the Florentine poet Luigi Alamanni (1495–1556) published a didactic poem entitled (Del)la coltivazione (On agriculture). It begins with a paraphrase of Lucretius’ ‘Hymn to Venus’, in which the goddess is no longer Aeneadum genetrix but ‘Alma Ciprigna dea’ (1.267). The appellative ‘Ciprigna’ (‘Goddess of Cyprus’), which before Alamanni is found only in Dante, Paradiso 8.2 (‘la bella Ciprigna’),13 would have reminded learned readers of Hesiod’s ‘Κυπρογενέα’ (cf. the Italian forms ‘Ciprogenea’, ‘Ciprigena’). ‘Ciprigna’ introduces the special flavour of the Theogony into the paraphrase of the Lucretian Proem; especially if the effect on vegetation of the goddess’ arrival paraphrasing the De rerum natura (1.274–276 Al tuo santo apparir … / le campagne e i colli / veston nuovi color di fiori e d’erbe) is placed in context with the analogous effect on nature produced by Aphrodite’s generative footsteps in Hesiod’s Theogony. The appellative ‘Ciprigna’ recurs six more times in Alamanni’s poem; five of these are more or less conventional but 2.232–235 describe what is a reconfiguration of Aphrodite’s birth from the sea in a fashion reminiscent of Botticelli’s famous painting (on which see below).14 The generative footsteps had re-emerged about 200 years before Alamanni’s (Del)la coltivazione, with Petrarch’s famous Canzoniere (Rerum Vulgarium Fragmenta). They were not, however, associated with Aphrodite (Venus) but with Laura, an idealised and idolised female figure and the poet’s lasting passion. Laura’s generative footsteps belong to the overall conception of her figure, a creature ‘born in Paradise’ and having a ‘divine bearing’ (RVF 126). In passages like RVF 165.1–415 she is furthermore identified with mythical ‘Spring’, as the warmth of her feet causes the regeneration of nature:16 Come ’l candido pie’ per l’erba fresca i dolci passi onestamente move, vertú che ’ntorno i fiori apra et rinove, de le tenere piante sue par ch’esca.

13 14 15 16

Battaglia, vol. 3, s.v. ‘Ciprigno’. ‘Quando Ciprigna nella conca aurata / Tra i bei candidi cigni a suo diporto / il salato sentier rigando solca.’ Text of Bettarini 2005. Vecchi Galli 2011, 466.

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As soon as her white foot through the fresh grass begins to take its decorous sweet steps, a force that seems to come from her soft soles renews and opens flowers that surround her. trans. musa 1999

Bernardino Daniello, the author of a commentary on Petrarch’s poems published in 1541, compared Laura’s footsteps with the passage from Persius quoted above (2.38). The Italian poet and critic Giosuè Carducci in his extensive commentary on the Canzoniere added further ancient parallels:17 Hesiod’s Theogony 194–195, Lucretius, De rerum natura 1.7–8, and Claudian’s Laus Serenae 89–91. He also compared folk songs of Toscana18 as well as Angelo Poliziano’s Stanze per la giostra 1.55 and noted the recurrence of the generative footsteps in Petrarch’s poetry. Modern commentaries cite Persius and Claudian.19 Assuming that Claudian had somehow reworked the Theogony passage on Aphrodite, one could argue that Laura’s footsteps indirectly picked up the Hesiodic thread. Petrarch could not have had direct acquaintance with Hesiod’s Theogony, because its editio princeps dates from 1495, and besides Petrarch’s Greek was too poor to permit him to read Hesiod, assuming that he had come across a manuscript of the poem. There is, however, an issue concerning Petrarch’s possible acquaintance with the Proem of the De rerum natura. Petrarch died in 1374 and, as noted above, Lucretius’ De rerum natura was discovered by Poggio Bracciolini in 1417 and first published in 1473. Through Macrobius’ Saturnalia Petrarch knew only passages from the poem’s section on the plague (6.1138–1286). Ancient manuscripts circulated, however, long before the works themselves were published and Petrarch was a passionate manuscript hunter. His knowledge of the Lucretian ‘Hymn to Venus’ cannot therefore be definitively excluded,20 especially taking into consideration a fairly recent discovery: Petrarch’s probable acquaintance with Silius Italicus’ epic Punica, which was discovered also by Poggio Bracciolini in 1417, the same year as Lucretius’ De rerum natura.21

17 18 19 20

21

Carducci 1905, 252. Fiorisce l’erba do’ avete a passare, / Fiorisce l’erba le rose e le spine’; ‘Dove passate voi l’erba ci nasce, / Pare una primavera che fiorisce. Bettarini 2005, vol. 1, 780. For bibliography on this issue see Butterfield 2013, 287; for the view that Petrarch was familiar with the entire De rerum natura see e.g. Gasparotto 1991; on the transmission of Lucretius in the Middle Ages and Early Renaissance see Reeve 2007. Bianchi 2015.

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In Petrarch’s Trionfi the motif of the generative footsteps is applied to the divine poet Vergil, whose ‘passage caused the plants to bloom’ (Trionfo della Fama 3.18 et un al cui passer l’erba fioriva). In the Canzoniere it recurs several times and in different versions with reference to Laura.22 A very characteristic case is RVF 325.81–90: young Laura, still crawling and barely walking, is portrayed as being able to transform nature by a simple touch of her hand or foot23 and with her gaze, and as capable of quieting down the violent forces of nature—the latter power is reminiscent of Lucretian Venus (1.6): Et or carpone, or con tremante passo, legno, acqua, terra o sasso verde facea, chiara, soave, et l’erba con le palme o coi pie’ fresca et superba, et fiorir coi belli occhi le campagne, et acquetar i venti et le tempeste con voci, ancor non preste, di lingua che dal latte si scompagne: chiaro mostrando al mondo sordo et cieco quanto lume del Ciel fusse già seco. First crawling then with her first trembling steps the trees and waters and the earth and stone she made turn green or clear or soft, and grass turn fresh and proud by touch of hand or foot, and with her lovely eyes burst fields in bloom, and she could quiet down the winds and storms with words not fully formed made by a tongue that had been barely weaned: clearly she showed a world so deaf and blind how much of Heaven’s light was part of her. trans. musa 1999

Things are quite different in the case of the humanist Angelo Poliziano (1454– 1494) and his Stanze per la giostra (composed in 1475–1478), where the generative footsteps recur. Poliziano was acquainted with the Greek text of the Theogony several years before the editio princeps of Hesiod’s works (1495, by 22 23

Villas 1969. The ancient parallels cited here are again Persius 2.38 and Claudian, Laus Serenae 89–91 (Bettarini 2005, vol. 2, 1436).

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Aldus Manutius). In his commentary on Ovid’s Fasti (written in 1481–1482) and specifically on 4.15 with reference to ‘Cytherea’, Poliziano quotes Th. 188–206, precisely the lines narrating the birth of Aphrodite. The generative footsteps appear twice in Book 1 of Poliziano’s Stanze: once with reference to Venus herself (101.4–5), which would be the first time after Nonnus’ Dionysiaca that Aphrodite’s footsteps recur in a literary context inspired directly (though not exclusively24) by the Hesiodic account of the birth of Aphrodite;25 and once more (55.7–8) with reference to Simonetta—a fictionalised figure of the Florentine Simonetta Gaetano with whom Giuliano dei Medici was in love and who is portrayed by Poliziano as the mirror image of Aphrodite. Aphrodite’s footsteps are inserted in the ekphrasis of the birth of Venus (Stanze 1.99–104) cast by Vulcan for the doors of the Temple of Venus in 1.99– 104. Since Amy Warburg (1893) this ekphrasis has been commonly assumed to have inspired Botticelli’s famous painting ‘The Birth of Venus’ (1484–1486). In Poliziano’s ekphrasis of the birth of Venus Warburg detected also prominent Greek poetic influence, though not of Hesiod’s Theogony but of the sixth Homeric Hymn (to Aphrodite). The Homeric Hymns were first printed in Florence in 1488 as part of Homer’s Opera omnia, but Poliziano had access to them through the editor Demetrios Chalkokondyles, with whom he was closely acquainted and to whom he addressed three encomiastic Greek epigrams.26 Finally Poliziano was one of the first readers of Lucretius’ De rerum natura—another work believed by Warburg to have inspired both Poliziano and Botticelli—and showed also an interest as a philologist in the text of the poem.27 I quote first Stanze 1.101:28 Giurar potresti che dell’onde uscissi la dea premendo colla destra il crino, coll’altra il dolce pome ricoprissi; e, stampata dal piè sacro e divino, d’erbe e di fior’ l’arena si vestissi; poi, con sembiante lieto e peregrino, dalle tre ninfe in grembo fussi accolta, e di stellato vestimento involta.

24 25 26 27 28

Poliziano’s Stanze are rich in literary allusions, Greek, Latin and Italian. Bausi 1997, ad loc. See further Schwab 2016; Pontani 2002, 88–98. Pizzani 1996. Text of Bausi 1997.

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You could swear that the goddess had emerged from the waves, pressing her hair with her right hand, covering with the other her sweet mound of flesh; and where the strand was imprinted by her sacred and divine step, it had clothed itself in flowers and grass; then with happy, more than mortal features, she was received in the bosom of the three nymphs and cloaked in a starry garment. trans. quint 1979

The prominently Greek context of Venus’ generative footsteps (4–5) leaves little doubt about their Hesiodic origin of inspiration. Lines 4–5 are bracketed (a) by allusions to poetic representations of Aphrodite anadyomene (1–3), as portrayed by Poliziano in a Greek epigram on this topic (54.5–8) and in relevant epigrams of the Greek Anthology (esp. 16.178.3–429 and 16.180.5); and (b) by an allusion (6–8) to h.Hom. 6.5–6, where Aphrodite is welcomed by the Hours and dressed in immortal clothes.30 Here is now the application of the generative footsteps to Simonetta (Stanze 1.55): Poi con occhi più lieti e più ridenti, tal che ’l ciel tutto asserenò d’intorno, mosse sovra l’erbetta e passi lenti con atto d’amorosa grazia adorno. Feciono e boschi allor dolci lamenti e gli augelletti a pianger cominciorno; ma l’erba verde sotto i dolci passi bianca, gialla, vermiglia e azurra fassi. Then with happier and more laughing eyes, such that made the sky clear all above. She started walking on the grass with slow steps moving in an amorous and graceful manner. Then the forest gave out sweet laments and the little birds began to cry; but the flowers beneath the sweet steps became green, white, yellow and scarlet. trans. quint 1979

In portraying the effect on nature exercised by the Nymph Simonetta, Poliziano must have had in mind not only Petrarch’s Laura discussed above,31 but also Aphrodite’s footsteps in Hesiod’s Theogony (lines 3–4 and 7–8), as well 29 30 31

Cf. also Ov. Ars 3.224; Pont. 4.1.30. On all of the above see Bausi 1997, 192; Schwab 2016, 319–320. So Bausi 1997, 156.

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as Venus’ cosmic and springtime powers as depicted in Lucretius’ ‘Hymn to Venus’ (1ines 2, 5–6). The reader is obliged to take into consideration Stanze 1.101 and furthermore Poliziano’s acquaintance with the Theogony and the De rerum natura. With Petrarch’s Laura, and to a lesser extent with Poliziano’s Aphrodite and Simonetta, the generative footsteps made a fresh start and became a topos in Italian, Spanish, English, and French poetry.32 In Italian poetry notable cases occur in the work of Giusto dei Conti (about 1390–1449),33 Baldassare Castiglione (1478–1529),34 and Torquato Tasso (1544–1595).35 Spanish poets include Garcilaso de la Vega, Luis de Góngora, Luis Barahona de Soto, Lope de Vega.36 In English poetry the generative steps occur in Sir Philip Sidney (1554–1586),37 Ben Jonson (1572–1637),38 William Browne (1590–1645),39 and William Wordsworth (1770–1850).40 Finally in French poetry the topos recurs in a sonnet of the lyric collection L’Olive (published in 1549–1550) by Joachim du Bellay (1522–1560).41 Pierre de Ronsard (1524–1585), who was, together with du Bellay, the most distinguished member of the Pléiade, composed several elegies referring to or addressed to Mary Stuart, the tragic Queen of Scots. I will discuss in detail one of them which includes the topos of generative footsteps, because of the historical importance

32 33 34 35

36 37 38 39 40 41

Some examples can be found in Pietsch 1896; Villas 1969; Novacich 2015. La Bella Mano, viii 10–11: il dolce passo / che germina viole ovunqe move (quoted from Gigli 1916). Tirsi, xxxvi 7–8: Florido fa il terren là ov’ella il tocchi, / e tien sereno il ciel sol co’ begli occhi (quoted from Vela 1998). Gerusalemme Liberata xviii 23: Dove in passando le vestigia ei posa, / par ch’ivi scaturisca o che germoglie: / là s’apre il giglio e qui spunta la rosa, / qui sorge un fonte, ivi un ruscel si scioglie, / e sovra e intorno a lui la selva annosa / tutte parea ringiovenir le foglie; / s’ammolliscon le scorze e si rinverde / più lietamente in ogni pianta il verde (quoted from Caretti 1957); Rime d’amore 1.5.3–4: ma non tanti la man cogliea di loro / quanti fra l’erbe il bianco piè n’apriva (quoted from Basile 1994). See Villas 1969, 169–171. Astrophil and Stella, first song: Who hath the feet, whose step all sweetness planteth (quoted from Dutton 1987). The sad shepherd, 1.1: And where she went, the flowers took thickest root, / As she had sow’d them with her odorous foot (quoted from Gifford and Cunningham 1875). Gardens and groves where bounteous [beauteous] Flora treads (quoted from Hazlitt 1869, p. 37). ‘Ode to duty’ 53–54: Flowers laugh before thee in their beds; / And Fragrance in thy footing treads (quoted from Gill 2004). xvii 1–4: J’ay veu, Amour, (et tes beaulx traictz dorez / M’en soient tesmoings,) suyvant ma souvereine, / Naistre les fleurs de l’infertile arene / Après ses pas dignes d’estre adorez (quoted from Caldarini 1974).

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of the character and the event it involves. It was written in the first months of 1561 on the occasion of Mary’s forthcoming departure for Scotland and is entitled ‘Elégie à H. L’Huillier, Seigneur de Maisonfleur’. Mary is portrayed as a goddess whose departure will cause the French court of Charles ix to be enveloped in winter darkness; she is said to have been born in springtime among the lilies and the roses and adorned by Cupid and the Graces; she is going without even leaving her eidolon behind as the Spartan Helen did. The poet wishes he could be transformed into a rock for not feeling the pain of separation, into spring water in order to lament for her like the Nymphs, into a bird in order to fly over her carriage, and into a star in order to shine over her ship; he furthermore wishes that Roland and Renaud were alive to defend the Queen and receive an amorous glance in return, which would cause Jupiter himself, for the first time in love with a mortal woman, to become jealous and carry her to heaven; and he concludes the elegy with a passage in which the Queen of Scots causes the earth to bloom beneath her footsteps and calms down the winds and the sea. This would be a familiar combination of the powers of Hesiodic Aphrodite with those of Lucretian Venus, but there is no indication in the text that would require the reader to trace the description beyond Petrarch’s Laura:42 Or aille où le Destin emmener la voudra, Toujours de soubs ses pieds la terre se peindra D’un beau tapis de fleurs, les eaux seront paisibles, Les vens appaiseront leurs alaines terribles, La mer se fera douce, […] Wherever Destiny may choose to take you, The earth beneath your feet will always be painted With a beautiful flower carpet, the waters will be tranquil, The winds will calm their violent breath, The sea will turn gentle, […]. In order to pick up the thread of the Hesiodic Aphrodite seen for the last time in Poliziano’s Stanze, the reader will have to move ahead in time about 250 years, to the beginning of the nineteenth century. I have in mind passages in the work of Ugo Foscolo, the Italian poet, critic, and classical scholar of Greek origin. He was born in 1778 on Zakynthos, one of the Ionian Islands which had been occupied by the Venetians for centuries, passed briefly to French and next to British

42

Quoted from Laumonier 1946. The translation is mine.

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dominion. Foscolo had a first-hand, scholarly knowledge of Hesiod’s Theogony. In his unfinished poetic masterpiece entitled Le Grazie (The Graces), he appropriated Hesiod’s account of Aphrodite’s birth in the name of the Ionian Islands and his native Zakynthos. In a further variation of the Theogony passage occurring in the sonnet ‘A Zacinto’ (1803) he assigned their fertility to Venus’ ‘smileloving’ attribute (according to the original meaning of the epithet φιλομμειδής) and specifically to her ‘first smile’ upon those islands: e fea quelle isole feconde / col suo primo sorriso (‘she made those islands fertile with her first smile’).43 More pertinent to my topic is another passage of The Graces, where it is not Cyprus but Cythera, one of the Ionian Islands, which Venus’ footsteps in combination with the ‘smile’ of the Graces cause to bloom:44 Poi come l’orme della Diva e il riso Delle vergini sue fer di Citera Sacro il lito, un’ignota violetta Spuntò a’ piè de’ cipressi, e d’improvviso Molte purpuree rose amabilmente Si conversero in candide. But as the footsteps of the goddess and the smile of her virgin companions rendered sacred the shore of Cythera, an unknown violet sprang at the foot of the cypresses, and suddenly many purple roses turned pleasantly snow-white. In Foscolo’s conception the transformation of the vegetation of the island belongs to the overall civilising effects of the appearance of Venus and the Graces. Here is a relevant passage from the “Dissertation on an Ancient Hymn to the Graces”, an English outline of the poem composed by the poet himself and dating to 1822:45

43

44 45

There is a play here on the Hesiodic interpretation of ‘φιλομμειδέα’ (Th. 200 and ‘genial’, since she came forth from the genitals): the idea of fertility is transferred from the genitals, where it properly belongs, to the smile. On all of the above see in detail Paschalis 2003. Le Grazie, ‘Inno primo—Venere’, 81–86, quoted from Pagliai, Folena and Scotti 1985, 789. The translation is mine. Quoted from Pagliai, Folena and Scotti 1985, 1103. On the generative footsteps in Foscolo see further Paschalis 2016b.

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But as soon as Venus appeared with the Graces, among the inhabitants of Cythera, the hunters, the damsels, the children let fall their arrows and their bows; and passed in an instant, from terror to admiration, from ferocity to gentleness. They gave up the pursuit of the chase, and became shepherds. I conclude with the reception of the generative steps in Modern Greek poetry. In 1824 and 1826 the Greek poet Andreas Kalvos, a native of Zakynthos like Ugo Foscolo, his former mentor, published two collections of Odes called respectively Lyra. Odes and Lyra. New Odes (commonly known as Lyra and Lyrika). Profoundly influenced by Foscolo’s Le Grazie46 he reconfigured the effect of (a) Venus’ generative footsteps on Cythera and (b) her smile on the nature of the Ionian Islands. In the latter case he transferred Venus’ smile to the god Dionysus and its effect on Mt Cithaeron (Lyra, Ode 5):47 Ἀλλ᾽ ὅτε τὸ μειδίασμα τοῦ θεοῦ τῶν ἐρώτων, τὸν Κιθαιρῶνα ἐσκέπασε μὲ᾽ θύμον καὶ μὲ᾽ κλήματα σταφυλοφόρα· ‘Ode to the Muses’, 81–85

But when the smile of the god of love covered Cithaeron with thyme and vinebearing fruit. trans. dandoulakis 1998, modified

In the former case he transferred the generative footsteps to personified ideas and specifically to Liberty and Victory in the respective Odes of the first (Ode 9) and the second collection (Ode 8): Ἐκεῖ ὅπου ἐπατήσατε ἰδοὺ οἱ καρποὶ φυτρώνουν, καὶ τ᾽ ἄνθη ἰδοὺ σκορπίζουσι 46 47

See Paschalis 2016a. Text οf Kalvos 1824 (Odes 5 and 9) and Kalvos 1826 (Ode 8). For further discussion of these passages see Paschalis 2016b.

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τὰ κύματα εὐτυχῆ τῆς μυρωδίας. ‘Ode to Liberty’, 51–55

Where you have trodden fruits now grow. See, flowers give off bright waves of fragrance. trans. dandoulakis 1998, modified

Λευκὰ καὶ δροσερώτατα, ’σὰν ἄστρα αὐγερινά, ὑπὸ τὰ θεῖα φυτρόνουσι πατήματα, καὶ πέφτουσι συχνὰ εἰς τὸν κόσμον. ‘Ode to Victory’, 86–90

[roses] White and most fresh like stars of early dawn, which grow on the soil Gods have trodden, and often fall to earth. trans. dandoulakis 1998, modified

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Caldarini, E., ed. (1974). Joachim du Bellay. L’Olive. Geneva. Carducci, G., ed. (1905). Le Rime di F. Petrarca di su gli originali. Florence. Caretti, L., ed. (1957). Gerusalemme liberata di Torquato Tasso. Milan. Chuvin, P., and Fayant, M.-C., eds. (2006). Nonnos de Panopolis. Les Dionysiaques. Tome xv. Paris. Clausen, W.V., ed. (1992). A. Persi Flacci et D. Iuni Iuvenalis saturae. Oxford. Dandoulakis, G. (1998). Kalvos, Andreas. Odes. Nottingham. Dutton, R. (1987). Sir Philip Sidney. Selected Writings. Astrophil and Stella, the Defence of Poesy and Miscellaneous Poems. Manchester. Gasparotto, G. (1991). Petrarca e Lucrezio. Schemi e risonanze del “De rerum natura” nelle opere latine del Petrarca. Verona. Gifford, W., and Cunningham, F., eds. (1875). The Works of Ben Jonson with Notes Critical and Explanatory and a Biographical Memoir. Vol. 6. London. Gigli, G., ed. (1916). La Bella Mano di Giusto dei Conti. Lanciano. Gill, S. (2004). William Wordsworth. Selected Poems. London/New York. Gillespie, S., and Hardie, P.R., eds. (2007). The Cambridge Companion to Lucretius. Cambridge. Hall, J.B., ed. (1985). Claudii Claudiani carmina. Leipzig. Hazlitt, C., ed. (1869). The Whole Works of William Browne. Vol. 2. London. Kalvos, A. (1824). ̔Η Λύρα. Ὠιδαὶ Ἀ. Κάλβου Ἰωαννίδου τοῦ Ζακυνθίου. Geneva. Kalvos, A. (1826). ̔Η Λύρα. Νέαι ᾠδαί. Odes Nouvelles de Kalvos, suivies d’un Choix de Poésies de Chréstopoulo. Paris. Karageorghis, J. (2005). The Aphrodite of Cyprus. Ancient Sources and Archaeological Evidence. Nicosia. Laumonier, P., ed. (1946). Pierre de Ronsard. Œuvres complètes. Vol. 11. Paris. Lo Monaco, F., ed. (1991). Angelo Poliziano. Commento inedito ai Fasti di Ovidio, Florence. Most, G.W., ed. (2006). Hesiod. Theogony, Works and Days, Testimonia. Cambridge, MA/London. Musa, M., trans. (1999). Petrarch. The Canzoniere or Rerum Vulgarium Fragmenta. Bloomington/Indianapolis. Novacich, S.E. (2015). On footprints and poetic feet. Philological Quarterly 94, pp. 201– 223. Pagliai, F., Folena, G., and Scotti, M., eds. (1985). U. Foscolo, Poesie e carmi. Edizione Nazionale delle Opere. Vol. 1. Florence. Paschalis, M. (2003). La costruzione di Zante in Foscolo and Kalvos. Syngrisis / Comparaison 14, pp. 62–74. Paschalis, M. (2016a). O Ανδρέας Κάλβος, η Ιταλία και η αρχαιότητα. 2nd ed. Heraklion. Paschalis, M. (2016b). Το μειδίασμα του θεού των ερώτων ή πώς ο Κάλβος μεταμόρφωσε τον Κιθαιρώνα σε Κύθηρα [The Smile of the ‘God of Loves’ or how Kalvos Transformed Cithaeron into Cythera]. Athens Review of Books 71, pp. 44–47.

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Pietsch, K. (1896). Notes to Schelling’s Book of Elizabethan Lyrics. Modern Language Notes 11, pp. 151–156. Pizzani, U. (1996). Angelo Poliziano e i primordi della filologia Lucreziana. In: L. Tarugi, ed., Poliziano nel suo tempo, Florence, pp. 343–355. Platnauer, M., ed. (1922). Claudian. 2 vols. Cambridge, MA/London. Pontani, F., ed. (2002). Angeli Politiani Liber Epigrammatum Graecorum. Rome. Prosperi, V. (2007a). Lucretius in the Italian Renaissance. In: Gillespie and Hardie, eds., pp. 214–226. Prosperi, V. (2007b). Proemi Lucreziani nella poesia italiana del Cinquecento. Materiali e Discussioni 59, pp. 145–162. Quint, D. (1979). The Stanze of Angelo Poliziano. Amherst. Reeve, M. (2007). Lucretius in the Middle Ages and Early Renaissance. Transmission and Scholarship. In: Gillespie and Hardie, eds., pp. 205–213. Rouse, W.H.D., trans. (1940). Nonnus. Dionysiaca. Cambridge, MA. Schwab, M.E. (2016). The Rebirth of Venus. The Homeric Hymns to Aphrodite and Poliziano’s Stanze. In: A. Faulkner, A. Vergados, and A. Schwab, eds., The Reception of the Homeric Hymns. Oxford/New York, pp. 301–323. Serwint, N. (2002). Aphrodite and her Near Eastern Sisters. Spheres of Influence. In: D. Bolger and N. Serwint, eds., Engendering Aphrodite: Women and Society in Ancient Cyprus. Boston, pp. 325–350. Smith, M.F., trans. (2001). Lucretius. On the Nature of Things. Indianapolis/Cambridge. Ulbrich, A. (2010). Images of Cypriot Aphrodite in her Sanctuaries during the Age of the City-Kingdoms. In: A.C. Smith and S. Pickup, eds., Brill’s Companion to Aphrodite. Leiden/Boston, pp. 167–193. Vecchi Galli, P., ed. (2011). Francesco Petrarca. Canzoniere. Milano. Vela, C., ed. (1998). Il “Tirsi” di Baldassare Castiglione e Cesare Gonzaga. In: S. Carrai, ed., La poesia pastorale del Rinascimento. Padua, pp. 245–292. Vian, F., ed. (1974). Apollonios de Rhodes. Argonautiques. Tome i, chants i–ii. Paris. Villas, J. (1969). The Petrarchan Topos “bel piede”. Generative footsteps. Romance Notes 11, pp. 167–173. Warburg, A. (1893). Sandro Botticellis “Geburt der Venus” und “Frühling”. Eine Untersuchung über die Vorstellungen von der Antike in der italienischen Frührenaissance. Hamburg/Leipzig. West, M.L., ed. (1966). Hesiod. Theogony. Oxford. West, M.L. (1997). The East Face of Helicon. West Asiatic Elements in Greek Poetry and Myth. Oxford.

chapter 9

On the Track of Venus’ Cult: The Cypriot Stories in Ovid’s Metamorphoses Emilia Savva

Ovid’s Metamorphoses, though a work featuring gods in action, is often regarded as a literary construction with little interest in religion or cult; such aspects are almost invariably endorsed for the Fasti alone. Yet Ovid figures an interplay between religion and myth in at least some of his stories. I shall touch upon the episodes of the Metamorphoses with a distinctively Cypriot hue, where these two merge together. The stories of the Propoetides and Pygmalion, both in Book 10, and of Iphis and Anaxarete in Book 14, all intersect with the mythical sphere, giving, through a creative approach to the mythological repertoire, an insight into Venus’ worship in Cyprus. The presence of Venus in all of these narratives enables this poetic elaboration upon her cult: not only does Ovid map her cultic space, he also releases into his stories aspects of the religious activity performed there. Cyprus is a meeting place for the Greeks and the East, and also a key site for Venus, who of course matters to Ovid in his poetic programme, and is deeply embedded in the Roman consciousness. My discussion will also include the Myrrha tale, which immediately follows Pygmalion’s: the narrative does not take place in Cyprus; however, much else in it shows its Cypriot origin, which makes it appropriate to consider within the scope of the paper. Moving stories around displays Ovid’s characteristic play within the realm of myth: for some, he embraces the tradition by retaining their Cypriot setting, whereas for others not necessarily taking place on the island—however, sharing an affiliation with it—he explores the varying possibilities of his material in daring ways, making them look, if ambiguously, at Cyprus.

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The Propoetides (10.238–242) at si forte roges fecundam Amathunta metallis an genuisse velit Propoetidas, abnuat … 10.220–221

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And if you were to ask metal-rich Amathus whether she would take pride in giving birth to the Propoetides, she would deny it … Sunt tamen obscenae Venerem Propoetides ausae esse negare deam; pro quo sua numinis ira corpora cum fama1 primae vulgasse feruntur: utque pudor cessit sanguisque induruit oris, in rigidum parvo silicem discrimine versae. 10.238–242

But the Propoetides were lewd, and dared to deny that Venus was a goddess. For which fault, thanks to the wrath of the divinity, they are said to have been the first to prostitute their bodies together with [exposing] their reputation; as all sense of shame fled, and the blood grew hard in their faces, they were turned—with but a slight change—into hard flint. The Propoetides are punished by Venus because of their bold denial of her (or love, as the name of the goddess could also function as an effective metonymy): first, she forces them into prostitution, and then transforms them into stone.2 The connection with Amathus as their birthplace is established earlier, through the framing lines of the Propoetides story, and the Cerastae,3 both marked out as Cypriot offenders who suffer the vindictiveness of Venus: Orpheus, the narrator,4 bitterly comments that this Cypriot city could have done without

1 Tarrant’s app. crit. notes the late variant fama as ‘fort. recte’; famam vulgare is idiomatic and seems more apt than forma. The Metamorphoses text follows Tarrant’s 2004 OCT, unless otherwise stated. 2 For a commentary on the story, see Bömer 1980; Fratantuono 2014; Reed 2013, ad loc. 3 Ovid’s reference in the Ars Amatoria (1.647–652) seems to provide a background for this story: the Cypriot seer Thrasius becomes the first victim of his own advice to Busiris that human sacrifice would propitiate Iuppiter Hospes. Although there is no evidence of such practice at Amathus, bulls, to which the Cerastae are transformed in the Met. story, seemed to form part of the religious iconography of the city (on the vases from the Amathusian sanctuary of Aphrodite, see Hermary–Masson 1990, 187–206, esp. 204 for the connection to Ovid). Human sacrifice to Zeus (Xenios?) is attested in Salamis (see Lact. Div. Inst. 1.21.1; cf. Porph. de abst. 2.54f., offered to Diomedes and Aglauros in the ‘month of Aphrodite’, i.e. September), where archaeological survey has indeed uncovered a sanctuary of Zeus. Ovid’s myth of the Cerastae may preserve a trace of this ceremonial rite; on this, see Hill 2010, 64– 66. 4 On Orpheus’ narratorial voice in Met. 10 as echoing Ovid’s, see Pavlock 2009, 89–109, and Liveley 1999, 201–203.

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them. Ovid here draws lines of relationship between Venus and Amathus, thus inscribing the story with awareness of the city’s strong cultic ties with the goddess.5 The story becomes all the more worth exploring when we consider that Ovid embarks on otherwise unknown Cypriot mythological territory:6 the story is unique to him, either an invention or borrowed from sources now lost to us— the use of feruntur at 240 may act as an Alexandrian footnote, pointing back to the myth’s literary tradition.7 Only a brief reference in Apollodorus seems to imply the same mythology: the fate of the daughters of Cinyras, the mythical king of Paphos, shares a striking point of similarity to that of the Propoetides. … πρὸς δὲ τούτοις θυγατέρας Ὀρσεδίκην καὶ Λαογόρην καὶ Βραισίαν. αὗται δὲ διὰ μῆνιν Ἀφροδίτης ἀλλοτρίοις ἀνδράσι συνευναζόμεναι τὸν βίον ἐν Αἰγύπτῳ μετήλλαξαν. apoll. Bibl. 3.14.3

… and besides them, daughters, Orsedice, Laogore, and Braesia. These by reason of the wrath of Aphrodite after cohabiting with foreigners ended their life in Egypt. Their condemnation for prostitution by Aphrodite does not allow us to take for granted an identification with the Propoetides; we cannot, however, ignore that ancient tradition links Cinyras and Amathus closely together.8

5 Cf. Met. 10.531. On the cult of Aphrodite in Amathus, see Karageorghis 2005, 107–112; PirenneDelforge 1994, 348–355; Hermary 1988; Ulbrich 2008, 107–110. On the city, including the goddess’ cultic space, see the extensive surveys by Aupert 1996 = 2000; an overarching account of the site: the sources, cults, sanctuaries, votives, and inscriptions with bibliography in Ulbrich 2008, 263f. For an overview of the Cypriot religious landscape, focusing on Aphrodite, see Rudhardt 1975. 6 On the mythology surrounding Amathus as recorded in literary sources, see Aupert–Hellmann 1984, 19–23. 7 Reed 2013, ad loc. 8 The city’s inhabitants were said to descend from Cinyras’ companions (Theopompus of Chios FGrH 115 F103), the ones who also brought the goddess to Amathus from Paphos, her first cult center on Cyprus. Moreover, Amathus was allegedly named after the mythical king’s mother, Amathusa (Steph. Byz. s.v. Ἀμαθοῦς); cf. Tac. Ann. 3.62. On the bonds between Cinyras, and Amathus, see Karageorghis 2005, 110; for the individualities of cult that link Amathus to Paphos, see Budin 2004, 117–120.

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Ovid perhaps reflects on the question of the Propoetides’ ancestry9 in Book 6 of the Metamorphoses:10 the figure of Cinyras comes up in an interesting context, the imagery of Minerva’s tapestry. qui superest solus, Cinyran habet angulus orbum, isque gradus templi, natarum membra suarum, amplectens saxoque iacens lacrimare videtur. 6.98–100

The only corner which remains has Cinyras, bereaved: embracing the steps of a temple, his daughters’ limbs, and lying on the stone, he seems to cry. The lamenting Cinyras11 clasps the stone steps of a temple, his own daughters’ limbs: this casts the young women as structural parts of the sanctuary, which implies their petrification. Their transformation into stone reminds us of the Propoetides, who had the same fate, but this does not necessarily mean that Ovid penetrates beyond the thematic links often formed between the stories of the Metamorphoses. There is more than superficial resemblance between these lines and the Propoetides story in Book 10: the Amathusian girls were turned into ‘hard flint’ (in rigidum … silicem, 10.242). Apart from its standard meaning ‘stone’, the word silex is also used of paving, or in building to indicate architectural parts:12 this creates a strong parallel to the Cinyras reference in

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The option of this being a patronymic (see van der Kolf in RE 23.1, 1957, col. 826–827 s.v. Propoitides, followed by some Ovidian scholars, e.g. Solodow 1988, passim; Dörrie 1974, 13) is cancelled out, because the supposed fathership of the Propoetides from Propoetus stems from an unnecessary emendation of προπόλου to Προποίτου in Plutarch, Mor. 777d: οὐ γὰρ ἡ μὲν Ἀφροδίτη ταῖς τοῦ προπόλου θυγατράσι ἐμήνιεν ὅτι πρῶται μίσεα μηχανήσαντο καταχέειν νεανίσκων. The term πρόπολος means attendant of a god: it could therefore be suggestive of the priest-king, and precisely glance at Cinyras, regarded as the beloved priest of Aphrodite in Pind. Pyth. 2.17 (ἱερεὺς κτίλος) with Slater 1969, 243, cf. Morpurgo 1960; also Tac. Hist. 2.3, where he is presented as the progenitor of a line of Paphian priest-kings. On the goddess’ cult personnel on Cyprus with emphasis on Cinyras and the priesthood of the Cinyradae, including useful bibliography, see Pirenne-Delforge 1994, 353. Cf. e.g. Dufallo 2013, 168, who considers Cinyras’ appearance in Book 6 an “obscure reference” and is doubtful about his identity: “he may, or may not be Cinyras, king of Cyprus”. His name is considered as relevant to κινύρομαι ‘to lament’ (see LSJ s.v., cf. κινυρίζω mentioned by Zenodotus, Schol. ad Il. 1.612 as a gloss on ἀχεύω ‘to mourn’). For the connection, see Ahl 1985, 33. On the Met. lines, linking Cinyras and lamentation, see Ribichini 1982, 500. See OLD s.v. 1b. Cf. O’Bryhim 1991, 96–98, who takes silex throughout the Metamorphoses (citing 9.225, 4.781 and 5.199, with the exception of 2.706) to stand for some sort of

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Book 6, and sounds like good evidence to support the idea of the Propoetides’ identification with the daughters of Cinyras. Do we have any indication of the identity of the sanctuary featuring in these lines? We may suppose that it is Aphrodite’s, since Cinyras was considered the goddess’ first priest-king,13 and the one who established her worship, which included orgies and initiation into the mysteries of the cult.14 But there is more in the relationship between her and the Paphian king: Aphrodite is often labelled his prostitute-friend,15 with their union most likely symbolising a sacred marriage, or hierogamy.16 If we accept that the Propoetides are Cinyras’ daughters, then this sanctuary is naturally situated in Amathus, where the Propoetides story takes place. The architecture of the Amathusian sanctuary of Aphrodite comes close to the structural elements of the temple the Ovidian description glances at. According to its visual reconstruction based on the in situ archaeological remains, in Roman times the goddess’ temple

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an ‘anthropomorphically shaped’ stone; in essence, a statue. This is unconvincing: when humans change form in the Metamorphoses, they usually retain some of their former human features. This concept need not be exclusively combined with this particular word choice. We may, for example, pick up the metamorphosis of Aglauros (2.830–831) and Anaxarete (14.757–758), where saxum (which O’Bryhim takes to exclusively signify a shapeless rock) is used in conjunction with signum to denote a statue-like form; cf. simulacrum, employed to describe Medusa’s petrified victims at 4.779–781. On transformation, and persistence of human characteristics in the work, see Murray 1998. On metamorphosis as art in the Metamorphoses, see Solodow 1988, 203–231, esp. 203–206. See Pind. Pyth. 2.17, and 27–41 with Parry 1982, and Currie 2005, 275–276. Cinyras, and after him, the dynastic priest-kings of Paphos, the Cinyradae, were buried in the goddess’ sanctuary at Paphos (Ptolemy of Megalopolis FGrH 161 F1); this is said to have been dedicated by the mythical king (Tac. Hist. 2.3). On the Cinyras tradition, see the contributions of Baurain 1980; Ribichini 1982; Loucas-Durie 1989; Näf 2013, 8. The king of Paphos is often designated as ἱερεὺς τῆς ϝανάσ(σ)ας in several inscriptions, see e.g. ICS 6–7, 16–17, 90–91 with Baurain 1980, 283 n. 26, and Maier 1989, 376–377. Clem. Alex. Protr. 2.12–13; Firm. Mat. De err. 10; Arnob. Adv. Nat. 5.19. On the mysteries, see Karageorghis 2005, 53 with bibliography. Clement in his Protrepticus characterises Aphrodite πόρνην πολίτιδα (2.13), and φίλη (2.14) of Cinyras (cf. 2.33.8–9); cf. Firm. Mat. loc. cit., and later, in a similar vein, Thdt. Gr. aff. cur. 3.30–31. This may explain why the Paphian Aphrodite is often called ἄνασσα (see above, n. 13, and Mitford 1961, 10–11 for the Hellenistic inscriptions of Palaepaphos), a title used of the Paphian king’s wife (Arist. apud Harpocr. s.v. ἄνακτες καὶ ἄνασσαι). More detail on Cinyras’ intimate relationship with the goddess in Pirenne-Delforge 1994, 346–347, and Rudhardt 1975, 113. On the origins of sacred marriage, see Kramer 1969, 49–66. Karageorghis 2005, 48–50, raises doubts about the practice of hierogamy rites in Paphos, noting that we find no relevant mention in any source, and the indications are very scanty to conclude that it was indeed celebrated there.

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was a prostyle one with four columns on its front façade with a crepis (threestep platform), and an access staircase of several steps between the second and third column.17 Given Ovid’s diction that Cinyras’ daughters become steps (gradus), it may be best to imagine Cinyras embracing the steps of the crepis, the topmost platform of which supported the columns. This structure—the steps functioning as the basis of the columns, and the columns themselves— could be perceived as the stony body of his daughters.18 The (awareness of the) uniqueness of the sanctuary’s architectural style, mainly owing to the fact that it lacked a peristyle colonnade, and only had four columns at the front, may have prompted an aetiological fabrication of this aspect of myth by Ovid. Besides, the detail of the Propoetides’ petrification appears to be the poet’s invention; Apollodorus, as we have seen, only records Cinyras’ daughters’ prostitution. Drawing on the suggestion for an identification of the Propoetides with Cinyras’ daughters, there is good reason to conclude that the Amathusian girls, after being forced to prostitution, were petrified in Aphrodite’s sanctuary at Amathus. This exerts a powerful pull to link prostitution to ritual activity in the Amathusian sanctuary of the goddess. The Propoetides are, then, portrayed as the first to engage in prostitution performed there; the Ovidian story seems to provide the mythological basis for a well-attested activity within Aphrodite’s cultic space in Cyprus: sacred prostitution.19

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The remains indicate a construction dated to the first century ad, after the earthquake of ad 77/78, most likely as a rebuilding of an earlier temple of the same architecture; further details in Karageorghis 2005, 86–88. Extensively on Aphrodite’s sanctuary at Amathus, see Hermary 1984; Hermary–Schmid 1996. It is notable that the only reference recording its existence is by Tacitus, Ann. 3.62, according to which the Amathusian sanctuary was one of the three with the privilege of granting the right of asylum by the Roman Senate. Possibly Ovid here employs membra as an equivalent to corpora. A less worry-free suggestion has been made by Mitford 1946, 40–42 (followed by Karageorghis 2005, 79): he relates the Ovidian myth of the Propoetides, which he considers to have grown up to account for a group of statues, to an inscription dated to the Flavian period from Agios Tychon, north of ancient Amathus. There is no archaeological evidence for the existence of statues, cult figures, or aniconic baetyls in situ, or other testimony to support the idea that the Propoetides received worship within the framework of Aphrodite’s cult, or that they were seven in number. The alternative restoration proposed by Aupert 2006, 88–90 carries the implication that the stelai mentioned in the inscription are simply boundary markers of an Amathusian temple of Aphrodite (not the famous one), and do not have any special significance. Rudhardt 1975, 123–124 makes a fleeting reference to this connection. The sacred prostitution aspect of the cult of Aphrodite is attested to at Corinth by Strabo, 8.6.20. More generally on the practice, see Maclachlan 1992.

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There is evidence testifying to the existence of this practice at the hometown of the Propoetides.20 A reference in the Acts of Barnabas reveals that male visitors to Aphrodite’s Amathusian sanctuary engage in sexual activities with ritual prostitutes attached to it.21 On the archaeological front, an important find that leads to the hypothesis of on-site prostitution as part of prenuptial solemnities22 with the obligation of a ‘participation fee’, is a stone treasury box from the cult site of Amathus, dedicated to Aphrodite by king Androcles (330– 310 bc).23 In light of the individuality of the Amathusian shrine—owing to the accommodation of sacred prostitution—it would not be surprising that this cult fee was conceptualised as payment for prostitution, a ritual activity providing profit for the sanctuary. Returning to Ovid’s story, what encourages speculation is that the Propoetides are subjected to a harsher penalty, petrification: this is at odds with them practising an activity with religious character, which evidently had the goddess’ approval, even if it involved sexual excess. They would only be due a second punishment if they were charged with behaving outside Aphrodite’s orders, perhaps extending their practice beyond what was religiously appointed. One 20

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Karageorghis 2005, 109–110. The practice seems to have been taking place in Paphos as well; see the (however, not free of doubt) reference by implication in Paus. 8.24.6. It has also been hypothesised that the Cinyras mysteries included some rite of cult prostitution: the Christian authors (see references above, n. 14) recount that initiates had to offer the goddess a coin ‘as if she were a prostitute’; see e.g. Rudhardt 1975, 114. ABarn 20–21 Bonnet. Most likely fifth-century ad forgery: see recently, Cairns 2019, 47– 48 for a brief survey of the scholarship on authorship, and date. On the identification of the ἐν τῷ ὄρει Amathusian sanctuary with Aphrodite’s famous sanctuary, located on the acropolis of the city, see Ulbrich 2008, 109–110. Cf. a fragmentary inscription of ad 51 from Agios Tychon, not far from Aphrodite’s temple grounds, previously copied by Perdrizet 1896, 351–353, no. 1 = LBW 2823, and rediscovered by Aupert 1991, 785, fig. 50 = SEG xlv 1841 = IGR iii 974; also Nicolaou 1995, 225–226, no. 18 (pl. 26,18). This names, alongside priests, some youngsters, who are further defined as παράνυμφοι, presumably male followers accompanying the groom-to-be in pre-marriage rites at the sanctuary. For a discussion, see Hermary 2006, 154; differently, Pirenne-Delforge 1994, 361, following Hermary 1988, 109 n. 69, and Nicolaou 1995, loc. cit. Θησαυρὸν Κυπρίαι κ̣α̣ὶ ̣ [Ὀρε]σ̣θέως εἰ[κόνα] μορ̣[φ]ῆ̣[ς] | υἱοῦ τήνδε ἀνέθηκε Ἀνδροκλῆ̣ς βασιλεύς (‘King Androkles has dedicated to the Cyprian goddess the thesauros, and this image of the beauty of his son Orestheus’) in Hellmann–Hermary 1980; Hermary–Masson 1982; Kaminski 1991, 149–150, no. 3. It is conceivable that Orestheus’ statuette was affixed to the top block of the thesauros—the marker τήνδε links it with its dedication; see Hermary 2006, 154. The function of this thesauros has recently been re-evaluated by Hermary (2006) through juxtaposition to a similar inscribed stone contraption from the wider area of the joint Aphrodite Ourania-Eros sanctuary at the Plaka quartier in Athens (SEG xli 182, ed. prima with commentary, Tsakos–Kazamiakis 1990–1991; for the terminology, see Jim 2014, 255): it was most likely intended to receive prenuptial offerings.

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could guess that they performed prostitution (outside the temple grounds?) for their own profit, breaking the sanctuary’s monopoly, or even pocketed the money that was intended for the temple’s treasury. We would not push our argument too far, I think, if, building on obscenae said of the Propoetides before their punishment, we further assumed that what initially caused Venus’ original venting of anger24 was that they threw themselves into prenuptial prostitution.25 This practice, which enjoyed widespread popularity across the island among unmarried girls, was, in all likelihood, a distorted version of temple prostitution,26 and is referred to as a custom which excites divine outrage and revenge.27 24

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Especially in Amathus existed the worship of an androgynous Aphrodite. More detail in Michaelides 2002, 360–361, and Karageorghis 2005, 110–111; also Sophocleous 1985 on her bearded figurines. For a general account of Aphrodite’s ‘ungendering’, see Maclachlan 2002. Macrobius, Sat. 3.8.1–3 (followed by Serv. ad Verg. Aen. 2.623) displays awareness of this type of Cyprian Aphrodite; cf. Cat. 68.51–52: duplex Amathusia. This information perhaps attaches more weight to the punishment of the Propoetides by an (Amathusian?) androgynous Venus for their sexual attitude towards men. A similar view is expressed by Dörrie 1974, 13. Cf. O’Bryhim 1991, 90–91, and Liveley 1999, 202, who suggest that celibacy, sexual abstinence, or refusal to marry could constitute a denial of the goddess. Also Salzman-Mitchell 2005, 63 for the view that their stoniness is a preservation of their initial frigid condition; so Rudhardt 1975, 123–124. However, if we accept the identification of the Propoetides with Cinyras’ daughters, this possibility can be ruled out by reference to Plutarch, Mor. 777d (see above, n. 9). On this identification in the Plutarchean text, see Roskam 2009, ad loc. The idea that the original crime of the Propoetides was their engagement in prostitution fits well with the general theme, as Orpheus puts it at 10.152–154: he will sing of the illegitimate passion, and the uninhibited desires of young girls, for which they receive punishment. Hermary (2014, 244–246 claims that the laws of the Cypriot Demonassa mentioned by Dio Chrys. 64.2 could provide a background, since prostitution was imposed as a punishment for adultery. This suggestion is prima facie disproved: Orpheus’ stories will pertain to puellae, starting from the Propoetides, that is, unmarried girls, whereas adultery presupposes marriage; I would moreover expect the text to make it clearer that this is a wrongdoing, not just a wrathful action. One may also note that the interpretation is lacking in establishing a link with Aphrodite: this can certainly not be based solely on Demonassa’s name echoing ἄνασσα. Compare Hdt. 1.199, who in his reference to a Babylonian custom, according to which every local woman must once in her life make love with a stranger in the sanctuary of Aphrodite, comments on Cyprus as having a similar one (παραπλήσιον). This is—with a stretch—taken as sacred prostitution. However, on the grounds that the two customs are not viewed as identical, and through juxtaposition with other bits of evidence, it seems safe to assume that this is a loose reference to the general concept of prostitution on the island; on the view that Herodotus glances specifically at prenuptial prostitution, see Rudhardt 1975, 122–123. A useful discussion also by Budin 2008, 58–92, esp. 85–87, who argues that here Herodotus embraces the concept rather problematically, and constructs his data for the sake of effect, drawing on both regions’ doubly defeated status against Persia. See Clearchus, a native of Soli on Cyprus of 4th/3rd c. bc, apud Athen. Deipn. 12.516a–b (=

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Iphis, Anaxarete, and Venus Prospiciens (14.698–771)

Sacred prostitution appears to be tightly entwined with the conceptualisation of Aphrodite as a prostitute,28 an idea that must look back to the Oriental ‘version’ of the goddess, Inanna-Ishtar,29 who in Near-Eastern texts is manifested as giving alluring glances at prospective clients, while looking through, or leaning from, her sacred tavern-temple’s window:30 ‘O Inanna, you are bent on going into your usual window (to solicit) for a lover.’ This manifestation of the goddess’ oriental counterpart finds expression in the Cypriot myth of Aphrodite Parakyptousa,31 or Venus Prospiciens, as recounted by Ovid in Book 14 of the Metamorphoses.32 Vertumnus tells the story of

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12.11 Kaibel) = Clearchus fr. 6 Wehrli, with the note that ἀφοσιούντων is unlikely to carry any theological connotation (see LSJ s.v.); also Ovid’s contemporary, Pompeius Trogus, who records it as an old custom among Cypriot girls and connects it with the acquisition of dowry (Just. Epit. hist. philipp. Pomp. Trog. 18.5); cf. the Hellenistic epigram of Asclepiades AP 5.209 with Cairns 2016, 114–124. Ennius, translating the atheistic philosopher Euhemerus of Messene, lays all the fault upon Venus, presenting her as the founder of every form of prostitution (Euhem. 134–138 = Varia 142–145). Athenaeus connects courtesans with Aphrodite and her cult, thus explicitly affiliating her sanctuaries with prostitution: he notes that the goddess is worshipped as ἑταίρα at Athens and Ephesus (Deipn. 13.573a)—also quoting Apollodorus (at 571c) on the worship of Aphrodite Ἑταίρα = FGrH 244 F112—and πόρνη at Abydos (13.572e–f). For a commentary, see McClure 2003, 137–166. As early as the Chalcolithic period this is reflected in the imagery of the Cyprian Aphrodite-Astarte, heavily influenced by depictions of Inanna-Ishtar; see Washbourne 1999, 169–170. Numerous nude figurines of the goddess with her hands supporting her breasts were discovered at the temple of Aphrodite-Astarte at Tamassos, as well as the sanctuary at Amathus; for a catalogue of these from the Amathusian cult-site, see Ulbrich 2008, 269. Langdon BE xxxi, no. 12, in Jacobsen 1976, 140. Cf. Inanna D 105–106 Behrens: ‘… as a prostitute you go down to the tavern, and (there) you will turn into a ghost leaning from the window.’ For further detail on the motif of the ‘woman at the window’ in the Near-Eastern tradition of Inanna alongside the development of the Cypriot Parakyptousa, see Washbourne 1999, 164–168. For an extensive discussion of Aphrodite Parakyptousa, see Fauth 1967 and Fakas (in this volume). Note the use of παρακύπτειν by Greek authors to describe the attitude of prostitutes (LSJ s.v. 2); cf. for example, Aristophanes (Pax 982; Thesm. 797), who employs the verb παρακύπτω for women with loose morals: this suggests that there was a conventional link between leaning out of windows and sexual promiscuity. Ovid’s source is likely to be Hermesianax, whose version of the myth Antoninus Liberalis at Met. 39 claims to preserve. Ovid retains the core myth, modifying the story in terms of detail, and picks different names for his protagonists: Iphis and Anaxarete, instead of Arceophon and Arsinoe. On the intertextual dialogue with Ant. Liberalis, see Borghini 1979. There is a passing reference also in Plutarch, Amat. 766d, who ascribes the epithet Parakyptousa to the Cypriot girl featuring in the myth.

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Iphis—famous all over Cyprus, he claims—a young man from Salamis, who falls in love with the noble Anaxarete. Her contempt towards his advances renders him so desperate that he commits suicide. When the funeral pomp of Iphis passes by, Anaxarete, out of curiosity, and driven by some cruel god (deus ultor, 750), rushes to look out of the window of her rooftop room, but is immediately locked in a frozen stare at the sight: she then transforms into stone, a natural outcome of the duritia she previously behaved with. To claim proof of the validity of this story, Ovid—still through the mouth of Vertumnus—adds as a concluding remark to the narrative: neve ea ficta putes, dominae sub imagine signum servat adhuc Salamis, Veneris quoque nomine templum Prospicientis habet. 14.759–761

And that you may not think these things fictitious, Salamis still keeps a statue in the image of the mistress,33 and has also a temple under the name of Venus Prospiciens. The connection with Venus, a thematically important aspect to the story, is established through the fact that the statue of Anaxarete is kept at the sanctuary of Venus Prospiciens at Salamis34—adhuc at 760 efficiently draws away from the mythical sphere: the poet hints at the identity of the divinity who prompted the girl’s curious gazing, and most likely the metamorphosis too. The framing lines of the story (693–694) capture Venus as the cruel divinity of line 750: the Idalian goddess35 hates hard hearts (dura pectora), a much emphasised detail in Anaxarete’s behaviour towards Iphis.36 Anaxarete seems to be equated to Venus through dominae sub imagine signum (759); the girl is never named domina throughout the story, and domina (carrying the implication of ‘the presiding goddess’) would fit with the title ἄνασσα often accompanying Aphrodite. This representation of the Salaminian

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See my discussion below. No remains of a temple were discovered during the excavations in Salamis. However, if we are to believe Ovid’s claim, archaeologists speculate that it would have been in the southern part of the site, where a sanctuary of Zeus was discovered; few vestiges of a cult were found there. On this, see Karageorghis 2005, 217. A metonymy for Venus, as in Verg. Aen. 5.760; Idalion is connected to Venus, and her cult (Aen. 1.681 and 693); also Cat. 36.12, 61.17, 64.96. On the Greek side, see Theocr. Id. 15.100. See dura at 704, durior 712; cf. limine duro said of Anaxarete’s threshold, 709.

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girl peeping out of a window, a position signalling sexual availability, and associated with sacred prostitution, exemplifies Aphrodite’s Cypriot imagery in the motif of the ‘woman at the window’—apparently, a visualisation of the myths related to Inanna-Ishtar, herself a (cult) prostitute, with whom the Cyprian goddess was equated.37 Anaxarete’s stone form not only encompasses the Cypriot artistic representation of Aphrodite, but the aspect of the goddess that is entwined with it:38 the prostitute, eternally fixed in a gesture of sexual availability. She is herself, then, a manifestation of Venus Prospiciens.39

3

Pygmalion (10.243–297)

We now turn to the story of Pygmalion, immediately preceded by that of the Propoetides, and again one with a Cypriot blueprint.40 As Orpheus incisively turns the spotlight on his new protagonist, he marks out Pygmalion’s aversion to women and subsequent life of celibacy as a direct response to these vicious Amathusian girls. Pygmalion carves the ivory statue of a woman: the aesthetic appreciation for his creation of incomparable beauty simultaneously— in almost a single line—turns to affectionate attachment.41 He now caresses the statue, which he conceives as living; it is not a simulacrum, but rather, a simulatum corpus: the phrasing brilliantly captures the fleshly quality of his creation, as well as the transgressiveness of art as realism.42 Pygmalion begins 37

38

39 40

41 42

For a discussion of Aphrodite’s imagery as Parakyptousa in Cyprus, see Washbourne 1999. The earliest example is a bronze stand from late Bronze Age Egkomi (the direct successor of which, we should note, is Salamis)—and before the flourishing of such imagery in the Near East—with women peeping out of a window in each of its four sides. The multiple architrave motif found surrounding the sides of the window at which Aphrodite sits in her representations, occurs very early in a funerary context, showing an association between the window motif, and the goddess of fertility and rebirth. It is intriguing that the myth of Parakyptousa involves such a funerary aspect. It is perhaps worth noting that in texts referring to temple prostitution in Aphrodite’s cult, the verb used of prostitutes dedicated to the goddess’ cult is ἀνατίθημι, regularly employed for statues (see Strab. 6.2.5, 8.6.20). For a discussion, see Rudhardt 1975, 135–136. See Rudhardt 1975, 121. Her very name, Anaxarete, seems to be etymologically linked with ἄνασσα, frequently accompanying the name of Aphrodite. The story has attracted much scholarly attention; however, its connotations with regard to Cyprus have been largely overlooked. Discussions of the story include Rosati 1983, 51–93; Sharrock 1991; Eisner–Sharrock 1991; Spahlinger 1996, 50–62; Viarre 1968; SalzmanMitchell 2008. 10.248–249, cf. 252–253. This reaches a climax at 250. Cf. also 251, and the playfulness in the use of moveri: it could glance at statue animation, or touch upon erotic overtones (especially since it accom-

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to treat the sculpture as a real puella, and puts forward what looks like a love ritual:43 he often moves his hands over the body of his carved girl, hallucinating that the statue is quickening beneath his touch, even fearing that his fingers might leave an imprint. He offers gifts as would suit a girlfriend44 alongside love-talk, and finally places the statue naked on his bed. Pygmalion attends the festival of Venus, and after making his offerings to the goddess, prays that he marry (he did not dare, the lines read, say his eburnea virgo), but one like her.45 He then returns home, having received a favourable omen from the goddess: through Venus’ intervention, Pygmalion’s statue is now brought to life. The goddess presides over their union, and Pygmalion’s (now real) puella gives birth to a daughter, whom they name Paphos. Critics have recognised that Ovid’s model for this story is Philostephanus, a Hellenistic author probably of a lost cycle of Cypriot stories, and contemporary of Callimachus, whose version of the Pygmalion myth is recalled by Clement

43 44

45

panies reverentia, most likely meaning ‘modesty’; on the word, Anderson 1972, ad loc.). Pygmalion’s much commented illusion seems to lie in the deceit of art’s realistic mimesis: the phrase ars adeo latet arte sua at 252 sets the tone, and illustrates the extent of the illusion; see also the puns on veritas (ver-) in the previous lines (250–251): verae, vivere, reverentia, moveri. More on Pygmalion as gazer, and artistic fiction in Elsner 2007, 113–131, and Salzman-Mitchell 2005, 68–84. 10.254f. But it is also the obsessiveness of the creator, unable to let her writing exist untouched. I am not convinced by O’Bryhim’s claim (1991, 135–145) that the gifts stand for votive offerings to Venus. Shells, small birds, flowers, stones are, as O’Bryhim himself acknowledges, all gifts of a typical elegiac lover, cf. Prop. 3.13.25–32, Ov. Am. 2.11.13 (conchas pictosque lapillos), Catullus’passer (2); for their elegiac colouring, see Anderson 1972, ad 10.259–265. The only gifts that look obscure are pictae pilae. It seems probable that they are playing balls for simple games, as Anderson argues; to the Hom. Od. 6.115 parallel adduced, we may add Apoll., Arg. 3.132–141 (the ball designed for the infant Zeus now given to Eros by Aphrodite), and Dio Chrys. Or. 8.133c (σφαῖραι ποικίλαι are mentioned together with ἀστράγαλοι as children’s toys). These could have been woven: I see pila as evocative of the Greek πάλλα; see Hesych. s.v.: σφαῖρα ἐκ ποικίλων νημάτων πεποιημένη; cf. also Pl. Phaed. 110b. Another possibility is that such spheres were decorative, cf. Var. Men. 463. O’Bryhim opts for their identification with baetyls; yet this seems contradictory: how could a deity be offered her own aniconic representation, and would they be painted? As for jewellery, I could share the view that Aphrodite’s cult statue was adorned with it. Aelian, NA 10.50, used in support of this view, may refer to a great store of jewellery held at Aphrodite Erycina’s sanctuary, but whether it was offered by worshippers, as O’Bryhim claims, the text does not say; by contrast, these articles of adornment are referred to as a respected goddess’ treasure. This particular temple was famous for sacred prostitution, to which it owed its wealth: see Paus. 8.24.6, cf. Strab. 6.2.5. Could the large stock of jewellery be then construed as a payment for the practice? 10.274–276.

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and Arnobius.46 However, though there is some influence from this version, Ovid gives the story his own touches. Philostephanus presents Pygmalion as the king of Cyprus, who falls in love with an ivory statue of Aphrodite. In the Metamorphoses story, no clue to Pygmalion’s identity is given, his name apart, until we reach the last lines of Orpheus’ narrative (and perhaps significantly, when the statue’s enlivenment has taken place): at 290 he is called Paphius heros. The noun can hardly be denotative of kingship: Ovid seems to use it as equivalent to ‘man of myth’.47 Besides, artistry does not seem a fitting activity for royalty, and Pygmalion’s life as a bachelor clashes with what we would naturally expect from a king. The statue in the Ovidian story may or may not be a representation of Venus: Ovid’s narrative does not particularly encourage such identification.48 What features prominently in our story is not the ivory image itself—solely its beauty receives comment in the narrative—but rather, Pygmalion’s viewing of his artwork, and the affection he develops towards it. If Philostephanus’ version informs the story, we should not overlook another, quite significant twist in Ovid’s dealing with the myth: he makes Pygmalion the sculptor, and not one who falls in love with a statue of Aphrodite held by the Cypriots, as Arnobius recounts, to be ‘sacred and venerable from ancient times’; Philostephanus apparently refers to a cult statue of the goddess. For what it is

46

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48

Clem. Alex. Protr. 4.57.3; cf. Arnob. Adv. Nat. 6.22. Rosati 1983, 54–56 argues for direct influence from Philostephanus in Ovid’s shaping of the story. Another suggested intertext (on which see e.g. Salzman-Mitchell 2005, 72) is a similar story of a youth who falls in love with Praxiteles’ statue of the Cnidian Aphrodite: Clement quotes it together with Philostephanus’ version and attributes it to Posidippus (= FGrH 4.482 F1). Ps-Lucian’s account (Am. 15–16) gives more details: the youth locked himself in the goddess’ sanctuary at Cnidos and had intercourse with the marble. Philostephanus’ version must be earlier, and it is conceivable that the Cnidian version is, in all likelihood, a variation (falling within the general context of agalmatophilia, and presumably to explain a notable feature of the Cnidian statue). What would be a possibility is that Pygmalion’s creation in Ovid is informed by the actual statue of the Cnidian Aphrodite, which, judging from its Roman copy had a mark on the goddess’ thigh (this is mentioned by Ps-Lucian loc. cit., who attributes it to the youth’s sexual intercourse with the sculpture; so Plin. HN 36.20). It is interesting to note, for what it is worth, that line 258 in Ovid’s story could be evocative of this detail. On Philostephanus’ version as the original myth, see Otis 1966, 189. Heros may be translated as ‘hero’, e.g. in the cases of Perseus (5.1), Theseus (9.1), Hercules (9.157), but not always (see Chiron at Met. 2.676, Orpheus at 10.50, Hippomenes at 10.659, Adonis at 10.730, Midas at 11.106). On the use here, see also Fratantuono 2014, ad loc. That Aphrodite is the standard for female beauty, and in that sense, the statue’s exquisite appearance could only come close to that of the goddess, does not necessarily establish a background for the Ovidian reader to perceive Pygmalion’s ivory girl as representing Venus. For a useful discussion of the scholarly readings of the Pygmalion story, focusing on the statue and Pygmalion’s identity, see Salzman-Mitchell 2008, 291–303.

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worth, we may note that Ovid retains the detail of a statue made of ivory, and keeps coming back to the material (ebur and its derivatives are mentioned six times throughout the narrative), though his Pygmalion is not a sculptor of a cult image: ivory belongs to the standard repertoire of Greek cultic sculpture.49 It may be that for the purpose of Ovid’s version, ebur, with its receptiveness to magic, is the appropriate substance to accommodate the statue’s miraculous transformation.50 Also the deceptive quality of ivory further highlights Pygmalion’s illusion.51 The scholarly focus on the Pygmalion story has been on the illusionist art, with the religious aspects prominent in the second half of the narration receiving scant attention. The lines referring to the goddess’ festival day, though they are of considerable interest for Venus’ Cypriot cult, have gone undiscussed. Festa dies Veneris tota celeberrima Cypro venerat, et pandis inductae cornibus aurum conciderant ictae nivea cervice iuvencae, turaque fumabant, cum munere functus ad aras constitit et timide ‘si, di, dare cuncta potestis, sit coniunx, opto’, non ausus ‘eburnea virgo’ dicere Pygmalion ‘similis mea’ dixit ‘eburnae.’ sensit, ut ipsa suis aderat Venus aurea festis, vota quid illa velint et, amici numinis omen, flamma ter accensa est apicemque per aera duxit. ut rediit, simulacra suae petit ille puellae incumbensque toro dedit oscula; visa tepere est. 10.270–281

The festival day of Venus had come, well-attended (from) all over Cyprus, and young heifers, their curving horns overlaid with gold, had fallen,

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Lapatin 2010, 140, esp. n. 33. Ivory was considered the best option to illustrate the divine form; see Od. 18.187–196. Note also its theurgic properties: cult images made of ivory and gold could be animated through magical ritual; see e.g. Porph. Phil. Or. 319F = Eus. PE 5.13.3–4; cf. Porph. Imag. 353F. On statues, and theurgy, see Edmonds 2019, 346–350. On this idea, see Elsner 2007, 125–129. The connection of ebur with both magic and deceptivity is brilliantly seen in the myth of Pelops, and his ivory shoulder, attested in Pind. Ol. 1, and Ov. Met. 6.401–411. Salzman-Mitchell 2008 stresses the necessarily fragmented nature of Pygmalion’s statue, given the material, and offers a different reading of Ovid’s choice to retain ivory with a view to the larger picture of the Metamorphoses. On Ovid’s employment of ebur throughout the Metamorphoses, see Viarre 1964, 48–50.

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struck on snowy necks; incense was burning, when Pygmalion, having made his offering, stood by the altar, and said, timidly: ‘If you, gods, can grant all things, I wish to take as a bride …’ and not daring to say ‘the ivory maiden’ he said ‘one like my ivory girl.’ As golden Venus herself was present at her festival, she realised what this prayer meant, and as an omen of divine approval, three times the flame blazed up, and drew its tip through the air. When he returned, he sought out the statue of his girl, and leaning over the couch, he gave her kisses; she seemed warm. The reader is immediately alerted to the religious overtones of the story through the mention, for the first time in the episode, of Venus’ name. We may start from the playful adjective celeberrima, often translated as ‘famous’, indeed one of its shades of meaning. It is, however, a more attractive alternative to take it as implying the crowds that gather all over Cyprus,52 or, from all over Cyprus. But the first option accentuates a slight oddity: the festival being simultaneously held in various places across the island. Religious festivities could accommodate a narrower, or broader spectrum of participants, but it would be hard to imagine—elastic though the definition of an ancient festival may be53—an all-inclusive celebration held in different spots all over the island. The other suggestion is perhaps more meaningful: pilgrims came from various Cypriot cities. We could assume that this, still unidentified, religious occasion was held somewhere in Paphos, since a Paphius heros attends it. I suggest that this festivity is the yearly panegyrical festival of Aphrodite, famous at least in Roman times (by the first centuries bc/ad, if not before), as Strabo’s reference—the only evidence for its existence—shows: εἶθ᾽ ἡ Πάφος … ἔχουσα καὶ ἱερὰ εὖ κατεσκευασμένα· διέχει δὲ πεζῇ σταδίους ἑξήκοντα τῆς Παλαιπάφου, καὶ πανηγυρίζουσι διὰ τῆς ὁδοῦ ταύτης κατ᾽ ἔτος ἐπὶ τὴν Παλαίπαφον ἄνδρες ὁμοῦ γυναιξὶν συνιόντες καὶ ἐκ τῶν ἄλλων πόλεων. strab. 14.6.3

Next is Paphos … which also has well-built sanctuaries; it is distant by road sixty stades from Palaepaphos and every year men and women coming also from other cities celebrate all along this road.

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Heyworth 2019, ad Fasti 3.713–714. For an overview of the identity of Graeco-Roman festivals, see Iddeng 2012.

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It seems that once a year crowds of worshippers gathered from across the island (this fits well with Ovid’s tota Cypro, if we opt for the translation ‘from all over Cyprus’) and participated in a procession from Nea Paphos54 to Palaepaphos, celebrating all the way.55 It is conceivable that pilgrims arrived by boat at the harbour of Nea Paphos, and the procession was organised to lead them to the prestigious Palaepaphos sanctuary. Along this route, and in the area surrounding the so-called Ἱεροκήπια, i.e. the goddess’ sacred gardens (one of the procession’s stops, midway between the two cities), small workshops provided Aphrodite’s worshippers with ex-votos, as votive terracotas found on-site indicate. During the Roman period, a key role in the organisation of this festival was played by the Koinon Kyprion (‘Union of Cypriots’), responsible, among others, for the co-ordination of all religious festivities, of course actively incorporating the imperial cult.56 The worship of Aphrodite had particularly strong links with the gens Iulia, therefore it could easily form part of the religious agenda. It may be noted that the goddess’ sanctuary at Palaepaphos had a marked imperial element: from the time of Augustus onwards, statues were erected for Roman emperors and their families. Julia and Livia were there known as the Goddess Augusta and the Goddess New Aphrodite respectively;57 such affiliations undoubtedly stem from the claimed descent of Augustus from the goddess herself, and confirm the special bonds this sanctuary shared with imperial rulership during the Roman period.58 The sanctuary seems to have attracted Roman pilgrims too, even the emperor Titus.59 We may thus imagine Pygmalion at Aphrodite’s sanctuary in Palaepaphos, where the festive march ended. Line 272 implies that animal sacrifice is offered, and one would naturally think that this is taking place at the sanctuary’s altar. However, this is prior to Pygmalion’s action (munere functus), hence the plu54

55 56 57

58 59

Note that only Pliny and Ptolemy speak of ‘Nea Paphos’; all other authors refer to the younger (compared to Palaepaphos ‘Old Paphos’) city as simply ‘Paphos’; some inconsistencies, though, occur, see e.g. Plin. HN 2.97 and 210, who refers to the altar of Aphrodite’s sanctuary in Paphos, but clearly means the one at Palaepaphos. On naming, see Młynarczyk 1990, 24. For more detail on the two Paphian cities, see Ulbrich 2008, 394–404 (with bibliography), and Maier–Karageorghis 1984, 226–245. Possibly known as ἱερὰ ὁδός, cf. the Eleusinian festival. On the festival, see Karageorghis 2005, 54; Pirenne-Delforge 1994, 341–342; Maier–Karageorghis 1984, 271, 278; Hadjioannou 1973, 68–69. Mitford 1990, 2195. Cf. an inscription found on site containing an oath of allegiance to Tiberius, on which see id. 1960; Fujii 2013, 77–91. Also IGR iii 935, a document containing ritual prescriptions on the cult of the Paphian Aphrodite, presumably recording the name of Tiberius; for a discussion, see Summa 2019, 228–229. See more extensively, Gordon 2012, 345–348. Tac. Hist. 2.4.

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perfect; Ovid separates this event from his standing in front of the altar, presumably with his gift of incense, before addressing a prayer to Venus. Ovid’s account here shares, I think, a striking similarity with what we know about the Palaepaphos sanctuary. This was exceptional in that, according to Tacitus, no blood was permitted to be shed on its chief altar, which only accommodated ‘prayer’ and ‘pure flame’. Though the altar was in the open, rain was said to never fall upon it:60 sanguinem arae obfundere vetitum: precibus et igne puro altaria adolentur, nec ullis imbribus quamquam in aperto madescunt. tac. Hist. 2.3

It is forbidden to pour blood on the altar proper: the altar is honoured with prayers and pure flame, and though it stands in the open air, it is never wet with rain. We may therefore explain why Ovid’s description seems to hint at an altar only smoking with incense, not from meat-burning, one which exclusively receives bloodless ‘sacrifice’; it is conceivable that animal sacrifice is not taking place at the chief altar of the sanctuary, if this is identified with Aphrodite’s in Palaepaphos. As is normal in the sanctuaries of the Greek world, the altar would have been on a direct sight line from the goddess’ cult image, for the divinity to have full visibility of the rituals taking place in her cult-space through the open doors of the hieron. Pygmalion, who is standing before Venus’ altar, is, then, facing the innermost shrine housing the goddess’ idol. However, Ovid does not refer explicitly to a cult image of Venus. The phrasing in line 277 sensit, ut ipsa suis

60

This detail is also mentioned by Plin. HN 2.97, 210: Celebre fanum habet Veneris Paphos, in cuius quandam aream non impluit; Serv. ad Verg. Aen. 1.415: … hic ad Paphum solam abisse dicatur, quia Varro et plures referunt in hoc tantum templo Veneris quibusvis maximis in circuitu pluviis numquam impluere. A fairly recent papyrus fragment (SH 397, col.1) dated to the first century bc–ad from Eratosthenes’ Hermes (widely known by Ovid’s age) mentions the rainless altar of Aphrodite’s Paphian sanctuary. The reconstruction of the sanctuary, effected apart from in situ survey through the sanctuary’s depiction on Cypriot coins from the Augustan age minted by the Koinon Kyprion, shows an open-court temenos, not of the classical Graeco-Roman type, with a lofty canopy-like structure of pillars supporting awnings, which is what presumably sheltered the chief altar from rain (see Gordon 2012, 345; Schulze 2000/2001, esp. 68). More detail on the architecture of the Palaepaphos sanctuary in Maier 1975, and id. 2004, 39–40; Maier–Karageorghis 1984, 270–283; see also appendix, fig. 1 of Münter–Hetsch 1824 for a visual reconstruction.

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aderat Venus aurea festis shows that Venus is naturally a praesens dea at her festival.61 Venus’ perception of the prayer, seen in sensit, is not however visualised in some statue animation,62 of which Pygmalion would have been able to catch sight; Venus’ favourable sign comes through the altar’s fire blazing, and raising a point in the air. These seemingly insignificant details in Ovid’s description may help confirm that the cultic space where Venus’ festival takes place is the Palaepaphos sanctuary. The most curious feature of the cult of the Paphian Aphrodite was the goddess’ idol, by which Tacitus is intrigued. At Palaepaphos, the goddess was not represented by an anthropomorphic cult image, a statue, as one would expect, but rather in a nonfigurative manner: as a conelike stone, a baetyl.63

4

Cinyras and Myrrha (10.298–502)

Right after the story of Pygmalion comes the tale of Cinyras and Myrrha.64 Ovid provides a connection: Cinyras is the son of Paphos, Pygmalion’s daughter, and Orpheus tells the tale of Myrrha’s incestuous passion for her father. With the help of her nurse, and in her mother’s absence at the festival of Ceres,65 she

61

62 63

64 65

See Anderson 1972, ad loc. Divine presence is often experienced by worshippers on the occasion of a god’s festival; to take some examples from Ovid: at Tr. 5.3.33–34 on the day of the Liberalia, Bacchus himself is imagined as looking around, and taking note of his worshippers’ absence; at Fasti 5.549–552, Mars attends the natal day of Mars Ultor, and Mercury is summoned at 5.663–670. As in e.g. Ov. Her. 20.19–20: Diana is present (adfuit), but gives a sign of the prayer’s answering, through her statue’s movement: et visa est mota dicta tulisse coma. See Tac. Hist. loc. cit.: simulacrum deae non effigie humana, continuus orbis latiore initio tenuem in ambitum metae modo exurgens, sed ratio in obscuro. The aniconic cult of the goddess in Palaepaphos is confirmed by the sanctuary’s image on the Cypriot coins of the Augustan age (see above, n. 60): the innermost shrine is depicted as housing a sacred stone baetyl. Archaeological research on the broader area of the cult site has uncovered a large conical stone, identified with the goddess’ cult image (Maier 2004, 50, fig. 35). Should we accept the identification of Ovid’s site with Palaepaphos, featuring an aniconic cult of Aphrodite, the reading of the Pygmalion story cannot accommodate Hardie’s claims (2002, 190) for statue animation. Further on the aniconic cult of the Paphian Aphrodite, see Kenaan 2008. On the story, see Reed 2013; Fratantuono 2014, ad loc.; Fakas and Kanavou (in this volume). Detienne 1994, 76–78 makes an interesting comment on this detail, arguing that Ovid possibly alludes to the Sacrum Anniversarium Cereris, in which men were not allowed to participate. This exclusion was even consecrated by a linguistic taboo, according to which pronouncing the words pater and filia was strictly forbidden (cf. the possible echo in lines 467–468, on which see the comment by Cahoon 2005, 251–252). The incestuous

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traps Cinyras, who ends up welcoming his own daughter to his bed; this scelus is sealed with Myrrha’s pregnancy. The young woman takes flight after her father’s discovery of her identity by lamplight; enraged, he whips out his sword to kill her. She wanders nine months through the fields, leaving Panchaea and palmbearing Arabia behind, until she rests in the land of the Saba. There, Myrrha prays that she be banned from both the realms of the living and the dead, and is eventually turned into a tree: fixed in her new, arboreal form, she gives birth to a child; this boy, we learn a few lines below, is Adonis, Venus’ beloved. Two versions seem to have circulated by Ovid’s time. The original version was oriental, and had Smyrna involved in a love affair with her father Theias, the Assyrian king, owing to the wrath of Aphrodite, whom she did not honour. Smyrna tries to hide to escape death by her father’s sword: finally caught, she prays to the gods that she might become invisible, and in response, they change her into the homonymous tree (smyrna, ‘myrrh’). Sometime later, this bursts, and Adonis is born on the spot.66 The Cypriot variant of this myth, substituted Cinyras for Theias, and presumably occurred as a result of Adonis’ debated ancestry:67 some claimed Cypriot roots, ascribing his paternity to the Cypriot king Cinyras,68 and thus made Smyrna/Myrrha too a ‘Cypriot’.69 For what it is worth, it is to be noted that Syrian origins were recognised in the Cypriot king Cinyras,70 making him the most suitable surrogate to Theias. Literary sources do not provide clear-cut evidence as to which version Roman authors followed. The few surviving lines from Cinna’s Smyrna do not allow safe assumptions.71 Catullus 95.5 refers to the obscure Cypriot river Satrachus as a place to which Cinna’s famous epyllion shall be conveyed, but this does not

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father-daughter union not only coincides with the festival days of chastity, but also ironically accentuates an opposition: the incest is set against the background of these ritual prescriptions. Panyassis fr. 28 GEF = Apollod. Bibl. 3.14.4. This version is also followed by Lycophron, Alex. 828f. (the story takes place in Byblis), Nicander, Heter. apud Anton. Lib. Met. 34 (not recording the detail of the transformation), and later, Oppian, Hal. 3.402 f. On this, see Matthews 1974, 121–122, and Baurain 1980, 285. Pl. Com. Adonis fr. 3 PCG apud Athen. 10.456a-b; Antim. Lyde? fr. 92 Matthews, cf. Ovid’s reference to Lyde in Tr. 1.6.1–4 with Matthews 1996, 19–20. Of the authors who recounted the Cypriot version, we know Xenophon the Cypriot (see Suda s.v. Ξενοφῶν), presumably a novel-writer of the Myrrha-Cinyras story (see Kanavou in this volume), and Theodorus, Met. apud Plut. Mor. 311 (= Parall. 22) = SH 749 with Forbes Irving 1990, 240 for further detail. Apollod. Bibl. 3.14.3. Frr. 6–8 Courtney = frr. 7–10 Hollis with id. 2007, 29–38 for a commentary.

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result in anything conclusive about the Myrrha and Cinyras affair.72 In Hyginus, Ovid’s contemporary,73 we find both traditions combined (Fab. 58): Cinyras, the king of Assyria, is married to Cenchreis, Smyrna’s mother, who boasted that her daughter surpassed Venus in beauty: the goddess strikes the young girl with sinful love for her father, but then pities her, and changes her into the myrrh tree. Ovid’s Myrrha story seems to be modelled on both the Cypriot and oriental versions. The setting is not Cyprus:74 Myrrha wanders through the quasifabulous territory of the distant East; she deserts the palm-bearing Arabia, and the Panchaean country (situated around the Arabian peninsula), and then moves deeper into Arabia in its southern part, the land of the Saba.75 Myrrha’s father is more of a figurative Cinyras: the lines do not suggest a royal identity for him, and if anything, he comes closer, judging from the story’s atmosphere, to the Assyrian Theias. In other words, we are given the impression that this Cinyras serves as his doppelganger: the name Cinyras is only used to establish a link between Adonis and Pygmalion to prove the former’s Cypriot origin.76 Ovid is aware of the attested relationship in mythology between Pygmalion and Cinyras, both being the legendary kings of Cyprus77 (according to some, Cinyras marries Pygmalion’s daughter).78 However, the poet modifies the details of the

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75

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It is likely that Satrachus did have a place in Cinna’s Smyrna; on the basis of Nonn. Dion. 13.456–460, this river was the bridebath of Aphrodite, and Adonis often bathed in it (hence the waters are called sacras): this Cypriot spot definitely featured in the Adonis-Venus story (cf. Parthenius fr. 29 Lightfoot = SH 641, where Satrachus comes up in an Adonisnarrative; also Prop. 2.13.53–56, recording Adonis’ death on the island), but this does not mean that the Myrrha story in Cinna’s Smyrna took place on Cyprus. On Cat. 95.5, see Morgan 1991; Noonan 1986; Leigh 1994, 188–189. We should note that we cannot know the direction of influence. Ovid appears to blur the place where the love between Adonis and Venus flourishes in the story to immediately follow (10.503–559): but could we read lines 530–531 (Venus does not visit Paphos or Amathus anymore, but only goes where Adonis does) as meaning that the setting for their love affair is not Cyprus? Myrrha’s sojourn in Arabia is also recorded in the (ps-)Vergilian Ciris 237 f. Lyne 1978, 39– 45, 185–186 considers Cinna the source from where both Ovid and the author of the Ciris draw for the Myrrha story. The Smyrna frr. mention the heroine’s tears, a detail which may be implicit in Ovid’s story too at 500–501, where Myrrha’s weeping induces metamorphosis into the myrrh tree (cf. Ars 1.285–288); myrrh was known as ‘tears of sap’ from as early as Aristotle (Metaph. 388b18, 389a14) and Theophrastus (HP 4.4.12, 7.6.3, 9.1.2, 4). Cf. Bion of Smyrna (fl. ca. 100 bc), who in his Adonis states that Adonis was ‘Aphrodite’s Assyrian lord’ (line 24) and speaks of ‘pouring out upon him perfumes of Syria’ (77), but also refers to him as the son of Cinyras (91). For a commentary, see Reed 1997, ad loc. However, Cinyras’ genealogy is, admittedly, a matter of inextricable complexity: on this, see Baurain 1980. This does not disrupt Ovid’s mythological ‘timeline’, or clash with the identity of the Pro-

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myth, showing that he is handling his material in a creative manner, and disconnects Cinyras and Pygmalion from this identity.

5

Concluding Remarks

Cyprus was for Ovid, as for other ancient authors, a source of inspiration, especially because of Cypris. The poet’s handling of its myths indicates what we call ‘creative consciousness’: he alters, elaborates, or even adds new aspects of the mythological narrative, refusing to resort to mere reproduction. In his Metamorphoses, Ovid endows these explicitly Cypriot myths with moments of religious reality relevant to Venus’ cult on the island. In investing the myths with details about the space and practice of the goddess’ worship extending from Amathus to Salamis and Palaepaphos, he demonstrates a lively interest and deep knowledge. Where Ovid draws his material from for these sites we can never know, but an interesting possibility is that a connecting link between him and Cyprus was his close friend—addressed in the Ex Ponto79—Paulus Fabius Maximus, appointed as a proconsul of Asia and Cyprus, a province of the former. His wife, Marcia, full cousin of Augustus, also receiving a mention in the Ovidian works,80 appears in a dedicatory inscription from Paphos: ‘To Marcia, daughter of Philippus, and cousin of the god Caesar Augustus, wife of Paulus Fabius Maximus, the Senate and People of Paphos “Augusta” (has decreed this honour)’.81 Cyprus was not only a place of myth, but a real place too, for the Romans of Ovid’s day.

Acknowledgements My thanks to Stephen Heyworth for his acute eye, and comments. This paper was written whilst the author was the grateful holder of a doctoral scholarship from the Onassis Foundation. All translations are my own.

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poetides: according to the interpretation I offer, they are the daughters of the historical Cinyras, the legendary king of Cyprus. Pont. 1.2 with Gaertner 2005, ad loc. for a commentary. See Fasti 6.801–810. Ovid’s wife must have been one of the Fabii; see the reference to Marcia in Pont. 3.1.75–78. On her kinship with Augustus, see Pont. 1.2.138–140. IGR iii 939 = CIG 2629. On the identification with Ovid’s Marcia, see Frazer 2015, ad F. 6.801f., and Carcopino 1963, 134–137.

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chapter 10

Imagined Sacral Landscape? Cult Sites of Apollo Hylates in the Ancient Literary Sources Fritz Mitthof

Apollo was the most important male deity of Cyprus and consort of Aphrodite. In particular, he was honoured on the island under the epiclesis Ὑλάτης. In the late Hellenistic and Roman period the centre of this cult was located to the west of the city of Curium (Kourion).1 The epiclesis ‘Hylates’ apparently derives from the Greek word ὕλη.2 As it seems, Hylates was the god of the forest. Already in antiquity the name was associated with the fact that a sacred grove (ὕλη or ἄλσος) was located by the sanctuary of Curium. Modern scholarship also interprets the name in the sense that vegetation and fertility played a special role in the cult.3 Furthermore, there are indications that the name Hylates originally referred to the cult of an autochthonous Cypriot deity and was only later linked to Apollo in the Hellenistic period (see below, point 1). However, the name of the place where the shrine of Apollo near Curium was located remains unclear. There are various designations in the ancient sources and consequently diverging views in modern scholarship. This paper will demonstrate that these divergent toponyms used by the ancient authors can be explained by dividing them into several traditions and at the same time by viewing them in their diachronic development in several stages. To show this, I will proceed in six steps.

1 On the history of the cult of Apollo on Cyprus and the places related to it, as well as on the various epithets of Apollo attested in this context see Masson 1960; Młynarczyk 1980; Glover 1981; Vernet 2011; Balandier–Vernet 2014; Vernet 2015a; Vernet 2015b; Cayla 2015; Vernet 2016; Ambros 2017; cf. Wernicke 1895, esp. 71 and 77. In general, on the forms of representation and veneration of Apollo see the Lexicon Iconographicum Mythologiae Classicae (LIMC) ii 1 (1984), 183–464. 2 It has been convincingly shown by Yialoucas (2011 and 2020, 571) that the epiclesis Ὑλάτης is connected with the word ὕλη, whereas the ancient popular tradition reported by Aelianus (see below, point 4) of its equation with Ὑλάκτης, deriving from the verb ὑλακτέω and referring to the barking of hunting dogs, is to be regarded as product of a pseudo-etymology. 3 See Birge 1981; Capdeville 1993, 136–139; Capdeville 2003; Balandier 2014; cf. Lambrinoudakis– Sgouleta 2005, 310–316, esp. 314 no. 62.

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1. The epigraphic evidence for the epiclesis consists of six syllabic and approximately twenty-two alphabetic attestations.4 Two points can be derived from a general assessment of these texts: first, the god was simply referred to as ‘Hylates’ or ‘Theos Hylates’ in the classical and early Hellenistic periods. The Greek interpretation as ‘Apollo Hylates’ does not seem to have taken place until the third century bc. Secondly, for the earlier period the veneration of Hylates can be identified at several locations in south-western Cyprus. From the third century bc Curium appears to have established itself as the dominant or even exclusive centre of the cult. Alphabetical inscriptions for Hylates appear only here.5 2. The literary tradition on Hylates begins with two texts, namely with the Alexandra by Lycophron and the Bassarica by Dionysius.6 The Alexandra is a dramatic monologue in which Cassandra foresees the fate of Troy and its heroes. It is unclear whether the author of this piece can be identified with the tragic poet Lycophron of Chalcis who worked in Alexandria around 300 bc, or whether it is a person of the same name who lived a century later. Lines 447–449 of the Alexandra feature an account of five heroes landing on Cyprus: Teucer, Agapenor, Acamas, Cepheus, and Praxandrus. The island (or at least a part of it) is referred to as the ‘land of Hylates’.7

4 The six attestations in syllabic script are as follows (by place of provenance; no. according to Masson 1983): Drymou: Theos Hylates: one inscription (no. 85), 5th c. bc;—Chytri: (Theos) Hylates: two inscriptions (no. 250–250a), 4th c. bc;—Nea Paphos: Apollon Hylates: two inscriptions (no. 2–3), 4th c. bc;—origin unknown (Chytri?): Apollon Hylates: one inscription (no. 339).—In contrast, the 22 attestations in alphabetic script (some of them restored) have been found exclusively in Curium and moreover are to be dated later than those in syllabic, namely from the 3rd c. bc to the 2nd c. ad. I.Kourion (= Mitford 1971) 34; 41; 49–50; 60–62; 64; 74; 77; 105 (= SEG 33, 1209); 108–111; 120; 122–125; 144; SEG 46, 1742.—On the two writing systems of Greek and their use in the epigraphic culture of ancient Cyprus see now Körner 2017, 71–98; Körner 2019. 5 There are only two attestations for Apollo Hylates which do not come from Curium, but these texts have a special background: the famous oath of allegiance to the emperor Tiberius from Palaepaphos, in which Apollo Hylates is mentioned amongst the oath deities (SEG 18, 578 = 51, 1896), and the dedication OGIS i 53 from Coptos in Egypt. Furthermore, there is a monument from Nea Paphos in which the epiclesis has been restored (SEG 18, 587). 6 For the following cf. Yialoucas 2020, 574–575. 7 Lycophron, Alexandra (ed. Fusillo = ed. Hornblower 2015), 447–449: Οἱ πέντε δὲ Σφήκειαν εἰς Κεραστίαν καὶ Σάτραχον βλώξαντες Ὑλάτου τε γῆν Μορφὼ παροικήσουσι τὴν Ζηρυνθίαν. It is still an open question when exactly the Alexandra was composed and whether it refers to political events of the 2nd c. bc or not; see Fusillo et al. 17–27. More recently Hornblower 2018 argues for a date around 190bc. On the ancient foundation myths of Cyprus see Körner 2017,

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The Alexandra is an obscure text. Thus, it is easily understandable that in antiquity this text developed a long tradition of scholia. These scholia can be divided up into an older and a younger phase, the scholia vetera and recentiora respectively. In the scholia vetera Hylates is identified as Apollo and the epiclesis is derived from Hyle. In part of the manuscripts this Hyle is referred to as ἱερά, in the rest as τόπος or ἱερόν. In the scholia recentiora another sentence is added in which Hyle is referred to as a city (πόλις) where Apollo Hylates was worshipped.8 This second sentence—according to which Hyle is a polis—can be found in Aelius Herodianus (ca. ad 180–250)9 and Stephanus of Byzantium (6th c. ad) as well as, in slightly modified form, in Eustathius (12th c. ad).10 All three authors refer to Lycophron. They, therefore, got their information from the scholia. The older scholia are from the Augustan period, while the more recent ones date from the late Roman period. We can conclude that the designation of Hyle as topos or polis appears to have emerged in the second or third century ad at the earliest; the scholia originally referred to a ‘sacred grove’ (ὕλη ἱερά). 3. The second tradition mentioned earlier (see above, point 2) goes back to the epic poet Dionysius and his Bassarica, of which only fragments are preserved. The text describes the Indian campaign of Dionysus. New papyrus finds indicate that its author lived in the first century ad.11 Apollo Hylates appears in fragment no. 4 and Tembros, Erystheia and Amamassos are mentioned as his cult sites.12 All three places are only mentioned here and cannot be loc-

8 9

10

11 12

98–125 and Voskos (in this volume). On the Cypriot name Praxandrus and the importance of Lycophron’s Alexandra as evidence for local myths of foundation see Hornblower 2010. Scholia in Lycophronem recentiora (rec. Scheer), Scholion 448: Ὕλη πόλις Κύπρις, ἐν ᾗ Ἀπόλλων τιμᾶται Ὑλάτης. Aelius Herodianus, Περὶ παρωνύμων, vol. 3.2, p. 864, l. 16: Ὕλη, πόλις Κύπρου, ἐν ᾗ Ἀπόλλων τιμᾶται Ὑλάτης. Λυκόφρων· καὶ Σέτραχον βλώξαντες Ὑλάτου τε γῆν. On the numerous works attributed to Aelius Herodianus and on the question of their authenticity see Dyck 1993 and Dickey 2014. The work Περὶ παρωνύμων referred to in the present context can be regarded as authentic; see Dickey 1993, 338 no. 41. Stephanus Byzantius, Ethnica (ed. Billerbeck), vol. iv: Π–Υ: Ὕλη, πόλις Κύπρου, ἐν ᾗ Ἀπόλλων τιμᾶται Ὑλάτης. Λυκόφρων· καὶ Σέτραχον βλώξαντες Ὑλάτου τε γῆν. Eustathius, Commentarii ad Homeri Iliadem, vol. 2, p. 176, l. 23: Ὕλη καὶ ἄλλη Κύπρου, ἀφ᾽ ἧς καὶ Ὑλάτης Ἀπόλλων παρὰ Λυκόφρονι. See Benaissa 2011, 49 and 2013. Dionysius, Bassarica, p. 84 fr. 4 (ed. Livrea) = pp. 88–89 fr. 2 (ed. Benaissa): οἵ τ᾽ ἔχον Ὑλάταο θεοῦ ἕδος Ἀπόλλωνος, Τέμβρον Ἐρύσθειάν τε καὶ εἰναλίην Ἀμαμασσόν.

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ated.13 Nevertheless, the passage states that Apollo Hylates was viewed as a pan-Cypriot cult by the author. Stephanus included all three sites in his Ethnica with the note that they are Cypriot poleis where Apollo Hylates is worshipped.14 From here the information was transferred to the Etymologicum Symeonis (12th c. ad).15 Finally, the late antique epic poet Nonnus of Panopolis mentions the land of Hylates in his Dionysiaca. He reproduces Dionysius’ words in a modified form and lists not only three, but four cult sites: Sestos, Tamassos, Tembros, and Erystheia.16 This catalogue is just as fictitious as the one compiled by Dionysius. Only Tamassos which appears here instead of Amamassos can be identified. But we do not know anything about a cult of Hylates at that location.17 4. A further literary mention appears in the work “On the Characteristics of Animals” by Claudius Aelianus (ca. ad 170–225). He reports on hinds that find shelter from hunting dogs in the sanctuary of Apollo in the vicinity of Curium (Kουριάς). He describes the sanctuary as ἄλσος μέγιστον (sacred grove of large extent).18 By referring to the barking of dogs (ὑλακτοῦσι) he alludes to the cult 13 14

15 16

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For theories regarding the location of these toponyms see Chuvin 1991, 90–94; cf. Benaissa 2018, 150–151. Stephanus Byzantius, Ethnica (ed. Billerbeck), vol. i: Α–Γ, A 251: Ἀμαμασσός, πόλις Κύπρου, ἐν ᾗ τιμᾶται Ὑλάτης Ἀπόλλων. τὸ ἐθνικὸν Ἀμαμάσσιος καὶ Ἀμαμασσεύς—loc. cit., vol. ii: Δ– Ι, E 136: Ἐρύσθεια, πόλις Κύπρου, ἐν ᾗ Ἀπόλλων τιμᾶται Ὑλάτης. Διονύσιος Βασσαρικῶν τρίτῃ· οἵ τ᾽ἔχον Ὑλάταο θεοῦ ἕδος Ἀπόλλωνος, Τέμβρον Ἐρύσθειάν τε καὶ εἰναλίην Ἀμαμασσόν.—loc. cit., vol. iv: Π–Υ: Τέμβρος, πόλις Κύπρου, ἐν ᾗ τετίμηται Ὑλάτης Ἀπόλλων. τὸ ἐθνικὸν Τέμβριος. Etymologicum Symeonis, vol. 1, p. 358, l. 1: Ἀμαμασσός, πόλις Κύπρου, ἐν ᾗ τιμᾶται Ὑλάτης Ἀπόλλων. Ἀμαμάσσιος καὶ Ἀμαμασσεύς. Nonnus, Dionysiaca 13.444–445: οἵ τ᾽ ἔχον Ὑλάταο πέδον καὶ ἐδέθλια Σηστοῦ / καὶ Τάμασον καὶ Τέμβρον Ἐρύσθειάν τε πολίχνην. On the interpretation of these verses see Chuvin 1991, 90–94. In Tamassos-Phrangissa an important sanctuary of Apollo/Reshef has been identified. In the present context of special relevance are two bilingual—Greek (in syllabic script) and Phoenician—dedications from the fourth century bc, which were found on the spot. In the Greek version of the first monument the deity is called Apollon Helewitas (‘Apollo, lord of the swamp’, derived from ἕλος), in the second Apollon Alasiotas (‘Apollo, lord of Alasia’, Alasia/Alashiya being one of the names of the island of Cyprus in the earliest written sources; see Neu 1995, 4–5; Goren 2003; Yon 2007; Buchholz 2011; Ambros 2017, 32–34). Both epicleses are attested only here. In the Phoenician version Apollo is identified with Reshef, and the epitheta—in the first case ’lyyt, in the second ’lhyts—are to be regarded as transliterations of the Greek names; see Masson 1983, 224–228 no. 215–216; Egetmeyer 2010, 812–814; Ambros 2017, 32–34 and 38–39; Körner 2019, 70. As it seems, there is no lingustic connection between the Greek epicleses Hylates (derived from ὕλη) and Helewitas (derived from ἕλος). Aelianus, De natura animalium 11, 7: Ἐν Κουριάδι αἱ ἔλαφοι … ὅταν καταφύγωσιν ἐς τὸ τοῦ

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name Hylates which is not explicitly mentioned. Here a different, maybe popular etymology for the epiclesis becomes tangible (see above, footnote 2). 5. The Acta Barnabae must be mentioned as the final and perhaps the most important testimony. It is a text that is rooted in the tradition of the apocryphal Acts of the Apostles. It supposedly takes place at the time of the Apostles. It gives an account of the missionary journey of Barnabas from Antioch to Cyprus and his martyrdom in Salamis. In reality, the text was composed in the fifth century ad when the church of Cyprus was trying to assert its status as apostolic foundation in a dispute with Antioch. The author of the Acta clearly had detailed local knowledge. At the same time, we must assume that some heathen practices and celebrations still existed. In the passage of interest to us,19 the narrator reports that after a visit to Palaepaphos, Barnabas and his followers wanted to continue westward to (Nea) Paphos but were stopped on their way. They therefore returned and went eastward to Curium. Before they reached this city they bumped into a heathen celebration on the street, where a race with naked men and women was taking place. Barnabas considered the activities to be licentious and wanted to put an end to it. For this purpose, he brought ‘the western parts’ (of buildings?) to collapse. Many visitors died, and the rest took refuge in the sanctuary of Apollo that was located close by. This place carries the name ‘Hiera’ (as feminine noun), as the author remarks. Barnabas and his men proceeded to Curium, where they were not allowed to enter. As a result, they continued their trip eastward. Recent scholarship has interpreted this passage from the Acta Barnabae differently.20 Kent Rigsby (1996) notes that the text had been overlooked by scholars for a long time. Only Eugen Oberhummer (1922) mentioned it. In terms of

19

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Ἀπόλλωνος ἱερὸν ἐνταυθοῖ (ἔστι δὲ ἄλσος μέγιστον), ὑλακτοῦσι μὲν οἱ κύνες, πλησίον δὲ ἐλθεῖν οὐχ ὑπομένουσιν. Acta Barnabae (ed. Bonnet), 18–19: … κατηντήσαμεν ἐν Παλαιᾷ Πάφῳ … οὗτος οὐκ εἴασεν ἡμᾶς εἰσελθεῖν ἐν Πάφῳ, ἀλλ᾽ ὑποστρέψαντες ἤλθομεν ἐν τῷ Κουρίῳ. Καὶ εὕρομεν δρόμον τινὰ μιερὸν ἐν τῇ ὁδῷ πλησίον τῆς πόλεως ἐπιτελούμενον, ἔνθα γυναικῶν τε καὶ ἀνδρῶν πλῆθος γυμνῶν ἐπετέλουν τὸν δρόμον· καὶ πολλὴ ἀπάτη καὶ πλάνη ἐγίνετο ἐν τῷ τόπῳ ἐκείνῳ. Στραφεὶς δὲ ὁ Βαρνάβας τούτῳ ἐπετίμησεν, καὶ ἔπεσεν τὸ ἀπὸ δυσμῶν μέρος, ὥστε πολλοὺς τραυματίας γενέσθαι· πολλοὶ δὲ ἐξ αὐτῶν καὶ ἀπέθανον, οἱ δὲ λοιποὶ ἔφυγον εἰς τὸ ἱερὸν τοῦ Ἀπόλλωνος τὸ ὂν πλησίον ἐν τῇ καλουμένῃ Ἱερᾷ. Ἐλθόντων δὲ ἡμῶν ἐγγὺς τοῦ Κουρίου … οὐκ εἴασαν ἡμᾶς εἰσελθεῖν εἰς τὴν πόλιν …—The detailed version of the passage quoted here is only preserved in the Codex Parisinus. In other manuscripts the words ἐν τῇ καλουμένῃ Ἱερᾷ are missing. In the Latin translation there is even a large gap in place of this passage. For a detailed comment on the entire passage see now Yialoucas 2020. Cf. the discussion in Yialoucas 2020, esp. 560 with n. 10; 564; 577–579.

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its interpretation, Rigsby was of the opinion that the text clearly illustrates that the site, where the Apollo sanctuary of Curium is located, was not called ‘Hyle’ but instead ‘Hiera’. He surmises that this could be a short form for a toponym such as ‘Hiera Kome’, holy village. Oliver Masson (1997) picked up Rigby’s assertion. He thinks that it could be possible but is not entirely convinced. Regarding Oberhummer, he clarifies that the Austrian scholar was still using the old edition of the Acta Barnabae by Tischendorf (1853) and not by Bonnet (1903). In this older edition, ἱερᾷ is still written in minuscule, meaning that it was not understood as a toponym (and this is the reason why Oberhummer assumed that Hyle was the name of the place where the sanctuary was located). A completely different interpretation is offered by Philipp H. Young (2005), who participated in the excavations of the University of Indianapolis in Rantidi.21 Young speculates that the episode from the Acta Barnabae actually did not take place by Curium, but instead on the way between Paphos and Curium, namely in Rantidi. As it is known from syllabic inscriptions found on site, the sanctuary on the hill which today is called Λιγγρή του Διγενή is dedicated to a male deity whose name remains unknown.22 This god probably is to be identified with the male consort of the goddess worshipped at Palaepaphos, who in other cult places appears under the name of Apollo.23 Young’s theory appears unfounded for the following reasons: – The text of the Acta Barnabae leaves no doubt that the polis mentioned in the text is to be identified as Curium. This holds especially for the phrase ἐν τῇ ὁδῷ πλησίον τῆς πόλεως, which can only refer to Curium and not to Palaepaphos. It thus becomes clear that the events described are taking place in front of the city. – Young interprets the term δρόμος as a procession or pilgrimage that went from Palaepaphos to Rantidi. Such an interpretation does not seem plausible. According to the older interpretation, δρόμος refers to the stadium that is located directly along the ancient road between the sanctuary of Apollo and the city of Curium, and I do not see any need to deviate from this interpretation. It must be kept in mind that, according to ancient understanding, 21 22

23

For an overview on the history and results of the excavations at Rantidi see Mitford– Masson 1983, 3–22 and Young 2005, 29–34. Out of the approximately 100 syllabic inscriptions which have been found in the sanctuary of Rantidi only one, a boundary stone, mentions the word ‘theos’, followed by an epithet which remains unintelligible (Mitford–Masson 1983, 34–35 Nr. 1). On the veneration of the anonymous ‘theos’ in Rantidi and other places such as Curium, Dhrymou and Chytri and the later identification of this deity with Apollo see Vernet 2015, 179–182.

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the term δρόμος did not only denote the foot race itself but also the racetrack. Moreover, according to Oberhummer (1922), the place where the stadium is located was still called the ἱπποδρόμιον in the late nineteenth century. For this reason, Oberhummer without hesitation identified the stadium with the δρόμος from the Acta Barnabae. – The expression ‘western parts’ (τὸ ἀπὸ δυσμῶν μέρος) is best suited to a larger building that extends in a west-east direction. This is the case with the stadium which would be an ideal candidate. By contrast, at Rantidi only parts of the surrounding walls of the temenos have been identified, but no larger buildings. As an alternative, Young considers that Barnabas could have triggered a landslide on the hill of Rantidi. In my opinion, this interpretation cannot be reconciled with the Greek text. If we take all this into consideration, it seems apparent that the Acta Barnabae refer to the sanctuary by Curium. This means that the place was called ‘Hiera’. 6. In the Acta Barnabae the substantive to which the adjective Ἱερά refers is omitted. Rigsby 1996 suggested the place name Ἱερὰ Κώμη. Since there are no archaeological traces of a settlement in the direct surroundings of the sanctuary this suggestion seems not very likely. The same applies to the alternative reconstruction Ἱερὰ Πόλις. Such a place name would imply even larger edificial structures. Exactly for this reason the terminology of the Scholia of Lycophron’s Alexandra and of all authors and works depending on them is highly suspect, as demonstrated above. To conclude: In my opinion there are no doubts that the place where the shrine of Apollo in Curium was located was called Hiera Hyle. This assumption compellingly arises from the oldest source that is available to us today, namely the already mentioned older scholia of Lycophron’s Alexandra. In particular, Peter Fraser has shown that these scholia draw from the works of Eratosthenes and Philostephanus, two famous Alexandrian scholars of the third century bc. At that time, Cyprus was not only politically but also intellectually integrated into the Ptolemaic kingdom. The template for our scholia might have originated from among the geographical and historical works of this time period. And in these texts the place where the sanctuary of Apollo Hylates was located, was referred to as Hiera Hyle. On Cyprus the memory of this name remained until at least the fifth century ad. However, far away from Cyprus, in the scholarly world of the Greek East, first the topos Hyle and then the polis Hyle were created as fictitious entities in the course of the Roman period. Even the names of additional cult places of

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Hylates were invented, as demonstrated by Dionysius and Nonnus. In this way, all testimonies seem to have been brought into a convincing order.

Acknowledgements This paper is a reshaped and updated version in English of Mitthof 2017, and I would like to thank Holzhausen Publisher for permission. The argument has been made clearer, and further and more recent scientific literature has been added, e.g. Benaissa 2018; Egetmeyer 2010; Hornblower 2010, 2015 and 2018, Körner 2017 and 2019; Yialoucas 2020.

Bibliography Ancient Authors Acta Barnabae (ed. Bonnet): Bonnet, M. (1903). Acta Apostolorum Apocrypha ii.2: Acta Philippi et Acta Thomae, accedunt Acta Barnabae, Leipzig, pp. 292–302. Acta Barnabae (ed. Tischendorf): Tischendorf, C. (1851). Acta Apostolorum Apocrypha, Leipzig, pp. 64–74. Aelius Herodianus (ed. Lentz): Lentz, A. (1867). Grammatici Graeci: recogniti et apparatu critico instructi, pars 3, vol. 2, Tomus 2, fasc. 1: Herodiani Technici reliquiae … . Leipzig. Dionysius, Bassarica (ed. Livrea): Livrea, H. (1973). Dionysii Bassaricon et Gigantiadis fragmenta. Rome. Dionysius, Bassarica (ed. Benaissa): Benaissa, A. (2018). Dionysius, The Epic Fragments. Cambridge. Lycophron, Alexandra (ed. Fusillo): Fusillo, M., Hurst, A., Paduano, G. (1991). Licofrone, Alessandra. Milan. Lycophron, Alexandra (ed. Hornblower): Hornblower, S. (2015). Lykophron, Alexandra: Greek Text, Translation, Commentary, and Introduction. Oxford. Scholia recentiora in Lycophronem (ed. Scheer): Scheer, E. (1958). Lycophronis Alexandra, Vol. ii: Scholia continens. Berlin (ed. pr. ibid. 1908). Scholia vetera in Lycophronem (ed. Leone): Leone, P.A. (2002). Scholia vetera et paraphrases in Lycophronis Alexandram. Galatina. Stephanus Byzantius, Ethnica (ed. Billerbeck): Billerbeck, M. (2006–2016). Stephani Byzantii Ethnica. 6 vols. Berlin.

Inscriptions Masson, O. (1983). Les inscriptions chypriotes syllabiques. Recueil critique et commenté. Réimpression augmentée. Paris.

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Mitford, T.B. (1971). The Inscriptions of Kourion. Philadelphia. Mitford, T.B., and Masson, O. (1983). The Syllabic Inscriptions of Rantidi-Paphos, Ausgrabungen in Alt-Paphos auf Cypern 2. Konstanz.

Modern Scholarship Ambros, G. (2017). Konvergenz und Synkretismus: Die Epitheta des Apollon in Zypern. In: G. Ambros and G. Koiner, eds., Antikes Zypern–Kulturen im Dialog. Akten des ersten Zypern-Workshops an der Universität Graz, am 16. Juni 2016. Vienna, pp. 31– 56. Balandier C. (2014). Une parcelle de paradis: Jardins et bois sacrés de Grèce et de Chypre – hiérokèpos, alsos ou hylè. In: E. Morvillez, ed., Paradeisos, genèse et métamorphose de la notion de Paradis dans l’Antiquité. Actes du colloque international organisé par Éric Morvillez. Paris, pp. 41–60. Balandier C. and Vernet, Y. (2017). The Sanctuary of Apollo Hylates at Paphos–Alonia tou Episkopou: A Critical Re-examination, RDAC 2011–2012 (non vidi). Benaissa, Α. (2011). The Oxyrhynchus Papyri, Volume lxxvii. London, pp. 47–54 Nr. 5103. Benaissa, A. (2013). P.Lond. Lit. 40 Revisited: New Readings in Dionysius’ Bassarica. ArchPF 59/2, pp. 280–297. Birge, D. (1981). Alsos and the Sanctuary of Apollo Hylates. In: J.C. Biers and D. Soren, eds., Studies in Cypriot Archaeology. Los Angeles, pp. 153–158. Buchholz, H.-G. (2011). Der Apollon Alasiotas von Tamassos in archaischer Zeit und Alašija im 2. vorchristlichen Jahrtausend. In: H. Matthäus et al., eds., Der Orient und die Anfänge Europas: Kulturelle Beziehungen von der Späten Bronzezeit bis zur Frühen Eisenzeit. Wiesbaden, pp. 73–100. Capdeville, G. (1993). De la forêt initiatique au bois sacré. In: O. de Cazanove and J. Scheid, eds., Les bois sacrés. Actes du Colloque International organisé par le Centre Jean Bérard et l’École Pratique des Hautes Études (ve section), Naples, 23–25 novembre 1989. Paris, pp. 127–143. Capdeville, G. (2003). L’épiphanie du dieu dans l’arbre et le culte de l’arbre sacré en Crète et à Chypre. In: A. Motte and Ch.-M. Ternes, eds., Dieux, fêtes, sacré dans la Grèce et la Rome antiques, Actes du colloque tenu à Luxembourg du 24 au 26 octobre 1999. Turnhout, pp. 23–52. Cayla, J.-B. (2015). Apollon ou la vie sauvage: À propos de quelques épiclèses d’Apollon à Chypre. In: N. Belayche et al., eds., Nommer les dieux, Thénoymes, épithètes, épiclèses dans l’Antiquité. Rennes, pp. 227–240. Chuvin, P. (1991). Mythologie et géographie dionysiaques. Recherches sur l’œuvre de Nonnos de Panopolis. Clermont-Ferrand. Dickey, E. (2014). A Catalogue of Works Attributed to the Grammarian Herodian. CPh 109, pp. 325–345. Dyck, A.R. (1993). Aelius Herodian: Recent Studies and Prospects for Future Research.

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In: W. Haase, ed., Aufstieg und Niedergang der Römischen Welt (ANRW), Teil ii: Principat, Band 34.1. Berlin/New York, pp. 772–794. Egetmeyer, Μ. (2010). Le dialecte grec ancien de Chypre. 2 vols. Berlin/New York. Neu, E. (1995). Zur Herkunft des Inselnamens Kypros. Glotta 73, pp. 1–7. Fraser, P.M. (1979). Lycophron on Cyprus. Report of the Department of Antiquites. Cyprus, pp. 328–343. Glover, S.C. (1981). The Cults of Apollo in Cyprus: A Preliminary Survey. In: J.C. Biers and D. Soren, eds., Studies in Cypriote Archaeology. Los Angeles, pp. 145–151. Goren, Y. (2003). The Location of Alashiya—New Evidence from Petrographic Investigations of Alashiyan Tablets from El-Amarna and Ugarit. AJA 107, pp. 233–256. Hornblower, S. (2010). Lykophron’s Alexandra and the Cypriot name Praxandros. In: R.W.V. Catling and F. Marchand, eds., Onomatologos: Studies in Greek Personal Names Presented to Elaine Matthews. Oxford, pp. 84–90. Hornblower, S. (2018). Lykophron’s Alexandra, Rome, and the Hellenistic World. Oxford. Körner, C. (2017). Die zyprischen Königtümer im Schatten der Großreiche des Vorderen Orients. Studien zu den zyprischen Monarchien vom 8. bis zum 4. Jh. v. Chr. Leuven/ Paris/Bristol, CT. Körner, C. (2019). Silbenschrift und Alphabetschrift im archaischen und klassischen Zypern—Ausruck verschiedener Identitäten? In: P. Amann et al., Sprachen–Schriftkulturen–Identitäten der Antike. Beiträge des xv. Internationalen Kongresses für Griechische und Lateinische Epigraphik. Fest- und Plenarvorträge. Vienna, pp. 59–76. Lambrinoudakis, V. in collaboration with Z. Sgouleta (i) and S. Petrounakos (iii, iv). In: Thesaurus Cultus et Rituum Antiquorum (ThesCRA) iii. Los Angeles, 3.b. Consecration, Foundation Rites, pp. 303–346. Masson, O. (1960). Cultes indigènes, culte grecs et cultes orientaux à Chypre. In: Éléments orientaux dans la religion grecque ancienne, Colloque de Strasbourg, 22–24 mai 1958. Paris, pp. 129–142 Masson, O. (1997). Sur le nom de la localité où s’élevait le temple d’Apollon Hylatès. CahCEC 27, pp. 21–24. Mitthof, F. (2017). Heiliger Wald (Hiera Hyle): Zum Namen des Kultplatzes des Apollon Hylates bei Kourion. In: G. Ambros and G. Koiner, eds., Antikes Zypern–Kulturen im Dialog. Akten des ersten Zypern-Workshops an der Universität Graz, am 16. Juni 2016. Vienna, pp. 57–66. Młynarczyk, J. (1980). The Paphian Sanctuary of Apollo Hylates. RDAC (1980), pp. 239– 252. Oberhummer, E. (1922). RE xi 2 (1922) 2210–2214 s.v. Kourion 2. Rigsby, K.J. (1996). Notes and Discussions iii: St. Barnabas and Apollon. CPh 91, pp. 257– 260. Vernet, Y. (2011). L’Apollon chypriote, de la nature et des animaux. CahCEC 41, pp. 251– 264.

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Vernet, Y. (2015a). L’Apollon de Chypre: naissance, évolution et caractéristiques du culte apollinien à Chypre et de ses origines à la fin de l’époque hellénistique. Diss., Université d’Avignon et des Pays de Vaucluse. Vernet, Y. (2015b). Some remarks on the beginnings of the cult of Apollo in Cyprus. In: I. Hadjikyriakos and M.G. Trentin, eds., Cypriot Cultural Details. Proceedings of the 10th Post Graduate Cypriot Archaeology Conference. Oxford, pp. 179–195. Vernet, Y. (2016). Le culte d’Apollon à Nea Paphos et ses environs de la fondation de la ville à la domination romaine. In: C. Balandier and E. Raptou, eds., Nea Paphos: Fondation et développement urbanistique d’une ville chypriote de l’antiquité à nos jours. Études archéologiques, historiques et patrimoniales. Actes du colloque international tenu à l’Université d’Avignon et des Pays de Vaucluse, 30 octobre–1er novembre 2012. Bordeaux, pp. 301–314. Wernicke, K. (1895). RE ii 1 (1895) 1–111 s.v. Apollon. Yialoucas, C.S. (2011). Apollo of Curium: Ὑλάτης or Ὑλά(κ)της? In: A. Dimitriou, ed., Proceedings of the ivth International Cyprological Congress, Lefkosia 29 April–3 May 2008, Vol. i.2, Ancient Section. Nicosia, pp. 777–790. Yialoucas, C.S. (2020). Acta Barnabae, Κεφ. 19: Άφιξη στην περιοχή του Κουρίου. Λεκτικές ασάφειες και πιθανές ερμηνείες. In: A. Papathomas, G. Karla, D. Stamatis, eds., ΗΜΑΤΑ ΠΑΝΤΑ. ΤΙΜΗΤΙΚΟΣ ΤΟΜΟΣ ΣΤΟΝ ΚΑΘΗΓΗΤΗ ΑΝΔΡΕΑ Ι. ΒΟΣΚΟ. Studies on Classical, Byzantine and Modern Greek Literature, Philosophy and Culture in Honour of Prof. Andreas I. Voskos. Athens, pp. 557–590. Yon, M. (2007). “Au rois d’Alasia, mon père …”. Cahiers du Centre d’Études Chypriotes 37, pp. 15–39. Young, Ph.H. (2005). The Cypriot Aphrodite Cult: Paphos, Rantidi, and Saint Barnabas. JNES 64, pp. 23–44.

part 5 Cyprus as a Place and topos

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chapter 11

“It Was Always Far Away”: Othering Cyprus in Greek Comedy Antonis K. Petrides

1

Between Self and Other: Cyprus in the Greek Imaginary

Political mythology has it that in August 1974, faced with the dilemma whether Greece should send troops to Cyprus to ward off the second wave of the Turkish invasion, Prime Minister Konstantinos Karamanlis responded: “Ἡ Κύπρος κεῖται μακράν” (‘Cyprus is far away’). This phrase supposedly encapsulated the collapse of any lingering illusions about Greece as the proverbial ‘National Centre’. In reality, Karamanlis’ reaction on this occasion,1 and his political thought at large, were much more nuanced. Nonetheless, the incident and its distortion suggest how ambiguous Cyprus has been in the modern Greek imaginary as a locus in-between Self and Other, an imperative of national pride, which remains geographically remote and thus unprioritised. The feeling frequently recurs in modern Greek literature, too. With the provocative Cavafyan concoction ἐν μέρει ἑλληνίζων2 as title of his Cypriot trilogy’s first instalment (2009), Miltiades Hatzopoulos3 ironised, all at once, the furiously polemical constructions of Cypriot identity and the bemusement of the Greek state visà-vis the increasingly pressing Cypriot demand for Enosis during the British colonial rule. In his ‘hidden’ poem ‘Returning from Greece’ (‘Ἐπάνοδος ἀπὸ τὴν Ἑλλάδα’),4 written a century earlier (1911), Cavafy himself had evoked this offcenteredness, even centrifugality, of Cyprus from the perspective of two Hellenistic Cypriots (one of them with a glaringly Greek name, Hermippos, the other anonymous). The duo is glad to be returning from Greece ‘to the fatherland’ and even gladder to be rid of any pretences ‘their kings’ entertained about their special brand of Greekness:

1 2 3 4

On the events, Hatzivassiliou 2011. C.P. Cavafy, ‘Τα επικίνδυνα’: “ἐν μέρει ἐθνικὸς κ᾽ ἐν μέρει χριστιανίζων …” (Cavafy 1991, 50). Hatzopoulos 2009. Cavafy 1993, 96–97.

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Εἴμεθα Ἕλληνες κ᾽ ἐμεῖς—τί ἄλλο εἴμεθα;— ἀλλὰ μὲ ἀγάπες καὶ μὲ συγκινήσεις τῆς Ἀσίας, ἀλλὰ μὲ ἀγάπες καὶ μὲ συγκινήσεις ποὺ κάποτε ξενίζουν τὸν ἑλληνισμό. We are Greeks, as well—what else are we?— But with Asiatic tastes and emotions, With tastes and emotions Sometimes alien to Hellenism.5 Such otherings of Cyprus are not exclusively modern. Classical Greek authors were just as ambivalent regarding the Cypriots.6 Aeschylus, Suppliant Women, 282–283, for example (Κύπριος χαρακτήρ τ᾽ ἐν γυναικείοις τύποις / εἰκὼς πέπληκται τεκτόνων πρὸς ἀρσένων, ‘a Cyprian stamp is struck upon the dies of women by male artificers’), is often athetised as an interpolation,7 but for our purposes it remains indicative; for the author of these lines, whoever he might have been, unproblematically included ‘the stamp of Cypriotness’ (Κύπριος χαρακτήρ) in the catalogue of motley foreign races (Libyans, Egyptians, Ethiopians, Indians, even the Amazons), to whom, rather than to the Argives, King Pelasgus κάρτ᾽ ἂν ἤικασεν the Danaids of the chorus. Similarly, Herodotus, 7.90, describing the Cypriot forces fighting at Xerxes’ side, projects an image of ethnic hybridity—a nation verging on the Greek but not achieving complete likeness: Κύπριοι δὲ παρείχοντο νέας πεντήκοντα καὶ ἑκατόν, ἐσκευασμένοι ὧδε· τὰς μὲν κεφαλὰς εἱλίχατο μίτρῃσι οἱ βασιλέες αὐτῶν, οἱ δὲ ἄλλοι εἶχον κιθῶνας [κιτάριας de Pauw], τὰ δὲ ἄλλα κατά περ Ἕλληνες. τούτων δὲ τοσάδε ἔθνεά εἰσι, οἳ μὲν ἀπὸ Σαλαμῖνος καὶ Ἀθηνέων, οἳ δὲ ἀπ᾽ Ἀρκαδίης, οἳ δὲ ἀπὸ Κύθνου, οἳ δὲ ἀπὸ Φοινίκης, οἳ δὲ ἀπὸ Αἰθιοπίης, ὡς αὐτοὶ Κύπριοι λέγουσι. The Cyprians provided a hundred and fifty ships. Their equipment was as follows: their princes wore turbans wrapped round their heads; the people wore tunics, but in all else were like the Greeks. Their tribes are 5 All translations are my own. 6 References to Cyprus by ancient authors are collected in Hadjioannou 1971. 7 On the problems, see Bowen 2013, 204–206. Bowen athetises the lines mostly on account of the paradox of including Cypriots among palpably non-Greek races. Other editors retain the lines but attempt to remove the linguistic oddities (τε as third word and the hanging εἰκώς, which is not followed by a noun in the dative as expected). Among the various emendations, Sommerstein’s (BICS 24, 1977, 69–71) is the most cogent: εἰκὼς χαρακτήρ τ᾽ ἐν γυναικείοις τύποις / Κυπρίοις πέπληκται τεκτόνων πρὸς ἀρσένων.

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these: some are from Salamis and Athens, some from Arcadia, some from Cythnus, some from Phoenicia, and some from Ethiopia, as the Cyprians themselves say. The leaders of the Cypriots (who are ‘kings’) cover their heads with oriental ‘turbans’ (μίτρῃσι), whereas the rank-and-file wear either ‘tunics’ (κιθῶνας), which could be Greek-style, or, if we believe de Pauw’s conjecture κιτάριας, a kind of Persian felt hat.8 Other than this, the Cypriots, Herodotus asserts, are κατά περ Ἕλληνες—even if, ‘as they themselves say’, Cyprus is a melting pot of Greeks (Salaminian, Athenian, Arcadian, Cythnian), Phoenicians, and Ethiopians.9 Such heterogeneity was not the result of the island’s size alone (Cyprus was seen as ingens),10 but the consequence of its spatiality. Cyprus was simply ‘far away’; one of those remote destinations in which suffering Homeric heroes like Menelaus, Teucer and the eventual founders of the Cypriot kingdoms (Cepheus, Praxander, Chalcanor, etc.) end up, either blindly wandering (ἐπαλάομαι)11 or commanded by the gods. It is the semi-fantastical εὐτοπία where Aphrodite was magically born from the sea,12 where her high priest, king Cinyras, lived in mythical affluence,13 and to which tragic choruses wish they could flee.14 Even so, Cyprus was always included in the mental map of the Greeks as—even εν μέρει—nostrum: the message of the Argive campaign to Troy does reach eventually the geographical limen that is this island—Κύπρονδε, ‘far off in Cyprus’, in Murray and Wyatt’s Loeb—and in response Cinyras donates a breastplate to Agamemnon.15

8

9

10 11

12 13 14 15

Cf. Poll. Onom. 7.58 (κίδαρις for κίταρις) and 10.163 (Herodotus using κίταρις as the Persian equivalent of τιάρα). No passage in Herodotus, as per the paradosis, contains the word, which for de Pauw provides strong justification for restoring it in 7.90. On Herodotus’ Cyprian λόγος, see Tsakmakis 2011, 407–414. Cf. Scylax, Per. 103: κατὰ δὲ Κιλικίαν ἐστὶ νῆσος Κύπρος, καὶ πόλεις ἐν αὐτῇ αἵδε· Σαλαμὶς Ἑλληνίς, λιμένα ἔχουσα κλειστὸν χειμερινόν, Καρπάσεια, Κερύνεια, Λήπηθις Φοινίκων, Σόλοι (καὶ αὕτη λιμένα ἔχει χειμερινόν), Μάριον Ἑλληνίς, Ἀμαθοῦς (αὐτόχθονές εἰσιν), αὗται πᾶσαι λιμένας ἔχουσαι ἐρήμους. εἰσὶ δὲ καὶ ἄλλαι πόλεις ἐν μεσογείᾳ βάρβαροι. Pomponius Mela, De situ orbis, 2.102; cf. Plin. HN 5.129–130. According to Scylax, Per. 114, Cyprus was the fourth largest island of the Mediterranean after Sardinia, Sicily, and Crete. Od. 4.81–85: ἦ γὰρ πολλὰ παθὼν καὶ πόλλ᾽ ἐπαληθεὶς / ἠγαγόμην ἐν νηυσὶ καὶ ὀγδοάτῳ ἔτει ἦλθον, / Κύπρον Φοινίκην τε καὶ Αἰγυπτίους ἐπαληθείς, / Αἰθίοπάς θ᾽ ἱκόμην καὶ Σιδονίους καὶ Ἐρεμβοὺς/ καὶ Λιβύην. H.Hom. Ven. 1–5. Pind. Pyth. 2.13–17, Nem. 8.17–18 (ἔβρισε πλούτῳ). Eur. Bacch. 402ff. Il. 11.19–23.

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A valuable recent study by Catherine Kearns (2018) encapsulates the spectrum of ‘etic’16 anthropological imaginings of Cyprus in ancient Greek sources as “an estranged zone of linguistic kinship inflected with exoticism”.17 Kearns makes no references to the constructions of Cyprus in comic drama, and the mentions of comedy in the earlier important studies of Cypriot altérité by Anastasia Serghidou and Antonis Tsakmakis are brief and selective.18 Their detailed examination is the goal of this chapter.19 Cyprus does not feature in Greek comedy very often; the relevant passages are few and far between. In fact, Cyprus appears in comedy scarcely enough to justify the thesis (already put forth by Anthony Snodgrass)20 that early Greek sources treat Cyprus as a kind of backwater, only marginally included in the main historical narratives. In Old Comedy, the rare references to the island are value-neutral and mostly connected to Aphrodite as its singular distinguishing feature (see Papachrysostomou, present volume). In Middle and New Comedy, Cyprus assumes more clearly its aforementioned image as an ἐσχατιά of the Greek world, whose geographical remoteness is on a par, for instance, with Pontus and whose cultural curiosity borders on the bizarre. Thus, the mentions of Cyprus in comic drama can be fitted into Kearns’ three registers of spatial imaginations pertaining to the island as extrapolated from other ancient texts (location, economics, politics). Cyprus is familiar enough to be valued as a destination of business and religious worship, oftentimes also as a theatre of war, but at the same time it is invested with a cultural oddity and associated with such ‘other’ forms of political organisation as kingship, to be kept at a constant conceptual ‘distance’.

16 17 18 19

20

On ‘etic’ as opposed to ‘emic’ views of a culture, Morris 2012, 80 (s.v. ‘emic’). Serghidou 2007, 269. Serghidou 1995; Tsakmakis 2006. The image of Cyprus in comic drama written by Cypriots would be an enlightening area of study, but apart from the relics of Sopater of Paphos (PCG v. i, pp. 275–287), a φλυακογράφος or παρῳδός, who may or may not be identical with Sosipater (PCG v. vii, pp. 604–607), nothing substantial survives. On Sopater and Sosipater, see Voskos 20082, 180–191, 502–542, 543–557. Performance of comedy in Cyprus is outside the purview of this survey; however, archaeological remains (four theatre buildings, artefacts, etc.), as well as testimonies such as the presence on the island of a local branch of the Ptolemaic Dionysiac guild, suggest that Cyprus had a measurable theatrical life from the end of the fourth century bc onwards. On theatre in ancient Cyprus see Hadjicosti and Constantinou 2013 (esp. the chapters by Tsakmakis, Green, and Aneziri); Green 2014, 362– 367. Snodgrass 1988, 5.

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2

217

The Island of Aphrodite

A first, major group of comic references to Cyprus make the predictable associations with Aphrodite. In the classical Greek imaginary, Cyprus was first and foremost the birthplace of the goddess.21 Aristophanes’Lysistrata 833, announcing the entry of the troubled Cinesias, is a generic prayer to πότνια Ἀφροδίτη, ‘who rules over Cyprus and Cythera and Paphos’—appropriate in a play where erotic desire is a measure of female empowerment. In other similar comic mentions, however, the focus is more specifically on traits of Aphrodite’s worship on the island which bear the flavour of the strange, the unique or even the miraculous. The thaumastic element, to be sure, is enveloped by the irony of the comic context, but still the genre of paradoxography is never too far removed. Pherecrates, fr. 143 K.–A., from the play Petale (presumably, a courtesan’s name), aptly mentions Aphrodite’s two major cult sites: ἀλλ᾽ ὦ περιστέριον, ὁμοῖον Κλεισθένει, πέτου, κόμισον δέ μ᾽ εἰς Κύθηρα καὶ Κύπρον. Oh, little dove, so much like Cleisthenes, fly and bring me to Cythera and Cyprus. The speaker and the dramatic context are not recoverable. Cleisthenes is a recurring, semi-abstract κωμῳδούμενος ridiculed for his effeminacy and his passive homosexuality.22 As hypersexual beings, κίναιδοι23 are naturally related with the goddess of love. The dove that the persona loquens mentions is singled out as a trademark of Cyprus by the Middle Comedy playwright Antiphanes (fr. 173 K.–A.)—a bird as integral to the island as γλαύξ is to Athens: ἐν Ἡλίου μέν φασι γίνεσθαι πόλει φοίνικας, ἐν Ἀθήναις δὲ γλαῦκας. ἡ Κύπρος ἔχει πελείας διαφόρους.

21

22

23

The comic playwright Timotheus in his dubious fr. 2 K.–A. calls Aphrodite’s son Eros ὁ Κύπριος κυναγός (‘the Cypriot hunter’). The phrase is metrically problematic and easily corrected by Meineke’s ὁ Κύπριδος κυναγός. On Cleisthenes as a κωμῳδούμενος, see Ar. Ach. 17–21, 119; Eq. 1373–1374; v. 1187, Nu. 355; Av. 829–831; Lys. 621, 1092; Ra. 48, 57; and, especially, Thesm. 574–654, where he is given pride of place; cf. Cratin. fr. 20, 2–3. On κίναιδοι as insatiable, hypersexual beings, see Davidson 2007, 101–166; generally, Winkler 1990, 171–210; Skinner 2014, 154–161.

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In the city of the Sun, they say, there are palm trees, in Athens there are owls. Cyprus has exceptional doves. Such ‘exceptional’ doves, which could even transport a man to Cyprus on their backs, as Pherecrates’ speaker imagines, were dedicated to Aphrodite in many places,24 but they were especially associated with Cyprus. Sacred white doves25 were a fixture of the goddess’ renowned temple in Paphos.26 Whiteness, a sign of purity in doves, suggests effeminacy in men like Cleisthenes. The dove recurs in Antiphanes, fr. 200.6 (discussed below), as one of the many παράδοξα in the court of a Cypriot king—himself a jarring oddity in the eyes of an Athenian audience. Another fourth-century bc playwright, Eriphus, fr. 2 K.–A., specifies a further singularity of Aphroditean worship in Cyprus, the pomegranate tree: A. αὗται δὲ ῥόαι. Β. ὡς εὐγενεῖς. Α. τὴν γὰρ Ἀφροδίτην ἐν Κύπρῳ δένδρον φυτεῦσαι τοῦτό φασιν ἓν μόνον. A. These are pomegranate trees. B. How noble! A. They are indeed, for, as they say, this was the only tree Aphrodite planted in Cyprus. In this case, we are better placed to appreciate the comic context. The fragment presents a dialogue between a fruit-seller and his client. In Antiphanes, fr. 59 K.–A., which Eriphus seems to be adapting, the client is a young woman—here, too, probably, the Meliboea of the play’s title. The client is looking for a bargain. But the fruit-seller is trying to rip her off by boosting the uniqueness of his produce. His apples are not regular ones but come straight from the garden of the Hesperides. Similarly, his pomegranates have been plucked from the single tree

24

25 26

Alexis, fr. 217, 1; Ov. Fasti 1.451–452; IG ii2.659.24 (287/6bc). For other associations of doves with Aphrodite: Apoll. Rhod. Arg. 3.540–544; Plut. Mor. 379d; Verg. Aen. 6.190–193; Prop. 3.3.31, 4.5.65; Ov. Met. 14.597–599, Apul. Met. 6.6; cf. Arnott 2007, s.vv. peleia, peristera. An alternative theogonic myth even made Aphrodite emerge from a giant egg hatched by doves (Hyg. Fab. 197). Mart. 8.28.13: Spartanus tibi cedet olor Paphiaeque columbae. Images of such doves have been discovered on coins from the area (Head, Hill et al. 1963, 741).

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Aphrodite herself had planted in Cyprus.27 This sacred tree of Venus in Cyprus recurs in Ovid, Met. 10.644–707, where it is described by the goddess herself as a θαῦμα among trees, with golden leaves and golden fruit. In Ovid, the fruit are apples, not pomegranates, donated by Aphrodite to Hippomenes as an aid to win his girl: est ager indigenae Tamasenum nomine dicunt telluris Cypriae pars optima, quam mihi prisci sacravere senes templisque accedere dotem hanc iussere meis; medio nitet arbor in arvo, fulva comas, fulvo ramis crepitantibus auro. hinc tria forte mea veniens decerpta ferebam aurea poma manu … There is a field, the natives call it the field of Tamassos, the richest portion of the Cyprian land, which in ancient times men consecrated to me and bade my temples be dowered with this. In the middle of this field there stands a tree gleaming with golden leaves and its branches crackle with the same bright gold. As I happened to have just come from there, I was holding three golden apples which I had plucked with my own hand … The absurdity of the context in Eriphus and Antiphanes is obvious, but the fact that the image of a quasi-fabulous Cyprus is at home within such absurdity deserves notice. Antiphanes, fr. 124, again revolves around the alleged oddities in the Cyprian worship of Aphrodite: Α. ἔπειτα κἀκροκώλιον ὕειον Ἀφροδίτῃ; γέλοιον. Β. ἀγνοεῖς; ἐν τῇ Κύπρῳ δ᾽ οὕτω φιληδεῖ ταῖς ὑσίν, ὦ δέσποθ᾽, ὥστε σκατοφαγεῖν ἀπεῖρξε ⟨ ⏒ ⟩ τὸ ζῷον ⟨ – ⏒ ⟩, τοὺς δὲ βοῦς ἠνάγκασεν.

27

As per the paradosis, the girl calls Aphrodite †βέρβαιε or †βέρβεα. Some editors attempted to restore a cult title of some god or goddess, probably Aphrodite herself (cf. Meineke: ‘mihi in βέρβεαι dei deaeve nomen latere videbatur’), but no emendation has been universally accepted (Βεργαῖε Crusius, from the Thracian Βέργη; Βερβεία others, which LSJ, based on this dubious occurrence alone, gloss as ‘a cult title of Aphrodite in Cyprus’); see PCG ad loc.

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A. And then a pig’s trotter for Aphrodite? Ridiculous! B. You don’t know? In Cyprus, [the goddess] takes so much delight in pigs, master, that she prevented the animal from eating dung and forced the cows to do that. Persona loquens A is amazed to hear that a pig’s trotter (ἀκροκώλιον ὕειον)28 is sacrificed to Aphrodite: pig sacrifice was usually prohibited in her worship.29 Yet, as Person B informs him, this is common in strange Cyprus, where Aphrodite takes particular delight in pigs! The information has a probable kernel of truth: John Lydus, Men. 4.65, informs us that Cypriots sacrificed wild boar to Aphrodite on the second day of April to commemorate the treacherous role of the animal in Adonis’ death (εἶτα δὲ καὶ σύας ἀγρίους ἔθυον αὐτῇ διὰ τὴν κατὰ Ἀδώνιδος ἐπιβουλήν, τῇ πρὸ τεσσάρων Νωνῶν ἤγουν τῇ δευτέρᾳ ἡμέρᾳ τοῦ Ἀπριλίου). Beyond that, B’s response is a double joke: on the one hand, it alludes to the proverb βοῦς Κύπριος (on a particularly dull individual);30 on the other, σκατοφαγεῖν was a common jibe against crude and stupid people—in comedy, duped fathers par excellence. It is always possible that the exchange in Antiphanes works on the basis of the same double entendre as Aristophanes’ Acharnians 791–794, where the Megarian and Dicaeopolis mean two different things when they speak of sacrificing a pig (χοῖρος) to Aphrodite—for the Megarian the only sacrifice appropriate to the goddess: [ΜΕ] ἀλλ᾽ ἂν παχυνθῇ κἂν ἀναχνοανθῇ τριχί, κάλλιστος ἔσται χοῖρος Ἀφροδίτᾳ θύειν. ΔΙ. ἀλλ᾽ οὐχὶ χοῖρος τἀφροδίτῃ θύεται. ΜΕ. οὐ χοῖρος Ἀφροδίτᾳ; μόνᾳ γα δαιμόνων. MEG: If she is fattened and gets downy with hair, she’ll be a very fine pig to sacrifice to Aphrodite. DI: But pigs aren’t sacrificed to Aphrodite. ME: Pigs not sacrificed to Aphrodite? Why, to her of all deities alone!

28 29 30

Cf. Strattis, fr. 5 K.–A.; Archippus, fr. 10, 1–2 K.–A. On the interdiction of pork in Aphroditean worship, Pirenne-Delforge 1994, 388–392. Prov. Bdl. 222: βοῦς Κύπριος εἶ· Εὔδοξος γὰρ περὶ τούτων ἱστορεῖ ὅτι κοπροφάγοι εἰσίν; cf. Men. fr. 192* K.–A.

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The title of Antiphanes’ play, Κορινθία, alludes to the recognition motif: it is likely that Person B, a slave (ὦ δέσποθ᾽), apart from simply poking fun at his master, is participating in some kind of ruse against him, which may involve the current, apparently obfuscated status of the ‘Corinthian girl’.31 Anyhow, what is important for our purposes is the readiness of yet another comic personage to invoke Cyprus as a place of bizarre customs. Finally, we cannot say if Plato Comicus’ Adonis (late 5th c. bc) was a mythological comedy or a play that made use of the stock comic theme of the ‘women celebrating the Feasts of Adonis’, but the former hypothesis is more probable.32 In some versions of the myth, Adonis was the incestuously conceived son of Cinyras and his daughter Myrrha. The more substantial fragment of the play (fr. 3 K.–A.) is a parodic hexameter oracle presented to ‘Cinyras, king of shaggy-ass Cypriot men’, about his son, ‘the most handsome and admirable of men’: ὦ Κινύρα, βασιλεῦ Κυπρίων ἀνδρῶν δασυπρώκτων, παῖς σοι κάλλιστος μὲν ἔφυ θαυμαστότατός τε πάντων ἀνθρώπων, δύο δ᾽ αὐτὸν δαίμον᾽ ὀλεῖτον, ἡ μὲν ἐλαυνομένη λαθρίοις ἐρετμοῖς, ὁ δ᾽ ἐλαύνων. Cinyras, king of the Cyprians, men of shaggy asses, your son is the most beautiful and admirable of all mankind, and one day two divinities will destroy him, a female whom he rows with a secret oar, a male who rows him. The oracle is phrased in double-edged language, one referring to Adonis’ sexual exploits, the other, playfully, to his untimely death, which apparently will not be caused by the wild boar of legend:33 Adonis will be ‘destroyed’, i.e. completely exhausted sexually, by two divinities, a female one, that is, Aphrodite, who ‘will be driven by his oar’ (ἐρετμόν is a common metaphor for the penis and ἐλαύνω for the act of penetration),34 and a male god, who will ‘drive’ Adonis himself. The sources vary on Adonis’ homosexual partners, mentioning Dionysus,35

31 32 33 34 35

Corinth being another major centre of Aphroditean cult may have something to do with the plot or the girl’s social position. A comprehensive commentary on the play is provided by Pirrotta 2009, 65–81. If Jacobs’ ὀλεῖτον for the MS εχειτον or ἔχετον is correct. Henderson 19912, 121 (no. 51), 162 (no. 260). Athen. 10.456b (Athenaeus is also the source of Plato’s fragment).

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Apollo36 or Heracles.37 Thus, the aggressive virility and heterosexuality of the Cypriots (and their king), implied by the adjective δασύπρωκτος,38 is opposed to the unabashed bisexuality of Adonis.

3

The Products of the Land

Another, less sizeable group reduces Cyprus to the products of its land or its artisans. Cyprus is a destination of trade and the provenance of many a luxury, big or small. Eubulus, fr. 18 K.–A., includes ‘Cyprian mustard and root of scammony’ in a catalogue of fine goods probably delivered by a cook: καὶ νᾶπυ Κύπριον καὶ σκαμωνίας ὀπόν καὶ κάρδαμον Μιλήσιον καὶ κρόμμυον Σαμοθρᾴκιον, καὶ καυλὸν ἐκ Καρχηδόνος καὶ σίλφιον θύμον τε τῶν Ὑμηττίων ὀρίγανόν ⟨τε⟩ Τενέδιον. and Cypriot mustard and root of scammony and cardamum from Miletus and onion from Samothrace and cauliflower from Carthage and silphium and thyme from Hymettus and origanum from Tenedos. Fr. 77 K.–A. of the same playwright is a hymn to Cyprian bread (Κύπριος ἄρτος), which attracts the hungry like a magnet:39 δεινὸν μὲν ἰδόντα παριππεῦσαι Κυπρίους ἄρτους· μαγνῆτις γὰρ λίθος ὣς ἕλκει τοὺς πεινώντας. It is a mighty task to pass by Cypriot bread once you’ve seen it; for like a magnet it attracts the hungry.

36 37 38 39

Phot. Bibl. 190 p. 151b, 5–7. Phot. Bibl. 190 p. 147b, 10–12. Henderson, op. cit., 211–212, no. 466. On Eubulus’ two fragments, Hunter 1983, 111–112, 171.

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Moreover, two of the three surviving fragments of Alexis’Κύπριος (frr. 125, 126 K.–A.), whose plot is sadly beyond restoration,40 heap praise on the same:41 Fr. 125 K.–A.: Α. ἔπειτα πῶς ἦλθες; Β. μόλις ὀπτωμένους κατέλαβον. Α. ἐξόλοι᾽. ἀτὰρ πόσους φέρεις; Β. ἐκκαίδεκ᾽. Α. οἶσε δεῦρό ⟨μοι⟩. Β. λευκοὺς μὲν ὀκτώ, τῶν δὲ φαιῶν τοὺς ἴσους. A. How did you come then? B. I found them just being baked. A. Damn you! And how many are you bringing? B. Sixteen. A. Bring them over here to me. B. Eight white ones and an equal number of grey. Fr. 126 K.–A.: τὸν δ᾽ αὐτόπυρον ἄρτον ἀρτίως φαγών. Having just eaten bread made of wheat and nothing but wheat. Nevertheless, the most interesting text in this group is the unassuming Aristophanes, fr. 624 K.–A. (quoted by Pollux 10.32), a mention of a ‘Cyprian curtain wrought in various colours’ (τὸ παραπέτασμα τὸ Κύπριον τὸ ποικίλον).42 The reference to the curtain’s Cyprian origins recognises its superior quality and/or the fact that the use of multicolour, elaborately patterned fabric (ἡ τῶν ποικίλων ὑφή) was the hallmark of Cyprian weaving; cf. Hieronymus, fr. 48 Wehrli (= Athen. 2.48b): ἤκμασε δ᾽ ἡ τῶν ποικίλων ὑφή μάλιστα ἐντέχνων περὶ αὐτὰ γενομένων Ἀκεσᾶ καὶ Ἑλικῶνος τῶν Κυπρίων· ὑφάνται δ᾽ ἦσαν ἔνδοξοι· καὶ ἦν Ἑλικὼν υἱὸς Ἀκεσᾶ, ὥς φησιν Ἱερώνυμος. ἐν Πυθοῖ γοῦν ἐπί τινος ἔργου ἐπιγέγραπται· τεῦξ᾽ Ἑλικὼν Ἀκεσᾶ Σαλαμίνιος, ᾧ ἐνὶ χερσὶ / πότνια θεσπεσίην Παλλὰς ἔπνευσε χάριν.

40 41 42

On the play see Arnott 1996, 352–356. The title Κύπριος is Meineke’s accepted emendation of the manuscripts’ Κύπριδι. Admiration for Cyprian bread was not a fourth-century bc trend alone; see Hipponax, fr. 125 IEG2: Κυπρίων βέκος φαγοῦσι κἀμαθουσίων πυρόν. On the fragment, Bagordo 2016, 145–148; Pellegrino 2015, 372.

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The weaving of fabrics patterned elaborately in various colours flourished at the time when Acesas and Helicon of Cyprus were the chief craftsmen producing such goods. They were famous weavers. Helicon was Acesas’ son, according to Hieronymus. At Delphi, at any rate, there is a piece of work that bears the inscription: Helicon of Salamis, son of Acesas, made this. Lady Athena inspired his hands with divine grace. More importantly, such ποικίλα παραπετάσματα, tokens of luxury and excess, were especially associated with the Persians43 (Hdt. 9.82.1: τὴν Μαρδονίου σκηνὴν χρυσῷ τε καὶ ἀργύρῳ καὶ παραπετάσμασι ποικίλοισι κατεσκευασμένην) and generally the barbarians (inscription from Samos, IG xii.6, 1261, 26: παραπετάσματα δύο βαρβαρικὰ ποικίλα).44 At least in this marginal respect, ‘Cyprian’ could be practically linked with, if not synonymous to, exotic, barbarian, nonGreek.

4

Travelling to Cyprus, Land of (Ridiculous) Kings

Above all, comedic Cyprus is a destination of travel for the purposes of trade or dealing with the dominant local players, the kings.45 Middle and New Comedy adventurers venture often to faraway places in search of opportunities.46 In this respect, Cyprus is on a par with the most remote and strange lands, such as Pontus, decisively othered in Menander’s Samia for its climate and supposedly obtuse inhabitants.47 The sectors in which Cyprus proves most lucrative are human trafficking (the slave and sex trade) and mercenary soldiering in a period of great geo-

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That ‘Persian wall hangings’ could depict mythological scenes is presented by Aristophanes, Ra. 937–938, as evidence of bad taste: οὐχ ἱππαλεκτρυόνας, μὰ Δί᾽, οὐδὲ τραγελάφους, ἅπερ σύ, / ἃν τοῖσι παραπετάσμασιν τοῖς Μηδικοῖς γράφουσιν. Cf. Hipparch. fr. 1, 3–6 Κ.–Α., on a δαπίδιον: ἀλλ᾽ ἢ δαπίδιον ἓν ἀγαπητὸν ποικίλον … τῶν Περσικῶν; Men. Dys. 923: παραπέτασμα βαρβαρικόν. On travel in New Comedy Knapp 1907 is still useful; more generally, Casson 2007. The kings of Cyprus remained in power until 312 or 311 bc, when Ptolemy removed them because of their disobedience bringing the island under his direct control (Diod. Sic. 19.79.4–6). Amongst Middle and New Comedy characters, terracotta figurines frequently represent travellers. The relevant material from Cyprus is no exception: see Green 2014, 364–365, with illustrations. Men. Sam. 96–112. For a complete catalogue of overseas travel destinations in (Roman) New Comedy, see Knapp 1907, 19–24.

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political turmoil (wars of the Diadochi). Trading prostitutes to Cyprus, for example, is the preoccupation of the pimp Sannio in Terence’s Adelphoe (209– 235, esp. 230–232): emptae mulieres complures et item hinc alia quae porto Cyprum. nisi eo ad mercatum venio, damnum maxumumst. I’ve bought several women and some other goods from here which I’m transporting to Cyprus. If I don’t get there in time for the market, I’ll suffer great loss. In Menander’s Misoumenos, when Demeas announces that he has just arrived at Athens from Cyprus (432, 632), his interlocutor automatically assumes that he has come to ransom slaves (σώματ᾽] λυτρούμενος).48 The major character of Misoumenos, Thrasonides, used to be a mercenary soldier, who ‘fared brilliantly under one of the kings’ of Cyprus (fr. 1 Blanchard = 5 Sandbach): ἐκ Κύπρου λαμπρῶς πάνυ πράττων· ἐκεῖ γὰρ ὑπό τιν᾽ ἦν τῶν βασιλέων. From Cyprus, where he fared brilliantly. He was under one of the kings there. It is in Cyprus most probably that Thrasonides purchased his beloved Crateia, Demeas’ daughter. Demeas’ family, torn apart by war, either lived there (he is addressed as ξένε in 431) or Cyprus was one of several destinations in which Demeas searched for his missing daughter and son.49 In Misoumenos, Cyprus is distant enough to be ideally placed as a locus of frustrated wandering50 and

48

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50

It is unlikely that σώματα (a plausible supplement of Handley’s) can mean ‘people’, as Gomme and Sandbach suggest (1973, 445). They are more likely ‘captives’, as in Dem. 20.77 (τρισχίλια δ᾽ αἰχμάλωτα σώματα δεῦρο ἤγαγεν). Syra assumes that Demeas is another slave trader, like those cropping up in times of war. On reconstructions of Misoumenos see Blanchard 2016, 224 n. 2. That Cyprus was not Demeas’ homeland is the supposition of Borgogno 1969, 44. Borgogno also suggests that Thrasonides did not capture Crateia himself, but simply purchased her in a slave market in Cyprus, after she had been enslaved probably as a result of Antigonos’ invasion of Greece (and Attica) in 313bc. Such a frustrated ‘wanderer’ (in fact, he is only thinking of leaving), afflicted by love, is also young Charinus of Plautus’ Mercator (644–648). Cyprus is one of his theoretical destina-

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as a grim marketplace, in which, unnaturally, facilitated by ὁ κοινὸς ἐχθρὸς πόλεμος (635), γνήσιοι are becoming δοῦλοι.51 Such commodification of people, Greek comedy seems to assume, is not entirely out of place in Cyprus, where men are not πολῖται but the subjects of kings—oriental-style potentates of fabulous wealth,52 as attested by a story on the Paphian king related by a miles gloriosus in Antiphanes’ fr. 200 K.–A. Coming from the play Στρατιώτης ἢ Τύχων, performed perhaps at 340 bc,53 this is the single most famous Cyprus-related extract of Greek comedy: A. ἐν Κύπρῳ φῄς, εἰπέ μοι, διήγετε πολὺν χρόνον; Β. τὸν πάνθ᾽ ἕως ἦν ὁ πόλεμος. Α. ἐν τίνι τόπῳ μάλιστα; λέγε γάρ. Β. ἐν Πάφῳ. οὗ πρᾶγμα τρυφερὸν διαφερόντως ἦν ἰδεῖν ἄλλως τ᾽ ἄπιστον. Α. ποῖον; Β. ἐρριπίζετο ὑπὸ τῶν περιστερῶν, ὑπ᾽ ἄλλου δ᾽ οὐδενός, δειπνῶν ὁ βασιλεύς. Α. πῶς; ἐάσας τἆλλα γὰρ ἐρήσομαί σε τοῦθ᾽. Β. ὅπως; ἠλείφετο ἐκ τῆς Συρίας ἥκοντι τοιούτου μύρῳ καρποῦ σύχν᾽ οἷόν φασι τὰς περιστερὰς τρώγειν· διὰ τὴν ὀσμὴν δὲ τούτου πετόμεναι παρῆσαν, οἷαί τ᾽ ἦσαν ἐπικαθιζάνειν ἐπὶ τὴν κεφαλήν· παῖδες δὲ παρακαθήμενοι ἐσόβουν. ἀπαίρουσαι δὲ μικρόν, οὐ πολύ, τοῦ μήτ᾽ ἐκεῖσε μήτε δεῦρο παντελῶς, οὕτως ἀνερρίπιζον, ὥστε σύμμετρον αὐτῷ τὸ πνεῦμα, μὴ περίσκληρον, ποιεῖν. A. In Cyprus, you say—tell me, did you spend a long time there? B. The whole duration of the war.

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tions: non possum durare, certum est exulatum hinc ire me. / sed quam capiam ciuitatem cogito potissumum: / Megares, Eretriam, Corinthum, Chalcidem, Cretam, Cyprum, / Sicyonem, Cnidum, Zacynthum, Lesbiam, Boeotiam? In this case the mental map is undeniably Greek. Cyprus as a place where families get torn apart because of war or other reasons is mentioned also by Aristophanes, Thesm. 446: ἐμοὶ γὰρ ἀνὴρ ἀπέθανεν ἐν Κύπρῳ, / παιδάρια πέντε καταλιπών. Douris FGrH 76F4; Theopompus FGrH 115F103, F114; Anaximenes FGrH 72F18; Ael. VH 7.2. On the play’s date, Konstantakos (2000, 225–226) concludes that of the many wars that took place in Cyprus during the fourth century bc the revolt of 345–343 bc is the likeliest occasion for this soldier’s sojourn in Cyprus.

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A. Tell me, in what area did you stay the most? B. Paphos, where there was something extravagantly indulgent to see, quite unbelievable. A. What kind of thing? B. While having his dinner the king was being fanned by none other than doves. A. How? I’ll put aside everything else and ask you just this. B. How, you ask? He anointed himself with myrrh imported from Syria made from a fruit they say doves like to eat. Because of its scent the doves came flying in, ready to perch on his head, but slaves sitting by shooed them off, and as they arose a little, not much, not really in this direction or that— they fanned him in a way that made, not a harsh, but a perfect breeze. The fragment is an exchange between a soldier and his sponger, who appears hungry for information about the soldier’s exploits in that eccentric land. Clearchus, fr. 19 [b] 19–20 Tsitsiridis (= Ath. 6. 255c–257c), testifies to a special relationship between such κόλακες and Cypriot kings: παραδεδεγμένοι δ᾽ εἰσὶ πάντες οἱ κατὰ τὴν Κύπρον μόναρχοι τὸ τῶν εὐγενῶν κολάκων γένος ὡς χρήσιμον· πάνυ γὰρ τὸ κτῆμα τυραννικόν ἐστι. All the monarchs in Cyprus have adopted the “noble flatterers” as a group useful to them; for having flatterers is quite typical of tyrants. The comic miles gloriosus is a notorious teller of tall tales, and his accounts are actually supposed not to be taken at face value. However, the image of Cyprus produced is in line with material found elsewhere, an image of extravagant indulgence (τρυφερὸν διαφερόντως), of the kind only seen at the courts of satraps. The posturing of Antiphanes’ Paphian king, who was also traditionally the high priest of Aphrodite, includes a carefully orchestrated show of the goddess’ special relation with doves, which are lured around his head but not on it by virtue of a special Syrian perfume and the shooing of slaves.54 To the ‘etic’ eyes of the non-Cypriot spectator, this is a spectacle ἄλλως τ᾽ ἄπιστον, a phrase that can be rendered as ‘quite remarkable’, ‘entirely unbelievable’ or ‘utterly ridicu-

54

Clearchus, fr. 19 [c] Tsitsiridis, describes in even more colourful detail such an entourage of slaves fawning on the aforementioned Paphian king in ludicrous excess.

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lous to see’. Τhe description of a Paphian king by Clearchus of Soli, fr. 19 [b] Tsitsiridis, offers a parallel:55 ἑξῆς τε διηγούμενος περί τινος μειρακίου Παφίου μὲν τὸ γένος, βασιλέως δὲ τὴν τύχην, “τοῦτο”, φησί, “τὸ μειράκιον” (οὐ λέγων αὐτοῦ τοὔνομα) “κατέκειτο δι᾽ ὑπερβάλλουσαν τρυφὴν ἐπὶ ἀργυρόποδος κλίνης ὑπεστρωμένης Σαρδιανῇ ψιλοτάπιδι τῶν πάνυ πολυτελῶν. ἐπεβέβλητο δ᾽ αὐτῷ πορφυροῦν ἀμφίταπον ἀμοργίνῳ καλύμματι περιειλημμένον. προσκεφάλαια δ᾽ εἶχε τρία μὲν ὑπὸ τῇ κεφαλῇ βύσσινα παραλουργῆ, δι᾽ ὧν ἠμύνετο τὸ καῦμα, δύο δ᾽ ὑπὸ τοῖς ποσὶ ὑσγινοβαφῆ τῶν Δωρικῶν καλουμένων. ἐφ᾽ ὧν κατέκειτο ⟨ἐν⟩ λευκῇ χλανίδι”. Immediately after he describes a young man, a Paphian by birth with the fortune of a king, and says: This young man—he does not mention his name—used to lie in extraordinary luxury on a silver-footed couch covered with a tremendously luxurious Sardian carpet of the sort that has no pile; on top of him was a purple double-pile carpet with a mallow-fiber cover. Under his head he had three purple linen pillows, which helped him ward off the heat, and beneath his feet two scarlet-dyed ones of the so-called Doric type. He lay on these wearing a fine white upper garment of wool. Antiphanes’ soldier wants his narrative to sound as exotic and marvellous as can be, and the very fact that it is a soldier recounting this story makes it doubly ridiculous. Yet such rituals of royal self-deification, entirely alien to Greek eyes, were commonly associated with despots of the barbarian East and later with Hellenistic kings. In a comically distorted way, the priest-king of Antiphanes is clearly performing Aphrodite, partly identifying with her by way of assuming honours historically attested as bestowed upon the goddess in local cult.56 The ridiculous and the historical may converge in Antiphanes’ fragment, overblown by the soldier’s self-importance. Anyhow, at least in this respect, there is no doubt that, from the ‘etic’ viewpoint of a Greek observer, Cyprus, culturally, ‘is far away’.

55 56

On Clearchus’ fragment, which Konstantakos (2000, 255 n. 4) thinks may have been Antiphanes’ ultimate source, see Tsitsiridis 2013, 107–117. Konstantakos 2000, 229–231, with bibliography.

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Conclusion

The paradoxographical inflection of most comedic mentions of Cyprus bolsters the island’s own precarious position in the Greek imaginary “between proximity and distance, both in terms of real space as well as conceived practices and culture” (Kearns 2018, 65). Comedy returns to Aphrodite as the pin that secures Cyprus’ ultimate positioning within the wider Greek expanse. Nonetheless, it also does not fail to highlight elements of decisive altérité, such as the island’s physical remoteness, ethnic diversity and political archaism as hallmarked by oriental-style monarchy. Comic drama, too, in other words, confirms the fundamental, quasi-diachronical Cyprological topos, that Cyprus ‘is far away’ and that the mixed signals the island emits “are sometimes alien to Hellenism”.

Bibliography Arnott, W.G. (1996). Alexis. The Fragments. Cambridge. Arnott, W.G. (2007). Birds in the Ancient World from A to Z. London/New York. Bagordo, A. (2016). Fragmenta Comica, 10.9: Aristophanes, fr. 590–674 (Incertarum fabularum fragmenta). Heidelberg. Blanchard, A. (2016). Ménandre. Tome iii. Paris. Borgogno, A. (1969). Sul Misoumenos di Menandro. SIFC 41, pp. 19–55. Bowen, A.J. (2013). Aeschylus. Suppliant Women. Oxford. Casson, L. (2007). Travel in the Ancient World. Brantford, Ont. Cavafy, C.P. (1991). Τα ποιήματα. Vol. 1, ed. G.P. Savvidis. Athens. Cavafy, C.P. (1993). Κρυμμένα ποιήματα (1877;–1923), ed. G.P. Savvidis. Athens. Davidson, J.N. (2007). The Greeks and Greek Love. A Radical Reappraisal of Homosexuality in Ancient Greece. London. Gomme, A.W., and Sandbach, F.H. (1973). Menander. A Commentary. Oxford. Green, J.R. (2014). Regional Theatre in the Fourth Century. The Evidence of Comic Figurines of Boeotia, Corinth and Cyprus. In: E. Csapo et al., eds., Greek Theatre in the Fourth Century bc, Berlin/Boston, pp. 333–369. Hadjioannou, K. (1971). Ἡ Κύπρος εἰς τὰς ἀρχαίας ἑλληνικὰς πηγάς. Vol. 1. Τὰ θρυλούμϵνα, ἱστορία καὶ ἐθνολογία ἀπὸ τῶν προϊστορικῶν χρόνων μέχρι τοῦ 395 μ.Χ. Nicosia. Hadjicosti, I.L., and Constantinou, A. (2013). Τὸ ἀρχαῖο θέατρο καὶ ἡ Κύπρος. Nicosia. Hatzivassiliou, E. (2011). Ἡ Ἑλλάδα καὶ ἡ τουρκικὴ εἰσβολή, Ἰούλιος–Αὔγουστος 1974. Στρατιωτικὲς καὶ στρατηγικὲς ὄψεις. In: P. Papapolyviou, ed., Ἱστορία τῆς Κυπριακῆς Δημοκρατίας (1960–2010), vol. ii. Nicosia, pp. 116–125. Hatzopoulos, M. (2009). Εν μέρει ελληνίζων. Athens.

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Head, B.V., Hill, G.F., et al. (1963). Historia Nummorum. A Manual of Greek Numismatics. London. Henderson, J. (19912). The Maculate Muse. Obscene Language in Attic Comedy. New York/Oxford. Hunter, R.L. (1983). Eubulus. The Fragments. Cambridge. Kearns, C. (2018). Cyprus in the Surging Sea. Spatial Imaginations of the Eastern Mediterranean. TAPhA 148, pp. 45–74. Knapp, C. (1907). Travel in Ancient Times as Seen in Plautus and Terence. CPh 2, pp. 1– 24, 281–304. Konstantakos, I.M. (2000). A Commentary on Eight Fragments of Antiphanes. Diss., Cambridge. Morris, M. (2012). Concise Dictionary of Social and Cultural Anthropology. London. Pellegrino, M. (2015). Aristofane: Frammenti. Lecce. Pirenne-Delforge, V. (1994). L’Aphrodite grecque. Athens/Liège. Pirrotta, S. (2009). Plato Comicus. Die fragmentarischen Komödien. Berlin. Serghidou, A. (1995). L’altérité du Chypriote dans le discours grec antique. STHist 43–44, pp. 25–38. Serghidou, A. (2007). Cyprus and Onesilus. An Interlude of Freedom (5.104, 108–116). In: E. Irwin and E. Greenwood, eds., Reading Herodotus. A Study of the Logoi in Book 5 of Herodotus’ Histories. Cambridge, pp. 269–288. Skinner, M.B. (2014). Sexuality in Greek and Roman Culture. London. Snodgrass, A. (1988). Cyprus and Early Greek History. Nicosia. Tsakmakis, A. (2006). Through the Looking-Glass. Reflections on the Image on the ‘Cypriot’. In: J. Chrysostomides and C. Dendrinos, eds., “Sweet Land …”. Lectures on the History and Culture of Cyprus. Camberley, pp. 1–26. Tsakmakis, A. (2011). On Miracles and Freedom. Herodotos’ Kypriakos Logos. Mnemon 10, pp. 407–414. Tsitsiridis, S. (2013). Beiträge zu den Fragmenten des Klearchos von Soloi. Berlin. Voskos, A. (20082). Αρχαία Κυπριακή Γραμματεία. Vol. i. Ποίηση επική, λυρική, δραματική. Nicosia. Winkler, J.J. (1990). Laying Down the Law. The Oversight of Men’s Sexual Behavior in Classical Athens. In: D.M. Halperin, J.J. Winkler and F.I. Zeitlin, eds., Before Sexuality. The Construction of Erotic Experience in the Ancient Greek World. Princeton, NJ, pp. 171–210.

chapter 12

War and Peace: Cyprus in Greek Comedy Athina Papachrysostomou

Comedy’s references to and evaluations of aspects of reality (historical events, politics, social circumstances, etc.) are hardly ever straightforward, since the comic conventions (conventions of genre and dramatic performance, as well as distinctive conventions of each comic era)1 create and rigidly maintain a clear-cut demarcation between comic world and reality. Be that as it may, Greek Comedy was never entirely indifferent to politics nor to contemporary historical events (and this is true even for the largely—though not entirely— apolitical periods of Middle and New Comedy2). Typically, the surviving comic plays and fragments variously reflect, imitate, draw on, comment upon and criticise, even aspire to influence contemporary reality—in varying degrees, spirit, and intensity. The present contribution studies how straightforwardly and how faithfully the comic texts mirror historical realities and political circumstances regarding the island of Cyprus for almost a century (roughly, from late fifth to late fourth century bc); to this end, the relevant comic references are individually registered below in descending chronological order, while in parallel the corresponding historical / political milieu is highlighted and outlined through the use of other, non-comic evidence. Cyprus features—both as a place and topos—in all three eras of Greek Comedy (Old, Middle, and New3), albeit sporadically so.4 Interestingly, Comedy’s few and intermittent references to Cyprus clearly delineate a twofold thematic pattern that embraces the antithetical spheres of war and peace. The

1 Cf. Revermann 2006, 8–65, 107–175. 2 On politics in Greek Comedy after Aristophanes see Webster 19702, 37–56; Nesselrath 1990, 218–221, 225; Lape 2004, passim (esp. 110–136, 243–253); Papachrysostomou 2009 and 2012; Henderson 2013; Rosenbloom 2014. Most telling of the continuity of later Comedy’s political agenda is how in 355bc Isocrates (8.14) complains about the irresponsibility of comic satire. 3 On the controversial issue of Greek Comedy’s periodisation see Nesselrath 2020 (with abundant bibliographical references). 4 All references to Cyprus as the birthplace of, or otherwise connected to, Aphrodite (e.g. Ar. Lys. 833–834, where Lysistrata invokes ‘lady Aphrodite, mistress of Cyprus and Cythera and Paphos’) are considered tangential to the purposes of the present analysis and are subsequently left out from this contribution.

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comic texts echo contemporary military expeditions taking place in Cyprus and offer a glimpse of peaceful life (albeit only royal aspects of it) on the island, such as the simultaneous existence of numerous kings and autonomous citykingdoms, as well as the sumptuousness of royal life, which subsequently feeds the imagination of the stereotypical comic figure of the arrogant soldier, who goes on to excel in Munchausen-type narrations of exotic and preposterous events.5 Greek Comedy typically projects Cyprus as a huge battlefield and a vibrant arena of incessant military action. It should be emphasised, though, that this visualisation of Cyprus does not constitute just another manifestation of Comedy’s penchant for imaginary and playfully fabricated scenarios;6 instead, Comedy’s testimonies regarding Cypriot warfare are corroborated by other ancient sources. Indeed, comic accounts reflect—quite accurately—contemporary historical circumstances, since for over a century numerous mercenary military troops were stationed on the island, during long periods of time, and for various reasons, thus transforming Cyprus into a vast theatre of war.7 Incessant military turmoil on the island of Cyprus is the defining attribute of the entire Cypro-classical period (475–323bc).8 The earlier military reference to Cyprus within Comedy occurs in Aristophanes’ Thesmophoriazusae

5 Keeping in line with contemporary reality (i.e. the phenomenal rise in mercenary soldier numbers during the fourth century bc), Middle Comedy witnesses the rise of the braggart soldier to a stereotypical figure (cf. e.g. Mnesim. fr. 7, with Papachrysostomou 2008, 210–216). Early traces of this figure are already detectable in the portrayal of Lamachus in Aristophanes’ Acharnians (presented as relentlessly belligerent, cf. lines 572–574, 620–622, 964–965). The bombastic soldier figure is bequeathed to New Comedy and then to Roman comic playwrights (e.g. Men. Kol. fr. 2; cf. Ter. Eun. 391–453), where the soldier is typically involved in some illstarred (at least at the beginning of the plot) love-affair. Regarding the Plautine Comedy, most typical is the introductory scene of Miles Gloriosus (along with Truc. 505–511 and Curc. 439– 441). On Comedy’s braggart soldier see further Ribbeck 1882, 27–32; Wysk 1921; Wehrli 1936, 101–113; Hanson 1965; MacCary 1972; Nesselrath 1990, 325–330; Konstan 2010. 6 For the elements of fiction and fantasy as stereotypical and generic attributes of Greek Comedy, see Ruffell 2011, passim (esp. 29–53), and Ruffell 2014. 7 See Hill 1940, 177–178. For a catholic overview see Maier 19942. The fourth century bc saw an unprecedented boom in mercenary soldier numbers in general, which has been appositely termed as “the Greek mercenary explosion of the fourth century bc” (Miller 1984, 153). On mercenaries see further Trundle 2004, passim, esp. 40–79. 8 Even earlier, already in 499 bc (i.e. at the same time with the Ionian Revolt) king Onesilus of Salamis led a united Cypriot front (save the city of Amathus) against the Persian rule. The attempts to overthrow the Persian rule continued with Pausanias’ military campaign in Cyprus in 478bc and Cimon’s in 450/449 bc. The events, including Onesilus’ ignominious end (his skull being hung in public display and nested with bees), are narrated by Herodotus 5.103–116. See Wallinga 1984.

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(produced in 411 bc9), where the heroine Critylla, a garland-seller, refers to her husband’s death in Cyprus (vv. 446–448): ἐμοὶ γὰρ ἁνὴρ ἀπέθανεν μὲν ἐν Κύπρῳ παιδάρια πέντε καταλιπών, ἁγὼ μόλις στεφανηπλοκοῦσ᾽ ἔβοσκον ἐν ταῖς μυρρίναις My husband died in Cyprus, leaving me with five small children that I’ve had a struggle to feed by weaving garlands in the myrtle market trans. henderson

It is probable that the military events that cost Critylla’s husband his life are those related to Evagoras i of Salamis10 (ca. 435–374bc). Evagoras, who had been compelled into political exile in the city of Soli in nearby Cilicia, recruited a military unit (mostly of mercenaries) and planned his return to Cyprus, where he managed to gain possession of the throne in the Cypriot city-kingdom of Salamis in 411 bc, after deposing the Tyrian usurper Abdemon.11 Evagoras’ mercenary forces featured an array of nationals, including Athenian soldiers.12 Accordingly, in interpreting Aristophanes’ text, we are allowed to presume that Critylla’s husband was a mercenary in Evagoras’ army and was killed in battle.13 Simultaneously and in addition to the mercenary forces, it is likely that Athens also dispatched (unofficially, with all probability) some sort of auxiliary forces, given the long-standing and multifarious relations between the island of Cyprus and the Athenian metropolis.14 It should not surprise us that Aristophanes considered it worthy to include a reference—albeit a tangential one—to the ongoing military operations taking place in Cyprus at the same time as the play’s performance. Aristophanes records a glimpse of Critylla’s personal experience, with which many members of the audience could easily identify. Besides, the contemporary Cypriot affairs were of major interest and importance (political, economic, and other), 9 10

11 12 13 14

See Austin and Olson 2004, xxxiii–xxxvi. Evagoras was a descendant of the legendary dynasty of Teucrids, according to Isoc. 9.12– 19. On Evagoras’ personality, life and achievements, see Spyridakis 1945, passim; Körner 2017, 233–272; Voskos (in this volume). The events are narrated by Isoc. 3.24–32, 9.28–32, and D.S. 14.98.1. Cf. Hill 1940, 126–143. Apparently, in one of many battles that preceded the definitive repossession of Salamis in 411 bc. See Cataldi 1983, 306.

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both to the city of Athens and the east Mediterranean region. After ascending to the throne, Evagoras proved a charismatic leader (he ruled from 411 to 374 bc) and a Hellenising sovereign. Although his grand vision to unite Cypriot kingdoms under his rule remained unfulfilled, he still did manage to establish political stability, favour economic growth, and eventually transform Salamis into both the financial hub of Cyprus and a cultural beacon disseminating ideas and customs of Greek / metropolitan civilisation. However, during the war that soon followed against the Persians (392/391–381bc), Evagoras was defeated and forced to capitulate;15 yet, he left a substantial and memorable legacy καλλίστων αὐτῷ καὶ μεγίστων παραδειγμάτων καταλειφθέντων οὐδὲν καταδεέστερον αὑτὸν ἐκείνων παρέσχεν (‘proving himself not inferior to the noblest and greatest examples of excellence which were of his inheritance’16), as Isocrates testifies (9.12).17 Further down the same speech Isocrates notes that (9.51) μέγιστον δὲ τεκμήριον καὶ τοῦ τρόπου καὶ τῆς ὁσιότητος τῆς ἐκείνου· τῶν γὰρ Ἑλλήνων πολλοὶ καὶ καλοὶ κἀγαθοὶ τὰς αὑτῶν πατρίδας ἀπολιπόντες ἦλθον εἰς Κύπρον οἰκήσοντες, ἡγούμενοι κουφοτέραν καὶ νομιμωτέραν εἶναι τὴν Εὐαγόρου βασιλείαν τῶν οἴκοι πολιτειῶν (‘the most convincing proof of the character and uprightness of Evagoras is this: that many of the most reputable Greeks left their own fatherlands and came to Cyprus to dwell, because they considered Evagoras’ rule less burdensome and more equitable than that of their own governments at home’).18 From within the fragmentarily surviving Middle Comedy, a fragment by Antiphanes19 is relevant to the dual war-and-peace motif; this is fr. 200 from the play Στρατιώτης ἢ Τύχων (‘The Soldier or Tychon’).20 The performance date is unknown, yet the year 322bc should probably be considered a terminus ante quem.21 Athenaeus, who preserves the fragment (6.257d–f), calls preliminary attention to the ‘luxury enjoyed by Cypriot kings’ (περὶ τῆς τῶν ἐν Κύπρῳ βασιλέων τρυφῆς). Speaker B is the title-figure, a mercenary soldier who has just returned from Cyprus:

15 16 17 18 19 20

21

Cf. Xen. Hell. 4.8.24. See Costa 1974 and Stylianou 1988. Trans. (here and below) La Rue Van Hook. See Alexiou 2010, 89–91. One of these was the orator Andocides, who had an estate in Cyprus (cf. Andoc. On the Mysteries 4), as well as other Greeks who were forced into exile; see Alexiou 2010, 141–143. Antiphanes lived from ca. late fifth to ca. late fourth century bc; cf. Konstantakos 2000b and Petrides (in this volume). On Comedy’s alternative play-titles and the manifold reasons behind this practice (e.g. restaging, emphasis on leading character(s), scholiast’s/scribe’s incidental remark, avoiding confusion between homonymous plays, etc.), see Hunter 1983, 146–148, and Arnott 1996a, 51 (both with further bibliography). See Konstantakos 2000a, 214–216 (with further bibliography).

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(Α.) ἐν Κύπρῳ φής, εἰπέ μοι, διήγετε πολὺν χρόνον; (Β.) τὸν πάνθ᾽ ἕως ἦν ὁ πόλεμος. (Α.) ἐν τίνι τόπῳ μάλιστα; λέγε γάρ. (Β.) ἐν Πάφῳ. οὗ πρᾶγμα τρυφερὸν διαφερόντως ἦν ἰδεῖν ἄλλως τ᾽ ἄπιστον. (Α.) ποῖον; (Β.) ἐρριπίζετο ὑπὸ τῶν περιστερῶν, ὑπ᾽ ἄλλου δ᾽ οὐδενός, δειπνῶν ὁ βασιλεύς. (Α.) πῶς; ἐάσας τἄλλα γὰρ ἐρήσομαί σε τοῦθ᾽. (Β.) ὅπως; ἠλείφετο ἐκ τῆς Συρίας ἥκοντι τοιούτου μύρῳ καρποῦ σύχν᾽ οἷόν φασι τὰς περιστερὰς τρώγειν. διὰ τὴν ὀσμὴν δὲ τούτου πετόμεναι παρῆσαν, οἷαί τ᾽ ἦσαν ἐπικαθιζάνειν ἐπὶ τὴν κεφαλήν· παῖδες δὲ παρακαθήμενοι ἐσόβουν. ἀπαίρουσαι δὲ μικρόν, οὐ πολύ, τοῦ μήτ᾽ ἐκεῖσε μήτε δεῦρο παντελῶς, οὕτως ἀνερρίπιζον, ὥστε σύμμετρον αὐτῷ τὸ πνεῦμα, μὴ περίσκληρον, ποιεῖν (A.) Tell me, you say you spent a lot of time on Cyprus? (B.) Yes, the whole war. (A.) Where in particular? Give me the story! (B.) In Paphos, where you could see something extraordinarily luxurious, and incredible as well. (A.) What? (B.) When the king was having dinner, he was fanned by pigeons, and pigeons only! (A.) How? I’m going to ignore everything else and just ask you this. (B.) How? He anointed himself with imported Syrian perfume scented with the kind of fruit, people say, that pigeons often eat. The pigeons were there, flying around, because of the smell of it; they could have roosted on his head, except that slaves sitting beside him kept shooing them off. But they stayed just a bit away from him, not too far in either direction; and they fanned up the air enough to create a breeze of due proportion and not too strong. trans. olson

As already mentioned, during the fourth century bc the island of Cyprus experienced a long series of military operations. The soldier in Antiphanes’ fragment refers—with all probability—to the military events of 345/344 bc, triggered by the uprising of the Cypriot kingdoms against Persia, which had begun

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a few years earlier (351/350bc; cf. D.S. 16.40.5).22 The revolt was easily suppressed, following the cooperation between Idrieus, satrap of Caria, and the Athenians, who dispatched a mercenary unit to the island under the leadership of the Athenian general Phocion.23 It is highly likely that it is then that Antiphanes’ comic character served as a mercenary soldier in Cyprus and, having now returned to mainland Greece, he is asked to describe his experience. But instead of focusing on military deeds, he would rather impress his collocutor (and the audience) by reporting a preposterous incident that he allegedly witnessed at the royal court of Paphos; the king, purposely anointed with a special scent, was being fanned by pigeons attracted to the scent, while slaves kept shooing them away, so that the proper amount of air (produced from fluttering pigeons) reached and cooled the king. This preposterous, exotic-sounding pigeon-story is a typical example of similarly absurd stories commonly narrated by soldier figures during the periods of Middle and New Comedy;24 as such, it is not—of course—to be taken at face value. Yet, we are allowed to read between the lines, interpret the story not as a fact but as an allegorical manifestation of a largely luxurious modus vivendi, and eventually confirm Athenaeus’ initial evaluation regarding the overwhelming lavishness and the extravagant lifestyle of Cypriot kings. It should be noted that in Roman times, according to the testimony of Pliny the Elder, pigeons were considered valuable possessions and were accordingly sold at exorbitant prices.25 Regarding Cypriot pigeons, it is instructive that in another fragment by Antiphanes (fr. 173 from the play Ὁμοπάτριοι: ‘Men who shared a father’), where different places (associated with certain deities) are matched with respective birds, Cyprus is said to have special/exquisite doves:26

22

23

24 25 26

Other major fourth-century military conflicts involving Cyprus (though less likely to have provided for the historical backdrop of Antiphanes’ fragment/play) are the following: (i) the revolt of Evagoras I against Persia during the years 392/391–379bc (cf. Hill 1940, 132–140; Maier 19942, 314–316; Körner 2017, 249–262); (ii) the involvement of Nicocles of Salamis in the Satraps’ revolt in 362–360bc (cf. Hill 1940, 145; Maier 19942, 328; Körner 2017, 272–276); (iii) the siege of a Cypriot city, probably Marium, by Ptolemy in 321/320 bc (cf. Hill 1940, 156–158, Maier 19942, 333). See Hill 1940, 146–148; Maier 19942, 329–330; Konstantakos 2000a, 215–216. On the muchdebated personality of Phocion, see further Tritle 1988, 36–145; Lamberton 2001, 117–125; Hughes 2008; Bayliss 2011, 129–151. See n. 5 above and Petrides (in this volume). For example, a pair of pigeons for four hundred denarii (Plin. HN 10.52–53). NB the adjective διάφορος is presently used with the meaning excellent, distinguished, remarkable; cf. LSJ9 s.v.

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ἐν Ἡλίου μέν φασι γίγνεσθαι πόλει φοίνικας, ἐν Ἀθήναις δὲ γλαῦκας. ἡ Κύπρος ἔχει πελείας διαφόρους, ἡ δ᾽ ἐν Σάμῳ Ἥρα τὸ χρυσοῦν, φασίν, ὀρνίθων γένος, τοὺς καλλιμόρφους καὶ περιβλέπτους ταὧς People claim there are phoenixes in Heliopolis, and owls in Athens. Cyprus has got special doves, and Samian Hera, they say, has her extraordinary species of birds, the spectacularly gorgeous peacocks. trans. olson

It is remarkable that Cyprus, the legendary birthplace of Aphrodite, was famous for its doves, a bird closely associated with the goddess (Thompson 19362, 145). The coordinated fanning of the Paphian king by pigeons in Antiphanes fr. 200 is probably part of the same Cypriot-pigeon imagery.27 Interestingly, a feature of περιστερά (in the narrow sense of ‘pigeon’) is material to our discussion: ‘pigeons’ (unlike ‘doves’) can be easily domesticated; and this quality of theirs definitely served well the arranged fanning of the Paphian king, since one would need to have an adequate number of pigeons available to generate such a cooling mechanism (i.e. it is only through domestication that so many pigeons could promptly be at the king’s disposal whenever needed). Next in order is New Comedy and Menander’s Μισούμενος ἢ Θρασωνίδης (‘The Hated Man or Thrasonides’), which was one of Menander’s most popular plays.28 The play variously refers to events in Cyprus, which probably constituted the historical background of the plot. These references strongly suggest that the title-figure of Thrasonides was a mercenary, who was recruited by a Cypriot king to fight by his side against Ptolemy i, when the latter attempted to bring the island under his control between 321 and 309bc. With all probability, the play must have been written either during or shortly after that period.29 The soldier Thrasonides, having just returned from Cyprus, is in love with Crateia, a

27

28 29

The fact that the term used in Antiph. fr. 173 (πέλεια or πελειάς—‘dove’) is different from περιστερά (‘pigeon’) featuring in Antiph. fr. 200 should not keep us long. πέλεια / πελειάς and περιστερά are both species (albeit distinct ones) of the pigeon-family; besides, περιστερά commonly serves as a generic term for all species of the family. On πέλεια / πελειάς (‘dove’) and περιστερά (‘pigeon’), see Arist. HA 544b2, and Thompson 19362, 139–146. See MacCary 1972, 285–288. So Arnott 1996b, 254–255, following Turner 1965, 17; cf. Hill 1940, 113–115, 156–178.

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slave girl. Crateia’s father, Demeas, has also recently arrived from Cyprus.30 In lines 632ff. Demeas complains that in Cyprus war had scattered families; Getas (Thrasonides’ slave) goes on to explain that this was how the young girl, Crateia, came to be a slave of Thrasonides. (Γέτας) ἀλλ᾽ [ἐτ]ύγχαν[ες ἀπόδημος ὢν ἐκεῖθεν; (Δημέας) ἐκ Κύπρου παρὼ[ν ἐνταῦθα πρῶτον τῶν ἐμῶν ταύτην ὁρ[ῶ. καὶ δῆλον ὡς ἔσπαρκε τῶν οἴκοι τινὰς ὁ κοινὸς ἐχθρὸς πόλεμος ἄλλον ἀλλαχῇ. (Γέτας) ἔχει γὰρ οὕτως· αἰχμάλωτος γενομένη αὕτη πρ[ὸ]ς ἡμᾶς ἦλθε τοῦτον τ[ὸ]ν τ[ρ]όπον (Getas) But were you in fact away from home? (Demeas) I’m here from Cyprus. She is the first member of my family I’ve seen. War is man’s common enemy. It’s scattered asunder members of my household, that’s apparent. (Getas) It’s the way things go. She came to us like that, a prisoner of war. trans. arnott

Demeas’ emotional reaction upon his safe return and upon seeing his daughter highlights the destructive consequences of war, which here is considered personified as “the man’s common enemy”.31 Even more conspicuous is fr. 5 from the same play, which identifies Thrasonides as having served under one of the Cypriot kings.32 The fragment is preserved by the ancient scholiast on Odyssey 17.442 (who cared to add a hermeneutic remark on the issue that he considered remarkable): ὅτι ἀεὶ πολλοὺς εἶχεν ἡ Κύπρος βασιλεῖς ἐν ταὐτῷ φησι καὶ Μένανδρος ἐν Μισουμένῳ ὡς ἐν παρεκβάσει (corr. Heath: παραβάσει mss.): “ἐκ Κύπρου λαμπρῶς πάνυ πράττων· ἐκεῖ γὰρ ὑπό τιν᾽ ἦν τῶν βασιλέων” 30 31 32

Cf. lines 431–432: (Γραύς) ποδαπὸς εἶ, ξένε; / (Δημ.) ἐγώ; πα[ρὰ Κύπρου.] (‘Stranger, where are you from?/ Me? From [Cyprus]’). NB πα[ρὰ Κύπρου.] suppl. Turner 1965. Cf. Gomme–Sandbach 1973, 451–452. Cf. Arnott 1996b, 255.

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That Cyprus always had many kings at one and the same time is also confirmed by Menander, who says parenthetically in “Misoumenos”: “From Cyprus, having accomplished glorious achievements. There I (or he) served under one of the kings”. My translation

If we consider ἦν to be first person singular, the speaker must be Thrasonides himself boasting about his valiant performances in Cyprus. Alternatively, if we interpret ἦν as third person singular, this could be a report about Thrasonides, which was possibly delivered by a prologue figure.33 The reference to ‘many kings ἐν ταὐτῷ’ (‘at the same time’) is a valuable piece of evidence that accords with our knowledge regarding the idiosyncratic form that the institution of monarchy had taken over the years in Cyprus. The defining attribute of Cypriot monarchy—from the early first millennium bc until the Hellenistic era—was the simultaneous existence of multiple kings and separate, autonomous city-kingdoms.34 The origins of this unique political topography are quite complex and trace back to the second millennium bc. At some point between the late fifteenth and the late thirteenth century bc, the geopolitical configuration of Cyprus drastically changed due to a combination of interrelated reasons (external political influence, economic growth, social restructuring).35 The Late Cypriot Bronze Age (1700–1050bc) witnessed a decisive turning point in the history of Cyprus; unprecedented economic growth (resulting from exploitation of the rich copper deposits) led to political and social restructuring, as well as cultural renaissance. Although the precise dates for this socio-political transformation remain a hotly debated issue among scholars, the majority of relevant studies largely agree that the evolution of both the social structure and the political organisation of Cyprus needs to be approached and interpreted (i) in relation with the Near Eastern models of the Levant polities (with which Cypriot mariners and merchants had established trade relationships, already from the sixteenth century bc onwards), and (ii) against the island’s vibrant socio-economic milieu and particularly the unprecedented urban flourishing 33 34

35

Bringing the audience up to date via an expatiating prologue is a typically recurring feature of Menander’s modus scribendi; cf. Scafuro 2014, 223–224. This might be considered bizarre given the island’s size (9251 m2). Recently, Körner 2017, 11–57 has carried out a meticulous analysis of all aspects relating to Cypriot kingdoms (geographic/topographic details, etc.), taking into consideration and thoroughly evaluating all available evidence (archaeological, epigraphic, literary, etc.). Cf. Iacovou 2004; Counts–Iacovou 2013; Iacovou 2013; Elayi 2017, 72 (with further bibliography). See Christodoulou 2013, 5–8.

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of the thirteenth century bc, which led to the collapse of centralised rule. Substantial archaeological and literary evidence and expert analyses of it seem to agree (albeit hesitantly, at times) that until the fourteenth century bc Cyprus featured an adapted monarchical system (with a primus inter pares king dominating over local elites36), whereas from the thirteenth century onwards the island (under the influence of interregional politics in the Levant and Egypt and because of elite emulation and redistribution of power) gradually underwent a process of political fragmentation,37 which eventually led—with all probability, in the early years of the first millennium bc—to πολλοὺς βασιλεῖς ἐν ταὐτῷ (‘many kings at one and the same time’), as the abovementioned ancient scholia shrewdly detected. Indeed, multiple and diverse—albeit often fragmentary—pieces of evidence (archaeological, literary, inscriptional, geological, and other) testify to the gradual formation of a number of clearly demarcated administrative districts in Cyprus during the first millennium bc and the concomitant emergence of autonomous political units / sovereign city-kingdoms, ruled by individual kings. The number, the names, and the boundaries of these kingdoms appear to have substantially fluctuated from the eighth until the fourth century bc.38 The earliest reference to Cyprus’ numerous kings occurs in an Assyrian inscription from the archaic period, which dates to the late eighth century bc.39 The inscription features on a stele found in the Cypriot city of Citium (modern day Larnaca); the stele was erected by and celebrated the Assyrian king Sargon ii (who reigned from 721 to 705bc), following the revolt of Citium against Tyre and the military assistance offered to the Tyrian king by Sargon, in order to reconquer Citium.40 King Sargon is depicted on the stele, dressed in the typical Assyrian royal attire (long fringed robe and headdress), holding a sceptre. The stele is inscribed with an Akkadian cuneiform inscription, where seven Cypriot

36 37 38

39 40

See Knapp 2008, 335–336. For an exhaustive discussion and evaluation of contemporary views and previous bibliography, see Knapp 2012, 432–447. Cf. Webb 2005; Körner 2017, passim. Scholarly research has been further impeded by discrepancies between the archaeological findings and the ancient literary sources, as well as by the disagreement among the ancient sources themselves. Understandably, the Homeric background and the heroic past provide for a romanticised/Hellenised ideology. Thus, according to legend, the Cypriot city-kingdoms variously trace their legendary/aetiological origins to Homeric heroes, who landed on the island after leaving Troy; cf. Stylianou 1989, 407–408; Körner 2017, 98– 128. 708/707 bc as terminus post quem; so Radner 2010, 434. See Stylianou 1989, 382–387; Tadmor 1996; Radner 2010 (with further bibliography); Christodoulou 2013, 17–20, Elayi 2017, passim (on the stele: 72–78); Körner 2017, 44–45, 129–156.

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kings are mentioned; these seven kings correspond—within the inscription’s context—to the so-called district of Ia (or Ya or Jā) of some larger area / land called Iadnana (or Jādnana or Iatnana),41 whose kings had pledged their allegiance to Sargon. The largest number of kings and corresponding city-kingdoms on the island is attested for the seventh century bc, when ten autonomous kingdoms are mentioned on another Assyrian inscription (the so-called ‘Esarhaddon prism’), dated to 673/672bc. This is a tributary list to the Assyrian king Esarhaddon, found in Nineveh, where ten Cypriot kings, vassals to Esarhaddon, are praised for having contributed to the construction and embellishment of the royal palace at Nineveh.42 The ten Cypriot kingdoms that are mentioned are Idalium, Chytri, Soli, Paphos, Salamis, Curium, Tamassus, Citium, Ledra, and Amathus.43 The simultaneous presence of multiple city-kingdoms on the island continued until the year 310/309 bc, when Ptolemy i—amidst the wars of Alexander’s successors—managed to take control of Cyprus and turn it into a part of the Hellenistic kingdom of Egypt.44 Greek Comedy’s trend of visualising the island of Cyprus as the plot’s background re-emerges—quite expectedly—within Roman comic drama. In the second century bc, Turpilius writes a play called Paedium (a Romanised Greek title, Παιδίον). With all probability, this was an adaptation of a like-name original by Menander (of which seven fragments survive; PCG 6.2,182–185); and we have good reason to believe45 that both the original and its Romanised version were set in Cyprus. To conclude, it comes as no surprise that Greek Comedy—a literary genre actively and constantly engaged with reality—did not let the vehement military activity in Cyprus pass unnoticed. It is particularly noteworthy that Middle Comedy and Menander elaborate on this issue in ways that are most typical of their respective styles; that is, in Middle Comedy Cypriot warfare provides an ideal setting for the era’s stereotypical figure of arrogant soldier, while Menander’s lines feature—albeit subtly—the distinctive Menandrean tendency for 41

42 43 44 45

Both the appellation/transcription and the identification of this region have long been controversial issues among scholars. Both Stylianou 1989, 384–386 and Körner 2017, 135– 143 converge in (hesitantly) believing that Ia must be identified with Cyprus and Iadnana with the (then known to Assyrians) Greek-speaking world. See Thompson 1927–1928, 25; Hill 1940, 104–105, 107; Reyes 1994, 50–51, 160; Karageorghis 2002, 153–154, 156. For the identification of Qartihadašti with Citium and of Nûri with Amathus, see Körner 2017, 34–37. See Maier 19942, 302, 333–334; Körner 2017, 279–285. Arnott 1996a, 353.

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generalised/abstract discussions about human life46 (war being men’s common enemy, etc.). Perhaps even more remarkable and valuable is the accidental survival of Menander’s parenthetical reference to multiple Cypriot kings, through indirect tradition; a rare occasion where the comic genre—incidentally and straightforwardly—confirms our knowledge regarding the political system of Cyprus.

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46

For Menander’s pronounced tendency towards generalisation in argument, which borders on the exercise of (fake) philosophy, and for the tendency’s indebtedness to Old and Middle Comedy, see Papachrysostomou 2012–2013, 167–173.

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chapter 13

Real and Imagined Geographies of Cyprus in Imperial Greek Literature William Hutton

In the last few decades, archaeological, epigraphic, and numismatic studies have contributed to a picture of Roman-era Cyprus as a prosperous and dynamic place endowed with unique mineral and agricultural resources, housing famous and functioning cult sites like the shrines of Aphrodite at Paphos and Amathus, and situated athwart important routes between the eastern reaches of the empire and its centre. The corpus of inscriptions from the island in the first few centuries ad gives us an image of a stable and mostly peaceful Senatorial province, largely untouched by military action and well integrated into the governmental functions of the empire as a whole, with a steady stream of Roman governors of Praetorian rank and a number of documented connections to other parts of the empire.1 Greek literary sources of the period, however, make relatively few references to Cyprus and most of those references are of a historical or mythical nature and give us only very limited information about the contemporary affairs of the island. This is unfortunate, but also a little puzzling, because at least the way modern scholarship has tended to conceive of Greek literature in this period, it seems like there ought to be more interest in Cyprus. In studying ancient history and literature one of the first things one learns is to avoid the argument from silence. What follows, however, will not be so much an argument from silence as an argument about silence, the silence in question being the relative silence about the island of Cyprus in the Greek literature of the Roman era. It is always easier to propose a convincing explanation for why writers write about particular topics than for why they don’t write about them, but the following paragraphs will offer a selective survey of what Greek authors do say about Cyprus along with some tentative efforts to account for why they don’t say more. In part, Roman Cyprus may be a victim of its own stability and good fortune. Following a tumultuous beginning as a Roman possession amid the chaos of 1 Mitford 1980 provides the most thorough survey of the history of Cyprus in the Roman period. See also Hill 1940, 1.205–256; Alastos 1976, 92–145; Karageorghis 1982, 177–197; Leonard 2005; Gordon 2012, 2018a and 2018b.

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the civil wars, by the time of Augustus Cyprus seems to have settled into what Terence Mitford has referred to as “three centuries of tranquil obscurity”.2 To be sure, Mitford’s characterisation of Cypriot history betrays a previous generation’s attitude toward history that focused narrowly on politics and military affairs and depended too heavily on the literary record, and recent scholars have shown how incomplete and misleading such approaches can be;3 but the fact remains that we are hard pressed for literary evidence relating to areas of history and culture even more broadly considered. We are also limited in our perspective by the lack of indigenous voices, as the number of Cypriot authors securely datable to this period is small and their work survives only in meagre fragments.4 Beyond that, no surviving author of the period apart from Galen is known to have even visited the island. Galen went there at least once to collect medicinal substances from the mines, and he mentions his visit to the island in several of his writings (e.g. Simp. Med. 12.171 Kühn; Aliment. Fac. 6.507 Kühn; Comp. Med. Loc. 13.715 Kühn, etc.; cf. Nutton 1973; Jones 2012; Mattern 2013, 100–102). Unfortunately, his remarks rarely stray beyond the immediate area of the mines and the materials that he obtained there, and there is no indication that he toured the island more extensively. In addition to Galen, the inveterate traveller Pausanias may have visited the island, although the evidence is more equivocal: he describes in some detail a necklace deposited in the shrine of Aphrodite at Amathus (9.41.2–5). He does not explicitly claim that he saw the necklace with his own eyes, however, and thus may have borrowed the description from a previous source. Travel to Cyprus in general by the sorts of elites who engaged in literary activity is not something that is well documented in the literature, and such evidence as there is seems to cluster around the first and early second century ad: Titus is the only emperor known to have visited the island (Tac. Hist. 2.2–3), although there is some indication that Trajan and Hadrian may have done so as well.5 Titus stopped at Paphos and paid his respects to Aphrodite on his way to the East from Rome. It was also in this period, according to the Acts of the Apostles, that St. Paul visited Paphos (Acts 13.6–12); and, to the extent we can trust Philostratus’ biography on such matters (3.58), Apol-

2 Mitford 1980, 1295. 3 Gordon 2018b offers a cogent critique of traditional approaches and a good overview of new approaches that are bringing some illumination to Roman Cyprus’ tranquil obscurity. 4 For the remains of Cypriot authors of all periods in antiquity, see Voskos 2002 and Voskos 20082. 5 Mitford 1971, 197–198, 218–219.

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lonius of Tyana paid a visit to Paphos on his peregrinations. All such references, however, are written in or refer to events within the early imperial period, and it’s worth noting that with the exception of Paul, who also visited Salamis (Acts 13.3–5), and possibly Pausanias (Amathus), none of the travellers in question is said to have visited any place on the island aside from Paphos. Certainty is impossible, but on the basis of the literary evidence we have, one would have a hard time refuting the hypothesis that elite tourism to Cyprus consisted mostly of visiting the famous Aphrodite shrine at Paphos and nowhere else, and that even that practice started to be more rare not long after the second century ad began. The bulk of the literature of the period about Cyprus may have been written by people who had no personal knowledge of the island for an audience that was similarly ignorant and indifferent about it. Many of the general characteristics of literary references to Cyprus in the Roman period are visible in the most detailed treatment of Cyprus by a Greek author of the era, that of the geographer Strabo (14.6.1–6). Several aspects of Strabo’s account suggest that Cyprus was a place of middling interest to him. His most pressing concern seems to be to describe in great detail the dimensions of the island and its position in relation to known bodies of water and other territories (14.6.1–2). The rest of the description contains in small compass many of the typical features of Strabo’s methodology in describing a territory—a periplous of coastal sites, with occasional comments on the foundation history, interesting monuments and landmarks, and famous citizens (ἄνδρες ἔνδοξοι or ἄξιοι μνήμης; Engels 2005). Strabo’s deficit of interest in the particulars of Cyprus can be gauged by the sparseness of these remarks in comparison to those on the nearby territory of Cilicia (14.5.1–29) or, for that matter, on the smaller island of Rhodes (14.2.5–13). Of heroic founders (all Greek), cursory reference is made to Praxander and the Laconians at Lapathus, the Argives at Curium, Agapenor at Paphos (14.6.3), Phalerus and Acamas at Soli (14.6.6), and the landing site of Teucer near Salamis. The roll of famous citizens consists of Zeno the Stoic, Apollonius the physician from Citium, and the military man Stasanor from Soli (ibid.). Of man-made monuments, he mentions only three temples of Aphrodite, one (paradoxically off-limits to women) on the promontory of Olympus in the east of the island, one at Soli, and the ‘ancient shrine’ (ἱερὸν ἀρχαῖον) for Aphrodite at Palaepaphos. The famous association of the island with Aphrodite looms large in Strabo’s description. Of other gods, he mentions only a grove of Zeus at Arsinoe, a cliff near Curium, from which those who have offended Apollo were hurled; Isis is also mentioned as sharing Aphrodite’s temple at Soli, unless Strabo’s ambiguous reference means that Isis had one of her own (Σόλοι πόλις λιμένα ἔχουσα καὶ ποταμὸν

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καὶ ἱερὸν Ἀφροδίτης καὶ Ἴσιδος). Strabo also mentions a hill sacred to Aphrodite at the promontory of Pedalium, which establishes the goddess’ presence at all four corners of the island: Olympus (northeast), Pedalium (southeast), Palaepaphos (southwest), and Soli (northwest). In terms of resources, Strabo mentions numerous harbours in the course of his periplous, praises the island’s soil and some of its agricultural products (14.6.5), mentions the mines near Tamassus but not those near Soli or elsewhere, and cites Eratosthenes on the abundance of timber on the island, which is both a resource in itself and a hindrance to agriculture. Strabo ends his remarks on Cyprus with a concise historical account (14.6.6). He briefly mentions the island’s history of being ruled first by monarchs whom he terms ‘tyrants’ (τύραννοι), then by the Ptolemaic dynasty in Egypt, but his political narrative focuses on the absorption of Cyprus into the Roman empire in the late Republican period. Strabo’s account is cursory and inaccurate,6 presenting the annexation of Cyprus as a result not of political, strategic, or economic considerations, but of the petulant desire of Publius Clodius to take revenge on King Ptolemy for not acting energetically enough to ransom him when he had been detained by pirates on the island. The sardonic nature of this passage points to its importance to Strabo more as a literary device than as a delivery of important information. It brings an end to Strabo’s account of Cyprus as well as of the northern part of Asia, and Strabo is accustomed to signpost such transition points with humorous or titillating anecdotes.7 There are no indications that Strabo himself had visited Cyprus, and it could be that the sources for most of his geographical and topographical information date to the Hellenistic period or earlier, as does the only source he explicitly cites, Eratosthenes. In Plutarch’s vast corpus, references to Cyprus are relatively rare. The two lengthiest are mythical and myth-historical in nature. In his Theseus (20), Plutarch cites a Cypriot author Paeon of Amathus for a version of the story of Theseus and Ariadne that brings Ariadne to Cyprus and has her die there. The story provides an aition for a cult of ‘Aphrodite Ariadne’ at Amathus, purportedly founded by Theseus after Ariadne’s death.8 In Plutarch’s Solon (26) we find a story that brings Solon to Cyprus on his legendary travels. There he is entertained by King Philocyprus, who follows Solon’s advice to re-establish his city, Aipeia, on more level ground. In gratitude, the king renames his city

6 See Badian 1965. 7 Pothecary 2017. 8 Mitford 1990, 2185–2186. On ‘Aphrodite Ariadne’ see also Fakas and Savva in this volume.

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Soli, after the wandering sage. This story, for which Plutarch does not name a source, is also referred to in less detail in the anonymous Vita Arati, and by later lexicographers who are likely dependent on Plutarch (e.g. Etymologicum Magnum s.v. Σόλοι). Plutarch also quotes an epigram ascribed to Solon that praises Philocyprus. This epigram is probably the same one alluded to by Herodotus (5.113.2), who mentions it without referring to the refounding of Philocyprus’ city (Solon fr. 19 IEG2): νῦν δὲ σὺ μὲν Σολίοισι πολὺν χρόνον ἐνθάδ᾽ ἀνάσσων τήνδε πόλιν ναίοις καὶ γένος ὑμέτερον· αὐτὰρ ἐμὲ ξὺν νηὶ θοῇ κλεινῆς ἀπὸ νήσου ἀσκηθῆ πέμποι Κύπρις ἰοστέφανος, οἰκισμῷ δ᾽ ἐπὶ τῷδε χάριν καὶ κῦδος ὀπάζοι ἐσθλὸν καὶ νόστον πατρίδ᾽ ἐς ἡμετέρην. Now may you rule the Solians here for a long time And may you and your family inhabit this city. As for me, may violet-crowned Cypris send me Unharmed on a swift ship from this glorious island, And may she bestow favor and noble renown upon this settlement And a return to our homeland.9 Plutarch casts this epigram as Solon’s thank-offering for the honour that Philocyprus paid him in renaming his city, but the poem mentions nothing specific about the refounding or renaming, and it is likely that the story was woven as an iconatrophic aition for the poem’s existence.10 Apart from these two passages, Cyprus serves Plutarch largely as a stage for some of the activities of the characters in his biographies, including Cimon (18), Demetrius (15), and Cato the Younger (40–45). In these passages Cyprus is characterised explicitly and implicitly as a place that is prosperous and strategically located, but few details about the island are presented. Given the sorts of writing that Strabo and Plutarch do, it is unfortunate that they didn’t write more about Cyprus, but it’s not particularly surprising. For other authors, the silence is more unexpected. It’s a puzzle, for instance, why very little attention is paid to Cyprus in the surviving Greek novels of the day, despite the importance in most of the novels of Cyprus-born Aphrodite as god-

9 10

All translations are my own unless otherwise noted. Irwin 1999, 192.

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dess of love, and despite the fact that the protagonists of the novels typically find themselves tossed between just about every other place in the eastern Mediterranean in the course of their adventures. In the earliest surviving novels, you do have an inkling of a Cypriot theme. In the last book of Chariton’s Callirhoe, after the hero Chaereas has led a triumphant naval attack on the Persians at Tyre and has been reunited with his love Callirhoe, the happy couple sail with Chaereas’ fleet to Paphos, where they pay honour to Aphrodite and seek guidance for their future (8.2.7–8). Similarly, in the Ephesiaca of Xenophon, the climactic reunion of the central couple Habrocomes and Anthia in the final book is preceded by a journey Habrocomes takes by sea from Sicily to Ephesus. Cyprus is hardly along the route for such a journey, yet Habrocomes’ itinerary includes a stop in Cyprus, where he pays court to the ancestral goddess of the Cyprians, Aphrodite (5.10.3).11 Neither the author nor any of the characters comments on the oddness of this route or provides any explicit motive for the detour, which leads one to believe that the author is introducing it as a plot element with tacit thematic significance. These two passages are good examples of how Cyprus might be deployed to good effect in the canonical novel, but they also seem to be the beginning and the end of Cyprus’ role in this regard. None of the other surviving Greek novels makes any reference to the island. An exception arises in the afterlife of the genre in the twelfth-century ad verse romance Rhodanthe and Dosicles by Theodorus Prodromus. Cyprus (without any specification of where on Cyprus) is the place where the titular couple is reunited after a series of misadventures has separated them.12 Though written in the Christian context of the Byzantine empire, the classicising poem preserves all the pre-Christian gods and their traditional attributes, including the association of Cyprus with Aphrodite and Eros. Once Dosicles arrives on the island, Eros mischievously causes all the women to fall in love with him (8.191–209). This presents a threat to the pair’s happiness and they contemplate fleeing the island, but the fates arrange otherwise by inducing the fathers of Rhodanthe and Dosicles to come to Cyprus by means of the following oracle delivered to them at Delphi (9.196–204):13

11

12

13

Capra 2012 suggests that ‘Cyprus’ (Κύπρος) in Xenophon’s text is a copyist’s error for ‘Carpathos’ (Κάρπαθος). A stop in Carpathos rather than Cyprus would allow a less circuitous sea-route, but I remain unconvinced. For a relevant discussion see also Fakas in this volume (pp. 293 with n. 137). For a good overview and discussion of the poem, see Beaton 2012, 70–76. For Cyprus as a possible setting for action in some lost and fragmentary novels, see the discussions of Fakas and Kanavou in this volume. Translation: Jeffreys 2012, 147–148.

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Τίπτε, δύω γενέτα, πολυηράτοιό τε μόσχου/ πόρτιός θ᾽ ἁπαλῆς σκολιὰς δίζεσθε κελεύθους;/ χέρσῳ ὑφ᾽ ἁλικλύστῳ, ζῳοτρόφον ποτὶ νᾶσον,/ ἣν λάχε Κυπρογένεια, Πόθου γενέτειρ᾽ Ἀφροδίτη/ (ἠὲ παρασχομένη τόδε ⟨τ⟩οὔνομα ἠὲ λαβοῦσα),/ δερκόμενοι βιόωντας λεύσετε. ἀλλ᾽ ἐπὶ πάτρης/ στέψαθ᾽ ὑπὸ στεφάνοισι τροπαιοφόρου Κυθερείης·/ τοὺς γὰρ Ἔρως τε Πόθος τε καὶ Ἀφρογένεια Κυθήρη/ δμήσατο θειοδέτοιο ἀλυκτοπέδῃσι σιδάρου. Why, paired parents, do you seek the twisting paths of your much-loved calf and tender heifer? By the sea-girt land, by the animal nurturing island which fell to the Cyprus-born begetter of Desire, Aphrodite (a name either bestowed or taken), there beholding them, you will see where they were living, but in that country crown them with the wreaths of the trophy-bearing Cytherean; for Eros and Desire and the foam-born Cytherean have subdued them with the indissoluble bonds of iron bound on by the gods. Accordingly, the fathers head to Cyprus and bring the lovers back home for their wedding. One might speculate that Prodromus was inspired by a Cyprian theme that persisted in ancient Greek novels other than the ones that survive, but other factors have an equal or greater chance of influencing his decision to use Cyprus as a stage, including the relatively greater centrality and prominence of Cyprus in the context of the Byzantine empire in comparison to the Roman empire in which the Greek novels were written. It could also be that Prodromus was reacting to the brief and incongruous appearance of Cyprus in the Ephesiaca, a novel that seems to have been a source of inspiration for him in other respects.14 One might also expect the idea of Cyprus to be exploited in other literature of the period, particularly in the period of the Second Sophistic when, according to much recent scholarship, the problem of Hellenic identity in the context of the Roman empire was a prominent issue among many Greek authors.15 Cyprus was located far to the East and was populated according to tradition by Greek refugees: Teucer, banished by his father (Isoc. Evagoras 17); Agapenor and the Arcadians blown off course from Troy (Paus. 8.5.2–3); the Dryopians driven

14 15

Beaton 2012, 71, 73. Swain 1996; Whitmarsh 2001, 33–38.

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from their homes by Heracles (Diod. Sic. 4.37). In Cyprus, Greeks, Near Easterners, and aboriginal Cypriots lived side-by-side, intermingled, and engaged in commerce with one another. The standard form of government in the archaic and classical periods was not democracy or oligarchy but kingship reminiscent of oriental monarchy. Surely these characteristics would make Cyprus fertile ground for exploring and problematising the notion of Hellenism. But this is an opportunity that few if any of the surviving Greek authors of the period seem to have taken advantage of. One might expect, for instance, that Lucian, who is often understood by modern scholars to be frequently exploring his own complicated identity as a Syrian writing virtuoso Greek for the cosmopolitan audiences of the Roman empire,16 would be drawn to the alleged liminality of Cyprus’ Greekness. But he wasn’t, at least not in his surviving writings. In the Demonax, Lucian’s affectionate encomium for his mentor, a native of Citium, he does not give the slightest hint that Demonax’s ethnicity was ever an issue. Among the few references Lucian makes to Cyprus in the rest of his extensive corpus, typical is the following passage in Dialogues of the Courtesans (14) where the courtesan Myrtale offers sarcastic praise to her former client, the sailor Dorion, who has been supplanted in Myrtale’s affections by a wealthier man: ‘The woman who gets you as a lover will be really lucky, Dorion! You’ll bring her onions from Cyprus and cheese whenever you sail here from Gythion.’ As we shall see, Cyprus does make a number of appearances in imperial literature as a source of interesting produce and vegetation, although here the island’s bounty suffers in comparison to the more expensive and exotic gifts that Myrtale’s new lover can afford. There are a few passages on which one could hang an argument for a complicated relationship between Cyprus and Hellenism, but all of them are at best somewhat equivocal. In a list of rituals in various places involving human sacrifice, the third-century Neoplatonic philosopher Porphyry includes an example from Salamis in Cyprus (De abstinentia 2.54–55):17 ἐν δὲ τῇ νῦν Σαλαμῖνι … μηνὶ κατὰ Κυπρίους Ἀφροδισίῳ ἐθύετο ἄνθρωπος τῇ Ἀγραύλῳ τῇ Κέκροπος καὶ νύμφης Ἀγραυλίδος … τοῦτον δὲ τὸν θεσμὸν Δίφιλος ὁ τῆς Κύπρου βασιλεὺς κατέλυσε, κατὰ τοὺς Σελεύκου χρόνους τοῦ θεολόγου γενόμενος, τὸ ἔθος εἰς βουθυσίαν μεταστήσας.

16 17

Swain 1996, 298–329; Whitmarsh 2001, 247–294; Elsner 2001. Nilsson 1906, 402; Hughes 1991, 122–130. See also Savva in this volume (n. 3).

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In what is now Salamis … in the Cyprian month of Aphrodisium, a human being used to be sacrificed to Agraulos, daughter of Cecrops and the nymph Agraulis … This custom was halted by Diphilus the king of Cyprus, who lived in the time of Seleucus the Theologian, by altering the practice to a cattle sacrifice. The notice seems badly garbled in many respects: since Cecrops was the legendary primordial king of Athens and had no attested connections to Cyprus, one suspects that the anecdote originally applied to the Saronic island Salamis rather than to Salamis in Cyprus. One might force oneself to imagine that Teucer was credited with establishing, when he founded the Cyprian Salamis, a cult to the daughter of the ancient king of the city that was destined, several generations later, to take control of his Saronic homeland, but such an exertion of the imagination is surely not worth the effort. Moreover, the two individuals Porphyry mentions in connection with the discontinuation of the practice, Diphilus and Seleucus the Theologian, are otherwise unknown. It is odd that the former is called ‘king of Cyprus’ rather than king of a particular polis, and as for ‘Seleucus the Theologian’, it seems safe to suppose that if a person with such a name actually ever existed, he was either connected to the Seleucid dynasty or lived during or after the Seleucid ascendancy, a period in which the institution of kingship had ceased to exist in Cyprus. If, as seems prudent, we dismiss the likelihood that Porphyry’s account contains any valid information, we can still understand it as representing the ability of Porphyry and his expected audience to imagine that human sacrifice was being performed on Cyprus as late as the Hellenistic period, and it is worth noting that Porphyry’s contemporary Lactantius (Inst. 1.21) also referred to a human sacrifice to Zeus on Cyprus that was only brought to an end at the time of the emperor Hadrian. On the other hand, Porphyry’s catalogue of alleged human sacrifice rituals also includes places less marginally Greek, including Rhodes, Chios, and Sparta, so it is difficult to conclude that the reference provides much insight into a distinctive aspect of Cypriot identity. In the sixty-fourth oration in the corpus of Dio Chrysostom, we find the following: ἐρῶ δὲ ὑμῖν τινα καὶ Κύπριον λόγον, εἰ βούλεσθε. ἤνεγκεν ὁ παλαιὸς βίος καὶ ἐνδόξους γυναῖκας, Ῥοδογούνην πολεμικήν, Σεμίραμιν βασιλικήν, Σαπφὼ μουσικήν, Τιμάνδραν καλήν· οὕτω καὶ ἐν Κύπρῳ Δημώνασσα ἐγένετο, πολιτική τε ὁμοῦ γυνὴ καὶ νομοθετική. τρεῖς ἔθηκεν αὕτη τοῖς Κυπρίοις νόμους· τὴν μοιχευθεῖσαν κειραμένην πορνεύεσθαι … τὸν αὑτὸν ἀποκτείναντα ἄταφον ῥίπτεσθαι … · τρίτος ὥστε μὴ ἀποκτεῖναι βοῦν ἀρότριον.

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I will also tell you a story from Cyprus, if you like. The old way of life produced admirable women also: the warlike Rhodogyne, the royal Semiramis, the musical Sappho, the beautiful Timandra. Similarly, in Cyprus, there was Demonassa, who was both a politically active woman and a lawgiver. She established three laws for the Cyprians: that an adulterous woman should be shorn and condemned to a life of prostitution … that a person who kills himself should be cast out unburied … and the third was that no one should kill a plowing ox. This oration, the Second Oration on Fortune, is generally considered to be spurious. Most scholars nowadays accept the ascription of it to Favorinus, Dio’s younger contemporary, but the ascription is based wholly on stylistic similarities to other works ascribed to Favorinus and is neither certain nor unanimously accepted.18 Even if is not by Dio or Favorinus, however, it seems likely that it is a work of the same general period, that is of the first or second century ad. As the author tells the story, Demonassa’s three children transgressed her three laws and each met the Draconian fate that she had prescribed. Demonassa’s grief led her to do away with herself in an ostentatiously gruesome fashion and her tomb inscription characterised her as a victim of fortune. This supports the assertion the author makes in the introduction to his oration that people are too quick to blame fortune for whatever happens to them. On first glance, the notion of a woman lawgiver puts us outside the realm of normal Greek experience, and the inclusion of a Cyprian woman in a list alongside the eastern figures Rhodogyne and Semiramis might be seen as associating Cyprus with orientalising notions of monarchy and gender inversion; but then again, amongst the comparanda are also the Greek Sappho and Timandra, one of Alcibiades’ mistresses, so it’s by no means clear that the author considered Demonassa un-Greek in any way, except to the extent that female lawgivers were somewhat foreign to Greek experience to begin with. As with the mysterious King Diphilus in Porphyry’s story, Demonassa is mentioned by no other source, so it is likely that she too belongs to the realm of legend and imagination,19 particularly since the story of the ruler/lawgiver being hoist by the petard of their own harsh edicts is a common folktale motif (Thompson C901.4.1). Our author introduces the story as a ‘tale from Cyprus’ (Κύπριον λόγον), and several writers of Roman-era rhetorical handbooks seem to refer to ‘Cyprian stories’ (Κύπριοι 18

19

See Amato and Julien 2005, 416; Barigazzi 1966, 245–247 for a catalogue of previous scholars’ opinions. Goggin 1951, 191–192, notes a number of stylistic differences from Favorinus’ other work, but does not think them significant enough to rule out the ascription. Voskos 2002, 75–76.

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λόγοι, μῦθοι, or αἶνοι) as a recognised genre of morally instructive parables that orators can draw on (Voskos 2002, 71–75; cf. Hermogenes Progymn. 1.3 Rabe; Aphthonius 1.7 Rabe). Cyprus is not unique in producing such parables: the rhetoricians speak of Libyan tales, Sybarite tales, Cilician tales, etc., as fulfilling the same function. One such writer (Aelius Theon 2.73 Spengel) states that the only significant difference between various named genres of parable is the way they begin: ‘for instance, “Aesop said” … or “a Libyan man …” or “a Sybarite …” or “a Cyprian woman …” …’ (οἷον Αἴσωπος εἶπεν, ἢ Λίβυς ἀνήρ, ἢ Συβαρίτης, ἢ Κυπρία γυνή ….). The reference to ‘Cyprian woman’ suggests that female protagonists like Demonassa may have been a common characteristic of such Cyprian tales. The stories of Diphilus and Demonassa suggest the theme of Cyprian monarchy, which was perhaps the most distinctive aspect of the island’s political organisation in the archaic and classical periods. Reference to Cyprian royalty does occur in imperial Greek literature, but not as often as one might think. In his Deipnosophistae, Athenaeus offers as many references to Cyprus as any other author, but the bulk of them are brief comments on the island’s interesting agricultural products, including its almonds (2.39), figs (3.13), and pomegranates (3.27). Some, however, are anecdotes involving Cyprian kings; for example, he quotes some lines from Antiphanes’ comedy The Soldier (4th c. bc), in which the title character recounts his visit to the king of Paphos (6.71): οὗ πρᾶγμα τρυφερὸν διαφερόντως ἦν ἰδεῖν, ἄλλως τ᾽ ἄπιστον. … ἐρριπίζετο ὑπὸ τῶν περιστερῶν, ὑπ᾽ ἄλλου δ᾽ οὐδενὸς δειπνῶν ὁ βασιλεύς …. ἠλείφετο ἐκ τῆς Συρίας ἥκοντι τοιούτῳ μύρῳ, καρποῦ σύχν᾽ οἵου φασὶ τὰς περιστερὰς τρώγειν. διὰ τὴν ὀσμὴν δὲ τούτου πετόμεναι παρῆσαν οἷαί τ᾽ ἦσαν ἐπικαθιζάνειν ἐπὶ τὴν κεφαλήν· παῖδες δὲ παρακαθήμενοι ἐσόβουν. ἀπαίρουσαι δὲ μικρόν, οὐ πολὺ τοῦ μήτ᾽ ἐκεῖσε μήτε δεῦρο παντελῶς οὕτως ἀνερρίπιζον ὥστε σύμμετρον αὐτῷ τὸ πνεῦμα, μὴ περίσκληρον ποιεῖν. I have never seen a thing so extravagant, and incredible besides … At dinner, the king was fanned by doves and by no one else … he was smeared with a type of perfume that came from Syria, made from a fruit that they say doves often eat. The birds were attracted by the smell and were allowed to sit above his head. Boys sitting next to him would shoo them

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away, but only so much that they would not scatter completely to one side or the other but would make a breeze for him that was even and not too hard. This and other anecdotes about Cypriot kings (e.g. 4.63, 6.68, 8.18), which Athenaeus usually ascribes, as here, to a late classical or Hellenistic source, embody themes of hubris, extravagance, palace intrigue, and moral laxness. One might see them as part of a tendency toward othering Cyprus by associating it with common orientalising stereotypes about eastern monarchs and their subjects, but little distinguishes these tales and similar tales told about other Greek potentates such as the Hellenistic kings of Egypt and Syria, the tyrants of Sicily, or indeed the leaders of canonical Greek city states who gain too much power for their own good, such as the Spartan regent Pausanias. Bad behavior by powerful people would not necessarily have struck the Greeks as foreign, because they had plenty of home-grown examples. The notion of Cyprus as a place of ethnic diversity leaves little trace in the literature of the period. In the New Testament Acts, as we have seen, a visit to Cyprus by Paul and the Cypriot native Barnabas is recorded (13:4–12; cf. 4:36). Salamis and Paphos are the only specific places mentioned, and the account offers little by way of information about Cyprus itself, apart from the fact that there were Jews present in both cities.20 Paul and Barnabas are said to address more than one συναγωγή of the Jews at Salamis, and a Jew is named as an associate of the Roman governor Sergius Paulus at Paphos. The Jewish population of Cyprus also figures in Cassius Dio’s horrific account of the diaspora revolts of 116–117ad (68.32.1–3), in which, Dio claims, Jewish rebels at Salamis caused 240,000 deaths.21 The figure given for the casualties is scarcely believable and likely reflects anti-Jewish animus, but the fact that such a large number could be imagined implies at least the belief that the Jewish population of the island was of considerable size. Diogenes Laertius’ biography of Zeno of Citium (Book vii of his Lives of the Philosophers) contains perhaps the most detailed acknowledgment in literature of the period that Cyprus was, or at least had been, a place with a diverse population.22 This acknowledgment comes in the description of Citium itself as ‘a Greek town that had Phoenician settlers’ (πολίσματος Ἑλληνικοῦ Φοίνικας ἐποίκους ἐσχηκότος, 7.1), as well as in the person of Zeno, who is described

20 21 22

Levine 2005, 303. Pucci Ben Zeev 2005. Erskine 2000. On Zeno’s persona in epigrams see also Vertoudakis (this volume).

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(on the basis of information from four named sources) as ‘thin, tallish, darkskinned (on account of which someone called him an Egyptian offshoot), thicklegged, flabby, and weak. He declined most dinner invitations but enjoyed green figs and sunbathing.’ (ἰσχνὸς … ὑπομήκης, μελάγχρως—ὅθεν τις αὐτὸν εἶπεν Αἰγυπτίαν κληματίδα … παχύκνημός τε καὶ ἀπαγὴς καὶ ἀσθενής … τὰ πλεῖστα αὐτὸν δεῖπνα παραιτεῖσθαι. ἔχαιρε δέ … σύκοις χλωροῖς καὶ ἡλιοκαΐαις). Many of these characteristics can connote otherness in Greek sources (cf. Hdt. 2.104.2 on the dark skin of Egyptians and Colchians), and in combination they are reminiscent of the stereotypical descriptions of non-European peoples in the Hippocratic Airs, Waters, Places (Aer.), particularly inhabitants of cities open to the warm south winds (like Citium), who are described as ‘for the most part rather flaccid in appearance and not good at eating or drinking’ (τά τε εἴδεα ἐπὶ τὸ πλῆθος αὐτέων ἀτονώτερα εἶναι· ἐσθίειν δ᾽ οὐκ ἀγαθοὺς εἶναι οὐδὲ πίνειν, Aer. 3). Zeno relocates to Athens at a young age and spends the rest of his life there, so we hear little else of Cyprus in Diogenes’ biography, apart from the fact that when Zeno had made a name for himself, his native city honoured him with a bronze statue (7.6). But his ambiguous ethnicity follows him: his Athenian mentor Crates calls him his ‘little Phoenician’ (Φοινικίδιον), a nickname that may owe as much to the fact that he first came to Athens as a merchant in Phoenician dyed cloth as it does to his perceived ethnicity. We are also told, however, that his connections with Phoenicia (real or imagined) are strong enough that a rival philosopher could accuse Zeno of stealing his ideas and dressing them up in Phoenician style (or perhaps ‘in Phoenician purple’: τὰ δόγματα κλέπτων Φοινικικῶς μεταμφιεννύς, 7.25). Diogenes also mentions that there was a community of (presumably Greek) Citians at Sidon who claimed him as their own (7.6), and he quotes an epigram ascribed to the secondcentury bc Stoic philosopher Zenodotus, chiding any who might see Zeno’s Phoenician connections as problematic (7.30): ‘If his homeland is Phoenician, how is that a reproach? So was Cadmus / from whom Hellas got the written page.’ (εἰ δὲ πάτρα Φοίνισσα, τίς ὁ φθόνος; ἦν καὶ ὁ Κάδμος / κεῖνος, ἀφ᾽ οὗ γραπτὰν Ἑλλὰς ἔχει σελίδα. = AP 7.117.5–6). If the attribution of this epigram to Zenodotus is genuine, and Diogenes Laertius is correct in calling Zenodotus a pupil of Diogenes of Babylon, it would probably have been written within a century after Zeno’s death, attesting an interesting attitude toward Cypriot and Phoenician ethnicity at least in the Hellenistic period. Zenodotus elides any explicit connection to Cyprus or Citium, and his language is ambiguous— is he saying that Zeno was actually from Phoenicia, or is he saying that being from Citium on Cyprus was tantamount to being from Phoenicia? In either case, being Phoenician is clearly something that Zenodotus imagines someone might hold against Zeno.

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In all, Diogenes’ biography does more to imply a liminal position for Cyprus and Cypriots in the Greek worldview than most texts from the imperial period, but given Diogenes’ tendency to hew closely to the sources that he punctiliously cites, are the attitudes on view here ones that might resonate with Diogenes himself and his audience, or are they simply artefacts of Diogenes’ sources? Writing about figures from the past may involve some trafficking in obsolete outlooks. Diogenes’ treatment of the old-time philosopher Zeno provides a suggestive contrast to Lucian’s account of the contemporary Cypriot philosopher Demonax which, as noted above, is free from any suggestion that Demonax is anything but Greek. Regardless of the equivocal information Diogenes presents about Zeno’s ethnicity, he still seems to assume that his audience will think of Zeno as Greek, or at least as liable to being reproached for falling below the standard expected of Greeks (7.16—in reference to his miserliness). One last intimation of Cypriot otherness comes in a series of passages related to the aforementioned story in Plutarch about Solon’s role in the foundation of Soli (Solon 26). In addition to being a likely extrapolation from Solon’s poetry, Plutarch’s account is also a doublet of a more widely attested story about Solon’s foundation of the city named Soli (later, Pompeiopolis) in Cilicia rather than Cyprus. The history of this story is illustrative. According to Polybius (21.24), the Cilician Soli was founded by colonists from Argos, and for this reason the Rhodians felt a kinship with them. A fragment of Aristotle seems to corroborate this tradition to some extent, reporting that Cilician Soli was founded by a man named Solon from Lindus on Rhodes with ‘Achaean’ and Rhodian settlers (Aristotle fr. 582 Rose, from the Vita Arati; cf. Strabo 14.5.8 who identifies the settler as a Lindian but does not give the name Solon). It is only in later sources that the renowned Solon of Athens is credited with founding the city and populating it with Athenian settlers. This version appears as early as the second century ad (Diog. Laert. 1.51), but becomes particularly well attested in commentaries and lexica of late antiquity and the Byzantine period (e.g. ps.Herodian De prosodia catholica 3.1.154; Schol. to Plato Republic 599e). It seems likely, therefore, that the less familiar Solon of Lindus (assuming his name is not merely a back-formation of the name of Soli itself) had his place in history usurped by his more famous Athenian namesake. This Cilician Soli, rather than the one in Cyprus, is the one most sources associate with the phenomenon of ‘soloecism’ (σολοικισμός), a pejorative term referring to Greek speech that has been debased (from the prescriptive point of view of those who use the term) through contact with non-Greek speakers (e.g. Strabo 14.2.28; Diog. Laert. 1.51; cf. Lochner von Hüttenbach 1976, Irwin 1999). In late antiquity and the Byzantine period, many sources express uncertainty about whether soloecism got its name from Soli in Cilicia or Soli in Cyprus (e.g.

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Synagoge σ 158 = Suda σ 780 [cf. Photius Lex. σ 417 Theodoridis] Eustathius ad Il. 23.844 vs. Eustathius ad Dion. Per. 875). This may represent a similar replacement of a less familiar term with a more familiar homonym: after the time of Strabo and Diogenes Laertius, the memory that Pompeiopolis in Cilicia was once called Soli may have faded, and writers making reference to the connection between Soli and soloecism may have mistakenly assumed that the Soli in question was the one in Cyprus. There is, however, one interesting piece of evidence that associates soloecism with Cyprus at an earlier date, an epigram in the Palatine Anthology ascribed to Ammianus, a poet of the Hadrianic era (AP 11.146; cf. Bowie 1989, 250–253; Livingstone–Nisbet 2010, 126–127): Ἑπτὰ σολοικισμοὺς Φλάκκῳ τῷ ῥήτορι δῶρον πέμψας ἀντέλαβον πεντάκι διακοσίους· καὶ ‘Νῦν μέν’, φησίν, ‘τούτους ἀριθμῷ σοι ἔπεμψα, τοῦ λοιποῦ δὲ μέτρῳ πρὸς Κύπρον ἐρχόμενος.’ I sent seven soloecisms as a gift to Flaccus the orator, And got five times two hundred in return. ‘So far’, he says, ‘the ones I have sent to you can be counted, But later, when I go to Cyprus, they will come in bulk lots’. Ammianus does not mention Soli explicitly, so there is room for doubt about how he would have explained the origin of the term ‘soloecism’, but the implication is unavoidable that even if soloecism was not born in Cyprus, there was plenty of it there to be found. Cyprus, of course, had its own dialect of Greek, and lexicographers of the Roman period collected examples of odd words from archaic Cypriot authors such as Euclus (e.g. Hesychius κ 346, κ 692, σ 1140). Some dialect differences surely persisted even into the Roman period, although the preserved literature and inscriptions exhibit cosmopolitan koine or literary dialects. In sum, Ammianus’ brief epigram provides the strongest evidence that Greek authors of the imperial period thought of the contemporary inhabitants of Cyprus as different in any way from other subjects of the empire, and the difference is fairly inconsequential. In fact, on the basis of surviving literature, it would be difficult to refute the claim that Greeks of the period did not see the Hellenic identity of the Cyprians as in any way problematic, conflicted, liminal, or ambiguous. On this point I would hesitate to align myself completely with the recent article by Catherine Kearns, ‘Cyprus in the Surging Sea: Spatial Imaginations in the Eastern Mediterranean’ (Kearns 2018). Kearns does a good job surveying ancient expressions of Cypriot distinctiveness in terms of

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geology, geography, agriculture, government, and many other areas. She also, I think, makes a good argument about how these ancient expressions have shaped and motivated the belief of many modern scholars in the essential otherness of Cyprus within the Greek world.23 But at least among Greek authors of the Roman period, I can find very little evidence for these distinctions resulting in ‘othering’ to the extent that it complicated or problematised the Hellenic identity of the Cypriots. To put it in Kearns’ own words: I see no evidence in the Roman period that “ancient Greek sources staked Cyprus somewhere at the limits of Hellenic identity, occupying an estranged zone of linguistic kinship inflected with exoticism”, or that they thought of Cyprus as “an insular mass that continuously vexed the categories of east and west”.24 It is absolutely true that there were ways that Cyprus was different and that authors of the Roman period mention some of those differences, but these differences do not make Cyprus any less Greek in the eyes of these authors, any more than the ones that Pausanias notes between city-states of the Greek mainland, which include differences in customs, governments, cult practices, economics, mythic traditions, and even ethnic origins, make those city-states any less of a part of the diverse mosaic of Hellenism.25 One must be sensitive to the potential complexity of any notion of identity and be cautious about introducing distinctions where they may not have existed. As an instructive parallel that deals with literary testimony from an earlier era, an article by Nancy Demand makes a strong case that the association that many modern scholars have made between Cypriot kingship and oriental despotism is one that arises more from the predilections of modern scholars than from the evidence of contemporary classical literature.26 I said at the beginning that this essay was an argument about silence, and I have offered some possible reasons here for the relative silence of Greek imperial literature about Cyprus. Mitford’s ‘tranquil obscurity’ is an accurate description of the state of Cyprus in the period if one takes it not as a judgment about the actualities of the island but as the view of Cyprus from the darkly filtered perspective of the literature-makers of the Greek elite. Little happened in Cyprus in the Roman period that would attract the attention of such observers. Cyprus had fallen off the list of mandatory destinations for cultural tourists (if it was ever on it), and concomitantly, knowledge of contemporary Cyprus was not widespread or deep even among the highly educated. Finally, noth23 24 25 26

Kearns 2018, 66–68. Both references in Kearns 2018, 46. Cf. Jost 2006. Demand 1996.

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ing that the authors of the period knew about Cyprus seems to have struck them as provocatively foreign or challenging to their notions of personal or cultural identity. No longer at the edge of the Greek world, yet still distant from the main currents of elite travel and communication, contemporary Cyprus seems to lack both the familiarity and the foreignness that typically inspired Greek writers of the period to more than passing comment. These are just some possible reasons for the silence; doubtless there are others equally plausible. Regardless of whether the explanations I have proposed here are compelling, I hope that I have shown that when the Greek authors of the Roman period do speak about Cyprus, examining their statements closely often produces interesting results.

Bibliography Alastos, G. (1976). Cyprus in History. A Survey of 5000 Years. London. Amato, E., and Julien, Y., eds. (2005). Favorinos d’Arles. Œuvres. Vol. 1. Paris. Badian, E. (1965). M. Porcius Cato and the Annexation and Early Administration of Cyprus. JRS 55, pp. 110–121. Barigazzi, A. (1966). Favorino di Arélate. Opere. Florence. Beaton, R. (20122). The Medieval Greek Romance. London. Bowie, E. (1989). Greek Sophists and Greek Poetry in the Second Sophistic. ANRW ii.33.1, pp. 209–258. Capra, A. (2012). Detour en Route in the Aegean Sea? Xenophon of Ephesus 5.10.2. CPh 107, pp. 70–74. Demand, N. (1996). Poleis on Cyprus and Oriental Despotism. In: M. Hansen and K. Raaflaub, eds., More Studies in the Ancient Greek Polis. Stuttgart, pp. 7–15. Elsner, J. (2001). Describing Self in the Language of Other. Pseudo (?) Lucian at the Temple of Hierapolis. In: S. Goldhill, ed., Being Greek under Rome. Cultural Identity, the Second Sophistic, and the Development of Empire. Cambridge, pp. 123–153. Engels, J. (2005). Ἄνδρες ἔνδοξοι, or ‘Men of High Reputation’ in Strabo’s Geography. In: D. Deuck, H. Lindsay, and S. Pothecary, eds., Strabo’s Cultural Geography. The Making of a Kolossourgia. Cambridge, pp. 129–143. Erskine, A. (2000). Zeno and the Beginning of Stoicism. Classics Ireland 7, pp. 51–60. Fujii, T. (2013). Imperial Cult and Imperial Representation in Roman Cyprus. Stuttgart. Goggin, M. (1951). Rhythm in the Prose of Favorinus. YCS 12, pp. 149–201. Gordon J.M. (2012). Between Alexandria and Rome. A Postcolonial Archaeology of Cultural Identity in Hellenistic and Roman Cyprus. Diss., University of Cincinnati. Gordon, J.M. (2018a). Transforming Culture on an Insula Portunalis. Port Cities as Central Places in Early Roman Cyprus, Land 7(4), p. 155. Online: https://doi.org/10.3390/​ land7040155

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Gordon, J.M. (2018b). Insularity and Identity in Roman Cyprus: Connectivity, Complexity, and Cultural Change. In: A. Kouremenos, ed., Insularity and Identity in the Roman Mediterranean. Oxford, pp. 4–40. Hill, G. (1940). A History of Cyprus. Cambridge. Hughes, D. (1991). Human Sacrifice in Ancient Greece. London. Irwin, E. (1999). Solecising in Solon’s Colony. BICS 43, pp. 187–193. Jeffreys, E. (2012). Four Byzantine Novels. Liverpool. Jones, C.P. (2012). Galen’s Travels. Chiron 42, pp. 399–420. Jost, M. (2006). Unité et diversité. La Grèce de Pausanias. REG 119, pp. 568–587. Karageorghis, V. (1982). Cyprus from the Stone Age to the Romans. London. Kearns, C. (2018). Cyprus in the Surging Sea. Spatial Imaginations in the Eastern Mediterranean. TAPhA 148, pp. 45–74. Lochner von Hüttenbach, F. (1976). Soloi und Soloikismos. Ein Nachprüfen und Überdenken eines antiken Fachausdruckes. RhM 119, pp. 336–345. Levine, L. (2005). The Ancient Synagogue. The First Thousand Years. New Haven. Leonard, J. (2005). Roman Cyprus: Harbors, Hinterlands and Hidden Powers. Diss., State University of New York at Buffalo. Livingstone, N. and Nisbet, G. (2010). Epigram. Cambridge. Mattern, S. (2013). The Prince of Medicine. Galen in the Roman Empire. Oxford. Michaelides, D. (1996). The Economy of Cyprus during the Hellenistic and Roman Periods. In: V. Karageorghis and D. Michaelides, eds., The Development of the Cypriot Economy: From the Prehistoric Period to the Present Day. Nicosia. Mitford, T. (1971). The Inscriptions of Kourion. Philadelphia. Mitford, T. (1980). Roman Cyprus. ANRW 7.2, pp. 1285–1394. Mitford T. (1990). The Cults of Roman Cyprus. ANRW ii 18, pp. 2176–2211. Nilsson, M. (1906). Griechische Feste von religiöser Bedeutung, mit Ausschluss der attischen. Leipzig. Nutton, V. (1973). The Chronology of Galen’s Early Career. CQ 23, pp. 158–171. Pothecary, S. (2017). Signposts and Sub-divisions: Hidden Pointers in Strabo’s Narrative. In: D. Dueck, ed., The Routledge Companion to Strabo. Abingdon, pp. 195–206. Pucci Ben Zeev, M. (2005). Diaspora Judaism in Turmoil, 116 / 117ce. Ancient Sources and Modern Insights. Leuven. Swain, S. (1996). Hellenism and Empire. Language, Classicism, and Power in the Greek World, ad 50–250. Oxford. Taïfakos, I. (2008). Αρχαία Κυπριακή Γραμματεία. Vol. 6: Φιλοσοφία. Nicosia. Thompson, S. (1989). Motif-index of Folk-literature ( J–K). Vol. 4. Indiana. Voskos, A. (2002). Αρχαία Κυπριακή Γραμματεία. Vol. 3: Πεζογραφία. Nicosia. Voskos, A. (20082). Αρχαία Κυπριακή Γραμματεία. Vol. 1: Ποίηση. Nicosia. Whitmarsh, T. (2001). Greek Literature and the Roman Empire. The Politics of Imitation. Oxford.

chapter 14

Cyprus in Greek Prose Fiction of the Roman Period Christos Fakas

Honey, you shall be well desired in Cyprus shakespeare, Othello 2.1.203

∵ 1

Tracing the Background to Cyprus’ Image as an Island of Love

Known through the ages as the island of Aphrodite, Cyprus seems to suggest itself to writers of every era as a fitting location for tales of love. To cite just one familiar example, it cannot be thought a random choice on Shakespeare’s part that he sets the tragedy of Othello and Desdemona in Cyprus, moving the action there, after the opening act, from Venice, which is the scene for the whole of the story by Cinthio that served as his main source. Far from a Venice notorious for moral laxity, the island of Aphrodite initially appears as an ideal resort for the love of the two protagonists (see 2.1.77–82),1 but due perhaps to its hedonistic reputation will in the end prove to be fertile ground for Iago’s machinations.2 On the boundary between Christian West and threatening Ottoman East, the Venetian colony of Cyprus with its ambiguous reputation thus becomes the fatal stage on which the festering tension over Desdemona as the purported “cunning whore of Venice” (4.2.87) gradually builds to a climax.3

1 For the importance that Cyprus’ connection with Aphrodite may have had for Shakespeare, see Honigmann 1996, 11. 2 The erotic reputation attached to Cyprus at that time finds expression in the remarks of the famous sixteenth century geographer A. Ortelius: “The people generally do give themselves to pleasures, sports and voluptuousness … the lasciviousness of the nation is such that vulgarly it was supposed to have been dedicated to Venus, the Goddesse of love” (The Theatre of the Whole World, London 1606, 90). The significance of this reputation for Shakespeare’s Othello is justly noted by Whitfield 2015, 58–59. 3 For the multilevel symbolism of the binary opposition Venice–Cyprus in this Shakespearean tragedy, see the perceptive remarks of Kernan 1963, xxv–xxxiii; cf. also Vaughan 1996, 22, 32. One characteristic indication of the complex image of Cyprus as an erotic island in Othello

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The complex erotic connotations of this island on the vulnerable edge of the Western world are therefore crucial to the symbolic moral geography of Othello as a whole and thus justify the geographical splitting of the action between Venice and Cyprus.4 For a work on such a theme the exotic birthplace of Aphrodite was indeed a most appropriate setting. In other cases the important presence of Cyprus in erotic tales by postancient writers seems to be due not simply to the survival of stereotypes concerning the island of the goddess of love but to the reproduction or imitation of similar ancient stories relating to it. One particularly characteristic example is the tale of Cimon and Iphigenia in Boccaccio’s Decameron (v.1), a love story that begins and ends in Cyprus and (as we are told in its introduction) was drawn from books of ancient narratives by inhabitants of that island.5 That this tale could indeed be of such ancient origin is indicated not only by the large number of features of the ancient novel that are present in it (e.g. adventures at sea, conflicts with rivals, emphasis on the role of Tyche and the heroine’s likeness to a goddess, highly rhetorical speeches), but also by a series of peculiar linguistic features that seem to result from the direct transcription of a Greek text into Italian.6 This is also suggested by the—authentic or distorted— Greek names of all the characters in the story, while the extension of the action from Cyprus to Rhodes and Crete is also compatible with the geography of the ancient Greek novel.7 Boccaccio thus appears to have preserved here, albeit in a shortened form, an otherwise unknown but probably ancient Cypriot love story, whose initially flawed hero is transformed by his love and successfully

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is the way in which the sympathetic figure of the Cypriot courtesan Bianca is integrated into the action. A related example is offered by Cervantes’ novella El amante liberal, in which the action moves from Sicily to Cyprus shortly after its fall to the Ottomans and back again to Sicily. In this case, however, the outcome of the love story is positive, as the voyage of the protagonist to such a crossroads of civilisation and barbarism leads him to overcome the inclinations of base nature rather than to fall victim to them. For the function of the Cypriot setting in these two works, see Zaidi 1995. The possible ancient basis for this novella was brought to our attention for the first time by Rohde 19143, 572–576. For additional supporting arguments, see primarily Janni 1982–1983; Picone 1997, 322–324, who describes the novella in question as “la più perfetta sintesi del romanzo greco nel Decameron” (p. 324). See also more recently Porciatti 2015, 131–132. For the various ways in which this could have been done, see Rohde 19143, 575–576, who notes inter alia Boccaccio’s use of Greek manuscripts and his acquaintance with Leontius Pilatus, which must have been important for the study of such texts. As Janni 1982–1983, 121 n. 4 observes, the Ephesiaca of Xenophon of Ephesus offers another example of the presence of all three islands mentioned above in the course of the action of a novel (5.10.2).

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overcomes every adversity. It thus becomes clear that in the archetypical island of love no defect in the hero could in the end put at risk the happy outcome of his amorous aspirations.8 Another ancient love story pertaining to Cyprus could well be part of the literary background of Theodorus Prodromus’ novel Rhodanthe and Dosicles, in which that island plays a pivotal role. As in all Byzantine romances of the twelfth century, here too there has clearly been extensive use of related ancient works (especially those of Heliodorus and Achilles Tatius),9 some of which are also recalled by specific places in which the plot of this narrative is located (Abydus: Musaeus’ Hero and Leander; Rhodes: Xenophon of Ephesus’ Ephesiaca).10 The emphasis on Cyprus as the birthplace of Cratandros, the friend of both main characters, and as a place of amorous misadventures both for him (1.158–413) and for them (8.148ff.) may perhaps be read as a similar intertextual reference.11 In that case, the gradual convergence of most of the work’s characters on the island of Aphrodite, as Cyprus is expressly described by the Delphic oracle given to the parents of Rhodanthe and Dosicles (9.196–204), may possibly acquire another dimension. Apart from the fact that this turn of events strengthens the erotic element of the narrative, which has been rather

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Cyprus also plays an important role in the action of the Boccaccian tale of Alatiel (ιι.7), which is in systematic dialogue with the ancient novel, as has been clearly shown by Picone 1997; see also on the same subject Deligiorgis 1967. In the case in point, however, we do not have an ancient tale incorporated into the Decameron but a much later narrative that merely echoes the tradition of the ancient novel as part of a much more complex intertextual strategy. For this important difference from the tale of Cimon and Iphigenia, see Beaton 2013, 213–214. For the evident debts of Prodromus’ romance to ancient representatives of the same genre, see Hunger 1978, ιι. 129–131, who even includes Petronius’ Satyrica in that web of intertextual references; for this possibility, see also Roilos 2005, 260–261 n. 128. More generally for the close connection between the ancient novel and the Byzantine romance of the twelfth century, see Hunger 1980; for a summary list of the thematic correspondences between these two literary forms, see Hunger 1978, ιι. 123–125. For the Ephesiaca as one of the ancient novels used by Prodromus, see Borgogno 1985; Bianchi 2009, 243–245; Bianchi 2011, 89–90. For the intertextual link between this Comnenian romance and Musaeus’ erotic epyllion, see Hunger 1978, 130–131. For the places in which the action of Prodromus’ narrative is located, see generally Plepelits 1996, 5–7; Meunier 2007, 71–74, 273–274. A comparable example has been detected in the Byzantine romance of Nicetas Eugenianus, who names Lesbos (2.57) as the birthplace of the protagonist’s friend, i.e. Cleandrus, in order to pay tribute to one of his most important literary models, namely the work of Longus, which was also set in the same island. See in this regard Plepelits 2003, 11; Meunier 2007, 231. For a different view, see Kazhdan–Epstein 1985, 203, who downplay the significance a setting like Cyprus might have had in Prodromus’ literary endeavour.

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inconspicuous for some time (see the emphatic double reference to Eros in lines 8.192, 198), it may also mark this novel’s thematic turn to a similar ancient work set in Cyprus. By extension, the subsequent thoughts of the two protagonists about the dangers their stay in the island poses for their love and the possibility that they may have to leave it (9.10–123) potentially symbolises on a metaliterary level the necessary differentiation of this Comnenian romance from some ancient amatory narrative with the same geographical characteristics.12 Thus, the single appearance of Cyprus in the twelfth-century novel may well serve as a distancing reference to an ancient love story revolving around that island.

2

References to Erotic Myths Connected with Cyprus

Despite the fact that recollections of ancient love stories relating to Cyprus possibly survived many centuries later, no actual example of such a narrative has come down to us. By contrast, love was a frequent element of local myths from that island, some of which are alluded to in the fictional literature of the imperial period. One characteristic example is the idiosyncratic Cypriot variant of the story of Ariadne and Theseus, which was attributed by Plutarch (Thes. 20.3–7) to Paeon of Amathus and related the involuntary abandonment of the pregnant heroine in Cyprus, her death and burial there, and finally the establishment of the local cult of Ariadne Aphrodite.13 It has been argued that its romantic character made this version of the myth important for Chariton, whose heroine Callirhoe is repeatedly compared to Ariadne (1.6.2, 3.3.5, 4.1.8, 8.1.2), like her becomes pregnant and is subsequently separated from her beloved, and most interestingly later accompanies him to Cyprus (8.2.7).14 In conjunction with the references of both narratives to Aphrodite as

12 13

14

For the combination of imitation and differentiation that characterises Prodromus’ literary dialogue with the ancient novel, see the perceptive remarks of Burton 2008, 274–277. For a detailed discussion of this Cypriot myth, as it is preserved by Plutarch, and for that author’s source, namely the work on Cyprus by Paeon of Amathus, see Voskos 2002, 80– 81, 608–615, who assumes that the work in question was one of the many with the title Cypriaca. See also Voskos, Savva, and Hutton (in this volume). For other such cases, see below, p. 273 with n. 41. The possibility that Chariton used this Cypriot variant of the story of Theseus and Ariadne was noted by Cueva 1996, 473–484 (cf. Cueva 2004, 16–24, 114–115), who also adduces some additional but rather unpersuasive correspondences between the two narratives. The romantic hue of the Cypriot myth, which was crucial for Chariton, is rightly emphasised by Ampolo–Manfredini 1988, 226.

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the protector of that island and to the writing of letters during the heroine’s sojourn there (by the heroine and her husband in Chariton [8.4.1–7]; by the women of Amathus, purportedly from Theseus to Ariadne, in the mythological narrative),15 these correspondences do indeed give the impression of an intertextual dialogue between Chariton and the particular Cypriot myth recounted by the Hellenistic historian Paeon.16 In this way Callirhoe’s brief and totally painless visit to Cyprus is juxtaposed with the tragic fate that befell Ariadne in the same island, who in the end died there, abandoned, with her unborn child.17 Such a dark ending, frequent in local myths, could after all never be used in the genre of the idealising novel, in which the adventures of the protagonists must necessarily have a happy outcome. As a narrative of this type Chariton’s novel does not make the sojourn in Cyprus a negative epilogue to the action of his heroes but an auspicious sign of an imminent end to their woes (see 8.2.9 for the relevant divinations of the priests in the island). The Cypriot intertextual background thus ultimately underlines how different in kind a typical novelistic narrative like that of Chaereas and Callirhoe inevitably was. Another myth that apparently fascinated the ancient novelists was that of Pyramus and Thisbe, a well-known love story thanks to Ovid’s Metamorphoses (4.55–166), which has been shown by a recent papyrus find (P.Mich. inv. 3793)18 to have been much more closely associated with Cyprus than was once thought. The fragmentary text of this papyrus relates the tragic history of the suicide of both young lovers, due to some fatal misapprehension, on the night of their planned elopement but names them as Pamphilus and Eurydice and places the action in Cyprus (cf. col. i 8) rather than, like Ovid, in Babylon. The obvious similarities between Ovid’s version and that of the papyrus, which is thought likely to have been written in the first century bc19 and to belong to a collection 15

16

17

18 19

As Rosenmeyer 2001, 344 points out, the epistolary activity in the two narratives is partially comparable, since what Callirhoe writes to Dionysios (8.4.5–6) is to some degree a distortion of reality, which is of course far truer of the letters written by the Cypriot women to Ariadne. That Chariton in this case engages directly with that Hellenistic work on Cyprus and not with the information about it provided by Plutarch is the most reasonable conclusion, despite the objections raised by Cueva 1996, 481–482 (cf. also Cueva 2004, 23). See on this matter Tilg 2010, 67; Smith 2007, 102–103 n. 11. For this crucial difference between Chariton’s narrative and the Cypriot myth, see Cueva 1996, 481; Cueva 2004, 23. For the part of the action of Chariton’s novel which takes place in Cyprus, see also below, pp. 290–293. See on this papyrus Renner 1981; Stramaglia 2001. This is the dating proposed by Stramaglia 2001, 81–82, in contrast to the much later one (late 3rd or early 4th c. ad) suggested by Renner 1981, 93.

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of stories of transformations, favour the presumption of a common Hellenistic source for both texts, with its action possibly already situated in Cyprus. That the story has apparently always been closely connected with that island is indicated, moreover, by the depiction of a similar version of it in a secondcentury mosaic in Paphos20 and by Strabo’s information (53.1–2, 536.24–25 = Orac. Sib. 4.97–98) about the link between Cyprus and the river Pyramus in Cilicia.21 Despite the fact that this myth has been handed down in different versions in terms of plot and aetiological function, the association with Cyprus could therefore constitute a common denominator of its basic variants. In any case, this was a romantic love story par excellence, which indeed, according to the Michigan papyrus (col. i 1), may have taken place in part next to the Cypriot temple of Aphrodite and as such reasonably attracted the interest not only of Ovid22 but also of ancient novelists. Iamblichus, for example, clearly makes the reader of his Babyloniaca think of Pyramus’ decision to take his own life because of his mistaken belief that his beloved Thisbe has fallen prey to a lion, presenting his own hero Rhodanes as also having thoughts of suicide because of a similar misapprehension (§18, pp. 58.10–60.5 Habrich).23 Even more obvious is a comparable intertextual allusion spotted in Heliodorus’ Aethiopica, where the inconsolable hero, Theagenes, is wrongly persuaded of the loss of his beloved from having confused her with a dead woman named Thisbe (2.3.3– 2.5.4).24 On the other hand, the fact that in both these novels the relieving truth is revealed in time to stay the hands of the would-be suicides highlights the distance which separates works of this sort from the tragic Hellenistic story of Pyramus and Thisbe. Literary allusions of this kind may temporarily sustain the suspense for learned readers capable of recognising them, but in the final ana-

20 21 22

23

24

For this important mosaic, see especially Knox 1989; Kondoleon 1994, 148–156, 187–189. The fact that this particular piece of evidence is indicative of a focus on Cyprus in the myth of Pyramus and Thisbe is rightly noted by Stramaglia 2001, 99–100 n. 49, 103. It is not by chance that this Ovidian tale, more perhaps than any other in the Metamorphoses, is reminiscent of a novel; cf. von Albrecht 2014, 243 n. 213, who stresses the importance of this aspect for the interpretation of Ovid’s narrative. According to Barchiesi–Rosati 2007, 258, the tale in question is “una sorta di ‘mito di fondazione’ del romanzo …. un iper-romanzo sentimentale”. For a more detailed treatment of this matter, see Due 1974, 124–126, 185–186; Holzberg 1988. For the intertextual link between the Babyloniaca and the myth of Pyramus and Thisbe, see Stramaglia 2001, 92–93, and Gärtner 2010, 258–262, who rightly notes that Iamblichus engages here not with the Ovidian narrative but with its Hellenistic source. For Heliodorus’ engagement with this Hellenistic tale, see the illuminating observations of Bowie 1995, 273–276. For the complex function which the recollection of the myth of Pyramus and Thisbe has in the Aethiopica, see Jones 2006, 560–561.

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lysis the conventions of the idealising novel—even without the intervention of the Cypriot goddess of love—guarantee once more the happy outcome of the tale. The Cypriot myths that we have seen thus far had as their subject ideal but, in the end, unlucky loves, and the romantic stories told in ancient novels differ from them only in their outcome. The love stories characteristic of the mythology of Cyprus, however, are for the most part very different from those that define that literary genre. This is well illustrated by the myth of the Parakyptousa (‘The Woman at the Window’), which Plutarch mentions as still well known in his day (τὴν ἐν Κύπρῳ παρακύπτουσαν ἔτι νῦν προσαγορευομένην, Mor. 766C) and which has come down to us in two variants (Ant. Lib. Met. 39, Ov. Met. 14.698–764).25 Their common thematic denominator is the unrequited love of a humble youth for a high-born girl, the suicide of the spurned lover, and the petrifaction of the hard-hearted maiden as she watches his funeral procession from her window. But while the variation preserved by Antoninus Liberalis, which is drawn from the third-century bc poet Hermesianax, focuses on the difference between the Greek parentage of the girl and the Phoenician origins of the youth, Ovid omits any such sociological references and simply relates the tale as an explanation of the local cult of an Aphrodite Parakyptousa (Veneris … Prospicientis, 14.760–761), with the connotations of prostitution attached to this term in antiquity.26 These and other minor differences between the two versions (e.g. in the names of their characters) favour the presumption of a temporally intermediate third variant, perhaps included in Philostephanus’ On Islands (FGrHist 3, pp. 30–32),27 which combined the otherwise unrelated themes of the Phoenicians in Cyprus and the prostitution associated with Aphrodite. The phenomenon of sacred prostitution,28 with which this island was associated after the introduction of the cult of Astarte-

25

26

27

28

According to Ovid this myth was tota notissima Cypro / facta (Μet. 14.696–697). For the similarities and differences between the two surviving versions, see Fauth 1967, 330–339; Borghini 1979, 138–141, 161; Bömer 1986, 214–215; Savva (in this volume). For this cult of Aphrodite see Herbig 1927; Fauth 1967, who also notes the use of the verb παρακύπτειν as a term connected with prostitution (pp. 359–360). Doubts have at times been cast on the existence of this specific cult, since it is attested by no source other than Ovid. See e.g. Jucker 1968; Hadjiioannou 1980, 244–245, who thinks that what we have here is clearly the invention of the Roman poet. See on this possibility Myers 2009, 181. For another work which possibly related this variant, see below, pp. 275–276. On the other hand, Bömer 1986, 215 leaves open the question of whether there was such a third version and by whom. For the much-discussed question of sacred prostitution in antiquity generally and in Cyprus in particular, see below, p. 276 with nn. 54–55 and Savva (in this volume).

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Aphrodite by the Phoenicians, could perhaps in this case symbolise the final lifting of the racial conflicts that had caused the rejection of the young suitor in the story.29 In any case, this Cypriot myth, which ends with Aphrodite punishing callousness in love30 and the custom of sacred prostitution imported from Phoenicia in her honour, conveys us to a climate very different from that of the idealising ancient novel. It is interesting, however, that, while this literary genre logically avoids any allusion to the narrative in question, the same story becomes the object of intertextual dialogue in a work strongly influenced by the novel, i.e. the Acts of Paul and Thecla. The account of how the young heroine sitting at her window in Iconium listened ecstatically to the apostle’s preaching (7–10), which moreover deploys a great many erotically charged expressions (e.g. ὑπερευφραινομένη 7, ἐπεπόθει 10, ἐπιθυμίᾳ καινῇ καὶ πάθει δεινῷ 9), emphatically distinguishes the spiritual attraction treated here from the carnal desire associated with prostitution.31 Among the various intertextual references latent in this episode, the Cypriot Aphrodite Parakyptousa and the narrative tradition associated with her are believed to be of particular significance in the context of the confrontation between the new Christian religion and the old pagan gods.32 As the island of the goddess of prostitution, Cyprus is thus indirectly but plainly shown to be peripheral to any sort of ‘serious’ edifying narrative. This negative charge attached to the theme of love when associated with Cyprus becomes particularly evident in the Cypriot version of the myth of the incestuous relation between Myrrha (or Smyrna) and her father, of which Adonis was the fruit. That version, which named Cinyras, the legendary King of Cyprus, as the lover of his daughter, was related, according to Plutarch (Mor. 310F–311A), in the Metamorphoses of the late Hellenistic writer Theodorus (SH

29 30

31

32

For the possibility that sacred prostitution had such a symbolic function in the case in point, see Borghini 1979, 161. Specifically in the version preserved by Ovid the punishment is meted out by some deus ultor (Met. 14.750), who is however indirectly linked with Aphrodite through the final aition of Veneris Prospicientis, as Myers 2009, 191 has rightly observed. For this specific intertextual juxtaposition, see esp. Horn 1967, 35–38; Di Marco 2007. This correspondence is also given a brief mention by Graham 1998, 28. It is characteristic that Thecla’s first contact with Paul is not mediated by the sense of sight, which was generally considered in antiquity to be the best conductor of erotic desire, but through listening to him as he preached (7); for this crucial element, see Eyl 2012. See especially the important observations of Di Marco 2007, 93–94 on the contrast between the socially superior Thecla and the lower-class Paul, an aspect that proved to be crucial in the myth of the Parakyptousa, and on the widespread impact the Cypriot cult of Aphrodite must have had in the region from which Thecla came.

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749)33 and according to the Suda (s.v. Ξενοφῶν) in the Cypriaca of Xenophon of Cyprus.34 The importance of these two works for the rich reception of the myth variant under discussion in Rome must remain an open question,35 but the generic identity of the second of them especially needs further commentary. The fact that the Cypriaca is described in the Suda with the phrase ἔστι δὲ καὶ αὐτὰ ἐρωτικῶν ὑποθέσεων ἱστορία as a case similar to the novels mentioned in the immediately preceding entries of this Lexicon, i.e. the Babyloniaca of Xenophon of Antioch36 and the Ephesiaca of Xenophon of Ephesus, has often been taken to mean that the work of Xenophon of Cyprus is an example, albeit sui generis, of the same literary genre.37 However, both the mythological content that, according to the Suda, characterised the Cypriaca and the tragic outcome of the tale in question (cf. the reference of Diogenes Laertes to μυθώδη τερατείαν [2.59], very likely in conjunction with the work under examination) are

33 34

35

36

37

The fact that a hexameter poem of Theodorus was addressed to Cleopatra (SH 752) justifies placing him in the first century bc; see in this regard Hollis 2007, 28. Although we are informed that this Cypriot version had been used by many Greek writers (see Cyr. Is. 70.440C, Proc. G. Is. 87.2137D), the extant explicit attestations of it are virtually limited to the two mentioned above (see also Σ Theoc. 1.109, Σ Clem. Al. 338.1). From the fifth century bc on, Cinyras is sometimes named as the father of Adonis, but without explicit reference to Myrrha and the scandal of their incest (Pl. Com. fr. 3 Κ.–Α., Antim. fr. 102 W. [see in this regard Matthews 1996, 256–257], Diosc. AP 7.407.7, Bion 1.91–92). On the other hand, the unknown author of the tragedy Cinyras about the incestuous union and death of the titular hero and Myrrha (TrGF ii, F 5d), which, according to one interpretation, was performed at the court of Philip ii of Macedon on the day of his assassination, presumably did not include the fruit of that union, Adonis, in its action. For this play and the diverse scholarly opinions regarding it, see Tsavli 2009, 237–243. For Theodorus’ Metamorphoses as a possible source for Cinna’s Zmyrna, see Hollis 2007, 32; for the same work as an important part of the literary background of the narrative on Cinyras and Myrrha in Ovid’s Metamorphoses (10.298–502), see Franklin 2015, 286–287 n. 43. On the other hand, the possible importance of Xenophon of Cyprus’ Cypriaca for Ovid’s narrative is noted by Tsavli 2009, 225, who also gives an overall picture of the ways in which Latin writers use this Cypriot myth (pp. 238–247); see also Whitmarsh 2010, 405. The prevailing view is that the work mentioned in this entry was the novel of Ninus and Semiramis. See Kussl 1991, 72, 83, 94 n. 57; Stephens–Winkler 1995, 27. On the other hand, Tilg 2010, 122 has reservations but does not dispute that the work in question was a novel. Whitmarsh 2005, 596 n. 36, 604 stands alone in suggesting that the Babyloniaca in question was an erotographic local history. See e.g. Rohde 19143, 265*, who speaks of a mythological novel comparable in part to Philostratus’Heroicus and to the Greek original of Dictys’ account of the Trojan War; Perry 1967, 121, who calls the Cypriaca a psychological romance in the tradition of Hellenistic and Latin love poetry; Tsavli 2009a, 194 with n. 61, who sees in this particular case an erotic mythographic novel reminiscent of Dionysius Scytobrachion’s use of myth. For a full discussion of the Cypriaca see now Kanavou (in this volume).

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features wholly alien to the ancient novel.38 Moreover, the relatively brief story of the incest of Cinyras and Myrrha would not have been matter enough on which to build an entire novel (cf. the epyllic dimensions of the related poetic compositions of Cinna [frr. 7–10 Hollis]39 and Ovid [Met. 10.298–502]) and consequently could only be a part, along with other erotic tales, of the Cypriaca as a multitudinous ἐρωτικῶν ὑποθέσεων ἱστορία (see conversely the definition of the novel of Longus as ἱστορίαν ἔρωτος [pr. 1]). Such a collection of specifically Cypriot amorous tales, of which the Suda cites the story of Cinyras and Myrrha as the most important or best known, brings to mind examples of erotographic writing focusing on local stories and bearing similar titles, e.g. the Milesiaca of Aristeides or the Rhodiaca of Philip of Amphipolis.40 Like all collections of that type, Xenophon’s Cypriaca presumably drew much of its material from works of local history of the same title such as the Cypriaca of Hellanicus,41 adopting the mixture of mythical and historical elements characteristic of this genre42 and creating on the basis of this specific literary tradition something like an erotic chronicle of the island.43 This connective narrative thread, which differentiated the works of that category as a whole from collections of geographically disparate tales like Parthenius’ Erotica Pathemata or the pseudo-Plutarchian Eroticae Diegeseis, was a factor crucial to the cohesion of a body of material

38

39 40

41

42

43

For this crucial difference, see Voskos 2002, 599. Lightfoot 1999, 257, 261 sees a case similar to that of the Cypriaca in the novel of Ninus, which however had its origin in the romantic historiography of writers like Ctesias and combined elements of history with others bordering on legend (see in this regard Perry 1967, 164–166; Kussl 1991, 84–85). Lightfoot’s suggestion that Xenophon of Cyprus may have adapted the story of Cinyras and Myrrha and given it a happy ending should be dismissed because, as Perry 1967, 120–121 points out, the content of this specific myth was particularly well known. According to Hollis 2007, 35, Cinna’s Zmyrna, which was described as a libellus (Serv. Ecl. 9.35 = fr. 7e Hollis), must have had roughly 500 lines. Whitmarsh 2005, 587–588, 595–596 with n. 36, 604 draws attention to the possible connection between the Cypriaca and similar works of erotic content. For the Milesiaca, see generally Bowie 2013; for the Rhodiaca, see Fakas 2020, 379–380 with n. 47. For such works, see FGrHist 751–758, with the additional cases cited there, p. 734. Another example is the Cypriaca of Anaximenes of Lampsacus, according to the evidence of P.Oxy. 4309, fr. 4 col. i, 12–13. It is highly probable, however, that Xenophon of Cyprus drew supplementary material from works of other types, too, such as e.g. Philostephanus’ On Islands, which contained a section on Cyprus (frr. 10–14 Müller). See on this matter the perceptive remarks of Whitmarsh 2010, 402–404. For the broad sense that the terms ἱστορία and ἱστορικός often had in antiquity, see Voskos 2002, 76–77, 599; Cameron 2004, 90–93. It is precisely this exclusively erotic content that prevents the work of Xenophon of Cyprus from being considered just one more of the many local histories of Cyprus. See for this opinion Voskos 2002, 599–600; Ruiz 2016.

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which in such cases frequently extended to many volumes (e.g. at least six in the case of the Milesiaca, nineteen in that of the Rhodiaca).44 In a work of possibly such a scale Xenophon of Cyprus could certainly have included additional tales about Cinyras and his family, e.g. the sexual intercourse of the legendary king with Aphrodite (cf. P.Oxy. 2688. 4–13; 2689, fr. 2.4– 17)45 or of his three—according to one version—daughters with strangers as a result of the wrath of the same goddess (cf. Apollod. Bibl. 3.14.3).46 By the same token, the most emblematic Cypriot legends, i.e. the love affair of Cinyras’ son Adonis with Aphrodite (see esp. Ov. Met. 10.519–739)47 and of the same king’s grandfather—by one account—Pygmalion with the statue of the goddess (cf. Clem.Al. Protr. 4.57.3, Arnob. Nat. 6.22) could scarcely have been absent from such a collection.48 This recurring amorous involvement of various members 44

45

46

47

48

Equally voluminous are known to have been the numerous local histories that constituted, as we have seen, the basic intertextual background of such erotographic works; see in this regard the observations of Thomas 2019, 49. Important from this point of view as well was the difference from collections of erotic or other tales such as that of Parthenius, which were not more than one book long; see Tilg 2013, 329. For this otherwise unknown story, see Franklin 2015, 499–500. Many Christian writers saw Cinyras’ relationship with Aphrodite as erotic (cf. Clem.Al. Protr. 2.14.2, 2.33.9, Eus. PE 2.3.15, Firm. Err. 10.1, Thdt. affect. 3.30). To what extent we can discern erotic connotations in Pindar’s description of Cinyras as ἱερέα κτίλον Ἀφροδίτας (P. 2.17) is a subject of dispute; see e.g. for one such reading Woodbury 1978, 285–286 with n. 3. See in this regard Tsavli 2009, 95–96. For the possibility that Plutarch (Mor. 777D) refers to the same myth, see Bömer 1980, 88. Ovid’s mention (Met. 6.98–100) of Cinyras mourning his daughters who had been turned into temple stones could refer to yet another case of Aphrodite punishing members of the same family, as argued by Franklin 2015, 280–281. For Cyprus as the setting for this Ovidian story see Bömer 1980, 174. Nonnus (D. 13.459– 460) is another poet who places the idyll of Aphrodite and Adonis in that island, as other sources do with the tragic ending of the tale (Nic. fr. 120 Schneider, Prop. 2.13.53–56, Philostr. Ep. 4, Eust. Hom. Il. 22.499, Phot. Bibl. 153a12–16); see also Baudissin 1911, 81–82. For the possibility that this unfortunate love had already been connected with Cyprus by Antimachus of Colophon, see Reed 1996. According to Franklin 2015, 566–567, Athenaeus’ otherwise unexplained ascription to some Xenophon of information about the Phoenician flutes used in laments for Adonis (174F) might be an indication that the story of Adonis and Aphrodite was included in the work of Xenophon of Cyprus. This scandalous story was included in Philostephanus’ work on Cyprus and differed significantly from Ovid’s version of the same subject (Met. 10.243–297), in which Pygmalion is not the king who falls in love with the statue of Aphrodite but the sculptor who lusts after the statue of a woman that he has himself created. For an analysis of the relation between these two versions of the story, see Badino 2010, 78–87, who thinks it probable that Philostephanus’ narrative was tailored to account for the aniconic form that the cult statue of Aphrodite Paphia had in his day; see also Petrides 2011, 104–108. Pygmalion also appears in other works on Cyprus, such as Hellanicus’ Cypriaca (FGrHist 4 F 57) and Asclepiades of Cyprus’ On Cyprus and Phoenicia (FGrHist 752 F 1), in which this partic-

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of the royal family with Aphrodite,49 which seems to have enacted a ritual of sacred wedding between the king-priest and the goddess,50 could constitute a leitmotiv of Xenophon’s Cypriaca and a source of inspiration for the similar structure of Ovid’s Cypriot tales (Met. 10.220–739).51 Some at least of the remaining Ovidian tales that were related to Cyprus may also have had their origin in Xenophon’s work. For instance, this could easily be the case with the story of the daughters of Propoetus, who were forced to prostitution and in the end turned to stone because of their disrespect towards Aphrodite (10.220–221, 238–242);52 the same may well apply to the tale of the Parakyptousa, who was

49

50

51

52

ular story may well have been dealt with. In any case, it cannot be taken for granted that Ovid uses Philostephanus specifically as his source here, as Bömer 1980, 96 correctly notes; see also Cameron 2004, 273. The version in which Pygmalion was the father-in-law rather than the grandfather of Cinyras (see Apollod. 3.14.3, Σ D.P. 509) can have no connection with the work of Xenophon of Cyprus, because that tradition did not contain the episode of the incest with Myrrha; see in this regard Tsavli 2009, 243; Badino 2010, 143 with n. 485. This correspondence between the figures of Cypriot mythology in question is expressed in part in their names too. Thus for example the Cypriot name of Adonis, i.e. Πυγμαίων (Hsch. s.v.), clearly echoes that of Πυγμαλίων; see in this regard Bömer 1980, 94–95. The name Κινύρας, on the other hand, is phonetically akin to Adonis’ Phoenician name, i.e. Γίγγρας (Poll. 4.76); see Franklin 2015, 145, 190 n. 19, 299–300 n. 117, who also notes the connotations of lament that both names have. Moreover, Cinyras and Adonis are linked as loved by Apollo (see Pi. P. 2.15–17, Clem.Rom. Hom. 5.15.2, Phot. Bibl. 151b5–7), who in the end, however, causes their death (see Σ Il. 11.20, Sud. s.v. Κινύρας, Phot. Bibl. 147a1–3); see in this regard Karageorghis 2005, 24–25, who ascribes this outcome to rivalry between Apollo and Aphrodite. This famous theory was formulated by Frazer 19273, i.31–56, esp. 49. As Tsavli 2009, 199 notes, the existence in Paphos of inscriptions naming Aphrodite as Ἄνασσα argues in favour of the historicity of the institution of the sacred wedding in that city; for the related material see Hemberg 1955, 18–19. The possibility that the work of Xenophon of Cyprus may be a basic literary model in this section of the Metamorphoses is sometimes mentioned in passing (see above n. 35) but is usually passed over entirely or expressly rejected; see more recently Badino 2010, 143– 144. A re-examination of the question, even as a simple working hypothesis, is certainly needed. On the story of the Propoetides see Savva (in this volume). Of the Cypriot tales in the tenth book of Ovid’s Metamorphoses the only one that is not a love story and consequently does not seem to fall within the subject matter of the work of Xenophon of Cyprus is that dealing with the Cerastae, who showed a lack of respect for Zeus Xenios (10.220–237). One may note, however, the partially comparable case of the horned Centaurs of Cyprus, a species that Nonnus indirectly correlates etymologically with Kerastis as a name of Cyprus (see Κεραστίδος ἔνδοθι Κύπρου / Φηρῶν εὐκεράων διδυμόχροος ἤνθεε φύτλη, D. 5.614–615; cf. for the same name D. 13.441, 29.372), which in the related form Κεραστία has also been associated with the Cerastae (FGrHist 751 F 1); for this correspondence, see Cook 1914–1940, iii. 652–653. If these are aspects of the same phenomenon, relevant to both may be an otherwise unknown piece of information given by Nonnus (D. 5.611–615, 14.193–202, 32.70–72),

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also turned to stone by the same goddess as a symbol of a local version of sacred prostitution (14.698–764).53 Tales such as these last two, or that relating the sexual punishment Aphrodite imposed on the daughters of Cinyras, appear to have functioned as aitia for this much-discussed phenomenon, i.e. prostitution as part of the cult of the goddess54 in imitation of the rite of the sacred wedding that was associated with mythical kings of Cyprus. On the whole, these stories of the island of Aphrodite are manifestly connected with elements of the cult of that goddess imported from Phoenicia55 and thus transport us to an intensely erotic climate56 typical of works such as Lollianus’ Phoenician Tales, but not of the idealising novel.57 It is thus no accident that the only allusion to such narratives inspired by the erotic mythology of Cyprus is found in a novel of a clearly different type, namely the

53 54

55

56

57

according to which the Cypriot Centaurs sprang from the seed of Zeus that fell upon the soil of Cyprus after the god’s unsuccessful pursuit of his daughter Aphrodite. If the origin of the Cerastae, which Ovid’s brief account does not mention, is taken to be the same, this Cypriot myth would have an element of incest similar to that of the story of Myrrha and so would be absolutely in keeping with the erotic μυθώδη τερατείαν of Xenophon’s Cypriaca. For this Cypriot myth, see above, pp. 270–271. For the relation of these three Cypriot stories to the phenomenon of sacred prostitution, see mainly Fauth 1967, 359–363. For the frequent association of ancient Cyprus with such practices, see MacLachlan 1992, 152–157; Pirenne-Delforge 1994, 344–347, 354–355. The historicity of the institution of sacred prostitution has from time to time been vigorously challenged. See esp. Beard–Henderson 1998; Budin 2008. For some of the problems related to this approach, see Bonnet 2009. In any case, regardless of whether or not it had a historical basis, this phenomenon developed into a fundamental element of the ancient image of Cyprus, as shown by the relevant evidence of our sources. See on this matter Herter 1960, who also notes the osmosis of such oriental elements with the domestic cult tradition in Cyprus. Specifically for sacred prostitution as a practice that was considered in antiquity to be closely connected with Phoenicia, see Henrichs 1972, 19– 23. For a Phoenician inscription which testifies to the existence of sacred prostitution in the temple of Astarte in Citium, see Masson–Sznycer 1972, 64–68. This particular erotic element in the stories in question, which is more reminiscent of the East, has frequently been highlighted by scholars; Ludwig 1965, 54, for example, speaks of “Sonderformen der Liebe” and Otis 1966, 190 of “Cyprian monstrosities”. For Lollianus’ Phoenician Tales in connection with Cyprus, see below, pp. 284–287. Although the idealising Greek novel frequently mentions Phoenicians (see in this regard Briquel-Chatonnet 1992; Kaldellis 2019, 693–694), the eroticism evoked by their origin is highlighted only by Achilles Tatius; see Whitmarsh–Morales 2001, xvii–xix. Even in this case, however, it is not a question of Cypriot Phoenicians or characters whose actions recall local Cypriot erotic myths of Phoenician origin. Thus, for instance, the emotionally wounded hero of this work (7.4.4–5) does not actually seem to evoke the physically wounded Adonis, Aphrodite’s beloved in Cyprus, as has been argued in the past. See for this view Laplace 1991, 47–51; Laplace 2007, 607–609. For Cyprus in Achilles Tatius’ novel, see below, pp. 284–287.

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Historia Apollonii Regis Tyri, which seems to have been written originally in Greek. This fairytale-like narrative, which draws heavily on the tradition of the novel but also goes well beyond it, opens (chs. 1–3) with the incestuous union of Antiochus, King of Syria, and his daughter, presented in a manner clearly evoking Ovid’s story of Cinyras and Myrrha (Met. 10.298–502).58 In fact, since Antiochus engages in this atrocious act deliberately and not, like Cinyras, unwittingly, he serves as a particularly abominable counter-example to the relationships that two other kings (Archistrates of Cyrene and especially the title hero) have in the course of the story with their only daughters.59 The peculiar emphasis this tale generally places on father-daughter relationships and their real or potential erotic charge overshadows to a considerable degree the marriages that are contracted in the course of the action60 and thus constitutes a crucial difference from the idealising novel,61 which indeed must have been much more pronounced in the original Greek version of the work.62 In this sense, the Cypriot myth of Cinyras and Myrrha as a classic paradigm of incest is much more likely to have been used allusively in the Greek original of the Story of Apollonius63 than in any typical example of the novelistic genre. Certain works of prose fiction of the Roman period recall in a more obvious and yet idiosyncratic manner another aspect of the mythology that had developed around the Cypriot king Cinyras, that is, his generally controversial 58 59

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For this correlation with the Ovidian story in question, see Kuhlmann 2002, 117–118; Panayotakis 2012, 58, 71, 73–74. It is significant that both Syria and Phoenicia, with which Antiochus and Apollonius are respectively connected, were in antiquity considered as regions characterised by a dissolute lifestyle; see in this regard Panayotakis 2012, 58, 89. However, while Antiochus confirms the stereotype for Syria by his behaviour, Apollonius in the end belies the negative connotations associated with his Phoenician origin. This main characteristic of the work has been noted repeatedly. See esp. Chiarini 1983, 280; Archibald 1991, 15–18; Konstan 1994, 100–113. For the deviation from the norm of the idealising novel in this particular case, see Schmeling 1996, 540–544; Garbugino 2014, 140–141. According to Szepessy 1985–1988, 357–365, the distinguishing characteristic of works like the History of Apollonius, which differentiates them from the mainstream novel, is the emphasis on family rather than love. For this strong possibility, which is suggested by the meaning of the riddle posed by Antiochus and solved by Apollonius (ch. 4), see chiefly Müller 1991, who makes a convincing attempt to reconstruct the original work. For a comprehensive survey of different interpretations of this much-discussed passage, see Panayotakis 2012, 95–101. For such a conjecture, see Merkelbach 1962, 161–162, who, however, mistakenly thinks that in this original version of the work Apollonius was the fruit of the incestuous union of Antiochus and his daughter, recalling from this point of view Adonis as the son of Cinyras and Myrrha.

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role at the time of the Trojan War. His relations with the Greeks during the preparations for that war are presented by Homer as friendly (Il. 11.19–28) but by later sources as troubled (Alcid. Od. 20f., Apollod. Epit. 3.9, Σ and Eust. Hom. Il. 11.20),64 while his probable double involvement in the adventures of Helen as the apple of discord between the warring sides raises additional questions. Specifically, it has been argued that it was Cinyras who offered Helen hospitality both on her post-war visit to Cyprus with Menelaus (cf. Od. 4.83)65 and on her pre-war visit there with Paris (cf. Apollod. Epit. 3.4, Dictys 1.5).66 This ambivalent attitude, symptom of a transitional period in Cyprus’ relations with the Greek world,67 suggested a ruler who in many ways (Phoenician cunning,68

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For these conflicting accounts of Cinyras’ relations with the Greeks, see generally Baurain 1980, 291–301; Tsavli 2009, 143–163. Regardless of the still open question of whether the post-Homeric evidence on the subject traces back to some episode in the Cypria (see recently for this opinion Franklin 2014, 236–237 and against it West 2013, 103), the version this evidence represents apparently interacted with the converse Iliadic version in the context of the oral tradition; see in this regard Papaioannou 2014. Equally contradictory is the image of Cinyras’ post-Trojan relations with the Greeks, who in one version drove him out (see Theopomp. Hist. FGrHist 115 F 103), possibly replacing him with the Greek-named Dmetor, son of Iasus (see Od. 17.443 and the commentary of Eustathius ad loc.), while according to other sources they adopted a policy of reconciliation with him by means of marriages with his daughters (see Paus. 1.3.2, Apollod. 3.9.1). For a penetrating treatment of this multifaceted tradition see Franklin 2015, 342–369. See West 2013, 272, who persuasively argues that Cinyras was presented as hosting the royal couple in the epic poem Nostoi; cf. also Hornblower 2015, 329, with additional bibliography. For Cinyras in this episode, see West 2013, 91; Franklin 2014, 237, who also notes that Aphrodite’s great interest in both the host king and his royal guests must have been crucial in this case. According to the same scholar, the information that Paris obtained several ships in Cyprus for his attack on Sidon (Dictys 1.5) is perhaps not unconnected with Cinyras’ choice to break his promise to the Greeks to furnish them with a large number of ships for the Trojan War. For the much-discussed problem of whether the voyage of Paris and Helen was included in the Cypria or not, see in favour of the first opinion especially Huxley 1967 and West 2013, 91–92 and in favour of the second more recently Bernabé 19962, 52–53, and Davies 2019, 105–108, with additional bibliography. See Tsavli 2009, 140–143, 162–163, who reasonably conjectures that, as a result of this crucial historic juncture, different versions of Cinyras’ relations with the Greeks must have circulated in Cyprus early on, inspiring the conflicting accounts that have come down to us. Characteristic, too, of this cusp in Cyprus’ relations with the Greek world was perhaps an attempt to link the island genealogically both with the Greeks and with the Trojans of the heroic age, as could be indicated by the possible evidence of the Cypria (fr. 12 B. = 10 EGF) that Helen came to Cyprus with two of her sons, one by Menelaus and one by Paris. See in this regard Burgess 1996, 95 n. 67; Burgess 2002, 238 n. 17, 241 n. 27. As Franklin 2015, 345 notes, Cinyras’ Cypriot-Phoenician identity inevitably favoured the correlation of his betrayal of the Greeks with the craftiness for which the Phoenicians had

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close relations with the pro-Trojan gods Aphrodite and Apollo,69 emphasis on his capacities as musician and high priest rather than warrior70) symbolised the island’s pre-Greek status quo. Starting perhaps from this insight, some writers of the imperial period, who shared a critical attitude towards Homer common at that time,71 conceived the idea of substituting the Iliad’s uncomplicated image of Cinyras as friendly towards the Greeks with very different versions entirely of their own invention. One characteristic example is provided by the ‘Journal of the Trojan War’ (Ephemeris belli Troiani) composed by Dictys Cretensis and preserved in a Latin adaptation, a radically different account from that presented by Homer, which supposedly was historically accurate but in reality incorporated information of diverse origins in a version of the story fabricated by the author.72 This sophisticated blend of intertextual correlations and creative imagination, whose frequent unexpectedness keeps the sagacious reader alert, is also seen in Dictys’ subversive, largely negative depiction of all the heroes who were familiar from epic poetry, including Cinyras.73 Given that this work mentions Cyprus in conjunction with events in which the emblematic king of that island could well have been involved (visit of Paris and Helen

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been known since the time of Homer (see also on this matter p. 281 with nn. 81–82). The trick that Cinyras played belongs to a category known also from other stories of cunning characters, as Hansen 2002, 436 has noted. See Papaioannou 2014, 7 with n. 35, who also draws attention to Cinyras’ ultimate descent from Eos and Tithonus (cf. Apollod. 3.14.3), whose descendants also included Memnon, an ally of the Trojans. This significant difference from the heroes of the epic is noted by West 1997, 628–629, who concludes that the mention of Cinyras in the Iliad is an ad hoc invention to honour Cyprus, with which the poet is thought to have had personal ties; see similarly West 2011, 23–24 and with additional remarks West 2015, 26–28. For a different approach to the same question, see Papaioannou 2014. The main controversial issue was in this case the truth of the Homeric version of the events surrounding the Trojan War. For a recent detailed treatment of this phenomenon, see Kim 2010. For the various ways in which the author of this work attempts to present his account as more reliable than Homer’s, see Merkle 1989, 56–82; Usener 1994, 107–116. For Dictys’ fundamentally playful engagement with the various epic traditions, see Venini 1981; Timpanaro 1987. According to Burgess 2001, 45, this witty interplay of imitation and innovation shows that we are dealing with a work “self-consciously sophisticated, exuberantly inventive, and perversely idiosyncratic”. For insightful observations on Dictys’ mythographic experiments as a more general trend of that age, see Dowden 2009, 155–161. The antiheroic attitude that characterises Dictys’ work is obvious in his portrait not only of the Trojans, against whom the author in any case appears to be prejudiced, but also of the Greeks. See on this topic e.g. Merkle 1990, 81–86; Merkle 1996, 567–571.

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[1.5],74 Teucer’s founding of the colony of Salamis [6.4],75 the carrying of Memnon’s bones to Paphos [6.10]76), the absence of even the slightest mention of him is glaringly obvious. Such a systematic ignoring of the Cypriot king reinforces the questions raised by Dictys’ reference to an otherwise unknown slave named Cinyras, who is a servant of Acastus, the usurper of the throne of Pelias, and in the end is killed by the grandson of the overthrown king, i.e. Neoptolemus (6.8).77 This unexpected mention of the name in question in an episode that takes place not in Cyprus but in Thessaly is most probably an invention of our author,78 which is not perhaps unconnected with the myth of the settlement of Pheidippus, son of Thessalus, and his men in the island of Cinyras (see Σ Lyc. 911 = Apollod. Epit. 6.15b; cf. also possibly P.Oxy. 4309, fr. 3.2).79 Freely reworking non-Homeric information, Dictys does not in this instance merely undermine the heroic glory of a king proverbial in antiquity for his wealth and longevity80 but presents him as falling victim to the son of

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For the serious possibility that the Cypria may have referred to Cinyras entertaining the lovers during their sojourn in his island, see above, p. 278 with n. 66. Teucer is said to have married a daughter of Cinyras after settling in Cyprus (see Paus. 1.3.2); by contrast, another source (Σ Lyc. 450) speaks of a daughter of Cyprus, known as the son of Cinyras (cf. Eust. D.P. 508–512), which however would seem to be the result of a corruption of the text; see in this regard Franklin 2015, 353–354 with n. 93. Apart from his close connection with that city, Cinyras was a descendant of Memnon’s parents, i.e. Eos and Tithonus; see above, p. 279 n. 69. The name ‘Cinyras’ as transmitted here has suffered corruption, but it is universally accepted that Dictys was referring to him. The ambiguity of the connection between this ‘Cinyras’ and the King of Cyprus is such that separate entries have been devoted to each of these two figures in Roscher 1886–1937, ii. 1189–1192. Such an unusual element could scarcely be drawn from the tragedy that Dictys seems to have used as his source here, which has been argued to have been Sophocles’ Peleus (TrGF iv, F487–496); see on this matter Jebb–Headlam–Pearson 1963, ii.141–142. It is an open question whether the original Greek version of Dictys’ work provided more detail concerning Cinyras than does the Latin adaptation, the sixth book of which is a summary of four books of the original (see in this regard Eisenhut 1983, 25–26). Unfortunately, even the sometimes unknown material recycled by Byzantine writers from some Greek version of Dictys that was available to them sheds no light on our case; for a recent re-examination of this question, see Gainsford 2012, esp. the table on p. 75. For this myth, see Gjerstad 1944, 110, 121–122. More generally for Thessalus and his sons, see Visser 1997, 636–638. Although there is no attested connection linking Cinyras with this specific episode, the innovative mythography of Dictys might well have taken it for granted. For the remarkable reputation that Cinyras had acquired in this respect, see Baurain 1980, 301–303; Tsavli 2009, 175–186, 253–256, who also directs our attention to Dictys’ ironic undermining of the mythical figure in question (p. 43). Conversely, Franklin 2015, 334 thinks that the positive ancient image of Cinyras is partially reflected in Dictys’ descrip-

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the ‘best of the Achaeans’ instead of being, as in the Iliad, their friend. The revision of Homer’s account of Cinyras thus provides an opportunity for a playful demonstration of inventive mythography in the (typical for a Cretan) fictitious narrative of our author, who in fact systematically weaves into his account the whole spectrum of Odysseus’ mendacious tales.81 As a worthy imitator of this archetypical fabulist, Dictys constructs an alternative history of one of the best known figures of Cypriot mythology, while at the same time revealing the paradoxical and ultimately arbitrary character of such mythographic experiments. The figure of the mythical king of Cyprus is transformed still more spectacularly in Lucian’s True History, which, as a product of frenetic imagination, does not even keep up appearances but from the outset openly belies the truth seemingly promised by its title (cf. 1.1–4). Cinyras appears here as the son of a Cypriot merchant called Scintharus, a figure who, unlike the untrustworthy Phoenician merchants of the Odyssey,82 from his very first meeting with the narrator and his companions helps them in a variety of ways (1.33 ff.),83 in due course even becoming the helmsman of their ship (2.1).84 While for a long time Cinyras

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tion of the faithfulness which the servant of Acastus by that name shows to his master (servus … perquam fidus, 6.8). For the complexity and the significance of the intertextual relationship between Dictys’ Cretan work and the mendacious tales of Homer’s Odysseus, which are also frequently connected with Crete, see Grossardt 1998, 380–385; Ní Mheallaigh 2013, 201–207, who also points out that the Phoenician background in the history of Dictys’ text might be an additional sign of its unreliability, given the reputation that the Phoenicians already had in Homer’s day (see on this matter n. 82). It remains unclear, however, whether the putative original language of this work was Phoenician or Greek, for which the Phoenician alphabet was used; see on this question esp. Merkle 1989, 109–113; Hatzilambrou–Obbink 2009, 89–90. For the Homeric image of the Phoenicians, which to some extent is recalled here, see primarily Latacz 1990; Winter 1995; Brügemann 2010, 130–133. The fact that Scintharus is a merchant is thought to be a possible indication of a Cypro-Phoenician origin of this character; see Briquel-Chatonnet 1992, 191. However, the brief and rather trite account of what he has been through (1.34) belies any expectation of a tale rich in adventure, like those of the Phoenicians in the Odyssey. See Rütten 1997, 108 with n. 81; von Möllendorff 2000, 63, 539. According to Tsavli 2009, 76, the name Scintharus is foreign and may betray a Syro-Phoenician origin of the person in question, but this view is at odds with current etymological interpretations of the name; see in this regard Georgiadou–Larmour 1998, 170. The possible correlation of this name with the obscene word σκίνδαρος (cf. Hsch. s.v., Phot. s.v.) might theoretically foreshadow a Phoenician-style dissolution in its bearer, but this will prove to be by no means the case. Instructive from this point of view is the strong intertextual correlation of Scintharus in this episode with the figures of Eumaeus and Laertes in the Odyssey. See on this subject Larmour–Georgiadou 1998, 163–165; von Möllendorff 2000, 219–221. Indicative of the special role that Scintharus acquires as the action progresses is the fact

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remains in his father’s shadow, he comes spectacularly to the fore during the visit to the Isle of the Blessed, where like a second Paris he engages in dalliance with Menelaus’ wife Helen and attempts to flee with her in secret (2.25). Their plan is foiled, however, by the prompt action of the heroine’s deceived husband, and condign punishment is meted out to the young lover and his accomplices,85 who are bound, whipped and sent to the isles of the Wicked (2.26). In this burlesque episode the pre-history of the Trojan War is repeated as farce, with the incorrigible yet once again unpunished wife of the wretched Menelaus adding to her conquests an insignificant and much younger suitor, who despite his glorious name is in no position to alter the course of history.86 Blessed with something of the proverbial beauty of the Cypriot king of the same name (cf. παῖς, μέγας ὢν καὶ καλός, 2.25),87 this Cinyras simply manages to convert from military into amorous the friction that seems to have existed between his famous namesake and the Atreides,88 while confirming Herodotus’

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that he alone of all the hero’s companions is named repeatedly (see esp. 1.36–37, 2.1, 2.6, 2.41), while in one case he also tries to help by offering advice (2.2); see Rütten 1997, 104 n. 53. See on this matter Devereux 1979–1980; Levine 1991; von Möllendorff 2000, 410–411. For perceptive remarks on various aspects of this parody of the Homeric heroes, who are returning for a brief time for fresh adventures without being able to alter either their nature or their fate, see Bompaire 1958, 671–672; van Mal-Maeder 1992, 140–141; von Möllendorff 2000, 403–405; Kim 2010, 169–170. Especially in the case of Helen, Lucian takes care to recall her disreputable past, referring both to a claim on her on the part of Theseus, who had abducted her before (2.8), and to her reconciliation with Stesichorus, who had initially condemned her conduct (2.15). The irony with which this heroine is depicted here is certainly related, inter alia, to the influence of the Cynics upon Lucian; cf. Kakridis 1974, 373 n. 44. For the exceptional beauty of King Cinyras, as recalled here by Lucian, see Tsavli 2009, 44 with n. 148, 48 with n. 180, and 76, who however is wrong in thinking that the Cypriot sailor in our text is also comparable to the legendary Cinyras in terms of power; see also Franklin 2015, 335 n. 99. The delayed first mention of the name Cinyras in this passage is doubtless intended to emphasise the allusion to the King of Cyprus; cf. von Möllendorff 2000, 221 with n. 39. For this crucial differentiation from the Cinyras of the Epic Cycle, see von Möllendorff 2000, 409, who also thinks that Lucian’s hero of the same name recalls the scandalous love affairs that mythology ascribes to various members of Cinyras’ family (pp. 407–409). For the epic traditions relating to the Cypriot king that are significant in this context, to which must be added his probable meetings with Helen both before and after the Trojan War, see above, pp. 278 with nn. 64–66. The possibility, however, that Homer’s Cinyras was one of Helen’s suitors, who was for this reason asked to take part in the expedition against Troy, is not corroborated by our sources; see West 2015, 26–27. Whether there had nonetheless once been a relevant local tradition in Cyprus, to which the extraordinarily learned Lucian is wittily alluding here, is something that we shall probably never know.

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notorious dictum regarding the assent of women to their abduction (1.4.2; cf. ἐβουλεύσατο ὁ Κινύρας ἁρπάσας τὴν Ἑλένην—ἐδόκει δὲ κἀκείνῃ ταῦτα—οἴχεσθαι, 2.25). On the other hand, for the first-person narrator with his increasingly obvious Odyssean characteristics, Cinyras shows himself to be a typical example of a νήπιος ἑταῖρος, as indicated, too, by his intertextual correlation with Odysseus’ young companion Alphenor in Dictys’ work, where he was the agent of an equally unsuccessful elopement (6.5).89 In both these cases the main character and his companions are driven out by their offended host in reprisal for their misconduct,90 which perhaps explains why Cinyras’ severe punishment seems to excite not even his father’s pity (2.31).91 As is true for all of Lucian’s shipmates who indulge in amorous adventures, so for the son of Scintharus the penalty is heavy, since every manifestation of love in this work proves to be disastrous, depriving those involved of any possibility of continuing their voyage (cf. 1.8, 2.46).92 With his illicit liaison Cinyras may unwittingly have brought about the

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This allusion was traced by Gainsford 2011, who used previously unknown material from a Greek variation of Dictys, partly preserved in the Byzantine chronicle of John Malalas. Interestingly, with the name Alphenor Dictys makes an easily legible reference to the Homeric Elpenor, the youngest of Odysseus’ companions, whose frivolous and self-indulgent behaviour earns him an end equally inglorious as that of Lucian’s hedonistic Cinyras (cf. Od. 10.552–560, 11.51–83, 12.8–15; see for this allusion Marblestone 1970, ii.266). Nor is it by chance that the impropriety committed by Cinyras takes place unbeknown to the central hero, while he is asleep (ἐγὼ μὲν οὐ παρήμην· ἐτύγχανον γὰρ ἐν τῷ συμποσίῳ κοιμώμενος, 2.25), a detail that specifically recalls the events on Thrinacia in the Odyssey (Od. 12.260–402; see also the episode of the winds of Aeolus, Od. 10.1–76,). Less likely, on the other hand, appears to be the correlation proposed by Bompaire 1958, 671 between the idyll of Cinyras and Helen in Lucian and a tale of Odysseus’ abduction of Aeolus’ daughter Polymela, which according to Parthenius (Erot. Path. 2) was treated in Philetas’Hermes (fr. 1 Spanoudakis). An additional correspondence is that both in Dictys (6.5) and in Lucian (2.35–36) the hero and his companions later in their voyage go to the island of Calypso, as noted by Gainsford 2011, 99. According to Nesselrath 1993, 52–53, the departure from the Isle of the Blessed also recalls Iambulus’ account of his dismissal with his companions from the Islands of the Sun (cf. D.S. 2.60), which may have been caused by some amorous escapade too. See in this regard Rütten 1997, 105–106, who notes that the central hero himself displays the same unconcern towards all the adventures of the members of his crew. For the bizarre and extreme erotic element in these episodes, see Larmour 1997, 138– 144. It is no accident that the protagonist and narrator refuses the (also unconventional) proposal to marry Endymion’s son because he prefers to continue his voyage (1.21). The combination of love and adventure characteristic of the novel is unattainable in Lucian’s narrative because there is no comparable idealised love in it, as becomes perfectly apparent in the finally fatal adulterous escapade of Helen and Cinyras. In this sense it is more accurate to detect not a parody of the serious idealising novel in Lucian’s text (see e.g. for this opinion Baumbach—von Möllendorff 2017, 85) but an eloquent absence of this

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resumption of his companions’ travel adventures,93 but he himself no longer had a place in what is essentially an anti-erotic fictional narrative.

3

Cyprus as Place of the Action in Ancient Novelistic Literature

The hedonism associated with Cyprus in antiquity,94 largely because of the prostitution linked to the local cult of Aphrodite and the intense eroticism of the Cypriot myths relating to that goddess, obviously made the island a less suitable setting for idealising novelistic narratives. Conversely, there would be nothing surprising in having at least part of the action of some comic-realistic novels take place there,95 works that in Greek are at best fragmentarily preserved, such as e.g. Lollianus’Phoenician Tales. The title of this picaresque novel, which features both the horrors of human sacrifice and cannibalism and the lewdness of venal love and group sex, refers to the ancient Phoenicia typically associated with such phenomena, but without permitting us to pinpoint the precise location of the action narrated in the surviving fragments.96 After all, it is well known that in the genre of the ancient novel such titles (e.g. Xenophon’s Ephesiaca and Heliodorus’ Aethiopica) often specified the geographical location of only a small part of the action, usually the beginning and/or the end of it, serving chiefly to draw the attention to the place of origin of one or

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genre; see along these lines Rütten 1997, 98–99, who correctly discerns a closer kinship of the True History with the comic-realistic novel of Petronius and Apuleius, already suggested by Bompaire 1958, 672 n. 1. As Baumbach 2004, 29–30 aptly remarks, the erotic element here proves to be at once calamitous for Cinyras and beneficial for the continuation of the travel narrative. See in this regard the detailed observations in Engel 1841, i.489–505. A characteristic parallel offers Apuleius’ choice of Corinth as the setting for the action of the intensely erotic tenth book of his novel, since this decision seems to be connected with, among other things, that city’s ancient reputation for moral laxity; for this interpretation, see Mason 1971, 161–162. This question remains open despite the endeavour of Henrichs 1972, 48–51 to demonstrate that the acts of violence narrated by Lollianus were committed not by ‘desperadoes’ of unspecified origin, as argued by Winkler 1980, 166–181, but by the infamous Boukoloi of the Nile Delta. See the critique of this view by Stephens–Winkler 1995, 319–321, who note that both the mysterious building in which the criminals of our novel dwell and the attack they may prepare on an inhabited region (cf. fr. B 1 v 33–35) are at odds with what we know of the Egyptian Boukoloi. Especially if the supplement εἰς τοὺ[ς κρημνού]ς proposed by Stramaglia 1992, 62–63 for fr. B 1 v 26, is correct, it seems highly unlikely that the country referred to is Egypt, as correctly noted by Stephens–Winkler 1995, 356; see also Casanova 2010, 133–134 with n. 61.

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both of the protagonists.97 Given also the strong and centuries-old Phoenician presence in Cyprus,98 one has to consider seriously the possibility that the wanderings about the eastern Mediterranean typical of the heroes of an ancient novel would in the case of the Phoenician Tales take them to that island too.99 More specifically, it is worth noting that the rite of human sacrifice related by Lollianus (fr. Β 1 r) could very well have taken place there,100 since Cyprus represents one of the few so much-discussed chapters in the ancient history of this practice,101 something justly regarded as not unrelated to the island’s Cypro-Phoenician culture.102 Similarly, the festival in honour of Adonis that 97

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That this point is of crucial importance to any attempt to reconstruct the map of the action of the Phoenician Tales has frequently been noted. See esp. Briquel-Chatonnet 1992, 193; Stephens–Winkler 1995, 319, who also note the deviation from this norm of Iamblichus’ Babyloniaca, according at least to the information about this work preserved in Photius’ Bibliotheca. As correctly noted by Kaldellis 2019, 694, the coastal cities of Phoenicia provided a suitable setting for part of the plot in the ancient novel, which often involved the protagonists sailing to various places close to that region. See in this regard Lipiński 1992, 63–73; Fourrier 2019, with extensive additional bibliography. A striking parallel is found in the picaresque neo-Egyptian narrative of the adventures of Wenamun, who on a journey from the Phoenician city of Byblos is blown off course to Cyprus, where he is in danger of being killed by the inhabitants of the island but in the end is saved by the local princess Hatiba; for this much-discussed text see Schipper 2005. It is possible that this scene of the Phoenician Tales was preceded by the adventures of shipwreck and capture by local bandits that typically befall the heroes of an ancient novel, as conjectured by Henrichs 1972, 51, although his view that all this takes place in the Nile Delta has not been accepted; see in this regard above, n. 96. It should be noted that one of the words beginning with kappa that Henrichs 1972, 121 suggests Lollianus may have used in fr. B 1 v 14 for the desperadoes’ drinking vessel is the Cypriot term κύββα (cf. FGrHist 244 F 224); one might add that the same is true of the Cypriot terms κύμβα (Ath. 11.483a) and κύβος (Hsch. s.v.). According to Stephens–Winkler 1995, 354, the word written here on the papyrus cannot have contained more than five letters. For the literary and archaeological evidence linking Cyprus with this particular kind of sacrifice, see Hughes 1991, 35–42, 67–70, 123–130, 133–134; Roberts 1995; O’Bryhim 1999; Karageorghis 2015. How strong this connection was considered to be in antiquity is obvious from the myth of the Cypriot soothsayer Phrasius, who is said to have advised the Egyptian king Bousiris to sacrifice a stranger to Zeus each year as a means of preventing the drought that was plaguing his country; see in this regard Varvounis 1988–1989. On the other hand, the combination of human sacrifice and cannibalism in Lollianus’ narrative is only a typically fictional invention and not a practice attested in any region in which the action of this novel might have taken place; see for this subject the observations of Winkler 1980, 166–167. See esp. O’Bryhim 1999, who thinks the practice of offering human sacrifices to Zeus Xenios, which according to Ovid (Met. 10.220–237) was once adopted by the so-called Cerastae of Cyprus, is historical and influenced by the Phoenicians. For the rites of human sacrifice attributed to the Phoenicians, see Henrichs 1972, 12–16; Simonetti 1983. The fact

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seems to be described in the Phoenician Tales (fr. A 1 r), though in terms of the Greek and not the Phoenician Adonia,103 is not unlikely to have taken place in Cyprus, given the key role that the island is believed to have played in spreading the Near Eastern cult of this god to Greece.104 Moreover, the fact that in its Greek version the Adonia gradually came to be considered a festival connected primarily with women living under the patronage of Aphrodite, i.e. courtesans,105 would make it even more tempting for Lollianus to set it in the island emblematically associated with that goddess and famous as a citadel of prostitution in antiquity. Although it remains unclear how far this latter phenomenon has become linked in Cyprus with the union of Aphrodite and her youthful lover in the context of the local cult of Adonis,106 certain erotic scenes in the Phoenician Tales, such as the ‘deflowering’ of the first-person narrator by

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that in the scene of the human sacrifice in the Phoenician Tales the public executioner appears περί[ζωμα περὶ ἑαυτῷ] ἔχων φοινικοῦ[ν (fr. B 1 r 10) can scarcely be considered unintentional in a novel with that title; see Henrichs 1972, 115. The dance of probably drunken women on the roof of some building, which in the view of Henrichs 1972, 105 and Stephens–Winkler 1995, 345 is what Lollianus is referring to here, recalls the version of the Adonia which is familiar chiefly from Attic Comedy, namely a private, exclusively female celebration and not a general public festival in honour of Adonis like that held by the Phoenicians; see for this important observation BriquelChatonnet 1992, 192. More generally for the differences between the Greek and the Phoenician Adonia, see Budin 2008, 97–100. For this view, which is based primarily on various literary evidence for the cult of Adonis in Cyprus (Orph. H. 55. 24–26, Paus. 9. 41. 2–5, St. Byz. s.v. Ἀμαθοῦς, Lyd. Mens. 4. 65, An. Bachm. i 32. 27 = Phot. s.v. Ἀδώνια), see Nilsson 1906, 368, 384–385 with n. 4; Baudissin 1911, 81–83. The particular significance that this cult had for the Cypriots is also apparent in inscriptions relating to metics in Piraeus who most probably came from that island (IG ii2 1261, 1290); for these inscriptions, see the important discussion in Matricon-Thomas 2011. For this view of the Adonia in antiquity, which developed under the influence of the postclassical Comedy, see Men. Sam. 38–46, Diph. fr. 42. 38–40, 49 K.–A., Diosc. AP 5.53, 5. 193, Alciphr. 4.10.1, 4.14.3, 4.14.8. Particular emphasis has been placed upon this aspect of the Adonia by Detienne 1972, 125–128, whose point of view however has also attracted criticism; see in this regard Winkler 1990, 199–201. The view that such a link between the cult of Adonis and the phenomenon of sacred prostitution under the aegis of Aphrodite existed among other places in Cyprus is expressed by Henrichs 1972, 20. For an interesting correlation between the Adonia and the Cypriot cult of Aphrodite Parakyptousa, whose name as we have seen (cf. above, p. 270 with n. 26) is reminiscent of the practice of prostitution, cf. Robertson 1982, 321, although that author questions the involvement of prostitutes in this ritual framework; see also Mehl 1996, 395– 397. The Adonia of Phoenician Byblos on the other hand is explicitly linked with sacred prostitution by Lucian (Syr. D. 6), who may also have been influenced by the image of that festival in ancient literature as of particular significance for courtesans; see in this regard Lightfoot 2003, 325 n. 88.

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the (apparently at least) priestess of love Persis (fr. A 2 r), should perhaps be viewed in this light as well.107 Overall, the fact that it is possible to correlate a number of familiar elements of Cypriot couleur locale with the sensational events related by Lollianus obliges us to reflect seriously upon the place which the exotic environment of Cyprus might have had in the action of this provocative novel. In idealising novelistic narratives, by contrast, Cyprus has a place only as the location of the famous sanctuary of Paphian Aphrodite and thus as a pilgrimage destination, as we see for example in Philostratus’ fictional biography of Apollonius of Tyana. En route for Ionia after his long voyage in the East, the neo-Pythagorean sage who is the subject of this work stops for a short time at Paphos (3.58), where, however, he does not engage in criticism of the way of life of the population, as he does in many other cities during his wanderings,108 but confines himself to visiting the local temple of the Cypriot goddess. His interest is focused on the aniconic idol of Paphian Aphrodite known from other sources as well (τὸ τῆς Ἀφροδίτης ἕδος, ὃ ξυμβολικῶς ἱδρυμένον θαυμᾶσαι τὸν Ἀπολλώνιον· cf. Tac. Hist. 2.3, Max. Tyr. 2.8, Serv. Aen. 1.720), an object of veneration alien to the anthropomorphism of Greek religion defended later by Apollonius (6.19), which thus symbolises Cyprus’ position as the interface between Greece and the East.109 Placed as it is at the end of the third book,

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For this female figure’s apparent connection with prostitution, see Henrichs 1972, 19–20, 23, 107, who also notes the related connotations created by her name; see also Stephens– Winkler 1995, 321, 345. An additional instance of such a figure may possibly be identified in the new papyrus of Lollianus P.Oxy. 4945. 6, if the word μυρρίνη is used there as a woman’s name; see in this regard Obbink 2009, 110 and more generally for the use of this name by courtesans, cf. van Mal-Maeder 2001, 336. For a different interpretation of the word in question, see Casanova 2014, 126. Apollonius criticises not only the inhabitants of the best known cities in mainland Greece and Ionia but also those with whom he comes into contact in, for example, Tarsus (1.7.1, 6.34.1), Aspendus (1.15.2–3) and Antioch (1.16.2, 3.58). The fact that this last passage presents his departure for Cyprus as a consequence of his distaste for the Antiochians renders even more striking the absence of any criticism of the Cypriots, despite the reputation for loose morals that they appear to have had in antiquity. For more details on the cult statue of Aphrodite in Paphos, see Heubner 1968, 30–31; Delivorrias 1984, 9, who correctly observes that: “das Beispiel des paphischen Tempelbildes bleibt daher allein, an den Grenzen zwischen der griechischen und der östlichen Göttervorstellung und Religion.” It is perhaps not by chance that at the beginning of his voyage to the East Apollonius had also found himself in front of an idol denoting the dialogue between Greek and Eastern religion, namely that of the Syrian goddess, who was identified in that episode with Io (1.19.1); see Miles 2009, 139–141, who further reminds us that according to another interpretation this goddess was Οὐρανία Ἀφροδίτη, from whom the Cypriot goddess worshipped in Paphos was said to be derived.

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after Apollonius’ long voyage in the East and immediately before his tour of various Greek cities, the episode in question thus underlines the significance of the island of Aphrodite as a geographical boundary in this work.110 It is here that Apollonius will experience once again as pilgrim the element of admiration familiar from ethnographic descriptions of exotic places before finally becoming himself a permanent object of admiration and devotion as a θεῖος ἀνήρ imbued with the wisdom of the East (θαυμᾶσαι τὸν Ἀπολλώνιον, καὶ πολλὰ τοὺς ἱερέας ἐς τὴν ὁσίαν τοῦ ἱεροῦ διδαξάμενον ἐς Ἰωνίαν πλεῦσαι θαυμαζόμενον ἱκανῶς, 3.58).111 Given, moreover, that before Philostratus there was nothing in the tradition about Apollonius of Tyana linking the legendary sage with Cyprus, one must seriously entertain the possibility that this episode (as indeed is conjectured for the entirety of the hero’s travels in the East) is an invention of our author for purely literary reasons.112 One of his objects might have been to draw a parallel between Apollonius’ visit to Cyprus as a prelude to the activity he would thereafter develop and the arrival of Apostle Paul, together with Barnabas, at that island as the first stage in his apostolic mission recounted in the Acts of the Apostles (13.4–12). In both cases the journey begins in Antioch and takes the travellers first to the port of Seleucia; it is centred on Paphos and is crowned with absolute success,113 marking probably a more gen-

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For the way in which Philostratus tends to organise the structure of his text and especially the division into books so that they reflect geographical regions and the boundaries between them, see Whitmarsh 2012, 475. It is characteristic of Philostratus’ view of Cyprus as occupying a marginal geographical position that he mentions it together with regions on the fringes of the Roman Empire, such as Libya, Egypt and Phoenicia, as Apollonius’ potential refuges from the persecution of Domitian (7.12.5); see in this regard Elsner 1997, 32–33. For the turn the pilgrimage motif takes in this passage, see Miles 2009, 147. As Elsner 1997, 26–28 has pointed out, this transformation of Apollonius from a pilgrim to a superhuman object of veneration is intertwined with the authoritative guidance this sage gives the priests of the temples he visits, an element that is expressly mentioned in the episode under discussion. Apollonius is presented occasionally as a source of collective admiration even before his return from the East (see esp. 1.8.2, 1.31.1, 1.36.1), but the widespread impact he will have as a holy man is presaged by the Brahmans at the end of his apprenticeship with them (3.50.1) and, after its brief mention in our passage, becomes manifest in a spectacular fashion at the beginning of the next book (4.1.1). That the accounts of voyages in this work are largely an addition of Philostratus to the material he found in the tradition about Apollonius has been convincingly argued by Bowie 1978, 1666, 1675–1676, 1692; see also Dzielska 1986, 55–56, 83, 186–187. The two scholars agree that the total number of cities with which Apollonius must have had some connection was in fact small. For this part of the Acts of the Apostles, see Ramsay 1895, 70–88. While Apollonius visits only Paphos, Paul and Barnabas make a tour of the island, which begins at Sala-

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eral correlation between the protagonists of the two works.114 As a bearer of such intertextual associations, indeed, the presence of the wonder-worker and wise teacher Apollonius in the island of Aphrodite acquires particular importance in the context of the complex literary dialogue that Philostratus engages in with the idealising novel of his day. The affinities with this literary genre, which have often been noted as a characteristic of the biography of Apollonius resulting from its author’s general penchant for literary experimentation,115 draw even more attention to the drastic marginalisation of the erotic element in the narrative in question, and especially to its total banishment from the life of the hero.116 The fact, then, that a holy man like Apollonius, who by definition has no love life at all, should nonetheless include in his itinerary the island of the goddess of love, which he visits, however, solely as a pious pilgrim and catechist,117 could very well be symbolic of Philostratus’ differentiation from idealising novels set partly in Cyprus. It is perhaps not by chance that the main

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mis and brings them into contact with the Jews of Cyprus but not with pagan cults like that of Aphrodite. By contrast, there are many references to pagan life in Cyprus in the much later apocryphal Acts of Barnabas, whose main subject is that apostle’s second voyage to the island. See in this regard Young 2005, 34–44; Cairns 2019, 59– 60. See on this subject Pervo 1987, 47, 81; Elsner 1997, 27, 33, 35–36. The typology of θεῖος ἀνήρ as a common denominator of these two figures is very likely to have encouraged a more targeted intertextual dialogue in our case; for this typological kinship, see Bieler 1935–1936, i.17–19. The various elements linking this work of Philostratus’ with the genre of the novel have been brought to our attention primarily by Bowie 1978, 1663–1667; see also Anderson 1986, 229–232, who however correctly notes that this generic kinship is only one aspect of a much more complex literary endeavour. For some telling observations along the same lines, see Hägg 2012, 319–321. For the patent disregard for eros as the chief factor which differentiates this work of Philostratus from the novel, see Bowie 1994, 190–193; Billault 2000, 106–108. As observed by Hägg 2009, 81–85, this tendency is in general characteristic of fictional biography in antiquity. For a thorough analysis of this aspect of the dialogue with the novel in the biography of Apollonius, see Kanavou 2018, 139–178. The purely pilgrimatic nature of Apollonius’ visit to the traditionally erotic environment of Cyprus indirectly emphasises his sophrosyne, in the two senses of this word as applied to the young Timasion (6. 3), that is, for his veneration of Aphrodite and for the purity of his life; see Kanavou 2018, 61–62, 151–152, who notes the remarkable combination of two different uses of the term in question in this episode. As in the case of the story of Timasion, so in our passage the reference to Aphrodite is symptomatic of the dialogue with the novel, an endeavour which is also perhaps not unrelated to mentions of this goddess at the beginning of the same book (3.1.1–2, 3.3); see Praet 2009, 285–291, who additionally correlates the references to Aphrodite that frame this book with the various manifestations of love treated in it.

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such work known today was written by a man whose literary merits Philostratus appears to have openly spoken against (Ep. 66), namely Chariton.118 In the last book of Chariton’s novel the hero, Chaereas, having learned of the defeat of the Egyptian land forces at the hands of the Persians, sails at the head of the Egyptian fleet with Callirhoe, whom he has just found again in Aradus, ostensibly to launch a surprise attack on Cyprus (σύνθημα … δέδωκεν ἐπὶ Κύπρου κρατεῖν, ὡς δῆτα ἀναγκαῖον ἔτι ἀφύλακτον οὖσαν αὐτὴν προκαταλαβεῖν, 8.2.7). What he really intends, however, is to return with Callirhoe to Syracuse, a voyage for which he will seek the assistance of Aphrodite and make enquiries of the priests and soothsayers in her temple in Paphos,119 after first proclaiming peace with the locals (8.2.8–9). The island of Cyprus is thus linked with the final return of Chariton’s narrative from military to romantic action,120 since the private life of the protagonists, which is what the genre of the novel is about, ceases at this point to be influenced by public events treated primarily by historiography, like the Egyptian revolt against the Persians. Due to his involvement in this revolt, Chaereas may recall the Athenian general Chabrias, who served twice with the Egyptians against the Persians (386bc, 362bc; see esp. Diod. 15.29.2, 15.92.3, Nep. Cha. 2.1, 2.3, Plut. Ages. 37.1–5),121 but that officer’s 118 119

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For the generally accepted view that the person called Chariton who is criticised in the epigram in question is in fact the novelist of that name, see most recently Tilg 2010, 79–81. The fact that the voyage to Cyprus was not made for military reasons explains why our heroes did not land at Salamis, which was the closest point for them and at the time of the action of the novel the most populous and administratively most important city in the island, but followed the whole south coast along to Paphos. This route, which was also that followed by Philostratus’ Apollonius, was determined by their intention of visiting the local temple of Aphrodite (cf. conversely the landing of Paul and Barnabas at Salamis, although they came from the same direction as Chariton’s protagonists, because of the very different objectives of their voyage). For the requirements of his plot, Chariton conflates the city of Old Paphos (Παλαίπαφος), which is associated with the cult of Aphrodite but is not on the coast, with New Paphos, which lies about 15 km distant but is where Chaereas’ fleet could anchor; for important observations on this subject, see Plepelits 1976, 187–188 n. 184. It is indicative of the fame of the sanctuary of Aphrodite at Paphos as an oracle that it was consulted in ad 79 by the future emperor Titus (cf. Tac. Hist. 2.4, Suet. Tit. 5.1). For this aspect of the Paphian Aphrodite, see Pirenne-Delforge 1994, 340–341. From this point of view it is telling that, as we later learn, after the fleet has sailed from Cyprus for Syracuse the command is assumed by Chaereas’ friend Polycharmus because Chaereas himself has time only for Callirhoe (8.6.9). It is in keeping with this new priority of the protagonist that he consults the oracle after the end of the hostilities and not before, as was customary in antiquity; see Kasprzyk 2005, 193–194. The widely held view that the figure of Chaereas deliberately evokes that of Chabrias was first advanced by Perry 1930, 100 n. 11; see along the same lines Salmon 1961, 375–376, who however recognises here an allusion only to Chabrias’ later aid to the Egyptian king Tachos and not to his earlier assistance to Acoris. Given, however, Chariton’s general tendency to

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aid to the Cypriot king and ally of Egypt Evagoras in 388bc (see X. HG. 5.1.10, Nep. Cha. 2.2) has no parallel in our novel,122 since Cyprus here is important only as the island of the goddess of love. Thus the heroes’ sojourn there begins ceremoniously with votive offerings to Aphrodite by Chaereas as leader of the army (ἀναθήμασι τὴν Ἀφροδίτην ἐτίμησε, 8.2.8),123 while the epilogue to the same episode is Callirhoe’s prayer to the patron deity of the island in a much more personal tone (cf. ἡ Καλλιρόη τὴν Ἀφροδίτην προσεκύνησε, 8.4.10),124 characteristic of the heroine’s particular relationship with this goddess. As the character in this novel who not only invokes Aphrodite with unusual frequency125 but is repeatedly confused with her, symbolising with her irresistible charm the omnipotence of the goddess,126 Callirhoe is of course in no danger of meeting the same tragic fate in Cyprus as Ariadne in one version of her story,127 but thanks to divine support, is certain of a happy ending to her wanderings (πολλὴ μὲν ἐν μέσῳ θάλασσα, καὶ ἐκδέχεταί με φοβερὰ πελάγη, πλὴν οὐ φοβοῦμαι σοῦ μοι συμπλεούσης, 8.4.10).128 The entire episode that is framed by these two acts of

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combine elements from different historical periods in his narrative and the fact that he does not name the Egyptian king with whom Chaereas served, the prevailing view is that the double correlation was what the author intended; see e.g. Molinié 20023, 7–8; Zamarou 2017, 53–54. For an exhaustive treatment of the figure of Chabrias, see Bianco 2000. More generally for the peculiar mix of elements from different historical events in the pseudohistorical world of Chariton’s novel, see e.g. Plepelits 1976, 14–19; Scarcella 1981, 344–352. For the presence of Chaereas in Cyprus as a detail recalling Chabrias’ going to the same island to support king Evagoras, who was fighting the Persians as an ally of the Egyptian king Acoris, see Salmon 1961, 376 with n. 6; Tilg 2010, 47. The fact that Cyprus and Egypt had many times joined forces against the Persians obviously favours such associations at this point in Chariton’s novel; for another example see Grimal 1958, 383. Less probable is the view expressed by Ramelli 2000, 61, that the same episode in the novel also recalls an expedition to Cyprus which according to Thucydides (1.104) was undertaken by the Athenians before they went on to Egypt to support Inaros in his revolt against the Persians. For the new page that is opening in the life of the hero this gesture has a particular symbolism, in that it recalls the sacrifices made to Aphrodite by officials at the conclusion of their term of office; for this correlation see Edwards 1998, 44–45. For a comparison between these two very different religious acts performed by the novel’s central characters, see Pinkepank 2012, 79–82. For Callirhoe’s prayers to Aphrodite, which are far more frequent than those of the other characters in the novel, see Biraud 1996, 138–141. The impression that the exceptionally beautiful heroine creates of being Aphrodite herself is a leitmotiv of the novel; see Alperowitz 1992, 42–43; Hägg 2002, 52–55, 59–61; Edwards 1998, 35–41. For the possibility that Chariton is indirectly juxtaposing Callirhoe with Ariadne as the latter was portrayed in a local Cypriot myth, see pp. 267–268 above. For Aphrodite as protector of sailors, to whom Callirhoe here addresses herself, see

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worship and takes place in a city particularly associated with Aphrodite represents a characteristic example of Chariton’s tendency to situate the action of his story in places connected with the cult of that goddess, whose influence is, as a result, perceptible throughout the narrative.129 We thus see here that the foretold ending of Aphrodite’s anger towards Chaereas (cf. 8.1.3) is confirmed through the positive auguries he receives from the local priests (ἀπήγγειλαν οἱ ἱερεῖς … ὅτι καλὰ γέγονε τὰ ἱερά, 8.2.9),130 and that everything is being arranged for the various secondary characters who have shown proper respect for the goddess in the past (Stateira and Artaxerxes [5.9.1, 6.2.4], Dionysios [2.3.6, 3.8.3– 4]).131 As the last stop before the heroes’ triumphal return home, the island of Aphrodite proves to be crucial to the tying up of all the loose ends in the plot,132 since the genius loci seems to stir everyone up, hastening the happy outcome of their adventures (cf. τίς ἂν φράσῃ τὴν ἡμέραν ἐκείνην πόσας ἔσχε πράξεις, πῶς ὰλλήλαις διαφόρους, 8.4.1). The festive mood of the narrative on what transpired at Paphos betrays ultimately the satisfaction of the author133 as a citizen of a city equally emblematic of Aphrodite, i.e. Aphrodisias, with a story in which this goddess plays altogether such a catalytic role.134 As the only representative of the novel with such a background, it was natural that Chariton should incor-

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Pirenne-Delforge 1994, 433–437. It is telling that Chaereas, who appears generally less attached to Aphrodite than Callirhoe, had prayed not to her but to Poseidon before setting sail from Syracuse for Miletus (3.5.9); see in this regard Kasprzyk 2005, 186–187. The heroine’s much closer relationship with the goddess raises the question of whether the idea of going from Aradus to Cyprus was not in fact hers, especially in view of her generally decisive role in Chaereas’ decision-making after their reunion (8.2.4–5, 8.3.1–3); see Roncali 1996, 30, 33. For the particular importance of the local temples of Aphrodite in Chariton’s narrative, see Edwards 1996, 80–81; Cuny 2005, 228–231. For this peculiar emphasis on local cults of the goddess as an element that distinguishes this novel from other works of its genre, see Alperowitz 1992, 41–42; Tilg 2010, 28–29. For this important development in the plot of the novel, see Alperowitz 1992, 47–48. Specifically for the letters that Chaereas and Callirhoe write to Artaxerxes and Dionysios, respectively, before they leave Cyprus, see Rosenmeyer 1992, 144–147. See in this regard Roncali 1996, 13 n. 17, 398–399 n. 20. As rightly pointed out by Tilg 2010, 164–167, the use here of the motif that E.R. Curtius has called Unsagbarkeitstopos functions as an indirect authorial comment on the high literary quality of the work. For a detailed treatment of the frequently noted relation between the unusual emphasis on Aphrodite in Chariton and the vital importance that the cult of the same goddess had for the author’s own city, see Tilg 2010, 25–32. This observation has moreover served as the starting-point for a political reading of Chariton, which correlates his novel with the ambitions of the social elite of Aphrodisias in the framework of the Roman Empire; see more recently Edwards 1998. For the close connection of Aphrodite with the collective identity of Chariton’s fellow citizens, see Chaniotis 2003, 69–72, 77–79.

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porate into the action of his work cult centres of Aphrodite like that in Cyprus more emphatically than any other author writing in this genre would ever do again. In the Ephesiaca of Xenophon of Ephesus, by contrast, the island of Cyprus is merely mentioned in passing as an intermediate stop on the hero’s homeward journey to Ephesus from Sicily, during which he has just sailed past Crete and will later reach Rhodes (5.10.2–3). Habrocomes’ visit to Cyprus is therefore a substantial detour from the route he would normally have followed, something which is difficult to ascribe solely to the hope we learn that he had of hearing news of his wife Antheia (ἤλπιζε δὲ ἐν τῷ μακρῷ πλῷ καὶ περὶ Ἀνθίας τι πυθέσθαι, 5.10.2).135 In the past this apparently inexplicable choice of route was considered simply one of several defects of that sort in Xenophon’s narrative,136 but recently there has been an attempt to ascribe it to a corruption of the text, that is, to the scribe’s substitution of the toponym Κύπρος for Κάρπαθος in the codex unicus of this novel.137 This second hypothesis, however, is no less troubling than the first, mainly because it takes the supposed change in the name of the island to be a conscious choice of the copyist, thus shifting to him the responsibility for something at first sight illogical on Xenophon’s part, which in fact is anything but inexplicable. As the hero of a romantic novel, Habrocomes very reasonably chooses to visit the temple of the goddess of love in Cyprus, in order to pay honour to her and ask for her help in his tribulations (ἐν Κύπρῳ γενόμενος, ἡμέρας διατρίψας ὀλίγας καὶ εὐξάμενος τῇ πατρίῳ Κυπρίων θεῷ, 5.10.3).138 Shortly

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According to Hägg 1971, 174, this is the only possible explanation. Morgan 2007, 148 observes merely that what we have here is “a roundabout route which is not explained but does not seem to be by chance”. See Rohde 19143, 423, 426, who saw here a “sonderbare Verworrenheit geographischer Vorstellungen” and more generally in the Ephesiaca “das zweckloseste Hin- und Herfahren im Zickzack”. More recently, Alexander 1995, 29 also spoke of an absurd route resulting from the way in which a list of ports drawn up for travellers in the eastern Mediterranean was used. Such negative views of the narrative logic in our novel have since been abandoned, however, thanks largely to the astute observations of Lowe 2000, 230–231; see also Morgan 2007, 149–150. The hypothesis was formulated by Capra 2012. For a critique of this view, beyond the observations recorded here, see Fakas 2020, 367–368 with nn. 11–12. Capra’s proposal has not been adopted in any of the latest editions of the Ephesiaca. On this point see also Hutton in this volume (n. 11). For this motive of the protagonist of the work, see e.g. Zimmermann 1949–1950, 279 n. 6; Vermaseren 1978, 427; Billault 1991, 27–28. Capra 2012, 73 agrees that as the island of the goddess of love Cyprus could very well be mentioned in a novel like the Ephesiaca, although as said above he ascribes this mention not to the author but to a mediaeval scribe.

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before the end of the hero’s wanderings the narrative thus returns to the goddess who was last mentioned in the scene of his wedding night, immediately before the beginning of the travels and adventures of the newly-weds (τὰ πρῶτα τῶν Ἀφροδίτης ἔργων ἀπήλαυον, 1.9.9).139 It is interesting, too, that in that episode mention was also made of the depiction of the love affair of Ares and Aphrodite on the roof of the marriage bed (1.8.2–3), that is, of a story known primarily from the song of Demodocus in the Odyssey which ends with Aphrodite fleeing to the Cypriot site of her cult at Paphos (Od. 8.362–366). But whereas in the Homeric tale Ares and Aphrodite are adulterers, in the ekphrasis of Xenophon they are newly-weds like Habrocomes and Anthia,140 a fact that redefines the Aphrodite of Cyprus in our novel as a protector of married love and indirectly makes the hero’s pilgrimage to her sanctuary a harbinger of the spouses’ reunion. This sense that the love story of the Ephesiaca will soon have a happy ending is reinforced by the correspondence between Habrocomes’ visit to Cyprus and the journey of Chariton’s heroes there shortly before the end of their adventures.141 Since in both cases the sojourn in the island is directly associated with the cult of Aphrodite, the expectation is created that this goddess, despite her generally minor presence in Xenophon’s narrative, can assure positive developments in his novel too, as happened in that of Chariton.142 Even though Habrocomes arrives in Cyprus in a much worse state than Chaereas, still poor and separated from his wife, his final destiny as protagonist of an idealising novel can only be as happy as that of his model. The island of Cyprus thus proves, in the Ephesiaca, to be the bearer of a symbolism that also characterises other elements of

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Alperowitz 1992, 33 observes that the phrase recalls a Homeric passage in which the protagonist is Aphrodite (see Il. 5.428–429) and that it is not from this point of view surprising that it occurs in the episode of the novel which also reminds us of the Homeric tale of Ares and Aphrodite (Od. 8.266–366). For this crucial difference between the description given by Xenophon of Ephesus and the song of Demodocus, see Lefteratou 2018, 83–85, 100–101; Velentza 2019, 97–98. This notwithstanding, Xenophon’s readers will not have failed to make the association with the Homeric version of the myth, which was much discussed in antiquity, but will have realised its full importance only in retrospect, when the novel’s narrative reaches the Aphrodite of Cyprus with whom Demodocus’ song ends. For this intertextual link between the two novels, which was first noted by Gärtner 1967, 2084, see in greater detail Fakas 2020, 368–369. The possibility that Xenophon of Ephesus might be alluding here (as in other cases) to Chariton presupposes of course that he came later, which remains the most widespread view on this subject; see more recently Tilg 2010, 89–92; Coleman 2011. For the catalytic role that Aphrodite plays generally in Chariton, appearing thus as by far the most important deity in his novel, see pp. 291–293 above.

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the geography of this work and relates not only to the development of its plot but to its generic affiliations as a love story too.143 One last representative of the ancient novel who appears, albeit indirectly, to draw our attention to the place which Cyprus had in the action of this literary genre is Achilles Tatius. In his work that island is not a place visited by his heroes but is mentioned solely in the context of a digression on the subject of the Egyptian ox, which among other things is lauded for the superiority of its horns to those of Sicilian and Cypriot oxen (βοῦς γὰρ Αἰγύπτιος … τὸ κέρας οὐχ ὡς ὁ Σικελικὸς εὐτελὴς οὐδ᾽ ὡς ὁ Κύπριος δυσειδής, 2.15.3). As a native of Alexandria, this novelist seems here to take pride in an impressive animal of his own country, opening thus his descriptions of Egyptian fauna (cf. 4.2, 4.19)144 and to some extent preparing the reader for the importance that Egypt will have in his novel.145 But if the emphasis on an admirable Egyptian animal foreshadows developments in the action of the novel, as is the case with other digressive descriptions in it,146 the pejorative terms used for the representatives of the same species from Sicily and Cyprus can reasonably be expected to perform a similar function. Given, indeed, that the Cypriot ox in particular is mentioned in our sources only proverbially, as a derogatory reference especially to the people of Cyprus (see Men. Kol. fr. 9 K.–A., Hsch. β 976 Latte),147 it is perfectly possible that our writer is here expressing a negative predisposition towards emblematic landmarks of the ancient novel. In that sense, the bovine comparison under discussion could presage not only the journey of this 143

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For the tendency evident in Xenophon of Ephesus to use the movements of his heroes as a vehicle for literary dialogue with older novels involving the same travel destinations, see in detail Fakas 2020. For this digression as the first indication of Achilles Tatius’ interest in marvellous aspects of Egypt that were familiar to him, see Whitmarsh 2020, 221–222, who also notes the possible intertextual background to this description. For the reliability of the zoological information given here, see Rommel 1923, 74–75. The sense that this digression acts as an indirect harbinger of future developments in the plot is strengthened by the explicit correlation of the Egyptian ox described here with the animal whose form Zeus assumed in order to abduct Europa (εἰ δὲ ὁ μῦθος Εὐρώπης ἀληθής, Αἰγύπτιον βοῦν ὁ Ζεὺς ἐμιμήσατο, 2.15.4) and by extension with the ekphrasis on the same subject at the beginning of the novel (1.1.2–13), which appears to foreshadow the flight of the heroes to Egypt; see on this topic Bartsch 1989, 50–55, 62–65; Reeves 2007, 90–93. According to Laplace 2007, 118, the repeated use of the word βοῦς alongside the synonymous ταῦρος in both descriptions foreshadows more specifically the danger awaiting this novel’s heroine in Egypt from the βουκόλοι. For this specific function of the manifold descriptions in Achilles Tatius’ novel, see especially the ground-breaking study of Bartsch 1989, 40–79, 144–170. For this proverbial expression, see also Zen. 2.82, with the detailed commentary of Bühler 1999, 409–414.

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author’s heroes to Egypt, but also the absence of Sicily and Cyprus from the map of their travels,148 both of these regions connected with Chariton’s idealising novel and the latter perhaps also with scandalous prose fiction in the fashion of Lollianus’ Phoenician Tales. After all, Achilles Tatius is known generally as a writer on the cusp of contrasting narrative traditions, which he seeks to combine and in the end to transcend, thus blazing a new trail in the history of his genre.149 This novel may thus begin with the thank-offerings of the anonymous first-person narrator to Astarte, the Syro-Phoenician equivalent of Aphrodite (σῶστρα ἔθυον ἐμαυτοῦ τῇ τῶν Φοινίκων θεᾷ· Ἀστάρτην αὐτὴν καλοῦσιν οἱ Σιδώνιοι, 1.1.2),150 who was also worshipped in Cyprus151 and was associated with prostitution, but any expectation of sensual experiences of the protagonist that this beginning may have engendered are belied in the course of the action, which only partly recalls works of a Phoenician flavour.152 On the other hand, the author’s frequent references to Aphrodite as a member of the Greek pantheon call to mind the catalytic role she played in Chariton’s novel,153 thus making even plainer the much more conventional way in which this goddess is now treated, as eloquently demonstrated by the absence of any pilgrimage to her famous temple in Paphos. Indeed, as the protagonist of Achilles Tatius is sail-

148 149

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Such a reading of the passage in question has been proposed by Miguélez Cavero 2010, 279–280. For this strategy, which is one of the basic characteristics of Achilles Tatius’ novel, see e.g. Plepelits 1980, 29–34; Fusillo 1989, 98–109. For the most recent contribution to the analysis of Achilles Tatius in this light, see Fakas 2019. That the Phoenicians identified these two goddesses with one another is explicitly stated by Herennius Philon (FGrHist 790F 3c: τὴν δὲ Ἀστάρτην Φοίνικες τὴν Ἀφροδίτην εἶναι λέγουσι). Diggle 1972 supposes that the same explicit identification also existed initially in the passage of Achilles Tatius quoted above and proposes the insertion of the word Ἀφροδίτῃ into the text before or after the phrase τῇ τῶν Φοινίκων; see also Morales 2004, 42 n. 23. This addition has not, however, been adopted in editions of the work, since, even without it, it is self-evident that at the beginning of a love story the goddess with whom Astarte is identified can only be Aphrodite, especially taking into account the Greek education of the anonymous first-person narrator, which becomes apparent in his subsequent description of the picture of Europa; see in this regard Whitmarsh 2011, 79–80. For the presence of the cult of Astarte in Cyprus and its connection with that of Aphrodite, which is attested by Herodotus (1.105.3), see Bonnet–Pirenne-Delforge 1999, 260–264; cf. on the same subject see p. 276 with nn. 54–55 above. For this aspect of Achilles Tatius’ novel, see briefly Whitmarsh–Morales 2001, xvii–xix; cf. also n. 150, above. For some correspondences between these two authors on this subject, which differentiate them from the other representatives of their genre, see Alperowitz 1992, 38–41, 57–58. For other examples of the literary dialogue with Chariton on the part of Achilles Tatius, see Whitmarsh 2018, 117–119; Bird 2019.

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ing with Melite from Alexandria towards her native Ephesus, a voyage recalling both the return journey of the hero of the Ephesiaca to the same destination and that of Chariton’s central couple to Syracuse, a reference to sea-born Aphrodite (θυγάτηρ Ἀφροδίτη θαλάσσης, 5.16.3)154 draws our attention to the island which received the newborn goddess (cf. Hes. Th. 193–195, 199) but will not welcome the characters of this specific novel. If both in Chariton and Xenophon of Ephesus the visit to the temple of the Paphian goddess had to do with the desired happy ending to the adventures of the central characters, in Achilles Tatius the hope of such an outcome appears in any case to be lost, since the hero has already married another woman after the supposed death of his beloved.155 This expunction of Cyprus and everything its patron goddess symbolised for the older idealising novel in the end highlights the profound changes which Achilles Tatius has introduced in his genre. The island of the goddess of love is henceforth treated as a literary cliché, which has no place in the complex world of this pioneering author and of late novelistic production as a whole and thus ultimately vanishes from the tradition of ancient prose fiction.

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It is obvious that this phrase refers to the well-known myth of the birth of Aphrodite from the foam produced when the severed genitals of Uranus fell into the sea (cf. Hes. Th. 188– 192). See e.g. Alperowitz 1992, 38; Whitmarsh–Morales 2001, 158. In the context of his dialogue with Chariton in particular, Achilles Tatius hints here at Aphrodite’s quality as protector of seafarers, which had been stressed in the episode of Paphos in that novel (8.4.10; see pp. 291–292 n. 128, above) and had permitted its heroes to reach home safely, enjoying their love undisturbed during the voyage (8.6.1, 9); in our novel, however, the act of love on a ship at sea is considered disrespectful to the patron goddess of the sailors and on these grounds does not take place at all (πολλάκις ἤκουσα παρὰ τῶν ναυτικοτέρων καθαρὰ δεῖν Ἀφροδισίων εἶναι τὰ σκάφη, τάχα μὲν ὡς ἱερά 5.16.8). See in this regard Pirenne-Delforge 1994, 437 with n. 193. Alperowitz 1992, 41, 48 notes the intertextual relation between the two works in this instance, but not the crucial difference between them.

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O’Bryhim, S. (1999). The Cerastae and Phoenician Human Sacrifice on Cyprus. RStFen 27, pp. 3–20. Obbink, D.O. (2009). Lollianos, Phoinikika. In: Obbink and Gonis, eds., pp. 103–113. Obbink, D., and Gonis, N., eds. (2009). The Oxyrhynchus Papyri 73. London. Otis, B. (1966). Ovid as an Epic Poet. Cambridge. Panayotakis, S. (2012). The Story of Apollonius, King of Tyre. A Commentary. Berlin/Boston. Papaioannou, M. (2014). Agamemnon’s Corselet in the Light of Cypriote Myth. Kyklos@Classics@ 2. Perry, B.E. (1930). Chariton and His Romance from a Literary-Historical Point of View. AJPh 51, pp. 93–134. Perry, B.E. (1967). The Ancient Romances. A Literary-Historical Account of their Origins. Berkeley/Los Angeles. Pervo, R.I. (1987). Profit with Delight. The Literary Genre of the Acts of the Apostles. Philadelphia. Petrides, A. (2011). Οι ‘Κυπριακές Ιστορίες’ στις Μεταμορφώσεις του Οβιδίου (Μετ. 10.220– 502). Κυπριακαί Σπουδαί 75, pp. 101–114. Picone, M. (1997). Dal romanzo antico alla novella medievale. Decameron ii. 7. In: M. Picone and B. Zimmermann, eds., Der antike Roman und seine mittelalterliche Rezeption. Basel, pp. 321–339. Pinkepank, A. (2012). Von Tyche verfolgt, von Eros gehasst. Schicksalsmächte und die Macht der Liebe in Charitons Kallirhoe. Diss., Göttingen. Pirenne-Delforge, V. (1994). L’Aphrodite grecque. Contribution à l’étude de ses cultes et de sa personalité dans le pantheon archaïque et classique. Liège. Plepelits, K. (1976). Chariton von Aphrodisias. Kallirhoe. Stuttgart. Plepelits, K. (1980). Achilleus Tatios. Leukippe und Kleitophon. Stuttgart. Plepelits, K. (1996). Theodoros Prodromos. Rhodanthe und Dosikles. Stuttgart. Plepelits, K. (2003). Niketas Eugenianos. Drosilla und Charikles. Stuttgart. Porciatti, D. (2015). Boccaccio e il romanzo Greco. La fortuna delle ‘favole greche ornate di molte bugie’. In: G. Frosini and S. Zamponi, eds., Intorno a Boccaccio / Boccaccio e dintorni. Florence, pp. 127–137. Pouderon, B. and Crismani, D., eds. (2005). Lieux, décors et paysages de l’ancien roman des origines à Byzance. Lyon. Praet, D. (2009). Pythagoreanism and the Planetary Deities. The Philosophical and Literary Master-Structure of the Vita Apollonii. In: Demoen and Praet, eds., pp. 283–320. Ramelli, I. (2000). Caritone e la storiografia greca. Il ‘Romanzo di Callirhoe’ come romanzo storico antico. Acme 53, pp. 43–62. Ramsey, W.M. (1895). St. Paul the Traveller and the Roman Citizen. London. Reed, J.D. (1996). Antimachus on Adonis? Hermes 124, pp. 381–383. Reeves, B.T. (2007). The Role of Ekphrasis in Plot Development. The Painting of Europa and the Bull in Achilles Tatius’ Leucippe and Clitophon. Mnemosyne 60, pp. 87–101.

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part 6 Exploring the Sources: fragmenta and testimonia

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chapter 15

A Hellenistic Philosopher from Cyprus in the Greek Anthology: Epigrams on Zeno of Citium Vassilios P. Vertoudakis

In the famous Renaissance fresco of The School of Athens in the Vatican (1509– 1511) by Raphael, the person of Zeno of Citium is depicted to the left of the painting as an ascetic figure in old age with his head covered. These features become more intense, as right next to Zeno appears the hedonistic and younger face of Epicurus, bearing a hair wreath. For the artistic convention it does not matter that Zeno was about a decade younger than Epicurus. Zeno’s image of old age frugality and temperance is a product of a long biographical and literary tradition about the Stoic philosopher from Cyprus.1 The main source for the biography of Zeno (probably 334–263/262bc) is Diogenes Laertius’ Life. In the Life—the longest of the collection2—Diogenes includes three epigrams for Zeno (and one more in general for the Stoics). In the Palatine Anthology five relevant epigrams are transmitted; three of these have been saved in both sources. Consequently, we have a corpus of five epigrams on Zeno of Citium. The epigrams are dated to the Hellenistic and imperial period, from the third century bc to the third century ad. All the epigrams (apart from a single deviation)3 are composed in the standard metre of this genre, namely the elegiac couplet. The aim of this chapter is (a) to gain a poetic portrait of the Cypriot philosopher from these epigrams in comparison to the other prose sources, and (b) to explore the role played by Citium, Cyprus, in shaping this portrait. Zeno founded a school whose anthropogeography reflects the world of the Hellenistic oecumene after the conquests of Alexander the Great. He himself comes from Citium of Cyprus (Citium, modern Larnaca), a Greek city with Phoenician settlers;4 his disciple and successor Cleanthes was a native from

1 On the relationship between The School of Athens and the Lives of Diogenes Laertius, see Rowland 2018. 2 Diogenes Laertius’ Life of Zeno occupies 160 chapters (in comparison: 154 chapters are devoted to Epicurus and 109 to Plato). See Long 2018, 603f. 3 See below the discussion of epigram AP 7.118. 4 See D.L. 7.1.

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Assos in the Troad; and the so-called second founder and systematic organiser of the school Chrysippus comes from Soli of Cilicia. One of Zeno’s favorite pupils, Perseus, originates from Citium, as well.5 Zeno came to Athens about ten years after the death of Alexander and Aristotle, probably as a merchant. If one book has the power to turn someone into a philosopher, the same way that Schopenhauer’s work did for the young Nietzsche, the second book of Xenophon’s Memorabilia, namely the account of Socrates, seems to have done this for Zeno.6 At the end of the fourth century, Zeno, just after the age of 30, began to teach in a public place, at the Painted Stoa (Ποικίλη Στοά), right in the centre of the city, at the north-west corner of the Agora, in contrast to Epicurus, who established his School on a piece of property he purchased outside the Dipylon Gate. Zeno as a foreigner did not have the right to acquire a private building, like the other founders of philosophical schools. The philosopher from Cyprus gained the greatest presence in epigrammatic poetry compared to the other two of the great triad of the ancient Stoa. In two epigrams Zeno appears along with Cleanthes. Chrysippus is in only one epigram (AP 7.706).7 We shall look at the epigrams on Zeno of Citium in chronological order.

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Hellenistic Epigrams

The oldest epigram is the one by Posidippus of Pella.8 AP 5.134 (Posidippus 1 G.–P. = 123 A.–B.) Κεκροπί, ῥαῖνε, λάγυνε, πολύδροσον ἰκμάδα Βάκχου, ῥαῖνε, δροσιζέσθω συμβολικὴ πρόποσις· σιγάσθω Ζήνων ὁ σοφὸς κύκνος ἅ τε Κλεάνθους μοῦσα· μέλοι δ᾽ ἡμῖν ὁ γλυκύπικρος Ἔρως.

5 Cf. Richter 2011, 58. For a synopsis of Stoic philosophy, see inter alios Sandbach 1994, especially on Zeno, 20–27; Inwood 2003; Sellars 2006. 6 D.L. 7.2 (= SVF 1.1). 7 The number of epigrams on Zeno is comparable to that of the epigrams referring to Epicurus. See AP 6.307, 7.106, 11.50, 11.103, 11.249, 15.12; cf. 11.93. 8 Epigrams are cited according to the editions of Gow–Page 1965 and 1968 (if included therein; otherwise according to Beckby’s edition 1965–1968); Diogenes Laertius’ Life of Zeno follows Dorandi’s edition 2013.

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Cecropian jug, pour out the dewy moisture of Bacchus; pour it out: let the toast we all share be refreshed. Let Zeno, the wise swan, be silent, and the Muse of Cleanthes. Let our concern be with Love the bitter-sweet. trans. austin and bastianini

The epigram is included in the book of the erotic ones (of heterosexual love) and constitutes an exhortation to drink and love.9 Zeno and his long-time, faithful student Cleanthes are presented as examples to avoid in a banquet. The swan, although fitting more to a sweet-voiced poet,10 points here to Zeno’s eloquence and philosophical performance; it hints probably to his advanced age as well.11 The Muse of Cleanthes implies his poetic skill. He is the author of the Hymn to Zeus and some more poems saved in fragments.12 Posidippus is just one generation younger than Zeno, and it is uncertain whether the epigram was written while Zeno lived or after his death.13 At any rate, in this early epigram the image of the philosopher from Citium has already been shaped as a model of temperance and measured life.14 In addition, the central Stoic concept for the wise man (σοφός)15 appears even as an epithet to the word swan. The next two epigrams belong to epigrammatists of the second century bc. Both are sepulchral and cited by Diogenes Laertius in the context of reporting Zeno’s death (in the sixties of the third century) and his burial in Ceramicus at public expense. The first one is attributed to Zenodotus.16 He was a Stoic philosopher himself, a disciple of Diogenes of Babylon. AP 7.117 (Zenodotus 1 G.–P. = D.L. 7.30) Ἔκτισας αὐτάρκειαν, ἀφεὶς κενεαυχέα πλοῦτον, 9 10 11 12

13 14

15 16

See Gow–Page 1965, vol. 2, 484; Gutzwiller 1998, 157–159; Tsagalis 2008, 364–366. This metaphor occurs once again in the Greek Anthology for the poet Alcman, AP 7.19.1–2 (Leonidas): Τὸν χαρίεντ᾽ Ἀλκμᾶνα, τὸν ὑμνητῆρ᾽ ὑμεναίων / κύκνον. Cf. Eur. H.F. 691–694: παιᾶνας δ᾽ ἐπὶ σοῖς μελάθροις / κύκνος ὣς γέρων ἀοιδὸς / πολιᾶν ἐκ γενύων / κελαδήσω. See Gow–Page 1965, vol. 2, 484. Thom 2005; SVF 1.537 and 557. Stoic philosophers generally had a very good relationship with literature (and analysis of language). See SVF 3.294; Long–Sedley 1987, 160; Long 1996, 58f. See the discussion in Gow and Page 1965, vol. 2, 482. Zeno was satirised in a comedy by Philemon entitled Philosophers for his strict diet and preference for water (instead of wine); D.L. 7.27 (= PCG 7. 273, fr. 88). See Gutzwiller 1998, 159; Noussia 2008, 538–539. Cf. Clayman 2007, 509. See Brouwer 2014. See Gow–Page 1965, vol. 2, 557.

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Ζήνων σὺν πολιῷ σεμνὸς ἐπισκυνίῳ, ἄρσενα γὰρ λόγον εὗρες,—ἐνηθλήσω δὲ προνοίᾳ— αἵρεσιν ἀτρέστου ματέρ᾽ ἐλευθερίας. εἰ δὲ πάτρα Φοίνισσα, τίς ὁ φθόνος; ἦν καὶ ὁ Κάδμος κεῖνος, ἀφ᾽ οὗ γραπτὰν Ἑλλὰς ἔχει σελίδα. You invented self-sufficiency, casting aside haughty wealth, noble Zeno, gray of brow. For you discovered a manly doctrine, and founded a school, a mother of fearless liberty. If Phoenicia was your native land, why should we bear a grudge? Came not Cadmus thence, who gave Greece her books and writing? trans. mensch

Each of the three couplets deals with an issue on Zeno: his way of life, doctrine, and native country. The epigram opens with the established theme of Zeno’s frugality and self-sufficiency. Let us remember that he began as a Cynic and received great influence from his teacher Crates of Thebes. Diogenes Laertius notes on this: ἤσθιε δέ, φησί, ἀρτίδια καὶ μέλι καὶ ὀλίγον εὐώδους οἰναρίου ἔπινε (7.13), and ἦν δὲ καρτερικώτατος καὶ λιτότατος, ἀπύρῳ τροφῇ χρώμενος καὶ τρίβωνι λεπτῷ (7.26–27) (‘He used to eat small loaves and honey, and drink a little fragrant wine’; ‘His powers of endurance and the austerity of his way of life were unequaled; the food he ate was uncooked, and the cloak he wore was thin’). It is also evidenced that his name had become proverbial: Ζήνωνος ἐγκρατέστερος (‘more temperate than Zeno’).17 Peculiar is the characterisation of his doctrine as ‘manly’, ‘virile’ (ἄρσενα λόγον). According to a later professed Stoic, Seneca the Younger, ‘there is as great a difference between the Stoics and the other schools of philosophy as there is between males and females’.18 Those who follow the path of Stoic philosophy choose the manly and heroic way which overcomes fear and leads to freedom,

17 18

D.L. 7.27. Cf. CPG i. p. 414; ii. p. 435. De constantia sapientis 1.1: Tantum inter Stoicos, Serene, et ceteros sapientiam professos interesse quantum inter feminas et mares non inmerito dixerim, cum utraque turba ad vitae societatem tantundem conferat, sed altera pars ad obsequendum, altera imperio nata sit. (‘I might say with good reason, Serenus, that there is as great a difference between the Stoics and the other schools of philosophy as there is between males and females, since while each set contributes equally to human society, the one class is born to obey, the other to command’: trans. by J.W. Basore).

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just like the hero of William Ernest Henley’s ‘Invictus’. However, as Ludwig Edelstein suggests, “we must only remember that this manly, heroic virtue is within the reach of men and women alike”.19 The closure of the poem is devoted to the issue of Zeno’s native country. Zenodotus accepts the philosopher’s Phoenician origin.20 In any case, the overall spirit of eulogy for Zeno is not cancelled. The final pointe of the epigram recalls the happiest moment of the cultural cooperation between the Phoenicians and the Greeks: the introduction of the first alphabet to Greece—according to Herodotus (5.58)—by Cadmus. It should be noted that the prose sources do not agree on Zeno’s origin: Diogenes Laertius seems to rather support his Greek ancestry, since Zeno’s father bears a Greek name (7.1): Ζήνων Μνασέου ἢ Δημέου Κιτιεὺς ἀπὸ Κύπρου, πολίσματος ἑλληνικοῦ, Φοίνικας ἐποίκους ἐσχηκότας. Zeno, the son of Mnaseas or Demeas, was a native of Citium in Cyprus, a Greek city which had received Phoenician settlers. On the other hand Themistius regards him as a Phoenician (Or. 2, p. 31 Dindorf): Ἀλλὰ Ζήνων μὲν ὁ τῆς Στοᾶς ἀρχηγέτης … ἐγανύσκετο καὶ ἐλαμπρύνετο, ἐπειδὴ αὐτὸν Ἀθηναῖοι ξένον τε ὄντα καὶ Φοίνικα ἐπὶ τοῖς λόγοις δημοποίητον ἐποιήσαντο.21 But Zeno, the leader of the Stoa … rejoiced and was proud because the Athenians, although he was a foreigner and a Phoenician, made him an Athenian citizen for his teaching.

19 20

21

Edelstein 1966, 10–11. Cf. Nussbaum 1994, 360 n. 4. Proof of the strong Phoenician presence in Citium is the plethora of inscriptions. See Iacovou 2014, 813: “from the 9th to the 4th centuries, Citium produced 150 exclusively Phoenician inscriptions, which cover the secular, funerary, and sacred domain, but hardly any in the syllabary. This implies that the establishment of a literate Phoenician population in Citium was a particularly early event that should be held responsible for the discontinuity of the Cypriot syllabary into the first millennium”. See further Karageorghis 1976; Lipiński 2004, 87–104; Yon 2006. Phoenician presence is attested not only in Citium but also in neighbouring Idalion of Cyprus; see Lipiński 2004, 63–65. Cf. Satraki 2012. See SVF 1.1 and 9; Michaelides 1999, 42: 1 and 1a. Cf. Richter 2011, 58 n. 14.

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According to Baldry’s brilliant wording, “whatever blood ran in Zeno’s veins, there was nothing un-Greek in his philosophy”.22 His education was entirely Greek. Zeno assimilated Greek philosophical traditions, mainly the Socratic and the Cynical ones; he also conversed with Heraclitus, the Academy, and possibly Aristotle.23 At any rate, mockery and hints about his origin (and, as we can imagine, about his pronunciation of the Attic dialect) should have been very common, as evidenced by the nickname Φοινικίδιον (‘my little Phoenician’).24 The second funerary epigram of this period might also be related to Zeno’s origin. It is written by Antipater of Sidon, an epigrammatist of the so-called Phoenician School.25 Antipater as a native Sidonian had some good reasons to compose an epigram on Zeno. According to Diogenes (7.6), Zeno was honoured not only by the Athenians and the citizens of Citium, but also by the people of Citium living in Sidon who were proud to claim him for their own (ἀντεποιοῦντο δ᾽ αὐτοῦ καὶ οἱ ἐν Σιδῶνι Κιτιεῖς). Antipater of Sidon, 35 G.–P. (D.L. 7.29 = Cougny 3.104) Τῆνος ὅδε Ζήνων Κιτίῳ φίλος ὅς ποτ᾽ Ὄλυμπον ἔδραμεν, οὐκ Ὄσσῃ Πήλιον ἀνθέμενος· οὐδὲ τά γ᾽ Ἡρακλῆος ἀέθλεε, τὴν δέ ποτ᾽ ἄστρα ἀτραπιτὸν μούνας εὗρε σαοφροσύνας. Here lies great Zeno, dear to Citium, who scaled high Olympus, though he piled not Pelion on Ossa, nor toiled at the labours of Heracles, but this was the path he found out to the stars—the way of temperance alone. trans. hicks

The intellectual performance and the temperance of Zeno are emphasised in the epigram. The philosopher of Citium reached the peak only with his internal forces contrasting with the mythological examples both of Hercules and of the Aloadae, namely the giants Otus and Ephialtes, who attempted to pile three mountains—Olympus, Pelion, and Ossa—on top of each other, in order to reach the sky.26 22 23 24 25 26

Baldry 1965, 152. Cf. Sandbach 1994, 24. See Sandbach 1994, 20–22; Long 1996, 35–57; Michaelides 1999, 31; Sellars 2003, 9–10. D.L. 7.3. On the Phoenician School which includes elements of both the Ionian and Doric Schools of epigrammatists, see Degani 2004, vol. 1, 620–627; Tsagalis 2008, 395–396. Od. 11.315–320; cf. Verg. Aen. 6.582–584. On how (un)successful the examples are, see the comments of Gow–Page 1965, vol. 2, 63.

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317

Epigrams of the Imperial Age

From the second half of the second century bc onwards, Stoicism gains solid foundations in Rome.27 An epigram that has survived to us refers to Zeno and his pupil Cleanthes, and belongs to the Roman orator of the age of Augustus, Marcus Argentarius, who is identified with the epigrammatist of the Garland of Philip.28 AP 11.28 (Marcus Argentarius) Πέντε θανὼν κείσῃ κατέχων πόδας, οὐδὲ τὰ τερπνὰ ζωῆς οὐδ᾽ αὐγὰς ὄψεαι ἠελίου· ὥστε λαβὼν Βάκχου ζωρὸν δέπας ἕλκε γεγηθώς, Κίγκιε, καλλίστην ἀγκὰς ἔχων ἄλοχον. εἰ δέ σοι ἀθανάτου σοφίης νόος, ἴσθι, Κλεάνθης καὶ Ζήνων Ἀίδην τὸν βαθὺν ὡς ἔμολον. Five feet of land shall be your holding when you lie dead; you shall not see the delights of life or the sun’s rays. So take a neat cup of wine and drain it rejoicing, Cincius, with your beautiful wife in your embrace. If you think the mind of Philosophy immortal, remember that Cleanthes and Zeno went to the depths of Hades. trans. page

The motif is easily recognisable among the epigrams—chiefly the convivial ones—of the Palatine Anthology: ‘Eat, drink and be merry (with a beautiful woman), for tomorrow we die!’29 Cincius, an otherwise unknown person, whom the epigrammatist is addressing, was probably an adherent of Stoic philosophy. Argentarius imitates and modifies in the last distich the point of Posidippus in epigram AP 5.134 (cited on pp. 312–313, above): Zeno and Cleanthes are exemplified for their immortal wisdom but also for their common fate with all other humans. Diogenes Laertius was an epigrammatist himself and had composed a collection of epitaphs on eminent men under the title Pammetros (‘Medley of

27 28 29

See Long 1974, 114–118. On Stoicism in the Roman imperial period, see Gill 2003. See Gow–Page 1968, vol. 2, 166. See also AP 11.19, 23, 25, 38, 56 and Peek, GVI 1942. Cf. Small 1942, 129.

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metre’), which is one of the sources of Constantinus Cephalas.30 Fifty-two epigrams of Diogenes31 on forty-six philosophers occur in his Lives.32 From the three epigrams on Zeno cited by Diogenes one is written by his own hand. AP 7.118 (D.L. 7.31) Τὸν Κιτιέα Ζήνωνα θανεῖν λόγος, ὡς ὑπὸ γήρως πολλὰ καμὼν ἐλύθη μένων ἄσιτος· 33 They say that Zeno of Citium died; weary of an old man’s ills, he sought release by fasting; others say that, stumbling one day, he beat the earth with his hand, crying, “I am coming of my own accord; why then do you call me?” trans. mensch

The anecdotal traits of the biographical lore embedded in the epigram are obvious. The epigram forms part of a whole literature, both in prose and poetry, transmitted by Diogenes about how a philosopher dies. The famous description of Socrates’ last moments by Plato in his Phaedo was an emblematic precedent and established a strong literary theme. Diogenes in two-thirds of his biographies gives an account of the philosophers’ death.34 Within this tradition several philosophers have had a paradoxical or inglorious death. Alexinus of Elis, a philosopher of the Megarian School, while swimming in the river Alpheus, was pierced by the point of a reed and died of his injury (2.109). Xenocrates, Plato’s pupil and successor of Speusippus in the Academy, met his end at the age of eighty-two, when he fell over a basin in the night (4.14). Ariston of Chios—a Stoic himself who dissented from Zeno—being bald, died of sunstroke (7.164).35 In all three cases Diogenes completes his prose narrative with a related poem of his own (the third one in choliambs). 30 31 32 33

34 35

See Cameron 1993, 38–39 and 88. See Gutzwiller 2018, 561–567; cf. Hicks 1959, 1.xiii For a comprehensive study of Lives see Hope 1930; Mejer 1978; 1992, 3556–3602; Warren 2007, 133–149. The Palatine codex transmits only the first couplet; the epigram is supplemented by Diogenes’ manuscripts. It is worth noting that in the second and fourth verses the metre is elegiambus, also called encomiologicum. Fifty-eight out of eighty-eight cases according to the calculation of Kechagia 2016, 181. See Grau 2010, 347–381, esp. 349–350.

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However, the epigram for Zeno does not exactly fall into this case: two versions of Zeno’s death are set out therein. In the first couplet it is said that the philosopher suffering many hardships because of old age chose death by starvation. In the second distich another version is presented, which, however, ends with the same result: Zeno takes his stumbling as a sign that the time of his death came, and declares ready and willing to return to the earth, namely to die of his own accord. The main sources for Zeno’s death beyond this epigram are two: the prose report of Diogenes (7.28) and a related passage from [Lucian] Macrobii (19–20). According to Diogenes’ narrative: ἐτελεύτα δὴ οὕτως· ἐκ τῆς σχολῆς ἀπιὼν προσέπταισε καὶ τὸν δάκτυλον περιέρρηξε· παίσας δὲ τὴν γῆν τῇ χειρί, φησὶ τὸ ἐκ τῆς Νιόβης, ἔρχομαι· τί μ᾽ αὔεις; καὶ παραχρῆμα ἐτελεύτησεν, ἀποπνίξας ἑαυτόν. He died in the following way. As he was leaving the school, he tripped and broke his finger (or toe?). Smiting the ground with his hand, he uttered the line from the Niobe, “I am coming. Why do you call for me?” and died instantly by stopping his breath. [Lucian]’s version does not run very differently.36 In both versions Zeno commits suicide. The only important difference is that, according to Diogenes’ passage, the philosopher puts an end to his life by self-suffocation (probably through holding his breath) while in the narrative of [Lucian] by self-inflicted starvation.37 So Diogenes in the first half of his epigram following ps.-Lucian chooses another version from the one he uses in his prose narrative (fasting instead of self- asphyxiation), and in the second couplet reproduces a common tradition: Zeno stumbles, takes his accident as a divine call, and utters the verse from the dithyramb Niobe of Timotheus38 while making his dramatic gesture.

36

37

38

Macr. 19 (SVF 1.36): ὅν [sc. Ζήνωνα] φασιν εἰσερχόμενον εἰς τὴν ἐκκλησίαν καὶ προσπταίσαντα ἀναφθέγξασθαι, Τί με βοᾷς; καὶ ὑποστρέψαντα οἴκαδε καὶ ἀποσχόμενον τροφῆς τελευτῆσαι τὸν βίον (They say that when Zeno stumbled in entering the assembly, he cried out: “Why do you call me?” And then, returning home, starved himself to death: trans. by A.M. Harmon). Also Cleanthes and Dionysius the Turncoat (ὁ Μεταθέμενος) died of self-starvation (ἀσιτία); D.L. 7.176, 167 and [Lucian], Macrob. 19–21. For inedia as a way of self-killing see van Hoof 2002, 41–47; Kechagia 2016, 189–190. Page PMG 787.

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What can we infer from this epigram? First, Zeno dies as an authentic Stoic philosopher. It is reported that in a lecture of Martin Heidegger in 1961 (in his village in Baden), when he asked rhetorically where we should go to reflect on the authenticity of our existence, his answer was: ‘to the graveyard!’39 Zeno did something more! For Stoics, death is not included in the evils but is an ‘indifferent’ (ἀδιάφορον).40 According to Zeno—in Seneca’s words—mors … non est malum.41 For this reason suicide is acceptable for the Stoics.42 One of the characteristics of a sage is to do everything at the right time. Once Zeno realises that he has completed his life cycle because of old age or that he has a sign from providence (πρόνοια) that his end is imminent, he accelerates with full self-control and equanimity his own death. Second, it is not easy at all to die by self-starvation (or much more by selfsuffocation) against the instinct of self-preservation.43 The wise man choosing such a way to die demonstrates strong determination and willpower. Third, Zeno causes his death only by his own means. A suicide by refusing food (or by holding one’s breath) does not require the assistance of any instrument or any other person. Even in the very last act of Zeno’s life, he demonstrates absolute self-sufficiency and personal autonomy. The rule of his life is also verified in his death. In the context of Zeno’s death Diogenes cites one more epigram devoted not personally to Zeno but to the Stoics in general. It is ascribed to a completely unknown and undated epigrammatist with the common name Athenaeus.44 AP 9.496, Athenaeus (D.L. 7.30 = FGE 438–443 = SH 226) Ὦ Στοϊκῶν μύθων εἰδήμονες, ὦ πανάριστα δόγματα ταῖς ἱεραῖς ἐνθέμενοι σελίσιν, τὰν ἀρετὰν ψυχᾶς ἀγαθὸν μόνον· ἅδε γὰρ ἀνδρῶν μούνα καὶ βίοτον ῥύσατο καὶ πόλιας. σαρκὸς δ᾽ ἡδυπάθημα φίλον τέλος ἀνδράσιν ἄλλοις ἡ μία τῶν Μνήμης ἤνυσε θυγατέρων. 39 40 41 42 43

44

‘Auf dem Friedhof’, Watts 2011, 95–96; Geier 2017, ch. ‘Feldweg und Kirchturm in Meßkirch’. SVF 1.191–196; cf. SVF 3.117–168. SVF 1.196. On suicide in the Stoics, see Rist 1969, 233–255, especially for Zeno’s view, 242–244; Inwood and Donini, 1999, 735–736; Brennan 2005, 40–42. Self-starvation (ἀποκαρτερεῖν) is not a usual way of suicide for important persons. In Greek antiquity only philosophers have a preference for this method. See van Hoof 2002, 41–42; Grau 2010, 362. See Reitzenstein 1986.

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You who are adepts in Stoic learning, and have committed to your tablets the finest doctrines, teaching that the soul’s virtue is the only good. For it alone protects the lives and cities of men. But pleasure of the flesh, an end adored by other men, only one of the daughters of Memory attains. trans. mensch

According to the epigram, the highest good in the philosophy of Stoicism is compressed into the virtue of the soul (τὰν ἀρετὰν ψυχᾶς). The soul’s virtue appears here as a contrast to the pleasure (ἡδυπάθημα)45 of Epicureans, although the latter are not named (ἀνδράσιν ἄλλοις); they are implied as followers of the Muse Erato, Mnemosyne’s daughter, who oversees eros and erotic poetry. The epigram reflects the distinction between the two pillars of Stoic and Epicurean ethics: virtue (arete) and happiness (eudaimonia). The formula of this differentiation would have been long. Immanuel Kant, a philosopher greatly influenced by the Stoics,46 while attempting to determine the concept of the highest good in his Critique of Practical Reason (1788), focuses initially on these two ancient Greek schools and the distinction between their entirely heterogeneous principles: “The Stoic asserted that virtue is the whole highest good and happiness is only the consciousness of the possession of this virtue as belonging to the subject’s state. The Epicurean asserted that happiness is the whole highest good and virtue is only the form of the maxim to pursue this happiness …”.47

3

Conclusion

Zeno was the first to divide the philosophical doctrine of the Stoics into three parts: the logical, the physical, and the ethical. According to a version of a famous simile, if philosophy is a fertile field, then logic is the surrounding fence,

45 46 47

The word occurs only here; see LSJ s.v. See for instance Horn 2015, 2184–2186. “Der Stoiker behauptete, Tugend sei das ganze höchste Gut, und Glückseligkeit nur das Bewußtsein des Besitzes derselben, als zum Zustand des Subjekts gehörig. Der Epikureer behauptete, Glückseligkeit sei das ganze höchste Gut, und Tugend nur die Form der Maxime, sich um sie zu bewerben, nämlich im vernünftigen Gebrauche der Mittel zu derselben”, Kant’s gesammelte Schriften, v. v (ed. P. Natorp), Berlin 1908, 112. Translated by Werner S. Pluhar, Kant 2002, 143–144.

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physics the land or the trees, and ethics the fruit.48 Logic and physics prepare the ground for ethics. Ethics pervades all parts of Stoic philosophy. It is the other name of practical philosophy, that is to say, of philosophy as a way of living or care of the self.49 The essential issue of the ethics is the question ‘How ought I to live?’, as Socrates posed it in the first book of Plato’s Republic (352d ὅντινα τρόπον χρὴ ζῆν). In our epigrams, Zeno’s attitude to life emerges par excellence. However, for Socrates, as well as for Zeno ars vivendi includes the following question too: ‘How ought I to die?’ The image of Zeno offered by the epigrams is placed within the biographical ‘mythology’ and literary tradition, mainly as transmitted by Diogenes Laertius. His image is associated with the ideas of equanimity and self-possession that the popular imagination would attribute to Stoicism. In the funerary epigrams the ground is convenient to emphasise Zeno’s wisdom and moral virtues which constitute a guide of life and treatment of death. In the convivial and erotic epigrams where the temperate philosopher could not have a place, his figure is used as an ideal counterexample. His theoretical philosophy does not fit in the epigrammatic genre. Zeno’s political thought, which was extremely controversial, is also excluded. Zeno’s hometown, Citium, situated on the southeast coast of Cyprus, is mentioned in two funerary epigrams. Citium is related to his Phoenician origin. One epigram is written by an epigrammatist who came from Sidon, Phoenicia. The dual demographic composition of Citium, established as a Greek city with a strong Phoenician colony in the historic times, reflects its status as an intermediary between East and West. The philosopher from Cyprus is seen as a bridge between Phoenicia and Greece. The epigrams project the image of Zeno as an extremely characteristic example for the cultural osmosis and cosmopolitanism of the Hellenistic period. A merchant from Citium, who is said to be of Phoenician origin, came to Athens, the old centre, was initiated into the Socratic and Cynic tradition, and became the founder of a new philosophical School which became eminent in the years of the post-Alexandrian world and the Roman Empire.

48 49

D.L. 7.39–40; cf. SVF 2.35, 38. See Sellars 2009, 78–81. On this issue see Annas 1993; Hadot 2004; Nehamas 1998.

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Acknowledgements I am grateful to Prof. Constantinos Androulidakis (University of Crete), Prof. Ourania Kouka (University of Cyprus), Dr Eleni Kechagia (Nuffield College, University of Oxford), and the editors of this volume for their assistance. Unless otherwise indicated, the translations are my own.

Bibliography Annas, J. (1993). The Morality of Happiness. New York/Oxford. Austin, C., and Bastianini, G. eds. (2002). Posidippi Pellaei quae supersunt omnia. Milan. Baldry, H.C. (1965). Unity of Mankind in Greek Thought. Cambridge. Basore, J.W. (1928). Seneca. Moral Essays. Vol. 1: De Providentia. De Constantia. De Ira. De Clementia. Cambridge, MA. Beckby, H., ed. (1965–1968). Anthologia Graeca. 2nd ed. 4 vols. Munich. Brennan, T. (2005). The Stoic Life. Emotions, Duties, and Fate. Oxford/New York. Brouwer, R. (2014). The Stoic Sage. The Early Stoics on Wisdom, Sagehood and Socrates. Cambridge. Cameron, A. (1993). The Greek Anthology from Meleager to Planudes. Oxford. Clayman, D.L. (2007). Philosophers and Philosophy in Greek Epigram. In: P. Bing and J. Steffen Bruss, Brill’s Companion to Hellenistic Epigram Down to Philip. Leiden/Boston, pp. 497–517. Degani, E. (2004). Filologia e storia: scritti di E. D. 2 vols. Hildesheim. Dorandi, T. (2013). Diogenes Laertius. Lives of Eminent Philosophers. Cambridge. Edelstein, L. (1966). The Meaning of Stoicism. Cambridge, MA/London. Geier, M. (2017). Wittgenstein und Heidegger. Die letzten Philosophen. Reinbek. Gill, C. (2003). The School in the Roman Imperial Period. In: Inwood, ed., pp. 33–58. Gow, A.S.F., and Page, D. eds. (1965). The Greek Anthology. Hellenistic Epigrams. 2 vols. Cambridge. Gow, A.S.F., and Page, D. eds. (1968). The Greek Anthology. The Garland of Philip and Some Contemporary Epigrams. 2 vols. Cambridge. Grau, S. (2010). How to Kill a Philosopher. The Narrating of Ancient Greek Philosophers’ Deaths in Relation to their Way of Living. AncPhil 30, pp. 347–381. Gutzwiller, K. (2018). Diogenes’ Epigrams. In: Miller, ed., and Mensch, trans., pp. 561– 567. Hadot, P. (2004). What is Ancient Philosophy. Trans. by M. Chase. Cambridge, MA/London. Hicks, R.D. (1959). Diogenes Laertius. Lives of Eminent Philosophers with an English Translation. 2 vols. Cambridge, MA/London.

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Hope, R. (1930). The Book of Diogenes Laertius. Its Spirit and Its Method. New York. Horn, C. (2015). Stoiker, stoisch. In: M. Willaschek, J. Stolzenberg et al., eds., KantLexicon. Berlin/Boston, pp. 2184–2186. Iacovou, M. (2014). Cyprus during the Iron Age through the Persian Period: From the 11th Century bc to the Abolition of the City-Kingdoms (c. 300 bc). In: A.E. Killebrew and M. Steiner, eds., The Oxford Handbook of the Archaeology of the Levant: c. 8000– 332 bce. Oxford, pp. 795–824. Inwood, B., ed. (2003). The Cambridge Companion to the Stoics. Cambridge. Inwood, B., and Donini, P. (1999). Stoic Ethics. In: K. Algra, J. Barnes, J. Mansfeld, and M. Schofield, eds., The Cambridge History of Hellenistic Philosophy. Cambridge, pp. 675–738. Kant, I. (2002). Critique of Practical Reason. Trans. by W.S. Pluhar, Indianapolis/Cambridge. Karageorghis, V. (1976). Kition auf Zypern, die älteste Kolonie der Phöniker. Bergisch Gladbach. Kechagia, E. (2016). Dying Philosophers in Ancient Biography: Zeno the Stoic and Epicurus. In: K. De Temmerman and K. Demoen, eds., Writing Biography in Greece and Rome. Narrative Technique and Fictionalization. Cambridge, pp. 181–199. König, J., and Whitmarsh, T., eds. (2007). Ordering Knowledge in the Roman Empire. Cambridge. Lipiński, E. (2004). Itineraria Phoenicia. Leuven/Paris/Dudley, MA. Long, A.A. (1974). Hellenistic Philosophy. Stoics, Epicureans, Sceptics. London. Long, A.A. (1996). Stoic Studies. Berkeley/Los Angeles/London. Long, A.A. (2018). Zeno of Citium: Cynic Founder of the Stoic Tradition. In: Miller, ed., and Mensch, trans., pp. 603–610. Long, A.A., and Sedley, D.N. (1987). The Hellenistic Philosophers. vol. 1: Translations of the Principal Sources, with Philosophical Commentary. Cambridge. Manakidou, F., and Spanoudakis, K., eds. (2008). Αλεξανδρινή Μούσα: Συνέχεια και νεωτερισμός στην ελληνιστική ποίηση. Athens. Mejer, J. (1978). Diogenes Laertius and his Hellenistic Background. Wiesbaden. Mejer, J. (1992). Diogenes Laertius and the Transmission of Greek Philosophy. In: Aufstieg und Niedergang der römischen Welt. Teil ii: Principat. vol. 36.5. Berlin/New York, pp. 3556–3602. Michaelides, C.P. (1999). Ἀρχαία Κυπριακὴ Γραμματεία. vol. 5: Ζήνων ὁ Κιτιεύς. Nicosia. Miller, J., ed., and Mensch, P., trans. (2018). Lives of the Eminent Philosophers. Diogenes Laertius. Oxford/New York. Nehamas, A. (1998). The Art of Living. Socratic Reflections from Plato to Foucault. Berkeley. Noussia, M. (2008). Ελληνιστική φιλοσοφική ποίηση. In: Manakidou and Spanoudakis, eds., pp. 501–544.

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chapter 16

Xenophon the Cypriot and his Novel Nikoletta Kanavou

1

Introduction

This paper probes an entry from the lexicon of Suda, which is dedicated to the otherwise unknown novelist Xenophon the Cypriot, who wrote ‘erotic stories about Cinyras and Myrrha and Adonis’. In what follows, it is argued that this topic (the mythical story of incest between Cinyras—a figure with Cypriot connections—and his daughter Myrrha), though curious, is not impossible for a Greek love novel. Given the fact that not a single line of Xenophon the Cypriot’s novel survives, other sources for the myth (mainly Ovid’s Metamorphoses, but also the mythographers) and our broader knowledge of the novelistic genre are then used to help us to reconstruct the lost novel’s content and style of presentation. The discussion suggests a hitherto ignored link between Cyprus and the history of the novel.

2

Author and Title

Much of the history of the novelistic genre is hidden in obscure fragments and tantalising references. One such reference, from the Byzantine lexicon Suda (ξ 51), concerns a certain Xenophon of Cyprus, author of a love novel: Ξενοφῶν, Κύπριος, ἱστορικός. Κυπριακά· ἔστι δὲ καὶ αὐτὰ ἐρωτικῶν ὑποθέσεων ἱστορία περί τε Κινύραν καὶ Μύρραν καὶ Ἄδωνιν. Xenophon, from Cyprus, historian. Cypriaca; this is a narrative of erotic stories, about Cinyras and Myrrha and Adonis. By the Suda’s standards, this presentation is fitting for a romantic novelist. The otherwise unknown Cypriot Xenophon is called an ἱστορικός,1 a term which is 1 The term ἱστορικός in the Suda appears to be rather fluid (cf. its use for the younger Anaximander, who wrote συμβόλων Πυθαγορείων ἐξήγησιν). It is applied to both novelists and historians.

© koninklijke brill nv, leiden, 2023 | doi:10.1163/9789004529496_017

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also used by the Suda for the canonical romance author and namesake of this Cypriot, namely Xenophon Ephesius. The latter is presented by the Suda (ξ 50) as the author of ἐρωτικὰ βιβλία,2 which is very similar to the Suda’s description of the Cypriot’s book as ἐρωτικῶν ὑποθέσεων ἱστορία. Regarding the description of the narrative’s content, περί with accusative (Περί τε Κινύραν καὶ Μύρραν καὶ Ἄδωνιν) confers a similar sense to περί with genitive (Περὶ Ἀβροκόμου καὶ Ἀνθίας) or κατά with accusative (Τὰ κατὰ Λευκίππην καὶ Κλειτοφῶντα). The mention of three main figures is odd for a love novel (one would not expect more than two), and could make us think of a mythography of sorts. But the καὶ αὐτά in the entry on Xenophon the Cypriot, which follows straight from that on Xenophon Ephesius, implies that the two were regarded by the Suda as authors of similar works, namely ἐρωτικά (incidentally, the work of somebody like Babrius is termed μυθικά by the Suda). The Suda further calls Achilles Tatius’ romance ἐρωτικά (α 4695), as well as the lost novel Babyloniaca, which was penned by a third Xenophon (of Antiocheia; ξ 49).3 Both Cypriaca and Babyloniaca are known titles of (mainly) historiographical works,4 but, of course, also find analogy in extant romance titles, such as Ephesiaca (by the already mentioned Xenophon Ephesius) and Aethiopica (by Heliodorus). These parallels, alongside the clear reference to an erotic content, leave no doubt that the Suda entry on Xenophon of Cyprus presents him as a romance author and his Cypriaca as a love novel. The Suda’s listing of three novelists named Xenophon has led scholars to suspect a nom de plume, inspired by the classical author Xenophon;5 we might also think of the association of this very name with Arrian in the second century ad.6 However, the frequency of the personal name Xenophon prevents us from discrediting the possibility that it really belonged to our author. The ethnic designation (Κύπριος) may reflect the novel’s title, which should correspond to (at least part of) the geography of the plot,7 but it could also refer to the author’s real place of origin, a question which also concerns Xenophon 2 Ξενοφῶν, Ἐφέσιος, ἱστορικός. Ἐφεσιακά· ἔστι δὲ ἐρωτικὰ βιβλία ι′ περὶ Ἀβροκόμου καὶ Ἀνθίας· καὶ Περὶ τῆς πόλεως Ἐφεσίων· καὶ ἄλλα. 3 Ἀχιλλεὺς Στάτιος, Ἀλεξανδρεύς, ὁ γράψας τὰ κατὰ Λευκίππην καὶ Κλειτοφῶντα, καὶ ἄλλα ἐρωτικὰ ἐν βιβλίοις η´. / Ξενοφῶν, Ἀντιοχεύς, ἱστορικός. Βαβυλωνιακά· ἔστι δὲ ἐρωτικά. 4 Cypriaca: FGrH (iiic.2 pp. 734–741), where our Xenophon of Cyprus is also listed (FGrH 755). Babyloniaca: FGrH 680 (Berossus). Cf. the double use of Φοινικικά for historiographical narratives (FGrH 783–790) and as the title of Lollianus’ fragmentarily preserved novel. On titles, see further Whitmarsh 2005. 5 Perry 1967, 167; O’Sullivan 1995, 1–2. 6 He was called the ‘new Xenophon’ (Photius Bibl. cod. 58, 17b14–15), and he referred to himself with this name (e.g. Cyn. 1.4; Ect. 10.21), though it was not part of his official name. 7 Perry 1967, 171–172; O’Sullivan 1995, 2.

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‘the Ephesian’ (author of the ‘Ephesian story’) and Achilles ‘the Alexandrian’ (Alexandria is an important place for the plot of Leucippe and Clitophon, even if it has not been used in this novel’s title). In the words of one scholar, “we should … entertain the possibility of a real Cypriot Xenophon who wrote about Cinyras, Myrrha, and Adonis—tales that would certainly appeal to a native islander”.8 This possibility can further be entertained in the light of the fact that the Suda is not necessarily an unreliable source. Even if not free from errors, the famous Byzantine lexicon is known to draw on old traditions and, in all probability, does not ‘invent’ entries.9

3

The Story

The relevant Suda entry names the main characters of Xenophon’s Cypriaca as Cinyras, Myrrha and Adonis. These names hardly sound like a novelist’s inventions, as novelistic characters’ names usually are. They are the names of the protagonists of a well-known myth. The story of Myrrha’s incestuous affair with her father, which resulted in her transformation into a tree, from which Adonis is born, is an old one, and apparently appealed to various literary genres, both poetic and prose. It inspired the fifth-century bc epic poet Panyassis (who, however, named his heroes Theias and Smyrna, a dialectical variant of Myrrha),10 as well as a fourth-century bc tragedy of an unknown poet, entitled Cinyras (TGrF ii 5d; J. AJ 19.94). But the myth was made particularly famous by Ovid (Met. 10.298–518), who names Cinyras as Myrrha’s father. Cinyras, a mythical figure with strong Cypriot connections that go back to Homer,11 is introduced by Ovid as a son of Paphos (eponymous hero of the Cypriot city) and grandson of Pygmalion and the goddess Venus. A lost Smyrna by the first-century bc poet Cinna may have been set in Cyprus.12 The Hellenistic version of Theodorus, about the metamorphosis of Cinyras’ daughter Smyrna, mentioned by Plutarch (Mor. 310f–311a = SH 749), was probably similar to Ovid’s. Conversely, some later versions of Myrrha’s myth, as preserved by mythographers, do not place Cinyras in a Cypriot setting, or indeed name him 8

9 10 11 12

Franklin 2015, 566. Our Xenophon is listed in Stephens and Winkler 1995, 476 as an author of lost novelistic prose; and in the collection of authors of erotic stories by Stramaglia 2000, 68. See Schepens 2010, esp. 41; Matthaios 2006. Fr. 28 GEF (quoted in Ps.-Apollod. 3.183–184). Il. 22.20–21; see N. Pauly s.v. Cinyras (F. Graf). Franklin 2015 and Tsavli 2009 are exhaustive studies of the figure of Cinyras. On Cinyras see also Voskos (in this volume). Frr. 7–10 Hollis. Cat. 95, which refers to this poem, mentions the Cypriot river Satrachus.

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as Myrrha’s father. Hyginus’ version (Fab. 58; cf. 242.4) makes him an Assyrian king (and names the daughter Smyrna), while Antoninus Liberalis (Met. 34), like Panyassis earlier, names the offending pair Theias (king of Assyria) and Smyrna.13 Presumably Xenophon paired his (real or assumed) identity as a Cypriot author with a version of the myth that featured Cinyras and stressed his Cypriot associations, like the version preserved in Ovid. This does not necessitate that Xenophon the Cypriot used Ovid as his source (Ovid was neither the first nor the only author to link Myrrha’s myth with Cyprus),14 but he may well have done. Although we cannot be sure that Ovid precedes the Cypriot novelist (the latter’s date is very uncertain), his Metamorphoses, completed around the beginning of his exile in ad 8 (cf. Tristia 1.7), probably precedes the majority of the known romances. In any case, our sources for the myth of Cinyras and Myrrha (listed above) suggest that a ‘Cypriot’ version remained current within the entire life-period of the ancient novel genre, including its peak in the second and third centuries ad (which is evidenced by papyrus finds in Egypt15). So far we have pondered testimonial evidence that Xenophon the Cypriot was the author of a novel entitled Cypriaca, on a mythical theme, the love stories of Cinyras, Myrrha, and Adonis, which followed a ‘Cypriot’ version, perhaps as we know it from Ovid. The Suda’s entry is our sole definite reference to this Xenophon and his novel,16 which is completely lost; not a single fragment remains. In order to further support the possibility that such a novel indeed existed, I will now look into whether and how the myth of Myrrha, Cinyras, and Adonis could fit a novelistic context. The answer to this question opens up a number of possibilities regarding the content of Xenophon’s Cypriaca.

4

The Novel of Cinyras, Myrrha, and Adonis

The Suda’s description of Xenophon the Cypriot’s novel as ἐρωτικῶν ὑποθέσεων ἱστορία suggests, as noted already, a love novel, indeed one that draws its topic from myth. Here seems to lie an obvious difference between this romance and

13 14 15 16

Cf. Opp. Hal. 3.402–413. See Hollis 2007, 31 on the possibility that Cinyras was first made father of Adonis by Antimachus of Colophon, a poet who flourished around 400bc. Henrichs 2011, 303–304. It is unclear whether a reference to one Xenophon μυθώδη τερατείαν πεπραγματευμένος (DL 2.59 = RE s.v. Xenophon [12]) refers to one of the Suda’s Xenophons or to a different namesake (cf. Stephens–Winkler 1995, 27).

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the five canonical romances: while the former derives from a mythical story, the latter have freely invented plots. But these plots, too, contain elements from myth. The name of Longus’ hero, Daphnis, evokes a famous mythical figure (the homonymous shepherd and inventor of pastoral poetry). Achilles Tatius’ narrative starts with a famous allusion to the rape of Europa, a mythical figure who serves as a foil for the heroine, and whose adventures, as depicted in a painting, foreshadow the development of the novel’s plot.17 Moreover, surviving fragmentary novels, such as the Ninus Romance, the rather obscure Staphylus (name of a mythical son of Dionysus),18 and the story of Pamphilus and Eurydice (P.Mich. inv. 3793, on which more later) suggest that romance authors may, on occasion, have drawn their basic plots from mythical or semi-historical stories. Our scantily evidenced Cypriaca appears to affirm the importance of myth as a source of novelistic story-telling. Ovid’s narrative about Cinyras, Myrrha, and Adonis contains some of the basic elements of a good love novel, and these elements were presumably present in Xenophon’s Cypriaca: well-born heroes, beautiful heroines, inappropriate and/or irresistible eros and obstacles to its fulfillment, wandering and melodrama. Cinyras, who is a figure of heroic and divine genealogy in Ovid (a pious and decent ruler, Met. 10.354–355), is elsewhere said to be a king of Cyprus (Plat. Com. fr. 3). Nobles from everywhere compete for the hand of his daughter, Myrrha (Ovid Met. 10.316–318), who, like Chariton’s Callirhoe, is said to surpass even Aphrodite in beauty (Hyginus Fab. 58).19 The story of Myrrha’s eros for her father, which causes her to refuse far more suitable suitors, is that of an illicit passion; the romances of some of the canonical main heroes and heroines also start as stories of ‘misplaced desire’,20 while plenty of individual episodes in the novels thematise unreciprocated attraction (the object of which is usually the heroine, but cf. Arsace’s lust for Theagenes in Heliodorus and Cyno’s and Manto’s for Habrocomes in Xenophon Ephesius). A consequence of inappropriate erotic desire is hopeless wanderings, which are experienced both by Myrrha after her transgression is discovered (Met. 10.476–480), and by the heroes of our novels (the difference being that the latter also experience happy reunions and find justification in their love, while Myrrha does not).

17 18 19 20

On the role of myth in the canonical novels, see further Cueva’s book-length study (2004). On these novels and their historical and mythical backgrounds, see Stephens–Winkler 1995, 23–71; 429–437. According to her boastful mother, whose hybris has as its consequence the daughter’s unnatural desire in Hyginus’ version (see also below). Achilles Tatius’ Clitophon and Heliodorus’ Charicleia have to elope with their respective partners. See further Whitmarsh 2018, 6–8.

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Myrrha’s story of course lacks the usual topos of the mutual boy-girl romance. In fact, the plot’s epicentre, the incestuous love between father and daughter, is hardly imaginable as the main plot of a so-called ‘ideal’ romance, which typically glamorises a romantic love affair with a difficult start, but leading to a happy marriage (or to the resumption of such a marriage). However, broader studies in the genre of the novel that consider not only the five extant specimens, but also the evidence from the wealth of surviving fragments, have shown how varied, flexible, and often far from ‘ideal’, the treatment of the love theme can be. The rather unromantic travelogue of Antonius Diogenes and the extremities of Iamblichus’ plot are good examples of this. Iamblichus’ Babyloniaca may be a particularly useful comparandum. Analogies for the Cypriaca’s morally damnable Myrrha cannot be sought in Heliodorus’ saintly Charicleia or Xenophon’s innocent Anthia, but may well be found in the figure of the manic Sinonis in Iamblichus’ novel. Sinonis does not commit incest, but she does commit a vicious betrayal (of her man and of conventional novelistic chastity) and further shocks readers of Photius’ summary by entering into murderous rage.21 Sinonis, a figure with obscure roots (in Eastern myth?), and the mythical Myrrha can both be viewed as ‘fringe’ characters—atypical heroines of works that would have belonged to the periphery of the ideal romantic genre.22 It is indeed in this periphery that a case of incest between father and daughter is found. Admittedly, the plots of the extant romances do not wholly exclude incest (cf. Clitophon’s engagement to his half-sister, Calligone, and his involvement with his cousin, Leucippe, in Achilles Tatius),23 but never between father and daughter. This type of incest, which is far from a rare theme in GraecoRoman literature,24 appears in the early part of the Story of Apollonius King 21 22

23

24

See now Kanavou 2018, 119–120. Cf. recently Whitmarsh 2018 (esp. 15–20), who doubts the usefulness of the term ‘ideal novel’. Although he is right to avoid a generic definition of what must have been a broad and fluid ‘field’ of prose narratives, it is equally worth stressing that Myrrha is not the same sort of heroine as Callirhoe, Anthia & Co. Cnemon’s rejection of his step-mother’s attentions in Heliodorus (Book 1) should not count as avoidance of incest, at least not of the ‘strong’ type, which involves only parentchild and sibling relations; see Francese 2001, 133–134. See the references collected by Panayotakis (2012, 57) and Francese’s table of Incest Narratives in Greek Myth (2001, 137). Incest (including that between father and daughter) is a topic in declamation (Quint. Inst. 9.2.70–71 mentions a controversia involving a father, accused of a passion for his virgin daughter), as well as in Parthenius’ stories (28, 33 and esp. 13, on Clymenus and Harpalyce), whose kinship to the novel has been noticed before (see Lightfoot 1999, 256–263; Francese 2001, 93–99). For a non-Greek parallel, cf. the famous story of Lot’s daughters (Gen. 19).

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of Tyre, which features a father (Antiochus) who jealously keeps his daughter away from prospective suitors and deflowers her himself. This story, in which typically the father is the villain, is quite the reverse from the story of Myrrha, who keeps herself away from suitors and takes initiative to seduce her father (indeed Myrrha is the only female offender in father-daughter incest narratives from Graeco-Roman antiquity); another peculiarity is that in the Myrrha story the incest is unwitting for one member of the pair.25 But the stories of Myrrha and king Antiochus have important elements in common, such as the involvement of a nurse who encourages the incest26 and the perpetrator’s emotional turmoil: king Antiochus is presented (albeit briefly) to struggle with his unnatural passion (Story of Apollonius ch. 1), as Myrrha struggles with hers. The conflict of emotions is of course a broader novelistic theme.27 Ovid’s melodramatic description of Myrrha’s dilemma is comparable to that of Callirhoe’s dilemma in Chariton (2.11). Like Callirhoe, Ovid’s Myrrha gives a soliloquy (Met. 10.319– 355). Like Callirhoe, she is filled with despair, has suicidal thoughts (ibid. 368– 381) and is tormented by discordia mentis (ibid. 445). An interest in the heroine’s emotions is also visible in Cinna (Smyrna fr. 10 Hollis). We can only imagine what a tragic Myrrha and Cinyras might have sounded like, or how Panyassis might have depicted them. But some of the literary strategies used by Ovid in his treatment of Myrrha’s myth might also have been present in a Myrrha novel, especially if the latter were of the elaborate, ‘sophistic’ type of Achilles Tatius and Heliodorus. The story of Cinyras and Myrrha further has an ethical and religious interest that finds close parallels in the world of the novel. A main underlying assumption, which is made explicit in Ovid, is that the rules of chastity or sophrosyne (or pudor) must be observed; the opposite brings doom. In Ovid, the myth of Myrrha (which is sung by Orpheus in Book 10) corresponds to the pre-announced theme of girls punished for renouncing their virtue and succumbing to forbidden desire (Met. 10.152–154; cf. the second prologue, 300– 303, and Myrrha’s struggle with her pudor, 371; 411; 421; 454). Punishment for erotic trespasses is a standard novelistic theme and threatens both female and male characters who commit (or are suspected of) such acts. Incest, in particular, is punished severely in the Story of Apollonius (ch. 24), as the guilty father is struck by a thunderbolt. But in the novels, punishment also ensues

25 26 27

On the element of unwitting participation, which is common especially in mother-son incest stories, see Brown’s note (2002, 101), with respect to Conon Dieg. 9 (Semiramis). Ovid Met. 10.382–445 (and other versions); Story of Apollonius ch. 2. See Panayotakis 2012, 63. Whitmarsh 2018, 4 comments on the potentially perilous function of nurses. On which see further Fusillo 1990.

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from resistance to erotic desire and for disrespecting the goddess of love. While Ovid blames Myrrha’s erotic transgression on the Furies, acquitting Cupid (Met. 10.311–314), a novelist would probably implicate Eros and Aphrodite. In this respect the story of Xenophon the Cypriot might have come close to Hyginus’ version, which presents the incest as Aphrodite’s revenge for hybris committed by Myrrha’s mother (Fab. 58), or to Apollodorus’ version that may go back to Panyassis,28 in which Smyrna, daughter of the Assyrian king Theias, conceives the illicit passion as punishment for shunning the goddess of love (a similar suggestion is made in Oppian’s Halieutica 3.405: χολωσαμένης Ἀφροδίτης). The case of the hero of the Ephesian Xenophon, Habrocomes, the novel’s own Hippolytus, leaps to mind here. The attempt to flesh out the concept of a novel of Myrrha is incomplete without consideration of its ending. The story of Myrrha and Cinyras in Ovid ends with the heroine’s punishment: her final isolation and demise from human existence as she undergoes metamorphosis as a direct consequence of her inherently hopeless eros. In other versions, Cinyras dies;29 in the aforementioned Cinyras tragedy, reportedly both Myrrha and Cinyras are killed.30 All this is a far cry from the stereotypically happy endings of the extant romances (including the rather ambivalent closure of Achilles Tatius’ novel). With the fragmentary romances we are on much less certain ground, but even though the surviving novelistic fragments do not always guarantee a ‘happy end’ (Metiochus and Parthenope does not),31 nor do they imply tragic closures. Still, we cannot be positively sure that every Greek novel with a romantic theme ended happily (for all we know, happy endings may have played a part in the survival of the extant novels, as they perhaps provided more welcome entertainment than novels that ended tragically). If the small papyrus fragment of the story of Pamphilus and Eurydice (P.Mich. inv. 3793) is proven to come from a novel that replicated Ovid’s Pyramus and Thisbe story (Met. 4.55–166), as has been thought possible, then we would have another good novelistic candidate for a tragic ending. Indeed it would be a candidate with a seemingly firm footing in a Cypriot context (the P.Mich. narrative is set in Cyprus, where a mosaic of Pyramus and Thisbe is preserved, at the famous House of Dionysus). But admittedly

28 29 30 31

See n. 10 above. Cf. Plu. Mor. 310f. He kills himself in Anton. Lib. 34 and in Hyg. Fab. 242. ὅ τε ὀρχηστὴς δρᾶμα εἰσάγει Κινύραν, ἐν ᾧ αὐτός τε ἐκτείνετο καὶ ἡ θυγάτηρ Μύρρα (TGrF ii 5d; J. AJ 19.94). See e.g. Tilg 2010, 108. His general view of a tragic ending as indicative of a narrative of an early date (that is, before the ‘happy ending’ formula supposedly became dominant in the genre) is speculative.

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the genre of the papyrus fragment is uncertain, and even if we are dealing with a novel, it is unclear that Pamphilus and Eurydice’s story constituted the main plot.32 Perry33 thought that Xenophon’s lost Cypriaca might indicate the possibility of a novel with a tragic ending, as it would appear inconceivable that the story of Myrrha and Adonis ended happily—but is that really so? Indeed, another possibility worth considering is that Xenophon’s Cypriaca did not end tragically. True, parallels for the father-daughter incest theme from Graeco-Roman literature affirm the prevalence of a bad ending,34 but it is also worth glancing at the long tradition of similar stories that probably had their roots in folktale.35 Anderson36 used one of the fables of the Italian Renaissance author Straparola (Night 1, Fable 4 ‘Doralice and Her Incestuous Father, Tebaldo’) as an example of a folktale story involving incest that comes to a good end—but the fable has in fact a rather mixed closure: although incest is avoided and the heroine marries, a vengeful father pursues her and kills her children before meeting a grisly end (cf. Aarne-Thompson-Uther 706C, ‘The Father Who Wanted to Marry His Daughter’). However, another such tale (Aarne-Thompson-Uther 510B, ‘Peau d’Asne’), in which the heroine runs away from her father’s incestuous intentions and marries a king, never to experience the slightest cloud over her happiness, has a uniformly happy ending. Although no surviving account of the MyrrhaCinyras myth gives it a happy ending, it is not impossible that the novelist took liberties with his theme and pushed it to the direction of a happ(ier) conclusion.37 The last part of Ovid’s poem (Met. 10.481–489) is marked by Myrrha’s metamorphosis, which comes as an answer to her prayer to the gods to save her and her baby from the worst. A novel would probably implicate gods less actively in its plot than a poem on a mythical theme, but at least one novel32 33 34

35 36 37

See Stramaglia 2001 for an analytical discussion of this piece. 1967, 120. Mycerinus’ daughter hangs herself out of grief caused by her father’s desire for her, according to a story (Hdt. 2.131). Clymenus’ passion for Harpalyce has tragic results (Parthen. 13; Hyg. Fab. 206), and so does Thyestes’ rape of his daughter Pelopia (Hyg. Fab. 88). A less tragic version is Artaxerxes’ passion for Atossa (Plu. Artax. 23), which, however, has political implications that nearly cost him his life. Cf. Lightfoot 1999, 243–244. See Aarne–Thompson–Uther 510B; 510B*; 570A; 706; 706C. 2007, 22–23. Cf. Lightfoot 1999, 261: “One would very much like to know how Myrrha’s sinful passion for her father was treated in the romance by Xenophon … Did it alter the relationship so that it was no longer incestuous? Did it rationalise it or mitigate it in some way? Did it domesticate Myrrha in the same way the Ninus romance domesticates Semiramis? If so, how did it deal with the metamorphosis and the birth of Adonis?”.

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istic hero, Habrocomes, is saved from crucifixion by divine intervention after prayer (Xenophon Ephesius 4.2), and one heroine, Callirhoe, prays to Aphrodite to never attract another man after Chaereas, only to have her prayer refused (Chariton 2.2). While a novelistic Myrrha who prays for a change of fortunes is conceivable, a novelist would probably find it hard to accommodate the element of the metamorphosis, which goes against familiar novelistic realism (to which the miraculous survival of Xenophon Ephesius’ hero is an exception). An attempt at rationalisation of Myrrha’s myth is visible in mythography in the version of Antoninus Liberalis, in which the metamorphosis occurs after the birth of Adonis from his mother’s womb,38 and the older tree-birth version is avoided. Significantly, rationalisation of myths is practised in the extant novels. Achilles Tatius presents (through his mouthpiece, Clitophon, at 3.15.6) a famous case of metamorphosis, that of Niobe into a stone, as a metaphorical means to express motionless reaction to a shock, not as literal petrification.39 Perhaps in the context of a novel, Myrrha would simply be assumed to disappear in the wild at the end of her story, never to be seen again. The old story of her turning into a tree would thus be read (implicitly or explicitly) as a metaphorical way of expressing her merge with her new surroundings and complete disappearance from her old life, after birthing and leaving behind her baby son Adonis. In fact, in searching for a redeeming element to the story’s tragic character, the novelist might have had to look no further than Adonis, Myrrha’s son by Cinyras. The Suda’s inclusion of Adonis in the entry on the Cypriaca suggests that he had a significant presence in the novel’s plot—presumably in connection with its ending, as Adonis’ birth came after the end of the incestuous affair, and in most accounts, after Myrrha’s transformation into a tree. Xenophon the Cypriot’s Adonis would not be the only example of a novelistic heroine’s child with a role in the plot’s closure. The (nameless) child of Chariton’s Callirhoe determined from his conception the course of the heroine’s actions and is an important element in the novel’s closure. In particular, the foreshadowing of his glorious future diverts attention from the fact that the story’s ending is in fact less ideal than we might have expected (Callirhoe jilts a loving man and appears to fail as a mother).40 But unlike Callirhoe’s child, who remains secondary to his parents, Adonis has his own rightful place in mythology, indeed a more prominent one than that of either Myrrha or Cinyras. Could Xenophon the Cypriot have used an allusion to Adonis’ charisma and his career in prox38 39 40

… καὶ τὸ βρέφος μὲν ἐξέβαλεν [Θείας] ἐκ τῆς γαστρός, αὐτὴ δ᾽ ἀνασχοῦσα τὰς χεῖρας ηὔξατο μήτε παρὰ ζῶσι μήτ᾽ ἐν νεκροῖς φανῆναι. Καὶ αὐτὴν ὁ Ζεὺς μεταβαλὼν ἐποίησε δένδρον … Parthen. 33, which has Niobe leap from a rock, is another rationalist version. On the ending of Chariton’s novel, see further Kanavou 2015.

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imity to the gods in order to produce an auspicious novelistic ending41—or at least in order to mitigate the negative implications of the incest story (however these were presented)? This is a possibility worth considering.

5

Concluding Remarks

To conclude, the Suda hands down to us meagre information on a love novel by a Cypriot author named Xenophon, on a Cypriot theme. This theme, which is rooted in poetic myth, seems a priori and in several respects appropriate for novelistic treatment, but Xenophon would have had to undertake a number of adjustments, mainly with regard to the plot’s ending. Given the novels’ tendency to rationalisation, the omission or transformation of the final metamorphosis into a more mundane form of ending (preferably, but not necessarily, a happy one) is likely. Finally, the Cypriaca was most probably not a novel of the ‘ideal’ type represented (more or less) by the canonical five romances. We need to think of it rather as a narrative of the type that modern scholarship tends to classify as ‘fringe’, a narrative that capitalised on the novelistic attractiveness of the love theme, but treated this theme in a non-ideal fashion.42 The Suda’s information about the Cypriaca, despite its brevity, provokes thought on the variety of plots and characters that form part of the repertory of the novelistic genre, even if the relevant lemma admittedly leads to more questions than it can possibly answer. The information about a ‘Cypriot’ author’s Cypriot-themed love novel may finally include a hint about Cyprus’ importance in the history of the novel. This importance may not lie solely in the island’s fame as one of the places to where novelistic heroes travel,43 and in the traditional association between Cyprus and Aphrodite, the goddess of love, which is remembered in the extant romances.44 The inclusion of a ‘Cypriot’ novel in our group of romances is a particularly strong hint about the popularity and dissemination of this genre on Aphrodite’s island.45 41 42 43 44 45

The sad end of Adonis’ story (he dies in the hands of Aphrodite) probably lay outside the interests of Xenophon’s plot (Suda’s brief summary does not mention Aphrodite). Incidentally, father-daughter incest stories feature in some modern-day novels (L’inceste by Christine Angot, 1998; The Kiss: A Memoir by Kathryn Harrison, 1997). Chariton: 8.2–3; X.Eph.: 5.10. Chariton’s hero, Chaereas, makes offerings to the temple of Aphrodite at Paphos (8.2.7–8). The proximity of Cyprus to Egypt, an important place for the history of the genre of the novel (see now Whitmarsh 2018, 125–152), is perhaps also relevant (on the rich CypriotEgyptian contacts see Papathomas 2005). A tradition of ‘Cypriot novels’ is perhaps reflected in Boccaccio’s Decameron, in the narrator Panfilo’s claim that he found the story of

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Bibliography Aarne–Thompson–Uther = Uther, H.J. (2004). The Types of International Folktales. A Classification and Bibliography (Based on the System of A. Aarne and S. Thompson) (Part 1). Helsinki. Anderson, G. (2007). Folktale as a Source of Graeco-Roman Fiction. The Origin of Popular Narrative. Lewiston/Queenston/Lampeter. Brown, M.K. (2002). The Narratives of Konon. Text, Translation and Commentary of the Diegeseis. Munich/Leipzig. Cueva, E.P. (2004). The Myths of Fiction. Studies in the Canonical Greek Novels. Michigan. Francese, Ch. (2001). Parthenius of Nicaea and Roman Poetry. Frankfurt. Franklin, J.C. (2015). Kinyras: The Divine Lyre. Washington, DC. Fusillo, M. (1990). Le conflit des émotions. Un topos du roman grec érotique. MH 47, pp. 201–220 (Engl. trans. in S. Swain, Oxford Readings in the Greek Novel, Oxford 1999). Henrichs, A. (2011). Missing Pages. Papyrology, Genre, and the Greek Novel. In: D. Obbink and R. Rutherford, eds., Culture in Pieces: Essays on Ancient Texts in Honour of Peter Parsons. Oxford, pp. 302–322. Hollis, A.S. (2007). Fragments of Roman Poetry c. 60bc–ad 20. Oxford/New York. Jeffreys, E. (2012). Four Byzantine Novels. Liverpool. Kanavou, N. (2015). A Husband is More Important Than a Child: The Ending of Chariton’s Callirhoe Revisited. Mnemosyne 68, pp. 937–955. Kanavou, N. (2018). Iamblichos’ Babyloniaka, the Greek Novel and Satire. AncNarr 15, pp. 109–131. Lightfoot, J.L. (1999). Parthenius of Nicaea. The Poetical Fragments and the Ἐρωτικὰ Παθήματα. Oxford. Matthaios, S. (2006). Σούδα: Ο χαρακτήρας και η δυναμική ενός βυζαντινού εγκυκλοπαιδικού λεξικού / Suda: The Character and Dynamics of an Encyclopedic Byzantine Dictionary. In: I.N. Kazazis and Α. Rengakos, eds., Πρακτικά 2ης ημερίδας λεξικογραφίας: Η λεξικογράφηση του ελληνικού πολιτισμού, αρχαίου, μεσαιωνικού και νεότερου. Τα σύγχρονα εγκυκλοπαιδικά λεξικά. Thessaloniki: Κέντρο Ελληνικής Γλώσσας. Electronic publication: http://www.greek‑language.gr/greekLang/files/document/conference‑2003/01

Galeso (Cimon) and Efigenia (Decam. v 1) “in the ancient histories of the Cypriots”. See Perry 1967, 348, who cites Rohde’s conjecture that Boccaccio drew directly or indirectly from an ancient romance, perhaps entitled Cypriaca, now no longer extant (cf. also Picone 1997, 322–323 who—rather too cautiously—recognises in Panfilo’s claim at least a general awareness of the ancient novel tradition, if not of a specific work of Cypriot relevance). Note that one of the Komnenian novels, Theodorus Prodromus’ Rhodanthe and Dosicles (on which see, introductorily, Jeffreys 2012), also made use of Cyprus as a place of action.

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2MatthaiosEl.pdf (Greek) and http://www.greek‑language.gr/greekLang/files/docu ment/conference‑2003/012MatthaiosEn.pdf (English) O’Sullivan, J.N. (1995). Xenophon of Ephesus: His Compositional Technique and the Birth of the Novel. Berlin/New York. Panayotakis, S. (2012). The Story of Apollonius, King of Tyre. A Commentary. Berlin/Boston. Papathomas, A. (2005). Κύπρος και Κύπριοι στα παπυρικά έγγραφα και τις επιγραφές της ελληνορωμαϊκής Αιγύπτου. EEAth 36, pp. 121–160. Perry, B.E. (1967). The Ancient Romances: A Literary-Historical Account of their Origins. Berkeley, LA. Picone, M. (1997). Dal romanzo antico alla novella medievale. In: M. Picone and B. Zimmermann, eds., Der antike Roman und seine mittelalterliche Rezeption. Basel/Boston/ Berlin, pp. 321–339. Schepens, G. (2010). L’incontournable Souda. In: G. Vanotti, ed., Il lessico Suda e gli storici greci in frammenti (Atti dell’incontro internazionale Vercelli, 6–7 Novembre 2008). Rome, pp. 1–42. Stephens, S.A., and Winkler, J.J. (1995). Ancient Greek Novels. The Fragments. Princeton, NJ. Stramaglia, A., ed. (2000). Ἔρως. Antiche trame greche d’amore. Bari. Stramaglia, A. (2001). Piramo e Tisbe prima di Ovidio? PMich inv. 3793 e la narrativa d’intrattenimento alla fine dell’età tolemaica. ZPE 134, pp. 81–106. Straparola, G.F. (2012). The Pleasant Nights. Vol. 1 (ed. with an Introduction by D. Beecher; trans. by W.G. Waters). Toronto/Buffalo/London. Tilg, S. (2010). Chariton of Aphrodisias and the Invention of the Greek Love Novel. Oxford/ New York. Tsavli, E. (2009). Κινύρας. Μελέτη στον αρχαίο κυπριακό μύθο. Diss., National and Kapodistrian University of Athens. West, M.L. (2003). Greek Epic Fragments. Cambridge, MA. Whitmarsh, T. (2005). The Greek Novel. Titles and Genre. AJPh 126, pp. 587–611. Whitmarsh, T. (2018). Dirty Love. The Genealogy of the Ancient Greek Novel. Oxford.

chapter 17

Archelaus of Cyprus and Alexander of Paphos: Two Enigmatic Figures in the History of Ancient Scholarship and Rhetoric Stephanos Matthaios

In the framework of the ancient Greek literary history, here notably of its Cypriot branch, Archelaus of Cyprus and Alexander of Paphos emerge as two puzzling figures. The only information with which the source material provides us with certainty about these authors is their Cypriot origin. It is documented through the ethnica following their proper names in the transmitted testimonies, i.e. Κύπριος for Archelaus and Πάφιος for Alexander.1 Apart from this, however, there is no explicit evidence to be found about their lifetime, their writings and, most importantly, about the typology of their literary activity. The scarcity of the surviving fragments makes the attempt to obtain any prosopographic information and draw conclusions about the literary classification of these authors difficult. Only two fragments under Alexander’s name exist, both of which have been preserved in Eustathius’ commentary on the Odyssey; in both cases Eustathius borrowed these quotations from Ptolemaeus Chennus’ Καινὴ ἱστορία.2 The state of the transmission of Archelaus’ work is even destitute: one single fragment survives from his work, also transmitted through Ptolemaeus’ Καινὴ ἱστορία—this time, however, via Photius’ Βιβλιοθήκη.3 In every case, both Cypriot authors are cited without mention of the titles and the works where their fragments originated. At the same time, no judgement which could give us an idea of the significance of these authors in antiquity accompanies the preserved quotations. An additional factor which makes the enquiry into their identity and the determination of their literary 1 The surviving fragments and testimonies about Archelaus and Alexander are cited in the Appendix at the end of this contribution, pp. 356–358; their numeration follows the edition of Voskos 2002. On the ethnica Πάφιος and Κύπριος in relation to these authors, see Voskos 2002, 314, 327 and 390. 2 These are Alex. Paph. F1 and F2 (see Appendix, pp. 357–358). The transmission of Alexander’s fragments will be discussed below, pp. 345–346. 3 The fragment in question is Archel. Cypr. F1 (see Appendix, p. 356). On the transmission of this fragment, see below, p. 341. Questions related to the transmission of Ptolemaeus Chennus’ Καινὴ ἱστορία and its intermediaries will be discussed below, p. 350.

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purposes difficult is the fact that the opinions assigned to them in the surviving fragments are unparalleled. As a reading of these fragments makes clear, they present notable deviations from standard knowledge about ancient mythography and culture, which even breach the threshold of curiosity. It is thus not surprising that what survives from these authors—presuming that the existing fragments are representative of their entire œuvre—is neither extensive nor copious. The interest in these authors seems to have dissolved right along with the citations of their views in the works mentioned above, a fact which resulted in their fading out of memory. Readers come up with nothing about these persons in modern reference works, when they run into their names in the intermediary sources. Archelaus of Cyprus and Alexander of Paphos have only recently been identified on the map of ancient literary history thanks to an investigation by Andreas I. Voskos. In his 2002 published edition of all Cypriot prose authors, Voskos endeavoured to draw a full picture of their prosopography and literary activity. He lists Archelaus and Alexander under the ‘Historiographers, Mythographers and Paradoxographers’ of Cypriot origin; their fragments are critically edited and for the first time accompanied by a detailed commentary.4 Nevertheless, Voskos orients himself towards the historical point of view, when he interprets the conditions for the transmission of the writings of both authors and reconstructs an image of their literary activity and appraisal. In his commentary, Voskos tries to uncover chronological relations, which could possibly be drawn from Archelaus’ and Alexander’s views, even when they lay no claim to historicity and thus are difficult to place in a historical context. The literary aspect and the genre classification of their writings are taken into account to a lesser extent. This approach, however, does not allow the gaps in the transmission to be filled. On the contrary, it leaves Archelaus and Alexander still covered by the obscurity in which we found them.5 Revisiting the enquiry into the identity of these two persons and into the typology and intent of their literary activity, as I am undertaking here, is not in any way meant to detract from Voskos’ commendable achievement and the 4 See Voskos 2002, 81–82. The edition of the single fragment transmitted under Archelaus’ name is to be found in Voskos 2002, 120–121, whereas Alexander’s fragments are edited by Voskos 2002, 102–105. Archelaus’ fragment is discussed by Voskos 2002, 386–399; for the commentary on Alexander’s fragments see Voskos 2002, 314–350. 5 The conclusion drawn by Voskos 2002, 399 about Archelaus is in this relation remarkable: Πότε ἀκριβῶς ἔζησε ὁ Ἀρχέλαος καὶ σὲ ποιό περιβάλλον, ποιά ἦταν τὰ ἔργα του καὶ τὸ περιεχόμενό τους καὶ ποιές οἱ πηγές του, παραμένουν ἐρωτήματα ἀναπάντητα. (‘Exactly when did Archelaos live and in what surroundings? What was his œuvre and its content, and what were his sources? These questions remain unanswered’).

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accurate observations to which the present investigation in many respects is due. My purpose is merely to build upon Voskos’ thorough reconstruction in order to possibly shed new light on these puzzling figures. My contribution aims to answer these questions from a different perspective, which—decisively stronger than Voskos’—accentuates the singularity of the views of the two Cypriot authors on the one hand and brings to the fore the character and purpose of the intermediary sources on the other. The assumption that the work and intent of both Cypriot authors should harmonise with the spirit of their time and the needs of their transmitters serves as the hypothesis for the following approach. From this perspective, it seems that the problems which arise from the enquiry into Archelaus’ and Alexander’s identities should not be interpreted as a mere coincidence due to transmission. In other words, these authors are still enigmatic not only due to the poor evidence of their works; as I presume, they were already in antiquity seen as two peculiar, even marginal figures. The resulting question from this perspective concerns above all the reason why their specific views were thought to be worth mentioning. In light of this, it is only possible to probe into the literary context of these authors to which their works belong, and which justifies the peculiarities of their writings and the views documented there. This could be the key to solving the puzzle which Archelaus’ and Alexander’s traces place before us.

1

Archelaus of Cyprus on Stesichorus

As mentioned above, all we have of Archelaus’ work has been handed down in a single fragment via Ptolemaeus Chennus’ Καινὴ ἱστορία. Archelaus’ fragment is included in the presentation of Ptolemaeus’ Καινὴ ἱστορία given in Photius’ Bibliotheca (Phot. Bibl. 190.149b33–38 = Ptol. Chenn. His. nov. fr. 4.17 = Archel. Cypr. F1 [see Appendix, p. 356] = Stesich. Ta29 Ercoles) and appears to originate from the fourth book of this work, which almost completely dealt with a discussion on Helen and the homonymous persons.6 Ptolemaeus complements the description of various mythical details about Helen of Sparta with a catalogue of all bearers of the same name and stories about them. According to Photius, the Cypriot author Archelaus reported the following information about

6 On the structure and content of the Καινὴ ἱστορία, as they can be reconstructed predominantly from Photius’ account, see Chatzis 1914, xxxviii–xl; on the structure and content of the fourth book see ibid. xxxi. The fragments of Ptolemaeus Chennus are cited here according to Chatzis’ edition. On Ptolemaeus Chennus, the transmission and intent of his Καινὴ ἱστορία, see below, pp. 350–353.

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another Helen: a certain woman from Himera named Helen, the daughter of Micythus, was the beloved of the poet Stesichorus. However, when she left the poet for his rival Boupalus, he wrote that Helen left him willingly, in order to defend himself from disdain. In his poem then, Stesichorus very likely connected his own experience to Helen of Sparta.7 According to the same testimony, Archelaus considered the legend about Stesichorus’ blinding to be untrue.8 If we had no further biographical information about Stesichorus, we would have no cogent reason to doubt the reliability of this report. The scenario, which Archelaus develops, recalls at first sight a certain demand for truth together with the persons associated with the life of the poet. Nevertheless, a second look at the details that are referred to here, in the light of further biographical evidence, reveals that these have little to do with the true story of Stesichorus. Instead, Archelaus’ narrative proves itself to be a καινὴ ἱστορία, a nova historia, like the other stories which Ptolemaeus Chennus considered worthy of mention in his collection.9 According to Suda (σ 1095 = Stesich. TA19 [= TA35] Davies [PMGF 1, 138–139] = Stesich. Ta10 Ercoles), Stesichorus—dated between Alcman and Simonides—lived and was active in Himera.10 His Himerian origin is implied in Archelaus’ version of the story in the birthplace of his supposed beloved. Nevertheless, everything else in this report appears to be fictional. Stesichorus’ poetry constitutes merely the starting point of, and the basis for, Archelaus’ fabrication. Stesichorus was already in antiquity considered Ὁμηρικώτατος and Ὁμήρου ζηλωτής11 due to the topic selection and the epic diction of his poetry. The

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Tomberg 1967, 100 and 145 n. 45 supposes that the subject of Stesichorus’ poem was in Archelaus’ view his supposed lover named Helen and not the mythical figure. Tomberg’s view is supported also by Ercoles 2013, 325. This interpretation, however, misses the point of Archelaus’ attempt to interpret Stesichorus’ use of the myth in his own poem with rational criteria. Voskos 2002, 120 and 390–399 rightly supposes that, according to Archelaus, the topic of Stesichorus’ poem is the mythical Helen and that his beloved served as the motive for the modification of the myth. Apart from the commentary of Voskos 2002, 390–399 on this fragment, see now also Ercoles 2013, 321–326. See below, pp. 349–353. On Stesichorus’ biography, see Stesich. TA1–44, esp. TA19–23 (lifetime; cf. Ta 4–9 Ercoles) and TA 33–39 (home city; cf. Ta 10–15 Ercoles) Davies (PMGF 1, 134–144). See also Maas 1919, Bowra 1961, 121–124, Hutchinson 2001, 113–119, Voskos 2002, 390–391 and Finglass in Davies–Finglass 2014, 1–25. An exhaustive analysis of the ancient biographical tradition about Stesichorus is provided by Ercoles 2013; see also Kivilo 2010, 63–86. See Stesich. TB5–20 Davies (PMGF 1, 145–148; cf. Tb1 and Tb39–*Tb46 Ercoles); cf. Maas 1919, 2462, Bowra 1961, 124–125 and Hutchinson 2001, 117–118. See also the bibliography cited in the following n. 12.

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Trojan Epic Cycle and, in this context, the figure of Helen offered stimulating material for his poems.12 Stesichorus’Helen contained a description of the theft by Theseus (Stesich. fr. 191 Davies [PMGF 1, 176–177]; fr. 86 Davies–Finglass), the oath of the suitors (Stesich. fr. 190 Davies [PMGF 1, 176]; fr. 87 Davies–Finglass), and the marriage feast of Menelaus (Stesich. fr. 187–188 Davies [PMGF 1, 176]; fr. 88–89 Davies–Finglass); the latter topic inspired Theocritus’ eighteenth idyll (Stesich. fr. 189 Davies [PMGF 1, 176]; fr. 84 Davies–Finglass).13 Stesichorus attributes Helen’s betrayal of Menelaus to the curse that Aphrodite cast on the daughter of Tyndareus (Stesich. fr. 223 Davies [PMGF 1, 218]; fr. 85 Davies– Finglass).14 Stesichorus is, however, registered as the first poet in ancient literature to expose Helen as an adulteress and to feature her voluntary flight with Paris as well as the culpable role she played in the Trojan War in his poetry. None of his reviling verses about the adultery survive. Nonetheless, Plato (Phdr. 243a5– 6; Stesich. fr. 192 Davies [PMGF 1, 177]; fr. 91a Davies–Finglass) explicitly calls them a κακηγορία, and Isocrates (Hel. 64; Stesich. fr. 192 Davies [PMGF 1, 177]; fr. 91c Davies–Finglass) a blasphemy (ἐβλασφήμησέ τι περὶ αὐτῆς). According to the legend, Stesichorus was blinded as punishment for his accusations and did not receive his sight back until he composed a ‘retraction-song’—a Παλινῳδία. It is unclear whether the blinding of Stesichorus should be interpreted as an actual physical transpiration or as a metaphorical loss of inspiration.15 According to Fränkel’s interpretation, the poet wrote in his Palinode that his slander of the heroine was due to having been struck with internal blindness.16 Thus, through the fictional story of his physical blindness, Stesichorus intended to dramatise his motivation for composing the second song.17 Three verses survive from the Palinode, mentioned by Plato in Phdr. 243a8–b1 (Stesich. fr. 192 Davies [PMGF 1, 177]; fr. 91a Davies–Finglass).18 In these verses, the poet claims 12

13 14 15 16 17 18

Cf. Stesich. fr. 187–191 (Ἑλένη) Davies (PMGF i: 176–177; fr. 84–89 Davies–Finglass) and fr. 192–193 (Παλινῳδία[ι]) Davies (PMGF 1, 177–178; fr. 90–91 Davies–Finglass). On the several points of contact between Stesichorus and epic poetry, especially Homer, see Finglass in Davies–Finglass 2014, 35–39, Kelly 2015, Carey 2015 and West 2015. See Hunter 2015. For the content of Stesichorus’ Helen see Bowra 1961, 168–174, Homeyer 1977, 17–19 and Voskos 2002, 395–396 (with reference to further bibliography on this topic). On the different explanations of the blinding of Stesichorus see Homeyer 1977, 18, Zajonz 2002, 284–286 and Voskos 2002, 398–399. See Fränkel 1993, 322 n. 7. See Zajonz 2002, 284 with reference to further bibliography on this issue. On the content of the ‘revocation’ and on the issue of the existence of a second Palinode see Bowra 1963, Woodbury 1967, Davison 1968, 196–225, Sider 1989, Bassi 1993 and Finglass 2015, 93–96.

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that Paris kidnapped a phantom, an εἴδωλον, of Helen and brought it to Troy. The real Helen remained with Proteus in Egypt, while the heroes, unaware of that, fought over the phantom.19 But what does Archelaus do with this material? Distancing himself from the legend, which fatefully bound the poetic craft of Stesichorus with the mythical Helen, the Cypriot author attempts to tie the contents of his poetry and its motivation with incidents which are attributable to the actual circumstances of the poet’s life. The poet experienced his beloved, with the same name as the mythical figure, leaving him, and inspired by his personal experience, reconstructed the Helen myth and portrayed her adultery as a voluntary act. Real people act in the love story of Stesichorus: hence the name Micythus for the father of his supposed beloved. This Micythus is a historically attested person. According to Herodotus (7.170), Micythus was the son of a certain Choerus, οἰκέτης of the tyrant Anaxilaus of Rhegium and guardian of his children and governor of Rhegium after Anaxilaus’ death in 476.20 The same setting applies to Stesichorus’ rival Boupalus as well, the famous sculptor from Chios, son of Archermus and brother of Athenis.21 Boupalus is, however, connected with the life of Hipponax.22 Boupalus is said to have created insulting images of the poet, to which Hipponax responded with slandering verses about the sculptor.23 The Hippon. frr. 15–17 West (IEG2 1, 114–115) make the hypothesis plausible that Boupalus and Hipponax fought over Arete, a hetaera loved by both, or, according to another interpretation, Boupalus’ mother or daughter.24 For his construction Archelaus apparently made use of the attack and mockery pattern ‘Archilochus–Lycambes–Neoboule’.25 In his constellation, the correspondence between Stesichorus’ beloved Helen and the mythical figure on the one hand and between Hipponax’s beloved Arete and the queen of Scheria with the same name on the other is significant.26 Archelaus, however, did not acknowledge the legend of Stesichorus’ blinding. Thus, the Cypriot author seems not to have taken note of Stesichorus’ Palinode. It is clear that he considered the reason

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20 21 22 23 24 25 26

See Stesich. fr. 192–193 Davies (PMGF 1, 177–180; fr. 90–91 Davies–Finglass). On Stesichorus’ adaptation of the Helen myth and its impact see Bowra 1961, 169–174, Homeyer 1977, 19, Voskos 2002, 396–397, Zajonz 2002, 286 and Carey 2015, 51–52. See also Christopoulos 2007, 124–126. On Micythus, see Becher 1932 and Voskos 2002, 391–393. On Boupalus, see Robert 1897 and Voskos 2002, 393–394. On the ancient biographical evidence about Hipponax, see Kivilo 2010, 121–134. See Gossen 1913, 1891–1892 and 1899–1903 and Bowie 1998, 605–607. On the figure of Arete, see Ten Brink 1851, 45 and 729; cf. Gossen 1913, 1903. On the ancient testimonies about Lycambes and Neoboule, see Kivilo 2010, 104–106. See Voskos 2002, 394.

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and motive for Stesichorus’ transformation of the myth to be more important than its revocation. By distorting the general knowledge about the life of the poet and by inserting details into this fictional context which, despite their totally different origination, would have been familiar to his audience, Archelaus offers a pragmatic interpretation of Stesichorus’ poetry obviously based on rational criteria.27

2

Alexander of Paphos on Homer

The next Cypriot author to be discussed, Alexander of Paphos, dealt with Homeric issues. Two fragments survive, both transmitted by Eustathius, who apparently drew them from Ptolemaeus Chennus’ Καινὴ ἱστορία. Alexander’s views on the etymology and meaning of the word μῶλυ, which Eustathius mentions in his commentary on the Odyssey (Eust. 1658.48–52 [ad Od. 10.305] = Ptol. Chenn. Hist. nov. fr. 4.18 = Alex. Paph. F1a [see Appendix, p. 357]) correspond to an excerpt from the Καινὴ ἱστορία in Photius’Bibliotheca (Phot. Bibl. 190.149b39– 150a1 = Ptol. Chenn. Hist. nov. fr. 4.18 = Alex. Paph. F1b). As a comparison of both testimonies shows, Photius limits himself to summarising Alexander’s illustration without mentioning the name of Ptolemaeus’ source. This is not unusual for florilegia and works transmitting excerpts and fragments deriving from older works, and is the rule for Photius’ report and presentation of the contents of Ptolemaeus’ Καινὴ ἱστορία. Apart from some stories that the Byzantine scholar did not include in his presentation, Photius, compared with the other intermediaries of the Καινὴ ἱστορία, regularly omits in his report the names of the authorities cited by Ptolemaeus in the original version of his work.28 Due to this condition, it is appropriate, concerning the specific fragment of Alexander, to see both passages—the testimony of Eustathius and that of Photius— in their interrelation to each other. This is the way that Ptolemaeus’ editors approached this case, and that Voskos rightly followed in his edition of the present Alexander-fragment.29 27 28

29

See Tomberg 1967, 145 n. 45 and Voskos 2002, 399. On the relation of Photius’ account to the original text of Ptolemaeus’ Καινὴ ἱστορία, see Chatzis 1914, xl–xlv; cf. Hägg 1975, 195–204, Treadgold 1980, 67–80 and Voskos 2002, 326– 327. The relation of Eustathius and Photius to Alexander, or rather, to Ptolemaeus Chennus and the transmission lines which Voskos 2002, 103 (comm. on Alex. Paph. F1) and 326–327 draws for this Alexander-fragment require a slight correction. Alexander can in no way be the source for Eustathius, Ptolemaeus Chennus and Photius, as Voskos ibid., supposes. He is rather solely the source of Ptolemaeus, through whose work both Eustathius and

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We are faced with the same situation when we turn to the transmission of Alex. Paph. F2 (see Appendix, p. 357–358). Again, only Eustathius (1713.19–25 [ad Od. 12.62–65] = Ptol. Chenn. Hist. nov. fr. 1.8 [col. sec.]) cites the name of the Paphian author. Nonetheless, also in this case the entire account of Eustathius (1712.56–1713.25) corresponds to Photius’ excerpt from Ptolemaeus’ Καινὴ ἱστορία (Phot. Bibl. 190.147a3–6 = Ptol. Chenn. Hist. nov. fr. 1.8 [col. pr.]). Compared with the testimony of Eustathius, the reduction of Ptolemaeus’ fragment in Photius’ report is quite large. Photius limits himself to rendering the content of the whole passage in bullet point form. In their attempt to reconstruct the original extent of the specific quotation from Ptolemaeus’ Καινὴ ἱστορία, scholars already recognised the relationship of both sources.30 Nevertheless, Voskos contends the relationship between Eustathius’ and Photius’ report without convincing reasons, and does not acknowledge Photius’ report as further evidence for this Alexander-fragment.31 Photius’ testimony should be regarded as a reminiscence of the Alexander-fragment cited by Eustathius; this passage is to be found in the Appendix of the present paper (p. 358) together with Eustathius’ report (Alex. Paph. F2a) under the number Alex. Paph. F2b. As already mentioned, both fragments of Alexander deal with Homeric issues. The Alex. Paph. F2, according to the full version reported by Eustathius (F2a), refers to the λύσις to a Homeric ζήτημα, i.e. to the question on the origin of the legend of the doves that bring ambrosia to Zeus.32 This story appears in Od. 12.59–65, when Circe describes the Planctae: ‘Not even birds can wing their way through. / Even the doves that bring ambrosia to Zeus / crash and perish on that slick stone / and the Father has to replenish their number’ (Od. 12.62–

30 31

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Photius were familiar with the Cypriot author and cite his story. Furthermore, the view of Voskos 2002, 322, that the verb λέγουσι in Photius’ rendering of Alexander’s explanation of the word μῶλυ cited by Ptolemaeus (Hist. nov. fr. 4.18, 1.8 [col. pr.] = Alex. Paph. F1b, 1.2–3) undoubtedly shows that this explanation found wider support, is unjustified. Photius’ use of the verb λέγουσι here is probably caused by the omission of Alexander’s name. Eustathius seems to preserve the original extent and wording of this passage in the Καινὴ ἱστορία. See Hercher 1855/1856, 287–288, Chatzis 1914, 13–16 and Tomberg 1967, 43–44, 77, 99 and 139–141 with n. 35. See Voskos 2002, 327–328. Voskos, ibid., without convincing arguments supposes that Cheiron of Amphipolis, whom Eustathius (1712.56) cited, was most likely not the source of Photius for his account of the Καινὴ ἱστορία at this point. In his commentary on Alex. Paph. F2, Voskos 2002, 327–350, does not acknowledge the connection of the Alexander-fragment with this superordinate question. This aspect, however, is strongly related with enquiry into the possible genre of Alexander’s literary activity; on this matter, see below, pp. 354–355.

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65;33 trans. by Lombardo). Nothing is known about the origin of this legend.34 The ancient Homeric scholia assume that these verses refer to the Pleiades, of which only six of the seven stars shine brightly, whereas the seventh one is darkened.35 According to Eustathius, Alexander of Paphos grounds his explanation of this point in events that transpired in Homer’s life.36 He claims that the poet was the son of the Egyptians Dmasagoras and Aethra. Dmasagoras is the name of Homer’s father according to another ancient biographer, a certain Callicles, as we learn from the Certamen Homeri et Hesiodi.37 Aethra, who, according to legend, was the daughter of Pittheus, the king of Troezen, and who through a liaison with either Aegeus or Poseidon was the mother of Theseus, appears in Il. 3.144 with Clymene as Helen’s maid.38 In accordance with the Egyptian origin of Homer, which Alexander presupposes, his nurse is thought to have been a daughter of Oros, who, according to this version, was a priest and not the son of Isis.39 This nurse is said to have suckled the babe with honey from her breast. From this moment on, wonders occurred: the babe is said to have mimicked the voices of nine different birds at night. It is also claimed that Homer as a child played with nine doves, while Sibylla40 in his absence began to act wildly and utter poetic verses. At Sibylla’s command, Dmasagoras erected

33

34 35

36 37

38 39 40

See Od. 12.62–65: τῇ μέν τ᾽ οὐδὲ ποτητὰ παρέρχεται οὐδὲ πέλειαι / τρήρωνες, ταί τ᾽ ἀμβροσίην Διὶ πατρὶ φέρουσιν, / ἀλλά τε καὶ τῶν αἰεὶ ἀφαιρεῖται λὶς πέτρη· / ἀλλ᾽ ἄλλην ἐνίησι πατὴρ ἐναρίθμιον εἶναι. See Heubeck–Hoekstra 1990, 122 (comm. on Od. 12.61–65). See Sch. Hom. (HQV) Od. 12.61. According to Eustathius (1712.56–1713.8 = Ptol. Chenn. Hist. nov. fr. 1.8 [col. sec.]), this is also the explanation that Cheiron of Amphipolis gives Alexander the Great about the doves that bring Zeus ambrosia. This explanation seems to have been widely known. Following the testimony of Athenaeus (11.490e), of which Eustathius also took note (cf. Eust. 1713.2–3)—Eustathius explicitly relies on Athenaeus in 1712.61–62—, the poet Moiro/Myro (3rd c. bc) was the first to recognise that the Homeric expression πέλειαι refer to the Pleiades; on Moiro, see Geffcken 1932 and Gargini 2000. Athenaeus (11.488–491) most likely drew his information concerning the problem of the equation of πέλειαι with πελειάδες and Πλειάδες from Asclepiades of Myrlea (fr. 4 Pagani), a grammarian of the early first century bc; on Asclepiades and his works, see Pagani 2007, 11–46, Montanari 1997, Matthaios 2014, 546–547 and Montana 2020, 236–237. Tomberg 1967, 139–141 (n. 35) examines the history of this explanation in its relation to Ptolemaeus Chennus’ report. See the thorough commentary on this Alexander-fragment by Voskos 2002, 327–350. See Certamen 21 Allen. According to the sixth Homer-vita in Allen’s edition, Callicles located Homer’s birthplace in the Cypriot Salamis. On the evidence on the supposed father of Homer, see Voskos 2002, 328. On Aethra, see Wernicke 1893; cf. Voskos 2002, 329. See Voskos 2002, 328. On Sibylla, see Voskos 2002, 338–342.

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a temple in honour of the nine Muses.41 When the child grew into manhood, he found out all this from his father. As a poet, Homer is thus thought to have eulogised the same birds with which he played as a child and depicted them in his poetry bringing ambrosia to Zeus. Homer’s Egyptian lineage is assumed also in other sources;42 only in Alexander’s version, however, is it presented so explicitly. Whether or not the Cypriot author is the founder of this tradition cannot be proven. It is, however, certain that Alexander, like Archelaus in his account on Stesichorus, attempted to recontextualise details that were already known—such as the name of Homer’s father and mother—and thereby, even if one admits that Alexander did not gain fame through the general acceptance of his story, as Voskos assumes,43 at least astonished his audience. The second story transmitted under Alexander’s name (Alex. Paph. F1) deals with the origin of μῶλυ and the etymology of its designation.44 The discussion concerns the magic herb, with which Hermes equips Odysseus in order to protect himself against Circe’s witchcraft (Od. 10.281–306).45 Alexander suggests that the herb grew from the blood of the giant Picolous (Πικόλοος), when he came to Circe’s island after the battle between the giants and the gods, attempted to expel her from the island and was killed by her father Helios. A giant called Picolous appears only in Alexander’s report.46 He claims that the term μῶλυ derives from the word μῶλος, which means πόλεμος.47 Alexander’s explanation together with the suggested etymology is nowhere else attested. The allegorical character of this account is nevertheless indicative: the black colour of the root of the plant is attributed to the black blood of the giant or to Circe’s pallor due to her fear, whereas the white colour of the blossom to Helios, who is called λευκός.48 41

42 43 44

45 46 47 48

On the significance and function of the number ‘nine’ in Alexander’s explanation—the voices of nine birds, which the infant imitated, nine doves with which the child played, and of course the nine Muses—see Voskos 2002, 330–331. The idea that Alexander intentionally alludes to the Homeric expression ἐναρίθμιον (Od. 12.65) on the basis of the word play ἐναρίθμιος-ἐννεαρίθμιος could also be a possible explanation. On this issue, see the evidence provided by Jacoby 1933, 46–47. See Voskos 2002, 329. Voskos 2002, 314–327 provides an exhaustive commentary on this Alexander-fragment too. See also the remarks of Tomberg 1967, 96 and 126 (n. 16) on this fragment of the Καινὴ ἱστορία. Cf. Heubeck–Hoekstra 1990, 59–61. On this giant, see Voskos 2002, 314–316. The ancient etymologies of μῶλυ are discussed by Voskos 2002, 322–324; see also Heubeck–Hoekstra 1990, 60–61 (comm. on Od. 10.302–396). Cf. Tomberg 1967, 126.

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349

Archelaus and Alexander in Context of Ptolemaeus Chennus’ Καινὴ ἱστορία

After the description of the transmission of Archelaus’ and Alexander’s fragments and the discussion of their content, we can now return to the question posed at the beginning of this presentation, i.e. who exactly these authors were. Right at the start of our investigation, however, we encounter the reservations expressed also in the introduction. One way to approach the enquiry into the identity of both Cypriot authors would be to determine some reference points around which we could place them on a historical basis. Voskos, for example, suggests a connection between Archelaus and Parthenius and does not exclude the possibility of Parthenius’ Ἐρωτικὰ παθήματα being the source for the Cypriot author.49 A contextual relationship between Archelaus and the mythographer Conon (1st c. bc/1st c. ad), who among other things dealt with the biography of Stesichorus and strove to explain the blinding of the poet and his subsequent healing, is also conceivable.50 Conon’s views could possibly have been the force behind the account passed down under Archelaus’ name about Stesichorus’ beloved Helen. Nevertheless, both parallels are nothing more than speculations, and there is no way to make further connections on the basis of either one or to provide illuminating arguments that support them. The only thing we know for certain about the lifetime of both Cypriot authors is their terminus ante quem. Since Ptolemaeus Chennus used both as sources for his Καινὴ ἱστορία, they must have lived in the late Hellenistic or even in the early imperial period. It is also considered certain that Alexander of Paphos, differing from Allen’s assumption, is not identical to the naturalist from Myndus who shares the name Alexander.51 Archelaus should also not be confused with the paradoxographer Archelaus of Chersonesus (3rd c. bc), who is known for a collection of wonders entitled Ἰδιοφυῆ.52 Faced with the scarcity of the transmitted fragments, but, above all, due to the singularity of the views documented within them, it does not appear appropriate to discuss Archelaus’ and Alexander’s identity on a mere historical basis. Convinced that such a discussion is unable to yield a reliable result, this contri-

49 50 51 52

See Voskos 2002, 81–82 and 394–495. Cf. FGrHist. 26 F1 (§18). On Conon’s life and work, see Martini 1922 and Montanari 1999. See Allen 1912, 253 (comm. to l. 1). Voskos 2002, 327 convincingly argues against the equation of Alexander of Paphos with Alexander of Myndus; cf. Tomberg 1967, 77. See D.L. 2.17 (cf. Archel. Cypr. *T1 [see Appendix, p. 356]). On the life and work of this Archelaus, see Reitzenstein 1895, 453–454. Voskos 2002, 388–389 rightly disputes the equation of this author with the Cypriot Archelaus; cf. Tomberg 1967, 145 (n. 45).

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bution endeavours to view both Cypriot authors from the perspective of their intermediary source. The key to the solution of Archelaus’ and Alexander’s identity lies with Ptolemaeus Chennus. The question that was intimated at the beginning of this contribution can be formulated as follows: what motivated Ptolemaeus to utilise these authors as sources and, as is the case with several, not better-known authors who are also mentioned in this work,53 to eternalise them? In order to answer this question, it is first necessary to discuss the character and purpose of Ptolemaeus’ Καινὴ ἱστορία. Ptolemaeus originated from Alexandria; he was called Χέννος, ‘quail’, and he must have lived in the second half of the first century ad.54 Apart from the Καινὴ ἱστορία, all of his works are only known by title. The Καινὴ ἱστορία, which originally contained seven books, can be reconstructed on the basis of an extensive report of it in Photius’ Bibliotheca. In several points, Photius’ account corresponds to fragments transmitted by Eustathius, Tzetzes, occasionally also by Hesychius and in the Homeric scholia. Like Photius, these sources too seem to cite the Καινὴ ἱστορία directly.55 As the title of the work and the investigation of the surviving excerpts show, the Καινὴ ἱστορία offers, according to Tomberg, “einen buntgemischten Kranz aitiologischer Sagen, ungewöhnlicher Versionen der Heldensage, merkwürdiger mythologischer Notizen, seltsamer Etymologien, paradoxographischer Erzählungen, literarischer Problemata und Lyseis sowie nach Motiven geordneter Kataloge”.56 In contrast to the way mythography was approached by his contemporaries, Ptolemaeus intended to create a collection of myths, histories and etymologies that in some way—even in mere details—differed from the mainstream versions and thus even in antiquity were considered rare and outlandish.57 The purpose of the Καινὴ ἱστορία corresponds, beyond its content, to the type of source material that Ptolemaeus incorporates into his work. The most conspicuous feature is the novelty of the stories reported by Ptolemaeus.58 It is thus not surprising that there are names, persons and facts in the Καινὴ ἱστορία that appear nowhere else and seem to be 53 54 55 56 57 58

On the authors cited by Ptolemaeus, see Tomberg 1967, 45–46 and Voskos 2002, 326. On Ptolemaeus’ life and work, see Chatzis 1914, i–xxxii; cf. Voskos 2002, 325–327 and Matthaios 2001, 558–559. On the transmission and the intermediary sources of the Καινὴ ἱστορία, see Chatzis 1914, xl–lii and Tomberg 1967, 40–53. Tomberg 1967, 19. See Tomberg 1967, 28–39, who attempts to classify Ptolemaeus’ work in the context of the mythographic handbooks produced in the imperial era. On the intention of Ptolemaeus’ Καινὴ ἱστορία, see Tomberg 1967, 19–23; cf. Ercoles 2013, 321–325.

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known only to Ptolemaeus. By transmitting such stories, which went against the tide, Ptolemaeus attempted to lure in his audience, astonish and entertain them with the striking and surprising character of the collected material.59 Scholarship on Ptolemaeus, probing into the purpose and character of the Καινὴ ἱστορία, very quickly encountered the problem of the credibility of the authorities whose names the Alexandrian ‘quail’ adduced in the collection.60 This problem essentially results from the fact that the greater part of the cited authorities can barely be identified. But also in the passages where no sources are cited, no parallels of the reported accounts exist in Greek literature. Hercher (1855/1856) attempted to solve this peculiar source problem at a single blow. He came to the conclusion that Ptolemaeus manipulated the content of his stories and, in order to make the product of his lies more credible, invented the authorities and their names cited in his work. Hercher claimed that everything that could not be found before Ptolemaeus’ time and that appeared suspicious was of his own construction.61 As a result of Hercher’s investigation, Ptolemaeus was given the reputation of a creator of lies and of a literary swindler, and his Καινὴ ἱστορία was labelled—in Tomberg’s words—as an “übles Machwerk zur Befriedigung pseudogelehrter kaiserzeitlicher Gelüste wie Neuigkeiten- und Unterhaltungssucht”.62 The consequences of Hercher’s position for the question about the identity of our Cypriot authors are obvious. Both Archelaus and Alexander would therefore be, if Hercher’s conclusions are taken to heart, nothing other than alibis of the swindler, or simply invented names, which were supposed to make Ptolemaeus’ stories appear true. This is indeed the view followed by Ercoles (2013, 78 [test. ad Stesich. Ta29]) in his investigation of Archelaus’ identity: Frustra quis Archelaus Cyprius fuerit scire conaberis: fort[asse] adsimulatum nomen Ptolemaeus adducit.63 In his 1914 published dissertation Der Philosoph und Grammatiker Ptolemaios Chennos, Chatzis aimed to develop the opposite pole to Hercher’s views. Chatzis turned Ptolemaeus’ factory of lies into an unadulterated collection

59 60

61 62 63

See Tomberg 1967, 22–23. On the nature of Ptolemaeus’ sources, see Tomberg 1967, 6–18. On the character and the intention of Ptolemaeus’ work, see Hose 2008. Hose 2008, 179–185 offers a survey of research on Ptolemaeus’ Καινὴ ἱστορία. See Hercher 1855/56, 282; cf. Tomberg 1967, 8–10. On Hercher’s views, see Hose 2008, 181– 182. See Tomberg 1967, 6. Ercoles 2013, 325 repeats his view in his commentary on Stesich. Ta29: Archelaus is ‘ignoto—e sospetto’.

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of stories. According to Chatzis’ main position, Ptolemaeus was one of the many antiquarians and grammarians of Peripatetic character, who nevertheless accepted his sources without criticism. Furthermore, Chatzis claimed that the Καινὴ ἱστορία should be characterised as a truly Peripatetic collection in the realm of mythology, history, and literature.64 Chatzis’ efforts are nevertheless only weakly echoed.65 Tomberg criticises his work as follows: “[Chatzis] scheiterte daran, allzu genau die Vorlage bestimmen zu wollen, wo es in Wirklichkeit nur zu Vermutungen reicht, da die Quellen des Ptolemaios in den seltensten Fällen präzis mit Namen zu nennen sind … Chatzis [wollte] auch da noch Beweise, Zeugnisse und Quellen finden, wo es uns ganz und gar unmöglich ist, und so [traten] am Ende mehr seine erfolglosen Bemühungen als fruchtbare Ergebnisse zutage”.66 Research on Ptolemaeus took a new turn in 1976 with Tomberg’s study on the Καινὴ ἱστορία. Tomberg intended to approach the source problem from a different perspective, namely by focusing on the genre and nature of the work.67 On this presumption, he suggested that Ptolemaeus’ sources could not have been a product of fantasy.68 Tomberg supports this view by adducing the fact that one third of the authorities cited in the Καινὴ ἱστορία are at least known by name. This number is actually high within the scope of Greek literature, when one takes the peculiarity of the authors in question into account. Besides, as Tomberg rightly stresses, it does not fit the character of a sly cheat to make the same authority the creator for at least two different stories reported in the Καινὴ ἱστορία.69 As already seen, this concerns Alexander of Paphos, who is cited by Eustathius in two different passages. The same applies to Sostratus—also mentioned twice by Eustathius70—as well as to Aristonicus of Tarant, who is also

64 65

66 67 68 69 70

See Chatzis, 1914, i–xvii, liii–lxx and lxxxv–lxxxix. Tomberg 1967, 10–14 offers a summary of the main positions of Chatzis’ investigation; cf. Hose 2008, 182–183. The assumption of Chatzis 1914, xii–xvii, that Ptolemaeus Chennus ought to be equated with the Peripatetic scholar of the same name has been vigorously criticised by Dihle 1957, 320–324; on this point, see also Tomberg 1967, 11–12 with n. 1 and 3. See Tomberg 1967, 13. Tomberg’s criticism refers predominantly to the investigation of Ptolemaeus’ sources made by Chatzis 1914, lxxviii–lxxxiv. On the purposes of his investigation, see Tomberg 1967, 15–18. On Tomberg’s approach, see Hose 2008, 183–184. Cf. Tomberg 1967, 74–78. On this point, see Tomberg 1967, 77–78. See Eust. 1665.47 (ad Od. 10.492) (= Ptol. Chenn. Hist. nov. fr. 1.6 [col. sec.] = SH 734 [= FGrHist. 23 F7]) and Eust. 1696.49 (ad Od. 11.538) (= Ptol. Chenn. Hist. nov. fr. 6.3 [col. sec.] = SH 733 [= FGrHist. 23 F6]). This Sostratus is presumably a Hellenistic poet and not the geographer Sostratus of Nysa. See Di Marco 2001, 749 and Fornaro 2001, 748 as well as the commentary of Lloyd-Jones–Parsons 1983, 354 on these fragments.

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cited twice by Photius as Ptolemaeus’ source.71 If Ptolemaeus had wanted to avoid naming these authors twice, he could have easily invented a different name. The fact that he did not do this, however, can serve as evidence that Ptolemaeus selected stories from existing works which he annexed to his collection by indicating their authors by name. In his attempt to determine the character and intention of Ptolemaeus’ Καινὴ ἱστορία, Hose (2008) left the source issue and the identification of the authors mentioned there aside. In his view the Καινὴ ἱστορία is one of the most representative works of literary fictionality that originate from the imperial era. According to Hose, it was only in the course of the reception of the Καινὴ ἱστορία that attempts were made to grasp the work in terms of its relevance to reality and historicity. But since this was neither recognisable nor ascertainable, the work was perceived as forgery and ‘Schwindelliteratur’.72 As far as the nature of Ptolemaeus’ Καινὴ ἱστορία is concerned, Hose is right in his conclusions. Nevertheless, it cannot be ruled out that the feature of fictionality was shared also by the authors indicated by Ptolemaeus as his sources. This assumption, however, legitimates us to ask for the identity of these authors, Archelaus and Alexander included. In this direction, Tomberg’s discussion on the nature of Ptolemaeus’ sources gives us an important hint for our investigation: in order to reach his goal, Ptolemaeus needed to take into account sources not ex multis et variis, but, above all, ex remotis lectionibus.73 As expected, he could find legends that were new and different from the normal versions only in sources entirely remote. It is thus not surprising that there are no further parallels to the authors cited by Ptolemaeus. This means, regarding the identity question of our Cypriot authors, that not only we find these authors obscure; they were already considered so also in antiquity. The fate of their transmission was determined by Ptolemaeus’ process of source selection. This selection is connected with the character of their works, which clearly made it a part of the ὕλη διαφωνοῦσα that was taken into account by Ptolemaeus. The hope for the appearance of further testimonies, which could shed light on Archelaus’ and Alexander’s life and work, will, under these circumstances, probably not be fulfilled.

71 72 73

See Phot. Bibl. 190. 147a18 (= Ptol. Chenn. Hist. nov. 2.11 [col. pr.] = FHG 337 fr. 1) and Phot. Bibl. 190. 147b22–23 (= Ptol. Chenn. Hist. nov. 2.11 [col. pr.] = FHG 337 fr. 2). See Hose 2008, 195–196. See Tomberg 1967, 21–22 and 76.

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On Archelaus’ and Alexander’s Identity: A Re-consideration

Up to this point, our discussion has made clear that the stories of the two Cypriot authors, Archelaus and Alexander, have the same essential characteristics that we find in Ptolemaeus’ Καινὴ ἱστορία; both authors thus appear representative of Ptolemaeus and the sources of his work. We can now look into the possible type to which we can assign the views of Alexander and Archelaus in order to gain insight into the identity of the authors and the possible genre classification of their work. Tomberg identifies three main areas from which Ptolemaeus’ sources derive: (1) writings that contained local legends or described local peculiarities; (2) works of all sorts in which myths had been altered for several reasons; and (3) special collections which offered compilations and catalogues arranged by motif.74 Of the three main areas which Tomberg identifies the second one is the most relevant for the study of both Cypriot authors— inasmuch as the surviving fragments are representative of the entirety of their works. Concerning Alexander, it is possible here to be more precise and state a specific branch which is assigned to his work: Alex. Paph. F2, which, in relation to a Homer-Vita, explains the origin of the legend of the doves which bring Zeus ambrosia, ought to be considered an example of the ζήτημα-λύσις type, as the overall context of this fragment in the passage deriving from Eustathius shows. The Καινὴ ἱστορία contains a large count of such zetemata related to Homer as well as to other poets.75 This method of interpreting mythological and literary contexts which consists of posing questions and suggesting solutions to them76 has its roots already in the Sophistic tradition. The so-called ζητητικοί and λυτικοί, of whom there was a large amount since the time of the Sophists, continuing through the Peripatos and reaching Porphyry’s era, revealed language- and content-related problems as well as contradictions in the literary texts and endeavoured to provide solutions to such aporias. This practice particularly distinguished the Alexandrian scholars. The academic character of those seeking these ζητήματα and λύσεις, however, soon took a playful turn by evoking amazement by means of pseudo-scholarliness. This feature corresponded to the taste of the late Hellenistic and imperial period. The ‘philological’ activity of the kind was a mere pretext for the enjoyment

74 75 76

See Tomberg 1967, 78–93 with a discussion on the particular areas of Ptolemaeus’ sources. Tomberg 1967, 110–111, lists all zetemata transmitted in the Καινὴ ἱστορία. On the history of the ζήτημα-λύσις interpretative pattern see Gudeman 1927, 2511–2529; cf. Pfeiffer 1968, 69–71, Tomberg 1967, 54–56 and Novokhatko 2020, 118–119. An extensive survey on the ‘problem-solving’ approach in the pre-Alexandrian period offers Fogagnolo 2020, 13–103.

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of literary deception and was criticised very early. Aristarchus is known to have attacked the λυτικοί for their pedantry and, above all, for the curiosity and oddity of the proposed λύσεις.77 It is by all means conceivable to place Alexander of Paphos and his explanations in such a context of scholarly activity. The mythographic source area should also be considered when analysing the nature of Archelaus’ fragment. The pragmatism and rationalism, from which his interpretation of Stesichorus’ modification of the Helen myth stems, is a fundamental feature of the profanation and secularisation which myth underwent during the late Hellenistic and imperial period.78 The rhetoric schools, among others, played a substantial role in this development. Material for rhetorical exercises was taken from heroic legends, which gave the future orators the task of studying and re-shaping various myths.79 It is obvious that the legends naturally underwent many changes in such progymnasmata and were often dealt with without scruple. If the Cypriot Archelaus belonged to the rhetorical tradition, a testimony derived from Diogenes Laertius (2.17 = Archel. Cypr. *T1 [see Appendix, p. 356]) would be fitting; here a certain unknown τεχνογράφος ῥήτωρ is listed among the quoted Archelaoi. Even if it appears strange that Diogenes mentions a minor character like Archelaus of Cyprus and refers to him as being active as a widely known person, it still seems possible that rhetoric and the progymnasmata exercises constitute the context for the genre classification of Archelaus’ writings.80

5

Concluding Remarks

In searching for the identity of Archelaus of Cyprus and Alexander of Paphos, we have been confronted with the peculiarities of entertainment literature and further miscellany writings to which Ptolemaeus Chennus’ Καινὴ ἱστορία

77 78

79 80

See Lehrs 1882, 197–221. On Aristarchus’ confrontation with the explanations of the socalled λυτικοί, see also Schironi 2018, 252–264. On the development of mythography, see Wendel 1935, Tomberg 1967, 85–86 with the bibliography mentioned there in n. 1. On the interpretation of Homeric myths in antiquity, see Montanari 1995. See Tomberg 1967, 87–88. On the progymnasmata production, see Kennedy 1994, 202–208, Kennedy 2003 and Bonner 1977, 250–276. Voskos 2002, 82 and 390, assumes that the term τεχνογράφος ῥήτωρ in Diogenes’ testimony includes the activity of a historiographer. On this basis, Voskos (see above, n. 4) identifies Archelaus as historiographer and mythographer.

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belongs. Ptolemaeus’ work turned out to be an exquisite collection of material corresponding to the spirit and the literary taste of the late Hellenistic and the imperial period. It offered material from the realm of what was unfamiliar and thus achieved the astonishment of the readership, whose desire for entertainment was satisfied by such a level of novelty and curiosity. The works of both Cypriot authors discussed here and, above all, the motivation for their citation must have also sprouted under these conditions. The wide and multifaceted philological and rhetorical activity of that time appears to be the scholarly background of the views documented in Archelaus’ and Alexander’s fragments. One particular gain from Ptolemaeus’ Καινὴ ἱστορία for the historiography of ancient literature is that it provides insight into remote literary writings and gives us a picture of the literary works in question, which otherwise barely left traces. Thanks to Ptolemaeus Chennus’ Καινὴ ἱστορία the two authors of Cypriot origin were ‘rescued’, and we can thus still wrestle with their mystery.

Appendix 1 Archelaus of Cyprus Archel. Cypr. *T1 (= D.L. 2.17): Γεγόνασι δὲ καὶ ἄλλοι τρεῖς Ἀ ρ χ έ λ α ο ι· ὁ χωρογράφος τῆς ὑπὸ Ἀλεξάνδρου πατηθείσης γῆς· ὁ τὰ Ἰδιοφυῆ ποιήσας· ἄλλος τεχνογράφος ῥήτωρ. There have been three more people with the name ‘Archelaus’: the one who described the land where Alexander set foot; the one who composed the poem entitled Those of a peculiar nature; and another [who was a] rhetor, author of a rhetorical treatise. Archel. Cypr. F1 (= Ptol. Chenn. Hist. nov. fr. 4.17 [= Phot. Bibl. 190.149b 33– 38]): Ἀ ρ χ έ λ α ο ς δὲ ὁ Κ ύ π ρ ι ο ς Στησιχόρου (Ta29 Ercoles) φησὶ τοῦ ποιητοῦ Ἑλένην Ἱμεραίαν ἐρωμένην γενέσθαι, Μικύθου θυγατέρα· ἀποστᾶσαν δὲ Στησιχόρου καὶ πρὸς Βούπαλον πορευθεῖσαν ἀμυνόμενον τῆς ὑπεροψίας τὸν ποιητὴν γράψαι ὡς Ἑλένη ἑκοῦσα ἀπῇρε· ψευδῆ δὲ τὸν περὶ πηρώσεως εἶναι λόγον. Archelaus of Cyprus says that Helen from Himera, daughter of Micythus, was the beloved of Stesichorus; and that when she left Stesichorus and came closer to Boupalus, the poet, wishing to defend himself from having been overlooked, wrote that Helen fled of her own accord; and [Archelaus says] that the account of [Stesichorus’] blindness is false.

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2 Alexander of Paphos Alex. Paph. F1 a.

Ptol. Chenn. Hist. nov. fr. 4.18 (ex Eust. 1658.48–52 [ad Od. 10.305]): Ἀ λ έ ξα ν δ ρ ο ς δὲ ὁ Π ά φ ι ο ς μυθολογεῖ Πικόλοον ἕνα τῶν Γιγάντων φυγόντα τὸν κατὰ Διὸς πόλεμον τὴν τῆς Κίρκης νῆσον καταλαβεῖν καὶ πειρᾶσθαι ἐκβαλεῖν αὐτήν· τὸν πατέρα δὲ Ἥλιον ὑπερασπίζοντα τῆς θυγατρὸς ἀνελεῖν αὐτόν· καὶ τοῦ αἵματος ῥυέντος εἰς γῆν φῦναι βοτάνην καὶ κληθῆναι αὐτὴν μῶλυ διὰ τὸν μῶλον ἤτοι πόλεμον, ἐν ᾧ ἔπεσεν ὁ ῥηθεὶς Γίγας. εἶναι δὲ αὐτῷ ἄνθος ἴκελον γάλακτι διὰ τὸν ἀνελόντα λευκὸν Ἥλιον, ῥίζαν δὲ μελαίναν διὰ τὸ τοῦ Γίγαντος μέλαν αἷμα, ἢ καὶ διὰ τὸ τὴν Κίρκην φοβηθεῖσαν ὠχριάσαι.

Alexander of Paphos relates the myth that after Picoloos, one of the Giants, fled the war against Zeus, he seized Circe’s island and attempted to oust her, but, in defending his daughter, her father Helios killed him; and that as the [Giant’s] blood poured onto the earth, a herb grew, which was called μῶλυ from the word μῶλος, that is, ‘battle’, in which the Giant mentioned above fell. [Alexander of Paphos also relates] that this herb has a milk-like flower, because white Helios was the [Giant’s] slayer, but a black root because of the Giant’s black blood, or even because Circe became pale out of fear. b.

Ptol. Chenn. Hist. nov. fr. 4.18 (ex Phot. Bibl. 190.149b39–150a1): Περὶ τοῦ παρ᾽ Ὁμήρῳ (Od. 10.305) μώλυος τῆς βοτάνης, ἣν ἐκ τοῦ αἵματος τοῦ ἀναιρεθέντος ἐν τῇ Κίρκης νήσῳ Γίγαντος λέγουσι φῦναι, ἣ καὶ τὸ ἄνθος ἔχει λευκόν· ὅτι ὁ συμμαχῶν τῇ Κίρκῃ καὶ ἀνελὼν τὸν Γίγαντα ὁ Ἥλιος ἦν· μῶλος δ᾽ ἡ μάχη, ἐξ οὗ καὶ ἡ βοτάνη.

[Ptolemaeus Chennus writes] about the Homeric μῶλυ, the herb which is said to have grown from the blood of the Giant who died on Circe’s island and which has a white flower; [it is said that] it was Helios who fought with Circe and killed the Giant. Μῶλος means ‘battle’, which also explains the name of the herb. Alex. Paph. F2 a.

Ptol. Chenn. Hist. nov. fr. 1.8 (ex Eust. 1713.19–25 [ad Od. 12.62–65]): Ἀ λ έ ξα ν δ ρ ο ς δὲ ὁ Π ά φ ι ο ς ἱστορεῖ τὸν Ὅμηρον υἱὸν Αἰγυπτίων Δμασαγόρου καὶ Αἴθρας, τροφὸν δὲ αὐτοῦ προφῆτίν τινα θυγατέρα Ὤρου ἱερέως Ἴσιδος, ἧς ἐκ τῶν μαστῶν μέλι ῥεῦσαί ποτε εἰς τὸ στόμα τοῦ παιδίου. καὶ τὸ βρέφος ἐν νυκτὶ φωνὰς ἐννέα προέσθαι, χελιδόνος, ταῶνος, περιστερᾶς, κορώνης, πέρδικος, πορφυρίωνος, ψαρός, ἀηδόνος καὶ κοττύφου· εὑρεθῆναί τε τὸ παιδίον μετὰ

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περιστερῶν ἐννέα παῖζον ἐπὶ τῆς κλίνης. εὐωχουμένην δὲ παρὰ τοῖς τοῦ παιδὸς τὴν Σίβυλλαν ἐμμανῆ γεγονυῖαν ἔπη σχεδιάσαι, ὧν ἀρχὴ “Δμασαγόρα πολύνικε”, ἐν οἷς καὶ μεγακλεῆ καὶ στεφανίτην αὐτὸν προσειπεῖν, καὶ ναὸν κτίσαι κελεῦσαι ἐννέα Πιερίδων· ἐδήλου δὲ τὰς Μούσας. τὸν δὲ καὶ τοῦτο ποιῆσαι καὶ τῷ παιδὶ ἀνδρωθέντι ἐξειπεῖν τὸ πρᾶγμα· καὶ τὸν ποιητὴν οὕτω σεμνῦναι τὰ ζῷα, οἷς βρέφος ὢν συνέπαιζε, καὶ ποιῆσαι αὐτὰ τῷ Διὶ τὴν ἀμβροσίαν κομίζοντα. Alexander of Paphos recounts the story that Homer was the son of the Egyptians Dmasagoras and Aethra, and that he was nursed by a prophetess, who was daughter of Oros, priest of Isis, and from whose breasts honey had once poured into the child’s mouth. And [he relates] that the baby uttered at night nine different cries of a swallow, a peacock, a dove, a crow, a partridge, a coot, a starling, a nightingale and a blackbird; and that the child was found playing with nine doves upon his bed. [He also recounts that] while the Sibyl feasted with the child’s parents, she raved and composed verses beginning with [the words] ‘Dmasagoras, many times a winner’ (Δμασαγόρα πολύνικε), where she described him as being ‘very famous’ (μεγακλεής) and as ‘wearing a crown’ (στεφανίτης), and she ordered the building of a temple in honour of the nine Pierids; she clearly meant the Muses. And [Alexander of Paphos relates] that he (sc. Dmasagoras) brought this to pass and revealed this to the child, when it grew up; and that the poet thus honoured the living creatures with which he played when he was an infant, and had them bring ambrosia to Zeus. b.

Ptol. Chenn. Hist. nov. fr. 1.8 (ex Phot. Bibl. 190.147a6): … καὶ περὶ Ὁμήρου καὶ πελειάδων.

[Ptolemaeus Chennus writes] also about Homer and about the doves.

Bibliography Allen, T.W., ed. (1912). Homeri opera. Tomus v: Hymnos Cyclum fragmenta Margiten Batrachomyomachiam Vitas continens. Oxford. Bassi, K. (1993). Helen and the Discourse of Denial in Stesichorus’ Palinode. Arethusa 26, pp. 51–75. Becher, F. (1932). Mikythos (1). RE xv/2, coll. 1562–1563. Bonner, S.F. (1977). Education in Ancient Rome: From the Elder Cato to the Younger Pliny. Berkeley. Bowie, E. (1998). Hipponax. DNP 5, pp. 605–607. Bowra, C.M. (1961). Greek Lyric Poetry. From Alkman to Simonides. 2nd ed. Oxford.

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Bowra, C.M. (1963). The Two Palinodes of Stesichoros. CR 13, pp. 245–252. Carey, C. (2015). Stesichorus and the Epic Cycle. In: Finglass and Kelly, eds., pp. 45–62. Chatzis, A. (1914). Der Philosoph und Grammatiker Ptolemaios Chennos. Leben, Schriftstellerei und Fragmente (mit Ausschluß der Aristotelesbiographie). Part 1: Einleitung und Text. Paderborn. Christopoulos, M. (2007). Όψεις της Ελένης στο έπος και στο δράμα—Views of Helen in Epic and Drama. Athens. Davies, M., and Finglass, P.J., eds. (2014). Stesichorus: The Poems. Cambridge. Davison, J.A. (1968). From Archilochus to Pindar. London. Dihle, A. (1957). Der Platoniker Ptolemaios. Hermes 85, pp. 314–325. Di Marco, M. (2001). Sostratos (5). DNP 11, p. 749. Ercoles, M. ed. (2013). Stesicoro: le testimonianze antiche. Bologna. Finglass, P.J. (2015). Stesichorus, Master of Narrative. In: Finglass and Kelly, eds., pp. 83– 97. Finglass, P.J., and Kelly, A. eds. (2015). Stesichorus in Context. Cambridge. Fogagnolo, M. (2020). Gli studia Homerica di Zoilo di Amfipoli tra critica letteraria e retorica. Diss., Pisa. Fornaro, S. (2001). Sostratos (3). DNP 11, p. 748 Fränkel, H. (1993). Dichtung und Philosophie des frühen Griechentums. 4th ed. Munich. Gargini, M. (2000). Moiro. DNP 8, p. 344. Geffcken, J. (1932). Moiro. RE XV /2, coll. 2512–2513. Gossen, H. (1913). Hipponax (1). RE viii/2, coll. 1890–1907. Gudeman, A. (1927). Λύσεις. RE xiii/2, coll. 2511–2529. Hägg, Th. (1975). Photios als Vermittler antiker Literatur. Untersuchungen zur Technik des Referierens und Exzerpierens in der Bibliotheke. Uppsala. Hercher, R. (1855/56). Über die Glaubwürdigkeit der Neuen Geschichte des Ptolemaeus Chennus. Jahrbücher für klassische Philologie Suppl. Vol. 1, pp. 269–293 Heubeck, A., and Hoekstra, A. (1990). A Commentary on Homer’s Odyssey. Vol. 2: Books ix–xvi. Oxford. Homeyer, H. (1977). Die spartanische Helena und der trojanische Krieg: Wandlungen und Wanderungen eines Sagenkreises vom Altertum bis zur Gegenwart. Wiesbaden. Hose, M. (2008). Ptolemaios Chennos und das Problem der Schwindelliteratur. In: S. Heilen et al., eds., In Pursuit of Wissenschaft. Festschrift für William M. Calder iii zum 75. Geburtstag. Hildesheim, pp. 177–196. Hunter, R. (2015). Sweet Stesichorus. Theocritus 18 and the Helen revisited. In: Finglass and Kelly, eds., pp. 145–163. Hutchinson, G.O. (2001). Greek Lyric Poetry. A Commentary on Selected Larger Papers. Oxford. Jacoby, F. (1933). Homerisches. Hermes 68, pp. 1–50. Kelly, A. (2015). Stresichorus’ Homer. In: Finglass and Kelly, eds., pp. 21–44.

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Kennedy, G.A. (1994). A New History of Classical Rhetoric. Princeton, NJ. Kennedy, G.A. (2003). Progymnasmata. Greek Textbooks of Prose Composition and Rhetoric. Translated with Introductions and Notes. Atlanta. Kivilo, M. (2010). Early Greek Poets’ Lives. The Shaping of the Tradition. Leiden/Boston. Lehrs, K. (1882). De Aristarchi studiis Homericis. 3rd ed. Leipzig. Lloyd-Jones, H., and Parsons, P.J., eds. (1983). Supplementum Hellenisticum. Berlin/New York. Lombardo, S. (2000). Homer, Odyssey. Introduction by Sheila Murnaghan. Indianapolis/Cambridge. Maas, P. (1929). Stesichoros (1). RE III A 2, coll. 2458–2462. Martini, E. (1922). Konon (9). RE xi/2, coll. 1335–1338. Matthaios, S. (2001). Ptolemaios Chennos (64). DNP 10, pp. 558–559. Matthaios, S. (2014). Philologie. In: B. Zimmermann and A. Rengakos, eds., Die Literatur der klassischen und hellenistischen Zeit. Munich, pp. 502–553. Montana, F. (2020). Hellenistic Scholarship. In: Montanari, ed., pp. 132–259. Montanari, F. (1995). The Mythographus Homericus. In: J.G.J. Abbenes, S.R. Slings, and I. Sluiter, eds., Greek Literary Theories after Aristotle. A Collection of Papers in Honour of D.M. Schenkeveld. Amsterdam, pp. 135–172. Montanari, F. (1997). Asklepiades (8). DNP 2, p. 92. Montanari, F. (1999). Konon (4). DNP 6, p. 708. Montanari, F., ed. (2020). History of Ancient Greek Scholarship. From the Beginnings to the End of the Byzantine Age. Leiden/Boston. Novokhatko, A. (2020). The Origins and Growth of Scholarship in Pre-Hellenistic Greece. In: Montanari, ed., pp. 9–131. Pagani, L. ed. (2007). Asclepiade di Mirlea. I frammenti degli scritti omerici. Introduzione, edizione e commento. Rome. Pfeiffer, R. (1968). History of Classical Scholarship. From the Beginnings to the End of the Hellenistic Age. Oxford. Reitzenstein, R. (1895). Archelaos (34). RE ii/1, coll. 453–454. Robert, C. (1897). Bupalos (2). RE iii/1, col. 1054. Schironi, F. (2018). The Best of the Grammarians. Aristarchus of Samothrace on the Iliad. Ann Arbor. Sider, D. (1989). The Blinding of Stesichoros. Hermes 117, pp. 423–431. Ten Brink, B. (1851). Hipponactea. Philologus 6, pp. 37–80 and 727–730. Tomberg, K.-H. (1967). Die Kaine Historia des Ptolemaios Chennos. Eine literarhistorische und quellenkritische Untersuchung. Diss., Bonn. Treadgold, W.T. (1980). The Nature of the Bibliotheca of Photius. Washington, DC. Voskos, A.I. ed. (2002). Ἀρχαία Κυπριακὴ Γραμματεία. Vol. 3: Πεζογραφία. Nicosia. Wendel, C. (1935). Mythographie. RE xvi/2, coll. 1352–1374. Wernicke, K. (1893). Aithra (1). RE i/1, coll. 1107–1109.

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West, M.L. (2015). Epic, Lyric, and Lyric Epic. In: Finglass and Kelly, eds., pp. 63–80. Woodbury, L. (1967). Helen and the Palinode. Phoenix 21, pp. 157–176. Zajonz, S. (2002). Isokrates’ Enkomion auf Helena. Ein Kommentar. Göttingen.

chapter 18

Cyprus and Cypriots in the Greek Documentary Papyri and Inscriptions Amphilochios Papathomas

For most of the Hellenistic period, Cyprus was part of the Ptolemaic Kingdom.* In this period, the kingdom of the Lagidae emerged as a most powerful political, military and economic force in the eastern Mediterranean, expanding its external territories beyond Cyprus, to Cyrene, Phoenice, Syria, South and West Asia Minor, Crete, Aegean islands and Thrace. After Egypt, Cyprus was the region to remain under Ptolemaic control the longest, and contributed significantly to the expansion of Ptolemaic political, military and economic power in the eastern Mediterranean.1 Cyprus came under the command of Ptolemy i in 311/310 bc, after the death of Nicocreon, last king of Salamis, and Nicocles, last king of Paphos. Subsequently, it temporarily passed to the control of Demetrius Poliorcetes after his victory over the Ptolemaic fleet at the battle of Salamis in 306 bc.2 Cyprus was conquered again by Egypt in 295/294 bc,3 and it remained under the command of the Lagidae for nearly the whole of the Hellenistic era. During the second and first centuries bc, Cyprus became involved in the dynastic conflicts of the Ptolemies. After 163bc, it became an object of dispute between Ptolemy vi Philometor and his brother, Ptolemy viii Euergetes ii, which would last decades.4 In the late second and early first century bc, the island’s involve-

* This study is an updated and revised version of a paper published in Modern Greek in the Epeteris of the School of Philosophy of the University of Athens seventeen years ago (EEAth 36 [2004–2005], pp. 121–160). 1 For an overview of existing information on Cyprus as an external possession of the Ptolemaic Kingdom, with a critical commentary on the relevant sources, see Hill 1940, 173–211; Bagnall 1976, 38–79; Mehl 1995, 114–124, and Mehl 2000. For a detailed map of ancient Cyprus, see Talbert et al. 2000, map 72 (ed. D. Rupp). 2 On this sea battle, see Wheatley 2001, 133–156. 3 On the history of Cyprus during the period of the wars of the Diadochi, see, e.g., Mehl 1995, 99–114 and Mehl 2000, 627–642. 4 On the role of Cyprus in this dispute, see, e.g., Hill 1940, 188–194, Mehl 1995, 119–120 and Mehl 2000, 647–648.

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ment in the conflicts of the Lagidae reached its peak. The dispute between Cleopatra iii and her younger son, Ptolemy x Alexander, and on the other hand her elder son, Ptolemy ix Soter ii, which began shortly after 116bc, led the latter to distance himself from Egypt and establish an independent kingdom in Cyprus. He reigned there from 107/106 bc until 88 bc, at which point he managed (after his brother’s death during a naval incident near Cyprus) to regain power in Alexandria and reunite Cyprus with Egypt.5 Cyprus was annexed by the Romans in 58 bc, but for some time control over the island fluctuated between the Romans and the Ptolemaic Kingdom. The last queen of Egypt, Cleopatra vii, seems to have controlled the island periodically. Her command of Cyprus, temporarily interrupted in the summer of 41 bc, was resumed between 37 and 34 bc (possibly at the start of 35 bc), and was terminated permanently by her death and the annexation of her kingdom to the Roman Empire after the battle of Actium.6 The Ptolemaic presence in Cyprus during the Hellenistic period is reflected in a variety of written sources and archaeological monuments which have been found in various parts of the island. These include inscriptions that accompany statues of the Ptolemies or their governors,7 coins,8 and portraits of the Ptolemies preserved on ceramics9 and seals.10 Attested names of Ptolemaic officials serving on Cyprus include those of Egyptian origin, as well as names that denote origin from other parts of the kingdom.11 The prolonged Lagid domination of Cyprus is also evidenced by non-Greek written sources found on the island, for example on Phoenician inscriptions.12

5 6 7 8

9 10

11 12

See Hill 1940, 199–204, Mehl 1995, 121–122 and Mehl 2000, 648–649. See Bicknell 1977, with a detailed discussion of sources; see also Hill 1940, 210–211 and Mehl 2000., 657–658. See, e.g., Roesch 1967; Pouilloux 1971 and Pouilloux 1972, esp. xxviii–xxix. See, e.g., Destrooper-Georgiades 1998 (on the late fourth century bc); Mørkholm–Kromann 1984 (on the coin production of Salamis, Citium, Amathus and Paphos in the first half of the second century bc); Michaelidou-Nicolaou 1993 (includes publication of coins of the Ptolemaic and Roman periods from Paphos and the Ammohostos region); Mørkholm 1987 and Mørkholm 1983 (on the late Ptolemaic period). See, e.g., Yon 1985, with depictions of Arsinoe ii Philadelphos and Arsinoe iii, dating to the third century bc. See, e.g., the rich finds made by Kyriakos and Ino Nicolaou at the ‘House of Dionysus’ in New Paphos, which date from the period 145–15 bc. On these finds see, for example, Kyrieleis 1996, with older bibliography. On this last case, see., e.g., Pouilloux 1975. These inscriptions date mainly from the third century bc and come from Idalium (Dali), Lapethos and Larnaca of Lapethos; see Teixidor 1988.

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In what follows, I will refer to the Cypriot presence in Ptolemaic, Roman and Byzantine Egypt on the basis of Greek papyri and inscriptions,13 touching on aspects of Cypriot-Egyptian contact (political, economical, administrative and cultural) that have been largely neglected by research. These sources are listed in the relevant Tables in the Appendix.

1

Sources and Limitations

Cypriots were renowned for their maritime and commercial activities, and are often mentioned in ancient sources outside Cyprus.14 The number of known references to Cyprus, Cypriots and Cypriot produce, measures and vases, in Greek documents from Egypt (see Appendix), can be considered high, if compared to numbers pertaining to the presence of residents of other regions in Graeco-Roman Egypt.15 However, because of the special circumstances that determine the survival (or non-survival) of papyri, and because of the fragmentary character of the evidence, our handling of the relevant material is faced with certain methodological difficulties, to which I will now briefly turn. Statistical analysis of the evidence is marred by the fact that very few papyri survive from Alexandria and, in general, Lower Egypt, due to the humid conditions in the Nile Delta region. The loss of papyrological material from the city that constituted the administrative epicentre of the Ptolemaic outside possessions and the link between Cyprus and Egypt in the entire Graeco-Roman period, has resulted in a much-reduced number of testimonies regarding the financial and cultural contacts between the residents of Egypt and Cypriot merchants, travellers, artists and mercenaries, as well as in the unequal distribution of these testimonies. The large number of Cypriots permanently residing in Alexandria since early Ptolemaic times is suggested by surviving tomb inscriptions that honour Cypriots who died and received burial in the Lagid capital;

13

14 15

For the papyrological abbreviations used in this paper, see J.F. Oates–R.S. Bagnall–S.J. Clackson—A.A. O’Brien–J.D. Sosin–T.G. Wilfong–K.A. Worp, Checklist of Editions of Greek, Latin, Demotic and Coptic Papyri, Ostraca and Tablets, Exeter 20015 (and online: https://​ papyri.info/docs/checklist). For corrections to papyrus documents, see Berichtigungsliste der griechischen Papyrusurkunden aus Ägypten, Berlin/Leipzig 1922ff., founded by F. Preisigke and published currently by P.W. Pestman and H.-A. Rupprecht (thirteen volumes have appeared to date; abbreviated here as BL). For the abbreviations of editions of Greek inscriptions from Egypt used in the present article, see the bibliography at the end of this contribution. See Nicolaou 1986; Pouilloux 1973, 399–413 and Mehl 1995b, 48–49. On Ptolemaic Egypt, see, e.g., La’da 2002.

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examples are the tombs of the Salaminian Kleon (I.Mus.Alex. 292 [= SB i 399], 1– 2; testimony no. 21 in Table; late 4th/early 3rd c. bc) and of an unknown Idalieus (I.Mus.Alex. 302 [= SB i 3480], 1; 27; 3rd/2nd c. bc). Texts like P.Lond. vii 1951 (24; 257 bc) attest to the visit of Cypriot officials to Alexandria. The handling of the material is made yet more difficult because of the fragmentary character of many papyrus texts and the frequent lack of information regarding the broader context of the evidence. Interpretive difficulties further emerge from the fact that many post-classical Cypriot toponyms and ethnonyms also occur in other areas of the Graeco-Roman world. It is thus difficult to decide whether a place-name or an ethnic name refers to Cyprus or to a different region in Greece or the Graeco-Roman East.16 To name one example, the frequent references to Cnidus and Cnidians or to the measure Κνίδιον on papyri and inscriptions of Egypt are mostly (and rightly) associated with Carian Cnidus.17 But given the fact that Cyprus was part of the Ptolemaic Kingdom, it cannot be ruled out that some of these texts refer to the Cypriot Cnidus, which is located 30km north-east of Salamis. Respectively, the two Pergamenes who are attested on papyri and inscriptions of Ptolemaic Egypt18 in all probability originate from Mysian Pergamos, although it is possible that they originated from some other city of that name in the Hellenistic East, such as Cypriot Pergamos. However, in the case of the Salaminians, we can be relatively certain that they originate in the important Cypriot city of Salamis, which belonged to the Ptolemaic Kingdom and had much closer contact with Egypt than the homonymous island of the Saronic Gulf. Finally, we can be certain that the ethnic Σολεύς, which occurs in documentary papyri of the Ptolemaic and Roman eras,19 refers to a resident not of the city of Soli in Cyprus, but of the Cilician

16 17 18 19

On the difficulty of defining the exact origin and meaning of ethnic names that occur in Egypt, see, e.g., La’da 2002, pp. xlv–xlvi. See., e.g., P.Cair.Zen. i 59034 (= PSI iv 435 = P.Edg. 7 = SB iii 6713), 12 (257bc): παρεγένετό τις ἐκ Κνίδου. See La’da 2002, no. 1953 (221/220bc) and no. 1956 (152–145 [152–149?] bc). See PSI vi 626, 1–2 (263–227bc): Θεόδωρος Λέοντος | Σολεὺς κτλ. (La’da 2002, no. 2449; on the correct reading of the name, see P.Lugd.Bat. XXI A, σ. 152), P.Tebt. iii.1 815, fr. 7, 34–35 (228–221 bc): [ἐμίσ]θωσεν Ἀρίστων Ἀθηναῖος τῶν Ἀνδρίσκου (ἑκατοντάρουρος) | [ ̣ ̣ ̣ ̣] ̣ιω̣ ̣ ι Σολεῖ τῶν Πτολεμαίου κτλ. (La’da 2002, no. 2451), P.Petr.2 i 25, 1, 13 (see also BL X 162; 226/225bc): τάδε διέθετο νοῶν [καὶ φρονῶν Ἀριστοκράτ(?)]ης Φίλωνος Σολ̣[εὺς τῆς ἐπιγονῆς] κτλ. (cf. the comment on vv. 13–14 of the papyrus: “The testator comes from Soloi, a town in Cilicia”, La’da 2002, no. 2452), I. Alex.Ptol. 44 (= SB i 336, with supplement on p. 663), 4 (3rd c. bc): Κ̣βωλλας Λαλατος Σο̣[λεύς (?)] (La’da 2002, no. 2450), I.Memn.Abydos 312, 1–3 (Ptolemaic period): Δη[μήτριος] | Δημητρίου | Σολεύς (La’da 2002, no. 2448), P.Coll.Youtie ii 68, 9–10 (ad 266): … ἐκ τοῦ Διονυσίου Σολέως κλήρου ἀρουρῶν εἴκο[σι] | ἓξ κτλ. Cf. also the inscription from Chalcis (Euboea) OGIS ii 760, 2–8, which confirms the links of Ariston from

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city of the same name. The ethnic name of a resident of the Cypriot city Σόλοι is Σόλιος20 and is attested in Egypt on a single inscription (SB i 1059, 1 [37]); it remains unattested in papyri.

2

References to Cyprus in Official Documents

An important, though not particularly rich group of evidence is that of official documents mentioning Cyprus. The prolonged absorption of Cyprus in the Lagid kingdom is reflected in passages that name regions under Ptolemaic control. The inscription OGIS i 54 (1; 240 bc) mentions Cyprus among many other outside possessions (Libya, Syria, Phoenicia, Lycia, Caria, the Cyclades), which Ptolemy iii inherited from his father. An important piece of Egyptian evidence about the role played by Cyprus in the internal conflicts of the Lagid house in the middle of the second century bc is the inscription 201 of the Museum of Nicosia;21 known today also as C.Ord.Ptol. 41–4222. The inscription preserves two texts of Ptolemy viii Euergetes ii, dated to 145–144 bc, that is a little after the death of Ptolemy vi Philometor and the (via Cyprus and Pelousion) reconquering of Egypt by Euergetes ii. The first text (C.Ord.Ptol. 41) is an amnesty decree of the new master of Egypt, while the second (C.Ord.Ptol. 42; 3) is a letter to his troops in Egypt (ταῖς ἐν Κύπρῳ τεταγμέναις πεζικαῖς καὶ ἱππικαῖς καὶ ναυτικαῖς δυνάμεσι; ll. 16– 17), by means of which he offers them the privilege of life-long sitarchia (l. 25). The allocation of this privilege constitutes a concrete form of recognition by the ruler of the troops’ contribution to his restitution to the throne of Egypt and shows the geopolitical importance of Egypt in the dynastic conflicts of the time.23

20 21 22

23

Soli to the Ptolemaic court: ἐπειδὴ Ἀρίστων Ἡρακλείδου Σολεὺς εὔνους ὑπάρχων διατελεῖ | τῶι δήμωι τῶι Χαλκιδέων … ἐκπεμφθεὶς δὲ καὶ ὑπὸ τοῦ βασιλέως Πτολεμαίου του πρεσβυτέρου … Ἀρίστωνα Ἡρακλείδου Σολῆ κτλ. On Σολεῖς in Egypt, see also Launey 1949, 477. See Launey 1949, 477 (n. 7) and Robert 1946, 72. First edited by Mitford 1938. Lenger 1980, nos. 41–42 (95–102), with a critical edition of the text, list of previous editions and extensive secondary literature. From the more recent bibliography, see Piejko 1987, with a re-edition of the text and critical notes, as well as Mehl 2000, 648. Although found in Cyprus, this inscription is included in the material of the present study, since its two texts were composed in Egypt after the reinstatement of Ptolemy viii to the throne of the Lagidae. The extremely fast reproduction of these texts in Egypt makes sense, since they referred to matters concerning the island (see below). Generally on the military importance of Cyprus for the Ptolemaic Kingdom in the whole Hellenistic period, see Mehl 1996, 215–234, with earlier bibliography on this issue, and

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Important information demonstrating the dynamic character of Cypriot agriculture and the financial importance of Cyprus for Egypt in exceptional circumstances is offered by the trilingual inscription I.Mus.Caire 22186, 23–27 and I.Mus.Caire 22187, 16–19 (2).24 The text contains a decree in hieroglyphics, Demotic and Greek in honour of king Ptolemy iii Euergetes and his wife, queen Berenike, which is signed by various groups of priests (ἀρχιερεῖς, προφῆται, στολισταί, πτεροφόροι, ἱερογραμματεῖς). The decree lists the benefactions of the kings to Egypt, which include the concern that they showed at times of grain deprivation, so as to arrange imports of grain from Syria, Phoenice, Cyprus and other regions of the Mediterranean.25 The fact that Cyprus’ agricultural production was able, at times of need, to provide Egypt, the granary of the Mediterranean, with adequate quantities for the partial cover of the needs of its great population reflects not only a close relationship between the island and the country of the Nile, but also Cyprus’ healthy agricultural economy.26

3

Cypriots as Permanent Residents of Egypt

Papyrological and epigraphical sources prove that there were already Cypriots residing permanently in Egypt in the third century bc, and indeed not only in Alexandria, where the aforementioned (ch. i) funerary inscriptions originated, but also on the Egyptian mainland. Two interesting testimonies for the presence of Cypriots in the latter consist of the petition of the Salaminian Timokrates to an unknown Ptolemaic king (P.Tebt. iii.2 933, col. ιι 10 ff. [3rd c. (after 210?) bc]; 26), and the loan granted to one Ptolemy, son of Apollonios, by Salaminia Isidora, the daughter of Didymos (her brother Dionysios, who had enlisted in the Ptolemaic army and served as warden; P.Bad. ii 2 [130bc]; 29–30). The first papyrus, which comes from Ptolemais Hormou of the Arsin-

24 25

26

Mehl 2000, 660–670. On the importance of Cyprus for the Ptolemaic navy, see also Hauben 1987. Copies of the inscription have been found in various regions of Egypt; see, more extensively, 2 in the Table. Grain imports to Ptolemaic Egypt from other Mediterranean regions are attested already from earlier times; cf. the piece of information preserved by Athenaeus (v 209b) that Hieron of Syracuse donated a ship full of grain to Ptolemy Philadelphos, because there was σπάνις σίτου in Egypt at that time. On the financial importance of Cyprus for the Ptolemies and, more generally, on the island’s economy in the Hellenistic period, see Mehl 1995b; on this inscription, see esp. p. 35. A similar sort of help was offered by private citizens of Cyprus in Athens in 330/329 bc during the grain shortage of the period 330–326bc; see, e.g., Hill 1940, 173.

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papathomas

oite nome, proves that the Cypriots, as residents of the kingdom, had the right to send petitions to the King when they fell victims of injustice. The second papyrus, which comes from Hermonthis, demonstrates the active participation of Cypriots in Egypt’s economy as permanent residents of that country. Another telling example of the Cypriots’ integration in Ptolemaic society, which had already started during the third century bc, is offered by the papyrus P.Tebt. iii.1 815, fr. 4, 2–4 (Arsinoite nome, 223–222bc;27 25). Ptolemaios, a “Σαλαμείνιος (sic) τῆς ἐπιγονῆς”, whose origin from Cypriot Salamis is extremely likely.28 It acknowledges in writing the receipt of a sum of money from Cyranaean Theuteime, daughter of Herakleides, as dowry (φερνή) for her daughter Theuxena. Finally, the systematic integration of Cypriots in the every-day life of Egypt emerges from testimonies, according to which the Cypriots were already carrying out typical Egyptian activities in the early Ptolemaic period. Such a testimony is preserved in inscription SEG xvi 864 (21) (= SB i 4144 = SB viii 10019 [21]) (22), which was carved in the third or second century bc in Abu Simbel and preserves the name of an elephant hunter from Curium in Egypt: Ἀρίστων Τιμοδώ̣ρου Κουριεὺς | ἐλεφαντοθήρας κτλ. An elephant hunter was also perhaps Βοῦτρυς, also from Curium, who perpetuated his name in another engraving from Abu Simbel (SEG xvi 864 [23] [= SB i 4147 = SB viii 10019 (23)], 1–3) (36), which also dates to the Ptolemaic era.29

4

Visits of Administrative Officials from Cyprus to Egypt

An interesting group of contacts between Cyprus and Egypt is suggested by the visits paid to Egypt (especially Alexandria) by state administrators and members of the Ptolemaic aristocracy who were active in Cyprus. Information about such visits is given by the letter P.Lond. vii 1951 (257bc) (24), whose recipient is Zeno, the administrator of the estate of the powerful chief finance minister of Egypt (dioiketes), Apollonios, in the Arsinoite nome. The sender of the letter is a certain Menes, who resided in Alexandria and was in all likelihood an employee of Apollonios. The epistle mentions, among other things, the dispatch of a bovine skelos, which was gifted by a certain Satyrion, a house-keeper

27 28 29

For the date of this papyrus, see BL VI 200. Cf. La’da 2002, no. 2387. Ptolemaios is also regarded as a Cypriot by Michaelidou-Nicolaou 1976, Π 66 (p. 105). On these two texts and the relationship of ‘elephant hunters’ with the Ptolemaic army, see Launey 1949, 488.

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from Cyprus, to Apollonios. The fact that the letter was written in Alexandria reinforces the assumption that Satyrion went there by boat from Cyprus, and wished to present an amount of meat as a gift on the occasion of his visit. The gift was delivered to Menes, who then forwarded it to Zeno. The phrasing does not allow us to determine whether Satyrion was a born Cypriot or an official who served in Cyprus but originated from some other region.30 The second possibility seems more likely, since J. Pouilloux has proposed, using very convincing arguments, the identification of Satyrion with Amphipolite Satyrion, son of Eumelos, who dedicated a statue to Ptolemy ii Philadelphos in Cypriot Salamis.31 In any case, the papyrus offers an important example of the movement of people between Ptolemaic Cyprus and Egypt, which demonstrates the close administrative contact between the two regions. The activities of administrative officials, who served in Ptolemaic Cyprus, outside the island and their close connections with metropolitan Egypt are confirmed by epistle P.Cair.Zen. i 59016, Verso 8–9 (23), which was written in 259 bc in Phoenice, part of the then Ptolemaic Kingdom, by the ἐν Κύπρωι γραμματεύς Demetrios, and which is addressed to the aforementioned Zeno, the house-steward of Apollonios the dioiketes, and refers to matters of a financial nature.

5

Cypriot Visitors (Travellers, Mercenaries) to Egyptian Antiquities

Visitors to a foreign land do not usually leave written traces, unless, perchance, their fame guarantees a record of their visit in a literary text or document. An exception to this rule is provided by short texts in the form of graffiti carved on monuments by visitors. Such texts usually consist of the visitor’s name, his origin and the date of his visit to the monument. An important number of graffiti, seemingly left behind by Cypriot visitors, is found at the Memnoneion of Abydos and in the temple of Akoris at Thebes (Karnak). It is worth mentioning that the five published graffiti at the Memnoneion, which are confidently ascribed to Cypriots,32 are dated to an

30

31

32

The editor of this papyrus, T.C. Skeat, does not take sides in this matter; cf. his comment (p. 40): “A visiting official from Cyprus, who took the opportunity to send a present of meat for the table of the Dioiketes”. Pouilloux 1971. The text of the inscription that accompanied the statue (inv. no. 6041 [Ε 118], no. 30 of the corpus of Salamis [Τ 409]) is the following: Βασιλέα Πτολεμαῖον | Πτολεμαίου Σωτῆρος | Σατυρίων Εὐμήλου Ἀμφιπολίτης. Two of these belong to Salaminians (I.Memn.Abydos 426, 2 [archaic period]; 9] and

370

papathomas

extensive time period, from the archaic period to the Ptolemaic era. Therefore, visits by Cypriots to Egypt started before Alexander’s conquest and continued after it. The graffiti at the temple of Akoris at Karnak (SEG xxxi 1549–1555; 11– 17) include a significant number of testimonies from the first quarter of the fourth century bc, which suggests the active presence of the Cypriot element in pre-Hellenistic Egypt. Who are these Cypriots and how did they end up in these regions, so far from the Mediterranean coast? Without excluding travellers and merchants (this is perhaps the case of the Solian προσκυνητής in text 37), most of the relevant evidence concerns mercenaries serving in Egypt, as research has already shown.33 Indeed, we must surely be dealing with homogeneous military bodies, which explains the concentration of a large number of graffiti by different persons of the same ethnic (i.e. of Cypriot) provenance, on the same monument. In particular, the aforementioned graffiti in Greek script at the temple of Akoris (SEG xxxi 1549–1555; 11–17]), as well as the more than fifty graffiti in Cypriot syllabic script, which are found at the same monument, must come from the same group of Cypriots, most probably mercenaries stationed at Thebes. Similar evidence for Cypriot military men also survives from later times. More specifically, the inscription I.Portes 54 (2nd c. bc; 31–33)34 preserves names of Cypriots, mainly Paphians, who were stationed at Koptos in Southern Egypt. The military status of these Cypriots explains their presence in the Egyptian inland, as well as shedding light on the fortunes of Cyprus in the late classical and Hellenistic periods, when many of its inhabitants were forced to work as mercenaries in Egypt in order to make a living. The fact that there is as yet no complete edition of the graffiti of the ancient monuments of Egypt (or of other regions of the Graeco-Roman world) allows us to hope for a future increase of information, both about the presence of Cypriot militaries in inland Egypt and about the interest shown in the monuments of foreign civilisations during the later classical and Hellenistic periods.

33

34

I.Memn.Abydos 531 [= SB i 1034], 1–2 [4th/3rd c. bc]; 18]), two to Paphians (I.Memn.Abydos 104 [= SB i 3746], 1–2 [4th/3rd c. bc]; 19] and I.Memn.Abydos 234, 1–2 [Ptolemaic period]; 35]) and one to a Solian (SB i 1059, 1–3 [Ptolemaic period]; 37]). Further engravings found at the Memnoneion are possibly the work of Cypriots; cf. below the introduction in the Table. See, e.g., Launey 1949, 488 and Nicolaou 1986, 430. I. Nicolaou observes that a number of Cypriots mentioned at the engravings of Abydos (more specifically, nos. 18, 19 and 35 in Table, as well as the Onas of the inscription I.Memn.Abydos 233, 1, who was possibly a Cypriot) must have served as mercenaries. Μ. Launey does not exclude the possibility that the Solian Παύρων, of engraving 37, was also a military man. I.Portes, pp. 176–177.

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6

371

Cypriot-Egyptian Commercial Relations—The Use of Cypriot Measures / Jars Πάφιον and Κουριακόν in Egypt

The Cypriots were an island people with cities and ports bursting with commercial activity.35 Commercial activities and the manning of the island’s administrative machine are the commonest reasons for the sojourn of inhabitants of Egypt on Cyprus. This is confirmed by ample written evidence from the island,36 as well as by texts occasionally found in Egypt. The (unfortunately) only fragmentarily preserved application BGU VIII 1863 (64–44bc) (4) refers to the—possibly involuntary—stay on Cyprus of a number of persons, probably including the applicant and some others connected with him. It is possible that this text, which was found in the Herakleopolite nome in Middle Egypt, was composed on Cyprus, but because of its fragmentary character this is uncertain. An important factor in the reconstruction of a region’s financial and commercial history is the study of the system of weights and measures used. In Greek documents of Egyptian provenance, we find two Cypriot measures/jars, the Πάφιον37 and the Κουριακόν,38 both exclusively during the Ptolemaic period. Their dissemination in Egypt strongly indicates a close commercial relationship between the country of the Nile and Ptolemaic Cyprus. The concentration of testimonies in the third century bc reinforces the assumption that the Cypriot-Egyptian commercial relationship had then already reached its peak. The appearance of the Paphion and the Kouriakon in the Arsinoite nome 35

36 37

38

Out of fifteen important Cypriot cities in the Ptolemaic period, eleven were coastal and dispersed along the Cypriot coastline; ten were known to have one or more ports, see more extensively Mehl 1995b, 43–45. More generally on the geography, history and customs of the Cypriot cities from archaic times to the Roman period, see Watkin 1988; on the Ptolemaic and Roman periods, see esp. 112–130, 181–532 and 542–586. See, e.g., Nicolaou 1968 and Nicolaou 1986 for a study of the evidence for the presence of foreigners in Hellenistic Cyprus. On Πάφιον, which is only attested twice in Egypt, and more specifically on the papyrus P.Cair.Zen. iv 59741, 1 and 28 (Philadelphia, mid-3rd c. bc) (50–51), see Kruit–Worp 2000, 86–87 and 90. On Κουριακόν, which occurs three times in Egyptian documents, and more specifically in P.Cair.Zen. iv 59680, 11 (263–256bc) (52) and P.Cair.Zen. iv 59741, 14.21 (mid-3rd c. bc) (53– 54), see the geographical dictionary of Calderini and Daris 1935ff., vol. iii 149 s.v. Κουριακός, where it is noted that the term originates in Cypriot Kourion, and mainly the article Kruit– Worp 2000, 86–87, which discusses in detail loci from papyri that bear testimony to the use of the Kouriakon. C.C. Edgar wonders whether the terms Πάφιον and Κουριακόν constitute two names for the same measure-jar (P.Cair.Zen. iv 59741, comm. on l. 1 [p. 167]). The issue has not been definitively settled. Bibliographical updates on recent archaeological research into this matter can be found in Kruit–Worp 2000, 87 (n. 51).

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papathomas

proves that the use of these Cypriot measures had already extended to the south, to Middle Egypt, and perhaps to the whole country, in the early Hellenistic period.39

7

Cypriots and the Fine Arts

We already have substantial knowledge of Egypt’s influence on the artistic life of Cyprus.40 Conversely, the evidence from Greek papyri and inscriptions of Egypt for the presence of Cyprus in Egyptian arts, is limited to the inscription Ι.Delta i.2, pp. 746–747 (= SB iii 6049), 1–3 (4th c. bc) (10) at the base of a statue in Naukratis, Lower Egypt. The Cypriot sculptor signed his now lost creation with the phrase: ‘Sicon the Cypriot made this’. Given that Naukratis was a very ancient promontory of Hellenism in Egypt and Greeks had a strong presence there from the archaic period, we cannot be sure whether the statue in question dates from the late classical or Hellenistic period.

8

The Worship of Apollo Hylates in Egypt

During the Hellenistic and Roman periods, the worship of many Egyptian divinities became widespread in the broader Mediterranean region, including Cyprus. Ammon, Harpokrates, Isis, Osiris and Serapis are some well-known examples of deities, whose worship acquired syncretistic features.41 Moreover, the worship of deified dead kings and queens of the Ptolemaic dynasty became popular in Cyprus.42 Moreover, by the middle of the third century bc, Cypriot-Egyptian relations had become so close (due to the absorption of both Cyprus and Egypt in the same kingdom) as to allow for the presence of Cypriot worship in Egypt, and indeed in the south and in connection with a top official of the Ptolemaic state.

39

40 41 42

On the presence of Egyptian ceramics in Cyprus and of Cypriot ceramics in Egypt as an indication of the close commercial and financial relations between the two regions, see also Ballet 1995. See, e.g., in connection with the Dionysiac technitae Aneziri 1994. See, e.g., Nicolaou 1978, 849–853 and Buchholz 1991. Of exceptional interest is the expansion of the cult of Arsinoe, wife of Ptolemy ii Philadelphos, who was deified after her death (see Anastassiades 1998), as well as of other Ptolemies, such as, e.g., the θεῶν εὐεργετῶν, Soter ii Lathyros, Cleopatra iii etc., on whose cult see Hill 1940, 182–185.

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In particular, in the dedicatory inscription I.Portes 47 (= OGIS i 53), 1 (Koptos, ca. 246 bc) (55), Apollonios—probably the same powerful man known from Zeno’s archive—mentions ‘Apollo Hylates’, whose worship was local at Curium in southern Cyprus. On Curium and Apollo Hylates, see also the paper of F. Mitthof in the present volume.

9

Cyprus and Cypriot Cities as Toponyms in Graeco-Roman Egypt

Naming new regions after the place of origin of the population settling in these regions is a widespread practice, which started in antiquity and continues to the present day. This practice is a valuable source of information about a region’s history, since it implicitly registers the provenance of new residents. Such an instance seems to be preserved in papyrus P.Lund. vi 6 (= SB vi 9356), 6 (copy of a testament, ad 190–191) (8), which mentions a ‘topos Kourios’ in the village Tebtunis of the Arsinoite nome. The etymology of the place-name is not obvious, but a connection with Curium in Cyprus is likely. A later example for an epoikion, i.e. a very small village or settlement, which carried the name of Cyprus (‘Kyprou epoikion’), is found in papyrus SB xx 14172 (= P.Lond. iii 1143b descr.), 1 of the seventh century ad (7), which hails from the Hermopolite nome in Egypt.43 The same epoikion is seemingly preserved in corrupt form (Κέπρο instead of Κύπρου) in the papyrus P.Bad. iv 93, 95 (6), which also comes from Hermopolite and is dated to ca. the seventh century ad.44 It is plausible to assume that the first inhabitants of the epoikion, perhaps not more than thirty or forty people, and probably the majority of inhabitants at the time of composition of these two texts were of Cypriot origin. The existence of such a village in Hermopolites is interesting, as it indicates Cypriot presence in Middle and Upper Egypt during the Byzantine and early Arabic periods.

43 44

On the date and origin of this text, see Morelli 2002, 59. The identification of the toponym Κέπρο in the papyrus in question with ἐποίκιον Κύπρου is also suggested by Morelli 2002. Commenting on P.Bad. iv 93, 95, Drew-Bear 1979, 138 mentions J. Yoyotte’s assumption that the toponym could be related to the modern-day toponym Choubrah, which occurs at the Nile Delta, and which, according to Ch. Kuentz, corresponds to the Aramaic word Kafrô (“village”). This assumption now seems less plausible, since the evidence from SB xx 14172 about an epoikion Kyprou in the Hermopolite nome makes more likely the association of the toponym Κέπρο with this epoikion.

374 10

papathomas

The Proper Names Κύπριος, Κυπρία, Σαλαμίνιος, Ἰδάλιος, Κιτιάς

The ethnic origin or local provenance of a person living abroad can function as a factor that differentiates and determines identity to the extent that, with time, an ethnic name can replace a personal name. Five such names, which denote the direct or indirect Cypriot provenance of their bearers, occur in the Greek papyri of Egypt. These are the masculine names Κύπριος, Σαλαμίνιος and Ἰδάλιος, and the feminine names Κυπρία and Κιτιάς.45 The name Κύπριος is attested in P.Cair.Zen. iv 59635 (41), which dates to the middle of the third century bc.46 Its bearer lived in the Arsinoite nome in Middle Egypt. A short or corrupt form of Κύπριος is the name Κύπρις, which is attested in the late Ptolemaic inscription I.Herm. 5, 225 (= SB i 4206, 225 = I.Mus.Caire 9296, iii, 16) (42): Ἀπολλώνιος Κύπρις from Hermou polis in Thebais.47 However, it remains uncertain whether the name Κύπρις ought to be interpreted here as Apollonios’ patronymic or as an ethnic. The late antique papyrus SB xx 15181, Fr. 7.2, 4 from Oxyrhynchus (6th c. ad; 47) preserves the feminine name Κυπρία. The same name also occurs in the inscription I.Syringes 1545, 2 from Syringes in Thebes, of no accurate date (40 and 43). This inscription, which preserves the names of members of a family, is interesting among other reasons because it strengthens the assumption that Cypriots or their descendants entered mixed marriages with Egyptians, which indicates their integration in local Egyptian society. In this specific case, the parents, who carry the dynastic name Πτολεμαῖος and the Cypriot name Κυπρία, bestowed two out of their three children with Cypriot (Πάφος) and Egyptian (Μενουθιάς) geographical names, while the third child received the dynastic name Πτολεμαῖος, also borne by his father.

45

46

47

In addition, the name Κυπρόθεμις is encountered in SB xxviii 16854, 23–25 (225bc): γέγραφα οὖν ὑμῖν ὅπως εἰδότες | μὴ [ἀ]παιτῆτε τὸ σῶμα παρὰ Κυπρ̣οθέμι[δος] τοῦ̣ | ἐπίπλου. ̣ However, it is uncertain whether the bearer of this name had any connection with Cyprus. On this name, cf. Demosthenes, De Rhodiorum libertate 9: Σάμον δὲ φρουρουμένην ὑπὸ Κυπροθέμιδος κτλ. As rightly assumed by the text’s editor, C.C. Edgar, this is a personal name, not an ethnic. The name Κύπριος is included in the lexicon of Foraboschi 1967, s.v. (p. 174). Some Cypriots also bear the name Κύπριος in inscriptions outside Egypt, see Fraser–Matthews 1987, s.v. (p. 279) and Fraser 2000, 152. On the correct rendition of the name of this city as Ἑρμοῦ πόλις (not Ἑρμούπολις), see Litinas 1995, 66–68.

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The papyrus letter SB vi 9137, 1.19.20 (5th c. ad) (44–46)48 attests to the notable survival of the ethnic name Σαλαμίνιος as a personal name in late antique and early Byzantine Egypt. The name’s survival is of course to be associated with the fact that most of the Cypriots who appear on papyrus documents and inscriptions of Egypt are Salaminians (see below, ch. xi). The name Ἰδάλιος, which is attested on the inscription I.Syringes 1410, 1–4 (48), obviously derives from the name of the Cypriot city Ἰδάλιον. The fact that the inscription comes from Thebais of Upper Egypt confirms the presence of Cypriots or their descendants in South Egypt.49 The inscription I.Delta i.1, pp. 462–463 (= SB iii 6247), 1–2 (49), from the west Nile delta, preserves the female name Κιτιάς, which, as observed by the editor of the text, A. Bernand, must be derived from the Cypriot city Κίτιον.

11

The Origin of the Cypriots Mentioned in Papyri and Inscriptions of Graeco-Roman Egypt

Despite the fragmentary character of the sources, the quantity of relevant material allows us to reach some basic conclusions regarding the provenance of the Cypriots whom we encounter in Egypt. In nearly every case, they come from coastal cities, and are largely active as sailors and merchants.50 Most of the evidence concerns Salaminians (eleven passages, from the archaic period to 130bc).51 The Paphians come second, with a total of five testimonies, ranging from the early Ptolemaic period to the second century bc,52 followed by the Ledrioi (three passages, first quarter of the fourth century bc)53 and the Courieis (two testimonies from the Ptolemaic period);54 furthermore, a Solios55 and an Idalieus56 are found in texts of the Ptolemaic era. We are often unaware of a 48 49

50 51 52 53 54 55 56

The name Σαλαμίνιος is preserved in l. 20, and on this basis, it is supplemented in ll. 1 and 19. The name Ἰδάλιος, which is attested in the Alexandrian tomb inscription I.Mus.Alex. 302 (= SB i 3480), 1 (3rd/2nd c. bc) (27), is in all probability an ethnic that designates a resident of the city Ἰδάλιον. The text of the inscription is, however, problematic, and the reading of the name as a personal name cannot be excluded with certainty. On the fact that the majority of important Cypriot cities were built along the coast of the island, see above, n. 35. Test. nos. 9, 12, 13 (?), 18, 21, 25, 26, 28, 29, 30, 39. Test. nos. 19, 20, 32, 33, 35. Test. nos. 11, 14, 16. Test. nos. 22 and 36. Test. no. 37. Test. no. 27.

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person’s exact place of provenance, when he or she is only mentioned as Kyprios or Kypria.57 In other cases, we are only informed that the person in question is ‘in Cyprus’58 or comes ‘from Cyprus’.59 Moreover, five names, which imply the direct or indirect Cypriot provenance of their bearers, are found in the Greek inscriptions and papyri of Egypt. These are the masculine names Kyprios, Salaminios, Idalios, and the feminine names Kypria and Kitias. In the case of the name Salaminios, which is attested on a papyrus of the fifth century ad, we see the survival of an ethnic name as a personal name until the early Byzantine period. The above data, even though based on meagre information, affirms the importance of the cities of Salamis for eastern Cyprus and of Paphos for western Cyprus and showcases the mobility of their residents. Simultaneously, these testimonies reveal that this mobility was not limited to the residents of these two cities, but was also a feature of the life of other Cypriot cities.

12

Conclusion

The impression that the Cypriot element was strongly present in GraecoRoman Egypt, which is given by non-literary sources, is reinforced by evidence from literature. In addition to the indirect presence of Cyprus in the Greek literature of Egypt, through the frequent allusions to the goddess Aphrodite with the adjectives ‘Kypris’ and ‘Paphia’ in the surviving verse inscriptions of the land of the Nile,60 the literary sources of post-classical antiquity preserve important information about the activity of Cypriot scientists and literary authors in Egypt, who contributed greatly to the scientific and intellectual life of Hellenistic Alexandria. Examples are: Apollonios of Citium (ca. 70bc), who was the author of many medical treatises and possibly a doctor of Ptolemy xii Auletes;61

57 58 59 60

61

Test. nos. 10, 31, 34 (?), 38, 39, 40 (?). Test. no. 23. Test. no. 24. See, e.g., I.Philae ii 144, 12 (7 bc): ------- ο̣ιϲ ‹καὶ› καὶ κα[λὰ] σώζοι Κύπρις and the inscription from Alexandria (Nikopolis [Sidi-Gaber]) I.métriques 76, i 1–3 (312–315 of the edition of É. Bernand, Imperial period [end of the 2nd c. ad?]): Ἡρακλείδης ὁ καλὸς κεῖτ᾽ ἐνθάδε, ὡς Ὄσειρις | ἢ Παφίης ὁ Ἄδωνις, ἢ Ἐνδυμίων ὁ Σελήνης, | ἢ τῆς Ἀλκμήνης Ἡρακλῆς δωδεκάεθλος πάντως. See, extensively, Peremans, Van ’t Dack et al. 1950–1981 (from now on Pros. Ptol.), esp. vi 16580, La’da 2002, no. 1019, Michaelidou-Nicolaou 1976, A 72 (36–37) and Marasco 1996, esp. 453, n. 90.

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the poet Sopater of Paphos, who wrote tragic parodies and was active in Alexandria during the first half of the third century bc;62 and the author Istros (ca. 230–200bc), who was a ‘slave and acquaintance of Kallimachos’, and a Paphian according to one source.63 The great number of testimonies regarding Cyprus and Cypriots in nonliterary papyri and in the inscriptions of Egypt denotes the strong presence of a Cypriot element in Greek and Roman Egypt (primarily in the Ptolemaic period) and bears witness to the mobility of the Cypriot population, its agricultural produce, export activity, other economical and cultural relations and its exchange with neighbouring Egypt. The Egyptian sources depict Cypriots as good farmers, experienced military men and successful merchants, who developed their activity in the broader eastern Mediterranean region and were harmoniously integrated in the socio-economic life of the multi-national Graeco-Roman Egypt.

62 63

See La’da 2002, 1935 and Pros. Ptol. vi 16714. According to other sources, Istros was Κυρηναῖος, Μακεδών or Ἀλεξανδρεύς; for details see La’da 2002, no. 1166 and Pros. Ptol. v 14384.

145/144 bc

C.Ord.Ptol. 42, 16– 26

3

Inscription

I.Mus.Caire 22186, Inscriptions 238bc 23–27 and 22187, 16–19 (= OGIS i 56, A and B 16–19 = SB v 8858, 16–19 = I.Delta i vol. 3, pp. 989–1036, 12–15)

240 bc

Location of writing: Αἴγυπτος / Location of find: Kύπρος

Κάνωπος

–

Chronology Provenance

2

Inscription

Material

OGIS i 54, 5–8

Source

Cyprus and Cypriot Cities The Island of Cyprus

1

1 1.1

Appendix

… παραλαβὼν παρὰ τοῦ πατρὸς | τὴν βασιλείαν Αἰγύπτου καὶ Λιβύης καὶ Συρίας | καὶ Φοινίκης καὶ Κύπρου καὶ Λυκίας καὶ Καρίας καὶ τῶν | Κυκλάδων νήσων ἐξεστράτευσεν εἰς τὴν Ἀσίαν κτλ. … πολλὰ̣ μὲν προν̣ο[ηθέντες], οὐκ ὀλίγας δὲ τῶν προσόδων ὑπερι|δόντες ἕνεκα ̣ τῆς τῶν ἀνθρώπων σωτηρίας, ἔκ τε Συρίας καὶ Φοινίκης καὶ Κύπρου καὶ ἐξ | ἄλλων πλειόνων τόπων σῖτον μεταπεμ[ψάμενοι] εἰς τὴν ̣ χώραν τιμῶν μειζόνων διέσωισαν | τοὺς τὴν Αἴγυπτον κατοικοῦντας, ἀθάνατον εὐ̣εργεσίαν καὶ τῆς αὐτῶν ἀρετῆς μέγιστον | ὑπόμνημα καταλείποντες̣ ̣ [τοῖς τε νῦν] οὖσιν καὶ τοῖς ἐπιγινομένοις Βασιλεὺς Πτ[ολεμαῖος ταῖς ἐν] Κ̣ύπρωι τεταγμέναις ̣ πεζ[ικαῖς καὶ ἱππικαῖς] | καὶ ναυτικα̣[ῖς δυνάμεσι χαίρ]ειν … διὰ βίου τε τὰς σιταρχίας ἅπασιν ἐτάξαμε[ν, ̣ ὃ οὐδεὶς τῶν ἡμετέ]|[ρω]ν̣ π̣ρογόνων μνημονεύεται πεποιηκὼς κτλ.

Passage

–

The text survives in three copies of different provenance (Tanis, Kom el-Hisn and Cairo).

–

Notes

378 papathomas

sine dato

64–44bc

Unknown (Κνίδος?)

Ἡρακλεοπολίτης νομός

Chronology Provenance

Ἑρμοπολίτης νομός

† Λόγω(ς) (l. λόγος) Τ(ῦ)β(ι) γον(α)χ̣(ίων) ἐποικ(ίου) Κύπρο(υ)

There (Suppl. 3°, p. 64) it is noted that the location of the hamlet is unknown.

7th c. ad (probably Arab period)

ἀπὸ Κέπρο (sic) [ὀνό(ματα) δ]

64

Papyrus

Ἑρμοπολίτης νομός

SB xx 14172 (= P.Lond. iii 1143b descr.), 1

Ca. 7th c. ad

Passage

7

Papyrus

Provenance

P.Bad. iv 93, 95

Chronology

Supplement is uncertain.

Calderini–Daris 1935ff., vol. ιιι 167.

Notes

The toponym ought perhaps to be identified with “ἐποίκιον Κύπρου” in the Hermopolite nome (see below 7). On this identification, see extensively above, n. 44. Account heading for γονάχια. On this papyrus, see above nn. 43 and 44. On the ἐποίκιον Κύπρου, see Calderini–Daris 1935ff., Suppl. 2°, p. 104 and Suppl. 3°, p. 64.64

Notes

ἀξιοῦμεν ἀσθενέστ[ε]ρ̣[οι ἤδη] | [ὄ]ντες ἐὰν φαίνηται σ̣[υντάξαι] | γράψαι τοῖς γραμματε[ῦσι ̣ ̣ ̣ ̣] | ἡμεῖν ὃ ἐὰν κρίνῃς θ̣η̣[ ̣ ̣ συνε]|χόμεθα καταμένειν̣ [ἐν τῆι Κύ]|πρ[ω]ι ἐκπληροῦντ[ες ̣ ̣ ̣ ̣ ̣ ̣] | τούτου δὲ γενομέν[ο]υ [ἐσόμεθα] | ἀντειλημμένοι Ἐπὶ Σωσίφρονος, Κ[νίδιον Κύπρου (?)]

Passage

6

Material

ΕΠΟΙΚΙΟΝ ΚΥΠΡΟΥ

Source

Amphora handle

Papyrus

Material

Cyprus and Cypriot Cities as Geographical Names in Egypt

I.Mus.Caire 26087, 1

5

1.2

BGU VIII 1863, 10– 17

4

Source

(cont.)

cyprus and cypriots in greek papyri and inscriptions

379

10

9

2

8

Papyrus

I.Memn. Abydos 426, 2 I.Delta i vol. 2, pp. 746– 747 (= SB iii 6049), 1–3

Source

Inscription 4th c. bc

Inscription Archaic (graffito) period

Material

ad 190–191

Τεβτῦνις

καὶ τόπον Κούριον λεγόμενο[ν – – –]

Chronology Provenance Passage

Ναύκρατις

Ἄβυδος

[Στασί]οικος μ᾽ ἔγραφεν ὁ Σελαμίνιος Σίκων̣ [ἐπ]οίη|σε Κύπ̣[ριο]ς. | Ἀριστίω̣ν̣ Ἡρακλεῖ

Chronology Provenance Passage

Material

Cypriots in Egypt

P.Lund. vi 6 (= SB vi 9356), 6

Source

CURIUM

Σίκων

Στασίοικος

Name

Κύπριος

Σαλαμίνιος

Origin

Sculptor

–

Profession

La’da 2002, no. 1123

–

Lists

–

See comment on p. 77 of the edition.

Notes

Place in the Arsinoite nome, Tebtunis area. See Calderini–Daris 1935ff., vol. iii, p. 149. The etymology of the geographical term is unknown, and it is uncertain whether it comes from the Cypriot city.

Notes

380 papathomas

SEG Inscription 1st quarter xxxi 1550, (graffito) 4th c. bc 1 (= SEG xviii 707 b, 1–3)

SEG Inscription 1st quarter xxxi 1551, 1 (graffito) 4th c. bc

12

13

Inscription 1st quarter (graffito) 4th c. bc

Βαλσάμων

Name

Θῆβαι (Καρ- Φιλοκρέων νάκ)

Φιλοκρέων

Θῆβαι (Καρ- Φιλοκρέων | Τιμᾶος | Φιλονάκ) Σαλαμίνιος κρέων

Θῆβαι (Καρ- Βαλσάμων | Φιλοδήνάκ) μου | Λέδριος

Chronology Provenance Passage

SEG xxxi 1549, 1 (= SB iii 6698, 1–3)

Material

11

Source

(cont.)

Σαλαμίνιος?

Σαλαμίνιος

Λέδριος

Origin

Mercenary?

Mercenary?

Mercenary?

Profession

–

–

–

Lists

The name Βαλσάμων is Phoenician. Many other Ledrians are attested in the engravings on the walls of the temple (see below on those recorded in Greek script). Φιλοκρέων may be attested in engraving SEG xxxi 1551, 1 (13), while he is also attested in other engravings on the walls of the same small temple, which are written in the Cypriot syllabary. –

Notes

cyprus and cypriots in greek papyri and inscriptions

381

I.Memn. Abydos 531 (= SB i 1034), 1–2

18

65

17

1st quarter 4th c. bc 1st quarter 4th c. bc

Inscription 4th/3rd c. (graffito) bc

Inscription (graffito) Inscription (graffito)

Inscription 1st quarter (graffito) 4th c. bc

Ἄβυδος

Ὀνάσιμος Σαλαμίνιος

Θῆβαι (Καρ- Ἀριστόδ[α]μος ὁ νάκ) Τιμαγόραυ Λέδρι(ος) Θῆβαι (Καρ- Φιλόξ‹ενος› νάκ)

Θῆβαι (Καρ- [Φ]ιλοκράτης νάκ)

Θῆβαι (Καρ- Τιμαγόρας | Πέτρωνάκ) νος | Λέδριος

Chronology Provenance Passage

Inscription 1st quarter (graffito) 4th c. bc

Material

Origin

–

Ὀνάσιμος

Σαλαμίνιος

Ἀριστό- Λέδριος δαμος Φιλόξε- – νος

Φιλοκράτης

Τιμαγό- Λέδριος ρας

Name

In Michaelidou-Nikolaou 1976, 92, the graffito is tentatively dated to the early 3rd c. bc. In the Introduction to the edition (I.Memn.Abydos 531, p. 9) the text is dated to the “prePtolemaic era”.

SEG xxxi 1554, 1 SEG xxxi 1555, 1

16

15

SEG xxxi 1552, 1 (= SEG xviii 707 a, 1–3) SEG xxxi 1553, 1

14

Source

(cont.)

Mercenary?

Mercenary? Mercenary?

Mercenary?

Mercenary?

Profession

Cypriot provenance is very likely but not certain. –

–

Notes

Cypriot provenance is very likely but not certain. Michaelidou- Onasimos’ assumed Nicolaou provenance from Cyp1976, Ο 19,65 riot Salamis (and not La’da 2002, from the Saronikos no. 2385 island of the same

–

–

–

–

Lists

382 papathomas

21

Material

Τιμαγόρας | Πάφιος ἐνθάδε.

Ὀνασᾶς | Ζωαλίου Πάφιος

I.Mus.Alex. Inscription Late 4th or Ἀλεξάνδρεια Κλέων Ἀντιπάτρου | 292 (= SB (rather) 3rd (Hadra) Σαλαμίνιος i 399), 1–2 c. bc

Inscription Early Ptole- Θῆβαι maic period (Σύριγγες)

Ἄβυδος

Chronology Provenance Passage

I.Memn. Inscription 4th/3rd c. Abydos (graffito) bc 104 (= SB i 3746), 1–2

20 I.Syringes 607, 1–2

19

Source

(cont.) Origin

Κλέων

–

Mercenary?

Profession

Σαλα– μίνιος (Salamis on Cyprus?)

Τιμαγό- Πάφιος ρας

Ὀνασᾶς Πάφιος

Name

Notes

name) is encouraged by his name. On Onasimos’ possible mercenary status, see above, n. 33. Michaelidou- On Onasas’ possible Nicolaou mercenary status, see 1976, Ο 16, above, n. 33. La’da 2002, no. 1934 Michaelidou- – Nicolaou 1976, Τ 16, La’da 2002, no. 1936. Michaelidou- Tomb inscription. Nicolaou 1976, Κ 47, La’da 2002, no. 2384

Lists

cyprus and cypriots in greek papyri and inscriptions

383

παρὰ Δημητρίου τοῦ | ἐν Κύπρωι γραμμα|τέως ἀργυρίου (δραχμὰς) ρν. Ἀλεξάνδρεια ἀπεστάλκαμεν δέ σοι Δόν̣α̣κ̣[α κομίζοντα τὰς67] παραγενομένας μερίδας, | παρὰ Μεγακλέους τοῦ ἐπὶ

Φοινίκη (Βηρυτός)

Σατυρίων

Δημήτριος

Ἀρίστων Τιμοδώ̣ρου ἈρίΚουριεὺς | ἐλεφαντο- στων θήρας κτλ.

Name

γραμματεύς

Elephant hunter

Profession

ὁ ἐκ οἰκονόμος Κύπρου οἰκονόμος

ἐν Κύπρωι

Κουριεύς

Origin

In Michaelidou-Nikolaou 1976, 43, the graffito is dated to the late 2nd c. bc. For an alternative restoration of the gap (Δόν̣α̣κ̣[α παῖδα καὶ τὰς] etc.), see BL VIII, p. 195.

257bc

24 P.Lond. Papyrus vii 1951 (= PSI v 505 = C.Ptol.Skl. i 64), 4–7

66 67

259 bc

P.Cair.Zen. i 59016, Verso 8–10

23

ΑμπούΣιμπέλ

Chronology Provenance Passage

Inscription 280–206 or (graffito) 186–145 bc

Material

Papyrus

SEG xvi 864 (21) (= SB i 4144 = SB viii 10019 [21]), 1–2

22

Source

(cont.) Notes

Michaelidou- Calderini–Daris Nicolaou 1935ff., vol. ιιι 167. 1976, Σ 4 Cf. the suggestion for Satyrion’s identification by J. Pouilloux

Pros. Ptol. – ii, vi 16224, viii 4461, MichaelidouNicolaou 1976, Α 144,66 La’da 2002, no. 1055 Michaelidou- Calderini–Daris Nicolaou 1935ff., vol. ιιι 167. 1976, Δ 18

Lists

384 papathomas

P.Tebt. iii.1 815, fragment 4, 2–4

Papyrus

Material

26 P.Tebt. iii.2 Papyrus 933, col. ιι 10–13

25

Source

(cont.)

3rd c. bc (after 210 bc?)

223–222bc

Πτολεμαῒς Ὅρμου (Ἀρσινοΐτης νομός)

Θεμίστου μερίς (Ἀρσινοΐτης νομός)

τ[ῆς πόλεως ὦμο]ν̣ μόσχειον, παρὰ Σατυρίωνος | τοῦ ἐκ Κύπρου οἰκονόμου σκέλος μόσ[χειον, παρὰ ̣ ̣]ρ̣άτωνος τοῦ ἐπὶ τῶν | προσταγμάτων πλευ̣ ̣ρ̣ά̣ν̣[---] διομολογεῖ Πτολεμαῖος Στεφάνου Σαλαμείνιος τῆς ἐπιγονῆς | ἔχειν παρὰ Θευτείμης … φερνὴν τῆς αὐτῆς θυ(γατρός) βα(σιλεῖ) Πτολ[ε]μαίωι χαίρειν Τιμοκρά|της Κα[ ̣ ̣ ̣ ̣]ή̣ους Σαλαμίνιος | [καὶ Τετεῦρι]ς τῶν ἀπὸ Σύρων | κώμη[ς τοῦ Ἀ]ρσινοΐτου νομοῦ Σ̣ύ̣ρ[α]

Chronology Provenance Passage

Τιμοκράτης

Πτολεμαῖος

Name

Σαλαμίνιος

Σαλαμίνιος τῆς ἐπιγονῆς

Origin

–

τῆς ἐπιγονῆς

Profession

(ch. iv with n. 31), which is thought likely by MichaelidouNicolaou 1976, 108.

Notes

MichaelidouNicolaou 1976, Τ 39, La’da 2002, no. 2386

As noted in the edition, Salaminian Timocrates was perhaps the only petitioner in this enteuxis.

Michaelidou- Cypriot provenance is Nicolaou possible but not cer1976, Π 66, tain. La’da 2002, no. 2387

Lists

cyprus and cypriots in greek papyri and inscriptions

385

68

Ἑρμῶνθις

Σαλαμινία Σαλαμίνιος (apparently of Salamis on Cyprus)

Ἰσιδώρα Διονύσιος

Instead of Ἰδάλιος, E. Breccia (I.Mus.Alex. 302) reads Ἰδαιος Ῥ̣υθιος Θια̣`ϲ´ [. According to Launey 1950, 1227, it is the ethnicon Ἰδάλιος (from the Cypriot town of Ἰδάλιον).

130bc

Papyrus

29 P.Bad. ii 2, 8–10

ΘεόΣαλαμίχρηστος νιος

με(μέτρηκεν) εἰ[ς] | τὸν … θη(σαυρὸν) … Θεόχρηστος Σαλαμίνιος κτλ. ἐδάνεισεν Ἰσιδώρα ̣ Διδύμο̣υ̣ Σ̣α̣λ̣α̣[μιν]ία με[τὰ] | κυρίου τοῦ ἑαυτῆς ἀδελφοῦ Διονυσίου τοῦ Διδύ̣μ̣[ου Σαλαμινίου] | [τῶν σ]τ[ρατευ]ομένων Ἀδελφῶν κατοίκων [ἱ]ππέ[ων ̣ Πτολεμαίωι] κτλ.

Θῆβαι (Διὸς Πόλις ἡ Μεγάλη)

Ἰδαλιεύς

Origin

–

Name

Ἀλεξάνδρεια Ἰδάλιος68 (Hadra)

Chronology Provenance Passage

Inscription 3rd/2nd c. (funerary, bc painted) Ostrakon 156bc

Material

I.Mus.Alex. 302 (= SB i 3480), 1 28 O.Wilck. 1350 (= CPJ i 85), 1–4

27

Source

(cont.)

τῶν στρατευομένων Ἀδελφῶν κατοίκων ἱππέων

–

–

Profession

Notes

Pros. Ptol. Same text as the next ii 2567, entry. MichaelidouNicolaou 1976, Δ 64, La’da 2002, nos. 2383 and 2388

Michaelidou- Cf. I.Syringes 1410, 1–4 Nicolaou (48). 1976, ι 2 – It is uncertain whether Σαλαμίνιος is an ethnic or a patronymic.

Lists

386 papathomas

I.Portes 54 (= SB i 629), 4–5

32

69

Inscription 2nd c. bc?

I.Portes 54 (= SB i 629), 1– 369

31

See pp. 176–177 of A. Bernand’s edition.

Inscription 2nd c. bc?

130bc

Papyrus

30 P.Bad. ii 2, 23–26

Κόπτος

Κόπτος

Ἑρμῶνθις

-- Ἀνδραγόρου -------- | --- ντος Πάφιος ---------

------ ιου Κύ[πριος] ----- | -----σαβαλ-------------- | [-Στρά]τωνος Τύ[ριος ̣ ---]

ἐδάνεισεν Ἰσιδώρα Διδύμου Σ̣α̣λ̣[αμινία] | μετὰ κυρίου τοῦ ἑαυτῆς ἀδελφοῦ Διονυσίου τ[ο]ῦ ̣ Διδ[ύμου] | Σαλαμινίου τῶν στρατευομένων Ἀδελ̣φ̣[ῶ]ν κατοίκω[ν] | ἱππέων ̣ Πτολεμαίωι κτλ.

Chronology Provenance Passage

Material

Source

(cont.)

–

–

Σαλαμίνιος

Διονύσιος

Πάφιος

(apparently of Salamis on Cyprus) Κύπριος

Σαλαμινία

Origin

Ἰσιδώρα

Name

–

–

τῶν στρατευομένων Ἀδελφῶν κατοίκων ἱππέων

Profession

Notes

Michaelidou- List of proper names Nicolaou in fragmentary form. 1976, Κ 67 Apparently soldiers or mercenaries; see comment in I.Portes p. 177. Michaelidou- See above comment. Nicolaou 1976, Π 14, La’da 2002, no. 1938

Michaelidou- Same text as the previNicolaou ous entry. 1976, Δ 64; La’da 2002, nos. 2383 and 2388

Lists

cyprus and cypriots in greek papyri and inscriptions

387

36 SEG xvi 864 (23) (= SB i 4147 = SB viii 10019 [23]), 1–3

Inscription Prolemaic (graffito) period

ΑμπούΣιμπέλ

Τιμᾶς?

Πάφιος

Κύπρις (sic)

Πάφιος

Origin

Βοῦτρυς | Μενελάου | Βοῦτρυς Κουριεύς Κουρ‹ι›εύς

Τιμᾶς (?) | Πάφιος.

Ἄβυδος

–

Ἀπολλώνιος

------- Τύριο[ς ------] | ------ [Πά]φιο[ς -------]

Name

Ἑρμοῦ πόλις Ἀπολλώνιος Κύπρις

Κόπτος

Chronology Provenance Passage

Inscription 2nd c. bc

Material

34 I.Herm. 5, Inscription 80–79bc 225 (= SB i 4206, 225 = I.Mus.Caire 9296, iii, 16) 35 I.Memn. Inscription Prolemaic Abydos (graffito) period 234, 1–2

33 I.Portes 54 (= SB i 629), 6–7

Source

(cont.)

Elephant hunter?

Mercenary?

–

–

Profession MichaelidouNicolaou 1976, Π 13, La’da, Ethnics 1939 Pros. Ptol. ii 3167, MichaelidouNicolaou 1976, Α 73, La’da 2002, no. 1122 MichaelidouNicolaou 1976, Τ 26, La’da 2002, no. 1937 Pros. Ptol. vi 16241, viii 4469a, MichaelidouNicolaou 1976, Β 15, La’da 2002, no. 1056

Lists

–

On the possible mercenary status of Timas, see above, n. 33.

This is a soldier from the guard of Hermou polis. It is uncertain whether Κύπρις should be interpreted as a patronymic or an ethnic.

See above comment.

Notes

388 papathomas

Inscription sine dato (graffito)

Inscription sine dato (graffito)

Inscription sine dato (graffito)

38 I.Syringes 1703, 1–6

39 I.Syringes 899, 1

40 I.Syringes 1545, 1–4

Θῆβαι (Σύριγγες)

Θῆβαι (Σύριγγες)

Θῆβαι (Σύριγγες)

Ἄβυδος

Πτολεμαῖος Βου[σ]ειρείτης, ἱστόρησα | σὺν γυναικὶ Κυπρίᾳ, καὶ τέκνῳ Πτολεμαίῳ | καὶ ἐμνήσθη[ν] Μεν[ουθ]ιάδος, καὶ | Πάφου τέκνων.

(?) Σ̣ε[λ]α ̣ ̣μινιω̣ν α̣π̣ Κυπριω̣ ̣ ν̣ κτλ.

Τιμό|θεος | ὁ‹ς› Κύ|πριος | ἔγρα|ψα.

Παύρων | Φιλοπίου Σόλιος | ἥκω προσκυνῆσαι θε(οὺς) | μεγάλους Ἶσιν καὶ Σάραπιν.

Chronology Provenance Passage

Inscription Prolemaic (graffito) period

Material

SB i 1059, 1–3

37

Source

(cont.) Origin

Πτολεμαῖος Μενουθιάς Πάφος

Κυπρία

–

Τιμόθεος

three children of a father from Busiris and

Σαλαμίνιοι ? / Κύπριοι Κυπρία;

Κύπριος

Παύρων Σόλιος

Name

–

–

–

Pilgrim

Profession

Notes

–

Cf. comment in ed. (p. 388): “Le nom de l’enfant, fille ou fils, Πάφου peut être exact et en relation avec celui de la même Cypris ou Cypria (dont Pape ne relève que

Traveller-pilgrim at the temples of Isis and Sarapis at the Memnoneion of Abydos. According to Launey 1950, 1228, he may well have been a soldier. Michaelidou- – Nicolaou 1976, Τ 32 – –

MichaelidouNicolaou 1976, Π 10, La’da 2002, no. 2453

Lists

cyprus and cypriots in greek papyri and inscriptions

389

41

3

Material

Chronology Provenance Passage

P.Cair.Zen. iv 59635, 14–21

Source

Papyrus

Material

mid-3rd c. bc

Φιλαδέλφεια (Ἀρσινοΐτης νομός)

Chronology Provenance Κύπριος

Name

Name

a Cypriot (?) mother.

Origin

Profession

Lists

γεγρά|φαμεν ⟦δὲ⟧ `οὖν´ Ἀσκληπιάδει τῶι ἐν | Τάνει εἰ `ὁ ὑπάρχων κρότων´ ἐπιτήδειός ἐστι εἰς | φυτείαν. οἱ περὶ Κύπριον | ὁμαλίζουσι, ὡς δ’ ἂν παύσωνται, | συλλήψονται. τὸν σίδηρον Δημέ|ας κεκόμισται· Κλειτόριος | ἀπαιτεῖ

Passage

The Names Κύπριος, Κυπρία, Σαλαμίνιος, Ἰδάλιος, and Κιτιάς

Source

(cont.)

On reading Κύπριος as a personal name, see above, n. 45.

Notes

cet exemple); mais on peut comprendre Ἔπαφος, nom du fils d’Io, abrégé familièrement. C’est aussi un nom géographique que celui de Μενουθίας, du bourg de Ménouthi près de Canope …”.

Notes

390 papathomas

I.Syringes 1545, 1–2 SB vi 9137, 1–2

43

sine dato

Θῆβαι (Σύριγγες)

– – Ὀξύρυγχος Ἰδάλιος

Σαλαμίνιος Σαλαμίνιος Κυπρία

Σαλαμίνιος

Κυπρία

Κύπρις

Πτολεμαῖος Βου[σ]ειρείτης, ἱστόρησα | σὺν γυναικὶ Κυπρίᾳ, καὶ τέκνῳ Πτολεμαίῳ κτλ. Κυρίῳ μου ἀδελφῷ Σαλαμίν[ῳ] | Φοιβάμμων χαίρ(ειν) Κυρίῳ μου ἀδελφῷ --- Σαλαμίν̣(ῳ) Φ[ο]ιβ̣ ̣ ά[μμων] Ἀπόδως Σαλαμί[ν]ιο̣ ̣ς (sic) Κυπρίᾳ ̣[---]

Ἀπολλώνιος Κύπρις

Passage

τὸ προσκύνημα | Δημητρίου | καὶ Ἰδαλίου | (?) Εν̣ε-̣ κ̣αν̣θου κτλ.

The editor makes the same suggestion: “… Ἰδάλιος rappelant la fameuse ville de l’île de Chypre …”.

Inscription

5th c. ad 5th c. ad 6th c. ad

Θῆβαι (Σύριγγες) –

Ἑρμοῦ πόλις

Name

70

48

Papyrus Papyrus Papyrus

5th c. ad

sine dato

80–79bc

Chronology Provenance

SB vi 9137, 19 SB vi 9137, 20 SB xx 15181, Fr. 7.2, 4 I.Syringes 1410, 1–4

Inscription (graffito) Papyrus

Inscription

Material

45 46 47

44

I.Herm. 5, 225 (= SB i 4206), 225 = I.Mus.Caire 9296, iii, 16

42

Source

(cont.)

The name is probably derived from the Cypriot city of Idalion.70

– – –

–

It is uncertain whether Κύπρις should be taken as a patronymic of Apollonios or as an ethnic (see above 34 with n. 105). See above 40.

Notes

cyprus and cypriots in greek papyri and inscriptions

391

Inscription

Material

sine dato

Ψεναμῶσις (Βερενίκης νομός [Western Delta], modern Kom Toukala)

Chronology Provenance

Ἀπολλωνίδης δὲ φέρει κεχωνευκὼς | μείζω Ἀυκ | Πάφια καὶ ἡμιχῖα καὶ Πάρια ωϙβ | `⟦ἡμικάδια⟧´ στάμνους σταφυλῆι ιθ κτλ.

Cf. the editor’s comment (p. 463): “Plutôt qu’à un nom formé, par iotacisme, sur κύτος, εος-ους (τὸ) “creux d’un navire, carène, coupe, boîte”, c’est un nom formé sur le toponyme Κίτιον, ville de Chypre. La terminaison -ας est fréquente dans les noms de femmes. On trouve un hypocoristique comparable, Κίτιον, dans une épitaphe attique”.

mid-3rd c. bc

λοι(πὰ) τὰ Πάφια [---]

71

Papyrus

Φιλαδέλφεια (Ἀρσινοΐτης νομός)? Φιλαδέλφεια (Αρσινοΐτης νομός)?

P.Cair.Zen. iv 59741, 26– 30

mid-3rd c. bc

51

Papyrus

Passage

The name is derived from the Cypriot city of Citium.71

Notes

Cf. the mention of the Kouriakon measure on the same papyrus.

Cf. the mention of the Kouriakon measure on the same papyrus.

Notes

Βούβαστι Διογένης καὶ Κιτιὰς ὑπὲρ αὑτῶν καὶ τέκνων, | εὐχήν.

Passage

P.Cair.Zen. iv 59741, 1

Chronology Provenance

Κιτιάς

Name

50

Source

Material

Cypriot Measures: Πάφιον and Κουριακόν

I.Delta i vol. 1, pp. 462–463 (= SB iii 6247), 1–2

ΠΑΦΙΟΝ

4

49

Source

(cont.)

392 papathomas

55

5

54

53

52

Material

Papyrus

mid-3rd c. bc

mid-3rd c. bc

263–256 bc

I.Portes 47 (= OGIS i 53), 1–7

Source

Inscription

Material

Ca. 246 bc

Κόπτος

Notes

Ἀπόλλωνι Ὑλάτηι, | Ἀρτέμιδι Φωσφόρωι, | Ἀρτέμιδι Ἐνοδίαι, | Λητῶι vac. Εὐτέκνωι, | Ἡρακλεῖ Καλλινίκωι, | Ἀπολλώνιος | διοικητής

This is most probably Apollo Hylates, who was worshipped near Kourion in Cyprus. Apollonios is the doiketes known from Zenon’s archive, a very important person for the shaping of the economic policy of the Ptolemaic Kingdom in the middle of the 3rd c. bc.

Notes

Cf. Calderini–Daris 1935ff., vol. iii 149. (γίνονται) ἕως τοῦ τὰ διὰ ⟦Λαβώιτος εἰδῆσαι (l. εἰδέ- Cf. Calderini–Daris 1935ff., ναι)⟧ | ⟦καὶ⟧ τῶν `Ἡρακλείδου´ ἁμαξῶν `εἰδῆσαι (l. vol. iii 149 and the mention of εἰδέναι)´ κερ(άμια) (ἑξάχοα) ⟦Ἀϙζ⟧ Ἀψϙγ | Χῖα ⟦φο⟧ the Paphian measure on the same το | `ἡμιχῖα σ ´ Κουριακὰ τμ | λάγυνοι με papyrus. τὰ πάντα χ̣ω̣ρ̣ὶς̣ ̣ τῶ ν δ ι ὰ | ⟦Λαβώιτος κ α ὶ ⟧ τῶν `ἩραCf. the mention of the Paphian ̣ ̣ ̣ ̣̣ ̣ ̣̣ κλείδου´ ἁμαξῶν `καὶ τῶν ἡμετέρων´ | ⟦… Κουριακὰ measure on the same papyrus. ρν ρϙ | λάγυνοι με⟧

καὶ ὄξους ὑπῆρχεν | Χῖα ια | Θάσιον α | Κουριακὸν α

Passage

Chronology Provenance Passage

Φιλαδέλφεια (Ἀρσινοΐτης νομός)?

Exact provenance unknown Φιλαδέλφεια (Ἀρσινοΐτης νομός)?

Chronology Provenance

Reference to Apollo Hylates

P.Cair.Zen. iv 59741, 16– 22

P.Cair.Zen. Papyrus iv 59680, 8–11 P.Cair.Zen. Papyrus iv 59741, 11–15

Source

ΚΟΥΡΙΑΚΟΝ

cyprus and cypriots in greek papyri and inscriptions

393

394

papathomas

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La’da, C.A. (2002). Foreign Ethnics in Hellenistic Egypt. Leuven–Paris–Dudley, MA. Launey, M. (1949 and 1950). Recherches sur les armées hellénistiques. Paris 1949 (vol. i) and 1950. Vol. 2 (repr. with additions by Y. Garlan, P. Gauthier and C. Orrieux. Paris 1987). Lenger, M.-Th. (1980). Corpus des Ordonnances des Ptolémées (C. Ord. Ptol.) Brussels. Litinas, N. (1995). Hermou polis of the Thebais. Some Corrections and Notes Concerning its Name and Epithets. APF 41, pp. 66–84. Marasco, G. (1996), Les médecins de cour à l’époque hellénistique. REG 109, pp. 435– 466. Mehl, A. (1995). Zypern und die grossen Mächte im Hellenismus. Anc.Soc. 26, pp. 93– 132. Mehl, A. (1995b). Zyperns Wirtschaft in hellenistischer Zeit. MBAH 14.2, pp. 27–50. Mehl, A. (1996). Militärwesen und Verwaltung der Ptolemäer in Zypern. RCCM 38, pp. 215–260. Mehl, A. (2000). Ἑλληνιστικὴ Κύπρος. In: Th. Papadopoullos, ed., Ἱστορία τῆς Κύπρου. Λευκωσία, esp. vol. 2, pt. 2, chapter 12, 619–761. Michaelidou-Nicolaou, I. (1976). Prosopography of Ptolemaic Cyprus. Göteborg. Michaelidou-Nicolaou, I. (1993). Four Ptolemaic / Roman Hoards from Cyprus. NC 153, pp. 11–29. Mitford, T.B. (1938). An Unpublished Act of Amnesty from Ptolemaic Cyprus. In: Actes du ve Congrès international de papyrologie. Oxford, 30 Août–3 Septembre 1937. Brussels, pp. 291–299. Mørkholm, O. (1983). The Last Ptolemaic Silver Coinage in Cyprus. Chiron 13, pp. 69–79. Mørkholm, O., and Kromann, A. (1984). The Ptolemaic Silver Coinage on Cyprus 192/1– 164/3 b.c. Chiron 14, pp. 149–173. Mørkholm, O. (1987). Cyprus Hoard, 1982. NC 147, pp. 156–158. Morelli, F. (2002). Gonachia e kaunakai nei papiri. Con due documenti inediti (P.Vindob. G 1620 e P.Vindob. G 18884) e uno riedito (P.Brook. 25). Journal of Juristic Papyrology 32, pp. 55–81. Nicolaou, I. (1968). The Ethnics in Hellenistic Cyprus ii. Κυπριακαὶ Σπουδαί 32, pp. 23–44. Nicolaou, I. (1986). Cypriots in the East and West. Foreigners in Cyprus (Archaic to Roman Period). In: V. Karageorghis, ed., Acts of the International Archaeological Symposium “Cyprus between the Orient and the Occident”. Nicosia, 8–14 September 1985. Nicosia, pp. 423–438. Nicolaou, K. (1978), Oriental Divinities Represented on the Clay Sealings of Paphos, Cyprus. In: M.B. de Boer and T.A. Edridge, eds., Hommages à Maarten J. Vermaseren. Vol. ii. Leiden 1978, pp. 849–853. Peremans, W., Van ’t Dack, E., et al. (1950–1981). Prosopographia Ptolemaica i–ix. Studia Hellenistica 6, 8, 11, 12, 13, 17, 20, 21 and 25. Leuven. Piejko, F. (1987). An Act of Amnesty and a Letter of Ptolemy viii to His Troops on Cyprus. AntCl 56, pp. 254–259.

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Pouilloux, J. (1971). Deux statues de Ptolémée Philadelphe à Salamine de Chypre. BCH 95, pp. 567–572. Pouilloux, J. (1972). À Salamine de Chypre: acquisitions nouvelles et nouveaux problèmes. REG 85, pp. xxvii–xxx. Pouilloux, J. (1973). Salaminiens de Chypre à Délos. In: Études déliennes publiées à l’occasion du centième anniversaire du début des fouilles de l’École française d’Athènes à Délos. Paris. Pouilloux, J. (1975). Un Samien, officier lagide à Salamine de Chypre. BCH 99, pp. 229– 233. Robert, L. (1946). Sur quelques ethniques. Hellenica 2, pp. 65–93. Roesch, P. (1967). Théodoros, gouverneur de Chypre. Revue archéologique 1967, pp. 225– 238. Talbert, R.J.A., et al. (2000). Barrington Atlas of the Greek and Roman World. Princeton/Oxford. Teixidor, J. (1988). Ptolemaic Chronology in the Phoenician Inscriptions from Cyprus. ZPE 71, pp. 188–190. Watkin, H.J. (1988). The Development of Cities in Cyprus from the Archaic to the Roman Period. Diss., University of Columbia, New York. Wheatley, P. (2001). The Antigonid Campaign in Cyprus, 306 bc. AncSoc 31, pp. 133–156. Yon, Μ. (1985). Portraits lagides à Chypre RDAC 1985, pp. 242–248.

Inscriptions I.Alex.Ptol. = Bernand, É. (2001). Inscriptions grecques d’Alexandrie ptolémaïque [Institut Français d’Archéologie Orientale. Bibliothèque d’Étude, 133]. Le Caire. I.Delta = Bernand, A. (1970). Le Delta égyptien d’après les textes grecs, 1: Les Confins libyques [Institut Français d’Archéologie Orientale du Caire. Mémoires publiés par les membres, 101]. Le Caire (3 volumes and one volume of maps). I.Herm. = Bernand, É. (1999). Inscriptions grecques d’Hermoupolis Magna et de sa Nécropole [IFAO Bibliothèque d’Étude, 123]. Le Caire. I.Koptos–Kosseir = Bernand, A. (1972). De Koptos à Kosseir. Leiden. I.Memn.Abydos = Perdrizet, P., and Lefebvre, G. (1919). Les Graffites grecs du Memnonion d’Abydos. Nancy/Paris/Strasbourg. I.métriques = Bernand, É. (1969). Inscriptions métriques de l’Égypte gréco-romaine. Recherches sur la poésie épigrammatique des Grecs en Égypte [Annales littéraires de l’Université de Besançon, 98]. Paris 1969. I.Mus.Alex. = Breccia, E. (1911). Iscrizioni greche e latine, Service des Antiquités de l’Égypte [Catalogue général des antiquités égyptiennes du Musée d’Alexandrie]. Le Caire. I.Mus.Caire = Milne, J.G. (1905). Greek Inscriptions [Service des Antiquités de l’Égypte. Catalogue géneral des antiquités égyptiennes du Musée du Caire]. Oxford. I.Philae = Bernand, É. (1969). Les inscriptions grecques de Philae. Tome i: Époque ptolé-

cyprus and cypriots in greek papyri and inscriptions

397

maïque, Paris 1969 and Les inscriptions grecques et latines de Philae. Tome ii: Haut et Bas Empire. Paris. I.Portes = Bernand, A. (1984). Les Portes du désert. Recueil des inscriptions grecques d’Antinooupolis, Tentyris, Koptos, Apollonopolis Parva et Apollonopolis Magna. Paris. I.Syringes = Baillet, J. (1926). Inscriptions grecques et latines des tombeaux des rois ou Syringes à Thèbes [Mémoires publiés par les membres de l’Institut Français d’Archéologie Orientale du Caire, 42]. Le Caire. OGIS = Dittenberger, W. (1903–1905). Orientis Graeci Inscriptiones Selectae. 2 vols. Leipzig (repr. Hildesheim 1960). SEG = Hondius, J.J.E., et al. (1923ff.). Supplementum Epigraphicum Graecum. Leiden (and later Amsterdam).

General Index Acamas, son of Theseus 16, 93, 95, 98–100, 201, 248 Acca Larentia 135–136 Accius 105, 109–110, 141n62 Achilles Tatius: Leucippe and Clitophon 7, 266, 276n57, 295–297, 327–328, 330– 333, 335 Acts of Barnabas 180, 204–206, 289n113 of Paul and Thecla 271 of the Apostles 204, 247–248, 257, 288– 289, 290n119 Adonia 285–286 Adonis 1, 13n5, 17, 26, 31, 129n16, 186n47, 192–193, 220–222, 271, 272n34, 274, 275n49, 276n57, 277n63, 285–286, 326, 328–330, 334–336 Aegeus 347 Aelius Herodianus: Περὶ παρωνύμων 202 Aelius Theon 256 Aeneas 6, 33, 111–115, 119–122, 127, 131, 134, 140, 143–148 descendants Aeneadum 143, 161–162 Ascanius 131, 147 aerarius/aerarium 126, 134, 135, 138n51 Aeria 139, 140 Aerias 17, 125, 139, 140 aes 6, 13n4, 126–150 passim Aeschylus 16, 97, 104–105, 214 Aethra 99, 347, 358 Agamemnon 1, 19, 70, 93, 215 Agapenor 2n4, 15–16, 95, 201, 248, 252 Agraulos/Aglauros 175n3, 178n12, 254 A(h)eneus/a(h)eneus 127, 140, 145 agriculture 8, 138n52, 162, 249, 253, 256, 261, 367, 377 Alamanni, Luigi: (Del)la coltivazione 162–163 Alexander of Myndus 349 Alexander of Paphos 8, 20, 26, 339–341, 345–358 Alexinus of Elis 318 Alexis 218n24, 223 allusion 24, 53, 56, 59, 61–64, 78n43, 82, 108–110, 114, 118, 134, 136, 143, 160, 165n24, 166, 269, 271, 276,

282n87, 283n89, 290n121, 330, 335, 376 Aloadae 316 altar 35, 69–72, 83, 85n75, 188–191 Amamassos 202–203 Amathus 4, 17, 23, 26, 35, 96, 98, 125, 175– 182, 193n74, 194, 232n8, 241, 246–249, 268 see also Androcles Ammianus, epigrammatist 260 Anaxilaus of Rhegium 344 Anaximenes of Lampsacus 226n52, 273n41 Androcles, king of Amathus 35 Antimachus of Colophon 192n68, 274n47, 329n14 Antipater of Sidon 316 Antiphanes 217–221, 226–228, 234–237, 256–257 Aphrodite 13, 17, 19, 21–22, 25–26, 31–32, 34, 54–55, 57–62, 67–70, 73, 76–78, 79– 82, 84–85, 127–129, 131, 148, 174n3, 176, 177n9, 178, 180, 181nn24–26, 182–184, 186, 188–189, 191–192, 193n72, 215–221, 227–229, 237, 246–251, 264, 274–276, 278n66, 279, 286, 289n117, 291–292, 294, 296–297, 330, 333, 336, 343 adornment of see dressing-scenes affair with Adonis see Adonis affair with Ares 59, 131, 294 Anassa (Ἄνασσα) 32, 79–80, 178n16, 183, 184n39, 275n50 see also Wanassa aniconic idol 191n63, 274n48, 287 association with Cythera 32–33, 72– 73, 74n21, 77, 84, 157, 165, 169–170, 217, 231n4, 252 Cypris (Κύπρις) 6, 13–14, 18–19, 31, 49, 73, 157, 159–160, 194, 250 garlands (ἐυστέφανος, ἰοστέφανος, χρυσοστέφανος) 33n87, 54, 72–73, 75, 77–78, 157, 250 identification with Astarte 79–80, 182n29, 270–271, 296 importance in Chariton 292–293, 335 Paphian temple as an oracle 14–15, 25, 28, 33, 139, 290

400 protector of the sailors 291–292n128, 297n155 sea-born goddess 13, 73, 76, 157–158, 215, 297 worship 14–15, 17, 22, 67, 72, 74–75, 82– 84, 129, 139, 174, 178, 181n24, 182n28, 189, 194, 217–221, 247–251, 267, 269–270, 271n32, 274n48, 275n50, 284, 286n106, 287, 288n113, 290–294, 296 Apollo 22, 25, 30, 68–69, 81, 98, 112, 114, 119, 128, 133n38, 136, 146, 248, 275n49, 279 Alasiotas 203n17 Helewitas 203n17 Hylates 7, 22, 200–207, 372–373, 393 Apollodorus 24n53, 94–95, 176, 179, 182n28, 192n70, 274, 275n48, 278, 279n69, 280, 328n10, 333 Apollodorus of Citium 13n6 Apollonius of Citium 27, 248, 376 Apollonius of Tyana 247–248, 287–289, 290n119 see also Philostratus Archelaus of Chersonesus 349 Archelaus of Cyprus 27, 339–342, 344–345, 348–351, 353–356 Archilochus 57n25, 344 Ares/Mars 2, 58–59, 131n27, 136, 138n50, 140, 145, 148, 149n83, 191n61, 294 Arete see Boupalus Ariadne 7, 21–22, 26, 96, 249, 267–268, 291 Ariston of Chios 318 Aristonicus of Tarant 352–353 Aristophanes 85n75, 107–108, 182n31, 217, 220, 223, 224n43, 226n51, 231–233 Aristotle 193n75, 259, 316 arrenolocheia 15n14, 26 see also Paeon of Amathus Asclepiades of Cyprus 17n25, 23n49, 26, 274–275n48 Asclepiades of Myrlea 25n58, 347n35 Astarte 79–80, 182n29, 270–271, 276n55, 296 Athenaeus, epigrammatist 320–321 Athenaeus, of Naucratis 181n27, 182n28, 221n35, 234, 236, 256–257, 274n47, 347n35, 367n25 Athens 25, 85n76, 93–101, 180n23, 182n28, 215, 217–218, 225, 233–234, 237, 254, 258–259, 312, 322, 367n26 aurichalcum 149

general index Boccaccio 265, 266n8, 336–337n45 Boupalus 342, 344, 356 bread (Cypriot, representation in comedy) 222–223 Bronze (Age)/bronze 19, 24, 74, 77, 98, 125– 129, 134–135, 136n47, 138–140, 142–150, 184n37, 239, 258 Byzantine romance(s) Nicetas Eugenianus, by 266n11 Theodorus Prodromus, by 251–252, 266–267, 337 Cacus 146–147 Cadmus 258, 314–315 Calchas 93 Callicles 347 Carthage 111–112, 134, 222 Cassius Dio 257 Cepheus 16, 95, 201, 215 Cerastae, myth of 4, 175, 275–276n52, 285n102 Certamen Homeri et Hesiodi 29n72, 32, 347 Cervantes 265n4 Chabrias 290–291 Chariton of Aphrodisias: Callirhoe 251, 267–268, 290–294, 296–297, 330, 332, 335, 336nn43–44 Chrysippus 312 Chytri/Chytros 16, 95, 201n4, 205n23, 241 Cicero 107–111, 120, 129n16, 140 Cilicia 129n16, 233, 248, 259–260, 269, 312, 365n19 Cimon, Athenian general 97, 232n8, 250 Cimon, Boccaccio’s character 265, 266n8, 337n45 Cinyras (Kinyras) 17, 19—20, 70, 80, 82, 125, 129, 215, 221 daughters, of 23, 176–179, 181n25, 194n78, 274, 276, 280n75 epic cycle, in 278, 280n74, 282 Homer, in 19, 24, 129, 277–278, 279n70, 328 Myrrha, and 26, 129, 191–193, 271–272, 273, 277, 326–336 relations with the Greeks 128, 277–279, 282 title of tragedy 328, 333 Circe 20, 346, 348, 357

general index Citium 14, 20, 26–28, 240–241, 253, 257–258, 276n55, 311–312, 315–316, 318, 322 Claudian, Roman poet 6, 160, 163, 164n23 Clearchus of Soli 27, 181–182n27, 227– 228 Cleanthes 311, 313, 317, 319n37 Clodius, Publius 249 Clement of Alexandria 81n61, 82, 178nn14– 15, 185, 186n46, 272n34, 274 Clymene 99, 347 Cnidus 96, 186n46, 365 coin(s)/coinage 6, 28, 126–150, 180n20, 190n60, 191n63, 218n26, 363 comedy 7, 213–229, 231–242, 256–257 see also Antiphanes, bread (Cypriot, representation in comedy), Eriphus, Eubulus, kings (representation in comedy), Timotheus Middle 213–229, 231–232, 234, 236, 241– 242, 256–257 New 213–229, 231–232, 236–237, 286 Old 213–229, 231–234 representations of Cyprus 213–230, 231– 245, 253, 256–257 soldier figure 232, 234–237, 241 Conon, Athenian general 96 Conon, mythographer 332n25, 349 copper 13, 77, 126–130, 134n40, 137–140, 143– 145, 147–150, 239 cuprum 13n4, 126–127, 137 χαλκός 13n4, 127 Crates of Thebes 314 cults 14, 67, 68–70, 72, 82, 84, 176n5, 248, 253–254, 289n113, 292n129 see also Adonis, Aphrodite, Parakyptousa Cupra 127n9 Curium/Kourion 6, 16, 21–22, 25, 32, 200– 206, 241, 248, 368, 371n38, 373, 380, 393 Cypria 5–6, 13n6, 16n24, 18, 21–22, 29n72, 31–32, 34–35, 49–64, 75n28, 278, 280n74 Cypriaca 18 (terminus) Alexander of Paphos, by 26 Anaximenes of Lampsacus, by 273 Hellanicus, by 273, 274n48 Paeon of Amathus, by 26, 27n65, 267 Xenophon of Cyprus, by 26, 272–273, 276, 326–336 passim Cyprias of Halicarnassus 31, 34

401 Cypriots 2n4, 5, 7–8, 19–20, 25, 28, 29n72, 97, 125n2, 128, 143, 186, 189, 213–215, 216n19, 220, 222, 253, 259, 261, 286n104, 287n108, 337n45, 364, 367, 371–372, 374–375, 377, 380 visitors to Egyptian antiquities 369–370 visits of administrative officials to Egypt 368–369 Cyprus passim diversity of population 257–261 economy 127, 247–249, 250, 253, 256, 367 Egypt (commercial relations) 8, 28, 93– 94, 100, 112, 131, 201n5, 371–372 Egypt (toponyms) 373 Hellenic identity 19, 213, 252–261 Jewish communities and diaspora revolts 257 military importance 13, 232–233, 235, 236n22, 241, 247, 362, 366n23 monarchs/monarchy 227–229, 239–240, 249, 253, 255–257, 261 see also kings otherings of 17–18, 20, 31–32, 35, 37, 213– 261 passim ox, in 295 Phoenicians see Phoenicians sacred place 67, 69–70, 248–249 travel and tourism 94, 104–105, 122, 224, 247–249, 288, 336, 369 dance 68, 77–78, 83, 286n103 Demeter 68–69 see also Hymn to Demeter Demetrius Poliorcetes 250, 362 Demonassa 27, 181n25, 254–256 Demonax 27, 253, 259 Demophon 6, 16, 93–101 denarius 129, 132–133, 135–137, 146, 236n25 see also coin(s)/coinage Dictys 272n37, 278–281, 283 Dido, queen of Carthage 111–114, 134, 147 Dio Chrysostom 27n65, 181n25, 185n44, 254–256 Diogenes Laertius 257–260, 272, 311–322, 355 Dione 2 Dionysius: Bassarica 201–203

402 Diphilus, king of Cyprus 254–256 Dmasagoras 347, 358 Dmetor 20, 94, 278n60 dove(s) 217–218, 227, 235–237, 256–257, 346–347, 348n41, 354, 358 dressing-scenes (in archaic epic) 6, 21– 22, 32, 34n89, 53–64, 69–72, 76–78, 166 Dryopians 252–253 Du Bellay, Joachim 167–168 Egypt 1, 6, 8, 19, 24–25, 70, 91, 93–94, 100, 104, 112–113, 128, 131, 240–241, 249, 257–258, 284n96, 285n101, 288n110, 290–291, 295–296, 336n45, 344, 362– 393 Cypriot proper names, in 374–375 Cypriot residents, in 367–368 see also Cyprus, and Egypt emic/etic perspectives (anthropology) 216n16 emperors Augustus 134n40, 145, 147, 189, 194, 247, 317 Hadrian 247, 254 Titus 139, 189, 247, 290n119 Trajan 247 (Epic) Cycle 5n15, 31n81, 52, 75n28, 94, 100, 278, 280n74, 282n88, 343 Aethiopis 52n13 Iliu Persis 100n50 Little Iliad 100n50 Nostoi 18, 278n65 see also Cypria Epicurus/Epicurean 120, 311–312, 321 epigram 6–7, 14n6, 22–23, 26, 28n70, 34–37, 165–166, 182n27, 250, 258, 260, 290n118, 311–322 see also inscriptions Eratosthenes 206, 249 Eriphus, comic poet 218–219 Eros/eros 73, 180n23, 185n44, 217n21, 251– 252, 267, 289n116, 321, 330, 333 Erystheia 202–203 Esarhaddon 241, 244 etymology 2, 4, 74n21, 111n31, 127, 138–142, 200n2 (pseudo-), 204, 345, 348, 373, 380 Eubulus, comic poet 222

general index Eucl(o)us 18n29, 29–30, 33–34, 260 Eustathius of Thessalonica 8, 20, 202, 260, 278, 339, 345–347, 350, 352, 354 Evagoras i of Salamis 16, 23, 25, 37, 233–234, 236, 242, 244, 291 Faunus 136 Favorinus of Arelate 254–256 fertility 73–74, 78–80, 82–83, 85, 134, 158, 169, 184n37 folktale 255, 334 Foscolo, Ugo: The Graces 158, 168–170 fragrances 70–71 Galen 247 grammarian(s) 260, 347n35, 352 Greek Anthology 258, 260, 311–323 Hegesino(u)s/Hegesias, from Salamis 31, 34 Heidegger, Martin 320 Helen in Archelaus of Cyprus 27, 356 in Dictys 279–280 in epic 16, 50–51, 57–61, 278, 341–344, 347, 349, 355–356 in Euripides 16, 93n8, 98, 104, 112– 113 in Lucian 282–283 in Stesichorus 91–93, 342–344, 355 Heliodorus: Aethiopica 266, 269, 284, 327, 330–332 Helius 348, 357 Hellanicus, author of Cypriaca 273, 274n48 Hephaestus/Vulcan 59–60, 81, 127, 135–138, 140–142, 144–148, 165 Heraclitus 316 Hercules 137, 146–147, 253, 316 Hermes/Mercury 68, 191n61, 348 Herodotus 5, 14n8, 16, 23n50, 29n72, 30nn74–75, 50–51, 94n12, 97–99, 181n26, 214–215, 224, 232n8, 250, 258, 282–283, 296n151, 315, 334n34, 344 Hesiod 31–32, 57n25, 93, 157–169 passim Theogony 2, 6, 32n85, 32n87, 72–73, 76, 82, 84, 135n43, 157–158, 162–169, 297 Hesychius 30, 185n44, 260, 350

general index Hiera Hyle 200–207 Himera, in Sicily 342, 356 Hipponax 344 Historia Apollonii Regis Tyri 276–277, 331– 332 holy man 288n11, 289 Homer/Homeric poems 15, 18–23, 25–32, 37, 49–55, 63, 70, 74, 93, 98, 106, 113, 129, 135n43, 161, 278–281, 294, 328, 343n12, 345–348, 354, 358 ancient criticism of 279 heroes, in see Aeneas, Agamemnon, Calchas, Cinyras, Helen, Menelaus, Odysseus, Paris, Telamon, Teucer Iliad 1–2, 5, 15, 19–21, 32, 49–60, 70, 73, 80n55, 84, 97–99, 104, 129, 135, 157–158, 215n15, 278–281, 328, 345, 347 Odyssey 1–2, 14–15, 19–21, 32, 49, 51n10, 52, 54–60, 70–71, 84, 94, 129, 131, 138, 148, 215n11, 238, 278, 281, 283n89, 294, 316n26, 339, 345–348 Vita 20, 347–348, 354, 358 Horace Ars Poetica 145 Odes 115–120, 129n16, 136n48, 145 human sacrifice 175n3, 253–254, 284–286 see also Phoenicians, and human sacrifice Hylates see Apollo hymns 25, 57–62, 67–85, 165, 169, 222, 286n104 h. Hom. to Aphrodite (h.Ven. / h.Hom. 5) 2, 5, 14, 21–22, 31–34, 54–62, 70–72, 78n43, 80n55, 82, 84, 147n75, 161, 165, 215n12 h. Hom. to Aphrodite (h. Hom. 6) 2, 5– 6, 21–22, 31–34, 54–58, 67–70, 75–85, 165–166 h. Hom. to Aphrodite (h. Hom. 10) 31–34, 57, 73n15 h. Hom. to Apollo (h. Hom. 3) 30, 68–69, 81, 85n75 h. Hom. to Demeter (h. Hom. 2) 56, 68– 69 h. Hom. to Dionysus (h. Hom. 7) 1 h. Hom. to Hermes (h. Hom. Merc. / h. Hom. 5) 68 Hymn to Venus (Lucretius) 161–163, 167 Hymn to Zeus (Cleanthes) 313

403 Iamblichus: Babyloniaca 269, 285n97, 331 Idalion/Idalium 2, 183n35, 241, 315n20, 363n12, 391 incense 72, 188, 190 incest 7, 182n65, 191–192, 271–273, 275, 277, 326–336 inscriptions 8, 20, 22, 23n47, 26, 27n66, 28, 31n81, 32, 34–35, 67, 74, 79–80, 83, 85n76, 132–133, 136–137n49, 176n5, 178n13, 178n16, 179n18, 180n22, 189n57, 194, 200–207, 224, 240–241, 246, 255, 260, 275n50, 276n55, 286n104, 315n20, 362–397 intertextuality 119–122, 127, 136 Iphis (and Anaxarete), myth of 6, 174, 182– 183 Isis 248–249, 347, 358, 372, 389 Isocrates 15n14, 16, 23n48, 93, 96, 231n2, 233nn10–11, 234, 252, 343 Kant, Immanuel 321 king(s), Cypriot 15–16, 18, 20, 23, 25, 32, 35, 37, 129, 177n9, 193, 224–228, 232–234, 236, 238–242, 244, 249, 253–257, 261, 276, 291 see also Cinyras representation in comedy 224–228, 232, 234, 236, 238–242, 256–257 Kouklia see Palaepaphos Lactantius 254 Lapathus/Lapethos 16–18, 248, 363n12 Lares 135–136, 146 Laura 158, 162–164, 166–168 legend(s) 15, 18–19, 95n25, 97n39, 126–129, 135–137, 139–140, 146, 221, 240n38, 255, 273n38, 274, 342–344, 346–347, 353– 355 Leucippe and Clitophon see Achilles Tatius Lollianus: Phoenician Tales 276, 284–287, 296, 327n4 Longus 266n11, 273, 330 Lucian and Pseudo-Lucian 186n46, 253, 281–284, 286n106, 319 Lucretius 6, 126, 143–148, 150, 160–168 Lycambes 344 Lycophron: Alexandra 16, 95, 104, 192n66, 201–202, 206

404 Marcus Argentarius 317 Memnon 279n69, 280 Menander 224–225, 237, 239, 241–242 Menelaus 1, 19, 59, 70, 94, 113, 215, 278, 282, 343 Micythus 342, 344, 356 Mnaseas see Zeno myrrh 70, 72, 192–193, 227 Myrrha 1, 25–26, 129n16, 174, 191–193, 271– 273, 275n48, 276n52, 277, 326–336 see also Cinyras mythographer(s)/mythography 8, 18, 26, 126, 280–281, 327–329, 335, 340, 349– 350, 355 Neoanalysis 50–51, 61–64 Neoboule 344 New Carthage 104n2, 120–121 Nicocles 15n14, 35, 74n24, 236n22, 362 Nonnus: Dionysiaca 4–6, 17, 159–160, 165, 193n72, 203, 207, 274n47, 275n52 novel allusions to Cypriot myths 267–271, 276–277, 291 Cyprus as place of action 250–252, 284– 297, 336 endings 268, 291, 294, 297, 333–336 fragmentary 331, 333–334 titles of 284–285, 326–328 Odysseus 1, 18–21, 60, 70, 94, 114n40, 281, 283, 348 Olympus, in Cyprus 248–249 Onesilus 1, 23, 98, 232 oral poetry/tradition 15, 32, 50–51, 56–57, 62–63, 278n64 Ovid see also Iphis, Propoetides, Pygmalion, Pyramus Ars Amatoria 24n53, 148n80, 166n29, 175n3, 193n75 Cypriot tales, in 128–129, 174–194, 268– 270, 271n30, 272n35, 273–277, 285n102 Fasti 135n45, 145, 165, 174, 191n61, 194n80, 218n24 Heroides 95, 191n62 Metamorphoses 4–6, 17, 128n11, 129n16, 135n43, 138n50, 174–194, 219, 268–270, 271n30, 272n35, 273–277, 285n102, 326, 328–330, 332–334

general index Pacuvius 105–111 Paeon of Amathus 15n14, 21n37, 22n42, 26, 27n65, 96n26, 249, 267–268 Palaepaphos 15–16, 17n27, 21–22, 28, 74n24, 82–83, 178n16, 188–191, 194, 201n5, 204– 205, 248, 290n119 Paphian of Aphrodite/Venus and her cult 17, 28, 79–80, 83–84, 125, 129, 178n16, 189n57, 190n60, 191, 287, 290n119, 297 of the city of Paphos 16, 26n61, 35, 74, 83, 129, 177–178, 189n54, 226–228, 237, 346, 370, 375–377, 393 Paphos 2, 8, 13–17, 20–21, 23n47, 25–26, 33–35, 67, 69–71, 74, 79, 81–82, 84– 85, 97, 128–129, 139–140, 142, 147–148, 176, 178n13, 180n20, 185, 188–189, 191, 194, 201, 204–205, 216n19, 217–218, 227, 231n4, 235–236, 241, 246–249, 251, 256– 257, 269, 275n50, 280, 287–290, 292, 294, 296, 297n155, 328, 336n44, 362– 363, 371–372, 375–376 see also Alexander of Paphos, Sopater/Sosipater of Paphos paradoxographer(s)/paradoxography 26, 217, 340, 349–350 Parakyptousa/Prospiciens, myth of 182–184, 270–271, 275–276, 286n106 Paris 37–38, 50–52, 54–55, 57–61, 278–280, 282, 343–344 Parthenius 193n72, 273, 274n44, 283n89, 331n24, 349 Paul the Apostle 247–248, 257, 271, 288, 290n119 see also Acts Pausanias 2nn3–4, 14n8, 22, 28–30, 95n23, 96n32, 98, 232n8, 247–248, 257, 261 Pedalium 249 performance 6, 51, 53, 62–63, 67–70, 76, 78, 81–84, 107, 109–110, 121, 216n19, 231, 233–234, 313, 316 Peripatos/Peripatetic 93, 352, 354 Persaeus of Citium 27 Persians 23, 97–99, 234, 251, 290, 291n122 Persian clothing / material goods 215, 224 Persian rule 25, 232n8 Persian wars / expansion 30n75, 128 Persius 6, 160, 163, 164n23

general index Petrarch Canzoniere 158, 162–164, 166–168 Trionfi 164 Phalerus 16, 25, 95, 248 Pherecrates 217–218 Philocyprus 99, 249–250 Philostephanus 185–186, 206, 274–275n48 On Islands 270, 273n41 Philostratus: Biography of Apollonius 247– 248, 287–290 Heroicus 272n37 Phoenicia 19, 70, 94, 215, 258, 276, 277n59, 285n99, 288n110, 296, 314, 322, 366 see also Lollianus Phoenicians see also Zeno Adonia 274n47, 275n49, 286 Cyprus 215, 257–258, 270–271, 276n57, 285, 311, 315, 316, 322 human sacrifice 285–286 inscriptions 203n17, 276n55, 315n20, 363, 381 sacred prostitution 276n55 Photius 285n97, 327n6, 331, 339, 341, 345– 346, 350, 353, 356–358 Phrasius (Thrasius) 24, 175n3, 285n101 Phyllis 94–97 pigeons see doves pilgrim(s)/pilgrimage 188–189, 205, 287– 289, 294, 296, 389 Pittheus see Aethra Planctae 346 Plancus 115–118, 120 Plato 2n3, 93, 318, 322, 343 Plato Comicus 192n68, 221, 330 Plautus 110–111 Pleiades 347 Plutarch 94n11, 95–96, 99, 135n45, 177n9, 181n25, 182n32, 249–250, 259, 267, 268n16, 270–271, 273, 274n46, 328 Poliziano, Angelo: Stanze per la giostra 158, 163–167 Pompeiopolis see Soli, city in Cilicia Pompeius Trogus 121n62, 182n27 Poseidon 292n128, 347 Posidippus of Pella 312–313, 317 Praxander/Praxandrus 16, 95, 201–202, 215, 248 procession(s) 74, 82–83, 85, 189, 205, 270

405 Prodromus see Theodorus and Byzantine romance(s) progymnasmata 255–256, 355 Propoetides 6, 174–181, 184, 275 Proteus 93, 344 Pseudo-Apollodorus see Apollodorus Ptolemaeus Chennus: Καινὴ ἱστορία (Nova historia) 8, 339, 341–342, 345–346, 347n35, 349–356, 358 Pygmalion 1, 6, 17, 24, 27n65, 129n16, 174, 184–191, 193–194, 274–275, 328 Pyramus (and Thisbe), myth of 7, 268–269, 333–334 Rantidi 205–206 rhetorical exercises see progymnasmata Rhodes 116, 248, 254, 259, 265–266, 293 rites/rituals 6, 19, 67–69, 74, 81–85, 143, 175n3, 178–180, 185, 187n50, 189n57, 190, 192n65, 228, 253–254, 275–276, 285–286 Rome Aerarium see aerarius/Aerarium coins see coin(s)/coinage expansion 111, 122, 125, 137, 141 foundation 111, 121–122, 126, 128–129, 131, 135–136, 140–141, 146, 148, 317 see also Aeneas governance 149, 246, 249, 257 mores 121–122 refugium 111 tabernae 134–135 Vicus Argentarius 134 Vicus Cyprius 138–139 Volcanal 134–135, 141 Ronsard, Pierre de 167 sacred marriage 178, 275–276 sacred prostitution 179–180, 181n26, 182, 184, 185n44, 270–271, 276, 286n106 Salaminian 20n34, 23n47, 97–98, 183–184, 215, 365, 367, 385 Salamis city in Cyprus 2, 6, 15–18, 20–21, 23, 25– 26, 28–34, 93n8, 95–98, 104, 109–111, 115, 117, 119, 121n62, 122, 175n3, 183, 194,

406 city in Cyprus (cont.) 204, 232–234, 236, 241, 248, 253–254, 257, 280, 288n113, 290n119, 347n37, 362, 363n8, 365, 368– 369, 376, 382–383, 386–387 Greek island in the Saronic Gulf 16, 95– 98, 104–106, 254, 365 sanctuary 14–15, 17, 28, 33, 70, 74, 82–85, 248–249, 287, 290, 293–294 Sargon ii 240–241 scholarship, Alexandrian ζητητικοί 354–355 λύσις (lysis) 346, 354–355 λυτικοί 354–355 Second Sophistic 246–263 passim Seleucus the Theologian 253–254 Seneca 108n16, 314, 320 sexuality 59–61, 70–71, 74–75, 78–80, 82–85, 147, 158, 180–184, 186n46, 217, 221–222, 274, 276, 313 Shakespeare 264–265 Sibylla 20, 347, 358 Sidon 50–51, 104, 112, 258, 278n66, 296, 316, 322 Silius Italicus 104n2, 120–121, 163 Simonides 100, 342 Socrates 108, 312, 316, 318, 322 Soli city in Cyprus 16, 23, 25, 27, 95, 97, 99, 181n27, 215n9, 228, 241, 248–250, 257, 259–261, 365–366 city in Cilicia (Pompeiopolis) 233, 259– 260, 312, 365–366 soloecism 259–260 Solon 94, 97, 99–100, 249–250, 259 Sopater/Sosipater of Paphos 216n19 Sophocles 98, 104–105, 107–108, 280n78 Sostratus 352 starvation, death by 319–320 Stasinus of Cyprus 29n72, 31, 34 Stephanus of Byzantium 3–4, 16n19, 17, 22n44, 202–203, 286n104 Stesichorus 6, 27, 53, 91–101, 282n86, 341– 345 Helen 342–345 Palinode 92–93, 99–100, 343–345 Sack of Troy 99–100 Stoic philosophy 7, 20, 25, 27–28, 108, 120– 121, 130, 142, 248, 257–259, 311–314, 317–318, 320–322

general index Strabo 13n3, 14n9, 16, 23n49, 29n72, 34n89, 72, 81n61, 82–83, 95, 128n11, 179n19, 184n38, 185n44, 188, 248–250, 259–260, 269 Suda 7, 23n46, 27n65, 192n69, 260, 272–273, 275, 326–329, 335–336, 342 Tabula Iliaca Capitolina 99 Tacitus 17, 81n61, 99n61, 125, 129n16, 139, 176n8, 177n9, 178n13, 179n17, 189n59, 190–191, 247, 287, 290n119 Tamassos 182n29, 203, 219, 241, 249 Telamon 15–17, 21, 23–24, 96–98, 104–109, 121, 125 Tembros 202–203 Terence 225 Teucer 1, 6, 15–17, 21, 23–24, 93–98, 104–122, 125–126, 201, 248, 215, 252, 254, 280 Theocritus 2, 162, 183n35, 343 Theodorus Prodromus: Rhodanthe and Dosicles 251–252, 266–267, 337n45 see also Byzantine romance(s) Theseus 6–7, 16, 18, 21, 26, 93, 95–96, 186n47, 249, 267–268, 282n86, 343, 347 Thisbe see Pyramus Thrasius see Phrasius Timotheus, author of dithyrambs 319 Timotheus, comic poet 217n21 traditional referentiality 60–62 Troy 1, 2n4, 6, 15–16, 19, 21, 50–53, 59–60, 93–94, 96, 98, 100, 104, 109, 111–115, 118, 131, 133–134, 150, 201, 215, 240n38, 252, 282n88, 344 see also Stesichorus, Sack of Troy Trojan War 5n15, 6, 14–15, 55, 61–62, 93, 96, 98, 104, 113–114, 134, 150, 252, 272, 278, 279n71, 282, 343 see also Cypria, (Epic) Cycle Trojans 26n61, 104, 112–114, 118, 122, 131, 278n67, 279n69, 279n73 see also Cypria, (Epic) Cycle Varro De Lingua Latina 105, 138–139, 141–143, 146 De Re Rustica 140 Venus 1, 4, 13, 17, 112, 125–150, 160–170, 174– 176, 181–188, 190–194, 219, 264n2, 328 see also Aphrodite

general index Vergil: Aeneid 16n24, 55, 62, 111–115, 119, 121, 126, 129n16, 134n40, 136, 140– 141, 146–148, 150, 162, 164, 181n24, 183n35, 190n60, 193n75, 218n24, 316n26 Wanassa 74 Wenamun, adventures of 285n99 Xenocrates 318 Xenophon of Antioch 272 Xenophon of Cyprus 7–8, 17n25, 26, 27n65, 192n69, 271–276, 326–336

407 Xenophon of Ephesus: Ephesiaca 251–252, 265n7, 266, 272, 284, 293–295, 297, 327–328, 330, 333, 335 Zeno of Citium 7, 20, 26–28, 248, 257–259, 311–322 Zenodotus 177n11, 258, 313, 315 Zeus/Jove 2, 4, 17, 22n41, 23, 54–60, 62, 68, 78, 80n55, 96, 115, 125n2, 158, 161, 175n3, 183n34, 185n44, 248, 254, 275n52, 276n52, 285nn101–102, 295n145, 313, 346, 347n35, 348, 354, 357–358