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Poetic Language and Religion in Greece and Rome
 1443852481, 9781443852487

Table of contents :
TABLE OF CONTENTS......Page 5
PREFACE......Page 8
INDO-EUROPEAN POETIC LANGUAGE......Page 11
GODS AND VOWELS......Page 12
SOME LINGUISTIC DEVICESOF THE GREEK POETICAL TRADITION......Page 39
IN TENGA BITHNUA Y LA LENGUA ANGÉLICA......Page 49
RUMPELSTILZCHEN......Page 61
RELIGIOUS ONOMASTICSIN ANCIENT GREECE AND ITALY......Page 70
TWO EPITHETS OF ZEUS IN LACONIAIN THE LIGHT OF HOMERIC PHRASEOLOGY......Page 118
TAPTAPOE......Page 128
RELIGIOUS ETYMOLOGYAND POETIC SYNCRETISM AT ROME......Page 137
ANCIENT LINGUISTIC, LITERARYAND RELIGIOUS ELEMENTSIN KALLIMACHOS AND CHRYSORRHOE......Page 146
RELIGIOUS LANGUAGE IN GREEKAND LATIN LITERATURE......Page 155
POESÍA Y RITUAL EN LA GRECIA ANTIGUA......Page 156
CONSULTING THE GODS IN THE ODYSSEY......Page 193
‘RELIGIOUS REGISTER’ AND COMEDY......Page 200
ORACLES AND RIDDLES AMBO FRATRES......Page 209
LATE ANTIQUE ORACLES......Page 217
EN TORNO AL VOCABULARIORELIGIOSO HELENÍSTICO......Page 232
INTERTEXTUALITYAND THE CULTIC DIMENSIONIN LYCOPHRON’S REWRITING OF MYTH......Page 240
THE ACHILLES’ OATH IN HOM. IL. 1.236-244......Page 253
PLEGARIA E HIMNO LITERARIO......Page 260
THE MAGICIANS WHO SANG TO THE GODS......Page 268
THESEA DEVOVI......Page 276
EL HIMNO DE ADRASTO A APOLOEN LA TEBAIDA DE ESTACIO......Page 285
POETIC AND RELIGIOUSTRADITIONALISM IN AVIENUS......Page 292
VENUS, CERES AND OVID......Page 303
MAGIC AS A POETIC PROCESS......Page 311
POETIC AND RELIGIOUS LANGUAGE IN ROMANTRAGIC FRAGMENTS CONCERNING MEDEA......Page 320
INDEX......Page 331

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Poetic Language and Religion in Greece and Rome

Poetic Language and Religion in Greece and Rome

Edited by

J. Virgilio García and Angel Ruiz

Poetic Language and Religion in Greece and Rome Edited by J. Virgilio García and Angel Ruiz This book first published 2013 Cambridge Scholars Publishing 12 Back Chapman Street, Newcastle upon Tyne, NE6 2XX, UK British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library Copyright © 2013 by J. Virgilio García, Angel Ruiz and contributors All rights for this book reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior permission of the copyright owner. ISBN (10): 1-4438-5248-1, ISBN (13): 978-1-4438-5248-7

TABLE OF CONTENTS Preface ..................................................................................................... viii José Virgilio García Trabazo and Angel Ruiz Indo-European Poetic Language Gods And Vowels....................................................................................... 2 Joshua T. Katz Some Linguistic Devices of the Greek Poetical Tradition ........................ 29 Jordi Redondo In Tenga Bithnua y la Lengua Angélica: Sus Fuentes y su Función ........ 39 Henar Velasco López Rumpelstilzchen: The Name of the Supernatural Helper and the Language of the Gods ............................................................................................... 51 Óscar M. Bernao Fariñas Religious Onomastics in Ancient Greece and Italy: Lexique, Phraseology and Indo-european Poetic Language ........................................................ 60 José L. García Ramón Two Epithets of Zeus in Laconia in the Light of Homeric Phraseology ......................................................................... 108 Ana Vegas Sansalvador ȉȐȡIJĮȡȠȢ ................................................................................................ 118 Daniel Kölligan Religious Etymology and Poetic Syncretism at Rome ........................... 127 Colin Shelton Ancient Linguistic, Literary and Religious Elements in Kallimachos and Chrysorrhoe ..................................................................................... 136 Edwin D. Floyd

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Table of Contents

Religious Language in Greek and Latin Literature Poesía y Ritual en la Grecia Antigua: Observaciones Sobre los Peanes Délficos ................................................................................. 146 Emilio Suárez de la Torre Consulting the Gods in the Odyssey ....................................................... 183 Claudia Zatta ‘Religious Register’ and Comedy: The Case of Cratinus ....................... 190 Francesco Paolo Bianchi Oracles and Riddles Ambo Fratres: Cultural (and Family) Relations Between Oracula and Aenigmata ....... 199 Simone Beta Late Antique Oracles: Samples of ǹıȐijİȚĮRUȈĮijȒȞİȚĮ"..................... 207 Lucia Maddalena Tissi En Torno al Vocabulario Religioso Helenístico: Temis y dike en Euforión y su Hipotexto Hesiódico .............................. 222 Josep A. Clúa Serena Intertextuality and the Cultic Dimension in Lycophron’s Rewriting of Myth: Iphigenia and Childbirth .......................................................... 230 Giulia Biffis The Achilles’ Oath in Hom. Il. 1.236-244: Intertextuality and Survival .................................................................... 243 Manuel Pérez López Plegaria e Himno Literario: Los Dioscuros en las Inscripciones de Prote, Alceo y dos Himnos Homéricos ............................................................. 250 José B. Torres Guerra The Magicians who Sang to the Gods .................................................... 258 Miriam Blanco Thesea Devovi: Magic, Ritual and Heroes in Ovid’s Heroides .............. 266 Nathalie Sado Nisinson El Himno de Adrasto a Apolo en la Tebaida de Estacio ........................ 275 José Manuel Vélez Latorre

Poetic Language and Religion in Greece and Rome

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Poetic and Religious Traditionalism in Avienus: The Prooemium of the Aratea ................................................................ 282 Amedeo Alessandro Raschieri Venus, Ceres and Ovid: Divinity, Knowledge and the Generation of Poetry in Book IV of Ovid’s Fasti ..................................................... 293 Charles Bartlett Magic as a Poetic Process: Vergil and the Carmina ............................... 301 Mathieu Minet Poetic and Religious Language in Roman Tragic Fragments Concerning Medea.................................................................................. 310 Maria Jennifer Falcone Index ....................................................................................................... 321

PREFACE JOSÉ VIRGILIO GARCÍA TRABAZO AND ANGEL RUIZ UNIVERSITY OF SANTIAGO DE COMPOSTELA

This volume contains twenty five contributions, selected from an International Conference with the same title held at the University of Santiago de Compostela 31th May - 1st June 2012. One of the most striking and significant achievements of the reconstructive labour of Comparative Indo-European Linguistics was the discovery of a certain number of fixed ‘formulae’ which are now generally referred to as Indo-European Poetic Language, Indogermanische Dichtersprache in German. During the period of Indo-European ‘dialectal unity’–ca. 5000-4000 BC, according to the standard theory–poetry was, like the Homeric and other ancient epics, subject to oral transmission. Therefore, it is not surprising that the best chance for reconstructing at least some glimpses of that hypothetical Proto-Indo-European poetry would be by recovering reliable parallel formulae among the poetic language of the historically attested languages. It is now widely known that formulae of this kind have been discovered in the oldest poetic texts of the Indo-European family. The most famous is perhaps the collocation recognized by the pioneer Adalbert Kuhn in 1853 putting the +RPHULF IRUPXOD țȜ੼ȠȢ ਙijࢡȚIJȠȞ alongside the Vedic ĞUiYR « iN‫܈‬itam ‘Unfading Glory’ and leading to a reconstructed Proto-IE formula *NյOpX֒RV QֈGhgX֒Kitom ‘Imperishable Glory’. Similarly, Sanskrit PiKLĞUiYDV DQG*UHHNȝ੼ȖĮțȜ੼ȠȢDUHWKHEDVLVIRUWKH recovery of PIE *meJյh2 NյOpX֒RV ‘Great Glory’. It soon became clear that the semantic field of ‘glory’ or ‘heroic glory’ was at the centre of the spiritual life of the Indo-Europeans, and also reflected in the naming tradition whereby one’s fame is bound with one’s name, as literally witnessed by the abundance of names containing the element *NյOpX֒-es- ‘Glory’ or *NյOX-tó-‘Glorious, Celebrated’: Vedic Su-ĞUiYDV-‘of good glory’, which has the same etymology as Avestan Hao-sravah-, later

José Virgilio García Trabazo and Angel Ruiz

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Xusrav UHIOH[HGDVȋȠıȡંȘȢLQWKH*UHHNWUDGLWLRQ DOVR*UHHNǼ੝-țȜોȢ and Illyrian Ves-cleves can be connected to it. Around 250 recorded Greek QDPHV DUH UHODWHG ZLWK țȜ੼ȠȢ as well as Latin (Cluvius, Clovatius), Venetic (KlutaviNRV .OXWLLDULV), Gaulish (Clouto-, Cloto-) and a large number of various Germanic names (Chlodobert, later Lothar Chlodovicus > Ludwig > Louis). This is evidence of what is currently one of the most productive research fields in the whole of Indo-European Studies, namely the close connection between Indo-European Poetic Language and the wide field of Onomastics and Phraseology. We are proud to have some of the most important researchers currently working in this field as contributors to the present volume. Of course, the research on this topic is multifaceted, encompassing for example the position of the Indo-European poet as a highly appreciated figure, in some respects comparable to the priest, and “transmitter and repository of inherited cultural knowledge”, in the words of B.W. Fortson. Perhaps a rather technical side of this research is represented not only by the tentative reconstruction of ancient IndoEuropean metrics, but also by diverse stylistic devices that bestow poetical quality to a given utterance. Justly famous among recent work on this topic is the reconstruction by Calvert Watkins of the alliterative formulaic phrase *(h1e-)gX֒Kent h1ogX֒Kim ‘he killed the serpent’, as a good example of artistic repetition of the marked IE phoneme *gX֒K, while at the same time being a “basic formula” of the IE mythology, intimately intertwined with the ideology of the hero and his previously mentioned “glory” or “fame”. Another merit of the research carried out by C. Watkins is the recovery of the so-called “strophic style”, perhaps a more archaic stage of IE poetry than the postulated metrical compositions. This style consists of strophes of short lines composed according to grammatical and phonetic parallelism, including alliterating word-pairs or “merisms” (like in the archaic Latin prayer to Mars: PRUEǀV XƯVǀV LQXƯVǀVTXH), especially typical in liturgical and legal texts with a–perhaps intentional–archaic flavor. The relatively recent linguistic material recovered from the Anatolian languages, particularly from Hittite, continues to increase our knowledge of the inherited formulae, like the *dhpJյhǀP GhQֈJX- ‘dark earth’ (Hittite GDQNXL degan*UHHNȖĮ૙Įȝ੼ȜĮȚȞĮ2OG,ULVKdomun donn, Serbo-Croatian þUǎQD zemlya etc.) as the “humble” or “human” (lat. KRPǀ < PIE *(dh Jյh Pֈ Pon- ‘terrestrial’) counterpart of the ‘brilliant (*GHL֒ -) sky (*GL֒ -HX֒-)’, abode of the gods, the ‘celestial (*GHL֒ -X֒-ó-) ones’.

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Preface

Although scant and schematic, this overview allows us to affirm with certainty that research on Indo-European religion and thought is inextricably linked to that on Indo-European poetic language. In the second part of this volume the focus is placed on the poetic language in Greece and Rome. Indo-European poetic tradition can be traced through linguistic reconstruction (formulae, onomastics) and some scattered mentions in literary texts-the best known example being the references to the language of the gods in Homer, differing from human language only in a few well-known pairs of words. In Greek and Latin literature, however, this gives way to a more complex situation, particularly because the relationship between poetic language and religion becomes more problematic as time progresses. In his paper, Professor Suárez de la Torre recalls that, strictly speaking, in the case of Greece one can only talk about “poetic language adapted to religion” and that “we can only speak of religious language in the sense of ritual or cultic terminology”. But there is indeed religious terminology, a number of terms “loaded with religious meaning”, particularly some adjectives and verbs. And of course there is the ritual poetry, poems directed towards the gods: in this book there is an in depth study of paeans and several papers on hymns, genuine cultic ones, and also the increasingly abundant, purely “literary” artefacts, which contain only a memory of something that was strictly religious in origin. The oracles are also a case in point, as they were regarded as divine language communicated directly to men and therefore necessarily pronounced in verse. The centrality of divination and the ambiguity of oracular utterances and the latter’s relationship with enigmas are fundamental to the questions this book tries to address. On the margins of religion there is magic, and, problematic as it is, it receives, albeit via poetic disguises, a certain level of consideration in Greek and Latin literature. Truly fascinating, the origins of poetry and its relation to religion are always worthy of further examination, something we have endeavored to do in this book. The present volume appears under the auspices and financial support of the Classical Philology Research Group (GI-1908) of the University of Santiago de Compostela.

INDO-EUROPEAN POETIC LANGUAGE

GODS AND VOWELS JOSHUA T. KATZ PRINCETON UNIVERSITY

Oh my—gods and vowels1":KDWGRWKH\KDYHLQFRPPRQ"$UHJRGV VXSSRVHG WR KDYH YRZHOV XVH YRZHOV SHUKDSV HYHQ EH YRZHOV" :KDW ZRXOGWKLVHYHQPHDQ")URPWKHQDUURZSHUVSHFWLYHRI(QJOLVKWKHLGHDLV on the face of it absurd: the very word god is, after all, a not especially resonant monosyllable consisting of three sounds and three letters, only one of them a vowel. When an American moves to Spain, however, things start to look just a bit more promising: two of the letters in Galego deus and Castilian dios are vowels. Why the relative sonority of these Romance words would be of interest is not immediately clear. But if it is normal for classicists to channel Aratus and proclaim, ਫțǻȚઁࢫ ਕȡȤȫȝİıșĮLWLVDOVR the case that to deus I shall return. My aim in this paper is to suggest a number of ways in which it makes sense to pay more heed than we usually do to the literal sound structure of the divine universe—and, indeed, to its literal literal sound structure, for I wish to think about letters as they appear on the page as well as about sounds as they fly through the air. My investigations will take us across the globe and from banal observations to claims that may well seem outlandish. But I believe that the overall picture is interesting and, for that matter, representative of a certain kind of reality.

1

Versions of this paper were presented in May 2012 at the conference in Santiago de Compostela whose proceedings are collected here, as well as at the 24th Annual UCLA Indo-European Conference (October 2012). I am grateful to the many colleagues who offered help, above all Alexis Manaster Ramer, whose engaged skepticism may, however, not have saved me from fundamental error. Thanks go also to Tim Barnes, Jenny Strauss Clay, Peter Daniels, Ed Floyd, Andrew Ford, José Virgilio García Trabazo, Sandy Hardie, Daniel Heller-Roazen, Hans Henrich Hock, Ángel Ruiz Pérez, and Hartmut Scharfe. It is a pleasure to acknowledge the intellectual as well as financial support of All Souls College, Oxford, the John Simon Guggenheim Memorial Foundation, and the Loeb Classical Library Foundation.

Joshua T. Katz

3

1. “From Alpha to Omega” and Related Ideas The phrase “from alpha to omega” is well known, as is its origin in God’s and Jesus’s self-description in the Book of Revelation as ਥȖȫİੁȝȚIJઁ ǹțĮ੿ IJઁ ȍ ³,DP$OSKDDQG2PHJD´5HY :KLOH,FDQQRWFRPPHQW on the status of this phrase in the manuscripts or on the theological implications of its application to both Father and Son, three points are worth making. Two of them are obvious: first, God is eternal, being both WKH EHJLQQLQJ DQG WKH HQG DQG VHFRQG *RG¶V EHJLQQLQJ LV D YRZHO DQG His end is also a vowel. Does this mean that there is something generally VSHFLDO DERXW YRZHOV" 7KLV TXHVWLRQ EULQJV PH WR WKH WKLUG SRLQW RPHJD ȍ  LV DQ DGGLWLRQ Wo the standard (24-letter, Ionic) alphabet, well established by the time B.C. turns to A.D. but decidedly not a timeless part of the representation of Greek, and so we have to ask ourselves what was before “from alpha to omega” when there was not yet an omega. Inside the history of Greek, the final letter of what has, since Adolf Kirchhoff, been called the “green” alphabet—the most archaic form, associated principally with Crete and lacking the so-FDOOHG VXSSOHPHQWDOV ĭ ȋ Ȍ ȍ —is likewise a vowel: upsilRQ Ȋ 7KHSUHFLVHKLVWRU\RIXSVLORQLQFOXGLQJLWV placement at the end of the alphabet, is not of concern here2 ZKDW GRHV have to be recognized, though, is that all Hellenic traditions place this OHWWHU LPPHGLDWHO\ DIWHU WKH FRQVRQDQW WDX ȉ  ZKLFK—if we leave the history of alphabetic Greek—was borrowed more or less directly from the ILQDO OHWWHU LQ WKH 3KRHQLFLDQ DOSKDEHW WƗZ 7KLV FRUUHVSRQGVWR WKH ILQDO letter in another Semitic system, Hebrew, which explains why the Hebrew DQDORJXHRI³IURPǹWRȍ´LVPRUHOLNHRXU³IURP$WR=´QDPHO\³IURP aleph (ʠ) to taw (ʺ)”3. So, alphabets are not forever—and, thoroughly unsurprisingly, not all alphabets at all times both begin and end with a vowel. Nonetheless, there are lessons just below the surface for anyone interested in gods and vowels. First of all, midrash (i.e. Biblical exegesis in Hebrew) makes much of the fact that the Hebrew word for “truth”, ʺʮʠ emet, is composed

2

Upsilon, which is the predecessor of our letter U, is generally considered the twin of digamma (ࢬ), an early Greek letter pronounced [w] that has come down to us as WKHOHWWHU)WKHXVXDOOLQHLVWKDWERWKGHULYHIURP3KRHQLFLDQZƗZ the sixth letter of that alphabet (cf. Hebrew waw [ʥ]). 3 The best single source for information about the diachronic development and synchronic reality of all the alphabetical systems mentioned in this paper (and many, many others besides) is Daniels and Bright 1996.

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Gods And Vowels

of the first, middle, and last letters of the alphabet: aleph, mem, taw4. Without earning the scorn of my readers by diving headfirst into kabbalism and reporting in detail what people of a certain mindset have said about this5, I nonetheless remind classicists of the concept of the sphragis and note that some have called truth “God’s seal” since aleph, mem, and taw are respectively the last letters of each of the last three words of the account of the creation in Genesis: ʺˣˈʏʲʬʔ ʭʩʑʤ˄ʎʠ ʠʸʕʕ ˎ bara Elohim la‘asot (“[And God blessed the seventh day, and sanctified it: because that in it he had rested from all his work which] God created and PDGH´ *HQ  .-9 6. Furthermore, according to one version of the story of the golem (in Jewish folklore, a Frankenstein-like being made from mud), the word ʺʮʠ emet was written on the anthropomorphic creature’s forehead and he could be deactivated, as it were, only by erasing the first letter, which made him ʺʮ met “dead”. Not incidentally, this first letter is none other than the universe’s prime mover of an aleph, which also plays a prominent role in the First Commandment (“I am the LORD WK\*RG«´([DQG'W LWLVWKHILUVWOHWWHURIWKHILUVWZRUG ʩʫʰʠ DQRNKL ³,´ZKLFKRIFRXUVHUHIHUVWR*RGWKHZRXOG-be first letter of the second word, God’s name, which is pronounced with an initial [a], Adonai, though it is written entirely differently, as ʤʥʤʩ YHWH (see EHORZ DQGWKHILUVWOHWWHURIWKHWKLUGZRUGʪʩʤʬʠ HORKH\NKD “your God”7.

4

There are 22 letters in the Hebrew alphabet by the conventional reckoning, but if one counts final variants separately, then there are 27, with non-final mem (ʮ) occupying position 14. 5 But a few sober citations on the material to follow in this paragraph are called for. The idea that emet is God’s seal is found e.g. in the creation of the alphabet at the start of the Zohar EVHH0DWW-16, at 12). On (e)met and the golem, see e.g. Scholem 1974, 352 (the standard basic account) and Idel 1990, 64-65, with notes on 76-77, and passim (see Subject Index s.v. ’Emet). Heller-Roazen 2005, 19-25, with notes on 234-35, offers a poetic account of the mystical status of aleph, including in the Ten Commandments. 6 Greek and Latin examples of the signature-acrostic(/telestich) as sphragis are well known: Courtney 1990 provides the standard list, and see also now the papers E\ 0% 6XOOLYDQ 9 *DUXOOL DQG 5 0DLUV LQ .ZDSLV] 3HWUDLQ DQG 6]\PDĔVNL 2013, as well as Luz 2010, 1-77 and 375-76 and also Katz 2008 (and, for a wider perspective, Katz 2009). Katz 2013a, 4-10 summarizes recent work on classical, especially Latin, acrostics and suggests a new one in Book 6 of Vergil’s Aeneid. 7 What all the writing systems discussed in the present paper have in common is that their order, if known, begins with something like “A”. Compare HellerRoazen 2005, 25: “The sole material of divine speech, … [a]leph guards the place of oblivion at the inception of every alphabet”.

Joshua T. Katz

5

I would not be the last person to contradict anyone who believes that interpretations such as these are crazy. I do, however, dispute that they are insignificant and unworthy of scholarly attention. My point in going through just a bit of this kind of procedure—a procedure that may seem playful but can be a matter of deadly seriousness—is that people the world over (not just believers in the “Bible code”) do often think associatively, taking facts about the world, or about language, and jerry-building a system so that these facts seem to make more sense8. Even if the divine universe is not in fact composed of sounds (whatever that would even PHDQ VHH EHORZ  LW LV VWLOO SHUIHFWO\ SRVVLEOH IRU SHRSOH WR WHOO MXVW-so stories so that from one or the other perspective it appears to be composed of sounds or letters anyway9. And in this paper I am interested in both reality and perception. The order of the Latin alphabet (A, B, C) goes back, more or less, to the order of the Greek alphabet ǹǺī ZKLFKJRHVEDFNPRUHRUOHVV to the order of the Phoenician alphabet (cf. Hebrew ʠ, ʡ, ʢ  ZKLFK JRHV back, more or less, to Proto-Sinaitic times and, by the acrophonic principle, early representations of an ox (’alpu), a house (bƝWX), etc. This DEHFHGDULDQ RUGHU LV SUREDEO\ D PDWWHU RI VHUHQGLSLW\ RQH PLJKW FDOO LW rather disorder. If millennia ago there was any logic behind the fact that the list is headed by “A is for ’alpu ‘ox’”, it is hard to imagine a good reason why this should ever have been directly followed by “B is for EƝWX ‘house’”, which is entirely different in sound, shape, and sense10.

8

There is an immense body of literature on the manipulation of signs and symbols in culture after culture for the purposes of both hiding and uncovering—sometimes correctly but in any case often bizarrely—small- and large-scale messages. The FODVVLFZRUNUHPDLQV'RUQVHLII'UXFNHULVHPLQHQWO\UHDGDEOH 9 This is an extension of folk etymology, which I believe historical and comparative linguists need to take more seriously than they (we) usually do: see Katz 2010a and especially 2010b. 10 Driver 1976, 179-85 + 269-73 offers the classic account of alphabetical order, with wry and skeptical observations on “astral or lunar theories” (181) and much else that has been supposed. In a forthcoming paper, Daniels 2013 writes, “Most likely, the letters were simply set down as they came to the mind of the deviser (which could account for [a few] associative sequences …)”. Ladefoged 2005, 176 notes an “interesting fact that applies to most languages with five vowels … [, namely] that the order of the letters in the Latin alphabet, a, e, i, o, u, is also the order of the frequency of occurrence of these sounds”. Many thanks to Peter Daniels for sharing his work with me in manuscript and for pointing me to a number of articles on the subject of alphabetical order.

6

Gods And Vowels

In India, however, the situation is different, and explaining how will bring me back to “alpha to omega”—or, rather, “alpha to upsilon”11. Almost all Indic languages are written in a family of alphasyllabic scripts NQRZQ DV QƗJDUƯ ZKRVH ROGHVW UHSUHVHQWDWLYH FRQYHQWLRQDOO\ XVHG IRU SULQWHG6DQVNULWWRGD\LV'HYDQƗJDUƯ ³GLYLQHQƗJDUƯ´ LQZKLFKWKHRUGHU of the signs reflects a certain order of pronunciation, which in turn somehow reflects the orderly—one might say “cosmetic” (cf. Greek țȩıȝȠࢫ ³RUGHU RUQDPHQW XQLYHUVH´ —makeup of the universe12. Whatever the origin of these signs may be, their traditional order in the var۬DPƗOƗ (literally “garland of letters”) is linguistically elegant and easy to understand: they are arranged phonetically, with the “simple” vowels coming first, then the diphthongs, and then the many consonants, in each case according to certain principles, among them that the progression inside a given subcategory moves from the back of the mouth to the front13. The canonical sequence of the sounds of Sanskrit from a to h runs, then, as follows:

11

The authoritative account of Indo-Aryan writing on the Subcontinent is Salomon 1998. 12 1RWH WKRXJK WKDW QR IRUP RI QƗJDUƯ GDWHV EDFN PXFK PRUH WKDQ D WKRXVDQG years (see e.g. Salomon 1998, 40-41) and that we have no knowledge of the order RI WKH VLJQV LQ %UƗKPƯ WKH VFULSW IURP ZKLFK LW GHVFHQGV ZKLFK LV NQRZQ IURP mid-3rd-FHQWXU\ %& $ĞRNDQ LQVFULSWLRQV DQG IRU ZKLFK WKHUH VHHPV WR EH VRPH pre-0DXU\DQ HYLGHQFH DV ZHOO %UƗKPƯ LWVHOI PD\ KDYH DULVHQ RXW RI D 6HPLWLF prototype, but this idea is controversial [see Salomon 1998, 19-30 for a balanced discussion] and, even if true, does not appear to be of help in determining the early order of the Indian abugida.) It may be added that Richard Salomon and others have in recent years demonstrated that the regular order for the other Indic script, Kharoৢ৬KƯ IROORZV WKH ³P\VWLFDO DOSKDEHW RI WKH %XGGKLVWV´ LH WKH $UDSDFDQD syllabary, named after the first five characters: a, ra, pa, ca, na (see above all Salomon 1990 and now ZLWKIXUWKHUUHIHUHQFHV VLQFHWKHUHLVVRPHVRUWRI connection between Kharoৢ৬KƯDQG%UƗKPƯWKLVLVREYLRXVO\RIJUHDWLQWHUHVWWRWKH matter at hand, but it is unfortunately not clear what the nature of the connection is (see Salomon 1998, 23 and 51-54). In addition, the matter is evidently complicated further by the fact that the order of the vowels in the Arapacana is now known to be a, e, i, o, u (see Salomon 2006, 205-DQG ZKHUHDVLQ'HYDQƗJDUƯLWLV a, i, u, e, o (see immediately below in the text). 13 Noting that a “property possessed by many writing systems with a limited inventory of signs is a canonical order in which the signs are learned and which becomes an organizing principle for lists of words and for other things as well”, 'DQLHOVSRLQWVRXWWKDW³>[email protected]RUGHUVPD\EHDUELWUDU\RUPRWLYDWHGDQG virtually the only motivated sign-order is phonetic” (see 80 n.8 for the exceptions: Japanese and Javanese).

Joshua T. Katz

7

Simple vowels: a, Ɨ, i, Ư, u, nj[, ‫܀‬, ‫܂‬, ۜ, ۞]14 Diphthongs: e, ai, o, au15 Consonants: N, NK, g, gh, ۪, c, ch, j, jh, ñ, ‫ܒ‬, ‫ܒ‬h, ‫ڲ‬, ‫ڲ‬K, ۬, … Ğ, ‫܈‬, s, h

With this background, we can return to gods and vowels, for certainly one of the best-known Sanskrit words worldwide is the sacred syllable om (sometimes written oۨ and most properly o‫ ۦ‬or óPմ16), whose mystical resonance is prominent in Buddhism and Jainism, as well being of fundamental importance to Hindus. Among other occasions, this syllable—whose older and in some traditions still standard form contains a diphthong, aum (see fn. 15)—is intoned at the start and finish of any reading of the Vedas and before the recitation of any given mantra17. As with the Hebrew material, there is a vast exegetical literature, and there are thousands upon thousands of accounts of the origin, pronunciation, use, and religious and philosophical significance of om in dime-store self-help books, in hippie literature, and all over the Web. For the immediate purposes, I confine myself to pointing out that om— the whole world in a syllable, as it were—presents a very neatly arranged orthographic, phonetic, and cosmological package. It is orthographically interesting in having its very own, universally recognized symbol:

It is phonetically interesting in being the only word in Sanskrit that is characteristically written with so-called pluti, an indication that it is to be pronounced overlong, specifically with three morae rather than two (hence sometimes written o3m or a3um)18. And it is noteworthy, too, for being 14

I use brackets here to separate the fundamental vowels (see below in the text) from those that are in the first place vocalic reflexes of the consonants r and l. 15 Note that e and o are historically short diphthongs: respectively *ai and *au. Their correspondents, the synchronic diphthongs ai and au, were once upon a time long diphthongs: *ƗL and *ƗX. 16 See Hoffmann 1976, [II.]554 n.5 and Mayrhofer 1992, 280. 17 I return at the end of the paper to the etymology of Sanskrit PiQWUD- “prayer” and its connection to om. Note that om itself does not appear in the Rigveda (except in the khilas). 18 Strunk 1983 provides the best overall account of pluti, though his discussion of om occupies only two pages (34-35): “Besonders auffällig und reich belegt ist [die] ritualsprachliche Pluti für die heilige Silbe om. 3Ɨ৆ini gibt dazu für seine Zeit spezifizierte Regeln mit 8, 2, 87 (o3m am Beginn eines heiligen Textes) und 8, 2,

8

Gods And Vowels

composed of the long (often overlong) diphthong that is made by adding to the language’s first vowel (a: formed in the back of the mouth, without rounding) the last of its fundamental vowels (u19: also formed in the back of the mouth, but with rounding of the lips all the way at the front)—plus the sound of the literally hovering candrabinduDGLDFULWLFDOPDUN ࡎ WKDW means “moon-dot” and indicates an open-mouthed and highly resonant nasalization of the preceding vowel, so minimal and “unconsonantal” a consonantal sound that there is not even a proper syllabic character for it in the writing system. The result is like an extended huuummm (or ³KNJNJNJ´ 20, and since the English word hum is “echoic” (thus OED s.v.), I make the comparison seriously. But om—for which the technical term in Sanskrit is SUi۬ava-, a derivative of pra-۬u- ³URDU EHOORZ KXP´—is a 99 (Substitution des letzten Vokals und eines darauf gegebenenfalls folgenden Konsonanten durch o3m bei einer Opferhandlung)” (34). On the word’s peculiar sandhi, see Hoffmann 1976, [II.]554 n.5. 19 See fn. 14. In view of the pluti, it does not seem unreasonable to treat u and nj as the same thing. 20 &RPSDUHSHUKDSVWKH0DKƗ\ƗQD%XGGKLVWPDQWUDoۨ ma۬LSDGPHKnjۨ, beloved especially of the Dalai Lama and his followers, whose final syllable, Knjۨ, would seem to be an alternative of sorts to oۨ (compare e.g. Parpola 1981, 208-10, with notes on 211). There is, once again, a vast exegetical literature, on which see Studholme 2002. Most of the discussion about the meaning of the mantra—a call WR WKH ERGKLVDWWYD $YDORNLWHĞYDUD—has concerned ma۬ipadme (possibly two words: ma۬i padme), which may or may not have the original sense “O JeweledLotus One” (see the skeptical discussion in Studholme 2002, 105-18, with notes on 189-94). Of interest here are certain comments by Studholme on oۨ, Knjۨ, and the overall effect: e.g. “The power of the mantra is said to lie in its sound. The purely sonic or musical dimension of AvalokiteĞYDUD¶V IRUPXOD VKRXOG QRW WKHQ JR overlooked. Indeed, it is surely not insignificant that the arrangement of the six syllables ‘om-ma-ni-pa-dme-hum’ does yield a naturally pleasing reverberation when recited. The sounds of the syllables ‘om’ and ‘hum,’ at the beginning and end of the formula, tend to merge together into a continuous hum” (109-10) and “Neither [oۨ nor Knjۨ], of course, has any intrinsic semantic meaning. Both are laden, however, with symbolic import. … [I]t cannot be wholly unlikely that the frequent use of these two syllables to begin and end different mantras was originally derived from the same use that is made of the two similar syllables Aand -Haۨ. A is the first letter of the Sanskrit alphabet and Ha the last, encompassing all the other letters in between. A- and -Haۨ together also make up the word ahaۨ, meaning ‘I.’ The use of those two syllables at either end of a mantra, then, conveys a sense of both the identity and the all-inclusive nature of the mind engaged in mantric utterance” (116-17). Whatever one may think of the details of Studholme’s analysis, he is right that sound trumps etymological interpretation in indigenous understanding.

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hum that has cosmological import and is anything but random21: it is, in essence, the universe’s echo22.

21

The synchonic and shallow diachronic interpretation of om as a + u + m/ۨ is clear—it is also part of the Indic creation story in $LWDUH\D%UƗKPD۬a 5.32 (cited in Hock 1991, 107)—EXWZKDWLVLWVGHHSHUHW\PRORJ\"7KHWZRIXOOHVWVFKRODUO\ accounts of the origin and semantic development of om come to very different conclusions: Parpola 1981 and Hock 1991. Parpola argues that the sacred syllable is Dravidian in origin (*ƗNXP, as in Tamil ƗP “yes”) and is in the first place a SDUWLFOHRIDIILUPDWLRQWKLVYLHZ+RFNUHMHFWVLQP\RSLQLRQFRUUHFWO\EXWKLVRZQ belief, which builds especially on work by A.B. Keith from a century ago (see Hock 1991, 89), may not be the whole story either, namely that at least one of the two primary meanings of om that he identifies and carefully teases apart—an exclamatory/filler particle and a recitational substitution—derives “from the QDVDO L]HG  OHQJWKHQLQJ RI ILQDO YRZHOV LQ 9HGLF UHFLWDWLRQ´  VHH DOVR   While Hock is right to stress that there are examples of non-nasalized om—i.e. of o—where this o(m) itself comes from remains at least partly an open question. One LGHD LV WKDW LW LV LQ RULJLQ D SDUWLFOH OLNH *UHHN Į੣ ³DJDLQ´ DQRWKHU LV WKDW LW LV “originally just a meaningless sound” (see Parpola 1981, 195, with references in 210 n.5: one of quite a number of prior explanations that Parpola goes through in order to discard). I prefer my account: that it is originally just a sound, but a deeply meaningful one—specifically, a representation of the sonic universe by means of the vocalic gamut from a to u (with or without the hum). Be that as it may, Hock ends his 1991 paper with “a few brief speculations on the path by which om … came to be the Sanskrit sacred syllable par excellence” (107), suggesting that it “lends itself most readily as the ONE akৢara that embodies all that is shared by the three Vedas [i.e. the Rigveda, Yajurveda, and 6ƗPDYHGD]—and that which transcends them. The fact that it can be analysed into THREE component parts, a, u, and m …, no doubt further supported this ‘triune’ character of om, as did perhaps the fact … that om frequently has TRImoric, pluta pronunciation” (109). This is attractive—and not necessarily in conflict with my idea: surely there are multiple etymological and consequential folk-etymological truths in the story of om—and while it behooves us to work out its prehistory and history in as much detail as possible, it is hardly surprising that a word of this kind should have inspired so many exegetes, ancient and modern, to devise etiologies that have taken on lives of their own. 22 Compare Agud 2010, a paper on the meaning of om by a Spanish classicist and Indo-Europeanist that I regret I did not discover until shortly before completing the final version of this paper.

10

Gods And Vowels

2. Divine Vowels There is thus a harmonic quality to the sacred syllable om, and if we consider the nature of vowels—which we shall do now in order then to make our way back to gods—it will become apparent why this is so, for vowels (WKH *UHHN WHUP LV ijȦȞȒİȞIJĮijȦȞȠ૨ȞIJĮ, i.e. “things filled with sound”) are in effect the free air that defines a language’s syllabic structure23. They are primary, uttered with an open vocal tract, whereas consonants (Greek ਙijȦȞĮ LH ³XQ-sounds”) involve the full or partial constriction of the tract and are literally con-sonantes, things “sounding with” other things, namely of course the primary, “phonated”, syllablebuilding vowels. In a brilliant article published over half a century ago, the Indologist J.A.B. van Buitenen noted that the Sanskrit grammatical term for “syllable”, DN‫܈‬iUD-, which literally means “undying” or “imperishable”, is also the word for “first cause, source of creation”, a meaning it has at least in part thanks to its strong association with om24. The reason is clear but worth keeping well in mind: this is a syllable— basically a long, long resonant vowel—that has such tremendous power that it is truly the origin of the world as well as of the word. The intimate connection between word and world is well known also to classicists and historians of Western ideas. According to early atomic theory and, then, Epicureanism, the universe is made of atoms (Greek ਙIJȠȝĮ LH ³XQ-cuttable things”) and there are correspondences between the atoms of tangible, physical objects and those of language. The most famous account of Epicurean atomism is the Roman poet-cum-philosopher Lucretius’ De rerum natura25, in which atoms are sometimes called rerum primordia “beginnings of things” and other times elementa, a word that OLNH *UHHN ıIJȠȚȤİ૙Į  DOVR KDV WKH VLJQLILFDQW PHDQLQJ ³OHWWHUV RI WKH alphabet)” and one whose etymology I am inclined to believe is the central alphabetical sequence LMN26. But there are other ways, too, in which word and world are and come to be linked. In “book religions”, for example, in which (unlike in the Epicurean world of random chance) the integrity of 23

The idea of “vowel-hood” is very hard to define phonetically, relying more on acoustic than articulatory evidence: e.g. the perception of syllabic structure. Nevertheless, “[i]n the production of vowel sounds, the articulators [i.e. lips, teeth, uvula, etc.] do not come very close together, and the passage of the airstream is relatively unobstructed” (Ladefoged and Johnson 2011, 19). 24 See van Buitenen 1959. Hock 1991, 107-9 provides some corrective comments. 25 See Snyder 1980, with prior references, especially to P. Friedländer. 26 For secondary literature on and brief discussion of the derivation of elementum from LMN, see now Katz 2013a, 12 n.38.

Joshua T. Katz

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scripture matters more than its sound structure, we find the widespread conceit of the universe as the ultimate text (cf. Latin textum “woven IDEULF´ DQGE\WKHWLPHRI/DWH$QWLTXLW\WKHPDVVLYHO\LQIOXHQWLDOLGHD of the “Book of Nature” has been formalized, according to which the universe is an open book, a literal woven text comprising letters and words27. Finally, it is also important in this context to mention the “Harmony/Music of the Spheres” (musica universalis), the metaphysical doctrine, associated above all with the 6th-century B.C. thinker Pythagoras but in some respects probably older, by which the cosmos “hums” along in accordance with precise musical, mathematical, and also linguistic— especially vocalic—principles and proportions28. If vowels are first causes and also ubiquitous, one might think that they would provide a phonetically easy means to celebrate God/gods and His/their works. As we shall see, this is indeed often the case. But first I would like to take a quick trip through two Semitic issues with speaking of the divine, one in Hebrew and another in Arabic. To begin, the true name of the Hebrew God is culturally unpronounceable: as noted briefly above, the Tetragrammaton, YHWH (i.e. Yahweh), which is sometimes rendered in English as the vowel-less and hence ineffable sequence G-d, is pronounced entirely differently, with the substitute word Adonai. This, however, is a matter of taboo avoidance, which is interesting, to be sure, but not an indication of some inherent peculiarity of the sounds that the letters yod, he, and waw represent. A more substantial, and to my mind 27

6HHDERYHDOO%OXPHQEHUJ9RON-15 and passim, focusing on the Hellenistic poet Aratus, sorts out many different ways over the centuries in which the cosmos has been said to be readable. There are at least three types of universal fabric—textual, sonic, and actual—and it might prove useful to bring together ideas about all of them more carefully than is usually done: in addition to the first two (both considered in the present paper), there is also the notion that the universe itself (or significant parts of it, such as day and night) are made of tangible cloth (see e.g. Janda 2000, 13 and 200-11 and Katz 2000, with prior UHIHUHQFHVVHHDOVR Katz 2010b, 30, with 39 n.26). The classic treatment of metaphorical weaving in DQFLHQW*UHHFHDQG5RPHLV6FKHLGDQG6YHQEURVXPPDU\DFFRXQWVPD\EH found in West 2007, 36-38 (“Poesy as Weaving”) and 372-74 (“The World Wide Web” DQGVHHPRVWUHFHQWO\+HQGUHQRQ³ZRYHQDOOLWHUDWLRQ´LQ/XFUHWLXV 28 On Pythagoreanism and music, on which much of dubious accuracy has been written for a popular audience, see most recently Heller-Roazen 2011. Also largely recommendable are the works of Joscelyn Godwin, by far the most prolific writer on the Harmony of the Spheres and related mystical matters, whose many books EULQJ WRJHWKHU VFKRODUVKLS ZLWK D JUHDW GHDO RI HVRWHULFD LQ WKH SUHVHQW FRQWH[W note especially The Mystery of the Seven Vowels in Theory and Practice (Godwin 1991).

12

Gods And Vowels

fascinating, matter arises in Arabic: the name Allah, pronounced [‫ݦ‬DOޫOޫD‫@ޝ‬ and having as its base -OӑOӑDK-, seems to be the only native form to have a certain sound phonemically, the so-called “emphatic l” (ۜ RU>Oޫ@ 29. Saying Allah, therefore, is not hiding God’s name (as with YHWH), but the very act of speech does mark it as unusual. In the rest of this paper I shall consider the linguistic nature of easy-topronounce gods, ones with vowels. Indeed, in some cases too many vowels. The most spectacular instance of hypervocalism is a matter dear to my heart: Cicero’s youthful translation of Aratus’ incipit, ਫț ǻȚઁࢫ ਕȡȤȫȝİıșĮ ³)URP =HXV OHW XV EHJLQ´ Phaen. 1), as A Ioue Musarum primordia ³)URP-RYH>LVP\@0XVHV¶>LHVRQJ¶[email protected]EHJLQQLQJ´Aratea F 1). I give little space over to this here, though, for the essential ideas are already in print and I intend to publish a full (and bibliographically responsible) account elsewhere30. But in brief, these four words are fascinating: A Ioue runs the vocalic gamut, beginning with the FRQYHQWLRQDOILUVWOHWWHURIWKHDOSKDEHWDVZHKDYHVHHQprimordia hints DW³OHWWHUV´DVZHOODVPHDQLQJ³EHJLQQLQJ V ILUVWFDXVH V ´DQGMusarum is a phonetically balanced near-palindrome (note its proximate preform: *Musasum). All of this could just be fun and games, but there are in fact considerable depths behind the observation that A Ioue is the most compact possible way of putting all and only the five vowels together in Latin31. At least four ways of thinking about the world are at play here, two of which are especially relevant to the points I am leading up to about gods and vowels in Archaic Greek poetry. First, there is the magical and religious dimension. Strings of vowels in voces magicae are employed in divine invocations throughout the wider Mediterranean world, as in the near-SDOLQGURPHȚİȠȣȘȦāȚĮȘĮȧȘȦȣȠİȚ PGM IV.1130-31). Furthermore, 29

Emphatic l thus has a completely different status from “plain l” ([l]), which is very common in Arabic. It is often claimed that the former is a sound found only in Allah, and while this is not the case, it may nevertheless be that Allah (plus many RI LWV DOOLHG IRUPV  LV WKH RQO\ QDWLYH ZRUG LQ ZKLFK Oޫ LV SKRQHPLF ERWK LQ Classical Arabic and in most (if not all) modern dialects. The classic discussion remains Ferguson 1956. 30 For almost everything that follows in this and the next paragraph, see already Katz 2009, 79-QRWHDOVR9RON-32. 31 Note that I am speaking in the first place about letters rather than sounds: two of the letters in the sequence A Ioue—the semivowels i and u—are acting as consonants rather than as vowels. There is, however, ample evidence for the connection in the mind of Latin speakers between the vocalic and consonantal uses of these semivowels (see e.g. Allen 1978, 37-42 + 120).

Joshua T. Katz

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the most common divine name in the Greco-Egyptian magical papyri is none other thDQǿǹȍ—which happens to be a translation of the ineffable Hebrew name of G-d (see above) by just the first, middle, and last of the seven Greek vowels32. And second, there is the philosophical dimension, on which I have already commented: Cicero was no Epicurean, but the conceit is widespread across languages and cultures that sounds and letters, especially the primordial vowels, are integral to the universe’s elemental song, providing the drone and often also the melody. Let us return to Greek, and to Zeus, the declension of whose name is XQSDUDOOHOHGLQWKHODQJXDJHQRPǽİȪࢫJHQǻȚȩࢫHWF7KHDOWHUQDWLRQǽa ǻ- gets a lot of attention in elementary classes in historical and comparative linguistics, but it is of course entirely understood. What has not received any attention—indeed, I do not believe that it has been noticed—is the fact that the paradigm runs the vocalic gamut (-EU- ~ -I(U)O- ~ -I(U)I- ~ -I(U)A- ~ -EU)33: QRPǽİȪࢫ JHQǻȚ ࢭ ȩࢫ GDWǻȚ ࢭ ȓ ROGHUǻȚ ࢭ İȚ - FI0\FHQDHDQdi-we) DFFǻȓ ࢭ Į ROGHUǽોȞUHFKDUDFWHUL]HGDVǽોȞĮ 34 YRFǽİ૨

True, the Greek alphabet, in its Ionic form, has seven (simple) vowels rather than five, and they stand for ten sounds (long and short). But I do not believe that I am cheating by stressing quality over quantity: since, for any x, 9իx differs from 9թx only in quantity and since such differences do not seem to be terribly important, being at best inconsistently represented in Greek orthography over the centuries, what seems to be at issue is in the

32

Note also the fascinating faux-Egyptian “Song of the Vowels” reported by (ps.-)Demetrius in chapter 71 of his (2nd-FHQWXU\ %&"  WUHDWLVH On Style: “In Egypt when the priests sing hymns to the gods, they sing the seven vowels in succession, and the sound of these [letters] has such euphony that men listen to it instead of the flute and the lyre” (translation: Innes 1995, 395, with one modification). 33 The comment in fn. 31 about the dual nature of the sounds/letters i and u in Latin applies mutatis mutandis WR*UHHN,QWKHSDUDGLJPRIǽİȪࢫ, upsilon and digamma alternate (compare fn. 2): the latter is of course consonantal, while the former—in WKHGLSKWKRQJİȣ—is vocalic (see Allen 1987, 80). 34 :KLOH ǻȓĮ LV DQ LQQRYDWLRQ IURP D 3URWR-Indo-European point of view, it is already well established in Homer (Il. 1.394+) and Hesiod (cf. e.g. Op. 2, discussed below in the text).

Gods And Vowels

14

first place quality. Fundamentally, then, Greek has the same vowels that we find in Latin and that are instantiated in A Ioue, namely a, e, i, o, and u. What about the Proto-Indo-European paradigm that leads to the GHFOHQVLRQRIǽİȪࢫ—and, in ways that need not concern us here, to Galego deus, Castilian dios, and Latin Ioue" 7KLV LV D SUHWW\ H[WUDRUGLQDU\ paradigm, too, and a likewise uncontroversial one: nom. *G L L֒ éus gen. *GLX֒pyV dat. *GLX֒pL acc. *GL֒ ‫ڼ‬P < **G L L֒ éum voc. *G L L֒ éu

It is immediately apparent that all the vowels are present here as well— aside from *a. Fortunately, there is no need to worry about the lack of *a in the declension of *d(i)L֒ éus. The inventory of vowels in the proto-language is straightforward—*a, *Ɨ, *e, *Ɲ, *i, (*Ư), *o, *ǀ, *u, (*nj) (plus diphthongs: *ai, *ei, *oi, *au, *eu, *ou)—but as Michael Weiss neatly puts it, “All vowels in Proto-Indo-European were not equal”35. The *e’s (i.e. *e and *Ɲ) and *o’s (i.e. *o and *ǀ) pattern together, according to the principles of ablaut, and are to a large extent predictable outcomes of one underlying YRZHO i and *u pattern with their consonantal variants, the semivowels *L֒ (*j) and *X֒ (*w), as well as taking part in ablaut via the diphthongs (for their part, *Ư and *nj may not even be reconstructible36 DQGWKLVOHDYHVWKH *a’s (*a and the even rarer *Ɨ), which have the lowest functional load among the Proto-Indo-European vowels and do not as a rule pattern with the others. Proto-Indo-European *a/Ɨ is thus a bit like emphatic l in Arabic—except that the latter sound marks Allah’s specialness, whereas the former is special in quite another way, having a “notable tendency” to appear in “words denoting physical deformities … e.g. Lat. calvus ‘bald’, Lat. caecus ‘blind’, etc.”37.

35 Weiss 2009, 40. It will be immediately clear to any linguist that, like Weiss, I am not an adherent of the “Leiden school”, according to which Proto-Indo-European does not have the vowel *a/Ɨ at all. 36 See Weiss 2009, 40-41 (“if they occurred at all in PIE, [they] were of very limited distribution” [41]), with n.48, as well as e.g. Mayrhofer 1986, 171 (with particular reference to F. Specht). 37 Weiss 2009, 41.

Joshua T. Katz

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3.The Archaic Greek Universe of Sound It is time to talk about how the universe of sound manifests itself in our earliest Greek texts, especially hymns, and I begin with the proem of Hesiod’s :RUNV 'D\V, conventionally dated to the 8th or 7th century38: ȂȠࠎıĮȚ ȆȚİȡȓȘșİȞ, ܻȠȚį߲ıȚ țȜİȓȠȣıĮȚ, įİ૨IJİ, ǻȓૃ ਥȞȞȑʌİIJİ, ıijȑIJİȡȠȞ ʌĮIJȑȡૃ ਫ਼ȝȞİȓȠȣıĮȚ, ੖ȞIJİ įȚ੹ ȕȡȠIJȠ੿ ਙȞįȡİȢ ੒ȝ૵Ȣ ਙijĮIJȠȓ IJİ ijĮIJȠȓ IJİ ૧ȘIJȠȓ IJૃ ਙȡȡȘIJȠȓ IJİ ǻȚઁȢ ȝİȖȐȜȠȚȠ ਪțȘIJȚ. ૧ȑĮ ȝ੻Ȟ Ȗ੹ȡ ȕȡȚȐİȚ, ૧ȑĮ į੻ ȕȡȚȐȠȞIJĮ ȤĮȜȑʌIJİȚ, ૧İ૙Į įૃ ਕȡȓȗȘȜȠȞ ȝȚȞȪșİȚ țĮ੿ ਙįȘȜȠȞ ਕȑȟİȚ, ૧İ૙Į įȑ IJૃ ੁșȪȞİȚ ıțȠȜȚઁȞ țĮ੿ ਕȖȒȞȠȡĮ țȐȡijİȚ ǽİઃȢ ਫ਼ȥȚȕȡİȝȑIJȘȢ ੔Ȣ ਫ਼ʌȑȡIJĮIJĮ įȫȝĮIJĮ ȞĮȓİȚ. țȜ૨șȚ ੁįઅȞ ਕȚȫȞ IJİ, įȓțૉ įૃ ੅șȣȞİ șȑȝȚıIJĮȢ IJȪȞȘāਥȖઅ įȑ țİ Ȇȑȡıૉ ਥIJȒIJȣȝĮ ȝȣșȘıĮȓȝȘȞ.

5

10

Muses from Pieria, who glorify by songs, come to me, tell of Zeus your father in your singing. Because of him mortal men are unmentioned and mentioned, spoken and unspoken of, according to great Zeus’ will. For easily he makes strong, and easily he oppresses the strong, easily he diminishes the conspicuous one and magnifies the inconspicuous, and easily he makes the crooked straight and withers the proud— Zeus who thunders on high, who dwells in the highest mansions. O hearken as thou seest and hearest, and make judgment straight with righteousness, /RUGZKLOH,VKRXOGOLNH to tell Perses words of truth.

As M. L. West puts it in his commentary, the ten “lines are rather stylized, marked by anaphora (5-7), chiasmus (3-4, 7), a balancing of phrases which results in rhyme (1-2, 5-8), and perhaps figura etymologica in 2-3”39. More specifically, I count at least the following among the striking—and overlapping—stylistic features: homoeoteleuton (-ĮȚ>@-IJȠȚ> 4, 4], -İȚ> 6, 6, 7, 7, 8, including all verse-ILQDOV\OODEOHVVRUK\[email protected]  anaphora (verse-initial [and -medial] ૧ȑĮ >ZLWK V\QL][email protected]૧İ૙Į ZLWK preceding verse-initial ૧Ș- >@ VWULNLQJFRQVRQDQWLVP - ȡV- [4, @ SRVLWLYH-negative pairs (3, 4) plus chiasmus (also

38

The translation, like the translations of all indented multi-verse passages from Hesiod that follow, comes from West 1988, except that I have inserted line breaks into his prose. 39 West 1978, 136.

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Gods And Vowels

  DQG XQXVXDO SOD\ ZLWK IRUP ૧ȑĮ YV ૧İ૙Į >   @  DQG IXQFWLRQ (transitive ȕȡȚȐİȚ vs. intransitive ȕȡȚȐȠȞIJĮ [5, 5])40. What interests me here are those stylistic features that have specifically to do with Zeus, beginning with the polyptoton of his name (highlighted in boldface in the passage above): accusative ǻȓ Į LQYHUVH2JHQLWLYHǻȚȩࢫ in 4, and verse-LQLWLDOQRPLQDWLYHǽİȪࢫ41, as a reminder of sorts, in 8ZH are praising him in all his aspects, or at least most of them. And there’s more (hiJKOLJKWHGZLWKXQGHUOLQLQJ )RURQHWKLQJWKHSUHSRVLWLRQįȚȐLQ verse 3 LV D SUREDEOH HW\PRORJLFDO SOD\ RQ ǻȓ Į  LQ H[DFWO\ WKH VDPH metrical position in the previous verse42. )RU DQRWKHU WKLV ǻȓ Į  LV immediately preceded by the adverb #įİ૨IJİ “hither”, whose first syllable, įİ૨-, is in effect a folk-etymological vocative to go with the upcoming QRPLQDWLYHǽİȪࢫ43. And then there is the positive-negative pair ਕȡȓȗȘȜȠȞ — ਙįȘȜȠȞ in verse 6: while these words probably do not actually share Zeus’ Indo-European root, it is surely clear, in context, that what Hesiod is doing is throwing in yet one more folk-etymological association in order to amplify further the name, aspects, and (yes) vowels of the highest god44. So what is WKH URRW RI ǽİȪࢫ—or, in Proto-Indo-European terms, *G L L֒ éus" ,W LV JHQHUDOO\ UHFNRQHG WR EH GL֒ eu- ³VN\ JRG  GD\ VKLQH´45, 40

See for most of these West 1978, 136-42 and especially Watkins 1995, 98-101. In what follows, #X means that X is verse-LQLWLDO;PHDQVWKDW;LVYHUVH-ILQDO ;PHDQVWKDW;FRPHVDWWKHYHU\EHJLQQLQJRIDSRHPDQG;PHDQVWKDW; comes at the very end. 42 See the discussion in West 1978, 138-39, as well as Watkins 1995, 99, with n.4. 43 How this etymological wordplay interacts with homoeoteleuton and rhyme between verses 2 and 8 is worth more detailed comment. Note that #įİ૨IJİ, ǻȓૃ (2) is right on top of rhyming #੖Ȟ IJİ įȚ੹ ȕȡȠIJȠȓ   ZKRVH IJİ LV ZKROO\ GLIIHUHQW etymologically (also from that of ਥȞȞȑʌİIJİ >@  ZKLFK LQ WXUQ LV ULJKW RQ WRS RI #૧ȘIJȠȓ IJૃ ਙȡȡȘIJȠȓ IJİ (4), which changes the first syllable and picks up on -IJȠȚDV well as (- IJİZKLFKLVWKHQIROORZHGE\WKUHHPRUHOLQHVRIHODERUDte play on the initial syllable (#)૧9թ-EHIRUHZHUHWXUQWRǽİȪࢫ  ZKLFK,VXJJHVWLVįİ૨IJݶV partner and one of the reasons Hesiod uses the adverb at all. 44 West 1978, 140 notes that “Hesiod seems aware that -ȗȘȜȠȞ  -įȘȜȠȞ´ DQG suggests, cautiously, that Hesiod may here have “coin[ed ਙįȘȜȠȞ] ad hoc for the DQWLWKHVLV´KHGRHVQRWPDNHDFRQQHFWLRQWRǽİȪࢫ. Some Indo-Europeanists have takHQįોȜȠࢫHWFEDFNWRWKHVDPHURRWDVǽİȪࢫ, but this is not likely: e.g. Hawkins 2004, 59-60, with n.32, in a discussion of ਕȡȓȗȘȜȠࢫ, accepts the now-standard line that we have to do with Proto-Indo-European *deih2- “flash, gleam”. 45 It is common enough to say that *GL֒ HX- is a verbal root meaning “shine”, but the only examples are in Indo-Iranian and have a dental extension (cf. Sanskrit dyut-  compare Martin Kümmel in Rix 2001, 125. I do not believe that Carolin Schneider in Wodtko, Irslinger, and Schneider 2008, 69-81 is right to set up “*GHL֒ -, di- ‘hell (sein), scheinen’”. 41

Joshua T. Katz

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and what I propose to do now is engage in some pointed kabbalism. This root has all the vowels, or at least all the vowels that matter: *e (which alternates with *o more or less predictably), *i, and *u. If you turn it around, you get *X֒HLG- “see” (cf. e.g. Greek (ࢭ)ੁį-, as well as (ࢭ Ƞੁį“know”), about which I do not have space to comment here (though see fn.  DQGLI\RXDGGWRWKLVDFRQVRQDQW—the second and, from the point of view of Greek, helpfully a-coloring laryngeal46—then you end up with *h2X֒HLG- “sing”, as in Greek ਕ(ࢭ İȓįȦDQGUHODWHGIRUPV47. As it turns out, these forms are critical and vocalically elemental building blocks of our earliest Greek poetry. With the digamma included, the verb ਕࢭİȓįȦ DQG WKH QRXQ ਕࢭȠȚįȒ “song” each manifest the five qualities of vowel in just six letters. Some readers will accuse me of overemphasizing the digamma, and they would not be wrong: it is not a matter of dispute that [w] was no longer pronounced as such in Ionic by the time Homer and Hesiod were first written down and that what remains is a shadowy, though very real, prosodic effect, one that might have been felt especially at the incipits of traditional (i.e. inherited) poetry48. Note, though, that accepting this is not especially important, for the vocalic range of ਕİȓįȦDQGਕȠȚįȒLVUHPDUNDEOHHYHQZLWKRXWWDNLQJWKHGLJDPPD into account. Whatever the deep relationship may be between chance and choice (At ZKDWOHYHOLVIRUPUHVSRQVLEOHIRUFRQWHQW" WKHYRZHOVRIਕࢭȠȚįȒDQGQRW just the word’s meaning, help give power to the opening of Hesiod’s :RUNV 'D\V (1): ##ȂȠ૨ıĮȚ ȆȚİȡȓȘșİȞ, ਕࢭȠȚįૌıȚ (“Muses from Pieria, by songs …”).

But such power is by no means confined to this work alone. Consider also the openings of Hesiod’s Theogony (1) and Homer’s Iliad (1.1), two of the remaining three earliest Greek poetic texts we possess: 46

Any who accept the idea that the laryngeals are a subsystem of vowels in the proto-language (thus Reynolds, West, and Coleman 2000) will find this move less brazen. 47 Because it is found only in Greek—where, however, its status is secure— Kümmel in Rix 2001, 288 sets up the root *h2X֒HLG- for Proto-Indo-European with a question mark. 48 See e.g. Hackstein 2010, 415, with references. For Hesiod in particular, the classic account is Edwards 1971, 132-39 (specifically on initial digamma, though see 139 n.53). In what follows, I have chosen, admittedly artificially and not wholly consistently, to write “ࢭ” in forms of “sing” when they appear in Homer and Hesiod but “(ࢭ)” when they appear in the Homeric Hymns and minor Homerica.

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Gods And Vowels #ȂȠȣı੺ȦȞ ਬȜȚțȦȞȚ੺įȦȞ ਕȡȤઆȝİșૃ ਕࢭİ઀įİȚȞ ³)URP WKH +HOLFRQLDQ Muses let us begin to sing”) and ȂોȞȚȞਙࢭİȚįİșİȐ ³2IWKHZUDWKVLQJRJRGGHVV´ 

As for the last text, Homer’s Odyssey, it begins (1): ##ਡȞįȡĮȝȠȚ਩ȞȞİʌİȂȠ૨ıĮ ³2IWKHPDQVLQJWRPHRMuse”),

with the imperative ਩ȞȞİʌİLQVWHDGRIDIRUPRIਕࢭİȠȚį-, a variation whose importance seems especially small when one notes that the imperative ਥȞȞȑʌİIJİ DSSHDUV LQ WKH VHFRQG YHUVH RI +HVLRG¶V :RUNV  'D\V, immediately after ਕȠȚįૌıȚ … | įİ૨IJİ, ǻȓૃ. In any case, though, a remarkable, but hitherto seemingly unseen, point is that if we accept a couple of etymologies of Calvert Watkins, as many scholars do, then all four of the earliest epic incipits display—and as the very first word in three of them—a form that goes back to Proto-IndoEuropean *men- ³WKLQN´ ȂȠ૨ıĮ ³0XVH´  mon-tu-h2 [vel sim.]) and ȝોȞȚࢫ ³ZUDWK´ GHIRUPHG IURP ȝȞ઼ȞȚࢫ < *mneh2-ni-, whose root, *mneh2- ³NHHSLQPLQG´>VHHIQ@DVLQ*UHHNȝȞȐȠȝĮȚ³DPPLQGIXORI remember”, is generally considered an extension of *men-)49. Just like *h2X֒HLG-, *men- is a poetic and religious root in meaning (cf. e.g. Sanskrit PiQWUD-) and also an especially phonetically resonant one, containing as it does two of the most vowel-like consonants50 DQG DV KDV RIWHQ EHHQ pointed out, singing and mental activity (including committing information to memory) were the two most important activities of the Proto-Indo-European poet51. 49

)RU ȝોȞȚࢫ, see Watkins 1977, as well as Muellner 1996, 177- IHZ QRQobvious etymological ideas are universally accepted, but this one has certainly UHFHLYHG ZLGH DFFODLP 7KH FRQQHFWLRQ EHWZHHQ ȂȠ૨ıĮ DQG men- is more controversial (oddly, in my view), but see Watkins 1995, 73 and 110-11, whose idea Janda 2010, 277-94 discusses thoroughly and lightly revises in favor of *mónti-h2FRPSDUHDOVR:HVW- ³3RHWU\DV5HFDOO´ $VVDsO >§ 21-52]WKDQNVWR6DQG\+DUGLHIRUWKHUHIHUHQFHV JLYHVDJHQHUDO DQGVRPHZKDW IX]]\ DFFRXQWRISRVVLEOHHW\PRORJLHVERWK³UHDO´DQGIRONRIKLVPDQ\SDSHUV on and around the Muses, Hardie 2005 stands out for its excellent account of the folk-etymological connection between the Latin words mens “mind” (< *men-) and carmen “song”, as well as Camena “Muse”. 50 7KHVHFRQVRQDQWVDOVRKDSSHQWRVLWULJKWLQWKHPLGGOHRIRXUHDUOLHVWDOSKDEHWV on LMN, see above in the text, with fn. 26. 51 On the “function of the Indo-European poet … to be the custodian and the transmitter of [his] tradition”, see Watkins 1995, 68-84 and passim mneh2- is the ³OH[LFDO H[SUHVVLRQ RI WKLV IXQFWLRQ´ TXRWDWLRQV RQ  LWDOLFV LQ RULJLQDO  1RWH also (with e.g. Bartolotta 2002) the semantic connection between the roots *X֒HLG-

Joshua T. Katz

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It is for these reasons that in the text of the proem of the :RUNV 'D\V given above, I highlight in italics ##ȂȠ૨ıĮȚ and ਕȠȚįૌıȚ. But there is even more to say about this simultaneously mental and elemental song, which is highlighted by the ring from the first word, ##ȂȠ૨ıĮȚ, to the last, ȝȣșȘıĮȓȝȘȞ#, a verbal form meaning “I would speak/sing” that provides both a folk-etymology for the Muses in its root-cum-verbal suffix, ȝȣșȘıĮȚ-, and also a new and playful instance of -ȝȘȞ DVWKRugh related to *men-, and so italicized as well) in the desinence. Furthermore, the phonetic play here goes well beyond the desinence, as Watkins has illuminatingly described52: The closure of this 10-line proem is effected with no less art. The message is simply ‘to Perses’ … ‘I would speak true things’: ਥIJȒIJȣȝĮ ȝȣșȘıĮȓȝȘȞ 7KH simple message is in fact the poet’s truth, and it is cunningly hidden and cunningly unveiled. The poet’s truth sees in two directions at once, forward and back HWƜ780$087+ƜVDLPƝQ is an iconic palindrome of the elements of TRUE and SPEAK. This phonetic inversion finally calls attention to—perceptually cues—the hidden phonetic DQG VHPDQWLF ULQJ ZKLFK IUDPHV WKH HQWLUH SURHP 7KH ILUVW ZRUG LV ȂȠ૨ıĮȚ the Muses, the personified mind of the poet …. And the last word of the proem contains a Saussurian hypogram of the same word, to form a ring: MOUSAI — 08WKƝ6$,PƝQ The Muses—collectively the mind of the poet—are thus literally embodied in WKHSRHW¶VILUVWSHUVRQVLQJXODUYHUEȝȣșȘıĮȓȝȘȞ … ‘I would speak’.

Such large-scale mental and elemental rings are not just found in this ten-line hymnic proem but also provide the structure for entire Homeric Hymns, a number of which—including three of the four major ones—both begin and end with forms of *men-/mneh2- and/or *h2X֒HLG-53: “see” (see above in the text) and *men-: for the latter, Janda 2010, 293-94, comparing the activities of poets, seers, and the Muses, refines an idea of O. Carruba and suggests that its original meaning has something to do with (inner) sight (see already Thomas Zehnder on *mneh2- in Rix 2001, 447 n.1). 52 Watkins 1995, 100-1 (italics in original). See also Katz 2013a, 2, with n.5, and 2013b, 182, with n.59. 53 This does not seem ever to have been pointed out, including in the four substantial commentaries in English that have appeared since 2008. Endlessly remarked on, however, is that the Hymns tend to open with a phrase like “I begin

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Gods And Vowels Demeter (Hymn 2): ਕ(ࢭ İ઀įİȚȞ ³>, [email protected] WR VLQJ´  — ȝȞȒıȠȝ¶ ਕ(ࢭ ȠȚįોࢫ ³,VKDOOUHPHPEHUDVRQJ´  Apollo (Hymn   ȂȞȒıȠȝĮȚ ³/HW PH UHPHPEHU´  — ȝȞȒıȠȝ¶ ਕ(ࢭ ȠȚįોࢫ## (546)DQG Hermes (Hymn 4): ##ਬȡȝોȞ੢ȝȞİȚȂȠ૨ıĮ ³2I+HUPHVVLQJR0XVH´ — ȝȞȒıȠȝ¶ਕ(ࢭ ȠȚįોࢫ## (580)54.

Since ǹ¶VDQGȂ¶VDERXQGDWWKHVWDUWDQGILQLVKRIRXUHDUOLHVWKH[DPHWULF hymns55, I suggest that ##ȂોȞȚȞ ਙࢭİȚįİ DQG IRUPXODLF ȝȞȒıȠȝ¶ ਕ(ࢭ ȠȚįોࢫ## are the Greek analogues of om: not etymologically, of course, but both functionally (they open and conclude mantras) and also phonetically, containing in very little space the whole vocalic universe56 and the nasal hum57. In addition, the occasional scansion of the first vowel of ਕ(ࢭ İȓįȦ DV ORQJ સ)—in Archaic poetry, usually in the first-person singular form and when it is the second word in a hymnic proem after the initial accusative of the divine being(s) (or, in one case, place) being hymned—seems to me plausibly the Greek analogue of pluti: ##ਾȡȘȞ ਕ(ࢭ İȓįȦ ³2I+HUD,VLQJ´Hymn 12.1), ##ਬȡȝોȞਕ(ࢭ İȓįȦ ³2I+HUPHV, VLQJ´Hymn 18.1), ##ਡȡIJİȝȚȞਕ(ࢭ İȓįȦ ³2I$UWHPLV,VLQJ´Hymn 27.1), WRVLQJ´DQGHQGPRVWFRPPRQO\ [ ZLWKWKHIRUPXODĮ੝IJ੹ȡਥȖઅ țĮ੿ ıİ૙Ƞ>RU ਥȖઅȞ ਫ਼ȝȑȦȞ IJİ@ țĮ੿ ਙȜȜȘࢫ ȝȞȒıȠȝ¶ ਕȠȚįોࢫ, whose meaning—“But I shall remember both you and another song” (vel sim.)—is discussed most recently in 9HUJDGRV   0LOOHU   ZULWHV WKDW K\PQLF ȝȞȒıȠȝĮȚ LV ³IRUPDOO\ equivalent to ਕİȓįȦਕİȓıȠȝĮȚDQGWKH like”. 54 Note the ludic etymologizing in the playful Hymn to Hermes: -ȝȘȞ-ȝȞ- before the “real” reflex of *mon-, with ੢ȝȞİȚ³VLQJ´VXEVWLWXWLQJIRUਕ(ࢭ İȓįİȚ6RPHWKLQJ similar lies behind the ring in the fourth major hymn, to Aphrodite (Hymn 5): ȂȠ૨ıȐ ȝȠȚ ਩ȞȞİʌİ   — ੢ȝȞȠȞ   )RU WKHLU SOD\IXOQHVV , PHQWLRQ DOVR Hymns 9 (##ਡȡIJİȝȚȞ੢ȝȞİȚȂȠ૨ıĮ>@— ਕ(ࢭ İȓįİȚȞ_«੢ȝȞȠȞ>-9]) and 32 ȂȒȞȘȞ >1% ³0RRQ´@ « ȂȠ૨ıĮȚ >@ — #ਕ(ࢭ ȓıȠȝĮȚ « ਕ(ࢭ ȠȚįȠȓ _ ȂȠȣıȐȦȞ>-20]). 55 Jenny Strauss Clay points out to me that the especially resonant [a] is a baby’s first vowel and an articulatorily maximally contrastive labial stop his or her first consonant: see famously Jakobson 1941, 34, 54-55, 56 (“Der labiale Verschlusslaut in Verbindung mit dem a-Laut schafft das Modell der Silbe”), and passim. 56 Compare the fact that Latin poets seem actively to have tried to start their works with the vocalic gamut, as in $UPD XLUXPTXH FDQR (Verg. Aen. 1) and, with maximal compression, Cicero’s A Ioue (see Katz 2009, 81-82). Katz 2013a, 20-21 n.50 offers tentative thoughts on the presence of the same phenomenon in Greek poetry. 57 One may also compare Hebrew ʯʮʠ amen—as indeed Parpola 1981, 204, with notes on 211, does, though for a different reason.

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##੍ȜȚȠȞ ਕ(ࢭ İȓįȦ ³2I 7UR\ , VLQJ´ Ilias parva), and especially ȂȠȪıĮࢫ ਕ(ࢭ İȓįȦ ³2I WKH 0XVHV , VLQJ´  ZKLFK LV KRZ $SHOOLFRQ¶V text of the Iliad begins58. It is obviously too great a leap to say that the incipit of the Iliad FRQFHDOVVRPHWKLQJOLNH Ȃ Ȟ ોȞȚȞਕࢭİȓįȦǽİ૨ (ષ) or *ǽોȞ ਕࢭİȓįȦ ȂȠ૨ıĮ Ț  સ), but one may wonder whether a poetic and religious formula with all the vowels (quasi-*GL֒ HX- + *h2X֒HLG-) and both the nasals (*men-) lurks in epic’s lyric background—and perhaps even at the so-called second beginning of Vergil’s Aeneid59. A plausible next step would be to return to the Vedic material, starting with Rigveda 1.1, which begins with the vowel a, in the name of the firegod agní-, whose paradigm is then given polyptotically: acc. ##Agním (1a), nom. #agní‫( ۊ‬2a), instr. #DJQtQƗ (3a), voc. #iJQH (4a), nom. #agnír (5a)60. I leave this for another occasion and close instead on an inspirational note. 7KH*UHHNQRXQĮ੝įȒ³ KXPDQ YRLFH´LVRIWHQVDLGWR go back to the same root as ਕ(ࢭ İȓįȦ 7KLV LV DOPRVW FHUWDLQOy incorrect: Į੝įȒ seems to descend from Proto-Indo-European *h2X֒HG+- “speak” and be cognate with Sanskrit vad-61. Nevertheless, the two words certainly are connected from the inner perspective of Greek62, as in Hesiod’s Dichterweihe at the start of the Theogony, in which Hesiod describes the literally inspiring breath of the Muses with the remarkable collocation Į੝į੽Ȟ>v.l. ਕȠȚįȒȞ[email protected]_șȑıʌȚȞ ³GLYLQHYRLFH´- 1RWHWKDWĮ੝įȒȞLV

58

In a follow-up paper, Katz forthcoming, I consider these and other examples of the “hymnic long alpha”. 59 The Aeneid starts anew at 7.37, and according to West 2007, 34, WXXDWHPWX GLXDPRQH (7.41) “cannot be accounted for from the Greek models, but must come from native Italic tradition”. Note the presence of a vowel-filled word for “poet” (here uatem “shaman”, borrowed from Gaulish) alongside diua (ultimately < *GL֒ HX-) and mone (< *mon-). 60 The leading reference to the polyptoton here—identified at the start of the 20th century by Ferdinand de Saussure in his so-called anagram notebooks (on which see Katz 2013b)—is Elizarenkova 1995, 130, 288, and esp. 153-ZLWKQ see also Watkins 1995, 22 n.14 and 112 n.1. For a disorienting attempt to count and classify the sounds in Rigveda 1.1, see Raster 1992. 61 For the Proto-Indo-European reconstruction, see e.g. Kümmel in Rix 2001, 286. 62 So are ਕ(ࢭ İȓįȦ DQG WKH PXFK-discussed word for “nightingale”, ਕ(ࢭ ȘįȫȞ which probably goes back to *h2X֒HG+- as well. For a recent account of the connection between the sweet and complex songs of poets and nightingales in Hesiod and elsewhere in Greek poetry, see Steiner 2007, 178-81 and passim. 63 For discussion, see West 1966, 165-66.

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Gods And Vowels

HFKRHGWKUHHYHUVHVODWHUE\Įੁࢭ੻ȞਕࢭİȓįİȚȞ DQd with another pair, ਥȩȞIJĮ DQGĮੁࢭ੻ȞਥȩȞIJȦȞ³ DOZD\V EHLQJ´LQEHWZHHQ 64: ਥȞȑʌȞİȣıĮȞįȑȝȠȚĮ‫ރ‬į‫ޣ‬Ȟ șȑıʌȚȞ੆ȞĮțȜİȓȠȚȝȚIJȐIJ¶ਥııȩȝİȞĮʌȡȩIJ¶ਥȩȞIJĮ țĮȓȝ¶ਥțȑȜȠȞș¶ਫ਼ȝȞİ૙ȞȝĮțȐȡȦȞȖȑȞȠࢫ Įੁ੻ȞਥȩȞIJȦȞ ıij઼ࢫ į¶Į੝IJ੹ࢫ ʌȡ૵IJȩȞIJİțĮ੿ ੢ıIJĮIJȠȞĮੁ੻ȞܻİȓįİȚȞ.

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and they breathed into me wondrous voice, so that I should celebrate things of the future and things that were aforetime. And they told me to sing of the family of blessed ones who are for ever, and first and last always WȠVLQJ of themselves.

In the bHVW DFFRXQW RI Į੝į੽Ȟ _ șȑıʌȚȞ $QGUHZ )RUG WUDQVODWHV LW DV “unwearying voice, unbreakable sound”, writing that the “idea [is] of poetry as a sublime voicing”65. Now, as it happens, Hesiod himself, near the start of the :RUNV  'D\V, makes a delightful metapoetic comment about inspired ਕȠȚįȠȓDQGYRZHOV țĮ੿ țİȡĮȝİઃࢫ țİȡĮȝİ૙ țȠIJȑİȚțĮ੿ IJȑțIJȠȞȚIJȑțIJȦȞ țĮ੿ ʌIJȦȤઁࢫ ʌIJȦȤ૶ ijșȠȞȑİȚțĮ੿ ܻȠȚįާ‫ܻ ב‬ȠȚįࠜ.

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So potter is piqued with potter, joiner with joiner, beggar begrudges beggar, and singer singer.

Commenting on the striking “indexical linking by phonetic figure in [this] proverb”, Watkins concludes, “The many vowels of the poet (ਕȠȚįȩࢫ) beside the harsh stop consonants of the others is iconic to his special and privileged status”66. And so—building on the account of the Dichterweihe

64

2QĮ੝įȒLQJHQHUDO and in Hesiod’s Dichterweihe, see above all Ford 1992, 17297 (“Poetry: The Voice of Song”). 65 Ford 1992, 190. 66 Watkins 1995, 30 and 31. As for the other occupations, Watkins 1995, 30-31 notes that “[t]he first set is alliterative, k- k- k-, the second more complex, k- t- tkt- t- kt-, while the third shows alliteration with variation in the distinctive feature of aspiration: pt- pt- phth-”—so the jump to all vowels is especially highly marked. 2I IJૌ į¶ İੇࢫ ઞ ı¶ ਗȞ ਥȖȫ ʌİȡ ਙȖȦ țĮ੿ ਕȠȚįઁȞ ਥȠ૨ıĮȞ Op. 208), spoken by the hawk to the nightingale (compare fn. 62), McKay 1960, 18 has said that “unless I am greatly mistaken, it is the most felicitous line in Hesiod”, in part because the ³QXPEHUDQGYDULHW\RIYRZHOVLQțĮ੿ ਕȠȚįઁȞਥȠ૨ıĮȞFUHDWHDO\ULFDOQRWH´

Joshua T. Katz

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that Katharina Volk and I published more than a dozen years ago67—I suggest that since the Muses ਥȞȑʌȞİȣıĮȞ ³EUHDWKHG>GLYLQH[email protected]LQWR´ Theog. 31) Hesiod68 and since breath equals vowels and since vowels are divine69 and VLQFH Į੝į੽Ȟ _ șȑıʌȚȞ LV DW VRPH OHYHO D UHSODFHPHQW RI inherited *GL֒ HX- + *h2X֒HLG- (i.e. “divine song”), what Hesiod has acquired from the mental Muses is truly elemental70: the “sublime voicing”, the “unwearying voice”, the “unbreakable sound” that is the Greek equivalent of the “imperishable, undying” sacred syllable in Sanskrit, om71.

Works Cited Agud, A. 2010. “Lo absoluto, el sueño, la sílaba om y dos poemas crepusculares. Una reflexión intercultural.” In DIC MIHI, MVSA, VIRVM: Homenaje al profesor Antonio López Eire, ed. F. Cortés Gabaudan and J.V. Méndez Dosuna, 31-38. Salamanca: Ediciones Universidad de Salamanca. Allen, W.S. 1978. Vox Latina: A Guide to the Pronunciation of Classical Latin, 2nd ed. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. —. 1987. 9R[*UDHFD$*XLGHWRWKH3URQXQFLDWLRQRI&ODVVLFDO*UHHN, 3rd ed. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Assaël, J. 2000. “Poétique des étymologies de ȝȠ૨ıĮ (mousa), la muse.” Noesis 4: 11-53. —. 2006. 3RXU XQH SRpWLTXH GH O¶LQVSLUDWLRQ G¶+RPqUH j (XULSLGH. Louvain: Peeters. Bartolotta, A. 2002. L’occhio della mente: Un’HUHGLWj LQGRHXURSHD QHL poemi homerici. Palermo: Circolo Glottologico Palermitano. 67

Katz and Volk 2000 (127 on Theog. 31- VHHDOVRQRZ.DW]D-3, with a survey of reactions in n.7 to our idea that this is the earliest Greek example of “belly-prophecy”. 68 Assaël 2006 offers an extended but under-researched account of poetic insSLUDWLRQRQWKHTheogony, see esp. 103-31. 69 Breath can of course also be divine, as in the Holy Spirit. 70 Macrobius, in the context of etymologizing Camena (see fn. 49) from canere “to sing”, says that the Etruscans know that Musas esse mundi cantum (In Somn. 2.3.4)—a striking nod to the Harmony of the Spheres (see above in the text, with fn. 28). 71 It may be worth examining the vocalic makeup of exclamatory utterances such DVĮੁĮ૙ (on which see e.g. West 1997, 261-64) and particularly of exhortations in GLYLQH DGGUHVVHV DV LQ WKH UHIUDLQ Ǽ੝Ƞ૙ ੯ ੁઁ ǺȐțȤ¶ ੯ ੁ੻ ȆĮȚȐȞ LQ 3KLORGDPXV¶ paean to Dionysus, where the contrast between the string of vowels and the expressive gemination -țȤ- in Bacchus’ name is particularly pronounced.

24

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Blumenberg, H. 1983. 'LH /HVEDUNHLW GHU :HOW, 2nd ed. Frankfurt am Main: Suhrkamp. Courtney, E. 1990. “Greek and Latin Acrostichs.” Philologus 134: 3-13. Daniels, P.T. 2001. “Writing Systems.” In 7KH +DQGERRN RI /LQJXLVWLFV, ed. M. Aronoff and J. Rees-Miller, 43-80. Malden, MA: Blackwell. —. 2013. “The Arabic Writing System.” In 7KH 2[IRUG +DQGERRN RI Arabic Linguistics, ed. J. Owens, in press. Oxford: Oxford University Press. — and W. Bright, eds. 1996. The World’s Writing Systems. New York: Oxford University Press. Dornseiff, F. 1925. 'DV $OSKDEHW LQ 0\VWLN XQG 0DJLH, 2nd ed. Leipzig: Teubner. Driver, G.R. 1976. Semitic Writing from Pictograph to Alphabet, 3rd ed. London: Oxford University Press. Drucker, J. 1995. The Alphabetic Labyrinth: The Letters in History and Imagination. New York: Thames & Hudson. Edwards, G.P. 1971. The Language of Hesiod in its Traditional Context. Oxford: Blackwell. Elizarenkova, T.J. 1995. Language and Style of the Vedic ‫܈ۿ‬is. Albany: State University of New York Press. [Russian original 1993, non vidi.] Ferguson, Ch.A. 1956. “The Emphatic l in Arabic.” Language 32: 446-52. [Reprinted in 1997. Structuralist Studies in Arabic Linguistics: Charles $)HUJXVRQ¶V3DSHUV-, ed. R.K. Belnap and N. Haeri, 10714. Leiden: Brill.] Ford, A. 1992. Homer: The Poetry of the Past. Ithaca: Cornell University Press. Godwin, J. 1991. The Mystery of the Seven Vowels in Theory and Practice. Grand Rapids, MI: Phanes. Hackstein, O. 2010. “The Greek of Epic.” In A Companion to the Ancient *UHHN /DQJXDJH, ed. E.J. Bakker, 401-23. Malden, MA: WileyBlackwell. Hardie, A. 2005. “The Ancient Etymology of carmen.” PLLS 12: 71-94. Hawkins, Sh  >SXEO @ ³7KH ,QWHUFKDQJH RI į DQG ȗ LQ (DUO\ Greek Epic.” Glotta 80: 46-71. Heller-Roazen, D. 2005. Echolalias: On the Forgetting of Language. New York: Zone. —. 2011. The Fifth Hammer: Pythagoras and the Disharmony of the World. New York: Zone. Hendren, G. 2012. “Woven Alliteration in the De Rerum Natura.” CJ 107: 409-21.

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Hock, H.H. 1991. “On the Origin and Early Development of the Sacred Sanskrit Syllable om.” In Perspectives on Indo-(XURSHDQ /DQJXDJH Culture and Religion: Studies in Honor of Edgar C. Polomé, I, 89-110. McLean, VA: Institute for the Study of Man. Hoffmann, K. 1976. $XIVlW]H ]XU ,QGRLUDQLVWLN, 2 vols., ed. J. Narten. Wiesbaden: Reichert. Idel, M. 1990. Golem: Jewish Magical and Mystical Traditions on the Artificial Anthropoid. Albany: State University of New York Press. Innes, D.C. 1995. 'HPHWULXV 2Q 6W\OH [together with $ULVWRWOH 3RHWLFV and /RQJLQXV 2Q WKH 6XEOLPH in Loeb Classical Library vol. 199]. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. Jakobson, R. 1941. .LQGHUVSUDFKH $SKDVLH XQG DOOJHPHLQH /DXWJHVHW]H. Uppsala: Almquist & Wiksell. [Reprinted in 1971. Selected Writings, I: Phonological Studies, 2nd ed., 328-401. The Hague: Mouton. English translation: 1968. &KLOG /DQJXDJH $SKDVLD DQG 3KRQRORJLFDO Universals. The Hague: Mouton.] Janda, M. 2000. Eleusis: Das indogermanische Erbe der Mysterien. Innsbruck: Institut für Sprachwissenschaft der Universität Innsbruck. —. 2010. 'LH 0XVLN QDFK GHP &KDRV 'HU 6FK|SIXQJVP\WKRV GHU europäischen Vorzeit. Innsbruck: Institut für Sprachen und Literaturen der Universität Innsbruck. Katz, J.T. 2000. “Evening Dress: The Metaphorical Background of Latin uesper and Greek ਪıʌİȡȠࢫ.” In Proceedings of the Eleventh Annual UCLA Indo-(XURSHDQ&RQIHUHQFH/RV$QJHOHV-XQH-, ed. K. Jones-Bley, M.E. Huld, and A. Della Volpe, 69-93. Washington, D.C.: Institute for the Study of Man. —. 2008. “Vergil Translates Aratus: Phaenomena 1-2 and Georgics 1.12.” MD 60: 105-23. —. 2009. “Wordplay.” In Proceedings of the 20th Annual UCLA IndoEuropean Conference Los Angeles2FWREHU-NRYHPEHU, ed. S.W. Jamison, H.C. Melchert, and B. Vine, 79-114. Bremen: Hempen. —. 2010a. “Etymology.” In The Classical Tradition, ed. A. Grafton, G.W. Most, and S. Settis, 342-45. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. —. 2010b. “Nonne lexica etymologica multiplicanda sunt?.” In Classical 'LFWLRQDULHV3DVW3UHVHQWDQG)XWXUH, ed. Ch. Stray, 25-48. London: Duckworth. —. 2013a. “The Muse at Play: An Introduction.” In Kwapisz, Petrain, and 6]\PDĔVNL-30.

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—. 2013b. “Saussure’s anaphonie : Sounds Asunder.” In Synaesthesia and the Ancient Senses, ed. Sh. Butler and A. Purves, 167-84. Durham: Acumen. —. Forthcoming. ³7KH+\PQLF/RQJ$OSKDȂȠ઄ıĮȢਕİ઀įȦDQG5HODWHG Incipits in Archaic Greek Poetry.” In 3URFHHGLQJVRIWKHWKAnnual UCLA Indo-European Conference, ed. S.W. Jamison, H.C. Melchert, and B. Vine, in press. Bremen: Hempen. — and K. 9RON³µ0HUH%HOOLHV¶"$1HZ/RRNDWTheogony 26-8.” JHS 120: 122-31. Kwapisz, J., D. Petrain, and M. 6]\PDĔVNL, eds. 2013. The Muse at Play: 5LGGOHVDQG:RUGSOD\LQ*UHHNDQG/DWLQ3RHWU\. Berlin: de Gruyter. Ladefoged, P. 2005. Vowels and Consonants: An Introduction to the Sounds of Languages, 2nd ed. Malden, MA: Blackwell. — and K. Johnson. 2011. A Course in Phonetics, 6th ed. Boston: Wadsworth. Luz, Ch. 2010. Technopaignia: Formspiele in der griechischen Dichtung. Leiden: Brill. Matt, D.C. 2004. 7KH =RKDU 3ULW]NHU (GLWLRQ, I. Stanford: Stanford University Press. Mayrhofer, M. 1986. ,QGRJHUPDQLVFKH *UDPPDWLN, I/2: Halbband: Lautlehre [Segmentale Phonologie des Indogermanischen]. Heidelberg: Winter. —. 1992. (W\PRORJLVFKHV:|UWHUEXFKGHV$OWLQGRDULVFKHQ, I. Heidelberg: Winter. McKay, K.J. 1960. “The Melody of Hesiod.” SO 36: 17-20. Miller, A.M. 1986. From Delos to Delphi: A Literary Study of the Homeric Hymn to Apollo. Leiden: Brill. Muellner, L. 1996. The Anger of Achilles: 0ƝࡂQLV LQ *UHHN (SLF. Ithaca: Cornell University Press. Parpola, A. 1981. “On the Primary Meaning and Etymology of the Sacred Syllable ǀP.” StOr  Proceedings of the Nordic South Asia Conference held in +HOVLQNL -XQH- , ed. A. Parpola): 195213. Raster, P. 1992. Phonetic Symmetries in the First Hymn of the Rigveda. Innsbruck: Institut für Sprachwissenschaft der Universität Innsbruck. Reynolds, E., P. West, and J. Coleman. 2000. “Proto-Indo-European ‘Laryngeals’ were Vocalic.” Diachronica 17: 351-87. Rix, H. 2001. /H[LNRQ GHU LQGRJHUPDQLVFKHQ 9HUEHQ 'LH :XU]HOQ XQG ihre Primärstammbildungen, 2nd ed. Wiesbaden: Reichert. 6DORPRQ 5  ³1HZ (YLGHQFH IRU D *ƗQGKƗUƯ 2ULJLQ RI WKH Arapacana Syllabary.” JAOS 110: 255-73.

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—. 1998. Indian Epigraphy: A Guide to the Study of Inscriptions in 6DQVNULW 3UDNULW DQG WKH RWKHU ,QGR-Aryan Languages. New York: Oxford University Press. —. 2004 [publ. 2008]. “An Arapacana Abecedary from Kara Tepe (Termez, Uzbekistan).” BAI 18: 43-51. —. 2006. “Kharoৢ৬KƯ 6\OODEOHV XVHG DV /RFDWLRQ 0DUNHUV LQ *DQGKƗUDQ VWnjSD Architecture.” In $UFKLWHWWL FDSRPDVWUL DUWLJLDQL L’organizzazione dei cantieri e della produzione artistica nell’Asia ellenistica. Studi offerti a Domenico Faccenna nel suo ottantesimo compleanno, ed. P. Callieri, 181-224. Rome: Istituto Italiano per l’Africa e l’Oriente. Scheid, J. and J. Svenbro. 1994. Le Métier de Zeus: mythe du tissage et du tissu dans le monde gréco-romain. Paris: La Découverte. [English translation: 1996. The Craft of Zeus: Myths of Weaving and Fabric. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press.] Scholem, G. 1974. Kabbalah. Jerusalem: Keter. Snyder, J.McI. 1980. Puns and Poetry in Lucretius’ De Rerum Natura. Amsterdam: Grüner. Steiner, D. 2007. “Feathers Flying: Avian Poetics in Hesiod, Pindar, and Callimachus.” AJPh 128: 177-208. Strunk, K. 1983. 7\SLVFKH0HUNPDOHYRQ)UDJHVlW]HQXQGGLHDOWLQGLVFKH ‘Pluti’. Munich: Verlag der Bayerischen Akademie der Wissenschaften  6LW]XQJVEHULFKWH GHU %D\HULVFKHQ $NDGHPLH GHU :LVVHQVFKDIWHQ Phil.-hist. Kl. 1983, Heft 8). Studholme, A. 2002. The Origins of Oۨ Ma۬LSDGPH+njۨ: A Study of the KƗUD۬‫ڲ‬DY\njKD6njWUD. Albany: State University of New York Press. van Buitenen, J.A.B. 1959. “$N‫܈‬ara.” JAOS 79: 176-87. [Reprinted in 1988. Studies in Indian Literature and Philosophy: Collected Articles of J. A. B. van Buitenen, ed. L. Rocher, 157-79. Delhi: Motilal Banarsidass.] Vergados, A. 2013. The Homeric Hymn to Hermes: IntroduFWLRQ7H[WDQG Commentary. Berlin: de Gruyter. Volk, K. 2012. “Letters in the Sky: Reading the Signs in Aratus’ Phaenomena.” AJPh 133: 209-39. :DWNLQV &  ³$ SURSRV GH ȝોȞȚࢫ.” BSL 72: 187-209. [Reprinted in 1994. Selected Writings, 2 vols., ed. L. Oliver, (II.)565-87. Innsbruck: Institut für Sprachwissenschaft der Universität Innsbruck.] —. 1995. How to Kill a Dragon: Aspects of Indo-European Poetics. New York: Oxford University Press. Weiss, M. 2009. Outline of the Historical and Comparative Grammar of Latin. Ann Arbor, MI: Beech Stave.

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West, M.L. 1966. +HVLRG7KHRJRQ\. Oxford: Clarendon Press. —. 1978. +HVLRG:RUNV 'D\V. Oxford: Clarendon Press. —. 1988. +HVLRG Theogony and Works and Days. Oxford: Oxford University Press. —. 1997. The EaVW )DFH RI +HOLFRQ :HVW $VLDWLF (OHPHQWV LQ *UHHN Poetry and Myth. Oxford: Clarendon Press. —. 2007. Indo-European Poetry and Myth. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Wodtko, D.S., B. Irslinger, and C. Schneider. 2008. Nomina im LQGRJHUPDQLVFKHQ/H[LNRQ. Heidelberg: Winter.

SOME LINGUISTIC DEVICES OF THE GREEK POETICAL TRADITION JORDI REDONDO UNIVERSITY OF VALENCIA

Indo-European poetry left a huge legacy both in contents and forms. The stylistic relevance of such devices is based on several types of recurrence and parallelism. In recognising this tradition in different Greek poetic genres from distant periods, always permeable to the influence of a style shared with religion and magic, our methodological approach pays also attention to the so-called popular texts.

Alliteration in archaic Greek poetry Phonetic, morphological, syntactic, and lexical repetition occur quite often in prose texts, especially those provided with oral techniques, even without a literary purpose1. Moreover, such devices are also attested in many religious genres -rituals, prophecies, invocations, imprecation formulas-, in the didactic and gnomic literature, finally appearing in artistic prose2. Magical texts show a fondness for phonetic repetitions3, for instance: ȀȜȦșĮȚȘ ʌĮȞįȦIJİȚȡĮ įȠȜȚȤȘ țȣįȚȝȘ  ĮȞĮııĮĮȡȘȖİ ĮȖȜĮȘ İȣȡȣıIJȠȤİ  ĮȚȗȘȚȘ ĮȖȚĮ ȘȝİȡȘ ĮijșȚIJİ / ȜȚȖİȚĮ ȜȚʌĮȡȠʌȜȠțĮȝİ șĮȜȚĮ ȗĮșİȘ / ȤȡȣıȦʌȚIJİȡȥȚȝȕȡȠIJİ ȂȚȞȦĮȜȠȤȚĮȢțIJȜ 3,9-2417, Preisendanz 1974, 251)

While syntactic and lexical repetitions appear in this second magical text: 1

García Teijeiro 1985, 90-91. Gygly-:LVV  )HKOLQJ  /ySH] (LUH  -43, on the mixing of SRO\SWRWDDOOLWHUDWLRQVDQGOH[LFDOUHSHWLWLRQVLQ3KHUHFLGHV,JOHVLDV=RLGR 197. 3 /ySH](LUH*DUFtD7HLMHLUR*DUFtD7HLMHLUR 2

30

Greek Poetical Tradition ੪Ȣ ੒ ȉȣij૵Ȟ ਕȞIJ઀įȚțંȢ ਥıIJȚȞ IJȠ૨ ਺Ȝ઀Ƞȣ Ƞ੢IJȦȢ țĮ੿ țĮ૨ıȠȞ IJ੽Ȟ ȥȣȤ੽Ȟ Ǽ੝IJ઄ȤȠȣȢ ੔Ȟ ਩IJİțİȞ ǽȦı઀ȝȘ ਥʌ੿ Į੝IJ੽Ȟ ਫȡȚ੼ĮȞ ਴Ȟ ਩IJİțİȞ ਫȡȤİȜȚઆǜ ਞȕȡĮı੺ȟ țĮ૨ıȠȞ Į੝IJȠ૨ Ǽ੝IJ઄ȤȠȣȢ IJ੽Ȟ ȥȣȤ੽Ȟ țĮ੿ IJ੽Ȟ țĮȡį઀ĮȞ ਥʌ ૅĮ੝IJઁȞǼ੝IJ઄ȤȘȞ੔Ȟ਩IJİțİȞǽȦı઀ȝȘਙȡIJȚIJĮȤ઄IJĮȤ઄IJૌĮ੝IJૌ ੖ȡ઺țĮ੿ IJૌĮ੝IJૌਲȝ੼ȡ઺ਝįȦȞĮ੿țĮ૨ıȠȞIJ੽ȞȥȣȤ੽ȞǼ੝IJ઄ȤȠȣȢțĮ੿IJ੽ȞțĮȡį઀ĮȞ ਥʌૅĮ੝IJ੽ȞਫȡȚ੼ĮȞ਴Ȟ਩IJİțİȞਫȡȤȘİȜȚઆਙȡIJȚIJĮȤ઄IJĮȤ઄IJૌĮ੝IJૌ੖ȡ઺ țĮ੿ IJૌ Į੝IJૌ ਲȝ੼ȡ઺ (Pap. Kair. 60366, Preisendanz 19742  see P XXXIIa, 158).

Both Wackernagel and West suggest that Greek poetry shows a scarce presence of alliteration4. In my opinion, their position coincides with the same aprioristic tenets of other theories which minimize the IndoEuropean background of the Greek culture as a whole5. Alternatively, Martin suggests that Achilles uses a special language characterized by phonetic repetitions, closer to the lyrical song than to normal speech6 Cantilena concludes that alliteration would not have been used as a stylistic device to poeticize the text, but rather to reflect the real sound of daily speech7 ILQDOO\ %DGHU UHFRJQL]HV in the Catalogue of Ships the combination of alliteration, repetition and chiasm, and even the association of several concepts with numbers8. Similar devices have also been reported in another poetic genre, the archaic lyric9. To begin with alliteration, below is the proemium of Hesiod’s :RUNV and Days: ȂȠ૨ıĮȚȆȚİȡ઀ȘșİȞਕȠȚįૌıȚțȜİ઀ȠȣıĮȚ įİ૨IJİǻ઀ૅ ਥȞȞ੼ʌİIJİıij੼IJİȡȠȞʌĮIJ੼ȡૅ ਫ਼ȝȞİ઀ȠȣıĮȚǜ ੖ȞIJİįȚ੹ ȕȡȠIJȠ੿ ਙȞįȡİȢ੒ȝ૵ȢਙijĮIJȠ઀ IJİijĮIJȠ઀ IJİ ૧ȘIJȠ઀ IJૅ ਙȡȡȘIJȠ઀ IJİ ǻȚઁȢ ȝİȖ੺ȜȠȚȠਪțȘIJȚ ૮੼Į ȝ੻ȞȖ੹ȡȕȡȚ੺İȚ, ૧੼Į į੻ ȕȡȚ੺ȠȞIJĮ ȤĮȜ੼ʌIJİȚ ૧İ૙Į įૅ ਕȡ઀ȗȘȜȠȞȝȚȞ઄șİȚțĮ੿ ਙįȘȜȠȞਕ੼ȟİȚ ૧İ૙Įį੼ IJૅ ੁș઄ȞİȚıțȠȜȚઁȞțĮ੿ ਕȖ੾ȞȠȡĮț੺ȡijİȚ ǽİઃȢਫ਼ȥȚȕȡİȝ੼IJȘȢ੔Ȣਫ਼ʌ੼ȡIJĮIJĮįઆȝĮIJĮȞĮ઀İȚ țȜ૨șȚੁįઅȞਕ઀ȦȞIJİį઀țૉ įૅ ੅șȣȞİș੼ȝȚıIJĮȢ IJ઄ȞȘǜਥȖઅ į੼ țİȆ੼ȡıૉ ਥIJ੾IJȣȝĮȝȣșȘıĮ઀ȝȘȞ 1-10).

4

Wackernagel 1968, 876DQL:HVW6HHDOVR:DWNLQV-61, and Watkins 2001, 146-147. 5 Burkert 1985, 18. 6 Martin 1989, 65 (on Hom. Il. 19.321-337, see 322-323), and 77 (on Il. 16.631). See also Durante 1971, 147-148. 7 Cantilena 2002, 37-39, on Od. 13.300-307, 17.221-228 and 23.169-180. 8 Bader 1998. 9 'XQNHONaafs-:LOVWUD)OR\G

Jordi Redondo

31

And continuing with Theogony, a poem greatly indebted to religious discourse: Ƞ੝į੼ IJȚȢ਷Ȟ਩ȡȚįȠȢȤĮȜİʌોȢȜ઄ıȚȢȠ੝į੻ IJİȜİȣIJ੾ Ƞ੝įİIJ੼ȡȠȚȢੇıȠȞį੻ IJ੼ȜȠȢIJ੼IJĮIJȠʌIJȠȜ੼ȝȠȚȠ (637-638).

This third example shows how Hesiod achieves the required effect through the voiceless velar stop: ȀĮ੿ Ȗ੹ȡȞ૨Ȟ੖IJİʌȠ઄ IJȚȢਥʌȚȤșȠȞ઀ȦȞਕȞșȡઆʌȦȞ ਩ȡįȦȞੂİȡ੹ țĮȜ੹ țĮIJ੹ ȞંȝȠȞੂȜ੺ıțȘIJĮȚ, țȚțȜ੾ıțİȚਬț੺IJȘȞ (415-417).

And below is, in my opinion, a major example, again from the Theogony: IJȠઃȢį੻ ʌĮIJ੽ȡȉȚIJોȞĮȢ ਥʌ઀țȜȘıȚȞțĮȜ੼İıțİ ʌĮ૙įĮȢȞİȚțİ઀ȦȞȝ੼ȖĮȢȅ੝ȡĮȞઁȢȠ੠ȢIJ੼țİȞĮ੝IJંȢǜ ij੺ıțİį੻ IJȚIJĮ઀ȞȠȞIJĮȢ ਕIJĮıșĮȜ઀ૉ ȝ੼ȖĮ૧੼ȟĮȚ ਩ȡȖȠȞIJȠ૙Ƞįૅ ਩ʌİȚIJĮIJ઀ıȚȞȝİIJંʌȚıșİȞ਩ıİıșĮȚ (207-210).

As previously suggested10, alliteration merges with other devices, especially paretymology, for Hesiod associates, both semantically and OH[LFDOO\ WKH WHUPV ȉȚIJોȞİȢ IJȚIJĮ઀ȞȦ DQG IJ઀ıȚȢ which belong to different roots11 &RQVHTXHQWO\ WKH SRHW KDG WR VSHOO WKH YHUE IJȚIJĮ઀ȞȦ ZLWK D ORng initial vowel instead of the etymological, which is short. The passages above, then, attest to the frequency and variety of alliteration as a stylistic device in the Hesiodic corpus12.

Alliteration in Greek popular poetry As stated before, our examples come from two different sources: on the one hand, from literary authors who are UHFRJQL]HG DV VXFK RQ WKH other, from poetic instances written by non-professional authors in a probably less innovative way, but deeply rooted in the inherited tradition. 10

Redondo 2008, 12. Chantraine 1968, 1092- IJȚIJĮ઀ȞȦ   IJ઀ıȚȢ   ȉȚIJ઼ȞİȢ  %HHNHV 2010, 1457-1458, 1486-1487 and 1490. 12 Other examples: Hes. Th. 797 (…) țĮțઁȞ į੼ ਦ ț૵ȝĮ țĮȜ઄ʌIJİȚ 809 ਦȟİ઀ȘȢ ʌ੺ȞIJȦȞ ʌȘȖĮ੿ țĮ੿ ʌİ઀ȡĮIJૅ ਩ĮıȚȞ - Į੝IJ੺ȡ IJȠȚ Ȁİij੺Ȝ૳ ijȚIJ઄ıĮIJȠ ijĮ઀įȚȝȠȞ ȣੂંȞ, / ੅ijșȚȝȠȞ ĭĮ੼șȠȞIJĮ șİȠ૙Ȣ ਥʌȚİ઀țİȜȠȞ ਙȞįȡĮ  ȆȘȜİ૙ į੻ įȝȘșİ૙ıĮșİ੹ Ĭ੼IJȚȢ ਕȡȖȣȡંʌİȗĮ-Į੤IJĮȚȝ੻ȞșȞȘIJȠ૙ıȚ ʌĮȡૅ ਕȞįȡ੺ıȚȞ İ੝ȞȘșİ૙ıĮȚ / ਕș੺ȞĮIJĮȚȖİ઀ȞĮȞIJȠ șİȠ૙Ȣ ਥʌȚİ઀țİȜĮIJ੼țȞĮ 11

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Greek Poetical Tradition

Most of these latter examples are from epitaphs (.DLEHOPeek 1955), texts with religious connections. $QHSLWDSKRIWKHLPSHULDODJHJRHVਝȞIJȚȠȤ੿ȢțȠ઄ȡȘȟİ઀ȞȘȟİ઀ȞĮȚȢ ਥȞ ਕȡȠ઄ȡĮȚȢ  ʌĮȡșİȞȚț੽ țİ૙ȝ[ĮȚ], [į]઄[ı]ȝȠȡ[ȠȢ Peek 1955, 89). Another epitaph of the same period addresses the deceased wife in these terms: ȃİȝȘȞ઀įĮ ı઄ȞİȣȞİį૙ĮȀȜİȠʌ੺IJȡĮțȠ઄ijȘıİ૙Ƞ, ȃİȝȘȞ઀įĮ, ȖĮ૙ૅੑıIJ੼Į țİ઄șȠȚ. / țȠ઄ijȘıİ૙Ƞț੼țİȣșİ, ȃİȝȘȞ઀įĮ, ੑıIJ੼ĮȖĮ૙Į (Peek 1955, 419). And a third oneʌ੺ȞIJĮ੖ıĮIJȠ૙ȢȤȡȘıIJȠ૙ȢijșȚȝ੼ȞȠȚȢȞંȝȠȢਥıIJ੿ȖİȞ੼ıșĮȚ IJ૵Ȟįİ IJȣȤઅȞ țਕȖઅ IJંȞįİ IJ੺ijȠȞ țĮIJ੼ȤȦ (Peek 1955, 115). Again, the same alliteration reappears in another epitaph: IJ੼țȞĮ IJ੼țȞȦȞ ਥıȚįઅȞ ਬȡȝોȢ ਬıʌ੼ȡȠȣ ਥIJ૵Ȟ ȟ  ਲȡȦȚț૶ șĮȞ੺IJ૳ IJ૶įİ IJ੼IJİȣȤİ IJ੺ij૳ (Peek 1955, 116). These four examples evidence the use of the same phonetic, morphological and lexical devices, albeit in different ways. The first belongs to a text written with a literary flavour, as shown by the phrase ȟİ઀ȞȘ ȟİ઀ȞĮȚȢ ਥȞ ਕȡȠ઄ȡĮȚȢ -the author mixes polyptoton and anastrophe ZLWK WKH +RPHULF WHUP ਙȡȠȣȡĮ-, but alliteration is here non-existent, covered by polyptoton. In contrast, the much more simple second text achieves a better HIIHFWEHFDXVHRILWVWKUHHUHSHWLWLRQV ȃİȝȘȞ઀įĮțȠ઄ijȘ ıİ૙Ƞțİ઄șȠȚț੼țİȣșİDQGȖĮ૙ૅੑıIJ੼Į DQGWKHSKRQHWLFUHFXUUHQFH7KH third and fourth epitaphs show good examples of alliteration, and the last deserves more detailed attention, as it also includes a second device, polyptoton, in a marked position. Alliteration depending on the voiceless labial stop seems to convey an expression of pain, at least in the funerary epigrams. This fits with its UHJXODU SRVLWLRQ DW WKH FODXVXODU VHFWLRQ RI WKH SRHP ਕș੺ȞĮIJȠȞ ʌ੼ȞșȠ[Ȣ ʌ]ĮIJȡ઀[ij]઀ȜȠȚȢį੻ʌંșȠȢ(Peek 1955, 86) -alternating here with aspirated stops-ij૵Ȣįૅ਩ȜȚʌૅİ੝įĮ઀ȝȦȞʌĮ૙įĮȢʌĮ઀įȦȞਥʌȚįȠ૨ıĮ Kaibel 2001, 16  ੑȡijĮȞઁȞ ਥȝȝİȖ੺ȡȠȚȢ ʌĮ૙įĮ ȜȚʌȠ૨ıĮ ʌંıİȚ Kaibel 2001, 26  ȖȞȦIJȠ૙ıȚȞ ʌ઼ıȚ ȜȚʌȠ૨ıĮ ʌંșȠȞ Kaibel 2001, 30  IJȡ੼ijȠȣıĮ ʌĮ૙įĮ [ʌĮȚį੿] țĮ੿ ʌંșȠȣȢ [ʌંıİȚ Kaibel 2001, 139  IJ੼ȡ]ȥİ ȜȚʌȠ૨ıĮ ʌĮIJȡ੿ ʌ੼ȞșȠȢ ਕʌİȚȡ੾ıȚȠȞ Kaibel 2001, 230). Such alliterations appear too in literary HSLJUDPV Ƞ੆IJȚȞİȢ ਝȜİ઀ȠȚȠ ʌĮȡ੼ȡʌİIJİ ı઼ȝĮ Ȁ઀ȝȦȞȠȢ  ੅ıIJİ IJઁȞ ੊ʌʌĮ઀Ƞȣ ʌĮ૙įĮ ʌĮȡİȡȤંȝİȞȠȚ13. TKH VHTXHQFH ਸ਼įİ ț੼țİȣșİ țંȞȚȢ is also very frequent in the funerary epigram, and is found from Simonides onwards at least14, and becomes a clausular element, either initial or final15. Actually, 13

&DOO3IHLIIHU A.P 5HGRQGR 1988. Sim. 47, Page 1975, 27. 15 Martínez Fernández 2006, 132 (epigram found at Hagios Nikolaos, l.1: Ȟ੾ʌȚȠȞ ਚįİ ț੼țİȣșİ Į੢IJĮ țંȞȚȢ ਫ਼੼Į ਖį>੼@Į ZLWK D GRXEOH DOOLWHUDWLRQ  DQG  WKH formula is attested in epigrams from Attica, Chalcedon, Cyprus, Crete and Euboea). 14

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the final position is quite common in many examples of alliteration, with WKHDVSLUDWHGYRLFHOHVVGHQWDOVWRSțİ૙IJĮȚਝȖĮșȠțȜોȢਥȞș੺įİਕȞ੽ȡਕȖĮșંȢ (Peek 1955, 88  DQG Ƞ]੝șİȞ੿ ȜȣʌȘȡ੹ ʌ઼ıȚȞ į੻ șĮȞȠ૨ıĮ ʌȠșİȚȞ੾ Kaibel 2001, 17  DQG ZLWK WKH YRLFHOHVV GHQWDO VWRS IJ૵Ȟįİ IJȣȤઅȞ țਕȖઅ IJંȞįİ IJ੺ijȠȞ țĮIJ੼ȤȦ Peek 1955  .DLEHO  ). And in IJ੼țȞĮ IJ੼țȞȦȞ ਥıȚįઅȞਬȡȝોȢਬıʌ੼ȡȠȣਥIJ૵ȞȟਲȡȠȧț૶șĮȞ੺IJ૳IJ૶įİIJ੼IJİȣȤİIJ੺ij૳ Peek 1955  .DLEHO  ) alliteration is again combined with polyptoton.

&RQFXUUHQFHRISKRQRORJLFDOPRUSKRORJLFDOV\QWDFWLF and lexical repetitions Stylistically, much more effective results are found through the combination of different types of repetition, including some sophisticated devices such as anaphora, parallelism and antonomasia. The following Hesiodic passage can be quoted as an example: țĮ੿țİȡĮȝİઃȢțİȡĮȝİ૙țȠIJ੼İȚțĮ੿IJ੼țIJȠȞȚIJ੼țIJȦȞ țĮ੿ʌIJȠȤઅȢʌIJȠȤ૶ijșȠȞ੼İȚțĮ੿ਕȠȚįઁȢਕȠȚį૶ (Op. 25-26).

Here, repetition is all: words, connectors, word order, and even the SKRQHWLF DQG PHWULF VWUXFWXUH RI ERWK YHUEV țȠIJ੼İȚ DQG ijșȠȞ੼İȚ Furthermore, it is worth remarking on the nominal polyptoton in the four pairs of repeated words, a kind of lexical, morphological, and syntactic repetition. A similar, though much simpler case is this from Archilochus: ਥȞįȠȡ੿ ȝ੼ȞȝȠȚȝ઼ȗĮȝİȝĮȖȝ੼ȞȘਥȞįȠȡ੿ įૅ ȠੇȞȠȢ ੉ıȝĮȡȚțંȢʌ઀ȞȦįૅ ਥȞįȠȡ੿ țİțȜȚȝ੼ȞȠȢ ):HVW 

Hesiod again showing his mastery in using paronomasy: ੮Ȣț੼ IJȠȚ੪ȡĮ઀ȠȣȕȚંIJȠȣʌȜ੾șȦıȚțĮȜȚĮ઀, ਥȟ਩ȡȖȦȞ įૅ ਙȞįȡİȢʌȠȜ઄ȝȘȜȠ઀ IJૅ ਕijȞİȚȠ઀ IJİǜ țĮ੿ ਥȡȖĮȗંȝİȞȠȚ ʌȠȜઃ ij઀ȜIJİȡȠȚਕșĮȞ੺IJȠȚıȚȞ İੁ į੼ țİਥȡȖ੺ȗૉIJ੺ȤĮıİȗȘȜઆıİȚਕİȡȖઁȢ ʌȜȠȣIJİ૨ȞIJĮǜ ʌȜȠ઄IJ૳ įૅ ਕȡİIJ੽ țĮ੿ ț૨įȠȢੑʌȘįİ૙. įĮ઀ȝȠȞȚįૅ ȠੈȠȢ਩ȘıșĮIJઁ ਥȡȖ੺ȗİıșĮȚ ਙȝİȚȞȠȞ İ੅ țİȞਕʌૅ ਕȜȜȠIJȡ઀ȦȞțIJİ੺ȞȦȞਕİı઀ijȡȠȞĮșȣȝઁȞ İੁȢ਩ȡȖȠȞ IJȡ੼ȥĮȢȝİȜİIJ੹Ȣȕ઀Ƞȣ੪ȢıİțİȜİ઄Ȧ Op. 308-316).

Below is an example of anaphora: ĮੁįઆȢ įૅ Ƞ੝țਕȖĮș੽ țİȤȡȘȝ੼ȞȠȞਙȞįȡĮțȠȝ઀ȗİȚ

34

Greek Poetical Tradition ĮੁįઆȢ, ਸ਼ IJૅ ਙȞįȡĮȢȝ੼ȖĮı઀ȞİIJĮȚ਱įૅ ੑȞ઀ȞȘıȚȞ ĮੁįઆȢ IJȠȚʌȡઁȢਕȞȠȜȕ઀ૉș੺ȡıȠȢį੻ ʌȡઁȢ੕Ȝȕ૳ (Op. 317-319).

And here, parallelism is used: ȝ੽țĮț੹țİȡįĮ઀ȞİȚȞǜțĮț੹ț੼ȡįİĮੇıૅਕ੺IJૉıȚȞ IJઁȞijȚȜ੼ȠȞIJĮijȚȜİ૙ȞțĮ੿IJ૶ʌȡȠıȚંȞIJȚʌȡȠıİ૙ȞĮȚ țĮ੿įંȝİȞ੖ȢțİȞį૶țĮ੿ȝ੽įંȝİȞ੖ȢțİȞȝ੽į૶ įઆIJૉȝ੼ȞIJȚȢ਩įȦțİȞਕįઆIJૉįૅȠ੡IJȚȢ਩įȦțİȞ (Op. 352-355).

This kind of sophisticated mixing of different devices was not unknown to Hesiod: Ƞ੢IJȦ IJȠȚțĮ੿ ȝȠȣȞȠȖİȞ੽ȢਥțȝȘIJȡઁȢਥȠ૨ıĮ ʌ઼ıȚȝİIJૅ ਕșĮȞ੺IJȠȚıȚIJİIJ઀ȝȘIJĮȚȖİȡ੺İııȚ șોțİį੼ ȝȚȞȀȡȠȞ઀įȘȢțȠȣȡȠIJȡંijȠȞȠ੄ ȝİIJૅਥțİ઀ȞȘȞ ੑijșĮȜȝȠ૙ıȚ੅įȠȞIJȠij੺ȠȢʌȠȜȣįİȡț੼ȠȢਹȠ૨Ȣ Ƞ੢IJȦȢ ਥȟ ਕȡȤોȢțȠȣȡȠIJȡંijȠȢĮ੄ į੼ IJİIJȚȝĮ઀ (Th. 448-452).

This passage deserves comment, for it constitutes the epilogue of the Hymn to Hecate (vv. 412-452), a section with a considerable autonomy within the work as a whole. The clausular function of these verses is of course underlined by the poetic technique. Four concepts quoted in verses 448-450 re-DSSHDULQWKHILQDOYȠ੢IJȦ Ȣ ਥțȝȘIJȡઁȢਥȠ૨ıĮਥȟਕȡȤોȢ –the only pair with lexical equivalence-, țȠȣȡȠIJȡંijȠȞțȠȣȡȠIJȡંijȠȢDQG IJİIJ઀ȝȘIJĮȚ  IJȚȝĮ઀ 7KHUHIRUH, this is not a simple lexical repetition, but in fact a more sophisticated procedure based on a double series, the second one being expressed by means of accumulation. Surprisingly, West saw in this example only the abominable redundancies of a bad poet16. The same procedure was applied by the author of the following epitaph: ı૵ȝĮȝ੻ȞਥȞ૮આȝૉ Ȝ઄IJȠਝȜİȟ੺ȞįȡȠȚȠșĮȞંȞIJȠȢ ȂȠȚȡ૵ȞȞોȝૅ ਙȡૅ ਩ʌȜȘıİțĮ੿ ੑıIJ੼Į ੅ıȤİȚʌ੺IJȡȘǜ ȥȣȤ੽Ȟ Ȗ੹ȡı઄ȞʌĮıĮʌ੺IJȡȘ, IJ੹ įૅ ਙȡૅ ੑıIJ੼Įș੾țȘ. į੼țIJȠįૅ ਦૌ ȝ੻Ȟ਩ʌİȚIJĮਦોȢਕȜંȤȠȣਥȡĮIJİȚȞોȢ ȂĮȡțȚĮȞોȢȥȣȤ੽ȞȥȣȤ੾, IJ੹ įૅ ਙȡૅ ੑıIJ੼Įș੾țȘ (Peek 1955, 531-532).

The artistic quality of the Hesiodic passage is here less effective, but the technique is the same.

16 West 1966, 289-290 whose athetization follows Wilamowitz 1931, 172. Contra, Solmsen 1949, 51.

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These devices are also attested in the lyrical genres: hymns, for instance, are noteworthy for keeping the Indo-European tradition of poetic composition. Certainly, West assigns the reiterated polyptota to epic poetry17. But take as a counterexample this passage of Terpander: ǽİ૨ ʌ੺ȞIJȦȞ ਕȡȤ੺, ʌ੺ȞIJȦȞ ਖȖ੾IJȦȡ ǽİ૨ıȠ੿ ʌ੼ȝʌȦ IJĮ઄IJĮȞ੢ȝȞȦȞਕȡȤ੺Ȟ(F2 Page)

For some reason Wilamowitz disapproved of the text and took it to be apocryphal18. Of course, anaphorical repetitions are attested in the hymnic poetry -Orphic hymns19, and gnomic diction -Pseudo-Phocylides (181193). Also choral lyric blends anaphora, epanaphora, alliteration, paretymology and polyptoton, as Alcman does: Ȃઆıૅ ਙȖİȂઆıĮ Ȝ઀ȖȘĮʌȠȜȣȝȝİȜ੻Ȣ Įੁ੻ȞਕȠȚį੻ ȝ੼ȜȠȢ ȞİȠȤȝઁȞਕȡȤİʌĮȡı੼ȞȠȚȢਕİ઀įȘȞ(F14a)

%RWKSDLUVʌȠȜȣȝȝİȜ੻Ȣȝ੼ȜȠȢDQGĮੁ੻ȞਕȠȚį੻ (...) ਕİ઀įȘȞFUHDWHDplay on the morphological and etymological aspects of the words, in order to emphasize the proemial invocation to the Muse. Next we turn to a similar combination of different devices –alliterations in the opening and closing verses, paronomasy and polyptoton- in this anonymous epigram: ȉȚȝĮȡ੼IJĮʌȡઁ Ȗ੺ȝȠȚȠIJĮIJ઄ȝʌĮȞĮIJ੺ȞIJૅ ਥȡĮIJİȚȞ੺Ȟ ȈijĮ૙ȡĮȞIJંȞIJİțંȝĮȢ ૧઄IJȠȡĮțİțȡ઄ijĮȜȠȞ ȉ੺ȢIJİțંȡĮȢȁȚȝȞ઼IJȚțંȡ઺ țંȡĮ, ੪ȢਥʌȚİȚț੼Ȣ ਙȞșİIJȠțĮ੿ IJ੹ țȠȡ઼Ȟ ਥȞį઄ȝĮIJૅ ਝȡIJ੼ȝȚįȚ ȁĮIJ૴ĮIJઃ į੻ ʌĮȚįઁȢਫ਼ʌ੻ȡȤ੼ȡĮȉȚȝĮȡİIJİ઀ĮȢ șȘțĮȝ੼ȞĮı૴ȗȠȚȢ IJ੹Ȟ੒ı઀ĮȞ੒ı઀ȦȢ (A.P. VI 280).

Finally, the association of concepts and numbers has been noted by De Martino and Vox20, with examples taken from epic poetry21. It is not

17 West 2007, 114: the figure is much favoured for the description of close order or confrontation in battle, see Hom. Il. 11.150 –cf. 0DKƗEKƗUDWD IV 31, 8–, 13.130 and 16.215, Tyrt. 11.31-33. 18 Wilamowitz-Möllendorf 1921, 371. Contra, Meyer 1933, 33-34. 19 Orph. ed. Kern F 21a (Zeus 7ies) and 168 (Zeus 5ies). 20 'H0DUWLQR 9R[ODWHULQ%DGHU 21 Hom. Il. 2.671-675, Od. 1.22-223, Hes. Op. 578-590.

36

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certain whether this is an inherited device, but it is indeed present in later poems, although in a rather discontinuous way22.

Conclusions Some brief words will highlight the observations made hitherto. First of all, the devices mentioned demonstrate a linguistic origin. Second, the poets frequently associated them in order to achieve more effect. Third, poetic texts from popular origin also deserve attention, as they closely follow the inherited tradition. And fourth, poetry shares these techniques with other kinds of language, such as the religious, didactic and psychagogical. Effectively, it could be said that all these linguistic devices can be found in different poetic and prosistic genres, as a consequence of the transverse manifestation of the old religious language.

Works Cited Bader, F. 1998. “La mémoire du poète et l’oubli du guerrier.” In Mír &XUDG6WXGLHVLQ+RQRURI&DOYHUW:DWNLQV edited by J. Jasanoff, H. Craig Melchert, and L. Oliver, 1-16. Innsbruck: Institut für Sprachwissenschaft. Beekes, R.S.P. 2010. EtyPRORJLFDO'LFWLRQDU\RI*UHHN. Leiden: Brill. Burkert, W. 1985. *UHHN Religion. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. Cantilena, M. 2002. “Sul discorso diretto in Omero.” In Omero tre mila anni dopo ed. F. Montanari, and P. Ascheri, 21-39. Roma: Edizioni di Storia e Letteratura. Chantraine, P. 1968. 'LFWLRQDLUH eW\PRORJLTXH GH OD ODQJXH JUHFTXH Histoire des mots. Paris: Klincksieck. De Martino, F. & O. Vox 1996. Lirica greca. Lirica ionica. Bari: Levante. Dunkel, G. 1979. “Fighting Words: Alcman Partheneion  ȝ੺ȤȠȞIJĮȚ.” JIES 7: 249-272. Durante, M. 1971. Sulla preistoria della tradizione poetica greca: FRQWLQXLWj GHOOD WUDGL]LRQH SRHWLFD GDOO¶HWj PLFHQHD DL SULPL documenti. Roma: Dell’Ateneo. Fehling, D. 1969. Die Wiederholungsfiguren und ihr Gebrauch bei den Griechen vor Gorgias. Berlin: de Gruyter.

22

Kaibel 2001, 310, an epigram addressed to the twelve gods and consisting of twelve verses in three quartets.

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Floyd, E.D. 1992. “Bacchylides 18.31 and Indo-European Poetics.” JIES 20: 305-315. García Teijeiro, M. 1985. “Expresividad y estilo en la prosa epigráfica griega.” In Estudios de prosa griega, ed. G. Morocho, 89-96. León: Universidad de León. —. 1987. “Retórica, oratoria y magia.” In Estudios de drama y retórica en Grecia y Roma, ed. G. Morocho, 143-154. León: Universidad de León. —. 1996. “Sobre la lengua de los documentos mágicos griegos.” In Las lenguas de corpus y sus problemas lingüísticos, ed. J.A. Fernández Delgado, A. Ramos Guerreira, and A. Agud, 151-166. Salamanca: Universidad de Salamanca. Gygly-Wiss, B.G. 1966. Das nominale Polyptoton im älteren Griechisch. Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht. Iglesias Zoido, J.C. 1993. “Algunas apreciaciones sobre la lengua de las inscripciones griegas del ámbito privado: instrumenta domestica, cartas y epígrafes de la casa.” Anuario de Estudios Filológicos 16: 195-206. Kaibel, G. 2001. Epigrammata Graeca ex lapidibus conlecta, Hildesheim: 2OPV %HUOLQ, Frankfurt 1879). López Eire, A. 1985. “Formalización y desarrollo de la prosa griega.” In Estudios de prosa griega, ed. G. Morocho, 37-63. León: Universidad de León. Martin, R. 1989. Language of Heroes: Speech and Performance in the Iliad. Ithaca: Cornell University Press. Martínez Fernández, A. 2006. Epigramas Helenísticos de Creta. Madrid: CSIC. Meyer, H. 1933. Hymnische Stilelemente in der frühgriechischen Dichtung. Würzburg: Triltsch. Naafs-Wilstra, M.C. 1987. “Indo-European ‘Dichtersprache’ in Sappho and Alcaeus.” JIES 15: 273-284. Page, D.L. 1975. Epigrammata Graeca. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Peek, W. 1955. Griechische Vers-Inschriften. 1. Grab-Epigramme. Berlin: Akademie. Preisendanz, K. 19742. Papyri Graecae Magicae. Die griechischen Zauberpapyri II. 6WXWWJDUW7HXEQHU /HLS]LJ  Redondo, J. 1988. “Calímaco, A.P. VII 453 y 523: un apunte sobre el epigrama sepulcral.” Habis 18-19: 87-91. —. 2008. 7HRULD L KLVWzULD OLWHUjULHV JUHJXHV. València: Universitat de València. Sani, S. 1972. “Studi sull’alliterazione nel Rgveda.” SSL 12: 193-226. Solmsen, F. 1949. Hesiod and Aeschylus. Ithaca: Cornell University Press.

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Wackernagel, J. 1968. “Indogermanische Dichtersprache.” In Indogermanische Dichtersprache, ed. R. Schmitt, 83-101. Darmstadt: :LVVHQVFKDIWOLFKH%XFKJHVHOOVFKDIW 1943 Philologus 95: 1- 1955 Kleine Schriften I. Göttingen. 186-204). Watkins, C., 1986. “The language of the Trojans.” In Troy and the Trojan War ed. J.L. Angel, and M.J. Mellink, 45-62. Bryn Mawr: Bryn Mawr College. —. 1995. How to Kill a Dragon: Aspects of Indo-European Poetics. New York: Oxford University Press. West, M.L. 1966. Hesiod. Theogony. Oxford: Oxford University Press. —. 2007. Indo-European Poetry and Myth. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Wilamowitz-Moellendorf, U. von 1931. Der Glaube der Hellenen I. Berlin: Weidmann. —. 1921. *ULHFKLVFKHU9HUVNXQVW. Berlin: Weidmann. —. 19213. (LQOHLWXQJLQGLHJULHFKLVFKH7UDJ|GLH. Berlin: Weidmann.

IN TENGA BITHNUA Y LA LENGUA ANGÉLICA: SUS FUENTES Y SU FUNCIÓN HENAR VELASCO LÓPEZ UNIVERSIDAD DE SALAMANCA

In principio fecit Deus caelum et terram, así comienza la primera versión de este texto irlandés que invita a sumarse, siquiera con la imaginación, a una gran asamblea reunida en el Monte Sión: procedentes de todo el mundo oriental llevan allí un año y cuatro meses, cuando en la Vigilia Pascual oyen un enorme ruido en el cielo, ven descender una luz deslumbrante de la que sale una voz que habla “en la lengua angélica”. Identificada con el apóstol Felipe, se hace llamar In Tenga Bithnua, “la lengua siempre nueva”, enviada para explicar los misterios de la creación. La primera versión de este escrito cosmológico fascinante1 nos regala cada poco con fragmentos de lenguaje angélico, seguidos de la interpretación en la lengua vernácula del texto. La segunda versión tan sólo incide en que utiliza la lengua de los ángeles. No obstante, aporta una importante información, pues al solicitar los sabios hebreos a “la lengua siempre nueva” que les enseñe qué idioma usa, siendo las respuestas muy similares: -la lengua en que hablan los ángeles, las criaturas marinas, las bestias, ganado y pájaros, la que todos hablaremos en el Juicio o después del Juicio-, la segunda versión añade la categoría de los monstruos y la identificación con el hebreo2.

1

Fechada en el s. IX (o s. X), época del irlandés medio, procede de un texto esencialmente antiguo irlandés. La segunda versión es obra posiblemente del s. XII. Ambas son, según la erudita edición de Carey 2009, 54-71, traducción de un tratado latino de autoría irlandesa, datable por sus fuentes y trasfondo intelectual plausiblemente en el s. VII-VIII. En su elaboración habría contado con un discurso GH UHYHODFLyQ HJLSFLR ௅FULVWLDQR SHUR KHWHURGR[R SRU FRPSDUWLU LGHDV FRQ HO platonismo tardío, el gnosticismo y el hermetismo, posiblemente griego en origen, SHURWUDGXFLGRDOODWtQHQHOÈIULFDURPDQD௅IXQGLGRFRQXQDSDUWHGHORVHechos apócrifos de Felipe acaso en España en un medio prisciliano (s. IV). 2 Carey 2009, §11. Cf. infra n. 21, 29 y 37.

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Pese a considerar Carey 2009, 256 que ello parece innovación de uno de los manuscritos, no obstante, en otro punto del comentario señala que uno de los episodios (60, 5-6) “seems intended to be Hebrew” (2009, 244). Remite a otros textos apócrifos con vocablos hebraicos, a veces con una eficacia sobrenatural, y concluye que los Hechos de Felipe, una de las fuentes del texto irlandés, pueden haber sido el modelo seguido (2009, 245 y 337). Ahora bien, en la cita indicada por Carey de Hechos de Felipe el apóstol invoca a Jesús: “=DEDUWKiQ VDEDWKDEDW EUDPDQXFK, ven rápidamente”, al punto se hiende la tierra y traga hasta las rodillas al sumo sacerdote que se le ha enfrentado3. Muy distinta es la situación en el pasaje irlandés aludido (60, 5-6): el protagonista, descendiente de Judas Iscariote, expresa sus dudas sobre uno de los portentos descritos por “la lengua siempre nueva”, cae a tierra, muerto en la segunda versión, mas en la primera versión, medio muerto, comienza a hablar en lenguaje angélico ((XLIDOLDIDVWHHXLIDOLDIDVWHHXL IDOLD IDVWH PDULD IDEOHD QHOLVH QDP), convenientemente traducido al antiguo irlandés (Delchatach amirseach atam-comnaic, “soy un canalla sin fe”), y sigue ya en esta lengua la descripción de su visión ultraterrena, el reconocimiento de la gran blasfemia cometida y, entonces sí, cae muerto. En nuestra opinión, hay diferencias sustanciales para sostener una dependencia directa. De otro lado, tras revisar las otras citas de Carey 2009, 245 que contienen palabras hebreas, podemos establecer una gradación: Referencias al hebreo cuyo punto de partida es una situación bilingüe normal, caso de los Hechos de Pilato4. Cercana a esa circunstancia está la oración de María en la versión griega del Libro de Bartolomé, dirigida a Dios para que le mande narrar a los apóstoles su encuentro con el ángel en la Anunciación5. Ahí ya el “supuesto” hebreo introduce una nota de 3

II, 18 (Bovon et al. †>@ 3LxHUR\&HUUR†   I, 4: Pilato pide le traduzcan las palabras que los judíos dirigieron a Jesús en su entrada triunfal: +RVDQQD PHPEURPH EDUXFKDPPD DGRQDL. Sólo primera y última son hebreas (Santos Otero 1985, 396 ss.). 5 II, 13: “(OIX]D« Oloth. Ke Mia Thesse. Liso. Adonai. Rerumvavvelth. Varvur. 7KDUDV€ (UXUD (GHWK (UURVH« 7KHRWKHD $UQHQLRWK $QHY«DV (YDUJKW Marmarige. Eophros. Thyriamuch. Evsvar…” (que en griego significa:) “¡Oh 'LRV 7~ TXH HUHV HO JUDQGH HO VDSLHQWtVLPR«´ 6HJ~Q Santos Otero 1985, 551, son expresiones indescifrables y difieren en los textos). Esta referencia no la indica Carey 2009, 245, pero fue la mención de otra versión de esta obra la pista que seguimos. 4

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extrañamiento, lengua sagrada de oración, como en el Apocalipsis de Pablo6 o en los Martirios de Mateo7 y Felipe, donde además observamos ejemplos del asombroso poder que conlleva su uso, cuasimágico, ya para destruir, ya para curar8. Una gradación similar se desprende del análisis de los paralelos apuntados por Carey 2009, 245-46 sobre la lengua angélica en apócrifos de origen egipcio. Como en los ejemplos hebraicos hay referencias a ella como lengua sagrada. Así en las oraciones que María pronuncia a punto de morir ella misma9 o su esposo, José10, en las alabanzas que salen de los labios de las 6

30: Sobre “Alleluia”, vocablo oído a David en la ciudad de Cristo, explica a Pablo el ángel: “tal se dice en la lengua hebrea de Dios y los ángeles”, la interpretación es “tecel·chat·marith·macha”, palabras arameas semejantes a un pasaje del kaddish (Carozzi 1994, 264). 7 21: “$GRQDL HORt VDEDyWK PDUPDUt PDrmúnt, esto es: ‘Padre, Dios, Señor Jesucristo, sálvame y quema sus ídolos…”. Sólo los tres primeros vocablos pronunciados por Mateo son hebreos, los dos últimos presentan secuencias silábicas prácticamente idénticas, típicamente glosolálicas. (Aranda Pérez y García Lázaro 2001, 230 n. 173. Cf. 235, § 21, súplica al Señor en hebreo, previa a su PXHUWH †  \D PXHUWR OH R\HQ GHFLU HQ HO PDU ³$PpQ $OHOX\D´ †  WUDV OD conversión del rey una voz en lo alto: “Amén, amén, amén”). 8 Además del pasaje indicado por Carey discutido en n. 3, Felipe maldice a sus torturadores con palabras supuestamente hebreas de efecto fulminante, pues son devorados por el abismo (Piñero y Cerro 2011, § 132 (26)). Sin embargo, la hermana de Felipe predica a la esposa del procónsul en hebreo (como antes, un idioma ficticio, según una recensión, siríaco o arameo tardío p. 181 n. 146), la lengua de sus padres, provocando su curación (§ 115 (9)). La supuesta referencia a una lengua real conlleva también una peculiar connotación cuando Felipe habla con Bartolomé en hebreo justo durante su martirio (§ 127 (21), 129 (23) cf. Act. 21,  $GHPiVHQHOPLVPRWH[WRKD\SDVDMHVVREUHODOHQJXDGHODViJXLODV † 34 [IIIA18]) o del leopardo y el cabrito que hablan con voz humana, pero también su propia lengua (§ 97 (4), 100 (7) y § 106 [XIIA1], etc.). 9 Dormición de la Virgen. Homilía de Evodio en la versión bohaírica citada por Carey 2009, 246d y en la sahídica 2 (Aranda Pérez 1995, 161 y 130): María, preparándose para morir, recita una oración en la lengua de los habitantes del cielo. Aún con vida, quienes rodean a la Virgen entonan cantos celestes, según se les había enseñado (Aranda Pérez 1995, 163 y 132). Una vez muerta, Jesús prorrumpe en un canto de bienaventuranza y revela que su madre le oyó hablar frecuentemente con los ángeles en la lengua de los habitantes del cielo (Aranda 3pUH]   HQ OD YHUVLyQ VDKtGLFD  VyOR VH PHQFLRQDQ µVHFUHWRV RFXOWRV¶ 132). Es notable que se considere que dicha Homilía de Evodio es sobria en episodios maravillosos. Más aún lo es la Homilía de Teodosio de Alejandría, cuya oración mariana previa a la muerte contiene invocaciones en hebreo (ib. 214).

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hijas de Job justo antes de la muerte de éste11. Un paso más y son los arrebatados al cielo, Abrahán12 o Sofonías13 ௅QRFLWDGRSRU&DUH\௅ORVTXH entran en contacto con la lengua de los ángeles. En otro famoso Apocalipsis, el de Pablo, éste oye DUFKDQDXHUEDTXDHQRQOLFHWKRPLQLEXV ORTXL14. Jesús sí que revela los extraños vocablos que pronuncia ante sus apóstoles en dos obras coptas de orientación gnóstica Libro de Bartolomé15 y Pistis Sophia16 y, además, en un contexto claramente ritualizado como también hay gestos marcadamente repetidos en las versiones de la Dormición de la Virgen. 10

En la versión sahídica Jesús eleva una plegaria a Dios y María responde en la lengua que hablan los habitantes del cielo (Santos Otero 1985, XXIII n. 31, cf. XXV, 2). 11 -RE HQWUHJD D VXV KLMDV WUHV FLQWXURQHV FHOHVWLDOHV DO FHxLUORV FDPELDQ VXV corazones, pronuncian palabras solemnes en “la lengua de los ángeles / en el dialecto de los príncipes celestes / en la lengua de los seres de lo alto – lengua de los querubines” y entonan himnos a Dios, iguales a los ángeles (Díez Macho y Piñero 1987, 209 § 48, 210, § 49, 210, § 50). 12 Cuando asciende con Jaoel por el cielo contempla a los ángeles “clamando con una voz cuyas palabras yo no sabía” (Díez Macho y Piñero 2009, 89 § 15, 6). 13 Camino a la Gloria, ve miríadas de ángeles que cantan alabanzas. Él mismo toma una vestidura angélica, reza con ellos “y conocía la lengua en la que hablaban conmigo” (Díez Macho y Piñero 1987, 275 § 8). 14 Carozzi 1994, 186, cf. 213. 15 Bartolomé ve en la tumba de Jesús a punto de ser transportado al cielo a las Doce Vírgenes cantando himnos en el lenguaje de los querubines (Budge 1913, 189). María y Jesús resucitado hablan en la lengua de la divinidad, se ofrecen palabras (p.ej. Hramboune Kathiathari Miôth) y su interpretación (“El hijo del Todopoderoso y el Señor y mi Hijo”, ib.). Al llegar Adán los ángeles le cantan FDQFLRQHV GHO FLHOR ORV 3RGHUHV \ ODV 9tUJHQHV FDQWDQ D (YD HQ HO OHQJXDMH celestial, llamándola Zoe, madre de toda vida (ib. 197). Cristo se dirige a sus discípulos en el Monte de los Olivos en una lengua que no entienden, pero que les es revelada, se citan un par de palabras (Atharath Thaurath) y después su cuerpo se eleva a los cielos (ib. 202). Las repeticiones y aliteraciones apuntan a glosolalia. 16 Jesús resucita y rodeado por sus discípulos se dirige al padre en oración, intercalando en el texto copto vocablos griegos que encierran juegos con las letras, p.ej.: ĮİȚȠȣȦ. ȧĮȦ. ĮȦȧ. ȥȚȞȦșİȡ. șİȡȞȦȥ. ȞȦȥȚIJİȡXQRVVRQLQWHrpretados, otros supuestamente traducidos (Schmidt and MacDermot 1978, 353). Carey 2009, 245a no se refiere a este pasaje, sino tan solo a otro (Schmidt and MacDermot 1978, 16) en el que Jesús, once años después de su resurrección, es arrebatado al cielo en medio de una gran luz, en ella estaba su “vestido” y en él unas palabras a la manera de la escritura de los de lo alto, siguen cinco vocablos supuestamente en griego, cuya interpretación casi ocupa cinco páginas, y al ascender de una esfera a otra, los Poderes ven dicho misterio escrito que contiene sus nombres, se llenan de miedo, se prostran ante él y cantan alabanzas.

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Llegados a este punto y recordando cómo el prof. López Eire gustaba señalar que si se habla es para algo, con un fin, reparemos en que el lenguaje sagrado puede examinarse desde la perspectiva de un acto de habla, fijándose en el tratamiento distintivo de cada uno de los elementos del acto lingüístico (hablante, oyente, medio, contexto, lenguaje)17. Incluso con la lengua angélica uno departe con un propósito, en un contexto, con un instrumento lingüístico. Conviene subrayar que en los apócrifos examinados conviven escenas de conversación con ángeles perfectamente comprensibles para su interlocutor sin alusión alguna a lenguaje especial, referencia a sus cantos, con la mención de la lengua angélica. Ésta, según hemos observado, coincide con situaciones de estrecha intimidad, sea la oración en el momento de la muerte, episodios singulares del viaje celestial, revelación de sus misterios. Diríamos que la lengua de los ángeles, incluso en boca de María o Jesús que asciende al Cielo, denota momentos estelares para marcar el contacto ultramundano. ¢4Xp RFXUUH HQ HO WH[WR LUODQGpV" (O SDVDMH DQWHV DQDOL]DGR  -6) del blasfemo agonizante que profiere unas frases en lenguaje angélico, para nosotros se asemeja más a los contextos apócrifos que ligan óbito y lengua angélica que a la eficacia sobrenatural del hebreo sugerida por Carey 2009, 245. Máxime cuando el moribundo transmite la visión que se le ha alcanzado del otro mundo (tormentos y una hermosísima llanura) y, según afirma el texto (11), tal será la lengua que se hable en o tras el Juicio Final. Salvo ese episodio, la lengua angélica está siempre en boca de Felipe18, “la lengua siempre nueva”, transmisor de un relato del Espíritu Santo a través de Moisés (12). Su función principal es revelar los arcanos. ¢&XiQGR DSDUHFH H[SOtFLWDPHQWH HQ HO WH[WR" $SDUWH GH VX SUHVHQWDFLyQ ante la asamblea y la explicación de su naturaleza (8, 10-11), al comenzar el relato propiamente dicho cuyas palabras ininteligibles son traducidas al latín (16), al inicio de la creación del primer, segundo y tercer día (25, 26, 30), para referir la paciencia del Señor cuando los sabios dudan de la veracidad de tantos prodigios (55), para reprocharles dicha irreverencia (62)19, en la narración del cuarto y quinto día (64, 69), al referir el canto de los pájaros en la media noche (73), al tratar la creación del hombre (74) e iniciar la descripción del infierno (87).

17

Eliade 1987, s.v. Language, Sacred language 442 ss. Sobre la pertinente elección del santo para este cometido, Carey 2009, 250 ss. 19 En medio de esos dos pasajes se sitúa el episodio del blasfemo (58-60). 18

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Esto es, el redactor se sirve de la lengua angélica para incidir en los comienzos de los capítulos más importantes o los cambios de tema, cosa para la que también usa preguntas en latín20 que presentan los hebreos a “la lengua siempre nueva”: sobre los misterios celestes (26) o marinos (31), las clases de árboles (48), antes de expresar su estupor ante tantas maravillas (54), tras los reproches de incredulidad y el episodio del blasfemo para pedir la continuación del relato (63), saber del Día del Juicio (91), la hora de creación y destrucción del mundo (93). En puntos clave coinciden y se refuerzan entre sí la lengua angélica y el latín: el inicio del génesis (16), el día segundo (25), el desconcierto ante lo revelado (54-55) y la creación de Adán (74). No son éstas las únicas reconocidas, se mencionan las diversas lenguas en que hablan los pájaros, lenguaje racional, pese a que los hombres no pueden reconocerlo (53, cf. 59, 73), se ensalza la dulzura de la lengua de las tribus de Arabia (78, 81), comparable al canto angélico (81)21. Cerca ya del final del texto se afirma que tal es el poder de Dios que si cada ser, ángel, demonio, humano, monstruo… le hablara en una lengua sería capaz de responder simultáneamente en su lengua individual y de acuerdo con su naturaleza (101). En latín, lengua de la Iglesia, dirige el Señor a sus elegidos palabras evangélicas que incluyen la descripción del cielo, ubi sensus declarabantur (105). Y en latín, igual que empezó, termina el texto (107). In Tenga Bithnua muestra un fino proceder lingüístico, no se limita a la reproducción de pasajes en lengua angélica, convenientemente traducidos al vernáculo irlandés, a veces al latín. Con ella marca los pasajes principales de su revelación cosmológica. Y el redactor de la primera versión lo hace a conciencia. A veces pudiéranse reconocer vocablos o terminaciones latinas22, ecos escriturísticos23, pero en su conjunto no se asemeja ni a una lengua conocida, ni a vocablos hebreos o angélicos de los apócrifos u otra pseudolengua24. En nuestra opinión, ésa es la mejor garantía para considerar que sus pasajes constituyen uno de los más logrados ejemplos de glosolalia25. Se observa repetición de palabras o de 20 En ocasiones, sólo breves entradillas previas a las preguntas que afectan al creador (17), la materia del mundo (21), el recorrido del sol (65), las relaciones entre las criaturas (83), el infierno (85). Sin embargo, la cuestión sobre las estrellas (67) está directamente en irlandés. 21 Esto sólo en la segunda versión, precisamente la que no contiene fragmentos de lengua angélica, pero sí la identificación con el hebreo (n. 2). 22 P.ej. DOHDIDVXLGH«DOPH 64, 1--is(s)e en nelise 60, 7, nimbisse, 10,4. 23 Hæli maria 60,7. 24 Carey 2009, 247. 25 'DXW]HQEHUJGarcía Teijeiro 1992.

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determinados finales, pequeñas diferencias en el deletreo, metátesis, variaciones sobre un vocablo punto de partida, reiteración de sílabas y grupos consonánticos, asonancias, aliteraciones que conforman sentencias rítmicas, una red de ecos agradables al oído que con variantes se repiten una y otra vez. Cataldi 2001, 12 subraya: “È il primo esempio attestato in età postclassica di ‘lingua inesistente’”. Éste es un punto importante. Los paralelos apócrifos aducidos parecen descartar la idea de una creación ex novo. Pero ¿qué factRUHV LQIOX\HURQ HQ VX FRQVWLWXFLyQ" ¢(Q TXp pSRFD SRGHPRVVLWXDUORV" Harto significativo parece que, pese a ser bien conocida la literatura apócrifa en Irlanda y, en relación a la cuestión aquí examinada, existir incluso una versión irlandesa muy temprana, ca. 700 (Donahue 1942), de la Dormición de la Virgen, ésta no contenga alusión alguna a lenguaje angélico. Eso apunta a que muy probablemente dichas referencias angélicas ya estaban contenidas en la primera fase del texto, ese discurso de revelación egipcio que fraguó con un apócrifo de los Hechos de Felipe en el s. IV. Fijémonos en los elementos más relevantes de otro apócrifo, éste no citado por Carey, Hechos de Pablo26: conversación con un ángel, traducción al lenguaje normal, revelación, Pentecostés. Sin entrar en los detalles de la controversia27 sobre la interpretación de los episodios de glosolalia neotestamentaria como lengua del cielo o lengua de los ángeles, señalemos que incluso autores recalcitrantes28 no SXHGHQ DUULQFRQDU GHO WRGR HVD SRVLELOLGDG ௅PHQFLRQHPRV VLTXLHUD OD referencia de Pablo a “lenguas de los hombres y de los ángeles” (I Cor.  ௅ \ UHFRQRFHQ TXH DXQTXH HVD LGHD QR VH LPSXVR HQ OD RUWRGR[LD cristiana, sí se recoge en los apócrifos, quizás justamente bajo influencia judía29. Subrayemos entonces que a ese ámbito judío pertenecen tres textos 26

Llega a Éfeso, se hospeda en una casa, pasan la noche en oración. Y entonces “El ángel del Señor… se presentó ante ellos. Habló con Pablo, de modo que todos se turbaron: pues el ángel era visible en verdad, pero no oían las palabras que dirigía a Pablo. Cuando acabó de hablar en lenguas con el Apóstol, todos se llenaron de gran temor y confusión y se mantuvieron en silencio. Pero Pablo miró a los hermanos y les dijo: -Hermanos, el ángel del Señor ha venido a mí, como habéis visto, y me ha dicho: un gran tumulto va a producirse contra ti en Pentecostés…” (Piñero y Cerro 2005, 782 §9, 2-3). 27 *QWHUWVVWolff 2002. 28 Forbes 1995, 14 n.11, 47 n.8, 53 n.18, 59, 61, 62 n. 40. 29 Forbes 1995, 62, 182ss. El análisis previo nos impide aceptar la hipótesis de Carey 2009, 245 de que los Hechos de Felipe fueran el modelo seguido o, mejor

46

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coptos, $SRFDOLSVLV GH $EUDKiQ GH 6RIRQtDV (no indicado por Carey) y Testamento de JobFRQXQDFRPSRVLFLyQHQWUHV,D\G&FD-200 d.C. se fechan los Hechos apócrifos de Pablo citados poco ha. Cristianos son y en dichos ambientes y hasta el s. IV y V d.C. recogen los especialistas episodios de glosolalia en el cristianismo temprano, y no sólo en Jerusalén o Corinto, sino en Lión, en el Norte de África, en Egipto, ligado a uno de los fundadores del movimiento monástico temprano, Pacomio, s.IV, cuyo testimonio tiene un tinte muy popular30. De esa época datan los otros apócrifos coptos aducidos por Carey por contener referencias al lenguaje angélico: la Dormición de la VirgenOD+LVWRULDGH José el CarpinteroHO/LEURGH%DUWRORPp3LVWLV6RSKLD, los dos últimos en la línea gnóstica. Al situarlos nosotros en ese contexto se convierten en más que puras citas, nos permiten atisbar el trasfondo en que fraguaron esas referencias apócrifas a la lengua de los habitantes del cielo, que debía ser conocido por el primer redactor del texto31. Cabe preguntarse ahora hasta qué punto ese lenguaje angélico podía tener una buena acogida en la tradición irlandesa, suficiente para mantenerlo y acaso desarrollarlo. Difícil hallar un medio más favorable. Aun siendo esquemáticos recordemos: 1. Existencia de NHQQLQJDU antiguo irlandeses para los nombres de las letras del alfabeto ogámico, datables antes de la primera mitad del s. VI, cuya oposición denota lenguaje poético frente a lenguaje ordinario32.

dicho, el único y fundamental. Pero sí consideramos plausible que los pasajes KHEUHRV௅SUHVHQWHVSRUFLHUWRLQFOXVRHQORVHYDQJHOLRVFDQyQLFRV -Q0F 5.41, 7.11 \ ௅SXGLHUDQVHUYLUGHLQVSLUDFLyQSDUDHVHMXHJRHQWUHXQOHQJXDMH ‘inventado’ y su correspondiente traducción, máxime cuando dichos textos datan de los s. IV (Felipe), IV-V (Mateo, Evangelio de Bartolomé), V (Pilato), V-VI (Apocalipsis de Pablo), y podrían haber influido en la primera redacción que originaría el texto irlandés aproximadamente de la misma época. No olvidemos, sin embargo, que, en definitiva, la alusión al hebreo sólo aparece en un manuscrito de la segunda versión más tardía de In Tenga Bithnua (supra n. 2). 30 Forbes 1995, 79 ss., 82. 31 Reforzamos así la hipótesis de Carey 2009, 247, que ve en dichos apócrifos un indicio más sobre la procedencia egipcia del texto irlandés. También nosotros mantendríamos abierta la posibilidad de que no necesariamente deriven de Egipto en primera instancia, pues bien pudieron componerse y circular allí los originales griegos en época temprana (ib. 58 n. 2). 32 McManus 1988.

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2. Distinciones de gran finura entre clases de lenguaje en el tratado Auraicept na n-Éces, “Manual de los eruditos”33, cuyas disquisiciones constituyen la contrapartida irlandesa de las especulaciones metalingüísticas de otras lenguas indoeuropeas: a. Quíntuple división conservada en dos versiones34, que afecta a las diferencias entre lengua de los irlandeses, ordinaria, y usos por los glosistas, los gramáticos y, desde luego, los poetas. b. Denominación bérla fortchide na filed (1303) “oscuro lenguaje de los poetas”, concordante con el oscurantismo que predomina en ciertos pasajes de algunos relatos antiguo-irlandeses35. c. Diferencias en la especificación del género36 correspondientes a tres de los pueblos que sucesivamente invadieron Irlanda: los Túatha Dé Danann, los Fir Bolg y los Hijos de Míl. La vieja oposición hombres / dioses se aplica a las razas míticas protagonistas de la pseudohistoria. 3. Excelencia de la lengua gaélica loada en Auraicept na n-Éces: es más exhaustiva que cualquier otra, pues fue seleccionada a partir de toda lengua, todo sonido oscuro halló su sitio en ella (10-11). Y, como un guiño al origen copto de los apócrifos examinados, nació en Egipto (16), si bien la invención de las cinco lenguas tuvo lugar en Atenas (214). Eso no obsta para que el mismo tratado reconozca la superioridad del hebreo, lengua primera, anterior a la Torre de Babel, que perdurará tras el juicio final y que algunos dicen es la que tiene la familia del cielo (188192). Una afirmación muy semejante a la identificación que la segunda versión de In Tenga Bithnua (11) establece entre la lengua angélica y el hebreo. Es plausible detectar ahí una influencia isidoriana: en uno de sus pasajes el sevillano, muy bien conocido en la Irlanda medieval, afirma que el hebreo fue la lengua de todos antes del diluvio y la que permanecerá en el futuro37. 33

Según Calder 1917, xxiii, xxx, la datación del texto se fija entre mediados del s. VII y s. XI o quizás X, épocas muy similares a las de In Tenga Bithnua. 34 Auraicept 1302-38, estudiada por Watkins (1994, 467-71) y Auraicept 197-214 en la parte del autor más antiguo del tratado, Cenn Faelad (Calder 1917, xxx). 35 Watkins 1994, 470. 36 Auraicept 1493-96 y 4554-:DWNLQV:HVW 37 Origg. XII, I, 2 citado por Calder (1917, xxxiv), quien trata sobre la relación entre Isidoro († 636) y el autor más antiguo del tratado de mediados del s. VII, Cenn Faelad, en cuyo comentario aparece esa frase.

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Si el Manual de los eruditos declara sin ambages el carácter secreto de la lengua gaélica y Watkins insiste en la oscuridad de su lenguaje arcaico y poético, en ese contexto la lengua sin sentido, incomprensible, pura invención necesitada de traducción de la “lengua siempre nueva” encuentra un anclaje cuasi perfecto en su propia tradición nativa, dominada ya por la religiosidad cristiana, familiarizada sin duda con textos apócrifos y admirada de los episodios de Pentecostés y la Primera Carta a los Corintios donde se menciona específicamente la lengua de los ángeles. Son éstos los habitantes privilegiados del cielo, del mundo sobrenatural cristiano por oposición a los hombres que reciben la revelación por su PHGLReVHHVHOQXHYRDQWDJRQLVPRQRHOGHKRPEUHVIUHQWHDGLRVHVHO de las razas míticas funciona al nivel de la pseudohistoria. Aún cabe hacerse una última pregunta: sabido es que el cristianismo no arrambló sin más con las tradiciones míticas paganas, el Más Allá está omnipresente en los relatos irlandeses. ¿Qué relación guarda la lengua angélica con el comportamiento lingüístico de esos otros seres XOWUDPXQGDQRVTXHSXHEODQVXVKLVWRULDV" Digamos aquí tan sólo que efectivamente existen referencias a un lenguaje especial de los difuntos, una forma singular de comunicarse, (ruidos, murmullos, palabras que deben repetirse por ellos a veces en un contexto totalmente cristiano), mas también alusiones a una lengua que no se entiende38. Al establecer un hilo de continuidad con la lengua de los muertos valoremos que varias de las situaciones que atañen a la lengua angélica afectan precisamente a personajes que están con un pie en la tumba o que hablan desde el cielo. ¡Ojalá podamos decir un día con ellos, entendiéndolo en toda su plenitud, el equivalente en lengua angélica a la frase que abre esta exposición: LÆ UIDE FODEA TARO ABELIA ALBE FAB (In Tenga Bithnua 16, 2- 

Obras Citadas Aranda Pérez, G. 1995. Dormición de la Virgen. Relatos de la tradición copta. Madrid: Ciudad Nueva – Fundación San Justino. Bovon, F., B. Bouvier, and F. Amsler eds. 1999. Acta Philippi. Turnhout: Brepols. Budge, E.A.W., 1913. Coptic Apocrypha in the Dialect of Upper Egypt. London: British Museum. 38

Velasco López 2001, 427-8.

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Calder, G., ed. 1917. Auraicept na n-Éces. The Scholars’ Primer. Edinburgh: J. Grant. Carey, J., ed. 2009. In Tenga Bithnua. The Ever-New Tongue. Turnhout: Brepols. Carozzi, C. 1994. Eschatologie et Au-GHOj Recherches sur l’Apocalypse de Paul. Aix-en-Provence: Publications de l’Université de Provence. Cataldi, C. 2001. “Haeli habia felebe fae niteia temnibisse salis sal. In coloquio con la Lingua Semprenuova.” In Epistolari e Conversari. Arti e pratiche del dire, ed. V. Gianolio, 11-24. Turin: Tirrenia. Dautzenberg, G. 1981. “Glossolalie.” In ReallexiNRQ IU $QWLNH XQG Christentum Band XIed. Th. Klauser et alii, 226-246. Stuttgart: Anton Hiersemann. Díez Macho, A., y A. Piñero, trad. 1987, 2009, Apócrifos del Antiguo Testamento 99,. Madrid: Ediciones Cristiandad. Donahue, Ch., ed. 1942. The testament of Mary. The Gaelic version of the Dormitio MarLDH WRJHWKHU ZLWK DQ ,ULVK /atin Version. New York: Fordham University Press. Eliade, M., ed. 1987. The Encyclopedia of Religion V. New York: Macmillan. Forbes, Ch. 1995. Prophecy and Inspired Speech in Early Christianity and its Hellenistic Environment. Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck. García Teijeiro, M. 1992. “Langage orgiastique et glossolalie.” Kernos 5: 59-69. Güntert, H. 1921. 9RQ GHU 6SUDFKH GHU *|WWHU XQG *HLVWHU Bedeutungsgeschichtliche Untersuchungen zur Homerischen und Eddischen *|WWHUVSUDFKH. Halle: Max Niemeyer. McManus, D. 1988. “Irish letter-names and their kennings.” Ériu 39: 127168. Piñero, A. y G. del Cerro, trad. 2005, 2011. Hechos apócrifos de los $SyVWROHV,,+HFKRVGH3DEOR\7RPiV,,,. Madrid: BAC. Santos Otero, A. de, trad. 1985. Los evangelios apócrifos. Edición crítica y bilingüe, 5ª ed. Madrid: BAC. Schmidt, C., ed. and V. MacDermot, trans. 1978. Pistis Sophia. Leiden: Brill. Velasco López, Mª H. 2001. (O SDLVDMH GHO PiV DOOi (O WHPD GHO SUDGR verde en la escatología indoeuropea. Valladolid: Universidad de Valladolid. Watkins, C. 1994. Selected Writings II. Innsbruck: Institut für Sprachwissenschaft der Universität Innsbruck. West, M. L. 2007. Indo-European Poetry and Myth. Oxford: Oxford University Press.

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:ROII&K³ȁĮȜİ૙ȞȖȜઆııĮȚȢLQWKHActs of the Apostles.” In 3DXO /XNHDQGWKH*UDHFR-Roman World. Essays in Honour of Alexander J. M. Wedderburn, ed. A. Christophersen, C. Claussen, J. Frey and B. Longenecker, 189-199. London: Sheffield Academic Press.

RUMPELSTILZCHEN: THE NAME OF THE SUPERNATURAL HELPER AND THE LANGUAGE OF THE GODS* ÓSCAR M. BERNAO FARIÑAS UNIVERSITY OF VALLADOLID

µIJȓ‫݋‬FIJȚȞIJާ ‫ݏ‬ȞșİȩȞ_FȠȣ‫ݻ‬Ȟ>Ƞȝ@ĮȝȒȞȣFȩȞȝȠȚܻijșȩȞȦF‫ݬ‬ȞĮ ‫݋‬ʌȚțĮȜȑFȦ_ȝĮȚĮ>‫ރ‬IJȩ¶‫ݏ‬[email protected]IJȚȞį‫ ޡ‬ȖȡĮȝȝȐIJȦȞȚݍÂFȠȣİFȠȜȣȡijșȘȝȦș... (PGM I, 161-162)

The fact that gods and spirits possess their own differentiated language, unknown to mortals, is the pivotal point around which a very interesting and quite diverse group of traditions revolve. This widely spread set of beliefs–part of an even more universal and extensive lore gathered around the magic power of words1–has long played an important role for many cultures in the field of religious and philosophical speculations about creation, the functioning of oracles and magic or even the origin of language. According to the German scholar H. Güntert (1921, 61), there are two different–yet interconnected–phenomena that must be acknowledged when dealing with these beliefs. On the one hand, some ancient and modern “primitive” communities consider that gods, spirits, and other supernatural beings have languages of their own that are not only different, but also unintelligible to humans. These languages can be heard among the sounds produced by nature such as murmuring waters, the trees’ rustle, or the * The author wants to express his gratitude to the research group FFI2011-27438 for its academic and economic support. 1 The magical thought rests partly on the notion that things are one and the same with their names. Appellatives have a magical power over those things or persons denominated by them. Consequently, true names of individuals, gods or cities are most commonly concealed, lest someone may use them in magical practices (see Frazer 1911, 318-418). This is exactly wherein the power of magicians resides: they can force gods and daemons into doing their bidding, chiefly because they speak their language and know their true secret appellatives.

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flight of birds, and therefore resemble a gibberish alien to mortal ears. Such tongues consist of alliterative words characterized by long sequences of vowels and syllables that contravene the rules of the vernacular language. This conception has found its reflection, for instance, in the powerful formulae and incantations uttered by magicians of which our abracadabra or hocus-pocus are close relatives (Güntert 1921, 3). On the other hand, more culturally advanced societies tend to consider that otherworldly beings, especially those of a higher nature like gods, could not possibly speak in an incomprehensible tongue, something characteristic of barbarians. Quite the opposite, these creatures would express themselves in the same language that we use, but in a more solemn and accurate manner, whereby the relation between reference and referent is closer than that of the mortal language. As stated by C. Watkins (1995, 38-39), “the distinction between language of gods and language of men correspond to a hierarchy of aesthetically marked versus aesthetically unmarked appellations for the same entity”. Homer in Il. 20, 74-75 provides a good example for such opposition: … ȝȑȖĮȢʌȠIJĮȝާȢȕĮșȣįȓȞȘȢ ‫ݼ‬ȞȄȐȞșȠȞțĮȜȑȠȣıȚȞșİȠȓܿȞįȡİȢį‫ ޡ‬ȈțȐȝĮȞįȡȠȞ. Whereas the names used by humans do not seem to have any relation with the object to which they refer–namely a river (ȈțȐȝĮȞįȡȠȞ), the terms employed by gods are semantically marked, since they hint at a quality or feature of the being or object designated by them (ȄȐȞșȠȞ, i.e. “The Yellow (river)”). Belief in this opposition is rooted in the development of the Indo-European poetical language and literature. Having been attested in Greek, Latin and Norse poetry and, to a lesser extent, also in the ancient Indian, Hittite and Gaelic literary traditions (see Watkins 1970), it has served as a metaphor that explains the existence of different levels in the lexicons of these languages: one poetic, the other ordinary. Both notions of the nature of the language spoken by supernatural beings (either the unintelligible or the more understable and transparent) are profoundly embedded in our cultural traditions and have left a strong footprint in religion and literature. Nevertheless, in the field of folk literature, namely in legend and folk tale, the influence of such motifs has not turned out to be as strong as in its cultivated counterpart. Although folklore is pervaded by the motifs that reflect a belief in the power of words and true names–for instance, in the multitude of magic formulae and incantations that must be correctly uttered in order that they work2 (Röhrich 1964, 75-77), it is very difficult to find episodes in which the notion of the language of the gods can be easily recognized. However, 2

E.g. ³2SHQVHVDPH´RU³0LUURUPLUURURQWKHZDOOZKRLVWKHIDLUHVWRIDOO"´

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there is an element–almost ubiquitous within each genre–that seems to be influenced by these beliefs: the proper names of folk-literature characters. The present pages are a modest attempt to illustrate how certain features that characterise some proper names of legends and folk-tale characters, namely those of otherworldly creatures, can–and must–be explained thanks to the aforementioned beliefs. For this task we will mainly focus on the tale type The Name of the Supernatural Helper, a well-defined group of stories that has raised interest among scholars for a long time, owing to the chief role played by the unknown appellative of the supernatural helper. The variety of proper names given to the supernatural being in the variants of this type makes it a suitable sample for our study. The Name of the Supernatural Helper (ATU 500) is mainly a (Northern and Western) European tale type, documented also in some other regions with a strong European influence (USA, Puerto Rico, Japan, etc.). This type has gained worldwide popularity over the last century thanks particularly to one singular variant: Rumpelstilzchen, a German version collected by the Brothers Grimm and included in their famous Kinder- und Hausmärchen (KHM 55)3. The plot of Rumpelstilzchen and the other variants of this type is formed by a twofold, almost symmetrical structure (Lüthi 1971, 420), in which a girl is twice subjected to an LPSRVVLEOHWDVNthat she manages to succeed in only with the aid of a helper. The motif of “guessing the helper’s name” appears at the ending of the narrative, in a highly significant point, which emphasizes its importance. Actually, the significance of this episode is such that these folk tales are the only one whose title derives from the name of its supernatural helper rather than from its heroes’ (e.g. English Tom-Tit-Tot or French Histoire de RicdinRicdon)4. The discovery of a supernatural creature’s name, a motif long studied and identified by many scholars as an archaic trait characteristic of this

3

For a summary of the tale and some of its variants see Polívka 1900. The hero is the only character who can fulfill the protagonist role in a folk tale. As a consequence, if a tale is named after a character, it will always be the hero. In contrast, Rumpelstilzchen behaves in this regard more like a legend, since this genre is the only one in which supernatural beings can be the main characters and, moreover, have proper names. This peculiarity–in addition to some others–has led Röhrich 1974, 286 to believe that tales belonging to type ATU 500 are halfway between the legend and the folk tale. 4

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type5, constitutes the second LPSRVVLEOHWDVN assigned to the girl. This task, nevertheless, does not seem to entail the same level of complexity as other typical folk-tale unfeasible tasks, such as draining a lake with a sieve, counting stars, or even spinning straw into gold. It is simply a question of “guessing a name”, but in fact it is only fulfilled because a servant overhears the name by chance when the dwarf sings it triumphantly in the forest, not because somebody manages to guess the correct answer. At this point we may want to ask, what is so special about the name of WKLV FKDUDFWHU WKDW PDNHV LW LPSRVVLEOH WR JXHVV" 7KH FRPSOH[LW\ RI WKH task rests on the fact that dwarves, along with gods, ghosts, and giants have non-KXPDQQDPHVVWUDQJHDSSHOODWLYHVWKDWKXPDQs are not meant to know nor guess by any means, because they are in their own, concealed language (Röhrich 1974, 281-283). It seems obvious that the idea that underlies this whole episode points at the beliefs expounded at the beginning of the present article. Nonetheless, another question soon arises: is there any particular feature in these different characters’ names that stresses the fact that they belong to a VXSHUQDWXUDO EHLQJ" ,Q RUGHU WR SURYLGH DQ DQVZHU OHW XV ILUVW SD\ FORVH attention to the nature of the otherworldly beings’ names in the narratives that belong to the type The Name of the Supernatural Helper. H. Güntert, in his work Von der Sprache GHU*|WWHUXQG*HLVWHU(1921, 77-79), dealt briefly with the topic of the name of the dwarf in the variants of Rumpelstilzchen. In his approach, Güntert was intrigued by the astonishing variety of names attested in each narrative–see also Röhrich (1974, 282-283). He noticed that the name of the supernatural being was different in every single narrative, no two versions having the same appellative. Likewise he observed that each name was somehow “motivated” by the peculiarities of the language of the place from which the narrative was collected. To exemplify this fact, the German scholar extracted the names of the supernatural being from the variants known in his time (cf. Políka 1900) and arranged them in a list previously divided into five categories according to their similar features. A summary of Güntert’s list (increased and slightly reorganized) is as follows: a. Common names: Gebhart, 9DWHU )LQN (Germany), Felix (Austria), 0DULH.LULNLWRXP(Basque Country, France), etc.

5

Renowned folklorists, like E. Clodd 1898 or C.W. V. Sydow 1909, have related this motif directly to those ancient superstitions and taboos with respect to the use of proper names found around the globe (see note 1). According to them the girl gains control over the dwarf once she is in possession of his name.

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b. Descriptive names: Ligna di scupa ,WDO\  9DUJDOXVNR +XQJDU\  5XPSHOVWLO]FKHQ VZDDUW +H[ 6SLW]EDUWHOH *HUPDQ\  6SULQJKXQGHUO :DOGNJHOH $XVWULD Whuppity Stoorie 6FKRWODQG HWF c. Alliterative names: Ricdin Ricdon )UDQFH  Tom-tit-tot (QJODQG  Tingl-Tangl &]HFK5HS Trit-a-trot ,UHODQG HWF d. Rhyming names: &LDFLD àDFLD àXS-cup-cup pro drodze 3RODQG  (NNH1HNNH-pe *HUPDQ\ HWF e. Fantastic names: 0LUNLNHULU 5RGRPRQW )UDQFH  Tarandò ,WDO\  Titelituri 6ZHGHQ  Tambutoe 86$  Pase Ongüento entre Moé, Yantencanabemorimacacucentellaes 3XHUWR5LFR HWF

Güntert’s analysis was chiefly intended to exemplify how the nature of the names was indeed conditioned by the character of each language, but he did not develop his idea any further. Still, the notions he indirectly pointed out have proved to be of great help in understanding how deeply embedded the belief in the existence of a divine language in these folk tales is. The first category established by Güntert consists of common names. This reduced group of appellatives can simply be explained with regard to the special proximity of this tale type with the genre of the legend (see note 5). Real ordinary names, such as Gebhart, Felix, or Marie are favoured in the genre of legend, since they provide authenticity to the story. In fact, some narratives, the story of 9DWHU )LQN, for instance, are actual legends–this one told in Oldenburg (Germany). The second category, which contains descriptive names, constitutes more than the 60 percent of all examples surveyed. For this reason it can be acknowledged to be the most representative type of designation of supernatural beings. Proper names are normally opaque signs whose only function is to designate persons or objects. These kinds of words–at least in most occidental societies–do not describe any characteristic of their owner and are simply given as a means of identifying and distinguishing one individual from another. In contrast, poetical language, being more solemn–closer to that spoken by the gods–, tries to replace the arbitrary relation between referent and reference–typical of the common language– by a motivated one, wherein names detail the nature of what it is they designate. For this reason poetical language shows a predilection for descriptive names, that is to say, for names semantically motivated by attributes or qualities of the person or thing denominated by them (e.g. ȄȐȞșȠȞ  7KLV preference is universal within the scope of the IndoEuropean languages, as mentioned before, and it has left testimonies both

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in poetry and prose, from antiquity6 to the present day. This particular trait of Indo-European poetical language has evidently exerted an influence on the folklore whose traditional genres, namely the folk tale, also show a widespread use of semantically marked appellatives. Descriptive names such as Snow White, Cap-o’-Rushes, or King Thrushbeard, are an inherited poetical trait found profusely in folk narrative. This predilection is not coincidental though, it is actually due to the fact that the transparent nature of such names meet the style characteristics of this genre (see Lüthi 1947, 13-36). This important role of descriptive names can be applied, roughly speaking, to every folk tale, including narratives belonging to the type ATU 500. In most of the variants of Rumpelstilzchen the storyteller turns to designations like Springhunderl (“Jumping puppy”), Whuppity Stoorie (a Scottish witch), and of course Rumpelstilzchen itself (from rumpeln “to rumble” and 6WHO] VWHO]HQ “stilt, to walk on stilts”) in order to name the supernatural character. Such designations give details of the nature of the beings, especially relating to their appearance (e.g. swart Heex “Black Witch”), or the attributes (e.g. 9DUJDOXVNR from varga “leather worker, shoemaker”), or behavior (e.g. WalGNJHOH“Little Forestball”) that people ascribe to them. In my opinion, the abundance of descriptive names present in the tale type ATU 500 underlies the otherworldliness of the supernatural beings. In the (Indo-) European cultural tradition supernatural beings do not speak ordinary languages like we do, but have tongues of their own, which are higher and more solemn. Accordingly, they do not have ordinary names– like those typical of the human language, but rather transparent appellatives that detail their true elevated nature. As a means of underlining the fact that guessing the name of the supernatural helper is an impossible task–chiefly because this name is supernatural, some narrators turn to a typical type of otherworldly appellative, a descriptive name. This belief is not just limited to folk tales, but can also be recognized in the genres of legend (see Röhrich 1954 and 1976, 282), mythology (e.g. ݃ijȡȠįȓIJȘ) and even religion (e.g. ǻȚȐȕȠȜȠȢ), where the common appellatives of supernatural beings tend to be descriptive names. Be that as it may, I feel especially intrigued by the unusual characteristics that a certain number of the appellatives included in Güntert’s classification display, namely those that form the categories labeled alliterative, rhyming and fantastic names. Unlike any other types 6

See for example the abundance and pre-eminent function that descriptive names fulfill in Plautian comedies: López López 1991.

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of designations within the folk tale genre, the appellatives included in these three categories do not seem to be related to any conventional, proper name nor to be motivated by any particular feature of the character. These words instead appear to be some kind of artificial coinage invented by the narrators. They resemble random aggregations of vowels and consonants that, during the process of fixation and oral tradition, have been polished and acquired some poetical traits like alliteration, repetition of syllables, or rhyming endings. Nevertheless, this last assertion is not entirely true. As Güntert alludes in his book (1921, 62-88), there is a kind of appellative–found in testimonies only tangentially related to folklore–which provides keen information for understanding their nature, since they display the same features as the aforementioned atypical designations: the appellatives with which magicians conjure gods, ghosts and daemons. The power of magicians is based on the fact that they are in possession of the true and secret names of gods and spirits. Because of this they can summon them and force them to act under their command (see note 1). 7KLVțȡȣʌIJȐțĮ੿ ਕȜȘșȚȞ੹ ੑȞȩȝĮIJĮWKDWFRQFHDOWKHQDWXUHRI the being designated by them have always been credited to be obscure and P\VWHULRXVLQWKHZRUGVRI/+RSI  ³Wortungeheure, wüste Combinationen von Consonanten und Vocalen, oft erschrecklich lang […], die an die Gedächtniskraft und Zungenfertigkeit der Magier bedeutende Anforderungen stellten”. Abundant examples of such appellatives are provided in all sorts of ancient, medieval and even modern magical texts. One of the most important collections of this type is the ancient body of magical texts, known as the *UHHN 0DJLFDO 3DS\UL (PMG). I introduced the present article with an epigraph that clearly illustrates the nature of these divine names. In this spell the magician forces the goddess Selene to reveal her name, so she may be summoned. 7KHGHLW\¶VVHFUHWQDPHLVıȠȣİıȠȜȣȡijșȘȝȦș7. It is unquestionable that this otherworldly appellative, like many other examples found throughout the PGM collection, displays the same features (inclination to alliteration, rhyme, repetition) as those strange fantastic names found in some variants of the tale type ATU 500 such as Tom-tit-tot, 0LUNLNHULU, or more strikingly Yantencanabemorimacacucentellaes. Due to its concise–almost conceptual–style, the names in the folk tale will never reach the length and complexity of their counterparts in

7 Other examples of such names: ǺȐȡȗĮȞ ȕȠȣȕĮȡȗĮȞ ȞĮȡȗĮȗȠȣȗĮȞ ȕĮȡȗĮȕȠȣȗĮș (PGM XIV a 1-5), ݃ȕȜĮșĮȞĮ, or ݇ȖȡĮȝĮȡȚ (PGM XXXVI, 187-210).

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magic, instead we find shortened forms like Trit-a-Trot or Titelituri, that even so show the same characteristics. This peculiar and enigmatic type of otherworldly creatures’ names found in the tale type The Name of the Supernatural Helper is the reflection of that ancient widespread belief according to which the divinities and particularly the characters of the lower mythology speak an unintelligible language similar to the sounds of nature, and their names, obviously, fit the characteristic of their languages. Such a belief, alive at the beginning of our era–as attested in the ancient Greek-Egyptian corpus of magical papyri–has survived throughout the centuries and left its imprint on the field of folk tale in this one singular type of name of a particular European tale type. To conclude, we now have an answer to the question posed above. Certainly the proper name of the helper stresses the fact that these creatures are supernatural. This brief review of the tale of Rumpelstilzchen and its variants has shown how deeply the proper names of supernatural beings in folk tales are influenced both by the different notions of the magical power of the name and by beliefs related to the language spoken by supernatural beings (either unintelligible or more transparent).

Works Cited Clodd, E. 1898, 7RP 7LW 7RW $Q (VVD\ RQ 6DYDJH 3KLORVRSK\ LQ )RONLore. London: Duckworth. Frazer, J.G. 1911. The Golden Bough. III: Taboo and The Perils of the Soul. London: MacMillan. Güntert, H. 1921. 9RQ GHU 6SUDFKH GHU *|WWHU XQG *HLVWHU Bedeutungsgeschichtliche Untersuchungen zur Homerischen und (GGLVFKHQ*|WWHUVSUDFKH, Halle: Max Niemeyer Hopf, L. 1904. 'LH +HLOJ|WWHU XQG +HLOVWlWWHQ GHV $OWHUWXPV. Tübingen: Franz Pietzcker. López López, M. 1991. Los personajes de la comedia plautina: nombre y función. Lleida: Pagès Editors. Lüthi, M. 1947. 'DV(XURSlLVFKH9RONVPlUFKHQ)RUPXQG:HVVHQ. Bern: Francke. —. 1971. “Rumpelstilzchen. Thematik, Struktur- und Stilltendenzen innerhalb eines Märchentypus.” Antaios 12: 419-436. Polívka, J. 1900. “Tom Tit Tot.” Zeitschrift IU 9RONVNXQGH 10, 254-272, 325, 382-396. Röhrich, L. 1964. 0lUFKHQXQG:LUFNOLFKNHLW. Wiesbaden: Franz Steiner —. 1976. Sage und Märchen. Freiburg: Herber.

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Sydow, C.W. von. 1909. Två Spinsagor. Lund: P.A. Nostedt. Watkins, C. 1970. “Language of the Gods and Language of the Men: Remarks on some Metalinguistic Tradition.” In Myth and Law among Indo-Europeans, ed. J. Puhvel, 1-17. Los Angeles: University of California Press. —. 1995. How to Kill a Dragon: Aspects of Indo-European Poetics. New York: Oxford University Press.

RELIGIOUS ONOMASTICS IN ANCIENT GREECE AND ITALY: LEXIQUE, PHRASEOLOGY AND INDOEUROPEAN POETIC LANGUAGE* JOSÉ L. GARCÍA RAMÓN UNIVERSITY OF COLOGNE

1. The epithets used to invoke gods in a ritual context (hence the term ਥʌ઀țȜȘıȚȢ DWWHVWHGLQLQVFULSWLRQVRUTXRWHGLQOLWHUDU\WH[WVUHYHDODORWRI information about the respective god’s characteristics: they therefore occupy a special position within the representations of divine beings by the Greeks and Romans. The numerous cultic and literary epithets of gods, inasmuch as they are understandable ex graeco ipso, ex latino ipso or by linguistic comparison, reflect different aspects of their divine personality: in fact they can show astonishing characteristics, which are highly instructive about the respective god’s powers and the religious knowledge codified in local traditions. Divine epithets appear in epigraphical texts or DUH TXRWHG LQ SRHWU\ RU KLVWRULFDO WH[WV HSLWKHWV RI RQO\ OLWHUDU\ provenance, albeit sometimes based on the poet’s free imagination, often also reflect the imagery of the cultic epithets and thus basically agree in their portrayal of the god’s characteristics. Local epithets can reflect the * This paper has been written within the framework of the Research Project “Divine epithets in Ancient Greece: a linguistic and philological approach” (PPPProgramme DAAD/Vigoni: Università Cattolica del Sacro Cuore / Seminario di Filologia Classica e Papirologia / Universität zi Köln, Historisch-Vergelichende Sprachwissenschaft, 2011/2012. It is a part of the Loeb Lecture “Indo-European Continuity in Greek and Latin Onomastics”, held April 17th 2012 at the Department of Classics at Harvard. It is a pleasant duty to express my gratitude to Daniel Kölligan (Köln), Daniele Maras (Roma), José Marcos Macedo (Saô Paulo / Köln), José Luis Melena (Vitoria), Paolo Poccetti (Roma), Ana Vegas Sansalvador (Köln), and M. Weiss (Cornell) for their remarks and criticism. My warm thanks also go to Karolina Gierej, Denise Hübner, and especially Lena Wolberg (Köln) for her invaluable help in the material preparation of the manuscript.

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panhellenic divine imagery, i.e. the standard imagery of the Olympic and lesser gods without geographical distinction. But each Greek and Italic region attests in its epigraphy numerous typical, sometimes also unexpected epithets. They may be unique, or related to a god for the first time only from one source, and even appear completely strange for a specific god. The first question when dealing with epithets concerns the distinction between cultic and exclusively literary epithets, i.e. whether epithets quoted in literature are of cultic provenance or a poetic invention. That cultic epithets are usually written with majuscule, whereas literary epithets are with minuscule (except when they are directly used as the name of the god) is, of course, purely conventional. It must be noted that literary epithets can be of a cultic nature, too: the absence of a corresponding ritual context may be due to the lack of documentation. Even if an epithet was invented by the poet (thus showing perhaps an ‘occasional’ nature), it has the same function as a traditional epithet, inasmuch as it describes the god’s essence (or a part of it). Lexicographical literature, which quotes many epithets with or without indication of their regional or dialectal provenance, is often astonishingly precise in their explanation. The evaluation of divine epithets meets with different possibilities: (1) the meaning of the epithet is obscureLQWKLVFDVHWKHUHLVQo other possibility than to associate it, as far as possible, with non-Greek or non-Italic proper names (toponyms, theonyms, ethnics), in other words, to admit that it is not Indo-European and to renounce a linguistic explanation. (2) the epithet, inasmuch as it is interpretable within Greek or Latin / Sabellic by way of comparison with other Indo-European WUDGLWLRQV LQGLFDWHV D SDUWLFXODULW\ VSHFLILF RU QRW  RI WKH JRG LQ this case, we are dealing with various possibilities: (a) the epithet perfectly fits into the pattern of the god’s nature. Ideally, the divine character is indicated by epithets, poetry and iconography at the same time: this is e.g. the case of Apollo ‘with the silver bow’ (ਕȡȖȣȡંIJȠȟȠȢ), or Artemis ‘who holds the arrow in her hands’ (ੁȠȤ੼ĮȚȡĮ). (b) the epithet informs us about the god’s imagery in the region in which it appears, although iconographical support is lacking. 7KLVLVHJWKHFDVHRIȋĮȝ઄ȞȘ of Demeter in Olympia, or that of ਫȡȚȠ઄ȞȚȠȢ of ǾHUPHV ȋĮȝ઄ȞȘ µZKR KDV KHU EHG İ੝Ȟ੾) on

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WKH JURXQG ȤĮȝĮ઀)’1 reflects ex Graeco ipso the liaison of the JRGGHVV ZLWK PRUWDO ,DVLRQ DV WUDQVPLWWHG VLQFH +ȠPHU Od. 5.125), as shown by A. Vegas Sansalvador. For its part, ਫȡȚȠ઄ȞȚȠȢ ਫȡȚȠ઄ȞȘȢ µZKR LV KLJKO\ ਥȡȚƒ  UXQQHU  KHOSHU¶ conceals in its VHFRQG PHPEHU DQ DEVWUDFW Ƞ੣ȞȠȢ  RU D GHQRPLQDWLYHȠ੝ȞȠİ- µUXQ¶  Ƞ੡ȞȘµFRXUVH¶2 of the same root *h2HX֒K1- as Hitt. ‫ې‬XX֒DL֒ - ‫ې‬XL֒ D-‫ېې‬i ‘run’ (HLuv. ‫ې‬XX֒LD-mi, CLuv. ‫ې‬njL֒ D-mi), Ved. avi/nj Lat. LnjXǀ,-are ‘help’, as shown by E. Langella,3 which illustrates the coexistence of both activities as characteristic of Hermes. (c) the epithet is intelligible, but without any recognizable relation to the god’s nature, e.g. Apollo ǻİȜij઀ȞȚȠȢ , who is characterized in many regions by a strong connection with the local political institutions of various communities, where he is venerated, and with ephebical institutions (Graf 1979). In such a case where meaning and function are not in agreement, the epithet is unlikely to be explained satisfactorily on the strength of its etymology. The present contribution will make the case for the importance of the phraseology (within Greek or Latin and/or of Indo-European origin) to interpret divine epithets and names in a threefold approach. Firstly, compounded epithets: literary compounds with ੑȡıȚƒ DQG ੑȡıȠƒ ਥȖİȡı઀ȝĮȤȠȢ $WHQD  ਥȡȚȕંĮȢ (Dionysus), Lat. opitulus (Iuppiter). Secondly, non-compounded epithets, coexisting or not with compounds having the same lexical item as one of its members: ȀİȡĮȣȞóȢ ȈIJóȡʌસȢ (both of Zeus), 7KHVVțȠȡȠȣIJĮȡȡĮ (Q Q RGLD ǽȘIJ੾ȡ ǽHXV /DWStator (Iuppiter). Finally an attempt will be made to detect the forerunners (or correspondences) of gods which are not mentioned by name in the Mycenaean and the Sabellic domain in light of onomastics and 1

Or ‘having the earth (ȤĮȝƒ  DV EHG¶ ZLWK ƒȣȞ੾ as the zero-grade of İ੝Ȟ੾, cf. ȤĮȝĮȚİȪvȘȢ [Hom.], ȤĮȝİȪvȘȢ [Hsch.]), see Od. 5.125 ੬Ȣ į¶ ੒ʌȩIJ¶ ੉ĮıȓȦȞȚ ਥȨʌȜȩțĮȝȠȢ ǻȘȝȒIJȘȡ « ȝȓȖȘ ijȚȜȩIJȘIJȚ țĮ੿ İ੝Ȟૌ  ȞİȚ૶ ਩ȞȚ IJȡȚʌȩȜ૳, also Hes. Th. 968/9 ǻȘȝȒIJȘȡ ȝ੻Ȟ ȆȜo૨IJRȞ ਥȖİȓȞĮIJo, ... , / ੉ĮıȓȦvૅ ਸ਼ȡ૳ ȝȚȖİ૙ıૅ ਥȡĮIJૌ ijȚȜȩIJȘIJȚ ȞİȚ૶ ਩ȞȚIJȡȚʌȩȜ૳ (Vegas Sansalvador 1992). 2 Cf. the Hesychian glosses Ƞ੡ȞȘǜ įİ૨ȡȠ. įȡȐȝİ. ਝȡțȐįİȢȠ੣ȞȠȞā>ਫ਼ȖȚȑȢ@ȀȪʌȡȚȠȚ įȡȩȝȠȞȠ੡ȞȚȠȢȠ੡ȞȘȢǜįȡȠȝİȪȢțȜȑʌIJȘȢ 3 Cf. on the one hand HH 19.ȠੈȩȞș¶ਬȡȝİȓȘȞਥȡȚȠȪȞȚȠȞ««੪Ȣ੖ «șȠઁȢ ਙȖȖİȜȩȢਥıIJȚHH 2.407: ਬȡȝોȢ«ਥȡȚȠȪȞȚȠȢਙȖȖİȜȠȢ੩ț઄Ȣon the other HH 4.28f ǻȚઁȢį¶ਥȡȚȠȪȞȚȠȢȣੂઁȢ«³ıȪȝȕȠȜȠȞਵįȘȝȠȚȝȑȖ¶ੑȞȒıȚȝȠȞ««੕ijİȜȩȢIJȓ ȝȠȚ਩ııૉ. Further details in Langella (forthcoming).

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phraseology: Demeter and Apolo (not attested in Linear B), and Juno (non attested in Sabellic Italy).

I. Compounded Epitheta Deorum and Phraseology 2. Let us start, in memory of our friend Juan José Moralejo, with the essentials of some literary epithets, namely the compounds with ੑȡıȚƒDQG ੑȡıRƒ as the first member, which were in part dealt with extensively in my contribution to his Festschrift4: ੑȡı઀ĮȜRȢ %DFFK\OLGHV  RI 3RVHLGRQ ੑȡıȚȕȐțȤĮȢ %D DQGੑȡıȚȖ઄ȞĮȚțĮ lyr. adesp.) of Dionysus, ੑȡıȓțIJȣʌRȢDQG ੑȡıȚȞİij੾Ȣ 3LQGDU  RI =HXV ੑȡı઀ȝĮȤȠȢ %D  RI ǹWKHQD DOVR ੑȡıȠIJȡ઀ĮȞĮ (Pi.) of Poseidon. A crucial point must be stressed at random: ੑȡıȚƒPD\DFWXDOO\FRQFHDO two lexemes, which are perceived as different, at least in Homeric “synchrony”, namely (a) ੕ȡȞȣȝȚµWRULVH XS WRSXWLQvertical motion’ (aor. ੑȡıĮ-, med. ੯ȡIJȠSHUI੕ȡȦȡİTXRWHGDVੑȡ- in what follows), and (b) ੑȡ઀ȞȦ ‘to stir (up), whirl, agitate, rouse’ (aor. ੑȡȚȞĮ-, perf. ੑȡઆȡİIJĮȚ ੑȡȚȞRİ- in what follows), as phraseological collocations clearly show. A first member ੑȡıȚƒLVWKe regular reflex of (a) ੑȡ-. Whereas for (b) ੑȡȚȞȠİ-, whichever its etymology could be (surely connected with Ved. ri۬Ɨ̗ ti),5 one would have expected *੒ȡȚıȚƒ FI ijșȚıȚƒ  ijș઀ȞȦ IJ İ ȚıȚƒ  IJ઀ȞȦ  WKH FKRLFH RI ੑȡıȚƒ instead of regular +ੑȡȚıȚƒ ZDV SUREDbly favoured by the absence of an aor. + ੑȡȚıĮ-. In fact ੑȡ- ‘to rise’ and ੑȡȚYȠİ- ‘to stir (up), whirl’ may occur in identical collocations: they partially overlap, although they were not used as exact synonyms6. Both senses are also attested for Ved. ar / Uֈ (pres. [úd-]L\iUWL), 4

García Ramón 2012. Most probably *h3reL֒ H- “wallen, wirbeln” (Rix 1965, 29ff., LIV2 s.v.), which may be an enlarged variant of *h1er-: OCS UČMІ (-ati) ‘to flow’, Ved. UƯ\DWH ‘flows’. Gk. ੑȡ૖ғȞȦ (*-nH-L֒ RH-) surely continues a nasal pres. *h1ri-n-éH- (Ved. ri۬Ɨ̗ ti ‘sets in violent motion’ [of liquids], Goth. rinnan ‘to run’). 6 Other referents may be attached to (a) ੑȡ- or to (b) ੑȡȚȞȠ/İ- even if they are (fully or in part) synonym, for instance: to (a) ੑȡ- cf. ȞȩȠȢ (੖ʌʌૉ Ƞੂ ȞȩȠȢ ੕ȡȞȣIJĮȚ Od.1.347), ȝȑȞȠȢ (țĮȓ ȝȠȚ ȝȑȞȠȢ ੭ȡȠȡİ Il. 13.78), ıIJંȞȠȢ (IJ૵Ȟ į੻ ıIJંȞȠȢ ੕ȡȞȣIJ‘ ਕİȚț੾Ȣ Il. 10.483 et al.). To (b) ੑȡȚȞȠ/İ-, cf. ਷IJȠȡ (…ȝȘįȑ ȝȠȚ ਷IJȠȡ / ਥȞ ıIJȒșİııȚȞ ੕ȡȚȞİ Od.17.47), țોȡ (੕ȡȚȞİ į੻ țોȡ ੗įȣıોȠȢ Od. 17.216) and especially șȣȝંȢ (“den șȣȝંȢ aufwühlen, ihn aus der Ruhe in Wallung, Erregung, durcheinander bringen” Rix 1965, 23-24, cf. … ੍ȡ૳ į੻ țĮț૵Ȣ ੩ȡȓȞİIJȠ șȣȝȩȢ ȅd. 18.75, ʌ઼ıȚȞ ੑȡȓȞșȘ șȣȝȩȢ ǿl. 18.223, IJȠ૙ıȚ į੻ șȣȝઁȞ ਥȞ੿ ıIJȒșİııȚȞ ੕ȡȚȞİ Il. 2.142, et al.), also with perf. ੑȡȫȡİIJĮȚ ਥʌİȓ ȝȠȚ ੑȡȫȡİIJĮȚ ਩ȞįȠșȚ șȣȝઁȢ / țȒįİıȚȞ Od. 19.377, … ਥȝȠ੿ įȓȤĮ șȣȝઁȢੑȡȫȡİIJĮȚ਩ȞșĮțĮ੿ ਩ȞșĮibid. 524). 5

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which occurs partly in the same collocations, whereas Ved. rayi /UƯ is restricted to flowing liquids: in fact, comparison with Vedic is not always helpful to elucidate the sense of compounds with ੑȡıȚƒ &RQVHTXHQWO\ IRU each of the Greek divine epithets with ੑȡıȚƒDSSXUWHQDQFHWRERWK D ੑȡ- and (b) ੑȡȚȞȠİ- VKRXOGEHWDNHQLQWRDFFRXQWǹGHFLVLRQin favour of one or the other, or of both, is only possible on the basis of the collocations actually attested. 3. Let us remember some collocations attested with both ੑȡ- and ੑȡȚȞȠİ-, QDPHO\ZLWKȖંȠȢµZLSHODPHQW¶ੑȡȣȝĮȖįંȢµORXGQRLVHGLQ¶DQGȝોȞȚȢDQG Ȟİ૙țȠȢV\QRQ\PVIRUµZUDWKVWULIH¶, as well as with ț૨ȝĮµZDYH¶ $VWRȖંȠȢ7, cf. (a) Od.17.46-7 ȝોIJİȡਥȝȒȝȒȝȠȚȖȩȠȞ੕ȡȞȣșȚȝȘįȑȝȠȚ ਷IJȠȡਥȞıIJȒșİııȚȞ੕ȡȚȞİijȣȖȩȞIJȚʌİȡĮੁʌઃȞ੕ȜİșȡȠȞµ«GRQRWPDNHP\ weep rise (੕ȡȞȣșȚ  QRU DJLWDWH ੕ȡȚȞİ  P\ KHDUW LQ P\ EUHDVW DW KDYLQJ escaped …’ and (b) Il. 24.760 ੴȢ਩ijĮIJȠțȜĮȓȠȣıĮȖȩȠȞį ਕȜȓĮıIJȠȞ੕ȡȚȞİ ‘… and roused endless weep/lament’. As to ੑȡȣȝĮȖįંȢFI(a) Il. ʌȠȜઃȢįૅ ੑȡȣȝĮȖįઁȢੑȡȫȡİȚµDJUHDW din was arisen’ and E «ʌȠȜઃȞįૅ ੑȡȣȝĮȖįઁȞ੕ȡȚȞİIl. 21.313 [: 24.760] ‘and stir up a great din ... ’, ȅG 22.360 ਱੻ ıȠ੿ ਕȞIJİȕȩȜȘıİȞ ੑȡȚȞȠȝȑȞ૳ țĮIJ੹ į૵ȝĮ µ« RU KH PHW \RX ZKHQ \RX ZHUH VWRUPLQJ WKURXJK WKH palace’8. ǹVWRȞİ૙țRȢȝોȞȚȢFI D IlIJR૨ İ੆ȞİțĮȞİ૙țRȢ੕ȡȦȡݵIRUZKRVH sake this strife is arisen’ and (b) Ba. 13.110-2 ੒ʌʌંIJİȆȘҕ>Ȝİ઀įĮȢIJȡĮ>Ȥİҕ@૙ĮȞ >ǹIJȡİ઀įĮȚıȚȝ@઼ȞȚȞ੩ȡ઀ȞĮIJ>RµZKHQWKH3HOLGHVWLUUHGKDUGVWULIHDJDLQVWWKH Atrides’. 7KHVDPHDSSOLHVWRț૨ȝĮµZDYH¶ZKLFKLV D µULVHQXS¶ ੑȡ-) by the wind and/or from the sea, but also (b) ‘stirred (up)’ (expressed not by ੑȡȚȞRİ- but E\ V\QRQ\PRXV țȚȞİȠİ-). As to (a) cf. Od. 5.366 ੯ȡıİ įૅ ਥʌ੿ ȝ੼ȖĮ ț૨ȝĮ ȆRıİȚį੺ȦȞਥȞRı઀ȤșȦȞµ3RVHLGRQVKDNHURIWKHHDUWKPDGHWR rise up drove on a great wave’ (also Il. 14.394-5 with the winds as the agent). As to (b) cf. Il. 2.145-7 țȚȞȒșȘ įૅ ਕȖȠȡ੽ ij੽ țȪȝĮIJĮ ȝĮțȡ੹ șĮȜȐııȘȢ  ʌȩȞIJȠȣ ੉țĮȡȓȠȚȠ IJ੹ ȝȑȞ IJ  Ǽ੣ȡȩȢ IJİ ȃȩIJȠȢ IJİ  ੭ȡȠȡૅ İ   ‘and the assembly became stirred up (țȚȞȒșȘ੩ȡ઀ȞșȘ like the long waves of the Icarian see, which the East wind or tKH6RXWK:LQGKDVUDLVHG¶ IJ੹ ... ੭ȡȠȡૅ[İ]). The comparison with Vedic (njUPt- ‘wave’, ar / Uֈ) is straightforward and allows a step further to be taken: 7

Also with ੆ȝİȡȠȢ ȖંȠȚȠ (IJȠ૙ıȚ į੻ ʌ઼ıȚȞ ਫ਼ij ੆ȝİȡȠȞ ੯ȡıİ ȖȩȠȚȠ Il. 23.108). There is no need to assume that ıȠ੿ ... ੑȡȚȞȠȝ੼Ȟ૳ has been created on the model of *ıȠ੿ ...ੑȡȞȣȝ੼Ȟ૳ (pace Rix 1965, 25ff.). The occurrences of ੑȡȚȞȠ/İ- in contexts where ੑȡ- is also attested are not neccesarily to be understood as “homerische Wörter”. 8

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Il. 14.394-5 o੡IJİșĮȜ੺ııȘȢț૨ȝĮIJંıRȞȕR੺઺ ʌRIJ੿ Ȥ੼ȡıRȞ ʌRȞIJંșİȞੑȡY઄ȝİȞRȞʌȞR઀ૉ ǺRȡ੼ȦਕȜİȖİȚȞૌ ‘not such is the roaring of the wave of the sea on the shore driven/risen up from the deep/sea by the dread blast of the North Wind’ RV X 123.2a samudrƗ̗ GnjUPtP~GL\DUWLYHQi‫ۊ‬ ‘from the sea the seer raises the wave’.

This allows for the assumption of a phraseological pattern, which may be inherited WAVE

RAISE UP

ț૨ȝĮ njUPt-

ੑȡúd- DUUֈ

from SEA ʌȠȞIJંșİȞ samudrƗ̗ d

(by WIND) + -

4. Some of the literary compounds with ੑȡıȚƒ UHIOHFW HVVHQWLDO peculiarities of the god, but do not allow a decision to be made between ‘to raise (up)’ and ‘to stir (up), whirl, agitate’. This is the case of the epithets of Dionysus ੑȡıȚȕȐțȤĮȢDQGੑȡıȚȖ઄ȞĮȚțĮ (1) ੑȡıȚȕȐțȤĮȢµZKRH[FLWHVWKH%DFFKDQWV Ǻ੺țȤĮȚ ¶%D-50 IJઁȞ ੑȡıȚȕ੺țȤĮ>Ȟ   ǻȚંȞȣıRȞ >9 In fact ੑȡıȚƒ PD\ FRQFHDO D  ੑȡ-, cf. Nonn. D. 20.342 ੬Ȣ੖ Ȗİ«İੁȢ੕ȡȠȢ«ਵȜĮıİǺȐțȤĮȢ (with ਥȜĮȣȞȠİ-, the lexical continuant if ੑȡ- FI ȞોȣȢ ੑȡȞȣȝ੼ȞȘ Od. 12.182/3 : Ved. L\DUWL QƗ̗ YDP) Æ ȞોĮ ਥȜĮȣȞ੼ȝİȞ Il. 23.334), but also (b) ੑȡȚȞȠİ-, as H[SUHVVHG E\ PHDQV RI ıİȣȠİ- by Eust. Il. 2.260 ਕij¶ ਸȢ ੒ ǻȚȩȞȣıȠȢ ੩ȞȠȝȐıșĮȚįȠțİ૙ʌİȡ੿ ਴Ȟ੒ įȘȜȦșİ੿ȢȁȣțȠ૨ȡȖȠȢ਩ıİȣİIJ੹ȢǺȐțȤĮȢ (2) ੑȡıȚȖ઄ȞĮȚțĮ µZKR H[FLWHV WKH ZRPeQ ȖȣȞĮ૙țİȢ  Lyr. adesp. 131 [PMG @İ੡ȚRȞੑȡıȚȖ઄ȞĮȚțĮȝĮȚȞRȝ੼ȞĮȚȢǻȚંȞȣıRȞਕȞș੼RȞIJĮ10. 5. Other epithets, on the contrary, are transparent, as the interpretation of ੑȡıȚƒLVVXSSRUWHGE\WKHDWWHVWHGSKUDVHRORJ\7KLVLVWKHFDVHRIੑȡıȓțIJȣʌRȢ (Zeus), where ੑȡıȚƒPDWFKHVੑȡ-, and of ੑȡı઀ĮȜRȢ 3RVHLGRQ DQGੑȡıȚȞİij੾Ȣ (Zeus), which reflect Homeric collocations with only (b) ੑȡȚȞȠİ- (and synonymous): 9

Eust. ad Il. 2.260 ਕij¶ ਸȢ ੒ ǻȚȩȞȣıȠȢ ੩ȞȠȝȐıșĮȚ įȠțİ૙ ʌİȡ੿ ਴Ȟ ੒ įȘȜȦșİ੿Ȣ ȁȣțȠ૨ȡȖȠȢ਩ıİȣİIJ੹ȢǺȐțȤĮȢ. 10 Cf. also the antonym ȖȣȞĮȚȝĮȞ੾Ȣ ‘mad for women’ (of Dionysus, -੼Ȣ HH 34.17 ੆ȜȘș İੁȡĮijȚ૵IJĮȖȣȞĮȚȝĮȞȑȢ Nonn.), firstly of Paris (ǻȪıʌĮȡȚ … ȖȣȞĮȚȝĮȞ੼Ȣ Il.3.39,   JORVVHG DV ȖȣȞĮȚȝĮȞȑȢǜ ȖȣȞĮȚțȠȝĮȞȑȢ (Hsch.), ȖȣȞĮȚȝĮȞȒȢǜ ਥʌ੿ ȖȣȞĮȚȟ੿ ȝĮȚȞȩȝİȞȠȢ (Sud.). Late ȖȣȞĮȚȝĮȞ੼ȦȞ was wrongly reinterpreted as ‘making women mad’ (Q.S. 735, Nonn. D. 2.125).

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(1) ੑȡıȓțIJȣʌRȢ =HXV  µZKR UDLVHV EDQJ¶  țIJ઄ʌȠȢ  3L O. 10.81 ੑȡıȚțIJ઄ʌRȣ ǻȚઁȢ 6HH Il.  IJંııRȢ ਙȡĮ țIJ઄ʌRȢ ੯ȡIJR șİ૵Ȟ ਩ȡȚįȚ ȟȣȞȚંȞIJȦȞ µVR JUHDW ZDV WKH FUDVK WKDW DURVH ZKHQ WKH JRGV FODVKHG LQ strife’11. (2) ੑȡı઀ĮȜRȢ 3RVHLGRQ  µZKR VWLUV WKH VHD¶ ǺD  ੑȡıȚ੺Ȝ૳ įĮȝĮı઀ȤșRȞȚ The epithet reflects *ੑȡ઀ȞİȚਚȜĮDVVKRZQE\WKHSDUDOOHOZLWKOd. 7.271-3: ʌRȜȜૌIJ੾ȞȝRȚਥʌ૵ȡıİȆRıİȚį੺ȦȞਥYRı઀ȤșȦȞ ੖ȢȝRȚਥijRȡȝ੾ıĮȢਕȞ੼ȝRȣȢțĮIJ੼įȘıİț੼ȜİȣșRȞ ੭ȡȚȞİȞ į੻ ș੺ȜĮııĮȞ ਕș੼ıijĮIJRȞ µ« ZLWK JUHDW ZRH scil. ੑȚȗȣ૙), which Poseidon rose12… upon me, he who, raising up the winds … and stirred up an unspeakable sea’.

More precisely, the passages make clear that the god (a) raises up the winds (ਥʌ૵ȡıİ ਥijRȡȝ੾ıĮȢ13), and (b) stirs (up) the sea (੭ȡȚYİY)14. This characteristic activity of Poseidon15 is also expressed by means of other synonym verbs (IJĮȡ੺ııȦțȚȞ੼Ȧ 16. On the other hand, the collocation (b) [WIND – STIR UP – SEA] is well attested by means of synonyms also in Vedic: Il. 9.4 ੪Ȣį’ ਙȞİȝRȚį઄RʌંȞIJRȞੑȡ઀ȞİIJRȞੁȤșȣંİȞIJĮ17 ‘just as two winds stir up the sea full of fishes’ RV IX 84.4c ... VDPXGUiP~GL\DUWLYƗ\~EKL‫(‘ ۊ‬this soma) its liquid raises " VWLUVXSWKHVHDEHQHDWKWKHZLQGV YƗ\~EKL‫’)ۊ‬

All this allows the reconstructing of an inherited phraseological pattern: (by) WIND ਙYİȝRȢ vƗyú11

RAISE UP / STIR UP

SEA

ੑȡȚȞȠİ~GDUUֈ

ʌંȞIJRȢ VDPXGUi-

Cf. also Il. 19.363-4 ਫ਼ʌઁ į੻ țIJ઄ʌRȢ੭ȡȞȣIJRʌRıı੿ȞਕȞįȡ૵Ȟ Cf. also Od. 11.407 ੕ȡıĮȢ>scil. Poseidon] ਕȡȖĮȜȑȦȞਕYȑȝȦȞਕȝȑȖĮȡIJRȞਕȣIJȝ੾Ȟ. 13 Gk. ਥijȠȡȝĮȠ/İ- , a synonym of ੕ȡȞȣȝȚ (*h3Uֈ-QpX֒-), is in fact a denominative of ੒ȡȝ੾ (*h3or-sméh2) of the same root (cf. denominative IJȚȝ੺o/İ- ‘honour’ :: IJ઀o/İ‘id.’). 14 Cf. also ੑȡȚȞȠȝȑȞȘ IJİ șȐȜĮııĮ (Il. 2.294), ੖Ȣ IJૅ ੭ȡȚȞİ șȐȜĮııĮȞ (Hes. Op. 676). 15 Nonetheless, both verbs are considered to be close semantically by the glosists, cf. ੑȡȓȞİIJȠȞǜ ੮ȡȝȦȞ +VFK 6HHDOVRੑȡȓȞİIJȠȞ: įȣȧț૵Ȣ, ੮ȡȝȦȞ, ਥțȓȞȠȣȞ (Ap.Soph.). 16 Cf. ਥIJ੺ȡĮȟİ ʌંȞIJRȞ  Ȥİȡı੿ IJȡ઀ĮȚȞĮȞ ਦȜઅȞ Od.   ȆRıİȚį੺ȦȞĮ  ȖĮ઀ȘȢ țȚȞȘIJોȡĮțĮ੿ ਕIJȡȣȖ੼IJRȚRșĮȜ੺ııȘȢ HH. 22.1-2) 17 Cf. also Il.11.297/8 … ੇıȠȢ ਕȑȜȜૉ / ਸ਼ IJİ țĮșĮȜȜȠȝȑȞȘ ੁȠİȚįȑĮ ʌȩȞIJȠȞ ੑȡȓȞİȚ. 12

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(3) ੑȡıȚȞİijȒȢ =HXV µZKRVWLUVXSZLOGVWKHFORXGV¶3LN. 5.34-5 ੑȡıȚȞİij੽Ȣǽİ઄Ȣ The epithet actually reflects *ੑȡ઀ȞİȚ੭ȡȚȞİȞ੼ijȠȢ H[SUHVVHGE\PHDQV of synonymes in Homer) better than *੕ȡȞȣıȚ  ੯ȡıİ $V LQ WKH FDVH RI ੑȡı઀ĮȜȠȢ+RPHULFSKUDVHRORJ\VKRws a combination of two actions: (a) the god raises up the winds (Od. 9.67 ਥʌ૵ȡı  ਙȞİȝRȞ %RȡȑȘȞ ȞİijİȜȘȖİȡȑIJĮ ǽİ઄Ȣ  DQG E  WKH ZLQGV ZLOG țȜȠȞİȠİ- ıIJȣijİȜȚȗȠİ-, įȠȞİȠİ- WKHFORXGVȉKis is evident in Il. 23.212ff: «IJȠ੿ įૅ ੑȡȑȠȞIJȠ ਱Ȥૌ șİıʌİıȓૉ ȞȑijİĮțȜȠȞȑȠȞIJİʌȐȡȠȚșİȞ ĮੇȥĮį੻ ʌȩȞIJȠȞ੆țĮȞȠȞਕȒȝİȞĮȚ੯ȡIJȠį੻ ț૨ȝĮ ʌȞȠȚૌ ੢ʌȠ ȜȚȖȣȡૌǜ … ‘and they (scil. the winds) rose (ੑȡȑȠȞIJȠ with a wondrous din, stirring (țȜȠȞȑȠȞIJİ 18 the clouds in confusion / tumultuously before them … and the wave rose (੯ȡIJȠț૨ȝĮ under the whistling wind’.

The contrast between (b) winds stirring clouds and waves risen up by the actions of winds is straightforward. The situation in Vedic (ar/Uֈ) is similar as seen in RV I 116.1b: VWyPƗPմ L\DUP\ DEKUt\HYD YƗ̗ ta‫‘ ۊ‬I raise songs of praise, like the wind (raises [or wilds]) the clouds’).19

In this verse iyarmi matches the sense ‘raise’, ‘impel’ with stóma- as the object, but its elliptic occurrence with abhríya- may reflect also the second sense ‘to wild’ (: ੑȡȚȞȠİ-). This is clear in the case of the thunder, which fulfills the very same activity in RV VI 44.12ab, as again the ‘rising up’ fulfilled by Indra with the presents: ~G DEKUƗ̗ ۬ƯYD VWDQi\DQQ L\DUWL tQGUR UƗ̗ GKƗۨVLiĞYL\ƗQLJiY\Ɨ‘like the thunder wilds the clouds, so let Indra the equine and bovine presents rise up’. The following collocational pattern may therefore be considered as inherited:

18

WIND

RISE / STIR UP

CLOUD

ਙYİȝRȢ vƗ̗ ta-

ੑȡȚȞȠİar / Uֈ

Ȟ੼ijİĮ abhrí-

Cf. also ʌȣțȞ੹ ĬȡȘȚțȓȠȣ ǺȠȡȑȦ ȞȑijİĮ țȜȠȞȑȠȞIJȠȢ (Hes. Op. 553). With other verbs, cf. ੪Ȣ੒ʌંIJİȞ੼ijİĮǽ੼ijȣȡRȢıIJȣijİȜ઀ȟૉ (Il. 11.305), ਙȞİȝRȢ Ȟ੼ijİĮįRȞ੾ıĮȢ Il. 12.157). 19 Ved. abhríya-, a derivative of DEKUi- ‘cloud’ (IE *QֈEh-ró-: Lat. imber), which is currently kept apart from Gk. ਕijȡંȢ ‘foam, slaver’ because of the difference of meaning.

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6. The epithet ੑȡıȠIJȡ઀ĮȚȞષ, as a designation of Poseidon in Pindar (4x), e.g. Ol. 8.48 ੑȡıȠIJȡ઀ĮȚȞĮį¶ਥʌ¶੉ıșȝ૶ ʌȠȞIJ઀઺ / ਚȡȝĮșȠઁȞIJ੺ȞȣİȞ20 is transmitted in this form. The first member ੑȡıȠƒZDVDFWXDOO\QRWIHOWto be as remarkable by scholiasts and not deserving of any comment at all. This strongly suggests that it was considered to be a mere variant of *ੑȡıȚ-IJȡ઀ĮȚȞĮLHµZKRUDLVHV ੑȡ-) the trident’ or ‘who whirls (ੑȡȚȞȠİ-) the trident’: both senses fitting the image we have of the god21. In fact, ੑȡıȠIJȡ઀ĮȚȞĮ LV forma difficilior, namely a possessive compound of the type ਕȖȜĮRIJȡ઀ĮȚȞĮ µKDYLQJ D EULJKW WULGHQWµ İ੝IJȡ઀ĮȚȞĮ ‘having a goodly trident’ (both in Pindar) referring to the same god, with ੑȡıRƒ DV LWV ILUVW PHPEHU WKH DGMHFWLYH PDWFKHV Ved. Uֈ‫܈‬Yi- ‘high’ (: Av. ϷUϷãXXD- ‘id.’), which is also attested in compounds of the same type as Ved. Uֈ‫܈‬Yi-YƯUD-‘having prominent men’, Uֈ‫܈‬YD~MDV-‘having prominent force’22. The epithet ੑȡıȠIJȡ઀ĮȚȞĮGHVFULEHV3RVHLGRQDVWKHJRGµZKRKDV a high trident’ or ‘who keeps his trident high’ (in a horizontal position), as he is widely depicted in Greek tradition (e.g. A. Pr. 924-5, Ar. (T. 840) and iconography. This matches the figure of the god who whirls the sea with his trident (Od. 5.291-2 ਥIJ੺ȡĮȟİ į੻ ʌંȞIJȠȞ  Ȥİȡı੿ IJȡ઀ĮȚȞĮȞ ਦȜȫȞ Od. 7.271-3 ȆRıİȚį੺ȦȞ«੭ȡȚȞİȞį੻ ș੺ȜĮııĮȞVHH†). Nevertheless, ੑȡıȠ-IJȡ઀ĮȚȞĮȞ FRXOG alternatively be understood as a conventional ³'RULF´RUWKRJUDSKLFYDULDQWZLWKı!IRUș!IRUDSRVVHVVLYH compound *ੑȡșȠ-IJȡ઀ĮȚȞĮȞ µZKR NHHSV KLV WULGHQW VWDQGLQJ upright’ (of the type ੑȡșyșȡȚȟ $ Ch. 32), which would actually match the collocation IJȡ઀ĮȚȞĮȞ ੑȡș੽Ȟ ıIJ઼ıĮȞ LQ D IUDJPHQW RI (XULSLGHV¶ Erecteus referring to the dispute between Poseidon and Athena for the hegemony of Athens (F 360.47 Cropp-Collard: speaks Praxithea vv. 44 ff.): Ƞ੝į¶ਕȞIJ¶ਥȜȐĮȢȤȡȣıȑĮȢIJİīȠȡȖȩȞȠȢ IJȡȓĮȚȞĮȞ ੑȡș੽ȞıIJ઼ıĮȞਥȞʌȩȜİȦȢȕȐșȡȠȚȢ Ǽ੡ȝȠȜʌȠȢȠ੝į੻ ĬȡૌȟਕȞĮıIJȑȥİȚȜİઅȢ ıIJİijȐȞȠȚıȚȆĮȜȜ੹Ȣį¶Ƞ੝įĮȝȠ૨ IJȚȝȒıİIJĮȚ‘… nor shall Eumolpos or his Thracian folk crown a trident planted upright instead of the olive and the golden Gorgon in the foundations of the city, nor dishonor Pallas’.

20 Also ੒ ʌંȞIJȚȠȢ੗ȡı>RIJ@ȡ઀ĮȚȞĮ (Pae. F 52k. 47), ੑȡıȠIJȡ઀ĮȚȞĮȞİ੝ȡȣȕ઀ĮȞțĮȜ੼ȦȞ șİંȞ P. 2.12), N. 4.85-7. 21 However, the Scholia do not give any guidance on this point, for instance, Schol. O. 8.61-70 (schol. rec.) ੒ ੑȡıȠIJȡȚĮ઀ȞȘȢ įȑ  ਵȖȠȣȞ੒ ȆȠıİȚį૵Ȟ੒ IJ੽ȞIJȡ઀ĮȚȞĮȞ ij੼ȡȦȞ 22 Cf. also Hom. ੑȡıȠș઄ȡȘ µD GRRU KLJK XS RU EDFN  LQ WKH ZDOO¶ DFWXDOO\ D compound of the type ਕțȡંʌȠȜȚȢ.

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Two facts may speak in favour of the interpretation as *ੑȡșȠ-IJȡ઀ĮȚȞĮ ‘having his trident upright’: (a) Greek traditions on the dispute make clear that Poseidon hit the earth with his trident in a vertical position, making a spring rise up (Paus. 1.24.3), as is also widely reflected in the iconography23 E  WKH H[SUHVVLRQ IJȡȓĮȚȞĮȞ ੑȡș੽Ȟ ıIJ઼ıĮȞ REYLRXVO\ reflects the inherited collocation Hom. ıIJો į¶ੑȡșંȢ HJIl. 23.271 [et al.] ıIJો į¶ੑȡșઁȢțĮ੿ ȝ૨șȠȞਥȞਝȡȖİ઀ȠȚıȚȞ਩İȚʌİȞ ZKLFKLVZHOODWWHVWHGDOVR in Vedic and Avestan, cf. RV II 30.3ab njUGKYyK\iVWKƗGiGK\DQWDULN‫܈‬é ૅGKƗYUֈtrƗ̗ \DSUiYDGKiP ‘... upright he stood up in the air and addressed his weapon against VUࡢtra’, Yt. 13.76 \ƗծWDįDϷUϷGXXƗծKLãWϷ۬ta ‘those who were standing upright’24. In this assumption, the occurrence of ı! IRU ș! ZRXOG UHIOHFW WKH “Doric´FRQYHQWLRQDVVHHQLQW\SHıȚંȢ șİંȢ ʌĮȡı੼ȞȠȢ ʌĮȡș੼ȞȠȢ LQ the text of Alcman25. The possibility of conventional “Doric” spellings in the text of Pindar is not excluded: this is, in my opinion, the case for the forms ੮IJİ µDV OLNH¶ +L֒ ǀ-), ੰIJİ µVR¶ Vǀ-) as against ੮ıIJİ  LQILQLWLYH (4x), ੮Ȣ੮ıʌİȡ LQVWHDGRI³'RU´ ੮, *੮ʌİȡ ZKLFKDFWXDOO\reflect the distribution attested in the text of Alcman, e.g. ੭IJ¶ਙȜȚȠȞIU ࢭ’ ੭IJૅ), ੭IJ¶੕ȡȞȚȢYVIJંııȠȢțંȡȠȢ੭ıIJ¶ਕȝ઄ȞĮȚ26. Nevertheless, the assumption of a compound *ੑȡșȠ-IJȡ઀ĮȚȞĮ ZLWK artificial “Doric” spelling, encounters a major difficulty: the epithet ੑȡșંȢ LV UHJXODULO\ DWWHVWHG ZLWK ș! LQ WKH WUDQVPLWWHG WH[W RI 3LQGDU27, also in WKH VDPH FRQVWUXFWLRQ DV IJȡȓĮȚȞĮȞ ੑȡș੽Ȟ ıIJ઼ıĮȞ (see above): P. 3.53 ... IJȠઃȢį੻ IJȠȝĮ૙Ȣ਩ıIJĮıİȞ ੑȡșȠȪȢµ«DQGRWKHUVKHSXWXSULJKW LHµUDLVHV up’) with surgeries’. This leaves as the only possibility for a putative basic form *ੑȡșȠIJȡ઀ĮȚȞĮ, the assumption that ੑȡıȠƒLQੑȡıȠIJȡ઀ĮȚȞĮUHIOHFWVWKHFURVVLQJRI the formae faciliores ੑȡıȚƒ ੑȡıȚ-IJȡ઀ĮȚȞĮ ‘who raises/wilds the trident’) and ੑȡșȠƒ ੑȡșȠ-IJȡ઀ĮȚȞĮ ‘who has the trident upright’). Anyway, ੑȡıȠIJȡ઀ĮȚȞĮ PD\ VLPSO\ PHDQ µZKR NHHSV KLV WULGHQW high’ (: ੑȡıȠƒ ‘high’, Ved. Uֈ‫܈‬Yi- ‘id.’), i.e. in horizontal position, which was not 23 &I+GWʌȜȒȟĮȢIJૌ IJȡȚĮȓȞૉ $SROORG IJȪȥİȞȁȣțIJȠȞȓȘȞȖĮȓȘȞȤȡȣıૌ IJȡȚĮȓȞૉ (A. Orph   IJ੽Ȟ IJȡȓĮȚȞĮȞ ਩ʌȘȟİȞ 6FKRO LQ E. Ph. 187). For the iconography cf. the material of Simon 2004 in García Ramón 2011, 322 no.47. 24 Cf. Schmitt 1967, 248ff. for an extensive overview. 25 Hinge 2006, 70ff. The variant with is actually attested in Ar. Lys. 995-6 ੑȡı੹ ȁĮțİįĮ઀ȝȦȞ ʌ઼ਖ (: ੑȡș੽ ... ʌ઼ıĮ) țĮ੿ IJȠ੿ ı઄ȝȝĮȤȠȚ / ਚʌĮȞIJİȢ ਥıIJ઄țĮȞIJȚ (: ਦıIJ઼ıȚȞ), in the Pseudo-Laconian dialect of the Spartan ambassador. 26 García Ramón 1985, 94ff., 82ff. 27 ੑȡșંȝĮȞIJȚȢ N. 1.61), ੑȡșંȕȠȣȜȠȢ (P. 4.262, 8.75), ੑȡșȠį઀țĮȢ P. 11.9), ੑȡșંʌȠȜȚȢµZKRXSKROGV µSXWXSULJKW¶ WKHWRZQ¶ O. 2.7 ਙȦIJȠȞ ੑȡșંʌȠȜȚȞ).

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understandable within Greek and was reinterpreted as a formal variant of ੑȡıȚƒZKLFKXOWLPDWHO\H[SUHVVHGWKHVDPHFRQWHQW 7. Let us turn to two literary epithets of Athena, ੑȡı઀ȝĮȤȠȢ ‘who raises / stirs up the fight’ (Ba.) and Athena ਥȖȡİȝ੺ȤȘ ‘who awakes the fight’ (HHCer.), which reflect phraseological patterns, attested in Greek and in other languages, in which WKH VHFRQG PHPEHU ȝ੺ȤȘ DQG RWKHU TXDVLV\QRQ\PRXVWHUPV ʌંȜİȝȠȢij઄ȜȠʌȚȢDOVRȝોȞȚȢ Ȟİ૙țȠȢµZUDWKVWULIe, also ਩ȡȚȢ), to be subsumed under [EVIL], occur in collocations with (a) ੑȡ- and (b) ੑȡȚȞȠİ- (i.e. [RISE UP – EVIL] or [STIR UP – EVIL]), as well as with (c) ਥȖİȚȡȠİ- [AWAKE – EVIL]: (a) and (b) are to be considered as stylistically non-marked as against (c), which is marked.28 Both epithets in any case reflect the characteristic image of the warrior goddess, who is otherwise referred to as ਕȖ੼ıIJȡĮIJȠȢ +HV DOVR 7KHVV ȜĮȖİ઀IJĮȡȡĮ DV DQ HSLFOHVLV LQ Larisa), ਥȖȤİȚȕȡંȝȠȢ 3L  ȜĮȠıંȠȢ +RP  ʌ੺ȝȝĮȤȠȢ $U  ʌİȡı੼ʌȠȜȚȢ $U ʌȠȜİȝંțȜȠȞȠȢ Batr. ʌȡંȝĮȤȠȢ AP). The epithet ੑȡı઀ȝĮȤȠȢRI$WKHQDLQBa. 15.3 --] ȆĮȜȜȐįȠȢੑȡıȚȝȐȤȠȣ reflects the phraseme [RISE UP – EVIL] with (a) ੑȡ-, which is well attested, also by means of synonyms of both the verb (Hom. ਕİȚȡȠİ-$WWĮੁȡȠİ- ‘to lift up’) and often WKHREMHFW ʌંȜİȝȠȢij઄ȜȠʌȚȢ  with a human (Il. 9.353) or a god (Il. 4.15-16) as subject: Il.  Ƞ੝ț ਥșȑȜİıțİ ȝȐȤȘȞ ਕʌઁ IJİȓȤİȠȢ ੑȡȞȪȝİȞ ਰțIJȦȡ29 ‘Hector would not drive his attack beyond the wall’s shelter’. Il. 4.15-6 ਵ ૧’ Į੣IJȚȢʌȩȜİȝȩȞ IJİțĮțઁȞțĮ੿ ijȪȜȠʌȚȞĮੁȞ੽Ȟ੕ȡıȠȝİȞ,... ‘… whether we again stir up grim warfare and the terrible fighting’ (Zeus to Hera).

As to the continuity with ਕİ઀ȡİıșĮȚĮ੅ȡİıșĮȚ(with people as the agent) in Classical Greek, see Hdt. 7.132.2 oੂ ਰȜȜȘȞİȢ«Rੂ IJ૶ ȕĮȡȕ੺ȡ૳ ʌંȜİȝRȞ ਕİȚȡ੺ȝİYRȚ 7KXF  ʌંȜİȝȠȞ Ȗ੹ȡ ĮੁȡȠȝ੼ȞȦȞ ਲȝ૵Ȟ DV ZHOO DV ਕİȡı઀ȝĮȤҕȠȢ ‘who raises/stirs battle’ (Ba. 13.100 ȣੈĮȢਕİȡıȚȝȐȤҕ>ȠȣȢ, of Ajax and Achilles). Whether ੑȡıȚƒLQੑȡı઀ȝĮȤȠȢ could also originally mean (b) ‘stir, agitate, ZKLUO¶PXVWUHPDLQRSHQ$Q\ZD\WKHFROORFDWLRQH[SUHVVHGE\țȚȞİȠİ-, LV DWWHVWHG LQ &ODVVLFDO *UHHN VHH 7KXF  įİȩȝİȞȠȚ « IJઁȞ ਥțİ૙ 28

That it is about the same state of affairs is clear in the light of the glosses explaining forms belonging to (or connected with) ੕ȡȞȣ-, namely ਩ȡıİȠ : įȚİȖİ઀ȡȠȣ, ਩ȡıૉ : ੒ȡȝ੾ıૉ neben ੕ȡıȠ, ੕ȡıİȠ : ਥȖİ઀ȡȠȣ, ੕ȡıĮȚ : ੑȡȝોıĮȚ ਵ ਥȖİ૙ȡĮȚ ... (Hsch.). 29 As to ȝ੺ȤȘȞ ... ੑȡȞ઄ȝİȞ cf. MN ੗ȡı઀ȝĮȤȠȢ (Boeotia).

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ʌȩȜİȝȠȞ țȚȞİ૙Ȟ 3O R. H ʌȡ૵IJȠȞ ȝ੻Ȟ ʌȠȜȑȝȠȣȢ IJȚȞ੹Ȣ ਕİ੿ țȚȞİ૙). The expression, which is certainly banal, may be inherited in view of close parallels with reflexes (or cognates) of *h3er- attested in Vedic (with ar / Uֈ both ‘to rise’ and ‘to whirl‘), in Latin (with intransitive RUƯUƯ, consurgere, and transitive PRXƝUH) and in Hittite (with arai-/ariL֒ a-‫ېې‬i):30 RV 1.81.3ab \iG XGƯ̗ UDWD ƗMi\R dhUֈ‫۬܈‬iYH GKƯ\DWHGKiQƗ ‘when fights31 arise, for the courageous the booty prize stands / has been placed’ Verg. Aen. 8.637 DGGLGHUDWVXELWRTXHQRXXPFRQVXUJHUHEHOOXP 5RPXOLGLV7DWLRTXHVHQL&XULEXVTXHVHXHULV‘he had added that a new war had suddenly arisen between the Romulids and the old Tatius and the strict men of Cures’32. KUB 12.62 xxii 7 Vs. 1 N]u-u-ru-riHI.A a-ra-Lã-NDW-ta-ri ‘enemities rise up repeatedly‘33. Cf. also KUB 31.66 iv 4 TUKU.TUKU-an a-ra-a-i ‘he rouse wrath’.

8. Athena is referred to as ਥȖȡİȝ੺ȤȘLQWKH+RPHULF+\PQWR'HPHWHU (HH 2.424 ȆĮȜȜȐȢ IJ¶ ਥȖȡİȝȐȤȘ țĮ੿ ਡȡIJİȝȚȢ ੁȠȤȑĮȚȡĮ  as well by later authors34. A variant ਥȖİȡıȚȝȐȤȘ FIਥȖȡİȝ੺ȤĮȢāਥȖİȡıȚȝ੺ȤĮȢ(Hsch.) is also attested in Late Poetry (AP IJȓȢȞȪıİșોțİșİઽ į૵ȡȠȞਥȖİȡıȚȝȐȤ઺).35 The epithet conceals a collocation [AWAKE – EVIL (WAR)] which is stylistically marked and may be assumed to reflect IE “Dichtersprache” on the basis of it also occurring in Latin, and especially in Old Germanic languages and in Armenian.36 The collocation is well attested in Greek since Homer, both with men DQG JRGV DV WKH VXEMHFW DQG ZLWK ȝ੺ȤȘȞ ʌંȜİȝȠȞ =HXV  ਡȡȘĮ DV the object: 30

Lat. RUƯUƯand Ved. ar / Uֈ can almost certainly be traced back to *h3er- ‘rise up’. Whether this applies to Hitt. arai-‫ېې‬i / ariL֒ a- (with deletion of laryngeal in a De Saussure context *h3or-) or to *h3reL֒ H- (Rix, LIV2) remains open to question at this point. 31 Cf. Ved. ƗMt- ‘fight, dispute’, cf. Gk. ਕȖઆȞ2,UƗJ‘id.’. 32 Cf. also Aen. 1.148-9 FXPVDHSHFRRUWDHVWVHGLWLR, 2.411 RULWXUTXHPLVHUULPD caedes. 33 Cf. also KBo 5: 4 ii 21f. ma-an tu-XN-PDNX-Lã-NL [LÚKÚR] a-ra-a-i ‘when an enemy rises up against you’ (also KBo 17:151, v 4 Rs. 27). 34 Cf. ıઃ į’ İ੝ȤȩȝİȞȠȢ ȀȡȠȞȓȦȞȚ / ȆĮȜȜȐįȚ IJ’ ਥȖȡİȝȐȤૉ ȖȜĮȣțȫʌȚįȚ țĮ੿ ǻȚઁȢ ȣੂ૶ / ĭȠȓȕ૳ (D.S. 8.29.1 [oracle]), ȆĮȜȜȐįĮ IJ’ ਥȖȡİȝȐȤȘȞ țȠȪȡȘȞ (Orph.17.38). The epithet is also referred to men, cf. ਥȡȖİȝ੺ȤĮȞ / ĬȘı੼Į (Soph. OC 1054-5). 35 The MN ਫȖ੼ȡIJȚȠȢ ਫȖȡ੼ıȚȢ (Attica) may be considered as “short forms” of compounds with a first member ਫȖİȡIJȚƒਫȖȡİıȚƒ FIWKHJORVV਩ȖȡİIJȠāਥȖİ઀ȡİIJȠ [ad Il. 2.41] Hsch.) DQGDKLJKO\SUREDEOHVHFRQGPHPEHUƒȝĮȤȠȢ 36 Cf. García Ramón 2007 (extensive presentation of the Latin material).

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Religious Onomastics Il. 13.778 ਥȟȠ੤ Ȗ੹ȡʌĮȡ੹ ȞȘȣı੿ ȝȐȤȘȞਵȖİȚȡĮȢਦIJĮȓȡȦȞµIRUVLQFHWKDWWLPH when by the ships you [775 ਰțIJȠȡ@wakened the battle of our companions …’ (also Hes. Th.  « ȝȐȤȘȞ įȡȚȝİ૙ĮȞ ਩ȖİȚȡĮȞ  &I DOVR Il. 20.31 ੴȢ ਩ijĮIJȠ ȀȡȠȞȓįȘȢ ʌȩȜİȝȠȞ į¶ ਕȜȓĮıIJȠȞ ਩ȖİȚȡİ Il. 2.440 ੅ȠȝİȞ ੕ijȡĮ țİ ș઼ııȠȞਥȖİȓȡȠȝİȞੑȟઃȞਡȡȘĮ

The same collocation occurs in Latin, although expressed in other terms, namely by compounds of FLWǀ, -ƗUH ‘to put in motion’, ‘to whirl, agitate’37, both in poetry (VXVFLWƗUH, H[FLWƗUH with caedem, iras, irarum aestus, mollem belli as the object) and in prose (VXVFLWƗUH with bellum, iras, seditionem)38. Aen. 12.497-8 terribilis saeuam nullo GLVFULPLQH FDHGHP  VXVFLWDW ‘he frightful and indiscriminately stirs a terrible slaughter up …’. See also Liv. 21.10.3 ... obtestans ne Romanum cum Saguntino suscitarent bellum.

The use of ºcitƗUH points to a lexical renewal of inherited IE *h1JյHU(: ਥȖİ઀ȡİȚȞ9HGMiU-a-te, with perf. ਥȖȡ੾ȖȠȡĮ9HGMƗJƗ̗ ra, YAv. MDȖƗUD), the reflex of which is expergere ‘to awake’, H[SHUJƝIDFHUH ‘id.’, which is not attested for [AWAKE – EVIL].39 The collocation in Latin poetry could a priori be due to Greek influence but its occurrence also in Prose seems, however, to speak in favour of an inherited phraseological pattern, which made its way into the former language. Old Germanic languages are rich with the same collocation, namely with the verb PGmc. ZDNMD-: OE weccean, ONors. YHNMD (with víg ‘fight /struggle’, hilde ‘id.’, vІ ‘evil’), also Goth. us-ZDNMDQ “ਥȟȣʌȞ઀ȗȦ´ OSax ZHNNLDQ, OHG ZHFNDQ“excitare, suscitare” (Gloss.).40 Some instances from Old English and Old Norse are: Beow. 2044/6 RQJLQQHèJHǀPRU-PǀGJHRQJXPFHPSDQ ìXUKKUHèUDJHK\DGKLJHVFXQQLDQ ZƯJEHDOXZHFFHDQ ...

37

Frequentative FLWƗUHactually reflects the meaning of FLƝUH(causat. *NRL֒ -e L֒ HRH‘put in violent motion’) which matches the collocations of Gk. țȚȞİ૙Ȟ. 38 Cf. e.g. TXDQWDP  PROHm excitarit belli Paris (Acc. trag. 610). In prose, cf. PDJQDV H[FLWDUL « LUDV (Liv. 3.40.5),... multi temere excitati tumultus sunt 26.10.10), also 6.27.9, 27.8.1. 39 From Lat. *exper-g-o/e-, beside H[SHUJƯVFƯ‘to become awake’ : YAv. fra-Ȗrisa-, by GLVVLPLODWLRQ IURP ƒper-gro/e- ƒper-grisco/e- $Q\ZD\ /DW ƒpergere still survives in Span. despertar. 40 Cf. Lat. XHJƝUH‘to vivify, excite’ (vs. XLJƝUH ‘to be strong’ : stat.  X֒ƒJ-Ɲ-), Ved. YƗM-i\D-ti ‘id.’ (RV +) which actually continues IE causat. X֒RJյ-pL֒ RH- ‘to make live’ (RV+) as against stat. X֒HJյ-Ɲ- ‘be vivified, excited’ (Watkins 1973: 490).

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‘he began, sad in mind, through his heart and thought to test the spirit of a young warrior, to awake the evil of war’. Rþ 38.3 víg QDPDWYHNMD ‘he began, to awake the fight’.41

An identical collocation is attested in Armenian (zart‘ean SDWHUD]PRZQNµ), as Daniel Kölligan has kindly pointed out to me: yor yawowrs mer zart‘HDQ SDWHUD]PRZQN‘ LþµRULF‘ NRáPDQF‘ ‘in our days wars awake in all four (heaven) directions’ (Aristakes Lastiverc‘i, 1st AD). To sum up: in the light of comparative evidence, it may be stated that the epithet ਥȖȡİȝ੺ȤȘ RI $WKHQD HHCer.), like its late variant ਥȖİȡıȚȝ੺ȤȘ reflects a marked phraseological pattern which may be traced back to IE poetic language. 9. The compounded epithet ਬȡȚȕંĮȢ ‘loud-shouting’, in fact ‘having high louds’42, LV H[SOLFLWHO\ XVHG OLNH ǺȡંȝȚȠȢ, as a designation of Dionysus43 by Pindar (Dith. F 75.12): ਥʌ੿ IJઁȞțȚııȠįĮો șİંȞIJઁȞǺȡંȝȚȠȞIJઁȞਬȡȚȕંĮȞIJİȕȡȠIJȠ੿ țĮȜ੼ȠȝİȞµWR that ivy-knowing god, whom we mortals call Bromios and Eriboas (LoudRoarer, Loud-Shouter).

The collocation [HIGH – SHOUT] underlying the epithet actually reflects a well known peculiarity of WKHJRGOLNHFRQWLJXRXVȕȡંȝȚȠȢµQRLV\VRXQGLQJ¶ ਥȡȚȕȡİȝ੼IJȘȢ HOrph.), ਥȡ઀ȕȡȠȝȠȢ HH   $QDFU  ʌȣȡ઀ȕȡȠȝȠȢ (Nonn.). Its structure as a possessive compound is straightforward: the first member ਥȡȚƒ LV V\QRQ\PRXV RI ȝİȖĮƒ, ਕȖĮƒ, ਫ਼ȥȚƒ (cf. ਥȡȚā ʌȠȜઃ ȝ੼ȖĮ ੁıȤȣȡંȞHsch.), namely a loc. *ser-I of *ser- ‘top, upper point’ (Hitt. ãƝU ‘on, over’, direct. ãDUƗ, Lyc. hriº)44. 7KH FROORFDWLRQ LV H[SUHVVHG E\ PHDQV RI V\QRQ\PRXV ȝ੼ȖĮ Hom. ȝ੼ȖĮȕȠ੾ıĮȢ Il. 17.334 ਩ȖȞȦਥȢਙȞIJĮੁįȫȞȝ੼ȖĮį¶ਰțIJȠȡĮİੇʌİȕȠȒıĮȢ ‘(Aeneas) recognized (sc. Apollo) when he saw his face and called aloud

41

Cf. also Akv 15.3 DWYHNMDJUDPKLOGH ‘to awake the thorny struggle’. Its second member, ƒȕંĮȢ, is actually ȕȠસғ ‘shout, clamor’, not an DJHQWLYH ƒȕંȠȢ  OLNH ƒįȠȣʌȠȢ ƒțIJȣʌȠȢ in Hom. ਥȡ઀(Ȗ)įȠȣʌȠȢ ‘id.’, ਥȡ઀țIJȣʌȠȢ ‘of high bang’. 43 See also ਥȡȚȕંĮȢ ț઼ȡȣȟ of Hermes (AP). 44 As per Willi 1999. ਥȡȚƒ KLJKWR D KLJK GHJUHH¶ KDV ,RQLF-Homeric psilosis for *ਦȡȚƒ. 42

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in a great shout to Hector’45. This is also recognizable in the redundant H[SUHVVLRQȖંȠȞੑȟȣȕંĮȞLQFOXGLQJWKHTXDVLV\QRQ\PȖંȠȢ FIinfra), in A. Ag. 56-58 ੢ʌĮIJȠȢį¶ਕ઀ȦȞਵ IJȚȢਝʌંȜȜȦȞਲ਼ Ȇ੹Ȟਲ਼ ǽİઃȢȠੁȦȞંșȡȠȠȞ ȖંȠȞੑȟȣȕંĮȞIJ૵ȞįİȝİIJȠ઀țȦȞµRUVRPH$SROORRQKLJKRU3DQRU=HXV hearing the loud shrill wailing cries of the birds’. The epithet ਫȡȚȕંĮȢ KHOSV WR LQWHUSUHW WKH 0\FHQDHDQ SHUVRQDO QDPH e-ri-NR-wo (PY An 656.2, Ep 212.2, Jn 845.7, Jn 944) as /Eri-gowos/ ‘weeping aloud’46LH µKDYLQJKLJKZHHSLQJ¶ ȖંȠȢµweeping, lament’).47 It must be stated that VKRXW ȕȠ੾) and lamentation (ȖંȠȢ , two words not in fact etymogically connected48, have some features in common: (a) someone raises them up (੕ȡȞȣıȚ ੯ȡıİ  and (b) both stand (perf. ੕ȡȦȡİ ੑȡઆȡİȚ  high ȝ੼ȖĮȢ LH µDORXG¶  7KLV LV VKRZQ E\ collocational coincidences attested in Homer and in Poetry: As to (a) cf. Od. «ȝ੾ ȝȠȚȖંȠȞ੕ȡȞȣșȚ3LP. 3.102/3 ੯ȡıİȞ«ਥț ǻĮȞĮ૵Ȟ ȖંȠȞ 7KH VDPH DSSOLHV WR WKH µGHVLUH IRU ODPHQWDWLRQ¶ ੆ȝİȡȠȢ

45

The ȕȠ੾ is raised up by the utterer and remains in the high (ੑȡઆȡİȚ), cf. Il. 11. ȕȠ੽ į¶ ਙıȕİıIJȠȢ ੕ȡȦȡİȞ µDQG WKH FHDVHOHVV FODPRXU KDV ULVHQ  LV DW WKH highest’ (also 11.500 with ੑȡઆȡİȚ). 46 Actually ‘the one who has loud weepings’, better than /Eri-Nǀwos/ ‘having a big / high fleece’ (cf. Myc. NR-wo /NǀZRV/ ‘fleece’, Hom. ț૵ĮȢ) instead of regular /EriNǀwƝs/, which is formally possible, cf. ਫȡ઀-ĮȞșȠȢ besides ਫȡȚ-੺ȞșȘȢ, probably Myc. pe-ra-NR/PhHUDNRV/ or /PherƗNRV/ : PN ĭ੼ȡĮțȠȢ), Hom. ȝ੼ȖĮȞ ț૵ĮȢ (García Ramón 2012). 47 The basic meaning of ȖંȠȢ is *‘shouting, affected speaking’ cf. ȖંȘȢ ‘wizard’ (PGk. *JRX֒Ɨ-t-). 48 Gk. ȖંȠȢ ‘lamentation’ from *JyX֒h2-o-, cf. ȖȠ੺Ȧ from *JRX֒h2-éL֒ RH- (Hackstein 2003, 192-3, or denominative of ȖંȠȢ), IE *geX֒h2-, cf. Ved. “intensive” jóguve ‘calls repeatedly’, OHG gi-NHZHQ ‘call’ and ‘loud’ (OHG NnjPD ‘lament’). The meaning and collocations of ȕȠ੺Ȧ GR QRW PDWFK WKRVH RI ȖȠ੺Ȧ DQG DUH EDVLFDOO\ coincident with those of IE *JյhHX֒+- ‘shout, call’ (Ved. KYƗ, OCS ]ɴYDWL and Toch. NZƗ-). I would temptatively suggest that ȕȠ੺ȦLVDQRQ-strictly phonetic outcome of IE *JյheX֒h2-, namely of intensive *Jյhuh2-éL֒ RH-. This would allow the absence of a counterpart of Ved. havi- (KYi\D- ti) to be ignored: ȕȠ੺ȦZRXOGPDWFK9HGKYi\D-ti : Av. zȕaiia-ti and could be ultimately traced back to IE *Jյhuh2-éL֒ RH-, which would have yielded +ij੺Ƞİ- KRPRSKRQRXVZLWK+RPij੺ݵZDVYLVLEOH¶*bhéh2-e-t) and have been remodelled as +ijȠ੺Ƞİ- (by formal similaritywith ȖȠ੺Ƞ/İ-) and onomatopoetically to ȕȠ੺Ƞİ-, as I have previously tried to demonstrate (García Ramón 2010: 95ff.). Aliter Hackstein, loc.cit, who operates with the “Schwebeablaut” variants *geX֒h2- and *gX֒eh2-, reflected as ȖȠ੺Ƞ/İ- (*goX֒h2-éL֒ RH-) and ȕȠ੺Ƞ/İ(*gX֒oh2-éL֒ RH-) respectively: this is formally in order and remains a good explanation, but the semantic and collocation of both Greek verbs remain different.

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ȖંȠȚȠ 49: Il. ȝİIJ੹ į੼ ıijȚĬ੼IJȚȢȖંȠȣ੆ȝİȡȠȞ੯ȡıİ DOVR Od. 16.216). $V WR E  FI ȝ੼ȖĮȞ ȖંȠȞ HHDem. 82/3 ਕȜȜ੹ șİ੹ țĮIJ੺ʌĮȣİ ȝ੼ȖĮȞ ȖંȠȞ ‘yet, goddess, cease your loud lament’ and ਥȡȚțȜ੺ȖțIJĮȞ ȖંȠȞ V DERYH  ZKLFKLVSDUDOOHOWR+RPȝ੼ȖĮȕȠ੾ıĮȢDQGਥȡȚțȜ੺ȖțIJĮȞȖંȠȞ 3LP. 12.21 ੕ijȡĮIJઁȞǼ੝ȡȣ੺ȜĮȢ««ȝȚȝ੾ıĮȚIJ¶ਥȡȚțȜ੺ȖțIJĮȞȖંȠȞµVRWKDWVKHPLJKW imitatH«WKHHFKRLQJORXGVRXQGLQJZDLORI(XULDOH¶ 7KHRYHUODSRIȖંȠȢ DQGȕȠ੾ is evident in OLJKWRIWKH$HVFK\OHDQȖંȠȞੑȟȣȕંĮȞ FIsupra).

To sum up: the epithet ਥȡȚȕંĮȢ ‘having high louds’ of Dionysus (Pindar) reflects poetic phraseology and allows the elucidation of the Mycenaean MN e-ri-NR-wo as /Eri-gowos/ ‘having high lamentations’ (cf. ਥȡȚțȜ੺ȖțIJĮȞȖંȠȞ 3LQG RQWKHVWUHQJWKRIWKHVHPDQWLFRYHUODSRIȕȠ੾ µORXG¶DQGȖંȠȢµODPHQW¶ in Greek. 10. Lat. opitulus is quoted as an epithet of Iuppiter by Festus (p. 184 M.): RSLWXOXV,XSSLWHUHWRSLWXODWRUGLFWXVHVWTXDVLRSLVODWRU. The form is currently explained as the compound opi-tulus (*opi-WOֈ K2-o-50: ops µKHOS¶ƒtulus ‘who brings’cf. perf. [te]WXOƯ of IHUǀ) and interpreted as ‘who brings’. The two forms given as synonymous by Festus do actually exist: opitulus (cf. sodalis opitulator, App. Flor. 3, p. 353) underlies the denominative opi-tulor, -ƗUƯ &DWR 3ODXW active -ǀ, -ƗUH Liv. Andr.) with the current meaning of ‘to give help/assistance’, also ‘bring relief to someone’s plight’. As to lator ‘proposer, mover’ (of suffrage, Cic.+), it is attested as terminus technicus nonetheless, opis lator is not directly supported by direct textual evidence. The sense ‘help, aid’ of ops (type RSHPHDRSHHLXV,51 Acc. inc. 5 W. TXRUXP JHQLWRU IHUWXU HVVH RSV JHQWLEXV52) is secondary as compared 49

The same applies to thud (įȠ૨ʌȠȢ), which, like ȖંȠȢ or ȕȠ੾, is mentioned as ȝ੼ȖĮȢ and as rising up ੕ȡȞȣIJȠ, ੑȡઆȡİȚ  FI  ā IJȠ૙ȠȢ Ȗ੺ȡ țİ ȝ੼ȖĮȢ ਫ਼ʌઁ įȠ૨ʌȠȢ ੑȡઆȡİȚ (Hsd. Th.  IU RULQWKHIRUPXODįȠ૨ʌȠȢ ੑȡઆȡİȚ // (Il. 9.574, 12.289, Hes. Th. 70) and 16.635 ੮Ȣ IJ૵Ȟ ੕ȡȞȣIJȠ įȠ૨ʌȠȢ. 50 Of the type foedi-fragus, sacri-legus %DGHU    /LQGQHU   Livingston 2004, 57 ff.). The MN ૅȅʌ઀IJȦȡ, ੗ʌȚIJઆȡȚȠȢ can with difficulty be interpreted as “short forms” /Opitor-/ of opitulus, i.e. /-tor-/ (: opi-tulus), or /-or-/ (: opit-ulus  RI WKH *UHHN W\SH Ȁ੺ı-IJȦȡ țĮıIJȚƒ  ț੼țĮıȝĮȚ  ȃ੼ıIJȦȡ ȃİıIJȚƒ  Ȟ੼ȠȝĮȚ  7KLV SRVVLELOLW\ WKRXJK ODFNV SUDFWLFDOO\ DQ\ VXSSRUW LQ ,WDOLF (perhaps Stator, beside Statius to a putative *6WƗW>[email protected]ƒDVSHU:HLVV+DQGRXW  51 Cf. QLVLTXLGPLRSLVGLGDQWGLVSHULL (Pl. Cist. 671) ‘if the gods do not give me some help, I am lost’, RSHFRQVLOLRTXHWXR (Cic. Nat.deor. 3.74). 52 Prisc. Gl.Lat. II 321.24 glosses ops in this passage as opem ferens et auxilium, but stresses that it meant opulentus in Archaic Latin. This is actually a confusion with the back-formed adjective ops (Livingston 2004: 60).

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against the original ‘wealth, resource’, whence ‘abundance’, ‘might’,53 although it is already attested in Old Latin: there is therefore no major difficulty for an interpretation of opiƒ DV µKHOS¶ LQ opitulus. In fact, the term is used as the name of the goddess Ops (also nom. Opis in Plaut. Bacch. 893)54, wife of Saturn and mother of Zeus (Pl. Mil. 1082 … TXDP Iuppiter ex Ope natust). It underlies, moreover, the epithet Opigena ‘the midwife’55 of her daughter Juno, which cannot be separated from Iupiter opitulus. However, an interpretation of opi-tulus as ‘who brings help’, i.e. as a synonym of opi-fer (Ennius+)56 is not without its difficulties: (1) Lat. opifer ‫ދ‬ZKREULQJVKHOS¶RFFXUVZLWKKHDOLQJGHLWLHVHJ'LDQD (DIANAI OPIFER.(AE) ‫ ۄ‬NEMORENSEI CIL1,1480 [Tivoli]), Phoebus (GHXV« opifer Ov. met. 1.521f. RSLIHUTXH SHU RUEHP / dicor of (: Aesculapius) Fortuna (FORTUNAE OPIFERAE 14.3539). Lat. opifer obviously reflects the construction opem ferre ‘bring help’ which is actually attested, cf. Ter. And. 473 Iuno Lucina, IHURSHPserua me, obsecro ‘help me, save me, I beseech you’. The coexistence of opifer and opitulus with the very same sense ‘brings’ (of suppletive IHUǀ :: (te)WXOƯ) is in fact exceptional: we do not have clear instances of two agentive compounds having in common the first member and the suppletive stems of infectum and perfectum in the second member.57 For this reason, one would expect for the DJHQWLYH ƒtulus DW OHDVW RULJLQDOO\ WKH VHQVH RI ƒ WROOǀ -ere ‫ދ‬to rise up, 53

A third sense of ops, as a synonymous of opulentum (P.F. 191 M. RSV DQWLTXL GLFHEDQW RSXOHQWXP XQGH H FRQWUDULR LQRSV (v.l. TXHP QXQF RSXOHQWXP XW WHVWLPRQLR HVW QRQ VROXP HL FRQWUDULXP LQRSV …) may be as an isolated backformation from inops. 54 Cf. P. Fest. p.186/7: Opima spolia GLFXQWXURULJLQHPTXLGHPWUDKHQWLDDE2SH 6DWXUQL X[RUH «,WDTXH LOOD TXRTXH FRJQRPLQDWXU &RQVLXD HW HVVH H[LVWLPDWXU terra. ,GHRTXHLQ5HJLDFROLWXUDSRSXOR5RPDQRTXLDRPQHVRSHVKXPDQRJHQHUL terra tribuat. 55 Iuno Opigena is the tutelar goddess of lying-in women cf. Opigenam Iunonem PDWURQDHFROHEDQWTXRGIHUUHHDPRSHPLQSDUWXODERUDQWLEXVFUHGHEDQW (Fest., p. 200 M.). 56 Trag. 124 Ribb : †o pie eam secum aduocant [cj. fidem] opiferam sociam aduocant Vahlen, omnes secum aduocant Heinsius]). 57 It has been assumed that Lat. JUƗWXOƗUHgoes back to *JUƗWL-WXOƗUH(: JUƗWƝVIHUUH) with a compound *gratulus (*grati-tulus), and that SRVWXOƗUH is the outcome of *po(r)sci-WXOƗUH(: *porscam ferre). Even if this is so (discussion in Mignot 1969, 317), the fact is that only *JUƗWXOXV may be assumed, and there is no trace of *JUƗWLIHU

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LQFUHDVH‫ ތ‬SHUI VXVWXOƯ (IE *telh2-), namely ‘who rises up’, not that of (te)WXOƯ ‘I have brought’ (: IHUǀ). (2) opiƒ PD\ FRQFHDO QRW RQO\ ops ‘help’, but also plur. RSƝV ‫ދ‬UHVRXUFHV‫ތ‬58. In other compounds opiƒ PD\ DOVR FRQFHDO opus ‘work, performance’, e.g. opifex ‘artificer, craftsman’ (Plaut. +), opificium ‫ދ‬ZRUN LQJ ‫ ތ‬opificus ‫ދ‬KDQGZRUNHU‫ ތ‬,XSSLWHU LV UHIHUUHG WR DV opifex DHGLILFDWRUTXH PXQGL GHXV (Cic. nat.deor. 1.8.18, Ov.), opifex rerum (Lucan), opifex rerum aeternus (Col. 3.10.10). In fact, the occurrence of RSLWXORU -ƗUƯ in close vicinity with RSƝV, inopia speaks in favor of RSƝV‘resources’ as the first member of opi-tulus, which may be interpreted as ‘who rise up the resources/power(s)’:59 Liv. Andr. 20-22 W. Da mihi KDVFHRSHVTXDVSHWRTXDVSUHFRU3RUULJH RSLWXODµJUDQWWRPHWKHSRZHUVIRUZKLFK,DVNDQGSUD\KROGWKHPRXW EULQJPHKHOS¶ Cf. also Plaut. Curc. 332ff. ... QROXLWIUXVWUDULHU / ut decet velle hominem DPLFXP DPLFR DWTXH opitularier: / ... / TXRG WLEL HVW LWHP VLEL HVVH magnam argenti inopiam. ‘... he didn`t want to dissapoint you, he wanted to do the proper things between friends and help you ... what is common to you and to him, a major lack of funds’, Sall. Cat. 33.2.1 saepe maiores YRVWUXP PLVHUWL SOHELV 5RPDQDH GHFUHWLV VXLV LQRSLDH HLXs opitulati sunt ‘your forefathers often took pity on the Roman commons and relieved their necessities by decrees’ (it is also remembered that because of their debts propter magnitudinem aeris alieni- it was allowed to pay silver in copper argentum aere solutum est).

These passages suggest that the help implied by RSLWXOƗUH could in the first instance be of a fairly concrete type, in the form of RSƝV ‘resources’ (as against inopia), which should grow. This seems to be confirmed by the invocation to Iuppiter in Plaut. Capt. 768: ,XSSLWHUVXSUHPHVHUXDVPHPHDVTXHDXJHVopes PD[LPDV RSLPLWDWHV RSLSDUDVTXH RIIHUV PLKL ‘O Iuppiter, on high, thou dost preserve me DQG PDNH SURVSHU P\ UHVRXUFHV İ@ȡĮȣȞİȖȤ੼Ȣ%D DOVRțİȡĮȣȞȠȕȡંȞIJȘȢµWKXQGHUHUOLNHWKXQGHUEROW¶

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Also ਕıIJȡȐʌIJȦȞ਩ıIJİȚȤİıȣȞȦȤĮįȩȞȠੂ į੻ țİȡĮȣȞȠ੿ / ੅țIJĮȡਚȝĮȕȡȠȞIJૌ IJİțĮ੿ ਕıIJİȡȠʌૌ ʌȠIJȑȠȞIJȠ Th. 690-1), as well as ǻȚઁȢ ȕȡȠȞIJ૵ȞIJȠȢ țĮ੿ ਝıIJȡ੺ʌIJȠȞIJȠȢ (Thera IG VXSS ਕıIJȡĮʌ੽ਥȟĮੁșȡ઀ȘȢțĮ੿ȕȡȠȞIJ੽ਥȖ੼ȞİIJȠ +GW  61 Cf. the rich list of epithets by Schwabl 1978, 253ff. 62 țİȡĮȣȞંȢ is a formally non direct continuant of IE *3HUNwnjQR- ‘the one who has [is connected with] the oak’ (*SHUNwu-: Lat. TXHUFXV, Celt. +HUN\QLD silva, ethnic 4XHUTXHUQL (Hispania): OLth. SHUN~QDV ‘Thunder(god)’, ORuss. 3HUXQǎ ‘id.’.

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(Ar. Pax   DQG țİȡĮȣȞȠ-ȕંȜȠȢ µKXUOLQJ WKH WKXQGHU¶ IG 5:2, 37 $UFDGLD7HJHDDOVRAnt.Pal., Orph.).63 (2) Zeus ȈIJyȡʌસȢ (not +ȈIJyȡʌĮRȢ  LV DWWHVWHG LQ $UFDGLD JHQ ǻȚȠȢ ȈIJȠȡʌĮǀIG 5:2. 64.13, Tegea, 5th C.), where his cult is indirectly referred to by Pausanias64 7KH WHUP ıIJȠȡʌ੺ µOLJKWHQLQJ¶ OLNH ıIJȡȠʌ੺ ZLWK metathesis), is certainly a variant of ਕıIJȡĮʌ੾, (ਕ ıIJİȡȠʌ੾, whatever its etymology might be, as shown by the glosses ıIJȡȠʌ੺ǜ ਕıIJȡĮʌ੾ Ȇ੺ijȚȠȚ +VFK DQGıIJȠȡʌ੺ȞǜIJ੽ȞਕıIJȡĮʌ੾ȞıIJȡȠijĮ઀ǜਕıIJȡĮʌĮ઀(Herod.), ıIJȡĮʌ੾ǜ ਕıIJȡĮʌ੾ EM 514.32), ıIJİȡȠʌ੽ǜ ਕıIJȡĮʌ੾Į੝Ȗ੾ ੮ı IJİ ıIJİȡȠʌ੾ǜ ਕıIJȡĮʌ੾ (Hsch). All this points to an interference ZLWK ਕıIJİȡȠʌ੾ DQG ıIJİȡȠʌ੾ +RP   ਕıIJȡĮʌ੾ ÃLGµ +GW   FI ਕıIJȡ੺ʌIJİȚȞ +RP   ıIJȡ੺ʌIJȦ ÃLGµ 6RSK $OOWKHVHWHUPVDUHDOVRSUHVHQWLQHSLWKHWVRI=HXVDPRQJ them ਕıIJİȡȠʌȘIJ੾Ȣ µlightener’ (Il    ȈIJİȡȠʌȘȖİȡ੼IJĮ µJHWKHUHU RI lightenings’ (Il. 16.298, cf. IlıIJİȡȠʌ੽ʌĮIJȡઁȢǻȚઁȢĮੁȖȚંȤȠȚȠ65 and Il  « ਕıIJİȡȠʌૌ « ਸ਼Ȟ IJİ ȀȡȠȞ઀ȦȞ  « ਥIJ઀ȞĮȟİȞ ਕʌ¶ ĮੁȖȜ੾İȞIJȠȢ ૃȅȜ઄ȝʌȠȣ DOVRਝıIJȡĮʌĮ૙ȠȢ $WKHQV$QWDQGURV%LWK\QLD ਝıIJȡĮʌ੺IJĮȢ (Rhodos), ਕıIJȡ੺ʌȚȠȢਕıIJȡ੺ʌIJȦȞ Orph.). A new epithet of EnQRGLD LQ 7KHVVDO\ QDPHO\ ȈIJȡȠʌȚțĮ PXVW EH added to the family of Arcadian Zeus ȈIJyȡʌસȢ 7KH HSLWKHW RFFXUV LQ D recently published dedication from Larisa with the text ǼȞȞȠįȚĮ: ȈIJȡȠʌȚțĮ (SEG 54: 561 3rd quarter 5thC.)66. The epithet ȈIJȡȠʌȚț੺ ‘the one of the thunder(bolt) is a derivative in -Țțં੺- RI ıIJȡȠʌ੺ ‘lightening’ / ıIJȠȡʌ੺ , of the type ਕȡȤȚțંȢ  ਕȡȤ੾  ȞȣȝijȚțંȢ  Ȟ઄ȝijȘ  DQG ȂȣțĮȚț੺  ȝ઄țȘǜ ș੾țȘ  DOVR DQ HSLWKHW RI (QQRGLD LQ 7KHVVDO\67. The epithet matches the image of Ennodia as the goddess with a light in her hand68.

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Cf. the passive epithet țİȡĮȣȞȩȕȠȜȠȢ ‘thunder-stricken’ (of Semele, E. Ba. 598 [lyr.], D. S. 1.13). 64 Dubois 1986, I 44-5, II 13 (with an incorrect assumption of an epithet ȈIJંȡʌĮȠȢ). Paus. 8.29.1 ȜȑȖȠȣıȚ į੻ Ƞੂ ਝȡțȐįİȢ … țĮ੿ șȪȠȣıȚȞ ਕıIJȡĮʌĮ૙Ȣ Į੝IJȩșȚ țĮ੿ șȣȑȜȜĮȚȢ IJİ țĮ੿ ȕȡȠȞIJĮ૙Ȣ. 65 Cf. also Il. 9.580, 10.154, Hsd. Th. 390 +. 66 The reading is certainly ȈȉȇȅȆǿȀǹ DV SURYHG E\ +HOO\ LQ *DUFtD 5DPyQHelly 2012: 58-59), not ȈȉȇȅīǿȀǹZKLFKZDVexplained by the first editor as a variant of a non-attested *ȈIJȠȡȖȚț੺ WR ıIJ੼ȡȖȦ µORYH¶ (Chrysostomou 2001, 12, 2002, 204ff.). 67 García Ramón-Helly 2012, 64ff. 68 Cf. ijȦıijંȡȠȢ Thera, Rhodos), with a torch in the hand, like Hekate (cf. Eur. Hel. 569 ੯ ijȦıijંȡ¶૽Ǽț੺IJȘʌ੼ȝʌİij੺ıȝĮIJ¶İ੝ȝİȞોIG 4:1, 542).

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12. When the divine epithet is a derivative, its meaning may be more or less clear and match more or less clearly some pecularity of the god. But the derivative is by itself obviously less explicit than a compound, as the latter expresses a verbal phrase, with indication of an object, or a nominal phrase with explicit marking by preverbs. A very illustrative case LV WKDW RI WKH GHULYDWLYH ȀȠȡȠȣIJĮȡȡĮ HSLWKHW RI (Q Q RGLD (prob. Larisa, 3rd/2nd C.) aQGʌĮȚįȠțંȡȘȢHSLWKHWRI+HUPHV 0HWDSRQW  The goddess ਫȞ Ȟ Ƞį઀Į 7KHVVDO\ DOVR 0DFHGRQLD  LV UHIHUUHG WR DV ȀȠȡȠȣIJĮȡȡĮ (in dative) in a Thessalian dedication (SEG 51: 739, prob. Larisa, 3rd/2nd C.).69: ǼȞȞȠįȚĮȀȠȡȠȣIJĮȡȡĮ The analysis of Thess. ȀȠȡȠȣIJĮȡȡĮ is straightforward as to its structure: it reflects the Thessalian outcome of PGk. *NRUǀ-t(e)rL֒ a-70 (: Att.

țȠȡઆIJȡȚĮ , a feminine agent noun of the type ȤȡȣıઆIJȡȚĮµJLOGHU¶LHµZKR SURYLGHV ZLWK JROG  ȤȡȣıંȢ ¶ ,WV PHDQLQJ PD\ EH µZKR SURYLGHV ZLWK growth’ țંȡȠȢ: *Nյórh1-o-) better than ‘with foddering’ țંȡȠȢ: *Nյórh3-o-)71, both of which certainly fit the pattern of the kourotrophic figure of the goddess, who was later assimilated by Artemis (and by Hekate). 7KHVVțȠȡȠȣ- UHIOHFWVDEDVLVțȠȡȦ- (instr. *NRU + o-h1)72 of the action noun țંȡȠȢ ‘growth’, beside which an agent noun ƒțંȡȠȢ (*Nյorh1-ó- ‘who 69

The text has been recently published by Chrysostomou 2001: 11-20, figure 1. Thess. -IJĮȡȡĮ is the regular outcome of *-WUƒL֒ D from *-WULL֒ D with secondary yotisation of /i/ (Att. -IJȡȚĮ, Ǿom. -IJİȚȡĮ, Lesb. -IJİȡȡĮ, Ȃyc. -ti-ri-MD-ti-ra2), with nom. *-tria, gen. *-WULƗV: IE *-WULL֒ K2, gen. *-WULL֒ pK2s), as attested in the epithet of Athena ȁĮ[ȖİȚ]IJĮȡȡĮ (Helly 1970, 10-11). 7KHVV ƒĮȖİȚIJĮȡȡĮ  ƒĮȖ੾IJȡȚĮ) “conductrice d’armées” Helly 1970, 250-1, 262ff.) reflects ਙȖȦ not ਲȖ੼ȠȝĮȚ, cf. the epithets ਕȖ੼ıIJȡĮIJȠȢ (Hes. Th. ȉȡȚIJȠȖȑȞİȚĮȞ«ਕȖȑıIJȡĮIJȠȞ  71 Gk. țંȡȠȢ ‘foddering’ (of animals, also of persons:*Nյórh3-o-, but aor. *Nյerh3-s- cf. Hom. țȠȡİı(ı)Į- with Ruipérez’s metathesis), also ‘satiety, surfeit’, is attested at different times and levels: (a) ‘animal fourrage’ in the new tablets from Thebes TH Ft(1) 218 .1 ND-pa  ‫͓܈‬-‫͕ܒ‬NR-ro-TH[ / .2 a-NR-da-mo V 2 ND-si[, where NR-ro /NRURV/ is the opposite of si-to (: ı૙IJȠȞ) ‘human food’ (García Ramón 2010b: 82f.) with reference to Lith. ãeriù (ãpUWL) µIRGGHUDQLPDOV¶ǹੁȖȚțંȡȠȢHSLFOHVLVRI3DQ 1RQQ D  ,RQLDQ WULEH ǹੁȖȚțȠȡİ૙Ȣ HSRQ\PRXV KHUR ǹੁȖȚțȠȡİ઄Ȣ +GW( LQVFU  (b) ‘arrogance’ in Poetry: Pi. O. 2.95 f. ĮੇȞȠȞ ਥʌ੼ȕĮ țંȡȠȢ Ƞ੝ į઀țĮ ıȣȞĮȞIJંȝİȞȠȢ, O. 13.10 ੢ȕȡȚȞ țંȡȠȣ ȝĮIJ੼ȡĮ, C.Thgn. 153 IJ઀țIJİȚ IJȠȚ țંȡȠȢ ੢ȕȡȚȞ. 72 Instrumental basis in -Ȧ-, e.g. ıIJİijĮȞȦ- ‘with a crown’, ȤȠȜȦ- ‘with bile’ underlie in fact the system established by Tucker 1990 for the verbs with aor. -ȦıĮ-, pres. -ંȠ/İ- (ıIJİijĮȞȦ- ‘provide with a crown’, ȤȠȜȦ- ‘fill with bile’, which also includes fut. -ȦıȠ/İ-, pass. aor. -ȦșȘ-, perf. -ȦIJĮȚ (ptc. -Ȧȝ੼ȞȠȢ), verbal adjective -ȦIJંȢ (post-Hom. pres. -ંȠ/İ- : *-ǀ-L֒ RH-), e.g. ȤȠȜȦ- ‘provide with bile’ : ȤȠȜȦıĮ-, ȤȠȜȦıȠ/İ-, ȤȠȜȦșȘ-, perf. țİȤંȜȦIJĮȚ (ptc. țİȤȦȜȠȝ੼ȞȠȢ beside >ƒ@ȤȠȜȦIJંȢ). pres. ȤȠȜȠ૨IJĮȚ (Class. Gk.). The type is already attested in Myc. THTL-no-me-no ‘decorated’, i.e. *‘vivified’ (: *provided with TL-no ‘vivification’). 70

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makes grow up’ better than and *Nյorh3-ó- ‘who fodders’)73 may be safely assumed (s. below). The assumption of a derivational basis PGk. *NRUǀunderlying an agent noun *NRUǀ-W‫ڼ‬U( țȠȡȦIJ੾ȡ IHP*NRU۸-tria (: Thess. – ȠȣIJĮȡȡĮ: *-ǀ-tUֈL֒ a) finds support in a series of nouns in -ȦIJ੾ȡ (and Att. Ion. -ȦIJ੾Ȣ IHP-આIJȡȚĮ țȠȡıȦIJ੾ȡµEDUEHU¶ &DOO FIțȠȡıȠ૨Ȟǜțİ઀ȡİȚȞਕʌȠ-țȠȡıંȠȝĮȚ $  țȠȝȝઆIJȡȚĮµGUHVVHUWLUHZRPDQ¶țȠȝȝȦIJ੾Ȣµ KDLU GUHVVHUµµYDOHW¶ $UU  FIțȠȝȝંȢµKDLUGUHVV¶țȠȝȝંȦȠȝĮȚµWREHDXWLI\¶ ȤȡȣıઆIJȡȚĮ ȤȡȣıȦIJ੾Ȣ µJLOGHU¶ aet.imp   ȤȡȣıંȢ ȤȡȣıંȠȝĮȚ țİȤȡȣıȦȝ੼ȞȠȢ ȝȠȡijઆIJȡȚĮµ DJRGGHVV ZKRFKDQJHV scil. ‘men into swine’ E. Tr. 437), cf. ȝȠȡij੾ µIRUPVKDSH¶ȝȠȡijંȦµWRJLYHVKDSHIRUPWR¶

7KH DJHQW QRXQ 7KHVV țȠȡȠȣIJĮȡȡĮ GRHV QRW in itself make explicit what the object of En(n)odia’s activity is and, therefore, its exact meaning remains hypothetical, either ‘who provides with growth’ or ‘with IRGGHULQJ¶$WWKLVSRLQWWKHFRPSRXQGʌĮȚįȠțંȡȘȢ, an epithet of Hermes LQ0HWDSRQW ʌĮȚįȠțંȡȘȢਬȡȝોȢIJȚȝ઼IJĮȚਥȞȂİIJĮʌȠȞIJ઀ȠȚȢ+VFK LVDgreat help, as it allows the recognition of the children as the most plausible object of Ennodia’s activity (she is of course a characteristically kourotrophic deity), and dissipates any doubt about the meaning of țȠȡȠȣIJĮȡȡĮDV‘the one who makes grow’.74 In conclusion: The compound ʌĮȚįȠțંȡȘȢDOORZVWKHVHQVHRIWKHDJHQW QRXQ7KHVVțȠȡȠȣIJĮȡȡĮ  țȠȡઆIJȡȚĮ to be specified. Both terms stand in the same relation as Myc. da-mo-NR-ro /GƗPR-NRUR-/ ‘who makes grow up (ƒ Nյorh1-o-) the community’ or ‘who nourishes (ƒ Nյorh3-o-) the community’75 and NR-re-te /NRUƝ-ter/ or /NRUƟ-ter/ ‘nourisher’, or as Ved. Uֈ۬D-\Ɨ̗ - and \ƗWiU- (of ǿndra) : Gk. ǽસIJ੾ȡ RI=HXV VEHORZ  13. The epithet ǽȘIJ੾ȡāǽİઃȢਥYȀ઄ʌȡ૳, as transmitted by Hesychius with explicit geographic indication, may be interpreted both within Greek itself, where there are a few terms which cannot be unrelated to it, as well as in light of comparison, especially with Ved. yƗ̗ WiU- ‘avenger’, an epithet of Indra in Rig Veda, as I have previously tried to show (1999).

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The form may be traced back in pure formal terms to two IE roots, namely to *ۖerh1- ‘to grow up’ (also ‘to be born, created’), with causative ‘to make grow’ (also ‘to create’) and to *ۖerh3- ‘nourish, feed’. 74 Cf. also țȡȘı઀ʌĮȚįĮ. ਥȞ ĬĮȝȚĮțૌ șȣı઀઺ ... ȝ੼ȡȘ ੂİȡİ઀ȦȞ (Hsch.). 75 As against įȘȝȠȕંȡȠȢ ȕĮıȚȜİ઄Ȣ (Il. 1. 231), or įȘȝȠij੺ȖȠȞ ... IJ઄ȡĮȞȞȠȞ (C.Thgn. 1181).

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(1) The Greek evidence is scanty and limited to some glosses, all referring to the semantic field of inquiry and punition (and execution), which allow for the assumptiRQ RI WKH H[LVWHQFH RI DQ DJHQW QRXQ ȗȘIJȡંȢ  RU ȗ੾IJȦȡ OLNH ǽȘIJ੾ȡ  ȗȘIJȡંȞā IJઁȞ įĮȝંțRȚȞRȞ ȗȘIJંȡȦȞā ȗȘIJR઄ȞIJȦȞ Ȗȡ੺ijRȣıȚ į੻ ਩ȞȚRȚ ȗȘIJȘIJંȡȦȞ +VFK ȗȘIJંȡȦȞāȗȘIJȘIJ૵Ȟ 3KRW DOVRȗ੾IJȡİȚRȞāIJઁ IJ૵ȞįR઄ȜȦY țRȜĮıIJ੾ȡȚRY +VFK3KRWZLWKUHIHUHQFHVWR7KHRS (XS+HURG ȗĮIJȡİ઄Ȧā ਥYȝȣȜ૵ȞȚȕĮıĮȞ઀ȗȦ ǼȂ). This ODVWIRUPZLWKLWVĮ!DQGWKHUHIHUHQFHVWR ȗȘIJȘIJંȡȦȞ +VFK ȗȘIJȘIJ૵ȞGLUHFWO\SRLQWs WRȗȘIJ੼Ȧ ȗસIJ੼Ȧ WKHFRQWLQXDQW RIǿRQį઀ȗȘȝĮȚLHWR3*N dzƗ-76. One may therefore assume that the first Ș!LQWKHJORVVǽȘIJ੾ȡZDVDQDWWLFLVPRIWKHWUDGLWLRQIRU ǽસIJ੾ȡ7KHQRW particularly attractive WHUPVDQGDFWLYLWLHVZLWKZKLFK=HXVǽȘIJ੾ȡ(: ZસIJ੾ȡ  is connected (s. above) fit with =HXV¶FKDUDFWHULVDWLRQDVDIJȚȝȦȡંȢµSXQLVKer’ (Clem. Al. Protr. 2.39.2 o੝Ȥ੿ ȝ੼ȞIJRȚ ǽİઃȢ ijĮȜĮțȡઁȢ ਥȞ ਡȡȖİȚ IJȚȝȦȡઁȢ į੻ ਙȜȜRȢ ਥY Ȁ઄ʌȡ૳ IJİIJ઀ȝȘıșRȞ ZLWK H[SOLFLW UHIHUHQFH WR &\SUXV  ZKLFK LV frequent in poetry, e.g. E. Supp.  ǽİઃȢ ੒ IJȚȝȦȡR઄ȝİYRȢ $S 5K  ǽોYĮʌĮȜĮȝȞĮ઀ȦȞIJȚȝ੾RȡRȞੂțİıȚ੺ȦȞ2WKHUOLWHUDU\HSLWKHts of Zeus present him as ‘avenger’ (ਝȜ੺ıIJȦȡ$Pers. 352 et al., ਝȜ੺ıIJRȡRȢ3KHUHFLQVFU  DVµDGPLQLVWUDWRURIILQHVDQGMXVWLFH¶ ǻȚțĮıʌંȜRȢ&DOOJov. 1ǻȚț੾ijRȡRȢ A. Ag. 525-6), as ‘punisher’ (ਫʌȚIJȚȝ੾IJȦij Od. 9.270) or simply as ‘killer’ Į੝IJંȤİȚȡ$Pers. 753 et al., ੑȜİIJ੾ȡijRȞİ઄Ȣ1RQQD. 21.252 et al.), also the HSLWKHWĭંȞRȢLQ7KHVVDO\77 7RVXPXSWKHHSLWKHW=ȘIJ੾ȡ =સIJ੾ȡ DQROGDJHQWQRXQRI the word IDPLO\RIȗȘIJ੼Ȧį઀ȗȘȝĮȚPD\EHXQGHUVWRRGDVµWKHRQHZKRVHHNV/demands’ (scil. a reparation, s. below) by drastic methods, as suggested by the related JORVVHVRIWKHW\SHȗȘIJȡંȢ et al. (2) The comparative evidence could hardly be more explicit about the SHUIHFWHTXDWLRQERWKIRUPDODQGVHPDQWLFEHWZHHQ*NȗસIJ੾ȡDQGWKH5LJ Vedic hapax yƗWiU-, an agent noun of \Ɨ 2 ‘seek, demand’78 (: *Nȗસ-, PGk. *dzƗ-, Ved. Av. \Ɨ 2 ‘id.’, also Toch. \Ɨ-Ǻ\ƗVN- ‘beg’: IE *L֒ HK2-), as I have tried to show)79, which designates Indra: 76 ȗસIJ੼Ƞ/İ- is denominative of *ȗસ-IJȠ- (:Ved. \ƗWi-, Av. \ƗWD-), į઀-ȗȘȝĮȚ (Hom., Ionian) is an anomalous reduplicated present of the same lexem, namely IE *L֒ HK2(Ved. \Ɨ 2, middle 1pl. ƯPDKHas per Schmid 1956, cf. n. 78), cf. the comparandum ptc. Hom. įȚȗ੾ȝİȞȠȢ : Ved. L\ƗQi-. 77 Helly 1970, 38 (Larisa, end of 3rd C.). 78 As brilliantly stated by Schmid 1956, 222ff. (“bitten, flehen, fordern, verlangen”). The assumption of a specific root \Ɨ 3 “to injure, harm, to attack violently” (Kuiper 1973: 179ff.) is unnecessary. A different root is \Ɨ 1 ‘move forward’ (with agent noun yƗ̗ tar-). 79 *DUFtD5DPyQ0.PPHOLQLIV2 s.v. *L֒ HK2-.

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RV I 32.14ab iKHUyƗtƗ̗ raۨ NiPDSDĞya indra hUֈGt\iWWHMDJKQ~‫܈‬o EKƯ̗ U iJDFKDW ‘who sawest you, Indra, as avenger of the Dragon, that Fear came to your heart of Killer’

In fact, Indra is said to have killed the Dragon in the same hymn 1c et al. (iKDQQ iKLP) and \ƗWiU- LVJORVVHGDVµNLOOHU¶ 6Ɨ\KDQWUֈ-). Ved. \ƗWiU- has an antonym, namely ava-\ƗWiU- ‘the one who apologises’ (: ava-\Ɨ‘turn off’, ‘expiate’), and stands alongside a reduced set of compounds with Uֈ۬i- ‘guilt’ and ‘punishment, amendment’ and an DJHQWLYHVHFRQGPHPEHUƒ\Ɨ̗ ƒ\Ɨ̗ YDQ-, ƒ\Ɨ̗ W- ‘seeking, demanding’, i.e. ‘the one who demands punishment’, ‘avenger’: Uֈ۬a-yƗ̗ - (5x RV), Uֈ۬a-\Ɨ̗ YDQ- (RV: hapax), Uֈ۬a-\Ɨ̗ W- (TS): RV IV 23.7cd Uֈ۬Ɨ̗ FLG \iWUD Uֈ۬ayƗ̗ na ugró dnjUp iMxƗtƗ u‫܈‬iVR EDEKƗdé ‘while the strong avenger of guilt pushed our guilties (Uֈ۬Ɨ̗ ) away to far-off unknown dawns’. RV I 87.4c iVL VDW\i Uֈ۬ayƗ̗ vƗ̗ nedya‫‘ ۊ‬you are a true, irreprochable avenger’. TS I.5.2.5...vƯrahƗ̗ vƗ̗ e‫܈‬iGHYƗ̗ nƗۨ yò ’gním udvƗVi\DWHWiV\DYiUX۬DHYi Uֈ۬ayƗ̗ t “now he who removes the fire is the slayer of the hero among the JRGV 9DUX৆D LV WKH exactor of the recompense”, ... \iۨ FDLYiۨ KiQWL \iĞcƗsaya Uֈ۬ayƗ̗ t WiXEKƗgadhéyena prƯ৆Ɨti “him whom he slays and him whom exacts the recompense he delights with their own portion” (KeithLanman).

A definitive argument in favour of the appartenance of \ƗWiU- (and º\Ɨ-) to \Ɨ2 is the perfect parallel with Ved. ce-WiU- ‘punisher’ (: YAv. a-FDƝWDU-) and Uֈ۬a-cí-t-80 (: cD\FL ‘punish’ i.e. ‘make pay’: IE NX֒eL֒ - FI*NIJ઀ȞȠȝĮȚ ʌȠȚȞ੽Ȟ IJİ૙ıĮȚ IJİ઀ıĮıșĮȚ  ZKLFK VHPDQWLFDOO\ PDWFKHV Uֈ۬iP / Uֈ۬Ɨ̗ QL Fi\-ate)81: VII 60.5ab imé cetƗ̗ ro iQWDV\DEKnj̗ UHUPLWUyDU\DPƗ̗ YiUX۬RKtViQWL‘you 0LWUD $U\DPDQ 9DUX৆D DUH WKH punisher of the Untruth’. Cf. also Yt. 10.26 (mi‫ׇ‬ram) ... acaetƗUϷP mi‫ׇ‬URGUXMąP ‘(who) takes revenge on the men deceiving Mitra’.

As to Uֈ۬D-cí-t-, which occurs contiguously with synonymous Uֈ۬a-\Ɨ̗ -:

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Cf. also YAv. DUϷQDW֓ FDƝãD- ‘punishing the injustice’ (Yt. 10.35). One must concede that \ƗWiU- DQGWKHFRPSRXQGVZLWK ƒ\Ɨ̗ - and variants could a priori also belong to \Ɨ1 ‘go (ahead)’, i.e. ‘the one who rushes to punishment’, but the agent noun of \Ɨ1 is actually \Ɨ̗ WDU-, with the antonym DYD\ƗWiU-, which has the same accent as \ƗWiU-, pointing clearly to \Ɨ2 as well.

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Religious Onomastics II 23.17cd Vi Uֈ۬acíd Uֈ۬D\Ɨ̗ EUiKPD۬DV SiWLU GUXKy KDQWƗ̗  PDKi UֈWiV\D GKDUWiULµWKLV %UDKPD৆DVSDWLLV the avenger, he who demands repayment, the destroyer of Deceit, holding the high Truth’.

:HFDQWKHUHIRUHFRQFOXGHWKDW*NǽȘIJȒȡ ǽસIJ੾ȡHSLWKHWRI=HXVLVRODWHG within Greek) and Ved. yƗ-WiU- ‘avenger’, *‘who demands’ (designation of Indra, fairly isolated in Vedic) make a perfect equation both formally and semantically, which points to IE * L֒ eh2-tér-, just like Ved. FHWiU-: YAv. FDƝWDU- point to *NX֒eL֒ -tér-. The Vedic and Iranian compounds with Uֈ۬aº (Uֈ۬a\Ɨ̗ -, also Uֈ۬i-cít-) make explicit the object of ‘seeking, demanding’ in the derivative agent nouns in -WiU- (: Gk. -IJ੾ȡ  14. The epithet 6WăWRU ‘Stayer’ of Iuppiter82 (inscriptions, literature) obviously belongs to the same word family as the GN Statanus Statilinus (Varr. nom. 532 M Statano et Statilino), special gods presiding over the standing of infants, and Stata Mater (protectress of fire)83. The epithet Stator formally matches the title of an official, and is attached to provincial governors, and later to the Emperor (Cic. +, inscriptions). The latter reflects two readings of VLVWǀ, -ere, namely intransitive ‘to stand (scil. over)’ (: VWǀ, -ƗUH) and transitive ‘to establish’ (: VWDWXǀ, -ere and compounds). As stator ‘one who stands over’, cf. ਥʌȚıIJĮIJોȡİȢǜ ਕȖȠȡĮȞȩȝȠȚțĮ੿ Ƞੂ IJ૵ȞʌȠȚȝȞȓȦȞȞȠȝİ૙ȢDQGWKHHSLWKHWਫʌȚıIJĮIJȒȡȚȠȢǜǽİઃȢ ਥȞȀȡȒIJૉ (Hsch.), ਥʌȚ-ıIJ੺IJȘȢ +RP 84. The Sabellic gentilice Opsturius, Opstorius, Ostorius in Latin inscriptions85 may belong here, if it is the outcome of *op-VWăWRU- (: Lat. *opstitor)86 ‘who stands over’.87 As to the

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Also of Mars, cf. Vel. Pat. 2.13 ,XSSLWHU&DSLWROLQHHWDXFWRUDFVWDWRU5RPDQL QRPLQLV*UDGLXH0DUVFXVWRGLWHVHUXDWHSURWHJLWHKXQFVWDWXPKDQFSDcem. 83 Cf. the entries of Radke 1965, 291-2. 84 Also ‘president, chairman’ RI GLIIHUHQW LQVWLWXWLRQV ȕȠȣȜȒ ਥțțȜȘıȓĮ WKH prytans) in 5th C. Athens. 85 Opsturius (Samnium), Opstorius (Africa Consularis), Ostorius (Pompei, Campania, Rome, also the name of a Sabinian HTXHV [Tac.]). The name is Sabellic (PSab. */opstu:r/), as shown by in Lat. Opstur- (*RSVWǀU-): inherited */o:/ yields PSabell. */u:/, noted . Lat. Opstorius, Ostorius go back to a refection on the model of Lat. -ǀULXV 86 With syncope of the second syllable (cf. Umb. loc. ustite ‘station’ : *op-VWDWnjWR-, but also statita : Lat. VWDWnjWD), or with haplology of /a/ and /t/ in a sequence with three W. 87 Op(s)turius, Opstorius may, however, be equally conceal the outcome of *RNus-tor- (*h3HNX֒s-tor-, formed on desiderative *RNX֒s-: YAv. DLXXLƗ[ãWDU‘observer’).

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reading of ‘who establishes’, cf. Varr. gram. 137 VWDWRUHP«TXRGKDEHUHW «VWDWXHQGL«SRWHVWDWHP. The epithet stator of Iuppiter, being formally identical to the title, takes a somewhat different position. It reflects only the transitive reading of VLVWǀ (and FRQVLVWǀ), namely the acceptances (a) ‘to halt, stop’ (Liv. 2.65.2 FRQVXOXELDGLQLTXXPORFXPXHQWXPHVWVLVWLWDFLHP)88 and (b) ‘to place firmly’ (Tac. Hist. 3.77 cohortis expeditas summis montium iugis super caput hostium sistit)89, which basically matches ‘to establish, appoint’). The last acceptance is well attested (Cic. Cat. 1.33 WX,XSSLWHUTXLLVGHP TXLEXVKDHFXUEVDXVSLFLLVD5RPXORHVFRQVWLWXWXVTXHP6WDWRUHPKXLXV XUELVDWTXHLPSHULYHUHQRPLQDPXV), but is not the original one. That Iuppiter Stator is a ‘stayer’ was appreciated by the Romans themselves (see below), and is evident in Greek translations of the epithet in the narration of the episode during the war with the Sabines, when Romulus prayed to Iuppiter to stay the flight of the Romans (and received therefore the epithet Stator): Liv. 1.12.6. GHPH WHUURUHP 5RPDQLV IXJDPTXH IRHGDP VLVWH KLF HJR WLEL WHPSOXP 6WDWRUL ,RXL TXRG PRQXPHQWXP VLW SRVWHULV WXD SUDHVHQWL RSH VHUXDWDP XUEHP HVVH XRXHR¶ µKLQF¶ LQTXLW µ5RPDQL ,XSSLWHU RSWLPXV PD[LPXV UHVLVWHUH DWTXH LWHUDUH SXJQDP LXEHW¶ UHVWLWHUH 5RPDQL « ‘deliver the Romans from their terror and stay their shamful flight (IXJDPTXHIRHGDPVLVWH ,KHUHYRZWRWKHH,XSSLWHUWKH6WD\HUDWHPSOH to be a memorial to our descendants how the city was saved by the present help… Here, Romans, Iuppiter commands us to stand (resistere) and renew WKHILJKW7KH5RPDQVGLGVWDQG restitere) …’90.

The existence of two acceptances of Stator is well attested in a curious passage of Seneca (De ben. 4.7) where he (to my mind, wrongly) rejects that the sense of the epithet harks back to the episode of Romulus against the Samnians: et Iovem illum Optimum ac Maximum rite dices et 88

Cf. also Liv. 1.37.3 ut non sisterent modo Sabinas legiones, Tac. Hist. 2.33 DHJUHFRHUFLWDPOHJLRQHPHW«XVTXHDGVHGLWLRQHPprogressam Bedriaci sistit. 89 Verg. Aen. 6.857-8 KLFUHP5RPDQDPPDJQRWXUEDQWHWXPXOWXVLVWHW (also Ap. Met. 4.18). 90 Cf. also 10.36.11 LQWHUKDHFFRQVXO«WHPSOXP,RXL6WDWRULXRXHWVLFRQVWLWLVVHW a fuga Romana acies. The episode, which is frequently referred to (Ov. Fast. 6.793, Sen. De ben. 4.7.1 et al.), is the origin of the epithet Stator as Stayer of troops, which occurs beside other epithets (Cic. de fin bon. 3.66 Iouem cum 2SWLPXPHW0D[LPXPGLFLPXVFXPTXHHXQGHP6DOXWDUHP+RVSLWDOHP6WDWRUHP KRFLQWHOOHJLYROXPXVVDOXWHPKRPLQXPLQHLXVHVVHWXWHOD&LFCat. 1.11 huic ipsi ,RYL6WDWRULDQWLTXLVVLPRFXVWRGLKXLXVXUELV).

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7RQDQWHPHW6WDWRUHPTXLQRQXWKLVWRULFLWUDGLGHUXQWH[HRTXRGSRVW uRWXP VXVFHSWXP DFLHV 5RPDQRUXP IXJLHQWLXP VWHWLW VHG TXRG VWDQW EHQHILFLRHLXVRPQLDVWDWRUVWDELOLWRUTXHHVW. ‘…and it will be right if you call him Iuppiter the Best and Greatest, and the Thunder and the Stayer not from the fact that, as the Historians have related, after his order the Roman battle-line stayed its flight, but because all things are stayed by his benefits, and he is their stayer and stabilizer’. The episode is also transmitted by Greek historians, who accurately translate Stator DV ȈIJ੺IJȦȡ DQG ૅǼʌȚıIJ੺ıȚȠȢ  ȈIJ੾ıȚȠȢ 3OXWDUFK  DOVR DV ੗ȡșઆıȚȠȢ 'LRQ\VVRV RI +DOLFDUQDVVRV 91, cf. Plut. Rom.  ʌȠȜȜોȢ į੻ IJોȢ ijȣȖોȢ Į੝IJ૶ ʌİȡȚȤİȠȝ੼ȞȘȢ țĮ੿ ȝȘįİȞઁȢ ਕȞĮıIJȡ੼ijİȚȞ IJȠȜȝ૵ȞIJȠȢ ਕȞĮIJİ઀ȞĮȢİੁȢȠ੝ȡĮȞઁȞIJ੹ȢȤİ૙ȡĮȢȘ੡ȟĮIJȠIJ૶ ǻȚ੿ ıIJોıĮȚIJઁ ıIJȡ੺IJİȣȝĮ« ȖİȞȠȝ੼ȞȘȢ į੻ IJોȢ İ੝ȤોȢ  ਩ıIJȘıĮȞ Ƞ੣Ȟ ʌȡ૵IJȠȞ Ƞ੤ Ȟ૨Ȟ ੒ IJȠ૨ ǻȚઁȢ IJȠ૨ ȈIJ੺IJȠȡȠȢ ੆įȡȣIJĮȚ ȞİઆȢ ੔Ȟ ૅǼʌȚıIJ੺ıȚȠȞ ਙȞ IJȚȢ ਦȡȝȘȞİ઄ıİȚİȞ DOVR Cic. «İੁȢIJઁ IJȠ૨ ȈIJȘı઀ȠȣǻȚઁȢੂİȡંȞ੔ȞȈIJ੺IJȠȡĮ૽ȇȦȝĮ૙ȠȚțĮȜȠ૨ıȚȞ  In conclusion: Iuppiter Stator µVWD\HU¶  ȈIJ੺IJȦȡ Wranslated as ૅǼʌȚıIJ੺ıȚȠȢ ȈIJ੾ıȚȠȢ E\ 3OXWDUFK  RULJLQDOO\ reflects the acceptance ‘to halt, stop’ of VLVWǀFRQVLVWǀ, in memory of the episode when he stayed the 5RPDQV  ıIJોıĮȚ IJઁ ıIJȡ੺IJİȣȝĮ  ZKR ZHUH WDNLQJ IOLJKW and does not match semantically the title stator ‘superviser’ (intransitive *‘standing over’, cf. ਥʌȚıIJ੺IJȘȢਥʌȚıIJĮIJ੾ȡ 

III. In search of Non Attested Gods in Mycenaean and in the Sabellic Domain in Light of Onomastics: 'HPHWHU$SROOR-XQR 15. It is a well-know fact that some epithets of major gods attested in first millenium Greek and Latin have been, at an earlier phase, proper names of minor independent gods, which have become assimilated in the course of time. This is evident in the case of Greek since the decipherment of Linear B: the same name can be attested as a theonym in Mycenaean and as an epiclesis in Alphabetical Greek. This fact is of major importance for the continuity of Mycenaean gods in post-Mycenaean times, and may ultimately cast light on the absence of some Greek major gods in Linear B. In what follows an attempt will be made to retrace the Mycenaean forerunners (or some of them) of Demeter and Apollo in the light of their epithets attested in the first millenium. The same approach will make possible the identification 91

Ant. 2.50.3 ૽ȇȦȝ઄ȜȠȢ ȝ੻Ȟ ੑȡșȦı઀૳ ǻȚ੿ ʌĮȡ੹ IJĮ૙Ȣ țĮȜȠȣȝ੼ȞĮȚȢ ȂȠȣȖȦȞ઀ıȚ ʌ઄ȜĮȚȢ, …, ੖IJȚ IJ੽Ȟ ıIJȡĮIJȚ੹Ȟ Į੝IJȠ૨ ijȣȖȠ૨ıĮȞ ਥʌȠ઀ȘıİȞ ੒ șİઁȢ ਫ਼ʌĮțȠ઄ıĮȢ IJĮ૙Ȣ İ੝ȤĮ૙Ȣ ıIJોȞĮ઀ IJİ țĮ੿ ʌȡઁȢ ਕȜț੽Ȟ IJȡĮʌ੼ıșĮȚ.

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of the Oscan and Umbrian goddesses matching the Roman Juno (attested also in Etruria), which is unexpectedly absent in the Sabellic domain or, at least, is not mentioned by her in name. Let us turn first to the gods attested in Linear B who may be understood as forerunners of Demeter and Apollo. Some preliminary remarks on the religious mentions in Linear B are in order at this point: (1) The major Greek gods are mentioned exclusively by their names, not by means of epithets92, although it is obviously not certain that they have the same profile and characteristics as they have had since Homer and Hesiod: apart from Zeus (dat. di-we /Diwei/, gen. di-wo /Diwos/) and Hera (dat. e-ra /hƜUƗi/), we have, in alphabetical order, Ares (a-UH with PN a-re-i-jo /Arehios/D-re-ja epithet of e-ma-a2, NP a-re-͓-me-ne /ArehimenƝs/, a-re-me-ne), Artemis (gen. a-te-mi-to, dat. a-ti-mi-te), Dionysus (diwo-nu-so[, gen. -o-jo), Hephaestus (/hƖSKDLVWRV/*, cf. MN a-pa-i-ti-jo), Hermes (dat. e-ma-a2 /h(UPƗhƗL/, gen. e-ma-a2-o), Poseidon (dat. po-se-da-one, gen. -o-no, feminine po-si-da-e-ja, and others. Four of the Olympic gods are not attested in the Linear B tablets, namely Aphrodite, Apollo, Athena and Demeter.93 (2) Some names of Mycenaean deities survive in post-Mycenaean times as epithets of Olympic gods, who may be attested (Ares, Artemis, Poseidon) or not (Apollo) in the Linear B tablets: di-wi-MD GL-u-ja /DiwiƗi/94 Æ 3DPSK\OLDQ ǻȚࢬȓĮ $UWHPLV  e-nu-wa-ri-jo (dat.) /(QXZDOLǀL/ Æ ਫȞȣ੺ȜȚȠȢ (Ares), e-ne-si-da-o-ne (dat.) -dƗhǀQHL probably Æ ਫȞȞRı઀įĮȢ 3RVHLGRQ  pa-ja-wo-ne (dat.) /3DLƗZRQHL/ Æ ȆĮȚ੾ȦȞȆĮȚ઼Ȟ $SROOR  (3) Epithets (derivatives, or theonyms used as epithets) with distinctive function, giving a specific reference to the god-name, which are very 92

The occurrence of po-ti-ni-ja (as assumed by Aravantinos-Godart-Sacconi 2003, 20) is obviously no argument in favour of the existence of major gods being designated by means of an epiclesis: po-ti-ni-ja (: ʌંIJȞȚĮ) is a generic designation, not a specific, distinctive epiclesis (García Ramón 2010, 88ff.). 93 The interpretation of ]Ś-‫͕܀‬ 2 [ in KN E 842.3 as /A]pellǀ[nei (: Dor. ૅǹʌ੼ȜȜȦY ̙ Cypr. dat. a-pe-i-lo-ne) is not cogent given the fragmentary character of the tablet. The name Athena is attested as a place name, cf. a-ta-na-po-ti-ni-ja, actually /AthƗnƗs PotniƗi/ ‘to the Mistress of Athana’ (KN V 52 + 52 bis + 8285: Room of the Chariot tablets). The parallelism with Hom. ʌંIJȞȚ¶ ਝșȘȞĮ઀Ș LV RQO\ DSSDUHQW 0\F a-ta-na matches formally the PN ਝșોȞĮȚ 94 A minor deity (but originally the formal feminine counterpart of Zeus). Cf. also the theophoric MN di-wi-ja-wo (KN, PY, TH) di-u-ja-wo (TH) 'LZLƗwǀQ), and di-u-jajo- 'LZLDLRQ‘sanctuary of Diwia’.

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frequent in alphabetical Greek, are represented by only two instances, namely di-ND-ta-jo  ǻȚțIJĮ૙ȠȢ 31 ǻ઀țIJĮ  LQ di-ND-ta-jo di-wei /'LNWDLǀL Diwei/ (type Apollo 0ĮȜİ੺IJĮȢ  &DSH ȂĮȜ੼Į  DQG e-ma-a2 a-re-ja /hEUPƗhƗL $UHLƗL/ PY Tn 316.v.795. In Mycenaean there is no instance of distinctive-descriptive epithets of the type ੑȡı઀ĮȜȠȢੑȡıȠIJȡ઀ĮȚȞĮ ††5.6) RUȀȠȡȠȣIJĮȡȡĮLQ7KHVVDO\ǽȘIJ੾ȡLQ&\SUXV ††2, 13). (4) Generic GHVLJQDWLRQV W\SH +RP ʌંIJȞȚĮ șİ੺ȦȞ į૙Į șİ੺ȦȞ  OLNH po-ti-ni-ja  ʌંIJȞȚĮ  wa-na-sa* (: ਙȞĮııĮ FI GDW GXDO wa-na-so-i (/wanatsoihi"  µWR WKH WZR /DGLHV¶ RU µDW WKH VKULQHV RI WKH /DGLHV¶96 occur either without any further determination (and simply stress the divine character of the deity) or with concrete reference, i.e. with distinctive and (if understandable) descriptive function, e.g. da-pu2-ri-to-jo po-ti-ni-ja /Daphurinthoio Potnia/ ‘Lady of Labyrinth’, po-ti-ni-ja a-si-wi-ja /Potnia $VZLƗ/) ‘Lady of Aswia’, po-ti-ni-ja i-TH-ja /(h)LNNweiƗ-/ ‘Lady of Horses’, sito-po-ti-ni-ja /6ƯWRSRWQLƗL/ or /VƯWǀQ 3RWQLƗL/ ‘Lady of the corn’ (see below). Cf. also ma-te-re po-ti-ni-ja /MƗtrei PotniƗi/ ‘to the divine Mother’, te-i-ja ma-te-re /TheiƗi Matrei/ ‘to Mother Goddess’. (5) Other Mycenaean religious names are not attested as such in the first millennium. Few of them may be understandable as (or associated with) Greek words. This is the case of the theonyms (all in dative) di-ri-mi-jo (cf. įȡȚȝ઄Ȣ µVKDUS NLQ¶  do-po-ta FI įİıʌંIJȘȢ µ>[email protected]¶  NR-ma-we-te-ja FIțંȝȘµKDLU¶ 97 TH-ra-si-ja FIș੾ȡµIƝUD¶șȘȡĮIJ੾ȢRU31Ĭ੾ȡĮ ti-ri-sero-e /Tris-hƝrǀhei/ ‘thrice-hero’ (cf. ਸ਼ȡȦȢ  7ZR IXUWKHU SUREDEO\ PLQRU  deities, designated by means of an adjective, may be conjectured on the basis of theophoric names with ƒįRIJRȢ98 namely /Awisto-/ ‘invisible’ in MN a-wi-

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Either “Hermahas under the aspect close to Ares” (Parker 2005, 225), as in the case of Zeus Ares and Athena Areia (Athena is also known as ʌȡંȝĮȤȠȢ), or as Hermes who saved Ares in the episode of the Aloads told by Dione as a consolation to wounded Aphrodite (Guilleux 2012, 469ff.). 96 The question of whether reference is made to Demeter and Kore must remain open. 97 /ȀRPƗwet-eiƗi/ µZLWKORQJKDLU RUȀRPƗwent-eiƗi/ with appurtenance suffixe /-HLƗ³EHORQJLQJWR.RPƗZHQV´*/NRPƗZHQWV/) ‘the one with long hairs’ (Leukart 1994: 65 n. 53), probably a ‘tutelar goddess of NR-ma-we, as José Luis Melena assumes, on the strength of the fact that NR-ma-we is attested as a man’s name. The assumption that NR-ma-we /.RPDZƝQV/ in PY Aq 218.10 is “probabilmente un’epiclesi di Poseidon” (Del Freo 1996-1997, 153ff.) is hardly cogent, as nothing suggests that NRma-we is but a man. The suggestive association with țȣĮȞȠȤĮ઀IJȘȢ, epithet of Poseidon (Hom.+) remains hypothetical only for this reason. My scepticism about this point in García Ramón 2010a, 89 n.98 is nothing but a rough slip, as Poseidon is repeatedy mentioned as țȣĮȞȠȤĮ઀IJĮȢ since Homer. 98 García Ramón 2008, 326ff.

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to-do-to /Awisto-dotos/ (cf. ਙ-ȧıIJRȢ µLQYLVLEOH¶ RU µZKR PD\ QRW EH ORRNHG at’)99 and /,VNhu-/ ‘powerful’ in i-su-NX-wo-do-to /,VNhuo-dotos/ (cf. ੁıȤ઄Ȣ 100. 17. ǹ closer look at Enu(w)alios and Ares allows the identification of a difference between the situation in Mycenaean and in Homer, and some conclusions to be drawn which are relevant for the continuity of Mycenaean god names as Post-Mycenaean divine epithets. Both e-nu-wa-ri-jo /Enuwalio-/ (a minor god attested in Crete) and Ares (a major god attested in Cnosos, Pylos and indirectly in Thebes) coexisted in Mycenaean. The latter shows some variants101, namely */Ares-/ (nom. a-re "+RPਡȡȘȢGDW. ਡȡİȚ ZLWKWKHRSKRULF01a-re-i-jo / Arehios/ (: ਡȡİȚRȢ DGM ਙȡİȚRȢ 102 as well as a-re-ja (dat.) /$UHLƗL/ (*DUHVL֒ Ɨ-), an epithet of Hermes (a-re-ja e-ma-a2) as well as the MN a-re-͓-me-QHD-re-mene /ArƝ hi-menƝs/ (: ਝȡİȚȝ੼ȞȘȢ FI +RP ȝ੼ȞRȢ ਡȡȘRȢ Il  ȝĮ઀ȞİIJĮȚ ਡȡȘȢ Il. 15.605). We can also assume that at the time of the Mycenaean tablets, Enu(w)alios was still an autonomous god, certainly a bellicose one, who coexisted with (but was still not absorbed by) Ares. The situation was a fairly different one at the time of Homer: ਫȞȣ੺ȜȚȠȢLV used as an epithet of Ares (e.g. Il. 17.210/1 ... į૨ į੼ ȝȚȞਡȡȘȢįİȚȞઁȢਥȞȣ੺ȜȚȠȢ . This points to an assimilation of Enu(w)alios by Ares, or as synonymous of Ares, Il. 18.309 ȟȣȞઁȢ ਫȞȣ੺ȜȚȠȢ103, 22.132 ੇıȠȢ ਫȞȣĮȜ઀૳ țȠȡȣș੺ȧțȚ ʌIJȠȜİȝȚıIJૌ104, 2.651 ȂȘȡȚંȞȘȢIJૅ ਕIJ੺ȜĮȞIJȠȢਫȞȣĮȜ઀૳ ਕȞįȡİȚijંȞIJૉ # (et al.). The same process, with different chronology, may be assumed for Paia(wo)n ȆĮȚ੾ȦȞ+RPȆĮȚ઼Ȟ WKH*1 GDW pa-ja-wo-ne /3DLƗZǀnei/ (Cnossos) remains a divine healer in epic and lyric poetry (Il. 5.401f. IJ૶ į¶ ਥʌ੿ ȆĮȚȒȦȞ ੑįȣȞȒijĮIJĮ ijȐȡȝĮțĮ ʌȐııȦȞ  ਱țȑıĮIJ¶[o]105. Anyway at a 99

7KHVDPHDSSOLHVWR$WKHQD ਙȚıIJRȢ6FKROLQ$UNubਙʌRʌIJRȢ6RSKAi. 15), Persephone (ਕijĮȞ੾Ȣ 6RSK OC 1556), probably also ਢȚįȘȢ (S ਝ૘įȘȢ which may have been interpreted by the Greeks as ‘invisible’. 100 *N ੁıȤ઄ȢLVRULJLQDOO\DQDGMHFWLYHDQGD QRXQੁıȤ઄Ȣ X µIRUFHVWUHQJWK¶ 'H /DPEHUWHULH FIĬİȡı઄ȢHSithet of Athena (Larissa, 2nd C.). Strong gods DUH$UHV țȡĮIJİȡંȢ +HUD ੁıȤȣȡ੺), Hades (੅ijșȚȝȠȢ) et al. 101 A variant *ArƝX࡬- +RPਡȡȘRȢਡȡȘȚFIਝȡ੾ȧRȢ/LW$HROਝȡİ઄ȧRȢ is attested only in Alphabetical Greek. 102 Also probably MN a-pi-ja-re[ (KN) $PShi-arƝV, a-pi-ja-re-jo, pa-na-re-jo (KN, 3< FIȆĮY੺ȡȘȢ 103 Also Il. 14.519, 20.69. 104 Also Il. 7.   105 Cf. also HHAp. 517 ȀȡોIJİȢ ʌȡઁȢ Ȇȣșઅ țĮ੿ ੁȘʌĮȚ੾ȠȞ ਙİȚįȠȞ, Pi. P. 4.270 …ੁĮIJ੽ȡ … ȆĮȚ/੺Ȟ …, Sol. F 13.58 West ȆĮȚ૵ȞȠȢ ʌȠȜȣijĮȡȝ੺țȠȣ ਩ȡȖȠȞ ਩ȤȠȞIJİȢ ੁȘIJȡȠ઀. Whether he ȆĮȚȒȦȞ is independent of Apollo, the far shooter, or simply an alternative epiclesis of him (like ਫȞȣ੺ȜȚȠȢ for ਡȡȘȢ since Homer) remains open to debate.

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given point, Paiawon is certainly assimilated by Apollo and occurs as one of his epithets in Late Greek106. Myc. pa-ja-wo-ne may thus be safely interpreted as a god with a salient feature in common with Apollo, namely that of healer, and also as his Mycenaean forerunner, or at least as one of them. The coexistence in Mycenaean of e-ne-si-da-o-ne, probably /(QHVLGƗ(h)ǀQHL/ (Cnossos), whatever its meaning might be, and Poseidaon (Pylos) in his different forms (po-se-da-o /PoseidƗhǀn +RP ȆRıİȚį੺ȦY gen. po-se-da-o-no /- ǀnos/, dat. po-se-da-o-ne and po-se-da-o-ni /- ǀnei/ and /-ǀni/, with his feminine counterpart po-si-da-e-ja /PosidƗheiƗi/, the sanctuary po-si-da-i-jo /PosidƗhion/ (direct. po-si-da-i-jo-de), and dat.pl. po-si-da-i-jeu-si /PosidƗhiƝXVL ‘to the priests of the Posidaion’) points to a period where both gods co-existed, before the former was assimilated by the latter, as seen in the poetic epithet ਫȞȞȠı઀įĮȢZKLFKLVDWWHVWHGDVDQHSLWKHWȠI3RVHLGRQ in choral poetry (e.g. Pi. P. 4.173 ૅǼȞȞȠı઀įĮȖ੼ȞȠȢ  To sum up: Major gods co-exist in Mycenaen along with minor gods who they then later absorb. Such is the case of Ares and Enuwalios, Apollon and Paiawon, Poseidon and Enesidaon. 18. It is also possible that a major god who is attested in Mycenaean by his “classical” name co-exists with other minor god(s), the names of whom are understandable and actually match the sense(s) of one or more epithet(s) of the major god in alphabetic Greek. In this case, one can DVVXPHWKDWWKHPLQRU0\FHQDHDQJRG RUJRGV VKDUing peculiarities with a major one was his forerunner –and was absorbed by him in postMycenaean times in the form of an epithet. This is the case of Artemis (gen. a-te-mi-to, dat. a-te/i-mi-te (Pylos): ਡȡIJİȝȚȢ:HVW*NਡȡIJĮȝȚȢ FHUWDLQO\DQRQ-Greek name, see Lyd. ArtimuĞ). The goddess is characteristically connected with horses and with wild beasts. These peculiarities are found in the names of two other Mycenaean, probably minor, deities, namely the po-ti-ni-ja i-TH-ja and TH-ra-si-ja (both in Cnosos), which may be considered as two of her forerunners in light of some of the epithets of Artemis in Greek poetry: po-ti-ni-ja i-TH-ja /(h)LNNwHLƗ-/ ‘lady of the horses’ matches de epithets of Artemis ੂʌʌȠıંĮ ‘horse-driving’ (Pi. O. 3.26 … ǜ ਩ȞșĮ ȁĮIJȠ૨Ȣ ੂʌʌȠıóĮ șȣȖȐIJȘȡ / įȑȟĮIJ’ ਥȜșȩȞIJ’(Į) ‘where Leto’s horse driving daughter had welcomed him’107). 106

AP ਫ਼ȝȞȑȦȝİȞȆĮȚ઼ȞĮȝȑȖĮȞșİઁȞਝʌȩȜȜȦȞĮ With ungrammatical motion. Regular masc. ੂʌʌȠıંȠȢ occurs also as an epithet of ਙȞįȡİȢ (Pi. P. 2.65).

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TH-ra-si-ja is more complicated. The theonym belongs to a complex of six definite non-Greek, and probably Minoan, goddesses with obscure names (pi-pi-tu-na, -ti, pa-sa-ja, si-ja-ma-to, pa-de, and TH-ra-si-ja), who are contextually linked in the tablets and may be subsumed under the common label pa-si-te-o-i in the Cnossian corpus, and had cults which were probably spacially and temporally associated, as shown by J. Giulizio and D. Nakassis108. Nevertheless, if the GN TH-ra-si-ja conceals the outcome of */KhwƝUDVLƗ-/ (and that of TH-ra-si-jo */KhwƝrasio-/), it may have an IE HW\PRORJ\ LI FRQQHFWHG ZLWK ș੾ȡ µZLOG EHDVW¶ +RP ș੾ȡ $HRO ij੾ȡ (IE

JյhX֒ƝU- cf. Lat. IƝUXV, IƝUD Lith. åYơUuV, OCS ]YČUɴ), although the type of formation is not transparent. One may assume a derivative in -ıȚȠȢ-ı઀Į of a collective */NhwƝUƗ-/ of the type ਲȝİȡ੺ıȚȠȢਸ਼ȝİȡȠȢµPLOG¶FI$UWHPLV ਺ȝİȡĮı઀Į, in Arcadia), or eventually a µ/DG\ RI +XQWHUV¶  șȘȡĮIJ੾Ȣ ‘hunter’, as per J. Taillardat)109. It remains, of course, possible that the name of the goddess is simply pre-Greek: but even in this case, it may have been secondarily adapted by folk-HW\PRORJ\ WR ș੾ȡ. Whatever, the close connection of Artemis with wild animals is well known, as shown by the literary epithets șȘȡȠıțંʌȠȢ ‘looking out for wild beasts’ (HH 27.11 șȘȡȠıțંʌȠȢ ੉ȠȤ੼ĮȚȡĮ %D ) -7 ਕȡȚıIJȠʌȐIJȡĮ  șȘȡȠıțȩʌȠȢ  șȘȡȠijંȞȘµNLOOLQJZLOGEHDVWV¶ C.Thgn. 11 ਡȡIJİȝȚșȘȡȠijંȞȘ$UTh. 320 ʌȠȜȣȫȞȣȝİșȘȡȠijȩȞȘȁĮIJȠ૨ȢȤȡȣıȫʌȚįȠȢ਩ȡȞȠȢ110). 19. It is basically agreed that the main Greek gods have reached their profile and functions in part as the result of the assimilation of other previous gods. We can assume that major gods who do not occur in the Linear B tablets, or who were still not major in Mycenaean times, may have absorbed one (or more) of the gods attested in Linear B texts. In what follows, an attempt will be made to show that Demeter and Apollo, who are absent in the tablets, may have existed avant la lettre, i.e. have been referred to by other names, or have some forerunners in Mycenaean times. Three explanations are a priori possible for the fact that neither of these deities is attested by their name:

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Giulizio-Nakassis forthcoming. That the goddess is not Greek does not necessarily exclude the possibility that she could have received a Greek name or that she had a non-Greek name which had been adapted to Greek. 109 Taillardat 1984, 372-3. The fact that șȘȡĮIJ੾ȡ is first attested in Classical Greek (Ar. Nu. 358, Ael.) is no problem for the assumption of a pair Myc. */NhwƝUƗWƗ-/ :: */NhZƝUƗVLRƗ-/ like /OƗZƗJeWƗ-/ :: /OƗZƗJesio/Ɨ-/. 110 Cf. șȘȡȠijȩȞȠȢǜ șȘȡȠțIJȩȞȠȢ ਡȡIJİȝȚȢ +VFK &I DOVR WKH HSLWKHW șȘȡȠțIJંȞȠȢ (Orph.).

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(a) it does not exist yet, or at least is not integrated into the Mycenaean pantheon, (b) it does exist, but is referred to by means of a different noun in the Linear B texts, (c) it does not exist yet with the characteristics it has in the first millennium, but there is evidence for, at least, another deity, the name of which evokes one of its significant peculiarities: the latter may be considered as a direct forerunner of the non-attested, “hidden” deity. The possibility (a) is a default one, and can be neither confirmed nor disproved, although it certainly remains open. The same applies basically to (b): if the putative alternative Mycenaean noun of the hidden deity is not associated with it in first millennium Greek, the case for a forerunner can hardly be made on the basis of real evidence. More promising is (c). 20. Demeter, a goddess directly associated with grain and corn (ı૙IJRȢ ‘grain’, also ‘human food’), can hardly be separated from si-to-po-ti-ni-ja ‘Lady/Mistress of Grain’111 of Mycenae (Oi 701), probably of pre-Greek origin, but UHIHUUHGWRE\WKHLQKHULWHGWHUPʌંIJȞȚĮ (: Ved. SiWnƯ-). One may safely assume that si-to-po-ti-ni-ja was the forerunner (or one of the forerunners) of Demeter, as ultimately shown by her mentions as ʌંIJȞȚĮǻȘȝ੾IJȘȡ HH  ʌંIJȞȚĮǻȘઆ ʌંIJȞȚĮǻȘȠ૙ ਙȞĮııĮibid. 47) DQGE\WKHRFFXUUHQFHLQ6LFLO\RIȈȚIJઆ as an epithet of the goddess (Ael., Eust.)112ȈȚIJઆLVDVKRUWIRUPRIDcompounded epithet of Demeter, with first member ıȚIJȠo ıȚIJȠijંȡȠȢ>RIWKH[email protected] ıȚIJȠįંIJİȚȡĮ RUVLPSO\WKH GLYLQHSHUVRQLILFDWLRQRIı૙IJȠȢby means of the feminine suffix -આ. It must EH VWUHVVHG DW WKLV SRLQW WKDW WKH 6LFLOLDQ ȈȚIJઆ cannot match si-to in the series TH Ft (1) and Av 100, 101 of Thebes, and that si-to is not a mention of Demeter113. Myc. si-to LQ7+)WDQG$YPDWFKHV+RPı૙IJȠȢ, as a mere designation of ‘corn’, i.e. ‘human food’ and a concrete explicitation of NDpa /NDUSƗ FROOHFWLYH RI țĮȡʌંȢ µIUXLW IRRG¶ as against NR-ro /NRURs/

111

&I%RsOOHII5RXJHPRQW-:HLOKDUWQHU Ael.  ȜȑȖİIJĮȚ į੻ ਥȞ ȈȚțİȜȓ઺ ਝįȘijĮȖȓĮȢ ੂİȡઁȞ İੇȞĮȚ țĮ੿ ȈȚIJȠ૨Ȣ ਙȖĮȜȝĮ ǻȒȝȘIJȡȠȢEust. ad Il. SțĮ੿ ੪ȢʌĮȡ੹ ȈȣȡĮțȠȣıȓȠȚȢਥIJȚȝ઼IJȠǻȘȝȒIJȘȡȈȚIJઅ įȚ੹ IJȒȞ ੪Ȣ İੁțȩȢ ਥʌȚȝȑȜİȚĮȞ țĮ੿ İ੝ijȠȡȓĮȞ ਥțİ૙ IJȠ૨ ıȓIJȠȣ ıȣȞȚıIJȠȡİ૙ țĮ੿ ਝșȘȞĮ૙ȠȢ 113 Pace Aravantinos-Godart-Sacconi 2001, 271, who interpret si-to as a variant of a putative goddess ma-ND (Thebes), in which they believe they see a Mycenaean Demeter. 112

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‘animal IRGGHULQJ¶ FIțંȡȠȢµVDWLHW\¶DOVR‘arrogance’), as I have tried to show114. 21. As to the absence of Apollo in the Mycenaen texts, I shall make the case for di-ri-mi-jo, a minor god, as one of his forerunners115. The theonym, attested in dative, occurs in contiguity after di-we and e-ra, each of both followed by the indication of an offering, in the tablet PY Tn 316 v.8/9: di-we AUR *213VAS 1 VIR 1 e-ra AUR *213VAS 1 MUL 1 di-ri-mi-jo di-ZRL-je-we , AUR *213VAS 1 [ ] vacat

It is evident that di-ri-mi-MRGL-ZRL-je-we 'UƯPLǀL'LZRVhLHZHL ‘for Drimios, the son of Zeus’ reflects the existence of a triad one can safely assume for Pylos. The name does not match any theonym or epithet in the first millennium. The GN di-ri-mi-MR which may be read /'UƯPLR-/ rather than /Drimio-/, shows two crucial characteristics: (1) it is connected with įȡȚȝ઄Ȣ116 (with /i:/) ‘sharp, keen, piercing’ (Hom.+)117: the name /'UƯPLR-/ presents the god as a bitter one, who causes pains and sorrows118, and (2) it refers to a minor god, as ‘son of Zeus’, who is member of a triad with Zeus and Hera. As to (1), Myc. di-ri-mi-jo /'UƯP-io-/ is a derivative, or a “short form” RIDFRPSRXQGZLWKǻȡȚȝȣƒ119OLNHWKH01ǻȡ઀ȝȦȞǻȡ઀ȝȣȜȠȢǻȡ઀ȝĮțȠȢ KHURLF QDPH  IHP ǻȡȚȝઆ (mythical name). They fit the pattern of a

114

García Ramón 2010a, 84-5. The term occurs also in si-to-NR-wo /VƯWRNhowoi/ µSRXUHUVRIJUDLQ¶ 7+$Y>@3 µWHDULQJ¶@ DQG 3*PF turna- [: OSax. torn ‘bitter’, Germ. Zorn]). 117 A connection with įȡȣȝ੺ ‘glades’ (Homer) is highly problematic because of the -u- vocalism. 118 As rightly pointed out by Pötscher 1987: 21 (“ein leidbringender Gott”), with UHIHUHQFHWRįȡȚȝ઄ıȠȦµWRFDXVHDELWLQJSDLQ¶ 119 Ruijgh 1967: 105.

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subsystem including adjectives in -ȣ- :: MN in -ȚȠȢ-઀ĮȢ-઀ȦȞIHP-આ vel sim., e.g.: ȕĮș઄ȢµGHHS¶ ȕĮȡ઄ȢµKHDY\¶ ȕȡȚș઄ȢµKHDY\¶ ȖȜȣț઄ȢµVZHHW¶ İ੝ș઄ȢµULJKW¶ șȡĮı઄ȢµEUDYH¶ țȡĮIJ઄ȢµVWURQJ¶

:: :: :: :: :: :: ::

01ǺĮș઀ĮȢ 01Ǻ੺ȡȚȠȢ MN fePǺȡȚșઆ 01īȜȣț઀ȦȞ 01Ǽ੡șȚȠȢǼȣș઀ȦȞ 01Ĭȡ੺ıȚȠȢĬȡĮı઀ĮȢĬĮȡı઀ĮȢĬĮȡı઀ȦȞ Ȁȡ੺IJȚȠȢ

7KH ROG HSLWKHW įȡȚȝ઄Ȣ GHVLJQDWHV HYHU\WKLQJ ZKLFK LV RU PD\ EH perceived as) sharp or NHHQ and is in many respects coincident with those of ੑȟ઄Ȣ (as stated by the gloss įȡȚȝ઄āੑȟ઄. ıijȠįȡંȞșİȡȝંȞįȡȚȝ઄Ȣā ੑȟ઄Ȣ +VFK  DQG RI ʌȚțȡંȢ ,Q IDFW įȡȚȝ઄Ȣ ੑȟ઄ DQG ʌȚțȡંȢ not being fully synonymous, have some collocations in common, among them120: a) ZLWKVKDIWVDQGZHDSRQVQDPHO\ȕ੼ȜȠȢµDUURZGDUW¶$SROOR¶VZHDSRQ par excellenceȕ੼ȜȠȢੑȟ઄ įȡȚȝ઄ (Il. 11. 269-70), ੑȟઃ ʌ੺ȖȘȕ੼ȜȠȢ (Il. 4.185) and Mimn. F 14.8 ʌȚțȡ੹ ȕ੼ȜİĮ. See also ੑȚıIJઁȢ ੑȟȣȕİȜ੾Ȣ µVKDUS SRLQWHG DUURZ  Il. 4.125-6: *ੑȟઃ ȕ੼ȜȠȢ  ʌȚțȡ੹ ȕ੼ȜİȝȞĮ Il.  DQGHVSHFLDOO\ʌȚțȡઁȞੑȚıIJંȞ ǿO4.118, Od. 22.7-8), which is thrown by men who symptomatically invoke Apollo. b) ZLWK ZDU įȡȚȝİ૙Į ȝ੺ȤȘ Il. 15.696 +) beside ੑȟઃȞ ਝȡોĮ Il. 2. 440, Epich. +). c) ZLWK ȝ੼ȞȠȢ µLQWHUQDO IRUFH¶ įȡȚȝઃ ȝ੼ȞȠȢ (Od.   įȡȚȝઃ ȝ੼ȞȠȢ țȡĮį઀ȘȢ 0LPQ )   ȤંȜȠȢ µHDJHUQHVV¶ įȡȚȝઃȢ ȤંȜȠȢ Il. 18.322) EHVLGHșȣȝȠ૨ IJ¶Į੣ ȝ੼ȞȠȢੑȟ઄ (HH 8.14)121. d) with persons, divinities and avenging spirits referred to as ‘fierce, ELWWHU¶ ILUVW LQ FODVVLFDO SRHWU\  įȡȚȝઃȢ ਚȖȡȠȚțȠȢ $r. (T 808 +), ੒ ʌĮȜĮȚઁȢįȡȚȝઃȢਕȜ੺ıIJȦȡਝIJȡ੼ȦȢ $Ag. 1501-2).

One may safely assume that the Mycenaean di-ri-mi-jo was felt as ‘sharp, keen, piercing’, or, more precisely, as a god acquainted with REMHFWVRU DFWLYLWLHV ZKLFK DUH GHVLJQDWHG DV įʌȚȝ઄Ȣ-or by the synonyms ੑȟ઄Ȣ, ʌȚțȡંȢ&RQVHTXHQWO\0\F'UƯPLRV/ may be understand either as an RQRPDVWLFYDULDQWRUHYHQDVD³VKRUWIRUP´RIDFRPSRXQGOLNH įȡȚȝȣȕİȜ੾Ȣ FI ȕ੼ȜȠȢ ੑȟઃ  įȡȚȝ઄ Il. 11.269/70), or *įȡȚȝ઄-IJȠȟȠȢ RU įȡȚȝȣȝ੼ȞȘȢ FI įȡȚȝઃ ȝ੼ȞȠȢ Od.    RU įȡȚȝ઄șȣȝȠȢ ZKLFK DUH QRQ120

The same applies to pains: ੑȟİ૙ĮȚ įૅੑį઄ȞĮȚ (Il. 11.272), ʌȚțȡ੹Ȣ ੩į૙ȞĮȢ ibid.271 and ੩į઀ȞȠȣıĮȞ ȕ੼ȜȠȢੑȟઃȖȣȞĮ૙țĮ įȡȚȝ઄ .268/9. 121 Cf. also IlșȣȝઁȢੑȟ઄Ȣ 6RSK ੑȟ઄șȣȝȠȢ (SLFK(XU DQGੑȟ઄ȤȠȜȠȢਕȞ੾ȡ 6ROIU ʌȚțȡંȤȠȜȠȢC.H.).

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attested in Alphabetic Greek, but are conceivable for a god such as Apollo DWDWLPHLQZKLFKWKHROGHSLWKHWįȡȚȝ઄ȢZDVFRPPRQO\XVHG,QIDFWWKH DOOHJHG įȡȚȝȣ-ȕİȜ੾ȢKDVDSHUIHFWSDUDOOHOLQWKH+RPHULc hapax ੑȟȣȕİȜ੾Ȣ (Il. 4.125), originally a possessive compound ‘who has sharp darts’122. 22. As to (2), a look at WKH JRGV ZKR DUH FDOOHG µVRQ RI =HXV¶ ǻȚઁȢ ȣੂંȢ) in Greek Poetry shows that only Dionysus, Hermes (and Ares in Late Greek) and Apollo fulfill this condition. a) Dionysus ZKR LV TXRWHG DV Ȉİȝ੼ȜĮȢ țĮ੿ ǻ઀ȠȢ ȣੇȠȢ E\ $OFDHXV ) 346.3), also in a formal variant in the Homeric Hymn to Dionysus (HH ǽȘȞઁȢțĮ੿ Ȉİȝ੼ȜȘȢਥȡȚțȣį੼ȠȢਕȖȜĮઁȞȣੂંȞ LVUHIHUUHGWR DV ǻȚઁȢ ʌĮ૙Ȣ ( Ba. 1 ਸ਼țȦ ǻȚઁȢ ʌĮ૙Ȣ IJ੾Ȟįİ ĬȘȕĮ઀ȦȞ ȤșંȞĮ  ǻȚંȞȣıȠȢ RU VLPSO\ DV ੒ ǻȚંȢ ibid.  ǻȚંȞȣıȠȢ  ੒ IJȠ૨ ǻȚંȢ 859- « IJઁȞ ǻȚઁȢ  ǻȚંȞȣıȠȞ). Dionysus is in fact a member of the triad together with Zeus and Hera in the Aiolis, as attested since Alcaeus (F 30 Voigt: 129 LP.1-10 ਕȞIJȓĮȠȞ ǻȓĮ  ı੻ į¶ ǹੁȠȜȒȚĮȞ >ț@ȣįĮȜȓȝĮȞ șȑȠȞ « IJઁȞ į੻ IJȑȡIJȠȞ « ǽȩȞȞȣııȠȞ ੩ȝȒıIJĮȞ  who mentions Zeus as protector of the suppliants (ਕȞIJȓĮȠȞǻȓĮ  +HUDDV$HROLDQ ǹੁȠȜȒȚĮȞ .7) and Dionysus as the third one, eating raZIOHVK IJઁȞį੻ IJȑȡIJȠȞ«ǽȩȞȞȣııȠȞ੩ȝȒıIJĮȞ He is never, though, as far as I know, referred to as ‘keen, sharp’.123 b) Hermes is often mentioned as the son of Zeus (and of Maia), twice in Homer (Od. 8.335 ਬȡȝİȚĮǻȚઁȢȣੂ੼ …)124, and frequently in the Homeric Hymn dedicated to him (HH 3.1 ਬȡȝોȞ  ǻȚઁȢ țĮ੿ ȂĮȚ੺įȠȢȣੂંȞ +HLVDOVRPHQWLRQHGZLWKRXWH[SOLFLWLQGLFDWLRQRI KLVQDPH ǻȚઁȢį’ ਥȡȚȠ઄ȞȚȠȢȣੂંȢ-«ǻȚઁȢਙȜțȚȝȠȢȣੂઁȢ ĭȠ઀ȕȠȣਝʌંȜȜȦȞȠȢ 125. c) Ares, being actually a son of Zeus, is first PHQWLRQHGDVǻȚઁȢȣੂંȢ in 4XLQWXV RI 6P\UQD ǻȚઁȢ ੕ȕȡȚȝȠȢ ȣੂઁȢ ਡȡȘȢ 1.189, also 1.72). 122

This meaning is different from the current translation ‘sharp-pointed’. This has been correctly observed by Suda s.v. ੑȟȣȕİȜ੾Ȣāੑȟ੼ȦȢ ȕ੺ȜȜȦȞ, ਵ ੑȟ૨ ȕ੼ȜȠȢ ਩ȤȦȞ, as against the Hesychian Gloss ੑȟȣȕİȜ੾Ȣǜ ੑȟ੼ȦȢ ȕȜȘșİ઀Ȣ, ਵ IJĮȤ੼ȦȢ ȕĮȜȜંȝİȞȠȢ. 123 As J. L. Melena has pointed out to me, in the tablet of Khania CHA Gq 5 both the Cretan Zeus and Dionysus are recipients of honey offerings and share the same sanctuary, namely that of Zeus (di-wijo-de). .1 di-wi-jo-‫́ڲ‬ di-we ۧ̀+ ‫̙̙̙*͒ۿ‬VAS + Aҕҕ> .2 di-wo-nu-so , ۧ̀+ ‫̙̙̙*͒ۿ‬VAS + Aҕ@ҕ> 124 Cf. also Il. 24.333 (speaks Zeus). 125 Cf. also HH 3.183, 432. In vocative cf. ibid 455 ǻȚઁȢ ȣੂ੼, 446 ǻȚઁȢ țĮ੿ ȂĮȚ੺įȠȢ ȣੂ੼, 550-1.

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The god, who incarnates (or simply designates) the bitter war, and is referred to as ੑȟȪȢLQIDFWDV\QRQ\PRIįȡȚȝ઄Ȣ Il. 2.440 ਥȖİ઀ȡRȝİȞ ੑȟઃȞ ૓ǹȡȘĮ et. al.), turns out to be a good candidate to have been FDOOHG'ULPLRV LHįȡȚȝ઄Ȣ in the first instance, or to have absorbed a Mycenaean minor god who bore this name. This interpretation has been brilliantly argued for by W. Pötscher126, who invokes the formular collocatLRQVįȡȚȝİ૙Įȝ੺ȤȘ Il. 15.696)127 DQGੑȟઃȞਡȡȘĮ128: ȝ੺ȤȘ DQG ਡȡȘȢ KDYH IRUPXODU HSLWKHWV ZKLFK DUH SUDFWLFDOO\ synonymous with įȡȚȝ઄ȢOn the other hand, the name of Ares has EHHQ DVVRFLDWHG E\ WKH $QFLHQWV ZLWK ਕȡ੺ µFXUVH¶ and with ʌંȜİȝȠȢ129 Moreover, the epithets of Ares in Homer point to a įȡȚȝઃȢșİંȢ130ȕȡȠIJȠȜȠȚȖંȢµFDXVLQJSDLQWRWKHPRUWDOV¶ıIJȣȖİȡંȢ µKRUULEOH¶ ȝȚĮȚijંȞȠȢ µEORRG-VWDLQHG¶ µVWDLQIXOO\ NLOOLQJ¶  Ƞ੣ȜȠȢ ‘destructive’, among others131. In any case, the fact is that Ares is also well attested in Linear B.132 The hypothesis remains therefore attractive, but raises some problems: Ares is not referred to as ‘son of Zeus’ before Quintus of Smyrna, and is not a member of a triade with Zeus and Hera. In summary: in spite of their designation as ‘son of Zeus’, Dionysus, Hermes and Ares are, in my opinion, not good candidates to be identified with di-ri-mi-jo as both are attested in Linear B, each one by his name, namely di-wo-nu-so (Pylos), e-ma-a2 and a-re, in different forms (Cnosos, Pylos, Thebes).

126

Pötscher 1987, 21ff. ȝȐȤȘȞ įȡȚȝİ૙ĮȞ (Hes. Th. 713). 128 Il. 2.440, also 4.352, 8.531, 18.305, 17.721, 19.237. 129 Cf. ਕȡ੾āİ੝Ȥ੾ “ਕȡ੺ȦȞ ਕ઀ȦȞ” (Il. 15.378) țĮ੿ ȕȜ੺ȕȘ ਲ ਥȞ IJ૶ ਡȡİȚ, IJȠȣIJ੼ıIJȚȞ ਥȞ ʌȠȜ੼ȝ૳ (Il. 8.100) ਕʌİȚȜ੾. İ੝Ȥ੾. țĮIJ੺ȡĮ (Hsch.), also ʌĮȡ੹ IJ੽Ȟ ਕȡ੺Ȟ, IJ੽Ȟ ȖİȞȠȝ੼ȞȘȞ ȕȜ੺ȕȘȞ ਥț ʌȠȜ੼ȝȠȣ (EM). 130 Pötscher 1987, 22ff. with references. 131 +RPHULFȝ૵ȜȠȢ ਡȡȘȠȢ ‘the turmoil of Ares’ cannot be separated from Hittite PDOODL‫ې‬DUUDL‘milling, grinding’, as has been convincingly argued by Barnes 2009, see Il. 2.401 İ੝ȤંȝİȞȠȢ ș੺ȞĮIJંȞ IJİ ijȣȖİ૙Ȟ țĮ੿ ȝ૵ȜȠȞ ਡȡȘȠȢ ‘in prayer to escape death and the grind of Ares/war’, 7.147 ȝİIJ੹ ȝ૵ȜȠȞ ਡȡȘȠȢ ‘this armour he then wore himself through the grind of battle’. In any case, Ares is not exclusively a god of war: he is also a god of material wealth (cf. Ares Aphneios in Tegea, Arcadia), and the cows of the Dawn, as convincingly argued by Guilleux 2012, 462ff. 132 García Ramón 2008. 127

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23. Apollo, who is not attested by name in Linear B, fulfills, in my opinion, the conditions for being considered as the continuant of Mycenaean di-ri-mi-jo, or as the god who has absorbed him133. Two arguments may be invoked in support of this view: (a) Apollo is mentioned as son of Zeus in Homer DOVR LQ IRUPXODLF FRQWH[WV E  sharpness, the quality concealed by the name di-ri-mi-jo, is well-known characteristic of Apollo (and of the arrows) since Homer: (a) Apollo LVRIWHQPHQWLRQHGDVǻȚઁȢȣੂંȢZLWKH[DFWO\WKHVDPHZRUG order as di-ri-mi-jo in tablet PY Tn 316, namely in the formulas /ǻȚzȢȣੂંȢਝʌંȜȜȦȞ # (after the heptemimeres: Il. 16.720 et al.)134 and their variants /ਙȞĮȟ ǻȚzȢ ȣੂંȢ ਝʌંȜȜȦȞ # (after the trochaic caesura: Il. 7.23 et al.)135: Il. 16.720 IJ૶ ȝȚȞ ਥİȚıȐȝİȞȠȢ ʌȡȠıȑijȘ ǻȚઁȢ ȣੂઁȢ ਝʌȩȜȜȦȞ Il.  IJ੽Ȟ ʌȡȩIJİȡȠȢ ʌȡȠıȑİȚʌİȞ ਙȞĮȟ ǻȚઁȢ ȣੂઁȢ ਝʌȩȜȜȦȞ, cf. also in Il.  ਖȗȩȝİȞȠȚ ǻȚઁȢ ȣੂઁȞ ਦțȘȕȩȜȠȞ ਝʌȩȜȜȦȞĮ The coincidence with the word order of Myc. di-ri-mi-MRGL-ZRL-je-we is complete when the Homeric collocation occurs in dative: Il. ǽȘȞȓIJİțĮ੿ ǻȚઁȢȣੈȚਦțȘȕȩȜ૳Ƞ੆ ȝİʌȐȡȠȢȖİ136 … ‘ (pleasing) to Zeus, and Zeus’s son, who strikes from afar, who in former times …’ PY Tn 316 v.9 di-ZH « GL-ri-mi-jo di-ZR  L-je-we AUR *213VAS 1 [ ] vacat.

Apollo is also designated by means of the collocation ਙȞĮȟǻȚzȢȣੂંȢ, without indication of the name (Il. 5.105 ੯ȡıİȞ ਙȞĮȟ ǻȚઁȢ ȣੂઁȢ ਕʌȠȡȞȪȝİȞȠȞȁȣțȓȘșİȞDQGǻȚઁȢIJ੼țȠȢ Il. 21.229). (b) Apollo ZDV RUZDVSHUFHLYHGE\WKH*UHHNVDV įȡȚȝ઄ȢKHKDGWKH personality that the etymology allows to assume for Myc. di-ri-mijo, or at least shared some of his salient features. The attestations of Apollo in Greek poetry point unmistakingly to a god who is DFTXDLQWHG ZLWK DQG PDVWHU RI  REMHFWV OLNH GDUWV DUURZV ȕ੼ȜİĮ  133

Apollo is integrated in a divine triad with Leto and Artemis. There is, to my knowledge, no attestation of a triad composed of Zeus, Hera and Apollo. 134 Cf. also Il.7.326 ( 20.82), Od. 8.334 et al. 135 Cf. also Il. 7.37, 16.804, 20.103. 136 The case form attested in Mycenaean (dat. /Diw-ei/) would not fit a Homeric formula: a formulaic segment after the trihemimeres caesura could only be created at a date in which the dative form of the -u-stems was not /-ei/, but /-i/, i.e. in PostMycenaean times.

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and bows, all of them also referred to as įȡȚȝ઄Ȣ †21a). It may be UHPHPEHUHG DW WKLV SRLQW WKDW WKRVH ZKR WKURZ D ʌȚțȡઁȞ ੑȚıIJંȞ often invoke Apollo, as seen in the case of Pandaros (Il. 4.118) and Odysseus (Od. 22.7-8)137. Moreover, Apollo is referred to as ʌİȜİȝ઀ȗȦȞ«IJંȟ૳ 3LO IJȠȟȠijંȡȠȢµERZ-bearer’ (HH 3.13 > @DVIJȠȟȠijંȡȠȞțĮ੿țĮȡIJİȡઁȞȣੂઁȞ3LO. ੖ȞʌȡંȖȠȞȠȞ țĮ੿ IJȠȟȠijંȡȠȞ ǻ੺ȜȠȣ șİȠįȝ੺IJĮȢ ıțȠʌંȞ et al.), and throws his ȕ੼ȜȠȢਥȤİʌİȣț੻Ȣ Il. 1.51, 4.128ff.). Moreover, the epithets given to Apollo show a close relation with arrows and darts: ਦțȘȕંȜȠȢ (Il. 1.96, Hes. Th. 94+) ‘attaining his aim from afar’, ‘far shooting’ (also ਦțĮȕંȜȠȢ 6 OT 162), ਦțĮIJȘȕંȜȠȢ µKLWWLQJ WKH mark at will’ (HH 3.234+, also ਦțĮIJĮȕંȜȠȢ 3L P. 8.88 +), and ਦțĮIJȘȕİȜ੼IJȘȢ(HH 1.157). All this gives Apollo the profile of an evil god įİȚȞંȢIl.  ȜĮȠıંȠȢµZKRURXVHVWKHSHRSOHLQDUPV¶ Il. 20. 79), ੑȜȠઆIJĮIJȠȢ HH  ZKRLVDPDVWHURIGDUWV +RPȕ੼ȜȠȢįȡȚȝ઄) and is profiled in Homer as archer and killer. If di-ri-mi-jo /'UƯP-io-/ reflects a FRPSRXQGOLNH įȡȚȝȣ-ȕİȜ੾ȢµRIHYLOGDUWV¶RU įȡȚȝ઄-IJȠȟȠȢµRIHYLOERZV and arrows’, the match with Apollo seems a perfect one. It must remain open at this point whether this god is truly Greek or whether he has in fact come from the Near East. In this latter case he could have either a connection to the Anatolian Lord of the Arrow (Hitt. Yarri, Babyl. Erra), or to the Ugaritic archer god Rešep Mikal, who has been assimilated in Greek under the form ਡȝȣțȜȠȢ &\SUXV DOVR LQ /DFRQLD hence the place name ਡȝ઄țȜĮȚDQGWKHHSLFOHVLVRI$SROORਝȝȣțȜĮ૙ȠȢin Sparta)138 or represent a synthesis of at least two gods, one of whom should be the Anatolian Lord of the Arrows.139 In conclusion: di-ri-mi-jo may be considered as a Mycenaean forerunner of Apollo. We assume that the collocation [son of Zeus] points to a connection between Mycenaean di-ri-mi-jo and Apollo, who, in contrast to other gods who are also referred to in the same way (Dionysus, Hermes in epic poetry, Ares in Nonnos), does not occur in Mycenaean 137

Il. 4.118-9 ĮੇȥĮ į’ ਥʌ੿ Ȟİȣȡૌ țĮIJİțંıȝİȚ ʌȚțȡઁȞ ੑȧıIJંȞ, / İ੡ȤİIJȠ į ਝʌંȜȜȦȞȚ ǻȣțȘȖİȞ੼ȧ țȜȣIJȠIJંȟ૳ ‘swiftly he arranged the bitter arrow along the bowstring, and made his prayer to Apollo…of glorious arch’ and Od. 22.7-8 … Į੅ țİ IJ઄ȤȦȝȚ, ʌંȡૉ į੼ ȝȠȚ İ੣ȤȠȢ ਝʌંȜȜȦȞ. / ਷, țĮ੿ ਥʌ ਝȞIJȚȞં૳’ ș઄ȞİIJȠ ʌȚțȡઁȞ ੑȧıIJંȞ ‘…if I can hit it, and Apollo grants me the glory”. He spoke and steered a bitter arrow against Antinoos’. 138 Cf. also the sanctuary ਝȝȣțȜĮ૙ȠȞ, and the month ਝȝȣțȜĮ૙ȠȢ (extensively on this Vegas Sansalvador 2012). 139 Cf. recently Haas 1994, 368ff., Graf 2010, 9ff., 136f., 139ff.

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texts. Moreover, the personality of Apollo, as the lord of the Arrows who deals with VKDUS GDUWV ʌȚțȡઁȞ ȠੁıIJંȞ  DQG NLOOV IURP DIDU ਦțĮIJȘȕંȜȠȢ , fits the pattern of an evil god, as sharp and keen as the name of di-ri-mi-jo įȡȚȝ઄Ȣ VXJJHVWV 24. Let us turn to Ancient Italy, and especially to the Sabellic domain, where the absence of mentions of Juno by name is somehow surprising, given that Juno is actually attested in Etruria under the form Uni ( LnjQƯ-)140. The situation in Sabellic Italy is not identical with that in Mycenaean and post-Mycenaean Greece, as the data are contemporary and there is no possibility of establishing a chronological sequence. However, the theoretical framework and the approach remain the same: it is possible to assume that a goddess (or more than one) matching Juno, or a Proto- or Pre-Juno previous to the Classical Juno, did exist in the Sabellic area and was/were mentioned by (an)other name(s). The search for traces of a goddess (or more goddesseses) who are forerunner(s) of Juno may be attempted on the basis of linguistic (names, epithets) and cultual features which could fit the pattern of the earliest peculiarities of Juno, i.e. before she became the “classical” Roman Juno. In what follows, an attempt will be made to show that Oscan Pupluna- (§ 25) and Umbrian Vesuna- (§ 26) match the Latin Juno, at least in some of her features prior to her integration in the Classical Roman Pantheon as the spouse of Iuppiter.141 25. The epithet Populona for Juno is attested in inscriptions of the Oscan region, namely Northern Campania and Samnium, between the first century BC and end of the second century AD: IUNO POPULONA: (Campania: Teanum Sidicinum (CIL X 4780, 4789, 4790, 4791), also Apulia, Calabria, Luceria142. X 4780 [IU] NONI POPULONA[E]  VDFUXP (Teanum). Cf. also X Anniae $UJLYDHVDFHUG RWL IUNONIS  POPULONAE /, X 4790 1RQLDH3ULVFD>[email protected]VDFHUG RWL IUNON(IS) POPULON(AE)143.

A complex formula with the indication REGINAE POPULONIAE (dat.) is also attested in Dacia: (IUNONI / REGINAE PO/PULONIAE  DEAE PATRIAE CIL 140

Cf. the overview by Rix 1981, 111ff. For more detailed discussion of Osc. Pupluna- and Umbr Vesuna- cf. García Ramón (forthcoming). 142 Torelli 1969/70, 70. 143 Also X 4791 9LWHOOLDH  9LUJLOLDH  )HOVLDH >[email protected] IU[N] ONIS POPULO[N(AE)], dat. IUNONI POPULON(AE) (Torelli 1969/1970, 20ff.). 141

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III 1075: dedication of a Samnian legionary) and in Samnium (IX 2630 IUNONI REG(INAE) POP(ULONAE)). The epithet is connected with populus by the Latin scholars, cf. Myth. Vat. 3.4.3 3RSXORQLDP TXRG SRSXORV PXOWLSOLFHW144. This in fact makes sense ex Latino ipso, but is no more than just a folk-etymology (or “Gelehrtenetymologie”) due to the formal similarity with populus (Umbr. puplum, poplom), the outcome of an agent noun *po-plh1-ó- of *pelh1µEUDQGLVKZDYH¶ FI+RPʌİȜİȝ઀ȗİȚȞʌંȜİȝȠȢ DQGPHDQWRULJLQDOO\³WKH collective who wave the arms”, as convincingly argued by Helmut Rix145. In my opinion, Lat. 3RSXORQD3RSXORQLD not to be separated from the Oscan divine name, is certainly an epithet, noted as pupluna[ in a fragment of a dedication (Sa 61: Mefete, near $TXLQXP DQWHTXHP 300"  which has been edited by P. Poccetti146 and should be read as: deiv]ҥL pupluna[i]147. The divine name occurs also in two fragmentary vase inscriptions (from Teano) in the Latin alphabet of the Republican age, which have been recently published by D. Izzo148: [---]tted puplunai, and [---]͓ pupl[unai. The occurence of epichoric in pupluna[ (instead of ) and of in the two forms in the Latin alphabet clearly point to /u/, not to /o/, which would have been noted in epichoric Oscan and /o/ in Latin. 7KLV FOHDUO\ SRLQWV WR SXSOǀQƗ-/ not to +/popOǀQƗ-/. If the starting point was *SRSƒO-ǀQƗ- the first syllable should be noted as in the Oscan alphabet (cf. O. púd “quod”). We can therefore conclude that O. pupluna / pupluna is not etymologically connected with populus149: the basic form of the feminine god name in -ǀQƗ- is * NX֒HNX֒(h1)lo- (: Ved. FDNUi- ‘circle’, Eng. wheel), the masculine counterpart of which is Umbrian pupĜLNR- (cf. %HOOǀQƗ- :: bellicus). O. pupluna, pupluna SXSOǀ ҕQƗ-/ (*NX֒HNX֒lo-) may be 144

Also Mart. Cap. Nupt. 2.149 Iuno, ... te ... Poplonam plebes, Curitim debent memorare bellantes ... 145 Rix 1997, 82 “la schiera che brandisce (le armi)”, with reference to pilumnoe poploe ‘fighters with javelin’ in Carm.Sal. PF 224L. 146 Poccetti 1980, 83-4, as the author kindly confirmed to me, after a new autopsy of the inscription. 147 Instead of the first reading ,[email protected]৆HL pupluna[i] (Poccetti 1980). 148 Izzo 1994, 279 (kind indication of Daniel Maras, per litteras). 149 Cf. also Umb. poplo-, also PN Populonia in Etruria). A completely different word is the GN Fufluns (: the Etruscan Bacchus), which actually means “Herr des Gartens” (Meiser 1986: 215) or “signore della vegetazione, degli alberi, dell’ edere” (Rix 1998: 214): PSabell. *IǀIOǀQV, a derivative in *-h3no- to *fuflo-/*IǀիIORdissimilated from *flu-flo- (*bhOǀ-dhlo- “Blühort, Garten” or * bhobhlo- “chio che fiorisce”).

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understood as ‘the Lady of the Cyclic Time’: the theonym would match Lat. *&\FOǀQD, in the same way that the masculine U. SXSĜLNR- */pupliko/ in the brilliant interpretation of A.L. Prosdocimi150 would match Lat. cyclicus. The Latin form Populona reflects a remodelling of the Oscan form, with Sabellic representation of labiovelars as bilabials (*NX֒HNX֒lo- > PSabell. */puplo-/). One may safely assume that the goddess has been assimilated as epiclesis to ,njQǀ and survived in the Oscan area as Populona by secondary association with lat. populus. In fact, three characteristics of Roman Juno fit the pattern of a former Oscan ‘Lady of the Cyclic Time’, related to the cycle of the year and to Umb. SXSĜLNR-: (a) Juno is a moon goddess (her original character according the Ancients), actually “the deified new moon”, i.e. “the young one”, as recently argued by B. W. Fortson151. She is referred to as Juno Covella in the Kalendae of every month152, and characteristically connected with Cyclic Time (cf. Ianus Iunonius Macr. 1.9.15). (b) Juno is characteristically connected with feminine nature and matters: weddings153, births154 and the months of pregnancy155 (Iuno Lucina), processions of women (Matronalia). (c) Juno is the counterpart of masculine Genius (cf. among others Sen. Ep. 110 singulis enim et Genium et Iunonen dederunt). The assumption that Lat. Iuno Populona reflects an earlier Oscan goddess ‘of the Cycle’ (/SXSOǀ̙QƗ-/: *NX֒XNX֒OǀQƗ-) can hardly be independent of a well established fact, namely the existence in Umbrian of a divine couple, which consists of a masculine puemun156 designated as 150

Prosdocimi 1996, 543. Fortson 2002, 72.3, with references. 152 The Kalendae, when the new moon makes itself visible, are sacred to Iuno. It is the day when the pontifex minor announces that the new moon becomes visible, and tells Iuno Covella, the day of the Nones corresponding to the year (Varro L.L. 6.27). 153 Cf. Iuno Iuga (cf. ૠǾȡĮ ǽȣȖ઀Į): ,XQRQLV ,XJDH TXDP SXWDEDQW PDWULPRQLD iungere (P.F. 92 L), unde et Iuno iugalis dicitur Serv. Aen. 4.16). 154 Cf. Varro 5.69 TXDH LGHR TXRTXH XLGHWXU DE /DWLQLV ,XQR /XFLQD GLFWD  HW OXFHWXHOTXRGDEOXFHHLXVTXDTXLVFRQFHSWXVHVWXVTXHDGHDPTXDSDUWXVTXLV LQOXFHPO!XQDLXXDWGRQHFPHQVLEXVDFWLVSURGX[LWLQOXFHPILFWDDELXXDQGR HWOXFH,XQR/XFLQDDTXRSDULHQWHVHDPLQXRFDQW 155 Cf. also Myth. Vat. 3.4.3 Haec etiam coniugiis et partubus praeesse dicitur. 156 Attested also in gen. puemunes IV 3 et. al., dat. puemune III 26 et al. 151

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“cyclic”, like pupĜLNR- ³țȣțȜȚțંȢ´DQGRIDIHPHQLQHvesuna- (s. below). This brings us to the path of the Umbrian match of Roman Juno. 24. The goddess vesuna- is attested in Umbrian (dat. vesune TI IV 3.6.10 et al.), and in Marsian (uesune VM 3: Antinum) as well as in a Latin dialect coloured inscription from Miliona and in the Etruscan mirror from Castelgiorgio (ca. 300)157 cf. for instance IV 11 klavles persnihmu puemune pupĜike et vesune puemunes pupĜikes pustin ereçlu “Pray with the spatulas to to Puemun- PupĜikoand Vesuna of Puemun- PupĜiko- at each icon” (Weiss).

The name of the goddess Umb. vesuna- (and Mars. Vesuna-) allows for an interpretation as the ‘Lady of the Year’ (cf. OE gear ‘year’, Germ. Jahr: *(H)L֒ ƝU-o-),158 or ‘of the calves’ (cf. Lat. ,njQǀ beside LnjQƯ[ ‘eifer’, Hom. ਾȡĮ ȕȠ૵ʌȚȢ  8PEU vesuna- goes back to *X֒HV V ǀ̙QƗ- from *X֒HWHV-ǀQƗ-159, a feminine derivative in -ǀQƗ- to *X֒pWHV- ‘year’ (: Gk. (ࢭ)਩IJȠȢ 160 A variant X֒HW-elo- lives on in the Italic domain with the sense ‘yearling’ (Umbr. uitlu- ‘calf’: Lat. vitulus, also the place-name Osc. Vitel(l)iú “Italia”)161. The name of Umb. vesuna-, Mars. Vesunaimmediately evokes the connection of Juno (and Hera) with the year (as well as with cows and, more precisely, heifers). Let us shortly remember the essentials about Umb. vesuna- as the divinity matching the aspects of Juno mentioned above (§ 25). (a) vesuna- is actually a divinity of the cyclic time, like her partner puemon-, who is pupĜLNR-, namely “the god who goes in a circle”, i.e. the god of the yearly cycle. As convincingly argued by M.

157

The mirror, now in the Baltimore Museum, which four figures and their names (hrcle, fufluns, vesuna and fatuus () in a Bacchic context, has been insightfully interpreted by Weiss 2010, 236, 242ff. 158 Gk. ਾȡĮ ‘from *(H)L֒ ƝU-eh2-, cf. ੮ȡĮ ‘spring’ is actually the personification of the flowering period of the year. 159 “Herrin des Jungviehs” (Rix apud Meiser 1986, 255f), “Lady of the Year” (Weiss 2010, Waanders 2003). 160 Cf. also *X֒HWV-ó- ‘of the current year’ (cf. CLuv. XããD- ‘year’, HLuv. u-VDL-), Ved. YDWVi- ‘yearling, calf’ (triƒ µ\HDU¶  DV ZHOO DV WKH VHFRQGDU\ IRUP YDWVDUi‘year’ (pariƒµFRPSOHWH\HDU¶VD‫ƒۦ‬µFRXUVHRIWKH\HDU¶ PµILIWK VL[WK \HDULQ the cycle of five (six) years’ and Skr. YDWVDOi- ‘attached to her calf’. 161 Cf. also the gentilices Vetlius /Vitlius, Vetulius, Vitulius (Campania), Vitullius (Histria).

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Weiss162, vesuna- is also directly connected with the fixation of fates of the New Year by trying to establish the fates of the New Year163. (b) and (c) vesuna- is the feminine counterpart of puemunpupĜLNR-164, just like O. pupluna (s. above). In conclusion: The assumption that Osc. pupluna matches an Oscan Juno avant la lettre, which was associated as the epithet populona fits perfectly into the pattern of continuity we have proposed between Mycenaean and Post Mycenaean gods: major gods may have different forerunners in different regions and a major god may reflect the confluence of more than one divinity, who may survive as one of his cultual epithets. The same applies to Umbr. vesuna-, a goddess of the Cyclic Year, partner of a pupĜLNR- (: cyclicus), the profile of whom matches that of Roman Juno.

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Simon, E. 1974. “Poseidon.” Lexicon Iconographicum Mythologiae Classicae VII. 446-479. Zürich: Artemis. Taillardat, J. 1984. ³8QH SDQpJ\ULH j &QRVVRV" ¬ SURSRV GH OD WDEOHWWH Fp(1)14.1.” REG 97: 356-373. Torelli, M. 1969-1970. “Luceria.” RendAccLinc 24: 20-21. Tucker, E.F. 1990. 7KH &UHDWLRQ RI 0RUSKRORJLFDO 5HJXODULW\ (DUO\ *UHHN9HUEVLQ-pǀ-iǀ-yǀ-~ǀDQG-tǀ. Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Rupprecht. Waanders, F. 2003. “Pantoia – A Mixed Salad.” Hyperboreus 9, 16-21. Watkins, C. 1973. “Etyma Eniana (1. XHJHǀCeu.” HSCPh 77, 195-201 Selected Writings, Innsbruck 1994, 487-493). Vegas Sansalvador, A. 1992. “ȋĮȝ઄ȞȘ, ein Beiname der Demeter in Olympia. ” Glotta 70.3-4: 166-180. —. 2008. “El epíteto ਝȝȣțȜĮ૙ȠȢ, el topónimo ਝȝ઄țȜĮȚ y el dios sirio Mikal.” Faventia 30: 69-82. :HLVVȂ. Language and Ritual in Sabellic Italy. Leiden: Brill. Weilhartner, J. 2005. 0\NHQLVFKH2SIHUJDEHQQDFK$XVVDJHGHU/LQHDU%Texte. Wien: AÖAW. Willi, A. 1999. “Zur Verwendung und Etymologie von griechisch ਥȡȚ-.” Historische Sprachwissenschaft 112: 86-100.

TWO EPITHETS OF ZEUS IN LACONIA IN THE LIGHT OF HOMERIC PHRASEOLOGY ANA VEGAS SANSALVADOR UNIVERSITY OF COLOGNE1

,.ĮʌʌઆIJĮȢ 1. According to Pausanias, near the Laconian city of Gythium there was a stone named, after the healing of Orestes’ madness, ǽİઃȢȀĮʌʌઆIJĮȢ in Doric: Paus. 3.  īȣș઀Ƞȣ į੻ IJȡİ૙Ȣ ȝ੺ȜȚıIJĮ ਕʌ੼ȤİȚ ıIJĮį઀ȠȣȢ ਕȡȖઁȢ Ȝ઀șȠȢǜ ੗ȡ੼ıIJȘȞȜ੼ȖȠȣıȚțĮșİıș੼ȞIJĮਥʌૅĮ੝IJȠ૨ ʌĮ઄ıĮıșĮȚIJોȢȝĮȞ઀ĮȢǜįȚ੹ IJȠ૨IJȠ ੒ Ȝ઀șȠȢ੩ȞȠȝ੺ıșȘǽİઃȢȀĮʌʌઆIJĮȢțĮIJ੹ ȖȜ૵ııĮȞIJ੽ȞǻȦȡ઀įĮ

The periegete explains the epithet in connection with the cessation of Orestesૅ PDGQHVV ʌĮ઄ıĮıșĮȚIJોȢȝĮȞ઀ĮȢ WKHSDUULFLGHZHDUHWROGZDV healed when he sat down on it2. Pausanias seems to consider the form as a GHULYDWLYH RI țĮʌʌĮ઄Ȧ %DFFK\OLGHV 3LQGDU 3, a Doric variant of Att. țĮIJĮʌĮ઄Ȧ CSXW DQ HQG VWRS 7KLV LV FHUWDLQO\ ZURQJ VLQFH D IRUP OLNH

ȀĮʌʌĮ઄IJĮȢFRXOGQRWKDYHGHYHORSHGLQWRȀĮʌʌઆIJĮȢ 0RVW SUREDEO\ ȀĮʌʌઆIJĮȢ JRHV EDFN WR .ĮIJĮ-ʌȦ IJ੺ IJસȢ ZLWK apocope and assimilation, which are usual in Laconian4, cf. the epithets 1

This paper is part of a Vigoni Project which, under the title Divine Epithets in Ancient Greece: A Linguistic and Philological Approach: the Case of Laconia and Aeolis, is running between the University of Cologne and the 8QLYHUVLWj&DWWROLFD of Milan. I am very grateful for much helpful advice to Á. Ruiz Pérez (Santiago de Compostela), M. Cantilena, A. Filoni, E. Langella (Milan) and to J.L. García Ramón and D. Kölligan (Cologne), who heard an earlier version of this FRQWULEXWLRQUHVSRQVLELOity for the ideas remains, of course, my own. 2 Orestes also embraced the ੑȝijĮȜંȢ at Delphi in order to be healed (A. Eum. 40). 3 %DFFK)%3LN. 6FKROD 4 Laconian testimonies of compounds with țĮIJ੺ show apocope before any consonant, cf. țĮșĮȜĮșĮȞ (țĮIJ੹ ș੺ȜĮııĮȞ con por [[email protected]"  țĮıțİȣĮȞ (țĮIJ੹ ıțİȣ੺Ȟ), țĮȝȝ੼ȞİȚȞǜ țĮIJĮȝ੼ȞİȚȞ. ȁ੺țȦȞİȢ (Hsch.).

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ਝȝȕȠȜȠȖ੾ȡĮ µZKR SXWV RII ROG DJH¶ $SKURGLWH  IRU ਝȞĮȕȠȜȠȖ੾ȡĮ ਝȝȕȠ઄ȜȚȠȢ µZKR JLYHV JRRG DGYLFH¶ =HXV 5 for ਝȞĮȕȠ઄ȜȚȠȢ ȀĮȕ੺IJĮȢ µZKRGHVFHQGV¶ =HXV IRUȀĮIJĮȕ੺IJĮȢ cf. §2). 7KHVHFRQGPHPEHURIWKHFRPSRXQGÛʌȦIJસȢFDQEHLQWHUSUHWHGHLWKHU as a derivative in -WƗV (i.e. DV D KDSORORJLFDO IRUP IURP ÛʌȦIJĮ-IJસȢ DV proposed by Felix Solmsen6), or less probably, in -ƗV, from ÛʌઆIJ-સȢ ,Q ERWK FDVHV LW ZRXOGEH D GHULYDWLYH RI ʌȦIJ੺ȠȝĮȚ µIO\ IOLW¶ Il. + ), which can be traced back to IE caus. *p۸th2- H L֒ H-, cf. Skt. SƗWi\DWL ‘makes fly’, WKLV EHLQJ D YDULDQW RI ʌȠIJ੺ȠȝĮȚ UHPRGHOHG ʌȠIJ੼ȠȝĮȚ  µIO\ IOLW¶ Il. +) from *poth2-pL֒ e- (Skt. SDWi\DWL ‘flies’7, Av. 3.Pl. (a)pataiiΩn), the iterative RI ʌ੼IJȠȝĮȚ ‘fly’ (Il  ʌ੼IJĮȝĮȚ LQ 3LQGDU  IURP ,( péth2- ‘fly, rush’, cf. Skt. SiWDWL ‘flies, falls’8, YAv. pataiti ‘id.’, Lat. SHWǀ ‘make for, reach’, OWelsh 3.Pl. hedant ‘volant’. 2. The examination of these forms raises two preliminary questions: a) is IE *p۸th2- H L֒ H- originally the causative of *péth2- ‘fly’ as suggested by Lat. VǀSLǀ ‘make sleep’, ONorse søfa ‘kill’ (: *VX֒ǀSLHR-), also Skt. VYƗSi\DWL ‘makes sleep, kills’ (with -pL֒ R-) against VYiSDWL ‘sleeps’ from IE *VX֒HS- ‘fall asleep’9" b) does the apparent match of causative SƗWi\DWL DQG ʌȦIJ੺ȠȝĮȚ DV against SDWi\DWL DQG ʌȠIJ੺ȠȝĮȚ UHIOHFW DQ LQKHULWHG RSSRVLWLRQ LQ terms of causative *p۸th2- H L֒ H- against iterative *poth2-pL֒ H-" 2.1 In Vedic the opposition between causative SƗW-i\D- and iterative pat-i\D- is clearly shown by the following passages: RV 1.48.5d ~W SƗWD\DWL SDN‫܈‬í۬a‫“ ۊ‬she (Uৢas) urges birds on to flying” [CAUS]. RV 5.83.4a SUi YƗ̗ WƗ YƗ̗ QWL SDWi\DQWL YLG\~WD‫ۊ‬- “winds blow, thunderbolts fall (fly)” [ITER]. RV 1.135.9b DQWiU QDGƯ̗ WH SDWi\DQW\ XN‫܈‬i۬R “bulls, that fly in the river” [ITER].

5

Aphrodite ਝȝȕȠȜȠȖ੾ȡĮ 3DXV  =HXV ਝȝȕȠ઄ȜȚȠȢ, and Athena ਝȝȕȠȣȜ઀Į and Dioscuri ਝȝȕȠ઄ȜȚȠȚ (Paus. 3.13.6). 6 Solmsen 1907, 337, proposes *țĮIJĮʌȦIJĮIJ੺Ȣ. 7 Jamison 1983: 62. 8 It is plausible that *peth2- ‘fly’ and *peth1- ‘fall’ have merged, as suggested by Skt. SiWDWL instead of the expected +SiWKDWL from *peth2-, with generalization of the a۬it-variant pat- as the reflex of *peth1-. 9 See Ribezzo 1912, 149 ff., apud Klingenschmitt 1978, 8ff.

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2.2 In contrast LQ +RPHULF *UHHN ʌȦIJ੺ȠȝĮȚ [  DQG ʌȠIJ੺ȠȝĮȚ ʌȠIJ੼ȠȝĮȚ (3x) seem to be synonymous, with no trace of the assumed original opposition. They are iterative ‘flit’ or iterative-distributive ‘fly repeatedly’ (iterative, cf. Il. 2.315, Od. 24.7, Il. 2.462, HHMerc.558) or ‘fly’ (iterative-distributive, cf. Il. 12.287): ȝ੾IJȘȡ įૅ ਕȝijİʌȠIJ઼IJȠ ੑįȣȡȠȝ੼ȞȘ ij઀ȜĮ IJ੼țȞĮ ³DQG WKH PRWKHU IOLWWHG around them, wailing for her dear young ones” Il. 2.315. ȞȣțIJİȡ઀įİȢ IJȡ઀ȗȠȣıĮȚʌȠIJ੼ȠȞIJĮȚਥʌİ઀ ț੼ IJȚȢਕʌȠʌ੼ıૉıȚȞ³ EDWV IOLWabout gibbering, when one has fallen off” Od. 24.7. (ੑȡȞ઀șȦȞ਩șȞİĮ ਩ȞșĮțĮ੿ ਩ȞșĮʌȠIJ૵ȞIJĮȚਕȖĮȜȜંȝİȞĮʌIJİȡ઄ȖİııȚ³ ELUGV  flit here and there in the pride of their wings” Il. 2.462. ਥȞIJİ૨șİȞ į੽ ਩ʌİȚIJĮ ʌȠIJઆȝİȞĮȚ ਙȜȜȠIJİ ਙȜȜૉ  țȘȡ઀Į ȕંıțȠȞIJĮȚ ³ EHHV  from there they go flitting now this way, now that, to feed on honeycombs” HHMerc.558. ੬ȢIJ૵ȞਕȝijȠIJ੼ȡȦıİȜ઀șȠȚʌȦIJ૵ȞIJȠșĮȝİȚĮ઀Įੂ ȝ੻Ȟਙȡૅ ਥȢȉȡ૵ĮȢĮੂ įૅ ਥț ȉȡઆȦȞਥȢਝȤĮ઀ȠȣȢȕĮȜȜȦȝ੼ȞȦȞ³VRLQFHVVDQWO\IOHZWKHVWRQHVYROOH\HG from both sides, / some on the Trojans, others from the Trojans on the Achaeans” Il. 12.287-9.

To sum up: Vedic shows a clear opposition causative/iterative, irrespective of its being inherited10 or due to a secondary differentiation11, whereas Greek generalizes the iterative-distributive $NWLRQVDUW12. 2Q WKH EDVLV RI WKLV VWDWHPHQW WKH HSLWKHW ȀĮʌʌઆIJĮȢ ought to be LQWHUSUHWHG DV ³ZKR IOLHV GRZQ´  țĮIJ੺  ʌȦIJ>੺IJ@ĮȢ  ZLWK WKH LWHUDWLYH $NWLRQVDUW ZKLFK ʌȦIJĮ- shows. It is true that one can hardly imagine a stone “flying GRZQUHSHDWHGO\´IURPWKHVN\EXWWKHIDFWLVWKDWʌȦIJ੺ȠȝĮȚ occurs in 12.287-9 (cf. supra  ZLWK Ȝ઀șȠȚ DV LWV VXEMHFW ,W UHPDLQV WR HOXFLGDWHZKLFKRIWKHUHDGLQJVRIʌȦIJ੺ȠȝĮȚXQGHUOLHVWKHVHFRQGPHPEHU of the name of the stone representing Zeus (Paus. 3.22.1).

10

6HH*RWǀ-6. According to Jamison 1983: 115 no. 21, the secondary character of SƗWi\DWL is proved by the fact that it occurs only twice in the RV and becomes more common in later texts. 12 On the other hand, the iterative formations can show a causative use because both functions share the so called “innere Pluralität”: the iterative by means of the “Wiederholung der Handlung” and the causative by the “doppeltes Subjekt”, 0HLVHUQR.|OOLJDQ-8. See as well Kölligan 2004 “wenn zwei dasselbe tun”, http://ifl.phil-fak.uni-koeln.de/fileadmin/linguistik/hvs/pdfs /DK/publis_koelligan_Jan13.pdf). 11

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3. The compound may only be understood on the basis of a close H[DPLQDWLRQ RI WKH FROORFDWLRQV RI ʌȦIJ੺ȠȝĮȚ 7KHVH PD\ EH VXPPDUL]HG as follows: 3.1 [SPARK – FLY REPEATEDLY] ਩Ȟșૅ ਥțȞȘઁȢ੕ȡȠȣıİȞਙȞĮȟਦț੺İȡȖȠȢਝʌંȜȜȦȞ ਕıIJ੼ȡȚİੁįંȝİȞȠȢȝ੼ı૳ ਵȝĮIJȚǜIJȠ૨ įૅਕʌઁ ʌȠȜȜĮ੿ ıʌȚȞșĮȡ઀įİȢʌȦIJ૵ȞIJȠı੼ȜĮȢįૅİੁȢȠ੝ȡĮȞઁȞੈțİȞ “There the far-shooting lord Apollo darted off the ship, looking like a star in broad daylight, with countless sparks flying off him, and the brilliance was heaven-high.” HH Ap. 440

The iterative $NWLRQVDUW RI ʌȦIJ૵ȞIJȠ PD\ UHIOHFW WKH VXFFHVVLRQ RI WKH sparks flying off the god. 3.2 [SPIRIT – FLY REPEATEDLY] ȥȣȤĮ੿ ਕıİȕ੼ȦȞ ʌȦIJ૵ȞIJĮȚ ਥȞ ਙȜȖİıȚ ³7KH VRXOV RI WKH VDFULOHJLRXV IOLW in pain.” Pi. F 132

,Q WKLV FDVH ʌȦIJ૵ȞIJĮȚ H[SUHVVHV ERWK WKH UHSHWLWLon of the action and the plurality of the subject. 3.3 [FLYING ANIMAL – FLIT] ਱įૅ ੖ıĮʌȦIJ૵ȞIJĮȚIJ੺įİij੼ȡȕİIJĮȚਥțı੼șİȞ੕ȜȕȠȣ³DQGDOOWKDWIOLHVWKH\ are nourished from your wealth” HH Terr. 4. ʌȦIJ૵ȞIJȠȟȠȣșĮ੿ ʌİȡ੿ ʌ઀įĮțĮȢਕȝij੿ ȝ੼ȜȚııĮȚ³QLPEOHEHHVIOLW around the fountains” Theocr. 7.142. ਫ਼ʌ੻ȡ țĮȡ੾ĮIJȠȢ ǹੁıȠȞ઀įĮȠ ʌȦIJ઼IJૅ ਕȜțȣȠȞ઀Ȣ ³RYHU WKH $HVRQLGDV KHDG flitted a halcyon” Ap.Rh. 1.1085. ਲ į੻ (੕ȡȞȚȢ țĮIJ੹ Į੝IJȠઃȢʌȦIJ઼IJĮȚțȜ੺ȗȠȣıĮȝ੺ȜĮȜȚȖઃ “their mother flits over them screaming piercingly” Mosch. Meg. 24. ĮੁİIJંȢ  ʌȦIJ઼IJૅ ਩ȞșĮ țĮ੿ ਩ȞșĮ IJĮȞȣıı੺ȝİȞȠȢ ʌIJİȡ઄ȖİııȚȞ ³ WKH HDJOH  flitted hither and thither with stretched wings” Q.S. 437.

,Q WKHVH FROORFDWLRQV WKH GLIIHUHQW IRUPV RI ʌȦIJ੺ȠȝĮȚ UHIOHFW LWHUDWLRQ (with the subject in the singular) and/or plurality (the action is performed by several subjects). 3.4 [STONE – FLY REPEATEDLY] ੬ȢIJ૵ȞਕȝijȠIJ੼ȡȦıİȜ઀șȠȚʌȦIJ૵ȞIJȠșĮȝİȚĮ઀, Įੂ ȝ੻Ȟਙȡૅ ਥȢȉȡ૵ĮȢĮੂ įૅ ਥțȉȡઆȦȞਥȢਝȤĮ઀ȠȣȢȕĮȜȜȦȝ੼ȞȦȞǜ “and as flocks of snow fall thick … … so incessant flew the stones volleyed from both sides, some on the Trojans, others from the Trojans on the Achaeans” Il. 12.287-9.

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:LWK WKH SOXUDO VXEMHFW Ȝ઀șȠȚ ʌȦIJ૵ȞIJȠ H[SUHVVHV GLVWULEXWLYH SOXUDOLW\ which is stressed by means of ਕȝijȠIJ੼ȡȦıİDQGRIĮੂ ȝ੻Ȟ«Įੂ į ੻)… 4. The interpretation of tKH HSLWKHW ȀĮʌʌઆIJĮȢ as “who flies down repeatedly” seems rather surprising for an epithet of Zeus. In what follows we shall try to demonstrate that it matches some characteristic features of the god: 4.1 As a sparkling celestial body: Zeus himself or his thunderbolt are bright and may produce sparks, cf. HSLWK ĮੁșĮȜંİȚȢ ³EOD]LQJ´ 1RQQ D. 23.286), ਕȡȖȚț੼ȡĮȣȞȠȢ ³ZLWK EULJKW OLJKWQLQJ´ (Il. 19.121, 20. 3L O. 8.5), ਕıIJİȡȠʌȘIJ੾Ȣ ³OLJKWHQHU´ (Il. 1.609, 7.443, 12.  țİȡĮ઄ȞȚȠȢ “thundering” (Orph. Hym. ;,; țİȡĮȣȞȠȕંȜȠȢ³WKXQGHUEROW-hurling” (IG 97HJHD țİȡĮȣȞંȢ IG V2, 228: Mantinea 5th %& DUFıIJȠȡʌ੺RȢ “lightning” (IG V2, 64: Tegea 5th B.C. in. IJİȡʌȚț੼ȡĮȣȞȠȢ³ZKRGHOLJKWV in the thunder” (Il. +). It can be assumed that the sparks produced by Zeus’ lightning, as those of Apollo (cf. §3.1), may also “fly off the god repeatedly/successively”. 4.2 $VDQHDJOH,WLVZHOONQRZQWKDWWKHHDJOHǽȘȞઁȢ੕ȡȞȚȢ $HVFK  may represent the god himself or his thunderbolt13, as shown by some Elean and Laconian coins representing a winged thunderbolt or an eagle standing on a thunderbolt14. It is clear that Zeus in the shape of an eagle may “fly and flit”. 4.3 As a stone: Some points of interest must be taken into account. First, Zeus was associated to the stone cult in several places of the Greek world. The stones were either fallen meteorites, worshipped as wonder makers, or had been struck by his thunderbolt, as suggested by the PHQWLRQRIǻȚȠȢȀİȡĮȣȞǀLQDQLQVFULSWLRQIURP0DQWLQHD IG V 2, 228: 5th B.C)15. Furthermore, the stones–irrespective of their being meteorites or struck by the thunderbolt–are referred to as “flying”, as shown by the 13

Note that, unlike storm-gods from other cultures (the Chinese Zin Shin, the Amerindian Thunderbird), Zeus is not represented as a bird-god, but assumes the shape of a bird to couple with: Nemesis and Leda as a swan, with Ganymedes as an eagle. On the other hand, the eagle could also represent the solar character of Zeus: Massetti 2011, 22ff. 14 They can be traced back to the Ptolemaic era: Grunauer-von Hoerschelmann 1978, 17ss. 15 The stone shows traces of the thunderbolt strike, cf. Cook II 1, 12. About the inscription, Dubois 1986, 117-8.

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passDJH TXRWHG DERYH Ȝ઀șȠȚ ʌȦIJ૵ȞIJȠ Il. 12.287). We can thus safely assume that the stone referred to by Pausanias 3.22.1, was called Zeus ȀĮʌʌઆIJĮȢ “who flies down repeatedly” for two possible reasons: a)

the stone was a fallen meteorite: in this case, the epithet could be explained in terms of the identification with the god “who flies down repeatedly” in the appearance of a “sky stone”. The LWHUDWLYLW\ RI WKH YHUEDO HOHPHQW RI WKH FRPSRXQG ʌȦIJĮ- would refer to the fact that more than one meteor have fallen. b) the stone had been struck by Zeus “who flies down repeatedly” in the shape of a thunderbolt. The idea of a flying thunderbolt is reflected in the myth of Pegasus, the flying horse which carries =HXV¶WKXQGHUEROW ȕȡȠȞIJ੾ȞIJİıIJİȡȠʌ੾ȞIJİij੼ȡȦȞ+HVTh. 286), and in the representation of winged thunderbolts on the coins mentioned supra (§4.2). 7KHHSLWKHWȀĮʌʌઆIJĮȢFRXOGDOVRUHIOHFWWKH,QGR-(XURSHDQ " LGHDRI the sky being made of stones or being a stone itself. This explains the use of the single word for stone (IE *h2pNը-mon- ‘stone’, cf. *h2HNը- ‘sharp’) as the designation for heaven in Iranian (Av. asman- CKHDYHQcf. Visp. 7.4 et al. DOVR µVWRQH¶ 23 asman ‘heaven’ as against Skt. iĞman- CKHDYHQ 16, Germanic (PGm. *hemena-: Goth. himins, OE heofon) and Greek (ਙțȝȦȞǜ ਕʌĮș੾Ȣ >ȀȡંȞȠȢ@ Ƞ੝ȡĮȞઁȢ ਲ਼ ı઀įȘȡȠȞ +VFK 17, beside the usual sense ‘anvil (Il. +), stone’)18.

,,.Įȕ੺IJĮȢ 1. =HXV.Įȕ੺IJĮȢ is also attested in a Laconian dedication: ǻȚȠȢ.ĮȕĮIJƗʌİȝʌȠȚ)İIJİȚșȣİȞ>Į@ȜİKȚȠȞīĮȚKȣȜȠ (IG V1 1316.1 Thalamai: s. V in.)19

7KHHSLWKHWȀĮȕ੺IJĮȢLVDFRPSRXQGRIțĮIJ੺ DQGࡈ ȕĮIJસȢ gX֒Pֈ-WƗ̗ -), IE g em- ‘come’ with apocope, assimilation /WE> /bb/ and without notation X֒

16

Kuiper 1964, 110 ff., explains the shift stone Æ heaven in Avestan by means of the assumption that heaven was a place, made of stones, where the sun spends the night (see RV 7, 88, 2: VYjU\iGiĞPDQ.) 17 ਡțȝȦȞ could also be an infernal god, cf. ǜ ੒ ȋȐȡȦȞ (Hsch.). 18 The statement, which goes back to Roth 1853, is developed by Durante 1976, 60. 19 Plut. Dion. 49: īĮȚı઄Ȝ૳ IJ૶ ıʌĮȡIJȚ੺IJૉ.

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RIWKHJHPLQDWHZKLFKDUHXVXDOLQ/DFRQLDQVHHțĮȕĮ઀ȞȦȞ $OFP3  IRUțĮIJĮȕĮ઀ȞȦȞț੺ȕસıȚǜțĮIJ੺ȕȘșȚȁ੺țȦȞİȢ +VFK 7KHVHFRQGPHPEHU RFFXUV DV D VLPSOH IRUP LQ WKH JORVV ȕĮIJ઼Ȣǜ ੒ țĮIJĮijİȡ੾Ȣ ȉĮȡĮȞIJ૙ȞȠȚ (Hsch.)20. 2. For a bettHUXQGHUVWDQGLQJRIWKHHSLWKHW.Įȕ੺IJĮȢLWmay be helpful to examine its well-DWWHVWHG YDULDQW ȀĮIJĮȚȕ੺IJȘȢ 7UDJ 6FKRO ,QVFU ǹWKHQ7DUHQW7KHUD7KHVVDO\et al. WKHILUVWPHPEHURIZKLFKLVțĮIJĮ઀, DYDULDQWRIțĮIJ੺, cfʌĮȡĮ઀ (*SUֈpK2-i: Lat. prae ȤĮȝĮ઀ (*dhghPֈpK2-i)21. As LV FXUUHQWO\ DVVXPHG ȀĮIJĮȚȕ੺IJȘȢ PHDQV ³ZKR GHVFHQGV´ DQG WKH VDPHDSSOLHVWR/DFRQLDQȀĮȕ੺IJĮȢ,QWKHIUDPHZRUNRIWKLVLQWHUSUHWDWLRQ two alternatives are possible: a) =HXV ³ZKR GHVFHQGV OLNH WKH WKXQGHUEROW ´ OLNH =HXV ȀİȡĮȣȞંȢ DQG=HXVȀİȡĮ઄ȞȚȠȢ. In favor of this assumption are the following passages: ਕȜȜૅ ਷ȜșİȞĮ੝IJ૶ ǽȘȞઁȢਙȖȡȣʌIJȠȞȕ੼ȜȠȢ țĮIJĮȚȕ੺IJȘȢțİȡĮȣȞઁȢਥțʌȞ੼ȦȞijȜંȖĮ “but to him came the wakeful dart of Zeus, the thunderbolt which comes down breathing out flames” A. Prom. 359 (Schol. ad loc. țĮIJĮȚȕ੺IJȘȢǜțİȡĮȣȞંȢ . «ǽİ઄Ȣ੖ȢțĮIJĮȚȕ੺IJȘȢȝȠȜઅȞ ıțȘʌIJ૶ ʌȣȡઆıİȚ ʌ੺ȞIJĮįȣıȝİȞ૵ȞıIJĮșȝ੹ ³ZKHQ =HXV ZKR GHVFHQGV FRPHV KH ZLOO EXUQ WKH HQHPLHV KRXVHV with his scepter” Lyc. Alex. 1371.

0RUHRYHU=HXVȀĮIJĮȚȕ੺IJĮȘȢ was worshipped as a thunderbolt-god in different places: Athens (Sch. Ar. Pax 42), Thera (where his altar was close to that RI=HXVǺȡȠȞIJ૵ȞțĮ੿ ਝıIJȡ੺ʌIJȦȞVHH IG XII3 Suppl. n. 359), Tarent (where his altars protected against thunderbolt strikes, Athen. 12.522d-f), and among the Messapians (Athen. 12.523b-c)22. b) Zeus “who descends to the Underworld”, similar to Zeus ȀĮIJĮ ȤșંȞȚȠȢ RUWR=HXV0İȚȜ઀ȤȚȠȢ. Two arguments seem to speak in favouU RI WKLV K\SRWKHVLV 2Q WKH RQH KDQG ȀĮIJĮȚȕ੺IJȘȢ LV DQ 20

I am grateful to E. Langella for this reference. These forms are old locatives, see +DMQDO   II *DUFtD 5DPyQ  50f. 22 Also among the Oscans, if diúveí verehasiúí is the 2VNLVLHUXQJ of ǽİઃȢ ȀĮIJĮȚȕ੺IJȘȢ: Janda 1998, 613-14. 21

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epithet of chthonian deities, e.g. Hermes (Schol. Ar. Pax 649), and of the river Acheron (E. Ba. 1360s.). It could be added that Zeus ȀĮIJĮȚȕ੺IJȘȢ LV PHQWLRQHG together with Persephone in an inscription from Cilicia 23. On the other hand, the close relationship between -WƗ- and -tó- formations allows the interpretation of țĮIJĮȚȕĮIJ੾ DV ³ ZD\  E\ ZKLFK RQH PD\ JR GRZQ´ LQ +RPHUV description of a cave in Ithaca which had an entrance to the Underworld24. … ... «į઄Ȧį੼ IJ੼ Įੂ ș઄ȡĮȚİੁı઀Ȟ Įੂ ȝ੻ȞʌȡઁȢǺȠȡ੼ĮȠțĮIJĮȚȕĮIJĮ੿ ਕȞșȡઆʌȠȚıȚȞ Įੂ įૅ Į੣ ʌȡઁȢȃંIJȠȣİੁıȚșİઆIJİȡĮȚǜȠ੝į੼ IJȚțİ઀Ȟૉ ਙȞįȡİȢਥı੼ȡȤȠȞIJĮȚਕȜȜૅਕșĮȞ੺IJȦȞ੒įંȢਥıIJȚȞ “… and two doors there are to the cave, one toward the Boreas, by which men go down (lit. “(a way) downwards for men to go”)but WKDWWRZDUGWKH1RWXV LV VDFUHG DQG PHQ GR QRW HQWHU E\LW LW is the way of the immortals”. (Od. 13.109-112)

3. 7KHUHLVQRFRQWUDGLFWLRQLQȀĮIJĮȚȕ੺IJȘȢ referring both to a celestial and to a chthonian deity. It is in fact easy to imagine a thunderbolt or a meteorite falling down to the ground, going through it and reaching the Tartarus, as suggested by a passage in Hesiod which, in my opinion, presents the original meaning of ਙțȝȦȞDV³VWRQHPHWHRULWH´: ਥȞȞ੼ĮȖ੹ȡȞ઄țIJĮȢIJİțĮ੿ ਵȝĮIJĮȤĮȜț੼ȠȢਙțȝȦȞ Ƞ੝ȡĮȞંșİȞțĮIJȚઆȞįİț੺IJૉ țૅ ਥȢȖĮ૙ĮȞ੆țȠȚIJȠ ਥȞȞ੼ĮįૅĮ੣ Ȟ઄țIJĮȢIJİțĮ੿ ਵȝĮIJĮȤĮȜț੼ȠȢਙțȝȦȞ ਥțȖĮ઀ȘȢțĮIJȚઆȞįİț੺IJૉ țૅ ਥȢIJ੺ȡIJĮȡȠȞ੆țȠȚ “for a solide /copper-coloured stone, falling down from the sky for nine QLJKWV DQG GD\V RQ WKH WHQWK GD\ ZRXOG DUULYH DW WKH HDUWK DQG DJDLQ D solide /copper-coloured stone, falling down from the earth for nine nights and days, on the tenth would arrive at Tartarus” Hes. Th. 722-25 25.

Conclusion %RWK /DFRQLDQ HSLWKHWV ȀĮʌઆIJĮȢ “who flies down (repeatedly)”  ࡈʌȦIJસȢ cf. LWHUDWLYH ʌȦIJ੺ȠȝĮȚ  DQG ȀĮȕ੺IJĮȢ “who descends”, reflect 23

Deubner apud Cook II 14. Porph. Antr. 1.11ff., 20.6ff., 23.1ff., describes similar passages using țĮIJĮȕĮIJȚțંȢ instead of țĮIJĮȚȕĮIJંȢ. 25 The passage has a close parallel in 7KHVRQJRI8OOLNXPPL KUB XXXIII 2QTartaros cf. Kölligan in this volume. 24

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Zeus as a storm-god, who from time to time leaves Olympus and flies down, whether in the shape of a thunderbolt or that of a heavenly body. In his long journey downwards he may reach the Underworld where he turns into a chthonic deity.

Works Cited Cook, A.B. 1914-1940. Zeus: A Study in Ancient 5HOLJLRQ 3 vols. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Dubois, L. 1986. Recherches sur le dialecte arcadien. Louvain-la-Neuve: Cabay. Durante, M. 1976. Sulla preistoria della tradizione poetica greca II Risultanze della comparazione indoeuropea. Roma. García Ramón, J.L. 1997. “Lat. prae, gr. ʌĮȡĮ઀, -੺ und Verwandtes: idg. *SUֈK2- und *SUֈ- YRUQ GDQHEHQ YRU gegenüber *pro(h1) YRU Q  YRUZlUWV .” In Sound law and analogy. Papers in honor of Robert S. P. %HHNHV RQ WKH RFFDVLRQ RI KLV WK ELUWKGD\, ed. A. Lubotsky, 47-72. Amsterdam: Rodopi. *RWǀ 7 . 'LH ³, 3UlVHQVNODVVH´ LP 9HGLVFKHQ. Wien: Verlag der Österreichischen Akademie der Wissenschaften. Grunauer-von Hoerschelmann, S. 1978. Die Münzprägung der /DNHGHPRQLHU. Berlin: de Gruyter. Hajnal, I. 1992. “Griechisch ȤĮȝĮ઀(LQ3UREOHPGHU5HNRQVWUXNWLRQ".” In 5HNRQVWUXNWLRQXQGUHODWLYH&KURQRORJLH$NWHQGHU9,,,)DFKWDJXQJ GHU ,QGRJHUPDQLVFKHQ *HVHOOVFKDIW /HLGHQ  $XJXVW- 6HSWHPEHU , ed. R.S.P. Beekes, 207-220. Innsbruck: Institut für Sprachwissenschaft der Universität Innsbruck. Jamison, S. W. 1983. Function and Form in the –i\D- Formations of the Rig Veda and Atharva Veda. Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht. Janda, M. 1998. “Die Geburt des göttlichen Kindes bei den Oskern.” In 6SUDFKHXQG.XOWXU GHU ,QGRJHUPDQHQ $NWHQ GHU ; )DFKWDJXQJ GHU ,QGRJHUPDQLVFKHQ *HVHOOVFKDIW ,QQVEUXFN - 6HSWHPEHU , ed. W. Meid, 601-617. Innsbruck: Institut für Sprachwissenschaft der Universität Innsbruck. Klingenschmitt, G. 1978. “Zum Ablaut des indogermanischen Kausativs.” KZ 92, 1-13. Kölligan, D. 1999. Schwundstufige -pL֒ HR- Präsentia in Indogermanischen. Magisterarbeit. Köln. Kuiper, F.B.J. 1964. “The Bliss of Aša.” Indo-Iranian Journal 8: 96-129. Massetti, L. 2011. Il sole e O DTXLODQHOODIUDVHRORJLDSRHWLFDJUHFD. Tesi de Laurea. Milano.

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Meiser, G. 1993. “Zur Funktion des Nasalpräsens im Urindogermanischen.” In Indogermanica et Italica. Festschrift für +HOPXW 5L[ ]XP  *HEXUWVWDJ, ed. G. Meiser, 280-313. Innsbruck: Institut für Sprachwissenschaft der Universität Innsbruck. Solmsen, F. 1907. “Vordorisches in Lakonien.” RhM 62: 329-338.

ȉǹȇȉǹȇȅȈ* DANIEL KÖLLIGAN UNIVERSITY OF COLOGNE

1. Textual Evidence 1. In Homer and Hesiod, Tartaros is a place beneath Hades, “as far beneath Hades as the earth is beneath the sky” (Il. 8.16), where Iapetos and Kronos reside (Il. 8.479), where the sun never shines. Surrounded by iron gates, guarded by the KHNDWRQFKHLUHV Briareos, Kottos, and Gyes, it is the place to which the Titans after their defeat against Zeus and the Olympian gods are confined in eternal imprisonment.1 1.1 In Homer, Tartaros is mentioned on three occasions in the Iliad: in 8.13-14, Zeus warns the gods not to engage in the battle at Troy, otherwise: ਵ ȝȚȞਦȜઅȞ૧઀ȥȦਥȢȉ੺ȡIJĮȡȠȞ ਱İȡંİȞIJĮ IJોȜİȝ੺Ȝ¶ਸȤȚȕ੺șȚıIJȠȞਫ਼ʌઁ ȤșȠȞંȢਥıIJȚȕ੼ȡİșȡȠȞ “I shall take him [sc. the disobedient god] and dash him down to the murk of Tartaros, far below, where the uttermost depth of the pit lies under earth.” (transl. Lattimore)

In 8.478-81, at the “undermost limits” of earth and sea, Iapetos and Kronos are surrounded by Tartaros: «Ƞ੝į¶İ੅ țİIJ੹ Ȟİ઀ĮIJĮʌİ઀ȡĮș¶ ੆țȘĮȚ ȖĮ઀ȘȢțĮ੿ ʌંȞIJȠȚȠ੆Ȟ¶ૅǿ੺ʌİIJંȢIJİȀȡંȞȠȢIJİ ਸ਼ȝİȞȠȚȠ੡IJ¶Į੝ȖૌȢ૽Ȋʌİȡ઀ȠȞȠȢૅǾİȜ઀ȠȚȠ IJ੼ȡʌȠȞIJ¶Ƞ੡IJ¶ਕȞ੼ȝȠȚıȚȕĮșઃȢį੼ IJİȉ੺ȡIJĮȡȠȢ ਕȝij઀Ȣ “not if you stray apart to the undermost limits * I would like to thank Prof. Dr. J. L. García Ramón (Cologne) and Prof. Dr. J. Katz (Princeton) for their helpful remarks on a draft of this paper. All shortcomings are my own. 1 West 1966, 358-59.

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of earth and sea, where Iapetos and Kronos seated have no shining of the sun god Hyperion to delight them nor winds’ delight, but Tartaros stands deeply about them.”

In 14.278-80 Hera is made to swear by the water of the underworld river 6W\[DQGWKHǥQHWKHUJRGV¶WKH7LWDQV: ૟ȍȢ਩ijĮIJ¶Ƞ੝į¶ਕʌ઀șȘıİșİ੹ ȜİȣțઆȜİȞȠȢૠǾȡȘ ੕ȝȞȣİį¶੪Ȣਥț੼ȜİȣİșİȠઃȢį¶ੑȞંȝȘȞİȞਚʌĮȞIJĮȢ IJȠઃȢਫ਼ʌȠIJĮȡIJĮȡ઀ȠȣȢ Ƞ੄ ȉȚIJોȞİȢțĮȜ੼ȠȞIJĮȚ “Thus he [sc. Sleep] spoke, and the goddess, white-armed Hera, failed not to obey, but swore as he asked, and invoked by name all the gods below Tartarus, that are called Titans.”

1.2 In Hesiod, Tartaros is mentioned during the titanomachia (Th. 617719), as it is shaken by the fierce fighting between the immortals: ૧Țʌૌ ੢ʌ¶ਕșĮȞ੺IJȦȞ਩ȞȠıȚȢį¶੆țĮȞİȕĮȡİ૙Į IJ੺ȡIJĮȡȠȞ ਱İȡંİȞIJĮʌȠį૵Ȟ -82) “Under the force of the charge of the deathless immortals, the heavy shock of whose trampling feet reached even to Tartarus.”

The picture that emerges from Hesiod’s description of the underworld (esp. Th. 713-43) can be summarized as follows (see West 1966, 358-59): at the bottom there is the murky Tartaros, inhabited by the Titans and later on also by Typhoeus, enclosed by a high bronze wall. Above it are the ǥURRWV¶ DQG ǥVRXUFHV¶ RI HDUWK DQG VHD WKH LQWHUPHGLDWH VSDFH EHing wrapped in three layers of night. The underworld is accessed by crossing a bronze threshold and passing through a shining gate (811). The underworld also contains the house of Night and Day, Sleep and Death, of Hades, the Styx, and the place where Atlas stands holding up the sky. After the defeat of the Titans, another contender for the rule of the world is born to Gaia and personified Tartaros: Į੝IJ੹ȡਥʌİ੿ ȉȚIJોȞĮȢਕʌ¶Ƞ੝ȡĮȞȠ૨ ਥȟ੼ȜĮıİǽİ઄Ȣ ੒ʌȜંIJĮIJȠȞIJ੼țİʌĮ૙įĮȉȣijȦ੼ĮīĮ૙ĮʌİȜઆȡȘ ȉĮȡIJ੺ȡȠȣ ਥȞijȚȜંIJȘIJȚįȚ੹ ȤȡȣıોȞૅǹijȡȠį઀IJȘȞ +HVTh. 820-22) “But when Zeus had driven the Titans from sky, the prodigious earth bore as her youngest child Typhoeus by Tartaros in love through golden Aphrodite.”

This is the only passage in the older literature where Tartaros is personified. Since, in addition, the phrasing įȚ੹ ȤȡȣıોȞ ૅǹijȡȠį઀IJȘȞ is both un-Homeric and does not occur in other passages surely attributable

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to Hesiod, the whole verse has been suspected to be an interpolation (see ch. 3). In parallel to the titanomachia, the universe is shaken when Zeus battles Typhoeus: ıțȜȘȡઁȞį¶ਥȕȡંȞIJȘıİțĮ੿ ੕ȕȡȚȝȠȞਕȝij੿ į੻ ȖĮ૙Į ıȝİȡįĮȜ੼ȠȞțȠȞ੺ȕȘıİțĮ੿ Ƞ੝ȡĮȞઁȢİ੝ȡઃȢ੢ʌİȡșİ ʌંȞIJંȢIJ¶ૅȍțİĮȞȠ૨ IJİ૧ȠĮ੿ țĮ੿ IJ੺ȡIJĮȡĮ ȖĮ઀ȘȢ (Hes. Th. 838) “Mightily harshly he thundered, so loud that the earth all around shook, Making a terrible noise, and the broad sky above, the sea and the streams of the Okeanos, and the tartara of the earth.”

The verse ending IJȐȡIJĮȡĮ ȖĮȓȘȢ may be used as a common noun here, PHDQLQJǥWKHHQGVRIWKHHDUWh.’2 It equals the ਩ıȤĮIJĮȖĮȓȘȢin l. 731 ਩ȞșĮșİȠ੿ ȉȚIJોȞİȢਫ਼ʌઁ ȗંij૳ ਱İȡંİȞIJȚ țİțȡ઄ijĮIJĮȚȕȠȣȜૌıȚǻȚઁȢȞİijİȜȘȖİȡ੼IJĮȠ Ȥઆȡ૳ ਥȞİ੝ȡઆİȞIJȚʌİȜઆȡȘȢ ਩ıȤĮIJĮȖĮ઀ȘȢ3 (729-31)

The appellative IJȐȡIJĮȡĮis used by Euripides in: Hipp. ʌ૵ȢȠ੝Ȥਫ਼ʌઁ ȖોȢIJ੺ȡIJĮȡĮ țȡ઄ʌIJİȚȢį੼ȝĮȢĮੁıȤȣȞșİ઀Ȣ “Why do you not hide yourself beneath the earth’s depths LQVKDPH" ”

This may be modelled on the Hesiodic phrase, although probably understanding IJȐȡIJĮȡĮsimply as equivalent to Hades or the underworld in general. A metrically LGHQWLFDOSKUDVLQJʌİȓȡĮIJĮȖĮȓȘȢLVIRXQGLQ+RPHU Il. 14.200/300 [İੇȝȚȖ੹ȡ਩ȡȤȠȝĮȚ] ੑȥȠȝ੼ȞȘʌȠȜȣijંȡȕȠȣʌİ઀ȡĮIJĮ ȖĮ઀ȘȢ “I am going to visit the ends of the much-feeding earth. ”

7KXVZHPD\DVVXPHDQHSLFIRUPXODǥWKHHQGVRIWKHZRUOG¶DWWKHHQGRI the verse: ʌİȓȡĮIJĮȖĮȓȘȢ FIDOVRTh. 622 ਥȞʌİ઀ȡĮıȚȖĮ઀ȘȢOd. 9.284, h. Ven. 227 ਥʌ੿ʌİȓȡĮıȚȖĮȓȘȢ ਩ıȤĮIJĮȖĮȓȘȢ IJȐȡIJĮȡĮȖĮȓȘȢ

2

The same form in Th. 122 ȉ੺ȡIJĮȡ੺ IJ’ ਱İȡંİȞIJĮ ȝȣȤ૶ ȤșȠȞઁȢ İ੝ȡȣȠįİ઀ȘȢ “misty Tartarus, in a recess / of broad-pathed earth” where Tartrus is part of the earth. 3 Compare also S. frg. 956 ਥʌ’ ਩ıȤĮIJĮ ȤșȠȞઁȢ, Sappho frg. 58.19 [ ਩ı]ȤĮIJĮ Ȗ઼Ȣ.

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The description of the Titans as ਫ਼ʌȠIJĮȡIJ੺ȡȚȠȚ in the same passage might show another instance of the appellative IJȐȡIJĮȡȠȢ ȉȚIJોȞ੼Ȣș¶ਫ਼ʌȠIJĮȡIJ੺ȡȚȠȚ ȀȡંȞȠȞਕȝij੿ȢਥંȞIJİȢ (Th. 851) “and the Titans who live beneath Tartaros, assembled around Kronos. ”

The other old instance of this adjective is in Il. 14.279, seen above. With West (1966, 391) one may understand the DGMHFWLYH DV ǥZKR DUH down in Tartarus’ (cf. Sch.BT IJȠઃȢਥȞIJ૶ȉĮȡIJȐȡ૳੕ȞIJĮȢȠ੝į੻ȞȖȐȡਥıIJȚȞ ਫ਼ʌઁȉȐȡIJĮȡȠȞ but since ਫ਼ʌȠȣȡȐȞȚȠȢand ਫ਼ʌȩȖĮȚȠȢPHDQǥEHQHDWKWKHVN\ ~ the ground’, one might take ਫ਼ʌȠIJĮȡIJȐȡȚȠȢ to have meant originally ǥbeneath WDUWDURV¶LHǥEH\RQGWKHERXQGDU\¶WKH7LWDQVDUHFRQGHPQHGWR live in T. or beyond T. (Hes. Th. 713, 851). Tartaros was imagined either as the “final border” of the world, beyond which nothing exists-hence the Titans have to live at this border – or as a space itself into which they are confined. 1.3 The development of the term can thus be subsumed in three steps: 1) 7KHRULJLQDOPHDQLQJRIIJȐȡIJĮȡ- LVǥERXQGDU\¶7KHGRZQIDOORIWKH Titans originally implied their confinement to a region beyond the known world. 2) This non-place of confinement was reinterpreted as a place of its own, beyond the underworld so far assumed, thereby becoming its XQGHUPRVWSDUW7KHSRVLWLRQIJȐȡIJĮȡȠȢKDVLQOO-8 may be due to this reinterpretation: ਩ȞșĮį੻ ȖોȢįȞȠijİȡોȢțĮ੿ IJĮȡIJ੺ȡȠȣ਱İȡંİȞIJȠȢ ʌંȞIJȠȣIJ¶ਕIJȡȣȖ੼IJȠȚȠțĮ੿ Ƞ੝ȡĮȞȠ૨ ਕıIJİȡંİȞIJȠȢ ਦȟİ઀ȘȢʌ੺ȞIJȦȞʌȘȖĮ੿ țĮ੿ ʌİ઀ȡĮIJ¶਩ĮıȚȞ “There are the sources and ends of the dark earth and the murky Tartaros, of the incessant sea and the starry sky, all in a row of each of them.”

+HUHIJȐȡIJĮȡȠȢLWVHOILVVDLGWRKDYHLWVǥVRXUFHVDQGHQGV¶OLNHHDUWKVHD and heaven, thus it is obviously imagined as a place and part of the world, whereas just before this passage in ll. 727f. the roots of earth and sea are said to be above the IJȐȡIJĮȡȠȢ … Į੝IJ੹ȡ੢ʌİȡșİ ȖોȢ૧઀ȗĮȚʌİij઄ĮıȚțĮ੿ਕIJȡȣȖ੼IJȠȚȠșĮȜ੺ııȘȢ “And above it are the roots of the earth and of the incessant sea. ”

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3) In post-epic times Tartarus and Hades merged or Tartarus was conceived of as the lowest part of Hades.

2. Etymology 2.1 ,QDQWLTXLW\IJȐȡIJĮȡȠȢ DQGLWVGHULYDWLYHIJĮȡIJĮȡȓȗȦǥWUHPEOH¶ZHUH H[SODLQHGDVGHULYHGIURPIJĮȡȐııȦ ǥVWLUXSWURXEOH¶4 schol. in Hes. Th.  ȉ੺ȡIJĮȡĮ į੻ İੇʌİȞ ਕʌઁ IJȠ૨ IJĮȡ੺IJIJİıșĮȚ, Th. 721 ȉ੺ȡIJĮȡȠȞ!IJઁȞIJİIJĮȡĮȖȝ੼ȞȠȞ ਕ੼ȡĮ schol. Il੒į੻ȉ੺ȡIJĮȡȠȢțĮ੿IJİIJ੺ȡĮțIJĮȚ țĮ੿ȥȣȤȡઁȢİੇȞĮȚįȠțİ૙āțĮ੿ ȖȠ૨ȞIJઁıijંįȡĮ૧ȚȖȠ૨ȞIJĮȡIJĮȡ઀ȗİȚȞ ijĮı઀Ȟ Plutarch de primo frigido (948F4) įȚઁ țĮ੿ µȉ੺ȡIJĮȡȠȢ¶ Ƞ੤IJȠȢ ਫ਼ʌઁ ȥȣȤȡંIJȘIJȠȢ ț੼țȜȘIJĮȚ « țĮ੿ IJઁ ૧ȚȖȠ૨ȞIJĮ ʌ੺ȜȜİıșĮȚ țĮ੿ IJȡ੼ȝİȚȞ µIJĮȡIJĮȡ઀ȗİȚȞ¶

But the by-IRUPșȡȐııȦSRLQWVWRDSUH-form < *dhUֈK2gh-L֒ py-,5 cf. also OCS raz-GUDåLWL ǥincite to anger, make angry’ (*dhorh2gh-pL֒ HR-), Lith. GpUJLX GpUJWL ǥWR PDNHEHFRPH ILOWK\¶ dherh2gh-L֒ HR-). Thus a FRQQHFWLRQEHWZHHQIJĮȡȐııȦDQGIJȐȡIJĮȡȠȢLVIRUPDOO\LPSRVVLEOH 2.2 IJȐȡIJĮȡȠȢLVREYLRXVO\DUHGXSOLFDWHGQRXQVLPLODUWRțȪțȜȠȢ 6NW FDNUi-, Toch. B NRNDOH, OE hweol < *NX֒e-NX֒lh1-o- ǥWXUQLQJ RQH ¶ʌȑʌȜȠȢ ǥWXQLFUREH¶ ਖ-ʌȜȩȢ ੂıIJȩȢǥPDVW¶ TXDVL sti-sth2-o-, cf. Risch 1974, 5), DQG HVSHFLDOO\ WR QRXQV ZLWK IXOO UHGXSOLFDWLRQ OLNH ȕȐȡȕĮȡȠȢ ȝȐȡȝĮȡȠȢ ǥFU\VWDOOLQH URFN PDUEOH¶ IURP ȝȐȡȞĮȝĮȚ ǥILJKW, break, crush’. As originally WKHPHDQLQJPD\KDYHEHHQǥERXQGDU\HQG¶LWVHHPVUHDVRQDEOH to connect it with the PIE root *terh2- ǥWR FURVV FRPH WKURXJK UHDFK overcome’, well attested outside Greek: *terh2- : Ved. tari ǥFRPHWKURXJK, pierce through, overcome, cross’, prs. tarati, etc. Hitt. WDU‫ې‬-mi ǥRYHUFRPH¶ Lat. WUƗQV ǥDFURVV¶ WUֈK2-entLat. tarentum ǥSODFHRIFURVVLQJ¶!ǥJUDYH¶ FI:DWNLQV-56).

A reduplicated noun *WUֈK2-WUֈK2-o- may have undergone loss of the laryngeal in the reduplicated syllable, or the formation may have occurred after the complete loss of laryngeals in Greek, i.e. *WUֈ-WUֈ-o-, or the original 4

Taken up again by West 1966, 195. With accent on the suffix, while IJĮȡȐııȦ ZDV root-accented (*dhĚֈK2gh-L֒ HR-  compare Rix 2001, 154. 5

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*WUֈK2-WUֈK2-ó- > *WUƗ-tar-ó- was reshaped to *tar-tar-ó- DGM ĺWiU-tar-o(subst.). An inner-*UHHN SDUDOOHO FRXOG EH WKH 31 ȉȐȞIJĮȜȠȢ, if this is dissimilated from *WOֈ -WOֈ -o- (transposed PIE form *WOֈ K2-WOֈ K2-o- ǥWKH carrying/suffering one’ from *telh2-). 7KH UHODWHG IRUPV IJȑȡȝĮ DQG IJȑȡȝȦȞ DOVR PHDQ ǥWXUQLQJ SRLQW HQG boundary, limit’, cf: Ilʌİȡ੿ IJȑȡȝĮș¶ ਦȜȚııȑȝİȞǥWXUQURXQGWKHJRDO¶ DWWKHKRUVHDQG chariot races) A. Pr. 284 IJȑȡȝĮ țİȜİȪșȠȣǥWKHHQGRIWKHZD\¶ E. Med. 276 ʌȡ੿ȞਙȞıİȖĮ઀ĮȢIJİȡȝંȞȦȞ ਩ȟȦȕ੺ȜȦǥEHIRUH,KDYHWKURZQ you out of the borders of this country.”

In light of these forms and Latin termen ǥERXQGDU\PDUNHUOLPLWHQG¶ (with its thematic derivative terminus), WHUPǀ ǥHQG SRLQW ILQLVKLQJ SRVW¶ and Skt. VXWiUPDn- ǥSURYLGLQJ DQ HDV\ FURVVLQJ¶ IJȐȡIJĮȡȠȢ can be XQGHUVWRRGDVWKHǥHQGERXQGDU\¶RIWKHZRUOGWKHSODFHXSWRZKLFKRQH can reach. From the same root Nussbaum (2010) has recently explained Gr. IJȡસȞȒȢ ǥFOHDUGLVWLQFW¶ 6 XVXDOO\XQGHUVWRRGDVGHULYLQJIURP terh1DV ǥSLHUFLQJ WKURXJK¶  IJȑȡİIJȡȠȞ ǥGULOO¶  ZKLFK LV IRUPDOO\ LPSRVVLEOH 1XVVEDXP SURSRVHV DV WKH PRUH ILWWLQJ PHDQLQJ ǥGHILQLWH¶ LH ǥZLWK D ERXQGDU\¶ ZKHQFH ǥFOHDU¶ OLNH /DWLQ determinatus from termen and definitus from finis, which can be corroborated by its earliest attestations (A. AgIJȡĮȞ૵ȢİੁįȑȞĮȚ6Aj. 23 ੅ıȝİȞIJȡĮȞȑȢǥWRZHNQRZIRU VXUH¶ IJȡĮȞȒȢFRXOGWKHQGHULYHIURP WUֈK2-mn-ó- with loss of /m/ in the cluster of three consonants (see Nussbaum 2010, 273). $ VHPDQWLF SDUDOOHO IRU WKH DVVXPHG PHDQLQJ RI IJȐȡIJĮȡȠȢ LV *U ʌİ૙ȡĮȡ -ĮIJȠȢ, pl. -ĮIJĮ ǥERUGHU HQG¶ IURP D KHWHURFOLWLF QRXQ per-X֒Uֈ/Qֈ-, cf. Ved. parvan- ǥERQHMRLQW¶RULJLQDOO\ǥSODFHXSWRZKLFKRQHFDQFRPH through (in the flesh)’, cf. Mayrhofer (1992, II.99-100). To the fomulaic YDULDWLRQ RI ʌİȓȡĮIJĮ DQG IJȐȡIJĮȡĮ LQ HSLF GLFWLRQ ZH PD\ WKXV DGG WKHLU semantic parallelism. From the same root PIE *per- ǥFRPH WKURXJK UHDFK SLHUFH¶  9HG píparti ǥEULQJVDFURVV¶*UʌİȓȡȦǥSLHUFHWKURXJK¶ *UʌȑIJȡĮ-ȠȢ ǥVWRQH¶ has been explained as dissimilated from **per-WUƗ (cf. Meier-Brügger  KHQFHRULJLQDOO\DOVRWKHSODFHǥXSWRZhich one can come through’. PIE *per-X֒UֈQֈ*per-tr-RHK2*terh2-men*WUֈK2-WUֈK2-o-

Sanskrit Greek Latin parvan- ǥERQH¶ – – – ʌȑIJȡĮǥVWRQH¶ – (su-)tirman- IJȑȡȝĮ-ȝȦȞ termen, WHUPǀǥboundary, etc.’ – IJȐȡIJĮȡȠȢ –

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An Anatolian Connection? ,IIJȐȡIJĮȡȠȢLVa reduplicated form built on *terh2-, we may compare it with Hitt. NXQ-NXQ-uzzi ǥrock’  ǥWRROIRUEHDWLQJFUXVKLQJ¶GHULYHGIURP PIE *gX֒Ken- ǥEHDWVWULNHNLOO¶ FI3XKYHO . .ORHNKRUVW, 494) with the suffix *-u-ti- frequently used for instruments or non-animate agents, cf. NXUX]]L- ǥFXWWHU¶  NXHU- ǥWR FXW¶  Lã‫ې‬X]]L- ǥELQGHU JLUGOH¶  Lã‫ې‬LLD- ǥWR ELQG¶ , etc.: **gX֒KQֈ-gX֒KQֈ-u-ti- ~ WUֈK2-WUֈK2-o-. It probably originally meant the thunderbolts and meteorites of the storm-god thought of as stones with which he strikes his enemies (cf. Puhvel 1984, 251 (K)). Kun-NXQ-uzzi is frequently used in the Hittite version of the Hurrian P\WKRI.XPDUELWKHHQHP\RIWKHVWRUPJRG7DUপXQWDãZKRP.XPDUbi wants to depose with the help of his son Ullikummi, called NXQNXQX]]L, the rock he impregnated. Ever since it became known to modern scholars, this myth has been related to the story of Typhoeus in Greece. If NXQ-NXQ-uzzi is to be derived from PIE *gX֒Ken-, it can be understood as a formal and SKUDVHRORJLFDO SDUDOOHO WR WKH *UHHN IJȐȡIJĮȡȠȢ $V :DWNLQV   KDV shown, *terh2- is a formulaic variant of *gX֒Ken-: in the basic formula (HERO) – SLAY – ENEMY – (WITH WEAPON) the slot SLAY can be filled with various verbs, beside *gX֒Ken- also *terh2- and *X֒HGh- (: Skt. DYDGKƯW): RV 4.017.03c YiGKƯGYUֈWUiۨ vájre۬a PDQGDVƗQi‫ۊ‬ “+HVOHZ9UࡢWUDZLWKKLVZHDSRQLQKLVLQWR[LFDWLRQ ”

*terh2- notably appears in the Illuyanka-myth, first with an inversion of subject and object: Illuyanka here gains a temporary victory over the storm-god, KBo 3.7 i 11: QX ]DMUŠilluyankaš DIM-an WDUপWD The serpent defeated the storm-god. ”

Later on the storm-god gets the upper hand again (KBo. 3.7 iii 24-5): Q DQ ]DQDPPDMUŠilluyanka[n] WDUDপপnjX࡬DQGƗLã [the Storm God] “began to overcome Illuyanka. ”

In Vedic we find, beside Indra’s usual epithet YUֈWUD-han- ǥRYHUFRPLQJ 9UࡢWUD¶, the abstract noun YUֈWUD-tur- HJ LQ WKH 0DLWUƗ\DQi- SaীKLWƗ  13: tQGURYUֈWUiPDWDUDGYUֈWDWnj̗ U\H “,QGUDRYHUFDPH9UࡢWUDDWWKH9UࡢWUD-overcoming.”

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IJȐȡIJĮȡȠȢcould thus represent a nominalization of the main component of the formula, the verb phrase [SLAY], referring either to the act of overcoming the enemy, or to the instrument used in the act, the weapon (cf. Ved. JKDQi- and YDGKi-, two nouns referring to Indra’s weapon as the ǥVOD\HU¶59 RUWRWKHKHURKLPVHOIDVWKHǥRYHUFRPHU¶FI the name of the Hittite storm-god 7DU‫ې‬XQWDã DV WKH ǥRYHUFRPHU¶ par excellence. ,I ZH WDNH LW WR UHIHU WR WKH DFW RI ǥRYHUFRPLQJ¶ =HXV LV WKH possessor of this act: he disposes of his enemies by and at the place of the ǥRYHUFRPLQJ¶ FI9HGYUֈWUDWnj̗ U\H). The connection between the Titans and Tartarus is thus not a fortuitous, but, seen from the point of view of the formula, an inherent one. So far we have assumed that both Anatolian and Greek inherited from PIE the formula reconstructed by Watkins with its variants and replacements and independently formed nomina instrumenti or loci with the same morphological means from the lexical stock of the formula. The IJȐȡIJĮȡȠȢ DV WKH ǥRYHUFRPLQJ¶ WKH ǥSODFH RI WKH RYHUFRPLQJ¶ DQG KHQFH WKH ǥERUGHU¶ RI WKH XQLYHUVH LV MXVW DQRWKHU LQVWDQWLDWLRQ of the basic mythological motif of the divine hero vanquishing his primeval enemy. Since *terh2- is most frequently used for a non-permanent victory6 it VHHPV UHDVRQDEOH WR DVVXPH WKDW LI IJȐȡIJĮȡȠȢ LV WDNHQ WR PHDQ WKH ǥRYHUFRPHU¶LWGRHVQRWUHIHUWRWKHKHUREXWWRWKHHQHP\ZKRhas gained only a temporary victory. We have seen that it is only in the Theogony that Tartaros is personified in one, apparently late passage as the father of Typhoeus and the last challenger of Zeus (l. 822). A parallel with the story of Ullikummi is evident here: just like Typhoeus Ullikummi is raised by his father Kumarbi to defeat the storm-god. One might suggest therefore that the motif of Tartaros as Typhoeus’ father is an Anatolian import from the story of Ullikummi.7

Conclusion ,Q OLJKW RI 3,( IRUPXODLF GLFWLRQ IJȐȡIJĮȡȠȢ can be derived from PIE *terh2- DV WKH ǥRYHUFRPLQJ¶ RI WKH SHUHQQLDO HQHPLHV RI SURVSHULW\ DQG 6

Compare once more with the Illuyanka-myth where in the first version the temporary victory of the serpent over the storm-god is recounted with the verb WDU‫ې‬-, while the final victory of the storm god is narrated with NX֒HQWD The same sequence is repeated in the second version, §21 and §26. 7 As for the transmission of basic elements of the Illuyanka-myth into Greece already in the 2nd millennium, seeWatkins 1995, 448-59 on Hitt. Lã‫ې‬LPDQWDNDOHOLHW ǥKH ERXQG WKH VHUSHQW  ZLWK D FRUG¶ ĺ *U Il. 2.782 ਕȝij੿ ȉȣijȦȑȧ ȖĮ૙ĮȞ ੂȝȐııૉ, Hes. Th. 857 ȝȚȞ įȐȝĮıİ ʌȜȘȖૌıȚȞ ੂȝȐııĮȢ and h. Ap. 340 ੆ȝĮııİ ȤșȩȞĮ.

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procreation. In the Greek version of this inherited formula it is the Titans DQGWKHQ7\SKRHXVZKRDUHRYHUFRPH7KHLUFRQILQHPHQWWRWKHǥSODFHRI the overcoming’ is a direct consequence of this formulaic diction. It is probable that this relationship between the elements of the myth was reinterpreted in Greece quite early, making the act or place of vanquishing LQWR WKHǥERXQGDU\¶RI WKHZRUOG WKHSODFH WKDW VHSDUDWHV FKDRV Irom the world of the new order of the Olympians. This is the picture we find in +HVLRGZKHUHIJȐȡIJĮȡȠȢRFFXUVERWKDVDFRPPRQQRXQǥERXQGDU\HQG¶ and as the mythical place into which the Titans are confined. Formally and semantically, Tartarus can be compared with Hittite NXQNXQX]]L: both are reduplicated nouns formed from the stock elements of the formula. Beside the well-known influences of the Hittite Illuyanka myth on the story of Typhoeus, the story of Ullikummi may have supplied the motif of Tartaros as the father of Typhoeus.

Works Cited Frisk, H. 1960. *ULHFKLVFKHV HW\PRORJLVFKHV :|UWHUEXFK. Heidelberg: Winter. Kloekhorst, A. 2008. Etymological Dictionary of the Hittite Inherited Lexicon. Leiden: Brill. Mayrhofer, M. 1992. (W\PRORJLVFKHV :|UWHUEXFK GHV $OWLQGRDULVFKHQ. Heidelberg: Winter. Meier-Brügger, M. 1980. “Griechisch ʌȑIJȡĮ, ʌȑIJȡȠȢ.” HS 94: 122-24. Nussbaum, A. 2010. “PIE -Cmn- DQG *UHHN IJȡĮȞȒȢ ǥFOHDU¶´ ,Q Ex Anatolia Lux: Anatolian and Indo-European studies in honor of H. Craig Melchert, ed. R. Kim et al., 269-77. Ann Arbor: Beech Stave Press. Puhvel, J. 1984. Hittite Etymological Dictionary. Berlin: de Gruyter. Risch, E. 1974. Wortbildung der homerischen Sprache. Berlin: de Gruyter. Rix, H. 2001. /,9 /H[LNRQ GHU LQGRJHUPDQLVFKHQ 9HUEHQ. Wiesbaden: Reichert. Watkins, C. 1995. How to Kill a Dragon: Aspects of Indo-European Poetics. New York: Oxford University Press. West, M.L. 1966. Hesiod. Theogony. Oxford: Oxford University Press.

RELIGIOUS ETYMOLOGY AND POETIC SYNCRETISM AT ROME COLIN SHELTON UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA, LOS ANGELES

Etymological thinking is prominent in Roman discussions of the gods.1 The last thirty some years of scholarship on Latin poetry have also shown that etymological thinking works its way into and affects the diction of Roman poems.2 What happens then when poetic etymologizing takes a UHOLJLRXV WXUQ" 7R VHH WKH HIIHFWV , SURSRVH WR H[DPLQH VRPH SRHWLF contexts for what is perhaps the most famous ancient Roman etymology: lucus a non lucendo. The phrase belongs to Servius, and it is worth examining his phrasing to understand what he means by it: et dictae sunt parcae țĮIJ੹ ĮȞIJȓijȡĮıȚȞ quod nulli parcant, sicut lucus a non lucendo, bellum a nulla re bella. (Servius ad Aen. 1.22)3

According to Servius, a ‘grove’ (lucus) gets its name from ‘not shining’, just like the Parcae, or fates, are so-called because they don’t spare anybody (TXRGQXOOLSDUFDQW), and a war is called a bellum because it’s no pretty thing (nulla re bella). He introduces these to illustrate the principle of ‘etymology from the opposite’, or etymology NDWjDQWtSKUDVLQ to pick up on Servius’s Greek technicalities. It is not difficult to understand why this ancient etymological technique catches modern attention. It seems quite wrong at an intuitive level to

1 Note, for instance, the prominence of etymology both in the philosophical/scholarly traditions of Cicero’s De Natura Deorum and in the poetic/mythological traditions of Ovid’s Fasti. 2 Hinds 2006 is a provocative retrospect on the study of poetic etymologizing. 3 Throughout this paper I employ the following convention: words connected by ancient etymology are in bold. Other interesting words, especially etymological markers, and other patterns of soundplay and wordplay are underlined.

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derive a word from its opposite.4 In fact, the first attestation of the ‘grove’ from ‘not shining’ etymology comes when Quintilian scoffs at it (Inst. Orat. 1.6.38): HWLDPQH D FRQWUDULLV DOLTXD VLQHPXV WUDKL XW OXFXV TXLD umbra opacus parum luceat" Perhaps already then this was a prime example of etymological foolishness.5 But Servius repeats it, and on one occasion even presents it as the best of etymological alternatives: lucus autem dicitur, quod non luceat, non quod sint ibi lumina causa religionis, ut quidam volunt. (Servius ad Aen. 1.441)

Servius asserts again that lucus comes about from not shining (TXRG non luceat). Others, perhaps more of Quintilian’s persuasion, explain the name by reference to the lights (lumina) that are in the grove for religious purposes. Clearly both sides are picking up on the fact that lucus sounds like various illumination words in Latin, like OX[ OXFHR For the ancient etymological tradition, observing phonic similarity between words is always the first step towards connecting them etymologically. A very frequent pattern in ancient etymology derives the name of a place from what is in that place.6 So, why does Servius prefer lucus a non lucendo" The difference between this etymology and its alternative is in the semantics they use to link the grove with illumination. The fact that one needs artificial lumina there points to a deeper truth about the grove: it is a place almost preternaturally dark. According to Seneca, it is the darkness

4

Etymology NDWj DQWtSKUDVLQ is relatively infrequent in the Roman etymological tradition. There are only two clear uses of it in Varro’s De Lingua Latina: at Ling. 5.18 he rejects the etymology FDHOXPFHODUH. At DLL 5.117 YDOOXPYDULFDUH is only one of two Varronian alternatives, but some readers may feel it the more plausible one: YHO TXRG HD YDULFDUH QHPR SRVVHW XHO TXRG VLQJXOD LEL H[WUHPD bacilla furcillata habent figuram litterae V. Perhaps the etymology Orcus < ortus at DLL 5.66 also constitutes an example: Idem hic Dis patHUGLFLWXULQILPXVTXLHVW FRQLXQFWXV 7HUUDH XEL RPQLD RULXQWXU XEL DERULXQWXU TXRUXP TXRG ILQLV RUWXV Orcus dictus ,I VR LW SURYLGHV DQ LQWHUHVWLQJ SDUDOOHO IRU WKH HW\PRORJ\ țĮIJ੹ ਕȞIJȓijȡĮıȚȞIRU'LVWKDW4XLQWLOLDQSURYLGHVDWInstitutio Oratoria 1.6.38. 5 Whether or not it was always deemed foolish, lucus a non lucendo is the prime example of etymology NDWj DQWtSKUDVLQ Note that it is among the etymologies Isidore of Seville uses to illustrate etymology tout court at Origines 1.29, and his phrasing seems to appropriate Quintilian’s: HW OXFXV TXLD XPEUD RSDFXV SDUXP luceat. 6 A favourite example is the derivation of Porta Mucionis from mugitu. See Varro Ling. 5.164.

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of the lucus that gives it its numinous quality.7 The phonic connection between lucus and the luc- words is taken as self-evident, it seems, and the difference between alternatives rests in detecting the truer semantic link— that which excludes light. 1RZ ZKDW KDSSHQV ZKHQ WKLV HW\PRORJ\ LV XVHG LQ SRHWU\" 7R VWDUW consider the passage that Servius is commenting on when he introduces the etymology, Aeneid 1.437: O fortunDWLTXRUXPLDPPRHQLDVXUJXQW Aeneas ait, et fastigia suspicit urbis. infert se saeptus nebula (mirabile dictu) per medios, miscetque uiris neque cernitur ulli. Lucus in urbe fuit media, laetissimus umbrae, quo primum iactati undis et turbine Poeni effodere loco signum, quod regia Iuno monstraratFDSXWDFULVHTXLVLFQDPfore bello egregiam et facilem uictu per saecula gentem.

Lucus and umbrae frame line 441, in a familiar pattern of etymological wordplay. Umbra invokes the absence of light, and so the audience is primed to consider the grove’s non-shining associations. The passage accesses the vocabulary of speaking (DLWGLFWX and antiquity (priPXPSHU saecula) and sign interpretation (VLJQXP PRQVWUDUDW), and so invites an etymologizing interpretation. Themes of visual perception are especially active in this passage, for Aeneas sees all, and remains unseen.8 There is a contrast inherent, though, in the shady grove, where one sees little, and the portentous grove where one sees the future. What this passage accomplishes so elegantly is the demonstration of both aspects of the grove at once. It is an appropriate place to see the future, because it is numinous. It is numinous because it is obscure. This is, as it were, the tension that inheres in the etymological considerations of lucus. No realist could imagine a grove as anything but dark, but when thinking of a grove it is not inappropriate to think of revelation, for that is itself a kind of

7 Seneca Epist. Moral. 41.3 Si tibi occurrerit vetustis arboribus et solitam DOWLWXGLQHP DJUHVVLV IUHTXHQV OXFXV HW FRQVSHFWXP FDHOL GHQVLWDWH! UDPRUXP DOLRUXP DOLRV SURWHJHQWLXP VXPPRYHQV LOOD SURFHULWDV VLOYDH HW VHFUHWXP ORFL HW DGPLUDWLRXPEUDHLQDSHUWRWDPGHQVDHDWTXHFRQWLQuae fidem tibi numinis faciet. 8 With such a high burden of etymological markers here, O’Hara 1996, 125 is perhaps overcautious in not wholeheartedly endorsing the presence of etymologizing here.

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opposite of obscurity. Illumination peaks in from the lucus etymology, but oppositional thinking also enters.9 Ovid evokes this same etymology in the love song of the Cyclops Polyphemus. The dominant tone here is ridiculous, but etymology adds some disturbing overtones. adspice, sim quantus: non est hoc corpore maior Iuppiter in caelo, nam vos narrare soletis nescio TXHPUHJQDUH,RYHPFRPDSOXULPDWRUYRV prominet in vultus, umerosque, ut lucus, obumbrat « Unum est in media lumen mihi fronte, sed instar ingentis clipei4XLG"1RQKDHFRPQLDPDJQXV Sol XLGHWHFDHOR"Soli tamen unicus orbis. (Met. 13.842-45, 851-53)

Polyphemus leads into what he thinks are his physical charms with terms of utterance and knowledge (narrare, nescio) and also vision (adspice). The passage is rich in repetition, and polyptoton as the Cyclops strives for expression of maximal extent with his limited vocabulary.10 He says he is attractive because dense hair covers his body, or rather ut lucus obumbrat ‘casts it into shadow, like a grove’. The pair of terms provides a link to the OXFXVOXFHR etymology, and there are echoes of the semantic complex it relies on as the passage continues. The word lumen commonly means ‘eye’ but here its other, perhaps more basic meaning, ‘light’, has a place in its interpretation. The double meaning is extended, in further opposition to the hirsute shadows when the Cyclops compares his eye to the sun. And perhaps there is an oxymoron in comparing this eye at the same time to a clipeus ‘shield’ since some in the etymological tradition derive this word ਕʌઁ IJȠ૨ țȜȑȥĮȚWKDWLVIURPµFRQFHDO¶RUHYHQµVWHDO¶11 9

It may also be worth noting that what Aeneas sees in the grove is the templum of Juno. Stégen 1975, 199 interprets the passage with a view to Varro’s etymology of templum from tueor. See Ling. 7.9. The description of the templum has extensive polyptoton, and DHQXVDHV, a classic figura etymologica. It is also curious to note how the whole descriptive sequence from lines 438 – 449 is framed by Aeneas … aenis. 10 Polyptoton: ,XSSLWHU«,RYHPFRUSRUH«FRUSRUDWXUSH«WXUSLV6RO«6ROL Note too the figura etymologica in GHFRUL « GHFHQW 6RO « 6ROL escalates into wordplay by synonyms with the appearance of unicus, a synonym for solus. Cf. Varro Ling. 5.68 sol XHOTXRGLWD6DELQLXHOTXRGsolus LWDOXFHWXWH[HRGHRGLHV sit. Cicero De Natura Deorum 2.68 cum sol GLFWXV VLW XHO TXLDsolus ex omnibus VLGHULEXVHVWWDQWXVXHOTXLDFXPHVWH[RUWXVREVFXUDWLVRPQLEXVsolus apparet. 11 Servius ad Aen. 8.477 clipeum GL[LW TXL PDJQLWXGLQH FRUSXV IXUDWXU XQGH HW clipeus dictus est ਕʌઁ IJȠ૨ țȜȑȥĮȚ. Isidore of Seville Origines 18.12.1 clipeus «

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Polyphemus’s self-description does not settle on metaphors of darkness or of light, but the etymological glimmer in lucus and in clipeus suggests a curious unity to these opposites. Drawing the eye into the semantics of concealment has a vaguely disquieting effect alongside the mention of the sun who sees all. Polyphemus, of course, will not see the concealed traps of Odysseus, and then he will see nothing at all when his eye is stolen.12 The etymology lucus a non lucendo works by playing on a possible unity of opposites. This kind of oppositional thinking can work to contrapuntal effect in poetry, where different messages combine. What happens then if the lucus and its etymological overtones appear amid the VRXQGSOD\ RI VDFUDO ODQJXDJH" 7KHUH LV D YLUWXRVLF H[DPSOH LQ 6HQHFD¶V Phaedra: Regina nemorum sola quae montes colis et una solis montibus coleris dea conuerte tristes ominum in melius minas. o magna siluas inter et lucos dea, clarumque caeli sidus et noctis decus cuius relucet mundus alterna uice, Hecate triformis, en ades coeptis fauens. $QLPXPULJHQWHPWULVWLV+LSSRO\WLGRPD 'HWIDFLOLVDXUHV0LWLJDSHFWXVferum, amare discat, mutuos ignes ferat. LQQHFWHPHQWHPWRUXXVDXHUVXVferox in iura Veneris redeat. huc uires tuas intende: sic te lucidi uultus ferant et nube rupta cornibus puris eas, sic te regentem frena nocturne aetheris detrahere numquam Thessali cantus queant nullusque de te gloriam pastor ferat. Ades inuocata, iam faue uotis, dea. (Seneca Phaedra 406 – 424)

There is a dispute over whether these lines are to be attributed to the nurse or to Phaedra herself, but regardless of the speaker, the import is the same.13 She prays and asks that Hippolytus may be receptive to the GLFWXV DE HR TXRG FOLSHW LG HVW FHOHW FRUSXV SHULFXOLVTXH VXEGXFDW ਕʌઁ IJȠ૨ țȜȑʌIJİȚȞ. 12 One might note an additional wordplay in the collocation VROL « XQLFXV when this is read alongside Varro Ling. 6.58 sol YHOTXRGLWD6DELQLYHOTXRGsolus ita lucet ut ex eo deo dies sit. cf. Cicero Nat. Deor. 2.68 cum sol GLFWXV VLW YHO TXLD solus H[RPQLEXVVLGHULEXVHVWWDQWXVYHOTXLDFXPHVWR[RUWXVREVFXUDWLVRPQLEXV solus apparet. cf. Hopkinson 2000, 226. 13 Coffey and Mayer 1990, 127 summarize some positions on speaker assignment.

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impending revelation of the desire Phaedra feels for him, though she is married to his father. The language of the invocation involves phonic embellishments (colis : colerissola : solis), and evokes processes of sign interpretation (ominum). The passage builds out a picture of the goddess through her attributes. First the audience is presented with the forest glades, and mountains of her worship. She is called ‘Queen of the Glades’ (regina nemorum), and bid to transform the signs that threaten the speaker into those that can have a more encouraging interpretation. With this comes mention of the lucos where she dwells, and immediately thereafter the audience is shown to the light that the goddess gives off. She is the clarum caeli sidus ‘the bright star of the sky’ and she ‘shines’ in the night. The word used is relucet. An audience may start thinking about illumination and the grove when lucos and clarum have appeared. With relucet it is not difficult to process an alliterative wordplay. Lucus and relucet sound alike. Relucet refers to illumination, and lucus of course excludes that idea. All the elements of the etymology lucus a non lucendo are therefore brought to bear on the passage. This is another place, though, where the larger structure of thought in the passage parallels the associations tied into the wordplay. The basic elements that start the wordplay calculation are dispersed through the two focal areas of the invocation. Etymology helps bring out the paradoxical twinning of this goddess’s interests. She is the goddess of dark groves, and also the moon that illuminates. She is asked to make things clear, though she herself dwells in obscurity. :KR WKHQ LV WKLV SDUDGR[LFDO JRGGHVV" 7KH JRGGess of glades and hunting should surely be Diana. The collocation regina nemorum may call to mind in particular the rex nemorensis in the grove of Diana at Aricia. The idea that the Moon is being invoked comes through even more strongly as the prayer draws to a close, with reference to the Moon’s “horns” and to this mysterious shepherd who once carried off her glory. This is probably Endymion.14 Almost all the Roman sources for the story of Endymion name his lover as Luna. The major exception is Catullus, who calls her Trivia—often an epithet of Diana, but also of Hecate.15 And Hecate triformis is the only named goddess in this passage. So who is the JRGGHVVDGGUHVVHGLQWKHSUD\HU"'LDQD"/XQD"+HFDWH" That epithet, triformis, should alert us to the possibility of multiple identities in this goddess. The cult statue of Diana at Aricia was a triple 14

For Endymion loved by Luna, see Cicero Tusculan Disputations +\JLQXV Fabulae 2YLGArs Amatoria 3.83, Heroides 18.61-3OLQ\WKH(OGHUNatural History &DWXOOXV66.5-6 has Endymion loved by Trivia. 15 Ehlers RE 7.A1.521-522

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statue, and in Aeneid 4.511, Vergil refers to WHUJHPLQD +HFDWH WULD uirginis ora Dianae. Roman blending of Diana and Hecate is anticipated by the Greek blend of Artemis and Hecate that appears among other places, in Euripides.16 Diana was perhaps not always identified with the moon. Varro, for instance, lists Luna and Diana separately in a list of gods imported from the Sabines.17 However, the ancient identification of Diana and the moon is entrenched in Roman patterns of explanation. Consider Varro’s etymology of Diana from diuiana: this is only comprehensible on its basis, for example.18 And Varro’s etymology of luna offers another way to reinforce her presence in the prayer. /XQD TXRG VROD OXFHW QRFWX.19 The word luna does not appear in the Senecan prayer, but it is clearly the referent of FODUXP « VLGXV and noctis decus. Once the reader or listener comprehends this reference, and realizes the phonic representation of this idea as luna, all is set for another etymologizing interpretation. Combining the etymologies of lucus and luna takes the opposition between the grove goddess and the moon goddess to another level. It is as if her unity of opposing ideas were foreordained by etymology. The etymological motif of illumination seems to harmonize the two divine figures, but it also reveals the potential for dissonance in their combination. There may be an additional syncretic transformation occurring in this passage: also identified with the moon is the Roman childbirth goddess Lucina.20 Note that the goddess is here invoked to help 16

Euripides Phoenissae 109f. ੁઅ ʌȩIJȞȚĮʌĮ૙ ȁĮIJȠ૨ȢਬțȐIJĮ6HH)RUG\FH 173 on Catullus 34. Green 2007 has provided sensitive and copious discussions of the various guises of the goddess at Aricia including Diana (71 – 85, 112 – 121), Trivia (128 – 131) and Luna (121 – 128). 17 Varro Ling. 5.74 18 Varro Ling. 5.68 hanc [sc. lunam] XW6ROHP$SROOLQHPTXLGDP'LDQDPXRFDQW $SROOLQLVXRFDEXOXP*UDHFXPDOWHUXP/DWLQXPHWKLQFTXRGOXQDLQDOWLWXGLQHP HWODWLWXGLQHPVLPXOLW'LXLDQDDSSHOODWD. 19 Varro Ling. 5.68. Other references to this etymology in Maltby 1991 s.v. 20 Varro Ling. 5.69 DE /DWLQLV ,XQR /XFLQD GLFWD XHO TXRG HVW HW WHUUD XW SK\VLFL GLFXQWHWOXFHWXHOTXRGDEOXFHHLXVTXDTXLVFRQFHSWXVHVWXVTXHDGHDPTXD SDUWXVTXLVLQOXFHP/XQDLXXDWGRQHFPHQVLEXVDFWLVSURGX[LWLQOXFHPILFWDDE iuuando et luce Iuno Lucina. Cf. Cicero De Natura Deorum 2.68 luna a lucendo QRPLQDWD VLW HDGHP HVW HQLP /XFLQD LWDTXH XW DSXG *UDHFRV 'LDQDP HDPTXH Luciferam sic apud nostros Iunonem Lucinam in pariendo inuocant. In view of the vision-related issues this chapter explores it is interesting to note Varro’s sidecomment about the goddess. +RF XLGLVVH DQWLTXDV DSSDUHW TXRG PXOLHUHV potissimum supercilia sua attribuerunt ei deae. Hic enim debuit maxime collocari ,XQR/XFLQD ut ab diis lux datur oculis. Pace Green 2007 it is not clear to me from

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ease the beginnings of a new venture. Lucina is typically identified with Juno, but as early as Catullus 34 Iuno Lucina is blended into the figure of Diana.21 Perhaps it is significant that the goddess is addressed in Seneca as Regina.22 The etymological tradition links Lucina both with the 23 ILLUMINATION words in luc-, and with lucus. There is a certain strangeness to begin with, when this speaker invokes the virgin goddess Diana to help Phaedra violate her stepson’s virginity. If Juno, the patroness of marriage, is now involved, how much more discomfort might WKHOLQHVHYRNH" Such confusion of divine identities and functions is not out of place in the ‘broken world’ of Seneca’s tragedies.24 There is also another way to XQGHUVWDQGZKDWLVKDSSHQLQJLQWKLVSUD\HUWKLVLVDQDWWHPSWE\DKXPDQ character to communicate with the divine, and it expresses that character’s understanding of the divine, and hopes for future possibility. Syncretism can be a creative response to the paradoxes of her experience. Whether one attributes the syncretic project to the speaker or to Seneca, I would emphasize a continuity in thought pattern from this passage to those examined in Ovid or Vergil, or indeed in the etymological tradition of lucus a non lucendo. That etymology works by deploying thoughts about the unity of opposites. Such oppositional thinking reverberates in the poetic use of this etymology, and I submit, it affects how one thinks about the religious aspects of lucus—who better to embody opposites than the regina nemorum"

Varro that the Iuno in Iuno Lucina is only an epithet of Diana. Varro clearly thinks Iuno Lucina is also identified with the moon. Varro’s order of presentation might suggest that Luna is the most fundamental identity he assigns this goddess, but he gives no grounds for neglecting the Iuno aspects of Iuno Lucina. In Vergil Eclogues 4.10, Horace Carmen Saeculare 15, Martial De Spectaculis 13.4-6 the name Lucina is used to refer to Diana. 21 Catullus 34.13-16 tu Lucina GROHQWLEXV,XQRdicta SXHUSHULVWXSRWHQV7ULXLD HWQRWKRHVdicta lumine Luna. 22 Diana Regina is attested in inscriptions from Dacia (CIL 3.1003, and 3.6160) and Moesia Inferior (CIL 3.12371). Regina is, however, a typical epithet of Iuno. See Schulten RE 1A.pt.1.472-473. The phrase regina nemorum has no exact parallels. Statius Thebaid 4.34 has nemoris regina sonori referring to Calliope. 23 For Lucina < lucus see Ovid Fasti 2.449-50 gratia Lucinae 'HGLW KDHF WLEL nomina lucus  DXW TXLD SULQFLSLXP WX GHDlucis habes. cf. Pliny the Elder Nat. Hist. 16.225. For Lucina < luc- see note 20 above. 24 This useful term is from Littlewood 2004, 15ff.

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Works Cited Coffey, M. and R. Mayer 1990. Seneca: Phaedra. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Green, C.M.C. 2007. Roman Religion and the Cult of Diana of Aricia. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Hinds, S. 2006. “Venus, Varro and the Vates: Toward the Limits of Etymologizing Interpretation.” Dictynna 3:175-209. Hopkinson, N. 2000. 2YLG 0HWDPRUSKRVHV %RRN ;,,,. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Littlewood, C.A.J. 2004. Self-Representation and Illusion in Senecan Tragedy. Oxford: Oxford University Press. O’Hara, J.J. 1996. True Names: Vergil and the Alexandrian Tradition of Etymological Wordplay. Ann Arbor: University of Michigan Press. Stégen, G. 1975. Le livre I de l’Éneide. Namur: Wesmael-Charlier.

ANCIENT LINGUISTIC, LITERARY AND RELIGIOUS ELEMENTS IN KALLIMACHOS AND CHRYSORRHOE1 EDWIN D. FLOYD UNIVERSITY OF PITTSBURGH

Summary of Kallimachos and Chrysorrhoe. In this 2607-line work, we start with a king’s three sons. On their journeys, organized by their father in order to ascertain which one is most worthy to succeed him, they come to Dragon-castle. Only the youngest, Kallimachos, dares to proceed to this terrifying place. There, he finds a fair maiden who is being tortured by a dragon. Kallimachos slays the dragon, and he and the lady, Chrysorrhoe, take over the dragon’s abode. Before long, though, another king abducts Chrysorrhoe and whisks her away. Eventually, Kallimachos and Chrysorrhoe are reunited, and after various subsequent tribulations, they return to Dragon-castle – presumably, to live happily ever after. 2. Vedic parallels. The conflict with a dragon, just summarised, might VHHP WR EH D GLVWLQFWO\ PHGLHYDO SRLQW $W DQ\ UDWH &XSDQH V GLVFXVsion (1995: 48-49) connects Kallimachos with various medieval romances from Western Europe. Dragon-slaying, though, could also be regarded as an ancient, Indo-European type of heroic exploit, if we consider the paradigmatic pattern of “How to Kill a Dragon”, developed by Watkins 1995. Particularly important as a parallel to Kallimachos is Rig-Veda 1.32. This hymn begins with the proclamation that the rishi will sing the manly deeds of Indra -the first that he accomplished. These revolve around Indra’s slaying the dragon Vrtra. Likewise, Kallimachos’ defining characteristic–his heroic deed par excellence-is dragon-slaying. 1

Besides my presentation at the Santiago de Compostela conference in May-June, 2012, this paper also draws on material that I presented at the 55th and 56th annual conferences of the International Linguistic Association, held at SUNY / New Paltz in April, 2010 and at Rutgers University (New Brunswick, NJ) in April, 2011.

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There is also a more specific, locational point of contact between Kallimachos and Rig-Veda 1.32. The Vedic serpent Vrtra is associated with mountains, and the Byzantine Dragon-castle is located on a mountain-top. Moreover, Vrtra had pent up the waters, keeping them from PDQNLQG,QGUD, though, releases the waters, which move like cattle. The Byzantine dragon had likewise stopped rivers from flowing (655-660), and KHKDGHDWHQDQLPDOVDVLIWKH\ZHUHZDWHU  PRUHRYHUDWWKLVSRLQW “water” is expressed through one of only two occurrences in Kallimachos of a form of the classical word ੢įȦȡ LQ FRQWUDVW WR WKH medieval and modern *UHHNȞİȡંȞȞİȡં, which appears 21 times. Still another point of comparison is that in Rig-Veda 1.32, after mention of the fact that Vrtra was killed by Indra, there is reference to V৚tra’s mother, who attempts to avenge her son. Correspondingly, at Kall., 2579, a sorceress is referred to as a “mother of demons”, and previously, at line 1284, this sorceress had produced another, phantom dragon, so as to distract Kallimachos. Of course, parallels of this sort do not plausibly indicate a knowledge of Vedic literature in a Byzantine context. Instead, we must somehow be dealing with very long maintenance of Indo-European patterns in both Indic and Greek. More specifically, in the case of Kallimachos, the process would appear to be that by utilizing archaic and classical Greek sources, in which still earlier patterns had been preserved, the Byzantine author thereby sometimes paralleled the Rig-Veda fairly closely. 3. $QGURQLNRV 3DODLRORJRV as the author of Kallimachos and Chrysorrhoe. The likely provenance of our novel also corroborates the idea that classical models might be utilized in it. No author’s name is associated with Kallimachos and Chrysorrhoe in our sole manuscript. Following Martini 1896, though, Pichard 1956: xvi-xxviii identifies the author as Andronikos Palaiologos. The identification is based on a summary by Manuel Philes (fourteenth century CE) of a narrative by Andronikos that is quite similar to Kallimachos and Chrysorrhoe. Some scholars, such as Betts 1995: 33-35 and Cupane 1995: 27 and 49, have remained hesitant about the attribution. Beaton 1996: 104, though, writes as follows: “There is no reason to doubt that this romance was written by Andronikos Komnenos Branas Doukas Angelos Palaiologos, the nephew of the first emperor of the Palaiologan dynasty, between the years 1310 and 1340.” It is, I submit, just such an author who might be expected to utilize ancient sources such as Homeric epic.

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4. A specific verbal parallel with the Odyssey. When Kallimachos and Chrysorrhoe first meet, their encounter is reported as follows, line 473: Ȝ੼ȖİȚʌȡઁȢIJȠ૨IJȠȞāਙȞșȡȦʌİIJ઀ȢİੇıĮȚʌંșİȞİੇıĮȚ SKHVD\VWRKLP³0DQZKRDUH\RX")URPZKHUHDUH\RX"´

&KU\VRUUKRH¶V FRPELQDWLRQ KHUH RI IJ઀Ȣ ³ZKR´ DQG ʌંșİȞ ³ZKHQFH from where” is a recurring Homeric pattern, found seven times in the Odyssey LQ WKH SKUDVH IJ઀Ȣ ʌંșİȞ İੁȢ ਕȞįȡ૵Ȟ ³:KR IURP ZKHUH are you DPRQJPHQ"´7KHUHDUHDOVR,QGLFSDUDOOHOV VHH:HVW-431), and some of these, such as 0DKDEKDUDWD 1.65.12 and 1.142.3, are between a man and a woman, just as at Od. 7.238, 10.325, and 19.105, along with Kall., 473. Accordingly, it emerges that here too the Byzantine novel has DGDSWHGDYHU\DQFLHQWSDWWHUQVLPSO\FKDQJLQJ+RPHULFİੁȢ³\RXDUH´WR WKH%\]DQWLQH DQG0RGHUQ*UHHN İੇıĮȚ 5. ³(DUO\ UHFRJQLWLRQ´. There are also points of comparison between the Odyssey and Kallimachos which are confined just to Greek, without any obvious extra-Hellenic parallels. One important area for such comparison revolves around what may be called Odyssean “early recognition”. At Od. 19.508-604, Penelope, speaking to her disguised husband Odysseus, says that her numerous obnoxious and dangerous Suitors pose such a problem that she will, reluctantly, remarry tomorrow. Bringing out Odysseus’ great bow, she will choose, as her new husband, whoever can most easily string it and use it as Odysseus once did. An attractive approach to the fore-going situation, developed by Harsh 1950 and Vlahos 2011, is that Penelope knows the Stranger’s true identity and intends that Odysseus should use the bow to shoot down the Suitors when they are assembled for the ostensible contest. Otherwise, the argument runs, Penelope’s “decision to remarry” would be out of place at this juncture, inasmuch as she has just received, from various sources, quite a bit of information that suggests that her husband will finally be returning home soon. 6. $ VXSSRVHG DUJXPHQW DJDLQVW ³HDUO\ UHFRJQLWLRQ´ Many distinguished Homerists, though, view matters differently. Louden 2011: 99, for example, cites Od. 1.420, where reference is made to what Telemachos thought, but did not openly acknowledge. According to Louden, Homer would have specified something similar in connection with Penelope in Book 19, if he had intended us to regard her as knowing the Stranger’s true identity. Similarly, Dimock 1989: 262 had cited the

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phrase “his/her mind thinks/thought otherwise”, found at Od. 2.92, 13.381, and 18.283, as an example of Homer’s explicitly, cluing us in to a character’s thoughts in a way that Dimock says is completely lacking in the presentation of Penelope’s interaction with the Stranger. One of Dimock’s passages, though, is Od. 18.283, in which Odysseus rejoices at Penelope’s wheedling gifts from the Suitors, “although her mind thought otherwise”. This passage therefore indicates some rapprochement between Penelope and the Stranger. In fact, when it is considered along with a preceding reference to Penelope’s biding her time (18.163), it constitutes a fairly explicit authorial indication of “early recognition”, some 250 lines before Penelope and the Stranger actually FRQYHUVHLQ%RRNKHQFHLWZRUNVLQMXVWWKHRSSRVLWHIDVKLRQWRZKDW Dimock argues for2. 7. The motif of despair. There is, however, also a seemingly discordant note in Book 18, viz., Penelope’s wish for death at Artemis’ hands. This comes at Od. 18.201-205, and it seems to have deflected attention from the importance of the passage, about eighty lines later (18.281-283), as being an actual indication of recognition. When the Odyssey is viewed against the perspective of Kallimachos, though, the supposed difficulty emerges in a different light. At Od. 20.61-90, just sixty lines after the conclusion of her conversation with the Stranger in Book 19, Penelope once again wishes for death at Artemis’ hands, because she loathes the prospect of marrying a man inferior to Odysseus. Perhaps as much as anything in the Odyssey, this particular passage has been relied on as “disproving” an interpretation of Book 19 in terms of “early recognition”. Or, if it does not disprove it, the passage would nevertheless seem to undermine such an interpretation fairly seriously3. When we turn to Kallimachos, though, we find a pattern similar to that of Odyssey, Books 18 and 20. At .DOO 1485, after a laborious journey, Kallimachos finally comes to the region of the king who is keeping Chrysorrhoe under his control, though she resolutely resists his suit. Finally, at lines 1739-1747, Kallimachos places a ring, which Chrysorrhoe 2

For ਕȤȡİ૙ȠȞ Od. 18.163) as being derived from ਙȤȡȚ ³XQWLO´ DQG KHQFH DV meaning “biding one’s time”, see Floyd 2011: 132-134. 3 For discussion of Od. 20.61-90 as being incompatible with “early recognition”, see Russo 1992: 113 (note on 20.80) and Yamagata 2011: 128 and 139, n. 10. Especially noteworthy is the fact that, although Yamagata, p. 127, finds many aspects of Vlahos’ argument for early recognition “very attractive and convincing”, she says that Od. 20.61-90 constitutes a considerable obstacle to it.

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had once given him, on a tree where she will find it. Seeing the ring, Chrysorrhoe is initially overjoyed, feeling that Kallimachos must be nearby, but soon, at line 1776, she is overcome by a fear that, in these new circumstances, she will die forthwith. This, then, is specifically the motif of despair at a particularly hopeful juncture, and correspondingly parallels the mixture of hope and despair that is exhibited by Penelope on two separate occasions. 8. Additional resonances in the Byzantine novel. There is also an important linguistic point. Just like his lady, Kallimachos too is presented, at lines 1444-1457 and 1728-1738, as despairing and fearing that he will die, if he is actually reunited with Chrysorrhoe. In the first of these passages, we find, at line 1449, the second of the two occurrences in Kallimachos of the inherited Indo-European word for water (genitive plural, ਫ਼į੺IJȦȞ  UDWKHU WKDQ WKH PRUH IUHTXHQWO\ XVHG ȞİȡંȞȞİȡં. Evidently, then, when using an ancient, Odyssean motif, which combined rejoicing and despair, our author also gravitated toward more archaic language, just as he had in the reference to the dragon’s swallowing up cattle like ੢įȦȡ “water” (667), noted previously as having a Vedic parallel. An adumbration of some ancient pattern is also important in connection with the passage concerning the ring. As pointed out by Pichard 1956: 62-63, note 1, although the outline of the scene is clear, the details are obscure. First, there is a reference to a tree (1751), and then, in the next line (1752) there is mention of an orange tree. There are therefore evidently two trees, entwined around one another, and the ring is placed on one of them. This may seem an unnecessary complication in the narrative, quite irrelevant to Chrysorrhoe’s discovering some indication of Kallimachos’ whereabouts. It does, however, serve an important intertextual purpose, inasmuch as the two trees neatly adumbrate the Odyssean bed, built around an olive trunk (Od. 23.183-204), which will eventually serve as a definitive token of recognition in the Odyssey. 9. Authorial reticence. Perhaps most important of all, as an overall point of comparison between Kallimachos and the Odyssey, is what one might call “authorial reticence”–the fact that one must read between the lines in order to understand Odyssey, Book 19 in terms of “early recognition”. In Kallimachos, the hero and heroine are reunited at line 1853, as a “gardener” appears before Chrysorrhoe. For over 500 lines, though, from their initial reunion at line 1853 up to line 2371, there is no explicit

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statement that “Chrysorrhoe recognized Kallimachos” or “so Chrysorrhoe acted while thinking...” Not until line 2371 does she use the name “Kallimachos” in connection with the “gardener”. Instead, Chrysorrhoe addresses him just as “stranger” and “beggar” (line 1912), followed by a scene of kissing and embracing (lines 1914-1935). The scene is admittedly far more sensuous (and hence, relatively transparent as indicating recognition) than anything we have in the Odyssey. Nevertheless, the crucial pattern of Penelope’s reference to her husband as “stranger”, found at Od. 19. 509, 560, and 589, in a scene that can be plausibly interpreted in terms of her already knowing the “stranger’s” true identity, is exactly paralleled at Kall. 1911-1913. It is, I submit, a point that the author deliberately utilised, as paralleling the absence of any outright statement in Odyssey, Book 19 to the effect that “so Penelope acted, because she recognized the Stranger”4. 10. How the Odyssey helps in understanding Kallimachos and Chrysorrhoe. According to Betts 1995: 34, an awkward loose end is left in Kallimachos in the fact that the matter of which brother should succeed his father is not ultimately dealt with. Kallimachos seems obviously the most capable of the brothers, but at the end he and Chrysorrhoe return to Dragon-castle rather than to his father’s kingdom. In Betts’ opinion, this feature is one of several “inconsistencies” that indicate a possible fairy-tale origin for the novel, rather than its being a sophisticated courtly treatment, such as Philes’ summary of some composition by Andronikos Palaiologos might suggest. Actually, though, the supposed “inconsistency” parallels an important narrative feature of the Odyssey, and so supports a distinctly literary background for Kallimachos. As stated by Teiresias at Od. 11.121-134, Odysseus must eventually travel inland until he meets people who mistake an oar for a winnowing-fan. Having found such inveterate land-lubbers, Odysseus can establish the worship of Poseidon among them and so assuage the sea-god’s wrath against him. This task, still unfulfilled, is mentioned again at 23.248-255 and 267-281, but that is all. There is accordingly a pattern in both the Classical and Byzantine works of (1) an initial mention of an important task (Odyssey%RRNKallimachos, lines 25-74), followed by (2) a subsequent reference back to this (Odyssey, 4 Pichard 1956: 66 suggests a lacuna, which might have accommodated a statement such as “the lady fainted because she recognized Kallimachos”, following line  KRZHYHU &KDW]HJLDNRXPHV  -196, as reported by both Cupane 1995: 168-169 and Betts 1995: 90, no. 55, argues convincingly against positing any such gap in the text.

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%RRNKallimachos, lines 2505-2510, where Kallimachos mentions his father and brothers briefly), but (3) with a different dénouement to the work as a whole. The parallel also extends to the specific conclusions, even as these reflect quite different religious world-views. The Odyssey ends (24.548) with peace being established by Athena, acting in concert with her father Zeus. Likewise, Kallimachos ends with Kallimachos and Chrysorrhoe safe under the protection of God our Saviour (lines 2603 and 2607). In fact, the patterning stretches even farther back. In Rig-Veda 1.32. stanzas 1-14 recount various problems that Indra had in dealing with Vrtra DQG9UWUD VPRWKHUEXWWKHFRQFOXGLQJVWDQ]DIRFXVHVMXVWRQ,QGUD V dominion over all. Paralleling this in the Odyssey is the fact that it is pervaded by tension between Odysseus and the Ithakans, as represented by the Suitors and their relatives, but the very end of the poem (Od. 24.546548) reverses this. Likewise, much of Kallimachos and Chrysorrhoe deals with the various trials and tribulations of the title characters, but the concluding lines, 2601-2608, deal only with their ineffable happiness, under divine protection.

Works Cited Beaton, R. 1996. 7KH0HGLHYDO*UHHN5RPDQFH, 2nd edition, revised and expanded. London: Routledge. Betts, G. trans. 1995. Three Medieval *UHHN5RPDQFHV 9HOWKDQGURVDQG &KU\VDQG]D  .DOOLPDFKRV DQG &KU\VRUURL  /LYLVWURV DQG 5RGDPQL . New York: Garland. Chatzegiakoumes, M..ȉ੹ ȝİıĮȚȦȞȚț੹ įȘȝઆįȘțİ઀ȝİȞĮȈȣȝȕȠȜ੽ ıIJ੽ ȝİȜ੼IJȘțĮ੿ ıIJ੽Ȟ਩țįȠı੾ IJȠȣȢ,. Athens. Cupane, C. 1995. Romanzi Cavallereschi Bizantini. Callimaco e &ULVRUURH %HOWDQGUR H &ULVDQ]D 6WRULD GL $FKLOOH )ORULR H 3OD]LDIORUH 6WRULD GL $SROORQLR GL 7LUR )DYROD FRQVRODWRULD VXOOD Cattiva e la Buona Sorte. Turin: Unione Tipografico-Editrice Torinese. Dimock, G.E. 1989. The Unity of the Odyssey. Amherst: University of Massachusetts Press. Floyd, E.D., 2011. “Linguistic, Mycenaean, and Iliadic Traditions Behind PenHORSH V 5HFRJQLWLRQ RI 2G\VVHXV´ College Literature 38.2: 131158. Harsh, P.W. 1950. “Penelope and Odysseus in Odyssey XIX.” AJPh 71: 121. Heubeck, A. ed. 1988-1992. A Commentary on Homer's Odyssey, 3 vols. Oxford: Clarendon Press.

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Louden, B. 2011. “Is There Early Recognition between Penelope and 2G\VVHXV" %RRN  LQ WKH /DUJHU &RQWH[W RI WKH Odyssey.” College Literature 38.2: 76-100. Martini, E. 1896. “A proposito di una poesia inedita di Manuele File.” Reale Istituto Lombardo di Scienze Lettere e arti. Rendiconti, ser. 2, 29: 460-471. Pichard, M. 1956. /H 5RPDQ GH &DOOLPDTXH HW GH &KU\VRUUKRp WH[WH établi et traduit. Paris: Les Belles-Lettres. Russo, J. 1992. “Commentary on 2G\VVH\ Books XVII-XX.” In Heubeck 1988-1992, vol. 3, 1-127. Vlahos, J.B. 2011. “Homer’s Odyssey: Penelope and the Case for Early Recognition.” College Literature 38.2: 1-75. Watkins, C. 1995. How to Kill a Dragon: Aspects of Indo-European Poetics. New York: Oxford University Press. West, M.L. 2007. Indo-European Poetry and Myth. Oxford: University Press. Yamagata, N. 2011. “Penelope and Early Recognition: Vlahos, Harsh, and Eustathius.” College Literature 38.2: 122-130.

RELIGIOUS LANGUAGE IN GREEK AND LATIN LITERATURE

POESÍA Y RITUAL EN LA GRECIA ANTIGUA: OBSERVACIONES SOBRE LOS PEANES DÉLFICOS EMILIO SUÁREZ DE LA TORRE UNIVERSITAT POMPEU FABRA, BARCELONA

1. El rito de la palabra y la palabra en el rito 1.1 ¿Hubo en Grecia una “lengua religiosa”? El poeta y la fiesta religiosa Al referirnos a la antigua Grecia, el concepto de “lenguaje religioso” es tan problemático como la separación radical de un espacio abstracto1 de lo religioso dentro de la cultura griega. Repetidamente advertimos a nuestros alumnos que los griegos antiguos no usaban un término unívoco equivalente al nuestro de “religión”, que la suya no era una religión revelada (si es que es una religión) o que no existe el concepto de dogma ni, por tanto, un cuerpo sacerdotal encargado de mantener su pureza. Si HVWRHVDVt¢VHSXHGHKDEODUGHXQOHQJXDMHUHOLJLRVR"¢6yORFDEHHQWRQFHV KDEODUGHOHQJXDMHSRpWLFRDGDSWDGRDORUHOLJLRVR"¢6yORSRGUHPRVhablar GHOHQJXDUHOLJLRVDHQHOVHQWLGRGHWHUPLQRORJtDULWXDORFXOWXDO" En mi opinión, sólo cabe hablar de lenguaje poético adaptado a lo religioso. Matizo esta afirmación. Sólo podemos hablar de lengua religiosa en el sentido de terminología ritual o cultual. Desde los primeros textos con referencias de culto en las tablillas micénicas, pasando por las numerosas inscripciones de contenido cultual (sustancialmente las que conocemos como leyes sagradas2) conocemos una amplia terminología religiosa. Hay una terminología religiosa, un léxico que, en principio, está cargado de una valencia religiosa, en la que, salvo algunos adjetivos muy 1

Es obvia la existencia de un espacio sagrado físico. De nuevo hay que señalar que este conjunto de leyes no implica ninguna normativa de carácter dogmático, sino que son prescripciones fundamentalmente rituales.

2

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marcados semánticamente (ੂİȡંȢ, ਖȖȞંȢ, ੖ıȚȠȢ3), lo que abundan son verbos de acciones rituales (ș઄İȚȞ, especializaciones como ૧੼ȗȦ [਩ȡįȦ]) o sustantivos que las designan (IJİȜİIJ੾, ੕ȡȖȚĮ, ਦȠȡIJ੾, ʌĮȞ੾ȖȣȡȚȢ) y muchas designaciones de especialistas rituales4. Lo que no vamos a encontrar en esa clase de textos es… a los poetas. Me refiero a los poetas consagrados que nos han legado composiciones vinculadas a fiestas y celebraciones de los santuarios griegos, aunque sí abundan referencias al personal del templo relacionado con el canto dedicado a los dioses. Por otra parte, hay que hacer una mención especial de la abundancia de textos de canto ritual que nos han llegado a través de fuentes epigráficas, no siempre con atribución de autor. En efecto, la más antigua poesía de los griegos aparece desde muy pronto vinculada a actividades rituales, directa o indirectamente. No sólo es que el canto colectivo esté incorporado a los más diversos rituales, sino que la actividad de los poetas profesionales se convirtió desde sus comienzos en una parte sustancial de esos rituales, como una contribución relevante a las honras debidas al dios por parte de los ciudadanos, que hacían el encargo al poeta. Como he señalado en otro trabajo5, esta incorporación del poeta profesional al festejo religioso tuvo dos implicaciones. Por un lado, debemos aceptar que la expresión poética se veía limitada o circunscrita por los condicionamientos religiosos (formas rituales, tradiciones míticas, etc.). Por otro, el conjunto de expresiones, fórmulas, cantos, versiones míticas, epítetos divinos, podían ser modificados, innovados y reconducidos por el poeta según sus necesidades compositivas y su propio “estilo”. Es decir, que hay una adaptación poética de la expresión religiosa. Para cumplir con su cometido, el poeta que ha recibido el encargo tiene que utilizar los medios más eficaces. Tiene que esmerarse en una finalidad: la persuasión de los dioses. Todo 3

Todos ellos susceptibles de uso metafórico. Algunos pueden cargarse de connotaciones especiales: ȝ੺țĮȡ, ੕ȜȕȚȠȢ. 4 En la antigua Grecia podemos establecer tres niveles en los que se lleva a cabo el uso de la palabra en relación con lo divino. Serían el del ciudadano privado, el del especialista ritual y el del poeta. La comunicación con los dioses puede hacerse de modo individual, pero la eficacia es mayor a través del profesional. Ese profesional domina las acciones y las palabras. Ambas son esenciales en el rito. Desde los textos micénicos en escritura lineal B el elenco de profesionales (hombre y mujer) es amplio. Omito ahora una relación de los mismos, por lo demás bien conocida, en función de la brevedad, pero no dejo de subrayar la frecuencia en las inscripciones sobre rituales de la serie compuesta con ਫ਼ȝȞ(Ƞ)-: ਫ਼ȝȞ૳įંȢ, ਫ਼ȝȞȠʌંȜȠȢ, ਫ਼ȝȞȠȜંȖȠȢ, ਫ਼ȝȞȠįȚį੺ıțĮȜȠȢ. 5 Suárez de la Torre 2009.

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ello deberá hacerlo a partir de dos materias primas de gran importancia: (a) la tradición mítico-religiosa y (b) la tradición poético-musical (y “coral”, en el sentido etimológico griego), además de proceder en cada FDVRDXQDSUHFLVDDGDSWDFLyQDOFRQWH[WRHVGHFLUHOWHUFHUIDFWRUGHFLVLYR es (c) la puesta en escena ritual (nivel “performativo”). Por estas razones considero que pueden tener interés para el estudio de estos aspectos de la cultura griega las perspectivas abiertas por la corriente denominada ritual poetics6. En esta tendencia el ritual queda definido como un “sistema comunicativo de construcciones culturales, religiosas o seculares, compartidos colectivamente o destacados colectivamente”7.

1.2 Variedades de verbalización en contexto religioso (o la palabra en el rito) Es sabido que en Grecia (como en otras culturas) la palabra forma parte de todos los complejos rituales, es decir, hay una constante relación entre praxis y logos/canto o, en la conocida fórmula descriptiva de los ritos mistéricos, GUyPHQD OHJyPHQD e incluso GHLNQêPHQD, ya que la vertiente espectacular y visual del rito es de suma importancia. La función de la palabra es muy variada. La escala va del grado cero, expresado por una de las acepciones del verbo İ੝ijȘȝİ૙Ȟ8, pasando por expresiones mínimas, como suele ser el ਥʌ઀ijșİȖȝĮ (los más conocidos: ੅șȚ įȚș઄ȡĮȝȕİ, ੁ੽ / ੁ੼, ੁ੾Țİ etc., ȆĮȚ੺Ȟ -aquí con una “resemantización”) o el uso de lexemas con semántica plena, pero sólo comprensibles en el contexto ritual (੢İ ț઄İ), hasta llegar a usos rituales de la palabra muy formalizados y, sobre todo, poetizados, con un gran peso del triángulo palabra – melodía – danza. Estas manifestaciones del uso ritual regulado de la palabra cubren los principales aspectos de la comunicación con los dioses o de las acciones en que la mención de los dioses es requerida, con una escala también de extensión y complejidad variable. Por una parte, acciones como la consulta oracular (y su respuesta), el juramento, o las distintas fórmulas mágicas tienden a regirse por estructuraciones, fórmulas y expresiones regularizadas, aunque con un margen notable de variación. Sin embargo, las variedades destinadas a la comunicación con los dioses

6

Yatromanolakis –Roilos 2004. “Communicative system of collectively shared, or collectively marked out, cultural, religious or secular, constructs”. 8 Como silencio religioso y no como encomio. Sobre silencio religioso vid. Suárez de la Torre 2007. 7

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en las que se registra un mayor nivel de poetización son los himnos9 y (a veces inseparable del anterior) las plegarias10. La existencia de un canto a los dioses (y, secundariamente, a los héroes) tiene que ser muy antigua y tiene que haber pasado por procesos cambiantes de instrumentalización y regularización métrica. Los poetas profesionales fueron componiendo sobre esa base e introdujeron perfeccionamientos, innovaciones y también contribuyeron a una normativización del canto. Cuestión distinta era la de los contenidos. Aquí los poetas asumieron un papel esencial, ya visible en Homero y Hesíodo, como veía con claridad Heródoto. Al no existir el equivalente, por ejemplo, como en Egipto, a un 3HU$QNKo “casa de vida”11, podemos decir que la reflexión teológica llega a los griegos formalizada como expresión poética. El poeta es también un teólogo. Pero interviene también el condicionamiento en la dirección contraria: la tradición local marca sus límites. En cualquier caso, y a pesar de que nuestras clasificaciones genéricas son más de contenido y contexto que formales, se llegó a un cierto consenso en cuanto a la naturaleza y posibilidades de expresión musical y poética en el ámbito religioso.

2. Un canto ritual en su contexto: los peanes délficos Para poder verificar de manera fehaciente los presupuestos que he resumido en el punto anterior, he escogido una variedad poética de especial importancia ritual, atestiguada literariamente desde el siglo VIII a.

9 Los intentos de establecimiento de una historia de cada una de las variedades de himnos a los dioses tropiezan, por una parte, con el problema de la ausencia de testimonios no literarios tempranos y, por otra, con el de la existencia de testimonios literarios que presentan tres dificultades fundamentales: o bien se dice simplemente que alguien entona un canto X a una divinidad Y, sin desarrollo de su conteniGRRDORVXPRFRQXQUHVXPHQGHOPLVPRRELHQHVRVFDQWRVHVWiQPX\ integrados en el género literario que los transmite (y condicionados formalmente SRU pO  R ELHQ SRU ~OWLPR VRQ YDULHGDGHV KtPQLFDV SOHQDPHQWH GHVDUUROODGDV formal y funcionalmente. 10 Sola o combinada con lo anterior. Rudhardt 1992, 187-201, distingue LQYRFDFLyQSHWLFLyQSURPHVDFRQVXOWD (pero no oracular)H[SUHVLyQGHJUDWLWXG plegaria a dioses (propiamente dicha). Para un análisis en profundidad de la plegaria griega, Aubriot–Sevin 1992 (con especial atención al léxico) y Pulleyn 1997. 11 La parte del templo o santuario donde los sacerdotes-escribas conservaban, copiaban y transmitían los textos sagrados, con un estricto control siempre de los aspectos rituales.

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C.12, como es el peán. Además, para poder apreciar con precisión el condicionamiento mutuo entre contexto religioso y composición poética, he limitado el análisis a los peanes conservados que se interpretaron en el santuario de Delfos.

2.1 Peán: historia y teorías En lo que se refiere a las variedades poéticas griegas, la discusión sobre sus rasgos formales y de contenido, en la búsqueda de un perfil definido tanto en la forma como en el contenido (y con frecuente negación de que lo tenga), tiene una larga historia, y muy especialmente el peán y el ditirambo. Anticipando la brevísima revisión de la cuestión que luego haré, creo que podemos manejar algunos datos bastante seguros y algunos criterios relativamente firmes. a. El nombre 3HiQ, como teónimo, aparece en las tablillas micénicas (pa-ia-wo-ne)13. No es absolutamente seguro que pueda ya identificarse con Apolo, cuyo nombre, por otra parte, no tiene presencia segura en esos textos,14 pero podrían coincidir sus funciones. En cualquier caso, en Homero Peán y Apolo sí aparecen distinguidos. El primero es mencionado sólo en contextos de curación de heridas (Il. 5.401 y 900). Además, la antigüedad micénica del nombre divino va en contra del origen cretense del canto. b. El nombre del canto, SHiQ, es más probable que provenga del teónimo que al revés15. c. En Homero el canto del peán tiene dos finalidades: calmar la cólera de Apolo y, por ende, hacer que cese su castigo (Il. 5.899-901) y celebrar 12

En Il.1.472-474 tenemos la primera mención del peán. La siguiente es Arch. F  HV VyOR XQD OtQHD SHUR GD EDVWDQWH LQIRUPDFLyQ D  XQ LQGLYLGXR LQGLFD HO comienzo del canto, señalado con el mismo término que en el ditirambo (ਥȟ੺ȡȤİȚȞ), (b) se acompaña de aulós y (c) debían de existir diferentes modalidades, ya que el poeta especifica aquí que se trata del peán lesbio: Į੝IJઁȢ ਥȟ੺ȡȤȦȞ ʌȡઁȢ Į੝ȜઁȞ ȁ੼ıȕȚȠȞ ʌĮȚ੾ȠȞĮ. En su transmisión de la cita Ateneo (180d) aclara que el instrumento adecuado para marcar el comienzo (el ਥȟ੺ȡȤİȚȞ) es la forminge. Véase una discusión de los problemas planteados por este fragmento en Corrêa 2009. 13 PY Tn 316. 14 Sin embargo, ver Heubeck 1987. 15 Rutherford 2001, 13–17 da un completo dossier de la aplicación del epíteto Peán a Apolo y Asclepio.

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la muerte de Héctor, entonándolo de regreso a las naves (Il. 22.591-592). Es decir: para alejar males y como grito de guerra. En ambos casos los que cantan son los jóvenes guerreros. d. En principio, hemos de suponer que se trata de un peán mínimo, no narrativo. De todas formas, un análisis de los diversos casos del uso de SHiQ en que carecemos de información de contexto, hace difícil establecer con nitidez las diferentes realizaciones del /peán/. Como señala Rutherford, podemos aceptar que “el grito y el canto deberían ser vistos como realizaciones de la misma estructura básica, de la cual una es la realización mínima y la otra una forma desarrollada y expandida”16. e. La vinculación con el culto de Apolo, se recoge ya en el HHAp, en el que lo más interesante es que encontramos la designación ੉ȘʌĮȚ੼ȦȞ tanto para el dios17 como para el canto18, junto con el término simple, peán, que la Musa inspira a los cretenses que acompañan a Apolo19. Dato importante es su vinculación con el comienzo de la ocupación del territorio por el dios. f. La vinculación del peán con el culto de Apolo está confirmada, además, por diversas fuentes, y la mayor parte de los ejemplos de época arcaica y clásica, como veremos en el caso de Píndaro, corresponden a peanes relacionados con su culto. No obstante, incluso también en fecha arcaica, pero en buena medida como producto de su evolución, hay una variedad paralela de usos que debe tenerse en cuenta, a propósito de lo dicho en d20: como plegaria apotropaica y en el simposio, también atestiguado temprano21. Progresivamente se acumulan testimonios que muestran cierta diversificación del uso del peán. El resultado final, si tomamos en consideración su evolución en las diversas etapas de la historia de Grecia y en Roma, es una relativa variedad funcional que, siguiendo la clasificación de Käppel se despliega en los grandes apartados siguientes: A. Situaciones no festivas (enfermedad, guerra, situaciones de SHOLJUR\FRQWUDSXHVWRDOWUHQRHQWUDJHGLD %&HOHEUDFLRQHVIHVWLYDVQR FXOWXDOHV ERGD \ VLPSRVLR  & )LHVWDV UHOLJLRVDV \ FXOWR22. Del mismo 16

Rutherford 2001, 22. 272 ਕȜȜȐ IJȠȚ ੬Ȣ ʌȡȠıȐȖȠȚİȞ ੉ȘʌĮȚ੾ȠȞȚ į૵ȡĮ. 18 El propio dios exhorta a los cretenses a que entonen el canto: 500-501 ਩ȡȤİıșĮȚ ਚȝ’ ਥȝȠ੿ țĮ੿ ੁȘʌĮȚ੾ȠȞ’ ਕİ઀įİȚȞ. 19 517-18 ȀȡોIJİȢ ʌȡઁȢ Ȇȣșઅ țĮ੿ ੁȘʌĮȚȒȠȞ’ ਙİȚįȠȞ, / ȠੈȠȓ IJİ ȀȡȘIJ૵Ȟ ʌĮȚȒȠȞİȢ Ƞੈıȓ IJİ ȂȠ૨ıĮ / ਥȞ ıIJȒșİııȚȞ ਩șȘțİ șİ੹ ȝİȜȓȖȘȡȣȞ ਕȠȚįȒȞ. 20 Sigo la descripción de Rutherford 2001, 36-58. 21 Alcmán, PMG  &DODPH 22 Käppel 1992, 299-341, que recoge 20 ubicaciones atestiguadas de estos ritos, de las cuales las más destacadas y variadas son Delfos, Esparta y Atenas. 17

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modo, también en una evolución histórica, el número y variedad de destinatarios va ampliándose (dioses, héroes y mortales), pero siempre tendrá preponderancia la cualidad sustancial apolínea del peán (cf. infra). Pasemos ahora a la cuestión de la teorización sobre el peán. Habría que decir, de forma muy resumida, que, mientras que hasta Platón hay una conciencia de diferenciación funcional (con base etiológica) bastante nítida, de la que sería representativo un conocido fragmento de un treno de Píndaro23, el texto platónico de referencia24 revela una nueva tendencia de carácter normativo sobre criterios formales que irá in crescendo hasta época helenística, en la que no faltan polémicas al respecto entre filólogos, como la conocida en torno a la clasificación del poema 23 de Baquílides (lo sabemos por un escolio) entre Calímaco (para el que era un peán) y Aristarco (ditirambo). No obstante, a los alejandrinos les debemos nuestra actual agrupación, por lo que es comprensible la revisión de esa clasificación en la actualidad. Ahora bien, con la excepción que acabo de señalar, lo cierto es que no es el peán precisamente la variedad de canto que haya sido más polémica para los antiguos. Pensemos, por ejemplo, en la clasificación que conservamos en la Biblioteca de Focio con atribución a Proclo25: el peán es una forma (“especie”) de canto que ahora se escribe para todos los dioses, pero que antiguamente se dedicaba propiamente a Apolo y Ártemis y se cantaba para que cesaran plagas26 y enfermedades.27

De una forma muy nítida, un autor de época imperial romana nos define una evolución histórica del peán en cuanto al destinatario del himno divino y a su función más antigua. Los peanes que han llegado hasta nosotros confirman la descripción de Proclo. De los posibles criterios clasificatorios de este canto, sólo nos queda el de la función (“alejar males”), mientras que el destinatario evoluciona históricamente. Por otra parte, un análisis de los peanes tampoco permite hablar de criterios formales exclusivos y permanentes. De modo que, con estos problemas de fondo, se comprende que los filólogos hayan vuelto con frecuencia a la

23

Pind. Thren. 3, ver Cannatà-Fera 1980, Käppel 1992, 28-29 y 34-35 (Test. 1). Leg. 700 a-d (Test. 2 Käppel). 25 Proclo (Phot. Bibl. 320a 21-24 Henry). 26 En realidad el término hace referencia a plagas y epidemias indistintamente. 27 ੒ į੻ ʌĮȚ੺Ȟ ਥıIJȚȞ İੇįȠȢ ધįોȢ İੁȢ ʌ੺ȞIJĮȢ Ȟ૨Ȟ ȖȡĮijંȝİȞȠȢ șİȠ઄Ȣ, IJઁ į੻ ʌĮȜĮȚઁȞ ੁį઀ȦȢ ਕʌİȞ੼ȝİIJȠ IJ૶ ਝʌંȜȜȦȞȚ țĮ੿ IJૌ ਝȡIJ੼ȝȚįȚ ਥʌ੿ țĮIJĮʌ੺ȣıİȚ ȜȠȚȝ૵Ȟ țĮ੿ ȞȠ઄ıȦȞ ઇįંȝİȞȠȢ. 24

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cuestión de la definición del peán28. De toda esta polémica, el núcleo de discusión actual se podría reducir a la cuestión de si el término SHiQ recoge un concepto unívoco, que unifica forma y contenido, y perfectamente distinto de otras variedades poéticas corales. Si bien no faltan motivos para dudar de una rígida clasificación en lo formal, al menos parece que la marca del epitegma es bastante perdurable. Nadie duda de la función de petición de salvación (o apotropaica), con una derivación como canto de agradecimiento, y esa plegaria se dirige mayoritariamente (y, sobre todo, durante muchos siglos) a Apolo. Por último, se ha de admitir que los actantes de la interpretación son jóvenes, 28

He aquí un compendio de opiniones desde el siglo XIX. Para Schwalbe 1847 su nombre y carácter estaban en función del dios Apolo (pero no conocía los de Píndaro y Baquílides). Fairbanks 1900 considera que es algo indudablemente apolíneo y que estamos ante un problema de rigor histórico. Deubner 1919 se inclinaba por una explicación de psicología religiosa: contribuía a la resolución de la tensión. Por cierto, negaba la existencia de un dios Peán. Färber 1936 se concentró en la teoría postalejandrina, mientras que Harvey 1955 demostró claramente la falta de correspondencia con la realidad de la clasificación alejandrina, cuestión que fue retomada con matices por Von Blumenthal 1972. Käppel 1992 ve en el peán un concepto IXQFLRQDOQRIRUPDOQRHVFDQWRH[FOXVLYR de Apolo, pero admite que primariamente se destinaba a la petición de salvación o bienestar. Admite una forma flexible, ni siquiera con la obligatoriedad del grito ie paian y no considera correcta la teoría alejandrina. Considera que se forman unos estereotipos, que influyen posteriormente. Frente a esta postura, Schröder 1999 ha defendido su carácter sustancialmente apolíneo (con extensión a miembros de la familia divina). El epitegma es un elemento formal claro. Piensa, además, que los alejandrinos tenían razón y comprendían bien su función, además de seguir rasgos formales. No hay estereotipos: es que, después de Píndaro y Baquílides, sólo tenemos textos epigráficos no comparables a los otros, por ser menos originales. Por su parte, Rutherford 2001 subraya la estrecha relación del peán con los ‘adult males’. Destinado a promoción de salud y estabilidad de comunidad. Proyección del ciudadano ideal. Secundariamente, petición de cura o apotropaico, etc. FurleyBremer 2001 sí consideran importante la relación entre el grito ritual y el peán, lo consideran también apolíneo (y extendido a deidades asociadas), interpretado por XQ FRUR GH MyYHQHV YDURQHV TXH LQYRFDQ SURWHFFLyQ WDPELpQ HV FDQWR GH agradecimiento. Descartan el origen cretense (como elucubración sobre “peón”). Por último, Ford 2006 se centra en la cuestión de la denominación del canto. En efecto, ya señalé más arriba que estamos ante una derivación léxica que ha convertido en nombre de la composición una de las designaciones del dios. Pues bien, para Ford este rasgo hace que el compositor de peanes actúe en cierto modo como un eidógrafo, en su esfuerzo por acomodar la actualidad de la interpretación y la composición, con sus nuevas exigencias, a los rasgos sancionados por el uso antiguo.

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los cuales asumen la representación de una comunidad que busca subsistencia y protección. Lo que es innegable es que el peán se ha visto sometido a una evolución histórica. No me refiero a la aparición de peanes con destinatarios distintos de Apolo, sino a la coexistencia de rasgos formales perdurables (mínimos) y a la evolución de su estructura y organización argumental. En efecto, histórica y sincrónicamente encontramos peanes muy diversos. La complejidad artística alcanzada en un Píndaro contrasta con la sencillez y brevedad de otros peanes conservados epigráficamente, reducidos a una mínima petición y al grito ritual. No hay más que comparar con los peanes que aquí comentaré este de la ciudad de Eritras, incluido en una inscripción normativa del culto de Asclepio29: ʌĮȚȦȞ઀ȗİȚȞ ʌȡ૵IJȠȞ ʌİȡ੿ IJઁȝ ȕȦȝઁȞ IJȠ૨ ਝʌંȜȜȦȞȠȢ IJંȞįİ IJઁȝ ʌĮȚ૵ȞĮ ਥȢ IJȡ઀Ȣǜ ੉੽ ȆĮȚઆȞǜ ੭, ੁ੽ ȆĮȚઆȞǜ ੁ੽ ȆĮȚઆȞǜ ੭, ੁ੽ ȆĮȚઆȞǜ ੁ੽ ȆĮȚઆȞǜ ੭, ੁ੽ ȆĮȚઆȞ. [੯] ਙȞĮȟ ਡʌȠȜȜȠȞ, ijİ઀įİȠ țȠ઄ȡȦȞ, ijİ઀į[İȠ] (Se establece) “cantar primero este peán en torno al altar de Apolo por tres veces: ¡LH3HiQRKLH3HiQLH3HiQRK LH3HiQLH3HiQRKLH3HiQ£2K VREHUDQR$SRORFXLGDGHORV MyYHQHVFXLGDGHORVMyYHQHV´

2.2 El contexto ritual de los peanes délficos El santuario délfico conoce desde fecha temprana una notable variedad festiva, que podemos rastrear a través de testimonios literarios y epigráficos. Esa variedad se corresponde con el hecho de que, a pesar de que desde muy temprano el dios Apolo se convirtió en el principal ocupante divino del santuario, otros dioses y héroes recibieron culto desde fecha también antigua. Además, hay que contar con rituales que se conservaron vivos tradicionalmente entre los habitantes de Delfos, junto con otros que ponían en conexión el santuario con ciudades y territorios con los que fue teniendo vinculación a lo largo de la historia, sin olvidar que la actividad central del santuario era la de acoger peregrinos procedentes de dentro y fuera de Grecia. En conjunto los principales ritos del santuario serían: 1. La serie de rituales celebrados cada ocho años (enaetéricos)30, a saber, el septerion (secundariamente ‘apolinizado’, pero con un posible origen distinto), la Herois (vinculado a la mitología 29

Líneas 35-39. El peán se data en 380/360 a. C. (ll. 74-6, c. 281 a. C): SEG 4, 6RNRORZVNLLSAM SEG IEry 205 (PH). 30 Detalles sobre los mismos en Suárez de la Torre 1998a, 1998b.

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dionisíaca) y la Charilla (con rasgos agrarios y relacionables con la purificación apolínea   /RV FHUWiPHQHV StWLFRV  /RV ULWRV FHOHEUDGRV por los componentes de las theôríai de peregrinos, incluida la consulta oracular, entre los que destacan los propios de fratrías o pueblos diversos (Labíadas, Enianes –D 1HRSWyOHPR   5LWRV GH 'LRQLVR WDQWR HQ HO propio santuario, como en el Parnaso (cueva Coricia) y otros territorios, a veces con vinculación exterior (Atenas y las Thyiades /DVTeoxenias. En este variado contexto festivo, la entonación de peanes, en principio, está atestiguada con seguridad en los ritos que he enumerado como 3 (es decir, canto de un peán por parte de una ciudad que se desplaza al santuario) y 5 (peán en el marco de las teoxenias31). Además, y aunque no haya posibilidad de confirmar esta noticia, hay que recordar que Estrabón32 menciona un supuesto agón primitivo de citaredos “que cantaban el peán al dios” (ʌĮȚ઼ȞĮ ઇįંȞIJȦȞ İੁȢ IJઁȞ șİંȞ), previo a la organización anfictiónica de los juegos Píticos (el ਕȖઅȞ ıIJİijĮȞ઀IJȘȢ).

3. Testimonios y fragmentos de peanes délficos o relacionados con Delfos33 anteriores a Píndaro a. El ‘peán’ de Alceo (F 307 V.)34 Aunque no se puede determinar su destino ritual, merece la pena tener en cuenta este peán35 apolíneo por su importancia como versión alternativa a la del HHAp de la llegada de Apolo a Delfos y como testimonio adicional de la vinculación del peán con el culto apolíneo local. Sólo conservamos un par de líneas, de las cuales nada más que la primera (la invocación del proemio) es plenamente seguro que perteneciera al mismo36:

31 Como se verá más adelante, la acumulación de peanes para las teoxenias no parece accidental. Käppel 1992, 227: “Die strukturelle Kompatibilität dieses Festes mit der literarischen Gattung des Paian ist frappierend. Sie legt die Vermutung nahe, daß die Gattung des Paian an den Theoxenien durchaus ihren angestammten Ort hatte”. 32 9.3.10 (Test. 94 Käppel). 33 Además, naturalmente, del ya mencionado HHAp. 34 Lo transmite Himerio en paráfrasis en prosa, Orat. 48.10-11 Colonna. 35 Las fuentes lo designan alternativamente como proemio o himno: ver Rutherford 2001, 28. 36 La reconstrucción depende de Heph. 14, 3, POxy 2734, 1 y el resumen de Himerio, Or. 48.10 s. Col.

156

Peanes Délficos ੷ȞĮȟ ਡʌȠȜȜȠȞ, ʌĮ૙ ȝİȖ੺ȜȦ ǻ઀ȠȢ Ȗ]੺ȞȠȢ ȉȡȚIJ੺Į[Ȣ37 "

El resto lo conocemos por la paráfrasis del rétor Himerio, según el cual los elementos del relato eran los siguientes: Zeus envía a Apolo a Delfos, con una mitra de oro y la lira, para emitir profecías de carácter normativo, ya que su contenido era į઀țȘ y ș੼ȝȚȢ. Allí se dirige en un carro tirado por cisnes. Sin embargo, Apolo desvía su camino hacia el país de los Hiperbóreos. Para que regrese Apolo, los delfios componen un peán y un canto38 y organizan coros (es decir, danzas) de jóvenes varones (਱૘șİȠȚ). ȃȠ obstante, Apolo permanece allí durante un año entero, en funciones idénticas a las que Zeus le asignó para Delfos39, al cabo del cual “consideró que era la ocasión de que también resonaran los trípodes délficos”40. A juzgar por la descripción de Himerio, un momento culminante del peán era la descripción de la llegada en pleno verano del dios, cuya presencia es anunciada por los cantos de aves y cigarras y por la agitación de las aguas de la Castalia y del Cefiso, además del propio instrumento de la lira, cuyo sonido refleja “una dulzura estival” (șİȡȚȞંȞ IJȚ… ਖȕȡ઄ȞİIJĮȚ)41. La descripción de Alceo debía de ser realmente espectacular, pero el principal problema con que nos encontramos es el de saber qué función tenía el poema de Alceo y a qué ocasión real correspondía. La tentación inicial es considerar que tiene que haber un contexto ritual apolíneo en que se introduzca un himno al dios con rememoración actualizadora de lo que sucedió in illo tempore. Dicho esto, deberíamos tomar algunas precauciones, dada la frecuente intencionalidad política de algunos poemas de Alceo, pero esto sería ya abrir una puerta a la especulación. b. El peán de Tínnico de Calcis Otro posible peán délfico antiguo sería el que se atribuye a Tínnico de Calcis, tal como se desprende, según observa Rutherford42, de una anécdota acerca de Esquilo, que renunció a componer uno porque el de Tínnico era insuperable, y como queda claro en el Jon de Platón, quien

37

Una posible referencia a la Castalia. Distinguido así por nuestra fuente: ʌĮȚ઼ȞĮ ıȣȞș੼ȞIJİȢ țĮ੿ ȝ੼ȜȠȢ. 39 Entiendo así el verbo șİȝȚıIJİ઄Ȧ. 40 ȀĮȚȡઁȞ ȞȠȝ઀ıĮȞIJĮ (Dübner: İȞȠȝȠIJ codd.) țĮ੿ IJȠઃȢ įİȜijȚțȠઃȢ ਱ȤોıĮȚ IJȡ઀ʌȠįĮȢ. 41 Véanse las notas de Furley-Bremer 2001, II 21-24. 42 Rutherford 2001, 28, con n. 19. 38

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afirma que aquél jamás compuso nada digno de recuerdo, pero que su bellísimo peán lo cantaba todo el mundo43. c. Posibles peanes délficos de Simónides (PMG 519b)44 En su clarificador artículo de 1990, Rutherford confirmó la naturaleza délfica de un fragmento de Simónides, en el que la indicación ਝȞįȡȓȠȚȢ İੁȢ Ȇȣșȫ no deja lugar a dudas. El estado fragmentario del papiro no nos proporciona más información, salvo la aparición de la exhortación al canto45.

4. Peanes de Píndaro dedicados a Delfos46 a. El mito de los sucesivos templos: el Peán 8 (52i 6Q%5 Se ha señalado47 que la originalidad de este peán es que adopta como mito central la historia del templo apolíneo de Delfos, algo que tiene paralelos en otras culturas (Mesopotamia, Egipto), pero que es un caso único en Grecia. El mito de los sucesivos templos no tiene por qué ser invención pindárica, aunque quizá sí lo sea la forma en que aquí se reconstruye la secuencia48. El poeta cumple con su función didáctica, a la manera de un Hesíodo, sistematizando una evolución que no tenía por qué ser conocida en todos los miembros de la comunidad que había encargado el canto49. Sobre todo, el canto del peán sirve aquí para refrendar la validez de la mántica apolínea, cuyos diversos estadios evolutivos van coincidiendo con las fases descritas50. Cada una de ellas posee un fuerte 43

Porph., De abst.  TrGF ,,,73OIon 534 D, con la frase İ੢ȡȘȝ੺ IJȚ ȂȠȚı઼Ȟ (PMG 707). Con ello Platón confirma que la calidad de la composición depende de la voluntad de los dioses que nos inspiran. 44 Rutherford 1990, 192 ss. 45 Fr. 35b [ ] ਝȞįȡȓȠȚȢ İੁȢ Ȇȣșȫ [ [ ]ȝȠȚ Į[.]ıȚȠȞ țİȜĮįİ૙[[ı]] ਕȝijȚ.[ 46 Los peanes de Píndaro, por sus especiales características, son una muestra más de la particular relación del poeta con el santuario y con el mundo de Apolo en general, algo que no se limita a la cuestión de la relación de fondo entre poeta y profeta. Ver Stefos 1975, Athanassaki 2009 y Suárez de la Torre 2013. 47 Rutherford 2001, 214, 218. 48 Paus. 10.24.6, schol. Pi. N. $ULVW)5RVH6WUDER\3KLORVWUVA 6.11. 49 Que quizá fueran los propios delfios, pero la lectura del papiro es dudosa. No obstante, ver Rutherford 2001, 222-223, que no acaba de descartar la posibilidad délfica e incluso da argumentos sobre el valor de la misma. 50 Muy importante Sourvinou-Inwood 1979 y 1988.

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simbolismo y todas sintetizan elementos fundamentales de la mitología apolínea. Desgraciadamente no se nos ha conservado en el papiro la descripción de la primera fase del templo y falta parte de la segunda51. La primera correspondería al templo inicial consistente en una cabaña (țĮȜ઄ȕȘ) de laurel, mientras que la segunda nos habla de un templo de cera y plumas construido por las abejas, que un violento vendaval transportó hasta el país de los Hiperbóreos. Esto último es precisamente lo que podemos ya leer en el peán conservado, en el que el vendaval es descrito como ਙȞİȝȠȢ ȗĮȝİȞ੾Ȣ (l. 64)52. El resto del poema contiene un relato que funde tradiciones griegas sobre el poder del canto con una interesante reflexión sobre la profecía. Píndaro asigna a Hefesto y Atenea la construcción del tempo de bronce, que se caracterizaba por tener a modo de acróteras imágenes de unos seres asimilados a las Sirenas por sus poderes y que reciben el nombre de Celédones (ȀȘȜȘįંȞİȢ, “Encantadoras”). También este templo fue destruido por los “hijos de Crono”, por sus efectos nocivos, ya que las Celédones, con su melíflua voz, “suspendían el ánimo” de los hombres y éstos acababan pereciendo lejos de sus familias53. Por último, falta en el papiro el relato de la construcción del templo de piedra, obra de Trofonio y Agamedes (hijos de Ergino54), aunque unas pocas líneas y el modo en que Píndaro lo relataba se recuperan gracias a los escolios del papiro55. La adaptación de la palabra poética al entorno religioso se efectúa a través de elementos que entrelazan el culto local délfico, la reflexión sobre la actividad profética y oracular y la vinculación que tiene con todo ello la función de la poesía y del canto. Esto es evidente desde la propia 51 Conservamos parte del incipit, pero, en opinión de Rutherford, el texto siguiente correspondería a la línea 100 del poema. 52 La lectura ੍ȣȖȖ[ de Snell-Maehler, aceptada por Race en la línea 62 (99 de la HGLFLyQ GH 5XWKHUIRUG  HV LQVHJXUD 5XWKHUIRUG OHH IJҕȣ[. Lo atractivo de una reflexión sobre seres relacionados con el canto mágico se quedaría en HVSHFXODFLyQ FI QR REVWDQWH OD UHIHUHQFLD GH 5DFH S  Q   DO WH[WR GH Filóstrato VA 6.11 en que se dice que un templo apolíneo tenía unas iunges colgadas “que poseían atracción propia de Sirenas”. 53 La intervención de Atenea y lo que parece su atribución a “alguien” de saber omnisciente puede no ser una referencia a la nueva situación délfica posterior (así Förstel 1972), sino que puede pertenecer todavía al relato de la construcción del templo de bronce y evocar el paralelo de las Sirenas, tal como apunta Rutherford 2001, 222. 54 Píndaro se detenía en este mito, que hablaba del oráculo sobre su posibilidad de tener hijos, de la campaña contra Tebas y de la intervención de Heracles. 55 Remito a las ediciones de Bona 1988, 181-183 y Rutherford 2001, 212-214, con edición completa de los escolios y detalles del mito.

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invocación inicial, dirigida a los “ilustres adivinos délficos” (țȜȣIJȠ੿ ȝ੺ȞIJȚ[İȢ] ਝʌંȜȜȦȞȠȢ), una denominación que podría referirse a adivinos míticos vinculados con el santuario56, pero la lista mítica de candidatos no tendría por qué limitarse a Delfos. Asimismo está muy marcada la propia función del poeta, con el topos de su desplazamiento al lugar de la performance (si aceptamos como tal el referente del pronombre ਥȖઆ) o, en cualquier caso, el de las posibilidades viajeras del canto, que llega por mar y tierra a todos los rincones. La primera divinidad mencionada es Temis, en coherencia con los mitos locales57 y su acusado valor en relación con la actividad normativa apolínea, como veíamos ya en Alceo58. Tras la laguna del papiro, cuando se alude a la desaparición del segundo templo, una invocación a las Musas (੯ ȂȠ૙ıĮȚ, l. 65) introduce el nombre de las responsables de la inspiración poética, probablemente como garantía para el relato expuesto. Su presencia no es casual, dado que entre esa invocación y el final de la parte conservada, en la que aparece el nombre de Mnemósine, se enmarca la descripción del tercer templo y la mención del papel de Atenea en lo que parece la asignación de poderes proféticos, con lo que se refuerza la vieja relación entre poesía y profecía, tan importante en Píndaro59. En este sentido, podríamos sugerir que la recuperación de la antigua descripción de los poderes proféticos canonizada desde Homero acercaba peligrosamente las Celédones a la verdadera inspiración apolínea, pero dejaba en el ámbito de Mnemósine la posibilidad última de acceder al conocimiento de las cosas y darle expresión. En este punto, del mismo modo que la fórmula homérica de la omnisciencia profética se introducía en el desarrollo de la mántica délfica, la expresión poética subrayaba no sólo la intertextualidad entre poesía homérica y función adivinatoria, sino también entre la creatividad homérica y la pindárica. El cotejo entre la descripción homérica de las Sirenas y la pindárica de los efectos del canto de las Celédones estrecha aún más la relación entre adivinación y poesía:

56

Rutherford 2001, 216 sugiere Ténero o Branco. Rutherford 2001, 216 baraja la posibilidad del mito sobre cómo Temis fue entronada en morada del Océano, pero se inclina por alusión al viaje del poeta rumbo a Delfos, ámbito de Temis. 58 Cf. supra. 59 ¿Son Celédones y Sirenas representantes de una “poesía alternativa”, con un riesgo de pérdida de memoria, frente a la poesía de la memoria y la perduración de ODV0XVDV" 57

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Peanes Délficos ǹ੆ ૧੺ IJİ ʌ੺ȞIJĮȢ ਕȞșȡઆʌȠȣȢ ș੼ȜȖȠȣıȚȞ, ੖ıIJȚȢ ıij੼ĮȢ İੁıĮij઀țȘIJĮȚǜ ੖ıIJȚȢ ਕȧįȡİ઀ૉ ʌİȜ੺ıૉ țĮ੿ ijșંȖȖȠȞ ਕțȠ઄ıૉ ȈİȚȡ੾ȞȦȞ, IJ૙į’ Ƞ੡IJȚ ȖȣȞ੽ țĮ੿ Ȟ੾ʌȚĮ IJ੼țȞĮ o੅țĮįİ ȞȠıIJ੾ıĮȞIJȚ ʌĮȡ઀ıIJĮIJȚ Ƞ੝į੻ Ȗ੺ȞȣIJĮȚ. (Od. 12, 39-43) Las cuales a todos ORVKRPEUHVHQFDQWDQTXLHQTXLHUDTXHKDVWDHOODVOOHJXH aquél que, por ignorancia, se acerca y oye la voz de las sirenas, nunca ya su mujer y sus inocentes hijos de retorno a casa lo rodean y alegran.

A su vez, Píndaro afirma que los Crónidas destruyeron lo que era una obra sagrada (la más sagrada, por cierto: IJઁ ʌ੺ȞIJȦȞ ਩ȡȖȦȞ ੂİȡઆIJĮIJȠȞ), ੖IJȚ ȟ੼ȞȠȚ ਩ij[ș]ȚȠȞ ਙIJİȡșİȞ IJİț੼ȦȞ ਕȜંȤȦȞ IJİ ȝİȜ[઀]ijȡȠȞȚ Į੝į[ઽ șȣȝઁȞ ਕȞĮțȡ઀ȝȞĮȞIJİȢǜ (76-79). Porque los extranjeros perecían privados de sus hijos y esposas, pues su ánimo quedaba en suspenso por causa de la voz melíflua.

Sea como fuere, a juzgar por el desarrollo de la narración, que concluía con el templo en piedra de Trofonio y Agamedes60, parece que Píndaro tenía especial interés en configurar un relato histórico-simbólico de la evolución del templo, explotando el valor connotativo de cada uno de los materiales de cada secuencia y subrayando la evolución hacia la mántica apolínea plenamente fiable, culminada en el templo de piedra construido por los hijos de quien había consultado al propio dios sobre su descendencia61. Y no olvidemos que ODSDODEUDSRpWLFDHVODTXHWUDQVPLWH HO QXHYR RUiFXOR YHUGDGHUR y la que se convierte en vehículo de comunicación entre dioses y hombres. Píndaro despliega aquí un relato que materializa, a través del canto poético, un proceso en el que se 60

La muerte de ambos, que mencionaba Píndaro en una posible Ístmica (F 2-3), recoge el esquema de los “elegidos” por los dioses: su compensación por construir el templo fue fallecer mientras dormían después de un largo festejo, una muerte propia de los elegidos de los dioses. 61 Aunque en la mitología de Heracles Ergino aparecía con tintes negativos, Píndaro realiza aquí un esfuerzo de adaptación a un auditorio délfico. La conducta de Ergino queda justificada debido a que el ataque contra Tebas trata de castigar la muerte de su propio padre. Mediante estos oráculos se extendía la protección apolínea a toda la línea genealógica de los constructores del templo.

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implicaba la profecía, la poesía y el propio orden divino, además de la evolución de la religión apolínea. b. La fiesta enaetérica e Icadio: el Peán  IUO$$5 El texto legible no permite reconstruir un contenido preciso, pero sí contiene elementos de interés que ilustran el modo en que Píndaro busca la relación entre el texto poético y el entorno de interpretación. En concreto, sumando los restos de líneas del poema con algunas anotaciones marginales, se puede afirmar62 que Píndaro aludía, en primer lugar, a un mito sobre el comienzo de la presencia local apolínea, en concreto el de su purificación en el territorio de Tesalia después de acabar con la serpiente délfica. Dicha purificación tuvo lugar en el valle de Tempos o Tempe (IJ੹ ȉ੼ȝʌȘ), un territorio recorrido por el río Peneo, que confluía con el Titaresio, que, a su vez, según un escolio, se consideraba una emanación de la laguna Estige. De allí, según el mito, volvió Apolo con el laurel que, en adelante, sería el árbol representativo del santuario pítico y del propio dios63. Este mito servía de aition a uno de los festivales enaetéricos mencionados más arriba, el del septerion64. Da la impresión de que el escoliasta se detiene en algunos detalles de este período catártico65. Los versos 10-15 es posible que evocaran la actividad colonizadora del dios (cf. ȤȡȣıȠ[…66 / ਖȖ੾ıİIJĮȚǜ) y el entorno local délfico, por lo que no sería extraña una referencia a la hospitalidad de los delfios (cf. ਕıIJȠ૙ıȚ IJİ[....ȟİȞȠțĮį[). Pero también podría tratarse de una alusión de llegada al santuario. Incluso es posible una relación con los últimos versos. En efecto, en la última parte conservada (desde el v. 16) se recordaba una profecía sobre el nacimiento de un niño, con referencia a la madre de éste67, que parece unirse a Apolo o dar a luz un hijo ante el altar 62

Esto es reconstrucción de Snell 1962, frente a la equivocada relación establecida por Grenfell-Hundt 1922 con la dafneforia tebana. 63 Plut. Q.G.12, 293C y de def. or. 21, 421C. 64 En él un país amphithalés encabezaba una comitiva de jóvenes que, tras derribar una cabaña en la que había una mesa con manjares, emprendían viaje rumbo al valle del Peneo para volver con el laurel (Suárez de la Torre 1997). En cuanto a lo enaetérico y las relaciones que pueden establecerse a partir de la lectura ਥȞĮIJસ [ , Suárez de la Torre 2011. 65 Así, el término țĮ઀İıșĮȚ podría explicarse, como hizo Snell, en relación con la FDEDxDGHODXUHOHOWpUPLQRਕȜȚIJ੾ȡȚȠȞ corresponde al criminal que debe expiar su culpa. 66 ȋȡȣıȠțંȝĮȢ "  67 Sobre este tipo de “profecía genealógica” Führer 1967.

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(ȗİȣȤșİ૙ıĮ ʌ[ȡ]Ƞȕઆȝ[ȚȠȢ / ȣੁઁȞ ਩IJȚ IJ੼ȟİȚ...). Esta profecía parece estar pronunciada por un dios68 (Apolo es lo más probable) y da la impresión de que sería el iniciador de una genealogía de adivinos69, a juzgar por el término țȜȣIJȠȝ੺ȞIJȚİȢ (21), que recuerda la invocación inicial del 3HiQ 870. Ahora bien, cualquier especulación sobre el texto de este papiro debe contar también con el fragmento correspondiente al texto Xb SnellMaehler (A3 Rutherford). Ciertamente la única palabra legible es ੒ȝઆȞȣȝȠ[, pero lo más interesante es que los escolios parecen dejar claro que el poema incluía los nombres de Castalio e Icadio. El primero aparecía en algunas fuentes tardías71, de las que el relato del Etymologicum Magnum parece confirmar que Castalio es el capitán de la nave cretense que Apolo, bajo la forma de un delfín, condujo al golfo de Crisa para fundar el culto local, tal como narraba con detalle el ya comentado HHAp72. En cuanto a Icadio (gr. Ǽੁț੺įȚȠȢ), hasta la publicación del papiro no teníamos más que dos testimonios sobre este nombre, derivado evidentemente del término griego para la ‘veintena’ del mes, uno del Etymologicum Magnum73, a propósito de la fiesta homónima, donde se dice que es un epíteto del dios por haber nacido en ese día, y otro de Servio74, a propósito de la fórmula ʌĮIJȡ઀Ƞȣ ਝʌંȜȜȦȞȠȢ, en el que dice que Icadio es hijo de Apolo y de la ninfa Licia y fundador de la ciudad de 3iWDUD HQ OD UHJLyQ KRPyQLPD GH OD QLQID DO YLDMDU GHVGH DOOí a Italia es 68

Buena defensa de esta posibilidad en Rutherford 2001, 204. Schroeder 1923, 544 lo vinculaba al dafnefórico tebano y proponía que se anunciaba el nacimiento de Ténero, hijo de Apolo y Melia. Rutherford 2001 añade los casos de Auge-Télefo y Egle-Asclepio, en cuanto a la concepción en lugar sagrado. En cuanto a la genealogía de adivinos apolíneos, también sería un candidato Yamo, hijo de Apolo y Evadna, epónimo de una de las familias de manties que atendían el altar adivinatorio de Zeus en Olimpia (vid. O. 6). Ahora bien, el fragmento siguiente asignable a este poema parece confirmar el contexto local délfico. 70 Cf. supra. 71 EM 255, 17-24, schol. Lyc. Al. 208, Paus. 10.6.4. 72 Aunque aquí no se daba el nombre de Castalio, designado como ȀȡȘIJ૵Ȟ ਕȖંȢ. Frente a este relato, Pausanias relata una versión bien distinta. Según el periegeta, algunos lugareños aseguraban que Castalio era un “autóctono” que consagró a su hija Tía (Ĭȣ઀Į) a Dioniso y fue el primero que organizó orgia en su honor (por lo cual, se llaman allí ĬȣȚ੺įİȢ las ménades de este culto). Más aún, decían que Delfo, epónimo del lugar, era hijo de Tía y de Apolo, aunque algunos afirmaban que la madre era Melena (“negra”), una hija del Cefiso. 73 EM 298,1. 74 ad Aen. FIDG 69

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víctima de un naufragio, pero es salvado por un delfín que le lleva a las playas más cercanas al Parnaso. Por eso Icadio levanta el templo a Apolo “patrio” (paterno) y denomina al lugar Delfos75. Por tanto, sería posible que el nacimiento del hijo de Apolo predicho en el fragmento precedente hiciera referencia a Castalio e Icadio76. De todas formas, sobre la posible ubicación délfica arroja una pequeña sombra de duda el hecho de que en la línea 7 de los escolios se lea ĬȘȕĮ઀ȠȚȢ ʌȡઁı[ (aunque también podría haber estado compuesto para tebanos, pero con Delfos como destino). En resumen, si efectivamente estamos ante un peán délfico y si las hipótesis en cuanto al contenido son correctas, en ese caso es indudable el valor que tiene esta composición: como testimonio complementario de las creencias pindáricas en el más allá, como ejemplo temprano del mito local de Icadio y como prueba de la contribución pindárica a la consolidación de una teología y de una mitología délficas. Por supuesto que las coincidencias con el dafnefórico tebano son múltiples: las tradiciones se han “homologado”, probablemente por influencia délfica, y los propios poetas han contribuido a esa uniformización de los esquemas narrativos y de los mitos que justifican los cultos locales77. c. Captatio GH$SRORHSLIDQtD\ILHVWDORFDO el Péan  IUF60'5XWKHUIRUG La invocación inicial con una mención de las Gracias (solas o con alguna otra divinidad) es frecuente en Píndaro: el ejemplo más cercano lo

75

El propio Servio cita otra versión aún más complicada con motivos de la colonización de la Magna Grecia y de Sicilia, atribuida a Cornificio Longo, quien une el viaje de Icadio con el de Yapis (es decir, Yápix, epónimo de aborígenes de Magna Grecia): uno arriba a las costas de Italia y el otro llega a Delfos. Bérard 1963, 413-414, sugiere una confusión de Icadio con Ícaro, lo que ayudaría a expliar la fusión con los relatos que se refieren a Magna Grecia. 76 Rutherford 2001, 206, pero con las mismas precauciones que a continuación expongo. 77 Como se ve, estos relatos y los anteriores no son más que variantes de un mito etiológico que tienen en común el que ponen en relación el nombre de Delfos con el del delfín, forma animal que se supone adoptada por Apolo para salvar al héroe fundador del templo local, sea Castalio o Icadio. La procedencia cretense del personaje (anónimo o no) parece mantener viva la idea de una “importación” de este culto que, en un momento determinado, se extiende a la mitología que abarca los territorios de las colonizaciones itálicas, probablemente acompañando a la extensión del culto apolíneo.

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vamos a ver en el 3HiQ 678, junto a Afrodita. El contenido de los versos siguientes se ha puesto en relación desde Schroeder79 con un pasaje de un discurso del rétor Himerio en el que aparecen unidos los nombres de Safo y Píndaro como autores de una descripción del dios con su “áurea cabellera, su lira y transportado por unos cisnes al Helicón”80: Y tu aspecto menester es ahora compararlo al del propio Conductor de las Musas, tal como Safo y Píndaro, tras adornarlo en una oda con áurea cabellera y con lira, lo envían al Helicón llevado por cisnes, para danzar juntamente con las Musas y las Gracias.

Si se tratara de este peán, se explicaría bien la mención inicial de las Gracias, que, unidas a las Musas, nos llevan de nuevo a la constante relación entre lo ritual y lo poético que venimos apreciando. Asimismo habría que relacionar con esta misma insistencia en lo festivo—poético y la luminosidad glorificadora del canto la repetición del radical en ਕȖȜĮȠ- y ਕȖȜĮȧ઼Ȟ, mientras que el numeral ੑțIJઆ podría referirse a los cisnes81. El problema de esta conexión textual es que Himerio dice que el viaje es al monte Helicón, aunque, como señala Rutherford82, la interpretación del poema pudo ser en otra parte. En lo que conservamos del peán se acumulan términos que, sumados, podrían ser adecuados para la descripción de la llegada de la divinidad al santuario, con insistencia en el tiempo adecuado para dicha presencia y, quizá, a momentos del rito, como la “expectante ʌĮȞȞȣȤ઀Ȣ” que sugiere Bona83, apoyado en la mención de una diosa ਦȜȚț੺ȝʌȣȟ, que aquí podría ser la luna84, y del ijĮİȞȞઁȢ Įੁș੾ȡ, aunque esta designación más bien parece corresponder a los efectos luminosos de la llegada de Apolo. Hemos perdido el relato (probablemente mítico) central, pero con la estructura rotunda habitual, la parte final de nuevo se centraba en la realidad de la celebración (aunque la primera pudiera ser la “mítica” y ésta la correspondiente a la ejecución del canto). 78

Cf. también P. N. 10.1. Schroeder 1923, 532. 80 Or.  V &RORQQD  6DSSK )  9  ȉ੹ į੻ ı੹ Ȟ૨Ȟ į੼ȠȞ țĮ੿ Į੝IJ૶ IJ૶ ȂȠȣıȘȖ੼IJૉ İੁț੺ȗİıșĮȚ, ȠੈȠȞ Į੝IJઁȞ țĮ੿ ȈĮʌijઅ țĮ੿ Ȇ઀ȞįĮȡȠȢ ਥȞ ੩įૌ țંȝૉ IJİ Ȥȡȣıૌ țĮ੿ Ȝ઄ȡ઺ țȠıȝ੾ıĮȞIJİȢ, ț઄țȞȠȚȢ ਩ʌȠȤȠȞ İੁȢ ਬȜȚț૵ȞĮ ʌ੼ȝʌȠȣıȚ, ȂȠ઄ıĮȚȢ ȋ੺ȡȚı઀ IJİ ੒ȝȠ૨ ıȣȖȤȠȡİ઄ıȠȞIJĮ. 81 Rutherford 2001, 274. 82 Rutherford 2001, 279. 83 Bona 1988, 60. 84 Rutherford observa que Píndaro usa este epíteto en Dith. 75.19, pero hay que advertir que allí lo aplica a Sémele y no a la Luna, como parece entender Rutherford 2001, 277. 79

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5HDSDUHFHQ OD P~VLFD Y   HO FDQWR \ OD GDQ]D OD ~OWLPD SDODEUD HV inequívoca: el propio coro quedaba mencionado. También aparecen los sacrificios (cf. șȣંȞIJȦȞ), junto con un enigmático final de verso que, a partir de la reconstrucción del escolio, se ha relacionado con un ritual de obtención de augurios85. Sea como fuere, y siempre con las dudas sobre la certeza de la ubicación délfica, los restos permiten al menos apreciar, como decíamos, la rotundidad estructural: de la epifanía inicial, con los fieles alrededor del altar humeante, pasamos a la mostración para el futuro de los buenos SUHVDJLRV D SDUWLU GH ODV YtFWLPDV GHO DOWDU GHO FDQWR ELHQ WUHQ]DGR \ melifluo, a la voz sonora y broncínea de las flautas. Y el coro cierra el círculo. G7HR[HQLDV'elfos y Egina: el Peán  I6Q'5 Las dudas que se planteaban en los peanes anteriores acerca de su ubicación délfica desaparecen en este caso, ya que una nota marginal del papiro al comienzo de la primera estrofa deja claro que es un canto compuesto ǻİȜijȠ૙Ȣ İੁȢ Ȇȣșઆ. A mayor abundamiento, el propio texto deja claro que el marco festivo concreto son las teoxenias délficas. Probablemente es el peán pindárico sobre el que más se ha escrito, tanto por cuestiones de forma como de contenido86 y, muy especialmente (al menos en los últimos decenios) por la posibilidad de que una de sus partes sea un canto añadido al conjunto destinado a ser cantado por un coro de eginetas87: la anotación marginal ǹੁȖ[ȚȞ੼IJĮ]ȚȢ İੁȢ ǹੁĮ[țં]Ȟ ʌȡȠı[ં]įȚ[Ƞ]Ȟ al comienzo de la última tríada es tan reveladora como problemática88. Dada la extensión y complejidad del poema y la abundancia de estudios, 85

El final del v. 95 (]ȜȠȢ) está acompañado del siguiente escolio: [ . ] ȚȜҕȠҕȣ ȝંȡȚĮ ਫ਼ʌȡİȖĮȞ੺İȚ IJ૶ ʌȣ[ȡ੿ ]. Ȝ੺ȝʌİȚ ਥȟ Ƞ੤ IJ੹ ਕȖĮș੹ ıȘ[ȝĮ઀ȞİIJĮȚ. Aunque el texto está deteriorado, el comentarista indica que “las porciones del ... están exultantes con el fuego” y que su brillo se interpreta como buena señal. Sólo nos falta saber qué víctima se encuentra sobre el altar humeante. El sustantivo más cercano podría ser țIJ઀ȜȠȢ, “carnero”. Frente a ello hay dos problemas: lo raro de la víctima y (aún peor) la falta de espacio en la parte inicial dañada para el grupo țIJ. Ver GrenfellHunt 1908, 88, que proponen como alternativa ੁįȠઃ. Turyn 1952 edita ੁįҕȠҕઃ, no menos problemático, igual que el dudoso ǻ઼]ȜȠȢ de Rutherford. 86 Especialmente por su relación con la Nemea 7, sobre el culto de Neoptólemo en Delfos. 87 Tres interesantes y aclaradoras discusiones de este problema: D’Alessio 1997, Rutherford 1997 y 2001, Currie 2005, 322-325. 88 Asímismo el escolio señala que ਥȞ IJ૶ Įࡋ [IJ]૵Ȟ ʌȡȠıȠį઀[Ȧ]Ȟ ij੼ȡİIJĮȚ YHU Rutherford 1997, 6-8 y su comentario en D’Alessio 1997, Rutherford 1997 y 2001.

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me limitaré ahora a destacar algunos aspectos apropiados a la argumentación de este estudio, centrado en la cuestión de la relación de poesía y rito, con insistencia en el análisis de los recursos empleados para reforzar ese anclaje de la oda en su entorno. Un breve resumen de su estructuración permite un primer acercamiento. El comienzo es plenamente hímnico, pero con una técnica peculiar de la que Race ha llegado a decir: “la asombrosa manera en que Píndaro muestra su genio para la inventiva está en su combinación de elementos del himno rapsódico y del cultual”89. La primera estrofa contiene las principales referencias de la ocasión concreta, mediante una variante de captatio benevolentiae90. Se abre con una invocación a Zeus91 que enseguida se reorienta al propio santuario pítico, al que se pide acoger al poeta junto con las Gracias y Afrodita. Como dato específico, el poeta aclara que acude para evitar la amachania que supone una falta de coro masculino en esa celebración, lo que alteraría seriamente la tradición y la naturaleza de la fiesta92. Además, uniendo la celebración presente con la actividad festiva délfica, se recuerda la frecuente presencia de muchachas que danzan en el recinto sagrado en honor de Apolo. La falta del final de la estrofa, de toda la antistrofa y de parte del epodo nos lleva a una nueva invocación también al modo de captatio, esta vez a las Musas y a la

89

Race 1990, 111 n. 3: “One striking way in which Pindar displays his genius for inventiveness is in his combining rhapsodic and cultic hymnal elements”. 90 Cf. Furley-Bremer 2001, II 29. 91 En este caso la presencia inicial de Zeus, junto con el siguiente cúmulo de referencias al ámbito apolíneo, son auténticamente SURJUDPiWLFDV (podríamos decir “anticipadoras”) respecto a la orientación que Píndaro va a imprimir al conjunto. Una de las constantes (y un fundamento ideológico) de este poema es la relación de polaridad entre los poderes de Zeus y de Apolo (en oposición o complementariedad). 92 Como ya señalaron Coppola 1931, 39 n. 1 y Schwenn 1940, 81, la mención de las Gracias y Afrodita es coherente con la juventud de los componentes del coro, teniendo en cuenta que la mención de los andres del verso 9 puede ser compatible con la de los neoi del 122, como observan Furley-Bremer 2001, II 31. Las Gracias, Afrodita, las Horas, etc. son inseparables de los conceptos de “crecimiento”, “floración”, etc., manifestados incluso en sus nombres. Por otra parte, esto no es incompatible con la opinión de Fernandes 1962, 224 de que “Estão invocadas, neste passo, as divindades que dispensam a beleza poética: as Graças e Afrodite que fazem os poemas ਥʌ઀ȤĮȡȚȢ e ਥʌĮijȡંįȚIJȠȞ ao mesmo tempo que representam XPD XQLmR FXOWXDO DV 0XVDV D TXHP RV SRHWDV WDQWR GHYHP H TXH WDO FRPR DV Graças, são as suas inspiradoras”.

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precisión de que la llegada del poeta es a las teoxenias93, con una estructura del largo proemio invocador que puede calificarse de anular94. La tríada siguiente precisa una situación pasada concreta que hace que el sacrificio que allí se hace sea “panhelénico”, como conmemoración de un hecho que antaño provocó hambruna, que tuvo que ser alejada por las súplicas de los delfios95. En esta misma estrofa empieza el relato mítico, absolutamente esencial para comprender la delicada cuestión teológico-ritual que se desarrolla en este peán y que afecta a la religión griega (Zeus – Apolo) y al núcleo de la religión apolínea. La articulación del relato es muy equilibrada. Consta de dos partes. Cada una de ellas afecta a un héroe de la descendencia Eácida96 y ambas repiten un mismo esquema demostrativo de la justicia divina. Primero, la muerte de Aquiles, que se relata en composición anular desde el verso 73 al 99 (parte de la primera estrofa y casi toda la segunda). Además de la estructura anular el relato sigue un esquema frecuente en la lírica arcaica: mención abreviada del suceso y desarrollo detallado que retorna al final anticipado (1. muerte de Aquiles – 2. detalle de los motivos – 3. sepelio de Aquiles). No sabemos si se mencionaba expresamente la muerte de Troilo97, pero sí que especifica Píndaro (con una particular versión98) que Apolo adoptó la figura de Paris para matar a Aquiles. El poeta subraya que Aquiles, con su combatividad, estuvo a punto de 93

Sobre ellas, en la bibliografía más antigua puede verse: Mommsen 1878, 299 ss. VH RSRQtD D OR DSROtQHR LQLFLDO SHUR FRQ FRQIXVRV DUJXPHQWRV  'HQHNHQ  con mucha información sobre Teoxenias a Dioscuros y los lectisternia 1LOVVRQ VVFRQXQDEXHQDUHFRSLODFLyQGHFDVRV3ILVWHU3DUa bibliografía más reciente, Krummen 1990, 121 ss. y 224 ss. 94 La construcción anular se sustenta en la reaparición de divinidades, motivos e incluso coincidencias verbales: Zeus, Mnemósine y las Musas se agrupan en este epodo donde, al recinto de Apolo anterior, corresponde ahora “la ancha FRQFXUUHQFLD´DODTXHHOSRHWDDFXGH³HQKRQRUGH/R[LDV´HO³WLHPSRGLYLQR´ ਥȞ ȗĮș੼૳ ȤȡંȞ૳ v. 5) se especifica, cerrando la tríada, como las teoxenias (ਥȞ șİ૵Ȟ ȟİȞ઀Į઺ Y   LQFOXVR HO YHUERTXH GHVFULEH ODOOHJDGDdel poeta y del coro es el mismo en estrofa y epodo (țĮIJ੼ȕĮȞ v. 13 – țĮIJĮȕ੺ȞIJ’ v. 60). 95 Posibilidades varias de la causa originaria, discutidas por Furley-Bremer en 2001, I 65 ss. Como se desprende del escolio (al v. 62), el sacrificio alejador de males se hace cada año y busca la İ੝İIJȘȡ઀Į. Remito a las interesantes ideas de Kowalzig 2007, 201-223 sobre el contexto histórico (y económico) que envuelve la mención pindárica, en relación con la búsqueda de una proyección panhelénica. 96 Utilizo esta designación porque permite el engarce con la participación egineta a la que luego aludiré. 97 La causa tradicional de cólera apolínea contra Aquiles. 98 Sobre las variantes de este episodio cf. Burgess 2009.

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modificar el destino prefijado de la destrucción de Troya y cómo Zeus no osó “desatar lo que estaba predestinado” (ȝંȡıȚȝ’ ਕȞ[Į]Ȝҕ઄İȞ). El final de la antistrofa y el epodo (100-120) contienen la segunda parte del relato mítico, dedicada a Neoptólemo, quien concluye la destrucción de Troya (੔Ȣ įȚ੼ʌİȡıİȞ ੉Ȝ઀Ƞȣ ʌંȜ[ȚȞ). Píndaro plantea, pues, el núcleo etiológico central que justificaba el culto de Neoptólemo en Delfos99, a partir de una tradición de origen épico que él selecciona y adapta. Aquí se duplica el esquema de castigo divino por un crimen propio de una conducta impía: la muerte de Príamo mientras intentaba refugiarse en el altar de Zeus protector. En ese instante se ganó la cólera de Apolo y quedó privado del retorno a su casa y de alcanzar la vejez. Apolo jura () que así será. Píndaro opta por la versión que vincula la muerte del héroe a un incidente por las ofrendas sacrificiales, pero es el propio dios quien aparece como sujeto de esta acción100 (țIJ੺ȞİȞ, 120)101: el ombligo délfico cierra la descripción del terrible hecho, pues la muerte se produjo ਥȞ IJİȝ੼]Ȟİȧ ij઀Ȝ૳ Ȗ઼Ȣ ʌĮȡ’ ੑȝijĮȜઁȞ İ੝ȡ઄Ȟ (120). En este momento el coro lanza el grito del peán, en una forma peculiar y poco habitual, probablemente dotada de connotaciones varias en el contexto de interpretación: ੁોIJİ, Ȟ૨Ȟ, ȝ੼IJȡĮ ʌĮȚȘંȞȦȞ ੁોIJİ, Ȟ੼ȠȚ.

El análisis de estas particularidades de léxico y sintaxis, además de la excepcional situación en el cierre del mito, han llevado a Rutherford a la conclusión de que aquí este grito, por encima de su función de cierre de esta parte, “constituye una especie de medida moral en cuanto que evoca 99

Para detalles, remito a Suárez de la Torre 1997. No hay motivos para negar la realidad de la existencia de la tumba del héroe ni de los ritos en su honor, como ya propuse entonces. 100 Todas las versiones antiguas se reducen a este esquema: Pirro-Neoptólemo encuentra la muerte en el templo de Delfos o bien a manos del propio Apolo, o de los sacerdotes (uno o más), o de Orestes (directa o indirectamente), y es enterrado allí mismo. Es decir, es un mito que se origina en la materia epica de los posthomerica, que funciona como aition para explicar la existencia de la tumba de un héroe en el santuario délfico. 101 Sin embargo, en la Nemea 7, 40-42, Píndaro atribuye la muerte a un individuo anónimo (en otras fuentes, con el nombre parlante de ȂĮȤĮȚȡİ઄Ȣ se entiende que es un sacerdote local) y aclara que la disputa era por las carnes del sacrificio (țȡİ૵Ȟ ੢ʌİȡ). También allí explica que el destino délfico de Neoptólemo estaba prefijado y era inalterable (44-47). Véase la reflexión sobre este mito local y la presentación pindárica en Detienne 1998, 175-194.

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la autoridad moral de Apolo y en particular la pitoctonia”102. Mientras que la evocación pitoctónica me resulta algo forzada (aunque no absurda), considero importante la elección de la expresión ȝ੼IJȡĮ ʌĮȚȘંȞȦȞ, que involucra forma y contenido del canto apolíneo en una exhortación que inevitablemente podremos valorar plenamente sólo si dejamos clara nuestra postura respecto a la tercera y última tríada. El contenido de ésta es plenamente egineta, con una bella reconstrucción de la unión de Zeus y Egina en la estrofa, un desarrollo mítico que continuaba en la antístrofa, perdida en su mayoría, y que quizá llegaba al epodo, que se cierra con una exhortación a los dioses para la protección del pueblo y un cierre en que se solicita a Peán (Apolo) la acogida de la fiesta presidida por las Musas. Sin embargo, no es el contenido de esta parte per se el que plantea problemas, sino la relación que esta tercera tríada tiene con las dos anteriores, desde el momento en que en el papiro se indica como título del peán “para los delfios, en honor de Pito” y, al margen del comienzo de la tercera tríada, leemos, como ya he señalado, “para los eginetas, en honor de Éaco, prosodio”. No es posible proceder ahora a tratar en extenso los detalles que pueden llevar a una hipotética solución de este enigma (que quizá no lo sea tanto) y me limito a hacer una referencia a los dos tipos de propuestas más completas que se han hecho hasta ahora. Por un lado, D’Alessio 1997 plantea estas alternativas: (a) División de un poema en dos por parte de un filólogo alejandrino. (b) Fusión de dos poemas precedentes (muy improbable). (c) Tradición doble previa ya desde Píndaro. Quizá no fuera la versión original de Píndaro y una versión algo diferente de la tríada III puede haber circulado como prosodion ya en época de Píndaro: pero él mismo es el que lo une. Ésta última es la que considera preferible. Por su parte, Rutherford103, plantea tres alternativas: (a) que se haya separado o desgajado (‘detachment’) secundariamente la tercera tríada, circulando de modo independiente, aunque originariamente pertenecía a una única FRPSRVLFLyQ E  TXH HVD WUtDGD VH KD\D FRPSXHVWR FRPR DxDGLGR D OD primera parte (’supplement’): las dos primeras tríadas eran adecuadas para ODVWHR[HQLDVGpOILFDVPLHQWUDVTXHODWHUFHUDVHFUHySDUDORVHJLQHWDV F  “que la interpretación originaria del canto se dividió (‘split’) entre dos grupos, los anfitriones delfios y los visitantes eginetas”. De esas tres, se inclina por (b) y (c) como más probables y finalmente considera más que (b), es decir, el ‘compensatory supplement’, ofrece la explicación más económica. 102 103

2001, 320. 2001, 331-338.

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Pues bien, en mi opinión, la resolución de este aparente enigma pasa por tener en cuenta los siguientes aspectos. Primero, que estamos ante un caso excepcional, por sus propias características y por otras de naturaleza externa: la situación a que el poema alude y la clase de performance que plantea. En efecto, el poeta104 deja claro que hay unas circunstancias especiales y que su intervención neutraliza un posible amachania para el colectivo de ciudadanos y para su propio papel105. Entiendo que hay una implicación muy especial en esta intervención pindárica que armoniza tradiciones délficas y eginetas, con un peso fundamental de la épica (homérica y posthomérica) que él aprovecha de modo magistral. Píndaro se convierte en un mediador: Egina, Delfos y la proyección panhelénica del santuario (con Tesalia al fondo). En cuanto a las distintas partes y su performance, mis argumentos son los siguientes: a. Creo que el poema está compuesto, desde el principio, como un conjunto coherente, con una auténtica responsión múltiple entre la estructuración y el relato de las dos primeras tríadas y la tercera106. 104

Sea como propia persona o como representativo de quienes encargan la composición o incluso fundiéndose con el coro mismo: no cambia esto sustancialmente la interpretación en este caso. 105 Lo de que quiere evitar la “orfandad coral” es oscuro para nosotros, pero no para eginetas y delfios. 106 El “hermanamiento” de Delfos y Egina queda aún más sustentado por la simetría de las invocaciones. Una disposición quiástica enlaza ambas mediante: a) las dos advocaciones de Zeus (ʌȡઁȢ ੗Ȝȣȝʌ઀Ƞȣ ǻȚંȢ v. 1 – ǻȚઁȢ ਫȜȜĮȞ઀ȠȣY  b) los epítetos de los lugares, tanto los abstractos (țȜȚIJંȝĮȞIJȚȢ Ȇȣșઆ v. 2 – ੑȞȠȝĮțȜ઄IJĮ Ȟ઼ıȠȢ, v. 123), como los que indican luminosidad (Ȥȡȣı੼Į v. 1 – ijĮİȞȞઁȞ ਙıIJȡȠȞ v. 126). También se incluye en este “segundo proemio” el motivo del canto (fundido con el de la “acogida”), mediante una sucesión de futuros referidos a la actuación simultánea o inmediata del coro, como es frecuente y que corresponden a dos metáforas en total homogeneidad con el contexto. La promesa de dedicación del peán se hace mediante una expresiva lítotes en el nivel formal y, en cuanto al contenido, en conexión con el ‘leit-motiv’ de la relación paterno-filial, ya que ਙįȠȡʌȠȞ İ੝Ȟ੺ȗİȚȞ es, aproximadamente, “acostar al niño sin cenar”. La siguiente imagen, que expresa la promesa en forma positiva, pero con Egina como sujeto, se adecua al carácter marinero de la isla, evocado por el término ૧ંșȚĮ. En efecto, la gloria que ahora se ensalza es muy distinta de la anterior: es el dominio marítimo de Egina, que se recuerda explícita o implícitamente en esta estrofa (cf. ǻȦȡȚİ૙ ȝİį੼ȠȚıĮ ʌંȞIJ૳ / ȞĮȣʌȡ઄IJĮȞȚȞ įĮ઀ȝȠȞĮ). Un último motivo de relación Delfos-Egina lo ofrece la expresión IJ੹Ȟ șİȝ઀ȟİȞȠȞ ਕȡİIJ੺Ȟ, dicha de Egina. Aparte de que la hospitalidad es cualidad destacada con frecuencia por Píndaro a propósito de la isla, en este contexto es inevitable considerarlo como un paralelo de la misma cualidad délfica, lugar de acogida de peregrinos y donde el dios Apolo y

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b. La opción (c) de Rutherford (‘split’) me parece preferible, aunque suponga algo excepcional. Por las razones que fuere, se da un protagonismo especial a Egina con ocasión de unas teoxenias en las que se conmemora una intervención délfica intercesora puesta en paralelo con la atribuida a Éaco. Justicia apolínea y justicia de Zeus se funden en la celebración y es la mitología épica y el rito que en ella tiene fundamento lo que configura el espacio de mediación para todo ello. c. De acuerdo con lo dicho creo que podemos plantearnos dos coros (o, si se prefiere, dos semicoros)107. Cuando los delfios concluyen su parte, los eginetas, en un relato inverso, se remontan a los orígenes de la dinastía de Aquiles y Neoptólemo. Esta parte sirve de contraste equilibrador respecto a la primera, con un mayor hincapié en la ascendencia de Zeus y en las excepcionales cualidades de Éaco. El paralelo y el equilibrio se señalan de diversas maneras, pero el peán no pierde su destino primigenio, que es la floreciente pervivencia de la comunidad, representada por la salud que los dioses deben conceder a sus jóvenes y a la comunidad. d. La indicación marginal de que la segunda parte es un prosodio se debe al hecho de que circuló tempranamente de modo independiente y se incluyó en época helenística en el libro de prosodios, incluso con alguna modificación de colometría108. Funcionalmente este canto es un SHiQ, y como tal se proclama (cf. vv. 127 y 182). Además, así como aceptamos la posibilidad de segundas entonaciones de epinicios en los que la interpretación puede registrar cambios notables, como el convertirse en un canto monódico lo que originariamente fue coral109, del mismo modo es más que probable que la parte egineta fuera susceptible de interpretación separada en un contexto festivo distinto en Egina. No debe excluirse la posibilidad de que la definición como prosodio recogiera un dato propio de la ‘reperformance’ egineta. Después acabó circulando como tal, por Neoptólemo presiden las teo- \KHUR[HQLDVQRPHQRUYDORUHQHOPLVPRVHQWLGR tendría la primera mitad del compuesto, por todo lo que Apolo representa en el campo normativo y como garante del cumplimiento de los preceptos. 107 En caso de optar por la unidad, habría que pensar en un solo coro de eginetas, que defendía Wilamowitz 1908. Ver más recientemente Currie 2005, 322-325, en el marco de una excelente discusión de los problemas planteados por la relación de este peán con la Nemea 7. No obstante, esto supone desatender la indicación marginal inicial (por otra parte, no exenta de algunos problemas: Currie 2005, 324, n. 254). 108 Así resulta de la comparación con las escasa líneas que en POxy 1792 se superponen con las de esta tríada: D’Alessio 1997 hace un análisis exhaustivo de los problemas planteados por este papiro y las ediciones de peanes y prosodios de Píndaro. 109 Morrison 2007.

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separado. Incluso me atrevo a sugerir que, si la calificación de prosodio de la tercera tríada era originaria, incluyera una indicación ‘performativa’110. Por último, precisamente en relación directa con la cuestión de la utilización de la lengua poética en una derivación religiosa, es muy importante tener conciencia de la excepcional habilidad pindárica para mantener un tono épico acorde con el contenido mítico y la propia tradición fundacional del culto de Neoptólemo. Esta oda délfica hace resaltar precisamente el valor de la leyenda correspondiente, pero al mismo tiempo sirve para enlazar con la tradición egineta. Fehr111, después de calificar los mitos del peán como “una recapitulación enormemente concentrada de la Ilíada, la Iliupersis y los Nostoi”, subraya que lo más específico de Píndaro está precisamente en el nuevo haz de relaciones que establece, de suerte que, entre las reelaboraciones de lo recibido y la aportación personal, se consigue una nueva valoración de la materia épica, al servicio del contexto lírico. Con otras palabras, “la situación lírica condicionaba la elección de la materia”112. Todo se reelabora: el tema tomado de la épica, la lengua (con una meticulosa adaptación a las estructuras métricas del canto coral). Algo permanece de las antiguas funciones del canto épico. El poeta consigue mantener viva la memoria de estos țȜ੼Į ਕȞįȡ૵Ȟ, aunque las nuevas relaciones y, sobre todo, la selección de los hechos, les den una orientación modélica algo distinta113. La exaltación del equilibrio, de la justicia y del sometimiento al destino iba acompañada aquí de un tono épico que se acentuaba al rememorar los hechos de los antiguos héroes. Los Ȟ੼ȠȚ, acostumbrados a oír y a rememorar los pasajes épicos, se sentían implicados de forma activa en las leyendas que ellos mismos evocaban con el viejo vocabulario adaptado a

110 No pongo en duda la existencia de un canto procesional que, aunque comenzara por ser un ʌȡȠıંįȚȠȞ ઍıȝĮ (o sea, “cualquier canto que acompañara a una procesión”), terminara entre los alejandrinos por tener cierta especificidad (ʌȡȠıંįȚȠȞ), pero es discutible que ello permita reconocer una variedad eidótica tan sólo con esa indicación funcional de movimiento. En mi opinión ha de tenerse en cuenta siempre que ese canto es DOJRPiV en cuanto contenido y finalidad. Creo que lo que sucede con el peán ilustra este problema. De ahí que se tienda (como veremos luego) a decir que un canto es “peán y prosodio”, desde el momento en que el peán puede ser (en su totalidad o parcialmente), digamos, “cinético” y no estático. 111 Fehr 1936, 56-57. 112 Fehr 1936, p. 57. 113 Omito ahora, para ahorrar espacio, la relación exhaustiva de epicismos, que es abundante, tanto en fórmulas como en sintaxis, léxico, etc.

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la nueva música. Un factor esencial en una oda excepcional por muchos rasgos.

5. Otros peanes délficos (epigráficos) Como es sabido, además de los peanes conservados por transmisión en códices y papiros, la epigrafía nos ha legado otra serie de textos inscritos en diversos santuarios, entre los que figura en primer lugar el de Delfos. En esta revisión, una vez más, me limitaré a sus rasgos más importantes en relación con la finalidad de este artículo.

a. Peán GH$ULVWyQRR VLJOR,9D&FD III 2: 190) Comenzaré por el peán compuesto por Aristónoo de Corinto en el siglo IV a. C.114 Por sus rasgos formales y de contenido no hay ningún problema en su clasificación genérica. No es ningún obstáculo para ello el que en la inscripción que concede amplios privilegios a su autor y descendientes se dé como razón el que compusiera himnos a los dioses, ya que himno puede abarcar el peán: Aristónoo es un autor profesional de cantos dedicados a los dioses para ser entonados en sus santuarios. Es posible que, una vez más, el peán estuviera destinado a las teoxenias. Es monostrófico. Se recurre al metro eolio, con seis estrofas compuestas de tres gliconios más un ferecracio115, que se cierran siempre con el epitegma ੫ ੁ੻ ȆĮȚ੺Ȟ116. La secuencia es la siguiente. Comienza con una invocación apolínea que subraya la localización délfica (sede calificada de șİıʌȚંȝĮȞIJȚȢ) y se recuerda la ascendencia de Apolo. La siguiente estrofa se centra en la actividad profética del dios, sin olvidar el aspecto musical. A continuación se evoca la ocupación apolínea del santuario, pero se da una versión que evita el conflicto divino y que, a la vez, pone de relieve una clara orientación proateniense: el poeta mantiene el mitema de la purificación en Tempos, pero afirma que Atenea persuadió a Gea y Temis de que ocupara el territorio, con lo que se consigue un aition de la existencia del templo de Atenea Pronaia, explicado por el agradecimiento del dios. El canto se centra a continuación en los dioses que obsequian a Apolo, con lo que se 114

En este caso no es posible una datación más concreta. En un primer momento se dató en el siglo III a. C. Texto en Käppel 1992, 384- WH[WR \ FRPHQWDULR HQ Furley-Bremer 2001, II 45-52. 115 Con el dímetro coriámbico B como forma equivalente al gliconio. Vid. FurleyBremer 2001, II 47. 116 El tercer período de cada estrofa también incluye el grito ੁ੽ ੁ੻ ȆĮȚ੺Ȟ.

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explica el resto de las presencias divinas en este recinto117 y en el Parnaso: Posidón, las Ninfas coricias, Dioniso, Ártemis. La última estrofa se dedica a la fuente Castalia, en la que se dice que se baña Apolo, y se cierra con una plegaria final que recupera (como hemos visto en los otros peanes) la primigenia función del peán alejador de males e instrumento para conseguir la protección divina: ȤĮȡİ੿Ȣ ੢ȝȞȠȚȢ ਲȝİIJ੼ȡȠȚȢ, ੕ȜȕȠȞ / ਥȟ ੒ı઀ȦȞ įȚįȠઃȢ ਕİ੿ țĮ੿ ı૴ȗȦȞ / ਥij੼ʌȠȚȢ ਲȝ઼Ȣ, ੫ ੁ੻ ȆĮȚ੺Ȟ. Como podemos apreciar, es un peán distribuido en breves unidades de contenido muy inmanente, recreando mitemas y tradiciones sustanciales del santuario, en las que el papel de las demás divinidades es muy positivo y se presenta en un tono conciliador, no exento incluso de una orientación política pro-ateniense.

b. Peán de Filodamo de Escarfia (334 a. C.): Dioniso-Apolo118 La adaptación al entorno délfico lleva a un ejemplo como el presente, en el que un canto concebido como peán se dedica a Dioniso como himno de petición de protección y ayuda de un dios cuya presencia en el santuario es parte sustancial de sus tradiciones119. En realidad este peán es una auténtica fundamentación de lo dionisíaco en Delfos120, mediante un análisis teológico-poético del proceso, con una progresiva fusión de los dioses, mantenida en cada estrofa por las invocaciones Ƞ epiphthegmata recurrentes en cada estrofa İ੝Ƞ૙ ੯ Ǻ੺țȤ ੯ Ț੻ ȆĮȚ੺Ȟ y ੁ੻ ȆĮȚ੺Ȟ, ੅șȚ ıȦIJ੾ȡ. El peán hace referencia desde el principio al tiempo primaveral, probablemente por su interpretación en las teoxenias (el mes local teoxenio corresponde a marzo-abril) y no porque se vincule al período propiamente dionisíaco de Delfos (por ausencia de Apolo), que es el invierno. Se abre como himno clético, para que se cumpla la llegada de Dioniso, invocado como (XLRV7DXURV%URPLRV. Se le invoca como hijo de Tiona (ĬȣઆȞȘ), el nombre que recibe Sémele tras su rescate del Hades por Dioniso y su entronización divina, tal como se conmemoraba en la fiesta eneatérica de la Herois121. La primera estrofa señala ya que su nacimiento implica gozo para mortales e inmortales. Como Apolo, el carácter protector de Dioniso queda plasmado en la petición recurrente en el estribillo final de cada estrofa: İ੡ijȡȦȞ IJ੺Ȟįİ ʌંȜȚȞ ij઄ȜĮıı’ / İ੝Į઀ȦȞȚ ıઃȞ ੕Ȝȕ૳. Toda la tierra se alegra con Dioniso y así lo celebra Delfos (la tierra 117

Suárez de la Torre 1998c. Käppel 1992, 207-284, 375-)XUOH\-Bremer 2001, II 52-84. 119 Tiene doce estrofas (algunas apenas se conservan) en metro eolo-coriámbico. 120 Vid. Suárez de la Torre 1998a, 2013. 121 Suárez de la Torre 1998b. 118

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danza ਫ਼ȝȞȠȕȡȣ੾Ȣ). La danza de las muchachas delfias acompaña a la epifanía estelar del dios. Asimilado a Íaco, se le invoca como eleusinio, pero eso no impide que se cante su recorrido panhelénico. Las Musas, encabezadas por el propio Apolo, cantan coronadas de yedra, y es también el propio dios délfico el que fomenta que en las teoxenias todos los pueblos invoquen a Dioniso. No falta tampoco un elogio por la construcción del templo de Apolo: ੯ ȝ੺țĮȡİ ੑȜȕ઀Į IJİ țİ઀/ȞȦȞ Ȗİ[Ȟİ੹] ȕȡȠIJ૵Ȟ/ ਕȖ੾-/ȡȦȞ ਕȝ઀ĮȞIJȠȞ ਘ țIJ઀ıૉ ȞĮઁ[Ȟ ਙ]ȞĮț[IJȚ] ĭȠ઀ȕ૳. La mención de la fiesta pítica da paso a una iconografía del triunfo báquico, rememorada en detalle, para concluir con una triunfal acogida y entronación délfica de Dioniso, amparada por Apolo. En general hay una acumulación de mitos y tradiciones que dan sentido y justifican la presencia dionisíaca en Delfos, puesta de relieve en un canto que las va engarzando con gran habilidad y en el que se pone de manifiesto la sustancial función del peán como vehículo de fundamentación teórica de las tradiciones religiosas, divinas y heroicas, en el santuario délfico.

c. Peán de Ateneo122 (?): Teoxenias de 138 o 128 a. C Este peán y el siguiente tienen la peculiaridad de conservar la notación musical123. El ritmo de este primero es crético-peónico y ambos son descritos como peán y prosodio, aunque este primero, en el que tenemos una laguna precisamente en esa secuencia, en un principio se sugirió que podría figurar como peán e hiporquema. No obstante, el paralelo del segundo de ellos, en el que sí se lee el término prosodio en su encabezamiento, lleva a descartar que la métrica apoye esa clasificación, dado que también es en buena parte crético-peónico. En coherencia con lo expresado para el 3HiQ 6 de Píndaro, mi opinión es que, de nuevo, la aparición de la aclaración prosódion es más de tipo interpretativo (‘performativo’) que genérico. Algunos editores consideran que el paso al prosodio puede detectarse en el cambio de métrica (tanto en este como en el de Limenio hay un cambio a elementos eolios al final)124.

122

No está claro que sea un nombre propio y no un gentilicio. En la inscripción sólo se puede leer ]ȘȞĮȚȠȢ. 123 DeOSKL ,QY     %pOLV  .lSSHO  - )XUOH\Bremer 2001, II 85- 3|KOPDQ-West 2001, n. 19. Un análisis detallado de las particularidades melódicas de este peán y del siguiente (cuestión que no trato aquí) puede verse en Marsá 2008. 124 Cf. observaciones de Furley-Bremer 2001, II 86. Volveré sobre esto con el siguiente peán.

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El canto se inicia con una invocación a las Musas para cantar a Apolo. Esto permite al poeta, mediante una clara evocación hesiódica adaptada a las circunstacias, unir el Parnaso y sus Musas con Delfos, los coros de jóvenes delfias y la Castalia. Un rasgo que observamos acentuado en este peán (pero ya detectado desde el siglo IV, como vimos antes) es la fusión con Atenas, que aparece ensalzada de modo destacado125, y la insistencia en el hermanamiento ritual de aquélla con Delfos. Ello se lleva a cabo aquí mediante la enumeración del culto a Atenea, la actividad de Hefesto, las ofrendas126 y la naturaleza de la música127. De la aspiración panhelénica de las teoxenias se pasa a una polarización Delfos-Atenas. En relación con ello podemos mencionar la presencia, subrayada con protagonismo, de los IJİȤȞ૙IJĮȚ, que aparecen aquí rindiendo culto a Apolo128. Por otra parte, no podía faltar la alusión a un mito central local, como el de la pitoctonia129, pero aparece como novedad la referencia al “Ares bárbaro de los Gálatas”, oportunamente rechazado por una tormenta de nieve, es decir, un episodio de la historia reciente (279 a. C.), equiparado a la hazaña de fundación y mitologizado. La deteriorada parte final probablemente recuperaba la primigenia función del peán, en cuanto que parece haber una alusión a los jóvenes130, por lo que no sería extraño un cierre con una fórmula de petición de ıȦIJȘȡ઀Į.

d. Peán de Limenio: Teoxenias del 128 a. C En este caso conservamos completo el nombre del autor, el ateniense Limenio, hijo de Teno, además del dato de que lo acompañó con la cítara (ʌȡȠıİțȚș੺ȡȚıİȞ ȁȚȝ੾ȞȚȠȢ ĬȠ઀ȞȠȣ ਝșȘȞĮ૙ȠȢ)131. También se indica que es “peán y prosodio”. Se trata de un ejemplo que confirma plenamente las tendencias observadas en el anterior peán, desde la invocación inicial a los mitemas seleccionados o incorporados, además de corroborar la “aticización” ya detectada. Este peán presenta una estructura más elaborada que los otros atenienses. De hecho hay dos partes bien marcadas. La primera arranca de la invocación a las Musas y desarrolla el mito de la llegada de Apolo 125

ll. 9-11. Cf. ਙȡĮȥ ਕIJȝંȢ, l.12. 127 ll. 11-13. 128 ll. 14-15. 129 ll. 21-24. 130 Cf. 27-29 ਕȜȜ’ੁઅ Ȗ੼ȞȞĮȞ[ /…ș੺ȜȠȢ [ijȚȜંȝ[ĮȤȠȞ "«į੺ȝȠȚȠ… 131 Delphi inv. 489, 1461, .lSSHO 189-)XUOH\-Bremer 2001, II 92-100, Pöhlman-West 2001. 126

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desde Delos, mientras que la segunda es ya realmente el propio peán apolíneo. El poeta comienza con las Musas del Helicón, a las que invita a ir al Parnaso. Se evoca el nacimiento de Apolo en Delos, pero con una novedad importante: Leto no se sujeta a una palmera, sino a una rama de olivo. El nacimiento del dios se describe con elementos poéticos adecuados a la epifanía divina, como, por ejemplo, el gozo del cielo, el éter y el Océano, con la consiguiente calma universal. Corrigiendo al antiguo himno homérico, el viaje de Apolo va de Delos al Ática, donde lo acoge el son de la flauta y la cítara, con cantos de ʌĮȚ੹Ȟ ੁ੻ ʌĮȚ੺Ȟ que el eco esparcía. En forma etiológica, se afirma que desde entonces Peán es el nombre que da al dios todo el pueblo ateniense y, de nuevo, los technitai de Dioniso (el ਦıȝઁȢ ੂİȡઁȢ IJİȤȞȚIJ૵Ȟ ਩ȞȠȚțȠȢ ʌંȜİȚ ȀİțȡȠʌ઀઺ 18-21). Como decía, la segunda parte es la propiamente clética y apolínea. Se distribuye en otras tres partes menores, todas ellas encabezadas por un ਕȜȜ੺ como refuerzo de la exhortación a la epifanía, sazonada, como es preceptivo en la plegaria hímnica, del recordatorio de anteriores muestras de predilección por el territorio. De modo que de nuevo se recuerda la pitoctonia y el castigo de Titio en una de ellas, el rechazo del bárbaro Ares con el níveo fenómeno en la segunda y, por último, se pasa a la petición final de protección (por cierto, de Atenas y Delfos), en la que se asocia Apolo a Ártemis y Dioniso, para cerrar todo ello con la expresión de los votos por la prosperidad del poder de Roma, una nueva concesión a la historia contemporánea y, además, un reconducción prudente, y políticamente sabia, de la tradicional función de alejamiento de males que el peán siempre retuvo. Sólo dos palabras más a propósito de la distinción peán-prosodio. Partiendo del supuesto de que cuando el epígrafe introductorio habla de ʌĮȚ੹Ȟ țĮ੿ ʌȡȠıંįȚȠȞ está denominando así dos partes distintas de la misma composición, pero en la idea ya avanzada de que no se trata de la mezcla de dos “géneros”, sino de una indicación interpretativa, considero que forma y contenido nos permiten por lo menos detectar cuál es cada una, más claramente incluso en este peán que en el anterior. En efecto, hemos visto en el peán de Limenio que, tras el primer canto a las Musas, que se desplazan del Helicón al Parnaso, y de la descripción del viaje de Apolo desde Delos, se suceden los grupos de invocaciones exhortativas al dios, marcadas formalmente, incluso con un cambio de metro en la última de ellas. Mi hipótesis es que en una de las dos partes implicaba

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movimiento, mientras que la otra era más estática, aunque prefiero no aventurar una asignación concreta132.

6. Conclusiones Agrupo las conclusiones siguiendo los principales aspectos que he ido destacando. a. Con carácter general se aprecia en primer lugar una doble función de los peanes délficos. Por un lado, contribuir a la persuasión de la divinidad, concebida como garante de la salud y vitalidad de los individuos y del conjunto, y, por otro, servir de espacio (abstracto y concreto) de intermediación entre las distintas deidades que reciben culto en el santuario. En segundo lugar, se detectan algunos rasgos característicos, como son la tendencia a la fundamentación de lo que podríamos llamar el “microsistema” religioso local, junto con amplias posibilidades de flexibilidad formal (en lengua, métrica y estructura) y de contenido. b. Ahora bien, también hemos constatado notables diferencias entre el peán pindárico y los ejemplos posteriores. En Píndaro se observa una mayor dimensión de la reflexión teológica y una particular manera de utilizar los recursos poéticos para dar fundamento sólido a las creencias y ritos de Delfos, con una dimensión que sabe conjugar muy bien el ámbito panhelénico con lo local. Llama la atención la variedad de recursos en la adecuación del relato mítico a las necesidades de la celebración concreta a que se destina, siempre con una gran capacidad de enriquecimiento de la lengua poética y de variación según el ritual. La riqueza de registros pindárica es inigualable. El relato mítico adquiere una dimensión especial en relación con la actividad poética, por un lado, y el contexto religioso por otro: el mito de los sucesivos templos fundamenta la mántica apolínea en la misma medida que la función de la palabra poética, la mitología local genealógica de Apolo se formaliza, la luminosidad y gozo de la epifanía divina se sublimaȞ y un culto heroico local, de delicada fundamentación, se sustenta con ayuda de la renovación y los recursos de la épica.

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En efecto, no quiero caer en el espejismo de sugerir que la primera parte implica movimiento (por mimetismo incluso con los mitos “de viaje” relatados), mientras que la segunda, con las invocaciones, es más estática, porque iría en contradicción con lo que hemos observado en el 3HiQ 6 de Píndaro, en el que precisamente el mito de la llegada de Neoptólemo ocupa la primera parte, mientras que el prosodio para los Eginetas es más un himno a la genealogía Eácida, aunque acaba en tono adecuado a un peán.

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c. Frente a ello, los sucesivos peanes conservados tienden a una clara estereotipación y simplificación. Empiezan a repetirse algunos mitemas y motivos. Entre los mitemas destacan el papel de las Musas (con la relación Apolo-Parnaso), el nacimiento de Apolo, la llegada a Delfos, la muerte de Pitón y la sucesión divina o la purificación en Tesalia. Entre los motivos desarrollados figura la adivinación como actividad local, la defensa ante los enemigos (con integración mitologizada de la historia más reciente, como la invasión de los Gálatas), la presencia de muchachas que danzan (ya en Píndaro), la insistencia en la salud y pervivencia de la comunidad y, en conexión con la reivindicación de la unión Delfos -Atenas, un papel destacado de los IJİȤȞ૙IJĮȚ. En este conjunto de tendencia simplificadora, cabe destacar, por un lado, la mayor calidad poética del peán de Limenio, y el interés por subrayar el equilibrio del panteón divino local, que lleva a la composición de un peán a Dioniso, fenómeno que, aparte de la importancia antigua de Dioniso en Delfos, se explica perfectamente en el ámbito de las teoxenias. d. En el caso del 3HiQ 6 de Píndaro, la parte interpretable como prosodio se identifica como tal en el papiro por avatares que pueden remontarse a la propia composición pindárica y a su interpretación, pero no invalida la naturaleza general del peán en su conjunto. En los peanes posteriores se opta por definirlos como “peán y prosodio” (o sea, que son las dos cosas a la vez) sin marcas “performativas” externas, lo que no excluye indicios internos de variantes dentro del mismo peán133.

Obras Citadas Athanassaki, L. 2009. “Apollo and his Oracle in Pindar’s Epinicians: Poetic Representations, Politics, and Ideology.” In Apolline Politics and Poetics (International Symposium), ed. L. Athanassaki, R.P. Martin, and J.F. Miller, 405-472. Athens: Hellenic Ministry of CultureEuropean Cultural Centre of Delphi. Aubriot-Sevin, D. 1992. 3ULqUH et conceptions reliJLHXVHV HQ *UqFH DQFLHQQH MXVTX’ j OD ILQ GX 9H VLqFOH DY --C. Lyon: Maison de l’Orient Méditérraneen. Bélis, A. 1992. Corpus des inscriptions de Delphes, 3: /HV +\PQHV j Apollon. Paris: De Boccard.

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Sin pretender rizar el rizo, hago observar que el juego entre movimiento y estatismo es consustancial con: a. los mitos fundacionales (viaje a Delfos, a Tempos, etc.), b. la peregrinación, c. la secuencia pompé- consulta.

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Bérard, J. 1963. La Magna Grecia. Storia delle colonie greche dell’Italia meridionale. Torino: Einaudi. Bona, G. 1988. Pindaro. I peani. Cuneo: Saste. Burgess, J. S. 2009. The Death and Afterlife of Achilles. Baltimore: The Johns Hopkins University Press. Cannatà Fera, M. 1980. “Peani, ditirambi, treni in Pind. Fr. 128c Sn.-M.” GIF 32: 181-188. Coppola, G. 1931. Introduzione a Pindaro. Roma: / 8QLYHUVDOHWLSRJUDILD. Corrêa, P. da Cunha 2009. “Musical Instruments and the Paean in Archilochus.” Synthesis 16: 99-112. Currie, B. 2005. Pindar and the Cult of Heroes. Oxford: Oxford University Press. D’Alessio, G. B. 1991. “Osservazioni e paralipomeni ad una nuova edizione dei frammenti di Pindaro.” RIFC 119: 91-117. —. 1997. “Pindar’s Prosodia and the Classification of Pindaric Papyrus Fragments.” ZPE 118: 23-60. D’Alessio, G. B., and F. Ferrari 1988. “Pindaro, Peana 6, 175-183: una ricostruzione.” SCO 38, 159-180. Deneken, F. 1881. De theoxeniis. Diss. Berlin. Detienne, M. 1998. $SROORQOHFRXWHDXjODPDLQ. Paris: Gallimard. Deubner, L. 1919. “Paian.” NJKP 22: 385-407. Färber, H. 1936. 'LH/\ULNLQGHU.XQVWWKHRULHGHU$QWLNH. Diss. München. Fairbanks, A. 1900. $6WXG\RIWKH*UHHN3DHDQ. Ithaca: Macmillan. Fehr, K. 1936, Die Mythen bei Pindar. Diss. Zürich. Fernandes, R.M. Rosado 1962, 2 WHPD GDV *UDoDV QD SRHVLD FOiVVLFD. Paris Ford, A. 2006. “The Genre of Genres: Paeans and Paian in Early Greek Poetry.” Poetica 38: 277-295. Förstel, K. 1972. “Zu Pindars achtem Paian.” RhM 115: 97-133. Führer, R. 1967. Formproblem-Untersuchungen zu den Reden in der IUKJULHFKLVFKHQ/\ULN. München: Beck. Furley, W.D., and J.M. Bremer 2001. *UHHN +\PQV. Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck. Grenfell, B. P., and A. S. Hunt eds. 1922. The Oxyrhynchus Papyri XV. London: Egypt Exploration Society. Harvey, A.E. 1955. “The Classification of Greek Lyric Poetry.” CQ 5: 157-175. Käppel, L. 1992. Paian. Studien zur Geschichte einer Gattung. Berlin: de Gruyter. Kowalzig, B. 2007. Singing for the Gods. Performance of Myth and Ritual in Archaic and Classical Greece. Oxford: Oxford University Press.

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Krummen, E. 1990. PYRSOS HYMNON. Festliche Gegenwart und mythisch-rituelle Tradition als Voraussetzung einer Pindarinterpretation (IsthmiH3\WKLH2O\PSLHXQG  Berlin: de Gruyter. Marsá, V. 2008. Himnos délficos dedicados a Apolo. Castelló de la Plana: Universitat Jaume I. Mommsen, Th. 1878. Delphica. Berlin. Morrison, A. D. 2007. Performances and Audiences in Pindar’s Sicilian Victory Odes. London: Institute of Classical Studies. Nilsson, M. P. 1906. Griechische Feste von UHOLJL|VHU %HGHXWXQJ PLW Ausschluss der attischen. Leipzig: Teubner. Pfister, F. 1934. “Theoxenia.” In Realencyclopädie der Classischen $OWHUWXPVZLVVHQVFKDIWed. A.F. Pauly, and G. Wissowa V, 2256-2258. Stuttgart: Alfred Druckenmüller. Pöhlman, E., and M.L. West 2001. 'RFXPHQWV RI $QFLHQW *UHHN 0XVLF The Extant Melodies and Fragments Edited and Transcribed with Commentary. Oxford: University Press. Pulleyn, S. 1997. 3UD\HULQ*UHHN5HOLJLRQ. Oxford: Clarendon Press. Race, W. H. 1990. Style and Rhetoric in Pindar’s Odes 2nd ed. Atlanta: Scholar Press. —. ed 1997. Pindar II: 1HPHDQ 2GHV ,VWKPLDQ 2GHV )UDJPHQWV. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. Rudhardt, P. 1992. Notions fondamentales de la pensée religieuse et actes constitutifs du culte dans la *UqFHFODVVLTXH. Paris: Picard. Rutherford, I. 1990. “Paeans by Simonides.” HSCP 93: 160-209. —. 1993. “Paeanic Ambiguity: A Study of the Representation of the ȆĮȚ੺ȞLQ*UHHN/LWHUDWXUH.” QUCC 44: 77-92. —. 1997. “)RUWKH$HJLQHWDQVWR$LDNRVD3URVRGLRQ: An Unnoticed Title at Pindar, Paean 6, 123, and its Significance to the Poem.” ZPE 118: 1-21. —. 2001. Pindar’s Paeans. A Reading of the Fragments with a Survey of the Genre. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Schroeder, O. 1908. Pindari Carmina cum Fragmentis Selectis. Leipzig: Teubner. Schröder, S. 1999. Geschichte und Theorie des Gattung Paian. StuttgartLeipzig: Teubner. Schwalbe, C.F.H. 1847. hEHU GLH %HGHXWXQJ GHV 3lDQ DOV *HVDQJ LP Apollinischen Kultus. Magdeburg. Schwenn, F. 1940. Der junge Pindar. Berlin: Nicolai. Snell, B. 1962. “Pindar’s 8. Paian über die Tempel von Delphi.” Hermes 90: 1-6.

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Sourvinou-Inwood, Ch. 1979. “The Myth of the First Temples at Delphi.” CQ 29: 231-251. —. 1988. “Myth and History: The Previous Owners of the Delphic Oracle.” In ,QWHUSUHWDWLRQVRI*UHHN0\WKRORJ\, ed. J. Bremmer, 215241. London: Routledge. Stefos, A. 1975. Apollon dans Pindare, Athènes. Suárez de la Torre, E. 1997. “Neoptolemos at Delphi.” Kernos 10: 153176. —. 1998a. “Cuando los límites se desdibujan: Apolo y Dioniso en Delfos”, In En los límites de Dioniso ed. C. Sánchez and P. Cabrera, 17-28. Murcia: Caja Murcia. —. 1998b. “Observaciones sobre los rituales délficos eneaetéricos.” Corolla Complutensis. Homenaje al Profesor José S. Lasso de la Vega, ed. R.M. Aguilar et al., 469-482. Madrid: Editorial Complutense. —. 1998c. “Les dieux de Delphes et l’histoire du sanctuaire (des origines au IV siècle av. J. C.).” In /H 3DQWKpRQ GHV FLWpV JUHFTXHV, ed. V. Pirenne-Delforge, 61-89. Liège: CIERGA. —. 2002. “La ‘rationalité’ des mythes de Delphes.” Kernos 15: 155-178. —. 2005. “L’oracle de Delphes.” In Thesaurus Cultus et Rituum DQWLTXRUXP, III, 16-31. Los Angeles: The Paul Getty Museum. —. 2007. “Silencio ritual en la Grecia antigua.” ૅIlu 19: 43-52. —. 2009. “Sul rapporto tra religione e letteratura nella Grecia Antica.” Historia Religionum 1: 77-104. —. 2013. “Apollo and Dionysus: Intersections.” In Redefining Dionysos, ed. A. Bernabé et al., 58-81. Berlin: de Gruyter. Turyn, A. 1948. Pindari Carmina cum fragmentis. Cracoviae: Academia Polona Litterarum et Scientiarum. Von Blumenthal 1942. “Paian.” In Realencyclopädie der Classischen $OWHUWXPVZLVVHQVFKDIW ed. A.F. Pauly, and G. Wissowa XVIII, 23402362. Stuttgart: Alfred Druckenmüller. Wilamowitz-Moellendorf, U. von 1908. “Pindars siebentes nemeisches Gedicht.” 6LW]XQJVEHULFKW GHU SUHXVV $NDGHPLH SKLORV-hist. Klasse 15: 328-352 ( 1970. In 3LQGDURV XQG %DNFK\OLGHV, ed. W.M. Calder III, and J. Stern, 127-158. Darmstadt: Wissenschaftliche Buchgesellschaft). Yatromanolakis, D., and P. Roilos eds. 2004. *UHHN 5LWXDO 3RHWLFV. Washington D.C.: Center for Hellenic Studies.

CONSULTING THE GODS IN THE ODYSSEY CLAUDIA ZATTA NORTHWESTERN UNIVERSITY

Oracles and oracular sites are not foreign to the Odyssey. In Book 8 we hear that Agamemnon had consulted the oracle of Delphi and that, during the war at Troy, he rejoiced seeing Odysseus and Achilles fighting because, according to the oracle he had received from Apollo, this was a sign that the war would finally turn to the favour of the Achaeans (75-82). And again in Book 16, Amphinomos, a suitor who distinguished himself for good thoughts (agathoi frenes) and whose speeches were in fact pleasing to Penelope, suggests to the other suitors that before undertaking any action against Telemachus, they should hear the will of the gods, and act upon Zeus’ responses (themistes, 400-405). In this case we do not know what oracular site or procedure Amphinomos had in mind, but he is clearly referring to an oracular consultation. More interesting, however, for the purpose of this paper, is Odysseus’ mention of the oracle of Zeus at Dodona to Eumaeus in Book 14. Unwilling to reveal his identity, Odysseus pretends to be a Cretan beggar and, in the subsequent account of his wanderings he reveals that, when visiting Thesprotia in Northern Greece, he heard from the king of the land that Odysseus was indeed still alive and that he had consulted the oracle of Zeus at Dodona to inquire about his return (327-330). That this fictitious version of Odysseus’ homecoming contains an oracular consultation provides us with an interesting parallel for understanding the episode of Proteus earlier in the Odyssey. Stranded on the island of Pharos and at a loss as to what to do, advised by the god’s daughter Eidothea, Menelaus meets Proteus, the old man of the sea, from whom he obtains precious revelations about his own return as well as that of the other heroes (4, 391-641). Scholarship has often considered this episode in terms of story-pattern, and as such, in light of the paradigmatic

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encounter of Odysseus with Teiresias in the Nekyia (Od. 11, 100-172).1 The stress has typically been on differences between the two ‘consultations’ and the ironic and folktale elements of Menelaus’ version2. So, for instance, for Rheinardt Proteus, unlike Teiresias, does not give RUDFOHVKHLV³VLPSO\DWHOOHURIIRUWXQH´ZKRVHZRUGVDUHXQDPELJXRXV In them there is no “mystery”, gryphos.3 In this paper, however, rather than associating the episode of Proteus to the Nekya, I will consider it in light of a broader model of oracular consultation, drawn from literary evidence, and discuss the Homeric episode in all its different aspects— from Menelaus’ preparation to encounter the god and the spatial and temporal variables that frame that encounter, to the seals as the privileged animals associated to Proteus. I will then consider the actual chain of answers and responses into which the verbal exchange between Proteus and Menelaus develops. All these aspects, I argue, either evoke actual oracular consultation practices or, as in the verbal exchange between the god and the hero, preserve the prescribed ritual distance between the oracle and the postulant that informed actual consultations. The encounter of Menelaus with Proteus does not happen by chance as did that with Eidothea who suddenly appeared to the hero walking on the seashore of the island of Pharos. Menelaus knows precisely when and where he will meet the god and what he will have to do in order to hear his revelations from him. The daughter of the old god, as mentioned before, informs the hero of the existence of Proteus, his oracular knowledge, every day habits and vulnerabilities. In fact, by giving Menelaus a plan that will enable him to make Proteus speak, Eidothea, at the same time, also instructs him on the precise ceremonial and ritual actions that he must follow in order to approach the god and experience a successful consultation. It is only at noon that the old god leaves the abysses of the sea to find some solace from the heat of the day in a cave on the seashore of the island. By that time, Menelaus and his companions had been waiting quite a few hours lying in the dark recesses of the cave under newly flayed skins of seals. The long wake, the cave as a location for the encounter with the god and the delivery of the oracle, and the very moment of noon, too, all contribute to design an oracular landscape (4.447-456, 484-508). Literary evidence on oracular consultations in Ancient Greece, although not so abundant, indicates that generally both 1 Further analogy between the two episodes lies in the presence of an intermediary character who enables the heroes to consult the diviners. Circe (Od. 10, 537-95) plays for Odysseus a role analogous to that of Eidothea in the story of Menelaus. 2 6HH3ODVVRQWKHIRONWUDGLWLRQLQ3URWHXV¶OHJHQG2¶1olan 1960. 3 1996, 113.

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inquirer and the oracle priest and priestess were expected to follow a prescribed regimen of ritual requirements before a question could be presented to the oracle.4 For Delphi we know the elaborate protocol of the Pythia, but less is known about those of the inquirer. A comparison with the ritual procedure followed by the inquirer at the oracle of Trophonius, as recounted by Pausanias, although late, still illuminates those hours spent in the cave by Menelaus and his men. Before being allowed to descend into the underground chamber of Trophonius, the postulant had to undergo a series of ritual requirements, from the confinement for a few days in a certain building in the sanctuary and abstention from hot baths to numerous sacrifices and fresh bathing in the river with subsequent anointment of the body (Paus. 9.39.3-11). Meeting a god to receive his revelations was not an ordinary act: it needed preparation and waiting, a progression of ritual actions that would clearly demarcate the ingression into an exclusive sphere of interaction with the divine. This happens for Menelaus too. Two important actions that he undertakes or undergoes in order to meet Proteus are the concealment under the skin of a freshly flayed seal and the anointment of ambrosia that Eidothea performs on his nostrils (4, 488-501). On a first interpretative level, both actions are instrumental in making Menelaus’ ambush successful: hidden under the seal-skin Proteus will take him as a member of his herd while the ambrosia will protect him from the stench of the animal. But, on closer inspection, these actions are also rituals that symbolically prepare Menelaus to encounter the god making him step outside of the human sphere and become “other”. In wearing the seal’s skin, the hero becomes one of the god’s animals thereby connecting his identity to that of his divine opponent.5 As for the ambrosia, we know that it had a transformative and strengthening effect on humans. For instance, Demeter anointed Demophoon, the child of the King of Eleusis, before casting him through the fire, a combination of actions intended to make him immortal (HHDem. 235-9). On the other hand, Athena and Apollo rub the bodies of Patroclus and Hector respectively, to preserve the first from the corrupting effect of death and the second from the disfiguring provoked by Achilles’ mistreatment (Il. 19.26- .18-20). But ambrosia preserves also from the damage of old age and so Thetis intends to make Achilles forever young by rubbing his chest with the divine substance (Il. 19, 347). So it is after having completed this series of ritual actions that Menelaus meets Proteus. The old god’s routine has him exit the abysses of 4 5

Aune 1983, 29-30. Zatta 1997, 75-85.

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the sea at noon and enter a cave. Again, the time and space of Proteus’ appearance in the world of men is evocative at once of his divine nature and oracular knowledge. While noon was an ominous moment in the arch of a day when gods could appear to mortals, it is also the only time during the day in which everything lies completely illuminated under the sun and shadows are minimal. The landscape at noon, therefore, pre-figures in spatial terms the omniscience of the god while the cave in which Proteus rests recalls a common setting for oracles.6 For caverns or grottos were associated with the oracles of Apollo at Delphi (Strabo 9.3.5), Trophonius at Lebadeia (Paus. 9.39.5-14), and Apollo at Claros (Tac. An. 2.54, V. Fl. 299). Following the temporal and spatial variables that frame the encounter between Proteus and Menelaus let us consider briefly the herds of seals that accompany him in his movements from the sea to the earth and vice versa. Described as an amphibious animal that lives in both habitats, seals are the ideal companions for Proteus in that they can share his life-style. Yet, beyond this first interpretive level, there is another link between the god and the animals. The scholiast tells us that Proteus lives with the seals because they are the most apt in the mantic art of all the other sea animals (Schol. Od. 4.403), adding that the god practices the oracular art by means of his animals in the same way as others do from dreams or sacrificial victims (Schol. Od. 4.344). We do not know in what way the seals could help Proteus practice his oracular knowledge, but perhaps this capacity had to do with a bundle of features that the animals shared with the old god: from their amphibious nature and connection to obscurity to their propensity to fall into the soundest sleep. Still in Pliny’s time people were aware of a practice that would relieve insomnia: putting the right flipper of a seal under the head (Plin. H. N. 15.42)7. And it is now time to come to the verbal exchange between Proteus and Menelaus. Eidothea instructed the hero to wait until the god fell asleep DQG WKHQ WR KROG KLP WLHG 3URWHXV ZRXOG HYHQWXDOO\ HQDFW D VHULHV RI transformations into animals and natural elements- water and fire, to finally resume his old and true shape, that of an old god. She also added, though, that Menelaus could inquire about his return after Proteus had spoken and questioned him. And so it happened in the real encounter as Menelaus tells Telemachus: “But when at last the old man, skilled in wizard arts, grew weary, then he questioned me, and spoke, and said «who 6

For the temporal and spatial variables see Zatta 1997, 29-40. 7 On the seals and their connection to oracular knowledge see also Trinquier, 2010, 63-78.

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of the gods, son of Atreus, took counsel with you that you might lie in wait IRUPHDQGWDNHPHDJDLQVWP\ZLOO"2IZKDWKDYH\RXQHHG"»” (4.460 WUDQVO E\ $ 7 0XUUD\  7KLV GHWDLO LV LQ IDFW RI WKH JUHDWHVW importance to understand the modality of interaction between the god and the hero, and the subsequent progression of the oracular consultation. Menelaus must approach the god in silence and it is the god who allows the hero to enter into dialogical contact with him by means of two questions. In this way, despite the ambush and the physical strength exercised by Menelaus, the god retains his autonomy and reasserts his leadership. And in fact, extending the analysis to other encounters with gods such as the one of Menelaus with Eidothea (4.415-6) and that of Odysseus with Hermes on the island of Circe (10.310-1), we can identify the same structure: it is the gods who initiate the dialogue, and they do so with a question. Thus, when Menelaus speaks to Proteus he is in fact answering him. The first utterance of Proteus is indicative of the nature of KLV RUDFXODU NQRZOHGJH OLNH WKH 0XVHV, he can say many things either truthful or similar to the truth and therefore, deceitful. For he, the god who knows all the abysses of sea, breaks into the terrible silence with a question that is in fact misleading, and almost rhetorical, and asks Menelaus who among the gods helped him in the successful plot and what he wants. To Proteus’ utterances Menelaus replies first with a statement and then with a question, both directed at uncovering the possible WUHDFKHU\RI3URWHXV¶ZRUGVDQGVRWKHKHURUHSOLHs that the god knows it well, and asks why he uses such tricks. It is only after this display of awareness that Proteus may be, and is in fact, deceitful that Menelaus inquires about his return. With this mismatch of utterances, the outset of the oracular consultation is not only emblematic of how the dialogue between the hero and the god will unfold, but, more importantly, it also displays a strategy of the poetic medium in representing an elusive religious affair. In other words, real oracular consultations, as far as we know, did not foresee a prolonged verbal exchange between the inquirer, on the one side, and the god and his intermediaries, on the other. If we consider the oracle of Delphi, for instance, the inquirer was supposed to ask one question, and if the god’s answer was not pleasing, as in the case of the Athenians who came to consult it at the time of Xerxes’ invasion, then he had to go back and inquire again, starting afresh another consultation (Hdt. 7.140-141). And at any rate the contact with the god was brief and mediated by intermediary figures, such as Pythia and priests. By contrast, in unfolding the consultation of Proteus into a fully-fledged episode that stages a god and a mortal interacting for a longtime, the poet of the Odyssey fashions

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an unlikely situation. And it is precisely the delivery of Proteus’ knowledge, in an indirect and roundabout way -a sense of which we get already from the first steps of the exchange with Menelaus- that helps maintain the distance between the hero and the god, while at the same time preserving the ambiguous and elusive quality of the oracular word. Like that of the Muses or Apollo, Proteus’ knowledge extends over the past, present and future.8 Eidothea, his daughter, had hinted at these multiple domains when she informed Menelaus that Proteus would have been able to tell him the path and the length of the journey, and the return, and, along with this, also what good or evil had happened at home while he was away (4.434-440). And yet, Proteus’ revelations when he actually encounters Menelaus do not merely cover the expected subjects as presented by the goddess. The god does not only address Menelaus’ return, but, asked by the hero about the homecoming of the other warriors at Troy, he speaks first of the misfortunes of Ajax and Agamemnon (4.560-664). His discussion of Agamemnon’s destiny deserves some attention in that once again it shows the tricky and ambiguous nature of the oracular knowledge. Proteus reveals that Agamemnon has been able to return home, but Aegisthus killed him during the welcoming banquetanother unfortunate return. But once Proteus sees Menelaus crying he adds that he could arrive at Argos either before Orestes had killed Aegisthus or during Aegisthus’ funeral, thereby suggesting the possibility that Menelaus himself could take an active role in avenging the death of his brother (4.610-6). At this point, Menelaus unleashes his third question. After his own return and that of the other heroes, he asks about the homecoming of the “third man”, o tritos aner, using an expression that has in itself the force of an enigma and one that challenges Proteus’ oracular skills (4.620-1). The god realizes right away that the third man is in fact Odysseus and he reveals that he saw him crying on the island of Calypsos (4.624-8). This second to last revelation in the series of oracles delivered by Proteus is in fact the link that ties together the journey of Telemachus with that of Odysseus, represented by the rest of the Odyssey, thereby making the episode of Proteus a central one in the unfolding of the poem. And yet there is one more oracle that Proteus delivers to Menelaus, one for which the hero did not ask for, but that Proteus reveals nonetheless, testifying once more to his divine independence. According to his words, Menelaus will not die, but will be transported onto the islands of the 8

Hes. Th. 6DLG-8 remarks that the god “like Calchas and the Muses has a knowledge that transcends the boundaries of space and time: he can see” (idon, 4.556).

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Blessed, and this will happen by virtue of his connection with Zeus brought to him by the marriage with Helen (4.631-41). And after this eschatological revelation, swiftly as he had appeared, Proteus vanishes, plunging into the abysses of the sea. To conclude, often marginalized in the studies on the Odyssey, almost suffering the same marginal condition of its protagonist, an old god that lives in the abyss of the sea, far from Olympians and mortals alike, the episode of Proteus manifests in fact a structural and thematic complexity. In all its different aspects the entire episode adumbrates practices of oracular consultations. And, in the prolonged verbal exchange between the hero and the god, it retains the god’s leadership and the ambiguity of his oracular word by means of a strategic chain of mismatched questions and answers and also by means of the prediction of alternative outcomes. This scenario resonates in other encounters between gods and heroes in the Odyssey, not fully addressed in this paper. For what ultimately I intended to address was the metamorphic capacity of poetry to design an oracular landscape that evokes and, at the same time, transcends those of history.

Works Cited Aune, D.E., 1983. Prophecy in Early Christianity and the Ancient Mediterranean World. Grand Rapids: Eermans. O’Nolan, K. 1960. “The Proteus Legend.” Hermes 88: 128-139. Plass, P. 1969. “Menelaus and Proteus.” CJ 65: 104-8. Rheinardt, K. 1996. “The Adventures in the Odyssey.” In Reading the Odyssey: selective interpretive essays, ed. S. Schein, 63-132. Princeton: Princeton University Press. Said, S. 2011. Homer and the Odyssey. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Trinquier, J. 2010. “Protée en sa grotte ou le parti pris du phoque.” In Protée en trompe-O °LOJpQqVHHWVXUYLYDQFHVG XQP\WKHG +RPqUH j %RXFKDUGRQ ,QWerférences, ed. A. Rolet, 63-103. Rennes: Presses universitaires de Rennes. Zatta, C. 1997. Incontri con Proteo. Venezia: Istituto veneto di scienze, lettere ed arti.

‘RELIGIOUS REGISTER’ AND COMEDY: THE CASE OF CRATINUS* FRANCESCO PAOLO BIANCHI LA SAPIENZA UNIVERSITY OF ROME/ ALBERT LUDWIG UNIVERSITY OF FREIBURG

In his monograph The Language of Aristophanes A. Willi has meaningfully studied the strong influence of different linguistic registers on the language of Aristophanes, among which the religious one is of great importance. The eleven fully-preserved comedies of Aristophanes, more than 11,000 verses, offer a large amount of material and allow research of broad scope, leading to important results (see in particular the conclusions of Willi 2003, 226-231). That outcome is obviously not possible to repeat if we turn from Aristophanes to the fragmentary corpora of the other comic poets of the 5th Century BC, those who have been rightly called ‘The Rivals of Aristophanes’1 and who represented the most part of this era’s comic production. However, ‘not possible to repeat’ does not necessitate completely dropping the possibility of studying the surviving fragments of a comic poet and trying to identify specific characteristic HOHPHQWVRIKLVODQJXDJHLWPHDQVRQO\WKDWZHPXVWDFFHSWSDUWLDOUHVXOWV evaluate them very carefully and not make them say more than they actually say, attempting to avoid the risk, as Wilamowitz said, to “geräten ins Schwindeln”. Along the lines of Willi’s studies, my aim is to propose an initial schematic recognition of the presence of a ‘religious register’ in the fragments of Cratinus, one of the most important comic poets of the 5th century BC, as Horace well knew: “(XSROLV DWTXH &UDWLQXV $ULVWRSKDQHVTXH SRHWDH” (Serm. I.4.1). First, I would like to offer here some possible categories in which I think the material from the comedies of Cratinus can be divided2:

* Due to necessity of space, I can only offer some suggestions on this topic, which could obviously be more broadly analyzed. 1 For this successful definition see the title of the book of Harvey and Wilkins 2000 and, previously, Heath 1990. 2 The fragments of Cratinus are quoted from the edition of Kassel and Austin.

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1. Epithets 1) Real a) common attestations

2) Parodic distortions / coinage a) distortion on real basis

ਙȞĮȟ

țİijĮȜȘȖİȡȑIJȘȢ ıȣțȠʌȑįȚȜȠȢ b) Poet’s invention ࣂȤȚȞȠțȑijĮȜȠȢ

İ੡ȚȠȢ ȝȑȖĮȢ

198 (Apollo) 361 (Dionysus) 361 (Dionysus) 7 (Zeus)

258 (Zeus) 70 (Doro) 73 (Zeus)

b) attestations found only or almost only in Cratinus ȕĮȕȐțIJȘȢ 359 (Pan) įȓȜȠȖȤȠȢ 85 (Bendis) țȒȜȦȞ 359 (Pan) țȚııȠȤĮȓIJȘȢ 361 (Dionysus) țȡȣıȩțİȡȦȢ 359 (Pan) c) real but used with comic Witz țĮȡĮȚȩȢ 118 (Zeus) ȟȑȞȚȠȢ 118 (Zeus) IJȪȡĮȞȞȠȢ 258 (Zeus)

2. Invocations ȝȩȜૅ ੯ ȤĮ૙ȡૅ ȤĮ૙ȡૅ ੯ ȤĮ૙ȡİįȒ ȤĮȓȡİIJİ

 ȝȩȜૃ੯ ǽİ૨ ȟȑȞȚİțĮ੿ țĮȡĮȚȑ 361 359, 360 237 235

3. Swears a) Cratin. F 249 K.-A. (&KHLUǀQHV ȠੈȢ਷ȞȝȑȖȚıIJȠȢ੖ȡțȠȢ‚ਚʌĮȞIJȚȜȩȖ૳ † țȪȦȞ਩ʌİȚIJĮȤȒȞǜșİȠઃȢįૃ ਥıȓȖȦȞ b) Il. 15. Od. 5.țĮ੿ IJઁ țĮIJİȚȕȩȝİȞȠȞıIJȣȖઁȢ੢įȦȡ੖ȢIJİȝȑȖȚıIJȠȢ ੖ȡțȠȢįİȚȞȩIJĮIJȩȢIJİʌȑȜİȚȝĮțȐȡİııȚșİȠ૙ıȚ c) Ar. Av. 520-521: (ȆİȚı.) ੕ȝȞȣIJ Ƞ੝įİ੿ȢIJȩIJ ਗȞ!ਕȞșȡȫʌȦȞșİȩȞਕȜȜ  ੕ȡȞȚșĮȢ ਚʌĮȞIJİȢ  Ǽȣ  ȁȐȝʌȦȞ į  ੕ȝȞȣı  ਩IJȚ țĮ੿ ȞȣȞ੿ IJઁȞ ȤોȞ  ੖IJĮȞ ਥȟĮʌĮIJઽ IJȚ

4. Ritual Prescriptions a) Cratin. F. 23 K.-A. (Busiris): ੒ ȕȠઃȢਥțİ૙ȞȠȢȤ਱ ȝĮȖ੿ȢțĮ੿ IJਙȜijȚIJĮ

192

Religious Register and Comedy b) Cratin. F 250 K.-A. (Cheirones): ਙȖİį੽ ʌȡઁȢਪȦʌȡ૵IJȠȞਖʌȐȞIJȦȞ੆ıIJȦ țĮ੿ ȜȐȝȕĮȞİȤİȡı੿ȞıȤ૙ȞȠȞȝİȖȐȜȘȞ

5. Human Language and Language of Gods a) Cratin. F 258, 4-5 K.-A. (Cheirones): ੔Ȟ į੽ țİijĮȜȘȖİȡȑIJĮȞ  șİȠ੿ țĮȜȑȠȣıȚ b) Cratin. F 352 K.-A. (inc. fab.  ȤĮȜțȓįĮ țȚțȜȒıțȠȣıȚ șİȠȓ ਙȞįȡİȢ į੻ țȪȕȘȜȚȞ

Some general remarks on some of the categories can show how Cratinus uses and works with the ‘religious register’.

Part I The epithets. Besides some common ones (1a) as e.g. ਙȞĮȟ ZKLFK LV used for Apollo in A 390 (see also A. Ag. 509 and 513, Eum. 85 etc.) but also for Zeus elsewhere, e.g. Il. 3.351 (cf. 16.233), and in Aristophanes ten times for seven different divinities (Willi 2003, 20 n. 1), there are some epithets, which are used only or almost only by Cratinus (1b). I will DQDO\]H WZR RI WKHP LQ SDUWLFXODU QDPHO\ ȕĮȕȐțIJȘȢ DQG įȓȜȠȖȤȠȢ. The first one occurs elsewhere only in Corn. ND 30 p.59./DQJDQG6YHWȆİȡ੿ ȕȜĮıij .5 [56 no. 128] Taillardat, said of Dionysus. The etymology is uncertain, possibly based on the root of ȕĮȕȐȗİȚȞ ZLWK UHGXSOLFDWLRQ RI WKH VRXQG ȕĮ DV LQ ȕĮȕĮȓ ȕȐȡȕĮȡȠȢ DELG VY  WKH PHDQLQJ LV UDWKHU certain thanks to Et.Gen. AB ( EM  Etymologicum Symeonis ȕ %HUJ ȕĮȕȐțIJȘȢǜੑȡȤȘıIJȒȢȜȐȜȠȢȝĮȞȚȫįȘȢȕĮțȤİȣIJȒȢȜȑȖİIJĮȚį੻ țĮ੿ ੒ ȆȐȞȀȡĮIJ૙ȞȠȢȠੈȠȞțIJȜ)RUWKLVFKDUDFWHUL]DWLRQRI3DQ, see hPan [XIX] 2-3 and 22- DQG RWKHU HSLWKHWV OLNH ijȚȜȩȤȠȡȠȢ $ Pers. 448-449), ȤȠȡİȣIJȒȢ 3L F *99 S.-0  ȤȠȡȠʌȠȚȩȢ 6RSK Ai   ıțȚȡIJȘIJȒȢ (Orph.H. 11. 7KHVHFRQGRQHįȓȜȠȖȤȠȢLVUHODWHGKHUHWRWKH7KUDFLDQ JRGGHVV ǺİȞį૙Ȣ3 DVVLPLODWHG E\ WKH *UHHNV WR $UWHPLV įȓȜȠȖȤȠȢ RFFXUV elsewhere in A. AgįȓȜȠȖȤȠȞਙIJȘȞZKHUHLWLV related to Agamemnon

3

For the perispomenon accentuation of this name see Goettling 1835, 275 (based RQ +GQ Ȇİȡ੿ țȜȓıİȦȢ ੑȞȠȝȐIJȦȞ ,,  /HQW]  DJDLQVW *ULPP   whose paroxyton accentuation was in analogy to ੍ıȚȢRUĬȑȝȚȢPRUHIDPLOLDUIRU Greek ears. But in POxy 1801 (CGFP 343 Austin) r. 35, Theodoridis 1978 FRPSOHWHG ǺİȞį@૙Ȟ DOPRVW VXUH IRU WKH FRQWH[W ZKLFK FRQILUPV WKH DFFHQWXDWLRQ ǺİȞį૙Ȟ

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and Menelaos and the two spears typical of the Homeric warrior4. For the PHDQLQJLQ&UDWLQXVVHHWKHWKUHHSRVVLEOHLQWHUSUHWDWLRQVRI+VFKį VRXUFHRIWKHIUDJPHQWV DQG3KRWį5ȜȩȖȤȘ IJȚȝȒGRXEOHSRZHURI WKH *RGGHVV DERYH HDUWK DQG KHDYHQ +VFK ȜȩȖȤĮȢ Ȗ੹ȡ ਥțȐȜȠȣȞ IJȠઃȢ țȜȒȡȠȣȢ ȜȩȖȤȘ VSHDUEHFDXVHWKH*RGGHVs ZDVDKXQWHU țȣȞİȖİIJȚțȒ  ȜȩȖȤȘ DGRXEOHOLJKW +VFKij૵IJĮ3KRWȜĮȝʌȐįĮȢ RIǺİȞį૙ȢKHURZQ one and that of the Sun +HV\FKLXVDGGVWKDWǺİȞį૙ȢLVHSLWKHWRI6HOHQHV as ਡȡIJİȝȚȢ  More interesting are the real epithets that the comic poet uses in a comic way (1c):  țĮȡĮȚȩȢ =HXV ZDV FDOOHG WKXV LQ %RHRWLD VHH +VFK ț  țĮȡĮȚȩȢāǽİઃȢʌĮȡ੹ ǺȠȚȦIJȠ૙ȢȠ੢IJȦʌȡȠıĮȖȠȡİȪİIJĮȚā੪ȢȝȑȞIJȚȞȑȢ ijĮıȚįȚ੹ IJઁ ਫ਼ȥȘȜઁȢİੇȞĮȚਕʌઁ IJȠ૨ țȐȡĮDQG3KRWțȀĮȡĮȚઁȢ ǽİȪȢǜਥȞĬİııĮȜȓ઺ țĮ੿ ǺȠȚȦIJȓ઺. Because of his possible etymology IURPțȐȡĮµKHDG¶ see Hesychius), it could be easily used to satirize Pericles: “Beiname des Zeus bei den Böotern, hier al großköpfig zu verstehen”6. In my opinion, it is also possible to read this epithet as țĮȡȐȞȚİ DV .RFN CAF I, 49 suggested: “altero cognomine ex țİȡĮȪȞȚȠȢ ridicule et ut omnes intellegerent deflexo”7. The local %RHRWLDQ HSLWKHW țĮȡĮȚȑ FRXOG QRW EH HDVLO\ XQGHUVWRRG E\ WKH public (but scenic expedients could have been helpful in order to recognize Pericles DQG KLV ULGLFXORXV KHDG  RQ WKH other hand țĮȡȐȞȚİ FRXOG KROG WKH FRPLF Witz and give a more common epithet.  ȟȑȞȚȠȢLVXVHGIRU=HXVDVJXHVW-protector (e.g. Od. 11.271, 14.389. 6XG ȟ  ੒ IJોȢ ȟİȞȓĮȢ ਩ijȠȡȠȢ ȜȑȖİIJĮȚ țĮ੿ ȄȑȞȚȠȢ ੒ ǽİȪȢ  EXW EHVLGHV WKH SUHYLRXV țĮȡĮȚȑ țĮȡĮȞȚȑ  ZKLFK alludes to Pericles, ‘guest-protector’ concerns probably the strangers Protagoras, Anaxagoras and Aspasia, who were often associated with the statesman8. 4

Fraenkel 1950 II, 320. For the instance in Aeschylus and Cratinus see Farioli 1996, 96. 5 Fot the difference between +HV\FKLXVįȓȜȠȖȤȠȞDQG3KRWLXVįȓȜȠȖȤȠȞǺİȞį૙ȞDQG IRUWKHVXJJHVWLRQRI7KHRGRULGLVǺİȞį@૙ȞįȓȜȠȖȤȠȞșİઁȞLQPOxy 1801 r. 35, as a quotation of Cratinus, s. Delneri 2006, 191–193. 6 Blass 1883, 74 n. and Sintenis–Fuhr 1880, 76 n. 19. 7 See Flaceliere 1969 ad Plut. Per. 3,5 and Stadter 1989, 66-)RUțİȡĮȪȞȚȠȢVHH RE XI,1 col. 267. 8 Sauppe 1863, 174–VHH%DNROD7KHSRVVLELOLW\WKDWȟȑȞȚȠȢKLQWVDW the legitimation of Pericles the Young, the son of the Statist and Aspasia, is joined

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 IJȪȡĮȞȞȠȢDWWULEXWHGWR=HXV(e.g. Ar. NuPl. 124) can be used for Pericles because of his assimilation to the God9, but it hints also at the tyrannical aspirations of Pericles (see Plu. Per. 7.1 and 16. 1). ,Q FRPHG\ WKH HSLWKHW IJȪȡĮȞȞȠȢ IRU =HXV PHDQV RQO\ µNLQJ¶ DV LQ certain tragic contexts (Parker 1998, 158-161) EXW WKH WUDJHG\ knows also a negative meaning, inherited from Solon and Alcaeus (mainly in the Prometheus Bound10) and the comedy emphasizes the negative meaning and mocks the metus tyrannicus of the Greeks, as e.g. in Ar. V. 464-7KHXVHRIIJȪȡĮȞȞȠȢUHIHUUHGWR Pericles is employed here certainly in its negative meaning. There are some invented epithets that Cratinus adapted from real ones or coined himself:  țİijĮȜȘȖİȡȑIJȘȢ µ+HDG-Gatherer’ comes from the Homeric ȞİijİȜȘȖİȡȑIJĮ µ&ORXG-Gatherer’ (e.g. Il. 1.511, 517 etc.), and the FKDQJHRI țİijĮȜ- LQ ȞİijİȜ- hints certainly to the head of Pericles (as in Crat. F 73 K.-A. or Telecl. F 47 K.-A.), but here it is also possible to see a reference to the demagogy of Pericles, “alle sue capacità di ‘adunator di popolo’ (Tammaro 1984-1985, 41).  ıȤȚȞȠțȑijĮȜȠȢ ,QYHQWHG E\ &UDWLQXV XVLQJ WKH ZRUG ıȤ૙ȞȠȢ V\QRQ\PRIıțȓȜȜĮȞDV3OXWDUFKPer. 3.3 says quoting the fragment RI &UDWLQXV Ƞੂ įૅ ਝIJIJȚțȠ੿ ʌȠȚȘIJĮ੿ ıȤȚȞȠțȑijĮȜȠȞ Į੝IJઁȞ LH ȆİȡȚțȜȑĮ  ਥțȐȜȠȣȞā IJ੽Ȟ Ȗ੹ȡ ıțȓȜȜĮȞ ਩ıIJȚȞ ੖IJİ țĮ੿ ıȤ૙ȞȠȞ ੑȞȠȝȐȗȠȣıȚ,WPHDQVVRPHWKLQJOLNHµHJJKHDG¶ 6WDGWHU  and it refers to the representations of Pericles with the helmet (e.g. the statue of Cresila11  WKH DLP ZDV QRW WR KLGH KLV GHIRUPLW\ DV Plutarch would), but to hint at the sculpting tradition which always represented the statesman wearing his helmet (Stadter 1989, 65). 7KH ODVW RQH LV ıȣțȠʌȑįȚȜİ FRLQHG E\ &UDWLQXV VDLG RI WKH fictitious GLYLQLW\ ǻȦȡȫ ZKRVH QDPH LV VLPLODU WR ǻİȟȫ LQ &UDWLQ F 435 K.-A. (incertae sedis  RU ǹ੝ȟȫ DQG ĬĮȜȜȫ 3DXV .35.2). It is formed on the with the uncertain date of the comedy, on which see in part. Godolphin 1931, 423– 426, Schwarze 1971, 28, and Bakola 2010, 223. 9 On this matter in part. Schwarze 1971 passim, Cerri 1975, 116– see also Vickers 1997, 33–37 (ad Ar. Ach. 530–  7HOz 2007, 95 and 175– 180, Bakola 2010, 49–53, 124–134 and 248–250). 10 Cerri 1975, 15–22, 40–43, 50–53, chiefly chap. VI, 114–132 for the relation between the Prometheus and comedy, and Parker 1998, 159–161. 11 Richter 1965, 102–104, Robertson 1975, 335–337, Boardman 1985, 206.

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+RPHULFȤȡȣıȠʌȑįȚȜİ HJOd. 11.604) and, as Meineke (FCG II,1, 5859  QRWHG +VFK į  ǻȦȡȠ૙ ıȣțȠʌȑįȚȜİǜ ʌĮȡ૳įİ૙IJĮȚ IJȠ૨IJȠ ਥț IJ૵Ȟ ਕȡȤĮȓȦȞ ʌȠȚȘȝȐIJȦȞ PHDQV SUREDEO\ WKDW &UDWLQXV PDGH D detorsio in comicum of some ancient hymns where it was said ਾȡȘȤȡȣıȠʌȑįȚȜİ)RU his new deity Cratinus used a new epithet, formed from a distortion of a well-known one.

Part II ,QYRFDWLRQV %ULHIO\ RQ ȤĮȓȡȦ12 in Cratin. F 235 K.-$ ȤĮȓȡİIJİ įĮȓȝȠȞİȢȠ੄ ȁİȕȐįİȚĮȞǺȠȚȫIJȚȠȞȠ੣șĮȡਕȡȠȪȡȘȢWKLVLVVLPLODUWRF 225 K.-A. (Seriphioi  ȤĮȓȡİIJİ ʌȐȞIJİȢ ੖ıȠȚ ʌȠȜȪȕȦIJȠȞ ʌȠȞIJȓĮȞ ȈȑȡȚijȠȞ VHH also A. Eum. 1014-1016 ȤĮȓȡİIJİȤĮȓȡİIJİ įૅ Į੣șȚȢਥʌİ੿ įȚʌȜȠȓȗȦ ਕȞIJȖ  ʌȐȞIJİȢȠੂ țĮIJ੹ ʌIJȩȜȚȞįĮȓȝȠȞȑȢIJİțĮ੿ ȕȡȠIJȠȓPMG 937, adesp. 19. 11: ȤĮȓȡİIJİਕșȐȞĮIJȠȚʌȐȞIJİȢșİȠȓ 7KHPHWHURIWKLVIUDJPHQW DDQFDW LV particular: three dactyls occupy the 3/4 of the first two metra, the third and fourth metron are purely anapestic, but with a strong dactylic FKDUDFWHUL]DWLRQ EHFDXVH RI WKH H[SUHVVLRQ ǺȠȚȫIJȚȠȞ Ƞ੣șĮȡ ਕȡȠȪȡȘȢ which could be a perfect end to an hexameter, after the masculine caesura with a spondaic third foot and bucolic caesura: this pattern comes from ǺȠȚȫIJȚȠȢ [LQIl DQGȠ੣șĮȡਕȡȠȪȡȘȢ [Il. 9.141, 283). This analysis does not make Cratinus an Hellenistic poet, who liked the Spiel mit den Formen, but the presence of well-known Homeric expressions, which were easy to insert in an anapest, gives a high style nuance13. The presence of three dactyls at the beginning of an anapest is found in Cratinus only here (in two in F 279 K.-A. [Horai], but see Ar. (T. 805, 1327 and Nu. 353, 400).

Part III Human and divine language. In F 352 (incertae sedis IURP +VFK ț   ȤĮȜțȓįĮ țȚțȜȒıțȠȣıȚ șİȠȓ ਙȞįȡİȢ į੻ țȪȕȘȜȚȞ, Cratinus uses the hexameter, the epic metre, to express a concept already well-known in epic: the opposition between human and divine language. This verse is a parody of Il. 14.ȤĮȜțȓįĮțȚțȜȒıțȠȣıȚșİȠȓਙȞįȡİȢį੻ țȪȝȚȞįȚȞLQWKH 12 For the characteristic of the invocations, namely the not obligatory presence of the cletic ੯ preceding the name of the divinity and certain imperative like that of the aorist ਩ȝȠȜȠȞRUWKDWRIȤĮȓȡȦVHHLQSDUW:LOOLV 13 See Kassel 1981, 14 e n. 19 e and Fraenkel 1950, 733 s. on the presence of dactyls in the anapests.

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+RPHULF YHUVH ȤĮȜțȓȢ DQG țȪȝȚȞįȚȢ DUH WZR QDPHV IRU WKH VDPH ELUG probably a fictitious one14 LQ &UDWLQXV RQ WKH RWKHU KDQG ȤĮȜțȓȢ HW\PRORJLFDOO\ KLQWV DW ȤĮȜțȩȢ, bronze, and means hence ‘vas vel instrumentum aeneum’15 while țȪȕȘȜȚȢ PHDQV IJȣȡȩțȞȘıIJȚȢ +HV\FK ț 4380, see e.g. Ar. Av. 1579, Lys. 231 etc.), clearly a colloquial word. So the coexistence of two kinds of denominations, a human and a divine one, becomes an occasion for laughter because of the opposition between a µKLJK¶ZRUG ȤĮȜțȓȢ DQGDFROORTXLDORQH IJȣȡȩțȞȘıIJȚȢ ³WKHJRGVFDOOLWD copper pot, but men a cheese grater” (trans. Storey 2011 I, 415). It was suggested that something similar could have been effected also in F 258, 4-5 ੖Ȟ į੽ țİijĮȜȘȖİȡȑIJĮȞ  șİȠ੿ țĮȜȑȠȣıȚ ZKHUH WKH HSLWKHW țİijĮȜȘȖİȡȑIJĮȞ VHH DERYH  UHSUHVHQWV KRZ WKH JRGV FDOO 3HULFOHV, and possibly was followed by an expression “in opposizione, riferita agli uomini, verosimilmente con un “appellativo … poco lusinghiero”16, as e.g. in Il. 1.403 ੔Ȟ ǺȡȚȐȡİȦȞ țĮȜȑȠȣıȚ șİȠȓ, ਙȞįȡİȢ įȑ IJİ ʌȐȞIJİȢ  ǹੁȖĮ઀ȦȞ țIJȜ, or 20.74: ੔ȞȄȐȞșȠȞțĮȜȑȠȣıȚșİȠȓ, ਙȞįȡİȢį੻ ȈțȐȝĮȞįȡȠȞ ZHFDQ also remark that Austin apud PCG IV, 253 suggests changing șİȠ੿ țĮȜȑȠȣıȚLQțĮȜȑȠȣıȚșİȠȓEHFDXVHRIWKH+RPHULFSDVVDJHV  The short analysis and the examples that I have chosen to discuss here can give a first idea of the importance of the ‘religious register’ in the language of Cratinus and the way he works with it. Not only the case of the epithets, some of which are attested only in Cratinus and often used as detorsiones comicae for his comic targets (first of all Pericles), but also the other categories, show the skillfulness of his comic creativity. This is only a first summary analysis, but it is obviously possible to investigate the usages of Cratinus himself, and, in addition, to study the other fragmentary comic corpora, in order to show what roles and significance, with analogies and differences, the ‘religious register’ could have had in the ਕȡȤĮ૙Į EH\RQG $ULVWRSKDQHV RI FRXUVH ZLWK WKH JUHDWHVW FDXWLRQ GXH WR the fragmentary nature of these texts.

Works Cited Bakola, E. 2010. Cratinus and the Art of Comedy. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Blass, F. 1883. Plutarch. TKHPLVWRNOHVXQG3HULNOHV. Leipzig: Teubner. 14

Thompson 1936, 186 s. On the differences between human and god language see Janko in Iliad IV, 196 s., West 1996, 386–388. 15 Lobeck 1826, 863. 16 Farioli 2000, 417 n. 3.

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Cerri, G. 1976. Il linguaggio politico nel Prometeo di Eschilo. Roma: Edizioni dell’Ateneo. Del Neri, F. 2006. I culti misterici stranieri nella commedia attica antica. Bologna: Pàtron. Farioli, M. 1996. “Note sul lessico, lo stile e la struttura delle commedie di Cratino.” Aevum(ant) 9: 73-105. —. 2000. “Mito e satira politica nei Chironi di Cratino.” RFIC 128: 406431. Flaceliere, R., and E. Chambry 1969. 3OXWDUTXH. Vies: Pericles – Fabius 0D[LPXV$OFLELDGH-Coriolan. Paris: Les Belles Lettres. Fraenkel, E. 1950. Aeschylus. Agamemnon. Oxford: Clarendon Press. Harvey, D. and J. Wilkins 2000. The Rivals of Aristophanes. Studies in Athenian Old Comedy. London: Duckworth. Heath, M. 1990. “Aristophanes and his Rivals.” * 5 37.2: 143-158. Henderson, J. 2012. “Pursuing Nemesis: Cratinus and Mythological Comedy.” In No Laughing Matter: Studies in Athenian Comedy ed. C. W. Marshall, and G. Kovacs, 1-12. London: Bristol Classical Press. Goettling, C. G. 1835. Allgemeine Lehre vom Accent der griechischen Sprache. Jena. Godolphin, F. R. B. 1931. “The Nemesis of Cratinus.” CPh 26: 423-426. Grimm, J. 1871. hEHUGLH*|WWLQ%HQGLV, Kleinere Schriften V. Berlin: F. Dümmler. Kassel, R. 1981. “Dichterspiele.” ZPE 42: 11-20. —. and C. Austin 1983. Poetae Comici Graeci, IV. Aristophon-Crobylus. Berlin: de Gruyter. Lobeck, Ch. A. 1853-1862. Patologiae graeci sermonis elementa. Regimontii Borussiae. Parker, V. 1998. “ȉȪȡĮȞȞȠȢ 7KH VHPDQWLFV RI D SROLWLFDO FRQFHSW IURP Archilochus to Aristotle.” Hermes 126: 145-172. Schwarze, J. 1971. 'LH %HXUWHLOXQJ GHV 3HULNOHV GXUFK GLH DWWLVFKH .RP|GLH XQG LKUH KLVWRULVFKH XQG KLVWRULRJUDSKLVFKH %HGHXWXQJ. München: Beck. Sintenis, C. and K. Fuhr 1880. Plutarchus. 7KHPLVWRNOHV XQG 3HULNOHV. Berlin: Weidmann. Stadter, Ph. 1989. $ ȋommentary on Plutarch’s Pericles. Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press. Storey, I. 2011. )UDJPHQWV RI 2OG &RPHG\ , $OFDHXV WR 'LRFOHV. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. Tammaro, V. 1978-1979. “Note a Cratino.” MusCrit 13-14: 203-209. —. 1984-1985. “Note a Cratino.” MusCrit 19-20: 39-42. 7HOz0. Eupolidis Demi. Firenze: Le Monnier.

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Theodoridis, Ch. 1978. “Neues zur griechischen Komödie.” ZPE 30: 6971. Thompson, W. D’A. 1936. A Glossary RI *UHHN %LUGV. Oxford: Oxford Univeristy Press. Vickers, M. J. 1997. Pericles on Stage: Political Comedy in Aristophanes’ Early Plays. Austin: University of Texas Press. West, M.L. 1966. Hesiod. Theogony. Oxford: Clarendon Press. Willi, A. 2003. The Languages of Aristophanes. Aspects of Linguistic 9DULDWLRQLQ&ODVVLFDO$WWLF*UHHN. Oxford: University Press.

ORACLES AND RIDDLES AMBO FRATRES: CULTURAL (AND FAMILY) RELATIONS BETWEEN ORACULA AND AENIGMATA SIMONE BETA UNIVERSITY OF SIENA

The fourteenth book of the *UHHN$QWKRORJ\ is one of the most curious of the whole collection. Its peculiarity lies in the odd composition of the book, made of approximately fifty mathematical problems, fifty oracles, and fifty riddles. The reason for matching these subjects is evident: though in different ways, such poems ask the potential reader for an answer, be it the number that solves a question of maths, the future events that hide themselves behind an obscure prophecy, or the word that unveils a funny puzzle. However, the relationship that links the peculiar forms of communication represented by oracles and riddles is much deeper. The kinship between chresmoi (oracles) and ainigmata (riddles) is written in their own origins. Apollo can be legitimately defined the father of Greek oracles, since he was the founder of the most famous Greek oracular shrine. Apollo was the son of Zeus–and, therefore, he was the agnate brother of the mother of Greek riddles, the nine Muses, because they had been begotten by Zeus and Mnemosyne, the goddess of memory. According to Apollodorus 3.5.8, the Sphinx had learnt the most celebrated *UHHNĮ੅ȞȚȖȝĮIURPWKH0XVHVWKHPVHOYHV%XWDOVRWKHgriphos (the other word the Greeks used for indicating a riddle) that caused the death of the poet Homer was a creation of the Muses: in a Hellenistic epigram we read that the people who propounded him the riddle had been inspired by the Muses1. In order to see if the parental closeness between oracles and riddles is strenghtened by other elements, it might be useful to look at these two examples and see if their formulation shows some similarities with the

1

AP 7.1 (Alcaeus of Messene).

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usual linguistic structure of oracles. The riddle Oedipus had to solve is the following: 7KHUHZDONVRQODQGDFUHDWXUHRIWZRIHHWRIIRXUIHHWDQGRIWKUHH it has one voice, but, sole among the animals that grow on land or in the sky or beneath the sea, it can change its nature. When it walks propped on most feet, then is the speed in its limbs less than it has ever been before2.

Aristotle, the first ancient author who studied the nature of riddles, stated that “it is in the nature of a riddle for one to speak of a situation that actually exists in an impossible way”–or, in other words, that the main feature of riddles is “describing real things through the connection of impossible things”3. This is exactly what happens in OeGLSXV  ULGGOH WKH (seemingly) impossible thing is the existence of a creature of two, three and four feet. Such a thing seems impossible because nothing can have two, three and four feet at the same time. But if we change this temporal specification, the impossibility becomes possible, because there is a creature that has two, three and four feet–not at the same time, but in different times of his life. If we paraphrase the Aristotelian sentence, we cannot but acknowledge that the riddle of the Sphinx did describe real things (a man who first creeps, then walks erect, and finally carries a staff) through the connection of impossible things (the wrong assumption that these many, different feet belonged to the same creature at the same time). $ULVWRWOH V UHPDUNV KDYH EHHQ HFKRHG E\ PDQ\ VFKRODUV LQ GLIIHUHQW ways and times. In his collection of the texts of Pre-Socratic philosohy, Giorgio Colli included also witnesses of ancient wisdom such as quotations about Dionysus and Apollo, Orpheus and Musaeus, the Eleusinian mysteries and the mythical HyperboreanDQGWKHULGGOHVLQWKH section on riddles, Colli underlined the enigmatic structure of what he called “crossed antitheses” (“antitesi incrociate”), where “two couples of contradictory statements are connected contrary to what one would expect”4. We find this peculiar structure in the Homeric riddle. Most of the ancient biographers tell us that he died because he was not able to solve the riddle asked by some fishermen (or, according to other sources, by 2

AP 14.64. The solution is “man”, because human beings creep in their infancy (hence the four feet), walk erect in their prime (hence the two feet), and carry a staff when they are old (hence the three feet). 3 Arist. Po. 1458a25-6. 4 Colli 1977 I, 48.

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VRPH ER\V  WKH SRHW DVNHG WKHP ZKDW WKH\ KDG FDSWXUHG WKH\JDYH him the following answer: :KDWZHFDXJKWZHOHIWZKDWZHGLGQRWFDWFKZHEULQJZLWKXV5.

The contradictory statements are clearly visible: one would expect the fishermen to say that they were bringing with them what they had caught and, consequently, that they did not have what they had not caught. But this awkward construction is the point of the riddle: though such things (having left what has been caught and bringing what has not been caught) seem impossible (Aristotle would say ਕįȪȞĮIJĮ WKH\DUHDFWXDOO\SRVVLEOH and real (Aristotle would say ਫ਼ʌȐȡȤȠȞIJĮ EHFDXVHWKHVROXWLRQLVQRWWKH prey one would imagine. The answer to the riddle is lice: while they were waiting for the fishes to be caught in the nets, the fishermen spent their WLPHGHORXVLQJWKHPVHOYHVWKHOLFHWKH\KDGFDXJKWKDGEHHQWKURZQLQWR WKHVHDWKHOLFHWKH\KDGQRWEHHQDEOHWRFDWFKZHUHVWLOORQWKHLUKHDGV Let us now consider the linguistic structure of oracles. Did the vaticinations of the Pythia “describe real things through the connection of LPSRVVLEOH WKLQJV´" $ FORVH ORRN DW D YHU\ UHQRZQHG 'HOSKLF RUDFOH proves that the answer is positive. Herodotus tells us that Croesus, the king of Lydia, went to Delphi and asked the god whether his sovereignty should be of long duration. The Pythian priestess gave him the following advice: Lydian, beware of the day when a mule is lord of the Medians: then with your delicate feet by the stone-strewn channel of Hermus run for your life, not abide, nor blush for the name of a craven6.

The king took the oracle literally and, since it is not possible for a mule to become a king, he thought Apollo wanted to tell him that no danger could come out of a war against Persia. But the impossible thing becomes possible if the word is not taken literally: if “mule” is interpreted not as an animal (the equine born out of the union of a he-donkey and a she-horse) but as a metaphor of a man born out of parents of different status, then the contingency is far from being impossible. In fact, the “mule” indicated by Apollo (Cyrus) was the son of two persons of different nations, because his mother was the daughter of the king of the Medians, while his father was a Persian and, at that time, under the rule of the Medians.

5 6

AP 9.448.2. Hdt. 1.55.2 (but also AP 14.112).

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We should not be surprised to see that the trope of metaphor plays a significant role in this enigmatic oracle, since the Aristotelian passage quoted before comes from a section dedicated to metaphors, where, in order to explain what is the peculiar function of metaphor in everyday speech, he quotes a famous riddle (the ainigma of the bronze bleeding cup, attributed to the mythical figure of Cleoboulina)7 LQ DQRWKHU SDVVDJH Aristotle states that, since “clever enigmas can supply good metaphors”, then “metaphor is a kind of enigma”8. We find a good example of a similar riddle at the beginning of the chapter of the Deipnosophists where Athenaeusૅ learned banqueters discuss at length the topic of ainigmata. Among the many riddles taken from comedies, there is a smart griphos coming from Antiphanesૅ Sappho: There is a feminine being which keeps its babes EHQHDWKLWVERVRPWKH\WKRXJKYRLFHOHVVUDLVHDFU\VRQRURXV over the waves of the sea and across all the dry land, reaching what mortals they desire, and they may hear HYHQZKHQWKH\DUHQRWWKHUHEXWWKHLUVHQVHof hearing is dull9.

7KH VROXWLRQ LV WKH HSLVWOH WKH EDELHV DUH WKH OHWWHUV LW FDUULHV URXQG WKRXJKYRLFHOHVVWKH\WDONWRZKRPWKH\GHVLUHHYHQLIWKH\DUHIDUDZD\ if another happens to be standing near when the letter is read, he will not be able to hear. Metaphor is one of the peculiar linguistic features of oracles and riddles: we can see it in many Delphic oracles, and we can see it in most ULGGOHVDVZHOOPRUHRYHUZHDUHDOVREDFNHGXSE\$ULVWRWOHૅs view. But both in oracles and riddles we find also another linguistic trick used to embarrass the reader. In the same section of the Deipnosophists, Athenaeus speaks of a very ancient kind of riddle (archaiotatos griphos), which is closely related to the true nature of the enigmatic technique (RLNeiotatos tes tou gripheuein physeos) and is based on logical reasoning (logLNos). He quotes three H[DPSOHVWKHWKLUGRQHLVWKHIROORZLQJTXHVWLRQ :KDWLVWKHVDPHLQWKHVN\RQHDUWKDQGLQWKHVHD"10

Athenaeus tells us that the solution of the riddle involves the use of homonymy: “For the bear, the snake, the eagle, and the dog are found in 7

&OHREXOLQD " ):HVW TXRWHGDOVRE\$WKEFDQGAP 14.54). Arist. Rh. 1405b3-5. 9 Antiphanes fr. 194.1-5 K.-A. (quoted by Ath. 10.450e-451b). 10 Carmina popularia, fr. 10 Diehl (quoted by Ath. 10.453b). 8

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the sky, on earth, and in the sea”. The right answers are the names of some animals that were used for indicating not only the most common creatures that lived on earth, but also the less common ones that lived in the sea (DUNWRVcould also be a crustaceanRILVan eel, aietos a fish similar to a ray, NXRQa kind of shark)–and, of course, their astronomic counterparts (Great and Little bears, and so on). The same structure was used for Latin riddles as well. There is an example based on the many different meanings of the word taurus (“bull”): an animal, of course, but also a constellation (the sign of the Zodiac) and a mountain range (the Tauri montes of Cilicia). To these three different meanings, the author of the riddle (the mysterious Symphosius) added a mythological note by putting the riddle in the mouth of the white bull that, together with Poseidon’s anger, caused the crazy love of the poor Pasiphae: A tyrantૅs sport, though wooden members led. My name to many mountains I have spread, I ride the heavens yet on earth I tread11.

The same example of homonymy is mentioned by Quintilian and discussed by the grammarian Diomedes in the section dedicated to amphibology, one of the vitia orationis (“speech flaws”) caused by obscuritas (“obscurity”)12. Like homonymy, also amphibology (something we might define as an intentional ambiguity) is a good tool for building not only good riddles, but also good oracles. As a matter of fact, Diomedes quotes one of the most famous ambiguous oracles uttered by the Delphic priestess: Aio te, Aeacida, Romanos vincere posse. 11

Symphosius 32: 0RHFKXVHUDPUHJLVVHGOLJQHDPHPEUDVHTXHEDUHW&LOLFXP PRQVVXPVHGQRQVXPQRPLQHVRORHWYHKRULQFDHOLVHWLQLSVLVDPEXORWHUULV. 12 Quint., Inst. 8.6.1-19 Quae vel vitanda apud iudicem ignarum significationum HDUXP YHO LQWHUSUHWDQGD VXQW VLFXW LQ LLV TXDH KRPRQ\PD YRFDQWXU XW ³WDXUXV´ DQLPDO VLW DQ PRQV DQ VLJQXP LQ FDHOR DQ QRPHQ KRPLQLV DQ UDGL[ DUERULV QLVL distinctum non intellegetur 'LRP 1.450, 1-10 Keil Amphibolia est vitio FRPSRVLWLRQLVLQDPELJXRSRVLWDVHQWHQWLDXW³DLRWH$HDFLGD5RPDQRVYLQFHUH SRVVH´LWHP³FHUWXPHVW$QWRQLXPSUDHFHGHUHHORTXHQWLD&UDVVXP´+LHQLPGXR VHQVXVYLWLRDPELJXLWDWLVFDUHQWSURSULHWDWHFXPVLWLQFHUWXPDE$HDFLGD5RPDQRV viQFL SRVVH DQ D 5RPDQLV $HDFLGDP VLPLOLWHU DE $QWRQLR YLQFL &UDVVXP HORTXHQWLDDQD&UDVVR$QWRQLXP)LWHWSHUKRPRQ\PLDQXWFXPGLFLPXVWDXUXP QHVFLDV XWUXP GH DUPHQWR DQ REVFHQDP FRUSRULV SDUWHP DQ PRQWHP TXL HVW LQ &LOLFLDDQTXLHVWLQVLGHULEXVWDurum dicamus.

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It is the prophecy given to Pyrrhus, king of Epirus, who did not pay attention to the ambiguity of the infinitival sentence and decided to sail to Italy, confident that the god had clearly foretold his victory over the Romans. The same mistake was made by another Epirotan king, Alexander the Molossus. When an oracle told him to beware of the “Keroeis”, he thought the god was referring to an Italian river and, when he went with his army to Southern Italy, he kept clear of that river. But such a precaution proved to be pointless: one day the king was given a letter (a wooden board covered with wax) and, while he was reading it, someone stabbed him in the back. If he had thought that, like riddles, also oracles can be ambiguous, maybe he would have understood that the dangerous Keroeis did not point to the homonymous Italian river, but meant the waxed (NHURHLV) tablet instead. The unfortunate story of Alexander is told to us by Tryphon, a teacher of rhetoric, who, in his work On Tropes, inside the section dedicated to riddles, defines it as an example of an DLQLJPD NDWD KRPRQ\PLDQ13. A chresmos is used by a rhetorician in order to explain the trope of the ainigma: it would not be possible to state the connection between riddles and oracles in a stronger way. The last poem of the fourteenth book of the *UHHN$QWKRORJ\ is another example of the closeness of riddles and oracles. Aegeus, the mythical king RI$WKHQVDVNHG$SROORLIKHZDVJRLQJWRKDYHDVRQWKH3\WKLDwarned him “not to loose the projecting foot of the wine-skin before reaching the land of the Athenians”14. Aegeus did not understand that the god of Delphi was telling him not to make love to a woman on the way back to Athens (the “projecting foot” being a metaphor for his member and the “wineskin” for his belly)–and so he accepted the interested invitation of Pittheus, the king of Troezen, who gave him a lot of wine and then made him sleep with his daughter Aethra (who after nine months gave birth to Theseus). Other men who had received similar oracles were smarter than Aegeus, though. According to Pausanias, Erginus, the king of the Mynians, had to solve the following enigmatic prophecy: Erginus, son of Clymenus Presboniades, late thou camest seeking offspring, but even now

13 14

Tryphon, De tropis 3.193 Spengel. AP 14.150 (also quoted by E. Med. 679-681).

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to the old plough-tree put a new tip15.

But the old king fully understood the meaning of the oracle: Apollo was saying that he would have become a father if he had married a young woman. Which he did–and his young wife gave him not one, but two children. Having worked out that the old plough-tree was a metaphor for KLVPHPEHUKHFRXOGKDSSLO\VHHWRKLVRIIVSULQJRQWKHFRQWUDU\$HJHXV begot the son that was going to cause his death. Metaphorical images alluding to the sexual parts of the human body are very numerous, mostly in Greek comedy16. But, of course, they can be found in riddles as well. Since the end of the 19th century, many scholars have quarrelled over the correct solution of the following riddle: I once saw a beast running straight on its back through a wood cut by the steel, and its feet touched not the earth17.

Buttmann saw in this mysterious animal the louse, Jacobs thought of the saw–but the solution is probably not so innocent18. As Buffière has VXJJHVWHGWKHEHDVWPLJKWEHWKHSKDOOXVDQGWKHIRUHVWWKHSXELFKDLUWKH contradictory statements indicated by the adjectives hyptios (“stretched out”) and orthos (“standing up”) can be correctly understood if we admit that they belong respectively to the man and to his member19. This paper has started with a serious riddle and has ended up with a much less respectable one. But this has been also the destiny of riddles, that, when they lost the deadly connotation witnessed by the sad destiny of the Thebans who had defied the Sphinx, became a funny pastime for long banquets. In a certain way, the destiny of oracles was quite similar: we know from Plutarchૅs The Obsolescence of Oracles that, at the beginning of the 2nd century AD, the sanctuary of Delphi had begun to lose its attraction, that the art of divination was declining, and that other gods were taking Apolloૅs place. In the 10th century, at the beginning of the socalled Byzantine renaissance, when Constantine Cephalas was painstakingly collecting the hundreds of epigrams that were going to form the *UHHN$QWKRORJ\, nobody knew anymore that ainigmata and chresmoi 15

Paus. 9.37.4. See Henderson 1991, 108 ss. 17 AP 14.19. 18 %XWWPDQQ VVROXWLRQFDQEHUHDGLQ2KOHUW 1912, 179-180. For the other answer see Jacobs 1803, 359-360. 19 Buffière 1970, 170-171. 16

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were siblings who shared the same father20. But, by putting riddles and oracles side by side in the same book, Cephalas knew very well what they had in common.

Works Cited Buffière, F. 1970. $QWKRORJLH *UHFTXH $QWKRORJLH 3DODWLQH OLYUHV ;,,,XV. Paris: Les Belles Lettres. Cameron, A. 1993. 7KH *UHHN $QWKology from Meleager to Planudes. Oxford: Clarendon Press. Colli, G. 1977. La sapienza greca. Milano: Adelphi. Henderson, J. 1991. The Maculate Muse. Obscene Language in Attic Comedy 2nd edition. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Jacobs, F. 1803. Animadversiones in epigrammata Anthologiae Graecae. vol. III, pars II. Lipsiae: in Bibliopolio Dyckio. Ohlert, K. 1912. Rätsel und Rätselspiele der alten Griechen, 2nd ed. Berlin: Mayer & Müller.

20

On the part played by Cephalas in the composition of the Anthology (and on the controversial paternity of book fourteenth), see Cameron 1993.

LATE ANTIQUE ORACLES: SAMPLES OF ǹȈǹĭǼǿǹ25ȈǹĭǾȃǼǿǹ" LUCIA MADDALENA TISSI UNIVERSITY OF FLORENCE

Aristotle declares that Ȝ੼ȟİȦȢ į੻ ਕȡİIJ੽ ıĮijો țĮ੿ ȝ੽ IJĮʌİȚȞ੽Ȟ İੇȞĮȚ1 suggesting that ainigma has to be avoided as a result of an excess of metaphor reproducing Reality through impossible associations2. However he promotes also the idea of whatever is exotic and far from everyday life3 especially for unusual topics used in poetry, which demand a higher lexical register and produce wonder4. This theory played a great role in rhetoric-literary criticism, causing both the strengthening of the criterion of clearness and of the effect of wonder produced by the unfamiliar5. Among the rhetoricians, Tryphon (I BC), defines the enigma, distinguished from the allegory as a way of obscuring both the ȜȑȟȚȢand įȚȐȞȠȚĮ LQ D QHJDWLYH ZD\6, associating it with obscurity and oracles7. Hermogenes (II-,,,F$' FRQVLGHUVıĮijȒȞİȚĮDVRQHRIWKHFRQVWLWXWLYH

1

Po. DRh. 1404b 2. Halliwell 1995, Dupont-Roc-Lallot 1980, 357 no.1. Po. 1458a 25- LWLVVSHFXODURQWKHOHYHORIIRUPRIȕĮȡȕĮȡȚıȝȩȢDUHVXOWRI an excess of glosses). See Lausberg 1998, 240-243. The use of metaphors, glosses, extensions has to be mixed harmoniously with ordinary terms (Po. 1458b 15-17). 3 There is a very vague distinction between metaphor and enigma: e.g. Arist. Rh. 3.1405a 37. 4 Arist. Rh E  )RU WKH SULQFLSOH RI ıĮijȒȞİȚĮ VHH $ULVW EN D  Top. 8.155b 23-24, 157a 14- $ULVWRWOH RIWHQ XVHV WKH OHPPD ıĮijȒȞİȚĮ RU IJઁ ıĮijȑȢ DQG RQO\ twice the lemma ਕıȐijİȚĮ appears in the Aristotelian corpus meaning an absence of clearness of the sounds caused by physical impediment (De aud. 801b 11-13). 5 &RQFHUQLQJPDUYHOVHH3V/RQJ7KLVDXWKRUFRQVLGHUVPDUYHODVDȕȓĮwhich cannot be defeated. 6 For the definition of tropos as logos derived from an alteration of common meaning in order to enhance embellishment and for necessity Tryph. 3.191 Sp. 7 Tryph. 3.193-194 Sp. 2

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elements of the demosthenic logos8, but he believes that obscurity is possible, provided it does not make the speech unintelligible and is motivated by reasons of rhetoric9. In rhetorical terms the obscuritas, as a license in function of the ornatus and aptum, creates a contact between the work and the audience who must be active10. Thanks to some rhetoric treatises we are able to understand how an obscure speech was made, on a stylistic, lexical and syntactical level. Theon (I-,, $'  VXJJHVWV DYRLGLQJ ਕıȐijİȚĮ FRQVLGHULQJ FOHDUQHVV DV quality of style11. From a lexical standpoint the poetic, fictitious, PHWDSKRULFDUFKDLFIRUHLJQKRPRQ\PRXVZRUGVDUHWREHDYRLGHGIURP a syntactical standpoint, the amphibologies12, some kinds of hyperbaton, long digressions, ellipsis and use of syntactical cases are also to be avoided13. Specifically, concerning the metaphoric words, he gives the example of the famous oracle about the battle of Salamine14: the oracular language is evidently considered a case in point in obscurity. PseudoAelius Aristides (II AD) lists ıĮijȒȞİȚĮ DQG țĮșĮȡȩIJȘȢ DPRQJ WKH TXDOLWLHV RI ʌȠȜȚIJȚțઁȢ ȜȩȖȠȢ15. ȈĮijȒȞİȚĮ DFFRUGLQJ WR ȖȞȫȝȘ DYRLGV WKH LQYHUVLRQV RI WKH HYHQWV DFFRUGLQJ WR ıȤોȝĮ LW SUHVHQWV WKH WUDQVLWLRQ from one event to another including the conclusion of the first and the DQQRXQFHPHQW RI WKH VHFRQG DFFRUGLQJ WR ਕʌĮȖȖİȜȓĮ LW SUHVHQWV WKH common, clear, evident words, a narrative structure, avoiding synonyms16 and using mild words instead of harsh ones. Quintilian writes explicitly, after having considered the ambiguitas-obscuritas as a lack of style17, that

8

Id. 217.23 Rabe. The qualities of the HNIUDVHLV DUHıĮijȒȞİȚĮDQGਥȞȐȡȖİȚĮ (Prog. 23.9- OLPSLGLW\DQGSXULW\PDNHWKHODQJXDJHFOHDU Id. 235.2-4). See Patillon 1988, 12 and 219. 9 Id. 240.24-241.5. See Quint. Inst. 8.2.23 and Patillon 1988, 222. For the RSSRVLWLRQEHWZHHQıĮij੾ȞİȚĮDQGਕıȐijİȚĮVHH+HUPRJId. 226.8-12. 10 Lausberg 1998, 241. 11 Theon. Prog. 40.20 Patillon. 12 About the origin of the controversies ex ambiguo see Cicero Inventio  Rhet. ad Herennium +HUPRJProg. 90-92. 13 Theon. Prog. 40-45. 14 Hdt. 7.141. 15 Concerning Pseudo-Aelius Aristides see Patillon 2002, VII. For the other virtutes see Ps.Ael.Arist. Ars Rhet. 1.1. 16 $VDWRNHQRIʌİȡȚȕȠȜȒ$JORVVDRQWKHWH[WVD\VWKDWLWDYRLGVPHWDSKRUV 17 For Quintilians’ criticism of obscurity see Inst. 7.9. Obscuritas is caused by the use of homonymous words, of rare or difficult terms (adianoeta), technical and unusual ones and by the use of rhetoric devices such as periphrasis, digressions, long sentences, hyperbatons and by the omission of necessary words.

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speech must be as clear (perspicuitas) as sunlight18. Theon’s exposition, through negative argumentation, together with that of Pseudo-Aelius Aristides and Quintilian, are useful to understand what obscure speech was. Obscure speech is characterised by long digressions, confusion in the RUGHU RI WKH HYHQWV RPLVVLRQ RI QHFHVVDU\ LQIRUPDWLRQ XVH RI DOOHJRU\ use of pRHWLFILFWLWLRXVPHWDSKRULFDUFKDLFIRUHLJQKRPRQ\PRXVZRUGV DPSKLERORJLHV GLJUHVVLRQV HOOLSVLV DOOHJRULHV XQGLIIHUHQWLDWHG XVH RI syntactical cases. So far, we can draw some important conclusions: clearness is widely considered one of the most important qualities of diegesis REVFXULW\ LV UH-used for its rhetoric function (especially for the effect of wonder) and is associated with enigma and oracular language. Criticism of oracles was addressed to demonstrate that their obscurity was aimed at avoiding mistakes19. In the pagan context, criticism of oracles as a direct parody is promoted by the cynic philosopher Oenomaus of Gadara in the Detection of deceivers20, transmitted in the fifth and sixth book of the Praeparatio Evangelica. Oenomaus re-uses ancient and modern oracles, public and personal ones in order to confute their credibility. As Eusebius shows, the main characteristic of Oenomaus is the ʌĮȡȡȘıȓĮZKich allows him to speak without limits, criticizing, thanks to WKH țȣȞȚț੽ ʌȚțȡȓĮ HYHQ WKH ³VDFUHG´ WH[WV21. Oenomaus plays with these texts22 modifying and recreating them, through lexical substitutions23, showing a good metrical and stylistic knowledge24. Some of the titles are very interesting for our subject: 18

Perspicuitas can be obtained thanks to proprietas, rectus ordo, non in longum GLODWDFRQFOXVLRQLKLOQHTXHGHVLWQHTXHVXSHUIOXD (Quint. Inst. 8.2.22-23). For the causes of the improprietas see Lausberg 1998, 242, par. 534. 19 For the criticism of oracles, Schofield 1996, 527, Isnardi Parente 1990, 2426-28. 20 Eus. PE 5.18.6. Probably it coincides with the work attributed to Oenomaus in Jul. Contra Heracl. % ȀĮIJ੹ IJ૵Ȟ ȤȡȘıIJȘȡȓȦȞ 6HH +DPPHUVWDHGW  Busine 2005, 333-334. 21 Eus. PE 5.21.6. 22 As Eusebius declares in PE 5.23.7 and 5.32.2. 23 Oen. F 11c 1, 12 Hammerstaedt. 24 For the criticism of oracular language see F 4.7, 5.3, 6.5-6, 7.7, 8.3,11a.5. For the criticism of the prophet / god, F 4.4 and 6, 5.1, 7.1, 9.1, 11d. People dominated E\ʌȐșȠȢDQGਥʌȚșȣȝȓĮEHOLHYHHYHU\ZRUGRIRUDFOHVHYHQLIWKH\DUHXQUHDOLVHGD WKRXVDQG WLPHV ) E  LQ WKLV VHQVH Sophia is far from mantic (F 9.1) which is linked to the idea of folly (F 6.5, 7.8) and to the idea of comedy (14.1). In his short commentaries Eusebius highlights that the oracles are works of cruel demons or of actors of the oracular comedy (e.g. PE 5.26.5). Oenomaus speaks repeatedly about ambiguity saying that it deceives people due to the oracles’ ignorance (ਕȖȞȠȓĮ  about the future or to ZLFNHGQHVV IJȡȣijȒȞ DQGʌȠȞȘȡȓĮ RUWRDVRSKLVWLFSOD\WKLV

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Late Antique Oracles ੲȢ ʌȠȜȜȠ૙Ȣ șĮȞȐIJȠȣ ȖȑȖȠȞİȞ Į੅IJȚȠȢ ੒ ਝʌȩȜȜȦȞ įȚ੹ IJોȢ ȤȡȘıȝ૵Ȟ ਕȝijȚȕȠȜȓĮȢ. ੲȢ țĮ੿ IJ૶ ȀȡȠȓı૳ IJોȢ ȠੁțİȓĮȢ ਕȡȤોȢ ਥțʌİıİ૙Ȟ ʌȐȜȚȞ įȚૅ ਕȝijȚȕȠȜ઀ĮȢ ȤȡȘıȝȠ૨ țĮIJȑıIJȘĮ੅IJȚȠȢ ੜIJȚIJ૶ IJોȢਕıĮijİȓĮȢıțȩIJ૳ IJ੽Ȟıij૵ȞਙȖȞȠȚĮȞਥʌȚțȡȪʌIJȠȞIJĮȚ ੜIJȚ ȝȘį੻Ȟ įȣȞȐȝİȞȠȚ ȕȠȘșİ૙Ȟ ਥȞ IJĮ૙Ȣ IJ૵Ȟ ʌȠȜȑȝȦȞ ıȣȝijȠȡĮ૙Ȣ įȚૅ ਕȝijȚȕȩȜȦȞȤȡȘıȝ૵Ȟ ਥıȠijȓȗȠȞIJȠțĮ੿ ਱ʌȐIJȦȞIJȠઃȢʌȡȩıijȣȖĮȢ25.

As we can deduce from these titles, ambiguity, linked to the cruelty of the god/prophet, to deceive and to ਕıȐijİȚĮLVDPHDQVWRYHLOLJQRUDQFH Apart from the famous oracles such as those of Heraclides and Croesus where obscurity is caused by some poli-semantic expressions or the one to the Athenians’ about correct behaviour with the Persians, where the last two verses are ambiguous26, Oenomaus quotes some oracles derived from his consultation with the Clarian God. He receives two ambiguous answers after having asked about his own trade, which are considered foolish and ambiguous by him who asks the god: ੒ ૃǹȝij઀ȜȠȤȠȢǜਲ਼ ੒ ǻȦįȦȞĮ૙ȠȢǜਲ਼ ıȣ ਥȞ ǻİȜijȠ૙Ȣ İੁ ȖİȞȠ઀ȝȘȞ Ƞ੝ț ਕʌ੺ȖȟȘȚ ʌȠȣ ਕʌİȜșઅȞ IJોȚ IJĮȞȣıIJȡંijȦȚ ıijİȞįંȞȘȚ ȝİIJ੹ IJȠ૨ ਕįȚȠȞȠ੾IJȠȣ ʌȠȚ੾ȝĮIJȠȢ27 this testimony shows the survival of obscure oracles in Hadrian’s time and of a negative judgement of obscurity as an éscamotage of sophistic enigma28. Lucian, like Oenomaus, personally consulted an oracle, the new one of Abonoteichus, amusing himself by playing with the false prophet Alexander29. The oracular answers are defined as indirect, ambiguous, unintelligible and FRQIXVHG REVFXULW\ LV FRQVLGHUHG DSSURSULDWH WR WKH RUDFXODU VW\OH DQG useful to hide the trickeries and the oracle’s mistakes30. Many oracles are modified post eventum or defended a posteriori thanks to their ambiguity31. In Juppiter tragoedus Lucian quotes the oracles of Croesus and of Salamina as examples of ambiguity32. Therefore, like Plutarch, Lucian discusses criticism of Apollonian oracles as texts with metrical mistakes33. In another passage Apollo proposes that he should provide the kind of theodicy envisages or an ignorant god or a cruel and mocking or a useless one who prophesizes vain things, even if destiny has already been decided. 25 Respectively Eus. PE 5.20, 21, 23, 24. 26 See also the oracle to the Spartans and the Cnidians (F 7 and 8 Hammerstaedt). 27 Oen. F 15.3. 28 Oen. F 5.4 and 6.9. 29 Luc. Alex. 53-55. 30 Luc. Alex. 22 and 49. 31 Respectively Luc. Alex. 27 and 48. 32 Luc. Jup.trag. 20 e 43. The same in Jupp.conf. 13.3. 33 Through the words of Hermes: Luc. Jup.trag. 6.21-24.

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stoic Timocles, who speaks in an enigmatic way, with a counsel capable of speaking more clearly. This proposition is mocked by Momos who accuses the god himself of being obscure34. After an exchange of points of view, Apollo decides to prophesise, making excuses if he must use verses and trying to follow Momos’ suggestion of clearness. The oracle is, nevertheless, obscure hence Zeus has to ask Momos for an explanation35. Criticism of oracular obscurity has also been adopted by Christian detractors of the apollonian mantic. On the one hand the oracular praxis is criticized as an example of a stupid cult and, on the other, the philosophical and poetic pagan texts are re-used when they contain a hidden Christian truth36. A subtle opinion is given by Clement of Alexandria, who criticizes the pagan oracles as being false and immoral37, denounces their silence and death defining them ȝĮȞȚț੹ IJĮ૨IJĮ੪ȢਕȜȘș૵Ȣ ਕȞșȡઆʌȦȞ ਕʌ઀ıIJȦȞ ıȠijȚıIJ੾ȡȚĮ38 and considers Apollo as a mendacious DQGijȚȜȩȜȠȟȠȢGHPRQ39. Nevertheless Clement associates Apollo with the IDOVHHW\PRORJ\ਕ-ʌȩȜȜȠȚWKHRQO\JRG40DQGOLNHQVWKHਥʌȓțȡȣȥȚȢ of the Scriptures to the pagan poetic texts, to the sentences of the Seven Sages DQGWKH3\WKDJRUHDQV\PEROVKHFRQVLGHUV$Sollo’s oracles as a token of the Christian truth in an enigmatic way41. The use of allegories is functional to the re-adoption of pagan testimonies containing Christian WUXWKWKHȤȡȘıȝȠȓare re-used as a sign of divine piety since the pagan god is compelled to tell the truth42.

34

Luc. Jup.trag. 28.1-6. Luc. Jup.trag. 31.1-9. 36 Although Justin, for example, criticises divination as a cult, he re-uses the wisdom of the pagan philosophers and poets as a source of an existential ethic and of a religious gnoseology which mirrors the Christian truth (even if the philosophers do not have a prophetic revelation). The pagan theological oracles are re-used in this sense. In the exposition of the dogma of the resurrection of bodies he declares that the immortality of the soul had already been foretold by pagan philosophers and poets and by the oracles of Amphilocus, Dodona and Pytho (Apol. 1.18). Tatian, on the contrary, considers each oracular activity as a demoniac work and therefore execrable (Orat. 8-9, 12-16) and Athenagoras accuses the oracles of being immoral and Apollo of being a liar (Leg. 32-  37 Clem.Al. Protr. 7.76.3. 38 Clem.Al. Protr. 2.11.3 and 2.11.1 (IJ੹ ਙȤȡȘıIJĮ ȤȡȘıIJȒȡȚĮ). 39 Clem.Al. Protr. 3.43.4. 40 Clem.Al. Strom. 1.24.164. Same etymology in Chrysipp. ap. Macr. Sat. 1.17.1-9. 41 Clem.Al. Strom. 5.4.19-21. See Boulluec 1981, 105-106. For a detailed study on Clement’s opinion concerning oracular poetry see Sardella 1988. 42 Clem.Al. Strom. 20.99.2. 35

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We must understand how and till when the association between enigma, obscurity and oracular poetry (obvious at first sight) can be found in the oracular texts or if at a certain point the idea of clear oracular poetry was promoted. In a passage of The History Herodotus declares that he cannot deny faith a priori in the truth of the oracles and he also writes an oracle characterized by ਥȞȐȡȖİȚĮFRQFOXGLQJWKDWਥȢIJȠȚĮ૨IJĮȝ੻ȞțĮ੿ Ƞ੢IJȦ ਥȞĮȡȖ੼ȦȢ Ȝ੼ȖȠȞIJȚ Ǻ੺țȚįȚ ਕȞIJȚȜȠȖ઀ĮȢ ȤȡȘıȝ૵Ȟ ʌ੼ȡȚ Ƞ੡IJİ Į੝IJઁȢ Ȝ੼ȖİȚȞ IJȠȜȝ੼Ȧ Ƞ੡IJİ ʌĮȡૅ ਙȜȜȦȞ ਥȞį੼țȠȝĮȚ43. The priority given to indirect instead of a clear and direct language mirrors, furthermore, a debate of literary criticism. Plutarch analyses the contrast between ancient and modern oracles on the basis of an historical-cultural change which is also reflected in restyled literary form44. Verses were not only easier to memorise, they also mirrored a more poetic nature of people of that time45. The devices and the obscurity of the oracular language lost their meaning at the beginning of a period of peace when the questions did not concern politics, but familiar topics and were asked not by tyrants, but by individuals. The juxtaposition between the ancient and the modern language is described through a series of antithesis46. Specifically ਕıȐijİȚĮ is juxtaposed tRıĮijȒȞİȚĮ and the use of devices such as hapax, glossas, periphrasis, amphibologies, amphilogies, hyponoiai, enigma, is juxtaposed WRWKHıȣȞIJȠȝȓĮਕʌȜȩIJȘȢİ੝șİȓĮ47. On the one hand the ancient oracular poetry is criticised by the detractors as ornate, obscure and false and, on the other, as full of metrical, lexical mistakes and, therefore, neglected. 7KLVFKDUJHRIQHJOLJHQFHDQGPHWULFDODQGVW\OLVWLFVLPSOLFLW\ ijĮȣȜȩIJȘȢ ʌȜȘȝȝȑȜİȚĮ  LV GHIHQGHG E\ 3OXWDUFK RQ WKH EDVLV RI WKH SULQFLSOH RI WKH human medium as a non-transparent filter of the divine voice: mistakes are caused by men, not by the divinLW\LQWKHVDPHZD\DVPRGHUQRUDFOHVDUH accused of simplicity by impious people. However, Plutarch gives a positive esthetical opinion of the new poetic: the allegoric formulation and interpretation as a connotation of an ancient and obscure mantic are, 43

Hdt. 8.77. For Herodotus’ oracles see Crahay 1956. Plut. De Pyth.or. 406F. 45 However, this does not mean that all the ancient oracles were in poetry and the modern ones in prose. The truth “like a beam of light, is parted into many rays as it becomes poetry and so to remove whatever was harsh and hard in it” (Plut. De Pyth.or. 407f). 46 )RU LQVWDQFH ijĮȞIJĮıȓĮıȠȕĮȡȩȞ-ʌİȡȓİȡȖȠȞ ȜȩȖȚȠȞ ʌİȡȚIJIJȩȞ YV ਕijİȜȑȢ-ȜȚIJȩȞ ʌȠȜȣIJȑȜİȚĮ YV İ੝IJİȜİȓĮ ȝȣș૵įİȢ YV ਕȜȘșȑȢ ਥțʌȜોIJIJȠȞ YV ıĮijȑȢ-įȚįĮıțĮȜȚțȩȞ ȝ੽ țȠȚȞȩȞȜȩȟȠȞYVıȣȞȘIJȩȞʌȚșĮȞȩȞ 47 ȈȣȞIJȠȝȓĮ was considered a diegetic quality, while with ਕʌȜȩIJȘȢDQGİ੝șİȓĮZH UHIHUWRWKHSULQFLSOHRIıĮijȒȞİȚĮ 44

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compared to the modern one, like the rainbow compared to the sun48. A similar analysis is given by Maximus of Tyrus, who describes the passage from poetry to philosophy as a psychic evolution from simplicity and JRRGQHVVWRįİȚȞȩIJȘȢZKLFKLPSOLHVLQFUHGXOLW\DQGPDOLFHWKURXJKWKHXVH of bare reasoning. The difference between ancient poetry and recent philosophy is chronological and formal, since both have truth as their goal49. In another passage, Maximus, after having said that everything is full of enigma among the ancient poets and philosophers, promotes the myth as an interpreter of obscure events caused by human nature: ʌ੺ȞIJĮ ȝİıIJ੹ ĮੁȞȚȖȝȐIJȦȞ50, țĮ੿ ʌĮȡ੹ ʌȠȚȘIJĮ૙ȢțĮ੿ ʌĮȡ੹ ijȚȜȠıંijȠȚȢǜੰȞਥȖઅ IJ੽Ȟ ʌȡઁȢ IJઁ ਕȜȘș੻Ȣ Įੁįઅ ਕȖĮʌ૵ ȝ઼ȜȜȠȞ ਲ਼ IJ੽Ȟ ʌĮȡȡȘı઀ĮȞ IJ૵Ȟ ȞİȦIJ੼ȡȦȞ51ǜ ʌȡĮȖȝ੺IJȦȞ Ȗ੹ȡ ਫ਼ʌૅ ਕȞșȡȦʌ઀ȞȘȢ ਕıșİȞİ઀ĮȢ Ƞ੝ țĮșȠȡȦȝ੼ȞȠȞ ıĮij૵Ȣ İ੝ıȤȘȝȠȞ੼ıIJİȡȠȢ ਦȡȝȘȞİઃȢ ੒ ȝ૨șȠȢ52. The rhetorician prefers the allegorical myth not only for esthetical reasons, but also for heuristic and gnoseological ones, since the absence of an explicit meaning provokes a sense of marvel in the soul and an urge to discover the hidden Truth in a divinatory way53. Enigmatic knowledge requires, therefore, divinatory hermeneutic, revealing itself as oracular wisdom54. In the same way in another oration, poetic art is defined as an enigmatic expression which requires a divinatory interpretation55. The author understands as ainigmata the philosophical truth present in poetry and philosophy, which has to be divined and specifically as a communicative and expressive form given by oracles and Pythagorean initiations56 evolved in the myth57. Maximus’ 48

Plut. De Pyth.or. 409d. Max.Tyr. Or. 4.7.8 Trapp. 50 A similar formula in Plot. EnnȝİıIJ੹ į੻ ʌȐȞIJĮıȘȝİȓȦȞ 51 I think that when the author speaks about “more recent people” compared to poets he refers specifically to cynics and not to philosophers in general. Poets and philosophers are associated by the use of the ancient philosophical truth. For the discussion see Grimaldi 2002, 69 and 72. 52 Max.Tyr. Or. 4.5.1. 53 ǹccording to the quoted Aristotelian principle. 54 For the influence of Maximus on neoplatonics see Grimaldi 2002, 70-71. 55 Max.Tyr. Or. 17.4c 4. 56 Plut. De lib. educ. 12d. Grimaldi 2002, 59 n. 64 and 68-69 n. 91. 57 It is placed between the excessively explicit logos and the excessively obscure ainigma. The term is used for the allegories of Homer (Or RI Hesopus/Epicurus (Or. 32.2.2), of Tantalos (Or. 33.4.17) and of poets through the myths (Or. 38.4.2-5). In the oration 8.6.24, Maximus suggests to convert ainigma to logos in order to affirm the value of manteia. The rhetorician dedicates, moreover, an oration (13) to demonstrate the link between the divine prophecy and the human nous. 49

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opinions seem, therefore, favourable to obscure poetry, which can show the hidden truth without making it bare or unreachable, and associating it with an allegorical and oracular interpretation. However, in an oration concerning the conception of God according to Plato, Maximus wonders if he can agree to stay in obscurity and he expresses the desire to consult Apollo or Zeus without receiving obscure or ambiguous oracles58 because he does not have a classical question to ask, but one about the essence of divinity. This digression shows that, although an obscure style was still being adopted in Maximus’ time, questions concerning the essence of divinity required a clear answer. 7KH FRQWUDVW EHWZHHQ ıĮijȒȞİȚĮ DQG ਕıȐijİȚĮ FRQFHUQV QRW RQO\ D rhetoric level, but also a poetic and philosophical one. In the Second Alcibiades the author declares that ਩ıIJȚȞIJİȖ੹ȡij઄ıİȚʌȠȚȘIJȚț੽ ਲ ı઄ȝʌĮıĮ ĮੁȞȚȖȝĮIJઆįȘȢ țĮ੿ Ƞ੝ IJȠ૨ ʌȡȠıIJȣȤંȞIJȠȢ ਕȞįȡઁȢ ȖȞȦȡ઀ıĮȚ59. Even if the declaration has to be read in a satirical key, it shows the spread of the association between poet and prophet and of the allegorical interpretation as a result of obscure texts60. The idea of initiation poetry, addressed to few and noble minded people, which has its roots in orphic conceptions and in Pindaric poetry61, is associated with the conception of poet as enthusiastic prophet62, revealing the Truth or the Myth which hides the Truth. In the proem of the orphic Lithica, for instance, we find both the UHIHUHQFHWRDSXEOLFRIʌȚIJȣȞȠȓDQGWKHUHPRYDORIȞȘʌȪIJȚȠȚ63. Both topics are used in an hymn of Synesius64 and in the proemial carmen of the Poemata arcana of Gregory of Nazianzus65. The inspiration of the poet is very close to that of prophet66 and recalls some forms of possession as one 58

Or. 11.6.1-3. Ps.Plato Alc.Sec. 147b. For other examples in Plato see Struck 2005, 158. 60 The term ainigma covers three meanings: it is a simple intellectual riddle, the obscure poetry associated to the allegorical exegesis or the oracular poetry. For the classification see Struck 2005, 157. 61 This poetic belief can be traced from the Derveni Papyrus and, later, in poets like Pindar, Simonides, Callimachus and Lycophron. For the invocation of the LQLWLDWHGZLWKWKHUHPRYDORIWKHȕȑȕȘȜȠȚ see Claud. Rapt. Pros. 1.5. 62 For reference to a poet being possessed (similar to that of the prophet), who is distraught see, e.g., Claud. Rapt. Pros. 1.4, 5--RK*D]Tab.m. 1.1, 3, 5, 8. 63 Lith. 1-6. The same term in the Visio Dorothei 36. See Agosti 1989, 110-115. 64 9.71-75. It is now considered the first of the collection (Baldi 2012, 46-64). On the initiatory value of thHPHVVDJHLQ6\QHVLXV%DOGLQQ 65 See Moreschini and Sykes 1997. 66 Sometimes the poet is described as a sailor of the Muses (Claud. Gig.Gr. 13-15) or as a sailor who asks the divinity for a wise wind (Jo.Gaz. Tab.m. 1.16-18), an allusion to the idea of poet as prophet who is inspired by a prophetic pneuma and 59

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oracle of Porphyrius’ De philosophia ex oraculis haurienda67 shows. Another topic is the exaltation of folly as a communicative means concerning not only prophecy, but also rhetoric and poetry68. Aelius Aristides regards rhetoric as a divine gift of Hermes, and poetry and prophecy as Muses and Apollo’s gifts and concludes saying: Ȟ૨Ȟ į੻ IJ੹ ȝ੼ȖȚıIJĮ IJ૵Ȟ ਕȖĮș૵Ȟ ਲȝ૙Ȟ Ȗ઀ȖȞİIJĮȚ įȚ੹ ȝĮȞ઀ĮȢ șİȚઽ ȝ੼ȞIJȠȚ įંıİȚ įȚįȠȝ੼ȞȘȢ69. The etymological association of folly to mantic, derived from the discussion of the Phaedrus of Plato, is re-used with a negative connotation by Christian authors70. In the second oration against Julian, Gregory of Nazanzius describes the Emperor as a fool71. On the one side the Christians criticise the pagan mantic phenomenon, on the other side they use it. Synesius, for instance, compares his poetry to philosophy and mantic72, but also declares a new poetic inspiration corresponding to his Christian conversion73. Christian poets are prophets not of pagan gods, but of the omnipotent God: in this way Proba (IV AD) prays to God to open her inner temple and desires to tell, as God’s prophet, all divine mysteries743Dulinus of Nola (IV-V AD) refutes Muses and Apollo for a greater God in a very beautiful carmen75 with not only a poetic declaration, but also an allusion to the silence of the oracles, according to contemporary polemic76.

rheuma (e.g. Plut. De def. orac. &3RUSKDe Phil. ex or. 349 Smith). See also the reference to Apollo as a mantic and poetic character, e.g. Claud. Rapt. Pros. 1.6--R*D]Tab. m 1.3), to Muses (Claud. Rapt. Pros. Prooem. -RK*D] Tab. m. 1.5) and to Dionysus (Jo.Gaz. Tab. m. 8). 67 Porph. De phil. ex or. 349 Smith (Eus. PE 5.8.11-12). 68 For the reference to the ebrietas see Claud. De raptu Proserpinae 1.-R*D] Tab. m. prooem. 17 and 2.259. 69 Ael.Arist. Rh. 13 Dindorf. 70 Phdr. 244c. E.g. Clem.Al. Prot. 2.11. 71 Greg.Naz. Or. 5.23. Julian had created a very strong theological system where philosophical wisdom was linked to the oracular and divine (e.g. De matr. Dei 5.162d). Julian’s knowledge of the oracular literature is demonstrated by the quotations of oracles (e.g. Ep. 88.451b, 89.299d-300a and 297c-d which derives really from Didyma for Robinson 1981, D 77, 448-450 or from Claros for Bidez 1972, 167 n. 3). 72 Syn. Dion. 15.3-4: ਲ਼ Ƞ੝ ʌȠȚȘIJ੾Ȣ ਥıIJȚȞ ੒ IJઁ ȤȡȘıIJ੾ȡȚȠȞ ਩ȤȦȞ IJઁ ȆȣșȠ૙ țĮ઀, Ȟ੽ ǻ઀Į, IJઁ ਥȞ ǺȡĮȖȤ઀įĮȚȢ. Baldi 2012, 33. 73 Syn. Hymn. 9.1-15. 74 Proba Cento 12. Baldi 2012, 57. 75 Paul.Nol. Carm. 10.19-32. Baldi 2012, 53-54. 76 For the oracles’ silence see Gigli Piccardi 2011a.

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On a philosophical level we find, on the one hand, the exaltation of obscurity as a means of communication of the divine and as an incentive to search for the truth on the other hand, the apology of clearness as a means of expression which can be widely understood and which can be traced also in enigmatic texts such as the oracles. In the Oration against +HUDNOLRQ, Julian declares that even if speeches about gods have not to be incongruous as far as the lexis is concerned, they can be incongruous for the dianoia. In such a way men are instigated to discover the meaning veiled in allegories77. Furthermore, beyond the perception of some texts as sacred (e.g. Homer, Hesiod) and requiring an allegorical exegesis, the neoplatonic philosophers used clear oracular texts. This is an apparent contradiction: the oracles quoted by the Neoplatonics or the ones created by them are clear, but they express philosophical and theological concepts requiring an exegesis. The axis oracle-obscuritas moves from the level of form-meaning to the level of meaning alone: they are no ORQJHUȖȡ૙ijȠȚWR be solved, but sacred texts78. Moreover, the theosophical oracle supported by a philosophical exegesis recalls in its typology of form and content some conceptual categories developed in the neoplatonic school, which led to the enhancement of the “indirect language” in terms of esthetic and poetic and of textual exegesis. The interest of the neoplatonic schools for the oracular production can be seen in the theoretical speculation on the divination79, in the adoption of the allegorical exegesis and in the production of collections of philosophical and theological oracles which were probably anthologies of texts followed by a commentary functional to a pedagogic iter. Porphyry himself writes a collection of oracles known as Ȇİȡ੿ IJોȢਥțȜȠȖ઀ȦȞijȚȜȠıȠij઀ĮȢ(De philosophia ex oraculis haurienda) supported by commentaries declaring that Ƞ੝ į੻ Ȗ੹ȡȠੂ șİȠ੿ ijĮȞİȡ૵Ȣʌİȡ੿ Į੝IJ૵Ȟਥș੼ıʌȚıĮȞਕȜȜ੹ įȚ ĮੁȞȚȖȝ੺IJȦȞ80. Another example of the function of the oracles in a neoplatonic context is the famous oracle concerning Plotinus’ soul81 with some obscure passages which are understood by Porphyry in an arbitrary way coherent with the neoplatonic thought82. Thanks to the oracular questions of the quoted text, we can observe an 77

Jul. Or. 7.12-14 Guido. This does not mean a total elimination of all the rhetoric devices typical of the obscure oracles as, for example, the amphibologies and semantic polyvalence. 79 Derived from the platonic reflections in Plato Phaedr. 244b-HHJ3RUSKEp. ad Anebon,DPEODe mysteriis 3. About the prophetic inspiration corresponding to a total possession by the divinity see Sheppard 1993. 80 Eus. PE 4.8.2. Busine 2005, 243. 81 Hypotheses on the real or fictitious origin of the oracle: Busine 2005, 303-5. 82 For a commentary to the oracle see Goulet 1982 and Busine 2005, 296-315. 78

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affinity to the philosophical TXDHVWLRQHV83. An example of the correlation between oracular questions and school exercises is testified by Eusebius who speaks about paideia’s oracles84. The enhancement of oracular poetry is a result of a cultural milieu and seems to be derived from the enhancement of enigmatic language and allegorical exegesis and from the assonance between the oracular theological TXDHVWLRQHs and the philosophical ones. The enigmatic expressions of oracular texts and the need for an explanation were a topic in fifth century AD. The historian Zosimos, surprised by the absence of oracles about the fortune of Constantinople, decided to consult the historical texts and the oracular collections in order to see if there were traces of oracles concerning the fortune of the City85 and after much research he discovered an oracle of the Erythraean Sybil or of Phennos of Epyrus. Even if this consultation seems to be fictitious and the testimony derives from the historian Eunapios, it mirrors the need in pagan context to create an oracle about Constantinople showing the probability of a research of this kind and of the existence of oracular collections at that time86. After having quoted the oracle, Zosimos tries to give an exegesis declaring that IJȠ૨IJȠ IJઁ ȜંȖȚȠȞ ʌ੺ȞIJĮ ȝ੻Ȟ ੪Ȣ İੁʌİ૙Ȟ ਫ਼ʌİȝijĮ૙ȞȠȞ੕ȞIJȦȢțĮ੿ ਥȞĮੁȞ઀ȖȝĮıȚ87. Zosimos has difficulty in explaining the oracle and he feels the need to defend the text from the charge that between its emission and its realisation too much time has lapsed, arguing that human time is nothing compared to divine time. It is not surprising to find, at the end of fifth century AD, in the collection known as Theosophy of Tübingen, a theological oracle, defined as paradoxical, concerning the 83

The late antique oracles reproduce the dialectical movement represented by the dialogue between the ਥȞıIJĮIJȚțંȢ DQG WKH ȜȣIJȚțંȢ ZKLFK PLUURUV WKH UHODWLRQVKLS between teacher and student. We do not want to declare that they are adapted to the oracles, but that the oracles and the philosophical TXDHVWLRQHV mirror a zethetic method characteristic of the late antique conceptual categories and developed in schools (and mainly in the Alexandrian ones). 84 Eus. PE 5.18.1. See Busine 2005, 334 and Gigli Piccardi 2011b, 3. In De Pyth. or. 408c 4 Plutarch declares: ਥʌ੿ ʌȡ੺ȖȝĮıȚ ȝȚțȡȠ૙Ȣ țĮ੿ įȘȝȠIJȚțȠ૙Ȣ ਥȡઆIJȘıİȚȢ ȠੈȠȞ ਥȞ ıȤȠȜૌ ʌȡȠIJ੺ıİȚȢ, İੁ ȖĮȝȘIJ੼ȠȞ, İੁ ʌȜİȣıIJ੼ȠȞ, İੁ įĮȚȞİıIJ੼ȠȞ. It is not by chance that in the Sortes Astrampsychi the oracular questions are identified as rhetoric hypoteseis with a note as title: ਕȡȤ੽ IJ૵Ȟ ȗȘIJȘȝȐIJȦȞ PVV (/0 țȜȒȡȦȞ FHWW  This explanation can be found in the same initial epistle (omitted by M.): țİȓıșȦ ȗȘIJİ૙ȞIJȚȞ੹ İੁ ʌȡȠțȩʌIJİȚȞਥȞIJȚȝૌ. 85 Zos. Hist.nov. 2.36.2. 86 The oracle quoted by Zosimos is composed of two different oracles. See Paschoud 2000, 254-259. 87 Zos. Hist.nov. 2.37.2.

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cult in the future. Apollo declares that ਥȡȘȝĮ૙ȠȢ į੻ ȜİȜİ઀ȥİIJĮȚ Ƞ੝įઁȢ ਕij੾IJȦȡ. The definition of the threshold as ਕijȒIJȦȡ is interpreted by the commentator in this way: ਲ ijȜȚ੹ IJȠ૨ ȝĮȞIJİ઀Ƞȣ ਲ ਕijȚİ૙ıĮ țĮ੿ ʌ੼ȝʌȠȣıĮ ʌȡઁȢIJ੹ ਥȞIJઁȢIJȠઃȢȝĮȞIJİ઄İıșĮȚȕȠȣȜȠȝ੼ȞȠȣȢ. This exegesis recalls some ancient Homeric scholia, commentaries and lexica, where the epithet was JORVVHG DV IJȠȟȩIJȘȢRU DV੒ȝȠij੾IJȦȡ or as ਕıĮijȒIJȦȡ88. Porphyry was the only one who associated the adjective to ਕijȓȘȝȚnot to designate Apollo as an arrow shooter, but țĮ੿ ੒ ਥȞ ǻİȜijȠ૙Ȣ șİઁȢ ਕij੾IJȦȡ ੒ ʌȠȜȣij੾IJȦȡ țĮ੿ ʌȠȜȜ੹ȢਕijȚİ੿Ȣij੾ȝĮȢ89. In conclusion we can speak of a phenomenon, concerning mostly the fourth and fifth centuries AD, which can be called “cultural mantization”90. This led to a re-use and resematization of the mantic knowledge through the creation of theological/theosophical oracles and through a resematization of the classical texts thanks to an allegorical exegesis. This phenomenon can be traced in the influence of oracular poetry on the late antique poems91, in the mentions of Apollonian oracles, in the assimilation of poet and philosopher to prophet92 and in the sacralization of books spread in pagan and Christian contexts. In the Christian context this sacralization is mirrored by the conception of the prophetic word of the Old Testament as annunciation of Christ. The true Christian oracle is in opposition to the false pagan ones. Among the false pagan oracles some have been recovered for their elements linked to Christianity93 and ancient oracular sanctuaries have been re-used. For instance the oracular source Castalia, near Antiochia, was adopted by Praulios, a Christian priest who recited the true oracles: the Bible94. It usually represented the conversion of an oracular sanctuary in a church and the marvellous discovery of an oracle containing Christian truth95 or 88

For all the discussion see Gigli Piccardi 2011a, 72 and 2011b, 11. Porph. Quaest.hom. ad Il.14.200.47. 90 This new definition has been given by my Professor, Daria Gigli Piccardi, during a comparison about the function of oracles in Late Antiquity. See also Gigli Piccardi 2011b. 91 Gigli 2009 and 2012. 92 Poets like Homer, Hesiod (Jul. Or. 4.136b), philosophers like Pythagoras, Plato, Aristotle, the followers of Chrisyppus and Zenon (e.g. Jul. Ep. 89.300d), orators like Demosthenes, Lysias and historians like Herodotus and Thucydides (e.g. Jul. Ep. 61.423a), are considered prophets. The most divine couple is composed of Homer and Plato also among the Christian authors (e.g. Clem.Al. Str. 2.19.102, 5.14.106). 93 E.g. Lact. Inst.div. 4.18.11. 94 Eud. S.Cypr. 12-19 Bevegni. See Agosti 2003, 551-554 and 2007-2008, 25. 95 Theos(UEVH6RFUHist.eccl. 4.8. 89

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the removal of a pagan demon thanks to a Christian saint such as in the case of the oracle of Daphne made silent by the vicinity of Saint Babila’s tomb which was hence moved away96. To sum up, on the one hand the circulation of theological/theosophical oracles about the essence of divinity required a clear language, as the example of Maximus shows, on the other hand a great role in the modification of oracles’ style was played by cynics and Christians who criticized obscurity as a lack of style. Pagan oracles were re-used, modified or recreated by Christians in order to demonstrate the clear Christian truth97.

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Overmark Juul, L. 2010. Oracular Tales in Pausanias. University Press of Southern Denmark. Patillon, M. 1988. /D WKpRULH GX GLVFRXUV FKH] +HUPRJqQH OH UKpWHXU. Paris: Les Belles Lettres. —. 2002. Pseudo-Aelius Aristide: Arts rhétoULTXHV. Paris: Les Belles Lettres. Pépin, J. 1976. 0\WKH HW DOOpJRULH OHV RULJLQHV JUHFTXHV HW OHV contestations judéo-chrétiennes, 2nd ed. Paris: Études augustiniennes. Robinson, T. L. 1981. Theological oracles and the sanctuaries of Claros and Didyma. Dissertation. Harvard. Sheppard, A.D.R. 1980. 6WXGLHV RQ WKH th DQG th Essays on Proclus’ Commentary on Republic. Göttingen: Vandenhoeck-Ruprecht. Struck, P. 2005. ³'LYLQDWLRQDQGOLWHUDU\FULWLFLVP"” In 0DQWLNp6WXGLHVLQ ancient divination, ed. S.I. Johnston, and P.T. Druck, 147-165. Leiden: Brill. —. 1995. 0D[LPXV RI 7\UH 7KH 3KLORVRSKLFDO 2UDWLRQV. Oxford: Clarendon Press. Valgiglio, E. 1992. Gli RUDFROLGHOOD3L]LD3OXWDUFR. Napoli: D’Auria.

EN TORNO AL VOCABULARIO RELIGIOSO HELENÍSTICO: TEMIS Y DIKE EN EUFORIÓN Y SU HIPOTEXTO HESIÓDICO JOSEP A. CLÚA SERENA UNIVERSITAT DE LLEIDA

En este trabajo1, continuación de otro publicado a raíz de un congreso celebrado en Lyon, y gracias a la aportación de Antje Koldie en otro trabajo anterior suyo al respecto de Dike y Temis, se intenta rastrear, en parte, aspectos léxicos y la importancia literaria del tratamiento de Euforión de Calcis de unas figuras religiosas tan bien descritas en Hesíodo (y en la épica en general y en Esquilo en particular), así como sus variaciones y contrastes. Por supuesto que este tema, tan amplio per se, merece un desarrollo que ahora sólo esbozamos tangencialmente, a la espera de ulteriores publicaciones. Mientras que en época arcaica griega el término į઀țȘ tanto puede significar el ejercicio del poder como la misma justicia, en Esquilo, concretamente, también la diosa Dike pone orden o lo restablece, como “diosa de la Razón”, destruyendo o transformando a las Erinias en las Euménides. Con todo, a veces, į઀țȘ (“justicia”) aparece como nombre común y lo encontramos emparentado junto a ੁıȤ઄Ȣ (“fuerza”), con la que se alía: ੖ʌȠȣ Ȗ੹ȡ ੁıȤઃȢ ıȣȗȣȖȠ૨ıȚ țĮ੿ į઀țȘ, / ʌȠ઀Į ȟȣȞȦȡ੿Ȣ IJ૵Ȟįİ țĮȡIJİȡȦIJ੼ȡĮ (TrGF F 381).

Asimismo en Solón, hallamos a į઀țȘ aunándose con ȕ઀Ș:

1

Se inserta en el proyecto FFI2011-26405 “Estudios sobre el vocabulario religioso griego”, dirigido por Esteban Calderón. Quiero dedicárselo al prof. Emilio Suárez de la Torre, colega y agudo conocedor de la literatura, religión y magia griegas.

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IJĮ૨IJĮ ȝ੻Ȟ țȡ੺IJİȚ / ੒ȝȠ૨ ȕ઀ȘȞ IJİ țĮ੿ į઀țȘȞ ȟȣȞĮȡȝંıĮȢ / ਩ȡİȟĮ țĮ੿ įȚોȜșȠȞ ੪Ȣ ਫ਼ʌİıȤંȝȘȞ. (F 36 West).

A su vez, en Hesíodo aparece una doncella, Dike, hija de Zeus y de Temis, que, cuando es ultrajada arbitrariamente por los mortales, leemos que opta por algo insólito quizá para los ojos modernos. En efecto, acude presurosa (Į੝IJ઀țĮ utiliza Hesíodo) al Olimpo y se sienta al lado de su padre Zeus para proclamar lo contrario que su homónimo nombre personifica: la injusticia de los hombres. En el poeta de Ascra nos hallamos ante la dicotomía “polis justa, siguiendo a Dike e injusta” (Op. 219-247), mientras asistimos a la moraleja de “polis justa e injusta” (248-251), así como a la de “inmortales como custodios de la Justicia” (252-262), o lo que es lo mismo, la lección moral de Dike para los soberanos y el triste lamento al que ahora nos referiremos, apelando a Zeus (263-273). En concreto, en Hesíodo leemos a propósito de Dike: ਲ įȑ IJİ ʌĮȡșȑȞȠȢ ਥıIJ੿ ǻȓțȘ, ǻȚઁȢ ਥțȖİȖĮȣ૙Į, țȣįȡȒ IJૃ ĮੁįȠȓȘ IJİ șİ૵Ȟ, Ƞ੄ ਜ਼ȜȣȝʌȠȞ ਩ȤȠȣıȚȞ. țĮȓ ૧ૃ ੒ʌȩIJૃ ਙȞ IJȓȢ ȝȚȞ ȕȜȐʌIJૉ ıțȠȜȚ૵Ȣ ੑȞȠIJȐȗȦȞ, Į੝IJȓțĮ ʌ੹ȡ ǻȚ੿ ʌĮIJȡ੿ țĮșİȗȠȝȑȞȘ ȀȡȠȞȓȦȞȚ ȖȘȡȪİIJૃ ਕȞșȡȫʌȦȞ ਙįȚțȠȞ ȞȩȠȞ, ੕ijȡૃ ਕʌȠIJȓıૉ įોȝȠȢ ਕIJĮıșĮȜȓĮȢ ȕĮıȚȜȑȦȞ, Ƞ੄ ȜȣȖȡ੹ ȞȠİ૨ȞIJİȢ ਙȜȜૉ ʌĮȡțȜȓȞȦıȚ įȓțĮȢ ıțȠȜȚ૵Ȣ ਥȞȑʌȠȞIJİȢ. IJĮ૨IJĮ ijȣȜĮııȩȝİȞȠȚ, ȕĮıȚȜોȢ, ੁșȪȞİIJİ †įȓțĮȢ įȦȡȠijȐȖȠȚ, ıțȠȜȚȑȦȞ į੻ įȚțȑȦȞ ਥʌ੿ ʌȐȖȤȣ ȜȐșİıșİ. Ƞੈ Ȗૃ Į੝IJ૶ țĮț੹ IJİȪȤİȚ ਕȞ੽ȡ ਙȜȜ૳ țĮț੹ IJİȪȤȦȞ, ਲ į੻ țĮț੽ ȕȠȣȜ੽ IJ૶ ȕȠȣȜİȪıĮȞIJȚ țĮțȓıIJȘ. (Op. 256-266)

Y es que en Trabajos y días se responde, en definitiva, al mismo afán que el poeta expresa en su Teogonía: le interesa el NyVPRV y su NyVPRV (orden), que sólo Zeus salvaguarda, quizá con la propia ayuda de Dike, y es amansado entre los hombres. Porque es lo que caracteriza a los hombres, cuando estos se ocupan de la injusticia, descuidan a Dike y menosprecian el trabajo, con la complacencia de los jueces “devoradores de regalos” (39). De hecho, Hesíodo introdujo al comienzo de su poema teogónico el tema de la discordia (eris) como eje fundamental del poema y el linaje de la discordia es doble, por cuanto una es positiva, beneficiosa para el común de los mortales, mientras que la otra, mucho más infausta y reprobable, sólo produce “reyertas y guerras” (Th. 11-26). En Trabajos y días se produce otra eris entre hermanos, por cierto algo que no es nada nuevo por cuanto aparece ya en las mitologías y en la

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religiosidad del Próximo Oriente, y Hesíodo se ve obligado a asumir un “yo” que se coloca en el ámbito de Zeus y de las Musas, como contraponiéndolo a Perses, su hermano. Quizá, en este sentido, no sea baladí el recordar que en el ámbito de Perses se colocan los reyes injustos y su insolencia correspondiente. Euforión prefirió una épica más hesiódica (a la que ya nos hemos referido) que homérica. Se esfuerza por un trabajo de cincel, como Calímaco, y de ahí la poca importancia que atribuye a la religiosidad antigua, porque su interés es el ਕȝ੺ȡIJȣȡȠȞ Ƞ੝į੻Ȟ ਕİ઀įȦ más que las vicisitudes de Temis o Dike, que utiliza como referencia o marco de ornamentación más que como disquisición de pseudo-cariz “religioso”. Los poetas helenísticos, y Euforión entre ellos, son más “epílicos” que “KRPHULNRt” e incluso, cuando Calímaco utiliza a los Telquines o Euforión a Dike / Temis lo hacen como exhibición de su “savoir faire” artístico o como, en el caso del poeta de Cirene, como autodefensa. En un excelente trabajo precedente sobre alusividad literaria y las consabidas variationes sobre textos hesiódicos, Gallego Real señala una idea importante para nuestro propósito, en el sentido de que Arato aprovecha Phaenomena para realizar una exaltación de las teorías estoicas, procurando ese paso que Hesíodo deja entrever en una actitud a medio camino entre la filosofía y la religiosidad, en la mísma línea de la afirmación de Cusset (1999, 329): “Comme Hésiode, Callimaque et ses contemporains écrivent à la manière d’Homère auquel ils empruntent beaucoup, mais ils cherchent aussi à se démarquer. Cependant, la perspective d’Hésiode n’est pas celle des Alexandrins”. En efecto, Hesíodo utiliza el hexámetro épico con naturalidad oral para elevar la nobleza de sus contenidos. Los poetas helenísticos recuperan a Hesíodo por afán de erudición, desde una perspectiva escrita. Recogen de lo hesiódico lo que le diferencia de Homero, que vendrá a ser principalmente la temática y la forma didáctica. También recuerda Gallego: “De forma general, la mayoría de los autores considera que el texto carece de coherencia estructural, aunque mantiene una línea programática que sirve como trabazón de la obra sobre el tema de la justicia y el trabajo”. En cambio, conviene recordar que entre las diversas partes en las que la obra hesiódica estuvo dividida, aparece, de acuerdo con la edición de Mazón (1928), una parte que hace referencia a la Justicia (Dike), ya aludida en 202-285, justo antes de los consejos generales sobre el trabajo y los trabajos del campo. Volvamos sobre Euforión y, en concreto, sobre la denominación de la composición euforionea Quilíadas, en donde influyó la creencia de origen ciertamente pitagórico de que la venganza de los dioses (la IJ઀ıȚȢ que

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aparece en el Tracio de Euforión) hace notar sus efectos por espacio de mil años. En otro lugar2 ya hemos señalado que el propio Pitágoras nos corroboraba dicha creencia, según Jámblico (VP 8.42), y el argumento era la explicación de los vaticinios utilizadRV SRU VXVSURSyVLWRV H[SOLFDFLyQ extensa y prolija de cada uno de ellos. De hecho, las palabras de Pitágoras concuerdan con la noticia que tenemos de las Quilíadas de Euforión que nos ha proporcionado la Suda: įȚ੹ ȤȚȜ઀ȦȞ ਥIJ૵Ȟ ȤȡȘıȝȠઃȢ ਕʌȠIJİȜİıș੼ȞIJĮȢ. Una tradición pitagórica que creemos vinculada, ya sea como punto de referencia, o en estrecha dependencia, a la tradición bíblica y al orfismo. En realidad parece un punto común, pues la Elegía a las Musas de Solón nos recuerda también que la justicia dHORVGLRVHVVHUHDOL]DVLHPSUH si se produce dilación en el castigo, pagarán la sentencia o los hijos o la posterior descendencia, en parangón con el Éxodo bíblico (33.7-.5b9.28), unas plegarias dirigidas a Dios que son como una réplica a la tradición pitagórica: “Señor, señor, Dios compasivo y misericordioso, lento en ira y rico en clemencia y lealtad. Misericordioso hasta la milésima generación, que perdona culpa, delito y pecado, pero no deja impune y castiga la culpa de los padres en los hijos y nietos, hasta la tercera y cuarta generación”. También en el Orfismo se desconfiaba de la justicia terrenal y se apuntaba a una justicia más allá de la tumba. No estamos, pues, de acuerdo en ver una única tradición pitagórica en lugar de un locus communis respecto a los oráculos milenarios de las Quilíadas de Euforión3. A. Barigazzi4, uno de los máximos conocedores de la poesía de Euforión, señaló hace años que había también una tradición platónica5 y peripatética que, para combatir el hedonismo, recogía anécdotas, ejemplos numerosos de individuos o de pueblos enteros sobre los que había caído el castigo divino por su vida dedicada al placer, tal como, por ejemplo, nos lo

2

Cf. Clúa 2005 y 2013. Puede verse dicha problemática en Magnelli 2003 o bien en la última edición de Acosta-Hughes y Cusset 2012 y en E. Brunet-Prioux 2007. 3 Incluso el propio A. Barigazzi parece descuidar cualquier referencia a la tradición judía y al orfismo en sus trabajos. La crítica, en general, se ha mostrado reacia a señalar esta comparación. 4 Barigazzi, 1948, 57. Por otra parte, también Treves 1965, 161 acepta como plausible la teoría de Barigazzi acerca de la reconstrucción ideológico-filosófica del poema las Quilíadas en el ámbito de la polémica anti-epicúrea de los académicos y peripatéticos, de quienes fue discípulo, según parece, el propio Euforión. 5 Platón (Phdr. 244d) nos explica que había una mántica especial para la liberación de los males ancestrales provenientes de venganzas divinas.

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documenta Heráclides Póntico, discípulo de Platón y de Aristóteles o el mismo Clearco. El poeta de Calcis tomó exempla éticos como, por ejemplo, el mito de los sibaritas o el de los feneacios. Así, por ejemplo, el F 84 Cusset – Acosta-+XJKHV   &O~D   /LJKWIRRW  GHO SURSLR (XIRULyQ VREUH ਝȝijȠȡİઃȢ ȂİIJȡȘIJ੾Ȣ de Rodas iba bien con la ejemplificación adoptada contra el hedonismo por los peripatéticos, ya que era un ijȚȜંįİȚʌȞȠȢ. Euforión conoció esta “tradición” platónica y peripatética –al menos si se reconoce la maestría de Lácides y Prítanis6– y la tuvo en cuenta. Con todo, el “voluptuoso” Euforión, frente al daño que consideraba el placer y en pugna con los peripatéticos, asumió aquella temática como un exemplum para un asunto totalmente diferente: augurar a los “posibles” ladrones de sus posesiones (si es que no se trata de un “ludus” quizá, como veremos) lo que les esperaba en un futuro. Quisiéramos referirnos, siquiera brevemente y dejando toda la ingente casuística, a las maldiciones en verso elegíaco. En efecto, conviene mencionar la Ibis de Calímaco y la de Ovidio, sin olvidar tampoco los Erotes de Fanocles. No queda ningún fragmento de Ibis de Calímaco: la mejor fuente para saber algo de esta obra es aún la Ibis ovidiana. Aquí se dice (v. 57) que Calímaco usó leyendas funestas (XWTXH LOOH [Calímaco] historiis involvam carmina caecis...). Además, ambas obras tenían siempre delante de ellas al adversario, y eran más líricas que las Araí de Euforión. En efecto, en el poeta de Calcis la invectiva no tenía tanto un carácter lírico como épico. Y aquel carácter lírico hacía que la narración fuese más monótona y pesada, llena de comparaciones insistentes como aut...aut, et...et y especialmente ut, TXDOLV... sic. Ignoramos si las maldiciones que Calímaco pronunció eran las que aparecían en Ovidio. Algunos opinan que sí7. Si mencionamos los rasgos característicos de los poemas imprecatorios euforioneos para entender mejor el alcance y la figura de Dike en Euforión, convengamos en el hecho de que todo estudioso de este tipo de poesía “docta y alejandrina” debe hacerse una pregunta que consideramos básica para entender los propósitos de Euforión: ¿Cómo es que coexisten en las Quilíadas de Euforión oráculos y maldiciones (con la existencia de Dike), mientras que este no es el caso de los otros dos poemas de araí HXIRULRQHRV" (Q efecto, somos del parecer que el poeta de Calcis necesitaba una prueba ante sus “enemigos” (ficticios o reales) del 6

Cf. de Cuenca 1976, pág. 8 sobre la polémica suscitada por estos nombres y, a la vez, sobre la cronología euforionea. 7 Cf., por ejemplo, Trypanis 1978, 30, o la edición de Hollis 1999, 25.

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cumplimiento efectivo y seguro de las imprecaciones que él mismo profería. Buscó entonces exempla de oráculos míticos que habían sido confirmados durante un periodo de tiempo de mil años (įȚ੹ ȤȚȜȚ૵Ȟ ਥIJ૵Ȟ y de aquí el título Chiliades), que en latín tradujo Voss como oracula annorum mille eventu comprobata. Por si fuera poco, nos consta que, a veces, el poeta se llamaba a sí mismo profeta (cf. Ibis de Ovidio). Aquella seguridad en sus auspicios y aquella inspiración le provenían de la divinidad (a menudo Apolo, quien llevaba a cabo sus oráculos de manera irrevocable). Cuando no encontramos ningún oráculo –como es el caso de las Araí y del Tracio– la seguridad en el cumplimiento de las maldiciones nos viene dada entonces por Dike o por cualquier otra divinidad. Ahora bien, mientras las Araí y el Tracio cuentan con exempla para sus imprecaciones, las Quilíadas tienen, a su vez, oracula. Y esto viene FRQILUPDGR SRU ORV SURSLRV IUDJPHQWRV FRQVHUYDGRV HQ ORV SULPHURV poemas mencionados no encontramos ninguna alusión a un oráculo. En las Quilíadas, por lo que sabemos, tampoco puede hablarse de la existencia de una DUi. Son, pues, obras diferentes, a pesar de que la imprecación –con exempla aut oracula– esté presente en todas ellas. Las cosas se complican cuando aceptamos como plausible la hipótesis, que no todos los estudiosos consideran posible o factible, a saber, un posible paígnion en el Tracio de Euforión y de una pseudo-justicia, de la mano de Dike, que ya fue corroborada por unas sugerentes líneas de H. Lloyd-Jones (1983, 199), que nos parecen contundentes. En ellas se asevera que en el Tracio aparecen algunas muestras de humor, pero que no todos los críticos se han percatado de este “savoir faire” del poeta. Si la persona asesinada a la que se hace referencia al final del poema es humana, su “fatum” es expuesto de un modo que parece curiosamente un tanto “perfunctorio”. Pero si, como sospecha Lloyd-Jones, es un animal de compañía o un pájaro, no existe ninguna dificultad en entender el pasaje. Por tanto, si los responsables de llevar a cabo la venganza, en la tradición peripatética, eran los dioses, las divinidades, en Euforión y en todo el género imprecatorio son Dike y los dioses, y no sólo los dioses como afirma Barigazzi (1948, 38). En efecto, Dike, como Temis, aparece en el Tracio castigando los delitos (con pie Ȗȡ੼ȚȠȞ, al que aludía A. Kolde (2006, 149), adjetivo que producía el mencionado oxímoron (contraste evidente) con el ੯țĮ del verso del Tracio de Euforión. Pero, recordémoslo, en las Araí es Ártemis la encargada de perseguir con sus flechas al ladrón de la copa, y es también Ártemis quien se venga, en F 129 y 134, pertenecientes posiblemente a las Quilíadas. Por lo tanto, esto demuestra dos cosas: la introducción de una divinidad, Dike, por parte

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de Euforión, que ya era común y exclusiva del género imprecatorio. Y por otro lado, que esta referencia a Dike no es única, ya que el poeta de Calcis escogió otras divinidades que tuvieran también encargada la venganza del delito. Y en esto Euforión no deja de lado la tradición platónica y peripatética. Llegados a la hora de recapitular brevemente, digamos que Dike aparece en la tradición religiosa griega citada ya en la misma Odisea 11. 218, o en Esquilo Ch. 193, e incluso Platón la toma como referente en Lg. 705e, y en muchas otras obras suyas, que ahora sería prolijo citar. Quizá sea el autor que aparece más citado en los diccionarios, pero como justicia personificada quien se atreve a citarla por primera vez quizá sea Hesíodo y Esquilo en Th. 662. Como venganza o como castigo, el mismo Esquilo en Ch. 311 o Sófocles en El. 528, y debemos citar Antígona para recordar a Dike infernal, es decir, a las Erinias, encargadas de las venganza de los muertos y del castigo de los atentados con derecho de parentesco. Sin embargo, en Euforión, como hemos dicho, con su oxímoron, su lectura nos lleva a pensar que la alusión a Dike se ha vuelto más “literaturizada”, y quizá no aporte tanto en el terreno de la religión griega como sí lo hace su poesía en su conjunto, pero bebe de muchas fuentes, como hemos visto, y entre estas cabe destacar la misma tradición peripatética y hasta el mismo orfismo y de ahí la importancia de su alusión para la historia de la religión en época helenística. Por lo demás, su estudio como poeta leptós, que vuelve a estar de moda desde la recientísima edición de Cusset y Acosta-Hughes, que ahora sólo iniciamos, para lo que partíamos del hipotexto hesiódico porque es justo iniciarlo ahí, puede verter luz sobre un tema en que la misma Safo, a la que denominaba “'tND”, se siguió apoyando, como Esquilo o como Eurípides (p. ej. Her. 104) para lograr apaciguar sus despechos.

Obras Citadas Acosta-Hughes, B., and C. Cusset 2012. (XSKRULRQ 2HXYUH SRpWLTXH HW autres fragments. Paris: Les Belles Lettres. Barigazzi, A. 1948. “Euphorionea.” Athenaeum 26: 34-64. Brunet-Prioux, E. 2007. Regards alexandrins – Histoire et théorie des arts GDQVO¶pSLJUDPPHKHOOpQLVWLTXH. Louvain: Peeters. Clúa, J. A. 2005. Estudios sobre la poesía de Euforión de Calcis. Cáceres: UNEX. —. 2013. “Euphorion, la malédiction mythique et la comicité intentionnelle.” In Euphorion et les mythes: textes et images, ed. C.

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Cusset, E. Prioux, and H. Richer 267-280. Napoles: Cahiers de la Collection du Centre Jean Bérard. Cusset, Ch. 1999. /D 0XVH GDQV OD %LEOLRWKqTXH. Réécriture et intertextualité dans la poésie alexandrine. Paris: CNRS. De Cuenca, L.A. 1976. (XIRULyQ GH &DOFLV IUDJPHQWRV \ HSLJUDPDV. Madrid, Fundación Pastor de Estudios Clásicos. Gallego, A.L. 2004. El hipotexto hesiódico en los Phaenomena de Arato. Amsterdam: Hakkert. Hollis, A.S. 2009. Callimachus. Hecale, 2nd. ed. Oxford: Clarendon Press. Kolde, A. 2006. “Euphorion de Chalcis, poète hellénistique.” In Beyond the Canon, ed. M.A. Harder et al. 141-166. Leuven: Peeters. Lightfoot, J.L. 2009. +HOOHQLVWLF&ROOHFWLRQ3KLOLWDV$OH[DQGHURI$HWROLD +HUPHVLDQD[ (XSKRULRQ 3DUWKHQLXV Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. Lloyd-Jones, H., and P. Parsons, 1983. Supplementum Hellenisticum, Berlin: de Gruyter. Magnelli, E. 2003. Studi su Euforione. Roma: Quasar. Treves, P. 1965. “Euforione e i poeti latini.´ Maia 17: 158-176. Trypanis, C.A. 1978. &DOOLPDFKXV $HWLD ,DPEH +HFDOH DQG RWKHU fragments. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press.

INTERTEXTUALITY AND THE CULTIC DIMENSION IN LYCOPHRON’S REWRITING OF MYTH: IPHIGENIA AND CHILDBIRTH GIULIA BIFFIS UNIVERSITY COLLEGE LONDON

In Lycophron’s Alexandra Cassandra herself is presented as uttering a long prophecy that not only foresees the fall of Troy and its aftermath, but also refers to some of the events leading up to these happenings. Among them, Cassandra describes the sacrifice of Iphigenia at the hands of Agamemnon (Al. 183-191). This passage stands out for its original presentation of the myth. Lycophron characterises Iphigenia in a very different way from that canonised by the previous literary tradition, in which the heroine is especially distinguished by her innocent virginal nature. Alexandra portrays Iphigenia at the time of her sacrifice as a pregnant woman, and makes her slaughter coincide with the birth of Neoptolemus1. This idiosyncratic representation has not yet been properly 1

The earliest literary reference to this mythical episode is in Hesiod’s Catalogue (fr. 23a M-W 24-26, where Iphigenia is called Iphimede), later in Stasinos (Cypr. fr. 23 PEG S  6FKRO Il. 1. 108-109) and in Proclus (Chrest. PEG p. 41) and then in Aeschylus’ Agamemnon 221 ff. The account of the myth followed by Lycophron, which presents Iphigenia both as Helen’s and Theseus’ daughter (e.g. AlDQG6FKRO/\FDOVRLQ+HOOFGrHist )3KHUFGrHist ) 3DXV 6WHVIUPMG(XSKIUCA$OH[$HWIUCA) and as mother of Neoptolemus, is also attested in Duris of Samos (FGrHist 76 F 88 and   VHH 2NLQ  -102. Geffcken 1892, 573 suggested that Lycophron and Duris of Samos shared a common source in Stesichorus. Also Nicander (Ant. Lib. 27) endorses the same genealogy and puts Neoptolemus’ birth in Tauris, after Artemis confers immortality on Iphigenia. Differently from Lycophron’s account, both Duris of Samos and Nicander tell us that Iphigenia gives birth to Neoptolemus after having been rescued from being sacrificed. On the sources of this myth see Aretz 1999, 47-229.

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explored by the scholarship on Lycophron and might also attract the attention of those interested in the cults of ancient Greece. On the one hand, the description offers a strong example of how Alexandra skilfully reinterprets the literary tradition in accordance with its internal narrative FRKHUHQFH RQ WKH Rther, it might constitute a piece of evidence for the aetiological study of the figure of Iphigenia and its relationship with the cult sphere of Artemis. Indeed, this paper intends to show that Lycophron might add further literary evidence for the worship of Iphigenia at Brauron in addition to Euripides’ testimony in Iphigenia among the Taurians, in which Athena predicts that the clothes of women who have died in childbirth will be dedicated to Iphigenia in the sanctuary of Artemis (E. IT. 1465-1467)2. Cassandra’s description of how the Greeks sacrificed Iphigenia in order to propitiate fair winds and sail for Troy is as follows (Lyc. Al. 183187): Ƞੂįૅ Į੣ ʌȡȠȖİȞȞȒIJİȚȡĮȞȠ੝ȜĮȝȦȞȪȝȠȣ ȕȪțIJĮȚıȚȤİȡȞȓȥĮȞIJİȢ੩ȝȘıIJĮ੿ʌȩȡȚȞ IJȠ૨ȈțȣȡȓȠȣįȡȐțȠȞIJȠȢ਩ȞIJȠțȠȞȜİȤȫ…3

This truculent description of the slaughter of a pregnant woman casts a horrible shadow over the Greek army that will shortly attack Troy. The Greeks turn out to be cruel barbarians who literally consume as “flesheaters” ੩ȝȘıIJĮȓ the sacrificed body of Iphigenia. The passage is in the plural Ƞੂįૅ … ȤİȡȞȓȥĮȞIJİȢ੩ȝȘıIJĮȓ Agamemnon is absent from the scene. This strong opposition between Iphigenia and the entire Greek community echoes the antagonism between Cassandra and the Greeks throughout the poem. In these lines Iphigenia is cast as a victim of the 2

Scullion 2000 argues that these lines are an example of how cultic aetiologies in Euripides are inventions of the tragedian himself, either in relation to the aition or in some cases, as in this one, of the cult itself. Against this view see Seaford 2009, esp. 232-233, whose opinion I share. 3 “As flesh-eaters, (they shall sacrifice) to the winds the heifer, mother bearing a son named from the battle, the woman who is giving birth to the dragon of Skyros that she is carrying in her womb …” If we do not supply the verb ੆ȟȠȞIJĮȚon the basis of the previous lines (cf. Lyc. Al. 180), ȤİȡȞȓȥĮȞIJİȢ  is a suspended participle: Holzinger 1895, 194 and Ciaceri 1901, 162. The participle appears in ANtsch., while CDET attest the finite verb ȤİȡȞȓȥȠȣıȚ The verb is used in the active voice only here by Lycophron meaning ‘to sacrifice’, while the usual ȤİȡȞȓʌIJȠȝĮȚ means ‘to wash one’s hand with holy water’: LSJ (e.g. E. IT 622). Notice that the latest edition of the text (Hurst-Kolde 2008) marks a lacuna after line 185.

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enemies of Troy, like the Trojans themselves. Lycophron does not present the sacrifice of Iphigenia as a heroic death, as Euripides does in his Iphigenia in Aulis 1368-1401. Lycophron avoids any connection with myths concerning self-sacrifice of kings’ daughters for their communities’ benefit (e.g. the Hyakinthides, Aglauros etc.)4. Iphigenia is not a heroine who frees her people and establishes her own glorious death, but a woman victimised by the Greeks, like Cassandra herself and other women in the text. This idea is made stronger by the evident cross-references between this passage and the following portrayal of Polyxena VGHDWKDWWKHKDQGRI1HRSWROHPXV /\FAl. 323-329)5. Thus, on the one hand the death of Iphigenia strengthens Cassandra’s anti-Greek perspective by drawing attention to the GreeNV¶EUXWDOLW\RQWKHRWKHU, the same episode belongs to a series of events described in the prophecy that involves abuses against women and breakdown of the female transition to adulthood. Greeks conceive the female passage to womanhood to be a process rather than a cut-off moment, starting at puberty and ending with childbirth: an event that alone determines the full acquisition of female status within the community6. The world of myth explores the different ways in which heroines can fail to attain their full feminine nature, either before marriage (premarital death of a virgin, forced transition such as rape, clandestine love) or after, through a subversion of marriage itself (adultery and repudiation)7. Cassandra’s monologue shows a particular interest in perversion of womanhood due to the impairment of positive gender alignment. In the poem this concern seems to be intimately connected with Cassandra’s personal experience: Ajax’ sexual assault and her enslavement at the hand of Agamemnon8. Cassandra breaks down her own frustrated passage to womanhood from different interpretative angles by describing female destinies that conflict with the fulfilment of a proper marriage. Iphigenia 4

See Larson 1995, 101-103 and 104-106 and Kearns 1989, 58-60. Details in Ciampa 2004, 527-534. Polyxena is sacrificed at the grave of Achilles as compensation for the missed marriage with the hero as explicitly said in e.g. Procl. Chrest. PEG  ( Hec  DQG  ( Tr. 39, but not by Lycophron’s Cassandra, for whom Achilles is ‘captured’ by Troilus’ beauty (Al. 310-311). On the tradition of Polyxena’s death see Fontinoy 1950, 383- ZLWK VSHFLILF reference to Lycophron see Ciampa 2004, 520-524. 6 .LQJ   'RZGHQ   &ROH  - Swift 2010: 249. On how the birth of the first child determines the distinction between bride ȞȪȝijȘ  and woman ȖȣȞȒ see Chantraine 1968, 288-231. 7 Seaford 1987, 107. 8 See Biffis 2012, 94-101. 5

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and Polyxena are maidens who are denied the chance of marriage because of violent and premature death. Other maidens undergo rape and abduction, like Cassandra herself (e.g. the Leucippides 547- +HOHQ DQG ZKLOHVRPHZLYHVEHWUD\WKHLUKXVEDQGV HJ$HJLDOHLD 612- 0HGa 1213- &O\WHPQHVWUD 1099-1106). Cassandra’s mention of Iphigenia’s death during childbirth should be considered part of this series of examples of dysfunctional womanhood. Hence, this is the perspective from which I look at the passage in hand. The description of the sacrifice starts with a hapax referring to Iphigenia: ʌȡȠȖİȞȞȒIJİȚȡĮȞ  The scholia interpret it either as ‘mother’ or ‘ancestress’, but modern scholarship prefers the first interpretation. This accords well with the following mention of Neoptolemus, who is in fact the son of Iphigenia according to some sources. In addition, I interpret the expression ਩ȞIJȠțȠȞ ȜİȤȫ  as referring to the exact moment of childbirth, and translate thus: ‘while she gives birth to the child she is carrying in her womb’. It is important to preserve the meaning of ਩ȞIJȠțȠȞ as ‘pregnant’9 and that of ȜİȤȫ as ‘woman in childbed’10 in order to preserve the idea of an action caught at the time it occurs. Even though translators prefer to use locutions that convey the idea of a completed action, so that the birth can be set at a different time (most likely after Iphigenia’s divine rescue from the sacrifice, as in Duris of Samos’ testimony11), this is not what Cassandra is saying. An interpretation of the text by which Iphigenia is killed while still pregnant is strengthened by tracing a connection between this scene and the omen of the eagles eating a pregnant hare in the first parodos of Aeschylus’ Agamemnon (114-120)12. As in the Homeric omen of the sparrow and the snake (Il. 2.299-332)13, this omen refers to the fall of Troy 9 This word appears only here in the manuscript tradition, beside its occurrence much later in Gregorius Nyssenus (IV century): ‘with young’ (LSJ). 10 E.g. E. El. 652, 654, 1108 and A. Ec. 530 (LSJ) and specific for Lycophron Ciani 1975. On the semantic area shared by ȜİȤȫ ȜȑȤȠȢand ȜȩȤȠȢ see Chantraine 1968, 634-635. 11 See above no. 1. 12 I owe this connection to a suggestion kindly offered by Prof. Giambattista D’Alessio. A. Ag. 114-120: ȠੁȦȞ૵Ȟ ȕĮıȚȜİઃȢ ȕĮıȚȜİ૨ıȚ Ȟİ૵Ȟ ੒țİȜĮȚȞઁȢ ੖ IJૅ ਥȟȩʌȚȞ ਕȡȖ઼Ȣ  ijĮȞȑȞIJİȢ ੅țIJĮȡ ȝİȜȐșȡȦȞ ȤİȡઁȢ ਥț įȠȡȚʌȐȜIJȠȣ  ʌĮȝʌȡȑʌIJȠȚȢ ਥȞ ਪįȡĮȚıȚȞ  ȕȠıțȩȝİȞȠȚ ȜĮȖȓȞĮȞ ਥȡȚțȪȝȠȞĮ ijȑȡȝĮIJȚ ȖȑȞȞĮȞ ȕȜĮȕ੼ȞIJĮ ȜȠȚıșȓȦȞ įȡȩȝȦȞ “(...was sent off by the inspiring omen) appearing to the kings of the ships—kingly birds, [115] one black, one white of tail, near the palace, on the spear-hand, in a conspicuous place, devouring a hare with offspring unborn [120] caught in the last effort to escape” (adapted transl. H. W. Smyth, Loeb 1926). 13 Seaford 1989, 88-+HDWK

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and the end of the Trojan stock, but in the tragedy it also relates to Iphigenia’s death. Indeed, when Calchas explains that Artemis will be angry at the slaughter of a trembling hare and its young before birth (A. Ag. 134-138)14, he does not seem to refer exclusively to the destruction of Ilion, but also to the sacrifice of Iphigenia (209-247) 15. The first indicator of that is considered to be the verb șȣȠȝȑȞȠȚıȚȞ   which implies a sacrifice rather than a bestial attack16. The whole line 137 seems to present a subtle ambiguity, as it could be read, as Stanford suggests, either ‘killing a trembling hare and its young before their birth’, or ‘sacrificing a trembling, cowering woman, his own child, on behalf of the army’17. Lycophron seems to have taken the cue from this connection and established a relationship between Cassandra’s description of the sacrifice and the omen interpreted by Calchas in the tragedy18. While Iphigenia is ਩ȞIJȠțȠȞȜİȤȫ (Lyc. Al. 185), the hare is sacrificed Į੝IJȩIJȠțȠȞʌȡઁȜȩȤȠȣ (A. Ag. 137). In addition, Lycophron’s hapax ʌȡȠȖİȞȞȒIJİȚȡĮȞ  relates WR WKH LGHD RI SURJHQ\ VLPLODUO\ $HVFK\OXV¶ ORFXWLRQ ȜĮȖȓȞĮȞȖȑȞȞĮȞ (Ag. 119) makes the hare part of a proper lineage. Finally, Lycophron’s depiction of the Greeks as beastly eaters of their human sacrifice seems to recall Aeschylus’ humanization of the eagles that both eat ȕȠıțȠȝȑȞȦ 119) and then sacrifice șȣȠȝȑȞȠȚıȚȞ the hare19. Just as in Aeschylus the death of the pregnant hare is intended to stress the disastrous outcome 14

A. Ag. 134-138: «Ƞ੅țIJ૳Ȗ੹ȡਥʌȓijșȠȞȠȢਡȡIJİȝȚȢĮȖȞ੹ ʌIJĮȞȠ૙ıȚȞțȣı੿ʌĮIJȡઁȢ Į੝IJȩIJȠțȠȞʌȡઁȜȩȤȠȣȝȠȖİȡ੹ȞʌIJȐțĮșȣȠȝȑȞȠȚıȚā ıIJȣȖİ૙į੻įİ૙ʌȞȠȞĮੁİIJ૵Ȟ “...For, in her pity, holy Artemis is angry at the winged hounds of her father, for they sacrifice a wretched timorous thing, together with her young, before she has brought them forth. An abomination to her is the eagles’ feast” (Adapted transl. H. W. Smyth, Loeb, 1926). 15 For bibliography on the omen of the eagles and the hare and its relationship with the sacrifice of Iphigenia see Lloyd-Jones 1983, 87- &RQDFKHU  - Clinton 1988, 2- Seaford 1989, 89-Heath 1999, 400 and 404 n. 30. 16 Fraenkel 1950, ad loc. 17 Stanford 1939, 144: ʌIJȐȟ KDVDSULPDU\PHDQLQJRIµWLPRURXV¶ /6-  Į੝IJȩIJȠțȠȢ is found only here, but it echoes the attested Į੝IJȠIJȩțȠȢ ‘self-producing, selfSURGXFHG¶ VR µKLV RZQ FKLOG¶ ȜȩȤȠȢ KDV XVXDOO\ WKH PHDQLQJ RI µWURRS¶ ZKLOH ‘birth’ is a specifically Aeschylean acceptation (here and A. Suppl. 677). 18 Notice that Lycophron plays with the same ambiguity related to the word ȜȩȤȠȢ at line 342, referring to the Trojan horse. 19 Notice that the use of this specific verb is a further hint to the connection of the omen with the sacrifice of Iphigenia in the tragedy.

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of the war between Greeks and Trojans, in Lycophron the death of a pregnant Iphigenia is a way to strengthen the beast-like cruelty of the Greek army, who indeed eat what in Aeschylus is defined as an ਙįĮȚIJȠȢ sacrifice (Ag. 151), referring to the sacrifice of Iphigenia. Besides this very learned reminder of Aeschylus’ tragedy, I believe that the violent image also reveals an aetiological reference to the figure of Iphigenia and its relationship with childbirth. Lycophron very likely based the description of the sacrifice on a cross-reading of Aeschylus’ Agamemnon and the previously mentioned lines of Euripides’ Iphigenia among the Taurians (1465-1467)20, in which Athena predicts that the heroine will be worshipped at Brauron and the clothes of women who have died in childbirth dedicated to her. Despite the fact that no archaeological material nor any further literary source offer evidence of such dedications, we cannot exclude that Lycophron’s connection between Iphigenia and childbirth might not rely exclusively on literary sources, but also depend on direct knowledge of the very same religious practice mentioned by Euripides. Indeed, there are reasons to assume that Euripides’ lines could relate to a list of dedications at the sanctuary of Brauron, duplicated in the Brauronion on the acropolis of Athens21. This list records pieces of clothing, dating from between 355 and 335 BC, sometimes specifically dedicated to Artemis22. We know that dedications of textile offerings were made to observe events that marked the female life cycle23 and so also to mark successful births.24. Moreover, a scholion

20 E. IT. 1462-1467: ıİįૅ ਕȝij੿ıİȝȞȐȢ੉ijȚȖȑȞİȚĮȜİȓȝĮțĮȢ ǺȡĮȣȡȦȞȓĮȢįİ૙IJોȚįİțȜȘȚįȠȣȤİ૙Ȟșİ઼Țā Ƞ੤ țĮ੿IJİșȐȥȘȚțĮIJșĮȞȠ૨ıĮțĮ੿ʌȑʌȜȦȞ ਙȖĮȜȝȐıȠȚșȒıȠȣıȚȞİ੝ʌȒȞȠȣȢਫ਼ijȐȢ ਘȢਗȞȖȣȞĮ૙țİȢਥȞIJȩțȠȚȢȥȣȤȠȡȡĮȖİ૙Ȣ ȜȓʌȦıૅ ਥȞȠ੅țȠȚȢ “Iphigenia, on the sacred terraced ground of Brauron, you must keep the keys for Artemis. There, when you die, you shall be buried. They shall bring to you in dedication the fine-woven clothes which wives, who die in the pangs of childbirth, leave behind in their houses...” (transl. R. Lattimore, Loeb 1974). 21 %UHOLFK.HDUQV/OR\G-Jones 1983, 93--RKQVWRQ 238-&ROHDQGDEVROXWHO\DJDLQVWWKLVWKHVLV(NURWK 22 Compare IG II 2 1514-VHH/LQGHUVDQG&OHODQG 23 Women’s textile votes are commonly related to public and private rituals marking the different stages of their life cycle (e.g. the collective ritual weaving for Hera at Argos and for Athena at Athens). More in Cole 2004, 220-221.

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to Callimachus remarks that, when mothers gave birth, they offered clothing to Artemis25, who indeed is called, for example, Lochia, Eulochia and Eileithyia for her help during pregnancy and birth26. On this basis one may suppose that the textile dedications of Brauron were to be connected to female life and, possibly, specifically to childbirth on the basis of an interesting detail. The inventories of these dedications clearly distinguish between finished and unfinished textiles. Even if there is no evidence for dedications of clothes belonging to women who died in childbirth offered to any divinity anywhere in the Greek world27, an un-woven textile or an unfinished garment might be interpreted as the sign of an interruption of the life cycle, such as a premature death. Widowers of women who died in childbirth might want to ensure the deceased’s goodwill for themselves, and for any future children they might have, by making an offering to a patron deity28. Also, this sort of death was interpreted as the sign of gods’ unappeased anger at the moment of the deceased’s loss of virginity: so dedications could be made to the benefit of the dead women as well. Greeks worshipped not only gods, but also heroes in order to protect important life transitions or to find relief from and atone for their failure. In particular, they worshipped heroes who had suffered a traumatic life experience, but overcome it thanks to divine intervention. These were thought to be able to protect worshippers from the same misfortune they had undergone themselves before heroisation and to guard against failure at the most important stages of female life29. Taking this into account, Iphigenia is a very good candidate for heroic worship, as she is one of the mythical maidens who die before reaching maturity, but overcome death by being made immortal by Artemis. Therefore, besides Artemis, Iphigenia might also be a possible addressee of Brauron dedications, and specifically of the unfinished pieces of clothing, because, having died before getting married, she had failed in the transition to maturity with respect to not only marriage, but also motherhood. This would be 24 AP 6. 59, 200-2, 270-274, 276 refers to several prayers for a safe delivery that were often accompanied by the dedication of a veil or hair-QHWVee also epigraphic evidence in Rouse 1902, 252. 25 Schol. Call. Jov. 77. The dedication of textiles to Artemis finds several parallels in the Greek world (e.g. Tanagra and Miletos): Cole 2004, 216-218 and 221-224. 26 E.g. Hesch. s.v. ȁȠȤȓĮAbout the role of Artemis in this respect see Cole 2004, 193-194 and 211-212. 27 Ekroth 2003, 96-97. 28 Johnston 1999, 238-41. 29 Larson 1995, 116-/\RQV- Cole 2004, 219.

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consistent with Euripides’ specification about the kind of women for whom the dedications to Iphigenia were made. Clarifying the role of the figure of Iphigenia in the sanctuary of Artemis at Brauron makes Euripides’ lines more compelling30. At Brauron there was a heroon of Iphigenia31, a sign that the heroine was worshipped together with Artemis just as at Aegeira in Achaia (Paus. 7.26.5). The presence of both goddess and heroine in the same sanctuary is consistent with the fact that a strong bond between the two figures manifests in several ways32. Particularly relevant with respect to the foregoing discussion is the fact that in Nicander Iphigenia is made immortal in Tauris under the name of Orsilocheia33. This epithet clearly recalls Artemis’ appellations Lochia and Eulochia, which, as mentioned above, overtly point to the goddess’ help in childbirth. This similarity seems to form the basis of an overlap between Herodotus’ and Ammianus’ testimonies about human sacrifice in Tauris34. The former identifies Iphigenia with a Taurian divinity, to which men were sacrificed (4.103.2), while the latter reports that the Tauroi are said to sacrifice humans to ‘Diana [i.e. Artemis] who is called Orsiloche amongst them’ (Amm. 22.8.34). Thus, the overlap of heroine and goddess seems to point towards a shared cult sphere related to childbirth35. Given that the name Iphigeneia is connected to the semantic of birth36, the relationship between the heroine and childbirth could form the basis of an original worship of her

30

Montepaone 2002, 65-78. Eur. IT.  (XSK IU  DQG 1RQQ 3DQ D. 13.18 in *LXPDQ   archaeological evidence in Papadimitriou 1963, 113-115 and Themelis 2002, 108 VWURQJO\ DJDLQVW D SUH-Euripidean presence of the heroine in the sanctuary Ekroth 2003, 94-101, with full bibliography at p. 69 n. 49. 32 Notice the role of Iphigenia as officiator of Artemis’ cult in Tauris (Brelich 1969, 243-44 and 247). Moreover, Iphigenia is an epithet of Artemis in Hesychius’ entry ੉ijȚȖȑȞİȚĮ and according to Pausanias (2.35.1) at Hermione. In addition, Megara is an alterative location for the story of the sacrifice of Iphigenia at Aulis 3DXVDQLDVVHH+HVCat. fr. 23b MW and Stes. fr. 215 PMG) in D’Alessio   DQG KHUH $UWHPLV PDGH ,SKLJHQLD LPPRUWDO XQGHU WKH QDPH RI +HFDWH goddess with which Artemis is often assimilated (at Athens, Erchia, Thasos, Epidaurus: OCD 672, also in relation to her kourotrophic role e.g. A. Supp. 676 and Ag. 140). 33 Nicander is cited in Ant. Lib. 27.4. 34 Dowden 1989, 18-19. 35 Brelich 1969, 273-'RZGHQ.HDUQV-3DSDKDW]LV1989, 11-/DUVRQ&ROH 36 Kjellberg 1916, 2588-'RZGHQ 31

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figure, before the function of protector of motherhood had been assimilated by Artemis37. It is therefore very likely that at Brauron the two, Iphigenia and Artemis, shared a cult attendant with motherhood and the fact that the ritual of the Arkteia was celebrated at the sanctuary strengthens this idea. Indeed, this was a ritual of passage that asserted the marriageable status of the participating girls38. At a very early age girls of many Greek communities would undergo similar religious practices in order to propitiate positive physical development into womanhood and marriage followed by successful childbirths39. A failure of such rituals was believed to manifest itself in all sorts of interruptions in the progression from childhood to adulthood, including death in pregnancy. It is worth noticing that during the ritual performed at Brauron the girls were asked to play the bear, an animal connected to childbirth40. Therefore, offerings related to this very important moment in female lives, like those mentioned in Euripides, are consistent with the life of the sanctuary. The idea that some of these dedications could be addressed to Iphigenia, advanced earlier in this paper, is corroborated by the fact that Iphigenia plays an important role in the mythical tradition relating to the Arkteia. A cross-reading of the aetiological accounts of this rite equates it to the sacrifice of a girl, who must die to compensate for the killing of an animal, but ultimately is saved thanks to the death of an animal in her place41. The scholion to Aristophanes’ Lysistrata 645, instead of connecting the ritual to the vicissitude of a local maiden, mentions the sacrifice of Iphigenia as its aition. In order to heighten the connection further, the scholiast quotes a fragment of Euphorion (F 91 CA), where the 37

.MHOOEHUJ     6pFKDQ   'RZGHQ  -47. Against: Montepaone 2002, 66. 38 /LVW RI PDLQ FRQWULEXWLRQV RQ WKH WRSLF LQ .HDUQV   Q  $GG &ROH 1984: 241- 6RXUYLQRX-Inwood 1988: 28-30 and 133- Ibid. 1990: 45- Dowden 1989: 24-*LXPDQ-*RII-5HGILHOG 98- 3DUNHU  - Gentili-3HUXVLQR  GLIIHUHQWO\ LQ GHWDLOV EXW not in implication, Faraone 2003: 43-68 and Ferrari 2002: 166-181. 39 For female rituals practiced in Thessaly, at Sparta, at Cyzicus in Asia Minor and at Cyraene, see Cole 1984, 242 and Parker 2005, 242 n.106. 40 Brelich 1969, 255 and 262-263 and Cole 2004, 210 n. 69. About this identity between bear and woman compare also the myth of Kallisto in Hes. Cat. fr. 163 :HVW$Kall. TGF 3V-Apollod. Ep3DXV-7: Goff 2004, 107. 41 See Suid. ‫ݕ‬ȝȕĮȡȠȢ and ݇ȡțIJȠȢ‫ ݝ‬ǺȡĮȣȡȦȞȓȠȢ $SRVW(XVWIl. $SS Append. Prov. 2. 54schol. Ar. Lys. 645. Schol. Ar. Lys. +DUSVYܻȡțIJİȪıĮȚ Bekker 1814: 1.206: Brelich 1969, 248 n. 44 with discussion 249-%UXOé 1987, 182-186 and 200-23DUNHU-239.

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sacrifice is claimed to have happened at Brauron rather than Aulis and been avoided thanks to the substitution of a bear for the girl42. This testimony shows that at a certain point a Pan-Hellenic tradition, such as that of the sacrifice of Iphigenia, became superimposed on the local one, in a process consistent with a parallel institution of a cult dedicated to the heroine herself. While Artemis presided over the rite of the Arkteia, which recognised the physical fulfilment of the transition to womanhood, and received the dedications as thanks for the completion of the maturation process, Iphigenia was associated with the abortion of the ritual resulting in death in childbearing, and received unfinished textiles to propitiate atonement for this failure. In conclusion, Lycophron’s description of Iphigenia as a pregnant woman seems to depend on a mixture of elements. On the one hand, it builds on the previous literary tradition connected to the myth of her VDFULILFH DW WKH KDQG RI $JDPHPQRQ RQ WKH RWKHU , EHOLHYH LW PLJKW represent a sophisticated hint at the relationship between the heroine and the cult sphere related to childbirth. In addition, Lycophron might indirectly allude to the role of Iphigenia in the sanctuary of Brauron that Euripides openly describes at the end of The Iphigenia in Tauris.

Works Cited Aretz, S. 1999. Die Opferung der Iphigeneia in Aulis: die Rezeption des 0\WKRVLQDQWLNHQXQGPRGHUQHQ'UDPHQ. Stuttgart: Teubner. Biffis, G. 2012. Cassandra and the female perspective in Lycophron’s Alexandra. PhD thesis, University College London. Brelich, A. 1969. Paides e Parthenoi. Roma(GL]LRQLGHOO $WHQHR. Brulé, P. 1987. La fille d’$WKqQHV OD UHOLJLRQ GHV ILOOHV j $WKqQHV j O pSRTXHFODVVLTXHP\WKHVFXOWHVHWVRFLpWp. Paris: Les Belles Lettres. Chantraine, P. 1968. 'LFWLRQQDLUH pW\PRORJLTXH GH OD ODQJXH JUHFTXH Histoire des mots. Paris: Klincksieck. Ciaceri, E. 1901. La Alessandra di Licofrone. Catania: Giannotta. Ciampa, S. 2004. “Le nozze crudeli di Polissena in Licofrone (Alex. 323329).” Aevum(ant) 4: 519-39. Ciani, M. G. 1975. /H[LNRQ]X/\FRSKURQ. Hildesheim: Olms. Cleland, L. 2005. 7KH %UDXURQ &ORWKLQJ &DWDORJXHV 7H[W $QDO\VLV Glossary and Translation, Oxford: British Archaeological Reports.

42 Cf. already Phanodemus FGrHist 325 F 14 as early as the fourth century (Wolff 1992, 322-323).

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Clinton, K. 1988. “Artemis and the sacrifice of Iphigenia in Aeschylus’ Agamemnon.” In Language and the Tragic Hero. Essays on Greek Tragedy in Honor of Gordon M. Kirkwood, ed. P. Pucci, 2-15. Atlanta: Scholars Press. Cole, S. G. 1984. “The Social Function of Rituals of Maturation: the Koureion and the Arkteia. ” ZPE 55: 233-244. —. 2004. /DQGVFDSHV *HQGHU DQG 5LWXDO 6SDFH WKH $QFLHQW *UHHN Experience. Berkeley. Conacher, D. J. 1987. Aeschylus’ Oresteia. A Literary Commentary. Toronto: University of Toronto Press. D’Alessio, G. B. 2012. “The Lost Isthmian Odes of Pindar.” In Reading the Victory Ode, ed. P. Agócs, C. Carey, and R. Rawles, 28-57. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Dowden, K. 1989. Death and the Maiden: Girls’ ,QLWLDWLRQ5LWHVLQ*UHHN Mythology. London: Routledge. Ekroth, G. 2003. “,QYHQWLQJ ,SKLJHQHLD" 2Q (XULSLGHV DQG WKH &XOWLF Construction of Brauron.” Kernos 16: 59-118. Faraone, C. A. 2003. “Playing the bear and the fawn for Artemis: female LQLWLDWLRQRUVXEVWLWXWHVDFULILFH"” In ,QLWLDWLRQLQ$QFLHQW*UHHN5LWXDOV and Narratives. New Critical Perspectives, ed. D. B. Dodd, and C. A. Faraone, 43-68. London: Routledge. Ferrari, G. 2002. Figures of Speech: Men and Maidens in Ancient Greece. Chicago: University of Chicago Press. Fontinoy, C. 1950. “Le sacrifice nuptial de Polyxène.” AC 19: 383-96. Fraenkel, H. 1950. Aeschylus Agamemnon. Oxford: Clarendon Press. Geffcken, J. 1892. Timaios’ Geographie des Westens. Berlin: Weidmann. Gentili B. and F. Perusino eds. 2002. Le orse di Brauron: un rituale di iniziazione femminile nel santuario di Artemide. Pisa: ETS. Giuman, M. 1999. /DGHDODYHUJLQHLOVDQJXHDUFKHRORJLDGLXQFXOWR femminile. Milano. Goff, B. 2004. Citizen Bacchae: Women’s Ritual Practice in Ancient Greece. Berkeley-London. Heath, J. 1999. “The serpent and the sparrows: Homer and the parodos of Aeschylus’ Agamemnon.” CQ 49.2: 396-407. Holzinger, W. C. von 1895. $OH[DQGUD>[email protected]/\NRSKURQ. Leipzig. Hurst, A., and A. Kolde 2008. Lycophron. Alexandra. Paris: Les Belles Lettres. Johnston, S.I. 1999. Restless Dead: Encounters between the Living and the Dead in Ancient Greece. Berkeley. Kearns, E. 1989. The Heroes of Attica. London: Institute of Classical Studies.

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King, H. 1983. “Bound to Bleed: Artemis and the Greek Women.” In Imagines of Women in AnWLTXLW\. ed. A. Cameron, and A. Kuhrt, 109127. Detroit: Wayne State University Press. Kjelleberg, L. 1916. “Iphigenia.” In Realencyclopädie der Classischen Altertumswissenschafted. A.F. Pauly, and G. Wissowa 9, 2588-2622. Stuttgart: Alfred Druckenmüller. Larson, J. 1995. *UHHN+HURLQH&ults. Madison. Linders, T. 1972. Studies in the Treasure Records of Artemis at Brauronia found in Athens. Stockholm: Svenska Institutet i Athen. Lloyd-Jones, H. 1983. “Artemis and Iphigenia.” JHS 103: 87-102. Lyons, D. 1997. Gender and Immortality: HeroLQHVLQ$QFLHQW*UHHN0\WK and Cult. Princeton: Princeton University Press. Montepaone, C. 2002. “Ifigenia a Brauron.” In Le orse di Brauron: un rituale di iniziazione femminile nel santuario di Artemide ed. B. Gentili, and F. Perusino 65-78. Pisa: ETS. Okin, A. L. 1980. “A Hellenistic Historian looks at Mythology: Duris of Samos and the Mythic Tradition.” In Panhellenica. Essays in Ancient History and historiography in honour of T.S. Browned. S.M. Burslein and A.L. Okin, 97-118. Lawrence Kan.: Coronado Press. Papadimitriou, J. 1963. “The Sanctuary of Artemis at Brauron.” Scientific American 208.6: 110-120. Papahatzis, N. D. 1978. “Deities of Childbirth and Childrearing.” AD 33: 1-23. Parker, R. 2005. Polytheism and Society at Athens. Oxford. Redfield, J. M. 2003. The Locrian Maidens. Princeton: Princeton University Press. Rouse, W. H. D. 1902. *UHHN9RWLYH2fferings. An Essay in the History of *UHHN5HOLJLRQ. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Scullion, S. 2000. “Tradition and innovation in Euripidean Aitiology.” ICS 24-25: 217-233. Seaford, R. 1989. “Homeric and tragic sacrifice.” TAPhA 119: 87-95. —. 1987. “ The Tragic Wedding.” JHS 107: 106-30. —. 2009. “Aitiologies of cult in Euripides: a response to Scott Scullion.” In The Play of Texts and Fragments: Essays in Honour of Martin Cropp, ed. J.R.C. Cousland and J. R. Hume, 221-234. Leiden: Brill. Séchan, L. 1931. “Le sDFULILFHG ,SKLJpQLH.” REG 44: 368-426. Sourvinou-Inwood, C. 1988. Studies in Girls’ Transitions: Aspects of the $UNWHLD Dnd Age Representation in Attic Iconography. Athens: Kardamitsa. —. 1990. “Ancient Rites and Modern Constructs: On the Brauronian Bears Again.” BICS 37: 1-14.

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Stanford, W.B. 1939. $PELJXLW\ LQ *UHHN /LWHUDWXUH. Studies in Theory and Practice. Oxford: Blackwell. Swift, L.A. 2010. The Hidden Chorus: Echoes of Genre in Tragic Lyric. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Themelis, P. G. 2002. “Contribution to the Topography of the Sanctuary at Brauron.” In Le orse di Brauron: un rituale di iniziazione femminile QHO VDQWXDULR GL $UWHPLGH ed. B. Gentili, and F. Perusino, 103-116. Pisa: ETS.

THE ACHILLES’ OATH IN HOM. IL. 1.236-244: INTERTEXTUALITY AND SURVIVAL* MANUEL PÉREZ LÓPEZ UNIVERSITY OF ALCALÁ

Oath-making was understood as a foundational institution in Homeric society and surely penetrated the ancient world beyond the epic1. We will study the oath pronounced by Achilles in ,OLDG 1.233-244, and then its reception in two subsequent moments: Vergilian imitation (Aen. 12.206211) and in the poem and legend of minstrel Tannhäuser used by R. Wagner in his opera 7DQQKlXVHU attesting its way through medieval literature with Christian influence. A characteristic feature of Achilles’ oath is that this is done only by the scepter without invoking gods as witnesses and without oath-sacrificing rituals or libation2. The oath-sacrificing rituals and the libation are essential parts of important oaths, especially those that sealed pacts as in the two described in the Iliad 3.245-301 and 19.250-268a. It is clear, however, that the Achilles’ oath is of extraordinary significance, in as far as it contains just the core of the poem, that is, it solemnly announces Achilles’ withdrawal from the battlefield, which will trigger the plot of the ,OLDG as corresponding to the plan of Zeus3. As a result, we may wonder why Achilles has chosen this formulation of the oath and has disregarded the gods as witness4. In fact, just before, and at the same meeting, Achilles himself has sworn by the god Apollo5. Let us say first that Achilles’ oath at this moment is not an oath to seal a pact, but on the contrary, it solemnly announces separation, involves the destruction of the agreement. That alone accounts for dissymmetry, compared with the aforementioned * I thank Begoña Escartí for her help to translate this paper into English. 1 Kitts 2005, 3. 2 Bollack 1958, 12-13. 3 Nagy 1979, 188. 4 For an interpretation of the Achilles’ oath as a contamination of two different formulas, Aubriot-Sévin 1991. 5 Hom. Il. 1, 86-90.

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solemn oaths. But it is also clear that, by the dynamics of the scene, such an oath was impossible. Just before, Homer has narrated the appearance of Athena to Achilles in order to restrain his anger and not to kill Agamemnon. Achilles has restrained himself, obeying the goddess and he will be satisfied with throwing his last insults to Agamemnon and pronouncing the solemn oath. Achilles is not in the mood for solemn oath ceremonies. It is true that the scepter is sacred and therefore the kings hold it as they administer justice and speakers on the floor6, but Homer certainly did not tell us that Achilles previously held any scepter. Even in the preceding episode when he is about to take up the sword to kill Agamemnon, there is no mention of the scepter. Therefore all Achilles does is to swear by it, without invoking the gods. Margo Kitts has recently given a full account of the rich symbolism of the oath7. The death of the branch to become a scepter symbolizes the death of many Achaeans because of the perversion of justice that Agamemnon has manipulated through his corrupt leadership. It thus doesn’t connote legality, but the threat of death to human beings. The careful description Achilles makes of the death of the scepter, that is, its manufacturing process after being cut down from the trunk, also symbolizes the death of victims slaughtered in solemn oaths and serves as an analogy for the fate of the swearer in case of perjury. Achilles is also placing at risk, without suspecting it, his own life, to the extent that his oath also involves the breaking of the covenant and the oath before the war. Kitts goes even further, by assuming that the placing at risk of Achilles’ life involves the death of Patroclus, as a victim too. Now, the verb of cutting used by Achilles to refer to the origin of the VFHSWHULVQRWIJ੼ȝȞȦWKHYHUEXVHGLQWKHGHVFULSWLRQRIWKHULWXDOVDFULILFHV of oath-making and that is almost synonymous with its ratification8. In fact WKH YHUE XVHG LV ਩Ȝİȥİ IURP Ȝ੼ʌȦ ³SHHO´ +RZHYHU WKH H[SUHVVLRQ for the branch being cut down from the trunk to become a scepter is: ਥʌİȚį੾ IJ੺ ʌȡ૵IJĮ IJȠȝ੽Ȟ ਥȞ ੕ȡİııȚ Ȝ੼ȜȠȚʌİȞ (235), and here we just have WKHQRXQIJȠȝ੾VXJJHVWLQJWKHULWXDO of the sacrifice. The time to “leave the trunk” is equivalent to the slaughter of the victim. Kitts is absolutely right to caution us about the symbology in the Achilles’ oath, that approaches it to the solemn oaths, covenant oaths. In short, what interests us about the oath is on the one hand its peculiar design, which hides its relations with other transcendental oaths and, on the other, the outright certainty with 6

Melena 1972, 321-356. Kitts 2005, 102-111. 8 Il.  ijȚȜંIJȘIJĮ țĮ੿ ੖ȡțȚĮ ʌȚıIJ੹ IJĮȝંȞIJİȢ  ijȚȜંIJȘIJĮ țĮ੿ ੖ȡțȚĮ ʌȚıIJ੹ IJ੺ȝȦȝİȞHWF 7

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which Achilles shows the impossibility of the events to turn back, reflected in the irreversibility of the death of the branch turned into the scepter. It is such certainty that makes it unnecessary for Achilles to appeal to the gods as witnesses to the truth of his assertion. All lies for the moment on the human level and in the stubbornness of the facts9. The oath is so peppered with emphatic futures, concerning the impossibility for the scepter to regrow: IJઁ ȝ੻Ȟ Ƞ੡ ʌȠIJİ ij઄ȜȜĮ țĮ੿ ੕ȗȠȣȢ ij઄ıİȚ Ƞ੝įૃ ਕȞĮșȘȜ੾ıİȚ (235-236), “it shall never more put forth leaves or shoots nor shall it again grow green” matched by those on the prophecy of Achilles: it will come to the longing of the Achaeans for Achilles and the helplessness of Agamemnon and the tearing of his heart at the death of the Achaeans at the hands of Hector, killer of men, ਷ ʌȠIJૃ ਝȤȚȜȜોȠȢ ʌȠș੽ ੆ȟİIJĮȚ ȣੈĮȢ ਝȤĮȚ૵Ȟ ı઄ȝʌĮȞIJĮȢā IJંIJİ įૃ Ƞ੡ IJȚ įȣȞ੾ıİĮȚ ਕȤȞ઄ȝİȞંȢ ʌİȡ ȤȡĮȚıȝİ૙Ȟ İ੣IJૃ ਗȞ ʌȠȜȜȠ੿ ਫ਼ijૃ ਰțIJȠȡȠȢ ਕȞįȡȠijંȞȠȚȠ șȞ੾ıțȠȞIJİȢ ʌ઀ʌIJȦıȚā ıઃ įૃ ਩ȞįȠșȚșȣȝઁȞਕȝ઄ȟİȚȢ (240-244). Achilles, however, once he has pronounced the oath, flings down the scepter. This has been differently explained: on the one hand as an appeal to the land, mighty avenger10, and on the other, as a display of Achilles’ passionate rejection of laws and other cultural institutions with which it is associated11. There are two interesting similar gestures, one is that of Telemachus in Od. 2.80-81 and another that of Cassandra in A. Ag. 126465. Telemachus has held the scepter only as a speaker, so his angry reaction seems less serious than that of Achilles, who has just sworn by the scepter. As for Cassandra, the scepter has become for her the opposite of its virtue, it can no longer protect her, as well as her prophetess’ infulae12. Of all the cases, however, the most serious is undoubtedly that of Achilles, showing, in desperation, an obvious contempt for the sacred object by which he has made an oath. Again we find a trait that shows us an Achilles who, swept up in anger, cuts himself off deliberately from the sacred object and area.

Part II Turning now to the survival of the oath, we find it very literally imitated by Vergil (Aen. 12.206-211). But, every time Vergil seems to 9

For Nagy, 1979, 188, the validity of the oath of Achilles and its sacred value lie LQWKHVDPHVFHSWHUZKLFKLVਙijșȚIJȠȞ³LPPRUWDO´ 10 Bollack 1958, 15 11 Kitts 2005, 103. 12 Melena 1972, 323.

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imitate Homer, there are lots of differences and reversals13. Let us note, among others, three points: 1. Vergil places the oath in the last Book of the $HQHLV while Achilles’ appears in the first of the Iliad. 2. The imitation of Achilles’ oath appears within the Latinus’s oath, responding to Aeneas, that is, Vergil puts it in the mouth of an autochthonous king responding to the oath of the foreign invader king, while in the Iliad Achilles is a foreign invader king in the Trojan territory. 3. Achilles’ oath now becomes the end of Latinus’ oath. Its echo is very close, but the context is full of novelties. To begin with, it is just a simile, closing Latinus’s oath itself. In this, Latinus calls the earth, the sea, the stars and the gods as witnesses, ending with Jupiter himself as sanctioner of the covenants, and then he pronounces the futures the oath is properly made of, while he is touching the altar. These futures are three: rumpet ... cadent ... avertet (202-204), corresponding to the three of Homer, but now they precede the mention of the scepter. So Vergil has made a perfect reversal of the Homeric model. In Achilles’ oath, he ignores the divine testimony, swears by the scepter and the futures follow its description. In Vergil, Latinus begins with the invocation to the gods and puts his hand on the altar. The oath is larded with sacredness, explicitly absent in Homer. The gods will be witnesses of the irrevocability of the covenant that displays the futures that follow. And proof of this irrevocability is the death of the scepter: Ut sceptrum hoc (nam sceptrum dextra gerebat forte 206). Note, first, that Vergil considered it necessary to explain that Latinus holds a scepter in his hand, something that Homer failed to do in the case of Achilles. All the Homeric points are in the simile, but heavily reworked: a single future, QXPTXDP  fundet (207), to evoke the inevitability of the death of the branch, now described by the verb “to cut” de stirpe recisum (208).The images of lost life, which in Homer are all limited to the vegetal world, Yij઄ȜȜĮ țĮ੿ ੕ȗȠȣȢ   ij઄ȜȜ੺ IJİ țĮ੿ ijȜȠȚંȞ (237) now become human metaphors: matre FDUHWSRVXLWTXHFRPDVHWEUDFFKLDIHUUR (209)14. Finally, Vergil also mentions the bronze, aere decorum (210), but now referring to the ornaments of the scepter, while in Homer it 13 14

Fernández Corte 1997. Perutelli 1985.

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served to peel the branch, ʌİȡ੿ Ȗ੺ȡ ૧੺ ਦ ȤĮȜțઁȢ ਩Ȝİȥİ (236), and the hand is mentioned, but now it is the craftsman’s hand that adorns the scepter and gives it to Latin fathers to hold, ROLPDUERV QXQFDUWLILFLVPDQXVDHUHGHFRURLQFOXVLWSDWULEXVTXHGHGLWJHVWDUH Latinis (210-211) as the judges of Homer hold it in their hands: Ȟ૨Ȟ Į੣IJ੼ ȝȚȞȣੈİȢਝȤĮȚ૵ȞਥȞʌĮȜ੺ȝૉȢijȠȡ੼ȠȣıȚįȚțĮıʌંȜȠȚ (237-38).

Part III The third example of survival of the motif is found in the legend of Tannhäuser, used by Richard Wagner in his opera of the same name. In the third scene of the third act, Tannhäuser, who has just arrived from Rome with a group of pilgrims, tells the singer Wolfram of his disappointment, as his attempt to attain the pardon of the Pope has been unsuccessful. In his meeting with the Pope and, at his request to achieve absolution of his sin, he found his refusal. He is condemned for all eternity, assured the Pope, saying: Wie dieser meiner Stab in Hand nie mehr mit sich schmückt frischem Grün, aus der kann Hölle heissem Brand Erlösung nimmer erblühn dir15.

Wagner had used the legend of Tannhäuser, attested in a song printed several times since it first appeared in 1515 in Nüremberg. The twentieth verse contains an echo of the Achilles’ oath: Der Babst het ein Steblein in der Hand Das was sich Also Dürre: Als wenig is begrünen mag, .XPSVWGX]X+XOGH*RWWHV

+RZ KDV WKH PRWLI UHDFKHG WKH OHJHQG RI 7DQQKlXVHU" ,W PXVW KDYH been through medieval literature, and ultimately from Vergil’s Aeneid and not directly from the ,OLDG because of the ignorance of Greek in Western Europe until the Renaissance. In the words of the Pope we can see Vergil’s amendment clarifying that Latinus held a scepter in his hand. About Tannhäuser, an historic troubadour of adventurous life of BavarianAustrian origin, and who lived between 1228 and 1265, a legend was

15

R. Wagner: 7DQQKlXVHU Act III, Scene Three.

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forged16 dating back to the years after his death, as Urban IV, the Pope with whom it is associated, held the Holy See between 1261 and 1264. 7DQQKlXVHU V SRHP ZDV ODWHU FRPSOHWHG ZLWK RUDO WUDGLWLRQV ZKLFK ZHUH collected in the 19th century by the Romantics, adding older versions of the legend, belonging to the 14th and 15th centuries. Tannhäuser’s legend survived orally in Switzerland, Germany and Austria. In the nineteenth century the Romantics found the 16th century poem and included it in a collection with other popular legends. Various topics, such as the troubadour’s stay in the Venus’ mountain and the miracle of the stick, initially forging to the legend of Tannhäuser, were secondarily introduced into it, expanded and reworked. The fact that the Pope has just a dry stick in his hands, Golther says, “remains unexplained”17. Clearly, however, here one has taken advantage of the Pope’s staff to enter the topic of the oath of the Iliad and the Aeneis. Both the historical minstrel Tannhäuser and various poets who have contributed to the transmission of the legend, were learned poets who knew the classical tradition18. But the classical theme, the inevitability of the death of the branch, as proof of prophecy, is renewed with the outcome of the miracle of its regrowth. In the twentyfifth verse of the song Tannhäuser says: Das Weret bis Dritten an den Tag, Der Stab an zu grünen hub, Schicket Babst aus der alle in Land, Wo hin der wer Danheuser kumen.

The origin of the miracle is to be found undoubtedly in biblical and Christian tradition. There has been a combination of a classical motif with the biblical image of the “tree of life”, already present in Genesis 2.9. The image of the cut tree that sprouts again appears in Job 14.7. But most famous is the passage from Isaiah 11.1: “There shall come forth a shoot from the stump £IJȠȝ੾  of Jesse, and a branch shall grow out of his roots”, a messianic text on which a common Christian iconography image is based. Further, we also have to evoke the Christian image of the Tree of the Cross, dry trunk that sprouts new life and forgiveness of the Adam’s sin by the blood shed on it by Christ, the new Adam19. The Tree of the Cross is also the “Tree of Life”, as the liturgy of Good Friday sings: Crux 16

Golther 1914 and W. Zentner, in Wagner 1980. Golther 1914, 29. 18 Golther 1914, 20 and 26. 19 By the middle of the ninth century appear images of the cross with buds and branches, which will last to Baroque: Bauerreiss 1938, 12. 17

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ILGHOLV LQWHU RPQHV DUERU XQD QRELOLV QXOOD WDOHP SURIHUW VLOYD IURQGH IORUH JHUPLQH where we notice clear reversals of classic topics we have studied. The Resurrection of Christ is also no doubt alluded to in the three GD\VWKDWWKH3RSH VVWDIIUHPDLQVGU\, then turning green on the third day. In short, the medieval and romantic tradition which Wagner uses, undoubtedly retakes Achilles’ oath, surely coming from Vergil’s reworking, and transforms it in the same sense that Vergil had done, that is, its sacralization. In Homer the branch death symbolizes the irreversibility of the breaking of the covenant and its fatal consequences for the community. In Vergil it is a sign of a pact and binding agreement of the two people. In the legend of Tannhäuser, the inflexibility of the Pope who refuses forgiveness-and that is the same as that of Achilles-, is transformed into the miracle of reawakening of the dry trunk, the miracle of mercy and forgiveness.

Works Cited Aubriot-Sévin, D. 1991. “Formulations possibles du serment et conceptions religieuses en Grèce ancienne.” Kernos 4: 91-103. Bauerreiss, R. 1938. Arbor Vitae. 'HU ³/HEHQVEDXP´ XQG VHLQH 9HUZHQGXQJ LQ /LWXUJLH .XQVW XQG %DXFKWXP GHV $EHQGODQGHV. München: Neuer Filser. Bollack, J. 1958. “Styx et serments.” REG 71: 1-35. Fernández Corte, J.C. 1997. “La Eneida.” In Historia de la literatura latina. ed. C. Codoñer Merino, 177-189. Madrid: Anaya. Golther, W. 1914. Zur deutschen Sage und Dichtung. Berlin: Behr. Kitts, M. 2005. Sanctified Violence in Homeric Society. Oath-0DNLQJ Rituals and Narratives in the Iliad. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Melena, J.L. 1972. “En torno al ıțોʌIJȡȠȞ homérico.” CFC 3: 321-356. Nagy, G. 1979. The Best of Achaeans. Concepts of the Hero in Archaic *UHHN3RHWU\Baltimore: The Johns Hopkins University Press. Perutelli, A. 1985. “I bracchia degli alberi. Designazione tecnica e immagine poetica.” MD 15: 9-48. Wagner, R. 1980. 7DQQKlXVHU XQG GHU 6lQJHUNULHJ DXI :DUWEXUJ, Vollständiges Buch neu herausgegeben und eingeleitet von W. Zentner. Sttutgart: Reclam.

PLEGARIA E HIMNO LITERARIO: LOS DIOSCUROS EN LAS INSCRIPCIONES DE PROTE, ALCEO Y DOS HIMNOS HOMÉRICOS JOSÉ B. TORRES GUERRA UNIVERSIDAD DE NAVARRA

En la isla de Prote, cerca de Mesenia, han aparecido abundantes inscripciones realizadas en fecha incierta por marineros que pedían ayuda a diversas divinidades para la travesía que iban a encarar (cf. IG V.1.15331560). Un grupo de inscripciones, cuatro en total, mencionan a los Dioscuros o, en singular en un caso (IG V 1.1549), al Dioscuro: İ੡ʌȜİĮ IJȠ૙[Ȣ] | ǻȚȠıțંȡȠȚ șİ[Ƞ૙]|Ȣ IJȠ૙Ȣ ਝıı઀ȠȚȢ | E੝Ȥ઀ȡȠȣ [ț]Į੿ (IG V 1.1548). “Buena travesía a los dioses Dioscuros de Asios, de Euquiro y (...)”. İ੡ʌȜİĮ IJ૵[Ț] | [ǻȚȠı]|țંȡ IJ૵[Ț] | ȂȣIJȚȜȘ|ȞĮ઀Ȧ[Ț] (IG V 1.1549).

“Buena travesía al Dioscuro de Mitilene”. İ੡ʌȜȠȚ੺ ȠȚ İ੝IJȣȤ੾Ȣ, | ǻȚંıțȠȡȠȚ ȈȝȣȡȞĮ૙ȠȚ (IG V 1.1550).

“Buena y afortunada travesía para ti, Dioscuros de Esmirna”. ǻȚંıțȠȣȡȠȚ | İ੡ʌȜİȚĮȞ (IG V 1.1551).

“Dioscuros buena travesía”. Es probable que alguno de estos textos no aluda a los dioses sino al nombre o a un signo identificativo del barco que recaló en Prote1. El punto de interés es que, de una forma u otra, en todos los casos se considera que los dos hermanos son figuras protectoras de los marineros y de su barco.

El autor expresa su agradecimiento a los doctores Lluch y Sánchez-Ostiz (Universidad de Navarra), quienes leyeron versiones previas de este estudio. También agradece las observaciones de los asistentes a la presentación del texto en la Universidad de Santiago de Compostela (31-V-2012). 1 Sobre “Dioscuros” como denominación de barcos, cf. Wachsmuth 1967, 99.

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Quienes inscribieron estas plegarias coinciden además en su esperanza de tener una İ੡ʌȜȠȚĮ, una “buena travesía” que, en un ejemplo (IG V 1.1550), es calificada como “afortunada”, İ੝IJȣȤ੾Ȣ. En tres inscripciones los marineros añaden además a la mención de la pareja divina un gentilicio que indica sus lugares de procedencia: Asios (IG V 1.1548), Mitilene (IG V 1.1549) y Esmirna (IG V 1.1550). Los oferentes proceden, sin excepción, de la parte oriental del Mediterráneo. Este dato importa porque guarda relación con algunas características que presentan los Dioscuros en esa parte del mundo griego. En este trabajo se estudiarán las formas de devoción a los mismos que se atestiguan en plegarias breves como las inscripciones de Prote y en himnos literarios procedentes de ese ámbito geográfico. Se debe recordar que el espacio propio de los hijos de Leda era el Peloponeso. Según el mito se habían criado en Esparta, allí recibía culto su hermana Helena y allí se concebía además a la pareja formada por Cástor y Polideuces como prefiguración mítica de la monarquía bicéfala del país2. En Laconia los dos son héroes3, jinetes y guerreros que, en el tiempo del mito, liberaron a Helena cuando fue secuestrada por Teseo y que, en el presente, asisten a los jóvenes que necesitan su ayuda en el combate4. La tradición que se extendió fuera del Peloponeso destaca los orígenes divinos de los dos hermanos, que siguen teniendo como madre a Leda pero ya no son considerados hijos de Tindáreo5. Según la versión de la historia que se acaba divulgando, Cástor y Polideuces surgieron de las uniones sucesivas de su madre con Zeus y su marido Tindáreo. Del primero concibió a un hijo inmortal, Polideuces, mientras que del segundo nacía Cástor, mortal como su padre6. Estas uniones de Leda produjeron además el nacimiento de Helena y Clitemestra7. Cástor y Polideuces, que ahora son los Dioscuros, los “jóvenes hijos de Zeus”, no tendrán en el ámbito eólico y jónico, como función primordial, la de ayudar a los guerreros en el combate. Ahora galoparán sobre el mar y se convertirán en auxiliadores de los marineros amenazados por la tempestad, según sintetiza en el s. II d. C. Luciano en sus 'LiORJRVGHORV dioses (25).

2

Sobre los Tindáridas y la monarquía espartana, cf. Hdt. 5.75. Cf. Furley y Bremer 2001, 167-168, Burkert 20112, 324-326. 4 Según Simónides F 10.29-32 W2, ambos hermanos acompañaron a los espartanos a la batalla de Platea. 5 Así todavía en Od. 11.298-304. 6 Cf. Cypr., fr. 8, E., Hel. 16-21, Apollod. 3.126, Hyg., Fab. 77. 7 Cf. Apollod. 3.10.7. 3

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El estado de cosas al que se refiere Luciano en el pasaje final de su diálogo es básicamente el mismo que hallamos en tres himnos literarios griegos, los Himnos Homéricos 17 y 33 y el fragmento 34 de Alceo8. Este análisis debe centrarse únicamente en dichos textos porque hasta el momento no se han conservado himnos epigráficos (litúrgicos) dirigidos a los Dioscuros. No resulta fácil precisar ni la cronología ni la procedencia de los dos textos hexamétricos. A priori se puede asumir que datan de época arcaica y que han de proceder de Jonia. Sin embargo se ha de recordar que los datos lingüísticos o de realia no aportan informaciones concluyentes en el caso de estos poemas, que otros textos del mismo corpus han sido adscritos a cronologías posteriores y que algunos de ellos han debido de ser compuestos en zonas distintas del mundo griego9. Es distinto el fragmento de Alceo, pues su cronología es más fácil de esbozar (VII-VI a. C.). Y es también evidente que el texto, al ser obra del poeta de Mitilene, procede de la parte oriental del Egeo, de la misma zona a la que pertenecían los marineros que inscribieron sus plegarias en Prote: įİ૨IJȑ ȝȠȚ Ȟ઼]ıȠȞ ȆȑȜȠʌȠȢ ȜȓʌȠȞIJİ[Ȣ ʌĮ૙įİȢ ੅ijș]ȚȝȠȚ ǻ[ȓȠȢ] ਱į੻ ȁȒįĮȢ İ੝ȞȩȦ]Ț șȪ[ȝ]ȦȚ ʌȡȠ[ijȐ]ȞȘIJİ, ȀȐıIJȠȡ țĮ੿ ȆȠȜȪįİ[ȣ]țİȢ, Ƞ੃ ț੹IJ İ੡ȡȘĮȞ Ȥ[șȩȞĮ] țĮ੿ șȐȜĮııĮȞ ʌĮ૙ıĮȞ ਩ȡȤİıș’ ੩[țȣʌȩ]įȦȞ ਥʌ’ ੅ʌʌȦȞ, ૦ȒĮ į’ ਕȞșȡȫʌȠȚ[Ȣ] șĮ[Ȟ]ȐIJȦ ૦Ȫİıșİ ȗĮțȡȣȩİȞIJȠȢ İ੝ıį[ȪȖ]ȦȞ șȡȫȚıțȠȞIJ[İȢ ਥʌ’] ਙțȡĮ ȞȐȦȞ ʌ]ȒȜȠșİȞ ȜȐȝʌȡȠȚ ʌȡȩ[IJȠȞ’ ੑȞ]IJȡ[ȑȤȠ]ȞIJİȢ, ਕȡȖĮȜȑĮȚ į’ ਥȞ ȞȪțIJȚ ij[ȐȠȢ ijȑ]ȡȠȞIJİȢ Ȟ઼ȧ ȝ[İ]ȜĮȓȞĮȚ.

5

10

El poema fragmentario de Alceo invoca a Cástor y Polideuces, denominados “hijos de Zeus y de Leda” (2), y suplica su aparición. Este himno, del que no tenemos la sección final, que debía de incluir una súplica adecuada a la circunstancia concreta de ejecución del poema, se desarrolla en su sección media según un esquema atributivo10: ayudar en 8

Los textos se citan por las ediciones de West 2003, para el caso de los Himnos +RPpULFRVy de Lobel y Page 1955 para Alceo. West 2011, 39 indica que PMG 1012 podría pertenecer también al mismo poema del lesbio. 9 Allen, Halliday y Sikes 1936, 441 sitúan la composición del himno 33 en época DUFDLFDYHU&jVVROD-454. A propósito de textos del corpus compuestos en otras cronologías o fuera de Jonia, Faulkner 2011, 175-176, West 2003, 18. 10 Según la terminología de Janko 1981.

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las circunstancias presentes, asimiladas de una forma u otra a las inclemencias marinas11, es algo propio de los Dioscuros, pues ellos recorren de manera habitual a caballo la tierra y el mar y salvan del peligro a los marineros, subiendo a sus barcos y manifestándose en forma del fenómeno conocido en castellano como “fuego de San Telmo”12. A las luces características del mismo se refiere el texto en el fragmentario verso diez (ʌ]ȒȜȠșİȞ ȜȐȝʌȡȠȚ ʌȡȩ[IJȠȞ’ ੑȞ]IJȡ[ȑȤȠ]ȞIJİȢ) y en los versos penúltimo y último de la cuarta estrofa (ਕȡȖĮȜȑĮȚ į’ ਥȞ ȞȪțIJȚ ij[ȐȠȢ ijȑ]ȡȠȞIJİȢ / Ȟ઼ȧ ȝ[İ]ȜĮȓȞĮȚ). El planteamiento de los textos incluidos entre los Himnos Homéricos es parecido. Los dos poemas son textos íntegros de los que el 17 parece una abreviación del 3313 HO DQiOLVLV VLJXLHQWH WUDWDUi VROR HO FDVRGH HVWH himno: ਝȝij੿ ǻȚઁȢ țȠ઄ȡȠȣȢ ਦȜȚțઆʌȚįİȢ ਩ıʌİIJİ ȂȠ૨ıĮȚ ȉȣȞįĮȡ઀įĮȢ ȁ੾įȘȢ țĮȜȜȚıij઄ȡȠȣ ਕȖȜĮ੹ IJ੼țȞĮ, Ȁ੺ıIJȠȡ੺ șૅ ੂʌʌંįĮȝȠȞ țĮ੿ ਕȝઆȝȘIJȠȞ ȆȠȜȣįİ઄țİĮ, IJȠઃȢ ਫ਼ʌઁ ȉĮȨȖ੼IJȠȣ țȠȡȣijૌ ੕ȡİȠȢ ȝİȖ੺ȜȠȚȠ ȝȚȤșİ૙ıૅ ਥȞ ijȚȜંIJȘIJȚ țİȜĮȚȞİij੼ȧ ȀȡȠȞ઀ȦȞȚ ıȦIJોȡĮȢ IJ੼țİ ʌĮ૙įĮȢ ਥʌȚȤșȠȞ઀ȦȞ ਕȞșȡઆʌȦȞ ੩țȣʌંȡȦȞ IJİ Ȟİ૵Ȟ, ੖IJİ IJİ ıʌ੼ȡȤȦıȚȞ ਙİȜȜĮȚ ȤİȚȝ੼ȡȚĮȚ țĮIJ੹ ʌંȞIJȠȞ ਕȝİ઀ȜȚȤȠȞǜ Ƞੂ įૅ ਕʌઁ ȞȘ૵Ȟ İ੝ȤંȝİȞȠȚ țĮȜ੼ȠȣıȚ ǻȚઁȢ țȠ઄ȡȠȣȢ ȝİȖ੺ȜȠȚȠ ਙȡȞİııȚȞ ȜİȣțȠ૙ıȚȞ ਥʌૅ ਕțȡȦIJ੾ȡȚĮ ȕ੺ȞIJİȢ ʌȡ઄ȝȞȘȢǜ IJ੽Ȟ įૅ ਙȞİȝંȢ IJİ ȝ੼ȖĮȢ țĮ੿ ț૨ȝĮ șĮȜ੺ııȘȢ șોțĮȞ ਫ਼ʌȠȕȡȣȤ઀ȘȞ, Ƞੂ įૅ ਥȟĮʌ઀ȞȘȢ ਥij੺ȞȘıĮȞ ȟȠȣșૌıȚ ʌIJİȡ઄ȖİııȚ įȚૅ Įੁș੼ȡȠȢ ਕ૘ȟĮȞIJİȢ, Į੝IJ઀țĮ įૅ ਕȡȖĮȜ੼ȦȞ ਕȞ੼ȝȦȞ țĮIJ੼ʌĮȣıĮȞ ਕ੼ȜȜĮȢ, ț઄ȝĮIJĮ įૅ ਥıIJંȡİıĮȞ ȜİȣțોȢ ਖȜઁȢ ਥȞ ʌİȜ੺ȖİııȚ, ı੾ȝĮIJĮ țĮȜ੹, ʌંȞȠȣ ıijȚıȚȞǜ Ƞੂ į੻ ੁįંȞIJİȢ Ȗ੾șȘıĮȞ, ʌĮ઄ıĮȞIJȠ įૅ ੑȧȗȣȡȠ૙Ƞ ʌંȞȠȚȠ. ȋĮ઀ȡİIJİ ȉȣȞįĮȡ઀įĮȚ IJĮȤ੼ȦȞ ਥʌȚȕ੾IJȠȡİȢ ੆ʌʌȦȞǜ Į੝IJ੹ȡ ਥȖઅȞ ਫ਼ȝ੼ȦȞ țĮ੿ ਙȜȜȘȢ ȝȞ੾ıȠȝૅ ਕȠȚįોȢ.

5

10

15

En el himno 33 se aprecia claramente la estructura tripartita típica del himno14. El poema comienza exhortando a las Musas a que canten acerca de los “Dioscuros”, “jóvenes hijos de Zeus” (1), a los que después llama “Tindáridas”, “hijos de Tindáreo´   PiVDGHODQWHHQODVHFFLyQPHGLD 11 Para la interpretación de las circunstancias que constituyen el contexto del poema, cf. Furley y Bremer 2001, 170-171. 12 Cf. Detienne 1970, 174-175. 13 Cf. Càssola 1975, 351. 14 Cf. Furley y Bremer 2001, 51.

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(4-6), se dirá expresamente que Cástor y Polideuces han surgido de la unión entre Leda y Zeus. La parte central del himno comienza narrando las circunstancias de su nacimiento pero pasa pronto a explicar los atributos de los Dioscuros, a quienes el verso 6 llamaba ıȦIJોȡĮȢ ... ਥʌȚȤșȠȞ઀ȦȞ ਕȞșȡઆʌȦȞ / ੩țȣʌંȡȦȞ IJİ Ȟİ૵Ȟ. De hecho, hasta el verso 17, el Himno Homérico 33 se convierte en una exposición de la faceta salvífica de los dos hermanos, quienes acuden en socorro de las naves que se hallan en apuros cuando sus tripulantes los invocan y realizan sacrificios. Ese es el momento en el que se produce la epifanía de los hijos de Zeus, epifanía que posiblemente se materializa también, como en el caso de Alceo, en el fuego de San Telmo, suponiendo que el sintagma ȟȠȣșૌıȚ ʌIJİȡ઄ȖİııȚ, “con susurrantes alas” (13), alude al zumbido característico que acompaña al fenómeno15. La conclusión del poema (18-19) saluda a Cástor y Polideuces como “montadores de veloces caballos” (IJĮȤ੼ȦȞ ਥʌȚȕ੾IJȠȡİȢ ੆ʌʌȦȞ, 18), sin incluir ninguna petición16. El verso 3 del himno 33 ya se había referido a la relación de los hijos de Leda con los caballos17. Allí se llamaba a Cástor ੂʌʌંįĮȝȠȞ. Es evidente la coincidencia en este punto con el poema de Alceo, donde se dice (6) que los hermanos marchan de manera habitual ੩[țȣʌȩ]įȦȞ ਥʌ’ ੅ʌʌȦȞ (5). La idea de velocidad que expresa ੩țȣʌȩįȦȞ caracteriza también a los Dioscuros en el Himno Homérico. En él se refleja este rasgo por medio del participio ਕ૘ȟĮȞIJİȢ y del adverbio ਥȟĮʌ઀ȞȘȢ en la escena de epifanía: ਥȟĮʌ઀ȞȘȢ ਥij੺ȞȘıĮȞ / ȟȠȣșૌıȚ ʌIJİȡ઄ȖİııȚ įȚૅ Įੁș੼ȡȠȢ ਕ૘ȟĮȞIJİȢ (12-13)18. Hay también similitudes en lo que atañe a la faceta salvífica de ORV 'LRVFXURV VH SXHGHQ FRPSDUDU ORV YHUVRV -8 de Alceo (૦ȒĮ į’ ਕȞșȡȫʌȠȚ[Ȣ] șĮ[Ȟ]ȐIJȦ ૦Ȫİıșİ / ȗĮțȡȣȩİȞIJȠȢ) con las líneas 6-7 del himno 33 antes citadas. Posiblemente (cf. supra) existe también una similitud en la referencia al fuego de San Telmo. En cambio, el himno de Alceo indica que la tierra y el mar son los ámbitos de actuación de los hijos de Leda (56: ț੹IJ İ੡ȡȘĮȞ Ȥ[șȩȞĮ] țĮ੿ șȐȜĮııĮȞ / ʌĮ૙ıĮȞ ਩ȡȤİıș’) mientras que el otro poema solo los hace recorrer el cielo antes de poner en orden el mar (13-15: ȟȠȣșૌıȚ ʌIJİȡ઄ȖİııȚ įȚૅ Įੁș੼ȡȠȢ ਕ૘ȟĮȞIJİȢ, / Į੝IJ઀țĮ įૅ ਕȡȖĮȜ੼ȦȞ

15

Cf. Càssola 1975, 590. Sobre la presencia o ausencia de peticiones en la colección, Torres 2002-2003. 17 La vinculación de los Dioscuros con los caballos era ya una de sus facetas centrales en el Peloponeso. 18 También IJĮȤ੼ȦȞ ਥʌȚȕ੾IJȠȡİȢ ੆ʌʌȦȞ (h.Hom. 33,18). 16

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ਕȞ੼ȝȦȞ țĮIJ੼ʌĮȣıĮȞ ਕ੼ȜȜĮȢ, / ț઄ȝĮIJĮ įૅ ਥıIJંȡİıĮȞ ȜİȣțોȢ ਖȜઁȢ ਥȞ ʌİȜ੺ȖİııȚ)19. Al comparar los himnos analizados con las inscripciones de Prote destacan, ante todo, sus diferencias. Lo cierto es que el único punto en común parecen ser los destinatarios, los Dioscuros. No hay, sobre todo, una petición coincidente dirigida a los dos hermanos. La petición, que es un elemento habitual en los himnos, se tiene que formular siempre, casi SRU GHILQLFLyQ HQ XQD SOHJDULD HQ HVWH VHQWLGR ODV LQVFULSFLRQHV KDEODQ siempre de İ੡ʌȜȠȚĮ. En cambio, el Himno Homérico 33 no presenta QLQJXQDSHWLFLyQSRURWURODGRQRVDEHPRVFRQVHJXULGDGVLHOhimno de Alceo la incluía pues se ha perdido su sección final. Es llamativo además que en ninguno de los himnos literarios aparezca la raíz de ʌȜȑȦ, raíz verbal a partir de la que se forma İ੡ʌȜȠȚĮ y que es definitoria de la labor de los marineros. La cuestión básica es que, contra lo que se pudiera pensar, la propia ausencia de puntos compartidos tiene un significado notable. Ante todo se ha de tomar en consideración el carácter y expresión sintéticos de estas inscripciones, poco más que jaculatorias plasmadas en piedra por gente del mar que se disponía a emprender una travesía azarosa. La ausencia de puntos comunes guarda relación también con la diferencia de género entre el tipo de texto mínimo que representa una plegaria en estado puro y los himnos literarios que constituyen el otro término de la comparación: en ellos la petición no es un elemento imprescindible. Es cierto que impetraciones semejantes se documentan en himnos literarios como los Himnos Homéricos (cf. n. 16). Conviene revisar un texto de ese corpus (h.Hom. 22) en el que se le dirige a otro dios del mar, Posidón, una petición que sí presenta analogías con las inscripciones de Prote20: ਝȝij੿ ȆȠıİȚį੺ȦȞĮ șİઁȞ ȝ੼ȖĮȞ ਙȡȤȠȝૅ ਕİ઀įİȚȞ ȖĮ઀ȘȢ țȚȞȘIJોȡĮ țĮ੿ ਕIJȡȣȖ੼IJȠȚȠ șĮȜ੺ııȘȢ ʌંȞIJȚȠȞ, ੖Ȣ șૅ ਬȜȚț૵ȞĮ țĮ੿ İ੝ȡİ઀ĮȢ ਩ȤİȚ ǹੁȖ੺Ȣ. įȚȤș੺ IJȠȚ ਫȞȞȠı઀ȖĮȚİ șİȠ੿ IJȚȝ੽Ȟ ਥį੺ıĮȞIJȠ ੆ʌʌȦȞ IJİ įȝȘIJોȡૅ ਩ȝİȞĮȚ ıȦIJોȡ੺ IJİ ȞȘ૵Ȟ. ȋĮ૙ȡİ ȆȠıİ઀įĮȠȞ ȖĮȚ੾ȠȤİ țȣĮȞȠȤĮ૙IJĮ, țĮ੿ ȝ੺țĮȡ İ੝ȝİȞ੻Ȣ ਷IJȠȡ ਩ȤȦȞ ʌȜઆȠȣıȚȞ ਙȡȘȖİ.

19

5

Lista de paralelos entre el Himno Homérico y el texto de Alceo: Page 1955, 267. No parece que esos paralelos impliquen una relación intertextual sino, más bien, la GHSHQGHQFLDFRP~QGHXQIRQGRWUDGLFLRQDO)DXONQHU:HVW 20 Sobre el himno 22, West 2003, 18-19.

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Plegaria e Himno

La conclusión del himno 22 (6-7) contiene la fórmula de saludo más habitual (ȤĮ૙ȡİ) y una petición: ȝ੺țĮȡ İ੝ȝİȞ੻Ȣ ਷IJȠȡ ਩ȤȦȞ ʌȜઆȠȣıȚȞ ਙȡȘȖİ. Se debe destacar que esta súplica incluye el participio ʌȜઆȠȣıȚȞ, forma de la raíz de ʌȜȑȦ, presente en las inscripciones de Prote (en İ੡ʌȜȠȚĮ) y ausente de los himnos literarios analizados. Es cierto que el himno 22, otro himno de marineros, no tiene como destinatario a los Dioscuros sino a Posidón. Pero son evidentes las analogías entre estas figuras en tanto que dioses del mar y los navegantes\HVVLJQLILFDWLYRTXH el verso 5 (੆ʌʌȦȞ IJİ įȝȘIJોȡૅ ਩ȝİȞĮȚ ıȦIJોȡ੺ IJİ ȞȘ૵Ȟ) le aplique a Posidón dos de las notas que también caracterizan a los Dioscuros: su relación con los caballos y su faceta de salvadores de navíos21. A propósito del himno 22 cabe plantear además alguna hipótesis acerca de su función. Un trabajo publicado en 1998 defendía la posibilidad de que los Himnos Homéricos ‘cortos’ hubieran sido plegarias22. Cinco años después, otro artículo precisaba que esta posibilidad es válida para los himnos ‘breves’, los de menor extensión23. A este grupo no pertenece el himno 33, dirigido a los Dioscuros, pero sí el 22, al que la autora del trabajo de 1998 consideraba como ‘plegaria marinera’24. West manifestó la opinión de que el texto podría haber cumplido incluso una función litúrgica en el festival panjónico que se celebró en el monte Mícala hasta el siglo V a. C.25 La escasez de coincidencias entre las inscripciones de Prote y los himnos literarios analizados, coincidentes a su vez entre ellos, guarda relación con el hecho de que ninguno de estos últimos poemas presente o conserve una petición. Pero, sobre todo, esta falta de puntos comunes nos recuerda que unos textos y otros ocupaban un lugar distinto en la vida UHOLJLRVD\OLWHUDULDGHORVJULHJRVPLHQWUDVTXHORVSULPHURVHUDQSURSLRV de la esfera de la religiosidad privada, en el caso de los segundos se ha de contar con una ejecución pública. A priori cabe pensar que el tipo de texto que serviría de puente entre las plegarias epigráficas a los Dioscuros y los himnos literarios podría ser un himno litúrgico que se dirigiera a los mismos destinatarios. La oportunidad de este juicio lógico la avala el ejemplo del Himno Homérico 22, quizá él mismo un himno litúrgico. Con su petición de auxilio a los navegantes, desempeña el papel de eslabón 21

Por supuesto no se trata de facetas ajenas a Posidón: Burkert 20112, 214-215. De Hoz 1998, 55, 63. 23 Torres 2002-2003, 43. A los himnos largos de la colección de Himnos Homéricos (1-7, con la excepción de 6), siguen los más breves (9-25, con la excepción de 19) y a estos los de extensión media (26-33): ver Torres 2003. 24 De Hoz 1998, 63. 25 West 2003, 18-19. 22

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perdido entre los dos géneros distintos de los que ha tratado este trabajo: las puras plegarias religiosas de Prote y los himnos literarios dirigidos a los hijos de Leda.

Obras Citadas Allen, T.W., W.R. Halliday y E.E. Sikes eds. 1936. The Homeric Hymns. Oxford: Clarendon Press. Burkert, W. 2011. Griechische Religion der arcKDLVFKHQXQGNODVVLVFKHQ Epoche, 2ª ed. rev. Stuttgart: Kohlhammer. Càssola, F. ed. 1975. Inni Omerici. Milán: Fondazione Lorenzo Valla. De Hoz, M.P. 1998. “Los himnos homéricos cortos y las plegarias cultuales.” Emerita 66: 49-66. Detienne, M. 1970. “Le navire d’Athéna.” RHR 178: 133-177. Faulkner, A. 2011. “The Collection of Homeric Hymns from the Seventh to the Third Centuries BC.” In The Homeric Hymns: Interpretative Essays, ed. A. Faulkner, 175-205. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Furley, W.D. y J.M. Bremer 2001. *UHHN +\PQV , 7KH 7H[WV LQ Translation. Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck. Janko, R. 1981. “The Structure of the Homeric Hymns: A Study in Genre.” Hermes 109: 9-24. Lobel, E. y D.L. Page eds. 1955. Poetarum Lesbiorum fragmenta. Oxford: Clarendon Press. Page, D.L., 1955. Sappho and Alcaeus. Oxford: Clarendon Press. Torres, J.B. 2002-2003. “Sobre la conclusión de los Himnos Homéricos y sus circunstancias de ejecución.” Minerva 16: 39-44. —. 2003. “Die Anordnung der homerischen Hymnen.” Philologus 147: 312. Wachsmuth, D. 1967, ȆȅȂȆǿȂȅȈ ȅ ǻǹǿȂȍȃ: Untersuchung zu den DQWLNHQ 6DNUDOKDQGOXQJHQ EHL Seereisen, Diss. Berlín: Freie Universität. West, M.L. ed. 2003. Homeric Hymns. Homeric Apocrypha. Lives of Homer. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. —. 2011. “The First Homeric Hymn to Dionysus.” In The Homeric Hymns: Interpretative Essays, ed. A. Faulkner, 29-43. Oxford: Oxford University Press.

THE MAGICIANS WHO SANG TO THE GODS1 MIRIAM BLANCO UNIVERSITY OF VALLADOLID

The relationship between magic and religion has long been discussed among religious historians and my purpose is not to restart this debate KHUH KRZHYHU , DP JRLQJ WR GHDO ZLWK WKH V\QFUHWLVP EHWZHHQ WKHP focusing on the poetic-religious sources of Greco-Egyptian magicians2. In particular, I want to examine the religious sources of some lógoi that appear in metric form3 in the Greek magical papyri, these metric compositions are called ‘hymns’ and they have, as magic prayer, the TXLQWHVVHQFHRIUHOLJLRQ (Graff 1991, 188). But, in contrast to prose-lógoi, both the choice of the poetic form, and the use of the Greek language as instruments of communication, lead their authors to find formal and lexical models in Greek poetry. E. Szepes has proved the complex reasons why these hymns (abbreviated as Mag.Hymn.) are to be considered as magical (Szepes 1976). In them we recognise the same elements that make other forms of addressing the divinity magical, and the same regularities that constitute the essence of magic words in order to satisfy the demands of their magic character. ,QWKHVHK\PQVZHFDQILQGGLIIHUHQWIRUPVRIFRPSHOOLQJVRPHWLPHV they are very explicit, such as when the magician uses the imperative to order (not to pray for) something, or he openly compels the divinity with threats4 įȚĮȕȠȜĮ઀5, references to his authority6 or the magician’s auto1

This study is part of Research Project no. FFI2011-27438 funded by the Spanish MINECO and it has been made with the academic and economic support of the National Program of F.P.U. Fellowships. 2 For some guidelines of the Greek literary knowledge of the authors of magical papyri see Suárez de la Torre 2013. 3 These texts were selected, edited and published in the second edition of Papyri Graecae Magicae (abbreviated as PGM) of K. Preisendanz: 1974, 237-266. Some general studies on magical hymns can be found in Heitsch 1959, Szepes 1976, Graff 1991, Poccetti 1993. 4 Mag. Hymn. 17.78-80 (with a long accumulation of compelling resources).

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proclamation as a powerful god7. The use of ੒ȡț઀ȗȦ ı੼ as formular invocation forces the deity to manifest itself. Like magic spells, magic hymns also contain resources as vowel combinations, barbarism, ਙıȘȝĮ ੑȞંȝĮIJĮ DQG PDJLF ZRUGV to stress the magic power of the lógos, sometimes inserted in the metric structure of the hymn. The enumeration of all the known names of the divine entity and his attributes was felt to be necessary for the full evocation of the divinity because its power and essence is defined through them8. Magical hymns also have some implicit forms of coercion. Repetition LV D YHU\ ROG PDJLF UHVRXUFH LWV PRQRWRQ\ WULHV WR EHZLWFK WKH GLYLQH entities. We can find it at every level of the text: at the phonetic level we find alliteration9 and at the syntactic level, figurae etimologicae10, intensive repetitions11 and pleonasm12 that emphasize the request for immediate obedience. The magic hymns also show structural repetitions that touch the stylistic level13: parallelism14, anaphora15, anadiplosis16, epanadiplosis17, etc. Also the hexameter is a repeating resource on the rhythmic level because it is a repetitive metre, in spite of its diversity and possibility of variations (Szepes 1976, 210-211). However, when we compare these compositions with spells and proselógoi, they seem to be different: less ‘magical’. They are not only written in verse, which gives hymns a diverse sonority, but one can detect there is something religious in them: i.e. the tone and the solemnity. Partly, this effect is created through the use of poetic vocabulary, even inserting Homeric verses in these compositions. But, in their search of Greek poetic models in form and content, magicians also used traditional poetic Greek 5

For this magical resource see Herrero Valdés 2011. E.g. Mag. Hymn. 17.13-14 țĮ੿ IJ૵Ȟ țĮȜ૵Ȟ ıȠȣ ȝȣıIJĮȖȦȖઁȢ ʌȡĮȖȝȐIJȦȞ / ਫ਼ʌȠȣȡȖȩȢİੁȝȚțĮ੿ ıȣȞȓıIJȦȡʌĮȡșȑȞİ 7 E.g. Mag. Hymn. 17.47 ਬȡȝોȢ੒ ʌȡȑıȕȣȢ੍ıȚįȠȢʌĮIJ੽ȡਥȖȫİੁȝȚ 8 See Clodd 1921, Frankfurter 1994, Versnel 2001, 112-117. 9 E.g. Mag.Hymn.  șİıȝȠઃȢ șİıʌ>İıȓ@ȠȣȢ ȞȣțIJ੿ į¶ ਥȞ੿ įȞȠijİȡૌ. On this magical resource see *DUFtD7HLMHLUR9HUVQHO-117. 10 E.g. Mag.Hymn.  ı઄ IJȑȜİȚ IJİȜȑĮȞ ਥʌĮȠȚįȒȞ The superlative genitive, as șİ૵ȞșİȑLVDOVRDQXVXDONLQGRIfigura etimologica in magic. 11 The most frequent is ਵįȘਵįȘIJ੹ȤȣIJ੺Ȥȣ 12 E.g. Mag. Hymn. 21.34ıʌİ૨įİIJȐȤȚıIJ¶ਵįȘ7KLVILJXUHFDQKLGHJORVVHV 13 For more examples see Szepes 1991 and Versnel 2001. 14 The succession of clauses with the same structure is a common structural resource in magical hymns. 15 E.g. Mag. Hymn. 23.9-Mag. Hymn. 7.1-10. 16 E.g. Mag. Hymn. 9.2- -6 …įİ૨ȡ’ ਙ[Ȗ]İ, įİ૨ȡȠǜ / įİ૨ȡ’ ਙȖİ, șİıʌȓȗȦȞ … 17 E.g. Mag. Hymn. 2.1: ʌĮȞIJઁȢ țIJȓıIJĮ, șİ૵Ȟ șİȑ, țȠȓȡĮȞİ ʌĮȞIJȩȢ. 6

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forms of communication with the divinity, such as the religious hymn. The hymn is a genre with an ancient religious tradition and magic hymns depend on it too. In addition to the characteristics of magic language, common to other magical forms of addressing the divinity, magicians use formal elements and features from religious hymns for two main reasons. Firstly, the poetic and formulaic expression of religious hymns raises the tone of magic compositions and increases their solemnity. Besides, if the religious hymnal features effectively manage to invoke the gods while worshipping, they are also useful for magicians to make them appear. The analysis of fixed formulas recurring in magic hymns is a good example of this dependence on religious speech: 



Formulas with poetic-religious tradition18 ȋĮ૙ȡİ DV SURSLWLDWRU\ formula), ਥȜș੼, ਙȖİ ȝȩȜİ ȀȜ૊ȗȦ ਩ȡȤİȠ įİ૨ȡ¶ ੅șȚ įİ૨ȡȠ ı੻ țĮȜ੼Ȧ ȁȓIJȠȝĮȚ ੂțȞȠ૨ȝĮȚ Ǽ੡ȤȠȝĮȚ DQG ਥȞİ઄ȤȠȝĮȚ ੂțİIJİ઄Ȧ ੂțİIJ੼Ȧ Ȟİ૨ıȠȞ ਥȝȠ઀, ੅ȜĮș઀ ȝȠȚİ੅ ʌȠIJİਞȜȜ੺Ȟ૨Ȟ Formulas without poetic-religious tradition: ੒ȡț઀ȗȦ ı੼, ਥȖઆ İੁȝȚ19, IJ੹ ੕ȞȠȝĮ ijȡȐȗȦ ਥȡ૵

ȋĮ૙ȡİDVSURSLWLDWRU\IRUPXODțȜ઄İȝȩȜİįİ૨ȡ¶੅șȚțȜ૊ȗȦDQGȞİ૨ıȠȞ ਥȝȠ઀ only appear in hymnal lógoi, thus magicians employ them because they consider them characteristics of hymnal speech. In the same way, ȜȓIJȠȝĮȚ DQG ੂțȞȠ૨ȝĮȚ DUH YDULDWLRQV RI YHUEV HPSOR\HG LQ SURVH lógoi20, specific for hymnal expression. Poetic tradition also formally marks the XVH RI WKHVH IRUPXODV țȜ૨șȚ ıઃ į¶ İ੅ ʌȠIJİ ਥȞİ઄ȤȠȝĮȚ ੅ȜĮș઀ ȝȠȚ ı੻ țĮȜ੼Ȧ DQG įİ૨ȡȠ DOZD\V DSSHDU DW WKH same sedes metrica of the verse because this is their conventional position in Greek poetry. Magic dialogue has a strong imperative character and, as a result, some of these formulae change their meaning. For example ਙȖİ ZKLFK LV DQ interjection in classical Greek, recovers its original jussive sense as an imperative in this coercive context. In general, imperatives used in prayer become stronger and lose their precatory character. This phenomenon is clear in formulae of hearing21 (țȜ઄İțȜ૨șȚDQGਥʌȐțȠȣıȠȞ), and coming22 (ਥȜș੼, ਩ȡȤİȠ ਙȖİ ȝȩȜİ įİ૨ȡ¶ ੅șȚ and įİ૨ȡȠ  +RZHYHU WKH UHPDUNDEOH absence of verbs of praise as ਕİ઀įȦRU਩ȞȞ੼ʌȦVRIUHTXHQWLQthe genre of 18

For the use and frequency of this formulae in Greek religious speech, especially in hymns, see the important contributions by Ausfeld 1903, 505-$GDPL 251-=LHJOHU3XOOH\Q-155. 19 This formula exists in the aretalogy and Old Testament, but in reference to a divine speaker. Its use and function are different in magic. 20 Ȝ઀ııȠȝĮȚ and ੂțİIJİ઄Ȧ/ੂțİIJ੼Ȧ respectively. 21 I use Pulleyn’s terminology.

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hymns, should ring a EHOO 2QO\ țȜ૊ȗȦ LV UHJXODUO\ used, but in magic contexts loses its meaning and becomes simply “call” or “name”, a cletic YHUE ZLWK D QHXWUDO PHDQLQJ VLPLODU WR țĮȜ੼Ȧ 6R LQ PDJLF VRPH traditional religious formulas experimented a semantic adaptation of this new context. Undoubtedly, the magical hymns more connected with the religious hymnal tradition are Apollinean magical hymns22. I have chosen to analyse only the Mag.Hymn. XII23, because although the text condition is unfortunately very fragmentary, it is an exceptional example that illustrates the connection between magical texts and the use of Greek literature as a model. ȂȑȜʌȦı>੼@ȝ੺țĮȡҕ>. . . . [email protected]ȫȞȚİȤȡȘıȝȠ>. . . . . ȆȐȞıȠij>İ@ ǻ੾ȜȚ>İ@RȜİIJȠțIJȣʌİ>. . . . . ǻȦįȫȞ>İ૨ " . . . . . Ȇ@ȪșȚİ ȆĮȚȐȞ ȀȜ@૊ȗȦı¶> . . . . . ț@İȜ੺įȠȚȠ - @ıIJȚȕ>ĮȡĮ૙Ȣ@Ȟ਩ȤȦȞșİઁȢ>. . . . . . . . . . ਙȞ]Įȟ>İ੝]આȞȣȝİĭȠ૙ȕİ [. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . [ ]Į੝IJȠțȡȐ[IJȦȡ] [ ]ȦȞҕț>@ ȆĮȡȞȘııȠ૨ țȠ@ȡȣijĮ૙Ȣ>ʌȠȜȣ@į੼ȞįȡȠȚȢ੖ȢʌİȡȚ@ijȠȚIJઽ>Ȣ ı઀ȖĮȝ੽ ȤĮȜ੺>ıૉȢ @ȝȚıȘ> ੯ ıȝȪȡȞȘȢįȑȞįȡȠȞ>]ȁȣțİȚҕ>İ ʌĮȣıȐıșȦĮ੝ȟȘșҕ> ȝİ૙ȗȠ[Ȟ] ij૵ȢāȝȑȜȜİȚȖ੹ȡʌİ઄ҕ>ıİıșĮȚ. . . . . șİȓȦҕ[Ȟਥ]țıIJȠȝȐIJȦȞIJȚȞ੹ [. . . . . ਕȞİ]Ȗİ૙ȡĮȚ IJ૶ ʌȜȒțIJȡ૳ IJઁȞȝȐȞIJȚȞ>]ıȦȞҕ>@Ȟҕ> @ȝȩȜİįİ૨ȡ¶੅șȚȝȐȞIJȚ ȤȐȡȝҕ[ĮijȑȡȦȞȈ]ȝȚȞșİ૨ҕȤ[ȡ]ȒıĮ[Ȣ]țȜȪİȆȪșȚİȆĮȚȐȞ ੕ȡʌȘȟ>ਙijșȚIJ@İȤĮȓȡȠȚȢǻİȜ>ijȚț੼ . . . . . ıઁȞȖ੹ȡʌȡȫ[IJ]ૉ ĭȠ૙ȕȠȢ਩țȡȠ>ȣıİ@ȝ੼ȜİਥȞਕȖ૵ȞȚ ȂȠȣı੺!ȦȞǻ[Ȑ]ijȞȘǜıઃ țȜȐį[ȠȞĭ]Ƞ઀ȕ૳ ਥʌȚıİȓİȚȢ Ǽ੝ț੼ȜĮįંȞıİIJȩș¶ਥțǻİȜijҕ[૵]Ȟਫ਼ȝȞȠ૨ıȚșİ>ȝ઀ıIJȦȞ ੯ [ij]ȦȞĮ૙ȢșİȓĮȚȢ੯ ȤȡȘı>ȝȠ૙ȢțȣįȚં@ȦıĮҕ [ @Ƞ੝ȡȠįȡȩȝİijȫıijȦ[ȡ] [ıİȚı]ȓȤșȦȞǜੂȜĮȡઁȢțĮ੿ ਥʌȒțȠȠȢਥȜ[ș]੻ ʌȡȠijȒIJૉ. ਕȜȜ¶ਙȖİį੽ ıʌҕ[İȪ]ıİȚȢ੯ ਕİȡȠįȡȩȝİȆȪ[șȚİ] ȆĮȚȐȞ

22

1

5

10

15

20

25

Mag. Hymn. 9, 10, 11a and 12, the first three verses of Mag. Hymn. 23 (Mag. Hymn. 8 + vv.1-2 Mag. Hymn. 23) and two hymns to Daphne (Mag.Hymn. 13 and 14), a feminine oracular divinity closely associated with Apollo in magic. 23 PGM 3.234-258. Text edited by Preisendanz 1974, 247.

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The hymn begins with the formula of praise ȝ੼ȜʌȦ ı੼, it is the only occurrence of this kind of formula in magical hymns. We can find ਩ȞȞİʌİ ȝȠȚDVDSHWLWLRQWR$SROOR in Mag.Hymn. XI 11, but it is a metaphorical oracular request similar to ਩ȝʌȞİȣıȠȞ ਕȠȚįȐȢ Mag.Hymn. XI 6). But in the case of Mag.Hymn. XII it is the magician who sings to praise the god. In addition, in the praxis instructions this lógos is called ੢ȝȞȠȢ DQG LWV SHUIRUPDQFHLVFDOOHGʌĮȚĮȞ઀ȗȦWKXVWKHPDJLFLDQseems to be aware of its laudatory character24. In this context, it is also possible to consider that țȜ૊ȗȦ  NHHSVLWVRULJLQDOVHQVHDVDYHUERISUDLVHAlso, the composer encourages an anonymous collective to sing in honour of the god with their zithers (15-16). In these two verses, the divinity goes from being the direct addressee of the hymn– ı੼ (second person)-to the person receiving the praise–IJઁȞ Ȃ੺ȞIJȚȞ25 (third person)-. The change from Du-stil to Erstil, is again the only occurrence in magical hymns and reinforces the perception of the existence of a third dialectical person in this dialogue: WKH FRPSRVHUWKH JRG DQG WKH RWKHUV D FKRLU DQ DXGLHQFH"  7KLV LV WKH only way we can explain this change in the personal deixis. The presence of choirs that invoke the god with their songs in Apollinean rites, especially with paeans, become a usual topic in this kind of poetry (Furley and Bremer 2001, 87). Callimachus exhorts the celebration of the god with the music of the zithers Ap. 12-13 and then he orders a choir to sing in 28-31. Alcaeus’ paean describes a choir of young boys that appeal to the god from the Delphic sanctuary with ʌĮȚ઼ȞĮ țĮ੿ ȝ੼ȜȠȢZKHQKHgoes away with the Hyperboreans. Also in our magic hymn a Delphic choir appears in 22. Female choirs celebrate the god’s advent in Bacchylides’ Dith. 2, 9ss. In 3LQGDU VWKPaean choirs of both sexes sing to honour the god26. The ‘wooden summits of Mount Parnassus’ are mentioned in line 10 as a place frequented by Apollo. These summits also appear in the 24

The lógos’ GHQRPLQDWLRQDVİ੝Ȥ੾ occurs several times in magical papyri, as do WKHYHUEİ੡ȤȠȝĮȚDQGRWKHUNLQGUHGWHUPVEXWWKHXVHRI੢ȝȞȠȢ and ʌĮȚĮȞ઀ȗȦ are UDUH ʌĮȚĮȞ઀ȗȦ KDV WKH RQO\ RWKHU RFFXUUHQFH LQ PGM  ਫ਼ȝȞ૵ is more frequent, but usually the action is realised by other divinity entities (e.g. PGM 13.149 ੒ į੻ ਾȜȚȠȢਫ਼ȝȞİ૙ ıİ DQGLWLVQHYHUXVHGIRUWKHSHUIRUPDQFHRIK\PQLF lógoi. 25 Ȃ੺ȞIJȚȢ is a divine epithet, usual of Apollo in this period: Orph. Hymn  Orph. A$WKHQDJLeg2HQRP)HWFWKHPDJLFLDQV called themselves with other denominations such as ʌȡȠij੾IJȘȢ as García Molinos has shown in “Designaciones del adivino en los PGM”, paper presented at the XXXVI Simposio de la SEL, Madrid, 2006. 26 The choirs are feminine in Pi. P. 6.15-18, but masculine in 121-122.

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Apollinean invocation at the beginning of the Orphic Argonautica: 2 ੔Ȣ ȜȐȤİȢ ਱ȜȚȕȐIJȠȣ țȠȡȣijોȢ ȆĮȡȞĮııȓįĮ ʌȑIJȡȘȞ, in Delphic poetry: Ath. Pean Delph. 4: ੔ȢਕȞ੹ įȚțંȡȣȞȕĮȆĮȡȞĮıı઀įȠȢIJ઼ıįİʌİIJ੼ȡĮȢ਩įȡĮȞ¶« ਥʌȚȞ઀ıİIJĮȚ Limen. Pean Delph. 21-22: ȕĮ૙Ȟ¶ ਥʌ੿ șİȠıIJȚȕ>੼Į  IJ੺Ȟįİ Ȇ@ĮȡȞĮıı઀ĮȞ įİȚȡ੺įĮ ijȚȜ੼ȞșİȠȞ, and there are frequent references in magical hymns27. The subject of Mount Parnassus as Apollo’s main seat was a traditional motif in Apollinean poetry and it became a formulary reference in his hymns: Apollo is placed in the Delphic sanctuary and he comes and goes from there when invoked by someone. There is a request for silence – ı઀ȖĮ – in line 11, which is reinforced by a stillness petition in 13 – ʌĮȣı੺ıșȦ -. But in this calm context, the music and songs are allowed (15-  DQG PD\EH ZH VKRXOG XQGHUVWDQG ȝ੽ ȤĮȜ੺ıૉȢ   LQ WKLV ZD\ µGRQ¶W OHW JR RI WKH SOHFWUXP WKH ]LWKHU ¶ RU µGRQ¶W UHOD[ WKH VRQJV WKH YRLFH WKH PXVLF" ¶ :H FDQ ILQG WKH VDPH motive in Callimachus, who orders the worshippers to keep silent during WKHVLQJLQJRIWKHSDHDQHYHQWKHVHDLVTXLHWZKLOH$SROOR¶VSUDLVHVDUH sung28. In Hellenistic poetry, the notion that the natural world observes a ritual silence during gods’ epiphanies is frequent and becomes a topic in Apollinean poetry29. Perhaps, the request that we have in Mag.Hymn. XII is of this kind. Undoubtedly, the natural world is present in its near context: the ‘wooded Parnassus summits’ (10) and the myrrh tree (12). Other elements frequently mentioned in the descriptions of Apollo’s epiphanies are the shaking of the laurel tree, especially when they take place in Delphi. Line 21 is very damaged, even in the metric aspect. The papyrus’ reading is ȝȠȣıȦȞį>@ijȞȘȢıȣțȜĮį> @ȠȚȕİıȚİȚȢ 3UHLVHQdanz’s FRQMHFWXUHIROORZLQJ6FKPLGWLVȂȠȣı੺ȦȞǻ>Ȑ@ijȞȘǜıઃ țȜȐį>ȠȞĭ@Ƞ઀ȕ૳ ਥʌȚıİȓİȚȢ %XW 3UHLVHQGDQ]¶V FRUUHFWLRQV FKDQJH WKH RULJLQDO VHQVH RI WKH verse: į>Ȑ@ijȞȘȢıઃ țȜĮį>ȠȣȢ"ĭ@Ƞ૙ȕİıİ!઀İȚȢ ‘you, Phoebus, shake the laurel branches’, that is coherent with a tradition, even lexically: ੒ ĭȠ૙ȕȠȢĮ੝IJઁȢȆȣșȚț੽ȞıİȓıĮȢįȐijȞȘȞ Ar. Pl. 213) ȅੈȠȞ੒ IJ੩ʌȩȜȜȦȞȠȢਥıİȓıĮIJȠįȐijȞȚȞȠȢ੖ȡʌȘȟ Call. Ap. 1)

27

Mag. Hymn. țȠȡȣij@ૌıȚʌȠȜȣʌIJȪȤȠȣਫ਼ȥȘȜȠ૙Ƞș@İȠ૙ȢșȑıʌȚȗİȕȡȠIJȠ૙ıȚȞ Mag. Hymn. 9.4-İ੅ ʌȠIJİį੽ ijȚȜȩȞȚțȠȞ਩ȤȦȞțȜȐįȠȞਥȞșȐįİįȐijȞȘȢ>Ȉો@ȢੂİȡોȢ țȠȡȣijોȢਥijșȑȖȖİȠʌȠȜȜȐțȚȢਥıșȜȐMag. Hymn. 18.1-ǻȑıʌȠIJĮȆĮȡȞȐıȚȠȞȜȓʌ¶ ੕ȡȠȢțĮ੿ ǻİȜijȓįĮȆȣșઅ. 28 Call. Ap. 17-18. 29 Limen. Pean Delph. 2.9-+HLWVFKHymn. 51.8-0HVRPF 2.1-6.

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Magicians Who Sang ਯȞș¶ ਕʌઁ IJȡȚʌȩįȦȞ șİȠțIJȒIJȦȞ ȤȜ[Ȧ]ȡȩIJȠȝȠȞ įȐijȞĮȞ  ıİȓȦȞ ȝĮȞIJȠıȪȞĮȞਥʌȠȚȤȞİ૙Ȣੁ੽ ੁ੻ ȆĮȚȐȞ $ULVWRQRXVAp. 10-13)

So, I consider the reading of the papyrus perfectly acceptable in spite of the metric mistakes. Magical Hymn XII follows the Hellenistic fashion of hymns not restricted to a particular ritual field, but with a supra-local character, that is very functional. Although Delphi is mentioned frequently, in the hymn we can find some of the main epithets of Apollo: Ȇ઄șȚİȆĮȚ੺Ȟ  ȈȝȚȞșİ૨  ĭȠ૙ȕİ  DQGPHQWLRQVRI'HORV (1) and Dodona30 (2). There is a third damaged mention in the first line and there were possibly more in the other damaged parts of the text. The hymn focuses on a functional aim: invoking the god in his oracular capacity. The poet invokes Apollo as DQ RUDFXODU GLYLQLW\ KH PHQWLRQV KLV PDLQ RUDFXODU VDQFWXDULHV DQG XVHV epiphanic motives and images. The linking of this composition with the paean and the stress on Delphic context don’t affect its supra-local character. From Pindar on, paean is stereotyped in a series of poetry topics and motives that became characteristics of this genre (Suárez de la Torre, in this volume): Apollo shaking the oracular laurel in Delphi, choruses that sing to the god, the epiphanic celebrations and the mention of Mount Parnassus as Apollo’s home. Our hymn doesn’t have clear indications of its provenance, but in any case, its composer emulates a paean as a gender of fixed stylistic features. Magical Hymn XII is, maybe, the most extreme example, but also the most interesting for the use of literary sources in magic. As Graf 1991, 196 stated, “the magicians used verses and formulas that came from a common stock of tradition, a stock that both magicians and no-magicians, could use”. In this case, we could also add ‘poetic models’. The main distinction between magic and religion, in many cases, lies more in the ritual and in the intention of the person who pronounces the lógos than in the spoken parts of the practice.

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In some late Imperial sources (very lacking) the Apollinean oracular field spreads over this oracular sanctuary. The most ancient source for Apollo as god of Dodona is Strabo, 7.1.1a and Schol. Ael. Arist. 11.17 (vetera). In spite of our testimony it isn’t an isolated example, there wasn’t a real tradidition in this way. Maybe, there was an individual phenomenon linked with the cultural instruction of each author.

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Works Cited Adami, F. 1900. De poetis scaenicis Graecis hymnorum sacrorum imitatoribus. Lipsiae: Teubner. Ausfeld, C. 1903. 'H JUDHFRUXP SUHFDWLRQLEXV TXDHVWLRQHV. Lipsiae: Teubner. Bremer, J.M. 1981. “Greek Hymns”, In )DLWK+RSHDQG:RUVKLS, ed. H.S. Versnel, 193-215. Leiden: Brill. Clodd, E. 1921. Magic in Names and in Other Things. New York: Dutton Frankfurter, D. 1994. “The Magic of Writing and the Writing of Magic: The Power of the Word in Egyptian and Greek Traditions.” Helios 21: 189-221. Furley, W.D., and J.M. Bremer, 2001. *UHHN +\PQV. Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck. García Teijeiro, M. 1989. “Recursos fonéticos y recursos gráficos en los textos mágicos griegos.” RSEL 19: 233-250. Graf, F. 1991. “Prayer in Magic and Religious Ritual.” In Magica Hiera. ed. C. Faraone, and D. Obbink, 189-213. New York: Oxford University Press. Heitsch, E. 1964. Die griechischen DichterfragmHQWH GHU U|mischen Kaiserzeit II. Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht. Herrero Valdés, F. 2011. “ǻȚĮȕȠȜȒ como recurso de la invocación en la magia grecoegipcia.” MHNH 11: 305-318. Poccetti, P. 1993. ³)RUPD H WUDGL]LRQL GHOO LQQR PDJLFR QHO PRQGR classico.” In L'inno tra rituale e letteratura nel mondo antico ed. A. Cassio, and G. Cerri, 179-204. Roma: GEI. Preisendanz, K. 1974. Papyri Graecae Magicae. Die griechischen Zauberpapyri II. 2nd. ed. Stuttgart: Teubner. Pulleyn, S. 1997. 3UD\HULQ*UHHN5HOLJLRQ. Oxford: Clarendon Press. Suárez de la Torre, E. 2013. “The Library of the Magician.” In Mapping 0DJLFed. Marco F. and G. Bison. Roma: in print. Szepes, E. 1976. “Magic Elements in the Prayers of the Hellenistic Magic Papyri.” AantHung 24: 205-225. Versnel, H. S. 2001. “The Poetics of the Magical Charm.” In Magic and Ritual in the Ancient World, ed. P. Mirecki, and M. Meyer, 105-158. Leiden: Brill. Ziegler, K. 1905. De SUHFDWLRQXP DSXG *UDHFRV IRUPLV TXDHVWLRQHV selectae. Vratislaviae: Barth.

THESEA DEVOVI: MAGIC, RITUAL AND HEROES IN OVID’S HEROIDES NATHALIE SADO NISINSON NEW YORK UNIVERSITY

The Heroides have been studied and celebrated for their innovative crossing of generic boundaries and for the rare opportunity they provide to speculate about female voices in Latin poetry. However, they are also remarkable for their unique exploration of the nature of heroism through the eyes of mythic heroines. There is more to this than an artful reworking of Greek themes and mythological traditions into Latin: I argue that Ovid’s innovation lies in the juxtaposition of Roman cultural values with Greek modes of discourse. Specifically, Roman religious ideology is discussed in the Heroides indirectly by association with the primarily Greek concept of hero cult. In the Heroides Ovid combines Roman religious ideology with the myths that are used in Greek literature to discuss *UHHN religious ideology, namely hero cult practice.1 This connection is evident in several aspects of the +HURLGHV though for the moment I am concerned with only one: the fact that Ovid several times places the Latin word devovere in the mouths of his heroines. The verb devovere is commonly used in curses, and thus has a negative, magical connotation.2 It is used also for the ritual of devotiowhich is not magical, but rather a pious and patriotic act.3 This ritual has a natural association with the heroic self-sacrifice of particular individuals—heroic not only in the modern sense, but also according to the model of the ancient mythic hero (Kearns 1989, 56). The devoted general and the mythical hero share several characteristics, most notably an extraordinary 1

This is, of course, far too broad a topic to investigate here, but it is the subject of my dissertation, currently in process at New York University. 2 2/' VY ³GHYRYHR´ 3: “To devote to the infernal gods, execrate, curse ... to bewitch, enchant.” 3 My analysis owes much to the discussion of magic and religion in Versnel 1991a.

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death (Kearns 1989, +RSH, 3DFKH, 91). For both mythic heroes and devoted generals, that death serves to crystallize the religious and cultural significance of the figure in question. The use of the term devovere in Ovid’s re-tellings of Greek hero myth, I argue, evokes the Roman religious connotations of devotio. In the Heroides, two uses of devovere show the strongest association between heroism and devotio: poem 2, the letter of Phyllis to Demophoön, and poem 3, Briseis to Achilles. In these poems, the heroines use devovere as a term for cursing. In so doing, they allude strongly to the connection that this practice has with chthonic entities, in particular the human dead and heroes of cult and myth (Versnel 1976, 365(NURWK, 122). Such associations are typical of Greek and Roman magic: the heroic dead, and the prematurely dead (between which there is significant overlap) are frequently called upon to aid in the act of cursing.4 Such acts are of course different from the Greek practice of hero worship. However, in both hero cult and devotio supernatural status and power are assigned to individuals who have lived mortal lives and experienced death before becoming objects of worship. The exact form and significance of ritual devotion proves elusive, but devotio is generally understood as the giving over of one’s life to a divinity or divinities in exchange for military victory.5 In the definitive appearance of devotio in literature Livy recounts the circumstances of the deaths of the Decii, the so-called GHYRWLRQHV'HFLDQDHhistorical examples of devotiones par excellence. The Decii in Livy provide an important model of devotio, with the social values it embodies, that can be compared to the Heroides. The eldest Decius devotes himself in battle at the Veseris river in Book 8, while his son does the same at Sentinum in Book 10. The earlier instance establishes several basic components of the ritual: the presence of an official pontifex, the invocation of chthonic entities, and the extensive use of devovere itself: In hac trepidatione Decius consul M. Valerium magna voce inclamat. µ'HRUXP¶ LQTXLW µRSH 09DOHUL RSXV HVW DJHGXP SRQWLIH[ SXEOLFXV

4

On calling upon the dead to curse, see especially Versel 1991b, 64, but more recently, Ogden 2002, 146ff., as well as Hope 2009, 117 for a Roman-focused viewpoint. 5 The core of this discussion can be found in Versnel 1976 and Janssen 1981. See also Fowler 1933, passim +LFNVRQ   %HDUG et al.   $QGR    '\FN  'XERXUGLHX   +RSH   7KH PDMRU DQFLHQW sources for devotio are the passages of Livy quoted here and Macrobius 3.9.9ff.

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Thesea Devovi populi Romani, praei verba quibus me pro legionibus devoveam.6’ Pontifex eum togam praetextam sumere iussit et ... sic dicere: ‘Iane, Iuppiter, Mars pater, Quirine, Bellona, Lares, Divi Novensiles, Di Indigetes, Divi, quorum est potestas nostrorum hostiumque, Dique Manes, vos precor veneror, veniam peto feroque, uti populo Romano Quiritium vim victoriam prosperetis hostesque populi Romani Quiritium terrore formidine morteque adficiatis. Sicut verbis nuncupavi, ita pro re publica Quiritium, exercitu, legionibus, auxiliis populi Romani Quiritium, legiones auxiliaque hostium mecum Deis Manibus Tellurique devoveo. (Livy 8.9.4-8)

Decius is instructed to call upon (among others) the spirits of the dead and Tellus. The Manes without question are associated with death and the supernatural power of the dead and are arguably chthonic in nature7. The passage in Book 10 is much more succinct but shares important elements with that of Book 8: Haec locutus M. Livium pontificem ... praeire iussit verba quibus se legionesque hostium pro exercitu populi Romani Quiritium devoveret. Devotus inde eadem precatione eodemque habitu quo pater P. Decius ad Veserim bello Latino se iusserat devoveri ... (Livy 10.28.14-15).

These two accounts share structural and thematic connections,8 such as the wording of the actual vow and the requirement of a Roman magistrate to officiate. Livy’s treatment of the devotiones of the Decii presents the victories at the Veseris and at Sentinum as in part due to divine intervention, but also as the direct result of the actions of exceptional men whose piety and leadership ability are evident in their willingness to sacrifice themselves for the sake of Roman military success. In characterising the Decii, Livy has used the concept, if not the name, of the hero. For the Decii, the narration of their ritual actions begins to sound like an epic hero’s final battle: victory is secured with divine assistance as well as by the transformation each Decius appears to go through after the swearing of the oath. In both cases, Livy describes the devoted Decius as developing superhuman qualities and having a profound psychological effect on his troops. The death of the elder Decius is given as follows: 6

Uses of devovere have been underlined for clarity. Hickson 1993, 96 contradicts Janssen 1981, 359-60, who suggests this is not a native Roman idea, but one borrowed from Greek practice. 8 I am largely indebted to Levene 1993 and Oakley 1997-2005 for my formal and thematic understanding of these sections of Livy. 7

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... armatus in equum insiluit ac se in medios hostes immisit, conspectus ab utraque acie, aliquanto augustior humano visu, sicut caelo missus piaculum omnis deorum irae qui pestem ab suis aversam in hostes ferret (Livy 8.9.910).

Compare to the death of the younger Decius: Vix humanae inde opis videri pugna potuit. Romani duce amisso, quae res terrori alias esse solet, sistere fugam ac novam de integro velle instaurare pugnam ... (Livy 10.29.1).

The Decii, once devoted, acquire an aura of the divine. Their deaths both grant their own troops renewed vigour to rejoin the battle as if rested and refreshed, as well as striking insurmountable fear into the hearts of their enemies. The scenes of their heroic deaths take on a mythic character, which corresponds also to the semi-divine power granted to cult heroes after their deaths. It is at the moment of their ritual action, their symbolic death, that they become something more than human. There is no direct reference to the story of the Decii in the Heroides, but many of the basic conceptual elements are present: the ritual vow, a heroic death, and human sacrifice for the well-being of a community. In Heroides 3, his letter from Briseis to Achilles, Ovid makes an important allusion with significance to both Greek myth and Roman religion that combines the idea of cursing with ritual devotion: Nec tibi turpe puta precibus succumbere nostris: Coniugis Oenides versus in arma prece est. Res audita mihi, nota est tibi: fratribus orba Devovit nati spemque caputque parens. (Her. 3.91-4)

This passage contains a significant elision based on Briseis’ assumption that Achilles knows the details of the story, and Ovid’s assumption that his readers know them, too. The conclusion we and Achilles are meant to draw, that heroes like Meleager and Achilles should not think it beneath them to take the advice of mere women, is dependent upon an implicit comparison with the Homeric version of Meleager’s death. Homer’s version of the death of Meleager uses language and concepts similar to Roman ritual devotion to describe Althea’s invocations against her son. ʌȠȜȜ੹ į੻ țĮ੿ ȖĮ૙ĮȞʌȠȜȣijȩȡȕȘȞȤİȡı੿ȞਕȜȠȓĮ țȚțȜȒıțȠȣıૃ ਝǸįȘȞțĮ੿ ਥʌĮȚȞ੽ȞȆİȡıİijȩȞİȚĮȞ ʌȡȩȤȞȣțĮșİȗȠȝȑȞȘįİȪȠȞIJȠį੻ įȐțȡȣıȚțȩȜʌȠȚ

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Thesea Devovi ʌĮȚį੿ įȩȝİȞșȐȞĮIJȠȞIJોȢįૃ ਱İȡȠijȠ૙IJȚȢਫȡȚȞઃȢ ਩țȜȣİȞਥȟਫȡȑȕİıijȚȞਕȝİȓȜȚȤȠȞ਷IJȠȡ਩ȤȠȣıĮ(Il. 9.568-72)

Meleager meets the doom assigned to him by Althea (through her appeal to the gods of the dead) by means of a heroic death in battle that serves to rescue his people from siege and possible annihilation. The correlation is, of course, not exact, but it nonetheless invites a thematic and ideological comparison between Homer’s and Livy’s versions of devotio that finds expression in Ovid’s letter of Briseis. Ovid is here translating not only the language, but also the nature of Althea’s actions, into Latin. Remarkably, the ritual that takes Homer five lines of Greek hexameter to describe is condensed into one Latin pentameter by Ovid (see Barchiesi 1992, 228-229). Because of one word, GHYRYHUHit becomes clear that the same concept of heroic death solidifies Meleager’s heroic status and establishes the Decii in the Roman cultural memory as objects of reverence. Central to the idea of heroic death is the fact that a heroic figure knowingly faces death on behalf of his threatened community (Kearns, 1989, 56). This civic aspect of the death of Meleager is present in Homer, and is also contained within the term devovit in Ovid’s version. In the Iliad, the demands placed on a hero by his community are exemplified by Meleager’s wife: țĮ੿ IJȩIJİį੽ ȂİȜȑĮȖȡȠȞਥȔȗȦȞȠȢʌĮȡȐțȠȚIJȚȢ ȜȓııİIJૃ ੑįȣȡȠȝȑȞȘțĮȓȠੂ țĮIJȑȜİȟİȞਚʌĮȞIJĮ țȒįİૃ, ੖ıૃ ਕȞșȡȫʌȠȚıȚʌȑȜİȚIJ૵ȞਙıIJȣਖȜȫૉ… (Il. 9.590-92)

She reminds Meleager of the suffering that will befall his community if he does not willingly face his own death. That death then becomes the means by which that community is saved. Elements that appear in Phoenix’ Greek version of the story appear also in Briseis’ Latin version: the image of sacrifice, the presence of chthonic deities, and the importance of the hero’s death to the community, are part of both depictions. Ovid’s Latin, however, indicates that he not only knows the details of the story, but that he understands their complexities and their significance to the characterisation of Meleager as a hero to his people.9

9

Ovid’s language here is remarkably skillful (Jacobson 1974, 39-40), but compare Fulkerson 2005, 106 on the same poem as a rhetorical failure for Briseis herself. See also Barchiesi 1992, 228-229.

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In Heroides 2, Phyllis finds herself caught between fear and anger regarding the absence of her lover, Demophoön, son of the hero Theseus. On the one hand, she fears that he is unable to return, held up by some force over which he has no control, such as the weather or the whim of his commander. This is the occasion of her use of devovere, in cursing Theseus as the possible cause of delay: Thesea devovi, quia te dimittere nollet: Nec tenuit cursus forsitan ille tuos. (Her. 2.13-14)

On the other hand, however, it is apparent from this same passage that she is extremely angry. Phyllis’ use of devovere comes at a moment of anger, wherein her wrath is directed at the person she feels is most likely responsible for Demophoön’s continued absence. Her curse is fueled by her indignant and un-checked rage and therefore cannot but represent the notorious tendency of women to engage in witchcraft. And yet, as we shall see, it would be hypocritical at best for Phyllis to have resorted to this dangerous sort of supernatural assistance. It is fair to translate devovi as “curse” here for the purposes of clarity, and of establishing the general meaning of the passage. However, Palmer specifically points out that devovi here means “not merely ‘execrated’ but consigned to perdition by magical arts” (Palmer 1898, 290, but see Barchiesi 1992, 128). Surely the terms “perdition” and “magical” mean something different to a nineteenth century British scholar than they would have to a Roman poet, but Palmer’s inference is clear: Phyllis’ use of devovi in this context implies that she is practicing “magical arts”. However, given the many layers of meaning we have seen this one word to embody, which are simultaneously “magical” and “religious”, this is not necessarily the case. Phyllis nowhere alludes to her own use of magic. Indeed, she seems pre-occupied with the “correct” mode of interaction with the gods, and chastises Demophoön at length for what she alleges to be his perjury, not only before her, but before gods and divine powers of all stripes10. Phyllis is all but convinced that she has been lied to, and makes a point of reminding Demophoön that he made a binding oath before divine witnesses that he would return. Per mare, quod totum ventis agitatur et undis Per quod saepe ieras, per quod iturus eras, Perque tuum mihi iurasti, nisi fictus et ille est, 10

See Barchiesi 1992, 135-138 for the various natures of these oaths.

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Thesea Devovi Concita qui ventis aequora mulcet, avum, Per Venerem nimiumque mihi facientia tela, Altera tela arcus, altera tela faces, Iunonemque, toris quae praesidet alma maritis, Et per taediferae mystica sacra deae. (Her. 2.35-42)

Phyllis sees her abandonment as a sacrilegious transgression, and her pious indignation features prominently in the poem. She describes 'HPRSKR|Q¶VDEDQGRQPHQWDVPRUHWKDQMXVWDSHUVRQDOVOLJKWLWLVDQDFW of impiety. In this context, Phyllis’ “cursing” of Theseus comes across as an incongruous outburst. She otherwise pleads her case with great dignity and propriety. The question then is whether this outburst is meant to be highlighted by its own incongruity, or if it is perhaps to be assimilated to the pious sentiments of the rest of the poem.11 In the second case, Phyllis’ curse carries the force of her righteous and pious anger, rather than unchecked and inappropriate feminine rage. If the likelihood of Phyllis’ engagement with magical arts is thus lessened, it is possible that her “curse” is of the kind that appears in ceremonies of devotio, an extreme and fatal but nonetheless pious act. In Phyllis’ letter, curses and prayers co-exist in the same way that they do in “devotion” that relies on “consignment to perdition” or dedication to chthonic deities. Phyllis’ similarity to the Decii is also evident in the fact that she decides, finally, that her only option for salvaging her situation is to commit suicide. This is by no means an extraordinary response to abandonment: so many of Ovid’s heroines turn to suicide, and their selfinflicted deaths are in turn known from earlier Greek versions of their respective myths. Phyllis does more here than behave like a typical tragic heroine: she seeks to right a wrong done to herself, her people, and her gods. Ovid has here created a context wherein the nuances of meaning for devovere are all simultaneously present, and the nature of heroic behaviour is being questioned in terms of pious as opposed to impious action. Phyllis, then, becomes in effect her own saviour, an expiation of the impious wrong done to her, accomplished by her own self-sacrifice. While for Briseis, devovere is a word used for the most underhanded and deplorable kind of magic, for Phyllis this usage has to be seen as part of a spectrum of socially acceptable ritual. This raises questions about the word devovere itself, and the situational nature of its meaning. If Decius can save the republic with the same word that Medea can use to 11

7KHGLVFXVVLRQRIWKHSLHW\RIDQ2YLGLDQKHURLQHKHUHLVLQGHEWHGWR)XONHUVRQ V exploration of Hypermestra’s motives in Heroides 14 (2003, 133ff.).

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underhandedly destroy her enemies,12 it becomes difficult to establish any immutable standards by which religious and magical uses of the term can be distinguished from one another. But more importantly, what Ovid picks up on in the Heroides is that, although his heroines can use this term to curse, their close association with mythical heroes makes that cursing the potential instrument of heroic death. Briseis’ account of Meleager’s death is extremely close in concept to Livy’s assessment of the impact of the devotiones Decianae. Meleager’s death is, in some ways, a devotio, and is made all but explicitly so by Ovid’s’ choice of Latin words in his retelling. Theseus, furthermore, is the direct object of Phyllis’ questionably pious wrath: he could, potentially, suffer a fate similar to that of Meleager. These two heroines use this ambiguous term in situations that call for the deaths of Greek heroes. Ovid has placed the Roman version of a ritual hero-maker, devotio, in contexts flooded with the ideology of Greek heroism, at moments of heroic death. It is my intention that examining such instances will raise (and help to answer) productive questions about the interaction between Greek and Roman culture, about the nature of heroism, about the relationship between magic and religion, and about the mythical aspects of the Heroides.

Works Cited Barchiesi, A. 1992. P. Ovidii Nasonis Epistulae Heroidum 1-3. Firenze: Felice Le Monnier. Beard, M., J.A. North, and S. R. F. Price 1998. Religions of Rome. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Dubourdieu, A. 2005. “Nommer les dieux: pouvoir des noms, pouvoir des mots dans les rituels du votum, de l’evocatio, et de la devotio dans la Rome antique.” ARG 7: 183-197. Ekroth, G. 2009. “The Cult of Heroes." In Heroes: Mortals and Myths in $QFLHQW *UHHFH ed. S. Albersmeier, 121-143. Baltimore: Walters Art Museum. Fulkerson, L. 2003. “Chain(ed) Mail: Hypermestra and the Dual Readership of Heroides 14.” TAPhA 133.1: 123-145. —. 2005. 7KH 2YLGLDQ +HURLQH DV $XWKRU 5HDGLQJ :ULWLQJ DQG Community in the Heroides. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Hickson, F.V. 1993. Roman Prayer Language. Stuttgart: Teubner. Hope, V. 2009. Roman Death. London: Continuum.

12

For Ovid’s association of Medea with devovere see Her. 6.91 and 12.46.

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Jacobson, H. 1974. Ovid’s Heroides. Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press. Janssen, L. F. 1981. “Some Unexplored Aspects of Devotio-Deciana.” Mnemosyne 34.3-4: 357-381. Kearns, E. 1989. The Heroes of Attica. London: Institute of Classical Studies. Levene, D. S. 1993. Religion in Livy. Leiden: Brill. Oakley, S. P. 1997-2005. A &RPPHQWDU\ RQ /LY\ %RRNV 9,-X. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Ogden, D. 2002. 0DJLF:LWFKFUDIWDQG*KRVWVLQWKH*UHHNDQG5RPDQ Worlds. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Pache, C. O. 2009. “The Hero Beyond Himself: Heroic Death in Ancient Greek Poetry and Art.” In Heroes: Mortals and Myths in Ancient Greece, ed. S. Albersmeier, 89-107. Baltimore: Walters Art Museum. Palmer, A. H. 1898. 32YLGL1DVRQLV+HURLGHVZLWKWKH*UHHNWUDQVODWLRQ of Planudes. Oxford: Clarendon Press. Versnel, H.S. 1976. “Two Types of Roman devotio.” Mnemosyne 29: 365410. —. 1980. “Self-sacrifice, Compensation and the Anonymous Gods.” In Le VDFULILFH GDQV O DQWLTXLWp, ed. O. Reverdin, J. Rudhardt, and J. P. Vernant, 135-194. Genève: Fondation Hardt. —. 1991a. “Some Reflections on the Relationship Magic-Religion.” Numen 38: 177-197. —. 1991b. “Beyond Cursing: the Appeal to Justice in Judicial Prayers.” In 0DJLND+LHUD$QFLHQW*UHHN0DJLFDQG5HOLJLRQ ed. C. Faraone and D. Obbink, 60-106. Oxford: Oxford University Press.

EL HIMNO DE ADRASTO A APOLO EN LA TEBAIDA DE ESTACIO JOSÉ MANUEL VÉLEZ LATORRE IES EDUARDO BLANCO AMOR, OURENSE

Se cumple en 2012 el centenario de la publicación de dos obras fundamentales para el estudio de la tipología del himno religioso: el libro de Kurt Buchholz, De Horatio hymnographo, y el libro de Norden, Agnostos Theos. Horacio fue uno de los campos de investigación más fértiles para los estudios sobre las formas literarias de la expresión religiosa antigua. Recordamos la importancia del himno religioso KRUDFLDQRHQODREUDIXQGDPHQWDOGH1RUGHQUHFRJLHQGRVXVUHVXOWDGRVVH puede postular una doble tipología para el himno literario: el himno breve, pero de gran complejidad en su arquitectura formal, y una forma más institucional, la del Carmen Saeculare, ejemplo único en la Literatura Latina de expresión religiosa institucional no popular, sino culta y elaborada, por encargo a un poeta conocido y consagrado. Un aspecto estudiado por Norden, los modos de atribución o predicación aplicados a los dioses, resulta una clave de especial riqueza estilística en Horacio. Queremos, sin embargo, en esta comunicación recordar la presencia, tanto de himnos formales propiamente dichos, como de elementos hímnicos en el interior de poemas épicos latinos, en especial el himno a Hércules en el libro 8 de la Eneida de Virgilio (8, 288-293, 293-302) y los dos Himnos a finales de los libros 1 y 2 de la Tebaida de Estacio. Si en la literatura griega, en los Himnos Homéricos y en los Himnos de Calímaco, HOKLPQRHVXQDRFDVLyQSDUDODQDUUDFLyQHQODpSLFDODWLQDODQDUUDFLyQ integra al himno como un elemento compositivo y estructural más. Y en la Tebaida de Estacio, en particular, como un elemento de estructuración claro, tanto en el conjunto del poema épico, como especialmente en el libro I. Un elemento que sin duda influyó fue la colocación del himno de Crises a Apolo al comienzo de la Ilíada homérica.

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Resultan interesantes las observaciones de Schetter1 en que compara este himno con el Himno a Hércules en el libro 8 de la Eneida y el Himno a Baco en el libro 4, 16 ss. de las Metamorfosis de Ovidio. El himno a Hércules está presentado en parte en estilo indirecto, y en parte en estilo directo. Según Schetter, y en esto creemos que tiene razón, Virgilio no consideraría adecuado para un poema épico insertar un himno excesivamente elaborado y de cierta extensión, como no los hay en Homero (aunque en Homero hay breves ruegos y plegarias). En cuanto a las estructuras hímnicas que aparecen en Ovidio, curiosamente la narración del poeta sobre el canto de alabanza de las tebanas a Baco se convierte en un himno entonado por el poeta. Pero no llega a tener una LPSRUWDQFLDHVWUXFWXUDOGHWHUPLQDQWH\HQRWURVPRPHQWRVlas estructuras hímnicas aparecen como partes de discursos en que un dios o diosa exhibe su gloria ante los mortales, como un recurso retórico para los “Prahlrede” que ha estudiado T. Fuhrer 1998. En cambio, en Estacio, podemos ver el importante papel de los himnos o plegarias en la estructuración de la primera parte de la Tebaida (l. 1-6). Pero también hay discursos que acuden a estructuras hímnicas en la segunda parte de la obra (l. 7-12): Final del libro 1: Himno de Adrasto a Apolo. Final del libro 2: Himno de agradecimiento de Tideo a Minerva. Final del libro 4: Himno de agradecimiento de uno de los jefes argivos a las aguas de Langia y a sus ninfas. )LQDO GHO OLEUR  ³+LPQR´ "  'LVFXUVR GH $QILDUDR VREUH OD FRQYHUVLyQ de Ofeltes / Arquémoro en una divinidad. Libro 8: Plegaria de Tiodamante a Tellus y a un Anfiarao divinizado. Libro 11: Discurso de Evadne ante el altar de Clementia. Libro 12: Cantos funerarios que cierran la trama.

Como se puede observar, el gran maestro de la retórica y de la estructuración de su obra que es Estacio recurre a los himnos como elemento que pauta la composición de su obra. Pero además, en un poema que contiene un discurso sobre la confusión de los papeles en el mundo sobrenatural, sobre la destrucción de los límites entre los ámbitos celestial y ctónico o infernal, el recurrir a los himnos y plegarias da un recurso muy adecuado para vehicular las referencias e interrelaciones entre los ámbitos divino y humano, y para desestabilizarlos. Nótese además que en casi todos los casos son himnos y plegarias pronunciados en un contexto argumental ceremonial y religioso, en que las palabras pronunciadas tienen 1

Schetter 1960, 83-85.

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un valor no de adorno, sino de provocar una actuación de la divinidad a la que se apela. Aunque, en Estacio, la inadecuación entre los tres aspectos: la literalidad de la palabra sagrada e hímnica, la situación en que se pronuncia y la voluntad de las divinidades que la reciben sea constante. Precisamente el Libro I se estructura (dejando aparte el proemio) entre tres himnos: - la plegaria “perversa” de Edipo al Inframundo (1, 56-87). - el himno de Adrasto a la Noche (y a esa noche o fecha que le ha revelado el sentido del oráculo de Apolo –o al menos eso cree él –) (1, 498-510). - el himno final de Adrasto a Apolo (1, 696-720).

Obsérvese como los tres himnos vienen acompañados de elementos gestuales que les dan un verdadero carácter de apelación a las divinidades: los golpes en el suelo que da Edipo en su sótano del palacio real de Tebas, para dirigirse a laVGLYLQLGDGHVLQIHUQDOHV$GUDVWRHOHYDODVSDOPDVGHODV PDQRV DO FLHOR SDUD GLULJLUVH D OD 1RFKH \ GDUOH VX DJUDGHFLPLHQWR \ HO himno final de Adrasto es pronunciado por él, haciendo una libación de vino, en medio de una festividad religiosa cuyos motivos acaba de narrar en el aition que constituye la narración de Apolo, Psámate, Crotopo y Corebo. Esos tres himnos son además importantes para dar las claves de la motivación de la expedición de los Siete contra Tebas y su desastroso final. Hay que recordar que las claves de esa motivación o causación épica son aportadas, básicamente, en los discursos de Júpiter y de Juno en la DVDPEOHD GH ORV GLRVHV HQ HVH PLVPR OLEUR , SHUR HVDV FODYHV VRQ complementadas por el sentido de los himnos que estructuran el libro. A su vez, la historia de Apolo y Corebo es la que contribuye a dar su verdadero sentido al himno final, pronunciado por un Adrasto que malinterpreta todo lo que está sucediendo y lo que va a suceder. Hay que resaltar que el efecto devastador de esa inadecuación entre lo que se quiere conseguir con el himno y la situación real en que se pronuncia el himno, se da precisamente porque Estacio compone esas piezas hímnicas de acuerdo con la estructuración tradicional del lenguaje sacral. Los rasgos típicos del himno, tal como fueron estudiados por Norden, aparecen claramente en el himno de Adrasto a Apolo. Así, por ejemplo, ya al principio del himno, aparece la estructura “seu…seu.. seu…” en la predicación de los lugares de residencia del dios, sus cualidades, los enemigos a los que ha vencido, y los otros nombres por los que podría ser invocado. Curiosamente, la estructura del himno es una especie de “composición circular/en anillo”:

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Himno de Adrasto a. Primera ‘invocatio’: posibles lugares de residencia del dios. b. Primera aretalogía: cualidades (fuerza guerrera con el arco, juventud HWHUQDFRQRFLPLHQWRRUDFXODUGHOIXWXUR  c. Precatio: petición de ayuda (con alusión, en memor hospitii, al episodio de Psámate). b’. Segunda aretalogía (propiamente ‘pars epica’): personajes vencidos por Apolo (por la fuerza de su arco), en número de cinco. a’. Segunda ‘invocatio’: posibles otros nombres de Apolo por los que podría ser invocado. En número de tres: Osiris, el 7LWiQ(Sol) de los Persas (Ahuramazda) y Mitra.

Estacio realiza aquí una gran tarea de “orfebrería verbal”, que adquiere un valor especial al clausurar el libro I de su gran poema épico. Obsérvese también la variación realizada en las enumeraciones: del cuatro, al tres, al cinco y al tres. Tenemos que referirnos aquí al posible valor programático del himno a Apolo, teniendo en cuenta que la figura de Apolo, en la poesía augústea y post-augústea, adquiere asociaciones relacionadas con el fin de las Guerras Civiles y el establecimiento del Nuevo Orden. Como es sabido, la victoria de Accio y el bienestar conseguido por Augusto es comparado a la conseguida por Apolo cuando mata a la Serpiente-Dragón Pitón: sólo hay que recordar a Propercio y a Virgilio. Pero ya habían pasado muchas décadas y cambLRGHVREHUDQRV \FDPELRGLQiVWLFR \DGHPiVWHQHPRV en época tardoaugústea el Apolo de las Metamorfosis de Ovidio, violento, arbitrario y lleno de ambigüedades. El Apolo de la Tebaida, por otra parte, comparte con las otras figuras de dioses olímpicos en este poema la desestabilización que realiza Estacio, especialmente al ceder la iniciativa a los poderes del Inframundo en el libro 11. Y, por otra parte, los rasgos sincréticos que aparecen al final del himno con la referencia a Osiris, a la religión persa (yo diría que a la dualidad Ormuz-Ahrimán) y a Mitra, nos indican que estamos ya en otra época, con otras inquietudes espirituales. El valor programático de este Apolo, pues, debe ser muy matizado2. Por supuesto, no queremos dejar de resaltar que el gran modelo virgiliano del aition que cuenta Adrasto y del himno a Apolo es la historia de Hércules y Caco, y el himno a Hércules, en el libro 8 de la Eneida. Por supuesto, el contraste, bien estudiado por Ganiban, entre el papel de la pietas y la virtus en la Eneida frente a la Tebaida es una de las claves del episodio de Corebo y del himno que pronuncia Adrasto, y da ya una pauta sobre cómo la pietas carece de relevancia en esta épica negativa que es la 2

Véase últimamente sobre esto, aparte del gran estudio de Feeney 1991, los de 1HZODQGV0LOOHU0F1HOLV-44.

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7HEDLGDfrente a la épica positiva que es (en una de sus lecturas posibles, por supuesto) la Eneida. Sin embargo, queremos en esta contribución dar una nueva clave virgiliana, que completa el tejido de relaciones entre los elementos de la motivación épica de lo que sucederá. Nos referimos a una alusión dentro del Himno de Adrasto a Apolo: la alusión a Flegias, entre aquellos personajes vencidos por el dios. La alusión al castigo de Flegias se extiende como una “ampliación” a lo largo de cuatro versos, rompiendo la brevedad de la alusión a los otros personajes que han sufrido el castigo de Apolo. Podría ser que esos versos sobre Flegias fuesen una simple ampliación “barroca”, pero creemos que responden a una intención específica, de carácter intertextual. Recordemos que Adrasto acaba de aludir a Níobe, y con ella oímos el eco del nombre de su padre, Tántalo. Es un eco fugaz, que podría pasar desapercibido. Pero con su alusión a Flegias en el Himno a Apolo, Adrasto está sin saberlo, intertextualmente, nombrando justamente a quien menos debería: a Tántalo, la principal motivación que contra Argos tiene Júpiter, y que Júpiter cita en sus palabras en la asamblea de los dioses en el propio libro I. El mediador es Virgilio, que en su libro VI atribuía también a otros (Ixión y Pirítoo y los Lápitas) el suplicio infernal que la tradición más divulgada atribuía a Tántalo. Hay que recordar que en Servio, al comentar esto, se refería con su “aliud est” a que en realidad Virgilio está hablando del suplicio de Tántalo. Hábilmente, Estacio lo atribuye solo a Flegias, rey de los Lápitas que intentó destruir el Templo de Apolo en Delfos, cuyo nombre aparece después de la descripción del suplicio de la roca, la Furia y los alimentos que no se pueden comer. Es este un tipo muy especial de interacción con Virgilio, pues supone que Estacio era consciente de los problemas que el texto de Virgilio causaba ya tempranamente a sus lectores. Dicho de otra manera: no sabemos por qué Virgilio no quiso que constase allí el nombre de Tántalo, si fue un problema de su editor Vario o si quiso manejar a su modo la tradición mitográfica. Pero sí sabemos por qué a Estacio le interesaba que aquí resonase en la mente de sus lectores el nombre de Tántalo. Tenemos aquí, casi, la alusión indirecta perfecta: el autor no sólo juega con el intertexto virgiliano, sino con los problemas que este texto virgiliano causaba a sus lectores. Porque el evocar así a Tántalo (y por tanto a Pélope), es evocar las culpas del Peloponeso, es decir, de Argos precisamente en el interior de un himno solemnísimo pronunciado por el soberano de Argos. Y esto se corresponde, en un perfecto arco o composición anular, con la evocación de las culpas de Tebas presente en la plegaria “perversa” de Edipo, y da una perfecta unidad estructural al libro,

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teniendo en cuenta que las dos culpas han sido explicitadas en el medio del libro por Júpiter en la asamblea de los dioses. Pero hay algo más. Recordemos que Flegias es el padre de Corónide: aquí el medidador es Ovidio, en las Metamorfosis (2.542-632). Con ello se resaltan las semejanzas de la historia de Corónide con la historia de Psámate, y aparece un nuevo enlace estructural interno, en este caso referido a los crimina Apollinis. Que a su vez insiste en la tremenda equivocación de Adrasto en su valoración de las cosas, y la ironía trágica de su plegaria a Apolo. Y aún hay más: si nos fijamos, en la misma sección “tartárea” del libro VI de la Eneida aparecen hic, quibus inuisi fratres, dum uita manebat, pulsatusue parens… (6, 608)

Es decir, tenemos aquí a Eteocles y Polinices, y a Edipo. Pero, en el verso 618: infelix Theseus, Phlegyasque miserrimus omnis

tenemos también a Teseo, que será protagonista importante en el libro 12 de la Tebaida. En suma: en esta página virgiliana, podríamos decir, está in nuce la Tebaida, en sus dos extremos, el libro 1 y el libro 12. Y no es casualidad que sea una página del Inframundo virgiliano la que inspira al gran poeta del Inframundo que es Estacio. En pocas ocasiones el procedimiento de la “nota a pie de página alejandrina” es tan iluminador y tan enriquecedor. Tenemos aquí, en conclusión, una red de alusiones intertextuales de doble significado. Teniendo en cuenta esto, la causación épica que se nos presenta en el libro I, por lo que respecta a los dioses olímpicos, es: 1. el propio carácter cruel, vengativo y arbitrariamente violento de los dioses olímpicos: Júpiter, Apolo. 2. las culpas de Tebas (Layo-Edipo) y de Argos (Tántalo-Pélope), que se transmiten a través de las generaciones (a diferencia de lo que cree Adrasto). Así pues, podemos considerar que el himno de Adrasto a Apolo es una de las mejores “piezas de orfebrería” del arte verbal estaciano. Por medio de la alusión indirecta, se “contamina” el contexto hímnico y se convierte en un insulto a la divinidad a la que se invoca. Como decía hace años la profesora Criado 2001, 45, n.74: “[Es] este [un] oscurísimo himno, tal vez uno de los más crípticos, difíciles y eruditos de la Tebaida…”. Esperamos,

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con este trabajo, haber abierto alguna nueva perspectiva para su comprensión.

Obras Citadas Ahlt, F. M. 1986. “Statius’ Thebaid. A Reconsideration.” ANRW II.32.5: 2804-2912. Buchholz, K. 1912. De Horatio hymnographo. Regimonti: Ex officina Kuemmeliana. Criado, C. 2001. La Teología de la Tebaida Estaciana. El antivirgilianismo de un clasicista, Hidesheim: Georg Olms. Dominik, W. J. 1994 6SHHFK DQG 5KHWRULF LQ 6WDWLXV Thebaid, Hildesheim: Olms-Weidmann Feeney, D.C. 1991. The Gods in Epic. Oxford: Clarendon Press. Fuhrer, T. 1998. “Der Götterhymnus als Prahlrede.” Hermes, 126: 1-12. Kytzler, B. 1986. “Zum Aufbau der statianischen Thebais. Pius Coroebus, Theb. I 557-692.” ANRW II.32.5: 2913-24. McNelis, Ch. 2007. Statius' Thebaid and the Poetics of Civil War. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Miller, J.F. 2002. $XJXVWXV$SROORDQGWKH3RHWV. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Newlands, C. 2009. ³6WDWLXV  3URJUDPPDWLF $SROOR DQG WKH (QGLQJ RI Book 1 of the Thebaid.” In Apolline Politics and Poetics, ed. L. Athanassaki, R.P. Martin, and J.F. Miller, 353-378. Athens: European Cultural Centre of Delphi. Norden, E. 1913. Agnostos Theos. Untersuchungen zur Formengeschichte UHOLJL|VHU5HGH. Leipzig: Teubner. Schetter, W. 1960. Untersuchungen zur epischen Kunst des Statius, Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz. Vessey, D. 1973. Statius and the Thebaid. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.

POETIC AND RELIGIOUS TRADITIONALISM IN AVIENUS: THE PROOEMIUM OF THE ARATEA AMEDEO ALESSANDRO RASCHIERI UNIVERSITY OF TURIN

Introduction The prooemium of Avienus’ (IV century AD) Aratea (vv. 1-76) is a vastly reworked version of the first eighteen verses of the astronomical poem composed by Aratus of Soli (IV-III century BC), which had already been translated into Latin by Cicero and Germanicus1. The Roman poet maintains the poetic structure of the Greek model and begins this section (vv. 1-4) with a prayer directed to Jupiter, who is assimilated to the aether in the following cosmological section (vv. 5-45) and who becomes therefore the cause for movement and universal harmony. In the following verses (46-66) Avienus celebrates the ability of the mens to understand, inspired by Iuppiter, the secrets of the Universe and, in particular, he presents in succession those people responsible for contributing to the development of astronomical knowledge: Eudoxus of Cnidus and Aratus of Soli. In the final section (vv. 67-76) the poet presents himself as the last representative of this tradition and he concludes the prooemium with an invocation to the Muses and to Apollo, so as to receive poetic inspiration2. 1

As it is known, fragments of Cicero’s and Germanicus’ translations have been SUHVHUYHG KRZHYHU 9DUUR $WDFLQXV¶ DQG 2YLG¶V WUDQVODWLRQV KDYH EHHQ ORVW completely (see Calderón Dorda 1990). For recent studies on Avienus see: Fiedler 2011, Hübner 2010, Raschieri 2010, Raschieri 2011, Selter 2010, Selter 2011. 2 For an in-depth analysis of the contents of the prooemium see: La Bua 1999, 3676DQWLQL-6RXELUDQ-51, 175-184. In particular, La Bua FRQFOXGHVWKDW©&RQ$YLHQRGXQTXHO LQQRILORVRILFRGLWLSRFOHDQWHR muta, almeno in parte, la propria prospettiva ed acquista anche valenza e tono letterario [...] con finalità che vanno ben al di là della semplice conoscenza mistico-UHOLJLRVD GHOOD GLYLQLWj LO PRGHOOR GHOO LQQR D =HXV GL &OHDQWH ROWUH D costituire il nucleo tematicR IRQGDPHQWDOH VL SXz FRQVLGHUDUH QHO FDVR VSHFLILFR

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Quoting Santini 1990, 130-131, it is possible to affirm that «il proemio q XQ YHUR H SURSULR LQQR LO FXL SHUQLR q UDSSUHVHQWDWR GD *LRYH >@ q evidente la concezione religiosa ed iniziatica dell’astronomia (tutto è opera della pronoia GLYLQDHO¶XRPRqXQDVFLQWLOODGHOGLR LOSURHPLRqULFFRGL WHPDWLFKH DWWLQWH VRSUDWWXWWR GDOOD ILORVRILD JUHFD O LPSRVWD]LRQH prevalente è stoicheggiante, coQ XQD IRUWH LPSURQWD GL HFOHWWLVPR L problemi stilistici sono vivamente sentiti con specifico riferimento allo statuto del genere letterario (il riferimento costante va ai Phainomena di Arato e al De rerum natura di Lucrezio, ma anche Virgilio, Manilio e Germanico sono presenti nella lexis)». Starting from Santini’s statement, I intend to propose here a study of the poetic language used by the poet (vv. 1-35) and more specifically to show how textual analysis tools offer an invaluable support for poetic and stylistic analyses3.

Analysis of verses 1-354 v. 1 Carminis incentor mihi Iuppiter: auspice terras Paul. Nol. carm. 15.32 repurposes this verse and applies it to a completely Christian context, insofar as the source of inspiration for poetry is in this case not Jupiter but Christ: Carminis incentor Christus mihi PXQHUH &KULVWL. The rare term incentor has been utilised also by other poets in Late Antiquity (Prosp. in obtr  $OF $XLW carm. 2.225). Models for the end of the verse can be seen in: Hor. carm. 1.7.27 (auspice Teucro), epist. 1.3.13 (auspice Musa /XFDQ auspice Bruto 6WDW silu. 2.2.39 (auspice Phoebo), 3.5.74 (auspice condita Phoebo  WKH association with Jupiter can also be seen in Prud. c. Symm. 2.708. The

FRPH VSXQWR H SXQWR GL SDUWHQ]D SHU O HVDOWD]LRQH GHOO RQQLSRWHQ]D GLYLQD LQ XQ particolare aspetto, quello dell’ispirazione poetica, necessaria per la trasmissione dei più profondi misteri dell’universo all’umanità intera». From a stylistic point of view Soubiran (1981, 43) states that: «Il juxtapose une série de formules laudatives plus proches de la litanie que d’un développement structuré. L’analogie des hymnes tardifs est ici manifeste». 3 This analysis has been carried out through the consultation of 0XVLVTXHGHRTXH Un archivio digitale di poesia latina, directed by Paolo Mastandrea (Università Ca’ Foscari of Venice) and freely available online at www.mqdq.it, according to the method I have previouVO\ GHVFULEHG DQG XWLOLVHG 6HH 5DVFKLHUL  5DVFKLHUL 2011. 4 Abbreviations for authors and literary works are the same employed in 0XVLVTXH GHRTXH.

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nexus WHUUDVOLQTXR is, on the other hand, of Ovidian inspiration: met. 2.834-835 (WHUUDVOLQTXLW), 13.629-639 (WHUUDPOLQTXLW).

v. 2 Linquo Ioue, excelsam reserat dux Iuppiter aethram The end of the verse is typical of Avenius’ work: Arat. 1323, 1512, ad Nort. 9.

v. 3 Imus in astra Iouis monitu, Iouis omine caelum The verse constitutes an original concatenation of traditional modules: Iouis monitu traces back to Verg. Aen. 4.331 (dixerat. ille Iouis monitis), Lucan. 9.545 (FRUQLJHULTXH,RXLVPRQLWX Iouis omine can be already seen in Prop. eleg. 4.6.23 (Iouis omine uelis  WKH HQG LV LQVSLUHG E\ 6WDWLXV (Theb. 3.459, omina caelo).

v. 4. Et Iouis imperio mortalibus aethera pando The first part of the verse is taken from Verg. Aen. 5.747 (et Iouis imperium), although both et Iouis and Iouis imperio can be found used in numerous other instances5. Prisc. periheg. 3 utilises the nexus imperium mortalibusWKLVSURYHVWKDWKHQRWRQO\NQHZ$YLHQXV¶Orbis terrae, but also the Aratea.

v. 5 Hic statio, hic sedes primi patris. Iste paterni6 The same end of verse can be found in Prud. c. Symm. 2.117.

v. 6 Principium motus, uis fulminis iste corusci In regard to the end of the verse see Cypr. Gall. Ios. 341 (fulmina ... coruscent), Sidon. carm. 7.12 (iste coruscat).

5

Et Iouis (at the beginning of the verse): Cic. carm. frg. 9HUJgeorg.  Hor. carm. 1.28.2YLGars. 3.420, epist. 16.294, trist. 0DQLO9DO )O  0DUW &DS  CLE 869.2. Iouis imperio (in the same metric position): Verg. Aen. 7LEeleg. 6WDWTheb. 1.197, 2.20, 6.376, 7.77, argum. Theb. 7.1. 6 On paterni see Soubiran 1981, 175.

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v. 7 Vita elementorum, mundi calor, aetheris ignis The term elementorum, in the same metric position, is very common in Late Antiquity poetry7 WKH Qexus mundi ... calor is typical of Avienus (Arat. 1818, PXQGLTXH  FDORUH  WKH HQG RI WKH YHUVH LV ILQDOO\ RI Lucretian inspiration (1.1034, 5.448, 5.585), although can also be seen in Val. Fl. 4.179.

v. 8 Astrorumque uigor, perpes substantia lucis The nexus perpes substantia can be compared to Prud. perist. 10.477 (contingat olim perpetis substantiae), meanwhile substantia lucis is also used by Avienus in Arat. 1720.

v. 9 Et numerus celsi modulaminis. Hic tener aer The initial et numerus has numerous precedents (Plaut. epigr. /XFU  0DUW epigr.   7HU 0DXU metr.  ,XXHQF 4.135) and it is used by Avienus also in Arat. 586 e orb. terr. 1140. The term modulamen is often employed in Late Antiquity poetry and, in particular, can be seen used, in the same metric position, in: Lact. Phoen.  3UXG ham.  3DXO 1RO carm.  3DXO 3HWULF Mart.  Ven. Fort. carm. 11.5.5. By using the end of verse tener aer Avienus demonstrates to know how to vary the initial formula aera per tenerum employed by Lucr. 2.146 and Verg. Aen. DVLPLODUDWWHQWLRQWRWKH uariatio can be seen in the conclusion of Arat. 1040 (tener amputet aer).

v. 11 Corporibus caelo, cunctarum alimonia rerum The incipit is taken from Stat. Theb. 12.96 (FRUSRULEXVFDHORTXH LWLV worth noting how Paul. Nol. carm. 31.242 (corpora sub caelo cuncta) reuses Avienus’ verse. The nexus cunctarum ... rerum is typically Lucretian (2.333, 3.31, 4.45, cunctarum exordia rerum)8. The rarely used alimonia is employed in poetry also by: Prud. cath. 5.19, psych. 9HQ)RUWcarm. 2.8.29.

7

2SW3RUI$XVRQtechnop. &ODXGrapt. Pros. 3UXGc. Symm. 6LGRQcarm. 'UDFlaud. dei 3.3. 8 6HHDOVR/XF6LO,WDO

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v. 12 Flos et flamma animae: qui discurrente meatu The association of flos and flamma can be found in Lucr. 1.900 and Ouid. fast. 5.365, whereas flos and anima has a precedent in Stat. Ach. 1.626.

v. 13 Molis primigenae penetralia dura resoluens The rare term primigenus can only be found here and in Lucr. 2.1106, in another passage of Aratea (944) and in CLE 1159.2.

v. 14 Impleuit largo uenas operatus amore For the nexus largo ... amore see: Paul. Nol. carm. 9HQ)RUW carm. 9.7.87.

v. 15 Ordinis ut proprii foedus daret. Iste calorem For the nexus ordinis ... proprii see: Alc. Auit. carm. &RULSS Iust. 4, 187.

v. 16 Quo digesta capax solidaret semina mundus The association of capax ... mundus is traditional: its models can be found in Lucr. 6.123, Ouid. trist. 2.38 and Sil. Ital. 14.350 and it has been used also by Prud. ham. 98 (PXQGXPTXH LPSOHUH FDSDFHP)9. The end of the verse semina mundus is taken from Stat. Theb. 8.30410.

v. 17 Inseruit. Rite hunc primum, medium atque secundum The end of the verse DWTXH secundum, as it has already been pointed out by Soubiran 1981, 17711, has a precedent in Enn. ann. LWKDVDOVR been used by Ven. Fort. carm. 1.15.5 (PLQRUDWTXHVHFXQGXV).

9

This exact verse has be re-used by Alc. Auit. carm. 4.457. See Hil. Pict. Macc. 3DXO1ROcarm. $OF$XLWcarm. 4.589, 6.402. 11 With a detailed discussion on the obscure meaning of this verse. 10

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v. 18 Vox secreta canit: sibi nam permixtus utrimque The nexus uox ... canit can be found, at the same metric position, in Coripp. Ioh. 5.42 (uox ... canit). The end of the verse is traditional: Lucan. 6LO,WDO 1.428 (SHUPL[WXVXWULVTXH).

v. 19 Et fultus sese geminum latus, unus et idem est The incipit derives from Stat. Theb. 8.731 (effultum gemina latera), whereas the end of the verse can be found, without the final est, in: Hor. epist. 9DO)O'UDFlaud. dei 3.576.

v. 20 Auctor agendorum propriique patrator amoris The only other occurrence in poetry of patrator is in Eug. Tolet. carm. 25.1012. The nexus SURSULLTXH  DPRULV FRPHV IURP 6LO ,WDO  LQ the same metric position it is used in: Nemes. ecl. ,XXHQF3UXG apoth. 0D[LPeleg. 3.87.

v. 21 Et mundi uere sanctus pater. Hic chaos altum The association mundi ... pater can be also found in other poems, although in a different metric position13.

v. 22 Lumine perrupit, tenebrarum hic uincula primus For lumine ... tenebrarum see Ven. Fort. Mart. 2.287 (lumine mentito tenebrosus et atra uorago  tenebrarum ... uincula can be compared to Paul. Nol. carm. 15.183 (ferrea iunguntur tenebrosis uincula claustris).

v. 23 Soluit et ipse parens rerum fluitantia fixit The verse is composed of an original reinterpretation of lexical associations well established in Latin hexametric poetry. The beginning soluit et has been often used by Ovid (met. 5.380, 7.191, 9.428, 14.86,

12

See Soubiran 1981, 178. Alcestis  0DU 9LFWRU  6HGXO carm. pasch   3URVS epigr. 9HQ)RUWcarm. spur. 1.256. 13

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epiced. Drusi 436)14. The nexus ipse parens can be found, in the same metric position, in: Calp. Sic. 4.93 (referred to Iuppiter  6WDW Theb.  3UXG ham.  Anth. Lat. 941.7 (repeted from Calp. Sic.). The nexus parens rerum can be found, identical although in a different metric position, in Lucan. 2.7 (siue parens rerum) and Anth. Lat. 718.14 (alme parens rerum  LW Fan also be seen in two other more complex formulae often found in Late Antiquity poetry: rerum natura parens (Prec. Terr.  Drac. laud. dei 3.554, Orest. 776) and PXQGLUHUXPTXHSDUHQWLSDUHQWHP (Mar. Victor  2ULHQW comm. 1.83)15. It is also worth noting that fluitantia, in the same metric position, is well established in Latin poetic language16 $YLHQXV HPSOR\V LW LQ DQ DOOLWHUDWLYH QH[XV fluitantia fixit which has no direct precedents, although shows the same attention to phonetics that can be seen both in Lucr. 2.555 (fluitantia aplustra) and in Verg. Aen. 10.306 (fluitantia transtra)17.

v. 24 Hic dispersa locis statuit primordia iustis The nexus locis statuit primordia is a combination of Lucr. 6.1006 (locis ... primordia) and Anth. Lat. 21.81 (statuere primordia).

v. 25 Hic digestorum speciem dedit; iste colorem Inspiration for this verse can be found in: Ouid. fast. 5.213 (digestos ... colores  /XFU  species ... colores  2XLG fast. 5.358 (et color et species). The end is on the other hand derived from: Ouid. met. 4.203 (iste colorem 0DUWepigr. 4.42.6, 8.48.6 (iste color).

v. 26 Imposuit rebus, sexuque immixtus utroque The nexus imposuit rebus has parallels in: Hor. sat. 2.3.280 (inponens ... rebus  0DQLO. 1.96 (imposuit rebus), 2.438 (rebus ... imponere &ODXGcarm. min. 25.75 (UHEXVTXHLPSRQHUH). The association 14

See also: Lucan. 6WDWAch. 7HU0DXUmetr. &ODXGin Eutr. 1.137, rapt. Pros.  3UXGham.  0DU9LFWRU  6LGon. carm.  Ven. Fort. carm. 6.5.274. 15 See also Prud. cath. 7.25 (rerum parentem rectius precabitur). 16 /XFU9HUJAen2YLGars 2.433, met0DQLOLaus Pis6LO,WDO$XVRQepist&ODXGHon. IV cos. 628. 17 The same attention to the alliteration, in relation with the second element of the nexus, can be found in: Coripp. Ioh. 8.624 (Fastita fixit) and Ven. Fort. Mart. 3.286 (falarica fixit).

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VH[XTXH  XWURTXH has numerous parallels in Late Antiquity poetry: Auson. prof. 3.6, epigr. &ODXGStil. cos. 3UXGperist. 2.522, $OF$XLWcarm. Anth. Lat. CIL 6.41377.818.

v. 27 Atque aeui pariter gemini simul omnia lustrans The incipit can be found identical in Stat. silu. 3.3.147 and Sil. Ital. 3.48019. The nexus pariter gemini has comparisons in: Stat. Theb. 12.807, Ach.  0DUW epigr.  &RULSS Ioh. 1.106, Iust. 2.150 (in an LGHQWLFDO PHWULF SRVLWLRQ   9HQ )RUW carm. app. 6.7. The expression gemini ... omnia has on the other hand a precedent in Stat. Theb. 6.343 (geminis eadem omnia: uultus). As for the end of the verse, simul omnia, in the same metric position, is common in Latin poetry20, the expression omnia lustrans can also be found, identical or similar, in: Lucr. 6.737 (lustrans  9HUJ Aen. 4.607 (lustras), 6.887 (lustrant  Sil. Ital. 10.593 (lustrans)21.

v. 28 Sufficit alterno res semine. Rerum opifex hic The central part of the verse (semine rerum) is a variation of a typically Lucretian nexus, which is mostly used at the end. At the end of the verse, on the other hand, Avienus cites Ovid’s opifex rerum (Ouid. met. 1.79) and Lucan. 10.26722.

v. 29 Hic altor rerum, rex mundi, celsa potestas The nexus rerum rex mundi has comparisons in: Orient. carm. app. 3.98 (et leo hic est rerum: rex ille ferarum 2XLGtrist. 4.3.65 (QHFTXLD rex mundi compescuit ignibus ignes  0DUW epigr. 12.62.1 (DQWLTXL rex magne poli mundiTXHSULRULV 3DXO1ROcarm. 29.19 (maior enim mundo mundi VDWRU LSVH GHXV rex). The end of the verse celsa potestas is very

18

This carmen epigraphicum, an Elegiac poem originating in Rome, dates to 407 $'VHHAE 1958, 210. 19 For DWTXHDHXXPsee Prud. c. Symm. 2.141. 20 Verg. app. Aetna  9DO )O   6LO ,WDO 7.  7HUW adu. Marc. 3DXO1ROcarm. 3URVSepigr. 3DXO. Petric. Mart.  Verec. $UDWRUapost. &RULSSIust. 4.291. 21 See also Claud. Hon. IV cos. 3DXO%DHW /X[ Syll. Elnon. 2.21. 22 See also Hil. Pict. gen. $XVRQephem. 6LGRQcarm. 5XVW+HOS benef. $UDWRUapost. 2.472.

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common in Late Antiquity poetry: Paul. Nol. carm. (QQRGcarm. 9HQ)RUWMart. 4.143, carm. 9.2.5323.

v. 30 Aetheris atque Erebi, pigra inclinatio nodi24 The initial DHWKHULVDWTXH(UHELhas parallels in: Manil. 4.889 (aetheris DWTXH ignis), Lux. anth. 301.3 (TXDP 1R[ DWTXH (UHEXV), CLE 920.2 (DQWLTXL DWTXH (UHEL). The term inclinatio is used in poetry only by Avienus and besides this instance can also be seen in Arat. 85, 1302 and ora mar. 202.

v. 31 Insociabilium discretio iusta deorum In this verse Avienus continues to employ terms rarely used in poetry: insociabilis can only be found here and in Sen. Octauia IRUdiscretio see: Ter. Maur. praef.  $XLHQ Arat.  3UXG ham.  &\SU *DOO num. 462. The end iusta deorum is identical to that in Paul. Nol. carm. 32.86.

v. 32 Cuius et extremum tellus opus, ignea cuius The nexus extremum tellus, in the same metric position, is traditional25: Paneg. in Mess. 53 (TXDPDULVH[WUHPLVWHOOXV 6LO,WDO 17.263 (Ausoniam extremo tellurem)26.

v. 33 Lumina sunt late, sol et soror, ille diei The incipit derives from Catull. carm. 64.220 (lumina sunt gnati) and Ouid. fast. 5.364 (lumina sunt nostros)27. The association lumina ... sol has precedents in Lucr. 4.371, 5.763, whereas the alliterative coupling of sol and soror is used also in: Stat. Theb. &ODXGGoth. 5XW1DP red. 2ULHQWcarm. app. 4.11.

23 See Iuvenc. euang. 3.602 (celsa dicione potestas). 24 For a discussion on the meaning of this verse see Soubiran 1981, 179-180. 25 The poet employs it also in Arat. 32. 26 See also Prosp. prou. 102. 27 See also Drac. laud. dei 2.663 (lumine sunt acies).

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v. 34 Tendat ut infusi rutilum iubar, altera noctis The nexus rutilum iubar, also used by Avienus in Arat. 873, is typical of Late Antiquity poetry: Auson. ephem. 3.12 (iubar et rutilus), Mos. 16 (iubar et rutilam  &RULSS Ioh. 4.461 (iubar rutilum  6LVHE carm. 59 (rutilum iubar). The combination rutilum ... noctis can also be found in Arat. 907, while the end altera noctis is similarly used by Ps. Cypr. Sod. 40.

v. 35 Vt face flammanti tenebrosos rumpat amictus For the expression face ... tenebrosos see Arat. 844 (TXLVIDFHVXEWHQXL tenebrosus), whereas the end can be found, with a small variation, in Arator apost. 2.656 (rumpit amictus).

Conclusions Despite the limited number of cases analysed here, it seems nevertheless clear that this constitutes a further widening of the viewpoint contained in Santini’s words quoted at the beginning of this essay. As for the relationship to the previous poetic tradition, it should be noted that it is difficult to analyse in detail the debts to the Greek model because of the very characteristics of Avienus’ work, which is more a reinterpretation rather than a translation. Moreover, although references, more or less explicit, to the work of Lucretius, Virgil, Manilius and Germanicus are present, at the same time the influence of the poetic diction of Catullus, Horace, Ovid, Statius and Silius Italicus is also clear. In any case, Avienus, thanks to his exceptional poetic memory, proves to be able to apply personal variations to the tradition and to mix elements of different origin. As far as the relationship with contemporary or later authors is concerned, it is important to note that the poetic language of the prooemium of the Aratea is the same as the language that can be used by authors and in contexts clearly recognizable as Christian, either in narrative or hymnic form. Sometimes, there is the feeling that Avienus’ work might have constituted an intermediary for the transmission of the Latin hexametric tradition to later periods. In any case, in this section too Avienus’ language is characterized by its cohesion and originality, as it is proved by the numerous self-references to the rest of his literary production and by the variability and adaptability of the recurring nexuses.

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Works Cited Calderón Dorda, E. 1990. “Traducciones latinas perdidas de los Fenómenos de Arato.” Myrtia 5: 23-45. Fiedler, M. 2011. “Postumius Rufius Festus signo Avienius 1900-2011.” Lustrum 53: 233-298. Hübner, W. 2010. “Das Sternbild Libra im Proömium der Aratea Aviens.” Mene 10: 157-176. La Bua, G. 1999. L'inno nella letteratura poetica latina. San Severo: Gerni. Raschieri, A.A. 2010. L'orbis terrae di Avieno. Acireale-Roma: Bonanno. —. 2011. “Lettori tardoantichi e medievali di Avieno.” In Nuovi Archivi e mezzi d'analisi per i testi poetici. I ODYRUL GHO SURJHWWR 0XVLVTXH 'HRTXH 9HQH]LD -23 giugno 2010, ed. P. Mastandrea and L. Spinazzè, 187-195. Amsterdam: Hakkert. Santini, C. 1990. “Il proemio degli Aratea di Rufio Festo Avieno.” In 3UHID]LRQLSURORJKLSURHPLGLRSHUHWHFQLFR-scientifiche latine 1, ed. C. Santini and N. Scivoletto, 117-131. Roma: Herder. Selter, B. 2010. “Through the Looking Glass of Memory. Reading Avienus.” QUCC 95.2: 113-130. —. 2011. “The Untiring Pen: Avienus’ Construction of a Voice.” In Il calamo della memoria. Riuso di testi e mestiere letterario nella tarda DQWLFKLWj ,9, ed. L. Cristante and S. Ravalico, 155-174. Trieste: Edizioni Università di Trieste. Soubiran, J., ed. 1981. Aviénus. Les PKpQRPqQHV G $UDWRV. Paris: Les Belles Lettres.

VENUS, CERES AND OVID: DIVINITY, KNOWLEDGE AND THE GENERATION OF POETRY IN BOOK IV OF OVID’S FASTI CHARLES BARTLETT HARVARD UNIVERSITY

Full of adultery, astronomy, invocations, invasions, festivals and fratricide, Ovid’s Fasti, composed intermittently from perhaps AD 1 until after AD 141, is a poem consisting of six books and concerned with the Roman calendar. Each book corresponds to a month, and, as the poet moves through a book, the association of stories with certain dates sparks Ovid’s telling of numerous episodes from Roman mythology, civic history, and religion. These topics are, as they must be, intertwined in the stories that Ovid tells. The poem’s interest in religion finds expression, among other ways, in the composite characters of divinities that result from Ovid’s portrayals of them: Ovid’s prolonged interactions with divinities show us certain god’s connections to artistic creation.This also becomes the poem’s most coherent religious element, as it is the result of the challenge of synthesizing a divinity’s many faces into one voice with which the poet can engage, and as the divinities command more attention than one or another festival does in the poem. This paper is interested primarily in the significance of the differences between the personalities of the two goddesses who receive the most attention in Book IV, namely Venus and Ceres. Throughout the book they may hold a conversation with the poet, be the object of description, or the subject of a passage. We will examine the composite persona of Venus and that of Ceres crafted in the book, while attempting to formulate and incorporate some opinions about each goddess s stature in civic life outside of the Fasti at the time of the poem’s writing. I will argue that Venus’s personality, more present and productive in comparison with 1

Fantham 1998, 2-3.

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Ceres’s, mirrors her promotion in terms of civic importance during the years preceding the Fasti’s composition, and that her appearance in the poem is quite similar to that which she adopts in Roman public life more broadly during this period. The issues of time and commemoration, both at the scale of particular, individual days and on the level of saecula, were crucial politically and socially while this poem was being written. From his victory at Actium until his death, Augustus paid much attention to how he memorialized events important to the foundation of his political position and to how he situated his principate in relation to the other periods of Rome’s history2. The very choice of the name “Augustus” had strong religious significance, and connoted a re-founding of the city3. This name was chosen in lieu of “Romulus”, also proposed in 27 BC, as with this appellation he could not have escaped the tinge of fratricide. Of course, any symbolic re-founding was necessarily religious and concerned with commemoration. In making known these alterations to the calendar, and indeed his regime’s larger ideological messages, many with relation to time, Augustus’ connection to the arts, poetry among them, became quite useful4. Though Augustus probably did not coerce any poet to write of him, these men did nonetheless take an often favourable view of Augustus on politically sensitive topics in some of their work5: indeed, we might point to Ovid’s treatment of the founding of Rome, told at Fasti 4.806862, and his denial of Romulean culpability in the killing of Remus. Maecenas’s importance also says much about the role envisioned for poetry, and scholars have long been interested in the relations of poets, especially Vergil and Horace, to the first princeps. Ovid’s connection to Augustus has received attention as well, largely because of the carmen et 2

For a discussion of Augustus’s ways of reforming Rome’s calendar, see Feeney 2007, 182 and 184. 3 Beard, North, and Price 1998, 182 give the following description of the name “Augustus”: “Like ‘Romulus’, the name ‘Augustus’ indicated that the bearer was uniquely favoured by the gods for the service of Rome. The story was told that when Octavian was campaigning for his first consulship in 43 B.C. six vultures appeared, and when he was elected six more appearHGWKLVDXVSLF\ZLWKLWVHFKR of the myth of Romulus, indicated that he too, like Romulus, would (re)found the city of Rome.” The story of the vultures is related in Obsequens 69. Beard, North, and Price go on to say that the name “evoke[s] not only the favour of the gods, but also the auspicy that marked the founding of Rome.” 4 Jones 1970, 153-162 gives a balanced discussion of the literary views of Augustus, who “certainly took an active interest in a number of the young historians and poets” (154). 5 See Jones 1970, 157 for a list of political poetry during the Augustan principate.

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error mentioned at Tristia II.2076. Though Ovid singles out that particular carmen as the one that drew the most political attention, we must also consider that a poem treating Rome’s civic calendar and titled Fasti would have engendered some curiosity as well, whether or not it generated less consternation. A glance at the festivals commemorated in this poem shows the prominence of religion in Rome’s civic calendar. Further, individual deities, such as Mars in Book III, serve as overseers and guides of different pieces of the project. Such is the situation introduced in the first lines of Book IV, where Ovid asks Venus to attend and preside over this VHFWLRQRIKLVZRUNLQGHHG,9UHDGVµDOPDIDYH¶GL[LµJHPLQRUXPPDWHU amorum’7. As in April comes the spring and rebirth, Ovid, like poets before him, looks to the goddess’s generative power in the natural world. Seminal as well in ensuring what must occur in nature during this time of the year is Ceres, without whose sowing any population would be in dire straits. The episode that is allotted the most space in Book IV is Ceres’s search for her abducted daughter Persephone, which myth explains the seasons and the place of agriculture is the natural world. Being consumed with time and the public calendar8, Augustus too constantly had to be conscious of civic religion. As he wanted to fashion himself a re-founder of the city, his religiosity was of even greater importance, as such a re-founder was responsible for properly heading state religion9. Over the course of his principate, Augustus masterfully guided his own religious-political programme in the established contexts of Rome’s civic sacrality10. As Augustus was able to do this, necessarily many of Ovid’s communications have connections to the Augustan principate, and contain a strong religious element. Ovid, as poet, is responsible for synthesizing the calendric manifestations of each divinity and for generating some recognizable character for the particular deity. This is not the poet’s only goal in his 6

Ovid’s relations with Augustus is the subject of Barchiesi 1997, and, in regard to the carmen et error specifically, a list of past approaches can be found at Green 1982, 202-203. 7 The text and punctuation are that of Fraser 1929. 8 Feeney 2007, 182-184 discusses Augustus’s fervent interest in calendrical reform. 9 His holding of priesthoods and regulation of cults within the Empire show his interest in inserting himself into Roman public religion. See also Beard, North, and Price 1998, 182ff. 10 His building of the temple of Mars Ultor and the growth of the cult of the Divine Julius are prime examples.

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work, but as he calls on Venus for her generative powers, and in doing so arranges the whole month to this theme, we expect this idea to be present in each divine appearance and throughout the book. Ovid does indeed hold to this in the case of Venus and Ceres, the two deities who are most important in Book IV. The persona that Ovid creates for each goddess reveals much about not only the Fasti, but about the cultural and political stature of the goddesses at the time of writing. Venus’s power over the poem mirrors her importance within Augustan society11. Ceres, on the other hand, is given prominence in mythological time, but when Ovid feels that he must bring her story into the present12, we are struck by Ceres’s hopeless inability to effect any solution with regard to her daughter without the agency of other gods. Furthermore, as an etiological myth, the story’s conclusions are known and unchanging. The character of the goddess generated in that myth is also fixed in the mythological past, and in the present time of the Fasti’s composition, Ceres’s persona has led to a sterility as regards the generation of new poetic material. The contrast between the two goddesses could not be sharper: whereas Venus is present with Ovid and actively shapes his work, Ceres is far in the past, and, once she has found her way into the poem at tradition’s insistence, she cannot through speech effect her will. Such stances reflect the positions of the two goddesses in Augustan culture. Let us look more closely at Venus, whom Ovid engages at the book’s opening. After he calls upon her, the goddess teases Ovid about how many things he could write. She follows her own playful question as to what business Ovid has with her, when surely he could choose to write of weightier things, plucking at a possible old wound in his soft chest13. Ovid declares in response that he has never left the goddess’s signa (4.7). While its first meaning here is “standards,” the word is found five lines later, with the significance of “constellations” (4.12). As Ovid says that he always attends Venus in his poetry, and as he now sings of the seasons and their causes, it stands to reason that in April to sing of nature’s measurement of time is to sing of Venus, and that she is as abundant in her poetic and cultural possibilities as nature is fertile in this month that starts

11 See Galinsky 1996, 148-150 for a treatment of the cultural significances of the goddess, and especially that of Venus Genetrix. 12 Fasti 4.417: H[LJLWLSVHORFXVUDSWXVXWYLUJLQLVHGDP. 13 Fasti 4.3-4: µTXLGWLEL¶DLWµPHFXP"FHUWHPDLRUDFDQHEDVQXPYHWXVLQPROOL pectore volnus habes?’.

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with her festival14. Following is Venus’s approval of Ovid’s project and that approval’s effect, and they could not be clearer: mota Cytheriaca leviter mea WHPSRUD P\UWR  FRQWLJLW HW µFRHSWXP SHUILFH¶ GL[LW µRSXV¶  VHQVLPXVHWVXELWRFDXVDHSDWXHUHGLHUXP (4.15-17). ǼDUOLHU, to describe Venus I used the word “perceptive,” to which we should add “engaging.” She interacts with Ovid directly, which produces the lines just seen about poetry and poetic creation. A wound in the chest that makes Ovid keep to the standards of the goddess creates the link between poet and divinity, which is expressed through verse. There is a militarism to the imagery, which cleanly encapsulates the relationship between Venus and Ovid and the change to this current project. The trope of the soldier-poet is well known from elegy15. This trope is perfectly WUDQVIHUUHG WR D FDOHQGDU SRHP RI WKLV W\SH WKH JXLGLQJ JRGGHVV LV WKH same as she who attends elegy, but her character has changed, and allegiance to her means following the standards of Roman civic identity, as the history of her attendance to the Roman people shows. In answer to her sarcastic question, we see that indeed Ovid must concern himself with Venus if he wants to sing of weightier things. Ovid shows that his service is now in the civic interest, and the depiction of rulers that follows signifies that Ovid judges such poetry to be Venus’s purview in the book. What follows is a description of the descent of Rome’s rulers, in which we find Venus’s constant assistance to Rome. She is the Roman’s ancestor (4.27-28 and 57-58), fought for the Roman’s Troy (4.119-120), and, crucially here, first inspired poetry and a thousand other arts (4.109-114). After these lines we find another telling attribute of Venus. She is the divinity who bids ships go forth and cross the sea in the spring once the harsh weather of winter has ended16. After she is directly linked to her husband, another patron divinity of Rome who had attended Book III, Venus is given charge of an activity metaphorically linked to poetry17. The tone of the lines that connect her to sailing, and thus to poetry, is one of generation and production: after winter’s storms and in the beautiful season she moves the ships that lead to exchange and growth. In addition, Venus’s particular connection to Mars in light of the lines that follow is consistent with that which Ovid envisioned in the opening verses, and we 14

See Scullard 1981, 96-97 for an evaluation of the evidence provided from the Fasti and elsewhere concerning this festival. 15 Among other examples see Prop. 1.6.29-3URSIIDQG7LEII 16 Fasti 4.129-132: HW IRUPRVD 9HQXV IRUPRVR WHPSRUH GLJQD HVW  XWTXH VROHW 0DUWL FRQWLQXDWD VXR HVW  YHUH PRYHW FXUYDV PDWHUQD SHU DHTXRUD SXSSHV  LUH nec hibernas iam timuisse minas. 17 On poetry and sailing see Rosen 1990, 103.

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understand that Venus looks over Rome’s cultural goings-forth and expansions, as Mars does her military expeditions. Let us turn to Ceres, the other goddess who figures quite prominently in April. Historically speaking, Ceres was a native Italian goddess of agriculture who came to be identified, easily enough, with Demeter. The goddess’s celebration in the month of April takes the form of the Games of Ceres, and though we do not know the date of their institution, we have a record that they occurred in 202 BC18. If we needed any, here is proof that Ceres was a goddess with an established civic presence by the time of the writing of the Fasti. The association of Ceres with Demeter is significant for several reasons. In terms of mythography, the syncretism increases the corpus of stories from which Ovid can draw. However, the other side of this growth in potential poetic material is that Ceres becomes decoupled to some extent from her traditional, Italian identity, and takes on an element of universality. Keeping in mind the consequences of this association, let us focus on Ovid’s portrayal of Ceres. Ovid does not speak with the goddess as he did ZLWK 9HQXV UDWKHU KH SURFHHGV WR WKH P\WK DIWHU GLVFXVVLQJ &HUHV¶V service to earlier man and mentioning explicitly that Ceres loves peace19. Advice for men replaces conversation with the goddess, and the farmers are directed to pray for peace and a peaceful princeps. Once Ovid takes up his telling of the substance of the myth, we cannot help but be overwhelmed by how ineffectual Ceres is throughout her search. Ovid does not have open to him the option of allowing Ceres to find and recover her daughter of her own accord, but by choosing to recount her wanderings without any mention either of Persephone after she is abducted or perhaps of the farmers’ reactions, or continued description of the effects on the land, the goddess’s ignorance and inability is unceasingly impressed: Ceres’s incapacity is the sole focus. Most telling of Ceres’s miserable position is the description and absence of agency given to her voice. As she runs from the plain of Henna where Persephone was taken, her calls are so indecipherable as to permit likening to the desperate bellows of a cow that has lost her calf. When we first hear the goddess in these lines and those just preceding, her speech is barely recognizable as such. Other instances of her speaking do not change this picture, but remove her further from the ability to converse with humans. In line 488 we read her question to herdsmen whom she 18

Scullard 1981, 101, and 102-3. Scullard 1981, 20 also points out that she was given a temple in 493 on the Aventine. The Games took place on 12-19 April. 19 Fasti 4.407: pace Ceres laeta est.

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encounters: YR[HUDWµKDFJUHVVXVHFTXDSXHOODWXOLW"¶ Far from producing KHUGDXJKWHU¶VGLUHFWLRQWKLVTXHVWLRQGRHVQRWUHFHLYHDYHUEDOUHVSRQVH even with a direct question the goddess cannot converse with humans. Ovid’s next description of her speaking is found once she has travelled as far as Attica. She is invited into the hut where the humble man Celeus lives with his wife and their son Triptolemus, who is quite ill. When Ceres is alone with the boy, she utters a spell in an effort to reanimate him. We read 7ULSWROHPXP JUHPLR VXVWXOLW LOOD VXR  WHUTXH PDQX SHUPXOVLW HXP tria carmina GL[LWFDUPLQDPRUWDOLQRQUHIHUHQGDVRQR(4.550-2). These words would have made the boy immortal, but his mother burst in and blocked the ritual’s completion. The carmina have effect beyond what mortals can or should manage, says Ovid. As these productive, life-giving words cannot be repeated by man, we again see a distance between the goddess and man, and the unapproachability of Ceres’s character, even for the poet. The last passage that we will examine detailing Ceres’s voice is that coming just before her ineffectual question to the herdsmen. We read: SHUTXHYLFHVPRGRµ3HUVHSKRQH¶PRGRµILOLD¶FODPDW clamat, et alternis nomen utrumque ciet. sed neque Persephone Cererem nec filia matrem 485 audit, et alternis nomen utrumque perit.

This is the most impressive description of her speech, and, as he gives explicitly the result of her cries taken to completion, the closest Ovid comes to engaging Ceres directly in a manner similar to that in which he spoke with Venus: the poet provides the echo that cannot suffice for Ceres, but which is all that is returned in answer to her call. Ceres’s voice does not create poetry, and the fleeting, hollow resound that the goddess receives impresses her solitude. These lines are beautiful no doubt, but contained within themselves, and without the possibility of narrative elaboration. Ovid will go on to describe Ceres’s voice with the line tantus caelesti venit ab ore vigor (4.542), but in the case of this divinity at least, that force has not verse as its result. Before concluding, we should examine the location of this myth. We saw above that Ceres wandered through many lands in her search. The lands are so numerous that Ovid declares TXRIHURU"LQPHQVXPHVWHUUDWDV GLFHUH WHUUDV  SUDHWHUitus Cereri nullus in orbe locus (4.573-4). Her search takes her from Sicily to lands quite distant. Such wandering, in conjunction with the location of the myth far in the past, removes from the story any Roman topographical element, and the absence of Roman characters in an extended myth in a poem such as the Fasti draws

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attention. As her voice proved that she was distant from the poet, so too the lands that she traverses show a physical removal from Rome. I have tried in this paper to relate the presentations of Venus and Ceres in Book IV of the Fasti to the goddesses’ broader public personas. We have seen that the two divinities have rather different characters, and while Venus’s is quite encompassing and productive, Ceres occupies a space important from the standpoint of tradition more than artistic innovation. Venus is linked with Mars, she ventures forth after winter, and she requires of poets that they pay heed to her programme. Ceres by contrast loves peace, goes forth unwillingly, and does not generate a strong connection to contemporary Roman society. That each goddess serves as a cultural foil for the other finds its source in the cults and means of commemoration that Augustus himself favoured. The result of this situation is that Venus can be called upon as a source of new poetry, whereas Ceres cannot. That a poem about the Roman calendar is the forum chosen for such a clear distinction to be expressed shows the public, cultural weight of this dichotomy.

Works Cited Barchiesi, A. 1997. The Poet and the Prince: Ovid and Augustan Discourse. Berkeley: University of California Press Beard, M., J. North, and S. Price 1998. Religions of Rome. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Fantham, E. ed. 1998. 2YLG )DVWL %RRN ,9. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Feeney, D. 2007. Caesar’s Calendar: Ancient Time and the Beginnings of History. Berkeley: University of California Press. Fraser, J.G. 1929. Publii Ovidii Nasonis Fastorum Libri Sex: The Fasti of Ovid. London: Macmillan. Galinsky, K. 1996. Augustan Culture: An Interpretive Introduction. Princeton: Princeton University Press. Green, P. 1982. “Carmen et error ʌȡȩijĮıȚȢ DQG ĮੁIJȓĮ LQ WKH 0DWWHU RI Ovid’s Exile.” ClAnt 1.2: 202-220. Jones, A.H.M. 1970. Augustus. New York: Norton. 5RVHQ 50  ³3RHWU\ DQG 6DLOLQJ LQ +HVLRG V :RUNV DQG 'D\V´ ClAnt 9.1: 99-113. Scullard, H.H. 1981. Festivals and Ceremonies of the Roman Republic. Ithaca: Cornell University Press.

MAGIC AS A POETIC PROCESS: VERGIL AND THE CARMINA MATHIEU MINET CATHOLIC UNIVERSIY OF LOUVAIN

In the second part of Eclogue 8, Vergil describes a mysterious ritual: in response to his companion Damon, the shepherd Alphesiboeus sings the song of a woman trying to bring her lover Daphnis back through an erotic defixio (‘bewitchment’). To this purpose, she specifically uses carmina. The refrain says: 'XFLWHDEXUEHGRPXPPHDFDUPLQDGXFLWH'DSKQLP (“Draw from the town, ô my carminaGUDZ'DSKQLVKRPH´ . These carmina have always been problematic to translators: is the ZLWFK UHIHUULQJ WR KHU µVRQJV¶ KHU µVSHOOV¶ RU KHU µLQFDQWDWLRQV¶" 0DQ\ critics have pointed out that Vergil is precisely playing on the multiple meanings of the term carmen, which is at the intersection of the magical and poetical vocabularies1: this ambiguity would contribute to cloud the border between ‘song’ and ‘incantation’, and to fuel the current idea that poetry is “a kind of magic”. The belief that poetry has magical effects on the world and the souls is such a topos that it would be difficult to list all poets and authors considered as “wizards”2. On the other hand, the symmetric metaphor is OHVVFRPPRQZKRZRXOGVD\WKDWDPDJLFLDQLV³DSRHWRIWKLQJV´",QWKLV paper, I intend to show how the specific concept of carmina allows Vergil to portray magic as a form of poetry, and poetry as a magical art.

The carmen In trying to define and illustrate the archaic meaning of carmen, Pliny mentions that Vergil imitated erotic incantamenta (HN 28, 4). This remark (which undoubtedly bears on Ecl. 8) authorises the philologist to bring out 1

See a. o. Tandoi 1981 p. 300. Notice also that the ambiguity of carmen confused Romans too: Tupet 1976, 166. 2 See Vadé 1990 (introduction).

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analogies between Ecl. 8 and the specific concept of carmen, which can be defined thanks to ancient testimonia and related modern summaries3. The carmen consists of a “technical language” limited to oral expression. This form of speech conveys a message that imperatively needs to be understood and memorized by its recipient. To these purposes, the carmen has a specific phrasing, based on several “pre-rhetorical” techniques: 1) the most specific feature of the carmen is its ‘rhythmic’ form (organized into well-ordered periods or neat sequences of two or WKUHH HOHPHQWV  ) phonetic elements such as alliterations, echoes, homoeoteleuta or isocola KHOS WR VWUXFWXUH WKH WH[W ) as a codified language, the carmen is full of stereotypic (or even archaic) formulaV) it also puts at work many ways of insisting: word repetitions (anaphors, polyptota, paronomasias), demonstrative or correlative pronouns, duplication of words by means of synonyms. This obviously aims at avoiding any confusion that would compromise a correct understanding of the message. Carmina were used in many areas, in both public and private spheres: there were legal, military or domestic carmina, as well as religious and magical ones. It should be noted that Pliny seems to draw no border between these last two categories, and he points out many similarities between carmen and precatio. Anyway, the specificity of both magic and religious carmina is its ‘performative’ capacity. Through a very precise recitation, the carmen acquires a uis, an immanent effectiveness: voice makes things be. Later, a semantic shift turned the carmen into a poetical concept: the carmen loses its original informative and mnemonic functions and replaces them with representative and interpretative ones. In this sense, the figures of speech and archetypes of the carmen are no longer loaded with “performative” power: they achieve expressiveness and aesthetic effectiveness instead.

The magical form of Alphesiboeus’ song How Vergil employs the ingredients of the magical carmen in order to compose the shepherd Alphesiboeus’ song, is my present concern.

3

Esp. the Carmen arvale, few agricultural carmina from the De agricultura, testimonies of Pliny, Cicero, Servius, etc.). See Dangel 1997, Freyburger 2001, Guittard 2001 and 2007.

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Sound effects At the very beginning of the song, an astonishing echo can be heard. Indeed, if we consider the vowel sounds of the first two lines (64-65), we can notice a strange analogy: (IIHUDTX DP HWPROOLFLQJ H KDHFDOWDULDXLWWD XHUEHQDVTX H DGROHSLQJXHVHWPDVFXODWXUD (e, e, a, a, o, i/e, i, ae/e, e/a, a, i/u, a, i/u, a)

Another disconcerting and mesmerizing acoustic phenomenon in this song is the pregnant presence of [s] and [k] sounds which produces constant hissing and clattering: coniugis ut magicis auertere sacris   carmina uel caelo possunt deducere Lunam / carminibus Circe socios mutauit Olixis / frigidus in pratis cantando rumpitur anguis (69-  necte WULEXV QRGLV WHUQRV $PDU\OOL FRORUHV / QHFWH $PDU\OOL PRGR HW 9HQHULV dic uincula necto. / terna tibi haec primum triplici diuersa colore / licia FLUFXPGR WHUTXH KDHF DOWDULD FLUFXP / effigiem duco (77-78 + 73-   OLPXVXWKLFGXUHVFLWHWKDHFXWFHUDOLTXHVFLW Y WUDQVTXHFDSXWLDFH nec respexeris (102). In the seventh stanza4 (95-99), a repetitive pattern underlines this phonetic consistency: the enumeration of three powers associated with herbs is rhythmed through a repetition of the sound [sa] (VDHSH VDHSH satas) and through rhyming isocola (six syllables each: se condere silvis excire sepulcris traducere messis). +DVKHUEDVDWTXHKDHF3RQWRPLKLOHFWDXHQHQD LSVHGHGLW0RHULV QDVFXQWXUSOXUXPD3RQWR  his ego saepe lupum fieri et se condere siluis 0RHULP saepe animas imis H[FLUHVHSXOFULV DWTXH satas alio uidi traducere messis

Fixed and repetitive formulations As mentioned above, one of the purposes of the carmen is to be rehearsed. Hence the many repetitive or emphasizing figures of speech in the Alphesiboeus’ song, especially in the similia similibus part of the ritual: the third stanza contains many “stress indicators”: anaphors (QHFWH necte), polyptota (QHFWH QHFWR), paronomasias (WULEXV WHUQRV WHUQD WHU WULSOLFLXHQHULVXLQFXOD) or synonyms (XLQFXODOLFLDQRGLV). The stanzas 4

According to my editorial options, see Annex 1.

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4-6 cast many twofold formulas underlined by anaphors, correlative and demonstrative words, a typical feature of archaic carmina5: limus ut hic GXUHVFLWHWKDHFXWFHUDOLTXHVFLW  'DSKQLVPHPDOXVXULWHJRKDQFLQ Daphnide laurum6  talis amor DaSKQLPTXDOLVFXPIHVVDLXXHQFXP (85)7 pignora cara sui (…) WHUUD WLEL PDQGR GHEHQW KDHF SLJQRUD Daphnim (92-93). The refrain obviously needs to be mentioned here, for it is altogether bipartite and anaphoric. It should be noted that it is also particularly long (and even holodactylic): ducit(e) ab urbe domum mea carmina ducite Daphnim counts 17 syllables divided into an hemistichon of 7 syllables and two isocola of 5 syllables.

Magical ordering of words A last magic-looking figure must be underlined: while it is not specific to the archaic carmen, it nevertheless stresses the “performative” power defined above: on several occasions, Vergil has arranged the words (the “signifiers”) in the very manner the witch wanted to set the things (the “signifieds”): in the first line, molli cinge haec altaria vitta (64), the altar is literally (or even “wordily”) encircled (FLQJH E\WKH³VRIWVWULS´at the end of the poem, a flickering flame surrounds this altar, tremulis altaria flammis Y   GXULQJ WKH defixio itself, the witch says sic nostro Daphnis amore (v. 81) to tie up Daphnis through her love.

The poetical meaning of magic Quite clearly now, Vergil has not only described a defixio but also faked the tone and characteristics of the archaic carmen: poetry has been turned into witchcraft8. The prologue had indeed announced such an “epiphany” (see the description of Nature mesmerized by the songs, 2-4). Just as the poet Alphesiboeus pretends to do magic, so the witch he is embodying symmetrically pretends to do poetry: this is the point I wish to emphasize.

5 See WHUUD SHVWHP WHQHWR VDOXV KLF PDQHWR (Varro, Rust. 1.2.27) or the wedding formula XELWX*DLXVHJR*DLD(Plut. Quaest. Rom., 30). 6 The synonymic familiarity between Daphnis and laurus is too obvious not to be noticed. 7 In stanza 7, we also hear strange ‘phonetic mirrors’ (riuum-uiridibucula-lucos). 8 This is a major difference with Theocritus’ Idyll II which mostly inspired Ecl. 8: in my opinion, Theocritus portrayed whitchcraft as a metaphor for love.

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Indeed, the enumeration of the magical powers of carmina (69-  Stanza 2) refers as much to poetry as to magic. 1) FDUPLQD « SRVVXQW deducere lunam (“drawing down the moon”) alludes to the famous expression carmen deductum (Ecl. 6) where “the thin song” means that FRPSRVLQJSRHWU\LVOLNHFDUGLQJZRRODQGSXOOLQJRXWWKLQZRRO\DUQWKLV “textile” metaphor9 of poetry can be related to expressions like carminare lanam or deducere lanam (notice the puns). The same image can be found in Catullus’ Carmen 64 (that has clearly influenced Ecl. 8.10): currite GXFHQWHV VXEWHJPLQD FXUULWH IXVL (“Run, drawing the threads, run, spLQGOHV´  2) the reference to the myth of Circe (carminibus Circe socios mutauit Olixis) could just be a topos of witchcraft, but the comparison with another mention of Circe in Aen. 7 opens further perspectives: Vergil uses (12) the expression cantus assiduus to describe what Aeneas hears while sailing along the coasts of Circe’s country. So, she is presented, not only as a witch, but also as a singer, performing an “everlasting” or “repetitive” song which evokes Alphesiboeus’ refrains. Besides, while singing, she is also busy weaving wool (arguto tenuis percurrens pectine telas, 14). 3) the verb rumpere (cantando rumpitur anguis, “snake is sung apart”) may refer to a phonetic phenomenon: it sometimes means “to produce a vibration” (see HW FDQWX TXHUXODH UXPSHQW DUEXVWD FLFDGDH Georg. 3.328). So, the snake-killers are maybe singing a cantus assiduus11. Similarly, in stanza 7, even if the three magical effects are ascribed to herbs and potions (KHUEDV« XHQHQD, 95), this, however, does not mean that oral magic is not employed: in other texts of Vergil, the handling of magical herbs is often associated with songs (see Georg. 3.280-281: saepe malae legere novercae / PLVFXHUXQWTXH KHUEDV HW non innoxia verba). Notice as well that ancient literature has always linked these powers (assuming a wolf’s shape, capturing harvests, summoning spirits) with singing performances (respectively Petron., Sat;,,WDEOHVDR A. Pers. 598-708). Eventually, the most significant evidence of the meta-poetical meaning of the magical element is provided by the third stanza: the witch ties up the “voodoo” doll representing Daphnis with three threads of different colours, and walks it three times around the altar. How could one see in that process anything else than the “mise en abyme” of the whole song, ZKLFKFRQVLVWVRI³WKUHHWLPHVWKUHH´VWDQ]DVRIWKUHHGLIIHUHQWOHQJWKV",Q 9

See Deremetz 1995 p. 289-305. See Minet 2007 and 2010. 11 By the way, the power to kill snakes by a song is traditionally attributed to the Marsi, an Italic nation descended from Circe (see e.g. Plin. HN 28, 4). This connection underlines the logical progression in these three verses. 10

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this respect, it seems obvious that the final words of the song (109) have the same meta-poetical outcome: Daphnis uenit does not only mean that the ritual has succeeded, but that the eclogue has now come to its end.

Conclusion Recovering Daphnis (personification of the bucolic genre) turns the witch into a poetess and produces orphic effects on Nature. This reminds us of other ancient narratives: how Proteus has been chained by Menelaus (Il. 4) and by Aristeas (Georg. 4), Silenus tied up by children (Ecl. 6), and Circe caught by Ulysses (Od. 10). All these narratives are related to very strange characters that might be described as “poets-demiurges”: Proteus NQRZV HYHU\WKLQJ FDQ PDNH HYHU\WKLQJ YLVLEOH WKH DXGLHQFH RI 6LOHQXV¶ song can literally see things happen before its eyes12 &LUFH KDV JRW WKat same “plastic” power on the world. Such attempts to force a “maître de vérité13” to reveal his knowledge are close to initiation ordeals. As a matter of fact, the acquisition of poetic gifts is highly similar to shamanic initiation: many poetic skills, like inspiration or the ability to make things visible (phantasia), seem to result from a kind of theurgy. Much remains to be said about poet-shamans, like Democritus, Aristeas of Proconnesus, or (of course) Pythagoras, and on the relations between initiation, revelation, mystic trance, and inspiration.

Annex 1: a note on the edition of Ecl. 8 In the manuscripts, the ritual of setting threads around a Daphnis-like effigies is divided into two different stanzas (3 v. + 2 v.): 73 74 75 76 77 78 79

Terna tibi haec primum triplici diuersa colore licia circumdo, terque haec altaria circum effigiem duco : numero deus impare gaudet. R. Ducite ab urbe domum, mea carmina, ducite Daphnim. 1HFWHWULEXVQRGLVWHUQRV$PDU\OOLFRORUHV necte, Amarylli, modo et “Veneris” dic “uincula necto”. R. Ducite ab urbe domum, mea carmina, ducite Daphnim.

For several reasons, this lectio raises an issue:  All the other stanzas of the eclogue consist of 3, 4 or 5 verses. 12 13

Lieberg 1982. Detienne 1981.

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 When looking for meaning, the refrain (76) dissociates a number of verses that are expected to go together, since all other stanzas in Ecl. 8 display unity and coherence.  The refrain also breaks symmetry to Damon’s song, as Vergil obviously intended at a similar structure for both songs. This parallel construction is so striking that even the copyist of a later manuscript has added a verse (called 28a in modern editions) in order to restore this symmetry. I agree with editors who consider verse 76 (and a fortiori v. 28a) an interpolation. I therefore propose to restore symmetry by removing this verse from the stanza. Besides, I suggest moving 77-78 to the beginning of the stanza: the action of making strings by knotting three threads must take place before the tying-up of the Daphnis-like doll with these strings. As a matter of fact, I am convinced that this inversion has induced the interpolation. Copyists were misled by the word primum: they accordingly wanted to move these verses (with the following refrain) to the beginning of the stanza and, after vincula necto, they inserted another refrain–this last sentence had indeed to be separated from the next stanza.

Annex 2: number games and Pythagorean influence I mentioned above that sequences of three elements might underline the rhythm of the carmen (see the famous case of the Carmen arvale  however, I did not stress this point in the analysis of Alphesiboeus’ song. I think a discussion of magical numbers deserves further attention. Is it SRVVLEOHWRVHHDULWKPHWLFHOHPHQWVLQWKHULWXDO"7KHIRUPXODnumero deus impare gaudet (78) and the role devoted to number 3 in the third stanza leads to a serious consideration of this issue. In this regard, an analysis of lexical fields brings up surprising results. Alphesiboeus’ song counts: -3 fire-related verbs: DGROHVFHUHLQFHQGHUHXUHUH -3 fire-related nouns: LJQLVFLQHUHVIODPPD -3 water-related nouns: DTXDULYXV3RQWXV -3 night-related nouns: /XQDQR[VRPQLXP -6 animals-related nouns: DQJXLV H[XYLD VQDNHV  EXFXOD LXYHQFXV FRZV OXSXVK\OD[(canids) -6 earth-related nouns: ELWXPHQOLPHQSLJQXVOLPXVVHSXOFKUXPWHUUD -12 vegetation-related nouns: PROD YHQHQXP PHVVLV (vegetation WUDQVIRUPHGE\WKHKXPDQ YHUEHQDWXVODXUXV(substances taken from a

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The analysis of verbal forms is also of interest: -12 verbs in the second person (all referring to the maid named Amyrillis: HIIHUFLQJHDGROHQHFWHQHFWHGLFLQFHQGHVSDUJHIHULDFHUHVSH[HULV aspice) -9 verbs in the first person (all referring to the witch: H[SHULDUFLUFXPGR GXFRPDQGRYLGLDGJUHGLDUPRURUQHVFLRFUHGLPXV) -3 verbs whose subject is Daphnis (uritUHOLTXLWFXUDW)

Aren’t these numerical coincidences pointing to Pythagorean influences over and above the usual carmina VWUXFWXUDO FRQVWUDLQWV" 7KH sequences of 3-, 4-, and 5-verse stanzas remind us of the numbers underlying the famous theorem. Putting the refrains aside, the song consists of 36 verses (which, incidentally, is the number of the great Tetractys14) but 45, the total number of verses, is the sum of the first nine integers. Even if the taste of Vergil for mathematics–and thus astronomy–is well known (see Donat, Vit. Verg. p. 38 R.), there nevertheless is too little evidence for saying that he adhered to Pythagorean mysticism. Looking for such an influence is questionable, in view of the sfumato surrounding Pythagorean philosophy. On the other hand, it is a fact that Vergil composed Eclogue 8 at a time (c. 40) when Rome was dealing with the embarrassing presence of NeoPythagoreans. Indeed, Nigidius Figulus, a neo-Pythagorean scientist, had been banished in 45 BC, supposedly for his dangerous influence on minds, and a few sources assert that Neo-Pythagoreans were magicians15. Yet it is well known that Agrippa expelled magicians from Rome in 33 (Dio Cass., 49, 43): this sort of issue had thus been haunting for at least a decade. Whether Vergil was thinking of these events or not, Ecl. 8 nevertheless provides the first attestation of the adjective magicus in Latin literature: this term may well be quite common today with the meaning “supernatural” or “occult”, but at the time of Vergil, it necessarily referred

14

Plut. de Is. et Os. 75 See Jer., Chron., Ol. 183, 4 (Nigidius Figulus Pythagoricus et magus in exilio moritur  3V-Cic. ,Q 6DOO UHVS. 5, 14 (sodalicium sacrilege Nigidiani  &LF In Vat., 14 (7X TXL WH 3\WKDJRUHXP VROHV GLFHUH « TXL WDQWXV IXURU XW TXXP inaudita ac nefaria sacra VXVFHSHULV TXXP inferorum animas elicere TXXP puerorum extis deos manes mactare soleas).

15

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to Chaldean or Persian magi ȝȐȖȠȚ  whose image pervaded Pythagoreanism.

Works Cited Dangel, J. 1997. “Le carmen latin: rhétorique, poétique et poésie.” Euphrosyne 25: 113-131. Deremetz, A. 1995. /H PLURLU GHV PXVHV SRpWLTXHV GH OD UpIOH[LYLWp j Rome. Villeneuve d’Ascq: Presses Universitaires du Septentrion. Detienne, M. 1981. /HVPDvWUHVGHYpULWpGDQVOD*UqFHDUFKDwTXH. Paris: Maspero. Freyburger, G. 2001. “Prière et magie à Rome.” In La Magie. Actes du FROORTXHLQWHUQDWLRQDOGH0RQWSHOOLHU -PDUV , 3. Du monde latin au monde contemporain, ed. A. Moreau, J.C. Turpin, 5-13. Montpellier: Université Paul Valéry. Guittard, Ch. 2001. “Carmen et Carmenta: chant, prière et prophétie dans la religion romaine.” In &KDQWHU OHV GLHX[ 0XVLTXH HW UHOLJLRQ GDQV O DQWLTXLWp JUHFTXH HW URPDLQH $FWHV GX FROORTXH GHV   HW  GpFHPEUH  5HQQHV HW /RULHQW , ed. P. Brulé and Ch. Vendries, 173-181. Rennes: Presses Universitaires de Rennes. —. 2007. &DUPHQHWSURSKpWLHVj5RPH. Turnhout: Brepols. Lieberg, G. 1982. “Virgile et l’idée de poète créateur.” Latomus 41: 255284 Minet, M. 2007. “L’unité des chants de Damon et Alphésibée (Virgile, huitième %XFROLTXH). Première partie: l’épithalame de Damon et Alphésibée.” LEC 75: 413-432. —. 2010. “L’unité des chants de Damon et Alphésibée (Virgile, huitième %XFROLTXH). Seconde partie: le chant d’âge d’or de Damon et Alphésibée.” LEC 78: 351-370. Tandoi, V. 1981. “Lettura dell’ottava Bucolica.” In Lecturae Vergilianae 1, Le Bucoliche, ed. M. Gigante, 263-317. Napoli: Giannini. Tupet, A.-M. 1976. La Magie dans la poésie latine, I, 'HVRULJLQHVjODILQ GXUqJQHG $XJXVWH. Paris: les Belles Lettres. Vadé, Y. 1990. L'Enchantement littéraire. Ecriture et magie de &KDWHDXEULDQGj5LPEDXG. Paris: Gallimard.

POETIC AND RELIGIOUS LANGUAGE IN ROMAN TRAGIC FRAGMENTS CONCERNING MEDEA MARIA JENNIFER FALCONE CATHOLIC UNIVERSITY OF THE SACRED HEART, MILAN*

The presence of religious language in archaic Roman tragedy is often related to the practice of Romanisierung. In order to adapt the Greek models for their public, the authors used words and syntax, phonological and stylistic elements which were typical of the Roman and Italic sacral language, particularly that of carmina, epigraphs and hymnic prayers dedicated to local deities1. As one of the most usual characterizations of Medea in Roman literature is her connection with magic, she seems to be particularly suitable for this topic. She was also later connected with Angitia, an Italic goddess venerated by the Marsi in the area of the Lake Fucinus. The analogies between both figures, which the Latin authors could have drawn in their works, can be summarized as follows: they share chthonic and VRODU HOHPHQWV WKHLU PDJLFal SRZHU LV ERWK QR[LRXV DQG LDWULF WKH\ DUH related with snakes and spells, female priests and a mountainous territory2. Therefore I will focus my attention on some fragments of Ennius’ Medea exul, Pacuvius’ Medus and Accius’ Medea sive Argonautae, aiming at highlighting the typical elements of a religious speech3.

*

I have mostly worked on this paper during a research stay at the Fondation Hardt in Vandœuvres, which I thank for the warm hospitality. 1 For the presence of religious elements in Roman literature and language see (as YHU\ VHOHFWHG ELEOLRJUDSK\  $SSHO  1RUGHQ  +LFNVRQ  +RUVIDOO 1994/D%XDIRUWKHcarmen see Dangel 1997. 2 I studied this topic in depth in Falcone 2011. 3 For lack of space, I cannot discuss many problems concerning the text (metric, language, tradition, intertextuality, vertere) and the context of the fragments.

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Ennius’ Medea exul4 6RO TXL FDQGHQWHm in caelo sublimat facem v. 280 Vahl.2  (QQ )  TrRF)5

The invocation conforms to the usual cletic scheme: the theonym’s vocative is followed by a relative clause which informs us about the deity’s features6. There is no need to emend the text sublimat to sublimas: a similar alternation between second and third person in the principal and relative clause recurs often in archaic Latin (see e.g. Enn. ann. 620 Vahl.2: VRVTXH /DUHV WHFWXP QRVWUXP TXL IXQGLWXV FXUDQW trag. inc. 35 Ribb.3  adesp. F 155 TrRF: 'DQDLTXLSDUHQW$WULGLVTXDPSULPXPDUPDVXPLWH) and the switch between “Er-Stil” and “Du-Stil der Prädikation” is very common in religious texts7. ,XSSLWHUWXTXHDGHR VXPPH6ROTXLUHVRPQLVVSLFLV TXLTXHWXRcum lumine mare terram caelum FRQWLQHV LQVSLFH KRF IDFLQXV SULXV TXDP ILDW  SURKLEHVVHLV VFHOXV vv. 284-286 Vahl.2 (QQ)TrRF)8

These verses have been correctly defined as a “schöne Stilisierung sakraler Prädikation”9. Ennius creatively translates Eur. Med. 1251-60 4

For this drama’s general problems, its relations with the Euripidean model and the contextualization of the fragments see Ribbeck 1875, 149- 5|VHU  'UDENLQ 'RQGRQL - -RFHO\Q -1RVDUWL   5RVDWR  -1 7KH WH[W LV TXRWHG IURP 9DKOHQ¶V HGLWLRQ D correspondence with Manuwald’s recent edition (TrRF) is given. 5 Cf. 'UDENLQ  I 5|VHU  -RFHO\Q  I0DUDQJRQL  /D%XD5RVDWRI 6 For this scheme see Lehman %HQYHQLVWH-+LFNVRQ16. 7 For Er- and Du-Stil see Norden 2002, 282f. The discussion is considered convincingly closed after Marangoni 1988, who confirms the interpretation of the fragment as invocation, comparing the aemulatio given by Accius in trag. 581f. Ribb.3 (from the Phoenissae: 6RO TXL PLFDQWHP FDQGLGR FXUUX DWTXH HTXLV  IODPPDP FLWDWLV IHUXLGR DUGRUH H[SOLFDV  TXLDQDP WDP DGXHUVR DXJXULR HW LQLPLFRRPLQH7KHELVUDGLDWXPOXPHQRVWHQWDVWXXP– ? QRQHWKOHVVKHGRHVnot rule out the hypothesis of a gap in the following verse. 8 Drabkin 1937, 34f. and 89- 5|VHU  - 'RQGRQL   *ULOOL -RFHO\Q-%HWWLQL-$UFHOODVFKL/D %XD   5RVDWR  -40. According to Vahlen, I would explain the YHUVHVDVWURFKDLFVHSWHQDUVcontra Jocelyn 1967, 370 and Rosato 2005, 132-135. 9 Röser 1939, 30.

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with meaningful modifications: he replaces the Earth Mother with Iuppiter KH UHVRUWV WR WKH WUDGLWLRQDO VWUXFWXUH RI SUD\HUV JRG¶V LQYRFDWLRQUHODWLYH FODXVHUHTXHVW KH UHODWHV WKH RSWDWLYH prohibessis, which often concerns natural calamitates in carmina and epigraphs (see CIL I 366 n. 64: SURKLEHVVLV GHIHQGDV DXHUUXQFHVTXH), with the word scelus, typical of the sacral-religious language. Some phonological and stylistic elements can derive from the carmina as well: the wordplay with simplex and compound (VSLFLVLQVSLFH)10, which could also have been inspired by the model (țĮIJȓįİIJૃ ੅įİIJİ WKHDOOLWHUDWLRQVfacinus … fiat and summe Sol … spicis11 WKH DV\QGHWLF MXQFWLRQ µmare terram caelum’, a poetic tricolon meaningfully dismembered by the metrical incision12. Sacral elements in non-religious contexts: the presence of sacral elements in non-specifically religious contexts13 often gives the opportunity of explaining different questions and could offer new evidence in order to solve critical problems. In this case the register is not properly sacral, but solemn: this solemnity indeed is obtained by the use of originally religious elements. In one case (vv. 257f. Vahl.2 (QQ)TrRF: cupido cepit miseram QXQF PH SURORTXL / FDHOR DWTXH WHUUDH 0HGHDw PLVHULDV)14 the solemn elements, such as the presence of the datives caelo DWTXH terrae and the alliterations in ‘c’ and ‘m’, with the very rare termination of the proper noun, which is characterized by a sequence of longa, state the way Ennius translates his model. In another fragment (v. 259 Vahl.2 (QQ)TrRF: Quae Corinthum DUFHP DOWDP KDEHWLV PDWURQDH RSXOHQWDH RSWLPDWHV)15 the solemn 10

According to Vahlen and most of the editors, I prefer the correction spicis to inspicis RIWKHPDQXVFULSWVcontra Manuwald (TrRF). 11 In the second case the metrical incision (which separates the alliterative words) emphatically highlights adjective and proper noun. 12 For the poetic use of the tricolon see Cic. fin. 5, 4, 9: ut nulla pars caelo mari WHUUDXWSRHWLFH ORTXDUSUDHWHUPLVVDVLW. 13 La Bua 1999, passim properly speaks about ‘movenze precatorie’. 14 Cf. Drabkin 1937, 26 and 65-5|VHUI'RQGRQLI-RFHO\Q I/HQQDUW]-DQGI5RVDWR-76. 15 For this well-known fragment, directly connected by Vahlen with the verses quoted by Cicero in the same context of fam. 7, 6, 1 (multi suam rem bene gessere HW SXEOLFDP SDWULD SURFXO / PXOWL TXL GRPL DHWDWHP DJHUHQW SURSWHUHD VXQW improbati) and related to Eur. Med. 214-218, see Drabkin 1937, 26-28 and 68- Röser 1939, 13- 'RQGRQL   -RFHO\Q  I %URRNV   /HQQDUW]   3DGXDQR  I 9RJW-6SLUD  I 5RVDWR 2005, 78-*DUEDULQRI

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sequence of two tricola is one of the arguments used by the scholars for the constitutio textus, which is made particularly difficult by the insertion of Ennius’ ipsissima verba in Cicero’s citation16.

Pacuvius’ Medus17 «WH6ROLQXRFRXWPLKLSRWHVWDWHPGXLV LQTXLUHQGLPHLSDUHQWLV«vv. 219f. Ribb.3 6FKLHUO 18

The optative duis, metrically convenient for the end of the verse, is common in formulaic and religious language (also as compounds: SHUGXLW perduint)19 and it is used here in a subjective clause. According to one of the typical expressions of invocation, the syntax is hypotactic and the gerundive LQTXLUHQGL PHL SDUHQWLV is subordinate to potestatem. Particularly significant in a tragedy about Medea is the mention of the Sun, who also occurs in Ennius (as already stated, see supra) and was related both to the Cholchian figure and to Angitia: &DHOLWXPFDPLOODH[VSHFWDWDDGXHQLVVDOXHKRVSLWD v. 232 Ribb.3  Schierl)20.

In this fragment the alliterative junction caelitum camilla seems to have a generalizing function. In fact, according to Serv. ad Aen. XI 558 the term camilla, often discussed but not completely clarified by the scholars, means ‘gods’ minister’ (and was specifically related with

16

I quote Cicero’s text in order to give an idea of the problem: tu modo ineptias LVWDV HW GHVLGHULD XUELV HW XUEDQLWDWLV GHSRQH HW TXR FRQVLOLR SURIHFWXV HV LG DGVLGXLWDWH HW YLUWXWH FRQVHTXHUH KRF WLEL WDP LJQRVFHPXV QRV DPLFL TXDP LJQRYHUXQW0HGHDHµTXDH&DDKDEHEDQWPRRSWLPDWHV¶TXLEXVLOODµPDQLEXV J\SVDWLVVLPLV¶ SHUVXDVLW QH VLEL YLWLR LOODH YHUWHUHQW TXRG DEHVVHW D SDWULD 1DP µPXOWL«LPSUREDWL¶TXRLQQXPHURWXFHUWHIXLVVHVQLVLWHH[WUXVLVVHPXV 17 For this drama’s general problems, its relations with Hygin’s fab. 27 and the contextualization of the fragments see Ribbeck 1875, 318-'RQGRQL '¶$QQD  -125 and 216- 1RVDUWL  6FKLHUO  ([FHSW LQ one case, the text is quoted from Ribbeck’s third edition with the correspondence with Schierl’s. 18 Cf. 'RQGRQL   '¶$QQD  I 1RVDUWL   /D %XD  103. For similar structures in Plautus see Averna 2009, 24. 19 See Pl. MoEpAs. 467 and Godel 1979, 231. 20 &I'¶$QQD$UULJRQL-1RVDUWLI1RVDUWL I/HQQDUW]

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Diana’s cult only later, after 17 b.C.)21. The connection with the plural caelites as well can be seen as a poet’s attempt at avoiding the direct mention of a precise divinity (maybe Hecate, who was traditionally related with Medea"  DQG LQ WKLV ZD\ DW HQQREOLQJ the Cholchian woman. The problem cannot be solved without any information about the original context and it would be particularly helpful to know who spoke the verse and with what aim. We could hypothesize perhaps a character who was terrified by Medea’s power and her connection with dangerous god(desse)s: possum ego istam capite cladem auerruncassere v. 236 Ribb.3   Schierl)22

Averruncassere is the infinitive of a verb typical of sacral Roman language and attested in epigraphs, usually in connection with prohibessere (see the epigraph CIL I 366 n. 64, quoted ad Ennius’ v. 286). The term clades is a rare synonym of the more usual calamitas. It seems interesting to note that the iatric power, here emphasised by the word order (the anastrophe possum ego and auerruncassere respectively at the EHJLQQLQJDQGWKHHQGRIWKHYHUVHistam cladem in hyperbaton separated by the alliterative capite) is one of the elements that Medea shares with Angitia: Aegialeo parentat pater fr. 179*** Schierl23

The fragment is properly ascribed to the Medus because Cicero (nat. deor. 3, 19, 48) states that, in Pacuvius’ drama, Medea’s brother (whose usual name is Apsyrtos) was called Aegialeus. The word parentat, proposed for paret at of the manuscripts24, can be interpreted as the signal of a Romanisierung of the rituals: Pacuvius could have created a connection between Aeetes’ funeral ceremony in honour of his son and the private Roman rite of the Parentalia, a nine-day long ceremony during

21

See above all Arrigoni 1982, 86f. and Nosarti 1999, 63. &I'¶$QQD1RVDUWL/HQQDUW] 23 Cf. %LUW'¶$QQD 1RVDUWLcontra Ribbeck 18973.. 24 The correction is proposed by Birt 1879 and explains the phenomenon of catachresis or abusio, which is the reason why Quintilian quotes the fragment at inst. 8, 6, 34-35: the proper use of parentare, in fact, is usually and etymologically related only to the parents and not to the sons. 22

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which each family took care of its dead, who came back to earth and ate the food offered by their relatives25. Coniugem LOOXP$PRUTXHPGHGHUDWTXLSOXVSROOHWSRWLRUTXHHVWSDWUHvv. inc. inc. 174f. Ribb.3 

6FKLHUO 26

The sequence of embedded relative clauses is enriched by many rhetorical figures. The anastrophe $PRU TXHP matches ‘illum’ against ‘Amor’ in emphatic position at the verse’s beginning: the two terms of the first foot are opposed to patre which occupies the last foot. In the second part of the verse, the alliterative synonymic catalogue (emphatically closed by patre) could have been influenced by the sacral language, which is not surprising in a context where the god Amor is mentioned27.

Accius’ Medea sive Argonautae28 7XQ GLD 0HGH¶V FXLXV DGLWXP H[VSHFWDQV SHUXL[L XVTXH DGKXF" v. 417 Ribb.3 'DQJHO 29

Tun dia Mede’s is a correction for the text presented by the manuscripts (tunc diomedes et)30. The adjective dia, also used by epic poets, was originally peculiar to the sacral language: in some epigraphs HJ 9HWWHU  Q   5L[  6D  VWHQLVNDODYLLV / anagtiai.diíviiai. /dunum deded) the goddess Angitia is called diivia.

25 For the Parentalia see RE Suppl. ;,, (LVHQKXW  9DUURl.l. 9, 2Y fast. 2, 533ff. and Robinson 2011, ad loc/ROOLI'XPp]LO 26 Cf. 'RQGRQL'¶$QQD$UWLJDV1RVDUWL Schierl 2002, 273f. 27 See also Schierl 2006, 382. 28 For this drama’s general problems, its relations with Apollonius’ Argonautica and the contextualization of the fragments see Ribbeck 1875, 528- 'HODJH 'RQGRQL-'HJO¶,QQRFHQWL3LHULQL-'DQJHO 349-%DLHU,IROORZ5LEEHFN¶VWKLUGHGLWLRQDQGJLYHWKHFRUUHVSRQGHQFH with Dangel. 29 Cf. 0HWWH'RQGRQL/HQQDUW]1RVDUWL%DJRUGRI 30 Ribbeck’s dia is largely accepted. For the proper noun’s version Mede see Nosarti 1999, 77f., contra Dangel 1995.

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However, the expression dea dia was very common in carmina31. A ‘sacral’ colour can be recognized in the formulation’s structure as well: the attribute is followed by the proper noun which in this case is followed by a relative clause32. Principio extispicium ex prodigiis congruens ars te arguit v. 419 Ribb.3  496 Dangel)33

In this fragment the mention of extispicia, which were practiced in Rome and Etruria, could be explained as an example of Romanisierung in the field of rituals, specifically divinatory. Ars seems to be the equivalent of ‘professional technique’ and it seems clear that the poet tries to distinguish different types of rituals and to use a precise and defined vocabulary34.

Conclusions The analysis of the fragments enables us to distinguish between two different typologies of sacral language in poetic works: on the one hand the authors compose in a specifically religious context ‘real’ invocations DQGSUD\HUVRQWKHRWKHUKDQd, aiming to create a properly Roman poetic language, they use sacral terms, syntactic structures and rhetorical figures, which are also found in traditional carmina, epigraphs and hymns. The second case is very common: a sacral colour is recognizable, in fact, in many phonological and stylistic aspects, such as a rich use of alliteration (also connected with other rhetorical figures, like the synonymic catalogues) and tricola. The presence of sacral elements is just one of the elements which conform to a stylistically high context, and a precise connection with the religious field was already lost. Nonetheless the first case in particular could add more evidence and observations about Medea’s characterization in the Roman tragedies of the Republican period and about the practice of Romanisierung of the mythic material. Even if we do not want to overstate the importance of Medea’s relationship with Angitia, it seems clear that the tragic authors tried to 31

For the epigraphs about Angitia see Falcone 2011, 88-90 (with more ELEOLRJUDSK\ LQ IRRWQRWHV  IRU WKH H[SUHVVLRQ dea dia see Dangel 1995, 351 and Nosarti 1999, 78. 32 For similar structures see also supra, Ennius vv. 280 and 284-286 Vahl.2. 33 Cf. Ribbeck 0HWWHDondoni 1958, 103. 34 For this meaning of ars see Cic. div. 1, 11: GXR VXQW HQLP GLYLQDQGL JHQHUD TXRUXPDOWHUXPDUWLVHVWDOWHUXPQDWXUDH.

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draw attention to her proximity to gods (particularly, but not exclusively, the Sun) very often35 by using sacral language. The frequent invocations to the Sun, which preserve the traditional cletic scheme (theonym’s vocative followed by a relative clause, which details the god’s features, and/or by the request’s formulation), are near to the Greek model(s) but can also mark the poet’s aim at highlighting Medea’s divine ancestry. In some fragments the authors seem to have changed elements which they considered too distant from their culture into Roman ones: as is the case of the theonym Iuppiter in Ennius’ v. 284 Vahl.2. In some cases these local elements could have been introduced ex novo: we can recognise very probable new elements in the attribute ‘camilla’ given to Medea in Pacuvius’ v. 232 Ribb.3, in the mention of extispicia in Accius’ v. 419 Ribb.3 and in that of Parentalia in Pacuvius’ Medus (v. inc. inc. 146 Ribb.3, if Birt’s correction is accepted). Also the traditional linguistic formulary is used and we find optatives like prohibessis and duis LQILQLWLYHV OLNH averruncassere DWWULEXWHV OLNH dia. It definitely seems to have been not only the solemn and poetic Latin language which needed a rich presence of sacral elements, but also the figure of the ‘divine’ Medea herself, which required the use of a religious speech.

Works Cited Appel, G. 1909. De Romanorum precationibus scriptis. Giessen: Toepelmann. Arcellaschi, A. 1992. “Ennius et l’apparition d’un langage philosophique.” In La langue latine langue de la philosophie. Actes du &ROORTXH5RPH -PDL 59-73 Rome: École française de Rome. Arrigoni, G. 1982. &DPLOOD DPD]]RQH H VDFHUGRWHVVD GL 'LDQD. Milano: Cisalpino-Goliardica. Artigas, E. 1990. Pacuviana: Marco Pacuvio en Cicerón. Barcelona: Publicacions Universitat de Barcelona. Averna, D. 2009. “La suasoria nelle preghiere agli dei: percorso diacronico dalla commedia alla tragedia.” Rhetorica 27: 19-46

35 In the case of a fragmentary tradition it is clear that using such an expression is (and can also remain) hypothetical and cautious.

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Bagordo, A. 2002. “Dichtung und Philologie bei Accius am Beispiel seiner Gräzismen und Calquen.” In Accius und seine Zeit, ed. S. Faller, and G. Manuwald, 39-49. Würzburg: Ergon. Baier, T. 2002. “Accius: Medea sive Argonautae.” In Accius und seine Zeit, ed. S. Faller, and G. Manuwald, 51-62. Würzburg: Ergon. Benveniste, E. 1990. Problemi di linguistica generale. Milano: Il Saggiatore. Bettini, M. 1979. Studi e note su Ennio. Pisa: Giardini. Birt, T. 1879. “Über die Vocalverbindung -eu im Lateinischen.” RhM. 34: 1-37. Brooks, R.A. 1981. Ennius and Roman Tragedy. New-York: Arno Press. D’Anna, G. 1967. M. Pacuvii Fragmenta. Roma: Edizioni dell’Ateneo. Dangel, J. 1995. Accius. Œuvres (fragments). Paris: Les Belles Lettres. —. 1997. “Le carmen latin: rhétorique, poétique et poésie.” Euphrosyne 25: 113-131. Degl’Innocenti Pierini, R. 1980. Studi su Accio. Firenze: CLUSF. Delage, E. 1935. “Accius imitateur d’Apollonios de Rhodes.” In Mélanges RIIHUWV j 0 2FWDYH 1DYDUUH SDU VHV pOqYHV HW VHV DPLV 109-114. Toulouse: E. Privat. Dondoni, L. 1958. “La tragedia di Medea. Euripide e i poeti arcaici latini.” RIL 92: 84-104. Drabkin, N.L. 1937. The ‘Medea exul’ of Ennius. New York: Diss. Columbia University. Dumézil, G. 1966. /DUHOLJLRQURPDLQHDUFKDwTXH. Paris: Payot. Falcone, M.J. 2011. “Medea e Angitia: possibili intersezioni nella cultura latina.” Aevum 85: 81-98. Garbarino, G. 2008. “Il teatro nelle epistole di Cicerone.” In La riflessione sul teatro nella cultura romana, HG*$ULFzDQG05LYROWHOOD-86. Milano: Vita e Pensiero. Godel, R. 1979. “Le sobjonctif latin duim (duam).” Glotta 57: 230-236. Grilli, A. 1965. Studi enniani. Brescia: Paideia. Hickson, F.V. 1993. Roman Prayer Language: Livy and the Aeneid of Vergil. Stuttgart: Teubner Jocelyn, H.D. 1967. The Tragedies of Ennius. The fragments edited with an Introduction and Commentary. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. La Bua, G. 1999. L’inno nella letteratura poetica latina. San Severo: Gerni. Lehman, C. 1984. 'HU 5HODWLYVDW] 7\SRORJLH VHLQHU 6WUXNWXUHQ 7KHRULH VHLQHU)XQNWLRQHQ.RPSHQGLXPVHLQHU*UDPPDWLN. Tübingen: Gunter Narr.

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Lennartz, K. 1994. Non verba sed vim. Kritisch-exegetische 8QWHUVXFKXQJHQ ]X GHQ )UDJPHQWHQ DUFKDLVFKHU U|PLVFKHU 7UDJLNHU. Stuttgart: Teubner. —. 2003. “Zu Sprachniveau und Stilbildung in der republikanischen Tragödie. Unter besonderer Berücksichtigung sondersprachlicher und volkssprachlicher Elemente, mit einem Anhang zu den Hiatstellen.” Glotta 79: 83-136. Lolli, M. 1997. '0$XVRQLXV3DUHQWDOLD,QWURGX]LRQHWHVWRWUDGX]LRQH e commento. Bruxelles: Latomus. Lunelli, A. 1969. Aerius. Storia di una parola poetica (Varia neoterica). Roma: Edizioni dell’Ateneo. Marangoni, G. 1988. “6RO TXL FDQGHQWHP: Ennio, Accio e un lapsus di Apuleio.” In Disiecti membra poetae  ed. V. Tandoi, 42-49. Foggia: Atlantica Editrice. Mette, H.J. 1964. “Die römische Tragödie und die Neufunde zur Griechischen Tragödie (insb. für die Jahre 1945-1964).” Lustrum 9: 5211. Norden, E. 2002. Agnostos Theos. Dio ignoto. Ricerche sulla storia della forma del discorso religioso. Brescia: Morcelliana. Nosarti, L. 1993. “Medo, Medea e il ‘doctus’ Pacuvio.” In Atti del V 6HPLQDULRGLVWXGLVXOODWUDJHGLDURPDQD 3DOHUPR-RWWREUH  ed. *$ULFz: 21-44. Palermo : Università degli Studi di Palermo. —. 1999. Filologia in frammenti: contributi esegetici e testuali ai frammenti dei poeti latini. Bologna: Pàtron. Paduano, G. 2000. “La conoscenza come fonte di emarginazione sociale: Cassandra e Medea in Ennio.” In Identität und Alterität in der IUKU|PLVFKHQ 7UDJ|GLH, ed. G. Manuwald, 255-264. Würzburg: Ergon. Ribbeck, O. 1875. 'LH U|PLVFKH 7UDJ|GLH LP =HLWDOWHU GHU 5HSXEOLN. Lipsiae: Teubner. —. 18973. Scaenicae Romanorum poesis fragmenta. Lipsiae: Teubner. Rix, H. 2002. 6DEHOOLVFKH 7H[WH 'LH 7H[WH GHV 2VNLVFKHQ 8PEULVFKHQ XQG6GSLNHQLVFKHQ. Heidelberg: Winter. Robinson, M. 2011. Ovid. )DVWL%RRN. Oxford: Oxford University Press Rosato, C. 2005. Euripide sulla scena latina arcaica: la Medea di Ennio e le Baccanti di Accio. Lecce: Pensa multimedia. Röser, W. 1939. (QQLXV(XULSLGHVXQG+RPHU. Diss. Würzburg. Schierl, P. 2002. “Die Rezeption des Medea-Mythos bei Pacuvius und Accius“, In Accius und seine Zeit, ed. S. Faller, and G. Manuwald, 271-287. Würzburg: Ergon.

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Roman Tragic Fragments on Medea

—. 2006. 'LH 7UDJ|GLHQ GHV 3DFXYLXV HLQ .RPPHQWDU ]X GHQ )UDJPHQWHQPLW(LQOHLWXQJ7H[WXQGhEHUVHW]XQJ. Berlin: de Gruyter. TrRF 2012: Tragicorum Romanorum Fragmenta. I. Livius Andronicus. Naevius. Tragici minores. Fragmenta adespota. ed. M. Schauer, O. Siegl, and ( +ROOPDQQ ,, Ennius. ed. G. Manuwald. Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht. Vahlen, I. 1928. (QQLDQDHSRHVLVUHOLTXLDH, 2nd ed. Lipsiae: Teubner. Vetter, E. 1953. +DQGEXFKGHULWDOLVFKHQ'LDOHNWH. Heidelberg: C. Winter. Vogt-Spira, G. 2000. “Ennius, Medea: Eine Fremde in Rom.” In Identität XQG $OWHULWlW LQ GHU IUKU|PLVFKHQ 7UDJ|GLH, ed G. Manuwald, 265275. Würzburg: Ergon.

INDEX

A Abonoteichus, 210 abracadabra, 52 Accius, 315 Achilles, 167, 185, 243 Acts of Paul, 45 Acts of Philip, 45 Acts of Pilate, 40 Adonai, 4 Aegeira (Achaia), 237 Aegeus, 204 Aegialeia, 233 Aegina, 169 Aegisthus, 188 Aelius Aristides, 215 Aeneas, 246 Aethra, 204 Agamedes, 158 Agamemnon, 188, 192, 230, 232, 244 Aglauros, 232 Aigle, 162 Ajax, 188, 232 Alcaeus, 155, 252, 254, 255, 262 Alexander the Molossus, 204 alliteration, 31 Alliteration, 29, 30, 31 Alpha and Omega, 3 Alphabet, 3 Alphesiboeus, 302, 307 Amphibology, 203 Amphinomos, 183 Anatolian Lord of the Arrow, 98 Anaxagoras, 193 Andronikos Palaiologos, 137 Apocalypse of Abraham, 46 Apocalypse of Paul, 41, 42

Apocalypse of Sophonias, 46 Apocryphal Acts of Paul, 46 Apollo, 88, 93, 97, 98, 185, 192, Delphinios 0\FHQDHDQIRUHUXQQHU ਕȡȖȣȡંIJȠȟȠȢ Arabic Allah, 12 Aratus, 224, 282, 283 Ares, 87, 95, 96, 177 Argos, 279, 280 Aristonoos, 173 Aristotle, 200 DUNWHLD, 238 Artemis, 87, 90, 139, 174, 177, 227, Eileithyia EulochiaLochia ਺ȝİȡĮı઀ĮੁȠȤ੼ĮȚȡĮ Asclepius, 162 Asios, 251 Aspasia, 193 $WKHQD ਥȖȡİȝ੺ȤȘੑȡı઀ȝĮȤȠȢ, 70 Auge, 162 Augustus, 294, 295, 300 Aulis, 239 Auraicept na n-Éces, 47, 48 Avienus: ArateaODQJXDJH 291 % Bendis, 191 biblical images, 248 %RRNRI%DUWKRORPHZ, 40, 42, 46 %RRNRI1DWXUH, 11 Brauron, 231, 235, 237 C Cacus, 278

Index

322 Calchas, 188, 234 Callimachus, 224 Calypsos, 188 Carmenmagical power, 305 Cassandra, 230, 233, 245 Castalia, 174 Castalia (Antiochia), 218 Castalios, 162 Castor, 251, 252 Catalogue of ships, 30 Celeus, 299 Ceres, 293, 294, 295, 296, 298, 299 &KLOGELUWK'HDWK Circe, 184, 187, 305, 306 Clement of Alexandria, 211 Clytemnestra, 233 Comparative Indo-European Linguistics, viii Constantine Cephalas, 205 Constantinople, 217 Corician Nymphs, 174 &UDWLQXV(SLWKHWV ,QYRFDWLRQV5LWXDO 3UHVFULSWLRQV6ZHDUV Croesus, 201 Cyclops, 130 Cyrus, 201 D Daphnis, 306 Defixio, 301, 304 Delos, 177, 264 Delphic Paeans: Ritual Context, 154 Delphus, 162 'HPHWHUȋĮȝ઄ȞȘ Demophoon, 185 'HYDQƗJDUƯDOSKDEHW Diana, 132 Dike, 222, 227 Dionysus, 87, 95, 96, 162, 174, 177, ਬȡȚȕંĮȢ, 73 Dioscuri, 250, 254 Divine Vowels, 10 Dormition of the Virgin, 42, 45, 46

Doro, 191, 194 Drimios, 93 Duris of Samos, 233 E Eidothea, 184, 185, 186, 188 Ennius, 311 Enuwalio-, 89 Epic Motivation, 277 Erginus, 160, 204 Erinyes, 222, 228 Eris, 223 Erythraean Sybil, 217 etymological thinking, 127 Etymology: NDWjDQWtSKUDVLQ Lucus a non lucendo9DUUR on luna, 133 Eudoxus of Cnidus, 282 Eunapios, 217 Euphorion of Chalcis, 222 Eusebius of Caesarea, 217 Exodus, 225 Extispicia, 316 F Fall of Troy, 230 figura etymologica, 15 Fir Bolg, 47 Flegias, 279 G glossolalia, 44, 45 God’s seal, 4 Gratiae, 164 *UHHNĮ੝įȒਝijȡȠįȓIJȘ ਕࢭİȓįȦਕࢭȠȚįȒਥȡȚƒ ǽİȪࢫșȘȡȠıțંʌȠȢ țȩıȝȠࢫȞİȡંȞȞİȡં ੑȡıȚƒੑȡıRƒʌİ૙ȡĮȡ-ĮIJȠȢ ʌ੼IJȠȝĮȚʌȑIJȡĮ-ȠȢ ʌȠIJ੺ȠȝĮȚʌȠIJ੼ȠȝĮȚ ʌȦIJ੺ȠȝĮȚȉȐȞIJĮȜȠȢ IJĮȡȐııȦIJȐȡIJĮȡȠȢ, 122,

Poetic Language and Religion in Greece and Rome IJȡસȞȒȢ੢įȦȡ ਫ਼ʌȠIJĮȡIJȐȡȚȠȢ Greek alphabet, 5, 13 Greek magical papyri, 258 *UHHNijȦȞȒİȞIJĮijȦȞȠ૨ȞIJĮ Gregory of Nazianzus, 214 H Hades, 122 Hebrew language, 40, 43, 47 Hecate, 132, 314 Hector, 185, 245 Helen, 233, 251 Hephaestus, 87, 176 Hera, 87 Hermes, 87, 95,  ਫȡȚȠ઄ȞȚȠȢʌĮȚįȠțંȡȘȢ Herodotus, 212 KHURHVKHURLVPZRUVKLS 236 heroines, 232 Hesiod, 15, 22, 30, 223 Himerius, 156 Hiporchema, 175 Histoire de Ricdin-Ricdon, 53 History of Joseph the Carpenter, 46 Hittite: NXQNXQX]]LNXQ-NXQuzzi ǥURFN¶7DU‫ې‬XQWDã, 125 hocus-pocus, 52 Homer, 89, 97, 269 Homeric Hymns, 255 Homonymy, 202 Horace, 275 Hyakinthides, 232 Hymn: Ovid, to Bacchus 6WDWLXV Thebaidto Hercules, Aeneidtypology, 275 Hyperboreans, 262 Hypervocalism, 12 I Iamus, 162 Icadius, 162

323

IE: *dhUֈK2gh-L֒ py- JյhX֒ƝU- *gX֒Ken-*h2pNը-monµVWRQH¶ h2HX֒K1- *h2X֒HLG- per- *péth2- µIO\¶ terh2-, 122,  WUֈK2-WUֈK2-o-3,( *G L L֒ pXV, 3,( men- 3,(YRZHOVUHFRQVWUXFWHG PIE formulae, viii IE Dichtersprache, 71 Illuyanka, 126 In Tenga Bithnua, 39, 47 Indo-European Poetic Language, viii, x, 29 Indra, 136, 137 Initiation ordeals, 306 ,SKLJHQLD2UVLORFKHLD 237 Isidore of Seville, 47 Joseph, 41 Julian the Apostate, 216 -XQRLucina Populona, 99, 101 Jupiter6WăWRU, 84 K Kabbalism, 4 Kallimachos and Chrysorrhoe: Odyssey6XPPDU\ Vedic Parallels, 136 Keledones, 158 L Lady of Aswia, 88 Lady of horses, 90 Lady of Horses, 88 Lady of Labyrinth, 88 Lady of the corn, 88 Lady of the Cyclic Time, 101 Lady of the Year, 102 Language of the angels, 44

Index

324 Language of the angels, 39, 41, 43, 44 Language of the angels, 46 Language of the angels, 48 Language of the dead, 48 Language of the gods, 51 Latin: A Ioueaverruncassere, dea diadevotio, 266, devovere incentormagicus modulamenMusarum opiferRSLWXOƗUH opitulusops3RSXORQD Populoniapopulus primigenusscelus termen, 123 Latin alphabet, 5 Latin language, 44 Latinus, 246 laurel tree, 263 Leucippides, 233 Libation, 243 Limenius, 176 Livy, 267 Lucianus, 251 Lucretius, 10, 283 Lycophron, 230 M 0DJLFDQGUHOLJLRQ 'LDORJXHV)RUPXODH HymnsLanguage, 2UGHURIZRUGVspells, 259 Manes, 268 Mars, 295, 297 Martyries of Matthew and Philip, 41 Mary (Virgin), 41 Maximus of Tyrus, 213 Meda, 233 Medea, 310, 313, 314, 317 Menelaus, 183, 184, 185, 186, 187, 193 Metaphor, 202, 207 Mnemosyne, 199

Momos, 211 Mule, 201 0XVHV(W\PRORJ\ RIHeliconian, 177 Music Notation, 175 Musica universalis, 11 Mycenaean: /Eri-gowos/PDMRU *UHHNJRGVTheonyms, 88 Mytilene, 251 N Name of the Supernatural Helper, 58 Neoplatonic philosophers, 216 Neoptolemus, 165, 168, 230, 233 Neo-Pythagoreans, 308 Nicander, 237 Number games, 307 O Oath, 243 Obscurity (Rhetoric), 207 Odysseus, 139, 187, 188 Oenomaus of Gadara, 209 Old Germanic languages, 72 Oraclesµ&XOWXUDO PDQWL]DWLRQ¶$PELJXLW\ DQG5LGGOHV&DYHUQV &KLOLDGHV&ODURV &ULWLFLVP'DSKQH DelphiDelphic Myths'RGRQD landscape, 13OXWDUFK 3\WKLD5LWXDOV 6W\OLVWLF'HIHFWVWR $JDPHPQRQ7URSKRQLXV 185 Orestes, 168, 188 Orphism, 225 Oscan: puplunapupluna[, Vitel(l)iú, 102 Osiris, 278 2YLGFasti Heroides, 266

Poetic Language and Religion in Greece and Rome Q

P Pacuvius, 313 PaeanDefinitionFormal FeaturesFunctions, 151, Historical Evolution Theoretical Framework, 152 Paia(wo)n, 89 Pan, 191, 192 Paretymology, 31 Parnassus, 174, 263 Pasiphae, 203 Patroclus, 185, 244 Paulinus of Nola, 215 Pelops, 279 Penelope, 138, 139 Pentecost, 45, 48 Pericles, 193, 194, 196 perjury, 244 Persephone, 295, 298 Perses, 224 Persia: MagiReligion, 278 Phanocles, 226 Phennos of Epyrus, 217 Phoenician alphabet, 5 phraseological patterns, 65 Pistis Sophia, 42, 46 Pittheus, 204 Poet as Prophet, 214, 227 Polideuces, 251, 252 Polyxena, 232, 233 Porphyry, 216, 218 Poseidon ੑȡıȠIJȡ઀ĮȚȞષ, 68 Prahlrede, 276 Precatio, 302 Priamus, 168 Proba, 215 Prosodion, 171, 175, 176, 177 Protagoras, 193 Prote, 250, 255 Proteus, 183, 185, 186, 187 Pyrrhus, 204 Pythagoras, 11, 225 Pythagorean influence, 307

325

Quintilian, 128 R Riddles, 207 Ring Composition, 277 Rites of passage, 238 Ritual Poetics, 148 Roman calendar, 293, 300 Romanisierung, 310, 314, 316 Rumpelstilzchen, 53, 54 S Sabellic Italy, 99 Sanskrit: DN‫܈‬iUD-candrabindu, PiQWUD-om SUi۬avaVXWiUPDQ-, 123 Scepter, 243 6HDDQG6DLORUV *RGV, 250, 256 Seals, 186 Selene, 57 Seneca’s tragedies, 134 Sentences of the Seven Sages, 211 Servius, 128 Silence, 263 Simonides, 157 Smyrna, 251 Solon of Athens, 222 Sons of Míl, 47 Speech figures, 303 Sphinx, 199 Springhunderl, 56 Styx, 161 Supernatural Helper, 53 supernatural language, 52 Symphosius, 203 Synesius of Cyrene, 214 T Taboo, 11 Tannhäuser, 243, 247 Tantalus, 279 Tartarus, 115, 118, 119, 122

Index

326 Tauris, 237 Teiresias, 141, 184 Telemachus, 245 Telephus, 162 Tempe, 161, 173 Tenerus, 162 Testament of Job, 46 Tetractys, 308 Textile offerings, 235 Thebes, 279, 280 Themis, 159, 222 Theosophy of Tübingen, 217 Theseus, 251, 280 Thessalian ȀȠȡȠȣIJĮȡȡĮ Thetis, 185 Threats, 258 Thyia, 162 Thyiades, 162 Thyone, 174 Timocles, 211 Titans, 119 Tom-Tit-Tot, 53 Tree of the Cross, 248 Triptolemus, 299 Troilus, 167 Trophonius, 158, 186 Túatha Dé Danann, 47 Tyndareus, 251, 253 Tynnicus of Chalcis, 156 Typhoeus, 125 U Ullikummi, 125

Umbrian: SXSĜLNR-vesuna-, 102, 103 Urban IV, 248 V 9DUJDOXVNR, 56 Vedic: YUֈWUD-han-YUֈWUDWnj̗ U\H, yƗWiU-, 82 Venus, 293, 295, 296, 297, 300 9HUJLOEclogue 8, 301 virginity, 236 Vrtra, 137 W Wagner, Richard, 243, 247 Whuppity Stoorie, 56 Wolfram, 247 Y Yahweh, 4, 11 Z Zeus, 87, 97, 191, 193, 199, 243,  ȀĮIJĮ ȤșંȞȚȠȢ .Įȕ੺IJĮȢ.İȡĮ઄ȞȚȠȢ 0İȚȜ઀ȤȚȠȢǽȘIJ੾ȡ ȀĮȕ੺IJĮȢȀĮʌʌઆIJĮȢ ȀĮʌઆIJĮȢ ȀĮIJĮȚȕ੺IJĮȘȢȀİȡĮȣȞંȢ ȀİȡĮ઄ȞȚȠȢȈIJóȡʌસȢ, 79 Zosimos, 217