Tears in the Graeco-Roman World 9783110214024, 9783110201116

Table of contents :
Frontmatter
Contents
Tears and Crying in Graeco-Roman Antiquity: An Introduction
Tears and Crying in Archaic Greek Poetry (especially Homer)
Weeping and Veiling: Grief, Display and Concealment in Ancient Greek Culture
Tragic Tears and Gender
Dangerous Tears? Platonic Provocations and Aristotelic Answers
Tears and Crying in Hellenic Historiography: Dacryology from Herodotus to Polybius
Women's Tears in Ancient Roman Ritual
Tears in Lucretius
Tears in Propertius, Ovid and Greek Epistolographers
Precibus ac lacrimis: Tears in Roman Historiographers
The Weeping Wise: Stoic and Epicurean Consolations in Seneca's 99th Epistle
Statius and the Weeping Emperor (Silv. 2.5): Tears as a Means of Communication in the Amphitheatre
Tears in Apuleius' Metamorphoses
Weeping Statues, Weeping Gods and Prodigies from Republican to Early-Christian Rome
Meleager's Sweet Tears: Observations on Weeping and Pleasure
Tears of the Bereaved: Plutarch's Consolatio ad uxorem in Context
Tears of Pathos, Repentance and Bliss: Crying and Salvation in Origen and Gregory of Nyssa
Fortune's Laughter and a Bureaucrat's Tears: Sorrow, Supplication and Sovereignty in Justinianic Constantinople
Mysterious Tears: The Phenomenon of Crying from the Perspective of Social Neuroscience
Crying: A Biopsychosocial Phenomenon
Backmatter

Citation preview

Tears in the Graeco-Roman World

≥

Tears in the Graeco-Roman World Edited by

Thorsten Fögen

Walter de Gruyter · Berlin · New York

앝 Printed on acid-free paper which falls within the guidelines 앪 of the ANSI to ensure permanence and durability.

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Tears in the Graeco-Roman world / edited by Thorsten Fögen. p. cm. Includes bibliographical references. ISBN 978-3-11-020111-6 (hardcover : alk. paper) 1. Crying in literature. 2. Tears in literature. 3. Classical literature ⫺ History and criticism. 4. Crying ⫺ Social aspects ⫺ Greece. 5. Crying ⫺ Social aspects ⫺ Rome. I. Fögen, Thorsten. PA3015.C78T43 2009 8091.93353⫺dc22 2009016246

ISBN 978-3-11-020111-6 Bibliographic information published by the Deutsche Nationalbibliothek The Deutsche Nationalbibliothek lists this publication in the Deutsche Nationalbibliografie; detailed bibliographic data are available in the Internet at http://dnb.d-nb.de. 쑔 Copyright 2009 by Walter de Gruyter GmbH & Co. KG, D-10785 Berlin. All rights reserved, including those of translation into foreign languages. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopy, recording, or any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher. Printed in Germany Printing and binding: Hubert & Co. GmbH & Co. KG, Göttingen. Cover design: Christopher Schneider, Laufen.

Contents Thorsten Fçgen Tears and Crying in Graeco-Roman Antiquity: An Introduction . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

1

Sabine Fçllinger Tears and Crying in Archaic Greek Poetry (especially Homer) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

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Douglas L. Cairns Weeping and Veiling: Grief, Display and Concealment in Ancient Greek Culture . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

37

Ann Suter Tragic Tears and Gender . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

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Roland Baumgarten Dangerous Tears? Platonic Provocations and Aristotelic Answers . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

85

Donald Lateiner Tears and Crying in Hellenic Historiography: Dacryology from Herodotus to Polybius . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

105

Darja Sˇterbenc Erker Women s Tears in Ancient Roman Ritual . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

135

Christina A. Clark Tears in Lucretius . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

161

Thorsten Fçgen Tears in Propertius, Ovid and Greek Epistolographers . . . . . . . . .

179

Loretana de Libero Precibus ac lacrimis: Tears in Roman Historiographers . . . . . . . .

209

Margaret Graver The Weeping Wise: Stoic and Epicurean Consolations in Seneca s 99th Epistle . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

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Contents

Helmut Krasser Statius and the Weeping Emperor (Silv. 2.5): Tears as a Means of Communication in the Amphitheatre . . . . .

253

Donald Lateiner Tears in Apuleius Metamorphoses . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

277

Anthony Corbeill Weeping Statues, Weeping Gods and Prodigies from Republican to Early-Christian Rome . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

297

David Konstan Meleager s Sweet Tears: Observations on Weeping and Pleasure . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

311

Stefan Schorn Tears of the Bereaved: Plutarch s Consolatio ad uxorem in Context . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

335

Ilaria Ramelli Tears of Pathos, Repentance and Bliss: Crying and Salvation in Origen and Gregory of Nyssa . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

367

Charles F. Pazdernik Fortune s Laughter and a Bureaucrat s Tears: Sorrow, Supplication and Sovereignty in Justinianic Constantinople . . . .

397

Arvid Kappas Mysterious Tears: The Phenomenon of Crying from the Perspective of Social Neuroscience . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

419

Ad J. J. M. Vingerhoets, Lauren M. Bylsma & Jonathan Rottenberg Crying: A Biopsychosocial Phenomenon . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

439

Index locorum . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

477

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Tears and Crying in Graeco-Roman Antiquity: An Introduction Thorsten Fçgen “Tears lubricate love songs and love, weddings and funerals, public rituals and private pain, and perhaps no scientific study can capture their many meanings.” Benedict Carey, The muddled tracks of all those tears. In: New York Times (Feb. 3, 2009), D1.

Tears and crying are ubiquitous in ancient and modern literature. Scholarship has produced numerous studies on the significance of tears in literature and society from the early Middle Ages until the present.1 Even the representation of crying in music has been analysed (see, for example, Ringhandt 2001). It is obvious that, depending on the literary genre and historical period, tears can have a variety of different functions. In fairy-tales they often have magical power. The tears that Cinderella sheds on her deceased mother s grave nourish the sprig planted on it; the sprig then becomes a tree which provides the girl with the garments that she needs for her transformation. Rapunzel s tears heal the blind prince whose eyes were jabbed out by a thornbush when he fell down from the maiden s tower.2

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See e. g. Arbeitsstelle 18. Jahrhundert (ed.) (1983), Bayne (1981), Beszard (1903), Blaicher (1966), Corsten (1999), Coudreuse (1999), Hçllerer (1958), Kaplan (1987), Lange (1996), Nagy (2000), Pascal (1993), Vincent-Buffault (1986) and Weinand (1958). Berkenbusch (1985) is restricted to trivial literature. – On crying in the Bible, see Kropiunigg (2003: 43 – 58). See Hedwig von Beit, Symbolik des M rchens. Vol. 1: Versuch einer Deutung, Bern 1952, 721 – 722: “Die Tr nen entspringen berw ltigendem seelischen Erleben und sind somit gleichsam eine befreiende und krçnende Zusammenfassung des ganzen dramatischen Entwicklungsprozesses. In der Alchemie sind Tr nen eines der vielen Symbole des Heil- und Lebenswassers, welches auch als ,collyrium , Augenheilmittel, das Blinde heilt, bezeichnet wird.” See also Sartori

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Regrettably, research on the role and function of tears in GraecoRoman antiquity has been rather marginal. While there exist a few comprehensive overviews of laughter and humour in the ancient world,3 there is no systematic treatment of crying that covers the period from the eighth century B.C. to the fifth century A.D. The majority of the studies that are available in classical philology are related to the analysis of ritual lament and female crying which occur in connection with funeral ceremonies.4 For the latter research area, we also have a number of archaeological studies.5 As for more comprehensive literary studies in classical philology, one may refer to the following three works: the book by Monsacr (1984) on tears in Homer, the monograph by Arnould (1990) on laughter and tears from Homer to Plato, and the dissertation by Hollenburger-Rusch (2001) on the motif of crying in Ovid s Metamorphoses. In addition, there are various articles on individual aspects of crying in ancient texts, which are assembled in the bibliography appended to this introduction.

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(1938: 325 – 326), who, with regard to the Rapunzel tale, speaks of the “gl ckbringende Kraft” of crying. Apart from the early study entitled Storia e fisiologia dell arte di ridere, the first volume of which covers antiquity and the Middle Ages (Massarani 1900), there is also the three-volume survey Laughter Down the Centuries, edited by J kel and Timonen (1994, 1995, 1997), as well as the edited volume Le rire des anciens (Tr d & Hoffmann 1998). Restricted to Greece is the book Le rire des Grecs (Desclos 2000). Bremmer and Roodenburg s Kulturgeschichte des Humors (1999) goes beyond antiquity. One may also refer to Reinhardt & Sallmann (1974), S ss (1969), further Cataudella (1971) and Grant (1924). Special aspects of laughing are dealt with by Mader (1977) and Neumann (1971) for Greece, and by Antony (1976), C be (1966), Corbeill (1996), Monaco (1970), Richlin (1983) and de Saint Denis (1965) for Rome. For the Greek world, see esp. Reiner (1938), Alexiou (1974, 22002), Cole (1985), Derderian (2001), Holst-Warhaft (1992: esp. 98 – 170), Loraux (1990) and Vermeule (1979); for the Roman world, see Corbeill (2004: 67 – 106), Hinard (ed.) (1995), Kierdorf (1991), Prescendi (2000), Prieur (1986) and Sˇterbenc Erker (2002). See also the cultural-anthropological studies by Rosenblatt, Walsh & Jackson (1976) and Stubbe (1985), further Lutz (1999 [German version 2000: 227 – 266]) and Meuli (1975: 361 – 374); on Meuli s approach, see Kast (1992). See esp. Clairmont (1983), Garland (1985), Huber (2001), Kurtz & Boardman (1971), Oakley (2004), Toynbee (1971) and Vermeule (1979); see also Neumann (1965: 85 – 89, 149 – 150). Various aspects of death and burial in Greece and Rome are covered in the collection of articles edited by Drexhage & S nskes Thompson (1994). – The study by Kenner (1960), which analyses representations of crying and laughing mainly on Greek vases, has a much broader scope.

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The present volume has its original roots in a small project that was published as a special issue of the academic journal Zeitschrift f r Semiotik in 2006.6 It contained altogether eight articles by Sabine Fçllinger, Roland Baumgarten, Darja Sˇterbenc Erker, Thorsten Fçgen, Helmut Krasser, Arvid Kappas and Ad J. J. M. Vingerhoets, including an introduction by the editor (Thorsten Fçgen). These contributions have been revised and included in this volume, which, through the addition of twelve newly solicited papers, puts forward a much broader perspective than the preceding German volume. It is the intention of this publication to present an overview of the meanings and functions of tears and crying as forms of emotional expression in ancient literature and culture from the Homeric period to the Roman Empire. It is in the very nature of an edited volume that it offers a variety of particular points of emphasis rather than an all-encompassing treatment of the subject. Given the enormous breadth of our discipline today, no classicist is able to write a comprehensive monograph on the topic covered here. This is why a selective analysis by individual experts, does not seem entirely inappropriate. It is hoped that, taken together, the papers provide a sufficiently representative examination of tears and crying in the ancient world.7 To provide a valuable interdisciplinary perspective on the topic at hand, it seemed necessary to include at least some contributions dealing with modern scientific views of tears. For this reason, Arvid Kappas and Ad J. J. Vingerhoets, two experts in social psychology, round out this book with surveys of what current behavioural science and in particular research on emotions have to say about tears and crying.8 Both articles

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Thorsten Fçgen (ed.), Tr nen und Weinen in der griechisch-rçmischen Antike (Sonderheft der Zeitschrift f r Semiotik, Vol. 28), T bingen 2006. The “crying” of animals, as it occurs, for example, in Homer (Iliad 17.426 – 427 and 437 – 440 on Achilles horses) as well as in ancient literature on mirabilia and in paradoxographical works (see e. g. Aelian, De nat. anim. 10.17 on elephants, 10.21 on crocodiles and 14.10 on donkeys), but also in zoological writings such as the Books 8 – 11 in Pliny the Elder s Naturalis historia (e. g. Nat. hist. 8.52 on dying lions: creditum est a moriente humum morderi lacrimamque leto dari; Nat. hist. 8.157), has not been dealt with in this volume. It is, however, an intriguing topic that deserves to be the subject of future research. On the analysis of crying in ethology and psychology, see e. g. Frey (1985), Gross, Frederickson & Levenson (1994), Kottler (1996), Vingerhoets, Cornelius, van Heck & Becht (2000), Vingerhoets & Cornelius (2001), Beunders (2002), Vingerhoets & Bergsma (2003) and Miceli & Castelfranchi (2003). Addressed to a wider readership and therefore less scientific is Lutz (1999). On crocodile

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also take into account the historical dimension of the question and consider the impact of Charles Darwin s enquiries. Similar to the analysis of the phenomenon of laughter, the investigation into tears and crying in Graeco-Roman antiquity must be based upon the following questions, which the papers in this volume attempt to answer for different contexts. Who cries together with whom and for what reason?9 What does the act of crying exactly look like? By what sort of phenomena, such as facial expressions, gestures and voice, is it accompanied? Where (in what places) does crying become visible? Are these places public or private? What social function does crying have in Greece and Rome? Are there any particular ritual forms in which lament and crying play a central role? For which literary genres, such as tragedy or love elegy, does crying become a constitutive or even essential element? Is it possible to discern any social, gender-specific or generational differences for crying and the shedding of tears?10 What is the relationship between the controlling of emotions and giving vent to them? What is the theoretical reasoning behind the handling of emotions, in particular in philosophy? Are there any temporal differences in the perception of tears and crying? And if such differences exist, how are they caused? In all societies, there are certain expectations as to the appropriateness of tears and crying in different settings. In several situations, the tears see Bogorad (1979). See also the early works by Schwarz (1928), Spitz (1935) and Montagu (1959). 9 With reference to the modern era, Berkenbusch (1985: 24) comes up with the following list of reasons: “Eine (unvollst ndige) Sammlung der Anl sse zum Weinen zeigt, wie mannigfach die Gr nde sind (und auch, wieviel geweint werden kçnnte): Schmerz, Verlassenheit, Einsamkeit, Verlust, Schw che, Angst, Trauer, Ohnmacht, Kummer, Mutlosigkeit, Verzweiflung, Trostlosigkeit, Hoffnungslosigkeit, Ungl ck, Sehnsucht, Heimweh, Entt uschung, Kr nkung, Verwirrung, Leid, Gram, Not, Ersch tterung, Schreck, Ratlosigkeit, Wut, Zorn, Trotz, Leidenschaft, Erregung, Schwermut, Vergeblichkeitsgef hle, Selbstentwertung, Selbst- und Mitleid [sic], Reue, Scham, Zerknirschung, Verlegenheit, R hrung, Kunstgenuß, Erleichterung, Gl ck, Freude, Dankbarkeit, Liebe, Befreiung, Bekehrung, Andacht, Hingerissensein, Erhebung, Entspannung, Ergriffenheit, Hingabe. Aber man weint auch, weil ein anderer weint (Tr nen sind ansteckend).” Similarly Meuli (1975: 358). 10 On the historical dimension of gender-specific differences in crying, see the short overview in Lutz (1999 [German version 2000: 206 – 226]), who unfortunately provides only very few examples from antiquity, humanism and the period from the sixteenth to the eighteenth centuries; instead he focusses on the United States in the nineteenth and twentieth centuries.

Tears and Crying in Graeco-Roman Antiquity: An Introduction 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28 29 30 31 32 33 34 35 36 37 38 39 40

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shedding of tears is more or less required.11 The more public and official an event is during which crying ought to take place, the higher the demand for the visible presentation of emotional involvement becomes. For example, both in Graeco-Roman antiquity and in the modern Western world, participants at a funeral are expected to demonstrate their grief perceptibly, including crying, even if one may grant that the degree of emotionality may differ from one region or culture to another. While some forms of crying in the ancient world may have parallels in the modern Western world, it is methodologically problematic to put antiquity and later periods on the same phenomenological level or to postulate the universal existence of such phenomena as shedding tears for all cultural spheres and societies. Sociological and anthropological studies have convincingly shown that the various forms of crying and the occasions for the shedding of tears are socioculturally determined and that they do not represent universal phenomena.12 As Karl Meuli appropriate-

11 See Meuli (1975: 356 – 357) at the beginning of his paragraph on natural crying: “Offenkundig ist das Weinen keine zweckbewusste Handlung; das Schluchzen packt und sch ttelt uns; ohne Zutun unseres Willens, ja ihm entgegen, brechen die Tr nen hervor, erregt durch Triebkr fte, die der zielsetzenden Leistung des bewussten Verstandes und seiner Kontrolle entzogen sind: ein elementares Ereignis, das aus unbekannten Tiefen aufsteigend uns einfach berw ltigt. (…) Seltsamerweise steht nun aber dieser Automatismus, und zwar mit dem berzeugendsten Anschein des Elementaren und Nat rlichen, manchen Menschen auch nach Wunsch und Willen zu Gebote, keineswegs nur Kindern, Schauspielern und Claqueurs; vorzugsweise Frauen scheinen ber diese F higkeit zu verf gen. (…) es ist das Talent der Klageweiber. Und offenbar gehçrt also das Weinen weder ganz zu den der Willk r unterworfenen Geb rden wie etwa das Bedecken der Augen, noch ganz zu den der Willk r enthobenen wie das Errçten: es steht zwischen beiden drin. Wichtig ist die Tatsache, dass sich die F higkeit, Tr nen zu vergiessen, durch Gewohnheit und bung leicht steigern l sst.” 12 See, for example, Berkenbusch (1985: 31 – 32) and Lutz (1999 [German version 2000: 356 – 357]). On the types of the so-called “Grußweinen” as an example of the regionally and culturally limited occurrence of certain forms of crying, see Meuli (1975: 380 – 385). – Similar methodological principles must be borne in mind for the analysis of the socio-cultural significance of laughter. See e. g. Bremmer & Roodenburg (1999: 11): “Von Freud und Bergson bis zu Mary Douglas haben Psychologen, Philosophen, Soziologen und Anthropologen sich darum bem ht, eine allumfassende Theorie des Humors und des Lachens zu finden. Ein Fehler, der all diesen Versuchen gemein ist, bleibt die unausgesprochene Voraussetzung, daß es so etwas wie eine ,Ontologie des Humors gibt, daß also Humor und Lachen transkulturell und ahistorisch sind. Doch ist das Lachen genauso ein Kulturph nomen wie der Humor.”

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ly emphasizes: “die Bewertung des Weinens ist nach Zeit und Ort sehr verschieden und wechselnd” (Meuli 1975: 357). Finally, it is a pleasure to thank the University of Konstanz (“Exzellenzcluster Kulturelle Grundlagen von Integration”) and the Alexandervon-Humboldt-Stiftung (Bonn) for a financial subsidy towards the printing costs of this volume. Various people to whom the editor is extremely grateful helped enormously with the stylistic revision of individual papers, in particular Christopher Eckerman (University of Oregon), Lorenzo Garcia Jr. (University of New Mexico), Erik Huneke (University of Michigan), Emily Kratzer (University of California Los Angeles), Stephen Lake (University of Konstanz), Suzanne Lye (UCLA) and Kathryn Morgan (UCLA). Thanks for various forms of technical support during the production of this book are due to Christina Br ckner and Sabine Vogt from De Gruyter and to my assistant Maria Zumkowski.

Select Bibliography The following list, which makes no claim whatsoever to be comprehensive, offers a selection of works which are relevant for the study of the role of tears and crying in Graeco-Roman antiquity and of related topics. 1. Classical Studies on Tears and Crying Alexiou, Margaret (1974): The Ritual Lament in Greek Tradition, Cambridge (second edition, revised by Dimitrios Yatromanolakis & Panagiotis Roilos, Lanham 2002). Arnould, Dominique (1986): T¶jeim dans la peinture des larmes et du deuil chez Hom re et les tragiques. In: Revue de philologie 60, 267 – 274. Arnould, Dominique (1988): Un hapax de l Odyss e: dajqupk¾eim (XIX, 122). In: Revue de philologie 62, 91 – 98. Arnould, Dominique (1990): Le rire et les larmes dans la litt rature grecque d Hom re Platon, Paris. Barchiesi, Alessandro (1994): Rappresentazioni del dolore e interpretazione nell Eneide. In: Antike & Abendland 40, 109 – 124 (English translation: Representations of suffering and interpretation in the Aeneid. In: Philip Hardie [ed.], Virgil. Critical Assessments of Classical Authors. Vol. 3: The Aeneid, London & New York 1999, 324 – 344). Barigazzi, Adelmo (1986): Verg., Aen. 1.462 sunt lacrimae rerum. In: Prometheus 12, 57 – 71. Borzs k, Istvan (1998): Lachen und Weinen. In: Acta Antiqua Academiae Scientiarum Hungaricae 38, 287 – 290.

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Braund, Susanna Morton & Christopher Gill (eds.) (1997): The Passions in Roman Thought and Literature, Cambridge. Clairmont, Christoph W. (1983): Patrios Nomos: Public Burial in Athens During the Fifth and Fourth Centuries B.C. The Archaeological, Epigraphic-Literary and Historical Evidence, Oxford. Cole, Susan L. (1985): The Absent One. Mourning Ritual, Tragedy, and the Performance of Ambivalence, University Park. Corbeill, Anthony (2004): Nature Embodied. Gesture in Ancient Rome, Princeton & Oxford (esp. ch. 3: “Blood, milk, and tears. The gestures of mourning women”). Derderian, Katharine (2001): Leaving Words to Remember. Greek Mourning and the Advent of Literacy, Leiden. Dçpp, Siegmar (1996): Die Tr nen von Phaethons Schwestern wurden zu Bernstein. Der Phaethon-Mythos in Ovids Metamorphosen. In: Michael Ganzelewski & Rainer Slotta (eds.), Bernstein. Tr nen der Gçtter, Bochum, 1 – 10. Drexhage, Hans-Joachim & Julia S nskes Thompson (eds.) (1994): Tod, Bestattung und Jenseits in der griechisch-rçmischen Antike, Sankt Katharinen. Dumortier, Jean (21975): Le vocabulaire m dical d Eschyle et les crits hippocratiques, Paris (pp. 24 – 25: “Larmes”). Easterling, Patricia E. (1991): Men s kleos and women s goos. Female voices in the Iliad. In: Journal of Modern Greek Studies 9, 145 – 151. Erskine, Andrew (1997): Cicero and the expression of grief. In: Susanna Morton Braund & Christopher Gill (eds.), The Passions in Roman Thought and Literature, Cambridge, 36 – 47. Esteve-Forriol, Jos (1962): Die Trauer- und Trostgedichte in der rçmischen Literatur untersucht nach ihrer Topik und ihrem Motivschatz, Diss. M nchen. Flaig, Egon (2003): Ritualisierte Politik. Zeichen, Gesten und Herrschaft im alten Rom, Gçttingen. Fçgen, Thorsten (2001): Ancient theorizing on nonverbal communication. In: Ruth M. Brend, Alan K. Melby & Arle R. Lommel (eds.), LACUS Forum XXVII: Speaking and Comprehending, Fullerton, California, 203 – 216. Fçgen, Thorsten (2004): Gender-specific communication in Graeco-Roman antiquity. With a research bibliography. In: Historiographia Linguistica 31, 199 – 276. Fçgen, Thorsten (2005): The role of verbal and non-verbal communication in ancient medical discourse. In: S ndor Kiss, Luca Mondin & Giampaolo Salvi (eds.), Latin et langues romanes. tudes de linguistique offertes J zsef Herman l occasion de son 80 me anniversaire, T bingen, 287 – 300. Fçllinger, Sabine (2003): M nnerbilder in der fr hgriechischen Dichtung. In: Therese Fuhrer & Samuel Zinsli (eds.), Gender Studies in den Altertumswissenschaften. Rollenkonstrukte in antiken Texten, Trier, 24 – 42. Foley, Helene P. (1993): The politics of tragic lamentation. In: Alan H. Sommerstein & al. (eds.), Tragedy, Comedy and the Polis. Papers from the Greek Drama Conference, Nottingham 18 – 20 July 1990, Bari, 101 – 143 (revised version in: Helene P. Foley, Female Acts in Greek Tragedy, Princeton 2001, 19 – 55).

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Funke, Hermann (1985): Sunt lacrimae rerum. Komposition und Ideologie in Vergils Aeneis. In: Klio 67, 224 – 233. Garland, Robert (1985): The Greek Way of Death, London. Garrison, Elise P. (1995): Groaning Tears. Ethical and Dramatic Aspects of Suicide in Greek Tragedy, Leiden & New York. Gilhus, Ingvild Sælid (1997): Laughing Gods, Weeping Virgins. Laughter in the History of Religion, London & New York. Gilhus, Ingvild Sælid (42002): s.v. “Lachen/Weinen religionswissenschaftlich”. In: Hans-Dieter Betz & al. (eds.), Religion in Geschichte und Gegenwart. Handwçrterbuch f r Theologie und Rechtswissenschaft (vol. 5), T bingen, 6 – 7. Gill, Christopher (1997): The emotions in Greco-Roman philosophy. In: Susanna Morton Braund & Christopher Gill (eds.), The Passions in Roman Thought and Literature, Cambridge, 5 – 15. Grinda, Klaus R. (2002): Enzyklop die der literarischen Vergleiche. Das Bildinventar von der rçmischen Antike bis zum Ende des Fr hmittelalters, Paderborn (pp. 480 – 482: “Tr nenfluß, Tr nenflut”). Haecker, Theodor (1931): Vergil. Vater des Abendlands, Leipzig (pp. 115 – 126: “Tr nen”). Hellegouarc h, Joseph (1976): Aspects stylistiques de l expression de la tristesse et de la douleur dans les po mes ovidiens de l exile. In: Nicolae I. Barbu & al. (eds.), Ovidianum. Acta conventus omnium gentium ovidianis studiis fovendis, Bucarest, 325 – 340. Hinard, FranÅois (ed.) (1995): La mort au quotidien dans le monde romain. Actes du colloque organis par l Universit de Paris IV (Paris – Sorbonne, 7 – 9 octobre 1993), Paris. Hinton, N. D. (1962): Tears in Aeneid IV, 449. In: Classical Bulletin 38, 33 – 34. Hollenburger-Rusch, Caroline (2001): Liquitur in lacrimas. Zur Verwendung des Tr nenmotivs in den “Metamorphosen” Ovids, Hildesheim. Holst-Warhaft, Gail (1992): Dangerous Voices. Women s Laments and Greek Literature, London & New York. Huber, Ingeborg (2001): Die Ikonographie der Trauer in der Griechischen Kunst, Mannheim & Mçhnesee. Hudson-Williams, A. (1990): Lacrimae illae inanes. In: Ian McAuslan & Peter Walcot (eds.), Virgil, Oxford, 149 – 156. James, Sharon L. (2003): Her turn to cry. The politics of weeping in Roman love elegy. In: Transactions of the American Philological Association 133, 99 – 122. Johann, Horst Theodor (1968): Trauer und Trost. Eine quellen- und strukturanalytische Untersuchung der philosophischen Trostschriften ber den Tod, M nchen. Kassel, Rudolf (1958): Untersuchungen zur griechischen und rçmischen Konsolationsliteratur, M nchen. Kast, Verena (1992): Karl Meulis Beitrag zur heutigen Psychologie des Trauerns. In: Fritz Graf (ed.), Klassische Antike und neue Wege der Kulturwissenschaften. Symposium Karl Meuli (Basel, 11.–13. September 1991), Basel, 191 – 202.

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Kellogg, George Dwight (1907): Study of a proverb attributed to the rhetor Apollonius (Cic., De inv., I, 56, 109). In: American Journal of Philology 28, 301 – 310. Kenner, Hedwig (1960): Weinen und Lachen in der griechischen Kunst (Sitzungsberichte der sterreichischen Akademie der Wissenschaften. Philosophisch-historische Klasse 234.2), Wien. Kierdorf, Wilhelm (1991): Totenehrung im republikanischen Rom. In: Gerhard Binder & Bernd Effe (eds.), Tod und Jenseits im Altertum, Trier, 71 – 87. Knuuttila, Simo (2004): Emotions in Ancient and Medieval Philosophy, Oxford. Kudlien, Fridolf (1995): Berufsm ßige Klageweiber in der Kaiserzeit. In: Rheinisches Museum f r Philologie 138, 177 – 187. K bler, Bernhard (1927): s.v. “Luctus”. In: RE 26, Stuttgart, 1697 – 1705. Kurtz, Donna C. & John Boardman (1971): Greek Burial Customs, London (German translation by Maria Buchholz: Thanatos. Tod und Jenseits bei den Griechen, Mainz 1985). Lobe, Michael (1999): Die Geb rden in Vergils Aeneis. Zur Bedeutung und Funktion von Kçrpersprache im rçmischen Epos, Frankfurt am Main (esp. pp. 36 – 40 on crying und pp. 40 – 45 on the expression of grief during the funeral). Loraux, Nicole (1990): Les m res en deuil, Paris (German translation by Eva Moldenhauer: Die Trauer der M tter. Weibliche Leidenschaft und die Gesetze der Politik, Frankfurt am Main 1992). MacMullen, Ramsay (1980): Romans in tears. In: Classical Philology 75, 254 – 255. McDonald, Marianne (2002): Euripides dramatic tears. Weeping as characterization of women and men. In: Kleos 7, 181 – 192. Meuli, Karl (1975): Das Weinen als Sitte. In: Id., Gesammelte Schriften (vol. 1). Hrsg. von Thomas Gelzer, Stuttgart & Basel, 353 – 385. Monsacr , H l ne (1984): Les larmes d Achille. Le h ros, la femme et la souffrance dans la po sie d Hom re, Paris. Negri, Angela Maria (1988): Sunt lacrimae rerum et mentem mortalia tangunt. In: Studi Italiani di Filologia Classica 6, 240 – 258. Neuberger-Donath, Ruth (1996): T ren d kryon: thaler n d kryon. ber den Unterschied der Charakterisierung von Mann und Frau bei Homer. In: Ranon Katzoff, Yaakov Petroff & David Schaps (eds.), Classical Studies in Honor of David Sohlberg, Ramat Gan, 57 – 76. Neumann, Gerhard (1965): Gesten und Geb rden in der griechischen Kunst, Berlin (esp. pp. 85 – 89, 136 – 140 and 149 – 150). Oakley, John Howard (2004): Picturing Death in Classical Athens. The Evidence of the White Lekythoi, Cambridge. Osmun, George F. (1984): Desistas lacrimas. Tears in Latin elegy. In: Classical Bulletin 60, 45 – 47. Pauer, Karl (1935): Die Bildersprache des Euripides, Diss. Breslau (esp. pp. 44, 49, 63, 65, 72 f., 80, 93, 117 – 119, 124, 128, 140, 157). Pollock Lynch, Gay Ord (2005): “Why do your eyes not run like a river?” Ritual tears in ancient and modern Greek funerary traditions. In: Kimberley Chris-

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tine Patton & John Stratton Hawley (eds.), Holy Tears. Weeping in the Religious Imagination, Princeton, 67 – 82. Prescendi, Francesca (2000): Klagende Frauen. Zur weiblichen Trauerhaltung in Rom. In: Thomas Sp th & Beate Wagner-Hasel (eds.), Frauenwelten in der Antike. Geschlechterordnung und weibliche Lebenspraxis, Darmstadt, 102 – 111. Prieur, Jean (1986): La mort dans l antiquit romaine, Rennes. Radermacher, Ludwig (1947): Weinen und Lachen. Studien ber antikes Lebensgef hl, Wien. Reiner, Eugen (1938): Die rituelle Totenklage der Griechen, Stuttgart. Rieks, Rudolf (1970): Die Tr nen des Helden. In: Michael von Albrecht (ed.), Silvae. Festschrift f r Ernst Zinn zum 60. Geburtstag, T bingen, 183 – 198. Rose, Herbert J. (1928): The river of tears. In: Classical Review 42, 171. Rose, Herbert J. (1929): The river of tears again. In: Classical Review 43, 61. Rossi, Andreola (2000): The tears of Marcellus. History of a literary motif in Livy. In: Greece & Rome 47, 56 – 66. Rossi, Laura (1999): Lamentazioni su pietra e letteratura trenodica . Motivi topici dei canti funerari. In: Zeitschrift f r Papyrologie und Epigraphik 126, 29 – 42. Schauer, Markus (2002): Tragisches Klagen. Form und Funktion der Klagedarstellung bei Aischylos, Sophokles und Euripides, T bingen. Schrijvers, Pieter H. (1982): Invention, imagination et th orie des motions chez Cic ron et Quintilien. In: Jan den Boeft & A. H. M. Kessels (eds.), ACTUS: Studies in Honour of H. L. W. Nelson, Utrecht, 395 – 408. Schrijvers, Pieter H. (2001): Sunt lacrimae rerum. Een bijdrage tot de geschiedenis der tranen (Afscheidsrede Universiteit Leiden), Leiden. Segal, Charles (1991): Euripides Alcestis. Female death and male tears. In: Classical Antiquity 11, 142 – 157. Shapiro, H. A. (1991): The iconography of mourning in Athenian art. In: American Journal of Archaeology 95, 629 – 656. Shields, M. G. (1961): Sight and blindness imagery in the Oedipus Coloneus. In: Phoenix 15, 63 – 73. Sihvola, Juha & Troels Engberg-Pedersen (eds.) (1998): The Emotions in Hellenistic Philosophy, Dordrecht. Sittl, Carl (1890): Die Geb rden der Griechen und Rçmer, Leipzig. Solmsen, Friedrich (1938): Aristotle and Cicero on the orator s playing upon the emotions. In: Classical Philology 33, 390 – 404. Stanford, William B. (1983): Greek Tragedy and the Emotions. An Introductory Study, London (on tears esp. pp. 26 and 107). Sˇterbenc Erker, Darja (2002): “Quid lacrimis …”. Rimska zˇenska pred oblicˇjem smrti med 2. stol. pr. n. sˇt. in 2. stol. n. sˇt., Diss. Ljubljana. Sˇterbenc Erker, Darja (2004): Voix dangereuses et force des larmes. Le deuil f minin dans la Rome antique. In: Revue de l histoire des religions 221, 259 – 291. Stewart, Douglas J. (1971/72): Sunt lacrimae rerum. In: Classical Journal 67, 116 – 122.

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Suter, Ann (ed.) (2008): Lament. Studies in the Ancient Mediterranean and Beyond, Oxford. Szab , K. (1982 – 85): Sunt lacrimae rerum. Gedenken zum Nachleben einer Verszeile von Vergil. In: Annales Universitatis Budapestinensis (Sectio classica) 9 – 10, 99 – 103. Toynbee, Jocelyn M. C. (1971): Death and Burial in the Roman World, London. Tschiedel, Hans J rgen (1985): Lucan und die Tr nen Caesars (Eichst tter Hochschulreden 46), M nchen. Tucker, Robert A. (1981): Lucan s tears. In: Classical Bulletin 58, 1 – 4. Vermeule, Emily (1979): Aspects of Death in Early Greek Art and Poetry, Berkeley. Wees, Hans van (1998): A brief history of tears. Gender differentiation in archaic Greece. In: Lin Foxhall & John Salmon (eds.), When Men Were Men. Masculinity, Power and Identity in Classical Antiquity, London & New York, 10 – 53. Wilson, Marcus (1997): The subjugation of grief in Seneca s Epistles . In: Susanna Morton Braund & Christopher Gill (eds.), The Passions in Roman Thought and Literature, Cambridge, 48 – 67. Wright, J. (1967): Lacrimae rerum and the thankless task. In: Classical Journal 62, 365 – 367.

2. Further Studies on Tears and Crying (primarily focussing on the Middle Ages and the modern era) 2.1 Literary Studies and Related Fields Althoff, Gerd (1996): Der Kçnig weint. Rituelle Tr nen in çffentlicher Kommunikation. In: Jan-Dirk M ller (ed.), “Auff hrung” und “Schrift” in Mittelalter und Fr her Neuzeit, Stuttgart & Weimar, 239 – 252. Althoff, Gerd (1996): Empçrung, Tr nen, Zerknirschung. ,Emotionen in der çffentlichen Kommunikation des Mittelalters. In: Fr hmittelalterliche Studien 30, 60 – 79. Arbeitsstelle 18. Jahrhundert (ed.) (1983): Das weinende Saeculum. Colloquium der Arbeitsstelle 18. Jahrhundert, Gesamthochschule Wuppertal & Universit t M nster, Schloß Dyck vom 7. bis 9. Oktober 1981, Heidelberg. Bayne, Sheila Page (1981): Tears and Weeping. An Aspect of Emotional Climate Reflected in Seventeenth-Century French Literature, T bingen. Berkenbusch, Gisela (1985): Zum Heulen. Kulturgeschichte unserer Tr nen, Berlin. Beszard, Lucien (1903): Les larmes dans l pop e, particuli rement dans l pop e franÅaise jusqu la fin du XIIe si cle, Halle an der Saale. Blaicher, G nther (1966): Das Weinen in mittelenglischer Zeit. Studien zur Geb rde des Weinens in historischen Quellen und literarischen Texten, Diss. Saarbr cken. Corsten, Volker (1999): Von heißen Tr nen und großen Gef hlen. Funktionen des Melodrams im gereinigten Theater des 18. Jahrhunderts, Frankfurt am Main.

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Coudreuse, Anne (1999): Le go t des larmes au XVIIIe si cle, Paris. Hçllerer, Walter (1958): Zwischen Klassik und Moderne. Lachen und Weinen in der Dichtung einer bergangszeit, Stuttgart. Hvidberg, Flemming Friis (1962): Weeping and Laughter in the Old Testament. A Study of Canaanite-Israelite Religion, Leiden. Kaplan, Fred (1987): Sacred Tears. Sentimentality in Victorian Literature, Princeton. Lange, Marjory E. (1996): Telling Tears in the English Renaissance, Leiden. Lommatzsch, Erhard (1923): Die Darstellung von Trauer und Schmerz in der altfranzçsischen Literatur. In: Zeitschrift f r romanische Philologie 43, 20 – 67. Lurker, Manfred (ed.) (51991): Wçrterbuch der Symbolik, Stuttgart (pp. 764 – 765: s.v. “Tr nen”). Nagy, Piroska (2000): Le don des larmes au Moyen Age. Un instrument spirituel en quÞte d institution (Ve-XIIIe si cle), Paris. Pascal, Gabrielle (1993): Rires, sourires et larmes chez Stendhal. Une initiation po tique, Gen ve. Patton, Kimberley Christine & John Stratton Hawley (eds.) (2005): Holy Tears. Weeping in the Religious Imagination, Princeton. Ringhandt, Ute (2001): Sunt lacrimae rerum. Untersuchungen zur Darstellung des Weinens in der Musik, Sinzig. Sartori, Paul (1938): s.v. “weinen”. In: Hanns B chtold-St ubli (ed.), Handwçrterbuch des deutschen Aberglaubens (vol. 9.1), Berlin & Leipzig, 317 – 333. Seligmann, Siegfried (1937): s.v. “Tr nen”. In: Hanns B chtold-St ubli (ed.), Handwçrterbuch des deutschen Aberglaubens (vol. 8), Berlin & Leipzig, 1106 – 1107. Taylor, Mark C. (1990): Tears, Albany, New York. Vincent-Buffault, Anne (1986): Histoire des larmes: XVIII – XIX si cles, Paris (English translation by Teresa Bridgeman: A History of Tears. Sensibility and Sentimentality in France, Basingstoke 1991). Weinand, Heinz Gerd (1958): Tr nen. Untersuchungen ber das Weinen in der deutschen Sprache und Literatur des Mittelalters, Bonn.

2.2 Primarily Scientific and Social Studies (in particular ethology and psychology) Averill, James R. (1968): Grief. Its nature and significance. In: Psychological Bulletin 70, 721 – 748. Beunders, Henri (2002): Publieke tranen. De drijfveren van de emotiecultuur, Amsterdam. Blarer, Stefan (1983): Menschliches Erleben und Verarbeiten von Tod und Trauer, Luzern. Bogorad, F. A. (1979): The symptom of crocodile tears (1928). In: Journal of the History of Medicine and Allied Sciences 34, 76 – 79. Bosniak, Stephen L. (1984): The Lacrimal System, New York. Buck, Ross (1984): The Communication of Emotion, New York.

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Carmichael, Kay (1991): Ceremony of Innocence. Tears, Power and Protest, Basingstoke. Cretser, Gary A., William K. Lombardo, Barbara Lombardo & Sharon Mathis (1982): Reactions to men and women who cry. A study of sex differences in perceived societal attitudes versus personal attitudes. In: Perceptual and Motor Skills 55, 479 – 486. Frey, William H. (1985): Crying. The Mystery of Tears, Minneapolis. Frey, William H., Denise Desota Johnson, Carrie Hoffman & John T. McCall (1981): Effect of stimulus on the chemical composition of human tears. In: American Journal of Ophthalmology 92, 559 – 567. Frey, William H., Carrie Hoffman-Ahern, Roger A. Johnson, David T. Lykken & Vicente B. Tuason (1983): Crying behavior in the human adult. In: Integrative Psychiatry 1, 94 – 98. Gross, James J., Barbara Frederickson & Robert W. Levenson (1994): The psychophysiology of crying. In: Psychophysiology 31, 460 – 468. Haeringen, Nico J. van (1981): Clinical biochemistry of tears. In: Survey of Ophthalmology 26, 84 – 96. Hurwitz, Jeffrey J. (1996): The Lacrimal System, Philadelphia. Kottler, Jeffrey A. (1996): The Language of Tears, San Francisco (German translation by Margarete van P e: Die Sprache der Tr nen. Warum wir weinen, M nchen 1997). Kropiunigg, Ulrich (2003): Indianer weinen nicht. ber die Unterdr ckung der Tr nen in unserer Kultur, M nchen. Lewis, Michael & Jeannette M. Haviland-Jones (eds.) (22000): Handbook of Emotions, New York. Lçfgren, L. Bçrje (1966): On weeping. In: International Journal of Psychoanalysis 47, 375 – 381. Lutz, Tom (1999): Crying. The Natural and Cultural History of Tears, New York (German translation by Diane von Weltzien: Tr nen vergießen. ber die Kunst zu weinen, Hamburg 2000). Masson, Jeffrey M. & Susan McCarthy (1994): When Elephants Weep. The Emotional Lives of Animals, London (German translation by Catharina Berents: Wenn Tiere weinen, Reinbek bei Hamburg 1996). Miceli, Maria & Cristiano Castelfranchi (2003): Crying. Discussing its basic reasons and uses. In: New Ideas in Psychology 21, 247 – 273. Milder, Benjamin & Bernardo A. Weil (eds.) (1983): The Lacrimal System, Norwalk. Montagu, Ashley (1959): Natural selection and the origin and evolution of weeping in man. In: Science 130, 1572 – 1573. Oosterum, Peter P. van (1997): Tears. A Key to Remedy, Bath. Rosenblatt, Paul C. (1983): Bitter, Bitter Tears. Nineteenth-Century Diarists and Twentieth-Century Grief Theories, Minneapolis. Rosenblatt, Paul C., Patricia Walsh & Douglas A. Jackson (1976): Grief and Mourning in Cross-Cultural Perspective, New Haven. Sadoff, Robert L. (1996): On the nature of crying and weeping. In: Psychiatric Quarterly 40, 490 – 503.

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Schwarz, Balduin (1928): Untersuchungen zur Psychologie des Weinens, M nchen. Spitz, Charlotte (1935): Zur Psychologie des Weinens, Zeulenroda. Stubbe, Hannes (1985): Formen der Trauer. Eine kulturanthropologische Untersuchung, Berlin. Vingerhoets, Ad J. J. M., Randolph R. Cornelius, Guus L. van Heck & Marleen C. Becht (2000): Adult crying. A model and review of the literature. In: Review of General Psychology 4, 354 – 377. Vingerhoets, Ad J. J. M. & Ad Bergsma (2003): Huilen is menselijk. De psychologie van tranen, Antwerpen & Utrecht. Vingerhoets, Ad J. J. M. & Randolph R. Cornelius (eds.) (2001): Adult Crying. A Biopsychosocial Approach, Hove.

2.3 Primarily Studies in Philosophy and Philosophical Anthropology Kr ger, Hans-Peter (1999): Zwischen Lachen und Weinen. Vol. 1: Das Spektrum menschlicher Ph nomene, Berlin (esp. pp. 117 – 184). Plessner, Helmuth (31961): Lachen und Weinen. Eine Untersuchung nach den Grenzen menschlichen Verhaltens, Bern. Plessner, Helmuth (1970): Philosophische Anthropologie. Lachen und Weinen, das L cheln, Anthropologie der Sinne. Hrsg. und mit einem Nachwort von G nther Dux, Frankfurt am Main. Stern, Alfred (1980): Philosophie des Lachens und Weinens, Wien & M nchen.

3. Classical Studies on Laughter (see also section 1) A research bibliography on laughter and humour that goes far beyond Graeco-Roman antiquity is offered by Johan Verberckmoes, Humor und Geschichte. Eine Forschungsbibliographie. In: Jan Bremmer & Herman Roodenburg (eds.), Kulturgeschichte des Humors. Von der Antike bis heute, Darmstadt 1999, 184 – 195. Adkin, Neil (1985): The Fathers on laughter. In: Orpheus 6, 149 – 152. Antony, Heinz (1976): Humor in der augusteischen Dichtung. Lachen und L cheln bei Horaz, Properz, Tibull und Vergil, Hildesheim. Arndt, Ernst (1904): De ridiculi doctrina rhetorica, Diss. Bonn. Bremmer, Jan (1999): Witze, Spaßmacher und Witzb cher in der antiken griechischen Kultur. In: Jan Bremmer & Herman Roodenburg (eds.), Kulturgeschichte des Humors. Von der Antike bis heute, Darmstadt, 18 – 31. Bremmer, Jan & Herman Roodenburg (eds.) (1999): Kulturgeschichte des Humors. Von der Antike bis heute, Darmstadt. Cataudella, Quintino (1971): La facezia in Grecia e a Roma. Saggio introduttivo e ampia antologia, Firenze. C be, Jean-Pierre (1966): La caricature et la parodie dans le monde romain antique des origines Juv nal, Paris.

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Clarke, John R. (2007): Looking at Laughter. Humor, Power, and Transgression in Roman Visual Culture, 100 B.C.–A.D. 250, Berkeley. Corbeill, Anthony (1996): Controlling Laughter. Political Humor in the Late Roman Republic, Princeton. David, Ephraim (1989): Laughter in Spartan society. In: Anton Powell (ed.), Classical Sparta. Techniques Behind Her Success, London, 1 – 25. Desclos, Marie-Laurence (ed.) (2000): Le rire des Grecs. Anthropologie du rire en Gr ce ancienne, Paris. Dçpp, Siegmar (1987): Antike Literatur und Karneval. Ein Hinweis auf Michail Bachtin. In: Mitteilungen des Deutschen Altphilologenverbandes, 11 – 19. Flashar, Hellmut (1996): Komik und Alte Komçdie. In: Museum Helveticum 53, 83 – 90. Flory, Stewart (1978): Laughter, tears, and wisdom in Herodotus. In: American Journal of Philology 99, 145 – 153. Friedl nder, Paul (1934): Lachende Gçtter. In: Die Antike 10, 209 – 226. Giangrande, Lawrence (1972): The Use of “Spoudaiogeloion” in Greek and Roman Literature, The Hague. Gilhus, Ingvild Sælid (1997): Laughing Gods, Weeping Virgins. Laughter in the History of Religion, London & New York. Gilhus, Ingvild Sælid (42002): s.v. “Lachen/Weinen religionswissenschaftlich”. In: Hans-Dieter Betz & al. (eds.), Religion in Geschichte und Gegenwart. Handwçrterbuch f r Theologie und Rechtswissenschaft (vol. 5). T bingen, 6 – 7. Graf, Fritz (1999): Cicero, Plautus und das rçmische Lachen. In: Jan Bremmer & Herman Roodenburg (eds.), Kulturgeschichte des Humors. Von der Antike bis heute, Darmstadt, 32 – 42. Grant, Mary A. (1924): The Ancient Rhetorical Theories of the Laughable. The Greek Rhetoricians and Cicero, Madison, Wisconsin. Halliwell, Stephen (1991): The uses of laughter in Greek culture. In: Classical Quarterly 41, 279 – 296. Halliwell, Stephen (2008): Greek Laughter. A Study of Cultural Psychology from Homer to Early Christianity, Cambridge. Hewitt, J. W. (1927/28): Homeric laughter. In: Classical Journal 23, 436 – 447. Hewitt, J. W. (1929): Humor in Homer and Vergil. In: Classical Weekly 22, 169 – 172 & 177 – 181. J kel, Siegfried & Asko Timonen (eds.) (1994): Laughter Down the Centuries (vol. 1), Turku. J kel, Siegfried & Asko Timonen (eds.) (1995): Laughter Down the Centuries (vol. 2), Turku. J kel, Siegfried, Asko Timonen & Veli-Matti Rissanen (eds.) (1997): Laughter Down the Centuries (vol. 3), Turku. Lateiner, Donald (1977): No laughing matter. A literary tactic in Herodotus. In: Transactions of the American Philological Association 107, 173 – 182. Levine, Daniel B. (1983): Homeric laughter and the unsmiling suitors. In: Classical Journal 78, 97 – 104. Mader, Michael (1977): Das Problem des Lachens und der Komçdie bei Platon, Stuttgart.

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Massarani, Tullio (ed.) (1900): Storia e fisiologia dell arte di ridere. Vol. 1: L antichit e il Medio evo, Milano. Mazzucco, Clementina (ed.) (2007): Riso e comicit nel cristianesimo antico. Atti del convegno di Torino, 14 – 16 febbraio 2005, e altri studi, Alessandria. Meier, Christian (2002): Homerisches Gel chter, Spaß, Brot und Spiele. In: Merkur 56, 789 – 800. Monaco, Giusto (1970): Quintiliano, il capitolo de risu (inst. or. VI 3), Palermo. Monaco, Giusto (1992): Quintino Cataudella e l umorismo antico. In: Giuseppina Basta Donzelli & al. (eds.), Quintino Cataudella. Atti del Seminario di studi sull opera (Ragusa, Modica, Scicli, 4 – 6 dicembre 1989), Catania, 79 – 87. Neumann, Frederick (1971): ber das Lachen und Studien ber den platonischen Sokrates, Den Haag. Rabbie, Edwin (1986): Cicero ber den Witz. Kommentar zu De oratore II, 216 – 290, Diss. Amsterdam. Rankin, Herbert D. (1967): Laughter, humour and related topics in Plato. In: Classica & Mediaevalia 28, 186 – 213. Reinhardt, Udo & Klaus Sallmann (eds.) (1974): Musa iocosa: Arbeiten ber Humor und Witz, Komik und Komçdie der Antike. Andreas Thierfelder zum 70. Geburtstag am 15. Juni 1973, Hildesheim. Richlin, Amy (1983): The Garden of Priapus. Sexuality and Aggression in Roman Humor, New Haven & London. Saint Denis, Eug ne de (1965): Essais sur le rire et le sourire des latins, Paris. Schindler, Winfried (1986): Komik-Theorien – komische Theorien? Eine Skizze ber die Bem hungen um die Deutung des Lachens von der Antike bis heute. In: Der altsprachliche Unterricht 29.5, 4 – 19. Schmidt, Ernst A. (1995): Rçmisches Lachen. In: G za Alfçldy & al. (eds.), Rçmische Lebenskunst. Interdisziplin res Kolloquium zum 85. Geburtstag von Viktor Pçschl, Heidelberg, 79 – 99. Stark, Isolde (2004): Die h mische Muse. Spott als soziale und mentale Kontrolle in der griechischen Komçdie, M nchen. S ss, Wilhelm (1969): Lachen, Komik und Witz in der Antike, Z rich. Tr d , Monique & Philippe Hoffmann (eds.) (1998): Le rire des anciens. Actes du colloque international (Universit de Rouen, cole normale sup rieure, 11 – 13 janvier 1995), Paris. Vries, G. J. de (1985): Laughter in Plato s writings. In: Mnemosyne 38, 378 – 381. Wannagat, Detlev (forthcoming): Archaisches Lachen. Die Entstehung einer komischen Bilderwelt in der korinthischen Vasenmalerei, Berlin & New York.

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Tears and Crying in Archaic Greek Poetry (especially Homer) Sabine Fçllinger Abstract: Weeping and tears play central roles in the Homeric poems Iliad and Odyssey as expressions of various spontaneous emotions. Reasons for weeping and tears can be, above all, sorrow, fury, despair, yearning and fear, but also desire for revenge and disappointment, indeed even joy. How important weeping is in Homeric epic poetry becomes clear through the semantic variety of the terms used for weeping and lamenting. There is no difference in the spontaneous expression of an emotion of sorrow between men and women, since indeed, unlike in modern Western culture, weeping is not regarded as being unmanly. Men and women weep not only individually, but also in company. Apart from special purposes, such as honour for the dead, a function of weeping is also seen in the “relief”, which one experiences when one lets tears and laments take their course. The lyric poet Archilochus takes a different position by exhorting people to control themselves in sorrow and not to fall into “womanly grief”. This difference in the assessment of the expression of emotion probably does not derive, as has been assumed, from developmental roots but is, rather, specific to the genre. The epic poem is intended to elicit emotions. The fact that it succeeded in this is seen in the Classical Age in Plato s criticism of the stirring effect of Homeric poems which he felt to be detrimental to fostering manliness.

“I thank you for these tears, or, to put it better, for weeping for this pretext; because the human heart, this proud hound of a heart, must be very satisfied every time it is allowed to assuage its pain through tears, though, however, it wants to give the impression of only weeping over the misfortune of others! Therefore I thank you for your touching lines.”1 These words by Heinrich Heine from a letter to Alexandre Dumas (2 July 1855) express the aversion to giving free rein to one s own feelings in the form of tears. Gisela Berkenbusch deals with this problem of putting 1

German original, quoted from Hçllerer (1958: 96): “Ich danke Ihnen f r diese Tr nen, oder, um es besser zu sagen, f r diesen Vorwand zu weinen; denn das menschliche Herz, dieser stolze Hund eines Herzens muß jedesmal sehr zufrieden sein, wenn es ihm erlaubt ist, sich durch Tr nen in seinen Schmerzen zu erleichtern, wobei er aber den Anschein erwecken will, nur ber das Ungl ck der anderen zu weinen! Ich danke deshalb f r Ihre r hrenden Zeilen.”

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a taboo on tears in modern Western culture in detail in her book Zum Heulen. Kulturgeschichte unserer Tr nen (1985). She shows that, apart from a few occasions, such as at a funeral, tears are taboo, especially for men; she gives as the reason for this the fear of a loss of control (Berkenbusch 1985: 15 – 16): “Wer weint, kann sich nicht beherrschen; Geist und Wille verlieren die Herrschaft ber den Kçrper, der im Weinen sich vordr ngt. Das dabei entstehende Ohnmachtsgef hl ist das Ergebnis einer Normierung: Man darf nicht nur nicht weinen, sondern man will es auch selbst auf keinen Fall passieren lassen, es sei denn bei dem Anlaß, wo Tr nen fließen d rfen oder gar m ssen – bei einem Trauerfall. (…) Es scheint so, als ob das, was Weinen und Klagen an Bedeutungen vermittelt, tabuiert wird. Das h ngt wohl damit zusammen, daß diese Verhaltensweisen konzentrierter Ausdruck aktueller Machtlosigkeit sind (…). Die Tabuierung von Gef hlen resultiert aus der Gleichsetzung von Gef hlsanf lligkeit mit Schw che, besonders wenn Selbstbeherrschung und Konkurrenz das tragende berlebensgesetz sind. (…) Wo Weltbeherrschung und Selbstbeherrschung der ,Empfindsamkeit derart den Rang abgelaufen haben, ist es wohl ein besonderer Schock, feststellen zu m ssen, daß man einen Kçrper hat, der sich bemerkbar macht, wenn er an den Augen berl uft.”

What is also uncustomary is weeping together, because tears are regarded as something which one has to sort out for oneself. The result of the sociological study produced by Lothar Bçhnisch and Reinhard Winter (1993), within the framework of the so-called “Kritische M nnerforschung”, corresponds with Berkenbusch s analysis. The two authors studied deficiencies in coping with the pressure of the male gender (“Geschlechtsrollendruck”) (1993: 15 – 33) and reached the conclusion that being a man was an emotional category of coping (“emotionale Bew ltigungskategorie”) (1993: 21 – 22). They mention, among other things, a remoteness from the body (“Kçrperferne”) in the sense of a non-perception of one s own body, the disparagement and suppression of emotionality and the inclination towards control, which manifests itself as self-control and as control of the environment, as being fundamental principles for coping. In addition there is a sensed compulsion to cope with the adversities of life alone (1993: 128 – 132). How relative such behavioural standards are can be perceived if one examines how and on what occasions weeping occurred in the poetry of archaic Greece. For the heroes of the Homeric epics weep a great deal, something which Goethe also knew and used to justify a call to weep:2 2

The whole poem reads: “Lasst mich weinen! umschraenkt von Nacht, / In un-

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“Lasst mich weinen! das ist keine Schande, Weinende M nner sind gut. Weinte doch Achill um seine Briseis! Xerxes beweinte das unerschlagene Heer, ber den selbstgemordeten Liebling Alexander weinte.”

In this poem by Goethe, which was taken from his unpublished works and subsequently included in the West- stlicher Diwan,3 the lyrical ego pleads for the right of men to let their tears flow freely. The speaker justifies this apparently non-sanctioned venture with his reference to the fact that the great heroes of Antiquity also wept. He thus uses them as argumenta e maiore. In this connection Achilles opens the series of exempla. The reason for this may not only be that Achilles weeping, like that of the speaker, was intended for a woman, but that chronologically Achilles is at the beginning of Western literature. Its composition falls at the end of the eighth or in the first third of the seventh century B.C., thus forming the prelude to the archaic epoch in Greece, which in literary studies, following the division into historic periods, is understood as the age from the eighth to the end of the sixth century B.C. The term “archaic” requires an explanation because for modern understanding the connotation of the unfinished, the not yet completed, is also conjured up by it. However, such a notion is to be ruled out, because the archaic poetic works con-

3

endlicher W ste. / Kamele ruhn, die Treiber desgleichen, / Rechnend still wacht der Armenier; / Ich aber, neben ihm, berechne die Meilen, / Die mich von Suleika trennen, wiederhole / Die wegeverl ngernden aergerlichen Kr mmungen. / Lasst mich weinen! das ist keine Schande. / Weinende M nner sind gut. / Weinte doch Achill um seine Briseis! / Xerxes beweinte das unerschlagene Heer, / ber den selbstgemordeten Liebling / Alexander weinte. / Lasst mich weinen!, Thraenen beleben den Staub. / Schon grunelts.” ( Let me weep! Engulfed by night, / In boundless desert. / Camels rest, their drivers likewise, / Silently the Armenian watches, calculating; / But I, next to him, calculate the miles / That separate me from Suleika, retrace / The annoying curves lengthening the way. / Let me weep! that is no shame! / Weeping men are good. / For Achilles wept over his Briseis! / Xerxes wept for the undefeated army, / Alexander wept / for the beloved he had himself slain. / Let me weep!, tears give life to the dust. / Already it smells of fresh green. ) This rhymeless poem, written in free rhythms, is to be found in the Frankfurt edition (Johann Wolfgang von Goethe, S mtliche Werke, Briefe, Tageb cher und Gespr che. I. Abteilung: S mtliche Werke Vol. 3.1 = West- stlicher Divan Teil 1, edited by Hendrik Birus, Frankfurt am Main 1994, 602) under “Nachlass-St cke”. According to the commentary by Birus (Vol. 3.2 = West- stlicher Divan Teil 2, 1748), Goethe probably wrote it in 1815. Eckermann and Riemer included it in the book “Suleika”.

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cerned are by no means naive verse at a lower stage of development, but variegated, vital and extremely elaborate works. Among the various characterizations which research has developed to designate this epoch (which is also called simply “Early Greek”), the most appropriate is probably Most s catchword of the fondness of experimenting (Most 1989). From a literary aspect it is marked, on the one hand, by the genre of the epic poem, to which belong the Iliad, the Odyssey and the Homeric Hymns, as well as Hesiod s didactic verse. The other genre is what is known as Early Greek lyric poetry, which, according to the terminology generally applied in Classical Philology, represents a collective term for three types of poetry: elegiac poetry, iambic poetry and lyric poetry, which is represented in lyric monody and choral lyric. Whereas the subject matter of the epic poem is, as is well known, the heroic saga, the variety of topics of the lyric is diverse, ranging from political satire through love poems to natural lyric. The weeping heroes belong to the Homeric epic. The fact that weeping heroes are noted as being something unusual makes it clear that, in this respect, the epic poems offer a picture of masculinity which obviously did not represent a matter of course either in Goethe s day or in our own, as weeping was and is regarded as something for women. Precisely, however, in the epic, where the modern reader might least expect it, men weep a great deal and intensively, uttering grief, pain and fear expressively. They have thus obviously no fear of dealing with what we, in modern terms, describe as an “emotional inner life”; they are not “unfeeling”. The fact that they express their emotions, also in the presence of others, and weep collectively, distinguishes their behaviour from the aforementioned modern strategies for coping, the control of emotions and – if it occurs at all – weeping in seclusion. In this connection, when it is a matter of unconcealed weeping, often linked with other signs of extreme pain, men do not differ from women.4 What room lamentation takes up in both Homeric epics is already expressed by the variety of verbs used for weeping. As semantic studies have shown (Monsacr 1984: 171 – 172; Arnould 1990: 144 – 152), d²jqu or d²jqua w´eim and jka¸eim5 are used both for individual pain and, together with co÷m, for the ritual lamentation of the dead. By comparison, akov¼qeshai is found only for individual lamentation of the dead, but not for 4 5

Some aspects of the following comments are also to be found in Fçllinger (2003). jka¸eim is almost always used in combination with d²jqu and represents the most frequently used verb (38 times); cf. Monsacr (1984: 171).

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the ritual form; it designates the lamentation with the connotation of sympathy. The verb co÷m reproduces a sound of groaning; it mostly opens or closes a ritual lamentation of the dead. dajq¼eim designates the appearance of tears in the eyes (visual), while in the case of ad¼qeshai the acoustic aspect predominates. Whereas no sex-specific use is to be ascertained for these verbs, the combination baq» stem²weim (“utter a deep groan”), just like the verb oQl¾feim, is normally used for men;6 jyj¼eim, above all combined with an¼ or kic¼, is found mainly with women.7 Both formulations place emphasis on the high-pitched voice8 and seem to express, in particular, grief combined with fright (e. g. Il. 22.407, Od. 2.361). With regard to content, therefore, no difference between masculinity and femininity can be determined. How do things look on those occasions when the heroes weep? These are of a varied nature: (1) There are tears of rage: The most impressive are those which Achilles sheds because Agamemnon has taken the slave Briseis, whom he had received as a prize, away from him.9 Achilles weeps out his anger about this to his mother, the sea-goddess Thetis (Il. 1.348 – 357): (…) aqt±q )wikke»r dajq¼sar 2t²qym %vaq 6 feto mºsvi kiashe¸r, h?mû 5vû "k¹r poki/r, bqºym 1pû !pe¸qoma pºmtom· pokk± d³ lgtq· v¸k, Aq¶sato we?qar aqecm¼r· l/teq 1pe¸ lû 5tej´r ce limumh²diºm peq 1ºmta, til¶m p´q loi evekkem ik¼lpior 1ccuak¸nai Fe»r rxibqel´tgr· mOm dû oqd´ le tuth¹m 5tisem· G c²q lû )tqeýdgr eqq» jqe¸ym )cal´lmym At¸lgsem· 2k½m c±q 5wei c´qar aqt¹r !po¼qar. FYr v²to d²jqu w´ym (…). 6 7

8 9

But since Tyrtaeus (fr. 7.1 West) it is also used for women. Monsacr (1984: 172); examples: Il. 18.37, 22.407, 24.200; Od. 2.361, 19.541, 24.295. The claim that it was only used for women, as Monsacr (1984) and Arnould (1990) propose, can be refuted by Il. 22.409, where jyjutºr is used for the kao¸ in general, and by Od. 10.201, where it is said of Odysseus and his companions: jka?om (…) kic´yr. The same expression is to be found for Agamemnon in Od. 11.391 and for Telemachos and Odysseus in Od. 16.216. However, according to Arnould (1990: 150 – 155) this opposition is not so strict, insofar as already in Homer there are no instances of baq» stem²weim, but of 1pistem²weshai in the case of women (Il. 19.301, 22.515, 24.722, 24.746). Other tears of anger are those of Diomedes in view of an impending defeat in the chariot race (Il. 23.385 – 387). Telemachus weeps tears of anger when he bewails his desperate situation before the Ithacans (Od. 2.280 – 281).

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(…) But Achilles weeping went and sat in sorrow apart from his companions beside the beach of the grey sea looking out on the infinite water. Many times stretching forth his hands he called on his mother: Since, my mother, you bore me to be a man with a short life, therefore Zeus of the loud thunder on Olympus should grant me honour at least. But now he has given me not even a little. Now the son of Atreus, powerful Agamemnon, has dishonoured me, since he taken away my prize and keeps it. So he spoke in tears (…).10

Thus here the tears embody the rage of Achilles, the l/mir which motivates the whole story of the Iliad. Admittedly, it seems strange to the modern reader how the great war hero of the Iliad weeps out his anger to his mother, even though she is also a goddess. However, the fact that this did not apparently detract from his masculinity can be concluded from a comparison which Achilles himself makes for Patroclus when the latter comes to him weeping on account of the Trojan successes, caused by Achilles withdrawal from the combat (Il. 16.7 – 12): t¸pte ded²jqusai Patqºjkeer, ALte jo¼qg mgp¸g, F hû ûla lgtq· h´ousû !mek´shai !m¾cei eRamoO "ptol´mg, ja¸ tû 1ssul´mgm jateq¼jei, dajquºessa d´ lim potid´qjetai, evq !m´kgtai· t0 Ujekor P²tqojke, t´qem jat± d²jquom eUbeir. A´ ti Luqlidºmessi piva¼sjeai, C 1lo· aqt`, (…) Why then are you crying like some poor little girl, Patroclus, who runs after her mother and begs to be picked up and carried, and clings to her dress, and holds her back when she tries to hurry, and gazes tearfully into her face, until she is picked up? You are like such a one, Patroclus, dropping these soft tears. Could you have some news to tell, for me or the Myrmidons? (…)

Neither is Achilles gently mocking, as has been assumed (van Wees 1998: 14), with these words about his older comrade s outburst of emotion, nor does he thus want to rebuke him (cf. Monsacr 1984: 82, 219 n. 18); rather Achilles feels sorry for Patroclus in his weeping, as the verb åjtiqe in Il. 16.5 expresses. (2) Patroclus weeping is a situation of despair and thus a second situation in which heroes weep. This group of “weeping out of despair” also includes the behaviour accompanying Agamemnon s call to his army (Il. 8.227 – 244). After the Greeks are forced into the defensive through 10 Here and below, I have used Richmond Lattimore s translations of the Iliad (Chicago & London 1951) and the Odyssey (New York 1965).

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Hector s successful rush forward, Agamemnon weeps during his fervent call to his men not to give the lie to their earlier boastings. With it he combines an urgent request to Zeus, who, as is stated in Il. 8.245, took pity on him on account of his tears (t¹m d³ patµq akov¼qato d²jqu w´omta).11 The situation in Il. 9.9 – 79 is also marked by deep despair. Here Agamemnon is so depressed about the Trojan army s successes that he breaks out in tears before the assembled and depressed troops; in this connection, the intensity of his weeping is compared with a gushing spring (Il. 9.9 – 16): )tqeýdgr dû %wez lec²k\ bebokgl´mor Gtoq vo¸ta jgq¼jessi kicuvhºccoisi jeke¼ym jk¶dgm eQr !coqµm jijk¶sjeim %mdqa 6jastom, lµ d³ bo÷m· aqt¹r d³ let± pq¾toisi pome?to. Xfom dû eQm !coq0 tetigºter· #m dû )cal´lmym Vstato d²jqu w´ym ¦r te jq¶mg lek²mudqor F te jatû aQc¸kipor p´tqgr dmoveq¹m w´ei vdyq· ¤r d baq» stem²wym 5pe )qce¸oisi letg¼da· And the son of Atreus, stricken at heart with the great sorrow, went among his heralds the clear-spoken and told them to summon calling by name each man into the assembly but with no outcry, and he himself was at work with the foremost. They took their seats in assembly, dispirited, and Agamemnon stood up before them, shedding tears, like a spring dark-running that down the face of a rock impassable drips its dim water. So, groaning heavily, Agamemnon spoke to the Argives.

In the following passage, Agamemnon calls on them to break off the whole undertaking and return home. Diomedes then stands up, chides him for being a coward and proposes that they should divide into two camps. Those who want to return home should do so; the others, however, including himself, should remain there and fight. Then, on the other hand, Nestor rises to his feet and advises against any disagreement in their group and suggests that they should have a fortifying meal, after which they should decide what to do next. This situation shows well, just like Achilles lamentations to his mother and Patroclus weeping to Achilles, that emotions are displayed and that there is neither – to use Bçhnisch s and Winter s terminology – a compulsion to cope with everything alone nor the inability to unbosom oneself. One positive result of this kind of

11 Cf. Il. 17.648 and 4.153 – 154: Agamemnon weeps over the wounded Menelaus and for fear about his own reputation (til¶), if Menelaus should die and the Trojan campaign fail.

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strategy for coping comes about insofar as the men bring about a solution of the problematic situation through verbalizing their dejection. In the Odyssey, Penelope s despair, which is linked with her yearning for Odysseus, is a leitmotif, for example when she learns of her son s secret departure (Od. 4.704 – 741). Again and again, full of despair, she laments her forsaken situation, using the aforementioned various verbs for lamenting (see e. g. Od. 20.57 – 59). But also in the case of Odysseus, yearning is mixed with despair when he has to stay with Calypso who does not let him leave (Od. 5.83 – 584, 5.152 – 158, 7.259 – 260; cf. also 4.556). (3) A third and frequent situation is the weeping of the heroes as a spontaneous reaction to a personal loss. Such an atmosphere is particularly heightened after Patroclus death, the “dramatic climax” of the Iliad. The lamentations over his death intensify. First of all, his horses weep, not letting themselves be moved, either by persuasion or threats, to leave the spot (Il. 17.426 – 440). Then Aias bursts into tears over Patroclus death (Il. 17.648), and when Antilochus learns of it, he is so shocked that, first of all, he is speechless before he can weep (Il. 17.694 – 696): (…) )mt¸kowor d³ jat´stuce lOhom !jo¼sar· dµm d´ lim !lvas¸g 1p´ym k²be, t½ d´ oR esse dajquºvi pk/shem, hakeqµ d´ oR 5sweto vym¶. (…) and Antilochus hated his word as he listened. He stayed for a long time without a word, speechless, and his eyes filled with tears, the springing voice was held still within him.

Also when Antilochus reports to Achilles about the death of his favourite companion, he dissolves into tears (Il. 18.17, 18.32). However, at the centre of the lamentation is the long description of Achilles anguish over his dead friend (Il. 18.22 – 27): (…) t¹m dû %weor mev´kg 1j²kuxe l´kaima· !lvot´q,si d³ weqs·m 2k½m jºmim aQhakºessam we¼ato j±j jevak/r, waq¸em dû Õswume pqºsypom· mejtaq´\ d³ wit_mi l´kaimû !lv¸fame t´vqg. aqt¹r dû 1m jom¸,si l´car lecakyst· tamushe·r je?to, v¸k,si d³ weqs· jºlgm Õswume daýfym. (…) and the black cloud of sorrow closed on Achilles. In both hands he caught up the grimy dust, and poured it over his head and face, and fouled his handsome countenance, and the black ashes were scattered over his immortal tunic. And he himself, mightily in his might, in the dust lay at length, and took and tore at his hair with his hands, and defiled it.

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In order to impressively depict Achilles uncontrollable anguish over Patroclus death – for which he had been partly to blame – the poet describes his non-verbal behaviour. Achilles does not only weep and groan;12 he pours dust over his hair, distorts his face, throws himself in the dust and tears his hair – indeed Antilochus holds his hands as he fears a suicide. Later, when Achilles lays eyes on his friend s disfigured corpse, he bursts into tears again (Il. 18.234 – 236). His mother Thetis and the Nereids weep with him (Il. 18.66). In this connection, mixed in with Thetis lamentation is her anguish over Achilles decision to enter into combat against Hector as she knows that this means his death (Il. 18.94, 18.428). The intermingling of the mourning over the death that has occurred and the anticipated death give Book 18, a “Book of Lamentation” in the Iliad, its special emotional intensity. In addition to this spontaneous, emotion-laden weeping, there is the ritual mourning which Achilles orders (Il. 18.339 – 355). But Book 19 also continues to be pervaded by the grief over Patroclus (Il. 19.5) which finds its expression in particular in Briseis lamentation (Il. 19.286 – 300). Book 24 of the Iliad forms a further focus of mourning and weeping insofar as here, on the one hand, Achilles continues to weep about his Patroclus (Il. 24.3 – 9) and, on the other hand, the Trojans lament Hector (Il. 24.161 – 168, 714, 745, 786, 794). Furthermore, the meeting of the two foes Achilles and Priam, during which both weep for their loved ones, represents a climax full of pathos (Il. 24.507 – 512). In all of the discussed situations, weeping is the spontaneous expression of an emotion and, as the passages have illustrated, is voiced in an expressive manner. Here, there is no difference between the weeping of men and that of women: when Priam and Hecabe, Hector s parents, see that their son is about to attack Achilles and will not let himself be dissuaded from doing so, they both weep (Il. 22.90: jka¸omte). However, the other means of verbal and non-verbal expression, to which the father and mother resort in each case in order to make their son change his mind, are of a different nature: Priam utters a groan (Il. 22.33: ålynem ; cf. Il. 22.77 – 78), beats his head with his hands, tears out his hair and beseeches his son to take pity on him, his father, who, deprived of his protection, will find an unworthy end. Hecabe weeps, shows her son her bared breast in order to appeal to his compassion for his mother, and makes it clear to him that, in the case of his death before Troy s walls, 12 Achilles utterance of sound is denoted by st´meim (Il. 18.33), baq» stem²weim (Il. 18.78) and jka¸eim (Il. 18.73).

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she will not be able to bewail him (Il. 22.79 – 89). Thus, even if the expression of anguish differs in accordance with the parents varying relationship to their child, the open lamenting and weeping is common to both of them. This also applies to their reaction to Hector s death in Il. 22.405 – 413. In this case, Priam behaves even more uninhibitedly: he grovels with pain in the filth.13 It is conspicuous that in many cases people weep together, not only during the ritual lamentation of the dead, but also in spontaneous mourning, such as at Patroclus death. In another context, Menelaus, through his words about Odysseus, arouses “the desire to lament” (Il. 4.183: Vleqom §qse cºoio) among all those present. It is revealing that two reasons are given for the weeping. On the one hand, it is said that people “take delight” in lamentation (for instance Od. 4.194: t´qpol aduqºlemor; cf. Il. 4.102). This may probably be interpreted in the sense of a relief – an effect whose significance has been emphasized in modern scholarship (Berkenbusch 1985: 12 – 20). The second reason given is the honour for the dead which consists in weeping and cutting hair (Od. 4.197 – 198).14 What a sad matter death is becomes clear in the Nekyia in the Odyssey from the fact that Odysseus encounters with the Trojan heroes in the underworld are accompanied by tears in many cases (Od. 11.391 – 395, 11.466). (4) A fourth situation which gives cause to weeping is fear. Men weep with fear in battle,15 and in the Odyssey Odysseus often weeps in difficult and apparently hopeless situations,16 such as when he and his men see how the Cyclops devours their companions,17 but also when he learns

13 Other situations of mourning for a dead person are, for instance, Il. 13.658 and Od. 12.12. 14 Even in our “tearless” civilisation, a funeral is an occasion at which weeping is allowed: “Jede Tr ne erhçht den Wert der Verstorbenen bzw. Hinterbliebenen” (Berkenbusch 1985: 13). 15 In Il. 13.88 – 89, the Greeks weep out of fear of the Trojans: to»r oV cû eQsoqºymter rpû avq¼si d²jqua ke?bom·/ oq c±q 5vam ve¼neshai rpû 1j jajoO (cf. Il. 17.648, 10.9 – 16). Phoenix weeps out of concern about the Greek ships (Il. 9.433). 16 Od. 10.408 – 416, 10.497 – 499, 10.567, 12.234, 13.219 – 221. Menelaus weeps out of despair at the idea of having lost his brother (Od. 4.538 – 540). 17 Od. 9.294 – 295: Ble?r d³ jka¸omter !mesw´holem Di· we?qar, / sw´tkia 5qc bqºymter7 !lgwam¸g d 5we hulºm.

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Mourning Priam, amphora (so-called Hector painter), ca. 460 – 450 B.C., Vatican; reproduced from Kenner (1960: appendix).

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from Circe that a descent into the underworld was in store for him.18 The Greeks weep with fear when they sit in the Wooden Horse (Od. 11.526 – 527). This weeping, just like the tears shed over a loss, can also be linked with a further, non-verbal expression, especially the tearing and pulling out of hair (Il. 10.9 – 16, Od. 10.567). (5) Joyful events are also a cause for tears. Seen statistically, the joy about a homecoming or an unexpected return play the most important role in this context. This is, for instance, the case when Agamemnon sets foot on his native land (Od. 4.523). Indeed, this motif is found repeatedly in the Odyssey: Odysseus returns unexpectedly to his comrades (Od. 10.408 – 418); the swineherd Eumaeus catches sight of the long-desired Telemachus (Od. 16.16). Odysseus meets his son whom he has not seen since leaving for Troy (Od. 16.190 – 191, 213 – 220); Telemachus returns to Ithaca (Od. 17.31 – 40); the old nurse Eurycleia recognizes Odysseus again (19.471 – 472). At the centre is the scene in which the whole Odyssey culminates: after the final test, Penelope finally recognizes her husband, and they both fall into each other s arms (23.207 – 208, 23.231 – 240). But also seeing his father Laertes brings tears into Odysseus eyes (Od. 24.234). (6) In Achilles mind, his father, who must manage without him, sheds tears of yearning (Il. 19.323). Helen also sheds them in the Iliad, as she misses her former husband, Menelaus, and her native land (Il. 3.139 – 142). Yearning accompanied by tears plays a central role in the Odyssey. Both Odysseus and Penelope shed many tears out of yearning for one another (Penelope e. g. in Od. 1.36, 17.8, 17.103, 18.202 – 204, 19.594 – 597; Odysseus in Od. 1.363, 5.151 – 158, 13.379). But Telemachus, too, weeps out of yearning for his father (Od. 2.113, 2.153). In Book 19, the poet puts the incessant grief and the constant weeping, which have already disfigured Penelope s face, into a magnificent parable. After Odysseus, in the guise of a stranger, tells her about Odysseus, her “tears ran and her body was melted, as the snow melts along the high places of the mountains when the West Wind has piled it there, but the South Wind melts it, and as it melts the rivers run full flood. It was even so that her beautiful cheeks were streaming tears, as Penelope wept for her man, who was sitting there by her side” (Od. 19.204 – 208). Odysseus 18 Od. 10.496 – 498: (…) aqt±q 1lo¸ ce jatejk²shg v¸kom Gtoq7 / jka?om d 1m kew´essi jah¶lemor, oqd´ m¼ loi j/q / Ehek 5ti f¾eim ja· bq÷m v²or Aek¸oio.

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would have most of all liked to weep, but for strategic reasons holds back his tears with difficulty (Od. 19.209 – 212): aqt±q idusse»r hul` l³m coºysam 2µm 1k´aiqe cuma?ja, avhaklo· dû ¢r eQ j´qa 6stasam A³ s¸dgqor !tq´lar 1m bkev²qoisi· dºk\ dû f ce d²jqua jeOhem. But Odysseus in his heart had pity for his wife as she mourned him, but his eyes stayed, as if they were made of horn or iron, steady under his lids. He hid his tears and deceived her.

In a similar manner as in the Iliad, in the case of Patroclus death, great emotion is evoked by the description of the various participants intense grief; this is the case here with Odysseus (suppressed) and Penelope s (realized) tearfulness. Coupled with the motif of yearning in the Odyssey is the motif of solidarity. When Penelope hands the suitors Odysseus bow, in order to determine by the test with it for whom she should decide, the swineherd and the cowherd, who also otherwise are described as showing solidarity with their former lord, weep (Od. 21.80 – 83). (7) However, a man can also shed tears over defeat in a sporting event (an occasion, by the way, when male tears are still legitimate today): Diomedes weeps when he sees himself cheated out of victory in the chariot race through the loss of his lash (Il. 23.382 – 387). Even the goddess Artemis weeps about a military defeat against her rivals (Il. 21.493 – 496). As the above examples have shown, the reasons for which people weep in the Homeric epics are varied. The parallel nature of male and female behaviour stands out, especially in the case of mourning. It goes so far that the weeping of a man is compared with the weeping of a woman in a certain situation. Thus, when Odysseus hears Demodocus song of the Wooden Horse which reminds him of the experiences in Troy, Homer says (Od. 8.521 – 531): aqt±q idusse»r t¶jeto, d²jqu dû 5deuem rp¹ bkev²qoisi paqei²r. ¢r d³ cumµ jka¸,si v¸kom pºsim !lvipesoOsa, fr te 2/r pqºshem pºkior ka_m te p´s,sim, %stez ja· tej´essim !l¼mym mgke³r Glaq· B l³m t¹m hm-sjomta ja· !spa¸qomta QdoOsa !lvû aqt` wul´mg k¸ca jyj¼ei· oR d´ tû epishe jºptomter do¼qessi let²vqemom Ad³ ja· ¥lour

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eUqeqom eQsam²cousi, pºmom tû 1w´lem ja· azf¼m· t/r dû 1keeimot²t\ %wez vhim¼housi paqeia¸· ¤r iduse»r 1keeim¹m rpû avq¼si d²jquom eWbem. But Odysseus melted, and from under his eyes the tears ran down, drenching his cheeks. As a woman weeps, lying over the body of her dear husband, who fell fighting for her city and people as he tried to beat off the pitiless day from city and children; she sees him dying and gasping for breath, and winding her body about him she cries high and shrill, while the men behind her, hitting her with their spear butts on the back and the shoulders, force her up and lead her away into slavery, to have hard work and sorrow, and her cheeks are wracked with pitiful weeping. Such were the pitiful tears Odysseus shed from under his brows.

Odysseus reaction in this scene, as suggested by the simile, reflects that of a woman in utter despair; this is also emphasized by the phrase k¸ca jyj¼eim (Od. 8.527), usually applied to female mourning. Thus it is not intended here to portray Odysseus as being unmanly. This passage differs in the following respect from other epic situations in which men weep: Odysseus conceals his tears from the Phaeacians (Od. 8.532: 5mh %kkour l³m p²mtar 1k²mhame d²jqua ke¸bym), because they are not appropriate to the festive situation (Od. 8.83 – 88; cf. van Wees 1998: 13 – 14). There are also other situations in which the protagonists deliberately avoid weeping,19 but they are all of a specific nature, and never is weeping rejected because it was only fitting for women and was unmanly.20 This distinguishes the field of the expression of emotions from other spheres in which there is certainly a connotation of manliness as being non-womanliness. The definition of manliness as non-womanliness is an intercultural phenomenon observed by various disciplines (cf. Fçllinger 2003: 32). Conversely, there is hardly any definition of womanliness as non-manli19 Il. 7.426 – 432: Priam forbids the Trojans to weep when collecting the corpses from the battlefield, so they weep in secret. Od. 19.209 – 212: Odysseus does not weep when he sees his wife breaking into tears, in order not to be recognized. 20 Even Il. 2.289 – 290 cannot be interpreted in this direction. Here, Odysseus compares the lamentation of the Greeks, who want to return home, with that of small children and widows. But in this context, it is not a matter of a definition of manliness through the derogation of womanliness, but the tertium comparationis is, just like in the case of the comparison of Odysseus with a warrior s widow (see above), the helplessness of weeping in a certain situation of a woman s life. And Odysseus certainly shows understanding for the Greeks lamentation which he compares with this weeping (Il. 2.296); cf. van Wees (1998: 14).

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ness. It is in accordance with this phenomenon that in the Homeric epics, too, men define their manliness by dissociating themselves from women – admittedly not by the fact that they do not weep, but by the fact that they point out their military skills, distinguishing themselves from and positively contrasting themselves with women. Thus the Trojan Hector mocks the Greek Diomedes when the latter, on Nestor s advice and induced by a sign from Zeus, turns to flee, saying he was like a woman, and continues: “Down with you, you poor doll.”21 In return Diomedes mocks the Trojan Paris, after the latter hit him with an arrow: “I care no more than if a witless child or a woman had struck me.”22 In the passages in question, the own male identity, through dissociation from womanliness, forms an element with which it is intended that the military opponent should be belittled and thus provoked, namely on the Trojans part against the Greeks and vice versa. This means that what unites the opponents is their coinciding concept of manliness which is wholly concentrated on the field of military know-how and physical strength. But this argument can also be used in one s own ranks. For example, Thersites and Menelaus provoke the Greek soldiers with the address “you women, not men, of Achaea” as a particularly forceful admonition to bravery, in order to demonstrate their softness and thus spur them on.23 Thus, whereas spontaneous, open and bitter weeping, accompanied by other clear signs of grief, is not regarded as unmanly, weeping and lamentation are, as van Wees (1998) has shown, more a matter for women where they are not spontaneous and individual – namely in the ritual lamentation of the dead, especially in the case of the prothesis, the ceremonial laying out of the dead. This is to be seen in the case of the lamentations for Hector and Patroclus (Il. 24.707 – 776).24 However, one must cor21 Il. 8.163 – 165: cumaij¹r %q !mt· t´tuno. / 5qqe, jajµ ck¶mg, 1pe· oqj eUnamtor 1le?o / p¼qcym Blet´qym 1pib¶seai, oqd³ cuma?jar (…). 22 Il. 11.389: oqj !k´cy, ¢r eU le cumµ b²koi C p²zr %vqym. Cf. Il. 20.252 – 255: Aeneas ends the reciprocal invective with Achilles by declaring that it was beneath their dignity to slang each other with words like women instead of fighting energetically. 23 Thersites in Il. 2.235: § p´pomer, j²j 1k´cwe , )waiýder, oqj´t )waio¸. 24 In Il. 18.339 – 342 Achilles orders that Trojan prisoners of war should perform the dirge for Patroclus (cf. Il. 19.301). It is in keeping with this that, as van Wees (1998) has shown, in pictures of ritual mourning until the beginning of the 6th century B.C., the gender gap in this field widened. Because, whereas portrayals of men in ritual mourning disappear or, where they do still occur, are drawn with restraint, the portrayals of a female mourning gesture became wilder and wilder culminating in the mutilation of cheeks, until this kind of portrayal

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rect van Wees opinion to the effect that taking part in a lamentation for the dead is not ruled out for men either; thus, obviously it was not regarded as an insult to one s honour. Hence, in the case of the lamentation for Patroclus, Achilles, together with Thetis, leads the wailing Myrmidons (Il. 23.5 – 17). Moreover, all the Argives also join in the dirge for Achilles (Od. 24.61). What is specific for the use of co÷m, which, as mentioned above, is employed above all for the ritual lamentation of the dead, is the fact that a combatant s announcement to an adversary that his mother would not be able to bewail him implies the brutality and uncompromising nature of his action (Il. 21.123 – 124, 21.352 – 353). The fact that the emotional weeping of men in the two epics represents something singular was already felt in the classical period in Athens in which there was evidently no longer such an unbroken relationship to male tears; a tendency to an opposition of the sexes developed insofar as weeping is now described as being unmanly. This change becomes particularly noteworthy in the literary treatment of Heracles (cf. van Wees 1998: 117). Whereas in the Iliad “he would make lament toward heaven”,25 the Heracles in Euripides (Her. 1354 – 1356) and Sophocles Heracles (Trach. 1071 – 1075) find weeping inappropriate. Plato constructs an opposition of the sexes in the field of weeping, considering it completely incompatible with manliness (Phaed. 117c5 – d1, but above all Rep. 10 605d7 – 10). Indeed, in Rep. 3 388a5 – e1 he even rebukes Achilles mourning and Priam s conduct, and wants to have such works of literature banned from education.26 However, Zoilus of Amphipolis, a contemporary of Aristotle and notorious critic of Homer, formulates the sternest criticism, condemning Achilles feelings as effeminate, then adding even further: “Not even a barbarian nurse would behave in that way.”27 The person of the barbarian nurse thus embodies for him the absolute opposite to the personification of Greek manliness: she is non-Greek, a woman and of low social status.28

25 26

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changed rather abruptly at the beginning of the 6th century B.C., thus after Solon s restrictions on tomb luxury. Il. 8.364: b l³m jka¸esje pq¹r oqqamºm. Plato sets other standards here than Xenophon, for instance, who lets Cyrus shed tears of sympathy (e. g. Cyr. 5.5.10) and lets Agesilaus weep out of grief (Hell. 5.3.20, 7.1.32). In contrast to Plato s verdict, weeping was allowed as a rhetorical instrument before court (Lysias 32.10; Isocrates 19.27, 14.47). Zoilus, FGrHist 71 F11: ovtyr out #m b²qbaqor tithµ 1po¸gsem. On Plato and Aristotle, see Baumgarten (2009, in this volume).

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The many tears29 cause the Homeric epics to be moving, as Plato s reaction makes clear. This applies especially for the famous scene of Hector s farewell in the Iliad. It has an effect that elicits emotion, as there is again and again reference to Andromache s tears. In this connection, the tears appear under various perspectives: Andromache weeps as she anticipates Hector s death (Il. 6.405, 6.484, 6.496). In his valedictory speech, Hector pictures to himself Andromache who will bewail his death and her fate as a slave (Il. 6.455). Then Andromache “smiles” at the farewell even “through tears” (Il. 6.484: dajquºem cek²sasa), when little Astyanax is frightened at the sight of the crest on Hector s helm, which amuses both parents. The topic of grief is taken up in Book 22 when Andromache bewails Hector s death (Il. 22.475 – 514) and points out to him in a fictive address what humiliating fate his orphan son would have to suffer, spending his life in tears (Il. 22.490 – 501). Compared with the abundance of tears in the Homeric epics, the phenomenon of weeping plays a smaller role in early Greek lyric poetry which has admittedly only come down to us in fragments. However, a text by Archilochus (fr. 13 West) from the mid-seventh century B.C. is revealing. This poem, which is addressed to one Pericles, of whom nothing further is known, represents a poem of condolence as the reaction to a loss at sea: j¶dea l³m stomºemta Peq¸jkeer out´ tir !st_m lelvºlemor hak¸gir t´qxetai oqd³ pºkir· to¸our c±q jat± jOla pokuvko¸sboio hak²ssgr 5jkusem, oQdak´our dû !lvû ad¼mgir 5wolem pme¼lomar. !kk± heo· c±q !mgj´stoisi jajo?sim § v¸kû 1p· jqateqµm tkglos¼mgm 5hesam v²qlajom. %kkote %kkor 5wei tºde· mOm l³m 1r Bl´ar 1tq²pehû, aRlatºem dû 6kjor !mast´molem, 1naOtir dû 2t´qour 1pale¸xetai. !kk± t²wista tk/te, cumaije?om p´mhor !pys²lemoi. 29 Not only do people weep in war, but – and that applies for epic and lyric poetry – war, or metaphorically Ares, is described as being lachrymose, thus e. g. in Il. 3.132 and 8.516 (pok¼dajqum -qga). Instances of the word combination pºkelor pok¼dajqur / dajquºeir in Il. 3.165, 5.737, 8.388, 17.512; cf. Il. 11.601, 16.436 (Q_ja dajquºessam), 13.765 (l²wgr dajquo´ssgr), 17.543 – 544 (rsl¸mg / … pok¼dajqur). This expression is also to be found in lyric poetry, e. g. in Tyrtaeus, fr. 11.7; Ibycus, fr. 1a 7 (Poetae Melici Graeci ed. Denys L. Page, Oxford 1962, 144; equivalent to S 151.7 in Poetarum Melicorum Graecorum Fragmenta [vol. 1] ed. Malcolm Davies, Oxford 1991, 242); Anacreon, fr. 37.1; Theognis 1.549 etc.

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Not a man in the town will find fault, Pericles, with our mourning, and enjoy his festival nor in the canton: such fine men the surge of the tempestuous sea has overwhelmed, and swollen are our lungs with piercing pain. But then, my friend, the gods for ills past healing have set endurance as the antidote. This woe is different men s at different times: now it has come our way, and we bemoan our bleeding wound; another day it will pass to others. Come then, everyone endure, spend no more time in womanish lament. (transl. West 1994: 15)

Thus, in Archilochus poem, the lyrical ego does concede that nobody will blame them for their grief, but it appeals to let tkglos¼mg prevail (fr. 13.6 West) and contrasts the tk/mai, the enduring, with a cumaije?om p´mhor, a grief befitting women which should be put away (fr. 13.9 – 10 West). The famous fr. 128 by Archilochus, in which the exercise of moderation, refraining from exaggerated pleasure and too great an expression of grief, is recommended, does not move at a gender-specific level, but in a similar direction in content. In view of such a negative attitude towards the expression of the emotion of grief, the question arises whether the general attitude to the gender-specific expression of grief could change so quickly, as van Wees (1998) assumes in his account of the history of weeping, thus whether it is possible to explain the different attitudes of the Homeric epics and the lyric poet from the perspective of historical development. For depending on what dating one takes for the Homeric epics, only a few years lie between the composition of the Odyssey and Archilochus poetry. In this connection, the question arises: does the respective literary attitude to weeping reflect reality, or is it literary fiction? Here we encounter a problem: the situation with regard to the sources offers little enlightenment for a reply to this question. However, the changed attitude, which is shown in Archilochus poem, may be explained, not from the perspective of historical development, but from a genre-specific point of view. It could well be that the weeping heroes of the Homeric epics were not repugnant to contemporary recipients because their behaviour was part of a fiction of the mythical and heroic past, thus a world different from theirs. The fact that there is also weeping in the Gilgamesh epic could indicate that weeping heroes belong to the genre of epic poetry.30 Such tendencies touched the listeners emotions, as precisely Plato s verdict shows, when he does not want to use such poetry for education. However, despite 30 Cf. West (1997: 231). For the significance of weeping in Vergil s Aeneid see Rieks (1970).

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the different attitudes towards weeping, it can be maintained that Archilochus appeal, encouraging a behaviour aiming at a restraint of the expression of feelings, corresponds to the strategies for overcoming emotions named by Bçhnisch and Winter “control” and “muteness”. If one regards early Greek lyric poetry as the poetic verbalization of individual personality, without linking a development idea to this as Snell (1980) does, then this poem offers an example of how male individuality (whether the ego is an autobiographic ego or not) develops through dissociating itself from womanliness, whereby precisely the expression of grief plays an important role. Regardless of the extent to which the literary genres reflect real behavioural patterns, the different behavioural codings, which are expressed in the Homeric epics and in lyric poetry, determine the discussions of the Classical Age about weeping. Bibliography Arnould, Dominique (1990): Le rire et les larmes dans la litt rature grecque d Hom re Platon, Paris. Baumgarten, Roland (2009): Dangerous tears? Platonic provocations and Aristotelic answers. In: Thorsten Fçgen (ed.), Tears in the Graeco-Roman World, Berlin & New York, 85 – 104. Berkenbusch, Gisela (1985): Zum Heulen. Kulturgeschichte unserer Tr nen, Berlin. Bçhnisch, Lothar & Reinhard Winter (1993): M nnliche Sozialisation. Bew ltigungsprobleme m nnlicher Geschlechtsidentit t im Lebenslauf, Weinheim & M nchen. Fçllinger, Sabine (2003): M nnerbilder in der fr hgriechischen Dichtung. In: Therese Fuhrer & Samuel Zinsli (eds.), Gender Studies in den Altertumswissenschaften. Rollenkonstrukte in antiken Texten, Trier, 24 – 42. Hçllerer, Walter (1958): Zwischen Klassik und Moderne. Lachen und Weinen in der Dichtung einer bergangszeit, Stuttgart. Kenner, Hedwig (1960): Weinen und Lachen in der griechischen Kunst (Abhandlungen der sterreichischen Akademie der Wissenschaften. Philosophischhistorische Klasse 234/2), Wien. Latacz, Joachim (1991): Archaische Periode (Die griechische Literatur in Text und Darstellung 1), Stuttgart. Monsacr , H l ne (1984): Les larmes d Achille. Le h ros, la femme et la souffrance dans la po sie d Hom re, Paris. Most, Glenn W. (1989): Zur Arch ologie der Archaik. In: Antike & Abendland 35, 1 – 23. Rieks, Rudolf (1970): Die Tr nen des Helden. In: Michael von Albrecht (ed.), Silvae. Festschrift f r Ernst Zinn zum 60. Geburtstag, T bingen, 183 – 198.

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Snell, Bruno (51980): Das Erwachen der Persçnlichkeit in der fr hgriechischen Lyrik. In: Id., Die Entdeckung des Geistes. Studien zur Entstehung des europ ischen Denkens bei den Griechen, Gçttingen, 56 – 81. van Wees, Hans (1998): A brief history of tears. Gender differentiation in archaic Greece. In: Lin Foxhall & John Salmon (eds.), When Men Were Men. Masculinity, Power and Identity in Classical Antiquity. London & New York, 10 – 53. West, Martin L. (transl.) (1994): Greek Lyric Poetry. The Poems and Fragments of the Greek Iambic, Elegiac, and Melic Poets (excluding Pindar and Bacchylides) down to 450 BC, Oxford. West, Martin L. (1997): The East Face of Helicon. West Asiatic Elements in Greek Poetry on Myth. Oxford.

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Weeping and Veiling: Grief, Display and Concealment in Ancient Greek Culture* Douglas L. Cairns Abstract: The gesture of veiling accompanies weeping, grief and mourning in Greek art and literature from the earliest periods onwards. The covering of the head, face or eyes typically expresses a sensitivity to the reactions and judgements of other people. This sensitivity, frequently identified in our sources as aQd¾r, indicates the contextual specificity of the impulse to weep openly and serves as an illustration of the fact that emotions may have other emotions as their objects. At the same time, like weeping itself, veiling is a demonstrative gesture which not only conceals but also displays one s emotions. As such, it has the capacity to enhance the power of tears to elicit the sympathy of others. This suggests, in turn, that veiling is not merely a response that supervenes on the experience and expression of grief, but also an expression or symbol of grief in itself, something that is borne out by the use of garment metaphors to describe the emotion s onset. Finally, we must bear in mind that veiling may accompany not only spontaneous outbreaks of grief, but also the ritualized performance of mourning. Its use in mourning ritual thus bears comparison with its occurrence in other rites of passage, including the passage from life to death itself.

We sometimes shade our eyes with our hands when we cry. Occasionally, we might dab away a tear with a handkerchief; and I dare say that we all remember as children wiping away our tears on our sleeves. Similar gestures are recorded in Greek art and literature: hands are raised to the eyes in a gesture that seems all too familiar to us; and the loose and voluminous nature of Greek clothing makes it easy for one to use one s garments to wipe one s eyes.1 Related to these (perhaps) natural and instinctive gestures is that of using one s garments to cover one s head, eyes or * 1

For help with aspects of this paper I am grateful to Judy Barringer, Philippe Borgeaud, Jan Bremmer, Bruno Currie, D borah Natanson, Martin West and audiences in Geneva, Ljubljana and Oxford. For representations in art, see Kenner (1960: 16, 22, 25, 27, 59) and Huber (2001: 97, 108, 119 – 120, 136, 139 – 140, 149, 155 – 156, 185, 208 – 209). For examples in poetry, cf. Homer, Od. 17.304 and Euripides, El. 501 – 502.

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face as one weeps, a gesture that accompanies tears, grief and mourning in literary and artistic sources at all periods of Greek antiquity. In this case, however, we are dealing not with a continuity between Greek culture and our own, but with a discontinuity. And this is not simply a matter of our differing styles of dress: though (as we shall see) there are some similarities of both circumstance and response between the way the Greeks sometimes veil when weeping and certain modern modes of behaviour, the use of the veil in Greek society is a cultural phenomenon whose significant ritual, symbolic and emotional aspects make it distinct from anything in our own modern experience. 1n !qw/r jah nlgqom, 1pe· lelah¶jasi p²mter … The case of Telemachus in Odyssey 4 is typical of the use of a garment to conceal one s tears (Od. 4.113 – 119): ¤r v²to, t` d %qa patq¹r rv Vleqom §qse cºoio· d²jqu d !p¹ bkev²qym wal²dir b²ke patq¹r !jo¼sar, wka?mam poqvuq´gm %mt avhaklo?im !masw½m !lvot´q,sim weqs¸. mºgse d´ lim Lem´kaor, leql¶qine d 5peita jat± vq´ma ja· jat± hulºm, A´ lim aqt¹m patq¹r 1²seie lmgsh/mai, G pq_t 1neq´oito 6jast² te peiq¶saito. He spoke, and stirred in the other the longing to weep for his father, and the tears fell from his eyes to the ground when he heard his father s name, holding with both hands the robe that was stained with purple up before his eyes. And Menelaus perceived it, and now he pondered two ways within, in mind and in spirit whether he would leave it to him to name his father, or whether he should speak first and ask and inquire about everything.2

Menelaus reminiscences of Odysseus arouse sorrow in Telemachus, and as he weeps, he holds his wka?ma up to his face with both hands (Od. 4.113 – 116; cf. 4.153 – 154). The indecisiveness of Menelaus response, indicating his own sensitivity to another s feelings (Od. 4.116 – 119), is a recognition of the vulnerability and sensitivity of his (as yet) undisclosed guest, and this, the vulnerability of a young man overcome by sudden grief in his first encounter with hosts he has never met, must be the reason for Telemachus covering his face. Menelaus indecision is then adroitly resolved by Helen s conjecture that Telemachus is the son of Odysseus (Od. 4.138 – 146). This is confirmed by Peisistratus, who de2

Here and below, I have used (with occasional slight modifications) Richmond Lattimore s translations of the Iliad (Chicago & London 1951) and the Odyssey (New York 1965).

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clares his own affiliation, and then they all weep at the memories of Troy that the recognition triggers (Od. 4.183 ff.). Each weeps for his/her own sorrows, which include Peisistratus grief for his dead brother, Antilochus. At Od. 4.193 – 198 Peisistratus declares: oq c±q 1c¾ ce t´qpol aduqºlemor letadºqpior, !kk± ja· I½r 5ssetai Aqic´meia· meless_la¸ ce l³m oqd³m jka¸eim, fr je h²m,si bqot_m ja· pºtlom 1p¸sp,. toOtº mu ja· c´qar oWom azfuqo?si bqoto?si, je¸qasha¸ te jºlgm bak´eim t !p¹ d²jqu paqei_m. For my part I have no joy in tears after dinnertime. There will always be a new dawn tomorrow. Yet I can have no objection to tears for any mortal who dies and goes to his destiny. And this is the only consolation we wretched mortals can give, to cut our hair and let the tears roll down our faces.

Weeping in a festive context is unpleasant, but there is no nemesis in mourning, which is the honour that those who are left behind do the dead (cf. Il. 23.9: P²tqojkom jka¸ylem· d c±q c´qar 1st· hamºmtym).3 There is clearly a complex dialectic of cultural permission in this situation – showing one s grief in tears may be legitimate, even obligatory, but one may still be sensitive about doing so (and the presence of others, especially in the context of hospitality, clearly makes a difference). We may compare the scene in Odyssey 8 (83 – 95) where Odysseus veils out of aQd¾r to conceal the tears prompted by the first song of Demodocus: taOt %q !oid¹r %eide peqijkutºr· aqt±q idusse»r poqv¼qeom l´ca v÷qor 2k½m weqs· stibaq0si j±j jevak/r eUqusse, j²kuxe d³ jak± pqºsypa· aUdeto c±q Va¸gjar rp avq¼si d²jqua ke¸bym. G toi fte k¶neiem !e¸dym he?or !oidºr, d²jqu aloqn²lemor jevak/r %po v÷qor 6kesje ja· d´par !lvij¼pekkom 2k½m spe¸sasje heo?sim· aqt±q ft #x %qwoito ja· atq¼meiam !e¸deim Vai¶jym oR %qistoi, 1pe· t´qpomt 1p´essim, #x iduse»r jat± jq÷ta jakux²lemor co²asjem. 5mh %kkour l³m p²mtar 1k²mhame d²jqua ke¸bym, )kj¸moor d´ lim oWor 1pevq²sat Ad 1mºgsem Flemor %cw aqtoO, baq» d³ stem²womtor %jousem.

3

On c]qar ham|mtym cf. also Il. 16.456, 16.675, Od. 24.190, 24.292 – 296, with Garland (1984 – 86).

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These things the famous singer sang for them, but Odysseus, taking in his ponderous hands the great mantle dyed in sea-purple, drew it over his head and veiled his fine features, shamed for tears running down his face before the Phaeacians; and every time the divine singer would pause in his singing, he would take the mantle away from his head, and wipe the tears off, and taking up a two-handled goblet would pour a libation to the gods, but every time he began again, and the greatest of the Phaeacians would urge him to sing, since they joyed in his stories, Odysseus would cover his head again, and make lamentation. There, shedding tears, he went unnoticed by all the others, but Alcinous alone understood what he did and noticed, since he was sitting next him and heard him groaning heavily.

Odysseus weeps again at Od. 8.521 – 534, and again his weeping goes unnoticed by almost all present. There is no reference to veiling on this occasion, though it is probably implied, both on the basis of the similarity with the earlier episode and because it is explicitly noted that, as before, Alcinous does not see Odysseus tears, but only hears his sobs (Od. 8.533 – 534 = 8.94 – 95). At this point, Alcinous curtails the entertainment, concerned that it is not proving pleasant for all (Od. 8.538); it is no doubt the same concern that all should share the pleasure of the festive occasion that prompts Odysseus embarrassment at his own opposite response.4 Thetis veiling at Il. 24.83 – 96 is similar: exqe d 1m· sp/z ckavuq` H´tim, !lv· d %q %kkai eVah blgceq´er ûkiai hea¸· D d 1m· l´ss,r jka?e lºqom ox paid¹r !l¼lomor, fr oR 5lekke vh¸sesh 1m Tqo¸, 1qib¾kaji tgkºhi p²tqgr. !cwoO d Rstal´mg pqos´vg pºdar ¡j´a _qir· eqso H´ti· jak´ei Fe»r %vhita l¶dea eQd¾r. tµm d Ale¸bet 5peita he± H´tir !qcuqºpefa· t¸pt´ le je?mor %myce l´car heºr ; aQd´olai d³ l¸scesh !ham²toisim, 5wy d %we %jqita hul`. eWli l´m, oqd ûkiom 5por 5ssetai ftt¸ jem eUp,. ¬r %qa vym¶sasa j²kull 6ke d?a he²ym ju²meom, toO d ou ti lek²mteqom 5pketo 5shor. b/ d Q´mai, pqºshem d³ pod¶melor ¡j´a _qir Bce?t · !lv· d %qa svi ki²feto jOla hak²ssgr. She found Thetis inside the hollow of her cave, and gathered about her sat the rest of the sea goddesses, and she in their midst 4

On the norm that a feast or symposium should be pleasant for all present, see Slater (1990: 217 – 219). On Odysseus embarrassment at disrupting the festive atmosphere, see Cairns (1993: 111) and van Wees (1998: 13 – 14).

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was mourning the death of her blameless son, who so soon was destined to die in Troy of the rich soil, far from the land of his fathers. Iris the swift-foot came close beside her and spoke to her: Rise, Thetis. Zeus whose purposes are infinite calls you. In turn Thetis the goddess, the silver-footed, answered her: What does he, the great god, want with me? I feel shamefast to mingle with the immortals, and my heart is confused with sorrows. But I will go. No word shall be in vain, if he says it. So she spoke, and shining among the divinities took up her black veil, and there is no darker garment. She went on her way, and in front of her rapid wind-footed Iris guided her, and the wave of the water opened about them.

Iris finds Thetis secluded in the depths of the sea and surrounded by a crowd of Nereids, in mourning for the imminent and inevitable death of Achilles, and summons her to Olympus. She is reluctant to comply, on the grounds both of aQd¾r and of sorrow, but nonetheless does so, covering her head with a veil that is the blackest of all garments. The use of the veil is occasioned by her sorrow, but she had already been expressing that sorrow unveiled in the company of her fellow-mourners. The difference is the aQd¾r she feels at having publicly to confront, in her current emotional state, a group of peers and superiors who do not precisely share her feelings.5 The veil expresses her sensitivity to that discrepancy and her sense of separation from that group.6 These Homeric examples illustrate a number of important points. First, weeping in the Homeric poems is, as it is for later Greeks and as it is for us, governed by display rules that are context-specific. It is not that Homeric characters are fundamentally uninhibited and spontaneous in their display of emotion, except in a few well-defined situations. Selfcontrol is both prized and practised in the poems,7 both in the display

5 6

7

So SbT on 94a; cf. Cairns (2001: 21 – 22). It is clear from the context that Thetis explicit motive is grief, not anger, pace Slatkin 1986 (expanded as Slatkin 1991). Helen s veiling at Il. 3.139 – 144 is similar to the extent that she, too, is in tears (Il. 3.142) and about to appear among others who do not share her feelings; but her sensitivity is no doubt exacerbated by thoughts of her abandonment of Menelaus (cf. Il. 3.173 – 180); and of course women regularly veil before appearing in public in Homer (e. g. Od. 1.333 – 334, 16.415 – 416, 18.209 – 210, 21.64 – 65). Priam s veiling at Il. 24.159 – 165 (discussed below) must, even though he is surrounded by fellow mourners, indicate the sense of alienation from that group that is manifest (e. g.) in the anger and frustration expressed at Il. 24.237 – 264. With specific reference to control of the impulse to weep, see Od. 19.209 – 212, which (like e. g. Od. 20.9 – 21) illustrates Odysseus ability to check his emotions

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of other emotions and in that of grief or sorrow. In the case of tears, as we have seen, display may be culturally approved, even demanded, but concealment and restraint may equally be felt appropriate; both are regulated by social norms and expectations.8 Equally, though the funerary legislation of later, historical Greek communities reflects and enacts display rules that are different from those operative in Homer, such legislation is nonetheless designed to effect the social control not (or not only) of spontaneous, natural emotion, but of deliberate and organized performances of public lamentation whose function is not only the ventilation of the emotions of the mourners, but also the communication of their grief, together with other social messages, to a wider audience.9 The basic point here, that the expression of grief in weeping is subject to competing norms and display rules, is succinctly conveyed by Euripides Iphigenia at Aulis 451 – 453: 1c½ c±q 1jbake?m l³m aQdoOlai d²jqu, t¹ lµ dajqOsai d awhir aQdoOlai t²kar, 1r t±r lec¸star sulvoq±r !vicl´mor. For I feel ashamed to shed a tear, and yet I feel ashamed not to weep, wretch that I am, when I have come to the greatest of miseries.

By this stage the display rules, especially their differential application to men and to women, have changed, and Agamemnon may be portrayed as a pompous or unsympathetic figure, but the view that he enunciates, that standards of honour and appropriateness, determined by popular opinion and supported by the aQd¾r of the individual, sanction both the display and the restraint of grief, is surely correct. As I have already suggested, the display rules of Homeric society are not precisely those either of later, historical Greek societies or of our own modern, western societies. As Sabine Fçllinger (2009, in this volume) makes clear, male warriors in Homer weep openly and without stigma, and when (as in the case of Odysseus) they are ashamed or embarrassed at their tears, it is less that they are ashamed or embarrassed at weeping as such than at weeping in a context where such display of sorrow is inappropriate. But as the study by Vingerhoets, Bylsma and Rottenberg

8 9

in the interests of his long-term plans. On emotional self-control in general in Homer, see Lateiner (1995: 22 and passim). See Engels (1998: 25) and Huber (2001: 27). See Alexiou (1974: 4, 11 – 22); on funerary legislation in general, see Engels (1998).

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(2009, in this volume) shows, this is a difference not of kind but of degree between Homeric norms and our own (or, one might add, those of classical Greece). For, though modern, western males may be more inhibited in displaying their tears than Homeric heroes, and though the contexts in which tears are considered appropriate may be more limited for us than they are for the likes of Achilles, nonetheless the reactions of others who are present and the size and nature of any audience are crucial influences upon our readiness to weep openly. The decisive factor in Homeric contexts appears to be less the size of the potential audience than its membership, mood and demeanour – it is the discrepancy between the sorrow of the individual and the prevalent emotions of the company that matters. But this is just an aspect of the context-specificity that our norms share with those of the Homeric poems. Concern for others reactions conditions whether or not we weep, and these reactions vary from individual to individual, from one period to another, and between different societies. Veiling expresses weeping s sensitivity to context; display rules change, but display rules always exist – and in the Greek context, both in Homer and later, veiling responds to these. To a substantial extent, the norms that regulate the shedding of tears both in classical Greek society and our own are structured by ideals of masculinity and femininity. The ways in which weeping became stigmatized in post-Homeric literature as essentially unmanly have been well studied by others, including Fçllinger (2009, in this volume).10 But this is not to say that the display rules operative in the Homeric poems are wholly ungendered. Heroes do weep readily in Homer, but there are occasions on which those who do are compared to women (Il. 2.289 – 290, 16.7 – 11, Od. 8.523 – 530). Not all of these are derogatory: when (in the last of these passages) Odysseus weeps, unnoticed and so probably veiled, at the story of the Trojan Horse, he is famously compared to a grieving widow, mourning her dead husband as she is led into slavery. The comparison does not convey any implication on the part of the narrator that Odysseus is behaving in a reprehensibly feminine manner. Its primary purpose is to invoke what is clearly a paradigm of the pathos of war – as Hector s words to Andromache (Il. 6.447 – 465) and the female mourning that marks his own death (Il. 22.405 – 515, 24.704 – 775) make clear –

10 See also Monsacr (1984a, 1984b), Waern (1985), Arnould (1990), Holst-Warhaft (1992: 107 – 108) and van Wees (1998).

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as a means of underscoring the pathos of Odysseus condition.11 An additional element of meaning, however, is supplied by the association that the audience will inevitably make between Demodocus tale of the fall of Troy and the simile of the grieving widow; the simile also has poetic, aesthetic and moral aspects, reminding us not only of Odysseus achievement as sacker of cities but also of its cost in the suffering of the defeated and their dependants.12 Odysseus does not weep for the woman in the simile; but the fact that his weeping is like that of the woman in the simile reminds us that a significant aspect of the presentation of the suffering of war in the Iliad is the sympathy that is elicited for the fate of the Trojans; this is a sympathy that is guided to no small extent by the imaginative identification of Achilles with the sufferings of Priam in Book 24 – an identification which is prefigured, significantly, in the simile of Il. 23.222 – 225, where Achilles mourning for Patroclus is compared to that of a grieving father. As in the Odyssean simile, that of Iliad 23 enlarges the depiction of an individual mourning his own sorrows by reminding us, paradigmatically, of the sorrows of others, but also of the sorrows caused by the individual himself. In thus reflecting the ethics and aesthetics of Homeric pathos, the simile requires for its effect a sense that weeping is a typically feminine response. So too is veiling, and if Odysseus is not (as I suspect he is) veiled in this passage, he is certainly so in the earlier passage in the same book which this one strongly recalls; the implication that a veiled and weeping man is like a woman is impossible to overlook. If the intention behind this is not in any way derogatory (as I am sure it is not), then we must look for the meaning of these passages in a sense that typically feminine behaviour may be, in appropriate circumstances, an important element in the male emotional repertoire. There are, however, also cases in which the comparison of a weeping male to a female does have a derogatory colouring: at Il. 2.289 – 290 the comparison of the Achaeans to weeping children or widows (¦r te c±q C pa?der meaqo· w/qa¸ te cuma?jer / !kk¶koisim ad¼qomtai oWjom d³ m´eshai), though representing an attitude towards the hardships at Troy and the prolonged absence from home that Odysseus claims, rhetorically, to understand (Il. 2.291, 2.296 – 297), nonetheless supports an argument 11 For the paradigmatic use of female suffering, cf. Il. 11.267 – 272, where Agamemnon s pain is compared to that of a woman in labour, not to undermine his warcraft, but merely to emphasize the intensity of his pain. 12 Cf. Foley (1978: 20), Macleod (1982: 4 – 5; 2001: 305), Rutherford (1986: 155 – 156) and de Jong (2001: 217).

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intended to present the warriors desire to return home as reprehensible (Il. 2.285: 1k´cwistom, 2.298: aQswqºm). Equally, Achilles sympathy towards Patroclus (Il. 16.5) does not negate the mocking tone with which he compares his weeping companion to a little girl (jo¼qg mgp¸g) tugging at her mother s skirts (cf. Janko 1992, ad loc.: “he mocks his tears with a friendly rebuke”). In these two examples (unlike that in Odyssey 8), the comparison is used in character-speech to deprecate another s behaviour; as in Il. 20.251 – 255 (where Aeneas dismisses the idea of bandying words like two women in the street) the comparison of warriors to women in itself constitutes an argument against the behaviour in question.13 Homeric comparisons between weeping males and women suggest that while it may not always be reprehensibly unmanly for a man to weep, to do so is nonetheless to engage in an emotional expression which is readily and typically associated with women; this can pass without negative comment, but may also be grist to the mill of those who wish to deprecate the response in question. The force of the comparison depends on the speaker s intention in context. The intention of Odysseus in Iliad 2 is clearly to arouse the aQd¾r of his addressees at what he represents as their womanish behaviour; though aQd¾r at such a charge plays no explicit part in the veiling of any male character in the Homeric poems, it clearly could have done, and we may after all speculate whether, in the end, such considerations play a role in the aQd¾r that motivates Odysseus veiling at Od. 8.86. The sensitivity to context that veiling expresses is at the same time a personal sensitivity; it is as a vulnerable and self-conscious individual that one veils to conceal one s tears. The focus on others reactions that tearful veiling expresses is also a focus on the self, just as the emotion of aQd¾r with which such veiling is often associated entails a sensitivity to selfimage as well as, in various ways, to one s image in others eyes and to others own claims and expectations (see Cairns 1993). In Goffman s terms (Goffman 1967), veiling in grief or sorrow indicates, as does the same gesture in other contexts, a drastic shift in demeanour and a recalibration of one s claims to deference in a situation in which the self (Goff13 Thus Fçllinger (2009: 30 – 31, in this volume) is wrong to distinguish the sphere of emotional expression in Homer from other areas in which masculinity is thoroughly differentiated from femininity; just as comparison with women may be derogatory in a martial context (Il. 8.163 – 164, 11.389, 20.251 – 255), so it may be with reference to the shedding of tears (and note that the cowardice that makes the Achaeans )waiýder oqj´t )waio¸ according to Thersites at 2.235 is political , not martial).

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man s sacred self , i. e. the social identity brought to bear and constructed in the ritual of social interaction) is vulnerable. In a public situation in which one finds it uncomfortable to share one s sorrow, veiling restores a degree of privacy. In such cases, veiling is (of course) an expression of the emotion of grief, but also an expression of emotion about that emotion. Some of the passages we have considered make it explicit that this supervenient emotion is aQd¾r. For reasons that we shall now explore, however, it would be too simple to argue that in such cases veiling expresses only aQd¾r and not grief as such. As well as being a form of self-segregation and self-protection, veiling is also, like weeping itself, a demonstrative action. There is some support for the view that adult tears may be a retained response that re-enacts infantile helplessness and thus elicits the sympathy of others (again, see Vingerhoets, Bylsma & Rottenberg 2009: 443, in this volume). Since veiling emphasizes the vulnerability and sensitivity of the weeping individual it may serve to advertise and underscore his/her plight. Telemachus covering of his face emphasizes the vulnerability that creates a dilemma in Menelaus (Od. 4.113 – 119, above) – the use of the veil increases the sympathy which his tears elicit. In this respect, the use of the veil in advertising the vulnerability of the self and in eliciting a possibly sympathetic response in others resembles its function in the expression of anger, where veiling can emphasize that the victim s self-image has been affronted and thus elicit sympathy or reparation (see Cairns 2001: 26 – 27). The demonstrative aspect of veiling as a gesture of grief and suffering is shown by its frequent deployment in tragedy. In Euripides, both Iolaus (Hcld. 602 – 604) and Polyxena (Hec. 432 – 434) request that their heads be covered as an expression of extreme grief: the veiled Iolaus then sits in silent suffering throughout the subsequent choral ode (Hcld. 608 – 629), while Polyxena is led off, veiled, to her death; that her mother, Hecuba, spends the ensuing stasimon lying on the ground, closely wrapped in her garments, is confirmed by the retrospective stage direction at Hec. 486 – 487 (Ch.: avtg p´kar soO m_t 5wous 1p· whom¸, / Takh¼bie, je?tai sucjejk,l´mg p´pkoir ; cf. Troad. 463). Silent veiling is repeatedly used as a highly expressive visual technique in such tableaux, especially in Euripides.14 Hecuba lies weeping and no doubt covered up (see 14 Cf. the celebrated opening scenes of Aeschylean plays such as Niobe and Myrmidons (or perhaps Phrygians): see Aristophanes, Frogs 911 – 913, with Taplin (1972) and Dover (1993: 307). Here, however, unlike in the Euripidean examples, the silent and veiled character is the only one present on stage.

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Troad. 36 – 38) for the whole of the dialogue between Athena and Poseidon that constitutes the prologue of Troades. Similarly, in the prologue of Supplices the Argive leader Adrastus lies veiled, weeping (Suppl. 20 – 21) and speechless until addressed by Theseus at Suppl. 110 – 111 (s³ t¹m jat¶qg wkamid¸oir !mistoq_. / k´c 1jjak¼xar jq÷ta ja· p²qer cºom). References to such veiling in the tragic text thus regularly function as embedded stage directions.15 In one typical scenario, a character veils to conceal his or her tears, a significant action which will have been immediately apparent to the theatrical audience; but the stage direction is embedded in the text by means of another character s questions which comment on the gesture and draw attention to the tears which it is intended to represent.16 Veiling is thus useful as an emotional marker in a masked performance in which the shedding of actual tears by the actor is impossible. This is not merely a dramaturgical point: the fact that the use of costume, supplemented by visual and verbal deixis on the part of other characters, can draw attention to (in fact) non-existent tears underlines the point that as an expression of grief veiling can be demonstrative as well as concealing – and even where it conceals, the gesture also emphasizes and displays. That veiling in grief is not just a stylized theatrical gesture is apparent from Iphigenia at Aulis 1547 – 1550: ¢r d 1se?dem )cal´lmym %man 1p· svac±r ste¸wousam eQr %ksor jºqgm, !mest´mane, j%lpakim stq´xar j²qa d²jque, pqºshem all²tym p´pkom pqohe¸r. But when King Agamemnon saw the girl entering the grove for sacrifice, he groaned, and turning his head away drew his robe before his eyes and wept.

This is a messenger speech, a narrative report of offstage action in which no reference to veiling is required to convey the information that Agamemnon wept.17 The gesture of veiling, then, is a characteristic and pow15 Cf. Schauer (2002: 136 – 137 n. 239, 298 – 299); see also Schauer (2002: 137 – 158) in general on the interaction of visual and verbal in the presentation of suffering in tragedy. 16 See Euripides, Her. 1111 – 1112: p²teq, t¸ jka¸eir ja· sumalp¸sw, jºqar, / toO vikt²tou soi tgkºhem paid¹r beb¾r ; Ion 967: t¸ jq÷ta jq¼xar, § c´qom, dajquqqoe?r ; Or. 280: s¼ccome, t¸ jka¸eir jq÷ta he?s 5sy p´pkym (cf. 294 – 295: ja· mOm !maj²kupt , § jasicm¶tg, j²qa, / 1j dajq¼ym t %pekhe); Iph. Aul. 1122 – 1123: t´jmom, t¸ jka¸eir, oqd 5h Bd´yr bqør, / 1r c/m d 1qe¸sas ella pqºsh 5weir p´pkour ; 17 This scene becomes celebrated in art, following its depiction by the fourth-century painter Timanthes (Cicero, Orat. 74; Pliny, Nat. hist. 35.73; Quintilian, Inst.

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erful marker of grief, one that will have been familiar to Greek audiences not only from epic, tragedy and the visual arts, but from their own experience. If further evidence of this were required, it could be provided from Plato s account of the death of Socrates at Phaedo 117c – e. As Socrates, in complete equanimity, drinks the hemlock, Phaedo gives way to involuntary but irresistible tears of grief and self-pity, tears that he then conceals by veiling (!kk 1loO ce b¸ô ja· aqtoO !stajt· 1w¾qei t± d²jqua, ¦ste 1cjakux²lemor !p´jkaom 1lautºm). But soon the whole company bursts into tears, only to be put to shame by the criticism of Socrates (Ble?r !jo¼samter Ñsw¼mhglem), with an implicit comparison to the women who have already been sent away (oqw Fjista to¼tou 6meja t±r cuma?jar !p´pelxa). Once again, though the display rules that govern this passage are not precisely the same as those that we have seen in Homer, still the situations are similar: it is the disjunction in demeanour between Socrates and his companions and the former s critical attitude to such displays of emotion that provide the motive for concealment. Phaedo s sensitivity to the display rules in this case, and especially to their endorsement by his revered master, no doubt excites his sense of aQd¾r, but his veiling is equally a typical and powerful demonstration of his overwhelming emotion of grief. Not only is grief an emotion whose expression is regulated by standards of honour and appropriateness, it also, like aQd¾r, involves a self-conscious focus on one s vulnerability as an individual for whom action before the eyes of others has become problematic. The common focus of both emotions, aQd¾r and grief, on the vulnerability of one s social identity makes the veil a natural protective mechanism in both cases; it is thus also natural that grief and aQd¾r should fuse and cooccur; and though the element of concealment may sometimes be more prominent than that of display, it is clear from the tragic passages in particular that the enveloping veil or mantle has become a visual symbol for grief as such.

orat. 2.13.13; Valerius Maximus 8.11 ext. 6); cf. the mural from the House of the Tragic Poet, Pompeii, Naples Mus. Naz. 9112, LIMC i, Agamemnon 41 (also the mosaic from Ampurias, LIMC i, Agamemnon 42, and the Altar of Cleomenes, Florence, Uffizi, 612 with Weitzmann 1949: 182 – 184 and pl. 27). The origin of the motif in Euripides, however, and the currency of veiling as an expression of grief in both literature and life gives the lie to the view of Pliny that Timanthes depiction of a veiled Agamemnon is an expedient that reflects the impossibility of doing justice to the depth of a father s grief; see further below.

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Veiling is perhaps, at least in the literary sources, more normally a spontaneous than a ritualized expression of grief, and is certainly not a ubiquitous element of funerary ritual, but its use in the context of ritual mourning is nevertheless well attested. Much of the evidence here comes from the visual arts, and just as veiling may be particularly useful in masked drama as a means of making visual the tears that cannot be visually represented, so in art the use of various gestures involving the covering of the head, the face or the eyes may substitute for the depiction of actual tears (Kenner 1960: 36).18 But the gesture would not be artistically useful if it were not rooted in practice, and though rarer in the literary sources, it is found, e. g. on the part of Priam at Il. 24.159 – 165: ¬r 5vat , §qto d³ _qir !ekkºpor !ccek´ousa. Xnem d 1r Pq¸aloio, j¸wem d 1mop¶m te cºom te. pa?der l³m pat´q !lv· jah¶lemoi 5mdohem aqk/r d²jqusim eVlat 5vuqom, d d 1m l´ssoisi ceqai¹r 1mtup±r 1m wka¸m, jejakull´mor· !lv· d³ pokkµ jºpqor 5gm jevak0 te ja· aqw´mi to?o c´qomtor t¶m Na jukimdºlemor jatal¶sato weqs·m 20si. He spoke, and storm-footed Iris swept away with the message and came to the house of Priam. There she found outcry and mourning. The sons sitting around their father inside the courtyard 18 The depiction of veiled mourners in art may begin in the late Geometric period, if Llewellyn-Jones (2003: 44 – 45 with figs. 16 – 17) is right; the early Proto-Attic depictions (Reading Univ. 54.8.1 and Mainz Univ. 156 krater D = LlewellynJones 2003: 50 – 51 and figs. 25 – 26) at least appear certain. The gesture then becomes common from the Archaic period on, more so in the case of women than in that of men; see Kenner (1960: 14, 17, 30, 35 – 36, 47, 49, 51 – 52, 58) and Huber (2001: 120, 121, 123 – 125, 135, 144, 146, 149, 155 – 158, 178, 180 – 183, 194, 200, 206 – 209, with ill. pp. 254, 258 – 264, 267 – 269). For the veiling of male mourners, see e. g. Priam on a Melian relief, Toronto 926.32 (Huber 2001: 147 and 260 no. 226); mourning father, white-ground lekythos, New York 07.286.50 (ARV 2 846. 190; Huber 2001: 138; cf. Oakley 2004: 77 and pl. 2); Achilles over Patroclus on various red-figure vases (Kenner 1960: 26; Huber 2001: 132). NB in none of these cases does the veiling of the male figure constitute an initial stage in the rite of mourning, pace Llewellyn-Jones (2003: 303 – 305), who wants a neat analogy between the veiling of the unveiled male and the unveiling of the veiled female (Il. 22.406 – 407, 22.468 – 472; H. Dem. 40 – 41; Euripides, Phoen. 1485 – 1491) as an initial response to bereavement. On the veiling of male mourners, cf. in general, with further examples, Kenner (1960: 26 – 27, 38) and Huber (2001: 130 – 132, 145, 149, 183; see also her illustrations nos. 162, 165 – 168, 185 – 186, 205, 346). For the persistence and continuity of the relevant gestures from archaic Greece to the Roman period, see Kenner (1960: 56) and Huber (2001: 211).

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made their clothes sodden with their tears, and among them the old man sat veiled, beaten into his mantle. Dung lay thick on the head and neck of the aged man, for he had been rolling in it, he had gathered and smeared it on with his hands.

As a gesture of mourning, veiling is clearly a ritualized form of the spontaneous self-concealment that accompanies the occurrent emotion of grief.19 Though mourning itself is regarded as an obligation, veiling is not an obligatory part of the ritual performance; it is frequently represented as a gesture of one or more, but not all, of a group of mourners, and its variable occurrence in such scenes no doubt reflects the fact that in actual mourning practice whether or not to veil was a matter of the preference and sensitivity of the individuals concerned. At the same time, however, the deployment of veiling in such ritualized contexts does highlight the ritual and symbolic aspects of the gesture. The corpse or the bones for burial are also covered,20 and so the veiling of the mourner is part of that identification between mourner and deceased which is also apparent in the mourner s hair-cutting, self-mutilation and ritual defilement. Priam s veiling in Iliad 24, for example, is accompanied by self19 The veiling of the chorus of Aeschylus, Choeph. 81 – 83 is probably part of the death ritual prescribed by Clytemnestra, though the tears that their garments conceal are for the woes of Agamemnon s oikos. 20 For the covering of the corpse, see e. g. Il. 18.352 – 353, 24.587 – 588, with Andronikos (1968: 7 – 9). For the covering of the bones for burial, see Il. 23.254, 24.795 – 796; for this as a historical practice, see Kurtz & Boardman (1971: 186). On the shroud (5mdula) and additional coverings (1pibk¶lata), see Kurtz & Boardman (1971: 144, 200 – 201, refs. p. 363) and Garland (1985: 24 – 25, 32, 36, refs. p. 139). In classical art, often the entire body of the corpse except the head is covered (Kurtz & Boardman 1971: 145; Garland 1985: 32); cf. the fifth-century law of Iulis (Sokolowski 1969: 97 A. 6 – 8 regarding the ekphora). Prohibitions on the open display of the corpse in the street (Plato, Nom. 960a, the law of the Labyads at Delphi; see Sokolowski 1969: 77 C. 13 – 19) need not imply that at that stage of the ekphora even the head is covered, as the Iulis law (Sokolowski 1969: 97 A. 10 – 11) has such a prohibition, and it requires that the head be uncovered during the ekphora. But complete covering of the corpse is regular in Geometric representations of the prothesis (Ahlberg 1971: 62 – 63, 214) and found also in the ekphora (Ahlberg 1971: 224); for total concealment of the body in the ekphora, cf. the well-known terracotta representation from Vari in Attica (Kurtz & Boardman 1971: pl. 16). Tragedy often requires total concealment of the corpse (Sophocles, Ajax 915 – 919, 1003 – 1004, El. 1468 – 1475; Euripides, Hipp. 1457 – 1458, El. 1227 – 1232; cf. Christus Patiens 1470, which may derive from the mutilated conclusion to Euripides Bacchae); but this may be to some extent a matter of dramaturgy (cf. Menander, Aspis 345 – 346, with an allusion to tragic stagecraft at 329 – 330).

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defilement,21 and the identification of mourner and deceased is underlined when his journey to ransom Hector s body is then compared to a journey to death at Il. 24.328 (and possibly also when Hermes becomes his escort). Thus the veiling of the mourner is part of the general homology between dying and mourning as complementary rites of passage. It is therefore instructive to compare the case of Achilles at Il. 18.22 – 27: ¬r v²to, t¹m d %weor mev´kg 1j²kuxe l´kaima· !lvot´q,si d³ weqs·m 2k½m jºmim aQhakºessam we¼ato j±j jevak/r, waq¸em d Õswume pqºsypom· mejtaq´\ d³ wit_mi l´kaim !lv¸fame t´vqg. aqt¹r d 1m jom¸,si l´car lecakyst· tamushe·r je?to, v¸k,si d³ weqs· jºlgm Õswume daýfym. He spoke, and the black cloud of sorrow closed on Achilles. In both hands he caught up the grimy dust, and poured it over his head and face, and fouled his handsome countenance, and the black ashes were scattered over his immortal tunic. And he himself, mightily in his might, in the dust lay at length, and took and tore at his hair with his hands, and defiled it.

Achilles here performs a number of characteristic mourning gestures: he pours dust over his head, disfigures his face, lies in the dust and tears his hair. He is veiled (Il. 18.22: 1j²kuxe) not by a garment but by the dark cloud of grief . The connexion between veils and clouds is well known, apparent in the etymology of the Latin nubere, but also reflected in Greek poetic imagery.22 It is thus important that in this and other passages grief itself is said to be the cloud.23 When an actual veil is used in spontaneous grief or in ritual mourning, the analogy with the dark cloud that constitutes the onset of the emotion suggests that veiling may not merely conceal or display grief, but actually represent it symbolically and metaphorically. The grief itself is the cloud or the concealing garment of which the literal garment is the external visual symbol; or, to put it another way, the notion of being covered by a cloud is itself presented in terms of being covered by a garment, and both constitute conceptual metaphors in 21 Thus illustrating the combination of Huber s drastic and restrained gestures not only in a single scene (Huber 2001: 150), but even within a single act of mourning by a single individual. 22 See e. g. Euripides, Or. 459 – 469: Orestes feels aQd¾r at the approach of Tyndareus (460 – 461) and so casts around for some darkness (467: sjºtor), some cloud (468: m´vor), which will conceal him from the old man s gaze; cf. Onians (21951: 421). 23 See Il. 17.591 – 592; Od. 24.315 – 319; cf. Il. 20.421 (!wk¼r). See also Onians (21951: 420 – 430).

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early Greek thought for the emotion of grief.24 This must say something about the use of actual garments in the expression and conceptualization of the emotion. It is worth noting that in this respect, too, there is the characteristic homology between death and mourning as rites of passage: for the shroud of grief which envelops the mourner is complemented by the cloud or the darkness that covers the dying or the deceased.25 The metaphorical image of grief as a cloud that envelops like a garment helps to bear out the point that veiling need not be a second-order response to grief, but may be a first-order manifestation of it. For a further illustration of the identification of deceased and mourner and a further example of the symbolic function of the veil, we can turn to the closing scene of Plato s Phaedo. We have already noted the veiling of the grieving narrator, at 117c. There the veiling is explicitly at the more emotional end of the scale: Phaedo veils in shame that he can no longer restrain his tears despite the great master s disapproval of such expressions of emotion. But in the same immediate context, after the hemlock has begun to take effect, Socrates has clearly also veiled himself, as he has to be unveiled in order to deliver his famous last words (his request to Crito regarding the cock for Asclepius at Phaed. 118a6 – 7: ja· 1jjakux²lemor – 1mejej²kupto c\q – eWpem – d dµ tekeuta?om 1vh´cnato …). It is not explicitly said that he covers his head once more, but he clearly does, for once he is dead his face is once again uncovered and Crito closes his eyes and mouth (Phaed. 118a11 – 14: … ak¸com wqºmom diakip½m 1jim¶hg te ja· b %mhqypor 1nej²kuxem aqtºm, ja· dr t± ellata 5stgsem· Qd½m d³ b Jq¸tym sum´kabe t¹ stºla ja· to»r avhaklo¼r).26 There is no 24 On the veil/mantle not merely as an expression but as a symbol of emotion (in this case aQd¾r), cf. Cairns (1996) and Ferrari (1990: 194; 1997: 6; 2002: 54 – 56, 72 – 81). On conceptual metaphors, i. e. those that are integral in thought as well as in language to the structure of a concept, see Lakoff & Johnson (1980). 25 Black cloud covers deceased: Il. 23.184 – 192; cf. the black cloud which envelops the dying at Il. 16.350, 20.417 – 418, Od. 4.180. A mist (!wk¼r) covers the eyes of the dying at Il. 5.696, 16.344 and Od. 22.88. Death itself is a garment which envelops the dying at Il. 5.68, 5.553, 12.116, 16.502, 16.855, 22.361; Hesiod, Erga 166; cf. Sophocles, Oed. Col. 1701 (§ t¹m !e· jat± c÷r sjºtom eRl´mor). Black night covers (jak¼pteim) the eyes of the dying at Il. 5.310, 5.659, 11.356, 13.425, 14.438 – 439, 22.466; cf. sjºtor esse j²kuxem in Il. 4.461, 4.503, 4.526, 6.11, 13.575, 14.519, 15.578, 16.316, 16.325, 20.393, 20.471, 21.181; sjºtor eXke(m) in Il. 5.47, 13.672, 16.607; cf. Euripides, Hipp. 250 – 251 (jq¼pty7 t¹ d 1l¹m pºte dµ h²mator s_la jak¼xei.). 26 For parallels for the veiling of those about to die, see Hippolytus at Euripides, Hipp. 1457 – 1458; Anaxagoras at Plutarch, Per. 16.8; Cicero at Plutarch,

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question of grief or tears on Socrates part: his veiling is a pure marker of his transition from one status to another. But the parallel between this action on the part of the deceased or dying and the veiling of those who mourn their passing suggests that in the latter case, as well as its emotional significance, veiling carries similar meanings regarding the transition undergone by mourners. In such cases as these veiling dramatizes and accentuates the passage from one state and one status to another. Its use in mourning ritual thus bears close comparison with that in other rites of passage such as weddings and mystery initiations, where the use of the gesture is on one level symbolic of the transition itself,27 but on another retains much of its everyday emotional significance. In wedding ritual, for example, the bride s veiling is a ritualized enactment of her separation from her old status prior to the assumption of her new one, but also conveys messages about her adherence to cultural standards of modesty and decorum and about her subjective emotional reaction to her experience, messages that must be understood in terms of honour, aQd¾r and syvqos¼mg.28 Similarly in various forms of mystic initiation veiling (or hooding, or blindfolding) symbolizes the passage from darkness and ignorance to light and knowledge and marks the initiand s passage to the liminal stage between one status and another.29 Yet veiling in mystic initiation is not merely a marker of separation, but also contributes to the disorientation

Cic. 47.9 – 10; and Caesar at Plutarch, Caes. 66.12. The veiling of Odysseus companions (indicated by their unveiling at Od. 10.179) is perhaps an expression of their resignation to what appears to be an imminent death (cf. 10.142 – 143, 174 – 175), but just possibly may represent grief for the companions who have already died (cf. 10.134). On the veiling of those about to die, cf. Llewellyn-Jones (2003: 303). 27 Veiling is thus a symbol also in Victor Turner s sense, i. e. the smallest unit of meaning in a ritual performance (Turner 1967). 28 See Oakley & Sinos (1993: esp. 25 – 26, 30 – 32, 44) and Llewellyn-Jones (2003: 219 – 247). 29 See H. Dem. 192 – 205; Aristophanes, Nub. 254 – 268; Lovatelli Urn (LIMC iv, Ceres 145; cf. the relief, LIMC iv, Ceres 147); Torre Nova Sarcophagus (LIMC iv, Ceres 146); wall paintings in the Mithraeum at Capua Vetere, Merkelbach (1984: 136 figs. 29 – 30). For various accounts of the relation of these literary and artistic representations to cult reality, see Roussel (1930), Burkert (1983: 266 – 269), Clinton (1992: 137 – 138; 2003: esp. 50, 59, 65 – 66), Kinney (1994: 64 – 96) and Edmonds (2006).

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and anxiety of the initiand which is a significant element of the ritual.30 Veiling is a remarkably versatile symbolic gesture; it marks a number of transitions and crises, some of which are emotional and some of which are ritual. The crucial common ground between the emotional and the ritual manifestations of the gesture is that of social status and identity: the use of the veil typically marks a scenario in which one s social self, the public identity to which one has been committed hitherto, is challenged or threatened – when one s face is at stake, when one s demeanour collapses under the weight of one s sorrows, when one s relationships are undone by death, and when one has to negotiate the ritual passage from one status to another. The emotional significance of the gesture as an accompaniment of grief and other self-conscious emotions remains active in its ritual applications, but at the same time the deployment of the veil as a marker of status transition suggests that its use as expression of occurrent emotion makes a significant contribution to the ritualization of emotional expression. In the case of grief and sorrow, the veil may hide one s tears, but it may equally emphasize and display one s pain to the world; the enveloping veil may itself stand as a metaphor for the onset of the emotion; and the use of the veil as a sign of mourning has such affinities with its use in other rites of passage that we must reckon with a more abstract and symbolic function of the gesture that underlies all its applications, both emotional and ritual. The use of the veil brings an element of emotion to ritual performance and an element of ritual to the expression of emotion; its use to conceal or accompany tears is just one of its many manifestations as a marker of the vulnerability of one s social status.

30 On the emotional aspects of mystic veiling (fear, disorientation, jat²pkgnir), see Clinton (1992: 85 – 86, with references); cf. Seaford (1996) on Euripides, Bacch. 616 – 637.

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Bibliography Ahlberg, Gudrun (1971): Prothesis and Ekphora in Greek Geometric Art, Gothenburg. Alexiou, Margaret (1974): The Ritual Lament in the Greek Tradition, Cambridge. Andronikos, Manolis (1968): Totenkult (Archaeologia Homerica iii. W), Gçttingen. Arnould, Dominique (1990): Le rire et les larmes dans la litt rature grecque d Hom re Platon, Paris. Burkert, Walter (1983): Homo Necans. The Anthropology of Ancient Greek Sacrificial Ritual and Myth (transl. Peter Bing), Berkeley & Los Angeles. Cairns, Douglas (1993): Aido¯s. The Psychology and Ethics of Honour and Shame in Ancient Greek Literature, Oxford. Cairns, Douglas (1996): “Off with her aQd¾r”. Herodotus 1.8.3 – 4. In: Classical Quarterly 46, 78 – 83. Cairns, Douglas (2001): Anger and the veil in ancient Greek culture. In: Greece & Rome 48, 18 – 32. Clinton, Kevin (1992): Myth and Cult. The Iconography of the Eleusinian Mysteries, Stockholm. Clinton, Kevin (2003): Stages of initiation in the Eleusinian and Samothracian mysteries. In: Michael B. Cosmopoulos (ed.), Greek Mysteries. The Archaeology and Ritual of Ancient Greek Secret Cults, London & New York, 50 – 78. De Jong, Irene (2001): A Narratological Commentary on the Odyssey, Cambridge. Dover, Kenneth (ed.) (1993): Aristophanes: Frogs, Oxford. Edmonds, Radcliffe (2006): To sit in solemn silence? Throno¯sis in ritual, myth, and iconography. In: American Journal of Philology 127, 347 – 366. Engels, Johannes (1998): Funerum sepulchrorumque magnificentia. Begr bnisund Grabluxusgesetze in der griechisch-rçmischen Welt mit einigen Ausblicken auf Einschr nkungen des funeralen und sepulkralen Luxus im Mittelalter und in der Neuzeit, Stuttgart. Ferrari, Gloria (1990): Figures of speech. The picture of Aidos. In: M tis 5, 185 – 204. Ferrari, Gloria (1997): Figures in the text. Metaphors and riddles in the Agamemnon. In: Classical Philology 92, 1 – 45. Ferrari, Gloria (2002): Figures of Speech. Men and Maidens in Ancient Greece, Chicago. Fçllinger, Sabine (2009): Tears and crying in archaic Greek poetry (especially Homer). In: Thorsten Fçgen (ed.), Tears in the Graeco-Roman World, Berlin & New York, 17 – 36. Foley, Helene (1978): “Reverse similes” and sex roles in the Odyssey. In: Arethusa 11, 7 – 26. Garland, Robert (1984 – 86): C´qar hamºmtym. An investigation into the claims of the Homeric dead. In: Ancient Society 15 – 17, 5 – 22. Garland, Robert (1985): The Greek Way of Death, London.

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Goffman, Erving (1967): Interaction Ritual. Essays on Face-to-Face Behavior, New York. Holst-Warhaft, Gail (1992): Dangerous Voices. Women s Laments and Greek Literature, London. Huber, Ingeborg (2001): Die Ikonographie der Trauer in der griechischen Kunst, Mannheim. Janko, Richard (1992): The Iliad. A Commentary (vol. 4), Cambridge. Kenner, Hedwig (1960): Weinen und Lachen in der griechischen Kunst (Abhandlungen der sterreichischen Akademie der Wissenschaften. Philosophischhistorische Klasse 234/2), Wien. Kinney, Dale (1994): The iconography of the ivory diptych Nicomachorum-Symmachorum. In: Jahrbuch f r Antike und Christentum 37, 64 – 96. Kurtz, Donna & John Boardman (1971): Greek Burial Customs, London. Lakoff, George & Mark Johnson (1980): Metaphors We Live By, Chicago. Lateiner, Donald (1995): Sardonic Smile. Nonverbal Behavior in Homeric Epic, Ann Arbor. Llewellyn-Jones, Lloyd (2003): Aphrodite s Tortoise. The Veiled Woman of Ancient Greece, Swansea. Macleod, Colin (ed.) (1982): Homer: Iliad Book XXIV, Cambridge. Macleod, Colin (2001): Homer on poetry and the poetry of Homer. In: Douglas L. Cairns (ed.), Oxford Readings in Homer s Iliad, Oxford, 294 – 310. Merkelbach, Reinhold (1984): Mithras. Ein persisch-rçmischer Mysterienkult, Kçnigstein im Taunus. Monsacr , H l ne (1984a): Les larmes d Achille. Le h ros, la femme et la souffrance dans la po sie d Hom re, Paris. Monsacr , H l ne (1984b): Weeping heroes in the Iliad. In: History and Anthropology 1, 57 – 75. Oakley, John H. (2004): Picturing Death in Classical Athens. The Evidence of the White Lekythoi, Cambridge. Oakley, John H. & Rebecca Sinos (1993): The Wedding in Ancient Athens, Madison, Wisconsin. Onians, Richard (21951): The Origins of European Thought about the Body, the Mind, the Soul, the World, Time, and Fate, Cambridge. Roussel, Pierre (1930): L initation pr alable et le symbole leusinien. In: Bulletin de Correspondance Hell nique 54, 51 – 74. Rutherford, Richard (1986): The philosophy of the Odyssey. In: Journal of Hellenic Studies 106, 145 – 162. Schauer, Markus (2002): Tragisches Klagen. Form und Funktion der Klagedarstellung bei Aischylos, Sophokles und Euripides, M nchen. Seaford, Richard (ed.) (1996): Euripides: Bacchae, Warminster. Slater, William (1990): Sympotic ethics in the Odyssey. In: Oswyn Murray (ed.), Sympotica. A Symposium on the Symposion, Oxford, 213 – 220. Slatkin, Laura (1986): The wrath of Thetis. In: Transactions of the American Philological Association 116, 1 – 24. Slatkin, Laura (1991): The Power of Thetis. Allusion and Interpretation in the “Iliad”, Berkeley. Sokolowski, Franciszek (1969): Lois sacr es des cit s grecques, Paris.

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Taplin, Oliver (1972): Aeschylean silences and silences in Aeschylus. In: Harvard Studies in Classical Philology 76, 57 – 97. Turner, Victor (1967): The Forest of Symbols. Aspects of Ndembe Ritual, Ithaca. van Wees, Hans (1998): A brief history of tears. Gender differentiation in archaic Greece. In: Lin Foxhall & John Salmon (eds.), When Men Were Men. Masculinity, Power and Identity in Classical Antiquity, London & New York, 10 – 53. Vingerhoets, Ad J. J. M., Lauren M. Bylsma & Jonathan Rottenberg (2009): Crying. A biopsychosocial phenomenon. In: Thorsten Fçgen (ed.), Tears in the Graeco-Roman World, Berlin & New York, 439 – 475. Waern, Ingrid (1985): Der weinende Held. In: Eranos 83, 223 – 229. Weitzmann, Kurt (1949): Euripides scenes in Byzantine art. In: Hesperia 18, 159 – 210.

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Tragic Tears and Gender Ann Suter Abstract: This essay argues that the communis opinio on the gendering of tears (tears are typically female; real men do not cry and when they do they are feminized) must be re-examined. It focusses on Attic tragedy, first collecting the occurrences of tears, then analysing them by gender, cause and the reactions they provoke. Gender does not seem to determine the appearance of tears. Lastly, the essay examines the use of tears to characterize figures in tragedy. The findings show that this use of tears is widespread, subtle and integral to these persons characterizations, and, likewise, has little or nothing to do with gender.

1. Introduction In this essay, I will examine the appearances and uses of tears in Attic tragedy. In the term “tears” I include only those of spontaneous emotion, not reenactments of laments. Of the numerous studies on lamentation in the ancient Greek world, none, as far as I know, makes a clear and consistent distinction between ritual lament, as reenacted in various literary genres, and the tears of spontaneous emotion.1 I wish to do so in this essay, because I believe that the two come from different sources, perform different functions and are shaped by different social and cultural pressures. Lament is a religious act, part of death ritual and requires certain behaviours and actions from the men and women performing it. It may or may not reflect actual emotions of grief on the part of the performers.2 1

2

Van Wees has a note on this “necessary distinction” (1998: 47 n. 17), but he still uses evidence from laments to talk about tears. The basic study on Greek lament remains Alexiou (1974). More recent studies that I have consulted for this essay include Tsagalis (2004), Derderian (2001) and Monsacr (1984). For extensive bibliography on the subject, see Suter (ed.) (2008a). Henceforth, I will say simply “tears” and mean those of spontaneous emotion, whether in a lament or not. Whether those who lament are close to the deceased and feel grief and cry, or are not connected to the deceased, varies through time and place. The laments in Homer and tragedy have lamenters from both groups, often divided along the lines of the performers of cºoi (those close) and hq/moi (professionals). In modern Greece, the practice varies with the geographic location of the lamenters.

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Tears, on the other hand, may be prompted by a variety of emotions; for example: grief (e. g. Agamemnon in Euripides, Iph. Aul. 39 – 41), loneliness (Philoctetes in Sophocles, Phil. 278), joy (the herald in Aeschylus, Agam. 541), anger (Neoptolemus in Sophocles, Phil. 368), exhaustion (Orestes in Euripides, Or. 42 – 44).3 Tears may have social restrictions placed on them according to which they are appropriate, or acceptable, or not. A close examination of tears in Attic tragedy, on which I focus, will show that there are very few tears wept in the course of lamentation onstage, although there appears to be much enacted weeping and remembered or imagined weeping. It is difficult to know for certain when weeping takes place onstage, and so there is inevitably an element of subjectivity and ambiguity in my analysis; the precision of the percentages which follow must be taken with a grain of salt. It is perhaps unlikely that tears were painted on the character masks, since that would indicate constant weeping whenever the character was onstage, even if a character changed masks. My guide will be, rather, the vocabulary of the tragic texts which seems to describe tears. This is remarkably restricted: jka¸y, dajq¼y (“weep”, “cry”) and their cognate nouns, adjectives and adverbs, dia¸my, dia¸molai (“wet”, “moisten”) with the appropriate direct objects; jatake¸by (“pour down”, “shed tears”) when absolute; and !bk¶dgm (“with deep sobs”). There are other instances where a phrase indicates weeping, for example at Aeschylus, Prom. 401: paqei±m mot¸oir 5tecna paca?r (“I wet my cheek with moist streams”). I do not include any lament vocabulary (e. g. cºor, hq/mor, jyj¼y etc.) as I wish to separate crying from lamentation. Sometimes, of course, tears are shed during laments, but, as Derderian has noted (2001: 27), “jka¸eim can preface direct speech, but more often appears as a participle (…) suggesting that jka¸eim [is] an accompanying action rather than (…) a speech genre of mourning.” Lament can also be a cover for grief for someone other than the deceased: Briseis and her fellow slaves, for instance, who weep “and groan with Patroclus as a pretext, but each for her own cares”.4 Derderian writes of the Homeric poems, but the same is true of tragedy: weeping is different from lamentation. Holst-

3 4

See Suter (2008b), quoting Seremitakis (1991: 216) and Caraveli (1986: 172); see also Alexiou (1974). This occasion of tears, like others, is probably prompted by multiple reasons. Here, for example, Orestes is also crying for his wretched condition brought on by the Furies. Homer, Il. 19.301 – 302: ¬r 5vato jka¸ousû, 1p· d³ stem²womto cuma?jer / P²tqojkom pqºvasim, sv_m dû aqt_m j¶de 2j²stg.

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Warhaft (1992: 34) describes well another aspect of the relationship between tears and lament: laments “turn thoughtless weeping into a thoughtful emotional response”. They are not the same thing. Of the 210 instances of weeping that I work with in this essay, only fourteen are contained within reenacted ritual laments. I keep these in the total of tears because I assume they represent spontaneous grief even though they appear within a lament. The gendering of tears – by which is usually meant that tears are a female activity – once seemed to have been decided in Classical scholarship: women cried, men did not. Or: women were permitted and expected to cry; men were thought to be weakened and feminized if they did. When Monsacr s study Les larmes d Achille appeared in 1984, she showed quite clearly what many had noticed, but none had analysed in detail: men cry abundantly and without shame in the Iliad. Achilles was also a superb lamenter, “the one hero most practised in the genre of lament” (Martin 1989: 86 – 87). Monsacr argues persuasively that the ability to weep or lament (she does not distinguish the two) was part of the warrior hero s personality, that without it, he was less grand (Monsacr 1984: 182): “Dans l Iliade, les larmes chaudes et florissantes des h ros disent (…) leur vitalit (…) les sanglots des hommes sont une manifestation de leur nature virile. Le h ros qui pleure est comme redoubl ; (…) la douleur des hommes de l Iliade est active, puissante.”

Subsequently, a new communis opinio developed: lamentation/crying, already an important female activity in epic, continued to be so in post-Homeric literature, but men s behaviour at the funeral s prothesis and ekphora became noticeably more restrained. Van Wees (1998) traces the development of this shift in male lament behaviour, especially in vase painting. Also after the Homeric poems, women s lamentation came to be seen as uncontrolled, emotional, even dangerous,5 and men were thought to be criticized and feminized on the few occasions when they lamented. The major hunting grounds for evidence to support these contentions were the tragedies of fifth-century Athens. These conclusions have now been re-examined, and shown to be questionable, or at the least, far more complicated than previously thought (Suter 2008c). When all of the laments in the whole corpus of extant tragedy (excluding the fragments; see Suter 5

See, in addition to works cited in note 1, esp. Loraux (1986), Holst-Warhaft (1992), Hall (1993, 1996), van Wees (1998), McClure (1999) and Foley (2001).

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2008c: 174 n. 14) are studied, rather than a few passages selected to support a particular theory, several things become clear: in tragedy, both men and women lament, each in his or her own gendered way and in roughly equal numbers; women s laments are not heard as dangerous by their internal audiences; men are seldom feminized by lamenting, and those who are, are Easterners. I suggest that the same misunderstanding, the same misreading, of Attic tragedy has taken place with regard to spontaneous tears. A good argument to examine, which reflects the scholarship cited above (notes 1 and 5), is the brief, careful summary of male tears in tragedy by Charles Segal (1992). His data are educed to support the idea that “male weeping is (…) suspect; but tragedy can explore the exceptional situations where it is permissible, thereby both validating the norm and also providing the occasion for indulging in its relaxation, at least vicariously. A male audience can enjoy identifying with the cathartic release of tears without suffering the stigma of womanliness ” (Segal 1993: 149 – 150). This is accurate enough; it is just far from complete. Another source likewise speaks of “[t]he contrast between conspicuous displays of grief by women and men s qualms about crying at all” and cites two or three instances of male tears in tragedy (van Wees 1998: 18). To understand the representation of male and female tears in tragedy, however, we should examine all the occurrences of them, not just the ones that support an already formed thesis, that is, which are “suspect”. In the case of tears, as in the case of lamentation, the situation is richer and more nuanced than previously argued. Tears are deployed to show many different things about the people who weep and the scenes they appear in.

2. Tears: Occurrences, Causes, Reactions, Gender Distribution Let us begin, then, with an overview of tears in the tragic corpus. I have divided the occurrences of tears into several categories. The first is that of tears enacted onstage; the second, that of descriptions of tears, either reports or memories; third, that of predictions, threats and instructions; and last, that of imagining and philosophizing. The most pertinent to the purposes of this essay are the first two: instances of crying which actually are taking place or have taken place. The other categories sometimes offer examples of attitudes towards crying, and will be mentioned if they do. Otherwise I will focus on enacted and reported weeping.

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There are 210 instances of tears in the tragic corpus that reflect tears actually shed.6 Of these, 90 (43 %) are tears shed by men, individuals or choruses; 120 (57 %) by women, individuals or choruses. Of these totals, male choruses weep 16 times (38 %), female choruses 26 times (62 %). This disparity is perhaps somewhat mitigated by the fact that there are more female choruses than male in our extant tragedies (13 male, 22 female). The percentages for tears shed by individual men and women are almost identical to the overall proportion: 44 % (74) for men, 56 % (94) for women.7 Clearly, the majority of tears in tragedy is shed by women, and just as clearly, I suggest, the disproportion of weepy men and women is not great. Yet it is asserted that “[a]lthough men weep, tears are particularly characteristic of women. Women s love of lamentation and love of tears are a commonplace of Greek thought, often reiterated in tragedy” (Segal 1992: 148). Confounded by the above facts, let us abandon that assertion. What are the causes for the tears in tragedy? The vast majority are prompted by personal grief or sympathy for the grief of others. The grief is often caused by death; sometimes it is for other disasters: the loss of a home or city, banishment, grievous physical harm. The death or disaster may be either one s own or that of a friend or family member, sometimes for whole groups (an army, a town). In some cases the death or disaster is only feared. Death is the cause for men to weep 58x, for women 90x, for children 6x and for groups 9x. This represents 84 % of male weeping and 93 % of female. Other causes of tears are joy (6x for males, 7x for females), shame (1x for a male, 1x for a female), physical pain (1x for a male), anger (2x for males, 1x for female), loneliness (1x for a male), and as an attempt to provoke sympathy in someone (3x for males, 4x for females). Once again, the causes for weeping are not different for men and women. The surprise in these figures may be how many men cry at all, for example, to elicit sympathy. These are Polynices (Sophocles, Oed. Col. 1251), Orestes (Euripides, Or. 1239) and Odysseus (Euripides, Hec. 240 – 241); or men that cry from physical pain: Heracles (Sophocles, Trach. 1071) and perhaps Oedipus (Oed. 1486). Although Oedipus states that he cries for his daughters plight, his reasons are probably multiple, 6 7

I do not include the tragic fragments. This seems wise since in these, context and speaker are often uncertain. These figures do not include the very few instances of children of either sex, and groups like “the town”, “the palace” or “the servants” which I take to include both men and women.

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with shame and pain part of the mix. A mixture might be claimed for Philoctetes as well. I have registered his tears under “loneliness”, but surely anger at the army for abandoning him and pain at his physical condition are part of his motivation, and while Medea cries for her children, surely anger at Jason is part of her reason for tears (Euripides, Med. 922, 928). These figures suggest that the remark, quoted above, that “tragedy can explore the exceptional situations where it [sc. male weeping] is permissible” is misplaced. Men and women weep for the same things, “exceptional situations” are ipso facto the same for everyone – exceptional. What does the “exceptional” status explain for one gender that it does not for the other? Perhaps the so-called “gendering of tears” in tragedy should be called instead the “humanizing” of tears; everyone does it and for the same good reasons. It may be objected that the whole point is that tears are expected of women but not expected of men, therefore women need no excuse; only under “exceptional” circumstances are men permitted to cry. This might be a persuasive objection if tragedy were full of women weeping for silly, petty, self-indulgent reasons, and only men for death and disaster. But it is not. Despite the accepted theory that women s tears are excessive and men s tears are unusual, in tragedy, at least, they are very similar in frequency, cause and effect on their internal audiences. Let us examine now how people within the plays react to tears. Perhaps, even though everyone weeps, only men are criticized for it. The reactions of internal audiences to what happens in tragedy can serve as commentary on what is happening, and can guide the external audience in its thinking about the action of the play.8 Thirty-six reactions are expressed verbally in all the tragedies, an unexpectedly low number. Are tears so common that it is not deemed necessary to express any reaction? Or, more probably, is the reaction expressed by gesture or body language and stage business? If so, we can have no firm knowledge of what such reactions might have been. Of the 36 verbalized reactions, thirteen are simply the question “Why do you cry?”. Four men, eight women and a child weep; eight men and five women ask why. All do so to indicate concern or surprise, never scorn or impatience or criticism, no matter whether it is a man or a woman addressing a man or woman or child. Of the other 23 verbalized reactions, the majority (14) are cases of one character telling another not to weep; five characters tell the weepers that tears will 8

Falkner (2005: 166 – 167) has an excellent discussion of the function of this phenomenon; he calls it “intratextual scenes”.

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not get them what they want; once someone urges another to cry, and three times someone understands and offers sympathy. Let us take these in reverse order. In Euripides Iphigenia at Aulis, Clytaemnestra, not yet knowing why Agamemnon cries and believing that he is sad to lose Iphigenia to a husband, says she understands and shares his tears (Iph. Aul. 692). Menelaus sees Agamemnon in tears, and gives in to his way of thinking about Iphigenia s sacrifice (Iph. Aul. 477). Heracles sympathizes with Admetus tears (Euripides, Alc. 1081). The Old Man urges Clytaemnestra to weep when she finds out Agamemnon s true reasons for bringing Iphigenia to Aulis (Iph. Aul. 889). Five times tears are deemed inefficacious: Hecuba s words to Polymestor s tears ignore and reject his sympathy because she knows it is false (Euripides, Hec. 967 – 975).9 Oedipus replies to Polynices (Sophocles, Oed. Col. 1360): your weeping does not persuade me to return with you; Hecuba to Andromache (Euripides, Troad. 698): tears will not save you; the female chorus to Electra (Euripides, El. 193): your weeping will not hurt your enemies; the female chorus to Admetus (Euripides, Alc. 985 – 986): you will not bring your wife back by crying; and Menelaus urging to Agamemnon (Euripides, Iph. Aul. 496): stop crying (it does no good) and disband the army. Perhaps this last goes more properly with the 14 instances of people telling others to stop crying. These cases reflect a variety of reasons for wanting the person to stop, mostly sympathetic. For example, there is Creon speaking to Oedipus; after Oedipus has expressed his wishes and bewailed his situation for 69 lines, Creon says “Your tears have had enough of scope; now go within the house”;10 Cassandra to Hecuba as Cassandra is about to be taken away to the ships: “O mother, weep no more for me”;11 Iphigenia to Clytaemnestra as she goes to her sacrifice: “Stop! I forbid your crying out or any tears!”;12 Heracles to his children and Megaira: “Put your fears away, and stop those tears that well up in 9 This reaction is not verbalized with “tears” vocabulary. Her response simply ignores his tearful offer of help. Perhaps this is a case where body language helped express what her plot against Polymestor did not allow her to say. 10 Sophocles, Oed. 1515: ûkir Vmû 1n¶jeir dajq¼ym. !kkû Uhi st´cgr 5sy (transl. David Grene). There is an argument here for Oedipus being feminized, in that Creon feels that his proper place is within the house. However, I think this has more to do with the fact of the blindness which disables him rather than his tears. 11 Euripides, Troad. 458: Wa?qe loi, l/teq, dajq¼seir l/dem (transl. Richmond Lattimore). 12 Euripides, Iph. Aul. 1466: oqj 1_ st²feim d²jqu (transl. Charles R. Walker).

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your eyes”13 ; and Theseus to Heracles when Heracles has realized he has murdered his family: “Rise up, unfortunate friend. Have done with tears”.14 Twice tears are denounced as womanish: Ajax, in response to Tecmessa s tears of fear about his intentions, says: “And let there be no wailing here out of doors. Lord, what a plaintive creature womankind is!”15 And Menelaus explains why he will not weep: if he were to, he would be “[t]urning myself into a female”.16 The messenger in Euripides Suppliant Women admonishes Admetus for crying in front of the women of the chorus and thus encouraging their crying. Theseus says to Aethra “no more tears at Demeter s hearth”, and comments that the tears of the women “somehow (…) pierce me too”.17 One character is taunted for crying falsely. Electra comments on Clytaemnestra s reaction to the news of Orestes death (Sophocles, El. 804 – 807): üq rl·m ¢r !kcoOsa j¡dumyl´mg deim_r dajqOsai j!pijyjOsai doje? t¹m uR¹m B d¼stgmor ¨dû akykºta ; !kkû 1ccek_sa vqoOdor. There s an unhappy mother for you! See how agonized, how bitter, were the tears, how terribly she sorrowed for her son that met the death you heard of! No, I tell you, she parted from us laughing. (transl. David Grene)

Another group of tears worth noting are the instructions from the category of “predictions, threats and instruction”. Three times it is forbidden to have any tears shed at a death. Creon forbids them for Polynices, of course (Euripides, Phoen. 1634), but more interesting for us are Heracles and Iphigenia s orders, quite similar despite their differing genders. Heracles says to his son Hyllus: “Let me have no tears, no mourning. Do your job without lamentation, without tears”.18 Iphigenia asks Clytaemnestra

13 Euripides, Her. 624 – 625: !kk± h²qsor Uswete / ja· m²latû essym l¶jetû 1nam¸ete. 14 Euripides, Her. 1394: !m¸stasû § d¼stgme, dajq¼ym ûkir (transl. William Arrowsmith). 15 Sophocles, Ajax 579 – 580: lgdû 1pisj¶mour cºour / d²jque. j²qta toi viko¸jtistom cum¶ (transl. John Moore). I discuss this comment further below. 16 Euripides, Helen 991: dajq¼oir 1r t¹ h/ku tqepºlemor. 17 Euripides, Suppl. 289 – 290: lµ dajquqqºei / selma?si DgoOr 1sw²qair paqgl´mg. Further Suppl. 288: j !l³ c±q di/kh´ ti (transl. Frank William Jones). 18 Sophocles, Trach. 1199 – 1201: cºou d³ lgd³m eQs¸ty d²jqu, / !kkû !st´majtor j !d²jqutor, eUpeq eW / toOdû !mdqºr, 5qnom (transl. Michael Jameson).

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not to mourn her, not to bury her, not to weep (Euripides, Iph. Aul. 1438 – 1444, 1466). One more kind of reaction to tears may be examined: that of the attitude of the person who cries. Here several men are distressed at the idea that they cry, or might cry. Eteocles, when he hears that Polynices will meet him at the seventh gate, declares “it is not appropriate to weep” (Aeschylus, Sept. 656: !kkû oute jka¸eim … pq´pei), and “the hateful black curse of my father loved sits on my dry and tearless eyes” (Aeschylus, Sept. 695 – 696: v¸kou c±q 1whq² loi patq¹r [teke? ] !q± / ngqo?r !jka¼toir ellasim pqosif²mei ; transl. David Grene). Heracles feels shame when he is seen (Sophocles, Trach. 1070 – 1075) (…) oUjtiqºm tû 1l³ pokko?sim oQjtqºm, fstir ¦ste paqh´mor b´bquwa jka¸ym, ja· tºdû oqdû #m eXr pote tºmdû %mdqa va¸g pqºshû Qde?m dedqajºta, !kkû !st´majtor aQ³m eRpºlgm jajo?r. mOm dû 1j toio¼tou h/kur gvqglai t²kar. (…) pitiful to many others, crying and sobbing like a girl, and none could ever say that he had seen this man act like that before. Always without a groan I followed my painful course. Now in my misery I am discovered a woman. (transl. Michael Jameson)

He has cried “before” (in mythical time), however: in the Heracles, he weeps that he slaughtered his children when he was mad and repeats his “earlier” (in historical time) feelings (Euripides, Her. 1354 – 1356): (…) outû !pû all²tym 5stana pgc²r, oqdû #m ¡iºlgm pot³ 1r toOhû Rj´shai, d²jqu !pû all²tym bake?m (…) never yet have I wept, and never did I think that I should come to this: tears in my eyes (transl. William Arrowsmith)

Euripides is possibly indulging in some intertextuality here, making fun of Heracles supermanliness. Or is Herakles being recharacterized in late fifth-century tragedy? Euripides earlier in the Alcestis had Herakles comfort Admetus in his sorrow for the dead Alcestis: “Love for the dead is cause for tears”.19 Ajax never cries in the Ajax, but he puts his “womanishness” (1hgk¼mhgm) in terms of the ability to feel pity (Ajax 650 – 653; cf. 19 Euripides, Alc. 1081: t¹ c±q vik/sai t¹m hamºmtû %cei d²jqu (transl. Richmond Lattimore).

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Falkner 2005: 187). The one occurrence of “tears” vocabulary in the Ajax is at 580, followed by a “pity” word: lgdû (…) d²jque. j²qta toi viko¸jtistom cum¶. These two passages chart the change in Ajax from the “Herculean model of masculinity” (Falkner 2005: 187) to a less self-centered, more compassionate model which we might call “Thesean”. To these examples may be added that of Agamemnon in the Iphigenia at Aulis. He has answered Menelaus accusations of betraying Greece in his own self-interest, and a messenger comes to announce the imminent arrival of Clytaemnestra and Iphigenia. He breaks down and weeps, and has two comments on these tears. In the first he declares (Euripides, Iph. Aul. 446 – 449): B dusc´meia dû ¢r 5wei ti wq¶silom. ja· c±q dajqOsai Nôd¸yr aqto?r 5wei, ûpamt² tû eQpe?m. t` d³ cemma¸\ v¼sim %mokba taOta. O fortunate men of mean, Ignoble birth, freely you may weep and Empty out your hearts, but the highborn – Decorum rules our lives. (transl. Charles Walker)

In the second, “I am ashamed of these tears. And yet at the extremity of my misfortune I am ashamed not to shed them”.20 His expressed reason for shame at his tears, then, is not that they are womanish, but that they are inappropriate to his social position.21 Menelausû words reflect the same attitude: “Yet I have heard, or read, how even stately men have found it in them to let tears burst from their eyes”.22 Whatever the reason, Agamemnon feels it right to shed them. Menelaus, on the other hand, feels it would feminize him: “[t]urning myself into a female with tears, I would be pitiful rather than active”.23

20 Euripides, Iph. Aul. 451 – 452: 1c½ c±q 1jbake?m l³m aQdoOlai d²jqu, / t¹ lµ dajqOsai dû awhir aQdoOlai t²kar (transl. Charles R. Walker). 21 Van Wees (1998: 18) notes this also. 22 Euripides, Iph. Aul. 950 – 951: ja¸toi k´cousim ¢r pq¹r !mdq¹r eqcemoOr / 1m nulvoqa?si d²jqu !pû avhakl_m bake?m (transl. Richmond Lattimore). 23 Euripides, Iph. Aul. 991 – 992: (…) dajq¼oir 1r t¹ h/ku tqepºlemor / 1keim¹r Gm #m l÷kkom C dqast¶qior (my translation). We will discuss the case of Menelaus in the Helen further below.

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3. The Gendering of Tears Against this background of the occurrences of tears in tragedy, their causes and their gender distribution, let us return to the representative discussions of male tears cited above (Segal 1992, van Wees 1998). Segal maintains: “The most manly heroes do not weep, or do so only as the sign of overwhelming catastrophe and as a temporary lapse from their manliness” (Segal 1992: 148). We have seen that the first part of this statement is simply not so: Theseus weeps, Philoctetes weeps, Creon weeps, Agamemnon weeps, and both the Sophoclean and the Euripidean Heracles weep. Eteocles too weeps in Euripides Phoenissae (144) as he dies, seeing Jocasta. There are indeed overwhelming personal catastrophes here; as we have seen, overwhelming catastrophes are usually the cause for tears in any tragedy, and justify anyone s weeping. As for their tears being a “temporary lapse from their manliness”, of course it is, if you define manliness as made up in part of not crying. I suggest this is a judgement brought in from the outside, part of the effort to explain the perceived discrepancy in attitudes to tears within tragedy and in some extra-tragic texts.24 Another common comment is that tears feminize a man: “in Athenian drama [there is] (…) a notion of the effeminacy of tears” (van Wees 1998: 18), that weeping for oneself “risks feminization” (Segal 1992: 148). Segal s evidence for stating this (apart from Briseis in Homer, Il. 19.301 – 302) is Solon s laws restricting “women s expression of grief”. Here, though, as elsewhere (e. g. van Wees 1998: 17 – 19), tears are confounded with lamentation. Solon s laws were designed to control female expression of grief during funeral ritual,25 and cannot be counted as evidence for attitudes towards tears. Eteocles in the Phoenissae weeps for his own death, and Oedipus for his situation, Agamemnon for his, and Heracles in the Heracles and in the Trachiniae for his pain, all with none noticing any feminization. Only in the cases of Ajax (via pity), Heracles in the Trachiniae, and Menelaus in the Helen is there any notion that the hero is feminized by tears, that tears are a gendered category. Note, however, that these notions come from the one who is crying, not from anyone else criticizing them. Other evidence adduced for this attitude includes passages from Archilochus, Bacchylides, Plutarch, Pollux and of 24 One might ask, not entirely facetiously, do women experience a temporary lapse in womanliness when they stop crying? 25 See Stears (1998: 117) with bibliography, reprinted in Suter (ed.) (2008a).

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course Plato in the Republic, with its deep uneasiness over emotion of any kind. Despite the scattered nature of these references,26 the general feeling in this scholarship remains that tears are female, and excuses must be found for men weeping. A variety of excuses has been suggested (Segal 1992: 150): sometimes men weep for reasons other than grief; that seems to be forgivable. Sometimes they weep in private and sometimes they weep off-stage; perhaps this means that weeping that is not seen is all right.27 It is also all right for them to weep (in moderation) for the woes of others,28 or if the tears are false. Sometimes they weep only after trying to control themselves, which apparently mitigates the shame of their tears. Another excuse is the age of the men who weep – they are either young or old, and so it is permitted to them to weep. But does age determine who weeps forgivably and unashamedly? We have listed above the great heroes of middle age who weep unabashedly and uncriticized in tragedy – Theseus, Philoctetes, Creon, Agamemnon, the Euripidean Heracles. To them may be added lesser men: the Herald in the Agamemnon, Talthybius in both the Trojan Women (1131) and the Hecuba (518, 520). Rather than all this special pleading, much of it of questionable value, as we have seen, would it not be easier (certainly it would be just as accurate) simply to admit that men and women both weep in Greek tragedy, for the same reasons, and for the most part without shame or criticism? Tears seem to me to be used not to feminize men, although their own attitudes at their tears can characterize them. For example, the Heracles of the Trachiniae is the macho superman; the Heracles of the Heracles has more breadth and depth to his nature and can embrace sorrow and compassion in a way the other cannot. Similarly for the Eteocles of the Septem: he is frantic with apprehension at his situation, and fears admitting to the slightest bit of what he perceives of as weakness or understanding. One way he shows this fear and weakness is by declaring the inappropriateness of tears (Aeschylus, Sept. 656: jka¸eim … oq pq´pei) and pointing out that he has !jka¼toir ellasim (Sept. 696). The Eteocles of the Phoe26 Van Wees remarks (1998: 18 – 19) that the line in Archilochus (fr. 13 West) which mentions cumaije?om p´mhor is the only time “[t]ears and effeminacy (…) are (…) explicitly linked in archaic poetry”, but continues his argument even so, citing other sources where women are not mentioned at all. 27 Cf. Heracles, bemoaning his tears (Sophocles, Trach. 1074 – 1075): “(…) no-one could ever say / that he had seen this man act like that before” (transl. Michael Jameson, my italics). 28 Cf. the overlapping treatment of tears and pity in tragedy, discussed below.

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nissae has, when he weeps at last (Euripides, Phoen. 1441), a moment of humanity granted to him as, dying, he sees what he has done to his mother and his city. Theseus much-lauded pity for the outcast operates in a like manner.29 His sympathy for Aethra and the Argive mothers characterizes him as being able to pity from his position of strength; he is not fearful for his manliness. His treatment of Oedipus in the Oedipus at Colonus shows similar behaviour. These are literary choices of the playwrights who use what tools they have at their command as they pursue their stagecraft. I do not deny that there are sources (Segal 1992 cites several) from the ancient world that say explicitly or implicitly that men should not cry. But the hard evidence for this from tragedy that we have found so far is very sparse. A few male characters think tears shameful, but not always because because they are womanish: Agamemnon because it does not befit a king, the Aeschylean Eteocles for unspecified reasons, Ajax, the Sophoclean Heracles and Menelaus because they are afraid of being feminized. Contrast the many who do not connect tears either with shame or with women.

4. Characterization by Tears There is additional evidence in tragedy for attitudes towards male and female tears, although perhaps not in quite the form current scholarship looks for it. The commentary this additional evidence offers on the “norm” is interesting (see Segal 1992). Van Wees suggests that “[t]he important point (…) is that there must be a perceived gender gap [for tears] for poets to exploit it in this way” (van Wees 1998: 18). By “this way” he refers to the difference in the portrayal of male and female tears in tragedy. Let us examine now several ways in which male and female tears have been portrayed on the tragic stage. Plato had his attitude towards manliness and emotions, and so, perhaps, did the tragic dramatists. This additional evidence will be found in a more detailed examination of the use of tears to characterize people – characterize them in any way, 29 Tzanetou (2005: 104): “Pity is the appropriate mode of response on the part of the strong to the suffering of the weak and defenseless.” She speaks here only of the pity shown to suppliants; Johnson & Clapp (2005) in the same collection enlarge the discussion to pity in general. Falkner (2005) sees the spectator (both external and internal) as being in the position of power, and so able to feel pity for those in the drama onstage.

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not just a man as womanish or a woman as excessive and foolish.30 Tears are used sometimes, as we saw briefly above with Heracles and Eteocles, to delineate the difference in their characters in different plays. I wish now to examine other instances, first some isolated cases where tears add to the characterization of an individual, and then several extended uses of tears in specific tragedies: the Iphigenia at Aulis, the Medea and the Helen. Perhaps the most obvious case of characterization by tears is that of Electra – both the Sophoclean and the Euripidean figure. She cries, or is described as crying, more than anyone else in these two plays by a margin that outstrips even Deianeira in the Trachiniae, or Hecuba in the Trojan Women. Hence her worship of Niobe (Sophocles, El. 152) and her scholarly reputation over the past fifty years. According to Ormand (1999: 60), “she does not to seem to take any action, other than mourning”; Ferguson (1972: 538) maintains that “[a]fter ten years Electra still has nothing to do but mourn Agamemnon”; and Whitman (1951: 156) speaks of “her passionate adherence to her own anguish”. Her tears are her character, and have an important dramatic function as well: they “bring Agamemnon s murder into the present” (Ferguson 1972: 538). Indeed, Electra s tears are powerful indications, not of her foolish, weak femininity, but of the depth and strength of her hatred for Clytaemnestra and Aegisthus and her loyalty to Agamemnon, and, in sharp contrast to Chrysothemis, the heroism of her ability to endure (Whitman 1951: ch. 8 passim). In the Hecuba, Polymestor s false tears underline his cruelty and baseness. That he is cruel and base has already been established in the play: he has murdered Hecuba s son and confiscated the treasure that she and Priam left with him as guarantee for their son s life. Hecuba plans to blind him for this deed. He enters the stage all care and concern for Hecuba s distress, and offers her his help and sympathy. His words and tears therefore are clear evidence of his duplicity and baseness. I suggest that tears could not in this situation increase his despicableness unless the assumption was that tears could and should be evidence of kindness – even for a man. So the assumption is that men can show sympathy appropriately with tears.

30 Segal (1992: 149) suggests that “One of tragedy s functions may well have been to display and demonstrate that women s proclivity to excess grief was every bit as bad as it was supposed to be”. One suspects, on the evidence left to us, that the tragedians had more interesting purposes than this.

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In the same play, Hecuba (without tears) begs Odysseus to intervene in the decision to sacrifice her daughter Polyxena and save her. She begs him for pity, reminding him of his tearful behaviour earlier when, disguised as a beggar in Troy, she saved him.31 These tears, I suggest, wept in such extreme circumstances,32 point up his present coldheartedness and self-interest, his well-known propensity for “turn[ing] this way and that (…) with his double tongue”, as Hecuba says of him in the Trojan Women. 33 They also point up the difference between his earlier appeal, full of tears, and Hecuba s present one. Who is the “female”? The tears Clytaemnestra mentions to Agamemnon in her speech welcoming him home are, like Polymestor s, suspicious (Aeschylus, Agam. 887 – 893): 5loice l³m dµ jkaul²tym 1p¸ssutoi pgca· jatesb¶jasim, oqdû 5mi stac¾m. 1m axijo¸toir dû allasim bk²bar 5wy t±r !lv¸ soi jka¸ousa kalptgqow¸ar !tglek¶tour aQ´m. (…) !lv¸ soi p²hg bq_sa pke¸y toO nume¼domtor wqºmou. for me the rippling springs that were my tears have dried utterly up, nor left one drop within. I keep the pain upon my eyes where late at night I wept over the beacons long ago set for your sake. (…) I thought I saw you suffer wounds. (transl. Richmond Lattimore)

True, her tears were caused by her concern that he would die at Troy, but only because she wanted him to return alive to suffer vengeance at her hands. This double-meaning tale of tears beautifully conveys her cleverness, her mastery over words, her control over herself and the situation in the palace, as well as her single-minded, murderous intent. Later in the same play, the tears of the chorus during their lament for Agamemnon (Aeschylus, Agam. 1549) indicate their righteousness; they believe they are behaving correctly in the circumstances, in stark contrast to Cly31 Euripides, Hecuba 240 – 241: (…) all²tym tû !p¹ / vºmou stakacmo· sµm jat´stafom c´mum (“… tears of blood were streaming down your beard”, transl. William Arrowsmith). 32 Euripides, Hecuba 46: ¦stû 1mhame?m ce so?r p´pkoisi we?q 1l¶m (“my hand almost froze on your dress”, transl. William Arrowsmith); further Euripides, Hecuba 250: pokk_m kºcym erq¶lahû ¦ste lµ hame?m (“Said? Anything I could. Anything to live”). 33 Euripides, Troad. 285 – 287: fr p²mta t !je?hem 1mh²d / !mt¸pak awhir 1je?se dipt¼w\ ck¾ssô / v¸ka t± pqºteq %vika tih´lemor p²mtym.

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taemnestra, who has no tears for him. Her tears are those of the past, which she names to remind the chorus what caused the murder of the king they weep for: tµm pokujka¼tgm / Yvic´meiam (Agam. 1526 – 1527: “the much-bewept Iphigenia”). This is her claim that she acts righteously. Tears become here symbolic of the two characters, the chorus of citizen men and the mother, a shorthand for the two attitudes towards the body before them. Gendering these tears would be very complex, if possible at all. These examples could be multiplied, but must suffice to suggest the variety of characterizations for which tears have been used in tragedy. Let us now turn to Euripides Iphigenia at Aulis to see how tears operate in the characterization of those who weep in the play, and if they have anything to suggest about their gendering. I count as the main characters in the Iphigenia at Aulis Agamemnon, Menelaus, Clytaemnestra, Iphigenia and Achilles. With the exception of Achilles, they all weep: Agamemnon for his plight, Menelaus in sympathy for him, Clytaemnestra in rage at Agamemnon and grief for Iphigenia, Iphigenia for herself. We know the cause of Agamemnon s and Menelaus tears from the beginning, how they are tearing the two men apart, as a father and as brothers. Their grief is overwhelming and characterizes both men as valuing family connections more than the war. It leads them to try (Agamemnon) and to encourage (Menelaus) the abandoning of the expedition to Troy. Timing is against them, however; Clytaemnestra arrives with Iphigenia and the army knows they have come. Agamemnon s tears are nowhere criticized; Menelaus is even persuaded by them. They both support the “female” side of the standard sets of structuralist paired opposites (Zeitlin 1984: 181 – 182 and passim), the side that favours the blood bond (Iphigenia) over the marriage bond (Helen), which in this case equals the war. When Clytaemnestra and Iphigenia arrive they notice Agamemnon s tears. Clytaemnestra, misunderstanding their cause, sympathizes with them; Iphigenia teases him about them and tells him to put aside his cares and be happy with her (Euripides, Iph. Aul. 644 – 650). They eventually discover the truth and cry in their turn, Clytaemnestra foreseeing what it will do to her and Agamemnon s marriage (Euripides, Iph. Aul. 1175) and later for Iphigenia (1432 – 1434), and Iphigenia begging for her life (1215). Achilles has entered the play by now, and discovers his part in the hoax that brought them to Aulis. Despite his avowed sympathy for Clytaemnestra s position (Euripides, Iph. Aul. 931 – 934), and later, his feelings for Iphigenia (1405 – 1411), he is concerned only with his own name and pride, which he feels Agamemnon

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has abused. He is young, self-centered, utterly inexperienced in life, but furnished with a set of fine ideals, which he offers to put into action: he will defend Iphigenia against the whole Greek army. This is the one person among the main characters who does not cry, a kind of Heracles-intraining. Iphigenia, meanwhile, has had her conversion; she now sees herself as the saviour of Greece and its pride, and declares that she will give herself willingly so that the barbarians may be taught a lesson (Euripides, Iph. Aul. 1366 – 1403). She then begins to control – or try to control – the tears of the play. As she steadies herself for her ordeal, she tells Clytaemnestra to stop crying (Euripides, Iph. Aul. 1435): ûl³ lµ j²jife (“Do not make a coward of me”, transl. Charles R. Walker). Then she almost gives in again (1465): ¢r bqør ce, oqj !n¸yr (“Oh you see how hard …”) and again to Clytaemnestra she forbids tears (1466). Then she says (Euripides, Iph. Aul. 1488 – 1490): § pºtmia pºtmia l÷teq, oq d²jqu² ce soi d¾solem "l´teqa7 paq Reqo?r c±q oq pq´pei. O lady, lady mother, now I give you my tears for when I come to the holy place I must not weep.34 (transl. Charles Walker)

Iphigenia goes tearless, or trying to control her tears, to the altar, where she knows she must not cry. In effect, as she becomes the hero of the play, she rejects tears. Who can characterize the tears in this play as “male” or “female” without resorting to what Falkner (2005: 169) has called the “metaphor[ical]” use of these words, a use which would threaten to overwhelm the facts of the play?35 Achilles lack of tears is pompous, childish, narcissistic, but sincere – it makes one smile at his youth. Iphigenia s lack of tears is heroic and at the same time utterly human, as she tries to be brave. Clytaemnestra s, Agamemnon s and Menelaus tears are human as well, each for a different reason. What use is there in categorizing them as “male” and “female”? What can the tears in the Medea tell us? The play opens with the Nurse describing Medea s behaviour since she learned that her husband 34 The text here is problematic: oq (…) d¾solem or ¢r (…) d¾solem ? The former is better support for my reading of the scene, but both show the importance of controlling tears at this point in the action. 35 This is a precise and accurate way to describe what has happened in our analyses of the behaviour of people in tragedy. The difficulty is that the metaphor has often been taken for the fact.

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Jason has taken a new bride. She first mentions Medea s tears at line 25; her hatred, her rage, her sense of betrayal are also clear from the same speech. She lays her plans to avenge herself against Jason by killing their children. When asked by the chorus how she can do this without tears (Euripides, Medea 861), she has no immediate reply, but a few lines later in the (fake) reconciliation with Jason which she stages, which is the first step of her plan of vengeance, the answer is clear. She cannot kill them without tears, but kill them she will, tears or no tears (Euripides, Medea 922 – 928): Ia. Lg. Ia. Lg.

avtg, t¸ wkyqo?r dajq¼oir t´cceir jºqar ; (…) oqd´m. t´jmym t_mdû 1mmooul´mg p´qi. h²qsei mOm. ew c±q t_mdû 1c½ h¶sy p´qi. dq²sy t²dû. outoi so?r !pist¶sy kºcoir. cumµ d³ h/ku j !p· dajq¼oir 5vu.

Jason: Medea: Jason: Medea:

Medea, why are your eyes all wet with pale tears? (…) It is nothing. I was thinking about these children. You must be cheerful. I shall look after them well. I will be. It is not that I distrust your words, But a woman is a frail thing, prone to crying. (transl. Rex Warner)

Her explanation for her tears could have come straight from the mouth of Heracles or Ajax (or Socrates and his friends; see Plato, Phaedo 60a and cf. 117c – e); it is beautifully contrived to be a “truth” that Jason will accept easily, given his conventional, unimaginative, self-centered nature, and deflect any doubt or suspicion he may have of her plan. Like Odysseus pleading with Hecuba for his life, Medea says whatever is necessary to serve her purpose. She cries once more, showing the same dreadful tension between her heart and her will, when she learns that her plan is working (Euripides, Medea 1012). The new bride has accepted Medea s gifts taken to her by the children, and has obtained a reprieve for them of the king s decree of their banishment. The next step is for Medea to kill them. How should we classify these tears and the person who sheds them? They are tears, like Agamemnon s, of someone forced by circumstances and personality to murder her children. They are also, like Agamemnon s, the tears of a parent for her children, but unlike his, her act declares at the same time that she does not permit pity to rule her decision. To return for a moment to the touchstone we used earlier of structuralist opposites, she finds the marriage bond the more important relationship in her life. She must avenge its rupture by Jason even at the

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cost of breaking the blood bond with her children. So great is her anger at Jason and sense of insult. Medea has been said to be acting like a man in this play. This is an example of how this metaphor can overwhelm the facts. The fact is that she is a female; the fact is that tears do not always indicate weakness or lack of initiative, for a woman (Medea, Electra) or a man (Agamemnon, Theseus). Euripides use of this “norm”, rather than reinforcing it, suggests perhaps how utterly inadequate it is to understanding the human heart and will. For a very different use of tears to characterize and comment on a play, let us turn to Euripides Helen. Weeping begins with Helen herself crying for her situation – stuck in Egypt, blamed wrongly for the sorrows of Troy, pursued by the undesirable king Theoclymenus, unable to persuade anyone – Teucer is the current example – that she is the real Helen, a good, faithful wife. A typical weepy female situation, we could say if we were ungenerous. Enter Menelaus, tattered and woebegone, bewailing his misfortunes. A comic scene ensues between him and the old Portress, wherein she refuses to admit him to the palace grounds, showing scant sympathy for his tears (Euripides, Helen 456 – 458): Cq. Le. Cq.

t¸ bk´vaqa t´cceir d²jqusi ; pq¹r t¸mû oQjtq¹r eW; pq¹r t±r p²qoihem sulvoq±r eqda¸lomar. oujoum !pekh½m d²jqua so?r d¾seir viko?r;

Portress: Why do you wet your eyes with tears? Menelaus: Because of my earlier happy times. Portress: Then why not go offer your tears to your friends? (transl. Richmond Lattimore)

He then learns that he, as a Greek, is in danger, for the king kills all Greeks who land in his country. Eventually Menelaus learns that the real Helen is here in Egypt; they recognize one another and both weep tears of disbelief and joy. They set about trying to decide what to do next; the first plan is to commit suicide. Menelaus does not want to go back to Greece and “shame my glories of the Trojan War” (Euripides, Helen 845: t¹ Tqyzj¹m c±q oq jataiswum_ jk´or). He continues: “Shall I then not dare count death as worth the dying for my lady s sake?”36 Before they can accomplish this melodramatic end, however, they are discovered by Theono , the princess and high priestess of the land, at 36 Euripides, Helen 849 – 850: (…) di± d³ tµm 1lµm / oqj !ni¾sy jathame?m d²laqtû 1c¾ (transl. Richmond Lattimore).

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whose feet Helen throws herself, begging her to save Menelaus from the death usually meted out to Greeks. The Chorus approves, then wonders what Menelaus will say to further their cause. He suddenly recovers all his lost manliness (Euripides, Helen 947 – 953): 1c½ s¹m outû #m pqospese?m tka¸gm cºmu outû #m dajqOsai bk´vaqa. tµm Tqo¸am c±q #m deiko· cemºlemoi pke?stom aQsw¼moilem %m. ja¸toi k´cousim ¢r pq¹r !mdq¹r eqcemoOr 1m nulvoqa?si d²jqu !pû avhakl_m bake?m. !kkû oqw· toOto t¹ jakºm, eQ jak¹m tºde, aRq¶solai ûc½ pqºshe t/r eqxuw¸ar. I cannot bring myself to fall before your feet nor to make my eyes wet with tears. Such abjectness would be the greatest shame upon the tale of Troy. Yet I have heard, or read, how even stately men have found it in them to let tears burst from their eyes.37 I waive this privilege of honour – if privilege of honour it is. Courage is better. (transl. Richmond Lattimore)

If he wept, he would be “[t]urning myself into a female with tears, I would be pitied rather than active”.38 Theono agrees not to give them away, and they turn to plotting an escape as an alternative to suicide. Helen masterminds it:39 they will pretend that Menelaus is dead and Helen will persuade Theoclymenus to lend her a ship to bury him at sea, on which they will escape home to Greece. The next tears in the play are Helen s false ones (Euripides, Helen 1190, 1226, 1419) which convince Theoclymenus to do as she asks. The last tears are those of the Greek sailors, again fake, which a servant, who was part of the group Theoclymenus sent out in the ship and who has been saved by a passing fisherman, describes to Theoclymenus. What shall we make of these tears? Segal (1992: 151) notes that Menelaus “weeps in frustration” in “a somewhat comic scene” – the one with the Portress. Here he is on the right track, I believe, but has not the nerve 37 Lines 950 – 951 produce a variety of translations. Van Wees (1998: 17) has “They do say that it becomes a well-born man to shed tears in misfortune” (my italics). Cf. Lattimore s “have found it in them”. Without an introductory verb for bake?m inside the indirect statement, it is hard to know the proper translation. What was Euripides saying here? My hunch is that he was having fun with the ambiguity. 38 Euripides, Helen 991 – 992: (…) dajq¼oir 1r t¹ h/ku tqepºlemor / 1keim¹r Gm #m l÷kkom C dqast¶qior. 39 Euripides, Helen 1049: %jousom, Em ti ja· cumµ k]n, sovºm (“Even a woman might have one clever thought”, transl. Richmond Lattimore).

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to follow where it leads him. He continues: “then, he [Menelaus] gains in heroic stature and refuses to shed tears to win Theono s pity (947 – 953). Turning to tears, he says, is female (h/ku), not the part of a man of action (dqast¶qior, 991)” (Segal 1992: 151). Yes, it is a comic scene; the whole of the Helen is in many ways more comedy than tragedy, with its wicked blocking character, its clever deception, its happy ending when the reunited lovers sail off into the sunset. Menelaus is made fun of repeatedly for his pretensions to Herculean manliness (what Trojan War “glories”? how does his death benefit his “lady”?). Both his tears and his lack of tears are the means of presenting him as the caricature of a hero. It is Helen s tears that persuade Theono . Menelaus ostentatious refusal does nothing. He says he does not want to cry because he wants to be dqast¶qior. But is Menelaus “active”? It is Helen, rather, who has the lion s share of activity in the plot, beginning with her invention of it, and continuing with tears, the false ones she cries to convince Theoclymenus, and her outlining the situation to him. Menelaus has a good, short scene where he gives Theoclymenus details of what the burial requires. One imagines Helen has written his script. Otherwise, he is “dead”.40 Dear Menelaus, a model for the congenitally hapless adulescens of Roman comedy. I suggest in this play, Euripides is once again using the “norm” which he has Menelaus expound – this time to make fun of it. But is this the norm, this feeling that it is not right for men (“real” men) to cry, that it feminizes them? We must face this question at last, and it is a difficult one. It is certainly one of the norms – perhaps “attitudes” is a more descriptive word –, or else there would be no humour in the way Euripides presents Menelaus. This is van Wees “gender gap” at work. But it cannot be the only attitude, else what would prompt its ridicule? In some of my comments above on the dramatic use of tears (e. g. on tears in the Iphigenia at Aulis when I asked rhetorically what use it is to identify tears as “male” or “female”), I have spoken in terms of literary criticism. If we take the tragic texts as anthropological documentation of the attitudes of a distant society, on the other hand, then there is indeed use, and the contribution of feminist criticism, where many of these ideas originated, to these texts has been a valuable addition to our ways of understanding that society. But I suggest that, for the study of the meaning and function of tears in classical Athens, the texts of 40 I do not forget the battle on the ship, where he becomes a valiant warrior. But we learn about this in the servant s speech. The Menelaus we see onstage is not glorious.

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these tragedies and the texts of philosophers (e. g. Plato) and lyric poets (e. g. Archilochus) and biographers (e. g. Pollux) should be treated the same: let none be privileged over the others as the locus of the “norm”. In fact, there might be a case to make for tragedy being the more accurate reflection of the reality of fifth-century Athens, in that it offers a broader variety of attitudes and actions involving tears. If Euripides merits his reputation as a “realist”, then what we find in him may be a better guide to reality. But we look outside tragedy and find Plato and his like, and in the effort to reconcile the differing pictures, we have decided that Plato is more factual that Euripides. How can we know that? Why can we not simply admit that the norm has many forms, that there are many attitudes towards tears? That Plato has his ideas and so do others? Tragedy reflects them all. Outside tragedy we also find, as van Wees (1998: 16 – 17) points out, Xenophon and the fourth-century orators, who seem to accept tears from men as a matter of course. The practice of bringing weeping family members into court to influence the verdict by provoking pity in the jurors is unpalatable to me personally, as it was to Socrates (Plato, Apol. 35b), but our opinions are beside the point. It would not have become a practice among the ancient Athenians if first, they did not find it acceptable legal procedure, and second, it did not work. That is, the jurors, all male, expected tears from men and women, found them acceptable, and sometimes even persuasive, evidence. 5. Conclusions It was reassuring to find, in the recent collection entitled Pity and Power in Ancient Athens (2005), that several of the contributors did not see pity as a gendered emotion. Johnson & Clapp, for example, speak of “the sources of Plato s objections to tragedy” in ungendered terms, and point out that, Plato notwithstanding, “laments and expression of compassion, (…) frequent cries of pain or sorrow (…) were regular features of tragedy, which suggested that sympathy was the appropriate emotion to feel” (Johnson & Clapp 2005: 133). They later examine Plato s “association of pity (…) with women” (Johnson & Clapp 2005: 147 – 152) and conclude: “Plato s objection (…) doesn t seem to be to compassion per se, but rather to the display of heroes suffering and lamentation on the tragic stage and to the criticism of the gods that sometimes accompanies such suffering. We should, however, accept such lamentations and their

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portrayal in tragedy as a valuable part of our human experience” (Johnson & Clapp 2005: 152). This echoes a suggestion made earlier in this essay that the man who weeps in tragedy is not being feminized so much as he is showing a basic humanity that – yes – he shares with women. Perhaps the reason some see tragedy as a feminine genre41 is that it is not just “male”, but includes “female” too. That is, it is human. This new term might also permit us to avoid the problem of the masculinization of women in tragedy when they do not cry (e. g. Hecuba in the scene with Odysseus in the Hecuba, or Iphigenia as she goes to her sacrifice in the Iphigenia at Aulis). Theoretically, this should happen as much as the feminization of men when they do, although it has not been seen as a scholarly problem. Johnson & Clapp (2005) and Falkner (2005) point out that Aristotle includes pity in his analysis of what kind of plot produces the finest tragic drama.42 Could this include tears as well? Compare Euripides, fr. 407: “It is a lack of refinement (!lous¸a) not to shed a tear for pitiable things (1pû oQjtqo?sim).”43 Tzanetou (2005) and Johnson & Clapp (2005) go farther and argue that tragedy helped to teach Athenians pity and compassion, and that they were proud of their ability, in contrast to other Greek states, to feel these emotions.44 It is hard to imagine completely tearless pity, although it has been suggested that, for tragedy that was the “[i]deal (…) to strike a balance between a show of sensitivity and a show of self-control” (van Wees 1998: 17). Even Theseus, perhaps the icon for the compassion that made Athens so proud, whose tearless pity appears in numerous tragedies (Heracles, Oedipus at Colonus, Suppliants, at the end of the Hippolytus), does cry once, for Heracles (Euripides, Her. 1238). But we must stay within the parameters of our allotted topic: tears in tragedy. The evidence does not show that they are overwhelmingly female, nor that men are inevitably feminized by them. Rather it suggests that all kinds of people cry, for many different reasons which are not categorizable by age, gender or social status, and that they offer a variety of reactions to the tears that they themselves weep or that they observe others weeping. Or perhaps we should say that all three tragedians chose to 41 42 43 44

E.g. Falkner (2005), with references to Zeitlin (1990). Aristotle, Poet. 1449b, 1452b30 – 1453a; Rhetoric 2.8, 1385b13 – 16. See Johnson & Clapp (2005: 134). E.g. Tzanetou (2005: 108): “Both tragedy and oratory aim to cultivate pity as an emotion appropriate for Athenians in the context of ceremonial occasions that reinforced civic consciousness and heightened national pride.”

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portray these people crying in these ways; that they used tears to characterize their actors, and offered a wide and realistic range of styles and attitudes towards these tears. We should expect nothing less from these poets. Bibliography Alexiou, Margaret (1974): The Ritual Lament in Greek Tradition, Cambridge (repr. 2002). Blundell, Sue & Margaret Williamson (eds.) (1998): The Sacred and the Feminine in Ancient Greece, London & New York. Caraveli, Anna (1986): The bitter wounding. The lament as social protest in rural Greece. In: Jill Dubisch (ed.), Gender and Power in Rural Greece, Princeton, 169 – 194. Derderian, Katharine (2001): Leaving Words to Remember. Greek Mourning and the Advent of Literacy, Leiden, Boston & Kçln. Dubisch, Jill (ed.) (1986): Gender and Power in Rural Greece, Princeton. Falkner, Thomas M. (2005): Engendering the tragic TheatÞs. Pity, power, and spectacle in Sophocles Trachiniae. In: Rachel Hall Sternberg (ed.), Pity and Power in Ancient Athens, Cambridge, 165 – 192. Ferguson, John (1972): A Companion to Greek Tragedy, Austin & London. Foley, Helene (2001): Female Acts in Greek Tragedy, Princeton. Foxhall, Lin & John Salmon (eds.) (1998): When Men Were Men. Masculinity, Power and Identity in Classical Antiquity, London & New York. Hall, Edith (1993): Asia unmanned. In: John Rich & Graham Shipley (eds.), War and Society in the Greek World, London & New York, 108 – 133. Hall, Edith (1996): Aeschylus: Persians. With introduction, translation and commentary, Warminster. Holst-Warhaft, Gail (1992): Dangerous Voices. Women s Laments and Greek Literature, London & New York. Johnson, James F. & Douglas C. Clapp (2005): Athenian tragedy. An education in pity. In: Rachel Hall Sternberg (ed.), Pity and Power in Ancient Athens, Cambridge, 123 – 164. Lateiner, Donald (2005): The pitiers and the pitied in Herodotus and Thucydides. In: Rachel Hall Sternberg (ed.), Pity and Power in Ancient Athens, Cambridge, 67 – 97. Loraux, Nicole (1986): The Invention of Athens. The Funeral Oration in the Classical City (transl. Alan Sheridan), Cambridge, Mass. Martin, Richard (1989): The Language of Heroes. Speech and Performance in the “Iliad”, Ithaca. McClure, Laura (1999): Spoken Like a Woman. Speech and Gender in Athenian Drama, Princeton. Monsacr , H l ne (1984): Les larmes d Achille. Le h ros, la femme et la souffrance dans la po sie d Hom re, Paris.

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Ormand, Kirk (1999): Exchange and the Maiden. Marriage in Sophoclean Tragedy, Austin. Peradotto, John & John Patrick Sullivan (eds.) (1984): Women in the Ancient World. The Arethusa Papers, Albany. Rich, John & Graham Shipley (eds.) (1993): War and Society in the Greek World, London & New York. Segal, Charles (1992): Euripides Alcestis. Female death and male tears. In: Classical Antiquity 11, 142 – 158. Seremitakis, C. Nadia (1991): The Last Word. Women, Death, and Divination in Inner Mani, Chicago & London. Stears, Karen (1998): Death becomes her. Gender and Athenian death ritual. In: Sue Blundell & Margaret Williamson (eds.), The Sacred and the Feminine in Ancient Greece, London & New York, 113 – 127. Sternberg, Rachel Hall (ed.) (2005): Pity and Power in Ancient Athens, Cambridge. Suter, Ann (ed.) (2008a): Lament. Studies in the Ancient Mediterranean and Beyond, New York & Oxford. Suter, Ann (2008b): Introduction. In: Ann Suter (ed.), Lament. Studies in the Ancient Mediterranean and Beyond, New York & Oxford, 3 – 17. Suter, Ann (2008c): Male lament in Greek tragedy. In: Ann Suter (ed.), Lament. Studies in the Ancient Mediterranean and Beyond, New York & Oxford, 156 – 180. Tsagalis, Christos (2004): Epic Grief. Personal Laments in Homer s “Iliad”, Berlin & New York. Tzanetou, Angeliki (2005): A generous city. Pity in Athenian oratory and tragedy. In: Rachel Hall Sternberg (ed.), Pity and Power in Ancient Athens, Cambridge, 98 – 122. van Wees, Hans (1998): A brief history of tears. Gender differentiation in ancient Greece. In: Lin Foxhall & John Salmon (eds.), When Men Were Men. Masculinity, Power and Identity in Classical Antiquity, London & New York, 10 – 53. Whitman, Cedric (1951): Sophocles. A Study of Heroic Humanism, Cambridge, Mass. Winkler, John & Froma Zeitlin (eds.) (1990): Nothing to Do with Dionysos?, Princeton. Zeitlin, Froma (1984): The dynamics of misogyny. Myth and myth-making in the Oresteia. In: John Peradotto & John Patrick Sullivan (eds.), Women in the Ancient World. The Arethusa Papers, Albany, 159 – 194. Zeitlin, Froma (1990): Playing the other. Theatre, theatricality, and the feminine in Greek drama. In: John Winkler & Froma Zeitlin (eds.), Nothing to Do with Dionysos?, Princeton, 63 – 96.

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Dangerous Tears? Platonic Provocations and Aristotelic Answers Roland Baumgarten Abstract: For anyone who reads Plato s famous critique of poetry in the Republic, it seems unquestionable that, in the eyes of the great Athenian philosopher, emotions like grief and sorrow are dangerous for the minds of men. The weeping and moaning heroes of Homeric epic and Attic tragedy thus do not constitute models worthy of emulation for souls, which ought to resist emotions, and therefore these genres should be banned from the ideal state. There are some hints, however, that Plato was not an irreconcilable enemy of poetry and rhetoric, which are designed to evoke an emotional response, and that he had a concept of a new philosophical rhetoric and poetry, which can also move to tears, but for a higher aim: recognizing one s own faults, which is the first step towards overcoming them. In contrast to his teacher, Aristotle had no need to seek out a new form of poetry. He was highly satisfied with the best works of the poetic tradition, because for him one of the main aims of an ideal tragedy was to evoke tears of pity; the experience of such strong emotion in the sheltered place of the theatre could prove salutary for confronting the travails of everyday life.

The heroes of Homeric epics, least of all Achilles, are not afraid of giving free rein to their emotions such as anger and resentment, but also to the pain of loss, and neither do they shy away from expressing them externally with tears.1 This may have to do with the specifics of the archaic epic which, as part of a long poetic tradition, offers the poet only limited opportunities of representing emotional processes and thereby almost forces him to turn the interior outward. But whether the contemporary male recipients already took a fundamentally distanced position vis- -vis such expressive demonstrations of emotions within their own milieus seems doubtful. Rather, culturally approved display rules exist for specific contexts, as Cairns emphasizes (2009: 41 – 42, in this volume). Thus, the ritually required reaction to bereavement is precisely crying, and the crying of men, too. The tears are a “gift of honour for the dead” (Homer, Il. 23.9: 1

For a detailed discussion see Fçllinger (2009, in this volume). The relevant literature can be found there as well.

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c´qar hamºmtym). With these words, Achilles calls on his Myrmidons to wail for Patroclus. Vase paintings from the archaic period cannot prove this directly, since the representation of tears seems to have been something of a problem for the artists; but it is possible to find depictions which attempt to make the acoustic phenomenon of “wailing” (jka¸eim)2 perceptible through inscriptions. Thus, the inscription OIMOI is found next to the heads of grieving men.3 One may therefore still assume that at first there was no difference in principle between the reactions to bereavement by men and women not only in the epic, but no more so in its recipients everyday lives.4 However, more extreme forms of expression, such as self-disfigurement by tearing one s hair, scratching cheeks, baring breasts, besmearing with dirt etc., which Homer permits some dignified characters such as Priam5 to do, are indeed restricted to the female mourners in archaic visual art since the sixth century B.C. Possibly at this time already, but definitely in the fifth century, such public forms of demonstrating grief are kept in check by legal means. Thus, regulations are ascribed to the great reformer of the state Solon which are said to have prohibited face-scratching as a sign of grief or singing laments (hq/moi) in public.6 At this point the subject of our investigation proper, Plato, comes into play. Plato s works, notwithstanding their philosophical content, are characterized by their direct engagement with the everyday practices and attitudes of his contemporaries. As with many Greek philosophers, the in2 3 4

5 6

On the terminology of expressions for wailing cf. Fçllinger (2009: 20 – 21, in this volume). E.g. on a black-figure phormiskos in the Athens Kerameikos Museum (no. 691; around 510 B.C.). On archaeological documentation overall see Huber (2001). Archilochus (fr. 13 West), too, assumes a broad acceptance of “sighful grief” (j¶dea stomºemta), which is after all also part of the ritual lament to be performed initially. To him, it is decisive that a man overcomes this first phase of dejection through “endurance” (tkglos¼mg). “Effeminate” behaviour is therefore revealed in those who remain in a posture of grief for too long. This understanding is probably reflected in the Iliad (23.157) when Achilles, who had struggled so hard himself with overcoming his grief over Patroclus, calls on Agamemnon to order an end to the wailing of his people and have the food be prepared for all, of course with the intention of marshalling their strength for the fight against the Trojans once more. E.g. Homer, Il. 22.414: Priam wallows in excrement; Il. 24.160 – 165: Priam s sons, crying, sit around their father who is covered in excrement. See Fçllinger (2009: 24, in this volume). On the funeral laws as a whole see Engels (1998: 77 – 96 on Solon) and Baumgarten (2008: 42 – 49).

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struction of the soul is one of his central themes: the correct conduct of the soul is indispensable for the good life of the individual, but also of society as a whole. A person must therefore be properly directed by others from childhood in order to be able to achieve at least partial, ideally even complete, self-conduct from a certain point on. According to Plato, leading this educational project to success requires the removal, if possible, of all interfering external influences. In this, he proceeds as a modern scientist would in an experiment. The elimination of external influences may create unrealistic laboratory conditions, but it is exceptionally conducive to insight. Plato delivers such a model experiment in his concept of an ideal state, the Republic (Politeia), and, in somewhat more realistic form, in his late work, the Laws (Nomoi). In both texts, Plato deals with those interfering influences which in his opinion could shake the foundations of his project. And excessive grieving and wailing are among them. Modern recipients may be surprised by the fact that actual mourning on the death of a person is merely the foil against which an entirely different phenomenon of “mourning” is tackled head-on. As we have seen, mourning the dead is already more narrowly channelled in Plato s time; he therefore primarily focusses on an area of Greek culture which is a sanctuary for the older excessive forms of mourning: on Greek theatre, more particularly Greek tragedy.7 Plato initially observes of it that the forms of mourning represented on stage do not meet his requirements of suitable behaviour, not even the requirements of contemporary society applying outside the protected space of the theatre, where unrestrained wailing and crying is regarded as “effeminate”.8 Plato gives the impression that the heroes moan and cry on the stage of the Theatre of Dionysus in Athens at least as expressively as in the Homeric epics, which in turn are at least as influential as they were at the time of their origin because they are recited during great festivals such as the Panathenaic Games.9 This is firstly only a reference to a specific form of poetic continuity as was expected and appreciated by the audience. Suter (2009: 80, in this volume) rightly points out how difficult it is to sketch a consistent image of what Attic society in the fifth century 7 8 9

On the relationship between mourning ritual and tragedy see Cole (1985) and Schauer (2002). Plato, Rep. 605e. On the development of the gender opposition see van Wees (1998) and Fçllinger (2009: 31 – 33, in this volume). A short overview of the practice of staging the Homeric epics by rhapsodists can be found in Murray s commentary on the Ion (Murray 1996: 19 – 21).

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regarded as behaviour conforming to standards regarding wailing and crying based on the different pictures which poetry and Platonic dialogues offer. An additional problem with Plato is that he never speaks as himself, but that he rather offers us fictional conversations between historical characters. Though one may well assume that he sees himself particularly beholden to the character of his teacher Socrates, the latter cannot simply be interpreted as Plato s substitute in all cases. But with all due caution one may say that Plato clearly regards human behavioural patterns as presented in poetry as problematic, even dangerous in certain respects. This is not least due to the fact that in fifth-century Attic society the theatre and the recitation of epics10 do not simply open a space for cultural self-realization, where things usually frowned upon can be admitted. Rather, Plato not unjustifiably regards these “media” as decisive agents of education, and this just has to bring the self-proclaimed educator of the people on the scene.11 Any educational approach is doomed to failure, after all, if the wrong models are imparted.12 Plato therefore dedicates a longer section in the context of the education of the young guardians who are to protect the ideal state against threats from both within and without to a critique of the image that epic and tragedy give of the great heroes of the past (Rep. 376c – 398b). The models which performative poetry, that is drama and epic, conveys are in his opinion more than merely vague models for orientation; he rather ascribes to them an immediate psychagogic effect, and he does so using the simple formula that the imitated affects the imitator so strongly that the imitator becomes like the imitated (Rep. 395d):13 C oqj Õshgsai fti aR lil¶seir, 1±m 1j m´ym pºqqy diatek´sysim, eQr 5hg te ja· v¼sim jah¸stamtai ja· jat± s_la ja· vym±r ja· jat± tµm diamo¸am. Or have you not observed that imitations, if continued from youth far into life, settle down into habits and (second) nature in the body, the speech and the thought? (transl. Paul Shorey)

10 Plato does not always clearly distinguish in his remarks between epic and tragedy, since he regards Homer as the “first teacher and leader” of the tragic poets (Rep. 595c). 11 On the emotional education of Athenians through tragedy see Johnson & Clapp (2005). 12 On the danger of wrong “images” (eUjomer) in education, which can be conveyed through poetry, but also through other art forms, see Plato, Rep. 401b – d. 13 On the psychology of mimesis in Plato see Halliwell (2002: 72 – 97).

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Of course, this is first of all true for the actor or reciter, respectively, who is unable to distance himself internally from his role and who rather becomes as one with it. In the Ion, an instructive self-description of Ion the rhapsodist can be found (Ion 535c): 1c½ c±q ftam 1keimºm ti k´cy, dajq¼ym 1lp¸lpkamta¸ lou oR avhaklo¸· ftam te vobeq¹m C deimºm, aqha· aR tq¸wer Vstamtai rp¹ vºbou ja· B jaqd¸a pgdø. When I relate a tale of woe, my eyes are filled with tears; and when it is of fear or awe, my hair stands on end with terror, and my heart leaps. (transl. W. R. M. Lamb)

But such a form of identification with the imitated, causing intense physical reactions, could be dismissed as a problem of the rhapsodist or acting profession, and would not immediately have to be classed as a danger to society as a whole. After all, the professionalization of acting was well under way in Plato s time. According to Plato, it is merely necessary here to ensure that no fellow citizens expose themselves to this emotional stress. In the Laws, he thus suggests working with hired singers from out of town, as commonly practised in burial ceremonies (Nom. 800e). But apart from the institutionalised performances, the recital of Homeric epics in particular was a permanent feature of instruction at school, and the danger of identifying with the part could therefore seem to Plato to be particularly grave for young students such as his guardians.14 The imitator effect on the spectators, however, is no less grave in his eyes. At this point, one may well take Plato seriously as a theatre-goer who closely observed his compatriots. The average Athenian spectator was very likely no less moved to emotion by the action on stage than a modern cinema-goer is by effective tear-jerking blockbusters such as Titanic. 15 Ancient drama may well have been able to address the intellect, 14 On the importance of poetry within the educational canon see the short overview in Murray (1996: 14 – 19). 15 Once more, a passage from Plato s Ion (535e) is instructive here. Asked by Socrates whether he was aware that he and the other rhapsodists were able to move great multitudes – twenty-thousand is the number mentioned – Ion answers: Ja· l²ka jak_r oWda· jahoq_ c±q 2j²stote aqto»r %myhem !p¹ toO b¶lator jk²omt²r te ja· deim¹m 1lbk´pomtar ja· sumhalboOmtar to?r kecol´moir (“Yes, very fully aware: for I look down upon them from the platform and see them at such moments crying and turning awestruck eyes upon me and yielding to the amazement of my tale”). But in the following sentence, Ion drops his mask: ¢r 1±m l³m jk²omtar aqto»r jah¸sy, aqt¹r cek²solai !qc¼qiom kalb²mym (“For I have to pay the closest attention to them; since, if I set them crying, I shall laugh myself because of the money I take”, transl. W. R. M. Lamb). To Ion, the psycha-

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but it owed a large part of its effect to its high degree of emotionality, an emotionality of which the extant texts offer only a greatly reduced glimpse (cf. Taplin 1991: 166 – 171). Ancient drama was a theatre of the senses, after all, for Greek tragedies (and comedies) were synaesthetic works of art integrating music, dance and speech, and thus offered more varied sensations than a merely spoken performance. Regarding this performative aspect, Plato may prove even more sensitive than his disciple Aristotle.16 Though the latter does not fail to notice that there are tragedies which mainly rely on show effect, he still assumes that a good tragedy draws primarily on the structure of its action for its harrowing effect which can thus also unfold when the play is treated as a closet drama (cf. Poet. 1453b3 – 7 and 1462a11 – 13). Plato also devotes far more attention than Aristotle does to music s character-building power.17 As the chorus is the actual carrier of the musical element, Plato s remarks on choral performances, which are to be found in other contexts, deserve attention as well. Thus, he comments on choral performances as part of religious festivals, at the centre of which is a great animal sacrifice (Nom. 800b – d): dglos¸ô c²q tima hus¸am ftam !qw¶ tir h¼s,, let± taOta woq¹r oqw eXr !kk± pk/hor woq_m Fjei, ja· st²mter oq pºqqy t_m byl_m !kk± paq aqto»r 1m¸ote, p÷sam bkasvgl¸am t_m Req_m jataw´ousim, N¶las¸ te ja· Nuhlo?r ja· coydest²tair "qlom¸air sumte¸momter t±r t_m !jqoyl´mym xuw²r, ja· dr #m dajqOsai l²kista tµm h¼sasam paqawq/la poi¶s, pºkim, oxtor t± mijgt¶qia v´qei. Whenever a magistrate holds a public sacrifice, the next thing is for a crowd of choirs – not merely one – to advance and take their stand, not at a distance from the altars, but often quite close to them; and then they let out a flood of blasphemy over the sacred offerings, racking the souls of their audience with words, rhythms and tunes most dolorous, and the man that succeeds at once in drawing most tears from the sacrificing city carries off the palm of victory. (transl. R. Bury)18 gogic influence is a cold entrepreneurial calculation. Through this he moves into the vicinity of the sophists with their “market-oriented” educational offerings, whom Plato judges very critically (on Gorgias see below). 16 On Aristotle s remarks on the aspects of drama related to staging see Halliwell (1998: 337 – 343). 17 Plato, Rep. 398c – 399d and Aristotle, Pol. 1339a11 – 1342b34; see further Halliwell (2002: 234 – 259). 18 With the “blasphemies” (bkasvgl¸ai) mentioned here Plato of course refers mainly to the offensive contents of the traditional divine mythology, which he castigates in the Republic, too (esp. Rep. 377e – 383c).

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What Plato states for sacrificial rites in general was still true of the moving spectacle of funeral processions with their laments and wailing music in the sixth century B.C. at least.19 In the fifth century, tragedy continues this “spectacle” in some respects. If in its course an action occurs which acts out human suffering in an extreme form via the heroic myths, emotional penetration with the corresponding flow of tears is the rule rather than the exception. This, now, is the point of departure for Plato s second critique of poetry in the tenth book of the Republic. The section admittedly presupposes the insight gained previously in the dialogue that the soul is tripartite and consists of a rational (kocistijºm), a high-spirited (huloeid´r) and a desiring part (1pihulgtijºm), but when Plato here investigates to what degree mimetic poetry runs contrary to his demand for a harmony of the parts of the soul, he works with a simplified division of the soul into two parts (see Halliwell 1997: 329 – 330; Naddaff 2002: 98 – 107). In doing so, he lets Socrates as the conductor of the dialogue develop his notions using the example of a man having suffered a severe blow of fate – the loss of a son (Rep. 603e – 606b). One part of the soul, he claims, is hit particularly hard by such a blow and clamours to cry and wail to its content (dajqOsa¸ te ja· !pod¼qashai) because its nature demands it (Rep. 606a). If this part of the soul is given free rein – which happens particularly easily in case of bereavement, for example, when the sufferer withdraws from the eyes of the public which watches over the social codex of behaviour – the surge of pain quickly leads to unbridled, extravagant moaning and wailing, to behaviour, that is, which would be a source of embarrassment if indulged in publicly (Rep. 604a) because it does not conform to custom. The soul is thus in conflict between the natural and standardized reactions. The term “natural” is in need of further definition for Plato, though. The strongly emotional reaction conforms to the nature of the unreasonable part of the soul (Rep. 605b: t¹ !mºgtom), whereas “custom”, the mºlor, though running counter to the nature of this part of the soul and thus being “unnatural”, still realizes that which the rational part of the soul should in any case demand due to its deeper insight. Accordingly, reining in the reaction of grief is likewise “natural”, as it corresponds to the nature of the kocistijºm. 19 On the development of the forms of public mourning in ancient Greece, see Alexiou (1974), Holst-Warhaft (1996) and Baumgarten (2008). On the development in Rome, see Sˇterbenc Erker (2009, in this volume).

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The intense emotional reaction is counterproductive, since immoderate grieving effectively leads to depressive passivity when the opposite should in fact happen, that is to say, an active mental engagement with the loss sustained; after all, it takes suitable counter-measures to mend the damaged and ill part of the soul using a specific art of healing. A self-therapy of the soul is thus called for, a therapy which is possible only if the best part of the soul is trained in reasonable reflection (Rep. 604d) and keeps the inferior unreasonable part of the soul, which tends to indolence and cowardice, under control. The imitating poet, however, makes a mockery of this by addressing his work to the “irritable” part of the soul (Rep. 605a: t¹ !camajtgtijºm) because he desires success with the masses, which are ruled by precisely this part of the soul. Plato s critique of poetry exhibits remarkable parallels at this point to modern critiques of the media, more specifically to the charge that private TV channels aim primarily at the emotions of the audience with their sensationalism in order to secure a larger market share. As though the seduction of the masses were not problematic enough, the main “accusation” is still to come (Rep. 605c): mimetic poetry can damage excellent people, too. For their souls, too, possess an inferior part after all, which is deeply moved and seduced to pleasurable sympathy by tragic poetry (Rep. 605d): oR c²q pou b´ktistoi Bl_m !jqo¾lemoi jl¶qou C %kkou tim¹r t_m tqac\dopoi_m liloul´mou tim± t_m Bq¾ym 1m p´mhei emta ja· lajq±m N/sim !pote¸momta 1m to?r aduqlo?r C ja· Ådomt²r te ja· joptol´mour, oWshû fti wa¸qol´m te ja· 1mdºmter Bl÷r aqto»r 2pºleha sulp²swomter ja· spoud²fomter 1paimoOlem ¢r !cah¹m poigt¶m, dr #m Bl÷r fti l²kista ovty diah0. I think you know that the very best of us, when we hear Homer or some other of the makers of tragedy imitating one of the heroes who is in grief, and is delivering a long tirade in his lamentations or chanting and beating his breast, feel pleasure, and abandon ourselves and accompany the representation with sympathy and eagerness, and we praise as an excellent poet the one who most strongly affects us in this way. (transl. Paul Shorey)

This sympathetic behaviour can lead to negative habituation: the part of the soul which is the best by nature becomes less watchful over the mournful part (t¹ hqgm_der), especially if it has not been rendered sufficiently steadfast by reason-orientated education (oqw Rjam_r pepaideul´mom kºc\ ja· 5hei). This happens all the more easily because one underestimates the danger to oneself when one re-enacts the imitated suffering of others (p²hg) and considers the inner gratification one receives as pos-

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itive. This orientation towards the needs of the inferior part of the soul can therefore be fatal also to excellent persons (Rep. 606b): koc¸feshai c±q oWlai ak¸coir tis·m l´testim fti !poka¼eim !m²cjg !p¹ t_m !kkotq¸ym eQr t± oQje?a· hq´xamta c±q 1m 1je¸moir Qswuq¹m t¹ 1keim¹m oq Nõdiom 1m to?r artoO p²hesi jat´weim. That is, I think, because few are capable of reflecting that what we enjoy in others will inevitably react upon ourselves. For after feeding fat the emotion of pity there, it is not easy to restrain it in our own sufferings. (transl. Paul Shorey)

The fundamental tenor of these passages is more than typical evidence of the logocentricity of Greek philosophy with its belief in the principal possibility of subjecting the human as emotional being to domination by the human as rational being. For what is suggested here would not be, if one were to put it in terms of psychology, a strategy of confrontation but of avoidance, such as those which can be observed again and again in anxiety patients. For Plato precisely does not recommend, as a modern psychiatrist would, confronting the psychagogic influence of epic and tragedy and strengthening the assertive powers of the kocistijºm in the stressful situation; he rather seems to assume that these are strengthened by persistent avoidance of conflict situations – a procedure which may save addicts from the worst but which can in no way prevent a relapse. This avoidance strategy may be possible in the context of imitated suffering and also sensible regarding Platonic “child protection”, but on immediate suffering, for example on the death of a close person, a severe emotional shock is unavoidable. Plato deals in depth with this case in two sections of his works: in the Phaedo, which describes the execution of Socrates and his disciples reactions to it, and in the Laws, which contain an extensive passage with prescriptions for burials (Nom. 958d – 960b). Let us first look at the latter text: in his prescriptions on funeral matters, Plato is certainly guided by the restrictive Attic practice of his time, mentioned above, which curbs the extravagance of funeral processions and also strives to prevent the funeral procession from becoming a public mourning spectacle. This is of course to Plato s liking. While modern research is debating the reasons for these restrictions in Attic funeral practice (cf. Baumgarten 2008: 42 – 49), Plato has his legislator justify the measures proposed by him in accordance with his fundamental philosophical conceptions explained above: since the true self of anyone is the immortal soul, while the body is only an image of the deceased, no-one is to ruin himself through excessive spending on funerals believing that the

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lump of flesh being buried is particularly close to him (Nom. 959c). The burial ceremonies should therefore be carried out with beauty, but also with moderation (Nom. 959e). This includes avoiding loud moaning and wailing outside the house on the way to the grave, or more precisely, outlawing it (Nom. 960a). Plato thus believes these forms of mourning to be controllable in principle. But a wholly immediate emotional reaction such as crying is subject to neither prohibition nor command (Nom. 960a). So Plato indeed distinguishes between a more “naturally” conditioned, barely controllable, and a more “culturally” conditioned, or social, crying. The latter can be influenced – and in this, Plato the anti-sophist is entirely an heir to sophism – by altering the codex of behaviour, the mºlor, whereas the former can at best be kept within certain limits by correspondingly conditioning the soul. This conditioning is effected through instructing the guiding part of the soul to regard the process causing the suffering – and therefore the physical reaction of crying – not as terrible suffering, since death is precisely not the complete annihilation of the loved one, but only an end to his physical existence. As the Laws continue the critique of poetry of the Republic, and hence tragedy in its traditional form is banned from the stages of the polis in this concept of the ideal state,20 the reasonable part of the soul, strengthened by excellent education, is confronted with corresponding emotional reactions only in case of bereavement. It remains able to control its reactions in this situation in principle, but it will obviously be hardly able to completely control a physical reaction like crying even in optimal conditions. This also becomes apparent in the closing scene of the Phaedo in the reaction of Socrates disciples when he drains the cup of hemlock (Phaedo 117c – e): ja· Bl_m oR pokko· t´yr l³m 1pieij_r oXo¸ te Gsam jat´weim t¹ lµ dajq¼eim, ¢r d³ eUdolem p¸momt² te ja· pepyjºta, oqj´ti, !kkû 1loO ce b¸ô ja· aqtoO !stajt· 1w¾qei t± d²jqua, ¦ste 1cjakux²lemor !p´jkaom 1lautºm – oq c±q dµ 1je?mºm ce, !kk± tµm 1lautoO t¼wgm, oVou !mdq¹r 2ta¸qou 1steqgl´mor eUgm. b d³ Jq¸tym 5ti pqºteqor 1loO, 1peidµ oqw oXºr tû Gm jat´weim t± d²jqua, 1nam´stg. )pokkºdyqor d³ ja· 1m t` 5lpqoshem wqºm\ oqd³m 1pa¼eto dajq¼ym, ja· dµ ja· tºte !mabquwgs²lemor jk²ym ja· !camajt_m oqd´ma fmtima oq jat´jkase t_m paqºmtym pk¶m ce aqtoO Syjq²tour. 9je?mor d´, OXa, 5vg, poie?te, § haul²sioi. 1c½ l´mtoi oqw Fjista to¼tou 6meja t±r cuma?20 Nom. 810e – 817e, particularly 817a – d. In 811c – e, the “Athenian”, in a sense Plato s mouthpiece in the dialogue, suggests replacing traditional poetry as school reading with a text like the Laws. To what degree this is said with a pinch of self-irony we leave to debate.

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jar !p´pelxa, Vma lµ toiaOta pkglleko?em· ja· c±q !j¶joa fti 1m eqvgl¸ô wqµ tekeut÷m. !kkû Bsuw¸am te %cete ja· jaqteqe?te. Ja· Ble?r !jo¼samter Ñsw¼mhgl´m te ja· 1p´swolem toO dajq¼eim. Up to that time most of us had been able to restrain our tears fairly well, but when we watched him drinking and saw that he had drunk the poison, we could do so no longer, but in spite of myself my tears rolled down in floods, so that I wrapped my face in my cloak and wept for myself; for it was not for him that I wept, but for my own misfortune in being deprived of such a friend. Crito had got up and gone away even before I did, because he could not restrain his tears. But Apollodorus, who had been weeping all the time before, then wailed aloud in his grief and made us all break down, except Socrates himself. But he said, “What conduct is this, you strange men! I sent the women away chiefly for this very reason, that they might not behave in this absurd way; for I have heard that it is best to die in silence. Keep quiet and be brave.” Then we were ashamed and controlled our tears. (transl. Harold North Fowler)

The disciples assembled at the hour of death are indeed conscious of the demand on the true philosopher to keep countenance. But there are problems in putting this demand into practice. On the one hand, there are individual differences: Apollodorus is sketched as extremely weepy and unrestrained, whereas the narrator Phaedo can rein in his urge to cry at least until the act of execution, the taking of poison. But the tears burst forth all the more freely for it afterwards. Plato here imitates a behaviour of his “heroes” which he deems, taking as a standard the instructions in the Republic, inappropriate, that is “effeminate”. But the necessary self-censorship follows swiftly: the true “heroes” are not the disciples, after all, but the philosopher-hero Socrates. And he, of course, does everything properly. He alone, although the principal aggrieved party, remains composed and points out their imperfect behaviour to the others. The scene from the Phaedo therefore stages the demands of the Republic; it is, if you will, a successful tragedy scene according to Plato, with a leading character above all suspicion and all normal human measure. Although this makes it seem almost obtrusively didactic, Plato, supposedly in contempt of psychagogic poetry, here succeeds in composing one of the most moving passages of classical literature. “Purified” poetry need therefore by no means be aesthetically unrewarding. But even the ostracised tears themselves can develop pedagogic effect in those cases in which they are called forth by effective linguistic messages. Plato gives us the most impressive description of this in the words of Socrates follower Alcibiades, who delivers an impassioned

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speech on the “eros” of Socrates in the final passage of the Symposium (215b – e): !kkû oqj aqkgt¶r. pok¼ ce haulasi¾teqor 1je¸mou. b l´m ce di aqc²mym 1j¶kei to»r !mhq¾pour t0 !p¹ toO stºlator dum²lei, ja· 5ti mum· dr #m t± 1je¸mou aqk0 (…) s» dû 1je¸mou tosoOtom lºmom diav´qeir, fti %meu aqc²mym xiko?r kºcoir taqt¹m toOto poie?r. Ble?r coOm ftam l´m tou %kkou !jo¼ylem k´comtor ja· p²mu !cahoO N¶toqor %kkour kºcour, oqd³m l´kei ¢r 5por eQpe?m oqdem¸· 1peid±m d³ soO tir !jo¼, C t_m s_m kºcym %kkou k´comtor, j#m p²mu vaOkor × b k´cym, 1²mte cumµ !jo¼, 1²mte !mµq 1²mte leiq²jiom, 1jpepkgcl´moi 1sl³m ja· jatewºleha. 1c½ coOm, § %mdqer, eQ lµ 5lekkom jolid0 dºneim leh¼eim, eWpom alºsar #m rl?m oXa dµ p´pomha aqt¹r rp¹ t_m to¼tou kºcym ja· p²swy 5ti ja· mum¸. ftam c±q !jo¼y, pok¼ loi l÷kkom C t_m joqubamti¾mtym F te jaqd¸a pgdø ja· d²jqua 1jwe?tai rp¹ t_m kºcym t_m to¼tou, bq_ d³ ja· %kkour palpºkkour t± aqt± p²swomtar· Peqijk´our d³ !jo¼ym ja· %kkym !cah_m Ngtºqym ew l³m Bco¼lgm k´ceim, toioOtom dû oqd³m 5paswom, oqdû 1tehoq¼bgtº lou B xuwµ oqdû Acam²jtei ¢r !mdqapodyd_r diajeil´mou, !kkû rp¹ toutou; toO Laqs¼ou pokk²jir dµ ovty diet´hgm ¦ste loi dºnai lµ biyt¹m eWmai 5womti ¢r 5wy. Are you not a piper? Why, yes, and a far more marvellous one than the satyr. His lips indeed had power to entrance mankind by means of instruments; a thing still possible today for anyone who can pipe his tunes. (…) You differ from him in one point only – that you produce the same effect with simple prose unaided by instruments. For example, when we hear any other person – quite an excellent orator, perhaps – pronouncing one of the usual discourses, no one, I venture to say, cares a jot; but so soon as we hear you, or your discourses in the mouth of another, – though such person be ever so poor a speaker, and whether the hearer be a woman or a man or a youngster – we are all astounded and entranced. As for myself, gentlemen, were it not that I might appear to be absolutely tipsy, I would have affirmed on oath all the strange effects I personally have felt from his words, and still feel even now. For when I hear him I am worse than any wild fanatic; I find my heart leaping and my tears gushing forth at the sound of his speech, and I see great numbers of other people having the same experience. When I listened to Pericles and other skilled orators I thought them eloquent, but I never felt anything like this; my spirit was not left in a tumult and had not to complain of my being in the condition of a common slave: whereas the influence of our Marsyas here has often thrown me into such a state that I thought my life not worth living on these terms. (transl. Harold North Fowler)

Socrates thus achieves the effect referred to here not through mimesis, his remarks are not imitations of emotion; on the contrary: they are simple, “bare”, prosaic words (x¸koi kºcoi) without any devices aiming at emotional effect. This outward simplicity cannot actually address the unreasonable part of the soul directly, which requires stronger stimuli; it

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must first reach the kocistijºm. But if in these conditions the same physical reactions occur as during a recitation of Homer, that is palpitations and intense crying21 – think of the Ion passage quoted above (535c) – or during a production of a tragedy, then the kocistijºm, too, seems to be able to bring forth such reactions at least indirectly. But the person agitated in this way does not fall into depressive passivity; he rather realizes that his life to this point has been false and therefore not worth living, and that the time has come to turn around (see Wildberg 2007: esp. 235 – 240). Socrates “magic speech” therefore brings about a productive “grief reaction” leading to activity, since not loss is “mourned” but rather the waste of life through the wrong conduct of life. This passage of the Symposium is similarly paradigmatic and programmatic to the section in the Phaedo. Where the latter shows what ideal stage poetry should look like, the former contrasts ideal rhetoric, and the philosophers speech is just that, to the elaborated speech of politicians and teachers of oration, the sophists. For the great rhetorician Gorgias invoked the magical power of oration in his speech in defence of Helen, delivered for the purposes of demonstration (cf. Segal 1962). He characteristically illustrates this great power of oration, of the kºcor, by taking as his example the efficacy of poetry which as “discourse having meter” (kºcom 5womta l´tqom) he claims as a special form of rhetoric (VS 82 B11 DK): Hr to»r !jo¼omtar eQs/khe ja· vq¸jg peq¸vobor ja· 5keor pok¼dajqur ja· pºhor vikopemh¶r. Fearful shuddering and tearful pity and sorrowful longing come upon those who hear it.

Gorgias compares this effect with that of magic incantations (1p\da¸), similar to how Plato has Alcibiades describe the effect of Socrates speech. But the rhetoric of Gorgias is lacking in ethical orientation, as Plato reveals in his Gorgias dialogue, and is in this way dangerous similarly to traditional poetry. But rhetoric could look very different indeed and still move to tears, namely in the manner of the “artless” but ethically profound speech of Socrates.22 And Plato once more offers a paradigm for 21 The psychagogic effect of Socrates speech does not, if one follows Alcibiades remarks, occur only in direct contact with Socrates but also whenever his words are conveyed by another person. This can only mean that Plato claims a corresponding effect for his dialogues and their recital, too. 22 Scott (2000: 159 – 178) points to the irritation which Alcibiades can trigger in the recipient. Does the failure of Socrates as an educator not become apparent in him particularly? The most important among the various explanations Scott of-

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this, too: his Apology of Socrates. Even in the introduction to this speech Socrates enters the play with his self-assessment which Alcibiades delivers in the Symposium. No, his adversaries are wrong, he is no rhetorically trained orator, he talks plainly. In one respect, though, he accepts the attribute “formidable speaker” (Apol. 17b): for he speaks the truth without ifs or buts. This ethical claim also pre-empts Socrates from escalating the psychagogic effect of the speech by dramatising the performance. Specifically, this means that he refuses to excite the sympathy of the jury by extra-rhetorical devices such as moaning and crying, apparently commonplace in court23 (Apol. 35b): taOta c²q, § %mdqer )hgma?oi, oute rl÷r wqµ poie?m (…) outû, #m Ble?r poi_lem, rl÷r 1pitq´peim, !kk± toOto aqt¹ 1mde¸jmushai, fti pok» l÷kkom jataxgvie?she toO t± 1keim± taOta dq²lata eQs²comtor ja· jatac´kastom tµm pºkim poioOmtor C toO Bsuw¸am %comtor. Such acts, men of Athens, we who have any reputation at all ought not to commit, and if we commit them you ought not to allow it, but you should make it clear that you will be much more ready to condemn a man who puts before you such pitiable scenes and makes the city ridiculous than one who keeps quiet. (transl. Harold North Fowler)

One may well assume that Plato wished his Apology would cause a reaction in the recipient similar to Alcibiades – but longer-lasting. For this text is a single great appeal to giving account of one s own life and a call for permanent self-improvement. Tears of sympathy for Socrates are less wished for than tears for one s own flawed nature, which are supposed to give the impulse to a change of thinking. Let us briefly turn in closing to Plato s great disciple Aristotle. I will restrict myself to a few suggestions here, as in spite of having plenty to say on the subject of emotions,24 Aristotle devotes little time to the topic of

fers for this oddity seems to be that Plato wishes to show that educators cannot be held responsible for significant character deficits of their “students” which render impossible a lasting effect of educational efforts. The subject of education must also be able and willing to receive instruction. The fact that in the Symposium it is Alcibiades himself who raises the subject of his almost violent separation from Socrates in order to eschew his influence and to freely pursue his desire for public recognition (Symp. 216a – b: til¶), suits Scott s interpretation. 23 On the commonplace practice of moving the court to sympathy, see Sternberg (2005: 31 – 34). 24 The groundbreaking treatise first published by Fortenbaugh (22002) remains important. See also Rapp (2002 [vol. 2]: 543 – 583).

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crying. For Aristotle (or the Aristotelian school, respectively),25 crying is firstly a physiological process, a physical reaction to certain external stimuli (Probl. Phys. 884b22 – 35): Di± t¸ oR 1p· t_m Vppym awo¼lemoi, fs\ #m h÷ttom h´, b Vppor, toso¼t\ l÷kkom dajq¼ousi t± ellata, ja· oR pefo¸, fs\ #m l÷kkom tq´wysim. pºteqom di± t¹ xuwq¹m eWmai t¹m pqosp¸ptomta 1´qa. t¹ c±q xOwor dajq¼eim poie?· sust´kkom c±q ja· pujmoOm tµm s²qja 1jjaha¸qei t¹ rcqºm. C di± toqmamt¸om. t¹ c±q heql¹m poie? Rdq_tar, t¹ d³ d²jquom Rdq¾r t¸r 1sti. di¹ ja· c¸momtai rp¹ heqlas¸ar %lvy taOta, ja· "kuj² 1stim blo¸yr. B d³ j¸mgsir heqlºtgta poie?. C di± tµm rp¹ toO !´qor pkgc¶m. ¢r c±q oR %meloi taq²ttousim oR 1n 1mamt¸ar t± ellata, ovty ja· b !µq b pqosp¸ptym, fs\ #m h÷ttom 1ka¼m, C aqt¹r tq´w,, toso¼t\ l÷kkom poie? pkgcµm lakaj¶m, di Dm c¸metai dajq¼eim, !qaioul´mym t_m toO avhakloO pºqym rp¹ t/r pkgc/r· p÷sa c±q pkgcµ diaiqetijºm 1stim C hkastijºm. Why do those who ride on horseback water more freely at the eyes the faster the horse gallops, and men on foot the faster they run? Is it because the air that strikes them is cold? For it is cold, which causes tears; for by contracting and thickening the flesh, it clears out the moisture. Or is it just the reverse? For heat products sweat and tears are a kind of sweat. Both then are due to heat, and both are equally salt. But movement produces heat. Or is it due to the blow delivered by the air? For just as the wind blowing from the opposite direction disturbs the eyes, so does the air falling on them; the quicker a man rides or runs, the more does the air give a soft blow, with the result that tears flow, as the passages through the eyes become rarefied by the blow; for every blow has either a separating or a crushing effect. (transl. W. S. Hett)

Other stimuli, too, such as smoke (Probl. Phys. 896b9), rubbing one s eyes (957a39) or certain foodstuffs such as horseradish or onions can provoke tears (925a26 – b12). It is remarkable that the quality of the tears in crying proper, i. e. wailing, is distinguished from that in suffering from sore eyes (Probl. Phys. 959b20 – 27): Di± t¸ d²jqua, 1±m l³m jka¸omter !v¸ylem, heql² 1stim, 1±m d³ pomoOmter to»r avhaklo»r dajq¼ylem, xuwq². C fti t¹ l³m %peptom xuwqºm, t¹ d³ pepell´mom heqlºm. B d³ lakaj¸a fkyr p÷s² 1stim 1n !pex¸ar, ja· t_m to»r avhaklo»r pomo¼mtym %peptºm 1sti t¹ d²jquom· di¹ xuwqºm. di± toOto

25 The following quotations are taken from the Problemata Physica of the Corpus Aristotelicum. This text may have been written in the third century B.C. in the Aristotelian School and contains much Aristotelian thought, but it can probably not be traced back to Aristotle himself (Flashar 1962: 303 – 341). It is therefore uncertain whether Aristotle himself advanced the explanations of crying cited above.

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ja· oR Qatqo· oUomtai sgle?om eWmai lec²kgr mºsou to»r xuwqo»r Rdq_tar, to»r d³ heqlo»r toqmamt¸om !pakkajtijo¼r. Why is it that tears, if we shed them while crying, are hot, but if the weeping is due to trouble in the eye, the tears are cold? Is it because what is unconcocted is cold but what is concocted is hot? Every weakness arises from lack of concoction, and the tears of those who have a pain in the eye are unconcocted; hence they are cold. For this reason doctors consider that cold sweats are a symptom of serious disease, but that hot ones on the contrary remove disease. (transl. W. S. Hett)

With the wailing mentioned here, the psychic component of crying comes into focus. An emotion such as grief therefore has a psychic and a physiological component. This must be emphasized, as Aristotle often suppresses the physiological component, thus for example crying, when describing and evaluating psychic processes. Here, however, the combination seems to be important, because it is suggested that the physiological component of (warm) tears as a part of wailing is not simply an accompanying symptom of an experience of pain as (cold) tears are of sore eyes, but that they have a pain-relieving, that is psychically relieving, effect at the same time. But at another place in the Problemata tears are in turn seen rather as an expression of a psychic condition: some people naturally tend to tears, others are temporarily put in this condition by excessively partaking of wine (Probl. Phys. 953b7 – 13). The term “tend to tears” (!q¸dajqu) used here appears elsewhere in combination with a different adjective: woman is said to tend to moaning and wailing more than man (Hist. anim. 608b9). The adjective 1keglom´steqom used here is derived from the noun 5keor. This term played an important part in Plato s remarks already, and it is also of central importance for the Aristotelian conception of emotions.26 It expresses a drastic and therefore painful emotional fundamental experience and is often connected to the expressions for moaning and wailing. This may be rendered too weakly with the established translations “pity” or “compassion”.27 Having said this, the term serves 26 Flashar (1958: 26 – 36) points out that the descriptions of these psychosomatic phenomena to be found in Plato and Aristotle show striking parallels with contemporary medical texts in the Corpus Hippocraticum. 27 On the aspects of defining and translating 5keor see Sternberg (2005: 17 – 24). In Germany, an intense debate on the appropriate translation took place in the mid-1950s. Schadewaldt (1991), for example, made the case for Jammer (“woe”) or R hrung (“deep stirring of emotion”) which better expresses the affective but which reduces the likewise important sympathetic aspects.

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to demonstrate how Aristotle grants emotions a more positive valuation than Plato does in the Republic. In a manner of speaking, Aristotle postulates a kind of “emotional intelligence”. For him, emotions are not purely irrational and therefore contrary to reason, but intentional states, for emotions have a (subjective) reason and an objective, an object or a person in others words at which or whom they are directed (Aristotle, Rhet. 1378a19 – 26). This means that positive incentives to action can spring not only from our intellect but can also be carried by emotions. Thus, for example, 5keor is a painful distress at a great evil which afflicts someone who does not deserve it (Rhet. 1385b13). Emotion here therefore accompanies a cognitive process: the judgement that the evil afflicting another person is undeserved. =keor is therefore not merely sympathetic wailing and being moved; and yet “sympathetic suffering” comes about insofar as this distress can lead to the assumption that such evil could afflict oneself or a close person, too. In this way, 5keor moves into the vicinity of vºbor, fear or terror, and thus the two central terms of the Aristotelian theory of tragedy (see Zierl 1994: 35 – 58) have been mentioned (Poet. 1449b24 – 28): 5stim owm tqac\d¸a l¸lgsir pq²neyr spouda¸ar ja· teke¸ar l´cehor 1wo¼sgr, Bdusl´m\ kºc\ wyq·r 2j²st\ t_m eQd_m 1m to?r loq¸oir, dq¾mtym ja· oq di !paccek¸ar, di 1k´ou ja· vºbou peqa¸mousa tµm t_m toio¼tym pahgl²tym j²haqsim. Tragedy is a representation of a serious, complete action which has magnitude, in embellished speech, which each of its elements [used] separately in the [various] parts [of the play]; [represented] by people acting and not by narration, accomplishing by means of pity and terror the catharsis of such emotions. (transl. Richard Janko)

This passage, certainly one of the most hotly debated from Aristotle s Poetics, cannot be properly appreciated here. For our purposes, the suggestion suffices that Aristotle, too, like his teacher Plato sees tragedy as a most effective vehicle for triggering affects, but that he, unlike Plato, interprets this positively by conceding it a “purifying” capability.28 To him, giving free rein to such deep-seated emotions in the protected space of the theatre represents a gain in the human psychic make-up. Surely this has to be connected to Aristotle s conception that human character must be formed not only by intellect but that emotional experience plays an im28 For an orientation on the problem of j²haqsir see the collection of older works by Luserke (1991) as well as Halliwell s accounts (1998: 184 – 201, 350 – 356) and now also Vçhler & Seidensticker (2007).

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portant part as well. The cathartic effect consists at least in part of a relief from psychic tension which is experienced as pleasing. This may also permit drawing a parallel to the passage from the Problemata cited above (959b) where warm tears are paralleled with the warm sweat delivering a sufferer from illness.29 This conception is ultimately the approximate basis of the Homeric representation of states of emotional agitation (cf. Fçllinger 2009: 26, in this volume). Thus Priam and Achilles escalate each other s state of emotional shock to the extreme in Book 24 of the Iliad, for example, by reminding each other of their losses. In doing so, Priam appeals directly to Achilles 5keor (Il. 24.503) and finally achieves in the latter a “desire to weep” (Vleqor cºoio). Both then, entirely self-absorbed, abandon themselves to their pain and loudly express it. But the entire scene ends in a state of delightful fill “when godly Achilles had had his fill of lamenting (tet²qpeto), and the longing (Vleqor) therefore had departed from his heart and limbs” (Il. 24.513 – 514, transl. A. T. Murray). Wailing is counted here among the basic natural needs like those for food, drink, sleep and sexuality. The satisfaction of these primarily physical needs can in all cases be expressed with the verb t´qpeshai. Wailing therefore satisfies a natural psychic need, and only the psychic relief resulting from it creates the opportunity of agreeing the conditions for the release of Hector s body with a clear mind in Book 24 of the Iliad. Aristotle seems to have taken such passages in Homer more seriously in his conception of j²haqsir than Plato did in his verdict on poetry. For him, the experience of “tearful wailing” ultimately also contributes to character-building. The fact that this removes him far from Plato s remarks in the Republic has led to teacher and disciple having been and being played off against each other in reception. But if one attaches a little more weight to Alcibiades comments in the Symposium, it becomes apparent that Plato, too, knew how to functionalise the psychagogic effect of speech (and poetry) pedagogically. Crying is therefore not always useless or even dangerous; it can at times also be beneficial. 29 Flashar (1991) quotes many parallels between Aristotelian j²haqsir with its central elements of vºbor and 5keor and the medical literature. He shows that in the Aristotelian Problemata, j²haqsir is understood as being a purging of (and therefore relief from) the excessive cold (jat²xunir peqittylatij¶) related to vºbor and the excessive dampness related to 5keor (rcqºtgr peqittylatij¶). This cannot be made fully congruent with the assignation of warm tears to emotional crying mentioned above, but at least it shows that the relief effected by crying leads to an equilibrium of the elementary qualities in the body and thus contributes to its well-being.

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Bibliography Alexiou, Margaret (1974): The Ritual Lament in Greek Tradition, Cambridge (2nd ed. 2002). Baumgarten, Roland (2008): Kanalisierte Tr nen. Das griechische Trauerritual und die Poliskultur. In: Diana Bormann & Frank Wittchow (eds.), Emotionalit t in der Antike zwischen Diskursivit t und Performativit t, Berlin, 37 – 56. Cairns, Douglas L. (2009): Weeping and veiling. Grief, display and concealment in ancient Greek culture. In: Thorsten Fçgen (ed.), Tears in the GraecoRoman World, Berlin & New York, 37 – 57. Cole, Susan L. (1985): The Absent One. Mourning Ritual, Tragedy, and the Performance of Ambivalence, University Park. Engels, Johannes (1998): Funerum sepulcrorumque magnificentia: Begr bnisund Grabluxusgesetze in der griechisch-rçmischen Welt. Mit einigen Ausblicken und Einschr nkungen des Funeralen und sepulkralen Luxus im Mittelalter und in der Neuzeit, Stuttgart. Flashar, Hellmut (1958): Der Dialog Ion als Zeugnis Platonischer Philosophie, Berlin. Flashar, Hellmut (ed.) (1962): Aristoteles: Problemata Physica. bersetzt von Hellmut Flashar, Berlin. Flashar, Hellmut (1991): Die medizinischen Grundlagen der Lehre von der Wirkung der Dichtung in der griechischen Poetik. In: Mathias Luserke (ed.), Die Aristotelische Katharsis. Dokumente ihrer Deutung im 19. und 20. Jahrhundert, Hildesheim, 289 – 325 (originally published in: Hermes 84, 1956, 12 – 48). Fçllinger, Sabine (2009): Tears and crying in archaic Greek poetry (especially Homer). In: Thorsten Fçgen (ed.), Tears in the Graeco-Roman World, Berlin & New York, 17 – 36. Fortenbaugh, William W. (22002): Aristotle on Emotion. A Contribution to Philosophical Psychology, Rhetoric, Poetics, Politics and Ethics, London (first edition 1975). Halliwell, Stephen (1997): The Republic s two critiques of poetry (Book II 376c – 398b, Book X 595a – 608b). In: Otfried Hçffe (ed.), Platon: Politeia, Berlin, 313 – 332. Halliwell, Stephen (1998): Aristotle s Poetics, Chicago. Halliwell, Stephen (2002): The Aesthetics of Mimesis. Ancient Texts and Modern Problems, Princeton & Oxford. Holst-Warhaft, Gail (1992): Dangerous Voices. Women s Laments and Greek Literature, London & New York. Huber, Ingeborg (2001): Die Ikonographie der Trauer in der Griechischen Kunst, Mannheim & Mçhnesee. Johnson, James & Douglas C. Clapp (2005): Athenian tragedy. An education in pity. In: Rachel Hall Sternberg (ed.), Pity and Power in Ancient Athens, Cambridge, 67 – 97. Luserke, Mathias (ed.) (1991): Die Aristotelische Katharsis. Dokumente ihrer Deutung im 19. und 20. Jahrhundert, Hildesheim.

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Murray, Penelope (ed.) (1996): Plato on Poetry. Ion, Republic 376e – 398b, Republic 595 – 608b, Cambridge. Naddaff, Ramona A. (2002): Exiling the Poets. The Production of Censorship in Plato s Republic, Chicago & London. Rapp, Christof (ed.) (2002): Aristoteles: Rhetorik. bersetzt und erl utert von Christof Rapp, Darmstadt. Schadewaldt, Wolfgang (1991): Furcht und Mitleid? Zur Deutung des aristotelischen Tragçdiensatzes. In: Mathias Luserke (ed.), Die Aristotelische Katharsis. Dokumente ihrer Deutung im 19. und 20. Jahrhundert, Hildesheim, 246 – 288 (originally published in: Hermes 83, 1955, 129 – 171). Schauer, Markus (2002): Tragisches Klagen. Form und Funktion der Klagedarstellung bei Aischylos, Sophokles und Euripides, T bingen. Scott, Gary Alan (2000): Plato s Socrates as Educator, New York. Segal, Charles (1962): Gorgias and the psychology of the logos. In: Harvard Studies in Classical Philology 66, 99 – 155. Sˇterbenc Erker, Darja (2009): Women s tears in ancient Roman ritual. In: Thorsten Fçgen (ed.), Tears in the Graeco-Roman World, Berlin & New York, 135 – 160. Sternberg, Rachel Hall (2005): The nature of pity. In: Rachel Hall Sternberg (ed.), Pity and Power in Ancient Athens, Cambridge, 15 – 47. Suter, Ann C. (2009): Tragic tears and gender. In: Thorsten Fçgen (ed.), Tears in the Graeco-Roman World, Berlin & New York, 59 – 84. Taplin, Oliver (1991): Greek Tragedy in Action, London. van Wees, Hans (1998): A brief history of tears. Gender differentiation in archaic Greece. In: Lin Foxhall & John Salmon (eds.), When Men Were Men. Masculinity, Power and Identity in Classical Antiquity, London & New York, 10 – 53. Vçhler, Martin & Bernd Seidensticker (eds.) (2007): Katharsiskonzeptionen vor Aristoteles, Berlin & New York. Wildberg, Christian (2007): Die Katharsis im sokratischen Platonismus. In: Martin Vçhler & Bernd Seidensticker (eds.), Katharsiskonzeptionen vor Aristoteles, Berlin & New York, 227 – 244. Zierl, Andreas (1994): Affekte in der Tragçdie. Orestie, Oidipus Tyrannos und die Poetik des Aristoteles, Berlin.

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Tears and Crying in Hellenic Historiography: Dacryology from Herodotus to Polybius Donald Lateiner Abstract: History records many occasions for tears. Ethnicity, gender, class, age etc. nuance weeping events, a universal human phenomenon. The present paper principally examines weepers extracted from eleven Greek historians writing between 440 and 140 B.C.: the early Classical Herodotus and Thucydides; the late Classical Xenophon, Hellenica Oxyrhynchia, Ctesias, Ephorus and Theopompus; and the Hellenistic Timaeus, Duris, Phylarchus and Polybius. The psycho-physiological state marked by tears manifests, visibly and nonverbally, a nexus of symptoms including reduced vision, hearing and mobility, hampered mental agility and nearly null sociability (despair). Weeping may be controlled or not, simulated or sincere. Weeping arises in an individual or in entrained, spontaneous or coordinated, pre-associated groups (e. g. regulated ritual laments, often sharply gendered and family-limited). Plutarch, the Greek biographer developing a more tearful genre, provides contrasts to the generics of historiographical weeping. Tentatively I conclude that for military-political historians (Thucydides, Hell. Oxy., Polybius), tears are commonly trivial events below the historiographical horizon. For anthropological and rhetorically dramatic historians (Herodotus, Duris, Phylarchus), tears anecdotally reveal the personality of important people and colourfully exhibit communities paralyzing crises. For moralizing and psychological (biographical?) historians (Xenophon, Theopompus and Plutarch), tears, shed or resolutely held back, show strength or weakness of character and magnify “heroes ” moral choices.

1. Introduction “How many tear drops are implied in the simple Greek word 1d²jquem, he wept? ”, asked Arnaldo Momigliano (1975: 22 – 25) about the younger Scipio. He is explaining how the Hellene and prisoner of war Polybius perceived his aristocratic Roman friends, captors and students. Paullus and his biological son C. Cornelius Scipio Aemilianus Africanus Minor were among the most Hellenized Romans. Paullus is one of the weepiest Romans, in Plutarch at least, as we shall see in the Appendix (section 4).

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The weeping frequency could be an accident of our sources,1 but it might also have been an element of this powerful clan s idiosyncratic self-presentation. This essay cannot survey every tear or sob in the Greek historians – there are too many historians even to name, as Dionysius remarked (De comp. verb. 4.30).2 This examination is limited to two fifth-century, five fourth-century, five third-century and one second-century historian.3 The Attic orators and the biographer Plutarch have been included for comparative purposes, although the latter, at least, deserves a separate essay for his copious tears (on Plutarch s Consolatio ad uxorem see Schorn 2009, in this volume). The Thesaurus Linguae Graecae was indispensable in collecting references and statistics.4 Readers realize that the nul or few tears recorded in many poorly preserved historians prove nothing about their original attention to weepery. Charles Darwin states: “The lac[h]rymal glands require some practice in the individual before they are easily excited.” He adds that “[t]he power of weeping can be increased through habit” and that “[e]xpression by outward signs of an emotion intensifies it.” The power of wailing develops in an infant months before weeping.5 Psychological arousal to tears involves a complicated physiology: the endocrine system, hypothalamic and cortical brain regions, the sympathetic nervous system, facial muscles and leakage (Kottler 1996: 8). Tears constitute observable emotions (or their simulation). The functions are no less complicated: 1 2

3

4 5

As Hornblower (1981: 104 – 106) observes, “[t]he victor weeping over the vanquished is a motif of Hellenistic historiography”. And the Roman historians are the inheritors or victims of Hellenistic habits. Marincola s (2001) survey provides helpful recent bibliography on nearly all the historians mentioned here, especially the fourth-century and Hellenistic historians (105 n. 2) in ch. 4: Ctesias (107), the Oxyrhynchus Historian (106 n. 3), Xenophon (110), Theopompus (106, 111 n. 27), Ephorus (109 – 110), Callisthenes (106 n. 4), Timaeus (109), Duris (107 n. 19) and the survivor, Polybius (113 – 149). Many historians bridge the artificial Christian century divides, so I have placed each on the lower end, closer to the date of production of their narratives. I have placed the second-century A.D. Arrian in the third century B.C. because of his principal sources, Ptolemy and Aristobulus (Praef. 1.1 – 2; FGrHist 138 & 139). Arrian s inclusion compensates partly for the many Alexander texts that survive only in fragments. I consulted the TLG website at Irvine on 10 July and 7 November 2006. Darwin (1998 [1872]: 155, 158, 359). Darwin regrettably provides only one paragraph, the penult of his book, on the communicative aspects of weeping (1998 [1872]: 359 – 360).

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crying lubricates the irritated eye, removing toxic chemicals (particles, fumes); it expresses and enacts pent-up misery or joy;6 it communicates helplessness, sorrow or happiness; and it sometimes requests or demands reaction or alteration of another s behaviour and can promote bonding among sympathizers. Tear bursts provide a somatic index of sudden strong feeling – rage, remorse, envy, grief, relief, joy etc. The tears of Hellenic historiography, we shall soon see, express the powerlessness of those anticipating catastrophe (Thersander, Athenians in 404 B.C.), of those already victims of conquest (Psammenitus, Mycalessus) and of those frustrated by insurmountable human limitations (Croesus, Xerxes, Athenians at Syracuse, Alexander and Scipio). Tears are passive-aggressive, in effect if not cause. They assert a view of an event that invites fellow victims to bond by expressing sorrow and causes those in power who brought on the tears (if present) to reconsider and desist, or change course. Manliness and ritualized honour demand a spectrum of other symptoms of emotional distress, more active than passive. An education in manliness will tease out of a boy this powerful but demeaning form of self-expression, primarily a sign of powerlessness.7 The contrary ability to restrain tears, a self-control that inhibits the escape of tears, while other men and women sob and cry, supplies evidence from Homer to Plutarch of spiritual superiority (or monstrous indifference). Odysseus “eyes of horn” (Homer, Od. 19.208 – 212) and Plato s Socrates tearless deathbed castigation of his friends blubbering like women (Plato, Phd. 116d, 117c – e)8 anticipate Plutarch s report of the dry-eyed Athenians abandoning their city under Persian threat and the philosophical Roman Stoics self-control: Cato Minor and Brutus (Plutarch, Them. 10.9, Cato 67 – 70, Brut. 52; cf. 53.1).

6 7 8

Fatigue, menstrual cycles or memories can suddenly choke off a mood. Recollection of (painful) past experiences or of reactions to events or aesthetic pleasure can produce tears as an escape from psychological gridlock. Cairns (1999: 176 – 178) explains the disincentives for confession, displays of remorse and other losses of status. Lateiner (2005: 88 – 91) sifts the evidence for the lack of pity in fifth-century historiography. Phaedon and Criton cried, then Apollodorus entrained into weeping everyone but the manly Socrates. They broke down and wept: oqd³m 1pa¼eto dajq¼ym ja· dµ ja¸ tote !mabquwgs²lemor (…). Socrates rebuked them reminding them that such tears were the reason he had sent away the women, including his wife.

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Weeping, like blushing and blanching,9 afflicts and relieves both sexes and all ages, although the very young and old suffer them more commonly. While epic tears and groans are often manly,10 women grieve more expressively: breast-beating and self-mutilation. Laceration may accompany ritualized lamentation (Homer, Il. 18.31, 18.51, 19.284 – 285, 11.393 – 395).11 Priam s exceptional paternal and royal grief for Hector s death and Achaean disrespect matches anyone s, though (Homer, Il. 22.407 – 408, 22.429, 24.160 – 166). “Display rules” for weeping vary by gender, age, ethnicity, education and class.12 Furthermore, Hellenes masked negative emotions in the presence of disapproving authorities – obeying contextual rules of display. Platonic dialogues often discuss emotional display in literature (see Baumgarten 2009, in this volume), on the stage (see Suter 2009, in this volume) and in the Athenian streets. One struggles to separate the reported view of either Plato or Socrates, obviously eccentric Athenian critics of public morality, from contemporary (early fourth-century) Hellenic or even (itself eccentric) Athenian practices. Despite warnings, the evidence one can and must cite is usually only Athenian. Athenian practices, however, may be as atypical of Greece as New York is of America.13 As it is foolish to generalize from Spartan practices of expressing emotions like weeping,14 so one should not do so for Athens. 9 van Wees (1998) well discusses the varied evidence of the early Hellenic period of weeping. Lateiner (1998: 169 – 183) offers the evidence for colouring and loss of colour in the later novels, with brief consideration of previous ancient epochs, especially the facial colouring reported in Platonic dialogues. 10 Monsacr (1984a, 1984b) and Arnould (1990) canvass the texts; van Wees (1998: 46 n. 7) provides additional sources. Lateiner (2002) analyses Zeus unique ocular effusion. 11 See, for the immense and growing bibliography on ritualized lamentations with both real and purchased tears, Kenner (1960), Holst-Warhaft (1992), Shapiro (1991), Loraux (1998) and recently Du (2006) and Suter (2008). 12 See Shapiro (1991: 639 – 644). Heroes of Icelandic saga can weep copiously but rarely do (Miller 1993: 102). Suter (2009, in this volume) discusses gendered tears in Attic tragedies. She finds many males weeping as often as females for as many reasons. 13 Cohen (2000: 11 – 48) summarizes Athenian anomalies and peculiarities. Miller (1993: 138) discusses the mortification that follows violations of certain social norms. 14 Spartan self-control went to lengths that other Hellenes considered absurd or impossible of imitation; for inhibitions of weeping, see Xenophon, Lac. Pol. 3.5, and Plutarch, Lyc. 18.1.

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Crying is a universal emotional reaction – we thus “speak” an intense emotion with our eyes, not our mouths. True, we have “tear ceremonies” at funerals and weddings too, but most people fondly believe most tears are spontaneous and disapprove of paid weepers. Tear events nevertheless have a regular structure, a sequence: choking up, squinching of the eyes, rolling of the tears, sometimes sobbing and heaving, and face covering (depending on those people co-present and previously observed predicaments of self and others), then subsidence of tear-flow, and finally wiping away of the facial residues.15 No one ancient source breaks the act of crying down into these component parts, but tears are bountiful. Furthermore, crying micro-cultures flourish. Females develop and maintain skills in expression and reading emotional clues and cues. Meanwhile males, as they “mature”, often restrict the “fuss” and then atrophy in their expressive skills and comprehension of others weeping signals. These comments are only ancient and modern truisms, observations of a double standard that is not unchangeable but so far unchanged.16 But ancient Greek and Roman men were more comfortable in their tears than the contemporary North Atlantic male. We may now examine the evidence found in historical narratives.

2. Historians Weeping in the Hellenic historians falls into three principal categories: tears of despair, tears of supplication and tears of joy. The first tends to be asocial and solipsistic: these tears create space and regulate distance from others (proxemics of grief). The second kind of tears is interactive, a direct plea to have another person meet one s immediate need. The third is celebratory. To cry well and effectively to gain an end (that is, to regulate loudness of weeping, duration of tears and rhythm of sobs, to insert pauses, change pitch etc.) requires self-regulation and awareness of the audience s response. To cry in need, but out of control, may induce unwelcome sanctions from the supplicated persons of power. Paradoxically, this type of tear must appear uncontrolled, so fluency varies. Women, however, generally have more legitimated opportunities to ex15 This erasure of the preceding emotion is symbolic of the return to ordinary selfpresentation as well as an instrumental clearing of the organs of sight, smell etc. 16 Kottler (1996: 124) claims that physiological (hormonal) concomitants encourage this sexual bifurcation.

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ploit this emotional reflex learned in childhood. Social constraints increasingly modulate tears as age advances and status solidifies. Therefore, gender provides the primary restraint, but age and class affect reactions to tear-provoking situations.17 2.1 Fifth-Century Historians Tears 2.1.1 Herodotus Herodotus frequent focus on unfettered (by law or custom or even gender roles) autocrats produces most of his examples of wailing and weeping. The extravagant gestures of kings and tyrants, their entourages and their victims provide the usual context for his dramatic episodes of lamentation and lachrymosity (10/15 of dajqu- stems).18 Herodotus conversational habit of repeating a thematic noun, verb, or participle in a different form in succeeding clauses or sentences,19 naturally leads to clusters of tears, preeminently in the tears of and for ex-Pharaoh Psammenitus by ex-tyrant Croesus and the rest of Shah Cambyses “staff” (3.14: 3x, discussed below). These tears win him his life and almost rescue his son s. Again, Cambyses wife weeps for the memory of their doomed brother Smerdis when a whelp helps his brother puppy in the arena of combat (3.32: 3x). These tears cost her her life, according to the Greek account. King Xerxes weeps for human ephemerality (7.46: 3x), on the eve of his responsibility for thousands of corpses. Croesus on Cyrus immolating pyre had early set this scenic convention of weeping royals (as he models patterns for so many other Herodotean autocrats behaviours). He wept and he cried out to Apollo for help to save his life (1.87: dajq¼omta 1pijak´eshai t¹m heºm). Tears accompany the cowherd wife Cyno s supplica-

17 Having said this, I find the weeping of Herodotean male autocrats the more remarkable, perhaps a reflection of the Persian Supreme Court s discovery of a “law” that the Shah might do whatsoever he desired (3.31). I did not find hypocritical tears in the historians, but some doubt Augustus bona fides weeping for dead Antony (Plutarch, Ant. 78.2). De Libero (2009, in this volume) examines weeping in major Roman historians: Livy, Tacitus and Ammianus Marcellinus. 18 Three examples are metaphorical: “tears” as disasters (3.14.10, 7.169; cf. Vergil s lacrimae rerum) and 2.96 (acacia gum); cf. 4.127.4. See Lateiner (1987: 94 – 95, 115) for a catalogue and brief discussion of tears in Herodotus. 19 E.g. in oratio obliqua (3.32.2): tµm d³ paqgl´mgm dajq¼eim. Jalb¼sea d³ lahºmta 1peiq´shai di f ti dajq¼ei (…).

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tion for the life of royal baby, shah-to-be Cyrus (1.112).20 We examine the remaining single references first. Theban Thersander s autoptic report of an anonymous Persian banqueter s weeping premonition of defeat at Plataeae is one of only two instances of tears for which Herodotus claims that he had an historical witness for tears (9.16: t²de … Ejouom Heqs²mdqou !mdqºr l³m iqwolem¸ou, koc¸lou d³ 1r t± pq_ta …). The other instance comes when the Athenian spectators weep at the first (and last) performance of the tragedian Phrynichus Sack of Miletus (6.21: 1r d²jqu² te 5pese t¹ h´gtqom ja· 1 fgl¸ys²m lim … ja· 1p´tanam lgj´ti lgd´ma wq÷shai to¼t\ t` dq²lati). Note that these tears provide the only Herodotean example of spontaneous communal weeping.21 Whether sympathy for their allies or a guilty conscience for deserting their kinsmen evoked the tears, Herodotus contrasts the archaic Attic effusion to the unfeeling Sybarites who did not return the favour of an earlier Milesian demonstration of grief for their disaster: shaven heads (6.21). Two examples of para-weeping need comment. Intaphrenes wife weeps and wails iteratively and noisily (3.119.3: jka¸esje #m ja· aduq´sjeto22) outside the autocrat Dareius palace for her kin about to be executed. Finally, Dareius grants her the reprieve of one relative. Her ritual wailing here serves double-duty: it provides a nonverbal facet of female funeral grief, albeit before the fact, and it supplicates power for relief (cf. 1.112). She is notably and unusually successful with her tears. The Scythian king Idanthyrsus completes his rejection of Dareius demand for earth and water, object-symbols of submission, with a proverb (4.127.4): jka¸eim k´cy (“Go howl” or “Let me tell you to wail”). Like the Scythian tangible ultimatum wrapped in riddles (4.131.2) soon coming to the Persians – the hand-delivered but unexplained gifts of a bird, frog, mouse and five arrows – multivalent words and deeds provide credible details in enigmatic communication.23 Herodotus terms the phrase “the 20 One meets related jkai-/jkauhl- vocabulary at 1.109.1. For mourning, cf. 1.111.2, 1.111.4, 3.14.3 – 6. 21 One thus distinguishes this uniquely unexpected group grief from religious mourning and weeping rituals, such as the Spartan (6.58) and the barbarian (4.71 – 73, 4.189, 5.4 – 8). 22 The word is hapax in Herodotus, but see 2.141.2 for the intensified form with prefix !po-. 23 Cf. 3.21, the Aithiopian king s bow, but he helpfully explains that gift as well as decoding the sinister meaning of Kambyses gifts to him.

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Scythian proverb”.24 The invitation to grieve suggests the misery that the Persians will face, if they persevere in their aggression. The humiliation (3.14.1: k¼lg) of Psammenitus presents Herodotus oblique psychology of tears.25 The deposed six-month Pharaoh, under royal observation (3.14.8), had to watch his now enslaved daughter carry water and his son, with a rope around his neck and a bit in his teeth, led off to execution. He bowed his head deeply in grief for these two indignities (and all that they implied for his future), but when he saw his formerly wealthy friend begging alms, he wailed and wept. When asked why the difference in his reactions, he responded that “his own house s disasters surpassed any [help from] wailing, but his prosperous friend s fall into beggary and grief deserved tears.” The answer so impressed the royal entourage that Croesus wept, the Persian grandees wept, and even Cambyses was moved to pity Psammenitus and his son (although too late for the latter s salvation!). Greek terminology for expressions of grief is inexact, unsurprisingly, since sometimes one wants one s sorrow and its expression noticed, and sometimes not. “Crying” encompasses weeping, wailing and both. Tears are silent but visible, wailing is audible and potentially visible, since it is often accompanied by appropriate postures, gestures, facial expressions. The ostentation of distress is evident in the wailing of Harpagus and his entire house (jkai-: 1.109.1, 1.111.2, 1.111.4), in Intaphrenes wife s attention-getting display, in Cambyses self-pity, and Cambyses sycophants unstinting entrainment (3.119.3, 3.65.7, 3.66.1). Prefixes (here !ma-, !po-) increase the sound volume of pain.26 24 See West (1988). Macan (1895: ad loc.) defends the received text s reference to a proverb. 25 He anticipates Aristotle, Rhet. 2.8, 1386a 17 – 24, who indeed cites Herodotus here, a rare compliment. Aristotle writes (transl. Cooper): “The people whom we pity are as follows. Those whom we know well, so long as they are not too closely allied to us. In the latter case, we have the same feeling as if we ourselves were threatened. That is why Amasis [rather, Psammenitus] did not weep when (…)”. 26 Van der Veen (1996: 31 – 32) seeks to distinguish intentional, demonstrative and “stylized” grief (jkai- / jkauh-) from dajqu-, “the simple emotion of sorrow” (his italics). He, however, immediately acknowledges that jkai- / jkauh- stems do not exclude real sorrow (van der Veen 1996: 31 n. 85). Similarly Cyno s tears (1.112.1) are part of a conscious supplication of her husband. Readers of this volume need not be reminded that (a) sorrow is not a simple emotion, and (b) an emotion can only be known to others by its expression.

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More private and perhaps not intended for putting emotion to good use are tears: Cambyses sister and wife weeping in recollection of her brother Smerdis on account of a loyal puppy sibling, or Xerxes tears at Abydus for the transience of power and fortune (3.32.2, 7.46.2). The first was lethal for its insult to the monarch, the second incident allowed Uncle Artabanus the warner an opportunity to express again his apprehensions for Xerxes over-extended endeavour.27 The fuzzy differences between an emotion whose expression is intended for perception and the other kind is enigmatically articulated by the recently deposed Psammenitus to the puzzled, inquisitive, psychological experimenter Cambyses (3.14 – 15). The thrust of this anecdote is unclear. When his children are ceremoniously paraded past Psammenitus as slaves and enchained criminals to be executed, he bends over double but silently in grief for his kingdom and his children. The other Egyptian parents do lament and bemoan their children s fates along with the children – the doomed maidens to be enslaved along with the princess and the prince and other lads to be executed, ten for each Mytilenean mercenary killed (3.14.3 – 6): bo0, jkauhl`, !mt´boym, !mt´jkaiom, jkaiºmtym, deim± poie¼mtym. The Egyptian autocrat s own debasement and his son and daughter s future are too close to home and too severe to bemoan. When, however, he suddenly noticed his drinking companion s ruin and degradation, Psammenitus breaks down, and so the new beggar deserves and obtains [groans and] tears: oQj¶ia Gm l´fy jaj± C ¦ste !majka¸eim, t¹ d³ toO 2ta¸qou p´mhor %niom Gm dajq¼ym (3.14.10).28 Herodotus distinguishes three29 levels of unhappiness, I believe: the impulsive tears and shouts of despair for the acquaintance unexpectedly ruined (3.14.7: also Psammenitus moaning aloud, beating his head); the conventional, if certainly sincere, wailing for doomed children; and a sorrow so profound and isolating that impulsive and conventional communicative signals are altogether insufficient. 27 Both these examples of teardrops are followed by participles that express the companion s unexpected perception, suggesting an emotion not meant to be noticed or understood (lahºmta, lah¾m), for reasons of security or dignity. 28 One notes another story (Intaphrenes wife preserves her brother first, not her husband and children) where the expected scale of affections is violated. 29 Pace van der Veen (1996: 31), the tale does not distinguish dajq¼eim from jka¸eim, since the old beggar actually receives both from his old friend (3.14.7, 3.14.10). Herodotus distinguishes the comprehensible, sympathy-worthy losses of a friend from the irrecoverable losses of his dynasty and family.

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2.1.2 Thucydides Thucydides emotionally magisterial Pericles urges his Athenian male and female audiences to eschew the normal, ritualized expressions of sorrow for the dead (2.34.4, 2.51.5: 1p· t¹m t²vom akovuqºlemai), as he will in his epitaphios address (2.44.1).30 The Thebans callously argue that Plataean weepiness should not sway the Spartans when the defeated Boeotians face a kangaroo court with their lives at stake (3.67.2: lgd³ akovuql` lgd³ oUjt\ aveike¸shym). Hermocrates warns his neighbours the Camarinans in assembly not to end up bewailing mistaken choices (6.78.3: akovuqhe¸r). The prospect of unlimited loot and/or of friends, relatives and sons never to return from their distant expedition in 415 B.C. is ambivalent. The moment produces both hope and lamentation (6.30.2: let 1kp¸dor te … ja· akovuql_m) in the stay-behind Athenians and their allies. After the solemn and elaborate propemptic scene at the Peiraieus harbour, the expeditionary forces sail. (Okovuqlºr and its congeners (11x in all) will culminate at the end of this Sicilian narrative in actual tears – uniquely for the shattered remnants of Nicias army. In five chapters, this word occurs thrice and “tears” twice. First, as the final sea-fight in Syracuse harbour progresses, supporters of defeated vessels grieve and groan (7.71.3 – 4) – an heroic pathos, reminiscent of Homeric “choral” reactions. When the Athenian fleet has lost the battle and the ambulatory soldiers and sailors ready themselves for their departure and retreat, the crippled, the wounded and the weak are reduced to 1piheiaslºr and akovuqlºr. Facing the prospect of being left behind and probably executed by the enemy with whom there is no pact, they shout objurations to the gods and lamentations (also oQlyc¶), “so that the whole camp was filled with tears” (7.75.4: ¦ste d²jqusi p÷m t¹ stq²teula pkgsh´m) – a very remarkable, un-Thucydidean hyperbole. This rhetoric itself is immediately topped by Thucydides or his informants (corrective?) judgement that the Athenians had already suffered evil too great for tears: le¸fy C jat± d²jqua (…) pepomhºtar (7.75.4). The rare mention of tears in the last moment of the Athenians continually disintegrating unity gains a unique intensity

30 He contradicts in this emotion-laden setting his earlier appeal to them in assembly to cry not for houses and land but for soldiers lives (1.143.5: akºvuqsir first here). Thucydides never uses any jkai- stems for weeping.

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and rhetoric beyond the scarce moments of lamentation found elsewhere in Thucydides text. The idiomatic hyperbole (“too great for tears / grieving”) recalls Herodotus remark for Psammenitus and echoes Thucydides description of tiny Mycalessus recent great p²hor : p²hei (…) oqdem¹r (…) Fssom akov¼qashai !n¸\ (7.30.3). This earlier catastrophe, however, was qualified by its size (7.30.3: ¢r 1p· lec´hei), while the Athenian retreat, rout and slaughter is contrarily qualified as 5qcom jat± t¹m pºkelom tºmde l´cistom (7.87.5). In plain numbers, perhaps 1,000 Mycalessians as against 33,000 Athenians and allies lost their lives.31 Thucydides is not averse to expressing personal judgements and qualifications and quantifications with comparatives or superlatives. None, however, is more emphatic, emotionally fraught, or dramatically positioned than the following superlative polarity balanced by parallelism, placed at the end of book 7 and the Sicilian debacle: 5loice ja· ¨m !jo0 gEkkgmij_m Uslem, ja· to?r te jqat¶sasi kalpqºtatom ja· to?r diavhaqe?si dustuw´statom (7.87.5).32 In sum, the tears and laments that Thucydides includes, though few in number, display both awareness of human suffering and sympathy for the victims – even when, as with the Athenian invasion of Sicily, their cause had no justification and little strategic reason. 2.2 Fourth-Century Historians Tears The two brief fragments of the so-called Oxyrhynchus Historian contain no references to tears. The subject matter does not encourage any such expectation, and the sober author (Cratippus?) may have eschewed, like his model Thucydides, scenes describing personal emotion. The other earlier fourth-century historians would be helpful, although not decisive, on the subject of Hellenic lachrymal mores, had they survived in more than shards and quotations. Xenophon, the exception to this state-

31 The calculation derives from the following statistics: 40,000 men left the camp but the Syracusans held only 7,000 as prisoners of war in the dreadful conditions of the Syracusan marble quarries (7.75.4, 7.87.4; see Gomme, Andrewes & Dover 1970: 464). 32 See Hornblower (1987: 34 – 35, ch. 7 “Opinions”) on Thucydidean superlatives, especially at points of closure. The highest concentration appears in his polemical and competitive description of the magnitude and the pathemata of the war that he records (1.23.2 – 3).

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ment about the remaining sources being exiguous, receives investigation.33 Xenophon, a writer of uniquely wide interests and extant in many genres, allows us to quantify the consequences of his generic variety for tears.34 The dajq- stem appears 26 times in five works: six times in the Hellenica, once in the Oeconomicus, twice in the Apologia Socratis, twice in the Anabasis, but a noteworthy fourteen times in his Cyropaedia. As a historian of an ethical bent, he revels in noble sayings and deeds (Hell. 7.2.1, 7.2.16, 7.3.1; cf. 2.3.56) and prefers to slip in silence past base ones, a tendency rendering him something of a Plutarch before Plutarch. The teary examples follow. The herald of the democratic Athenian exiles in 404 B.C., Cleocritus, proclaimed (metaphorically?) to the supporters of the Thirty, that the exiles too wept copiously for their oligarchic Athenian opponents fallen in the first skirmish in the Peiraieus fought to determine the future control of Athens (Hell. 2.4.22). Agesilaus military staff and entourage wept at his recall in 394 B.C. (Hell. 4.2.4). This reaction to the unexpected sudden end of the Laconian Panhellenic dream was a noteworthy sign of virtue in the eyes of Xenophon, Agesilaus encomiast (Ages. 1.1). Agesilaus wept for his young fellow king Agesipolis death (Hell. 5.3.20). Archidamus, Agesilaus son, wept in sympathy with his beloved Cleonymus, son of the extortioner Sphodrias (Hell. 5.4.27) when the latter was likely to face condemnation. Archidamus sent word to Sparta of the “tearless victory” (Eutresis, 368 B.C.) over the Arcadians, which brought on tearbursts from Agesilaus, the Gerousia and the Spartans still at home (Hell. 7.1.32). Xenophon here observes that tears can express both joy and sorrow (waqø ja· k¼p,). The moralizing chapter on the little town of Phlius (Hell. 7.2) under siege includes a sentimental reference (and Homeric echo) to the relieved women crying with joy (Hell. 7.2.9: jkaus¸cekyr ; cf. Homer, Il. 6.484: dajquºem cek²sasa). The report of Athenian anguish the night before the final surrender in the Peloponnesian War (Hell. 2.2.3: oQlyc¶) contains the most extreme, probably tearful, paroxysm of grief in his Helle33 Felix Jacoby (1922 – 56) collected the fragments of these other historians. These excerpts reflect the peculiar interests of later excerpters; they too are no random sample in their inclusion of tears or their political biases. 34 Xenophon seems to have depended on his own observations when he could, not on sources (despite Hell. 7.2.1; Anab. 1.8.26).

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nica. 35 Here the Athenians anticipate the retaliation the Hellenes will take for the Athenians own savage treatment of captured cities such as Melos, Histiaea, Scione, Torone, Aigina and elsewhere. Ctesias (ca. 390 B.C., FGrHist 688) presented dramatic tears in his romantic, at best semi-historical Persica in 23 books. Even the tolerant Plutarch condemns him for flagrant untruths and nonsense (Artax. 1.4 = FGrHist 688 T11d, F23). With tears prince Artaxerxes pleads to keep his beloved wife (FGrHist 688 F15). Later, the King s Eye Artasyras met Pariscas and other eunuchs lamenting over a corpse after the battle of Kunaxa. He asked why they wept (akovuqºlemour … jka¸eir ;) – not knowing it was the body of Cyrus (Artax. 12.1 = FGrHist 688 F20). These examples are not inherently improbable, but the former seems peculiarly novelistic, part of Ctesias and Xenophon s early entertaining contributions to ethically educational stories of young love in exotic climes.36 The only example perhaps from Ephorus (ca. 340 B.C., FGrHist 70 F196 = Diodorus 12.38 – 41) appears when Diodorus cites him as his source in an essay on the causes of the Peloponnesian war. A striking metaphor from Aristophanes Peace (610 – 611) describes Pericles as “huffing up so great a [fire of] war that the smoke drove all the Hellenes to tears.” The inclusion of a poet s comic but primary evidence is probably the later Augustan historian s embellishment. Theopompus of Chios (ca. 340 B.C., FGrHist 115 F75c) produced Silenus allegorical description to Midas (!) of a lost civilization in his excursus in book 8 on thaumasia. Here two rivers, Pleasure and Grief, run. Those men that eat of a tree near the Grief shed so many tears as to melt into lamentation forever afterwards and so die. The bizarre diversion from the extensive Philippica in fifty-eight books appears to be a rhetorical showpiece (!c¾misla ; cf. Dionysius Halicarnassus, De comp. verb. 23.134), for which he was infamous, perhaps prompted by his contemporary and rival Plato s allegory of Atlantis or other exotic, pre-Lucianic journeys into Phantasyland.37

35 The jkai- stem appears only in Hell. 5.4.27 and 7.1.32. 36 His other examples of d²jqua refer to the gum of Indian plants (FGrHist 688 F45, 45 l, 45 m). 37 Strabo (1.2.35) states that Theopompos boasted of his mythical insertions, as his teacher Isocrates had.

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2.3 Fifth- and Fourth-Century Orators Tears The fifth- and fourth-century orators demand attention because they too arrange complex stories and analytical arguments to affect and persuade their audiences of a particular version of the past. Their prose includes narratives of public and private events. Tears can and do re-enforce their portraits of wronged victims and hypocritically weeping wrongdoers. Although they refer to past events that are often local (i. e. with rare exceptions, still Athenian and often private) and contemporary to their audiences, their reconstructions are the more unreliable, because obviously partisan and hired to contrive a tendentious “winning” narrative, as to facts. Nevertheless, one must regard their tendentious advocates reports of the acts that person X did in situation Y as not only possible, but credible to the adult men of the jury that heard the account. This principle for the safe employment of inherently suspicious accounts is generally accepted (e. g. Cohen 2000: xiii). In private life, tears can move even enemies (Isaeus 8.22). In court, speakers mention them in anticipation of an opponent s desperate and inappropriate supplications – the tears of children and wives.38 Contemporaries of the fourth-century historians, they vie with them in their published political oratory in order to shape current and future views of (say) Thebes and Athens, Philip and Dion. The topos of emotional display, weeping and wailing as narrative fact and as a charge of past or future excessive womanishness, occurs in various forms in dicanic speeches.39 One of Antiphon s hypothetical clients claims he will have no hope of acquittal, if denied the right to cry aloud his predicament (2d1: !majka¼sashai). This use of wailing on one s own behalf was destined for the dustbin of dicanic speech. The prosecutor of Andocides Fourth Speech twice describes how the defendant, the public figure Alcibiades, can be expected to weep and wail in order to arouse pity for his errors (4.39: dajq¼eim, jka¼lata). This attribution

38 Antiphon, fr. 77 Blass; Ps.-Andocides 4.39; Plato, Apol. 34c, Phdr. 267c, Nom. 949 for a prohibition of such. See further relevant warnings: Lysias 20.34 and Demosthenes 21.99. Satire of courtroom tears: Aristophanes, Wasps 568 – 574, 976 – 984. 39 Gorgias in his epideictic Helen employed the phrase tearful pity (Helen 9: 5keor pok¼dajqur) as part of a jingle for the suffering that poetry can produce in the soul. The epithet is common in the Iliad describing battle, war and Ares (e. g. Homer, Il. 3.132, 165). Isocrates, Gorgias student, in the Panegyricus (4.168) alleges that we take pleasure in tears aroused by disasters described by the poets, but find direct pleasure in problems afflicting neighbours.

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of tears to one s opponent, however, was to flourish as an effective accusation, to judge from remaining examples of dicanic tears (see below). Lysias generalizes about the persuasive tearful behaviours of public wrongdoers and private victims (27.12): the former cry out to arouse pity while the latter, in their wronged situations, weep and wail. He has one client describe a situation where defendants bring forward their children with sobs (20.34). Elsewhere, a prosecutor describes young adults and their families, who, when they learn that they have just lost their inheritance, wail and weep (32.10, 32.18). Isaeus presents a narrative (8.22) that describes a woman s persuasively weepy request for funeral arrangements of her choosing. Demosthenes in his ongoing public and political feud with Aeschines reports two situations in which Aeschines did not weep for Athens sorry political plight because of his traitorous inclinations. Further, he failed to show pity by weeping for the unfortunate (18.291, 19.309). Children are found weeping in hopes for justice (19.281) in another stab at Aeschines and his associates. Aeschines, for his part, reports the imagined wailing and tears of the bereaved relatives of the Athenian and Theban dead at Chaeronea (3.153, 3.157). This creative diat¼pysir is intended to persuade the Athenians to deny Demosthenes the civic crown that they had voted for him. Elsewhere in the Demosthenic corpus, Demosthenes accuses the scoundrel Onetor, once he has been convicted of embezzlement, of beseeching the jury with tears (30.32: !mtibok_m ja· d²jqusi jk²ym) so that they would penalize him one talent only. Apollodorus reports (Dem. 53.7) the tears of his opponent Nicostratus, when that false friend was raising money for his own ransom from the generous speaker. Lycurgus briefly alludes to his opponent Leocrates managed weeping (1.33) designed to produce pity. These mostly fourth-century references in legal prose to weeping concur with the view, clearly stated in Thucydides and Plato, that men considered it unmanly and unsuitable behaviour in public proceedings such as lawsuits.40 Public speeches, delivered to large audiences, frequently incorporated in the historians in all three of its genres,41 had an interactive symbiosis with historical styles of oratorical narrative and argument. 40 One could only rarely defend weeping in a public venue, and then for the direst communal disasters. 41 E.g. for Thucydides, symbouleutic: 1.67 – 87 (Peloponnesian assembly), 6.75 – 88 (Camarinan assembly); epideictic: 2.34 – 46 (the Athenian epitaphios); and dicanic: 3.52 – 68 (Plataeans), 8.68 (Antiphon).

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2.4 Tears in the Alexander and Diadoch Historians Alexander s companion and historian Callisthenes of Olynthus (FGrHist 124) wrote a Deeds of Alexander, inter alia, but no tears survive in the 54 extant fragments. In the absence of substantial remains from this and the other first generation of Alexander historians, we must rummage in the accounts that we do have, here examining Plutarch because his biographies provide our later comparand, and Arrian (second century A.D.), because he depended on two of Alexander s fourth-century companions, the future King Ptolemy and Aristobulus. Plutarch employed many sources for this Life, as often.42 Plutarch records weeping and groaning twice: Alexander s abashed Macedonian soldiers weep and lament at his anger when they mutiny at the idea of crossing the river Hyphasis (Plutarch, Alex. 62.6; cf. Arrian 5.28.1). His troops similarly lament but now with anger at the advancement of Alexander s Persians at Susa (Alex. 71.6). In this situation, Alexander sheds sympathetic tears (Alex. 71.8). Plutarch mentions monarchs sobbing thrice: Dareius sobs for his wife and queen s death (Alex. 30.8); Alexander feels guilty and grieves all night for killing with his own hands his dear friend Cleitus; and Anaxarchus the philosopher rebukes him for weeping “just like a slave” (Alex. 52.1, 52.5: jka¸ym ¦speq !mdq²padom) for such a trivial misdeed. Plutarch mentions tears six times in the Alexander. Philip his father weeps with joy at Alexander s precocious mastering of the wild horse Bucephalus, or so it is reported (k´cetai). Alexander wept for the dead Persian queen Stateira; Demaratus, his elderly Corinthian friend, weeps – as old men do – when he sees Alexander sit on Xerxes royal throne; Proteas, a Macedonian courtier and clown, cries in fear of punishment after angering Alexander (Alex. 6.8, 30.6, 37.7, 39.6). Most interestingly, Alexander is said to have once exclaimed that one tear of his mother Olympias would blot out ten thousand complaints of his regent Antipater (Alex. 39.13). Plutarch s source here is unknown; the report does not agree with his observable policy, however. Historical truth, in any case, seems an elastic category in the Lives. While Plutarch makes historical claims (Thes. 1.5, Nic. 1.5), he also exaggerates facts, simplifies them, 42 Hamilton (1969: xlix – lxii) mentions 24 authorities cited by Plutarch, aside from Alexander s own correspondence. Moles (1988: 26 – 32) identifies at least 11 other sources for the Cicero, aside from his subject s own voluminous literary production.

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takes liberties with chronology, omits material, and occasionally invents details to suit his ethical purposes (cf. Moles 1988: 34 – 39 with examples). Arrian s Anabasis of Alexander reports tears four times,43 all in the last three books when there was much to weep over. Coenus daring speech requesting that Alexander stop and turn back at the river Hyphasis produced disruption and tears in the listening troops (Arrian 5.28.1). After reports of his death in Mallia, his unexpected appearance alive before his men produced bursts of relieved tears of joy (6.13.2). When his interethnic marriage plans met opposition at Opis, Alexander sulked so badly in his tent that his abashed troops supplicated him with groans, and this loyalty brought tears (of appreciation?) to the king s eyes (7.11.5). Both Alexander and his men were tearful when he sent ten thousand Macedonians home with Craterus (7.12.3 – 4). Arrian s desire to stick to the truth and not indulge in sensationalism is patent (cf. 6.11.2, 6.11.8), but his eulogistic inclinations, in contrast to the so-called Cleitarchan or “Vulgate” tradition are also clear (Bosworth 1980: 30 – 34). Troops tears, here and elsewhere, attest to their love of their commanders; Alexander s own tears are more ambiguous: joy, frustration and relief are possibilities. The Hellenistic protocol for “Big Men Do Cry” includes joy at deliverance, grief for comrades killed in war and respect for the mutability of Fortune in general and human fortunes in particular.44 The peripeteia of the powerful reflects the epic and tragic elements pervasive in all periods of Greek historiography, and the magnanimity of those great men who perceive this easily forgotten truth. Antigonus Gonatas smacked his gloating son and wept over the head of his enemy Pyrrhus, killed by a woman s tile thrown in Argive guerilla street-fighting. This first extant historiographical example of Greek tears for a fallen foe (Hieronymus, FGrHist IIB 154 F15; cf. Plutarch, Pyrr. 34.4), as Hornblower (1981: 106) noted, has relevant precedents in Xerxes generous tears for human ephemerality (Herodotus 7.45 – 52). That historiographical passage is itself rooted in Homer s epical chief Achilles somewhat widened human sympathies when faced with father Priam bereaved of his brave son Hector (Il. 24.507 – 551). This literary precedent for the concept of sympathy even for fallen foes was part of every educated person s kit of common knowledge for both Greeks and Hellenized Romans. Scipio, 43 Like Herodotus, Arrian also employs d²jquom for the gum or syrup of a tree, the myrrh (6.22.4). 44 For examples, see Polybius 8.20.9 and 15.34.2; cf. Walbank (1957 [vol. 1]: 16 – 26).

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we soon will hear, on African soil quoted Hector s verses (Il. 6.448 – 449), according to Polybius (38.22.2): 5ssetai Glaq ftam pot ak¾kg 7Ikior Rq¶.45 2.5 Third- and Second-Century Hellenistic Historians Tears Scipio, at the end of six days of brutal fighting, plunder and firing the ruins of Carthage, experienced an intense emotional confusion: pride in Roman success, grief for a great civilization just zeroed out (pamykehq¸a) and awareness that no one and no thing lasts indefinitely. This most famous example of open weeping and historical tears for the vanquished has its reality guaranteed by Polybius autoptic description (aqt¹r !jo¼sar) of his dear friend s (31.23.8 – 9) emotional outburst, grasping of Polybius hand, and foreboding (38.21 – 22 [Appian s summary]: k´cetai l³m dajqOsai ja· vameq¹r cem´shai jka¸ym rp³q pokel¸ym). The complete destruction of Carthage (and Corinth) provided a philosophical coda reinforcing Polybius message about futile resistance to the remaining superpower and the mutability of fortune.46 It appears at the end of the period that Polybius chose to record (3.4 – 5, 39.8).47 This flourish of passion may emulate his predecessor Hieronymus unknown ending and the Iliad s.48 Timaeus of Tauromenium (fl. ca. 275 B.C., FGrHist 566) wrote a Sicelica in thirty-eight books. Polybius thought his work influential enough to begin where Timaeus ended (T6 = Polybius 1.5.1), in 264 B.C. with the commencement of the first Punic War, but found him wanting in almost every way (see esp. Polybius 12.3 – 5, 12.11 – 12, 12.23 – 28). Timaeus extant fragments present three passages with tears. Two concern the weeping sisters of mythical Phaethon who become poplar trees, a mythical matter that is totally alien to Polybian pragmatic and apodeictic history (2.16.13 – 15; Diod. 5.23.4). The third reports Timoleon in tears as he 45 Astin (1967: 282 – 287) has a good discussion. Scipio s biological father was the tearful Aemilius Paullus. In Diodorus (32.24) but not Appian s (Lib. 132) account of the topos, Homeric verses accompany the tears. 46 Another earlier link in the great chain of polis eradication and the conqueror s tears: Livy 25.24.11 (= Plutarch, Marc. 19; not in the extant Polybius 8.37) reports that Claudius Marcellus wept for the fate of beautiful Syracuse, just before he ordered it looted and torched in 212 B.C. Partly satisfaction with a long task completed, partly its glorious renown for the Athenian defeat of 413 moved him to tears. 47 The final book 40 vanished without trace. Polybius claims that he settled Achaean affairs to everyone s satisfaction (39.5.2 – 6). 48 See Hornblower (1981: 105). The few (eighteen) extant preserved fragments of Hieronymus of Cardia (ca. 270 B.C., FGrHist 154) contain no tears.

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steps aside to allow the necessary assassination of his tyrannical brother Timophanes (Plutarch, Tim. 4.8). Timaeus concern with myths or early legends and indeed with the non-contemporary past seemed grounds enough for Polybius vehemently to reject his methods (see Fçgen 1999). Those stories are now unimportant, not useful for learning how the Mediterranean became united by Roman expansion (1.1.5, 1.2.7 – 1.3.10). Timaeus is censured as a perverse, childish, ignorant, inaccurate, inexperienced and credulous historian (12.3.6, 12.4c1, 12.4d1 – 8, 12.27a3). His sensational topics and rhetoric (2.16.3, 12.24, 25b3 – 4) are pilloried as spiteful, womanish and depraved (12.14.6 – 7, 23.2: pijq¸a, cumaij_doi, di´vhaqtai t0 xuw0). A nice example: Polybius objects when Timaeus coarsely describes his bÞte noire Agathocles as tqiºqwgr, “three testicled” or lecherous (12.15.2). Duris of Samos (ca. 260 B.C., FGrHist 76) published at least twentythree books of Macedonica. He famously faulted both Ephorus and Theopompus49 for caring more about writerly style than historical verisimilitude, for neglecting “imitation” and “pleasure” (l¸lgsir and Bdom¶, FGrHist 76 F1).50 These hotly contested, since poorly attested for historiography, terms, seem to denote “a vivid and varied representation” of historical events, speeches in oratio recta and descriptions of human reactions.51 Duris himself developed emotional situations.52 Surviving chiefly through the dabbler Athenaeus interest in perverse excess, especially gastronomical, he was prone to parochial bias and exaggeration, according to Plutarch (FGrHist 76 T8 = Per. 28). Duris may be the source of a reported, semi-generic Sibylline oracle that calls for the tears of the Greeks conquered at Chaeronea.53 Phylarchus of Athens (ca. 220 B.C.?, FGrHist 81) published twentyeight books of Histories of a sensationalist and anecdotal caste. One fragment, of the many found in Athenaeus (FGrHist 81 F36 = Athenaeus 49 Polybius also stridently objected to Theopompus rhetorically heightened negative depiction of Philip II (8.9 – 11). Because Philip had assisted the anti-Spartan Peloponnesians, he gained Polybius respect. 50 See Gray s exhaustive anatomy (1987) of this obscure passage. 51 Strasburger (1966) and Walbank (1972) inter alios contest Duris meaning. Gray (1987) disproves Walbank s (1972: 36 n. 18) assertion that l¸lgsir is never found as a technical term in any other historiographical theorist. 52 FGrHist 76 F5, F7, F14, F18 and F52. See Gray (1987: 485 – 486) on FGrHist 76 F10 and 24. 53 jka¸ei b mijghe¸r, b d³ mij¶sar !pºkykem (M ller, FGH F6; not included in FGrHist F38 because unhistorical).

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13.85 606f – 607a), mentions the humanoid affection of an elephant for a baby Indian prince. Whenever the child wept, the elephant rocked his cradle with her proboscis. The passage seems worthy of Polybius general censure of this entertainment-minded predecessor. Polybius of Achaean Megalopolis wrote a thematic universal history in forty books before 120 B.C. His account includes emotional moments, indeed crying. King Antiochus III was struck dumb and began to cry when his bound-up enemy (relative and former viceroy) Achaeus was dumped at his feet during the siege of Sardis. Polybius speculates (itself an interesting divigation) on the cause of this unexpected outburst of royal tears in victory. He concludes it was the contrariness and inability to guard against Fortune that afflicts all men: t¹ dusv¼kajtom ja· paq²kocom t_m 1j t/r tuw/r sulbaimºmtym (8.20.9). Polybius sometime associate, patron and student Scipio Aemilianus, after the capture of Spanish Carthage, treated the citizens kindly. Their unexpected deliverance (10.17.8: paqadºn\ t/r sytgq¸ar) brought them to tears of rejoicing. Inviting these former Carthaginian hostages to become Roman allies, he hears the elderly wife of the Ilergete king supplicating him with tears to treat them better than the Carthaginians had. After a moment, Scipio divined that her reference was to the chastity of the young Spanish beauties, and this compelled him to weep for them: Amacj²shg dajqOsai (10.18.7, 10.18.13). In 168/167 B.C. the despairing Rhodian envoys, fearing a Roman attack, put on mourning and tearfully begged their Roman friends support (30.4.5). In 150/149 B.C., the Romans demanded of the cornered Carthaginians 300 male hostages to sail to Sicilian Lilybaeum. The youngsters were escorted to their ship by family and friends with lamentations and tears, especially the women s (36.5.7). Weeping engulfed the Corinthians as they mustered for the last (doomed) Achaean War (38.15.9). Polybius claims to write against prevailing historiographical traditions, especially untruthful ones, when he mentions them (see Fçgen 1999). The recognition of predecessors only for purposes of correction, that is, revisionism, extends back to the historiographical font, Herodotus.54 Polybius polemics in Book 2 against the careless dramatizer and sensationalist Phylarchus object explicitly to his inclusion of loosened hair, naked breasts beaten, and weeping (2.56.7). He accuses him of “hyping” up horrors – like writers of tragedies (2.56.8 – 11: pq¹ avhakl_m tih´mai t± deim² … teqateuºlemom … jah²peq oR tqac\dycq²voi, … xuwa54 See Parke (1946) and Lateiner (1989: ch. 4).

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cyc/sai). He objects to Phylarchus efforts designed to make readers cry (2.56.6) and to bring in mythology.55 The capture of cities and the destruction of their populations especially suggest or arguably require a more emotional register.56 Although Phylarchus description of the Capture of Mantineia drew Polybius wrath, Polybius, a witness himself, described the Capture of Corinth (39.2 = Strabo 8.6.28). In that account, he dwelt upon the usual pitiable tableaux of mayhem and lamentation (1m oUjtou l´qei). Polybius provides his own dramatic tears when he reports that Sosibius (203 B.C.?) had Arsinoe murdered (15.25.9). The city of Alexandria was full of “groans, tears and ceaseless lamentation”. He uses metaphors of the stage and descriptions of the Furies in his account of Philip V s end (23.10.2 – 16).57 Although some later historians claimed to respect Thucydides objective manner and restricted matter, those successors could hardly avoid the employment of bolder colouring and a wider variety of incidents (Walbank 1972: 37). Polybius remarkably neither praises nor censures Thucydides methods (8.11.3, the only reference), but he affects to share his predecessor s disdain for display rhetoric, !c¾misla, and sensationalism, teqate¸a (2.58.12).58 Whether this development deserves the title of “tragic history” presents a problem, but not ours.59

55 Polybius bridles at historians accounts of mythical, ahistorical “events”, e. g. the previously mentioned Phaethon s sisters becoming weeping poplars (2.16.13) – no fit matter for history but the stuff of tragedy. In Polybius History, Agathocles later pretends to choking tears for his dire situation (15.26.3), while Moiragenes in Egypt tearfully supplicates Macedonian troops (15.28.7) – but, in these consequential incidents, tears influence the following events. 56 Indeed, Phrynichus Capture of Miletus, a tragic historical drama, as mentioned above, was unendurable to its Athenian audience (Herodotus 6.21). Thucydides accounts of the executions at Plataeae and the slaughter at Mycalessus display unusual pathos and sympathy for the victims (Thucydides 3.68, 7.29 – 30); see Lateiner (1977: passim). 57 Theatrical comparisons are particularly common in Plutarch s biographies (cf. DeLacy 1952). Their connection to historiography may relate to Duris l¸lgsir and Bdom¶ via Aristotle s Poetics. Plutarch himself registers the “theatre” word negatively, e. g. Ant. 1.3, 2.3, 15.2, 29.4, as does Polybius (e. g. 2.16.4). DeLacy (1952: 159 – 171) examines the theatrical imagery, stage terminology, and stage-like movements and moments in the Lives, e. g. Plutarch, Ant. 29.4, 54.5, 93.4; Dem. 18.5, 41.5, 44.9, 53.10 etc. 58 Thucydides 1.22.4; Polybius 3.31.12. Walbank (1972: 40 – 42) identifies other silent borrowings and parallels in their methods of selection and elaboration. 59 Walbank has addressed this problem repeatedly (e. g. 1972: 34 – 40, with previous bibliography); see now Gray (1987).

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3. Conclusions Just as history contains tears, so tears have their own history.60 The trend in historical sociology holds that nurture decisively shapes unformed human nature, our emotional and cognitive selves. When we cry, why and for how long, all these have been and are shaped by others expectations and our social needs. Expectations in antiquity, similarly, tapped and turned off tearful displays. Tears are one component of “the language of pain” (Monsacr 1984b: 61).61 So are other nonverbal leakages such as shivers, chattering, blinking, screams or aphony, self-touching and twitching – responses to perceptions of pain or joy. In a survey such as this, examining few of many ancient historical texts, some of them existing in only 1 % of their original size, generalizations over time may reflect only writerly habits of particular authors and lexicographers seeking exotic words. Nevertheless, one may assert that examples of the semiotics of historical pathos became more frequent over time. Page for preserved page, weepery is not frequent in Herodotus text (21 examples in about 500 pages, 12 of those arising in three episodes), but his love of deploying dramatic and emotional incidents to reveal character, following Homer, set the historiographical paradigm. Thucydides and his best epigone, the author of the Hellenica from Oxyrhynchia, eschew tears in their narratives, salient exceptions to the weeping trend-line – but not the beginning of a counter-tradition. Xenophon, a moralizing romantic, reverted to Herodotus inclusion of individual s emotions, although less effectively. Weeping and other anecdotes allegedly revelatory of character dominate the succeeding centuries. Polybius protests against the prostitution of his “pragmatic history” availed little or nothing against the sea of tears arisen behind him and welling up before him in the future. Historical tears should be compatible with political and military history; events often enough produce misery, pain and suffering. Poetical and rhetorical pot-boiler tears evoked for the capture of cities, and anecdotal tears that “express” sorrow or pity (invented or not), remained or became the norm. Plutarch, in his separate 60 So the titles of van Wees (1998) and Lutz (1999) suggest, drawing on “social construction” theorists for the view that social training trumps innate inclinations. The conceit remains attractive. 61 Cairns (1999: 171, 178) discusses the politics of Hellenic “face” including displays of regret and remorse. A “shame” culture discourages demonstrations of sorrow but sometimes forces one into public self-degradation.

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genre of biography, a cadet genre poaching on historiography (see section 4 below), became a defending (sometimes defensive) attorney for the “revealing anecdote”. He justifies, based on psychology and ethics, the record of an emotion expressed or betrayed for the narrative of a life, but rarely offers evidence or even sources for the tears that one finds frequently recounted in his portraits. Can and do tears contribute anything meaningful to historiography or do they simply provide colour and amusement?62 The post-Thucydidean historians, starting with the post-Socratic ethicism of Socrates disciple Xenophon, offer more frequent and explicit moral judgements on individuals and communities than their Classical predecessors. Xenophon thought this moralism was the purpose of historiography (Hell. 4.8.1, 5.1.4, 7.2.1 etc.). Similarly, Ephorus added thumbnail post-mortems weighing his principal personalities pluses and minuses (Polybius 12.28.10). Theopompus was infamously judgemental, generally positive for Philip, negative for almost everyone else, not least the depraved demagogues of Hellas (F 27). Timaeus was yet more captious (Polybius 12.3 – 28), and the didactic Polybius followed the trend – describing Timaeus as nothing but faults – even while objecting to its excesses (some random examples: 1.14.5, 7.7.7, 8.10.7, 16.28.5). Tears, laughter and other visible or audible signs of feeling and thought in crisis (p²hor) provide a shorthand indication of the state of mind for the emitting person s character and judgement or for the humanity of the person perceiving them. Historians, such as Xenophon, following the dialogic example of Plato, quickly came to utilize these intimate mental/emotional markers to indicate ethos. To elicit both a reader s emotions and her rational responses with attempts at strategic analysis seems a legitimate part of the historiographical project. This holds true for Thucydides, Polybius and Gibbon, as well as for non-historical writers such as Sophocles, Plato, Demosthenes, Shakespeare, Schlegel and Lincoln. Tears have been part of the historical record – history is a record of human suffering. An unexpected result of this survey is that the (admittedly lacunose) statistics do not suggest a significant increase in weeping in Greek historiography over time. Polybius practice belies his preach62 Gray (1987) and Walbank (1990) contribute to this debate about the place of conformity to real life, to vivacity and vividness, in the purposes and methods of the Hellenistic historians. Walbank (1990) explores the profit-amusement dichotomy in explicating the value that the severely narrowing historiography of Polybius (following Thucydides) assigns to each.

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ment. The recorded tears in the surviving texts do not seem excessive or to have been reported when they did not occur. One may conclude that tears and wailing were thought to have, and indeed held, a legitimate place among Greeks writing history.

4. Appendix: Tears in Plutarch s Lives The Boeotian Plutarch writing under post-Flavian emperors knew the differences between biography and history (Alex. 1): not great exploits (such as battles and sieges) but virtues and vices, a joke here, the expression of the eyes there, acts that illuminate the workings of the human soul. Emotional states interest him, so far as he can recover (or imaginatively reconstruct) them. His Platonic and other philosophical training and interests63 induced him to paint (his metaphor for the Lives in Cim. 2) personality and character rather than policy and administration for his chosen subjects. Dramatic incidents displaying stupefaction, gestures and leakage, disturbed outbursts of anger, laughter and tears better served his purposes. A tear is an “expression of the eyes” (although not the one that eWdor denotes). In the Lives dajqu- terms appear 134 times, 79 for Romans and 55 for Greeks – already a surprise because the Greek Lives are as numerous and as long as the Roman.64 This crude measure for tears conforms with Pelling s (2005: 277) statistic that words for pity are “three times more frequent” in the Roman Lives. One could calculate whether the more mimetic and hedonic (Duris terms) post-mid-third century historians, Greek and Roman, include more tear-drenched scenes than their less “life-imitating” predecessors (such as Ephorus and Theopompus) had furnished Plutarch to draw on. Alternatively, the greater number of Italian tears might reflect a greater inclination in Plutarch s Roman sources to include moments of emotional vulnerability and failures of self-control. By this count of teardrops (dajqu- and not jkai- or jkau- stems), the Cato Minor is the weepiest of all the Lives (10 examples). This will only 63 Schorn (2009, in this volume) analyses Plutarch s consolation written to his wife after the death of their daughter. The philosopher-priest s essay allows for the cathartic effect of spontaneous tears, but he urges her to minimize her period of expressive grief. 64 The statistics, derived from TLG web searches of Fall 2006, exclude the comparationes, in which, in fact, there is but one example of tears, namely Sol./ Publ. 1.6: Publicola s death produces tears and community sorrow.

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surprise readers until they recall that Stoic resolve needs contrast to mere mortal frailty for their stiff-upper-lippedness to become apparent. Indeed, more Plutarchan weeping comes from secondary figures than from the “hero”. As with Hollywood cinema, Plutarch s scripts direct audiences reactions by the emotional contrasts of Plutarch s protagonists to the onlookers, one man s or a cast of thousands .65 After the Cato Minor, the Aemilius Paullus, Caesar and Antony share second place with seven teardrop incidents each.66 Sulla was, Plutarch observes, an unexpectedly frequent weeper in his youth (Sull. 30.6). Unexpectedly tender seemed he, we surmise, given later his cold-blooded capacities in proscriptions. Plutarch s generosity towards his many butchers and mass murderers arises, at least in part (we leave aside hero-worship) from his understanding of, and compassion for, human beings innate weaknesses (cf. Ag.-Cleom. 37.8, or Cim. 2.5). Sub specie aeternitatis, Plutarch understands his Messenian onlookers weeping when they see the once great, now defeated Philopoemen, and they recall “the emptiness, fragility, and worthlessness of human capacity”.67 The elderly Achaean prisoner of war, former head of state, triggers this response, as does the younger Macedonian prisoner of war, the recent King Perseus, now dethroned and enchained at Rome (Aem. 26.7 – 12). “Moral capaciousness” enables Plutarch to dramatise human vulnerability and suffering, to record (or invent) contemporary crowd reactions, and to play down damaging errors and emotions, while keeping his philosophical, Platonoid distance from the passions that drive hoi polloi. Since his purpose is explicitly moral improvement by means of contemplating the experience and responses of noble souls (Aem. praef.), the tears of others often provoke his protagonists to a display of a noble, and morally impressive, calm and magnanimity. When Plutarch s heroes weep, it is often a generous pity for others, never a self-centered grief or anxiety for self. Indeed, precisely the conquered Perseus self-pity halts Aemilius generous expression of pity for him (Aem. 26.8 – 9; cf. Xenophon, Hell. 5.3.20, 7.1.32, Anab. 1.3.2). We briefly survey several Plutarchan bi65 Pelling (2005: 282 and 307 n. 16): “characterization by reaction”, e. g. Plutarch, Them. 10.9, Dem. 56.3, Cor. 33.4. 66 Paullus, however, is much shorter. Alexander also gains lachrymal supremacy among the Greek Lives (six examples) by its length. It is tied for weepiest Greek life with the shorter Dion. dajq- words appear 219 times in toto in the extant oeuvre of Plutarch. 67 Pelling (2005: 288) cites Plutarch, Phil. 19.1. This paragraph is especially indebted to Pelling s study of pity. N.B. the topos of victory s ephemerality.

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ographies to discover where and when Plutarch reports that his subjects, men generally of iron will, let down their self-disciplined guard to weep – or, more commonly, their associates express tears. Among the Greek Lives the Alexander and the Dion have six references each for tears (see above for the Alex.). The latter shows tears only in the last seventeen chapters. The thought of Dion the saviour restores Syracusan hopes in 355 B.C. – they weep for joy at the thought of his courage (Dion 42.3). Emissaries from the city weep at his feet in order to supplicate his aid (Dion 42.6). His response at first barely escapes from his own responsive sobs (Dion 43.1). His ex-wife Arete weeps in anxiety when he returns to Syracuse from exile, but his sister s words lead Dion in tears to accept back his wife (Dion 51.1, 51.5). His Athenian friend and assassin Callippus wept in fear that the plot against Dion in which he shared was discovered (Dion 56.4). We might posit here for Plutarch a Platonic and/or Sicilian source more interested in emotional displays than the average historian. Plutarch s Life of the younger Cato depends significantly on the hagiographic biography of his Stoic disciple Thrasea Paetus (via Munatius Rufus, cf. Cat. 25, 37; see Moles 1988: 30). Not surprisingly, the imperturbability of the philosopher draws tears from more emotional associates. His wife tears up when Cato as military tribune sets out for Macedonia (Cat. 9.1). When his term of military service expired, his soldiers wept at his departure – very unusual – and kissed his hand (12.1). Tears provide a synecdoche for the pity in which one should not indulge in Cato s (uniquely preserved) speech against Caesar s appeal for clemency for the Catilinarian conspirators (23.2). His wife and sisters shrieked and wept for his safety in boldly entering a dangerous session of the hostile Senate (27.3: potmiyl´mar ja· dajquo¼sar) when Caesar supported Metellus bill empowering Pompey. His wife and children beg him with tears to take the oath to defend the objectionable Campanian land law (32.7). In the Civil War, Cato himself wept over the enemy Roman dead at Dyrrachium (54.11), in the tradition of a noble personality s sympathy for the enemy. Cato argues in Africa with the cavalry while the senators can only beseech them for help with pathetic tears (62.6). When the Republican remnant can only bewail their sorry plight, Cato tries to encourage them (63.2). Cato himself begins to weep when the cavalry invites him to betray his allies (63.11). Finally, and most Platonically, when he informs his friends of his impending suicide and invites their refutation of his philosophical determination, his son leaves in noisy grief and his friends leave

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his presence weeping (69.1: let± jkauhloO, 70.1). In this weepiest Life, then, women weep thrice, dependent men twice, peers thrice and Cato Uticensis himself twice. Others weep for the paragon of courage Cato (or themselves). Cato weeps for the doom of his countrymen, friend and foe. Very philosophical of the philosopher. Young Caesar wins the praise of Marians and their tears of joy (Caes. 6.5) for bravely restoring images of his execrated relative under the rule of Marius enemy, the dangerous Sulla. Caesar s mother weeps as he goes off for the elections of 63 to choose the new Pontifex Maximus (Caes. 7.3). One soldier in Britain illustrates his troops fierce loyalty. He falls to Caesar s feet in grief, because, after great success, in retreat through a river he had jettisoned his shield (16.7). These early tears are almost formulaic: early courage, female relatives justified fears for the hero s life, soldiers loyalty amounting to love. More remarkable are Caesar s own tears in Spain ca. 60 B.C. (Caes. 11.6) when his companions discovered him reading some account of Alexander s exploits (which historian s?). He weeps because he had so far achieved so little compared to Alexander (who died, after all, aged 33). These tears of admiration stop; a different kind emerges for the tragic final years. Cato s tears while serving with Pompey for his Roman enemies are again reported (cf. Cat. 54.11). Caesar himself cried again in Alexandria when handed his dead enemy Pompey s signet ring (Caes. 48.3) – again the motif of generosity for fallen foes. Early on the Ides of March 44 B.C., Plutarch records in one version (Caes. 63.10), Calpurnia dreamed that she held Caesar s murdered body and wept over it. In Plutarch s Life of Antony, humans shed tears seven times. The gamut includes friends and enemies, men and women, the subject, his subordinates, his mate and his conqueror. On campaign in Parthia, the wounded general weeps from affection for his wounded troops (Ant. 43.2). In a Roman panic, the staff weeps (Ant. 48.6). Soon after, Antony and his men reach safety escaping from Media into Armenia, much like Xenophon s Ten Thousand nearly four hundred years earlier and, echoing that text (Xenophon, Anab. 4.7.27), they kiss the ground and weep with joy (49.5). Cleopatra feigns tears to draw Antony closer (Plutarch, Ant. 53.7: 2x). By describing her as pqaclateuol´mg (“working up her act”) and ¢r dµ boukol´mg kamh²meim (“as if, I suppose, wishing to hide it”), Plutarch underlines her manipulative pretences. The noble, stoic (but not Stoic) Antony consoles his defeated and weeping companions at their last supper

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(Ant. 75.3).68 Octavian s tears (Ant. 78.2) for his fallen former brother-inlaw, the Roman magistrate and general, and his quondam ally in civil war, to many have seemed feigned. Lesser mortals perhaps should withhold judgements about such unusual moments. The teardrops of an autocrat may be both feigned and literary, or genuine and literary. Pelling (1988: comm. ad loc.) cites the similar sympathetic sensibility of Eumenes, Antigonus, Antiochus and Caesar (Eum. 7.13, Pyrrh. 34.8 with Polybius 8.20.9, Caes. 48.2, Pomp. 80.7). No known method teaches men and women how to decide whether life imitates art here or vice-versa. A thorough study of tears and weeping in Plutarch s oeuvre might explore whether he views eminent public figures tears for the defeated as hypocrisy.

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Radermacher, Ludwig (1947): Weinen und Lachen. Studien ber antikes Lebensgef hl, Wien. Schorn, Stefan (2009): Tears of the bereaved. Plutarch s Consolatio ad uxorem in context. In: Thorsten Fçgen (ed.), Tears in the Graeco-Roman World, Berlin & New York, 335 – 365. Shapiro, H. Alan (1991): The iconography of mourning in Athenian art. In: American Journal of Archaeology 95, 629 – 656. Sternberg, Rachel Hall (2005): The nature of pity. In: Rachel Hall Sternberg (ed.), Pity and Power in Ancient Athens, Cambridge, 15 – 47. Strasburger, Hermann (1966): Die Wesensbestimmung der Geschichte durch die antiken Geschichtsschreiber (Sitzungsberichte der Wissenschaftlichen Gesellschaft an der Johann-Wolfgang-Goethe-Universit t Frankfurt am Main 5.3), Wiesbaden. Suter, Ann (2009): Tragic tears and gender. In: Thorsten Fçgen (ed.), Tears in the Graeco-Roman World, Berlin & New York, 59 – 84. Suter, Ann (ed.) (2008): Lament. Studies in the Eastern Mediterranean and Beyond, New York. van der Veen, Jan Ebele (1996): The Significant and the Insignificant. Five Studies in Herodotus View of History, Amsterdam. van Wees, Hans (1998): A brief history of tears. Gender differentiation in archaic Greece. In: Lin Foxhall & John Salmon (eds.), When Men Were Men. Masculinity, Power and Identity in Classical Antiquity, London & New York, 10 – 53. Walbank, Frank (1957 – 1979): A Historical Commentary on Polybius (3 vols.), Oxford. Walbank, Frank (1972): Polybius, Berkeley & Los Angeles. Walbank, Frank (1990): Profit or amusement. Some thoughts on the motives of Hellenistic historians. In: Herman Verdin, Guido Schepens & Els de Keyser (eds.), Purposes of History. Studies in Greek Historiography from the 4th to the 2nd Centuries B.C., Leuven, 253 – 266. West, Stephanie (1988): The Scythian ultimatum (Hdt. iv. 131, 132). In: Journal of Hellenic Studies 108, 207 – 211.

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Women s Tears in Ancient Roman Ritual Darja Sˇterbenc Erker Abstract: Weeping was a codified and strictly regulated sign of mourning. It was a ritual duty towards a dead relative, a friend or a ruler, considered especially to be a task of women. This paper analyses various ritualistic and mythological contexts of tears as signs: weeping during a burial ritual, calling for revenge of murdered family members, during supplications and in aetiological legends about the founding of the city of Rome. The article shows that the ancient authors, who represent upper-class morality, describe women s tears in a negative way whenever they contradict the ideals of the civitas, whereas the same practice is represented positively when they act on behalf of the political community.

1. Introduction This paper analyses several issues in the context of Roman rituals, when ancient authors describe women s tears in negative and positive ways. What significance did weeping and mourning have in ancient Roman culture; did men and women mourn differently? Analysing the sources, one finds women s tears set in a negative light by ancient authors, whenever these did not concur with the ideals of the community; however, the tears are described differently when shed on behalf of the political community. The authors views, representing upper-class morality, thus change, depending on the value of women s tears for the community as a whole.1

2. Mourning for the Deceased Although mourning and weeping for the deceased was part of the religious duties (iusta) of both male and female relatives, friends and clients of the family, it appears with a distinct female connotation in ancient 1

This paper is part of my research into the religious role of Roman women in Greek ritual. Special thanks are due to Elisabeth Begemann who translated the text and to Andreas Bendlin, Gwynaeth McIntyre, Barbara and Charles Taylor for their reading of it.

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texts.2 Towards the end of the first century A.D., Tacitus in the Germania describes Germanic customs using distinctly Roman values. He states that mourning was appropriate for their women when keeping the memory (memoria) of the deceased to their men (Germ. 27.2). Thus, distinguishing between the sexes apparently developed from the much more intense and prolonged contact of women with the world of the dead. According to legend, Numa, a Roman king and law-giver, set a maximum period of mourning, allowing women to mourn their fathers and their husbands for up to ten months (Plutarch, Numa 12.3; see also Schorn 2009, in this volume). Seneca (Epist. 63.13) mentions this custom, stressing the gender specific differences: Annum feminis ad lugendum constituere maiores, non ut tam diu lugerent, sed ne diutius: viris nullum legitimum tempus est, quia nullum honestum. Our forefathers have enacted that, in the case of women, a year should be the limit for mourning; not that they needed to mourn for so long, but that they should mourn no longer. In the case of men, no rules are laid down, because to mourn at all is not regarded as honourable.3

The period of mourning for the women thus lasted for ten months, which, according to Roman scholars, corresponded to one year in the reckoning of time under the rule of the kings.4 According to Seneca, drawing on upper-class sentiment, it was, however, ill-regarded for men, and not honourable , to mourn, which is why they used to take off the mourning garment after the funeral week (eight days after the burial), which culminated in a feast at the grave (cena novemdialis). Men and women, therefore, had to act according to different standards, which were particularly stressed in philosophical writings. Authors such as Cicero and Seneca described female grief as exaggerated and an ill custom. Seneca draws a line, based on their ways of mourning, between women, barbarians, the ignorant and uneducated, and plebeians, who were overcome by grief on the one hand; and men, the educated and cultured, and civilized peoples, to whom grief was less hurtful.5 The author ascribes an overwhelming grief to women, who allowed their pain to wear them out. Cicero in his Tuscu2 3 4 5

On gender-specific roles in Roman burial ritual, see Sˇterbenc Erker (2002; 2004: 261 – 266). Translation from Richard M. Gummere, Seneca ad Lucilium Epistulae morales, Cambridge, Mass. & London 1961, 435. Ovid, Fast. 1.33 – 36, 3.133 – 134. See also Prescendi (1995: 150 – 151), R pke (1995: 192 – 202), Prescendi (2000: 107) and Schnegg-Kçhler (2002: 135 – 136). Seneca, Cons. ad Marciam 7.3; Cons. ad Polybium 6.2.

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lanae Disputationes (2.55) stresses the importance of men s self-restraint in grief, in order to fulfil their duties and bear their pain. The author criticizes Philoctetes, hero of Greek myth, whose festering wound pained him so much that he screamed out loud, moving his companions to leave him behind on a lonely island. Cicero condemns Philoctetes for the excessive expression of his pain. The author regards as acceptable and becoming for men to moan in their grief; the Twelve Tables, however, forbade women to express their grief with sorrowful wailing (lessus).6 Both authors descriptions of men s and women s mourning practices were influenced by upper-class morality, in which male virtues played a central part (Vid n 1993: 112). Female behaviour was downplayed and depreciated as it was diametrically opposite to the expected male performance. Cicero describes gestures of mourning (throwing ashes on oneself, scratching the cheeks like women , beating the breasts, legs or head) as worthy of contempt, and censures these non-verbal forms of grief. Instead, he stresses a strong will and the philosophical decision not to let grief or sadness touch the soul (Tusc. 3.62), reasoning that there is no use in mourning. In their ethical writings, Cicero and Seneca ascribe to women excessive, out-of-control mourning, while it was becoming to men to mourn with dignity and self-discipline.7 It is revealing that women s grief was understood by ancient authors as out-of-control and their ways of mourning as direct and “excessive”. However, the expression of grief in Roman society, as in any other ritualistic culture, was never uncontrolled and “excessive”. Alexiou (1974: 55) draws a distinction between the functions of gestures of mourning and lamentation: emotions are channeled on the one hand and the deceased are worshipped on the other. Wagner-Hasel (2000: 85) shows, on the contrary, that a public display of emotion did not serve as much to express the individual grief, but was rather a medium for values and standards, a display of loyalty and of affiliation.8 To support this view, hired professional

6

7 8

Vergil, Aen. 6.220; Ovid, Fast. 4.461: Sic dea nec retinet gemitus; 4.521 – 522: ut lacrimae (neque enim lacrimare deorum est) / decidit in tepidos lucida gutta sinus. On the term lessus see below (section 4). The Twelve Tables are not to be compared to modern codes of law. Fçgen (2002) showed that they were rather a collection of traditions, ethical instructions and codes of conduct, whose greater meaning for Roman culture lies in their age and their legendary nomothetes. See Prescendi (2000: 105, 107) and Maurin (1984: 199). This interpretation is supported by anthropological studies on tribal cultures. Durkheim (1912 [1991]: 653 – 654) speaks of an etiquette of forceful expression

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Figure 1: A relief from a funeral monument from Amiternum (National Museum of Abruzzo, Aquila, Italy; photograph from Corbeill 2004: 96). Musicians and praeficae performing mourning gestures stand in front of the bier (right side, upper part). Mourning women, one with children, follow behind the bier.

mourners (the so-called praeficae; see Horace, Ars poet. 431 – 432) should be mentioned. Praeficae did most of the mourning and lamenting during funeral rituals in Rome, although often they did not even know the deceased person. Their ritual performances were not fed by emotions and personal attachment; rather, they employed a number of codified gestures and lamentations (as seen on the Amiternum relief, fig. 1). The mourners used narrative models and forms of poetry in their lamentations, which contradicts the hypothesis of some scholars of the “spontaneity” of expressions of grief.9 Outward expressions of grief were, according to ancient social norms, necessary, right and an act of duty, against which Cicero argues in his philosophical considerations (Tusc. 3.61 – 62, 3.64). The fact that the grief was indeed a social obligation becomes clear after a look at Cassius Dio s account of the burial of the emperor Augustus in 14 A.D. All citizens par-

9

of mourning, and names the different grades of relationship which are subject to self-mutilation in mourning. On the conventions of lamentation in ancient Greece see Alexiou (1974: 4) and Holst-Warhaft (1992: 9 – 10).

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ticipated in the ritual mourning, though many of them, Cassius Dio states, did not feel any real grief (Cassius Dio 56.43.1; see Fraschetti 1994: 94). The citizens of Rome were obliged to express their loyalty and connection to family and patron by outward displays of grief, though this was contradictory to the ethics of Stoic philosophy.10 Seneca even displays a certain understanding for his friend Lucilius mourning of a deceased friend, though he advises him against lamentations (Epist. 63.1). According to Seneca, this code of conduct was quite ambivalent, for people would describe a person with great restraint in grief as impious; but if they did express their grief, they ran the danger of being seen as effeminate or soft (Epist. 99.18) – both attributes with strong negative connotations. The gender-related descriptions which present the male as “restrained”, normal and positive, in contrast to the unrestrained, digressive and generally negative female, are present also in official discourse in which both authors discuss the ideals of the political community (civitas). In the following paragraphs, I will analyse the danger women represented to the civitas with their grieving voices, the principles they contradicted, and why the political community marginalized the traditional mourning rites of women.

3. The Dangerous Voices of Mourning Women During the funeral a magistrate, a relative, or a close friend delivered the eulogy for the deceased (laudatio funebris), stressing the honours he achieved and his virtues (Kierdorf 1980), a custom that was restricted to men. Women expressed their grief during the funeral ritual in a threefold way: by lamentation, the singing of songs of mourning (neniae) and by crying out with sorrow (eiulatio, lessus). The non-discursive expressions of mourning, such as the crying out, are described as feminine practices par excellence (Vergil, Aen. 4.337 – 338: femineo ululatu; 2.487 – 488: plangoribus femineis ululant). 10 MacMullen (1980: 255): “Philosophy might reprimand loud, self-dramatizing orgies of emotion, but mention of them rather suggest that most upper-class people of the empire encouraged and respected them (…). For a very long time, then – a matter of centuries – and as much in Athens as in Rome, high society approved of exaggerated and paraded grief, a level of display attained only artificially and opposed by grim Stoics.”

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In ancient tragedy, epic, and lyrical poems, one may find poetically styled lamentations and songs of sorrow, allowing an insight into the ritualized discourse of mourning. A number of phrases and motifs are repeated in the lamentations. In the lamentations found in Vergil s Aeneid, the necessity of war in which soldiers are dying is questioned. Men and women lament the loss by death, which afflicts them personally as well as their community. They are so sad that they wish to die themselves.11 In lamentations, those who are present are invited to mourn as well, as Hecuba, the mother of the fallen Trojan hero, Hector, and wife of King Priam, does in Seneca s tragedy Troades. Hecuba demands of the chorus of captured Trojan women that they lament, and reminds them of the gestures of mourning with which they fulfil their ritual duties (iusta) towards the captured city of Troy (Seneca, Troades 63 – 65). She orders the women to loosen their hair (a typical gesture of grief; see the Haterii relief, showing two mourning women at the bier of a deceased matron from the family of the Haterii, fig. 2) and to dust their heads with the hot ashes of burning Troy, since this was the only thing they could take away from their city. The grieving Trojan women are ordered to remove their upper clothing to beat their naked breasts; as the captured, there was no need for them to keep their shame for their husbands.12 The women were expected to exceed the usual forms of mourning when weeping for the Trojan hero, Hector (Seneca, Troades 83 – 94). Hecuba leads the lamentations of the captured Trojan women much like a conductor, giving instructions as to how and whom to mourn. The Trojan women then repeat Hecuba s instructions (Seneca, Troades 99 – 107):

11 See the lamentations of the mother over her deceased son Euryalus in Vergil, Aen. 9.481 – 497, of Aeneas over the deceased Pallas in Aen. 11.41 – 58 and of Pallas father over his son in Aen. 11.151 – 181. 12 On mourning women beating their bare breasts, see Propertius 2.13B.27 and Petronius, Sat. 111.2. In his recent publication on gestures in ancient Rome, Corbeill (2004) dedicates a chapter, entitled “Blood, milk and tears”, to the analysis of mourning women. He interprets women s mourning gestures according to the theory of Pierre Bourdieu as an expression of the gender-specific separation of social roles and the socio-psychological social order. According to Corbeill, grieving women with their breasts bared drew attention to their lot of bearing children, rejuvenating adults, or to granting immortality (Corbeill 2004: 102 – 106), as well as women s control over birth and death (Corbeill 2004: 67 – 68, 86 – 90).

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Figure 2: A relief from a funeral monument of Haterii (Vatican Museum, ExLateranese, inv. 9999; photograph from Corbeill 2004: 78). A matron is placed on a bier in the atrium of the house, a man adorns her with a garland, next to him two women beat their chests. Under the bier: two men and two women in the procession beat their chests.

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Solvimus omnes lacerum multo funere crinem; coma demissa est libera nodo sparsitque cinis fervidus ora. cadit ex umeris vestis apertis imumque tegit suffulta latus; iam nuda vocant pectora dextras Nunc, nunc vires exprome, dolor. We have all loosed our locks at many a funeral torn; our hair has fallen free from its knot, and hot ashes have sprinkled our faces. From our bared shoulders our garments fall and cover only our loins with their folds. Now naked breasts invite our hands; now now, O Grief, put forth thy strength.13

The motif of call to lamentation or to solemn gestures of mourning is quite common in Roman poetry; people present, as well as the reader, are encouraged to weep, to perform gestures of mourning or sorrowful wailing.14 In Seneca s Troades, which in all probability was not performed on stage but was presented as a recitation drama, the repeated orders of Hecuba gain their performative value in speech alone. Similar to the laudatio funebris, the deceased is praised in lamentations, his achievements and deeds stressed, his death described as tragic by conventional formulae (Kierdorf 1980: 100 – 102; Fantham 1982: 221, 230, 275; Kudlien 1995: 178). Professional mourners employed elements of improvised oral poetry in their lamentations. Ancient lexica and antiquarian collections of words give some clues about the mourning song (nenia) and the performer of this song (praefica). According to Paulus Diaconus, the nenia is a grieving song accompanied by flutes (tibiae) and lyres (fides), praising the dead.15 Selected matrons, children and men of the Roman upper class sang the neniae during funerals of the imperial family. During less solemn burials they were substituted by professional mourners (Varro, De vita populi Romani 110; see also Freyburger 1995: 219). Nonius Marcellus explains the word praeficae in his lexicon De compendiosa doctrina (composed between the 3rd and 4th century A.D.) as hired women who cry for the deceased and praise 13 Translation from Frank Justus Millar, Seneca s Tragedies (vol. 1), Cambridge, Mass. & London 1960, 131 – 133. 14 Seneca, Troades 130; Apoc. 12; Herc. 1108; Catullus, Carm. 3.1; Ovid, Am. 2.6 (human mourning gestures being projected onto birds in this context) and 3.9.3. 15 Paulus Diaconus, De significatu verborum 155 Lindsay. The original was the work of Verrius Flaccus, learned freedman of the Augustan age. The shortened form of the lexicon has come down in fragments via S. Pompeius Festus (2nd c. A.D.) and in the even shorter version of Paulus Diaconus.

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their heroic deeds (Nonius Marcellus 92 Lindsay). Varro quotes Claudius in describing how the praefica instructs the servant maids how to mourn and lament (De lingua Latina 7.70). According to Servius, the mourners respond to the cries of the praefica at the pyre (Comm. in Aen. 6.216), which corresponds to Seneca s descriptions of Hecuba s lament; similar to the way Hecuba does, the praefica directs the lamentations of the group of mourners.16 In ancient Rome it was either the mater familias who led the laments of the mourners, or a praefica who acted in her name. Quoting Plautus, Nonius Marcellus (De comp. doctr. 92 Lindsay) speaks of the “gossipy mourners”. It is likely that Plautus refers to the singing of the nenia, which Nonius describes as vulgar and artless song (212 Lindsay: ineptum and inconditum carmen). Gellius regards the voices of the mourners as “ugly, useless and inane” (Noct. Att. 18.7.3). These pejorative remarks of the author are proof of the attitude of Roman intellectuals towards professional mourners, the majority of whom were slaves or freed women of the undertakers (Freyburger 1995: 218). They were at the bottom of the social hierarchy, though indispensable to the proper execution of the burial ritual. It fits into the general frame of gender-specific attributions that neniae as well as lamentations were considered feminine modes of expression (van Sickle 1987: 44). These texts utter the crushing verdicts on woman s mourning expressions during funeral rituals, they are the opinions of men, disapproving of women being noticeable in public. Burial processions passed through public spaces, so that people not belonging to the family of the deceased would also hear the grieving women singing and crying. Roman religion and the ideals of the civitas honoured the freedom of citizens; the relationship to the gods and to fellow citizens was based on reason and quietude, and not at all on fear and excessive emotions (Scheid 1998: 22). Crying for the departed, screaming, wailing, self-mutilation in mourning gestures, and lamentations presented direct opposites to this ideal, since they invoked strong emotions and were incompatible with the ideal of a quiet life of the citizen. This was precisely the reason for repeated attempts to remove expressions of mourning from the public sphere. 16 Kierdorf (1980: 98 – 105) interprets Varro s explanation of the praefica as a soloist up to the time of the Punic Wars (De vita populi Romani 110), improvising her praise of the deceased. After this time, the word was supposed to have taken on the meaning of professional mourner . The above-mentioned quotations from Claudius and Servius, however, suggest that the praefica led the laments as a soloist even after the Punic Wars.

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Moreover, women s laments were unwanted since they moved all present to mourn, a disturbing factor in public life. The laments of the mother of Euryalus, in front of the soldiers who had fought with her son, were considered downright dangerous to the motivation to fight (Vergil, Aen. 9.498 – 502). Her grief was so strong that it affected the soldiers: they moan – Iulus even starts crying – and their power diminishes. To be able to continue the fight, it was necessary to take Euryalus mother home. Vergil suggests that the lamentations of the mother directly affected the ability and readiness of the soldiers to fight (Dupont 1995: 66).

4. Feminine Mourning Rituals and the Call for Revenge A part of the women s laments in mourning rituals was the call for revenge if the departed had been murdered. Apuleius in his Metamorphoses describes a fake lamentation and the cry for revenge upon the “murderer” Lucius, main protagonist of the tale. After Lucius had been accused of murder and had presented his defense, two women step forward and wail (Met. 3.8): Inter haec quaedam mulier per medium theatrum lacrimosa et flebilis atra veste contecta parvulum quendam sinu tolerans decurrit ac pone eam anus alia pannis horridis obsita paribusque maesta fletibus, ramos oleagineos utraeque quatientes, quae circumfusae lectulum, quo peremptorum cadavera contecta fuerant, plangore sublato se lugubriter eiulantes: “Per publicam misericordiam per commune ius humanitatis” aiunt “miseremini indigne caesorum iuvenum nostraeque viduitati ac solitudini de vindicta solacium date. Certe parvuli huius in primis annis destituti fortunis succurrite et de latronis huius sanguine legibus vestris et disciplinae publicae litate.” In the midst of all this a woman came running down through the theatre, crying and weeping. She was draped in a black robe and carried a little child at her bosom. Behind her was another woman, an old lady covered with tattered rags and weeping just as mournfully. Both were waving olive branches. They draped themselves around the bier on which lay the covered corpses of the victims, and raised a loud lamentation, mournfully bewailing their lot. “In the name of public mercy”, they cried, “in the name of the common rights of humanity, have pity on these unjustly slaughtered youths and grant us the solace of vengeance in our widowhood and bereavement. At least succour the fortunes of this poor little child, orphaned in his earliest years, and make atonement to your laws and public order with that cut-throat s blood.”17

17 Translation from J. Arthur Hanson, Apuleius: Metamorphoses (vol. 1), Cambridge, Mass. & London 1989, 139 – 141.

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The scene at court is a mixture of different mourning rituals, since both women wear black clothing, shed their tears, throw themselves onto the deceased, scream, wail and lament. The ritual of supplicatio is presented by the standard props: branches of the olive tree in the hands of the women. They demand justice for murder, demand blood in revenge from the judges and magistrates of the city, who admit the validity of their demands (Met. 3.8). The grieving and lamenting women act just as they would in a real lamentation, giving Lucius no clue of the joke the city is playing on him, leading him instead to fear for his life, and regarding himself as already dead. But since the dead men turn out to be three covered-up wineskins – which Lucius had slaughtered the previous night – the episode ends in laughter instead of the torture and death with which Lucius had been threatened. Although the women mock Lucius in this scene, Apuleius describes the episode conforming to the norm to which widowed Roman women were expected to act.18 The emotions which women – due to their closeness to the dead – evoked, and which the spectators felt in their lamentations were culturally encoded signs belonging to social duties. To shed some light on the connection of lamentation and the cry for revenge, one may look at Fulvia s mourning of her dead husband Clodius in 52 B.C. When her husband was murdered after a fight between his gang and the one of his political opponent Milo on the Via Appia, Fulvia brought his body back to Rome and set it up in the atrium of their house. Fulvia tearfully mourns over the body of her husband, displaying his bleeding wounds to the assembled slaves and the plebs, thus strengthening the outrage against Milo, as Asconius describes in his Commentary to Cicero s Speech Pro Milone 28.21 (see also Fraschetti 1994: 64; Nippel 1988: 129 – 133; Flaig 2003: 141). By performing the mourning ritual, Fulvia incites her late husband s followers to acts of revenge. The widow does not take care to wash her husband and dress him in clean clothes, but abstains from this duty to stress the monstrosity of the event. The following day, Clodius followers brought the bloody and naked body to the forum, and from there to the senate, where they piled up a pyre from the benches, chairs and books, and burned the body. The curia itself burned down in the process of avenging Clodius death, becoming a symbol for the unwillingness of the plebs to accept further rule of the senate (Flaig 18 Flaig (2003: 120 – 122) explains the system of norms and ideas on rituals of revenge which had been adopted by individuals socialized in Roman culture according to Bourdieu s theory of practice.

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2003: 141 – 142). Clodius followers besieged the houses of Lepidus, who acted as interrex at the time (the highest authority in Rome), as well as the house of the murderer Milo (Marshall 1985: 167; Nippel 1988: 131; Fraschetti 1994: 64 – 65). Trouble on an even bigger scale was caused by Agrippina, widow of Germanicus, a designated heir of the emperor Tiberius, who died in A.D. 19. Tacitus, in his Annales, describes Agrippina s mourning and her call for revenge on the political enemies of her husband, who, in her eyes, were responsible for his death. We read about Agrippina displaying the naked body of Germanicus in the forum of Antiochia according to ancient Roman revenge ritual; a number of followers, to whom Germanicus had appeared as a better emperor-to-be than Tiberius, accompanied her to the ship in Antiochia, and openly showed their sympathy. Tacitus describes how Agrippina travelled to Rome, mourned and plotted her revenge (Annales 2.75.1, 2.77.3). The grieving widow would not suffer any procrastination of her revenge. She boarded the ship, along with her children, carrying the urn of Germanicus ashes, surrounded by her children. According to Tacitus, she was not sure whether the death of her husband would be avenged or not. The author puts himself firmly on the side of the Roman plebs and the senators who sympathized with Germanicus, with his impressive descriptions of the widow, stressing the desire and demand for, and the necessity of, revenge. The historian goes on to describe the emergency measures taken, the suspension of any legal, economical, or religious activity (iustitium), as well as the mourning of the Roman populace, and ascribes all this to the mourning of Agrippina, who assembled large numbers of Germanicus followers along the way and moved them to manifest their mourning.19 Following Tacitus description, many men and women received Agrippina with laments, confirming their solidarity and supporting her call for revenge (Tacitus, Ann. 3.1.4; see also Thomas 1984: 71 – 72; Flaig 2003: 144). Scholars have not noted so far that it was the specific task of women to call for blood-revenge in the case of murder. Fantham describes the desire of Opheltes mother for revenge for the murder of her son in Statius poem Thebais (5.608 – 635) as “unwomanly” (Fantham 1999: 222, 228). Loraux (1990: 54 – 56) states that women s resistance by employing grief and calling for revenge were typical of ancient Greek cities, since here, women themselves decided if they would fulfil the ritual duty of 19 On iustitium, see Cicero, De har. resp. 55. See also Versnel (1980) and Fraschetti (1994: 127 – 128).

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mourning for their family and thereby disturb the polis. According to Loraux, Roman matrons (i. e. married women) did not have this choice, since their mourning was dictated by the representatives of the civitas. But the sources mentioned above state the opposite: Roman matrons employed their grief first and foremost for their families, a change coming only with the enormous social and political changes of the late Republic and the early imperial period (see section 7). For ancient authors it was conceivable that Roman matrons acted subversively, thus influencing events within the civitas, a point which will be documented below with the examples of historical accounts of the virtue of women s tears (see section 5). Relatives, friends and clients were potential avengers of the dead. They gathered around the naked body of the deceased, listened to the lamentations of the widow, and were moved by her tears and gestures of mourning to cry. The congregation of relatives, friends and clients of the dead displayed the power and influence of the family and their allies. Women with their tears, lamentations, their touching of the dead body or the ashes of the dead evoked the (real or faked) emotions of revenge, which in turn made possible the act of vengeance itself. The relatives, friends and clients, then, made an oath to avenge the death of the murdered (Tacitus, Ann. 2.71; see also Thomas 1984: 73). Based on the connection of the lamentation with the call for revenge, women endangered the unity and the concord of the civitas, one of the major Republican ideals.20 Thomas examined a number of sources of Republican Rome giving proof of the Roman custom to call for blood revenge on the murder of a family member, friend or patron. He goes on to show that this traditional duty (officium pietatis) was transformed towards the end of the Republic into juridical retribution. The imperial jurisprudence demanded of the heirs that they take to court the murderer of a relative (Thomas 1984: 76). Men who did not fulfil this duty of juridical revenge ran the danger of losing their inheritance to the state treasury, while their honour and position was publicly diminished by a decree of infamia (Thomas 1984: 73 – 74; Flaig 2003: 149). Women s calls for revenge thus endangered the concord within the civitas, since they provoked conflicts between family and state business. That is why the Twelve Tables restricted mourning activities within the public sphere, by suppressing women s laments and restricting funeral ex20 Flaig (2003: 104 – 110, 137 – 154) analyses the cultural semantics of retribution rituals as well as the ideal of concord in ancient Rome.

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penses (sumptus). The law stated that no more than three pieces of dress and one purple tunic were to be buried with the dead, that no more than ten flute players were to accompany him, and that women were not to lament. Women were furthermore prohibited to scratch their cheeks and to hold the lessus (Cicero, De leg. 2.59, 2.64). The word lessus was no longer comprehensible at the end of the Republic. Cicero discards Aelius and Licius Acilius opinion that this word described, in fact, the mourning dress, and concurs with Lucius Aelius, who describes it as a mourning call. Cicero agrees with this interpretation, and stresses it by remarking on the (very superficial) phonetic similarity of lessus and 1kek¸feim, the sorrowful wailing (Cicero, De leg. 2.59). The 1kek¸feim marked the pauses between the recitation of the lamentation and the singing of the mourning songs. Ampolo (1984) shows that funerary regulation in Greek poleis restricted the possibility of public display of the riches of aristocratic families. Wealthy families would organize expensive burials to enhance their social prestige; the number of hired professional and other mourners played an important role in this context. Rome s Twelve Tables – very much like Solon s Funerary Laws in Athens – restricted the display of riches. Among other things, mourning cries and mourning gestures of women were prohibited in public spaces (Plutarch, Solon 21.5; see also Ampolo 1984: 86, 96 – 97; Wagner-Hasel 2000: 81 – 96). A censor of women (cumaijomºlor) censured those who disobeyed these laws on the grounds of being “soft and effeminate” (Plutarch, Solon 21.6). Solon s Laws in Athens and the Twelve Tables referred to mourning practice in public spaces of the polis / civitas; it did not affect, however, private mourning within the family. The prohibition of women s mourning was a part of the process of formation of Mediterranean poleis by restricting the power and influence of aristocratic families (Seaford 1994: 83). Funerary laws tried to establish the ideal of concord and unity among all members of the political community. Hence Cicero, for one, stresses the equal standing of any citizen in death, the wealthy as much as the plebs should therefore be allotted the same funerary honours (Cicero, De leg. 2.59). The Twelve Tables aimed at curbing aristocratic competition for social prestige by the display of funerary masks (imagines maiorum) by mourning relatives, friends and clients, as well as funerary costs.21 The social prestige thus gained enhanced the

21 The Roman elite consisted of families whose ancestors had served as high mag-

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chances of the descendants to stand and be elected for state offices, and secured their political influence (Ampolo 1984: 96 – 97; Wagner-Hasel 2000: 82 – 83; Flaig 2003: 49 – 66). The depreciative stand Cicero and Seneca take in their philosophical writings against women s mourning must be seen in the context of the negative attitude of civitas and upper-class morality towards women s tears and the danger of their calls for revenge, which both authors emphasize. By mourning and demanding blood revenge, women got involved in the politics of the civitas; by doing their ritual duties towards their families, they gained a certain political power, which did not conform to the ideals of the civitas. Judgement on women s tears differed, of course, according to context. Ancient authors did not always disapprove of women s cries. In historical accounts of the founding of Rome, weeping women are ascribed an important part, and their lamentations were considered a contribution to the public honours of the city.

5. The Power of Women s Tears in Legends of the Origin of Rome In critical situations, women would assume mourning dress and mourning attitudes to move or frighten their enemies (Varro, De vita populi Romani 294 R.). However, these rituals were not restricted to women; indicted men and their relatives also appeared in mourning dress at court to move their judges to pity and in the senate or the forum to stress the importance and graveness of the situation for their fellow citizens, or to discourage political opponents from their plans (Quintilian, Inst. orat. 6.1.33; see also Scheid 1984: 126; Dupont 1995: 66). The ritual of supplicatio, combined with weeping, could move the addressee of supplication to give in or give up any hostility by force of social norms (Flaig 1997; Flaig 2003: 99 – 120). Matrons could act as mediators in conflicts by employing ritualistic supplicationes, as is told in the legendary tales of the founding of Rome. These mythological tales can be understood as the equivalent to Greek mythology – with the difference that in Rome the starting point was not the origin of the cosmos, but the origins of the city. Since Romulus, founder of Rome, and his companions could not acquire wives peaceistrates, and thus had gained the right to funerary masks (ius imaginis), which symbolically represented them in the funeral processions.

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fully from neighbouring peoples, they abducted their neighbours daughters and married them. War ensued between Rome and the people of the Sabines, from whence most of the abducted women came. A number of Augustan authors (Livy, Dionysius of Halicarnassus, Ovid), as well as Cassius Dio in the third and Plutarch in the second century A.D., describe the way in which the Sabine women intervened in the fight between the Romans and the Sabines. According to Livy, the Sabine women appeared with loose hair and torn clothing (codified signs of grief) on the battlefield, and pleaded for peace between their husbands and their brothers and fathers (Livy 1.13). Cassius Dio regards lamentations and torn clothes, which left the chest and belly uncovered, as the only means by which women could move enemy armies to conciliation (Cassius Dio 1.5.5 – 7). Dionysius of Halicarnassus describes mourning dress, lamentation and prostration of women on the battlefield (Hist. 2.45 – 46). According to Ovid, the matrons are wearing mourning garments and their hair loose, bringing their children, conceived by their Roman husbands, and throwing themselves on the ground, sweeping it with their hair and weeping (Ovid, Fast. 3.213 – 232). In this way, the matrons pleaded for peace and – Ovid expresses this literally – ended the war with their tears (Fast. 3.232: finierant lacrimis Martia bella suis). The majority of authors recounting the legend see weeping and supplicationes as the only way which was open to women to end the war. Plutarch gives more detail in his account of the Sabine women on the battlefield. The women screamed as if possessed by a god. Some carried their children in their arms, the faces of others were covered by their hair, and all wept, performed supplicatio and prayed for peace (Plutarch, Romulus 19). According to Plutarch, the soldiers felt great pity at the sight of the women, even more at their insistent pleas. The women then introduced their husbands and children to their Sabine fathers and brothers, and called attention to the fact that they now were mistresses in their own homes, and were treated with love and respect. Plutarch thus adds the theme of marital love to the women s tears, their grief and pleas as the decisive factor for reconciliation. In this way, he finds a new basis for the end of the war between Romans and Sabines, establishing a new ethic of love in marriage, thus not fully backing the ritually convincing power of women s tears.22 The power of female lamentation is also underlined in an episode of the Roman war with the tribe of the Volsci. Coriolan, a banished Roman, 22 On the modifications of the concept of marital love, see Veyne (1978).

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attempted to besiege Rome itself as general of the Volscan troops – a legendary event which was dated by ancient historians to 488 B.C. A state of public mourning was declared within the city. A number of selected envoys and priests were sent to Coriolan by the Roman senate, but they could not deter him from his attacks. After this, Coriolan s mother Veturia, his wife Volumnia with her children, and a number of other Roman women came to the general. They pleaded for peace and wept, until he gave in and led the Volscan army away from Rome – a decision which was later on to cost him his life (Livy 2.40.2 – 9; Dionysius of Halicarnassus, Hist. 8.53). While the men had not been able to defend their city with arms, the women succeeded employing supplicationes and tears (Livy 2.402; see also Loraux 1990: 50).23 The ritual practice of weeping and lamentation thus has different connotations: ancient authors can either praise or condemn women s tears, depending on the gain the civitas has from them or the discord they sow. In which context, though, were legends of the positive power of women s tears placed in the Roman annalistic tradition? Livy (2.40.12) relates that in memory of the success of the weeping women in Coriolan s camp, the official cult of Fortuna Muliebris was formed in Rome. According to Ovid (Fast. 3.229 – 232), the festival of the Matronalia on the first of March was dedicated in honour of those matrons who had brought about the end of the war with the Sabines. Livy, Dionysius of Halicarnassus and Plutarch mention the opinion of some annalists who claimed that the Roman curiae (organizational units of the assembly of the Roman people) were named after those women who had intervened in the battle between the Romans and the Sabines (Livy 1.13.6; Dionysius of Halicarnassus, Hist. 2.47.3; Plutarch, Romulus 19.10). Matrons and the power of their tears were thus at the centre of reflection on the origins of the political institutions of Rome. Although the compelling power of women s tears in private mourning rituals – in which the loss within a family was considered higher than the concord within the civitas – was generally ill-regarded, supplicationes and mourning in legends on the origin of Rome were reflected upon quite positively. Thus, the first Roman matrons take up an important position in the history of Rome. They saved the Romans from ruinous battles 23 Gag (1963: 104 – 105) and Bo ls-Jannsen (1973: 96; 1993: 267, cf. 47) interpret the compelling power of the tears of Roman matrons superficially as magic , instead of analysing the social norms and the semantics of the effects of supplicationes in Roman culture, as Flaig did (1997; 2003: 99 – 122).

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with the neighbouring tribes of the Sabines and the Volsci, thus rendering great service to their political community. Ancient authors described matrons and their tears as a force to be reckoned with, a kind of expression which gave them a sort of political power (Dupont 1995: 67; Mustakallio 1999: 61).

6. Mourning and Tears during the Ritual of Women s supplicationes What meaning did the ritual of supplicatio have in antiquity? By performing the rituals of supplicationes the civitas tried to counter crises such as natural catastrophes, epidemics or military defeats.24 The senate, the consuls or the priests (decemviri sacris faciundis, haruspices, pontifices) would order citizens to visit the temples in order to move the gods to lend their aid. These actions were based on the belief that political crises or natural phenomena were a sign that the pax deorum, the natural state between gods and men, and a precondition for the functioning of the civitas, was disturbed. With the act of supplicatio all levels of Roman society could actively contribute to the reinstallation of social normality. This had its effects, also, on the religious and political recognition of marginalized groups such as women or the plebs in the affairs of the civitas at the beginning of the Republic (Linke 2003: 80 – 86). During the rituals of supplicatio, men, matrons and children would wear garlands in their hair, take up olive branches and visit the sanctuaries in processions. In the sanctuaries and temples, they would pray to appease the gods; they would usually offer some wine or incense.25 It is not surprising to find women participating in these supplicationes. SchneggKçhler (2002: 141 – 143) shows that one hundred and ten women were given a special part in the ritual supplicationes of the Secular Games, a public festival celebrated in 17 B.C. in Rome. Ancient authors give much space to the description of ritual activities of women in supplicationes of the Republican era, confirming the importance of the role women played in these rituals.

24 Wissowa (1912: 423 – 427), Latte (1960: 245 – 246), Freyburger (1977, 1988), and Dum zil (22000: 560 – 562). 25 A wreath in the hair indicated a ritual performed in a Greek way (Graecu ritu); in the Roman way of performing a ritual (Romano ritu), the head was covered with a toga (men) or a veil (women) when sacrificing (Scheid 1998: 172).

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The historian Livy describes the behaviour of Roman matrons in 211 B.C., during the Second Punic War, when the Carthaginian general Hannibal stood before the gates of the city. The city was in turmoil, matrons ran weeping to the temples, swept the altars with their loose hair, raised their arms to heaven (a typical gesture of prayer), and pleaded to the gods to save their city from enemy hands and to save their children from war s harm (Livy 26.9.7). In this case, the matrons performed supplicationes on their own decision, if we are prepared to believe Livy. The terror and danger was so great that they did not wait, as was usual, until public authorities ordered the supplicationes. In 463 B.C., another legendary date, the tribes of the Volsci and Aequi plundered Roman territory; pestilence had the city itself in its grip. Thus the senate decreed that the entire people pray for peace with the gods. Men, women and children filled the temples and sanctuaries. Livy stresses that mothers were lying on the floor, sweeping the temples with their hair, entreating the gods to save them from celestial wrath and end the pestilence (Livy 3.7.7). This description of supplication is similar to mourning gestures on behalf of women s conduct and their loose hair; the lying on the floor, however, seems much more like a prostration, a gesture of adoration. These gestures of supplicatio were not spontaneous and emotional expressions of religiosity, as Linke states, but a culturally mediated and encoded ritual.26 Women conformed to a culturally prescribed canon of gestures which encoded specific meanings. Against the spontaneity of the supplicationes speaks also the fact that these public rituals were, as has been mentioned, ordered by the senate or by priestly colleges. Roman poets also projected the compelling power of women s tears in rituals of supplicationes on the gods. In Vergil s Aeneid, the goddess Venus tries to persuade her husband Vulcan to forge arms for her son Aeneas. She stresses how many tears she has already shed for Aeneas. She 26 Linke (2000: 280, cf. 44; 2003: 73 – 77). The author understands women s supplication gestures as highly emotionalized , without giving further attention to their cultural semantics. His interpretation of the meaning of supplicatio is restricted to understanding the spontaneity of Republican supplicationes in situations where danger threatens the civitas. The author does not find clear criteria, no strict hierarchical order within the ritual, which would mirror the social order, and no exclusive attendance of male priests and magistrates, thus none of the characteristics which are typical of Roman rituals. In my opinion, the author does not take into account that Livy aims at dramatic effects in his description and thus distorts the usual way of describing the supplicationes.

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entreats her husband and reminds him of the goddesses Thetis and Aurora, who had been able to move him with their tears (Aen. 8.383 – 384: te fiulia Nerei / te potuit lacrimis Tihonia flectere coniunx) to forge weapons for their sons. After an erotic interlude, Vulcan is willing to give in to his wife s request (Aen. 8.381 – 404). In this literary description we may see the Roman understanding of how women and goddesses were able to move their men to do them a favour by employing their tears (see Fçgen 2009, in this volume). Women s tears are also mentioned in existing sources on the Peplophoria, a variation on the ritual of supplicatio, in which the women give a goddess a cloak. In Vergil s Aeneid, Trojan women bring this cloak to Minerva, wearing their hair loose, beating their breasts and imploring the goddess to bring luck in battle to the Trojans (Aen. 1.479 – 781).27 Silius Italicus, in his poem on the Second Punic War, describes a supplicatio of women in the difficult time of this war (218 – 202 B.C.). The matrons carry the cloak (palla), which has been woven and sewn by them, as a gift to the goddess Juno. They say their prayers with sad faces, their eyes shining with tears. While pleading to the goddess, they promise another gift, a golden crown, if she is willing to help the Romans dispel the Carthaginians from their territory (Silius Italicus, Pun. 7.74 – 85). Furthermore, the matrons made dedications to Minerva, Apollo and Venus. What kind of dedications these were is not specified. In his poem Thebaid, Statius describes the supplicationes of the women of Argos in the temple of Juno (Hera; Theb. 10.49 – 69). The women prostrated themselves at the altars on the edge of the sanctuary, entreating Juno to let their men return safely, pressing their faces against the painted doors, and instructing their children how to prostrate themselves in front of the gods. The women kept a vigil all night long, keeping the fire on the altars burning. They brought a cloak of crimson and gold, woven by matrons, mothers who had never been widowed (probably this expression refers to an ideal status of a matron, the univira, a matron in her first marriage). The mothers in Argos dressed the ivory statue of the goddess in this cloak, and implored her with tears to destroy hostile Thebes with lightning. The weeping and gestures of mourning are thus 27 Scheid and Svenbro (1996: 39) have shown that Roman authors did not copy Greek ritual practice in this case, since a number of sources document the familiarity of Romans with the ritual of Peplophoria; see Phlegon, FGrHist 257 F 36.10 (cloak-offering of 125 B.C. for Persephone/Proserpina) and Silius Italicus, Pun. 7.75 – 85 (in the time of the Second Punic War).

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employed frequently in representations of ritual supplicationes and Peplophoria, strengthening the plea of help to the gods. Scheid and Svenbro (1996: 7 – 49) interpret the ritual of Peplophoria as a token of political symbolism. Wool-working – spinning and weaving – in ancient Rome as well as in Greek poleis was a domain of women (Wagner-Hasel 2000). According to Plato, the technique of assembling the woof (jqºjg) and the warp (st¶lym) on the loom, represents the weaving of conflicting characters on a political level, “courage” (!mdqe¸a) with “moderation” (syvqos¼mg). And just as the result of weaving was the unity of the threads in the fabric of the robe, this fabric symbolized the desired social and political unity, and the concord among citizens within the civitas (Scheid & Svenbro 1996: 34 – 49). According to this interpretation, the supplicationes and Peplophoria of the matrons was a way for them to act in public, and thus in the political sphere.28 The question remains why the combination of gestures of mourning and supplicationes had an effect on those present and watching. The Sabine women, who, as Roman matrons, ended the war between Sabines and Romans, did not actually mourn their dead relatives, but anticipated this ritual duty, which would be expected of them after the battle. By imitating gestures of mourning and a fictional mourning attitude, the matrons protested and demanded of the soldiers to stop the war. In this way, they forced the men to reactions similar to those during a real mourning ritual: sympathy and solidarity. Assuming a similar attitude, matrons tried to move the gods to pity and to render aid in rituals of supplication by weeping, praying and offering gifts.

28 “Political” in this context is not understood as merely the holding of high offices (magistracies), but in a more extended definition, stemming from sociological research on ancient societies. The political sphere in this definition includes any rituals and acts which had an effect on or were presented as having an effect on the civitas. Schmitt-Pantel (1992: 109 – 110) has shown that ritual and social practices which were elementary for the political community (funerals, banquets, the meeting of cultic associations) had a political function, since they expressed and defined the affiliation to the citizenship; see also Wagner-Hasel (1988: 19 – 22), Flaig (2003) and Linke (2003).

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7. Matron s Mourning for Statesmen and Members of the Imperial Family In the annalistic tradition of the founding of Rome, matrons honoured important statesmen by mourning. They were said to have mourned for an entire year for the first consuls Publicola and Brutus in the first years of the Republic; Coriolan was given the same recognition (Livy 2.7.4, 2.16.7; Dionysius of Halicarnassus, Hist. 8.62.2; Plutarch, Publicola 23.4 and Coriolan 39.10). The meaning of the matrons mourning is made clear by Plutarch, who writes that it was an honour “to envy” (Plutarch, Publicola 23.4). Augustan authors often mention the matrons mourning for Roman statesmen. Reasons for adopting this motif during the early empire were the process of change which had begun in mourning rites, and the legitimization of matronal mourning for deceased members of the imperial family. The Roman senate decreed a year-long mourning period both for Augustus and his wife Livia (Cassius Dio 56.43, 58.2; see also Fraschetti 1994: 94, and Prescendi 2000: 107). The fact that mourning for members of the imperial family was considered to be a task of women is indicated in the description of the funerary honours for Augustus adopted son Gaius Caesar. Animals and funerary offerings were offered to him in the Roman colony of Pisa by the magistrates of the city on the day of his death (Parentalia), while matrons adopted an attitude of “halfmourning” (sublugere), thus taking a passive role in the public mourning of the dead (CIL XI 1421.24 – 25; see also Loraux 1990: 54, and Fraschetti 1994: 84). Fraschetti draws attention to the change of mourning practices in imperial Rome: grief for a dead member of the imperial family expanded over the entire city. In his interpretation, mourning rituals mirror the relationship between the citizens and the imperial family. When matrons wore mourning garments for the deceased of the domus Augusta, this symbolized a consent of their families to the rule of the emperor. By mourning, they also showed that their families were aligned with the emperor s family. The duty of matrons to mourn for the dead relatives was expanded during the first century B.C. to include magistrates. The dictator Sulla was the first to be mourned by matrons, as Granius Licinianus (36.27, ed. Barbara Scardigli, Firenze 1983), author of a brief history of Rome (second century A.D.), writes; the emperor Augustus and his wife Livia also received this honour. The mourning of matrons for an important statesman was thus not an ancient Republican tradition, as Mommsen claims (41952 [1887]: 812 n. 4), but an invention of the last cen-

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tury B.C., when great aristocratic families lost their influence and power to the family of the dictator or the emperor.

8. Conclusion Seneca and Cicero, in their philosophical writings, ascribe an “exaggerated” mourning to women; to men, however, they ascribe moderation and self-discipline even in their grief. This sharp, gender-specific division was shared by other authors, although they provide some contrary evidence.29 Cicero and Seneca thus present a canon of gendered norms of conduct, in which the male represents the positive, the female the negative pole. In ancient Rome, gender identities were often presented in opposites; men had to behave as differently as possible from women (on aspects of communicative behaviour see Fçgen 2004). This feature, which Loraux has shown for Athenian polis ideology, was characteristic also for the discourse of the Roman res publica. Ideas on gender differences in mourning had their influence on everyday practice; one must suppose, however, that they were individually employed in different ways. Women s grief is described and judged quite differently in texts which aim to report on services of Roman matrons to the civitas. As I have shown, tears were a positive force in supplicationes; furthermore, mourning was an honour for the deceased magistrates and members of the ruling family. The gain for the civitas was the criterion for a positive or negative value of women s grief. The gender norms of mourning within the ancient sources were influenced by the morality of the Roman elite, promulgated by authors who understood themselves as representatives of the political community. The ancient authors describe women s tears in a negative way whenever they contradict the ideals of the civitas, whereas the same practice is represented positively when they act on behalf of the political community. Since women s tears shed in rituals that were conducted in the public sphere were useful and necessary to the civitas, yet nevertheless quite ambivalent, this ambiguity is mirrored in the presentation of female identity in the sources. 29 We know of two accounts of lamentations of men which do not differ from the female practice (see n. 11). On the weeping of men during the ritual of supplicatio, see Flaig (1997). Norms of fathers in mourning have been investigated by Prescendi (1995).

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Kierdorf, Wilhelm (1980): Laudatio funebris. Interpretationen und Untersuchungen zur Entwicklung der rçmischen Leichenrede, Meisenheim am Glan. Kudlien, Fridolf (1995): Berufsm ßige Klageweiber in der Kaiserzeit. In: Rheinisches Museum f r Philologie 138, 177 – 187. Latte, Kurt (1960): Rçmische Religionsgeschichte, M nchen. Linke, Bernhard (2000): RELIGIO und RES PUBLICA. Religiçser Glaube und gesellschaftliches Handeln im republikanischen Rom. In: Bernhard Linke & Michael Stemmler (eds.), Mos maiorum. Untersuchungen zu den Formen der Identit tsstiftung und Stabilisierung in der rçmischen Republik, Stuttgart, 269 – 298. Linke, Bernhard (2003): Emotionalit t und Status. Zur gesellschaftlichen Funktion von supplicationes und lectisternia in der rçmischen Republik. In: Alfred Kneppe & Dieter Metzler (eds.), Die emotionale Dimension antiker Religiosit t, M nster, 63 – 86. Loraux, Nicole (1989): Les exp riences de Tir sias. Le f minin et l homme grec, Paris. Loraux, Nicole (1990): Les m res en deuil, Paris. Marshall, Bruce A. (1985): A Historical Commentary on Asconius, Columbia. Maurin, Jean (1984): Funus et rites de s paration. In: Annali del Dipartimento di Studi del Mondo Classico e del Mediterraneo Antico (AION). Sezione di archeologia e storia antica 6, 191 – 208. Mommsen, Theodor (41952 [1887]): Rçmisches Staatsrecht (vol. 2.2), T bingen. Mustakallio, Katariina (1999): Legendary women and female groups in Livy. In: P ivi Set l & Liisa Savunen (eds.), Female Networks and the Public Sphere in Roman Society, Rome, 53 – 64. Nippel, Wilfried (1988): Aufruhr und “Polizei” in der rçmischen Republik, Stuttgart. Prescendi, Francesca (1995): Il lutto dei padri nella cultura romana. In: FranÅois Hinard (ed.), La mort au quotidien dans le monde romain. Actes du colloque organis par l Universit de Paris IV (Paris-Sorbonne 7 – 9 octobre 1993), Paris, 147 – 154. Prescendi, Francesca (2000): Klagende Frauen. Zur weiblichen Trauerhaltung in Rom. In: Thomas Sp th & Beate Wagner-Hasel (eds.), Frauenwelten in der Antike. Geschlechterordnung und weibliche Lebenspraxis, Darmstadt, 102 – 111. R pke, Jçrg (1995): Kalender und ffentlichkeit. Die Geschichte der Repr sentation und religiçsen Qualifikation von Zeit in Rom, Berlin & New York. Scheid, John (1984): Contraria facere. Renversements et d placements dans les rites fun raires. In: Annali del Dipartimento di Studi del Mondo Classico e del Mediterraneo Antico (AION). Sezione di archeologia e storia antica 6, 119 – 132. Scheid, John (1998): La religion des Romains, Paris. Scheid, John & Jesper Svenbro (1996): The Craft of Zeus. Myths of Weaving and Fabric, Cambridge, Mass. (Translation by Carol Volk. French original: Le m tier de Zeus. Mythe du tissage et du tissu dans le monde gr co-romain, Paris 1994). Schmitt-Pantel, Pauline (1992): La cit au banquet, Rome.

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Schnegg-Kçhler, B rbel (2002): Die augusteischen S kularspiele, M nchen & Leipzig. Schorn, Stefan (2009): Tears of the bereaved. Plutarch s Consolatio ad uxorem in context. In: Thorsten Fçgen (ed.), Tears in the Graeco-Roman World, Berlin & New York, 335 – 365. Seaford, Richard (1994): Reciprocity and Ritual. Homer and Tragedy in the Developing City-State, Oxford. Sˇterbenc Erker, Darja (2002): “Quid lacrimis …”. Rimska zˇenska pred oblicˇjem smrti med 2. stol. pr. n. sˇt. in 2. stol. n. sˇt., Ljubljana. Sˇterbenc Erker, Darja (2004): Voix dangereuses et force des larmes. Le deuil f minin dans la Rome antique. In: Revue de l histoire des religions 221, 259 – 291. Thomas, Yan (1984): Se venger au Forum. Solidarit familiale et proc s criminel Rome (premier si cle av. – deuxi me si cle ap. J. C.). In: Raymond Verdier & Jean-Pierre Poly (eds.), Vengeance, pouvoirs et id ologies dans quelques civilisations de l Antiquit , Paris, 65 – 100. van Sickle, Jon (1987): The elogia of the Cornelii Scipiones and the origin of epigram at Rome. In: American Journal of Philology 108, 41 – 55. Versnel, Hendrik S. (1980): Destruction, devotio and despair in a situation of anomy. The mourning for Germanicus in triple perspective. In: Perennitas. Studi in onore di Angelo Brelich, Rome, 541 – 618. Veyne, Paul (1978): La famille et l amour sous le haut-empire romain. In: Annales. conomies – Soci t s – Civilisations 33, 35 – 63 (reprinted in: Paul Veyne, La soci t romaine, Paris 2001, 88 – 130). Vid n, Gunhild (1993): Women in Roman Literature. Attitudes and Authors under the Early Empire, Gçteborg. Wagner-Hasel, Beate (1988): Das Private wird politisch . Die Perspektive Geschlecht in den Altertumswissenschaften. In: Ursula A. J. Becher & Jçrn R sen (eds.), Weiblichkeit in geschichtlicher Perspektive. Fallstudien und Reflexionen zu Grundproblemen der historischen Frauenforschung, Frankfurt am Main, 11 – 50. Wagner-Hasel, Beate (2000): Die Reglementierung von Traueraufwand und die Tradierung des Nachruhms der Toten in Griechenland. In: Thomas Sp th & Beate Wagner-Hasel (eds.), Frauenwelten in der Antike. Geschlechterordnung und weibliche Lebenspraxis, Darmstadt, 81 – 102. Wissowa, Georg (21912): Religion und Kultus der Rçmer, M nchen.

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Tears in Lucretius Christina A. Clark Abstract: This paper argues that Lucretius uses verbal representations of tears to reinforce his logical exposition of Epicurus discoveries. In his famous honey coating the wormwood cup simile, Lucretius tells us that he must beguile with poetry his elite male Roman readers into ingesting difficult and counterintuitive doctrines, such as that the gods are not to be feared and that death is “nothing to us”. In order to teach the nature of reality and how to live a happy life, Lucretius exploits devices to push the reader into accepting doctrines, here through pleasure. But Lucretius deploys the stick as well as the carrot. Using tears in the contexts of fear and erotic love, Lucretius portrays Roman men behaving in socially emasculating ways. He wields societal conventions like a stick to beat his elite male readers into abandoning behaviours caused by emotion and considered shameful for men, driving them toward philosophically correct channels of thought and comportment. In other cases, the poet also uses tears to elicit in readers the very emotions he elsewhere deplores in order to help them turn away from mistaken ideas about the gods. Passionate to convert his readers, Lucretius uses by turns whatever weapons or enticements he can to turn his readers away from error and towards the path of true happiness.

1. Introduction In a famous passage, Lucretius explains his reason for expressing Epicurean doctrine in poetry (De rer. nat. 1.935 – 942): id quoque enim non ab nulla ratione videtur; sed veluti pueris absinthia taetra medentes cum dare conantur, prius oras pocula circum contingunt mellis dulci flavoque liquore, ut puerorum aetas improvida ludificetur labrorum tenus, interea perpotet amarum absinthi laticem deceptaque non capiatur, sed potius tali pacto recreata valescat For obviously my actual technique does not lack a motive. Doctors who try to give children foul-tasting wormwood first coat the rim of the cup with the sweet juice of golden honey; their intention is that the children, unwary at their tender age, will be tricked into applying their lips to the cup and at the same time will drain the bitter draught of wormwood – victims of beguile-

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ment, but not of betrayal, since by this means they recover strength and health (…). (transl. Smith 2001)

Epicurus himself would not have approved (Diogenes Laertius 10.13; Cicero, De fin. 2.6). But Lucretius is a good teacher and canny enough to know that he must beguile his readers into willingly ingesting difficult and counterintuitive doctrines, such as that the gods are not to be feared and that death is “nothing to us”. Briefly, he wants to teach his elite male Roman readers the nature of reality and how to live happy lives. To do this, Lucretius declares himself willing to exploit devices to push the reader into accepting doctrines, here through pleasure. But we must also give him credit for being able to deploy the stick as well as the carrot. Indeed, the study of tears gives us the opportunity to see the poet using the stick to beat his readers with the conventions of Roman elite behaviour to drive them away from error. In addition, Lucretius uses conventionalized literary depictions of tears to arouse emotions useful for making the reader accept his points. Through the topic of tears in Lucretius, I propose to examine this aspect of Lucretius use of convention as the other side of the honey coating that famous wormwood cup. In this way, the study of the verbal representation of non-verbal behaviours opens a new path for understanding Lucretius methods of achieving his goals.

2. Tears and the Atomic Nature of Human Physiology Using the theories of the Greek atomists Democritus and Leucippus, Epicurus taught a materialistic philosophy, based on the idea that everything is composed of atoms moving in the void. Thus, to Lucretius, our ability to weep at all depends on the porous condition of our bodies. Because of this mixture of atoms and void, the body s boundaries are vulnerable to violation. This penetrability of our bodies leads to constant danger of boundary violations: our bodies are like leaky vessels.1 In Book 6, Lucretius explains the flow of atoms and the porosity of all matter by an analogy with the natural world.2 Just as the spaces between atoms allow water to pen-

1 2

See De rer. nat. 3.936 – 939, 3.1009 – 1010 and 6.17 – 23. For Lucretius use of analogy see Snyder (1980: 31 – 51) and Volk (2002: 103 – 105).

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etrate rocks in caves, they allow our bodies to perspire and grow hair;3 so too, they allow tears to flow. Fundamentally, tears flow as a reaction to pain. In Book 2, Lucretius gives a scientific explanation for bodily sensations. In the course of this, he explains the different shapes of atoms: some are smooth while others are rough and hurt us (De rer. nat. 2.418 – 420): neve bonos rerum simili constare colores semine constituas, oculos qui pascere possunt, et qui compungunt aciem lacrimareque cogunt you must not assume that the same seeds produce pleasing hues upon which we can feast our eyes, and colours that sting the pupil and force us to weep (…). (transl. Smith 2001)

Such weeping is the result of painful physical stimulus, and is a simple scientific fact of life. But it is not just physical invasion of our bodies by things like rough atoms and disease that is possible: psychological invasion can also occur. Emotions breach the body s boundaries such as when fear of the gods “insinuates itself into our breasts” (De rer. nat. 5.73 – 74), wreaking havoc within (as Lucretius description at 3.152 – 158 illustrates). This violation of corporeal boundaries (by painful emotion or physical pain) can be signalled by tears. Tears are affect displays, a category of non-verbal behaviour defined as autonomic responses of the nervous system and “types of impulsive but not entirely uncontrollable emotional responses, such as weeping” (Lateiner 1992: 257). Crying is a natural human behaviour, governed by cultural ideologies of gender, status and control. These ideologies teach us from infancy unwritten rules, such as who is allowed to cry, and in what contexts (contributing to our habitus – habitual states of being, especially of the body).4 Roman social norms governing the body behaviour of elite men were especially strict, as I will discuss below.

3

4

De rer. nat. 6.942 – 945: principio fit ut in speluncis saxa superna / sudent umore et guttis manantibu stillent. / manat item nobis e toto corpore sudor, / crescit barba pilique per omnia membra, per artus. Segal (1990: chs. 5 – 7) discusses the body s penetrability in detail. Fçgen (2005: 290) observes: “As a general tenet, everyone is expected to behave according to certain rules which allude to even small details of personal conduct. Acting in public always amounts to a performance ideally guided by the principle of appropriateness (…).”

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3. Combating the Tears of Error (with Roman conventions of behaviour) 3.1 Tears Caused by Grief or Fear In De rer. nat. 3.906 – 908 Lucretius shows us people who fear death, secretly believing that as corpses they will continue to have sensation, even as they speak of death as a return to sleep and rest. The poet voices their lament to the dead, saying: at nos horrifico cinefactum te prope busto insatiabiliter deflevimus, aeternumque nulla dies nobis maerorem e pectore demet We, as we stood near the dreadful pyre upon which you were reduced to ashes, wept and wept for you insatiably; our sorrow is undying (…). (transl. Smith 2001)

The verb Lucretius uses, defleo, “is almost a technical term for a formal lament” (Kenney 1971: 207).5 Kenney remarks upon the metrical features of this line which he thinks must have sounded grotesque to the Roman ear.6 West (1969: 29) declares that “(s)urely these pathetic rhetorical figures and astonishing rhythms are meant as sarcastic caricatures of the mawkish clich s used by such stulti.” Lucretius uses the Latin word for “insatiably” elsewhere only once, to describe swine rolling in filth (De rer. nat. 6.978).7 A memorable image, indeed! Lucretius employs such emotionally loaded vocabulary and metrical features as weapons in his fight to annihilate our fear of death, motivated by a mistaken belief that something remains to feel what happens to our bodies after death. Trying to combat this fear of death by making readers feel shame at emotional display, the poet deploys Roman social conventions as tools (sticks) 5

6

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See e. g. Plautus, Capt. 139 – 140 (egon non defleam / talem adulescentem?), in which the parasite Hergasilus speaks to the gentleman Hegio about his son, a prisoner of war, and, from the funeral rites for Misenus, Vergil, Aen. 6.220 – 222: tum membra toro defleta reponunt / purpureasque super vestis, velamina nota, / coniciunt; from the funeral rites for Pallas, Aen. 11.59: haec ubi deflevit, tolli miserabile corpus imperat (…). Kenney (1971: 206 – 207) notes that “three metrical features combine to make it probably unique in serious Latin poetry: (i) the fact that it is composed of three words only; (ii) its single caesura; (iii) its spondaic quadrisyllabic ending (…).” See Fraenkel (1957: 76 n. 1) for more on the effects of such three word hexameter lines. Syme (1958: 727) asserts that the word insatiabiliter is not only rare but “charged with emotion, exaggerated if not insincere.”

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to make the reader think differently about death. More specifically, Lucretius uses verbal representations of non-verbal behaviour (namely, tears) to exploit Roman cultural codes against certain types of bodily behaviour for elite men. In late Republican Rome, there were extraordinarily harsh physical codes required of elite men: they were expected to exert control (potestas) over themselves (and others); being unable to control one s emotions, or their bodily display, were signs of effeminacy. Thus, since it was considered unmanly for an elite Roman man to express grief on his body or to lament aloud, Lucretius deploys tears to push his elite readers into desired behaviours by exploiting men s fears of inadequacy in deportment. The poet exploits the depiction of emotional tears in two contexts: fear of death and love.8 As Segal (1990: 24) notes, “death and love are for Lucretius the areas of life that mankind handles with the least rationality”. Indeed, the hidden force of irrationality (De rer. nat. 5.1233: vis abdita quaedam) sparks the passions internally and reveals them externally on individual bodies by way of tears and other affect displays. Funerary laws restricted the length of mourning periods; anyone who mourned uncontrollably (or “insatiably”, as in the passage discussed above) would pay the penalty of public disgrace (Iulius Paulus, Opinions 1.21 – 25, 8 – 14).9 Indeed, as the younger Seneca wrote, “for men there is no legitimate time, because there is no honourable time” to put on a display of mourning.10 Instead, men should emulate the extraordinary selfcontrol of the consul Horatius, who mastered his grief when messengers reported the death of his son and continued to dedicate a temple.11 This example is especially telling, because in such a religious ritual he 8 Lucretius uses defleo, fleo and lacrima to indicate weeping thirteen times in the De rerum natura. Although there is weeping in every book, two-thirds of the occurrences are in the first three books. 9 Time restrictions on mourning could vary. After the battle of Cannae, for example, the Senate decreed that matronae could not mourn beyond thirty days, so that they could perform the rites of Ceres thereafter. After the thirtieth day, the female relatives of the slain had to wipe away their tears (Valerius Maximus 1.1.15: abstersis lacrimis). 10 Seneca, Epist. 63.13: viris nullum legitimum tempus est, quia nullum honestum. Richlin (2001: 232 – 234) discusses several acceptable ways for elite men to display grief publicly: in writing (such as Catullus poem about the death of his brother), when they wished to draw attention to and thus to gain public sympathy for their situation, and in the courtroom, when acting out another s grief for a specific purpose. 11 Livy 2.8.7 – 8: tantum animo roboris fuerit.

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would have used formal utterances that had to be carried out perfectly, without stumbling over words. In controlling their emotions and bodies in this way, men avoid making shameful spectacles of themselves.12 Women in classical literature commonly appear weeping, since they were considered less able than men to control themselves.13 No doubt we are to assume that women are included among the general mourners Lucretius discusses, but it is striking that he does not include a single identifiable instance of a Roman woman weeping, especially given that in ancient literature and art, depictions of women as mourners were ubiquitous. Such emotional extremes at funerals were gendered female; weeping and wailing in a public space would damage the dignity (gravitas) necessary for elite males.14 Evidence for female ritual mourning behaviour is sparser in Roman literature than in Greek, but present in a variety of genres. Emotional tears feature in the earliest extant Roman literature. For example, the epic poet Ennius uses tears (the verbs lacrimo and fleo) to express emotion – both grief and fear. There are three instances of emotional weeping in the extant fragments of the Annales. In the first book of the Annales, the vestal Ilia hears the ghost of her father Aeneas speaking to her in a dream. She weeps both in her dream, and while recounting it to a female attendant.15 The poet pictures Ilia experiencing mixed emotions, both fear and grief. Ilia s tears when she awakens from her dream and relates it to her companion express fear while her tears within the dream express her grief at her father s death. Ennius depicts weeping in two other fragments as well. One involves an appeal for mercy, likely by the inhabitants of a town captured by the Romans: “they caused even the enemy to have pity on them shedding tears” (transl. War12 For the potentially disastrous consequences for elite men of making spectacles of themselves, consult Edwards (1997) and Richlin (2001: 231 – 234). 13 For “the topos of a feminine nature prone to tears” in Greek and Roman literature, see Loraux (1998: 29) and Fçgen (2009: 187 n. 11, in this volume). 14 See Corbeill (2004: 68 – 70) for a discussion of gender roles in Roman funeral rites, with an emphasis on gesture; see also Sˇterbenc Erker (2009, in this volume). Richlin (2001: 235) also makes a connection between the gendered nature of Roman mourning rituals and social class (“mourning is a low-class job”). Consult Braund (2001: chs. 5 and 6) for more on “the importance of masculinity in Roman identity”, which elite men, in particular, had to perform daily, with both gravitas and dignitas (“face”). 15 Ann. fr. 35 – 49 Skutsch: talia tum memorat lacrimans, exterrita somno: “(…) multa manus ad caeli caerula templa / tendebam lacrumans et blanda voce vocabam. (…)”

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mington).16 Fearing death, the captives express it bodily even as they seek to prolong their lives. Such tears create a spectacle befitting those in a powerless (and thus unmanly) position.17 The other instance shows us people “weeping, wailing, crying, beseeching.”18 While its exact context is unknown, scholars have suggested various scenarios: the Greek departure with enslaved women from sacked Troy, the rape of the Sabine women and the destruction of the city of Alba. The poet Naevius presents a similar situation in a fragment surviving from his Bellum Punicum. As Troy falls to the Greeks, we see the wives of Anchises and Aeneas flee, weeping (fr. 5): amborum uxores noctu Troiad exibant capitibus opertis flentes ambae, abeuntes, lacrimis cum multis. The wives of both men at night were leaving Troy with heads covered, both weeping, going away with many tears. (my translation)

Thus, all extant instances of weeping in Ennius visibly manifest grief and fear, as most of the instances in Lucretius do, but are performed largely by women rather than men. In this way, they conform to Roman gender codes of mourning. In Terence s comedy Phormio, the slave Geta describes a grieving girl who weeps (lacrumae) for her dead mother with dishevelled hair and clothes (Phormio 106 – 107).19 Livy, in his history, attributes women s weeping in the face of death to their sex s “feeble minds” (3.48.8: imbecillus animus). Later, Petronius gives us a picture of a grieving wife in his description of the Widow of Ephesus, known for her virtue, at her hus16 Ann. fr. 162 Skutsch: cogebant hostes lacrumantes ut misererent. According to Priscian (Gramm. Lat. 2.428.14 – 15), this line belonged to Book 5 of the Annales. 17 See Lateiner (1995: 183) for typical affect displays of the disempowered. 18 Ann. fr. 498 Skutsch: flentes plorantes lacrumantes obtestantes. This is likely the conflation of two separate lines by grammarians. 19 Toynbee (1971: 43 – 55) summarizes common Roman funerary rites including female family members with loose, dishevelled hair depicted in reliefs (see especially Toynbee 1971: 288 – 289 n. 119 for the reliefs). See also Richlin (2001: 235) for a discussion of ways in which Roman women publicly performed grief. Sˇterbenc Erker (2009, in this volume) analyses the descriptions of women s tears in Roman authors, concluding that these elite men describe women s tears in a negative way whenever they object to the ideals of the civitas, whereas the same practice is represented positively when they act on behalf of the political community.

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band s funeral. During the procession to the tomb, and even after, within the tomb, the widow weeps (lacrimas) as she performs ritual gestures of self-mutilation (Sat. 111.8 – 9). Given this literary tradition of mourning women, why does Lucretius not include them in his poem? Lucretius shows us Roman men rather than Roman women performing grief with their bodies, I suggest, to shock and to shame his elite male readers into altering their behaviours and beliefs.20 In Lucretius, the first example of Romans weeping from fear of death and the grief that springs from it occurs in Book 3, where family members weep around the bed of a comatose man (De rer. nat. 3.463 – 469): quin etiam morbis in corporis avius errat saepe animus; dementit enim deliraque fatur interdumque gravi lethargo fertur in altum aeternumque soporem oculis nutuque cadenti, unde neque exaudit voces nec noscere vultus illorum potis est, ad vitam qui revocantes circumstant lacrimis rorantes ora genasque. Even during the body s sicknesses the mind often wanders from the path of reason: patients are demented and mutter deliriously and sometimes, severely comatose, sink with drooping eyelids and nodding head into a deep and endless sleep, from which they do not hear the voices and cannot recognize the features of those who, with faces and cheeks bedewed with tears, stand around and implore them to return to life. (transl. Smith 2001)

In this section of the poem, Lucretius aims to demonstrate that since the mind is affected by the body s diseases, it is only logical that the mind should also share the death of the body. To prove this, he puts before our eyes the example of the man in a coma who cannot hear or see anything around him. Although the man is not (or not yet) dead, the poet 20 Catullus also depicts tears as the physical manifestations of grief or fear. Females weep most often: in Carm. 3.18 (for a dead pet), 39.5 (for a dead son), 61.81 – 82 (for lost girlhood), 63.48 (the castrated Attis weeps over what (s)he has done) and 66.16 – 22 (over separation from a loved one). It is interesting that Catullus makes the Epicurean poet Egnatius laugh when someone weeps in response to an orator s speech and when a mother weeps at the funeral of her only son (39.3 – 5). Such callous behaviour is not what Lucretius advocates; he understands grief, and seeks to moderate it through teaching the nature of reality. Inanimate objects weep in Carm. 38.8 (epitaphs) and 66.63 (a lock of hair). Aegeus, a king from Greek myth, weeps for his son, Theseus, whom he fears might be dead (64.242). Finally, Roman men weep in 96.4 (for lost friendships) and 101.9 (for a dead brother). Unsurprisingly, in the poetry of Catullus, a member of the novi poetae bucking social mores, men weep almost as much as women.

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uses the vocabulary that calls to mind family members loud shouting (conclamatio) and weeping and wailing (lamentatio) over the dead.21 At De rer. nat. 3.934 – 935, nature personified rises up to rebuke this foolish type of mortal. She asks: quid tibi tanto operest, mortalis, quod nimis aegris luctibus indulges? quid mortem congemis ac fles? What distresses you so deeply, mortal creature, that you abandon yourself to these puling lamentations? Why do you bemoan and beweep death? (transl. Smith 2001)

Here the combination of the rare word congemo (“groan”; only here in Lucretius) with fleo creates an especially arresting image that capitalizes on the idea of unseemly emotion we saw above in the notion of insatiability . A few lines later, nature zeroes in on the old man who laments his coming death: “stop weeping, you dolt, and stop your laments” (my translation).22 It is most unseemly for the old to express fear of death and grief at its approach, since they should not only be satisfied with the long lifetime they have already enjoyed but should also maintain greater dignity.23 In Book 6, Lucretius ends his epic with an account of the historical plague at Athens. In this final exam to see if his readers have learned his lessons,24 the poet shows us the Athenians weeping as they buried their dead (De rer. nat. 6.1247 – 1249): inque aliis alium, populum sepelire suorum certantes: lacrimis lassi luctuque redibant; inde bonam partem in lectum maerore dabantur. (…) and one on top of another, as they struggled to bury the multitude of their dead. When they returned home, worn out with weeping and wailing, the majority of them were so grief-stricken that they took to their beds. (transl. Smith 2001)

The same irrationality that inflames passions which visibly manifest here as tears later causes misguided aggression as people “often wrangling 21 Cf. Bailey (1947: ad loc.). See e. g. Tacitus, Ann. 3.2: lacrimis et conclamationibus dolorem testabantur. Consult Toynbee (1971: 44) for how the conclamatio fits into the initial death customs. 22 De rer. nat. 3.955: aufer abhinc lacrimas, barde, et compesce querellas. I follow Smith (2001) in reading barde for baratre. 23 Lattimore (1962: 178 – 191) notes that funerary inscriptions show greater lamentation over those who have died young. 24 For the final exam theory, consult Clay (1983: 266) and Minadeo (1969: 107 – 110).

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with much bloodshed” put the corpses of their kin on other people s funeral pyres rather than abandon them.25 It is with this horrific image that Lucretius ends his poem. Indeed, as Segal (1990: 234) has argued, this ending “intimates what religio holds in store for those who have not benefitted from Epicurus presence on earth.”26 Fear of death is closely linked to fear of an afterlife in which one is punished by the gods for transgressions committed in life. In Book 5, within his treatment of the nature of the gods and the origin of religion in primitive humanity s fear of natural phenomena such as thunderstorms, Lucretius expresses pity for those who in mistaken belief fear the punishment of the gods. He breaks off his explanation to address humanity, deploying rhetorically charged language focussed largely on non-verbal behaviours displaying emotion such as groans and tears (De rer. nat. 5.1194 – 1197): o genus infelix humanum, talia divis cum tribuit facta atque iras adiunxit acerbas! quantos tum gemitus ipsi sibi, quantaque nobis vulnera, quas lacrimas peperere minoribu nostris! O hapless humanity, to have attributed such happenings to the gods and to have ascribed cruel wrath to them as well! What sorrows did they then prepare for themselves, what wounds for us, what tears for generations to come! (transl. Smith 2001)

The Athenian plague victims of Book 6, exemplars of that unhappy human race, weeping in grief over those already dead and in fear of their own approaching deaths, lived before the time of Epicurus, unable to benefit from his teachings. Readers of the De rerum natura will have no need to weep over inevitable death or to fear the gods or punishments in an afterlife once they gain this knowledge and the resulting mental tranquillity. 3.2 Tears Caused by Erotic Love While weeping from grief and fear caused by mistaken beliefs about death and the gods predominates in the epic, weeping caused by another bodily disorder – that of erotic love (amor) – also makes an appearance. 25 De rer. nat. 6.1285 – 1286: (…) multo cum sanguine saepe / rixantes (…). 26 Segal (1990) notes that the verb rixantes, with its connotations of brawling, enhances the brutality of this scene. Apart from this, the verb appears in hexameter poetry only once until the end of the Augustan period (Horace, Epist. 1.18.15, in a colloquial context).

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Lucretius devastatingly critiques erotic love as an insatiable madness (furor) and frenzy (rabies) causing destructive behaviours in lovers. Those enthralled with amor make their lives miserable for themselves and laughable to others.27 The poet describes deluded lovers who spend their ever-dwindling resources on lavish gifts for their mistresses – in this case, fancy shoes. Later, the lover doubts his mistress, thinking that she is looking at other men or that she is secretly laughing at him. At 4.1157 – 1159 Lucretius notes the folly of the lover laughing at another man, afflicted with a “vile passion”, who does not see that “his own plight is far worse”.28 Finally, there is the pathetic case of the excluded lover, who, denied entry, weeps on the threshold of his mistress house (De rer. nat. 4.1177 – 1179): at lacrimans exclusus amator limina saepe floribus et sertis operit postisque superbos unguit amaracino et foribus miser oscula figit. Her lover, so long as he is shut out, often tearfully buries her threshold under a mound of flowers and garlands, smears the disdainful doorposts with oil of marjoram, and plants lovesick kisses on the doors. (transl. Smith 2001)29

Broadcasting his emotion by crying and kissing the doors, the lover also performs two activities that he thinks will further his suit: giving presents to please his beloved (flowers and garlands) and, in keeping with the Roman tradition of illicit affairs (furtivus amor), smearing the doorposts with expensive perfumed oil to keep the hinges from squeaking if the door should be opened. Like fear, erotic love enters the body and causes disturbance, interfering with true pleasure of mind. In fact, Lucretius uses imagery that likens anxieties about erotic love to those about death (Segal 1990: 160 – 161). For example, when a person feels terror over death, the poet describes the ensuing psychological constriction as an anxious anguish (De rer. nat. 6.1158: anxius angor). In much the same way, a person in the throes

27 Catullus provides us with three examples of male lovers weeping over amor, either frustrated (Carm. 68.2 and 99.5) or unrequited (68.55). 28 De rer. nat. 1157 – 1159: atque alios alii irrident Veneremque suadent / ut placent, quoniam foedo adflictentur amore, / nec sua respiciunt miseri mala maxima saepe. 29 See Copley (1956) and Fçgen (2009, in this volume) for the ancient literary trope of the excluded lover.

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of amor is caught in the “strong fetters of love”.30 The only hope of release for someone in passionate bondage (or fearful constriction) is Epicurean philosophy. However, after understanding the true nature of reality, freed from destructive amor, one might experience companionate love with a spouse (De rer. nat. 4.1279 – 1287).31

4. Tears in the Service of Truth (deploying literary conventions to elicit emotion) In addition to using tears to portray Roman men behaving in socially shameful and emasculating ways in order to drive his readers into philosophically correct channels of thought and comportment, Lucretius includes literary examples of tears to elicit those very emotions in his readers that cause those shameful body behaviours. Although one might be tempted to accuse Lucretius of hypocrisy here, these conventional scenes of tears serve an important rhetorical purpose in the poet s larger argument. For example, in Book 1, Lucretius gives an account of the wicked and impious deeds to which religion has given birth.32 His example is the Greek king Agamemnon s infamous murder of his young daughter Iphigenia at Aulis, a sacrifice demanded by the goddess Artemis in return for the Greek slaughter of the innocents in the future sack of Troy. Iphigenia falls to her knees in terror when she sees her sad (maestus) father at the altar, his attendants with their hidden knives, and “her countrymen pouring forth tears at the sight of her” (my translation).33 The horror one feels at this description is intentional: “Lucretius wants to make the moral implications of his material come alive emotionally as well as intellectually” (Segal 1990: 192). The sacrifice of Iphigenia is a good example of what Segal calls “emblematic passages” of great emotional power, which contain “a poetic truth that supplements, in an imaginative way, the surface logic of the exposition of Epicurean philosophy” (Segal 1990: 191). One might argue that in the tradition of epic poetry within which Lucretius works weeping for the dead is a common, and indeed expected, 30 De rer. nat. 4.1148: validos Veneris (…) nodos. See also 4.1113: usque adeo cupide in Veneris compagibus haerent. 31 See Brown (1987: 371 – 372) for a discussion of these lines and of non-passionate love in Lucretius. 32 De rer. nat. 1.83: religio peperit scelerosa atque impia facta. 33 De rer. nat. 1.91: aspectuque suo lacrimas effundere civis.

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feature. However, as van Wees has shown, while heroes such as Achilles and kings such as Priam weep loudly over the deaths of loved ones, they do so “in spontaneous reactions to personal loss (as opposed to more formal expressions of grief in funerary ritual)” (van Wees 1998: 13). Just so, Iphigenia s countrymen weep in sorrow at her imminent death, not at her funeral. When participating in funerary rituals, Homeric men control themselves to a greater extent, leaving intensive mourning with weeping and wailing during the prothesis, or laying out of the dead, to women.34 Already in the seventh century B.C., not long after Homer, we can see lyric poets urging self-control on men, contrasting it with “effeminate grief” (Archilochus, fr. 13 West: cumaije?om p´mhor); the ideology of selfcontrolled masculinity merges strongly in representations of epic and tragic heroes as well (van Wees 1998: 18 – 19). From the Greek warriors who went on after the sacrifice of Iphigenia to fight at Troy, Lucretius proceeds to the poet Homer, whose Iliad recounts the deaths of so many of these warriors. At De rer. nat. 1.124 – 126 Lucretius recounts the epic poet Ennius dream that Homer had appeared to him, pouring forth salt tears and disclosing the nature of things.35 Both sets of tears express grief at death – Iphigenia s impending death and Homer s state of being dead and in Hades. People who fear death and the afterlife do not understand the true nature of the soul, which dies together with the body. Even the great Ennius, father of Roman poetry, did not understand the nature of reality, hence the pressing need for Lucretius poem on the subject. In addition to the crying of literary characters and dead poets, there are instances of figurative weeping by inanimate objects in the poem. For example, Lucretius explains how food spreads itself out in the bodies of living things by using a vivid image from everyday life (De rer. nat. 1.348 – 349): in saxis ac speluncis permanat aquarum liquidus umor et uberibus flent omnia guttis. In caverns moist streams of water seep through, making the rocks all weep with an abundance of drops. (transl. Smith 2001) 34 Contrast, for example, Priam s behaviour at Homer, Il. 24.715 – 717 and 24.777 – 781 with that of Hecuba and Andromache at Il. 24.710 – 712. 35 De rer. nat. 1.124 – 126: unde sibi exortam semper florentis Homeri / commemorat speciem lacrimas effundere salsas / coepisse et rerum naturam expandere dictis. Segal (1990: 175 – 180) examines the complex literary allusions and adaptations in this scene.

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This explanation, one of many examples of the porosity of all materials, captures our attention with the image of rocks weeping and elucidates atomic reality for us. We cannot see atoms moving within gaps, but we can form a mental image of water percolating through rocks. Forced by his subject to describe matter too small to be seen,36 Lucretius uses his imagination to translate “the abstract statements of his master into visible pictures” (Bailey 1947: 171). Vivid images from daily life, often involving non-verbal behaviour, help him make clear abstract, scientific concepts such as the atomic theory vital to his philosophy. It is no surprise, then, that those books devoted to abstract, scientific discussion are full of references to non-verbal behaviours. Imagery using non-verbal behaviour attracts us and helps us to understand what he is talking about. Later, the poet combines laughter and tears in a powerful image of atoms laughing so hard that they cry,37 to which he returns in the following book in his argument to demolish the Greek philosopher Anaxagoras theory of homoeomeria (the idea that particles of matter have the same nature as the things they compose; that is, bones are composed of tiny particles of bone, blood of tiny particles of blood, and so on). Lucretius pushes the consequence of this wrong view to its risible conclusion, creating with not a little sarcasm a powerful picture of atoms laughing so hard that they cry.38 No sane person could believe that laughing people are made up of laughing atoms. These images of inanimate objects weeping and laughing satirize excessive emotion arising from mistaken beliefs, and so drive home Lucretius argument by way of reductio ad absurdum.

5. Conclusion: The Master of Conventions In sum, Lucretius employs tears for three reasons. First, and most importantly, tears in Lucretius function as an external symptom of the internal fear that arises from ignorance of the nature of reality. Until one learns the discoveries of Epicurus, one is doomed to remain unhappy and depressed (De rer. nat. 5.1194: infelix; 6.1281: maestus), ignorant of true pleasure (5.1430: vera voluptas). Once enlightened by Lucretius poem, 36 De rer. nat. 1.268: quod nequeunt oculis rerum primordia cerni. 37 De rer. nat. 1.919 – 920: fiet uti risu tremulo concussa cachinnent / et lacrimis salsis umectent ora genasque. 38 De rer. nat. 2.976 – 977: scilicet et risu tremulo concussa cachinnant / et lacrimis spargunt rorantibus ora genasque.

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the “therapeutic effect of the poem s argument” calms the mind once disturbed in grief and fear of the gods and death (De rer. nat. 6.1183: perturbata animi mens in maerore metuque) and in so doing, eliminates emotional tears (see Segal 1990: 22). Since his text is aimed at an audience of elite men, Lucretius most often shows generic people or men weeping rather than women to highlight the disgracefulness of such bodily spectacle, and thus shame his readers into embracing his message.39 The poet exploits masculine fears over proper Roman deportment, using societal conventions like a stick to force the reader in the right direction, if logic alone will not take him there. Second, Lucretius exploits his readers intuitive understanding of what tears imply to generate sympathy and other emotions that will help them to turn away from mistaken ideas about the gods (his first priority in the poem). Therefore, tears in emblematic scenes such as the slaughter of Iphigenia help to capture his readers emotions and beguile them into learning his underlying message. Lucretius wants his readers to feel revulsion and horror at such things, and is able elicit these by representing non-verbal behaviour which reveals emotional states quickly and creates atmosphere. He puts before our minds -eye the gestures, affect displays and paralinguistics that reveal the participants emotions, and thereby elicits and shapes our own. Third, Lucretius uses non-verbal behaviours to help us understand the world s deeper structures by using abstract reasoning and analogy. In this way, we can picture in our minds what is too small for us to see, like water molecules wearing away stone. Likewise, Lucretius illustrates the error of mistaken scientific doctrines by deploying human non-verbal behaviours. In his argument against homoeomeria, the poet strikingly shows us its absurdity with atoms laughing loudly and crying. According to Epicurean philosophy, we acquire knowledge of the world through our senses, and Lucretius is a keen and sensitive observer of both natural phenomena and social habitus. Lucretius images using non-verbal behaviour perform a variety of functions. As he tells us in the quote with which I started, they are part of the poetic “honey on the wormwood cup” that helps us to swallow the bitter medicine of Epicurean doctrine. But more importantly, Lucretius uses tears to reinforce his logical exposition of Epicurus discoveries. He exploits them to shock his elite male Roman readers into abandoning 39 Lucretius also draws upon the tradition of satire, for which see Kenney (1977) and Wallach (1976).

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behaviours considered shameful for men, caused by emotion, but also uses them to elicit those same emotions in readers to help them to turn away from religio. Passionate to convert his readers, Lucretius uses whatever weapons or enticements he can to turn his readers away from error and towards the path of true happiness.40

Bibliography Bailey, Cyril (1947): Titi Lucreti Cari De Rerum Natura Libri Sex, Oxford. Braund, Susanna Morton (2001): Latin Literature, London & New York. Brown, Robert D. (1987): Lucretius on Love and Sex. A Commentary on De rerum natura IV, 1030 – 1287. With prolegomena, text and translation, Leiden. Clay, Diskin (1983): Lucretius and Epicurus, Ithaca, New York. Copley, Frank O. (1956): Exclusus Amator. A Study in Latin Love Poetry, New York. Corbeill, Anthony (2004): Nature Embodied. Gesture in Ancient Rome, Princeton. Edwards, Catharine (1997): Unspeakable professions. Public performance and prostitution in ancient Rome. In: Judith P. Hallett & Marilyn B. Skinner (eds.), Roman Sexualities, Princeton, 66 – 95. Fçgen, Thorsten (2005): The role of verbal and non-verbal communication in ancient medical discourse. In: S ndor Kiss, Luca Mondin & Giampaolo Salvi (eds.), Latin et langues romanes. tudes de linguistique offertes J zsef Herman l occasion de son 80 me anniversaire, T bingen, 287 – 300. Fçgen, Thorsten (2009): Tears in Propertius, Ovid and Greek epistolographers. In: Thorsten Fçgen (ed.), Tears in the Graeco-Roman World, Berlin & New York, 179 – 208. Fraenkel, Eduard (1957): Horace, Oxford. Kenney, Edward J. (1971): Lucretius. De rerum natura Book 3, Cambridge. Kenney, Edward J. (1977): Lucretius (Greece and Rome. New Surveys in the Classics 11), Oxford. Lateiner, Donald (1992): Affect displays in the epic poetry of Homer, Vergil, and Ovid. In: Fernando Poyatos (ed.), Advances in Nonverbal Communication, Amsterdam, 255 – 269. Lateiner, Donald (1995): Sardonic Smile. Nonverbal Behavior in Homeric Epic, Ann Arbor. Lattimore, Richmond (1962): Themes in Greek and Latin Epitaphs, Urbana, Illinois. 40 This article has its origin in a paper delivered at the Classical Association of the Middle West and South conference in 2004. Thanks to those in the audience whose comments and questions helped me to reconsider and develop my argument. Thanks also to Greg Bucher, who read and commented on evolving drafts.

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Loraux, Nicole (1998): Mothers in Mourning (transl. Corinne Pache), Ithaca, New York. Minadeo, Richard (1969): The Lyre of Science. Form and Meaning in Lucretius “De rerum natura”, Detroit. Richlin, Amy (2001): Emotional work. Lamenting the Roman dead. In: Elizabeth Tylawsky (ed.), Essays in Honor of Gordon Williams. Twenty-Five Years at Yale, New Haven, 229 – 248. Segal, Charles (1990): Lucretius on Death and Anxiety, Princeton. Smith, Martin F. (2001): Lucretius: On the Nature of Things. Translated with introduction and notes, Indianapolis & Cambridge. Snyder, Jane MacIntosh (1980): Puns and Poetry in Lucretius De Rerum Natura, Amsterdam. Sˇterbenc Erker, Darja (2009): Women s tears in ancient Roman ritual. In: Thorsten Fçgen (ed.), Tears in the Graeco-Roman World, Berlin & New York, 135 – 160. Syme, Ronald (1958): Tacitus (2 vols.), Oxford. Toynbee, Jocelyn M. C. (1971): Death and Burial in the Roman World. Ithaca, New York. van Wees, Hans (1998): A brief history of tears. Gender differentiation in archaic Greece. In: Lin Foxhall & John Salmon (eds.), When Men Were Men. Masculinity, Power and Identity in Classical Antiquity, London & New York, 10 – 53. Volk, Katharina (2002): The Poetics of Latin Didactic, Oxford. Wallach, Barbara P. (1976): Lucretius and the Diatribe Against the Fear of Death. De Rerum Natura III, 830 – 1094, Leiden. West, David (1969): The Imagery and Poetry of Lucretius, Edinburgh.

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Tears in Propertius, Ovid and Greek Epistolographers Thorsten Fçgen Nec, tua si fletu scindentur verba, nocebit: interdum lacrimae pondera vocis habent. Ovid, Ex Ponto 3.1.157 – 158 Abstract: In few literary genres of classical antiquity is the role of emotions as pronounced as in Roman love elegy, which vividly portrays the feelings of its characters by means of gesture, facial expression and tone of voice. In this context, the occurrence of tears and crying is particularly noteworthy. This contribution primarily examines exemplary passages from Propertius and Ovid in which both men and women are depicted as crying. The reasons for their tears vary. Thus, the analysis of the narrative functions of tears within individual elegies assumes a prominent place. It is shown that the motif of weeping is frequently devoid of weighty emotional import and instead deployed for the sake of humour and levity. Apart from an investigation of the context in which tears occur in Roman elegy, the focus is on non-verbal elements and gender-specific differences that appear in connection with crying. The paper concludes with some remarks on tears in Ovid s Ars amatoria and Remedia amoris, followed by an excursus on the role of crying in works by the Greek epistolographers Alciphron and Aristaenetus.

1. Introduction: Roman Love Elegy Irrespective of how varied they appear in detail, the works of Roman love elegists reveal certain common elements in structure and motifs, of which the following may be mentioned. An elegiac “I”, who appears as the author,1 speaks of his experiences of joy and suffering in love, and to this 1

The poetic “I” is, however, in no way identical with the respective authors. Scholars (e. g. Burck 1952: 166; Burck 1963: 89 and 93 n. 14) early rejected an autobiographical interpretation of Roman love elegy in the manner in which it can be found in an extreme form in Postgate (1901) in his commentary on Propertius, for example, or still consistently in Lyne (1980), albeit with occasional caveats; a more compromising position has been taken by those who view Roman elegy as a combination of poetry and truth (see e. g. Luck 1961: 103, 154, 194 – 195; see also Du Quesnay 1973: 2 – 3; Booth & Lee 2000: xii, xxiii).

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end always employs specific topoi which characterize the relationship between himself and the beloved. These motifs include, for example, love as enslavement (servitium amoris), in which the beloved assumes the role of the domina and the lover that of the slave (Copley 1947, Lyne 1979, Murgatroyd 1981), or that of love as military service (militia amoris), in which the lover withdraws from public battlefields and concentrates instead on the private sphere (Murgatroyd 1975). Love gives rise to labores of a very particular kind, extending to pain and illness (e. g. Burck 1952: 205 – 206; Lilja 1965: 100 – 109). Such motifs2 are often interpreted as the expression of a tendency opposed to the established socio-cultural conceptions and value systems. Hallett (1973: 108 – 109) speaks justifiably of a “counterculture” (see the relativization in Holzberg 22001: 15 – 17, 21 – 27). Roman love elegy is not, however, in any sense a completely independent literary genre, but rather a particular form of the elegy which is attested in the Greek-speaking world already from the seventh century B.C. and which is not confined to an erotic content (see Holzberg 22001: 4 – 11; Booth & Lee 2000: xvii – xxv; Luck 1961: 24 – 42; Alfonsi & Schmid 1959: 1028 – 1038). The precise meaning of the term “elegy” (see Alfonsi & Schmid 1959: 1027 – 1028) was already disputed in antiquity: the derivation of the word 5kecor from 3 3 k´ceim3 suggests its beginnings in the dirge or lament. This folk etymology may have originated from the fact that tomb epigrams in classical Greece were usually written in distichs, which is also the typical metre of elegy. It is more probable, however, that an elegy was a poem accompanied by flutes, an explanation which

2

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In more recent research, the work above all of Wyke (1987: esp. 168, 170; 1989) has led to this genre no longer being seen as a direct expression of real personal experience. Wyke speaks of the beloved as a “poetic fiction” and a “written woman”, who does not belong to the real love life of the poet, but merely to the “grammar” of his poetry (e. g. Wyke 1989: 27, 35, 43; see Holzberg 22001: 2, 17 – 21, 28; Kennedy 1993: 83 – 100; with regard to Ovid, see Armstrong 2005: 46 – 48, 54 – 55, 66). Other typical motifs of Roman elegy are listed together with text references in the rather pedestrian work of M ller (1952). See further Kçlblinger (1971) as well as the useful overviews of Booth & Lee (2000: xi – xv) and Lyne (1980: 65 – 81). Sacerdos, Gramm. Lat. 6.509.31 Keil: elegiacum metrum dictum est, quod ee sonat interiectionem flentis; further, Etymologicum Magnum 326.49 (ed. Thomas Gaisford, Oxford 1848): 5kecor7 hq/mor b to?r tehme_sim 1pikecºlemor. eUqgtai d³ paq± t¹ 3 3 k´ceim 1m to?r t²voir (…). See also Euripides, Iph. Taur. 144 – 147, 1091; Troad. 119; Hel. 185; further, Horace, Ars poet. 75 – 76 and Diomedes, Gramm. Lat. 1.484.22 – 1.485.10 Keil.

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results from the association of 5kecor with a Phrygian root meaning “pipe” or “flute” (Armenian ełegn). Yet, although this disputed linguistic interpretation4 makes it likely that, already in antiquity, elegy was not exclusively conceived of as a lament, it cannot be denied that, in Roman love elegy, lamentation and especially weeping assume a central role. This occurs not only in relation to death, as Ovid weeps at the death of Tibullus in Am. 3.9 – an occasion on which, immediately at the beginning of the poem, Elegia personified is summoned, who, as Ovid remarks, is appropriately designated as flebilis (Am. 3.9.3 – 4; cf. Her. 15.7: elegiae flebile carmen).5 Rather, in Roman love elegy, there is weeping everywhere. This is scarcely surprising, as the literary form inevitably lays considerable weight upon the treatment of emotions. In what follows, examples from the elegies of Propertius and Ovid will be discussed, in which both men and women are represented as weeping. The specific reasons for their tears in each case will be examined, as well as the concrete verbal and non-verbal elements which accompany their weeping. In this context, paralinguistic (e. g. slow or rapid speech, broken voice, screaming, sighing) and non-vocal (e. g. facial expression, various body movements such as tearing at one s hair or scratching one s skin) aspects will be considered. It will also be analysed whether weeping and the accompanying elements of non-verbal communication, as expressed in Roman love elegy, display any gender-specific differences. Particular attention will be paid to the narrative function of tears within the selected elegies. It will be shown that, in many elegies, the motif of weeping is stripped of its seriousness and deployed for humorous ends. Following a section on Propertius and Ovid s elegies respectively, Ovid s Ars amatoria and the Remedia amoris are briefly considered in relation to the subject investigated in this paper. The discussion concludes 4 5

Chantraine (1990: 334) observed succinctly that the etymology of 5kecor is “inconnue”, before summarizing the various attempts at definition in the earlier research literature. The fact that in Ovid s Am. 3.1, the again personified Elegia is designated in contrast to her rival Tragedy as levis does not contradict the beginning of Am. 3.9. In Am. 3.1, it is a question of the principal difference between the two genres: tragedy entirely excludes lighter subjects; in contrast to tragedy, elegy is not characterized by consistent thematic and stylistic seriousness (Am. 3.1.35: gravibus verbis) and sublimity (Am. 3.1.39: sublimia carmina; cf. 3.1.48: supercilio … tuo), which does not mean that it cannot assume a more serious tone. When the frivolity, otherwise typical of elegy, recedes, the difference between it and tragedy is still one of degree, in terms of both language and content.

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with an excursus on the role of tears in the Greek epistolographers Alciphron and Aristaenetus. 2. Propertius The motif of weeping belongs to the standard inventory of GraecoRoman literature for the description of the power of Eros. Thus, in elegy 1.12, Propertius observes parenthetically that Eros has pleasure in tears (1.12.16: non nihil aspersis gaudet Amor lacrimis). It is inevitable, then, that the entire existence of lovers will be depicted as scarcely happy: immediately at the beginning of the first book of elegies, the lover describes himself as miser (1.1.1: Cynthia prima suis miserum me cepit ocellis), and thereby mentions a motif which extends throughout the entire corpus of Propertius work. It must nonetheless be asked exactly what role it is that tears play in this poetry. In elegy 1.5, the poetic “I” addresses a rival who is jealous of his relationship with Cynthia, and warns him against subjecting himself to the same suffering as that which he, the loving “poet”, endures. The manner of life of the lover is extensively described here. His condition is denoted with terms which suggest emotional disturbance (1.5.3: furores; 1.5.5: ignes) and misery (1.5.4: mala). The beloved is the cause of countless anxieties and dominates his entire existence (1.5.9 – 12). Such an enslavement to the beloved (servitium amoris) is a harsh fate and causes the lover to weep many tears (cf. 1.6.23 – 26 in connection with the nequitia motif; 1.7.15 – 18). His weeping, caused by unrequited love and accompanied by trembling and fear (1.5.15 – 16), which is clearly visible in his face, makes him incapable of speaking. One sees the results of love in his pallid face and his emaciated body (1.5.21 – 22). He who desires to live in such a state can only be called a fool (1.5.3: insane). The name of the envious man who is so emphatically warned against the consequences of love is only given in the penultimate verse: it is Gallus, who with some probability can be identified with the eponymous elegist and poet colleague of Propertius.6 This surprising conclusion, as well as the strongly hyperbolically

6

Scholars are by no means in complete agreement over this identification with Cornelius Gallus (see Baker 2000: 88). Camps (1961: 57) wrote succinctly: “we do not know anything about this Gallus, except from this poem and from x, xiii and xx, which are also addressed to him. He is not Cornelius Gallus or Aelius Gallus, for neither of them was of noble ancestry (cf. lines 23 – 4)”. For a dif-

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described state of loving as one of renunciation, suggests that the poet does not lack a sense of humour.7 The appearance of tears in no way excludes an amusing interpretation on another level; indeed, the weeping repeatedly emphasized in this elegy in combination with other exaggerations evokes a certain comic element and leads to a degree of self-irony on the part of the poetic “I”. In this connection, it may be recalled that in New Comedy, which includes certain motifs which find their parallels in Roman elegy (see most recently, in particular for Ovid, Barsby 1996, with a useful survey of the earlier literature), the figure of the youth in love (e. g. Sostratus in Menander s Dyscolus) often displays comic traits, however earnestly he pursues a girl, or when he is entirely captivated by her. The separation from the beloved during travels can also be cause for tears on the part of the lover (1.12). Complaints and weeping are more difficult to endure alone than in the presence of the beloved (1.12.13 – 15). Yet solitude sometimes seems to be the most appropriate place for the amator to reflect upon his circumstances, as in the monody of elegy 1.18, paired with the previous elegy 1.17, in which the poetic “I” finds himself in a storm during a sea voyage. Already in the first two verses of 1.18, the remoteness of the place in which the “I” finds himself is emphasized (1.18.1 – 2: deserta loca, vacuum … nemus).8 The grief which the lover is about to articulate thus remains concealed from others (1.18.3 – 4). He interrogates himself about the reasons for Cynthia s spurning of him, and thus for the reason for his tears (1.18.5 – 9). Given his fidelity to her, he sees no reason for jealousy; his thoughts have always been concentrated on her alone. Neither has he complained about her sometimes proud and capricious nature, and even now in his isolation, only the birds can hear his complaints (1.18.29 – 30). At the end of the

7

8

ferentiated interpretation of nobilitas and priscis imaginibus in 1.5.23 – 24, see Baker (2000: 90 – 91). On humour in Propertius, see Lef vre (1966), who observes specifically with regard to elegy 1.5 that it is “kaum vorstellbar, daß Properz die Warnungen (…) an Gallus vor Cynthias Verf hrungsk nsten allzu ernstlich gemeint hat” (1966: 14), though without providing any specific textual evidence. The unmistakable hyperbole of the sufferings of love depicted here is overlooked by Fauth (1980: 280): “Von Humor und Ironie kann hier sicherlich keine Rede sein; man sp rt den bitteren Ernst. (…).” Literary parallels for the scene and circumstances of this poem are given in their commentaries by Camps (1961: 89) and Baker (2000: 159 – 160). Baker (1983) offers a more detailed, if not altogether convincing, treatment of elegy 1.18, together with further references; see also Hubbard (1974: 33 – 35).

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poem, Cynthia, despite her absence, is again made present when the “I” makes her name echo through the emptiness (1.18.31 – 32). The representation of the solitude of the place which is emphasized at the beginning of the poem is repeated almost verbatim at the end (1.18.32: deserta saxa), with the decisive difference that the beloved seems to be present through the summons and the resulting echo. The same impression has already occurred in elegy 1.17, in which the storm at sea is, as it were, depicted as a continuation of Cynthia s threats and complaints (1.17.5 – 10). Another form of distance from the beloved occurs in the typical elegiac motif of the lover complaining before her closed door (paraklausithyron), which appears in 1.16 (see Yardley 1978: 23 – 27). What is striking in this poem is the personification of the door, which cannot find rest because of the persistent weeping of the exclusus amator (1.16.13 – 16). The complaints of the lover are embedded within the framework of the narrative of the door (1.16.17 – 44), whom he seeks to soften and from whom he begs admission. At the same time, he accuses the door of cruelty, because it does not permit his voice to penetrate to the beloved, whom he believes he could move with his petitions. It cannot be denied that there are comic elements here. The personified door once served as a passage for triumph processions, and is now, as the entrance to the house of a merry resident, compelled, to its annoyance, to endure a rather inglorious existence. Less than respectable poems have even been carved into its wood (1.16.1 – 12). The fact that it is a door which does not merely object to the morally loose behaviour of its mistress, but also regards her conduct as a symptom of a more pervasive lack of restraint (1.16.11 – 12), cannot be intended to convey the impression of a seriously intended disapproval of a general decline in morals. On the contrary, in such verses we may perceive a mockery of adherents to old Roman virtue, if not necessarily a direct sideswipe at Augustan attempts at moral reform (cautiously, Lef vre 1966: 95 – 96 n. 5). The entire situation of this elegy is so conceived that even the weeping of the locked-out lover is not without comic effect. This impression is underlined when the door observes that it will itself be brought to tears by his complaints (1.16.13 – 14) – this, as an additional element of humour, contrary to the assumption of the exclusus amator that he is really addressing a mere object without feeling and sympathy (1.16.25). Thus far, we have considered primarily the role of weeping for the male lover. What function do the tears of the female beloved have? The beloved is imagined as weeping, for example, when her lover does not obey her and when he leaves her waiting. Tears of this kind can have unpleasant consequences for the amator, as Propertius demonstrates

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in elegy 3.16. In the middle of the night, he received a letter from his domina, demanding that he go at once to Tibur, and he obeyed so that he would not provoke her to tears by his neglect and then be repulsed by her for a year, as had occurred previously (3.16.1 – 10). Here, the motif of the servitium amoris is combined with the image of the lover who is untouchable and who can even move without danger at night (3.16.11 – 20), an image frequent in Roman love poetry. Should something happen to him on the way, however, he can still take consolation in the fact that his beloved will hold vigil at his grave (3.16.21 – 24). The choice between the possible dangers associated with obedience, and the refusal to obey his domina, made equally risky by her irascible nature, in fact represents no real conflict for the amator. The question quid faciam? (3.16.5), borrowed from tragedy, is rather inappropriate to his quite untragic circumstances, and converts the entire situation into something more amusing. This impression is confirmed when we observe the sound structure of verses 5 and 6: the striking alliteration of the m and the dominance of the e sound, sometimes combined (quid faciam? obductis committam mene tenebris, / ut timeam audaces in mea membra manus), might be associated with a kind of lament, even if one is in general not inclined to base far-reaching conclusions upon sound symbolism. In the two following verses (7 – 8), a superficially dark mood is created, in which the lover imagines the dangers which could await him in the streets and at the same time the tears of the domina; this is achieved by the repeated o sound (at si distulero haec nostro mandata timore, / nocturno fletus saevior hoste mihi). A contrast to this passage with its exaggerated tragic character occurs in the following section (3.16.11 – 20), in which it is doubted that a robber would stain himself with the meagre blood of a lover (3.16.19 – 20); this is an ironic allusion to the motif repeated by Propertius of the emaciated, “bloodless” lover (1.5.21 – 22, 2.12.17, 4.5.64; see also Ovid, Ars am. 1.733 – 736).9 From this perspective, the statement that the weeping of the beloved whose commands were not obeyed is worse than the dangers one risks in going to her at night (3.16.7 – 8) appears to be relativized. In certain situations, the lover can be pleased to see his beloved demonstrate by her tears that she loves him, and this also applies in reverse 9

In the fairy-tale motif according to which the lover is specially protected, Lef vre (1966: 48) sees a clear indication of the humorous dimension of elegy 3.16, then adding further arguments, which take him in another direction than that followed here.

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for the man. In elegy 3.8, a bitter argument which had occurred the previous day between the beloved and the poetic “I” is recalled, from which the advantages of such conflicts for a relationship are extrapolated in general terms. One need not object when the beloved voices insults and threats against the amator out of jealousy, when she throws a full wine goblet at him, when she scratches and bites him and collapses in tears (for tears of jealousy, see 2.20.1 – 8). All of these are signs of genuine love and will be welcomed by the lover, because the absence of such scenes can only be construed as evidence of the beloved s indifference, which one would only wish on an enemy (3.8.17 – 20). This attitude is further developed in such a way as to lend the poem additional amusing and ironic elements. The bite and scratch wounds, which the puella has given the lover during a fight, should be visible for friends (3.8.21 – 22). The following verse also need not be taken altogether seriously, in which the combination of love and suffering, already accentuated as being desirable, is clearly stated (3.8.23: aut in amore dolere volo aut audire dolentem). This view of the poem does not undermine the importance of the association of amor and dolor as a fixed motif of love elegy (for Propertius, see esp. 2.25.1) and its essentially serious character. The tears of the beloved are absolutely unavoidable in another situation, which is already anticipated in elegy 3.16: the death of the amator. Such a scene is often imagined by Propertius,10 as, for example, in elegy 1.19: the lover does not fear death as such, but only that, after his demise, Cynthia might cease being faithful to him. The tears which make Cynthia s inner sorrow visible and are a sign of her unshakable love for the departed might one day be dried by love for someone else (1.19.21 – 24). This slightly melancholic poem, which revolves around the foedus aeternum motif, ends, however, in a more positive mood: the recognition 10 Other passages include 1.17.11 – 12 (an poteris siccis mea fata reponere ocellis, / ossaque nulla tuo nostra tenere sinu?), 1.17.19 – 24 (extensive mourning rites including the sacrifice of hair), 2.13.17 – 58 (detailed instructions for the form of burial and mourning), esp. 27 – 30, 39 – 42, 51 – 58 (notably 51 – 52: tu tamen amisso non numquam flebis amico: / fas est praeteritos semper amare viros), and 3.16.21 – 30 (see above). The papers of Prescendi (2000) and Sˇterbenc Erker (2009, in this volume) discuss the mourning rites of Roman women. – On the imagined death of the poetic “I”, see also 1.7.23 – 24, 2.1.47 – 48, 2.1.71 – 78, 2.8.17 – 28 (ridicule of the hard-hearted puella over the death of the beloved), 2.26.43 – 44 and 2.26.57 – 58. Papanghelis (1987) offers a comprehensive discussion of the motif of death in Propertius, while the dissertation by Drews (1952) is not confined to Propertius. See also the collection of text passages in M ller (1952: 38 – 42).

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that love does not endure forever after death allows only one conclusion, namely, that one should enjoy love while it lasts (1.19.25 – 26). This point has led some scholars to give the poem the motto of “vivamus”, as the real intention here is, according to their opinion, less to reflect on love beyond death than in the exhortation to make the most of love (thus Lef vre 1966: 142 – 145, building on earlier studies). In elegy 1.15, Propertius takes up the motif of false female tears,11 frequent in Graeco-Roman literature. Cynthia has mastered not only the art of feigning tears, but also of turning pale in gradual stages (1.15.39 – 40), in order to swear her love to the poetic “I” with the greatest conviction. Such refined deception is eventually summarized as “flattery” (1.15.42: blanditiis), with which Cynthia seeks to conceal her infidelity. She is here depicted as the opposite of various mythological female figures, who remained true to their lovers in exemplary fashion (1.15.9 – 24). Cynthia s deliberate deployment of tears for the purpose of manipulating her lover is also addressed in the final poem of Book 3 (3.25): by this means, which she has made an art (3.25.5: ars), she first won the poetic “I” for herself, who remained faithful to her for five years. The breach with Cynthia is already signalled in elegy 3.24 (see Booth & Lee 2000: 73 – 77), where the “I” admits that he has transfigured the attractions of the beloved, once the sole inspiration of his love poetry (elegy 2.1, esp. 2.1.1 – 4; see also 1.4). Once the amator has separated himself from Cynthia, he confidently claims that her tears will no longer move him (3.25.5), only to admit two verses later that he could not help weeping at their separation (3.25.7). The fact that their separation in no way leaves him cold also becomes clear in the second part of the elegy (3.25.11 – 18): he allows his feelings free reign, in some measure as a substitute for tears, by wishing that her beauty will soon fade, and that the loss of it and the 11 Aristotle (Hist. anim. IX 1 608b8 – 15) had already spoken of the particularly female inclination to deception and falsehood, as well as to weeping (see Fçgen 2004: 228 – 229, 234). Further references include Anth. Pal. 5.186 (Posidippus); Terence, Eun. 67 – 70; Catullus, Carm. 66.15 – 18; Martial 1.33; Juvenal, Sat. 6.272 – 277; and Petronius, Sat. 17.2. See also Publilius Syrus 153 (quoted from the edition of Wilhelm Meyer, Publilii Syri mimi sententiae, Leipzig 1880; text and numbering are identical with the edition of J. Wight Duff & Arnold M. Duff, Minor Latin Poets. With introductions and English translations, Cambridge, Mass. & London 1961): didicere flere feminae in mendacium, and 384: muliebris lacrima condimentum est malitiae; further, Disticha Catonis 3.20 (also included in the edition of Duff & Duff): coniugis iratae noli tu verba timere; / nam lacrimis struit insidias, cum femina plorat.

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contempt which she will consequently experience might lead her to regret the past. With this angry and bitter elegy, Propertius concludes the threebook cycle of Cynthia poems, but in the fourth book, which takes up other subjects, he cannot entirely avoid mentioning her. Elegy 4.7 is an obituary for her, who has died in the meantime;12 the following elegy (4.8), similar to 3.8, shows the raging beloved, who discovered the unfaithful amator in a m nage trois.

3. Ovid In this section, we will examine the role that tears assume in Ovid s Amores. In a short supplementary section, the Ars amatoria and the Remedia amoris will also be considered in relation to this question. Neither of these latter works belongs to the genre of love elegy, yet they both display a close relationship to it in terms of both form and content.13 3.1 Ovid s Amores The classical situation in which the male lover weeps is that of jealousy of a rival. Elegy 1.4 depicts fully how the amator must endure that his girl not only appears accompanied at a banquet but is also escorted to it by her vir. Immediately at the beginning, the amator wishes this rival a quick end (Am. 1.4.2). He must confine himself to observing his beloved at a distance, and can at best exchange discreet signs with her which constitute, however, an elaborate code system enabling unambiguous communication (Am. 1.4.15 – 28). Eroticism and humour are inseparably interwoven in this as in other passages of the elegy. Only at the end of the evening does it come to tears described hyperbolically with the almost celebratory epic expression lacrimis ego maestus obortis (Am. 1.4.60 – 62). While the poetic “I” was comparatively close to his puella during the evening, he can now only accompany her to the door – the situation of the 12 See Lef vre (1966: 108 – 119) on the already early recognized combination of seriousness with irony in this poem; further, Hubbard (1974: 149 – 153), Papanghelis (1987: 145 – 198) and Booth & Lee (2000: 78 – 94). 13 The work of Hollenburger-Rusch (2001) discusses the motif of tears in Ovid s Metamorphoses, consideration of which is omitted here in view of the primary concentration on elegiac love poetry. Elegiac elements can nonetheless also be identified in the Metamorphoses; see Sharrock (1991: esp. 36 – 37) and Hollenburger-Rusch (2001: 265 – 273), both with further references.

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exclusus amator is here merely hinted at by the reference to weeping and the saevae fores – and must there bid her good night. He is led to sadness and tears by the thought that his rival now has her to himself, yet he hopes that his beloved will show herself as unresponsive as possible to her vir, and that on the morrow she will convince him, her true lover, of this (Am. 1.4.63 – 70). The fact that the deeply jealous, suffering lover consoles himself merely with such hopes, as is claimed in the final two verses of the poem, raises doubts about the sincerity of his previously described emotions. At the same time, the irony of the concluding verses is not altogether unexpected, especially after the instruction of the beloved in coded communication, also mentioned in the Ars amatoria (1.565 – 612) and the Heroides (17.75 – 90) (see Ford 1966: 647 – 650), has already introduced rather comic elements. The motif of the complaining lover seeking admission to his beloved at her door, the paraklausithyron typical of love elegy, also occurs in Ovid. In Am. 1.6.17 – 18, the exclusus amator attempts to move the door-keeper with his tears.14 It would suffice him merely if the door were slightly opened, as he has become so emaciated due to love (Am. 1.6.3 – 6) – also a familiar picture (see above). The elegy consists of a chain of the lover s arguments with which he seeks to strengthen his appeal to the door-keeper. The briefly appearing motif of tears, however, is not subsequently exploited and is thus confined to two lines out of a total of 74 verses. The amator is therefore here less a petitioner than a skilful, if ultimately unsuccessful, rhetor, who relies upon the effectiveness of his persuasion and scarcely employs non-verbal tactics.15 As a result of his wine consumption, the lover appears rather in an aggressive temper than in one of genuine despair, and even threatens to attack the house with fire and sword (Am. 1.6.57 – 60); at the beginning of the elegy, he has already stated that love has made him daring (Am. 1.6.9 – 14). He has also signalled himself that he will pass from requests to threats (Am. 1.6.61 – 62: omnia consumpsi, nec te precibusque minisque / 14 Yardley (1978: 29 – 34), for example, provides a more detailed analysis of Am. 1.6 and explicates the parodying character of the poem. See also Yardley (1987: 182 – 186) and Barsby (1996: 140 – 143), who refers to the parallel motifs in the first act of Plautus Curculio. The paper by Laigneau (2000), who also fails to refer to Yardley, offers no new perspectives. 15 Correctly perceived by Du Quesnay (1973: 8): “(…) in 1.6 when Ovid finds himself locked out of his mistress house the reader s attention is focussed not on his despair and frustration but on his witty attempts to persuade the doorman to let him in.”

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movimus), and it is consistent that, at the end, he casts insults at the doorkeeper (Am. 1.6.63 – 64, 72). We may thus agree with the assessment of Lyne, who observes: “[t]he whole poem is clearly parodic” (Lyne 1980: 249).16 Elegy 1.12, a direct continuation of Am. 1.11, begins with the emphatically tragic-serious invocation to weep (flete meos casus) for the misfortune of the poetic “I” (see Du Quesnay 1973: 30 – 40; Dimundo 2000: 259 – 274). The reason for this invocation is that he has received a message that his beloved will not come to him today. The sorrow that this message provokes in the lyrical “I” is emphasized by the strategic positioning of the two adjectives tristes and infelix. Yet just as in elegy 1.6, so also here, the motif of tears is not taken up again. The plural imperative flete (Am. 1.12.1) may have been intended to signify that the “I” leaves it to others to weep rather than doing so himself. Instead of weeping, the amator resorts to insulting the writing tablet which bore the message of the puella – anger and rage in place of tears, indicated at the end of the poem by the word iratus and the cursing of the tablet (Am. 1.12.29 – 30). And yet, even this anger proves upon closer inspection to be an attitude which points to comedy rather than anything serious. The detailed accusation, which stands within the tradition of invective, is directed not only against the writing tablet but also against its manufacturer and even against the tree from which it came. Even the reference to the evil omen – the servant girl who brought him the message stubbed her toe as she left the house – is rather a caricature than genuine evidence of superstition. The positioning of the expression omina sunt aliquid at the beginning of the verse (Am. 1.12.3) is supposed to inspire scepticism about what follows. Similarly, the remark that the insensitive tablet would have been better used for the recording of dry legal texts or accounts than for the inscription of the mollia verba of a lover (Am. 1.12.21 – 26) must also be interpreted as a playful element. The humour which pervades this 16 Lyne (1980: 249) continues: “What Ovid does in 1.6 is (among other things) take over scenes and themes of the previous Elegists but then treat them with a literalness that dispels their romantic potential and leaves them incongruous; he pursues them relentlessly to their logical, unromantic, and eventually funny ends. (…) Propertius and Tibullus had been at times aware of the comic side of their doleful plight and had indulged in humour at their own expense. But never with the implacable zest of the parodist.” Such a general contrast of Propertius and Tibullus with Ovid, however, seems – at least in the case of Propertius – in view of the discussion of elegy 1.16 above, to be unjustified.

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elegy then has the effect of modifying the summons at the beginning to weep. We now turn to consider the female side. The theme of elegy 1.14 is the hair of the beloved, which has been lost through dying and perming (see Gauly 1990: 129 – 136; Dimundo 2000: 303 – 322; Hohenwallner 2001: 71 – 95). The poetic “I” has always warned her against the consequences of such beauty treatments, and now takes the opportunity to praise naturalness, a motif which is sufficiently familiar from other elegies (e. g. Propertius 1.2, 2.18). Given the natural beauty of the hair of the puella, resort to such artificial methods is entirely unnecessary. Yet even though he criticizes the behaviour of his beloved as thoughtless and regards her as silly (Am. 1.14.36: inepta), in the end, the appearance of the amator almost as a know-all can scarcely conceal his pity for her: her tears running over her red cheeks set an end to his tirade and turn his mood. The weeping of the beloved does not begin until the end of the poem (Am. 1.14.51 – 56), and seems to have been caused not only by the loss of her hair, but also and particularly by the tireless and unsympathetic criticism of the amator. Taken by itself, his praise of the natural attractiveness of the girl is flattering, but it is associated with an excessive self-opiniatedness, so that under the circumstances, it can scarcely console her. It is only her tears which impose a pause upon his self-righteousness. Yet even the final lines of the poem remain somewhat elusive: quite en passant, the loss of the hair, which for the girl is adequate reason to despair, is curtly dismissed in only two verses with the observation that new hair will soon grow (Am. 1.14.55 – 56; cf. Parker 1969: 90 – 91). In its curious realism, almost verging on the banal, the poem allows the poetic “I” to seem anything but a captivated servus amoris who pays unconditional homage to his beloved. The problem which Propertius addresses in the thematically related elegy 2.18, that the use of cosmetics by the beloved entails the risk of attracting rivals and thus of provoking the jealousy of the amator (2.18.11 – 14), is nowhere mentioned by Ovid.17 The puella weeps for a far more serious reason when she is beaten by her lover (Am. 1.7.4)18 – an act which even the poetic “I” criticizes harshly 17 A wider discussion of the poetological implications of the subject of hair in Am. 1.14 (cf. Holzberg 1997: 57 – 58, 60 – 62, 73; taken up by Hohenwallner 2001: 82 – 86) would fall outside of the parameters of the present study. 18 Ovid was not the first to deal with violence against the beloved. Kçlblinger (1971: 54 – 85), and McKeown (1989: 162 – 197, esp. 162 – 164) in his commentary, give numerous parallels, which are not confined to Roman love elegy. See also Dimundo (2000: 128 – 133).

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as an unforgivable outburst: his rage is mentioned twice within the first three verses (Am. 1.7.1 – 3: furor; cf. 1.7.43 – 44). The girl pales from horror, trembles, and is speechless, yet precisely her silence is an eloquent accusation (Am. 1.7.19 – 22): quis mihi non demens , quis non mihi barbare dixit? ipsa nihil; pavido est lingua retenta metu. sed taciti fecere tamen convicia vultus, egit me lacrimis ore silente reum. Who did not say madman to me, who did not say barbarian ? She said nothing; her tongue was kept from it by trembling fear. But her silent looks still conveyed reproaches; Her mouth being silent, she accused me with her tears.

The tears of the puella are subsequently compared with water which runs from melting snow (Am. 1.7.57 – 58). It is her weeping which inspires feelings of guilt in the amator, which harmonises with the remark in elegy 3.6 that only a heart of stone or iron is unmoved by a woman s tears (Am. 3.6.59 – 60). The lover admits that he has earned the intransigent revenge of the girl for his violence: she should simply attack him and satisfy her anger (Am. 1.7.63 – 66). The modern reader may find it tasteless or chauvinistic that the speaking lover here views the anxious weeping and the distraught state of his beloved from the perspective of the relishing observer, who detects a kind of beauty in it (Am. 1.7.12 – 18).19 In this connection, however, it is striking that the beauty of the weeping girl is compared with three mythological female figures: Atalante, Ariadne20 and Cassandra. Given such an elaborate insertion,21 one might gain the impression that this demonstration of learning dominates the representa19 In Am. 2.5, it is the beauty of the blush, the lowered eyes and the sad face of the girl who has just been caught being unfaithful, that deter the amator from raising his hand against her (Am. 2.5.33 – 48). The individual elements of the affecting facial expression, by means of which the puella avoids the violence of her lover, are designated as her “weapons” (Am. 2.5.48: defensa est armis nostra puella suis). The manipulative character of such acting ability and its insincerity are underlined by the girl s smile, which she assumes immediately after she perceives the “I” to be overpowered by her charms (Am. 2.5.49 – 52). 20 Weeping Ariadne also appears in the Heroides (Her. 10.43, 55, 114, 138, 148; cf. 15 – 16, 37 – 40 for beating of the breast) and in the first book of the Ars amatoria, where it is also emphasized that she is beautiful in spite of her tears (Ars am. 1.527 – 536, esp. 1.534). 21 See the good observations of Lyne (1980: 254 – 256).

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tion of the drama of the – fictive – situation. An example of the familiar dictum of Quintilian – albeit primarily with regard to the Metamorphoses – that Ovid was too much in love with his own poetic talent and occasionally exaggerated it?22 At any rate, by means of such digressions and the rich vocabulary of the highly elaborate reflections and their tendency to hyperbole, the self-accusations of the poetic “I” and the seriousness of the scene are toned down in their significance. This impression is confirmed by the conclusion of the elegy – the invitation to the puella to attack the amator in revenge, which appears to be spoken tongue in cheek. The last two verses in particular, in which the girl is abruptly told to put her hair in order and so remove the traces of the violence (Am. 1.7.67 – 68), as if the matter is of no greater moment, in their sober pragmatism stand in contrast to the earlier prevailing pathos.23 A parodying element, manifest in the transformation of an established elegiac motif, thus cannot be overlooked in this poem.24 Less plausible is the interpretation of James (2003), who takes the tears of the beloved in poems such as this or Am. 1.14 as part of a transformation of the traditional figure of the suffering amator who weeps from pain into an egocentric misogynist who, out of revenge for his earlier weeping, caused by the dura puella, now provokes her to tears. Such an approach would seem to ignore the ironic

22 Quintilian, Inst. orat. 10.1.88: lascivos quidem in herois quoque Ovidius et nimium amator ingenii sui, laudandus tamen partibus. See also Inst. orat. 10.1.98: Ovidi Medea videtur mihi ostendere, quantum ille vir praestare potuerit, si ingenio suo imperare quam indulgere maluisset; further Seneca, Contr. 2.2.12. 23 This procedure of Ovid s in Am. 1.7.67 – 68 is appropriately described by Du Quesnay (1973: 12) as a “technique of undercutting the emotionality of his persona”. See also Kçlblinger (1971: 80 – 82) and Parker (1969), who refers to a series of comparable passages and remarks specifically on Am. 1.7: “The high rhetorical strain, the expansions of guilt, the involvement of all nature – all these run into another sort of reality, the everyday variety with its concern for appearances which says, Fix your hair. Relief of tension, certainly. But much more: per contrarium, the poem is put on trial by the intrusion of another sensibility which, by the prosaic statement and the mocking maintenance of military imagery in in statione, shows up previous language and response as overblown, perhaps adequate to describe a situation but not to deal with it. Were the last distich lacking, the poem, even with the time-shift, would be quite different” (Parker 1969: 87). 24 Gauly (1990: 120 – 129) offers a detailed analysis of Am. 1.7 in terms of humorous elements, and also discusses previous interpretations of this elegy. See also the brief remarks of Sharrock (2002: 157 – 158).

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element, which is admittedly accentuated from the male rather than from the female perspective.25 In Ovid s Amores, as well as in the Ars amatoria (see below, section 3.2), we also find the motif of false female tears. It is introduced briefly in elegy 2.2 (Am. 2.2.35 – 36). In the “didactic” elegy 1.8, which reveals certain parallels with Propertius elegy 4.5 (see O Neill 1999; Dimundo 2000: 155 – 185), the match-maker Dipsas, experienced in magic, gives a girl extensive advice as a female praeceptor amoris on how to capture a man for herself alone. The talents of an actress are necessary, for example, the ability to weep at will (Am. 1.8.83 – 84), by means of which one can lead a man by the nose. The speech of Dipsas is framed by the opinion of the poetic “I” about such methods. Her name, meaning “the thirsty one”, already betrays what one should think of her: she is an ever-drunken old hag (Am. 1.8.3 – 4), for whom one can only wish the worst, not least – and here, the curse is changed at the end into something amusing – eternal thirst (Am. 1.8.113 – 114). Dipsas recalls the type of the grotesquecomic witch, for example, as she appears in Horace s Canidia or Petronius Oenothea (see Baertschi & Fçgen 2006). It is therefore clear from the beginning that this elegy contains comic elements, and that it is close to the genres of comedy, mime and satire. Its affinity to comedy also becomes apparent when it is compared with the third scene of Plautus Mostellaria (vv. 157 – 312), which is in some respects structured similarly.26 It is thus evident that male tears occur in Ovid s Amores much less frequently than they do in Propertius: in total only three times (assuming that the narrator in the imperative flete at the beginning of Am. 1.12 is included), two of which are associated with the exclusus amator motif. Attempts to explain this difference by suggesting that Propertius, unlike 25 In my opinion, it is here that a deficit can be perceived in some feminist interpretations of the Amores which have appeared in recent years (see the account in Greene 1998: xv – xvi, 67 – 113, esp. 84 – 92 on Am. 1.7; see further n. 32 below). One may be inclined to classify elements of humour as they occur in Am. 1.7 as chauvinistic. The parodying aspect is nonetheless clearly signposted in the text, although it is a purely male humour which takes no account of female readers. And yet, given the mostly unflattering representation of women in Roman literature (see Fçgen 2004), is it really so surprising that there is such a restriction to a male perspective? It should also not be forgotten that the amator by no means always appears as a serious character, and that the male lover in the Amores is an object of irony and mockery, as, for example, in Am. 1.6 and 1.12. 26 Most recently on this, Barsby (1996: 138 – 140), who also discusses connections between Am. 1.8 and Propertius elegy 4.5.

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Ovid, was particularly inclined to melancholy and that he even had an “almost lachrymose disposition”27 of course avoids the real issue, not least because such interpretations are based on an inadmissible equation of elegy with autobiography. It would seem more appropriate to seek a reason for the difference between Propertius and Ovid s treatments of love in general. For Ovid, the subject obviously had primarily the character of a game, which, on the whole, has exceptionally few really serious facets.28 While tears in Propertius are sometimes handled with an element of humour, or the significance of weeping is at least modified, in Ovid, male tears are never mentioned without a certain comic aspect; even the amator himself is not infrequently a comic figure, especially in Am. 1.6 and 1.12. In the case of female tears, the situation is not essentially different, though the comic aspect is associated with the male perspective of the poetic “I” and would not have been nearly so amusing from the woman s position. However, it does not necessarily follow from the strongly humorous texture of the Amores that Ovid intended a pure parody of the genre of love elegy and its traditional elements (correctly, Holzberg 1997: 75). It cannot be disputed that a certain degree of the irony in the Amores derives from allusions to the themes and motifs of his predecessors and their transformation in his work, yet such an approach cannot be applied equally to all of the poems in the Amores cycle. In elegy 1.5, for example, which contains an exceptionally sensitive description of an erotic moment between the beloved Corinna and the lyrical “I”, there is no recognizable element of parody. Moreover, as 27 Postgate (1901: xxxvi) wrote: “Propertius nature was soft rather than strong”; he manifests an “habitual melancholy, at times breaking into querulousness, (…) at times sinking in a gloomy foreboding”. Further: “A melancholy and almost lachrymose disposition is shewn, on the one hand, by the frequency with which words like querelae, &c., flere, lacrima, &c., tristis and the like occur and, on the other, by the frequency of allusions to death and the grave (…)” (1901: xl). With the greatest surprise, one reads similar views in the paper by Osmun (1984), which is also in other respects problematic; for example, he speaks of a “hypersensitive, emotionally unstable Propertius” (1984: 47). 28 The dimension of pa¸feim as the fundamental principle of the Amores was already recognized by Reitzenstein (1935), to be taken up subsequently e. g. by Lyne (1980: 240 – 287, esp. 256), Du Quesnay (1973: 7 – 9) and Barsby (1973: 17 – 18). The fact that, to a large extent, Ovid did not want to be taken seriously cannot be disputed. Reitzenstein s view becomes problematic, however, when he contrasts Ovid with Propertius: the celebratory pathos which is ascribed to Propertius is not an element which pervades his entire oeuvre. Lef vre (1966) has shown particularly convincingly that humour was not alien to Propertius.

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has been shown in selected examples above, Propertius also often assumes an ironical distance to the established inventory of themes and motifs of love elegy, so that we cannot ascribe to Ovid a role of absolute innovation in this respect. At the same time, it appears that tears as an expression of the amator s suffering for love and his willingness to submit to his beloved domina are considerably diminished in comparison with Ovid s predecessors. On the other hand, female tears are more common and often provoked intentionally by the elegiac “I”. Interpretations of this situation in terms of a kind of revenge on women or compensation for the otherwise frequent weeping of the male lover, suffering in his servitium amoris (so James 2003), and in terms of a reversal of the “counterculture” fundamental to this genre and of its associated role allocation for men and women, have not proven to be convincing conclusions. 3.2 Ovid s Ars amatoria and Remedia amoris The following discussion is intended as a supplement to the preceding section on the Amores, which should give no more than a summary account of Ovid s Ars amatoria and Remedia amoris. Both cycles of poems contain numerous references to non-verbal forms of communication, including tears. The Ars amatoria is a didactic poem of a particular kind:29 it instructs both men (Books 1 and 2) and women (Book 3) as to how they can be successful in love, and with which means they can win a partner. In addition to advice about how to present the most attractive appearance possible, a comprehensive training in verbal and non-verbal communication is given.30 The Remedia amoris are similarly conceived as a didactic poem and as a pendant to the Ars amatoria, and offer advice about how one can overcome one s feelings and cure oneself of love. In relation to the subject of weeping, the motif of false tears occurs most frequently. It is claimed that women employ false tears in order to pretend that they have lost something and thereby to obtain a replacement from their lovers (Ars am. 1.431 – 432). Book 3 offers comprehensive instruction for women about effective smiling and weeping: they 29 On the genre question, see e. g. K ppers (1981: esp. 2509 – 2513), Watson (2002: 145 – 148) and Volk (2002: 157 – 195). The many connections between the Ars amatoria and the Amores have been most recently discussed by Opsomer (2003, with earlier literature); see also Lyne (1980: 274 – 282). 30 On non-verbal communication in Graeco-Roman antiquity, see Fçgen (2001, with further literature).

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should always preserve moderation and not exaggerate if they wish to be successful with men (Ars am. 3.281 – 292, esp. 291: discunt lacrimare decenter). An excess of emotion is never desirable. When playing party games such as dice, above all, women should not give way to an open display of frustration at losing a round: squabbling, shouting and tears are to be avoided at any cost (Ars am. 3.369 – 380). On the other hand, there are certain situations in which the loving woman should definitely allow herself to be moved to an outburst of anger: jealousy, which is supposed to suggest true love to the amator, should be accompanied by tears and grief, and also by aggression (Ars am. 3.673 – 682) – conduct which is already regarded as a sign of sincere passion in Propertius elegy 3.8. Men are also jokingly advised to deploy tears specifically for the softening up of the woman they desire. If they are unable to weep at will, they should wet their hands and rub their eyes in order to give the appearance of genuine tears (Ars am. 1.659 – 662). It is also important to echo whatever a woman says (Ars am. 2.197 – 200) and to adapt oneself as far as possible to her emotional state, that is, to laugh when she laughs and to weep when she weeps (Ars am. 2.201 – 202). The showing of tears as part of a correctly measured out “flattering business” (Ars am. 2.334: sit suus in blanda sedulitate modus) is especially suitable at the sickbed of the puella: one may not allow it to be observed that one is morose as a result of her illness, but should give a clear display of one s love and devotion. The added remark that by this means one lays the foundation for later pleasures with the girl (Ars am. 2.319 – 336) sounds rather opportunistic and frivolous. It is clear that the concept of a suffering romantic love, which constitutes the basis of Roman love elegy, is treated with heavy irony in the Ars amatoria. Love becomes a calculating, utilitarian game: a rich palette of strategies, based upon simulatio as the dominating principle (see Stroh 1979), guarantees sexual experience to both men and women. Equally strategic are the techniques explained in the Remedia amoris which are intended to help one liberate oneself from passion. The man is advised not to give in to any flattery or to allow himself to be moved by a girl s tears, as these belong to the common arsenal of women s deceptions and can scarcely claim to be authentic (Rem. am. 687 – 692). If he wishes to be rid of his girl, then it is best not even to encounter her maid, who might offer him greetings with tears from her mistress (Rem. am. 639 – 642). It is self-evident that genuine (i. e. emotional) tears can no longer play a role in erotic didacticism, in which the praeceptor, in contrast to the elegiac amator, appears as emotionally less directly involved. Emo-

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tion is reduced to manipulative behaviour which serves the pursuit of personal desires in the sphere of sex (see Opsomer 2003: 340 – 343).31 However, to draw the inference from this circumstance that Ovid intended to articulate indirect moral criticism of contemporary seduction tactics and of the masculine misogyny associated with them32 is to miss the point: such an interpretation entirely ignores the elements of humour and irony, which are also omnipresent in the Ars amatoria and the Remedia amoris. 33

4. Two Examples from Greek Epistolography: Alciphron and Aristaenetus The erotic epistolary literature of the second and third centuries A.D., represented by authors such as Alciphron, Aelian and Philostratus (see Rosenmeyer 2001: 255 – 338, with earlier literature), demonstrates parallels in its motifs with love elegy as well as with comedy. Here again, tears belong to the inventory of motifs shared with elegy. Two examples will be presented here briefly, of which one is taken from Alciphron (second / third century A.D.), and the other from the much later epistolographer Aristaenetus (c. fifth century A.D.).34 The question as to the extent to which Greek letter-writers of the imperial period had any direct knowl31 With regard to the Remedia amoris, Holzberg (1997: 115 – 121) rightly speaks of a “Demontage des elegischen Systems”. 32 Greene (1998: esp. 93 – 113) argued along these lines with reference to the Amores, writing for example: “(…) Ovid is criticizing not only the hypocrisy of the whole elegiac model with its attendant romantic illusions, but more importantly, the cruel, destructive, and inhumane aspects of amor. (…) Ovid extends his critique of violence and exploitation of women to a more general critique of a social and political system that promotes aggression, conquest, and the exploitation of others” (1998: 94); later: “By exhibiting how dehumanizing the male lover s conquest of his beloved is, Ovid permits us to see the destructiveness and inhumanity in the desire to conquer and enslave others” (1998: 113). The discussions by Watson (2002: esp. 148 – 149, 158 – 160, 163 – 164) and Opsomer (2003: 316 – 317) are critical of such approaches. 33 With reference to the Ars amatoria, Fr caut (1972: 232) indicates a central aspect in this connection: “La forme la plus manifeste de l humour dont s illumine l Art d aimer consiste dans l laboration de pr ceptes d terminant des attitudes, des d marches, des actions, qui devraient Þtre instinctives et spontan es chez un v ritable amoureux”. 34 For the date and person of Aristaenetus, see now Burri (2004); see also Arnott (1982: 294 – 296).

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edge of Roman love elegy cannot be discussed here. It may merely be observed that motifs shared by epistolographers and elegists are probably to be traced to familiarity of the Roman authors with Greek comedy and elegy, that is, with texts which inspired the Roman comedians and elegists. 4.1 Alciphron: Epistles 4.8 and 4.9 The epistolary corpus of Alciphron, in which depictions of milieux of everyday Attic life are prominent, is arranged in four parts in more recent editions, namely, letters from fishermen, farmers, parasites and courtesans.35 The example to be considered here consists of a pair of letters from the fourth book (Epist. 4.8 and 4.9). The letter of the lover Simalion, who complains at his poor treatment by Petale, the hetaera whom he loves, is followed by her brutally sober reply. In Epist. 4.8, Simalion insists upon the sincerity of his love, in which none of the other admirers of Petale can compete with him. She, however, repays his fidelity poorly and often leaves him standing before her door (the motif of the exclusus amator).36 The previous night, Simalion attempted to drown his sorrows with an excess of wine,37 but he achieved precisely the opposite, namely, uncontrollable weeping. Petale is addressed as a cruel domina who is likely to derive amusement from his weeping, but who will perhaps be punished for her pride (rpeqox¸a) by Aphrodite (Epist. 4.8.3 – 4). The cry of Simalion in the concluding paragraph of his letter that his love for Petale is bad (Epist. 4.8.4: 1q_ c²q, § Pet²kg, jaj_r) places him in the line of despairing lovers, familiar from elegy, who suffer from the power of Eros and the hard-heartedness of their beloveds.

35 The most conveniently accessible edition of the letters of Alciphron is the bilingual text of Allen Rogers Benner and Francis H. Fobes (eds.), Alciphron – Aelian – Philostratus: The Letters, Cambridge, Mass. & London 1949 (repr. 1990); see also the French translation of Ozanam (1999) with a useful introduction. A critical edition was published by Menno A. Schepers (ed.), Alciphronis rhetoris epistularum libri IV, Stuttgart 1905 (repr. 1969). Good estimations of the literary character of Alciphron s letters are offered by Anderson (1997), Ozanam (1999: 11 – 39) and Rosenmeyer (2001: 255 – 307); see also Fçgen (2007). 36 See Rosenmeyer (2001: 283): “The conventional elegiac paraclausithyron evolves here into an epistolary exercise: the lovers communicate by letter, not by song.” 37 For the motif of the amator who seeks to forget his grief with wine, Ozanam (1999: 35 with n. 56) rightly refers to the following parallels in Roman love elegy: Tibullus 1.2, Propertius 3.17, and Ovid, Am. 1.6 (see above, section 3.1).

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The reaction of the hetaera Petale to the letter of complaint from her admirer is as follows. Immediately in the opening sentence, she addresses Simalion s abundant weeping. If she could earn her income with tears, she would certainly be in a fortunate position, but unfortunately, such gestures do not guarantee her existence. As a hetaera, she must instead be able to depend upon her admirers for money, clothes, jewellery, and the wages of her maids (Epist. 4.9.1). Petales thoroughgoing realism is underlined by the reference to a lack of inherited property. She enjoys no bed of roses and derives her modest income only from her profession. Following these preliminary remarks, she turns to speak of her relationship with Simalion, which has already lasted one year. This relationship has brought her no advantages, since apart from flowers, roses and tears, he has offered her no gifts. Her good looks have vanished, so that she is ashamed even before her female friends. The fact that Simalion entirely misunderstands her situation and bases his love for her on ideals alone, makes his tears for her unconvincing (Epist. 4.9.2 – 3). A certain craftiness sounds in her question whether Simalion could not bring her some goblets from home, or his mother s jewels (Epist. 4.9.4). She characterizes him finally as a singer of laments (hqgm\dºm), and demands that he not return to her again unless he brings her a gift;38 otherwise he and his tears should leave her in peace (Epist. 4.9.5). This fictional letter reminds us of a sentence of Publilius Syrus, according to which the heart of a meretrix is moved not by tears but by gifts.39 In her unadorned directness and lack of sympathy, Petale recalls in some respects the elegiac domina and various hetaera figures from comedy. One would not wish, though, to ascribe to her an offensive malice. She is much more the sober realist who defends herself against the daydreaming, idealistic Simalion, happy with his tears, and lends elements of the comic to the, in her view, exaggerated pathos of his complaint. Her profession and low social status are inseparable from her concern for her own well-being. This pair of letters can then to some extent be 38 The fact that the male lover is often financially exploited by his mistress is also considered by Ovid in the Ars amatoria, where he enumerates the female tactics deployed to this end, including tears (Ars am. 1.419 – 436; further 2.273 – 286, esp. 2.277 – 278: aurea sunt vere nunc saecula, plurimus auro / venit honos, auro conciliatur amor). See also Ovid, Am. 1.8.54 – 70, 87 – 94, 99 – 104 (significantly, within the lena-elegy), and earlier, Lucretius, De rer. nat. 4.1121 – 1140; echoes are already to be found in Xenophon, Oec. 1.13. 39 Publilius Syrus 399 (ed. Meyer, see n. 11): Muneribus est, non lacrimis meretrix misericors.

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taken as a literary representation of the social conditions in Greece, even if one cannot use these texts as a reliable historical source for the reconstruction of those conditions. The strongly literary character and the elaborate style of fictional epistolography, which is quite uncharacteristic for the majority of fishermen, farmers, parasites and courtesans, should warn against such usage.40 It should also be noted that Alciphron is not concerned to reflect his own age, but rather, in the style of the Second Sophistic, to depict Athens in the classical period.41 We might be inclined to see a later reminiscence of Alciphron s Petale in Aristaenetus hetaera Philochremation, “the money lover”42 (Epist. 1.14).43 She attacks admirers who think that they can please courtesans alone with music; any such attempt with her is futile, as she is not receptive to sweet melodies, but only to money, as her name suggests.44 40 Ozanam (1999: 15), for example, notes this artificial quality of Alciphron s letters: “Le texte d Alciphron (…) n imite pas la vie, mais des œuvres litt raires (…)”. See also Ozanam (1999: 16) in connection with the problem of the dating and person of Alciphron: “Un auteur dont la personne chappe. Cette absence tient la nature mÞme d une œuvre qui ne fait jamais la moindre r f rence aux r alit s de son temps.” Further, Reardon (1971: 182) and Vieillefond (1979: 138 – 139): “Les petites sc nes (…) peuvent nous para tre au premier coup d œil comme le fruit d une observation imm diate, mais si nous y voyons un document c est cause d une erreur d optique de notre part. Alciphron n est ni un historien, ni un sociologue, ni mÞme un journaliste-reporter. C est un artiste pour lequel l effet est le premier devoir. (…) la vie quotidienne, telle qu elle appara t dans son recueil, il l a toujours observ e travers les lunettes de la litt rature.” 41 In other courtesan letters from Alciphron, the context of Athens primarily in the fourth century B.C. is considerably more obvious, for example, when the historical figures of the courtesans Phryne (Epist. 4.1, 4.3, 4.4, 4.5), Lamia (Epist. 4.16), Leontion (Epist. 4.17) and the comic poet Menander (Epist. 4.18 und 4.19) are mentioned. 42 On the “programmatic” names of the letter-writers used by Alciphron, Anderson (1997: 2201) comments: “One of the obvious sources of entertainment is the series of extraordinary proper names invented or assembled for the characters (…). The procedure reflects a tradition at least as old as Old Comedy: in general these are redende Namen betraying some essential aspect of the subject s occupation or environment (…)” (see also Ozanam 1999: 18 – 19 with n. 22). This statement can be equally applied to Aristaenetus; see Arnott (1982: 292 – 293, 317). 43 The standard critical edition of Aristaenetus, which is used here, is that of JeanRen Vieillefond (ed.), Arist n te: Lettres d amour. Texte tabli et traduit, Paris 1992. Albin Lesky (ed.), Aristainetos: Erotische Briefe, Z rich 1951, provides a German translation with extensive introduction and notes. 44 Epist. 1.14 (p. 29.1 – 8 Vieillefond): Oute aqk¹r 2ta¸qam oWde pqotq´peim, oute k¼qô tir 1v´kjetai, pºqmar !qcuq¸ou wyq¸r. J´qdei lºmom douke¼olem, oq hek-

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Here, again, a pragmatist is presented who emphasizes her long professional experience in order to disarm any suspicion that she is na ve and easily seduced (Epist. 1.14, pp. 29.8 – 30.17 Vieillefond). She gives her motto with irony with the words that money is the strongest proof of a perfect love that she knows.45 The fact that she includes herself among the pºqmai illustrates her distance from the elegiac puella. 4.2 Aristaenetus: Epistle 2.13 Aristaenetus Epistle 2.13 offers us a picture of a hetaera fundamentally different from that of Alciphron s Petale. The author of this short letter is Chelidonion,46 whose name is programmatic, as the swallow (wekid¾m) was often seen as a lamenting bird in antiquity.47 The hetaera emphasizes her weeping repeatedly in order to allay the suspicion of her absent admirer Philonides that she loves another. Admittedly, she has accepted gifts from other admirers, but such conduct, which entails a conscious pretence (rpºjqisir), belongs to her profession and is thus not evidence that she prefers another to her Philonides. The fact that he went away while she was sleeping gives her occasion to stylize herself as lonely Ariadne, with the decisive qualification that for her, Philonides represents both Theseus and Dionysus. By this means, Chelidonion attempts once more cºleha lek\d¸air. T¸ owm l²tgm, § m´oi, diaqq¶cmushe t±r cm²hour 1lvus_mter t0 s¼qicci. Oqd³m rl÷r am¶sei t± jihaq¸slata7 t¸ pq²clata paq´wete ta?r woqda?r. T¸ d³ ja· Ådomter 5vgte “Oqj 1pihule?r, § paqh´me, cem´shai cum¶.” L´wqi t¸mor paqh´mor ja· jºqg, t± t_m !mo¶tym amºlata. 45 Epist. 1.14 (p. 30.17 – 18 Vieillefond): Wqus¸ou c±q le?fom tejl¶qiom toO jolid0 vike?m oqj oWda 6teqom. 46 In Lucian s Dialogues of the Courtesans, there is also a hetaera with this name (Dial. meretr. 10), but she displays no resemblance to Aristaenetus Chelidonion: she serves merely as an interlocutor for her colleague, Drose, who is abandoned by her lover because he has begun to study philosophy and now aspires to virtue. 47 Artemidorus (Oneir. 2.66) comments on swallows generally: vas· c±q t¹ f`om (i. e. wekid½m) h²matºm te sgla¸meim !¾qym syl²tym ja· p´mhor ja· k¼pgm lec²kgm. The lament of the swallow was particularly associated with the myth of Tereus (narrated by Ovid, Met. 6.412 – 674): Philomela, dishonoured by Tereus, the husband of her sister Procne, is turned into a swallow and continues to mourn the loss of her honour, so e. g. Anth. Pal. 9.57, 9.70 (esp. vv. 3 – 4: t¸pte pamal´qior co²eir !m± d_la, wekido?. / pa¼e , 1pe¸ se l´mei ja· jatºpim d²jqua), 9.210 (esp. v. 5: jimuqol´mam); further, Moschus 3.39; Seneca, Agam. 673 – 675; Statius, Theb. 12.478 – 480. Apart from lamenting, the song of the swallow was associated with unmelodious and unclear, even barbaric sounds: see e. g. Aeschylus, Agam. 1050 – 1051, fr. 450 Radt; Aristophanes, Frogs 678 – 682, Birds 1681; Lucretius, De rer. nat. 3.6 – 7.

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to demonstrate the seriousness of her love,48 of which the recipient of the letter also receives a visible sign: the appeal of the hetaera that she should not be blamed for her conduct is accompanied by her tears, which have fallen on the letter.49 The letter ends, significantly, with the assertion that she has written the letter overcome with sighing and weeping.50 The letter marked with tears is a motif of mourning, which is familiar, for example, from Ovid s Heroides. 51 Chelidonion s comparison with Ariadne also recalls the Heroides (see n. 20) as well as Catullus 64th poem.52 A considerable measure of the irony of Aristaenetus letter lies precisely in this comparison, since here, it is a “real” hetaera who laments and not a mythical heroine. The addressee of the letter is also no god or hero, but an ordinary young man. His removal from the sphere of gods and heroes is already achieved through his name, which means “one who delights in reviling or insulting”; further, Chelidonion speaks in her letter of his accusations, which in her view are unjustified.53 Chelidonion s detailed account of her feelings and her request that Philonides concede her point recall the appeal of the elegiac lover to his puella. The decisive difference here, however, is the role reversal: in Aristaenetus letter, the amator has become an amatrix, the domina almost a domi-

48 Epist. 2.13 (p. 72.4 – 8 Vieillefond): Ja¸toi le jahe¼dousam !ve·r L´caq²de pqos´ptgr7 1c½ d( !vupmishe?sa pq¹r 1lautµm 1bºym toOto7 “Oqj 5sti Vikym¸dgr, !kk± Hgse¼r.” Joilyl´mgm jatakip½m åwou. )qi²dmgm le p÷sai jakoOsi7 s» d³ Hgse»r 1lo· ja· Diºmusor. 49 Epist. 2.13 (p. 72.19 – 20 Vieillefond): Lµ s¼ce, d´olai ja· Rjete¼y, ja· jatasp´mdy d²jqua t_m cqall²tym. 50 Epist. 2.13 (p. 73.26 – 28 Vieillefond): TaOta c´cqava, mµ to»r =qytar, !shla¸mousa ja· dedajqul´mg jah( 6jastom ¨m 1p´stekkom !mastem²fousa. 51 Ovid, Her. 3.3 – 4, 15.97 – 98 (earlier, however, Propertius 4.3.3 – 4). This motif also appears e. g. in the letters of the late Greek orator Libanius (so in Epist. 1063.6 Foerster), who speaks of his own or of others tears astonishingly often, especially in cases of death (e. g. Epist. 388.1 – 2, 390.10, 1048.7, 1220.1, 1430.3 Foerster). 52 Catullus Ariadne also laments and weeps copiously, as in Carm. 64.60 (maestis … ocellis), 64.124 – 131 (esp. 130 – 131: atque haec extremis maestam dixisse querelis, / frigidulos udo singultus ore cientem) and 64.195 – 199. 53 Epist. 2.13 (p. 72.18 – 19 Vieillefond): S» d´ loi jatal´lv,, tµm rpºjqisim !cmo¶sar. See also the following lines (p. 72.20 – 22): nlyr Flaqtom, blokoc_, eU soi v¸kom "pk_r blokoco¼sgr !joOsai. Ja· Dm bo¼kei d¸jgm 1p¸her, pkµm toO diakOsai tµm Blet´qam vik¸am. Chelidonion s intention to seek to avoid the annoying of Philonides in the future (p. 72.24 – 25) also suggests how easily he is hurt and prone to arguing.

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nus, whose irritable nature, however, occurs together with jealousy, a characteristic trait of the typical elegiac lover.

5. Conclusions The discussion of Alciphron and Aristaenetus has shown once more that tears are a standard motif in elegiac texts (or in texts that are related to elegy). The two Greek epistolographers have achieved an attractive mixture of genres, combining the prose letter form with themes from elegy and comedy. In the two letters of Alciphron, the weeping of the admirer is confronted with the sober rationalism of the hetaera, which suggests an element of social realism. Aristaenetus epistle, on the other hand, seems to stand more obviously in the tradition of the elegiac lover s complaint, albeit with a significant male-female role reversal, which finds expression above all in Ovid s Heroides, equally a synthesis of letter and elegy, though in verse form. Inescapable elements of humour are associated with the motif of tears alike in the love elegies of Propertius and Ovid, and in the Greek erotic epistolography of the imperial period. At the same time, this theme illustrates the power relationship between the hetaera and her admirer: in Alciphron and Aristaenetus, tears are always those of the weaker figure, or at least of the suppliant. The parallels with Ovid s Heroides also make clear that it would be worthwhile to analyse these poetic letters along the lines pursued in this paper. Several themes found in the Heroides have already been mentioned in the poetological elegy 2.18 of the Amores cycle. At its beginning, it is stated that the poet has long wished to depart from love elegy, but whenever he rejected his puella – here merely a synonym for the Amores – she burst into tears and persuaded him with caresses to return to her (Am. 2.18.1 – 12). Consequently, he has given up his project of composing tragic poetry and devoted himself once more to the subject of love, this time with the Epistulae Heroidum, fictitious love letters from mythical women addressed to the men they love. The central importance of weeping and lamenting in the Heroides is clearly evident in the examples provided in elegy 2.18 (Am. 2.18.19 – 34): Phyllis tears are mentioned, Dido is designated as miserabilis, and Hypsipyle s letter to Jason is tristis. 54 Female tears in these elegiac letters are almost omnipre54 Weeping heroines appear already in Propertius: in elegy 1.15, the tearful Calypso, Hypsipyle, Alphesiboia and Euadne are contrasted with the faithless Cynthia.

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sent. When we include the pairs of letters (Her. 16 – 21) in our analysis, this is equally true for male tears: Paris, Leander and Acontius all weep (Her. 16, 18, 20). Although for reasons of space we cannot here undertake a detailed consideration of the role of tears in the Heroides,55 such an omission does not alter the representative conclusions of this discussion. On another level, it would be possible to argue that the texts examined here permit us to interpret weeping as a structural pattern that contributes to the establishment of social identity. As a cultural resource and practice, it can create coherence within Greek and Roman society, but at the same time provoke divergence, which brings with it a clearly structured effect. In the case of Roman elegy and Greek erotic epistolography, partially related to the former, this double function of tears is readily visible: the dichotomy of male and female behaviour in relation to weeping is not at all as unambiguous as it might at first sight appear. While elegy is already a literary genre in which male and female roles and identities are not clearly defined, indeed, in which these are to some extent even inverted in comparison to the tradition, it can be concluded that the motif of tears and crying is used to constantly renegotiate identities.

Bibliography Alfonsi, Luigi & Wilhelm Schmid (1959): s.v. “Elegie”. In: Reallexikon f r Antike und Christentum (vol. 4), Stuttgart, 1026 – 1061. Anderson, Graham (1997): Alciphron s miniatures. In: Aufstieg und Niedergang der rçmischen Welt II 34.3, 2188 – 2206. Armstrong, Rebecca (2005): Ovid and His Love Poetry, London. Arnott, W. Geoffrey (1982): Pastiche, pleasantry, prudish eroticism. The letters of Aristaenetus . In: Yale Classical Studies 27, 291 – 320. Baca, Albert R. (1971): The themes of querela and lacrimae in Ovid s Heroides. In: Emerita 39, 195 – 201. Baertschi, Annette M. & Thorsten Fçgen (2006): Zauberinnen und Hexen in der antiken Literatur. In: Gymnasium 113, 223 – 251. Baker, Robert J. (1983): The threshold of loneliness: Propertius, I.18. In: Carl Deroux (ed.), Studies in Latin Literature and Roman History III, Bruxelles, 126 – 140. Baker, Robert J. (ed.) (2000): Propertius I. An Introduction, Translation and Commentary, Warminster. 55 The paper by Baca (1971) contributes little to this subject and is largely confined to an examination of the significance of the word querela in the Heroides.

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Barsby, John A. (ed.) (1973): Ovid s Amores: Book One. Edited with translation and running commentary, Oxford. Barsby, John A. (1996): Ovid s Amores and Roman comedy. In: Papers of the Leeds International Latin Seminar 9, 135 – 157. Booth, Joan & Guy Lee (2000): Catullus to Ovid: Reading Latin Love Elegy. A Literary Commentary with Latin Text, London. Burck, Erich (1952): Rçmische Wesensz ge der augusteischen Liebeselegie. In: Hermes 80, 163 – 200. Burck, Erich (1963): Rezension von Georg Luck, Die rçmische Liebeselegie (1961). In: Gymnasium 70, 89 – 94. Burck, Erich (1966): Rçmische Liebesdichtung. In: Id., Vom Menschenbild in der rçmischen Literatur (vol. 1). Ed. by Eckard Lef vre, Heidelberg, 222 – 237. Burri, Renate (2004): Zur Datierung und Identit t des Aristainetos. In: Museum Helveticum 61, 83 – 91. Camps, William A. (ed.) (1961): Propertius: Elegies Book I, Cambridge. Chantraine, Pierre (1990): Dictionnaire tymologique de la langue grecque. Histoire des mots, Paris. Copley, Frank O. (1947): Servitium amoris in the Roman elegists. In: Transactions of the American Philological Association 78, 285 – 300. Dimundo, Rosalba (2000): L elegia allo specchio. Studi sul I libro degli Amores di Ovidio, Bari. Drews, Herma (1952): Der Todesgedanke bei den rçmischen Elegikern, Diss. Kiel. Du Quesnay, Ian M. Le M. (1973): The Amores. In: James W. Binns (ed.), Ovid, London, 1 – 48. Fauth, Wolfgang (1980): Venena amoris. Die Motive des Liebeszaubers und der erotischen Verzauberung in der augusteischen Dichtung. In: Maia 33, 265 – 282. Fçgen, Thorsten (2001): Ancient theorizing on nonverbal communication. In: Ruth M. Brend, Alan K. Melby & Arle R. Lommel (eds.), LACUS Forum XXVII: Speaking and Comprehending, Fullerton, California, 203 – 216. Fçgen, Thorsten (2004): Gender-specific communication in Graeco-Roman antiquity. With a research bibliography. In: Historiographia Linguistica 31, 199 – 276. Fçgen, Thorsten (2007): Splendeurs et mis res des courtisanes. Zur Charakterzeichnung in den Het renbriefen Alkiphrons. In: W rzburger Jahrb cher f r die Altertumswissenschaft N.F. 31, 181 – 205. Ford Jr., Gordon B. (1966): An analysis of Amores I 4. In: Helikon 6, 645 – 652. Fr caut, Jean-Marc (1972): L esprit et l humour chez Ovide, Grenoble. Gauly, Bardo Maria (1990): Liebeserfahrungen. Zur Rolle des elegischen Ich in Ovids Amores, Frankfurt am Main. Greene, Ellen (1998): The Erotics of Domination. Male Desire and the Mistress in Latin Love Poetry, Baltimore & London. Hallett, Judith P. (1973): The role of women in Roman elegy. Counter-cultural feminism. In: Arethusa 6, 103 – 124.

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Hohenwallner, Ingrid (2001): Venit odoratos elegia nexa capillos. Haar und Frisur in der rçmischen Liebeselegie, Mçhnesee. Hollenburger-Rusch, Caroline (2001): Liquitur in lacrimas. Zur Verwendung des Tr nenmotivs in den “Metamorphosen” Ovids, Hildesheim. Holzberg, Niklas (1997): Ovid. Dichter und Werk, M nchen. Holzberg, Niklas (22001): Die rçmische Liebeselegie. Eine Einf hrung, Darmstadt. Hubbard, Margaret (1974): Propertius, London. James, Sharon L. (2003): Her turn to cry. The politics of weeping in Roman love elegy. In: Transactions of the American Philological Association 133, 99 – 122. Kennedy, Duncan F. (1993): The Arts of Love. Five Studies in the Discourse of Roman Love Elegy, Cambridge. Kçlblinger, Gerald (1971): Einige Topoi bei den lateinischen Liebesdichtern, Wien. K ppers, Egon (1981): Ovids ,Ars amatoria und ,Remedia amoris als Lehrdichtungen. In: Aufstieg und Niedergang der rçmischen Welt II 31.4, 2507 – 2551. Laigneau, Sylvie (2000): Ovide, Amores I,6. Un paraclausithyron tr s ovidien. In: Latomus 59, 317 – 326. Lef vre, Eckard (1966): Propertius ludibundus. Elemente des Humors in seinen Elegien, Heidelberg. Lilja, Saara (1965): The Roman Elegists Attitude to Women, Helsinki. Luck, Georg (1961): Die rçmische Liebeselegie, Heidelberg. Lyne, R. O. A. M. (1979): Servitium amoris. In: Classical Quarterly 29, 117 – 130. Lyne, R. O. A. M. (1980): The Latin Love Poets. From Catullus to Horace, Oxford. McKeown, James C. (1989): Ovid: Amores. Vol. 2: A Commentary on Book One, Leeds. M ller, Richard (1952): Motivkatalog der rçmischen Elegie. Eine Untersuchung zur Poetik der Rçmer, Z rich. Murgatroyd, Paul (1975): Militia amoris and the Roman elegists. In: Latomus 34, 59 – 79. Murgatroyd, Paul (1981): Servitium amoris and the Roman elegists. In: Latomus 40, 589 – 606. O Neill, Kerill (1999): Ovid and Propertius. Reflexive annotation in Amores 1.8. In: Mnemosyne 52, 286 – 307. Opsomer, Thomas (2003): Referre aliter saepe solebat idem. The relation between Ovid s Amores and Ars amatoria. In: Carl Deroux (ed.), Studies in Latin Literature and Roman History XI, Bruxelles, 313 – 350. Osmun, George F. (1984): Desistas lacrimas. Tears in Latin elegy. In: Classical Bulletin 60, 45 – 47. Ozanam, Anne-Marie (ed.) (1999): Alciphron: Lettres de pÞcheurs, de paysans, de parasites et d h ta res. Introduction, traduction et notes, Paris. Papanghelis, Theodore D. (1987): Propertius. A Hellenistic Poet on Love and Death, Cambridge. Parker, Douglass (1969): The Ovidian coda. In: Arion 8, 80 – 97.

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Postgate, John P. (1901): Select Elegies of Propertius. Edited with Introduction, Notes, and Appendices, London. Prescendi, Francesca (2000): Klagende Frauen. Zur weiblichen Trauerhaltung in Rom. In: Thomas Sp th & Beate Wagner-Hasel (eds.), Frauenwelten in der Antike. Geschlechterordnung und weibliche Lebenspraxis, Darmstadt, 102 – 111. Reardon, Bryan P. (1971): Courants litt raires grecs des IIe et IIIe si cles apr s J.C., Paris. Reitzenstein, Erich (1935): Das neue Kunstwollen in den Amores Ovids. In: Rheinisches Museum f r Philologie 84, 62 – 86. Rosenmeyer, Patricia A. (2001): Ancient Epistolary Fictions. The Letter in Greek Literature, Cambridge. Sharrock, Alison R. (1991): Womanufacture. In: Journal of Roman Studies 81, 36 – 49. Sharrock, Alison R. (2002): Ovid and the discourses of love. The amatory works. In: Philip Hardie (ed.), The Cambridge Companion to Ovid, Cambridge, 150 – 162. Sˇterbenc Erker, Darja (2009): Women s tears in ancient Roman ritual. In: Thorsten Fçgen (ed.), Tears in the Graeco-Roman World, Berlin & New York, 135 – 160. Stroh, Wilfried (1979): Rhetorik und Elegie. Eine Studie zu Ovids liebesdidaktischen Gedichten. In: W rzburger Jahrb cher f r die Altertumswissenschaft N.F. 5, 117 – 132. Vieillefond, Jean-Ren (1979): L invention chez Alciphron. In: Revue des tudes Grecques 92, 120 – 140. Volk, Katharina (2002): The Poetics of Latin Didactic. Lucretius, Vergil, Ovid, Manilius, Oxford. Watson, Patricia (2002): Praecepta amoris. Ovid s didactic elegy. In: Barbara Weiden Boyd (ed.), Brill s Companion to Ovid, Leiden, 141 – 165. Wyke, Maria (1987): The elegiac woman at Rome. In: Proceedings of the Cambridge Philological Society 33, 153 – 178. Wyke, Maria (1989): Mistress and metaphor in Augustan elegy. In: Helios 16, 25 – 47. Yardley, John C. (1978): The elegiac paraclausithyron. In: Eranos 76, 19 – 34. Yardley, John C. (1987): Propertius 4.5, Ovid Amores 1.6 and Roman comedy. In: Proceedings of the Cambridge Philological Society 33, 179 – 189.

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Precibus ac lacrimis: Tears in Roman Historiographers Loretana de Libero “Be moved with my tears, my sighs, my groans” Shakespeare, Lucrece (v. 588) Abstract: This essay analyses tears in the works of the three major Roman historians, Livy, Tacitus and Ammianus Marcellinus. Given the amount of weeping and wailing recorded in these historical writings, the role and function of tears are presented and understood as a pattern of communicative human behaviour. Answers to various questions are sought, e. g. why do Romans cry, when and where, how are their tears conceived and reacted to. The paper will look at the culture of tears and their portrayal in the four most important and influential works of Roman historiography.

1. Introduction Many a tear is shed in Roman history. Yet modern scholars have seldom been moved by sobbing Romans to study the display of tears in Latin narratives. Crying men and wailing women do not seem to have attracted much scholarly interest so far. The reason is not that we have only few tear drops to consider. On the contrary, the accounts are filled with copious tears. The modern historian, though, is faced with the relevance of historical tears. Apart from the unsurprising fact that throughout history there is always someone crying somewhere at some time, dry doubts are raised about this wet affair: does the study of tears really extend our knowledge of ancient Rome? Have tears changed the path of history? What is the use of knowing that Caesar cried over the dead Pompey – if he cried at all? Writers imaginations, their use of sources and literary techniques might mislead the reader. Invented tears could be falsely taken as fact, truly delivered genuine weeping as fiction. Above all, there is the problem of pretended feelings in social intercourse. There is some doubt that a witness of tears will always have read the facial ex-

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pressions properly. The negative image of crocodile tears , an expression not known in antiquity, might also be used by ancient authors simply as a means of characterizing an alleged enemy of Rome. It is nearly impossible to clarify whether such a person described as drowning in false tears was actually behaving in cold blood or was in fact emotionally devastated. As the evidence of tears is perceived and distorted through a wide range of prismata the search for historical truth or rather probability in weeping scenes seems nearly fruitless and shall not be taken into consideration here. The modern scholar must, therefore, be primarily concerned with the depiction of weeping among ancient historians. The aim of this paper is merely to investigate who cries, when and where, for what reason and to what effect. By studying the multiple meanings of tears, conclusions may be drawn about contemporary crying habits which are hidden behind literary methods of presentation and tendentious portrayals of characters. This paper concentrates on the three major Latin historians whose writings will provide us with considerably detailed answers to our essential questions: Titus Livius (ca. 59 B.C.–17 A.D.), Cornelius Tacitus (ca. 55 – 117 A.D.) and Ammianus Marcellinus (ca. 330 – 395 A.D.).1

2. Livy At the mythical beginnings of the Roman Republic there lies the disgrace of a woman. The tragic fate of virtuous Lucretia, who falls victim to the mala libido of Sextus Tarquinius, has inspired many playwrights, particularly William Shakespeare. In 1594 he published a narrative poem called Lucrece which is mainly based on the legendary tale told by Livy in the first book of his Ab urbe condita (1.57 – 60).2 Crying plays an eminent role in this dramatic piece of English Renaissance poetry. Lucrece, assaulted by the tyrant prince in her bedroom, reacts with tears and desperate pleas to the threatening intruder (vv. 588 – 595):

1 2

For an analysis of the role of tears in Greek historiography see Lateiner (2009, in this volume). Further sources for this tale are Dionysius Halicarnassus 4.64 – 67; Diodorus 10.20 – 22; Cicero, De fin. 2.66; Ovid, Fast. 2.721 – 852; Valerius Maximus 6.1.1; De vir. ill. 9.1 – 5; Cassius Dio, fr. 2.13 – 19; Zonaras 7.11. Cf. Kowalewski (2002: 107 – 132) who is primarily concerned with gender aspects, but does not deal with female tears.

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“Be moved with my tears, my sighs, my groans: All which together, like a troubled ocean, Beat at thy rocky and wreck-threatening heart, To soften it with their continual motion; For stones dissolved to water do convert. O, if no harder than a stone thou art, Melt at my tears, and be compassionate! Soft pity enters at an iron gate.”

The very sight of her tears should have kept Tarquinius from undertaking his shameful deed. Lucrece s weeping pleads for pity. But the simple tears accompanied by heart-rending sobbing do not suffice. The distressed woman must explicitly name her tears, must intensify by words the effect of her outward signs of emotion. Despite all her verbal and non-verbal struggles she cannot, however, overcome the greedy lust of her rapist. In Livy s Roman history our heroine is less loquacious. Lucretia does not cry, at least not in the presence of imminent outrage. She is depicted as a steadfast, courageous woman fearing nothing but for her honour and reputation. Only after the rape are her feelings portrayed, but very moderately: she is full of sorrow about her great misfortune (maesta tanto malo), she sits sadly in her room waiting for her father and husband to come (sedentem maestam in cubiculo). When her relatives, familiar faces who are dear to her, enter the scene, she finally bursts into tears (adventu suorum lacrimae obortae). These tears mark the beginning of action: revealing (and reliving) the dreadful deed she exacts an oath of vengeance against Tarquinius from her father and husband before killing herself. Lucretia s tears are tears of great distress, but also a violent call for revenge; thus she is described by ancient authors as a strong woman with an animus virilis. The feminine characteristic of weepy weakness goes together with a manly demand for revenge.3 In the end, the moral integrity of our legendary heroine leads to the expulsion of the Tarquins. Why then Shakespeare? It is striking that in telling the tragic fate of this Roman noblewoman the English poet is more Livian than Livy himself. Tears surrounding a fierce call for revenge are indeed singular in the 3

Valerius Maximus 6.1.1: dux Romanae pudicitiae Lucretia, cuius virilis animus maligno errore fortunae muliebre corpus sortitus est; Ovid, Fast. 2.847: fertur in exsequias animi matrona virilis. For female helplessness amid tears see Livy 5.40.2: cum ipsa res speciesque miserabilis erat, tum muliebris fletus et concursatio incerta nunc hos, nunc illos sequentium rogitatiumque viros natosque cui se fato darent, nihil quod humani superesset mali relinquebant.

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extant portions of the History of Rome , whereas weeping is most commonly used by Livian characters as a way of eliciting pity or sympathy. Appealing tears, as we may call them, are shown as instrumental in making the people addressed, both men and women, react as desired. These tear drops belong to the lachrymose kind of open display. Thus, we find tearful demonstrations in public for those cities and regions in the ancient world that play a role in Livy s preserved 35 books out of 142: first and foremost in Rome itself (3.58.5, 5.40.3, 22.61.3), in its prominent places especially in the Forum (5.30.4 – 5) or in the Comitium, respectively in vestibulo Curiae (5.7.9, 5.7.11, 7.31.5, 22.59.16, 22.60.1, 23.20.5, 29.16.6, 45.20.6 – 9), then in Italy among the Sabines (1.10.1) or Lucanians (8.24.15), in the forum at Collatia (1.59.3 – 4), outside the town walls of Etruscan Sutrium (6.3.4) or in a hostile military camp (2.40.3 – 9, 21.12.4, 45.4.2), and, finally, in Macedonia at the king s court (40.8.20, 40.12.1 – 3, 40.16.1) or at an assembly in Amphipolis (44.45.8 – 11). Among the performers in tears are the Sabine parents trying to rouse their countrymen to wage war on behalf of their abducted daughters (1.10.1: lacrimisque et querellis), Roman fathers wanting to solicit people s pity for an accused son (1.26.12, 8.33.23) or a defiled, respectively slain daughter (1.59.4, 3.50.4, 3.58.5 – 6), weeping women including mother and wife pleading with an (relative) enemy to spare their country (2.40.2 – 3, 2.40.9: precibus lacrimisque) or entreating their husbands and sons to save them in times of great danger (5.40.3). Persuasive weepers are not only found among relatives but also among old acquaintances or even strangers in a broad range of politics, at home and abroad: senators, young and old, imploring voters to defeat a proposal (5.30.4 – 5), publicani inducing senators to abrogate official lease contracts (39.44.7 – 8: precibus et lacrimis), leaders of the oppressed Sutrium appealing to an allied Roman commander on the spot (6.3.4), conquered Campanians pleading with the consul for an opportunity to go to Rome and defend themselves before the Senate (26.27.10), or a defeated Illyrian king crying to a consul for mercy (44.31.13: preces lacrimasque). Apparently, appealing tears are a common phenomenon with foreign legati in Rome. Indeed, it may seem that in all of the few surviving cases, envoys, who have ineffectively solicited for political benevolence or military aid, react according to an established pattern. Whether of Italian or Greek origin they seek refuge in an impressive performance which always takes place in the Comitium in front of the Senate-house, though not in the venerable Curia itself (e. g. 43.4.8: flentes ante Curiam). Legati from help-seeking Capua, for example, are said to have burst into a flood of

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tears, as they stretched out their hands suppliantly to the consul breaking the news and at last threw themselves at his feet (7.30.20 – 21, 7.31.3 – 6). Envoys from allied Petelia, too, are reported to have prostrated themselves piteously on the floor of the vestibulum Curiae (23.20.5). Former enemies, on the other hand, have to be more inventive since the relationship with Rome is burdened by a problematic past, and possibly bad feelings still prevail. Delegates from Roman occupied Locri have therefore decided to act as wronged victims from the very beginning of their arrival in Rome. Their appearance aims solely at the emotional effect, since they need to be admitted to the Senate and plead their case about the atrocities of the Roman legate Quintus Pleminius and his garrison troops. Deliberately, they present themselves in the most wretched way to elicit pity, sympathy and, invaluably, curiosity: when approaching the consuls, who are sitting on their tribunal, they are clad in filthy clothes (29.16.6: obsiti squalore et sordibus), so as to demonstrate the desperate state of affairs in post-war Locri. Obviously they have thought that looking poorly will not do, and so they hold out olive-branches like suppliants and finally fling themselves onto the ground with tearful cries (29.16.7: cum flebili vociferatione). Only when addressed by the magistrates do they finally speak up and beg to be brought before the Senate (29.16.6 – 7). How quickly and flexibly diplomats are able to respond to suddenly altered circumstances is shown in the episode with the Rhodian legation of 167 B.C. (45.20.10). After the defeat of king Perseus at Pydna delegates from Rhodes crave permission to appear before the Senate to congratulate them on the victory and invalidate Roman accusations of treason. On hearing that they are not welcome and not considered friends and allies of the Roman people any more, they react at once, uttering the most lamentable entreaties and prostrating themselves before the consul in the Comitium. Faced with public hostility and a threatening attitude from the Senate, they quickly decide to put on mourning garments, which crowns their ostentatious show of distress and desperation (extemplo veste sordida sumpta). Moreover, they try to seek aid and allies in private, calling on the most influential nobiles who see themselves surprised by tearful pleadings (domos principum cum precibus ac lacrimis circumibant orantes; cf. 26.29.1 – 3, 26.29.5).4 4

For this incident see Polybius slightly different account in 29.19 and 30.4. The mere shedding of tears is reported in 4.9.1: legati ab Ardea veniunt (…) auxilium prope eversae urbi implorantes. Tears or ceremonial do not play a part in scholarly research on ancient diplomacies.

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It is striking that in Livy no tears are ascribed to the Curia. Still, admitted envoys refer in their appeals to the weeping of relatives and friends left behind, whether they stayed at home or are, in fact, standing right in front of the Curia (7.30.20 – 21, 22.59.16). The rhetorical function of pointing to a wider public outdoors is obvious, since the orators want to strengthen their sober arguments with a pathetic colouring or exert moral pressure on the ruling body. And yet, these sober speeches prove futile as all known requests are turned down. The Campanians eventually have to perform the deditio to get Roman military aid (7.31.3 – 6), the Roman captives of Cannae fail completely to secure the required ransom (22.61.3). In the light of these failures the complete absence of tears in the Curia is most unusual. Since we are dealing with a fragmentary work, we could only speculate on why such a conspicuous feature is missing in Livy s narrative. Either our Roman historian was loath to portray wailing orators in the Senate – his sympathy with this body is well known –, or weeping scenes might have been illustrated in the lost books, or crying never really happened, at least in the Republican period. With the Principate manners were changing anyhow. In the wake of recusatio imperii histrionic tears entered the Curia at last, and, as we shall see in the works by Tacitus, hypocritical weeping and crawling were gradually taking the place of free speech. Livy does not, however, evaluate the display of tears and cries either in political, diplomatic or in familiar relations. He merely states the simple facts . Certainly, in view of Roman greatness he observes the dramatic spectacle of diplomatic tears as a matter-of-course. The same might be said of the other few recorded examples of ritual behaviour involving appealing tears: parents clad in mourning garb to denounce their daughters abduction (1.10.1: maxime sordida veste), senators who strengthen attachment behaviour by taking voters by the hand (5.30.4), homeless Sutrines weeping at the feet of a Roman general (6.3.4), or an Illyrian king who performs the deditio while embracing the knees of a Roman praetor.5 Female tears and prayers are never sketched in a disparaging way (see especially 5.40.3, or 2.40.9, 6.3.4, 8.24.15, 26.9.7 – 8, 49.11.13 – 15, 39.11.7). Crying Roman matronae like Veturia and Volumnia or even alluring Sophoniba, who fight with appealing tears for men and country, are portrayed by Livy with sympathy and respect (2.40.2 – 9, 30.7.9). Therefore, a derogatory phrase in the Periochae ad librum 89 is somewhat sur5

44.31.13: ad preces lacrimasque effusus, genibus praetoris accidens. Cf. 34.11.5: legati (…) flentes ad genua consulis provolvuntur.

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prising, as regards Livian style and affection: Cn. Papirius Carbo is said to have met his death “crying like a woman” (flens muliebriter). The image of female tears is used here to stress the cowardice of an enemy in war, an image which has served its propagandistic purpose right up to modern wartimes (for cowardly tears in World War I, see e. g. Loez 2004: 220, 222 – 224). The gender stereotype of women s wailing weakness as recalled in the summary is contrasted with the sympathetic depiction of weeping women in Livy s extant narrative. And as to the way they die, these women, the Roman as well as the non-Roman heroine, whether Lucretia or, say, Sophoniba, face inevitable death intrepidly (1.58.7 – 11, 30.15.4 – 8). Yet, in comparing Livy s wording with his epitome the contradictions may be explained if we assume that in the lost original the verdict on Carbo was not given by Livy himself but by means of an indirect character portrayal, as is for example shown in 25.37.10, where Roman soldiers are berated by their commander who finds harsh words for their miserable conduct right before an engagement with the enemy (quod in muliebres et inutiles se proiecissent fletus potius). We are perhaps then justified in saying that what emerges as a possibly gendered prejudice does not hold true with Livy. The sincerity of tearful behaviour is hardly ever questioned. Actually, true Romans do not cry false tears; at least, this is what the preserved portions of Livy seem to convey. Certain virtues might have been reserved particularly for Romans, such as sinceritas, because in all the preserved books we only have two examples of feigned tears, and these are shed in Greek surroundings: during the war of succession in Philip s Macedonia Demetrius reproaches his brother Perseus with crying simulatae lacrimae (40.12.3), and the tyrant of Cibyra tries to ward off financial demands from the Roman consul per cavillationem, precibus et simulatis lacrimis (38.14.14). Most certainly Livy related the tearful defence of ex-praetor Ser. Sulpicius Galba before the people in 149 B.C., who had been charged with massacring Lusitanians in his former province Hispania ulterior.6 Yet, we only have a few hints remaining, since Book 49 is lost. The Periochae, however, relate Galba s moving appearance in court. When he realized that he was about to be condemned, he is said to have pleaded miserably in the assembly thereby producing his children effectively in his own defence. Galba s courtroom tears are mentioned in an epitomized 6

On this incident see M. Porcius Cato 51.198 – 199 ORF; Cicero, De orat. 1.227 – 228; Cicero, Brut. 90; Livy, Per. 49; Valerius Maximus 8.1.2; Appian, Ib. 225; De vir. ill. 47.7; Quintilian, Inst. orat. 2.15.8.

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fragment ad librum 49: Ser. Galba de Lusi]tanis reus product[us. liberaverunt eum] fili quos flens com[mendabat. This unheard-of spectacle proved very successful. The voters were so affected by his piteous appeals and, most of all, by the presence of the children, that Galba was acquitted in the end. According to Appian (Ib. 225) this scene was the first of its kind in Rome, though very common in Greek courts by then. We do not know if and how Livy has shown any concern for the sincerity of Galba s notorious tears. Reflections must therefore remain on the level of hypotheses. The (mis-)use of children is rarely found in Livy s extant narrative; in fact, more is said of their helpless crying. Apart from the Galba case there are the burning tears of king Perseus holding his son by the hand in the assembly at Amphipolis (44.45.8 – 10), and Coriolan s wife in tears with his children at her side (2.40.2, 2.40.9). Continual crying is voiced as the children from Sutrium are being dragged along by their grief-stricken mothers whose last resort is the Roman general Camillus. Though Livy does not go into detail here, his few sympathizing sentences add to the dramatic vividness of this particular tragic scene, and we can easily imagine the complex range of emotional response, verbal and visual, among the victims in view of the sadness of their terrible situation (6.3.4, cf. 5.42.4, 26.13.13, 2.33.8, 5.21.11, 23.42.5, 29.17.16, 38.22.8). It should be worth noting that not only mothers but also fathers shed tears in Livy on behalf of their offspring, just as women, mothers and wives cry for their country as well.7 Mostly, appealing tears are responded to with the intended consequences: in almost all recorded incidents weeping proves successful. Crying can be answered by the release of empathetic tears on the side of the listeners, can make the sympathizing audience act as desired or change the lamentable situation completely. Appealing tears demand action, and by soliciting pity this is accomplished. Misericordia is the key word which Livy himself lays emphasis on (23.20.5, 26.27.10, 30.7.9; cf. 1.26.12, 3.47.4, 3.58.6, 7.31.6, 26.29.5, 43.4.8; for this term see in general Schçggl 2002: 31 – 53). In fact, tears can do much more: tear-stained rituals can help open doors, say, to the Curia, to an acquittal in court or to the hearts of an enemy. Tears are used as watery weapons to gain mercy and forgiveness. Conversely, dripping tears could be the starting7

See e. g. 2.40.9: uxor deinde ac liberi amplexi, fletusque ab omni turba mulierum ortus et comploratio sui patriaeque fregere tandem virum (sc. Coriolanum). Cf. the military image in Florus 1.38.12: mater Veturia lacrimis suis exarmavit.

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point of taking revenge. The communicative efforts of the considered emotional rituals seldom fail. The reactions may, of course, vary in degree and intensity; now and then the emotional responses even break halfway to action. Excessive showers of tears, then, occasionally will not do, as we can by chance conclude from the reaction of the audience in Amphipolis: confronted with Perseus burning tears it refuses to respond beyond mere compassion (44.45.11: ipsa ingemuerat lacrimaveratque). Not only do tears need to be shed and seen, tears almost always need words around them (compare e. g. 5.30.4 – 7 to 3.58.6 or 45.8.2 – 8). As the tears hinder the Macedonian king from proceeding, the quite sympathetic crowd (multitudo) is unwilling to listen to his substitute, a Cretan in royal service, and refuses point-blank (44.45.11 – 12). As seen also in this case, responses to an emotional performance are dependent on contextual variables such as the prominence or attachment to a certain person. Moreover, the right time for wet eyes plays an important part in the politics of empathy. In the shadow of Pydna, the king s piteous appeals can only produce but basic feelings because his attentive listeners are already thinking about wriggling themselves out of the whole affair (44.45.11): et quidam ausi sunt media ex contione succlamare abite hinc ne qui pauci supersumus propter vos pereamus. Some in the middle of the assembly had the audacity to shout out: Go away, both of you, lest we few who have survived perish on your account. 8

But not only in nearly-defeated Macedonia, in Rome, too, context-specific aspects can influence the natural human inclination to give comfort or run to aid. The adverse circumstances in the Second Punic War for example prevent the Senate from helping poor Petelia in spite of all pity and understanding: the tearful prayers of the Petelian envoys do cause the Senate to reconsider its declining decision, but after reviewing their military resources the senators nevertheless have to admit that they are at present completely unable to protect their allies against Hannibal (23.20.5 – 6). Significantly, lack of publicity is the cause of the further ineffectiveness of tearful performances. Two preserved examples show how petitioners relying on tears in the private sphere can fail, as the Saguntine who creeps secretly into Hannibal s camp to achieve some favourable conditions for his town (21.12.4), or the Capuan father who wants to reconcile his rebel son with conciliatory Hannibal (23.8.4 – 23.9.13). 8

The translations of longer passages are largely based upon the editions of the Loeb Classical Library; the translations of shorter excerpts are my own.

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Apart from the vast group of appealing tears some minor categories can be observed which are naturally of different purpose and effect. Inappropriate tears for example are a special kind of tears that unintentionally evoke negative feelings such as anger or disdain. Release of tears is often defined essentially by its proper timing, staging and framing (e. g. 30.44.4 – 11). Ill-timed mourning tears can, in fact, prove fatal: triumphant Horatius for example stabs his sister because she is crying publicly for her slain fianc e, then enemy of Rome (1.26.2 – 5). Weeping is deemed inappropriate when people have been indulging in tears for too long, and thus time and required action have been delayed needlessly (1.59.3 – 4). But then, there is always a good and noble Roman to bring men to their senses again and call for action (Brutus e. g. as castigator lacrimarum atque inertium querellarum in 1.59.5). As Cicero claims, the Romans see themselves as having always waged justified wars in defending their allies (De off. 2.26, De rep. 3.35). Consequently, tears in Livy, too, are mingled with the idea of bellum iustum, for example when Camillus tells the expelled Sutrines not to wail any more because he is going to bring grief and tears to their enemies, the Etruscans, instead (6.3.4: parcere lamentis Sutrinos iussit; Etruscis luctum lacrimasque ferre; cf. 9.7.4, 22.14.8). Likewise, a military leader can rebuke his soldiers for their mourning tears and enforce emotional discipline. His powerful adhortatio is a striking example of timeless military conceptions inasmuch as we find these patriotic ideas again in modern wartime speeches and on memorials to the fallen in order to give death on the battle-field a (future) meaning (25.38.8): vos quoque velim, milites, non amentis lacrimisque tamquam extinctos prosequi – vivunt vigentque fama rerum gestarum –, sed, quotienscumque occurret memoria illorum, velut si adhortatis signumque dantis videatis eos, ita proelio inire. And I would have you, my soldiers, not follow them (sc. the fallen commanders) with tears and laments as though they had ceased to be, for they live and are strong in the glory of all that they have done, but go into battle thinking of them as if they were here to encourage you and give you the signal.

Tears of grief play no small part in Livy. Apart from Horatia s ill-timed mourning, the idea of suffering is expressed very convincingly in the touching sketch of Cicero s death in 43 B.C. Though we only have a fragment from lost book 120 (Seneca, Suas. 6.17.22), it conveys quite sufficiently the deep distress felt in Rome when the Triumviri were exhibiting Cicero s head and hands on the Rostra. The Romans, it is said, could

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hardly raise their eyes filled with tears to look at the mutilated parts of his body (vix attollentes lacrimis oculos homines intueri trucidati membra civis poterant).9 Furthermore, a fallen consul is mourned cum multis militum lacrumis (10.29.19; cf. 8.10.1), and tears are shed about the fate of Roman prisoners of war (22.61.3). Last but not least, we hear of the crying and wailing of the conquered over the destruction of their city, which is “psychologically convincing” (Ogilvie 1984: 121), though nevertheless topical, as the example of the legendary excidium Albae shows (1.29.4 – 5): ut vero iam equitum clamor exire iubentium instabat, iam fragor tectorum, quae diruebantur, ultimis urbis partibus audiebatur pulvisque ex distantibus locis ortus velut nube inducta omnia impleverat, raptim quibus quisque poterat elatis cum larem et penates tectaque, in quibus batus quisque educatusque esset, relinquentes exirent, iam continens agmen migrantium impleverat vias, et conspectus aliorum mutual miseratione integrabat lacrimas, vocesque etiam miserabiles exaudiebantur mulierum praecipue, cum obsessa ab armatis templa augusta praeterirent ac velut captos relinquerent deos. But now they were roused by the shouts of the cavalry ordering their instant departure, now by the crash of the houses undergoing demolition, heard in the furthest corners of the city, and the dust, rising in different places, which covered everything like a cloud. Seizing hastily what they could carry they went out of the city and left behind their hearths and household gods and the homes, in which they had been born and brought up. Soon an unbroken line of emigrants filled the streets; mutual pity, as they gazed at one another, caused their tears to start afresh. Cries of grief, especially from the women, began to make themselves heard, as they walked past the venerable temples and saw them occupied by troops, and felt they were leaving their gods as prisoners in an enemy s hands.10

Religion and tears go hand in hand: women break into tears at the sight of temples as a sign of pietas muliebris (1.29.5; cf. 26.9.7 – 8), religious arguments combined with tears lead to the rejection of a proposal (5.30.4 – 7), and from the sphere of prodigia weeping images of gods are reported (40.19.2, 43.13.4).

9 Further sources are: Seneca, Suas. 6.17 – 27; Seneca, De tranqu. an. 9.16.1; Plutarch, Cic. 49, Ant. 20; Appian, Bell. civ. 4.80 – 81; Cassius Dio 47.8.3 – 4 ; Velleius Paterculus 2.66.3 – 5; Florus 4.6.5 (civitas lacrimas tenere non potuit, cum recisum Ciceronis caput in illis suis rostris videret); Eutropius 7.2.2; De vir. ill. 81.7. 10 Cf. Quintilian, Inst. orat. 8.3.67 – 69. Ogilvie (1984: 122) suggests the reading mulierum, praecipue cum which is equally possible in view of 6.3.4. On the urbs capta motif see Paul (1982) and Webb (1997: 121).

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Further information is provided for the sphere of militiae where there is an abundance of grief and tears. A Roman imperator experiencing the misery of his allies swears that he will avenge them by bringing grief and tears to their enemy (6.3.4: luctum se lacrimasque ferre). The contemporary image of a bloodless victory (e. g. 2.31.6; Sallust, Hist. fr. 3.19 Maurenbrecher = 3.16 McGushin) is compared by Livy with the notion of tearful defeats (30.10.20: inter adsiduas clades ac lacrimas).11 Tear-provoking situations are depicted in the literary topos of the weeping victor: M. Claudius Marcellus is said to have shed tears at the sight of Syracuse, partly for joy over his great success (gaudio tantae perpetratae rei), partly for the glorious past of the conquered city (vetusta gloria urbis) soon to perish amid flames and turn to ashes (25.24.11 – 14)12. Aemilius Paullus, too, starts crying, when he receives the letter of submission from Perseus (45.4.2 – 3: ipse inlacrimasse dicitur sorti humanae),13 and Caesar is reported to have wept when seeing Pompey s severed head and his ring (Per. 112: infessus est et inlacrimavit).14 Killing fields are an appropriate place for tears as well: during the battle of Cannae Consul L. Aemilius Paullus is asked to save at least his life because there has been too much grief and tears already (22.49.8: lacrimarum satis luctusque). In a contio before his soldiers the Livian Scipio maintains that he sentenced Roman mutineers to death with pain, tears and groans (28.32.4: tum se haud secus quam viscera secantem sua cum gemitu et lacrimis). During the conflict of orders a case of fraternisation occurs: Roman soldiers who are supposed to fight against each other shake hands instead and embraced one another, all in tears (7.42.6: salutationem factam et permixtos dextras iungere ac complecti inter se lacrimantes milites coepisse coactos11 Cf. for example the image of a tearless victory (Plutarch, Mor. 318B: m¸jgm %dajqum). 12 Many a convincing thought has been voiced about this famous hellenistic topos which need not be repeated here. See Marincola (2005), Jaeger (2003: 230 – 233), Rossi (2000), Carawan (1984/85), Hornblower (1981: 104 – 106) and de Romilly (1977: 8). 13 In Polybius 29.20 and Plutarch, Aem. 26, albeit not in Livy 45.7.2 – 45.8.7, Aemilius is only weeping at the sight of Perseus himself. On this scene see Levene (2006: 87 – 92) and Pelling (2005: 297 – 299). 14 Though not recorded in Caesar, Bell. civ. 3.106; but also in Valerius Maximus 5.1.10; Plutarch, Caes. 48 and Pomp. 80; Cassius Dio 42.8.1 – 3; Lucan 9.1010 – 1108; Eutropius 6.21.3; Orosius 6.15.29. Octavian, too, is said to have cried over his rival, the dead Antonius (Plutarch, Ant. 78); see Bleicken (1998: 293): “seine Tr nen sind nicht mehr als die billige Zugabe eines Historikers, der r hrselige Effekte liebte.”

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que consules, cum viderent aversos a dimicatione militum animos, rettulisse ad patres de concordia reconcilianda). Various other kinds of tears also receive attention in Livy. Tears of joy, gaudio lacrimae, he mentions rather frequently (5.7.11, 27.17.16, 27.19.12, 34.50.1), but he attaches also great importance to tearful distress (22.60.1, 40.8.20), to the empathetic response to the misery of a third party absent (39.11.7), to the shedding of tears at the exposure of a violated woman s body (1.59.3 – 4), or to arousal of empathetic tears through rhetorical techniques (7.40.15). Tears born of a certain helplessness (23.9.9), visual marks of suffering and frustration (30.15.1), or comfort crying (39.46.8: ad deflendae solacium venerunt) are depicted, too, even silent tears are mentioned (3.47.4: tacito fletu; 45.8.2: diu tacitus fleret). Remarkable is Livy s observance of the connection between crying, speaking and breathing, thereby sketching tears falling and how they hinder speaking, and cause the voice to fail, sometimes combined with a shortness of breath (40.16.1: dicenti haec lacrimae simul spiritum et vocem intercluserunt; see 3.50.4, 34.50.1, 40.12.2, 44.45.10 – 11). Nearly cried tears are mentioned as well: Hannibal is said to have been on the verge of tears on hearing that he had been summoned back from Italian soil to Africa (30.20.1: frendens gemensque ac vix lacrimis temperans). Besides the self-denial of tears moments are recorded where human suffering has no more tears left to be shed.15 Whether verae lacrimae (40.12.3) or not, Livy s history of Rome is full of tears which seem to convey a certain code of crying habits and emotional expressions of his time. Regardless of the problem of whether the recorded tear drops have really fallen, all these various kinds of manipulative, expected, unwanted or topical tears, of parental, male or female weeping, its purpose and effect, duration and intensity, could give a clue to human emotional behaviour, or to the expectations of Livy s upper-class readers, or even to the Roman society of the late Republic or early Principate. As interesting as it may be to compare our results with other sources of the time, we are to limit our study to the occurrence of tears and weeping in ancient historiography, and have to leave this 15 25.26.10: postremo ita adsuetudine mali efferaverant animos, ut non modo lacrimis iustoque comploratu prosequerentur mortuos sed ne efferrent quidem aut sepelirent, iacerentque strata exanima corpora in conspectu similem mortem exspectantium, mortuique aegros, aegri validos cum metu, tum tabe ac pestifero odore corporum conficerent; modelled after Thucydides dramatic account of the plague at Athens (2.51 – 52). See Rodgers (1986).

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compelling task to another occasion resigning ourselves here to compare or state possible coincidences only in our three authors.

3. Tacitus In Tacitus Annales and Historiae, there is so much crying that nearly every book has its tearful fill. In this literary vale of tears there is weeping and wailing everywhere. Throughout the reigns of five emperors tear shedding is recorded by Tacitus for both urbs and orbis terrarum: in Rome the Senate or the Curia are particularly mentioned (Ann. 1.11.3, with 1.7.5, 3.12.7, 4.8.2, 4.9.1, 16.31.1, 16.34.2), as well as the Forum (Hist. 3.68.2 – 3), the Theatrum Pompeii (Ann. 3.23.1), the cubiculum principis (Ann. 11.2.2, 11.3.1; Hist. 3.38.3), the Gardens of Lucullus (Ann. 11.37.4), or the houses of distressed Roman nobles (Ann. 15.62.2). On the streets and in the towns of Italy (Ann. 3.2.2; Hist. 3.31.2), even on an island, at dismal Planasia or in belligerent Britain, men are bursting, even melting into tears (Ann. 1.5.1, 14.33.1). Last but not least, tear drops have a prominent place in military camps from the river Thames to the river Euphrates (Ann. 1.23.1, 1.40.3, 1.41.1, 1.49.2, 15.16.4; Hist. 1.69, 1.82.1, 2.29.2 – 3, 2.45.3, 2.48.1, 2.49.3, 4.46.3, 4.72.2 – 3). Wailing and gnashing of teeth are found among friends and enemies, strangers and relatives. Emperors are inclined to shed a tear now and then (Ann. 3.12.7; Hist. 3.58.3, 3.68.2), but seem more often to take a devilish delight in making their subjects cry (Ann. 3.23.1 – 2, 6.12.2 – 3). Military leaders and soldiers abroad are prodigious weepers (Ann. 1.23.1, 1.49.2, 15.16.4; Hist. 1.69, 1.82.1, 2.29.2 – 3, 2.45.3, 2.48.1, 2.49.3, 3.31.2, 4.46.3, 4.72.2 – 3) as are senators and knights at home (Ann. 1.7.1, 1.11.3, 4.8.2, 4.9.1). People of Rome and Italy, or, say, Londinium are teary-eyed (Ann. 3.2.2 – 3, 3.4.1, 14.33.1). Men and women shed tears (Ann. 3.23.1, 4.68.3, 15.62.2, 16.34.2; Hist. 2.70.3, 5.3.1), grandfathers cry for their grandsons (Ann. 1.5.1, 6.46.4), children for their parent(s) (Ann. 12.47.5, 14.17.1, 16.13.2; Hist. 3.25.1 – 3). Husbands and wives exhibit tears (Ann. 1.40.3, 1.41.1, 6.10.1, 16.13.2), a desperate widow (Ann. 4.53.1), a sly brother or an innocent daughter as well (Hist. 3.38.3; Ann. 16.31.1), naturally an adulteress has her share in this wet business (Ann. 11.37.4, 14.1.3). It is small surprise that in Tacitus these visible marks of human emotions are present, though each tear shedding is a performance of its own, as regards circumstances, causes, aims and intensity.

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Appealing tears are as common a feature in Tacitus as they are in Livy, though we do notice some decisive differences. Tacitus stresses the manipulative intention of crying more directly and often in derogatory terms (e. g. Ann. 11.2.1 – 11.3.2, 11.37.4, 14.10.2; Hist. 1.69, 2.29.2 – 3). The moist eyes of some suppliants are said to be frequently deceiving. More than once a falsa lacrimula (Terence, Eun. 65) is wiped away. With Tacitus we are in the age of dangerous despots and zealous informers which means that upper-class Romans have to conceal their feelings lest they should endanger their own lives with imprudent words or open tears. The culmination of teary hypocrisy in the Principate is, of course, the show of recusatio imperii in the Curia: when the emperorto-be, Tiberius, already commander-in-chief and in possession of all rights and potestates, refuses the burden of government just for show, the senators duly start their weeping and wailing to persuade the holder of supreme power not to give up (Ann. 1.11.3: patres quibus unus metus si intellegere viderentur, in questus lacrimas vota effundi). While the senators act successfully to meet the demands of a new princeps, more than fifty years later another princeps plays the dramatic part himself, paradoxically to gain the status of being a privatus again. In December 69 A.D. Vitellius, fearing for himself and his family, came to an understanding with the Flaviani (Hist. 3.65.1 – 3.67.1; Suetonius, Vit. 15; Dio 65.17.1 – 2). According to Tacitus he convenes an assembly in the Forum to proclaim his resignation . Clad in mourning garb (pullo amictu) with his little son at his side he is said to have attempted a teary exitus de imperio (Hist. 3.68.1, 3.69.1). Recommending his family, brother, wife and children, thereby holding up his little one to the friendly audience, he himself is overwhelmed by his desperate situation. Finally, tears choke his voice, and he seeks to resign symbolically – offering his dagger, the symbol of the emperor s right over life and death, to the consul present (Hist. 3.67.2 – 3, 3.68.3, 3.70.1). Perhaps his pathetic performance was then interpreted by the spectators as a new kind of recusatio. Tacitus himself states that never had such a scene been witnessed before (Hist. 3.68.1). In any case, the consul refuses, the crowd joins in with protest, and finally Vitellius has to return to the palatium without having achieved his object. The failure of his tearful display is afterwards judged by the Flaviani, especially by his opponent T. Flavius Sabinus, the brother of Vespasianus, to be mere deception (Hist. 3.70.1: simulationem prorsus et imaginem deponendi imperii fuisse ad decipiendos tot illustres viros). Besides, already before this dramatic scene Vitellius is depicted by Tacitus as prone to weepiness: he is supposed to have aroused pity and short-lived support in a drafting

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assembly in Rome by every possible means of emotional display (Hist. 3.58.3: vultu, voce, lacrimis). But while Vitellius uses tears to elicit assistance exclusively in favour of himself and his relatives, some of his family members do not seem to be so scrupulous: his father is said to have brought ruin to a former friend with false tears converting, by hypocrital pleading, an impending acquittal into the death penalty.16 And the emperor s brother, too, is said to have used appealing tears, preces lacrimasque, as a lethal weapon against a personal enemy (Hist. 3.38.3). Apart from A. Vitellius there is yet another imperator who cries pleadingly in Tacitus, and with his tears we enter the military sphere: M. Salvius Otho succeeds in quelling a mutiny with pleas and tears, even if rather laboriously (Hist. 1.82.1: contra decus imperii toro insistens precibus et lacrimis aegre cohibuit). Besides, mutinies are the cause for a flood of tears: mutineers themselves cry for mercy after their outrage (Hist. 2.29.2: precibus ac lacrimis veniam quaerebant). A ring-leader instigates fresh rebellion in his camp by tearfully claiming the pretended killing of an alleged brother and demanding his non-existent corpse from the commander (Ann. 1.22.1 – 1.23.5). Civil war history is lachrymose, too: defeated Vitelliani fear for their lives and plead effectively with their comrades from the victorious party to come to their aid (Hist. 4.46.1 – 3), and through silent tears of empathy compassionate soldiers pray for their beaten comrades who present themselves in a most miserable state.17 During the siege of Cremona in 69 A.D. officers assail a traitor with tears to intercede on their behalf (Hist. 3.31.2). Well known and told in connection with various fratricidal wars is the moving story of a soldier slaying his father whom he has taken for an enemy. On recognizing his parent he beseeches forgiveness from his manes (Hist. 3.25.2 – 3: voce flebili).18 In normal wartime situations tears figure less prominent16 Ann. 11.3.1: sed consultanti super absolutione Asiatici (sc. Claudio) flens Vitellius, commemorata vetustate amicitiae utque Antoniam principis matrem pariter observavissent, dein percursis Asiatici in rem publicam officiis recentique adversus Britanniam militia, quaeque alia conciliandae misericordiae videbantur, liberum mortis arbitrium ei permisit; et secuta sunt Claudii verba in eandem clementiam. 17 Hist. 4.72.3: stabant conscientia flagitii maestre, fixis in terram oculis: nulla inter coeuntes exercitus consalutatio, neque solantibus hortantibusve responsa dabant, abditi per tentoria et lucem ipsam vitantes. nec proinde periculum aut metus quam pudor ac dedecus obstupefecerat, attonitis etiam victoribus, qui vocem precesque adhibere non ausi lacrimis ac silentio veniam poscebant (…). 18 Tacitus gives Vipstanus Messalla as his source. Elsewhere this narrative, a classical civil war topos, is concerned with two brothers and set in the Sertorian War

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ly: in vain, the people of Londinium entreat the Roman commander not to abandon them (Ann. 14.33.1: fletu et lacrimis); and conversely, implacable soldiers are finally moved to tears by the persuasive appeal of a Helvetian envoy to save his hometown Aventicum. Harsh, though, is Tacitus verdict on their emotional mutability (Hist. 1.69): mox ut est volgus mutabile subitis et tam pronum in misericordiam quam immodicum saevitia fuerat, effusis lacrimis et meliora constantius postulando impunitatem salutemque civitati impetravere. A mob is always liable to sudden changes of feeling, and the men were now equally prone to pity as they had been exorbitant in their rage. Thus with streams of tears and importunate praying for a better answer they procured pardon and survival for the town.

Weeping heroes are rarely found in the works of Tacitus, seldom is the shedding of tears depicted as an honest, heartfelt plea for an honourable cause. The tearful pleading of women is similarly portrayed, there seems to be no gender difference. Mostly, the individual female weeper is also of quite a dubious character, like disreputable Lepida who fights the accusations of her ex-husband in public (Ann. 3.23.1: lamentatione flebili), wilful Agrippina who asks Tiberius for a husband (Ann. 4.53.1 – 2; cf. 4.52.2: semper atrox), or adulterous Poppaea who wants to be Nero s wife by all means (Ann. 14.1.1 – 3). These women underpin their crying either with intimate cajolery, with bitter reproach face-to-face or an open accusation in front of a large theatrical audience. Unsurprisingly, the adulteress is the only one who succeeds. Elsewhere however, the release of female tears in Tacitus is illustrated as authentic. Tears expressing fear, grief and distress are recorded (Ann. 1.40.4 – 1.41.1, 16.13.2), even wailing self-pity (Ann. 11.37.4). Funeral tears have their due place (Ann. 6.10.1, 16.13.2), courtroom tears , too, though of an innocent maid (Ann. 16.31.1), and even ghostly lamentation is heard of – as a sinister sign of violent death (Ann. 14.10.3: et erant qui crederent sonitum tubae collibus circum editis planctusque tumulo matris audiri). In fact, even more stunning is the singular example of female tearlessness in Tacitus: on being captured, Thusnelda, pregnant wife of Arminius, refrains from shedding one single tear (Ann. 1.57.4: neque victa in lacrimas neque voce supplex, compressis intra sinum manibus gravidum uterum intuens). Despite all the great emotional stress this proud woman does not cry, though she must be aware of her future fate; later on she and her little son will be by Granius Licinianus 35.24 (ed. Barbara Scardigli, Firenze 1983), or at the time of Cinna s March on Rome by Livy, Per. 79; cf. Lucan 7.617 – 631, 7.775 – 776.

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shown in the triumphal procession of Germanicus (Strabo, Geogr. 7.1.4). Whether this episode is purely accidental or a tribute to the revered barbarians we are at a loss to tell. In Tacitus Germania the evidence for tears is meagre, the question is only raised in connection with a positive valuation of Germanic mourning rituals (Germ. 27 : lamenta ac lacrimas cito, dolorem et tristitiam tarde ponunt. feminis lugere honestum est, viris meminisse). Sometimes tears may not go beyond the immediate situation, as is shown by one remarkable example with which Tacitus reveals the true nature of empathetic tears: deeply affected by the eloquence of an accused nobilis Messalina shows an abundant tearfulness, which Tacitus in fact portrays as genuine. Although expressing this particular empathetic emotion, it has not in the least shaken her resolution to see the man sentenced to death (Ann. 11.2.1 – 2: ingressusque defensionem, commoto maiorem in modum Claudio, Messalinae quoque lacrimas excivit. quibus abluendis cubiculo egrediens monet Vitellium, ne elabi reum sineret). Messalina s tears respond to the rhetorical skill of the defendant, to the 1m²qceia, the vivid images of his appeal (for this rhetoric concept see Webb 1997: 112 – 127). His artful speech aims to arouse pity and correspondent action but fails to achieve its intended effect on the emperor s wife; she is moved but not persuaded. However masterful, the rhetoric is doomed to fail because Messalina is ruled by other, stronger emotions, most of all avarice. She is determined to take possession of the victim s famous gardens, the Horti Lucullani, in which she, by a fateful irony, is eventually going to die (Ann. 11.2.1, 11.37.4). Children, too, cry in Tacitus, though he seems not very much interested in their emotional conduct and is tolerably curt: matter-of-factly he states for instance the mourning of the sons of Mithridates (Ann. 12.47.5: caedibus parentem inlacrimaverant; cf. 14.17.1). Another passage illustrates rather dramatically the fatal outcome of a plague in Rome, during which bereaved wives and children are said to have often been carried off to the same pyre as their dead fathers and husbands (Ann. 16.13.2: qui dum adsident dum deflent, saepe eodem rogo cremabantur). As in Livy, the misuse of children is depicted, too, publicly by the emperor Vitellius as shown above (Hist. 3.68.2: filium protendens, modo singulis, modo universis commendans), and privately, intra cubiculum, by Vitellius brother who while hugging his nephew defames a Roman nobilis (Hist. 3.38.3). As we can see from these last two examples, adult tears are regularly accompanied by an effective demonstration, verbal and non-verbal. Petitioners in tears fling themselves to the floor (Ann. 1.23.1), raise their hands to the gods or to the knees of an emperor (Ann. 1.11.3), fall on

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their own knees in front of their princeps (Hist. 3.38.3), hug comrades (Hist. 4.46.3; cf. 3.25.2), or introduce children to the scene (Hist. 3.38.3, 3.68.2). The amazing range of emotional display provides for nearly every possible situation. Therefore, more than one incident of the recorded pleadings proves successful. Misericordia is felt deeply by the spectators, sometimes spontaneously, even excessively, and sometimes only momentarily (for this term in general Schçggl 2002: 55 – 73, and Levene 1997: 136 – 147). Naturally, functional tears are context-specific. The right time and place of the performance, a responding receiver or audience and the appropriate choice of means are decisive. Unsurprisingly, inappropriate or ill-considered behaviour like protest crying, invoking Republican ancestors in public (Ann. 3.23.1), or bitter reproaches (Ann. 4.53.1) will not have the desired effect. Occasionally, external circumstances like the mutability of the fortune of war may prevent support, as in the case of oppressed Londinium or Cremona. Adding to this, in all the various forms of entreaty the moral character of a pleading person does not appear to have any impact on an intended effect. On the contrary, an immoral person like Vitellius brother or Poppaea is often more capable of inducing intended emotions or provoking the right action with their tears. All in all, appealing tears in Tacitus may often be attractive to the internal audience but, unlike in Livy, the emotional manipulation or rather blackmail lurks behind these special tears most of the time. Apart from preces lacrimasque another important group in Tacitus works are mourning tears, sincere or counterfeit. Soldiers mourn over the death of a popular imperator (Hist. 2.49.3). Wives and children cry over beloved husbands and fathers (Ann. 16.13.2), sons mourn for their murdered parents (Ann. 12.47.5), and a mother bewails her executed son (Ann. 6.10.1). Even a false brother can be deplored by a deceiving mutineer (Ann. 1.22.1 – 1.23.2). Play-acting, so Tacitus, fits in well with the needs of the Principate, and to say it with Shakespeare (Macbeth I 7), far too often the “false face must hide what the false heart doth know” (compare especially Ann. 1.7.1). On the death of an old princeps or young prince the upper-classes are at pains not to show too much grief or too much joy (Ann. 1.7.1), and they often grieve more for show than from real pain (Ann. 4.12.1: habitum ac voces dolentum simulatione … occulti laetabantur). Tota Italia sheds genuine tears for dead Germanicus, though the princeps is said to have not (Ann. 3.2.1 – 3.3.1, 3.4.1, 3.5.1 – 2, 3.12.7), the death of the Drusi is lamented more or less sincerely (Ann. 3.5.1 – 2, 4.8.2, 4.9.1, 4.12.1), and after the matricide Nero feigns tears for his slain mother (Ann. 14.10.2: ipse diversa simulatione maestus

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et quasi incolumitati suae infensus ac morti parentis inlacrimans). The need for false tears shows how perilous an honest tear for the wrong person could be during a despot s reign: under Tiberius an old mother is accused and killed because she deplored the death of her executed son (Ann. 6.10.1; cf. 12.47.5); mourning and burying are prohibited in the case of those who have been accused of participating in Seianus conspiracy (Ann. 6.19.2 – 3). Therefore, nobiles doomed to death tend to ask their grieving friends to stop crying, but take revenge (Ann. 2.71.2 – 4) or save their own lives which may be in danger because of their friendship and sympathy (Ann. 15.62.2, 16.34.2; cf. 2.48.1). As regards minor categories of weepiness, we notice tears of joy (Ann. 1.5.1, 1.7.1; cf. 2.45.3), tears of farewell (Ann. 1.40.3: multo cum fletu complexus), and anticipating tears (Ann. 6.46.4). Resigned weeping occurs (Hist. 5.3.1), just as tearful expressions of grief and despair (Ann. 1.40.4 – 1.41.1, 2.70.3, 3.17.2, 3.49.1, 16.31.1; cf. 1.58.2), or even of self-pity (Ann. 11.37.4). And famous lacrimae ducum are found at the end of a mutiny to mark the beginnings of reconciliation (Ann. 1.49.2; Hist. 2.29.3). Empathetic tears are shed by a compassionate audience which responds in a lively way to teary lamentations, backing its own crying with curses hurled at the author of such misery (Ann. 3.23.1: tantum misericordia, permovit, ut effusi in lacrimis saeva et detestanda Quirinio clamitarent). Much sympathetic weeping is found in the army: soldiers shed showers of tears at the sight of their beaten comrades (Ann. 15.16.4: sola misericordia valebat; cf. Hist. 2.45.3, 2.70.3), or are quickly moved from hateful feelings to excessive pity and sympathy by the rhetoric of a skilful envoy (Hist. 1.69; cf. Messalina s tears in Ann. 11.2.2). A similar emotional approach to human misery is shown among individual weepers, as is the case with aristocrats crying for their condemned friends (Ann. 15.62.2, 16.34.2). Rendered prominent is the knight Titius Sabinus, a friend of the late Germanicus and his family, who instantly succumbs to tears on being reminded of their pitiable plight (Ann. 4.68.1 – 3: ut sunt molles in calamitate mortalium animi). The easily affected crowd is held in contempt by Tacitus, since it is depicted as quickly responding to the emotional appeals of others, quickly melting away in tears, readily falling from one passion into another, often immoderate and credulous (e. g. Hist. 1.69, 2.29.2 – 3; cf. Ann. 3.23.1, 15.16.4). Falsae lacrimulae (Catullus, Carm. 66.15) figure prominently in Tacitus: hypocritical grief is shown among the upper classes in Rome (Ann. 1.7.1, 4.12.1), senators cry histrionic tears in the Curia (Ann.

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1.11.3, 1.12.1, 4.8.2, 4.9.1), even the princeps lets a few drops fall when the occasion demands it (Ann. 14.10.2), not to mention the one notorious example of false mourning in the military sphere (Ann. 1.22.1 – 1.23.1). In all of these cases, the act of concealment serves multiple purposes, but mostly to hide fear or greed. In contrast to these various displays of false tears we understand that sincere tears like those of loyal friends or an old mother are considered dangerous, even a crime by a despotic ruler and his clique (Ann. 6.10.1: ob lacrimas incusabantur). This indirect ban on inappropriate tears is meant to be a warning to relatives, friends and supporters of the victims to behave themselves (Ann. 6.19.3). Apparently, it is feared that mourning tears will incite people to revenge and rebellion. In this respect, Tacitus offers in his works a rather unpleasant picture of imperial society and exhibits its progressive political and moral corruption in the shadow of an omnipotent princeps. Finally, silent tears moisten the eyes (Ann. 4.53.1: profusis diu et per silentium lacrimis; Ann. 16.31.1; Hist. 4.72.3), as does loud wailing (Ann. 4.9.1: magno fletu); crying prevents action (Hist. 5.3.1: per lacrimas torpentibus; cf. Ann. 15.16.4), and, in the end, proud as well as cruel tearlessness is witnessed (Ann. 1.57.4; Hist. 3.84.5: nullo inlacrimante; cf. Hist. 6.19.3). Tacitus lacrimae differ somewhat from Livy s. Whereas Livy only has two examples of insincere tears, Tacitus emotional perspective is far more pessimistic. Due in part to the conditions of imperial society, his protagonists, male as well as female, often use their tears to feign feelings, to bring ruin and death. As demonstrated above, appealing, mourning and empathetic tears can be deceivingly genuine: appealing for a cause one does not believe in, deploring a man one has not liked and shedding tears for a person one wants to destroy. Success does not necessarily depend on the reputation of a character, neither man nor woman. Control through crying and control over crying are the two major concepts of weepy manipulation in Tacitus. This is not to say, though, that we do not have normal tears, there is an abundance of tearfulness, both sincere and heart-moving at the same time, visible signs of sorrow and pain, of pity and sympathy. Mostly, the act of weeping is performed publicly, from princeps to plebs, and evidently, no one feels molested or takes offence – at least that is what Tacitus seems to convey. As does Livy, Tacitus deploys a series of human tragedies with the communicative help of tears.

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4. Ammianus Marcellinus Spoilt by the richness of lachrymose display in Livy and Tacitus, the modern historian is quite startled by the relatively meagre evidence of tears in Ammianus Marcellinus. The surviving parts of his Res gestae, of which about thirteen books out of thirty-one are lost, cover the years between 353 and 378 A.D. Maybe the non-existent passages would have enriched the material, but even in the remaining seventeen books, mourning tears have the greatest significance, represented by five incidents, as will be shown below; by contrast, other known types of weeping, say empathetic or feigned tears, are marginal. The places where tears are mainly found are located in or on the outskirts of the Imperium Romanum, especially affected are the various theatres of war at that specific time. Rome itself plays only a minor part as a stage for teary performances, due to the diminished importance of the city in the later Empire. As far as weepers in Ammianus are concerned, there is an Augustus shedding a tear as well as a Caesar (20.11.5, 22.9.4, 14.11.16), there are officials crying (19.10.2, 22.14.4), and women weeping (19.1.11, 29.2.3, 31.6.8, 31.8.8; cf. 18.3.2). Inhabitants of a captured town deplore their fate (24.4.25, 25.9.5), and soldiers weep on various occasions (19.5.8, 25.5.6, 29.5.12, 31.15.1). Tears are witnessed among foreign people like the Alamanni (28.2.8), Quadi (29.6.6), Mauri (29.5.15) and Persae (19.6.13). Twice has Ammianus personified Iustitia weeping over injustice (22.3.7, 28.6.1). Repeatedly, deplorable situations are visualized with metonymic images, whereby the fatal consequences of war are circumscribed: A commander is determined to extinguish war with “tears or blood” (17.12.21: lacrimae vel sanguis), nothing is left save “tears and fears” (25.4.25: praeter lacrimas supererat et terrores), and beaten aggressors behold their home “not without tears and lamentation” (17.6.2: lares suos non sine lacrimis reviseret et lamentis). Likewise, despotic outrage makes sure, according to Ammianus, that for its victims there will be “nothing left save tears and laments” (14.1.4), and a vile calumniator is to have caused sorrowful tears everywhere (29.2.1: lacrimis luctuosis). In this tearful atmosphere we distinguish the by now familiar type of appealing tears. In 307/308 A.D. scarcity of corn leads to tumult and riots among the citizens of Rome who seem to hold the prefect of the city liable for their troubles. Fearing for his life, the official therefore decides to take a great risk and presents his children to the raging crowd reminding them amid tears (lacrimans) that his little ones are starving, too. This pathetic scene does not fail to have its stirring effect on the citizens who

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promptly calm down and accept their impending fate with resignation – incidentally, fortunate circumstances will save them from starvation (19.10.2 – 3: qua miseratione vulgus ad clementia suapte natura proclive lenitum conticuit aequanimiter venturam operiens sortem). In this particular case, appealing tears accompanied by children s cuteness are successful in moving the audience to awaken feelings of pity and, paradoxically, to refrain from any action. While this incident is the only preserved example of child use in Ammianus, the other suppliants in tears rely on traditional rituals of submission or manipulation, as already seen in Livy s History of Rome . Ammianus for instance reports the detail of a rebel bowing down before a Roman general amid tearful self-accusations and entreaties (29.5.15: curvataque cervice humi paene adfixus, temeritatem suam flebiliter incusabat, pacem obsecrando cum venia). Additionally, our historian focusses on hand gestures, and relates that inhabitants of Nisibis pray in vain for the right of self-defence and stretch out their hands to the emperor who has ceded the fortified city to the enemy without a fight (25.9.2: manus tendentes flentesque orabant). And finally, he dwells briefly on the insincere display of non-verbal signs and utterances (22.14.4: lacrimas fingens et gemitu). In contrast to Tacitus, false tears are a rare species in Ammianus; in fact, they only occur in this passage. In conclusion, it can be stated that nearly all pleading performances prove successful, regardless of the question whether the power of tears, children s cuteness or reason of state has tipped the balance (29.5.16: susceptusque cum osculo, quoniam id rei publicae conducebat). Particular attention is paid by Ammianus to mourning tears. Not only are casualties regarded as lacrimosus (27.9.2: lacrimosa dispendia Afrorum; cf. 31.7.16: non tamen sine deflendis aerumnis exagitasse barbaram plebem); military disaster and its deadly outcome is bemoaned sufficiently: non-Roman soldiers weep over their dead comrades-in-arms (19.5.8: lacrimantes complurium mortes), or deplore loudly those fallen on the battle field (19.6.13: clamores dissoni … cum lacrimis). While Thessalian women bemoan the death of their fallen prince (19.1.11), the reaction of Quadians is quite remarkable, since the slaying of their king is not only idly bewailed but actively avenged by his infuriated subjects, turning from mourning to rage (29.6.6). This scene among others clearly indicates a gender-specific difference concerning weeping in women, who are elsewhere exclusively portrayed as victims all in tears, even though weeping is not regarded as unmanly; men can be both acting and resignedly weeping in Ammianus, as the following examples demonstrate as well: among the Romans dying Iulianus chides his grieved officers for their tears which he

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deems to be inappropriate, not because of any gender-role expectations but because for him there simply is no reason to cry.19 Indeed, after his death the critical war situation forbids just that, as a matter of fact there is no time for tears of mourning (25.5.1: nec fuit post haec lamentis aut fletibus locus; cf. 29.2.3). Ironically, later on, when realizing that their imperator has died, Iulianus soldiers break into tears and lamentations (25.5.6). As we move across the evidence for tears in Ammianus we can furthermore distinguish references to empathetic tears, in particular to those of emperors who show pity by weeping at the sight of a destroyed city (20.11.5, 22.9.4), and of compassionate citizens who still have tears left for the sufferings of fellow citizens (28.1.39: ut nec in alienis malis quorumdam exarescerent lacrimae, quod in variis et confragosis actibus vitae plerumque contingit). Imperial sympathy is further contrasted with the misery of the conquered. The description of an urbs capta is illustrated with piteous details: desperate people in floods of tears who are clinging to their doorposts, embracing their thresholds (25.9.5: turba flebilis, postes penatium amplexa vel limina, lacrimabat), fleeing citizens in tears throwing themselves headlong over the town walls (24.4.25), beautiful women, virgins and chaste matrons being carried off to violation (31.6.8, 31.8.7 – 8). Ammianus plays masterfully on the audience s emotions, even though he uses a well-worn literary motif. Yet the destruction of cities is by no means an experience of old times, as the fates of Nisibis (363 A.D.) or Amida (359 A.D.) alone show. Among the remaining few examples we may notice the surprisingly rare case of weeping in pain, which in the Res gestae belongs to the sphere of violence and death: on the battle-field there is heard the agonizing crying of the wounded and dying, even the loud wailing of, naturally, barbarian captives (29.5.12, 31.15.1). Elsewhere in the text we meet the amazing appearance of tear-filled self-pity (21.15.2: ultimum spirans deflebat exitium) and weepy self-accusation (14.11.16, 29.5.15). Amid these particular types, which we do not meet in Livy or Tacitus, the classical tears of grief are of hardly any consequence (28.2.8). The record of diverse tears in Ammianus can be concluded with the audible, though non-verbal, approach to emotional stress: sometimes producing tears is accompanied by groans (20.11.5, 22.14.4), sometimes tears are shed in silence (22.9.4: 19 25.3.22: et flentes inter haec omnes qui aderant auctoritate integra etiam tum increpabat, humile esse caelo sideribusque conciliatum lugeri principem dicens.

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tacitis fletibus), and sometimes showered loudly (29.5.12: ululabilis fletus; 19.6.13; cf. 31.15.1). In the Res gestae, there is not much interest in tears. Unlike his predecessors, Ammianus is often content with lachrymose images and literary topoi with markedly dramatic scenes. Thus, he displays a special liking for the urbs capta motif. However, his tearful depictions, though lacking a wide variety, are not without sympathy, and are indeed thoroughly comprehensible, as his protagonists, alas no weeping heroes, have always good reason to indulge in tears. 5. Conclusion Have tears changed the course of Roman history? The attentive Roman reader would have said yes: Lucretia s tear drops at the very beginning of Livy s Ab urbe condita mark the legendary beginnings of a new era, a new form of government arises out of the violation of a woman and her tearful cry for revenge. However unique this scene may be, it is the stimulating starting point for a study of crying behaviour in our three most important ancient historians. Given the amount of weeping and wailing recorded in their writings the role and function of tears are presented and understood as communicative. Men and women of different age and status are shedding tears, powerful tears, which are to elicit pity and sympathy. Weeping is conceived of as strategic, like appealing tears, but also seen as natural, like tears of grief and deep distress. Tears can stand for themselves or play an important supporting role in an emotional spectacle. Sometimes crying is deemed inappropriate, insincere or ill-timed. Personal preferences, political or military impact, or social conditions might influence the intended effect on the audience. Literary images, fictive though they are, conform to real life, and are therefore worth considering. Reasons for crying are manifold and comprehensible, from joy to grief, from greed to calculation. Women are not always victims, men not always dry-eyed. Publicly, privately burning tears are shed. Sunt lacrimae rerum, as Vergil says, and it is hoped that this study may have added some missing details to the ancient history of tears.

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Bibliography Bleicken, Jochen (1998): Augustus. Eine Biographie, Berlin. Carawan, Edwin (1984/85): The tragic history of Marcellus and Livy s characterization. In: Classical Journal 80, 131 – 141. de Romilly, Jacqueline (1977): The Rise and Fall of States According to Greek Authors, Ann Arbor. Hornblower, Jane (1981): Hieronymus of Cardia, Oxford. Jaeger, Mary (2003): Livy and the fall of Syracuse. In: Ulrich Eigler & al. (eds.), Formen rçmischer Geschichtsschreibung von den Anf ngen bis Livius. Gattungen, Autoren, Kontexte, Darmstadt, 213 – 234. Kowalewski, Barbara (2002): Frauengestalten im Geschichtswerk des T. Livius, M nchen & Leipzig. Lateiner, Donald (2009): Tears and crying in Hellenic historiography. Dacryology from Herodotus to Polybius. In: Thorsten Fçgen (ed.), Tears in the Graeco-Roman World, Berlin & New York, 105 – 134. Levene, David S. (1997): Pity, fear and the historical audience. Tacitus on the fall of Vitellius. In: Susanna Morton Braund & Christopher Gill (eds.), The Passions in Roman Thought and Literature, Cambridge, 128 – 149. Levene, David S. (2006): History, metahistory, and audience response in Livy 45. In: Classical Antiquity 25, 73 – 108. Loez, Andr (2004): Tears in the trenches. A history of emotions and the experience of war. In: Jenny MacLeod & Pierre Purseigle (eds.), Uncovered Field. Perspectives in First World War Studies, Leiden & Boston, 211 – 226. Marincola, John (2005): Marcellus at Syracuse (Livy XXV,24,11 – 15). A historian reflects. In: Carl Deroux (ed.), Studies in Latin Literature and Roman History XII, Bruxelles, 219 – 229. Ogilvie, Robert M. (1984): A Commentary on Livy, Books I-IV, Oxford (reprint of 1965, with addenda). Paul, G. M. (1982): Urbs capta. Sketch of an ancient literary motif. In: Phoenix 36, 144 – 155. Pelling, Christopher (2005): Pity in Plutarch. In: Rachel Hall Sternberg (ed.), Pity and Power in Ancient Athens, Cambridge, 237 – 251. Rodgers, Barbara Saylor (1986): Great expeditions. Livy on Thucydides. In: Transactions of the American Philological Association 116, 335 – 352. Rossi, Andreola (2000): The tears of Marcellus. History of a literary motif in Livy. In: Greece & Rome 47, 56 – 66. Schçggl, Jutta (2002): Misericordia. Bedeutung und Umfeld dieses Wortes und der Wortfamilie in der antiken lateinischen Literatur, Graz. Webb, Ruth (1997): Imagination and the arousal of the emotions in GrecoRoman rhetoric. In: Susanna Morton Braund & Christopher Gill (eds.), The Passions in Roman Thought and Literature, Cambridge, 112 – 127.

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The Weeping Wise: Stoic and Epicurean Consolations in Seneca s 99th Epistle Margaret Graver Abstract: Seneca s consolatory epistle to Marullus contains some philosophically interesting material. His distinction between two forms of virtuous weeping is presented in a manner consistent with the Stoic theory of emotions, although the apparent assertion concerning the phenomenology of eupathic response cannot be definitively confirmed for the early Stoa. In addition, the last paragraph of the letter gives evidence of a novel Epicurean strategy for consoling one who has lost a friend.

1. Introduction The consolatory letters and treatises of antiquity are not, on the whole, philosophically ambitious. They may appeal to What Philosophy Says , but their content usually tends towards the philosophical commonplace, platitudes of general application such as will find ready acceptance with the bereaved and perhaps provide some comfort. Yet consolation does sometimes cross-fertilize with serious intellectual endeavour. We can identify a number of instances in which philosophers of the Hellenistic period refer to the success or failure of particular consolatory techniques to establish a premise in moral psychology. For example, Epicurus, the Cyrenaic hedonists and Posidonius all expressed interest in the diminishment of grief over time, a consolatory chestnut if ever there was one, and Carneades is said to have squabbled with Chrysippus over the efficacy of quoting a particular passage of Euripides for the purposes of consolation.1 1

Chrysippus in Galen, De plac. Hipp. et Plat. 4.7.12 – 17 De Lacy (= SVF 3.466); Epicurus in Cicero, Tusc. 3.32; Cyrenaics in Diogenes Laertius 2.90; Posidonius in Galen, De plac. Hipp. et Plat. 4.7.4 De Lacy (= fr. 165a Edelstein & Kidd). For Carneades and Chrysippus see Cicero, Tusc. 3.59 – 60. For background on the consolatory tradition see Kassel (1958), Johann (1968), Manning (1981: 12 – 14) and Scourfield (1993: 15 – 23).

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We might expect, then, that a philosopher with strong interests in moral psychology would at some point explore the possibility of composing a consolatory epistle on a more doctrinal basis, assuaging his addressee s distress while simultaneously defending the position of his school. This is essentially what we find in Seneca s letter to Marullus, the last and least conventional of his five extant consolations. Shorter and more focussed than the three free-standing consolations of his early period, the work is presented as a long enclosure in the 99th Moral Epistle to Lucilius.2 Like the other late Epistles, it takes a disciplined Stoic line, closely integrated with otherwise attested Stoic theory on the emotions and on friendship. Its closest kinship is with Epistle 63, a consolation addressed to Lucilius himself upon the death of his friend Flaccus. The 99th is, however, considerably more careful than the earlier letter in drawing distinctions between phenomenologically similar forms of affect. From the outset Seneca s approach is remarkably bold. In his introductory note to Lucilius, he observes that the enclosed consolation does not conform to the usual model in that it declines to treat its addressee with gentleness. Marullus has lost a young son (a filius parvulus, though in view of Epist. 99.23 not actually an infant) and is bearing the loss “softly” (molliter); that is, with less firmness of self-command than befits a man of estimable character.3 For this reason Seneca deems that he merits reproach rather than consolation. At least that is what he tells Lucilius, and the opening sentences of the consolatory epistle itself are certainly very aggressive (Epist. 99.2): Solacia expectas? convicia accipe. Tam molliter tu fers mortem filii? quid faceres si amicum perdidisses? Do you expect solace? Here is chastisement. Are you so soft in bearing the death of your son? What would you be doing if you had lost a friend?4

2 3

4

The three consolatory treatises are dated by Griffin (1976: 349 – 350, 395 – 400, 518) to between 39 – 49 A.D., the Epistulae morales to 64 – 65 A.D. For a detailed overview of Seneca s consolations see Manning (1974). The word connotes failure to uphold the standard of masculinity and so is rendered by some translators “like a woman”. Compare Epist. 63.13, where Seneca interprets old Roman law to have said that while women may be permitted a year s mourning, there is no period of mourning appropriate to a man. Translations are my own throughout.

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We should not suppose, however, that this unusual rhetorical gambit is in token of some intention other than that of consoling the addressee.5 The epistle that follows does seek to assuage Marullus grief; it merely does so in an unusually rigorous way. The most committed Stoic might have enough regard for tradition – or tact – to make some concessions when dealing with the bereaved. Works of consolation, including Seneca s own, regularly give some leeway to grief experienced in moderation.6 Even Epistle 63 settles for urging Lucilius not to grieve “excessively” (plus aequo): “Not grieve at all? That I hardly dare to ask, though I know it would be better.” The present letter takes a sterner line: it argues, in essence, that it is not consistent with virtue to experience at all the emotion that is properly called grief. Consistent with Stoic values, Seneca denies both implicitly and explicitly that any real evil has befallen Marullus such as would justify his grieving. To modern sensibilities, and to many ancient sensibilities as well, this is a radical view; as Schorn (2009) suggests in this volume, it is a position specifically for those with some commitment to philosophy. Thus it is in keeping with the general tenor of the letter when Seneca refers in Epist. 99.14 to Marullus training in philosophy – and does so in a sarcastic manner: sine dubio multum philosophia profecit. The remark gives us some indication why this stern form of admonition is thought to be an effective consolatory technique. The rigid idealism appeals to Marullus own self-concept, by describing his recent behaviour as a temporary departure from his real nature as a morally excellent person. The rhetoric is of a piece with the compliment to Marullus virtus in the preceding sentence, and with the explanation at the end: “I am sure you have already said all these things to yourself (…) but you had gotten away from yourself for a little while” (Epist. 99.32). 5

6

I have not been convinced by the arguments of Wilson (1997) to this effect. Nor do I see any reason to doubt that Marullus is fully as real as other individuals named in Seneca s letters. It is possible that he was the same Junius Marullus who as suffect consul in 63 A.D. came into conflict with Thrasea Paetus (Tacitus, Ann. 14.48.2; the suggestion is made in Griffin 1976: 92, 495); or he may have been a relative. For the approval of “moderate emotion” (letqiop²heia, a position sometimes identified as Peripatetic or Old Academic), see especially [Plut.], Cons. Ap. 102d, quoting Crantor of Soli (compare Cicero, Tusc. 3.12, and see Graver 2002a: 190). Compare in Seneca s works Cons. Marc. 7, Cons. Polyb. 18 and Cons. Helv. 16. The topos and its implications are discussed by Cicero in Acad. pr. 2.135 (again with attribution to Crantor) and Tusc. 3.74. For Stoic objections see Tusc. 4.38 – 47, as well as Seneca De ira 1.7 – 8, 2.35, Epist. 85 and 116, with Dillon (1983), Wacht (1988) and Graver (2002a: 163 – 164).

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2. Mourning without Grief To develop his case, Seneca in the opening section appeals repeatedly to the contrasting case of the virtuous person who has lost a lifelong friend. The argument is a fortiori: the death of a friend is indeed a blow (it is damnorum omnium maximum, Epist. 99.3), and yet the proper response to such a loss is still not grief; rather, it is joy that one has had the privilege of friendship. By contrast, the death of a child does not deprive one of any positive good at all: it is one of those “illusory evils at which people groan for the sake of custom” (Epist. 99.3: istas umbras malorum quibus ingemescunt homines moris causa). For the child s character is still unformed and might have turned out badly. From this it does not follow that one is obligated to rejoice, as at the death of a friend; one might, however, accept the loss with equanimity. It is one thing to experience a “bite” or twinge of mental pain; another to turn that twinge into genuine grief, and this Marullus has done: non est dolor iste sed morsus: tu illum dolorem facis (Epist. 99.14). Insofar as it is grief he feels, he needs to be corrected. Having taken such a strong position, Seneca must now respond to the expected objection that the attitude he recommends is harsh and unfeeling. The complaint is an old one: Cicero (Tusc. 3.12; see n. 6) credits it to the fourth-century Academic Crantor of Soli, with mention of the philosophically charged term !p²heia (“impassivity”). For Seneca, the objection serves as an opportunity to clarify his position. He does not in fact claim that a person in time of bereavement should refrain from weeping. To attend the funeral of a family member without change of countenance or interior pain would be inhumanitas, an indication that one was simply insensate. That sort of attitude he considers unnatural.7 It is no part of Seneca s own program to try to remove the natural capacities of human beings, and these include the capacity for various forms of affective response. Indeed he holds that these capacities are incapable of being altered; if he did seek to remove them, his efforts would be to no avail (Epist. 99.15): Quid? nunc ego duritiam suadeo et in funere ipso rigere vultum volo et animum ne contrahi quidem patior? Minime. Inhumanitas est ista, non virtus, funera suorum isdem oculis quibus ipsos videre nec commoveri ad primam 7

He associates it with Cynic commitments; compare Epist. 9.1 – 3 and De brev. 14.2.

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familiarium divulsionem. Puta autem me vetare: quaedam sunt sui iuris; excidunt etiam retinentibus lacrimae et animum profusae levant. What s this? Am I now promoting harshness? Do I want your countenance to be frozen even at the moment of burial – do I forbid you even to experience a contraction of mind? Not at all. That is inhumanity, not virtue: looking upon the bodies of dear ones with the same eyes as you behold them in life, failing to be moved at the movement when the family unit is ripped apart. But suppose I did forbid it: some things are independent of our command. Tears fall even when we try to suppress them, and shedding them is a relief to the mind.

His objection is not to tears in themselves, and neither is it to the “contraction of mind” (inner sensation of pain) and changes of facial expression that accompany weeping. What virtue requires is just that Marullus should relinquish two forms of error: first and foremost, the erroneous belief that death is inherently evil (Epist. 99.12); second, the effort to conform to the expectations of the surrounding culture regarding grieving behaviour. Conventional forms of grieving – bursts of sobbing, beating oneself on the head, rolling off the couch, praying aloud for death – are additions to the natural response, conditioned by a morally compromised society. A sign of this is that people cease to behave in such ways when no observers are present: sine spectatore cessat dolor (Epist. 99.16). Another way of stating this same view is to say that tears, at least in some form, belong to the experience of the wise person, even though grief and many of its attendant behaviours do not. The wise or virtuous person, that ideal human being who serves as a convenient thought construct for all the ancient schools of ethics after Aristotle, must be assumed to exhibit every characteristic that one concedes is natural; ergo, if tears are a natural phenomenon, the wise person will shed them. In fact, says Seneca, there are two forms of weeping which would, in theory, be part of the wise person s experience (Epist. 99.18 – 19): (…) quas (sc. lacrimas) iudico sapienti viro alias permissas cadere, alias vi sua latas. Dicam quid intersit. Cum primus nos nuntius acerbi funeris perculit, cum tenemus corpus e complexu nostro in ignem transiturum, lacrimas naturalis necessitas exprimit et spiritus ictu doloris inpulsus quemadmodum totum corpus quatit, ita oculos, quibus adiacentem umorem perpremit et expellit. Hae lacrimae per elisionem cadunt nolentibus nobis: aliae sunt quibus exitum damus cum memoria eorum quos amisimus retractatur, et inest quiddam dulce tristitiae cum occurrunt sermones eorum iucundi, conversatio hilaris, officiosa pietas; tunc oculi velut in gaudio relaxantur. His indulgemus, illis vincimur.

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(…) it is my view that these (sc. tears) are shed by the wise person sometimes because released and sometimes welling up of their own accord. I will explain the difference. When we are first assailed by the news of an untimely death, when we are holding the body that is soon to pass directly from our embrace into the flames, tears are squeezed out of us by a necessity of nature: just as the breath, when struck by grief s blow, shakes the entire body, so does it press upon and expel the moisture in the vicinity of the eyes. These tears are shed due to internal pressure against our will. There are others, though, to which we give egress when we revisit the memory of those we have lost and find an element of sweetness in our sorrow – when their enjoyable conversation comes to mind, their cheerful presence, their loving services. At that time the eyes let themselves flow, just as in joy. These latter we indulge; the former, we are conquered by.

On the one hand, the wise person may sometimes weep involuntarily, with tears that flow “of their own accord”, squeezed out by a “necessity of nature” even against our will. This is weeping on the same basis as the non-culpable weeping of ordinary people. But it is also consistent with wisdom to shed tears in a more deliberate way, not involuntarily but “giving them egress”, “indulging” them as opposed to being conquered by them. These “released” tears express positive rather than negative feelings: they are a response to the “element of sweetness” that inheres in the memory of the enjoyable conversations, the cheerful presence, and loving services of the departed. They are like tears of joy: oculi velut in gaudio relaxantur. As such, they manifest the very attitude Seneca has already identified as the correct response to the death of a friend: rejoicing in the goods one has experienced through the friendship.

3. The Stoic Background 3.1 “A Necessity of Nature” Now up to this point the Stoic presuppositions of Seneca s consolation have been quite easy to recognize. Although he has so far refrained from making any specific reference to Stoici or nostri, readers who are even marginally acquainted with early Stoic thought should have no difficulty in recognizing the characteristic Stoic claims about the indifference of externals and about the dependence of grief and other emotions on false ascriptions of value.8 The valorization of wise friendship is also 8

Major sources for the emotions in Stoicism include Galen, De plac. Hipp. et Plat. 3 – 5; Cicero, Tusc. 3 – 4; Stobaeus, Ecl. 2.7.9b – 10e (88 – 93 Wachsmuth); Dio-

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familiar, as is the claim that while true friendship is indeed a good, the death of a friend is not cause for grief.9 We may therefore be inclined to suspect that the distinction Seneca draws between two types of virtuous weeping also has a grounding in the system of thought he inherited from the Hellenistic Stoics. But we should not take this for granted, because Seneca is quite capable of developing his own ideas, or of reinterpreting and reconfiguring the ideas of his predecessors so that they take on new implications – a point amply demonstrated in Inwood (2005). Concerning the involuntary tears there is considerable evidence to suggest that Seneca is indeed giving a fair representation of existing Stoic doctrine. A fragment of Chrysippus quoted by Galen is relevant in that it indicates that the Stoic founder had an interest in the causes of involuntary weeping and also of unintended cessation of weeping.10 Of more immediate significance, however, is a group of passages which mention tears, mental pain and “biting” in conjunction with the inner experience of the wise and virtuous person. Plutarch in De virtute morali 449a provides evidence that Zeno and Chrysippus, the particular Stoics he is criticizing in his work, drew a distinction between actual grief and fear – paradigm cases of emotions – and another, non-culpable level of response for which they employed a special terminology. For Plutarch this usage is hypocritical, a facile name-switching device meant to gloss over the indisputable fact that Stoics have the same emotions as other people. He writes (De virt. mor. 449a): ftam d³ dajq¼oir 1kecwºlemoi ja· tqºloir ja· wqºar letaboka?r !mt· k¼pgr ja· vºbou dgclo¼r timar ja· sumhqo¶seir k´cysi ja· pqohul¸ar t±r 1pihul¸ar rpojoq¸fymtai, sovistij±r dojoOsim oq vikosºvour diajqo¼seir ja· !podq²seir 1j t_m pqacl²tym lgwam÷shai di± t_m amol²tym. But when, refuted by their tears and tremblings and changes of colour, they say, instead of grief and fear, bitings and troublings , and use eagernesses

genes Laertius 7.110 – 117. For explication see Graver (2002a, 2007), Gill (2005), Brennan (2003), Sorabji (2000) and Long & Sedley (1987). 9 Major sources on friendship include Stobaeus, Ecl. 2.7.11i, m (101 – 102, 108 Wachsmuth); Diogenes Laertius 7.124; Cicero, De fin. 3.70. Seneca demonstrates his knowledge of this material in Epist. 9 and 109. On the friend s death see esp. Seneca, Epist. 9.4 – 5, explicitly reporting Stoic doctrine. 10 Galen, De plac. Hipp. et Plat. 4.7.16 – 17 De Lacy, quoting apparently from Chrysippus treatise On Emotions; see the edition by De Lacy (1978). The fragment is translated in Graver (2007: 90), with some attempt at interpretation.

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as a euphemism for desires, they seem to contrive sophistic switches and shifts away from reality, by their terminology.11

Reading through Plutarch s polemic, we can discern that the Stoics must have offered “biting” as a suitable term for a mental reaction which gives rise to tears but which is not properly characterized as grief. A similar assertion is to be found in Cicero s third Tusculan Disputation, in a passage representing Stoic views. Throughout this portion of his work Cicero has been explaining why he believes, following the Stoics, that the wise person is not susceptible to grief. Near the end he recapitulates the main points in support of this thesis: grief is empty , serves no good purpose, and is not in accordance with nature but is rather caused by false beliefs. At the same time, however, he allows that a lesser response, which he calls “a bite and a small contraction”, is natural even in the wise (Tusc. 3.82 – 83): Hoc detracto, quod totum est voluntarium, aegritudo erit sublata illa maerens, morsus tamen et contractiuncula quaedam animi relinquetur. Hanc dicant sane naturalem, dum aegritudinis nomen absit. Once this entirely voluntary belief (viz., that grief is appropriate) is removed, distress will be eliminated – the real, unhappy distress, that is, but the mind will still feel a bite and a small contraction from time to time. This last they may indeed call natural, provided they do not use the name distress .

It should be noted that bite and contraction are also securely attested terms in the usage of both Zeno and Chrysippus for the sensations experienced in the actual emotion of grief.12 Here, though, as in the Stoic writings criticized by Plutarch, the terms refer to a feeling which lacks the definitive characteristic of grief, namely its belief structure. This feeling is what we might call a mere biting or contraction, resembling grief in a way but devoid of ethical significance. Remarkably, both the concept of a non-culpable grief-like response and the specific terminology of “biting” and “contraction” are known also to Philo of Alexandria, the first-century Jewish scholar. Philo finds the Stoic distinctions convenient in his own work of Scriptural exegesis. For instance it enables him to explain how it is that Abraham, who for Philo is the exemplar of human excellence and ought therefore to be untouched by grief, nonetheless “came there to mourn” for his wife Sarah 11 The word troublings is my rendering of sumhqo¶seir, Sorabji s (2000: 40) emendation for the MS sum´oqsir. 12 Galen, De plac. Hipp. et Plat. 5.1.4, 4.3.2 and 4.2.4 – 6 De Lacy. See further Graver (2007: 28 – 32).

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(Genesis 25:2).13 In another passage (on Genesis 9:3), he solves the puzzle of how God can have instructed Noah to consume reptiles – in his system representative of the “poisonous passions” – by arguing that God was recommending only certain clean emotion-analogues. Instead of grief, which is a poisonous passion, God recommended only biting and contraction .14 Admittedly neither Philo nor Cicero speaks explicitly in these contexts of tears or changes of facial expression; their words concern inner sensations, which are not quite the same thing. But the expectation that inner sensations of this sort will sometimes be manifested in tears, trembling, paleness and so on, whether or not an actual emotion occurs, is probably implicit in their statements. It is this expectation that underlies the repeated device of the philosopher observing someone s tears or change of countenance and refusing to conclude that an emotion has occurred.15 That device, clearly known to Plutarch, is used also by Origen, who has independent knowledge of Stoic writings, to explain the weeping of Jesus at Gethsemane in Matthew 26:38 – 39. Because Jesus is fully divine, Origen wants him to be untroubled by any emotion. It is therefore an advantage for him to be able to say that despite his evident agitation, Jesus did not grieve “with the grief of emotion itself” (PG 12.1741 – 1742). It is in Origen, too, that we find this feeling that stops short of assent labelled pqop²heia ( pre-emotion ), the term that has become standard in modern discussions of this Stoic doctrine. Seneca has already demonstrated his familiarity with the pre-emotion concept (though not with the term itself) on a number of occasions. He explains it in considerable detail in De ira 2.2 – 4, where tears, changes of expression, trembling and paleness, figure as examples alongside more obviously mental events such as a momentary wish for revenge. In his writings he stresses that such phenomena are natural and not to be eliminated from human beings. Thus in De ira 2.2 tears and other quasi-emotional feelings prior to assent are called “things which come about through some requirement of the human condition and which, for that reason, befall even the wisest persons.” Similar observations are made in several of the Epistulae morales, in connection with blushing (Epist. 11.1), change of colour and expression (Epist. 57.2), and trembling 13 Philo, Quaest. Gen. 4.73. See further Graver (2007: 102 – 107; 1999). 14 Philo, Quaest. Gen. 2.57. See further Graver (1999: 316 – 318). 15 As also in the western tradition in Aulus Gellius, Noct. Att. 19.1, citing Epictetus, fr. 9.

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(Epist. 71.29).16 In Epist. 99.18, as we have seen, the phrase “a necessity of nature” (naturalis necessitas) marks the continuation of this theme. Here, too, he is merely lending support to an older Stoic position, for the same emphasis can be discerned already in the report of Cicero quoted above, where he says “the mind will still feel a bite and a small contraction” – will , not may – and adds that this lesser feeling can be called natural . 3.2 Eupathic Tears? But these are involuntary tears. What about the other sort of weeping Epist. 99.18 – 19 finds compatible with wisdom – the tears that are released willingly? We know from Cicero and from various Greek sources that a more robust level of affective response was also posited by Hellenistic Stoics as part of their conception of wisdom.17 The Greek term is eqp²heia ( good emotion or proper feeling ). Eupathic responses, like the emotions of the non-wise person, are impulses which come about when an agent assents to impressions concerning objects conceived as either good or evil. For instance, the eqp²heia of joy is defined as a “wellreasoned elevation” of mind in response to present goods, just as the emotion of delight is an “irrational elevation” in response to present goods. Being impulses, they count as voluntary actions, albeit voluntary actions of a special kind which consists especially in an alteration of the size or shape of one s psyche, i. e. of the sensitive pmeOla in the heart region. In addition to joy, there is caution, when the psyche retracts itself from prospective evils, and bo¼kgsir ( wish ), when the psyche extends itself towards prospective goods.18 So we have a hypothesis ready to hand: when Seneca speaks of tears as a voluntary reaction of the wise person, he is drawing upon his understanding of the Stoic doctrine of eupathic response.19 This supposition is confirmed by the mention of joy at Epist. 99.19: oculi velut in gaudio re16 Seneca sometimes associates the involuntary feelings with the irrational part of the psyche or simply with the body. See also Epist. 71.27, with the discussion in Inwood (2005: 41). I have not been convinced by the arguments of Fillion-Lahille (1984), Rist (1989) and Setaioli (2000: 141) that the association necessarily derives from Posidonius. For clarification concerning the Stoics version of bodysoul dualism see Long (1996: 224 – 249). 17 Cicero, Tusc. 4.12 – 15; Diogenes Laertius 7.115; Plutarch, De virt. mor. 449a; see also Plutarch, St. rep. 1037f – 1038a. 18 The genera are listed in Diogenes Laertius 7.115 and Cicero, Tusc. 4.12 – 15. There is no eqp²heia corresponding to distress. 19 The same suggestion has been made in Reydams-Schils (2005: 140 – 141).

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laxantur. For joy (gaudium) figures prominently in Seneca s philosophy as that feature of the wise person s inner experience that corresponds to pleasure or delight in the non-wise person. He explains the concept clearly as early as De vita beata (4.2 – 5) and explains its relation to integral goods at some length in Epist. 23.1 – 6 and 27.2 – 3. He also marks it as Stoic (ad nostram albam) and even quotes the Stoic definition (Epist. 59.2). His knowledge of the eqp²heia doctrine may not extend to the genera of caution and wish , but his thought on joy is well developed and clearly Stoic in inspiration. As a matter of procedure I must emphasize that here, as often in Seneca s writing, our best indication that he means to refer to an existing doctrine is less in his exact choice of words than in the inclusion of a key word within the relevant conceptual frame. The letter has already declared that the correct response to the death of a friend is rejoicing occasioned by memories of the friendship (Epist. 99.3 – 4). But what we ought to do is just the same as what the wise person does. Hence the sapiens at Epist. 99.18 – 19, who is remembering the various excellences of his friend, must indeed be rejoicing, and for Seneca to say that the eyes let themselves go “just as in joy” (velut in gaudio) is not an assertion that the relevant affective response is something other than joy. Conversely the mere mention of gaudium without the conceptual frame does not necessarily constitute a reference to eupathic joy. Even in this same letter, Seneca is capable of writing inprudentium ut gaudia sic dolores exundavere (Epist. 99.21), where the reference is unquestionably to the pathological delight (Bdom¶) of the non-wise. Cicero would have spoken with more precision, and yet Seneca s intentions are clear enough. If this analysis is correct, it tells us something interesting and important about how at least one Stoic author conceives of eupathic response. Our most comprehensive report on the eqp²heiai is that of Cicero in Tusc. 4.12 – 14, which names and defines the three genera of eupathic response and makes clear that these are the natural affective responses of the normative human being, of which the emotions we ordinarily experience are merely the perverted versions. But Cicero s report is not very informative about the phenomenological characteristics of these normative affective responses. He says only that the three genera involve the same psychic movements as the emotions (elevation, extension and retraction of the psyche) and that in joy, the mind is moved “quietly and consistently” in contrast to the “hollow” sort of elevation that is delight. Considering the sameness of the psychic movements, it has seemed to me most logical to suppose that the eqp²heiai were conceived as being phenomeno-

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logically quite similar to the ordinary emotions. They should lack the sense of struggle that comes of conflict among one s beliefs, but this need not mean either that they are lacking in intensity or that they are exempt from corporeal manifestations. In theory, it should be assumed that the wise person would sometimes weep with joy in a genuine present good, tremble with anticipation of some genuine prospective good, shudder or blanch in cautious aversion from some genuine prospective evil.20 But this much is not stated in Cicero, and our Greek sources, which are schematic in nature, leave the question open.21 It is interesting therefore to find that Seneca sees nothing wrong with describing the joy of the wise person as the sort of powerful feeling that might bring tears to the eyes. Should we regard this tearful aspect of eupathic joy as an innovation by Seneca, taking his Stoic inheritance in what is perhaps a new direction, or should we rather believe that this is one of those points where Seneca takes over an older position and makes it his own? Development on Seneca s part is certainly a possibility. But the absence of any explicit reference to tears of joy in the fragments of the old Stoa does not count as evidence that the original proponents of the eqp²heia doctrine did not conceive of these responses as capable of producing corporeal effects.22 It may be that they simply failed to comment on what might have seemed an obvious point, or it may be that they did comment and their comments failed to make it into the historical record. Or perhaps there is evidence we have heretofore failed to consider. In this context we should look at the paragraph from Philo s On the Migration of Abraham quoted in this volume by Konstan (2009: 314). I take the liberty of quoting it again here (Migr. 156 – 157 [= 2.299 Wendl]): )kk± c±q ja· to?r woqeuta?r !qet/r stem²feim ja· dajq¼eim 5hor, C t±r t_m !vqºmym aduqol´moir sulvoq²r, di± t¹ v¼sei joimymij¹m ja· vik²mhqypom, C di± peqiw²qeiam7 c¸metai d³ avtg, ftam !hqºa !cah± lgd³ pqosdojgh´mta pot³ aQvm¸diom albq¶samta pkglluq07 !v ox ja· t¹ poigtij¹m eQq/sha¸ loi doje? “dajquºem cek²sasa”. PqospesoOsa c±q 1j toO !mekp¸stou B 20 See further Becker (1998: 131 – 132; 2004) and Graver (2007: 52, 81 – 83). 21 Hence Cooper (2005: 179) describes phenomenology of the good feelings as “calm, steady, equable, smooth, and so on.” 22 Brennan (2003: 275 – 278) argues that the Stoics were not particularly interested in how emotions feel but only in their characteristic belief structure; presumably he would make the same point about the eqp²heiai. On the whole I agree with this: the phenomenology is largely taken for granted. Nonetheless, in those instances where it does become an issue, there is no reason it must be lacking in intensity.

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“eqpahei_m !q¸stg waq±” xuw0, le¸foma aqtµm C pqºteqom Gm 1po¸gsem, ¢r di± t¹m ecjom lgj´ti wyqe?m t¹ s_la7 hkibºlemom d³ ja· piefºlemom !post²feim kib²dar, $r jake?m 5hor d²jqua (…). But the devotees of virtue too have the tendency to groan and weep, either because they bewail the misfortunes of the foolish, thanks to a natural community and sympathy, or because of exceeding joy. This latter occurs when a multitude of good things that were previously unanticipated suddenly rain down and flood one. It is due to this, I believe, that the poetic phrase “laughing tearfully” was pronounced. For since “joy, the best of the good emotions” lighted unexpectedly upon her soul, it rendered it larger than it was before, so that because of its bulk the corporeal part could no longer contain it. Crushed and pressed, it dripped forth streams, which it is the custom to call tears (…).

The paragraph is one of many bits of Philo included by von Arnim in his massive compilation of Stoic fragments on grounds of recognizably Stoic terminology and phrasing. Here the phrase eqpahei_m !q¸stg waq± is unquestionably Stoic in origin and is marked as such by von Arnim. But there are additional elements here that are equally suggestive of influence from the Hellenistic Stoa. A minor point, but worth mentioning, is that the use of a Homeric tag is extremely infrequent for Philo but very much in the manner of Greek philosophers. More characteristically Stoic is the mention of a “natural community and sympathy”. Chrysippus in particular is said to have repeated his assertion that human beings have a natural sense of community and affinity to one another in virtually every one of his treatises.23 Still more striking is the notion that a sudden access of joy would cause a physical expansion of the psyche which would then produce weeping by a physical process, the psychic material being “crushed and pressed” through the tear ducts. These words bear a distinct resemblance to a remark securely attested for Chrysippus, that in anger we have a sensation of “something evaporating from the heart and blowing outwards toward the hands and face” (Galen, De plac. Hipp. et Plat. 3.1.25 De Lacy). And we have indications in Galen that Chrysippus gave similar physicalist explanations, now lost to us, for other affective sensations including those of fear, distress, confidence and joy (Galen, De plac. Hipp. et Plat. 4.7.3 – 4 De Lacy). So it is reasonable to suppose that Philo s explanation for tears of joy is one he remembered from reading in Chrysippus or in some compilation or doxography that gave evi23 Plutarch, St. rep. 1038b; and see Stobaeus, Ecl. 2.7.11m (109 Wachsmuth); Cicero, De fin. 3.68; Diogenes Laertius 7.123.

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dence of his views.24 The resemblance to Epist. 99.18 – 19 can hardly be denied. Not only do both make eupathic joy the kind of response that can produce tears, but both list two possibilities for virtuous weeping, and both offer a physicalist explanation for the production of tears – though in Seneca s case “internal pressure” (per elisionem) explains the involuntary tears rather than the joyful ones. So if Philo s language reflects old Stoic material, Seneca s presumably does as well.

4. An Epicurean Expedient Towards the end of Epistle 99, Seneca turns to criticize a rival strategy for consolation advanced by Metrodorus, the colleague of Epicurus. As Wilson (1997: 57) observes, Seneca appears to have been reading some volume that contained Epicurean material, for in Epist. 98.9 he quotes with approval the line “every good thing of mortals is itself mortal”, which, he says, is from “the letter in which Metrodorus consoles his sister for the loss of a son of excellent character” (ea epistula qua sororem amisso optimae indolis filio adloquitur).25 Now he reports an additional line, almost certainly from the same letter but containing a thought he finds less acceptable (Epist. 99.25 – 26): Illud nullo modo probo quod ait Metrodorus, esse aliquam cognatam tristitiae voluptatem, hanc esse captandam in eiusmodi tempore. Ipsa Metrodori verba subscripsi. Lgtqod¾qou 1pistok_m pq¹r tµm !dekv¶m. =stim c²q tir Fdomµ eim jat± toOtom t¹m jaiqºm. De quibus non dubito quid sis sensurus; quid enim est turpius quam captare in ipso luctu voluptatem, immo per luctum, et inter lacrimas quoque quod iuvet quaerere? Hi sunt qui nobis obiciunt nimium rigorem et infamant praecepta nostra duritiae, quod dicamus dolorem aut admittendum in animum non esse 24 Philo s immediate sources for Stoic thought are not known (but better than ours!); for informed opinions see Dillon (1996: 140 – 141) and Runia (2008). Winston (2008) emphasizes the detailed extent of his knowledge of Stoic views on emotion. Specifically on eupathic joy see further Philo, Quaest. Gen. 4.15 – 16, 4.19 and 4.101. 25 This must be the same collection of Epicurean epistles Seneca quotes from repeatedly in the Epistulae morales. The Greek of the fragment is partially corrupt in the MSS and is not otherwise attested; it has been restored by editors to match Seneca s Latin rendering. The inclusion of the identifier Lgtqod¾qou 1pistok_m pq¹r tµm !dekv¶m perhaps indicates the source is a florilegium, rather than a continuous text. See Ferguson (1990: 2280 – 2281) and Setaioli (1988: 171 – 182).

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aut cito expellendum. Utrum tandem est aut incredibilius aut inhumanius, non sentire amisso amico dolorem an voluptatem in ipso dolore aucupari? I do not by any means approve what is said by Metrodorus: that there is a pleasure which is akin to sorrow and that in this kind of situation one should try to catch that pleasure. Metrodorus exact words are as follows: “From Metrodorus letters to his sister. For there is a pleasure akin to grief which one ought to go hunting for in this situation.” I am not in any doubt as to what view you will take of these words. For what could be more shameful than to try to catch pleasure in the very midst of grief – indeed through grief – and to go looking for something delightful even amid one s tears? And these are the people who reproach us for excessive rigour and charge our teachings with harshness on grounds that we say one should either not admit grief into the mind or cast it out quickly. Which, pray tell, is harder to believe, and which is less human: not to feel grief when one loses a friend, or to go bird-catching for pleasure right in the midst of grief ?

What is it in Metrodorus recommendation that Seneca finds “shameful”, “hard to believe”, “inhuman”? We must assume that he understands “pleasure” here to refer to some form of bodily pleasure, some iucundum motum quo sensus hilaretur, as in Cicero, De fin. 2.8. The pleasure that is akin to (or “born with”) sorrow would then be a corporeal sensation, a physical release in yielding to sobs, perhaps. Metrodorus seems to be advising his sister that she should recognize and appreciate this pleasure as a kind of compensation for the mental pain of bereavement. The notion of a compensatory pleasure is at home in a hedonist system. For Epicureans, the aim of philosophical thought is to make intelligent use of the available sources of pleasure so as to achieve a life which is pleasurable on balance; that is, a life in which one s total pleasure exceeds ones total pain (Epicurus, Ep. Men. 129 – 130). But the particular recommendation made here – assuming Seneca understands it correctly – is slightly at odds with Epicurus own recommendation for the management of unavoidable mental pain. Epicurus seems to have conceded that the pain occasioned by the death of a close friend or family member is a veridical pain which cannot be eliminated simply by correcting one s false assumptions about value.26 But his own recommendation for counteracting this pain was that one should “direct the mind away” from the evil and “redirect” it towards goods, by remembering the pleasure experienced through the friendship.27 In other words, one is to compensate 26 This is reported in Cicero, Tusc. 3.28 and 3.32. See also Plutarch, Non posse 1101a – b (fr. 120 Usener). 27 Cicero, Tusc. 3.32 – 35; Plutarch, Non posse 1091b (fr. 423 Usener) and 1105e (fr. 213 Usener). A parallel text in Philodemus (De dis 3 col. 2.25 – 27 Diels)

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for mental pain by drawing upon a mental pleasure in much the same way as, in the famous letter to Idomeneus, he claims to be able to compensate for the pain of his fatal illness by drawing upon the memory of philosophical conversations (Diogenes Laertius 10.22). Metrodorus consolation strategy is different in that he suggests compensating for a mental pain with a corporeal pleasure. It may be that he, like the Cyrenaic hedonists of the same time, rejected Epicurus thesis that mental pleasures and pains are always of greater magnitude than corporeal ones (Diogenes Laertius 10.136 – 137). For Seneca himself, an important advantage of raising the Metrodoran claim is to clarify his own assertion about tears of joy. Metrodorus remark on the pleasure that is akin to pain bears some resemblance to Seneca s own observation in Epist. 63.4 that even the pain of loss is associated with pleasure (hic quoque morsus habet suam voluptatem).28 In the present letter, too, he had spoken of “an element of sweetness in our sorrow” (Epist. 99.19: inest quiddam dulce tristitiae). But the substance of the position is quite different. Seneca ultimately does not endorse the idea that pleasure can somehow come through grief, or that joy and grief can be mingled in any way. A mingling would entail that the two things one is experiencing simultaneously are in some sense comparable with one another, so that the more intense of the two will predominate in the mix. This is the essence of Epicurean consolation: one is to find a greater pleasure, whether a mental pleasure, as for Epicurus, or a physical pleasure as is apparently the strategy of Metrodorus. For Seneca, there can be no such comparison, and no counteracting. The joy experienced by the wise person in the memory of his friend is unalloyed. There may be involuntary tears, but the unassented biting manifested in them is completely inconsequential in comparison to the genuine and positive affective response he experiences in the goods of friendship. The two are simply not commensurable. Meanwhile the eqp²heia of joy may produce tears on its own account, voluntary tears from a response founded on assent. But these are tears in which there is no bitterness. uses the Epicurean term 1pibok¶; see Asmis (1984: 124). On Epicurean methods of consolation see further Kassel (1958: 29 – 32), Manning (1974: 79 – 81), Sorabji (2000: 233 – 237) and Graver (2002b). 28 Compare also the remark quoted in Epist. 63.5 – 6 from Seneca s Stoic teacher Attalus, that the memory of friends who have died gives a pleasure “like that of apples that are both tart and sweet, or like the pleasing acidity of an old wine.” But Seneca himself rejects this perspective, insisting that the memory of friends is only sweet (Epist. 63.7).

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Bibliography Asmis, Elizabeth (1984): Epicurus Scientific Method, Ithaca. Becker, Lawrence (1998): A New Stoicism, Princeton. Becker, Lawrence (2004): Stoic emotion. In: Steven K. Strange & Jack Zupko (eds.), Stoicism. Traditions and Transformations, Cambridge, 250 – 275. Brennan, Tad (2003): Stoic moral psychology. In: Brad Inwood (ed.), Cambridge Companion to the Stoics, Cambridge, 257 – 294. Cooper, John (2005): The emotional life of the wise. In: Tim Roche (ed.), Ancient Ethics and Political Philosophy. Proceedings of the Spindel Conference 2004 (= Southern Journal of Philosophy. Supplement 43), Memphis, 176 – 218. De Lacy, Phillip (ed.) (1978): Galen: On the Doctrines of Hippocrates and Plato (Corpus Medicorum Graecorum V 4.1.2), Berlin. Dillon, John (1983): Metriopatheia and apatheia. Some reflections on a controversy in later Greek ethics. In: John Anton & Anton Preus (eds.), Essays in Ancient Greek Philosophy (vol. 2), Albany, New York, 508 – 517 (reprinted in: John Dillon, The Golden Chain. Studies in the Development of Platonism and Christianity, Aldershot 1990, section VIII). Dillon, John (1996): The Middle Platonists, Ithaca, New York. Ferguson, John (1990): Epicureanism under the Roman Empire. In: Aufstieg und Niedergang der rçmischen Welt II 36.4, 2257 – 2327. Fillion-Lahille, Janine (1984): Le De ira de S n que et la philosophie sto cienne des passions, Paris. Gill, Christopher (2005): Competing readings of Stoic emotions. In: Ricardo Salles (ed.), Metaphysics, Soul and Ethics. Themes from the Work of Richard Sorabji, Oxford, 445 – 470. Graver, Margaret (1999): Philo of Alexandria and the origins of the Stoic pqop²heia. In: Phronesis 44, 300 – 325 (reprinted in: Francesca Alesse (ed.), Philo of Alexandria and Post-Aristotelian Philosophy, Leiden & Boston 2008, 197 – 222). Graver, Margaret (2002a): Cicero on the Emotions. Tusculan Disputations 3 – 4, Chicago. Graver, Margaret (2002b): Managing mental pain. Epicurus vs. Aristippus on the pre-rehearsal of future ills. In: Proceedings of the Boston Area Colloquium in Ancient Philosophy 17, 155 – 177 and 183 – 184. Graver, Margaret (2007): Stoicism and Emotion, Chicago. Griffin, Miriam (1976): Seneca. A Philosopher in Politics, Oxford (repr. with postscript in 1991). Inwood, Brad (2005): Reading Seneca, Oxford. Johann, Horst Theodor (1968): Trauer und Trost. Eine quellen- und strukturanalytische Untersuchung der philosophischen Trostschriften, M nchen. Kassel, Rudolf (1958): Untersuchungen zur griechischen und lateinischen Konsolationsliteratur, M nchen. Konstan, David (2009): Meleager s sweet tears. Observations on weeping and pleasure. In: Thorsten Fçgen (ed.), Tears in the Graeco-Roman World, Berlin & New York, 311 – 334.

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Long, Anthony A. & David Sedley (eds.) (1987): The Hellenistic Philosophers, Cambridge. Manning, C. E. (1974): The consolatory tradition and Seneca s attitude to the emotions. In: Greece & Rome 21, 71 – 81. Manning, C. E. (1981): On Seneca s “Ad Marciam”, Leiden. Reydams-Schils, Gretchen (2005): The Roman Stoics. Self, Responsibility, and Affection, Chicago. Rist, John (1989): Seneca and Stoic orthodoxy. In: Aufstieg und Niedergang der rçmischen Welt II 36.3, 1993 – 2012. Runia, David (2008): Philo and Hellenistic doxography. In: Francesca Alesse (ed.), Philo of Alexandria and Post-Aristotelian Philosophy, Leiden & Boston, 13 – 54. Schorn, Stefan (2009): Tears of the bereaved. Plutarch s Consolatio ad uxorem in context. In: Thorsten Fçgen (ed.), Tears in the Graeco-Roman World, Berlin & New York, 335 – 365. Scourfield, John H. D. (1993): Consoling Heliodorus. A Commentary on Jerome, Letter 60, Oxford. Setaioli, Aldo (1988): Seneca e i greci. Citazioni e traduzioni nelle opere filosofiche, Bologna. Setaioli, Aldo (2000): Facundus Seneca. Aspetti della lingua e dell ideologia senecana, Bologna. Sorabji, Richard (2000): Emotion and Peace of Mind. The Stoic Legacy, Oxford. Wacht, Manfred (1998): Angst und Angstbew ltigung in Senecas Briefen. In: Gymnasium 105, 507 – 536. Wilson, Marcus (1997): The subjugation of grief in Seneca s Epistles . In: Susanna Braund & Christopher Gill (eds.), The Passions in Roman Thought and Literature, Cambridge, 48 – 67. Winston, David (2008): Philo of Alexandria on the rational and irrational emotions. In: Francesca Alesse (ed.), Philo of Alexandria and Post-Aristotelian Philosophy, Leiden & Boston, 201 – 220.

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Statius and the Weeping Emperor (Silv. 2.5): Tears as a Means of Communication in the Amphitheatre Helmut Krasser Abstract: This paper analyses the Roman amphitheatre as a space of symbolic communication; the focus lies on the semantic potential of the shedding of tears both by the spectators and the organizers (viz. provincial procurators or the emperor himself). After a short summary of the decisive characteristics and functions of amphitheatrical stagings, two different groups of testimonies are dealt with: texts that supply immediate evidence by presenting weeping scenes in the amphitheatre, and texts that deal with generals and emperors weeping in critical wartime situations. These testimonies provide sufficient evidence that the two types of ostentatious gestures shared a communicative function: both establish and reinforce a consensus between the respective agents – achievement of concord being one of the most important functions of amphitheatrical stagings in general. On this basis, the poem Silvae 2.5 by Statius is read as a literary staging of amphitheatrical communication, and the strategies which this text employs (especially the representation of a weeping emperor) are analysed within the framework of amphitheatrical rituals of consensus.

1. In Place of an Introduction: Tears Shed for Thecla Thecla, a virgin born from a noble family, properly engaged to a suitable candidate, falls in love (chastely, to be sure) with a stranger. This stranger happens to be none other than Paul the apostle who, on his flight from Antioch, reaches Iconium in Asia Minor, where he starts fervently preaching the word of Christ and the merits of chastity. The story takes its expected course: Thecla remains his devoted pupil even in this inhospitable place and, forever sitting at his feet, keeps listening to his edifying discourses; hence, Paul is given some beatings and chased away from town, whereas Thecla is condemned to death because of her defiant behaviour. We read of this incident, depicted in a novelistic manner, in the apocryphal Acts of the Apostles. In this text, the reader is made an eyewitness of a highly miraculous event taking place at the site of the ex-

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ecution, namely the town s theatre. Thecla, sentenced to death by burning, climbs the stake, naked, but confident in god: the flames already are blazing to the sky, when all of a sudden a miracle happens: the flames do no harm to the maiden, and she leaves the pyre safe and sound. Yet it is not the miracle itself that should interest us here, but the reaction of the provincial governor present at the occasion. Looking at the girl, whose courage equals her beauty, he bursts into tears before the fire is set ablaze.1 Before discussing the function and significance of this public demonstration of emotion in a more detailed manner, I would like to add a further episode of this apocryphal narrative, which outdoes even the situation just related. Thecla (recently saved by a miracle) and Paul (who, in the meantime, has installed himself in a tomb outside town) move on to Antioch, where a new conflict with public authority arises. Again, Eros is involved, and here, again, the persevering Christian virgin is condemned to death: she is to be thrown naked to bears and lions to feast upon her. Again, a miracle happens: a lioness calmly lays down at the convicted maiden s feet and defends her with her own life against a lion rushing to attack. The women in the audience mourn the death of the brave beast. But this is not the end of it: “It s bathing-time”, exclaims Thecla, “on the last day of my life I am now finally being baptised in the name of Christ!” and hurls herself into the artificial lake which obviously had been designed for a venatio. Witnessing this self-sacrifice, the entire crowd (ewkor) of spectators bursts into tears and begs Thecla to refrain from jumping. This time, even the governor, overpowered by compassion, starts to weep. Again, Thecla is rescued by a miracle: she rises from the lake, unharmed and intact.2 The governor, in spite of having been moved

1 2

Acta Pauli et Theclae 22: OR d³ pa?der ja· aR paqh´moi Emecjam n¼ka ja· wºqtom Vma H´jka jataja0. ¢r d³ eQs¶whg culm¶, 1d²jqusem b Bcel½m ja· 1ha¼lasem tµm 1m aqt0 d¼malim. Acta Pauli et Theclae 33 – 34: ja· k´omter ja· %qjoi 1bk¶hgsam 1p aqt¶m. ja· pijq± k´aima pqosdqaloOsa eQr to»r pºdar aqt/r !mejk¸hg· b d³ ewkor t_m cumaij_m 1bºgsem l´ca. ja· 5dqalem 1p aqtµm %qjor· B d³ k´aima dqaloOsa rp¶mtgsem ja· di´qqgnem tµm %qjom. ja· p²kim k´ym dedidacl´mor 1p !mhq¾pour dr Gm (Aken²mdqou 5dqalem 1p aqt¶m· ja· B k´aima sulpk´nasa t` k´omti sumam,q´hg. leifºmyr d³ 1p´mhgsam aR cuma?jer, 1peidµ ja· B bogh¹r aqt0 k´aima !p´hamem. Tºte eQsb²kkousim pokk± hgq¸a, 2st¾sgr aqt/r ja· 1jtetaju¸ar t±r we?qar ja· pqoseuwol´mgr. ¢r d³ 1t´kesem tµm pqoseuw¶m, 1stq²vg ja· eWdem equcla l´ca pk/qer vdator, ja· eWpem MOm jaiq¹r ko¼sasha¸ le. ja· 5bakem 2autµm k´cousa (Em t` amºlati (IgsoO WqistoO rst´qô Bl´qô bapt¸folai. Ja· QdoOsai aR cuma?jer

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to tears, has the procedure continued nonetheless, and it takes two further miracles before Thecla is saved for good. Of course, this narrative aims at creating sympathy and compassion for the main figure, and thus, it is understandable why the author chose to represent the public s reactions in a pathos-laden way: it served his intention to evoke exalted 5jpkgnir on the part of the reader. His representation is a device to control the reader s attitude towards the text and to steer his understanding in the desired direction. This strategy is to be taken as a stock element of martyrological fiction; it can and should be paralleled with literary strategies of representation we encounter in contemporaneous love-romance: there the female main character is regularly made a catalyst and site of emotional eruptions and overwhelming pathos in a very similar way.3 But in my opinion, there is a second important aspect, namely the reality of the amphitheatre and the modes of communication as practised in this setting, including ostentatious weeping which is a part of this communicative framework.

2. The Amphitheatre as Space of Political and Symbolical Communication In order to clarify what I am aiming at, I would like to highlight some essential aspects and functions of the amphitheatre. It is a space of political and symbolic communication in which societal norms and values are negotiated. As recent research has shown, interpretations that content themselves with applying notions like “mass frenzy” or “entertainment” in order to explain pertinent phenomena can no longer be considered adequate.4 As far as the Roman arena is concerned, we should not restrict our attention to the most obvious protagonists such as delinquents to be executed, venatores and gladiators; emperor and audience play roles of equal importance as well. In the imperial age, the amphitheatre was a

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ja· p÷r b ewkor 5jkausam k´comter Lµ b²k,r 2autµm eQr t¹ vdyq, ¦ste ja· t¹m Bcelºma dajqOsai, fti toioOtom j²kkor v_jai 5lekkom 1sh¸eim. See Apuleius, Met. 4.28.1 – 4.35.3 for Psyche s overwhelming beauty and her lethal marriage brought about by divine intervention. See also Chariton 1.1.16 for Callirhoe entering the stage in front of an amazed crowd, and especially Chariton 2.5.7 (Callirhoe s weeping makes all those present, including Dionysius who had bought her as a slave, burst into tears). It may suffice to mention the studies by Clavel-L v que (1984), Coleman (1990, 1993, 1998), Flaig (1992), Wiedemann (1992) and Edmondson (1996).

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frame that permitted emperor and public to enter into a complex interaction. By means of the activities it housed, it was meant to assure inclusion or exclusion, and it was in the amphitheatre that the empire was put on stage to create self-recognition of the society as a whole. Let us look at the role of the emperor first. From his perspective, the amphitheatre serves as an instrument to make his power manifest and to visibly demonstrate his imperatorial virtues. The emperor comes forward not only as euergetes and sovereign master of life and death, but also – with regard to venatio and specially trained animals – as ruler over nature itself. Gladiatorial performances and elaborate stagings may exhibit events of the mythical past, and even surpass them, as the case may be. In this context, the careful selection of specific gladiators and the range of animals imported from all over the empire play a decisive role.5 In the arena, a symbolic space is established for the public; it affords the spectators the opportunity to experience the dimensions and the greatness of the Roman empire.6 Comparable to the triumphal procession, the staging pursues a double aim: first, the emperor s power is highlighted, second, the viewer is invited to take part in the empire s riches.7 The public, on the other hand, enjoys various possibilities for social identification. Seating is arranged according to membership of the various orders and thus manifestly embodies the order of society, as well as enabling the viewer to perceive himself as being part of this order (Edmondson 1996). Thus, he experiences a sense of belonging. Another aspect is the possibility of witnessing warlike activities that entail the transmission and practice of specific values (e. g. virtus and fortitudo as preconditions of missio). Of even greater relevance is the exertion of mastery over the persons in the arena; by wielding power and acting out mechanisms of exclusion, a community based on its own specific values is being constructed, which distances itself from the agents in the arena. Special stress is placed on companionship with the emperor; this is evident because 5 6

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See the instructive map provided by Weeber (1994: 29, plate 41). In addition, historical naval battles are being re-enacted on the stage; thus, temporal and historical dimensions are integrated into symbolic space. To give an example: during the celebrations of Augustus victory at Actium, the battle of Salamis was produced on stage – an event that, according to Ovid (Ars am. 1.171 – 175), attracted spectators from all over the world. See Edmondson (1999) for parallels between spectacular effects during processions and celebrations in Hellenistic times and Roman triumph including ludi and munera, and Bell (2004: esp. 114 – 198) for elephants as special and exotic attractions.

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public and emperor share both their judgement on the agents in the arena and the same space.8 Within this framework, a regular consensus between emperor and public is established and put on stage, and this is where the main potential of amphitheatrical games to generate meaning lies. Therefore, the readiness of the emperor to attend games and his behaviour during the performance form a focus of public attention.9 Sometimes the balance in the relationship between emperor and public becomes precarious: the amphitheatre s function in establishing consensus opens up the possibility for the audience not only to participate in imperial power, but also to put a limit on it and take advantage of the amphitheatre in order to bring forward its own claims (Flaig 1992: 38 – 92). Such being the preconditions, in what terms can the significance of tears – shed by the public, by officials or even by the emperor himself – be described? Unfortunately, we do not have a wealth of testimonies at our disposal (beyond the apocryphal Acts of the Apostles). Nevertheless I would like to compare different reports that tell us about important officials and emperors shedding tears, and thus I would like to attempt to put the message delivered by the Acts into context. Finally I will present a hitherto neglected testimony taken from Statius aforementioned Silvae. In biographies of emperors, e. g. in Suetonius or the Historia Augusta, references to weeping emperors fulfil an important function as a means of illustrating the character of the emperor in question. In some situations, weeping emperors are looked upon with a frown;10 but there is a series of testimonies which suggest that the reader is supposed to appreciate the emperor s weeping as an eminently positive sign. To be able to grieve for the loss of a person one felt close to or to mourn for the casualties of war is interpreted as casting a favourable light on the emperor s character.11 However, I will not expand on texts of this sort, because they do not deal with activities specific to an emperor. I believe that other types of testimonies are more relevant, namely those which employ imperial tears to demonstrate not universally human, but specifically imperial virtues. We learn, for example, that Vespasian would sigh and shed tears 8 Sometimes even a meal is shared: Domitian celebrates the Saturnalia together in communion with the people in the Amphitheatrum Flavium (Statius, Silv. 1.6). 9 When Drusus, then presumed heir to the throne, had some defeated gladiators killed against the wish of the spectators, he incurred severe criticism (Tacitus, Ann. 1.76.3). For other examples, see Flaig (1992: 62). 10 E.g. Suetonius, Claudius 36, Nero 49, and Hist. Aug., Hadrianus 14.5. 11 E.g. Suetonius, Caligula 15.1 and Hist. Aug., Antoninus Pius 10.5 and Gordianus 18.1.

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when signing death warrants, even if the convicted was guilty beyond doubt and obviously had deserved his punishment (Suetonius, Vespasian 15). When Caracalla was a boy, we are told, he used to weep and avert his eyes when facing the execution of criminals condemned ad bestias. (Here we find ourselves in the immediate context of the amphitheatre.) The audience interpreted this reaction of the prince in an extremely favourable manner (Hist. Aug., Caracalla 1.5). The reference point for this positive estimation is the value attached to imperial clementia (this is suggested by what is said in this context on other types of behaviour which find the author s approval). A third type of testimony seems to be equally instructive and opens up still another array of possible interpretations. Admittedly, these do not stand in close connection with the amphitheatre, but even so, they can serve as documents that illustrate the significance of the weeping of social superiors as a means of communicating and establishing consensus with their inferiors.12 We tend to feel astonished when reading about generals who shed tears in front of their soldiers, especially when such tears are not even caused by defeat or by grief for fallen soldiers. Caesar, for example, is said to have appealed to the loyalty of his soldiers by baring his chest and weeping (Suetonius, Div. Iul. 31.2 – 33.1); Nero, according to Suetonius, is said to have announced his intention to step up unarmed to the mutinying troops in Gaul and to persuade them to his cause by weeping (Suetonius, Nero 43.2). Of course, the authorial intention behind this anecdote consists in discrediting Nero s capacities as a military commander. Nevertheless, these testimonies – especially since it is not the tears themselves which form the centre of attention – demonstrate that weeping in public could be understood as an appeal to companionship and an affirmation of common values in situations of crisis; that is, they were regarded as an accepted and effective form of communication. Here, weeping evokes a community based on shared values and a common bond between the general and his troops; it functions as a means of establishing concord on an emotional basis between agents of different social rank. 12 Suetonius, for example, informs us (Aug. 58.2) that the princeps accepted the message that he had been awarded the title pater patriae unanimously, in tears (lacrimans). His response makes clear that we see here a gesture of consensus at work: compos factus votorum meorum, p. c., quid habeo aliud deos immortales precari, quam ut hunc consensum vestrum ad ultimum finem vitae mihi perferre liceat? (“Now all my wishes have been fulfilled, Senators: what else could I possibly ask of the gods than that they may allow me to enjoy your universal approval until the end of my life?”).

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Especially in situations where the exertion of power and the staging of social power is in jeopardy or even on the verge of failing, potentially fragile or endangered solidarity may be stabilized by appealing to feelings of compassion, an appeal inherent in the act of shedding tears.13 Taking all this into consideration, we now understand better what it really means that, in the legend of Paul and Thecla, the governor sheds tears (even if these tears remain without direct consequences). His tears do not amount to an immediate act of mercy; instead, his empathy and compassion are presented as fulfilling a predominantly communicative function. The communicants are not the governor and the condemned in the arena, but the governor and the public. What is presented on stage here is first the governor s ability to show compassion in the face of the fate of others, second – and this is what seems decisive – the establishment of consensus between the organizer of games and his public, both aspects, of course, inextricably linked in a way that allows us to subsume both under the term of establishment of emotional consensus. This emotional consensus, however, cannot work in reality and cannot be plausibly represented in literature unless the object of compassion is characterized by special achievements and thus presented as an incarnation of values and virtues universally acknowledged as relevant. In the case of Thecla, these virtues consist in her evidently extraordinary beauty, her courage and the specific fortitude she shows in her role as a woman.

3. From Death to Sensation: Statius Tame Lion in the Discussion of Recent Research On the basis of these preliminary considerations, I would now like to discuss a rather singular piece of poetic literature that, in my opinion, cannot be adequately understood if the particular dynamics of communication in the amphitheatre are neglected. There is, as is well known, a whole series of texts which in one way or another deal with hunts, sea battles, gladiator games and executions staged as mythological scenes that were performed in the amphitheatre. One may think of the more indirect repercussions of experience in the amphitheatre as we encounter them in the detailed descriptions of battles to be read in Neronian and Flavian epics or in the blood-curdling excesses in Seneca s tragedies. Then there are also texts 13 This is what leads Flaig (1993: 213) to subsume the tears of Roman generals in situations of crisis under the heading gestures of closeness .

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such as Calpurnius Siculus seventh eclogue or Martial s liber spectaculorum, which provide fairly precise descriptions of events taking place in the amphitheatre.14 Statius Silva 2.5 furnishes us with a specific scene taken from what we might call the “chronique scandaleuse” of Roman munera (“spectacles”); it is said by Statius himself to have been extemporized in the midst of the amphitheatre.15 His chosen subject is the death of a tame lion during a spectaculum supposedly given in the early nineties in the amphitheatrum Flavium. Quid tibi monstrata mansuescere profuit ira? Quid scelus humanasque animo dediscere caedes imperiumque pati et domino parere minori? Quid quod abire domo rursusque in claustra reverti suetus et a capta iam sponte recedere praeda insertasque manus laxo dimittere morsu? Occidis, altarum vastator docte ferarum, non grege Massylo curvaque indagine clausus, non formidato supra venabula saltu incitus aut caeco foveae deceptus hiatu, sed victus fugiente fera. stat cardine aperto infelix cavea et clausis circum undique portas hoc licuisse nefas placidi tumuere leones. Tum cunctis cecidere iubae puduitque relatum aspicere et totas duxere in lumina frontes. At non te primo fusum novus obruit ictu

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14 See Fuhrmann (1986). For Lucan see Leigh (1997: 234 – 291, especially the chapter “A view to kill – Lucan s amphitheatrical audience”). 15 The passage that explicitly marks the poem as extemporized (Silv. 2 praef. 16 – 18) runs as follows: eandem exigebat stili facilitatem leo mansuetus, quem in amphitheatro prostratum frigidum erat sacratissimo imperatori, ni statim traderem (“The same facility of pen was demanded for the Tame Lion for had I not presented him to our most sacred Emperor, as he lay prostrate in the amphitheatre, all the effect would have been missed”). Here, we get a glimpse at the increasingly professionalized literary scene during the Principate; it developed following Greek professional poets who earned their living in the arena of literary competition. For these professional figures, public poetic or rhetorical performance in the art of publicly extemporizing was a quasi-compulsory element of selfpresentation. A striking example is furnished by the rhetor Isaeus as mentioned in Pliny s letters: he invited the public to present him by call with arbitrarily chosen subjects for his declamations (Pliny, Epist. 2.3); for the historical reality behind this anecdote see Hardie (1983: esp. 76 – 85). Statius more often than not prides himself with his quickness in composing his poems (e. g. Silv. 1 praef. 1). For Statius status as professional and the specific qualities of his ex tempore poems see R hl (2006: esp. 128 – 140).

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ille pudor: mansere animi virtusque cadentis a media iam morte redit, nec protinus omnes terga dedere minae. sicut sibi conscius alti vulneris adversum moriens it miles in hostem attollitque manum et ferro labente minatur, sic piger ille gradu solitoque exutus honore firmat hians oculos animamque hostemque requirit. Magna tamen subiti tecum solacia leti, victe, feres, quod te maesti populusque patresque, ceu notus caderes tristi gladiator harena, ingemuere mori, magni quod Caesari ora inter tot Scythicas Libycasque et litore Rheni et Pharia de gente feras, quas perdere vile est, unius amissi tetigit iactura leonis.

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What has it availed you to smooth your rage and grow tame? To unlearn crime and human slaughter, to suffer command and obey a lesser master? To have grown used to leave your home and return again to prison, to retire of your own will from prey already captured, to loosen your jaws and let go the hand inside? You are slain, educated ravager of tall beasts. You were not hemmed in by a Massylian band and a cunning net nor plunging over hunting spears in a fearsom leap nor deceived by a pit s hidden cavity, but vanquished by a fleeing beast. The luckless cage stands open on its hinges and all around behind their closed doors the placid lions are angry that such an outrage has been permitted. Then all drooped their manes to see him brought back and drew all their brows down upon their eyes. As for you, that sudden shame did not overwhelm you, laid low though you were at first blow. Your courage held, valour returned from the midst of death as you fell, nor did all your menace at once turn tail. As a dying soldier aware of his deep wound attacks the facing foe, lifting his hand and threatening with swagging sword: so he with sluggish step, stripped of his wonted dignity, steadies his eyes open-mouthed, seeking courage and the enemy. Yet in defeat you will bear with you great comfort for your sudden death. For people and Fathers groaned at your fate, as though you were a famous gladiator falling on the cruel sand. And among so many beasts whose sacrifice is cheap, from Scythia and Libya and banks of the Rhine and the people of Pharos, the loss of one lion touched Caesar s countenance.16

As far as the content is considered, this poem can be divided into three sections.17 The first one (vv. 1 – 6) consists of a catalogue of questions 16 Latin text and translation from David R. Shackleton Bailey (ed.), Statius: Silvae. Edited and translated, Cambridge, Mass. & London 2003, 147 – 149. 17 In its essential points, I am here following the poem s disposition as proposed by Cancik (1971).

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which contains laudatory elements insofar as it mentions several achievements of the lion in question. The middle one deals with the lion s agony and death and can be subdivided into two units: the first one of these (vv. 7 – 15) emphasizes the exceptionality and even shamefulness of his death, and the second (vv. 16 – 23) makes use of an elaborate simile that compares the dying lion with a lethally wounded soldier; it illustrates the beast s agony and the last resurgence of his formerly natural fighting spirit. The final section, in which the lion again is compared to a human being (a gladiator this time), provides consolation. However, it is not the beast s owner or the public who is consoled, but the lion himself. The whole crowd in the amphitheatre mourns for the dead animal, and even the emperor in person shows emotion. The text, therefore, presents itself as a poem of mourning, an epicedion. Even if the uncommon circumstances in which the poem came into being are left out of consideration, this constitutes a particularity of this rather extraordinary text. As is well known, epicedia on animals are not altogether rare,18 and Statius himself contributes to the genre with Silv. 2.4 – a poem on Atedius Maior s defunct parrot (see Krasser 2002). However, these poems always deal with pets, which enjoyed special affection from their owner and whose death, therefore, can be expected to arouse a special emotional response. As an epicedion on an animal that finds its death in the middle of a spectacle, however, this poem stands fairly isolated. As the nearest parallel, one could cite at best Martial s glorification of a lion hunted down during a regular venatio (8.53), but this text aims at evoking admiration for the beast s size, courage and fortitude; neither does it provide consolation nor does it describe mourning. Thus, it should rather not be considered an example of the genre at all. Taking into account the gigantic numbers of animals put to death in amphitheatrical venationes, we should regard emotions such as compassion or grief as entirely unusual in this context. To illustrate this, I quote the following statement from Pliny the Elder (Nat. hist. 8.53): Leonum simul plurium pugnam Romae princeps dedit Scaevola P. F. in curuli aedilitate, centum autem iubatorum primus omnium L. Sulla, qui postea dictator fuit, in praetura post eum Pompeius Magnus in circo DC, in iis iubatorum CCCXV, Caesar dictator CCCC.

18 See Herrlinger (1930); Fçgen (2007: 62 – 65) discusses Ovid s Amores 2.6 and Statius Silvae 2.4. It may suffice to recall Catullus passer poem (Carm. 3) or Martial s epigram on his dog Issa (1.109).

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The first who had several lions fight against each other was (Q. Mucius) Scaevola, son of Publius, during his curulian aedileship (probably 104 B.C.), but the first of all who presented a combat of 100 maned lions was L. Sulla, later dictator, during his praetorship (93 B.C.). After him Pompey the Great showed 600 lions in the circus, among them 315 with manes, and Caesar during his dictatorship 400.

This laconically formulated piece of information shows that the death of a lion in one of the metropolitan arenas was not exactly a rare occurrence – especially as Pliny in his statistics of butchery does not even take into account the mind-boggling figures for the gargantuan games of Neronian and Flavian times mentioned, for example, by Cassius Dio (61.9.1). What exactly induced Statius, the elegant professional poet from Naples, to present and mourn a lion s death in an artful poem? First of all, we might answer this question by stressing that it was a very special beast whose fate we are supposed to join in mourning: it was a trained, even a tame lion, who presented the baffled public with feats and tricks that went against the grain of and even denied his very nature. Furthermore, we should not forget that the circumstances of his death were anything but commonplace: the natural predator had been killed by what normally counted as his prey. This combination must have appeared downright inviting: paradoxical and consequently fascinating as the event was, it offered ample room for pointed rhetorical treatment in the frame of a poetical discourse on the set theme of mastery of nature by artificial means (a discourse Statius found congenial). Van Dam (1984: 370), for example, argues more or less along these lines. Indeed, most interpreters of this text focus on poetical technique and Statius elaborate strategies of connecting subject and formal or structural means of representation. A central point of this type of research is the question how the generic conventions of epicedia are being varied and transcended to suit this very particular occasion.19 Other researchers have scrutinized the interaction of art and nature within Statius poetry – an interaction which cannot possibly be overestimated in its relevance for Statius conception of his own poetry. In his seminal commentary on the second book of Statius Silvae, particularly in his treatment of the leo mansuetus, van Dam (1984) has contributed numerous excellent observations; he has shown the increasing humanization of the lion in the course of the poem, this process culminating in the two 19 Here, I should like to mention above all Hardie (1983), Newmyer (1979), Garvey (1989) and most recently R hl (2006: 195 – 212).

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comparisons of the lion with, first, the soldier and, second, the gladiator.20 But even van Dam in his interpretation of the poem contents himself with regarding it as a specimen of the genre “epicedion on animals”.21 Of course, these observations help to clarify Statius poetic strategies; but nevertheless – and this applies especially to the leo mansuetus – it should not be forgotten that we will have to take into account the frame of reference, namely the cultural perception of the poem s occasion, in order to elucidate the dimensions of significance particular to this text. We should, therefore, transcend the purely literary-poetical horizon in order to reach an adequate understanding of this complex text; we will have to consider the function of the amphitheatre in society in general and the semantic values attached to the performances of trained animals in particular. The first attempt to integrate the amphitheatrical context and its usual associations into his interpretation of the Silva in question was undertaken by Hubert Cancik in a study published in 1971. Basing his judgement on the carefully elaborated dying scene, he takes the Silva as a key text for the understanding of the public s emotional disposition in antiquity. He places his emphasis on emotions such as excitement or fascination by spectacular deaths in a framework in which the opposition between savageness and tameness is most visibly enacted.22 Cancik s observations describe with utmost precision a crucial aspect of the affective emotional participation a viewer in antiquity will have experienced. However, his interpretation does not seem totally convincing to me; my doubts pertain above all to his suggestion that the lion s death had been intended from the very beginning of the spectacle, and that the way he finally met his death had further enhanced enjoyment and delight by making the power of animal-training visible. Cancik sees the lion s death as an extreme form of dominance exerted over nature – extreme 20 van Dam (1984: 368 – 369); see also Cancik (1971: 79). 21 Newlands (2005) takes into account the amphitheatrical setting, but stresses especially the links of the poem with Aesopean fable and reads 2.5 as a satirical text on hierarchy and power. Augoustakis (2007) has his focus on intertextual relations to the epic poetry of Statius. 22 It is the testimony of Augustine that this interpretation is based on; there, Augustine describes how his friend Alypius, even against his will, is being absorbed by the cruel events taking place in the arena (Augustine, Conf. 6.8). For the idea of fascination with horror, Leigh (1997: 234) cites Plato, Rep. 439 e – f. See also the discussion presented by van D lmen (1985: esp. 122 – 144) on the staging of executions in early modern Europe.

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in that it conquers even the natural savageness of the beast. Yet, once we accept this interpretation, sorrow and grief, which figure so prominently in this poem, clearly do not seem to be appropriate reactions to the event presented. Furthermore, I think that a more profound consideration of the significance of the amphitheatre as a locus of political and societal communication should enable us to find a new and more persuasive evaluation of the poem. The steps I intend to take towards this goal are the following: first, I would like to concentrate on the symbolic potential of the presentation of animals, especially tame lions, in the amphitheatre; we have a few relevant literary and even specifically poetic texts at our disposal that can be consulted in this context. I hope thereby to reach a more accurate understanding of the communicative functions of the amphitheatre (some general remarks have been made already) and thus to arrive at a detailed reconstruction of what contemporaries felt entitled to expect when they went to watch the spectacles. Second, in light of these expectations, I intend to investigate Statius poetic strategies in order to demonstrate how the text interprets the events evoked for its readers. The aforementioned texts depicting weeping in public will provide significant clues.

4. Amphitheatrical Spectacles as Imperial Marvels One of the most important dimensions of significance the spectacles opened up consisted in symbolically putting power on display and in literally making visible the grandeur of the empire and the omnipotence of its emperor.23 Thus, the events staged in the amphitheatre are part of the great project of legitimizing the powers that rule; they do not make use of rational argumentation, but rely totally on overwhelming the public (i. e. the subjects) by means of magnificence, pomp and marvels. The public is not supposed to understand and accept the emperor s dominance intellectually, but simply to see and contemplate it in amazement and awe. 23 Hellenistic courts can be cited as a model case for this manner of legitimizing power. One of the most striking examples of theatrical staging of power is the immensely spectacular Dionysiac procession organized by Ptolemy Philadelphus in Alexandria in 275/274 B.C. Athenaeus (Deipn. 196a – 203b) transmits a detailed description taken from Callixeinus of Rhodes illustrating as patently as can be how this procession and the concomitant festivities were employed so as to provide a stage for the ruler s self-presentation. See Rice (1983) and Green (1990: 158 – 159).

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We may cite as an example Calpurnius Siculus seventh eclogue, the first Latin poem deliberately choosing the amphitheatre as its subject. The narrator, the poor shepherd Corydon, creates for the eyes of the reader an urban Roman venatio in all its overwhelming splendour. The fauna, imported from all regions of the then known world (vv. 57 – 58: elks, seals, elephants, hippopotami), symbolizes the extension of the empire; the astonished gaze of Corydon – presented in the literary form of a panegyric ekphrasis – embraces the whole semantic potential of such a display, the centre being the almost miraculous appearance of the emperor himself: Nero. But the semantic potential of amphitheatrical stagings is more than a simple and wholesale glorification of the emperor as we encounter it in Calpurnius Siculus; on the contrary, the array of poetical methods and strategies of panegyric interpretation of the events was manifold and highly differentiated. Martial s Liber spectaculorum conveys an impression. It can be classified as a compendium in verse comprising the highlights of the memorable games Titus gave when inaugurating the Amphitheatrum Flavium (the Colosseum) in 80 A.D.24 Martial starts by celebrating the building itself as an achievement that dwarfs even the canonical seven wonders of the world.25 The visiting crowd, hastening to Rome from all over the world and confronted with Rome s grandeur, is in amazement and awe, and Martial immediately redirects these emotions towards the one who really stands at the centre of it all: the emperor. It is explicitly Caesar s amphitheatre that is supposed to excite amazement and astonishment in Epigram 1,26 and Epigram 3 closes with an enumeration of the peoples present at the games (3.11 – 12): Vox diversa sonat populorum, tum pater una est cum verus patriae diceris esse pater. Diverse sounds the speech of the peoples, yet then it is one when you are acclaimed your country s true father.

The emperor figures as origin and catalyst of the marvels put on display. He even brings about a transformation of the fictitious world of myth into reality – a reality that outdoes even myth itself. Epigram 5 may serve as an example. Here, Martial comments upon the spectacle that shows Pasi24 Here, I would like to mention Weinreich s seminal study (1928) on Martial s circus poems. I am much indebted to his understanding of those poems. 25 Liber spectaculorum 1.8: unum pro cunctis fama loquetur opus. 26 Liber spectaculorum 1.7: omnis Caesareo cedit labor Amphitheatro.

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phae s union with a bull (this is probably a punishment staged in mythological clothing):27 Nec se miretur, Caesar, longaeva vetustas: quidquid fama canit, praestat harena tibi. And let not long-lasting old age, Caesar, marvel at itself: whatever fame sings of, that the Arena makes real for you.

He pronounces the same line of thought even more explicitly in Epigram 25. Here, he refers to re-enactment of the mythological love-story of Hero and Leander that presumably was staged by night in a flooded arena: Quod nocturna tibi, Leandre, pepercerit unda desine mirari: Caesaris unda fuit. That the nightly wave spared you, Leander, cease to wonder: it was Caesar s wave.

The motif of dominance exerted over nature (featuring most prominently in the presentation of tamed animals and their tricks) also lent itself easily to delivering a symbolic staging of the emperor s omnipotence: in the face of the emperor, animals discard their usual savageness and willingly submit to human will.28 An excellent example is the pius elephas who, after having thrown down a wild bull just a few moments before, all of a sudden shows himself harmless and docile and even pays homage to the emperor of his own accord (Liber spectaculorum 17): Quod pius et supplex elephas te, Caesar, adorat hic modo qui tauro tam metuendus erat, non facit hoc iussus, nulloque docente magistro, crede mihi, nostrum sentit et ille deum. In that, loyal and suppliant, the elephant adores thee which here but now was so fearful a foe to a bull, this it does unbidden, at the teaching of no master; believe me, it too feels the presence of our God!

The display of tame lions and tigers (the death of – exactly – a tame lion being the starting point of the whole discussion of Statius Silva 2.5) belongs to this conceptual frame; with these species, the tension between 27 Liber spectaculorum 5.3 – 4. See Coleman (2006: 62 – 65). 28 Already in Hellenistic times, trained animals were employed to serve the ruler s self-represention. Ptolemy II Philadelphus, for example, had lions (presumably tame ones) carried along in his grand procession and had a statue of Alexander pulled along by a quadriga of elephants. See Toynbee (1996 [1973]: 46 – 49) and Coleman (2006: 156 – 160).

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perilous savagery and docile tameness must have had a particularly striking effect. Lions and tigers that accepted their food directly from the hands of their keepers or even used to play with the smaller animals that normally served them as prey, but that were still in the habit of tearing apart other far stronger and far more perilous animals, must have formed a not quite regular, but nevertheless not totally unaccustomed part of amphitheatrical stagings. Again, it is Martial who presents us with a whole series of poems on lions who play with hares – hares that even peacefully stride along between the lion s gaping jaws (1.14): Delicias, Caesar, lususque iocosque leonum vidimus – hoc etiam praestat harena tibi – cum prensus blando totiens a dente rediret et per aperta vagus curreret ora lepus. Unde potest avidus captae leo parcere praedae? Sed tamen esse tuus dicitur: ergo potest. The tricks, Caesar, the play and pranks of the lions we have seen – this tribute, too, the Arena pays you – when the hare was seized, and yet so oft was let loose from the fondling jaws. Whence inspired can a ravaging lion spare his captured prey? But he is called yours: therefore can he spare.

Again, the animal s peaceful behaviour is attributed to the emperor.29 The phrase “he entirely belongs to you” should be taken quite literally; most probably tame lions such as the one mentioned were a highly-valued rarity and belonged to the emperor s private possessions. These lions were a very special case, compared to the other animals of the amphitheatre; this is what legitimates my supposition that it is not sufficient to interpret the symbolic value of lions, as Cancik (1971) has done, as a simple allusion to the emperor s taming power and his dominance of nature. The visualization of a powerful animal, able and willing to control its inborn strength in order to spare the weak, additionally invites the audience to meditate on the code of imperial behaviour – the code of conduct of an emperor who wilfully refrains from making use of his limitless power and exercises 29 Holzberg (1988: 77 – 79) decidedly opts for a poetological understanding of these texts; in his view, they conspicuously put on stage the relationship between poet and emperor. Generally, I feel inclined to accept the possibility that amphitheatrical sceneries might have been exploited to present poetological messages to the reader. On the other hand, the information we gain consulting the whole bulk of other testimonies on the amphitheatre and on the taming of animals at both Hellenistic courts and in Rome itself, seem compelling evidence to me that we have to regard this type of spectacle as part of what really happened in amphitheatrical performances.

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clementia instead. This is the interpretation of the events suggested by Martial (1.22): Quid nunc saeva fugis placidi lepus ora leonis? Frangere tam parvas non didicere feras. Servantur magnis isti cervicibus ungues nec gaudet tenui sanguine tanta sitis. Praeda canum lepus est, vastos non implet hiatus non timeat Dacus Caesaris arma puer. Why fliest thou, hare, the lion s jaws unstirred to rage? They have not learned to crunch beasts so small. Those talons are kept for mighty necks; thirst so great delights not in a draught of blood so meagre. The hare is the prey of dogs, it fills not vast mouths; a Dacian boy would not dread Caesar s arms.

Symbolically, the lion s tameness figures no longer as an enforced renunciation of his real nature, but as a majestic gesture and reflection of imperial sovereignty. It has become clear that the presentation of a tame lion coming directly from the emperor s own stables was no common event. It was, on the contrary, an extraordinary attraction to which very precise expectations – both on the emperor s part and the spectators – had become attached. It was never intended to put the emperor s own lions in real or even feigned jeopardy. The outcome was clear to all participants from the very start and was part of an established scheme of perception. The literary presentation of such amphitheatrical events was meant to achieve a propagation of this perception and thereby a contribution to imperial panegyric.

5. A Question of Presentation: From Failure to Panegyrics of Weeping We should now turn to what really happened when Statius chose to write Silva 2.5. The lion had accidentally been hit and killed by what was meant to be his prey – and that was not supposed to occur. The public s expectations had been flagrantly violated, and it was obviously impossible to integrate the event into the well-established perceptual frame. The spectators could not possibly react as they were expected to (i. e. be overwhelmed with amazement); they must have felt duped or, even worse, amused. This incident should not be assessed as a mishap, but as a grave failure in a staging of imperial self-presentation, designed to be perfect even in the tiniest details. What had happened was not simply embar-

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rassing, but might have been conceived as virtually undermining precarious imperial authority. A lion that, cowardly and without resistance, lets a weaker adversary throw him down is not a convincing symbol for imperial power and might. As far as the spectators reactions are concerned, we have to fall back on speculation; but we should be on fairly safe ground supposing that this highly awkward incident must have directed everybody s attention towards the emperor immediately – thus increasing the awkwardness. Taking into consideration that it was Domitian himself who commissioned Statius poem on the spot30 (Statius had been watching the games in the immediate surroundings of the emperor), we may conclude that it was no mean challenge with which Statius found himself confronted. It was his task to present the shameful death of the lion in the most favourable light possible. Now I intend to investigate the strategies of presentation the poet employs in order to achieve his goal. As it turns out, on top of the threefold subdivision described above, we find a dual structure of argument superimposed; it divides the poem in two halves. It can be paraphrased as follows: the first half of the text depicts the event in a completely negative way. Statius, at first, gives a very critical evaluation of the incident and does not make the slightest effort to alleviate the impression that the beast s death was basically dishonourable. True, in the catalogue of questions opening the poem the poet mentions particular achievements of the lion in the way of tricks and feats, but the questions are being put to the animal in a rather reproachful manner (“What was the use of discarding your savage nature? What profit did it bring you to have learned to perform this or that trick?”). The ultimate futility of the lion s achievements and the spectator s disillusionment make themselves felt throughout. An attitude of disillusionment and even reproach is also predominant in the beginning of the second part. A laconic answer to the questions above is given: the animal s death. In spite of his docility and achievements, he suffers the common fate of most animals in the arena – being slaughtered as a mass commodity (which is what Statius himself stresses at the end of the poem). By listing several far more honourable ways of dying and by calling the lion an altarum vastator docte ferarum, a “competent hunter of the wild” (v. 7), Statius emphasizes how disreputable his lethal defeat actually was: it was not in being encircled by a hunting crowd in Africa or by jumping over a bunch of spears directed at him that he met his death, 30 This is what we have to assume with regard to Statius remark in Silv. 2 praef. (quoted above in n. 15).

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but by being defeated by another animal that, on encountering him, would normally turn to flight. Even the other lions present feel nothing but shame and sorrow at this incident. But it is precisely at this point that the poem s argumentative structure is deliberately upset: feelings of compassion and respect begin to dominate. Statius makes the lion, at the moment of death, return to his former self. In a broadly conceived simile he compares the lion to a lethally wounded soldier who, in dying, shows a barely recognizable last attempt, respectable and honourable, but feeble and ultimately futile, to attack his opponent for a last time. This simile, exaggerated and pathos-laden, is the precondition that lends credibility to the final scene and climax of the poem: the emperor s grief. The first fact that meets the eye is the difference compared to other poems dealing with comparable subjects: the clash of both animals – which is what the spectator could witness – is not described. Statius contents himself with a single half-line (v. 11: sed victus fugiente fera); we do not even learn anything about the species the victorious animal belonged to. Normally, this refusal to pass on essential information is explained as being due to the situation in which the poem was written (namely in the amphitheatre itself): the public saw what happened with their own eyes, and consequently Statius did not have to feel obliged to describe the course of events in all details – the spectators already knew.31 Yet in my opinion the real reason behind this poetic choice is the fact that the lion s highly dishonourable fight gave no basis whatsoever to a presentation that could evoke amazed admiration or to a symbolic interpretation of the event according to what was normally expected from a poem of this sort. Hence, Statius takes all pains to push the bare facts aside as far as possible; instead, he concentrates on giving an account of the emotional effects felt by the spectators. Pathos and affectivity do not result from a genuine boiling up of sentiment and deeply felt commotion on the poet s side, but from a methodically planned poetic strategy. Statius difficult task consisted in providing a panegyrical interpretation of what had happened, preserving both the lion s and his owner s dignity. Statius is prudent enough not to deny that something in fact has gone wrong. Space is given to the irritation the public must have felt, confronted 31 See e. g. Vollmer (1898: 363): “Das Gedicht ist nach der Vorrede im Amphitheater unmittelbar nach dem Vorgange verfasst und dem Kaiser berreicht worden. Daher erkl rt es sich, dass Statius manches nur angedeutet hat, was f r den Anwesenden von selbst verst ndlich war.”

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with an incident not easily reconcilable with the normal ways of perception of amphitheatrical experience. The reactions of those present, the indignation of the spectators, the embarrassment of the other lions, even the feeling of shame which constitutes the core of the problem of this failed staging, are integrated into the poem in due course. Both embarrassment and shame, however, emphasize the tragic dimension of the incident and pave the way to emotions of sympathy and compassion. Already in the way the other lions react to their companion s death we can perceive the first indications: they feel both shame at his unworthy death and sorrow at having lost someone of their breed. Now we can understand why Statius chose the poetic formula of epicedia: his focus on grief and compassion permits him to turn his back on the less than dignified facts and to transfer the incident entirely to an emotional level instead. It is basically a strategy of diversion, its most decisive step taking place in the second course of argument: it is no longer the animals who fight against each other, but the feelings of the dying lion. In Statius perspective, this is where the lion, in the end and despite his failure, wins his triumph. He does not conquer his adversary, to be sure, but he succeeds in conquering his feelings of shame – feelings that would have prevented him from resisting any longer. The disgraceful incident, by now, has been deliberately removed from the recipient s attention. This poetic strategy culminates in the following simile that makes the disgrace fade out of the reader s conscience. This is the poetic construction by which the whole embarrassing affair is invested with meaning – and now, finally, the lion deserves sorrow and compassion.32 By this strategy, Statius has now paved the way to return to traditional patterns of argument in amphitheatrical poetry and to redirect the reader s view to the emperor and the part he plays. Of course, even so, it is still impossible to present what happened as a symbol of the emperor s omnipotence or clementia; in this situation, it was out of the question that Statius should write as Martial did. Nevertheless, Statius succeeds in applying poetic means to construct a dimension of meaning in which the emperor still can enjoy the status which is assumed to be his due: not as the emperor triumphant, of course, but as the emperor who feels grief and compassion. Statius replaces the imperial virtue of clementia with misericordia. 32 See my remarks above on the specific quality and representation exhibited by those acting in the arena.

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In doing so, he was perfectly aware of the political dimension of the emperor s behaviour in the amphitheatre; this is proved by the fact that he stresses that the public (it is to be noted that he mentions explicitly populus and patres) reacted unanimously – at least within the framework of his poetical fiction. Given the highly pathos-laden manner in which Statius constructs his proposal as to how such a failed staging can be understood, and given the testimonies I have discussed above, I would even prefer to understand the phrase ora tangere (vv. 27 – 30) as referring directly to the act of weeping. This interpretation has been proposed already by Domizio Calderini in his edition of 1475, citing Propertius 4.11.57 for support; there, Augustus and the whole town mourn for Cornelia, a half-sister of Julia s (see Vollmer 1989: 364 ad loc.). Now, it is not my main intention to reinstitute a humanist s interpretation that has not elicited approval in contemporary commentaries; rather, I would like to stress the communicative dimension of both Statius text and Domitian s tears, integrating what has been said on the societal function of the amphitheatre and on both groups of relevant texts presented at the beginning. Three aspects seem to me to be especially significant: 1. The functioning of Statius text is based on the preconception, shared by both poet and participants, that the consensus of emperor and public, staged by communicative means in the amphitheatre, is of highest relevance. The emperor s shedding of tears has to be seen as a deliberate act of establishing consensus with the public. 2. Within the framework of habitual amphitheatrical perception, Domitian s tears could be taken as a demonstration of specific imperial virtues. 3. His act of weeping or, at least, its literary presentation serves the purpose of handling a crisis. A performance intended to make manifest and affirm imperial power fails; what results is a situation in which the ruler s authority might have become precarious. This situation shows parallels to incidents mentioned above where the emperor in his role of general felt bound to weep publicly. In both cases, the shedding of tears aims at re-establishing a consensus between the respective agents that was temporarily endangered or even lost. Statius text, therefore, makes ample use of strategies of political and societal communication, but his literary achievement does not only consist in knowing these strategies and putting them to use in order to simply affirm this amphitheatrical consensus; his achievement lies in providing a

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highly refined poetic construction, which gives meaning to an incident otherwise not able to be fitted into habitual patterns of amphitheatrical experience and which permits the reader to understand what he has witnessed. It is the poem that lends credibility to this specific interpretation of events. The lion s suffering and death, the emotional atmosphere generic to an epicedion, the public s grief and the emperor s tears – all this is not simply an occasional subject for a poem to be read for aesthetic pleasure; rather, all these elements are stones on which to build a sophisticated conceptualization on how a presentation that has utterly failed can ultimately be rewritten into an overwhelming success. Thus, Statius opens up a new and lasting dimension of amphitheatrical experience – and of panegyric poetry. Bibliography Augoustakis, Antony (2007): Unius amissi leonis. Taming the lion and Caesar s tears (Silvae 2.5). In: Arethusa 40, 207 – 221. Bell, Andrew (2004): Spectacular Power in the Greek and Roman City, Oxford. Cancik, Hubert (1971): Amphitheater. Zum Problem der ,Gesamtinterpretation am Beispiel von Statius, Silve II 5: Leo mansuetus. In: Der Altsprachliche Unterricht 14.3, 66 – 81. Clavel-L v que, Monique (1984): L empire en jeux. Espace symbolique et pratique sociale dans le monde romain, Paris. Coleman, Kathleen M. (1990): Fatal charades. Roman executions staged as mythological enactments. In: Journal of Roman Studies 80, 44 – 73. Coleman, Kathleen M. (1993): Launching into history. Aquatic displays in the early Empire. In: Journal of Roman Studies 83, 48 – 74. Coleman, Kathleen M. (1998): The liber spectaculorum. Perpetuating the ephemeral. In: Farouk Grewing (ed.), Toto notus in orbe. Perspektiven der Martial-Interpretation, Stuttgart, 15 – 36. Coleman, Kathleen M. (2006): M. Valerii Martialis Liber Spectaculorum. Edited with Introduction, Translation and Commentary, Oxford. Edmondson, Jonathan C. (1996): Dynamic arenas. Gladiatorial presentations in the city of Rome and the construction of Roman society during the early Empire. In: William J. Slater (ed.), Roman Theater and Society, Ann Arbor, 69 – 112. Edmondson, Jonathan C. (1999): The cultural politics of public spectacle in Rome and the Greek East, 167 – 166 BCE. In: Bettina Bergmann & Christine Kondoleon (eds.), The Art of Ancient Spectacle, New Haven & London, 77 – 95. Flaig, Egon (1992): Den Kaiser herausfordern. Die Usurpation im Rçmischen Reich, Frankfurt & New York.

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Flaig, Egon (1993): Politisierte Lebensf hrung und sthetische Kultur. Eine semiotische Untersuchung am rçmischen Adel. In: Historische Anthropologie 1, 193 – 217. Fçgen, Thorsten (2007): Antike Zeugnisse zu Kommunikationsformen von Tieren. In: Antike & Abendland 53, 39 – 75. Fuhrmann, Manfred (1968): Grausige und ekelhafte Motive in der lateinischen Dichtung. In: Hans Robert Jauss (ed.), Die nicht mehr schçnen K nste, M nchen, 23 – 66. Garvey, John J. (1989): Silvae 2.5 and Statius art. In: Latomus 48, 627 – 631. Green, Peter (1990): Alexander to Actium. The Historical Evolution of the Hellenistic Age, Berkeley & Los Angeles. Hardie, Alex (1983): Statius and the Silvae. Poets, Patrons and Epideixis in the Graeco-Roman World, Liverpool. Herrlinger, Gerhard (1930): Totenklage um Tiere in der antiken Dichtung, Stuttgart. Holzberg, Niklas (1988): Martial, Heidelberg. Krasser, Helmut (2002): Poeten, Papageien und Patrone. Statius Silve 2,4 als Beispiel einer kulturwissenschaftlichen Textinterpretation. In: J rgen Paul Schwindt (ed.), Klassische Philologie inter disciplinas. Aktuelle Konzepte zu Gegenstand und Methode eines Grundlagenfaches, Heidelberg, 151 – 168. Leigh, Matthew (1997): Lucan. Spectacle and Engagement, Oxford. Newlands, Carole E. (2005): Animal claquers. Statius Silv. 2.4 and 2.5. In: William W. Batstone & Garth Tissol (eds.), Defining Genre and Gender in Latin Literature. Essays Presented to William S. Anderson on his SeventyFifth Birthday, New York & Frankfurt am Main, 149 – 173. Newmyer, Stephen Thomas (1979): The Silvae of Statius. Structure and Theme, Leiden. Rice, Ellen E. (1983): The Grand Procession of Ptolemy Philadelphus, Oxford. R hl, Meike (2006): Literatur gewordener Augenblick. Die “Silven” des Statius im Kontext literarischer und sozialer Bedingungen von Dichtung im ausgehenden 1. Jh. n. Chr., Berlin & New York. Toynbee, Jocelyn M. C. (1996 [1973]): Animals in Roman Life and Art, Baltimore & London. van Dam, Harm-Jan (1984): P. Papinius Statius Silvae Book II. A Commentary, Leiden. van D lmen, Richard (1985): Theater des Schreckens. Gerichtspraxis und Strafrituale in der fr hen Neuzeit, M nchen. Vollmer, Friedrich (ed.) (1898): Papini Statii Silvarum libri. Herausgegeben und erkl rt, Leipzig. Weeber, Karl-Wilhelm (1994): Panem et Circenses. Massenunterhaltung als Politik im antiken Rom, Mainz. Weinreich, Otto (1928): Studien zu Martial. Literarhistorische und religionsgeschichtliche Untersuchungen, Stuttgart. Wiedemann, Thomas (1992): Emperors and Gladiators, London & New York.

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Tears in Apuleius Metamorphoses Donald Lateiner Abstract: Apuleius novel about Roman provincial life tracks the catastrophes and responses of lustful, greedy and innocent people. The vocabulary of weeping, built on Latin stems such as lacrim- and fle-, indicates who sheds tears, when and for what reason. Apuleius developed scenes in which genuine and false weeping serves manipulative and even criminal purposes as well as more straightforward expressions of pain and grief. A large caste of confidence men and women exploit others sympathies and weaknesses in order to seduce, cheat, steal and murder. Charite, Psyche and Lucius, experiencing sexual and emotional frustrations as subjects and objects, weep the most. Only suicide stills Charite s tears, but, after much disconsolate weeping, Psyche and Lucius meet divine redeemers, one in a novel-length, otherworld fantasy related by a senile servant, and the other in an escape from insufferable pedestrian reality related by the protagonist. The novel s final tears metamorphose brief grief into a suspect, although eternal, joy.

Apuleius novel presents its audience with a clumsy spiritual explorer and sexual adventurer who is also a semi-passive, sexual anti-hero: Lucius. Both as man and ass, this man allegedly from Apuleius African Madaura (Met. 11.27) experiences and expresses many emotions, among them joy and (more often) sorrow. Both sentiments can and do reveal themselves through tears – one form of the novel s thematic motif of blocked utterance (through fear, metamorphosis, pain and joy).1 Other characters in the novel also react strongly to the vicissitudes of Fortune, although some of them insincerely produce a response that is only pretended. Several characters exhibit lachrymose hypocrisy. For example, the attractive, bereaved widow dressed in black who poisoned her husband Thelyphron for his money and on behalf of her lover weeps copiously (Met. 2.23: ma1

Ovid (and he too was not the first) had already exploited this eloquent marker of decreased human competence and communication in his Metamorphoses, the stories of, inter alia, Lycaon, Io, Callisto, Actaeon, Echo, Perseus targets, Arachne and Philomela. See below pp. 289 – 291 for Ovid s Metamorphoses as intertext. While some of his victims exhibit inventive compensatory modes, like Echo and Philomela, Apuleius Lucius can only give vituperative glances and wish in vain for words or pen (Met. 3.25, 6.25).

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tronam flebilem fusca vesta contectam). Similarly whiny and weepy are the bereaved mothers and widows, also dressed to kill in ritual black (Met. 3.8: atra veste contecta; cf. Met. 7.27). They rush into the theatre at Hypata to inflame public passions, apparently in hopes of getting Lucius judicially lynched at his mock murder trial.2 Apuleius presents both real and feigned emotions, both passive unguarded reactions and aggressive manipulations of others through this powerful form of emotional expression. Genuine tears can be indifferent to others or shed for their perception. That is, tears are communicative acts. Fake tears can simulate sorrow or dissimulate actual feelings of pleasure. This paper examines real and feigned tears in this mid-second-century A.D. novel: who cries them and when, and what they contribute to the plot and character delineation.3 It finally considers the high frequency of weeping outbursts. Aristomenes praeludic horror story at the very beginning provides the first of many instances of weeping. He theorizes about paradoxical tears of joy.4 Metamorphosed once, years before, into a tortoise by the witch Mero , he laughed in his fear just as others express joy through tears – conflated emotional contraries (Met. 1.12: sensi naturalitus quosdam affectus in contrarium 5 … ut lacrimae saepicule de gaudio prodeunt, ita et in … pavore risum nequivi continere). Experiences of confronting 2 3

4

5

flebilis is a poetic word when applied to persons (OLD s.v. 4). See Met. 3.8: lacrimosa et flebilis (a typically appropriate Apuleian “redundancy”) and Met. 3.9. The lacrim- stem appears 37 times in the novel, thrice as participle, six times as adjective, 28 times as noun (Oldfather 1934: 235). Other relevant words examined include fletus (22x), fleo (15x), flebilis (5x), singultus (5x), singultio (2x). Related words for grief and ritualized lament such as lamentor / lamentatio, plango / plangor and maeror / maestitia provide data for ritual obsequies, a weighty matter not to be explored fully here. The TLL offers further data for pursuing the history of Latin tears, real and figurative, before Apuleius. Apuleius also juxtaposes weeping and laughter in his discussion of the Attic comic poet Philemon (Flor. 16). The lacrim- stem appears nowhere else in the Apuleian corpus. I thank here an anonymous reader who supplied additional references and improved my argument. Met. 4.27 offers the old woman s clear description of the well-known modality of oneiromantic systems in which one interprets events in dreams by contraries, including weeping. On this mode of interpretation, see further Pliny, Epist. 1.18 (to Suetonius), Artemidorus, Oneirocritica 2.60 (weeping) and Winkler s (1990: 35) comments. Fusillo s 1990 article addresses a different but related literary phenomenon: the presentation in the Greek novels of a conflict of opposed emotions in one or more persons at one moment. For examples, see Heliodorus, Aeth. 4.9.1: “crying and rejoicing”, 10.38.4: “tears mingled with laughter, laughter of the weeping and rejoicing of the grieving.”

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unexpected contraries and running the gamut of emotional polarities are frequent, if not systematic, in this novel of emotional surprises (fear, envy, anger, shame, gratitude etc.).6 Apuleius excites reactions contrary to readers expectations. Tears of joy, in fact, bracket the many tears of grief, appearing at both the beginning and the end of Lucius adventures (Met. 11.1). Psyche, the world s most beautiful woman, also weeps the most tears in the novel. The narrative of the M rchen heroine, doomed to marry a monster, provides some distraction for Charite, another bride, abducted from her wedding and doomed to experience rape or ransom.7 Psyche s parents had wept and lamented in their grief 8 for days since hearing the oracle s decree about her intended viperous groom (Met. 4.33: maeretur, fletur, lamentatur; 4.34, 4.35). The city experiences a period of public mourning (Met. 4.33: luctu publico; Met. 4.34). Psyche weeps for her fate bitterly before and on her wedding day (Met. 4.32, 4.35).9 The weepiness of both heroines, the inset tale s and the inset s inset, echo their “ideal” Greek counterparts – lovely women often weeping in the hands of pirates or bandits who threaten their fetishized chastity (L toublon 1993: 175 – 180, 188 – 194). Psyche wipes away copious tears with her bright bridal veil (Met. 4.33: nuptura deterget lacrimas ipso suo flammeo). The doomed bride weeps on the road to her ominous funereal nuptials,10 while her appointed civic escorts extinguish their bridal torches by their tears (Met. 4.34, 4.35). Psyche s sisters experience through tears both 6 The emotional m lange appears elsewhere, e. g. in the Greek romances as a topos (Fusillo 1999 [1990]: 63). In fact, the report of opposed emotional symptoms extends back to Homer s most stable nuclear family, Hector and Andromache with their child (Homer, Il. 6.484: dajquºem cek²sasa …). Thrasyllus sheds deceptive tears of joy (Met. 8.7). Cf. Plato, Phd. 60b, and Seneca, De ira 1.3.8, cited in Keulen (2007: 249 – 250), and see Hijmans & al. (1985: 75 – 76). 7 Psyche s fabula archly resembles yet reverses elements (e. g. divine providence, the happy outcome) of the history of the woman who hears her tale. 8 Psyche shows impatience with their pointless tears (lacrimis inefficacibus; cf. Met. 8.31) 9 defleo (10x) is properly (OLD, s.v.) “to pay a tribute of tears” (Met. 6.32, 7.24: Lucius for his penis), or to mourn a loss (Met. 1.6, 2.27, 3.17), but also to weep bitterly (Met. 4.32). Often one cannot decide among literal and metaphorical meanings. 10 The topos or conceit of funeral nuptials has rich Greek and Roman antecedents in Sophocles (Ant. 891), Ovid (Her. 21.172) and Achilles Tatius (1.13.5, 3.10.5). See further, Seneca, Contr. 6.6 and Lucan 2.367. Cf. Zimmerman & al. (2004: 87, 92 – 93).

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the sorrow of mourning and joy (Met. 5.7) in their search for their sister lost to the doomed marriage. First, they uniquely and hyperbolically “weep their eyes out” (difflebant oculos) and beat their breasts (plangebant ubera) in isocolonic phrases with rhyming verbs lamenting the loss of their sister and her hideous fate. Then, when Psyche appears, they embrace her and weep in (at least) simulated joy.11 Psyche weeps in her mysterious new husband s absence and in his presence – essaying in the latter case wily emotional blackmail.12 Psyche weepily sobs (singultu lacrimoso) in explaining herself to her divine saviour Cupid (Met. 5.13), just as Lucius will sob in opening his heart before another god, his saviour Isis (Met. 11.24: lacrimis obortis, singulta crebro).13 She weeps during her heroic quest or “labours”, first in a flood of tears while directly supplicating the unbending goddess Ceres with tearful prayer (Met. 6.2, 6.3). She then dries her tears before Juno s altar (Met. 6.3: detersis ante lacrimis), and, although having cried often, cries no more. Venus twice laughs loudly at her victim s physical and mental pain (Met. 6.9), but the usual tears no longer appear. Psyche has lost both hope (Met. 6.5: tota spe salutis deposita) and thus the will even to cry further. She repeatedly seeks a suicide that will end her torments. Determined to quit life when faced with her impossible labour at the Styx, caught amidst unblinking snakes, she freezes into stony immobility.14 She now lacks the impulse to weep, here described by the crone as the 11 One reader suggests the tears of the jealous sisters may not here be feigned. The phrase tuae mortis opinione turbatae … (Met. 5.5) supports that first-time optimistic reading, but returning readers will be less sanguine, especially after recalling other descriptors such as simulatos fletus and affectione simulata (Met. 5.11, 5.15). 12 Met. 4.35; Zimmerman & al. (2004: ad loc.) note increasing tricolon with climactic deflentem. See further Met. 5.5 (Zimmerman & al. 2004 compare Charite at Met. 8.7), 5.5 and 5.13; Met. 6.2: weeping at Ceres feet. Zimmerman & al. (2004: 373) note that uber and ubertim are common descriptors of tears. Careful female modulation of weeping in order to maximize success of entreaties provides a favoured topic of cynical male authors through the centuries; cf. Lutz (1999: 140). 13 Zimmerman & al. (2004: ad loc.) note the parallel; Griffiths (1975) and Fredouille (1975) do not. 14 Lateiner (2001: 237) remarks that she is immobilized before, when Cupid leaves her, here, and later, when suffering her Scheintod. This brief, petrifying death of the heroine provides an analogy to Lucius inexpugnable curiositas. The punishment follows from her unwise opening of Proserpina s cosmetics box (Met. 5.25: humi prostrata, Met. 6.14: mutata in lapidem, Met. 6.21: iacebat immobilis … dormiens cadaver). See also Slater (1998) on this novel s rich use of stone images.

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last refuge of the miserable (Met. 6.14: lacrumarum etiam extremo solacio carebat). Like Homer s and Ovid s Niobe, the victim has passed beyond this “natural” reaction and self-consolation (cf. Zimmerman & al. 2004: 474 – 475). The vulnerable Charite15 is sobbing uncontrollably when she enters the cave a captive (Met. 4.24), forced to listen to the old woman jailer s blather (Met. 4.24: blateratis). No imaginable saviour for her has yet appeared.16 While her head rests between her knees, an undignified pose for anyone – but suited to a doomed person who perceives herself to have lost all dignitas, a shower of uncontrolled lachrymose imagery describes her: sine modo flebat, inceptis fletibus, assiduis singultibus ilia quatiens). Lucius, although currently an ass, cannot restrain tears of sympathy at the beautiful bride s woeful plight (Met. 4.24: mihi etiam lacrimas excussit).17 Charite falls asleep finally, but awakes from a nightmare to weep again (Met. 4.25, 4.27), although the crone warns her that bandits have little sympathy for displays of self-pitying emotion. Charite weeps for and mourns her daring but dead young spouse. Tlepolemus lost his life while out hunting with his companions (Met. 8.8). She has yet to learn the foul and traitorous manner of his death arranged 15 She stands second in frequency of weeping – perhaps only because her story is shorter than Psyche s. 16 The poisoned Thelyphron s uncle, demanding justice in public with a choked voice, is the fourth and only other sobber (Met. 2.27: maestus in lacrimis … voce … assiduis singultibus impedita; cf. Lucius at Met. 3.10). 17 We might presume the weeping of an animal to be hyperbole for this function or capacity usually arrogated to humans. The narratorial device of human mind persisting within an animal imprisonment, maintains greater interest than some might otherwise have in an ass. This folktale motif is widespread and found, for example, in Homer, Odyssey 10 and in Apuleius direct inspiration, Ovid s accounts of Io and Actaeon (Ovid, Met. 1.731 – 733, 3.203). Blocked from human gestures and words, Lucius, newly an ass, had pouted and looked askance at Photis with moist eyes (Met. 3.25: postrema deiecta labia, umidis tamen oculis obliquum respiciens). Whether animals can weep to express emotion has been a contested issue in Darwin s day and even now. Darwin only reluctantly admitted evidence for weeping monkeys and elephants, but he did not observe such events himself (Darwin 1998 [1872]: 136, 168). He writes of vocal expression in horses but not their weeping or speaking (88 – 89). Douglas (1971) touches on canine laughter. She is introducing comments on the human body s rich communicative systems. Lucius describes himself repeatedly as retaining his human feelings, intelligence, ethics and literary acumen (e. g. Met. 3.26: sensum tamen retinebam humanum, 6.25, 10.2, 10.33: indignationis meae impetus, 10.34: pudor concubitus).

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by his false “friend” Thrasyllus. Her spouse s mangled and misshapen shade calls upon the pious tears by which she had cleaned his wounds (Met. 8.8: vulnera illa, quorum sanguinem tuae lacrimae proluerunt). Charite, the winsome, widowed bride, once she has discovered Thrasyllus monstrous deceit and murder, again weeps extensively. She drenches her cheeks with tears (Met. 8.9: lacrimis emanantibus genas cohumidat).18 Her townspeople weep copiously for her situation and determined decision to die and join her husband, while her sword and suicidal frenzy hold them at bay (Met. 8.13: fletus uberes et lamentationes varias). Thrasyllus effrontery (ominous already in his tell-tale name) initially kept him from shedding tears for his victim (Met. 8.6), but later the hypocritical killer performed a full lament with crocodile tears (Met. 8.7: nimium nimius clamare, plangere, et quas in primo maerore lacrimas non habebat … reddere).19 Psyche s sisters likewise know how to force false tears to their eyes (Met. 5.17) – by pressing their eyelids. Earlier seducers and later murderers, such as the corpse Thelyphron s conniving, adulterous wife and the bold murderess of Five, shed false tears when their husbands die from their poisons (Met. 2.24, 2.27: emeditatis ad haec illa fletibus; 10.27: fictas mentitasque lacrimas). Career conmen and ad hoc frauds populate the many dark corners of the Metamorphoses. For example, the priests of the Syrian goddess concoct lies and shriek false prophecies in order to plunder the dismal Hellenic provincial countryside. This is their livelihood (Met. 8.24: fictae vaticinationis mendacio).20 Simulated tears present one of the more modest deceits practised by those who will kill to get their way. Other examples of false tears include the forced emotional rackets produced by Psyche s two sisters, Thrasyllus, and the anonymous Murderess of Five (Met. 5.11, 5.17, 8.7, 10.27). Psyche s sisters set out to savage her life, but rip their 18 This word is hapax in Latin, one of Apuleius many. See Hijmans & al. (1985: 97). 19 Hijmans & al. (1985: 75 – 76) cite Homer, Od. 19.471, and Petronius, Sat. 110.3, and they collect other passages describing both the practice and psychology of ancient mourning. 20 Even the “good guys” must often pretend to be who they are not, or pretend not to be who they are. The market gardener pretends to be supplicating the Roman miles e legione before beating him senseless. Similarly, Lucius as performing ass must pretend not to know in advance how to recline, eat dainties, wrestle and dance so that he is not mistaken for a divinely sent augury of danger (Met. 9.40: simulans sese ad commovendum miserationem; 10.17: scaevum praesagium portendere, velut monstrum).

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own cheeks in pseudo-lament as they renew their fraudulent grief (Met. 5.11: ora lacerantes, simulatos redintegrant fletus). The aged female fabulist describes this self-laceration as a fitting pre-penalty for their hypocrisy and greed (Met. 5.11: proinde ut merebantur). Lucius as long as he is still human weeps copiously in anxious anticipation of his capital trial for homicide (Met. 3.1). Again he weeps in guilt and fear when asked to defend himself during the trial at Hypata – in part because he thinks himself actually guilty of midnight murder (Met. 3.4: nihil … amplius quam flere poteram, … intuens … meam miseram conscientiam). He weeps after the accusation against him has been completed (Met. 3.4). Although the peroration of his well-crafted rhetoric defending himself against a capital charge demands a show of tears, they here seem genuine and unforced (Met. 3.7: rursum lacrimis obortis). He observes for his readers that a good orator must evoke the jury s sympathy by a pathetic and weepy supplication (Met. 3.7: misericordia fletuum affectos … crederem). When he looks up, however, at the citizens court moved to the more capacious venue of a theatre, in puzzlement he perceives the assembled citizens convulsed with raucous laughter. That is, paradoxically, although his tears were genuine, the audience knew the cause of them was their own, local Risus Festival, a first-class Reality Show, an “April Fool” fraud. Consequently, they laugh in amusement at his genuine, but rhetorically activated, weeping. The Thessalians have reduced him to tears, lowering his status from his proper elevated Roman social self 21 to a town fool. In the humiliating upshot, as he slinks back to his host Demeas house, he sobs and suffers fits of genuine tears of shame so severe and lasting that they produce a sharp headache (Met. 3.10, 3.13: capitis acrem dolorem quem mihi lacrimarum assiduitas incusserat). These symptoms help to persuade readers that these tears are genuine, always an issue in this novel. His dissolving personality anticipates his loss of human form and certain human capacities; he becomes a full-fledged ass. In peril or catastrophe, less prominent individuals also weep for themselves, family or comrades. A grandfather weeps convincingly while touching strangers knees. He supplicates travellers for help for his grandson who has allegedly fallen into a pit and started weeping (Met. 8.19: ubertim lacrimans … cum fletu maximo; 8.20: de fletu ac voce ipsius). This unexplained fraud employs tears to win the sympathy of passing strangers. Another disaster so overwhelming that it surpasses human ca21 Met. 1.2: gloriam nobis; 2.3: dignitas (…) clarissimas nuptias.

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pacity for even silent tears (Met. 9.38: ne tacitum quidem fletum),22 floors a suddenly childless father. He hears that a greedy neighbour has murdered all three of his adult sons in one day. The poor gardener (who briefly owns Lucius) sympathetically weeps at this calamity of his dinner host (Met. 9.39: depensis 23 pro prandio lacrimis). The gardener leaves clapping his hands (vacuasque manus complodens), an odd, wordless gesture perhaps indicating his helplessness.24 The cook who will need to explain the stolen stag haunch and Myrmex the pimp-slave in chains both weep for themselves after the failure of their plans and before their expected punishments (Met. 8.31: lamentatus lacrimis inefficacibus … maerens et utcumque metuens altius; 9.21: lacrimis uberibus ac prostremis lamentationibus). A father in court tearfully demands his own son s execution for alleged sexual coercion of his wife, attempted incest and poisoning of his twelve-year-old half-brother. While he pleads thus, he wets his cheeks with fresh tears, overcome by the thought of his grief and loss of two kin (Met. 10.6: ora sua recentibus adhuc rigans lacrimis). His fresh tears enflame both his fellow-citizens and the court. Survivors of those who die prematurely, the untimely dead, elsewhere weep for their unexpected losses. The grieving mother of the nasty herding boy, unlike the father of the three farm boys, “tearfully weeps” (Met. 7.27: fleta 25 et lacrimosa) authentic tears, as she, alone and by herself, prepares to torture and kill his scapegoat victim, the beast Lucius. The fact that no audience observes her sobbing serves to validate Charite s tears also. She weeps in grief, before the nighttime visit of the pale and gory shade of her beloved husband. Tlepolemus recalls Dido s likewise murdered, unburied spouse, Sychaeus (Vergil, Aen. 1.348 – 22 This ancient observation, that pains too great and too close foreclose the outlets of tears and pity, can be found in Herodotus tale of Psammenitus tears (3.14) and Aristotle s discussion of it (Rhet. 1386a). See my essay on tears in Greek historiography (Lateiner 2009, in this volume). 23 F deprensis, corr. & edd. depensis. The ms. reading suggests an antithesis between what he came for and what he wound up with (“finding”); the correction suggests a somewhat cynical narratorial comment by the Ass on his genuine reaction (“paying for”). 24 Hijmans & al. (1995: 323) cite Seneca, De ira 1.1.4, as well as Petronius, Sat. 18.7, 34.7 and 137.1 – passages where several different, sometimes conflicting emotions express a strong, generally negative, reaction. 25 Hijmans & al. (1981: 261) note that this is the only recorded active use of this passive participle. Van der Paardt (1971: 70) discusses the doublet lacrimosa et flebilis used to describe the woman “actor” at Met. 3.8.

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360).26 She, now in fresh grief, weeps at his bloody appearance and the shocking news of the mode of his murder (supra). Angry magic summons the ghost of another murder victim, a woman, to appear to the cuckolded baker. She is half-dressed in an oddly described “tearful rag” (Met. 9.30: flebili centunculo semiamicta). Then, after the revenant has somehow killed the innocent baker, his tear-stained ghost appears to his daughter experiencing a sleeping vision (Met. 9.31: flebilis27 … facies). Plango and plangor provide a window on the portrayal of grief for the unexpectedly or untimely dead. Psyche s sisters “cry their eyes and grieve their breasts” in the anile captor s tale (Met. 5.7: difflebant oculos et plangebant ubera).28 The judicial-theatrical farce in Hypata began with blackrobed women s simulated wailing grief for untimely dead sons (Met. 3.8: plangore sublato se lugubriter eiulantes, … iuvenes … parvulus). Thrasyllus the bold killer was prepared to nimium nimius clamare, plangere, etc. for his young companion (Met. 8.7). Some examples of grieving, such as that of the daughter of the baker, his slaves and the parents of the sadistic baker s boy are clearly genuine (Met. 9.31, 9.30, 7.26, 4.3: ululabili cum plangore). Readers now recognize that emotions and their expressions have their own histories as social constructs. Ancient texts show disparities as well as continuities between ancient and modern presentations and analyses of emotions and their expression.29 Weeping is a signature expression of grief, whether we view the grief of loss as an emotion or a sensation (such as pain). Tears, as much as grief, if not more, vary across cultures, epochs, perhaps different when expressed by Greeks or Romans. But, lamentation, informal and formal, was certainly very physical and open in both Mediterranean societies. 26 Dido does not weep at her husband s apparition, perhaps because here there is an interested, internal narrator – Venus reports it (Vergil, Aen. 1.353 – 357). Dido s responses to her second husband s love lost differ; there is much eye activity including weeping (Aen. 4.363 – 364: volvens oculos … / luminibus tacitis; 4.413: ire iterum in lacrimas; 4.437, 4.439, 4.449, 4.649). 27 A “poetic word” when applied to persons (OLD, s.v. 4). The adjective has an active through passive spectrum of meanings (cf. Aulus Gellius, Noct. Att. 9.12 for comment): weepy, tear-causing and worthy of tears, or, as the TLL expresses this (ad loc.): quod flet, quod fletum cit, quod fletu dignum est. 28 plang- stems are often paired with some fle- or lament- stems, e. g. Met. 4.3, 5.5 and 7.26. 29 Konstan (2006: ix – x) cautions against assuming identity in Greek and current perceptions of grief, for instance. Aristotle does not treat grief as an emotion, as he points out (Konstan 2006: xi). Consider Lutz s 1999 title.

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Situations producing grief themselves differ in nature. Charite grieves and weeps for the irreparable loss of another (Met. 8.7: luctu et maerore), the trapped and murdered mortal, her recently married spouse Tlepolemus. His revelation of Thrasyllus homicide, committed to displace her husband, demands angry revenge within the community. There is no other consolation. Charite gouges out his once deceptively weeping eyes (Met. 8.13: convulnerat tota lumina eumque prorsus exoculatum relinquens). Lucius feels anger towards Fotis for depriving him of his human self, but he should be angry with himself first. He got the potion that he had asked for. His grief aborts, not because only he is himself at fault but he can only grieve paradoxically for the loss of himself, although that self might be salvageable (by counter-magic of roses). Psyche weeps for the escaped immortal spouse Cupid, whose warnings she betrayed but who himself is not beyond recovery. The tears of all three, although founded in grief for permanent loss of a person, also express frustration and awareness of their own guilt in bringing on their grief and consequent tears.30 Internal narrators in Apuleius calibrate tears for their task or audience. The crone chose to tell “charming” stories (Met. 4.27: narrationibus lepidis … anilibus fabulis; 6.25: bella fabella) filled with a heroine s tears but capped by an unexpectedly happy conclusion. The teller astutely fits her tale to a weepy captive audience (Met. 4.27: fletibus adsuspirans)31 of one captive (or two, if we count the attentive ass, Lucius). The jailer crone herself will weep later in pain, as the heroic ass Lucius drags her off in his escape (Met. 6.27: frustra fletibus). Lucius generous sympathy for sexy (Met. 4.23: et asino tali concupiscendam) Charite s tear-filled plight when kidnapped (Met. 4.24) produces asinine tears. Similarly, the escaped slave-survivor from dead Charite s masterless house sighs at length and bursts into tears while describing his mistress s woeful discovery of betrayal, revenge and death (Met. 8.15: longos trahens suspiritus et nonnunquam inlacrimans [hapax in Apuleius]). The only other weeping of Lucius in the body of an ass proves his miraculous change of heart, his increasing humanity, albeit in asinine form. 30 Indeed, both Psyche s and Lucius pain, while very real, flourish in a social vacuum, not in a community matrix like Charite s, since the two deracinated wanderers have strayed far from home. That will certainly affect the weeper s gestures and frequency of tears. Charite has a hometown audience for her house s revenge-tragedy (Met. 8.1). 31 The word appears in classical Latin only here and at Met. 4.25.

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He directs his tears,32 accompanied by his immediately following prayer and lamentations,33 towards Isis, the goddess understood now to be present in the form of the full moon. Lucius, although in extremis from his suffering, weeps in joy at his realization (certus) of Isis power (Met. 11.1: [laetus et alacer] … lacrimoso vultu) and immediately afterwards experiences a vision of an anthropomorphic and salvific Isis.34 Isis commands him to cease his tears, lamentations and grief (Met. 11.5: fletus, lamentationes, maerorem). She promises that he will regain human form and retain human mind. The convert of Isis as an adorant weeps the novel s final, this time joyful, tears, again joyful tears (festissimus dies, … voluptas), when he prepares to return home. Wiping the feet of the image of Isis for a long while with his (human – thank god!) face, tears well up yet again (Met. 11.24: lacrimis obortis), his voice breaks, and he speaks with difficulty – another variety of blocked utterance (singultu crebro) – while he thanks the goddess. Why, then, do characters in the Metamorphoses weep and weep so often? Both the human and animal worlds of the novel present cruel, unfair and selfish acts – sometimes insanely pointless.35 While the cruelties of malicious acquaintances, heartless strangers and the blows of harsh Fortuna (Met. 10.24: feralis Fortunae nutus) justify some protagonists 32 Tears, like speech, provide a marker of Lucius returning human identity. Lucius tears here denote a stage in his spiritual and physical recovery, just as Actaeon s tears (Ovid, Met. 3.202 – 203), before his dogs catch him as a voiceless stag, denote a stage of his degradation from humanity and divine punishment. Readers will remember Lucius rapt attention to the stone image of Actaeon s transforming into stag in stone at Byrrhina s house (Met. 2.4). 33 Met. 11.1 – 2 raises questions about the incomplete dehumanization of the ass, however we imagine that he “uttered” the prayer (lacrimoso vultu sic adprecabar). See Met. 11.3: fusis precibus et adstructis miseris lamentationibus. The retained human consciousness multiplies the pain of the metamorphosized animal embodiment. 34 Leo (cited in Helm s apparatus criticus), Helm (1931), Griffiths (1975) and other editors delete the first two adjectives, but Fredouille (1975: ad loc.) and Finkelpearl (1998: 204 – 205) rightly defend the mixed contrary emotions. Furiani (2000: 81) notes later Greek novels oxymoronic parallels such as Longus 1.13.6 and 31.6. 35 Schlam (1992: 61 – 62) and Shumate (1996: 105, 128, 225) observe the blindness or cruelty of Apuleius unstable world, personified in the novel as Fortunae me scaevitatem (Met. 4.2). It is unclear here whether Fortuna is Lucius own daemon or the nature of second-century life. Saeva is the commonest descriptor for Fortune. Both “perverse” and “cruel” are applied asyndetically at Met. 9.14 to a particularly nasty woman.

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tears (specifically those of Lucius, Charite, Psyche), the tears of most of the other characters result chiefly from self-pity, sexual frustration and greedy pretences. That is to say, Apuleius, or Lucius his character, presents a predominantly cynical view of human weeping. More females than males weep in the Metamorphoses. The motives attributed to women are often clearly evil (greed) or sexually suspect.36 Weeping wretchedly in her proper widow s ritual dress, the criminal wife of poisoned Thelyphron inspects and inventories his night-watched corpse (Met. 2.23, 2.24, 2.26: ecce uxor misella flens). The adulteress carries out her phony lamentation in pursuit of her fraudulent scheme. Money and lust motivate her insincere and theatrical manifestations of extreme grief. These shows include loosened hair hanging free over her face (Met. 2.23), weeping (2.24), further false tears (2.27: emeditatis ad haec … fletibus) and kissing the corpse (2.26). To be sure, these practices are the frequently attested, proper commonplaces and techniques of bereaved lamentation.37 The disconnects between criminal cover-ups and ritual grief provide readers with black humour. Another lustful wife weeps in love-sickness and sexual frustration when her stepson rejects her incestuous intentions (Met. 10.2).38 The young adulterer, arrived to sexually pleasure the baker s unfaithful 36 Mero the witch presents a uniquely intertextual reference to weeping. She rhetorically asks her companion familiar whether she should weep forever alone in her lust like Calypso (Met. 1.12) or kill her unfaithful consort Socrates. Her dilemma contrasts a typical powerless woman s sex-driven misery at being jilted to Mero s own empowered revenge on her lover, planning to depart. The literary intertext of Calypso is an ironic reference to a wandering, powerful hero and an even more powerful divine female. Fotis, Demeas maid, while as libidinous as Lucius, receives little psychological analysis or ethical criticism. Apuleius never suggests wicked motives for her, although Lucius is ready to kick in her face and kill her (Met. 3.26). He describes her in his fury as “most nefarious and abominable” (nequissimam facinerosissimamque illam feminam). 37 Compare the baker s slaves and daughter for sincere bereaved anguish (Met. 9.30 – 31: plangoribus summisque lamentationibus … crines pendulos quatiens et interdum pugnis obtundens ubera … diutino plangore cruciasset …). The poisoner-wife omits the breast-beating, perhaps because her husband s death is no longer news to her when we begin her story. Toynbee (1971) discusses historical Roman death and burial rituals, especially de optimatibus (cf. Met. 2.27). Petronius depiction of Trimalchio s preview of his funeral (Sat. 71, 77 – 78; also 140 – 141) outflanks a long line of laughers at protocols of death and legacy hunters. 38 Zimmerman (2000: 417 – 433) offers an appendix on Apuleius treatment of the traditional Phaedra myth.

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wife, shrieks in tearful pain (Met. 9.27: flebili clamore). He has hurriedly hid himself from the returned husband, but Lucius the ass, seeking revenge for his decent and cuckolded master, with his hoof crushes this lothario s protuberant digits. The tears shed by such odious characters win no reader s sympathy.39 In contrast, Psyche and Lucius, who weep more than any other characters, are the fortunate two, naive creatures saved despite their limited perspectives and the cruel nature of both fellow mortals and of certain immortal persecutors (Venus, Fortuna). Their tears are somehow fruitful for them. Cosmic love affairs (with Cupid and Isis) redeem their repeated tears of defeat and lead them into two sorts of (heavenly and earthly) bliss. Psyche s rejection by her god for disobedience and curiosity, her wanderings and trials, and her quest to recover a social context and discover love, forgiveness and salvation anticipate Lucius own, as many readers have remarked. Gender differences prevent Lucius from ever becoming pregnant. True also, the Isiac view of sex is incompatible with the Cupidinous or Olympian, but the analogies remain prominent. Her seemingly endless sufferings and rekindled hopes in alien and hostile worlds while seeking a new, grounded relationship with her once glimpsed and grasped god find repeated outlets and expression in impotent tears. These only apparently wasted tears resemble and often anticipate the asinine protagonist s expressions of grief. The heroic tears of Achilles, Odysseus and Aeneas in epic express their mortal limitations in the face of death and their awareness of ephemerality: sunt lacrimae rerum et mentem mortalia tangunt (Vergil, Aen. 1.462), to quote one pre-Apuleian hero s figurative expression.40 Their tears never supplant decision or forestall heroical action. The non-instrumental, relatively unself-conscious weeping, however, of the playthings of the gods in Ovid s and Apuleius Metamorphoses frequently represents or marks a human limit, an awareness of pushing limits to communication, action and interaction. At this point of tears, these more ordinary, bourgeois (even if royal!) protagonists give up agency, complaint, concern and even hope. The vital tears of Ovid s Niobe, Myr39 Rare examples of weeping without moral depravity (other than the tears of Charite, Psyche and Lucius) occur: a nameless woman shrieks in pain and weeps when struck by a rock while traveling (Met. 8.17); mothers and fathers decently weep for their dead children (Met. 4.3 and 7.26: plangoribus fletibusque querebantur). 40 lacr- words appear 63 times in Vergil s works, only three of them not in the Aeneid. The verb appears only in participial form.

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rha and Narcissus41 signify human capacities for suffering beyond the experience or ken of sadistic gods. These Ovidian tears are arguably tragic, since the characters have permanently lost their families and their human identities. Apuleius – not surprisingly – follows the lead of Ovid s Metamorphoses more closely than of other narrational predecessors. Both describe the mental anguish rather than the physical pain of the transformed body (Murray 1998: 84, 95 n. 7). Sudden speechlessness of conscious humans trapped in an unwelcome and often vulnerable body, such as Actaeon as stag, marks a being as the target of divine lust and/or wrath. No Ovidian story, by this analysis, however, seems more apposite to Lucius than Io s as a cow.42 The formerly nubile nymph, once transformed to a bovine (to save her from Juno s divine wrath), is unrecognized. She grazes with the herd. Haltered, she eats bitter grass (Ovid, Met. 1.630 – 632). She wants to plead with her arms but – armless – cannot (Ovid, Met. 1.635 – 636: supplex … bracchia vellet / tendere, non habuit …). Her only voice is her animal, alien moo (1.637: conata queri mugitus edidit ore). She can weep, though (1.647: nec retinet lacrimas). Both authors describe the experience from inside the beast although they employ different sorts of narrators, a third-person omniscient and a first-person deficient. Sighs, slobbery kisses and tears are among the animal characters few remaining humanoid capacities (Ovid, Met. 1.656, 1.646 – 647). Both beasts experience repeated intensifications of suffering. Io suffers: first, from pathetic removal from her family and father, then Argus unceasing vigilance, and then madness and relentless pursuit by Fury or Gadfly. Finally, in despair, the cow tearfully sinks to her knees next to the Egyptian Nile, exiled from home (Ovid, Met. 1.664 – 667, 725 – 733). She raises her face and tearfully supplicates the god Jove. She noisily and with epic neologism and polysyndeton prays (Ovid, Met. 1.732: et gemitu et lacrimis et luctisono mugitu). The supreme god s pity and the deal with his wife Juno obtain her release from animal form. Ovid had described her return to anthromorph in detail: like Lucius reprise, the narrator describes her head, hair, mouth, hands and limbs. She too had been afraid to speak (Ovid, Met. 1.745 – 746: metuitque loqui, ne more iuvencae / mugiat, et timide verba intermissa retemptat). Soon after, she experiences a second metamorphosis (apotheosis); she be41 Hollenburger-Rusch (2001) analyses all the weeping of Ovidian characters in public and private contexts, as pathology, aetiology, anti-theology etc. 42 Griffiths (1975) does not notice this extended literary antecedent intertext.

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comes none other than Lucius goddess Isis herself (1.747): nunc dea linigera colitur celeberrima turba. Apuleius Lucius as ass, similarly to Ovid s Io as cow,43 loses articulate speech, suffers a halter, munches on bitter hay (Met. 9.39, 3.29, 4.1) and tries to gesture within the new narrow limits of clumsy limbs and less expressive head (Met. 3.25, 3.26). Both animals can “speak” only inarticulate sounds, a cow s moo and an ass s whinny (3.29: clamorem absonum). Lucius the ass also kisses women, twice weeps tears – once as a recovering ass, as we have seen (Met. 6.28, 10.21 – 22, 4.24, 11.1). These animal tears have antecedents as far back as Achilles weeping horses (Homer, Il. 17.427 – 428 [interestingly enjambed], 17.437 – 439)44 and the weeping, swine-bodied crew of Odysseus (Homer, Od. 10.240 – 241). Lucius sufferings, like Io s, multiply from ordinary beast of burden (e. g. Met. 4.1: iumentum quadripede) to near death experiences (e. g. Met. 4.3: iam morti proximus; 8.31 – 9.1 [the butcher], 10.34), to fornicatory anticipations of shame worse than death in Corinth s lewd spectacles (Met. 10.29: mortem mihimet volens consciscere). Finally, in despair and far from home, he tearfully sinks down into the sand and then lowers his head in the sea seven times (Met. 10.35, 11.1). He purifies himself and tearfully prays (Met. 11.1). The supreme and benevolent goddess – now Isis (Ovid again) – releases him from animaloid imprisonment. She anamorphs him back to human shape. The crowd hails the goddess miracle. Lucius, like Io, remains reluctant to speak, not knowing what will come out (Met. 11.13: claraque et consona voce … testantur; Met. 11.14: stupore nimio defixus tacitus …). Apuleius Psyche and the later Lucius signify an ultimate resignation and abandonment of will that recall Ovid s victims of divine machinations, but with a comic d nouement. After all the suffering, their continuing incomprehension (opening Proserpina s box, leaving the show at Corinth for shame at providing a public sexual exhibit) does not block deus/ dea e machina happy (Voluptas) endings. Unself-conscious weeping thus signifies the defeat or impossibility of heroic or even bourgeois, self-sufficient human enterprises. The blameless Charite, the helpless father who 43 Ovid s Metamorphoses includes only one ass and one asinine feature. He incidentally mentions Silenus mount, and Midas suffers the condign punishment of ass ears (Ovid, Met. 4.27, 11.179). Ovid might have made further comic use of the paradigmatic beast of burden, one renowned for stubbornness, crassness of mind and sexual appetites. 44 Once, in the allegedly unmagical Iliad, Hera gives momentary human speech to Xanthus, one of the divine horses (Homer, Il. 19.407 – 418).

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mistakenly thinks one of his sons has killed the other one,45 and the mother of Lucius torturer all weep in inconsolable grief for their troubles, but gain no solace, consolation or redemption from their tears. Their weeping grief provides Apuleius narrative with an essential facet of the poetics of stupefaction, the ineffability of extreme, non-redemptive suffering. Lucius weeps more than any other male in the novel for two good reasons. First, the protagonist of the novel holds the stage more than anyone else does. He is a credulous but worrying risk-taker looking for magic and sex (two forms of forbidden power and pleasure). His miserable earthbound desires, many adventures and sufferings construct and justify the plot and capacious structure for his and many other individuals tearfilled stories of pain. His tears punctuate his miseries and those of other beings driven by mundane passions and losses. They cue audience reactions, those listeners inside and outside the confessional text. Second, at the climax and end of his misfortunes, he has harshly, arguably excessively, modified his Weltanschauung. 46 He has reformed himself, moving from one extreme of rash risk-tolerance to the other pole of timidity. He has radically rejected his incautious, hedonistic inclinations for an asexual, or supra-sexual, soul. In accepting and devoting himself to the real or imagined (delusional) security offered by the goddess Isis, he suppresses his previous sexual obsessions, e. g. his trichomania.47 Further, he sheds his other self-centered characteristics such as the active 45 The survival of his sepulchered son in a coma (Met. 10.12: mortifero sopore surgentem) was a freakish and theatrical gift of “divine providence” – a nod to the trope found in New Comedy s frequent restorations of the bourgeois family line. 46 Winkler (1985: passim) brilliantly and strongly disputed the claim that Lucius has changed his ways or learned anything. He compared the novel to a detective story, “a hermeneutic entertainment”. It surely is that, but not only that. Lucius, like most real people, thinks himself now to be more different than he has become. Some of his changes strike readers today as one step forward, two back. Winkler s ironic reading influences every student of Apuleius, but it remains an interpretive tour de force rather than an adequate and satisfactory account of the ensemble. Schlam (1992: 2, 113 – 125) struggled to find a better explanation of the religiose Book 11 s relation to the comedies of death that arrive before. There is comedy also in the last book s excessive divine guidance ex machinis and the endless new expenses of various Isiac initiations. As for Lucius lucky outcome, “[h]is redemption, like that of Psyche, is not merited: it is an act of grace.” The problems exceed the bounds of this essay, but I do not think that the two explanations (post-structuralist and middle Platonic) entirely exclude each other. 47 Met. 2.8: unica cura fuerit caput capillumque; cf. Met. 3.23. Contrast the bald man s pride (Met. 11.10, 11.28, 11.30: gaudens).

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pursuit of fame, fortune (Met. 11.28) and magical powers (e. g. Met. 2.1, 3.19, 3.22). The two Lucii, before and after, are discrepant, and so are their tears. Now, no embarrassment or loss of dignity attaches to reclusive Lucius shedding tears, as hero or anti-hero. Traditional views of heroism or meddling with superhuman powers are now irrelevant to him. Life has trashed those antiquated codes and values. For him, a “privileged” observer of human folly, tears now signify heavenly relief and release from earthly cares. These tears are irreplaceable tokens of his submission, an essential sign of his vulnerable humanity. These same tears, for the reader, signify his new confusion of values, a further failure to engage successfully this difficult world. Never good at relating to man or beast, even after all his ordeals, Lucius remains credulous, but now to a different credo. He trades one preoccupation, magic, for another (Isiac faith).48 His sincere tears muddy for him the hard truths that Apuleius shows the attentive reader. Tears in the Metamorphoses, then, provide a glimpse of man s very limited control of his nasty world.49

Bibliography Darwin, Charles (1998 [1872]): The Expression of the Emotions in Man and Animals. Edited by Paul Ekman, Oxford & New York. Douglas, Mary (1971): Do dogs laugh? A cross-cultural approach to body symbolism. In: Journal of Psycho-Somatic Research 15, 387 – 390. Finkelpearl, Ellen (1998): Metamorphosis of Language in Apuleius, Ann Arbor. Fredouille, Jean Claude (1975): Apul e Metmorphoseon Liber XI, Paris. Furiani, Patrizia Liviabella (2000): Le rire comme l ment de communication nonverbale dans les romans grecs d amour. In: Marie-Laurence Desclos (ed.), Le rire des Grecs. Anthropologie du rire en Gr ce ancienne, Grenoble, 77 – 94.

48 See Massey s analysis (1976: 34 – 58). 49 Few tears are found in Apuleius other preserved works. At Apol. 82.3 the defendant Apuleius refers to his stepson Pontianus feigned tears in public in the forum shed to elicit greater pity, and later (Apol. 94.2) to Pontianus apparently genuine tears of remorse (with hand-kissing supplication) shed for his earlier public fraud and expressed to Apuleius in private. The two men are reconciled with tears greasing their uneasy rapprochement.

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Fusillo, Massimo (1990): Le conflit des emotions: un topos du roman grec rotique. In: Museum Helveticum 47, 201 – 221. Reprinted in English translation in: Simon Swain (ed.), Oxford Readings in the Greek Novel, Oxford 1999, 60 – 82. Griffiths, John Gwyn (1975): Apuleius of Madaura. The Isis Book (Metamorphoses Book XI), Leiden. Helm, Rudolf (ed.) (1931): Apuleius. Vol. 1: Metamorphoseon Libri XI, Leipzig. Hijmans, Benjamin & al. (1981): Apuleius Madaurensis. Metamorphoses Book VI 25 – 32 and VII, Groningen. Hijmans, Benjamin & al. (1985): Apuleius Madaurensis. Metamorphoses Book VIII, Groningen. Hijmans, Benjamin & al. (1995): Apuleius Madaurensis. Metamorphoses Book IX, Groningen. Hollenburger-Rusch, Caroline (2001): Liquitur in lacrimas. Zur Verwendung des Tr nenmotivs in den “Metamorphosen” Ovids, Hildesheim. Keulen, Wytse (2007): Apuleius Madaurensis. Metamorphoses Book I, Groningen. Konstan, David (2006): The Emotions of the Ancient Greeks. Studies in Aristotle and Classical Literature, Toronto. Lateiner, Donald (2001): Humiliation and immobility in Apuleius Metamorphoses. In: Transactions of the American Philological Association 131, 217 – 255. Lateiner, Donald (2009): Tears and crying in Hellenic historiography. Dacryology from Herodotus to Polybius. In: Thorsten Fçgen (ed.), Tears in the Graeco-Roman World, Berlin & New York, 105 – 134. L toublon, FranÅoise (1993): Les lieux communs du roman. St r otypes grecs d aventure et d amour, Leiden. Lutz, Tom (1999): Crying. The Natural and Cultural History of Tears, New York. Massey, Irving (1976): The Gaping Pig. Literature and Metamorphosis, Berkeley. Murray, Penelope (1998): Bodies in flux. Ovid s Metamorphoses. In: Dominic Montserrat (ed.), Changing Bodies, Changing Meanings. Studies on the Human Body in Antiquity, London & New York, 80 – 98. Oldfather, William Abbott & al. (eds.) (1934): Index Apuleianus, Middletown, Connecticut. Schlam, Carl C. (1992): The Metamorphoses of Apuleius. On Making an Ass of Oneself, Chapel Hill. Shumate, Nancy (1996): Crisis and Conversion in Apuleius Metamorphoses, Ann Arbor. Slater, Niall W. (1998): Passion and petrifaction. The gaze in Apuleius. In: Classical Philology 93, 18 – 48. Toynbee, Jocelyn M. (1971): Death and Burial in the Roman World, Ithaca, New York. van der Paardt, Rudy (1971): Apuleius Madaurensis. The Metamorphoses Book III, Amsterdam. Winkler, John J. (1985): Auctor & Actor. A Narratological Reading of Apuleius Golden Ass, Berkeley.

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Winkler, John J. (1990): Unnatural acts. Erotic protocols in Artemidoros Dream Analysis. In: John J. Winkler, The Constraints of Desire. The Anthropology of Sex and Gender in Ancient Greece, London & New York, 17 – 45. Zimmerman, Maaike (2000): Apuleius Madaurensis. Metamorphoses Book X, Groningen. Zimmerman, Maaike & al. (2004): Apuleius Madaurensis. Metamorphoses Book IV,28-VI,24: Cupid and Psyche, Groningen.

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Weeping Statues, Weeping Gods and Prodigies from Republican to Early-Christian Rome Anthony Corbeill Abstract: Among the numerous prodigies recorded in our sources from ancient Rome occur a few examples of the statue of a god shedding tears. The traditional apparatus for treating prodigies during the Republic viewed these occurrences as ruptures in the pax deorum, ruptures that signal an indeterminate problem in the relationship between human society and the gods. The sources that discuss these crying images assume that the statues are expressing grief over human mortality. Two phenomena related to this assumption will be considered: first, a literary tradition that maintains that gods are not subject to tears, and second, the critique of Augustine regarding weeping statues in pre-Christian Rome and the relationship between that judgement and the tears that Jesus Christ sheds in the gospels.

1. Introduction Few religious epiphenomena divide believers from sceptics as sharply as visible evidence that a divinity has allegedly appeared to intervene in the day-to-day affairs of mortals. In our contemporary world, apparitions of the Virgin Mary, whether in her regularly scheduled appearances at Medjugorje or on a grilled-cheese sandwich in Florida, inevitably stir up strong reactions. Even among unbelievers, these visitations exert a fascination, as if kindling a longing to glimpse that Golden Age when gods and human beings freely intermingled on the earth. During the Roman Republic, these divine visitations find their most serious manifestation in the form of the state-recognized prodigy. Roman prodigies could take many unpredictable forms, ranging from morally questionable human behaviour (a rash of adultery in the city of Rome) to unlucky natural disasters (lightning striking a statue, flooding lakes) to an unexpected combination of naturally occurring elements (raining blood and stones, speaking cows).1 The occurrence of prodigies such as these, and their official

1

W lker (1903: 6 – 25) categorizes our extant examples. Rasmussen (2003: 53 –

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recognition by the state, signalled the possibility of an unspecific rupture of order, an order that is characterized in Latin by the phrase pax deorum. This phrase, translated literally as “peace of the gods”, describes the proper functioning of the natural world and its inhabitants. Prodigies, which rarely either refer to any specific past faults or are predictive of a definite punishment in the future, provided the Roman political system with opportunities to appease relationships with the divine through publicly performed sacrifices, festivals and other manifestations of ritual. Direct intervention of the divine in Roman society manifests itself especially dramatically in how the images made to honour the deities react to the world around them. Ancient written sources preserve over a dozen prodigies that record the carved representation of a divinity exhibiting unusual behaviour. In 52 B.C., the turbulent year of Pompey s sole consulship, one image broke into a sweat for three consecutive days while in 42 B.C. a statue of Jupiter exuded blood from thumb and shoulder in apparent anticipation of the violent civil wars that would occupy the next decade.2 The topic of this essay treats the most human form of this manifestation of divine displeasure, the weeping of a god s statue at a moment of apparent crisis. The tears of a god occupy a small but telling chapter in the history of the Roman state religion and of its eventual confrontation with early Christian apologists.

2. The Theology of the Weeping Statue Most officially recognized prodigies can be classified as exhibiting some sort of violation of boundaries: animals leaving the wilds to enter the city of Rome, hermaphrodites crossing the established lines of biological sex, or lightning striking an object of political significance such as a statue or temple.3 While any attempts to schematize such a disparate amount of material must tend towards oversimplification, this model that sees prod-

2

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116) provides a full listing in chronological order. All translations offered below from Greek and Latin sources are my own. See Dio 40.47.2 and Julius Obsequens 70. W lker (1903: 13 – 14) offers lists of statues exuding blood and sweat, with much additional commentary in Pease (1920 – 23: 271 – 272). For early and medieval Christian sculptures equipped with waterworks to give the illusion of bleeding and weeping, see Demangel (1938) and Poulsen (1945: 192 – 193), who also cites examples of such illusionistic devices from antiquity. See Rosenberger (1998: 107 – 126), borrowing the notion of liminality from Douglas (1966).

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igies as violators of liminality provides a helpful lens through which to view weeping statues. The production of tears by a statue can in fact be characterized as transgression of the boundaries between the human and the divine. Gods, normally, have no reason to cry. Or do they? In The City of God, Augustine presents a detailed critique of the tears produced by the statue of Apollo at Cumae during the second century B.C. (De civ. 3.11). Those tears, he maintains, provide clear evidence for the impotence of this and other pagan demons, since weeping demonstrates visibly that it lies outside the abilities of Apollo to guarantee either lasting peace or victory in war for his human worshippers. In this and other instances that Augustine cites from throughout Roman literature and history, the tears of these alleged gods mourn the suffering of their mortal followers, a suffering that they are helpless to prevent. This impotence contrasts with Augustine s Christian god, whose power extends to all earthly affairs (verum illum atque omnipotentem summum Deum curare … ista terrena). Augustine s reasoned disquisition on weeping statues and lamenting demons accords with his overall project in The City of God, to show that the recent sack of Rome in 410 A.D. did not arise because the city had abandoned worship of its traditional gods. As he demonstrates with this example and numerous others, the gods of Rome are deceptive demons, powerless by contrast with the single Christian God. A modern reader may register surprise at an apparent omission in Augustine s account. Nowhere does he doubt the fact that a pagan demon had the power to occupy Apollo s statue in order to produce his tears. Rather, he seems not to question the belief common throughout Greek and Roman antiquity that a divine spirit can come to occupy an image that mortals have made to represent it.4 The spirit of the divine becomes immanent in its physical, manufactured representation. In the city of Rome, Macrobius tells us that, when not celebrating the festival of the Saturnalia, the Romans bound in woolen shackles the cult representation of the god Saturn. Macrobius actual words are telling: “Saturn himself” is put in chains (Saturnus ipse in compedibus).5 Following a mode of expression common to Greek and Roman ritual, god and icon become interchangeable in Macrobius text, as the proper name Saturnus can be em4 5

See Gordon (1979), Curran (1994: 52 – 53) on early Christians and Steiner (2001: 79 – 134, esp. 105 – 134). Macrobius, Sat. 1.8.5, with the Roman parallels and Greek precedents cited in Wissowa (21912: 205).

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ployed for either (see Gordon 1979: 7 – 8). Seneca offers a particularly vivid demonstration of this presumed immanence of the divine in a manufactured artifact. He describes a form of reverent behaviour that takes place regularly throughout the year by those paying respect to the Capitoline triad at Rome, a species of reverence that strikes the modern reader as peculiar: the cult statues are bathed and perfumed; Jupiter is informed of the time at regular intervals; women imaginatively adjust the hairstyles of Juno and Minerva; men seek advice from the deities about impending lawsuits.6 In a world such as this, in which the gods are readily available for consultation through their images and in which images represent the actual bodily presence of the gods, the tears of a cult statue provide a rare voice to the other side of this dialogue between divine and human. As a result, I would suggest that the aberration involved in the prodigy of the weeping statue, the boundary that is crossed and so threatens the pax deorum, resides not simply in the animation of that statue. On the contrary: the sources make clear that the immanence of the divinity in the statue is a general assumption of the worshipper. Rather, I would like to follow Augustine in finding the oddity of tears in the fact that it is not the statue but the god who has chosen to cry. Weeping, after all, both in antiquity and the present, is normally understood as an activity unique to human beings.7

3. The Prodigy Process at Rome In the following discussion I shall not be considering the plentiful material from Latin poetry (particularly epic) that describes weeping statues acting as warnings of impending disasters to specific individuals.8 Nor shall I be concerned with the ancient rationalizations that one sometimes encounters in ancient texts, such as Cicero s explanation that the alleged sweat from statues simply results from the condensation of moisture on the material from which the image has been carved (De div. 2.58). Rather, I shall consider only those phenomena attested in Roman historical texts, and interpreted by the Roman senate, as having direct relevance to the 6 7 8

Seneca ap. Augustine, De civ. 6.10; see further Corbeill (2004: 26 – 33). Kappas (2009, in this volume) provides an up-to-date survey of scientific explanations for why weeping is restricted to human beings. For ancient authors on weeping animals, see Fçgen (2009: 3 n. 7, in this volume). For a representative list see Bçmer (1986: 466) on Ovid, Met. 15.792.

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state s well-being. For a prodigy to be recognized in the Roman Republic required a complex series of checks and rechecks that guaranteed that only the most telling prodigies would receive full attention from the state apparatus. It will be helpful, therefore, to outline briefly this prodigy process.9 When a possible prodigy is observed during the Republican period, the witness or witnesses report its occurrence to a magistrate. If the magistrate judges the incident to have potential significance, a report is brought before the senate in Rome for consideration. The role of the senate cannot be underestimated; in fact, a passage from Livy indicates that the expiation of prodigies was sometimes, if not always, first on the senate s agenda, preceding even pressing issues of war (Livy 24.11.1). Should the senate deem the reported event unimportant or inauthentic, the incident is forgotten. If, however, the senators accept the occurrence as a possible prodigy, their own report is forwarded to one of three religious bodies for an expert opinion – the pontifices, the decemviri (later quindecimviri) sacris faciundis or the haruspices. The priestly body chosen then submits a report back to the senate concerning the meaning of the prodigy and recommends a method by which it should be expiated. The senate has the final say on whether and to what extent it should accept these recommendations, and it may even choose, after all these steps have been taken, to ignore the event altogether. In considering the prodigy of the weeping statue, therefore, it is ultimately the senate that decides on both the validity of the event and the proper interpretation of the tears. The weeping statue of Roman republican politics, unlike the anonymous prodigies and portents that one finds in Latin literature, is subject to the investigation and sanction of the highest governing body in the state.

4. The Sources The extant sources record three (perhaps four) occasions when the weeping of a cult statue prompted a formal inquiry from the senate. Each instance takes place during the second century B.C. and outside the city of Rome. In two cases, the decemviri were the priestly body consulted, while in the third certain instance the senate had recourse to the Etruscan haruspices. Here as elsewhere the sources do not allow us to discern what 9

The following account derives from Wissowa (21912: 391 – 396) and Rosenberger (1998: 17 – 90).

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precise principles determined the senate s choice of which priestly body to consult on any given occasion.10 The earliest extant example dates to 181 B.C. Livy constitutes the principal source. Among several prodigies from both within and outside Rome, the pontifices announced that the statue of Juno Sospita at Lanuvium had wept (Livy 40.19.2: pontifices … nuntiavere … Lanuvi simulacrum Iunonis Sospitae lacrimasse).11 This did not mark the first portent produced by this image; Livy also records that during the Second Punic War the same statue had shed blood (23.31.15). This site of Juno s worship at Lanuvium, in fact, appears on the prodigy lists at least seven times, more than any other single cult.12 In the case of the weeping statue of 181 B.C., the senate ordered that the consuls make public sacrifice with full-grown animals (hostiis maioribus) and that the decemviri consult the Sibylline books for all prodigies of that year. As a result of the consultation, the senate declared for Rome that a supplicatio be held before the statues of all the gods (circa omnia pulvinaria), and that a three-day supplicatio and festival be celebrated across the whole of Italy. The next recorded instance, also preserved in Livy, dates to 169 B.C. As with the example in 181 B.C., the episode takes place south of Rome, this time at the temple of Apollo in Cumae. Livy s account is concise: “on the citadel at Cumae Apollo wept for three days and three nights” (43.13.4: Cumis in arce Apollo triduum ac tres noctes lacrimavit). For this and several other public prodigies witnessed in this year the senate once more recommends that the decemviri consult the sacred books, and several elements recommended for expiation resemble those for 181 B.C.: that a supplicatio occur and that the consuls sacrifice with adult animals (victimis maioribus) in the presence of statues of all the gods (circa omnia pulvinaria). The third and final occurrence of a weeping statue receives special attention in our extant texts, and provides rare details concerning the criteria that the senate will have considered in deciding on the interpretation of this particular type of prodigy.13 The event is preserved in three sepa-

10 For possible specialties of these priestly bodies, see Rasmussen (2003: 180 – 182). 11 Cf. Julius Obsequens 6. Luterbacher s conjecture Lanuvini for lanuvi of the tradition has no bearing on my discussion here. 12 See MacBain (1982: 12 – 13 n. 16). Lanuvium itself is associated with a total of fifteen prodigies. 13 I assume that when Augustine (De civ. 3.11) mentions a fourth instance during the war against Antiochus (190 B.C.), he is in fact referring to the phenomenon

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rate texts, each of which seems ultimately to derive from Livy, whose text no longer survives for this period. The sources have, however, chosen to stress different details. Julius Obsequens, normally a reliable reporter of his Livian source, gives the following concise account from the year 130 B.C. (Julius Obsequens 28): Apollinis simulacrum lacrimavit per quatriduum. vates portenderunt Graeciae fore exitium, unde deductum esset. sacrificatum tum a Romanis donaque in templo posita. A statue of Apollo wept for four days. Prophets (vates) predicted the destruction of Greece, since this was the source of the statue. Subsequently, the Romans made sacrifices and deposited gifts in the temple.

In contrast with the previous two examples, in which the tears of the statue are implied simply to signal a general rupture of the pax deorum that needed to be remedied with appropriate ritual activity, this weeping Apollo is given a specific interpretation. Apollo s tears portend the downfall of Greece. It is rare for an official prodigy from the Republic to contain such a clearly predictive element.14 In the excerpt from the third-century historian Dio describing this same event, no mention is made of the conquest of Greece.15 The two accounts in fact at first appear to be irreconcilable with one another. Dio, in his account of the year 129, interprets in retrospect the tears of Apollo (together with a recent shower of stones) as portending the death of Scipio Aemilianus and the consequent rise in power of the followers of the assassinated Tiberius Gracchus. In this consideration of domestic politics Dio makes no mention of any misfortune that may befall Greece. He does, however, add a surprising detail. In parallel with the official treatment of hermaphrodite prodigies, the Romans decide in response to the advice of the soothsayers (1j sulbouk/r l²mteym) to cut down the statue and throw it in the sea.16 At this point, Dio s fragmentary text breaks off. of 181 B.C. (Livy 40.19.2); cf. in the same passage his dating of the prodigy of 130 to the time of the Achaean war, which ended in 146. 14 North (1990: 60) provides cases in which prophecy is an element – although not an essential one – of the interpretation of prodigies and of Roman divination more generally. 15 Dio s emphatic wording may imply that he is offering his own interpretation, in conscious opposition to the one predicting the destruction of Greece (Cassius Dio 24 fr. 84.2): ja¸ loi 1r toOto fti l²kista !posj/xai doje? (…). 16 In light of Augustine, De civ. 3.11, I assume that jatajºxai means “cut down” rather than “hew … in pieces” (Cary 1914: 429). Preserving the statue unharmed would also parallel the expiation of hermaphrodites, who are well-treated before being sent adrift.

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The apparent discrepancy between the accounts of Obsequens and Dio can be reconciled by the passage of Augustine referred to above, who reveals that this prodigy of weeping Apollo took place at Cumae and resulted in the separate consultation of two distinct groups of haruspices (De civ. 3.11). When the prodigy was first announced, Augustine relates that the haruspices (the l²mteir of Dio) were so terrified by the portentous event that they advised tossing the statue into the sea. At this point, some old men of Cumae (Cumani senes) intervened, presumably before the senate in Rome had come to a final decision regarding how this prodigy should be expiated. The Cumaeans, pointing to the similar prodigy from 181 (Livy 43.13.4, cited above), noted that in this earlier instance the tears of Apollo turned out favourably for the Romans and that, as a result, gifts had been sent in gratitude to Cumae in accordance with a senatorial decree. In response to this argument from precedent by the Cumaeans, the senate chose to take the extraordinary step of ordering a second consultation of the same priestly body, but one which constituted, in Augustine s words, a group of “more experienced haruspices” (peritiores … haruspices).17 This second set of haruspices corresponds with the vates in the version of Obsequens, who perhaps repeats the word that he had found in his Livian source.18 These new priests concurred with the Cumaean elders that the tears of Apollo in fact bode well for the Roman state: since Cumae was originally a Greek colony, the god was expressing grief for his homeland of Greece, whose gradual fall under Roman sway would continue in the following year with the capture and execution of Eumenes III. This final example makes explicit what the others seem to assume, namely that the tears of the statue are meant to reflect the sadness of the god who occupies it, as it weeps over the deaths that will soon be inflicted upon mortals. This is precisely the reason that Augustine has chosen to refer to the phenomenon in The City of God, as he maintains that if these gods of the early Romans had any power at all, they should have been able to remedy the situation for their worshippers rather than weep mournfully. I would like to close this discussion of tearful deities 17 Examples exist of the senate consulting two sets of priests simultaneously (MacBain 1982: 58 – 59, with lists at 82 – 106), but I know of no other example of consecutive consultations. 18 For Livy s use of vates to refer to haruspices (restricted in the extant portions of his text to the first decade), see Livy 1.56.5, 2.42.10 (with Ogilvie 1970: 349) and Hano (1986: 108 – 109).

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by speculating about pre-Christian origins for Augustine s claim, and about the ways in which this same claim may have affected how early Christian apologists rationalize divine weeping.

5. Real Gods Don t Cry A tradition that it is contrary to a god s nature to weep from sadness occasionally surfaces in Roman poetry. Ovid registers the reaction of Apollo upon learning that his lover Coronis, whom he had just killed out of jealousy, was pregnant with his child (Ovid, Met. 2.621 – 623): tum vero gemitus (neque enim caelestia tingi ora licet lacrimis) alto de corde petitos edidit. But then Apollo emitted groans from deep in his heart (since it is inappropriate for heavenly faces to become wet with tears).

Ovid plays elsewhere with this alleged prohibition against gods crying. In his Fasti, when the goddess Ceres, disguised as a mortal woman, explains to her human hosts that her daughter has been kidnapped, the poet selfconsciously remarks on her display of grief: “a shining drop falls on her warm breast like tears”, adding parenthetically that the drop could not in fact be a tear “since it is not characteristic of gods to weep”.19 Although exceptions to this claim occur both elsewhere in Ovid and in other poets, the notion that tears are forbidden to the gods resurfaces throughout Greek and Roman literature.20 The prohibition can even be imagined as carrying over into the life of the poet himself. Consider the opening words of the epitaph of the epic poet Naevius, which hints at a possible rationalization of this prohibition (ap. Aulus Gellius, Noct. Att. 1.24.2): inmortales mortales si foret fas flere, flerent divae Camenae Naevium poetam. If it were permitted for the immortals to weep for mortals, the divine Muses would weep for the poet Naevius. 19 Ovid, Fast. 4.521: ut lacrimae (neque enim lacrimare deorum est) / decidit in tepidos lucida gutta sinus. 20 See Bçmer (1969: 388) on Met. 2.621 – 622 and, especially, Bernbeck (1967: 9 with n. 19): “Im allgemeinen herrscht die Anschauung, daß Gçtter nicht weinen”. Bernbeck s further claim that Vergil avoids weeping gods in his epic is, as Julia Dyson Hejduk has kindly reminded me, demonstrably false.

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The juxtaposition immortales mortales points up the fundamental distinction between gods and human beings – their relationship with death –, while the contrafactual construction of the entire couplet reinforces the impossibility that gods should shed tears, even for one of their dearest followers. The emphasis on the mortality of the human body that we see in this epitaph informs some of the earliest Christian writings on weeping from grief. We have already noted how Augustine critiques the tears of the statue of Apollo for its powerlessness in the face of human mishap; the god s tearful sympathy for his worshippers on earth betrays his inability to rescue them from future suffering. Two centuries earlier Tertullian, in another contrast with pagan traditions, includes in his critique of Homer s disrespectful treatment of the gods the fact that the epic poet describes Zeus shedding tears for the dead Sarpedon in the Iliad (Tertullian, Ad nat. 1.10.39). The imagined source of Zeus tears, as well as other divine tears discussed by the Christian apologists, parallels examples from earlier Roman literature. It is an awareness of the tragedy of mortality that causes the god to weep in each instance. I would like to close, therefore, by outlining a seemingly unrelated case of weeping over human mortality that had significant doctrinal consequences for the early Christians and that will provide further perspective on their resistance to weeping statues. The most well-known example of tears in the New Testament describes the weeping of Christ at the tomb of the dead Lazarus: “Jesus wept” (John 11:35). It is in the exegesis of a weeping Christ that early commentators expatiate most clearly on the relationship between tears and divinity. They deny the shedding of tears to Jesus divine aspect, instead consistently including his grief as proof of the mortally incarnate aspect of the son of God. Augustine, for example, remarks that Jesus was indeed part human “because as he was about to raise Lazarus he even poured forth tears”, this and other displays of emotion being peculiar to human life on earth, and not a feature of life everlasting.21 Similar explanations are offered for the other recorded instance of Jesus shedding tears, namely when he was contemplating the future destruction of Jerusalem (Luke 19:41). As early as the second century, Origen s commentary on this passage furnishes additional theological justification for the doc21 Augustine, De civ. 14.9: proinde, quod fatendum est, etiam cum rectas et secundum Deum habemus has affectiones, huius vitae sunt, non illius quam futuram speramus. Cf. Tertullian, Carn. 9 and other examples gathered in Elowsky (2007: 20 – 21).

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trine that Jesus appeared among human beings in the weakness of mortal flesh. His incarnate nature, Origen argues, allowed him to confirm the truth of each of the beatitudes: the truth of “Blessed are they who suffer persecution on account of justice”, for example, was reflected in his own Passion and crucifixion. The human display of Jesus tears found in the gospels, by an analogous argument, allows the physical action of Christ to support the claim of “Blessed are those who weep” (St. Jerome, Hom. Orig. in Luc. 38, p. 216.12). In the mid-fourth century, Hilary of Poitiers explains these displays of grief as representing a fault that arises from the sadness of the physical body; grief is not a possibility for either God the father or the Holy Spirit, since they lack human form and substance, but only for the incarnate son (Hilary of Poitiers, Trin. 10.55 – 56). The fifth-century bishop Nicetas of Remesiana makes clear the supposition upon which each of these theological arguments rests: “tears are the product of a true body” (Nicetas, Fid. 6: lacrimae enim veri corporis sunt humores). There remains no room in these arguments for tears of the divine, or for the weeping statues that they inhabit. The early Christian writers surveyed briefly above would clearly concur in Augustine s argument for why the demons worshipped by the pagans must be impotent. Evidence for his case includes those occasions when they weep through their manufactured images. The early Christian apologists, in their attempts to come to terms with the tears of their own divinity, Jesus Christ, identify the apparent weakness of his body as an exception that only reaffirms the importance of Jesus incarnation in the world. 6. Conclusion It is difficult to read about weeping statues in early Rome, and the corresponding Christian exegeses on divine tears, without thinking of the prevalence of the phenomenon in the modern Roman Catholic church. The resemblance is more than superficial. A book-length study of divine visitations of the Virgin Mary in the nineteenth and twentieth centuries reaches a conclusion that, mutatis mutandis, provides an apt description of the Roman attitude toward prodigies, of the evidence that prodigies signal a disruption in the pax deorum, and of the state-ordered expiation that follows: “the major purpose of the Virgin s latter-day appearances is to give the world a last opportunity to restore the disrupted sacred order and the divine-human relationship which this order represents – through

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repentance or conversion, a return to appropriate devotional practices, and submission to the ordinances of the Church” (Zimdars-Swartz 1991: 249). The significance of contemporary divine visitations finds a clear echo in its pre-Christian roots. I have not speculated on what circumstances may have compelled the Roman senate to accept as examples of divine communication the three certain instances of weeping statues discussed above. I do not, however, believe that their acceptance should be attributed either to complete credulity or to political machinations whose details the extant sources do not allow us to reconstruct. The best ancient testimony that I know of that allows us to glimpse the possible reasoning of these senators can be found in a remark of Plutarch in his Life of Coriolanus. The story of a statue speaking in gratitude to its dedicatees after its erection in a temple prompts the following reflection (Plutarch, Cor. 38.1 – 4): Qd¸omta l³m c±q !c²klata vam/mai ja· dajquqqooOmta ja¸ timar lehi´mta mot¸dar aRlat¾deir oqj !d¼matºm 1sti· ja· c±q n¼ka ja· k¸hoi pokk²jir l³m eqq_ta sum²cousi cºmilom rcqºtgtor, pokk±r d³ ja· wqºar !mi÷sim 1n art_m, ja· d´womtai bav±r 1j toO peqi´womtor (…). oq lµm !kk± to?r rpû eqmo¸ar ja· vik¸ar pq¹r t¹m he¹m %cam 1lpah_r 5wousi, ja· lgd³m !hete?m lgdû !ma¸meshai t_m toio¼tym dumal´moir, l´ca pq¹r p¸stim 1st· t¹ haul²siom ja· lµ jahû Bl÷r t/r toO heoO dum²leyr. oqdem· c±q oqdal_r !mhqyp¸m\ pqos´oijem oute v¼sim oute j¸mgsim oute t´wmgm outû Qsw¼m, oqdû eU ti poie? t_m Bl?m !poi¶tym ja· lgwam÷tai t_m !lgw²mym, paq²kocºm 1stim, !kk± l÷kkom 1m p÷si diav´qym pok¼, l²kista to?r 5qcoir !mºloiºr 1sti ja· paqgkkacl´mor. It is not impossible for statues to appear to sweat, weep and emit a type of moisture resembling blood. For both wood and stone often attract mold that produces dampness, creating many colours and building up layers from the atmosphere. (…) But for those who are sympathetically disposed and affectionate for their god, and also are unable to reject or renounce things of this sort, their faith is supported by the marvellous and by the transcendent character of the divine power. For the divine in no way resembles the human in either its nature, movement, skill or strength. And it defies logic if it achieves the impossible, doing something that we are unable to do. Rather, differing from us in every way, the divine power is the most dissimilar and distant from us in the actions that it performs.22

The mixture that Plutarch displays of empirical rationalism and the piety of doubt well characterizes ancient Roman attitudes towards the divine in general. If nature presents you with something seemingly unnatural, it is 22 Compare the similar remarks at Plutarch, Cam. 6. I have made free use of Perrin (1916: 213 – 215) in my translation.

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best welcomed as another reminder of human ignorance when confronted with the divine. Rather than offering a logical conundrum, the blood, sweat and tears of the gods is understood to reveal the capacity of the natural world to communicate intelligibly with its human inhabitants.

Bibliography Bernbeck, Ernst J rgen (1967): Beobachtungen zur Darstellungsart in Ovids Metamorphosen, M nchen. Bçmer, Franz (1969 – 1986): P. Ovidius Naso: Metamorphosen (7 vols.), Heidelberg. Cary, Earnest (transl.) (1914): Dio s Roman History (vol. 2), London & Cambridge, Mass. Corbeill, Anthony (2004): Nature Embodied. Gesture in Ancient Rome, Princeton. Curran, John (1994): Moving statues in late antique Rome. Problems of perspective. In: Art History 17, 46 – 58. Demangel, Robert (1938): Miracle ou supercherie Byzantine? In: Bulletin de correspondance hell nique 62, 433 – 438. Douglas, Mary (1966): Purity and Danger. An Analysis of Concepts of Pollution and Taboo, New York. Elowsky, Joel C. (ed.) (2007): John 11 – 21 (Ancient Christian Commentary on Scripture. New Testament 4b), Downers Grove, Illinois. Fçgen, Thorsten (2009): Tears and crying in Graeco-Roman antiquity. An introduction. In: Thorsten Fçgen (ed.), Tears in the Graeco-Roman World, Berlin & New York, 1 – 16. Gordon, Richard L. (1979): The real and the imaginary. Production and religion in the Graeco-Roman world. In: Art History 2, 5 – 34. Hano, Michel (1986): Haruspex et vates chez Tite-Live. In: La Divination dans le monde trusco-italique (vol. 3) (Caesarodunum Suppl. 56), Tours, 101 – 121. Kappas, Arvid (2009): Mysterious tears. The phenomenon of crying from the perspective of social neuroscience. In: Thorsten Fçgen (ed.), Tears in the Graeco-Roman World, Berlin & New York, 419 – 438. Krauss, Franklin B. (1930): An Interpretation of the Omens, Portents, and Prodigies Recorded by Livy, Tacitus, and Suetonius, Diss. University of Pennsylvania. MacBain, Bruce (1982): Prodigy and Expiation. A Study in Religion and Politics in Republican Rome, Bruxelles. North, John (1990): Diviners and divination at Rome. In: Mary Beard & John North (eds.), Pagan Priests. Religion and Power in the Ancient World, Ithaca, 49 – 71. Ogilvie, Robert M. (1970): A Commentary on Livy, Books 1 – 5, Oxford. Pease, Arthur S. (1920 – 1923): M. Tulli Ciceronis De divinatione (2 vols.), Urbana.

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Perrin, Bernadette (transl.) (1916): Plutarch s Lives (vol. 4), London & Cambridge, Mass. Poulsen, Frederik (1945): Talking, weeping and bleeding sculptures. A chapter of the history of religious fraud. In: Acta Archaeologica 16, 178 – 195. Rasmussen, Susanne W. (2003): Public Portents in Republican Rome, Rome. Rosenberger, Veit (1998): Gez hmte Gçtter. Das Prodigienwesen der rçmischen Republik, Stuttgart. Steiner, Deborah T. (2001): Images in Mind. Statues in Archaic and Classical Greek Literature and Thought, Princeton. Wissowa, Georg (21912): Religion und Kultus der Rçmer, M nchen. W lker, Ludwig (1903): Die geschichtliche Entwicklung des Prodigienwesens bei den Rçmern. Studien zur Geschichte und berlieferung der Staatsprodigien, Diss. Leipzig. Zimdars-Swartz, Sandra L. (1991): Encountering Mary. From La Salette to Medjugorje, Princeton.

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Meleager s Sweet Tears: Observations on Weeping and Pleasure David Konstan “imparatul care plange cu un ochi s¸i rade cu altul” ( The emperor who cries with one eye and laughs with the other ) Romanian folk tale1 Abstract: It is a familiar paradox that weeping is sometimes associated with pleasure. The ancient Greeks and Romans were fully aware of this phenomenon and its various manifestations, and they sought to explain the causes of it. This chapter examines references to tears of joy in classical writers, and concludes with a close reading of several epigrams by Meleager, who was the first to describe tears themselves as pleasurable.

In his last book, The Expression of the Emotions in Man and Animals, published in 1872, Charles Darwin raised the puzzle of why tears should be the symptom both of distress and intense joy or laughter: if expressions serve a communicative function, and are selected in the course of evolution on that basis, then one would expect the signs of contrary emotions to be clearly distinct (Darwin 1998: 206). Darwin writes: “I was anxious to know whether tears are freely shed during excessive laughter by most of the races of men, and I hear from my correspondents that this is the case” (Darwin 1998: 207). Nevertheless, Darwin held that in general several emotions are recognizable by the uniform reflexes that they produce among people everywhere.2 The ancients too observed this phenomenon, to be sure, and ventured explanations. Thus, Sophocles (fr. 910 Radt) observes: 1 2

Included in Andrew Lang (ed.), The Violet Fairy Book, New York 1901. I am grateful to Dana Munteanu for this reference. On Darwin s view of tears, see the articles by Kappas (2009, in this volume) and Vingerhoets, Bylsma & Rottenberg (2009, in this volume).

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w_qor c±q artºr 1stim !mhq¾pou vqem_m fpou t¹ t´qpmom ja· t¹ pgla?mom †v¼ei†7 dajquqqoe? coOm ja· t± waqt± tucw²mym Delightful things and painful things occupy the same Place in a man s mind, for he weeps even when something pleasant happens to him (text and transl. Lloyd-Jones 1996: 391)

And in the Physical Problems ascribed (falsely) to Alexander of Aphrodisias (Probl. 1.31), the question is raised: Di± t¸ d³ oR kupo¼lemoi ja· oR waiqºlemoi cek_mter dajq¼ousim. oR l³m kupo¼lemoi t0 pujmºtgti t_m 1m avhaklo?r pºqym 1jhk¸bousi t¹ 1m aqto?r rcqºm· B k¼pg c±q x¼nim ja· p¼jmysim 1qc²fetai t_m pºqym· oR d³ waiqºlemoi t¹ 1mamt¸om t0 !qaiºtgti t_m pºqym 1jw´ousi t± rcq². 1p¸ timym d³ stemopºqym avhakl_m oq c¸metai t¹ d²jquom 1pû !lvot´qym. Why do those who are in pain, and those who laugh in cheerfulness, weep? Those who are in pain do so because by virtue of the denseness of the passages in the eyes they expel the moisture in them; for the pain produces a chilling and denseness of the passages. But those who are cheerful pour out moisture on the contrary by virtue of the dryness of the passages. In the case of eyes with narrow passages tears are not produced in either case.3

There is perhaps an early example of tears produced by joy in Homer s Odyssey, in the scene in which Odysseus reveals himself to his son Telemachus. Telemachus at first takes him to be a god, but Odysseus replies (Od. 16.197 – 189): “I am not a god; why do you liken me to the immortals? I am rather your father, for whom you have groaned and suffered many tribulations, and endured the violence of men”. Homer continues (Od. 16.190 – 191): “Having said this, he kissed his son, and let a tear fall from his cheeks to the ground, although until then he had continually checked it”. Eustathius (2.120), the 12th-century Byzantine scholar, observes in his comment on verse 191 that Odysseus let fall his tears “so abundantly for pleasure s sake” (daxik_r ovty rv Bdom/r). Telemachus, however, remains sceptical about the stranger s identity, but when Odysseus explains his transformed appearance as the work of Athena, he finally yields. Homer describes the effect of the recognition as follows (Od. 16.213 – 219): ¤r %qa vym¶sar jatû %q 6 feto, Tgk´lawor d³ !lviwuhe·r pat´q 1shk¹m ad¼qeto d²jqua ke¸bym. !lvot´qoisi d³ to?sim rvû Vleqor §qto cºoio· jka?om d³ kic´yr, "dim¾teqom E tû oQymo¸, v/mai C aQcupio· calx¾muwer, oXs¸ te t´jma 3

All translations are my own, unless otherwise indicated.

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!cqºtai 1ne¸komto p²qor petegm± cem´shai· ¤r %qa to¸ cû 1keeim¹m rpû avq¼si d²jquom eWbom. So he spoke, and was sitting down, but Telemachus embraced his noble father and lamented, shedding tears. In both there arose a desire for mourning; they cried shrilly, more intensely than birds, ospreys or vultures with hooked claws, whose children have been taken away by the farmers before their wings have formed. Such was the pitiful tear they shed beneath their brows.

Perhaps the motive for their tears here is again joy at the long-delayed reunion, although the comparison with birds lamenting their lost nestlings suggests that father and son may rather be moved by a consciousness of the long time during which they were separated and unable to enjoy each other s company as they might have. And this may be why Odysseus wept in the earlier passage, as well. As the Homeric scene well illustrates, tears are a complex phenomenon. At the most basic level, they are a reflex responding to certain types of shock, such as pain (most characteristically) but also at times laughter, as Darwin observed, as well as surprise and other intense stimuli. But weeping is a more sophisticated response than mere tears, and involves what philosophers call intentionality: that is to say, one weeps at or over something. This implies a judgement or cognitive act, not a mere physiological reaction: it is the difference between the tears that are produced by a stubbed toe and those that result from sadness over the loss of a loved one, for example, or from pity for the suffering of another – or from joy. These are essentially human sentiments. To know why Odysseus and Telemachus wept when they were reunited, we must be able to evaluate what they might have been thinking or imagining: is it the wasted years during which they were apart, as when Penelope reflects later in the poem that the gods begrudged that she and Odysseus should have enjoyed their youth together and so reached the threshold of old age (Od. 23.210 – 212)? Or are they rather delighting in each other s long-desired presence? If weeping may be induced by joy as well as distress, the tears that arise out of sorrow may coexist with laughter and pleasure in other ways as well. One may, for example, simultaneously cry for one reason and laugh for another. When the messenger in Aeschylus Seven against Thebes announces that the city has been saved but the king and his brother have slain each other, he says: “There is occasion to rejoice and to

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weep” (Aeschylus, Sept. 815: wa¸qeim ja· dajq¼eshai p²qa).4 Perhaps the best known example, however, is again to be found in Homer, this time in the Iliad, in the scene in which Andromache, still weeping at the thought of the danger to Hector (cf. Il. 6.405), nevertheless is amused by the fright of little Astyanax at his father s war helmet, and perhaps too is cheered by Hector s prayer for his child s greatness as a warrior; in Homer s extraordinary phrase, Andromache “laughed tearfully” (Il. 6.484: dajquºem cek²sasa).5 However, a passage in Philo s On the Migration of Abraham which shows influence from the Hellenistic Stoa (see Graver 2009) offered a purely physiological explanation of Andromache s tears, along the lines of Darwin s account or that of Pseudo-Alexander of Aphrodisias (Philo, Migr. 156 – 157 [= 2.299 Wendl]): )kk± c±q ja· to?r woqeuta?r !qet/r stem²feim ja· dajq¼eim 5hor, C t±r t_m !vqºmym aduqol´moir sulvoq²r, di± t¹ v¼sei joimymij¹m ja· vik²mhqypom, C di± peqiw²qeiam7 c¸metai d³ avtg, ftam !hqºa !cah± lgd³ pqosdojgh´mta pot³ aQvm¸diom albq¶samta pkglluq07 !v ox ja· t¹ poigtij¹m eQq/sha¸ loi doje? “dajquºem cek²sasa”. PqospesoOsa c±q 1j toO !mekp¸stou B “eqpahei_m !q¸stg waq±” xuw0, le¸foma aqtµm C pqºteqom Gm 1po¸gsem, ¢r di± t¹m ecjom lgj´ti wyqe?m t¹ s_la7 hkibºlemom d³ ja· piefºlemom !post²feim kib²dar, $r jake?m 5hor d²jqua (…). But the devotees of virtue too have the tendency to groan and weep, either because they bewail the misfortunes of the foolish, thanks to a natural community and sympathy, or because of exceeding joy. This latter occurs when a multitude of good things that were previously unanticipated suddenly rain down and flood one. It is due to this, I believe, that the poetic phrase “laughing tearfully” was pronounced. For since “joy, the best of the good emotions” lighted unexpectedly upon her soul, it rendered it larger than it was before, so that because of its bulk the corporeal part could no longer contain it. Crushed and pressed, it dripped forth streams, which it is the custom to call tears (…).

This seems reductive as an account of Andromache s feelings, but it perhaps fits better the uproarious laughter of Dionysus in Aristophanes Frogs (1089 – 1090): 4 5

Cf. Sept. 825 – 826, and see Arnould (1990: 93). Demetrius, De eloc. 28 employs the term jkaus¸cekyr (“laughter in tears”) to describe the effect of excessively contrived speeches that are intended to arouse pity; they produce the same reaction, he says, as a joke at a time of sorrow. Cf. the same expression, which was clearly proverbial, at Xenophon, Hellenica 7.2.9, where the women of Phlius are described as “weeping for joy” upon the repulse of the enemy (again, my thanks to Dana Munteanu for these references).

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L± D¸û oq d/hû, ¦ste cû !vau²mhgm Pamahgma¸oisi cek_m (…). No, by Zeus! I laughed at the Panathenaic Festival till I was dry.

Although the precise sense of the expression is in some doubt, Del Corno (1985: 22) argues plausibly that the reference is to running dry of tears.6 Andromache s laughter in tears is imitated in a different register in the so-called Orphic Argonautica (425 – 427) in which Peleus laughs and weeps together as he is on the point of embarking on the Argo, and hands the infant Achilles over to the care of the centaur Chiron: Pa?da dû 1m !cjak¸dessim !m¸swamem Rppºta Pgke¼r, ja¸ Nû 5jusem jevak¶m te ja· %lvy v¾ea jak², dajquºem cekºym. Peleus the Horseman lifted his son in his arms, and kissed his head and both his pretty eyes, laughing tearfully.

Again, there is the combination of a parent s joy in a child, and sorrow – this time, not due to foreboding at the thought of disaster but to the more tender anticipation of separation. Statius, in his Thebaid (7.493 – 495), describes Iocasta s daring visit to the camp of the Argives, who are besieging Thebes, in her effort to persuade her son Polynices to call off the attack: (…) et raptam (sc. Iocastam) lacrimis gaudentibus implet solaturque tenens, atque inter singula, “matrem, matrem” iterat (…). Grasping Iocasta he holds her and drenches her with his happy tears and comforts her, and amidst his sobs he repeats, “Mother, Mother (…).”

Iocasta is not impressed, and scorns his feigned sorrow. Nevertheless, Polynices is evidently moved by his mother s presence. His weeping may express simply his intense joy at seeing her, and his recognition of her courage in seeking him out: the oxymoron “happy tears” would in this case mean “tears of joy”. But perhaps they also reflect his painful awareness that he will not submit to her pleas. If so, we have another case of a double motivation for happiness joined with tears.7 6 7

Cf. also Halliwell (2008: ch. 2 n. 5); contra Dover (1993: 328 ad loc.), who takes it simply as “I dried up” or “withered”. At Odyssey 19.471 – 472, Eurycleia, upon discovering the identity of Odysseus, is gripped by joy and pain, “and her eyes filled with tears”. Perhaps her tears are a consquence of both emotions; however this may be, her pain, like her pleasure, is due to the sudden awareness that Odysseus is back; cf. Odyssey 5.521 – 523 (of

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Phaedo, in the Platonic dialogue named for him, describes a similar mixture of opposite feelings that he experiences at the death of Socrates (Phaedo 58e – 59a): Ja· lµm 5cyce haul²sia 5pahom paqacemºlemor. oute c±q ¢r ham²t\ paqºmta le !mdq¹r 1pitgde¸ou 5keor eQs-ei7 eqda¸lym c²q loi "m¶q 1va¸meto, § 9w´jqater, ja· toO tqºpou ja· t_m kºcym (…). di± dµ taOta oqd³m p²mu loi 1keim¹m eQs-ei, ¢r eQj¹r #m dºneiem eWmai paqºmti p´mhei, oute aw Bdomµ ¢r 1m vikosov¸ô Bl_m emtym ¦speq eQ¾helem – ja· c±q oR kºcoi toioOto¸ timer Gsam – !kk !tewm_r %topºm t¸ loi p²hor paq/m ja¸ tir !¶hgr jq÷sir !pº te t/r Bdom/r sucjejqal´mg bloO ja· !p¹ t/r k¼pgr (…). ja· p²mter oR paqºmter swedºm ti ovty dieje¸leha, tot³ l³m cek_mter, 1m¸ote d³ dajq¼omter (…). Indeed, I experienced something amazing when I was with him. No pity overcame me, as if I were present at the death of someone dear to me: for the man himself seemed happy, Echecrates, both in his demeanour and in what he said (…). Thus no sense of pity overcame me, as would seem natural in the presence of grief, nor again pleasure as when we were philosophizing together as usual – for in fact there was such a discussion – but rather I felt some entirely strange emotion, an unusual mixture compounded of pleasure and pain at once. (…) And all of us who were present were similarly affected, sometimes laughing, sometimes weeping (…).

Phaedo feels the grief natural upon the death of an intimate companion, and yet the tranquil company of Socrates, which reminds him of their customary conversations, complicates the pain, neither eliminating it entirely nor again simply neutralizing it, but producing a mixed sensation of simultaneous pleasure and pain. There is a similar mixed sentiment, compounded this time of laughter and tears and expressed in a more abstract vein of philosophical meditation, in the anonymous funerary epigram preserved in the Greek Anthology (9.148): T¹m b¸om, Jq²jkeite, pok» pk´om, Epeq ftû 5 fgr, d²jque· mOm b b¸or 5stû 1keeimºteqor. t¹m b¸om %qti c´ka, Dglºjqite, t¹ pk´om C pq¸m· mOm b b¸or p²mtym 1st· cekoiºteqor.

Agamemnon s homecoming), 17.33, 17.38 (the return of Telemachus), 23.207, 23.231 – 232 (the reunion of Odysseus and Telemachus) and 23.32 – 33; Pindar, Pyth. 1.21 – 23 (Aeson upon seeing Jason); Aeschylus, Agam. 541 (the herald on returning to Argos); Xenophon, Anabasis 4.7.25; further examples in Arnould (1990: 94 – 95). Arnould comments (1990: 94): “Les larmes de joie sont g n ralement li es des retrouvailles”, and notes too that “ces larmes de joie apparaissent apr s des situations particuli rement bouleversantes” (1990: 95).

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eQr rl´ar d³ ja· aqt¹r bq_m t¹ letan» leqilm_, p_r ûla so· jka¼sy, p_r ûla so· cek²sy. Weep, Heraclitus, at life much more now than when you were alive, for now life is more pitiable. Laugh, Democritus, at life more now than before, for now life is most laughable of all. When I look at you, I wonder meanwhile how I shall simultaneously weep with one of you and laugh with the other.

The two philosophers famous for their opposite views of life simultaneously appeal to the onlooker, who, imagining that he is gazing on their tombstones, seems to experience both sensibilities at once: the ultimate tragedy or futility of life together with its comic absurdity.8 Another kind of laughter combined with tears is that of the suitors in the Odyssey, who laugh at Odysseus, still in the guise of a beggar, out of arrogance but suddenly turn to weeping, both responses induced by Athena (Od. 20.345 – 349); the weeping may represent an unconscious foreboding, but the uncanny quality of the scene suggests rather hysteria: ¤r v²to Tgk´lawor· lmgst/qsi d³ Pakk±r )h¶mg %sbestom c´ky §qse, paq´pkacnem d³ mºgla. oR dû Edg cmahlo?si cek¾ym !kkotq¸oisim, aRlovºqujta d³ dµ jq´a Eshiom· esse dû %qa sv´ym dajquºvim p¸lpkamto, cºom dû ¡ýeto hulºr. So spoke Telemachus. But Pallas Athena roused unquenchable laughter in the suitors, and confounded their thoughts. Now they were laughing to one another with their gaping mouths while they ate the bloodstained meat. But then their eyes filled with tears, and their hearts had a foreboding of lamentation.

The suitors have clearly lost their wits – perhaps they are simply exceedingly drunk, but the lack of motive for the sudden change suggests almost a state of possession. An analogous case, perhaps, is that of the Thasian woman described in the Hippocratic On Epidemics (3.3.15): 9m H²s\ De²kjour cuma?ja, D jat´jeito 1p· toO ke¸ou, puqet¹r vqij¾dgr, an»r, 1j k¼pgr 5kabem. 9n !qw/r d³ peqiest´kketo, ja· di± t´keor aQe¸·

8

Similar, perhaps, is the scene in Herodotus (7.45 – 46), in which Xerxes, upon seeing his huge fleet gathered in the Hellespont, first felicitates himself on his prosperity but afterwards breaks into tears at the thought of how short human life is. I omit discussion of tragicomedy and other indications of mixed sentiments in which tears are not specifically mentioned; cf. Plato, Philebus 50b on “the whole tragedy and comedy of life”, and Republic 10.620a on life being both pitiable and laughable. The term “tragicomedy” appears first in the prologue to Plautus Amphitruo (v. 59).

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sic_sa, 1xgk²va, 5tikkem, 5ckuvem, 1tqiwokºcei· d²jqua, ja· p²kim c´kyr· oqj 1joil÷to· !p¹ joik¸gr 1qehislo·, oqd³m di-ei· (…). In Thasos, a sharp fever and chills seized the wife of Dealces, who was lying ill upon a smooth [bed?], as a result of grief. At the beginning she began to wrap herself up, and at the end did so constantly. She was silent, and would grope about, pick and scratch, and pluck out her hair. Tears, then laughter; she could not sleep; there was irritation of her intestines, but she could not pass anything (…).

Twenty-one days later she died. – The Greeks also recognized that there can be pleasure in the act of weeping, and the relief or release that tears provide. Menelaus, safe at home in the Odyssey, declares that he often takes pleasure in his heart by lamenting over the fine men who lost their lives in Troy (Od. 4.102: cº\ vq´ma t´qpolai). So too, Eumaeus tells the still disguised Odysseus: “As we two drink and eat on our couch, let us delight in recalling to one another our sad tribulations; for afterwards a man who has suffered many things and wandered far and wide delights even in what is painful” (Od. 15.398 – 401; cf. 19.513). Euripides, perhaps thinking of Andromache s mixed laughter and tears in the Iliad but with an eye also to the passages just cited from the Odyssey, has Andromache say in the tragedy that bears her name (Euripides, Andr. 91 – 95): Ble?r dû oXspeq 1cje¸leshû !e· hq¶moisi ja· cºoisi ja· dajq¼lasim pq¹r aQh´q 1jtemoOlem· 1lp´vuje c±q cumain· t´qxir t_m paqest¾tym jaj_m !m± stºlû aQe· ja· di± ck¾ssgr 5weim. I shall raise up to heaven the mourning and lamentation and tears in which I am enmeshed. For women naturally take delight in present evils, forever keeping them on their lips and tongues.

In this and the previous example, the pleasure perhaps resides as much in the act of expressing or communicating sorrow as in weeping per se. 9 The positive effect of weeping is a topos of consolation literature, and especially of the so-called epicedium or speech at the actual funeral, which explores the release that open weeping may provide for the mourner. Thus, Statius encourages his friend Atedius Melior to give free rein to his grief 9

Cf. also Homer, Odyssey 22.500 – 501; Sophocles, Electra 285 – 286; Euripides, Electra 126. Further examples in Arnould (1990: 96 – 97), who remarks that in Euripides, tears of joy often signal the onset of a new catastrophe rather than a happy ending. Lutz (1999: 23) speaks of “cathartic tears”.

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and the “joy of weeping” upon the death of his foster-child, until such time as he is able to regain control of himself and accept the loss (Silvae 2.1 – 16). Of course, the tears of one person can be the source of pleasure to another. Theognis (6th/5th century B.C.) exhorts (1.1041 – 1042): DeOqo s»m aqkgt/qi· paq± jka¸omti cek_mter p¸mylem, je¸mou j¶desi teqpºlemoi. Come hither, with the flute-player. Let us drink as we recline next to this weeping fellow, and take delight in his worries.

The symposium is the wrong place for tears, and others have the right to be amused when one of their company indulges in private sorrows, although the summons to the flutist is perhaps a sign that the speaker wishes also to cheer up his lugubrious companion.10 There is an elegant version of the trope in an epigram by the sixth-century A.D. poet Paulus Silentiarius (AP 5.250): Jd¼, v¸koi, le¸dgla t¹ Kaýdor· Bd» ja· aqt_m Apiodim¶tym d²jqu w´ei bkev²qym. whif² loi !pqov²sistom 1p´stemem, 1cjkid¹m ¥l\ Blet´q\ jevakµm dgq¹m 1qeisal´mg. luqol´mgm d³ v¸kgsa· t± dû ¢r dqoseq/r !p¹ pgc/r d²jqua licmul´mym p?pte jat± stol²tym. eWpe dû !meiqol´m\· “T¸mor eVmeja d²jqua ke¸beir.” – “De¸dia, l¶ le k¸p,r· 1st³ c±q bqjap²tai.” Sweet, my friends, is the smile of Lais; sweet too the tear that she pours from her gently turning eyes. Yesterday she moaned to me unabashedly, leaning her head a long while upon my shoulder; I kissed her as she wept, and her tears fell as from a dewy spring upon my mouth. When I asked, “Why do you shed tears”, she replied, “I was afraid you might leave me: for you men are traitors to your oaths.”

The poet is pleased both that she weeps freely in his presence, and, as the culminating twist in the poem, that her tears are for him (cf. Propertius 1.12.16: non nihil aspersus gaudet Amor lacrimis [“Love takes no small delight in being drenched with tears”]; see Fçgen 2009). Tears and love go together – lovers are notorious cry-babies – and here too, weeping may be a sign of pleasure as well as of sadness. Lovers may weep, like Odysseus and Telemachus, when they at last embrace each 10 Contrast 1.1217 – 1218, in which Theognis gives the contrary advice, never to laugh and take pleasure in one s own good fortune when seated by another who is weeping.

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other. Thus, in Xenophon of Ephesus novel Habrocomes and Anthia, we read of the wedding night of the protagonists and, once more, of pleasure in another s tears (Eph. 1.9.2 – 3): ix³ d³ b *bqojºlgr !memecj½m peqi´kabe tµm )mh¸am· B d³ 1d²jque t/r xuw/r aqt/r s¼lboka pqopelpo¼sgr t/r 1pihul¸ar t± d²jqua. Ja· b *bqojºlgr “£ t/r 1lo·” vgs· “poheimot²tgr mujtºr, Dm lºkir !pe¸kgva, pokk±r pqºteqom m¼jtar dustuw¶sar. « vyt¹r Bd¸ym 1lo· jºqg ja· t_m p¾pote kakoul´mym eqtuwest´qa· t¹m 1qastµm 5weir %mdqa, lehû ox f/m ja· !pohame?m rp²qnai cumaij· s¾vqomi.” EQp½m jatev¸kei te ja· rped´weto t± d²jqua, ja· aqt` 1dºjei pamt¹r l³m eWmai m´jtaqor potil¾teqa t± d²jqua, pamt¹r d³ toO pq¹r ad¼mgm vaql²jou dumat¾teqa. Finally Habrocomes collected himself and embraced Anthia. She wept, as her soul sent forth tears that were the symbol of her desire. Habrocomes said: “O most longed-for night, which I achieved with such difficulty, after being miserable for so many nights before! O girl more pleasing to me than the light and more fortunate than anyone ever told of! You have your lover as husband: may you live and die with him as a chaste wife!” When he said this he kissed her and received her tears, and her tears seemed to him a better drink than any nectar, and stronger against pain than any medicine.

The tears that are the token of Anthia s desire may be a consequence of the repression of her passion till now or of its sudden satisfaction. Presumably they are a sign at least in part of joy at the consummation of her love for Habrocomes. When, in Longus novel Daphnis and Chloe, Daphnis is rescued from kidnapping by pirates, he “finds Chloe on land, at once laughing and weeping” (1.31.1: tµm Wkºgm 1p· t/r c/r cek_sam ûla ja· dajq¼ousam erq½m) and falls upon her bosom. The idea is doubtless that she weeps with relief, now that Daphnis is safe, after her earlier anxiety, at the same time that she laughs to know that he is no longer in danger. Like the other novelists, Longus delights in the paradoxical coincidence of contradictory sentiments.11 Later, Daphnis awakens from a dream in which three nymphs assure him that Chloe, who has been carried off in a raid, will be saved, and he “weeps out of pleasure and pain together” (2.24.1: joim0 rv Bdom/r ja· k¼pgr dajq¼ym). In this case, Daphnis continues to fear for his beloved at the same time that he takes confidence from the vision he has been vouchsafed. Finally, when Dionysophanes discovers that Daphnis is his own son, whom he had exposed as an infant, he “weeps out of an excess of pleasure” (4.22.1: rp¹ peqitt/r Bdom/r 11 Further examples and discussion in Fusillo (1999) and Kytzler (2003).

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dajq¼omtor). Here, the tears are more like those that Darwin described as arising from intense laughter, although Darwin, like Chrysippus and Pseudo-Alexander of Aphrodisias, seems to have had in mind a purely physiological reaction rather than the feeling of joy. It is possible that Longus means us to understand Dionysophanes response as the more complex reaction of relief at the recovery of a loved one, which involves both the recollection of previous distress and hope for future happiness, and that he is not implying that tears are the necessary product of any intense pleasure. A genuine emotion, involving as it does a rich cognitive content (especially according to ancient thinkers), is likely to elicit or entail an intricate and composite response. Indeed Aristotle, in the Rhetoric, defines emotions or p²hg as “all those things on account of which people change and differ in regard to their judgements, and upon which attend pain and pleasure”.12 Aristotle explicitly notes of anger that it involves both sensations: pain for the insult that inspires a desire for revenge, and pleasure at the expectation of the vengeance to come. In this, Aristotle differs from the tendency among some modern researchers to see emotions as “valenced”, that is, either positive or negative (cf. Ortony, Clore & Collins 1988: 13; Parkinson 1995: 230 – 236; Reddy 2001: 21 – 25). To take one last novelistic example, and rather an overstated one: at the end of Heliodorus Aethiopica (10.38.3 – 4), when the Ethiopian king at last realizes that Chariclea is indeed his daughter and so spares her life and that of Theagenes, the whole populace is caught up in contradictory feelings: gYvû Hr ja· t± 1mamti¾tata pq¹r sulvym¸am Bqlºfeto, waq÷r ja· k¼pgr sulpepkecl´mym, c´kyti dajq¼ym jeqammul´mym, t_m stucmot²tym eQr 2oqtµm letabakkol´mym, cek¾mtym ûla t_m jkaiºmtym ja· waiqºmtym t_m hqgmo¼mtym, erqisjºmtym otr lµ 1 f¶toum ja· !pokk¼mtym otr erqgj´mai 1dºjoum, ja· t´kor t_m pqosdojgh´mtym vºmym eQr eqace?r hus¸ar letabakkol´mym. They united the most opposite of sentiments – joy and grief entwined together and tears mixed with laughter – for the most horrid things had been transformed into celebration; and so they laughed and cried simultaneously, and rejoiced and mourned, since they found those they were not seeking and lost those whom they believed they had found, and in the end the anticipated human sacrifice was converted into a holy offering.

Here again, the mixed emotional reaction, which combines tears and laughter, is due to the sense of relief at so narrow an escape from the 12 Aristotle, Rhet. 2.1, 1378a20 – 23: 5sti d³ t± p²hg di fsa letab²kkomter diav´qousi pq¹r t±r jq¸seir oXr 6petai k¼pg ja· Bdom¶ (…).

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awful events that were anticipated, and of joy at the happy reunion of the royal couple and their daughter. To be sure, the pure physical pleasure of sex too could be imagined as causing tears. In the anonymous Latin novel The Story of Apollonius King of Tyre, the protagonist s daughter has been sold to a brothel keeper, who at once puts her virginity on sale. A young man named Athenagora pays the steep price, but when the girl recounts her tragic story, he is moved to tears and departs without violating her. On his way out, he meets a second customer, who inquires how good the girl was. To this, Athenagora replies: “Couldn t be better – to the point of tears!” (34: non potest melius; usque ad lacrimas!). The other fellow of course understands Athenagora to mean that the tears were a consequence of intense sexual gratification, but upon entering the girl s room he too is moved to a pity that extinguishes his lust. As he leaves, he finds Athenagora laughing, and the two conspire to lie in wait as others enter and depart, having suffered the same experience (35). But if Apollonius amusing anecdote exemplifies the coarser side of erotic passion, there was also a more tender aspect to a lover s tears. Of the poets represented in the Greek Anthology, the one who stands out for mentions of tears and weeping is Meleager (although he has some rivals in the Christian period). What is more, it is Meleager who coined the expression ckuj¼dajqur (“sweet-teared”), which he applies specifically to the god Eros. Thus, he writes in a mock epitaph for himself (AP 7.419): )tq´lar, § n´me, ba?me· paq eqseb´sim c±q b pq´sbur evdei joilghe·r vpmom aveikºlemom, Eqjq²tey Lek´acqor, b t¹m ckuj¼dajqum =qyta ja· Lo¼sar Rkaqa?r sustok¸sar W²qisim· dm heºpair Emdqyse T¼qor Cad²qym hû Req± wh¾m· J_r dû 1qatµ Leqºpym pq´sbum 1cgqotqºvei. !kkû eQ l³m S¼qor 1ss¸, “Sak²l”, eQ dû owm s¼ ce Vo?min, “Aqdom¸r”, eQ dû þkkgm, “Wa?qe”, t¹ dû aqt¹ vq²som. O stranger, approach gently, for the old man is sleeping among the pious, resting in the sleep that is due – Meleager, son of Eucrates, who combined Eros of the Sweet Tears and the Muses with the propitious “Graces”. Tyre, child of god, brought him to manhood and the holy land of Gadara; lovely Cos nursed him in old age as an elder among the Meropes. If you are Syrian, say “Salaam”, if Phoenician, “Audonis”, and if Greek, “Chaire”: for they are the same.

In calling himself “son of Eucrates”, Meleager would appear to be playing on the root sense of the patronymic eujqator (“well-blended”), used

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often in reference to wine (which was typically mixed with water). In this poem, Meleager identifies himself as being of mixed origin, and equally at home in three languages: the poet s ethnicity is thus an amalgam. What is more, he prides himself on having joined together different genres – his amorous epigrams, symbolized by Love and the Muses, and his Menippean writings, which he published under the title “Graces” (Athenaeus 4.157b). Menippean satires were themselves a mixture of prose and verse, so there is a mingling within the single genre as well. What is more, his epigrams combine Eros and the Muses, passion and poetry; and Eros himself bears a composite epithet, uniting two ostensibly opposed qualities, sweetness – typically characteristic of pleasure – and tears (cf. Hçschele [forthcoming]). But in what sense are the tears associated with love sweet? Sappho had famously described Eros as “bittersweet” (fr. 130), and this is doubtless the remote source of Meleager s unusual epithet: =qor dgwt´ lû a kusil´kgr dºmei, ckuj¼pijqom !l²wamom eqpetom Eros the Loosener of Limbs again whirls me round, bittersweet, irresistible, serpentine.13

That love has a double aspect, both pleasurable and painful, is a commonplace. On the one hand, there is the joy of being with the beloved, of the consummation of passion in a union of reciprocal affection and desire; on the other hand, erotic desire often brings with it the fear of loss of the beloved, or quarrels, or separations, and these may sting worse than wasps or bees. The very sensation of love, when it is intense, may bring pain along with pleasure. As Anne Carson (1986: 4) observes, Sappho “is not recording the history of a love affair but the instant of desire. One moment staggers under the pressure of eros; one mental state splits”. Meleager s more immediate inspiration may have been Posidippus, who borrows Sappho s expression (AP 5.134): Jejqop¸, Na?me, k²cume, pok¼dqosom Qjl²da B²jwou, Na?me, dqosif´shy sulbokijµ pqºposir. sic²shy F¶mym b sov¹r j¼jmor û te Jke²mhour loOsa· l´koi dû Bl?m b ckuj¼pijqor =qyr. Athenian jug, pour the dewy liquor of Bacchus, pour it, let the toasts at the feast be like dew; let Zeno, the sage swan, and the muse of Cleanthes be silent: may bittersweet Love be our concern. 13 On echoes of Sappho in Meleager, see Citti (1978/79).

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Posidippus stills the Stoics arguments against passion with a celebration of love that deliberately acknowledges its bitter as well as its blissful aspect. It is as though he would defy the rationalism of the Stoics, not merely by accepting and indeed affirming love s bitterness, but insisting on its inherent contradictoriness, in the teeth of the ancient world s master logicians. Nevertheless, it is a further move to describe not just love or Eros but the tears that are consequent upon love as sweet. Meleager repeats the epithet again at AP 12.167: Weil´qiom l³m pmeOla· v´qei dû 1p· so¸ le, Luýsje, "qpast¹m j¾loir b ckuj¼dajqur =qyr. weila¸mei d³ baq»r pme¼sar Pºhor, !kk² lû 1r fqlom d´nai, t¹m ma¼tgm J¼pqidor 1m pek²cei. It is a blustery wind, and Eros of the Sweet Tears wafts me to you, Myiscus, as I am carried off by revelries. Desire blusters, blowing heavily, but you, receive me into your harbour, a sailor on the sea of Aphrodite.

The imagery of the poem is dense, and but on close inspection it seems to reveal the point of the epithet “sweet-teared”. Eros is identified as a wind or source of pulsion (the god is equated with the personified Pºhor, the “Desire”); it is blustery or wintry, and so dangerous to the poet-sailor, who is caught in Aphrodite s dangerous waters. Should he arrive in the harbour – that is, be received by Myiscus – he will have escaped Aphrodite (we recall that she was born of the sea) and no longer be buffeted by the blasts of love. If passion is marked by sweet tears, then, it is because 5qyr is essentially a state of suspense: the hope of a safe anchorage in the arms of the beloved provides the pleasure, as Aristotle had noticed in the case of revenge, but the joy is contaminated by the the pain of separation from the beloved – which is precisely the condition of desire. For as Socrates observes in Plato s Symposium, it is impossible to desire that which one possesses (Symp. 200a – b); this is why Eros is the offspring of both Poverty and Plenty (Symp. 203b). Eros is not the consummation but the journey, with all its uncertainties and longings. The formulaic attribute of Eros occurs yet again at AP 5.177: Jgq¼ssy t¹m =qyta, t¹m %cqiom· %qti c²q, %qti aqhqim¹r 1j jo¸tar åwetû !popt²lemor. 5sti dû b pa?r ckuj¼dajqur, !e¸kakor, ¡j¼r, !halb¶r, sil± cek_m pteqºeir m_ta, vaqetqovºqor. patq¹r dû oqj´tû 5wy vq²feim t¸mor· oute c±q AQh¶q, oq Wh¾m vgsi teje?m t¹m hqas¼m, oq P´kacor.

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p²mt, c±q ja· p÷sim !p´whetai. !kkû 1soq÷te l¶ pou mOm xuwa?r %kka t¸hgsi k¸ma. ja¸toi je?mor, Qdo¼, peq· vykeºm. ou le k´kghar, tonºta, Fgmov¸kar ellasi jquptºlemor. I denounce Eros, the savage one; for just now, just now in the early morning he went flying from my bed. He is a sweet-teared boy, forever chattering, swift, fearless, laughing pertly, winged on his back, bearing a quiver. I can no longer point to whose son he is, for neither Heaven nor Earth admits to having borne such a brash creature, nor does the Sea. He is hated everywhere, by everyone. But watch out that he does not set more nets for souls. And yet, look, it s he, by his lair. You do not elude me, archer, concealed in Zenophila s eyes.

In this elegant little epigram, Meleager plainly alludes to Plato s Symposium, in which the several speakers take different positions concerning Eros parentage. Meleager exploits the conflicting traditions to suggest that no deity willingly acknowledges the brat as his or her offspring. If Eros laughs impertinently, it is evidently because he enjoys inflicting on others the pain of desire. He is a mischievous rascal, a truant boy who delights in setting traps for fluttering souls. But why is he characterized by tears? Presumably the tears are those experienced by lovers, and here transferred to love itself; they are sweet because desire, as we have seen, takes pleasure in the anticipation of union with the beloved, in this case Zenophila. There is a similar description of Eros in AP 5.178, where again the god is associated with tears: Pyke¸shy, ja· latq¹r 5tû 1m jºkpoisi jahe¼dym· pyke¸shy. t¸ d´ loi t¹ hqas» toOto tq´veim. ja· c±q sil¹m 5vu ja· rpºpteqom· %jqa dû emunim jm¸fei· ja· jka?om pokk± letan» cekø· pq¹r dû 5ti koip¹m %tqeptom, !e¸kakom, an» dedoqjºr, %cqiom, oqdû aqtø latq· v¸kô tihasºm· p²mta t´qar. toic±q pepq²setai. eU tir !pºpkour 5lpoqor ¡me?shai pa?da h´kei, pqos¸ty. ja¸toi k¸ssetû, Qdo¼, dedajqul´mor. ou sû 5ti pyk_· h²qsei· Fgmov¸kô s¼mtqovor ¨de l´me. Let him be sold, even while he is still asleep on his mother s bosom, let him be sold; what have I to do with nourishing this bold thing? It was born pertnosed and winged, it scratches with its nails, and although it weeps abundantly it laughs in between; besides it is implacable, ever-chattering, sharp of glance, savage, untamed even by its own mother, altogether a monster. And so it will be sold; if any outbound merchant wishes to purchase a boy, let him step up. And yet he is imploring, look! he is in tears. I am no longer selling you. Buck up! Remain as you are, brought up by Zenophila.

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Eros both weeps and laughs. What is more, he is disobedient towards his own mother. The reference is on one level to Aphrodite, who notoriously has difficulties with her wayward son: Meleager might well have been thinking of the scene in Apollonius of Rhodes Argonautica (3.91 – 99), in which Aphrodite complains of her son s rebelliousness. In this connection, Meleager reverts to the more familiar version of Eros parentage. On the other hand, Eros is treated as a slave boy, who is being reared by his beloved Zenophila and whom the poet wishes to put on the auction block for his bad behaviour; in the end, he relents, moved by the child s tears, and lets Zenophila raise it after all. The mixed laughter and tears associated with Eros, and reflecting here, as in the previous epigram, the effect he has on those whom he causes to fall in love, become his own genuine tears at his fear of being cast out and put on sale. And yet, one realizes that these are fake tears, or tears that will suddenly give way to triumphant laughter. For the boy has once again worked his magic on the lover, forcing him to submit and to harbour the little demon in his own home – or in that of his girlfriend. Although the precise compound phrase ckuj¼dajqur does not appear in AP 5.212, the pairing of its two elements conveys the same sense: AQe¸ loi d¼mei l³m 1m ouasim Gwor =qytor, ella d³ s?ca Pºhoir t¹ ckuj» d²jqu v´qei· oqdû B m¼n, oq v´ccor 1jo¸lisem, !kkû rp¹ v¸ktqym Edg pou jqad¸ô cmyst¹r 5mesti t¼por. § ptamo¸, lµ ja¸ potû 1v¸ptashai l´m, =qyter, oUdatû, !popt/mai dû oqdû fsom Qsw¼ete. The sound of Eros always settles in my ears, and my eye silently bears a sweet tear because of Desires; neither night nor daylight lulls me, but his well-known imprint is already in my heart, thanks to his potions. O winged Loves, I m afraid that you know how to fly to me, but are not nearly strong enough to fly away.

Here, the poet is in a permanent state of longing. Again, this is not simply unpleasant, but it is inevitably accompanied by the frustration of unfulfilment – otherwise it would cease to be desire. There may well be an allusion here to Sappho, fr. 31, in which love is accompanied by a buzzing in the ears and dimming of the eyes. But the plural =qyter, echoing the plural Pºhoi, suggests a continual succession of passions, each new one arriving without displacing those that have lodged in his heart before. Ovid in his Remedia amoris declares that “every love is conquered by the new love that succeeds it” (Rem. am. 462: successore novo vincitur omnis amor), and “each love undercuts the strength of the other” (Rem. am. 444: alterius

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vires subtrahit alter amor). For Meleager, however, they all coexist, and do not displace or weaken one another. If this is so, then the poet s sweet tear may be a sign of love s essential insufficiency, multiply craving, plurally unsatisfied. There are two poems in which sweetness and tears occur in tandem, but not in the oxymoronic formula we have seen so far. In AP 12.68, Meleager writes: Oqj 1h´ky Waq¸dalom· b c±q jak¹r eQr D¸a ke¼ssei, ¢r Edg m´jtaq t` he` oQmowo_m· oqj 1h´ky. t¸ d´ loi t¹m 1pouqam¸ym basik/a %mtahkom m¸jgr t/r 1m 5qyti kabe?m. !qjoOlai dû, Cm loOmom b pa?r !mi½m 1r mkulpom 1j c/r m¸ptqa pod_m d²jqua t !l± k²b,, lmalºsumom stoqc/r· ckuj» dû ellasi meOla d¸ucqom do¸g, ja¸ ti v¸kglû "qp²sai !jqohic´r. tükka d³ p²mtû 1w´ty Fe¼r, ¢r h´lir· eQ dû 1hek¶soi, G t²wa pou jAc½ ce¼solai !lbqos¸ar. I don t want Charidamus. For the handsome lad looks to Zeus, as if he were already pouring nectar for the god. I don t want him: why should I take on the king of the deities as my rival for victory in love? It is enough for me if when the lad goes up from earth to Olympus he simply takes my tears with him as bathwater for his feet, a reminder of my affection. May he grant a sweet watery nod with his eyes, and snatch a light kiss. Let Zeus have all the rest, as is just. But if he should wish it, perhaps I too might somehow taste ambrosia.

Here the tears are those of the abandoned lover, whereas it is the gesture that the beloved boy makes with his eyes that is described as sweet. Love s sweetness and pain seem to have been divided, no longer coexisting in the tense unity of Sappho s bittersweet Eros. But perhaps here too Meleager gives a nod to the simultaneity of pain and pleasure in love. For in describing the boy s gesture as “watery” (d¸ucqom) – an expression that Gow and Page call “a vile phrase” (1965: 666) – the poet hints at the possibility that Charidamus too, as he ascends to heaven, is not entirely dryeyed. He carries with him his former desire, not wholly displaced by his new passion for Zeus. In AP 12.72 the motifs of sweetness and tears are still more split: 7Gdg l³m ckuj»r eqhqor· b dû 1m pqoh¼qoisim %upmor D÷lir !pox¼wei pmeOla t¹ keivh³m 5ti, sw´tkior, Jq²jkeitom Qd¾m· 5stg c±q rpû aqc±r avhakl_m bkghe·r jgq¹r 1r !mhqaji¶m. !kk² loi 5cqeo, D÷li dus²lloqe· jaqt¹r =qytor 6kjor 5wym 1p· so?r d²jqusi dajquw´y.

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The dawn is already sweet; but sleepless Damis in the doorway breathes out the breath that is still left him, the wretch, having seen Heraclitus; for he stood still under the rays of his eyes like wax thrown into coals. But wake up, unfortunate Damis; I too have Eros wound and shed tears upon your tears.

Poor Damis has spent the night before Heraclitus door, and now it is dawn. The light is sweet, or would be if Damis were not in love and unable to satisfy his desire (the necessary condition of love, as we have noted). Instead of being warmed by the morning sun, Damis is scorched by the rays that come rather from Heraclitus eyes: the image of contracting passion from another s eyes, imagined as projecting rays into the soul of the lover, is something of a commonplace, though it is neatly contrasted here with the ineffectual beams of the sun itself, at least when it comes to the lover s heart.14 The poet shares Damis malady, and he too weeps: that is symptomatic of lovers eyes, as opposed to Heraclitus fiery glance. Are the tears, then, sweet as well as being the painful consequence of Eros wound? The only clue that they might be is that the poet, at least, seems to take comfort in the arrival of daylight, or at least can recognize that it is pleasant. Perhaps this is the message he means to convey to Damis: arise, my friend! Things aren t so bad – I too weep for Love, but there is a sweetness to the day, all the same. Meleager evidently coined yet another paradoxical compound involving tears, namely dajquwaq¶r (AP 5.166): ¯ M¼n, § vik²cqupmor 1lo· pºhor Jkiod¾qar, ja· sjoki_m eqhqym jm¸slata dajquwaq/, üqa l´mei stoqc/r 1l± ke¸xama, ja¸ ti v¸kgla lmglºsumom xuwqø h²kpetû 1m eQjas¸ô. üq² cû 5wei s¼cjoita t± d²jqua j !l¹m emeiqom xuwap²tgm st´qmoir !lvibakoOsa vike?. C m´or %kkor 5qyr, m´a pa¸cmia. l¶pote, k¼wme, taOtû 1s¸d,r, eUgr dû Hr paq´dyja v¼kan. O night, O wakeful longing in me for Heliodora, and tinglings that delight in tears in the tangled dawns [?], do some remnants of affection remain mine, and is some remembering kiss warm upon my cold picture?15 Does she have tears as her bedfellows, and does she clasp to her bosom and kiss a soul-deceiving dream of me? Or is there some other new love, a new plaything? 14 For a recent review of the relation between physical theories of sight in antiquity and love, see Bartsch (2006: 58 – 83). 15 Or “bed” for 1m· jkis¸ô, the conjecture of Schneider, endorsed by Gow and Page (1965). For discussion of the textual cruces, see Borthwick (1969).

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Never, O lamp, look upon that, but be guardian of her whom I entrusted to you.

Gow and Page (1965: 635 ad 52.2) remark that eqhqym jm¸slata is “an unlikely phrase” (the meaning of “crooked” or “winding” in this connection remains obscure to me as well), but we may note that here again we find a reference to a sleepless night, followed by a dawn in which the poet feels a tearful itch or craving – but the early morning tears have nevertheless a charm or pleasure to them, in contrast with nighttime insomnia.16 This charm accords with the phrase “sweet dawn” in the previous poem: in both, the new day brings weeping at the absence, loss, or unattainability of the beloved, but at the same time a diminishment of night s wakeful anxieties, and a corresponding hope of fulfilment or at any rate pleasure in the game of love. There is yet another association of tears with sweetness in AP 5.136: =cwei ja· p²kim eQp´, p²kim, p²kim “Jkiod¾qar”· eQp´, s» dû !jq¶t\ t¹ ckuj» l¸scû emola· ja¸ loi t¹m bqewh´mta l¼qoir, ja· whif¹m 1ºmta, lmalºsumom je¸mar !lvit¸hei st´vamom. dajq¼ei vik´qastom, Qdo¼, Nºdom, ovmeja je¸mam %kkohi joq jºkpoir "let´qoir 1soqø. Pour, and again say, again, again, “Heliodora”; say it and mingle the sweet name with the unmixed wine; and put round me as a wreath that garland drenched in perfume, though it is yesterday s, as a souvenir of her. Look, the eros-loving rose sheds tears because it sees that she is elsewhere and not on my bosom.

Here, it is Heliodora s name that is sweet, whereas the tears are those of a rose in the wreath that the poet retains from the previous day s feasting.17 The tears are, yet again, shed for the absent beloved, albeit vicariously; Heliodora is thus at once the cause of pain and of a poignant kind of pleasure, which commingle in the mind of the lover just as wine is mixed with honey. 16 For this reason I would reject the emendation sjot¸ym, i. e. “dark dawns”: the dawn rather brings the light that alleviates the nighttime suffering. See Gow & Page (1965: ad loc.). 17 For the association between wreaths and tears, but without the allusion to sweetness or pleasure, cf. AP 5.191: -stqa ja· B vik´qysi jak¹m va¸mousa Sek¶mg / ja· M»n ja· j¾lym s¼lpkamom aqc²miom, / üq² ce tµm vik²sytom 5tû 1m jo¸taisim !hq¶sy / %cqupmom k¼wm\ pºkkû !poduqol´mgm. / E timû 5wei s¼cjoitom. 1p· pqoh¼qoisi laq²mar / d²jqusim 1jd¶sy to»r Rj´tar stev²mour, / 4m tºdû 1picq²xar· “J¼pqi, so· Lek´acqor, b l¼stgr / s_m j¾lym, stoqc/r sjOka t²dû 1jq´lase.”

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A lover naturally will weep at the loss of the beloved, and lovers quarrels and bouts of jealousy typically produce floods of tears.18 But no amount of knowledge based on past experience is sufficient to dampen the lover s ardour: hence, desire, which pictures its own fulfilment, coexists with an awareness of the sufferings to come (AP 5.24): Xuw¶ loi pqok´cei ve¼ceim pºhom Jkiod¾qar, d²jqua ja· f¶kour to»r pq·m 1pistal´mg. vgs· l´m, !kk± vuce?m ou loi sh´mor· B c±q !maidµr aqtµ ja· pqok´cei ja· pqok´cousa vike?. My soul tells me to flee desire for Heliodora, since it knows the previous tears and jealousies. So it says, but I haven t the strength to flee: for my shameless soul itself both foretells and, even as it foretells, it loves.19

So too at AP 12.132 the poet informs his own soul of the danger that lies ahead, but to no avail; love entraps it, and gives it warm tears to drink to quench its thirst. But here again, the bitter pain is tempered with sweet expectation, this time coming only in the final and surprising word of the epigram, though it is anticipated by the soul s simultaneous reception of fire and snow: Ou soi taOtû 1bºym, xuw¶· “Ma· J¼pqim, "k¾sei, § d¼seqyr, Qn` pujm± pqosiptal´mg”. oqj 1bºym. eXk´m se p²cg. t¸ l²tgm 1m· deslo?r spa¸qeir. aqt¹r =qyr t± pteq² sou d´dejem ja¸ sû 1p· pOq 5stgse, l¼qoir dû 5qqame kipºpmoum, d_je d³ dix¾s, d²jqua heql± pie?m. ü xuwµ baq¼lowhe, s» dû %qti l³m 1j puq¹r aUh,, %qti dû !max¼weir pmeOlû !makenal´mg. t¸ jka¸eir. t¹m %tecjtom ftû 1m jºkpoisim =qyta 5tqever, oqj Õdeir, ¢r 1p· so· tq´veto. oqj Õdeir. mOm cm_hi jak_m %kkacla tqove¸ym, pOq ûla ja· xuwq±m denal´mg wiºma. aqtµ taOhû eVkou· v´qe t¹m pºmom. %nia p²sweir, ¨m 5dqar, apt` jaiol´mg l´kiti. Did I not shout it to you, O my soul, “Yes, by Aphrodite, you will be caught, miserable in love, if you fly often near the lime-twigs”? Did I not shout it? And the trap has caught you. Why do you gasp vainly in the toils? Love himself has bound your wings and placed you on the fire, and sprinkled 18 For a review of tears in Roman elegy, see Fçgen (2009, in this volume). 19 This poem is attributed to Philodemus in the Anthology, perhaps rightly, since an incipit list, comprised almost exclusively of Philodemean poems, also contains this one. Most editors, however, ascribe it to Meleager. See the discussion in Hçschele (forthcoming).

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you with perfumes to make you breathless, and given you hot tears to drink for your thirst. Alas, toilsome soul, you were just now burning from the fire, just now you recovered and drew a breath. Why are you weeping? When you were rearing hard-hearted Eros in your breast, did you not know that he was being reared to attack you? Didn t you know? Then know him now, this monument to fine triumphs, when you have felt both fire and cold snow together! You yourself chose them. Endure the pain, you re suffering just compensation for what you did, burning in roasted honey.

Once more, in the extraordinary phrase “burning in honey” Meleager recalls the charm of love, which endures despite its woes.20 In AP 12.80, Meleager once more insists on the tears produced by Eros, and again laments the soul s forgetfulness of the pain: Xuwµ dusd²jqute, t¸ soi t¹ pepamh³m =qytor tqaOla di± spk²cwmym awhir !mavk´cetai. l¶, l¶, pqºr se Diºr, l¶, pq¹r Diºr, § vik²bouke, jim¶s,r t´vq, pOq rpokalpºlemom. aqt¸ja c²q, k¶haqce jaj_m, p²kim eU se vucoOsam k¶xetû =qyr, erq½m dqap´tim aQj¸setai. Miserably tearful soul, why has the wound of Eros softened and flared up again in your guts? Do not, by Zeus, by Zeus, you foolish thing, do not stir up the fire that is glowing beneath the ashes. You are forgetful of the evils, but at once Eros will seize you again, even if you flee, and will find his runaway slave and torture her.

The pleasure of love – or of the anticipation of love – is merely implied here, by the soul s apparent willingness to risk enamourment once again: the hope drives out the memory of past suffering. Love, however painful, brings with it the hope of pleasure, which coexists with tears. In this sense, the tears of love are by their nature sweet. In Meleager, it is only the final separation, marked by the death of the beloved, that gives rise to tears that are untempered by a countervailing, optimistic joy (AP 7.476): D²jqu² soi ja· m´qhe di± whomºr, Jkiod¾qa, dyqoOlai, stoqc÷r ke¸xamom, eQr )¸dam, 20 Cf. the similar conceit at the end of AP 12.92, addressed to the poet s eyes, which have seized upon yet another Eros, as if ash were to take fire; the poet bids the eyes to do what they please, and not to weep later, when they “will roast in beauty”: ¯ pqodºtai xuw/r, pa¸dym j¼mer, aQ³m 1m Qn` / J¼pqidor, avhaklo¸, bk´llata wqiºlemoi, / Bqp²satû %kkom =qytû, %qmer k¼jom, oXa joq¾mg / sjoqp¸om, ¢r t´vqg pOq rpohakpºlemom. / dq÷hû, f ti ja· bo¼keshe. t¸ loi memotisl´ma we?te / d²jqua, pq¹r dû Zj´tgm aqtoloke?te t²wor. / apt÷shû 1m j²kkei, t¼veshû rpojaºlemoi mOm, / %jqor 1pe· xuw/r 1st· l²ceiqor =qyr.

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d²jqua dusd²jquta· pokujka¼t\ dû 1p· t¼lb\ sp´mdy lm÷la pºhym, lm÷la vikovqos¼mar. oQjtq± c²q, oQjtq± v¸kam se ja· 1m vhil´moir Lek´acqor aQ²fy, jeme±m eQr )w´qomta w²qim. aQa?, poO t¹ poheim¹m 1lo· h²kor. ûqpasem .idar, ûqpasem· !jla?om dû %mhor 5vuqe jºmir. !kk² se coumoOlai, C÷ pamtqºve, t±m pamºduqtom Aq´la so?r jºkpoir, l÷teq, 1macj²kisai. Tears I give you even through the earth beneath, Heliodora, the remnant of my love, into Hades, tears sorely cried; and on your much-bewept tomb I pour the libation of my longing, the memorial of my affection. Piteously, piteously, I Meleager mourn you, my dear, even among the dead, to the empty charm of Acheron. Alas, where is my desired shoot? Hades snatched her, snatched her; dust has soiled the flower in its bloom. But I beseech you, Earth, mother, all-nurturing, to embrace her, all-lamented, gently in your bosom.

The ironic mention of death s “empty grace” (w²qir) alludes to the charm that the living Heliodora exerted upon her lover, which blended the grief she caused him then with the joy of anticipated gratification. But it is never again to be, and so defeats the hopes that give a lover s tears their portion of sweetness. Weeping is a complex phenomenon, and so too is its association with pleasure or laughter. While tears may be an automatic consequence of a variety of intense physical stimuli, including both pain and tickling, they are normally a symptom of higher-order emotional and cognitive processes. “For a tear is an intellectual thing”, wrote William Blake (1757 – 1827) in The Grey Monk. 21 A person may be happy and sad simultaneously, in the sense of being pleased at one thing and hurt by another, and laughing and crying may perfectly well coexist at such times. But some emotions – indeed, perhaps all emotions – have a double valence, in which, for example, the hope for something good offsets the expectation of some ill, and vice versa. Aristotle seems to have entertained such a view, and the love poets shared it (to the extent that erotic love is an emotion), since the lover was always caught between a tearful sense of loss – whether actual or anticipated – and equally buoyed up by a contrary fantasy of intimacy and reciprocated desire. The two sides of passion are so inextricably bound up with each other that the tears themselves cease to be the symp21 Neu (2000) adopts this phrase of Blake s as the title of his book on emotion; see esp. the chapter “A Tear is an Intellectual Thing” (Neu 2000: 14 – 40) for a discussion of theories of weeping, including some reflections on weeping for joy. See also Barbalet (2005).

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tom simply of negative anxiety, and come to be sweet in their own right, impregnated, as it were, with joy and hope. It was Meleager who gave expression to this paradox of tears not just produced by pleasure or affording pleasure by the release of pent-up grief, but pleasurable in themselves. Such are the tears of love, and Meleager gave Love a name to match: ckuj¼dajqur (“sweet-teared”). Bibliography Arnould, Dominique (1990): Le rire et les larmes dans la litt rature grecque d Hom re Platon, Paris. Barbalet, Jack (2005): Weeping and transformations of self. In: Journal for the Theory of Social Behavior 35, 125 – 141. Bartsch, Shadi (2006): The Mirror of the Self. Sexuality, Self-Knowledge, and the Gaze in the Early Roman Empire, Chicago. Borthwick, E. K. (1969): Meleager s lament. A note on Anth. Pal. 5.166. In: Classical Philology 64, 173 – 175. Carson, Anne (1986): Eros the Bittersweet, Princeton. Citti, Vittorio (1978/79): Imitazioni da Saffo in Meleagro. In: Atti dell Istituto Veneto 137, 333 – 354. Darwin, Charles (31998): The Expression of the Emotions in Man and Animals. With introduction, afterword and commentary by Paul Ekman, London (orig. 1872). Del Corno, Dario (ed.) (1985): Aristofane: Le Rane. Milan. Dover, Kenneth (ed.) (1993): Aristophanes: Frogs, Oxford. Fçgen, Thorsten (2009): Tears in Propertius, Ovid and Greek epistolographers. In: Thorsten Fçgen (ed.), Tears in the Graeco-Roman World, Berlin & New York, 179 – 208. Fusillo, Massimo (1999): The conflict of emotions. A topos in the Greek erotic novel (orig. 1990). In: Simon Swain (ed.), Oxford Readings in the Greek Novel, Oxford, 60 – 82. Gow, Andrew S. F. & Denys L. Page (eds.) (1965): The Greek Anthology. Hellenistic Epigrams (2 vols.), Cambridge. Graver, Margaret (2009): The weeping wise. Stoic and Epicurean consolations in Seneca s 99th Epistle. In: Thorsten Fçgen (ed.), Tears in the Graeco-Roman World, Berlin & New York, 235 – 252. Halliwell, Stephen (2008): Greek Laughter. A Study of Cultural Psychology from Homer to Early Christianity, Cambridge. Hçschele, Regina (2007): Die bl tenlesende Muse. Textualit t und Poetik antiker Epigrammsammlungen. Diss. Ludwig-Maximilians-Universit t M nchen. Hçschele, Regina (forthcoming): Meleager and Heliodora. A love story in bits and pieces. In: Ingela Nilsson (ed.), Loving Reading. Eros and the Poetics of Eros, Copenhagen.

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Kappas, Arvid (2009): Mysterious tears. The phenomenon of crying from the perspective of social neuroscience. In: Thorsten Fçgen (ed.), Tears in the Graeco-Roman World, Berlin & New York, 419 – 438. Kytzler, Bernhard (2003): Der Regenbogen der Gef hle. Zum Kontrast der Empfindungen im antiken Roman. In: Scholia 12, 69 – 81. Lloyd-Jones, Hugh (ed. and transl.) (1996): Sophocles (vol. 3), Cambridge, Mass. Lutz, Tom (1999): Crying. The Natural and Cultural History of Tears, New York. Neu, Jerome (2000): A Tear is an Intellectual Thing. The Meanings of Emotion, New York. Ortony, Andrew, Gerald L. Clore & Allen Collins (1988): The Cognitive Structure of Emotions, Cambridge. Parkinson, Brian (1995): Ideas and Realities of Emotion, London. Reddy, William M. (2001): The Navigation of Feeling. A Framework for the History of the Emotions, Cambridge. Vingerhoets, Ad J. J. M., Lauren M. Bylsma & Jonathan Rottenberg (2009): Crying. A biopsychosocial phenomenon. In: Thorsten Fçgen (ed.), Tears in the Graeco-Roman World, Berlin & New York, 439 – 475.

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Tears of the Bereaved: Plutarch s Consolatio ad uxorem in Context* Stefan Schorn Abstract: Plutarch s Consolatio ad uxorem stands as a monument to the character of his wife Timoxena, raising her above other women of the time as a philosophically educated partner. It is likewise a monument to Plutarch s own philosophical convictions. For it shows how they help to overcome the loss of a child in the shortest time possible. His demands exactly correspond to the ethical program he propagates in his other writings. But it is also an important source for the treatment of crying in the context of death. Plutarch s attitude and his wife s behaviour are anything but representative of the upper class of their time, because for it – as for the middle and lower class – the behaviour of the pokko¸ herein rejected was characteristic. And this included openly lamenting the sorrow over the loss of an infant. It therefore confirms and supplements the testimony of the funerary inscriptions and other sources. According to these texts, the old customs and laws prohibiting parents from performing the traditional honours for deceased infants had been largely abandoned. Plutarch s attempt to establish new philosophical justifications for them is likely only to have had an effect on those people who, like him, lead their entire lives according to philosophy.

1. Introduction Hardly any literary genre is likely to be more tearful than the consolationes mortis, the philosophical consolatory writings to the bereaved, since such writings always deal with the question of how grief and crying can be brought to an end. It would be most rewarding to conduct a comparative analysis of the assessment and role of crying in all such writings. This is impossible here, however, due to the abundance of material.1 The * 1

I gratefully acknowledge the support given to me by James Thain in writing the English version of this essay. Margaret Graver was kind enough to provide me with a number of useful remarks. On this genre in antiquity, Kassel (1958) remains seminal; no exhaustive discussion of sources has been published that would replace Buresch (1887). Johann (1968: 11 with n. 2 – 9) offers a useful list of relevant writings; on the consolatio ad exulem and related writings see Claassen (1999).

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genre emerged around the end of the fourth century with Crantor s Peq· p´mhour, which he addressed to a certain Hippocles after the death of the latter s children. This book, which Cicero, following the example of Panaetius, referred to as aureolus et (…) ad verbum ediscendus libellus (Acad. 2.135 = Panaetius, fr. 137 van Straaten = fr. 89 Alesse), decisively shaped all later consolationes, which is why researchers for a long time went to great lengths to reconstruct this text on the basis of later authors quotations without ever reaching a result all could agree on.2 Cicero s Consolationis liber, which had great effect in the Latin sphere, has also been lost except for some fragments.3 Still extant Latin consolationes are the anonymous Consolatio ad Liviam (see Schlegelmilch 2005), Seneca s Ad Marciam de consolatione and Ad Polybium de consolatione as well as several condolatory letters (esp. Epist. 99).4 In the Greek sphere, Plutarch represents one of the most productive authors of consolationes. 5 Of his relevant literary production, however, merely the Consolatio ad uxorem (Paqaluhgtij¹r pq¹r tµm cuma?ja, 608a – 612b) is extant. Furthermore, from Lamprias catalogue of writings we also know of the lost Consolatio ad Asclepiam (Paqaluhgtij¹r pq¹r )sjkgpi²dgm ; cat. Lampr. 111) and the Consolatio ad Bestiam (Pq¹r Vgst¸am paqaluhgtij|r ; cat. Lampr. 157); Plutarch himself mentions (Mul. virt. 242f) an oral consolatio for the priestess Clea and is likely to have addressed coming to terms with grief from a theoretical perspective in the lost writings De indolentia (Peq· !kup¸ar ; cat. Lampr. 172) and De tranquillitate animi (Peq· !taqan¸ar ; cat. Lampr. 179). Additionally, the Consolatio ad Apollonium (Paqaluhgtij¹r pq¹r )pokk¾miom, 101e – 121f) has been ascribed to him; however, it is most likely inauthentic.6 To these consolationes proper, other authors texts of the De contemnenda morte type, closely related

2 3 4 5 6

The last large-scale attempt was by Johann (1968); yet cf. Kr mer (2004: 124). On literature and fragments see Mette (1984: 8 – 10, 16 – 23). The fragments have been collected by Vitelli (1979). On Seneca, Epist. 99 see Graver (2009, in this volume). On his consolatory writings see Hani (1980: 181 – 182) and Impara & Manfredini (1991: 9). On its inauthenticity Ziegler (1951: 793 – 801); Kassel (1958: 48) takes it for granted. In favour of authenticity Hani (1972: 27 – 50) and Strubbe (1998: 54 with n. 35); against it Grilli (2000: 239 – 252). Cannat Fera (1991: 324) is of the opinion that “eppure a Plutarco riconducono tanti e tanti elementi, per cui sull ipotesi di un nucleo originario plutarcheo si pu ancora lavorare.”

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to them in subject matter, can be added.7 Of these writings, I would like to single out Plutarch s (authentic) Consolatio ad uxorem, since it allows the interpreter to consider the arguments made in the work in the context of Plutarch s substantial oeuvre (which is not possible in the case of the spurious Consolatio ad Apollonium which is longer and richer in material).8 In addition, a further contextualization appears useful to me: Plutarch is a representative of Greece s intellectual elite, yet also influenced by Roman thought. The concept of crying he propagates in his text bears a certain relation to his environment which should be sought out. It gains definition, as will become apparent, by being examined against its sociocultural background; furthermore, it presents a so far almost unstudied source for the role attributed to crying in relation to cases of death.

2. The Socio-Cultural Background Plutarch s Consolatio ad uxorem is usually dated to the beginning of the 90s, yet this date must be deemed uncertain.9 It is a text he addressed to his wife Timoxena after the death of their two-year-old daughter who was also named Timoxena (8 p. 610e).10 Plutarch was staying in Tanagra (1 p. 608b) at the time of her death and apparently could not or would not cover the two days distance to Chaeronea. Nothing in the letter indicates his return in the foreseeable future or his appearance being expected at home.11 It has been repeatedly noted with surprise that Plutarch reacted 7 The pseudo-Platonic Axiochus, Philodemus De morte (Peq· ham²tou), the first book of Cicero s Tusculanae disputationes and the third book of Lucretius De rerum natura. 8 A good new bibliography is offered e. g. in Harvey (1999). 9 This dating for instance in Strubbe (1998: 54, 114) and Pomeroy (1999: 76); but cf. De Lacy & Einarson (1959: 578 – 579), Hani (1980: 177) and Impara & Manfredini (1991: 8 – 9). Babut (1981: 60 – 62) dates to about 95; cf. Cannat Fera (1991: 315 n. 2). Some suppose a later revision for publication, thus for instance Malaspina (1991/92: 458). 10 For Seneca, Epist. 99, too, the occasion for the consolatio is the death of an infant. 11 Cf. Claassen (2004: 28). She suspects (2004: 37 – 38 n. 37) that his function as a Delphic priest precluded him from taking part in funerals. But the funeral has apparently already taken place (1 p. 608b). The burial of infants was – at least in Athens – primarily the responsibility of the female relatives (cf. Houby-Nielsen 2000: esp. 152, 158, 161), which might sufficiently explain Plutarch s behaviour.

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to this occurrence with a formal consolatio rather than with a personal letter or that he did not travel home immediately.12 His words are not in keeping with what our modern sensibilities lead us to expect from a loving father and husband in such a situation. It is concerned with largely reason-led philosophizing as is typical of consolationes (cf. Kassel 1958: 8) which aim to show that death is not an evil for the child and therefore not for the bereaved either.13 In order to be able to properly assess this document which may seem strange from our point of view and – related to this – the evaluation of tears found therein, it seems necessary to examine it in the frame of what we know of how antiquity dealt with infant death in both the public and private spheres. The question of how antiquity assessed infant death seems absurd from the modern perspective. Hardly any other blow of fate is felt as more traumatizing by the parents affected and evokes more sympathy and dismay in their personal relations and far beyond than the death of an infant or toddler. It seems difficult to imagine it ever to have been otherwise. Still, it was widely assumed among researchers until recently that this had not been so in antiquity. Based on sociological and anthropological analyses not referring to antiquity, it was thought that because of the extremely high mortality rate of over 25 % in the first year and about 50 % up to ten years of age,14 the death of an infant in antiquity had triggered a self-protection mechanism in parents affected which allowed them to bear this everyday occurrence by and large with indifference. Stone s remarks on pre-industrial England, in which he explained that “the omnipresence of death coloured affective relations at all levels of society, by reducing the amount of emotional capital available for prudent investment in any single individual, especially in such ephemeral creatures as infants” (Stone 1977: 651 – 652) were very influential in this. And in 12 Martin jr. & Phillips (1978: 394 – 395) therefore suppose: “It seems likely, therefore, that Consolatio ad uxorem was entirely composed at leisure after the event, or else that Plutarch immediately dispatched a short letter to his wife, which he later elaborated into the present essay.” Malaspina (1991/92: 458), too, differentiates between the Consolatio ad uxorem and its “stesura originaria”. Claassen (2004: 44) speaks of Timoxena as “hardly a woman that needs the apparently cold comfort of a formal condolence”. 13 A different assessment of the text in Grilli (2000: 236 – 237). 14 Thus Bradley (1999: 184). Literature on the different calculations of the mortality rate in King (2000: 123 with n. 30); cf. Golden (1988: 155) and Laubenheimer (2004: 295 – 297).

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1907 already, Hertz observed regarding some Indonesian peoples that “the deaths of children thus provoke only a very weak social reaction which is almost instantaneously completed. (…) The death of a newborn child is, at most, an infra-social event; since society has not yet given anything of itself to the child, it is not affected by its disappearance and remains indifferent.”15 That this perspective can be brought to bear on ancient circumstances, too, seems to be supported by the last chapter of the Consolatio ad uxorem (11 p. 612a – b), in which Plutarch speaks on the legislation of his home town: to?r d³ patq¸oir ja· pakaio?r 5hesi ja· mºloir 1lva¸metai l÷kkom B peq· to¼tym !k¶heia. to?r c±q art_m mgp¸oir !pohamoOsim oute wo±r 1piv´qousim outû %kka dq_si peq· aqt± oXû eQj¹r rp³q hamºmtym poie?m [to»r %kkour]· oq c±q l´testi c/r oqd³m oqd³ t_m peq· c/m aqto?r· oqdû aqtoO peq· tav±r ja· lm¶lata ja· pqoh´seir mejq_m vikowyqoOsi ja· paqaj²hgmtai to?r s¾lasim· oq c±q 1_sim oR mºloi to»r tgkijo¼tour, ¢r oqw fsiom eQr bekt¸oma ja· heiot´qam lo?qam ûla ja· w¾qam lehestgjºtar [lacuna] 1pe· d³ t¹ !piste?m wakep¾teqºm 1stim aqto?r C t¹ piste¼eim, t± l³m 1jt¹r ovtyr ¢r oR mºloi pqost²ssousim 5wylem, t± dû 1mt¹r 5ti l÷kkom !l¸amta jai jahaq± ja· s¾vqoma. It is rather in our ancestral and ancient usages and laws that the truth of these matters is to be seen; for our people do not bring libations to those of their children who die in infancy, nor do they observe in their case any of the other rites that the living are expected to perform for the dead, as such children have no part in earth or earthly things; nor yet do they tarry where the burial is celebrated, at the graves, or at the laying out of the dead, and sit by the bodies. For the laws forbid us to mourn for infants, holding it impiety to mourn for those who have departed to a dispensation and a region too that is better and more divine. (…) And since this is harder to disbelieve than to believe, let us keep our outward conduct as the laws command, and keep ourselves within yet freer from pollution and purer and more temperate. (transl. De Lacy & Einarson)

For the Greek sphere, Plutarch is the only witness for the fact that infants were not given the usual death tributes including the ritual laments.16 But

15 Hertz (1960: 84). Garland (1985: 80) follows Hertz and Stone in his classic study of death in Greece. Further evidence for this opinion from writings in sociology, anthropology and ancient history in Golden (1988: 153 with p. 160 n. 2); cf. King (2000: 117 – 118 with n. 1) and Suder (2001: 73 with n. 8). Cannat Fera (1991: 319) establishes a direct link to Plutarch s behaviour on his daughter s death. 16 That these were not given becomes apparent in out %kka dq_si peq· aqt± oX eQj¹r rp³q hamºmtym poie?m, furthermore, oqd aqtoO peq· (…) pqoh´seir mejq_m vikowyqoOsi ja· paqaj²hgmtai to?r s¾lasim, which shows that the pro-

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this practice is confirmed by parallels from Rome. Plutarch (Numa 12.2 = FIRA2 I 12) once more reports on the Roman King Numa: (…) aqt¹r d³ ja· t± p´mhg jahû Bkij¸ar ja· wqºmour 5tanem· oXom pa?da lµ pemhe?m me¾teqom tqietoOr, lgd³ pqesb¼teqom pke¸omar l/mar ¨m 1b¸ysem 1miaut_m l´wqi t_m d´ja, ja· peqait´qy lgdel¸am Bkij¸am, !kk± toO lajqot²tou p´mhour wqºmom eWmai dejalgmia?om. (…) Numa himself also regulated the periods of mourning according to ages. For instance, over a child of less than three years there was to be no mourning at all; over one older than that, the mourning was not to last more months than it had lived years, up to ten; and no age was to be mourned longer than that, but ten months was the period set for the longest mourning. (transl. Perrin)

These regulations are specified by a further piece of evidence. In Rome no laments of any sort for children under one year of age and limited laments (sublugere) for those between one and two years of age were permitted.17 Cicero still states the following for his time (Tusc. 1.93): Idem, si puer parvus occidit, aequo animo ferendum putant, si vero in cunis, ne querendum quidem. Those same people think that if a small child dies, this must be taken calmly – if a child in the cradle, that should not even be grieved over. (transl. Douglas)

Cicero does not explicitly tell us which social groups he has in mind here. In any case, persons are concerned who do not reflect philosophically and evidently express traditional practice in these maxims . They are likely to have occurred in all social classes. But it becomes apparent here as well that the stoicism demanded referred not only to the public space, i. e. the ritual space, but also to the individual s private sensibilities. Cicero s testimony corresponds to a verse by Publilius Syrus (Sent. 360 Woelfflin) which attests for the Republican era to the opinion that “death is luck for childhood, bitter for youth, too late for age” (mors infanti felix, iuveni

thesis, the laying-out of the dead on the day after their death which included the lamentation, did not take place. 17 Exc. Vat. 321 (= FIRA2 II 536): Lugendi autem sunt parentes anno, liberi maiores X annorum aeque anno. Quem annum decem mensuum esse Pomponius ait; nec leve argumentum est annum X mensuum esse, cum minores liberi tot mensibus elugeantur, quot annorum decesserint usque ad trimatum; minor trimo non lugetur, sed sublugetur; minor anniculo neque lugetur neque sublugetur. This is contradicted by Paul., Sent. 1.21.13. But it is widely assumed that the regulations found therein do not reflect classical Roman law; cf. Philipp (1927: 1701).

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acerba,18 nimis serast seni; transl. John M. Duff). Thus, the anthropologists view cited above seems to be confirmed for the age of the Republic. Does this point to a composed, tearless handling of infants deaths by those affected and therefore an unspectacular, tearless burial in Greece and Rome for the time of Plutarch as well? This notion has justifiably been questioned lately,19 but the discussion of how infant death was dealt with at different times in different places and by different social groups in both the personal and the public spheres has not been completed yet and requires further differentiation. There are more pertinent surveys for the Roman sphere than for the Greek in this respect.20 An intensive study of the Latin inscriptions in particular has corrected some aspects of our view of people s thought and behaviour especially in the Imperial era which is of interest here. According to the studies of King (2000), who has analysed the ca. 29,250 epitaphs of CIL VI (Rome), children of age 0 – 4 account for only 1,357 inscriptions (4.6 %) and infants of age 0 – 1 for only 128 inscriptions (9.4 %) of those in turn.21 This may seem to be few in view of the assumed mortality rate of 25 % in the first year of life, but the fact that a number of children who died so young were permanently commemorated in stone shows that their deaths were not regarded as irrelevant.22 Contrary to the opinion that the inscriptions phrasings did not express real feelings and were merely cultural acts,23 King was also able to show that the often unusually 18 On the use of acerbus in that context see Graver (2002: 98) on Cicero, Tusc. 3.29. 19 Golden (1988) is seminal here; cf. Golden (1990: 82 – 94) and Golden (2004). Further literature below. 20 I regard it as more expedient to initially examine the Greek and Roman spheres separately, even though this is not done as a rule by other interpreters. In an area as sensitive as the treatment of death, in which behaviours and rites linger for centuries, differences must be anticipated. For example, the mourning periods were different: in Greece it was expected of men, too, to mourn the death of a relative, as the example of Demosthenes illustrates (see pp. 351 – 352), while in Rome this was optional for men unlike for women; cf. Prescendi (1995). 21 Cf. also Suder s (2001: 77) and McWilliam s (2001: 79 – 84) statistics. 22 Cf. Suder (2001: 75 – 76); but cf. also McWilliam (2001: 86 – 93), who apart from emotional bonds as a motive for erecting a funeral epitaph highlights the following intention: “For a large section of the community, marking the death of a child brought a chance of recognition, even if this recognition was limited to their own immediate communities or familiae. (…) their births showed that their parents had fulfilled an important social function of married life” (McWilliam 2001: 93). 23 Thus, for example, Dixon (1992: 13) and Bradley (1991: 30). Further evidence in King (2000: 120 – 121); like King, McWilliam (2001: 87).

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detailed information about the children s life span as well as the order of the text and the epithets used prove that real feelings are expressed here. The epitaphs make clear that the death of children so young caused great sorrow in the middle and lower classes at least, and that no restraint in demonstrating their grief was expected of them (cf. King 2000: esp. 145). As far as the upper class is concerned, the opinion remains prevalent that “it was considered improper for the elite to mourn very young children” (King 2000: 145). Rawson points out that in the representations of mourning scenes on sarcophagi upper-class parents refrain from emotional outbursts and exhibit subdued demeanour which was regarded as ideal (Rawson 2003: 348), contrary to the slaves also represented. On the other hand, there are magnificent sarcophagi for babies, e. g. the oldest sarcophagus found beneath St. Peter s in Rome, in which a six-month-old child was buried; on the short sides of this sarcophagus a grieving parent is represented.24 Grief was therefore shown with restraint, but it was shown, even for those who died very young. In the first half of the second century A.D., Juvenal, otherwise a defender of old Roman values, was even able to assert (Sat. 15.131 – 133 and 138 – 140): mollissima corde humano generi dare se natura fatetur, quae lacrimas dedit; haec nostri pars optima, sensus. (…) naturae imperio gemimus, cum funus adultae virginis occurrit vel terra clauditur infans et minor igne rogi. Nature declares that she has given the human race the gentlest of hearts by her gift of tears. This is the finest element of our sensibility. (…) It s by Nature s command that we sigh when we meet the funerals of a marriageable virgin or when a baby is buried in the ground, too young for the pyre s flame. (transl. Braund)

This is evidence of a new mentality compared to the Republican era:25 the display of grief in such cases was not only felt to be inoffensive, but downright natural.26 Yet changes had occurred not only in personal sensibili24 See Rawson (2003: 352). Sarcophagi for infants can be found elsewhere: nos. 6.46, 8.25, 9.24, 9.36 and 9.49 in Huskinson s (1996) catalogue. 25 Thus N raudau (1987: 205); cf. Malaspina (1991/92: 449, 454). 26 Claassen s (2004) very general diagnosis of the Greek world goes in the right direction: “In the Greek world parents, it would seem, had always demonstrated love for their children as babies, even when custom frowned upon investing

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ties, but also in the public sphere. For other sources clearly show a break with the traditional burial rites, a fact that has barely been noticed yet. Thus Statius, Silva 2.1 (written between the end of 89 and the summer of 90 A.D.): the funus acerbum, i. e. the burial of a child having died before reaching adulthood, occurred according to the old legislation on the day following death before sunrise, without great circumstance, in a family setting and without funeral cortege.27 But the burial of Glaucias, the twelve-year-old28 adoptive son and favourite of Atedius Melior, to whom Statius addressed his consolatory poem, did not differ from that of a prominent adult: the boy was buried during the day following a funeral cortege through Rome amidst great sympathy and with enormous display.29 And this was no isolated case.30 Deep personal grief at the death of children of all ages is well-documented for the Roman upper class.31 And apparently, male members of this group, too, were expected

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too much affection in infants, but, by the first century, tradition was being tempered by new attitudes that allowed for more open display.” On the other hand, Malaspina (1991/92: 459) suggests: “Se per i bambini morti al di sotto dei tre anni il costume romano (e greco, secondo la testimonianza di Plutarco) non legittimava il lutto nei suoi riflessi esteriori e perci sociali, il rapporto con i neonati defunti viveva nell intimit domestica e delle coscienze, al di l di ogni sovrastruttura sociale e tanto pi di ogni razionalizzazione filosofica.” See esp. Tacitus, Ann. 13.17.3. On the funus acerbum see N raudau (1987), de Filippis Cappai (1997) and Rawson (2002). On the age see van Dam (1984: 130) and Grewing (1997: 218 – 219). Statius, Silv. 2.1.19 – 25 and 2.157 – 182. Even if the description Statius gives of the funeral is likely to be exaggerated, it did not in any case conform to a traditional funus acerbum. That the ceremony was held in daytime is indicated in Silv. 2.1.170. Martial, too, writes on the death of Glaucias (6.28.2): tota (…) dolente Roma (6.29 refers to this death). N raudau (1987: 206) points to a daytime burial. No different was the case of Flavius Ursus favourite, who died at the age of fifteen and was buried with great pomp by the former, as Statius once more reports (Silv. 2.6.82 – 93). A ceremonial funeral by day, perhaps even at public expense, was given to a seven-year-old from Rome in 127 (CE 422.12 – 15); on this, cf. Heene (1988: 173 – 174). See Seneca, Epist. 99. Marcus Aurelius asks his teacher Fronto to write to Herodes Atticus who lost his new-born son (Fronto 1.6.8 p. 13 van den Hout; 143 A.D.): id Herodes non aequo fert animo. Few remains of this letter are extant (Ad M. Aur. 1.8 p. 16 – 17 van den Hout). On the death of Fronto s grandson at the age of three his father and mother lament him; Fronto and Emperor Antoninus Pius, too, are greatly distressed (p. 220 – 224 van den Hout). Pliny (Epist. 5.16.8 – 10) gives an account of the sorrow of Fundanus on the death of his almost 13-year-old daughter. Nero mourns his new-born daughter excessively (Tacitus, Ann. 15.23.3).

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to demonstrate grief conspicuously to the outside world independent of the age of the child: Statius (Silv. 5.5) deeply and publicly mourns the death of his adoptive son, who very probably died at less than three years and who in any case counted among Cicero s puer parvus category;32 Statius calls upon the reader to mourn him like an adult (Silv. 5.5.13 – 14). In a different place of the same poem, it becomes apparent that the mothers plangere was usual even with new-born children (Silv. 5.5.15 – 17). Martial s fictitious funerary epigram for the two-and-a-half-year-old son of Bassus (7.96) further reveals that it was not deemed undignified for a member of the upper class to display personal sorrow in an epitaph.33 Thus it can be observed of the upper class of the Imperial age as well: it is legitimate and expected to be distraught on the death of small children and equally to show grief and tears. A differentiation in external behaviour according to the age of the child can no longer be identified. The proper and expected behaviour was, therefore, to lament publicly34 the death of a child – like that of an adult – but to bear it in an essentially restrained manner and to overcome grief eventually. As has been said, there are fewer systematic studies of inscriptions of the Greek sphere, but the sources point to a situation analogous to that in the Roman world. Houby-Nielsen has shown that babies and toddlers were among the people most carefully buried in Athens.35 The Latin epitaphs from Rome discussed above, in which parents manifest their grief, were probably commissioned by persons of Greek origin (liberti and their descendants) in many cases. The carmina epigraphica speak clearly for the middle and upper classes of Greek towns in the Imperial age. Numerous funerary epigrams for children under three years of age are to be found in V rilhac s collection (1978 – 82),36 of which a poem from the sec32 On the age of the child see Gibson (2006: xl). 33 The grief of lovers for their beloved (12 and 15 years old, respectively) which Statius (Silv. 2.1 and 2.6) describes, did not detract from the affected nobles dignity in spite of its downright “feminine” manner. 34 On the role of crying in public on bereavement see Heene (1988: 166) and Sˇterbenc Erker (2009, in this volume). 35 Houby-Nielsen (2000: esp. 151), for the time ca. 1100 B.C.–0. Cf. Rawson (2003: 344); different yet again Garland (1985: 78). 36 Secure records are: V rilhac (1978 – 82 [vol. 1]) no. 29 (2 years, 8 months; Rome; no date), no. 79 (2 years, 7 months; Rome; no date), no. 89 (2 years = Diodorus, Anth. Pal. 7.632; I B.C. or A.D.), no. 102 (2 years; Athens; I – II A.D.), no. 103 (m¶pior ; Rome; II A.D.), no. 104 (1 year; Mytilene; I – II A.D.), no. 109a (2 years; Gerusa; II A.D.), no. 117 (6 months; Augusta Emerita; early II A.D.), no. 132 (younger than 3 years; Athens; ca. 150 A.D.), no. 150 (2 years; Alban

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ond/third century A.D. from Athens for a fifteen-months-old boy deserves special mention, as it requests that the reader perform the lament for the dead.37 The so-called consolation decrees show even more clearly that the death of the children of local dignitaries, independent of age and gender, was considered a reason for sorrow for the entire community and an occasion to offer condolences to the parents on the part of the town by an inscription (and sometimes by other honours, too).38 If in such inscriptions – as sometimes in epigrams, too – the parents are called on to bear their sorrow bravely, then we find here too the same ideal as in the Roman sphere. Plutarch s Life of Solon (21.5 – 7) even seems to prove that men had to be deterred from acting in a typically female manner in lamenting in Chaeronea at the time of Plutarch.39 Apparently Plutarch s “ancestral and ancient usages and laws”, as well as the respective Roman regulations, were mainly things of the past according to this evidence. Yet a passage from the pseudo-Plutarchean Consolatio ad Apollonium may speak in favour of those regulations still having been observed at his time or later. There, the unknown author criticizes people who complain when someone dies at a young age, since he sees a contradiction in this behaviour. He explains (23 p. 113d): eU ce lµm b %yqor h²mator jajºm 1stim, !yqºtator #m eUg b t_m mgp¸ym ja· pa¸dym ja· 5ti l÷kkom b t_m %qti cecomºtym. !kk± to»r to¼tym ham²tour hills; III A.D.?), no. 151 (6 months; Athens; middle II A.D.), no. 168 (1 year, 9 months; Tenos; I A.D.?), no. 180 (bq´vor = Bianor, Anth. Pal. 7.387; I B.C. or A.D.), no. 189 (15 months; Athens; II – III A.D.), no. 193 (meycmºr ; Laodicea; III A.D.), no. 204 (2 years, 2 months less 5 days; Albanum; early II A.D.). The verse inscriptions as well as the consolation decrees discussed in the following show that the grief over the loss is expressed not only beyond the “ambienti colti”, as Malaspina (1991/92: 451) supposes. 37 V rilhac (1978 – 82 [vol. 1]) no. 189 (= IG II2 10996a, l. 1 – 2): hqgmotºjom lokpµm Qaw¶sate (t)÷i d³ tejo¼sai, / hq¶mym ja· joll_m joim_m sumk¶toqer 5ste. 38 On these inscriptions, which are documented only for the Greek world of the Imperial era, see Ehrhardt (1994) and esp. Strubbe (1998: 59 – 75, with literature on p. 59 n. 43). The youngest deceased whose parents were honoured with a consolation decree was Aurelia Mousike from Aigiale on the island of Amorgos (IG XII 7, 410; after 212 A.D.), who died mgp¸a pamt´kyr (l. 11): p´mhor oqj 1k²wistom bloO p÷sim to(? )r 2aut/r jatak´koipem, ¢r 1p· to¼t\ ja· tµm p[º]kim Bl_m !mi÷shai (15 – 17). 39 Plutarch, Sol. 21.7: pqºsjeitai d³ to?r Blet´qoir fglioOshai to»r t± toiaOta poioOmtar rp¹ t_m cumaijomºlym, ¢r !m²mdqoir ja· cumaij¾desi to?r peq· t± p´mhg p²hesi ja· "laqt¶lasim 1mewol´mour. Lanfredini & Piccirilli (1995: 237) even apply this information to the entire Greek sphere.

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Nôd¸yr v´qolem ja· eqh¼lyr, to»r d³ t_m Edg pqobebgjºtym dusweq_r ja· pemhij_r di± t¹m 1j lata¸ym 1kp¸dym !mapkaslºm (…). If it be true that untimely death is an evil, the most untimely would be that of infants and children, and still more that of newly born. But such deaths we bear easily and cheerfully, but the deaths of those who have already lived some time with distress and mourning because of our fanciful notion, born of vain hopes (…) (transl. Babbitt)

It is thus absurd to mourn the death of an adolescent as untimely, if those having died even younger, who had even less of life, are not mourned. This reasoning corresponds exactly to that of Cicero in the passage cited above, and therefore it has often and probably rightly been supposed that both draw on Crantor s Peq· p´mhour.40 In the latter s time (ca. 340 – 275 B.C.), as in that of Cicero, this assertion may still have been generally valid, but for the Consolatio ad Apollonium s time of origin (second century A.D. at the earliest), the evidence given above contradicts such a supposition. The text s compiler, very awkward in other respects too, seems to have joined set pieces from Crantor s work and other texts here as he was accustomed to do. That these were not always suitable to the circumstances of his time was arguably irrelevant to this product which was in all likelihood compiled by a student. One can therefore not treat its testimony as evidence for social practice of the second century. 3. Plutarch s Consolatio ad uxorem Let us return to Plutarch s Consolatio ad uxorem once more and consider it in the context of contemporary manners. Plutarch assumes that the burial has by now taken place, but adds (1 – 2 p. 608b – c): eQ d´ ti boukol´mg lµ pepo¸gjar !kk± l´meir tµm 1lµm cm¾lgm, oUei d³ jouvºteqom oUseim cemol´mou, ja· toOtû 5stai d¸wa p²sgr peqieqc¸ar ja· deisidailom¸ar, ¨m Fjist² soi l´testi. Lºmom, § c¼mai, t¶qei j!l³ t` p²hei ja· seautµm 1p· toO jahest_tor. But if you want something done that you are leaving undone while you await my decision, something that you believe will make your grief easier to bear, that too you shall have, so it be done without excess or superstition, faults to which you are not at all prone. Only, my dear wife, in your emotion keep me as well as yourself within bounds. (transl. De Lacy & Einarson) 40 Thus e. g. Johann (1968: 95, 110 – 111, 119 – 120, 133 and passim).

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Even at the very beginning, a central theme of Plutarch s reasoning becomes apparent here: everything was to take place as simply as possible and in a befitting manner. And indeed, Plutarch already possesses reports of the burial and of his wife s behaviour after the child s death (4 p. 608f – 609a): Ja· toOto k´cousim oR paqacemºlemoi ja· haul²fousim, ¢r oqdû Rl²tiom !me¸kgvar p´mhilom oqd³ saut0 tima pqos¶cacer C heqapaim¸sim !loqv¸am ja· aQj¸am, oqdû Gm paqasjeuµ pokuteke¸ar pamgcuqij/r peq· tµm tav¶m, !kkû 1pq²tteto josl¸yr p²mta ja· siyp0 let± t_m !macja¸ym. This also those who were present report – with amazement – that you have not even put on a mourning garment, that you did not subject yourself or your women to any uncomeliness or ill-usage, and that there was no sumptuous display, like that of a festival, at the burial, but that everything was done with decorum and in silence, in the company of our nearest kin. (transl. De Lacy & Einarson)

It is crucial that everything was executed siyp0. Here, it is noteworthy above all that Timoxena refrained from the otherwise usual lamentation rites and did not urge her servants to perform them either: tearing at one s hair, clawing one s cheeks and other disfiguring practices. Furthermore, there apparently has not been any ritual wailing, which was an integral part of all three burial phases (pqºhesir, 1jvoq² and burial) on the death of adults (cf. Garland 1985: 21 – 37). Since we have already seen from Plutarch s testimony at the end of the Consolatio ad uxorem that this was not common for infants according to the “ancestral and ancient usages and laws” cited above, one could regard Timoxena s behaviour as a matter of course and not as unusual, if it were not for the evidence given above. The fact that those present admired Timoxena s behaviour, however, is a first indication in this text that it evidently was not commonplace. But Plutarch himself is not surprised by it, as his wife has appeared very plain and simple (4 p. 609a) on other occasions. He entirely ignores the ritual component of crying in relation to death and evaluates it ethically by parallelizing excessive crying – and therefore lamenting – with excessive joy and assigning it the same moral level regarding character. A self-controlled (4 p. 609a: s¾vqoma) person should display continence (4 p. 609a: 1cjqate¸ar) in both joy and sorrow. The masses, however, did not understand this but rather viewed restraint in sorrow as an indication of a lack of parental love (4 p. 609a: vikºstoqcom). Plutarch insinuates that the pokko¸ have an insatiable greed for lamentation (4 p. 609a – b):

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t` l³m c±q vikostºqc\ waqifºleha t¹ pohe?m ja· t¹ til÷m ja· t¹ lelm/shai t_m !pocemol´mym, B d³ hq¶mym %pkgstor 1pihul¸a ja· pq¹r akov¼qseir 1n²cousa ja· jopeto»r aQswq± l³m oqw Httom t/r peq· t±r Bdom±r !jqas¸ar, kºc\ d³ succm¾lgr 5tuwem, fti t¹ kupgq¹m aqt/r ja· pijq¹m !mt· toO teqpmoO t` aQswq` pqºsesti. t¸ c±q !koc¾teqom C t¹ c´kytor l³m rpeqbok±r ja· peqiwaqe¸ar !vaiqe?m, to?r d³ jkauhl_m ja· aduql_m Ne¼lasim 1j li÷r pgc/r veqol´mym eQr ûpam 1vi´mai. For it is yielding to a parent s love to long for and honour and remember the departed; whereas the never-sated passion for lamentation, a passion which incites us to transports of wailing and of beating the breasts, is no less shameful than incontinence in pleasures, although it finds an excuse – more apparent than real – in the circumstance that its shamefulness is attended with pain and bitterness instead of delight. For what is more unreasonable than to do away with excess of laughter and jubilation, and yet allow free course to the torrents of weeping and wailing that burst forth from the same source? (transl. De Lacy & Einarson)

The passage clarifies what behaviour was expected of the mother on the death of an infant in Plutarch s time: she was to show her sorrow to the outside world – through tears, lamentation and ritual beating of the breast. This was considered a means of documenting the love for the deceased child. Thus, Plutarch himself makes clear, without expressly saying so, that the behaviours demanded by the old laws on the death of such little children were apparently no longer adhered to. Plutarch directs Timoxena s attention to her own behaviour on the deaths of their oldest and another son, “fair Charon” (5 p. 609d – e), as an exemplum of proper behaviour. The following report probably refers to the death of the latter, who in all likelihood died in infancy as well.41 Here, too, it becomes apparent that her behaviour did not conform to that of other women: when Plutarch, returning from a sea voyage, was on his way home with some companions, news of the boy s death reached the group. When they later entered Plutarch s house and found everything quiet and in good order, the companions believed it had been a false report. It is once more noteworthy that the others, acting on the generally held opinion about the behaviour of a mother on the death of a child, interpreted the situation in this manner. Plutarch appears not to have been surprised on that occasion either. Other mothers, he continues, did not take care of their babies themselves and – unlike Timoxena – had them raised by wet-nurses but abandoned themselves to uninhibited cry41 This can be inferred from 5 – 6 p. 609e, where Timoxena s behaviour is contrasted with that of other women who lost babies.

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ing on their deaths in order to achieve “vain glory” (6 p. 609f: j´mgm dºnam). This passage offers final proof that public crying and other emotional outbursts on the death of infants were a phenomenon not only of the lower and middle, but also of the upper class and that they were expected – of mothers at least – and brought recognition. Such a behaviour is rejected once more by Plutarch from an ethical point of view and disqualified as a vain pursuit of glory. In his rejection of ritually lamenting the death of babies, Plutarch is able to see himself in line with the traditional values of his town. Considered from a different angle, however, he evidently opposes them. In a mythological digression he recounts that though Zeus had granted Penthos, grief personified, honours, they were only due from humans who chose to give them freely (6 p. 609f). This means that, in his opinion, no one is forced, in principle, to mourn, no matter who dies at what age. Furthermore, Plutarch rejects the practices of the bereaved wearing mourning dress and shaving their heads, as this was a constant reminder of the death and would as a consequence reinforce the grief and lead to depression. Yet nowhere does he reveal the fact that with these demands he departs from the tradition of his town and all of Greece. We know of laws from many areas of Greece limiting the mourning period, but these still allow several months of mourning in some cases.42 Plutarch, on the other hand, wishes to “resist [mourning] at the gate” already (6 p. 609f), and therefore opposes the traditional mourning rites which in his opinion prevent this. The following sharp attacks against wailing women are part of the same thread of reasoning (7 p. 610b – d). For these women prevent, as Plutarch explains, grief from ending by itself or with the help of others, and rather produce it with “their cries and their chiming in with lamentations” (7 p. 610b: vym±r ja· sumepihqgm¶seir). Plutarch does not worry that Timoxena might resort to them here, either, and once more refers to her as an exemplum (7 p. 610c): cim¾sjy c±q po¸our 5macwor !c_mar Acym¸sy t0 H´ymor !dekv0 boghoOsa ja· lawol´mg ta?r letû akovuql_m ja· !kakacl_m 5nyhem 1pio¼sair, ¦speq !tewm_r pOq 1p· pOq veqo¼sair. For I know what struggles you recently sustained when you went to the aid of Theon s sister and fought off the assaults of the women who came from 42 Alexiou (1974: 9, with the references p. 209 n. 54): in Gambreion three months for men and four for women; in Athens 30 days; in Sparta only 11 days, as Plutarch (Lyc. 27.2) stresses and commends; in Iulis only three days.

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the world outside with wailing and screaming, as if they were in very truth adding fire to fire . (transl. De Lacy & Einarson)

This passage, too, throws light on contemporary practice: apparently it was entirely usual that wailing women were employed to mourn the death of infants, too, for otherwise Plutarch could not have considered this possibility in the case of his daughter s death. Unfortunately we do not know whether the bereavement in Theon s sister s household concerned an infant death as well. The episode in any case shows that wailing women came to the houses of the upper class on their own initiative.43 Attempts to bar wailing women not belonging to the family from the funeral are documented for some areas of the Greek world, and there is evidence for their not having been permitted in Chaeronea.44 Still, they were employed in all periods and in all places.45 Their appearance in funerals in Chaeronea seems to have been a matter of course. When Plutarch thus rejects such ritual lamenting on principle – independent of the age of the deceased – he opposes prevailing practice. So far, Plutarch had always stressed that his wife – contrary to other women – had conducted herself properly in every respect. Thus, she does not require instruction, which differentiates this consolatio from others, which were intended to lead readers to refrain from undignified behaviour.46 So why does he write it? In some places, he makes explicit that the daughter s death constitutes a blow of fate, a p²hor, for his wife.47 In one place, he even admits that he himself feels sorrow (9 p. 611b: !mi¾leha). The often blunt words with which he qualifies the child s death therefore seem very inappropriate and nothing short of tactless: it was a “little evil of nature” (6 p. 609e – f);48 as life was otherwise happy, the loss of the child was no worse than a single stain in an otherwise unblemished book (8 p. 610f – 611a); if his wife mourned the death of 43 9 p. 611a – b seems to show that wailing women approached Timoxena unbidden. 44 Cf. Plutarch, Sol. 21.5 – 7. Plutarch there gives an account of the laws of Solon, which prohibited the employment of wailing women; Plutarch adds that most of these laws conform to “our laws”. This refers to the laws of Chaeronea or, as Manfredini & Piccirilli (1995: 237) suppose, the laws in all of Greece (see above, n. 39). 45 See Alexiou (1974: 10, 19 – 23) and Garland (1985: 30). See also Lucian, De luct. 20. 46 Thus for instance Seneca, Cons. ad Marc. and Epist. 99. Cf. Socrates instruction in [Plato], Axiochus; see Claassen (2004: 38). 47 See e. g. 1 p. 608b, 2 p. 608c, 4 p. 609a and 609c, 9 p. 611b. 48 Martin jr. & Phillips (1978: 427 – 428) interpret this passage differently.

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the child even though she was in a happy state otherwise, she behaved like critics faulting the few failed lines of Homer s while overlooking the many successful ones (9 p. 611b – c). Plutarch s reasoning against mourning the child can be summarized in two essential points: the particularly charming child is an object of affectionate reminiscing even after death (8 p. 610d – f), and by virtue of its early death, it has not been contaminated by the evil of the world, and thus its soul need not suffer further rebirths but rather rejoins immediately “that which brought it forth” (10 p. 611d – f, esp. 611f).49 It is noteworthy that Plutarch mentions the “ancestral and ancient usages and laws” only at the very end. So far, he has not made clear that his wife follows these, but has only cited her character, her syvqos¼mg, as the cause of her behaviour. That she or even Plutarch himself cried – if only privately – is nowhere mentioned.

4. Mourning Behaviour in Other Writings by Plutarch and in the Consolatio ad uxorem Before an assessment of the Consolatio ad uxorem can be undertaken, it is necessary to consult the evaluation of mourning behaviour in other writings by Plutarch for comparison. The behaviour of the bereaved on the death of their loved ones is remarkably often a subject in the Parallel Lives. 50 For Plutarch, it is an almost typical test of a person s character whether or not he gives free rein to his tears on such occasions. The example of Demosthenes is particularly significant (Dem. 22.1 – 7).51 When the news of Philip II s death had been reported, he presented himself to the assembly wearing a wreath and a light-coloured garment, even though his (already older)52 daughter had died only six days earlier and

49 On the context of this notion within Plutarch s theological conception see Latzarus (1920: 121 – 135, esp. 121 – 124) and Boulogne (1991). 50 See Stadter (1989: 330), Marasco (1981 [vol. 2]: 516 – 517) and Nikolaidis (1997: 31 – 37). 51 Margaret Graver has kindly reminded me in a personal communication that this anecdote can also be found in Cicero (Tusc. 3.63) and the Consolatio ad Apollonium (33 p. 119b – c). She correctly points out that Plutarch is using material standard to the consolatory tradition which goes back to Crantor. 52 An indication of a greater age at the time of death is the fact that Aeschines was able to reproach Demosthenes for having violated his mourning duties and that

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the mourning period for her had thus not ended yet. His political archenemy Aeschines therefore accused him of insufficient love for his child (22.3: lisotejm¸am).53 Plutarch vehemently denies this charge and declares (22.3): (…) aqt¹r £m !cemmµr ja· lakajºr (sc. Aeschines), eQ t± p´mhg ja· to»r aduqlo»r Bl´qou ja· vikostºqcou xuw/r 1poie?to sgle?a, t¹ dû !k¼pyr v´qeim taOta ja· pqõyr !pedoj¸lafem. And yet Aeschines himself was of weak and ungenerous nature, if he considered mournings and lamentations as the signs of an affectionate spirit, but condemned the bearing of such losses serenely and without repining. (transl. Perrin)

The echoes to the Consolatio ad uxorem are remarkable. In both instances, public demonstration of grief is considered by the people to be a sign of love for children. And just as Plutarch was able to describe Timoxena s behaviour as “noble” (5 p. 609e: cemma?a) there, here he calls Aeschines “ignoble” (!cemm¶r) due to his views. And he adds (22.5): fti l´mtoi t±r oUjoi t¼war ja· d²jqua ja· aduqlo»r !pokip½m ta?r cumain·m b Dglosh´mgr, $ t0 pºkei sulv´qeim åeto, taOtû 5pqattem, 1paim_ (…). However, for leaving his domestic misfortunes and tears and lamentations to the women and going about such business as he thought advantageous to the city, I commend Demosthenes (…). (transl. Perrin)

Crying is therefore at best a female affair in the sense of a descriptive, not a normative, statement. Acting for the good of the state absolves the bereaved from his mourning duties while tears in public damage his dignity (22.5: !n¸yla), as he makes clear immediately thereafter. If actors playing kings and tyrants therefore laugh and cry in the theatre, they did not, according to Plutarch, do so of their own accord, but rather because it was demanded by the role. In saying so, Plutarch wishes to express that real kings and tyrants did not act in such a manner under any circumstance in order not to lose face. But acting for the good of the state not only absolves from mourning duties. Plutarch equally makes clear that Demosthenes overcame his grief and found solace through this piece of luck in foreign affairs (22.6). It becomes apparent here just as it does in the Penthos myth of the Consolatio ad uxorem that Plutarch does not regard mourning as obligatory in either the private or the public sphere. Demosthenes behaviour after his ostracism, which he bore lakaj_r (26.4), as he was able to convince many that he was right to do so. She therefore was already at an age when the usual mourning rites were offered. 53 Plutarch here refers to the extant oration Against Ctesiphon (77).

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Plutarch critically remarks, was another matter entirely: he kept looking towards Athens and crying. Furthermore, in the Lives, crying in public when bereaved is !cemm¶r not only for men but for women as well, as the example of Cratesicleia, Cleomenes mother, on the death of his children (Ag. et Cleom. 38 = 59.2) demonstrates: (…) B l³m Jqatgs¸jkeia, ja¸peq owsa cemma¸a cum¶, pqoudyje t¹ vqºmgla pq¹r t¹ t/r sulvoq÷r l´cehor, ja· peqibakoOsa t± paid¸a toO Jkeol´mour ¡kov¼qeto. (…) Cratesicleia, although she was a woman of noble spirit, lost her composure in view of the magnitude of her misfortunes, and throwing her arms about the children of Cleomenes, wailed and lamented. (transl. Perrin)

The fact that Plutarch judges crying from a philosophical perspective and therefore uses it as an indicator of how assured a man is through education is best demonstrated in the Life of Pericles (36.7 – 9). When Pericles lost most of his friends and relatives to the plague, it did not make him waver: oq lµm !pe?pem oqd³ pqoudyje t¹ vqºmgla ja· t¹ l´cehor t/r xuw/r rp¹ t_m sulvoq_m, !kkû oqd³ jka¸ym oute jgde¼ym oute pq¹r t²v\ tim¹r ¥vhg t_m !macja¸ym (…). He did not, however, give up, nor yet abandon his loftiness and grandeur of spirit because of his calamities, nay, he was not even seen to weep, either at the funeral rites, or at the grave of any of his connections (…). (transl. Perrin)

The breakdown, however, did occur on the death of his last legitimate son, Paralus: 1p· to¼t\ d³ jalvhe¸r, 1peiq÷to l³m 1cjaqteqe?m t` Ehei ja· diavuk²tteim t¹ lecakºxuwom, 1piv´qym d³ t` mejq` st´vamom Btt¶hg toO p²hour pq¹r tµm exim, ¦ste jkauhlºm te N/nai ja· pk/hor 1jw´ai dajq¼ym, oqd´pote toioOtom oqd³m 1m t` koip` b¸\ pepoigj¾r. Even though he was bowed down at this stroke, he nevertheless tried to persevere in his habit and maintain his spiritual greatness, but as he laid a wreath upon the dead, he was vanquished by his anguish at the sight, so that he broke out into wailing, and shed a multitude of tears, although he had never done any such thing in all his life before. (transl. Perrin)

1cjaqteqe?m, lecakºxuwom and Btt¶hg toO p²hour, as pqoOdyje t¹ vqºmgla and t¹ l´cehor t/r xuw/r (cf. also Ag. et Cleom. 38 = 59.2) even earlier in the text, are evidence of philosophical terminology and reveal that appropriate behaviour in this situation is mainly a question of character and education. It is characteristic of the ideal man, the leca-

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kºxuwor, to be in control of his emotions in public. Correspondingly, it is declared in the Consolatio ad uxorem that, in the event of death, 1cjq²teia is required of the bereaved (4 p. 609a). Yet Plutarch does not reproach Pericles for his behaviour but apparently considers it a physiological compulsion caused by the enormity of the misfortune. For he does acknowledge that the loss of a loved one constitutes suffering (p²hor).54 He does not demand a complete lack of emotion from people, but rather demands that sorrow is borne with moderation. Philosophy is a means to this end.55 It is the kºcor with which one must arm oneself against evil and which allows man not to break down or act in an undignified manner even in the face of the loss of a loved one, since it helps in appropriately assessing events. If a man, according to Plutarch, does not entirely disappear in death because his soul is immortal, it cannot be an evil. This realization is the basis for overcoming grief (cf. Boulogne 1991). But those without kºcor are in danger of grieving without end (cf. Sol. 6 – 7, esp. 7.5 – 6). The suffering evidently was so enormous on the death of his last son that it forced even Pericles to lose control of his emotions for a moment. This might have damaged his reputation but may have been humanly impossible to avoid. The fact that this befell Pericles for the first time in his life, as Plutarch emphasizes, attests to the greatness of his soul. This assessment of crying in public applies not only to Plutarch s judgement of Greeks but also to that of Romans. He describes Aemilius Paulus unwavering behaviour on the death of two sons in detail (Aem. 35 – 36).56 He does not assert in this context that the former had not experienced sorrow, but stresses that he aqh_r kocifºlemor (36.1) – i. e. he is in possession of the proper kºcoi – subordinated his private sorrow entirely to the good of the state and did not let it keep him from his duty to properly celebrate a triumph. Thereby he indirectly reveals that contrary behaviour would have detracted from his personal greatness and that of the Roman victory. One place in Plutarch s Lives, however, seems to contradict this assessment of crying in public. At the beginning of Cato Uticensis biography the author declares that Cato s Ghor %tqeptom ja· !pah³r ja· b´baiom 1m p÷sim (Cato min. 1.3) is said to have already been noticeable in his be-

54 Cf. Plutarch, Brut. 15.9 (¢r eQjºr) and Sol. 7.3. 55 Cf. Plutarch, De virt. mor. 443; see Becchi (2005: 386 – 387). 56 Cf. Plutarch, Comp. Aem. et Tim. 2.10 – 12 and in analogy Plutarch, Brut. 15.9; cf. Fab. 24.6.

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haviour as a child. His behaviour on the death of his most beloved brother does not seem to fit in with this (Cato min. 11.3): 1lpah´steqom 5donem C vikosov¾teqom 1mecje?m tµm sulvoq²m, oq lºmom jkauhlo?r ja· peqipt¼nesi toO mejqoO ja· baq¼tgti k¼pgr, !kk± ja· dap²m, peq· tµm tavµm ja· pqaclate¸air, hulial²tym ja· Rlat¸ym pokutek_m sucjataja´mtym, ja· lm¶lator nestoO k¸hym Has¸ym !p¹ tak²mtym ajt½ jatasjeuash´mtor 1m t0 AQm¸ym !coqø. In bearing this affliction Cato was thought to have shown more passion than philosophy, considering not only his lamentations, his embracings of the dead, and the heaviness of his grief, but also his expenditure upon the burial, and the pains that he took to have incense and costly raiment burned with the body, and a monument of polished Thasian marble costing eight talents constructed in the market-place of Aenus. (transl. Perrin)

Others had reproached him for this behaviour as it did not suit his usual !tuv¸a. Plutarch counters that they did not understand (Cato min. 11.4) (…) fsom 1m t` pq¹r Bdom±r ja· vºbour ja· de¶seir !maisw¼mtour !cm²lpt\ ja· steqq` toO !mdq¹r t¹ Fleqom 1m/m ja· vikºstoqcom. (…) how much tenderness and affection was mingled with the man s inflexibility and firmness against pleasures, fears, and shameless entreaties. (transl. Perrin)

Becchi (2005: 390 – 391) is of the opinion that the example of Cato serves to demonstrate the Academic ideal of !p²heia. Unlike the Stoic !p²heia, the complete freedom from affects, which Plutarch, as is well known, strictly rejects,57 the Academic concept did not consist of “assenza di passioni e di emozione, ma assenza t_m Blaqtgl´mym pah_m” (Becchi 2005: 390). Cato s behaviour was compatible with this, as he had obeyed the natural feeling of the affect. Becchi does not address the places cited above which contradict such a positive interpretation of crying in public. Furthermore, it would be a strange device of Plutarch s to represent the Academic ideal of !p²heia, which contradicts the Stoic, as having been fully realized precisely in Cato, the Stoic par excellence. A closer look at the description of Cato s behaviour shows that Plutarch by no means approves of it. He merely counters the opinion of Cato s critics, who were unable to accommodate his behaviour with his usual simplicity, and wishes to show that it is not proof of extravagance but motivated by Cato s overflowing love for his brother, which he had repeatedly emphasized earlier (cf. Cato min. 3.8 – 10, 8.1 and 15.4). As had been the case with Pericles in the face of the scale of the misfortune he suffered, Cato 57 E.g. Plutarch, De virt. mor. 443c; cf. Becchi (2005: 389 – 390).

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was unable to control his emotions in this situation because of his devotion to his brother. Therefore, if Cato s Ghor !pah´r is spoken of in the introductory chapter, this cannot denote freedom from emotions or even merely freedom from false emotions. For precisely Cato is characterized by outbursts of anger and passion in Plutarch s account.58 (Apah^r in Plutarch has a broad semantic spectrum; it can be used not only terminologically (Stoically) but also non-terminologically and can have positive as well as negative connotations. In this instance, it may well be understood to mean steadfast .59 In summary, the scattered statements show that Plutarch considers the death of a loved one to be a blow of fate which can unsettle those affected. Through philosophical education one must therefore prepare in advance for such events. Tears of sorrow in public are to be avoided by women as well as men; however, only people possessed of particular greatness of the soul succeed. Even these may experience a short-term loss of control over their emotions in the face of enormous suffering or because of a particular disposition. *

*

*

After all these remarks, it may be surprising that there are positive assessments of crying in cases of death in Plutarch s works. For in several places he acknowledges that crying can have a cathartic effect. In De cohibenda ira he elaborates this (5 p. 455c): aV te to?r pemhoOsim 1v´seir toO !pojkaOsai ja· !pod¼qashai pok¼ ti t/r k¼pgr ûla t` dajq¼\ sumen²cousim. So too the surrender of mourners to weeping and wailing carries away much of their grief together with their tears. (transl. Helmbold)

This concept becomes somewhat clearer still in a place in the Quaestiones convivales (3.8.2 p. 657a): in the discussion of the question why the only slightly inebriated were more like madmen than those fully intoxicated

58 On this see Duff (1999: 147 – 158, esp. 151); cf. Alexiou (1998: 386). Furthermore, Becchi in his interpretation overlooks the fact that Cato s characterization is not consistently positive. Swain (1990: 197 – 201) and Duff (1999: loc. cit.) show this. 59 Cf. Duff s (1999: 156) translation: “unbending, un-emotional, and steadfast in everything”; cf. Alexiou (1998: 386).

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Plutarch declares60 wine to be a powerful stimulant of the passions. The more one got drunk, however, the more calming its effect. He compares this process with crying after a person s death: hqgm\d¸a and 1pij¶deior aqkºr produce p²hor and tears early in the lamentation. But by moving the soul towards oWjtor, they gradually remedy the kupgtijºm. This explanation does not contradict the remarks in the Consolatio ad uxorem or in the biographies. Apparently Plutarch believes that crying immediately after a case of death, in the context of the domestic lamentation in the company of relatives, can lead to satiation and thus to an end to grief.61 In the Consolatio ad uxorem he only speaks out against crying in public and against the fact that repeatedly stimulated crying – e. g. by wailing women – undoes the cathartic effect of spontaneous crying and turns it into ceaseless crying, into depression. The example of Cleomenes shows, how a noble man, too, could cry without losing his dignity (Ag. et Cleom. 22 = 43.1 – 3): when he was informed of the death of his wife, he was shocked and sad, oq lµm jat-swumem oqd³ pqo¶jato t` p²hei t¹ vqºmgla ja· t¹ l´cehor t/r xuw/r (…). but he did not allow his suffering to shame or betray the loftiness of his thought or the greatness of his spirit. (transl. Perrin; cf. the terminology in the Life of Pericles)

He showed nothing and fulfilled his duties as commander. Then he returned home and, let± t/r lgtq¹r oUjoi ja· t_m pa¸dym !pakc¶sar t¹ p´mhor, eqh»r Gm 1m to?r peq· t_m fkym kocislo?r. after laying aside his sorrow for his loss with his mother and children at home, he at once engaged in the measures which he planned for the public good. (transl. Perrin, modified)

The word !p-akc¶sar shows that he remedied his sorrow through performing the honours for the dead, which comprised the lamentation in the company of the closest family members in particular.62 Plutarch ex60 This is a dialogue between Plutarch and his father. Plutarch is the speaker of the remarks on crying. On Plutarch s use of the Aristotelian theory of musical catharsis in this chapter, see Teodorsson (1989: 374); cf. van der Stockt (1992: 117 – 118). 61 On Plato s different views see Baumgarten (2009, in this volume). 62 Ziegler s translation of !pakc¶sar t¹ p´mhor (“er beging die Trauergebr uche”) and Perrin s (“after duly mourning his loss”) are therefore inappropriate. Cf. LSJ s.v. I: “put away sorrow for” (with the passage).

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presses himself with great restraint and does not say explicitly that Cleomenes cried. He merely indicates this through a general phrase. We find this strategy in the Consolatio ad uxorem, too, where he does not make a single reference to Timoxena s phase of privately coming to terms with her sorrow. Even though Plutarch thus grants crying a cathartic function, he nowhere speaks of a duty to cry after the death of loved ones or of the necessity of crying for overcoming grief. Demosthenes example shows instead that it was possible to vanquish one s sorrow in a different manner, too. A further positive assessment of crying from sorrow can be found in De fraterno amore (11 p. 483): there, Plutarch remarks that after the father s death it is all the more one s duty to gain the love of one s brother. A means to this end is sumdajq¼eim ja· sum²wheshai. This, too, one probably has to imagine as restricted to the circle of closest family members. Crying here is an instrument for reaching a higher goal, without inherent value. It is to all intents and purposes a form of flattery, which Plutarch otherwise rejects, but which he approves here in view of the result. For at the beginning of De exilio (1 p. 599b) he makes clear that it was the duty of friends to offer solace in distress, and not to cry and lament together with the affected. Friends had to speak frankly and show that it is futile, vain and ignorant to be aggrieved and to debase oneself (de? d³ t¹m … kºcom paqgcoq¸am eWmai lµ sumgcoq¸am toO kupoOmtor7 oq c±q sumdajquºmtym ja· sumepihqgmo¼mtym … wqe¸am 5wolem, !kk± paqqgsiafol´mym …). Elsewhere (Quom. adul. 12 p. 56a) he asserts that the masses do not bear instruction in such situations but follow those who joined in the wailing and crying (rp¹ t_m sumepihqgmo¼mtym %comtai ja· sumoduqol´mym), i. e. the flatterers.63 Frank speech on the other hand is characteristic of philosophers in particular and therefore of Plutarch.64 The remarks on the positive function of crying thus complement the ones made above on his generally negative assessment. The aim must be to overcome sorrow as rapidly as possible as well as not to display it in public. Crying in the closest personal circle may contribute to this. Unlike the Stoics, Plutarch thus does not wish to effect the impassive acceptance of such a loss, i. e. !p²heia, but rather advances the ideal of moderation in sorrow, i. e. letqiop²heia. 63 See also Plutarch, Quom. adul. 20 p. 61d – e. 64 On paqqgs¸a as a characteristic of philosophical speech see e. g. Hahn (1989: 182 – 191) and Diefenbach (2000).

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The keyword frank speech of the philosopher , paqqgs¸a, is furthermore a key to the proper understanding of the Consolatio ad uxorem: Plutarch speaks as a philosopher to his philosophically educated wife, to whom he is attached in intimate friendship. This explains Plutarch s words which at times appear brusque to our sensibilities: the philosopher tells the truth without embellishing it. As Plutarch assumes that his wife will take them to heart, he once more makes clear that she differs from the many who would not be able to deal with such an instruction. The fact that he repeatedly alludes to Timoxena s philosophical character, yet without explicitly calling her a philosopher, is in keeping with this.65 Why, then, is she in need of a consolatio? As Plutarch continually emphasizes, she has so far acted properly in every respect. This, however, applies only to her behaviour. Plutarch conspicuously avoids speaking of her inner feelings, even though at times he clearly states how great the daughter s loss is to her. It could therefore appear as though she was internally bearing the loss in keeping with her external demeanour: composed and mastering her sorrow. It has therefore been assumed that Plutarch intended to demonstrate Stoic !p²heia, the freedom from affects, to her as an ideal.66 Here, too, I suggest that the ideal that is projected is letqiop²heia,67 the restrained external bearing of sorrow (this Timoxena has done of her own accord) and as rapid as possible a liberation from internal grief (Plutarch wishes to aid in this).68 That he never mentions Timoxena crying or despairing is merely part of her stylization. Had he spoken of it, it would have equalled making his wife s tears public and thus compromising her. But a consolatio is meaningful only if solace is required. Plutarch thus evidently wishes to prevent his wife from merely keeping up external appearances out of a sense of duty even though the internal 65 5 p. 609c: all philosophers who were with her admired her eqt´keia B peq· t¹ s_la and her !hqux¸a. 3 p. 608f: Timoxena herself has often consoled others, apparently with the same arguments which Plutarch is using now. Her most prominent characteristic is syvqos¼mg (5 p. 609e, 11 p. 612b; cf. 4 p. 609a). 66 See Cannat Fera (1991: 320). The behaviour of Cleomenes, too, has been mistakenly called Stoic; correctly Marasco (1981 [vol. 2]: 517). 67 Thus also Strubbe (1998: 54), Grilli (2000: 238) and Fern ndez Vallejo (2001: 150 – 152). 68 Contra Russell (1973: 79): “Plutarch seems particularly anxious lest his wife should disgrace herself – and him – by some feminine indulgence in superstitious practice. Exhortation rather than comfort is the dominant note.” Similarly Pomeroy (1999: 76): “Nevertheless the contents of the letter suggest to me that Plutarch did not want to arrive home and that he anticipated that she would control herself as she had in past situations of crisis.”

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sorrow has not been overcome. He therefore reminds her of what she is already aware of at heart, but which she may not be able to utilize immediately in order to overcome her sorrow due to the first shock which can suspend rational thought: her (and Plutarch s) firm religious-philosophical convictions, which demonstrate that the death of the child is not an evil. The fact that unlike in other consolationes we do not find a jumbled arrangement of consolation arguments from different philosophical systems in this text,69 but rather Plutarch s orthodox teachings 70 is in keeping with this. Plutarch assumes that due to her philosophical education his wife will be able to overcome her sorrow rapidly. For it has furnished her with the kºcoi necessary to arm oneself against evil.71 In Cornelia, mother of the Gracchi, Plutarch has given an exemplum of what he wishes for and expects of his wife in future (cf. Ingenkamp 1992: 4339 – 4341): she “is reported to have borne all her misfortunes in a noble and magnanimous spirit” (Tib. et C. Gracch. 19 = 40.1: eqcem_r ja· lecakox¼wyr). And thus she later spoke of her sons without sorrow or tears as though they had lived in ancient times. Some therefore thought her mad. To this Plutarch responds with the following: (…) aqto?r ¢r !kgh_r !maish¶toir owsim, fsom 1n eqvuýar ja· toO cecom´mai ja· tehq²vhai jak_r evekºr 1sti pq¹r !kup¸am !mhq¾poir, ja· fti t/r !qet/r B t¼wg vukattol´mgr l³m t± jaj± pokk²jir peq¸estim, 1m d³ t` pta?sai t¹ v´qeim eqkoc¸styr oq paqaiqe?tai. (…) whereas, really, such persons themselves were insensible how much help in the banishment of grief mankind derives from a noble nature and from honourable birth and rearing, as well as of the fact that while Fortune often prevails over virtue when it endeavours to ward off evils, she cannot rob virtue of the power to endure those evils with calm assurance. (transl. Perrin)

Plutarch demands exactly such an !kup¸a of Timoxena: she is to remember the contented years with their daughter without sorrow (8 – 9 p. 610d – 611d).

69 This arrangement is especially found in the pseudo-Plutarchean Consolatio ad Apollonium. Cf. as well the pseudo-Platonic Axiochus, which even contains Epicurean elements. The bereaved are to be cured by a “scatter bomb” principle: one of the arguments is sure to hit the mark. On the latter see Erler (2005: 81 – 82, 86), generally Kassel (1958: 47 – 48). 70 Contra Strubbe (1998: 56). 71 Cf. Plutarch, Cons. ad ux. 3 p. 608f: t_m kºcym ; 9 p. 611a: pokk²jir !j¶joar.

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5. Conclusion The Consolatio ad uxorem stands as a monument to the character of Timoxena (thus also Claassen 2004: 42, 44), raising her above other women of the time as a philosophically educated partner. It is likewise a monument to Plutarch s own philosophical convictions. For it shows how they help to overcome the loss of a child in the shortest time possible. His demands exactly correspond to the ethical program he propagates in his other writings. But it is also an important source for the treatment of crying in the context of death. Plutarch s attitude and his wife s behaviour are anything but representative of the upper class of their time, because for it – as for the middle and lower class – the behaviour of the pokko¸ herein rejected was characteristic. And this included openly lamenting the sorrow over the loss of an infant. It therefore confirms and supplements the testimony of the funerary inscriptions and other sources, a fact which has not been recognized so far. According to these texts, the old customs and laws had been largely abandoned. Plutarch s attempt to establish new philosophical justifications for them is likely only to have had an effect on those people who, like him, lead their entire lives according to philosophy.

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Graver, Margaret (2009): The weeping wise. Stoic and Epicurean consolations in Seneca s 99th Epistle. In: Thorsten Fçgen (ed.), Tears in the Graeco-Roman World, Berlin & New York, 235 – 252. Grewing, Farouk (1997): Martial, Buch VI. Ein Kommentar, Gçttingen. Grilli, Alberto (2000): Plutarco e il genere consolatorio. In: Italo Gallo & Claudio Moreschini (eds.), I generi letterari in Plutarco. Atti del VIII Convegno plutarcheo (Pisa, 2 – 4 giugno 1999), Napoli, 231 – 252. Hahn, Johannes (1989): Der Philosoph und die Gesellschaft. Selbstverst ndnis, çffentliches Auftreten und popul re Erwartungen in der hohen Kaiserzeit, Stuttgart. Hani, Jean (ed.) (1972): Plutarque. Consolation Apollonios. Texte et traduction avec introduction et commentaire, Paris. Hani, Jean (ed.) (1980): Plutarque. Œuvres morales. Tome VIII: Du destin – Le d mon de Socrate – De l exil – Consolation sa femme. Texte tabli et traduit, Paris. Harvey, David (1999): Bibliography of Plutarch s Advice and Consolation. In: Sarah B. Pomeroy (ed.), Plutarch s Advice to the Bride and Groom and A Consolation to His Wife. English Translations, Commentary, Interpretative Essays, and Bibliography, Oxford & New York, 197 – 212. Heene, Katrien (1988): La manifestation sociale de l exp rience du chagrin. Le t moignage de la po sie pigraphique latine. In: Epigraphica 50, 163 – 177. Hertz, Robert (1960): Death and The Right Hand, Aberdeen (= Contribution une tude sur la repr sentation collective de la mort. In: Ann e sociologique 10, 1907, 48 – 137. – La pr minence de la main droite. tude sur la polarit religieuse. In: Revue philosophique 68, 1909, 553 – 580). Houby-Nielsen, Sanne (2000): Child burials in ancient Athens. In: Joanna Sofaer Derevenski (ed.), Children and Material Culture, London & New York, 151 – 166. Huskinson, Janet (1996): Roman Children s Sarcophagi. Their Decoration and Social Significance, Oxford. Impara, Paolo & Mario Manfredini (1991): Plutarco. Consolazione alla moglie. Introduzione, testo critico, traduzione e commento, Napoli. Ingenkamp, Heinz Gerd (1992): Plutarchs Leben der Gracchen . Eine Analyse. In: Aufstieg und Niedergang der Rçmischen Welt II 33.6, 4298 – 4346. Johann, Horst-Theodor (1968): Trauer und Trost. Eine quellen- und strukturanalytische Untersuchung der philosophischen Trostschriften ber den Tod, M nchen. Kassel, Rudolf (1958): Untersuchungen zur griechischen und rçmischen Konsolationsliteratur, M nchen. King, Margaret (2000): Commemorations of infants on Roman funerary inscriptions. In: Graham J. Oliver (ed.), The Epigraphy of Death. Studies in the History and Society of Greece and Rome, Liverpool, 117 – 154. Kr mer, Hans (22004): Die ltere Akademie. In: Hellmut Flashar (ed.), Grundriss der Geschichte der Philosophie. Begr ndet von Friedrich Ueberweg. Die Philosophie der Antike. Vol. 3: ltere Akademie, Aristoteles, Peripatos, Basel, 1 – 165. Latzarus, Bernard (1920): Les id es religieuses de Plutarque, Paris.

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Laubenheimer, Fanette (2004): La mort des tout petits dans l Occident romain. In: V ronique Dasen (ed.), Naissance et petite enfance dans l Antiquit . Actes du colloque de Fribourg (28 novembre – 1 d cembre 2001), Fribourg & Gçttingen, 293 – 315. Lillo Redonet, Fernando (1996): La Consolatio ad uxorem de Plutarco y la tradici n de la consolaci n femenina. In: Jos Antonio Fern ndez Delgado & Francisca Pordomingo Pardo (eds.), Estudios sobre Plutarco: Aspectos formales. Actas del IV simposio espaÇol sobre Plutarco (Salamanca, 26 a 28 de Mayo de 1994), Salamanca, 157 – 166. Malaspina, Elena (1991/92): Pusillum temporis perit. A proposito di un paradosso senecano (ep. 99,2). In: Helikon 31/32, 441 – 459. Manfredini, Mario & Luigi Piccirilli (1995): Plutarco. La vita di Solone, Milano. Marasco, Gabriele (1981): Commento alle biografie plutarchee di Agide e di Cleomene (2 vols.), Roma. Martin jr., Hubert & Jane E. Phillips (1978): Consolatio ad uxorem (Moralia 608A – 612B). In: Hans Dieter Betz (ed.), Plutarch s Ethical Writings and Early Christian Literature, Leiden, 394 – 441. McWilliam, Janette (2001): Children among the dead. The influence of urban life on the commemoration of children on tombstone inscriptions. In: Suzanne Dixon (ed.), Childhood, Class and Kin in the Roman World, London & New York, 74 – 98. Mette, Hans Joachim (1984): Zwei Akademiker heute. Krantor von Soloi und Arkesilaos von Pitane. In: Lustrum 26, 7 – 94. Montanini, Laura (1991): Nascita e morte del bambino. In: Nicola Criniti (ed.), Gli affanni del vivere e del morire. Schiavi, soldati, donne, bambini nella Roma imperiale, Brescia, 89 – 107. N raudau, Jean-Pierre (1987): La loi, la coutume et le chagrin. R flexions sur la mort des enfants. In: FranÅois Hinard, ( d.), La mort, les morts et l au-del . Actes du colloque de Caen, 20 – 22 novembre 1985, Caen, 195 – 208. Nikolaidis, Anastasios G. (1997): Plutarch on women and marriage. In: Wiener Studien 110, 27 – 88. Philipp, Hans (1927): s.v. “Luctus”. In: RE 13.2, 1697 – 1705. Pomeroy, Sarah B. (1999): Reflections on Plutarch, A Consolation to His Wife. In: Sarah B. Pomeroy (ed.), Plutarch s Advice to the Bride and Groom and A Consolation to His Wife. English Translations, Commentary, Interpretative Essays, and Bibliography, Oxford & New York, 75 – 81. Prescendi, Francesca (1995): Il lutto dei padri nella cultura romana. In: FranÅois Hinard & Marie-FranÅoise Lambert (ed.), La mort au quotidien dans le monde romain, Paris, 147 – 154. Rawson, Beryl (2002): The express route to Hades. In: Paul McKechnie (ed.), Thinking like a Lawyer. Essays on Legal History and General History for John Crook on his Eightieth Birthday, Leiden, Boston & Kçln, 271 – 288. Rawson, Beryl (2003): Children and Childhood in Roman Italy, Oxford. Russell, Donald A. (1973): Plutarch, New York. Schlegelmilch, Ulrich (2005): Was ist und wovon handelt die Consolatio ad Liviam? In: W rzburger Jahrb cher f r die Altertumswissenschaft N.F. 29, 151 – 184.

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Stadter, Philip A. (1989): A Commentary on Plutarch s Pericles, Chapel Hill & London. Sˇterbenc Erker, Darja (2009): Women s tears in ancient Rome ritual. In: Thorsten Fçgen (ed.), Tears in the Graeco-Roman World, Berlin& New York, 135 – 160. Stone, Lawrence (1977): The Family, Sex and Marriage in England 1500 – 1800, London. Strubbe, Johan H. M. (1998): Epigrams and consolation decrees for deceased youths. In: L Antiquit Classique 67, 45 – 75. Suder, Wieslaw (2001): Souci ou indiff rence. La mort des enfants Rome. In: Jean-Nicolas Corvisier, Christine Didier & Martin Valdher (eds.), Th rapies, m decine et d mographie antiques, Arras, 71 – 77. Swain, Simon (1990): Plutarch s Lives of Cicero, Cato, and Brutus. In: Hermes 118, 192 – 203. Teodorsson, Sven-Tage (1989): A Commentary on Plutarch s Table Talks (Vol. 1: Books 1 – 3), Gçteborg. van Dam, Harm-Jan (1984): P. Papinius Statius. Silvae Book II. A Commentary, Leiden. van der Stockt, Luc (1992): Twinkling and Twilight. Plutarch s Reflections on Literature, Bruxelles. V rilhac, Anne-Marie (1978 – 82): PAIDES AYQOI. Po sie fun raire (Vol. 1: Textes. Vol. 2: Commentaire), Athens. Vitelli, Claudius (1979): M. Tulli Ciceronis Consolationis fragmenta, Roma & Bari. Ziegler, Konrat (1951): Plutarchos von Chaeronea. In: RE 21.1, 636 – 962.

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Tears of Pathos, Repentance and Bliss: Crying and Salvation in Origen and Gregory of Nyssa Ilaria Ramelli Abstract: A systematic investigation of the use and significance of tears and crying in Origen and Gregory of Nyssa shows that their treatment of tears as an emotional expression is not in the least at odds with their ethical ideal of !p²heia, the complete elimination of all emotions (p²hg). Tears are condemned if they are aroused by a p²hor, but they are seen in a positive light if they are an expression of repentance or love, both of which lead to salvation and bliss. The culmination of this process will be the !pojat²stasir, where no tears will remain, either of sorrow or of any p²hor, not even tears of repentance, but only perfect !c²pg (which is not a p²hor), unity and blessedness. Towards this t´kor Origen s and Gregory s thought is oriented, and this is the framework for their treatment of tears and crying, including the frequent contrast between tears in this world, caused by suffering and tribulation, and perfect happiness in God s love and reciprocal love in the end. Since tears are seen as the consequence of the entrance of evil into this world, and are closely associated with death, no tears will remain when evil and death will eventually have vanished.

1. Introduction This paper will investigate the function and meaning of tears and crying as an expression of emotions in Origen (185 – 254 A.D.) and Gregory of Nyssa (ca. 335 – after 394 A.D.), the two Greek Church Fathers who were best acquainted with Greek philosophy. Both maintained the ethical ideal of !p²heia, the complete eradication of all p²hg, and they closely linked it to that of !pojat²stasir, a theory that both of them very clearly supported.1 They believed that in the end all rational creatures, and thus all human beings, will be restored to their original condition, that which the %mhqypor enjoyed, or was intended by God to enjoy, before sin and death. This restoration (!pojat²stasir) will take place at the end of all 1

See Ramelli (2007a: 8, 119 – 122) and, for Gregory, see Laird (2004: 35 – 40) and Mateo-Seco (2006a). For the doctrine of !pojat²stasir in Origen and in Gregory see Ramelli (2006a; 2007a: 735 – 958; forthcoming a).

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eons, when all evil will finally be annihilated, in accord with its non-substantiality from the ontological point of view, and it will bring human nature to its absolute perfection, which, in their view, must necessarily exclude all p²hg. Origen followed Clement of Alexandria2 in considering !p²heia – an ideal influenced by both Stoic and Platonic ethics – to be superior to letqiop²heia, i. e. the control and limitation of p²hg, mainly a Peripatetic heritage.3 Gregory of Nyssa held that the only p²hor that will remain in the end will be love (!c²pg, but also 5qyr as a strong form of !c²pg), which is not really a p²hor: it might be taken as a sort of eqp²heia, the Stoic category which included the positive counterpart of the p²hg.4 This love will be love for God in the infinite process of 1p´jtasir or tension towards God,5 but also, at the same time, love for all, since in the !pojat²stasir, as both Origen and Gregory say quoting Paul (1 Cor 15:28), God will be “all in all”; it will be precisely love that will prevent any further fall, since caritas numquam cadit (1 Cor 13:8, quoted by Origen in Comm. in Rom. 5.10.195 – 226).6 In this philosophical framework, then, how do these Fathers deal with expressions of emotions such as tears and crying? 2. Origen Origen was “the greatest exegete the Church has ever had” (Simonetti 1988: 121; see Ramelli 2006c), as well as one of its most excellent philosophers, together with Gregory of Nyssa. Thus, it comes as no surprise that most – and, indeed, almost all – of the occurrences of the terminology of tears and crying are to be found in references to Scripture, from both the 2 3 4

5 6

See Osborn (2005) and the large documentation in Ramelli (2006b). On these ideals in classical and Christian antiquity I only mention Sorabji (2000). Indeed, in his De anima, in the section in which he treats the permanence of love and its constant growth in the 1p´jtasir, and also at the end of his De hominis opificio, Gregory speaks of movements of the soul that are directed towards the good, which seem to be close to the Stoic eqp²heiai (waq², bo¼kgsir and eqk²beia, which correspond to the p²hg of pleasure, desire and fear; the fourth main p²hor, pain, had no positive correspondent). The eqp²heiai were discussed in Neostoicism, Middle Platonism and early Christian thought. For this connection see Ramelli (2007a: 114 – 117). For !c²pg / 5qyr and 1p´jtasir in Gregory of Nyssa, both of them concepts derived from Origen, see Ramelli (2007a: 112 – 114, 147 – 148, 200 – 201, 1064, and 17 – 24, 29, 58 – 59, 1066 – 1067). See Ramelli (2007a, 2007b, 2007c, forthcoming b).

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Old and the New Testament, which, in Origen s view, formed one and the same corpus, i. e. the body of Christ.7 We may cite some examples from the Old Testament. In Sel. in Ps. (PG 12.1481.4) Origen speaks about David s grief at the ruin of king Saul and his men: his tears are the expression of his soul s sorrow (tµm xuwµm !kc_m !pejka¸eto). In Comm. in Jo. 6. 47. 246, the Jews in the Psalm are said to cry near the rivers of Babylon8 because they compared them with their own unique river, the Jordan, which was capable of healing and saving. Here we already perceive that tears are associated with a lamentable condition that is distant from salvation: the dialectic between tears and salvation is in fact a constant feature in Origen s reflections, as we shall see. Similarly, in Fr. in Lucam 51 we find laughter and joy connected to salvation and grief and tears joined to a provisional state of remoteness from it. This is the weeping of the soul, as Origen explains in Hom. in Jer. 12.13, a work in which he insists very much on the divine pedagogy of the soul (see Ramelli 2008b). In Comm. in Io. 13. 43. 289 Origen quotes the prophetic saying “those who sow in tears (1m d²jqusim) will harvest in joy (1m !cakki²sei)”, where he interprets the harvest as our life in the world to come: joy will be in salvation. Likewise, in Philocalia 8.3, crying and supplicating God are followed by the finding of God, and thus becoming, from many, one, in the unity of perfect communion with God:9 Origen, in fact, just like Gregory of Nyssa after him, was deeply influenced by the Platonic ideal of perfection in unity, joined in his thought to the idea found in the Gospel of John as well, where Jesus emphasizes the unity between the Father and himself, and prays that his disciples too may attain perfect oneness with them. Thus, the !pojat²stasir, in his view, is characterized by complete unity, when all rational creatures will have attained the image and likeness of God and God will be “all in all” (see Ramelli [forthcoming a]). Fr. in Lucam 10 is a lengthy

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On this conception of Origen, against Marcionism and Gnosticism, see Ramelli (2006d). Also commented on in Sel. in Ps. (PG 12.1657.24). Philocalia 8.3, deriving from Origen s Comm. in Oseam PG 13.828.29: “When they are still crying (5ti jka¸ousi) and praying God, the expression They cried (5jkausam) and prayed me is in the plural form; when, then, they find God, it is not in the plural form any more that it is said: There it was spoken to them , but rather: to him , because the many have become one since they have found God.”

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and impressive description of Jerusalem in sorrow and tears.10 In Origen s exegesis, this is the symbol of the soul that has fallen from her original place and has a disposition that is opposite to the laughter derived from cheer and joy, according to the beatitude: “Blessed are those who now cry, because they will laugh” (laj²qioi oR jka¸omter mOm, fti cek²somtai). As we shall see, this idea of tears that are turned into joy is particularly dear to Origen and Gregory of Nyssa. Achab s tears (jka¸ym) are mentioned in Sel. in Ps. 114.52, as an expression of contrition together with tearing his clothes and wearing rags and fasting: as we shall see, this condition is certainly sad, but not at all deprived of hope, to Origen s mind, since tears of repentance are good and lead to salvation. In a similar fashion, Origen quotes from the New Testament the scene of the sinner who washed Jesus feet with her own tears (jka¸ousa to?r d²jqusim) and interprets her figure as a symbol of the pagans who came to Christ in repentance and conversion (Fr. in Jo. 78). The same passage is mentioned in Comm. in Matth. 12.4 and in Comm. in Jo. 6. 57. 294, where Origen underlines Jesus love for the human beings, and again interprets the woman s tears as tears of repentance: “It is due only to Jesus love for us humans that he ate and drank with sinners and publicans, and offered his feet to the tears of the sinner who repented (to?r dajq¼oir t/r letamoo¼sgr "laqtykoO), and went so far as to die out of love for impious people”. In Comm. in Rom. 12.15 Origen meditates upon Paul s advice to rejoice together with those who rejoice and to cry together with those who cry (also mentioned in Sel. in Ps. 1464.22, 1516.21 and many other passages), for they express an attitude of compassionate love, similar to that displayed by Jesus himself for all of us. And it seems that Origen, like Gregory of Nyssa afterwards, does not see this compassionate love as a passion: Christian !c²pg is no p²hor (see Ramelli 2007a: 146 – 191). Tears, of course, may be linked to p²hg, and thus they are seen in a negative light, according to the ethical ideal of !p²heia. In De or. 29.13 Origen mentions how the Hebrews in the desert cried, out of desire; thus their tears were elicited by a p²hor, in this case a particularly bad passion: 1peh¼lgsam 1pihul¸am, ja· jah¸samter 5jkaiom. This is why their wish will not be satisfied by God, but this very lack of realization 10 Fr. in Lucam 10: oR tµm pºkim oQjoOmter oqj !mapauºlemoi 5jkaiom, ja· 5jkaiom jqoumgd¹m t_m dajq¼ym jataqqeºmtym 1p· t_m siacºmym aqt_m. 1pete¸meto d³ l²kista aqto?r b jkauhl¹r ja· 1p´qqei t± d²jqua, oqw rp²qwomtor j#m 2m¹r paqaluhoul´mou aqto»r !p¹ toso¼tym !cap¾mtym, pamtºr te toO vikoOmtor !hetoOmtor tµm vik¸am tµm pq¹r aqtµm ja· letabebkgjºtor eQr 5whqam.

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will be for their own sake, although they are not aware of this: even here God s providence is at work, as ever.11 On another occasion, in Comm. in Matth. 16.1, Origen recalls the weeping, caused by love (di± tµm pq¹r aqt¹m !c²pgm jkaiºmtym), of those who tried to prevent Jesus, and then Paul,12 from going to Jerusalem and encountering troubles there, or even death. Paul is said to have felt a human p²hor at this (pah½m d´ ti !mhq¾pimom); he admits that he is afflicted by their suffering, and even that his own heart is broken, but he is ready to die for his faith. In this case, however, the tears of those who loved Paul are not severely criticized, because they are elicited by love (!c²pg), which in itself is no p²hor. In fact, Origen praises that crying which comes from love; in Fr. in Lucam 4 he affirms that this is, first of all, the kind of crying that is said to be blessed in the beatitude pronounced by Jesus, because it is typical of the saints to cry together with those who cry out of pity and communion. Tears can be very good if they are associated with prayers and invocations13 and expressions of repentance,14 which entails repudiation of sin and p²hg, as Origen states in Hom. in Jer. 5.17, where he exhorts his public to cry, mourn and invoke God in prayers that he may deliver them from sin and evil. In fact, the implied conviction is that God will certainly fulfil such a prayer. In Fr. in Jer. 57 Origen notes that God listens to the weeping of those who repent; for the invocation to God for salvation will be accomplished: God will liberate us from evil in Christ, and we shall be able to sing his glory. Tears are a symbol of repentance leading to salva11 According to Origen, God s providence never fails to intervene and help the mºer to adhere to the good, although always in the complete respect of their freewill. On this dialectic between freewill and providence in Origen s thought see Ramelli (2006d). 12 This episode is also recalled at Cels. 2.17 to exemplify the Christians willingness even to die for their faith. 13 Tears and prayer are associated in a quotation from the Old Testament (1 Kings) in De or. 4.1: Hannah wept in her prayer, asking God to grant her a child and promising to offer it to God; the same episode is mentioned in De or. 14.4. Likewise, prayer and tears are paired in Sel. in Ps. 12.1176.35 and 1512.36. Also in Sel. in Ps. 12.1389.32 Origen associates tears with prayer: he who prays “with tears” (let± dajq¼ym Rjete¼ei) asks God to let him be with his forefathers, because he does not want to dwell in the present life; therefore, Origen interprets, he is saying that, unless God does not forgive his sins, and he cannot be comforted before going to the other life, he will not have the opportunity of repenting, and he will not be in the life that is with God. 14 Tears of repentance are also recommended by Origen in Fr. in Lucam 59.

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tion thanks to Christ also at Sel. in Ps. 1544.22 where Origen comments on the Psalm verse “You will feed us bread of tears” (xylie?r Bl÷r %qtom dajq¼ym): “with these words he presents us very bitter repentance”. But immediately after there comes the verse: “And show us your face, and we shall be saved”, where Origen observes that God s face (pqºsypom) means Christ, who is the image of the invisible God.15 Thus, Origen affirms that it is thanks to the appearance of Christ that our repentance leads straight to salvation. Salvation clearly is the goal of repentance and its tears:16 hence, in Fr. in Lucam 59 Origen exhorts his public to cry and repent because repentance will bring them to salvation. In the same way, Origen observes in Sel. in Ps. 1061.40 that those who fall prey to death pray to God to rescue their souls, and, on the basis of the Psalms, he says that their prayers are fulfilled by God, who hears them and grants them life. Another example of tears of repentance is offered by St. Peter who, after betraying Jesus, bitterly cried (a passage also mentioned in Cels. 2.18 and 2.39), because, as Origen supposes, he was already seeking him again (Comm. in Io. 32.31.383). For tears of repentance mean the wish to return to God. In fact, in Comm. in Matth. Ser. p. 241 Klostermann (GCS 11, Leipzig 1933), Origen notes that if Peter cried it was because he felt the bitterness of his sin and was repenting, so that his tears were a very good sign. Origen quotes two encouraging passages from the Old Testament stating that God s so-called “wrath” does not endure up to the end or even for a very long time,17 and soon after he warns us that we should not really think that God is ever angry at us or is the cause of any evil;18 to the person who has repented and converted (letamo¶samti) God will say to stop weeping (Fr. in Lucam 78). This is why Origen exhorts his public to cry and repent in order to be worthy of approaching at least

15 The so-called theology of image of Gregory of Nyssa is directly derived from that of Origen. See Ramelli (2007a: 93 – 106). 16 So too in Adn. in Jud. PG 17.37.40 we find the people of Israel in continuous tears. They do not blame God, but cry in repentance until they get d¸jg for their unrighteous deeds, and they recognize that this punishment is right. 17 For the expression eQr t¹m aQ_ma and the like in the Old Testament see Ramelli (2002); for such expressions in Origen see Ramelli (2008a). A comprehensive study is Ramelli & Konstan (2007). For the conception of time in Origen, see also Tzamalikos (2006). 18 This was already made clear by Plato in his famous myth of Er at the end of the Republic: he¹r !ma¸tior.

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Jesus feet.19 In Comm. in Rom. 9.16.20 – 31 he distinguishes between crying for worldly goods, which is worthless, and crying for one s sins, which is good and leads to conversion and salvation. The cathartic value of tears of repentance and their effectiveness is such that they are efficacious in the next world too, where those who now laugh will cry over their sins:20 these will be tears provided by God himself for their conversion, as Origen states in Hom. in Jer. 20.6. This is why in Comm. in Jo. 20.4.20 – 21 Origen closely relates tears to hope, and he says that Susannah s tears are good because they come from her suffering, her syvqos¼mg – thus not at all from a passion21 – and her confidence in God (Comm. in Io. 28.5.34). In fact, suffering in the next world, the Gospel s “crying and gnashing of teeth”, will not be a definitive condition but will be so disposed by God as to have a therapeutical effect: he who mourns over his own sins has already realized his own evil, which is the premise of his liberation and salvation. Exactly the same concept is held by Origen in Hom. in Jer. 20.6, where he reflects that the kind of crying that Jesus says to be blessed in the beatitude, “blessed are those who cry, because they will be comforted”, is not the same as that which, in the next world, will characterize those who will suffer for having lived badly here. But even the latter is intended by God to have a providential aim, and thus is useful and salvific as well, as Origen explains through quotations from Paul. This is because they will be tears that provide repentance, in the next world too, so that through affliction the sinners will come to life. In fact, the “weeping and gnashing of teeth” mentioned in the Gospel (jkauhl¹r ja· b bqucl¹r t_m adºmtym), and generally taken as a designation of hell, is provided by none other than God, and precisely for his salvific plan. For he who weeps over his sins has already realized his own evils. On account of this, Origen hopes that each person, including himself, will cry and repent for each single sin, washing his own bed in tears (1m d²jqusi), for this will bring salvation. Origen interprets the gnashing of teeth threatened by the Gospel for the next world together with the tears allegorically, as a fruitful consummation of the irrational thoughts that occur to us contrary to our rational 19 Fr. in Lucam 113: oqd³ c±q letemo¶salem !p¹ t_m "laqtgl²tym Bl_m· poO Bl_m t± d²jqua, poO b jkauhlºr, Vma j#m paq± to»r pºdar YgsoO 1khe?m dumgh_lem. 20 Those who will cry in the outer darkness will cry upon their sins, because their past deeds were worthy of tears and lamentation (Comm. in Matth. 17.16). 21 By Origen s time this word had acquired the specific meaning of chastity and continence, in both the pagan and the Christian world. For this interaction in respect to this virtue see Ramelli (forthcoming c).

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nature (Sel. in Ps. 1132.32).22 Those who will be confined to the outer darkness will desire the light and will cry, praying God to rescue them from there (Comm. in Matth. 17.24). Thus, God will cast them into the outer darkness with the precise aim that they may cry and repent and ask for his help.23 In Origen s view, there is no suffering, no weeping that is not providential and aimed at salvation and bliss. The idea of exclusion and suffering intended to produce repentance and health is well expounded in Fr. in 1 Cor. 24: God will separate the sinners from the good in the next world, so that they may not spread their contagion among all, just as a shepherd separates an ill sheep from the rest of the flock. But in doing so, he will not abandon the separated sinners; on the contrary, he will cure them, in that he will have them repent for their sins. Consequently, this will be a therapeutical and pedagogical suffering: what will be consumed will be their “fleshly way of thinking” – where “flesh”, in Pauline terminology, does not mean “body” but “sin” –, whereas their soul will not be consumed, but will be healed, thanks to the elimination of the “flesh”, i. e. of evil. Therefore, for their soul, and hence for themselves (because, according to Origen and Gregory of Nyssa, the human person is essentially identified with its best part, its soul, and specifically its rational or intellectual soul),24 this elimination of “fleshly” thoughts will mean nothing else but salvation. This conception appears most clearly in Sel. in Ps. 1576.12 – 17, a passage that, as we shall see, will recur in Gregory of Nyssa: “David asked for the water of rest and peace (vdyq !mapa¼seyr), because he considered it capable of providing the liberation from sins. Thus, he exhorts the soul, which is going astray among sins, to turn to rest and peace, either through baptism (di± toO bapt¸slator) or through tears and repentance 22 Gregory of Nyssa too, in his De anima et resurrectione, considers all the p²hg as contrary to human nature, since it is essentially identified by him and by Origen with our rational soul. This conception derives from Plato, who expresses the identification of the human being with its soul in his Alcibiades I. See Ramelli (2006f). 23 Origen recalls the outer darkness and the crying and gnashing of teeth also in Comm. in Rom. 3 – 5 p. 140.11 (ed. Scherer, Cairo 1957). The quotation refers to Books 3 to 5 of Origen s Commentary on Romans, lost in Greek and preserved in Latin, but these books are fragmentarily preserved also in Greek thanks to a Cairo papyrus and a Codex Vaticanus. 24 This is clearly explained by Gregory of Nyssa in his De anima et resurrectione; see above and Ramelli (2007a).

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(di± t_m dajq¼ym ja· t/r letamo¸ar).” Tears and baptism are joined in that both refer to water and both lead to salvation, through the liberation from sin. Baptism involves no suffering – because in it, it is Jesus who has already suffered for all –, as opposed to tears and repentance, but the scope and the result are the same in both cases, since both lead to salvation. All will either receive baptism, or be led by God to suffering in order to elicit tears and repentance, whose effect will be the same as that of baptism; this is why this suffering is blessed (lajaqifºlemom p´mhor). Again, a little further in the same passage, Origen explains at greater length the two ways to salvation (Sel. in Ps. 1577.51 – 57): 5sti c±q ja· desl¹r jakºr, ¢r ftam k´c,· “9m t` sumd´sl\ t/r !c²pgr.” Deslo· d³ ja· aR pqoscimºlemai seiqa· t_m "laqtgl²tym· oVtimer oq di± toO he¸ou lºmom bapt¸slator diaMN¶ssomtai, !kk± ja· di± toO rp³q WqistoO laqtuq¸ou, ja· di± dajq¼ym t_m 1j letamo¸ar. There is a good bond, as in the case of the words: In the bond of love , but there are also the chains of sins, added afterwards, which will be broken not only by the divine baptism, but also by martyrdom for Christ s sake25 and by tears of repentance as well.

In sum, there are two ways, baptism and suffering, but the goal is the same for all, and tertium non datur. The chains of sin are said to have been added afterward because they are seen as not belonging to the original nature of the human being; they arose only as a result of the first bad choice, which produced evil, not as a real substance, but as a loss of good. Only good, in fact, has ontological subsistence – for God is Good itself –, not evil, which will disappear in the end, when all human beings will recover their original condition, which did not include sin as connatural.26 This is the end, the t´kor for all. In fact, Origen says that the t´kor of his bitter speaking about the good of crying will be laughter, the laughter of bliss, in that his words will produce repentance. Also in Comm. in Matth. Ser. 144.24 Origen connects crying in Gehenna (purgatory) to laughter in this life: only the soul and the body of the wicked, after the resurrection, will suffer in Gehenna, whereas their spirit will return to God, but Origen s interpretation of the 25 This was the so-called “baptism through blood” that could entirely substitute the “baptism through water”, so that if one who did not receive baptism died as a martyr, he or she did not need anything else to be saved; clearly, in this case suffering took the place of baptism. 26 On the non-ontological consistency of evil and its eventual vanishing in the !pojat²stasir according to both Origen and Gregory of Nyssa, see Ramelli (2007c).

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gnashing of teeth that will accompany their tears according to the Gospel makes it clear that he does not understand their torment as eternal, because they see the end and aim (t´kor) of their suffering, and they wish to endure it nobly. The very use of the term jºkasir, in line with the Gospel, instead of tilyq¸a, to designate the punishment of the wicked, confirms that this suffering is considered useful to those who suffer, and aimed at their improvement: for, according to Aristotle (Rhet. 1369b13), jºkasir “is inflicted in the interest of the sufferer”, whereas tilyq¸a “in the interest of him who inflicts it, that he may obtain satisfaction”. God never inflicts any punishment to obtain personal satisfaction, since this clearly does not belong to the nature of love, of the !c²pg that God is. This is why in the New Testament God always applies jok²seir and never tilyq¸ai. In Comm. in Matth. 10.2, Origen explains the crying and gnashing of teeth as repentance and a sort of anger of the sinners against themselves, while in the furnace they are purified. Origen explains to his public that those who cry have been said to be blessed according to Jesus beatitudes: to?r !n¸oir lajaqisloO jka¸ousi (Fr. in Jer. cat. 55), and laj²qioi oR jka¸omter, fti cek²somtai (Fr. in Lucam 6). Origen quotes this beatitude also in many other places in his surviving Greek writings,27 and in Sel. in Ps. 1416.28 – 39, he comments on it in the following terms: these are tears that feed our soul and so they are very nourishing. For this reason Origen hypothesizes that a Patriarch, Isaac, was even named after laughter because he is the typological image of those who “cry in their tent” with tears that are nourishment to the soul and useful to her, so as to be turned into he¸a Rkaqºtgr, divine joy, i. e. bliss.28 Origen quotes the beatitude also in Sel. in Ps. 1177A – B, where he joins this quotation from the Gospel to another from the Psalms, which we have already seen in Sel. in Ps. 1061.40 and according to which God listens to him who is crying and praying. As a consequence, those who cry are really blessed, because they are heard by God, who listens to their weeping and their invocation, and receives their prayer. Origen habitually connects quotations taken from completely different parts of the 27 E.g. in Comm. in Jo. 20.4.23, Fr. in Jer. 55, Sel. in Gen. PG 12.132.37 – 38, Sel. in Ps. 1176.37. 28 Fr. in Lucam 10: t²wa d³ di± toOto ja· eXr t_m patqi²qwym C´kyr k´cetai. b to¸mum stem²fym di± t¹ eWmai 1m t` sj¶mei, ¦speq b !pºstokor ded¶kyjem eQp¾m· “ja· c±q oR emter 1m t` sj¶mei stem²folem baqo¼lemoi”, t¹m 1m 1paccek¸ô c´kyta poh_m ja· tµm he¸am Rkaqºtgta, jkauhl¹m jka¸ei tqovil¾tatom ja· ¡vekoOmta tµm xuw¶m.

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Bible, which, as I mentioned, he considered as forming one and the same corpus in its wholeness. Tears turning into comfort and laughter are also described in Sel. in Ps. 1416.27 – 35, according to Origen s conviction that in the Scriptures we always find what is sad turning into what is good and glorious, and especially death into life. In his Homilies on Jeremiah he asks: “Can t you see in the Scriptures the announcement of the resurrection of the dead?”, a resurrection that he understands not only as physical, but also as spiritual, as salvation from spiritual death.29 Analogous is Jesus promise that his disciples affliction will be transformed into joy (Comm. in Jo. 32.31.385). The beatitude concerning those who now cry and will be comforted is also cited in Hom. in Jer. 20.6, where Origen explains that the laughter and comfort promised in this beatitude are to be compared to the promises of the other beatitudes, which clearly point to salvation: in this way, he can draw an allegorical parallel between laughter and salvation.30 Now, Origen explains that the kind of crying that is said to be blessed is that which is brought to our eyes by love, according to Paul s prescription to cry together with those who cry, which we have already mentioned (Fr. in Lucam 4); and love as charity is felt in all its strength and power, for it is more divine than mere friendship and good will (Fr. in Lucam 10). An example of this pitiful and merciful and sympathetic crying is Jesus weeping over Jerusalem, who kills the prophets sent by God to her, for he wished he could have gathered her children all together, “just as a hen gathers her tiny chicks under her wings” (quoted in Fr. in Lucam 10 and also in Fr. in Lucam 5); Jesus tears for Jerusalem and these same words of his are also recalled in several other extant passages of Origen,31 whereas the heavenly Jerusalem, which is the allegorical designation of bliss itself, is said not to be mourned by Jesus (Comm. in Matth. 12.43). Now, Origen, in his spiritual exegesis, applies Jesus 29 Complete development of this idea in Ramelli (2008b). 30 In Comm. in Matth. 13.16 Origen criticizes a wrong interpretation of the Gospel by those who, with no accuracy, understand the words about suffering and tears and then laughter, in terms of fear, similar to that of small children who suddenly change their feelings and after crying they instantly turn to laughter and play with those whom they thought to have afflicted and scanted them, whereas they did not do so in fact. 31 E.g. Hom. in Jer. 14.6 and 7.1, in Sel. in Ez. PG 13.796.13, and in Comm. in Matth. 16.15 and 16.21, where he says that Jesus will cry upon the Church for her sins even more than upon Jerusalem. See below.

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words against Jerusalem and the prophecy of its fall in A.D. 7032 directly to his public, to himself and to all the Christians. He says Jerusalem could still be excused, but we really are the object of Jesus pitiful tears if, after the revelation of the mystery of truth and after the proclamation of the Logos of salvation, we, who should have a better sight than Jerusalem had, are still sinning (Hom. in Luc. 38.214). Thus it is over Christian sinners that Jesus is still crying, because they fall prey to evil, to the ancient enemy, and will have to suffer in order to get rid of it. For the enemies that will besiege and destroy Jerusalem in Jesus prophetic words are interpreted by Origen as our spiritual enemies, the hostile powers that induce us to sin, and nothing but sin is the cause of death. Thus, tears are related to the power of death, and these tears will be wiped away when the power of death will come to an end according to Paul (1 Cor 15:27: death will be the last enemy to be eventually destroyed immediately before the final !pojat²stasir, when God will be “all in all”). In Schol. in Luc. PG 17.337.30, Origen cites the Gospel passage which describes people crying over a dead girl: Jesus exhorts them not to weep, explaining to them that she is not dead, but only sleeping; those persons then laugh at him, because they know all too well that the girl has died, but he is about to bring her back to life. The same is true of Martha and Mary s weeping over their brother Lazarus death: Jesus weeps too, but soon after he raises him (Fr. in Jo. 80; Jesus tears for Lazarus are also mentioned in Fr. in Jo. 83). Tears, in sum, are associated with death, but God has power over death and can dry our tears out by giving life. This is a theme that will be developed by Gregory of Nyssa at length and employed by him as a strong argument against grief over the dead, as we shall see: they are not to be mourned, because they will not only rise again, but also be saved in the end, all of them. This is what emerges first of all from Scripture and its spiritual interpretation. In many instances, such as Hom. in Jer. 12.13, Origen quotes this statement: 1±m lµ !jo¼sgte jejqull´myr, jka¼setai B xuwµ rl_m, which he takes as an invitation to the spiritual reading of Scripture. This reading is able to make our soul not cry but rejoice, because it reveals God s goodness and mercy, his infallible providence that will bring absolutely every being to salvation. In fact, the spiritual reading lets us “hear the announcement of the propitiation, how God prepared a propitiation for our sins, that is, Jesus” (Hom. in Jer. 12.13). 32 Also cited by him in Comm. in Jo. 10. 20. 122, 10. 21. 127 and 10.31.197.

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One of the most powerful passages in this connection is to be found in De oratione, where Origen, once again, links tears to death, but proclaims that God wipes tears away from every face, in that he rescues all from death. That this death must be understood as the spiritual death, as hell, which has already swallowed its victims, is clear from Origen s statement that those who are saved from this death are saved thanks to their repentance, obviously elicited by God (De or. 13.3): jatapoh´mtar rp¹ toO ham²tou, pqºteqom jatû aqt_m Qsw¼samtor, di± tµm let²moiam syh´mtar !p¹ toO tgkijo¼tou jajoO, oqj !pecmyjºtar t¹ s]feshai d¼mashai Edg 1m t0 joik¸ô toO ham²tou jejqatgl´mour· jat´pie c±q b h²mator Qsw¼sar, ja· p²kim !ve?kem b he¹r p÷m d²jquom !p¹ pamt¹r pqos¾pou. Those who have been swallowed by death, which first had power over them, thanks to their repentance were saved from so great an evil: they did not fail to recognize that they could be saved, even though they were already imprisoned in the belly of death. For death in its power swallowed them, but God eliminated every tear from every face.

Thus God will eliminate all tears from all of us in that he will rescue all from hell and death, i. e. the power of evil, and thus he will turn everyone s tears into joy. Therefore, in Origen, tears almost always appear in exegetical contexts, with quotations from Scripture, and spiritual interpretations. He does not insist on tears as a sign of p²hor, but, according to his allegorical and spiritual exegesis of Scripture, he chiefly understands them as symbols. He associates tears with remoteness from God, and laughter and joy with closeness to God and salvation. But even the tears of those who are excluded from God s sight are providential, for they are elicited by God himself as a sign of repentance and thus lead to salvation as well. Thus, those who cry now are said to be blessed because they will laugh in the next world, but also those who will weep in the next world will attain bliss in the end, in the universal !pojat²stasir, for there will be no one who will miss the joy of salvation, of that fyµ aQ¾mior which, according to Origen, is exclusively a gift from God (w²qisla toO heoO, heoO t¹ d_qom), freely given to all.33

33 Origen quotes Rom 6:23; see Ramelli (2008b).

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3. Gregory of Nyssa In Gregory of Nyssa, too, we find the terminology of tears and crying in various quotations and scriptural reminiscences, and, as it is natural, in funeral orations, sometimes in a combined form. In several passages from funeral orations there are quotations from Scripture, as though Gregory wished to find there some justification for grief and its expression in weeping. In the funeral orations, according to the tradition of the consolatory genre (paqaluhgtij¹r kºcor),34 tears can be seen as a vent and are allowed, at least initially, for this psychological reason, as they are in the Oratio funebris in Meletium episcopum (9.451.16); soon, however, it is time to stop crying, in order to avoid overindulgence in p²hor.35 The same can be seen in the opening section of the Oratio consolatoria in Pulcheriam (9.461.5 – 9), where Gregory admits that he cannot help beginning with tears, and again at 9.463.10 – 15 and at 9.463.24, where he recalls everyone s sighs and tears after the death of Pulcheria, the empress Flacilla s and the emperor Theodosius young daughter. Gregory even states that all had their only pleasure in crying (9.464.9), paradoxically enough, but not excessively, given that both pleasure and grief are linked to the category of p²hor. A similar picture also emerges from the Oratio funebris in Flacillam imperatricem 9.476.19 – 477.1, 9.481.10 and 9.482.8, where Gregory recalls the empress grief for her daughter s death, which aroused tears in all those who met her, and which soon brought her to death as well. At 9.482.21 he compares the tears of all those who 34 See Schorn (2009, in this volume). For the use of the consolatory literature in Gregory s De anima see Meissner (1991: 47 – 50) and Ramelli (2007a: 980 – 986, esp. 981). 35 9.454.3 – 4: )kkû !pox¶sash´ loi t± d²jqua. aQsh²molai c±q p´qa toO d´omtor 1p· t` p²hei cumaijifºlemor. It is interesting to notice the use of the participle cumaijifºlemor, which seems to associate tears with a feminine behaviour. Gregory, however, does not at all endorse the widespread ancient prejudice that associated tears as well as moral and psychological weakness with women in particular. For he clearly reverses this topos in his De anima, where it is the male character who reveals weakness, cries and is completely upset, whereas the female protagonist, Macrina, shows an extraordinary firmness and moral strength and convinces her interlocutor to stop mourning (see below). Gregory, indeed, is one of the ancient Fathers who most strongly insisted on the equality of both sexes and on the secondary and purely functional nature of gender differences within humanity. This is why, as he stresses on the basis of Jesus words, these differences will vanish in the next world. See Ramelli (2007a: 212 – 214) and Ludlow (2007: 163 – 227).

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mourned over the girl s death to the drops of rain from the sky in all their abundance. Gregory was well trained in rhetoric, although his best use of it is displayed in his philosophical writings, such as De anima et resurrectione,36 where Gregory also uses the rhetorical device of allowing some expression of grief but soon overcoming it by way of rational argument.37 Both the funeral orations themselves and other writings contain several quotations, or at least reminiscences, from the Scriptures. First of all there is the reminiscence of the Qohelet or Ecclesiastes statement that there is an appropriate time (jaiqºr) for laughter and another for tears.38 The outer darkness, gnashing of teeth, crying and the like are all allusions to the Gospel designation of punishment and exclusion from God.39 In Or. in Pulch. 464.12 – 20, after saying that those who are crying and gnashing their teeth cannot enjoy the thought of God, Gregory immediately adds the quotation “God listens to my jkauhlºr”, so that this weeping, together with the gnashing of teeth etc., does not designate eternal punishment, because God will rescue those who will be in that condition. The real meaning of all these fearful images – such as the fire that cannot be quenched, the worm that does not die, and the outer darkness – is their value as threats. The fear aroused by these threats restores its sensitivity to the soul that has become numb with pleasure and passions, as is clear from Beat. PG 44.1221B – C: they are useful for their therapeutic power, like unpleasant but effective medicines; all is done for the sake of the sinner, all is arranged by God s Providence for his or her blessedness. In Epist. 6.11 Gregory presents a reminiscence of Paul s idea of rejoicing together with those who rejoice and crying together with those who cry, where both joy and grief are recognized as p²hg.40 36 See Meissner (1991) and Ramelli (2006e). For the presence of rhetoric in Gregory see Douglass (2006b). 37 For the presence of this device in classical consolatory literature see Konstan (2004: 63 – 64). 38 E.g. in In Flac. 9.476.24, In Eccl. 5.388.14 (toO dajq¼ou ja· toO c´kytor tµm eqjaiq¸am 1p¶cace) and 5.385.20. See also at In Eccl. 5.386.2, where the time for crying is said to be the present, whereas the time for laughter will be in the other world, and we hope for it. 39 E.g. in In Cant. 6.15: 5ny t_m 1m t` c²l\ vaidqumol´mym !poqqiv0, t¹m bqucl¹m ja· t¹ d²jquom (…). Cf. In inscr. Ps. 5.62.23 and Contra Eun. 3.8.19. 40 So too in Epist. 7.1; In Melet. 9.444.13 – 16, 9.445.1. At In Melet. 9.448.13 it is Rachel who is recalled for her grief over her children. At In Melet. 9.453.11 it is the crying of the Hebrews in Babylon, in the time of their captivity.

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But from Scripture – as was already maintained by Philo and Clement – also derive the best examples of !p²heia, Gregory s highest moral ideal. In fact, Gregory highly praises Abraham s !p²heia in Deit. Fil. et Sp. PG 46.569C – D: when he is called by name by his son Isaac, just before his expected sacrifice, he is not overcome by p²hor, he is not suffocated by tears at the idea that he will no longer hear his child s voice, nor does he sigh or utter anything mournful, but his soul stands and remains unshaken, whereas Gregory confesses that he himself is unable to contemplate the scene of Isaac s sacrifice without tears (PG 46.572.35). Abraham is a luminous example not only of faith but also of !p²heia, and thus he does not cry, although he loves his child, the fruit of God s promise, more than anyone and anything else. Love, however, is not a p²hor ; this is why, according to Gregory, it will never decay, even when all p²hg will be over in the end. Tears are said to be worse if they have no reason, just like the groundless laughter of hope for impossible things: these are all expressions of an irrational behaviour, based on p²hg and not on kºcor (In Eccl. 5.329.4). In fact, any p²hor, according to Gregory, is opposed to kºcor, and, since human nature is rational, in his De anima he considers all p²hg to be a sort of extrinsic appendix added from outside to our soul and doomed to be eliminated in the end, when all evil will disappear when we shall be restored by God into our original state, corresponding to God s original project for humanity, which knows no p²hor and no sin.41 However, Moses is an example to follow just because he cried (Vit. Mos. 2.9), for his are not tears elicited by a p²hor, but by the consideration of the lamentable condition of humans in this world and the awareness that we always need God s grace and that our virtue needs a protector. Thus, there may be also good tears, and it will be necessary to distinguish tears that are an effect of a p²hor from tears that are more acceptable and may even be good for us. There is also a category of ethically neutral tears involving children. In the case of small babies, crying is not due to a p²hor because babies do not yet have p²hg and are still unaware of both good and evil, as Gregory states in Vit. Mos. 2.91; thus we cannot apply an ethical evaluation to infants tears. Small babies only want to suck their milk, and their tears simply signify the feeling of pain, nothing more, just as their smile signi41 See Ramelli (2007a: 87 – 124, 146 – 190, 996 – 1001). On the conception of evil and the elimination of it in the !pojat²stasir according to Gregory, see also Mosshammer (2006) and Mateo-Seco (2006b).

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fies the feeling of pleasure:42 pleasure and pain are not yet p²hg in themselves. Tears can be shed for mere physical suffering by adults too, and neither in this case do they have an ethically negative value; for example, as Gregory observes, boys punished by their teachers for correction may well cry a little for the pain,43 but what is important is that they turn to studying with devotion, and that they receive enduring benefit from that brief pain. Among groundless tears Gregory places first of all those deriving from grief due to a dear person s death. We have seen that in the genre of consolatory speeches they are admitted, but only for a short while. The reason for this becomes clear in the text in which Gregory s treatment of such tears is most developed, i. e. his De anima et resurrectione (PG 46), where tears of grief are overcome by !p²heia in the course of a rational process, in which the chief argument lies in universal resurrection and ultimate universal salvation (see Ramelli 2007a: 34 – 224, esp. 34 – 38 and 346 – 353). These are points rather pertaining to faith which, nevertheless, Gregory s sister Macrina intends to demonstrate philosophically by constantly buttressing her arguments with Scriptural evidence. The dialogue begins precisely with Gregory s profound grief at his revered brother Basil s death, a grief that, just like its visible expression, namely tears, he feels the compelling need to share, like a heavy burden, with his sister, who is seriously ill and about to die in turn. But Macrina, called by her brother “sister”, “virgin” and “teacher”,44 does not indulge in grief and tears: in St. Paul s words, she soon declares that this would be a behaviour worthy of heathens, who have no hope before death, whereas Christians must know that all human beings will rise again and, what is much more, will be saved in the end. The whole dialogue, through argument and refutation of opposite theories, is aimed at a total eradication of sorrow: Macrina wants to replace it with the joyous and glorious hope that culminates in the final vision of the universal

42 So, too, are the infants laments and small children s tears in the episode of the slaughter of the innocents recalled in Oratio in diem natalem Christi 1145.42 – 45: t` meoceme? %sglom 5ti ja· !di²qhqytom t¹m aduql¹m !v¸emti. !kkû !jqo÷tai toO %kkou Edg vheccol´mou ja· xekkifol´m, t0 vym0 tµm lgt´qa let± dajq¼ym !majakoOmtor. 43 Adversus eos qui castigationes aegre ferunt PG 46.312.5 – 6: 1p ak¸com t0 !kcgdºmi pijq¹m 1pist²nam t¹ d²jquom. 44 For evidence on Macrina, see Mateo-Seco (2006c); on Basil, see Bçhm (2006).

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festival of all angels and all humankind who in the end will have returned to the good, that is God, and a complete unity.45 The same approach is evident in a work of Gregory s that is very close to his De anima, i. e. his Vita sanctae Macrinae, the hagiographical biography of his sister. At 17.20 he is describing the conversation between himself and his own sister, Macrina, during which the memory of their brother Basil came up. This upset Gregory at once, and he began to weep. Macrina, instead, had a completely different reaction, and began to adduce high philosophical arguments, speaking about human nature and God s salvific economy, just as we see in De anima et resurrectione, which refers, in a more elaborate manner, to the very same episode. Macrina dispersed all grief and replaced it with glorious hope and a promise that she wishes to support by both philosophical argument and Scripture.46 Thus, further in the same work (Vit. Macr. 27), we find that, when her fellow-virgins cry over her with much confusion, Gregory encourages them to recall Macrina s exhortations. Macrina, that “godly soul” (B he¸a xuw¶), prescribed that there should be only one occasion for tears, viz. during prayers, clearly in association with repentance or with suffering in this world.47 Hence, Gregory, in a loud voice, so as to overcome the noise of the funeral laments, exhorts the women to change sighs and lamentations into the singing of psalms. Other tears are shed by the ordered deacon Lampadion, a woman, who was the leader of the choir of virgins in Macrina s nunnery,48 and who was together with her when she was making her will. For this reason she knew everything about Macrina s dispositions for her burial and tomb. When she was invited to utter what she knew, she explained all while crying. Gregory himself confesses that he cried a lot after his beloved sister s death, falling on her tomb, holding the dust and weeping at the thought of how great a good had departed from this life (Vit. Macr. 36.4; again at 36.14). But soon afterwards he concludes his text with an account of a miracle of hers, so that the last feeling is not grief, 45 See Ramelli (2007c) and Ramelli (2007a: 207 – 224), where I also suggest a possible derivation from Heracleon via Origen for the !pojat²stasir allegorically represented as a glorious feast in the Temple. 46 For the constant recourse to philosophy and Scripture in both Gregory and Origen, see Ramelli (2007c). 47 Vit. Macr. 27.7 – 9. Elsewhere, at In Inscr. Ps. 5.78.26, tears are said to replace words when we are praying; cf. In sextum Ps. 5.193.8: eQs¶jouse J¼qior t/r vym/r toO let± dajq¼ym pq¹r aqt¹m 1pistq´vomtor. 48 See Madigan & Osiek (2005: esp. 25 – 205), including a particular treatment of Lampadion and other women deacons who led monastic choirs.

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but amazement at the glory of God s salvific economy. In fact, the episode is narrated by a man who at the end bursts into tears and his voice fails, out of amazement and gratitude for the greatness and goodness of God (Vit. Macr. 38.31). Another work in which the overcoming of tears of grief is clearly present, and indeed essential, is Gregory s De mortuis non esse dolendum (GNO 9). At 9.38.12 – 17 Gregory employs the Platonic theme, also utilized in De anima, of life in the flesh as the captivity of the soul.49 The perspective of crying is also reversed: we ought to shed tears not over those who depart from this life, but over those who remain here, imprisoned and afflicted as they are by the pains of this life, unable to contemplate the immaterial beauties of heaven.50 The dead themselves, in fact, no longer possess the p²hor of tears nor any other, whereas they maintain their moOr and pmeOla (De mort. 9.39.17 – 26). Those who are unhappy about quitting this life are similar to newborn babies who desperately cry because they are cast out of the womb (De mort. 9.46.17 – 26). In fact, Gregory, following Paul, distinguishes two kinds of k¼pg : a good one, that is agreeable to God and brings the soul to salvation (9.67.26: tµm jat± heºm, Hr t¹ p´qar B t/r xuw/r 1sti sytgq¸a), which is not to be considered as a p²hor, and a bad one, that is related to the present world and produces death (9.67.24: tµm toO jºslou k¼pgm tµm jateqcafol´mgm t¹m h²matom). The latter is the affliction that makes us shed tears for the dead, but we shed them for no reason, and this affliction may even become a motive for our condemnation, being a sign of a lack of hope, as we have learned from Macrina in De anima. Here in De mortuis, too, Gregory states that this means forgetting the dead s future participation in the hoped goods (t_m 1kpifol´mym !cah_m letous¸a). Thus, “he who sheds tears with no reason and no fruit will be refused by his own master, according to the Gospel, in that he is a bad administrator, who uselessly

49 For the presence of this theme in Gregory see Ramelli (2007a: 144 – 146, 159 – 160). 50 De mortuis 9.38.15 – 9.39.2: eQj¹r to»r 5ny toO deslytgq¸ou peq· t_m 5ti jaheiqcl´mym diamoe?shai ¢r 1keeim0 pqostakaipyqo¼mtym fy0, toOto loi dojoOsi ja· oR t/r toO b¸ou to¼tou vukaj/r 5ny cemºlemoi, eUpeq fkyr dumat¹m Gm aqto?r di± dajq¼ym 1mde¸nashai tµm pq¹r to»r jajopahoOmtar sulp²heiam, hqgme?m ja· dajq¼eim t_m 1m ta?r ad¼mair toO b¸ou to¼tou paqateimol´mym fti lµ bq_si t± rpeqjºsli² te ja· %{ka j²kkg, hqºmour te ja· !qw±r ja· 1nous¸ar ja· juqiºtgtar ja· stqati±r !ccekij±r ja· 1jjkgs¸ar bs¸ym ja· tµm %my pºkim (…).

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squanders the riches entrusted to him”.51 The comparison is suggested by the analogy between the shedding of tears and the squandering of riches. But the conceptual frame is the same as in De anima: we ought not to cry for the dead, because this would mean a lack of hope in the resurrection and, ultimately, in the salvation that resurrection brings forth. Gregory was very interested in science, too (see Ramelli 2007d), and he even treats tears from a physical point of view in his De opificio hominis,52 offering a vusiokoc¸a of both tears and laughter (De opif. hom. 156.28). He analyses how tears are formed (De opif. hom. 160.31), of course with no ethical evaluation in this connection. But in the same work he reminds his readers (De opif. hom. 216.21 – 23) of how Jesus on his way to Golgotha reproached the women of Jerusalem who were mourning him because he was unjustly condemned and because they could not yet see the salvific meaning of his death. For this reason, Jesus forbade them to cry over him, because what was happening to him was not worthy of tears: the right occasion for tears will rather be the coming siege and fall of Jerusalem, with all the suffering that it will entail (De opif. hom. 216.22 – 26) – an episode that we have already seen commented on by Origen. Hence, here too, as in the case of those who cry over the dead in De anima and De mortuis, tears are a sign of the incapability of seeing the new life and salvation beyond death. Especially in the case of saints, who will not even need purification after death, but will enjoy bliss straightaway, tears for their death make no sense at all, as Gregory points out in In sanctum Ephraim (PG 46.848C – D): their death really does not require tears, for it is a separation that coincides with the joining of the saint to the object of his or her own desire, that is, God. For, “in the case of other persons death, this is generally regarded as a motive for tears for the dear ones who have remained in this world, but in the case of saints, their death becomes a motive for joy and feast, because such a death is no death, but rather a transfer, a passage to a better situation”.53 51 De mortuis 9.68.5 – 8: t²wa b l²tgm ja· !myvek_r 1jw´ym t¹ d²jquom diabkgh¶setai t` Qd¸\ despºt, jat± t¹m eqaccekij¹m kºcom ¢r jaj¹r oQjomºlor diaspe¸qym !wq¶styr t¹m pisteuh´mta pkoOtom. 52 On this work see Maturi (2006). 53 In s. Ephraim PG 46.848.48 – 53: (Ep· l³m c±q t_m %kkym !mhq¾pym, b h²mator aUtior dajq¼ym to?r peqikeipol´moir cmyq¸fetai· 1p· d³ t_m "c¸ym, eqvqos¼mgr ja· pamgc¼qeyr jah¸statai pqºnemor· fti oq h²mator b toioOtor, !kk± let²stasir l÷kkom ja· pq¹r t± jqe¸tty let²basir.

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This view is parallel to that which emerges in De infantibus praemature abreptis,54 where Gregory considers, not the tears of parents, as one might expect, but those of newborn babies (73.1 – 4). Crying is the first thing that they do, in their ignorance, and it is prediction of all the tribulations of the present life, so that it is worthwhile crying when we enter this life much more than when we leave it. As he makes clear in his De anima, Gregory is strongly influenced by Plato s point of view that this life is the true death for the soul (see Ramelli 2007a: 87 – 145, 959 – 963). Tears are a tribute that babies pay to nature before becoming true human beings endowed with the gift of kºcor.55 So, once again, tears are associated with a lack of kºcor and wisdom, although, paradoxically, the weeping of newborn babies is not so groundless as the tears shed by adults for the dead. The reason for this paradox is that infants seem to perceive the truth, i. e. that the present life is full of tribulations and false goods, and extremely poor in true goods, those which had been prepared by God for the %mhqypor at the beginning. And this also explains why there are good tears, too. If in the Beatitudes Jesus said: “Blessed are those who cry, because they will be comforted”, there are tears that must be evaluated positively and do not denote ignorance or lack of hope and confidence. This is why in his Orationes VIII de beatitudinibus, entirely devoted to commenting on the Beatitudes (see Douglass 2006a), Gregory affirms that tears are rightly shed if we compare the original condition of human nature, full of goods of all sorts, and its present state, full of illnesses and affliction (Orat. VIII de beat. PG 44.1228.36 – 41). The kind of sorrow that Jesus proclaimed blessed is that of the soul that, not at all ignorant, contemplates the true good, without being immersed into the deception of the present life. In fact, the wise person, who sees our present situation clearly, and how we are here deprived of the true goods, cannot but be afflicted and cry, whereas he who spends his life in earthly pleasures does not even realize that he is in a sad condition. Thus, tears are banished only when 54 On this work see Maturi (2004). 55 De inf. praem. abr. 72.22 – 73.8: t¸ owm t¹ sov¹m 1m 1je¸m\. paq/khe di± cemm¶seyr eQr t¹m b¸om b %mhqypor, 5spase t¹m !´qa, !p¹ oQlyc/r toO f/m Eqnato, 1keito¼qcgse t0 v¼sei t¹ d²jquom, !p¶qnato t` b¸\ t_m hq¶mym, pq¸m timor letaswe?m t_m jat± t¹m b¸om Bd´ym· pq·m tomyh/mai tµm aUshgsim, 5ti kekul´mor t±r t_m lek_m "qlom¸ar, "pakºr te ja· diajewul´mor ja· !di²qhqytor, ja· t¹ fkom eQpe?m pq·m cem´shai %mhqypor (eUpeq !mhq¾pou Udiom B kocijµ w²qir 1st¸m, b d³ oupy 1m 2aut` t¹m kºcom 1w¾qgsem) (…).

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they indicate ignorance or lack of hope, not when they are a sign of wisdom. Gregory takes tears and laughter as opposite manifestations of things in life, where all is intermingled, suffering and joy, life and death.56 But soon Gregory returns to considering this life as generally full of tribulations, and presents all the painful things that fill our lives, producing many tears, especially all the sorrows that come from marriage, such as widowhood, small children remaining alone, prey to all sorts of wrongdoers, and so on (De virg. 14.3). On the contrary, he observes, if one chooses the way of virginity, there are no more pains for mothers, all misfortunes coming from life are eliminated at once, and tears are swept away from faces. For in this case conception and generation no longer occur in iniquity and sin; they come no more from man s will, but only from God, for they are turned into a spiritual begetting. Tears are here associated again with the condemnation of the human life that followed upon the original sin. Another example of this negative conception of the present life marked by sin is to be found in Or. cat. 9.3: even the life of Christ, in that it was a human life, was characterized by suffering and tears (ja· k¼pg ja· d²jquom), together with his birth, growing up, eating and drinking, fatigue, sleep, false accusation, trial, cross, death and burial. In particular, Jesus wept at Lazarus death, and again suffered intensely on the Mount of Olives: the first episode is recalled in Deit. Fil. et Spir. PG 46.564.19, where t¹ 1p· Kaf²qou d²jquom is seen as an aspect of Christ s humanity, such as his getting tired on the way, his need for food etc. Likewise, in Contra Eunomium Gregory draws a neat distinction between the human and the divine nature of Jesus in the Lazarus episode: it was his divine nature that raised Lazarus from the dead, and his human nature that wept over his death, certainly not his !pahµr 1nous¸a ; tears belong to his human nature, life to his divine nature that coincides with true life (Contra Eun. 3.3.65.2 – 4). Similar statements are also found in Gregory s Refutatio confessionis Eunomii 57 and in Antirrheticus adversus Apol56 E.g. De virg. 3.3: pokkµm t_m 1mamt¸ym tµm s¼cwusim, c´kyta dajq¼oir 1lpevuql´mom ja· k¼pgm eqvqos¼mair sullelicl´mgm, pamtawoO to?r cimol´moir sulpaqºmta di± t_m 1kp¸dym t¹m h²matom ja· 2j²stou t_m jahû Bdomµm 1vaptºlemom. Another association of tears and laughter as a manifestation of opposite things in life is found in De vita Gregorii Thaumaturgi PG 46.945.36: %kkym 1p· to?r cimol´moir C cek¾mtym C dajquºmtym. Cf. Epist. 6.7: t0 Bdom0 jatalicm¼mtym t¹ d²jquom. 57 Ref. conf. Eun. 181.6 – 11: ovtyr owm ja· b kºcor s±qn cemºlemor fkgm let± t/r saqj¹r tµm !mhqyp¸mgm sumam´kabe v¼sim, fhem ja· t¹ peim/m ja· t¹ dix/m ja·

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linarium,58 all anti-Arian writings, where Christ s human and divine nature are implied. Tears, in so far as they are attached to human weakness and the present deplorable condition, may be, for example, those of the persons who suffer injustice as a result of other people s covetousness (B 1pihul¸a t/r pkeomen¸ar).59 This is why Gregory is so harsh concerning covetousness, even calling it “madness incapable of controlling itself”, an !jºkastor k¼ssa inspired by the devil. Thus, Gregory concludes (De or. 286.1 – 9), when we ask the Father to give us our food, we mean a food that is not derived from violence against other persons, because this would not be food coming from God; it would come from our brethren s tears, sighs and misery. Food coming from God is, instead, “the fruit of justice, the crops of peace”. Once again, tears in this life come from the sad situation brought forth by sin. Also in his Contra usurarios Gregory shows how covetousness makes many persons shed tears; riches and food coming from usury are full of tears and lamentations and no good can ever derive from them. Gregory is the Church Father who most sharply condemned both usury and slavery (see e. g. Hart 2001, Graham 2006 and Maspero 2006). At Contra usur. 9.200.1 – 4 we find the portrait of a person who, being rich, has become poor due to usury and cries and suffers a lot for this.60 At Contra usur. 9.201.25 – 29 Gregory warns the usurer that, even if he gives alms, his money is not welcome because it comes from other persons tears, from his own brethren s tears, from their flesh and blood itself. For this reason both God and the poor refuse it; the usurer cannot pity the poor and give alms because he is not merciful to those who owe him money, and his money is the fruit of hatred for humans. Here, the tears of the victims of the usurers are not criticized; they are a sign not

t¹ deiki÷m ja· t¹ vobe?shai ja· t¹ 1pihule?m ja· t¹ jahe¼deim ja· t¹ taq²tteshai ja· t¹ dajq¼eim ja· p²mta t± toiaOta c¸meshai 1m aqt` w¾qam 5swem. 58 Antirrheticus adv. Apoll. 3.1.149.7 – 10: p²mtyr c±q p²mta t± t/r saqj¹r Qdi¾lata sumepimo¶sei t` let± t/r saqj¹r emti pq¹ t_m aQ¾mym, t¹m jºpom, tµm k¼pgm, t¹ d²jquom, tµm d¸xam, t¹m vpmom, tµm jat± pe?mam 5mdeiam ja· t¹ 5ti to¼tou paqakoc¾teqom. 59 See De or. 284.6 – 9: (…) jkaOsai wqµ t¹m de?ma, ja· oQl_nai t¹m s¼moijom, ja· pokko»r 1keeimo»r cem´shai t_m Qd¸ym 1jp¸ptomtar, Vma di± t_m dajq¼ym 1je¸mym B peq· tµm tq²pefam to¼t\ tqac\d¸a kalpq¼moito. 60 Contra usur. 9.199.31 – 200.5: (…) eQr pem¸am aqt` letebk¶hg B eqpoq¸a, j²hgtai t½ we?qe sumd¶sar, st´mei sumew_r, rpodajq¼ei pokk², !mek¸ttei t¹ weiqºcqavom, hqgme? 1m to?r cq²llasi t¹m wqus¹m pqojol¸fym t¹ sulbºkaiom ¢r Rl²tiom uRoO tekeut¶samtor· !pû 1je¸mou heqlºteqom 1ce¸qei t¹ p²hor.

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of passion but of suffering: they are intended to stir up pity for the victims and make the usurers guilt still more evident. Gregory himself cries out of pity and is deeply moved at the sight and the memory of extremely poor people.61 As Gregory observes in In sanctum Ephraim (PG 46.832B – C), such people as those who live immersed in bodily pleasures will suddenly cry if they think of what is awaiting them in the next life, i. e. suffering, which is conceived by Gregory not as punishment, but as a form of painful purification from all the evil that has accumulated upon a soul during the present life. These tears may be good, especially if they are tears of repentance and penitence,62 because repentance leads to good and is purifying. Tears of repentance, in fact, are good and clean away the stains of sin, according to Gregory.63 This is why such tears are even associated with ceaseless prayers and fasting (In s. Ephr. PG 46.836C – D and 46.841B – C); but these are good when they are helpful to all, not only to him who prays and fasts. In Epist. 18.4 Gregory says that his correspondent s letters move him and produce a “constant flowing of tears” in him, like a remedy for healing his eyes, and this is taken by him as an announcement and symbol of the spiritual healing that prayers provide to his soul.64 Tears are good when they are offered to God for the sake of other people. For example, in Vit. Macr. 31.24 – 27, we see a young woman who remains in a church for the whole night, praying to God and dropping tears onto the ground; her tears formed a sort of mud, which proved to be a medicine for her mother s illness. An example of tears of repentance and sorrow for all the evils and miseries of this world is offered by St. Ephraim himself, who, as Gregory describes at length in In sanctum Ephraim, used to shed tears uninterruptedly, so much as to form a whole sea during his life, as though crying were as natural to him as 61 So does he state in In illud Quatenus uni ex his fecistis mihi fecistis 9.122 – 124: pokk²jir 1ped²jqusa t` sjuhqyp` to¼t\ he²lati, pokk²jir pq¹r aqtµm tµm v¼sim !pedusp´tgsa ja· mOm pq¹r t0 lm¶l, sucw´olai. 62 As described at In sanctum Ephraim PG 46.837.29 – 33: Pºte c±q b d²jqua pqosjako¼lemor d²jqusi, spodºm te ¢se· %qtom 1sh¸ym, t¹ tqaw» t/r dia¸tgr, ja· !m¶domom, ja· t¹ pºla jiqm_m let± jkauhloO, Ø vgsi t± kºcia, pq¹r 1p²qseyr C oQ¶seyr k¸h\ t¹m xuwij¹m pºda pqosjqo¼seiem. See also Encomium in XL martyres II PG 46.785.25, Inscr. Ps. 5.154.3 and In sextum Ps. 5.191.30. 63 See De perfectione Christiana 8.1.192.13 – 15: eU po¼ tir 1n "laqt¸ar eUg jgk¸r, t` vdati t_m dajq¼ym aqtµm !poqq¼xamtar. 64 Epist. 18.4: ja· pqosdoj_lem t0 t_m "c¸ym eqw_m sou Qatqe¸ô ajk²fousam Edg tµm xuwµm Bl_m rp¹ t/r t_m jaj_m sumewe¸ar rpeqeido¼s, fti t²wa ja· jahû fkou t¹ toioOtom t/r xuw/r Bl_m p²hor 1niah¶setai.

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breathing is to all humans. There was no moment in which his eyes were empty of tears; sighs and tears were continual in him and even produced one another, as Gregory explains emphatically.65 Even in his writings Ephraim always maintained the same weeping tone, not only in the works dealing with conversion, repentance and ethics, but even in his celebratory speeches, a genre in which most authors tend to choose a more cheerful mood than Ephraim. Thus, in the overall portrait of St. Ephraim and his virtues Gregory lists his continuous weeping along with his theological virtues, faith, hope and love, his devotion, his reading of the Scriptures, the purification of his body and soul, his ascetical life etc. (In s. Ephr. PG 46.825A – B). These are tears shed by a person who saw the true good and, through his words mingled with tears, always invited, and still invites, people to contemplation and desire for the true life, i. e. the life in the world to come (In s. Ephr. PG 46.832B – C). Unless one has a heart made of stone, it is impossible not to be moved by his words, not to feel aversion to one s own faults, and not to reject the hardness of one s character. Similar to tears of repentance are those due to fear of God (eqk²beia) and suffering (p²hor), which, in that context, are viewed positively, such as in De sancto Theodoro (PG 46.740.21). The misery of our present life, so short and full of suffering, is exemplified in In Eccl. 5.387.8 – 12 by its beginning with tears and ending with tears; both infancy and old age are worthy of pity, but also other ages and indeed each condition of human life are so, but what is worthy of tears most of all for those who believe that they already know everything is that after this short life there will be a judgement having a fearful outcome: a cruel fire devouring the “opponents” (In Eccl. 5.388.1 – 5). One who meditates on this cannot but live in a perpetual crying. But Gregory has a steadfast hope, not only for what is beyond death, but also beyond any punishment after death. This is why his perspective ultimately is not tragic but glorious, thanks to his faith in God s overflowing goodness and grace, overcoming everything else. Tears as a sign of repentance and overcoming of the hardness of one s heart are equally seen in a positive light in In s. Ephr. PG 46.844.58 – 59, in 65 In sanctum Ephraim PG 46.829.49 – 832.1: oq c±q Bl´qa, oq m¼n, oq lesom¼jtiom, oqw ¦qa, oq sticl/r t¹ keptºtatom, fte ngq¹r b to¼tou !m¼stajtor avhakl¹r jahyq÷to· p/ l³m t± joim0, p/ d³ t± Qd¸yr !pojkaiºlemor, ¢r 5kecem, !top¶lata· stemaclo?r d³ t± t_m all²tym sov_r 1powete¼ei Ne?hqa· l÷kkom d³ we¼lasim avhakl_m to»r stemaclo»r 1nejake?to. Ja· Gm paq²donor !lvot´qym B pqºodor, toO 2t´qou aQt¸a toO 2t´qou vaimol´mou· 5tijtom c±q 1pû aqt` d²jqua l³m stemaclo¼r, stemaclo· d³ p²kim d²jqua.

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the exegesis of the passage in which Moses causes water to spring off from a rock causing rocky hearts to melt and shed tears. Similarly, manna is said to represent words of love offered to all souls, that they may be encouraged by this divine and mystical food, coming from the Father s bosom for our salvation (In s. Ephr. PG 46.845.2 – 6). In the Refutatio confessionis Eunomii, tears are to be cast upon the ruin of the heretics souls (Ref. conf. Eun. 137.4), and likewise the foolishness of the heretics assertions is said to be worthy of tears (Ref. conf. Eun. 138.3). And again, in De deitate adversus Evagrium 9.335.11, Gregory asserts that he cannot help crying at his brethren s going astray.66 Far from cursing the heretics, he worries about them and suffers for them and calls them brothers; in his view, they are not lost forever, but they will return sooner or later, and they too will be enlightened and saved. Just as in Origen s thought, so too in that of Gregory tears may be so good as to become an instrument of salvation, as it is clear from an important passage of De iis qui baptismum differunt 46.417.14 – 21. It reveals, once again, Gregory s attitude to salvation, which, to his mind, will be absolutely universal. In order to eliminate evil caused by the devil, God has two methods.67 One is by means of water, which is baptism, a totally painless remedy gracefully provided by God, and the other is by “a few tears”, i. e. through purifying suffering (t_m d³ di ak¸cym dajq¼ym 1nake¸vy tµm mºsom). Tertium non datur: all will be cured and thus saved, either through baptism or through purification and therapy, here represented by tears, a thought directly drawn from Origen, Sel. in Ps. 1576.17, as we have seen. In this case, tears are indeed very good, insofar as their t´kor is precisely what Gregory in De anima calls “the scope of our hopes” (t¹ t´kor t_m 1kpifol´mym), i. e. universal salvation. Thus, exactly as already Origen had thought and written, either through washing or through suffering and tears, all will recover their spiritual health; there will be absolutely no one who will remain ill forever.

66 See also Antirrheticus adversus Apollinarium 3.1.188.18 – 19: Ble?r d³ dajq¼eim eujaiqom 1p· t0 !p²t, t_m eQqgl´mym (…). 67 Similarly Origen. See e. g. Fern ndez (1999), Beyer Moser (2005) and Ramelli (forthcoming a).

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4. Conclusion The examination of Origen s and Gregory of Nyssa s references to tears and crying as emotional expressions in their writings shows that their treatment of this topic is both related to Old and New Testament exegesis and not at all inconsistent with their philosophical frame of mind, and more precisely with their ethical tenet of !p²heia. Therefore, it is closely related also to their doctrine of !pojat²stasir. For, tears that are elicited by a p²hor are condemned, but tears of repentance are welcomed and are even said to be provided by God, since – with despair ultimately banished from these two Christian philosophers view – they lead to bliss and perfect unity in the !pojat²stasir, where there will no longer be tears, but only full blessedness. Indeed, in the end, in the !pojat²stasir, i. e. in the t´kor towards which the whole of Origen s and Gregory s thought is oriented,68 there will be no more p²hor, but only perfect !c²pg, which is not a p²hor and which will increase forever in the continual tension of the 1p´jtasir. As a consequence, there will be no tears caused by p²hor any longer, nor will there be tears of repentance, since all will have already repented and been purified. All tears, indeed, are the consequence of the entrance of evil into this world, whether they are tears of p²hor (because no p²hor existed before evil), tears of repentance (since no sin of which to repent existed before evil) or tears of suffering due to others injustice and violence (since no violence and covetousness existed before evil). Therefore, all tears will disappear after the vanishing of evil, when no rational creature will adhere to evil any more, but all will have voluntarily returned to the good, i. e. God. This will also mean the total disappearance of death, which entered this world as a consequence of evil. Now, as I have shown, in Origen and Gregory of Nyssa tears are associated with death, and therefore they will disappear when all death, both physical and spiritual, will have been annihilated.

68 The study that best shows the eschatological orientation of Origen s thought is Tzamalikos (2007). The eschatological orientation of that of Gregory is shown by both Ludlow (2007: 97 – 159) and Ramelli (2007a: 735 – 958).

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Bibliography Beyer Moser, Maureen (2005): Teacher of Holiness. The Holy Spirit in Origen s Commentary on the Epistle to the Romans, Piscataway, New Jersey. Bçhm, Thomas (2006): s.v. “Basilio de Cesarea”. In: Lucas Francisco MateoSeco & Giulio Maspero (eds.), Diccionario de san Gregorio de Nisa, Burgos, 177 – 181. Douglass, Scot (2006a): s.v. “Beat (De Beatitudinibus)”. In: Lucas Francisco Mateo-Seco & Giulio Maspero (eds.), Diccionario de san Gregorio de Nisa, Burgos, 185 – 187. Douglass, Scot (2006b): s.v. “Ret rica”. In: Lucas Francisco Mateo-Seco & Giulio Maspero (eds.), Diccionario de san Gregorio de Nisa, Burgos, 786 – 789. Fern ndez, Samuel (1999): Cristo m dico, segffln Or genes. La actividad m dica como met fora de la acci n divina, Roma. Graham, Christopher (2006): s.v. “Usur (Contra Usurarios)”. In: Lucas Francisco Mateo-Seco & Giulio Maspero (eds.), Diccionario de san Gregorio de Nisa, Burgos, 905 – 907. Hart, David Bentley (2001): The whole humanity . Gregory of Nyssa s critique of slavery in light of his eschatology. In: Scottish Journal of Theology 54, 51 – 69. Konstan, David (2004): Pity Transformed, London. Laird, Martin (2004): Gregory of Nyssa and the Grasp of Faith. Union, Knowledge, and Divine Presence, Oxford. Ludlow, Morwenna (2007): Gregory of Nyssa. Ancient and (Post)Modern, Oxford. Madigan, Kevin & Carolyn Osiek (2005): Ordained Women in the Early Church. A Documentary History, Baltimore & London. Maspero, Giulio (2006): s.v. “Esclavitud”. In: Lucas Francisco Mateo-Seco & Giulio Maspero (eds.), Diccionario de san Gregorio de Nisa, Burgos, 378 – 382. Mateo-Seco, Lucas Francisco (2006a): s.v. “Apatheia (Impasibilidad)”. In: Lucas Francisco Mateo-Seco & Giulio Maspero (eds.), Diccionario de san Gregorio de Nisa, Burgos, 121 – 125. Mateo-Seco, Lucas Francisco (2006b): s.v. “Soteriolog a”. In: Lucas Francisco Mateo-Seco & Giulio Maspero (eds.), Diccionario de san Gregorio de Nisa, Burgos, 803 – 812. Mateo-Seco, Lucas Francisco (2006c): s.v. “Macrina”. In: Lucas Francisco Mateo-Seco & Giulio Maspero (eds.), Diccionario de san Gregorio de Nisa, Burgos, 578 – 583. Maturi, Giorgio (2004): Gregorio di Nissa. Paradiso precoce, Roma 2004. Maturi, Giorgio (2006): s.v. “Op hom (De opificio hominis)”. In: Lucas Francisco Mateo-Seco & Giulio Maspero (eds.), Diccionario de san Gregorio de Nisa, Burgos, 681 – 683. Meissner, Henriette M. (1991): Rhetorik und Theologie. Der Dialog Gregors von Nyssa “De anima et resurrectione”, Frankfurt am Main.

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Mosshammer, Alden A. (2006): s.v. “Mal”. In: Lucas Francisco Mateo-Seco & Giulio Maspero (eds.), Diccionario de san Gregorio de Nisa, Burgos, 583 – 591. Osborn, Eric F. (2005): Clement of Alexandria, Cambridge. Ramelli, Ilaria (2002): Il concetto di mondo nella Bibbia dall Antico al Nuovo Testamento. Osservazioni lessicografiche sul testo ebraico, greco e latino. In: Cristiano Dognini (ed.), Kosmos. La concezione del mondo nelle civilt antiche, Alessandria, 109 – 123. Ramelli, Ilaria (2006a): Note sulla continuit della dottrina dell apocatastasi in Gregorio di Nissa: dal De Anima et Resurrectione all In Illud: Tunc et ipse Filius. In: Archaeus 10, 105 – 145. Ramelli, Ilaria (2006b): Mysterion negli Stromateis di Clemente Alessandrino. Aspetti di continuit con la tradizione allegorica greca. In: Angela Maria Mazzanti (ed.), Il volto del mistero. Mistero e rivelazione nella cultura religiosa tardoantica, Castel Bolognese, 83 – 120. Ramelli, Ilaria (2006c): Origen and the Stoic allegorical tradition. Continuity and innovation. In: Invigilata Lucernis 28, 195 – 226. Ramelli, Ilaria (2006d): La coerenza della soteriologia origeniana. Dalla polemica contro il determinismo gnostico all universale restaurazione escatologica. In: Pagani e cristiani alla ricerca della salvezza. Atti del XXXIV Incontro di Studiosi dell Antichit Cristiana (Roma, Istituto Patristico Augustinianum, 5 – 7 maggio 2005), Roma, 661 – 688. Ramelli, Ilaria (2006e): Allegoria ed escatologia. L uso della retorica nel De anima et resurrectione di Gregorio di Nissa e il suo rapporto con la tradizione filosofica classica e la dottrina cristiana. In: Eugenio Amato (ed.), Approches de la Troisi me Sophistique. Hommages Jacques Schamp, Bruxelles, 193 – 220. Ramelli, Ilaria (2006f): Il basileus come “nomos empsychos” tra diritto naturale e diritto divino. Spunti platonici del concetto e sviluppi di et imperiale e tardoantica, Napoli. Ramelli, Ilaria (ed.) (2007a): Gregorio di Nissa. Sull anima e la resurrezione. Introduzione, edizione, traduzione note e apparati, Milano. Ramelli, Ilaria (2007b): Hebrews 10:13, the eventual elimination of evil and the apokatastasis. Origen s interpretation. In: Augustinianum 47, 85 – 93. Ramelli, Ilaria (2007c): Christian soteriology and Christian Platonism. Origen, Gregory of Nyssa and the biblical and philosophical basis of the doctrine of apokatastasis. In: Vigiliae Christianae 61, 313 – 356. Ramelli, Ilaria (2007d): La cultura naturalistica in Gregorio di Nissa, De anima et resurrectione. Scienza e logos. In: La cultura scientifico-naturalistica nei Padri della Chiesa (I-V sec.). XXXV Incontro di Studiosi dell Antichit Cristiana, Roma, Augustinianum, 4 – 6 maggio 2006, Roma, 197 – 216. Ramelli, Ilaria (2008a): Origene e il lessico dell eternit . In: Adamantius 14, 100 – 129. Ramelli, Ilaria (2008b): Origen s exegesis of Jeremiah. Resurrection announced throughout the Bible and its twofold conception. In: Augustinianum 48, 59 – 78. Ramelli, Ilaria (forthcoming a): Apocatastasi, Milano.

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Ramelli, Ilaria (forthcoming b): In illud: tunc et ipse filius … (1 Cor 15:27 – 28). Gregory of Nyssa s interpretation and some derivations from Origen. In: Studia Patristica 45. Ramelli, Ilaria (forthcoming c): Les vertus de la chastet et de la pi t dans les romans grecs et les vertus des chr tiens. Les cas d Achille Tatius et d H liodore. In: Bernard Pouderon (ed.), Roman IV. Vertus, passions et vices dans le Roman grec (Tours, 19 – 21 octobre 2006), Lyon. Ramelli, Ilaria & David Konstan (2007): Terms for Eternity. Ai nios and a dios in Classical and Christian Texts, Piscataway, New Jersey. Schorn, Stefan (2009): Tears of the bereaved. Plutarch s Consolatio ad uxorem in context. In: Thorsten Fçgen (ed.), Tears in the Graeco-Roman World, Berlin & New York, 335 – 365. Simonetti, Manlio (1988): La letteratura cristiana antica, Milano. Sorabji, Richard (2000): Emotion and Peace of Mind. From Stoic Agitation to Christian Temptation, Oxford. Tzamalikos, Panayiotis (2006): Origen. Cosmology and Ontology of Time, Leiden & Boston. Tzamalikos, Panayiotis (2007): Origen. Philosophy of History and Eschatology, Leiden & Boston.

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Fortune s Laughter and a Bureaucrat s Tears: Sorrow, Supplication and Sovereignty in Justinianic Constantinople Charles F. Pazdernik Abstract: Its author s keen insistence upon its capacity to elicit tears punctuates John Lydus De magistratibus populi Romani, an idiosyncratic personal and institutional history. Lydus own grievances align with his alarm at the larger and impersonal forces besetting the Roman state and justify him in striving after a kind of tragic nobility, which emerges out of a recognition of human fallibility and the capriciousness of fortune. Persisting in tension with such a pessimistic, tragic world of tears, however, is an alternative vision of a benevolent world order presided over by a divinely appointed emperor, towards whom tears of supplication represent an efficacious means of redressing grievances. If grief signals self-abnegation and despair, a sense of grievance betrays an abiding investment in the expectation of redress and therefore in the existence of a comprehensible moral order. Two figures, that of the weeping imperial bureaucrat in De magistratibus and that of the lachrymose barbarian king in the Bella of Procopius of Caesarea, illustrate the equivocal nature of tears as tokens both of despair and of the prospect of amelioration. Against their tears should be juxtaposed Fortune s own fickle and fleeting laughter, which confounds belief in a morally comprehensible universe and demonstrates her power over emperors and their subjects alike.

1. Introduction “T± d 5mhem oqj]t #m vq²sai kºc\ dajq¼ym duma¸lgm wyq¸r”, jat± t¹m Eqqip¸dou Pgk´a.1 This quotation, with its learned reference, distinguishes one out of more than half a dozen instances in which John Lydus punctuates his account in De magistratibus populi Romani (Peq· !qw_m t/r Uyla¸ym pokite¸ar) with an assertion of his own tearfulness in composing that account and of the tear-inducing qualities of that ac1

John Lydus, De magistratibus 3.25 p. 170.18 – 19: “ What follows no longer would I be able to express in words without tears , to cite Euripides Peleus.” (transl. Bandy).

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count. De magistratibus is a tendentious institutional history of the Praetorian Prefecture of the East, the ministry responsible for the administration of justice and public finances in the greater part of the diminished Roman empire of the sixth century, where Lydus held a series of increasingly responsible posts during the reigns of the emperors Anastasius (imp. 491 – 518 A.D.), Justin (518 – 527 A.D.) and Justinian (527 – 565 A.D.).2 The work has also been aptly described as “a polemical history of [Lydus ] own decline and fall” (Kelly 2004: 11). Lydus own grievances align with his alarm at the larger and impersonal forces besetting the Roman state and justify him in striving after a kind of tragic nobility, which emerges out of the intersection of human fallibility and the capriciousness of fortune. For Lydus, tears are an unavoidable response to the sense of irremediable loss that he and his sympathetic reader will experience upon contemplating the distance that separates their diminished present from a better past (De mag. 3.11 p. 148.9 – 14): t_m pke¸stym, t²wa d³ p²mtym, t_m Qwm_m !pakiv´mtym t/r 5lvqomor pakaiºtgtor, oqj 5ny dajq¼ym tir diatek_m rpole¸moi, cicm¾sjym 1j t_m rpojeil´mym, fpyr !mte¸weto pq·m b mºlor t/r t_m rpgjºym 1keuheq¸ar, ja· fsym jat± slijq¹m !cah_m 1j t/r t_m !qwol´mym jajodailom¸ar b jah Bl÷r wqºmor 1n´pesem. With the extinction of most, perhaps, however, all of the traces of sage antiquity, one could not endure to continue to be free of tears when perceiving from what is set forth below how formerly the law used to take thought for the freedom of the subjects, and how many the blessings were from which our time has fallen little by little as a result of the ill-fated plight of the governed.

The specific grounds of this lament are liable to strike the modern reader as eccentric and even trivial on their face. A Praetorian Prefect installed by Justinian, the much-reviled John the Cappadocian – whom Lydus might be identifying when he declares, “I am inclined to shed tears whenever I take note of the force of the law and how the Fiend lacerated and robbed us of every excellence”3 – has demonstrated hostility (or, perhaps worse, indifference) towards the traditions and the prerogatives of the 2 3

PLRE 2 s.v. Ioannes Lydus 75. Accounts of Lydus life and career include Kelly (2004), Maas (1992), Caimi (1984) and Carney (1971). More narrowly focussed treatments include Pazdernik (2005) and Kaldellis (2003, 2005). De mag. 3.12 p. 150.11 – 13: 1lo· d³ dajq¼eim 1p´qwetai tµm toO mºlou sumi´mti d¼malim ja· fpyr p²sgr Bl÷r !qet/r !ve¸keto jatana¸mym b Da¸lym. See also De mag. 3.58 – 59.

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civil service as Lydus understands them. His depredations include pushing through cost controls and efficiency measures that have had the effect both of devaluing specialist qualifications held by officials like Lydus (such as the ability, in a largely Greek-speaking realm, to draft legal documents in Latin, the traditional language of law and administration) and of promoting the interests of bean-counting accountants in the financial department over those of the mandarins in the judicial department, where Lydus has made his own career (see esp. De mag. 3.68). For Lydus, the most telling proof of the Prefecture s former concern for the integrity of the law and for the well-being of the governed was also the token of his own judicial department s distinctive claims to excellence. Lydus describes in detail the practice, formerly observed in every case that came before the prefect s tribunal, of preparing two separate abstracts, in Latin, each of which was filed with a different official. This elaborate duplication of effort could be justified as protection against fraud, forgery and loss (Kelly 2004: 31 – 32). Indeed, Lydus recounts an occasion when the abstracts were invaluable in supplying details of a case for which the original documentation went missing, a feat that merited high-level commendations for the judicial department (De mag. 3.20 p. 166.1 – 11): ja· t¸r oqj #m 1pidajq¼s, t_m 1cjyl¸ym eQr lm¶lgm 1qwºlemor, oXr rp³q t/r t²neyr ja· t_m toio¼tym t/r !qet/r cmyqisl²tym 1wq¶sato S´qciºr te b pok»r ja· Pqºjkor b dijaiºtator Tqiboumiamºr te b pokulah´stator, ¨m b l³m vpaqwor oXor oqj %kkor, oR d³ %lvy jua¸styqer cemºlemoi tµm pokite¸am 1jºslgsam, sukkalbamol´mym aqt_m aqto?r peq· to»r 1pa¸mour p²mtym bloO t_m tºte dijokºcym (…). ja· taOta l´m pote, mOm d oq lºmom oqj 5stim, !kk oqd³ lm¶lgr tim¹r !nioOtai di $r oqw ûpan !poded¾jalem aQt¸ar. Who, pray, would not weep when calling to mind the compliments which [a former Prefect and two former Quaestors, including the jurist Tribonian] had employed on behalf of the staff and such tokens of excellence, with all the pleaders of suits at that time themselves alike (…) joining them in their praises. And, while these were procedures of the past, nowadays, however, not only do they not exist, but they are not deemed worthy even of any remembrance for the reasons which I have explained not once.

Lydus own stake in these developments included not simply the diminished prestige of the ministry and, within it, of the department in whose reflected glory he bathed, but also the loss of much of the fee revenue and other emoluments that were directly dependent upon the volume of business transacted by the department and represented a substantial portion of a civil servant s remuneration. The quotation from Euripi-

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des Peleus with which this essay begins dramatizes Lydus sense of his own personal tragedy (De mag. 3.25 p. 170.19 – 23): p²mtym c±q Edg pqºteqom to¼tym dm tqºpom ja· t_m %kkym !pokol´mym, paqap´kausa ja· aqt¹r 1c½ t/r jajodailom¸ar toO wqºmou, jatamt¶sar eQr t¹ p´qar t_m t/r stqate¸ar bahl_m, lgd³m paq± tµm pqosgcoq¸am jtgs²lemor. For, all this, just as everything else, too having ceased to exist already in former times, I myself also shared the fruits of the misfortune of the time because I had arrived at the end of the ranks of the service, having acquired nothing but my title.4

A career path that in Lydus youth had held glittering promise of advancement and rewards had become an unremunerative dead end.5 Business dried up, the courts were deserted, “and those who were coming to the close of their service lamented and wept, sinking as they were into an old age of poverty” (De mag. 3.66 p. 236.10 – 12: oQlyca¸ te ja· d²jqua t_m pq¹r t¹ p´qar t/r stqate¸ar !vijmoul´mym, eQr c/qar %poqom jataveqol´mym).6 As Lydus recounts it, his initial decision to embark upon a career in the Prefecture had been a fortuitous one. A native of the city of Philadelphia in the province of Lydia (hence his cognomen), he arrived in Constantinople in the year 511 at the age of twenty-one, intending to obtain a position on the staff in one of the several bureaux within the imperial

4

5

6

After forty years of service, Lydus retired in 552 in the Prefectureship of Hephaestus (PLRE 3 s.v.) and preserves the official commendation which marks the occasion (De mag. 3.30); he most likely (cf. Maas 1992: 36) retired as cornicularius, the highest-ranking post within his department, and was granted the titles of tribunus et notarius vacans and comes primi ordinis with the rank of spectabilis. Kelly (2004: 18 – 26) elaborately evokes the spectacle of the occasion. Compare De mag. 3.67: “Now, I laid aside the service after having attended to it for forty years and having gained nothing except the title of its completion. And, while it would be good to depart now from this tragedy (p. 238.18: t/sde t/r tqac\d¸ar), its outcome sufficing to point out the truth, however, I think that I must touch on still another story.” See too De mag. 3.59: John the Cappadocian is “most guilty (…) also of sufferings and acts of terror against the subjects beyond the point of tragedy” (p. 224.13 – 14: ja· pºmym ja· vºbym rp³q tqac\d¸am 1c´meto to?r rpgjºoir aQti¾tator); Lydus shall “tell the tragic tale” (p. 224.17: tqac\d¶sy) of the Cappadocian s depredations in Lydus native city of Philadelphia. See Kelly (2004: 64 – 104, esp. 71 – 81, 101 – 104) and Caimi (1984: 386 – 391, 57 – 58).

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palace that handled official correspondence and other business.7 Fortune, however, had other plans for him (De mag. 3.26 p. 172.23 – 25: B d³ T¼wg l÷kkom eQr ta¼tgm e paqyh/sai tµm keitouqc¸am sjexal´mg …). While Lydus was seeking a suitable opening at the palace and biding his time in the study of philosophy,8 a fellow Philadelphian, Zoticus, became Praetorian Prefect of the East and recruited him for the staff of the Prefecture instead, where a relative on his father s side also worked.9 These connections were instrumental in setting Lydus career on a fast track, in arranging an advantageous marriage for him, and in placing him in a position to attract the literary patronage of Justinian himself in the early years of his reign.10 In spite of consolations such as his appointment to a chair of Latin at the so-called University of Constantinople11 – an ambivalent position, given the increasing marginalization of Latin in the East (see Jones 1964 [vol. 2]: 988 – 989) – Lydus settled into the stultifying routine of the bureaucratic time-server,12 devoted himself to antiquarian pursuits (which would culminate in his treatises De ostentis and De mensibus 13), and by the middle of the sixth century had curdled into the lachrymose

7 Specifically, as a memorialis in the sacra scrinia (De mag. 3.70). See Caimi (1984: 430 – 442). 8 He attended lectures on Plato and Aristotle given by Agapius, a student of Proclus (De mag. 3.26; PLRE 2 s.v. Agapius 3). 9 PLRE 2 s.v. Zoticus. He was in office about a year. Lydus cousin Ammianus (PLRE 2 s.v.) served as an exceptor. 10 For the details, see Kelly (2004: 11 – 17), Maas (1992: 28 – 37) and Caimi (1984: 46 – 59). 11 De mag. 3.29 (perhaps in 543). See Kelly (2004: 85 and nn. 47 – 48), Maas (1992: 35 – 36) and Caimi (1984: 80). 12 Having previously divided his time between work for the Prefecture and in the palatine ministries, he eventually chose or was obliged to confine his efforts to the former (De mag. 3.27 – 28). Lydus downbeat assessment of his prospects and career after the 520s seemingly overlooks or minimizes the recognition he garnered from imperial literary commissions (for a Latin panegyric and for a history of Justinian s Persian campaigns) probably to be dated to the early 530s (n. 10) and from his academic appointment (n. 11). His disillusionment most likely dates from the reappointment of John the Cappadocian as Praetorian Prefect of the East in October of 532, discussed below. See further Maas (1992: 33 – 34) and Caimi (1984: 57 – 59). 13 Probably to be dated to the period between the mid-530s and the early 540s (Maas 1992: 34). The works are dedicated to Gabriel, who was Urban Prefect of Constantinople in 543 (PLRE 3 s.v. Gabrielius 1).

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figure whose disappointments and frustrations find expression in De magistratibus. 2. Peleus Tears and Fortune s Laughter It would be fascinating to know how – or whether – John Lydus believed that his sketch of his own life and experiences ought to be mapped upon those of the title character of Euripides Peleus, to whom the lament cited by Lydus and quoted at the beginning of this essay is evidently to be attributed.14 The fact that the play survives for us in no more than a handful of brief fragments would scarcely have surprised Lydus himself, in view of his reflections upon the corrosive effects of time upon cultural memory; yet the fact that Lydus invokes the play in the context of his own desolate senectitude appears to have been overlooked in support of the hypothesis that Euripides took up the story in Peleus old age.15 If this is the case, and the play dramatized elements of the story most fully elaborated in Dictys Cretensis (6.7 – 9; cf. Euripides, Troad. 1126 – 1128) concerning Peleus exile at the hands of Acastus, then we should not overlook the possibility that Lydus attached significance to Peleus eventual rescue and restoration by Neoptolemus. Firm conclusions are impossible, given the state of the evidence, but the precedent of Peleus survival amidst his many tribulations, his maintenance of his own moral integrity,16 and his ultimate vindication hold out the prospect that Lydus too might have been awaiting deliverance from his cares.

14 The citation is significant, since Lydus was neither scrupulous nor pedantic enough to cite explicitly every author and work to which he alluded (see the citations assembled in the indices to Bandy s edition of De mag., pp. 445 – 446), and he again expressly cites the work in De mensibus (TrGF 5.2 F 617a [1025 N.2]). 15 TrGF 5.2, p. 615; see esp. F 619 and TrGF 4, FF 390 – 392; perhaps the play covered some of the same ground as Sophocles own lost play of that title. See also Murray (1903: 335 – 336), Bates (1930: 272 – 273; 1940: 249), Post (1938: 15) and Pearson (1917 [vol. 2]: 140 – 143). Others hypothesize that Euripides play dealt with the failed attempt by Astydamia (or Hippolyte) to seduce the youthful Peleus and its consequences (Apollodorus, Bibl. 3.12.6 – 13.5); see Papamichael (1983) and Webster (1967: 85 – 86) and, on the mythical background, March (1987: 3 – 26). 16 He was commendable chiefly for his syvqos¼mg : see Aristophanes, Nub. 1061 – 1070 and Schol. in Pind. ad Nem. 4.92a.

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The tears that Lydus invokes and means to evoke are clearly intended to inspire pity and perhaps to stir up outrage on the part of his audience. But who is that audience, and what outcome is this display of lamentation calculated to effect? The window that De magistratibus opens into one individual s own self-absorption and parti pris is at the same time a mirror of some of the preoccupations of the age, which witnessed a variety of attempts to link the fortuitous circumstances and idiosyncratic choices of individuals to the growth and decay of institutions and ultimately to the fate of the Roman empire itself. Persisting in tension with Lydus ostensibly pessimistic, tragic world of tears is the vision of a providential, benevolent world order presided over by a divinely appointed emperor, towards whom tears of supplication represent an efficacious means of redressing grievances. The threads of the former, pessimistic, outlook come together in Lydus remarks concerning Cyrus of Panopolis, who attained prominence during the reign of Theodosius II (imp. 408 – 450) both for his poetry and for the unusual distinction of holding simultaneously the posts of Praetorian Prefect of the East and Urban Prefect of Constantinople.17 His efforts in beautifying the city, in providing for amenities such as street lighting at night, and in maintaining and restoring its fortifications earned him such popularity that the people acclaimed him in the hippodrome with the words “Constantine founded the city, but Cyrus has restored it” – sentiments that understandably incurred the displeasure of Theodosius. Cyrus himself reportedly expostulated, in connection with these events, “you do not gratify me, Fortune, when you laugh so much!” (Malalas pp. 361 – 362: oqj !q´sjeir loi t¼wg pokk± cek_sa).18 Lydus himself uses this very expression in declaring how, “after so many ills had been heaped upon the heretofore blessed [magistracy] of magistracies, Fortune, laughing for a short time but genuinely, set Anastasius over the expiring subjects” (De mag. 3.45 p. 202.19 – 22: toso¼tym jaj_m 1piweh´mtym t0 pqºshem eqda¸lomi t_m !qw_m, B T¼wg, bqaw¼ ti cm¶siom d³ cek_sa, t¹m )mast²siom hamat_sim 1p´stgse to?r rpgjºoir). Both statements are freighted with the consciousness that Fortune s laughter – and therefore her favour – is fickle and fleeting, and all too frequently double-edged. In a similar vein Lydus censures Julius Caesar as 17 PLRE 2 s.v. Cyrus 7. See Constantelos (1971), Gregory (1975) and Cameron (1982). 18 Compare Suda H 145 Adler s.v. Heodºsior. See also Chron. pasch. pp. 588 – 589 Dindorf s.a. 450.

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one who, despising the title of king (basike¼r), “was seeking some other sort of honour, unknown even to Fortune” (De mag. 2.2 p. 82.29 – 30: %kkgm d´ tima ja· t0 T}w, Acmogl´mgm 1 f¶tei til¶m) and who spurned a crown “as though he had supposed that he would be sustaining an insult if he who had reduced to servitude so great a number of kings and had captured even Fortune itself (ja· aqtµm d³ tµm T¼wgm 2k¾m) should be styled a king” (De mag. 2.2 p. 84.2 – 4). Yet his ascendancy was shortlived: “while Fortune was laughing at Caesar for a period of three years for such acts of arrogance, nature convinced him that he was human” (De mag. 2.2 p. 84.20 – 21: toio¼toir t¹m Ja¸saqa t/r T¼wgr 1p· tqiet/ wqºmom diapaifo¼sgr vqu²clasim, B v¼sir 5peisem %mhqypom eWmai).19 So too for Lydus Anastasius accession represented only a brief respite from the Prefecture s inexorable decline,20 while Theodosius responded to the public adulation of Cyrus by packing him off to a bishopric at Cotyaeum in Phrygia, where it was to be hoped that his congregation would lynch him just as it had its four preceding bishops; yet he survived and outlasted the reign itself. Lydus dismisses Cyrus administrative career with the sneer that “he knew nothing but poetry” (De mag. 3.42 p. 198.11 – 12) and faults him for issuing orders in Greek instead of Latin. Once Cyrus “ventured to transgress the ancient practice and produced his decrees in Greek, the [Prefecture] threw away along with the language of the Romans also its Fortune” (De mag. 3.42 p. 198.12 – 14: eWta paqab/mai haqq¶samtor tµm pakai±m sum¶heiam ja· t±r x¶vour :kk²di vym0 pqoemecjºmtor, s»m t0 Uyla¸ym vym0 ja· tµm T¼wgm B !qw¶). For Lydus, it was at this point that the rot set in and the various competencies and prerogatives of the Prefecture began to be circumscribed (Maas 1992: 86 – 88). The larger significance of these developments was nothing less than the fall of the Roman empire itself. Lydus credits this outcome to an oracle allegedly given to Romulus to the effect that “Fortune would desert the Romans at that time when they forgot their ancestral language” (De mag. 3.42 p. 198.5 – 7: tºte Uyla¸our tµm T¼wgm !poke¸xeim fte 19 Yet Caesar, “when set over the affairs of state by the aid of Fortune, utterly altered the entire form of the state” (De mag. 2.6 p. 11 – 12: aqt¹r let± t/r T¼wgr 1pist±r to?r pq²clasi n¼lpam 1ngkko¸yse t¹ pok¸teula). 20 According to Lydus, Anastasius appointment of Marinus as Praetorian Prefect (PLRE 2 s.v. Marinus 7) brought the era of good government to an abrupt end: “Ah me, how Fortune, having become wroth even at the aim of the administration, paralyzed the sinews of the government” (De mag. 3.46 p. 204.3 – 4: meles¶sasa d oUl ¢r B T¼wg ja· sjop` dioij¶seyr t± meOqa paq´kuse t/r pokite¸ar).

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aqto· t/r patq¸ou vym/r 1pik²hymtai),21 a process begun when Constantine abandoned Rome for his new capital.22 Lydus sense of himself as a figure caught up, however peripherally, in the machinations of great figures of state and in the interplay of cosmic forces that determine the fate of empires needs to be set beside, and to contextualize, his absolute conviction that the fate of the Roman empire hinged upon the scrupulous observance of seemingly mundane and trivial bureaucratic practices such as the retention of Latin as the language of law and administration. Such practices constituted a kind of bureaucratic liturgy that derived authority and legitimacy from its claims to antiquity and continuity and in turn, through its own preservation, perpetuated Roman power. “So much about the magistracy I say tearfully” (De mag. 3.43 p. 200.4: tosaOta peq· t/r !qw/r 1pidajq¼sar vgl¸). Lydus weeps for the Prefecture, but he also weeps for himself and for the fortunes of the Roman state. He describes tears as an irresistible and inexorable response to circumstances that are ultimately in the grip of Fortune and to that extent are themselves irresistible and inexorable.23

3. “The Luxury of Grief” At the same time, however, it is instructive to compare the perspective Lydus adopts towards the vicissitudes of Fortune with an anecdote related by his close contemporary, the historian Procopius of Caesarea.24 Procopius describes the travails of the Vandal king Gelimer, who endured not only military defeat at the hands of imperial expeditionary forces dispatched to North Africa by Justinian under the command of Belisarius but also the depredations of an extended siege on an isolated redoubt 21 See also De mag. 2.12 and De mensibus fr. inc. sed. 7 p. 180 W nsch. See Kelly (2004: 32 – 35) and Rochette (1997). 22 De mag. 2.10 p. 98.5 – 6: Jymstamt¸mou c±q let± t/r T¼wgr tµm U¾lgm !pokipºmtor (…). See also De mag. 3.40 p. 194.7 – 8. 23 Rossi (2000: esp. 59 – 60) explores a comparable range of issues with reference to the topos of the weeping victor in Livy: “The victor weeps over the fall of his enemy not only out of pity for the vanquished. The fall of the enemy brings full awareness to the end of a historical era; a cycle of rise and fall has been completed” (2000: 60). She persuasively traces the origin of this theme to Achilles lamentation at the sight of Priam in his camp, which is conditioned by his concern for Peleus (Il. 24.507 – 512). 24 On affinities between the two, see Kaldellis (2004a).

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atop Mt. Papua in Numidia (see further Pazdernik 2000, 2006). The commander of the forces mounting the siege, a Herul by the name of Pharas, reportedly attempted to secure Gelimer s surrender by sending him a letter in which he held out the prospect of honourable treatment and a comfortable retirement. Pharas concludes that letter with reflections on the folly of resisting changes of Fortune (Bell. 4.6.23 – 26):25 s» d³ fsa l³m B t¼wg lowhgq± Emecje, v´qeim cemma¸yr oXºr te eW p²mta t± 1mh´mde !mhq¾p\ ce emti !macja?a eWmai oQºlemor. Cm d´ timi !cah` t± dusweq/ taOta nucjeqamm¼eim bebo¼keutai, toOto d³ aqt¹r 1heko¼sior d´nashai oqj #m !nio¸gr ; C oqw blo¸yr to?r vka¼qoir !macja?² ce Bl?m ja· t± paq± t/r t¼wgr !cah± kocist´om ; !kk± taOta l³m oqd³ to?r svºdqa !mo¶toir doje?. so· d³ mOm l³m bebaptisl´m\ ta?r nulvoqa?r, !num´t\, ¢r t¹ eQj¹r, sulba¸mei eWmai· !hul¸a c±q 1jpk¶nasa eQr !bouk¸am tq´peshai p´vujem· Cm d³ v´qeim tµm di²moiam tµm sautoO d¼maio ja· lµ pq¹r t¼wgm letabakkol´mgm !camajte?m, paq´stai soi aqt¸ja dµ l²ka t² te n¼lvoqa 2k´shai ûpamta ja· t_m 1pijeil´mym !pgkk²whai jaj_m. Now as for all the miseries which Fortune has brought you, you are able to bear with fortitude whatever comes from her, knowing that you are but a man and that these things are inevitable; but if Fortune has purposed to temper these adversities with some admixture of good, would you of yourself refuse to accept this gladly? Or should we consider that the good gifts of Fortune are not just as inevitable as are her undesirable gifts? Yet such is not the opinion of even the utterly senseless; but you, it would seem, have now lost your good judgement, steeped as you are in misfortunes. Indeed, discouragement is wont to confound the mind and to be transformed to folly. If, however, you can bear your own thoughts and refrain from rebelling against Fortune when she changes, it will be possible at this very moment for you to choose that which will be wholly to your advantage, and to escape from the evils which hang over you (transl. Dewing).

Gelimer tearfully (Bell. 4.6.27: !pojka¼sar) demurred, and requested from Pharas a loaf of bread, having not seen one during the three months of the siege; a sponge, that he might assuage an infection in one of his eyes; and a lyre. “And being a skilful harpist he had composed an ode relating to his present misfortune, which he was eager to chant to the accompaniment of a lyre while he wept out his soul” (Bell. 4.6.33: jihaqist0 d³ !cah` emti ád¶ tir aqt` 1r nulvoq±m tµm paqoOsam pepo¸gtai, Dm dµ pq¹r jih²qam hqgm/sa¸ te ja· !pojkaOsai 1pe¸cetai). About this anecdote J. B. Bury commented: “The curious request, which was readily granted, illustrates the temperament of Gelimer who 25 On t¼wg in Procopius see Kaldellis (2004b: 165 – 221, esp. 176 – 189 on Gelimer and the Vandal War).

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loved the luxury of grief.”26 Yet Gelimer at length relented and delivered himself into the hands of the imperial forces, who brought him before Belisarius in the suburbs of Carthage (Bell. 4.7.14 – 16): 5mha dµ b Cek¸leq paq aqt¹m eQs/khe, cek_m c´kyta oute vaOkom oute jq¼pteshai Rjam¹m emta, t_m te aqt¹m heyl´mym 5mioi l³m t0 toO p²hour rpeqbok0 "p²mtym te aqt¹m 1jst/mai t_m jat± v¼sim rp¾pteuom ja· paqapa¸omta Edg kºc\ oqdem· t¹m c´kyta 5weim. oR l´mtoi v¸koi !cw¸moum te t¹m %mhqypom 1bo¼komto eWmai ja· ûte oQj¸ar l³m basikij/r cecomºta, eQr basike¸am d³ !mabebgjºta, ja· d¼mal¸m te Qswuq±m wq¶lat² te lec²ka 1j paid¹r %wqi ja· 1r c/qar peqibakºlemom, eWta eQr vuc¶m te ja· d´or pok» 1lpesºmta ja· jajop²heiam tµm 1m Papo¼ô rpost²mta, ja· mOm 1m aQwlak¾tym kºc\ Fjomta, p²mtym te ta¼t, t_m !p¹ t/r t¼wgr !cah_m te ja· vka¼qym 1m pe¸qô cecomºta, %kkou oqdem¹r %nia t± !mhq¾pima C c´kytor pokkoO oUeshai eWmai. peq· l³m owm toO c´kytor, dm Cek¸leq 1c´ka, kec´ty ¦r pg 6jastor cim¾sjei, ja· 1whq¹r ja· v¸kor. Accordingly Gelimer came before him in that place, laughing with such laughter as was neither moderate nor the kind one could conceal, and some of those who were looking at him suspected that by reason of the extremity of his affliction he had changed entirely from his natural state and that, already beside himself, he was laughing for no reason. But his friends would have it that the man was in his sound mind, and that because he had been born in a royal family, and had ascended the throne, and had been clothed with great power and immense wealth from childhood even to old age, and then being driven to flight and plunged into great fear had undergone the sufferings on Papua, and now had come as a captive, having in this way had experience of all the gifts of Fortune, both good and evil, for this reason, they believed, he thought that man s lot was worthy of nothing else than much laughter. Now concerning this laughter of Gelimer s, let each one speak according to his judgement, both enemy and friend.

This portrait is striking not only for the contrast it draws between the laughing Gelimer who acquiesces in and even embraces the absurdities of Fortune and the weeping Gelimer who stubbornly resists and rebels against its vicissitudes, but also for the similarities that ally Procopius lachrymose fugitive with John Lydus weeping bureaucrat in De magistratibus. Implicit in Bury s criticism of Gelimer as one “who loved the luxury of grief” is the idea that the display of grief is an indulgence, that it marks a distraction from, or a denial of, a more pressing reality. How remarkable it is then that, of the three items Gelimer requests from Pharas, the loaf of bread serves mainly to underscore the poverty of his surroundings 26 See Bury (1923 [vol. 2]: 138). See also Bell. 3.19.29 and 25.24. Kaldellis (2004b: 185) comments on the considerable sympathy for the Vandals in the latter scene, recounting Gelimer s tearful reunion with his brother Tzazon.

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and the depth of his privation, while the sponge with which to care for his eyes and the lyre with which to accompany his threnody are both in their way instrumental in the performance of grief. Grieving is pointedly the only luxury Gelimer allows himself atop Mt. Papua. Lydus self-portrait is also a story of material deprivation and a rueful meditation upon vanished glories. Both De magistratibus itself and Gelimer s ode are idiosyncratic and self-dramatizing expressions of their authors respective dilemmas, and each represents in a more or less eccentric fashion an attempt at transmuting life into art and misfortune into tragedy. Yet what most closely allies the two figures is not their indulgence of grief but instead the sense of grievance that animates both portraits. The tears of Gelimer, like those of Lydus, are tears of indignation, the tears of the wronged. These qualities distinguish their tears from the tears of mourning or of penitence that are implicated in both the Christian and non-Christian concepts of p´mhor and that demonstrate in the sufferer humility or self-abnegation.27 In contrast, theirs are tears that demand redress.28 Both figures too are at odds with an order presided over by Justinian, who as emperor went to unprecedented lengths to characterize his reign as a break with the past and himself as the indefatigable agent of a better future – a future that would not tolerate the existence of barbarian successor states in the West and that, in its insistence upon increasingly uniform modes of belief and behaviour, offered considerably narrower scope for the perpetuation of tradition than Lydus would have liked (see further Pazdernik 2005).

4. Tears of Supplication, Tears of Thanksgiving Gelimer s hostility towards that order is patent: in his reply to Pharas letter he reportedly thanks the Herul for his advice but declares, “I also think it unbearable to be a slave to an enemy who wrongs me,” and insists that “it is not at all unlikely that [Justinian] also, since he is but a man, though he be emperor too, may have something befall him which he would not choose” (Bell. 4.6.27 – 28). Lydus stance was necessarily more guarded. He echoes the regime s own rhetoric in celebrating Justi27 On the Christian concept of p´mhor see now Hunt (2004). 28 Compare the distinction drawn by Rossi (2000: 58) between tears as gestures respectively “of mourning and imploring” in Livy.

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nian as a providentially-appointed champion of Roman greatness, who “restored to Rome what was Rome s” (De mag. 3.55 p. 218.19 – 20: … t0 d³ U¾l, t± U¾lgr !p´sysem): toio¼toir jk¼dysi toO pokite¼lator ja· hu´kkair jaj_m Niptafol´mou, !mt¸qqopom pqouhgjem B T¼wg t/r p²kai Nôhul¸ar tµm 1ll´keiam, Youstimiam¹m t¹m p²mtym basik´ym !cqupmºtatom 1pist¶sasa to?r joimo?r (…). While the government was being tossed about by such flood-waves and squalls of troubles, Fortune put forth diligence as a counterpoise for the indolence of the past, for it had set Justinian over the state, the most vigilant of emperors (…). (De mag. 3.55 p. 218.1 – 4).29

Elsewhere Lydus declares that, under Justinian, “all the distinctive features which once belonged to the state are being preserved with greater exercise of power” (De mag. 3.1 p. 132.15 – 17: … p²mta d³ fsa Gm pote t/r pokite¸ar cmyq¸slata let± jqe¸ttomor !pos]fetai dumaste¸ar). Accordingly it is possible (although ultimately unsatisfactory, for reasons that will become apparent below) to read De magistratibus as a particularly elaborate petition for the restoration and renewal of the Praetorian Prefecture and Lydus tears as those of supplication. Occasionally Justinian s own legislation will portray the emperor in the act of responding to the tearful petitions and the righteous indignation of his subjects (Nov. 135 pr. [undated], p. 690.5 – 7):30 Fys²qiºr tir 1j t/r Lus_m 1paqw¸ar jahest½r s»m d²jqusi deghe·r Bl_m 1d¸danem, ¢r 1p· wq¶lasi dglos¸oir te ja· Qdiytijo?r lehode¸am rpol´mym rp¹ toO t/r w¾qar kalpqot²tou %qwomtor 1p· vbqei ja· lºm, (…). A certain Zosarius, an inhabitant of the province of Mysia, has appealed to us with tears and informed us that out of mere spite he is being held liable for the payment of both public and private obligations by the governor of the province, a vir clarissimus (…).

29 Compare De mag. 3.71 p. 246.21 – 22: in the aftermath of the Nika Riot (about which see further below), … [the text is fragmented at this point] 1m¸jgse d³ flyr let± he¹m B basik´yr T¼wg jat± p²mta t¹m 1qeipi_ma ja· 1m bqawe? wqºm\ (“… nevertheless, however, after God, the emperor s Fortune overcame in all respects the heap of ruins, and in a short time”). 30 See also Nov. 18.5 p. 130.35 – 36 (536 A.D.): pokko· c±q 1mowkoOsim Bl÷r !e¸, ja· Rjete?ai suwma· ja· dajq¼omter pa?der (…); Nov. 69.4.3 p. 354.15 – 20 (538 A.D.): ]ste to¸mum ûpamter rp¶jooi (…) ¢r ta¼tgm rl?m d¸dolem tµm molohes¸am p÷sam rl?m !sv²keiam waqifºlemoi, ja· oute bdoipoq¶sete lajq±m oute jat± t_m leifºmym dajq¼sete oute Bl÷r l´lxeshe ¢r taOta lµ heqape¼omtar ; Nov. 139 pr. p. 700.18 (undated): (…) ja· di± toOto let± dajq¼ym RjeteOsai (…).

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In De magistratibus Lydus likewise presents an exemplary account of the efficaciousness of tears in his portrait of the patrician Phocas, with which the work in its extant and incomplete form ends. Lydus celebrates Phocas for his respectable ancestry, for his distinguished service as a silentiarius of the imperial court, for his generosity towards his friends and for his own personal frugality.31 By way of demonstrating these qualities in his subject, Lydus narrates an elaborate story involving Phocas responsiveness towards a certain Libyan named Speciosus who had fallen upon hard times.32 This Speciosus “was ashamed to ask [for assistance], though he was in need of life s necessities, but he used to sigh and lament, and it was clear even to those who did not know him very much that, since his eyes were laden with tears, he was sad” (De mag. 3.73 p. 248.16 – 19: … aQte?m l³m Aquhq¸a t_m !macja¸ym deºlemor, 5steme d³ ja· oUlyfe ja· d²jqusi pevoqtyl´mor t±r exeir d/kor Gm ja· to?r %cam !cmooOsim aqt¹m ¢r eUg kupo¼lemor). Phocas immediately grasped the situation, “because he was both a good man and capable of comprehending a soul s grief being made known from the mere neglect of the face” (De mag. 3.73 p. 248.19 – 21: ¢r !mµq !cah¹r ja· kabe?m Rjam¹r xuw/r ad¼mgm 1j lºmgr akicyq¸ar toO pqos¾pou cmyqifol´mgm). He declined to intervene directly, but instead used Lydus as an intermediary (Lydus cannot resist adding, “in fact, he deigned to love me more than the others”) in order to arrange to subsidize Speciosus on the pretext of consulting him as a Latin tutor. Although it soon emerged that Phocas did not in fact require his services – Lydus is keen to insist that actually his Latin was rather good – his dºkor (De mag. 3.73 p. 248.16) had accomplished its purpose in preserving Speciosus dignity. In another context Lydus congratulates Phocas because he made a habit, secretly (De mag. 3.75 p. 252.14: kahqa¸yr), of redeeming captives out of his own pocket, “shedding tears if perchance anyone talked to him about an enemy s attack and an abduction of prisoners of war” (De mag. 3.75 p. 252.15 – 16: dajq¼ym eU po¼ tir peq· pokel¸ym 1vºdou ja· !pacyc/r aQwlak¾tym pq¹r aqt¹m dien¸oi t` kºc\). These stories about the exemplary behaviour of Phocas furnish as it were a normative framework within which to evaluate Lydus statements about his own tearfulness. In consequence of his own misfortunes Lydus, like Speciosus, is unable to re31 PLRE 2 s.v. Phocas 5; see Maas (1992: 78 – 82). He was admired as well by Procopius of Caesarea (Bell. 1.24.18, HA 21.6). 32 Speciosus is otherwise unknown: see PLRE 3 s.v. Speciosus 1.

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frain from tears; his tearfulness is patent. As Phocas example demonstrates, moreover, tearfulness is an apposite response on the part of a sympathetic listener or reader to an account of misfortune. Phocas likewise shows himself to be a sensitive reader of the misfortunes etched upon the very faces of the afflicted. He sizes up the situation and ameliorates it without the need expressly to be asked and without expressly making himself anyone s benefactor or implicating his beneficiaries in shame. In the case of Speciosus he succeeds as well in recognizing and complimenting the Libyan s education and refinement while earning compliments for his own erudition as well as his tact. Here, then, is an optimistic model of the efficaciousness of tears that might serve as the counterpart to the pessimistic or tragic vision already outlined above. Yet that model is plainly inapplicable to Lydus own situation as he describes it in De magistratibus. In composing his account Lydus is obliged to give voice, and thus to call attention, to a condition that in the best case expresses itself non-verbally and discreetly; he publicizes a dilemma whose amelioration would ideally be effected behind the scenes; he pointedly and impatiently stands in need of a deliverer from his misfortunes. If the weeping bureaucrat of De magistratibus has implicitly abandoned or rejected the stance of a silently suffering Speciosus, therefore, it may be that his elaborate and emphatic performance of grief signals despair over the possibility of discovering a Phocas-like figure vigilant in diagnosing and remedying the woes that beset the public administration. Inasmuch as Lydus has made a point in De magistratibus of praising Justinian as precisely such a figure, the emperor s inattention and inaction in addressing the root causes of Lydus lamentations represents either a stunning failure of omission or a deliberate act of policy. It is all the more striking, then, that Lydus situates his account of Phocas exemplary private benevolence within an expressly providential context that is jarringly at odds with the tone and the outlook of De magistratibus as a whole. For Lydus makes Phocas the subject of an encomium that celebrates his appointment as Praetorian Prefect by Justinian in the course of the Nika Riot of 532 – a popular and aristocratic uprising that very nearly cost the emperor his throne and left the heart of Constantinople a smoking ruin.33 Phocas succeeded to the post vacated by Lydus bÞte noir, John the Cappadocian, whom Justinian had deposed in an effort to mollify the rioters and to whose maladministration Lydus attributes the root causes of the riot (De mag. 3.72 p. 248.1 – 3): 33 Greatrex (1997) reviews the relevant sources and earlier bibliography.

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P´qar owm toOto t/r pq¾tgr k,staqw¸ar toO pomgqoO Jappadºjou. !mt¸qqopom d³ he¹r t0 jaj¸ô eql´meiam ta?r sulvoqa?r 1pid´dyjem. Vyj÷r c´comem (…). This, then, was the end of the wicked Cappadocian s first brigandage. God, however, bestowed upon the calamities a kindness which compensated for the evil. It was Phocas (…).

The audacity with which Lydus, in relating the circumstances of Phocas appointment, acknowledges that Justinian was making an offer not to be refused is sharply at odds with the bright hues in which he paints the scene as a whole (De mag. 3.76 p. 254.5 – 13): b d³ %jym (oqd³ c±q !svak³r basik´yr aUtgsim paqajqo¼sashai toio¼tou) tµm l³m keitouqc¸am rp/khem, dedi½r d³ flyr ja· t` lec´hei t_m vºbym Qkicci_m eWde t¹m he¹m paqºmta boghe?m aqt` pqohulo¼lemom. ûla c±q tµm !qwµm paqakab½m ja· t/r aqk/r pqovame·r 1p· t/r !p¶mgr !mev´qeto s¼lpar b d/lor Bkij¸a te p÷sa ja· v¼sir bloO t±r we?qar eQr t¹m oqqam¹m !mate¸mamter vlmour eqwaqistgq¸our let± dajq¼ym !m´veqom t` he` tosa¼tgr !ni¾samti pqomo¸ar to»r loq¸oir jatestqyl´mour jajo?r. Though [Phocas] reluctantly (for it was not safe to reject such an emperor s request) undertook the public service, nevertheless, however, alarmed and agitated of mind as he was because of the magnitude of his fears, he perceived God by his side eager to help him. For, after he had assumed the magistracy and had made his appearance before the court, no sooner was he being brought up to his chariot than the entire populace, people of both every age and sex alike, lifted up their hands to the sky and proceeded to offer to God with tears of joy hymns of thanksgiving for having deemed those prostrate with countless ills worthy of such great providence.

Tears that heretofore in De magistratibus have been tears of grief and of grievance are transformed into tears of thanksgiving. A universe formerly subject to the capriciousness and the fickle laughter of Fortune abruptly reveals itself to be governed by the hand of divine providence. Both the unsettled environment in which events were transpiring and the topsyturvy atmosphere with which Lydus infuses his account are captured in a curiously offhand remark: amidst the rejoicing, a would-be assassin fired upon the newly-appointed Prefect, “(…) but, because the arrow had missed, since [Phocas] was, indeed, unharmed, he was clearly shown to be a man of Providence” (De mag. 3.76 p. 254.17 – 19: toO d³ b´kour !lpkajºmtor, aqt¹r l³m !bkabµr £m %mhqypor t/r Pqomo¸ar vameq_r !pede¸whg). Tragedy is revealed to be comedy: “after this had happened, the people proceeded to desist from their arms and tumults and, praising their most excellent emperor, began to live pleasantly in mirth and revelry, all at once having undergone a change (De mag. 3.76 p.

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254.21 – 22: !hqºyr … letabak¾m) from very great troubles and fears to flutes and dances.” The text of De magistratibus as we have it breaks off shortly thereafter, at the end of the manuscript page, with further elaboration upon this theme. How the work ended cannot be known, although a surviving list of subject headings suggests that it would have continued with an account of how the empress Theodora “furthered the public good” (fpyr t± joim± ¡v´kgsem) and an account of the course of the Great Plague of the 540s (p. 8.31 – 33). Whether the work was ever completed is an open question, inasmuch as it bears signs of incomplete revision (Bandy 1983: xxxiii – xxxv). It is generally agreed that Lydus was composing the work in the early 550s, following his retirement from the Prefecture, and it might have appeared in 554 or shortly thereafter (Caimi 1984: 111 – 124). Accordingly, it is possible that De magistratibus never succeeded in resolving its apparent contradictions. The material on Phocas might very plausibly have originated in a panegyric not unlike one the young Lydus had composed for Zoticus (De mag. 3.27), and could therefore be conveying the mood of a moment when it truly appeared that “the political order regained its brilliance, precisely as one, just when a flame is about to go out, abundantly pours oil on it and revives it” (De mag. 3.76 p. 256.11 – 12). But that moment was short-lived, as Lydus very well knew. Justinian had installed Phocas as Praetorian Prefect in January of 532 in an effort to conciliate elite sentiment in the unsettled climate of the Nika Riot; by October of that year, he felt secure enough to restore John the Cappadocian to the post. Phocas went on to serve in a number of distinguished posts, but in the mid-540s had been accused of illicit acts of polytheism (having weathered comparable charges in 529) and had taken his own life. Lydus alludes briefly but unmistakably to this background when he declares, in the passage already quoted above, that the Nika Riot marked “the end of the wicked Cappadocian s first brigandage” (De mag. 3.72; emphasis added). His second and final deposition, which authorized Lydus to excoriate him, took place in 541 reportedly through the machinations of the empress Theodora (Procopius, Bell. 1.25; HA 17). Given that this event falls before the outbreak of the Great Plague in 542 and therefore within the chronological span of the missing portions of De magistratibus, great interest inheres in whether Lydus covered the story in his lost account of how the empress Theodora “furthered the public good”.

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The fleeting moment of promise represented by Phocas tenure in the Prefecture throws into sharper relief the inescapable fact that John the Cappadocian was Justinian s creature, and that the emperor, by keeping him in his post, was endorsing and abetting the changes about which Lydus complains so bitterly. So great was the emperor s complicity in the Cappadocian s depredations – a fact to which Lydus calls attention by protesting too much of Justinian s innocence – that, Lydus insists, no scope was offered for anything other than sycophantic praise, much less tears of supplication. Lydus claims that prior to the Nika Riot even Theodora s protestations were stymied (De mag. 3.69 p. 240.22 – 241.5): toO c±q Apiyt²tou basik´yr lgd³m to¼tym 1pistal´mou, p²mtym d³ di± tµm %jqatom dumaste¸am, ja¸peq !dijoul´mym, sumgcoqo¼mtym t` pomgq` Jappadºj, ja· to?r p²mtym 1nowyt²toir 1pa¸moir 1p aqt` paq± basike? wqyl´mym (t¸r c±q #m 1tºklgse ja· lºmgr 1pa¸mym wyq·r lmgsh/mai t/r aqtoO pqosgcoq¸ar ;), lºmg B blºfucor cum¶ (…) oq letq¸oir kºcoir ¢r t¹m basik´a bpkishe?sa diaba¸mei (…). eQj¹r owm b basike¼r, jak¹r £m ja· pq¹r !l¼mgm t_m jaj_m bqad¼r, !lgw²moir !poq¸air eUweto, lgd³ !pojime?m t¹m jatastqov´a toO pokite¼lator erq¸sjym. For, since our most benignant emperor had no knowledge of these things, and all, though wrongfully treated, used to speak in defense of the wicked Cappadocian on account of his untempered exercise of power and to indulge in the most eminent praises of all on his behalf before the emperor (for who would have dared to mention without adulation even his name alone?), only his co-reigning spouse (…) armed with grievances that were not light, went to the emperor (…). [Yet] the emperor, being good, though slow in requiting the wicked, was naturally in the grip of baffling deadlocks and was not able to dislodge the wrecker of the government.34

For Lydus and for his sympathetic reader, the tears of thanksgiving which greeted the appointment of Phocas will have retrospectively acquired a bitter sting. 5. Conclusion The possibility tentatively ventured above, therefore, that De magistratibus was composed as a manifesto advocating the reform of the Prefecture – and consequently that Lydus tears are the tears of a supplicant petitioning a sympathetic and responsive emperor for the redress of grievances – cannot be sustained on the strength of the apparently optimistic note upon which the extant portion of the work ends. To the extent that 34 On the role allotted to Theodora here see further Pazdernik (1994).

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Lydus might have modelled his plight upon that of an aged and isolated Peleus in Euripides tragedy of that name, the comparison gains heightened poignancy from the likelihood that De magistratibus was motivated not by deliverance but despair. Especially apt in any event is the larger narrative arc that describes Peleus declension from his glittering and vigorous youth to a lonely and embittered old age35 – a story that lent itself to meditation upon both the prelapsarian state of harmony and fellowship between gods and men emblematized and effectively brought to a close by the marriage of Peleus to Thetis36 and the eclipse of the values of a more heroic age, of which Peleus victimization and abandonment could be represented as symptomatic.37 Another analogy is suggested by the threnody composed by the defeated Vandal king Gelimer as a consolation in his embittered isolation upon Mt. Papua. Perhaps Lydus, like Gelimer, is liable to be censured for indulging in “the luxury of grief”. But the analogy with Gelimer suggests too that a sense of grievance – of righteous indignation – betrays an abiding investment in the expectation of redress and therefore in the existence of a comprehensible moral order. Such a belief seems to underlie Lydus conviction that human fallibility, misguidedness or wickedness – and not simply the mutability of Fortune – is at the root of the decline of the Praetorian Prefecture and ultimately of the Roman empire itself. So too Gelimer s resistance is sustained by his insistence not only that he has been wronged but also that Justinian, as a fellow human being, is no less subject to unintended consequences than Gelimer himself has been. We are confronted, then, with Gelimer s laughter, which represents the abandonment of belief in a morally comprehensible universe and may, as Procopius suggests, be indistinguishable from madness.38 At the 35 As March (1987: 3) observes, our predominating image of Peleus old age and affliction, as opposed to his youth and vitality, has been shaped by accidents of survival among the sources. 36 Compare Hesiod s remark (fr. 1.6 – 7): numa· c±q tºte da?ter 5sam, numo· d³ hºyjoi / !ham²toir te heo?si jatahmgto?r t !mhq¾poir (“For at that time in common were the feasts, in common were the seats of the immortal gods and mortal men”; transl. March 1987: 10 – 11). 37 See, with reference to Euripides Andromache, Mossman (1986: 144, 150, 152 – 153 with nn. 12, 37, 43) and Stevens (1971: 14). 38 Kaldellis (2004b: 187) suggests that Procopius uses Gelimer, “who best exemplifies the bewildering fate of man”, to demonstrate the power of t¼wg over human affairs.

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point at which Gelimer abandons tears and embraces laughter, he writes again to his besieger, Pharas, and declares that he has come around to embrace the latter s advice: “For I cannot resist fortune further nor rebel against fate, but I shall follow straightaway wherever it seems to her best to lead” (Bell. 4.7.8: oq c±q #m !mtite¸moili peqait´qy t0 t¼w, oqd³ pq¹r tµm pepqyl´mgm fucolawo¸gm, !kk 6xolai aqt¸ja dµ l²ka, fpg #m aqt0 1ngce?shai doj0). In making himself the acolyte of Fortune, and thereby acknowledging her power, Gelimer paradoxically divests himself of her hold over him. Having once tearfully borne the brunt of Fortune s laughter, in the end he finds himself laughing along with her.39

Bibliography Ancient sources Adler, Ada (ed.) (1928 – 35): Suidae lexicon (4 vols.), Leipzig. Bandy, Anastasius C. (ed.) (1983): Ioannes Lydus On Powers; or, The Magistracies of the Roman State, Philadelphia. Dewing, Henry B. (ed.) (1914 – 40): Procopius (7 vols.), London & Cambridge, Mass. Diggle, James (ed.) (1981): Euripidis fabulae (vol. 2), Oxford. Dindorf, Ludwig (ed.) (1831): Ioannis Malalae chronographia (Corpus scriptorum historiae Byzantinae 11), Bonn. Dindorf, Ludwig (ed.) (1832): Chronicon paschale (Corpus scriptorum historiae Byzantinae 1), Bonn. Dover, Kenneth J. (ed.) (1968): Aristophanes: Clouds, Oxford. Drachmann, Anders B. (ed.) (1903 – 27): Scholia vetera in Pindari carmina (3 vols.), Leipzig. Eisenhut, Werner (ed.) (1973): Dictys Cretensis: Ephemeridos belli Troiani, Leipzig. Haury, Jacob (ed.) (1962 – 63): Procopii Caesariensis opera omnia. Addenda et corrigenda adiecit Gerhard Wirth, Leipzig. Kannicht, Richard (ed.) (2004): Tragicorum Graecorum fragmenta. Vol. 5: Euripides, Gçttingen Kroll, Wilhelm (ed.) (1954): Justinian: Novellae. Ed. post Rudolph Schçll (Corpus iuris civilis 3: Novellae), Berlin. Merkelbach, Reinhold & Martin L. West (eds.) (1967): Fragmenta Hesiodea, Oxford. Stevens, Philip T. (ed.) (1971): Euripides: Andromache, Oxford. W nsch, Richard (ed.) (1898): Ioannis Lydi liber de mensibus, Leipzig. 39 An abbreviated version of this paper was presented at the 104th Annual Meeting of the Classical Association of the Middle West and South in Tucson, Arizona, where I received valuable feedback for which I am grateful.

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Secondary literature Bates, William Nickerson (1930): Euripides. A Student of Human Nature, Philadelphia. Bates, William Nickerson (1940): Sophocles. Poet and Dramatist, Philadelphia. Bury, John B. (1923): History of the Later Roman Empire. From the Death of Theodosius I to the Death of Justinian (2 vols.), London. Caimi, James (1984): Burocrazia e diritto nel “De magistratibus” di Giovanni Lido, Milan. Cameron, Alan (1982): The empress and the poet. Paganism and politics in the court of Theodosius II. In: Yale Classical Studies 27, 217 – 289. Carney, Thomas J. (1971): Bureaucracy in Traditional Society. Romano-Byzantine Bureaucracies, Viewed from Within, Lawrence, Kansas. Constantelos, Demetrios J. (1971): Kyros Panopolites, rebuilder of Constantinople. In: Greek, Roman, and Byzantine Studies 12, 451 – 464. Greatrex, Geoffrey (1997): The Nika riot. A reappraisal. In: Journal of Hellenic Studies 117, 60 – 86. Gregory, Timothy E. (1975): The remarkable Christmas homily of Kyros Panopolites. In: Greek, Roman, and Byzantine Studies 16, 317 – 324. Hunt, Hannah (2004): Joy-Bearing Grief. Tears of Contrition in the Writings of the Early Syrian and Byzantine Fathers, Leiden. Jones, Arnold H. M. (1964): The Later Roman Empire, 284 – 602. A Social, Economic and Administrative Survey (2 vols.), Baltimore, Maryland (repr. 1986). Kaldellis, Anthony (2003): The religion of Ioannes Lydos. In: Phoenix 57, 300 – 316. Kaldellis, Anthony (2004a): Identifying dissident circles in sixth-century Byzantium. The friendship of Prokopios and Ioannes Lydos. In: Florilegium 21, 1 – 17. Kaldellis, Anthony (2004b): Procopius of Caesarea. Tyranny, History, and Philosophy at the End of Antiquity, Philadelphia. Kaldellis, Anthony (2005): Republican theory and political dissidence in Ioannes Lydos. In: Byzantine and Modern Greek Studies 29, 1 – 16. Kelly, Christopher (2004): Ruling the Later Roman Empire, Cambridge, Mass. Maas, Michael (1992): John Lydus and the Roman Past, London & New York. March, Jennifer R. (1987): The Creative Poet. Studies on the Treatment of Myths in Greek Poetry, London. Mossman, Judith M. (1996): Waiting for Neoptolemus. The unity of Euripides Andromache. In: Greece & Rome 43, 143 – 156. Murray, Gilbert (1903): The Athenian Drama. Vol. 3: Euripides, London. Papamichael, Emmanuel Michael (1983): Peleus and Hippolyte Cretheis (or Astydameia). In: Dodone 12, 139 – 152. Pazdernik, Charles F. (1994): Our most pious consort given us by God . Dissident reactions to the partnership of Justinian and Theodora, AD 525 – 48. In: Classical Antiquity 13, 256 – 281. Pazdernik, Charles F. (2000): Procopius and Thucydides on the labors of war. Belisarius and Brasidas in the field. In: Transactions of the American Philological Association 130, 149 – 187.

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Pazdernik, Charles F. (2005): Justinianic ideology and the power of the past. In: Michael Maas (ed.), The Cambridge Companion to the Age of Justinian, Cambridge, 185 – 212. Pazdernik, Charles F. (2006): Xenophon s Hellenica in Procopius Wars. Pharnabazus and Belisarius. In: Greek, Roman, and Byzantine Studies 46, 175 – 206. Pearson, Alfred C. (1917): The Fragments of Sophocles. Edited with additional notes from the papers of Sir Richard C. Jebb and Dr. Walter G. Headlam (3 vols.), Cambridge. Post, Levi A. (1938): Aristotle and Menander. In: Transactions of the American Philological Association 69, 1 – 42. Rochette, Bruno (1997): Justinien et la langue latine. propos d un pr tendu oracle rendu Romulus d apr s Jean le Lydien. In: Byzantinische Zeitschrift 90, 413 – 415. Rossi, Andreola (2000): The tears of Marcellus. History of a literary motif in Livy. In: Greece & Rome 47, 56 – 66. Webster, Thomas B. L. (1967): The Tragedies of Euripides, London.

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Mysterious Tears: The Phenomenon of Crying from the Perspective of Social Neuroscience Arvid Kappas Abstract: The publication of Charles Darwin s The Expression of the Emotions in Man and Animals in 1872 is usually seen as the starting point of modern empirical emotion research. Darwin argued that expressive behaviour served initially certain specific functions that were useful for the propagation of a species, but gained communicative value in the course of evolution. While he found such functional origins for most of the “typical” emotional expressions, emotional tears were an exception. He considered them to be a by-product of the constriction of a muscle group to protect the eyes. Since then behavioural scientists have tried to unravel the origin and the function of weeping – a behaviour that appears, despite its universality, to be as mysterious as it is fascinating. Vingerhoets & al. (2000) present a comprehensive process model of crying that may allow an integration of theories and empirical data that have accumulated so far.

1. Why Do We Cry? The question of why it is that we cry has always been a challenge for behavioural researchers. Of course, a question relating to a specific event, such as “why does my daughter cry at this very moment?” might not be all too difficult to answer – perhaps she fell and hurt herself. Similarly, seeing my neighbour cry might not mystify me, knowing that his wife died recently. But this is not the type of question that puzzles researchers. In a more general sense the issue is: Why do we show grief or pain with a particular facial expression? Why do we shed tears? These are much more fundamental questions referring to the relationship of a particular behaviour with a particular state. Obviously, crying does not appear to be arbitrarily assigned to grief by cultural convention – it is not by convention a symbolic representation of grief, but instead initially at least, it is a symptom that seems to be associated with specific bodily changes that are of biological origin. Yet, this does not imply that cultural conventions have no impact on who cries under which circumstances – several of

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the contributions in the present volume testify to this fact. On the contrary, crying in adults is a phenomenon that is as linked to biology as it is to social context and culture. It would be a mistake to reduce it to being a universal bodily phenomenon “and nothing more”, just as it would be a mistake to deny the physiological constraints on cultural rules and conventions. In consequence, crying can take on symbolic functions. The present chapter deals with current attempts at explaining the origins and functions of crying, primarily from a multidisciplinary view, as it is suggested by social neuroscience (Kappas 2002; see also the contribution by Vingerhoets, Bylsma & Rottenberg 2009 [in this volume] on an analysis of crying as a biopsychosocial phenomenon). Specifically, an attempt is made to illuminate different levels of analysis of the phenomenon of crying to foster an analysis that bridges different biological, psychological, sociological and semiotic levels of analysis. While there are promising approaches to link other complex emotional processes, such as empathy, to all of these different levels (e. g. Decety & Lamm 2006, Decety 2007), the analysis and understanding of crying is not yet as advanced. Common sense and science agree that crying is typically associated with particular feeling states (on feelings vs. emotions see below). In other words, at least in current western thought, crying is mainly an emotional phenomenon, although there are clear differences as to which emotions might be associated with tears (see e. g. Wierzbicka 1999: 222 – 225 for a discussion of Anglo vs. Russian contexts). However, a scientific analysis of crying and other emotional phenomena is complicated by the fact that subjectively we all feel like experts, scientists and lay people alike (Cornelius 1996). Each of us has had very personal experiences with crying and thus we think we know all about it. However, we interpret bodily changes within our cultural framework (see Shweder 1992, Shweder & Sullivan 1993). Thus, some scientific explanations appear plausible to us while others might appear completely unlikely. And yet, psychologists now know that, for example, much of the processing associated with the elicitation of emotions is outside of our awareness (Kappas 2006). Instead, we tend to make sense of what we do and how we feel by observing our environment and ourselves and by applying specific explanatory schemata and beliefs. What beliefs might these be in the context of crying? For one, there appears to be a shared belief that some level of crying is good and healthy, but too much is not a good thing. In the context of some types of events, such as funerals (in a western context), a lot of crying can be observed and is appropriate behaviour. In contrast, there are

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certain stereotypes concerning inappropriate behaviour – for example, boys don t cry. Alas, things are a bit more complicated. There are two important distinctions between scientific and non-scientific approaches to emotional phenomena. Firstly, a systematic study of emotional processes requires a rigorously defined vocabulary that is frequently distinct from the imprecise everyday use of the same terms – and occasionally perhaps contradicting them. Even among emotion researchers, there are at times fierce debates that are caused by disagreements in the definition and usage of basic terms such as emotion or cognition (see Kappas 2002, 2006). Secondly, the scientific study of emotion recognizes that there are clear limits to what we can observe in ourselves and in others without recourse to standardized and at times highly sophisticated methods. Concerning the terminology, modern emotion science distinguishes between feelings and emotions. Feelings can be defined as an important component of emotions, but there are other components, some of which are visible, such as crying, laughter or blushing. Other physiological changes could be seen or sensed, such as changes in the diametre of our pupils or of the temperature of our fingertips, but we often do not pay attention to them and measuring such changes requires specialized devices. It has also been demonstrated that we are not very good at perceiving many of these physiological changes in ourselves. While we have all noticed our heart racing when in the heat of a passionate moment and seem to clearly remember certain examples of such instances, there is now reason to believe that such perceptions and the associated memories might frequently be incorrect (Rim , Philippot & Cisamolo 1990) and subject to systematical bias (Scheirs & Sijtsma 2001). Yet other physiological changes, such as the stroke volume of our heart, are also related to changes in emotional states, but we cannot observe them directly at all and need to use sophisticated devices to assess them. Thus, an expressive phenomenon, such as crying, and our perception of a related feeling state are but the visible tip of an iceberg that is the complex emotional process going on behind the scenes. We have no direct access to these processes. However, the present chapter will not deal with the feeling component of states such as grief or being moved. Instead, it will focus on the expressive phenomenon of crying and the apparently mysterious tears . Emotion scientists try to understand the phenomena they are interested in by applying a number of increasingly sophisticated devices and structured observation techniques in well-controlled laboratory conditions and in the real world. It is important to understand that common

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sense beliefs as to, metaphorically speaking, the size and the shape of the iceberg are most likely way off. Yet, despite our own limited insights, we do feel like experts. Consider the results of Ekman and O Sullivan (1991; see also Ekman, O Sullivan & Frank 1999). They investigated whether lay people and specialists, such as psychologists, judges or police officers could distinguish felt from false smiles. In this study participants saw different young women who apparently described a pleasant film they were watching. But while some saw indeed something pleasant, such as cute animals, others would see gruesome surgical procedures. So, could the participants distinguish between an authentic emotional expression and the fake ones? No, they could not – in fact, with the exception of secret service agents (!) all performed no better than chance. While this is an interesting finding in its own right, what is relevant for the present context is how sure the participants were of their judgements. It was quite obvious that people had a strong tendency to vastly overestimate their own skills in detecting fake expressions. In other words, scientific evidence suggests that we cannot trust our own feelings as to how well we are reading other people and situations. Feeling sure about our judgements is not at all related to how skilled we are in reality.1 It is with this cautionary note, as to the use of terminology and our own hubris when it comes to our beliefs of having direct insight into emotional processes, that I will address the deceptively simple question what crying actually is.

2. What is Crying? According to the current state of knowledge there are no animals besides humans that produce tears as a consequence of emotional processes. In the course of the phylogenetic development of terrestrial animals (amphibians, reptiles, birds, mammals) the secretion of tears developed as a mechanism to protect the surface of the sensitive eyes from injury by keeping them wet. In contrast, fish, living in a wet environment, do not possess lacrimal glands. However, there are such structures in seals, dolphins and whales (van Haeringen 2001). The production of tears is primarily triggered reflexively by mechanical, thermal or chemical stimuli. 1

There is reason to believe that it is actually quite positive to be bad at detecting deception and yet having confidence in our judgements. If we could catch every lie, the social consequences would be severe.

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There is no storage of tears; instead they are produced as needed (van Haeringen 2001). The composition of tears is different from species to species. However, even within a species there is some variance. We do know for example that the chemical composition of tears in humans changes over the course of the day. It should be noted that exact measurements of the quantity of tears and their composition are complicated by the properties of the methods employed to collect them. Interestingly, there is some evidence that emotional tears and those produced reflexively might differ regarding their composition (Frey, Desota, Johnson, Hoffman & McCall 1981). However, it is unclear whether tears of joy might differ in their composition from tears accompanying grief (van Haeringen 2001). The shedding of tears, crying, is characterized by a stereotypical multiphasic sequence of the coordinated action of several muscles. It is known that certain brain lesions can lead to uncontrollable bouts of crying, just as there are cases of uncontrollable laughter, which are not accompanied by a concordant subjective experience (in the context of pseudobulbar palsy; see Robinson & Manes 2000). This decoupling of expression and feeling suggests that certain emotional expressions can be interpreted as fixed action patterns (see also Rinn 1991: 12). Specifically, causes are bilateral lesions of the pyramidal tract superior to the nuclei of the facial nerve. Rinn (1991) points out that these structures are typically responsible for the voluntary control of expressive behaviour. Phylogenetically older brain areas can then trigger this regulatory deficit. There is also evidence for regulatory influences of frontal cortical areas on crying (Davidson & Fox 1989, cited in Harmon-Jones 2007: 141). Of course, crying in humans is frequently seen in the context of grief and sadness. In recent years we have learned much regarding the neural underpinnings of depression and depressed moods, particularly in the context of psychopharmacological studies. There is also relevant evidence pointing to crying in affiliative contexts (e. g. separation; see also Vingerhoets, Bylsma & Rottenberg 2009, in this volume). However, in the context of the present chapter it is not possible to give a satisfying treatment of these processes (see, for example, Panksepp 1998; Taylor & Gonzaga 2007). Instead, I will now focus on observable aspects of crying – specifically the frequency of its occurrence.

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3. The Frequency of Crying It is quite difficult to obtain reliable figures as to who cries when and how often without observing a sufficiently large group of people over a longer period of time – and doing so without interfering with the behaviour of those observed.2 Because this type of observation is not possible due to practical and also ethical concerns, most empirical studies on the frequency of crying have relied on self-reports in questionnaires or diaries (see Scheirs & Sijtsman 2001). These studies suggest that women cry significantly more often (see table 1 for a selection of US studies). Yet, this genderdifference cannot be shown in children. At present, it is not fully clear at what age this gender difference in crying manifests itself. Furthermore, there are reasons to assume that biological factors linked to physical changes in puberty play a role. Clearly, more studies are required, in particular those that allow a comparison of such developments across cultures. Table 1: Self-reported yearly crying frequency estimates of adult men and women on the Crying Frequency Questionnaire (CFQ) adapted from Hastrup & al. (2001: 58) Description of sample

Men Women

College students (Kraemer & Hastrup 1966): 181 men, 316 women

6.5

47.8

General public, ages 35 – 45 (Hastrup & al. 1986b): 83 men, 81 women

5.8

34.7

Parents of teenagers: 75 men, 145 women

5.5

29.3

School psychologists (Hastrup & al. 1986b): 33 men, 33 women 4.0

23.4

Psychology faculty (Hastrup & al. 1986b): 105 men, 110 women

4.8

19.5

*Clinical psychology practicioners (Trezza & al. 1988): 99 men, 120 women

18.1 26.0

*Older adults, ages 65 – 71 (Hastrup & al. 1986a): 20 men, 44 women

16.3 31.1

* gender difference in crying frequency significant except those marked with asterisk 2

Crying is mostly a private affair (see also the empirical results presented later in this section). The presence of observers would actually change the behaviour of all participants involved in most ongoing situations. This is not to say that people would cry less – in some cases they might be lead to cry more.

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There is evidence that males in western cultures, as of an age of approximately 13 years, manifest crying less often than females (Hastrup, Kraemer, Bornstein & Trezza 2001). This gender difference remains stable in adulthood. It is difficult to interpret findings as to potential differences at advanced ages because the available data are typically obtained in small samples and difficult to evaluate statistically. There also appears to be a tendency that women at an advanced age cry more often than men, at least in western cultures (see table 1). All studies strongly suggest considerable inter-individual differences in crying – in other words, any individual might deviate to a large degree from the means established over all participants of a study. Furthermore, there is some evidence that across cultures women manifest crying more frequently than men (Becht, Poortinga & Vingerhoets 2001), but this difference appears smaller in non-western societies (Fischer & Manstead 2000). However, the interpretation of such data is often complicated by a variety of methodological issues. As mentioned above, more research is needed on this question. Interestingly, the presentation of tears in men and women in the Homeric epic poems Iliad and Odyssey might not suggest such gender differences in archaic Greece (see Fçllinger 2009, in this volume; on historical changes in sadness expressions in the West, see also Barr-Zisowitz 22000). The results reported here are based on questionnaires that might introduce inaccuracies and biases. Specifically, in addition to the more general problems with remembering emotional episodes (see above) it is possible that societal rules, conventions, beliefs and taboos introduce systematic biases in self-report (see Sˇterbenc Erker 2009, in this volume). Frequently, crying is interpreted as a sign of weakness, and this is one major reason for it to be frequently regulated or controlled (Vingerhoets, Boelhouwer, van Tilburg & van Heck 2001; Bekker & Vingerhoets 2001). Consistent with these notions are findings that westerners are more likely to cry at home (75 %) and then more frequently when they are alone or with just one other person (66 %) than in the presence of more individuals (Vingerhoets & al. 2001). Interestingly, the time of day appears to play a role. At least in women instances of crying increase in frequency over the course of a day and reach a maximum later in the evening. However, it is not clear whether such a diurnal pattern is the consequence of mainly biological origins or rather the consequence of the particular structure of events as they occur over the course of the day (e. g. television in the evening or family conflicts) or perhaps an interaction of biological and ecological factors (Vingerhoets & al. 2001; Vingerhoets, Bylsma & Rottenberg 2009, in this volume). It is possible that the impact of certain biolog-

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ical factors on crying, such as the role of the menstrual cycle in women, is typically overestimated. However, such effects are much less prominent or even difficult to demonstrate with the empirical data that are available at present (see Eugster, Horsten & Vingerhoets 2001; Bekker & Vingerhoets 2001; van Haeringen 2001). In the laboratory, crying is often elicited via film clips (e. g. Rottenberg, Wilhelm, Gross & Gotlib 2003) or by using imagery methods (e. g. Hess, Kappas, McHugo, Lanzetta & Kleck 1992). In the latter study, the simple instruction to generate sadness was sufficient to elicit crying in some of the participants (college students) within less than a minute. They typically used thoughts related to the real or hypothetical death of a loved one or a pet to create such a state. The ease with which crying can be elicited under such rather artificial conditions is remarkable. 4. Theories of Crying 4.1 Darwin and Modern Emotion Research There is widespread agreement that the systematic scientific study of emotion must take into consideration the publication of Charles Darwin s The Expression of the Emotions in Man and Animals (1872). In the context of his evolutionary theory, Darwin argued that expressive behaviour in humans had precursors in animal behaviours developed over the course of phylogenetic development. Thus, data comparing human and animal behaviours was of particular importance to Darwin; it was central to his beliefs that there was little difference as to the expressions shown in different species and in humans (see Parr, Waller & Vick 2007). In part, the book was a response to Charles Bell (see Fridlund 1994) who had argued at the outset of the 19th century that emotional expression is a significant distinction between humans and animals and indirect proof of the design of the Creator. Darwin countered that expressive behaviours initially served some function other than signalling an affective state. Over the course of generations, Darwin believed, these behaviours would have been associated with particular states of mind and thus would acquire communicative meaning. This is the reason, he argued, that we can recognize today whether someone is enraged or delighted, despite the fact that these behaviours did not originally evolve to signal affect. The initial interest in Darwin s theory of emotion expression waned in the first half of the 20th century and was eventually replaced with a

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rather sceptical stance towards Darwin s observations and predications. If Darwin was right, then we should find the same expressive behaviours associated with particular emotional states universally, that is in all humans and in all cultures. Instead, first attempts at systematic cross-cultural observations suggested that there were large interindividual differences, and even within Europe or the USA there were huge differences in who shows what, when and how (see Cornelius 1996). Since the 1930s, interest in emotional processes declined completely in the context of Behaviourism that considered most psychological processes as irrelevant, initially based on practical and then philosophical considerations (Bargh & Ferguson 2000). Towards the late 1960s, things changed considerably as regards the importance of Darwin s theory of emotion expression. Paul Ekman, a psychologist at the University of California San Francisco, demonstrated in a series of studies that indeed humans in very remote parts of the world were able to identify a number of emotional expressions that had been posed by Americans and shown in the form of photographs (Ekman, Sorenson & Friesen 1969).3 Ekman and his colleagues also asked their participants in New Guinea, who had had almost no contact with any outsiders, to pose certain expressions someone would show in particular situations (intended to elicit specific emotions). These were photographed and shown to US participants, who again were able to recognize these expressions rather well (see Cornelius 1996; but also Russell 1994). While some aspects of these studies remain slightly controversial, they had an enormous impact on the scientific (and later also popular) interest in expressive behaviour. But how were these findings reconciled with the failures to find reliable expression patterns even within a single culture? Ekman acknowledged that there were strong cultural influences on what display might be appropriate in which context and proposed, together with his colleague Wallace V. Friesen, the concept of display rules (Ekman & Friesen 1969; see also Kappas 2003). Ekman s important insight was to recognize that expressive behaviour is regulated by two processes. The first process is biological in origin and relates to genetically determined patterns of expression of a small number of emotions that are shown spontaneously. The second process relates to conventions that are communicated socially at different levels, from the first days of interaction between a caregiver and an infant. The assumption is that these rules are quickly 3

Ekman included photographs of faces portraying sadness, but these did not show any tears.

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learned by feedback and observation and shape or may even replace spontaneous displays. Display rules may differ across groups at different levels of complexities (e. g. family, friends, companies) and ultimately across cultures. Ekman summarized these notions in his neuro-cultural model that is at present the most influential theory concerning the expression of emotions, despite certain shortcomings and disagreements between researchers (see Kappas 2003; Russell, Bachorowski & Fern ndez-Dols 2003; Russell & Fern ndez-Dols 1997). Ekman s empirical studies using objective measurements suggested that spontaneous and controlled expressions combine to the types of displays that we see every day. Also the observations of anthropologists in different cultures that seemed initially at odds with Darwin s predictions could be explained within Ekman s theoretical framework. Despite the fact that there are reasonable questions as to some of the assumptions of Ekman and his collaborators (see Kappas 2003, Kappas & Desc teaux 2003), there is a wide agreement that the consideration of biological, social and cultural contributors to emotional expressions is a prerequisite to an understanding of the phenomenon of emotion. Thus, understanding emotions is not something psychological approaches alone can achieve, but interdisciplinary collaboration between the natural sciences, the social sciences and the humanities is required. This approach is consistent with the notion of social neuroscience in its wider definition (see Kappas 2002). For example, depending on the methodological assumptions, observations tend to emphasize intercultural differences or commonalities. Thus, while particularly anthropologists had argued that certain emotions, or even the concept of emotions itself has a rather different meaning in different cultures (see also Fçgen 2009, in this volume), it rather appears to be more plausible that socially mediated cultural influences have a considerable influence within the biological constraints that are shared among all humans. Depending on the culture, emotions will find an expression at a particular time and in a particular context – but always within the boundary conditions that biology sets (see Shweder & Sullivan 1993). 4.2 Darwin and Crying While certain expressions discussed by Darwin, such as the smile, have been much studied (Kappas 2003, Parr & al. 2007), crying is still something of an enigma. Why would this be the case? Darwin already observed that crying is an exception to the principles he proposed to explain expressive behaviour in humans and animals. He could not identify clear

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precursors to emotional crying in animal behaviour, nor could he identify a clear function of human crying. In his attempt to understand emotional expressions, Darwin had also collected highly detailed descriptions of the conditions of the occurrence of tears (Darwin 1872: 152): “Infants whilst young do not shed tears or weep, as is well known to nurses and medical men. This circumstance is not exclusively due to the lacrymal glands being as yet incapable of secreting tears. I first noticed this fact from having accidentally brushed with the cuff of my coat the open eye of one of my infants, when seventy-seven days old, causing this eye to water freely; and though the child screamed violently, the other eye remained dry, or was only slightly suffused with tears. A similar slight effusion occurred ten days previously in both eyes during a screaming-fit. The tears did not run over the eyelids and roll down the cheeks of this child, whilst screaming badly, when 122 days old. This first happened 17 days later, at the age of 139 days.”

This observation surprised Darwin (1872: 153): “The fact of tears not being shed at a very early age from pain or any mental emotion is remarkable, as, later in life, no expression is more general or more strongly marked than weeping. When the habit has once been acquired by an infant, it expresses in the clearest manner suffering of all kinds, both bodily pain and mental distress, even though accompanied by other emotions, such as fear or rage.”

Darwin ultimately argued that the secretion of tears might be a function of the contraction of the sphincter muscle Orbicularis Oculi that surrounds the eye. However, in the adult the actual activation of this muscle would not be required, he assumed, to activate the lacrimal glands. He believed that the production of tears would serve, by habit, to a reduction of nervous energy and thus palliate negative bodily states. The hypothesis of a cathartic function of weeping resembles the hydraulic model that was to be formulated years later in the context of psychoanalytic theory (see Rottenberg & al. 2003; see also Vingerhoets, Bylsma & Rottenberg 2009, in this volume). However, Darwin could not find a specific function in the tears themselves. This happened only in the second half of the 20th century when Montagu (1959) and later Frey (Frey, Hoffman-Ahern, Johnson, Lykken & Tuason 1983; Frey 1985) attributed direct biological functions to the tears. Yet, neither Montagu s idea that tears might prevent the drying up of mucous tissues in emotional conditions, nor Frey s notion that tears serve to expel toxic substances from the body have found empirical support. Frijda (1986: 54) commented that Darwin was neither convincing in his explanation of crying, nor did Darwin seem to be convinced himself. Frijda, one of the most influential emotion

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Figure 1: In The Expression of the Emotions in Man and Animals (1872) Darwin used photographs to illustrate his arguments.

theorists of the second half of the 20th century believes that so far there has been no convincing explanation for the function of (emotional) tears. They remain enigmatic. 4.3 Cry and Feel Better! Or Perhaps Not? Several theoretical models focus on the assumption that one feels better after weeping, a notion that is also shared by common wisdom . Within clinical psychology this na ve theory (Vingerhoets, Cornelius, van Heck & Becht 2000) has been adapted by several psychoanalytical models as well as by cognitive approaches (see Kottler & Montgomery 2001). Thus, crying is not only seen as a symptom, but as an important element within a grieving process. In other words, weeping is not only a consequence of grief, but serves particular functions. If this expression is suppressed, for example due to shame or fear of the reactions of the immediate social environment, it is assumed that an important stage of grief work is not experienced. Thus, in the sense of cathartic models, energy is accumulated that can have dysfunctional consequences for the grieving

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individual. In other words, one needs to let out one s emotions – inhibition would have seriously negative effects. Empirical research in the laboratory seems to contradict these notions. Instead, it appears that crying actually might lead, at least within the short range of time observed under these controlled instances, to an increase of negative affect (Gross, Frederickson & Levenson 1994). Of course, there is much to criticize with such, somewhat artificial, studies (Kappas 2008). The question to what degree results obtained under these particular conditions have sufficient ecological validity to illuminate processes as they occur in real life situations is justified. Thus, the question of whether crying indeed helps to feel better cannot be answered today. Here, again, more research is necessary. 4.4 Crying as Communication and Interaction The communicative function of crying is most likely the most obvious. At the outset of this chapter I gave two examples, the daughter who had hurt herself and the grieving neighbour. In both cases tears serve as an invitation to act. While in children tears are supplemented by widely audible vocalizations, in adults there is often no audible component to crying – an observation already reported by Darwin. However, even without vocalizations, crying is a powerful elicitor of empathic reactions; it typically provides a motivation to address and comfort the crying person. Fridlund (e. g. 1994) argues that the expression here is a consequence of a social motivation to obtain support. It is important to emphasize that Fridlund s concept of social motivation does not imply a conscious reflection by the expresser, but that this motivation might be genetically provided. Thus, it would not be required to learn via reinforcement that crying will motivate others in the immediate social environment to help, since this knowledge is part of our shared genetic heritage. It is plausible that crying has different meanings in different contexts or is interpreted in different ways. Kottler and Montgomery (2001) argue that crying will be interpreted at times as a sign of giving up or surrender – just as the very different message of “let me alone”. In this sense, crying can be understood as a regulator of interpersonal distance (consider also the discussion regarding Bowlby s theory of infant behaviour in Plutchik 1980: 314; Vingerhoets, Bylsma & Rottenberg 2009, in this volume). The problem of such notions is that plausibility alone does not make a scientific argument. It is perhaps possible to demonstrate such functions empirically, but even if this could be shown it would not be proof that this reg-

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ulatory function is the origin or cause of crying. Of course this is a problem of most evolutionary approaches to explain behaviour (see Kappas 2002). In summary, it can be assumed that crying has biological origins and can then gain new meanings and functions within a specific social-historical context. This notion is increasingly relevant in the context of social constructivist approaches to emotions (see Shweder & Sullivan 1993; Kottler & Montgomery 2001). There is an increasing interest in emotion science towards integrative models that try to disentangle the complex interactions of biological and cultural influences on behaviour. The final section of this brief overview of theories relating to crying will focus on some such approaches. 4.5 Integrative Models According to Kottler and Montgomery (2001: 14), “any truly comprehensive theory of weeping must take into account” a list of 10 factors they propose. It is noteworthy that not all functions they refer to are served by every single crying episode. So for example, in a given episode crying might serve to regulate interpersonal distance, while in a different episode crying might serve cathartic functions to reduce arousal. In their approach they are bridging biological aspects, as well as psychological and cultural levels of analysis in the sense of a social neuroscience approach as mentioned above. They propose the following factors (Kottler & Montgomery 2001: 14): (1) “Biochemical, endocrine, and neurological mechanisms of the body that affect the threshold for weeping. (2) Individual differences in the temperament, personality, and psychological health and maturity. (3) Situational precipitants and environmental stimuli that tap into issues from the past or trigger sentimental/tragic/joyful reminiscences. (4) Cognitive interpretations or personal narratives that lead one to interpret reality steeped in emotional activation. (5) Social and interactional responses to the first weeping cues, reinforcing or discouraging continued crying. (How do others respond? Does it draw people closer or push them away?) (6) Setting in time, place, circumstances, and others present. (What are the norms for the particular setting? Is the person alone or with others?) (7) Functional benefits or secondary gains that accrue as a result of crying behaviour. (What impact does it have on others? To what extent does it meet needs and gain desired outcomes?)

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(8) Culturally-influenced communication messages, both symbolic and overt. (If the tears could speak, what would they say?) (9) Gender scripts and contextual cues that predispose people to cry or not to cry. (10)Unconscious influences, whether dynamic or systemic, that might be regulating the crying behaviour.”

While the list of factors that Kottler and Montgomery (2001) enumerate is extensive, chances are that it is not even exhaustive. Yet, due to the different levels of analysis addressed, a quick read might evoke the notion of a shopping list of processes that are unrelated. This, of course, is not the case. It is rather a consequence of the complexity of factors contributing to whether someone cries or not, who cries, whether crying can be controlled and so forth (see also Fox & Calkins 2003, Diamond & Aspinwall 2003). The challenge, as in any multi-level analysis of behaviour is how the different levels interact, and how an understanding of multiple levels goes beyond what single-level analyses can contribute (see also Kappas 2002). Different approaches, such as Miceli and Castelfranchi (2003), emphasize what different episodes of crying have in common. They argue that, regardless of the various context parameters that might differ from one bout of weeping to another, there is always a certain anticipated, manifest or past frustration involved. This frustration is associated with an attempt to resist and yet feel helpless – a state that typically results in giving in to the frustration. This aspect of giving in was already described by Frijda (1986) and could possibly explain why tears can also be observed in situations that can be characterized as being extremely positive and not only those that are negative. Vingerhoets & al. (2000; see also Vingerhoets, Bylsma & Rottenberg 2009, in this volume) suggest a process model that encompasses many of the factors raised above. The origin of crying is seen as a complex interaction of psychobiological, cognitive and social processes. The underlying emotional states are elicited via evaluative processes, so-called appraisals (see Kappas 2001). It is important to note that, from the inception of appraisal theory, such processes are postulated to be both automatic and outside of awareness, as well as effortful (Kappas 2006). This is of particular importance when trying to assess which types of appraisals might have triggered a particular bout of crying. While some appraisals might be conscious, others are not and the person might not have access to them at all. This poses limits to the usefulness of self-reports. It is possible

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that in these cases, self-reports reflect commonly held beliefs – just as we might interpret the fact that someone else starts to cry as an indication of a particular appraisal, the same is true in trying to assess our own reasons to cry. This problem was already hinted at in the first section (“Why do we cry?”). According to Vingerhoets and his colleagues (2000), appraisals trigger particular emotion programs that involve physiological, subjective and behavioural components that can be modulated to some degree independently from each other in the sense of attenuating or amplifying effects. There is not a single but several appraisals that might trigger crying; this also relates to interindividual differences. Part of the associated physiological reaction is the activation of the two branches (sympathic, parasympathic) of the autonomic nervous system (ANS). Whether this activation leads to manifest crying is again influenced by interindividual differences, such as differences in personality or temperament as well as context factors. One particularly interesting and important element of their theory is the assumption that crying has a feedback function on the situation and changes it dynamically.

5. Conclusion Such models, in the rather brief sketches provided here, help to structure the accumulated mass of quantitative data and lead to more specific theoretical proposals to explain crying. They stimulate further research. Yet, it has to be said that, compared to other emotional states or behaviours, much still has to be learned. We have not yet been able to unravel the mystery of the tears that poets and playwrights have tackled for thousands of years. And yet, there should be no fear that a scientific understanding of crying would ever challenge our personal experience or an artistic expression of crying. Matters of the heart are not affected by understanding how and why blood is pumping in our veins. A single tear might remain as powerful in interaction as ever, even if we know its composition and origin.

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Pierre Philippot, Erik J. Coats & Robert S. Feldman (eds.), Nonverbal Behavior in Clinical Settings, New York & Oxford, 45 – 74. Kottler, Jeffrey A. & Marilyn J. Montgomery (2001): Theories of crying. In: Ad J. J. M. Vingerhoets & Randolph R. Cornelius (eds.), Adult Crying. A Biopsychological Approach, Hove, 1 – 17. Miceli, Maria & Cristiano Castelfranchi (2003): Crying. Discussing its basic reasons and uses. In: New Ideas in Psychology 21, 247 – 273. Montagu, Ashley (1959): Natural selection and the origin and evolution of weeping in man. In: Science 130, 1572 – 1573. Panksepp, Jaak (1998): Affective Neuroscience. The Foundations of Human and Animal Emotions, New York & Oxford. Parr, Lisa A., Bridget M. Waller & Sarah J. Vick (2007): New developments in understanding emotional facial signals in chimpanzees. In: Current Directions in Psychological Science 16, 117 – 122. Plutchik, Robert (1980): Emotion. A Psychoevolutionary Synthesis, New York. Rim , Bernard, Pierre Philippot & Daniela Cisamolo (1990): Social schemata of peripheral changes in emotion. In: Journal of Personality and Social Psychology 59, 38 – 49. Rinn, William E. (1991): Neuropsychology of facial expression. In: Robert S. Feldman & Bernard Rim (eds.), Fundamentals of Nonverbal Behavior, Cambridge, 3 – 30. Robinson, Robert G. & Facundo Manes (2000): Elation, mania, and mood disorders. Evidence from neurological disease. In: Joan C. Borod (ed.) The Neuropsychology of Emotion, Oxford, 239 – 268. Rottenberg, Jonathan, Frank H. Wilhelm, James J. Gross & Ian H. Gotlib (2003): Vagal rebound during resolution of tearful crying among depressed and nondepressed individuals. In: Psychophysiology 40, 1 – 6. Russell, James A. (1994): Is there universal recognition of emotion from facial expression? A review of the cross-cultural studies. In: Psychological Bulletin 115, 102 – 141. Russell, James A. & Jos -Miguel Fern ndez-Dols (1997): What does a facial expression mean? In: James A. Russell & Jos -Miguel Fern ndez-Dols (eds.), The Psychology of Facial Expression, Cambridge, 3 – 30. Russell, James A., Jo-Anne Bachorowski & Jos -Miguel Fern ndez-Dols (2003): Facial and vocal expressions of emotion. In: Annual Review of Psychology 54, 329 – 349. Scheirs, Jan G. M. & Klaas Sijtsma (2001): The study of crying. Some methodological considerations and a comparison of methods for analyzing questionnaires. In: Ad J. J. M. Vingerhoets & Randolph R. Cornelius (eds.), Adult Crying. A Biopsychological Approach, Hove, 277 – 298. Shweder, Richard A. (1992): You re not sick, you re just in love. Emotion as an interpretive system. In: Paul Ekman & Richard J. Davidson (eds.), The Nature of Emotion. Fundamental Questions, New York & Oxford, 32 – 44. Shweder, Richard A. & Maria A. Sullivan (1993): Cultural psychology. Who needs it? In: Annual Review of Psychology 44, 497 – 523.

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Sˇterbenc Erker, Darja (2009): Women s tears in ancient Roman ritual. In: Thorsten Fçgen (ed.), Tears in the Graeco-Roman World, Berlin & New York, 135 – 160. Taylor, Shelley E. & Gian C. Gonzaga (2007): Affiliative responses to stress. A social neuroscience model. In: Eddie Harmon-Jones & Piotr Winkielman (eds.), Social Neuroscience. Integrating Biological and Psychological Explanations of Social Behavior, New York, 454 – 473. van Haeringen, Nico J. (2001): The (neuro)anatomy of the lacrimal system and the biological aspects of crying. In: Ad J. J. M. Vingerhoets & Randolph R. Cornelius (eds.), Adult Crying. A Biopsychological Approach, Hove, 19 – 36. Vingerhoets, Ad J. J. M., Randolph R. Cornelius, Guus L. van Heck & Marleen C. Becht (2000): Adult crying. A model and review of the literature. In: Review of General Psychology 4, 354 – 377. Vingerhoets, Ad J. J. M., A. Jan W. Boelhouwer, Miranda A. L. van Tilburg & Guus L. van Heck (2001): The situational and emotional context of adult crying. In: Ad J. J. M. Vingerhoets & Randolph R. Cornelius (eds.), Adult Crying. A Biopsychological Approach, Hove, 71 – 89. Vingerhoets, Ad J. J. M., Lauren M. Bylsma & Jonathan Rottenberg (2009): Crying. A biopsychosocial phenomenon. In: Thorsten Fçgen (ed.), Tears in the Graeco-Roman World, Berlin & New York, 439 – 475. Wierzbicka, Anna (1999): Emotions Across Languages and Cultures, Paris & Cambridge.

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Crying: A Biopsychosocial Phenomenon Ad J. J. M. Vingerhoets, Lauren M. Bylsma & Jonathan Rottenberg Abstract: This contribution describes the present state of research and theory concerning human crying. Different theories originating from various disciplines and perspectives are briefly summarized. In addition, we provide insight into the development of crying behaviour from early childhood to adulthood. We further present a comprehensive model of adult crying, which conceptualizes crying as a complex interaction of psychobiological, cognitive and social processes. The model differentiates between eliciting factors, which may be real events, memories or thoughts that trigger crying, from predisposing factors that influence one s vulnerability to cry. In addition, the model distinguishes between the possible effects of the act of crying itself on the individual and the indirect effects brought about by the reactions of the social environment, which may offer support or disapproval. Special attention is devoted to the explanation of gender differences in crying and whether crying improves mood and health.

1. Introduction When compared to the large scientific literature on emotion, surprisingly little is known about crying. When one scans through the growing number of specialized journals that cover emotion, only rarely does an article reveal new theories or findings concerning crying. One will look in vain in indices of the major textbooks on emotions for terms such as crying, weeping or tears. Searching literature databases with these terms mainly yield studies among infants. Crying in adults remains largely unexplored. Crying can best be defined as a complex secretomotor response that has as its most important characteristic the shedding of tears from the lacrimal apparatus, without any irritation of the ocular structures. It is often accompanied by alterations in the muscles involved in facial expression, vocalizations and in some cases sobbing – the convulsive inhaling and exhaling of air with spasms of the respiratory and truncal muscle groups (Patel 1993). The shedding of emotional tears is a universal, typically and uniquely human way of expressing emotions. It permeates our lives from the very

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beginning (“the primal scream”) until the end, when we die. During the course of our lives, our most important emotional events without exception are typically accompanied by tearfulness, whether they be positive (e. g. weddings, the birth of a child or successful performances) or negative events (e. g. loss of beloved persons or cherished goods, or failing important events). However, as we will see later, most crying actually occurs in reaction to trivial and even fatuous events. This implies that, in addition to the event that elicited the crying, other factors, such as individual differences and situational characteristics, also play an important role in crying behaviour. A first remarkable aspect of weeping1 is that, like blushing, this emotional expression appears to be unique to homo sapiens. Although one can read occasionally about crying in non-human animals, more systematic data, including interviews with veterinarians, zoologists, directors of zoos and animal trainers (Frey 1985), suggest that the evidence that nonhuman animals shed emotional tears is weak at best. Another notable aspect of crying is that it co-occurs with several qualitatively different emotions. While we only feel the butterflies in our stomach when we are in love and the trembling of our knees when we experience fear, crying and blushing, in contrast, seem to be associated with a wide variety of emotions, even opposite in valence. The current contribution gives an overview of contemporary knowledge concerning crying. We will first discuss the different scientific conceptions of crying that can be identified in the scientific literature. Subsequently, the focus will be on the nature of crying and why only humans shed emotional tears. Subsequently, we will address crying in infants and its developmental aspects, as well as gender differences. Next, we will explain the biopsychosocial model of crying introduced by Vingerhoets, Cornelius, Van Heck and Becht (2000) and its different components: antecedents, moderators, and the intra- and inter-individual consequences. We will conclude by emphasizing the need for further research and put forth some suggestions.

1

Although there may be some subtle differences between the terms, we will use here the terms “crying” and “weeping” as synonyms.

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2. Scientific Conceptions There have been a remarkably large number of theories of crying, which can be classified in many ways. For example, theories may be qualified according to their backgrounds, which may include ethological, anthropological, psychological, psychoanalytic, physiological or biochemical. Alternatively, Borgquist (1906) was the first to emphasize a global distinction between theories that focus on the communicative function of crying and its effects on the environment and theories stressing the psychobiological aspects of crying and its potential effects on an individual s physical and mental well-being. A distinction can be made between reductionist theories, in which crying is reduced to its supposed physiological or biological essence (cf. Darwin 1872, Frey 1985, Montagu 1959), and “ecological” views of shedding tears, which recognize that crying is not merely a response of the lacrimal glands, but rather a response of the whole individual, in all its physiological, behavioural, cognitive and social complexity (cf. Reynolds 1924). Other theories may be labelled as psychoanalytic (e. g. Heilbrunn 1955; see also Kottler 1996, Lçfgren 1966, Sachs 1973) or psychological/cognitive (e. g. Efran & Spangler 1979, Labott & Martin 1988). Darwin (1872), probably the most prominent exponent of the reductionists, considered tears as a, more or less, useless accompaniment to muscular contractions around the eyes. These contractions serve a protective function of preventing the facial muscles, especially around the eyes, from becoming too engorged with blood. Just like blushing, tears were thus also regarded by Darwin as an exception to the rule that purposeless behaviour and body structures are not maintained during the course of evolution. On the other hand, Darwin acknowledged that crying is helpful, at least for small children, to attract the attention of caregivers when in distress. In addition, he noted that crying might be helpful in bringing relief “in much the same way as writhing of the whole body, the grinding of the teeth, and the uttering of the piercing shrieks, all give relief when one is in intense pain” (Darwin 1872: 175). Following Darwin s ideas closely, Montagu (1959, 1981) hypothesized that tear production originated as a protective mechanism, preventing a rapid drying out of the mucous membranes of the nose and throat. Since tears also contain the antibacterial enzyme lysozyme, Montagu posited that the capacity to cry with tears has reduced the risk of contracting upper respiratory infections, and in that way, has contributed to the survival of our species.

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A more recent variant of reductionist views has been proposed by the American biochemist William Frey, who is a pioneer in modern crying research. Frey s (1985) focus on the biochemical aspects of crying sharply contrasts with many of the (social) psychological models of crying. In his opinion, the main function of crying is the removal of toxic waste products that build up when people are in distress. Frey further postulated that the removal of these substances has an effect on one s mental state. In other words, crying is thus conceived of as an active excretory process which helps to detoxify the body (with tear glands as equivalents of the kidneys) resulting in a better mood. Psychoanalysts have also been active in proposing theories of crying, though these theories have been less useful for empiricists since they are difficult to test. For example, Heilbrunn (1955) argued that crying symbolizes regression to an intrauterine state. This author additionally emphasized the symbolic extension of crying from washing away painful irritants by tears to washing away painful states of the individual. Others (see Kottler 1996) have regarded crying as a compensatory defense against other internal drives such as the discharge of aggressive or sexual impulses (Lçfgren 1966, Sachs 1973). Of special interest, and probably the best known of psychoanalytic theories of crying, is the notion that crying is a kind of hydraulic/overflow process, comparable to a “safety valve” (e. g. Breuer & Freud 1968 [1895], Koestler 1964, Sadoff 1966). In this view, tears represent the overflowing of emotions that have passed a critical level, preventing the excessive build-up of emotions. The process of crying thus drains off energy mobilized during distress. Also drawing upon the idea that tears represent a release of tension, Crile (1915) and Bindra (1972) both conceptualized tears as reflecting emotions and feelings that cannot be resolved through actions but can be relieved only in biological processes that result in an overflow of tears. Tears are therefore considered as serving to discharge tension in situations where the individual is not able to cope adequately. Interestingly, the idea of the safety valve corresponds well to the concept of displacement behaviour in animals, which also has been thought to result from energy originating from a different source that is blocked from its normal expression (Kortmulder 1998, Troisi 2002). Animal displacement behaviours, such as grooming activities, scratching and yawning, have also been hypothesized to serve a communicative function to other members of the species, as well as to relax tension in the individual (e. g. by the release of endogeneous opioids). A major difference, however, is that displacement activities involve “normal” behaviours, which are functional

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when conducted in the appropriate context, whereas crying is a special behaviour that seems to be designed for certain specific conditions. A number of theorists have stressed the communicative functions of crying. For example, Kottler (1996) regarded crying as a specific method of interaction with the environment, with an emphasis on communication, even drawing a parallel with language. In this reasoning, tears are considered powerful communicative signals which may have many different meanings (see also Collins 1932). A number of authors, including Kottler (1996) and Roes (1990), argue that crying in infants, and perhaps in adults as well, mobilizes help from others in emergencies (see Hendriks, Nelson, Cornelius & Vingerhoets 2008 for a review). Nelson s (2005) conceptualization of crying as an attachment behaviour that is maintained throughout one s adult life also converges on the theme of crying as communication. Also relevant to the communicative function of crying, Frijda (1986) considers crying as a sign of helplessness and powerlessness. According to this view, the person expresses his or her willingness to surrender and to give up through crying, akin to the symbolic white flag. Central in this view is the notion that crying indicates the person s inability to cope with the situation. Interestingly, the British philosopher Thomas Hobbes voiced similar views as early as 1650 (see Lutz 1999). In addition, as just discussed, both Crile (1915) and Bindra (1972) view crying as a way to release energy that cannot be worked out behaviourally. Frijda further emphasizes the social interactive aspects of crying in that shedding tears may help to strengthen the mutual bonds between people and induce sympathy, empathy and comfort. Although crying generally draws others in, crying also has the potential to elicit strong negative reactions and irritation from others, when it is perceived as a form of a manipulation (Frijda 1997). Some perspectives have emphasized that crying not only transmits information but also can be a powerful manipulative behaviour that influences others in one s social environment. For example, Roes (1990) suggested that the sight of tears may inhibit impulses of potential aggressors. There is some speculation that this may be related to the fact that crying adults look more like infants. Indeed, within ethology, the “Kinderschema” has been found to be powerful in strengthening the bond between parent and child and evoking feelings of tenderness (cf. Eibl-Eibesfeldt 1997). A number of theories of crying strongly emphasize the role of cognition in the antecedents and consequences of crying episodes. For example, Efran and Spangler (1979), in their two-factor theory, propose that crying

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results from a reappraisal of the factors that induce arousal, leading to a resolution of emotional conflict. Two factors take a central position in this theory: (1) the induction of arousal, which causes an imbalance in emotional equilibrium; and (2) an event or cognitive reappraisal facilitating the recovery of emotional equilibrium. Crucial to this theory is the transition from arousal to recovery. Tears are hypothesized to flow specifically in the second phase of this process (i. e. during the phase of recovery or tension reduction). The onset of crying is hypothesized to occur when the individual feels that the worst is over. This point in a crying episode may be manifested in the body when parasympathetic activity replaces sympathetic arousal. In conclusion, there are a large number of different theories of crying, which appear to touch upon disparate aspects of this complex phenomenon. Indeed, one problem in this area of research concerns the lack of an integrative theory. With this goal in mind, Vingerhoets & al. (2000) presented a comprehensive, biopsychosocial model of crying. This model differentiates between “eliciting” factors, which may be real events, memories or thoughts that trigger crying, as well as “predisposing” factors determining one s crying threshold. In addition, the model distinguishes between the possible effects of the act of crying itself on the individual and the indirect effects brought about by the reactions of the social environment, which may offer support or disapproval. Because the model presented by Vingerhoets & al. (2000) may have utility for guiding research on crying, it will be discussed in more detail below. Before turning to this model, however, we will briefly overview the nature of crying, its possible uniqueness as a human behaviour and how the behaviour develops in humans.

3. The Nature of Crying When studying crying, one basic and fundamental question is whether there are qualitatively different kinds of crying. Some authors (e. g. Nelson 2005; Ryde, Friedrichsen & Strang 2007; Williams & Morris 1996) make such distinctions. From a psychophysiological point of view, this does not make any sense. Just as there are no different kinds of sweating, goose flesh or blushing, there are also no different kinds of crying. The example of sweating is of particular interest, because the tear glands have been proposed to have evolved from specialized sweat glands. Thus, in some sense, crying is a kind of excessive sweating of the eyes.

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One way that crying be physiologically differentiated is if there are differences in the biochemical composition of the tears in different crying situations. Indeed, Frey and his colleagues (1981) have reported that emotional tears contain more protein than irritant tears (e. g. evoked by onions). However, our attempts to replicate that finding with modern, much more sensitive assay methods have been unsuccessful. But if the biochemical composition of these two kinds of tears do differ, one might further examine whether tears seemingly associated with different emotions (crying for positive versus negative reasons) also differ in composition, or if the tears shed by depressed individuals, or others suffering from psychopathology, differ from the tears of healthy individuals. However, if one defines crying in a broader sense, including the behavioural aspects, it may be possible to differentiate between different types of crying, although it might be difficult to make a distinction between quantitative and qualitative differences. Most compelling to us is the distinction made by the American social worker Judith Nelson (2005), who distinguishes two or three qualitatively different types of crying with different functions. Basing herself on John Bowlby s (1960, 1961, 1980) attachment theory, Nelson considers crying to be an attachment behaviour that is maintained throughout adulthood. According to her theory, crying is basically designed to signal to others that we are in distress and need help and care. The central idea is that, when an adult experiences loss (e. g. the death of a close one or a romantic break up), the stages of grief globally parallel the reactions to traumatic separations in infancy, identified by Bowlby. The first phase is characterized by loud, persistent screams aimed at undoing the event that triggered the crying and restoring the lost or threatened person or object. This protest crying is very loud and irritating, making it an urgent signal unlikely to be missed. The aim is clear: to let everybody know that one is not happy with the separation, and one should fix the situation by being immmediately reunited. In contrast, the second phase is characterized by sad crying, which functions for another purpose: shaping new attachment bonds after a loss. This type of crying predominantly signals a state of helplessness. It occurs when all efforts to undo the situation were in vain and the child feels powerless and involves a more silent and chaste crying. This is the kind of crying that evokes our sympathy – it is especially designed to elicit pity, comfort and care. It is tempting to speculate that the exposure to this kind of crying stimulates the release of the hormone oxytocin in observers, which has been postulated to promote attachment and increase trust in others (e. g. Carter 1998; Zak, Kurzban & Matzner 2005). Finally, when there is no re-

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union with the lost object or person and no adequate replacement is available, the individual may reach a stage of detachment in which she or he no longer cries. Detached reactions to loss in adulthood are characterized by a lack of tears and represent extreme hopelessness, dejection and withdrawal, which are sometimes also associated with symptoms of severe depression and sadness (Nelson 2005, Vingerhoets & al. 2007). Future research should give more attention to this interesting idea of different kinds of attachment-related crying.

4. Crying as a Uniquely Human Behaviour As mentioned earlier, tearful crying for emotional reasons is likely unique to humans. The notion that crying is uniquely human is rather old. A remarkable demonstration of this conviction is the fact that in Renaissance Europe suspected witches and werewolves were requested to cry in order to prove their human nature. Those who failed to shed tears on demand were judged to be non-human or under the control of demons (cf. Ebersole 2000). It has been suggested that crying behaviour originates from the audiovisual communication system designed to maintain maternal-offspring contact, which can be observed in a variety of mammals. The so-called “separation cry” is thus considered perhaps the earliest and most basic mammalian vocalization, serving to promote and maintain contact between mother and child, as well as between members of an affiliated group. Separation cries (also referred to as isolation or distress cries) are produced by all mammals, sometimes in the ultrasonic domain (e. g. in the case of small rodents, probably as a protection against predators). This might also explain why in human infants physical separation from parents is an important determinant of crying, as well as why crying is highly prevalent in conditions such as separation anxiety and homesickness (Borgquist 1906, Thurber & Walton 2007, van Tilburg 2006). MacLean (1987), primarily through research on squirrel monkey vocalizations, examined the neurobiological foundations of crying, finding that the thalamocingulate division of the limbic system (the core of the emotional brain) has become increasingly important in the course of evolution for both crying and laughter. Despite common neurobiological origins shared with other animals, emotional tearing appears to be unique to homo sapiens.

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An intriguing question is why shedding tears for emotional reasons would be unique to humans. Evolutionary biologists (see Kottler 1996) developed the following explanation. In the course of the evolution, our brain started to grow rather rapidly, which at some point began to cause problems for the birthing process, because the skulls were becoming too large to pass through the birth canal. As a consequence, the gestational length would have been shortened in order to make birth possible without endangering the lives of the child and mother. In other words, according to this theory, humans are actually born prematurely. Indeed, compared to most other primates, we are for a very long time extremely helpless and dependent for our survival on others. Given this extended period of dependency, it is of utmost importance to utilize a behaviour that is very effective in alarming care providers and stimulating them to offer the necessary care or help. A bimodal signal, just as the alarm signals carried by emergency services, is probably most effective in this respect. Alternatively, as discussed before, Montagu (1959, 1981) has pointed to the positive effects of the transition of tearless to wet weeping for survival. 5. Crying in Infants In attachment theory, crying is considered an important attachment behaviour, with as its most important function promoting the physical presence of a care provider (Nelson 2005). Infants mainly cry not only when they experience pain or other discomfort (e. g. due to wet diapers, hunger, fatigue), but particularly when they are aware of the absence of the mother. In cultures where babies are carried continuously by the mothers, babies cry significantly less than in western cultures, where soon after birth they are physically separated from the parents and spend much of the time in separate rooms and carriages, lacking the physical contact with the mother. The crying of infants is probably more than just an alarm signal to elicit the attention and proximity of caregivers. Crying also carries information about the health of the infant. For example, some evidence indicates that the acoustical characteristics of sick infants crying differ significantly from those of healthy infants crying (Furlow 1997, Soltis 2004). Most notably, infants with a compromised health status (e. g. neurological disorders, disturbed metabolism and infectious diseases) cry at a higher pitch than normal babies. Whereas normal crying is in the range of

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300 – 600 Hz, crying of infants with health problems typically is in the over 600 Hz range (Furlow 1997). The crying signal thus provides the parents with information about the health status, or in evolutionary terms, the fitness, of the baby. In prehistoric times, this would be particularly relevant, because from an evolutionary point of view it does not make sense to invest time and energy in offspring that are unlikely to forward their genes to future generations. Although little human research has addressed this issue, Mann (1992) demonstrated in studies of twins that mothers react faster to the crying of healthy infants than of those with a compromised health status. To summarize, crying in human infants appears to have two major functions. First, it is a signal of distress (i. e. an alarm call) stimulating others to provide support. Second, crying serves as an indicator and source of information concerning the infant s health status and likelihood of future survival. 6. The Development of Crying in Children As infants grow into children and then adolescents, there are three important developments in crying behaviour: (1) a strong decrease in the crying frequency, (2) noticeable changes in the antecedents of crying that elicit tears, and (3) a remarkable differentiation between the sexes, with women becoming more frequent criers than men (Zeifman 2001). Since one of the main functions of infant crying is communication, it is understandable that there is a strong decrease in crying when the child develops other ways to express needs through speech. Indeed, as children grow older and can increasingly express themselves through language, there is a noticeable reduction in crying frequency. How crying subsequently develops during childhood is mostly unknown. Whereas there is ample research addressing several aspects of crying in infants, there is almost no research on crying during the pre-school years. With the development of cognitive processes and increasing awareness of the separateness of other human beings cognitions and emotions (i. e. “theory of mind”), there are major changes in the reasons for crying in children. Specifically, young children only cry for egocentric reasons (e. g. pain, separation, unfulfilled basic needs etc.). Later in their development, children may also cry due to anticipation of negative consequences from others (e. g. punishment after having told a lie), or, once they have developed the capacity to understand and identify with the emotions ex-

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perienced by other people, for empathic reasons. With advanced age, symbolic – in the broadest sense of the word – stimuli (e. g. poems, novels, films, music) become increasingly important as antecedents of crying. Among infants, males and females do not differ in how often they cry. If any difference exists in young children, boys rather than girls cry more often (Vingerhoets & Scheirs 2000). This may be related to the fact that boys more often suffer from (slight) neurological and physical disorders, which predispose them to experiencing more discomfort and distress, resulting in tears. In addition, boys are often more likely than girls to be involved in exploration of their surroundings and rough play, which puts them at greater risk of minor and major accidents and injuries. On the other hand, some research findings suggest that the crying threshold of female infants is generally lower than that of boys (see Delp & Sackeim 1987). The lack of data obtained during school-age years makes it difficult to ascertain exactly when the gender difference in crying frequency develops. Frey (1985) hypothesized that the gender difference manifests itself during puberty, with the onset of menstruation in adolescent girls, which is associated with increases in the hormone prolactin, which may lower the threshold to shed tears. However, the preliminary data that we have collected gives no clear indication that menarche is associated with a significant change in weeping behaviour: same-age menstruating and non-menstruating girls did not differ in reported crying frequency (van Tilburg, Unterberg & Vingerhoets 2002). This study further yielded data suggesting that the difference in crying between boys and girls develops before puberty. This would imply a role of not only biological, but also other (social and psychological) factors. During childhood there are also parental and peer influences that mould the child s crying behaviour. For example, boys may more likely be discouraged, or even ridiculed, by their parents and peers when they cry, whereas for girls, it is more tolerated and accepted when they let their tears go. Just as any other behaviour, crying is also subjected to the laws of operant conditioning, meaning that crying will occur more often in the future if it is rewarded or reinforced, whereas non-reinforcement or any negative consequences will reduce the frequency of crying. In a way, the anticipated harms and benefits of crying may help distinguish globally between two kinds of tears. First, there are tears which are shed in response to a particular emotional or painful event. In addition, tears may be shed because of the anticipated positive consequences (e. g. less anger in parents, sympathy, comfort). A final important factor for the de-

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velopment of crying concerns the individual s socialization and social learning processes, such as the kinds of situations and stimulation the child seeks versus the situations that are avoided (e. g. the choice of hobbies, professional interest, which books are read and which films and television programs are watched). Analyses of the antecedents of cying reveal that often there is a link with one s everyday activities (Vingerhoets, Boelhouwer, van Tilburg & van Heck 2001). Gradually, crying develops into the “adult” patterns for shedding tears. It is interesting to wonder whether these changes in frequency and antecedents of crying as children develop into adults also imply that the function of crying changes over time. Some authors suggest that the signal function of crying is maintained during one s lifetime (Nelson 2005), but clearly more comparative work is needed. For example, virtually no research has considered whether there are differences in the crying characteristics of healthy and sick adults. Nor are we aware of any studies analysing the acoustical features of adult crying and the extent to which these features are similar to, or different from, child and infant crying. On the other hand, the popular idea that crying serves cathartic purposes and helps to maintain one s emotional balance has primarily (if not to say exclusively) been proposed with reference to adults, and has not been tested in younger criers. In this respect, the popular literature seems to suggest that, during the course of development, crying acquires an important new function: catharsis. Later on, we will discuss this issue in depth.

7. Gender Differences in Adult Crying There is little doubt that women cry more frequently and generally for a longer duration than men. Vingerhoets and Scheirs (2000) have identified fourteen studies which apply different research methodologies comparing the crying of men and women. In every case, women reported crying more easily and more often than men. This has also been established in a rather unique study in which lacrimal flow was assessed when the participants were requested to generate imagery of sad or happy events in their lives and to re-experience the associated mood (Delp & Sackeim 1987). Both sexes reported lower mood in the sadness condition than in the elation condition. However, only in the females, lacrimal flow tended to increase following the negative mood induction and significantly decreased following the positive mood induction. Thus, these results strongly suggest that women have a lower threshold to shed tears.

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It is clear that women cry more readily than men; however, it is not clear why this is the case. In order to obtain a more complete understanding of the basis for this important sex difference in crying, it is useful to describe several different stages that are involved in the process of crying. More precisely, at least the following four aspects of crying deserve critical consideration when one wants to obtain a better insight into the background of group differences in crying in general, including gender differences: the exposure to emotional stimuli, appraisal of stimuli, social learning and crying threshold. First, one should ascertain to what extent there are differences in the exposure to emotional stimuli. Women are less reluctant than men to engage in emotional situations. Despite all emancipation, there are still typical “male” and “female” professions, with, generally spoken, the typically female professions (e. g. nursing) having a higher risk of exposure to emotional events. Furthermore, in leisure time, the sexes differ in the kind of stimulation they are interested in. For example, women may be more likely to watch tear jerkers or read sentimental novels or poems, while men prefer to spend their leisure time with watching and reading about other topics, such as sports, cars and computers (Kottler 1996). Second, the focus should be on possible differences in the appraisal of stimuli. For example, women may apply less filtering to emotional situations than men. More specifically, when being exposed to emotional stimulation, men are more inclined to use denial or distract themselves, attempting to reduce the emotional aspects. In other words, the differences in appraisal of stressors may explain gender differences in emotional reactions (see Lash, Gillespie, Eisler & Southard 1991). Third, there are possible differences in social learning. As already discussed, crying is reinforced (positively or negatively) by reactions of parents and peers. Ross and Mirowsky s (1984) study suggested the importance of adherence to traditional gender role patterns for crying behaviour in men. Specifically, men in more traditional roles appeared to cry less frequently than those who defined their gender role more flexibly. The willingness to cry during sadness was found to be high in women, intermediate in non-traditional men, and low in traditional men. Since there is a connection between educational level, socioeconomic status and less traditional role patterns, one may expect that highly educated men will cry more often. According to Kottler (1996), currently a reverse development can be seen in women in higher status occupations, who would be less prone to crying than women in general. Plas and HooverDempsey (1988) have provided preliminary data demonstrating that

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one s professional context may have a strong influence on whether or not one cries. Kottler (1996) further asserts that therapists and nurses are professionals who cry often, whereas engineers, stockbrokers, soldiers and doctors rarely cry. However, it is not clear to what extent these statements are based on systematic observations or are just personal impressions. Finally, there might be differences in biological make-up, including factors that influence the crying threshold. Given a certain stimulus, whether or not an individual will cry seems to largely depend on his or her antecedent physical and psychological state. For example, when one feels tired or is sleep-deprived, tears tend to flow more easily. The same probably holds when one has used certain drugs, e. g. cocaine (Zarkowski, Pasic, Russo & Roy-Byrne 2007) or when one is in distress due to a chronic psychological burden. In such conditions, even clearly insignificant stimuli might be sufficient to elicit tears. It is tempting to speculate that hormones (e. g. prolactin and testosterone) and neurotransmitters (e. g. serotonin, dopamine) play a significant role as determinants of our crying threshold. Moreover, there is evidence that sadness is associated with different brain structures in men and women (Schneider, Habel, Kessler, Salloum & Posse 2000), which perhaps may also partly explain differences in crying between men and women.

8. A Model of Adult Crying In the model of adult crying that we have developed, this behaviour is conceptualized as a complex interaction of psychobiological, cognitive and social processes (see Figure 1). Following cognitive models of emotion (e. g. Frijda 1988), we assume that emotions result from an individual s appraisal of memories and events in his or her environment. Appraisal refers to the process of judging the personal significance of events for good or ill (Arnold 1960). They are a function of objective physical and social features of situations, as well as of features of the individual. The latter include, among other things, one s current emotional state, goals and ambitions, previous experiences in similar situations, as well as evaluations of one s ability to cope with the situation (i. e. “secondary appraisal”). Emotions can be differentiated by the patterns of appraisal that initiate them (Frijda, Kuipers & Ter Schure 1989). For example, perceived injustice generally evokes feelings of anger, perceived losses are associated with sadness, and perceived threats most likely induce fear.

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Figure 1: A model of adult crying.

These appraisals put into motion what might be called emotion programs, which are patterned, biologically and socially-based collections of responses that include physiological, expressive, experiential and behavioural components, each of which may have functional significance (Nesse 1990). These components have been characterized by Gross and MuÇoz (1995) and others as response tendencies to highlight the fact that they may be modified or modulated (e. g. exaggerated, diminished or even entirely inhibited) before they are expressed as observable behaviour, self-reports of emotion or physiological changes. This modulation of emotion, in turn, may involve a variety of physiological, situational and personal factors. Because of this, the linkages among the various components of emotion in humans tend to be rather loose (see Averill 1980). Crying may be regarded as a physiological and expressive response that is typically elicited by a number of different cognitive appraisals (see below for a detailed discussion of the antecedents); however, in some cases, for example when listening to music, crying can occur with surprisingly little cognitive processing. Whether or not a person will cry when exposed to a particular emotional stimulus is further moderated by a number of personal (e. g. self-monitoring status, physical state, personality) and sociodemographic factors (e. g. gender, age) as well as a va-

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riety of situational factors (e. g. the presence of others who are crying, the salience of social norms concerning crying). Note that these moderating factors may also determine whether or not an individual will be confronted with certain emotional situations (e. g. in some cultures social rules require that one attends funerals of particular persons and expresses one s sadness in certain ways). Additionally, these same factors may influence one s appraisal processes (e. g. optimists probably will cry less frequently than pessimists, because they are less inclined to appraise events as negative or seriously threatening). So-called display rules, imposed by the culture one lives in, or the reactions of the social environment (e. g. disapproval inducing shame) may also be important regulators of the expression of emotions. A well-known example concerns the very specific ways to express sadness in certain non-western cultures. This is done, for example, not only by crying and screaming, but also by rubbing one s head with ashes, wearing burlap clothes, or denuding one s breast and beating on it. The act of crying subsequently may have an impact on the psychobiological processes in the crying individual him/herself and may facilitate physiological and psychological recovery, by as yet unknown mechanisms (see below). At the same time, crying is likely to elicit particular positive or negative reactions from the social environment (Cornelius 2001; Hendriks, Nelson, Cornelius & Vingerhoets 2008). According to the model, these reactions from others may have consequences at three different levels. First, it may alter the objective characteristics of the situation (e. g. by eliciting sympathy or reducing aggression in an antagonist during an argument). In addition, crying may result in increased cognitive support, by its effects on primary and secondary appraisal (e. g. when the crying individual is made aware that one can also look at the situation from a different perspective and that his/her current appraisal of the situation is not justified). Finally, physical comforting behaviours (such as the arm around one s shoulder), kind words and other signs of empathy and understanding may directly influence one s emotional state. In short, crying is an emotional response that basically can be conceptualized in much the same way as any other emotional expression. This raises the crucial question regarding which specific elements of crying make crying different from other emotional expressions. One aspect seems to stand out in this regard: its presumed association with qualitatively different emotions. However, this also holds for blushing which is associated with embarrassment as well as unwanted or unjustified positive attention (Leary, Britt, Cutlip & Templeton 1992) and, concerning crying, the inability to act behaviourally may be the common element

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in all conditions that trigger the onset of tears. But on the other hand, crying is probably unique because of its ontological development and the notable impact of the cultural environment, although in that respect it is important to make a distinction between ritual crying in a public setting and the crying alone in one s private home (Good-Delvecchio & Good 1988). Following our model, the remainder of this article will focus on the antecedents and the consequences of crying as well as some of the moderating factors that influence this behaviour.

9. Antecedents of Crying When examining the antecedents of crying, there are at least two important types of antecedents to consider: (1) events and situations or (2) feelings. To gain purchase on this issue, we asked study participants to remember their last crying episode and to report both what happened and how they felt. In addition, we collected information about the context, including place, time and presence of others. Findings using these methods are summarized in Table 1. Table 1: Attributed causes of most recent crying episodes (%) for men and women separately, and for the total group (N = 5715). Attributed causes of most recent crying episodes Men Women Total in % Loss

29

24

27

Conflict

14

23

19

Witnessing suffering

18

14

16

Personal inadequacy

10

11

10

(Witnessing) positive events

17

7

12

Psychological state

9

11

10

Physical state

2

3

3

Combination of causes

5

8

6

First, the findings reveal that loss experiences, conflicts, witnessing suffering, perceived incompetence and (witnessing) positive events are the most common reported situational antecedents of adult crying. But these results are qualified by some interesting sex differences. Women

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cry relatively more frequently during conflicts than men, whereas men cry relatively more often because of positive reasons and tender situations. The difference in the valence of the situations is further emphasized by the self-reported emotions and feelings. Men are thus more likely than women to report positive feeling states as antecedents of crying. By contrast, women are more likely to report crying when feeling angry. Note, however, that sadness and anger are two sides of the same coin, because these affects are induced by similar events, which only differ in terms of who or which agent is responsible for the situation. In this regard, the importance of powerless (or inability to act behaviourally) also deserves special attention, because this is often mentioned in relation with other feelings. In particular, women relatively often report feeling angry and powerless. But combinations with other emotions are also reported: one reportedly feels angry and powerless, or sad or fearful and powerless.

10. Positive Emotion as an Antecedent of Crying Several research findings concerning the antecedents of crying thus seem to indicate that humans can shed tears for negative as well as positive reasons. However, there are theorists (e. g. Feldman 1956, Weiss 1952) who argue that people are inaccurate when they report they are crying for positive reasons, since negative reasons are lurking beneath the surface. There is at least substantial anecdotal evidence to lend credence to this assertion. To give some examples: when the Dutch horsewoman Anky van Grunsven was asked why she cried when standing on the platform with her Olympic Gold medal, she answered that her tears had to do with the fact that her father had passed away some months before, and she was sad because she could not share this moment of extreme happiness with him. According to other crying gold medal winners, their tears were associated with reflecting on painstaking efforts to qualify, or the problems they had encountered in the process of qualifying themselves (e. g. because of diseases or serious injury). Likewise, crying during an ostensibly positive reunion event may be seen as the consequence of reflecting on the less happy times when the people who meet, missed each other so badly. Feldman (1956) presents many other examples showing that crying at the happy ending arises from a number of causes, which in some way involve negative emotion. The negative emotion may be due to delayed reaction to sad events (for example, one first realizes how one missed another when seeing him or her again), the memory of which is

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awakened by a happy ending, or to guilt. Additionally, it is suggested that in adult life the individual can no longer experience the happiness and the parental protection of childhood. Feldman further points out that we cry not only over past unhappy events, but also because the happy childhood with its illusions is gone, and we cry for the sad end which is sure to come – the separation from the beloved ones. In other words, when people are very happy, they seem to allow themselves to remember less fortunate times and experiences which evoke their tears. Finally, another conception that raises doubts concerning whether unalloyed happiness is an antecedent of crying, sees crying as resulting from helplessness and an inability to express happiness in an appropriate way. Being overwhelmed by the joy, one does not know how to behave, what to do and what to say. In conclusion, there are some good reasons to hesitate before accepting the idea that negative and positive emotions have co-equal power to evoke tears. A more parsimonious explanation that views all crying in terms of negative emotion and/or perceived helplessness or an inability to act adequately might well be possible.

11. The Context and Social Setting of Crying Scrutinizing events that are associated with crying has also yielded some surprising insights about the kinds of antecedent events that trigger crying. In the great majority of cases, the eliciting situations proved to be rather trivial and fatuous. It is often hard to imagine that such stimuli or events triggered the onset of tears. To give some examples, respondents shed tears because the postman failed to deliver an anticipated letter, or because they experienced problems when sewing curtains, or during a dancing class when failing to master some dancing steps. These examples demonstrate that we cry most frequently for reasons that do not rank very high in their objective impact as potential tear eliciting events. In contrast, events with a strong objective potential to elicit tears only seldom really induce tears, because such dramatic events as deaths or romantic break-ups do not occur frequently. This observation further emphasizes the relevance of the concepts “crying threshold” and “predisposing factors”, as well as the importance of environmental factors, which may explain why sometimes very weak emotional stimuli suffice to elicit tears, while at other moments people can, seemingly, without too much effort, withhold their tears in spite of having encountered rather dramatic

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events. The factors that have been suggested or found to be associated with crying frequency and/or crying proneness are numerous. Individual differences in crying may be related to: * * * * * * * * * * *

Sex Temperament (personality) Attachment style Socialization Physical state Psychological state Drug use (e. g. cocaine) Confrontation with stressful / traumatic life events Being engaged in a romantic relationship Transition to parenthood Neurological disorders

Studying the contexts in which people cry revealed that tears are predominantly shed when at home (or in one s car), either alone or just with one other person. What does this reveal about crying? Perhaps that we are not very eager to express our emotions through tears when we are in the company of others, particularly strangers. This reluctance to cry in public may stem from the fact that crying can be interpreted in many different, positive, but also negative ways. In addition, crying may induce shame and embarrassment, if one feels that the situation does not justify the shedding of tears. We may fear that others notice our weakness and perceive us as emotionally unstable and not in control of our emotions. In addition, there is the risk that the tears are conceived as a kind of manipulation. These factors may make us rather reluctant to cry in the presence of others because it may be damaging for our image. Weeping occurs especially during the evening, more precisely between 6:00 PM and 10:00 PM. Why do we cry more frequently during evening hours? This might partially be related to the reasons why one tends to cry alone or with one other person. We are inhibited in our crying when we are at work or in public places, with many others around us. There also seems to be a general tendency to delay our tears until a more quiet moment in a safe environment, alone at home or just with our partner. Rosenblatt (2004) portrays several examples of crying while driving, which fits nicely with these insights. The interviewed individuals often spontaneously report that they started crying first when alone in their car. Another significant factor may be that evening hours are the time

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that we are together with our partner and children and have our quarrels and rows with them, which can precipitate crying. In addition, during these evening hours, we may be exposed to other stimuli that may induce tears, including TV programs, news or movies, books and music. Moreover, the threshold to weep may be lowered in the evening, because we are tired after a day of hard work. Finally, it has been established that infants are also more prone to cry during evening hours, which might suggest that adults may also retain an endogenous circadian rhythm that facilitates evening crying. Comparing crying in different countries additionally demonstrated that people in cold countries cry more frequently than people living in warm countries, with the correlation between crying frequency and average annual temperature being – 0.75. This strong negative association between crying frequency and average annual temperature was remarkable and rather unexpected, because previous research has revealed that people in warmer countries are more emotionally expressive (Pennebaker, Rim & Blankenship 1996). In an attempt to explain this apparent paradox, we have put forth the following possible explanations. First, it may be that the higher emotional expressivity may prevent the escalation of conflicts and the crying that may results from these conflicts. Alternatively, these findings may be related to differences in personality, temperament or mood. It is wellknown that in the northern countries there is a higher prevalence of depression, partly due to the limited exposure to sunlight. In addition, it may relate to the fact that people in warmer countries generally spend more time until rather late out on the streets and in public places, whereas in cold countries one is more often at home, alone or just with intimates, engaging in activities such as watching sad movies and listening to emotional music. In order to evaluate this hypothesis, we compared self-reported crying behaviour of Dutch people in summer and in winter, anticipating that more frequent crying would be reported in winter than during summer. Although there was indeed a slight trend towards more crying during the winter period, the difference was not statistically significant. This left us with the question concerning the precise role of the other factors discussed above, which still has to be ascertained. One should be aware, however, that temperature is not the only dimension on which these countries differ. There are strong associations with other potentially relevant factors, including Gross National Product (GNP), freedom of expression and many others. These relationships deserve further exploration.

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12. The Consequences of Crying Whereas our research efforts initially focussed on the antecedents of crying, developmental aspects, sex differences and social context, the research was subsequently expanded to examine the effects of crying. In line with how the effects of emotion are typically discussed, we distinguish between the intra-individual effects (what are the consequences for the crying person him- or herself) and the inter-individual effects (the effects of crying on others) in terms of others perceptions, moods and behaviours. 12.1 The Inter-Individual Effects of Crying According to Ekman (1997), facial expressions of emotion provide information about at least the following seven well-differentiated domains: (1) possible antecedents, that is to say, the events that generated the emotion; (2) possible memories, thoughts and plans; (3) internal physical changes in the person who experienced the emotion; (4) the expression may serve as a metaphor that defines the emotion expressed; (5) information regarding what the person is about to do next; (6) expectations from others in the person s presence; and (7) semantic information in the form of an emotional word. As far as is known, there is no research addressing all these issues with regard to crying. Specific with respect to crying, several theorists have suggested that the primary function of crying is to stimulate others to help remove a given source of discomfort, as well as to elicit attention, empathy and support from others (Frijda 1997, Kottler & Montgomery 2001, Nelson 2005, Sadoff 1966). As such, adult crying can be regarded as an attachment behaviour, which is thought to be designed especially to elicit caregiving responses from significant others (Bowlby 1969; Hendriks, Nelson, Cornelius & Vingerhoets 2008; Nelson 2005). Attachment research has indeed shown that crying is an inborn behaviour that functions to call for and assure the protective and nurturing presence of caregivers (Bell & Ainsworth 1972, Bowlby 1969, Cassidy 1999, Zeifman 2001), and it has been proposed that tears continue to be an attachment behaviour throughout life (Bowlby 1969, Nelson 2005). Along these lines, Wagner, Hexel, Bauer and Kropiunigg (1997) demonstrated that, in response to a crying patient, doctors, nurses and medical students primarily try to soothe the patient with words, hold the hand of the patient and/or become personally affected. When Wagner and co-

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workers asked hospital staff how colleagues responded to their tears at work, it appeared that health professionals were, for the most part, either comforted or left to themselves. However, a significant portion (approximately one-fifth) of the medical students reported that they were ridiculed, screamed at or looked at with contempt. In addition to these real-life reports, some quasi-experimental studies have been carried out. For example, in the study by Hill and Martin (1997), confederates (in this study, only women) acted as if they were crying or not crying in reaction to a film. The results showed that crying confederates elicited more sympathy and more crying from the participants (also only women) than did non-crying confederates. Hendriks, Croon and Vingerhoets (2008) examined reactions to vignettes describing different situations in which the main character either cried or did not cry. The respondents reportedly tended to give more emotional support and expressed less negative affect towards a crying than a non-crying person. Hendriks and Vingerhoets (2006) examined the so-called signal value of crying faces, i. e. the social messages they convey to others. To this end, they compared reactions to crying faces with reactions to neutral, angry and fearful faces. Respondents reported being more likely to provide emotional support to a crying person and less likely to avoid a crying person in comparison to people with other emotional expressions. In some older studies, it has been shown that men and women may differ in their reactions to crying persons (Cretser, Lombardo, Lombardo & Mathis 1982; Jesser 1989). For example, a crying man was more likely to be helped by female than by male respondents. Furthermore, he was more looked down on by male relative to female respondents. However, in more recent studies (Hendriks & Vingerhoets 2006; Hendriks, Croon & Vingerhoets 2008), the sex of the respondent and of the crying person did not substantially influence the social reactions to crying. The majority of the studies examining social reactions to crying support the attachment perspective on adult crying (Hendriks, Croon & Vingerhoets 2008). As expected, crying generally elicited sympathy and support, and crying individuals were perceived as communicating the message that they are in need of help. However, also some evidence was found for negative reactions from the social environment in reaction to tears, though these negative findings do not necessarily contradict the attachment-theory perspective (see Nelson 2005). Protest crying can evoke feelings of guilt and irritation in others, who subsequently may express their anger or frustration. Also, people who cry out of sadness may evoke feelings of awkwardness in potential caregivers, which may result

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in their pulling away. The sex of the potential caregiver might partially determine the amount of awkwardness that is experienced in the presence of a crying person. Because women are more comfortable with intimacy and a nurturing role, they may experience fewer feelings of awkwardness in the presence of crying individuals than men. This might explain why women tended to react with sympathy and support while men tended to feel irritated and confused in the presence of a crying person (Cretser & al. 1982, Jesser 1989). It should also be noted that negative feelings induced by the observation of crying individuals might motivate observers to undertake some action to make the crier stop shedding tears. In other words, helping crying individuals and providing them with emotional support may not only result from mere altruistic motives, but also from egocentric reasons (Hendriks, Croon & Vingerhoets 2008). Hendriks, Croon and Vingerhoets (2008) further demonstrated that reactions from the social environment to crying were partially determined by the situation or context in which the person cried. Whether or not others perceive the crying as appropriate might be especially relevant in this regard. Anecdotal evidence suggests that tears that are considered inappropriate rather than genuine or manipulative may evoke strong negative reactions and may even be considered as blackmail (Frijda 1997, Kottler 1996). As an example, crying on the job is often considered as inappropriate (Hoover-Dempsey, Plas & Wallston 1986), which might explain the findings of Wagner & al. (1997), discussed earlier, that crying medical students sometimes received negative reactions from their colleagues. Further, it is tempting to speculate about possible physiological changes in observers of crying persons. Currently, there is increasing research interest for the neurohormone oxytocin, which has established functional roles in birth, lactation, parenting and some forms of positive social interactions. Based on this hormone s function, we would expect that crying might stimulate the release of this substance in observers, which would, in turn, stimulate caregiving and support behaviour from others just as the crying of babies does in (breast feeding) mothers. This would then be a nice example of how reactions of adults are built on and integrated into evolutionary older brain structures and functions (Carter 1998). 12.2 The Intra-Individual Effects of Crying Concerning the intra-individual effects of crying, it is not difficult to collect quotes from popular media expressing the view that crying brings immediate relief and promotes health, whereas inhibiting one s tears would

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increase the risk of a wide variety of health problems (see Lutz 1999, Vingerhoets & Bylsma 2007). In particular, in the articles published after 1950, the classic psychosomatic point of view (see Groen 1957) was popularized. Specifically, crying was considered to be an important means for releasing physiological tension. If this tension was not released by crying, it might find an outlet in another less wholesome manner, for instance, by resulting in bodily disease. Headaches, ulcers, hypertension and insomnia were mentioned as examples of disorders that might result from the failure to cry. Similarly, more recent popular publications often reference Frey s (1985) idea that tears help to remove toxic waste products that are released when we are in distress. Similar opinions have been voiced in the scientific and clinical literature. For example, Darwin (1872: 174) pointed out that “children, when wanting food or suffering in any way, cry out loudly (…) partly as a call for their parents for aid, and partly from any great exertion serving as a relief”. He even suggests a dose-response relationship, as evidenced by the following comment: “And by as much as the weeping is more violent and hysterical, by so much will the relief be greater, – on the same principle that the writhing of the whole body, the grinding of the teeth, and the uttering of the piercing shrieks, all give relief under an agony of pain” (Darwin 1872: 175). This suggests that the more intense the crying, the greater the benefit to one s health. Similarly, Breuer and Freud (1968 [1895]: 8) refer to tears in their Studies on Hysteria as involuntary reflexes that discharge affect so that a “large part of the affect disappears”. The famous British psychiatrist Sir Henry Maudsley (1835 – 1918) has been attributed the statement that “Sorrows which find no vent in tears may soon make other organs weep.” Other examples of the conviction that crying is healthy and beneficial can be found in Menninger, Mayman and Pruyser (1964) who noted that crying may be considered perhaps the most human and most universal of all relief measures. In addition, Mills and Wooster (1987: 125) described crying as a “vital part of a healing or growing process that should not be hindered”. A final example concerns Solter (1995: 28), who considers crying “an inborn healing mechanism”. Despite the historical eminence of these voices, contemporary empirical studies have not yielded strong evidence that crying is beneficial for physical and psychological health. Vingerhoets and Scheirs (2001) and, more recently, Vingerhoets and Bylsma (2007) have extensively reviewed the relevant literature and come to the conclusion that the quality of most studies showing health effects is poor. Most studies showing positive evi-

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dence for the relationship between crying and health are case studies, use retrospective designs or lack adequate control groups. In addition, as we will show below, some studies even have yielded evidence against the hypothesis that crying brings relief and promotes health. Concerning the effects of crying on one s mental well-being, mixed results have been reported, depending on the design of the study and the characteristics of the participants. Quasi-experimental laboratory studies exposing subjects to sad films have mostly found a negative effect of the shedding of emotional tears; nearly without exception did people who cried while watching a sad film feel sadder and more depressed afterwards than individuals who failed to cry (Cornelius 1997; Stougie, Vingerhoets & Cornelius 2004). In contrast, when asking respondents to remember their most recent crying episode and to report how they felt afterwards, 35 – 70 % report mood improvement and a similar percentage indicate that there was no significant mood change, with just a minority of 10 % indicating that their crying had a negative impact on their wellbeing. It is not clear how to explain these discrepant findings. Possible explanations focus on the possibility that memory biases distort the reporting of retrospective crying episodes, or the fact that, in real life, crying may have an impact on the situation and the social environment, which is less likely to occur when one watches a movie in a laboratory setting, lacking social support that would generally occur in a real life setting (Cornelius 1997). Furthermore, the inadequate timing of the measurements (for example, one could argue that the positive effects of crying need some time to develop) or the fact that crying in the laboratory may induce embarrassment may be responsible for the seemingly contrasting findings. It may be that the context of crying is important in the experience of mood change (i. e. catharsis) after crying. Examining this question, in an international study spanning 37 countries and including over 5,500 respondents, Becht and Vingerhoets (2001) established that the general self-reported experience of post-crying mood improvement was negatively associated with the shame induced by crying. Also using data from this same set of respondents, Bylsma, Vingerhoets and Rottenberg (2008) found that self-reported mood improvement after the most recent crying episode was related to receipt of positive social reactions (e. g. comfort, support), and the experience of shame during crying was negatively related to mood improvement after crying. Furthermore, experiencing a resolution to the event that caused the crying episode or achieving a new understanding of the event was positively related to mood improvement.

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13. Crying and Physical Health Results on the immediate physical effects of crying have also been mixed. Furthermore, physical functions such as heart rate and blood pressure have not demonstrated more rapid recovery after a crying spell when exposed to emotional stimuli, compared to when no tears are shed (for a review see Vingerhoets & Scheirs 2001). On the other hand, research by Rottenberg Wilhelm, Gross and Gotlib (2003) suggests that crying in healthy never-psychiatrically-ill individuals may stimulate parasympathetic activation, which may promote physical relaxation. However, Hendriks, Rottenberg and Vingerhoets (2007) replicated this parasympathetic activation among criers, but could not establish whether the increased parasympathetic activation was the consequence of crying or, rather, preceded its onset. Two studies (Labott & al. 1990; Martin, Guthrie & Pitts 1993) examining the effects of crying on secretory immunoglobulin A (SIgA), an immunologic variable acting as a first-line defense against invasion by potential pathogens, demonstrated that the specific act of crying appeared to have a negative influence on the body s defense mechanisms, which suggests a negative impact of crying on physical health. On the other hand, a number of noteworthy positive findings in support of the beneficial effects of crying have also been reported, mainly in old case studies, but also some recent Japanese studies. For example, French (1939) as well as Saul and Bernstein (1941) found intriguing relationships between crying and course of urticaria (i. e. hives) and asthma. Saul and Bernstein (1941) describe a reciprocal relationship with symptom development and weeping in a female patient. Specifically, when the patient cried she did not have urticaria and her asthma attacks usually terminated with weeping. Conversely, when she suppressed her tears she developed urticaria. According to French (1939), his clinical observations led him to believe that many asthma attacks terminate when crying begins. Similarly, Kepecs, Robin and Brunner (1951) reported a relationship between crying and exudation into the skin. Using cantharides blisters under hypnosis, these authors demonstrated that the inhibition of crying was followed by an initial drop in the exudation rate, later followed by an increase, if the inhibition was continued. More recently, two Japanese studies demonstrated some remarkable effects of crying. First, among patients with rheumatoid arthritis (RA) it was found that shedding tears reduces the negative influence of stress on the neuroendocrine and immune responses in peripheral blood (Ishii, Nagashima, Tanno, Nakajima & Yoshino 2003). Patients who were moved to tears appeared to have a

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more easily controlled RA compared with those who were emotionally affected but not moved to tears. In addition, Kimata (2006) reported that the allergic responses to latex were strongly reduced after crying in a group of 44 patients. Finally, Bayart & al. (1990), in a possibly relevant animal study, examined the reactions of monkeys to separation from their mothers. A remarkable finding was the negative association between plasma cortisol levels and vocalizations expressing distress. In other words, screaming was connected with reduced cortisol secretion. Assuming that human crying is equivalent to these distress reactions, it may be hypothesized that crying in humans also reduces the cortisol output of the adrenals. In sum, there is also some preliminary evidence that crying promotes the recovery of homeostatic balance within the body. Research has additionally addressed the relationship between general crying frequency (or crying proneness) and subjective well-being or disease risk. These studies have yielded little evidence in support of the hypothesis that crying is healthy. Rather, the few available data suggest that crying is not or very weakly negatively related to one s physical wellbeing (for a review see Vingerhoets & Scheirs 2001 and Vingerhoets & Bylsma 2007). Vingerhoets & al. (1993) examined the relation between crying frequency and self-reported health, which yielded a correlation of exactly 0.00. Crepeau (1981) found that ulcer and colitis patients cried less frequently and evaluated crying more negatively than healthy controls, which suggests a positive association between crying and health; however, this study suffers from serious methodological flaws.

14. Crying and Psychological Health Crying, as an expression of distress, is potentially relevant to psychological health and psychopathological disorders. Much of the work on crying and psychological health conditions has thus far focussed on depression. Although it is commonly believed that there is a positive association between depression and crying, the story appears to be more complex. To examine this relationship, Vingerhoets, Rottenberg, Cevaal and Nelson (2007) conducted a systematic examination of the relationship between depression and crying by reviewing all relevant theories and empirical data that included the performance of crying items in measures of depression. Scores on crying items of depression inventories correlated moderately with overall depression severity. Otherwise, there was surprisingly little evidence for the widespread claim that depression is associated

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with more frequent and/or easier crying. There was also little empirical support for the competing claim that severely depressed individuals lose their capacity to cry. On the one hand, Rottenberg, Gross, Wilhelm, Najmi and Gotlib (2002) failed to demonstrate that depressed patients were more likely to cry when being exposed to a sad movie; but on the other hand, Rottenberg, Cevaal and Vingerhoets (2008), using validated crying measures, showed that (compared with the reference group) patients with mood pathology reported increased cry proneness to negative antecedents, but no differences were found with respect to crying proneness to positive antecedents. Patients additionally reported less mood improvement after crying than did controls. Assuming that crying brings relief and improves mood under certain conditions, one may wonder about the relevant psychophysiological mechanisms involved. We have identified the following four hypotheses. The first idea, just described, is that crying stimulates the activity of the parasympathetic nervous system. This branch of the autonomic nervous system – the counterpart of the sympathetic branch which is associated with stress and activity – is connected with relaxation and recovery. Consistent with this hypothesis, Rottenberg & al. (2003) and Hendriks, Rottenberg and Vingerhoets (2007) found that crying was indeed associated with increased parasympathetic activity. A second possible mechanism that received attention in the literature is Frey s (1985) proposition that tear glands are analogous to kidneys in removing toxic waste products, including stress hormones released in the blood during distress. Cleansing the blood of these substances results in a better mood and perhaps even better health, according to Frey. However, it appears that the amount of toxic waste products removed by tears is negligible, and tears are, to a great extent, again reabsorbed in our nasal passages. Further, one would expect that crying induced by irritants, such as onions or tear gas, would also have a positive effect on one s well-being, which does not appear likely. A third notion is that sobbing increases the amount of inspired cold air, which may result in the cooling of the hypothalamus, a very important structure in the emotional brain. There is some evidence that a lowered brain temperature has a positive effect on mood (McIntosh, Zajonc, Vig & Emerick 1997). Finally, one could speculate that crying promotes the release of substances such as endorphins, which are morphine-like substances that are released in the brain, which function to increase pain tolerance and improve mood (see also Panksepp 1998). As far as is known, this hypothesis has never been directly tested, but this seems an interesting and testable hypothesis.

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To summarize, although the research is limited, very different approaches thus far failed to have yielded strong support for the idea that crying induces mood improvement and facilitates recovery from emotional distress. What seems more likely is that crying stimulates others to provide social support, providing indirect benefits. Cornelius (1997, 2001) and Nelson (2005; see Hendriks, Nelson, Cornelius & Vingerhoets 2008 for review) emphasized that the benefits of crying may come not so much from actually shedding tears, but rather because tears bring us physical contact and solace from others, and it is well known that emotional support has a positive effect on our physical and mental well-being.

15. Conclusion The present article provides a state-of-the-art overview of contemporary research on adult crying. It can be concluded that this phenomenon is largely ignored in the current scientific literature. It is likely that, in the past, crying was merely considered as an expression of sadness or other emotions; therefore, it was wrongly not considered an interesting phenomenon in itself. Most studies published until now are not typically theory-guided, originate from disparate theoretical backgrounds and are disconnected from one another. One thing that makes crying a special, intriguing and interesting phenomenon is that it may serve several different functions. Barr, Hopkins and Green (2000) edited a book on infant crying with the title Crying as a Sign, a Symptom, and a Signal. This is indeed a catchy title, adequately representing the different multifaceted sides of (infant) crying. When considering adult crying, one may further add that crying can serve different coping functions: problem-focussed coping, because it may influence the behaviour of others (e. g. aggression reduction) and emotion-focussed coping (if it indeed would have a stress reduction function). For a full and adequate understanding of the importance of this behaviour, one should have an open eye for the many diverse aspects of this typical and intriguing human behaviour. In an effort to capture the multi-faceted nature of crying, we have described the model developed by Vingerhoets & al. (2000) and Vingerhoets and Cornelius (2001) to guide future research efforts. In the future, in addition to speculation about the evolutionary origin of crying and the precise nature of the crying response, more theory-guided, well-designed studies should focus on antecedents, moderators and

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consequences of crying. More specifically, the study of the antecedents of crying should include research into situations and feelings that may elicit crying. The consequences encompass both the intra- and inter-individual (psychological, behavioural, psychobiological and social) effects of crying. As important moderators, one may consider cultural aspects, age, gender, mental and physical state. In short, the field of crying research can best be described as scattered, incoherent and lacking a systematic approach. It is a field that badly needs the collaboration of experts with different backgrounds including developmental, clinical, social, biological and cross-cultural psychology. In addition, the contribution of neurobiologists and ethologists may help to obtain more insight into the evolutionary nature and functions of crying. Until now, most research understandably has relied on self-reports. Crying is a rather rare behaviour, that is not easily induced in ethically acceptable ways. Work on crying would be enriched by naturalistic observations of crying behaviour. Work that includes physiological recordings would also be informative. For example, Delp and Sackeim (1987) measured lacrimal flow with the so-called Schirmer test, when asking the study participants to generate imagery of sad or happy events in their lives and to re-experience the associated affect. The manipulation did not influence the lacrimal flow in men; however, women showed an increase in the sad condition and a decrease in the happy condition. This is an interesting example of how crying can be examined with more objective research methods. Thus, many challenges remain for creative researchers with different backgrounds to analyse this intriguing, typically and uniquely human behaviour.

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Index locorum Achilles Tatius 1.13.5: 279 n. 10; 3.10.5: 279 n. 10 Acta Pauli et Theclae 22: 254; 33 – 34: 254 – 255 Aelian De nat. anim. 10.17: 3 n. 7; 10.21: 3 n. 7; 14.10: 3 n. 7 Aeschines 3.153: 119; 3.157: 119 Aeschylus Agam. 541: 60, 315 – 316 n. 7; 887 – 893: 73; 1050 – 1051: 202 n. 47; 1526 – 1527: 74; 1549: 73 – 74 Choeph. 81 – 83: 50 n. 19 fr. 450 Radt: 202 n. 47 Prom. 401: 60 Sept. 656: 67, 70; 695 – 696: 67, 70; 815: 313 – 314; 825 – 826: 314 n. 4 Alciphron Epist. 4.1: 201 n. 41; 4.3: 201 n. 41; 4.4: 201 n. 41; 4.5: 201 n. 41; 4.8: 199 – 201; 4.9: 199 – 201; 4.16: 201 n. 41; 4.17: 201 n. 41; 4.18: 201 n. 41; 4.19: 201 n. 41 Alexander of Aphrodisias Probl. 1.31: 312 Ammianus Marcellinus 14.1.4: 230; 14.11.16: 230, 232; 17.6.2: 230; 17.12.21: 230; 18.3.2: 230; 19.1.11: 230, 231; 19.5.8: 230, 231; 19.6.13: 230,

231, 233; 19.10.2: 230; 19.10.2 – 3: 230 – 231; 20.11.5: 230, 232; 21.15.2: 232; 22.3.7: 230; 22.9.4; 230, 232 – 233; 22.14.4: 230, 231, 232; 24.4.25: 230, 232; 25.4.25: 230; 25.5.1: 232; 25.5.6: 230, 232; 25.9.2: 231; 25.9.5: 230, 232; 27.9.2: 231; 28.1.39: 232; 28.2.8: 230, 232; 28.6.1: 230; 29.2.1: 230; 29.2.3: 230, 232; 29.5.12: 230, 232, 233; 29.5.15: 230, 231, 232; 29.5.16: 231; 29.6.6: 230, 231; 31.6.8: 230, 232; 31.7.16: 231; 31.8.8: 230, 232; 31.15.1: 230, 232, 233 Anacreon fr. 37.1: 33 n. 29 Andocides 4.39: 118 Anthologia Palatina 5.24: 330; 5.134: 323 – 324; 5.136: 329; 5.166: 328 – 329; 5.177: 324 – 325; 5.178: 325 – 326; 5.186: 187 n. 11; 5.191: 329 n. 17; 5.212: 326; 5.250: 319; 7.419: 322 – 323; 7.476: 331 – 332; 9.57: 202 n. 47; 9.70: 202 n. 47; 9.210: 202 n. 47; 12.68: 327; 12.72: 327 – 328; 12.80: 331; 12.92: 331 n. 20; 12.132: 330 – 331; 12.167: 324 Antiphon 2d1: 118; fr. 77 Blass: 118 n. 38

478 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28 29 30 31 32 33 34 35 36 37 38 39 40 41 42 43 44 45 46 47 48

Index locorum

Apollodorus Bibl. 3.12.6 – 13.5: 402 n. 15 Apollonius Rhodius Arg. 3.91 – 99: 326 Appian Bell. civ. 4.80 – 81: 219 n. 9 Ib. 225: 215 n. 6, 216 Lib. 132: 122 n. 45 Apuleius Apol. 82.3: 293 n. 49; 94.2: 293 n. 49 Met. 1.2: 283 n. 21; 1.6: 279 n. 9; 1.12: 278, 288; 2.1: 293; 2.3: 283 n. 21; 2.4: 287 n. 32; 2.8: 292 n. 47; 2.23: 277 – 278, 288; 2.24: 282, 288; 2.26: 288; 2.27: 279 n. 9, 281 n. 16, 282, 288; 3.1: 283; 3.4: 283; 3.7: 283; 3.8: 144 – 145, 278, 284 n. 25, 285; 3.9: 278 n. 2; 3.10: 281 n. 16, 283; 3.13: 283; 3.17: 279 n. 9; 3.19: 293; 3.22: 293; 3.23: 292 n. 47; 3.25: 277 n. 1, 281 n. 17, 291; 3.26: 281 n. 17, 288 n. 36, 291; 3.29: 291; 4.1: 291; 4.2: 287 n. 35; 4.3: 285, 289 n. 39, 291; 4.23: 286; 4.24: 281, 286, 291; 4.25: 286 n. 31; 4.27: 278 n. 5, 281, 286, 291 n. 43; 4.28.1 – 4.35.3: 255 n. 3; 4.32 – 35: 279; 4.35: 280 n. 12; 5.5: 280 n. 11, 280 n. 12, 285 n. 28; 5.7: 279 – 280, 285; 5.11: 280 n. 11, 282 – 283; 5.13: 280; 5.15: 280 n. 11; 5.17: 282; 5.25: 280 n. 14; 6.2 – 3: 280; 6.5: 280; 6.9: 280; 6.14: 280 – 281, 280 n. 14; 6.21: 280 n. 14; 6.25: 277 n. 1, 281 n. 17; 6.27: 286; 6.28: 291; 6.32: 279 n. 9; 7.24: 279 n. 9; 7.26: 285, 289 n. 39; 7.27: 278, 284; 8.1: 286 n. 30; 8.7: 279 n. 6, 280 n. 12, 282, 285, 286; 8.8 – 9: 281 – 282; 8.13: 282, 286; 8.15: 286; 8.17: 289 n. 39; 8.19: 283; 8.20: 283; 8.24: 282; 8.31:

279 n. 8, 284; 8.31 – 9.1: 291; 9.14: 287 n. 35; 9.21: 284; 9.27: 288 – 289; 9.30 – 31: 285, 288 n. 37; 9.38 – 39: 283 – 284, 291; 10.2: 281 n. 17, 288; 10.6: 284; 10.12: 292 n. 45; 10.17: 282 n. 20; 10.21 – 22: 291; 10.24: 287; 10.27: 282; 10.29: 291; 10.33: 281 n. 17; 10.34: 281 n. 17, 291; 10.35: 291; 11.1: 279, 287, 291; 11.3: 287 n. 33; 11.5: 287; 11.10: 292 n. 47; 11.13: 291; 11.14: 291; 11.24: 280, 287; 11.27: 277; 11.28: 292 n. 47, 293; 11.30: 292 n. 47; 11.179: 291 n. 43 Archilochus fr. 13 West: 33, 34, 86 n. 4, 173; fr. 128: 34 Aristaenetus Epist. 1.14: 201 – 202; 2.13: 202 – 204 Aristophanes Birds 1681: 202 n. 47 Clouds 254 – 268: 53 n. 29; 1061 – 1070: 402 n. 16 Frogs 678 – 682: 202 n. 47; 911 – 913: 46 n. 14; 1089 – 1090: 314 – 315 Peace 610 – 611: 117 Wasps 568 – 574: 118 n. 38; 976 – 984: 118 n. 38 Aristotle Hist. anim. 608b8 – 15: 187 n. 11; 608b9: 100 Poet. 1449b: 81; 1449b24 – 28: 101; 1452b30 – 1453a: 81; 1453b3 – 7: 90; 1462a11 – 13: 90 Pol. 1339a11 – 1342b34: 90 n. 17 Probl. Phys. 884b22 – 35: 99; 896b9: 99; 953b7 – 13: 100; 959b20 – 27: 99 – 100 Rhet. 1369b13: 376; 1378a19 – 26: 101; 1378a20 – 23: 321; 1385b13: 101; 1385b13 – 16: 81; 1386a: 284 n. 22; 1386a17 – 24: 112 n. 25

479

Index locorum 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28 29 30 31 32 33 34 35 36 37 38 39 40 41 42 43 44 45 46 47 48

Arrian 5.28.1: 120, 121; 6.11.2: 121; 6.11.8: 121; 6.13.2: 121; 6.22.4: 121 n. 43; 7.11.5: 121; 7.12.3 – 4: 121 Artemidorus Oneir. 2.60: 278 n. 5; 2.66: 202 n. 47 Asconius Comm. in Cic. Pro Mil. 28.21: 145 Athenaeus Deipn. 157b: 323; 196a – 203b: 265 n. 23; 606f – 607a: 123 – 124 Augustine Conf. 6.8: 264 n. 22 De civ. 3.11: 299, 302 – 303 n. 13, 303 n. 16, 304; 6.10: 300; 14.9: 306 n. 21 Aulus Gellius Noct. Att. 1.24.2: 305 – 306; 9.12: 285 n. 27; 18.7.3: 143; 19.1: 243 n. 15 Caesar Bell. civ. 3.106: 220 n. 14 Calpurnius Siculus Ecl. 7: 266 Cassius Dio 1.5.5 – 7: 150; fr. 2.13 – 19: 210 n. 2; 24 fr. 84.2: 303 n. 15; 40.47.2: 298 n. 2; 42.8.1 – 3: 220 n. 14; 47.8.3 – 4: 219 n. 9; 56.43.1: 139, 156; 58.2: 156; 61.9.1: 263; 65.17.1 – 2: 223 Cato 51.198 – 199 ORF: 215 n. 6 Catullus 3: 262 n. 18; 3.1: 142 n. 14; 3.18: 168 n. 20; 38.8: 168 n. 20; 39.3 – 5: 168 n. 20; 61.81 – 82: 168 n. 20; 63.48: 168 n. 20; 64: 203; 64.242: 168 n. 20; 66.15: 228;

66.15 – 18: 187 n. 11; 66.16 – 22: 168 n. 20; 66.63: 168 n. 20; 96.4: 168 n. 20; 101.9: 168 n. 20 Chariton 1.1.16: 255 n. 3; 2.5.7: 255 n. 3 Chrysippus SVF 3.466: 236 n. 1 Cicero Acad. 2.135: 237 n. 6, 336 Brut. 90: 215 n. 6 De div. 2.58: 300 De fin. 2.6: 162; 2.8: 249; 2.66: 210 n. 2; 3.68: 247 n. 23; 3.70: 241 n. 9 De har. resp. 55: 146 n. 19 De leg. 2.59: 148; 2.64: 148 De off. 2.26: 218 De orat. 1.227 – 228: 215 n. 6 De rep. 3.35: 218 Orat. 74: 47 n. 16 Tusc. 1.93: 340; 2.55: 136 – 137; 3 – 4: 240 n. 8; 3.12: 237 n. 6, 238; 3.28: 249 n. 26; 3.32: 236 n. 1, 249 n. 26; 3.32 – 35: 249 n. 27; 3.59 – 60: 236 n. 1; 3.62: 137, 138; 3.63: 351 n. 51; 3.64: 138; 3.74: 237 n. 6; 3.82 – 83: 242; 4.12 – 15: 244 n. 17, 244 n. 18, 245; 4.38 – 47: 237 n. 6 Corpus Inscriptionum Latinarum XI 1421.24 – 25: 156 Ctesias FGrHist 688 T11d: 117; F15: 117; F20: 117; F23: 117; F45: 117 n. 36; F45 l: 117 n. 36; F45 m: 117 n. 36 Demetrius De eloc. 28: 314 n. 5 Demosthenes 18.291: 119; 19.281: 119; 19.309: 119; 21.99: 118 n. 38; 30.32: 119

480 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28 29 30 31 32 33 34 35 36 37 38 39 40 41 42 43 44 45 46 47 48

Index locorum

Dio Cassius s.v. „Cassius Dio“ Diodorus 5.23.4: 122; 10.20 – 22: 210 n. 2; 12.38 – 41: 117; 32.24: 122 n. 45 Diogenes Laertius 2.90: 236 n. 1; 7.110 – 117: 240 – 241 n. 8; 7.115: 244 n. 17, 244 n. 18; 7.123: 247 n. 23; 7.124: 241 n. 9; 10.13: 162; 10.22: 250; 10.136 – 137: 250 Diomedes Gramm. Lat. 1.484.22 – 1.485.10 Keil: 180 n. 3 Dionysius Halicarnassus De comp. verb. 4.30: 106; 23.134: 117 Hist. 2.45 – 46: 150; 2.47.3: 151; 4.64 – 67: 210 n. 2; 8.53: 151; 8.62.2: 156 Disticha Catonis (ed. Duff & Duff) 3.20: 187 n. 11 Duris of Samos FGrHist 76 T8: 123; F1: 123; F5: 123 n. 52; F7: 123 n. 52; F10: 123 n. 52; F14: 123 n. 52; F18: 123 n. 52; F24: 123 n. 52; F52: 123 n. 52 Ennius (ed. Skutsch) Ann. fr. 35 – 49: 166; Ann. fr. 162: 166 – 167; Ann. fr. 498: 167 Ephorus FGrHist 70 F196: 117 Epictetus fr. 9: 243 n. 15 Epicurus Ep. Men. 129 – 130: 249

Euripides Alc. 985 – 986: 65; 1081: 65, 67 Andr. 91 – 95: 318 Bacch. 616 – 637: 54 n. 30 El. 126: 318 n. 9; 193: 65; 501 – 502: 37 n. 1; 1227 – 1232: 50 n. 20 fr. 407: 81 Hcld. 602 – 604: 46; 608 – 629: 46 Hec. 46: 73; 240 – 241: 63, 73; 250: 73 n. 32; 432 – 434: 46; 486 – 487: 46; 518: 70; 520: 70; 967 – 975: 65 Hel. 185: 180 n. 3; 456 – 458: 77; 845: 77; 849 – 850: 77; 947 – 953: 78, 79; 991: 66, 79; 991 – 992: 78; 1049: 78; 1190: 78; 1226: 78; 1419: 78 Her. 624 – 625: 65 – 66; 1111 – 1112: 47 n. 16; 1238: 81; 1354 – 1356: 32, 67; 1394: 66 Hipp. 250 – 251: 52 n. 25; 1457 – 1458: 50 n. 20, 52 n. 26 Ion 967: 47 n. 16 Iph. Aul. 39 – 41: 60; 446 – 449: 68; 451 – 453: 42, 68; 477: 65; 496: 65; 644 – 650: 74; 692: 65; 889: 65; 931 – 934: 74; 950 – 951: 68; 991 – 992: 68; 1122 – 1123: 47 n. 16; 1175: 74; 1215: 74; 1366 – 1403: 75; 1405 – 1411: 74; 1432 – 1434: 74; 1435: 75; 1438 – 1444: 66 – 67; 1465: 75; 1466: 65, 66 – 67, 75; 1488 – 1490: 75; 1547 – 1550: 47 Iph. Taur. 144 – 147: 180 n. 3 Med. 25: 76; 861: 76; 922: 64; 922 – 928: 76; 928: 64; 1012: 76 Or. 42 – 44: 60; 280: 47 n. 16; 459 – 469: 51 n. 22; 1239: 63 Phoen. 144: 69; 1441: 70 – 71; 1485 – 1491: 49 n. 18; 1634: 66 Suppl. 20 – 21: 47; 110 – 111: 47; 288: 66; 289 – 290: 66 Troad. 36 – 38: 47; 119: 180 n. 3; 285 – 287: 73; 458: 65; 463: 46; 698: 65; 1126 – 1128: 402; 1131: 70

Index locorum 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28 29 30 31 32 33 34 35 36 37 38 39 40 41 42 43 44 45 46 47 48

Eustathius 2.120: 312 Eutropius 6.21.3: 220 n. 14; 7.2.2: 219 n. 9 Florus 1.38.12: 216 n. 7; 4.6.5: 219 n. 9 Galen De plac. Hipp. et Plat. (ed. De Lacy) 3 – 5: 240 n. 8; 3.1.25: 247; 4.2.4 – 6: 242 n. 12; 4.3.2: 241 n. 10; 4.7.3 – 4: 247; 4.7.16 – 17: 241 n. 10; 5.1.4: 241 n. 10 Gellius s.v. „Aulus Gellius“ Gorgias VS 82 B11 DK: 97 Granius Licinianus (ed. Scardigli) 35.24: 224 – 225 n. 18; 36.27: 156 Gregory of Nyssa Adversus eos qui castigationes aegre ferunt PG 46.312.5 – 6: 383 n. 43 Antirrheticus adv. Apoll. 3.1.149.7 – 10: 389 n. 58 Beat. PG 44.1221B – C: 381; 1228.36 – 41: 387 Contra Eun. 3.3.65.2 – 4: 388; 3.8.19: 381 n. 39 Contra usur. 9.200.1 – 4: 389; 9.201.25 – 29: 389 De iis qui baptismum differunt 46.417.14 – 21: 392 De infantibus praemature abreptis 72.22 – 73.8: 387 n. 55; 73.1 – 4: 387 Deit. Fil. et Sp. PG 46.564.19: 388; 569C – D: 382; 572.35: 382 De mortuis non esse dolendum 9.38.12 – 17: 385; 9.38.15 – 9.39.2: 385 n. 50; 9.39.17 – 26: 385; 9.46.17 – 26:

481

385; 9.67.24: 385; 9.67.26: 385; 9.68.5 – 8: 386 n. 51 De opif. hom. 156.28: 386; 160.31: 386; 216.21 – 26: 386 De or. 284.6 – 9: 389 n. 59; 286.1 – 9: 389 De perfectione Christiana 8.1.192.13 – 15: 390 n. 63 De sancto Theodoro PG 46.740.21: 391 De virg. 3.3: 388 n. 56; 14.3: 388 Epist. 6.7: 388 n. 56; 6.11: 381; 7.1: 381 n. 40; 18.4: 390 In Cant. 6.15: 381 n. 39 In Eccl. 5.329.4: 382; 5.385.20: 381 n. 38; 5.386.2: 381 n. 38; 5.387.8 – 12: 391; 5.388.1 – 5: 391; 5.388.14: 381 n. 38 In Flac. 9.476.19–477.1: 380; 9.476.24: 381 n. 38; 9.481.10: 380; 9.482.8: 380; 9.482.21: 380 – 381 In inscr. Ps. 5.62.23: 381 n. 39; 5.78.26: 384 n. 47 In Melet. 9.444.13 – 16: 381 n. 40; 9.445.1: 381 n. 40; 9.448.13: 381 n. 40; 9.451.16: 380; 9.453.11: 381 n. 40; 9.454.3 – 4: 380 n. 35 In Pulch. 9.461.5 – 9: 380; 9.463.10 – 15: 380; 9.463.24: 380; 9.464.9: 380; 9.464.12 – 20: 381 In sanctum Ephraim PG 46.825A – B: 391; 829.49 – 832.1: 391 n. 65; 832B – C: 390, 391; 836C – D: 390; 837.29 – 33: 390 n. 62; 841B – C: 386; 844.58 – 59: 391 – 392; 845.2 – 6: 392; 848C – D: 386 In sextum Ps. 5.191.30: 390 n. 62; 5.193.8: 384 n. 47 Or. in diem natalem Christi 1145.42 – 45: 383 n. 42 Vit. Mos. 2.9: 382 Vit. Macr. 17.20: 384; 27: 384; 31.24 – 27: 390; 38.31: 385 Heliodorus Aeth. 4.9.1: 278 n. 5; 10.38.4: 278 n. 5, 321

482 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28 29 30 31 32 33 34 35 36 37 38 39 40 41 42 43 44 45 46 47 48

Index locorum

Herodotus 1.87: 110; 1.109: 111 n. 20; 1.111: 111 n. 20; 1.112: 110 – 111, 112 n. 26; 2.96: 110 n. 18; 2.141: 111 n. 22; 3.14: 110, 112, 284 n. 22; 3.14 – 15: 113; 3.21: 111 n. 23; 3.31: 110 n. 17; 3.32: 110, 113; 3.65: 112; 3.66: 112; 3.119: 111 n. 20, 112; 4.71 – 73: 111 n. 21; 4.127: 110 n. 18, 111; 4.131: 111; 4.189: 111 n. 21; 5.4 – 8: 111 n. 21; 6.21: 111, 125 n. 56; 6.58: 111 n. 21; 7.45 – 46: 317 n. 8; 7.45 – 52: 121; 7.46: 110, 113; 9.16: 111 Hesiod Erga 166: 52 n. 25 fr. 1.6 – 7: 415 n. 36 Hilary of Poitiers Trin. 10.55 – 56: 307 Hippocrates Epid. 3.3.15: 317 – 318 Historia Augusta Antoninus Pius 10.5: 257 n. 11 Caracalla 1.5: 258 Gordianus 18.1: 257 n. 11 Hadrian 14.5: 257 n. 10 Homer Iliad 1.348 – 357: 21; 2.235: 31 n. 23, 45 n. 13; 2.285: 45; 2.289 – 290: 30 n. 20, 43, 44; 2.291: 44; 2.296: 30 n. 20; 2.296 – 297: 44; 2.298: 45; 3.132: 33 n. 29, 118 n. 39; 3.139 – 142: 28; 3.139 – 144: 40 n. 6; 3.165: 33 n. 29, 118 n. 39; 3.173 – 180: 40 n. 6; 4.102: 26; 4.153 – 154: 23 n. 11; 4.183: 26; 4.461: 52 n. 25; 4.503: 52 n. 25; 4.526: 52 n. 25; 5.47: 52 n. 25; 5.68: 52 n. 25; 5.310: 52 n. 25; 5.553: 52 n. 25; 5.659: 52 n. 25; 5.696: 52 n. 25; 5.737: 33 n. 29; 6.11: 52 n. 25; 6.405: 33, 312;

6.447 – 465: 43; 6.448 – 449: 122; 6.455: 33; 6.484: 33, 116, 279 n. 6, 314; 6.496: 33; 7.426 – 432: 30 n. 19; 8.163 – 165: 31 n. 21, 45 n. 13; 8.227 – 244: 22; 8.245: 23; 8.364: 32 n. 25; 8.388: 33 n. 29; 8.516: 33 n. 29; 9.9 – 79: 23; 9.433: 26 n. 15; 10.9 – 16: 28; 11.267 – 272: 44 n. 11; 11.356: 52 n. 25; 11.389: 31 n. 22, 45 n. 13; 11.393 – 395: 108; 11.601: 33 n. 29; 12.116: 52 n. 25; 13.88 – 89: 26 n. 15; 13.425: 52 n. 25; 13.575: 52 n. 25; 13.658: 26 n. 13; 13.672: 52 n. 25; 13.765: 33 n. 29; 14.438 – 439: 52 n. 25; 14.519: 52 n. 25; 15.578: 52 n. 25; 16.5: 22, 45; 16.7 – 12: 22, 43; 16.316: 52 n. 25; 16.325: 52 n. 25; 16.344: 52 n. 25; 16.350: 52 n. 25; 16.436: 33 n. 29; 16.456: 39 n. 3; 16.502: 52 n. 25; 16.607: 52 n. 25; 16.675: 39 n. 3; 16.855: 52 n. 25; 17.426 – 427: 3 n. 7, 291; 17.426 – 440: 24; 17.437 – 440: 3 n. 7, 291; 17.512: 33 n. 29; 17.543 – 544: 33 n. 29; 17.591 – 592: 51 n. 23; 17.648: 23 n. 11, 24, 26 n. 15; 17.694 – 696: 24; 18.13: 108; 18.17: 24; 18.22 – 27: 24, 51; 18.32: 24; 18.33: 25 n. 12; 18.37: 21 n. 7; 18.51: 108; 18.66: 25; 18.73: 25 n. 12; 18.78: 25 n. 12; 18.94: 25; 18.234 – 236: 25; 18.339 – 342: 31 n. 24; 18.339 – 355: 25; 18.352 – 353: 50 n. 20; 18.428: 25; 19.5: 25; 19.286 – 300: 25; 19.301: 21 n. 8, 31 n. 24, 60 n. 4, 69; 19.323: 28; 19.284 – 285: 108; 19.407 – 418: 291 n. 44; 20.252 – 255: 31 n. 22, 45, 45 n. 13; 20.393: 52 n. 25; 20.417 – 418: 52 n. 25; 20.421: 51 n. 23; 20.471: 52 n. 25; 21.123 – 124: 32; 21.181: 52 n. 25; 21.352 – 353: 32;

483

Index locorum 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28 29 30 31 32 33 34 35 36 37 38 39 40 41 42 43 44 45 46 47 48

21.493 – 496: 29; 22.33: 25; 22.77 – 78: 25; 22.79 – 89: 26; 22.90: 25; 22.361: 52 n. 25; 22.405 – 413: 26; 22.405 – 515: 43; 22.406 – 407: 49 n. 18; 22.407: 21, 21 n. 7; 22.407 – 408: 108; 22.409: 21 n. 7; 22.414: 86 n. 5; 22.429: 108; 22.466: 52 n. 25; 22.468 – 472: 49 n. 18; 22.475 – 514: 33; 22.515: 21 n. 8; 23.5 – 17: 32; 23.9: 39, 85 – 86; 23.157: 86 n. 4; 23.184 – 192: 52 n. 25; 23.222 – 225: 44; 23.254: 50 n. 20; 23.382 – 387: 29; 23.385 – 387: 21 n. 9; 24.3 – 9: 25; 24.83 – 96: 40; 24.159 – 165: 40 n. 6, 49, 86 n. 5; 24.160 – 166: 108; 24.161 – 168: 25; 24.200: 21 n. 7; 24.237 – 264: 40 n. 6; 24.328: 51; 24.503: 102; 24.507 – 512: 25, 405 n. 23; 24.507 – 551: 121; 24.513 – 514: 102; 24.587 – 588: 50 n. 20; 24.704 – 775: 43; 24.707 – 776: 31; 24.710 – 712: 173 n. 34; 24.714: 25; 24.715 – 717: 173 n. 34; 24.722: 21 n. 8; 24.745: 25; 24.746: 21 n. 8; 24.777 – 781: 173 n. 34; 24.786: 25; 24.794: 25; 24.795 – 796: 50 n. 20 Odyssey 1.36: 28; 1.333 – 334: 40 n. 6; 1.363: 28; 2.113: 28; 2.153: 28; 2.280 – 281: 21 n. 9; 2.361: 21, 21 n. 7; 4.102: 318; 4.113 – 119: 38, 46; 4.138 – 146: 38; 4.153 – 154: 38; 4.180: 52 n. 25; 4.193 – 198: 39; 4.194: 26; 4.197 – 198: 26; 4.523: 28; 4.538 – 540: 26 n. 16; 4.556: 24; 4.704 – 741: 24; 5.152 – 158: 24, 28; 5.521 – 523: 315 – 316 n. 7; 7.259 – 260: 24; 8.83 – 88: 30; 8.83 – 95: 39; 8.86: 45; 8.94 – 95: 40; 8.521 – 531: 29 – 30; 8.521 – 534: 40; 8.523 – 530: 43; 8.532: 30; 8.538: 40; 9.294 – 295: 26 n. 17; 10.134: 53 n. 26; 10.142 – 143: 53 n. 26;

10.174 – 175: 53 n. 26; 10.179: 53 n. 26; 10.201: 21 n. 7; 10.240 – 241: 291; 10.408 – 416: 26 n. 16, 28; 10.496 – 498: 28 n. 18; 10.497 – 499: 26 n. 16; 10.567: 28; 11.391: 21 n. 7; 11.391 – 395: 26; 11.466: 26; 11.526 – 527: 28; 12.12: 26 n. 13; 12.234: 26 n. 16; 13.219 – 221: 26 n. 16; 13.379: 28; 15.398 – 401: 318; 16.16: 28; 16.187 – 189: 312; 16.190 – 191: 28, 312; 16.213 – 220: 28, 312 – 313; 16.216: 21 n. 7; 16.415 – 416: 40 n. 6; 17.8: 28; 17.31 – 40: 28; 17.33: 315 – 316 n. 7; 17.38: 315 – 316 n. 7; 17.103: 28; 17.304: 37 n. 1; 18.202 – 204: 28; 18.209 – 210: 40 n. 6; 19.204 – 208: 28; 19.209 – 212: 29, 30 n. 19, 40 n. 7, 107; 19.471 – 472: 28, 282 n. 19, 315 n. 7; 19.513: 318; 19.541: 21 n. 7; 19.594 – 597: 28; 20.9 – 21: 40 n. 7; 20.57 – 59: 24; 20.345 – 349: 317; 21.64 – 65: 40 n. 6; 21.80 – 83: 29; 22.88: 52 n. 25; 22.500 – 501: 318 n. 9; 23.32 – 33: 315 – 316 n. 7; 23.207 – 208: 28, 315 – 316 n. 7; 23.210 – 212: 313; 23.231 – 232: 315 – 316 n. 7; 23.231 – 240: 28; 24.61: 32; 24.190: 39 n. 3; 24.234: 28; 24.292 – 296: 39 n. 3; 24.295: 21 n. 7; 24.315 – 319: 51 n. 23 Homeric Hymns H. Dem. 40 – 41: 49 n. 18; 192 – 205: 53 n. 29 Horace Ars poet. 75 – 76: 180 n. 3; 431 – 432: 138 Epist. 1.18.15: 170 n. 26 Ibycus fr. 1a 7 Page: 33 n. 29

484 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28 29 30 31 32 33 34 35 36 37 38 39 40 41 42 43 44 45 46 47 48

Index locorum

Isaeus 8.22: 118, 119 Isocrates 4.168: 118 n. 39; 14.47: 32 n. 26; 19.27: 32 n. 26 Jerome Hom. Orig. in Luc. 38 (p. 216.12): 307 John Lydus De mag. 2.2: 403 – 404; 2.6: 404 n. 19; 2.10: 405 n. 22; 2.12: 405 n. 21; 3.1: 409; 3.11: 398; 3.12: 398; 3.20: 399; 3.25: 397, 399 – 400; 3.26: 401; 3.27 – 28: 401 n. 12, 413; 3.29: 401 n. 11; 3.40: 405 n. 22; 3.42: 404 – 405; 3.43: 405; 3.45: 403; 3.46: 404 n. 20; 3.55: 408 – 409; 3.59: 400 n. 5; 3.66: 400; 3.67: 400 n. 5; 3.68: 399; 3.69: 414; 3.70: 401 n. 7; 3.71: 409 n. 29; 3.72: 411 – 412, 413; 3.73: 410; 3.75: 410 – 411; 3.76: 412 – 413 Julius Obsequens 6: 302 n. 11; 28: 303; 70: 298 n. 2 Justinian Nov. 18.5: 409 n. 30; 69.4.3: 409 n. 30; 135 pr.: 409; 139 pr.: 409 n. 30 Juvenal Sat. 6.272 – 277: 187 n. 11; 15.131 – 133: 342; 15.138 – 140: 342 Libanius (ed. Foerster) Epist. 388.1 – 2: 203 n. 51; 390.10: 203 n. 51; 1048.7: 203 n. 51; 1220.1: 203 n. 51; 1430.3: 203 n. 51

Livy 1.10.1: 212, 214; 1.13: 150; 1.13.6: 151; 1.26.2 – 5: 218; 1.26.12: 212, 216; 1.29.4 – 5: 219; 1.56.5: 304 n. 18; 1.57 – 60: 210; 1.58.7 – 11: 215; 1.59.3 – 4: 212, 218, 221; 1.59.5: 218; 2.7.4: 156; 2.8.7 – 8: 165 n. 11; 2.16.7: 156; 2.31.6: 220; 2.33.8: 216; 2.40.2: 216; 2.40.3 – 9: 151, 212, 214; 2.40.9: 216; 2.40.12: 151; 2.42.10: 304 n. 18; 3.7.7: 153; 3.47.4: 216, 221; 3.48.8: 167; 3.50.4: 212, 221; 3.58.5 – 6: 212, 216, 217; 4.9.1: 213 n. 4; 5.7.9: 212; 5.7.11: 212, 221; 5.21.11: 216; 5.30.4 – 5: 212, 214; 5.30.4 – 7: 217, 219; 5.40.2: 211 n. 3; 5.40.3: 212, 214; 5.42.4: 216; 6.3.4: 212, 214, 216, 218, 220; 7.30.20 – 21: 212 – 213, 214; 7.31.3 – 6: 212 – 213, 214, 216; 7.31.5: 212; 7.31.6: 216; 7.40.15: 221; 7.42.6: 220 – 221; 8.10.1: 219; 8.24.15: 212, 214; 8.33.23: 212; 9.7.4: 218; 10.29.19: 219; 21.12.4: 212, 217; 22.14.8: 218; 22.49.8: 220; 22.59.16: 212, 214; 22.60.1: 212, 221; 22.61.3: 212, 214, 219; 23.8.4 – 23.9.13: 217; 23.9.9: 221; 23.20.5: 212, 213, 216, 217; 23.31.15: 302; 23.42.5: 216; 24.11.1: 301; 25.24.11: 122 n. 46; 25.24.11 – 14: 220; 25.26.10: 221; 25.37.10: 215; 25.38.8: 218; 26.9.7 – 8: 153, 214, 219; 26.13.13: 216; 26.27.10: 212, 216; 26.29.1 – 3: 213; 26.29.5: 213, 216; 27.17.16: 221; 27.19.12: 221; 28.32.4: 220; 29.16.6: 212; 29.16.6 – 7: 213; 29.17.16: 216; 30.7.9: 214, 216; 30.10.20: 220; 30.15.1: 221; 30.15.4 – 8: 215; 30.20.1: 221; 30.44.4 – 11: 218; 34.11.5: 214 n. 5; 34.50.1: 221; 38.14.14: 215; 38.22.8: 216; 39.11.7: 214, 221; 39.44.7 – 8: 212; 39.46.8: 221;

485

Index locorum 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28 29 30 31 32 33 34 35 36 37 38 39 40 41 42 43 44 45 46 47 48

40.8.20: 212, 221; 40.12.1 – 3: 212; 40.12.2: 221; 40.12.3: 215, 221; 40.16.1: 212, 221; 40.19.2: 219, 302, 302 – 303 n. 13; 43.4.8: 212, 216; 43.13.4: 219, 302, 304; 44.31.13: 212, 214; 44.45.8 – 11: 212, 216; 44.45.10 – 11: 221; 44.45.11 – 12: 217; 45.4.2: 212, 220; 45.7.2 – 45.8.7: 220 n. 13; 45.8.2: 221; 45.8.2 – 8: 217; 45.20.6 – 9: 212; 45.20.10: 213; 49.11.13 – 15: 214; Per. 49: 215 n. 6; Per. 79: 224 – 225 n. 18; Per. 112: 220 Longus 1.31.1: 320; 2.24.1: 320; 4.22.1: 320 – 321 Lucan 2.367: 279 n. 10; 7.617 – 631: 224 – 225 n. 18; 7.775 – 776: 224 – 225 n. 18; 9.1010 – 1108: 220 n. 14 Lucian De luct. 20: 350 n. 45 Dial. meretr. 10: 202 n. 46 Lucretius De rer. nat. 1.83: 172; 1.91: 172; 1.124 – 126: 173; 1.268: 174; 1.348 – 349: 173; 1.919 – 920: 174; 1.935 – 942: 161 – 162; 2.418 – 420: 163; 2.976 – 977: 174; 3.6 – 7: 202 n. 47; 3.152 – 158: 163; 3.463 – 469: 168; 3.906 – 908: 164; 3.934 – 935: 169; 3.936 – 939: 162 n. 1; 3.955: 169; 3.1009 – 1010: 162 n. 1; 4.1113: 172 n. 30; 4.1121 – 1140: 200 n. 38; 4.1148: 171 – 172; 4.1157 – 1159: 171; 4.1177 – 1179: 171; 4.1279 – 1287: 172; 5.73 – 74: 163; 5.1194: 174; 5.1194 – 1197: 170; 5.1233: 165; 5.1430: 174; 6.17 – 23: 162 n. 1; 6.942 – 945:

163 n. 3; 6.978: 164; 6.1157 – 1159: 171; 6.1183: 174 – 175; 6.1247 – 1249: 169; 6.1281: 174; 6.1285 – 1286: 169 – 170 Lycurgus 1.33: 119 Lysias 20.34: 118 n. 38, 119; 27.12: 119; 32.10: 32 n. 26, 119; 32.18: 119 Macrobius Sat. 1.8.5: 299 Martial 1.14: 268; 1.22: 269; 1.33: 187 n. 11; 1.109: 262 n. 18; 6.28.2: 343 n. 29; 6.29: 343 n. 29; 8.53: 262 Liber spectaculorum 1: 266; 3: 266; 5: 266 – 267; 17: 267; 25: 267 Menander Aspis 329 – 330: 50 n. 20; 345 – 346: 50 n. 20 Moschus 3.39: 202 n. 47 Naevius Bell. Pun. fr. 5: 167 Nicetas Fid. 6: 307 Nonius Marcellus De comp. doct. 92 Lindsay: 142 – 143; 212 Lindsay: 143 Origen Adn. in Jud. PG 17.37.40: 372 n. 16 Cels. 2.17: 371 n. 12; 2.18: 372; 2.39: 372 Comm. in Jo. 6.47. 246: 369; 6. 57. 294: 370; 10. 20. 122: 378 n. 32; 10. 21. 127: 378 n. 32; 10. 31. 197: 378 n. 32; 13. 43. 289: 369;

486 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28 29 30 31 32 33 34 35 36 37 38 39 40 41 42 43 44 45 46 47 48

Index locorum

20.4.20 – 21: 373; 20.4.23: 376 n. 27; 28.5.34: 373; 32.31.383: 372; 32.31.385: 377 Comm. in Matth. 10.2: 376; 12.4: 370; 12.43: 377; 13.16: 377 n. 30; 16.1: 371; 16.15: 377 n. 31; 16.21: 377 n. 31; 17.16: 373 n. 20; 17.24: 374 Comm. in Oseam PG 13.828.29: 369 n. 9 Comm. in Rom. 5.10.195 – 226: 368; 9.16.20 – 31: 373; 12.15: 370 De or. 4.1: 371 n. 13; 13.3: 379; 14.4: 371 n. 13; 29.13: 370 Fr. in 1 Cor. 24: 374 Fr. in Jer. 55: 376; 57: 371 Fr. in Jo. 78: 370; 80: 378; 83: 378 Fr. in Lucam 4: 371, 377; 5: 377; 6: 376; 10: 369 – 370, 376 n. 28, 377; 51: 369; 59: 371 n. 14, 372; 78: 372; 113: 373 n. 19 Hom. in Jer. 5.17: 371; 7.1: 377 n. 31; 12.13: 369, 378; 14.6: 377 n. 31; 20.6: 373, 377 Hom. in Luc. 38.214: 378 Philocalia 8.3: 369 Schol. in Luc. PG 17.337.30: 378 Sel. in Ez. PG 13.796.13: 377 n. 31 Sel. in Gen. PG 12.132.37 – 38: 376 n. 27 Sel. in Ps. PG 12.1061.40: 372, 376; 1132.32: 373 – 374; 1176.35: 371 n. 13; 1176.37: 376 n. 27; 1177A – B: 376; 1389.32: 371 n. 13; 1416.28 – 39: 376, 377; 1464.22: 370; 1481.4: 369; 1512.36: 371 n. 13; 1516.21: 370; 1544.22: 371 – 372; 1576.12 – 17: 374 – 375; 1576.17: 392; 1577.51 – 57: 375; 1657.24: 369 n. 8 Orosius 6.15.29: 220 n. 14 Ovid Am. 1.4: 188 – 189; 1.5: 195; 1.6: 189 – 190, 195, 199 n. 37; 1.7:

191 – 194; 1.8: 194, 200 n. 38; 1.11: 190; 1.12: 190 – 191, 194, 195; 1.14: 191; 2.2.35 – 36: 194; 2.5: 192 n. 19; 2.6: 142 n. 14, 262 n. 18; 2.18: 204; 3.1: 181 n. 5; 3.6.59 – 60: 192; 3.9: 181; 3.9.3: 142 n. 14, 181 Ars am. 1.171 – 175: 256 n. 6; 1.419 – 436: 200 n. 38; 1.431 – 432: 196; 1.527 – 536: 192 n. 20; 1.565 – 612: 189; 1.659 – 662: 197; 1.733 – 736: 185; 2.201 – 202: 197; 2.273 – 286: 200 n. 38; 2.319 – 336: 197; 2.334: 197; 3.281 – 292: 196 – 197; 3.369 – 380: 197; 3.673 – 682: 197 Ex Pont. 3.1.157 – 158: 179 Fast. 1.33 – 36: 136 n. 4; 2.721 – 852: 210 n. 2; 2.847: 211 n. 3; 3.133 – 134: 136 n. 4; 3.213 – 232: 150; 3.229 – 232: 151; 3.232: 150; 4.461: 137 n. 6; 4.521 – 522: 137 n. 6, 305 n. 19 Her. 3.3 – 4: 203; 10: 192 n. 20; 15.7: 181; 15.97 – 98: 203; 16: 205; 17.75 – 90: 189; 18: 205; 20: 205; 21.172: 279 n. 10 Met. 1.630 – 632: 290; 1.635 – 636: 290; 1.637: 290; 1.647: 290; 1.656: 290; 1.664 – 667: 290; 1.725 – 733: 290; 1.745 – 746: 290; 1.747: 290 – 291; 2.621 – 623: 305; 3.202 – 203: 287 n. 32; 6.412 – 674: 202 n. 47; 15.792: 300 n. 8 Rem. am. 444: 326 – 327; 462: 326; 639 – 642: 197; 687 – 692: 197 Petronius Sat. 17.2: 187 n. 11; 18.7: 284 n. 24; 34.7: 284 n. 24; 71: 288 n. 37; 77 – 78: 288 n. 37; 110.3: 282 n. 19; 111.2: 140 n. 12; 111.8 – 9: 167 – 168; 137.1: 284 n. 24; 140 – 141: 288 n. 37

Index locorum 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28 29 30 31 32 33 34 35 36 37 38 39 40 41 42 43 44 45 46 47 48

Philo Migr. 156 – 157 (= 2.299 Wendl): 246 – 247, 314 Quaest. Gen. 2.57: 243 n. 14; 4.15 – 16: 248 n. 24; 4.19: 248 n. 24; 4.73: 243 n. 13; 4.101: 248 n. 24 Philodemus De dis 3 col. 2.25 – 27 Diels: 249 – 250 n. 27 Phlegon FGrHist 257 F36.10: 154 n. 27 Phylarchus of Athens FGrHist 81 F36: 123 – 124 Pindar Pyth. 1.21 – 23: 315 – 316 n. 7 Plato Apol. 17b: 98; 34c: 118 n. 38; 35b: 80, 98 Ion 535c: 89, 97; 535e: 89 n. 15 Nom. 800b – d: 90; 800e: 89; 810e – 817e: 94 n. 20; 949: 118 n. 38; 958d – 960b: 93; 959c: 93 – 94; 959e: 94; 960a: 50 n. 20, 94 Phaed. 58e – 59a: 316; 60a: 76; 60b: 279 n. 6; 116d: 107; 117c5 – d1: 32, 52; 117c – e: 48, 76, 94 – 95, 107; 118a6 – 7: 52; 118a11 – 14: 52 Phdr. 267c: 118 n. 38 Phil. 50b: 317 n. 8 Rep. 376c – 398b: 88; 377e – 383c: 90 n. 18; 388a5 – e1: 32; 395d: 88; 398c – 399d: 90 n. 17; 401b – d: 88 n. 12; 439e – f: 264 n. 22; 595c: 88 n. 10; 603e – 606b: 91; 604a: 91; 604d: 92; 605a: 92; 605b: 91; 605c: 92; 605d: 92; 605d7 – 10: 32; 605e: 87; 606a: 91; 606b: 93; 620a: 317 n. 8 Symp. 200a – b: 324; 203b: 324; 215b– e: 96; 216a – b: 98 n. 22

487

Plautus Amph. 59: 317 n. 8 Capt. 139 – 140: 164 n. 5 Most. 157 – 312: 194 Pliny the Elder Nat. hist. 8.52: 3 n. 7; 8.53: 262 – 263; 8.157: 3 n. 7; 35.73: 47 n. 16 Pliny the Younger Epist. 1.18: 278 n. 5; 2.3: 260 n. 15; 5.16.8 – 10: 343 n. 31 Plutarch Aem. praef.: 129; 26: 220 n. 13; 26.7 – 12: 129; 26.8 – 9: 129; 35 – 36: 354 Alex. 1: 128; 6.8: 120; 30.6: 120; 37.7: 120; 39.6: 120; 39.13: 120; 52.1: 120; 52.5: 120; 62.6: 120; 71.6: 120; 71.8: 120 Ant. 1.3: 125 n. 57; 2.3: 125 n. 57; 15.2: 125 n. 57; 20: 219 n. 9; 29.4: 125 n. 57; 43.2: 131; 48.6: 131; 49.5: 131; 53.7: 131; 54.5: 125 n. 57; 75.3: 131 – 132; 78: 220 n. 14; 78.2: 110 n. 17, 132; 93.4: 125 n. 57 Artax. 1.4: 117; 12.1: 117 Brut. 15.9: 354 n. 54; 52: 107 Caes. 6.5: 131; 7.3: 131; 11.6: 131; 16.7: 131; 48: 220 n. 14; 48.2: 132; 48.3: 131; 63.10: 131; 66.12: 53 n. 26 Cam. 6: 308 n. 22 Cato 67 – 70: 107 Cato min. 1.3: 354 – 355; 3.8 – 10: 355; 8.1: 355; 11.3 – 4: 355; 15.4: 355 Cic. 47.9 – 10: 52 n. 26; 49: 219 n. 9 Cim. 2: 128; 2.5: 129 Cons. ad Ap. 23 (p. 113d): 345 – 346; 33 (p. 119b – c): 351 n. 51 Cons. ad ux. 1 (p. 608b): 337; 1 – 2 (p. 608b – c): 346 – 347; 4 (p. 608f – 609a): 347; 4 (p. 609a – b): 347 – 348, 354; 5 (p. 609d – e): 348, 352; 6 (p. 609f): 348 – 349;

488 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28 29 30 31 32 33 34 35 36 37 38 39 40 41 42 43 44 45 46 47 48

Index locorum

7 (p. 610b – d): 349 – 350; 8 (p. 610e): 337; 8 (p. 610f – 611a): 350 – 351; 8 – 9 (p. 610d – 611d): 360; 9 (p. 611b – c): 350 – 351; 10 (p. 611d– f): 351; 11 (p. 612a – b): 339 Cor. 33.4: 129 n. 65; 38.1 – 4: 308 – 309; 39.10: 156 De coh. ira 5 (p. 455c): 356 De exilio 1 (p. 599b): 358 De frat. am. 11 (p. 483): 358 Dem. 18.5: 125 n. 57; 22.1 – 7: 351 – 352; 26.4: 352 – 353; 41.5: 125 n. 57; 44.9: 125 n. 57; 53.10: 125 n. 57; 56.3: 129 n. 65 De virt. mor. 449a: 241 – 242, 244 n. 17 Dion 42.3: 130; 42.6: 130; 43.1: 130; 51.1: 130; 51.5: 130; 56.4: 130 Eum. 7.13: 132 Lyc. 18.1: 108 n. 14; 27.2: 349 n. 42 Marc. 19: 122 n. 46 Mul. virt. 242f: 336 Nic. 1.5: 120 Non posse 1091b (fr. 423 Usener): 249 n. 27; 1101a – b (fr. 120 Usener): 249 n. 26; 1105e (fr. 213 Usener): 249 n. 27 Numa 12.2: 340; 12.3: 136 Per. 16.8: 52 n. 26; 28: 123; 36.7 – 9: 353 Phil. 19.1: 129 n. 67 Pomp. 80: 220 n. 14; 80.7: 132 Publ. 23.4: 156 Pyrrh. 34.4: 121; 34.8: 132 Quaest. conv. 3.8.2 (p. 657a): 356 – 357 Quom. adul. 12 (p. 56a): 358; 20 (p. 61d – e): 358 n. 63 Rom. 19: 150; 19.10: 151 Sol. 6 – 7: 354; 21.5: 148; 21.5 – 7: 345, 350 n. 44; 21.6: 148 St. rep. 1037f – 1038a: 244 n. 17; 1038b: 247 n. 23 Sull. 30.6: 129 Them. 10.9: 107, 129 n. 65 Thes. 1.5: 120 Tib. et C. Gracch. 19: 360

Tim. 4.8: 122 – 123 Polybius 1.1.5: 123; 1.2.7 – 1.3.10: 123; 1.5.1: 122; 1.14.5: 127; 2.16.3: 123; 2.16.4: 125 n. 57; 2.16.13 – 15: 122; 2.56.6: 125; 2.56.7: 124; 2.56.8 – 11: 124 – 125; 2.58.12: 125; 3.4 – 5: 122; 3.31.12: 125 n. 58; 7.7.7: 127; 8.10.7: 127; 8.11.3: 125; 8.20.9: 121 n. 44, 124, 132; 10.17.8: 124; 10.18.7: 124; 10.18.13: 124; 12.3 – 5: 122; 12.3 – 28: 127; 12.3.6: 123; 12.4c1: 123; 12.4d1 – 8: 123; 12.11 – 12: 122; 12.14.6 – 7: 123; 12.15.2: 123; 12.23 – 28: 122; 12.24: 123; 12.27a3: 123; 12.28.10: 127; 15.25.9: 125; 15.26.3: 125 n. 55; 15.28.7: 125 n. 55; 15.34.2: 121 n. 44; 16.28.5: 127; 23.10.2 – 16: 125; 29.19: 213 n. 4; 29.20: 220 n. 13; 30.4: 213 n. 4; 30.4.5: 124; 31.23.8 – 9: 122; 36.5.7: 124; 38.15.9: 124; 38.21 – 22: 122; 38.22.2: 122; 39.2: 125; 39.5.2 – 6: 122 n. 47; 39.8: 122 Posidonius fr. 165a Edelstein & Kidd: 236 n. 1 Priscian Gramm. Lat. 2.428.14 – 15 Keil: 167 n. 16 Procopius Bell. 1.25: 413; 3.19.29: 407 n. 26; 4.6.23 – 26: 406; 4.6.27: 406; 4.6.27 – 28: 408; 4.6.33: 406; 4.7.8: 416; 4.7.14 – 16: 407 Propertius 1.1.1: 182; 1.2: 191; 1.4: 187; 1.5: 182 – 183; 1.5.21 – 22: 185; 1.6.23 – 26: 182; 1.7.15 – 18: 182; 1.7.23 – 24: 186 n. 10; 1.12: 182, 183; 1.12.16: 319; 1.15: 187, 204

Index locorum 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28 29 30 31 32 33 34 35 36 37 38 39 40 41 42 43 44 45 46 47 48

n. 54; 1.16: 184; 1.17: 183, 184; 1.17.11 – 12: 186 n. 10; 1.17.19 – 24: 186 n. 10; 1.18: 183 – 184; 1.19: 186 – 187; 2.1.1 – 4: 187; 2.1.47 – 48: 186 n. 10; 2.1.71 – 78: 186 n. 10; 2.8.17 – 28: 186 n. 10; 2.12.17: 185; 2.13.17 – 58: 186 n. 10; 2.13B.27: 140 n. 12; 2.18: 191; 2.20.1 – 8: 186; 2.25.1: 186; 2.26.43 – 44: 186 n. 10; 2.26.57 – 58: 186 n. 10; 3.8: 186, 188, 197; 3.16: 184 – 185, 186; 3.16.21 – 30: 186 n. 10; 3.17: 199 n. 37; 3.24: 187; 3.25: 187 – 188; 4.3.3 – 4: 203 n. 51; 4.5: 194; 4.5.64: 185; 4.7: 188; 4.8: 188; 4.11.57: 273 Publilius Syrus (ed. Meyer) 153: 187 n. 11; 384: 187 n. 11; 399: 200 Quintilian Inst. orat. 2.13.13: 47 n. 16; 2.15.8: 215 n. 6; 6.1.33: 149; 8.3.67 – 69: 219 n. 10; 10.1.88: 193; 10.1.98: 193 n. 22 Sacerdos Gramm. Lat. 6.509.31 Keil: 180 n. 3 Sallust Hist. fr. 3.19 Maurenbrecher: 220 Sappho fr. 31: 326; fr. 130: 323 Schol. in Pind. ad Nem. 4.92a: 402 n. 16 Seneca rhetor Contr. 2.2.12: 193 n. 22; 6.6: 279 n. 10 Suas. 6.17.22: 218 Seneca Agam. 673 – 675: 202 n. 47

489

Apoc. 12: 142 n. 14 Cons. ad Helv. 16: 237 n. 6 Cons. ad Marc. 7: 237 n. 6; 7.3: 136 n. 5 Cons. ad Polyb. 6.2: 136 n. 5; 18: 237 n. 6 De brev. 14.2: 238 n. 7 De ira 1.1.4: 284 n. 24; 1.3.8: 279 n. 6; 1.7 – 8: 237 n. 6; 2.2 – 4: 243; 2.35: 237 n. 6 De tranqu. an. 9.16.1: 219 n. 9 De vita beata 4.2 – 5: 245 Epist. 9: 241 n. 9; 9.1 – 3: 238 n. 7; 11.1: 243; 23.1 – 6: 245; 27.2 – 3: 245; 57.2: 243; 59.2: 245; 63: 236, 237; 63.1: 139; 63.4: 250; 63.5 – 6: 250 n. 28; 63.7: 250 n. 28; 63.13: 136, 165 n. 10, 236 n. 3; 71.27: 244 n. 16; 71.29: 243 – 244; 85: 237 n. 6; 98.9: 248; 99: 235 – 250, 336, 337 n. 10, 343 n. 31, 350 n. 46; 99.2: 236 – 237; 99.3: 238, 245; 99.12: 239; 99.14: 237, 238; 99.15: 238 – 239; 99.16: 239; 99.18: 139; 99.18 – 19: 239 – 240, 244 – 245, 248; 99.19: 250; 99.21: 245; 99.23: 236; 99.25 – 26: 248 – 249; 99.32: 237; 109: 241 n. 9; 116: 237 n. 6 Herc. 1108: 142 n. 14 Troad. 63 – 65: 140; 83 – 94: 140; 99 – 107: 140 – 142; 130: 142 n. 14 Servius Comm. in Aen. 6.216: 143 Silius Italicus Pun. 7.74 – 85: 154, 154 n. 27 Sophocles Ajax 579 – 580: 66, 68; 650 – 653: 67; 915 – 919: 50 n. 20; 1003 – 1004: 50 n. 20 Ant. 891: 279 n. 10

490 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28 29 30 31 32 33 34 35 36 37 38 39 40 41 42 43 44 45 46 47 48

Index locorum

El. 152: 72; 285 – 286: 318 n. 9; 804 – 807: 66; 1468 – 1475: 50 n. 20 fr. 910 Radt: 311 – 312 Oed. 1486: 63; 1515: 65 Oed. Col. 1251: 63; 1360: 65; 1701: 52 n. 25 Phil. 368: 60 Trach. 1071: 63; 1071 – 1075: 32, 67; 1074 – 1075: 70 n. 27; 1199 – 1201: 66 Statius Silv. 1 praef. 1: 260 n. 15; 1.6: 257 n. 8; 2 praef. 16 – 18: 260 n. 15, 270 n. 30; 2.1: 343; 2.4: 262; 2.5: 253, 259 – 265, 267, 269 – 274; 2.6.82 – 93: 343 n. 30; 5.5: 344 Theb. 5.608 – 635: 146; 7.493 – 495: 315; 10.49 – 69: 154; 12.478 – 480: 202 n. 47 St. Jerome s.v. „Jerome“ Stobaeus Ecl. 2.7.9b – 10e (88 – 93 Wachsmuth): 240 n. 8; 2.7.11i (101 – 102 Wachsmuth): 241 n. 9; 2.7.11 m (108 Wachsmuth): 241 n. 9, 247 n. 23 Strabo 1.2.35: 117 n. 37; 7.1.4: 225 – 226; 8.6.28: 125 Suetonius Aug. 58.2: 258 n. 12 Cal. 15.1: 257 n. 11 Claud. 36: 257 n. 10 Div. Iul. 31.2 – 33.1: 258 Nero 43.2: 258; 49: 257 n. 10 Vesp. 15: 257 – 258 Vit. 15: 223 Tacitus Ann. 1.5.1: 222, 228; 1.7.1: 222, 227, 228; 1.7.5: 222; 1.11.3: 222, 223,

226, 228 – 229; 1.12.1: 228 – 229; 1.22.1 – 1.23.5: 224, 227, 229; 1.23.1: 222, 226; 1.40.3: 222, 228; 1.40.4 – 1.41.1: 225, 228; 1.41.1: 222; 1.49.2: 222, 228; 1.57.4: 225, 229; 1.58.2: 228; 1.76.3: 257 n. 9, 2.45.3: 228; 2.48.1: 228; 2.70.3: 228; 2.71: 147; 2.71.2 – 4: 228; 2.75.1: 146; 2.77.3: 146; 3.1.4: 146; 3.2: 169 n. 21; 3.2.1 – 3.3.1: 227; 3.2.2 – 3: 222; 3.4.1: 222, 227; 3.5.1 – 2: 227; 3.12.7: 222, 227; 3.17.2: 228; 3.23.1: 222, 225, 227, 228; 3.49.1: 228; 4.8.2: 222, 227, 228 – 229; 4.9.1: 222, 227, 228 – 229; 4.12.1: 227, 228; 4.52.2: 225; 4.53.1: 222, 225, 227, 229; 4.68.1 – 3: 228; 4.68.3: 222; 6.10.1: 222, 225, 227, 228, 229; 6.12.2 – 3: 222; 6.19.3: 228, 229; 6.46.4: 222, 228; 11.2.1 – 11.3.2: 223; 11.2.2: 222, 226, 228; 11.3.1: 222, 224 n. 16; 11.37.4: 222, 223, 225, 226, 228; 12.47.5: 222, 226, 227, 228; 13.17.3: 343 n. 27; 14.1.1 – 3: 225; 14.1.3: 222; 14.10.2: 223, 227 – 228, 229; 14.10.3: 225; 14.17.1: 222, 226; 14.33.1: 222, 225; 14.48.2: 237 n. 5; 15.16.4: 222, 228, 229; 15.23.3: 343 n. 31; 15.62.2: 222, 228; 16.13.2: 222, 225, 226, 227; 16.31.1: 222, 225, 228, 229; 16.34.2: 222, 228 Germ. 27: 226; 27.2: 136 Hist. 1.69: 222, 223, 225, 228; 1.82.1: 222, 224; 2.29.2 – 3: 222, 223, 224, 228; 2.45.3: 222, 228; 2.48.1: 222; 2.49.3: 222, 227; 2.70.3: 222, 228; 3.25.1 – 3: 222, 224; 3.25.2: 227; 3.31.2: 222, 224; 3.38.3: 222, 224, 226 – 227; 3.58.3: 222, 224; 3.65.1 – 3.67.1: 223; 3.67.2 – 3: 223; 3.68.1: 223; 3.68.2 – 3: 222, 223, 226; 3.69.1: 223; 3.70.1: 223; 3.84.5: 229; 4.46.1 – 3: 224; 4.46.3: 222, 227;

Index locorum 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28 29 30 31 32 33 34 35 36 37 38 39 40 41 42 43 44 45 46 47 48

4.72.2 – 3: 222, 224 n. 17, 229; 5.3.1: 222, 228, 229; 6.19.3: 229 Terence Eun. 65: 223; 67 – 70: 187 n. 11 Phorm. 106 – 107: 167 Tertullian Ad nat. 1.10.39: 306 Carn. 9: 306 n. 21 Theognis 1.549: 33 n. 29; 1.1041 – 1042: 319; 1.1217 – 1218: 319 n. 10 Theopompus of Chios FGrHist 115 F75c: 117 Thucydides 1.22.4: 125 n. 58; 1.23.2 – 3: 115 n. 32; 1.67 – 87: 119 n. 41; 1.143.5: 114 n. 30; 2.34.4: 114; 2.34 – 46: 119 n. 41; 2.44.1: 114; 2.51 – 52: 221 n. 15; 2.51.5: 114; 3.52 – 68: 119 n. 41; 3.67.2: 114; 3.68: 125 n. 56; 6.30.2: 114; 6.75 – 88: 119 n. 41; 6.78.3: 114; 7.29 – 30: 125 n. 56; 7.30.3: 115; 7.71.3 – 4: 114; 7.75.4: 114, 115 n. 31; 7.87.5: 115; 8.68: 119 n. 41

491

Varro De ling. Lat. 7.70: 143 De vita populi Romani 110: 142, 143 n. 16; 294: 149 Velleius Paterculus 2.66.3 – 5: 219 n. 9 Vergil Aen. 1.348 – 360: 284 – 285; 1.353 – 357: 285 n. 26; 1.462: 289; 1.479 – 781: 154; 2.487 – 488: 139; 4.337 – 338: 139; 4.363 – 364: 285 n. 26; 4.413: 285 n. 26; 4.437: 285 n. 26; 4.439: 285 n. 26; 4.449: 285 n. 26; 4.649: 285 n. 26; 6.220: 137 n. 6; 6.220 – 222: 164 n. 5; 8.381 – 404: 154; 8.383 – 384: 154; 9.481 – 497: 140 n. 11; 9.498 – 502: 144; 11.41 – 58: 140 n. 11; 11.59: 164 n. 5; 11.151 – 181: 140 n. 11

Timaeus of Tauromenium FGrHist 566 T6: 122

Xenophon Anab. 1.3.2: 129; 1.8.26: 116 n. 34; 4.7.25: 315 – 316 n. 7; 4.7.27: 131 Cyr. 5.5.10: 32 n. 26 Hell. 2.2.3: 116; 2.3.56: 116; 2.4.22: 116; 4.2.4: 116; 4.8.1: 127; 5.1.4: 127; 5.3.20: 32 n. 26, 129; 5.4.27: 116, 117 n. 35; 7.1.32: 32 n. 26, 116, 117 n. 35, 129; 7.2.1: 116, 127; 7.2.9: 314 n. 5; 7.2.16: 116; 7.3.1: 116 Lac. Pol. 3.5: 108 n. 14 Oec. 1.13: 200 n. 38

Tyrtaeus fr. 7.1 West: 21 n. 6; fr. 11.7: 33 n. 29

Xenophon of Ephesus Eph. 1.9.2 – 3: 320

Valerius Maximus 5.1.10: 220 n. 14; 6.1.1: 210 n. 2, 211 n. 3; 8.1.2: 215 n. 6; 8.11 ext. 6: 48 n. 16

Zoilus FGrHist 71 F11: 32 n. 27

Tibullus 1.2: 199 n. 37

Zonaras 7.11: 210 n. 2