The "Homeric Hymn to Aphrodite" and Related Texts: Text, Translation and Commentary [Annotated] 3110260727, 9783110260724

The Homeric Hymn to Aphrodite (600s BCE?) tells the story of a brief encounter between the goddess of love and the cowhe

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The "Homeric Hymn to Aphrodite" and Related Texts: Text, Translation and Commentary [Annotated]
 3110260727, 9783110260724

Table of contents :
Preface
Abbreviations and Sigla
Introduction
1. Anchises, Aeneas, and the Aeneidae
2. Date of Composition
3. Poetic Affiliations of the Homeric Hymn to Aphrodite
4. Aphrodite and Sexuality
5. The Metrics of the Homeric Hymn to Aphrodite
6. Textual Transmission
Critical Text and Translation
Hymn 5: To Aphrodite
Hymn 6: To Aphrodite
Hymn 9: To Artemis
Hymn 10: To Aphrodite
Hymn 11: To Athena
Hymn 12: To Hera
Hymn 24: To Hestia
Hymn 27: To Artemis
Hymn 28: To Athena
Hymn 29: To Hestia
Commentary
Hymn 5: To Aphrodite
Hymn 6: To Aphrodite
Hymn 9: To Artemis
Hymn 10: To Aphrodite
Hymn 11: To Athena
Hymn 12: To Hera
Hymn 24: To Hestia
Hymn 27: To Artemis
Hymn 28: To Athena
Hymn 29: To Hestia
Bibliography
Index

Citation preview

S. Douglas Olson The Homeric Hymn to Aphrodite and Related Texts

TEXTE UND KOMMENTARE Eine altertumswissenschaftliche Reihe

Herausgegeben von

Siegmar Döpp, Adolf Köhnken, Ruth Scodel

Band 39

De Gruyter

The Homeric Hymn to Aphrodite and Related Texts Text, Translation and Commentary

by

S. Douglas Olson

De Gruyter

ISBN 978-3-11-026072-4 e-ISBN 978-3-11-026074-8 ISSN 0563-3087 Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data A CIP catalog record for this book has been applied for at the Library of Congress. 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.dnb.de. ” 2012 Walter de Gruyter GmbH & Co. KG, Berlin/Boston Typesetting: Michael Peschke, Berlin Printing: Hubert & Co. GmbH & Co. KG, Göttingen ⬁ Printed on acid-free paper Printed in Germany www.degruyter.com

For Rachel (h. 5.185–6)

Preface In late spring 2008, I began work on a commentary on the Homeric Hymn to Aphrodite. The poem is early and complete, and has a lovely and compelling storyline, and at that time no substantial modern English-language edition of the text existed. I accordingly began to think and write my way through it line by line, consulting the available commentaries, such as they were, and familiarizing myself with the secondary bibliography. The hAphr. (as I refer to it throughout here) is a beautiful example of smallscale early Greek epic poetry, and I felt—and continue to feel—much like Anchises in its presence: like an ordinary cowherd preparing for another tedious day on the farm, into whose life suddenly drops a creature of extraordinary beauty. Early that summer, I discovered that Oxford University Press was about to publish a commentary on the hAphr. by Andrew Faulkner. After much consideration, I decided to continue with my own project. One fundamental element in the ideology of the modern ‘standard commentary’ is that it is comprehensive and universal: it ‘covers everything, for everyone.’ But among the most common reactions to working with even the most upto-date editions of ancient texts is, in practice, a mixture of bafflement and frustration, when one discovers that the commentator has ignored the word or issue in which one is interested, or has dealt with it in an unhelpful manner, or has failed to take some crucial piece of evidence into account. Editors exercise enormous power over their authors, by deciding what to print (and thus what to omit); even if they do so with regard for the highest professional standards, offering a complete and easily reversible critical apparatus at the bottom of the page, most readers will pay attention only to the Greek or Latin as printed. Commentators, meanwhile, determine not just the answers to the questions a text poses, but the questions that are asked of it, and the better and more convincingly they so, the more effectively and permanently they shape how the text is understood. The existence of two contemporary commentaries on a single Homeric Hymn, I decided, produced independent of one another and in the absence of a long tradition of interpretation to set a critical agenda in advance, might make that issue visible in a productive way. In the event, Faulkner and I read the hAphr. very differently, both on a line-by-line level (including in the Greek we print, and the style and content of the apparatuses we provide) and in

viii

Preface

our sense of the poem’s larger affiliations, context, and effects.1 My hope is that readers will take this as a provocation rather than a problem, and as encouragement to read the original Greek and what the two of us have to say about it closely, critically, and creatively. In support of this approach, I set Faulkner’s edition aside during my first, formative pass through the text, and I have made a systematic effort not to argue directly with him when we disagree, both because this would misrepresent the independent nature of the projects, and because the reader will, I assume, have both texts at hand and be able to construct the imaginary dialogue between us for herself. 2 My text is based on complete collations of the manuscripts and the editio princeps (for all of which, see Introduction 6). I provide three separate apparatuses. The first is a catalogue of specific intertexts: passages from Homer, Hesiod, and other Hymns that the hAphr. or one of the nine other, related, shorter Hymns presented in this edition quote, echo, or refer to somehow, as well as passages from later authors who for their part quote, echo, or refer to one of the Hymns. The second apparatus catalogues formulaic language (somewhat broadly defined), documenting instances in which the Hymns use established epic diction without obviously referring to a specific epic exemplar. Implicit in the distinction between the items included in the first apparatus and the second is a substantial claim about the textualization of some epic poetry by the time the hAphr. was composed, a matter I discuss briefly below and then take up in more detail in Introduction 5. To my mind, the difference between the two categories is generally clear; but individual readers may well feel that certain passages included in the first apparatus belong in the second, and vice versa. The third apparatus is a traditional apparatus criticus; points where my reports of manuscript readings differ from those presented in Càssola (1975) or Faulkner (2008) should be understood as intended as specific corrections or supplements of their texts (although see Introduction 6.C on the limits of the variants I record). Much of my commentary is of a traditional philological character: I consider what ought to be printed in the text, how variants arose, what words mean and how they are to be construed and understood, and who and what the individuals and objects referred to by the poet and his charac_____________ 1 2

See the more detailed comments below, and the next two sections of the Introduction. Matters are in fact even more complicated than this, since Faulkner and I were both granted advance access to N. J. Richardson’s new Cambridge Green and Yellow commentary on the poem (2010), which is however on a considerably smaller scale. I regret that Maire G. Chapsa’s 2008 dissertation (University of Patras) on the Hymn came to my attention too late to be taken into account in this edition.

Preface

ix

ters are. The primary limitation I have imposed upon myself in this connection, is that I have often declined to discuss matters that would seem to me to be better taken up in a commentary on Homer or Hesiod; my reasons for this are outlined briefly below. Two broad strategies of reading nonetheless sharply distinguish my interpretation of the texts treated in this edition from Faulkner’s treatment of the hAphr. First, I argue throughout that the hAphr. in particular is composed in the shadow of the Iliad and the Odyssey, in more or less the form in which we have those poems today, and probably in the shadow of Hesiod’s Theogony and Works and Days as well. Put another way, the Hymns do not merely participate in and bear witness to epic diction. Nor are they best understood as the product of a degraded and clumsy ‘sub-epic’ phase of that diction (to use Hoekstra’s unfortunately now well-established formulation). Instead, the Hymns treated in this edition, and especially the hAphr., consciously rework both general and specific epic exemplars. Their language and expressions are not to be explained, at least in the first instance, as merely ‘typical epic diction,’ in some cases badly handled. Instead, I proceed on the assumption that the Hymns represent calculated and creative responses to fixed older texts, and that their full sense only emerges when they are interpreted in that light.3 The credibility of this approach can only be assessed by the results it yields, and thus by the contents of my commentary. Second, I pose throughout a series of fundamentally narratological questions, including by asking repeatedly not just ‘Who speaks?’ but ‘Who sees?’ or, better put, ‘Who perceives?’ and thus, to use a more technical term, ‘Who focalizes?’ This approach—or bundle of related approaches—works to expose some of the poems’ basic but designedly invisible mechanics: how (to use Genette’s terms) has histoire (the events or alleged events the Hymns represent in their own idiosyncratic ways; Bal’s ‘fabula’) been transformed into narration (the poems we have; Bal’s ‘text’)? Attentive readers will note in addition that I am dubious about the existence in the archaic period of kings in the Troad claiming descent from Aeneas (the ‘Aeneidae’), whereas Faulkner maintains that the hAphr. was composed specifically to honor such individuals (Introduction 1); that I do not believe that that poem was widely known or influential during the Hellenistic period or later, whereas Faulkner maintains that it was (Introduction 3); that I reject, on specifically stated grounds, Janko’s ‘glottochronometric’ attempt to precisely date the language of the hAphr., and indeed of all surviving early epic texts, a matter on which Faulkner takes no firm _____________ 3

For clear large-scale examples of this tendency, e.g. hAphr. 58–67 (combining and reworking Il. 14.166–86, esp. 169–72, on the one hand, and Od. 8.362–6, on the other), 202–17 (combining and expanding on Il. 5.265–7; 20.234–5); h. 6.3–18 (filling in the gaps in Hes. Th. 188–206, esp. 191–202).

x

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position (Introduction 2); and that I see little evidence to support the notion that the hAphr. has any substantial or significant Near Eastern background, a point for which Faulkner argues at length.4 The nine shorter Hymns included in this edition are in honor either of Aphrodite herself or of other goddesses praised in something approaching hymnic style in the hAphr. I have accordingly included them, because they seem to me to cast potentially significant light on the longer Hymn 5, as well as being of interest in and of themselves. The majority of my commentary was produced during the 2008–2009 academic year, when I held a fellowship at the National Humanities Center. Thanks are due the staff there for their unfailing kindness and support in matters both academic and non-academic. My time at the Center was made even more rewarding by the friendships I formed not just with other fellows, but in the local classics and rock-climbing communities. I look forward to seeing all of you again, if not in North Carolina, then perhaps somewhere else equally beautiful and hospitable. A final version of the manuscript was prepared at the University of Freiburg, where I held a Humboldt Research Award during the 2011–2012 academic year. I would like to thank my colleagues there, and especially Bernhard Zimmermann, for making my time in Germany happy and productive. The University of Minnesota provided Grant-in-Aid funds that allowed me both to purchase microfilms of the manuscripts of the Hymns and to examine the manuscripts themselves in a number of European libraries. Hayden Pelliccia read a complete draft of the text and commentary and asked difficult and penetrating questions that changed my thoughts on many sections of the text. Sam Caldis, Amber Grossheim, Sara Mickens, Josh Semrow, Opal Sherwood, and Peter Wildberger, working under the auspices of a University of Minnesota UROP grant, checked thousands of references in the body of the manuscript. Thanks of other sorts are due Nicolas Bock, Claudio De Stefani, Andrew Faulkner, Antonios Rengakos, N. J. Richardson, Ineke Sluiter, and Athanasios Vergados—and of course my own lovely Aphrodite, to whom this book is dedicated.

_____________ 4

Faulkner (2008) 18–22. Faulkner’s alleged parallels all appear to me to be generic (sc. to stories of beautiful women and their lovers), whereas the case for specific Greek epic models (detailed in my Introduction 3) is overwhelming.

Table of Contents Preface ....................................................................................................... vii Abbreviations and Sigla ........................................................................... xiii Introduction 1. Anchises, Aeneas, and the Aeneidae ............................................ 2. Date of Composition ..................................................................... 3. Poetic Affiliations of the Homeric Hymn to Aphrodite ............... 4. Aphrodite and Sexuality ................................................................ 5. The Metrics of the Homeric Hymn to Aphrodite ......................... 6. Textual Transmission ....................................................................

1 10 16 28 34 42

Critical Text and Translation Hymn 5: To Aphrodite ................................................................... Hymn 6: To Aphrodite ....................................................................... Hymn 9: To Artemis .......................................................................... Hymn 10: To Aphrodite ..................................................................... Hymn 11: To Athena .......................................................................... Hymn 12: To Hera ............................................................................. Hymn 24: To Hestia .......................................................................... Hymn 27: To Artemis ........................................................................ Hymn 28: To Athena .......................................................................... Hymn 29: To Hestia ..........................................................................

54 104 108 110 112 114 116 118 122 126

Commentary Hymn 5: To Aphrodite ....................................................................... Hymn 6: To Aphrodite ....................................................................... Hymn 9: To Artemis .......................................................................... Hymn 10: To Aphrodite ..................................................................... Hymn 11: To Athena .......................................................................... Hymn 12: To Hera ............................................................................. Hymn 24: To Hestia .......................................................................... Hymn 27: To Artemis ........................................................................ Hymn 28: To Athena .......................................................................... Hymn 29: To Hestia ..........................................................................

129 279 287 291 295 297 299 303 311 317

Bibliography ............................................................................................. 321 Index .......................................................................................................... 327

Abbreviations and Sigla LfgrE Lexikon des frühgriechischen Epos (Göttingen, 1955–2010) LIMC Lexicon Iconographicum Mythologiae Classicae (Zurich and Munich, 1981–1999) LSJ H. G. Liddell, R. Scott, et al., A Greek-English Lexicon9 (Oxford, 1995) PMG Denys Page (ed.), Poetae Melici Graeci (Oxford, 1962) SH Hugh Lloyd-Jones and Peter Parsons (eds.), Supplementum Hellenisticum (Texte und Kommentare 11: New York and Berlin, 1983) SLG Denys L. Page (ed.), Supplementum Lyricis Graecis (Oxford, 1974) Ancient authors are abbreviated as in LSJ, except that I have substituted abbreviations of the appropriate Greek names for the Latinate titles assigned to the major Homeric Hymns (e.g. hAphr. in place of LSJ’s hVen.). Standard commentaries on texts other than the hAphr. are cited by the editor’s name alone. The siglum * identifies a word or group of words that appear in the same metrical position as the word or group of words lemmatized or under discussion.

Introduction 1. Anchises, Aeneas, and the Aeneidae At Il. 2.820–1, as part of the catalogue of Trojan commanders, the poet (or the Muse) offers a brief description of Aeneas’ ancestry: IJઁȞ ਫ਼ʌૅ ਝȖȤȓıȘȚ IJȑțİ į૙ૅ ਝijȡȠįȓIJȘ / ૓ǿįȘȢ ਥȞ țȞȘȝȠ૙ıȚ șİ੹ ȕȡȠIJ૵Ț İ੝ȞȘșİ૙ıĮ (‘whom bright Aphrodite bore to Anchises after she slept with him in the foothills of Ida, a goddess with a mortal’). The story is mentioned again by Sthenelus at Il. 5.247–8, when he identifies the approaching Aeneas to Diomedes: ǹੁȞİȓĮȢ įૅ ȣੂઁȢ ȝ੻Ȟ ਕȝȪȝȠȞȠȢ ਝȖȤȓıĮȠ / İ੡ȤİIJĮȚ ਥțȖİȖȐȝİȞ, ȝȒIJȘȡ įȑ Ƞ੆ ਥıIJૅ ਝijȡȠįȓIJȘ (‘Aeneas claims to be the son of faultless Anchises, while his mother is Aphrodite’), and by the narrator in his introduction of the goddess as she rescues her wounded son from Diomedes at Il. 5.312–13: ਝijȡȠįȓIJȘ, / ȝȒIJȘȡ, ਸ਼ ȝȚȞ ਫ਼ʌૅ ਝȖȤȓıȘȚ IJȑțİ ȕȠȣțȠȜȑȠȞIJȚ (‘Aphrodite, his mother, who bore him to Anchises when Anchises was working as a cowherd’). The tale was also known to Hesiod, who offers the same basic information at Th. 1008–12: ǹੁȞİȓĮȞ įૅ ਙȡૅ ਩IJȚțIJİȞ ਥȣıIJȑijĮȞȠȢ ȀȣșȑȡİȚĮ, / ਝȖȤȓıȘȚ ਸ਼ȡȦȚ ȝȚȖİ૙ıૅ ਥȡĮIJોȚ ijȚȜȩIJȘIJȚ / ૓ǿįȘȢ ਥȞ țȠȡȣijોȚıȚ ʌȠȜȣʌIJȪȤȠȣ ਱ȞİȝȠȑııȘȢ (‘And fair-garlanded Cythereia bore Aeneas, after mingling in desirable love-making with the hero Anchises on the peaks of windy, glenfilled Ida’). This seems a remarkable story, all the more so because Aeneas is one of the greatest fighters on the Trojan side in the war against the Achaean invaders. But Homer and Hesiod have nothing more to say of Aeneas’ conception and birth, and the hAphr. can accordingly be understood as— among other things—an attempt to flesh out their intriguing but laconic remarks. That the project seemed worth undertaking must have been due in part to the extraordinary promise for Aeneas’ future issued by Poseidon at Il. 20.302–8 (discussed in more detail below). Indeed, Aeneas’ shadow is everywhere in the Hymn; the lovemaking of Anchises and Aphrodite matters not just because of what may be its larger cosmic consequences (discussed below, in section 3), but because it produced one of the most important heroes of the Trojan War and the epic tradition that told of it.

2

Introduction

Anchises is not a character in the Iliad,1 which is set a generation after the events in the main narrative line of the hAphr., by which time his son Aeneas is full-grown although seemingly still—as Homer would have it, at least—unmarried.2 Anchises is now an old man (Il. 17.324 ȖȑȡȠȞIJȚ), with a wife and a number of daughters, the oldest of whom, Hippodameia,3 is married to the distinguished Trojan Alcathoos (Il. 13.428–33). That Anchises has a devoted personal herald (Il. 17.323–5) suggests something approaching royal status, while the implication of the mention at Il. 5.271– 2 of how he sent Aeneas off to war with two of his marvelous horses, keeping the other four at home, is that he is resident somewhere other than at Troy.4 That Anchises got his horses by secretly breeding mares to the stallions Zeus gave Tros two generations earlier as compensation for the kidnapping of Ganymede (Il. 5.268–9) is perhaps to be understood as symptomatic of larger tensions within the clan, since the idea is apparently that the stallions were under the control of either Priam’s father Laomedon or Priam himself, who declined to share their services with their cousin. As Aeneas himself tells the story to Achilleus at Il. 20.215–41, his family began with Dardanus, a son of Zeus and a mortal woman (cf. Il. 20.303–5), who founded a city named Dardania (carefully distinguished from contemporary Troy) somewhere on the slopes of Mount Ida. Dardanus had a son named Erichthonius; Erichthonius had a son named Tros; and Tros had three sons, named Ilus, Assaracus, and Ganymede. Ganymede was carried off by the gods to pour Zeus’ wine, after which the family split into two branches. Ilus’ branch, culminating in Priam and his son Hector, ruled at Troy—alternatively referred to elsewhere as Ilium, presumably after its founder—while Assaracus’ branch, culminating in Anchises and his son Aeneas, did not.

_____________ 1 2 3 4

Neither Anchises nor Aeneas is mentioned in the Odyssey. The Iliad makes no reference to Aeneas having a wife or children. In surviving sources, Ascanius appears to be mentioned first by Hellanicus of Lesbos (discussed below) sometime in the mid-5th century BCE. The name is most easily understood as a reference to Anchises’ own interest in horses (esp. Il. 5.268–72). The Iliou Persis as summarized by Proclus makes no mention of Aeneas taking Anchises with him when he escaped the city (arg. 8–9, p. 88 Bernabé), the implication being that the old man was not at that point generally imagined as resident in the city. See below on the family’s more extended history and its implications for Aeneas’ position.

1. Anchises, Aeneas, and the Aeneidae

3

Dardanus

Erichthonius

Tros

Ilus

Assaracus

Laomedon

Capys

Tithonus

Priam

(other sons)

Paris

Hector (other sons)

Ganymede

Anchises

Aeneas

The Iliadic Aeneas is thus a Trojan, but is not from the reigning branch of the royal family or even from Troy itself. Instead, the catalogue of Trojan forces in Iliad 2 distinguishes Aeneas from Hector by describing the former as a leader of Dardanians (819), i.e. of the inhabitants of other Trojan cities scattered about the region. Achilleus hints at this as well, mocking Aeneas at Il. 20.188–94 with a description of how he chased him along the slopes of Mount Ida as far as Lyrnessus during the series of attacks on Trojan centers one consequence of which, we learn elsewhere in the poem, was the enslavement of Briseis, the object of Achilleus’ disastrous quarrel with Agamemnon in Book I.5 hAphr. 280 (cf. 103–6) radically contracts this chronology, implying that once Anchises receives the adolescent Aeneas from the mountain nymphs, the two of them will move to Troy, sc. to settle there permanently. But in the Iliad Aeneas is still a rustic cowherd _____________ 5

For this campaign, cf. Il. 2.688–93; 19.295–6; 20.89–96; Cypr. arg. 61–3, p. 42 Bernabé.

4

Introduction

(Il. 20.188–9 ıİ ȕȠ૵Ȟ ਙʌȠ ȝȠ૨ȞȠȞ ਥȩȞIJĮ / ıİ૨Į, ‘I rousted you away from your cows, when you were alone’), like his father before him (Il. 5.313; cf. hAphr. 55), when Achilleus comes upon him far from the city. As a Trojan, Aeneas almost by necessity gets the worst of most of the individual conflicts with Achaeans into which he inserts himself. Both the Homeric narrator and his characters nonetheless refer to him repeatedly as among his side’s most powerful leaders (e.g. Il. 14.423–6; 17.512; 20.158), and he appears again and again in the thick of the fighting: he engages in single combat, for example, with Diomedes in Book 5 and with Achilleus in Book 20; protects the wounded Hector at Il. 14.423–6; is involved in the struggle for Sarpedon’s body at Il. 16.535–6, 608–25; and takes a leading part in the fight that follows the death of Patroclus at Il. 17.323–49, 483– 93, 532–6. The poet himself claims that the Trojan people as a whole ‘honored [Aeneas] as a god’ (Il. 11.58), and the context (Hector, Polydamas, Aeneas, and the three sons of the Antenor marshal for battle) leaves little doubt that the reference is to his powerful fighting ability. But at Il. 13.460–1 Deiphobus finds Aeneas hanging back from battle, Įੁİ੿ Ȗ੹ȡ ȆȡȚȐȝȦȚ ਥʌİȝȒȞȚİ įȓȦȚ, / Ƞ੢Ȟİțૅ ਙȡૅ ਥıșȜઁȞ ਥȩȞIJĮ ȝİIJૅ ਕȞįȡȐıȚȞ Ƞ੡ IJȚ IJȓİıțİȞ (‘for he always felt resentment against bright Priam, since Priam failed to honor him, although he was among the most distinguished men’), while at Il. 20.180–1 Achilleus mocks Aeneas for—allegedly—hoping to succeed Priam as king of Troy, despite the fact that Priam has sons of his own and no intention of surrendering the throne to the other side of the family.6 Homer’s Aeneas is thus a powerful fighter and an important leader of his people’s forces, as well as a favorite of the gods, who twice rescue him from certain death and in one case miraculously heal his wounds before returning him to battle. But he is also a man who has not got the recognition he wants or, according to Poseidon, the position that will eventually belong to him; for after the destruction of Priam’s branch of the family, which Zeus has come to loathe, Poseidon prophesies, Aeneas will rule over/among/for Trojans, wherever they may be at that point, as will his descendants ever after (Il. 20.307–8): Ȟ૨Ȟ į੻ į੽ ǹੁȞİȓĮȠ ȕȓȘ ȉȡȫİııȚȞ ਕȞȐȟİȚ / țĮ੿ ʌĮȓįȦȞ ʌĮ૙įİȢ, IJȠȓ țİȞ ȝİIJȩʌȚıșİ ȖȑȞȦȞIJĮȚ (‘But now, in fact, powerful Aeneas will rule ȉȡȫİııȚȞ, as will the children of his children, whoever should be thereafter’). The hAphr. makes no reference to the as-yet-unborn Aeneas’ fighting ability, but instead insists that what will lend him distinction in Troy, at least initially, will be his remarkable good _____________ 6

Indeed, the narrator’s assertion at Il. 13.461, about Priam’s consistent failure to show Aeneas the honor he deserves, might with some justice be applied to the Homeric narrator himself, who on that view of things systematically pushes Anchises’ son to the side to focus instead on Priam, Hector, and Paris.

1. Anchises, Aeneas, and the Aeneidae

5

looks (279). Nor does the Hymn contain any hint of rivalry or hostility between Anchises and the other members of what is simply described as ‘your [collective] family’ (201 ਫ਼ȝİIJȑȡȘȢ ȖİȞİોȢ). Indeed, the hAphr. ignores the existence of other living members of what is, from an Iliadic perspective, the badly fractured Trojan royal house, as if the throne were vacant and all Aeneas will need to do to claim it (cf. 196) is appear in the city (280) and accept his people’s adulation (cf. 279–82 with nn.). This may be another example of the Hymn’s tendency to compress Iliadic chronology: Aeneas will (eventually) make his way to Troy and will (at some point thereafter) become the city’s king. But the reworking of the Iliadic Poseidon’s prophecy about Aeneas and his descendants at hAphr. 196–7 has other agenda as well, as I argue in detail at the end of this section. In 1800, August Matthiae suggested that the hAphr., and in particular the promise to Anchises at 196–7, were composed to honor a family ruling in the Troad in the poet’s own time that traced its descent back to Aeneas.7 Matthiae’s thesis—which echoed an earlier proposal by Robert Wood8 in regard to Il. 20.307–8—rapidly became influential and has been endorsed by (among others) Càssola and Faulkner in their editions of the Hymn.9 The thesis assumes both that we have historically reliable information about princely Aeneidae in the Troad and that the prophecy at hAphr. 196– 7 refers to them in particular. Both assumptions are problematic, and consideration of the question ultimately brings us back to the differences between the visions of the future of Anchises’ and Aeneas’ family in the Iliad and in the Hymn. That Aeneas left Troy before the city was sacked was asserted already by Arctinus (8th/7th century BCE?), the poet to whom the Cyclic Iliou Persis was traditionally attributed and who (according to Proclus) had the hero escape to Mount Ida after Laocoon and one of his sons were killed by snakes, but before the Achaean fleet returned in response to Sinon’s fire_____________ 7 8 9

Matthiae (1800) 67–73. For the problem of the poem’s date, see below, Introduction 2 and 5. Wood (1769). Càssola (1975) 244–7; Faulkner (2008) 7–10. Baumeister (p. 251) and Gemoll (p. 260), the most important 19th-century editors of the Hymns, by contrast, were skeptical about Matthiae’s thesis, as were Allen, Halliday, and Sikes in their edition (p. 351). For the history of the question, see Smith (1981b), esp. 20–5, who discusses a number of ancient texts (including Acus. FGrH 2 F 39; S. fr. 373; Menecr.Xanth. FGrH 769 F 3) sometimes cited as evidence for the existence of historical Aeneidae, but that in fact have nothing to say about them. My general conclusions are in line with Smith’s but less categorically dismissive of the possibility that real kings claiming descent from Aeneas ruled in the Troad and elsewhere in the early historical period. Whether those kings had any influence on the composition of the Hymn is a separate question; see below.

6

Introduction

signals, and the troops hidden inside the Wooden Horse emerged (i.e. that night).10 Where Aeneas was imagined, in the earliest period, to have gone after he left the city is unclear,11 although Stesichorus (early 6th century BCE) may already have claimed that he set off for the West.12 The first surviving specific reference to a resettlement of Troy by a member of Aeneas’ family, at any rate, is by Hellanicus of Lesbos (FGrH 4 F 31, preserved at D.H. 1.45.4–48.1) sometime in the middle of the 5th century BCE. According to Hellanicus (as summarized by Dionysius), when the lower city of Troy was taken by the Achaeans, Aeneas and a crowd of fighters—many of them, like Aeneas, ethnically Trojan but not from Troy itself—withdrew to the citadel, where the city’s sacred objects (ੂİȡ੹ IJ੹ _____________ 10 Arg. 8–9, p. 88 Bernabé: ਥʌ੿ į੻ IJ૵Ț IJȑȡĮIJȚ įȣıijȠȡȒıĮȞIJİȢ Ƞੂ ʌİȡ੿ IJઁȞ ǹੁȞİȓĮȞ ਫ਼ʌİȟોȜșȠȞ İੁȢ IJ੽Ȟ ૓ǿįȘȞ (‘Aeneas’ people, disturbed by the omen, withdrew discreetly to Mount Ida’). That Arctinus’ Aeneas took the city’s sacred objects, including the Palladium, with him, is therefore unlikely, since according to D.H. 1.69 = Il.Pers. fr. 1.31–2, p. 90 Bernabé, the true Palladium remained concealed in a shrine within the city until it fell (İੇȞĮȚ IJȠ૨IJȠ ਥȞ ૅǿȜȓȦȚ IJȑȦȢ ਲ ʌȩȜȚȢ ਲȜȓıțİIJȠ țİțȡȣȝȝȑȞȠȞ ਥȞ ਕȕȐIJȦȚ). The source for Dionysius’ claim that Aeneas, caught on the acropolis after the lower city was in Achaean hands, took Troy’s sacred objects—including, in this version of the tale, a second Palladium rather than the only real one—and escaped, eventually making his way to Italy (ਖȜȚıțȠȝȑȞȘȢ į੻ IJોȢ țȐIJȦ ʌȩȜİȦȢ IJઁȞ ǹੁȞİȓĮȞ țĮȡIJİȡઁȞ IJોȢ ਙțȡĮȢ ȖİȞȩȝİȞȠȞ, ਙȡĮȞIJĮ ਥț IJ૵Ȟ ਕįȪIJȦȞ IJȐ IJİ ੂİȡ੹ IJ૵Ȟ ȝİȖȐȜȦȞ șİ૵Ȟ țĮ੿ ੖ʌİȡ ਩IJȚ ʌİȡȚોȞ ȆĮȜȜȐįȚȠȞ … Ƞ੅ȤİıșĮȓ IJİ țȠȝȓıĮȞIJĮ ਥț IJોȢ ʌȩȜİȦȢ țĮ੿ ਥȜșİ૙Ȟ ਙȖȠȞIJĮ İੁȢ ૅǿIJĮȜȓĮȞ), is instead most likely Hellanicus of Lesbos (for whose account of Aeneas and Ascanius, see below). 11 Horsfall (1979a) 373 mistakenly claims that Arctinus ‘provides … our first clear attestation of the Trojans’ continued occupation of the Troad.’ Horsfall (1979a) 374 also garbles Arctinus’ treatment of the Palladium, confusing it with the wooden statue of Athena to which Cassandra clung as the city was being sacked (Il.Pers. arg. 15–16, p. 89 Bernabé), and exaggerates the extent to which the presence of Aeneidae in the Troad is attested (‘widely … in early texts’). 12 Cf. PMG 205, referring to the (notoriously problematic) Tabula Iliaca Capitolina (ca. 15 BCE), the central panel of which is inscribed ǿȁǿȅȊ ȆǼȇȈǿȈ Ȁǹȉǹ ȈȉǾȈǿȋȅȇȅȃ (‘The Sack of Troy, according to Stesichorus’), and which at another point depicts Aeneas’ departure İੁȢ IJ੽Ȟ ૽ǼıʌİȡȓĮȞ (‘for the West’). See Horsfall (1979b), who is by and large skeptical of the supposed connection to Stesichorus. Hellanicus FGrH 4 F 84 (cited at D.H. 1.72; see below), at any rate, certainly maintained that Aeneas migrated to the West; cf. n. 14, above; Galinsky (1969) 103–90 (with particular attention to the archaeological evidence for the legend). Note also Agathocles of Cyzicus (3rd century BCE?) FGrH 472 F 5, who according to Festus reported that vaticinio Heleni inpulsum Aenean Italiam petivisse (‘Aeneas, driven by Helenus’ prophecy, sought Italy’), but nonetheless also cited conplures … auctores, qui dicant Aenean sepultum in urbe Berecynthia proxime flumen Nolon (‘a number of authors, who report that Aeneas was buried in the city of Berecynthia, near the Nolon River’, i.e. in Phrygia) and held that it was only one of his descendants, named Rhomus, who made his way to Italy.

1. Anchises, Aeneas, and the Aeneidae

7

ʌĮIJȡ૵ȚĮ) and much of its wealth were stored. From there Aeneas organized the retreat of a large portion of Troy’s population to Mount Ida, where the refugees were joined by people from other neighboring Trojan towns. Eventually the Achaeans allowed Aeneas and his followers free passage out of the country, along with all their possessions, although in the event the evacuation was incomplete: įİȟȐȝİȞȠȢ į੻ IJĮ૨IJĮ ǹੁȞİȓĮȢ țĮ੿ ȞȠȝȓıĮȢ ਥț IJ૵Ȟ ਥȞȩȞIJȦȞ țȡȐIJȚıIJĮ İੇȞĮȚ, ਝıțȐȞȚȠȞ ȝ੻Ȟ IJઁȞ ʌȡİıȕȪIJĮIJȠȞ IJ૵Ȟ ʌĮȓįȦȞ, ਩ȤȠȞIJĮ IJȠ૨ ıȣȝȝĮȤȚțȠ૨ IJȚȞĮ ȝȠ૙ȡĮȞ, ਸȢ ĭȡȪȖȚȠȞ ਷Ȟ IJઁ ʌȜİ૙ıIJȠȞ, İੁȢ IJ੽Ȟ ǻĮıțȣȜ૙IJȚȞ țĮȜȠȣȝȑȞȘȞ ȖોȞ, ਩ȞșĮ ਥıIJ੿Ȟ ਲ ਝıțĮȞȓĮ ȜȓȝȞȘ, ȝİIJȐʌİȝʌIJȠȞ ਫ਼ʌઁ IJ૵Ȟ ਥȖȤȦȡȓȦȞ ȖİȞȩȝİȞȠȞ ਥʌ੿ ȕĮıȚȜİȓĮȚ IJȠ૨ ਩șȞȠȣȢ ਕʌȠʌȑȝʌİȚ. țĮ੿ ੭ȚțȘıİȞ ਝıțȐȞȚȠȢ Į੝IJȩșȚ ȤȡȩȞȠȞ IJȚȞ੹ Ƞ੝ ʌȠȜȪȞā ਥȜșȩȞIJȦȞ į੻ ੪Ȣ Į੝IJઁȞ ȈțĮȝĮȞįȡȓȠȣ IJİ țĮ੿ IJ૵Ȟ ਙȜȜȦȞ ૽ǼțIJȠȡȚį૵Ȟ, ਕijİȚȝȑȞȦȞ ਥț IJોȢ ૽ǼȜȜȐįȠȢ ਫ਼ʌઁ ȃİȠʌIJȠȜȑȝȠȣ, țĮIJȐȖȦȞ Į੝IJȠઃȢ ਥʌ੿ IJ੽Ȟ ʌĮIJȡȫȚĮȞ ਕȡȤ੽Ȟ İੁȢ ȉȡȠȓĮȞ ਕijȚțȞİ૙IJĮȚ. Aeneas accepted these terms, regarding them as the best he could get under the circumstances. But he sent his oldest son, Ascanius, accompanied by some of the allied troops, the majority of whom were Phrygians, to the region known as Dascylitis, where the Ascanian Lake is located, since the local inhabitants had invited [Ascanius] to assume the kingship of their people. Ascanius settles there for only a short period of time; when Scamandrius and Hector’s other descendants, who had been allowed to leave Greece by Neoptolemus, came to him, he took them back to his paternal domain, making his way to Troy.

Aeneas and his other sons, taking with them his father and the shrines of their gods (IJ੹ ਩įȘ IJ૵Ȟ șİ૵Ȟ), on the other hand, sailed out through the Hellespont to Pallene, on the other side of the Aegean, at which point Dionysius’ summary of Hellanicus breaks off.13 Hellanicus says nothing about how long Ascanius and his descendants were thought to have ruled at Troy or—more important for our purposes— about the presence of kings supposedly descended from Aeneas in the area in the historical period. This is instead purely legendary material and perhaps merely an attempt to describe the fulfillment of Poseidon’s prophecy at Il. 20.307–8. In any case, it tells us nothing about the presence of royal Aeneidae in the Troad at the time the Hymn to Aphrodite was composed.14 Slightly more compelling information about Aeneidae in the Troad is preserved at Strabo 13.607: ਩ıIJȚ įૅ ਲ ȝ੻Ȟ ȆĮȜĮȓıțȘȥȚȢ ਥʌȐȞȦ ȀİȕȡોȞȠȢ țĮIJ੹ IJઁ ȝİIJİȦȡȩIJĮIJȠȞ IJોȢ ૓ǿįȘȢ ਥȖȖઃȢ ȆȠȜȓȤȞȘȢā ਥțĮȜİ૙IJȠ į੻ IJȩIJİ ȈțોȥȚȢ, İ੅IJૅ ਙȜȜȦȢ, İ੅IJૅ ਕʌઁ IJȠ૨ ʌİȡȓıțİʌIJȠȞ İੇȞĮȚ IJઁȞ IJȩʌȠȞ, İੁ įİ૙ IJ੹ ʌĮȡ੹ IJȠ૙Ȣ ȕĮȡȕȐȡȠȚȢ ਥȞ IJ૵Ț IJȩIJİ ੑȞȩȝĮIJĮ IJĮ૙Ȣ

_____________ 13 But see n. 14, above. 14 For a catalogue of additional spots in the Troad (Gergitha, Percote, Colonai, Chryse, Ophrunion, Sidene, Astyr, Scepsis, Polichna, Dascyleion, and Iliou Colone) supposedly settled (or resettled) by Scamandrius and Ascanius, see Dionysius of Chalchis ap. ȈMOA E. Andr. 10.

8

Introduction

ਬȜȜȘȞȚțĮ૙Ȣ ਥIJȣȝȠȜȠȖİ૙ıșĮȚ ijȦȞĮ૙Ȣ. ੢ıIJİȡȠȞ į੻ țĮIJȦIJȑȡȦ ıIJĮįȓȠȚȢ ਦȟȒțȠȞIJĮ İੁȢ IJ੽Ȟ Ȟ૨Ȟ ȈțȒȥȚȞ ȝİIJȦȚțȓıșȘıĮȞ ਫ਼ʌઁ ȈțĮȝĮȞįȡȓȠȣ IJİ IJȠ૨ ਰțIJȠȡȠȢ țĮ੿ ਝıțĮȞȓȠȣ IJȠ૨ ǹੁȞİȓȠȣ ʌĮȚįȩȢā țĮ੿ įȪȠ ȖȑȞȘ IJĮ૨IJĮ ȕĮıȚȜİ૨ıĮȚ ʌȠȜઃȞ ȤȡȩȞȠȞ ਥȞ IJોȚ ȈțȒȥİȚ ȜȑȖİIJĮȚ. ȝİIJ੹ IJĮ૨IJĮ įૅ İੁȢ ੑȜȚȖĮȡȤȓĮȞ ȝİIJȑıIJȘıĮȞ, İੇIJĮ ȂȚȜȒıȚȠȚ ıȣȞİʌȠȜȚIJİȪșȘıĮȞ Į੝IJȠ૙Ȣ țĮ੿ įȘȝȠțȡĮIJȚț૵Ȣ ੭ȚțȠȣȞā Ƞੂ įૅ ਕʌઁ IJȠ૨ ȖȑȞȠȣȢ Ƞ੝į੻Ȟ ਸIJIJȠȞ ਥțĮȜȠ૨ȞIJȠ ȕĮıȚȜİ૙Ȣ, ਩ȤȠȞIJȑȢ IJȚȞĮȢ IJȚȝȐȢ. İੇIJૅ İੁȢ IJ੽Ȟ ਝȜİȤȐȞįȡİȚĮȞ ıȣȞİʌȩȜȚıİ IJȠઃȢ ȈțȘȥȓȠȣȢ ਝȞIJȓȖȠȞȠȢ, İੇIJૅ ਕʌȑȜȣıİ ȁȣıȓȝĮȤȠȢ țĮ੿ ਥʌĮȞોȜșȠȞ İੁȢ IJ੽Ȟ ȠੁțİȓĮȞ. Old Scepsis lies above Cebren, on the highest part of Mount Ida, near Polichne; it was referred to at that point as Scepsis, either for some other reason or because the place offers a good view in all directions (periskepton), if we are to explain names used by non-Greek peoples in the past by reference to Greek vocabulary. Later on they were resettled 60 stades lower down, in modern Scepsis, by Hector’s son Scamandrius and Aeneas’ son Ascanius; these two families are said to have ruled in Scepsis for a long time. Afterward they moved to an oligarchy; then some Milesians joined their city, and they lived under a democracy. The members of the family were nonetheless referred to as ‘kings’ and had certain privileges. Afterward Antigonus consolidated the Scepsians into a single city at Alexandria.15 But then Lysimachus released them and they returned to their own land.16

This material is sometimes assigned to the 2nd-century BCE geographer Demetrius of Scepsis, although Strabo (1st century BCE/1st century CE) does not say as much, and the section that follows in fact seems to distinguish Demetrius’ judgments from those Strabo has just reported.17 But whatever the original source and date of the material, it leaves no doubt that in Roman times the democratic Scepsis of the classical period was remembered as having had officials known as ‘kings’ who claimed descent from sons of Hector and Aeneas. That these claims echoed similar assertions put forward several centuries earlier by local dynasts, who eventually lost most of their political power when the city became an oligarchy, is possible—although, as Smith notes, Strabo (or Demetrius) seems unable to cite any other evidence in support of the alleged connection.18 What is in any case most important, is that this tenuous train of historical reasoning is the only evidence for Aeneidae ruling in the Troad around the time h. 5 was composed. Unless we know—as we do not—that such individuals

_____________ 15 I.e. Alexandria Troas, founded in 310 BCE by Antigonus Monopthalmos. 16 In 301 BCE. 17 Ƞ੅İIJĮȚ įૅ ੒ ȈțȒȥȚȠȢ țĮ੿ ȕĮıȓȜİȚȠȞ IJȠ૨ ǹੁȞİȓȠȣ ȖİȖȠȞȑȞĮȚ IJ੽Ȟ ȈțોȥȚȞ (‘The Scepsian believes that Scepsis was Aeneas’ royal seat’) = fr. 35 Gaede (who does not include Strabo’s discussion of the early history of the place quoted above in his edition of the fragments of Demetrius). 18 Smith (1981b) 37–8.

1. Anchises, Aeneas, and the Aeneidae

9

existed, there is little point in debating how the poet’s interest in them influenced the contents of his Hymn.19 As noted above, at Il. 20.307–8 Poseidon predicts that Aeneas’ descendants will rule in Troy forever. The version of the prophecy at hAphr. 196–7 (addressed to Anchises) is rather different: ıȠ੿ įૅ ਩ıIJĮȚ ijȓȜȠȢ ȣੂȩȢ, ੔Ȣ ਥȞ ȉȡȫİııȚȞ ਕȞȐȟİȚ, / țĮ੿ ʌĮ૙įİȢ ʌĮȓįİııȚ įȚĮȝʌİȡ੻Ȣ ਥțȖİȖȐȠȞIJĮȚ (‘You will have a son you will love, who will be a king in Troy; and the line of your descendants will go on forever’). According to the hAphr., in contrast to the Iliad, Aeneas will rule in Troy, and his line will continue. But where the Aeneadai will end up (sc. after the city is sacked), and what their position will be when they get there, is left unclear. The Hymn thus refers to Aeneas’ descendants in a much less specific fashion than Iliad 20 does, setting aside predictions of a continuing dynasty in favor of assertions of a broader and more general sort. The prophecy at hAphr. 196–7 may be nothing more than a cautious reworking of its problematic Iliadic exemplar. That it is addressed to anyone in particular is far from clear. But to the extent that the Hymn imagines historical descendants of Anchises and Aeneas surviving into its own time, it presents them not as kings, and not necessarily even as residents of the Troad, but as the broad mass of individuals scattered throughout the ancient Mediterranean who claimed descent in one way or another from the notoriously peripatetic Trojan hero.20

_____________ 19 Faulkner (2008) 7–10 notes that the birth of Aeneas is ‘one of the major themes’ of the Hymn and that the poem pays considerable attention to earlier generations of Anchises’ family, on the one hand, and to Aeneas’ glorious future, on the other. He concludes (p. 10) that all this lends ‘considerable support to the hypothesis that the Aineidai did exist and that the poet of Aphr. intended to praise them.’ But the poem’s preoccupation with Aeneas can be adequately explained on the uncontroversial thesis (noted above) that its purposes include filling out the personal background of an important Iliadic character, and in particular the account of the circumstances of his conception at Il. 2.820–1. Any alleged influence of supposed contemporary Aeneidae on the contents and character of the Hymn must be argued for on other grounds, and the argument will need to begin with a demonstration that such individuals existed; that a thesis is not impossible is no reason to accept it. 20 For legends of Trojan refugees settling in various parts of the Mediterranean, see Perret (1942) 125–285; Bérard (1957) 350–68; Erskine (2001) 131–56.

10

Introduction

2. Date of Composition The date of composition of the hAphr. is unknown. As I argue in detail in Introduction 3, the poem refers repeatedly and at length to the Iliad and the Odyssey, as well as—if less insistently—to the Hesiodic corpus. That it was itself known to the author of the hDem. is likewise a reasonable if unprovable hypothesis. On the basis of these relative dates, the hAphr. is sometimes assigned to the first half of the 7th century BCE. This thesis is consistent with the metrical evidence (see Introduction 5), but (as I argue in detail below) is in fact little more than guesswork. In his influential 1982 Homer, Hesiod and the Hymns, Richard Janko attempts to more precisely determine the relative dates of the substantially preserved major archaic epic poems21 by the use of modern statistical methods. As Milman Parry argued half a century earlier, the language of oral poetry changes as a whole neither faster nor slower than the spoken language, but in its parts it changes readily where no loss of formulas is called for, belatedly when there must be such a loss, so that the traditional diction has in it words and forms of everyday use side by side with others that belong to earlier stages of the language.22

Janko’s book takes up the challenge implicitly posed by Parry’s observation: [O]ne expects old formulae and archaisms to diminish in frequency through the generations, as innovative phraseology and language creeps in; and if this could be quantified, it might provide a yardstick useful for assigning approximate relative dates to the poems. It ought therefore to be possible to count archaisms and innovations in the poems and find out whether there is any consistent pattern in their innovation.23

Indeed, Janko undertakes not just to fix relative dates for the poems we have, including the hAphr., but to recover much of the otherwise obscure history of the development of epic diction.

_____________ 21 The Iliad and the Odyssey; Hesiod’s Theogony and Works and Days; the Hesiodic Catalogue of Women; the pseudo-Hesiodic Aspis; and the Homeric Hymns to Delian and Pythian Apollo (treated separately), Demeter, Hermes, and Aphrodite. For a more detailed critique of Janko’s arguments, with specific reference to his handling of the hAphr. as a test case, see Jones (2010). 22 M. Parry (1932) 12 = A. Parry (1971) 333. 23 Janko (1982) 189. In fact, Janko treats the existence of a consistent chronologically determined pattern of archaism and innovation across the poems not as a hypothesis to be tested (and thus perhaps rejected, if the data fail to conform to it), but as a fundamental assumption. This has substantial consequences for the construction of his argument, as discussed below.

2. Date of Composition

11

As diagnostic criteria, Janko adopts the following:24 • % of neglect of digamma • % of masculine a-stem genitive singulars25 in -ĮȠ versus -İȦ • % of a-stem genitive plurals in -ĮȦȞ versus -ȑȦȞ/-૵Ȟ • % of o-stem genitive singulars in -ȠȚȠ versus -Ƞȣ • % of resolvable -Ƞȣ (i.e. *-ȠȠ) • % of o- and a-stem dative plurals in -ȠȚıȚ and -ȘȚıȚ/-ĮȚıȚ versus ȠȚȢ and -ȘȚȢ/-ĮȚȢ • % of o- and a-stem dative plurals in -ȠȚȢ and -ȘȚȢ/-ĮȚȢ standing before a consonant versus before a vowel • % of o-stem accusative plurals standing before a vowel versus before a consonant • % of a-stem accusative plurals standing before a vowel versus before a consonant • % of oblique forms of ǽİȪȢ in ǽ- (i.e. ǽોȞĮ, ǽȘȞȩȢ and ǽȘȞȓ) versus in ǻ- (i.e. ǻȚȩȢ and ǻȚȓ)26 Janko then calculates the individual poems’ values in each category, and plots the results on a series of bar-graphs (his Figure 1),27 using a common scale in which the figure for the Iliad always appears at point 0, while the figure for the Theogony (widely believed to date several generations later than the Iliad) always appears at point 3.28 In the case of neglect of digamma, for example, the Iliad’s 17.2% = point 0 on the common scale; the Odyssey’s 17.9% appears just to the right of this; the Theogony’s 33.7% = point 3, considerably further right on the common scale; and the Works and Days, hDem. and hHerm. appear even further to the right, at 37.9%, 45.9% and 53.6%, respectively. The implication is that the rate of neglect of digamma increased gradually within the epic dialect over time, a conclusion strengthened by the fact that the individual poems appear on the common _____________ 24 Many of these figures are nuanced in ways that are irrelevant to the argument that follows, and that are accordingly not detailed here. 25 I write ‘genitive singulars’ et sim. throughout in place of the pedantically correct but uncolloquial ‘genitives singular’. 26 Janko (1982) 61–2 omits from consideration instances of accusative ǻȓĮ, on the ground that the form is an innovation and relatively infrequent. 27 Janko (1982) 72–3. 28 If there are less than five instances of any particular phenomenon in an individual poem, Janko dismisses the number from further consideration as likely to be statistically insignificant. In most cases this is the % of masculine a-stem genitive singulars in -ĮȠ versus -İȦ (for which figures are given only for the Iliad; the Odyssey; the Theogony; the Works and Days; and the Catalogue of Women). But a total of two criteria are omitted for the hDem., while a total of five are omitted for the hDAp.

12

Introduction

scale more or less where we might have expected to find them on other grounds. In his Figure 229, Janko consolidates the results represented by his Figure 1 into a single line-graph, and identifies what he judges to be significant clusters of criteria for individual poems. On this basis, Janko identifies three groups: • an Archaic group (Iliad, Odyssey, and hAphr.) • an Advanced group (Theogony, Works and Days, Catalogue of Women, hDem., and Hymn to Delian Apollo) • and an Inconsistent group, i.e. poems whose values do not cluster in any obvious way but are ‘wildly scattered’30 along the common scale (Aspis, Hymn to Pythian Apollo, hHerm.). Even more boldly, Janko uses his figures for the Iliad and the Theogony to attempt to look backward in time to the moment when the individual phenomena in question entered epic diction. Thus he reasons that if digamma, for example, is neglected 17.2% of the time in the Iliad (= point 0 on the common scale) but 33.7% of the time (i.e. almost exactly twice as often) in the Theogony (= point 3 on the common scale), and if, as hypothesized—or assumed—the linguistic development of the epic tradition proceeded at a more or less fixed rate, then 0% neglect can be assumed at point -3 on the common scale. Janko thus reconstructs a relative chronology not only of the poems preserved for us but of epic diction as a whole, including an ‘Aeolic phase’ during which a Mycenean (or ‘Achaean’) tradition of singing was preserved and developed by Aeolic-speaking bards before being passed on to the Ionic-speakers whose work we have today. Most of the poems in Janko’s Archaic and Advanced groups appear on the common scale in Figure 2 approximately where we might expect them to on other grounds, seemingly confirming the soundness of his ‘glottochronometric’ approach to the material. The Iliad and the Odyssey fall close together, with the Odyssey’s values clustering slightly to the right of the Iliad’s, suggesting that it is the younger of the two Homeric epics. Then, after a gap, come the Theogony, the Hymn to Pythian Apollo, the Works and Days, and the hDem., seeming in that—largely unremarkable— order. The Catalogue of Women, on the other hand, appears to the left of the Theogony on the common scale, suggesting that it is older rather than younger than the other poem, as it ought almost certainly to be. But the most substantial problem within these groups is the hAphr., five of whose values (% of neglect of digamma; of a-stem genitive plurals in -ĮȦȞ; of oand a-stem dative plurals in -ȠȚıȚ and -ȘȚıȚ/-ĮȚıȚ; of o- and a-stem dative _____________ 29 Janko (1982) 74. 30 Janko (1982) 75.

2. Date of Composition

13

plurals in -ȠȚȢ and -ȘȚȢ/-ĮȚȢ standing before a consonant; and of a-stem accusative plurals standing before a vowel) Janko identifies as forming a cluster that appears to put the poem contemporary with the Odyssey. Of the hAphr.’s four remaining values, one (% of o-stem accusative plurals standing before a vowel) appears even further to the left (i.e. ‘earlier’) on the common scale; two others (% of o-stem genitive singulars in -ȠȚȠ, and of resolvable -Ƞȣ) appear close to the Theogony; and the last (% of oblique forms of ǽİȪȢ in ǽ-) appears at the extreme right (‘late’) end of the common scale, at point 7. Not only are four of the nine individual values for the hAphr. scattered far and wide along the common scale, therefore, but the others do not cluster where they should on other, more traditional grounds (i.e. somewhere between the Theogony and hDem.), and are instead found far to the left of there and thus earlier, with the Homeric poems the hAphr. quotes and alludes to repeatedly (see below, Introduction 3). Janko is aware of the challenge posed to his general hypothesis by the hAphr. in particular,31 and he responds by arguing that its composer must have been working within a tradition in which development of the linguistic features of the poem that seemingly cluster ‘too early’ was relatively retarded, although changes in the use of o-stem genitive singulars had proceeded more or less as they did elsewhere. The dialect in question, Janko suggests, must be a previously unremarked northern sub-species of Asiatic Aeolic in which digamma—which the hAphr., by Janko’s calculation, at least, respects even more emphatically than the two Homeric poems do32— was not lost early on, as it has been already in Sappho. As for the relatively advanced rate of use of forms of ǽİȪȢ in ǽ-, on the other hand, Janko maintains that ‘the best explanation seems to be that the hymnodist is trying hard to compose in Ionic, and succeeding only too well in this particular. As ǽȘȞȩȢ is not an archaism, this is not false archaism but hyperionism.’33 Janko’s response to the problems posed for his scheme by the hAphr. is thus to argue that glottochronometric analysis must sometimes yield to matters of dialect, on the one hand, and of idiolect (a singer’s individual tendencies and interests), on the other. Once the adjustments such considerations require are taken into account, the hAphr. can be seen to sit on the _____________ 31 Janko (1982) 152: ‘These facts are self-contradictory at first sight, and present very real difficulties: is this a poem of Homeric date, with the more advanced features random or regional in origin? Or is it post-Homeric, with the archaic diction a regional characteristic or a deliberate choice (since it is too well-established to be random)?’ As I argue in detail below, the alternative explanations Janko puts forward here for the seeming peculiarity of the individual values assigned the hAphr. amount to an admission that his glossochronometric hypothesis has been falsified. 32 15.9% neglect in the hAphr., vs. 17.2% in the Iliad and 17.9% in the Odyssey. 33 Janko (1982) 80.

14

Introduction

common scale precisely where we know that it belongs, somewhere between Hesiod and the hDem., and perhaps, on Janko’s view of things, specifically between the Theogony and the Works and Days.34 Janko’s explanations for the apparent anomalies in the values for the hAphr. are patently ad hoc and accordingly inspire little confidence. More to the point, his approach to the problem fatally undermines his own larger thesis. The fundamental basis of Janko’s argument is that epic diction is usefully conceived as a monolithic entity that evolved in a gradual, linear fashion over time. If his statistics for the individual poems do not accord with this hypothesis—as they patently do not—therefore, the difficulty cannot be resolved by introducing considerations of regional dialect and poetic idiolect, for such considerations are excluded by the larger thesis: if the epic tradition varied from place to place, and if individual singers had their own, sometimes eccentric styles, epic tradition is not a monolithic entity. Janko’s elaborate attempts to adjust the results of his analysis to fit what we know on other grounds to be the facts of the case thus amount to an admission that his hypothesis has been falsified—or, put another way, that his vision of epic diction is not a hypothesis (to be abandoned if the data fail to support it) but an assumption (the falsification of which cannot be tolerated). The glottochronometric hypothesis and the elaborate chain of conclusions that depend on it must accordingly be abandoned. What remains is to seek an alternative explanation of the phenomena Janko has identified. As noted above, Janko’s handling and organization of his data depend on the notion that the Iliad and the Theogony can be treated as fixed points on a ‘common scale’ that represents differences in epic diction, monolithically conceived, as functions of the passage of time. The Iliad is older than the Theogony; the diction of the two poems is strikingly different in numerous respects; and those differences must, on Janko’s analysis, reflect developments within the epic tradition as a whole. The case of the hAphr. in particular makes clear that Janko’s chronological hypothesis cannot be maintained. All the same, the data remain. Of the three groups of poems that Janko’s statistics appear to yield, only two can be taken to support his larger hypothesis without special pleading that undermines the argument: the Iliad and the Odyssey (which belong to Janko’s Archaic group) are close on many criteria, as are, separately, the Theogony, Works and Days and Catalogue of Women (which belong to Janko’s Advanced group, the Catalogue being notably out of what would seem, on the chronological hypothesis, to be its proper position there). Once Janko’s theory of monolithic epic linguistic development is set aside, the bulk of the membership _____________ 34 Janko (1982) 179.

2. Date of Composition

15

of these two groups can be seen as, in the first instance, merely confirming what has always been known—or at least sensed—about much early epic poetry: the Iliad and the Odyssey are a great deal like one another; the Hesiodic poems (with the exception of the pseudo-Hesiodic Aspis) are as well; the two sets of poems are nonetheless quite distinct; and the hAphr.— which ought, on chronological grounds, to fall into Janko’s Advanced group, but does not—is emphatically the most ‘Homeric’ of the major Hymns. Whatever the differences and affiliations Janko identifies among these poems may mean, therefore, they have nothing obviously or necessarily to do with chronology. However we conceive of epic diction, it must have evolved over time, as Parry (quoted at the beginning of this section) argued. But Janko’s Archaic and Advanced poems—perhaps better called ‘Homeric’ and ‘Hesiodic’—are more effectively understood as separated primarily by regional and ‘school’ affiliation and then, within those parameters, by idiolect and most likely subject-matter as well. The surest proof of this alternative hypothesis is the behavior of the Aspis and the Hymns on Janko’s ‘common scale’. On a chronological interpretation of the data, not only the hAphr. but the entire Inconsistent group (the Aspis, Hymn to Pythian Apollo, and hHerm.) are embarrassments that must be explained away: they fail to conform to the hypothesis, in three of four cases radically so. But if what the data illustrate are instead differences of other sorts, they merely suggest that the Aspis and at least three of five major Hymns are neither particularly Homeric nor particularly Hesiodic. The poems have instead been produced by other authors or singers, working in other places and in times not yet precisely identified, with their own idiosyncratic interests and tendencies.35 Whatever the inherent interest or significance of Janko’s values, therefore, they cannot be used to date the hAphr. relative to the other early epic poetry that survives for us. For that we are thrown back on the more traditional criteria discussed below, in Introduction 3.

_____________ 35 It accordingly seems worth asking precisely how ‘Hesiodic’ the hDem. really is, given that three of its eight values fall distinctly in the ‘Homeric’ range, and perhaps also how genuinely ‘Homeric’ the hAphr. is, given that four of its nine values fall far to one side or the other of its central cluster.

16

Introduction

3. Poetic Affiliations of the Homeric Hymn to Aphrodite36 Defining the nature of the interaction among early dactylic hexameter texts and poets is a notoriously problematic undertaking. Much epic diction appears to have been widely disseminated, so that the use of common formulae, including whole lines and even groups of lines, alone does not prove that one poet knew and borrowed from or adapted the work of another. Thus hAphr. 35 Ƞ੡IJİ șİ૵Ȟ ȝĮțȐȡȦȞ Ƞ੡IJİ șȞȘIJ૵Ȟ ਕȞșȡȫʌȦȞ is identical to Od. 9.521, but also to Hes. fr. 204.117 and hMerc. 144; the echo shows not that the hAphr.-poet knew Homer, ‘Hesiod’, and/or some of the other Hymns (although he may have), but only that all four poets were working within a broad inherited system of composition by formula.37 Nor can more limited overlaps of language or content (e.g. hAphr. 44 ਙȜȠȤȠȞ ʌȠȚȒıĮIJȠ țȑįȞૅ İੁįȣ૙ĮȞ / ~ hAp. 313; hAphr. 205 ʌȐȞIJİııȚ IJİIJȚȝȑȞȠȢ ਕșĮȞȐIJȠȚıȚȞ / ~ hDem. 397) be taken to demonstrate direct contact between two works, since the phenomenon might only be evidence that both poets had access to a regional or local sub-tradition of singing with its own ideas, type-scenes and formulae. The issue is complicated further by our almost complete lack of certainty about how and when the poems were fixed in something like the form we have today, and about the relationship between this (continuing process of? at least partially oral?) fixation and the creation of the literary text we have. My commentary proceeds on the assumption that the composer of the hAphr. knew the Iliad and the Odyssey, and perhaps the Theogony and the Works and Days as well, in more or less the form in which we have those poems today. The Hymn is not merely in contact with, and its composer a participant in broadly ‘Homeric’ and ‘Hesiodic’ traditions of singing. Instead, the poem interacts creatively and often aggressively with the Iliad and the Odyssey in particular, the most obvious example of the tendency being perhaps 59–68, which rework and combine Aphrodite’s visit to Paphos after she and Ares are caught in bed together by Hephaestus in Odyssey 8, on the one hand, and Hera’s retreat into her chamber to prepare to seduce Zeus in Iliad 14, on the other. Thus 59 ਥȢ ȆȐijȠȞā ਩ȞșĮ įȑ Ƞੂ IJȑȝİȞȠȢ ȕȦȝȩȢ IJİ șȣȫįȘȢ ~ Od. 8.363 ਥȢ ȆȐijȠȞā ਩ȞșĮ įȑ Ƞੂ IJȑȝİȞȠȢ _____________ 36 For the affiliations of the other ‘minor’ Hymns treated in this edition, see the end of Introduction 5. 37 Cf. e.g. hAphr. 8 = Hes. Th. 13 ~ Il. 10.553 (nominative); hAphr. 235 = Il. 2.5 = 10.17 = 14.161 = Hes. fr. 209.1, cf. Od. 9.424 = 11.230. For a more complete collection of traditional formulaic language in the hAphr., see the second apparatus; Preziosi (1967).

3. Poetic Affiliations of the Homeric Hymn to Aphrodite

17

ȕȦȝȩȢ IJİ șȣȒİȚȢ, and 61–2 ਩ȞșĮ įȑ ȝȚȞ ȋȐȡȚIJİȢ ȜȠ૨ıĮȞ țĮ੿ Ȥȡ૙ıĮȞ ਥȜĮȓȦȚ / ਕȝȕȡȩIJȦȚ, ȠੈĮ șİȠઃȢ ਥʌİȞȒȞȠșİȞ Įੁ੻Ȟ ਥȩȞIJĮȢ = Od. 8.364–5; while 60 ਩Ȟșૅ ਸ਼ Ȗૅ İੁıİȜșȠ૨ıĮ șȪȡĮȢ ਥʌȑșȘțİ ijĮİȚȞȐȢ = Il. 14.169; 63 ਕȝȕȡȠıȓȦȚ ਦįĮȞ૵Ț, IJȩ ૧Ȑ Ƞੂ IJİșȣȦȝȑȞȠȞ ਷İȞ = Il. 14.172; for 64 ਦııĮȝȑȞȘ įૅ İ੣ ʌȐȞIJĮ ʌİȡ੿ ȤȡȠ੿ İ੆ȝĮIJĮ țĮȜȐ, cf. Il. 14.187 Į੝IJ੹ȡ ਥʌİ੿ į੽ ʌȐȞIJĮ ʌİȡ੿ ȤȡȠ੿ șȒțĮIJȠ țȩıȝȠȞ (reworked again at 171–2); for 66 ıİȪĮIJૅ ਥʌ੿ ȉȡȠȓȘȢ, ʌȡȠȜȚʌȠ૨ıૅ İ੝ȫįİĮ ȀȪʌȡȠȞ, cf. Il. 14.227–8; and 67–8 ੢ȥȚ ȝİIJ੹ ȞȑijİıȚȞ ૧ȓȝijĮ ʌȡȒııȠȣıĮ țȑȜİȣșȠȞ. / ૓ǿįȘȞ įૅ ੆țĮȞİȞ ʌȠȜȣʌȓįĮțĮ, ȝȘIJȑȡĮ șȘȡ૵Ȟ ~ Il. 14.282–3 ૧ȓȝijĮ ʌȡȒııȠȞIJĮ țȑȜİȣșȠȞ./ ૓ǿįȘȞ įૅ ੂțȑıșȘȞ ʌȠȜȣʌȓįĮțĮ, ȝȘIJȑȡĮ șȘȡ૵Ȟ.38 The scale, complexity, and precision of this reworking suggests interaction with fixed written texts, as also on a smaller scale at inter alia the following points (all discussed at greater length in the commentary):39 hAphr. 16 ਝȡIJȑȝȚįĮ ȤȡȣıȘȜȐțĮIJȠȞ țİȜĮįİȚȞȒȞ ~ Il. 20.70–1 ȤȡȣıȘȜȐțĮIJȠȢ țİȜĮįİȚȞȒ / ૓ǹȡIJİȝȚȢ hAphr. 18 țĮ੿ Ƞ੡ȡİıȚ șોȡĮȢ ਥȞĮȓȡİȚȞ (among Artemis’ interests) ~ Il. 21.485 țĮIJૅ Ƞ੡ȡİĮ șોȡĮȢ ਥȞĮȓȡİȚȞ* (Hera’s description of Artemis’ proper sphere of interest) hAphr. 42 țȣįȓıIJȘȞ įૅ ਙȡĮ ȝȚȞ IJȑțİIJȠ ȀȡȩȞȠȢ ਕȖțȣȜȠȝȒIJȘȢ (of Hera; cf. also hAphr. 22, of Hestia) ~ Il. 4.59 țĮȓ ȝİ ʌȡİıȕȣIJȐIJȘȞ IJȑțİIJȠ ȀȡȩȞȠȢ ਕȖțȣȜȠȝȒIJȘȢ (Hera’s self-description) hAphr. 54–5 ਥȞ ਕțȡȠʌȩȜȠȚȢ ੕ȡİıȚȞ ʌȠȜȣʌȓįĮțȠȢ ૓ǿįȘȢ / ȕȠȣțȠȜȑİıțİȞ ȕȠ૨Ȣ (of Anchises as Aphrodite is made to fall in love with him) ~ Il. 21.448–9 ȕȠ૨Ȣ ȕȠȣțȠȜȑİıțİȢ / ૓ǿįȘȢ ਥȞ țȞȘȝȠ૙ıȚ ʌȠȜȣʌIJȪȤȠȣ ਫ਼ȜȘȑııȘȢ (of Apollo working for King Laomedon of Troy)

_____________ 38 In this light, the following more limited echoes deserve notice as well: 38 țĮȓ IJİ IJȠ૨ İ੣IJૅ ਥșȑȜȘȚ ʌȣțȚȞ੹Ȣ ijȡȑȞĮȢ ਥȟĮʌĮijȠ૨ıĮ, cf. Il. 14.160 ੖ʌʌȦȢ ਥȟĮʌȐijȠȚIJȠ ǻȚઁȢ ȞȩȠȞ ĮੁȖȚȩȤȠȚȠ, 294 ੪Ȣ įૅ ੅įİȞ, ੮Ȣ ȝȚȞ ਩ȡȠȢ ʌȣțȚȞ੹Ȣ ijȡȑȞĮȢ ਕȝijİțȐȜȣȥİȞ; 54 ੔Ȣ IJȩIJૅ ਥȞ ਕțȡȠʌȩȜȠȚȢ ੕ȡİıȚȞ ʌȠȜȣʌȓįĮțȠȢ ૓ǿįȘȢ, cf. Il. 14.157 ǽોȞĮ įૅ ਥʌૅ ਕțȡȠIJȐIJȘȢ țȠȡȣijોȢ ʌȠȜȣʌȓįĮțȠȢ ૓ǿįȘȢ; 81 ıIJો įૅ … ʌȡȠʌȐȡȠȚșİ * at Il. 14.297 ıIJો įૅ Į੝IJોȢ ʌȡȠʌȐȡȠȚșİ; 107 IJઁȞ įૅ ਱ȝİȓȕİIJૅ ਩ʌİȚIJĮ ǻȚઁȢ șȣȖȐIJȘȡ ਝijȡȠįȓIJȘ ~ Il. 14.193 IJ੽Ȟ įૅ țIJȜ.; 234 Ƞ੝įȑ IJȚ țȚȞોıĮȚ ȝİȜȑȦȞ įȪȞĮIJૅ Ƞ੝įૅ ਕȞĮİ૙ȡĮȚ ~ Od. 8.298 Ƞ੝įȑ IJȚ țȚȞોıĮȚ ȝİȜȑȦȞ ਷Ȟ Ƞ੝įૅ ਕȞĮİ૙ȡĮȚ; 243 ਙȤȠȢ ʌȣțȚȞ੹Ȣ ijȡȑȞĮȢ ਕȝijȚțĮȜȪʌIJȠȚ, cf. Il. 14.294 ਩ȡȦȢ ʌȣțȚȞ੹Ȣ ijȡȑȞĮȢ ਕȝijȚțȐȜȣȥİȞ 39 The hAphr. may also—and likely often does—refer to other texts that are now lost. hAphr. 88 ੖ȡȝȠȚ įૅ ਕȝijૅ ਖʌĮȜોȚ įİȚȡોȚ ʌİȡȚțĮȜȜȑİȢ ਷ıĮȞ, for example, probably represents a reworking of Cypria fr. 6, p. 48 Bernabé collum marmoreum torques gemmata coronat, which we know only through a Latin translation. But we lack any way to identify such references, and I have accordingly left the question almost entirely to the side.

18

Introduction

hAphr. 103 įȩȢ ȝİ ȝİIJ੹ ȉȡȫİııȚȞ ਕȡȚʌȡİʌȑૅ ਩ȝȝİȞĮȚ ਙȞįȡĮ (Anchises’ prayer to the disguised Aphrodite), cf. Il. 6.476–7 įȩIJİ į੽ țĮ੿ IJȩȞįİ ȖİȞȑıșĮȚ / ʌĮ૙įૅ ਥȝȩȞ, ੪Ȣ țĮ੿ ਥȖȫ ʌİȡ, ਕȡȚʌȡİʌȑĮ ȉȡȫİııȚȞ (Hector’s prayer for his son Astyanax) hAphr. 109 Ƞ੡ IJȓȢ IJȠȚ șİȩȢ İੁȝȚā IJȓ ȝૅ ਕșĮȞȐIJȘȚıȚȞ ਥȓıțİȚȢ; (the disguised Aphrodite’s shocked response to Anchises’ address to her as a goddess) ~ Od. 16.187 Ƞ੡ IJȚȢ IJȠȚ șİȩȢ İੁȝȚā IJȓ ȝૅ ਕșĮȞȐIJȠȚıȚȞ ਥȓıțİȚȢ; (the transformed Odysseus’ response to Telemachus’ astonished insistence that he must be a god) hAphr. 110 ȖȣȞ੽ įȑ ȝİ ȖİȓȞĮIJȠ ȝȒIJȘȡ (the disguised Aphrodite to Anchises) ~ Il. 21.109 șİ੹ įȑ ȝİ ȖİȓȞĮIJȠ ȝȒIJȘȡ* (Achilleus to Hector, just before Hector’s death) hAphr. 111–12 ૅȅIJȡİઃȢ … / ੔Ȣ ʌȐıȘȢ ĭȡȣȖȓȘȢ … ਕȞȐııİȚ and 137 ĭȡȪȖĮȢ ĮੁȠȜȠʌȫȜȠȣȢ (the disguised Aphrodite’s description of her father and her people), cf. Il. 3.184–9 ĭȡȪȖĮȢ ਕȞȑȡĮȢ ĮੁȠȜȠʌȫȜȠȣȢ, / ȜĮȠઃȢ ૅȅIJȡોȠȢ țĮ੿ ȂȣȖįȩȞȠȢ ਕȞIJȚșȑȠȚȠ (Priam’s account of a youthful visit to Phrygia) hAphr. 118 ਥț ȤȠȡȠ૨ ਝȡIJȑȝȚįȠȢ ȤȡȣıȘȜĮțȐIJȠȣ țİȜĮįİȓȞȘȢ (from the disguised Aphrodite’s story of how Hermes abducted her) ~ Il. 16.183 ਥȞ ȤȠȡ૵Ț ਝȡIJȑȝȚįȠȢ ȤȡȣıȘȜĮțȐIJȠȣ țİȜĮįİȓȞȘȢ (from the story of how Hermes abducted Polymele) hAphr. 130 Į੝IJ੹ȡ ਥȖȫ ıૅ ੂțȩȝȘȞ, țȡĮIJİȡ੽ įȑ ȝȠȚ ਩ʌȜİIJૅ ਕȞȐȖțȘ (the disguised Aphrodite’s explanation of why she has come to Anchises’ hut) ~ Od. 10.273 Į੝IJ੹ȡ ਥȖઅ İੇȝȚā țȡĮIJİȡ੽ įȑ ȝȠȚ ਩ʌȜİIJૅ ਕȞȐȖțȘ (Odysseus’ explanation to Eurylochus of why he must go to Circe’s house) hAphr. 132 ਥıșȜ૵Ȟā Ƞ੝ ȝ੻Ȟ ȖȐȡ ıİ țĮțȠ੿ IJȠȚȩȞįİ IJȑțȠȚİȞ (the disguised Aphrodite imagines Anchises’ parents) ~ Od. 4.64 ıțȘʌIJȠȪȤȦȞ, ਥʌİ੿ Ƞ੡ țİ țĮțȠ੿ IJȠȚȠȪıįİ IJȑțȠȚİȞ (Menelaus imagines Pisistratus’ and Telemachus’ parents) hAphr. 137 ĭȡȪȖĮȢ ĮੁȠȜȠʌȫȜȠȣȢ ~ Il. 3.185 ĭȡȪȖĮȢ ਕȞȑȡĮȢ ĮੁȠȜȠʌȫȜȠȣȢ / hAphr. 139 ȤȡȣıȩȞ IJİ ਚȜȚȢ ਥıșોIJȐ șૅ ਫ਼ijĮȞIJȒȞ (the bride-gifts Otreus and his wife will send to Anchises) ~ Od. 13.136 = 16.231 ȤĮȜțȩȞ IJİ ȤȡȣıȩȞ IJİ ਚȜȚȢ ਥıșોIJȐ șૅ ਫ਼ijĮȞIJȒȞ (the gifts Odysseus gets from the Phaeacians) hAphr. 140 ਕȖȜĮ੹ įȑȤșĮȚ ਙʌȠȚȞĮ (what Anchises ought to do with the gifts sent by Otreus and his wife) * at Il. 1.23 = 377 (what Agamemnon ought to do with the gifts brought by Chryses) hAphr. 143 ੬Ȣ İੁʌȠ૨ıĮ șİ੹ ȖȜȣțઃȞ ੆ȝİȡȠȞ ਩ȝȕĮȜİ șȣȝ૵Ț (Aphrodite inspires Anchises with longing for herself) = Il. 3.139 (Aphrodite inspires Helen with longing for Menelaus and Sparta)

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hAphr. 160 IJȠઃȢ Į੝IJઁȢ țĮIJȑʌİijȞİȞ ਥȞ Ƞ੡ȡİıȚȞ ਫ਼ȥȘȜȠ૙ıȚȞ (the animals killed by Anchises, whose skins cover the bed upon which he and Aphrodite are about to lie down) ~ Od. 11.574 IJȠઃȢ Į੝IJઁȢ țĮIJȑʌİijȞİȞ ਥȞ ȠੁȠʌȩȜȠȚıȚȞ ੕ȡİııȚ (of the great hunter Orion, who similarly slept with a goddess and suffered for it) hAphr. 163 ʌȩȡʌĮȢ IJİ ȖȞĮȝʌIJȐȢ șૅ ਪȜȚțĮȢ țȐȜȣțȐȢ IJİ țĮ੿ ੖ȡȝȠȣȢ (Aphrodite’s jewelry; cf. 87–8) = Il. 18.401 (the jewelry Hephaestus produced for Thetis) hAphr. 164 Ȝ૨ıİ įȑ Ƞੂ ȗȫȞȘȞ (Anchises undresses Aphrodite before sleeping with her) ~ Od. 11.245 / Ȝ૨ıİ į੻ ʌĮȡșİȞȓȘȞ ȗȫȞȘȞ (Poseidon undresses Tyro before sleeping with her) hAphr. 176–70 contain a series of references to the launching of Odysseus’ and Diomedes’ nighttime raid on the Trojans: 176 ਥȟ ੢ʌȞȠȣ IJૅ ਕȞȑȖİȚȡİȞ * at Il. 10.138 ਥȟ ੢ʌȞȠȣ ਕȞȑȖİȚȡİ, 177 ੕ȡıİȠ, ǻĮȡįĮȞȓįȘā IJȓ Ȟȣ ȞȒȖȡİIJȠȞ ੢ʌȞȠȞ ੁĮȪİȚȢ; ~ Il. 10.159 ਩ȖȡİȠ, ȉȣįȑȠȢ ȣੂȑā IJȓ ʌȐȞȞȣȤȠȞ ੢ʌȞȠȞ ਕȦIJİ૙Ȣ; 180 ੮Ȣ ijȐșૅā ੔ įૅ ਥȟ ੢ʌȞȠȚȠ * at Il. 10.162 ੮Ȣ ijȐșૅā ੔ įૅ ਥȟ ੢ʌȞȠȚȠ țȡĮȚʌȞ૵Ȣ ਕȞȩȡȠȣıİ40 hAphr. 186 ਩ȖȞȦȞ ੪Ȣ șİઁȢ ਷ıșĮ (Anchises claims not to have been fooled by Aphrodite’s disguise) ~ Il. 22.9–10 Ƞ੝įȑ ȞȪ ʌȫ ȝİ / ਩ȖȞȦȢ ੪Ȣ șİȩȢ İੁȝȚ (Apollo mocks Achilleus for having been fooled by his disguise) hAphr. 193 șȐȡıİȚ, ȝȘįȑ IJȚ ıોȚıȚ ȝİIJ੹ ijȡİı੿ įİȓįȚșȚ ȜȓȘȞ (Aphrodite encourages the terrified Anchises) ~ Od. 4.825 șȐȡıİȚ, ȝȘįȑ IJȚ ʌȐȖȤȣ ȝİIJ੹ ijȡİı੿ įİȓįȚșȚ ȜȓȘȞ (Penelope’s dream encourages her about the absent Telemachus) hAphr. 196–7 ıȠ੿ įૅ ਩ıIJĮȚ ijȓȜȠȢ ȣੂȩȢ, ੔Ȣ ਥȞ ȉȡȫİııȚȞ ਕȞȐȟİȚ, / țĮ੿ ʌĮ૙įİȢ ʌĮȓįİııȚ įȚĮȝʌİȡ੻Ȣ ਥțȖİȖȐȠȞIJĮȚ (Aphrodite’s prediction for Anchises’ family) ~ Il. 20.307–8 Ȟ૨Ȟ į੻ į੽ ǹੁȞİȓĮȠ ȕȓȘ ȉȡȫİııȚȞ ਕȞȐȟİȚ / țĮ੿ ʌĮȓįȦȞ ʌĮ૙įİȢ, IJȠȓ țİȞ ȝİIJȩʌȚıșİ ȖȑȞȦȞIJĮȚ (Poseidon’s prediction for Aeneas’ family) hAphr. 199 ਩ıȤİȞ ਙȤȠȢ, ਪȞİțĮ ȕȡȠIJȠ૨ ਕȞȑȡȠȢ ਩ȝʌİıȠȞ İ੝ȞોȚ (Aphrodite’s complaint about having slept with Anchises), cf. Il. 18.85 ਵȝĮIJȚ IJ૵Ț ੖IJİ ıİ ȕȡȠIJȠ૨ ਕȞȑȡȠȢ ਩ȝȕĮȜȠȞ İ੝ȞોȚ (Achilleus’ bitter complaint about the gods having forced Thetis to sleep with his mortal father Peleus) hAphr. 202–4 ਵIJȠȚ ȝ੻Ȟ ȟĮȞșઁȞ īĮȞȣȝȒįİĮ ȝȘIJȓİIJĮ ǽİȪȢ / ਸ਼ȡʌĮıİȞ ੔Ȟ įȚ੹ țȐȜȜȠȢ, ੆Ȟૅ ਕșĮȞȐIJȠȚıȚ ȝİIJİȓȘ / țĮȓ IJİ ǻȚઁȢ țĮIJ੹ į૵ȝĮ șİȠ૙Ȣ ਥʌȚȠȚȞȠȤȠİȪȠȚ (Aphrodite’s story of Ganymede), cf. Il. 20.234–5 IJઁȞ

_____________ 40 I take no position on the question of the date and authenticity of Iliad 10, except to note that it appears to have been part of the text before the hAphr. was composed.

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Introduction

țĮ੿ ਕȞȘȡȑȥĮȞIJȠ șİȠ੿ ǻȚ੿ ȠੁȞȠȤȠİȪİȚȞ / țȐȜȜİȠȢ İ੆ȞİțĮ ȠੈȠ, ੆Ȟૅ ਕșĮȞȐIJȠȚıȚ ȝİIJİȓȘ (Aeneas’ story of Ganymede) hAphr. 206 ȤȡȣıȑȠȣ ਥț țȡȘIJોȡȠȢ (Ganymede ladles out nektar for the gods in Zeus’ house) * at Il. 23.219 (Achilleus pours libations to the soul of the dead Patroclus) ȞȑțIJĮȡ ਥȡȣșȡȩȞ * at Il. 19.538* (Thetis preserves Patroclus’ corpse with infusions of ambrosia and nektar) hAphr. 210–11 țĮȓ ȝȚȞ ǽİઃȢ ਥȜȑȘıİ, įȓįȠȣ įȑ Ƞੂ ȣੈȠȢ ਙʌȠȚȞĮ, / ੆ʌʌȠȣȢ ਕȡıȓʌȠįĮȢ, IJȠȓ IJૅ ਕșĮȞȐIJȠȣȢ ijȠȡȑȠȣıȚȞ (more of Aphrodite’s story of Ganymede), cf. Il. 5.265–7 IJોȢ ȖȐȡ IJȠȚ ȖİȞİોȢ, ਸȢ ȉȡȦȓ ʌİȡ İ੝ȡȪȠʌĮ ǽİȪȢ / į૵Ȥૅ ȣੈȠȢ ʌȠȚȞ੽Ȟ īĮȞȣȝȒįİȠȢ, Ƞ੢Ȟİțૅ ਙȡȚıIJȠȚ / ੆ʌʌȦȞ, ੖ııȠȚ ਩ĮıȚȞ ਫ਼ʌૅ ਱૵ IJૅ ਱ȑȜȚȠȞ IJİ (Diomedes’ story of Ganymede) hAphr. 215 Į੝IJ੹ȡ ਥʌİ੿ į੽ ǽȘȞઁȢ ੖ Ȗૅ ਩țȜȣİȞ ਕȖȖİȜȚȐȦȞ (Tros’ response to Zeus’ gift of horses and explanation of Ganymede’s disappearance, communicated via Hermes) ~ Od. 5.150 ਵȚૅ, ਥʌİ੿ į੽ ǽȘȞઁȢ ਥʌȑțȜȣİȞ ਕȖȖİȜȚȐȦȞ (Calypso’s response to Zeus’ order, communicated via Hermes, that she is to free Odysseus from her island) hAphr. 218 ȤȡȣıȩșȡȠȞȠȢ ਸ਼ȡʌĮıİȞ ૅǾȫȢ (of Tithonus) * at Od. 15.250 (of Cleitus) hAphr. 234 Ƞ੝įȑ IJȚ țȚȞોıĮȚ ȝİȜȑȦȞ įȪȞĮIJૅ Ƞ੝įૅ ਕȞĮİ૙ȡĮȚ (of the increasingly decrepit Tithonus) ~ Od. 8.298 Ƞ੝įȑ IJȚ țȚȞોıĮȚ ȝİȜȑȦȞ ਷Ȟ Ƞ੝įૅ ਕȞĮİ૙ȡĮȚ (of Ares and Aphrodite in Hephaestus' trap) hAphr. 237–8 Ƞ੝įȑ IJȚ ț૙țȣȢ / ਩ıșૅ Ƞ੆Ș ʌȐȡȠȢ ਩ıțİȞ ਥȞ੿ ȖȞĮȝʌIJȠ૙ıȚ ȝȑȜİııȚȞ (Aphrodite’s description of Tithonus) ~ Od. 11.393–4 Ƞ੝įȑ IJȚ ț૙țȣȢ / Ƞ੆Ș ʌİȡ ʌȐȡȠȢ ਩ıțİȞ ਥȞ੿ ȖȞĮȝʌIJȠ૙ıȚ ȝȑȜİııȚȞ (Odysseus’ description of Agamemnon in the Underworld) hAphr. 242 ʌȩıȚȢ țİțȜȘȝȑȞȠȢ İ੅ȘȢ (Aphrodite's fantasy about Anchises) ~ Od. 6.244 ʌȩıȚȢ țİțȜȘȝȑȞȠȢ İ੅Ș* (Nausicaa's fantasy about Odysseus) hAphr. 247–8 ੕ȞİȚįȠȢ … / ਩ııİIJĮȚ ਵȝĮIJĮ ʌȐȞIJĮ įȚĮȝʌİȡȑȢ (Aphodite’s concern for her standing among the other gods), cf. Il. 16.498–9 ੕ȞİȚįȠȢ / ਩ııȠȝĮȚ ਵȝĮIJĮ ʌȐȞIJĮ įȚĮȝʌİȡȑȢ (the dying Sarpedon describes the consequences if his armor is plundered) hAphr. 255 ȕȡȠIJ૵Ț İ੝ȞȘșİ૙ıĮ (of Aphrodite’s encounter with Anchises) * at Il. 2.821 ૓ǿįȘȢ ਥȞ țȞȘȝȠ૙ıȚ ȕȡȠIJ૵Ț İ੝ȞȘșİ૙ıĮ (of Aphrodite’s encounter with Anchises)41

_____________ 41 Note also the following, which may represent more generic language: hAphr. 97– 99 ȞȣȝijȐȦȞ Į੆ IJૅ ਙȜıİĮ țĮȜ੹ ȞȑȝȠȞIJĮȚ / țĮ੿ ʌȘȖ੹Ȣ ʌȠIJĮȝ૵Ȟ țĮ੿ ʌȓıİĮ ʌȠȚȒİȞIJĮ = Il. 20.8–9; hAphr. 105 įȘȡઁȞ ਩ȣ ȗȫİȚȞ țĮ੿ ੒ȡ઼Ȟ ijȐȠȢ ਱İȜȓȠȚȠ ~ Od. 10.498 ਵșİȜૅ ਩IJȚ ȗȫİȚȞ țĮ੿ ੒ȡ઼Ȟ ijȐȠȢ ਱İȜȓȠȚȠ; hAphr. 191 ~ Il. 14.193 IJ੽Ȟ įૅ țIJȜ.

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Apparent echoes of Hesiod are more limited in number and, in most cases, also of less obviously programmatic significance: hAphr. 1 ਩ȡȖĮ ʌȠȜȣȤȡȪıȠȣ ਝijȡȠįȓIJȘȢ /, cf. Op. 521 Ƞ੡ ʌȦ ਩ȡȖૅ İੁįȣ૙Į ʌȠȜȣȤȡȪıȠȣ ਝijȡȠįȓIJȘȢ / (of the ‘soft-skinned virgin girl’, for whom see 14) hAphr. 14 ʌĮȡșİȞȚț੹Ȣ ਖʌĮȜȩȤȡȠĮȢ * at Op. 519 -ોȢ -ȠȢ42 hAphr. 22–3, cf. Th. 454 for Hestia as Cronus’ first-born and thus (when regurgitated) his last as well hAphr. 29 țĮȜઁȞ ȖȑȡĮȢ ਕȞIJ੿ ȖȐȝȠȚȠ /, cf. Th. 585 IJİ૨ȟİ țĮȜઁȞ țĮțઁȞ ਕȞIJૅ ਕȖĮșȠ૙Ƞ / (note the abnormal short initial syllable in țĮȜȩȞ, as also in the Hymn) hAphr. 43 ǽİઃȢ įૅ ਙijșȚIJĮ ȝȒįİĮ İੁįȫȢ * at Th. 550 hAphr. 77 ਝȖȤȓıȘȞ ਸ਼ȡȦĮ, cf. Th. 1009 ਝȖȤȓıȘȚ ਸ਼ȡȦȚ* (in a description of Aeneas’ birth) hAphr. 249 ਥȝȠઃȢ ੑȐȡȠȣȢ (Aphrodite’s nasty comments among the gods), cf. Th. 205 ʌĮȡșİȞȓȠȣȢ IJૅ ੑȐȡȠȣȢ* ȝİȚįȒȝĮIJȐ IJૅ ਥȟĮʌȐIJĮȢ IJİ (Aphrodite’s sphere of influence) hAphr. 258 ~ 285 ੕ȡȠȢ ȝȑȖĮ IJİ ȗȐșİȩȞ IJİ (of Mt. Ida as the residence of the nymphs) * at Th. 2 (of Mt. Helicon as the residence of the Muses) hAphr. 264–5 ਱ૅ ਥȜȐIJĮȚ ਱੻ įȡȪİȢ ਫ਼ȥȚțȐȡȘȞȠȚ / … ਩ijȣıĮȞ ਥʌ੿ ȤșȠȞ੿ ȕȦIJȚĮȞİȓȡȘȚ, cf. Op. 509–11 ʌȠȜȜ੹Ȣ į੻ įȡ૨Ȣ ਫ਼ȥȚțȩȝȠȣȢ ਥȜȐIJĮȢ IJİ ʌĮȤİȓĮȢ / Ƞ੡ȡİȠȢ ਥȞ ȕȒııȘȚȢ ʌȚȜȞ઼Ț ȤșȠȞ੿ ʌȠȣȜȣȕȠIJİȓȡȘȚ hAphr. 283 ȝİȝȞȘȝȑȞȠȢ ੮Ȣ ıİ țİȜİȪȦ (Aphrodite’s orders to Anchises) * at Op. 623 ȖોȞ įૅ ਥȡȖȐȗİıșĮȚ ȝİȝȞȘȝȑȞȠȢ, ੮Ȣ ıİ țİȜİȪȦ (the narrator’s orders to Perses)43 The relationship of the hAphr. to the hDem. (probably 6th century BCE or earlier) is more problematic. Richardson, followed closely by Faulkner, notes the following parallels between the two texts:44 _____________ 42 Janko (1982) 165–9 argues that the hAphr. is Hesiod’s model, on the basis of the fact that 14 comes from the proem, making it more likely to be an object of imitation; the presence of the adjective ʌĮȡșİȞȚțȩȢ at Op. 63, immediately preceding a reference to Athena teaching Pandora how to weave at Op. 63–5; and three possible Aeolisms at Op. 510, 526, 534. The first argument is contradicted by the relationship between hAphr. 257, 284 and hDem. 5, 8, as Janko himself acknowledges; the second is very weak, particularly since the idea of Athena weaving cloth herself and teaching others to do so appears to be traditional (cf. 14–15 n.), and ʌĮȡșİȞȚțȩȢ belongs to a separate construction; and the third begs the question of whether the hAphr. is itself ‘Aeolic’ in any significant way (as it does not appear to be). 43 Note also hAphr. 5 ਱ȝ੻Ȟ ੖ıૅ ਵʌİȚȡȠȢ ʌȠȜȜ੹ IJȡȑijİȚ ਱įૅ ੖ıĮ ʌȩȞIJȠȢ ~ Th. 582 țȞȫįĮȜૅ ੖ıૅ ਵʌİȚȡȠȢ įİȚȞ੹ IJȡȑijİȚ ਱į੻ șȐȜĮııĮ (not easily understood as a specific echo; see the second apparatus ad loc.); hAphr. 8 = Hes. Th. 13 (but also ~ Il. 10.553 (nominative), and thus presumably formular).

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Introduction

hAphr. 31–2 ʌ઼ıȚȞ įૅ ਥȞ ȞȘȠ૙ıȚ șİ૵Ȟ IJȚȝȐȠȤȩȢ ਥıIJȚȞ, / țĮ੿ ʌĮȡ੹ ʌ઼ıȚ ȕȡȠIJȠ૙ıȚ șİ૵Ȟ ʌȡȑıȕİȚȡĮ IJȑIJȣțIJĮȚ ~ hDem. 268–9 İੁȝ੿ į੻ ǻȘȝȒIJȘȡ IJȚȝȐȠȤȠȢ, ਸ਼ IJİ ȝȑȖȚıIJȠȞ / ਕșĮȞȐIJȠȚȢ șȘȞIJȠ૙ıȓ IJૅ ੕ȞİĮȡ țĮ੿ ȤȐȡȝĮ IJȑIJȣțIJĮȚ hAphr. 58 șȣȫįİĮ ȞȘȩȞ ~ hDem. 355 șȣȫįİȠȢ ਩ȞįȠșȚ ȞȘȠ૨, 385 ȞȘȠ૙Ƞ … șȣȫįİȠȢ hAphr. 82 ʌĮȡșȑȞȦȚ ਕįȝȒIJȘȚ ȝȑȖİșȠȢ țĮ੿ İੇįȠȢ ੒ȝȠȓȘ ~ hDem. 145–6 ʌĮȡșȑȞȠȢ ਕįȝȒȢ / ȀĮȜȜȚįȓțȘ … İੇįȠȢ ਕȡȓıIJȘ hAphr. 136 Ƞ੡ ıijȚȞ ਕİȚțİȜȓȘ ȞȣઁȢ ਩ııȠȝĮȚ, ਕȜȜૅ İੁțȣ૙Į ~ hDem. 83–4 Ƞ੡ IJȠȚ ਕİȚț੽Ȣ / ȖĮȝȕȡઁȢ … ਝȚįȠȞİȪȢ hAphr. 156 țĮIJૅ ੕ȝȝĮIJĮ țĮȜ੹ ȕĮȜȠ૨ıĮ / * at hDem. 194 hAphr. 157 / ਥȢ ȜȑȤȠȢ İ੡ıIJȡȦIJȠȞ ~ hDem. 285 ਕʌૅ İ੝ıIJȡȫIJȦȞ ȜİȤȑȦȞ hAphr. 173–5 ਩ıIJȘ ਙȡĮ țȜȚıȓȘȚā İ੝ʌȠȚȒIJȠȣ ‫ۃ‬į੻‫ ۄ‬ȝİȜȐșȡȠȣ / ț૨ȡİ țȐȡȘ, țȐȜȜȠȢ į੻ ʌĮȡİȚȐȦȞ ਕʌȑȜĮȝʌİȞ / ਙȝȕȡȠIJȠȞ ~ hDem. 188–9 ਲ įૅ ਙȡૅ ਥʌૅ Ƞ੝įઁȞ ਩ȕȘ ʌȠı੿ țĮȓ ૧Į ȝİȜȐșȡȠȣ / ț૨ȡİ țȐȡȘ, ʌȜોıİȞ į੻ șȪȡĮȢ ıȑȜĮȠȢ șİȓȠȚȠ hAphr. 205 ʌȐȞIJİııȚ IJİIJȚȝȑȞȠȢ ਕșĮȞȐIJȠȚıȚȞ / ~ hDem. 397 ʌȐȞIJİııȚ IJİIJȚȝ[ȑȞȘ ਕșĮȞȐIJȠȚ]ıȚȞ / hAphr. 257 ȞȪȝijĮȚ … ȕĮșȪțȠȜʌȠȚ ~ hDem. 5 țȠȪȡȘȚıȚ … ȕĮșȣțȩȜʌȠȚȢ hAphr. 279 ȝȐȜĮ Ȗ੹ȡ șİȠİȓțİȜȠȢ ਩ıIJĮȚ / ~ hDem. 159 į੽ Ȗ੹ȡ șİȠİȓțİȜȩȢ ਥııȚ hAphr. 284 ȞȪȝijȘȢ țĮȜȣțȫʌȚįȠȢ ~ hDem. 8 țĮȜȣțȫʌȚįȚ țȠȪȡȘȚ, 420 ૅȍțȣȡȩȘ țĮȜȣț૵ʌȚȢ Most of these cases merely represent shared vocabulary items not attested elsewhere in early epic, or a common use of previously attested vocabulary in a new (but in no case strikingly unexpected) context.45 There may thus be an implication of an affiliation between individual singers, or between

_____________ 44 Richardson (1974) 42; Faulkner (2008) 38–9. Richardson also cites hAphr. 2ff ~ hDem. 22–3, 44–6, but simultaneously withdraws the suggestion, noting ‘but this is a parallel of form of expression, not of language’. 45 Faulkner (2008) 40 argues that in the case of hAphr. 257 ȞȪȝijĮȚ … ȕĮșȪțȠȜʌȠȚ ~ hDem. 5 țȠȪȡȘȚıȚ … ȕĮșȣțȩȜʌȠȚȢ ‘the short datives plural in the latter may be suggestive of secondary modification’. But (1) both the short and the long forms of the dative plural were always available in the vernacular to epic singers, so that the presence of one or the other in any passage proves nothing about its relative date, unless one accepts Janko’s system of glottochronometrics (discussed at length above, in Introduction 2); (2) in any case, even if one accepts Janko’s theory, and thus the presumed priority of long forms of the dative plural, the fact that the hAphr. passage is in the nominative makes it impossible to know whether it is older than the hDem. passage (and thus perhaps a model for it) or younger than it (and thus perhaps derived from it).

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the local or regional traditions within which they grew up and operated. As noted above, however, this is different from suggesting that one Hymn served (as written text or oral song) as a specific model for the other. Richardson—who is cautious in his assessment of the case, but who appears to favor the notion that the hAphr. influenced the hDem.—is aware of the limitations of the evidence, and identifies as the ‘most important’ of his parallels to the hDem. those at hAphr. 156, 157, 173–5. All these, he notes, come from the section of the latter poem where Aphrodite and Anchises go to bed together and she subsequently wakes him up and reveals herself to be a goddess, the implication being that this strengthens the case for a systematic pattern of allusion to or borrowing by the composer of the hDem. But hAphr. 157 / ਥȢ ȜȑȤȠȢ İ੡ıIJȡȦIJȠȞ ~ hDem. 285 ਕʌૅ İ੝ıIJȡȫIJȦȞ ȜİȤȑȦȞ is a bland and uninstructive parallel, as Richardson acknowledges in his note ad loc., while the fact that the phrase țĮIJૅ ੕ȝȝĮIJĮ țĮȜ੹ ȕĮȜȠ૨ıĮ / occurs at both hAphr. 156 and hDem. 194 may suggest that the two poets drew on a common stock of formulae not available to the Iliad- and Odyssey-poets or to Hesiod, but does not demonstrate a direct relationship between the Hymns. The case for dependence of the hDem. on the hAphr. (or vice versa) thus depends on two sets of parallels: hAphr. 31–2 ~ hDem. 268–9, and hAphr. 173–5 ~ hDem. 188–9. As for the first set, IJȚȝȐȠȤȠȢ (not found in Homer, Hesiod, or the other Hymns) is an unexpected, presumably Aeolic form of the word, which is elsewhere always IJȚȝȠ૨ȤȠȢ. So too, third-person IJȑIJȣțIJĮȚ (in the same sedes at e.g. Il. 17.690; Od. 17.102; Hes. Op. 745) is appropriate at hAphr. 32 but arguably awkward at hDem. 269, where one might have expected first-person IJȑIJȣȖȝĮȚ (not attested in early epic) instead, arguably suggesting that the latter passage is modeled on the former. As noted above, however, shared vocabulary in and of itself cannot prove the direct dependence of one early epic text on another. Nor is the use of IJȑIJȣțIJĮȚ rather than IJȑIJȣȖȝĮȚ compelling evidence that the hDem.-poet knew the hAphr., for the focalization patently shifts in the relative clause in the hDem., as the goddess describes herself as she appears to those who render her the honor referred to in IJȚȝȐȠȤȠȢ, so that the third-person verb is appropriate; and anyone capable of composing the rest of the Hymn to Demeter will have been able to independently alter the third-person form to the metrically equivalent first-person at line-end, in any case, if he wished to do so. As for the second set of parallels: as was noted previously, the fact that both poets used the words ȝİȜȐșȡȠȣ / ț૨ȡİ țȐȡȘ in the same sedes may well show nothing more than that they had access to the same regional or local oral-formulaic tradition. More significant, Demeter’s head ought to touch not the roofbeam (the normal sense of ȝȑȜĮșȡȠȞ), as in the hAphr.,

24

Introduction

but the lintel, if she is standing in the doorway of Metaneira’s house, and Metaneira inexplicably ignores her visitor’s suddenly transformed appearance in any case. But ‘the god’s epiphany’ appears to be a type-scene, as Richardson acknowledges in his commentary, and the fact that the hDem.poet has arguably mishandled elements of it accordingly cannot be taken to show that he knew the hAphr., where those elements are more smoothly integrated into the larger action. That the hDem. is somehow dependent on (and so later than) the hAphr. thus remains possible, but the point cannot be demonstrated. The next reference to the hAphr. is in the Hellenistic period, when it appears to have been familiar to Callimachus and Apollonius Rhodius, presumably because a copy was preserved in the Library at Alexandria: Call. h. 4.258 įȚĮʌȡȣıȓȘȞ ੑȜȠȜȣȖȒȞ / (of the cries of the nymphs on Delos at Apollo’s birth), cf. hAphr. 19 įȚĮʌȡȪıȚȠȚ IJૅ ੑȜȠȜȣȖĮȓ / (in a catalogue of Artemis’ interests) A.R. 1.850 ȀȪʌȡȚȢ Ȗ੹ȡ ਥʌ੿ ȖȜȣțઃȞ ੆ȝİȡȠȞ ੯ȡıİȞ / (of the Lemnian women), cf. hAphr. 2 ȀȪʌȡȚįȠȢ, ਸ਼ IJİ șİȠ૙ıȚȞ ਥʌ੿ ȖȜȣțઃȞ ੆ȝİȡȠȞ ੯ȡıİȞ46 Both passages are patently learned quotations of the Hymn. In addition, Faulkner argues for echoes of the hAphr. in Callimachus’ hymns to Artemis and Demeter: h. 3.26–7 ੬Ȣ ਲ ʌĮ૙Ȣ İੁʌȠ૨ıĮ ȖİȞİȚȐįȠȢ ਵșİȜİ ʌĮIJȡȩȢ / ਚȥĮıșĮȚ (of Artemis), cf. hAphr. 27 ਖȥĮȝȑȞȘ țİijĮȜોȢ ʌĮIJȡઁȢ ǻȚઁȢ ĮੁȖȚȩȤȠȚȠ (of Hestia) h. 3.122 / ਕȜȜȐ † ȝȚȞ İੁȢ ਕįȓțȦȞ ਩ȕĮȜİȢ ʌȩȜȚȞ (of Artemis and her arrows), cf. hAphr. 20 įȚțĮȓȦȞ IJİ ʌIJȩȜȚȢ ਕȞįȡ૵Ȟ / (at the end of a catalogue of Artemis’ interests) h. 6.58 țİijĮȜ੹ įȑ Ƞੂ ਚȥĮIJૅ ૅȅȜȪȝʌȦ (of Demeter), cf. hAphr. 173–4 ȝİȜȐșȡȠȣ / ț૨ȡİ țȐȡȘ As for h. 3.26–7, the verb used of taking hold of another person in supplication is most often ȜĮȝȕȐȞȦ, and the part seized is generally the knees rather than (or in addition to) the beard (e.g. Od. 6.142 ਲ਼ ȖȠȪȞȦȞ _____________ 46 Faulkner (2008) 51 also compares A.R. 1.803 ȀȪʌȡȚįȠȢ, ਸ਼ IJȑ ıijȚȞ șȣȝȠijșȩȡȠȞ ਩ȝȕĮȜİȞ ਙIJȘȞ, for which there are more substantial parallels at e.g. Il. 19.88 Ƞ੆ IJȑ ȝȠȚ İੁȞ ਕȖȠȡોȚ ijȡİı੿Ȟ ਩ȝȕĮȜȠȞ ਙȖȡȚȠȞ ਙIJȘȞ (of Zeus, Fate and the Erinys). The echoes of hAphr. 7 IJȡȚıı੹Ȣ įૅ Ƞ੝ įȪȞĮIJĮȚ ʌİʌȚșİ૙Ȟ ijȡȑȞĮȢ Ƞ੝įૅ ਕʌĮIJોıĮȚ at A.R. 3.152 ਷ ȝȑȞ IJȠȚ į૵ȡȩȞ IJİ ʌĮȡȑȟȠȝĮȚ Ƞ੝įૅ ਕʌĮIJȒıȦ (Aphrodite to Eros), and of hAphr. 199 at A.R. 3.464 / IJȓʌIJİ ȝİ įİȚȜĮȓȘȞ IJȩįૅ ਩ȤİȚ ਙȤȠȢ are even less compelling, as Faulkner admits at the same time as he cites them as at least ‘worth considering’.

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ȜȓııȠȚIJȠ ȜĮȕȫȞ). The situations in the hAphr. and in Callimachus are also similar: a young female goddess takes hold of—or attempts to take hold of—Zeus’ head/beard in order to reinforce a request that she be allowed to remain a virgin. But Callimachus’ language finds better parallels at e.g. Il. 10.454–5 ਷, țĮ੿ ੒ ȝȑȞ ȝȚȞ ਩ȝİȜȜİ ȖİȞİȓȠȣ … / ਖȥȐȝİȞȠȢ ȜȓııİıșĮȚ, and the argument for a specific connection with the hAphr. cannot be pressed. So too with h. 3.122, the idea that Artemis takes an interest in the degree of justice displayed by (the inhabitants of) individual cities is unusual, at least for the ǹrchaic period. But Callimachus’ language is too generic, and the reference insufficiently developed to allow for a vigorous argument in favor of a direct, specific reworking of the older passage. As for h. 6.58, finally, Faulkner himself acknowledges that the primary intertext, if there is one, must be hDem. 188–9 (for which, see above) rather than the hAphr. Echoes of the hAphr. have also been detected by Janko and Faulkner47 in the following passages from Moschus’ Europa (2nd century BCE): Eur. 1 Ǽ੝ȡȫʌȘȚ ʌȠIJ੻ ȀȪʌȡȚȢ ਥʌ੿ ȖȜȣțઃȞ ਸțİȞ ੕ȞİȚȡȠȞ, cf. hAphr. 2 ȀȪʌȡȚįȠȢ, ਸ਼ IJİ șİȠ૙ıȚȞ ਥʌ੿ ȖȜȣțઃȞ ੆ȝİȡȠȞ ੯ȡıİȞ Eur. 76 ȀȪʌȡȚįȠȢ, ਴ ȝȠȪȞȘ įȪȞĮIJĮȚ țĮ੿ ǽોȞĮ įĮȝȐııĮȚ, cf. hAphr. 32–9, esp. 37–8 țĮȓ IJİ ʌȐȡİț ǽȘȞઁȢ ȞȩȠȞ ਵȖĮȖİ IJİȡʌȚțİȡĮȪȞȠȣ, / ੖Ȣ IJİ ȝȑȖȚıIJȩȢ IJૅ ਥıIJ੿ ȝİȖȓıIJȘȢ IJૅ ਩ȝȝȠȡİ IJȚȝોȢ Eur. 78 ʌĮȡșİȞȚțોȢ IJૅ ਥșȑȜȦȞ ਕIJĮȜઁȞ ȞȩȠȞ ਥȟĮʌĮIJોıĮȚ (of Zeus’ treatment of Europa), cf. hAphr. 38 țĮȓ IJİ IJȠ૨ İ੣IJૅ ਥșȑȜȘȚ ʌȣțȚȞ੹Ȣ ijȡȑȞĮȢ ਥȟĮʌĮijȠ૨ıĮ (of Aphrodite’s treatment of Zeus) Eur. 93 ıIJો į੻ ʌȠį૵Ȟ ʌȡȠʌȐȡȠȚșİ ਕȝȪȝȠȞȠȢ Ǽ੝ȡȦʌİȓȘȢ (of Zeus), cf. hAphr. 81 ıIJો įૅ Į੝IJȠ૨ ʌȡȠʌȐȡȠȚșİ ǻȚઁȢ șȣȖȐIJȘȡ ਝijȡȠįȓIJȘ (of Aphrodite before Anchises) Eur. 111 ਴ į੻ ȝİIJĮıIJȡİijșİ૙ıĮ ijȓȜĮȢ țĮȜȑİıțİȞ ਦIJĮȓȡĮȢ (of Europa, about to be carried off to sea on the bull’s back), cf. hAphr. 156 ਪȡʌİ ȝİIJĮıIJȡİijșİ૙ıĮ, țĮIJૅ ੕ȝȝĮIJĮ țĮȜ੹ ȕĮȜȠ૨ıĮ (of Aphrodite, about to enter Anchises’ house) Eur. 154 șȐȡıİȚ ʌĮȡșİȞȚțȒā ȝ੽ įİȓįȚșȚ ʌȩȞIJȚȠȞ ȠੇįȝĮ (the disguised Zeus to Europa), cf. hAphr. 193 șȐȡıİȚ, ȝȘįȑ IJȚ ıોȚıȚ ȝİIJ੹ ijȡİı੿ įİȓįȚșȚ ȜȓȘȞ (Aphrodite, now visible in divine form, to Anchises) Eur. 160–1 ਥȟ ਥȝȑșİȞ į੻ țȜȣIJȠઃȢ ijȚIJȪıİĮȚ ȣੈĮȢ / Ƞ੄ ıțȘʌIJȠ૨ȤȠȚ ਚʌĮȞIJİȢ ਥʌȚȤșȠȞȓȠȚıȚȞ ਩ıȠȞIJĮȚ (Zeus’ promise to Europa), cf. hAphr. 196–7 ıȠ੿ įૅ ਩ıIJĮȚ ijȓȜȠȢ ȣੂȩȢ, ੔Ȣ ਥȞ ȉȡȫİııȚȞ ਕȞȐȟİȚ, / _____________ 47 Janko (1982) 268 n. 1 (citing Eur. 76ff ~ hAphr. 32ff; Eur. 154–5 ~ hAphr. 193; Eur. 160 ~ hAphr. 196–7); Faulkner (2008) 51 (citing Eur. 1, 76 ~ hAphr. 2; Eur. 78 ~ hAphr. 38; Eur. 93 ~ hAphr. 81; Eur. 111 ~ hAphr. 156), who mistakenly claims to be the first to argue that Moschus drew on the Hymn.

26

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țĮ੿ ʌĮ૙įİȢ ʌĮȓįİııȚ įȚĮȝʌİȡ੻Ȣ ਥțȖİȖȐȠȞIJĮȚ (Aphrodite’s promise to Anchises) Of the proposed parallels, Eur. 93 and 154 can immediately be set aside, since ıIJો … ʌȡȠʌȐȡȠȚșİ appears in the first in a standard Homeric sedes (also Il. 14.297; 24.286; Od. 15.150) and there are otherwise no resemblances between the lines, while the supposed model for the second passage is itself adapted direct from Od. 4.825 șȐȡıİȚ, ȝȘįȑ IJȚ ʌȐȖȤȣ ȝİIJ੹ ijȡİı੿ įİȓįȚșȚ ȜȓȘȞ, so that there is no need to think of the hAphr. in particular as Moschus’ model. Likewise, although ȝİIJĮıIJȡİijșİ૙ıĮ is attested in this sedes only at Eur. 111 and hAphr. 156, other forms of ȝİIJĮıIJȡȑijȦ appear there at Il. 8.258; 11.447; 15.52; Od. 2.67, while ȝİIJĮıIJȡİijșİȓȢ begins at the same point in the line at Il. 11.595; 15.591; 17.114 (all / ıIJો į੻ ȝİIJĮıIJȡİijșİȓȢ), allowing for the alternative hypothesis that this is Moschus’ independent development of a Homeric model. Of the remaining parallels, the description of Zeus’ subjection to Aphrodite’s power at Eur. 76 appears to be a commonplace with no direct verbal connection to the hAphr.; the vocabulary and sentiment in Eur. 78 are again insufficiently exceptional to require that Moschus knew hAphr. 38; and Zeus’ promise at Eur. 160–1 has not a single word in common with hAphr. 196–7 (itself modeled on Il. 20.307–8 Ȟ૨Ȟ į੻ į੽ ǹੁȞİȓĮȠ ȕȓȘ ȉȡȫİııȚȞ ਕȞȐȟİȚ / țĮ੿ ʌĮȓįȦȞ ʌĮ૙įİȢ, IJȠȓ țİȞ ȝİIJȩʌȚıșİ ȖȑȞȦȞIJĮȚ), while the gist of the verses is closer to the conclusion of the story of Poseidon’s rape of Tyro at Od. 11.235–56. The best case for a specific verbal echo of the hAphr. in Moschus is thus Eur. 1, and in particular the collocation of the name ȀȪʌȡȚȢ, the prefix ਥʌȓ in ‘tmesis’, and the odd phrase ȖȜȣțઃȞ … ੕ȞİȚȡȠȞ (although cf. the common early epic ȖȜȣțઃȢ ੢ʌȞȠȢ at e.g. Od. 10.548; hAphr. 171). But even this is scarcely an open-and-shut case, and whether Moschus knew the Hymn remains uncertain. Among later Greek authors, Proclus (5th century CE) certainly refers to hAphr. 6 ʌȐıȚȞ įૅ ਩ȡȖĮ ȝȑȝȘȜİȞ ਥȣıIJİijȐȞȠȣ ȀȣșİȡİȓȘȢ at h. 2.13 ʌ઼ıȚȞ įૅ ਩ȡȖĮ ȝȑȝȘȜİȞ ਥȡȦIJȠIJȩțȠȣ ȀȣșİȡİȓȘȢ. Janko (following Kost) suggests a series of less specific allusions in Musaeus’ Hero and Leander (5th/6th century CE):48 Mus. 79 Į੝IJȓțĮ IJİșȞĮȓȘȞ ȜİȤȑȦȞ ਥʌȚȕȒȝİȞȠȢ ૽ǾȡȠ૨Ȣ (Leander is speaking) ~ hAphr. 153–4 ȕȠȣȜȠȓȝȘȞ … / ıોȢ İ੝ȞોȢ ਥʌȚȕ੹Ȣ į૨ȞĮȚ įȩȝȠȞ ૓ǹȚįȠȢ İ੅ıȦ (Anchises is speaking) Mus. 160 ʌĮȡșİȞȚț੽ įૅ ਙijșȠȖȖȠȢ ਥʌ੿ ȤșȩȞĮ ʌોȟİȞ ੑʌȦʌȒȞ (of Hero, responding to Leander’s approach) ~ hAphr. 156 ਪȡʌİ _____________ 48 For Musaeus and the hAphr., see also Faulkner (2008) 52.

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ȝİIJĮıIJȡİijșİ૙ıĮ, țĮIJૅ ੕ȝȝĮIJĮ țĮȜ੹ ȕĮȜȠ૨ıĮ (of Aphrodite, entering Anchises’ house) Mus. 264–5 țĮ੿ ȤȡȩĮ ʌȐȞIJĮ țȐșȘȡİ. įȑȝĮȢ įૅ ਩ȤȡȚıİȞ ਥȜĮȓȦȚ / İ੝ȩįȝȦȚ ૧ȠįȑȦȚ țĮ੿ ਖȜȓʌȞȠȠȞ ਩ıȕİıİȞ ੑįȝȒȞ (Hero cares for Leander, who has swum across the Hellenspont for her) ~ hAphr. 61–3 ਩ȞșĮ įȑ ȝȚȞ ȋȐȡȚIJİȢ ȜȠ૨ıĮȞ țĮ੿ Ȥȡ૙ıĮȞ ਥȜĮȓȦȚ / ਕȝȕȡȩIJȦȚ, ȠੈĮ șİȠઃȢ ਥʌİȞȒȞȠșİȞ Įੁ੻Ȟ ਥȩȞIJĮȢ, / ਕȝȕȡȠıȓȦȚ ਦįĮȞ૵Ț, IJȩ ૧Ȑ Ƞੂ IJİșȣȦȝȑȞȠȞ ਷İȞ (of Aphrodite, being prepared in her temple in Paphos for her encounter with Anchises) Hero and Leander 264–5 describes a common form of personal grooming, in language entirely different from hAphr. 61–3, and thus fails to support the notion that Musaeus knew the Hymn. The modest downward glance at Hero and Leander 160, on the other hand, finds a better parallel at Il. 3.217 țĮIJ੹ ȤșȠȞઁȢ ੕ȝȝĮIJĮ ʌȒȟĮȢ (Helen’s description of Odysseus preparing to speak to the Trojans). The argument thus comes down to Hero and Leander 79 ~ hAphr. 153–4, in both of which ਥʌȚȕĮȓȞȦ is used of entering a woman’s bed to have sex with her, while the sentiment expressed is otherwise unique in the literary evidence preserved for us. But the verb is common in this sense in Homer (see n. ad loc.), so that the hAphr. need not be invoked as Musaeus’ model on that count alone, while a hyperbolic expression of a willingness to die if necessary, in order to sleep with a desirable woman, does not necessarily require a specific textual model. A better case can be made for Q.S. 8.466–7 (4th century CE) įȐȝȞĮIJȠ įૅ ੒ʌʌȩıĮ ij૨ȜĮ ijİȡȑıȕȚȠȢ ਩IJȡİijİ ȖĮ૙Į / ਱įૅ ੖ıĮ ʌȩȞIJȠȢ ਩ijİȡȕİȞ ਕʌİȓȡȚIJȠȢ ਱įૅ ੒ʌȩıૅ ੢įȦȡ ~ hAphr. 3–5 țĮȓ IJૅ ਥįĮȝȐııĮIJȠ ij૨ȜĮ … / … / ਱ȝ੻Ȟ ੖ıૅ ਵʌİȚȡȠȢ ʌȠȜȜ੹ IJȡȑijİȚ ਱įૅ ੖ıĮ ʌȩȞIJȠȢ (although note that in Quintus ij૨ȜĮ is the subject rather than the object of įȐȝȞĮIJȠ), and Nonn. 11.296 (4th/5th century CE) ਥȞ Ƞ੡ȡİıȚ șોȡĮȢ ਥȞĮȓȡİȚȞ / ~ hAphr. 18 țĮ੿ Ƞ੡ȡİıȚ șોȡĮȢ ਥȞĮȓȡİȚȞ / (although cf. Il. 21.485 țĮIJૅ Ƞ੡ȡİĮ șોȡĮȢ ਥȞĮȓȡİȚȞ /, which might be the model for both passages independently).49 Be all that as it may, Faulkner p. 50 overstates the case by asserting that it ‘seems very probable that Aphr. was widely known in the Hellenistic period and beyond’. Philodemus appears to have known at least some of the major Hymns (On Piety 2 col. 199.5142–7; col. 221.5809–10 Obbink), as did Diodorus Siculus (1.15.7; 3.65.3; 4.2.4). That Philodemus himself brought (a complete collection of?) the Hymns to Rome is a reasonable but unprovable hypothesis; Vergil, at any rate, certainly knew the hAphr. in particular. 50 Perhaps most _____________ 49 Both cited by Faulkner (2008) 52. 50 Aeneas’ flattering address to the disguised Venus, hailing her as a goddess or perhaps a nymph, and her demurring reply at Verg. Aen. 1.326–35, respond directly to hAphr. 92–110, just as the account of Venus’ escape to Paphos at Aen. 1.415–

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important, one copy of a set of 31 Hymns of various sorts survived into late antiquity and became the common ancestor of all the manuscripts of the poems available to us today (cf. below, Introduction 6).

4. Aphrodite and Sexuality The main narrative line of the hAphr. is driven above all else by Zeus’ plan to require Aphrodite to sleep with a human being in order to put an end to her obnoxious boasting ‘that she involved male gods with women subject to death, / who bore sons subject to death to the immortals, / and that she also involved female goddesses with human beings subject to death’ (50– 2). The plan is realized (cf. 46–7 with 166–7), and near the end of the poem Aphrodite announces that she will no longer speak to the other gods as she once did (247–53). What is less clear is why this matters. The proem repeatedly uses timeless (‘hymnic’) aorists to describe Aphrodite’s ability to control the sexual behavior of Zeus and the other Olympians (2, 36, 39), and Aphrodite herself never renounces this power, nor is it clear that she could do so even if she wished. On a minimalist reading, therefore, the Hymn is an account of the resolution of a minor domestic dispute on Mount Olympus: Aphrodite’s mockery of the other gods is put an end to, and general divine concord is, one assumes, accordingly restored.51 Whatever the advantages of this reading, it deprives the events described in the hAphr. of any real significance, while failing to make sense of one of its most obvious rhetorical elements. As Peter Smith has argued at length,52 the poem insists repeatedly and emphatically on the fundamental difference between mortals and immortals. What Aphrodite boasts of, after all, is not that she involves the gods in sexual escapades generally, but that she involves them in escapades with human beings, producing halfdivine but nonetheless mortal children (50–2; cf. 249–50). Whether Aphrodite is a virgin when the story begins is left unspecified and seemingly does not matter; Zeus forces her not merely to have sex, but to have sex _____________ 17 echoes hAphr. 58–9 (where note the reference to incense, missing from the Homeric model at Od. 8.362–3, but present in Vergil); see Olson (2011). Janko (following Heyworth) argues for an ‘imitation’ of the hAphr. at Propertius 2.32.33–40, where the story of Aphrodite and Anchises is referenced, but there are no obvious specific points of contact with the text of the Hymn. Connections are also occasionally alleged between the hAphr. and the Hymn to Venus with which Lucretius’ De Rerum Natura begins (1.1–43), although the specific contents and organization of the two texts are very different; see esp. Flores (1979). 51 Thus Faulkner (2008) 10–18. 52 Smith (1981a).

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with ‘a man subject to death’ (46; cf. 255 ȕȡȠIJ૵Ț İ੝ȞȘșİ૙ıĮ). The Hymn is also set at a particular point in (allegedly) historical time, in the generation just before the Trojan War, and indeed at the very moment when Aeneas, one of the greatest heroes of that war, was conceived (255). Hesiod notes that the last heroes died at Troy, many others having been killed at Thebes before, and the obvious question is why more were not born afterward as a result of further sexual liaisons between gods and human beings. As van der Ben saw,53 therefore, and Clay has argued most articulate54 ly, the hAphr. is usefully conceived as offering an explanation of how this change of epochs took place. Aeneas is the last hero, for the larger point of the poem must be that Aphrodite’s experience with Anchises led her to abandon not just her boasting, but the manipulation of the other Olympians that led to and supported it. She never surrenders her power as the proem describes it; she still ‘arouses sweet desire in gods’ (2), and ‘whenever she wishes,’ she remains able to ‘deceive (Zeus’) subtle mind / and easily involve him with women subject to death’ (38–9). The crucial point, however, must be that the sudden new risk of humiliation (247–8) means that Aphrodite no longer wishes to do this; as a consequence, the Age of Heroes will come to an end after the death of the next generation— as in fact it did.55 But the relationship between Aphrodite and Zeus in the Hymn, and thus the Hymn’s representation of the role sexual desire plays in mortal (and immortal) life, calls out to be read in other ways as well. The hAphr. begins and ends with what might easily be understood as a series of contradictions and obscurities. Aphrodite controls every creature in the universe, including the gods (1–6, 34–5), whom she forces to have sex with human beings whenever the mood strikes her (esp. 50–2). Even Zeus, who ‘is the greatest and receives the greatest share of honor’ (37), is subject to Aphrodite’s power, for she routinely makes him forget Hera and sleep with mortal women (36–41). There are nonetheless three significant exceptions to the goddess’ allegedly complete authority (7–32), and the narrative portion of the poem describes how Zeus compels Aphrodite to do his will rather than the other way around (esp. 45–57). Indeed, Aphrodite’s _____________ 53 van der Ben (1986) 31–2. 54 Clay (1989) 192–3. 55 The same change is apparent on another level in the text in Aphrodite’s seemingly very poorly motivated decision not to seek immortality for Anchises. In past generations, Ganymede was made ‘immortal and ageless, exactly like the gods’ (214), and Tithonus too was awarded eternal life—although unfortunately not eternal youth as well (220–4). Aphrodite’s insistence that this option is unavailable for Anchises (244–6) thus seems at first glance nonsensical. But the true significance of her announcement must be that the time is past when the boundary between immortal gods and ‘human beings subject to death’ could be broached; everything has now changed.

30

Introduction

power seems broken in the course of the story, for her misadventure with Anchises leads her to renounce the use of a crucial portion of it (247–53 with nn.), and she ultimately invokes the authority of Zeus’ lightning-bolt when she warns her mortal lover to remain silent about their relationship (286–8). Nor are the difficulties with the conceptualization of Aphrodite’s power in the Hymn confined to the divine sphere. Despite the universalist ideology promoted in the proem, in the narrative portions of the poem erotic desire appears to be experienced almost exclusively by men; the sole exception is Aphrodite herself. As noted above, one productive approach to some of these problems would seem to be to interpret the story of Aphrodite and Anchises diachronically. The goddess’ situation changes in the course of the Hymn, as Zeus’ plan is accomplished and she loses the status that encouraged her to exercise malicious sexual power over other Olympians; this change leads to the end of the Age of Heroes and the beginning of our own, in which gods and mortals no longer interact so closely. But from another perspective, the complexities of the Hymn’s intellectual structure can be read as symptoms of its concern with how raw erotic desire of the sort experienced not just by human beings, but by gods, beasts, birds, and fish as well, is experienced, expressed, and managed in the ‘civilized’ social realm of the household and the city. The latter is the world of Zeus and also of the poet, and its point of view is privileged throughout the Hymn, most obviously in the ‘historical’ direction in which the narrative moves on a superficial level. Within this world, men are subject to erôs in a way that women seemingly are not; indeed, were it not for the poet’s occasional remarks about Aphrodite’s feelings (esp. 45–6, 56–7), we would scarcely know that women experience desire at all. But the power of Aphrodite is (and remains) just as real and substantial as that of Zeus; and the poet’s emphatic initial invocation of it, his description of the goddess’ experience of longing for Anchises, circumscribed and truncated though it is, and the ambiguous and unemphatic form of her final surrender, combine to give the lie to the notion that Zeus and all he represents really triumph ‘in the end’. The apparent process of historical development in the hAphr. can thus also— and perhaps better—be described as a juxtaposition of ideological structures, neither of which the poet is able or (to his credit) willing to abandon. Zeus and the structures of power, decorum, and authority he stands for and guarantees prevail ‘today’. But so does Aphrodite, even if she ought not to, for the world in which we find ourselves contains not just the city but the mountain as well, and desire is not in practice an exclusively male preserve. At 45–55 (esp. 45–6, 53–5), the poet describes what appears to be the primary intended subject of his Hymn: how Zeus inspired Aphrodite with

4. Aphrodite and Sexuality

31

erotic desire for Anchises in support of a larger plan to put a stop to her nasty boasting about her ability to manipulate the other gods sexually. Anchises is described in 55 as įȑȝĮȢ ਕșĮȞȐIJȠȚıȚȞ ਥȠȚțȫȢ (‘built like an immortal’), and the moment Aphrodite catches sight of him, she falls in love (56–7). So too, when Aphrodite first spies Anchises in the cowyard, the poet—now patently using the goddess as his focalizer—describes him as șİ૵Ȟ ਙʌȠ țȐȜȜȠȢ ਩ȤȠȞIJĮ (‘handsome as a god’, 77); and Aphrodite herself refers obliquely to Anchises’ good looks at 241 (and cf. 183 with n.). The descriptions of the goddess’ experience of sexual desire are nonetheless strikingly flat and uninformative, and the extent to which the narrative in the hAphr. privileges male erôs is apparent from the contrast with what we are told of Anchises. When Anchises first catches sight Aphrodite, the poet tells us, he is overwhelmed by her loveliness, including the stunning clothing she wears (84–5). But rather than leaving it at that, the narrator goes on to offer a detailed account of the goddess’ robes and jewelry, as well as (allusively) of the divine body they conceal (84–5). So too when the two characters finally go to bed, the poet offers a sexually highly charged, step-by-step account of how Anchises undresses Aphrodite (162–5), but makes no mention at all of Anchises stripping. Nor does this portion of the narrative come to a conclusion with the observation that Aphrodite slept with a mortal creature—as the account of Zeus’ plan at 45–55 might have led one to expect—or even that Aphrodite and Anchises slept together. Instead, we are told that Anchises, although a mortal, slept with an immortal goddess (166–7). This pointed contrast between men’s and women’s experience of erôs is again apparent in the conversation between Aphrodite (now playing the part of a kidnapped Phrygian princess) and Anchises at 107–54. Aphrodite claims to have been brought to Mount Ida to be Anchises’ wife (126–7), and she insists that she has no choice but to do whatever is required of her (esp. 130 țȡĮIJİȡ੽ įȑ ȝȠȚ ਩ʌȜİIJૅ ਕȞȐȖțȘ ‘but harsh necessity is upon me’). But she never expresses any desire for her future husband, aside from an exceedingly oblique reference to his good looks at 132; and she proposes putting off their wedding until the appropriate social niceties can be taken care of (133–42). So too when the two of them enter the hut to have sex, Aphrodite turns her eyes to the ground in a conventional gesture of modesty (155–6 with n.), as if unwilling to openly acknowledge her consent to Anchises’ desire to have her (cf. 145–54). Anchises, on the other hand, is repeatedly said by the narrator to have been seized by erotic longing for his visitor (143–4, cf. 91), and he outspokenly declares his desire to sleep with her immediately, regardless of what anyone else may think (esp. 149–51). The description of the encounter between Aphrodite and Anchises in the hAphr. thus pays disproportionate attention to the male experience of

32

Introduction

sexual desire, while downplaying the female experience. Put another way, despite the proem’s insistence that lust is a universal phenomenon, the narrative portions of the poem deny that women experience erôs in the way that men do, or even—with the notable exception of Aphrodite herself— that they experience erôs at all. Thus also at 21–32, the poet never specifies why Apollo and Poseidon ask to marry Hestia (24), but the scene is most easily read as a typical one, in which a female figure is introduced into the company of the gods and overwhelms them with her beauty (cf. h. 6.15–18 with nn.). Hestia herself, however, is patently untouched by erôs, since she stubbornly insists on remaining a virgin (25–8). Even the story of Dawn and Tithonus refers only obliquely to the goddess’ longing for her mortal lover,56 by describing him as ਥʌȚİȓțİȜȠȞ ਕșĮȞȐIJȠȚıȚȞ (‘resembling the immortals’, 219);57 instead, it is Tithonus who ‘enjoys gold-throned, earlyborn Dawn’ (226). Nor is this privileging of the male perspective restricted to the poet’s presentation of his characters, as is apparent from 61–5, where the external audience (but not Anchises) is offered an extended, voyeuristic glimpse inside Aphrodite’s chambers in her temple on Cyprus, where the Graces wash, dress, and adorn her before she sets off on her mission to seduce the Trojan hero.58 This contrast between the proem’s ideology of mandatory universal participation in sexuality under Aphrodite’s aegis, on the one hand, and an emphatically gendered experience of erôs in the human world controlled by Zeus, on the other, has a social (or spatial) dimension as well. The proem sets Aphrodite’s power emphatically in what we would call the natural world: she subdues not just men and gods, but ‘the birds that swoop through the sky and all the wild beasts, / however many the mainland nourishes or the sea’ (4–5). So too, when Aphrodite travels from Cyprus to Troy, she lands not directly in front of Anchises’ hut, but somewhere on the mountain’s slopes (68). This is inter alia a neat narrative device, which allows the goddess’ powers to be put on display before she comes face-toface with the object of her quest. But the wolves, lions, bears, and wildcats that trail behind her, and which she inspires with lust and sends off to their hiding-places to have sex (69–74), are also evocative of the description of the sphere in which Aphrodite is said to exercise her power in the poem’s opening verses. The narrative portions of the hAphr., by contrast, are by and large set in an explicitly political world, where issues of status and decorum are to _____________ 56 Indeed, she is explicitly said only to stay away from his bed (230). 57 Although note also 220–1 n. (on the motivation for Dawn’s visit to Zeus to seek eternal life for her lover), 225 with n., 229 with n. 58 Cf. the leering description of ‘soft-skinned young girls in their houses’ in 14.

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the fore. Thus Anchises in his initial prayer to his still anonymous visitor asks to become a distinguished man among the Trojans, something he associates closely with having children (103–6 with nn.). So too the dispute between Apollo and Poseidon over Hestia is public, in that it rapidly comes to be set in Zeus’ house and the presence of the other Olympians (cf. 27–30 with nn.): the question is not just whether Hestia will marry, but which of her two rival suitors (24) will be allowed to have her. In all these contexts, men exercise political and social authority (cf. 20 įȚțĮȓȦȞ IJİ ʌIJȩȜȚȢ ਕȞįȡ૵Ȟ with n., 111–12 with n.), while women are largely domestic creatures (cf. 114–15 with n.), who display modesty (esp. 156 with n.) and are shown ‘respect’ (e.g. 21 with n., 44). This is the world of Zeus, who affirms Hestia’s decision to remain a virgin (29–32) and indeed makes her ‘the most respected of the gods in the eyes of all mortals’ (32) as a consequence of it.59 Near the end of the Hymn, Aphrodite tells Anchises that when Aeneas is eventually handed over to him by the mountain nymphs, he is to take the boy to Troy (280); the implication is that, as a consequence of having him, Anchises will at last become a great man, exactly as he wished (cf. 103–6). The central event between the goddess’ passage along Mount Ida’s flanks and Anchises’ departure for the city is their encounter in the hero’s bed, which is covered with the skins of bears and lions he has killed (158–60). These are not, of course, the same creatures as those that follow the goddess as she approaches Anchises’ hut (69–74). But the point is clear enough: for the poet in his historicist mode, this is the moment when Aphrodite’s power is decisively broken—or ‘tamed’ (cf. 82 ʌĮȡșȑȞȦȚ ਕįȝȒIJȘȚ with n.)—by the plan of Zeus (cf. 247–58). But it would be just as appropriate to identify this as the point where the poem’s two opposed ideologies of sexuality come face-to-face, and it cannot be said that Anchises emerges from the confrontation the obvious winner (cf. 181–90). In the decorous and controlled ‘political’ world of Zeus, female characters generally appear not to be subject to erôs, which strikes only men. But Aphrodite herself is explicitly said to feel erotic desire for Anchises (56–7), even if the Hymn-poet declines to systematically adopt her focalization to describe the content of her experience. The inevitable implication is that other women feel desire as well, although the dominant social order requires that they conceal the fact. In Hesiod, sexuality is a fundamentally dangerous and destructive force, which one way or another ruins the lives of men (esp. Th. 594–613). The hAphr. offers a less judgmental if still coercively structured view of the situation. In one (‘historicist’) sense, _____________ 59 Cf. the pointed initial reference to him as the father of the virgin goddess Athena (another of the three exceptions to Aphrodite’s supposedly universal power) at 8.

34

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Zeus is ultimately triumphant over Aphrodite, and the poet leaves no doubt that he himself is in sympathy with the ‘post-heroic’ order thus created, and that he expects his audience to be as well. But Aphrodite’s universal power nonetheless endures, despite the poet’s patent desire to tame or transform it by subjecting it—and her—to Zeus and what he represents; and it is a mark of the richness and subtlety of the story he has told that this is so.

5. The Metrics of the Homeric Hymn to Aphrodite Metrical practices in dactylic hexameter poetry appear to correlate broadly with date, genre, ‘school’ affiliation, and the like. But in the Archaic period in particular, such practices are best understood as tendencies rather than as evidence of an individual poet’s concerted, conscious effort to maintain or reject widely recognized metrical ‘laws’ or norms. The larger the sample size—i.e. the longer the poem—the more compelling analyses of such tendencies will be. The remarks that follow are accordingly restricted to the hAphr., which, at 290 lines, is among the shortest of the so-called ‘major Hymns’60 but is far longer than any of the so-called ‘minor Hymns’ treated in this edition. The evidence is consistent with an Archaic date for the hAphr., although I have argued above, in Introduction 2, that the poem must also be later than the Iliad and the Odyssey, and perhaps later than Hesiod’s Theogony and Works and Days as well. As for the ‘minor Hymns’, I suggest in the commentary itself that the preponderance of masculine over feminine caesura in h. 6, 27, and 28 likely puts those poems (two of which are closely associated for other reasons) in the 5th century BCE. In addition, I suggest that h. 6 and 10 respond to and must therefore be later than the Theogony; that h. 27 responds to and must therefore be later than both the hAp.Delos and the hAp.Delphi; and that topographical considerations make it clear that h. 9 is Hellenistic in date. 1. Prosody In the hAphr., combination of stop plus liquid generally renders a preceding syllable that contains a short vowel heavy by position; exceptions all involve rho at word beginning (114 ȝİ IJȡȠijȩȢ, 179 IJઁ ʌȡ૵IJȠȞ, 184 ʌIJİȡȩİȞIJĮ ʌȡȠıȘȪįĮ, 291 ਵȚȟİ ʌȡȩȢ), with the exception of the divine name ਝijȡȠįȓIJȘ, the first syllable of which is routinely treated as light (e.g. _____________ 60 Only the hAp.Delos, at 178 lines, is shorter.

5. The Metrics of the Homeric Hymn to Aphrodite

35

1, 9), as in early epic generally. There are no examples of ‘internal correption’, i.e. the treatment of the diphthongs ȠȚ or ĮȚ as light when they are followed by a vowel within a word (e.g. 49 ȖİȜȠȚȒıĮıĮ, 101 ʌȠȚȒıȦ, 241 IJȠȚȠ૨IJȠȢ). 2. Dactyls and Spondees Of the 32 possible dactylic hexameter verse types, the hAphr. uses 26 (a figure closely in line with the other major Hymns), in the following proportions.61 Table I: Line-structure in the hAphr. (d = dactyl, s = spondee) sdddd dsddd ddddd ssddd sddsd dddsd dssdd dsdsd ddsdd sdsdd ssdsd sssdd dddds

47 43 41 23 19 17 13 11 10 10 9 8 5

16.2% 14.8% 14.1% 7.9% 6.6% 5.9% 4.5% 3.8% 3.4% 3.4% 3.1% 2.8% 1.7%

dddss ddssd dsdds sddds dsssd sdsds ddsss dssds sdssd ssdds dsdss ssdss

4 4 4 4 3 3 2 2 2 2 1 1

1.4% 1.4% 1.4% 1.4% 1.0% 1.0% 0.7% 0.7% 0.7% 0.7% 0.4% 0.4%

The five most common verse forms = 59.6% of all lines in the poem, very close to the figures for the hAp.Delphi and the hDem. (57.5% and 58.6%, respectively). The hAphr. is generally more spondaic than the Homeric poems, except in the fourth foot, and in this regard it is closer to the other Hymns and, to a lesser extent, to Hesiod. Table II: Dactyls and spondees in the hAphr., by foot dactyls spondees

I 160 55.2% 130 44.8%

II 168 58% 122 42%

III 221 76.2% 59 23.8%

IV 216 74.5% 74 25.5%

V 260 89.7% 30 10.3%

_____________ 61 For the external metrics of the other major Hymns, see the appendix to this chapter.

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Introduction

Table III: % of spondees in the hAphr. and other hexameter poetry, by foot62 hAphr.

I 44.8

II 42.0

III 23.8

IV 25.5

V 10.3

39.8 42.4 40.5 48.1 46.0 45.0 37.2 33.3 38.8

14.9 16.2 14.0 22.2 24.7 21.8 16.6 13.4 19.2

29.0 30.2 26.9 29.8 29.8 26.7 28.9 23.4 30.0

5.1 4.7 6.5 6.8 11.2 12.0 12.7 6.0 10.0

39.0 54.0 41.0 43.4 41.5 52.6

43.0 21.6 20.4 15.5 8.5 19.7

50.0 21.6 19.2 17.3 27.1 12.4

Ǽǹȃ) and print ਦįĮȞ૵Ț (Clarke) in the Hymn instead. 64–65 These verses in one sense continue the description of Aphrodite’s visit to her temple: after the Graces wash and anoint her with oil (61–3), she dresses and puts on jewelry. But the participles are retrospective, so that the final stages of the goddess’ preparations are described only after they take place, as background for her hasty departure for Troy (66–7 with nn.), while the Graces—whose duties to their mistress are presumably not to be thought of as coming to an end, the moment her bath is over— abruptly drop out of the narrative, except to the extent that their agency is implicit in ਦııĮȝȑȞȘ įૅ İ੣ and especially țȠıȝȘșİ૙ıĮ. For the lack of any explicit description here of Aphrodite’s clothing and jewelry, see 58–68 n. 64 is modeled on Il. 14.187 Į੝IJ੹ȡ ਥʌİ੿ į੽ ʌȐȞIJĮ ʌİȡ੿ ȤȡȠ૗ șȒțĮIJȠ țȩıȝȠȞ (‘but after, in fact, she put all her costume about her skin’; summing up Hera’s preparations, before she goes to seek out Aphrodite as part of the next phase of her plan to seduce Zeus); reworked again in 171–2 İ੆ȝĮIJĮ țĮȜȐ. / ਦııĮȝȑȞȘ įૅ İ੣ ʌȐȞIJĮ ʌİȡ੿ ȤȡȠ૗ į૙Į șİȐȦȞ, where see n., and at h. 6.14. İ੣ and țĮȜȐ represent Aphrodite’s own assessment of the situation: only after she is satisfied with her choice of garments and with how they have been arranged, tied, and pinned (cf. 163–4 with nn.), does she leave her temple on Cyprus for Troy. Especially after 61–3, ʌİȡ੿ ȤȡȠ૘ (* at e.g. Il. 7.207; 23.67 ʌİȡ੿ ȤȡȠ૗ İ੆ȝĮIJĮ ਪıIJȠ; Od. 16.210 ʌİȡ੿ ȤȡȠ૗ İ੆ȝĮIJૅ ਩ȤȠȞIJȚ; h. 6.14 ʌȐȞIJĮ ʌİȡ੿ ȤȡȠ૘; 27.17 [Hes.] Sc. 183) is implicitly erotic: what matters most about the goddess’ clothing is the sweet-smelling flesh hidden beneath it; cf. 84–91, esp. 88–90, with nn., 162–7 with nn., 171–2 with n. Ȥȡȣı૵Ț țȠıȝȘșİ૙ıĮ: Because Aphrodite is a goddess, her jewelry is of course all made of gold (cf. 16–17 n.). But the detail is also appropriate to the role she adopts on Mount Ida (117–20 with nn.), where she pretends to be a marriageable young woman snatched away from a dance at a festival; cf. h. 6.11–13 n.; Il. 2.872 ੔Ȣ țĮ੿ ȤȡȣıઁȞ ਩ȤȦȞ ʌȩȜİȝȩȞįૅ ੅İȞ ਱ȪIJİ

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țȠȪȡȘ (‘who went to war wearing gold, like a young woman’); E. El. 176– 7, 190–2; Ar. Ach. 257–8 with Olson ad loc. ijȚȜȠȝȝİȚį੽Ȣ ਝijȡȠįȓIJȘ: see 56–7 n. 66–77 For the arrival-motif (departure, arrival, discovery of the individual sought, description of the surroundings, and address), see Arend (1933) 28–34; here the visitor does not speak first, as is generally the case. 66–68 are modeled on Il. 14.227–8 (Hera, now as beautiful as she can make herself, leaves her private chamber on Olympus and heads in the direction of Troy) ıİȪĮIJૅ ਥijૅ ੂʌʌȠʌȩȜȦȞ ĬȡȘȚț૵Ȟ ੕ȡİĮ ȞȚijȩİȞIJĮ, / ਕțȡȠIJȐIJĮȢ țȠȡȣijȐȢ, Ƞ੝į੻ ȤșȩȞĮ ȝȐȡʌIJİ ʌȠįȠ૙ȚȞ (‘She set off for the snowy mountains of the Thracian horsemen, the highest peaks, nor did she touch the ground with her feet’), 281–3 (Hera and Sleep make their way to Mount Ida) IJઅ ȕȒIJȘȞ ȁȒȝȞȠȣ IJİ țĮ੿ ૓ǿȝȕȡȠȣ ਙıIJȣ ȜȚʌȩȞIJİ, / ਱ȑȡĮ ਦııĮȝȑȞȦ, ૧ȓȝijĮ ʌȡȒııȠȞIJİ țȑȜİȣșȠȞ. / ૓ǿįȘȞ įૅ ੂțȑıșȘȞ ʌȠȜȣʌȓįĮțĮ, ȝȘIJȑȡĮ șȘȡ૵Ȟ (‘The two of them set off, leaving behind Lemnos and the city of Imbros, clothed in mist, swiftly making their way. The two of them came to spring-filled Ida, the mother of wild beasts.’) But for 64, 66, cf. also Il. 7.207–8 (of Ajax) Į੝IJ੹ȡ ਥʌİ੿ į੽ ʌȐȞIJĮ ʌİȡ੿ ȤȡȠ૗ ਩ııĮIJȠ IJİȪȤİĮ, / ıİȪĮIJૅ ਩ʌİȚșૅ (‘But when he had put all his gear about his skin, then he set off’). Aphrodite’s second journey to Troy, unlike her first (see 56–7 n.), is described in some detail, since this time she does more than simply gaze at Anchises and immediately rush off elsewhere. ıİȪĮIJૅ ਥʌ੿ ȉȡȠȓȘȢ and ʌȡȠȜȚʌȠ૨ıૅ İ੝ȫįİĮ ȀȪʌȡȠȞ describe the same action from different perspectives: Aphrodite ‘rushed off in the direction of Troy’ by ‘leaving fragrant Cyprus behind’. 67 traces her course, and she reaches her destination in 68. The goddess’ eagerness to be off is brought out by ıİȪĮIJ(Ƞ) (used of rapid, vigorous motion; * at Il. 6.505; 7.208; 14.227; Od. 5.51; hDem. 43) and ૧ȓȝijĮ, as well as by the lack of any mention of landmarks or intermediate stops along the way (contrast Il. 14.225– 30). Cf. the similar sense of a single-minded mission implicit in ੁșઃȢ ıIJĮșȝȠ૙Ƞ in 69. İ੝ȫįİĮ ȀȪʌȡȠȞ: cf. 58–68 n., 58–60 n. The implication is perhaps that Troy—and specifically the cowyard on Mount Ida (69)—smells nowhere near as sweet as (the goddess’ altar and temple on) Cyprus. Cf. Il. 18.575; Od. 10.411 (where țȩʌȡȠȢ (‘dung’) is used via synecdoche to refer to the place where cows are kept penned up at night). The paradox thus brings out in a different way (cf. above) the strength of the impulse that drives Aphrodite to seek out Anchises. van Eck (1978) ad loc. advocates for M’s țોʌȠȞ; but no mention has been made of a garden belonging to

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Aphrodite, only of a temple, sanctuary, and altar (58–9), and the reading presumably represents a correction after rho dropped out of the text. ੢ȥȚ ȝİIJ੹ ȞȑijİıȚȞ: an odd tangle of Homeric language and motifs, the verbal (but not the intellectual) model for which is Od. 16.264, where the gods are said to reside ‘up high in the clouds’ (/ ੢ȥȚ ʌİȡ ਥȞ ȞİijȑİııȚ; cf. Il. 15.192 ǽİઃȢ įૅ ਩ȜĮȤૅ Ƞ੝ȡĮȞઁȞ ਥȞ ĮੁșȑȡȚ țĮ੿ ȞİijȑȜȘȚıȚ; 20.155 ǽİઃȢ įૅ ਸ਼ȝİȞȠȢ ੢ȥȚ; Hes. Th. 529 ǽȘȞઁȢ ૅȅȜȣȝʌȓȠȣ ੢ȥȚ ȝȑįȠȞIJȠȢ; Op. 204 / ੢ȥȚ ȝȐȜૅ ਥȞ ȞİijȑİııȚ (where an eagle flies)). At Il. 14.282, from which the second half of 68 is drawn direct, Hera and Sleep travel from Lemnos to Troy ਱ȑȡĮ ਦııȐȝİȞȦ (‘clothed in mist’), rendering them invisible to Zeus (and everyone else); cf. Il. 5.186; 15.308, where Apollo wraps himself in a cloud (ȞİijȑȜȘ) to prevent mortals from seeing him. But Aphrodite does not travel in secret, and the idea in the first half of 68 is drawn instead from passages such as Il. 5.867, where Ares ascends from the Trojan plain ‘into wide heaven’ on his way to Olympus ੒ȝȠ૨ ȞİijȑİııȚȞ (‘along with the clouds’, sc. because they too are found high in the sky), for she as well must move emphatically upward in order to land high on Mount Ida— whence she descended in 58 (see n. on ਩įȣȞİȞ)—in 68 (cf. 54). Allen’s ȞȑijİıȚȞ ૧ȓȝijĮ, a simple correction of M’s ȞȑijİıȚ ૧ȓȝijĮ, is guaranteed by the explicit reworking of Il. 14.282–3 (see above). But Ȍ’s ȞİijȑİııȚ șȠ૵Ȣ (which features the standard early epic dative plural form of ȞȑijȠȢ (e.g. Il. 5.867*; 17.594; Od. 5.293, 303*; 16.264*; Hes. Op. 204*)) scans, and the variant must represent a deliberate correction of the text after nu-moveable was lost and (more important) the expected tetrasyllabic form of the noun drove out the unexpected trisyllabic form, requiring that the now unmetrical ૧ȓȝijĮ be replaced with șȠ૵Ȣ (* at e.g. Il. 3.325, 422; 5.722; Od. 5.243; 8.443; [Hes.] Sc. 418). ૓ǿįȘȞ … ʌȠȜȣʌȓįĮțĮ, ȝȘIJȑȡĮ șȘȡ૵Ȟ proleptically captures the experience of Aphrodite, as she makes her way, in the guise of the Homeric ʌȩIJȞȚĮ șȘȡ૵Ȟ (cf. Il. 21.470, of Artemis), along the mountain’s flanks (69), noting its many springs and trailed by the wild animals that depend on them (70–2; for the connection between springs and the presence of animals, cf. Il. 16.823–5). The goddess’ experience of the Trojan countryside is nonetheless bounded and shaped by a set of fundamentally pastoral concerns that represent the perspective and interests of Anchises and his fellow cowherds, and presumably of the poem’s original audience as well; cf. 54 ʌȠȜȣʌȓįĮțȠȢ ૓ǿįȘȢ with n., 122–4 n. 68–112 Omitted in M, leaving Ȍ (through its various descendants) as the only witness to this portion of the text; cf. Introduction 6. 69–75 Aphrodite could just have easily have landed on Ida directly outside the cowyard (cf. Od. 1.102–3, where Athena moves in a single bound from

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Zeus’ house on Olympus to Odysseus’ front door), which is to say that 76 could have followed directly after 68 (75 being a transitional verse). But the account of the goddess’ journey along the mountainside offers a preliminary glimpse of her in action, before she comes into contact with Anchises, casting her (via the nature of the animals that trail behind her) as a wild, powerful, and potentially dangerous force rooted in a world where human beings are interlopers at best. For the scene as a whole, cf. Il. 13.27–8 (sea-monsters cavort in Poseidon’s train as he rides through the waves, similarly providing the arriving deity with an entourage); Lenz (1975) 123–4 (arguing that this ought really to be understood as two separate arrival scenes); and see in general Podbielski (1971) 39–41. Aphrodite’s handling of the wild creatures that greet her as she makes her way along the slopes of Mount Ida might easily be (re-)imagined, in naturalistic style, as a seriatim process, as one pair of animals after another emerges from the brush, is infected with desire by her, and is sent off to bed. But the story as it is presented in the Hymn is of a grand parade that forms out of nowhere—i.e. out of the information and narrative possibilities implicit in ૓ǿįȘȞ …, ȝȘIJȑȡĮ șȘȡ૵Ȟ in 68—and then comes to an abrupt but timely conclusion: As Aphrodite makes her way to the cowyard (69 ȕો įૅ ੁșઃȢ ıIJĮșȝȠ૙Ƞ įȚૅ Ƞ੡ȡİȠȢ), a richly described procession of savage beasts stretches behind her (69 Ƞ੄ į੻ ȝİIJૅ Į੝IJȒȞ – 72 ਵȚıĮȞ), eager for her attention (70 ıĮȓȞȠȞIJİȢ) but as yet unnoticed by her. When the goddess is at last said to discover the animals trailing her (72 ੒ȡȩȦıĮ; that the action cannot be understood as purely sequential is apparent from the use of the present rather than the aorist participle), she is delighted (72 ȝİIJ੹ ijȡİı੿ IJȑȡʌİIJȠ șȣȝȩȞ) and responds with a display of her particular divine power (73; cf. 4–5). At that point her escorts desert her (73–4), and she accordingly arrives at Anchises’ door (75) alone. 69 ੁșઃȢ ıIJĮșȝȠ૙Ƞ anticipates 75 (where see n.), and comes as a surprise, since the obvious implication of 54–5 and its models is that Anchises and Aphrodite will meet and make love in the cow-pastures high on the slopes of Mt. Ida. For Aphrodite’s impatience to find Anchises, see 66–8 n. 70–71 Although the language is drawn from many sources, the first half of 70 is clearly dependent on Od. 10.218–19 (of the wild animals charmed by Circe, who greet Odysseus’ men as dogs greet their master, sure that he has a treat for them) ੬Ȣ IJȠઃȢ ਕȝij੿ ȜȪțȠȚ țȡĮIJİȡȫȞȣȤİȢ ਱į੻ ȜȑȠȞIJİȢ / ıĮ૙ȞȠȞ (‘thus the wolves and hard-clawed lions fawned about them’; cf. the reworking of Od. 10.479 (of Odysseus’ men in Circe’s halls) at 74); the end of 70 and the beginning of 71 are drawn from Od. 11.611 (Heracles’ shield; cf. the echo of Od. 11.612 ਫ਼ıȝ૙ȞĮȓ IJİ ȝȐȤĮȚ IJİ at 11*) ਙȡțIJȠȚ IJૅ ਕȖȡȩIJİȡȠȓ IJİ ıȣ੻Ȣ ȤĮȡȠʌȠȓ IJİ ȜȑȠȞIJİȢ (‘savage bears, boars, and taw-

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ny lions’); and the rest of 71 reflects the influence of Il. 13.102–3 (of ਩ȜĮijȠȚ, ‘does’) Į੆ IJİ țĮșૅ ੢ȜȘȞ / șȫȦȞ ʌĮȡįĮȜȓȦȞ IJİ ȜȪțȦȞ IJૅ ਵȚĮ ʌȑȜȠȞIJĮȚ (‘which in the woods are the food of swift wildcats and wolves’). Not only are the animals that trail Aphrodite dangerous, making their eagerness to fawn on her like pets (cf. above) striking and paradoxical, and thus a demonstration of her extraordinary power over them (cf. 4–6), but all of them are predatory carnivores (੩ȝȠijȐȖȠȚ), explaining the absence of wild boars (contrast Il. 17.20–2; Od. 4.456–7; 11.611 (quoted above)) and the presence instead of panthers (unusual in catalogues of this sort). None of the animals is described as making a sound (contrast 159 ȕĮȡȣijșȩȖȖȦȞ IJİ ȜİȩȞIJȦȞ with n.), and in the end Aphrodite sees (72) rather than hears them. ʌȠȜȚȠȓ IJİ ȜȪțȠȚ: Wolves (Keller (1909) i.87–8) are also called ‘gray’ at Il. 10.334; hHerm. 223, and are associated with mountains at Il. 16.158– 9 (bracketed by West (2003), following Leaf and Wilamowitz), 352–5; Od. 10.212 ȜȪțȠȚ … ੑȡȑıIJİȡȠȚ; h. 14.4–5. They eat deer and the like at Il. 13.102–3; 16.158–9, and lambs and kids at Il. 16.352–3 (cf. Il. 22.263–4), but only when shepherds have foolishly allowed their animals to stray, and they make no raids on isolated farmsteads, as lions do (below). Wolf-skins are therefore much rarer, and seemingly much less ‘heroic’, than lion-skins in particular; cf. 159–60 with n. Dolon wears one, along with an equally disreputable weasel-skin on his head, at Il. 10.334–5. ȤĮȡȠʌȠȓ IJİ ȜȑȠȞIJİȢ: Lions (Keller (1909) i.24–61) are the epic predators par excellence and are associated with mountains at e.g. Il. 5.554–5; 16.823–5; Od. 6.130 ȜȑȦȞ ੑȡİıȓIJȡȠijȠȢ (‘a lion bred in the mountains’). They eat not just sheep and goats (e.g. Il. 5.136–42; 10.485–6; 13.198– 200) and wild animals of various sorts (e.g. Il. 16.756–8; [Hes.] Sc. 402– 3), as wolves do as well (above), but also cattle (e.g. Il. 5.161–2; 11.172–6; 12.293; 15.630–6), which they sometimes get by raiding farms (e.g. Il. 5.554–7; 17.657–60; Od. 6.130–4). They are therefore in constant conflict with herdsmen, for whom they pose an on-going threat; cf. 159–60 n. ȤĮȡȠʌȩȢ is a standard epic epithet of lions (see the first apparatus, and add hHerm. 569; of dogs at hHerm. 194), but its meaning is obscure; perhaps ‘brown’ (thus Maxwell-Stuart (1981)), balancing ‘gray’ (of the wolves) in the first half of the line. ਙȡțIJȠȚ: Bears (Keller (1909) i.175–83) are treated as fearsome creatures at Od. 11.611; hHerm. 223; h. 7.46 (ਙȡțIJȠȞ … ȜĮıȚĮȪȤİȞĮ, ‘a shaggy-necked bear’; one of the animals Dionysus uses to terrify the sailors who kidnap him), but otherwise receive no attention in early epic, matching the lack of an epithet for them here, as also in 159. For the asyndeton, see West on Hes. Th. 245: ‘Omission of the copula IJİ is quite common in such

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lists, but normally only after the first name in the line’ (accompanied by a long list of examples). ʌĮȡįȐȜȚȑȢ IJİ șȠĮ੿ ʌȡȠțȐįȦȞ ਕțȩȡȘIJȠȚ: ʌȐȡįĮȜȚȢ is a generic term for a large wildcat (‘panther, leopard’; cf. Il. 10.29 ʌĮȡįĮȜȑȘȚ … / ʌȠȚțȓȜȘȚ, ‘a spotted ʌȐȡįĮȜȚȢ-skin’; Semon. fr. 14 ਥȞ Ƞ੡ȡİıȚȞ … / ʌȐȡįĮȜȚȞ, ‘a ʌȐȡįĮȜȚȢ in the mountains’; Keller (1909) i.62–4); described as feeding on ਩ȜĮijȠȚ (‘does’) at Il. 13.102–3, and used as an image of martial strength and fury at Il. 17.20; 21.573–8; cf. Od. 4.457 (one of the creatures into which the Old Man of the Sea transforms himself in his violent attempt to escape Menelaus and his men). The careful description of the wildcats’ swiftness (sc. in pursuit) and consistent, relentless ferocity toward their prey brings the description of the parade of savage animals that follows Aphrodite to a climax, while simultaneously serving to bring out how peculiar their behavior—like that of the normally equally bloodthirsty wolves, lions, and bears that accompany them—is in the presence of the goddess. ʌȡȠțȐįȦȞ: deer of some sort. Homer uses ʌȡȩȟ rather than ʌȡȠțȐȢ: Od. 17.295 (of Odysseus’ old dog Argos, whom the young men used to take out) ĮੇȖĮȢ ਥʌૅ ਕȖȡȩIJİȡĮȢ ਱į੻ ʌȡȩțĮȢ ਱į੻ ȜĮȖȦȠȪȢ (‘to hunt wild goats, ʌȡȩțİȢ, and hares’). Cf. the similar pair įȩȡȟ/įȠȡțȐȢ. 72–74 The animals that follow Aphrodite are abruptly overwhelmed by lust not through any choice or action of their own—no access is offered to their thoughts or emotions, if they have any—but because she casts ੆ȝİȡȠȢ into their breasts. Cf. h. 27.6–9 n. Vision is nonetheless associated again with the origin of desire (cf. 56–7 n.), although in this case it is the goddess of love herself who does the seeing. ਵȧıĮȞ (Ilgen’s correction of ȍ’s late, non-epic ਵ(Ț)İıĮȞ) is found * at Il. 10.197; 13.305; 17.495; Od. 20.7; 24.13. ȝİIJ੹ ijȡİıȓ (* at 193, 223; e.g. Il. 4.245; Od. 16.436; Hes. Op. 274; hHerm. 164 -ȚȞ) is in one sense pleonastic with IJȑȡʌİIJȠ șȣȝȩȞ (for the expression, cf. the more economical hAp. 342 ਲ į੻ ੁįȠ૨ıĮ / IJȑȡʌİIJȠ ੔Ȟ țĮIJ੹ șȪȝȠȞ (‘When she saw that, her heart was pleased’); less striking parallels at Il. 20.23; Od. 5.74; hAp. 204). But comparison with 193, 276 (both ȝİIJ੹ ijȡİıȓ*) suggests that the prepositional phrase serves to make clear that Aphrodite’s reaction to her first glimpse of the animals has a distinct intellectual element (‘when she thought about it’ vel sim.), creating a logical link between the moment she spies them following her (੒ȡȩȦıĮ) and her internal (emotional) response (IJȑȡʌİIJȠ șȣȝȩȞ), which motivates the outward reaction described in 73. țĮ੿ IJȠ૙Ȣ ਥȞ ıIJȒșİııȚ ȕȐȜૅ ੆ȝİȡȠȞ has no specific epic model; for the expression, cf. 53 Ƞੂ ȖȜȣțઃȞ ੆ȝİȡȠȞ ਩ȝȕĮȜİ șȣȝ૵Ț with n.; Il. 5.513 ਸțİ, țĮ੿ ਥȞ ıIJȒșİııȚ ȝȑȞȠȢ ȕȐȜİ ʌȠȚȝȑȞȚ ȜĮ૵Ȟ; 11.802 = 13.468 ~ Od. 17.150

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੬Ȣ ijȐIJȠ, IJ૵Ț įૅ ਙȡĮ șȣȝઁȞ ਥȞ੿ ıIJȒșİııȚȞ ੕ȡȚȞİ; hAp. 462 ੬Ȣ ijȐIJȠ țĮȓ ıijȚȞ șȐȡıȠȢ ਥȞ੿ ıIJȒșİııȚȞ ਩șȘțİ. ıȪȞįȣȠ is attested nowhere else in early epic, although cf. Il. 10.224 / ıȪȞ IJİ įȪૅ ਥȡȤȠȝȑȞȦ; Od. 9.289 / ıઃȞ į੻ įȪȦ ȝȐȡȥĮȢ (in both of which the preposition is actually in ‘tmesis’ with the participle), 429 ıȪȞIJȡİȚȢ* (‘three by three, in groups of three’). Subsequently at Pi. P. 3.81 and in 5th/4th-c. prose. țȠȚȝȒıĮȞIJȠ: * also at Il. 1.476; 9.713; Od. 12.32; 14.524; 19.427. For the euphemism, cf. 167 ʌĮȡȑȜİțIJȠ with n.; Il. 2.335; Od. 8.295; Hes. Th. 213; LfgrE s.v. B 2 b; English ‘sleep with’. țĮIJ੹ ıțȚȩİȞIJĮȢ ਥȞĮȪȜȠȣȢ: Cf. 124* with n. For ਩ȞĮȣȜȠȢ in the sense ‘haunt’, cf. Hes. Th. 129; h. 14.5; 26.8 țĮșૅ ਫ਼ȜȘȑȞIJĮȢ ਥȞĮȪȜȠȣȢ /. 75 With the wild beasts that accompanied Aphrodite across the mountain now out of sight (74), the attention of the narrative returns to the goddess herself, who has reached the destination set for her in 69. What follows presupposes and can thus be read against the beginning of Odyssey 14, where the hero comes face to face with his faithful swineherd Eumaeus. Both scenes are set at an isolated farmstead outside of and above the city (cf. Od. 14.2 Ȥ૵ȡȠȞ ਕȞૅ ਫ਼ȜȒİȞIJĮ įȚૅ ਙțȡȚĮȢ (‘over the wooded countryside, through the heights’), and feature an encounter between a disguised and dissembling visitor and a herdman left behind for the day by his fellowworkers, who have taken the animals out to graze or forage (cf. Od. 14.25– 8). Not only is Eumaeus a slave charged with keeping his master’s pigs (Od. 14.3–4) rather than a hero (77) working temporarily (note IJȩIJ(İ) in 54 with n.) as a cowherd, however, but Odysseus catches him in the middle of the humble task of cutting a pair of sandals out of an ox-hide for himself (Od. 14.23–4), whereas Anchises is playing a lyre like a gentleman (80 with n.). țȜȚıȓĮȢ İ੝ʌȠȚȒIJȠȣȢ: At Od. 14.5–22, Homer offers a detailed, circumstantial description of Eumaeus’ beautifully built and managed farm, which nonetheless features only a single building, the hut in which he and the other herdsmen eat and sleep (e.g. Od. 14.45 țȜȚıȓȘȞįૅ ੅ȠȝİȞ (‘let us go into the hut’, sc. for a meal)) and which serves as concrete evidence of his devotion to his absent master (cf. Od. 14.3–4). Here the plural suggests a larger establishment. But the elaborate architectural features of the place must be imagined on the basis of the adjective, which in itself says nothing more than that this is the type of place a hero (or aspiring hero) might build—or have built for himself; cf. 157–60 n., 173–4 ਩ıIJȘ ਙȡĮ țȜȚıȓȘȚā İ੝ʌȠȚȒIJȠȣ ‫ۃ‬į੻‫ ۄ‬ȝİȜȐșȡȠȣ / ț૨ȡİ țȐȡȘ. 76–77 76 is largely repeated in 79, although with Anchises in the nominative rather than the accusative; 78–80 (or even 81) might thus have fol-

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lowed directly after 75. The intervening verses, however, serve to resume and correct 54–5—Anchises may work routinely (iterative ȕȠȣțȠȜȑİıțİȞ) as a cowherd on the slopes of Mount Ida, but he is not out in the pasture with the animals at the moment, although he remains just as handsome as ever—while providing what the repeated insistence that everyone else had left the farmstead for the day with the animals implicitly characterizes as crucial information for understanding the action that follows. Cf. 168–9 (the impending return of the other herdsmen motivates Aphrodite’s departure) with n. Although Aphrodite nominally ‘discovers’ Anchises at this point in the narrative, therefore, IJઁȞ įૅ Ș੤ȡİ ıIJĮșȝȠ૙ıȚ is in fact anticipatory (‘—when she came upon him in the farmstead, he had been left behind …’). ȜİȜİȚȝȝȑȞȠȞ ȠੇȠȞ țIJȜ. thus represents not what the goddess herself knows or perceives, but background information provided by the narrator. The narrative returns to Aphrodite’s own interests and perceptions only in 80, after the resumptive 79. For encounters between humans and immortals routinely located in isolated spots, see Pelliccia (1995) 273–7. The words ਝȖȤȓıȘȞ ਸ਼ȡȦĮ are borrowed from Hesiod’s account of Aeneas’ birth at Th. 1009* (dative). ਸ਼ȡȦĮ represents a perspective that is both entirely human (Anchises is the sort of man who might interact or even sleep with a goddess—who for her part would describe him as merely another mortal creature subject to death (50–2 with nn., 247–55 with nn.)) and firmly rooted in the audience’s own time, after the events described or anticipated in the Hymn, which establish his claim to heroic status, rather than in the time of the characters, for whom this is in the future. șİ૵Ȟ ਙʌȠ țȐȜȜȠȢ ਩ȤȠȞIJĮ: cf. 55 įȑȝĮȢ ਕșĮȞȐIJȠȚıȚȞ ਥȠȚțȫȢ. The renewed mention of how handsome Anchises is, serves as a reminder that Aphrodite is already consumed with desire for him (cf. 56–7) and of why. What follows accordingly takes up the separate question of how he responds to the sight of her (84–91, esp. 91). 78–80 For the function of these verses in the narrative, and the emphatic echo of 76 in 79 (Aeneas was alone!), see 76–7 n. Note the descriptive imperfects ਪʌȠȞIJȠ and ʌȦȜİ૙IJ(Ƞ); this is the general situation into which Aphrodite abruptly intrudes in 81. Ƞੂ įૅ ਚȝĮ ȕȠȣı੿Ȟ ਪʌȠȞIJȠ: For the language and construction, cf. 73–4; Il. 2.630 (etc.) IJ૵Ț įૅ ਚȝĮ … ȞોİȢ ਪʌȠȞIJȠ; 18.577 ȞȠȝોİȢ ਚȝૅ ਥıIJȚȤȩȦȞIJȠ ȕȩİııȚȞ; Od. 15.397 ਚȝૅ ੢İııȚȞ … ਦʌȑıșȦ; Hes. Op. 406 ਸ਼IJȚȢ țĮ੿ ȕȠȣı੿Ȟ ਪʌȠȚIJȠ. ȞȠȝȠઃȢ țȐIJĮ ʌȠȚȒİȞIJĮȢ: The adjective represents the goal of the expedition, which is to find the richest pasturage possible; cf. 54–5 n., 169 with n.

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The enjambment of ʌȐȞIJİȢ stresses the contrast between ‘all (the other)’ herdsman, who are away from the farm for the day, and Anchises, who is there alone for Aphrodite to discover. Aphrodite arrives at the farmstead at 75, and then in 76 ‘discovers’ Anchises there. How she finds him is not specified, and ʌȦȜİ૙IJૅ ਩ȞșĮ țĮ੿ ਩ȞșĮ in 80 implicitly raises the question again, by noting that Anchises— unlike Eumaeus in Odyssey 14 (cf. 75 n.)—is not simply sitting by the front gate, but is wandering aimlessly around the establishment. By 81 (where see n.), however, the goddess is standing directly in front of Anchises, and įȚĮʌȡȪıȚȠȞ țȚșĮȡȓȗȦȞ suggests that his whereabouts have been given away by the ‘piercing’ sound of his lyre. For įȚĮʌȡȪıȚȠȞ (adverbial), see 19 n. The word is focalized by Aphrodite, and brings her discreetly back into the narrative after the explanatory digression in 76–9; cf. 81–3 n. țȓșĮȡȚȢ (whence the verb țȚșĮȡȓȗȦ, forms of which appear * at hAp. 515; hHerm. 423, 425, 433, 455, 475, 510) is a standard Homeric term for a lyre; see 19 n.; Maas and Snyder (1989) 30–4; West (1992) 49–56. Why Anchises has been left behind at the farm by the other men is not stated— indeed, why the farm and the other herdsmen have been introduced into the story at all, when Anchises’ encounter with Aphrodite might simply have taken place on the mountainside, like Paris’ with Aphrodite, Athena, and Hera (cf. 69 n.)—is unclear. But (again unlike Eumaeus; cf. above; 75 n.) he seems to have no work to do, and is merely entertaining himself. Nor does Anchises’ lyre play any further part in the story, to the extent that he is never even said to set it down. Instead, his instrument and his skill at playing it are further marks of his privileged, elite status: he is a hero (77), and when heroes have nothing nothing else to occupy their time, they play the lyre (esp. Il. 9.186–9 (Achilleus)).The detail also inevitably evokes the story of the Judgment of Paris, who is routinely represented in artistic sources as playing a lyre on the slopes of Mount Ida when Hermes arrives with the three goddesses in tow (e.g. LIMC s. Paridis Iudicium #24, 29, 30, 34–6, 38–9; cf. Il. 3.54–5 (Hector reproaching Paris) Ƞ੟ț ਙȞ IJȠȚ ȤȡĮȓıȝȘȚ țȓșĮȡȚȢ IJȐ IJİ į૵ȡૅ ਝijȡȠįȓIJȘȢ / ਸ਼ IJİ țȩȝȘ IJȩ IJİ İੇįȠȢ, ੖IJૅ ਥȞ țȠȞȓȘȚıȚ ȝȚȖİȓȘȢ (‘Your lyre would do you no good, nor would Aphrodite’s gifts, your hair, or your good looks, when you found yourself in the dust!’)). 81–83 In terms of logical and temporal structure, the verses are in reverse order: Aphrodite appears before Anchises (81), having already altered her appearance (82), motivated by a desire not to frighten him (83). ıIJો įૅ Į੝IJȠ૨ ʌȡȠʌȐȡȠȚșİ: Aphrodite drops temporarily out of the narrative at 76; her absence is particularly apparent in the shift in the otherwise identical description of Anchises, from accusative (as the object of her discovery) in 76 to nominative (going independently about his business, unaware of her presence) in 79. For her reemergence via the adjective

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įȚĮʌȡȪıȚȠȞ, see 80 n. But the abrupt return of the goddess as a character in the story matches the suddenness with which she now appears in front of Anchises, who has good reason to think himself alone (76–9). The location of the encounter is vaguely specified as ‘at the farmstead’ in 76 (echoed in 79; cf. 69; ʌȦȜİ૙IJૅ ਩ȞșĮ țĮ੿ ਩ȞșĮ in 80 offers no further help in this regard), but is defined here along a different and, for the Hymn’s purposes, more important axis: wherever Anchises and Aphrodite may be in regard to the ‘well-made buildings’ the goddess reached at 75 and among which Anchises is wandering in 79–80, they are now face-to-face, and what matters is what goes on between them. ǻȚઁȢ șȣȖȐIJȘȡ ਝijȡȠįȓIJȘ: The reference to Aphrodite as ‘daughter of Zeus’ at a crucial point in the action functions as a reminder that everything that is happening is a result of his plan (45–53) and that, troublesome though Aphrodite may be from time to time (36–40), she is formally under his authority, including in matters touching on her sexuality; cf. 7–33 n., 107, 191; Boedeker (1974) 36–7. In Hesiod, Aphrodite is not the child of Zeus, but is produced from the foam surrounding Sky’s castrated genitals (see h. 6 introductory n.), and the Hymn-poet here for the first time explicitly indicates his preference for the goddess’ Homeric genealogy. ʌĮȡșȑȞȦȚ ਕįȝȒIJȘȚ ȝȑȖİșȠȢ țĮ੿ İੇįȠȢ ੒ȝȠȓȘ: The description (echoed in 85) reverses the normal epic trope, in which a mortal woman is said by way of praise to resemble a goddess (e.g. Od. 6.15–16 (Nausicaa) țȠȪȡȘ / … ਕșĮȞȐIJȘȚıȚ ijȣ੽Ȟ țĮ੿ İੇįȠȢ ੒ȝȠȓȘ (‘a young woman who resembled immortal goddesses in form and appearance’)), and thus cuts neatly in two directions at once. As 83 shows, Aphrodite is supposed to have made herself not more attractive (contrast 61–5) but shorter (sc. in ȝȑȖİșȠȢ) and less beautiful (sc. in İੇįȠȢ) than normal; cf. 173–5, where she re-assumes her proper appearance before revealing her identity to Anchises. But the new form the goddess has taken on, that of ‘a young woman who had never known a man’, is also erotically appealing (cf. 14–15 n., 84–5 n.), so that her appearance is simultaneously debased and attractive. For size, especially height, as a crucial index of physical attractiveness (a symptom of a society in which chronic under-nutrition was the norm), e.g. Od. 5.215–19; 6.107–9, 229–30; 18.195; 23.156–7; cf. 264–8 n. Aphrodite’s clothing and jewelry, assumed in anticipation of this encounter at 64–5 (where see n.), can be assumed to remain as they were when she left her temple in Paphos; cf. 85–90 (where the jewelry in particular plays an important part in inspiring Anchises with lust), 162–5 (Anchises removes Aphrodite’s clothing and jewelry before making love to her). The scent of the perfumed oil with which she is covered (61–3 with nn.), on the other hand, is never alluded to again, perhaps because it might reasonably have served Anchises as advance warning that he was dealing with an immortal, spoiling the story.

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ʌĮȡșȑȞȦȚ ਕįȝȒIJȘȚ: The adjective, like its cognate ਕįȝȒȢ, is regularly used elsewhere in early epic of animals that have not been broken for work (Il. 10.293 = Od. 3.383; Il. 23.266, 655; Od. 4.637; MSS at hHerm. 103 (ਕțȝોIJİȢ Ilgen)), but also of girls who have not yet been ‘mastered’ (for įȐȝȞȘȝȚ/įĮȝȐȗȦ in this sense, 2–3 n. on ਥįĮȝȐııĮIJȠ, 16–17 n.; e.g. Il. 18.432; Hes. Th. 453), sc. sexually by a man (133 with n.; Od. 6.109, 228; Hes. fr. 59.4; hDem. 145). Cf. Bergren (1989) 10. Here the phrase likely alludes to the description of Nausicaa as a ʌĮȡșȑȞȠȢ ਕįȝȒȢ at Od. 6.109, 228; cf. 92 n. ȝȑȖİșȠȢ țĮ੿ İੇįȠȢ is a variation of the Homeric / İੇįȩȢ IJİ ȝȑȖİșȩȢ IJİ (85 with the second apparatus); cf. Od. 5.217 İੇįȠȢ … ȝȑȖİșȩȢ IJİ; Hes. Th. 619–20 țĮ੿ İੇįȠȢ / țĮ੿ ȝȑȖİșȠȢ; hDem. 275* (perhaps modeled on this passage); [Hes.] Sc. 5 İ੅įİ૘ IJİ ȝİȖȑșİȚ IJİ. The variant IJİ țĮ੿ (p) represents an attempt to mend the meter by someone unaware that İੇįȠȢ properly begins with digamma (e.g. Il. 24.376 įȑȝĮȢ țĮ੿ İੇįȠȢ ਕȖȘIJȩȢ /). ȝȒ ȝȚȞ IJĮȡȕȒıİȚİȞ ਥȞ ੑijșĮȜȝȠ૙ıȚ ȞȠȒıĮȢ anticipates, and thus both prepares for and justifies Anchises’ reaction at 182, when Aphrodite finally reveals herself to him in her full divine glory: IJȐȡȕȘıȑȞ IJİ țĮ੿ ੕ııİ ʌĮȡĮțȜȚįઁȞ ਩IJȡĮʌİȞ ਙȜȜȘȚ. Cf. 146 ੪Ȣ ਕȖȠȡİȪİȚȢ with n.; Richardson on hDem. 188–90 § 3 (on amazement and terror as appropriate reactions to an encounter with a deity); Smith (1981a) 45. Note the echo of ਥȞ ੑijșĮȜȝȠ૙ıȚ ȞȠȒıĮȢ at 179, at the end of Aphrodite’s question as she wakes Anchises up. ȝȚȞ is to be taken with both the participle (which requires a direct object) and the optative main verb (which does not). ਥȞ ੑijșĮȜȝȠ૙ıȚ ȞȠȒıĮȢ is found in this sedes elsewhere in early epic only at Il. 24.294 = 312 (Hecabe urges Priam to request an omen from Zeus ensuring that he will be able to travel safely to Achilleus’ hut), a scene that also includes one of the three Homeric examples of the formula / ıIJો įૅ … ʌȡȠʌȐȡȠȚșİ (cf. 81; also at Il. 14.297 (Zeus prepares to address the newly-beautified Hera, lust having overpowered him at the sight of her in 14.294); cf. 54–5 n.). 84–85 The description in 82–3 of (A) Aphrodite’s altered ȝȑȖİșȠȢ țĮ੿ İੇįȠȢ, driven by her concern about (B) how Anchises might react (ȝȒ ȝȚȞ IJĮȡȕȒıİȚİȞ) to (C) the sight of her (ਥȞ ੑijșĮȜȝȠ૙ıȚ ȞȠȒıĮȢ), sets up the account of his actual reaction, which is presented in reverse order: when (C´) Anchises sees Aphrodite (੒ȡȩȦȞ ਥijȡȐȗİIJȠ), (B´) he responds not with terror but with wonder (șĮȪȝĮȚȞİȞ) to (A´) her İੇįȩȢ IJİ ȝȑȖİșȩȢ IJİ. Cf. h. 6.18, where the male gods all express a desire to marry Aphrodite when she is first introduced to them, İੇįȠȢ șĮȣȝȐȗȠȞIJİȢ ੁȠıIJİijȐȞȠȣ ȀȣșİȡİȓȘȢ (‘amazed at the appearance of violet-crowned Aphrodite’). ੒ȡȩȦȞ: For the connection between the act of seeing and the onset of ਩ȡȠȢ (91 with n.), see 56–7 n.

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Commentary

șĮȪȝĮȚȞİȞ: picked up in 90 șĮ૨ȝĮ ੁįȑıșĮȚ, where see n. Homer has the future active participle șĮȣȝĮȞȑȠȞIJİȢ at Od. 8.108 metri gratia, but elsewhere always uses forms of șĮȣȝȐȗȦ (often associated with and presented as a reaction to verbs meaning ‘see’ (e.g. Il. 24.631–2; Od. 8.459; 24.307; cf. hHerm. 414)) rather than șĮȣȝĮȓȞȦ. The expected form is thus șĮȪȝĮȗİȞ (e.g. Il. 24.631; Od. 24.370; always in a different sedes), but forms of șĮȣȝĮȓȞȦ also appear at hHerm. 407; ‘Anacr.’ PMG 501.11. Either Ĭ’s șĮȪȝĮȚȞİȞ or p’s șȐȝȕĮȚȞİȞ (or both) might have stood in Ȍ, and van Eck (1978) ad loc. (followed by Faulkner (2008) and Richardson (2010)) argues that șȐȝȕĮȚȞİȞ (printed also by Càssola (1975)) is the lectio difficilior. But Homer always uses șĮȝȕȑȦ (e.g. Il. 23.728 șȐȝȕȘıȐȞ IJİ*) rather than șĮȝȕĮȓȞȦ, and the latter is in any case otherwise attested only at Pi. O. 3.32 șȐȝȕĮȚȞİ (with the v.l. șĮȪȝĮȚȞİ) and may well be a ghostword produced via conflation with șȐȝȕȠȢ. İੇįȩȢ IJİ ȝȑȖİșȩȢ IJİ: i.e. the fact that she looks like a ʌĮȡșȑȞȠȢ ਕįȝȒIJȘȢ (82), although she is simultaneously as beautiful as any goddess (92–9)—a somewhat tangled image. Cf. 81–3 n. țĮ੿ İ੆ȝĮIJĮ ıȚȖĮȜȩİȞIJĮ adds a new element to the description of Aphrodite offered in 82, and is accordingly provided with an explanatory gloss in 86 (cf. 87–90). For the goddess’ clothing, cf. 64 with n., 164 İ੆ȝĮIJĮ ıȚȖĮȜȩİȞIJĮ*, 171. The digamma with which İ੆ȝĮIJĮ normally begins is neglected only once in Homer (Od. 7.259), and Flach (followed by Allen) accordingly deleted the second IJİ in the first half of the line. But this leaves ȝȑȖİșȠȢ without a connective, and digamma is neglected on the same word at 232. Cf. Smith (1979) 30–2. 86–90 The description of Aphrodite’s robe as ‘more brilliant than firelight’ in 86 is borrowed from Homer’s account of Hephaestus’ forging of new arms for Achilleus at Il. 18.610, while the list of jewelry in 87 is adapted from Hephaestus’ own account of the work he did for Thetis after Hera expelled him from Olympus at Il. 18.401 (= 163, where see n.). The implication is that everything Aphrodite is wearing is—as one might have guessed in any case—of divine workmanship; cf. Il. 5.338 (Aphrodite’s ʌȑʌȜȠȢ) ੖Ȟ Ƞੂ ȋȐȡȚIJİȢ țȐȝȠȞ Į੝IJĮȓ (‘which the Graces themselves made for her’); Cypr. fr. 4, pp. 46–7 Bernabé (a detailed description of the ʌȑʌȜȠȢ the Graces and the Seasons made for Aphrodite and dyed with the colors of all the spring flowers). 86 ʌȑʌȜȠȞ … Ȗ੹ȡ ਪİıIJȠ and ijĮİȚȞȩIJİȡȠȞ ʌȣȡઁȢ Į੝ȖોȢ explain and expand 85 İ੆ȝĮIJĮ and ıȚȖĮȜȩİȞIJĮ, respectively. But despite the claim in 85 that Aphrodite’s clothing captured Anchises’ attention and inspired his awe, the narrator displays less interest in it than in her jewelry and its erotic effect (below). For a similar balance (or imbalance), cf. h. 6.6–11, where the

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goddess’ clothing is described simply as ਙȝȕȡȠIJĮ İ੆ȝĮIJĮ, while 4½ lines are devoted to a detailed account of the jewelry the Seasons put on her. ijĮİȚȞȩIJİȡȠȞ ʌȣȡઁȢ Į੝ȖોȢ: At Il. 18.610, the phrase is applied to a metal breastplate, and it must thus describe not the color of Aphrodite’s robe but the brightness or intensity of that color, whatever it may be. Homeric descriptions of ʌȑʌȜȠȚ generally stress their inherent quality, size, or workmanship: Il. 5.734–5 = 8.385–6 ʌȑʌȜȠȞ … / ʌȠȚțȓȜȠȞ (‘an elaborately worked ʌȑʌȜȠȢ’; Athena’s robe); 6.90–1 ʌȑʌȜȠȞ, ੖Ȣ Ƞੂ įȠțȑİȚ ȤĮȡȚȑıIJĮIJȠȢ ਱į੻ ȝȑȖȚıIJȠȢ / İੇȞĮȚ ਥȞ੿ ȝİȖȐȡȦȚ țĮȓ Ƞੂ ijȓȜIJĮIJȠȢ Į੝IJોȚ ~ 271–2 (‘a ʌȑʌȜȠȢ, the one she considers the loveliest and largest in our house, the one she likes best’; a dedication), 289–90 ʌȑʌȜȠȚ ʌĮȝʌȠȚțȓȜȠȚ, ਩ȡȖĮ ȖȣȞĮȚț૵Ȟ / ȈȚįȠȞȚ૵Ȟ (‘extraordinarily elaborate ʌȑʌȜȠȚ, produced by Sidonian women’; among Paris’ treasures); 24.229 ʌİȡȚțĮȜȜȑĮȢ … ʌȑʌȜȠȣȢ (‘remarkably lovely ʌȑʌȜȠȚ’; a suppliant gift), 796 ʌȠȡijȣȡȑȠȚȢ ʌȑʌȜȠȚıȚ … ȝĮȜĮțȠ૙ıȚȞ (‘soft ʌȑʌȜȠȚ, dyed purple’; among Hector’s funeral goods); Od. 7.96–7 ʌȑʌȜȠȚ / ȜİʌIJȠ੿ ਥȪȞȞȘIJȠȚ, … ਩ȡȖĮ ȖȣȞĮȚț૵Ȟ (‘fine ʌȑʌȜȠȚ made of wellspun yarn, produced by women’; among the furnishings in Alcinoos’ palace); 18.292 ȝȑȖĮȞ ʌİȡȚțĮȜȜȑĮ ʌȑʌȜȠȞ (‘a large, very beautiful ʌȑʌȜȠȢ’; Antinoos’ gift to Penelope). Here, by contrast, the emphasis is on the dazzling effect on the viewer, who almost has no choice but to turn his eyes elsewhere (= 87–90, where see n.). For Aphrodite’s ʌȑʌȜȠȢ ijĮİȚȞȩȢ, cf. Il. 5.315, where the adjective again refers to the effect on on-lookers, as the goddess shields her son from his enemies’ view (ਥțȐȜȣȥİȞ) in order to rescue him; and note the passages collected at the end of 86–90 n. 87–90 The descriptions of Aphrodite’s individual items of jewelry (cf. 65) all include adjectives, some purely objective (ਥʌȚȖȞĮȝʌIJȐȢ, ȤȡȪıİȚȠȚ), some less so (ijĮİȚȞȐȢ, ʌĮȝʌȠȓțȚȜȠȚ), others purely evaluative (ʌİȡȚțĮȜȜȑİȢ, țĮȜȠȓ) and thus easily understood as focalized by the entranced (84) and appreciative (91) Anchises. The gleam of the goddess’ jewelry is mentioned twice (picking up on the description of her robe in 85–6), as is its workmanship. But its most important characteristic is how it serves to draw the viewer’s attention to her neck and breasts, which are described with the erotic adjective ਖʌĮȜȩȢ (cf. 14–15 n.). For the neck (visible) and breasts (perceived only through the clothing) as crucial components of female beauty, and of Aphrodite’s beauty in particular, cf. 181 with n.; Il. 3.396–8 (Helen recognizes the disguised Aphrodite; perhaps a model for this passage and almost certainly for 181 as well (cf. 143–4 n.)) țĮȓ ૧ૅ ੪Ȣ Ƞ੣Ȟ ਥȞȩȘıİ șİ઼Ȣ ʌİȡȚțĮȜȜȑĮ įİȚȡȒȞ / ıIJȒșİȐ șૅ ੂȝİȡȩİȞIJĮ țĮ੿ ੕ȝȝĮIJĮ ȝĮȡȝĮȓȡȠȞIJĮ, șȐȝȕȘıİȞ (‘And when, then, she noticed the goddess’ remarkably lovely neck, and her luscious breasts and flashing eyes, she was astounded’); h. 6.10–11 (the Seasons dress Aphrodite before presenting her to the gods) with n.; Hes. fr. 75.9–10 (Atalanta appears to her suitors)

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[ʌȞ]ȠȚ੽ ǽİijȪȡȠȚȠ ȤȚIJ૵ȞĮ / [ … ʌİ]ȡ੿ ıIJȒșİııૅ ਖʌĮȜȠ૙ıȚ (‘a gust of the West wind … her robe about her soft breasts’); and see 257 ȕĮșȪțȠȜʌȠȚ n.; Brown (1997) 33–4, 36 (on ‘Aphrodite rich in gold’ generally, and the function of her jewelry in particular). Precisely what ਪȜȚțİȢ (literally ‘twists’) and țȐȜȣțİȢ (literally ‘flowerbuds’) are, is unclear. The adjectives associated with the nouns merely reaffirm the underlying images or metaphors rather than clarifying or expanding on them: ‘twists’ are, unsurprisingly, ‘curved, bent about’ (contrast the Homeric original = 163, in which the adjective refers to a different item of jewelry, about which it adds important information), while ‘flowerbuds’ are ‘vibrant with color’ (cf. Richardson on hDem. 8). But the gaze implied in 88–90 moves down deliberately from Aphrodite’s neck to her bosom (see below), and it is reasonable to assume that this is merely a continuation of the trajectory it has already assumed, and that the ‘twists’ and ‘flower-buds’ are hair-ornaments (cf. Il. 17.52 ʌȜȠȤȝȠȓ șૅ, Ƞ੄ Ȥȡȣı૵Ț IJİ țĮ੿ ਕȡȖȪȡȦȚ ਥıijȒțȦȞIJȠ (‘and his locks, bound tight with gold and silver’)), earrings (cf. h. 6.9 ਙȞșİȝૅ with n.), or the like. ੖ȡȝȠȚ į(ਥ) țIJȜ: The pace of the description slows markedly as Aphrodite’s necklaces—and thus her throat (the last bit of flesh visible before her robes begin) and her breasts—come into focus, and the implied gaze (above) lingers on them. The Homeric original of 87 (Il. 18.401; see 86–90 n., and cf. 163) ends with a reference to necklaces (țĮ੿ ੖ȡȝȠȣȢ /), which has been replaced in the Hymn by the adjective ijĮİȚȞȐȢ (modifying țȐȜȣțĮȢ). 88 thus retains a strong connection to its Iliadic intertext, although the line itself is perhaps borrowed direct from the Cypria: cf. fr. 6, p. 48 Bernabé (from Naevius; doubtless of Aphrodite as she appears to Paris) collum marmoreum torques gemmata coronat. ੪Ȣ į੻ ıİȜȒȞȘ țIJȜ modifies and reverses the description of Hera’s head-scarf (țȡȒįİȝȞȠȞ) at Il. 14.185 ȜİȣțઁȞ įૅ ਷Ȟ ਱ȑȜȚȠȢ ੮Ȣ (‘It was as bright as the sun’). For the moon described as ‘shining, brilliant’ or the like (sc. in contrast to the dark sky at night), cf. Il. 8.555; Od. 4.45 = 7.84; Hes. Th. 19, 371; fr. 252; Il.parv. fr. 9, p. 78 Bernabé. The reference is again to the quality rather than the color of the light; cf. 86 n. The light that shines ‘about [Aphrodite’s] soft breasts’ (ıIJȒșİıȚȞ ਕȝijૅ ਖʌĮȜȠ૙ıȚȞ) is properly reflected from her necklaces, which hang about the goddess’ neck (ਕȝijૅ ਖʌĮȜોȚ įİȚȡોȚ) down over the front of her dress. But the jewelry itself now recedes into the background (hence the impersonal ਥȜȐȝʌİIJȠ, for which cf. Il. 22.319; Od. 9.143 Ƞ੝į੻ ʌȡȠ੝ijĮȓȞİIJૅ ੁįȑıșĮȚ), as the attention of the narrative—and of Anchises—focusses on the body to which it calls attention. Cf. hDem. 278–9 IJોȜİ į੻ ijȑȖȖȠȢ ਕʌઁ ȤȡȠઁȢ ਕșĮȞĮIJȠ૙Ƞ / ȜȐȝʌİ șİ઼Ȣ (‘and light shone far from the goddess’ immortal skin’).

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șĮ૨ȝĮ ੁįȑıșĮȚ picks up șĮȪȝĮȚȞİȞ in 84, after the extended description of what Anchises saw and wondered at, and is perhaps a specific allusion to Od. 8.366 (of the Graces in Paphos dressing Aphrodite; cf. 58–68 n.) ਕȝij੿ į੻ İ੆ȝĮIJĮ ਪııĮȞ ਥʌȒȡĮIJĮ, șĮ૨ȝĮ ੁįȑıșĮȚ (‘and they dressed her in lovely clothing, marvellous to behold’). 91–106 Anchises’ initial speech to the disguised Aphrodite calls out to be read against Od. 6.149–85 (see also 242 ~ Od. 6.244 with n.), where Odysseus, having washed up the previous day on the island of Scheria, emerges from beneath a pair of olive bushes to confront Nausicaa, who has come down to the shore with her maids to do her washing. Odysseus has no idea where he is (6.119–21), and initially considers the possibility that the shrieks that have awoken him were produced by nymphs (6.122–5); he therefore begins by addressing Nausicaa as at least potentially a goddess (6.149–52), although he is soon referring to her unambiguously as a mortal woman who may be able to offer him the practical help he needs to escape his troubles (esp. 6.175–80). Anchises, by contrast, ignores the possibility that his visitor may be human, and instead expands on the question of precisely which goddess or type of goddess she may be (93–9), and on how he will honor her and what he would like in return (100–6). Anchises’ insistence that the beautiful woman standing before him must be an immortal— perhaps even Aphrodite herself (93)—is on the mark, and he correctly forecasts that she will grant him a child and enormous personal renown (103–4), while obliquely raising the question of whether he will live to enjoy any of this (105–6). But his insistence that his visitor must be divine sits uncomfortably with the narrator’s assertion in 91 that Anchises was already inflamed with lust even before he began to speak (ਝȖȤȓıȘȞ įૅ ਩ȡȠȢ İੈȜİȞ; contrast hDem. 190 įȑȠȢ İੈȜİȞ, the proper reaction to the sight of a goddess), so that his extravagant remarks—like Odysseus’—are perhaps ultimately best understood as flattery of an in some ways quite conventional sort (cf. 55, 77, 108 n., 109 with n. 153 with n., 200–1, 219, 279), which nonetheless preserves the possibility that he may be speaking with one of the local nymphs at least (97–9). But the fact that the hero’s motivations cannot be easily and definitively assessed also suggests that the poet may not have thought them through completely, allowing him to have the story both ways. See in general Podbielski (1971) 43–6; Smith (1981a) 46– 9; de Jong (1989) 15–16; Clay (1989) 174–5; García (2002) 1–41, esp. 22– 4 (on the hymnic theme of divine visits to mortals, the recognition or lack of recognition that follows, and the consequences). Nausicaa never responds directly to Odysseus’ suggestion that she may be a goddess, and at 109 the Hymn-poet activates as a second intertext Od. 16.181–9, where the frightened and astonished Telemachus guesses that the physically trans-

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formed stranger he has met in Eumaeus’ hut must be a god, only to be assured that this is his long-absent father. 91 ਝȖȤȓıȘȞ įૅ ਩ȡȠȢ İੈȜİȞ: For the connection between the onset of ਩ȡȠȢ and the act of seeing (84), see 56–7 n., and cf. 143–4 n. 91 is very similar to 144, where the speech-introduction formula ਩ʌȠȢ IJૅ ਩ijĮIJૅ ਩ț IJૅ ੑȞȩȝĮȗİ, however, is of a standard Homeric type (see n. ad loc. and the second apparatus), as ਩ʌȠȢ įȑ ȝȚȞ ਕȞIJȓȠȞ Ș੡įĮ is not. Il. 5.170 ıIJો į੻ ʌȡȩıșૅ Į੝IJȠ૙Ƞ, ਩ʌȠȢ IJȑ ȝȚȞ ਕȞIJȓȠȞ Ș੡įĮ, on which the second half of this line is modeled, introduces a speech by Anchises’ son Aeneas that ultimately leads to him being wounded by Diomedes and rescued by Aphrodite. But the Hymn-poet most likely chose to recall the line primarily because he took ਕȞIJȓȠȞ Ș੡įĮ in the Iliadic passage to mean not ‘he said in response’ (as normally in Homer) but ‘he said (standing) face-to-face to him’, taking the narrative here back to the moment at 81 where Aphrodite appears abruptly in the cowyard, directly in front of Anchises (/ ıIJો įૅ Į੝IJȠ૨ ʌȡȠʌȐȡȠȚșİ; cf. Il. 5.170 / ıIJો į੻ ʌȡȩıșૅ Į੝IJȠ૙Ƞ), the events described at length in 84–90 having ‘actually’ taken place in a heartbeat. The characters are thus to be imagined as looking directly at one another—an extraordinarily bold gesture on the woman’s part in particular (cf. 93–4 n., 155–6 n., 181–2 n..; Il. 17.166–7 (looking another man in the eye as a sign of confidence)). 92 ȤĮ૙ȡİ: found at the beginning of prayers at Il. 10.462*; 23.19* = 179*; Od. 14.358 ȤĮȓȡİIJૅ*; cf. 293* (the poet’s final address to the subject of the Hymn) with n.; Furley–Bremer (2001) i.61–3; ii.5. But here the word, in combination with the second half of the relative clause that follows, can be simultaneously understood as a more prosaic ‘Welcome to my house!’ (~ e.g. ȤĮ૙ȡİ IJȐįİ įȫȝĮșૅ ਥȜȘȜȣșȣ૙Į; for the implication that the cowyard is to be conceived as Anchises’ home and not just as a place he is visiting for a few days or the like, cf. 54–5 n.), so that the emphasis falls squarely on ਸ਼ IJȚȢ ȝĮțȐȡȦȞ (‘whichever of the blessed ones’—i.e. ‘of the Olympian gods’—‘you may be’, an indirect question explored in more detail in 93–4, cf. 95–9). For ȝĮțȐȡȦȞ, see 33–5 n. ਙȞĮıı(Į): used to address a female deity also at Od. 3.380 (Nestor to Athena; see 100–6 n.), and twice by Odysseus in his initial speech to Nausicaa (Od. 6.149 (quoted in the first apparatus), 175*). Cf. the similar use of ਙȞĮ/ਙȞĮȟ at e.g. Il. 3.351; 16.514, 523. įȫȝĮșૅ ੂțȐȞİȚȢ: cf. įȫȝĮșૅ ੆țĮȞİ at Od. 7.3; 15.216. 93–99 Anchises’ catalogue of supposed possibilities for the identity of his anonymous visitor consists of three categories, each of which occupies two lines and is both a bit less grand and marginally more likely than the one that precedes it: she may be (1) a specific Olympian goddess (93–4); (2)

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one of the individually anonymous Graces (95–6), who are said to associate with the (Olympian) gods and are thus implicitly distinguished from them, but who are also described as immortal, something that does not need to be specified of Artemis, Leto, Aphrodite, Themis, and Athena; or (3) one of the various types of nymphs (97, 99), anonymous both collectively and individually, who are somehow divine but also mortal, even if extremely long-lived (cf. 258–72), and whom one might not unreasonably imagine encountering far outside the city. 93–94 The list of Olympian goddesses grows gradually more elaborate, from two bare names (‘Artemis’ and ‘Leto’), to a single name adorned with a simple epithet (‘golden Aphrodite’), to a pair of names adorned with twoelement epithets (‘well-born Themis’ and ‘gleaming-eyed Athena’). But it also displays a neat chiastic structure, with a virgin goddess at each end (A: Artemis, A´: Athena), two consorts of Zeus from the Titan generation between them (B: Leto, B´: Themis), and Aphrodite herself (C) at the center of the catalogue. ਡȡIJİȝȚȢ … ਱੻ ȤȡȣıȑȘ ਝijȡȠįȓIJȘ: Of the individual Olympian goddesses, attractive mortal women are conventionally compared either to Artemis alone (Od. 4.122 (the poet describing Helen); 6.102–9 (the poet describing Nausicaa), 150–2 (Odysseus’ best guess as to who Nausicaa might be, if she is a goddess); both are entrancing but pointedly chaste figures)), or to ‘Artemis or golden Aphrodite’ (Od. 17.37 = 19.54 (the poet describing Penelope, whose chastity and sexual potential are alike central to his story)). Artemis is a particularly good guess here, given that she haunts the mountains (18 with n.). ȤȡȣıȑȘ ਝijȡȠįȓIJȘ: The epithet is conventional (cf. 1 ʌȠȜȣȤȡȪıȠȣ ਝijȡȠįȓIJȘȢ with n., 95–9 n.), as is the use of ȖȜĮȣț૵ʌȚȢ to describe Athena (cf. 8, and see the second apparatus). But the adjectives, along with the non-traditional ਱ȣȖİȞȒȢ (see below), combine to paint a flattering if suggestive picture of Anchises’ anonymous visitor: she is richly ornamented in gold (cf. 89) and therefore both (objectively) marriageable and (subjectively) attractive to him (cf. 82 n.); she is not a slave or a simple peasant-girl, but from a good family, and thus deserves both his interest and his respect; and her willingness to look him in the eye (cf. 91 with n.) hints at personal possibilities between them (cf. 155–6 n.). ȤȡȣıȑȘ (with -ȑȘ in synizesis) is Barnes’ correction of the paradosis Ȥȡȣıો. West on Hes. Th. 822 points out that MSS routinely offer the contracted form of the adjective when it is used of Aphrodite, but prefer the uncontracted form elsewhere; this seems inadequate grounds for declining to emend, given the lack of metrical or interpretative implications. ĬȑȝȚȢ ਱ȣȖİȞȒȢ: A telling collocation of ideas, especially given the non-traditional character of the epithet (see below, and contrast above on

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ȤȡȣıȑȘ ਝijȡȠįȓIJȘ and ȖȜĮȣț૵ʌȚȢ ਝșȒȞȘ): ĬȑȝȚȢ (‘Right’) is ‘well-born’ not just because the parents of the Titaness by that name were Earth and Sky (Hes. Th. 133–5), but because right and proper behavior is (allegedly) defined and represented by individuals of ‘decent birth’. This is the first attestation of the adjective or any of its cognates; subsequently at Sapph. SLG 261a fr. 2 col. ii.16; Thgn. 184; and common in 5th-c. poetry and prose. 95–97, 99 ʌȠȣ (‘perhaps’) marks this as the next step in an internal process of consideration (verbalized, meaning that the speaker is effectively represented as ‘thinking aloud’), as Anchises moves on from the suggestion that his visitor may be a major Olympian deity (92–4), to the marginally more likely possibility that she is a Grace or a nymph. Cf. 107–42 n. įİ૨ȡૅ ਵȜȣșİȢ (for which, see also 95–6 n.; * at Od. 4.810) accordingly resumes IJȐįİ įȫȝĮșૅ ੂțȐȞİȚȢ in 92 in abbreviated form. For Aphrodite, on the one hand, and the nymphs and the Graces (all described as the goddess’ handmaids), on the other, together on the slopes of Mount Ida, cf. Cypr. fr. 5, pp. 47–8 Bernabé, esp. 4–5 ȞȪȝijĮȚ țĮ੿ ȋȐȡȚIJİȢ, ਚȝĮ į੻ ȤȡȣıȑȘ ਝijȡȠįȓIJȘ, / țĮȜઁȞ ਕİȓįȠȣıĮȚ țĮIJૅ ੕ȡȠȢ ʌȠȜȣʌȓįĮțȠȢ ૓ǿįȘȢ (‘nymphs and Graces, and golden Aphrodite along with them, singing a beautiful song on the side of spring-filled Mount Ida’). 95–96 Į੆ IJİ șİȠ૙ıȚ / ʌ઼ıȚȞ ਦIJĮȚȡȓȗȠȣıȚ is, on one level, merely another way of saying that the Olympian gods are universally graceful and attractive, and thus does not contradict the fact that the Graces, understood in a slightly different way, are routinely presented as the attendants of Aphrodite in particular; cf. 61–3 with n.; Hes. Th. 64–5, 907–11 with West ad locc.; LIMC iii.1.191–3 (‘They belong, like Eros, Nike, the Horai and the Moirai, to those figures whose appellations give them the character of personifications but who have a significant existence in cult, together with a marginal existence in mythology’). But within Anchises’ speech the relative clause also serves to stress the significance of įİ૨ȡૅ ਵȜȣșİȢ: the Graces belong on Olympus, not in his cowyard. Cf. 97–9 n. IJİ has a generalizing descriptive function, as again in 97, 245, 246; cf. 97– 9 n. 97, 99 ਵ IJȚȢ ȞȣȝijȐȦȞ, Į੆ IJ(İ) țIJȜ: Nymphs are associated above all else with water, and thus here with springs (ʌȘȖ੹Ȣ ʌȠIJĮȝ૵Ȟ; such nymphs are properly ȞĮȚȐįİȢ (‘naiads’), cognate with ȞȐȦ, ‘flow, run with water’) and, via a slight zeugma, with the attractive groves of trees (ਙȜıİĮ țĮȜȐ; cf. 264–8 n. for specific types of tree-nymphs) and meadows full of grass (ʌȓıİĮ ʌȠȚȒİȞIJĮ) that springs produce, and that iconically crowd them close within these verses. For nymphs generally, see 257–72 with nn.

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(264–72 on their connection to sacred groves); Od. 6.123–4 with Hainsworth ad loc.; Hes. Th. 130 with West ad loc.; Gantz (1993) 139–42; Larson (2001), esp. 8–11, 78–84. ʌȓıİĮ is a correction by the L-scribe (modestly improved by Ruhnken) to match the model at Il. 20.9 (cf. Od. 6.124). The paradosis ȕȒıİĮ (a nonword, but cf. ȕોııĮ, ‘glen’) represents an aural rather than a visual error. For IJ(İ), cf. 95 with n. Between 97 and 99, the MSS offer an additional line (98; see the third apparatus), modeled on 258 Į੄ IJȩįİ ȞĮȚİIJȐȠȣıȚȞ ੕ȡȠȢ ȝȑȖĮ IJİ ȗȐșİȩȞ IJİ ~ 285 Į੄ IJȩįİ ȞĮȚİIJȐȠȣıȚȞ țĮIJĮİȚȝȑȞȠȞ ੢ȜȘȚ (both of the nymphs), that appears to be an ancient variant for 97 (thus Ruhnken, followed by West (2003) and Faulkner (2008)) and that serves to make Anchises’ final guess as to his visitor’s identity more specific: she may be not just one of the nymphs generally, but one of those who haunt the area around Troy in particular. Both 97 and 98 might be retained (thus most recently Richardson (2010)). But Ȟȣȝij૵Ȟ is clumsy after ȞȣȝijȐȦȞ in the preceding verse (ਕȝȕȡȩIJȦȚ … / ਕȝȕȡȠıȓȦȚ in 62–3 is different, since in that case two epic exemplars are being merged, as they are not here), although modern aesthetic judgments admittedly count for little in such cases; țĮȜȩȞ has no function except as a bit of unnecessary local boosterism; and it seems best to expel the verse, which was perhaps produced originally when 97 was lost via homoioteleuton after 96 in a copy of the text. That 97 is omitted in a is most likely a simple mechanical error, given the presence of ਵ at the beginning of both 97 and 98. But this might instead be taken as evidence that the two lines were marked as alternatives in either ș or Ȍ, and that a chose (badly) between them; cf. p. 000, n. 82, on the possibility that M omitted one verse or the other; and 136 n., 274–5 for more obvious cases of interpolation, lending support to the notion that ancient editorial intervention in the text might be detected here as well. It is in any case far more likely that a herdsman out in the wilderness might meet a nymph than that he might unexpectedly happen upon one of the Graces; cf. 95–6 n. 100–106 Regardless of whether this speech is sincere (see 91–106), it is structured in the standard prayer-form dabo ut des; cf. Od. 3.380–4 (Nestor to Athena, who has just vanished abruptly from his presence; Od. 3.382–4 = Il. 10.292–4) ਕȜȜȐ, ਙȞĮııૅ, ੆ȜȘșȚ, įȓįȦșȚ įȑ ȝȠȚ țȜȑȠȢ ਥıșȜȩȞ, / Į੝IJ૵Ț țĮ੿ ʌĮȓįİııȚ țĮ੿ ĮੁįȠȓȘȚ ʌĮȡĮțȠȓIJȚā / ıȠ੿ įૅ Į੣ ਥȖઅ ૧ȑȗȦ ȕȠ૨Ȟ ਷ȞȚȞ İ੝ȡȣȝȑIJȦʌȠȞ / ਕįȝȒIJȘȞ, ਴Ȟ Ƞ੡ ʌȦ ਫ਼ʌઁ ȗȣȖઁȞ ਵȖĮȖİȞ ਕȞȒȡā / IJȒȞ IJȠȚ ਥȖઅ ૧ȑȗȦ ȤȡȣıઁȞ țȑȡĮıȚȞ ʌİȡȚȤİȪĮȢ (‘But show mercy, queen, and grant me a fine reputation, for me, my children, and my wife. I in return will sacrifice to you a yearling cow with a wide forehead, one that is unbroken, which no one ever led beneath a yoke’); 13.358–60 (Odysseus to the Ithacan nymphs; quoted in 102–6 n.). That a god—or even a nymph—will treat

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one well cannot be taken for granted (cf. 185–9, and note Nestor’s ੆ȜȘșȚ at the very beginning of his prayer, as also in Telemachus’ address to the transformed stranger at Od. 16.184–5 ਕȜȜૅ ੆ȜȘșૅ, ੆ȞĮ IJȠȚ țİȤĮȡȚıȝȑȞĮ įȫȠȝİȞ ੂȡȐ / ਱į੻ ȤȡȪıİĮ į૵ȡĮ, IJİIJȣȖȝȑȞĮā ijİȓįİȠ įૅ ਲȝȑȦȞ (‘But show mercy, so that we can give you offerings you will appreciate and presents of worked gold; spare us!’)). The suppliant must accordingly work to make what he offers in return for a benevolent attitude on the deity’s part as tempting as possible, hence Nestor’s specification that the bull to be sacrificed to Athena will never have been put to the plow, will have its horns gilded, etc., and Telemachus’ insistence that the gold objects he will offer will be ‘(elaborately) worked’. Anchises for his part promises that the new altar he proposes setting up will be located in a prominent spot, bringing the maximum honor to the deity, and will receive rich sacrifices on a constant basis. Unlike Nestor, however, Anchises promises not a single spectacular offering but a new cult, which he will maintain himself. His offer of fine sacrifices in perpetuity is thus implicated in what he requests from his visitor in the verses that follow. Only if he grows wealthy and lives to be an old man, will he be in a position to make the sort of offerings the goddess would like to receive for as long as she would, presumably, like to receive them; and only if she grants him children, will her new cult continue after its mortal founder’s death. So too Anchises’ request for personal distinction (matching his proposal to locate the altar in a conspicuous spot) will serve the goddess’ interests as much as his own, since the more prominent he is among his people, the more prominent the deity he worships will become as well. 100–101 The grammatically unnecessary—and thus emphatic—use of ਥȖȫ (balanced by ıȪ in 102) makes it clear from the first that Anchises’ offer will be matched by a request for something in return from his visitor. A ıțȠʌȚȒ (cognate with ıțȑʌIJȠȝĮȚ) is properly a ‘look-out spot’, i.e. an elevated place from which one can see a long distance (e.g. Od. 10.146– 50). But the gloss ʌİȡȚijĮȚȞȠȝȑȞȦȚ ਥȞ੿ ȤȫȡȦȚ (adapted from the Homeric ʌİȡȚıțȑʌIJȦȚ ਥȞ੿ ȤȫȡȦȚ (Od. 1.426; 10.211, 253; 14.6), in which the second element in the adjective comes, however, from ıțȑʌȦ/ıțİʌȐȦ, ‘cover, shelter’; for the hiatus, also e.g. Il. 3.344 įȚĮȝİIJȡȘIJȦȚ ਥȞ੿ ȤȫȡȦȚ /; 5.386 țȡĮIJİȡȦȚ ਥȞ੿ įȑıȝȦȚ /) that follows effectively reverses the significance of the word: the point of placing the goddess’ altar on a mountain- or hilltop is not that she and her worshippers will have a fine view from there, but that everyone in the area will be able to see what is going on in the place, bringing her the maximum amount of attention and honor. (Cf. Demeter’s cognate request at hDem. 270–2 for a temple and altar ਥʌ੿ ʌȡȠȪȤȠȞIJȚ țȠȜȦȞ૵Ț (‘on a prominent hill’).) The adjective țĮȜȐ, used to describe the offerings the goddess will receive in her new cult-spot, must accordingly

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be understood as focalized not so much by the goddess (‘the sort of sacrifices that will appeal to you’) as by the same imaginary set of on-lookers (‘the sort of sacrifices that will impress those who watch your new cult being carried out’). The ıțȠʌȚȒ itself will be the temenos (‘sacred precinct’), within which the ȕȦȝȩȢ (‘altar’) will be located. Together the two elements are sufficient to define a sacred spot capable of supporting cult and sacrifice, a temple for the god’s personal use being a fine but unnecessary elaboration; cf. 58–9 with n. ȕȦȝઁȞ ʌȠȚȒıȦ: For the language, cf. hDem. 298 ʌȠȚોıĮȚ țĮ੿ ȕȦȝȩȞ. 102–106 For Anchises’ request, cf. Il. 6.476–7 ((Hector prays to Zeus and the other gods on Astyanax’ behalf; probably the model for 103) įȩIJİ į੽ țĮ੿ IJȩȞįİ ȖİȞȑıșĮȚ / ʌĮ૙įૅ ਥȝȩȞ, ੪Ȣ țĮ੿ ਥȖȫ ʌİȡ, ਕȡȚʌȡİʌȑĮ ȉȡȫİııȚȞ (‘grant in fact that my child here be distinguished among the Trojans, just as I am’); Od. 3.380–1 (quoted in 100–6 n.); 13.358–60 (Odysseus to the Ithacan nymphs) ਕIJ੹ȡ țĮ੿ į૵ȡĮ įȚįȫıȠȝİȞ, ੪Ȣ IJઁ ʌȐȡȠȢ ʌİȡ, / Į੅ țİȞ ਥ઼Ț ʌȡȩijȡȦȞ ȝİ ǻȚઁȢ șȣȖȐIJȘȡ ਕȖİȜİȓȘ / Į੝IJȩȞ IJİ ȗȫİȚȞ țĮȓ ȝȠȚ ijȓȜȠȞ ȣੂઁȞ ਕȑȟȘȚ (‘But I will offer you gifts, as I did before, if the spoil-driving daughter of Zeus earnestly allows me myself to survive, and allows my beloved son to grow up’). But unlike Hector, Nestor, and Odysseus, Anchises is not yet a distinguished person and has no child, and he therefore asks to get honor and eventually a family rather than to have his existing blessings confirmed, augmented, or extended to the next generation. Formally, there are two parts to Anchises’ request, the second considerably more complex than the first: (1) that he may be (i.e. become) a distinguished member of Trojan society (103); and (2) that in the future (İੁıȩʌȚıȦ) he may (a) have many healthy children and (b) lead a long and prosperous life in his native land (104–6). (1) might easily be taken as a wish for the present: for the moment, Anchises will settle for renown, whereas a family, wealth, and a full share of years can—and indeed in one sense must—come afterward. But (2) is at least as well conceived as lending specific content to the general aspiration articulated in (1), since the most obvious way for a man to become ਕȡȚʌȡİʌȒȢ is by gradually accumulating vigorous offspring and wealth, and by surviving long enough to be regarded as a distinguished senior member of his society. The expression of the latter hope sets up Anchises’ horror in 187–90, when he realizes that his adventure with Aphrodite may easily deprive him of all of this. İ੡ijȡȠȞĮ șȣȝઁȞ ਩ȤȠȣıĮ: sc. in consideration of the favors described in the preceding two-and-a-half verses, thus explicitly marking the logical connection between Anchises’ offer of an altar and sacrifice, and the requests that follow.

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İ੡ijȡȠȞĮ: first attested here in the sense ‘well-disposed, favorable’ (rather than ‘cheerful’ or ‘bringing cheer’); subsequently at Pi. O. 4.12–13 șİઁȢ İ੡ijȡȦȞ / İ੅Ș. įȩȢ ȝİ ȝİIJ੹ ȉȡȫİııȚȞ ਕȡȚʌȡİʌȑૅ ਩ȝȝİȞĮȚ ਙȞįȡĮ: cf. Hector’s request for Astyanax at Il. 6.476–7 (quoted above)—which was not granted, implicitly creating a stark contrast with what Anchises asks for himself and his descendants (Podbielski (1971) 44–5). įȩȢ is common in prayers (e.g. Il. 3.322, 351; 7.203; 10.281; 16.524; 17.646; 24.309; Od. 3.60; 6.327; 9.530; h. 10.5). İੁıȩʌȚıȦ is attested nowhere else in early epic, although cf. Od. 18.122 ਩Ȣ ʌİȡ ੑʌȓııȦ; ਥȟȠʌȓıȦ at Hes. Th. 182, 500; Op. 88; hHerm. 211. Subsequently at Sol. fr. 27.10 țĮ੿ ʌĮȓįȦȞ ȗȘIJİ૙Ȟ İੁıȠʌȓıȦ ȖİȞİȒȞ (‘and to seek a generation of children thereafter’); S. Ph. 1104. șĮȜİȡઁȞ ȖȩȞȠȞ: sc. İੇȞĮȚ, ‘that my children be șĮȜİȡȠȓ’. For the adjective in the sense ‘vigorous’ (commonly of young people) and thus ‘full of reproductive energy, fertile’, cf. 189 ȕȚȠșȐȜȝȚȠȢ with n.; Od. 6.66 șĮȜİȡઁȞ ȖȐȝȠȞ (‘a șĮȜİȡȩȢ marriage’); Hes. Th. 138 șĮȜİȡઁȞ … IJȠțોĮ (‘his șĮȜİȡȩȢ parent’); fr. 25.35 șĮȜİȡઁȞ ȜȑȤȠȢ (‘a șĮȜİȡȩȢ bed’); LfgrE s.v. B 3–4 (where the latter sense of the word is unnecessarily distinguished from the former). Anchises knows nothing of Aeneas. But the audience of the Hymn will inevitably think of him at this point (cf. 50–2 n.), and thus perhaps of the fact that he—unlike his father—was unable to enjoy a long, settled, prosperous life in his native land. The significance of įȘȡઁȞ ਩ȣ ȗȫİȚȞ is gradually unpacked, in reverse order, in the remainder of 105–6: ȗȫİȚȞ is more expressively put ੒ȡ઼Ȟ ijȐȠȢ ਱İȜȓȠȚȠ (for the image, cf. 256 with n., 272); ਩ȣ is defined as meaning ੕ȜȕȚȠȞ ਥȞ ȜĮȠ૙Ȣ (virtually ‘richer than my peers’, but with the adjective capturing the judgment of the other Trojans, ‘Anchises is ੕ȜȕȚȠȢ’); and įȘȡȩȞ is glossed with the once again far more expressive ȖȒȡĮȠȢ Ƞ੝įઁȞ ੂțȑıșĮȚ. 107–142 Aphrodite’s response to Anchises’ speech really belongs after 96 (or 99), and were this a real conversation rather than a literary representation of one, she would have interrupted him long ago. Her own remarks, meanwhile, fall into a series of distinct sections that might easily, in a more naturalistic style, have been presented as answers to questions from her interlocutor: 112–13 ‘If you are not a god, who is your father?’; 113–16 ‘If you are from Phrygia, how is that you speak my language?’; 117–25 ‘What are you doing here, dressed so beautifully?’; 126–7 ‘Why did Hermes bring you to my house in particular?’; 128–9 ‘If Hermes brought you here, where is he?’; 130–6 ‘How do you want me to respond to your arrival?’; 137–42 ‘If my parents agree that we should be married, what further arrangements should I make?’ See in general Podbielski (1971) 46–53; Lenz

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(1975) 125–6; Smith (1981a) 49–55; de Jong (1989) 20–1; Clay (1989) 175–8; Bergren (1989) 18–20. 107–108 are repeated almost word-for-word in 191–2. ǻȚઁȢ șȣȖȐIJȘȡ ਝijȡȠįȓIJȘ: see 81*–3 n. ਝȖȤȓıȘ: Anchises has no idea who his visitor is, and the fact that she knows his name must accordingly be explained in the course of her story (126–8 with nn.). țȪįȚıIJİ ȤĮȝĮȚȖİȞȑȦȞ ਕȞșȡȫʌȦȞ: If Anchises’ initial speech to Aphrodite is flattering and deceptive (91–106 n.), her response is as well, since he is scarcely the ‘most famous person born on the earth’; cf. 103 with n., 132 n., 192*. ȤĮȝĮȚȖİȞȑȦȞ ਕȞșȡȫʌȦȞ serves to set up the question of Aphrodite’s supposed mortal ancestry in 109–10, and is thus better than its Homeric metrical equivalent țĮIJĮșȞȘIJ૵Ȟ ਕȞșȡȫʌȦȞ (3*). But as Richardson on hDem. 113 observes, the formula is in addition elsewhere ‘used of men in relation to the superior (and destructive) powers of the gods, nature, etc.’, lending a quiet, chilling irony in the disguised Aphrodite’s choice of phrase—not for Anchises, but for the external audience listening to or reading the poem. 109–110 109 is a slightly reworked version of Od. 16.187, where Odysseus assures Telemachus that he is not a god but his father; cf. 91–106 n., 100–6 n.; but in this case the reassurance is misleading. Like Nausicaa at Od. 6.196–7, Aphrodite gives her father’s name but not her own (although the Phaeacian princess does eventually let her own name slip in the teasingly flirtatious speech she puts in the mouth of one of the local boys at Od. 6.276–84). IJȓ ȝૅ ਕșĮȞȐIJȘȚıȚȞ ਥȓıțİȚȢ; is to be understood as an interjection, and the construction of Ƞ੡ IJȓȢ IJȠȚ șİȩȢ İੁȝȚ continues in 110 ਕȜȜ੹ țĮIJĮșȞȘIJȒ Ȗİ, as also in the Homeric model, where the verb is, however, repeated (Od. 16.188 ਕȜȜ੹ ʌĮIJ੽ȡ IJİȩȢ İੁȝȚ). For the aggressively maintained distinction between gods and human beings ‘subject to death’ in the Hymn, see 33–5 n., 45–6 n., and cf. on ȖȣȞ੽ įȑ ȝİ țIJȜ. below. van Eck (1978) 46 defends the paradosis țĮIJĮșȞȘIJȒ IJİ by reference to the observation of Denniston (1954) 513, that the combination of IJİ and įȑ generally expresses ‘contrast … added to the original idea of addition’, but then concedes that this is irrelevant, since ‘here įȑ has explanatory force’. Gemoll’s țĮIJĮșȞȘIJȒ Ȗİ, with the particle serving to emphasize the contrast with șİȩȢ in 109, is the simplest and most conservative of emendations (ī misread as ȉ, as again in 116, 145; cf. 245), and clarifies the expression at an exceedingly low palaeographic price. ȖȣȞ੽ įȑ ȝİ ȖİȓȞĮIJȠ ȝȒIJȘȡ adapts and reverses Achilleus’ description of his own ancestry at Il. 21.109 șİ੹ įȑ ȝİ ȖİȓȞĮIJȠ ȝȒIJȘȡ* (‘the mother

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who gave birth to me was a goddess’; cf. Il. 1.280 șİ੹ įȑ ıİ ȖİȓȞĮIJȠ ȝȒIJȘȡ* (‘the mother who gave birth to you was a goddess’; Nestor to Achilleus)), just before he kills Hector, implicitly tying the story of Anchises (and Aeneas) to the larger Troy-saga, and to the sharp contrast between mortals and immortals Aphrodite has just drawn, while pointedly evoking one of the most significant narrative moments in the Iliad; cf. 111–12 n., 126–9 n. Otreus’ daughter never gives her mother’s name (Nausicaa is similarly discreet at Od. 6.305, 310–11, while naming Alcinous again at 6.299, 302), but does apply emotionally-colored adjectives to her (115 with n., 138 with n.; note also 134 (of Anchises’ mother)), whereas she describes her father in terms of his reputation and political influence (111–12); cf. 42–3 n., 139; Hes. Th. 932 ʌĮȡ੹ ȝȘIJȡ੿ ijȓȜȘȚ țĮ੿ ʌĮIJȡ੿ ਙȞĮțIJȚ (‘by the side of his beloved mother and his father the king’). 110–111 are repeated almost word-for-word in Anchises’ response at 145– 6, where see n. 111–112 Otreus is borrowed from Il. 3.184–9 (the Teichoskopia; cf. 143–4 n.), where Priam compares the size of the Achaean forces favorably to the ĭȡȪȖĮȢ ਕȞȑȡĮȢ ĮੁȠȜȠʌȫȜȠȣȢ (cf. 137 with n.), / ȜĮȠઃȢ ૅȅIJȡોȠȢ țĮ੿ ȂȣȖįȩȞȠȢ ਕȞIJȚșȑȠȚȠ (‘Phrygians with their rapid steeds, the people of Otreus and godlike Mygdon’), and tells Helen how he fought as a Phrygian ally against the Amazons. The incident is most easily understood as a youthful adventure (cf. Kirk ad loc.: ‘Priam’s Phrygian reference is very much in the style of Nestor’s reminiscences’), putting Otreus (mentioned nowhere else outside the Hymn except perhaps at [Apollod.] Bib. iii.12.3) a generation or so before the Trojan War and thus contemporary with Anchises. For the terms in which Aphrodite describes him, see 109–10 n. ੑȞȠȝȐțȜȣIJȠȢ is a Homeric hapax at Il. 22.51 (Priam cries out to Hector from the walls of Troy, trying to convince him to run from Achilleus), and was noteworthy enough to be reused also at hHerm. 59 (ੑȞȠȝȐțȜȣIJȠȞ*). The unique adjective İ੝IJİȚȤȒIJȠȚȠ in turn articulates a fundamental narrative element that binds together not just the Teichoskopia (above) and Priam’s appearance in Iliad 21, but also the death of Hector at Achilleus’ hands before his father’s eyes later in the Book (109–10 n.). Aphrodite’s lying tale—which leads directly to the birth of Aeneas, who escaped the destruction of Troy—thus engages pointedly with the story of the ruin of Priam and his branch of the royal family; and this theme of intergenerational loss, but also of the possibility for rescue, redemption, and renewal, is reinforced via the Odyssean references that frame these verses, to the reunion of Odysseus and his son Telemachus (109), on the one hand, and the kidnapping of Eumaeus (112, 114–15), on the other. Cf. 126–9 n., 176–80 n., 185–6 n., 196–9 n.

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At Od. 15.403, from which İ੅ ʌȠȣ ਕțȠȪİȚȢ is borrowed, the interjection appears self-deprecating (‘you might have heard of it’): Eumaeus knows that his native island is small and far away, and he accordingly goes on to offer his guest a detailed—if idealized—description of the place (Od. 15.404–14). But after the assertive ੑȞȠȝȐțȜȣIJȠȢ, the phrase here inevitably takes on a more confident tone (‘I imagine you’ve heard of him’) consistent with the air of self-promotion that pervades Aphrodite’s speech (esp. 114–15, 119–20, 130, 136, 139–40). At the same time, the words serve to mark the adjective that precedes them, and so the intertextual character of the entire passage and its implications, as deserving particular attention from the Hymn’s audience (virtually ‘—are you listening?—, — are you paying attention?—’). İ੝IJİȚȤȒIJȠȚȠ is a unique variant of the common Homeric adjective İ੝IJİȓȤİȠȢ (e.g. Il. 1.129; 2.113; 16.57; always of Troy). Here the word is implicitly boastful (cf. above): not only is Otreus king of all Phrygia (ʌȐıȘȢ ĭȡȣȖȓȘȢ … ਕȞȐııİȚ; contrast Il. 3.186 (quoted above), where he shares his throne somehow with Mygdon, who is moreover alone awarded the honorary epithet ‘godlike’), but the place is full of well-fortified cities. 113–116 A strikingly self-conscious, ‘naturalizing’ narrative moment, which calls attention to its own character as back-story by means of the ȖȐȡ in 114, and to its lack of organic connection to what precedes and follows it through the near-repetition of 113 in 116. Homer is well aware that different groups of people speak different languages (Il. 2.803–4; 4.436–8; Od. 19.175–7)—as almost anyone living in the ancient Mediterranean would have been—but his characters all speak (Greek) freely to one another nonetheless. The Hymn-poet, on the other hand, as if anticipating objections to the plausibility of key elements in his story, pauses to let Aphrodite offer an explanation of how a young Phrygian girl might have come to speak ‘Trojan’; cf. 76–9, which has a similar ‘naturalizing’ function and is marked by a similar verbal repetition (76 ıIJĮșȝȠ૙ıȚ ȜİȜİȚȝȝȑȞȠȞ ȠੇȠȞ ਕʌૅ ਙȜȜȦȞ / ~ 79 ıIJĮșȝȠ૙ıȚ ȜİȜİȚȝȝȑȞȠȢ ȠੇȠȢ ਕʌૅ ਙȜȜȦȞ /). Despite all that, the logical link between the abbreviated autobiography Aphrodite offers Anchises and what she wants to communicate to him about her current linguistic abilities remains oblique, as routinely in real human speech. She tells him that she had a Trojan nurse (114–15 with n.) and that she accordingly (੮Ȣ) knows his language as well as her own (113 ~ 116). But she never says explicitly that she learned to speak ‘Trojan’ from her nurse, and the connection between her past and present situations must be drawn by the listener, as įȒ IJȠȚ (116 with n.) serves to indicate. 113 Wolf’s ‫ۃ‬IJİ‫ ۄ‬neatly eliminates hiatus between țĮ੿ and ਲȝİIJȑȡȘȞ.

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Elsewhere in early epic, ıȐijĮ ȠੇįĮ (literally ‘I know clearly’) always follows a word that ends with a diphthong (Il. 20.201, 432; Od. 17.307, 373), which the initial consonant in the adverb serves to keep long, and İ੣ ȠੇįĮ (literally ‘I know well’) would thus not only do just as well here metrically, but is the expected formula (cf. 116*; e.g. Od. 14.365 ਥȖઅ įૅ ਥઃ ȠੇįĮ; hHerm. 467 ʌȐȞIJૅ İ੤ ȠੇįĮȢ /). But ıȐijĮ ȠੇįĮ also stresses performative competence (‘I can comprehend and express myself in’, which is the vital point here), whereas İ੣ ȠੇįĮ describes knowledge of a richer and more holistic sort (‘I am well acquainted with, fully understand’), like that a child might get from years spent by the side of a beloved nurse (cf. 114– 15), suggesting that this is more than simple ‘sub-epic’ variatio. 114–115 Aphrodite’s claim to have learned Anchises’ language from her ȉȡȦȚ੹Ȣ … IJȡȠijȩȢ would seem to raise the further question of how a Trojan woman came to work in that capacity in the house of a Phrygian king. The obvious possibilities are that she was (1) a war-captive— although this might in turn raise the question of how the Trojans and the Phrygians, allies at Il. 3.184–9 (see 111–12 n.), came to fight one another; (2) a slave, like Odysseus’ and Telemachus’ old nurse Eurycleia (Od. 1.429–35); or (3) a wanderer, and thus most likely someone who narrowly escaped being enslaved and was stranded far from home, like Demophon’s nurse Demeter/Deo in her own lying tale at hDem. 123–34 (modeled at least in part on Od. 14.339–59). But the fact that such conventional epic explanations present themselves means that Aphrodite—who is fabricating all of this in any case—and the Hymn-poet are free not to take the matter up, and Anchises for his part shows no interest in it. Ȍ’s ȉȡȦȩȢ represents clumsy assimilation to what might at first glance appear to be the masculine gender of IJȡȠijȩȢ. In Homer, what is here the locative dative ȝİȖȐȡȦȚ (‘in the house’) always takes the preposition ਥȞ/ਥȞȓ; cf. 14 ਥȞ ȝİȖȐȡȠȚıȚȞ, 231 ਥȞ੿ ȝİȖȐȡȠȚıȚȞ. Here the word adds a note of conventional social piety to Aphrodite’s autobiography: at least as she tells the story, she has never been out of the house before (cf. 119–20 n.). But it has an erotic undertone as well; cf. 14– 15 n., 133 n. IJȡȑijİȞ ਱į੻ … / … ਕIJȓIJĮȜȜİ: The verbs are routinely combined elsewhere in early epic, but always within a single verse (Il. 14.303; 16.191; Od. 19.354; Hes. Th. 480; fr. 165.6), and the expansion has had an unfortunate effect on the clarity of expression (see below). The etymology of ਕIJȚIJȐȜȜȦ, and thus precisely how it differs in sense from IJȡȑijȦ, is obscure, although the former verb appears to focus on the effort and loving concern invested in its object (‘care for’), while the latter emphasizes the physical result (‘raise, bring up’); cf. below, 231–2 with n.; Od. 18.323 ʌĮ૙įĮ į੻ ੬Ȣ ਕIJȓIJĮȜȜİ, įȓįȠȣ įૅ ਙȡૅ ਕșȪȡȝĮIJĮ șȣȝ૵Ț (‘She cared for me

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like her child, and gave me toys to keep me happy’). Note the figura etymologica IJȡȠijઁȢ IJȡȑijİȞ. įȚȐʌȡȠ (‘from one end to the other’, i.e. here ‘from beginning to end, constantly’; an unparalleled usage) sits awkwardly with ıȝȚțȡ੽Ȟ ʌĮ૙į(Į), since although Aphrodite was (supposedly) once a little girl, she was not one throughout the time her nurse was taking care of her. ıȝȚțȡ੽Ȟ ʌĮ૙į(Į) is therefore best understood as the object of ਦȜȠ૨ıĮ, while ਕIJȓIJĮȜȜİ must take ȝİ again. Aphrodite’s account of her upbringing proceeds in any case in reverse chronological order: she (1) was raised—i.e. she reached the age she is now—by a nurse who (2) cared for her constantly for years after (3) getting her as a little girl from her mother. ijȓȜȘȢ ʌĮȡ੹ ȝȘIJȡȩȢ is another bit of conventional social piety: Aphrodite’s mother is ‘dear’ to her even if she was raised by her nurse. 116 resumes 113, but without reference to Aphrodite’s ability to speak Phrygian (contrast 113 ȖȜ૵ııĮȞ … țĮ੿ ਲȝİIJȑȡȘȞ ıȐijĮ ȠੇįĮ), which makes no difference to Anchises; the key point is that his visitor is fluent in ‘Trojan’, allowing them to have this conversation. Put another way, the difference between the two verses anticipates the action in the story that follows, as Aphrodite is snatched away from her family and native land, and brought to Mount Ida and Anchises. įȒ lends emphasis to ੬Ȣ … ȖȜ૵ııȐȞ Ȗİ țIJȜ., and thus represents Aphrodite’s assertion that this conclusion is based on the information offered in 114–15 (almost ‘—I assure you that this is the case—’), while IJȠȚ nonetheless places the responsibility for identifying the specific logical connection between the facts and their consequences squarely on Anchises and the Hymn’s audience. İ੣ ȠੇįĮ: see 113 n.; and cf. hHerm. 467 İ੣ ȠੇįĮȢ* (also respecting digamma). 117–120 Ȟ૨Ȟ įȑ: returning to the main point after the explanatory digression in 113–16: If Aphrodite is the Phrygian king Otreus’ daughter (112– 13), how did she get to Anchises’ hut on the slopes of Mount Ida, and what is her purpose in visiting him there? ਕȞȒȡʌĮȟİ: The verb is used routinely in early epic to mean ‘snatch, kidnap’ (e.g. Il. 9.564; Od. 4.515; hDem. 414; cf. LfgrE s. ਖȡʌȐȗȦ B 2) rather than ‘snatch up (into the sky)’. 125 (where see n.) suggests that the latter is nonetheless the sense intended here, as again in 208; the more significant point is that where Aphrodite is taken to is ignored in 117–20, which concentrate instead on where she was taken from; cf. 121 n. The conventional epic explanation of Hermes’ behavior would be that he snatched up Otreus’ daughter in order to rape her in an isolated spot (cf. 203 with n.), after which one could expect him to abandon her, allowing

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her to find her way eventually to Anchises’ door. Indeed, 118 is borrowed more or less direct from Il. 16.183, which tells how Hermes (referred to as țȡĮIJઃȢ ਝȡȖİȚijȩȞIJȘȢ; cf. 117) caught sight of the beautiful Polymele, and thereupon fell in love with her, invaded her bedroom, had sex with her, and got her pregnant. The information about the god’s actual purposes with the princess offered in 126–7 (which continue to play, however, on the traditional language of rape-scenes; see n. ad loc.) thus comes as a surprise both to her (when Hermes finally explains where he is taking her at the end of their long journey within her inset narrative) and to Anchises (as she tells him her story in the course of their unexpected encounter in the cowyard)—and perhaps to the Hymn’s external audience as well. Cf. 123– 4 n.; Od. 15.427 ȝૅ ਕȞȒȡʌĮȟĮȞ*; Reinhardt (1956) 11–12; and for Hermes as sexually active, 262–3 (sleeping with the nymphs) with n. ȤȡȣıȩȡȡĮʌȚȢ ਝȡȖİȚijȩȞIJȘȢ: According to hHerm. 529–32 (corrupt in 531 and obscure throughout), Hermes’ gold staff (referred to also at Il. 24.343–4; Od. 5.47–8, 87; 10.277, 331; hDem. 335; hHerm. 539; h. 29.8, 13; for the material (conventional of attributes of the gods), see 16–17 n.) keeps him safe and guarantees that all his undertakings succeed, provided they are in accord with Zeus’ will (?); cf. h. 29.8, where the series of epithets ‘messenger of the blessed ones, ȤȡȣıȩȡȡĮʌȚȢ, giver of good things’ perhaps contains its own internal narrative logic: the messenger, when vested with divine authority, can accomplish the ends men desire. But within the narrative Otreus’ daughter offers Anchises, the epithet (used again in 121) is better understood as representing the physical token that allowed her to recognize her divine assailant. For ਝȡȖİȚijȩȞIJȘȢ (the original sense of which is obscure; see S. West on Od. 1.37ff), cf. 129, 213, 263 (different elements of a single formular system); h. 29.7. ਥț ȤȠȡȠ૨ ਝȡIJȑȝȚįȠȢ ȤȡȣıȘȜĮțȐIJȠȣ țİȜĮįİȓȞȘȢ: In the embedded hymn at 16–20 (where see nn.), Artemis is described with the same epithets, and an oblique description is offered of rites in her honor as the virgin goddess of hunting, and of the setting in which those rites are performed, in ‘shady sacred groves and the city of just men’. 119–20 can accordingly be understood as an account of one such celebration, in such a grove, near or within such a city, with lyres (19) providing musical accompaniment for the chorus’ song; perhaps a number of choruses competing against one another; and sacrifice afterward (cf. 19 n. on ੑȜȠȜȣȖĮȓ). Cf. the implied setting of Alcman’s roughly contemporary partheneia; Calame (2001) 91–101. But here the story is told from the perspective of a member of a one group of celebrants with her own limited set of interests. At Il. 18.593, from which the second half of 119 is drawn, the dancers on Achilleus’ shield are all young and unmarried (਱ȓșİȠȚ țĮ੿ ʌĮȡșȑȞȠȚ ਕȜijİıȓȕȠȚĮȚ (‘young men and girls whose dowry will consist of many

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oxen’)), but are differentiated by gender, as repeatedly again in the verses that follow (esp. 595 Į੄ ȝ੻Ȟ ȜİʌIJ੹Ȣ ੑșȩȞĮȢ ਩ȤȠȞ, Ƞ੄ į੻ ȤȚIJ૵ȞĮȢ (‘the girls wore light linen robes, while the boys wore cloaks’), 597 Į੄ ȝ੻Ȟ țĮȜ੹Ȣ ıIJİijȐȞĮȢ ਩ȤȠȞ, Ƞ੄ į੻ ȝĮȤĮȓȡĮȢ (‘the girls wore lovely headbands, while the boys carried daggers’)). Here, on the other hand, only young women are referred to (note the absence of any mention of musicians (cf. 19 with n.) or of tumblers at the heads of the lines of dancers (e.g. Il. 18.604/5–6)), and the axis upon which their identity is marked is marital status; for the distinction between ȞȪȝijĮȚ (young women who have recently married; * at Od. 6.105; 9.154) and ʌĮȡșȑȞȠȚ (unmarried young women, but old enough to inspire sexual interest in men), cf. Od. 11.38–9. ʌȠȜȜĮȓ is a purely evaluative adjective, in that it magnifies the occasion (serving the speaker’s own interests; see below) while offering no additional specific information about it. That the unmarried girls in particular are described as likely to bring many oxen as their bride-price (ਕȜijİıȓȕȠȚĮȚ) is again—this time even more pointedly—flattering to Otreus’ daughter (who was one of the group, as the first-person verb ʌĮȓȗȠȝİȞ (imperfect rather than historical present) serves to remind her interlocutor), and helps support her eventual insistence that she will be an appropriate bride for Anchises (cf. 126–7 n.; for the abrupt reversal of the issue of bride-price, see 139–40 n.). For the reference to the audience, cf. Il. 18.603–4/5 ʌȠȜȜઁȢ įૅ ੂȝİȡȩİȞIJĮ ȤȠȡઁȞ ʌİȡȚȓıIJĮșૅ ੖ȝȚȜȠȢ / IJİȡʌȩȝİȞȠȚ (‘A large crowd surrounded the lovely dance, enjoying themselves’), although the onlookers there are implicitly presented as interested in the dancers’ costumes and in the skill and speed with which they move, rather than in the marriage-possibilities they represent. Here ਕȝij੿ … ਥıIJİijȐȞȦIJȠ (‘was surrounding (us)’) suggests that the description of the audience as ਕʌİȓȡȚIJȠȢ (‘boundless’) reflects the assessment of the young women themselves: there are crowds about them in every direction, extending as far as they can see. ʌĮȓȗȠȝİȞ: used explicitly of singing accompanied by dance (as opposed to dancing alone, with the music provided by others) at [Hes.] Sc. 277, 282. The enjambed position of the verb iconically captures the contrast between the dancers and the audience (described in the words that follow) that watches them. Although ਥıIJİijȐȞȦIJȠ is in the first instance figurative language, referring to how the crowd is organized ‘in a ring’ about the dancers (cf. Il. 15.153; Od. 10.195; [Hes.] Sc. 204), the word inevitably recalls as well the garlands (ıIJȑijĮȞȠȚ) worn at cultic occasions, and thus presumably by the members of the audience (and the dancers) in the festival of Artemis imagined here.

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121 ਩ȞșİȞ sums up the information provided in 118–20, and with that background and all the erotic and social possibilities it creates and contains in place, Aphrodite returns to the story she began and then abruptly broke off at 117 (where see nn.). 122–124 Aphrodite’s point is not that, after she and Hermes left the Phrygians’ extensive fields behind (122), they travelled through uninhabited country until they came to Mount Ida (123–4), but that the god led her through numerous separate cultivated areas, standing via synecdoche for individual towns and villages (122), between which lay expanses of wilderness (123–4). The line-initial anaphora ʌȠȜȜ੹ … / ʌȠȜȜȒȞ thus has the rhetorical function of emphasizing how far she has come, and how far she is from home. The order in which the two principal elements in her story are presented nonetheless serves to create a shorthand vision of her journey that fits the basic facts of the case: she has been taken from the settled world of men and out into the wild. That only one relatively unadorned line in her account is devoted to the human world, while two far more richly developed verses are allotted to the wilderness, thus both creates the impression that the latter is more extensive than the former, and makes it clear that Otreus’ daughter has been transported an enormous distance from her normal urban environment. ਵȖĮȖİȞ: see 125 n. For the external audience of the Hymn, the phrase țĮIJĮșȞȘIJ૵Ȟ ਕȞșȡȫʌȦȞ can be understood as yet another reference to the already wellestablished theme that the inevitability of death is a fundamental feature of human existence and one that separates us decisively—and appropriately— from the gods (35 with n., 38–9 with n., etc.). But within Aphrodite’s speech, the contrast is instead between human beings, on the one hand, and beasts (șોȡİȢ; cf. 68 with n.), on the other, and between our part of the world (122) and theirs (123–4). The perspective is strikingly anthropocentric throughout, in that wilderness is treated not as an independent sphere opposed to the similarly independent world of men, but as whatever land human beings have not (i.e. not yet) divided up and settled (ਙțȜȘȡȩȞ IJİ țĮ੿ ਙțIJȚIJȠȞ, on which see further below). 123–4 thus amount in some ways to a series of negative explanatory glosses on ਩ȡȖĮ … ਕȞșȡȫʌȦȞ: humans divide up and settle land, and work it, whereas beasts only ‘wander through’ the territory left to them in search of other creatures to kill and eat; they consume their food raw (੩ȝȠijȐȖȠȚ; * at Il. 11.479; 16.157), as we, by implication, do not; and their alleged fondness for ‘shadowy lairs’ (ıțȚȩİȞIJĮȢ ਥȞĮȪȜȠȣȢ) is a back-handed way of saying that our homes are better lighted and more accessible—at least to us. The tone is accordingly in part triumphant and superior (‘human beings have created a safe and happy world of which the beasts have no share’), but also fearful. ‘The

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wild’—that part of the physical world over which people exercise no control via their political institutions and the investment of labor those institutions make possible (see below)—is defined by the presence not just of animals generally but of predators, who are constantly on the prowl (਴Ȟ įȚ੹ / … ijȠȚIJ૵ıȚ) with murderous intent, and who lurk in spots where human beings cannot see well and into which we are accordingly ill-advised to intrude unless we are looking for a fight, adding some bitter point to țĮIJĮșȞȘIJ૵Ȟ (i.e. ‘who can be killed’; cf. 149 with n.). None of this is inappropriate to a story told by a privileged young girl abruptly snatched away from her family and city, and dropped on a deserted mountainside far from home. But the ideology implicit in Aphrodite’s comments is richer than that, and seems reminiscent of 70–1 (where see n.); and the reference to wild beasts țĮIJ੹ ıțȚȩİȞIJĮȢ ਥȞĮȪȜȠȣȢ inevitably recalls in any case the goddess’ easy mastery of the lions, wolves, wildcats, and bears on Mount Ida in 69–74, throwing her feigned terror of such creatures here into quietly amusing relief. ʌȠȜȜȒȞ: sc. ȖĮ૙ĮȞ. ਙțȜȘȡȩȞ IJİ țĮ੿ ਙțIJȚIJȠȞ captures in compact form the social and ecological history of the ‘worked lands of human beings’ mentioned in the previous verse, from a collective perspective, on the one hand, and an individual one, on the other: the community allots (țȜȘȡȩȦ) land to its members, who settle (țIJȓȗȦ) their portions and invest their labor (ਥȡȖȐȗȠȝĮȚ) in them, eliminating the ‘shadowy lairs’ that shelter large predators—as well as the predators themselves, if possible. ਙțIJȚIJȠȢ (cognate with țIJȓȗȦ, ‘found, build, settled’; LSJ’s ‘untilled’ is too specific) is attested in Mycenean but nowhere else in Greek literature; here it is used for the sake of the jingle with ਙțȜȘȡȠȢ. Contrast the positive evaluation ਥȣțIJȚȝȑȞȘȢ (of Cyprus) in 292. For the confusion in the MSS (ਙțIJȚIJȠȞ MDL : ਙțIJȚıIJȠȞ Ata : ਙIJȚțIJȠȞ p) and its implications for the presence of variants and superlinear corrections in Ȍ, see Introduction 6. 125 Ȍ’s ȥĮȪİȚȞ (advocated for by van Eck (1978) ad loc. and Smith (1979) 32–4, and printed by Faulkner (2008) and Richardson (2010)) would have to be understood as a comment on the character of the speaker’s progress through the lands described in 122–4, ‘I scarcely thought that my feet touched the ground’, sc. ‘because we traveled so fast and so lightly’. ਵȖĮȖİȞ in 122 arguably leaves open the possibility that Hermes ‘led’ Otreus’ daughter by the hand from Phrygia to Troy, after he snatched her out of Artemis’ chorus (but contrast e.g. hDem. 30 (the rape of Persephone) ਷ȖİȞ), although ਕȞȒȡʌĮȟİ/ਸ਼ȡʌĮȟİ (117 ~ 121) is more naturally taken to imply that nothing about the trip was voluntary, which is to say that she was carried in Hermes’ arms; and as Allen, Halliday, and Sikes (1963) (citing Il. 14.225–30, esp. 228; 20.325–8, esp. 325 (miscited as 20.335);

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Od. 5.49; hDem. 377–83; add e.g. Il. 5.364–6; Od. 1.319–20) observe ad loc., ‘the Gods and persons they conveyed flew’. See also van der Ben (1986) 14–15. But the detail—which might have made better sense, on this interpretation, if offered between 121 and 122—would in any case be flat and unhelpful here, especially after ʌȠȜȜ੹ … / ʌȠȜȜȒȞ in 122–3, which has already made the point that the journey was a long one. M’s ȥĮȪıİȚȞ, on the other hand, represents an important contribution to the structure of the narrative: by saying that she never expected to set foot on the ground again, Aphrodite implies that she in fact did so, and precisely at this point, after the long journey through the air described in 122–4. Although the information in 126–8 (where see n.) is presented in a complicated fashion, therefore, 125 serves to show that what follows represents a new stage in the action, after Hermes and Otreus’ daughter have landed on Mount Ida. This is the only explicit reference ‘Otreus’ daughter’ makes to her own thoughts or feelings in this speech, although her attitudes and perceptions are embedded throughout it. The paradosis ਥįȩțȠȣȞ contains an Attic contraction corrected by La Roche’s metrically equivalent įȩțİȠȞ (printed also by West (2003) and Faulkner (2008)). ijȣıȚȗȩȠȣ Į੅ȘȢ: in Homer always in connection with the dead, whom the earth holds within it (Il. 3.243*; Ȗો ijȣıȓȗȠȠȢ 21.63; Od. 11.301*). Here the epithet recalls the ideology of husbandry implicit in 122–4 (where see n.), while expressing the speaker’s relief at touching the earth again and thus, implicitly, the terror she experienced during her flight through the air. L has again (cf. 99 with n.) corrected the text on the basis of its Homeric model(s). 126–132 126–7 are modeled on Il. 19.287–8 (Briseis bewails the dead Patroclus; see the first apparatus), with an echo of Od. 1.366 = 18.213 ʌĮȡĮ੿ ȜȑȤİıȚȞ țȜȚșોȞĮȚ (the Suitors pray to share Penelope’s bed) as well; 129 recalls both Hes. Op. 199 (Aidos and Nemesis will someday flee the earth, ‘and baneful griefs will be left for mortal human beings’) and Od. 5.148 (Hermes departs for Olympus, having informed Calypso that she may not keep Odysseus for herself); 130 is adapted from Od. 10.273 (Odysseus heads off to the house of Circe, another of his goddess lovers, just before his own encounter with Hermes); 131 is modeled on Od. 13.324 (Odysseus addresses Athena upon his return to Ithaca), perhaps with a reference to Il. 3.140 (Helen is filled with longing for her life before Troy; cf. 45–6 n.) as well; and 132 is modeled on Od. 4.64 (Menelaus assesses the look of Telemachus and Pisistratus), with a trace at the beginning of Od. 4.236 (Helen for her part describes Telemachus and Pisistratus as ਕȞįȡ૵Ȟ ਥıșȜ૵Ȟ ʌĮ૙įİȢ (‘the children of excellent men’)). Aphrodite’s lie is thus richly connected once again both to Homer’s story of the fall of Troy

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and the tragedy of Priam and his family, on the one hand, and to the question of the propriety (or wisdom) of goddesses sleeping with mortal men, on the other; and it simultaneously sounds a gloomy note about the ultimate future of human society, while signalling the occasional possibility of happy endings and of a successful transition between generations. Cf. 109– 10 n., 111–12 n., 196–9 n. 126–129 Aphrodite begins her account of what Hermes told her with Anchises treated as a third party and the emphasis on what other people will know and say about the two of them (‘In Anchises’ bed you will be called his wedded wife’, a condensed way of expressing ‘You will sleep in Anchises’ bed and be called his wedded wife’; see further below). But the second half of her report is a substantial step further removed from what the god supposedly said in direct speech, for Anchises is now referred to in the second person (ıȠȓ), putting his perspective and interests to the fore: while the world as a whole will call Otreus’ daughter his wife, his children will be ਕȖȜĮȐ in his own eyes in particular (‘and that I would bear you children who would reflect well on you’ vel sim.). 128 might be intended to describe a separate, subsequent stage in the imaginary action: after telling Otreus’ daughter that she would marry someone named Anchises and bear him children, Hermes pointed the man out (or told her where to find him). The line is better understood, however, as summarizing the action described in 126–7, in which case the order of the elements in what might otherwise appear an awkward and opaque account of the god’s words (cf. Kamerbeek (1967) 391–2) can be seen to match what Hermes might reasonably be thought to have done and said, after he and Otreus’ daughter landed on the side of Mount Ida (cf. 125 n.): he showed her (įİ૙ȟİ; cf. 134, 275) her future husband and explained the situation (țĮ੿ ਩ijȡĮıİȞ): ‘This is Anchises (ਝȖȤȓıİȦ); you will sleep with him (ʌĮȡĮ੿ ȜȑȤİıȚȞ) and will accordingly be called his wedded wife (țĮȜȑİıșĮȚ / țȠȣȡȚįȓȘȞ ਙȜȠȤȠȞ); and eventually you will bear him children who will reflect well on you (ਕȖȜĮ੹ IJȑțȞĮ IJİțİ૙ıșĮȚ, with the focalization of the adjective shifting when Otreus’ daughter tells the story of her adventure to Anchises).’ For the importance of 126 as explaining how Otreus’ daughter knows Anchises’ name, see 108 n. In fact, Anchises is nowhere said to have more than one son, Aeneas, except at [Apollod.] Bib. iii.12.2, where he is assigned in addition a certain Lyrus, ‘who died childless’. 126–127 In the course of her speech, Otreus’ daughter has (inter alia) traced a version of her life-story, in normal chronological order, from her birth (110), to the moment she was turned over to the nurse who raised her (114–15), to her emergence in public as an marriageable young woman (119–20 with nn.). But only with the abrupt revelation that Hermes carried

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her off to be Anchises’ bride rather than his own (cf. 117–20 n.) does it become apparent how carefully her forged autobiography has been constructed to suggest her potential to be an ideal wife for him: she is wellborn, and in fact the daughter of a king who is a Trojan ally (111–12 n.); she speaks, and indeed has an intimate feel for ‘Trojan’ (113, 116 with nn.), but has no other history outside of her parents’ house (114–15); and she is not just old enough to marry, but both extremely attractive, as the enormous crowd that gathered to watch her dance at the festival of Artemis in her native city (120) will attest, and likely to bring an enormous dowry (119, cf. 139–40). The combination of a future form of IJȓțIJȦ (elsewhere generally IJȑȟȦ/IJȑȟȠȝĮȚ; see below) with the phrase ਕȖȜĮ੹ IJȑțȞĮ is characteristic of divine rape-stories (Od. 11.249; Hes. fr. 31.2 (conjectural but likely), 4); cf. 117–20 n. IJİțİ૙ıșĮȚ is not attested elsewhere, and it appears to be a nonce form, invented on analogy with e.g. aorist ਪʌİıȠȞ < ʌȓʌIJȦ yielding future ʌİıİ૙ıșĮȚ; cf. 197 ਥțȖİȖȐȠȞIJĮȚ with n. 129–130 ਕșĮȞȐIJȦȞ ȝİIJ੹ ij૨Ȝ(Į): cf. 3 n.; ȝİIJ੹ ij૨ȜĮ șİ૵Ȟ at Il. 15.54, 161 = 177; Hes. Op. 199 / ਕșĮȞȐIJȦȞ ȝİIJ੹ ij૨ȜȠȞ; hDem. 322, 443, 461; West on Hes. Th. 202 șİ૵Ȟ IJૅ ਥȢ ij૨ȜȠȞ, who notes that expressions of the sort ‘the ij૨ȜȠȞ/ij૨ȜĮ of the gods’ are used almost exclusively when someone goes to join them. But all Otreus’ daughter can know—and all Aphrodite means to communicate—is that Hermes disappeared, leaving her behind; if she claims that he went off to be with the other gods again, that is only because that is the conventional destination of Olympians when they break off contact with mortal creatures. The characterization of Hermes as țȡĮIJȪȢ in 129 sets up țȡĮIJİȡ੽ … ਕȞȐȖțȘ in 130: Hermes is responsible for the situation Otreus’ daughter finds herself in or, put the other way around, he has articulated (in 126–7) what inevitably will be, and she must make the best of it. For the phrase țȡĮIJİȡ੽ … ਕȞȐȖțȘ, cf. (in addition to Od. 10.273, on which the verse is modeled) Il. 6.458*; Hes. Th. 517; Cypr. fr. 9.3, p. 49 Bernabé; Parry (1986) 257–9. 131–132 131 (~ 187) is a witty adaptation of Od. 13.324 / Ȟ૨Ȟ įȑ ıİ ʌȡઁȢ ʌĮIJȡઁȢ ȖȠȣȞȐȗȠȝĮȚ (‘But now I beg you, in your father’s name’; Odysseus addressing Athena), in that the father appealed to there is Zeus, whose name replaces the metrically equivalent ʌĮIJȡȩȢ in this verse. ʌȡઁȢ ǽȘȞઁȢ ȖȠȣȞȐȗȠȝĮȚ ਱į੻ IJȠțȒȦȞ: Among the most obviously amusing elements of the portion of Aphrodite’s speech that follows, in which she pleads with Anchises to accept her as his wife, is the representation of this request as something her interlocutor might be disinclined to

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do. For supplication accompanied by a mention of parents, cf. Il. 15.659– 63; 22.338; 24.466–7; Od. 11.66–7. ʌȡઁȢ ǽȘȞȩȢ: sc. in his capacity as god of suppliants and strangers (esp. Od. 14.56–9), who can be assumed to take an interest in seeing that the requests put forward in 133–42 are granted. 132 is nominally praise of Anchises’ parents rather than of Anchises himself. Nor does Aphrodite ever refer specifically to the quality that distinguishes him (and thus them, as his begetters) in her eyes, but speaks instead in vague terms of ‘excellence’ vel sim. (ਥıșȜ૵Ȟ (with force added to the adjective via enjambment), Ƞ੝ … țĮțȠȓ = an emphatic țĮȜȠȓ). But the narrator has twice described Anchises as extremely good-looking (55, 77), and has made it clear that his physical appearance is what inspired Aphrodite with desire for him (56–7); and the line—unnecessary to the syntax of the goddess’ appeal—must accordingly be read as a bit of flattery masquerading (none too aggressively) as the sort of vague commendatory remark that epic aristocrats conventionally make about one another’s families (cf. the passages from Od. 4 cited as models for this verse in 126–32 n.; hDem. 213–14). 133–142 What Otreus’ daughter proposes is that she and Anchises follow the correct cultural script for a wedding: he ought to take her, still a virgin (133), to visit his family, in order to get his parents’ approval of the match (134–6); her own parents should also be informed of their plans, and allowed to respond in one way or another (137–8), although their inevitable delight is treated as a given (139–40; contrast the diffident tone in 136); and a public celebration of the union should follow (141–2). But none of this is what she wants, and Anchises rapidly makes his lack of interest in the usual social niceties apparent (145–51, esp. 150–1). 133–135 The emphasis on the speaker’s lack of sexual experience in 133 fits with her insistence in 134–5 that the first thing she wants from Anchises is to meet his family, who will presumably regard this as an important qualification to be a ȞȣઁȢ … İੁțȣ૙Į (136). But the negative terms (‘unmastered and inexperienced in love-making’) in which Otreus’ daughter presents herself in 133 can also be read as a plea that her physical integrity be respected by the stranger she has just met—although in the event she makes no objection when he proposes taking her off to bed immediately (145–54). At the same time, Aphrodite’s remarks can be understood as part of the process by which she continues to tease and tantalize her interlocutor (cf. 131–2 with n.): her status as a virgin is part of what makes her attractive (cf. 14–15 n., 84–5 n.; thus van der Ben (1986) 15). ਕįȝȒIJȘȞ (cf. 82 with n.; * at Il. 10.293; Od. 3.383) and ਕʌİȚȡȒIJȘȞ ijȚȜȩIJȘIJȠȢ describe the same condition, but from the perspective of the man

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(who does the ‘mastering’), on the one hand, and the woman (who gains ‘experience of love-making’), on the other. In both cases, however, the perspective adopted is that of the male partner, who exercises power over the woman while (as he sees it) offering her access to something she has not known before; and the interests and concerns embedded in the description are those of Anchises rather than of his parents and his siblings, and certainly not of Otreus’ daughter. Forms of ijȚȜȩIJȘIJȠȢ appear * at e.g. Il. 14.163; Od. 8.271; Hes. Th. 224; hAp. 208. For the contrast between the reference to Anchises’ father simply with the possessive adjective ı૵Ț, but to his mother with the emotionally more vivid țİįȞ੹ ੁįȣȓȘȚ, cf. 42–3, 109–10 n., 138. The latter description (cf. ȝȘIJȑȡȚ țİįȞોȚ at Od. 10.8; Hes. Op. 130) is persuasive: ‘who is devoted to you’, sc. ‘and upon whose affection I can accordingly call as part of this appeal’ (cf. 131–2). Anchises’ brothers (or ‘siblings’?) are more richly described than either of their parents, with both a possessive adjective and a relative clause. But they drop out of the narrative in 136, where the use of the term ȞȣȩȢ (‘daughter-in-law’; far and away the most common sense of the word) leaves no doubt that the point at issue is how his father and his mother (not his family generally) will evaluate their son’s prospective bride. The brothers are thus arguably intruders here, and the precise significance of Ƞ੄ … ੒ȝȩșİȞ ȖİȖȐĮıȚȞ, which might mean either ‘who were born of the same two parents’ or ‘who were born of the same mother’, is likewise obscure, although the resumptive ıijȚȞ in 136 suggests that the former alternative is to be preferred. But the presence of IJȠȚ (making the sense ‘who were born in your interest’, i.e. ‘whom you have got’) leaves no doubt in any case that the crucial point is that it is good for a man to have brothers, so that the fact that Anchises’ parents (or mother) have given him some, amounts to another reason why he ought to accede to the request Otreus’ daughter is making in their name (131). Anchises is not assigned brothers (or sisters, for that matter) anywhere else in the literary tradition; but there is no reason why his visitor—who is no longer quoting Hermes or following his specific orders—should be aware that her future husband is an only child, and the idea that he must belong to a richly flourishing line is implicitly flattering (cf. 104). For ʌĮIJȡȓ IJİ ı૵Ț, cf. Il. 8.283*. For Ƞ੆ IJȠȚ ੒ȝȩșİȞ ȖİȖȐĮıȚȞ, cf. Od. 5.476–7 įȠȚȠઃȢ … șȐȝȞȠȣȢ / ਥȟ ੒ȝȩșİȞ ʌİijȣ૵IJĮȢ; Hes. Op. 108 ੪Ȣ ੒ȝȩșİȞ ȖİȖȐĮıȚȞ șİȠ੿ șȞȘIJȠȓ IJૅ ਙȞșȡȦʌȠȚ. This is one of three examples in the Hymn (also 225, 230) of hiatus after IJȠȚ; contrast 178. For țİįȞ੹ ੁįȣȓȘȚ (in place of the MSS’s țȑįȞૅ İੁįȣȓȘȚ vel sim.), cf. 44 țİįȞ੹ ੁįȣ૙ĮȞ* with n. ıȠ૙Ȣ IJİ țĮıȚȖȞȒIJȠȚȢ: M’s unmetrical and nonsensical įȠȚȫ IJİ țĮıȚȖȞȒIJȦ (nominative/accusative/vocative dual) perhaps originated in a

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note that attempted to explain an error of some sort by claiming that the phrase ought to be in the dual (ıȠ૙Ȟ IJİ țĮıȚȖȞȒIJȠȚȞ) rather than the plural. Or perhaps 135 ought simply to be expelled from the text; cf. 136 n. 136 represents Otreus’ daughter’s summary of the case she expects to make (or have made for her) when Anchises puts her on display (134 įİ૙ȟȠȞ) to his family and in particular to his parents (ıijȚȞ; see 133–5 n.), whose looming judgment of her merits as a daughter-in-law is embedded in the contrast between the adjectives ਕİȚțİȜȓȘ and İੁțȣ૙Į (‘unacceptable? or acceptable?’); cf. 137–40 n. For İੁțȣ૙Į used absolutely of a wife who is ‘appropriate’ (sc. to her husband’s status, aspirations, and the like), cf. Il. 9.399 (Achilleus describing his own marital prospects, if he declines to have Agamemnon’s daughter); and note hDem. 83–4 Ƞ੡ IJȠȚ ਕİȚț੽Ȣ / ȖĮȝȕȡȩȢ (‘not an unacceptable son-in-law for you’; the Sun-god’s evaluation of Hades for Demeter). Between 136 and 137, MĬ have an additional line, İ੅ IJȠȚ ਕİȚțİȜȓȘ ȖȣȞ੽ ਩ııȠȝĮȚ ਱੻ țĮ੿ Ƞ੝țȓ (‘(so that they can decide) whether I will be an inappropriate wife (sc. for you) or not’), which is patently a doublet of 136 and must have stood in ȍ. (p have a single line Ƞ੡ ıijȚȞ ਕİȚțİȜȓȘ ȖȣȞ੽ ਩ııȠȝĮȚ ਱੻ țĮ੿ Ƞ੝țȓ, in place of 136–6a, the scribe’s eye having leapt from ਕİȚțİȜȓȘ in the first verse to the same word in the second, producing the hybrid, which has no authority.) Either the two verses must be combined into one (İ੅ ıijȚȞ ਕİȚțİȜȓȘ ȖȣȞ੽ ਩ııȠȝĮȚ ਲ਼ İੁțȣ૙Į Ruhnken; Ƞ੡ ıijȚȞ ਕİȚțİȜȓȘ ȖȣȞ੽ ਩ııȠȝĮȚ, ਕȜȜૅ İੁțȣ૙Į Humbert), or one or the other must be expelled from the text. With the exception of van der Ben (1986) 15–17, who would print 136a between 138 and 139, but whose proposed translation (‘to tell my father and mother … whether I shall be an unseemly wife for you or no’) represents an even more awkward use of İੁʌİ૙Ȟ than the generally accepted one he argues against (‘to tell [the news]’), modern editors are united in retaining 136 and rejecting 136a. ਱੻ țĮ੿ Ƞ੝țȓ might easily have originated in a corruption of ਲ਼ İੁțȣ૙Į (thus Shackle (1915) 163–4, arguing for Ruhnken’s text), and ȖȣȞȒ could represent a deliberate attempt to remove ȞȣȩȢ, which might have been thought to sit awkwardly with the reference in 135 to Anchises’ brothers (for whom his new wife would be instead a sister-in-law), from the text (thus Càssola (1975)); subsequent attempts to mend the meter and integrate the revised version of the verse syntactically and logically with what followed and preceded probably produced the variant preserved alongside the original in the MSS. See also above on the problematic 135 (another clumsy product of editorial intervention in this section of the text?). 137–140 Second-person active imperative ʌȑȝȥȠȞ (cf. 134 įİ૙ȟȠȞ) would do just as well metrically as infinitive-for-imperative ʌȑȝȥĮȚ at the begin-

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ning of 137, and the shift in construction perhaps suggests that Anchises’ family, having approved of his marriage to Otreus’ daughter, are now imagined as communicating collectively with the Phrygian king and his wife. The projected marriage-gifts, on the other hand, are to be sent to Anchises personally (139–40; and cf. 141–2 n.). ੯țĮ: The reason why Otreus’ daughter urges that a messenger be sent to Phrygia ‘quickly’ appears initially to be supplied by țȘįȠȝȑȞȘȚ in the next verse: the queen is worried about her vanished child. (For language implying affection, devotion, and the like associated with the mother but not the father, cf. 109–10 n., 133–5 n.). But ʌİȡ suggests that this emotion stands in contrast to one more relevant to the matter Otreus’ daughter is discussing (‘although she feels concern’, i.e. ‘upset though she may be’). The message from Anchises’ family will calm the anxieties of Otreus’ wife in any case. But the real reason that news of the engagement must be dispatched to Phrygia as quickly as possible, is that the sooner that is done, the sooner the parents’ gifts—and the consent to the marriage they represent (cf. below)—can be brought back, allowing the wedding to take place. ȝİIJ੹ ĭȡȪȖĮȢ ĮੁȠȜȠʌȫȜȠȣȢ: Whatever the significance of the adjective (see below), the most important function of this phrase is to recall again Priam’s description of Otreus at Il. 3.185–6 (cf. 111 with n.) and thus the extent of the Phrygian king’s power and the desirability of entering into a marriage-alliance with him. Horses suggest—and indeed embody— wealth; if ĮੁȠȜȠʌȫȜȠȣȢ means ‘of the rapid steeds’, as seems likely (cf. Il. 19.404 ʌȩįĮȢ ĮੁȩȜȠȢ ੆ʌʌȠȢ), the further implication is that, however fast the Trojan messenger travels to Phrygia, a response will come back even faster, and laden with lavish presents (cf. 139–40). Otreus and his wife ought to have the same power to approve or disapprove their daughter’s marriage as Anchises’ parents do (134–6 with n.). But Aphrodite makes no mention of that, and instead describes the gifts they will send when they—inevitably, it seems—agree to the match. At 119, where Otreus’ daughter is advertising her own desirability, she implies that a bride’s family normally receives a substantial ‘price’ for her. Here, by contrast, where the goal is to convince Anchises to have her, the woman’s family sends the gifts. Perhaps even more striking, the gold and textiles the prospective bridegroom will be offered are described as ਙʌȠȚȞĮ (‘compensation’; cf. 210), as if the Phrygians were suppliants or somehow in the wrong, implicitly allowing Anchises to make a display of magnanimity simply by accepting their gifts (as at Il. 1.377, on which the end of 140 is modeled, where Agamemnon signally fails to act so wisely). Cf. Keaney (1981) 261–4; van der Ben (1986) 17. The explicit indication of shift of subject produced by Ƞ੄ įȑ țȑ ‫ۃ‬IJȠȚ‫ ۄ‬is syntactically unnecessary, and ȤĮȜțȩȞ IJİ (which occurs in this sedes in Od.

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13.136 = 16.231, on which this verse is modeled) could easily have been retained at the beginning of 139. But bronze is not something one sends in large quantities as a gift, at least by horseback (cf. 137 with n.). In ȤȡȣıઁȞ … ਚȜȚȢ the adverb stresses the amount of gold Anchises will receive from his bride’s parents, whereas in ਥıșોIJĮ … ਫ਼ijĮȞIJȒȞ the adjective brings out the effort invested in producing the cloth; after the separate references to King Otreus and his wife in 138, the first item is naturally taken to represent his contribution to the gift, whereas the clothing will be sent by the girl’s mother, who made it with her own hands. Cf. 14–15 n.; Od. 8.441 and 13.66–7 (Arete adds a robe and a tunic to the presents—described in the verses on which 139 is modeled—given to Odysseus by the Phaeacian men); 15.110–29 (Menelaus makes Telemachus a farewell gift of a gold and silver mixing-bowl, while Helen brings him a robe that she wove herself and explicitly offers in anticipation of his marriage). The adjectives in 140 are intended to persuade Anchises, who will, Otreus’ daughter assures him, be impressed not just by the quantity of gifts her parents send (ʌȠȜȜȐ), but by the positive light they shed on him as the recipient of this lavish display of favor (ਕȖȜĮȐ; cf. 126–9 n.; Od. 13.135 = 16.230, where the gifts the Phaeacians offer Odysseus are described as ਕȖȜĮ੹ į૵ȡĮ). 141–142 The wedding-feast (standing via synecdoche for the wedding itself) will be ੂȝİȡȩİȞIJĮ because Anchises will desire it at that point, since it will (142) bring him honor (IJȚȝȒ) not just among human beings but among the gods as well, bringing Otreus’ daughter back to the first point in her request (131 ʌȡઁȢ ǽȘȞઁȢ ȖȠȣȞȐȗȠȝĮȚ with n.). For the phrase ȖȐȝȠȞ ੂȝİȡȩİȞIJĮ, cf. ੂȝİȡȩİȞIJĮ ȖȐȝȠȞ at Hes. frr. 37.6; 211.6 (conjectural). That the bridegroom is imagined hosting his own wedding-feast is unexpected (contrast Il. 19.299 (Patroclus promised to arrange a wedding-feast for Achilleus and Briseis); Od. 4.3–4 (Menelaus gives a double wedding-feast for his son and daughter)), but is consistent with the relentless, flattering attention paid to Anchises throughout the final portion of Aphrodite’s speech; cf. 137–40 n. (on the receipt of the Phrygian presents). įĮȓȞȣ ȖȐȝȠȞ: For įĮȓȞȣȝȚ in the active with an internal accusative of the meal or occasion celebrated (LfgrE s.v. B 1), cf. Il. 9.70; 19.299 įĮȓıİȚȞ į੻ ȖȐȝȠȞ (Briseis to the dead Patroclus; the immediately preceding verses are evoked at 126–7); 23.29; Od. 3.309; 4.3 įĮȓȞȣȞIJĮ ȖȐȝȠȞ. The variant reading įĮȓȞȞȣ in most of the Ȍ-family MSS probably reflects the presence of a superlinear nu taken over into some copies of the text but not into others; see Introduction 6.

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143–144 143 = Il. 3.139 (quoted at less length at 45, 53), where Iris charms Helen, who immediately sets off to the city’s gates and discusses the Greek champions from Troy’s walls with Priam there (cf. 111–12 n.). When the disguised Aphrodite comes to fetch her later, Helen recognizes the goddess and makes an angry speech introduced by the formula ਩ʌȠȢ IJૅ ਩ijĮIJૅ ਩ț IJૅ ੑȞȩȝĮȗİȞ (Il. 3.398, although the formula is widely attested elsewhere; cf. the second apparatus, and see 87–90 n. for another possible echo of the verse). ੬Ȣ İੁʌȠ૨ıĮ summarizes 108–42 as whole, but must refer in particular to the request at 131–42, to which the speech by Anchises that follows responds specifically. ȖȜȣțઃȞ ੆ȝİȡȠȞ ਩ȝȕĮȜİ șȣȝ૵Ț is not a second action separate from and subsequent to Aphrodite’s speech (as if the participial clause meant ‘after speaking thus’), but summarizes its effect (‘by speaking thus, by means of these words’). ਝȖȤȓıȘȞ įૅ ਩ȡȠȢ İੈȜİȞ at the beginning of the next verse performs the same function again, but simultaneously transfers the attention of the narrative from Aphrodite (143) to Anchises (144, where the agent has been transformed into the impersonal ‘lust’, glossing ‘desire’ in 143 in a way typical of the Hymn; cf. 45–6 n., 57). ਝȖȤȓıȘȞ įૅ ਩ȡȠȢ İੈȜİȞ: Anchises has already been described as inspired by lust at 91*, making the renewed reference to his emotional or psychological state in one sense unnecessary. But Anchises’ desire to get Aphrodite into bed—and as quickly as possible—is such a fundamental motivator for the speech that follows (esp. 149–54) that it bears mentioning a second time; more complicated explanations, such as that offered by van der Ben (1986) 10–11 (‘Whereas ਩ȡȠȢ stands for a disposition, the word ੆ȝİȡȠȢ would seem to apply to desires—only in contexts where their fulfilment is simultaneously striven for in immediate action’), are beside the point. The further consequence of this presentation of the situation is that mention is made of Anchises taking Aphrodite’s hand only in 155; cf. below and n. ad loc. The formula ਩ʌȠȢ IJૅ ਩ijĮIJૅ ਩ț IJૅ ੑȞȩȝĮȗİȞ is often used even when the speaker does not go on to refer to his or her interlocutor by name (e.g. Il. 5.372; 6.253, 485; see in general Calhoun (1935) 223–6 (who argues that in Homer, use of the formula communicates above all else the earnestness and intimacy of the situation); Couch (1937) 129–40, esp. 136–40 (who maintains that the speaker is in most cases socially superior to the addressee—as is not the case here)). But Anchises now knows that his visitor is Otreus’ daughter, as he did not the first time he addressed her, and he in fact refers to her as such in 146, so that the phrase is now more appropriate than it would have been in 91 ਩ʌȠȢ įȑ ȝȚȞ ਕȞIJȓȠȞ Ș੡įĮ*, where see n. Cf. 176* (the only other use of the formula in the Hymn), where the second word in the speech that begins in 177 is ǻĮȡįĮȞȓįȘ. The first half of a line

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that ends this way generally describes a gesture or a movement, most often taking the interlocutor’s hand (਩Ȟ IJૅ ਙȡĮ Ƞੂ ij૨ ȤİȚȡȓ at e.g. Il. 6.253, 406; 18.384, 423; Od. 8.291; 10.280; waking Anchises up at 176, where see n.). Here that idea is postponed until 155, where the language is tellingly nontraditional. 145–146 ੪Ȣ ਕȖȠȡİȪİȚȢ marks everything Anchises has said up to this point in response to Otreus’ daughter as something approximating as a quotation (~ 110–11, where see n.). But the clause also serves to pointedly remind the external audience that the purpose Anchises announces in 149–55 is a direct consequence of his reliance on all the individual points in the extended series of İੁ-clauses in 145–8: he has been lied to and taken in by Aphrodite, and a case can thus be made that he is not responsible for anything terrible that may happen to him as a consequence of sleeping with her. Cf. 166–7 (a summary of the situation by the narrator, who notes that Anchises slept with Aphrodite both because the gods wanted this and out of ignorance) with n., 185–6 (where Anchises himself argues in his own defense that he was taken in) with n.; Smith (1981a) 55–6; de Jong (1989) 17. This in turn supports the notion that Anchises’ remarks at 92–9 about the possibility that his visitor may be an Olympian goddess, or at least a Grace or a local nymph, are not to be taken altogether seriously; cf. 91–106 n. But he is in any case allowed to quote not just Aphrodite’s claim in 111 to be Otreus’ daughter (her supposedly exalted parentage being something that might reasonably increase his interest in marrying her, making it worth mentioning in this context; note ੑȞȠȝȐțȜȣIJȠȢ), but also her insistence in 110 that she is mortal and that her mother is a human being (which is in her own speech merely a coy response to his flattery, and accordingly requires no repeating), because her status as an immortal will become an issue later in the poem. 147–148 are a much-condensed version of the forged recent personal history Aphrodite offered Anchises at 117–30. (Cf. 145–6 ~ 110–11 with n.; the identification of Otreus as king of Phrygia in 112 and the explanation of his daughter’s ability to speak ‘Trojan’ in 113–16 are information of a different sort and require no reference here.) Hermes’ agency (ਪțȘIJȚ) is mentioned because he brought ‘Otreus’ daughter’ from her otherwise impossibly distant homeland to Mount Ida (cf. below). But the other colorful and revealing details of her journey have been systematically stripped out; all that matters, as Anchises re-tells the story, is that she is here (ਥȞșȐįૅ ੂțȐȞİȚȢ; cf. 130 ਥȖઅ ıૅ ੂțȩȝȘȞ) and that she will be regarded as his wife (ਥȝ੽ įૅ ਙȜȠȤȠȢ țİțȜȒıİĮȚ; cf. 125–6 ਝȖȤȓıİȦ … ȝİ … țĮȜȑİıșĮȚ / țȠȣȡȚįȓȘȞ ਙȜȠȤȠȞ).

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ਕșĮȞȐIJȠȣ į੻ ਪțȘIJȚ įȚĮțIJȩȡȠȣ … / ૽ǼȡȝȑȦ: Although the original meaning of the epithet įȚȐțIJȠȡȠȢ was obscure already in antiquity, the Hymn-poet apparently took it to be derived from įȚȐȖȦ (‘carry across, guide’ vel sim.), since Anchises’ point is that Hermes brought Otreus’ daughter to Troy from far away (cf. 122–4); cf. 213 with n. But the reworking in the first halves of these lines of Od. 15.319 ૽ǼȡȝİȓĮȠ ਪțȘIJȚ įȚĮțIJȩȡȠȣ (nowhere else in early epic), where Hermes is further characterized ੖Ȣ ૧Ȑ IJİ ʌȐȞIJȦȞ / ਕȞșȡȫʌȦȞ ਩ȡȖȠȚıȚ ȤȐȡȚȞ țĮ੿ ț૨įȠȢ ੑʌȐȗİȚ (‘who bestows elegance and renown on the deeds of all human beings’) simultaneously marks this as a quiet expression of confidence in the plan (articulated in ਥȝ੽ įૅ ਙȜȠȤȠȢ țIJȜ.) the god appears to have endorsed. For the genitive singular form ૽ǼȡȝȑȦ (in synizesis, and correpted by the vowel that follows), cf. hHerm. 413*. Both Ȍ’s ਕșĮȞĮIJȠ૙Ƞ įૅ ਪțȘIJȚ and M’s ਕșĮȞȐIJȠȣ įૅ ਪțĮIJȚ neglect digamma; the question is whether this neglect is better charged to the poet (in which case Ȍ’s version of the text is correct) or to a later scribe who elided į੻ into įૅ (in which case M’s resolved genitive is correct, although further emendation is necessary). Other early epic poetry consistently respects the digamma in ਪțȘIJȚ, and (like West (2003), Faulkner (2008), and Richardson (2010)) I print Hermann’s ਕșĮȞȐIJȠȣ į੻ ਪțȘIJȚ and assume that Ȍ’s text represents a deliberate attempt to mend the meter after įૅ ਪțȘIJȚ was written for į੻ ਪțȘIJȚ. ਥȝ੽ įૅ ਙȜȠȤȠȢ țİțȜȒıİĮȚ ਵȝĮIJĮ ʌȐȞIJĮ is both a hopeful expansion of the prophecy reported at 125–6 (since Hermes is supposed to have told Otreus’ daughter that she would be called Anchises’ wife, but not ‘for all your/our days’) and a pointed contraction of it (since Anchises makes no mention of the children they will have, his only interest for the moment being in getting his beautiful visitor into bed as rapidly as possible (149– 51)). 149–150 149 is modeled on Il. 1.547–8 (quoted in the first apparatus), where Zeus and Hera are quarrelling—providing an ironic backdrop to the expectation of a long and presumably happy marriage to Otreus’ daughter that Anchises envisions in 148—and Zeus reminds her that his plans and intentions are by and large his alone, meaning that mortal creatures are a fortiori unable to understand the gods’ purposes (cf. 147) with them, an idea brought out here through the use of the always vaguely threatening șȞȘIJ૵Ȟ ਕȞșȡȫʌȦȞ (cf. 122 with n., 151–4 with nn.). But Anchises’ enthusiastic response to the attempt to seduce him also recalls Zeus’ unwillingness to allow anything or anyone to stop him from sleeping with Hera immediately at Il. 14.342–6. 150 is clumsily expressed (and—not coincidentally—largely independent of traditional early epic formulae), but the sense is clear. ਥȞșȐįİ

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ȝİ ıȤȒıİȚ ʌȡȓȞ is literally ‘will hold me here before’, i.e. ‘will keep me from’ (cf. Il. 17.502–4 Ƞ੝ Ȗ੹ȡ ਥȖȫ Ȗİ / ૠǼțIJȠȡĮ ȆȡȚĮȝȓįȘȞ ȝȑȞİȠȢ ıȤȒıİıșĮȚ ੑȓȦ, / ʌȡȓȞ Ȗૅ ਥʌૅ ਝȤȚȜȜોȠȢ țĮȜȜȓIJȡȚȤİ ȕȒȝİȞĮȚ ੆ʌʌȦ (‘for I don’t expect that Priam’s son Hector will end his rampage until he reaches Achilleus’ flowing-maned horses’); LfgrE s.v. B I b Į bb ĮĮ, p. 845), although the idea of movement through space is quickly activated in 155–7. The unparalleled expression ıોȚ ijȚȜȩIJȘIJȚ ȝȚȖોȞĮȚ (cf. 16–17 n., 38–9 n.), meanwhile, uses the possessive adjective in place of an objective genitive (‘to mix in love with you’). For the language, cf. 287; h. 19.34 ijȚȜȩIJȘIJȚ ȝȚȖોȞĮȚ*; ijȚȜȩIJȘIJȚ ȝȚȖİ૙ıĮ * at Od. 19.266; Hes. Th. 125, 333, 375, 920, 927; hHerm. 4; hBacch. 57; h. 18.4; Cypr. fr. 9.2, p. 49 Bernabé). 151–154 Į੝IJȓțĮ Ȟ૨Ȟ: i.e. ignoring all the items in the long catalogue of socially appropriate actions for a couple planning to wed offered by Aphrodite in 133–42, which leads up to but never mentions the wedding night. Ƞ੝įૅ İ੅ țİȞ țIJȜ gives more specific content to the possibility envisioned in 149–50, that some god or human being might try to prevent Anchises from sleeping with Otreus’ daughter, by offering an extreme case: Apollo himself (Į੝IJઁȢ ਝʌȩȜȜȦȞ)—rather than a member of one of their families (cf. 133–8), for example, or even some minor deity who had taken a fancy to the girl—might attempt to interfere. But exactly what an assault by the god’s arrows would mean is spelled only in 154, after the emotional temperature of Anchises’ speech has been raised further by the emphatic resumptive ȕȠȣȜȠȓȝȘȞ țİȞ ਩ʌİȚIJĮ in the first half of 153, followed by the hyperbolic vocative ȖȪȞĮȚ İੁțȣ૙Į șİોȚıȚ in the second: at that point, he would be willing to die, provided he managed to get her into bed first. This is all rhetorical posturing: Anchises is alone on a mountainside far from the city, and he has no reason to think that anyone has any interest in keeping him from doing whatever he wishes with his visitor and presumed wife-tobe, let alone that a major Olympian god might choose to strike him dead on that account. But the nonchalant willingness he expresses to suffer anything for the sake of a brief if delicious sexual adventure stands in sharp and revealing contrast to his reaction in 187–90 (where see n.), when he discovers who Otreus’ daughter really is, and considers what might happen to him as a consequence; and cf. 160 with n. 153–4 make it clear that what Anchises imagines, is that Apollo might choose to shoot him dead, but only after he and Otreus’ daughter have had sex. The god is therefore appropriately described as ਦțȘȕȩȜȠȢ (‘who shoots from afar’; cf. LfgrE s.v. B, implicitly correcting the entry in LSJ): he can interfere, but only from a distance, i.e. not immediately, and Anchises can do what he wants in the meantime, provided he is willing to pay the price.

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IJȩȟȠȣ ਙʌૅ ਕȡȖȣȡȑȠȣ is not a traditional expression, and instead converts Apollo’s common epithet ਕȡȖȣȡȩIJȠȟȠȢ (e.g. Il. 1.37 = 451; 5.449, 760; Od. 7.64; 15.410; Hes. fr. 185.9; hAp. 140) into a prepositional phrase, which both serves to stress his divine majesty (cf. 16–17 n.) and recalls the line-end formula ਕȡȖȣȡȑȠȚȠ ȕȚȠ૙Ƞ (e.g. Il. 1.49). For Apollo as responsible for the deaths of men, and young men in particular, e.g. Il. 21.277–8; Od. 7.64; 15.410–11; Hes. fr. 279; cf. LfgrE s. ਝʌȩȜȜȦȞ B 2b. ʌȡȠȧોȚ: The p-scribe, misled by the accentuation in ȍ (ʌȡȠ૘Ș MĬ), took this for a form of ʌȡȩİȚȝȚ, which he ‘corrected’ to optative ʌȡȠ૘ȠȚ (to match 153 ȕȠȣȜȠȓȝȘȞ?). ıIJȠȞȩİȞIJĮ anticipates the reaction of the intended victim, in this case Anchises himself: anyone hit by Apollo’s arrows can expect to groan (ıIJȑȞȦ) in pain. Cf. h. 27.6 with n. ਩ʌİȚIJĮ introduces a note of incongruity into the assertion (cf. LSJ s.v. I 3; Dover on Ar. Ra. 205), ‘but then’—i.e. ‘provided I manage to have sex with you’—‘I’d be quite willing to die!’ ȖȪȞĮȚ İੁțȣ૙Į șİોȚıȚ is a bit of conventional flattery (cf. 91–106 n.), marking what follows as a proposition to Otreus’ daughter as much a statement of Anchises’ independent, individual purpose. But his description of her also serves to identify the ground for the bold claim advanced in these verses: only because she is so beautiful (cf. 84–5 with n.) would he risk anything to have her. The final syllable in vocative ȖȪȞĮȚ is short, but is lengthened here via respect for the digamma at the beginning of İੁțȣ૙Į; for the prosody, cf. ȖȣȞ੽ İੁțȣ૙Į șİોȚıȚȞ / at Il. 11.638*; 19.286*. ıોȢ İ੝ȞોȢ ਥʌȚȕȐȢ: for the expression, e.g. 161; Il. 9.133 = 275 = 19.176; Od. 10.347; [Hes.] Sc. 16, 40; Musae. 79 Į੝IJȓțĮ IJİșȞĮȓȘȞ ȜİȤȑȦȞ ਥʌȚȕȒȝİȞȠȢ ૽ǾȡȠ૨Ȣ (probably not modeled directly on the Hymn; see Introduction 3); cf. LfgrE s. ȕĮ૙ȞȦ B II 8cȖ. The bed in question actually belongs to Anchises. But ‘your bed’ means ‘the bed you are/will be in’, as at 230 IJȠ૨ įૅ ਵIJȠȚ İ੝ȞોȢ ȝ੻Ȟ ਕʌİȓȤİIJȠ ʌȩIJȞȚĮ ૅǾȫȢ, where the bed Dawn avoids is properly her own but is identified as Tithonus’ because he sleeps in it. 155–156 ੬Ȣ İੁʌȫȞ summarizes 145–54, and regardless of whether we are supposed to imagine that Anchises takes Aphrodite’s hand ‘as he said (this)’ or ‘after he said (this)’ (cf. 143–4 n.), the crucial point is that the gesture is a physical expression of the content and implications of his speech. It is accordingly referred to only now, as the narrative moves away from words (91–154) and back to actions (cf. 45–90). After 149–51 in particular, ȜȐȕİ Ȥİ૙ȡĮ looks less like an invitation than an assertion of authority, ownership, and control: Otreus’ daughter belongs to Anchises (cf. 147–8), and by taking her hand, he claims her in a fashion reminiscent of a marriage-gesture (cf. Bergren (1989) 23). In any case, the

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active and aggressive role is now his, and she merely consents to follow his lead to what is emphatically presented in what follows as his bed (158–60), and in a way that emphasizes and allows for the expression of her own supposed modesty (below). For a woman following her lover to bed, cf. Il. 3.447 (Paris and Helen) ਷ ૧Į, țĮ੿ ਙȡȤİ ȜȑȤȠıįİ țȚȫȞā ਚȝĮ įૅ İ੆ʌİIJૅ ਙțȠȚIJȚȢ (‘So he spoke, and he led the way, going to bed; his wife followed along with him’). Aphrodite has been standing at Anchises’ door, facing him (cf. 75, 81), and she now enters the house behind him, to go to his bed (157). Although he presumably pivots about to go inside, still holding her hand, therefore, she does not, but must instead walk straight ahead (ਪȡʌİ). ȝİIJĮıIJȡİijșİ૙ıĮ (forms of the verb * at Il. 8.258; 11.447; 15.52; Od. 2.67) is accordingly not ‘turned around’ (van Eck (1978) ad loc.; cf. West (2003) ‘turned’) vel sim., but must describe the same action as țĮIJૅ ੕ȝȝĮIJĮ țĮȜ੹ ȕĮȜȠ૨ıĮ, which serves to gloss and expand the specific sense of the word that precedes it: as Aphrodite enters Anchises’ house, she turns her head and upper body about, casting her eyes down toward the ground in a display of maidenly modesty (ĮੁįȫȢ; cf. 21 n.); cf. 182 (Anchises turns his eyes away from Aphrodite when she reveals herself to him in her proper divine form) with n.; hDem. 214 ਥʌȓ IJȠȚ ʌȡȑʌİȚ ੕ȝȝĮıȚȞ ĮੁįȫȢ (‘your eyes display a becoming modesty’) with Richardson ad loc. (but with no explanation of why it is that ‘ĮੁįȫȢ and ȤȐȡȚȢ were thought of as having their seat in the eyes’, as if this was assumed to be a physiological rather than a social fact) and on hDem. 194 (comparing inter alia Il. 3.427, where Helen is described as ੕ııİ ʌȐȜȚȞ țȜȓȞĮıĮ as she prepares to attack Paris for his lack of manliness; cf. 181–2 n.); Verg. Aen. 11.480 oculos deiecta decoros (identified by van Eck (1978) ad loc. as ‘a translation of this passage’). Contrast the goddess’ much bolder initial attitude at 91 with n., as well as the epithet țȣȞȫʌȘȢ/țȣȞ૵ʌȚȢ, literally ‘dog-eyed’, i.e. ‘willing to look anyone straight in the face under any circumstances’ and thus ‘shameless’ (e.g. Il. 3.180; Od. 4.145 (both Helen speaking of herself); 8.319 (Hephaestus speaking of Aphrodite, after he catches her in bed with Ares); cf. West on Hes. Op. 67). The fact that Anchises is holding Aphrodite’s hand (155) makes the gesture possible, since it allows her to enter the house with her eyes averted but safe from collisions with the door-jamb, the furniture, or the like. 157–160 The approving adjective İ੡ıIJȡȦIJȠȞ (cf. 161 İ੝ʌȠȚȒIJȦȞ with n.; hDem. 285 ਕʌૅ İ੝ıIJȡȫIJȦȞ ȜİȤȑȦȞ (‘from the well-spread bed’); the only other attestion of the adjective in early epic; Alc. fr. 283.8) captures the focalization of someone looking at Anchises’ bed before the covers have been lifted and disturbed. The clauses that follow, by contrast, adopt the perspective of an individual already within the covers: the blankets are

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soft to the touch (ȝĮȜĮțોȚȢ), and animal-skins are heaped ‘on top of’ (੢ʌİȡșİȞ) them, rather than the texture or color of the skins being described, and the blankets are referred to as spread beneath them. The separate descriptions of the bedding in 157–8 ੖șȚ țIJȜ. and of the skins in 158– 60 Į੝IJ੹ȡ țIJȜ., meanwhile, are cast as mini-histories of the goods and, particularly in the case of the latter, of the man to whom they belong and to whom the information provided can reasonably be traced (as it cannot be to his visitor). The fabric had been spread over the bed even before the lovers arrived on the scene (ʌȐȡȠȢ), and the fact that Anchises is described at the end of the 157 with the exalted term ਙȞĮțIJȚ (dative of interest, not necessarily identifying the individual who carried out the task himself) makes it a reasonable conclusion that this was done by a slave-woman rather than by Anchises himself; cf. below. That some anonymous woman produced the cloth for him can also be assumed (14–15 n., 137–40 n.), but is not specified. Anchises himself, at any rate, acquired the bear- and lionskins—an unexpected substitute for the sheep-skins normally used along with blankets on beds in early epic (Il. 9.660; Od. 23.179; cf. Od. 20.3, 95, 142)—by hunting in the mountains (cf. 18 n.). The atmosphere evoked is a mixture of the royally luxurious (cf. 165 with n., 173 with n.) and the heroically rustic, on the one hand, and of the domestic and the wild, on the other. Cf. the bed prepared for Odysseus by the rustic herdsman Eumaeus at Od. 14.519: İ੝ȞȒȞ, ਥȞ įૅ ੑȓȦȞ IJİ țĮ੿ ĮੁȖ૵Ȟ įȑȡȝĮIJૅ ਩ȕĮȜȜİȞ (‘a bed; and he threw sheepskins and goatskins onto it’); and in general Smith (1981a) 58–9. For bears and lions, see 70–1 n. The M-scribe was unsure of the gender of neuter ȜȑȤȠȢ, which he took to be masculine and for which he accordingly wrote ȜȑȤȠȞ. ȤȜĮȓȞȘȚıȚ ȝĮȜĮțોȚȢ: The adjective is commonly applied in early epic to fabric (e.g. Od. 1.437; 19.234; 23.290; specifically of a ȤȜĮ૙ȞĮ at Hes. Op. 537 ȤȜĮ૙ȞȐȞ IJİ ȝĮȜĮțȒȞ*), and thus by extension to beds covered with such material (e.g. Il. 9.618; 10.75; Od. 20.58; 22.196) and perhaps to the sleep one gets in them (e.g. Il. 24.678 ȝĮȜĮț૵Ț įİįȝȘȝȑȞȠȚ ੢ʌȞȦȚ (‘bound in soft sleep’)). M’s įȓȞȘȚıȚ looks like an artifact of an uncial text in which a badly written ȋȁǹǿȃ was mistaken for ȋǻǻǿȃ vel sim. and ‘corrected’ via the removal of the two offending initial letters. The initial mu on ȝĮȜĮțોȚȢ is sufficient to render the final syllable of ȤȜĮȓȞȘȚıȚ heavy, and there is no need for the nu-moveable added in some descendants of Ȍ (probably a metricizing superlinear note, adopted in some but not all members of the family). 160 is borrowed more or less direct from Od. 11.574 (quoted in the first apparatus; see above for the variation in the second half of the verse), where the subject is Orion (seen by Odysseus in the Underworld), who was shot and killed by Artemis after Dawn took him as her lover (Od. 5.121–4;

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cf. 218–38 n.). The echo, coming as it does at the moment when Anchises is getting into bed with his goddess lover, is implicitly threatening, especially after 151–4, where Anchises expresses his willingness to be pierced by Apollo’s arrows, if that is to be the price of sleeping with the woman who has presented herself to him as Otreus’ daughter. ȕĮȡȣijșȩȖȖȦȞ is first attested here; subsequently at Pi. I. 6.34; Bacch. 9.9; Nic. Th. 171 ȕĮȡȣijșȩȖȖȦȞ IJİ ȜİȩȞIJȦȞ* (a quotatoin of this verse?). 161 ȜİȤȑȦȞ İ੝ʌȠȚȒIJȦȞ picks up ȜȑȤȠȢ İ੡ıIJȡȦIJȠȞ in 157 (where see n.), marking the return to the main narrative line after the temporally and spatially expansive explanatory digression in 157 ੖șȚ–160. The adjective would normally refer to the careful construction of the bed-frame itself; cf. 75 (of the buildings in the farm-complex), 173 (of the roof-beam); Od. 20.150 (of chairs); [Hes.] Sc. 64 (of chariots). But in context it must mean ‘well-composed’ vel sim., the point being that Anchises’ bed-frame, blankets, and animal-skins form a whole that is not just aesthetically attractive but comfortable as well, since the characters are now sitting together on top of or within them, rather than standing in front of the bed, as in 157. Cf. 166–7 n. ਥʌȑȕȘıĮȞ: For this use of the verb, cf. 151–4 n. 162–165 The narrative proceeds at a strikingly slow pace in these verses (see below on 163 and 165 in particular), as Anchises strips Aphrodite item by item of the costume she assumed in 64–5 (where her clothing is mentioned first, her jewelry second, the order being reversed here as her lover undresses her). In both passages, the glancing reference to the goddess’ flesh (ਕʌઁ ȤȡȠȩȢ; cf. 64 ʌİȡ੿ ȤȡȠ૘*, 172 ʌİȡ੿ ȤȡȠ૘* with n.) serves to tantalize and tease: although the nominal focus of the narrative is on the jewelry and clothing Anchises removes, it works to incite interest in the body he sees but the Hymn’s audience never hears described. Cf. below on țĮ੿ țĮIJȑșȘțİȞ țIJȜ.; 64–5 n., 87–90 n., 168–9 n. For the ‘staging’ of the action (i.e. the question of whether Anchises and Aphrodite ought really to be in his bed when he removes her clothing, rather than standing beside it), see 173–5 n. 163 = Il. 18.401 (Hephaestus describes the items he made for Thetis after she gave him shelter when Hera threw him out of heaven). The same verse appears in adapted form at 87–8 (where see nn.), where the reference to ʌȩȡʌĮȢ—generally taken to be cognate with ʌİȓȡȦ (‘pierce’) and equivalent in sense to ʌİȡȩȞȘ, a clasp (fibula; the word is sometimes used instead for a straight dress-pin) that served to hold robes together; cf. Od. 18.292–4 (Antinoos gives Penelope a ʌȑʌȜȠȢ fitted with twelve ʌİȡȩȞĮȚ … / ȤȡȪıİĮȚ, țȜȘ૙ıȚȞ ਥȣȖȞȐȝʌIJȠȚȢ ਕȡĮȡȣ૙ĮȚ (‘gold clasps furnished with carefully curved pin-tubes’)); 19.226–7 (Odysseus wore a ʌİȡȩȞȘ that featured

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two tubes, sc. to secure its pins, with his ȤȜĮ૙ȞĮ when he left Ithaca for Troy))—has been removed, and the adjective ਥʌȚȖȞĮȝʌIJȐȢ (in place of IJİ ȖȞĮȝʌIJȐȢ in the original) applied instead pleonastically to the ਪȜȚțĮȢ. But at 87–8 the jewelry is all purely and pointedly decorative, whereas here the clasps deserve mention, since they serve to keep Aphrodite’s clothing in place; and ȖȞĮȝʌIJȐȢ anticipates Anchises’ gesture as he pinches them open to remove her dress in 164–5. The catalogue of individual items of jewelry in 163 is all in apposition to țȩıȝȠȞ … ijĮİȚȞȩȞ in 162, and is thus in one sense unnecessary. But it serves to retard the action, converting the scene into something approaching a slow strip-tease (note ʌȡ૵IJȠȞ in 162, making the sequential nature of what follows clear: first the jewelry, piece by piece; then the belt; then the robes) staged for the audience’s benefit; cf. above, and below on 165. ȗȫȞȘȞ: A ȗȫȞȘ is worn about the stomach (cf. 255, 282); in Homer women always put one on over another garment (Il. 14.181 (over a ਪĮȞȠȢ); Od. 5.230–1 = 10.543–4 (over a ij઼ȡȠȢ)), allowing them to pull the fabric together to produce a waist. Anchises must accordingly untie (Ȝ૨ıİ) Aphrodite’s ȗȫȞȘ before he can remove the rest of her clothing, the clasps that held her robe together (sc. at her neck or shoulder) having already been removed by implication in 163 (see above), allowing it to fall halfway— but only halfway—off of her. Cf. Od. 11.245 / Ȝ૨ıİ į੻ ʌĮȡșİȞȓȘȞ ȗȫȞȘȞ (‘he untied her virginal ȗȫȞȘ,’ i.e. ‘he removed her clothing when she was still a virgin’); Alc. fr. 42.9–10 ਩Ȝ[ȣıİ įૅ] / ȗ૵ȝĮ ʌĮȡșȑȞȦ (‘he untied the girl’s ȗȫȞȘ’), and for the language, Il. 4.215 / Ȝ૨ıİ įȑ Ƞੂ ȗȦıIJોȡĮ; 16.804 / Ȝ૨ıİ įȑ Ƞੂ șȫȡȘțĮ. Respect for the digamma at the beginning of İ੆ȝĮIJĮ via lack of elision of preceding short vowels is standard in early epic (e.g. 85, 171; Il. 2.261; 5.905; Od. 4.253; h. 6.6; an exception at Hes. Op. 556). Ȍ’s ੁįȑ is therefore correct, and M’s ਱įૅ must represent a clumsy attempt to mend the meter by a scribe determined to eliminate the apparent hiatus. țĮ੿ țĮIJȑșȘțİȞ ਥʌ੿ șȡȩȞȠȣ: A good choice, given that the goddess’ clothing has just been described as ‘shining’, and the floor of the hut doubtless consists—at best (cf. 66–8 n. on İ੝ȫįİĮ ȀȪʌȡȠȞ)—of dirt; cf. 170–2 n.; Od. 1.439–40 (Eurycleia carefully folds Telemachus’ tunic when he goes to bed, and hangs it on a peg); Hdt. i. 9. 2 (Candaules predicts that his wife will place her clothing on a șȡȩȞȠȢ after she undresses). But the detail also slows the narrative pace yet again, lending an air of care and deliberation to Anchises’ actions, while directing the attention of the Hymn’s audience in what might seem, were the text’s manipulative tendencies in this regard not so consistent (cf. above), the wrong direction, as if what matters most, when Aphrodite’s clothing is taken off, is where the clothing is put.

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ਥʌ੿ șȡȩȞȠȣ ਕȡȖȣȡȠȒȜȠȣ: a Homeric formula always used elsewhere (see the second apparatus) in connection with seating a person. Here the decorative flourish supplied by the adjective adds another touch of glamor to the setting (cf. 157–60 n.), while backhandedly suggesting something about Aphrodite’s appearance by means of a description of the object mentioned in her place (cf. above). 166–167 ਝȖȤȓıȘȢ: That Anchises is the subject of all the third-person singular verbs in 162–5 does need to be specified, especially now, at the very end of the construction. But the emphatic use of his name in enjambment at the beginning of 166 brings him abruptly to the narrative fore in anticipation of the vigorous defense of his actions that follows. That a mortal man is ill-advised to sleep with a goddess is taken for granted here, but Anchises is nonetheless defended on two separate grounds: that (1) this is what the gods willed and fated (or that it was both the god’s will and Anchises’ fate, if one takes șİ૵Ȟ only with ੁȩIJȘIJȚ, and assumes that Į੅ıȘ is a different force; in any case, as van Eck (1978) ad loc. observes, in Homer the two powers ‘are coordinate. Sometimes there is a temporal disagreement between them, but ultimately they always cooperate’; see also Parry (1986) 259–60), and (2) he lacked a clear understanding of what he was doing. Cf. 145–6 n., 185–6 with n. ਕșĮȞȐIJȘȚ ʌĮȡȑȜİțIJȠ șİ઼Ț ȕȡȠIJȩȢ: Anchises and Aphrodite are already in bed together at 161, but only now are they said to have lain down next to one another, the time in between having been occupied wth other matters (and cf. 173–5 n.). This is all that is said of Anchises’ and Aphrodite’s love-making, although 168–71 can be taken to imply that it lasted all day. The discretion (ironically picked up in Ƞ੝ ıȐijĮ İੁįȫȢ, viz. if the ignorance about crucial matters in question is taken to extend to the external audience as well) is typical of early epic, e.g. Il. 3.447–9 (Paris and Helen go to bed together and lie down, after which the narrative returns suddenly to Menelaus on the battlefield); 14.346–53 (Zeus takes Hera in his arms, the earth blossoms beneath them—and in the next verse he is unconscious, ‘overcome by sleep and love-making’, which has itself been elided from the narrative); Od. 5.226–8 (a vague one-line mention of the fact that Calypso and Odysseus make love, immediately after which the sun rises); 10.347–77 (Odysseus describes how he got into Circe’s bed, and then offers a long description of the work done by the witch’s slave-women, who are ultimately said to wash, dress, and feed him, his love-making with their mistress now, it seems, being complete although never described); 23.295– 300 (Odysseus and Penelope go to bed, at which point the narrative turns to the dancers in the main hall; when we return to the hero and his wife, they are done having sex and are talking); and cf. 188–90 n., 202–4 n., 225–7 n.; Smith (1981a) 58 ‘The moment of their physical encounter is not

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at all the main object of the poet’s interest but simply the hinge on which his narrative is centered’; Bergren (1989) 24–5. For the pointed, programmatic contrast between ਕșĮȞȐIJȘȚ … șİ઼Ț and ȕȡȠIJȩȢ, see 45–6 n. But here (as at Il. 2.821 șİ੹ ȕȡȠIJ૵Ț İ੝ȞȘșİ૙ıĮ (‘after she slept with him, a goddess with a mortal’); likewise of Anchises and Aphrodite) the words ‘goddess’ and ‘mortal’ also iconically capture the sense of the line, by lying together side-by-side. For Ƞ੝ ıȐijĮ İੁįȫȢ, cf. Il. 15.632 Ƞ੡ ʌȦ ıȐijĮ İੁįȫȢ /; Od. 1.202 Ƞ੡IJૅ ȠੁȦȞ૵Ȟ ıȐijĮ İੁįȫȢ /. 168–169 ਷ȝȠȢ į(੼) țIJȜ: In Homer (e.g. Il. 1.475; 7.433; 8.68; Od. 4.400; 9.58 (all ਷ȝȠȢ įૅ*)), phrases of this sort normally provide an objective indication of time via reference to the movements of the sun or the like. In only a handful of cases, all having to do with the end of the day, is human behavior described instead (Il. 11.86–9 (a woodcutter breaks off work and has dinner); Od. 12.439–40 (a man leaves the assembly-place after deciding numerous court-cases); cf. Od. 13.31–4 (a weary plowman waits for the sun to go down)), and no direct connection exists between the work these individuals are said to have been engaged in and the action in the main narrative line. Here, on the other hand, the reference to generic herdsmen returning to the fold with their animals in the evening is equivalent to a specific suggestion that Anchises’ fellow-cowherds will soon come back to the farmstead (cf. 76 with n., 78–9), meaning that Aphrodite must leave the place now or risk being discovered by them; cf. Smith (1981a) 61–3; Radin (1988) 293–307, esp. 302. The implication is that Aphrodite and Anchises spend the entire day making love; cf. 166–7 n. İੁȢ Į੣ȜȚȞ: Unlike an Į੝ȜȒ, which in connection with animals means ‘fold’ or ‘pen’ (e.g. Il. 4.433 (cows); Od. 9.184 (sheep and goats)), with no specific function attached to the place, an Į੣ȜȚȢ is simply a spot to spend the night (cf. Od. 22.470 (birds); hHerm. 71 (cows)), and does not necessarily suggest the presence of a structure. The word thus implies less about where the animals are being driven to than about why they are being driven there. ੅ijȚĮ ȝોȜĮ ȞȠȝ૵Ȟ ਧȟ ਕȞșİȝȠȑȞIJȦȞ: The adjectives are closely connected: the sheep are fat because their grazing-grounds are rich. ੅ijȚĮ ȝોȜĮ are always mentioned elsewhere in early epic in connection with ȕȩİȢ (e.g. Il. 5.556; 8.505, 545; 9.406; Od. 11.108; 18.278; Hes. fr. 204.50), but never in the formulation / ȕȠ૨Ȣ IJİ țĮ੿ ੅ijȚĮ ȝોȜĮ, while ‘meadows’ (ȜİȚȝ૵ȞİȢ) are occasionally described as ‘full of flowers’, i.e. of foliage of all sorts (Il. 2.467; Od. 12.159), but ‘grazing-grounds’ (ȞȠȝȠȓ) are not. 170–172 For ‘lively’ ਙȡ(Į), marking this as a crucial turning point in the story, as again in 173, see 30 n.

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ਝȖȤȓıȘȚ ȝ੻Ȟ ਥʌ੿ ȖȜȣțઃȞ ੢ʌȞȠȞ ਩Ȥİȣİ / ȞȒįȣȝȠȞ: The closest parallel for the language comes from the Odyssey (see the first apparatus). But the obvious model for the detail is the end of the story of the seduction of Zeus at Il. 14.352–3 (cf. 58–68 n.), where the king of the gods falls asleep after making love to Hera, and ȞȒįȣȝȠȢ ૠȊʌȞȠȢ sets off at a run to the Achaean ships to inform Poseidon; cf. Od. 8.296 (Ares and Aphrodite). ȞȒįȣȝȠȞ is not appreciably different in sense from ȖȜȣțȪȞ (cf. S. West on Od. 4.793–4, and see below), while Į੝IJ੽ į੻ ȤȡȠ૗ ਩ȞȞȣIJȠ İ੆ȝĮIJĮ țĮȜȐ is resumed in ਦııĮȝȑȞȘ įૅ İ੣ ʌȐȞIJĮ ʌİȡ੿ ȤȡȠ૘, meaning that a verse identical to 64 could easily have stood in place of 171–2. Instead, we are allowed to watch the goddess dress twice, the first time with attention to the quality of her garments, as if she was picking them up from the chair and inspecting them, to be sure that they are still as spotless as when Anchises took them off of her (cf. 165 with n.), the second time (in retrospect) focussing on her reaction to the garments’ disposition, as if, satisfied by their general appearance, she has now draped them about herself and is adjusting her belt and dress-clasps (cf. 163–4 with nn.). The Hymn’s audience is once more reminded explicitly of the divine body they have never heard described (ȤȡȠ૘, ʌİȡ੿ ȤȡȠ૘), the attention of the narrative focussing again (‘perversely’) on the clothing that conceals it; cf. 162–5 n. ȞȒįȣȝȠȞ: The sweet, pleasant sleep Aphrodite pours over Anchises is set in pointed, anticipatory contrast (emphasized via enjambment) to the discomfort he will inevitably experience (cf. 83 ȝȒ ȝȚȞ IJĮȡȕȒıİȚİȞ ਥȞ ੑijșĮȜȝȠ૙ıȚ ȞȠȒıĮȢ) once he sees her in something approaching her proper divine form (180–90, where note the explicit renewed reference to the sleep from which Anchises abruptly emerges when Aphrodite speaks to him). For ȞȒįȣȝȠȢ ੢ʌȞȠȢ, e.g. Il. 2.2; 10.91; 14.242; Od. 4.793; 12.311. All Aphrodite has done, up to the bucolic caesura in 172, is to make herself look the way she did when Anchises first laid eyes on her outside his door (81–6; for the absence of any reference to her jewelry here, see 174–5 with n., 181 n.). The description į૙Į șİȐȦȞ thus really belongs with what follows in 173–5: once Aphrodite stands up, her appearance is abruptly transformed and she becomes ‘brilliant among goddesses’, i.e. ‘brilliant even for a goddess’ (esp. 174–5); cf. the identical reference to Hestia in 28* with n. For the ‘local dative’ ȤȡȠ૘ in 171, cf. Od. 14.506 țĮț੹ ȤȡȠ૗ İ੆ȝĮIJૅ ਩ȤȠȞIJĮ. 173–175 For the relationship between this passage and hDem. 188–90 ਴ įૅ ਙȡૅ ਥʌૅ Ƞ੝įઁȞ ਩ȕȘ ʌȠıȓ, țĮȓ ૧Į ȝİȜȐșȡȠȣ / ț૨ȡİ țȐȡȘ. ʌȜોıİȞ į੻ șȪȡĮȢ ıȑȜĮȠȢ șİ૙ȠȚȠ. / IJ੽Ȟ įૅ ĮੁįȫȢ IJİ ıȑȕĮȢ IJİ ੁį੻ ȤȜȦȡઁȞ įȑȠȢ İੈȜİȞ (‘(Demeter) set foot on the threshold, and she filled the doorway with a divine radiance. Awe, reverence, and pale fear seized (Metaneira)’), see below (on the unexpected use of the dative with țȪȡȦ); Introduction 3. For Aphrodite’s

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radiance and the terror it inspires in Anchises (182), cf. hDem. 189–90 (quoted above) with Richardson ad loc., 275–80. For the combination of height and beauty, cf. 82 with n. One might expect Aphrodite to put her clothes and jewelry on (171–2) only after she gets out of bed. But dressing herself again as Otreus’ daughter does not alter how she will look to Anchises when he wakes up (cf. 178–82, esp. 181), whereas the moment she stands up (਩ıIJȘ), her head touches the roof-beam (ȝİȜȐșȡȠȣ / ț૨ȡİ țȐȡȘ), and the fact that she is a goddess becomes apparent. There is thus a slight, productive distortion of proper narrative order here (facilitated by 161–7, where Anchises removes Aphrodite’s clothing and jewelry after they enter his bed rather than before, since getting into the bed is the climax of the elaborate description of it in 157–60). For ‘lively’ ਙȡĮ, see 30 n., 170–2 n. The mention of the țȜȚıȓȘȚ makes it explicit that Aphrodite is no longer in bed (cf. above), and brings the structure explicitly back into the narrative just in time to contextualize the reference to the roof-beam that follows. İ੝ʌȠȚȒIJȠȣ adds a bit of grandeur —borrowed from Aphrodite’s țȐȡȘ, to which any aesthetic approbation expressed here ought properly to belong—to the setting, while making it clear that even if this is only a cowherd’s hut or lean-to, it is as impressive as a hut or lean-to can be, meaning that it no small matter that Aphrodite’s head reaches its ceiling. Cf. 157–60 n.; Knox (1971) 27–31, esp. 31 ‘When terms appropriate to a house or palace are used to any appreciable extent of a țȜȚıȓȘ, this is done for special effect.’ The hiatus between țȜȚıȓȘȚ and İ੝ʌȠȚȒIJȠȣ is mitigated by the caesura, but the language is nonetheless probably modeled on the less problematic 75 țȜȚıȓĮȢ İ੝ʌȠȚȒIJȠȣȢ (which similarly straddles the feminine caesura). ț૨ȡİ: The confusion in the Ȍ-family MSS can be traced to a badly written miniscule kappa in ȍ (or a manuscript intermediary between ȍ and Ȍ), which the M-scribe deciphered correctly but the Ȍ-scribe took for an eta, producing Ș੝ȡİ/Ș੣ȡİ (bp). The a-scribe in turn took the eta for a beta (also very similar in minuscule), while the f-scribe attempted to correct the text by writing ਸ਼ȡİ/ਸȡİ. țȪȡȦ consistently takes the dative rather than the genitive in early epic, except here and at hDem. 188–9 (quoted above). For Aphrodite’s archetypal țȐȜȜȠȢ, e.g. Il. 9.389; Od. 18.192–4 (where ‘beauty’ is treated as a divine cosmetic that can be applied to a mortal woman’s face); Hes. Th. 194 ~ h. 6.1. For the light produced during divine epiphanies, cf. Il. 4.75–80; hAp. 442–5; Richardson on hDem. 189. ȠੈȩȞ IJૅ ਥıIJ઀Ȟ țIJȜ is presented not as a partisan assessment of the quality of Aphrodite’s beauty, but as the poet’s own assertion of fact that establishes explicitly (contrast 173–4) that the goddess assumes her full conven-

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tional appearance as ੁȠıIJİijȐȞȠȣ ȀȣșİȡİȓȘȢ (cf. 6 ਥȣıIJİijȐȞȠȣ ȀȣșİȡİȓȘȢ* with n.), i.e. as the goddess of contemporary cult, on the one hand, and of the broader poetic and artistic imagination (esp. Cypr. fr. 5, pp. 47–8 Bernabé: Aphrodite, the nymphs and the Graces weave flowers into ‘fragrant garlands’ and place them on their heads), on the other. Given that M’s ੁȠıIJİijȐȞȠȣ is attested in the same sedes at h. 6.18, where the emphasis is again on the goddess’ extraordinary beauty, and in a narrative rather than a descriptive context (as in 6), there is no reason to prefer Ȍ’s less evocative ਥȣıIJİijȐȞȠȣ. For the adjective, cf. Sol. fr. 19.4 West2 ȀȪʌȡȚȢ ੁȠıIJȑijĮȞȠȢ; Thgn. 1304 = 1332 ~ 1382/3 ȀȣʌȡȠȖİȞȠ૨Ȣ … ੁȠıIJİijȐȞȠȣ; Olson on Ar. Ach. 637 (on garlands of violets generally); and see 58–68 n. (on the smell of the Olympian gods). 176–186 The action in 176–9 is artfully coordinated with that in 180–6 in a way that keeps the narrator from having to cut repeatedly back and forth between the characters, as a more strictly naturalistic presentation-style would have required: Aphrodite tells Anchises to wake up in 176–7, and although he does so only in 180, he is nonetheless able in 184–6 to answer the question (in the form of an order) she addressed to him in 178–9, since his response has been remotivated in the meantime in 181–3, as a reaction to the sight of her rather than to her words. 176–180 ਥȟ ੢ʌȞȠȣ IJૅ ਕȞȑȖİȚȡİȞ at the beginning of 176 is borrowed more or less direct from Il. 10.138, where Nestor wakes Odysseus up for a meeting that leads to the night-time mission in which Dolon is captured and killed; 177 recalls Il. 10.159 ਩ȖȡİȠ, ȉȣįȑȠȢ ȣੂȑā IJȓ ʌȐȞȞȣȤȠȞ ੢ʌȞȠȞ ਕȦIJİ૙Ȣ; (‘Wake up, son of Tydeus! Why do you lie asleep all night long?’), where the old man rouses Diomedes for the same purpose; and 180 adapts Il. 10.162 ੮Ȣ ijȐșૅā ੔ įૅ ਥȟ ੢ʌȞȠȚȠ ȝȐȜĮ țȡĮȚʌȞ૵Ȣ ਕȞȩȡȠȣıİ (‘Thus he spoke; and the other man speedily arose from sleep’), where Diomedes responds to Nestor’s summons by getting up. But ੕ȡıİȠ, ǻĮȡįĮȞȓįȘ at the beginning of 177 can also be understood as a reworking of Iris’ summons to Achilleus, where she urges him to act to prevent Hector from capturing Patroclus’ corpse, at Il. 18.170 ੕ȡıİȠ, ȆȘȜİȓįȘ* (‘Wake up, son of Peleus!’), although with a vocative elsewhere consistently used of Priam (* at Il. 3.303; 24.171, 354, 629, 631), while 179 ਥȞ ੑijșĮȜȝȠ૙ıȚ ȞȩȘıĮȢ (~ Il. 24.294 = 312; cf. 144) recalls the Trojan king’s own night-time journey (similarly sparked by a visit from Iris) to recover Hector’s body from Achilleus. The juxtaposition of intertexts thus once again evokes all the interconnected tragedies of the Trojan War at a crucial moment in the Hymn’s main narrative line (cf. 111–12 n., 196–9 n.). The second half of 180, on the other hand, evokes Od. 14.485 ੒ įૅ ਙȡૅ ਥȝȝĮʌȑȦȢ ਫ਼ʌȐțȠȣıİ / (from one of the stranger’s lying tales to Eumaeus, telling how he once

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woke Odysseus up at Troy), suggesting that ȞȒȖȡİIJȠȞ in 177 recalls Odysseus’ voyage back to Ithaca from Scheria at Od. 13.74, 80 (the only other appearances of the adjective in early epic), bringing out a residual hopeful element in the passage as well (cf. 109 with n., 193–5 n.). In any case, 178–9 might easily be understood as inter alia a self-conscious question directed to the Hymn’s external audience (almost ‘Does this line/passage sound the same as when you first laid eyes on it?’; cf. 111 İ੅ ʌȠȣ ਕțȠȪİȚȢ with n.). ਥȟ ੢ʌȞȠȣ IJૅ ਕȞȑȖİȚȡİȞ: A wealth of traditional language was available, had the poet wished to use the first half of this verse to characterize the speech in 177–9 as intended to be kind or comforting (e.g. Il. 1.361 = Od. 4.610 (etc.) ȤİȚȡȓ IJȑ ȝȚȞ țĮIJȑȡİȟİȞ ਩ʌȠȢ IJૅ ਩ijĮIJૅ ਩ț IJૅ ੑȞȩȝĮȗİȞ (‘he/she stroked his/her hand, and spoke a word and called him/her by name’); Il. 6.253 = Od. 2.302 (etc.) ਩Ȟ IJૅ ਙȡĮ Ƞੂ ij૨ ȤİȚȡ੿ ਩ʌȠȢ IJૅ ਩ijĮIJૅ ਩ț IJૅ ੑȞȩȝĮȗİȞ (‘he/she took his/her hand, and (etc.)’). What is offered is instead a proleptic summary of the effect of 177 (on which, see below). ਩ʌȠȢ IJૅ ਩ijĮIJૅ ਩ț IJૅ ੑȞȩȝĮȗİȞ: cf. 143–4* n. ǻĮȡįĮȞȓįȘ helps prepare for the stories of Ganymede and Tithonus in 200–38, by abruptly associating Anchises—whose ancestry has not been mentioned in the poem up to this point—with the Trojan royal house. IJȓ Ȟȣ ȞȒȖȡİIJȠȞ ੢ʌȞȠȞ ੁĮȪİȚȢ;: A mocking question, both because Aphrodite herself is responsible for Anchises being asleep (answering IJȓ;) and because he wakes up the moment she speaks (180) (meaning that his sleep is not ȞȒȖȡİIJȠȢ at all). For rebukes as typical of waking-scenes, cf. Richardson on Il. 23.69–92. țĮ੿ ijȡȐıĮȚ țIJȜ is again mocking, because the answer to the question can only be ‘No’, and arguably cruel, since Aphrodite demands that Anchises acknowledge that his own previous understanding of the situation— into which she led him, as he immediately protests (185–6; cf. 167 with n.)—was incorrect, and seemingly disastrously so. At 83, the goddess disguises herself as an unmarried girl ȝȒ ȝȚȞ IJĮȡȕȒıİȚİȞ ਥȞ ੑijșĮȜȝȠ૙ıȚ ȞȠȒıĮȢ; the echo of that verse in the second half of 178 serves as a reminder that the appropriate response for Anchises, when he realizes who Otreus’ daughter really is, will be abject terror (182). Elsewhere in early epic (e.g. Il. 4.267; 23.324; Od. 4.13, 159; Hes. Th. 188, 425; hAp. 493; hHerm. 487; [Hes.] Sc. 127), the consonants at the beginning of ʌȡ૵IJȠȞ always make position. Ƞ੆ȘȞ įȒ: cf. Denniston (1954) 220–1 (wrongly identifying this as an exceptional case in which a ‘note of disparagement, irony, or contempt’ is absent). M’s nonsensical Ƞ੅țȠȚ (for Ƞ੆ȘȞ) probably represents a misread ligature.

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181–182 181 reworks Il. 3.396–7 țĮȓ ૧ૅ ੪Ȣ Ƞ੣Ȟ ਥȞȩȘıİ șİ઼Ȣ ʌİȡȚțĮȜȜȑĮ įİȚȡȒȞ / ıIJȒșİȐ șૅ ੂȝİȡȩİȞIJĮ țĮ੿ ੕ȝȝĮIJĮ ȝĮȡȝĮȓȡȠȞIJĮ (‘and when she noticed the goddess’ lovely neck, luscious breasts, and sparkling eyes’; Helen recognizes Aphrodite, who has come in disguise to lead her to Paris’ bed), while 182 recalls both Il. 3.427 / ੕ııİ ʌȐȜȚȞ țȜȓȞĮıĮ (‘turning her eyes backward’; Helen’s response to Paris, after Aphrodite brings him into her presence) and Od. 16.179 IJĮȡȕȒıĮȢ įૅ ਦIJȑȡȦıİ ȕȐȜૅ ੕ȝȝĮIJĮ, ȝ੽ șİઁȢ İ੅Ș (‘he turned his eyes aside in terror, in case the other man was a god’; Telemachus’ reaction when he sees his disguised father made suddenly larger and handsomer, a scene quoted also at 109, where see n.). ੪Ȣ į੻ ੅įİȞ țIJȜ: i.e. ‘when he saw how beautiful her eyes and neck were’, and thus realized that she did not, in fact (cf. 178–9), look as she did when he first saw her. The absence of any reference to Aphrodite’s breasts renders the description less overtly sexualized than the one at Il. 3.396–7 (quoted above; cf. 87–90 n.). What Anchises sees is simply the blindingly brilliant beauty of a divine face (cf. 174 țȐȜȜȠȢ į੻ ʌĮȡİȚȐȦȞ ਕʌȑȜĮȝʌİȞ with n.), which is to say that the adjective țĮȜ(Ȑ) serves to justify the terror (IJȐȡȕȘıİȞ) with which he responds. But although the poet specifies that the beautiful neck and eyes that Anchises sees belong to Aphrodite, Anchises himself never calls the goddess by name (185 șİȐ) and claims to have recognized initially only that she was ‘a deity’ (186 ਩ȖȞȦȞ ੪Ȣ șİઁȢ ਷ıșĮ with n.). Nor does the goddess name herself until 287, at the end of the long speech that occupies most of the rest of the Hymn, where this is easily understood as intended as a final, stunning revelation. Cf. de Jong (1989) 17–18. For ੪Ȣ į੻ ੅įİȞ, cf. Il. 4.151*; 5.846*. M’s įૅ İੇįİ (which ignores the verb’s initial digamma, respected at e.g. 185) merely represents a combination of a different division of the letters and a misguided decision to drop the nu-moveable. For ੕ȝȝĮIJĮ țȐȜૅ, cf. 156 ੕ȝȝĮIJĮ țĮȜȐ with n.; Il. 23.66*. ੕ııİ ʌĮȡĮțȜȚįઁȞ ਩IJȡĮʌİȞ ਙȜȜȘȚ is in the first instance a gesture of ĮੁįȫȢ (~ ‘respect’; cf. 21 n.), as at Il. 9.503 and especially Od. 16.179 (quoted above); cf. 91 n., 155–6 n. But Aphrodite’s divine face is also simply too bright to look at. ʌĮȡĮțȜȚįȩȞ appears * at Od. 3.348 = 17.139. 183–184 ȤȜĮȓȞȘȚ … ਥțĮȜȪȥĮIJȠ țĮȜ੹ ʌȡȩıȦʌĮ: The gesture is left unglossed, but—at least on the punctuation adopted here, with a full stop after 182—is best understood as an initial physical expression of Anchises’ willingness to engage in the process of groveling whose verbal form is characterized in 184 as ȜȚııȩȝİȞȠȢ (cf. 187 ȖȠȣȞȐȗȠȝĮȚ with n.), and thus as driven by a combination of all the motives apparent in 182 (where see n.): fear (sc. of having offended the divinity), doubtless mixed with grief (cf. Od. 8.85 (quoted in the first apparatus), probably the model for

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ਥțĮȜȪȥĮIJȠ țĮȜ੹ ʌȡȩıȦʌĮ); ĮੁįȫȢ (patently the proper response, now that Anchises knows that his visitor is a goddess, with the normal physical turning-away from the object or individual shown ‘respect’ (182) expressed in an exaggerated form, as if to make up for a failure to do so properly before; cf. 184–5 n.); and a desire to find a more effective refuge from the sheer overpowering brilliance of the divine face. ȤȜĮȓȞȘȚ: i.e. in the bedclothes (158 with n.). The hiatus between ȤȜĮȓȞȘȚ and ਥțĮȜȪȥĮIJȠ is mitigated by caesura; an anonymous early editor attempted to deal with the matter by inserting a superfluous IJૅ (ȍ). țĮȜ੹ ʌȡȩıȦʌĮ: The adjective can be understood as focalized by Aphrodite (cf. 241–3), allowing the pathos evoked—‘Such a beautiful face, yet so sad and despairing!’—to prefigure her abrupt change of attitude in 191– 5 (contrast 175–9 with nn.), where see nn. 184 comes direct from Odyssey 22 (see the first apparatus, and cf. 187 n.), where a series of suppliants beg Odysseus and Telemachus—in two out of three cases, successfully—to spare their lives in the aftermath of the general slaughter of the Suitors. The Homeric context serves both to bring out Anchises’ desperation (cf. 188–90) and to raise the possibility that Aphrodite will choose to show him mercy, while acknowledging that she may choose to act otherwise. 185–186 A strikingly resourceful response to the order in 178–9 (note the echo of 179 ȝİ IJઁ ʌȡ૵IJȠȞ ਥȞ ੑijșĮȜȝȠ૙ıȚ ȞȩȘıĮȢ in ıૅ ੪Ȣ IJ੹ ʌȡ૵IJĮ … ੅įȠȞ ੑijșĮȜȝȠ૙ıȚȞ), the expected response to which is an admission that ‘No, you do not look like the person I first took you for.’ Anchises insists instead that he initially recognized Aphrodite’s divinity (cf. 92–106, esp. 92– 9), meaning that she is exactly who he thought she was then, an irony captured verbally in the echo of 185 șİȐ in 186 șİઁȢ ਷ıșĮ. But she lied to him (sc. and made him believe that she was mortal), and the obvious implication is that he ought not to be punished for anything he did on that basis; for similarly exculpatory remarks by the narrator (rather than his character), cf. 145–6 with n., 166–7 with n. None of this means that Anchises’ initial speech to his beautiful visitor was necessarily sincere (cf. 91–106 n.), and Anchises’ insistence that it was, points to his desperation here. In both of the entreaties to Odysseus introduced by verses identical to 184 (Od. 22.311 = 343; Medon’s plea to Telemachus at Od. 22.361–70 is of a different character), the request for mercy comes first (Od. 22.312 = 344 ȖȠȣȞȠ૨ȝĮȓ ıૅ, ૅȅįȣıİ૨ā ıઃ įȑ ȝૅ Į੅įİȠ țĮȓ ȝૅ ਥȜȑȘıȠȞ; (‘I’m on my knees before you, Odysseus! Treat me with ĮੁįȫȢ and show me mercy!’); cf. 187–90), and the evidence of innocence or merit on which it is based follows (Od. 22.313–19, 345–53). But Anchises’ excuse for his behavior is properly a response to 178–9, and the order of the rhetorical elements has

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accordingly been reversed, allowing Aphrodite in 192–5 to seamlessly take up the question of whether her lover has anything to fear from her or the other Olympians, rather than dealing with the problem of whether he meant what he said in his initial speech to her, or should have been more cautious about trying to get her into bed, or the like. Į੝IJȓțĮ is to be taken with ਩ȖȞȦȞ, while IJ੹ ʌȡ૵IJĮ is to be taken with ੅įȠȞ. ı(İ) is governed in the first instance by ਩ȖȞȦȞ, in prolepis with ੪Ȣ șİઁȢ ਷ıșĮ (‘I recognized you, that you were a god’, i.e. ‘I recognized that you were a god’), but is also the object of ੅įȠȞ. șİȐ: For the question of whether Anchises is supposed to be understood as recognizing Aphrodite (sc. as Aphrodite herself, rather than as a generic female deity), see 181–2 n. For the generic difficulty of recognizing gods, cf. hDem. 111 with Richardson ad loc. (where the cross-reference should be to 93 n.). ਩ȖȞȦȞ ੪Ȣ șİઁȢ ਷ıșĮ appears to be modeled on Il. 22.9–10 Į੝IJઁȢ șȞȘIJઁȢ ਥઅȞ șİઁȞ ਙȝȕȡȠIJȠȞ; Ƞ੝įȑ ȞȪ ʌȫ ȝİ / ਩ȖȞȦȢ ੪Ȣ șİȩȢ İੁȝȚ (‘Why are you chasing me,), when you yourself are mortal, whereas I am an immortal god? You failed entirely to recognize that I am a god!’; Apollo taunts Achilleus for failing to realize that he has not been chasing Agenor; Hector’s death follows immediately thereafter)), while ȞȘȝİȡIJ੻Ȣ ਩İȚʌİȢ is drawn from Il. 3.204 (the Teichoskopia). For a similar juxtaposition of Homeric exemplars and its implications, see 111–12 n. ıઃ įૅ Ƞ੝ ȞȘȝİȡIJ੻Ȣ ਩İȚʌİȢ: cf. also Od. 2.251 ıઃ įૅ Ƞ੝ țĮIJ੹ ȝȠ૙ȡĮȞ ਩İȚʌİȢ (Leiocratus’ rebuke of Mentor). 187–189 187 ~ 131 (where see initial n.). ʌȡઁȢ ǽȘȞઁȢ ȖȠȣȞȐȗȠȝĮȚ ĮੁȖȚȩȤȠȚȠ, / ȝȒ ȝİ țIJȜ: By invoking Zeus as ĮੁȖȚȩȤȠȚȠȢ, Anchises presents him in his capacity as master of the universe, whose will—collapsed into the request being made in his name—ought to be respected; cf. 23 with n., 191 with n. For the collocation of the name and the epithet in the genitive (but with ǽȘȞȩȢ in a different sedes), cf. Hes. Op. 483, 661; frr. 43a.52; 303.2. This is the first attested example of ʌȡȩȢ + genitive followed by an aorist imperative of vehement entreaty: ‘Whenever the object of the verb is the first personal pronoun, the aorist subjunctive is exclusively used. There are over thirty examples of this rule, and not one exception’ (Scott (1907) 324). ȗ૵ȞIJૅ ਕȝİȞȘȞȩȞ: ‘alive but incapacitated’; cf. Il. 5.887 (condemned by van Leeuwen, followed by West (1998), and perhaps modeled on this verse; see Kirk ad loc.) ਵ țİ ȗઅȢ ਕȝİȞȘȞઁȢ ਩Į ȤĮȜțȠ૙Ƞ IJȣʌોȚıȚȞ (‘or I would have been alive but incapacitated by the blows from bronze weapons’). The Odyssey-poet (10.521, 536; 11.29, 49) repeatedly refers to the dead as ȞİțȪȦȞ ਕȝİȞȘȞ੹ țȐȡȘȞĮ (‘strengthless heads of the dead’), and sharpening the underlying point—that a man can accept that he will be

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ਕȝİȞȘȞȩȢ after he is dead, but not while he is alive—must be part of the reason for the otherwise seemingly over-elaborate ਥȞ ਕȞșȡȫʌȠȚıȚȞ … / ȞĮȓİȚȞ. But the latter phrase also helps bring out the fundamentally social character of Anchises’ anxiety: he does not want to be surrounded by others who are strong and undamaged, while he is not. (van der Ben (1986) 21 takes ਥȞ ਕȞșȡȫʌȠȚıȚȞ … / ȞĮȓİȚȞ as instead a back-handed request that Aphrodite make Anchises immortal. But this would be an extraordinarily bold request from a character begging for mercy (189), and Aphrodite responds by reassuring her lover that he has nothing to fear from the Olympian gods (193–5), rather than by replying to what she patently does not see as a request for anything other than to be left undamaged.) The phrase ਕȜȜૅ ਥȜȑĮȚȡ(İ) appears in similar contexts at Od. 5.450 (Odysseus to the river he hopes will give him shelter) / ਕȜȜૅ ਥȜȑĮȚȡİ; 6.175 (Odysseus to Nausicaa) / ਕȜȜ੹ … ਥȜȑĮȚȡİ; cf. Il. 6.431 (Andromache to Hector) / ਕȜȜૅ ਙȖİ Ȟ૨Ȟ ਥȜȑĮȚȡİ. ȕȚȠșȐȜȝȚȠȢ is a hapax legomenon, but is patently formed from ȕȓȠȢ + șȐȜȜȦ, and must mean ‘vigorous’ vel sim.; cf. 104 șĮȜİȡઁȞ ȖȩȞȠȞ with n.; Pi. O. 7.11 ȗȦșȐȜȝȚȠȢ. The fact that Anchises insists that the loss of strength (ȝȑȞȠȢ; cf. ਕȝİȞȘȞȩȞ in 188) and vigor he fears is conventionally understood (note the generalizing ੖Ȣ IJİ) to be a consequence of sleeping with goddesses suggests that sexual potency is in question, particularly since the disability seem only to afflict men; see in general Giacomelli (1980) 1–19, esp. 16–19; Clay (1989) 182–3; Tsomis (2004) 15–29, esp. 23, 26–8 (responding to Giacomelli). That Anchises fails to say this openly—to the frustration of modern readers—can be understood as another symptom of the Hymn’s general reticence in such matters; cf. 166–7 n. But Aphrodite’s response in 196–7 implies that what really worries—or ought to worry—Anchises in not the possibility of impotence per se, but the risk that he will then be left without descendants (cf. 104–6 with nn. for Anchises’ desire for children), which is accordingly the point on which she offers him reassurance. șİĮ૙Ȣ … ਕșĮȞȐIJȘȚıȚ: i.e. rather than with țĮIJĮșȞȘIJોȚıȚ ȖȣȞĮȚȟȓ (cf. 39 with n., 50), with the—in one sense unnecessary—adjective serving to bring out the point at issue. The use of the plural effectively conflates the situation of an individual man who sleeps with a goddess, with the larger and better understood one of ‘men who sleep with goddesses’. 191–192 ~ 107–8, where see nn. ǻȚઁȢ șȣȖȐIJȘȡ ਝijȡȠįȓIJȘ: see 81*–3 n. țȪįȚıIJİ țĮIJĮșȞȘIJ૵Ȟ ਕȞșȡȫʌȦȞ is an honorific form of address. But the flattery is less problematic here than in 108, since even if Anchises is not yet famous, he will soon be, as a result of the son Aphrodite will bear him (196–7).

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193–195 Aphrodite begins with a one-word command (șȐȡıİȚ), which she first expands and clarifies, by converting it into a negative form (ȝȘį੻ … įİȓįȚșȚ) that both takes account of what Anchises is feeling at the moment (note ıોȚıȚ ȝİIJ੹ ijȡİıȓ), as opposed to how he should feel or behave in the future, and incorporates her own assessment of the situation (note the judgmental ȜȓȘȞ), but without acknowledging what he is afraid of. She then recasts this order as a negative statement of fact (Ƞ੝ … IJȠȓ IJȚ įȑȠȢ ʌĮșȑİȚȞ țĮțȩȞ ~ ȝȘįȑ IJȚ ıોȚıȚ ȝİIJ੹ ijȡİı੿ įİȓįȚșȚ) that nonetheless serves to justify (ȖȐȡ) it, by insisting on the absence of the divine hostility he fears, expanding this imaginary hostility to include the gods generally, not just herself (Ƞ੝ … ਥȟ ਥȝȑșİȞ Ȗİ / Ƞ੝įૅ ਙȜȜȦȞ ȝĮțȐȡȦȞ). The second half of 195, finally, converts this negative assertion into a positive ground for the positive order issued at the beginning of 193: not that Anchises is innocent of wrong-doing, as he—seconded by the narrator—insists (185–6 with n.), but simply that the gods (sc. as a group) are fond of him (ਥʌİ੿ ਷ ijȓȜȠȢ ਥıı੿ șİȠ૙ıȚȞ). Aphrodite has lied before in the Hymn (109–42) and perhaps does so again (286–8 with n.). But regardless of how one evaluates her final claim here, about the affection Zeus and the other Olympians feel for her mortal lover, no groundwork has been laid for it up to this point in the poem, and Anchises has not obviously been anything more than Zeus’ mortal cat’s-paw (45–55). At a moment of enormous narrative tension, as Anchises’ fate rests in the hands of a seemingly hostile and offended goddess (cf. 177–9 with nn.), these verses offer a series of reassuring echoes from the Odyssey: 193 ~ Od. 4.825 (an eidôlon sent by Athena informs Penelope that Telemachus will make his way home safely); 194 is modeled on Od. 5.347 Ƞ੝įȑ IJȓ IJȠȚ ʌĮșȑİȚȞ įȑȠȢ Ƞ੝įૅ ਕʌȠȜȑıșĮȚ (‘You need have no fear of suffering or death’; Ino tells Odysseus that her scarf will get him safe to land on Scheria); and 195 ijȓȜȠȢ ਥıı੿ șİȠ૙ıȚ recalls Od. 24.92 ijȓȜȠȢ ਷ıșĮ șİȠ૙ıȚȞ (‘The gods were well-disposed to you’; after the death of the Suitors, Agamemnon congratulates Achilleus in the Underworld, contrasting his interlocutor’s happy fate with his own miserable homecoming), and perhaps also Il. 20.347–8 ਷ ૧Į țĮ੿ ǹੁȞİȓĮȢ ijȓȜȠȢ ਕșĮȞȐIJȠȚıȚ șİȠ૙ıȚȞ / ਷İȞ (‘The immortal gods were certainly well-disposed to Aeneas!’; Achilleus, discovering that Anchises’ son Aeneas has vanished from before his eyes). If there is in addition a reference in 195 to Od. 9.276 Ƞ੝į੻ șİ૵Ȟ ȝĮțȐȡȦȞ, ਥʌİ੿ ਷ ʌȠȜઃ ijȑȡIJİȡȠȓ İੁȝİȞ (‘(Nor do we care) about the blessed gods, since we are far more powerful’; the Cyclops’ boast), it either obliquely recalls Odysseus’ greatest triumph (and thus the fact that Polyphemus was wrong) or represents a strikingly subversive message, whose implications impinge on the meaning of the Hymn as a whole.

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șȐȡıİȚ, ȝȘį੻ … įİȓįȚșȚ: For șȐȡıȠȢ as the opposite of įȑȠȢ, cf. Od. 6.140. IJȠȓ IJȚ: The words must have been written one above the other in ȍ and (following ȍ) in Ȍ, one of them having fallen out of the text earlier via haplography. The Ĭ-scribe included both in the text in the proper order; the M-scribe included both, but in the wrong order (IJȚ IJȠȓ); and the p-scribe chose between them (IJȚ). ਷ ijȓȜȠȢ ਥıı੿ șİȠ૙ıȚ: cf. 196–9 n. on 199 ਪȞİțĮ ȕȡȠIJȠ૨ ਕȞȑȡȠȢ ਩ȝʌİıȠȞ İ੝ȞોȚ; Il. 20.347–8 (quoted in 193–5 n.); Od. 24.92 (quoted in 193–5 n.); Hes. fr. 25.38 ijȓȜȠȢ įૅ ਷Ȟ ਕșĮȞȐIJȠȚıȚ. 196–200 See 200–80 n. 196–199 Although Aphrodite tells Anchises that he will have a son, this is presented only as evidence of the favor in which the gods hold him (194– 5), and might still be taken as an oblique way of assuring him that his sexual vitality will be unaffected by having slept with her (cf. 189–90 with n.). Only at 255, after a long digression on the history of relationships between beautiful young Trojan men and the gods, and of her own (lack of) further plans for him, does Aphrodite expressly inform Anchises that she will be his child’s mother. ijȓȜȠȢ echoes 195, but now with Anchises as focalizer (cf. de Jong (1989) 23): just as Anchises himself is ‘dear to the gods’, so Anchises’ son will be to him. ੔Ȣ ਥȞ ȉȡȫİııȚȞ țIJȜ is a reworking of Il. 20.307–8 Ȟ૨Ȟ į੻ į੽ ǹੁȞİȓĮȠ ȕȓȘ ȉȡȫİııȚȞ ਕȞȐȟİȚ / țĮ੿ ʌĮȓįȦȞ ʌĮ૙įİȢ, IJȠȓ țİȞ ȝİIJȩʌȚıșİ ȖȑȞȦȞIJĮȚ, modified to take account of the fact that—whatever the Iliad-poet may have intended to communicate (cf. Janko (1982) 158; Edwards on Il. 20.75–155)—Aeneas’ descendants did not continue to rule in Troy, to whose final disaster the Hymn repeatedly if obliquely refers (cf. 111–12 n., 176–80 n.), although his generally acknowledged escape from the conflagration meant that his branch of the royal family survived elsewhere. See Introduction 1. ਥțȖİȖȐȠȞIJĮȚ: An obscure form, but the context (cf. 196 ਕȞȐȟİȚ) guarantees that it is a future of some sort, presumably invented by the poet; cf. 127 IJİțİ૙ıșĮȚ with n.; Chantraine (1935) 131–2; Janko (1982) 157. Baumeister’s ਥțȖİȖȐȠȞIJİȢ (printed by West (2003)) substitutes obscurius for obscurum, and is thus no improvement. ĮੁȞઁȞ / … ਙȤȠȢ is a standard Homeric collocation (e.g. Il. 4.169; 8.124; 15.208; 16.55, 508; 17.83; Od. 16.87; 18.274), but is attested nowhere else in this sedes. For a more complete and complicated explanation of Aphrodite’s ਙȤȠȢ, see 243–55 with n.

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The aorist ਩ıȤİȞ shows that the action described in IJ૵Ț į੻ țĮ੿ țIJȜ. belongs not in the present but in the future, after Anchises’ child is born, at which point it will be given a name that suits Aphrodite by commenting on the character of her relationship with its father (although see above on the ambiguity of her promise to Anchises at this point in the narrative). ĮੁȞȩȞ thus represents Aphrodite’s own anticipated eventual characterization of the grief she already feels (see above). For similar play on Aeneas’ name, cf. Il. 13.481–2 įİȓįȚĮ įૅ ĮੁȞ૵Ȣ / ǹੁȞİȓĮȞ. For the motif of the significant name generally, e.g. Od. 19.407–9 ʌȠȜȜȠ૙ıȚȞ Ȗ੹ȡ ਥȖȫ Ȗİ ੑįȣııȐȝİȞȠȢ IJȩįૅ ੂțȐȞȦ, / … / IJ૵Ț įૅ ૅȅįȣıİઃȢ ੕ȞȠȝૅ ਩ıIJȦ ਥʌȫȞȣȝȠȞ; Hes. fr. 235.2 (of Ileus, eponym of Ilium) țĮȓ Ƞੂ IJȠ૨IJૅ ੑȞȩȝȘȞૅ ੕ȞȠȝૅ ਩ȝȝİȞĮȚ, Ƞ੢ȞİțĮ ȞȪȝijȘȞ / İਫ਼ȡȩȝİȞȠȢ ੆ȜİȦȞ ȝȓȤșȘ ਥȡĮIJોȚ ijȚȜȩIJȘIJȚ; Cypr. fr. 29.4–5, p. 60 Bernabé ਡȞȚȠȞ ਥțȐȜİıİ įȚ੹ IJઁ ਕȞȚĮșોȞĮȚ Į੝IJ੽Ȟ įȚૅ Į੝IJȩȞ; Dodds on E. Ba. 367; and cf. 200–1 n. For the use of Ƞ੢ȞİțĮ in such contexts, cf. West on Th. 144–5 (where the reference to ‘[Th.] 196’ should be to 197 (quoted below)). Here the explanation is taken one logical step further back, by means of the ਪȞİțĮ-clause. The name ǹੁȞİȓĮȢ in fact appears to be of nonGreek origin (LfgrE s.v. E), and the etymology proposed here is of a typically naive early epic variety; cf. esp. Hes. Th. 195–8 (Aphrodite got her name Ƞ੢Ȟİțૅ ਥȞ ਕijȡ૵Ț / șȡȑijșȘ (‘because she was nourished in the aphros/foam’)); fr. 235. The expression ਩ıȤİȞ ਙȤȠȢ is attested elsewhere in early epic only at Merop. fr. 2.4, p. 133 Bernabé [ਙ]ȤȠȢ ਩ıȤİșİȞ ૽ǾҕȡҕĮҕțȜ[ોĮ] (but cf. 207 ʌȑȞșȠȢ … ਩Ȥİ, 225 ਩ȤİȞ ʌȠȜȣȒȡĮIJȠȢ ਸ਼ȕȘ; LfgrE s. ਩ȤȦ B I 1aȕ cc ĮĮ (p. 844)), while ਪȞİțĮ/İ੆ȞİțĮ is used elsewhere as a conjunction (rather than as a preposition with the genitive, as at 248; cf. Ƞ੢ȞİțĮ = Ƞ੤ ਪȞİțĮ in 198) only at Hes. fr. 180.10 ]İ੆Ȟİțૅ ਙȡૅ İ੅įİȚ ਥțĮȓȞȣIJȠ [ij૨ȜĮ ȖȣȞĮȚț૵Ȟ]. ਪȞİțĮ ȕȡȠIJȠ૨ ਕȞȑȡȠȢ ਩ȝʌİıȠȞ İ੝ȞોȚ reworks Il. 18.85 (Achilleus to Thetis, describing how Zeus and the other Olympians contrived her wedding to Peleus) ਵȝĮIJȚ IJ૵Ț ੖IJİ ı੻ ȕȡȠIJȠ૨ ਕȞȑȡȠȢ ਩ȝȕĮȜȠȞ İ੝ȞોȚ. Not only does Aphrodite present herself as a victim of circumstances beyond her control, therefore, but if ਥȝʌȓʌIJȦ is understood as a functional passive of ਥȝȕȐȜȜȦ, the implication is that she now realizes that another god is responsible for what has happened to her—and to Anchises, lending further point to ਥʌİ੿ ਷ ijȓȜȠȢ ਥıı੿ șİȠ૙ıȚȞ in 195. Cf. Lenz (1975) 127–31; Clay (1989) 184. This is Aphrodite’s last reference to Aeneas until 255, and 256–91 (or 247–91) could easily follow more or less directly after 199, were the Hymn not at least as interested in Anchises and his fate as it is in his son. 200–280 unpack the assertions in 196–200 in reverse (ring-composition) order: 200–38 (esp. 200–1) tell why Aphrodite slept with Anchises (cf. 199 ȕȡȠIJȠ૨ ਕȞȑȡȠȢ ਩ȝʌİıȠȞ İ੝ȞોȚ), with comparative reference to the stories

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of two other attractive young Trojan men who drew divine attention (intriguingly, Aphrodite makes no mention of her own presumed agency in either situation); 239–54 offer two separate if compatible explanations of why what she has done—or what has happened to her (cf. 199 with n.)— causes her grief (cf. 198–9 ȝૅ ĮੁȞȩȞ / ਩ıȤİȞ ਙȤȠȢ); and 255–80 (esp. 255–7, 273–80) discuss the birth of Aeneas (cf. 196 / ıȠ੿ įૅ ਩ıIJĮȚ ijȓȜȠȢ ȣੂȩȢ) and how he will make his way to Troy (cf. 196 ੔Ȣ ਥȞ ȉȡȫİııȚȞ ਕȞȐȟİȚ /). 200–201 obliquely explain how it is that Aphrodite came to sleep with a mortal creature (cf. 199 ȕȡȠIJȠ૨ ਕȞȑȡȠȢ): his family produces extraordinarily handsome men. (For Aphrodite’s physical attraction to Anchises, cf. 53–7, 241–3.) Cf. the description of Anchises’ great-uncle Ganymede (202–17 with nn.) at Il. 20.233: ੔Ȣ į੽ țȐȜȜȚıIJȠȢ ȖȑȞİIJȠ șȞȘIJ૵Ȟ ਕȞșȡȫʌȦȞ (‘who was in fact the handsomest of human beings’). But the reference to humans specifically as ‘subject to death’ (țĮIJĮșȞȘIJ૵Ȟ ਕȞșȡȫʌȦȞ; cf. 3 with n.) simultaneously expresses the gist of Aphrodite’s dilemma, as well as one of the central organizing ideas of the Hymn as a whole: because men die but the gods do not, the gap between the two groups is—almost (cf. 202–17, esp. 214), and certainly now— unbridgeable. İੇįȩȢ IJİ ijȣȒȞ IJİ (accusative of respect with ਕȖȤȓșİȠȚ) at the end of 201 thus comes as a final, knowing qualifier, ‘at least as far as İੇįȠȢ and ijȣȒ go’. ਕȖȤȓșİȠȚ: used of the Phaeacians at Od. 5.35 = 19.279, in the sense ‘closely related to’ and thus ‘coming in close contact with’ (cf. Od. 7.201– 6); attested nowhere else before the Roman period. van der Ben (1986) 24, followed by Faulkner (2008) ad loc., detects a pun on ਝȖȤȓıȘȢ. ਫ਼ȝİIJȑȡȘȢ ȖİȞİોȢ is picked up in 219 (of Tithonus’ ancestry), while İੇįȩȢ IJİ ijȣȒȞ IJİ is echoed in the somewhat more specifically appreciative İੇįȩȢ IJİ įȑȝĮȢ IJİ in 241 (where see n.). For ȖİȞİȒ in the sense ‘family’, see LfgrE s.v. B 4. İੇįȩȢ IJİ ijȣȒȞ IJİ: i.e. ‘in physical attractiveness’; cf. Il. 22.370 (of Hector’s corpse, stripped of its armor and soon to be described as ȝĮȜĮțȩȢ, ‘soft’) ijȣ੽Ȟ țĮ੿ İੇįȠȢ ਕȖȘIJȩȞ (‘amazing in its ijȣȒ and İੇįȠȢ’); Od. 6.16 (of Nausicaa) ਕșĮȞȐIJȘȚıȚ ijȣ੽Ȟ țĮ੿ İੇįȠȢ ੒ȝȠȓȘ (‘resembling the immortal goddesses in her ijȣȒ and İੇįȠȢ’); Hes. Th. 259 (of Euarne, one of the Nereids) ijȣ੽Ȟ ਥȡĮIJ੽ țĮ੿ İੇįȠȢ ਙȝȦȝȠȢ (‘lovely in ijȣȒ and faultless in İੇįȠȢ’). İੇįȠȢ properly refers to an external evaluation of an individual’s physical appearance, ijȣȒ to how he or she ‘really is’ (sc. ‘inside’); cf. Od. 5.211–13 (Calypo, speaking of Penelope) ‘I do not believe that I am inferior to her in build or ijȣȒ, since it is quite unlikely that mortal women can contend with immortal goddesses in build or İੇįȠȢ.’

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202–204 are a modified and expanded version of Il. 20.234–5 (from Aeneas’ long speech to Achilleus just before the two men come to blows, including a detailed account of his own ancestry): (Ganymede, most beautiful of mortal men) IJઁȞ țĮ੿ ਕȞȘȡȑȥĮȞIJȠ șİȠ੿ ǻȚ੿ ȠੁȞȠȤȠİȪİȚȞ / țȐȜȜİȠȢ İ੆ȞİțĮ ȠੈȠ, ੆Ȟૅ ਕșĮȞȐIJȠȚıȚ ȝİIJİȓȘ (‘whom the gods snatched up to pour wine for Zeus, on account of his beauty, so that he could be among the immortals’). The most significant difference between the passages is that in the Hymn Zeus is said to have taken Ganymede so that the boy could serve the gods collectively, whereas in the Iliad the gods collectively carried out the kidnapping in order that Ganymede could serve Zeus. Authors and artists from Theognis (1345–8) on agree that Zeus’ interest in Ganymede was erotic (cf. Ibyc. PMGF 289(a); Pi. O. 1.43–5; 10.104–5; S. fr. 345; E. Or. 1391–2; IA 1049–53; Gantz (1993) 557–60; LIMC iv.1.154–5), and although Aeneas in the Iliad (followed by [Apollod.] Bib. iii.12.2) and Aphrodite in the Hymn are both silent on the point, the context requires that interpretation in these verses as well: the point of 200–1 is not just that the men in Anchises’ family are exceptionally handsome, but that they are so handsome that even immortals want to sleep with them (and see below on ਸ਼ȡʌĮıİȞ). Dawn’s purpose in abducting Tithonus is treated in a similarly coy fashion at 218–19, 226 (and see 166–7 n.); cf. 220–1 n. But 230 leaves no doubt that she and Tithonus shared a bed, whereas here the narrator makes a systematic effort to obscure what Aphrodite would otherwise appear to be saying, by calling Zeus ȝȘIJȓİIJĮ (see below) and assigning him a decorous public interest in Ganymede’s beauty, sc. as a means to ornament his halls for the pleasure of the Olympians as a group. See in general Podbielski (1971) 68; Lenz (1975) 107–9 (with good observations on how the Hymn-poet combines the Iliadic material and fills in its blank portions); Smith (1981a) 71–7 (who imports a Freudianizing disapproval into the Hymn’s version of the story); Clay (1989) 186–7; Bergren (1989) 32–3. ਵIJȠȚ (‘you can be sure, let me remind you’ vel sim.) renders what follows particularly vivid; ȝȑȞ is balanced by į(ȑ) in 218. Cf. 225; Denniston (1954) 553–5. ȟĮȞșȩȞ is not merely a casual detail, but prepares for and helps explain ੔Ȟ įȚ੹ țȐȜȜȠȢ: Ganymede strikes Zeus as good-looking, and thus as worth having as a fixture in his house, in part because he is blond. For įȚ੹ țȐȜȜȠȢ, cf. Od. 11.282* / ȖોȝİȞ ਦઁȞ įȚ੹ țȐȜȜȠȢ (‘he married her because of her beauty’); Hes. fr. 23a.13* (conjectural). ȝȘIJȓİIJĮ ǽİȪȢ: The adjective suggests that Zeus is not driven by lust in particular (see above) but proceeds in a rational, calculating fashion, with an eye to accomplishing the goal defined in the ੆ȞĮ-clause in 203–6. The entire ੆ȞĮ-clause represents Zeus’ plan. But ǻȚઁȢ țĮIJ੹ į૵ȝĮ (‘in Zeus’

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house’) rather than ‘in his own house’ imagines the god as a third party to the action rather than as the agent, and thus begins a shift to the Olympians generally as focalizers that becomes explicit in 205–6 (where see n.). ਸ਼ȡʌĮıİ ੔Ȟ įȚ੹ țȐȜȜȠȢ: A nu-moveable must have been present in some form in ȍ, given M’s ਸ਼ȡʌĮıૅ ĮੁȞઁȞ. But it may have been only a superlinear supplementary letter there (and thus in Ȍ), hence the division in the Ȍ-family MSS (ਸ਼ȡʌĮıૅ ਦઁȞ fp : ਸ਼ȡʌĮıૅ ਥȞઁȞ x); see Introduction 6. The nu is in any case unnecessary, and I print Matthiae’s ਸ਼ȡʌĮıİ ੔Ȟ (cf. Hes. fr. 204.42 ਵșİȜİ ੔Ȟ țĮIJ੹ șȪȝȠȞ) rather than Hermann’s ਸ਼ȡʌĮıİȞ ੔Ȟ. For ਖȡʌȐȗȦ used in erotic contexts (of a rape), see 117–20 n., 218; and cf. Hes. Th. 914 (of Persephone) ਸ਼ȡʌĮıİȞ ਸȢ ʌĮȡ੹ ȝȘIJȡȩȢ, ਩įȦțİ į੻ ȝȘIJȓİIJĮ ǽİȪȢ (‘[Hades] snatched [her] from her mother, and Zeus the counsellor gave [her to him]’), which must be the model for 202–3 ȝȘIJȓİIJĮ ǽİȪȢ / ਸ਼ȡʌĮıİ. ਕșĮȞȐIJȠȚıȚ ȝİIJİȓȘ might be merely a vague, preliminary way of explaining the idea spelled out in detail in 204 (‘that he might spend time in the company of the immortals, by pouring wine for them’), with Ganymede’s fate left obscure (a much-honored mortal resident of Olympus? or a new god?) until 214. But the phrase can also be taken ‘that he might be one of the immortals’ (cf. 214 with n.), the implication being that Zeus was aware of the problem Dawn would face in 220–1, but needed no one’s permission to deal with it. In that case, 204 serves to define the role this sudden new addition plays in the divine household, and 205 ʌȐȞIJİııȚ … ਕșĮȞȐIJȠȚıȚ must be understood ‘all the (other) immortals’. ਥʌȚȠȚȞȠȤȠİȪȠȚ: The compound is a hapax legomenon; șİȠ૙Ȣ is a dative of advantage (‘for the gods’) which does not depend on the prefix. LfgrE s. ȠੁȞȠȤȠȑȦ suggests that ‘one might think of [the] movement of [the] ȠੁȞȠȤȩȠȢ’, sc. about the circle of drinkers, which makes good sense with ǻȚઁȢ țĮIJ੹ į૵ȝĮ in the first half of the verse (Ganymede is to do his work ‘throughout Zeus’ house, pouring wine for the gods’) and is thus most likely correct (see 205–6 n.). But LfgrE also compares ਥʌȚȕȠȪțȠȜȠȢ (‘the cowherd in charge’ vel sim., raising the possibility that ਥʌȚȠȚȞȠȤȠİȪȦ means ‘be the wine-pourer in charge’), and notes in addition Baumeister’s suggestion that the sense intended is ਥʌ੿ IJોȚ ૠǾȕȘȚ (‘in addition to Hebe’, who pours the gods’ nektar at Il. 4.3). Ancient scholarship maintained that water was poured into the mixing-bowl first, with wine added on top of it (Ath. 11.782a–b, citing Hes. Op. 595–6; Xenoph. fr. B 5 West2; Thphr. fr. 571 Fortenbaugh, presumably from On Drunkenness), so that the idea might be instead that Ganymede is to ‘pour wine (into the mixing-bowl) on top of (the water already in it)’, in which case 205–6 refer to a slightly later stage in the process, as the boy dips the mixed wine from the bowl with a

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pitcher. Forms of the verb appear in line-final position at Il. 2.127; 20.234; Od. 1.143; 21.142. For M’s infinitive ਥʌȚȠȚȞȠȤȠİȪİȚȞ, see 205–6 n. 205–206 An individual scene drawn from Ganymede’s general (anticipated) service as the gods’ wine-pourer (204). șĮ૨ȝĮ ੁįİ૙Ȟ and ȤȡȣıȑȠȣ țIJȜ. are to be taken together (‘a marvellous sight, as he …’). ʌȐȞIJİııȚ IJİIJȚȝȑȞȠȢ ਕșĮȞȐIJȠȚıȚ glosses the opening of the line, explaining who is to marvel at the sight of Ganymede (viz. all the immortals, without exception; cf. 202–4 n., and note the overbearing ʌȐȞIJİııȚ, which makes it clear that Zeus allowed for no exceptions to his plan) and how they are to react (viz. by showing Ganymede respect and honor, an extraordinary reaction by Olympian gods to anyone, let alone to a once-mortal boy pouring their wine, reflecting again Zeus’ deep personal investment in the effect he anticipates), while ȤȡȣıȑȠȣ țIJȜ. describes what the gods are to see. But ʌȐȞIJİııȚ IJİIJȚȝȑȞȠȢ ਕșĮȞȐIJȠȚıȚȞ is also temporally much less specific than the longer phrase in which it is embedded, and in this sense it is to be taken with ੆ȞĮ țIJȜ. in 203–4. Ganymede is to be ‘among’ the gods and serve as their wine-pourer, in which context they will show him respect and honor; when he fills his pitcher, standing in the center of the group by the mixingbowl, allowing them all to look at and appreciate him simultaneously, their reaction will expand to include awe, sc. at the boy’s beauty. șĮ૨ȝĮ ੁįİ૙Ȟ is an unusual expression (see the second apparatus), șĮ૨ȝĮ ੁįȑıșĮȚ / (as in 90) being far more common in early epic. fp have IJİIJȚȝȑȞȠȢ, while M has IJİIJȚȝȑȞȠȞ; the fact that x read IJİIJȚȝȑȞȠȞȠȢ leaves little doubt that both endings were available in ȍ, in ȍ’s descendant Ȍ, and in Ȍ’s descendant Ĭ, with one written above the other. Cf. Introduction 6. The M-scribe apparently assumed that the word ought to agree with șĮ૨ȝĮ, and accordingly converted the verb in 204 into an infinitive, as in the Iliadic exemplar, and did the same with the participle in 206. The x-scribe, meanwhile, clumsily inserted both endings into the text. 206 is a strikingly visual and elegantly balanced line (adjective + noun, participle, noun + adjective), capturing some of the character of the imagined scene itself. But the description of what the gods are to see and marvel at focuses less on Ganymede than on the mixing-bowl and the nektar he handles, making it tempting to suppose that the adjectives also refer via a sort of ecphrastic hypallage to the boy’s golden hair (cf. 202) and his cheeks, or perhaps better to his blush, when he realizes that all eyes are upon him as he does the mixing; cf. 284 ȞȪȝijȘȢ țĮȜȣțȫʌȚįȠȢ with n. For gold as the substance out of which the gods’ possessions are conventionally made, see 16–17 n. For nektar (often but not always conceived as a liquid substance), see Olson–Sens on Archestr. fr. 16.3–4, and cf. 231–2 n.

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On the level of content, 206 is modeled on passages such as Il. 1.597–8 (Hephaestus dissolves the tension in Zeus’ house by clumsily serving wine) IJȠ૙Ȣ … șİȠ૙Ȣ … / ȠੁȞȠȤȩİȚ ȖȜȣțઃ ȞȑțIJĮȡ ਕʌઁ țȡȘIJોȡȠȢ ਕijȪııȦȞ (‘he began to pour wine for the … gods, drawing sweet nektar from a mixing-bowl’); cf. Sapph. fr. 141.1–3 țો įૅ ਕȝȕȡȠıȓĮȢ ȝ੻Ȟ / țȡȐIJȘȡ ਥțȑțȡĮIJૅ / ૓ǼȡȝĮȚȢ įૅ ਩ȜȦȞ ੕ȜʌȚȞ șȑȠȚıૅ ਥȠȚȞȠȤȩȘıİ (‘There a bowl of nektar had been mixed, and Hermes took a pitcher and poured wine for the gods’). But ȤȡȣıȑȠȣ ਥț țȡȘIJોȡȠȢ is drawn specifically from Il. 23.219* (Achilleus pours libations to the soul of the dead Patroclus), while ȞȑțIJĮȡ ਥȡȣșȡȩȞ evokes Il. 19.38* (Thetis preserves Patroclus’ corpse with infusions of ambrosia and nektar; the phrase is attested in this sedes elsewhere only at Od. 5.93). The verse thus prepares on another level for the description of the terrible grief of Tros in 207. 207–210 The Iliad-poet reports at one point that Ganymede was snatched away by the gods to pour wine for Zeus (20.234–5, quoted in 202–4 n.), and at another that Zeus compensated Tros, the boy’s father, by giving him special horses (5.265–7, quoted in 210–11 n.). But the Hymn-poet has supplied the narrative bridge between his two sources, loading it with emotional detail of a sort notably absent from the Homeric passages; cf. 207–9 n., 210–17 with nn. 207–209 203–6 merely articulate Zeus’ intentions at the moment he abducted Ganymede, but nonetheless serve to carry the narrative forward, leaving the boy established in his position as the god’s wine-pourer (treated as a fait accompli in 214 with n.); cf. 220–1 n. These verses return to the kidnapping and to how it was (mis)understood in the human sphere, by reference to Tros’ retrospective reaction to the event: because the boy’s father did not see Zeus carrying off Ganymede, but only noticed an ‘extraordinary whirlwind’ (cf. Od. 20.66–78, where the șȪİȜȜĮȚ that carry off Pandareos’ daughters are actually Harpies (77) sent by Zeus) and had no idea what had happened (or would happen) to his son (cf. 214 with n.), Tros was plunged into extended, dark despair. For other references to whirlwinds carrying off individuals who thus disappear abruptly and utterly from the human sphere, e.g. Il. 6.345–7 (Helen’s wish never to have been a part of human society); Od. 1.241–2 ૠǹȡʌȣȚĮȚ ਕȞȘȡȑȥĮȞIJȠ (‘the Harpies snatched him up’; of Odysseus’ mysterious disappearance on his voyage home from Troy); 4.727 ਕȞȘȡȑȥĮȞIJȠ șȪİȜȜĮȚ (‘the whirlwinds snatched him up’; of Telemachus’ sudden disappearance from Ithaca); 5.419 ȝȒ … ਕȞĮȡʌȐȟĮıĮ șȪİȜȜĮ / … ijȑȡȘȚ (‘lest a whirlwind snatch me up and carry me away’; Odysseus worries about being carried off to sea, never to be heard from again); Socrates at Pl. Phdr. 229b–d (on the Boreias/Oreithyia myth).

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207 begins with a description of Tros’ (non-Homeric) grief which, together with the (similarly non-Homeric) joy that replaces it in 216–17, is the pole along which the story of Ganymede, as Aphrodite (and the narrator) present it, is organized. 207 Ƞ੝įȑ IJȚ–208 steps logically and temporally backward, to explain the ground for this grief (but see below); 209 finally brings the two ideas together, but with attention to the outward expression of the grief rather than the mere interior fact of it. 207–8 are perhaps modeled on Od. 24.423 ʌĮȚįઁȢ ȖȐȡ Ƞੂ ਙȜĮıIJȠȞ ਥȞ੿ ijȡİı੿ ʌȑȞșȠȢ ਩țİȚIJȠ (‘for inescapable grief for his child was stored up in his mind’; of Eupeithes, grieving for the dead Antinoos). For the combination ਙȜĮıIJȠȞ … ʌȑȞșȠȢ, cf. also Il. 24.105; Od. 1.342; Hes. Th. 467. ȉȡ૵Į į੻ ʌȑȞșȠȢ … ਩Ȥİ ijȡȑȞĮȢ: for the double accusative of the person and the part affected, e.g. Il. 1.362 = 18.73 IJȓ įȑ ıİ ijȡȑȞĮȢ ੆țİIJȠ ʌȑȞșȠȢ; 11.249–50 țȡĮIJİȡȩȞ ૧Ȑ ਦ ʌȑȞșȠȢ / ੑijșĮȜȝȠઃȢ ਥțȐȜȣȥİ. For the use of ਩ȤȦ, cf. 199 ਩ıȤİȞ ਙȤȠȢ with n. The adjectives in 208 are focalized in the first instance by Tros: an extraordinary (șȑıʌȚȢ) whirlwind—i.e. one capable of carrying off a human being—snatched up the son he loved (ijȓȜȠȞ); as a consequence, he could not forget (ਙȜĮıIJȠȞ) his grief. But șȑıʌȚȢ (properly ‘divine’) simultaneously hints at the fact that what Tros took to be a whirlwind was actually Zeus, while the standard epic sense of ਕȞĮȡʌȐȗȦ is not ‘snatch up into the sky’ but ‘kidnap’ (117–20 n.). The idea that Ganymede was carried off by Zeus’ eagle (rather than by Zeus himself, or by a whirlwind, as here) is not attested in art or literature before the 4th century BCE; see Gantz (1993) 560. The a-scribe took Tros to be the subject (‘Tros had unescapable pain in his mind’) and wrote ȉȡ૵Ȣ rather than ȉȡ૵Į. For the unaugmented form İ੅įȘ (which can be thought to begin with a digamma, as hiatus routinely suggests that it must in the text of Homer) as opposed to the MSS’s augmented Ș੅įȘ/ਵȚįİȚ/ਵįİȚ (which cannot begin with a digamma), see the Praefatio to West (1998) xxxiii. ੖ʌʌȘȚ țIJȜ: The question with which Tros is supposed to torture himself focuses on Ganymede’s destination rather than his fate (‘Where did the whirlwind take my son?’ not ‘What has happened to my son?’), and its unexpected form reflects the narrator’s knowledge that the bȠy was still alive, and his guiding interest in the fact that Ganymede was carried off to Zeus’ house (204). Hiatus is standard before Ƞੂ (West (1982) 14–15), as here. For į੽ ਩ʌİȚIJĮ in place of the paradosis įਵʌİȚIJĮ, cf. 56 with n. ȖȩĮıțİ įȚĮȝʌİȡ੻Ȣ ਵȝĮIJĮ ʌȐȞIJĮ: The elaborate description of Tros’ outward expression of his grief—he went on lamenting constantly and incessantly, day after day—picks up on the idea of ਙȜĮıIJȠȞ in 207: the old man could not forget his son, and his under-informed mourning dragged on

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and on, until the king of the gods at last intervened (210). The form ȖȩĮıțİ is attested nowhere else in early epic, but cf. ȖȠȐĮıțİȞ at Od. 8.92. 210–217 At Il. 5.265–7 (quoted in 210–11 n.) Aeneas reports that Zeus gave Tros special horses (for which, see 210–11 n.) in compensation for his loss of Ganymede. (Contrast Il.parv. fr. 29, pp. 84–5 Bernabé, where the father’s name is Laomedon, and he receives a gold grapevine made by Hephaestus.) The Homeric Aeneas makes no mention of grief on Tros’ part or pity on Zeus’, and the exchange takes on something approaching a commercial character: in return for the most beautiful of human beings (cf. 20.233), Tros is awarded—and seemingly accepts without protest—the finest horses in the world. Nor is the Iliadic Tros told what has happened to Ganymede, or even why the boy was taken. In Aphrodite’s version of the story, by contrast, Zeus acted out of pity (210) rather than a sense of equity, and the gift of horses—which now sits somewhat awkwardly within the story created to contextualize and explain it—was accompanied, on his express orders (213), by a full account of the situation and in particular the fact that Ganymede was to be made immortal (212, 214). Only after Tros received this news, moreover, is he said to abandon his grief and take pleasure in the gift he had been given (215–17). 210–211 are modeled on Il. 5.265–7 (the ancestry of Aeneas’ horses, which Anchises got by secretly breeding his own mares to Laomedon’s stallions) IJોȢ ȖȐȡ IJȠȚ ȖİȞİોȢ, ਸȢ ȉȡȦ૘ ʌİȡ İ੝ȡȪȠʌĮ ǽİȪȢ / į૵Ȥૅ ȣੈȠȢ ʌȠȚȞ੽Ȟ īĮȞȣȝȒįİȠȢ, Ƞ੢Ȟİțૅ ਙȡȚıIJȠȚ / ੆ʌʌȦȞ, ੖ııȠȚ ਩ĮıȚȞ ਫ਼ʌૅ ਱૵ IJૅ ਱ȑȜȚȩȞ IJİ (‘For they are of the breed that wide-voiced Zeus gave to Tros, as compensation for his son Ganymede, since they are the best horses of all those beneath the dawn and the sun’). For ȣੈȠȢ ਙʌȠȚȞĮ, cf. 137–40 n.; Il.parv. fr. 29.1, p. 84 Bernabé (of Zeus’ gift to Laomedon in return for Ganymede) ʌĮȚįઁȢ ਙʌȠȚȞĮ /. Homeric horses are routinely described as ੩țȪʌȠįİȢ (‘swift-footed’; common in this sedes, e.g. Il. 5.732; 10.535, 569; Od. 18.263; 23.245), but can be ਕİȡıȓʌȠįİȢ (whence the contracted form ਕȡıȓʌȠįĮȢ; attested nowhere else in early epic), literally ‘foot-lifting’, i.e. ‘prancing’ vel sim., when the meter requires (Il. 3.327 / ੆ʌʌȠȚ ਕİȡıȓʌȠįİȢ; 18.532 ਥijૅ ੆ʌʌȦȞ / ȕȐȞIJİȢ ਕİȡıȚʌȩįȦȞ; 23.475 / ੆ʌʌȠȚ ਕİȡıȓʌȠįİȢ). That is not the case here, and the adjective might have been chosen to fit the immediate narrative context; although the horses given to Tros are patently high-spirited, they are not yet in rapid motion (contrast 215–17). But unlike in Iliad 5, where Zeus offers Tros the best (mortal) horses in the world, Aphrodite claims that he awarded him the type that pull the chariots of the gods (IJȠȓ IJૅ ਕșĮȞȐIJȠȣȢ ijȠȡȑȠȣıȚ), sc. through the air (e.g. Il. 8.392–6).

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The more significant point must accordingly be that his new team are capable of lifting their feet up off the ground in flight, at least when they carry Olympians; cf. 217 ਕİȜȜȠʌȩįİııȚȞ with n. In Iliad 5, Tros gets extraordinary horses in return for his equally extraordinary child (210–17 n.). Here the nature of the exchange (cf. above) reflects instead the relationship between the Hymn and its Iliadic exemplar: just as Tros’ mortal son is made immortal, so are Homer’s mortal horses. The inflation of the value of the horses also makes clear by contrast how significant the news of Ganymede’s fate is to Tros, since he pays no attention to the former until he is offered the latter (215–17 with nn.). 212–214 IJȠȪȢ Ƞੂ į૵ȡȠȞ ਩įȦțİȞ ਩ȤİȚȞ resumes 210–11 įȓįȠȣ įȑ Ƞੂ ȣੈȠȢ ਙʌȠȚȞĮ, / ੆ʌʌȠȣȢ ਕȡıȓʌȠįĮȢ, picking up the narrative thread again after the brief digression on the nature of the horses in the second half of 211. į૵ȡȠȞ glosses 210 ਙʌȠȚȞĮ (cf. Il. 5.266 ʌȠȚȞȒȞ), but simultaneously undercuts the force of the word, altering the character of the story as a whole. The horses are now not ‘satisfaction’ for Ganymede, but merely a ‘gift’— and a seemingly incidental one at that. What matters to Tros is instead Hermes’ news of his son’s happy situation (214), and only after the old man has that, does he take pleasure in his extraordinary new team (215– 17); cf. 210–11 n. The subject of ਩įȦțİȞ seems at first to be Zeus (cf. 210 įȓįȠȣ), but might instead be Hermes, who is certainly the subject of İੇʌİȞ. In either case, it must be Hermes (acting as Zeus’ agent) who actually brought Tros the horses Zeus had offered him, and at the same time told the old man what had happened to Ganymede. The subjects of the verbs in 214–17 are even less explicitly marked and must be deduced from context: only Ganymede is likely to be made immortal (cf. 203–5 with 202–4 n.), and only Tros is in a position to hear Zeus’ message (cf. 212–13), give up his grief (cf. 207), and take pleasure in his horses (cf. 210–11). İੇʌȑȞ IJİ ਪțĮıIJĮ implies that Tros learned everything that Anchises and the Hymn’s external audience are told in 202–5, including who abducted Ganymede and where he was taken to (cf. 207–8 with nn.), and how he was regarded there. But none of this is mentioned in 214, where the news that finally released Tros from his grief (215–17) is summarized as simply the fact that Ganymede was now immortal and thus virtually a god. ǽȘȞઁȢ ਥijȘȝȠıȪȞȘȚıȚ: i.e., implicitly, as an expression of the pity referred to in 210; and cf. 215–17 n. on 215 ǽȘȞઁȢ … ਕȖȖİȜȚȐȦȞ. Elsewhere in early epic, ਥijȘȝȠıȪȞȘ is attested only in the singular. įȚȐțIJȠȡȠȢ ਝȡȖİȚijȩȞIJȘȢ: i.e. Hermes, referred to here in his capacity as the one who bridges the divine and human worlds (cf. 147–8 n.), and specifically as Zeus’ trusted agent or messenger (e.g. Il. 24.339; Od. 5.43; Hes. Op. 77; cf. 117–20 n. on ȤȡȣıȩȡȡĮʌȚȢ ਝȡȖİȚijȩȞIJȘȢ).

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ਕșȐȞĮIJȠȢ țĮ੿ ਕȖȒȡȦȢ: a traditional formulation (see the second apparatus, and cf. Od. 5.218; Hes. frr. 25.28; 229.8 (conjectural); Janko (1981a) 382–5; Clay (1981–82) 112–17), used here to set up the story of Dawn’s ill-conceived request for Tithonus in 220–4. Elsewhere, the line generally ends with the words ਵȝĮIJĮ ʌȐȞIJĮ (cf. the passages cited in the second apparatus, all of which conclude this way, and note 221*), which must have been given as an alternative reading in ȍ. The M-scribe opted for the more innovative ੇıĮ șİȠ૙ıȚȞ (also formular, but not attested elsewhere with forms of ਕșȐȞĮIJȠȢ țĮ੿ ਕȖȒȡȦȢ/ਕȖȒȡĮȠȢ, and thus the lectio difficilior), whereas the Ȍ-scribe wrote ਵȝĮIJĮ ʌȐȞIJĮ but retained ੇıĮ șİȠ૙ıȚȞ as a variant in the margin (as in b, the archetypes of all other surviving members of the family having chosen to ignore the note). Cf. Introduction 6. 215–217 For the subjects of the verbs, see 212–14 n. 215 resumes 212 İੇʌİȞ–213 after the expanded account of Hermes’ message to Tros in 214 (contrast 212 ਪțĮıIJĮ); cf. 212–14 n. on IJȠȪȢ Ƞੂ į૵ȡȠȞ ਩įȦțİȞ ਩ȤİȚȞ. Although Hermes speaks to Tros, the formulation ǽȘȞઁȢ … ਕȖȖİȜȚȐȦȞ stresses that he acts only as an intermediary, as at Od. 5.150 (quoted in the first apparatus; Calypso responds to an order from Zeus delivered by Hermes, repeatedly described in the scene as įȚȐțIJȠȡȠȢ ਝȡȖİȚijȩȞIJȘȢ (cf. 213 with n.)), on which the verse is modeled. Cf. the even more emphatic ǽȘȞઁȢ ਥijȘȝȠıȪȞȘȚıȚ in 213. 216–17 describe first how Tros ceased to behave; then the altered internal state that produced that change; and finally how this new internal state was expressed outwardly (note the echo of ȖİȖȒșİȚ in ȖȘșȩıȣȞȠȢ). Ƞ੝țȑIJૅ ਩ʌİȚIJĮ ȖȩĮıțİ echoes and reverses 209 IJઁȞ į੽ ਩ʌİȚIJĮ ȖȩĮıțİ, while ȖİȖȒșİȚ į੻ ijȡȑȞĮȢ ਩ȞįȠȞ (modifying the formular ȖİȖȒșİȚ į੻ ijȡȑȞĮ (* at Il. 11.683; hDem. 232; cf. ȖİȖȒșİ įȑ IJİ ijȡȑȞĮ * at Il. 8.559; Od. 6.106; ıઃ į੻ ijȡȑȞĮȢ ਩ȞįȠȞ ਥȖȒșİȚȢ * at Od. 24.382) recalls and again reverses 207 ʌȑȞșȠȢ ਙȜĮıIJȠȞ ਩Ȥİ ijȡȑȞĮȢ. ੆ʌʌȠȚıȚȞ ਕİȜȜȠʌȩįİııȚȞ: Elsewhere in early epic, the adjective is applied exclusively to Iris (Il. 8.409 = 24.77 = 159; always in her capacity as Zeus’ messenger), presumably in reference to the speed with which she moves (thus LfgrE s.v.; subsequently of horses also at Simon. PMG 515; Pi. N. 1.6; fr. 221.1). The word perhaps captures Tros’ delight in his new team, which seem to him to run as fast as the wind; cf. 291 n.; Il. 16.148– 50 (Achilleus’ immortal horses not only ਚȝĮ ʌȞȠȚોȚıȚ ʌİIJȑıșȘȞ (‘flew along with the gusts of wind’), but were sired by the West Wind). But given the description in 211 (where see n.), the point is at least as likely that the horses are not just swift but capable of moving through the air (like Iris, as well as the Trojan king Erichthonius’ horses at Il. 20.221–9), even if they do not take Tros on that path when he hitches them up to his chariot

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(ੑȤİ૙IJȠ). In any case, the description of them as ‘whirlwind-footed’ presents them as a suitable recompense for Ganymede, who—at least as far as his father could tell—was carried off by an ਙİȜȜĮ (208). ੑȤİ૙IJȠ: Tros’ expression of his joy, like his grief (209), is on-going, hence the imperfect: he rides habitually about, and the display he makes of his gift to mortals matches the way Ganymede is constantly admired in Zeus’ house (205–6 with nn.). 218–238 A second example of an exceptionally good-looking member of Anchises’ extended family who was snatched away by a god; cf. 200–6 with 202–4 n. But in this case the story ends unhappily for the abducted mortal in particular. See in general Podbielski (1971) 69–72; Lenz (1975) 109–12; Smith (1981a) 77–86 (82–6 on the tradition outside the Hymn); Clay (1989) 187–9. For Tithonus, cf. Il. 20.237 (a son of Laomedon; no mention of him being stolen by Dawn, although note his absence from the group of Trojan elders, which includes all his brothers, at Il. 3.146–8); Hes. Th. 984–5 (Dawn bore him Memnon and Emathion); Il. 11.1–2 = Od. 5.1– 2 (Dawn rises from his bed first thing in the morning, as if Tithonus had never aged and the two had never been estranged); Sapph. fr. 58.18–22 (as supplemented by the new Cologne papyrus, with the text drawn from West (2005) 5; very similar in some ways to the version of the story offered here, but with no hint that the disaster could have been averted and no specific reference to Tithonus’ eternal old age) ਕȖȒȡĮȠȞ ਙȞșȡȦʌȠȞ ਩ȠȞIJૅ Ƞ੝ įȪȞĮIJȠȞ ȖȑȞİıșĮȚ. / țĮ੿ ȖȐȡ ʌҕ[Ƞ]IJҕĮҕ ȉȓșȦȞȠȞ ਩ijĮȞIJȠ ȕȡȠįȩʌĮȤȣȞ ǹ੡ȦȞ / ਩ȡȦȚ ij … ĮҕșҕİҕȚıĮȞ ȕȐȝİȞૅ İੁȢ ਩ıȤĮIJĮ Ȗ઼Ȣ ijȑȡȠȚıĮ[Ȟ], / ਩ȠȞIJĮҕ [ț]Ȑҕ Ȝ ҕ Ƞ ҕ Ȟ țĮ੿ ȞȑȠȞ, ਕȜȜૅ Į੣IJȠȞ ੡ȝȦȢ ਩ȝĮȡȥİ / ȤȡȩȞȦȚ ʌҕ ȩ ҕ Ȝ ҕ Ț ҕ Ƞ ҕ Ȟ ҕ ȖોȡĮȢ, ਩Ȥҕ [ Ƞ]Ȟҕ IJ ҕ ૅ ਕșĮȞȐIJĮȞ ਙțȠȚIJȚȞ (‘It is impossible for a human being to avoid old age. For the story was that rosy-armed Dawn, smitten by love, once set off to the earth’s ends, carrying Tithonus. He was handsome and young; but all the same, gray old age eventually lay hold of him, although he had an immortal wife’); Mimn. fr. 4 West2 (assuming that the subject of the verb is Zeus, referring to Tithonus’ paradoxical, ugly fate as described in the Hymn) ȉȚșȦȞ૵Ț ȝ੻Ȟ ਩įȦțİȞ ਩ȤİȚȞ țĮțઁȞ ਙijșȚIJȠȞ ‫ ۄ … ۃ‬/ ȖોȡĮȢ, ੔ țĮ੿ șĮȞȐIJȠȣ ૧ȓȖȚȠȞ ਕȡȖĮȜȑȠȣ (‘He awarded Tithonus eternal ugly old age, something more frightening than wretched death’); Tyrt. fr. 12.5 West2 Ƞ੝įૅ İੁ ȉȚșȦȞȠ૙Ƞ ijȣ੽Ȟ ȤĮȡȚȑıIJİȡȠȢ İ੅Ș (‘not even if he was handsomer than Tithonus’); Gantz (1993) 36–7, 557; Olson on Ar. Ach. 688. Like the Hymn-poet, Ibycus told the stories of Ganymede and Tithonus one after another, although we know nothing more than that (PMGF 289(a)); and Mimnermus’ ȉȚșȦȞ૵Ț ȝȑȞ was presumably balanced by a įȑ-clause describing someone who got better—or at least different—treatment (sc. from Zeus), with Ganymede an obvious candidate. Cf. also E. Tr. 820–57. For Dawn’s other romances with human

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beings, cf. 157–60 n. (Orion); Od. 15.249–51 (Cleitus; one of the models for this passage); Hes. Th. 986–7 (Cephalus); Gantz (1993) 36. 218–219 ੪Ȣ įૅ Į੣ is attested in this sedes elsewhere in early epic only at Od. 5.129, at the conclusion of Calypso’s catalogue of mortal lovers of goddesses, and of how terribly the other gods have treated them. ȤȡȣıȩșȡȠȞȠȢ, also used of Dawn at e.g. Od. 12.142 = 15.56; 14.502; 15.250 (the abduction of Cleitus); 19.319; cf. hHerm. 326, stresses her divine majesty (for gold as the characteristic material of the gods’ possessions, see 16–17 n.) and thus her standing not just to make requests of Zeus (220–1), but to have them granted (222); cf. 223 n. on ʌȩIJȞȚĮ. The epithet is also applied to Hera (Il. 1.611; 14.153; 15.5; hAp. 305; h. 12.1) and Artemis (Il. 9.533; Od. 5.123), but is particularly appropriate of Dawn, since it can be understood as describing aspects of her appearance early in the morning; cf. 226 ȤȡȣıȠșȡȩȞȦȚ with n. That the second element in the adjective is originally from the rare and obscure șȡȩȞĮ, ‘flowers’ (Il. 22.441), rather than from șȡȩȞȠȢ, is possible. But there is no indication that the word was understood that way by the Hymn-poet or the original audience, and Wilamowitz’s insistence that, however one might describe the goddess moving through the sky early in the morning, one could scarcely refer to her as ‘enthroned’, is (despite Càssola (1975) ad loc.) too heavy-handedly literal to be taken seriously. Cf. Il. 8.442–3 Į੝IJઁȢ į੻ ȤȡȪıİȚȠȞ ਥʌ੿ șȡȩȞȠȞ İ੝ȡȪȠʌĮ ǽİȪȢ / ਪȗİIJȠ (‘wide-voiced Zeus himself sat upon his gold throne’); LfgrE s. ਥȪșȡȠȞȠȢ. p’s ȤȡȣıȩșȡȠȞȠȞ represents assimilation to the case of ȉȚșȦȞȩȞ. ਸ਼ȡʌĮıİȞ: cf. 117–20 n., 202–4 n. Aphrodite’s point is not that Dawn took Tithonus away from his family (although that is true; cf. 207–9), but that he was from the Trojan royal family and was accordingly worth taking, which is to say that ਫ਼ȝİIJȑȡȘȢ ȖİȞİોȢ (echoing 201) is to be taken more closely with ȉȚșȦȞȩȞ (as a defining genitive, ‘(a member) of your family’) than with the verb (as a partitive genitive; cf. LSJ s.v. ਖȡʌȐȗȦ 2). ਥʌȚİȓțİȜȠȞ ਕșĮȞȐIJȠȚıȚ explains Dawn’s behavior: she kidnapped Tithonus because he looked handsome enough to be a god. Cf. 91–106 n. (on the comparison of good-looking mortals to gods), 202–3 with n.; Sapph. fr. 58.21 ਩ȠȞIJĮҕ [ț]ȐҕȜҕȠҕȞ; Tyrt. fr. 12.5 West2 (both quoted in 218–38 n.). 220–225 The story of Dawn’s appeal to Zeus is omitted in Sapph. fr. 58 (quoted, along with Mimn. fr. 4 West2, in 218–38 n.), and although Mimnermus says explicitly that ‘(Zeus) awarded Tithonus eternal ugly old age’ (ȉȚșȦȞ૵Ț … ਩įȦțİȞ ਩ȤİȚȞ țĮțઁȞ ਙijșȚIJȠȞ ‫ ۄ … ۃ‬/ ȖોȡĮȢ), no reference to the king of the gods’ motivation in doing so survives there, and the characterization of Tithonus’ fate as ‘more frightening than death’ in the balance

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of the second verse is at least as likely to represent a general human evaluation of the situation (cf. esp. Mimn. frr. 1.10; 2.9–10; 5.5–8; 6 West2) as Zeus’ desire to inflict a terrible punishment on Dawn’s mortal lover (although cf. 222 n.). 220–221 ȕો įૅ ੅ȝİȞ: At 218–19, Dawn patently snatches Tithonus away from Troy, but not to heaven, since she now sets off there, unaccompanied, as far as one can tell, from somewhere else. She must thus first take Tithonus to her home, at the furthest edge of the earth (227 with n.), and specifically to her bed; for the (typically epic) discretion in the handling of the physical aspect of the relationship, cf. 166–7 n., 202–4 n. That fact in turn provides the otherwise unspecified motivation for Dawn’s decision to seek immortality for Tithonus in these verses: he has proved a satisfactory lover, as Odysseus did for Calypso, who similarly wanted to make her favorite human being immortal and keep him forever (esp. Od. 5.135–6, 208–9), and as the Unjust Argument at Ar. Nu. 1067–9 mockingly claims that Peleus did not, causing Thetis to desert him at the first opportunity. Although ĮੁIJȒıȠȣıĮ … / ਕșȐȞĮIJȠȞ țIJȜ. merely describes Dawn’s intention when she sets off on her journey to heaven, the participle carries the narrative forward with it (cf. 207–9 n. on 203–6), so that in 222 Zeus is already responding to the (strictly speaking, not yet articulated) request. ਕșȐȞĮIJȠȞ … İੇȞĮȚ represents the change in Tithonus’ status that Dawn requests, ȗȫİȚȞ ਵȝĮIJĮ ʌȐȞIJĮ its anticipated practical effect. For ȕો įૅ ੅ȝİȞ ĮੁIJȒıȠȣıĮ, cf. Od. 17.365 / ȕો įૅ ੅ȝİȞ ĮੁIJȒıȦȞ. ȕો įૅ ੅ȝİȞ appears * also at e.g. Il. 5.167; 10.32; 13.242; 14.166; Od. 2.5; 4.24, 310, 528. The epithet ȀȡȠȞȓȦȞĮ stresses Zeus’ authority as his father’s successor and thus as master of the universe (cf. 22–3 n.; Od. 9.552 = 13.25 ǽȘȞ੿ țİȜĮȚȞİijȑȚ ȀȡȠȞȓįȘȚ, ੔Ȣ ʌ઼ıȚȞ ਕȞȐııİȚ (‘to dark-cloud Zeus, who rules over everyone’)), while țİȜĮȚȞİijȑĮ places him—and thus the location of his encounter with Dawn (cf. above)—in the sky (cf. Il. 2.412 ǽİ૨ țȪįȚıIJİ ȝȑȖȚıIJİ țİȜĮȚȞİij੻Ȣ ĮੁșȑȡȚ ȞĮȓȦȞ (‘Dark-cloud Zeus, most famous and greatest, dwelling in the upper air’)), i.e. in his house there. But the adjective perhaps adds a note of gloomy foreboding as well; see 223–4 n., and cf. Kirk on Il. 2.412–18. 221 = 240, where Aphrodite, in an extraordinary argumentative step (see n. ad loc.), rejects the idea of allowing what happened to Tithonus to happen to Anchises as well, and on that basis declines to continue the relationship. 222 IJોȚ is a dative of interest, to be taken with both verbs; cf. Il. 15.75 (Zeus describes his agreement to grant Achilleus’ request to be honored by

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Agamemnon) ੮Ȣ Ƞੂ ਫ਼ʌȑıIJȘȞ ʌȡ૵IJȠȞ, ਥȝ૵Ț įૅ ਥʌȑȞİȣıĮ țȐȡȘIJȚ (‘as I promised him initially, and I nodded assent to his request with my head’). ਥʌȑȞİȣıİ describes Zeus’ outward response to Dawn’s entreaty (for the gesture, cf. Il. 1.524–30; 8.246; 15.75; 17.209; hDem. 466), ਥțȡȒȘȞİȞ ਥȑȜįȦȡ the action he took to ratify it. Nothing suggests that Zeus said a single word in response, much less in argument, despite the extraordinary nature of Dawn’s request; although the business turned out badly for Tithonus, and thus for the goddess herself, she only found this out much later (225–30), and there appears to have been no possibility of an appeal to correct the situation, at least at that point. At Od. 5.118–28, Calypso complains (petulantly) that the male Olympians are systematically hostile to the goddesses’ occasional desire to establish publicly acknowledged long-term sexual relationships with mortal men; although Dawn is called a fool (223) for failing to recognize the mistake she was making, Zeus’ immediate agreement to her disastrous formulation of what she wanted might accordingly be read as a quiet but sure expression of hostility, especially given his own private resolution of the same problem in the case of Ganymede (214 with n.). See 239–46 n. ਥțȡȒȘȞİȞ ਥȑȜįȦȡ is an otherwise unattested variant of a cluster of Homeric line-end formulae: țȡȒȘȞȠȞ ਥȑȜįȦȡ / (Il. 1.41, 504), ਥʌȚțȡȒȘȞȠȞ ਥȑȜįȦȡ / (Il. 1.455; 8.242; 16.238), and țȡȘȒȞĮIJૅ ਥȑȜįȦȡ / (Od. 3.418; 17.242). 223–224 Despite 214, where immortality and agelessness are paired in Hermes’ report to Tros about Ganymede’s happy situation, it is not immediately apparent that Dawn made the wrong request in 221; only after her wish has been granted does Aphrodite explain the goddess’ mistake. The structure of the opening portion of the Tithonus-narrative thus anticipates Dawn’s own disappointment, as she realizes—too late—what she has done. These verses could easily have been omitted, but their presence allows the audience to grasp the tragedy in advance and thus watch it unfold with an understanding and at least partially sympathetic eye (cf. 225–7 n.). Sappho’s version of the story, by contrast, presents Tithonus’ fate as inevitable (esp. 18 ਕȖȒȡĮȠȞ ਙȞșȡȦʌȠȞ ਩ȠȞIJૅ Ƞ੝ įȪȞĮIJȠȞ ȖȑȞİıșĮȚ (‘It is impossible for a human being to avoid old age’), echoing the request Dawn failed to make, according to Aphrodite in the Hymn), and contains no hint that his divine lover could have—or even tried—to save him from growing old. ȞȘʌȓȘ represents a retrospective judgment by Aphrodite (although cf. 237–8 n.), and 223 as a whole is an example of a standard early epic versetype (e.g. Il. 5.406 ȞȒʌȚȠȢ, Ƞ੝į੻ IJઁ Ƞੇįİ țĮIJ੹ ijȡȑȞĮ ȉȣįȑȠȢ ȣੂȩȢ (‘The fool! The son of Tydeus did not know in his mind …’); 20.264 ȞȒʌȚȠȢ, Ƞ੝įૅ ਥȞȩȘıİ țĮIJ੹ ijȡȑȞĮ țĮ੿ țĮIJ੹ șȣȝȩȞ (‘The fool! He did not know in his mind and his heart …’); 22.445 ȞȘʌȓȘ, Ƞ੝įૅ ਥȞȩȘıİȞ, ੖ ȝȚȞ ȝȐȜĮ IJોȜİ ȜȠİIJȡ૵Ȟ (‘The fool! She did not realize that far, far from the washing wa-

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ter, he …’)), in which the point is either that the subject should have known or realized something (in which case the tone is condemnatory: e.g. Il. 5.406; 20.264; Od. 3.146; Hes. Op. 40, 456) or that he or she could not have known this (in which case the tone is pathetic: e.g. Il. 2.38; 12.113; 17.497)—but with the judgment routinely rendered by the narrator rather than by a character within the story. Here the emphasis on intellectual processes—or the lack of them—in ȝİIJ੹ ijȡİıȓ suggests condemnation: Dawn fell into a trap she might have avoided, had she thought matters through more carefully. The dignified ʌȩIJȞȚĮ ૅǾȫȢ thus has something approaching an ironic tone: ‘mistress Dawn’—who might have asked for, and perhaps got, anything she wanted (cf. 218–19 n. on 218 ȤȡȣıȩșȡȠȞȠȢ)—made a mess of the situation. Cf. 230* with n. The title ʌȩIJȞȚĮ is commonly applied to a wide variety of goddesses, e.g. Circe (Od. 8.448), Demeter (hDem. 478), Hebe (Il. 4.2), Hera (Il. 1.551), Leda (hAp. 12), Maia (hHerm. 19), Peitho (Hes. Op. 73), and Tethys (Hes. Th. 368); also of Dawn at Sapph. fr. 157 ʌȩIJȞȚĮ ǹ੡ȦȢ. ȝİIJ੹ ijȡİıȓ appears * at 72 (where see n.), 193. ਸ਼ȕȘȞ ĮੁIJોıĮȚ ȟ૨ıĮȓ IJૅ ਙʌȠ ȖોȡĮȢ ੑȜȠȚȩȞ: The closest parallels for the language are at Il. 9.445–6 (Phoenix denies that he would abandon Achilleus) Ƞ੝įૅ İ੅ țȑȞ ȝȠȚ ਫ਼ʌȠıIJĮȓȘ șİઁȢ Į੝IJઁȢ / ȖોȡĮȢ ਕʌȠȟȪıĮȢ șȒıİȚȞ ȞȑȠȞ ਲȕȫȠȞIJĮ (‘not even if the god himself were to promise to scrape my old age and make me young and vigorous’) and Nost. fr. 7.1–2, p. 97 Bernabé (Medea restores Aeson’s youth with her magic drugs) Į੝IJȓțĮ … șોțİ … ਲȕȫȠȞIJĮ / ȖોȡĮȢ ਕʌȠȟȪıĮıĮ (‘Immediately she made him vigorous, by scraping off his old age’), in both of which old age is imagined as a scurf or patina that can be scoured off a person, as in 244. But Phoenix and Aeson are already old men, who thus require such treatment, whereas Tithonus at this point in his story is not (225), making the imagined alternative (or supplemental) request self-contradictory. Someone awarded perpetual youth will never need to slough off old age to begin with; what Dawn ought to have requested for her lover was instead a combination of eternal life and eternal ਸ਼ȕȘ (cf. 214). Despite the way Aphrodite presents them, therefore, these words do not describe ‘what Dawn ought really to have asked for’, but anticipate the narrative arc of what follows in 225–38: because Dawn failed to make the proper request of Zeus, Tithonus eventually began to grow gray; and because Dawn at that point lacked the ability to scrape or scour her lover young again, the situation could not be redeemed. For ‘youth’ and ‘old age’ as opposed conditions, with no intermediary phase between them, see 228–9 n. IJ(İ) links not ĮੁIJોıĮȚ and ȟ૨ıĮȚ, but ਸ਼ȕȘȞ and ȟ૨ıĮȚ, which are both the objects of the first infinitive: ‘to request perpetual youth and (the ability to) scour off …’

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ੑȜȠȚȩȞ: For the adjective (a metrically convenient form of ੑȜȠȩȢ, attested also at Il. 1.342; 22.5 (both in the feminine)) used of ȖોȡĮȢ, cf. 246 Ƞ੝ȜȩȝİȞȠȞ; Il. 24.487 ੑȜȠ૵Ț ਥʌ੿ ȖȒȡĮȠȢ Ƞ੝į૵Ț (via hypallage); Hes. Th. 604 ੑȜȠઁȞ įૅ ਥʌ੿ ȖોȡĮȢ. The focalization must in the first instance be Dawn’s (cf. 225 with n., 229 with n.), but can simultaneously be conceived as Aphodite’s own: Tithonus’ old age ruined everything for him and his lover (228–38), just as it can be expected to spoil what might otherwise have been the happiness of Aphrodite and Anchises (244–5). Cf. 233 ıIJȣȖİȡઁȞ … ȖોȡĮȢ with n. 225–227 resume the situation described in 220–1, but with more detail and with unexpected attention to Tithonus’ situation rather than Dawn’s (see below); the verses thus serve to set up the disastrous reversal described in 228–36 (which could have followed immediately after 222, albeit with a considerable lessening of the emotional impact of the passage). 225 is the first specific reference in the Hymn to the fact that Tithonus was a young man when Dawn carried him off (although cf. 224 with n.), a point needed to make the contrast with 228–30 as sharp as possible. Cf. Sapph. fr. 58.21 ਩ȠȞIJĮҕ [ț]ȐҕȜҕȠҕȞ țĮ੿ ȞȑȠȞ (‘He was handsome and young’). ਵIJȠȚ İ੆ȦȢ: see 202–4 n. Here ȝȑȞ is balanced by Į੝IJȐȡ in 228. For the hiatus, cf. 135 IJȠȚ ੒ȝȩșİȞ with n., 230 / IJȠ૨ įૅ ਵIJȠȚ İ੝ȞોȢ* (which lacks a Homeric exemplar, and for which this verse perhaps served as a model, given their proximity); Il. 12.141 / Ƞ੄ įૅ ਵIJȠȚ İ੆ȦȢ. For İ੆ȦȢ written thus (rather than ਸ਼ȠȢ), see West (1966). ਩ȤİȞ: For the use of the verb in the sense ‘prevail over’ vel sim., see LfgrE s.v. B I 1 aȕ cc ĮĮ (p. 844); and cf. 199 with n., 207; Il. 18.515 ਕȞȑȡİȢ Ƞ੠Ȣ ਩Ȥİ ȖોȡĮȢ. The focalizer of ʌȠȜȣȒȡĮIJȠȢ, as of ੑȜȠȚȩȞ in 224 (where see n.) and țĮȜોȢ and İ੝ȘȖİȞȑȠȢ in 229 (where see n.), is in the first instance Dawn, to whom the adolescent Tithonus appeared overwhelmingly desirable (218–22). But her treatment of him after he grows old suggests the existence of other initially appreciative viewers as well (cf. 230–2 n.), and Aphrodite’s attraction to the similarly only temporarily youthful and attractive Anchises (cf. 241–3) also colors the word. For ʌȠȜȣȒȡĮIJȠȢ ਸ਼ȕȘ, cf. 274*; forms of the adjective appear * also at Hes. fr. 305.1; hHerm. 186. 226–7 ominously rework Od. 22.197–8, where the goatherd Melanthius is left to suffer with his arms and legs twisted backward, and suspended from the ceiling by ropes, in what Eumaeus and Philoetius mockingly describe as a ‘soft bed’ (22.196): Ƞ੝į੻ ıȑ Ȗૅ ਱ȡȚȖȑȞİȚĮ ʌĮȡૅ ૅȍțİĮȞȠ૙Ƞ ૧ȠȐȦȞ / ȜȒıİȚ ਕȞİȡȤȠȝȑȞȘ ȤȡȣıȩșȡȠȞȠȢ (‘You won’t fail to notice early-born, gold-throned Dawn when she arises from Ocean’s streams!’). The end of 227 is borrowed from a similarly unhappy context, Odysseus’ lying story to Polyphemus of how he and his men came to the mon-

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ster’s cave, their ship supposedly having been wrecked ਥʌ੿ ʌİȓȡĮıȚ ȖĮȓȘȢ (Od. 9.284). Up to this point, the narrative has concentrated on Dawn, and Tithonus has been a pawn. But in 226–7 the focus shifts abruptly to his situation and in particular to the pleasure he takes in (sleeping with) her, rather than the other way around; and the one who suffers most in what follows is emphatically Tithonus, not his divine lover. IJİȡʌȩȝİȞȠȢ: sc. in bed (cf. 230), although that is not yet said specifically; cf. 202–4 n. But the implication is that Tithonus’ life was generally happy at this point; contrast 230–8 with nn. Forms of IJİȡʌȩȝİȞȠȢ appear * at Il. 7.61; Od. 12.52; h. 27.5. Dawn’s home is located at the furthest eastern edge of the earth (ਥʌ੿ ʌİȓȡĮıȚ ȖĮȓȘȢ; cf. Sapph. fr. 58.20 İੁȢ ਩ıȤĮIJĮ Ȗ઼Ȣ ijȑȡȠȚıĮ[Ȟ] (‘carrying him to the earth’s ends’)), about which Ocean is wrapped like a band (ʌĮȡૅ ૅȍțİȚĮȞȠ૙Ƞ ૧ȠોȚȢ), and thus where the sun rises (esp. Od. 12.3–4, of the location of Circe’s island: ੖șȚ IJૅ ૅǾȠ૨Ȣ ਱ȡȚȖİȞİȓȘȢ / ȠੁțȓĮ țĮ੿ ȤȠȡȠȓ İੁıȚ țĮ੿ ਕȞIJȠȜĮ੿ ૅǾİȜȓȠȚȠ (‘where Dawn’s house and dancing-places are, and the raising point of the Sun’). ȞĮ૙İ and the general description of the geography of the place make it clear that Tithonus has the run of the area, sc. when his lover is off elsewhere (cf. below); contrast 231, 236. But the location at the very end of the world means that he also has no more hope of escaping his captivity than Ganymede does. 226 nominally refers to the pleasure Tithonus gets from sleeping with Dawn. But the goddess is imagined at the moment she emerges from their bed (cf. Il. 11.1–2 = Od. 5.1–2) early in the morning (਱ȡȚȖİȞİȓȘȚ) and accompanied by a golden glow conceived as her throne (ȤȡȣıȠșȡȩȞȦȚ; see 218–19 n., and cf. the epithet ਥȪșȡȠȞȠȢ (‘well-throned’), used only of Dawn, at Il. 8.565; Od. 6.48; 15.495; 17.497; 18.318; 19.342). For the collocation of adjectives, cf. Od. 23.347–8 (of Athena causing the day to begin) Į੝IJȓțૅ ਕʌૅ ૅȍțİĮȞȠ૨ ȤȡȣıȩșȡȠȞȠȞ ਱ȡȚȖȑȞİȚĮȞ / ੯ȡıİȞ (‘at once she roused up the gold-throned, early-born one from Ocean’). ʌĮȡૅ ૅȍțİĮȞȠ૙Ƞ ૧ȠોȚȢ: an otherwise unattested variant of a cluster of closely related early epic phrases (mostly line-final): ਥʌૅ ૅȍțİĮȞȠ૙Ƞ ૧ȠȐȢ* (Il. 18.240); ਥʌૅ ૅȍțİĮȞȠ૙Ƞ ૧ȠȐȦȞ / (Il. 3.5); ਕʌૅ ૅȍțİĮȞȠ૙Ƞ ૧ȠȐȦȞ / (Il. 19.1); ʌĮȡૅ ૅȍțİĮȞȠ૙Ƞ ૧ȠȐȦȞ / (Od. 22.197); ʌĮȡ੹ ૧ȩȠȞ ૅȍțİĮȞȠ૙Ƞ / (Il. 16.151; Od. 11.21); ਥʌૅ ૅȍțİĮȞȠ૙Ƞ ૧ȑİșȡĮ / (Il. 23.205; cf. Hes. Th. 695). 228–229 Tithonus now has a full beard (229), and he only loses his claim to ‘lovely youth’ (225–7) when it begins to go gray (along with his hair, which he wears long, hanging down over his shoulders, hence țĮIJȑȤȣȞIJȠ / … ਥț țİijĮȜોȢ). For the sake of the argument, at least, Tithonus thus goes direct from ਸ਼ȕȘ to the initial stages of ‘ruinous old age’ (224 with n.), without passing through the intermediary period we would refer to as

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‘adulthood’. For Tithonus’ ‘gray hairs’, cf. Sapph. fr. 58.14 (of ‘Sappho’ herself) Ȝİ૨țĮȓ IJૅ ਥȖȑȞȠȞIJȠ IJȡȓȤİȢ ਥț ȝİȜĮȓĮȞ (‘my hair is white rather than black’), 22 ʌҕȩȜҕ ҕȚҕȠҕȞҕ ȖોȡĮȢ (‘gray old age’). ਩șİȚȡĮȚ: first attested here of human hair (as opposed to horse hair, as in Homer). The focalization in 229 is easily taken to be Dawn’s, representing how she saw Tithonus before he began to age (cf. 225–7 n.), and sets up her abrupt loss of sexual interest in him in 230. The line ought thus almost to be translated as including a pang of regret, ‘from his once-handsome head and once-noble beard’, with the jingle țĮȜોȢ ਥț țİijĮȜોȢ İ੝ȘȖİȞȑȠȢ IJİ ȖİȞİȓȠȣ capturing the aesthetic pleasure Tithonus’ appearance generated in his lover, at least when he was younger. 230–232 At 226 (where see n.), Tithonus’ (main) source of pleasure is said to be Dawn herself (and thus her bed), but he ‘inhabits’ and must accordingly be free to wander about the entire area. Now, by contrast, the goddess not only refuses to sleep with him, but keeps him shut up within the house. The care she bestows on him suggests continuing affection, or at least a desire that he remain as plump and presentable as possible (cf. on 232 țĮȜȐ below). As he is only now turning gray and is still capable of moving about on his own (cf. 233–4, 237–8), the restrictions placed on his movements are not easily understood as intended to protect him. Instead, they must be designed to ensure that no one else sees him (cf. 225–7 n.) in his diminished state—which dramatically advertises Dawn’s own earlier disastrous folly (233–4). IJȠ૨ įૅ … İ੝ȞોȢ … ਕʌİȓȤİIJȠ: The bed is Dawn’s rather than Tithonus’; but he is the one left alone in it (and cf. 236 with n.). For the expression, cf. 154 ıોȢ İ੝ȞોȢ ਥʌȚȕȐȢ with n.; Il. 14.206–7 = 305–6. For ਵIJȠȚ … ȝȑȞ, see 202–4 n. ʌȩIJȞȚĮ ૅǾȫȢ echoes 223 (where see n.); and see below. Į੝IJઁȞ … ਕIJȓIJĮȜȜİȞ … / ıȓIJȦȚ IJૅ ਕȝȕȡȠıȓȘȚ IJİ: Human beings normally consume bread and the like, while the gods drink nektar and eat ambrosia (literally ‘immortality stuff’); cf. 205–6 n., 260 (nymphs, although doomed eventually to die, eat ਙȝȕȡȠIJȠȞ İੇįĮȡ (‘divine food, immortal food’)) with n.; e.g. Od. 5.196–9 (Calypso serves Odysseus mortal food, but consumes nektar and ambrosia herself); hAp. 124; Hes. Th. 640. Tithonus’ oddly mixed diet thus reflects his unique status as both immortal (ਙȝȕȡȠIJȠȢ) and doomed to grow ever older (220–2); cf. 237–8 n. The verb is elsewhere always used of children (cf. 115 ਕIJȓIJĮȜȜİ*) or animals. Together with the title ʌȩIJȞȚĮ, it brings out Tithonus’ ‘kept’ status and helplessness, and Dawn’s absolute power over him. ਩ȤȠȣıĮ … țĮ੿ … įȚįȠ૨ıĮ: A mild zeugma, since ਥȞ੿ ȝİȖȐȡȠȚıȚȞ ਩ȤȠȣıĮ defines the main action (‘she kept him in the house’), while

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ਕIJȓIJĮȜȜİȞ and įȚįȠ૨ıĮ are properly parallel and subsidiary to it (‘although tending him with food and ambrosia, and giving him fine clothing’). İ੆ȝĮIJĮ țĮȜȐ: cf. 64 with apparatus. The adjective perhaps contains another trace of Dawn’s focalization, ‘clothing he looked good in’ (viz. despite his ever-increasing number of gray hairs). 233–236 ʌȐȝʌĮȞ is common in early epic (e.g. Il. 9.435; 13.7; Od. 8.552; hDem. 310; Hes. Op. 302), but the second syllable elsewhere always remains short (except at line-end). ıIJȣȖİȡઁȞ țĮIJ੹ ȖોȡĮȢ ਩ʌİȚȖİȞ is modeled on Il. 23.623 ȤĮȜİʌઁȞ țĮIJ੹ ȖોȡĮȢ ਥʌİȓȖİȚ (Achilleus describes why Nestor is unable to compete for a prize at Patroclus’ funeral games), but with ıIJȣȖİȡȩȞ (‘loathesome’) in place of the metrically equivalent but less emotionally charged ȤĮȜİʌȩȞ (‘harsh’). The adjective amounts to a description of Dawn’s motivation in what follows: unable now to keep Tithonus even moderately presentable (contrast 228–32 with 230–2 n.) or to face the situation any longer, she decides to put him out of sight. The metaphor is dead in Homer (‘oppresses’), but 234 brings it back to life: Tithonus is ‘weighed down’ so heavily by old age that he cannot even move a limb. For ıIJȣȖİȡઁȞ … ȖોȡĮȢ, cf. 224 ȖોȡĮȢ ੑȜȠȚȩȞ with n.; 244–6 ȖોȡĮȢ … / … / … ੖ IJİ ıIJȣȖȑȠȣıȚ șİȠȓ ʌİȡ. 234 is modeled closely on Od. 8.298 Ƞ੝įȑ IJȚ țȚȞોıĮȚ ȝİȜȑȦȞ ਷Ȟ Ƞ੝įૅ ਕȞĮİ૙ȡĮȚ (of Ares and Aphrodite, caught in Hephaestus’ trap), while the second half of 236 is drawn more or less direct from Il. 14.169 (Hera withdraws into her chamber to beautify herself); cf. 58–68 (where the Seduction of Zeus and Demodocus’ Love-Song of Ares and Aphrodite are both evoked at length), esp. 60 șȪȡĮȢ ਥʌȑșȘțİ ijĮİȚȞȐȢ*, with nn. It is therefore tempting to see 235 as a quotation specifically of Il. 14.161 (Hera decides to seduce Zeus). For the description of the physical effects of old age, cf. Sapph. fr. 58.15–16 (of the aged ‘Sappho’ herself) ȖȩȞĮ įૅ [Ƞ]੝ ijȑȡȠȚıȚ, / IJ੹ įȒ ʌȠIJĮ ȜĮȓȥȘȡૅ ਩ȠȞ ੕ȡȤȘıșૅ ੅ıĮ ȞİȕȡȓȠȚıȚ (‘my knees, which were once danced as lightly as a fawn’s, do not support me’); Alcm. PMG 26.1–2 Ƞ੡ ȝૅ ਩IJȚ … / Ȗȣ૙Į ijȑȡȘȞ įȪȞĮIJĮȚ (‘my limbs can no longer support me’). ਕȡȓıIJȘ: i.e. for Dawn herself, not for Tithonus. But it is difficult to call the plan entirely successful in any case. Cf. 237–8 n. ਥȞ șĮȜȐȝȦȚ țĮIJȑșȘțİ: Because Tithonus no longer has the strength to move (234), Dawn must carry him from the common area of the house (cf. 231 ਥȞ੿ ȝİȖȐȡȠȚıȚȞ) into a sleeping-chamber (most naturally understood as containing the bed she refuses to visit any longer in 230) and ‘deposit’ him there. The process of isolating Tithonus physically that Dawn began in 218 (cf. 227), and that continued even more emphatically after he began to

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show signs of age in 231 (cf. 230–2 n.), is thus complete—or at least as complete as she can make it (237 with n.). șȪȡĮȢ įૅ ਥʌȑșȘțİ ijĮİȚȞȐȢ: sc. ‘and determined never to open them again’. The second half of 236 follows the goddess out of the chamber in which she left Tithonus, and the adjective captures the appearance of the doors from the exterior (as also in 60, where see nn.) after she closes them, as they reflect back the brilliant light produced by ‘gold-throned Dawn’ (cf. 226 with n.) herself. 237–238 A statement of continuing fact, which concludes but stands outside the otherwise essentially ‘historical’ account of the romantic misadventure of Dawn and Tithonus (although cf. 223–4 with n., and see below). IJȠ૨ įૅ ਵIJȠȚ ijȦȞ੽ ૧ȑİȚ ਙıʌİIJȠȢ: Aphrodite (and the Hymn-poet) make no specific reference to the content of Tithonus’ remarks, and perhaps his garrulity is merely further evidence of his ever-more advanced age. But 237 Ƞ੝įȑ–238 is modeled closely on Od. 11.393–4 (quoted in the first apparatus), which describes the betrayed and bitter (esp. Od. 11.409–12, 424– 34) Agamemnon in the Underworld; and what one would expect Tithonus to do in any case, is to complain about his lover’s foolishness, which got him into this dilemma, using words similar to 223–4. Although Dawn has contrived to avoid the sight of her lover’s ever-increasing physical decrepitude, therefore, she cannot escape his constant (ਙıʌİIJȠȢ cf. hAp. 360 șİıʌİıȓȘ įૅ ਥȞȠʌ੽ ȖȑȞİIJૅ ਙıʌİIJȠȢ) verbal reminders of her mistake and its consequences. For ૧ȑȦ used of a voice, cf. Il. 1.249; Hes. Th. 39, 84, 97. For IJȠ૨ įૅ ਵIJȠȚ, cf. 230*. The p-scribe mistook the point of the first clause and wrote Ƞ੡IJȠȚ for ਵIJȠȚ, as if what was meant was that both Tithonus’ voice and his physical strength failed him. Ƞ੝įૅ ਩IJȚ ț૙țȣȢ / țIJȜ can be taken to refer back to the situation described in 234, seen now as a permanent state of affairs: Tithonus is too old to move. But the fact that Dawn no longer has physical contact with her lover (see above) means that that she must have stopped feeding him (cf. 232 with n.) at the same time she shut him up in his chamber, and his ultimate and on-going complete loss of vigor must simultaneously be understood as a consequence of this further deprivation. Ƞ੆Ș ʌȐȡȠȢ ਩ıțİȞ implies, in a mournfully retrospective fashion, what has not been expressly said before, that at the moment Dawn kidnapped Tithonus, he was not just good-looking (cf. 229 with n.) but physically robust as well (and cf. 241 İੇįȩȢ IJİ įȑȝĮȢ IJİ, which can plausibly be taken to refer to a similar distinction). ਥȞ੿ ȖȞĮȝʌIJȠ૙ıȚ ȝȑȜİııȚȞ: Unlike in Od. 11.394* (above), where Agamemnon’s limbs are merely ‘flexible’, i.e. supple and strong (cf. Od. 13.398* = 430*; 21.283* (all of Odysseus)), Tithonus’ are gnarled with extreme old age, like Nestor’s at Il. 11.669* and Priam’s at Il. 24.359*.

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According to a scholium on Il. 3.151, Hellanicus of Lesbos (FGrH 4 F 140; 5th century BCE) claimed that when Tithonus grew old (ȝĮțȡ૵Ț … ȕȓȦȚ įĮʌĮȞȘșȑȞIJȠȢ ਥțİȓȞȠȣ), his lover—whom the scholium, perhaps garbling its source, refers to as ‘Day’ (૽ǾȝȑȡĮ) rather than ‘Dawn’— transformed him into a cicada, a creature with an out-sized ‘voice’ and what might reasonably be described as ‘bent limbs’. But (despite Kakridis (1930) 25–38) nothing in the Hymn obviously hints that such a story is in the background, and neither do any of the other fragmentary early sources, not all of which even agree that matters ended badly for Tithonus (see 218– 38 n.); see van der Eck (1978) ad loc.; van der Ben (1986) 28–9. Hellanicus’ tale is thus better understood as a separate variant of the tale with only a limited affiliation to the one presented here. 239–246 240 = 221, which describes the misguided request by Dawn that led to the ruin of her lover Tithonus and her own discomfiture (cf. 237–8 n.). But after 233–4 and 236–8 in particular, ਕșȐȞĮIJȩȞ IJૅ İੇȞĮȚ țĮ੿ ȗȫİȚȞ ਵȝĮIJĮ ʌȐȞIJĮ takes on a new—and disconcerting—resonance (‘to be unable to die, and to instead live on and on forever’). At 223–4, Aphrodite calls Dawn a fool for not having had the wit to ask Zeus for eternal youth for her lover, the implication being that if he granted one request, he would also have granted the other. But now she insists that, although she would be delighted to have Anchises as her lover in perpetuity, and even to be called his wife, his only options are to grow old and thus undesirable (dooming their relationship in advance), or to suffer Tithonus’ fate (something she refuses to allow). The better option that she insisted (in retrospect) was available to Dawn, in other words, is unavailable to Aphrodite herself—at least as she presents the situation, for why could she not have repeated Dawn’s experiment, with the flaw in the plan corrected? None of this would be a problem, if 241 followed directly after e.g. 195. But as it is, Aphrodite’s account of the difficulties she and Anchises face suggests (a) deliberate evasion: she does not want him for her eternal companion, but rather than saying so directly, she treats the story of Tithonus and Dawn as proving something it does not; (b) tacit recognition that Dawn’s fundamental problem was not her own shortsightedness but the malevolence of Zeus (cf. 222 n.), meaning that even if the king of the gods agrees to consider a cognate request from Aphrodite on Anchises’ behalf (something 239–40 takes for granted), even the most thoughtful proposal will be baffled in one way or another, leaving the lovers—and the mortal member of the pair in particular—worse off than before; or (c) some fundamental mythic logic (that human beings are inevitably doomed to die (thus Smith (1981a) below), or that human domestic life is impossible outside the constraints of mortality) that the poet declines to violate, requiring an otherwise illogical turn in the argument attributed to his central character. See in general Pod-

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bielski (1971) 71–3; Smith (1981a) 87–90; van der Ben (1986) 29–30; Clay (1989) 189–91 (who opts for a solution very similar to (b) above); Bergren (1989) 33–5 (Aphrodite’s silence on the possibility of appealing to Zeus for immortality for Anchises marks her acceptance of Zeus’ authority over her); Walcot (1991) 150–1. 239 ਥȞ ਕșĮȞȐIJȠȚıȚȞ: ‘among the (genuine) immortals’, i.e. those who do not age; but also by extension ‘in heaven’, since were Aphrodite to form a permanent alliance with Anchises, she would presumably carry him off there with her, as Zeus did with Ganymede (204), at least to visit (cf. 242– 3 n.), his permanent residence in the latter case perhaps being her temple in Paphos (58–9 with n.), like Tithonus’ with Dawn in her house ‘at the ends of the earth’ (227 with n.). 241 IJȠȚȠ૨IJȠȢ ਥઅȞ İੇįȩȢ IJİ įȑȝĮȢ IJİ: i.e. ‘such as you are now’ (not ‘such as you would be, were you to share Tithonus’ fate’). For Aphrodite’s admiration of Anchises’ physical appearance, see 55–7; and cf. 237–8 n. on Ƞ੆Ș ʌȐȡȠȢ ਩ıțİȞ. 242–243 ਲȝȑIJİȡȩȢ IJİ ʌȩıȚȢ țİțȜȘȝȑȞȠȢ İ੅ȘȢ: sc. by the other gods, whose actions and attitudes provide the context in which Aphrodite consistently imagines herself operating (esp. 246–53, and cf. 239 n.). ʌȩıȚȢ țİțȜȘȝȑȞȠȢ İ੅ȘȢ is modeled on the second half of Od. 6.244 (Nausicaa fantasizes about the handsome stranger to her slave-girls; quoted in the first apparatus) and thus momentarily evokes the flirtatious atmosphere of Anchises’ initial speech to Aphrodite in 91–106 (where see n.), before she slams the door shut to all such possibilities in 244–6. Cf. 252–5 n. on ਥȟȠȞȠȝોȞĮȚ. So too ਙȤȠȢ ʌȣțȚȞ੹Ȣ ijȡȑȞĮȢ ਕȝijȚțĮȜȪʌIJȠȚ echoes but reverses Il. 14.294 (Zeus catches his first glimpse of the newly beautified Hera; see also 38 with n.) ਩ȡȠȢ ʌȣțȚȞ੹Ȣ ijȡȑȞĮȢ ਕȝijȚțȐȜȣȥİȞ / (‘desire enwrapped his subtle mind’), making it clear that the current tale of seduction, by contrast, has ended unhappily (contrast 58–68 with n.). ʌȣțȚȞ੹Ȣ ijȡȑȞĮȢ: The adjective implies that—whatever we are to make of her motivations, or lack thereof—Aphrodite has thought the situation through rationally and at length, as the careful analysis of the consequences of her actions that follows in 244–55 makes clear; cf. 239–46 n., 247–55 n. 243–255 At 199–200, Aphrodite mentions the ਙȤȠȢ she feels as a consequence of ‘falling into’ Anchises’ bed, but she goes on there to offer a long explanation of how this was possible (200–38) rather than describing why what she has done causes her grief. In 244–55 she returns to the theme of her ਙȤȠȢ and articulates three interconnected reasons for it: Anchises is doomed to grow old, so that a long-term relationship between them is impossible (244–6; for the peculiarity of this complaint, see 239–46 n.); the

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male gods in particular will no longer pay attention to her jibes about being forced to sleep with mortal women, since Aphrodite herself has now done something similar (247–54); and she is pregnant (255). ਙȤȠȢ appears * also at e.g. Il. 2.171; 8.124 = 316 ૠǼțIJȠȡĮ įૅ ĮੁȞઁȞ ਙȤȠȢ ʌȪțĮıİ ijȡȑȞĮȢ ਱ȞȚȩȤȠȚȠ (‘terrible grief for his charioteer overwhelmed Hector’s subtle mind’) 17.83 ૠǼțIJȠȡĮ įૅ ĮੁȞઁȞ ਙȤȠȢ ʌȪțĮıİ ijȡȑȞĮȢ ਕȝij੿ ȝİȜĮȓȞĮȢ (‘terrible grief overwhelmed Hector’s dark mind’); Od. 21.249, 412. 244–246 IJȐȤĮ is focalized by Aphrodite—Anchises will grow old ‘soon’ by divine standards, not by human ones—and ੒ȝȠȓȚȠȞ (‘indiscriminate’) and ȞȘȜİȚȑȢ (‘pitiless’; a lengthened form of the adjective attested elsewhere in early epic only at Hes. Th. 770) are best understood that way as well: who a person is or what he deserves, makes no difference to ȖોȡĮȢ, and no amount of special pleading or manuevering will allow Aphrodite to exempt her lovely Anchises from it. Cf. 239–46 n., 247–8 n.; Il. 4.315 (Agamemnon speaking to Nestor) ਕȜȜȐ ıİ ȖોȡĮȢ IJİȓȡİȚ ੒ȝȠȓȚȠȞ (‘but indiscriminate old age wears you out’); Od. 3.236 ਕȜȜૅ ਷ IJȠȚ șȐȞĮIJȠȞ ȝ੻Ȟ ੒ȝȠȓȚȠȞ Ƞ੝į੻ șİȠȓ ʌİȡ / țĮ੿ ijȓȜȦȚ ਕȞįȡ੿ įȪȞĮȞIJĮȚ ਕȜĮȜțȑȝİȞ, ੒ʌʌȩIJİ țİȞ įȒ / ȝȠ૙ȡૅ ੑȜȠ੽ țĮșȑȜȘȚıȚ IJĮȞȘȜİȖȑȠȢ șĮȞȐIJȠȚȠ (‘But in fact not even the gods are able to protect a man they love from indiscriminate death, when the miserable fate of woe-filled death takes hold of him’). IJȩ IJૅ ਩ʌİȚIJĮ ʌĮȡȓıIJĮIJĮȚ ਕȞșȡȫʌȠȚıȚȞ amounts to a gloss on this idea—(all) human beings eventually grow old (for the generalizing ‘epic’ IJİ, cf. 95 with n., 246; for uncial ȉ corrupted to ī, cf. 110 with n.)—but also alters the focalization of what follows in the first half of 246: old age is Ƞ੝ȜȩȝİȞȠȞ and țĮȝĮIJȘȡȩȞ not for the gods (who never experience it) but for human beings (who do). What the gods loathe (੖ IJİ ıIJȣȖȑȠȣıȚ șİȠȓ ʌİȡ) is accordingly not so much old age in the abstract, as its concrete manifestation in time-worn—and implicitly unattractive—mortal bodies. Put more directly, once Anchises has his first few gray hairs, Aphrodite will feel at best about him the way Dawn did about Tithonus in 228–32; cf. 233 ıIJȣȖİȡઁȞ … ȖોȡĮȢ with n. IJȐȤĮ (Mabsp) and țĮIJ੹ (fb) seem to have been offered as alternative readings in Ȍ (which probably drew them both direct from ȍ). The p-scribe (like the M-scribe) chose IJȐȤĮ, whereas the Ĭ-scribe preserved both variants; and the various descendants of Ĭ adopted one reading or the other (IJȐȤĮ a : țĮIJ੹ f), or retained both (țĮIJ੹, IJȐȤĮs b). ਕȝijȚțĮȜȪȥİȚ is a pointed echo of ਕȝijȚțĮȜȪʌIJȠȚ* in 243: Aphrodite is wrapped in grief, whereas Anchises will soon be wrapped—far more literally (cf. 223–4 n.)—in old age. For the sense of ੒ȝȠȓȚȠȞ (obscure already in antiquity), cf. Athanassakis (1976) 4–7; Russo on Od. 18.264.

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ȞȘȜİȚȑȢ: a metrically convenient form of ȞȘȜİȒȢ, attested elsewhere in early epic only at Hes. Th. 770 ȞȘȜİȚȒȢ* (of Cerberus). For ʌĮȡȓıIJĮIJĮȚ, cf. 269 ʌĮȡİıIJȒțȘȚ with n.; LfgrE s. ੆ıIJȘȝȚ B I B 9aȕ. Ƞ੝ȜȩȝİȞȠȞ: applied to ȖોȡĮȢ (or īોȡĮȢ) also at Hes. Th. 225; Thgn. 272, 768, 1012. țĮȝĮIJȘȡȩȞ: first attested here; subsequently at Hdt. iv.135.1 (in the sense ‘sick’); Ar. Lys. 542 (lyric); and in the same form and sedes at A.R. 2.87 (presumably as an epic rarity). ੖ IJİ ıIJȣȖȑȠȣıȚ șİȠȓ ʌİȡ: adapted from the formular phrase IJȐ IJİ ıIJȣȖȑȠȣıȚ șİȠȓ ʌİȡ, used elsewhere in early epic to refer to the Underworld (Il. 20.65*) or Tartarus (Hes. Th. 810*, cf. 739). 247–255 Aphrodite never specifies the content of the verbal abuse (੕ȞİȚįȠȢ) she expects to hear from the other gods (247–8), but it must be connected more or less directly with what she says in 255: she slept with a mortal and got pregnant by him. This, after all, is mutatis mutandis what she used to say to them routinely (48–52 with nn.). (But see below; and contrast 253 ਥʌİȓ–254, which represent a serious misunderstanding of the situation.) The relative clause that begins with Ƞ੄ ʌȡȓȞ in 249 and ends with IJȐȡȕİıțȠȞ in 251 nominally offers a more complete description of the gods whose abuse Aphrodite now fears, while ĮੈȢ … / … ȖȣȞĮȚȟȓ in 249–50 specifies which of her plots (ȝȒIJȚįĮȢ) are in question. But the more significant function of the two clauses taken together is to explain why the other Olympians were previously not as free to talk about her as they will be now. Before this, they feared what Aphrodite could make them do and—at least as important—what she said to others about the behavior she forced upon them; the implication is that they accordingly bit their tongues, no matter how she acted or what she said. But now she can no longer speak as freely as she once could, for she has done what she has always mocked others for (252–5), and as a consequence her power over the other gods is broken. The crucial point in the argument is thus 252–3 Ȟ૨Ȟ į੻ į੽ Ƞ੝țȑIJȚ ȝȠȚ ıIJȩȝĮ ȤİȓıİIJĮȚ ਥȟȠȞȠȝોȞĮȚ / IJȠ૨IJȠ ȝİIJૅ ਕșĮȞȐIJȠȚıȚȞ, and the question of Aphrodite’s meaning turns on the referent of IJȠ૨IJȠ. If the word points back to ʌȐȞIJĮȢ Ȗ੹ȡ ਥȝઁȞ įȐȝȞĮıțİ ȞȩȘȝĮ in 251, the consequence of sleeping with Anchises, as she describes it, is that she will no longer be able to coerce the Olympians into having sex with mortal women, costing her her ground for mocking them. But that was not Zeus’ intent in arranging for Aphrodite to fall in love with Anchises in the first case (cf. 47–52), nor does anything that follows suggest that her absolute universal power over sexuality, as the prologue (esp. 2–6) describes it, has been altered as a result of the events described in the Hymn. If, therefore, gods no longer sleep with human beings in the time of the poet and the external

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audience, as they once supposedly did before the Trojan War, that cannot be because Aphrodite has lost the power to make them do so. Instead, she no longer has any motivation to exercise her power in that way, for the fun has gone out of the game (note the limiting clause İ੣IJૅ ਥșȑȜȘȚ in 38, whose significance becomes clear only now, in retrospect): she can no longer mock the other Olympians when she compels them to sleep with mortal creatures and have mortal children; and that is what her mouth will no longer open wide to say. Cf. Pelliccia (1985) 150–2; van der Ben (1986) 30–2, followed closely by Clay (1989) 166, 169–70, 192–3; Bergren (1989) 35–7. In any case, the fact that Aphrodite has had sex with a mortal matters less than what it means for her power—and how she has thrown it away. As Aphrodite describes the situation, her power over the other gods has a fundamentally intellectual basis, as does her recent failure. Her ȞȩȘȝĮ, as manifested in her ȝȒIJȚįİȢ, allows her to make the male Olympians sleep with mortal women (249–51), while having sex with Anchises was a result of ਙIJȘ (253 ਕȐıșȘȞ), which made her behave in ways her ȞȠ૨Ȣ would not previously have allowed (254 ਕʌİʌȜȐȖȤșȘȞ … ȞȩȠȚȠ). 247–248 ȝȑȖ(Į) is not in the Homeric original (quoted below) and represents Aphrodite’s own focalization: the reproach as she imagines it will be enormous, just as it will supposedly go on constantly (ਵȝĮIJĮ ʌȐȞIJĮ įȚĮȝʌİȡȑȢ), as if the other gods had nothing to do with their time but talk to and about her. ੕ȞİȚįȠȢ … / ਩ııİIJĮȚ ਵȝĮIJĮ ʌȐȞIJĮ įȚĮȝʌİȡȑȢ is modeled on Il. 16.498–9, where Sarpedon, having been mortally wounded by Patroclus in the battle that culminates in Patroclus’ death, urges Glaucus to fight for his body: ੕ȞİȚįȠȢ / ਩ııȠȝĮȚ ਵȝĮIJĮ ʌȐȞIJĮ įȚĮȝʌİȡȑȢ (‘I will be a cause of abuse forever and constantly’). Given that general context, İ੆ȞİțĮ ıİ૙Ƞ can be taken to evoke Il. 6.524–5*, where Hector notes that the other Trojans speak badly of Paris for his reluctance to commit himself wholeheartedly to the war, and places the blame for everything that has happened to their city squarely on his brother’s shoulders: ਫ਼ʌ੻ȡ ıȑșİȞ Į੅ıȤİૅ ਕțȠȪȦ / ʌȡઁȢ ȉȡȫȦȞ, Ƞ੄ ਩ȤȠȣıȚ ʌȠȜઃȞ ʌȩȞȠȞ İ੆ȞİțĮ ıİ૙Ƞ (‘I hear ugly remarks about you from the Trojans, who have enormous trouble on your account’). ਥȞ ਕșĮȞȐIJȠȚıȚ șİȠ૙ıȚȞ sets Aphrodite’s concerns once again in the context of divine society (cf. 242–3 n., 253), and implicitly recalls the problem of human beings’ allegedly inescapable mortality discussed in 241–6. But the phrase also bolsters the sense of ਵȝĮIJĮ ʌȐȞIJĮ įȚĮȝʌİȡȑȢ: because the gods are immortal, their abuse can be imagined as genuinely going on and on, day after day, for all time. Ȍ’s ȝİIJૅ ਕșĮȞȐIJȠȚıȚ șİȠ૙ıȚȞ is a good epic phrase (e.g. Il. 21.500; Od. 8.348; Hes. Th. 394; hDem. 444;

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hAp. 206)—hence presumably its intrusion here—but does not fit the meter. 249–251 The action described is all set emphatically in the past, making it clear that none of this is likely ever to happen again. ਥȝȠઃȢ ੑȐȡȠȣȢ evokes Hes. Th. 205*–6, where the newly-born Aphrodite’s realm is described as ʌĮȡșİȞȓȠȣȢ IJૅ ੑȐȡȠȣȢ ȝİȚįȒȝĮIJȐ IJૅ ਥȟĮʌȐIJĮȢ IJİ / IJȑȡȥȚȞ IJİ ȖȜȣțİȡ੽Ȟ ijȚȜȩIJȘIJȐ IJİ ȝİȚȜȚȤȓȘȞ IJİ (‘the whispers of unmarried girls, their smiles and tricks, and pleasure, sweet lovemaking and joy’). Despite West on Hes. Th. 205, however, the conversations in question here are not those that go on between lovers but (hysteron-proteron) those Aphrodite has with the other gods, maliciously detailing her latest successes with her plots (ȝȒIJȚįĮȢ) to get male Olympians into bed with mortal women, or perhaps explaining to them how they can accomplish the projects she has put into their minds. Cf. 48–52 with nn. ĮੈȢ (referring back to the plots alone) rather than ȠੈȢ (referring to both the conversations and the plots) is accordingly used as the relative. The MSS’s ȝȒIJȚĮȢ (supposedly from third-declension ȝોIJȚȢ) is a nonform which must be emended to the metrically identical ȝȒIJȚįĮȢ, uncial ǻ having been accidentally omitted before ǹ and the odd—because wrong— accusative plural having been faithfully transmitted thereafter as an apparent rarity. 250 echoes 50 (where see n., and cf. 38–9 n. on the systematic contrast ‘mortal vs. immortal’). But here the claim is both expanded (via the addition of ʌȐȞIJĮȢ at the end of 249) and made more specific (vs. the generic boast quoted in 50–2). Perhaps more important, Aphrodite’s lack of reference to her ability to cause goddesses to take male mortal lovers (contrast 52) genders not only her description of her historical relationship with the other Olympians but also, in retrospect, the future confrontations envisioned in 247–8. As she tells the story here, she exercised power over and subsequently humiliated only male gods, and it must accordingly be their words in particular she fears. For ıȣȞȑȝİȚȟİ in place of the metrically equivalent paradosis ıȣȞȑȝȚȟİ, see 38–9 n. ʌȐȞIJĮȢ Ȗ੹ȡ ਥȝઁȞ įȐȝȞĮıțİ ȞȩȘȝĮ explains not why the male Olympians used to live in fear (IJȐȡȕİıțȠȞ) of Aphrodite in general, but why they were concerned about her plots (ȝȒIJȚįĮȢ) in particular, hence the pointed echo of ʌȐȞIJĮȢ at the end of 249. The relative clause in 249–50 explains the practical effect of Aphrodite’s intrigues, whereas the ȖȐȡclause describes the means by which they operated: because her intelligence gave her dominion over the other gods, she could use her plots to force them to behave as she wanted. For įĮȝȞȐȦ and its cognates in similar contexts, see 2–3 n. Neither iterative is attested elsewhere.

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252–254 249–51 is an explanatory digression after the concrete if generalized scene in the company of (all) the gods imagined in 247–8. ȝİIJૅ ਕșĮȞȐIJȠȚıȚȞ serves to specify that the action described in Ȟ૨Ȟ įȑ țIJȜ. again takes place in the divine residence in heaven, although in this case we learn what will not be said there as a consequence of Aphrodite’s adventure with Anchises, rather than what will. ıIJȩȝĮ ȤİȓıİIJĮȚ (with the verb taken to be an otherwise unattested future from ȤȐıțȦ, ‘gape wide’, i.e. ‘stand open’, as at Il. 16.350, 409; 20.168; Od. 12.350; cf. Od. 18.17*; for other future forms seemingly invented by the Hymn-poet, cf. 123, 197) is Martin’s emendation of the MSS’s nonsensical ıIJȠȞĮȤȒıİIJĮȚ, which combines visual (ȃ for Ȃ) and aural (Ș for İȚ) errors. That in post-Homeric usage ȤȐıțȦ more often means ‘gape stupidly’ (e.g. Semon. fr. 7.110 West2; Sol. fr. 13.36 West2; Ar. Ach. 10; Eq. 651) is—despite Càssola (1975)—no argument against the emendation; cf. A. Ag. 920; S. Ai. 1227; Ar. V. 342, in all of which the sense is ‘talk big, talk nonsense’ vel sim. Matthiae’s ıIJȩȝĮ IJȜȒıİIJĮȚ (advocated for by Smith (1979) 34–5, and printed by Càssola (1975), Faulkner (2008), and Richardson (2010)) is further from the paradosis; the idea of a mouth speaking independently is anomalous; and the tone of the verb is too condemnatory for Aphrodite to use of her own behavior. See also Kamerbeek (1967) 392–3, advocating for Buttmann’s ıIJȩȝૅ ਕȤȒıİIJĮȚ (< ਕȤȑȦ). ਥȟȠȞȠȝોȞĮȚ (epexegetic with ȤİȓıİIJĮȚ), recalls ȞȩȘȝĮ at the end of 251, while simultaneously evoking Od. 6.66* (Nausicaa’s shyness before her father in the events leading up her encounter with Odysseus on the beach; cf. 91–106 n., 242–3 n.) Į੅įİIJȠ Ȗ੹ȡ șĮȜİȡઁȞ ȖȐȝȠȞ ਥȟȠȞȠȝોȞĮȚ / (‘for she was ashamed to refer explicitly to her fertile marriage’). The distraught ȝȐȜĮ ʌȠȜȜȩȞ and ıȤȑIJȜȚȠȞ, Ƞ੝ț ੑȞȠȝĮıIJȩȞ (all adverbial) represent Aphrodite’s own perspective on the action: for her— although not for anyone else—everything that has happened is a great disaster. Aphrodite presents herself in the passive (ਕȐıșȘȞ / …, ਕʌİʌȜȐȖȤșȘȞ į੻ ȞȩȠȚȠ) and thus as the victim. But on her telling of the story, impersonal, motiveless forces damaged her ability to think clearly, causing her to make choices that have had terrible—but otherwise quite foreseeable— consequences (255 with n.); there is no recognition that her desire for Anchises was implanted in her by Zeus (contrast the overall narrator at 45– 53). Cf. de Jong (1989) 24. ȝȐȜĮ ʌȠȜȜȩȞ is an occasional metri gratia variant (e.g. Il. 9.398; 23.832; Od. 3.121) of the more common ȝȐȜĮ ʌȠȜȜȐ (e.g. Il. 1.156; Od. 1.1; 13.6; cf. Hes. Op. 697), but is not attested in this sedes elsewhere in early epic. ʌȠȜȜઁȞ ਕȐıșȘȞ is an echo of the story of the deception of Zeus by Hera in connection with the births of Heracles and Eurystheus at Il. 19.113*.

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ıȤȑIJȜȚȠȞ describes the impression the ਙIJȘ that afflicted Aphrodite has made on her, Ƞ੝ț ੑȞȠȝĮıIJȩȞ the judgment that impression evokes. Ƞ੝ț ੑȞȠȝĮıIJȩȞ (cf. Od. 19.260 = 597 = 23.19; Hes. Th. 148 (all line-final); fr. 33a.18 Ƞ੝ț ੑȞȠȝĮıIJȐ*) is Martin’s emendation of the MSS’s metrically deficient and nonsensical Ƞ੝ț ੑȞȩIJĮIJȠȞ, and is better than Clarke’s Ƞ੝ț ੑȞȠIJĮıIJȩȞ (< ੑȞȠIJȐȗȦ, ‘blame, abominate’ (Hes. Op. 258; hHerm. 30); the adjective is not attested elsewhere), which ought to mean ‘not blamed’ (i.e. ‘to which I impute no fault’; precisely the wrong sense) rather than ‘not to be made light of, serious’ (Allen, Halliday, and Sikes (1963)). Cf. Smith (1979) 36–7. 255 At 196–9, Aphrodite informs Anchises that he will eventually have a son, whose name will recall her own ‘terrible grief’ (ĮੁȞઁȞ / … ਙȤȠȢ; cf. 243 ਙȤȠȢ with n.) at having slept with him. The Hymn’s external audience must have been aware that Aphrodite herself was Aeneas’ mother, given the existence of a passage of the Iliad (quoted below) that says exactly that, while at Od. 11.249–50 the river-god Enipus tells Tyro that she can be sure that she will bear him children, since that they have slept together, for Ƞ੝ț ਕʌȠijȫȜȚȠȚ İ੝ȞĮȓ / ਕșĮȞȐIJȦȞ (‘sexual encounters with immortals are never unproductive’). But all Anchises has been told explicitly is that his line will continue, while the absence of any mention of Dawn’s sons Memnon and Emathion from the extended account of her relationship with Tithonus at 218–38 (where see n.) has made the matter of offspring appear to lie outside the standard trajectory of such tales, especially given the way Aphrodite interprets this one in 239–46: as an exploration of the interconnected problems of old age, mortality, and immortality, with no sense of intergenerational implications. The fact that Aphrodite is pregnant and will be Aeneas’ mother has thus been reserved as a surprise for Anchises, at least; and most of the rest of the poem consists of an exploration of the implications of that fact for him and his son (256–90). Cf. 281–90 n. ʌĮ૙įĮ įૅ ਫ਼ʌઁ ȗȫȞȘȚ ਥșȑȝȘȞ: Whatever the root cause of her behavior (253–4 with n.), Aphrodite takes full responsibility—or blame—for her situation: she got herself pregnant. Cf. 282 with n. For the expression (attested nowhere in early epic outside of the Hymn), cf. also A. Ch. 992 IJȑțȞȦȞ ਵȞİȖțૅ ਫ਼ʌઁ ȗȫȞȘȞ ȕȐȡȠȢ (‘she bore the weight of children beneath her belt’); Eu. 607–8 ıૅ ਩șȡİȥİȞ ਩ȞIJȠȢ … / ȗȫȞȘȢ (‘she brought you up within her belt’); E. Hec. 762 IJȠ૨IJȩȞ ʌȠIJૅ ਩IJİțȠȞ țਙijİȡȠȞ ȗȫȞȘȢ ੢ʌȠ (‘I bore this boy, once upon a time, and carried him beneath my belt’). But the image in the Hymn is bolder than that in the later tragic examples, since there the child has implicitly come into substantial physical being before its mother is imagined as carrying or nourishing it (note esp. A. Ch. 992 ‘the weight of children’), whereas here the initial moment of conception itself is figured as an abrupt physical deposit of Aeneas within Aphrodite’s belly.

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The hiatus ȗȫȞȘȚ ਥșȑȝȘȞ is mitigated by caesura. For the ȗȫȞȘ, see 162–5 n. ȕȡȠIJ૵Ț İ੝ȞȘșİ૙ıĮ is borrowed from Il. 2.820–1* (Aeneas) IJઁȞ ਫ਼ʌૅ ਝȖȤȓıȘȚ IJȑțİ į૙ૅ ਝijȡȠįȓIJȘ, / ੍įȘȢ ਥȞ țȞȘȝȠ૙ıȚ șİ੹ ȕȡȠIJ૵Ț İ੝ȞȘșİ૙ıĮ (‘whom bright Aphrodite bore to Anchises, after sleeping with him on the flanks of Mount Ida, a goddess with a mortal’), although there the emphasis is on the contrast between Aphrodite’s status as a goddess and Anchises’ mortality. 256 In 257–75, Aphrodite reports that Aeneas will be raised by the local nymphs rather than by his mother (cf. 274–5 n.). She similarly absents herself, on the narrative level, from his birth here, moving him direct from her belly (256) into the sunlight and the hands of his nurses. Aphrodite uses the phrase IJઁȞ ȝȑȞ, ਥʌ੽Ȟ į੽ ʌȡ૵IJȠȞ repeatedly in this passage (also 274, 278, in both cases without the comma, on which see below; attested nowhere else in early epic, although cf. Od. 4.414 IJઁȞ ȝ੻Ȟ ਥʌ੽Ȟ į੽ ʌȡ૵IJĮ*) to articulate the temporal and logical structure of her description of the course of the earliest phase of Aeneas’ life and relationship with Anchises. ੅įȘȚ ijȐȠȢ ਱İȜȓȠȚȠ: ‘Seeing the light of the sun’ is also used via synecdoche to refer to the moment of birth at hAp. 71 ȝ੽ ੒ʌȩIJૅ ਗȞ IJઁ ʌȡ૵IJȠȞ ੅įȘȚ ijȐȠȢ ਱İȜȓȠȚȠ (‘lest when he first sees the light of the sun’). But far more often in early epic, variants of the phrase mean ‘be alive’ generally, and thus appear with a present rather than an aorist form of the verb, as in 105. In any case, seeing the sun’s light—and thus eventually losing sight of it—is a mark of mortal rather than immortal existence: like his father, but unlike his mother, Aeneas is doomed to die. Cf. 272 with n. (ijȐȠȢ might instead be treated as the subject of ੅įȘȚ. But this would be an odd expression, and it is easier to take Aeneas as the subject of the verb and ijȐȠȢ as its object, and to punctuate after ȝȑȞ, so that IJȩȞ is offered proleptically as the object of șȡȑȥȠȣıȚȞ in 257, where it is resumed in ȝȚȞ.) 257–258 257 is resumed in 273, 258–72 being in one sense digressive (see 259–72 n.). ȞȪȝijĮȚ ȝȚȞ șȡȑȥȠȣıȚȞ: For nymphs as surrogate mothers for the children of gods, cf. Hes. Th. 346–8 with West ad loc.; h. 26.3–6 (Dionysus raised by the nymphs of Mount Nysa įİȟȐȝİȞĮȚ țȩȜʌȠȚıȚ (‘after they received him to their bosoms’); cf. 262–3 n.); and see in general Jeanmaire (1933) 283–96. For nymphs generally, see 97–9 n. The adjectives in 257 identify two key attributes of the nymphs as Aphrodite describes them below: they inhabit—and thus sleep in— mountains (ੑȡİıț૵ȚȠȚ, apparently < ੕ȡȠȢ + țİ૙ȝĮȚ), including Mount Ida (258, 266; cf. Od. 6.103–5), and they have large breasts (ȕĮșȪțȠȜʌȠȚ; cf.

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hDem. 5 țȠȪȡȘȚıȚ ıઃȞ ૅȍțİĮȞȠ૨ ȕĮșȣțȩȜʌȠȚȢ (‘with the deep-bosomed daughters of Oceanos’), meaning that they are sexually attractive (cf. 262– 3 with n.), but also that they have a deep bosom in which to nestle a small child securely (e.g. Il. 6.400, 483; hDem. 187, 231, 238, 286; h. 26.4; Il. parv. fr. 21.3, p. 81 Bernabé). ੑȡİıț૵ȚȠȢ is used elsewhere in early epic only of wild beasts (Od. 9.155; hHerm. 42; h. 19.43) and centaurs (Il. 1.268; Hes. fr. 209.5); but cf. Il. 6.420 ȞȪȝijĮȚ ੑȡİıIJȚȐįİȢ (‘mountain nymphs’); Od. 6.123 ȞȣȝijȐȦȞ, Į੄ ਩ȤȠȣıૅ ੑȡȑȦȞ ĮੁʌİȚȞ੹ țȐȡȘȞĮ (‘of the nymphs, who inhabit the steeps mountain-summits’); Hes. Th. 129–30 Ƞ੡ȡİĮ ȝĮțȡȐ, șİ઼Ȟ ȤĮȡȓİȞIJĮȢ ਥȞĮȪȜȠȣȢ / ȞȣȝijȑȦȞ, Į੄ ȞĮȓȠȣıȚȞ ਕȞૅ Ƞ੡ȡİĮ ȕȘııȒİȞIJĮ (‘the immense mountains, lovely dwelling-places of the nymph goddesses, who live among the glen-filled mountains); fr. 123.1 Ƞ੡ȡİȚĮȚ ȞȪȝijĮȚ (‘mountain nymphs’); h. 19.19 ȞȪȝijĮȚ ੑȡİıIJȚȐįİȢ (‘mountain nymphs’). 258 amounts to a gloss on the word. Į੄ IJȩįİ ȞĮȚİIJȐȠȣıȚȞ țIJȜ: Aphrodite could easily give birth to Aeneas anywhere. But the fact that specifically Idaean nymphs will raise him means not only that he will grow up in his native country, but that it will be easy to transfer control of him to Anchises once he is old enough to leave his nurses (274–5 with nn.). For the nymphs’ specific place of residence on Mount Ida, cf. 262–3 n. ੕ȡȠȢ ȝȑȖĮ IJİ ȗȐșİȩȞ IJİ is borrowed from Hes. Th. 2 (of the Heliconian Muses) Į੆ șૅ ૽ǼȜȚț૵ȞȠȢ ਩ȤȠȣıȚȞ ੕ȡȠȢ ȝȑȖĮ IJİ ȗȐșİȩȞ IJİ (‘who inhabit the lofty, sacred peak of Helicon’), where the adjectives are focalized by a devotee of the goddesses; cf. 260 n. on įȘȡȩȞ. Contrast 285 (identical to 258 except that the mountain is described as ‘forest-clad’) with n., and note the intrusive [98], seemingly modeled on these verses. 259–272 might easily have been omitted (cf. 257–8 initial n.), and in this way the verses resemble the embedded hymns in honor of Athena, Artemis, Hestia, and Hera at 8–32, 41–4. See in general Podbielski (1971) 75– 7; Smith (1981a) 92–5; Clay (1989) 193–6. 259 The point of Į੆ ૧ૅ Ƞ੡IJİ țIJȜ. is that nymphs represent an intermediary class between immortals and mortals, in that they live an exceptionally long time but not forever (260–72 with nn.; and note the distinction between ‘gods’, on the one hand, and rivers and nymphs, on the other, drawn at Il. 20.49), making them ideal figures to handle the transfer of Aeneas from his divine mother to his human father. ਪʌȠȞIJĮȚ (literally ‘follow’; * at e.g. Il. 15.204; Od. 3.363, 376; 15.262) must mean ‘belong to’ the groups defined by the datives. LfgrE s.v. B 4c compares Hes. Th. 268* (the Harpies) Į੆ ૧ૅ ਕȞȑȝȦȞ ʌȞȠȚોȚıȚ țĮ੿ ȠੁȦȞȠ૙Ȣ ਚȝૅ ਪʌȠȞIJĮȚ (‘who follow the gusts of the winds and the birds’); but there the sense must be the common ‘accompany, keep pace with’ (LfgrE s.v. B

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1ȕa), as ੩țİȓȘȚȢ ʌIJİȡȪȖİııȚ (‘with their swift wings’) at the beginning of the next line makes clear. 260–263 A catalogue of ways in which the nymphs, while not immortal, are closer to gods than to human beings (cf. 259, and contrast 264–72 with nn.). 260 įȘȡઁȞ ȝ੻Ȟ ȗȫȠȣıȚ: I.e. in comparison to a human being, rather than to an Olympian; although Aphrodite is speaking, the focalization is distinctly mortal. For the idea, cf. Hes. fr. 304 (nymphs live ten times as long as a phoenix, and many many times as long as a human being); Paus. x.31.10 (poets say that the nymphs live a long time but are not exempt from death). ਙȝȕȡȠIJȠȞ İੇįĮȡ ਩įȠȣıȚ: Eating ambrosia does not make one immortal, as the fact that the nymphs eventually die (269–72) makes clear, just as being cut off from ambrosia cannot make a god die, although it can weaken him or her (Hes. Th. 796–8, cf. 639–41). That eating ambrosia keeps one strong or helps hold the aging process at bay may be suggested by Dawn’s serving it—although to no avail—to Tithonus (231–2 with n.; and note the connection of the now immortal Ganymede with nektar in 204–6), so that there is perhaps a hint of some causal relationship between the two, formally paratactic halves of the line: the nymphs live a long time because they eat ambrosia. But the basic point is that to share the gods’ food is to be intimately associated with them in a way that human beings normally are not. Cf. 261 with n. For ਙȝȕȡȠIJȠȞ İੇįĮȡ, cf. hAp. 127 (line final). 261 Not only do the nymphs share the gods’ food (260), but they visit them, sc. when the Olympians gather in Zeus’ house to feast, as the Hesiodic Muses also do (Hes. Th. 36–43, 68–71), and they dance in their presence (ȝİIJૅ ਕșĮȞȐIJȠȚıȚ); cf. h. 6.11–13 with n. (the Seasons dance in Zeus’ house); 27.15–18 (Artemis dances with the Muses and the Graces in Apollo’s house at Delphi) with 27.13–30 n. țĮȜȩȞ represents an evaluation not just of the performance but (via hypallage) of the appearance of the nymphs themselves (‘the beautiful dance of the nymphs’ being equivalent to ‘the dance of the beautiful nymphs’); cf. 206 with n., 262 İ੡ıțȠʌȠȢ ਝȡȖİȚijȩȞIJȘȢ with n., 264–8 n.; h. 27.15 țĮȜઁȞ ȤȠȡȩȞ*. For the nonHomeric prosody of the adjective, see 28–9 n. on 29 țĮȜઁȞ ȖȑȡĮȢ. ȝİIJૅ ਕșĮȞȐIJȠȚıȚ implicitly distinguishes the Olympian gods (who are genuinely immortal) from the nymphs (who live a long time but not forever; cf. 260 with n.). ਥȡȡȫıĮȞIJȠ (gnomic aorist with IJİ) is borrowed from Il. 24.616* ȞȣȝijȐȦȞ, Į੆ IJૅ ਕȝijૅ ਝțİȜȒıȚȠȞ ਥȡȡȫıĮȞIJȠ (‘of the nymphs, who nimbly dance about the Acelesius’), where it similarly refers to the behavior of the local nymphs; cf. h. 19.3 ȤȠȡȠȖȘșȑıȚ ȞȪȝijĮȚȢ (‘nymphs who rejoice in

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dances’), 19–21. For the verb (a ‘timeless’ hymnic aorist, like ਩ijȣıĮȞ in 265), cf. Hes. Th. 8 (of the Heliconian Muses); hHerm. 505*. 262–263 If Hermes and the silens routinely sleep with nymphs, they ought to have offspring, who might perhaps be additional nymphs, in which case there is a close logical connection between these verses and 264–5 (but see 264–8 introductory n.). More likely their children are other strange ‘mountain’ or ‘wilderness’ creatures such as centaurs (cf. [Apollod.] Bib. ii.5.4, where the centaur Pholos is identified as the child of Silenus and a nymph), Pans (cf. h. 19.2–3, 19–26, where Pan himself roams the woods and dances with mountain nymphs; and see Gantz (1993) 110–11), and additional silens or satyrs (since X. Smp. 5.7 identifies the naiad nymphs as the mothers of the silens; Silenus eventually becomes the father of the satyrs, as in Euripides’ Cyclops; and Paus. i.23.5 reports that the oldest satyrs are called silens); cf. S. fr. 314.41–2 [ … ]İȓȦȞ ȞȣȝijȠȖİȞȞȒ[IJ … ] / [ … ]Ȟҕ IJȓȢ ਥıIJȚ, where Pearson (his lines 35–6), following Wilamowitz, prints [ਲ਼ IJ૵Ȟ ੑȡ]İȓȦȞ ȞȣȝijȠȖİȞȞȒ[IJȠȣ ȖȑȞȠȣȢ] / [șȘȡ૵]Ȟ IJȓȢ ਥıIJȚ (‘or this is one of the mountain beasts from the race sprung from nymphs’), taking this as a reference to the satyrs who make up the chorus. Ȉ Pi. O. 13.34–5 reports that Bounos, king of Corinth, was the son of Hermes and a nymph. ıȚȜȘȞȠȓ: This is the first reference to silens (half-horse, half-human creatures, more often associated with Dionysus than with Hermes) in extant literary sources; precisely how (and whether) they are to be distinguished from satyrs (first mentioned at Hes. fr. 123, where they and the Ƞ੡ȡİȚĮȚ ȞȪȝijĮȚ șİĮȓ (‘mountain nymph goddesses’) are siblings) is unclear, although see above. For the common literary and artistic theme of romantic and sexual relations between nymphs and silens, see Pi. fr. 156.2–3 ȞĮ૘įȠȢ ਕțȠȓIJĮȢ / ȈȚȜȘȞȩȢ (‘Silenus, bed-fellow of a naiad’); Hedreen (1992) 71–3; (1994) 47–69, esp. 47–54; Gantz (1993) 135–9, esp. 137 ‘In all, we must admit severe limits to our information for the Archaic period’; LIMC VIII.1.1108–10. The name is spelled ȈǿȁǼȃȅǿ on the François vase (570– 565 BCE) and elsewhere in early vase-inscriptions (references at Kretschmer (1894 [1980]) 132–3; a personal name at IG I3 53.3 (433/2 BCE)), and ought presumably to be written that way here, as in ȍ (Mfb). Ȍ (followed by Ĭ) seems to have offered İ as a superlinear supplement: the fand b-scribes opted for ıȚȜȘȞȠȓ, the a-scribe for ıİȜȘȞȠȓ, and the p-scribe took both letters into the text (ıİȚȜȘȞȠȓ). Cf. Introduction 6. İ੡ıțȠʌȠȢ ਝȡȖİȚijȩȞIJȘȢ: A nicely chosen epithet, if the point is that Hermes got a ‘good look’ at the nymphs, allowing him to assess their individual charms (cf. 257 ȕĮșȪțȠȜʌȠȚ with n., 264–7 with nn.), when they danced for the gods in heaven (cf. 261 with n.). İ੡ıțȠʌȠȢ ਝȡȖİȚijȩȞIJȘȢ is a unique variant of the Homeric and hymnic ਥȪıțȠʌȠȢ ਝȡȖİȚijȩȞIJȘȢ / (attest-

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ed in various cases at Il. 24.24, 109; Od. 1.38; 7.137; hAp. 200; hHerm. 73), in which the first word is always scanned ȣ - - -. ȝȣȤ૵Ț ıʌİȓȦȞ ਥȡȠȑȞIJȦȞ: Nymphs routinely inhabit caves (e.g. Od. 5.57–8; 13.103–4 (quoted below), 349–50; hHerm. 6), but apparently have sex only in the inmost corners of their residences (rendering the activity invisible to mortal eyes). The adjective is colored by the erotic nature of the activity carried on in the place it describes (ȝȓıȖȠȞIJૅ ਥȞ ijȚȜȩIJȘIJȚ), as at hDem. 425 (Persephone describes what she and her companions were doing just before Hades carried her off to be his bride) ʌĮȓȗȠȝİȞ ਱įૅ ਙȞșİĮ įȡȑʌȠȝİȞ Ȥİȓȡİııૅ ਥȡȩİȞIJĮ (‘we were enjoying ourselves and plucking ਥȡȩİȞIJĮ flowers with our hands’). 264–268 It eventually emerges that nymphs die (269–72 with nn.), meaning that they must constantly be born as well. Homer and Hesiod refer routinely to them as ‘daughters of Zeus’ (e.g. Il. 6.420; Od. 6.105; 9.154; Hes. fr. 304.5; cf. Alc. fr. 343; contrast Hes. Th. 187, where Meliad nymphs are born from the blood of the castrated Sky), hence perhaps their readiness to dance for the Olympian gods in his house, as Hesiod’s Muses (also Zeus’ daughters) do at Th. 36–43. Here the matter of the nymphs’ parentage is ignored, and they enter the world as arbitrarily as they exit it (269 with n.). In any case, what at first appears to be a further, incidental detail of Aphrodite’s description of them in fact sets up the demonstration in what follows that—as asserted in 259—although nymphs are not mortal in the way that human beings are (cf. 260–1), neither are they immortal like the Olympians; cf. 267–8 n. For the connection between individual trees and individual nymphs, whose lives are somehow interlocked with theirs, cf. Charon of Lampsacus (5th c. BCE) FGrH 262 F 12, citing (F 12a ap. Ȉ A.R. 2.476) Pi. fr. 165 ੁıȠįȑȞįȡȠȣ / IJȑțȝĮȡ Įੁ૵ȞȠȢ șİȩijȡĮıIJȠȞ ȜĮȤȠ૙ıĮ (‘alloted a divinelydeclared limit of a lifespan equal to a tree’s’) and (F 12b ap. Tzetzes in Lyc. 480) Eumel. fr. 15 (II), p. 113 Bernabé; Call. h. 4.83–5 ਷ ૧ૅ ਥIJİઁȞ ਥȖȑȞȠȞIJȠ IJȩIJİ įȡȪİȢ ਲȞȓțĮ ȞȪȝijĮȚ; / ȞȪȝijĮȚ ȝ੻Ȟ ȤĮȓȡȠȣıȚȞ, ੖IJİ įȡȪĮȢ ੕ȝȕȡȠȢ ਕȑȟİȚ, / ȞȪȝijĮȚ įૅ Į੣ țȜĮȓȠȣıȚȞ, ੖IJİ įȡȣı੿ ȝȘțȑIJȚ ijȪȜȜĮ (‘Did oaks actually come into being at the same time as nymphs? The nymphs are happy when the rain makes the oaks grow, whereas the nymphs wail when leaves are no longer on the oaks’); 6.36–9 (where the nymphs play about the trees in Demeter’s sacred grove, and one of the trees shrieks in pain when struck with an axe); and note the generic names Dryads (‘Oaktree nymphs’), Hamadryads (‘Simultaneous-with-oak-tree nymphs’; hinted at here in ਚȝ(Į) … įȡȪİȢ), and Meliads (‘Ash-tree nymphs’ (Hes. Th. 187)). The description of the trees whose existence is tied to that of the nymphs is easily understood as incorporating crucial characteristics of the

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nymphs themselves: they are beautiful (țĮȜĮȓ; cf. 261 n.), tall (ਫ਼ȥȚțȐȡȘȞȠȚ with 264–5 n., ਱ȜȓȕĮIJȠȚ; cf. 81–3 n.), and ‘flourishing’ (IJȘȜİșȐȠȣıĮȚ; cf. 257 ȕĮșȪțȠȜʌȠȚ with n.), and the presence of a group of them marks a spot as belonging to one or more individual gods (267–8 with n.; cf. 261 with n.). To see a stand of such trees in particular is thus to catch a glimpse of nymphs in the only guise in which they normally reveal themselves to mortal eyes (although cf. 284–5 with n.), and the repeated reference to the trees’ height and size captures the awestruck perspective of a human being who enters a grove of them and stares up toward their tops. The focalization is in any case once again firmly human (esp. ਥʌ੿ ȤșȠȞ੿ ȕȦIJȚĮȞİȓȡȘȚ, with its firmly agricultural orientation) and thus set in the valleys, over which the mountains loom (ਥȞ Ƞ੡ȡİıȚȞ ਫ਼ȥȘȜȠ૙ıȚȞ; cf. 160* with n.): the places where the nymphs’ trees grow are specifically not the normal home of the mortal creatures who visit them. Cf. 257–8 n., 260 n., 268 with n. The trees are plural in 264–5 (as again in 270–2) only because this is also true of the nymphs (who are presumably born and die at separate, individual times, rather than en masse), whereas what are described in 266–8 are actual sacred groves, i.e. large stands of such trees in a single place. 264–265 ਥȜȐIJĮȚ and įȡȪİȢ are specifically ‘firs’ and ‘oaks’ (thus LfgrE s.vv.), although the underlying opposition is between conifers and deciduous trees generally; cf. Il. 11.494; 23.328; [Hes.] Sc. 376, 422, in all of which įȡȪİȢ are contrasted with ʌİ૨țĮȚ (‘pines’); Mastronarde on E. Ph. 1515–16. For firs as notably tall trees, Il. 5.560; 14.287; Od. 5.239; for their presence in the mountains, Il. 14.287; Hes. Op. 509–10. For oaks as tall, Il. 12.132 įȡȪİȢ Ƞ੡ȡİıȚȞ ਫ਼ȥȚțȐȡȘȞȠȚ (probably the model for the end of 264); for their presence in the mountains, also Il. 13.389–90; Hes. Op. 232, 509–10; [Hes.] Sc. 374–6. The adjective ਫ਼ȥȚțȐȡȘȞȠȚ (cf. Il. 12.132 įȡȪİȢ Ƞ੡ȡİıȚȞ ਫ਼ȥȚțȐȡȘȞȠȚ* /) neatly bridges the gap between the trees (which do not actually have heads) and the nymphs whose form they represent in the mortal world (who do); cf. 268 țİȓȡȠȣıȚ with n. As applied to the trees, the word is in one sense proleptic: they are not tall the moment they emerge from the ground, but must grow to full size along with their nymphs, just as they later decay and die in conjunction with them (269–72). But in practice the presence of nymphs can be detected only in retrospect, in towering, full-grown trees, and especially in collections of them; not every sapling is a juvenile nymph. In a separate and more significant sense that has shaped the language in this verse, therefore, the goddesses’ groves are ‘lofty’ from the very first, and they are, unsurprisingly, normally found in places inaccessible to ordinary human contact (276) and in particular to logging (278 with n.).

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਩ijȣıĮȞ is a ‘timeless’ hymnic aorist, like ਥȡȡȫıĮȞIJȠ in 261; cf. Faulkner (2006) 69. ਥʌ੿ ȤșȠȞ੿ ȕȦIJȚĮȞİȓȡȘȚ: The standard early epic expression in this sedes is ਥʌ੿ ȤșȠȞ੿ ʌȠȣȜȣȕȠIJİȓȡȘȚ (‘upon the earth that nourishes many’; e.g. Il. 3.89, 195; 6.213; 8.73; 12.158; 21.146; Od. 12.191; Hes. Op. 157, 252; cf. Od. 19.408 ਕȞ੹ ȤșȩȞĮ ȕȦIJȚȐȞİȚȡĮȞ*). For the reference to human beings, cf. 264–8 n. 266–268 These verses might easily have been omitted, with 269 following directly after 265. For the intrusive reference to contemporary cult, cf. 1–2, 6, 26, 28, 31–2, 59, 175 with nn. țĮȜĮ੿ IJȘȜİșȐȠȣıĮȚ stands in implicit contrast to the description of the slow physical decay of the trees in 270–1. For the collocation of adjectives, cf. Il. 17.55 / țĮȜઁȞ IJȘȜİșȐȠȞ (of water). For IJȘȜİșȐȦȞ applied to trees, cf. Od. 7.114 ਩ȞșĮ į੻ įȑȞįȡİĮ ȝĮțȡ੹ ʌİijȪțĮıȚ IJȘȜİșȐȠȞIJĮ (‘tall, flourishing trees grow there’); 13.196 įȑȞįȡİĮ IJȘȜİșȐȠȞIJĮ (‘flourishing trees’); LfgrE s.v. B 2. ਦıIJ઼ı(Ț): Contrast the lively movements in the divine sphere of the nymphs the trees represent in the mortal world (261–3, esp. 261). ਱ȜȓȕĮIJȠȚ is always applied in Homer to rocks (Il. 15.273; 16.35; Od. 9.243; 13.196; Hes. Th. 675; hHerm. 404; LfgrE s.v. B 1; of a cave at Hes. Th. 483), but is also used of a tree at [Hes.] Sc. 421–2 ʌİȪțȘ / ਱ȜȓȕĮIJȠȢ (‘a high pine’). The point of IJİȝȑȞİĮ įȑ ਦ țȚțȜȒıțȠȣıȚȞ / ਕșĮȞȐIJȦȞ may be that human beings (who emerge explicitly here for the first time in Aphrodite’s description of the nymphs, although see 257–8 n., 260 n., 264–8 n. for the focalization throughout) correctly refer to these groves as sanctuaries of the Olympian gods, who never die. But 269–72 are just as easily understood as a correction of an understandable human error—people refer to the nymphs to whom the groves belong as ‘immortals’ because they live so long (260 with n.), but their lives do eventually come to an end—particularly since Od. 4.355 ĭȐȡȠȞ įȑ ਦ țȚțȜȒıțȠȣıȚȞ / (‘people refer to it as Pharos’), on which the end of 267 is modeled, is part of Menelaus’ tale of how he failed to worship the gods correctly (cf. Od. 4.352–3). For IJİȝȑȞİĮ (Faulkner (2008)) in synizesis in place of ȍ’s contracted IJİȝȑȞȘ, cf. Il. 11.282 ıIJȒșİĮ (in synizesis); Od. 11.185 (where the MSS also offer IJİȝȑȞȘ); Chantraine (1958) i.56. țȚțȜȒıțȠȣıȚȞ also appears * at Il. 2.813; Od. 9.366; Hes. Op. 818. ਦ is not treated as plural elsewhere in early epic. IJ੹Ȣ įૅ Ƞ੡ IJȚ ȕȡȠIJȠ੿ țİȓȡȠȣıȚ ıȚįȒȡȦȚ: The implication is that the nymphs’ trees are spared from logging because they are understood to be IJİȝȑȞİĮ … ਕșĮȞȐIJȦȞ. But it is simultaneously the case that they have survived to become a sacred grove because they are located high enough up in

268

Commentary

the mountains that woodcutters—referred to generically as ȕȡȠIJȠȓ so as to create a strong contrast with ਕșĮȞȐIJȦȞ at the head of the line—have ignored them. Cf. 264–5 n., 269–72 n. For timber-cutting, an activity consistently located in the mountains except at Il. 4.482–7 (where the tree is a poplar, and it is accordingly cut and allowed to season along a riverbank) and Od. 5.238–9 (where alders and poplars are in question, along with a single fir), cf. Il. 11.86–8; 13.178–80, 389–91 = 16.482–4; 23.114–23; Od. 10.103–4. For ıȓįȘȡȠȢ used to refer specifically to an axe used to fell trees, cf. Il. 4.485; Hes. Op. 420; LfgrE s.v. B 2a. țİȓȡȠȣıȚ: The verb is also used of cutting timber at Il. 24.450, but more often refers to cutting hair (LfgrE s.v. B I 1); cf. 264 ਫ਼ȥȚțȐȡȘȞȠȚ n. 269–272 The terseness of expression in 272 in particular obscures the temporal structure of the argument: When the time for the trees to die is at hand (269; for the significance of the plurals, cf. 264–8 n.), first (ʌȡ૵IJȠȞ) they dry up, their bark peels off everywhere, and their branches drop; then (sc. when the trees actually die, 270–1 being merely a catalogue of symptoms of impending doom) the nymphs’ souls pass out of the world along with their trees (272). What was once a sacred grove inhabited by (and in another sense identical with) a group of nymphs, is now nothing more than a collection of dead trees—but perfectly dry, still-standing dead trees, ideal for human uses of all sorts; cf. Il. 23.327–8 (dry wood as ideal construction material, because of its resistance to rot); Od. 5.240 (Odysseus fells dry, long-dead, standing trees, including a fir ‘that stretched to heaven’, for material to make his raft ride as high out of the water as possible—and in order himself to escape captivity imposed by a nymph); 18.309 (the same formula used to describe perfectly dry firewood); Hes. Op. 420–2 (trees that have dropped their branches and ceased to produce leaves are recommended for felling for carpentry-work, on the ground that they are the least likely to be worm-eaten). It is accordingly tempting to see the taboo on felling trees in sacred groves referred to in 268 as tacitly allowing the activity now, when harm to the nymphs can no longer be done. The expression ȝȠ૙ȡĮ șĮȞȐIJȠȚȠ (literally ‘a fate consisting of death’) is found several times in the Odyssey (2.100 = 3.238 = 19.145 = 24.135; 17.326; cf. Hes. fr. 35.4 [șĮȞȐIJȠ]ȚҕȠ … ȝȠ૙ȡĮ), but never with ʌĮȡȓıIJȘȝȚ (for which, cf. 245 ʌĮȡȓıIJĮIJĮȚ; LfgrE s. ੆ıIJȘȝȚ B I B 9bȖ), and ȝȠ૙ȡĮ ʌĮȡİıIJȒțȘȚ șĮȞȐIJȠȚȠ is most likely modeled on Il. 16.853 (the dying Patroclus to the doomed Hector) = 24.132 (Thetis to the doomed Achilleus) ਙȖȤȚ ʌĮȡȑıIJȘțİȞ șȐȞĮIJȠȢ țĮ੿ ȝȠ૙ȡĮ țȡĮIJĮȚȒ (‘death and an irresistible fate stand close at hand’). The phrase is any case strikingly impersonal: no one bears any more responsibility for the nymphs’ deaths than for their birth (264–5 with n.).

Hymn 5: To Aphrodite

269

ਕȗȐȞİIJĮȚ: The verb (cognate with ਙȗȦ (A); cf. esp. Il. 4.487 (of a felled tree) ਲ ȝȑȞ IJૅ ਕȗȠȝȑȞȘ țİ૙IJĮȚ ʌȠIJĮȝȠ૙Ƞ ʌĮȡૅ ੕ȤșĮȢ (‘it lies there, dried, along the riverbanks’) is attested elsewhere only at Nic. Th. 205 ਕȗȒȞȘȚ, where it may represent a learned allusion to this verse, and at Hsch. Į 1439 ਕȗȐȞșȘā ਥȟȘȡȐȞșȘ (perhaps a misguided attempt to explain a text that should have read Į੝ȐȞșȘ, as at Th. 339, 368, where ਕȗ- is a variant reading for the more common Į੝-). But cf. Od. 11.587 țĮIJĮȗȒȞĮıțİ (of causing water to disappear from in front of someone). ਥʌ੿ ȤșȠȞȓ echoes 265*, explicitly marking the return to the generalized mythical narrative that began in 264–5, after the cultic excursus in 266–8. įȑȞįȡİĮ țĮȜȐ: The trees are no longer ‘beautiful’ when the decay described in 270–1 takes place, and the reference is instead back to the situation in 266–8 (esp. 266 țĮȜĮȓ), before any of this has happened, while the grove is still flourishing. The standard Homeric epithet of įȑȞįȡİĮ is ȝĮțȡȐ (‘tall’; Il. 9.541 įȑȞįȡİĮ ȝĮțȡȐ /; 11.88; Od. 5.238; 7.114; 18.359), and the use of an alternative adjective marks this as a deliberate evocation of—and contrast with—the description of the trees in the immediately preceding verses. 271 is one of only two verses in the hAphr. with a fourth-foot caesura (also 4); see Introduction 5. ਕȝijȚʌİȡȚijșȚȞȪșİȚ: The double prefix indicates that the bark disappears not just ‘on the exterior’ of the trees but all about their circumference as well, i.e. as opposed to the appearance of a few isolated bald patches. The compound (a hapax) is a high-style epic formation, like ਕȝijȚʌİȡȚıIJȡȦijȐȦ at Il. 8.348 ਕȝijȚʌİȡȚıIJȡȫijĮ*, and ਕȝijȚʌİȡȚıIJȑijȦ at Od. 8.175; cf. the numerous similar formations catalogued in LSJ in later authors such as Callimachus, Oppian, Quintus Smyrnaeus, and Nonnus, who self-consciously echo early poetic mannerisms. IJ૵Ȟ … ȥȣȤȒ: literally ‘their soul’, i.e. the soul of the individual nymph whose tree has just died. șૅ: The MSS have Ȥૅ (i.e. țİ), which will not do with the indicative; see Smith (1979) 37–9. ȥȣȤ੽ ȜİȓʌİȚ ijȐȠȢ ਱İȜȓȠȚȠ: see 105, 256 n. The phrase is modeled on passages such as Il. 18.11 ȜİȓȥİȚȞ ijȐȠȢ ਱İȜȓȠȚȠ /; Od. 11.93 ȜȚʌઅȞ ijȐȠȢ ਱İȜȓȠȚȠ /; Hes. Op. 155 ਩ȜȚʌȠȞ ijȐȠȢ ਱İȜȓȠȚȠ /, on the one hand, and Od. 14.134 ȥȣȤ੽ į੻ ȜȑȜȠȚʌİȞ, 426 IJઁȞ įૅ ਩ȜȚʌİ ȥȣȤȒ; 18.91 ੮Ȣ ȝȚȞ ȥȣȤ੽ ȜȓʌȠȚ, on the other. 273 resumes 257 (note șȡȑȥȠȣıȚȞ*) after the long digression in 258–72. But there the adjectives in the second half of the line serve to introduce the discussion of the nymphs and their ways that follows, whereas here Aphrodite’s words focus on Aeneas and the paradoxical nature of the arrangement—this is her son (ਥȝઁȞ … ȣੂȩȞ), but the nymphs will be in charge of

270

Commentary

him (ʌĮȡ੹ ıijȓıȚȞ … ਩ȤȠȣıĮȚ)—and thus the possibility (or likelihood) that she will eventually make alternative plans for him (274–5, 280). 274–275 In the text as the MSS present it, Aphrodite says both that the nymphs who raise Aeneas will bring him to Anchises (274–5) and that she will do so herself (276–7 ıȠ੿ įૅ ਥȖȫ, ੕ijȡĮ † IJĮ૨IJĮ ȝİIJ੹ ijȡİı੿ ʌȐȞIJĮ įȚȑȜșȦ, / ਥȢ ʌȑȝʌIJȠȞ ਩IJȠȢ Į੣IJȚȢ ਥȜİȪıȠȝĮȚ ȣੂઁȞ ਙȖȠȣıĮ (‘But I will come again to you—let me go through all these matters in my mind—again in the fifth year, bringing the boy’); corrupt but easily emended). One pair of lines must be expelled (despite van Eck (1978) ad loc., who nonetheless admits his inability to explain what he characterizes as the ‘correction’ of 274–5 in 276–7); that 276, as we have it, is lacunose, does not count against it, although the obscurity (or vacuity) of the thought arguably does. If 274–5 are retained (as in the text printed here, and in Faulkner (2008) and Richardson (2010)), Aphrodite’s involvement with Anchises is over at the end of this speech; she abandons Aeneas to the nymphs completely the moment he is born (cf. 256–7); and the boy apparently visits Troy for the first time as a young teenager (see below). If 276–7 are retained instead (as in Càssola (1975), and as urged by Smith (1979) 39–41 and by West (2003) in his n.), Aphrodite promises that she will visit Anchises again in four years and personally bring their son to him, and Aeneas spends all but his very earliest childhood in the city. That the repetition of the first half of 274 in 278 (cf. 256) strikes the modern ear as clumsy, is not to the point, since an ancient audience may well have disagreed with an aesthetic judgment of this sort. More important, the repetition supplies a mechanical explanation for the error that led to the generation of an alterative version of the lost verses: the eye of a scribe copying “MS 1” (which preserved the text as printed here) leapt from IJઁȞ ȝ੻Ȟ ਥʌ੽Ȟ į੽ ʌȡ૵IJȠȞ in 274 to the same phrase at the beginning of 278, causing him to omit 274–5 from his copy of the poem (“MS 2”); someone studying “MS 2” created 276–7 (or borrowed the verses from elsewhere) and inserted them in the text to fill the logical gap between Aphrodite’s announcement in 273 that the nymphs would raise Aeneas and her prediction in 278–9 of Anchises’ reaction to his first sight of the boy, producing “MS 3” (perhaps nothing more than “MS 2” with marginal additions); a subsequent reader compared two copies of the text, one containing 274–5 but not 276–7 (i.e. the correct original version, as in “MS 1”), the other containing 276–7 but not 274–5 (i.e. the artificially supplemented version in “MS 3” and passed on from that MS to its descendants, if it had any); and in a subsequent copy (“MS 4”) dependant on this collation, all four verses were given. Cf. 97–9 (another example of ancient supplementation of the text designed to correct the omission of a verse via a simple mechanical error), 136 and 136a (a doublet of a more complicated sort).

Hymn 5: To Aphrodite

271

274 ਪȜȘȚ: A bold use of the verb; LfgrE s.v. B I A 2aȕ (col. 352) offers as parallels only instances in which the subject is sleep (੢ʌȞȠȢ) or desire (ʌȩșȠȢ), both of which can more easily be imagined ‘seizing’ control of a person. But Aphrodite treats Aeneas throughout as a passive creature, who is to be led off in various directions, put on display, and gazed at, but who never makes a gesture or says a word of his own. ʌȠȜȣȒȡĮIJȠȢ ਸ਼ȕȘ: i.e. early adolescence, the age at which Tithonus, for example, was snatched away by Dawn to be her lover (225*–7); cf. Od. 15.366 (the age at which a girl is married, and a boy is sent off to make his own way in the world). Although the adjective modifies ਸ਼ȕȘ, it actually represents an evaluation of the handsome young men who reach that age, and is the product of an appreciative erotic public gaze that Anchises generally participates in and can understand, even if in the specific case of Aeneas he will take part in it in only a peripheral fashion (275–82 with nn.). 275, 278–279 įİ૨ȡȠ: i.e. to the cowyard on the slopes of Mount Ida, from where Anchises will take the boy to Troy (280). There is no hint in Aphrodite’s vision of the future that Anchises will visit the city in the meantime, in part because of the extraordinary acceleration of time within the narrative—years have passed in 273–4, and have carried Anchises, unchanged because there has been no space within the text for him to age or engage in other activities, along with them—but also because only when Anchises gets Aeneas will he be transformed into a central figure in Trojan society; cf. 103–6 with nn., 278–82 with nn. What the nymphs will show (įİȓȟȠȣıȚ) to Anchises, and what he will accordingly see (੅įȘȚȢ), will be his—or his and Aphrodite’s—child (ʌĮ૙įĮ, șȐȜȠȢ; for the difference between the terms, see below). But the sight will cause him joy (ȖȘșȒıİȚȢ ੒ȡȩȦȞ) because he will immediately (ʌȡ૵IJȠȞ) recognize that what others will see, sc. when he takes the boy to Troy (280), will be instead an extraordinarily handsome and thus extraordinarily desirable young man (ȝȐȜĮ Ȗ੹ȡ șİȠİȓțİȜȠȢ ਩ıIJĮȚ; cf. 274 ʌȠȜȣȒȡĮIJȠȢ ਸ਼ȕȘ with n.). ʌĮ૙įĮ (‘child’; what Aeneas will be to the nymphs) is a more straightforward and emotionally much less charged word than șȐȜȠȢ (‘shoot’, i.e. ‘offspring, scion’; what Aeneas will be to Anchises); cf. Il. 22.87* (Hector, about to die, as addressed by Hecabe) with Richardson ad loc.; Od. 6.157 (Nausicaa as seen by her adoring parents); hDem. 66 (the kidnapped Persephone as described by the broken-hearted Demeter), 187 (Demophon in his mother’s arms); LfgrE s.v. ‘liebevoll-bewundernd … aus Elternsicht’. ੑijșĮȜȝȠ૙ıȚ is common with forms of ੒ȡȐȦ and similar verbs (e.g. Il. 1.587; 3.28; Od. 3.94; 4.226; Hes. Th. 451; hDem. 333; hAp. 415; cf. 83, 179).

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Commentary

ȖȘșȒıİȚȢ ੒ȡȩȦȞ: a common combination of verbs (e.g. Il. 1.330; 4.255, 283; 311; Od. 5.486; 12.88; 13.226; Hes. fr. 302.21 ȖȘșȒıȦ įૅ ੒ȡȩȦȞ*). șİȠİȓțİȜȠȢ ਩ıIJĮȚ: cf. 55 n., 91–106 n. But here part of the point must be that the boy’s mother will, in fact, be a goddess. 280 Although ਙȟİȚȢ is properly a future and thus a prediction of what will happen (like the main verbs throughout 273–5, 278–9), it functions as an imperative (like the infinitive in 283); Į੝IJȓțĮ adds a peremptory tone. Ȍ’s ȞȚȞ (Ȟ૨Ȟ M) is not an early epic form, hence Hermann’s ȝȚȞ. ʌȠIJ੿ ૓ǿȜȚȠȞ ਱ȞİȝȩİııĮȞ has a profoundly Iliadic tone (see the second apparatus), and thus evokes the role Aeneas will eventually play in the Trojan War, and indeed the tragedy of Troy as a whole; cf. 281–2 n. on 281 ~ Od. 9.502–3, 283 n., 291 ʌȡઁȢ Ƞ੝ȡĮȞઁȞ ਱ȞİȝȩİȞIJĮ / with n. 281–282 This is formally the protasis of a condition, and thus only a possibility. But Aphrodite takes it for granted that Aeneas will excite public attention and comment (cf. 275, 278–9 n.), giving his father an opportunity and incentive to boast, even unwisely (286–7). 281 is adapted from Od. 9.502–3 ȀȪțȜȦȥ, Į੅ țȑȞ IJȓȢ ıİ țĮIJĮșȞȘIJ૵Ȟ ਕȞșȡȫʌȦȞ / ੑijșĮȜȝȠ૨ İ੅ȡȘIJĮȚ ਕİȚțİȜȓȘȞ ਕȜĮȦIJȩȞ (‘Cyclops, if any mortal person asks about the unsightly blinding of your eye’), where Odysseus taunts the blinded Polyphemus, bringing ruin on himself and his crew. The verse thus represents a preliminary, intertextual warning of the dangers of inappropriate boasting and the ability of reckless words—especially reckless words that surrender names that ought to be kept secret (290; cf. Od. 9.504–5, 526–36)—to incite divine wrath; cf. 286–8 with nn. As throughout the poem, the phrase țĮIJĮșȞȘIJ૵Ȟ ਕȞșȡȫʌȦȞ recalls the stark difference between mortals and immortals, and so the risk the former assume when they ignore the power and commands of the latter (cf. 283–90). ਸ਼ IJȚȢ țIJȜ: The way the question is framed assumes that the boy’s mother (like Aphrodite as she describes herself at 255, where see n.) deliberately chose to get pregnant, either to please Anchises (ıȠȚ) or because she herself wanted a child, depending on whose focalization ijȓȜȠȞ is taken to represent. 283 For the sense of ȝȣșİ૙ıșĮȚ, see 284–5 n. ȝİȝȞȘȝȑȞȠȢ ੮Ȣ ıİ țİȜİȪȦ is borrowed from Hes. Op. 623 (quoted in the first apparatus), which adds a sententious note and is particularly appropriate because the advice there has to do with acting wisely and appropriately at a time when the winds are blowing hard (cf. 280 ૓ǿȜȚȠȞ ਱ȞİȝȩİııĮȞ, 291 ʌȡઁȢ Ƞ੝ȡĮȞઁȞ ਱ȞİȝȩİȞIJĮ) and sailing is a bad idea. Cf. 281 with n., 288 with n. For the verb, cf. Pelliccia (1993) 87–92 (p. 91 on this passage): ‘ȝİȝȞોıșĮȚ designates the mental state of awareness—awareness of moral

Hymn 5: To Aphrodite

273

obligations, to put it most summarily—thanks to which a person behaves correctly; failure to ȝİȝȞોıșĮȚ … leads to incorrect behavior, a consequence of which, especially when it directly offends the gods, … is ȝોȞȚȢ’ (p. 87). 284–285 284 is modeled on Il. 20.206 ijĮı੿ ı੻ ȝ੻Ȟ ȆȘȜોȠȢ ਕȝȪȝȠȞȠȢ ਩țȖȠȞȠȞ İੇȞĮȚ (‘They say that you are the offspring of faultless Peleus’), where Aeneas describes Achilleus’ ancestry before boasting (İ੡ȤȠȝĮȚ; cf. 286) of his own descent from Anchises and Aphrodite in 20.208–9; cf. 286–8 n. The paradosis ijĮıȓ(Ȟ) (the nu-moveable was lost before IJȠȓ) is thus almost certainly correct, allowing ȝȣșİ૙ıșĮȚ (infinitive for imperative) in 283 to be taken to mean ‘say!’, introducing the quotation. Unrealistic as this may be on one level (since a father ought to be able to identify his son’s mother, even if no one else can), therefore, the answer Aphrodite puts in Anchises’ mouth is deeply evasive: he is to report the rumors (supposedly) circulating about his son’s origins, but nothing else. Cf. Od. 1.215–16, where Telemachus reports that his mother claims that he is Odysseus’ son, but notes that he of course has no way of being sure that this is true. Matthiae’s ijȐıșĮȚ (a second infinitive for imperative; cf. Od. 9.504* ~ 281, where see n.), advocated for by Smith (1979) 41–3 and printed by West (2003) and Faulkner (2008), requires either that ȝȣșİ૙ıșĮȚ have the much less common absolute sense ‘say (something appropriate)!’ (LfgrE s.v. B I 3c), or that the line be repunctuated IJ૵Ț į੻ ıȪ, ȝȣșİ૙ıșĮȚ ȝİȝȞȘȝȑȞȠȢ ੮Ȣ ıİ țİȜİȪȦ, with a final comma rather than a half-stop, and with IJ૵Ț į੻ ıȪ to be taken with ijȐıșĮȚ rather than with ȝȣșİ૙ıșĮȚ (unlike in the Hesiodic exemplar). For mortal men having sex with nymphs who bear them children, cf. Il. 6.21–2 (where the father’s name is ǺȠȣțȠȜȓȦȞ (cognate with ȕȠȣțȩȜȠȢ, ‘cowherd’)—himself identified as a child of a nymph and the Trojan king Ilus at [Apollod.] Bib. iii.12.3); 14.444–5 (where the man meets the nymph while herding cows, ȕȠȣțȠȜȑȠȞIJȚ, like Anchises in the Hymn); 20.383–5. ȞȪȝijȘȢ țĮȜȣțȫʌȚįȠȢ: The precise meaning of the adjective (‘with a flower-like face’, i.e. ‘blushing, rosy-cheeked’?; ‘with eyes the shape/color of flower-buds’?) is unclear; see Richardson on hDem. 8 țĮȜȣțȫʌȚįȚ țȠȪȡȘȚ / (along with hDem. 420 ૅȍțȣȡȩȘ țĮȜȣț૵ʌȚȢ /, the only other attestations of the word in early epic). In any case, it commends the nymph’s beauty, while continuing the process of identifying her with the flora of the mountainside where she belongs (cf. 264–72). But the actual visual source of the rumor is not the nymph—whom no one except Anchises himself has presumably seen—but Aeneas, whose boyish glow (cf. 202–6 with nn.) is traced to the otherwise unknown mother who bore him. 285 up through the fourth-foot princeps is identical to 258 (and compare the intrusive [98]). To describe the mountain as țĮIJĮİȚȝȑȞȠȞ ੢ȜȘȚ

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Commentary

(contrast 258 ȝȑȖĮ IJİ ȗȐșİȩȞ IJİ* with n.) is in part simply to mark it as a likely home for nymphs; cf. 264–72 with nn.; Od. 13.350–1 (a sacred cave of the local nymphs on Ithaca, with Mount Neritus towering over it țĮIJĮİȚȝȑȞȠȞ ੢ȜȘȚ). But the phrase also helps explain how Aeneas could have been brought up undetected on the slopes of Ida, as well as why his mother’s identity is a cipher, for what goes on beneath a dense spread of foliage is impossible to see or know. 286–288 Although the imaginary action in the protasis is divided between two formally parallel verbs, the second in fact provides the motivation for the first: Anchises may be tempted to reveal (ਥȟİȓʌȘȚȢ) that he slept with Aphrodite out of boastfulness (ਥʌİȪȟİĮȚ). ਥȟİ૙ʌȠȞ regularly refers to disclosing something previously—and in two of the three other early epic uses of the word, better—left unsaid (Il. 9.61; 24.654; Od. 15.443). ਙijȡȠȞȚ șȣȝ૵Ț is borrowed from Od. 21.105, where Telemachus attempts to excuse his own ill-timed laughter in response to Antinoos’ mistaken insistence (Od. 21.93–4) that ‘there is no man among all of us here such as Odysseus was’ despite the disguised hero’s presence in the room. The adjective is focalized by Aphrodite, to whom this is patently reckless and insane behavior, whereas Anchises, as she imagines him, is acting out of high-spirited, boastful self-confidence, with no sense of making a mistake. ਥȣıIJİijȐȞȦȚ ȀȣșİȡİȓȘȚ: The epithets define Aphrodite not as Anchises sees and has experienced her, but as she is worshipped, e.g. at Troy, where he just been imagined claiming to have slept with a well-known object of public cult. Cf. 6 ਥȣıIJİijȐȞȠȣ ȀȣșİȡİȓȘȢ* with n., 175 ੁȠıIJİijȐȞȠȣ ȀȣșİȡİȓȘȢ* with n. ǽİȪȢ ıİ ȤȠȜȦıȐȝİȞȠȢ țIJȜ: That Aphrodite was Aeneas’ mother is commonplace in the Iliad, as the allusion in 284 (where see n.) to the passage in Book 20 in which Aeneas himself describes his ancestry makes clear. Anchises must thus not have kept his relationship with the goddess secret, and some ancient sources conclude that he was accordingly punished in the way referred to here (S. fr. 373.2–3; Verg. Aen. 2.649; Hyg. fab. 94; and see in general Podbielski (1971) 78–9; Lenz (1975) 144–52 (arguing that the story goes back to the Iliou Persis)), hence perhaps the strikingly concrete nature of the warning (not merely ‘beware lest Zeus …’, as in e.g. Hermes’ words to Calypso at Od. 5.146, echoed in 290). Indeed, the fact that the Iliad reports (without explanation) that Aeneas was raised in his brother-in-law’s house (13.465–6) might be taken to imply that it assumes a version of the story in which Anchises died while his son was still young. Alternatively, Aphrodite’s words might be understood as an empty threat, given the blanket assurances she offers Anchises at 193–5, before her own situation is mooted, and the fact that Zeus has no obvious interest in suppressing the story (esp. 45–52); cf. 289–90 n. on 290; van der

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Ben (1986) 39 (‘Her threat is therefore both quite absurd and void’); Bergren (1989) 39. There is in any case some irony in the fact that the narrator has himself told at great length a story the goddess is allegedly so eager to have no one hear. See in general Clay (1989) 198–200. ȕĮȜȑİȚ ȥȠȜȩİȞIJȚ țİȡĮȣȞ૵Ț: Given the allusion at 281 to Odysseus’ encounter with the Cyclops and its consequences, it is tempting to hear a specific reference to the description of the hero’s ship and companions at Od. 23.330 ਩ȕĮȜİ ȥȠȜȩİȞIJȚ țİȡĮȣȞ૵Ț (‘(Zeus) stuck it with a smoking lightning-bolt’), although note also Hes. Th. 515; fr. 51.2 (both quoted in the second apparatus)). The adjective describes not so much the lightningbolt itself as its effect on the object it strikes, which is left a smoldering wreck, allowing anyone who sees it hit to attempt to work out the chain of consequence or guilt that explains the event. 289–290 İ੅ȡȘIJĮȓ IJȠȚ ʌȐȞIJĮ masquerades as an impersonal statement of objective fact requiring the complex subjective response described in the balance of the two verses. But ʌȐȞIJĮ actually means not ‘everything’ but ‘everything (you need to know)’, sc. ‘(in my opinion)’, as also at hAp. 544 İ੅ȡȘIJĮȓ IJȠȚ ʌȐȞIJĮā ıઃ į੻ ijȡİı੿ ıોȚıȚ ijȪȜĮȟĮȚ (‘You have been told everything (you need to know); safeguard this in your mind!’); also following a balanced series of positive orders and warnings at the end of a Hymn). For ıઃ į੻ ijȡİı੿ ıોȚıȚ ȞȠȒıĮȢ, cf. also Il. 19.174 ıઃ į੻ ijȡİı੿ ıોȚıȚ*; 20.310 ijȡİı੿ ıોȚıȚ ȞȩȘıȠȞ /; Od. 3.26 ijȡİı੿ ıોȚıȚ ȞȠȒıİȚȢ. ੅ıȤİȠ, ȝȘįૅ ੑȞȩȝĮȚȞİ: cf. Poseidon’s order to Tyro after he sleeps with her at Od. 11.251 ੅ıȤİȠ, ȝȘįૅ ੑȞȠȝȒȞȘȚȢ / (‘Restrain yourself and do not mention my name!’) and, more generally, the demand for secrecy (sc. about her new rites) addressed to the Eleusinian nobles by Demeter at hDem. 478–9. ȝȘįૅ ੑȞȩȝĮȚȞİ articulates the proper outward expression of the internal restraint Aphrodite demands of Anchises in ੅ıȤİȠ, while șİ૵Ȟ įૅ ਥʌȠʌȓȗİȠ ȝોȞȚȞ supplies the positive ground for this restraint and the action it engenders, and thus identifies the result of the internal process of cognition and reflection described in ijȡİı੿ ıોȚıȚ ȞȠȒıĮȢ. At the same time, ȝȘįૅ ੑȞȩȝĮȚȞİ converts the detailed set of positive orders in 283–5 into a single, brief negative command, just as șİ૵Ȟ įૅ ਥʌȠʌȓȗİȠ ȝોȞȚȞ summarizes the hypothetical situation Anchises is urged to avoid in 286–8 in a positive way. The MSS have ȝȘįૅ ੑȞȩȝȘȞİ; but the aorist subjunctive (rather than the aorist imperative) is normal in prohibitions (cf. the Homeric model for the verse, quoted above), hence Hermann’s present imperative ੑȞȩȝĮȚȞİ (adopted by all modern editors). Smith (1979) 43–5 advocates for retaining the aorist subjunctive, on the ground that the construction is not impossible and the present of ੑȞȠȝĮȓȞȦ is attested nowhere else in early epic. But as van der Ben (1986) 40–1 points out, the ending -İ (sc. rather than -ȠȞ) is also unexpected with a first aorist, and Hermann’s

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emendation must be accepted as posing fewer substantial problems than the alternative. șİ૵Ȟ įૅ ਥʌȠʌȓȗİȠ ȝોȞȚȞ is modeled on Od. 5.146 ǻȚઁȢ įૅ ਥʌȠʌȓȗİȠ ȝોȞȚȞ / (‘Beware Zeus’ wrath!’), where Hermes urges Calypso to take account of Zeus’ likely reaction (Od. 5.147 ȝȒ ʌȫȢ IJȠȚ ȝİIJȩʌȚıșİ țȠIJİııȐȝİȞȠȢ ȤĮȜİʌȒȞȘȚ (‘lest somehow he grow angry and deal harshly with you hereafter’)), if she fails to set Odysseus free, as ordered; and cf. Thgn. 1297*. But Aphrodite alters the Homeric Hermes’ words to refer to the anger of multiple gods, meaning herself and Zeus in the first instance, but also the Olympians as a group, since this is not just specific but good general advice. 291 That Aphrodite expects eventually to return to the company of the other gods is apparent from 247–8, where she imagines her altered situation among them after news of her encounter with Anchises spreads. But the narrator says only that, once her long speech in 192–290 is over, she departs abruptly into the Ƞ੝ȡĮȞȩȢ, which he presents as neither the unseen home of the gods (‘heaven’, i.e. the halls of Zeus) nor the highest part of the visible sky (cf. Od. 11.17 Ƞ੝ȡĮȞઁȞ ਕıIJİȡȩİȞIJĮ / (‘the starry sky’), which could easily have stood here in place of the otherwise unexampled Ƞ੝ȡĮȞઁȞ ਱ȞİȝȩİȞIJĮ), but simply as the ‘air’ that sits on top of the earth (as at e.g. Il. 23.868, discussed below) and is full of the winds along with which (cf. 215–17 n. on 217 ੆ʌʌȠȚıȚȞ ਕİȜȜȠʌȩįİııȚȞ; e.g. Od. 1.98 ਚȝĮ ʌȞȠȚોȚȢ ਕȞȑȝȠȚȠ (‘along with the gusts of the wind’), of Athena’s progress over land and sea), one assumes, Aphrodite races off to her destination, whatever it may be (cf. 292 with n., on Cyprus as a candidate). At the same time, the phrase recalls the Homeric ʌȠIJ੿ ૓ǿȜȚȠȞ ਱ȞİȝȩİııĮȞ / (280 with n.), quietly connecting Aphrodite’s adventure with Anchises once again with the traditional fate of Troy (and see below). ਵȚȟİ ʌȡઁȢ Ƞ੝ȡĮȞȩȞ is borrowed from the account of Patroclus’ funeral games at Il. 23.868 and represents a pointed final reference to the interlocking tragedies of Priam, Hector, and Achilleus—from which Anchises and Aeneas, however, will ultimately escape. 292–293 The self-conscious voice of ‘the poet’ returns momentarily at the end of the narrative, as routinely in the Hymns; cf. in general Smith (1981a) 100–2 (‘an abrupt but well articulated withdrawal from the world of the narrated story to the present world of the narrator and his audience’). Imperative ȤĮ૙ȡİ (literally ‘Rejoice!’, i.e. here ‘Farewell!’; contrast 92* with n.) addressed to the deity is a standard feature of the closing section of individual Hymns (e.g. h. 1.D11 West; hAp. 545; hHerm. 579; h. 6.19; 7.58*; 9.7; 10.4* (reworking this line); 11.5*; 27.21 (plural); 28.17; 29.13*; and see the broad-ranging discussion of García (2002) 29–34). The

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word is particularly appropriate here, since Aphrodite has just abruptly vanished from the main narrative (291), although in 293 the narrator presents himself as the one in motion, perhaps because by that point the goddess has been localized again, on Cyprus (below). ȀȪʌȡȠȚȠ … ȝİįȑȠȣıĮ: The final address to Aphrodite as ‘mistress of Cyprus’ suggests that the island, and in particular the goddess’ temple in Paphos (cf. 58–9 with n.), is to be imagined as her immediate destination when she leaves Mount Ida (291 with n.). If so, the obvious explanation is that she needs to be washed and beautified by the Graces after her encounter with Anchises, as at Od. 8.363–6 (after she sleeps with Ares; cf. 58–68 n.), before she returns to Olympus (cf. 129–30 n.). In any case, the reference at the very end of the poem to Cyprus and to Aphrodite’s authority over it recalls 1–2 ਝijȡȠįȓIJȘȢ / ȀȪʌȡȚįȠȢ, where see n. (and note ıȑȠ … ਕȡȟȐȝİȞȠȢ). ਥȣțIJȚȝȑȞȘȢ: The adjective (for which, cf. 122–4 n. on 123 ਙțȜȘȡȩȞ IJİ țĮ੿ ਙțIJȚIJȠȞ) is not applied elsewhere in early epic to Cyprus; but cf. h. 10.4–5 ȈĮȜĮȝ૙ȞȠȢ ਥȣțIJȚȝȑȞȘȢ ȝİįȑȠȣıĮ / țĮ੿ ʌȐıȘȢ ȀȪʌȡȠȣ.. For the mild zeugma ıȑȠ … ਙȜȜȠȞ ਥȢ ੢ȝȞȠȞ to mean ‘(a song about) you’ vs. ‘a song about another subject’ (left unspecified for the moment, as the spotlight lingers on Aphrodite), cf. h. 9.[8]; 18.[11]; and the more common final verse Į੝IJ੹ȡ ਥȖઅ țĮ੿ ıİ૙Ƞ țĮ੿ ਙȜȜȘȢ ȝȞȒıȠȝૅ ਕȠȚįોȢ (‘but I will mention you and another song as well’; hDem. 495 = hAp. 546 = hHerm. 580 = h. 6.21 = 10.6). For uncontracted ıȑȠ in place of the MSS’s contracted ıİ૨, see the Praefatio to West (1998) xxii. ȝİIJĮȕȒıȠȝĮȚ: For the verb used of moving on to a new topic of song, cf. Od. 8.492 (Odysseus to Demodocus, asking to hear the story of the Wooden Horse).

Hymn 6: To Aphrodite The background of h. 6 as a whole, and of its narrative portion (3–18) in particular, is Hesiod’s account at Th. 188–206, esp. 191–202, of Aphrodite’s birth in the sea in the foam produced by Sky’s genitals after Cronus castrated him (Th. 176–82). Hesiod describes the goddess’ birth and the places to which the waves carried her (Th. 191–3); connects these details with her various names and cult-titles (Th. 197–200); and lists her interests and powers, all of which have to do with seduction and sexuality (Th. 203– 6). In the course of doing so, he also offers a brief account of her first steps on land on Cyprus (Th. 194–5), and notes that the figures Eros (‘Erotic Love’) and Himeros (‘Desire’) were with her not only when she was born, but when she went to visit the other gods for the first time (Th. 201–2). Hymn 6 presupposes Hesiod’s account (see 1 n., 2 n., 3–5 n.) by ignoring Aphrodite’s birth and beginning its narrative portion with the goddess in the sea, seemingly already fully formed (3–5), and by omitting any specific reference to her emergence onto land (5–6). More important, it fills in blank spots in Hesiod’s story and expands on details that appear only in sketchy form there, by offering a detailed picture of the goddess’ passage through the sea (as opposed to the Theogony’s focus on her arrival at a series of islands and coasts); describing her reception on Cyprus after she emerges from the water there (whereas Hesiod mentions the earth’s reaction to the touch of her feet, but nothing more); connecting that reception with her initial appearance in the company of the other gods (as Hesiod does not); and offering a detailed account of her initial meeting with the other Olympians (a matter regarding which the Theogony is silent). The Hymn ignores the Hesiodic Aphrodite’s ugly origins in intra-family violence; omits mention of her interest in and control over women’s deceptive power of seduction (Th. 205); and downplays her connection with physical pleasure (Th. 206; cf. 19 n.). Nor does it refer to her marriage to Hephaestus, which is the logical consequence of the heated rivalry for her hand described in 16–17, or its break-up as a result of her affair with Ares, as described at Od. 8.265–365. Although Aphrodite’s cult-status as mistress of Cyprus serves to introduce the narrative (2–3), finally, nothing more is made of it in the balance of the poem. Instead, Hymn 6 focuses relentlessly on the goddess’ physical appearance, and in particular on how she is dressed and ornamented (rather than on the shape of her face or her body), and on her status as an immensely desirable but simultaneously respectable marriageable young woman. The presence of ੁȠıIJİijȐȞȠȣ ȀȣșİȡİȓȘȢ in 18 in the same sedes as at h. 5.175 does not imply knowledge of the longer

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Hymn (which treats Aphrodite throughout as a daughter of Zeus, e.g. at 5.81, where see n.). The content of h. 6 is largely ‘descriptive’ or ‘mythic’. For the general theme of the introduction of a new god to the company of the other Olympians, who are awed by his or her appearance, cf. h. 28 introductory n. 19– 20 imply a contest setting, but nothing more can be said of the original performance context, although 3–5 (where see n.) imply interest in the city of Paphos in particular. 13 of the 21 lines (61.9%) feature masculine caesura; while the sample is small, the statistic suggests a 5th-century date, as for h. 27–8. Cf. Introduction 5. 1 reworks Hes. Th. 194 / ਥț įૅ ਩ȕȘ ĮੁįȠȓȘ țĮȜ੽ șİȩȢ (‘a respectable, beautiful goddess emerged’; of Aphrodite coming out of the sea at Cyprus), immediately establishing the Hymn’s close relationship to Hesiod’s story of Aphrodite’s origins. ĮੁįȠȓȘȞ: cf. h. 5.21 n. The adjective initially appears to refer to the ĮੁįȫȢ (‘respect’) Aphrodite deserves as the chief divinity of Cyprus (2–3). But the ĮੁįȫȢ she displays as a proper young woman turns out to be more relevant to what follows in the narrative section of the Hymn. ȤȡȣıȠıIJȑijĮȞȠȞ: cf. 7–8 (where the Seasons give Aphrodite her gold ıIJİijȐȞȘ) with n., 18 with n.; h. 5.1 n. (on ʌȠȜȣȤȡȣıȠ૨ ਝijȡȠįȓIJȘȢ), 6 n. (on ਥȣıIJİijȐȞȠȣ ȀȣșİȡİȓȘȢ), 16–17 n. (on gold as the standard material for objects associated with the gods). The adjective—not in the Hesiodic exemplar, and thus a deliberate addition here—is attested elsewhere in early epic only at Hes. Th. 17 (of Hebe), 136 (of Phoebe); applied to Aphrodite also at Sapph. fr. 33.1. 2 ਙȚıȠȝĮȚ: For the emphasis on the activity of the singer rather than of the Muse (as in h. 5.1), cf. hDem. 1 ਙȡȤȠȝૅ ਕİȓįİȚȞ (also h. 11.1; 13.1; 16.1; 26.1; 28.1); hAp. 1 ȝȞȒıȠȝĮȚ Ƞ੝į੻ ȜȐșȦȝĮȚ (cf. h. 7.2 ȝȞȒıȠȝĮȚ); h. 10.1 ਕİȓıȠȝĮȚ (also h. 15.1; 23.1; 30.1); h. 12.1 ਕİȓįȦ (also h. 18.1; 27.1). ਴ ʌȐıȘȢ țIJȜ: For the relative clause as a standard feature of early epic proems, see h. 5.2 n. țȡȒįİȝȞĮ (literally ‘head-scarves’ vel sim.; scarcely ‘veils’, although a țȡȒįİȝȞȠȞ could be employed as such, as at e.g. Od. 18.210) is also used of the walls ‘tied around’ a city at Il. 16.100; Od. 13.388 (where see Hoekstra’s n.); hDem. 151. But here the word also anticipates the description of Aphrodite’s adornment by the Seasons in 5–11. Given the reworking of Hes. Th. 194 in 1, ȜȑȜȠȖȤİȞ is easily understood as an echo of Th. 203–4 IJĮȪIJȘȞ įૅ ਥȟ ਕȡȤોȢ IJȚȝ੽Ȟ ਩ȤİȚ ਱į੻ ȜȑȜȠȖȤİ (‘she controls this honor from the first, and has it as her portion’ [204 del. Paley]; of Aphrodite’s control of young girls’ power of seduction

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and the sensuous pleasure associated with it). For the verb used to refer to an individual deity’s dominion over part of the physical world, cf. Il. 15.90–2 (where an actual process of casting lots appears to be in question; cf. Janko on 15.185–93); h. 19.6–7 ੔Ȣ ʌȐȞIJĮ ȜȩijȠȞ ȞȚijȩİȞIJĮ ȜȑȜȠȖȤİȞ / țĮ੿ țȠȡȣij੹Ȣ ੑȡȑȦȞ țĮ੿ ʌİIJȡȒİȞIJĮ țȑȜİȣșĮ (‘to whom belongs every snowy hill-crest, the mountain peaks, and the rocky tracks’; of Pan; the only other attestion of ȜȑȜȠȖȤİȞ in this sedes in early epic). Here Cyprus falls to Aphrodite simply by virtue of the fact that she first comes to land there, as 3–5 (which introduce the ‘historical background’ to the cultic fact articulated in this clause) make clear. 3–5 İੁȞĮȜȓȘȢ facilitates the transition between the description in 2 (where see n.) of Aphrodite’s authority on Cyprus conceived as a land-mass full of cities, to the marine setting of the narrative in ੖șȚ țIJȜ.: that the island (in this section of the Hymn seemingly populated only by deities) lies ‘in the sea’ matters because Aphrodite emerges from there in what follows. Homer repeatedly describes the west wind as moist (Od. 14.458; 19.206; cf. ਫ਼ȖȡઁȞ ਕȑȞIJȠȢ) and powerful (e.g. Il. 2.147–8; 19.415–16; cf. ǽİijȪȡȠȣ ȝȑȞȠȢ), and as particularly capable of stirring up the sea (Il. 4.422–6; 7.63–4; 9.4–7; Od. 4.402; cf. ț૨ȝĮ ʌȠȜȣijȜȠȓıȕȠȚȠ șĮȜȐııȘȢ). The description of the climactic conditions when Aphrodite appeared on the Cyprian coast thus amounts to a naturalizing version of a crucial element in Hesiod’s tale, in which foam (ਕijȡȩȢ, connected by Hesiod with the name Aphro-dite) spontaneously appeared around Sky’s genitals as they floated in the sea, and the goddess grew up out of it (Th. 190–2). Here, by contrast, the foam is produced by the billows the wind casts on the shore, and Aphrodite is merely carried onshore along with it. That the west wind in particular brings Aphrodite to Cyprus implies that she lands at Paphos (cf. 5–11 n.; h. 5.58–9 n.) rather than at Salamis (cf. h. 10.4 with n.), which is located on the east coast of the island. ǽİijȪȡȠȣ ȝȑȞȠȢ ਫ਼ȖȡઁȞ ਕȑȞIJȠȢ is adapted from a line-end formula (see the second apparatus) that routinely refers to the winds generally rather than to the west wind in particular. ʌȠȜȣijȜȠȓıȕȠȚȠ is focalized on the shore (where waves crash) rather than further out to sea (where they are by and large silent), and ȝĮȜĮț૵Ț as well suggests direct physical contact with the foam (cf. h. 5.158 with n.), sc. as it lies on the sand, where Aphrodite has been carried along with it. The adjectives throughout these verses are thus easily understood as capturing the experience of the goddess herself, who first feels the moist wind blowing vigorously at her back (ǽİijȪȡȠȣ ȝȑȞȠȢ ਫ਼ȖȡઁȞ ਕȑȞIJȠȢ); then hears the roar of the breakers; and finally finds herself standing on the beach, her feet covered in ‘soft foam’, on an island that is now hers.

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5–11 No setting is specified for the action described in IJ੽Ȟ į੻ țIJȜ., although Aphrodite arrived on the west coast of Cyprus in 3–5 (where see n.). That the Seasons are said to take her in (6 įȑȟĮȞIJ(Ƞ)) suggests that she goes to visit them, i.e. that they have a permanent residence on the island, where they store their jewelry when they are not wearing it, and which they leave when they go off to dance in Zeus’ house on Olympus (11–13); one would in any case expect the goddess to be draped and adorned (6–11) in private rather than in the open air. But the Seasons simultaneously play the part of Aphrodite’s slave-attendants, like the Graces in h. 5 (see 5 n., below). While she ought not yet, in one sense, to have a home on Cyprus, where she has just appeared, therefore, the implicit imaginary setting is most easily taken to be the temple in Paphos referred to at h. 5.58–9 (where see n.), where her handmaids are already in place to attend to her needs the moment she arrives. 5 ȤȡȣıȐȝʌȣțİȢ ૡȍȡĮȚ: cf. 12 ૡȍȡĮȚ … ȤȡȣıȐȝʌȣțİȢ; Pi. fr. 30.6–7 ȤȡȣıȐȝʌȣțĮȢ … / … ૠȍȡĮȢ. At Cypr. fr. 4.1–6, pp. 46–7 Bernabé, the Seasons make Aphrodite’s robes and dye them the colors of the springtime flowers, while at Hes. Op. 74–5 they garland Pandora’s head with similar blossoms. Here they function as Aphrodite’s attendant women, precisely like the Graces (with whom they are associated at Hes. Th. 901–3; hAp. 194–6; Cypr. fr. 4.1, p. 46 Bernabé) at h. 5.61–3. For the dancing of the Seasons and their ancestry, see 12–13 with nn. Homer puts them in charge of the cloud-gates in heaven (Il. 5.749–51 = 8.393–5) and has them care for gods’ horses when they return home by that route (Il. 8.433–5). See in general West on Hes. Th. 901; Gantz (1993) 53–4. An ਙȝʌȣȟ (worn by Andromache at Il. 22.469, along with a țİțȡȪijĮȜȠȢ, a ʌȜİțIJ੽ ਕȞĮįȑıȝȘ, and a țȡȒįİȝȞȠȞ) is a hair-band of some sort (ȈD Il. 5.358 and 22.469). That the ਙȝʌȣțİȢ that belong to the Seasons are made of gold reflects their divine status (cf. 1 n.); they are thus beautifully adorned, but nowhere near as beautifully adorned as Aphrodite will be when they are done with her (7–11). Hesiod uses the adjective of the Muses at Th. 916; elsewhere in early epic, it is applied only to horses (Il. 5.358, 363, 720; 8.382). 6 įȑȟĮȞIJૅ ਕıʌĮıȓȦȢ: The warm welcome Aphrodite receives from the Seasons anticipates the even more enthusiastic response of the Olympians generally, when she appears among them in 15–18 (esp. 15 ਱ıʌȐȗȠȞIJȠ); cf. 7 n. For the expression, cf. Hes. fr. 30.30 [ਕı]ʌĮıȓȦȢ ਫ਼ʌİį[ȑ]ȟĮIJȠ; hAp. 63–4 ਕıʌĮıȓȘ … / įİȟĮȓȝȘȞ. For the verb in the sense ‘take in’, also e.g. Il. 5.158; 14.203; Hes. Th. 479; hDem. 159; hAp. 305, 320; cf. LfgrE s.v. B I 4. ʌİȡ੿ įૅ ਙȝȕȡȠIJĮ İ੆ȝĮIJĮ ਪııĮȞ: The implication is that Aphrodite was nude when she emerged from the sea, and was dressed immediately in

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clothing appropriate to a god (ਙȝȕȡȠIJĮ); cf. 7 ਕșĮȞȐIJȦȚ with n., 11–13 n. For the order of the narrative (clothing first, jewelry second, with little detailed attention to the former), cf. h. 5.64–5, 86–90; Hes. Th. 573–84 (the first woman, destined to be given to Epimetheus, is similarly nude up to this point in the story). Variants of the formula are used elsewhere in early epic only to describe the gods’ handling of the corpses of particularly favored heroes (Il. 16.670, 680 (Apollo and the dead Sarpedon); Od. 24.59 (the Nereids and the dead Achilleus)). 7–10 The description of the process of adorning Aphrodite’s body (most of which is now concealed beneath her clothes; cf. 6, and see 10–11 n., 14 n.) moves gradually downward, from the top of her head (7–8), to her ears (8– 9), to her neck and finally her breasts (10). Cf. h. 5.87–90 with nn. 7–8 7 is adapted from a common early epic line (quoted in the second apparatus) that describes a warrior putting a helmet on his head in preparation for battle. ਕșĮȞȐIJȦȚ, like ਙȝȕȡȠIJĮ in 6, marks the emphatic initial recognition of Aphrodite’s divinity on the part of the Seasons, and explains the alacrity with which they greet her (6). ıIJİijȐȞȘȞ … / … ȤȡȣıİȓȘȞ: cf. 1, where ȤȡȣıȠıIJȑijĮȞȠȞ can be understood as a shorthand reference to all the elaborate items of jewelry mentioned in 7–11: this is how the Aphodite of cult described at the beginning and end of the Hymn came to be who and what she is. İ੡IJȣțIJȠȞ describes the craftsmanship of the garland; ȤȡȣıİȓȘȞ the material out of which it is constructed; and țĮȜȒȞ the general aesthetic impression it creates via the combination of the two. 8–9 ਥȞ į੻ IJȡȘIJȠ૙ıȚ ȜȠȕȠ૙ıȚȞ: The detail is drawn from the account of Hera’s self-adornment at Il. 14.182 (quoted in the first apparatus; and cf. 14 n.; h. 5.58–68 n.), and is arguably better suited to the established cultic Aphrodite of 1–2, 19–21 than to the figure who emerges from the sea in 3– 5, who ought not yet to have had the opportunity to get her ears pierced. ਥȞ įૅ İ੝IJȡȘIJȠ૙ıȚ (more closely matching the Homeric exemplar) would do just as well metrically and would add a subjective element of approval matching that of 10 in particular. ਙȞșİȝ(Į): literally ‘flowers’ (as at Semon. fr. 7.66 West2; Pi. ȅ. 2.72; N. 7.79), and thus presumably ‘earrings that resemble flowers’; cf. h. 5.87 n. on țȐȜȣțİȢ; Sapph. fr. 132.1 ਩ıIJȚ ȝȠȚ țȐȜĮ ʌȐȚȢ ȤȡȣıȓȠȚıȚȞ ਕȞșȑȝȠȚıȚȞ (‘I have a lovely girl with gold ਙȞșİȝĮ’). The word is first attested here. ੑȡİȚȤȐȜțȠȣ: ‘mountain-copper’, treated as a precious metal also at [Hes.] Sc. 122–3 țȞȘȝ૙įĮȢ ੑȡİȚȤȐȜțȠȚȠ ijĮİȚȞȠ૨, / ૽ǾijĮȓıIJȠȣ țȜȣIJ੹ į૵ȡĮ (‘greaves of shining mountain-copper, glorious gifts from Hephaestus’; Heracles’ armor; distinguished in 124–5 from gold) and Ibyc. PMG

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Commentary

282(a).42–3 (associated with but different from gold). Stesichorus (PMG 260) and Bacchylides (fr. 51) also use the word. At Criti. 114e, Plato describes ੑȡİȓȤĮȜțȠȢ as a mysterious substance known in earlier times: ʌȜ੽Ȟ ȤȡȣıȠ૨ IJȚȝȚȫIJĮIJȠȞ ਥȞ IJȠ૙Ȣ IJȩIJİ ੕Ȟ (‘the most valuable substance known to people in those days, except gold’); cf. Arist. APo. 92b22 (treated as a prime example of something no one can effectively define); Call. h. 5.19 with Bulloch ad loc.; Plin. Nat. 34.2 (described as a high-quality ore, the sources of which have long been exhausted). 10–11 įİȚȡોȚ įૅ ਕȝijૅ ਖʌĮȜોȚ: cf. h. 5.14 n. (for the sensual character of the description), 88 ਕȝijૅ ਖʌĮȜોȚ įİȚȡોȚ with n. For the expression, cf. also Il. 3.371; 13.202; 18.177; 19.285 (although only 19.825 is erotic, the other necks being called ‘soft’ in the context of being choked or severed on the battlefield). ıIJȒșİıȚȞ ਕȡȖȣijȑȠȚıȚȞ: cf. h. 5.90 ıIJȒșİıȚȞ ਕȝijૅ ਖʌĮȜȠ૙ıȚȞ with n. The adjective is most often used in early epic of clothing (Od. 5.230; 10.543; Hes. Th. 574; fr. 43a.73; hHerm. 250), and it thus properly belongs to the robes that cover Aphrodite’s breasts (cf. 6 n.) rather than to the breasts themselves. ੖ȡȝȠȚıȚ ȤȡȣıȑȠȚıȚȞ: cf. h. 5.88–90. 11–13 Ƞੈıȓ ʌİȡ țIJȜ: That the Seasons give Aphrodite their own necklaces to wear suggests that all the items of clothing and jewelry they furnish her with in 6–9 are to be conceived in retrospect as theirs as well. (For young women wearing gold jewelry when they dance in public, at least in part with an eye to attracting suitors, see h. 5.64–5 n.) But mention of the fact is reserved for the end of the dressing-scene, to facilitate the transition to 15– 18, where Aphrodite herself, now appropriately dressed and adorned, visits Zeus’ house and stuns the assembled gods with her loveliness. ૡȍȡĮȚ … ȤȡȣıȐȝʌȣțİȢ: cf. 5 ȤȡȣıȐȝʌȣțİȢ ૡȍȡĮȚ with n. țȠıȝİȓıșȘȞ echoes ਥțȩıȝİȠȞ in 11, tying the relative clause together with the one that precedes it and which it serves to explicate. This is the only dual in the Hymn, although the poet presumably conceived of a pair of Seasons throughout, whereas Hesiod (see below) refers to three of them. ੒ʌʌȩIJૅ ੅ȠȚİȞ țIJȜ: For the scene imagined here, cf. Od. 18.193–4 (Aphrodite anoints herself with ‘ambrosial beauty’ when she goes to (participate in) the ȤȠȡઁȞ ੂȝİȡȩİȞIJĮ (‘luscious dance’) of the Graces); Hes. Th. 36–43, 68–71 (the Muses—called ȤȡȣıȐȝʌȣțİȢ at Th. 916—make their way to their father Zeus’ house, where they sing and dance for him); hAp. 194–206 (the Graces and the Seasons, accompanied by a number of other goddesses, including Aphrodite, hold hands and dance to Apollo’s music, as Ares and Hermes do acrobatic tricks among them, and Zeus and Leto look on); h. 5.261 with n.; 27.13–20; and on a human level, Od. 6.154–7

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(Nausicaa’s parents are imagined as delighted to watch her ȤȠȡઁȞ İੁıȠȚȤȞİ૨ıĮȞ (‘entering a dance’)). ਥȢ ȤȠȡઁȞ … șİ૵Ȟ țĮ੿ įȫȝĮIJĮ ʌĮIJȡȩȢ: i.e. ‘to a dance to be performed by the gods in their father’s house’ (hendiadys). For the Seasons as daughters of Zeus and Themis, see Hes. Th. 901–3, where their individual names are said to be Ǽ੝ȞȠȝȓȘ (‘Lawfulness’ vel sim.), ǻȓțȘ (‘Justice’), and ǼੁȡȒȞȘ (‘Peace’). 14 summarizes the action in 5–11 after the digression on the Seasons’ necklaces in 11–13, in preparation for the transition to the new scene in 15–18. The language is borrowed more or less direct from Il. 14.187 Į੝IJ੹ȡ ਥʌİ੿ į੽ ʌȐȞIJĮ ʌİȡ੿ ȤȡȠ૗ șȒțĮIJȠ țȩıȝȠȞ (Hera emerges from her chamber, fully adorned, as part of her plan to seduce Zeus; cf. 8 with n.; h. 5.58–68 n., 64 (modeled on the same verse)), implicitly making the point that Aphrodite is now as strikingly attractive as she can be. Cf. h. 27.17 (of Artemis at a dance) ȤĮȡȓİȞIJĮ ʌİȡ੿ ȤȡȠ૗ țȩıȝȠȞ ਩ȤȠȣıĮ / (‘her skin beautifully adorned’). For ʌİȡ੿ ȤȡȠ૘ as erotic (calling attention to the goddess’ body, which is not only not described, but has been referred to in 6 only as it is concealed), see h. 5.64–5 n., 172. 15–18 ਥȢ ਕșĮȞȐIJȠȣȢ: i.e. to Zeus’ house, where the Seasons themselves regularly go to dance (and to be admired); cf. 12–13 with n., 16 ਱ȡȒıĮȞIJȠ with n.; Il. 15.84–5 ੒ȝȘȖİȡȑİııȚ įૅ ਥʌોȜșİȞ / ਕșĮȞȐIJȠȚıȚ șİȠ૙ıȚ ǻȚઁȢ įȩȝȦȚ (‘she entered the company of the assembled immortal gods in the house of Zeus’); Hes. Th. 285 (a model for the opening of this verse) ੆țİIJૅ ਥȢ ਕșĮȞȐIJȠȣȢ. ǽȘȞઁȢ įૅ ਥȞ įȫȝĮıȚ ȞĮȓİȚ (‘He came to the immortals; he dwells in the house of Zeus’). Ƞ੄ įૅ ਱ıʌȐȗȠȞIJȠ țIJȜ is a version of a typical scene in which unexpected visitors are met with right hands extended in greeting; cf. Il. 10.542 įİȟȚોȚ ਱ıʌȐȗȠȞIJȠ ਩ʌİııȓ IJİ ȝİȚȜȚȤȓȠȚıȚȞ (‘they greeted them with an extended right hand and gentle words’); Od. 3.35 ȤȑȡıȚȞ IJૅ ਱ıʌȐȗȠȞIJȠ țĮ੿ ਦįȡȚȐĮıșĮȚ ਙȞȦȖȠȞ (‘they greeted them with extended hands, and urged them to sit down’); 19.415 ȤȑȡıȚȞ IJૅ ਱ıʌȐȗȠȞIJȠ ਩ʌİııȓ IJİ ȝİȚȜȚȤȓȠȚıȚ (‘they greeted him with extended hands and gentle words’). But in the reworking here it is specifically the sight (ੁįȩȞIJİȢ) of Aphrodite—i.e. the impression made by her extraordinary physical beauty (6–13 with nn.)— that leads the assembled gods to offer her an enthusiastic reception, a point made again in the summarizing 18 İੇįȠȢ șĮȣȝȐȗȠȞIJİȢ; and they speak not to her but to Zeus (਱ȡȒıĮȞIJȠ), begging permission to marry her. For Zeus’ authority over the hands of individual female goddesses, cf. the very similar story involving Hestia at h. 5.24–9.

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That Aphrodite is taken to meet the gods generally and not some subset of them is implied in 15. But ਪțĮıIJȠȢ (used routinely in early epic with plural verbs, as at e.g. Il. 1.606; 7.175, 185; Od. 1.424; 2.252; 10.397; hAp. 477; hHerm. 431) makes it clear that her audience is conceived as fundamentally male. İੇȞĮȚ țȠȣȡȚįȓȘȞ ਙȜȠȤȠȞ țĮ੿ Ƞ੅țĮįૅ ਙȖİıșĮȚ is hysteron-proteron: to take Aphrodite home is the concrete action that will establish her in the position of an individual god’s ‘wedded wife’. For the expression țȠȣȡȚįȓȘȞ ਙȜȠȤȠȞ, cf. h. 5.127 (quoting Il. 19.298). For 18, cf. h. 5.84–5 n. ੁȠıIJİijȐȞȠȣ ȀȣșİȡİȓȘȢ: cf. h. 5.175* with n. The reference to Cythera (for which, see h. 5.6 with n.) is in contrast to the story of the goddess’ arrival on and consequent authority over Cyprus in 2–13, about which much of the Hymn is built, while the fact that her garland is here made of violets rather than of gold (contrast 7–8 with n.) makes it clear that she is no longer being described as she appeared to the other gods in her first meeting with them (15–17). Instead, her crown is now perishable, like those that might be offered to her on a daily basis in any of her sanctuaries. 19–20 ȤĮ૙ȡ(İ): cf. h. 5.292*–3 n. For ਦȜȚțȠȕȜȑijĮȡİ, cf. Hes. Th. 16 ਦȜȚțȠȕȜȑijĮȡȩȞ IJૅ ਝijȡȠįȓIJȘȞ / with West ad loc. (noting that the first element is from ਪȜȚȟ, not ਦȜȓııȦ); fr. 11.1 ]ȚҕIJȘȞ șૅ ਦȜȚțȠȕ[ȜȑijĮȡȠȞ]. For ȖȜȣțȣȝİȓȜȚȤİ (a hapax), cf. Hes. Th. 206 IJȑȡȥȚȞ IJİ ȖȜȣțİȡ੽Ȟ ijȚȜȩIJȘIJȐ IJİ ȝİȚȜȚȤȓȘȞ IJİ (‘sweet pleasure, affection, and gentleness’; the final items in the list of human activities Aphrodite controls ‘from the very first’); h. 10.2 (of Aphrodite) ȝİȓȜȚȤĮ į૵ȡĮ įȓįȦıȚȞ. įઁȢ įૅ ਥȞ ਕȖ૵ȞȚ / ȞȓțȘȞ IJ૵Țįİ ijȑȡİıșĮȚ: This is the only explicit reference in the Hymns to a contest in which the singer is competing, although cf. hDem. 494 ~ h. 30.18 ~ 31.17 ʌȡȩijȡȠȞİȢ ਕȞIJૅ ੩ȚįોȢ ȕȓȠIJȠȞ șȣȝȒȡİૅ ੑʌȐȗİȚȞ (‘be eager to grant a comfortable livelihood in return for my singing’); and the even more oblique h. 10.5 (where see n.); 24.5; 25.1; Race (1982) 10–14, esp. 11. For the expression ȞȓțȘȞ ijȑȡȠȝĮȚ (first attested here), cf. Pi. I. 7.21–2; S. El. 84–5. ਩ȞIJȣȞȠȞ ਕȠȚįȒȞ is borrowed from Od. 12.183, where the verb is a third-plural imperfect indicative rather than a second-singular aorist imperative, and describes the Sirens, the captivating epic singers par excellence. 21 A standard closing verse; cf. h. 10.6 and the other references in the first apparatus; Richardson on hDem. 495. For the zeugma (‘you’ balanced by ‘another song’), cf. h. 5.293 with n.

Hymn 9: To Artemis According to Str. 14.646, the Meles River flowed near the walls of New (i.e. Hellenistic) Smyrna; cf. Paus. vii.5.12, who calls the river’s water țȐȜȜȚıIJȠȞ and says that Homer was supposed to have composed his poems in a grotto near its springs (cf. 8–9 n.). Claros, on the other hand, was near Colophon, and featured an oracular shrine of Apollo (an important figure in the Hymn; cf. 1–2 n., 5–6 n.) and an unfinished temple (Paus. vii.3.1–2, 5.3–4). But Old Smyrna—which had a long, tangled history of conflict with Colophon (Mimn. fr. 9 West2 ap. Str. 14.646; Hdt. i.149–50; Paus. vii.5.1), and was captured and destroyed by Alyattes sometime around 600 BCE (Hdt. i.16.2; Str. xiv.646)—was located about five miles northwest of New Smyrna, while Colophon lay to the south of it, so that Artemis’ itinerary in 3–6 (which begins at the Meles and passes through Smyrna on the way to Colophon) only makes sense if the Smyrna in question is New Smyrna, dating the poem to the time of Alexander the Great or later. A ‘descriptive’ or ‘attributive’ hymn, presumably connected with one or more of the places mentioned in it, where the performance referred to in 7–8 must have taken place. Allen, Halliday, and Sikes (1963) very tentatively suggest the possibility of ‘a procession in which the Goddess’—i.e. a cult-statue of her—‘was carried’ from the Meles to Claros, sc. in a chariot pulled by a team of horses. The fact that the procession—or at least the portion of it referred to here—begins at a river may suggest a cleansing (ȖȐȞȦıȚȢ) ceremony, in which a cult statue was washed, anointed, dressed, and returned to its temple, as in Callimachus’ Bath of Pallas; see in general Bulloch (1985) 8–12, with further references; Fischer-Hansen and Poulsen (2009). 1–2 combine and rework two important early epic descriptions of Artemis, at Il. 20.71 and hAp. 199 (both quoted in the first apparatus). At h. 27.1–3 (where see nn., and cf. the embedded Artemis hymn at h. 5.16–20), the goddess is also called ʌĮȡșȑȞȠȞ … ੁȠȤȑĮȚȡĮȞ (note also Pi. P. 2.9 ੁȠȤȑĮȚȡĮ ʌĮȡșȑȞȠȢ) with amplifying adjectives modifying each word, before any mention is made of her divine sibling, who there wields a sword (ȤȡȣıĮȩȡȠȣ) rather than a bow. Here, by contrast, more initial emphasis is placed on Apollo, who is also characterized as an archer (ਦțȐIJȠȚȠ) and described not just as Artemis’ brother (1) but as having been raised along with her (2), setting up 5–6 (where see n., and cf. h. 27 introductory n.). For the opening address to the Muse, cf. h. 5.1 n.

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3–6 For the topography and its implications for the poem’s date and original performance context, see the introductory n. 3–4 For the relative clause as a standard feature of early epic proems, see h. 5.2 n. For the language, cf. Il. 8.438–9 ǽİઃȢ į੻ ʌĮIJ੽ȡ ૓ǿįȘșİȞ ਥȪIJȡȠȤȠȞ ਚȡȝĮ țĮ੿ ੆ʌʌȠȣȢ / ȅ੡ȜȣȝʌȩȞįૅ ਥįȓȦțİ (‘Father Zeus drove his wellwheeled chariot and horses to Olympus’). ੆ʌʌȠȣȢ ਙȡıĮıĮ ȕĮșȣıȤȠȓȞȠȚȠ ȂȑȜȘIJȠȢ: For the verb (not in Homer or Hesiod), cf. hAp. 262–3 (the River Telphousa addresses Apollo) ʌȘȝĮȞȑİȚ ıૅ Įੁİ੿ țIJȪʌȠȢ ੆ʌʌȦȞ ੩țİȚȐȦȞ / ਕȡįȩȝİȞȠȓ IJૅ Ƞ੝ȡોİȢ ਥȝ૵Ȟ ੂİȡ૵Ȟ ਕʌઁ ʌȘȖȑȦȞ (‘the hoofbeats of swift horses, and of mules being watered from my sacred springs, will bother you’); Euph. fr. 66, p. 42 Powell Ƞ੄ įૅ Ƞ੡ʌȦ ȈȚȝȩİȞIJȠȢ ਝȤĮȚȓįĮȢ ਙȡıĮȝİȞ ੆ʌʌȠȣȢ (‘they by no means watered their horses in the Achaean Simoeis’). For the idea, cf. Il. 24.350–1 ıIJોıĮȞ ਙȡૅ ਲȝȚȩȞȠȣȢ IJİ țĮ੿ ੆ʌʌȠȣȢ, ੕ijȡĮ ʌȓȠȚİȞ, / ਥȞ ʌȠIJĮȝ૵Ț (‘they stood their mules and horses in the river, so that they could drink’). The adjective (a Homeric hapax, marking the appearance of it here as a learned allusion to the epic exemplar) is used at Il. 4.383 of the Asopus River. ૧ȓȝijĮ: Artemis’ haste reflects the fact that her brother is waiting for her at the end of her journey (5–6). ʌĮȖȤȡȪıİȠȞ ਚȡȝĮ: For gold as the standard material for objects associated with the gods, see h. 5.16–17 n. įȚȫțİȚ is a ‘timeless’ hymnic present, just as ਸıIJĮȚ in 6 is a ‘timeless’ hymnic perfect. 5–6 For Apollo’s cult at Claros in the Hellenistic period, see Picard (1922), esp. 345–9 (on the festivals celebrated there, which included (pp. 346–7) a ȝȠȣıȚțઁȢ ਕȖȫȞ (‘contest in music’)). ਕȝʌİȜȩİııĮȞ: a common epithet of places in early epic (Il. 2.561; 3.184; 9.152, 294; hAp. 438), generally line-final and never in this sedes. ਕȡȖȣȡȩIJȠȟȠȢ (a common early epic epithet of Apollo; see the second apparatus) links the god closely with Artemis, who is herself twice described in 7 (cf. 2) as an archer, including with the adjective ਦțĮIJȘȕȩȜȠȞ, elsewhere routinely used of her brother instead (a single exception at Il. 15.231, of Hector). Like thus waits for and meets like; but the Hymn is explicitly addressed to and in honor of Artemis alone (1, 7–9). For ੁȠȤȑĮȚȡĮȞ, cf. 2; h. 27.2*. For Artemis visiting Apollo in one of his temples, cf. h. 27.13–14 (at Delphi). 7 A formulaic line, = h. 14.6 (in honor of the Mother of the Gods, and thus also late). For ȤĮ૙ȡİ, see h. 5.292–3 n.; Race (1982) 9 (noting that ȤĮ૙ȡİ … ਕȠȚįોȚ can be understood not just ‘rejoice in this song!’ vel sim. but ‘take pleasure in this song!’).

Hymn 9: To Artemis

289

8–9 Just as Artemis has moved rapidly from a famous source of poetic inspiration (see 3 with introductory n.) to a new place in the course of the Hymn, so too will the poet. 8 is awkwardly expressed and unnecessary to the sense. But those are weak grounds for expelling the verse from the text, particularly since ਙȡȤȠȝૅ ਕİȓįİȚȞ (‘I begin to sing’; common in this sedes at the beginning of Hymns (see the second apparatus)) is patently intended to balance ਕȡȟȐȝİȞȠȢ (‘after I begin’) in 9. For singing of someone first and last as a mark of honor, cf. Hes. Th. 34 with West ad loc., 48; h. 1.D9 West; 21.4. 9 is another formulaic line (= h. 5.293 (where see n.) = 18.11 (in honor of Hermes)).

Hymn 10: To Aphrodite M and Ȍ diverge so far from one another here, that attempting to determine which set of readings ought to be preferred is pointless. Instead, these are better presented as two separate versions of the Hymn, each with its own interests. Cf. Shackle, CR 29 (1915) 164: ‘The variants strongly suggest that we have here two versions of the hymn—and older one native to the Cypriote Salamis … and another when the hymn was adapted by later rhapsodes to suit any part of Greece—the manipulation leaving its mark in the barbarous rhythm of the recast line 4.’ Both versions must have been preserved in ȍ, one as a set of superlinear variants; see 4–5 n., and cf. Introduction 6. The reference in 1 to Aphrodite (whose proper name is never used in the Hymn) as the ‘Cyprian-born goddess of Cythera’ is balanced by the description of her in 4–5 as the mistress of Salamis (Ȍ) or Cythera (M), and of Cyprus as a whole. The terms in which Aphrodite is described in the relative clause in 2–3 (she offers gifts to mortals generally and is always smiling, and her appearance awakens ੆ȝİȡȠȢ (‘desire’)), meanwhile, anticipate the request in 5 that she demonstrate her allegedly consistently good mood by providing the poet with ੂȝİȡȩİııĮȞ song. A ‘descriptive’ or ‘attributive’ hymn, composed (like h. 6) in the shadow of the description of Aphrodite’s birth in Hesiod’s Theogony (see 1–3 n.), but also responding to h. 5 (see 4–5 n.). 4–5 in the Ȍ-version imply an interest in Cyprian Salamis in particular, and thus perhaps that that version of the piece was sung for the first time there. There is no other evidence for the original performance context beyond the standard reference to the singer’s desire for success and another song to come in 5–6. 1–3 1 echoes Hes. Th. 198–9, where Aphrodite is referred to in successive verses as ȀȣșȑȡİȚĮȞ* and ȀȣʌȡȠȖİȞȑĮ* (with explanations of how she got the titles as a result of her early wandering in the sea); cf. below on 2 ȝİȓȜȚȤĮ į૵ȡĮ įȓįȦıȚȞ, 3 Įੁİ੿ ȝİȚįȚȐİȚ; h. 6 introductory n. (on the more extended and systematic response there to Th. 188–206). ਸ਼ IJİ țIJȜ: For the relative clause as a standard feature of early epic proems, see h. 5.2 n. The reference here is to timeless, general characteristics of the goddess, who offers her gifts to (all) mortals (ȕȡȠIJȠ૙ıȚȞ / … įȓįȦıȚȞ); contrast the singer’s specific immediate request (aorist įȩȢ) in 5, which aims unexpectedly at a different kind of gift and a different sort of pleasure.

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Commentary

ȝİȓȜȚȤĮ į૵ȡĮ įȓįȦıȚȞ: cf. h. 6.19 ȖȜȣțȣȝİȓȜȚȤİ with n.; Hes. Th. 206 IJȑȡȥȚȞ IJİ ȖȜȣțİȡ੽Ȟ ijȚȜȩIJȘIJȐ IJİ ȝİȚȜȚȤȓȘȞ IJİ (‘sweet pleasure, affection, and gentleness’; probably the model for both verses). For the ‘gifts of Aphrodite’ (sex and all the pleasures associated with it), cf. Il. 3.54; hDem. 102; [Hes.] Sc. 47; Mimn. fr. 1.3 West2 țȡȣʌIJĮįȓȘ ijȚȜȩIJȘȢ țĮ੿ ȝİȓȜȚȤĮ į૵ȡĮ țĮ੿ İ੝ȞȒ (‘secret affection, gentle gifts, and bed’). ਥijૅ ੂȝİȡIJ૵Ț țIJȜ: Aphrodite’s beauty has two aspects: her face is permanently lovely, but smiles (offering and soliciting attention) and blushes (when that interest and attention are reciprocated) run over it as well, rendering it even lovelier. The adjectives (which set up ੂȝİȡȩİııĮȞ ਕȠȚįȒȞ in 5; see introductory n.; 5 n.) are focalized by the onlooker, in whom the goddess stirs up desire not just for herself but for others, leading to the sensual pleasures referred to obliquely in the first half of 2. Allen, Halliday, and Sikes (1963) take ਥijૅ to be in ‘tmesis’ in both 2 and 3 (‘she is always smiling upon (someone) with her lovely face, and a lovely blush runs over it’), which is far more difficult in the first instance than in the second. Cf. Sapph. fr. 1.14 (of Aphrodite) ȝİȚįȚĮȓıĮȚıૅ ਕșĮȞȐIJȦȚ ʌȡȠıȫʌȦȚ (‘smiling with her immortal face’); 112.4 (of a bridegrooom) ਩ȡȠȢ įૅ ਥʌૅ ੁȝȑȡIJȦȚ țȑȤȣIJĮȚ ʌȡȠıȫʌȦȚ (‘desire has been poured over his attraactive face’). Įੁİ੿ ȝİȚįȚȐİȚ glosses Aphrodite’s traditional epithet ijȚȜȠȝȝİȚįȒȢ (‘smile-loving’; cf. h. 5.16–17 n.) and is thus a tacit response to Hes. Th. 200, where the poet traces the title—much less convincingly—to the fact ‘that she appeared out of ȝȒįİĮ (genitals)’. The standard Homeric form of the verb is ȝİȚįȐȦ (always in the aorist), occasionally expanded in the present participle to ȝİȚįȚȩȦ (Il. 7.212; 21.491). For ȝİȚįȚȐȦ, cf. h. 7.14. Ȍ’s ijȑȡİȚ requires taking ੂȝİȡIJઁȞ … ਙȞșȠȢ as the object rather than the subject of the verb (‘and she adds a lovely blush as well’), and M’s șȑİȚ has generally been preferred by editors attempting to establish a single authoritative version of the text. For the use of the latter verb, cf. Od. 6.45 Ȝİȣț੽ įૅ ਥʌȚįȑįȡȠȝİȞ Į੅ȖȜȘ (‘a bright radiance runs over [the sky]’); 20.357 țĮț੽ įૅ ਥʌȚįȑįȡȠȝİȞ ਕȤȜȪȢ (‘and an ugly mist runs over [the earth]’); Sapph. fr. 112.4 (quoted and translated above); Arat. 834 ਩ȡİȣșȠȢ ਥʌȚIJȡȑȤİȚ (‘a blush runs across [the sun]’). 4–5 again (cf. 1–3 n.) have a significant Hesiodic intertext, in the poet’s final salutation of the Heliconian Muses at Th. 104 (quoted in the first apparatus). But 4 is more specifically a pointed reworking of h. 5.292 (where see n.) which, in contrast to that verse, in Ȍ’s version of the text emphasizes the goddess’ control of Salamis (on the east coast of the island), with the rest of Cyprus now mentioned almost as an afterthought. The request in the second half of 5 (for which, cf. 1–3 n.) is thus presumably to be granted in that city, where the performance is taking place. M, on the other hand,

Hymn 10: To Aphrodite

293

offers a more conventional contrast between the goddess’ two most famous cult-centers (cf. 1 with nn.). That Ȍ’s version of the is older, with M’s adapted from it, is perhaps suggested by (1) the fact that the name Cythera is elsewhere in early epic consistently a neuter plural (Il. 15.432; Od. 9.81; Hes. Th. 192, 198) rather than a feminine singular, and (2) the normally unacceptable combination of masculine caesura with word-break at the end of the third foot. 6 = h. 6.21, where see n. Here the conflation in the course of the poem of the sensual pleasure Aphrodite typically bestows (1–3) with the gift of song (5) renders the zeugma even less striking than usual.

Hymn 11: To Athena In contrast to h. 28 (from which the first verse appears to be adapted), on the one hand, and h. 5.8–15 (where see nn.), on the other, Hymn 11 puts exclusive emphasis on Athena’s interest in war, and in particular on her role in saving (1) and sacking (3) cities, and in protecting troops on the way to and from battle (4). Nor does the closing invocation mention another song to follow, as commonly elsewhere in the Hymns (cf. h. 5.293 with n.), or a desire for success in a poetic competition or the like (cf. h. 6.19– 20 with n.); and it asks for blessings not just for the singer, but for the audience as a whole (ਙȝȝȚ), who can thus be taken to share the concerns implicit in 1–4. Given the consistent orientation of those verses (above), the otherwise undefined ‘good luck and good fortune’ requested in 5 are easily understood as referring to public success in war, and in particular the safety of the city itself (1) and of its men on their way to and from combat outside the walls (4) (thus Paz de Hoz (1998) 63); cf. h. 22.7 (to Poseidon) İ੝ȝİȞ੻Ȣ ਷IJȠȡ ਩ȤȦȞ ʌȜȫȠȣıȚȞ ਙȡȘȖİ (‘Keep your heart well-disposed, and help those who are sailing!’, i.e. the city’s fleet). Perhaps there is some connection with the cult of Athena Areia and Ares (cf. 2) at Acharnae in Attica (for which, cf. Tod (1948) ii.304; Parker (2005) 398–9, with further bibliography). A ‘descriptive’ or ‘attributive’ hymn. 1 ~ h. 28.1 (where see nn.), but with ਥȡȣıȓʌIJȠȜȚȞ (drawn from h. 28.3*; cf. 4 ਥȡȡȪıĮIJȠ with n.) in place of țȣįȡ੽Ȟ șİȩȞ there, emphasizing Athena’s role as goddess of war in a specifically civic context. 2 įİȚȞȒȞ: applied in the same sedes to Athena herself at Hes. Th. 925 (the story of the goddess’ birth from Zeus’ head; cf. h. 28 with introductory n.). 2–4 ਸȚ ıઃȞ ਡȡȘȧ țIJȜ: For the description of Athena’s interests, cf. h. 5.10–11 ਕȜȜૅ ਙȡĮ Ƞੂ ʌȩȜİȝȠȓ IJİ ਚįȠȞ țĮ੿ ਩ȡȖȠȞ ਡȡȘȠȢ, / ਫ਼ıȝ૙ȞĮȓ IJİ ȝȐȤĮȚ IJİ, țĮ੿ ਕȖȜĮ੹ ਩ȡȖૅ ਕȜİȖȪȞİȚȞ with n. For the relative clause as a standard feature of early epic proems, see h. 5.2 n. In light of the apparent reference at the beginning of 2 to the description of Athena in the catalogue of Zeus’ children at the end of the Theogony, ıઃȞ ਡȡȘȧ ȝȑȜİȚ … / ʌİȡșȩȝİȞĮȓ IJİ ʌȩȜȘİȢ can be understood as modeled on Hes. Th. 936 ıઃȞ ਡȡȘȧ ʌIJȠȜȚʌȩȡșȦȚ (‘with Ares the citysacker’; cf. Il. 20.152 ਡȡȘĮ ʌIJȠȜȓʌȠȡșȠȞ (‘Ares the city-sacker’)), especially given the non-traditional character of the language. For Athena as ʌİȡıȑʌȠȜȚȢ (‘sacker of cities’), cf. Lamprocles PMG 735; Call. h. 5.43

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Commentary

with Bulloch ad loc. (‘the counter-aspect of ਥȡȣıȓʌIJȠȜȚȢ’). The goddess’ destructive aspects, described in 3, are balanced by her protective ones, described in 4. ਥȡȡȪıĮIJȠ is a ‘timeless’ hymnic aorist, and picks up ਥȡȣıȓʌIJȠȜȚȞ in 1. 4 ȜĮȩȞ is used in its Iliadic sense ‘the soldiers, troops’ (LfgrE s.v. B 2). ੁȩȞIJĮ IJİ ȞȚıȩȝİȞȩȞ IJİ: sc. ‘to battle’. 5 ȤĮ૙ȡ(İ): cf. h. 5.292*–3 n. įઁȢ įૅ ਙȝȝȚ IJȪȤȘȞ İ੝įĮȚȝȠȞȓȘȞ IJİ: cf. h. 13.3 (to Demeter) IJȒȞįİ ıȐȠȣ ʌȩȜȚȞ (‘preserve this city!’); 15.9 = 20.8 įȓįȠȣ įૅ ਕȡİIJȒȞ IJİ țĮ੿ ੕ȜȕȠȞ (‘grant me status and prosperity!’), although there the wish is for purely personal good fortune); carm. conv. PMG 884.2 (to Athena) ੕ȡșȠȣ IJȒȞįİ ʌȩȜȚȞ IJİ țĮ੿ ʌȠȜȓIJĮȢ (‘set this city and its citizens upright!’); adesp. PMG 934.19–22 (to Paean, the god of healing) ੆ȜĮȠȢ įૅ ਥʌȚȞȓıİȠ / IJ੹Ȟ ਕȝ੹Ȟ ʌȩȜȚȞ (‘visit our city in a gracious mood!’); Paz de Hoz (1998) 54–5. This is the first attested use of IJȪȤȘ in the sense ‘good luck’. İ੝įĮȚȝȠȞȓȘ is not attested elsewhere in early epic.

Hymn 12: To Hera In the course of the Hymn, Hera is praised in increasingly expansive terms for her timeless independent majesty, but also via repeated reference to Zeus and his authority. This is primarily a ‘descriptive’ or ‘attributive’ hymn. But the introduction of a historical narrative element via the relative clause in 1 opens up the possibility of reading much of what follows as a series of quiet allusions to Zeus’ courting of Hera and, intertwined with that, to the defeat of the Titans and the rise of the Olympian generation of gods: Hera was born to Rhea (1); she is/was beautiful (2) and thus desirable; she was Zeus’ sister but also became his wife (3); he is the lord of the thunder and the lightning (3, 5), the weapons by means of which the Titans were defeated, and he reigns supreme among the Olympians in that capacity (5, although see below); and Hera’s father and Zeus’ predecessor Cronus is conspicuous by the lack of mention of him. Cf. in general h. 5.40–4 with nn. But all this only serves to set up the Hymn’s more central and significant claim, that Hera is not just Zeus’ bedmate but his equal, as the other gods acknowledge (4–5). Indeed, the Hymn as a whole might easily be read as a meditation on Il. 4.58–63, where Hera stakes a claim to have her opinions about the course of the Trojan War taken seriously by her husband: țĮ੿ Ȗ੹ȡ ਥȖઅ șİȩȢ İੁȝȚ, ȖȑȞȠȢ įȑ ȝȠȚ ਩ȞșİȞ ੖șİȞ ıȠȓ, / țĮȓ ȝİ ʌȡİıȕȣIJȐIJȘȞ IJȑțİIJȠ ȀȡȩȞȠȢ ਕȖțȣȜȠȝȒIJȘȢ / ਕȝijȩIJİȡȠȞ, ȖİȞİોȚ IJİ țĮ੿ Ƞ੢ȞİțĮ ı੽ ʌĮȡȐțȠȚIJȚȢ / țȑțȜȘȝĮȚ, ıઃ į੻ ʌ઼ıȚ ȝİIJૅ ਕșĮȞȐIJȠȚıȚȞ ਕȞȐııİȚȢ. / ਕȜȜૅ ਵIJȠȚ ȝ੻Ȟ IJĮ૨șૅ ਫ਼ʌȠİȓȟȠȝİȞ ਕȜȜȒȜȠȚıȚȞ, / … ਥʌ੿ įૅ ਪȥȠȞIJĮȚ șİȠ੿ ਙȜȜȠȚ (‘For I myself am a god, and my descent is the same as yours, and I am the most distinguished daughter born to crooked-counselled Cronus, on both accounts, because of my ancestry and because I am called your wife, while you are king among all the immortals. But let us yield to one another in these matters, and the other gods will follow along’). There is nonetheless considerable—if unintended—irony in the poet’s claim, since Hera’s glory depends throughout, in one way or another, on that of Zeus, and the Hymn closes with a reference to him and his power (5 ǻȚ੿ IJİȡʌȚțİȡĮȪȞȦȚ) rather than to her. Human beings are absent from the Hymn, except for the poet’s selfreference in ਕİȓįȦ in 1, and the terms in which Hera’s majesty are described have nothing obviously to do with the mortal world or mortal concerns. All the same, the reverence and honor the other Olympians are said to show her are patently intended to model a similar reaction for the Hymn’s audience.

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Commentary

This and the late h. 8 are the only Hymns that lack a closing invocation of the deity. In this case, that might be a matter of scribal error, in which case one would dearly like to know whether only Hera or both Hera and Zeus were addressed in the missing lines. 1 The alpha in ਕİȓįȦ, long also at Od. 17.519; h. 18.1; 27.1; 32.1; Il.parv. fr. 28.1, p. 84 Bernabé, is consistently short elsewhere in early epic. For Hera referred to as ȤȡȣıȩșȡȠȞȠȢ, cf. Il. 1.611; 14.153; 15.5; hAp. 305; and see h. 5.218 n. on the adjective generally. ਴Ȟ IJȑțİ ૽ȇİȓȘ: cf. h. 5.43 ȝȒIJȘȡ IJİ ૽ȇİȓȘ with n. For the relative clause (which serves here to set up ǽȘȞઁȢ … țĮıȚȖȞȒIJȘȞ in 3) as a standard feature of early epic proems, see h. 5.2 n. 2 ਕșĮȞȐIJȦȞ: The MSS’s impossibly flat ਕșĮȞȐIJȘȞ is a result of assimilation to the case of ȕĮıȓȜİȚĮȞ. For Hera’s beauty, cf. h. 5.41 with n. ਫ਼ʌİȓȡȠȤȠȞ is attested elsewhere in early epic only at Il. 6.208 = 11.784 (quoted in the first apparatus), in the same sedes, and must be a specific echo of that—doubtless very famous—line, which captures precisely what the poet claims throughout is true of Hera, that she ‘always seeks to be the best and to excel others’. 3 ǽȘȞઁȢ ਥȡȚȖįȠȪʌȠȚȠ is attested elsewhere in early epic only at Hes. Th. 41* (although cf. Il. 15.293 / ǽȘȞઁȢ ਥȡȚȖįȠȪʌȠȣ). But the line as a whole is a witty reworking of the common Homeric description of Zeus as ਥȡȓȖįȠȣʌȠȢ ʌȩıȚȢ ૠǾȡȘȢ / (Il. 7.411; 10.329; 13.154; 16.88; Od. 8.465; 15.112, 180). țĮıȚȖȞȒIJȘȞ ਙȜȠȤȩȞ IJİ is likewise a standard Homeric phrase (always of Hera); cf. h. 5.40 with the second apparatus there. 4 țȣįȡȒȞ: cf. Il. 18.184 ૠǾȡȘ … ǻȚઁȢ țȣįȡ੽ ʌĮȡȐțȠȚIJȚȢ ~ Hes. Th. 328. ʌȐȞIJİȢ (never used to modify ȝȐțĮȡİȢ in this sedes elsewhere in early epic) is a bit of hyperbole that matches the use of the adjective ȝĮțȡȩȞ with ૓ȅȜȣȝʌȠȞ (by contrast, a standard epic phrase; see the second apparatus), adding additional emphasis to the assertion of Hera’s majesty: it is not just ‘the blessed ones on Olympus’ but ‘all the blessed ones on great Olympus’ who honor her as much as they do Zeus. 5 ǻȚ੿ IJİȡʌȚțİȡĮȪȞȦȚ is part of a line-end formular system that includes not only the dative, as here (see the second apparatus), but the nominative ǽİઃȢ IJİȡʌȚțȑȡĮȣȞȠȢ / (Il. 12.252; 24.529; Od. 14.268; 17.437) and the accusative ǻȓĮ IJİȡʌȚțȑȡĮȣȞȠȞ / (Hes. Op. 52; fr. 280.13).

Hymn 24: To Hestia In the opening lines of the Hymn, Hestia (for whom, see h. 5.22–32 with nn.) is described as caring for Apollo’s temple at Delphi (1–2), and as so richly adorned (sc. via the offerings she shares there; cf. h. 5.30–2 with nn.) that oil literally drips from her hair (3 with n.). In the final two verses, the goddess is asked to leave Apollo’s home and come to the place where the Hymn is being performed (4), presumably to bestow similar care on it and the individuals gathered there, and in particular on the singer and his song (5). Apollo, it seems, will remain in Delphi; Hestia is instead to be accompanied on her journey by Zeus in his guise of master of skills of every sort (5 ȝȘIJȚȩİȞIJȚ). The corruption in 4 (where see n.) makes it impossible to tell how different Zeus’ contribution to the general situation and in particular to the singer’s performance is to be from Hestia’s. But the fact that she alone is addressed in the final phrase suggests that the ȤȐȡȚȢ she is to bestow on the song will involve not just her own characteristic loveliness (cf. 3), but intellectual charm as well; cf. the alleged fondness of Hestia and Hermes for intelligence and youthful beauty at h. 29.12. That Apollo is the lyre-player par excellence is ignored in 1–2 (where he is instead referred to as king, archer, and implicitly prophet), but may nonetheless explain why Hestia is summoned specifically from his house; or perhaps this is simply her most famous residence (see 1–2 n.), or there is a more parochial explanation—concealed from us today, at a long temporal remove from the original performance context—that involves geography, the cultic preferences of the host of the party (if the Hymn is intended for a private rather than a public setting; see below), or the like. A ‘descriptive’ or ‘attributive’ hymn. The ‘Du-Stil’ (and thus the lack of initial reference to the activity of the Muse or the poet) is reminiscent of h. 29 (see h. 29.1 n.). But whether the original performance context for this Hymn as well is a banquet or symposium in a private home (thus Paz de Hoz (1998) 63; see h. 29 introductory n.), or a public event in a temple somewhere, is impossible to tell. 1–2 For Hestia at Delphi, cf. Aristonous’ Hymn to Hestia 2–6, pp. 164–5 Powell ਘ țĮ੿ ૓ȅȜȣȝʌȠȞ / țĮ੿ ȝȣȤઁȞ ȖĮȓĮȢ ȝİıȩȝijĮȜȠȞ ਕİ੿ / ȆȣșȓĮȞ IJİ įȐijȞĮȞ țĮIJȑȤȠȣıĮ / ȞĮઁȞ ਕȞૅ ਫ਼ȥȓʌȣȜȠȞ ĭȠȓȕȠȣ ȤȠȡİȪİȚȢ / IJİȡʌȠȝȑȞĮ IJȡȚʌȩįȦȞ șİıʌȓıȝĮıȚ (‘you who always occupy Olympus, the central recess of the earth, and the Pythian laurel, and who dance about the highdoored temple of Phoebus, delighting in the tripods’ prophecies’). For the sacred hearth at Delphi itself, cf. Plu. Arist. 20.4.

300

Commentary

1 For the initial vocative, see h. 29.1 n. For the goddess’ name (Ionic ૽ǿıIJȓȘ vs. Attic ૽ǼıIJȓĮ, with the paradosis ૽ǼıIJȓȘ a hybrid non-form), see h. 5.22 n. For the relative clause as a standard feature of early epic proems, see h. 5.2 n. Although ਝʌȩȜȜȦȞȠȢ ਦțȐIJȠȚȠ / is an early epic formula (see the first apparatus, and cf. h. 9.1–2), ਙȞĮțIJȠȢ ਝʌȩȜȜȦȞȠȢ ਦțȐIJȠȚȠ / is not; but cf. / ਝʌȩȜȜȦȞȚ ਙȞĮțIJȚ at Il. 1.36; / ਝʌȩȜȜȦȞĮ IJૅ ਙȞĮțIJĮ at hAp. 15. For Apollo as ਙȞĮȟ, cf. also Il. 1.75; Hes. Th. 347; [Hes.] Sc. 100. 2 ȆȣșȠ૙ ਥȞ ਱ȖĮșȑȘȚ: For ȆȣșȫȞ or Ȇȣșȫ (rather than Delphi) as the standard early epic name for the location of Apollo’s sanctuary, cf. h. 27.13–14 n. For the description of the place as ‘sacred’, cf. (in addition to the passages from early epic cited in the apparatus) Pi. P. 9.71 ਥȞ Ȇȣș૵ȞȚ … ਕȖĮșȑĮȚ; Bacch. 3.62 ਥȢ ਕȖĮșȑĮȞ … Ȇ[ȣș]ȫ; 5.41 Ȇȣș૵Ȟȓ IJૅ ਥȞ ਕȖĮșȑĮȚ. 3 For pouring perfumed oil on one’s hair (a mark of ostentatious wealth and luxury), cf. Ar. Ec. 1117 (a slave-girl who has just left an extraordinary party); Archestr. fr. 60.3 țĮ੿ ıIJĮțIJȠ૙ıȚ ȝȪȡȠȚȢ ਕȖĮșȠ૙Ȣ ȤĮȓIJȘȞ șİȡȐʌİȣİ (‘and treat your hair with fine perfume dispensed in drops’; advice for someone planning a fancy banquet) with Olson–Sens ad loc.; Call. Aet. fr. 7.12 ਕʌૅ ੑıIJȜȓȖȖȦȞ įૅ Įੁ੻Ȟ ਙȜİȚijĮ ૧ȑİȚ (‘and oil always flows from your locks’; of the Graces); h. 2.38 Įੂ į੻ țȩȝĮȚ șȣȩİȞIJĮ ʌȑįȦȚ ȜİȓȕȠȣıȚȞ ਩ȜĮȚĮ (‘his hair drips fragrant olive oil onto the ground’; of Apollo) with Williams ad loc. But here the reference must be in the first instance to the practice of pouring oil on cult-statues of the gods or their altars; cf. h. 5.61–3 n.; 9 introductory n.; Tibull. ii.2.7 illius puro destillent tempora nardo (‘Let his temples drip with pure nard-oil!’; of Cornutus’ birth-spirit, come to visit his altar); Artemid. ii.33 ਕȖȐȜȝĮIJĮ șİ૵Ȟ … ਕȜİȓijİȚȞ (‘to anoint statues of the gods with oil’). ਫ਼ȖȡઁȞ ਩ȜĮȚȠȞ: The adjective is traditional (see the first and second apparatus), but is nonetheless highly appropriate with ਕʌȠȜİȓȕİIJĮȚ. 4 † ਥʌȑȡȤİȠ † is patently a repetition of ਩ȡȤİȠ at the head of the line, which has somehow driven out an adjective that began with a vowel and agreed with șȣȝȩȞ. Barnes suggested ਥȪijȡȠȞĮ (cf. h. 5.102 İ੡ijȡȠȞĮ șȣȝઁȞ ਩ȤȠȣıĮ /, although İ੡- is a single long syllable there, whereas here ਥȪwould be two shorts; but cf. h. 6.7–8 n.). ਥʌȓijȡȠȞĮ would anticipate the reference to Hestia’s companion Zeus as ȝȘIJȚȩİȞIJȚ in 5, and would help explain the presence of the prefix on ਥʌ-ȑȡȤİȠ. 5 ǻȚ੿ ȝȘIJȚȩİȞIJȚ: For the adjective used of Zeus, cf. Hes. Th. 286, 457 / ǽોȞȐ IJİ ȝȘIJȚȩİȞIJĮ; Op. 51, 273, 769; hAp. 344. Homer has only ȝȘIJȚȑIJĮ ǽİȪȢ / (e.g. Il. 1.175; 2.197; cf. h. 5.202 with apparatus; 28.4,

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16). For Zeus and the hearth (ੂıIJȓȘ) invoked together in early epic, Od. 14.158–9 = 17.155–6 (etc.). ȤȐȡȚȞ … ੕ʌĮııȠȞ ਕȠȚįોȚ: A witty reversal of the typical hymnic closing, in which the singer asks the god to take pleasure (ȤĮ૙ȡİ; cf. h. 5.292 with n.) in his song.

Hymn 27: To Artemis A ‘descriptive’ or ‘attributive’ hymn, which falls into two main parts: Artemis the huntress (4–10) and Artemis the dancer and leader of dancers (11–20, with 11–12 functioning primarily as transition verses). These balanced vignettes are framed by the opening invocation (1–3) of Artemis alone, and the closing salutation (21–2) to both Artemis and Apollo, with reference to their parents Zeus and Leto as well. The terms in which the goddess is described are reminiscent of h. 5.16–20, esp. 18–19, where see nn. But human beings are absent from the Hymn (contrast h. 5.19–20 with nn.), and the action is set instead in the mountains among wild beasts (esp. 4–5), on the one hand, and in Apollo’s temple in Delphi, conceived as a divine residence full of divine visitors (13–14), on the other. The Hymn responds directly to the major Hymn to Apollo, including both its ‘Delian’ and its ‘Delphian’ portions (see 11–12 n.), and systematically reduces that god to a minor figure distinguished primarily by his status as Artemis’ brother (3, 19–21); contrast h. 9 with 9.1–2 n. That it was originally intended for performance at Delphi nonetheless seems a reasonable guess, given the extravagant description of the place in 13–14 and the absence of any other clues. 15 of the 22 lines (68.2%) feature masculine caesura, suggesting a 5thcentury date, and there are striking similarities to the structure and language of h. 28 (where see introductory n.). 1–3 1–2 (like h. 5.16; 9.1–2, where see nn.) are modeled on the description of Artemis at Il. 20.70–1 (quoted in the first apparatus). The lines consist almost entirely of adjectives that describe the two strikingly different aspects of the goddess that emerge in the vignettes that follow: she is both a fearsome huntress who spends her time in the mountains slaughtering wild beasts (cf. 4–10), and a highly cultured and ‘respectable’ young woman who sings, dances, and dresses beautifully, all in a firmly domestic context (cf. 13–20). That the terms in which Artemis’ contrasting aspects are described sit awkwardly side by side in the two halves of 2 in particular iconically captures something of her odd and complex character, and of that of the Hymn that honors her. The mention in 3 of the goddess’ sibling relationship to Apollo anticipates the reference to his house in 13–14, the song she sings about their mother Leto in 19–20, and poet’s final salutation in 21–2. For the long alpha in ਕİȓįȦ, see h. 12.1 n.

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Commentary

ȤȡȣıȘȜȐțĮIJȠȞ țİȜĮįİȚȞȒȞ: cf. h. 5.16* nn. The first adjective describes Artemis’ appearance by reference to a basic element of her iconography (see in general h. 5.18 n.; for the goddess’ bow and arrows as a central organizing element in the narrative in h. 27, cf. 5, 12, 16 with nn, 17 n.), the second the sound of her voice as she hunts. ਥȜĮijȘȕȩȜȠȞ and ੁȠȤȑĮȚȡĮȞ in the next verse, on the other hand, describe Artemis’ activity by reference to its effect or object, on the one hand, and the nature of her own engagement in it, on the other. ʌĮȡșȑȞȠȞ ĮੁįȠȓȘȞ: cf. h. 5.21 n.; 28.3* (of Athena). ਥȜĮijȘȕȩȜȠȞ is Homeric vocabulary (of a hunter at Il. 18.319), but is applied to Artemis elsewhere in early epic only at Hes. fr. 23a.21 [ਥȜĮijȘȕȩ]ȜȠҕȢ ੁȠȤȑĮȚȡĮ*. Cf. Anacr. PMG 348.1–3 ȖȠȣȞȠ૨ȝĮȚ ıૅ ਥȜĮijȘȕȩȜİ / ȟĮȞș੽ ʌĮ૙ ǻȚઁȢ ਕȖȡȓȦȞ / įȑıʌȠȚȞૅ ਡȡIJİȝȚ șȘȡ૵Ȟ (‘I beg you, Artemis, deer-shooter, blonde daughter of Zeus, mistress of the savage wild beasts’); carm. conv. PMG 886.3–4 ਥȜĮijȘȕȩȜȠȞ IJૅ ਕȖȡȠIJȑȡĮȞ / ਡȡIJİȝȚȞ (‘and Artemis the savage deer-shooter’); S. Tr. 213–14 ਡȡIJİȝȚȞ ૅȅȡIJȣȖȓĮȞ ਥȜĮijĮȕȩȜȠȞ (‘Ortygian Artemis, deer-shooter’). ȤȡȣıĮȩȡȠȣ ਝʌȩȜȜȦȞȠȢ: Apollo is frequently referred to in early epic as ȤȡȣıȐȦȡ in variants of the line-initial formula / ĭȠȓȕȠȣ ਝʌȩȜȜȦȞȠȢ ȤȡȣıĮȩȡȠȣ (e.g. Il. 5.509). But the standard line-end formula in this sedes is ਦțĮIJȘȕȩȜȠȣ ਝʌȩȜȜȦȞȠȢ / (e.g. Il. 1.370; 5.444), which would make Apollo an archer too, whereas that role is reserved emphatically for his sister in h. 27. Cf. 5 IJȩȟĮ IJȚIJĮȓȞİȚ with n.; h. 5.16–17 n. (on gold as the typical material for objects belonging to the gods in early epic). 4–5 An echo of Od. 6.102, 104 (quoted in the first apparatus), where nothing but the epithet ੁȠȤȑĮȚȡĮ, however, makes it clear that the pleasure Artemis takes in the wild animals she encounters in the mountains consists of killing them. For the relative clause as a standard feature of early epic proems, see h. 5.2–3 n. ੕ȡȘ ıțȚȩİȞIJĮ: ‘Shadowy mountains’ are referred to already in Homer (Od. 5.279 = 7.268 ੕ȡİĮ ıțȚȩİȞIJĮ; also hAp. 34; hHerm. 70), but only in line-final position and with the uncontracted form of the noun (cf. 6 ȕȑȜȘ with n.); but cf. the similarly post-Homeric hHerm. 95*. For the connection between mountains and hunting, and Artemis’ interest in both, see h. 5.18 n. ਙȖȡȘȚ IJİȡʌȠȝȑȞȘ: The pleasure Artemis takes in the slaughter (here blandly characterized as a ‘hunt’; but cf. 6 ıIJȠȞȩİȞIJĮ ȕȑȜȘ with n., 10) she produces (cf. 11–12) stands in stark—and, from a modern perspective, horrifying—contrast to the terror she inspires in the natural world in which she is enjoying herself (6–9). ʌĮȖȤȡȪıİĮ IJȩȟĮ IJȚIJĮȓȞİȚ quotes but reverses hAp. 4 ijĮȓįȚȝĮ IJȩȟĮ IJȚIJĮȓȞİȚ /, since here it is Artemis rather than her brother Apollo who

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wields a terrifying bow; cf. 1–3 n. on 3 ȤȡȣıĮȩȡȠȣ ਝʌȩȜȜȦȞȠȢ, 12 n., 16 n. 6 ıIJȠȞȩİȞIJĮ ȕȑȜȘ: i.e. missiles ‘that produce groans in the creatures they hit’ (cf. 8). ‘Groaning bolts’ (ȕȑȜİĮ ıIJȠȞȩİȞIJĮ) are mentioned also in Homer (Il. 8.159 = 15.590; 17.374; cf. ıIJȠȞȩİȞIJİȢ ੑȧıIJȠȓ at Od. 21.12, 60; ıIJȠȞȩİȞIJĮ ȕİȜȑȝȞĮ at Od. 24.180) and Hesiod (Th. 684), and at h. 5.152 (where see n.), but only in line-final position and with the uncontracted form of the noun; cf. 4–5 n. on ੕ȡȘ ıțȚȩİȞIJĮ ~ Homeric ੕ȡİĮ ıțȚȩİȞIJĮ /. 6–9 The terror Artemis inspires—which ought really to be felt by the animals she pursues (cf. 6 ıIJȠȞȩİȞIJĮ ȕȑȜȘ with n., 8 țȜĮȖȖોȢ șȘȡ૵Ȟ), rather than by the features of the natural world through which she pursues them— begins in the mountains and woods (i.e. the wooded mountains) in which she hunts (țȐȡȘȞĮ / ਫ਼ȥȘȜ૵Ȟ ੑȡȑȦȞ … įȐıțȚȠȢ ੢ȜȘ, resuming 4 ੕ȡȘ ıțȚȩİȞIJĮ țĮ੿ ਙțȡȚĮȢ ਱ȞİȝȠȑııĮȢ), but then spreads further, to the earth generally (ȖĮ૙Į) and even the sea with its own creatures (ʌȩȞIJȠȢ IJૅ ੁȤșȣȩİȚȢ). Cf. h. 5.72–4 n. For the reaction of the earth and sea, cf. hDem. 14 with Richardson on 13; h. 28.9–14 with nn.; Pi. O. 7.35–8 (quoted in h. 28 introductory n.). ਫ਼ʌઁ țȜĮȖȖોȢ șȘȡ૵Ȟ: cf. 6 ıIJȠȞȩİȞIJĮ ȕȑȜȘ with n. țȜĮȖȖȒ (cognate with English ‘clang’) is a generic term for a sound produced by a group of men or animals and that is inarticulate on that account (esp. Il. 3.2–6, of the din produced by the assembled Trojan forces, compared to that of a flock of cranes taking flight); of the noise made by wolves and lions in the mountains at h. 14.4. ʌȩȞIJȠȢ IJૅ ੁȤșȣȩİȚȢ is an adaptation of a standard early epic phrase (e.g. Il. 9.4; 16.746; 19.378; Od. 4.381; 5.420; 10.458, 540; hDem. 34), which is often line-initial but never occupies precisely this sedes. 9–10 ਙȜțȚȝȠȞ ਷IJȠȡ ਩ȤȠȣıĮ: i.e. untroubled by the cosmic uproar her actions have unleashed (6–9). ʌȐȞIJȘȚ ਥʌȚıIJȡȑijİIJĮȚ țIJȜ resumes the relative clause in 4–6 after the digression on the reaction to the goddess’ hunting in 6 IJȡȠȝȑİȚ–9 ੁȤșȣȩİȚȢ, preparing for the transition to the new scene in 11–20; and cf. 11–12 n. For the verb, cf. Hes. Th. 753 / ȖĮ૙ĮȞ ਥʌȚıIJȡȑijİIJĮȚ (‘she makes her way over the earth’; of Night/Day); Thgn. 648 ਕȞĮȚįİȓȘ ȖĮ૙ĮȞ ਥʌȚıIJȡȑijİIJĮȚ (‘shameless, she makes her way over the earth’; of the personified Aidôs); Anacr. PMG 357.4–5 ਥʌȚıIJȡȑijİĮȚ / įૅ ਫ਼ȥȘȜ੹Ȣ ੑȡȑȦȞ țȠȡȣijȐȢ (‘you make your way over the lofty mountain peaks’; of Dionysus). 11–12 Į੝IJ੹ȡ ਥʌ੽Ȟ IJİȡijșોȚ resumes 5 ਙȖȡȘȚ IJİȡʌȠȝȑȞȘ (cf. 9–10 with n.) retrospectively, just as the adjectives șȘȡȠıțȩʌȠȢ ੁȠȤȑĮȚȡĮ that follow in

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the second half of 11 resume in epithet-form the action described in 5 ʌĮȖȤȡȪıİĮ–6 ȕȑȜȘ. șȘȡȠıțȩʌȠȢ (first attested here; subsequently also of Artemis at Bacch. 11.107; Phil. AP vi.240.1 = GPh 2648 (probably a learned reference to this passage)) is ‘who looks for wild beasts’, sc. ‘in order to shoot them’; cf. 2 ਥȜĮijȘȕȩȜȠȞ*. İ੝ijȡȒȞȘȚ į੻ ȞȩȠȞ: The pleasure (IJȑȡȥȚȢ) Artemis has got from systematically (note 10 ʌȐȞIJȘȚ ਥʌȚıIJȡȑijİIJĮȚ) hunting down and killing animals in the mountains alters her mood, allowing her to move on to the more civilized and social behavior appropriate to a ʌĮȡșȑȞȠȢ ĮੁįȠȓȘ (2) described in 13–20 (esp. 15, 17–19). The phrase is modeled on Homeric expressions such as șȣȝઁȞ ਩IJİȡʌİȞ (Il. 9.189), on the one hand, and the middle-passive ȝȘįȑ IJȚ ȤİȓȡȠȞȠȢ ਕȞįȡઁȢ ਥȣijȡĮȓȞȠȚȝȚ ȞȩȘȝĮ (Od. 20.82), on the other. But elsewhere in early epic, the verb in the active always refers to bringing joy to others rather than to oneself (or one’s own mind, as here). ȤĮȜȐıĮıૅ İ੝țĮȝʌȑĮ IJȩȟĮ: The verb is attested elsewhere in early epic only at hAp. 6 ȕȓȠȞ IJૅ ਥȤȐȜĮııİ, where Leto unstrings Apollo’s bow and caps his quiver after he enters Zeus’ house menacing the other gods with his weapons (hAp. 2–4). Given the other echoes of and allusions to the Hymn to Apollo at 5, 13–14, 16, and 18–20 (and see in general 13–20 n.), 12–20 as a whole are easily understood as a pointed reworking of the older Hymn that casts Artemis as a more controlled and gracious figure than her brother, if only because she expresses her own fierce aggressiveness in other contexts (4–10). The standard early epic epithets of bows are țȐȝʌȣȜĮ (‘bent’; e.g. Il. 3.17; 5.97; hAp. 131; hHerm. 515), ਙȖțȣȜĮ (‘curved’; e.g. Il. 5.209; Od. 21.264), and ʌĮȜȓȞIJȠȞĮ (16 with n.). But İ੝țĮȝʌȑĮ here is presumably not ‘well-bent’ (describing the bow’s construction or form) but ‘easily bent, flexible’, referring to how it responds when Artemis goes to unstring it, like the ‘smoothly turning’ key in Penelope’s hand at Od. 21.6 țȜȘ૙įૅ İ੝țĮȝʌȑĮ and the sickle that ‘moves easily in a circle’ mentioned by Odysseus in connection with a reaping-contest at Od. 18.368 įȡȑʌĮȞȠȞ … İ੝țĮȝʌȑȢ. 13–20 This is in many ways a generic scene; cf. Il. 1.603–4 (Apollo plays the lyre in Zeus’ house while the Muses sing); Od. 18.193–4 (Aphrodite anoints herself with beauty whenever she goes to a ‘luscious dance of the Graces’); Hes. Th. 36–43 (the Muses sing for Zeus in his house); h. 5.261 (the nymphs dance in the presence of the Olympian gods, sc. in Zeus’ house) with n.; 6.11–13 (the Seasons wear special necklaces when they go to dance with the other gods in Zeus’ house); 19.19–27 (the mountainnymphs dance with Pan and sing a hymn in honor of his father Hermes in particular). But the description of the dance of Artemis, the Muses, and the

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Graces in Apollo’s house in Delphi is best read specifically against hAp. 186–206, where the action is set on Olympus (186–7) and Zeus and Leto make up the audience (204–6); the Muses sing (189–93); the Graces and the Seasons, accompanied by Harmonia, Hebe, and Aphrodite, do a line- or circle-dance (194–6); Ares and Hermes perform acrobatic tricks (200–1); Apollo, beautifully dressed, plays the lyre (201–3) and is the focus of the internal audience’s admiring attention (204–6, esp. 206); ‘and among the women performs one who is neither unattractive nor short, but quite large and wonderful in appearance, Artemis ੁȠȤȑĮȚȡĮ, Apollo’s sibling’ (197–9, quoted in the first apparatus). Here, however, Artemis is not just one of the dancers, even if the most richly described of them, but organizes and leads the choruses (15 ȤȠȡઁȞ ਕȡIJȣȞȑȠȣıĮ, 17 ਲȖİ૙IJĮȚ, 18 ਥȟȐȡȤȠȣıĮ ȤȠȡȠȪȢ; cf. 19–20 n.); her costume alone is described (17); Apollo and his lyre-playing receive no mention, beyond the observations that the action takes place in his house (13–14), and that the song sung by Artemis, the Muses, and the Graces celebrates both of Leto’s children (19–20, cf. 21); and Zeus too is absent from the scene, in part as a consequence of the fact that the setting is no longer his house but Apollo’s temple in Delphi. 13–14 ਥȢ ȝȑȖĮ į૵ȝĮ țĮıȚȖȞȒIJȠȚȠ ijȓȜȠȚȠ: i.e. to the temple whose construction is described at hAp. 294–9, where the poet calls it ਕȠȓįȚȝȠȞ … Įੁİȓ (‘a subject of song forever’). Ĭ’s ȝİIJ੹ țĮıȚȖȞȒIJȠȚȠ ijȓȜȠȚȠ represents the intrusion of a superlinear variant for ȝȑȖĮ into the text. ǻİȜij૵Ȟ ਥȢ ʌȓȠȞĮ įોȝȠȞ: Delphi is consistently referred to elsewhere in early epic as ȆȣșȫȞ or Ȇȣșȫ (Il. 2.519; 9.405; Od. 8.80; 11.581; hAp. 183, 372, 517; hHerm. 178; h. 24.2). The gratuitously flattering descriptions of the place and of the temple there (cf. hHerm. 178 ਥȢ Ȇȣș૵ȞĮ ȝȑȖĮȞ įȩȝȠȞ ਕȞIJȚIJȠȡȒıȦȞ (‘to Pytho, to burgle [Apollo’s] large house’)) support the notion that the original performance-context was a festival in Delphi; cf. introductory n. 15–18 15 defines a purpose only realized in 17–18, after Artemis has made her way to Apollo’s house (13–14, resumed in 16 ਩ȞșĮ) and hung up the bow (16) she unstrung before setting off on her journey (12). 15 ȂȠȣı૵Ȟ țĮ੿ ȋĮȡȓIJȦȞ: For the Muses, see h. 5.1 n., and cf. Hes. Th. 917 IJોȚıȚȞ ਚįȠȞ șĮȜȓĮȚ țĮ੿ IJȑȡȥȚȢ ਕȠȚįોȢ (‘festivities delight them, and the pleasure of song’). For the Graces, see h. 5.61 n. 16 țĮIJĮțȡİȝȐıĮıĮ: sc. from a wall-peg, as explicitly at hAp. 8–9 IJȩȟȠȞ ਕȞİțȡȑȝĮıİ ʌȡઁȢ țȓȠȞĮ ʌĮIJȡઁȢ ਦȠ૙Ƞ / ʌĮııȐȜȠȣ ਥț ȤȡȣıȑȠȣ (‘she hangs his bow from a column of his father’s house, from a gold peg’; Leto continues the process of calming Apollo), to which the verse responds. For

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wall-pegs used to store bows, cf. Il. 5.209; Od. 21.53; Simon. PMG 519.41(a).3. ʌĮȜȓȞIJȠȞĮ: a standard Homeric epithet of bows (Il. 8.266*; 10.459; 15.443; Od. 21.11; cf. 11–12 n. on İ੝țĮȝʌȑĮ), appropriately used here of one that is unstrung (cf. 12), as also at Od. 21.11 and probably Il. 10.459. ੁȠȪȢ: i.e., via synecdoche, the quiver (ijĮȡȑIJȡȘ) that contains them (e.g. Il. 1.45–6; 4.116; 8.323; 15.443–4 IJȩȟȠȞ … ʌĮȜȓȞIJȠȞȠȞ ਱į੻ ijĮȡȑIJȡȘȞ / ੁȠįȩțȠȞ (‘a back-bent bow and a quiver that held his arrows’; of Apollo); Od. 21.11–12, 59–60; 22.2; hAp. 6; Hes. [Sc.] 129–30). 17 ȤĮȡȓİȞIJĮ ʌİȡ੿ ȤȡȠ૗ țȩıȝȠȞ ਩ȤȠȣıĮ: cf. h. 6.14 with nn. But here the detail is left undeveloped (who dressed Artemis? when? in what garments or jewelry?), its place in the background narrative having been taken by the careful treatment of the goddess’ handling of her bow (12, 16). 18 ਥȟȐȡȤȠȣıĮ ȤȠȡȠȪȢ: For the verb with an accusative object (rather than a genitive, as generally), cf. Il. 2.273 ȕȠȪȜĮȢ IJૅ ਥȟȐȡȤȦȞ ਕȖĮșȐȢ. ਕȝȕȡȠıȓȘȞ ੕ʌૅ ੂİ૙ıĮȚ is modeled on passages such as Od. 12.192 ੂİ૙ıĮȚ ੕ʌĮ țȐȜȜȚȝȠȞ (the Sirens); Hes. Th. 10 ʌİȡȚțĮȜȜȑĮ ੕ııĮȞ ੂİ૙ıĮ /, 43 ਙȝȕȡȠIJȠȞ ੕ııĮȞ ੂİ૙ıĮȚ /, 65 ਥȡĮIJ੽Ȟ … ੕ııĮȞ ੂİ૙ıĮȚ /; cf. Hes. Th. 69 ਕȝȕȡȠıȓȘȚ ȝȠȜʌોȚ (all of the Muses). The adjective (literally ‘immortal’) is flat and tautologous, if it means only that goddesses produced the voice in question, and the sense must be instead that the voice is extraordinarily beautiful (cf. Od. 12.192; Hes. Th. 10, 65 (all quoted above)), sc. as only the voice of immortal singers can be (as presumably also at Hes. Th. 43, cf. 69 (both also quoted above)). 19–20 At hAp. 204–6, Zeus and Leto watch Apollo (and, secondarily, other gods and goddesses, including Artemis) sing, dance, and play the lyre, while at Hes. Th. 36–79 (where the Muses’ song is jumbled up with Hesiod’s own) Zeus delights in hearing his own accomplishments praised above all others. But even if Leto is not specifically imagined as present in Apollo’s temple in Delphi and watching the performance, everything that goes on there is done in her honor and is thus directed to her in that sense at least. țĮȜȜȓıijȣȡȠȞ is erotic, in that a reference to the beauty of one of the few bits of flesh not covered by a woman’s robes hints at the greater charms of what is concealed within them; cf. 21 ਱ȣțȩȝȠȚȠ with n.; h. 5.64– 5 n. on ʌİȡ੿ ȤȡȠ૘, 87–90 n. on ੖ȡȝȠȚ įૅ țIJȜ. Given the summary of the content of the song that follows in the second half of the verse, the adjective can accordingly be understood not just as generic praise of Leto, but as a description of the quality that attracted Zeus to her in the first place and led to the birth of their children. For an erotic song in honor of one’s mother, cf. hHerm. 57–61, where Hermes sings of how Zeus and Maia made

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love, i.e. of his own conception, and then goes on to praise everything connected with Maia in particular; and note h. 19.30–9 (Pan sings of how Hermes got his mother pregnant, and of how she ran away in fear at her first sight of him). țĮȜȜȓıijȣȡȠȢ is applied in early epic to a wide variety of mortal women and goddesses, including Danae, Ino, Hebe, Demeter, Leda, Alcmene, and Hermione. ȕȠȣȜોȚ IJİ țĮ੿ ਩ȡȖȝĮıȚȞ ਩ȟȠȤૅ ਕȡȓıIJȠȣȢ: Artemis’ ‘deeds’ are on display in the first half of the Hymn (esp. 4–6, 9–10), while her repeatedly remarked-upon direction of (rather than mere participation in) the dances of the Muses and the Graces (15, 17–18) demonstrates her skill at offering counsel. Apollo, meanwhile, has his gold sword (3; ~ ਩ȡȖȝĮIJĮ) and his role at Delphi, sc. as a prophet (13–14; ~ ȕȠȣȜȒ). But he remains a shadowy and secondary character here, and both mentions of him and his powers also refer to what is more important for the purposes of the Hymn, viz. his status as Artemis’ brother (3 Į੝IJȠțĮıȚȖȞȒIJȘȞ ਝʌȩȜȜȦȞȠȢ, 13–14 țĮıȚȖȞȒIJȠȚȠ ijȓȜȠȚȠ / ĭȠȓȕȠȣ ਝʌȩȜȜȦȞȠȢ). ਩ȡȖȝĮ is not Homeric vocabulary, but is attested already in Hesiod (Th. 801, 823; cf. h. 29.9–12 n.; 32.19; Bacch. 14.17). 21–22 closely resemble h. 25.6–7 (in honor of the Muses and Apollo). ȤĮȓȡİIJİ: cf. h. 5.292–3 n. IJȑțȞĮ ǻȚઁȢ țĮ੿ ȁȘIJȠ૨Ȣ ਱ȣțȩȝȠȚȠ: For Leto as ‘fair-haired’, cf. the common early epic line-end formula (of Apollo) IJઁȞ/੔Ȟ ਱ȣțȩȝȠȢ IJȑțİ ȁȘIJȫ / (Il. 1.36; 19.413; Od. 11.318; hAp. 178), and see Olson–Sens on Archestr. fr. 5.1 = SH 135.1 (on ancient grooming practices). The adjective (also used of e.g. Briseis, Helen, Thetis, Athena, Hera, Calypso, Doris, Astreis, and Demeter) is again erotic; cf. on 19 țĮȜȜȓıijȣȡȠȞ. The salutation thus recapitulates the content of the song of the Muses and the Graces as summarized in 19–20, this time with more emphasis on Artemis and Apollo. For Leto, Artemis, and Apollo all praised together, cf. hAp. 158–9 (the Delian maidens’ prelude to a song about ‘ancient men and women’ (160–1)). 22 is a standard final line for Hymns honoring two or more deities (see the first apparatus); cf. h. 6.21 (a closely related formula for a Hymn to a single god) with n.

Hymn 28: To Athena The central portion of the Hymn (4–16) is concerned with the story of the birth of Athena from Zeus’ head, for which cf. Hes. Th. 924–6 Į੝IJઁȢ įૅ ਥț țİijĮȜોȢ ȖȜĮȣțȫʌȚįĮ ȖİȓȞĮIJૅ ਝșȒȞȘȞ, / įİȚȞ੽Ȟ ਥȖȡİțȪįȠȚȝȠȞ ਕȖȑıIJȡĮIJȠȞ ਕIJȡȣIJȫȞȘȞ, / ʌȩIJȞȚĮȞ, ਸȚ țȑȜĮįȠȚ IJİ ਚįȠȞ ʌȩȜİȝȠȓ IJİ ȝȐȤĮȚ IJİ (‘But [Zeus] himself produced from his head gleaming-eyed Athena, a fear-inspiring rouser of clamor and an unwearied leader of the army, a lady to whom cries, wars, and fights are pleasing’) with West on 886–900; fr. 343.10–12 ਴ įૅ Į੝IJȓțĮ ȆĮȜȜȐįૅ ਝșȒȞȘȞ / țȪıĮIJȠā IJ੽Ȟ ȝ੻Ȟ ਩IJȚțIJİ ʌĮIJ੽ȡ ਕȞįȡ૵Ȟ IJİ șİ૵Ȟ IJİ / ʌ੹ȡ țȠȡȣijȒȞ, ȉȡȓIJȦȞȠȢ ਥʌૅ ੕ȤșȘȚıȚȞ ʌȠIJĮȝȠ૙Ƞ (‘[Metis] immediately became pregnant with Pallas Athena; but the father of men and gods gave birth to her from his head, on the banks of the River Triton’), 18–19 ĮੁȖȓįĮ ʌȠȚȒıĮıĮ ijȠȕȑıIJȡĮIJȠȞ ਩ȞIJȠȢ ਝșȒȞȘȢā / ıઃȞ IJોȚ ਥȖİȓȞĮIJȩ ȝȚȞ, ʌȠȜİȝȒȚĮ IJİȪȤİૅ ਩ȤȠȣıĮȞ (‘producing Athena’s equipment, the armyfrightening aegis; equipped with which he gave birth to her dressed in wargear’; of Metis in 18, of Zeus in 19); hAp. 308–9 ȀȡȠȞȓįȘȢ ਥȡȚțȣįȑĮ ȖİȓȞĮIJૅ ਝșȒȞȘȞ / ਥȞ țȠȡȣijોȚ (‘the son of Cronus gave birth to glorious Athena upon his head’); Stesich. PMG 233 [IJİ]ȪҕȤİıȚ ȜĮȝʌȠȝȑȞ[ … ] ҕ ȩȡȠȣıİȞ ਥʌ ૅ İ੝ȡİ૙ĮȞ Ȥș[ȩ]ȞĮ (‘brilliant with armor … arose upon the wide earth’) with Page ad loc.; Ibyc. PMG 298.3–4 [IJ੹]Ȟ Ȗ੹ȡ ਩IJȚțIJİ‫ۃ‬Ȟ‫ ۄ‬Į੝IJȩȢ, / țȠȡȣij઼Ȣ įȑ Ƞੂ ਥȟĮȞȑʌĮȜIJȠ (‘for he himself gave birth to her, and she leapt forth on top of his head’; of Zeus in 3, of Athena in 4); Epich. fr. 135; Pi. O. 7.35–8 ਖȞȓȤૅ ૽ǹijĮȓıIJȠȣ IJȑȤȞĮȚıȚȞ / ȤĮȜțİȜȐIJȦȚ ʌİȜȑțİȚ ʌĮIJȑȡȠȢ ਝșĮȞĮȓĮ țȠȡȣij੹Ȟ țĮIJૅ ਙțȡĮȞ / ਕȞȠȡȠȪıĮȚıૅ ਕȜȐȜĮȟİȞ ਫ਼ʌİȡȝȐțİȚ ȕȠ઼Țā / ȅ੝ȡĮȞઁȢ įૅ ਩ijȡȚȟȑ ȞȚȞ țĮ੿ īĮ૙Į ȝȐIJȘȡ (‘when by Hephaestus’ skills, through the stroke of a bronze-forged ax, Athena arose on the very top of her father’s head and shouted with an enormous cry; and Heaven shuddered at her, as did Mother Earth’; the first reference in literature to Hephaestus splitting Zeus’ head to allow Athena to emerge, although the detail is common in art well before this); Kauer (1959) (without reference to this Hymn); Gantz (1993) 51–2, 83–4. For other Hymns in honor of Athena, see h. 5.8–15; 11. For the general theme of the introduction of a new god to the company of the others, who are awed by his or her appearance, cf. h. 6.15–18; and see 7–9 n. on ੑȟઃȞ ਙțȠȞIJĮ. The Hymn begins with an enormous heap of epithets, adjectives, and descriptive phrases reminiscent of h. 27.1–3. Some of these (mostly clustered at the beginnings of the lines) are conventionally applied to Athena in early epic, and stress her status as an attractive young woman, while others (mostly in the second halves of the lines) are less traditional, and serve to

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bring out the goddess’ interest in martial affairs. Cf. the similar dichotomy at h. 5.10–15. The story in 4–16 combines both aspects of Athena’s character, by describing how she was born to Zeus wearing a full set of armor (5, 15) and brandishing a spear (9). Human beings are absent from the Hymn, as also from h. 27. For additional similarities to h. 27, cf. 3 ʌȐȡșİȞȠȞ ĮੁįȠȓȘȞ (in the same sedes at h. 27.2), 9–14 (cf. h. 27.6–9) with n., 9–10 n. on 10 ਫ਼ʌઁ ȕȡȓȝȘȢ ȖȜĮȣțȫʌȚįȠȢ. 9 of the 18 lines (50%) feature masculine caesura, and while this is far from conclusive evidence, it is most naturally taken as suggesting a 5thcentury date for both h. 27 (68.2% masculine caesura) and h. 28; cf. h. 6 introductory n. It is accordingly tempting to see a connection with the east pediment of the Parthenon, which likewise featured not just Athena, Zeus, and Hephaestus at the moment of the goddess’ birth, but also the presence of Helios and his horses (13–14) at the scene. A ‘narrative’ or ‘mythic’ hymn. There is no indication of the original performance setting, beyond the conventional reference to another song to follow in, although see h. 11 introductory n. 1 is reworked at h. 11.1 (where see n.). ȆĮȜȜȐįૅ ਝșȘȞĮȓȘȞ: a standard early epic phrase in this sedes; cf. the second apparatus. The etymology of ȆĮȜȜȐȢ is uncertain, nor do we know how the early poets understood it (which is a separate matter); it may originally have meant ‘young woman’ vel sim. Cf. LfgrE s.v. Ȃ ǿ; Olson (2007) 54. But some ancient scholarship seems to have connected the title with ʌȐȜȜȦ, ‘brandish (sc. a spear)’, in which case the first word of the Hymn anticipates the description of Athena leaping, fully armed, from Zeus’ head at 8–9 (cf. 5–6). țȣįȡ੽Ȟ șİȩȞ amounts to little more than an assertion that Athena does, in fact, deserve to be hymned (hence ਙȡȤȠȝૅ ਕİȓįİȚȞ), with the reasons gradually supplied in the verses that follow. For the combination of adjective and noun (not Homeric), see Richardson on hDem. 66. ਙȡȤȠȝૅ ਕİȓįİȚȞ: For hymnic openings of this sort, see Race (1982) 5– 6. 2 ȖȜĮȣț૵ʌȚȞ: cf. 10; h. 5.8 n. The word is attested in this sedes nowhere else in early epic. ʌȠȜȪȝȘIJȚȞ: Elsewhere in early epic, the adjective is conventionally applied not to Athena herself, but to her favorite Odysseus (e.g. Il. 1.311, 440; 3.200; Od. 5.214; 7.207; but cf. Il. 21.355 (of Hephaestus); hHerm. 319 (of Hermes)). Here the word anticipates the reference to the goddess’ father Zeus as ȝȘIJȓİIJĮ in 4, and recalls the name of her mother Metis (see introductory n.). Cleverness is a traditional part of Athena’s character (esp. Od. 13.298–9 ਥȖઅ įૅ ਥȞ ʌ઼ıȚ șİȠ૙ıȚ / ȝȒIJȚ IJİ țȜȑȠȝĮȚ țĮ੿ țȑȡįİıȚȞ (‘I am

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famous among all the gods for cleverness and for pursuing my own interests’; cf. h. 5.12–15; 20.2–3), but is otherwise ignored in the Hymn, which concentrates on her fearsome martial aspect. ਕȝİȓȜȚȤȠȞ ਷IJȠȡ ਩ȤȠȣıĮȞ is borrowed from Il. 9.572, where it describes the Erinys (‘Fury’) called up from the Underworld by Althaea to punish her son Meleager. 3 ʌĮȡșȑȞȠȞ ĮੁįȠȓȘȞ: cf. h. 5.21 n.; 27.2* (of Artemis). ਥȡȣıȓʌIJȠȜȚȞ (a Homeric hapax at Il. 6.305 (also of Athena; see the first apparatus); subsequently at A. Th. 129–30 ૧ȣıȓʌȠȜȚȢ ȖİȞȠ૨ / ȆĮȜȜȐȢ (‘Prove yourself Athena the city-defender!’) is the only reference in the Hymn to the human world and thus to the potential utility of gaining the goddess’ favor (although cf. 17–18 with n.). Contrast h. 11, where the word has been incorporated into the reworking of h. 28.1 in the opening verse in the same sedes. ਕȜțȘȑııĮȞ is a hapax legomenon, but is cognate with ਕȜțȒ and must mean ‘valiant’ or the like. The word thus amounts to a gloss on the one that precedes it, in that it explains how it is that Athena ‘defends the city’. 4 ȉȡȚIJȠȖİȞો: a traditional epithet of Athena, but always in the form ȉȡȚIJȠȖȑȞİȚĮ and never at the head of the line (Il. 4.515; 8.39 = 22.183; Od. 3.378; Hes. Th. 895; [Hes.] Sc. 197). The original meaning of the word is obscure (bibliography in LfgrE s.v. L). But Hes. fr. 343.11–12 (quoted in the introductory n.; and cf. 5 with n.) connects it with the goddess’ birth from Zeus’ head ‘on the banks of the River Triton’, and -ȖİȞો is in any case picked up in ਥȖİȓȞĮIJȠ in the relative clause that follows, which announces the subject of the narrative portion of the Hymn. Į੝IJઁȢ ਥȖİȓȞĮIJȠ is borrowed from Il. 5.880, where Ares complains to Zeus about the ‘ruinous’ daughter that ‘you yourself produced’ (Į੝IJઁȢ ਥȖİȓȞĮȠ*; cf. also Hes. Th. 924 Į੝IJઁȢ įૅ ਥț țİijĮȜોȢ ȖȜĮȣțȫʌȚįĮ ȖİȓȞĮIJૅ ਝșȒȞȘȞ, quoted at greater length and translated in the introductory n.). But the reference to the king of the gods at the close of the line as ȝȘIJȓİIJĮ ǽİȪȢ (cf. 2 n. on ʌȠȜȪȝȘIJȚȞ) makes it clear that this was not a miscalculation; cf. 16* with n. For the setting of the action, see 9–10 n. 5–7 ʌȠȜİȝȒȚĮ IJİȪȤİૅ ਩ȤȠȣıĮȞ is borrowed direct from the description of the birth of Athena at Hes. fr. 343.19 (quoted and translated in the introductory n.). The adjective fits the impression of hostility that the goddess’ weapons make on the assembled audience of Olympians (first mentioned explicitly in ʌȐȞIJĮȢ ੒ȡ૵ȞIJĮȢ / ਕșĮȞȐIJȠȣȢ); cf. 9 ੑȟઃȞ ਙțȠȞIJĮ, and contrast 15 șİȠİȓțİȜĮ IJİȪȤȘ with n. For the theme of the terror felt by the gods at the appearance in their midst of another deity who seems initially to be threatening them, cf. hAp. 2–13 with h. 27.11–12; and see introductory n.

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ȤȡȪıİĮ: For gold as the typical material for objects belonging to the gods in early epic, see h. 5.16–17 n. ʌĮȝijĮȞȩȦȞIJĮ again implies an audience to be dazzled. As in 9–16, the order in which the narrative is presented makes it clear that it is not so much the sight of Athena herself emerging from Zeus’ head that inspires wonder in the onlookers, but the arms she wields and what they suggest about her tendencies and intentions. ıȑȕĮȢ įૅ ਩Ȥİ ʌȐȞIJĮȢ ੒ȡ૵ȞIJĮȢ: a modified version of several traditional phrases; see the second apparatus. 7–9 ਴ į੻ ʌȡȩıșİȞ țIJȜ: In 4–6, Zeus gives birth to Athena, who is a static if stunning character. Here the same set of events is described, but Athena now is emphatically in motion, while Zeus is merely a point of reference that serves to locate her. ǻȚઁȢ ĮੁȖȚȩȤȠȚȠ: The epithet emphasizes Zeus’ authority (cf. h. 5.22–3 n.) and thus implicitly that of his daughter; cf. 17. ੭ȡȠȣıİȞ: always ੕ȡȠȣıİȞ elsewhere in early epic (e.g. Il. 2.310; 3.325; 13.505; hDem. 17; hAp. 440), in which form it is used to describe the birth of Athena at Stesich. PMG 233.2 (quoted in the introductory n.). ਕʌૅ ਕșĮȞȐIJȠȚȠ țĮȡȒȞȠȣ is a reworking of țȡĮIJઁȢ ਕʌૅ ਕșĮȞȐIJȠȚȠ at Il. 1.530 (quoted more directly in 9, where see n.). 9–14 The description of the second set of reactions (for the first set, see 5– 7) to the appearance of Athena from Zeus’ head combines two standard themes: (1) the trembling and shrieking of the natural world in response to an overwhelming display of divine power (9 ȝȑȖĮȢ–12 țȣțȫȝİȞȠȢ; cf. Hes. Th. 839–41; fr. 54a.7–8; h. 27.6–9 with n.; Pi. O. 7.38 (quoted and translated in the introductory n.); note also Il. 1.530 (on which the second half of 9 is modeled); hAp. 45–8); and (2) the still, silent awe the natural world displays in anticipation of a divine epiphany vel sim. (12 ਩ıȤİIJȠ–14 ȤȡȩȞȠȞ, with 14–16 n.; cf. Dodds on E. Ba. 1084–5; Austin–Olson on Ar. Th. 43– 8). The awkwardness of the join is particularly apparent in 11–12, where the ʌȩȞIJȠȢ heaves in billows, but the ਚȜȝȘ (another word for the sea) is abruptly frozen in place. 9–10 ȝȑȖĮȢ įૅ ਥȜİȜȓȗİIJૅ ૓ȅȜȣȝʌȠȢ is adapted from Il. 1.530 (the final detail in the story of Zeus’ decision to grant Thetis’ request to honor her son; cf. 7–9 n. on ਕʌૅ ਕșĮȞȐIJȠȚȠ țĮȡȒȞȠȣ) = h. 1.D6 West (Zeus affirms his decision to ensure mortal honors for his son Dionysus) ȝȑȖĮȞ įૅ ਥȜȑȜȚȗİȞ ૓ȅȜȣȝʌȠȞ (‘and he made great Olympus shake’); cf. Il. 8.200 ਥȜȑȜȚȟİ į੻ ȝĮțȡઁȞ ૓ȅȜȣȝʌȠȞ / (‘and he made massive Olympus shake’). For ȝȑȖĮȢ … ૓ȅȜȣȝʌȠȢ, cf. also Il. 8.443; Hes. Th. 842. The reference to the place implicitly supplies a setting for the action described in 4 IJ੽Ȟ–9 ਙțȠȞIJĮ.

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ਫ਼ʌઁ ȕȡȓȝȘȢ ȖȜĮȣțȫʌȚįȠȢ: The MSS have ਫ਼ʌૅ ੑȕȡȓȝȘȢ vel sim. But (1) Athena herself does nothing to Olympus, which—like the other entities referred to in the lines that follow—reacts independently to the threatening sight of her spear (7–9), and (2) the iota in ੕ȕȡȚȝȠȢ is elsewhere always short; and Ilgen (comparing h. 27.8 įİȚȞઁȞ ਫ਼ʌઁ țȜĮȖȖોȢ*) redivided the words. Cf. A.R. 4.1677 / ȂȘįİȓȘȢ ȕȡȓȝȘȚ ʌȠȜȣijĮȡȝȐțȠȣ (‘the power of drug-rich Medea’), where ȕȡȓȝȘ (attested elsewhere only in Hesychius and (in the plural) in an Orphic fragment) appears in the same sedes and may represent a learned allusion to this verse. There is in any case an echo of the early epic line-end formula ȖȜĮȣțȫʌȚįȠȢ ੑȕȡȚȝȠʌȐIJȡȘȢ (‘of the gleaming-eyed daughter of a powerful father’; Od. 3.135; 24.540; Hes. Th. 587). 10–11 ਕȝij੿ į੻ ȖĮ૙Į / ıȝİȡįĮȜȑȠȞ ੁȐȤȘıİȞ is adapted from Hes. Th. 839– 40 ਕȝij੿ į੻ ȖĮ૙Į / ıȝİȡįĮȜȑȠȞ țȠȞȐȕȘıİ (‘the earth rang all about’; the reaction when Zeus finally unleashes his full power against the Titans; cf. fr. 54a.7–8 [ਕȝij੿ į੻ Ȗ]Įҕ૙Į / țҕ[Ț]ȞȘșҕ[Ș] (‘the earth moved all about’; the reaction when Zeus produces angry thunder and lightning); Thgn. 9 ਥȖȑȜĮııİ į੻ ȖĮ૙Į ʌİȜȫȡȘ (‘the enormous earth laughed’; a reaction to Apollo’s birth, with a reference to the joy experienced by the sea in the next verse)), with an emotionally colored verb substituted for Hesiod’s more neutral term. The line-initial phrase ıȝİȡįĮȜȑĮ ੁȐȤȦȞ is common in Homer (Il. 5.302; 16.785; 19.41; 20.285, 382, 443; Od. 22.81), with the hiatus mitigated by the verb’s original digamma. ıȝİȡįĮȜȑĮ ੁȐȤȘıİȞ was thus possible, but the poet opted to retain the Hesiodic neuter singular. 12–14 țȪȝĮıȚ ʌȠȡijȣȡȑȠȚıȚ: For ‘purple waves’ (a sign of violently disturbed water), cf. Il. 1.481–2; 21.326; Od. 2.427–8; 11.243; 13.84–5. ਥȟĮʌȓȞȘȢ … / … įȘȡઁȞ ȤȡȩȞȠȞ: The first action is described in terms of the pace at which it was accomplished (‘rapidly’), the second by reference to the duration of the state thus achieved (‘for a long time’). But the qualifiers apply equally to both verbs (Helios brought his horses to an abrupt halt, and the sea remained motionless for as long as the sun-god’s chariot did); and the difference in presentation merely reflects the order in which the two events are narrated, with attention in the first case to the beginning of the action, in the second case to its end (note İੁıȩIJİ). So too in Pi. O. 7.39–43, the description of Athena’s birth and the terror in the natural world that it occasions (7.35–8, quoted and translated in the introductory n.; the detail is first attested here) is followed by an account of how Helios (similarly referred to as ૽ȊʌİȡȚȠȞȓįĮȢ, ‘son of Hyperion’) responds by ordering his children to erect an altar for the goddess ‘of the thundering spear’ (ਥȖȤİȚȕȡȩȝȦȚ; cf. 9 ıİȓıĮıૅ ੑȟઃȞ ਙțȠȞIJĮ). ૽ȊʌİȡȓȠȞȠȢ ਕȖȜĮઁȢ ȣੂȩȢ: i.e. Helios, the sun-god; cf. h. 31.4–7, and see Richardson on hDem. 26; Gantz (1993) 30–1. The patronymic nicely

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captures Helios’ position at this point in the narrative, as he and his horses ‘pass over’ the incredible scene going on below. ੆ʌʌȠȣȢ ੩țȪʌȠįĮȢ: For the Sun’s horses (sc. and chariot; never mentioned by Homer), cf. hDem. 63 with Richardson ad loc.; hHerm. 68–9; h. 31.8–9, 14–15; Titan. fr. 7, p. 14 Bernabé. The adjective (also used of a divine team at Il. 5.732, from which the phrase is borrowed) brings out the significance of ıIJોıİȞ … / … įȘȡઁȞ ȤȡȩȞȠȞ: although the horses can (and will again later) run rapidly through the sky, for the moment their master will not let them do so. 14–16 Within the birth-narrative—although not within the Hymn as a whole (note esp. 3 ʌĮȡșȑȞȠȞ ĮੁįȠȓȘȞ)—țȠȪȡȘ is proleptic: only after Athena removes her armor in 15 is it apparent to the various internal audiences (5–7 and 9–14 with nn.) that she is not a fearsome male warrior, but a young woman. Cf. below on 16 ȆĮȜȜ੹Ȣ ਝșȘȞĮȓȘ. șİȠİȓțİȜĮ IJİȪȤȘ: cf. 5 ʌȠȜİȝȒȚĮ IJİȪȤİૅ ਩ȤȠȣıĮȞ with n. Here the adjective is appropriate to the moment of epiphany: as the goddess finally (note 14 įȘȡઁȞ ȤȡȩȞȠȞ) reveals herself, by removing her armor from her ‘immortal shoulders’, it is described as ‘appropriate for a god’. Only at this point is her full personal identity disclosed: she is ȆĮȜȜ੹Ȣ ਝșȘȞĮȓȘ, to whom the Hymn as a whole is dedicated (1 ȆĮȜȜȐįૅ ਝșȘȞĮȓȘȞ*). șİȠİȓțİȜȠȢ is elsewhere consistently ‘god-like’ (e.g. Il. 1.131; Od. 4.276; hDem. 159; h. 5.279). ȖȒșȘıİ į੻ ȝȘIJȓİIJĮ ǽİȪȢ: For divine parents rejoicing in their children, cf. hAp. 12–13, 125–6, 204–6; h. 27.19–20 n. The reference to ȝȘIJȓİIJĮ ǽİȪȢ echoes 4*, bringing the narrative portion of the Hymn fullcircle before the closing invocation in 17–18. 17–18 A standard closing; cf. hAp. 545–6; hHerm. 579–80 (with ǻȚઁȢ țĮ੿ ȁȘIJȠ૨Ȣ ȣੂȑ and ǻȚઁȢ țĮ੿ ȂĮȚȐįȠȢ ȣੂȑ, respectively, in place of ǻȚઁȢ IJȑțȠȢ ĮੁȖȚȩȤȠȚȠ here); and the other examples of lines identical to 18 in the first apparatus, with h. 5.292–3 n. (on ȤĮ૙ȡİ and the zeugma ‘you’ balanced by ‘another song’). ǻȚઁȢ IJȑțȠȢ ĮੁȖȚȩȤȠȚȠ: a reworking of the common Homeric phrase ĮੁȖȚȩȤȠȚȠ ǻȚઁȢ IJȑțȠȢ (e.g. Il. 1.202; 2.157; 5.115, 714; 8.352, 427; Od. 4.762 = 6.324).

Hymn 29: To Hestia Despite the relative clause in 1–4, esp. 2, which suggests that the subject will be the honor shown Hestia in both divine and mortal houses (cf. h. 5.31–2), the Hymn as a whole focuses relentlessly on the human world; contrast h. 24.1–2 (also in honor of Hestia, but with attention to her role in Apollo’s temple at Delphi). Nor does the Hymn take up the opportunity presented by 3 to discuss the divine history of the award of this honor, which is instead configured as a direct and simple consequence of birthorder (see 3–4 nn.) and is, for all practical purposes, bestowed by human beings rather than via some arrangement among the gods themselves (4–6). The Hymn repeatedly evokes visions of grand private houses (1, 9) in which rich banquets and drinking parties are held (5–6, 9–12 with nn.), and the obvious conclusion is that it was composed for performance in such a setting, like h. 24 and the songs of Phemius in Odyssey 1 and Demodocus in Odyssey 8 (thus Paz de Hoz (1998) 63). 4 (where see n.) suggests that the poet was familiar with the embedded Hestia-hymn at h. 5.21–32. A ‘descriptive’ or ‘attributive’ hymn. 1 Like h. 8 (to Ares; a late intruder in the collection); 21 (to Apollo); and 24 (also in honor of Hestia), h. 29 makes no initial reference to the activity of the Muse or the singer (cf. h. 5.1 n.), but begins with a ‘Du-Stil’ vocative (cf. Race (1992) 28, who identifies this as a typical feature of ‘cultic’ as opposed to ‘rhapsodic’ hymns), in this case followed immediately by a typical hymnic relative clause (cf. h. 5.2 n.). ਥȞ įȫȝĮıȚȞ ਫ਼ȥȘȜȠ૙ıȚȞ: The epithet, like țĮȜȐ in 9, adds a touch of majesty that redounds above all to the glory of the mortal owner of the house in which the song is being performed. Cf. 5–6 n. on İੁȜĮʌȓȞĮȚ. 2 At Il. 5.442 (the source of the line), the point is that gods are profoundly different from human beings, whereas here the idea is that Hestia has identical honors in the mortal and immortal spheres. 3 ਪįȡȘȞ ਕȓįȚȠȞ is in implicit contrast to ȤĮȝĮ੿ ਥȡȤȠȝȑȞȦȞ IJૅ ਕȞșȡȫʌȦȞ in 2: human beings are—literally—transitory creatures, whereas Hestia’s position is forever. Cf. 10–11 n. on ਥʌȚȤșȠȞȓȦȞ ਕȞșȡȫʌȦȞ. ʌȡİıȕȘȓįĮ IJȚȝȒȞ: in apposition to ਪįȡȘȞ ਕȓįȚȠȞ. The adjective (cognate with ʌȡȑıȕȣȢ) is a hapax, and is most easily understood as a reference to Hestia’s position as the eldest child of Cronus and Rhea, as at h. 5.22 (where see n.); cf. 4 n. on țĮȜઁȞ … ȖȑȡĮȢ (for the Hymn-poet’s familiarity

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with h. 5), 5 ʌȡȫIJȘȚ ʌȣȝȐIJȘȚ IJİ with n.; and the otherwise gratuitous 13 ȀȡȩȞȠȣ șȪȖĮIJİȡ. ਩ȜĮȤİȢ makes it clear that Hestia’s position of honor has a history; for the use of the verb, cf. Il. 4.49 = 24.70; 15.190–2; Hes. Th. 422, 424; hHerm. 428. But nothing more is said of it, unlike at h. 5.24–32, where Zeus and his actions are at the center of the narrative; cf. 4 n. 4 țĮȜઁȞ ਩ȤȠȣıĮ ȖȑȡĮȢ țĮ੿ IJȚȝȒȞ: Rather than taking up the history of Hestia’s right to a seat in every divine and human household, as described in the relative clause in 1 ਴ ʌȐȞIJȦȞ–3 (cf. 3 n.), the Hymn offers an evaluation of that right (further unpacked in the ȖȐȡ-clause that follows, where the focus is on cult, and thus on the human rather than the divine world). țĮȜઁȞ … ȖȑȡĮȢ is an unusual expression, and suggests a direct reference to h. 5.29 (where see n.). The adjective (to be taken with both nouns) has a persuasive function, describing how Hestia ought to evaluate the honor she is shown, sc. if she is to respond with the aid indirectly requested in 10–11. Cf. 5–6 n. on ȝİȜȚȘįȑĮ ȠੇȞȠȞ. 5–6 İੁȜĮʌȓȞĮȚ is common in Homer (e.g. Il. 10.217; Od. 1.226), but is subsequently treated as high-style vocabulary (hence its absence from 5thcentury prose and comedy, and its presence in tragedy only in lyric). The word thus inflates the grandeur of the meals in question, as well as the significance of the libations Hestia is poured at them (6). ੆Ȟૅ Ƞ੝ țIJȜ: an exceedingly awkward way of expressing something that might have been said less clumsily via a passive construction (‘where honey-sweet wine is not poured …’). ʌȡȫIJȘȚ ʌȣȝȐIJȘȚ IJİ: i.e. both as a general mark of honor and in recognition of the fact that she was not just Cronus’ eldest child but his youngest as well; cf. 3 n.; h. 5.22–3 with n. (on ‘first and last’ as a position of honor); Cornutus c. 28, p. 53.12–16 Lang ȝȣșİȪİIJĮȚ į੻ ʌȡȫIJȘ țĮ੿ ਥıȤȐIJȘ ȖİȞȑıșĮȚ IJ૵Ț İੁȢ IJĮȪIJȘȞ ਕȞĮȜȪİıșĮȚ IJ੹ ਕʌૅ Į੝IJોȢ ȖȚȞȩȝİȞĮ țĮ੿ ਥȟ Į੝IJોȢ ıȣȞȓıIJĮıșĮȚ, țĮșઁ țਕȞ IJĮ૙Ȣ șȣıȓĮȚȢ Ƞੂ ૠǼȜȜȘȞİȢ ਕʌઁ ʌȡȫIJȘȢ IJİ Į੝IJોȢ ਵȡȤȠȞIJȠ țĮ੿ İੁȢ ਥıȤȐIJȘȞ Į੝IJ੽Ȟ țĮIJȑʌĮȣȠȞ (‘She is referred to as first and last because of the fact that what originated from her is dissolved into her and composed from her, which is why the Greeks in their sacrifices began with her first, and concluded with her last’). For Hestia honored first in sacrifices and the like, see Pi. N. 11.6–7 ʌȠȜȜ੹ ȝ੻Ȟ ȜȠȚȕĮ૙ıȚȞ ਕȖĮȗȩȝİȞȠȚ ʌȡȫIJĮȞ șİ૵Ȟ, / ʌȠȜȜ੹ į੻ țȞȓıĮȚ (‘often worshipping you first of the gods with libations, and often with the smell of burnt fat’); S. fr. 726 ੯ ʌȡ૵ȚȡĮ ȜȠȚȕોȢ ૽ǼıIJȓĮ, țȜȪİȚȢ IJȐįİ; (‘Hestia, foremost in libations—do you hear this?’); E. Phaethon 249–50 with Diggle ad loc.; Pl. Crat. 401d IJઁ Ȗ੹ȡ ʌȡઁ ʌȐȞIJȦȞ șİ૵Ȟ IJોȚ ૽ǼıIJȓĮȚ ʌȡȫIJȘȚ ʌȡȠșȪİȚȞ İੁțȩȢ (‘for the custom is to make an initial sacrifice to Hestia before any other gods’); Paus. v.14.4 (Hestia awarded the first sacri-

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fice at Olympia, with Zeus second); and cf. Ar. Av. 864 (Hestia named first in a prayer). There appears to be no other specific early evidence for Hestia honored last as well; but at Od. 7.137–8 Odysseus catches the Phaeacians pouring a libation to Hermes (referred to as ਝȡȖİȚijȩȞIJȘȢ, as in 7), ‘to whom they used to pour libation last, when they were thinking of going to bed’, hence perhaps Hestia’s close association with him in 7–11. ȝİȜȚȘįȑĮ ȠੇȞȠȞ: The adjective (conventional in early epic) is again persuasive: if Hestia thinks of the wine poured out in her honor as particularly sweet, she will be more likely to show generosity to mortals in return. Cf. 4 n. on țĮȜઁȞ … ȖȑȡĮȢ țĮ੿ IJȚȝȒȞ. 7–8 Hermes is addressed with five traditional epithets borrowed and adapted from elsewhere. Cf. h. 18.1–4, and contrast the treatment of Hestia exclusively with relative clauses and the like at 1–6 and in h. 25. For Hermes as the god to whom the evening’s final libation is poured in Od. 7, see 5–6 n. on 5 ʌȡȫIJȘȚ ʌȣȝȐIJȘȚ IJİ. ਝȡȖİȚijȩȞIJĮ: Elsewhere in early epic, the title is consistently linefinal, as at h. 5.117 ȤȡȣıȩȡȡĮʌȚȢ ਝȡȖİȚijȩȞIJȘȢ / (where see n. and the second apparatus). Cf. below on į૵IJȠȡ ਥȐȦȞ. ਙȖȖİȜİ IJ૵Ȟ ȝĮțȐȡȦȞ represents a clumsy attempt to adapt the phrase ਙȖȖİȜȠȢ ਕșĮȞȐIJȦȞ (* at hHerm. 3 = h. 18.3) to the vocative case, the hiatus in ਙȖȖİȜİ ਕșĮȞȐIJȦȞ having seemingly been judged impossible; but the definitive article is out of place in traditional epic diction. ȤȡȣıȩȡȡĮʌȚ, į૵IJȠȡ ਥȐȦȞ: ȤȡȣıȩȡȡĮʌȚ, ਝȡȖİȚijȩȞIJĮ (cf. above) is expected, and whatever other metrical and compositional considerations led to the change, the effect is to put Hermes’ most immediately relevant characteristic—his willingness and ability to offer mortals gifts—directly before the request for his favor in 10. Cf. h. 5.117 n. on the narrative logic of the string of epithets (sent by the gods, and given the staff that guarantees the effectiveness of his actions, Hermes brings good things to human beings). 10–11 For the re-ordering of the text, see 9–12 n. below. ੆ȜĮȠȢ ੭Ȟ: sc. in reaction to the praise implicit in the string of epithets in 7–8. For a hymn rendering a god ੆ȜĮȠȢ toward the singer, cf. h. 19.48 = 21.5 ੆ȜĮȝĮȚ įȑ ıૅ ਕȠȚįોȚ (‘I conciliate you with my song’). ਥʌȐȡȘȖİ: The compound is always used in early epic of a god assisting a mortal (Il. 23.783; 24.39; Od. 13.391), as the simplex generally is as well (see LfgrE s. ਕȡȒȖȦ B I). ĮੁįȠȓȘȚ IJİ ijȓȜȘȚ IJİ / ૽ǿıIJȓȘȚ: The adjectives (together also at Il. 10.114; 14.210; 18.386 = 425; Od. 5.88; 11.360; 19.191, 254; cf. Od. 8.21– 2; 14.505) represent an extremely positive evaluation of another person, and in particular of the nature of one’s obligations to him or her, which

320

Commentary

spring from awe or respect (cf. h. 5.21 n.), on the one hand, and personal warmth and sympathy, on the other. The combination is often applied to especially honored or welcome guests (Il. 18.386 = 425; Od. 5.88; 8.21–2; 11.360; 14.505; 19.191, 254). Although only Hestia is explicitly called ĮੁįȠȓȘ IJİ ijȓȜȘ IJİ, therefore, the adjectives effectively apply to her close divine associate as well. ਥʌȚȤșȠȞȓȦȞ ਕȞșȡȫʌȦȞ: The adjective emphasizes the fact that earth is not where one normally expects gods to dwell (9). Cf. 3 n. on ਪįȡȘȞ ਕȓįȚȠȞ. 9–12 9 dropped out of the text at some point, and was reinserted in the wrong location, presumably by a copyist who found it at the top of the page or in a margin, where a corrector had added it. The original error must be connected with the occurrence of -ȝĮIJĮ țĮȜȐ in identical positions in 9 and 12, which caused the scribe’s eye to jump from one line to the next. įȫȝĮIJĮ țĮȜȐ: cf. 1 n. on ਥȞ įȫȝĮıȚȞ ਫ਼ȥȘȜȠ૙ıȚȞ. ijȓȜĮ ijȡİı੿Ȟ ਕȜȜȒȜȠȚıȚȞ / İੁįȩIJİȢ: making it more likely that they will in fact join forces, as requested in 10–11, to become ‘fine supports’ (sc. of the house and perhaps even the city in which it is located). But the image of easy congeniality also models how human beings ought to behave at aristocratic parties like those imagined in 5–6 (and cf. below). The phrase is modeled on Od. 3.277 ijȓȜĮ İੁįȩIJİȢ ਕȜȜȒȜȠȚıȚȞ / (‘well-disposed to one another’; Nestor describes his relationship to his old friend and warcompanion Agamemnon). ਪȡȝĮIJĮ: For the word used metaphorically, cf. ਪȡȝĮ ʌȩȜȘȠȢ (‘bulwark of the city’) at Il. 16.549 (of Sarpedon); Od. 23.121 (of the dead suitors). Thus West (1996) 150; Ȍ’s ਩ȡȖȝĮIJĮ/ਪȡȖȝĮIJĮ (for which, see h. 27.20 n.) must represent a deliberate correction designed to provide an object for ਥʌȚȤșȠȞȓȦȞ ਕȞșȡȫʌȦȞ / İੁįȩIJİȢ after 9 fell out of the text. ȞȩȦȚ șૅ … țĮ੿ ਸ਼ȕȘȚ: i.e. intelligence and physical beauty, two of the qualities most prized in fellow symposiasts (cf. above and 5–6 n.), perhaps implicitly divided here into two groups, the old (and nominally wise) and the young (and properly attractive). 13 ȤĮ૙ȡİ: cf. h. 5.292* with n. ȀȡȩȞȠȣ șȪȖĮIJİȡ: cf. 3 n. on ʌȡİıȕȘȓįĮ IJȚȝȒȞ. ȤȡȣıȩȡȡĮʌȚȢ ૽ǼȡȝોȢ: cf. 8 ȤȡȣıȩȡȡĮʌȚ with n., as well as the Homeric ૽ǼȡȝİȓĮ(Ȣ) ȤȡȣıȩȡȡĮʌȚ(Ȣ) (Od. 5.87; 10.277). 14 A standard final line for Hymns honoring two or more deities (see the first apparatus); cf. h. 6.21 (a closely related formula for a Hymn to a single god) with n.

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Index Subjects of individual Hymns are by and large not indexed under those Hymns. Anchises is similarly excluded for the hAphr. Achilleus 195, 196, 276 Aeneas 1–9, 29, 165, 194, 233, 260–1, 269–71, 272, 274, 276 Aeneidae 5, 7–9 Anchises 1–3, 5, 7, 164–5 aorist, hymnic 131, 146 Aphrodite, beauty of 224– 5; birth of 131, 181–2, 279; ‘gifts of’ 292; smiles of 141; universal power of 131–2 Apollo 148–9, 215–6, 288, 292, 299, 303, 304, 304, 306, 307, 307–8, 309 Apollonius Rhodius 24 Artemis, 189, 200; as huntress 141–3, 303; bow as attribute of 141–2, 304 Ascanius 7 Athena 137–8, 139; Athena Areia 295 bears 177 beds and bedding 218, 219–20 Callimachus 24–5 carts 138–9 choruses of young women 200–1, 307 Claros 287, 288 clothing and treatment of 220–1, 223–4 Colophon 287

cows, cowherds and pasturage 166–7, 175 crasis 167 Cronus 147, 148, 150–1, 159, 297, 317, 318 cult statues, anointed with perfumed oil 300; ritual washing of 287 Cyclops 272, 275 Cyprus 130–1, 170, 174, 277, 279, 280, 281, 286, 291, 292 Cythera 134, 286, 291, 292 Dardania and Dardanus 2 Dawn 235, 243–53, 271 deer 178 Delos 303, 308–9 Delphi 299, 300, 303, 307, 309 distaff 141 dowry 210–1 ecology 203 Eros 279 Eumaeus 179, 181, 196–7 eyes, averted in terror 227; turned downward as gesture of modesty 217 Ganymede 2, 226, 235– 43, 263 gesture 213, 216–7, 225– 6, 226–7, 246 ‘glottochronometrics’ 10– 15

gods, smell of 170 gold, associated with gods 130, 141, 173, 189, 200, 244, 280, 282; jewelry 173–4, 280, 282 Graces 169, 170, 172, 173, 190, 263, 277, 282, 306–7 hair, worn long 249–50 hearth as site of sacrifice 153 Hector 2, 3, 8, 196, 276 Helios/Sun 315–6 Hephaestus 311, 312 Hera 157, 158, 159–60, 169–70, 259 Hermes 200, 213–4, 241– 2, 264, 276, 299, 306– 7, 308–9, 319 Hero and Leander 27 Hesiod 1, 21, 147, 182, 279–80, 281, 313, 315 Hestia 33, 145–7, 147–9, 149–50, 150–1, 151–2, 152, 153–4 Himeros/Desire 131, 279 horses, heroic 240–1; of Helios 316; watering of 288 hunting 142–3 Ilus and Ilium 2 indications of time via reference to events in larger world 221–2

328 jewelry 173–4, 219–20, 280, 282–4, languages, diversity of in ancient Mediterranean 196–7 Laomedon 2 laughter 163 ‘leaving light’ as image of birth 269 Leto 303, 307, 308, 309 lions 177 lyre 143, 181 Meles River 287 Metis 311, 312 Moschus 25–6 mothers and fathers, differing image of 195–6 ‘mountain-copper’ 283 mountains 142, 268, 304, 305 Musaeus 26–7 Muse and Muses 129, 263–4, 265, 306–7, 307–8 Nausicaa 187, 195, 254, 259 nektar and ambrosia 237– 8, 250, 263 nymphs 190, 191, 261–71, 276–7, 311 old age, image of 251 Orion 218 Otreus king of Phrygia 196, 210–11

Index

Paphos 169, 172, 281 Paris 181 perfumed oil at banquets 300 Philodemus 27 Poseidon 148 prayer, language of 188, 191–2, 193–4 pregnancy, how described 260–1 Priam 2, 196–7, 215, 276 Proclus 26 proems, epic 129–30, 131 Quintus Smyrnaeus 27 rape-stories, divine 199– 200, 205–6, 236, 239 Rhea 159, 297, 317 sacred groves 144, 265–9 Salamis 281, 291, 292 Seasons 263, 282, 284, 285, 306–7 ‘seeing light’ as image of birth 261 sex with goddesses, dangerous for mortals 230 sexuality, discretion of narrator regarding 221–2 sheep and goats 166, 222 silens 264 singing contests for bards 286 Smyrna 287 spinning and weaving 140, 141

springs 166, 175 Styx, oaths by 150 Themis 189–90 Tithonus 32, 226, 235, 243–53, 260, 271 trees 144 Tros 2, 238–43 Vergil 50 wall-pegs used to hang objects 308 wedding, feast at 211; proper cultural script for 207, 215 wildcats 178 ‘wilderness’, ideology of 202 wine-mixing 236–7 wolves 177 women’s work 139–40 woodcutting, 267–8 Zeus 146–7, 148, 150, 151, 154–6, 157–8, 159, 160, 161, 162, 163, 167, 182, 206, 229, 235–6, 239, 240, 244–6, 265, 284–5, 297, 298, 300, 304, 306–7, 308, 312, 311, 312, 313, 314; will of 148