Tracking Hermes, Pursuing Mercury 0198777345, 9780198777342

Table of contents :
Title Pages
Acknowledgements
List of Figures
List of Abbreviations
List of Contributors
Introduction
Like Mother, Like Son?
Hermes among Pan and the Nymphs on Fourth-Century Votive Reliefs
Hermes and Heracles
Hide and Go Seek
Hermes Iambicus
The God and his Double
Hermes/Mercury
Hermes in Love
Lascivus Puer
Horace’s Mercury and Mercurial Horace
Crossing the Borders
Mercury and Materialism
Did Mercury Build the Ship of Aeneas?
Communicating with the Divine
Hermes as Visible in Votive Inscriptions
Hermes, Kyllene, Samothrace, and the Sea
The Greek Magical Hymn to Hermes
Hermes and the Figs
Rethinking Hermes
Great Hermes
Index Locorum
Index Inscriptionum
General Index

Citation preview

Title Pages

Tracking Hermes, Pursuing Mercury John F. Miller and Jenny Strauss Clay

Print publication date: 2019 Print ISBN-13: 9780198777342 Published to Oxford Scholarship Online: March 2019 DOI: 10.1093/oso/9780198777342.001.0001

Title Pages John F. Miller, Jenny Strauss Clay

(p.i) Tracking Hermes, Pursuing Mercury (p.ii) (p.iii) Tracking Hermes, Pursuing Mercury (p.iv) Copyright Page

Great Clarendon Street, Oxford, OX2 6DP, United Kingdom Oxford University Press is a department of the University of Oxford. It furthers the University’s objective of excellence in research, scholarship, and education by publishing worldwide. Oxford is a registered trade mark of

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Title Pages Oxford University Press in the UK and in certain other countries © Oxford University Press 2019 The moral rights of the authors have been asserted First Edition published in 2019 Impression: 1 All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without the prior permission in writing of Oxford University Press, or as expressly permitted by law, by licence or under terms agreed with the appropriate reprographics rights organization. Enquiries concerning reproduction outside the scope of the above should be sent to the Rights Department, Oxford University Press, at the address above You must not circulate this work in any other form and you must impose this same condition on any acquirer Published in the United States of America by Oxford University Press 198 Madison Avenue, New York, NY 10016, United States of America British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data Data available Library of Congress Control Number: 2018957369 ISBN 978–0–19–877734–2 Printed and bound by CPI Group (UK) Ltd, Croydon, CR0 4YY Links to third party websites are provided by Oxford in good faith and for information only. Oxford disclaims any responsibility for the materials contained in any third party website referenced in this work.

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Acknowledgements

Tracking Hermes, Pursuing Mercury John F. Miller and Jenny Strauss Clay

Print publication date: 2019 Print ISBN-13: 9780198777342 Published to Oxford Scholarship Online: March 2019 DOI: 10.1093/oso/9780198777342.001.0001

(p.v) Acknowledgements John F. Miller, Jenny Strauss Clay

After discussing the project of a collaborative interdisciplinary approach to Hermes and Mercury for many years, we were fortunate finally to bring together a group of scholars for the conference ‘Tracking Hermes/Mercury’ at the University of Virginia in March of 2014. The papers delivered at that symposium form the basis of the present volume. We are grateful in the first instance for the funding that made the conference possible—from the Dean of the College of Arts and Sciences, the Ancient History Fund, the McIntire Department of Art, and the Department of Classics—to the Classics staff, Shelly Rojas and Glenda Notman, for making arrangements and going well beyond the call of duty during the conference; to our graduate students and colleagues for so generously helping to host visitors for the event. For chairing sessions and other intellectual contributions to the symposium we are particularly grateful to Anna Stelow, Tyler Jo Smith, Kelly Shannon, Jon Mikalson, Gregory Hays, Coulter George, John Dobbins, Jane Crawford, Stéphanie Paul, Deborah Boedeker, and Shane Black. Many have assisted in bringing this book to fruition. Anonymous referees at two stages helped with shaping the volume and with many other useful suggestions. At Oxford University Press, Charlotte Loveridge encouraged the project from the start and saw us through the initial stages; Georgina Leighton expertly and patiently stewarded the book to publication. Our two editorial assistants, Megan Bowen and Matthew Pincus, helped mightily with preparation of the copy. Above all, we thank the contributors to the volume for their stimulating scholarship and their collegial spirit. John F. Miller, Jenny Strauss Clay (p.vi)

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Acknowledgements

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List of Figures

Tracking Hermes, Pursuing Mercury John F. Miller and Jenny Strauss Clay

Print publication date: 2019 Print ISBN-13: 9780198777342 Published to Oxford Scholarship Online: March 2019 DOI: 10.1093/oso/9780198777342.001.0001

(p.xi) List of Figures John F. Miller, Jenny Strauss Clay

2.1. Athenian black-figure hydria. Hermes and Maia. c.520 BCE. Paris, Petit Palais 310. 14 Photo © Petit Palais/Roger-Viollet. 2.2. Detail of the hydria in Fig. 2.1: lion. 16 Photo © Petit Palais/Roger-Viollet. 2.3. Detail of the hydria in Fig. 2.1: goat. 17 Photo © Petit Palais/Roger-Viollet. 2.4. Athenian black-figure lekythos. Chariot of Apollo, with Hermes. c.500 BCE. Yale University Art Gallery 1913.111. 18 Photo: Museum, courtesy of Susan B. Matheson. 2.5. View of the lekythos in Fig. 2.4: Maia (?). 19 Photo: Museum, courtesy of Susan B. Matheson. 2.6. Athenian black-figure neck-amphora. Apollo between Dionysos/ Thyone and Hermes/Maia. c.520 BCE. San Simeon, Hearst Castle inv. 5563. 20 Photo by Victoria Garagliano/© Hearst Castle®/CA State Parks. 2.7. Athenian red-figure amphora. Detail of Hermes and Maia. c.510 BCE. Munich, Antikensammlungen 2304. 23 After Knauss (2012) 166. By permission of the Staatliche Antikensammlungen und Glyptothek, Munich. 2.8. Athenian black-figure volute-krater (“François Vase”). Detail of chariot of Hermes and Maia, with the Moirai. c.570 BCE. Florence, Museo Nazionale Archaeologico 4209. 25 Photo courtesy of the National Archaeological Museum of Florence. 3.1. Votive relief dedicated to the Nymphs, from the Cave to the Nymphs (Vari Cave) on Mount Hymettos, white marble, 52 × 36 cm, 340–330 BCE. Athens, National Archaeological Museum, NM 2011. 32 Page 1 of 4

List of Figures Source: DAI. Photographer: Hermann Wagner. DAI-Neg.-No.: D-DAI-ATHNM 4419. 3.2. Votive relief dedicated to the Nymphs by Eukleides, Eukles, and Lakrates, from the Cave to the Nymphs (Vari Cave) on Mount Hymettos, white marble, 40 × 50 cm, 340–330 BCE. Athens, National Archaeological Museum, NM 2008. 35 Source: DAI. Photographer: Elmar Gehnen. DAI-Neg.-No.: D-DAIATH-1995/2197. 3.3. Ithyphallic herm, of Attic manufacture but found on Siphnos, marble, 66 × 13 cm, c.520 BCE. Athens, National Archaeological Museum, NM 3728. 36 Photo: Bridgeman-Giraudon/Art Resource, NY. (p.xii) 3.4. Votive relief dedicated to the Nymphs, found on the Quirinal Hill in Rome, marble, 175 × 85 cm, c.400–390 BCE. Berlin, Antikensammlung, SK 709 a. 41 Photo: bpk Berlin/Antikensammlung/Jürgen Liepe/Art Resource, NY. 3.5. Votive relief dedicated to Pan and the Nymphs by Telephanes, from the Cave of Pan on Mount Parnes, white marble, 43 × 47 cm, 310–290 BCE. Athens, National Archaeological Museum, NM 1448. 42 National Archaeological Museum, Athens. © Hellenic Ministry of Culture and Sports/Archaeological Receipts Fund. 3.6. Votive relief dedicated to the Nymphs by Telephanes, Nikeratos, and Demophilos, found in the Cave of Pan and the Nymphs on Mount Penteli, white marble, 53 × 75 cm, 360–350 BCE. Athens, National Archaeological Museum, NM 4465, 4465a. 45 Source: DAI. Photographer: Eva-Maria Czakó. DAI-Neg.-No.: D-DAI-ATHNM 4756. 4.1. East pediment of the Siphnian Treasury, detail. 53 Photo: Erich Lessing/Art Resource, NY. 4.2. Orientalizing vase from Megara Hyblaea. 54 Musée du Louvre, Paris, France. Photo: Tony Querrec.© RMN-Grand Palais/Art Resource, NY. 4.3. Apollo and Heracles on the Boston Pyxis. 56 Photo © 2018 Museum of Fine Arts, Boston. 4.4. Comparison of the “Theft from Apollo” theme in myths of Hermes and Heracles. 59 13.1. The lararium at the end of the counter of the thermopolium at i.8.8, Pompeii. Mercury is the far left of the five deities in the image. 198 Photo: Erich Lessing/Art Resource, NY. 13.2. The left doorpost of the taberna (“the taberna of Marcus Vecilius Verecundus”) at ix.7.7, Pompeii. Mercury steps right from a small temple. 202 Photo: Alinari/Art Resource, NY.

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List of Figures 13.3. A painted image to the right of the door of the taberna at ix.12.6, Pompeii. An ithyphallic Mercury runs left towards the entrance. 204 Museo Archeologico Nazionale. © Vanni Archive/Art Resource, NY. 14.1. Scene from the Tabula Iliaca. Musei Capitolini, Rome. 218 Source: DAI. Photographer: R. Sansaini. DAI-Neg.-No.: D-DAI–Rom 57.974. 14.2. Scene from the Tabula Iliaca. Musei Capitolini, Rome. 219 Source: DAI. Photographer: R. Sansaini. DAI-Neg.-No.: D-DAI–Rom 57.975. 15.1. Attic black-figure column-krater, 520–510 BCE. London, British Museum B362. 230 Photo: © Trustees of the British Museum. (p.xiii) 15.2. Attic black-figure lekythos, c.480 BCE. Louvain-la-Neuve, Musée universitaire AC118. 231 Photo: Jean-Pierre Bougnet © UCL-Musée de Louvain-la-Neuve. 15.3. Attic red-figure column-krater, Orchard Painter, 470–460 BCE. Naples, Museo Archeologico Nazionale 81295 (H3369). 232 Photo reproduced by permission of the Ministero dei Beni e delle Attività Culturali e del Turismo – Museo Archeologico di Napoli. 15.4. Attic black-figure amphora, 500–480 BCE. Würzburg, Martin von Wagner Museum 233. 233 © Martin von Wagner Museum der Universität Würzburg, photo: P. Neckermann, respectively E. Oehrlein. 15.5. Attic black-figure olpe, Dot-Ivy Group, 500–490 BCE. Paris, Musée du Louvre F325. 234 Photo: © RMN-Grand Palais (Musée du Louvre)/Stéphane Maréchalle. 15.6. Attic red-figure pelike, Geras Painter, c.490 BCE. Paris, Bibliothèque nationale de France 397. 235 Photo: Serge Oboukhoff © BnF–CNRS–Maison Archéologie & Ethnologie, René Ginouvès. 15.7. Attic red-figure lekythos, Icarus Painter, 470–460 BCE. Nicholson Museum, The University of Sydney. NM51.14. 236 Photo: Nicholson Museum, The University of Sydney. 15.8. Attic red-figure cup, Ambrosios Painter, 510–500 BCE. London, Sotheby’s 14.12.1995, no. 84. 238 Photo after Sotheby’s, London, sale catalogue (14.12.1995): 45, no. 84. 17.1. Samothracian herm. 275 Illustration by David Diener, after photo published by Charles Champoiseau, “Note sur des antiquités trouvés dans l’île de Samothrace,” Comptes rendus des séances de l’Académie des Inscriptions et BellesLettres, 36e année, N. 1, 1892: 24. ©Académie des inscriptions et BellesLettres, used by kind permission.

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List of Figures 17.2. Samothracian herm, published by Fernand Chapouthier, Les Dioscures au service d’une déesse, E. de Boccard 1935: 176, figure 16. 276 © Editions de Boccard, used by kind permission. 17.3. Detail, silver cantharos from the Berthouville treasure, mid-first century CE. 278 Photo: Tahnee Cracchiola, courtesy Département des Monnaies, médailles et antiques, Bibliothèque nationale de France. Height 15.8 cm, Diameter 13.3 cm, Weight 852 grams. Paris, BnF, 56.9. 17.4. Silver cantharos from the Berthouville treasure, mid-first century CE. 279 Photo: Tahnee Cracchiola, courtesy Département des Monnaies, médailles et antiques, Bibliothèque nationale de France. Height 15.8 cm, Diameter 13.3 cm, Weight 852 grams. Paris, BnF, 56.9. (p.xiv) 17.5. Detail, silver cantharos from the Berthouville treasure, midfirst century CE. 280 Photo: Tahnee Cracchiola, courtesy Département des Monnaies, médailles et antiques, Bibliothèque nationale de France. Height 16 cm, Diameter 14.6 cm, Weight 835 grams. Paris, BnF, 56.8. 17.6. Silver cantharos from the Berthouville treasure, mid-first century CE. 281 Photo: Tahnee Cracchiola, courtesy Département des Monnaies, médailles et antiques, Bibliothèque nationale de France. Height 16 cm, Diameter 14.6 cm, Weight 835 grams. Paris, BnF, 56.8. 17.7. Drachm of Ainos with head of Hermes. Greek, late classical period, about 357–342/1 BCE; Ainos mint, Thrace; silver. 19 mm dia., weight 3.99 gm. Die Axis: 12. Museum of Fine Arts, Boston. Theodora Wilbour Fund in memory of Zoë Wilbour, 61.1189. 286 Photo © 2018 Museum of Fine Arts, Boston. Whilst every effort has been made to secure permission to reproduce the illustrations, we may have failed in a few cases to trace the copyright holders. If contacted, the publisher will be pleased to rectify any omissions at the earliest opportunity.

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List of Abbreviations

Tracking Hermes, Pursuing Mercury John F. Miller and Jenny Strauss Clay

Print publication date: 2019 Print ISBN-13: 9780198777342 Published to Oxford Scholarship Online: March 2019 DOI: 10.1093/oso/9780198777342.001.0001

(p.xv) List of Abbreviations John F. Miller, Jenny Strauss Clay

AA Archäologischer Anzeiger ABL Haspels, C. H. E. 1936.Attic Black-figured Lekythoi. Paris. ABSA Annual of the British School in Athens ABV Beazley, J. D. 1956. Attic Black-figure Vase-painters. Oxford. ACD Acta classica Universitatis Scientiarum Debreceniensis AD Αρχαιλογικόν Δελτίον. Athens. AE Εφημερίς Αρχαιολογική. Athens. ΑΕΜΘ Το Αρχαιολογικό Έργο στη Μακεδονία και Θράκη Aevum(ant) Aevum Antiquum AJA American Journal of Archaeology AJP American Journal of Philology AK Antike Kunst Alabanda McCabe, D. F. 1996. Alabanda Inscriptions. Texts and List. “The Princeton Project on the Inscriptions of Anatolia.” The Institute for Page 1 of 11

List of Abbreviations Advanced Study, Princeton. 1991. Packard Humanities Institute CD #7. AM Mitteilungen des Deutschen Archäologischen Instituts, Athenische Abteilung ANRW Aufstieg und Niedergang der römischen Welt APF Archiv für Papyrusforschung und verwandte Gebiete ARG Archiv für Religionsgeschichte ARV2 Beazley, J. D. 1963. Attic Red-figure Vase-painters. Oxford. ASAtene Annuario della Scuola archeologica di Atene e delle Missioni italiane in Oriente Asklepieion Peek, W. 1969. Inschriften aus dem Asklepieion von Epidauros (Abhandlungen der Sächsischen Akademie der Wissenschaften zu Leipzig, Philologisch-Historische Klasse, Band 60, Heft 2). Berlin. BABesch Bulletin antieke beschaving: Annual Papers on Classical Archaeology BAPD Beazley Archive Pottery Database BCH Bulletin de correspondance hellénique BdI Bullettino dell’instituto di corrispondenza archeologica BE Bulletin épigraphique. Paris. (p.xvi) BICS Bulletin of the Institute of Classical Studies of the University of London BIFAO Bulletin de l’Institut français d’archéologie orientale de Caire BNJ Brill’s New Jacoby BNP Brill’s New Pauly BoD Book of the Dead: for the quoted chapters, found in the papyrus of Ani, see C. Carrier, Le Livre des morts de l’Égypte ancienne. Paris 2009. BPEC Page 2 of 11

 

List of Abbreviations Bollettino del comitato per la preparazione dell’edizione nazionale dei classici greci e latini CCAG Catalogus Codicum Astrologorum Graecorum CCCA Corpus Cultus Cybelae Attidisque Chios McCabe, D. F. 1991. Chios Inscriptions. Texts and List. “The Princeton Project on the Inscriptions of Anatolia.” The Institute for Advanced Study, Princeton (1986). Packard Humanities Institute CD #6. CIG Corpus Inscriptionum Graecarum CIL Corpus Inscriptionum Latinarum CCJ Cambridge Classical Journal CJ Classical Journal ClAnt Classical Antiquity CP Classical Philology CPG Corpus Paroemiagraphorum Graecorum CQ Classical Quarterly CRAI Comptes rendue/Académie des inscriptions et belles-lettres CVA Corpus Vasorum Antiquorum CW Classical World DAA Raubitschek, A. E. 1949. Dedications from the Athenian Akropolis. A Catalogue of the Inscriptions of the Sixth and Fifth Centuries BC. With the collaboration of Lilian H. Jeffery. Cambridge, MA. DELG Chantraine, P. 1968–70. Dictionnaire étymologique de la langue grecque: Histoire des mots. Paris. DM Jorro, F. A. and F. R. Adrados 1985. Diccionario micénico. Madrid. DTA Wünsch, R., ed. 1897. Defixionum tabellae. Berlin. EA Page 3 of 11

 

List of Abbreviations Epigraphica Anatolica: Zeitschrift für Epigraphik und historische Geographie Anatoliens EAH Encyclopedia of Ancient History. 2012. Eds. R. S. Bagnall, K. Brodersen, C. B. Champion, A. Erskine, and S. R. Huebner. Malden, MA. (p.xvii) EAM Rizakes, T. and G. Touratsoglou. 1985. Epigraphes Anō Makedonias (Elimeia, Eordaia, Notia Lynkēstis, Orestis). Tomos A', Katalogos epigraphōn. Athens. EBGR Chaniotis, A., ed. “Epigraphic Bulletin for Greek Religion” (annually in Kernos). EG Kaibel, G. 1848–59. Epigrammata Graeca ex lapidibus conlecta. Berlin. EJA European Journal of Archaeology EKM Gounaropoulou, L. and M. B. Hatzopoulos. 1998. Epigraphes Katō Makedonias (metaxy tou Vermiou orous kai tou Axiou potamou). Teuchos Aʹ. Epigraphes Veroias. Athens. EuGeStA European Network on Gender Studies in Antiquity (Journal Eugesta) Fayum I Bernand, É. 1975. Recueil des inscriptions grecques du Fayoum. Vol. I. La “Méris” d’ Hérakleidès. Leiden. FGrHist Jacoby, F. Fragmente der griechischen Historiker. FHG Müller, K. Fragmenta historicorum graecorum. G&R Greece & Rome GRBS Greek, Roman and Byzantine Studies Halikarnassos McCabe, D. F. 1991. Halikarnassos Inscriptions. Texts and List. “The Princeton Project on the Inscriptions of Anatolia.” The Institute for Advanced Study. Princeton. HSCP Harvard Studies in Classical Philology IAegThrace

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List of Abbreviations Loukopoulou, L., M. Gabriella Parissaki, S. Psoma, and A.Zournatzi. 2005. Epigraphes tēs Thrakēs tou Aigaiou: metaxy tōn potamōn Nestou kai Hevrou (nomoi Xanthēs, Rhodopēs kai Hevrou). Athens. IApollonia Cabanes, P. and N. Ceka. 1997. Corpus des inscriptions grecques d’Illyrie méridionale et d’Épire 1.2 Inscriptions d’ÉpidamneDyrrhachion et d’Apollonia. Vol. 2a. Inscriptions d’Apollonia d’Illyrie. Études épigraphiques, 2. Athens. IByzantion Lajtar, A. 2000. Die Inschriften von Byzantion (Inschriften griechischer Städte aus Kleinasien, 58). Bonn. ICilicie Dagron, G. and D. Feissel. 1987. Inscriptions de Cilicie. Paris. ICos Segre, M. 1993. Iscrizioni di Cos (Monografie della Scuola Archeologica di Atene e delle Missioni Italiane in Oriente, 6). Rome. ICret. Guarducci, M. Inscriptiones Creticae (Rome 1935–50). ICS Illinois Classical Studies ID Durrbach, F. et al., eds. 1926–72. Inscriptions de Délos. 7 vols. Paris. (p.xviii) IEphesos Wankel, H., et al. 1979–84. Die Inschriften von Ephesos. 8 vols. With a Supplement (Inschriften griechischer Städte aus Kleinasien, 11,1– 17,4). Bonn. IErythrai Engelmann, H. and R. Merkelbach. 1972–3. Die Inschriften von Erythrai und Klazomenai. 2 vols. Inschriften griechischer Städte aus Kleinasien 1–2. Bonn. IEstremOrient Canali De Rossi, F. 2004. Iscrizioni dello estremo oriente greco. Un repertorio (Inschriften griechischer Städte aus Kleinasien, 65). Bonn. IG Inscriptiones Graecae IGBulg Mihailov, G. 1958–70, 1997. Inscriptiones graecae in Bulgaria repertae. 5 vols. Sofia. IGLSyria Jalabert, L. et al. 1929–2009. Inscriptions grecques et latines de la Syrie. Paris. IGR Cagnat, R. et al., eds. 1911–27. Inscriptiones graecae ad res romanas pertinentes. Paris. Page 5 of 11

 

List of Abbreviations IGSK Inschriften griechischer Städte aus Kleinasien (Bonn 1972–) IIasos Blümel, W. 1985. Die Inschriften von Iasos. Vol. 2 (Inschriften griechischer Städte aus Kleinasien, 28,2). Bonn. IJNA International Journal of Nautical Archaeology and Underwater Exploration IKnidos Blümel, W. 1992. Die Inschriften von Knidos I IGSK Vol. 41. Bonn. IKosM Maiuri, A., ed. 1925. Nuova silloge epigrafica di Rodi e Cos. ILampsakos Frisch, P. 1978. Die Inschriften von Lampsakos (Inschriften griechischer Städte aus Kleinasien, 6). Bonn. ILouvre Bernand, E. 1992. Inscriptions grecques d’Égypte et de Nubie au Musée du Louvre. Paris. IMTKyzPropontIns Barth, M. and J. Stauber. 1996. Inschriften Mysia & Troas [IMT]. Leopold Wenger Institut. Universität München. Version of 25.8.1993 (Ibycus). Packard Humanities Institute CD #7.—Mysia, “Kyzikene, Propontisinseln,” nos. 1301–94. IMylasa Blümel, W. 1987–8. Die Inschriften von Mylasa. 2 vols. (Inschriften griechischer Städte aus Kleinasien, 34–5). Bonn. INysa McCabe, D. F. 1991. Nysa Inscriptions. Texts and List. “The Princeton Project on the Inscriptions of Anatolia.” The Institute for Advanced Study, Princeton. IosPE I2 Latyshev, B. 1916. Inscriptiones antiquae orae septentrionalis Ponti Euxini graecae et latinae. Vol. 1, 2nd ed. Inscriptiones Tyriae, Olbiae, Chersonesi Tauricae. St. Petersburg. IPergamon Fränkel, M. 1890–5. Die Inschriften von Pergamon. 2 vols. (Altertümer von Pergamon, 8,1–2). Berlin. (p.xix) IPerge Sahin, S. 1999 and 2004. Die Inschriften von Perge. 2 vols. (Inschriften griechischer Städte aus Kleinasien, 54 and 61). Bonn. IPriene Hiller von Gaertringen, F. 1906. Inschriften von Priene. Berlin. IPrusa

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List of Abbreviations Corsten, T. 1991–3. Die Inschriften von Prusa ad Olympum. 2 vols. (Inschriften griechischer Städte aus Kleinasien, 39–40). Bonn. IRhegion D’Amore, L. 2007. Iscrizioni greche d’Italia: Reggio Calabria. Rome. IRhodian Peraia Blümel, W. 1991. Die Inschriften der Rhodischen Peraia (Inschriften griechischer Städte aus Kleinasien, 38). Bonn. IScM Pippidi, D. M. 1983. Inscriptiones Daciae et Scythiae Minoris antiquae. Series altera: Inscriptiones Scythiae Minoris graecae et latinae. Vol. 1. Inscriptiones Histriae et vicinia. Bucharest. ISinope French, D. 2004. The Inscriptions of Sinope. Vol. 1. Bonn. IStratonikeia Çetin, Ş. Die Inschriften von Stratonikeia. Vol. I, Panamara (Inschriften griechischer Städte aus Kleinasien, 21). Bonn. IThespies Roesch, P. 2007–9. Les Inscriptions de Thespies (IThesp), Fasc. I–XII, Concordances. Eds. G. Argoud, A. Schachter, and G. Vottéro (Histoire et Sources des Mondes Antiques). Lyon. IThess. Decourt, J.-C. 1995. Inscriptions de Thessalie. Vol. 1. Les cités de la vallée de l’Énipeus. Études épigraphiques, 3. Athens. JbRGZM Jahrbuch des Römisch-Germanischen Zentralmuseums Mainz JDAI Jahrbuch des Deutschen Archäologischen Instituts JHS Journal of Hellenic Studies JRS Journal of Roman Studies JPh Journal of Philosophy LCS Trendall, A. D. 1967. The Red-figured Vases of Lucania, Campania and Sicily. Oxford. LdÄ Helck, W. and E. Otto, eds. Lexikon der Ägyptologie. 7 vols. Wiesbaden 1972–92. LDAB Leuven Database of Ancient Books (http://www.trismegistos.org/ldab/) LfgrE Lexicon des frühgriechischen Epos LGG Page 7 of 11

 

List of Abbreviations Leitz, C., ed. Lexikon der ägyptischen Götter und Götterbezeichnungen. 6 vols. OLA 110–16, 129. Leuven 2002–3. LIMC Lexicon iconographicum mythologiae classicae Lindos II Blinkenberg, C. 1941. Lindos. Fouilles et recherches, 1902–1914. Vol. II, Inscriptions. 2 vols. Copenhagen and Berlin. LSAG Jeffery, L. H. 1961. The Local Scripts of Archaic Greece. Oxford. LSAM Sokolowski, F. 1955. Lois sacrées de l’Asie Mineure. Paris. (p.xx) LSJ Liddell-Scott-Jones Greek-English Lexicon M-P3 Mertens-Pack 3, Catalogue des papyrus littéraires grecs et latins. Liège. Accessible at promethee.philo.ulg.ac.be/cedopal/index.htm. MAMA 8 Calder, W. M. and J. M. R. Cormack. 1962. Monuments from Lycaonia, the Pisido-Phrygian Borderland, Aphrodisias (Monumenta Asiae Minoris Antiqua, 8). Manchester. Marb. Jahrb. Marburger Jahrbuch für Kunstwissenschaft MD Materiali e discussioni per l’analisi dei testi classici MDAI(A) Mitteilungen des Deutschen Archäologischen Instituts, Athenische Abteilung MEFRA Mélanges de l’École française de Rome. Antiquité MHNH Revista internacional de investigación sobre magia y astrología antiguas Milet I 7 Knackfuss, H. and A. Rehm. 1924. Milet, Ergebnisse der Ausgrabungen und Untersuchungen seit dem Jahre 1899. Band I, Heft 7: Der Südmarkt und die benachbarten Bauanlagen. Berlin. Milet I 9 Gerkan, A. von and F. Krischen. 1928. Ergebnisse der Ausgrabungen und Untersuchungen seit dem Jahre 1899. Bd 1, Heft 9: Thermen und Palaestren. Berlin. MMAI Monuments et mémoires publiés par l’Académie des inscriptions et belles-lettres NGCT Page 8 of 11

 

List of Abbreviations Jordan, D. “New Greek Curse Tablets (1985–2000),” GRBS 41 (2000) 5–46. NSc Notizie degli scavi di antichità NSER Maiuri, A. 1925. Nuova silloge epigrafica di Rodi e Cos. Florence. NSupplEpR Pugliese Carratelli, G. “Nuovo supplemento epigrafico rodio.” ASAtene 33–4, N.S. 17–18 (1955–6) 157–81. OLD Oxford Latin Dictionary OpAthRom Opuscula: Annual of the Swedish Institutes at Athens and Rome P&P Past & Present PAH Fiorelli, G., ed. 1860. Pompeianarum Antiquitatum Historia. Para Beazley, J. D. 1971. Paralipomena. Additions to Attic Black-figure and Red-figure Vase-painters. Oxford. PCG Poetae Comici Graeci PCPhS Proceedings of the Cambridge Philological Society PGM Papyri Graecae Magicae. Die griechischen Zauberpapyri I–II (eds. K. Preisendanz et al. Revised by A. Henrichs, Stuttgart 1973–4). (p.xxi) PLLS Papers of the Liverpool Latin Society PraktAkadAth Πρακτικά Ακαδημία Αθηνών. Athens. PSI Papiri della Società Italiana QS Quaderni di storia QUCC Quaderni urbinati di cultura classica RA Revue archéologique RAAN Rendiconti della Accademia di Archeologia, Lettere e Belle Arti RAC Reallexikon für Antike und Christentum RE Page 9 of 11

 

List of Abbreviations Pauly-Wissowa, Real-Encyclopädie der Classischen Altertumswissenschaft REA Revue des études anciennes REG Revue des études grecques RFIC Rivista di filologia e di istruzione classica RhM Rheinisches Museum für Philologie Rhodian Peraia McCabe, D. F. 1996. Rhodian Peraia Inscriptions. Texts and List. “The Princeton Project on the Inscriptions of Anatolia.” The Institute for Advanced Study, Princeton (1991). Packard Humanities Institute CD #7. RHR Revue de l’histoire des religions RIC2 The Roman Imperial Coinage, 2nd rev. ed. RömMitt Mitteilungen des Deutschen Archäologischen Instituts, Römische Abteilung RPC Roman Provincial Coinage RRC Roman Republican Coinage RSP Rivista di studi pompeiani RVAp II Trendall, A. D. and A. Cambitoglou 1982. The Red-figured Vases of Apulia. Late Apulian. Oxford. Salamine Pouilloux, J., P. Roesch, and J. Marcillet-Jaubert. 1987. Salamine de Chypre, XIII. Testimonia Salaminia, 2. Corpus épigraphique. Paris. SCI Scripta Classica Israelica SCO Studi classici e orientali SEG Supplementum Epigraphicum Graecum (eds. J. J. E. Hondius et al. 1923–71, continued by H. W. Pleket et alii, Amsterdam 1976–) SEL Studi epigrafici e linguistici sul Vicino Oriente antico SemRom Page 10 of 11

 

List of Abbreviations Seminari romani di cultura greca SGD Jordan, D. “A Survey of Greek Defixiones Not Included in the Special Corpora,” GRBS 26 (1985) 151–97. (p.xxii) SGO Merkelbach, R. and J. Stauber. 1998–2004. Steinepigramme aus dem griechischen Osten. 5 vols. Munich and Leipzig. SIFC Studi Italiani di filologia classica SSI Social Science Information StudStor Studi storici: rivista trimestrale dell’Istituto Gramsci TAM Tituli Asiae Minoris. Vienna 1901–1989. TAPA Transactions of the American Philological Association Thèbes à Syène Bernand, A. 1989. De Thèbes à Syène. Paris. ThesCRA Thesaurus Cultus et Rituum Antiquorum Tit. Calymnii Segre, M. 1952. “Tituli Calymnii.” ASAtene 22–3, N.S. 6–7, (1944–5) 1–248. Tit.Cam.Suppl. Pugliese Carratelli, G. “Tituli Camirenses. Supplementum.” ASAtene 30–2, N.S. 14–16 (1952–4) 211–46. TvD Ruppel, W. 1930. Der Tempel von Dakke, III: Die griechischen und lateinischen Inschriften von Dakke. Cairo. WJA Würzburger Jahrbücher für die Altertumswissenschaft WS Wiener Studien: Zeitschrift für Klassische Philologie, Patristik und lateinische Tradition ZPE Zeitschrift für Papyrologie und Epigraphik

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List of Contributors

Tracking Hermes, Pursuing Mercury John F. Miller and Jenny Strauss Clay

Print publication date: 2019 Print ISBN-13: 9780198777342 Published to Oxford Scholarship Online: March 2019 DOI: 10.1093/oso/9780198777342.001.0001

(p.xxiii) List of Contributors John F. Miller, Jenny Strauss Clay

Simone Beta, Associate Professor of Classical Philology at the University of Siena. Thomas Biggs, Assistant Professor of Classics at the University of Georgia. Sandra Blakely, Associate Professor of Classics at Emory University. Ljuba Merlina Bortolani, Akademische Mitarbeiterin at Heidelberg University. Andrea Capra, Associate Professor (Reader) of Classics at Durham University. Sergio Casali, Associate Professor at the University of Rome ‘Tor Vergata.’ Jenny Strauss Clay, William R. Kenan Professor of Classics Emerita at the University of Virginia. Hélène Collard, Postdoctoral Researcher F.R.S.–FNRS (Belgian National Fund of Research) at the University of Liège. Joseph Farrell, Professor of Classical Studies and Mark K. and Esther W. Watkins Professor in the Humanities at the University of Pennsylvania. S. J. Harrison, Professor of Latin Literature and Fellow and Tutor in Classics at Corpus Christi College, University of Oxford. Carolyn M. Laferrière, Postdoctoral Associate in Ancient and Premodern Cultures and Civilizations, with ARCHAIA, at Yale University. Jennifer Larson, Professor of Classics at Kent State University. Duncan E. MacRae, Assistant Professor of Classics at the University of California, Berkeley.

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List of Contributors John F. Miller, Arthur F. and Marian W. Stocker Professor of Classics at the University of Virginia. Erin K. Moodie, Assistant Professor of Classics at Purdue University. Micah Young Myers, Assistant Professor of Classics at Kenyon College. Cecilia Nobili, Research Fellow at the University of Milan. Nicola Reggiani, Ricercatore di Papirologia at the University di Parma. (p.xxiv) H. A. Shapiro, W. H. Collins Vickers Professor of Archaeology Emeritus at Johns Hopkins University. Athanassios Vergados, Reader in Greek at Newcastle University. Henk Versnel, Professor of Ancient History Emeritus at Leiden University. Jenny Wallensten, Director of the Swedish Institute at Athens.

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Introduction

Tracking Hermes, Pursuing Mercury John F. Miller and Jenny Strauss Clay

Print publication date: 2019 Print ISBN-13: 9780198777342 Published to Oxford Scholarship Online: March 2019 DOI: 10.1093/oso/9780198777342.001.0001

Introduction Jenny Strauss Clay John F. Miller

DOI:10.1093/oso/9780198777342.003.0001

Abstract and Keywords This chapter positions the book within the larger discussion of Hermes and Mercury in previous scholarship, and surveys the contributions in the volume against the background of the Homeric Hymn to Hermes. The volume brings together a wide range of disciplines, including Greek and Roman literature, epigraphy, cult and religion, vase painting and sculpture. The book tracks Hermes from the naughty babe in his cradle to awesome kosmokrator, from shadowy Cyllene to Hellenized Egypt and Augustan Rome, and traces continuities that cross generic and temporal boundaries, but also transformations of the wayward god, who easily adjusts to new settings and morphs into Mercury and Thoth. Keywords:   Hermes, Mercury, Homeric Hymn, thief, child

The present volume grew out of a conference, “Tracking Hermes/Mercury,” held at the University of Virginia in the Spring of 2014. It consists of twenty original contributions, and brings together a wide range of disciplines, including Greek and Roman literature (epic, lyric, and drama), epigraphy, cult and religion, vase painting, and sculpture. Such an interdisciplinary approach is not only appropriate, but essential in investigating such a multi-faceted and elusive character. Moreover, in dealing with this patron divinity of exchange, commerce, and dialogue, we hope ourselves to encourage dialogue between Latinists and Hellenists as well as scholars of literary and material cultures. Pursuing this elusive divinity requires multiple skills and multiple approaches.

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Introduction Of all the divinities of classical antiquity, the Greek Hermes (Mercury in his Roman alter ego) is the most versatile, enigmatic, complex, and ambiguous. The runt of the Olympian litter, he is the god of lies and tricks, yet is also kindly to mankind and a bringer of luck; his functions embrace both the marking of boundaries and their transgression, as well as commerce, lucre and theft, rhetoric, and practical jokes; he also plays the role of mediator between all realms of human and divine activity, embracing heaven, earth, and the Netherworld. His assimilation to the Egyptian Thoth and Hermes Trismegistus, the diffusion of his cult beyond Greece and Rome, and his role in late antique and medieval allegory demonstrate how his multifarious aspects continuously evolved and changed in different periods and environments. While we do not pretend to cover exhaustively the myriad aspects of Hermes/Mercury—origins, patronage of the gymnasium, relation to the other trickster figures— nevertheless, we hope at least to track the god’s footprints in many domains that reflect his variegated nature. Despite his appeal and iconic presence in marketing everything from flowers to silk scarves, the figure of Hermes/Mercury has been understudied, although recent work—including commentaries on the Homeric Hymn to Hermes by A. Vergados (2012) and N. Richardson (2010), as well as D. Jaillard’s study (p.2) (Configurations d’Hermès. Une ‘théogonie hermaïque,’ 2007), Chapter 4 in H. Versnel’s Coping with the Gods (2011), and Jenny Strauss Clay’s chapter on the Homeric Hymn to Hermes in Politics of Olympus: Gods and Men in the Major Homeric Hymns (1989)—has focused attention on this many-faceted figure. Older studies on disparate aspects of the god include N. O. Brown, Hermes the Thief (1947), L. Kahn’s structuralist interpretation (Hermès passe, 1978), P. Zanker (1965) on iconography, and B. Combet Farnoux, Mercure romain (1980), as well as individual articles on specific manifestations of the god—e.g. as an avatar of Augustus (P. A. Miller 1991). But up to now there has been no attempt to discuss in a coherent manner the surprising variety of his literary, cultic, and artistic manifestations. Our volume is a beginning and, in bringing together scholars with varied approaches from different disciplines, it will, we hope, offer a model for future investigations. Here we preview the volume by pinpointing some important aspects of Hermes and Mercury as suggested by our nine groupings of papers that organize the book. In doing so, for the most part we use the Homeric Hymn to Hermes as a touchstone text, undoubtedly the most sustained—and comic—presentation of this complex and endlessly fascinating figure whom we will pursue in his many manifestations. Our aim is to invite consideration of how the papers in each cluster are, so to speak, in dialogue with one another against the background of the god’s manifold dimensions as adumbrated in the Hymn. Along the way, other connections among the chapters will emerge.

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Introduction The Homeric Hymn begins from Hermes’ birth in a shadowy cave on remote Cyllene, fruit of Zeus’ secret affair with the nymph Maia (13–16): καὶ τότ’ ἐγείνατο παῖδα πολύτροπον, αἱμυλομήτην, ληϊστῆρ’, ἐλατῆρα βοῶν, ἡγήτορ’ ὀνείρων, νυκτὸς ὀπωπητῆρα, πυληδόκον, ὃς τάχ’ ἔμελλεν ἀμφανέειν κλυτὰ ἔργα μετ’ ἀθανάτοισι θεοῖσιν. And then she bore a child, polytropic, with deceptive cunning, A thief, cattle rustler, leader of dreams, A nocturnal spy, lurking at gates, who soon was going to Reveal famous deeds among the immortal gods.

Mention of the god’s parentage here is more than the usual opening hymnic gambit, for Maia and Zeus are the chief characters in the featured story, along with Hermes’ older brother Apollo. This narrative is very much a family affair. The infant divinity’s ultimate goal is, from his lowly beginning in that Arcadian cave, to reclaim his patrimony and to be acknowledged as a child of Zeus, worthy of joining the august company of the gods on Olympus and acquiring the prerogatives appropriate to his status. His mother figures importantly in an intimate scene where she upbraids the truant for his nocturnal mischief and he in turn responds by boldly announcing that his behavior aims to improve (p.3) conditions for them both. Foremost among the precocious deity’s “famous deeds” on the day of his birth is the theft of Apollo’s cattle, which precipitates the Hymn’s crisis, only finally resolved by Zeus, as both the ruling arbiter of Olympus and the boys’ father. He orders his two “beautiful children” (397) to settle their dispute, and in the end, once the two are reconciled, “lord Apollo showed his love for the son of Maia with every sort of affection, and the son of Kronos added his favor.” The papers in Part I reflect and expand upon these familial relationships. The Hymn’s sympathetic portrayal of Maia—otherwise an obscure figure in ancient literature and art—forms the background for H. A. Shapiro’s reading of Hermes’ mother on ancient vases, where the company of Hermes helps to identify her. He pours a libation in her presence, no doubt as a preliminary to leaving home, and his beardless condition marks him out as young. The animals in such scenes, recalling the sphere of influence granted to Hermes at the end of the Hymn (569–71), Shapiro suggests may derive from an association with Maia as resident of rustic Arcadia. Elsewhere Apollo plays the cithara for his brother Hermes while the woman holding his signature kerykeion must be his mother. Hermes’ stately demeanor in escorting his mother to the wedding of Peleus and Thetis on the François Vase is sharply at variance with the mischievous child of the Homeric Hymn, as is the presence of Maia at such a high-profile event among the major divinities—in the Hymn she shuns the company of the blessed gods, staying in the dark cave where she and Zeus made love (5–7).

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Introduction The Hymn’s central conflict, arising from Hermes’ theft of Apollo’s cattle, Jennifer Larson insightfully maps onto the myth of Heracles attempting to wrest away Apollo’s tripod. These two younger sons of Zeus only gradually gain acknowledgement as Olympian divinities, after each challenges his older sibling Apollo by trying to steal from him, and their confrontation is eventually mediated by Zeus. In both cases the younger brother must restore the stolen property, reconcile with his fraternal adversary, and continue in a subordinate rank to Apollo. Larson concludes that this remarkable nexus of similarities (among other things) suggests that the composer of the Hymn to Hermes was reacting to the myth of Heracles and Apollo’s tripod. Hermes as the father of Pan is examined by Carolyn Laferrière in the context of late classical reliefs dedicated to Pan and the Nymphs. In the Homeric Hymn to Pan the nymphs who dance in Pan’s company sing a song in honor of his father Hermes, which depicts Hermes’ legitimizing presentation of the goatish son to his fellow immortals. Against such a horizon of expectation, viewers would comprehend the visual theology of the Attic reliefs, in particular the connection of both Hermes and Pan with the cult of the Nymphs and how both father and son serve as mediators between mortal worshippers and the Nymphs. The otherwise surprising appearance of Hermes in the reliefs thus makes perfect sense. (p.4) Hermes’ role as a trickster figure at the heart of the Homeric Hymn is well represented in the two papers in Part II. The god’s polytropic nature, his thievish character and interest in profit, seductive rhetoric, and inventiveness are already on display in Homer. Likewise, his philanthropic side as well as his all too human concern with eating and other bodily functions find a place in his Homeric appearances. Jenny Strauss Clay first analyzes Hermes’ role in the Iliad, especially Priam’s encounter with the god in Book 24. Like a psychopomp, he escorts the old king through the Trojan no-man’s-land to Achilles’ encampment, thus demonstrating his ability to cross boundaries and penetrate forbidden territory, as he does in his Hymn, as well as his inclination for nocturnal adventures. But the bulk of her paper explores the affinities between Hermes and Odysseus in the Odyssey; both the god and the hero share the epithet polytropos, and Odysseus resembles his patron in his craftiness, whether in making his raft or tricking the Cyclops, as well as in his deceptive speech that charms his listeners. The interest Hermes shows for meat in the Hymn finds a correspondence in Odysseus’ devotion to his belly; both of them, moreover, are bent on profit. And if the hymnic Hermes manages to smuggle his way into Olympus, his avatar Odysseus smuggles his way into the affections of the Phaeacians and achieves his more terrestrial nostos. The contribution by Andrea Capra and Cecilia Nobili also exploits the Homeric Hymn to document an archaeology of iambus and Hermes as its first practitioner. The various songs Hermes sings in the course of the Hymn and the Page 4 of 11

 

Introduction allusions to their sympotic setting provide archetypes of what will become the iambic genre with its competitive, provocative, humorous, and sometimes erotic character. The pleasure and charm of Hermes’ performances correspond to the desired features of sympotic poetry, as does his playful banter and occasional scurrilous behavior. The poet Hipponax constructs his iambic persona as an intimate and almost as an embodiment of Hermes’ traits; the poet’s prayer to the god with its jocular word play incorporates a Hermetic interest in cloaks and gain. Combining high and low and sometimes using parodic language, the iambist seems to imitate Hermes’ own range, which extends from self-serving theogony to youthful exchanges of insult. When Hipponax is reborn in his Callimachean guise, he has shed his more obstreperous Hermetic features. As Capra and Nobili note, the decline of iambus coincides with the eclipse of Old Comedy. Their observations lead into the next part (III), which focuses on the role of Hermes in comedy, where he exhibits many of the features of the iambic Hermes as well as those that he enacts in the Homeric Hymn. In outlining the varied manifestations of Hermes in Old Comedy, Simone Beta attests to the continuities in his presentation on the comic stage, both as a character in the plot and, intriguingly, in his possible role as a talking statue, the Herms that dotted the Athenian landscape and were familiar to the audience in the theater (p.5) of Dionysus. The well-known traits of the god are on display even in some of our more fragmentary texts: his lowly status among the Olympians, his role as doorkeeper and glutton, god of luck and thievery, of verbal tricks and mediation, as well as his earthier features on view in his images. Prominent in Aristophanes’ Peace, Hermes plays the doorman of Olympus, easily bribed by the offer of meat, and hence the crucial mediator between heaven and earth in liberating imprisoned Peace (Hermes the body-snatcher!) to dwell among mankind. In Wealth Hermes, who himself is often enough considered a giver of wealth and prosperity, is literally brought down to earth by the distress of the Olympian gods and his own hunger when Plutos regains his sight and therefore ceases to act capriciously. Intriguingly, Beta explores the various possibilities of staging Herms in comedy, where on occasion they seem to play a comic oracular role, perhaps to be connected with the god’s relation to the Bee oracle in the Homeric Hymn. In the following contribution, Erin K. Moodie extends the discussion of comedy to the Roman Mercury and gives special emphasis to the metatheatrical character of the god on both the Greek and the Roman comic stage. Again, we encounter the god’s lowly pose and mercenary character, especially in his adoption of the character of the servus deorum in the both Old and New Comedy. Additional complexity and humor arise from his disguised role as the clever slave in the Amphitryon, who acts as go-between for his master, Jupiter, and which plays upon multiple conventions of Roman comedy. By addressing the audience directly and shattering theatrical illusion and conventions in various Page 5 of 11

 

Introduction ways, Hermes/Mercury acts as mediator between the play and its audience and breaks through the so-called “fourth wall”—as is fully appropriate to the notorious penetrator of limits and transgressor of boundaries. Moodie persuasively concludes that we should view Hermes/Mercury on the comic stage as more than a trickster figure; through his affinity for metatheatrical plays and ploys, he may be taken as an embodiment of the comic genre. The next two papers (Part IV) explore the erotic side of Hermes/Mercury and come to some unexpected conclusions. In light of the ubiquity of ithyphallic herms in the ancient world, it might be surprising, as Joseph Farrell points out in his contribution “Hermes in Love,” how relatively rarely the literary evidence deals with the god’s erotic escapades. To be sure, the Homeric Hymn alludes to his invention of the lyre as the daitos hetaira, the (female) companion of the feast, who both adorned and performed a variety of services at the symposium; the double entendre is further elaborated when Hermes gives his older brother a music lesson, instructing Apollo in the importance of a gentle caress rather than a rough touch that will make the instrument screech. But in general the god is less successful in love than the other Olympians. More often than not, he plays the pimp or go-between, facilitating (p.6) their affairs, rather than promoting his own. Similarly, the Hesiodic Hermes endows Pandora with his own characteristic traits—deceptive speech, a penchant for theft, hunger, and greed —although he himself infrequently plays the successful seducer. Food and gain seem to drive his desires rather than sex. Farrell catalogues his erotic adventures from Homer to Martianus Capellus, and traces his evolution from infant trickster to mainly benign intermediary, especially in relations between the sexes, to his final transmogrification as the god of Reason and Learning. Micah Young Myers’ paper, “Lascivius Puer: Cupid, Hermes, and Hymns in Ovid’s Metamorphoses,” forms a perfect complement to Farrell’s survey by first examining Ovid’s use of the hymnic tradition in the Homeric Hymns and elsewhere and then zeroing in on Ovid’s intertextual exploitation of the Homeric Hymn to Hermes as well as Alcaeus’ fragmentary Hymn to the same god, as Horace already had in Odes 1.10. Myers explores the assimilation of Mercury to his Cupid in the Daphne episode of Metamorphoses 1, showing how both divinities as naughty children compete with their more august older brother, and how Cupid’s appropriation of Apollo’s bow resonates with the traditional hymnic motif of Hermes’ theft. In Amores 1.1 and Fasti 5, a mercurial Cupid and a cupidinous Mercury further reveal Ovid’s syncretism, which has some counterparts in the iconographic tradition and which, inevitably, in the Augustan period, has political resonances. The most vivid expression of that political dimension is seen in Horace’s Odes 1.2, when the poet images Octavian the future Augustus as incarnation of Mercury, on whom he calls to rescue the fractured Roman world. Elsewhere, however, as S. J. Harrison shows in detail, Horace presents Mercury chiefly as a Page 6 of 11

 

Introduction personal protector—indeed, as the divinity who saved him at the Battle of Philippi, in which Horace fought against the forces of Octavian, as well as on another momentous occasion. The lyric poet projects a particular affinity between himself and the inventor of the lyre. On the other hand, Mercury’s more elevated associations like the lyre and his guiding of souls to the Underworld are counterbalanced in Horace’s poetry by more humble roles, such as erotic enabler and patron of money-making—the latter most conspicuous in the Satires. Mapping these characteristics in the Horatian oeuvre, Harrison suggests, reflects the trajectory of both the poet’s life and his literary career. The second paper in Part V (Mediator), by Sergio Casali, explores Mercury’s appearances in Virgil’s Aeneid, where he three times intervenes in the episode at Carthage. Jupiter sends him in the first instance to arrange for a hospitable welcome for Aeneas and his men, but then for a second time to remind the delaying Trojan hero of his mission, a message reinforced by a third visit at Mercury’s own initiative. Dispatch of the messenger-god richly recalls similar scenes in Greek epic, and Casali underscores the appropriateness of the god of boundary-crossings to be so deeply implicated in such (p.7) intertextuality. The Vergilian Mercury finds counterparts not only in the Hermes of Homer and Apollonius, but in the latter’s Eros and Thetis, and in Athena in the Odyssey. Particularly complex is the dynamic in Mercury’s third visitation, to Aeneas in a dream. In urging the hero to leave Carthage, he seems to reveal his trait as a liar when he claims that Dido is plotting against him. But, Casali argues, the intertexts that align Dido with the murderous Medea and the vengeful Aeetes suggest that Mercury is actually telling the truth as regards the dangerousness of the jilted Carthaginian queen. The representations of Mercury were heavily Hellenized in all spheres of Roman culture. Horace’s hymn to Mercury (Odes 1.10), for instance, enumerates roles familiar from the Hellenic tradition, while the divinity appears in Virgil’s Aeneid basically like the envoy Hermes seen in Greek epic. Yet Mercury’s most distinctive Roman association was with trade and commerce. Hermes embodied exchange as far back as the Homeric Hymn, but the specific connection with mercantile activity seems to be the principal characteristic of his Roman counterpart. The collegium of merchants oversaw Mercury’s annual festival on the Ides of May, the anniversary of his temple’s dedication on the Aventine Hill in 495 BCE. Such commercial connections explain his place in the lectisternia of 399 and 217 BCE, respectively, alongside Neptune (= sea transport) and Ceres (= trade in grain). In Roman art Mercury typically carries a money bag suggestive of business transactions. In Plautus’ Amphitryon, set in Thebes, the trickster messenger-god common in Greek culture identifies himself to the audience in the first instance as the Roman patron of business. In Horace’s Satires, too, Mercury is prominently figured in commercial terms.

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Introduction The papers in Part VI deal with Mercury’s affiliations with commerce. Duncan E. MacRae offers a fresh reading of the images of Mercury found at the shops of Pompeii. Not the focus of cult activity, these depictions were part of the lived religion of the city. The images draw on classical and Hellenistic modes of representing the god but are squarely oriented toward the Roman divinity’s relation to commerce—in fact, they materialize him as such. Mercury appears on the façades of Pompeii’s commercial properties more frequently than any other deity. His presence there, as well as sometimes at the counter inside—and depicted in motion—mirrors the action of the shopper visiting the taberna, and so links the human experience of shopping with the god of business. In his phallic form, Mercury also protects the shop. Thomas Biggs considers Mercury’s expanding roles beyond commerce in the historical circumstances of Rome’s first great war against Carthage, specifically the god’s connection with Rome’s ascendance in the maritime realm during that conflict. Biggs’ point of departure is the early epic poet Naevius’ account (known from Servius) of Mercury building a ship for Aeneas. Comparison with hints at such a non-Virgilian Mercury in later literature and art suggests that in Naevius’ Bellum Punicum the god actually led Aeneas on his sea-voyage from Troy to Italy. This maritime Mercury is furthermore (p.8) expressive of the positive valuation of Rome’s sea power in the wake of its victory over Carthage, before elite attitudes modulated toward a denunciation of maritime trade in the subsequent era. Our Part VII focuses on some aspects of Hermes in relation to religion and cult. No discussion of Hermes can avoid the question of the meaning of the ubiquitous herms that dotted the Greek landscape. In her contribution, “Communicating with the Divine: Herms in Attic Vase Painting,” Hélène Collard approaches her subject via vase painting and notes the high frequency of depictions of herms and their many occurrences with human subjects, often in the context of ritual scenes such as sacrifice. On this basis, she argues that the large number of herms on Attic vase painting does not reflect the popularity of cult of Hermes, but rather symbolizes the god’s role as intermediary and messenger, not only between the gods and human beings, but also as the divinity that conveys and communicates the prayers and desires of mortals to the gods. Collard’s discussion brings out the pervasive importance of this mediating aspect of the god not only in literature, but also in visual media. Jenny Wallensten’s “Hermes as Visible in Votive Inscriptions” surveys the substantial number of votive dedications to Hermes from the archaic through the Hellenistic periods. These inscriptions embrace a wide range of dedicators from all social strata, with a high frequency of dedications connected with commerce, the protection of travelers and magistrates, and with the gymnasium of which Hermes was a patron (although this function does not appear in the Homeric Hymn), often in conjunction with Heracles. Striking is the absence of Page 8 of 11

 

Introduction dedications by women, although there are traces of Hermes’ connection to Aphrodite. Hermes’ bestriding the boundaries between god and mortal, already prominent in the Iliad and central to the Homeric Hymn, emerges in an intriguing fashion in the Hellenistic period where mortal rulers are identified as a New Hermes. In the Odyssey, Hermes flies off to Calypso’s island to convey Zeus’ orders; he also shows up on Circe’s island to provide protective magic against the nymph’s wiles. Sandra Blakeley argues that Hermes, the god from Cyllene in landlocked Arcadia, has an unexpected connection with another island, Samothrace, and with its mysteries that promised protection for sailors. Untangling a complex knot of cultic, archaeological, and literary evidence, Blakely links the Cyllenian god to other local ithyphallic divinities of the north-eastern Aegean, including Priapus, whose cults focused on ensuring safety at sea. Thus the god who is traditionally identified with exchange and the protection of travelers becomes a guardian of maritime commerce and promises his devotees safe passage. Two contributions (Part VIII) deal with papyrus materials from Egypt, involving hymns associated with Hermes, and once again attest to his multiple facets. In both cases, the authors question conventional wisdom. Ljuba (p.9) Merlina Bortolani’s “The Greek Magical Hymn to Hermes: Syncretism or Disguise? The Hellenization of Thoth in Graeco-Egyptian Magical Literature” examines a hexametrical hymn from the collection of Greek magical papyri of which several versions are preserved. The invocation, with its lengthy list of the god’s attributes, has been related to Gnostic or Hermetic religio-philosophic circles in late Roman Egypt. But Bortolani’s analysis reveals instead that the hymn reflects the syncretism characteristic of an earlier period in which features of the Egyptian Thoth and the Greek Hermes were combined to assimilate traditional Egyptian religious lore to a Hellenized population. Athanassios Vergados’ piece on “Hermes and the Figs” takes on a parodic encomium of the fig in the hymnic style that was rescued from the dust bins of Oxyrhychus. Both Hermes and his Egyptian avatar Thoth had long associations with figs and honey, much as Athena had with the olive. Vergados demonstrates that this hymn of praise of the fig, far from being a naïve schoolboy exercise as is usually thought, reveals an acquaintance with the rhetorical practices of the encomium and quite possibly a knowledge of the Homeric Hymn to Hermes. The composition manages to incorporate many aspects of the god and may in fact refer to a tradition alluded to in the Hymn: the practice of competition in song, especially of praise, that was the hallmark of the Greek symposium. In our two final contributions (Part IX), the infant trickster god who was born in a remote cave, who at first is even unsure of his divine status, and who must finagle his way to Olympus, reveals unexpected cosmic dimensions. First, Nicola Reggiani in “Rethinking Hermes” argues that over-emphasis on Hermes’ role as Page 9 of 11

 

Introduction herder and fertility god has overshadowed the centrality of his function as distributor of shares (moirai) and hence his involvement with Fate (Moira) and prophecy that he seeks to acquire from Apollo. These also relate to the god’s mediating and communicating prerogatives as facilitator and suppressor of speech, as symbolized by his scepter. These factors contribute, according to Reggiani, to the god’s engagement with both human and cosmic justice. In a wide-ranging discussion, Henk Versnel’s “Great Hermes” traces Hermes’ surprising trajectory (largely in the post-classical period) from his lowly origins to mighty Lord and Master of the universe. Versnel attributes the ascent of the quondam runt of the Olympian litter to several converging factors: first, the elevation of local or secondary divinities in the context of a shift in religious mentalities evident in so-called confession inscriptions, where the god is implored to forgive or thanked for forgiving various transgressions. Second, Hermes participates in a general inflationary trend of hymnic praise in the Hellenistic period. Finally, the same period bears witness to the growing influence of Hermes Chthonios, who evolved from the god’s role as divine messenger, and is especially prominent in magical and curse texts. (p.10) Tracking Hermes from the naughty babe in his cradle to awesome kosmokrator, from shadowy Cyllene to Hellenized Egypt and Augustan Rome, requires us to follow a zig-zag path, tracing continuities that cross generic and temporal boundaries, but also to encounter detours and byways and the transformations of our wayward god who easily adjusts to new settings and easily morphs into Mercury and Thoth. The contributions in the present volume by no means exhaust his enigmatic yet captivating tracks, but we hope we have erected signposts for further pursuits. Bibliography Bibliography references: Brown, N. O. 1947. Hermes the Thief: The Evolution of a Myth. Madison. Combet Farnoux, B. 1980. Mercure romain: Le culte public de Mercure et la fonction mercantile à Rome de la République archaïque à l’époque augustéenne. Rome. Jaillard, D. 2007. Configurations d’Hermès. Une ‘théogonie hermaïque.’ Liège. Kahn, L. 1978. Hermès passe ou les ambiguités de la communication. Paris. Miller, P. A. 1991. “Horace, Mercury, and Augustus, or the Poetic Ego of Odes 1– 3.” AJP 112: 365–88. Richardson, N. 2010. Three Homeric Hymns: To Apollo, Hermes, and Aphrodite. Cambridge. Page 10 of 11

 

Introduction Strauss Clay, J. 1989. The Politics of Olympus: Gods and Men in the Major Homeric Hymns. Princeton. 2nd ed. Bristol 2016. Vergados, A. 2012. The “Homeric Hymn to Hermes.” Introduction, Text and Commentary. Berlin. Versnel, H. 2011. Coping with the Gods: Wayward Readings in Greek Theology. Leiden. Zanker, P. 1965. Wandel der Hermesgestalt in der attischen Vasenmalerei. Bonn.

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Like Mother, Like Son?

Tracking Hermes, Pursuing Mercury John F. Miller and Jenny Strauss Clay

Print publication date: 2019 Print ISBN-13: 9780198777342 Published to Oxford Scholarship Online: March 2019 DOI: 10.1093/oso/9780198777342.001.0001

Like Mother, Like Son? Hermes and Maia in Text and Image H. Alan Shapiro

DOI:10.1093/oso/9780198777342.003.0002

Abstract and Keywords The chapter explores the relationship between Hermes and his mother Maia in literary texts, primarily the Homeric Hymn to Hermes, and in Attic vase-painting of the sixth century BCE. It is suggested that some puzzling aspects of the vases, such as the prevalence of various animals, can be understood with reference to elements of the Hymn, and that at least one much-discussed vase can be reinterpreted in the light of this relationship. The unique depiction of Hermes and Maia on the François Vase of c.570 anticipates some of what is found later in both poetry and painting. Keywords:   Maia, Herakles, Alkmene, kriophoros, cave, chariot, procession

1. Introduction: A Hydria in Paris One of the most unusual Attic black-figure vases in the entire corpus is a small hydria (only about ten inches tall) in the collections of the Petit Palais in Paris (Figs. 2.1–3). The vase traveled a few years ago to the J. Paul Getty Museum for the landmark exhibition on special techniques in Attic pottery called “The Colors of Clay.”1 Among the several techniques that make this vase special is the application of a creamy white slip to the whole body, an experiment that began in the period of our hydria, the penultimate decade of the sixth century.2 Furthermore, there is a modeled lion’s head at the top end of the vertical handle and a mold-made clay appliqué of a palmette at the lower end of this handle,

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Like Mother, Like Son? features that suggest the potter was inspired by vessels in precious metals, silver or bronze.3 Of special interest is the fact that, while Hermes himself is ubiquitous on Greek vases, this is one of a tiny number that show him with his mother Maia, whom the painter has clearly labeled with an inscription that runs vertically alongside her at the left, behind her back. (The inscription naming Hermes is similarly placed.) Maia is elegantly dressed in red and black, with a red wreath gathering her hair into a krobylos. She is also bejeweled, befitting a daughter of Atlas and one of the Pleiades.4 The use of “second white,” whiter white than (p.14) the creamy ground, to highlight her face and neck, hands and feet, is

Fig. 2.1. Athenian black-figure hydria. another special technique.5 Hermes and Maia. c.520 BCE. Paris, Petit Hermes’ appearance is more Palais 310. unexpected: a beardless youth, Photo © Petit Palais/Roger-Viollet. when the god is almost always bearded on black-figure vases; and wearing the “civilian dress” of a striped himation over a thin chiton. He sports a red wreath like that of his mother. There are no winged boots or winged cap or short chitoniskos, all typical features of Hermes’ iconography in this period.6 Only the kerykeion is a standard attribute. Maia holds out a wreath in her left hand, while Hermes reaches out a phiale as if to pour a libation. The other inscription of note on the vase is an unusual kalos-inscription—kalos Karystios—unusual because the name occurs on only one other vase, an alabastron in Six’s technique attributed to the painter Psiax.7 Thus we have two contemporary vases in unusual, experimental techniques, both (p.15) praising a youth whose name suggests he could be a visitor to Athens from Euboean Karystos. In fact the alabastron was found at Eretria on the same island.

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Like Mother, Like Son? Can the Homeric Hymn to Hermes, whose unknown date cannot be too far from that of these two vases,8 help us better understand the unique scene on the hydria in the Petit Palais? There is no narrative here, such as Hermes’ theft of Apollo’s cattle (which, as we shall see, did interest the vase-painters), but I think there are hints. Hermes’ unusual beardlessness is surely meant to underline his role as young son, or Maiados, as the Hymn several times expresses it (1, 73, et al.). His outfit would have conveyed to the viewer that this mother and son, though divine, could be models for any aristocratic Athenian family. And the relationship of Maia and Hermes in the Hymn is remarkably “human”—that is, they talk to each other in a manner that would be easily recognizable in many contemporary families. I am thinking in particular of the scene in which Maia first reproaches her son for sneaking home late at night and he then teases her about staying cooped up in a dark cave when she could be partying with the other gods on Mt. Olympos, as the gregarious Hermes likes to do (155–72; cf. 5– 6). Or the fact that Hermes’ first performance on the newly invented lyre takes the form of a sly hymn in praise of the clandestine affair of his mother and father (52–62). Since the pouring of a libation from a phiale often marks a departure from home,9 we might imagine that Hermes is taking leave of his mother for that very reason, to return to Olympos and resume the messenger duties implied in the kerykeion. The wreath in Maia’s hand could be a parting gift, even something she made herself.10

Fig. 2.2. Detail of the hydria in Fig. 2.1: lion.

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Like Mother, Like Son? The much debated verses at the very end of the Hymn seem to say that, in compensation for yielding his invention, the chelis lyre, to Apollo, Hermes will be master of a whole range of animals: wild ones like the lion and domestic ones such as the ram and the goat, and many

Photo © Petit Palais/Roger-Viollet.

more (567–73).11 The first three are the very animals depicted on our vase: a big, fierce lion painted under the vertical handle (Fig. 2.2) and a small, friendly one modeled at the top of this handle, as if peering into the jug (Fig. 2.1), a slender ram walking slowly beneath one of the horizontal handles (its head barely visible at the right in Fig. 2.1);12 and a billy goat with long antlers and beard in similar stately movement beneath the other horizontal handle (Fig. 2.3). Could it be (p.16) that Hermes’ mastery over the animal kingdom came at least in part through his mother, a goddess inhabiting a cave on Mt. Kyllene in Arkadia, a region

Fig. 2.3. Detail of the hydria in Fig. 2.1: goat. Photo © Petit Palais/Roger-Viollet.

associated with pastures and the animal kingdom more generally?13

2. Tracking Maia and Hermes Of the few vases that depict Hermes with a woman who is likely to be Maia, even if unlabeled, there is a marked correlation with one or another of these animals. Thus, on an amphora by the Swing Painter, Hermes, carrying a ram (“kriophoros”), moves off to the left but turns to look back at a woman who (p. 17) I think must be his mother.14 On a somewhat later neck-amphora, we see a different version of the god taking his leave of his mother, who holds out a fruit to him—perhaps provisions for the road?15 The ram stands between them, and it is unclear if he is going or staying behind. But it is clear that they are a threesome, part of an extended family. We can make an instructive comparison with the scene on the other side of the vase, Peleus delivering the infant Achilles to Chiron, with a white dog in roughly the spot occupied by the ram on the other Page 4 of 18

 

Like Mother, Like Son? side. The dog is a hint at the bond that will develop between Chiron and Achilles, as the future hero is initiated into the art of hunting. Chiron, like Maia, is a denizen of a mountain cave. The notion that Hermes derived his mastery over wild animals from his mother leads me to a new interpretation of an enigmatic vase in the collection at Yale University (Figs. 2.4–5).16 On this black-figure lekythos of about 500, (p.18) Apollo drives a chariot drawn by no fewer than four different beasts: lion, panther, boar, and perhaps a wolf. Scholars have tried to connect the scene with the myths of heroes, Admetos or Kadmos, who were said to have yoked strange combinations of beasts to a chariot.17 But the characters here seem to (p.19) be all divinities: Apollo and his sister Artemis, Hermes, and, at the right, a female who has sometimes been called Leto, to complete the “Delian Triad” with her twin offspring. But I am struck by this goddess’s gestures, gently (p.20) reaching out to the wild beasts with one hand, as if to calm them and bring them to order, and signaling to Hermes and Apollo with the other, outstretched hand. Could she be Maia, who magically soothes the beasts at the behest of her son, so that his brother Apollo may show his own prowess in driving such a bizarre variation on the usual quadriga?

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Like Mother, Like Son? The labeled Maia on the Petit Palais hydria with which we started (Fig. 2.1) is one of only two certain depictions in Attic art—we shall come (p.21) to the other presently—and the small corpus I have just presented comprises most of the “probables.” There are a few more, where the presence of animals is not a clue, but the context suggests we may be dealing with Hermes and his mother. A black-figure hydria in Berlin depicts Apollo playing his kithara for Hermes and a

Fig. 2.4. Athenian black-figure lekythos. Chariot of Apollo, with Hermes. c.500 BCE. Yale University Art Gallery 1913.111. Photo: Museum, courtesy of Susan B. Matheson.

woman who I believe is Maia.18 Apollo’s entourage of Muses, as well as Dionysos, accompanies them. Not by accident, the shoulder of the vase includes Hermes observing Herakles wrestle the Nemean Lion. A contemporary neck-amphora at the Hearst Castle in San Simeon is once again focused on Apollo Kitharoidos, here accompanied by a bull (Fig. 2.6).19 He is framed by pairs of male and female divinities—the males are clearly Dionysos and Hermes, but who are the females? I would like to think that each god is with his mother. Dionysos’ mother Semele was, of course, incinerated before the god’s birth. But she later became a goddess on Olympos with the

Fig. 2.5. View of the lekythos in Fig. 2.4: Maia (?). Photo: Museum, courtesy of Susan B. Matheson.

new name Thyone.20 Unusually, here, Maia holds her son’s kerykeion.

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Like Mother, Like Son? 3. Hermes, Herakles, and Family A handsome and unusual hydria in the British Museum belongs to a significant group of images in both black- and red-figure of Herakles reclining like a banqueter and attended by the goddess Athena.21 I believe the scenes are set on earth, not Olympos, and show a kind of prelude to the hero’s ascent to Mt. Olympos, as he rests from his earthly labors and prepares for his apotheosis under the watchful eye of his divine sponsor. What sets this version apart is the presence of Alkmene, Herakles’ mother, who appears only here. Though Maia is not present, her son Hermes is, beside Athena. And Maia might be the extra goddess on another version of this subject, on a neck-amphora once on the German art market.22 Yet another example of the banqueting Herakles attended by Athena decorates a fine, recently published hydria

Fig. 2.6. Athenian black-figure neckamphora. Apollo between Dionysos/ Thyone and Hermes/Maia. c.520 BCE. San Simeon, Hearst Castle inv. 5563. Photo by Victoria Garagliano/© Hearst Castle®/CA State Parks.

at Fordham University.23 Hermes and Iolaos frame the scene. The subsidiary scene on the (p.22) shoulder complements the theme by showing the first of Herakles’ labors, wrestling the Nemean Lion. Hermes and Iolaos are once again present, but, unusually, a symmetrical pair of women follows the action with keen interest. One wonders if they could be the mothers of the hero (Alkmene) and of the god (Maia). The gathering of the gods on Olympos, or Götterversammlung, on yet another black-figure hydria shows Athena presenting her protégé Herakles to Hermes and a goddess who could well be the latter’s mother.24 This cluster of images may shed some light on what may be the only attestation of the worship of Maia in Attika. The well-known fourth-century inscription commonly referred to as the Salaminoi decree contains long lists of cults for which the genos of the Salaminioi was responsible.25 At Porthmos, near Sounion, are mentioned sacrifices to Herakles and members of his family: Iolaos, his Page 7 of 18

 

Like Mother, Like Son? nephew and frequent sidekick, and his mother Alkmene (lines 84–6). In the midst of these is listed a sacrifice to Maia (line 86). A few scholars, especially Martin Nilsson, have been puzzled by the inclusion of Hermes’ mother amidst the family of Herakles and proposed to read maia with lower-case “m,” an unspecified nurse.26 But the iconography going back to the sixth century suggests that Hermes (and probably his mother) had an especially close association with Herakles and his family,27 to which the cluster of sacrifices alludes. Hermes and Herakles recline together like boon companions,28 and Hermes often serves as an escort to the hero on his journey to Olympos. We may be reminded of the famous cup signed by Sosias, on which Hermes Kriophoros, along with Athena and a goddess who may be Artemis, accompany an especially modest Herakles as he crosses the threshold of Olympos and greets the divine father he has never met.29 A most unusual pot attributed to a painter known for his (perhaps inadvertent) sense of humor is the large amphora by the Nikoxenos Painter in Munich, which most likely has a unique depiction of Hermes and his mother (Fig. 2.7).30 At first glance, we might have thought that both sides of the vase comprise one big Götterversammlung, a popular motif in this period toward the very end of the sixth century, as for example on the Sosias cup just mentioned.31 But then we notice that Hermes appears on both sides of the amphora, which is not a slip the painters are apt to make, so a different reading (p.23) is needed. I believe the one side shows an abbreviated Götterversammlung: Zeus and Hera attended by Iris; Athena and Poseidon; and Hermes just arriving with a jaunty wave of the hand. Of even greater interest is the juxtaposition at the far left of the other side of the vase: Hermes holding the syrinx, his own invention, together with a goddess who must be his mother (Fig. 2.7). A majestic Apollo kitharoidos in the middle of the scene underlines the contrast between the rustic instrument of the one, Hermes, and the noble instrument of his elder brother. Dionysos and a maenad holding krotala (another humble instrument) fill out the scene, further evidence that the setting is on earth, not Olympos. Hermes is without his kerykeion here, but by the time he has arrived on Olympos, on the other side of the vase, he has retrieved it, and also wears a proper winged traveling cap, instead of the absurdly small petasos that makes him look like a bit of a mama’s boy.32

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Like Mother, Like Son? (p.24) 4. Hermes the Cattle Thief The comical petasos provides a nice link to a small group of amusing vases that certainly include Maia and also bring us back to the Hymn to Hermes, namely, scenes of Baby Hermes’ theft of Apollo’s cattle. In Attic vase-painting there are only a few certain examples of the story, most completely told on a cup by the Brygos Painter of about 490 to 480.33 Hermes, sitting upright in his wicker crib that looks like a liknon, or winnowing basket, wears a petasos that is, if anything, too large and grown-up for a baby. Perhaps that is the joke of the Nikoxenos Painter and Oltos, that the grown-up, bearded god is still wearing the same petasos he wore as a baby. Even better known than the Attic cup is a Caeretan (that is, Etruscan) hydria of about 530– 30 with the baby Hermes as 34

cattle thief. As the young god feigns sleep or ignorance, a lively debate ensues above him: Apollo remonstrating to Maia and a bearded male who is most likely her lover Zeus.35

Fig. 2.7. Athenian red-figure amphora. Detail of Hermes and Maia. c.510 BCE. Munich, Antikensammlungen 2304. After Knauss (2012) 166. By permission of the Staatliche Antikensammlungen und Glyptothek, Munich.

5. Maia’s Entry into Greek Art When we look for the earliest secure depiction of Maia in Greek art, it may come as no surprise that it appears on a famous Attic vase that is known for a whole laundry list of “firsts,” namely, the François Vase in Florence. This volute-krater is dated to about 570 BCE and signed by Ergotimos as potter and Kleitias as painter.36 Among the long row of chariots bringing the Olympian gods to the wedding of Peleus and Thetis is one in which Hermes escorts his mother, both of them labeled (Fig. 2.8). Clearly Kleitias did not know Page 9 of 18

 

Like Mother, Like Son? the tradition that Maia shunned the company of the other gods out of shame that she was carrying on an illicit affair with Zeus, who would make regular secret visits to her cave (Hymn to Hermes 6–7). The pairing of mother and son might seem like an obvious one, since neither of them has a steady partner like most of the pairs in the other cars: Zeus and Hera, Poseidon and Amphitrite, Doris and Nereus, or even that other illicit couple, Aphrodite and Ares.37 We might (p.25) even think that Hermes has coaxed his mother from her cave for this special occasion, the most glittering wedding in antiquity.38 Some forty-five years ago, the British Museum’s acquisition of the great dinos signed by Sophilos, made about a decade before the François Vase, gave clear evidence that Kleitias was not the first to make this wedding the subject of an especially ambitious composition.39 His departures from Sophilos’ cast of characters, evident in ways both striking and subtle throughout the two friezes, is perhaps nowhere more revealing than in the treatment

Fig. 2.8. Athenian black-figure volutekrater (“François Vase”). Detail of chariot of Hermes and Maia, with the Moirai. c. 570 BCE. Florence, Museo Nazionale Archaeologico 4209. Photo courtesy of the National Archaeological Museum of Florence.

of Hermes.40 Sophilos had paired Hermes with his brother Apollo, the latter depicted as (p.26) kitharoidos, Hermes in his short chitoniskos and jaunty cap. The contrast is so glaring that it is almost as if Hermes is simply acting as charioteer for his far more distinguished elder brother, whose music will entertain the gods assembled at the feast (Iliad 24.62–3).

Kleitias’ version is altogether different, presenting a dignified Hermes with long, elaborately coiffed hair and long robes, a fitting escort for his equally elegant mother. This unique pairing of mother and son has another meaning as well. The larger scene is all about motherhood, about a goddess, Thetis, who will bear the greatest of the heroes, Achilles, something both painters, Sophilos and Kleitias, were keenly aware of, though they treat the motif differently. Leto, for example, is up front, on foot, on the Sophilos dinos, along with other motherly figures like Demeter and Chariklo, the wife of Chiron.41 We do not, unfortunately, know where, or even if, Leto was included on the François Vase, because a number of inscriptions are lost.42 At the very rear of the divine procession on both vases is Page 10 of 18

 

Like Mother, Like Son? Okeanos with his consort Tethys.43 Perhaps Kleitias also had in mind that Maia and Hermes, whose chariot is immediately ahead of this pair, are descendants of Okeanos, since Pleione, the mother of Maia and the other Pleiades, was a daughter of Ocean.44 Hermes and Maia are singled out in yet another way as important figures on the François Vase (Fig. 2.8): their chariot is accompanied by the Moirai (Fates), a direct reference to the coming birth of Achilles and the fateful saga of Troy.45 As is well known, Achilles the warrior appears several times elsewhere on the François Vase—presiding over the funeral games of Patroklos; ambushing the hapless Troilos; and twice as a corpse, rescued from the fray by Ajax, the most explicit references to his moira.46 The Moirai are here, surprisingly, four in number, and there is nothing in their dress or appearance to characterize them as individuals or explain the presence of a fourth.47 Perhaps, as Erika Simon has (p.27) suggested, the fourth is actually their mother Themis, as we learn from Hesiod.48 Themis had been given a place of honor by Sophilos, near the head of the procession,49 and she should not be absent from the François Vase, even if Kleitias failed to inscribe her name. That the juxtaposition of Hermes and his mother with the Moirai is not accidental is confirmed by another, much smaller vase attributed to Kleitias, a deep cup or skyphos that survives now only in a few fragments but was once a handsome dedication to Athena on the Akropolis.50 The subject was most likely the Birth of Athena—she can be seen on one of the fragments emerging from the (no longer preserved) head of Zeus. Alongside what must have been the central group depicting the birth stands Hermes, followed by the Moirai. This may be the earliest surviving depiction of the Birth of Athena,51 but the Moirai will not become a regular element in the scene. It seems that Kleitias had a special interest in them. Hermes, on the other hand, will become a regular presence at the birth.52 As noted earlier, one of the other earliest depictions of Athena’s birth from the head of Zeus is on the well-known Tyrrhenian amphora that bears the unique inscription ΗΕΡΜΕΣ ΕΙΜΙ ΚΥΛΛΕΝΙΟΣ: “I am Hermes of Kyllene,” the mountain of his origin in Arkadia.53 Before leaving the Kleitias fragments from the Akropolis, we may note an interesting detail. A fragment from the other side of the cup,54 with a row of youths and women holding hands, can be understood with reference to the better preserved frieze on the François Vase showing (as I believe) the arrival of Theseus and the Athenian youths and maidens on Crete.55 In other words, Kleitias must have depicted this rare story more than once. The link between Athena, on one side of the cup, and the heroic deed of her Athenian protégé par excellence, on the other, would have been apparent to the ancient viewer and certainly to the dedicator of the vase on the Akropolis. Hermes, who will spread the word of these two great events, and the Moirai, who place them in a cosmic

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Like Mother, Like Son? framework, suggest a newly crystallizing identity of the Athenians in the last years of Solon’s lifetime and those of the rise of the tyrant Peisistratos.56 In conclusion, we have seen that the Hymn to Hermes transforms a goddess who had been not much more than a mere name in the epic tradition of genealogical poetry (Theogony 938; Ehoiai fr. 118 M-W) into a vivid and (p.28) highly sympathetic maternal figure. Indeed, the relationship of mother and son is portrayed with a psychological insight that is only slightly less compelling than the mother–daughter relationship at the core of the Homeric Hymn to Demeter. While it cannot be said that Greek artists ever rendered Maia with the nuance and vibrancy of the poet of the Hymn, they did rescue her from obscurity in Hesiod and complete absence from Homer. And they did so starting roughly a half-century before the composition of the Hymn to Hermes. Thanks to the genius of Kleitias, Maia assumes her rightful place in the company of the Olympian gods, escorted by her son (Fig. 2.8). Hermes is an especially dignified figure. He has changed out of his “work clothes,” a short garment that facilitates running and flying, into a sumptuously embroidered long cloak. To be sure, their chariot is toward the back of the procession, at a discreet distance from Zeus, Maia’s secret lover, and his vengeful wife. If, as seems likely, Apollo and Leto are in a now badly damaged chariot,57 then we have two instances of mother and son sharing a car. Just as Apollo’s filial piety is expressed in several stories (Tityos, the Niobids), so too Hermes is presented here as the model son. The mischievous trickster and incorrigible truant may be the invention of a later age and of a poet of exceptional wit and grace. Bibliography Bibliography references: Babelon, E. 1914. “La déesse Maia.” RA 24: 182–90. Bell, E. E. 1977. “The Attic Black-figured Vases at the Hearst Monument, San Simeon.” Diss. Berkeley. Böhr, E. 1982. Der Schaukel Maler. Mainz. Brommer, R. 1961. “Die Geburt der Athena.” JbRGZM 8: 66–83. Burke, S. M. and J. J. Pollitt. 1975. Greek Vases at Yale. New Haven. Cambitoglou, A. 1968. The Brygos Painter. Sydney. Cavaliere, B. and J. Udell. 2012. Ancient Mediterranean Art. The William D. and Jane Walsh Collection at Fordham University. New York.

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Like Mother, Like Son? Clay, J. S. 2016. “Visualizing Divinity: The Reception of the Homeric Hymns in Greek Vase Painting.” In A. Faulkner, A. Vergados, and A. Schwab, eds. The Reception of the Homeric Hymns. Oxford. 41–50. Cohen, B. 2006. The Colors of Clay, Exh. cat. J. Paul Getty Museum. Malibu. Ferguson, W. S. 1938. “The Salaminioi of Heptaphylai and Sounion.” Hesperia 7: 1–74. Frontisi-Ducroux, F. and F. Lissarrague. 2009. “Char, marriage et mixitié: Une métaphore visuelle.” In D. Yatromanolakis, ed. An Archaeology of Representations. Athens. 87–97. (p.29) Gantz, T. 1993. Early Greek Myth. Baltimore. Giuliani, L. 2003. Bild und Mythos. Munich. Graef, B. and E. Langlotz. 1925–33. Die antiken Vasen von der Akropolis zu Athen. Berlin. Haspels, C. H. E. 1936. Attic Black-figured Lekythoi. Paris. Hedreen, G. 2011. “Bild, Mythos, and Ritual: Choral Dance in Theseus’ Cretan Adventure on the François Vase.” Hesperia 80: 491–510. Hedreen, G. 2016. The Image of the Artist in Archaic and Classical Greece. Cambridge. Hemelrijk, J. 1984. Caeretan Hydriae. Mainz. Himmelmann, N. 1980. Über Hirtengenre in der antiken Kunst. Opladen. Hirayama, T. 2010. Kleitias and Attic Black-figure Vases in the Sixth Century B.C. Tokyo. Iozzo, M. 2009. “Un nuovo dinos da Chiusi con le nozze di Peleus e Thetis.” In E. M. Moormann and V. Stissi, eds. Shapes and Images. Studies on Attic Black Figure and Related Topics in Honour of Herman A. G. Brijder. Leuven. 63–85. Isler-Kerényi, C. 2007. Dionysos in Archaic Greece: An Understanding through Images. Leiden. Knauss, F. 2012. Die unsterblichen Götter Griechenlands. Exh. cat. Antikensammlungen. Munich. Kreutzer, B. 2013. “Myth as Case Study and the Hero as Exemplum.” In Shapiro, Iozzo, Lezzi-Hafter 2013. 105–17.

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Like Mother, Like Son? Lambert, S. D. 1997. “The Attic Genos Salaminioi and the Island of Salamis.” ZPE 119: 85–106. Lee, M. 2015. Body, Dress and Identity in Ancient Greece. Cambridge. Moon, W. G. 1983. Ancient Greek Art and Iconography. Madison. Picón, C. A. 2007. Art of the Classical World in the Metropolitan Museum of Art: Greece, Cyprus, Etruria, Rome. New York. Robertson, M. 1992. The Art of Vase-painting in Classical Athens. Cambridge. Schauenburg, K. 1957. “Zu Darstellungen aus der Sage des Admet und des Kadmos.” Gymnasium 64: 210–30. Schauenburg, K. 1964. “Iliupersis auf einer Hydria des Priamosmalers.” RömMitt 91: 60–70. Shapiro, H. A. 1989. Art and Cult under the Tyrants in Athens. Mainz. Shapiro, H. A., M. Iozzo and A. Lezzi-Hafter. 2013. The François Vase: New Perspectives. Kilchberg. Simon, E. and M. Hirmer. 1981. Die griechischen Vasen. 2nd ed. Munich. Stewart, A. 1983. “Stesichoros and the François Vase.” In Moon 1983. 53–78. Vergados, A. 2011. “Shifting Focalization in the Homeric Hymn to Hermes: The Case of Hermes’ Cave.” GRBS 51: 1–25. Vergados, A. 2013. The Homeric Hymn to Hermes. Introduction, Text, and Commentary. Berlin. Wehgartner, I. 1983. Attisch weissgrundige Keramik. Mainz. Williams, D. 1983. “Sophilos in the British Museum.” In Greek Vases in the J. Paul Getty Museum I. Malibu. 9–34. Wolf, S. R. 1992. Herakles beim Gelage. Cologne. (p.30) Notes:

(1) Petit Palais 322A; ABV 668; BAPD 306443; CVA (Petit Palais) pl. 11; Cohen 2006: 252–3, cat. 71. I thank the editors of this volume for the invitation to participate in the stimulating conference in Charlottesville. (2) Wehgartner 1983: 3–4. (3) See the discussion of B. Cohen, in Cohen 2006: 252.

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Like Mother, Like Son? (4) For Maia’s genealogy see LIMC 6. 333 s.v. Maia; Gantz 1993: 105; 140; 212– 14. The only other mythological narrative involving Maia, apart from those discussed in this paper, is the story of how the baby Arkas was rescued by Hermes and given to Maia to raise on Mt. Kyllene: LIMC 2. 609–10 s.v. Arkas for the sources. An early study of the goddess is that of Babelon 1914, and see most recently Vergados 2011. (5) J. R. Mertens, in Cohen 2006: 191. (6) On the image of Hermes on Attic vases more generally, see Zanker 1965. (7) British Museum 1900.6–11.1; ABV 668–9, 2; BAPD 200034; Cohen 2006: 187, Fig. 1. This vase also names Smikrion and Morylos. On Six’s Technique see B. Cohen, in Cohen 2006: 72–80. (8) For the dating of the Hymn, see Vergados 2013: 130, who favors a date in the later sixth century. (9) See ThesCRA I (2004) 242, s.v. Libation (E. Simon). (10) We might compare wreaths held by women in scenes of the departure of Theseus, e.g. on the red-figure cup by the Briseis Painter, New York MMA 53.11.4; ARV2 406, 7; BAPD 204406; Picón 2007: 104. (11) On the authenticity and arrangement of these lines, see Vergados 2013: 578. (12) For a detail of the ram, see Shapiro 1989: pl. 58b. (13) Hermes’ epithet Kyllenios is attested as early as the mid-sixth-century Tyrrhenian amphora showing the Birth of Athena: Berlin F 1704; ABV 96, 14; BAPD 310014; LIMC 5. 343 s.v. Hermes, no. 681. Depictions of Hermes riding on or carrying a ram or goat are numerous: see LIMC 5. 310 s.v. Hermes, nos. 254– 7 and passim. On Hermes as the kriophoros par excellence, especially in the form of bronze statuettes, see Himmelmann 1980: 72–4. (14) St. Petersburg 2065; ABV 309, 95; BAPD 301574; Böhr 1982: pl. 116. (15) Black-figure neck-amphora, Warsaw 142328; BAPD 14007; CVA (Goluchów, Musée Czartoryski) pl. 3 a–b; LIMC 5. 310 s.v. Hermes, no. 244. (16) New Haven, Yale University Art Gallery 1913.111; Burke and Pollitt 1975: 32–5, no. 35; BAPD 3200. (17) For references see C. Kondoleon, in Burke and Pollitt 1975: 32–3. A blackfigure neck-amphora of c.500–480 depicts Kadmos (labeled Kassmos) and Harmonia in a chariot drawn by a lion and a boar: Louvre CA 1961; BAPD 361411; Haspels 1936: 239, 125; Schauenburg 1957: pl. 2. Schauenburg compares a contemporary black-figure oinochoe (ibid. pl. 1) with a chariot Page 15 of 18

 

Like Mother, Like Son? drawn by four animals: two lions, a wolf, and a boar. These two vases and the Yale lekythos are discussed together by Frontisi-Ducroux and Lissarrague 2009: 87–92. They associate the Yale vase with the story of Admetos, with Apollo acting as the hero’s charioteer and the goddess in the middle Artemis, who punished Admetos for omitting to sacrifice to her. (18) Berlin, Antikenmuseum F 1905; ABV 332, 23; BAPD 301801; Schauenburg 1964: 68 and pl. 7.1 had already suggested she is probably Maia. Cf. CVA (Berlin 7) pl. 21 and p. 28 (H. Mommsen). (19) San Simeon inv. 5563; ABV 392, 6; BAPD 302922; Bell 1977: 21–3; pll. 34–7; LIMC 6. 336 s.v. Maia, no. 15. (20) Thyone appears (labeled) on the black-figure hydria Florence 3790; ABV 260, 30; BAPD 302262; LIMC 7. 724 s.v. Semele, no. 36. For the sources on Semele’s apotheosis and name change see ibid. p. 719. (21) See Wolf 1993 for the reclining Herakles. The hydria is British Museum F 301; ABV 282; BAPD 320244; LIMC 1. 555 s.v. Alkmene, no. 17. (22) Antike Welt 8 (1977) Heft 4, p. 64. (23) Fordham University Collection 11.006; Cavaliere and Udell 2012: 48–81, cat. 12. (24) British Museum B 345; ARV2 332, 20; BAPD 301798; Moon 1983: 99, fig. 7.4a; Schauenburg 1964: 68, no. 65 and pl. 6, 2 tentatively suggests she is Maia. (25) See Ferguson 1938 for the full publication. (26) Cf. Lambert 1997: 92. (27) On the various links between Herakles and Hermes, see J. Larson in this volume. (28) E.g. LIMC 5. 331–2, s.v. Hermes, no. 548. (29) Berlin 2278; ARV2 21, 1620; BAPD 200108; Simon 1981: pl. 119. (30) Munich 2304; ARV2 220, 1; BAPD 202095; CVA (Munich 4) pl. 179; 181; Knauss 2012: 166. Robertson 1992: 118 describes the painter’s red-figure vases as “barely competent hackwork,” which seems rather harsh. Note that the painter also worked in black-figure, including the neck-amphora in San Simeon, supra n. 19 and Fig. 2.6. (31) See Knell 1965 for the motif.

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Like Mother, Like Son? (32) For the comically miniature petasos on the adult Hermes, cf. the well-known cup by Oltos, Tarquinia RC 6848; ARV2 60, 66; BAPD 200502; Simon and Hirmer 1981: pl. 93. (33) Vatican 16582; ARV2 269, 6; BAPD 203905; Cambitoglou 1968: pl. 4. See LIMC 5. 309 s.v. Hermes, no. 242a. (34) Louvre E 702; Hemelrijk 1984: 10–14. On this hydria, as well as the cup by the Brygos Painter (see n. 33) and other depictions of Hermes with cattle in relation to the Hymn, see Clay 2016: 41–50. (35) For other possible identifications of the figure I take to be Zeus, see Hemelrijk 1984: 12. (36) Florence 4209; ABV 76, 1; BAPD 300000; Shapiro, Iozzo, and Lezzi-Hafter 2013, with earlier bibliography. See pll. 23–6 for the Wedding of Peleus and Thetis and pl. 29 for a detail of Hermes and Maia. (37) For Ares as the “traditional partner” of Aphrodite (apart from the song of Demodokos in the Odyssey), see Hedreen 2016: 147. (38) A recently published, fragmentary black-figure dinos found at Chiusi (where the François Vase was also found) depicts the same scene, the Wedding of Peleus and Thetis, and was made only a few years after Kleitias’ great krater: see Iozzo 2009 for the full publication; Chiusi 67371; BAPD 902267. Though there are no inscriptions, the figure at the head of the procession is clearly Hermes, and Iozzo identifies the woman behind him as Maia (67–8, figs. 10–11). (39) British Museum 1971: 11–1.1; Para 19, 16 bis; BAPD 350099; Williams 1983. (40) For a detailed comparison of the groupings of divinities on the Sophilos dinos and on the François Vase, see Stewart 1983; Torelli 2007: 38–40. Cf. now the chart in Iozzo 2009: 75, which includes the new dinos from Chiusi. (41) Williams 1983: 23, fig. 26. (42) Simon 1981: 71 suggests that the chariot ahead of Nereus and Doris, of which the upper half, with its inscriptions, is lost, contained Apollo with his mother Leto. (43) See Williams 1983: 27, fig. 34 for the Sophilos dinos; Shapiro, Iozzo, and Lezzi-Hafter 2013: pl. 24 for the François Vase (mostly missing). Simon 1981: 71–2 suggests that, since the chariot cannot be driven by Okeanos (his enormous snaky body would not fit in the car), it probably contained Tethys and the Okeanid Eurynome, one of their other daughters. (44) On Pleione and the Pleiades see LIMC 2. 921–2 s.v. Astra (S. Karusu). Page 17 of 18

 

Like Mother, Like Son? (45) Cf. Hymn to Hermes 428, where Hermes sings of the moira (portion) of each of the gods. (46) See illustrations in Shapiro, Iozzo, and Lezzi-Hafter 2013: pl. 18 (Games for Patroklos), 39 (ambush of Troilos), 8–9 (his body rescued by Ajax). (47) A curious detail of their dress is that two of the four (far left and second from right) are the only peplophoroi on the vase who wear a metal pin, with the pointed end up, to fasten the garment. See Lee 2015: 129–30. Isler-Kerényi 2007: 78 observes that one of the Moirai (second from left) has a frieze of chariots drawn by winged horses embroidered on her peplos. This recalls the many animal friezes embroidered on the garments of Sophilos’ goddesses, e.g. Williams 1983: 24, figs. 27–8. (48) Theogony 901–5; Simon 1981: 71. (49) Williams 1983: 24, fig. 28. (50) Akr. 597; ABV 77, 3; BAPD 305074; Graef and Langlotz I (1925) pl. 24; Hiroyama 2010: pl. vi a–b. (51) Hiroyama 2010: 204. (52) Brommer 1961: 76 and n. 10. (53) See n. 13. (54) Hirayama 2010: pl. vi c. (55) Shapiro, Iozzo, and Lezzi-Hafter 2013: pll. 10–12. For the interpretation of the scene see Shapiro 1989: 147; Hedreen 2011; and, for other views, Giuliani 2003: 294–6. (56) Cf. Kreutzer 2013. (57) Shapiro, Iozzo, and Lezzi-Hafter 2013: pl. 26. The chariot behind them (pl. 25) holds Athena and a goddess whose name has been lost, but, by process of elimination, ought to be Artemis. This leaves Apollo and Leto as the most likely candidates for the male and female in the forward car.

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Hermes among Pan and the Nymphs on Fourth-Century Votive Reliefs

Tracking Hermes, Pursuing Mercury John F. Miller and Jenny Strauss Clay

Print publication date: 2019 Print ISBN-13: 9780198777342 Published to Oxford Scholarship Online: March 2019 DOI: 10.1093/oso/9780198777342.001.0001

Hermes among Pan and the Nymphs on Fourth-Century Votive Reliefs Carolyn M. Laferrière

DOI:10.1093/oso/9780198777342.003.0003

Abstract and Keywords The presence of Hermes on many Attic fourth-century BCE votive reliefs dedicated to Pan and the Nymphs is a common but unexpected feature of the corpus. Although he is not mentioned in the dedications inscribed onto the reliefs, Hermes nevertheless occupies a prominent position within the images as leader of the Nymphs’ dance. The incongruity between the dedication and the sculpted scenes is accounted for by considering the votive reliefs’ ritual function within Athenian religion and the genealogical relationship established between Hermes and Pan by the Homeric Hymn to Pan. It is argued that the votive reliefs, as expressions of Athenian visual theology, emphasize Hermes and Pan as coordinated figures within the reliefs, suggesting that the two gods work together to integrate the cult of the Nymphs within Athenian religious life. Keywords:   Greek art, votive reliefs, Greek religion, Homeric Hymn, Hermes, Pan, Nymphs

1. Introduction The figure of Hermes is a surprising presence on late classical votive reliefs dedicated to Pan and the Nymphs.1 The reliefs typically depict Hermes and the Nymphs dancing, Pan playing music, or, as on a votive relief discovered in the Vari Cave, the divinities sitting and standing together in a cave (Fig. 3.1).2

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Hermes among Pan and the Nymphs on Fourth-Century Votive Reliefs This image is enclosed by a frame, which, mimicking the appearance of rocks, stretches up in undulating, rounded lines, recalling the Hymettos Mountain in which the Vari Cave is situated. An inscription, Numphais, indicates the recipients of this relief, while the inscription’s location, carved into the rock of the mountain, establishes both the relief and the actual landscape to which it refers as sacred to the Nymphs. Pan, who also appears in the image, is shown perched among the rocks with his sheep while he plays his pipes. During the fifth century BCE, the worship of Pan had already been incorporated into the Attic cult of the Nymphs, and though he is not identified here in the dedication, in many other contemporary reliefs he is listed alongside the Nymphs. His frequent presence in the sculpted reliefs is thus unsurprising since it is also confirmed by late classical cult

Fig. 3.1. Votive relief dedicated to the Nymphs, from the Cave to the Nymphs (Vari Cave) on Mount Hymettos, white marble, 52 × 36 cm, 340–330 BCE. Athens, National Archaeological Museum, NM 2011. Source: DAI. Photographer: Hermann Wagner. DAI-Neg.-No.: D-DAI-ATH-NM 4419.

practice.3 The remaining figure shown in the relief from the Vari Cave is Hermes. Wearing only a chlamys around (p.32) his shoulders, his nude form catches the viewer’s attention as he twists his body toward the frontal plane of the image. However, Hermes goes almost entirely unmentioned in the inscriptions, with only two exceptions;4 moreover, within (p.33) the Nymphs’ caves, Hermes is not listed in rock-cut inscriptions, nor is he the recipient of smaller shrines.5 Yet on the relief from the Vari Cave, the three Nymphs appear to direct their full attention to Hermes, visually underscoring his importance in the scene. One would expect Hermes to appear more frequently in the relief dedications, if he had been considered integral to the Attic cult of the Nymphs. The cult itself, therefore, cannot explain Hermes’ presence. Why, then, has Hermes been represented so prominently?

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Hermes among Pan and the Nymphs on Fourth-Century Votive Reliefs Since the votive reliefs dedicated to the Nymphs are religious objects, they feature their own visual theology: that is, they visually define and express the gods’ personalities, the relationships among the gods, and the agency projected onto the deities during cult practice.6 As such, they may represent a specifically Athenian understanding of these particular divinities. For instance, the figures’ positions on the vertical relief from the Vari Cave may illustrate a particular conception of the relationship between Hermes, Pan, and the Nymphs. The three Nymphs are layered one upon another, so that their overlapping forms suggest that they may be conceived as a singular plural; that is, multiple Nymphs who are worshipped as a singular entity.7 Their plurality is juxtaposed with Hermes’ singularity, who stands apart from them though still within the main visual field, as well as Pan’s, who sits alone on the relief’s frame. Having been kept separate from the female divinities, the male gods are presented as external to their group, perhaps even as interlopers within the Nymphs’ cave. The two gods may even be extraneous to the dedicator’s devotion, which is expressly given only to the Nymphs. An incongruity thus appears between the image and the dedication, in which the dedication obscures what appears in the image, that is, a strategic invocation of Hermes. (p.34) In what follows, I propose to read the visual theology of the votive reliefs together with the Homeric Hymn to Pan, both of which advance a distinctively Attic conception of Hermes’ relationship with Pan and the Nymphs. I show that the Attic cult of the Nymphs was re-conceived during the classical period to incorporate the presence of other gods. Though Pan was fully integrated into the Nymphs’ cave shrines and associated cult, he remains a liminal figure within the image; conversely, Hermes was peripheral to their cult but is central to the composition of the reliefs. I argue that the genealogical relationship between Hermes and Pan, established also in the Homeric Hymn to Pan, became an essential feature of their relationship in Athens: not only did it achieve recognition for Pan among the Olympian pantheon,8 but the connection between Pan and Hermes determined how they could interact with each other and how their coordinated visual representation could work together within the context of ritual worship. The objects thus express contemporary theological notions about the gods and, furthermore, by presenting the Nymphs alongside Hermes, the reliefs reveal fifth- and fourth-century Athenian social and political concerns.

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Hermes among Pan and the Nymphs on Fourth-Century Votive Reliefs 2. Hermes and Pan in the Visual Record An example of the typical scene in which Hermes appears with Pan and the Nymphs occurs on another relief from the Vari Cave (Fig. 3.2).9 Dedicated by Eukleides, Eukles, and Lakrates to the Nymphs and Pan, the relief depicts three Nymphs dancing to the sounds of Pan’s syrinx, an instrument invented by Hermes.10 Hermes stands on the left, holding his kerykeion in his left hand while he grasps the hand of one Nymph to guide the group’s movements. As the largest male figure in the scene, Hermes is presented as the individual who oversees the actions of the female Nymphs, who are subordinate to his authority.11 But above all he is shown as their koryphaios, their chorus leader.12

Fig. 3.2. Votive relief dedicated to the Nymphs by Eukleides, Eukles, and Lakrates, from the Cave to the Nymphs (Vari Cave) on Mount Hymettos, white marble, 40 × 50 cm, 340–330 BCE. Athens, National Archaeological Museum, NM 2008. Source: DAI. Photographer: Elmar Gehnen. DAI-Neg.-No.: D-DAIATH-1995/2197.

(p.35) More than simply providing musical accompaniment and guiding the Nymphs’ dance, Pan and Hermes enclose the Nymphs within the image. Hermes’ body creates a vertical line on the left, his frontal form visually obstructing the Nymphs’ forward motion so that they cannot move beyond his position. On the far right, Pan’s erect posture creates a second vertical barrier parallel to Hermes’ body. Pan’s right leg extends diagonally into the main scene, where it overlaps with the Nymph’s foot. That step prevents the Nymphs from taking any lateral movement beyond his position, and instead he pushes them forward, encouraging them to follow Hermes. Pan’s other leg is parallel with the vertical fall of the frame, anchoring his body upon the solid rock wall that surrounds the scene. Pan thus acts as a second framing device, used here to enclose the Nymphs within their cave.

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Hermes among Pan and the Nymphs on Fourth-Century Votive Reliefs Pan’s ithyphallic form and his stationary, vertical representation may further recall the appearance and function of herms. These objects, associated with the god Hermes, consisted of a stēlē with an anthropomorphic head and an erect phallus (e.g. Fig. 3.3), and were set up at entryways, at crossroads, at property (p.36) boundaries, and within the Athenian agora.13 Although Pan retains his hybrid form in the relief and thus does not simply mimic the herm’s shape, that he is (p.37) shown as ithyphallic may suggest a symbolic connection between himself and herms, and by extension, Hermes. Moreover, there is little in the image that indicates a sexual relationship between Pan and the Nymphs, which would otherwise account for the god’s particular representation as

Fig. 3.3. Ithyphallic herm, of Attic manufacture but found on Siphnos, marble, 66 × 13 cm, c.520 BCE. Athens, National Archaeological Museum, NM 3728. Photo: Bridgeman-Giraudon/Art Resource, NY.

ithyphallic.14 Within the image, the physical similarities shared between Pan and herms allow him visually to establish the limit of the Nymphs’ dance and to demarcate the point of separation between the relief and the world external to it since he is at once essential for the main scene, where he provides music for the Nymphs’ dance, but also marginal to it, since he stands to one side and overlaps with the frame.15 Similarly, through his own association with herms, Hermes shares with a hermlike Pan a certain protective, even restrictive, function with respect to the Nymphs. Again, the two male gods are shown overseeing access to the female divinities by marking the scene’s barriers and controlling the Nymphs’ movements. Their representation and function in this relief thus raise two Page 5 of 19

 

Hermes among Pan and the Nymphs on Fourth-Century Votive Reliefs further questions. First, what in Pan’s nature allows him to adopt elements of the herm’s appearance and function? And, second, why do Hermes and Pan, among all the other gods who may act as consorts of the Nymphs, guide their actions in these images?

3. Genealogical Ties in the Homeric Hymn to Pan Some clarification of these questions can be provided by the surviving literary testimony, which broadly associates Hermes, Pan, and the Nymphs. Hermes and the Nymphs appear together in the Odyssey, where, in book 14, Eumaios divides six equal portions of meat between his companions and gives a seventh to the Nymphs and Hermes.16 Similarly, in a fragment of Semonides, shepherds sacrifice to the Nymphs and Hermes because they have close ties with herdsmen.17 Pan is only later connected to them following his introduction to Attica after the battle of Marathon, as recounted by Herodotus,18 and in (p.38) Aristophanes’ Thesmophoriazeusai from 411 BCE, where the chorus prays to “Hermes Nomios / and Pan and the dear Nymphs.”19 All of this, however, does little more than establish what the reliefs already confirm, namely, that these deities could be associated with one another. Among the surviving literary evidence, only the Homeric Hymn to Pan, which may be dated to approximately the mid-fifth century BCE,20 features a sufficiently complex theological conception of the relationships among Pan, Hermes, and the Nymphs. The narrative of the hymn establishes a familial connection between Pan and Hermes. From the first line, which reads ἀμφί μοι Ἑρμείαο φίλον γόνον ἔννεπε Μοῦσα, “Tell me, Muse, of the dear child of Hermes,” the goat god is introduced through his relationship with his father.21 As Thomas notes, this is the only instance in the corpus of Homeric Hymns where the name of the intended god is not mentioned in the first line.22 Instead, the hymn conveys the genealogical connection between Hermes and Pan, and the divine father’s affection for his son. The delay of Pan’s identification until after the hemiepes surprises the reader with a change of subject, acting almost as an epiphany of the god Pan; up to that point, according to the convention of numerous hymns,23 the addressee would instead seem to be Hermes. Following the caesura, the god’s child is clearly identified as the narratee of the poem.24 Their seeming interchangeability, upon which the poet capitalizes for this surprising effect of narration, indicates the close relationship between father and son.25 A hymn to Hermes, internal to the Homeric Hymn to Pan and sung by the Nymphs, reveals Pan a second time, so that Hermes’ paternal authority over Pan is further reinforced. After characterizing Pan’s habits and nature (6–26), the internal hymn describes his birth (27–37). The Nymphs sing that Hermes conceived a child with the daughter of the shepherd Dryops, and that the “dear son” was a “marvel to behold” (36); finally, the nymphs describe the god child, singing that he was “goat-footed, two-horned, rowdy, [with] merry laughter” (37).26 These words echo the Homeric Hymn to Pan’s second line, Page 6 of 19

 

Hermes among Pan and the Nymphs on Fourth-Century Votive Reliefs thereby (p.39) repeating Pan’s epiphany by once again remarking upon his striking visual presence. This internal hymn also demonstrates the difference between human and divine reactions to Pan. His mortal mother, startled by his distinctive appearance, runs away screaming in panic (38–9). Yet afterwards, Hermes appears and carries Pan to Mt. Olympus, where Hermes sits beside Zeus and displays his son. There, “all the immortals,” in contrast to his human mother, are “delighted, especially Bacchic Dionysos; and they took to calling him Pan, because he delight[s] them all” (45–7).27 Hermes’ actions, by establishing legitimate paternity, thus function to normalize Pan among the gods, even as he remains monstrous to humans. Taken together, the linguistic, ritual, and socio-cultural evidence suggest an Athenian context for the Homeric Hymn to Pan. As Janko establishes, some of its linguistic features may indicate an Attic provenance for the hymn.28 Furthermore, the concept of displaying one’s child to a group of peers recalls the Athenian ritual of confirming one’s genealogy, wherein a father would officially present his son to his phratry during the festival of the Apatouria; following this three-day festival, the child was considered to be a legitimate citizen.29 Similarly in the hymn, once Hermes presents Pan to the other gods, he too is confirmed as a legitimate member of the Olympian pantheon.30 Finally, although the performance context for the Homeric Hymn to Pan is uncertain, the structure of the Homeric Hymns suggests that they were preludes, or prooimia, to more extensive epic narrations performed by rhapsodes during religious festivals.31 Thus, one could speculate that the Homeric Hymn to Pan may have been sung during such contests held at Athenian festivals, especially following Pan’s increased popularity after the Persian Wars.32 Since a common feature of these hymns was the narrative of the god’s ascent to Olympus, the public nature of the hymn’s performance would have been crucial in legitimizing the god’s Panhellenic personality.33 One can imagine that the hymn’s establishment of Pan’s genealogical connection to (p.40) Hermes and, by extension, to Zeus, may have seemed initially surprising to the Athenian audience for which it was composed, since in Arcadia Pan was often worshipped with Zeus Lykaios in temples on mountaintops.34 Given his cultic associations with Zeus, Pan would not need any paternal support from Hermes to justify his cult and his connection with the Olympians. However, if the hymn was indeed designed for an Athenian audience and context, where the cult for Pan developed in the early fifth century, it may have been necessary to explain how the monstrous Pan came to be accepted among the Olympian pantheon. With each performance, therefore, Pan’s personality was further established, so that his connection with Hermes and the similar ways they could act with respect to the Nymphs became a fundamental aspect of his theology. Just as Pan gained access to Mt. Olympus through the actions of his father Hermes and thus became a Panhellenic god, so too through the performance of his hymn during Athenian rhapsodic contests would he have acquired a specific place within the Page 7 of 19

 

Hermes among Pan and the Nymphs on Fourth-Century Votive Reliefs Athenian imaginary.35 The hymn then does not simply present a mythological story about Pan, but rather it reveals a deeper process of integrating the Arcadian god into Athenian religion.

4. Hermes, Pan, and a Changing Theology of the Nymphs The Homeric Hymn to Pan further reveals why Pan might have been grafted onto the cult of the Nymphs throughout Attica: Pan “roams about the wooded fields together with the dance-merry nymphs” (2–3).36 Sharing these associations with the wooded fields, forests, and caves, Pan and the Nymphs were suitable companions within the Attic rural cult. But the Homeric Hymn to Pan, by insisting upon Hermes’ paternity with respect to Pan, exploits Hermes’ association with the Nymphs in order to link them to a greater system of Panhellenic cults. Just as Pan is subordinate to Hermes within the hymn, so too could Pan and the Nymphs be subordinate to Hermes in the visual material. With Hermes and Pan positioned in significant places in the surviving images, so that father and son coordinate the Nymphs’ dance and make them ritually available to their human worshippers, the fourth-century votive reliefs insist that Hermes and Pan together exert control over their female companions. They thus emphasize the same Panhellenic connection between the two male deities. (p.41) In order to show that the surviving images establish Hermes and Pan as figures indispensable to the Nymphs’ cult, I look first at a relief that depicts human worshippers within the same frame as the gods (Fig. 3.4).37 Here, three Nymphs hold each other’s hands and dance across the relief, their drapery streaming out behind them. The central figure opens her body to glance back over her shoulder, as if to check the position of her companion and to make visual contact with their musician. Although little of Pan’s form has survived, scarcely more than his two feet that hang over a rocky outcrop on the right, both the Nymphs’ dance and the scene’s visual similarity to other images indicate that he plays his syrinx.38 The rock upon which Pan sits recalls his connection to the Nymphs’ rural caves, suggesting that he sits at the far limit of the cave’s walls. The

Fig. 3.4. Votive relief dedicated to the Nymphs, found on the Quirinal Hill in Rome, marble, 175 × 85 cm, c.400–390 BCE. Berlin, Antikensammlung, SK 709 a. Photo: bpk, Berlin/Antikensammlung/ Jürgen Liepe/Art Resource, NY.

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Hermes among Pan and the Nymphs on Fourth-Century Votive Reliefs Nymphs follow Hermes, their koryphaios, leaving Pan, Acheloös, and their cave behind as they dance dynamically past the (p.42) source of music.39 Hermes guides the divinities toward a small human worshipper, a man who raises his hand in recognition as he begins to see the Nymphs for whom he prays. He may perceive the Nymphs, first, because Pan has initiated a performance that brings the space of the image and the separate space of the human worshipper into contact, and, second, because of Hermes, whose lowered right hand reaches out slightly toward the worshipper’s left arm, mere moments away from making contact and revealing the Nymphs to the devotee. Hermes plays an even greater role in making the Nymphs accessible to their devotees on scenes that do not include human worshippers. A relief dedicated by Telephanes in a cave on Mt. Parnes (Fig. 3.5) suggests that Hermes’ relationship with Pan and their shared ability to mark and transcend boundaries are responsible for breaking down the barrier that separates mortal from divine, at least within the Nymphs’ caves.40 (p.43) Pan sits cross-legged at the top left of the rectangular frame, surrounded by goats. Positioned in this way on the frame, that liminal space belonging neither to the image nor to the external world, Pan marks the point of separation between the figures within the relief and those mortal viewers who exist beyond it.41 Pan thus acts as an extension of Hermes’ Fig. 3.5. Votive relief dedicated to Pan divine powers, since he aids in and the Nymphs by Telephanes, from the maintaining the boundaries Cave of Pan on Mount Parnes, white separating the human from the marble, 43 × 47 cm, 310–290 BCE. divine, even as he renders them Athens, National Archaeological Museum, permeable. Within the frame, NM 1448. Hermes leads the Nymphs’ National Archaeological Museum, dance past a stone altar. He Athens. © Hellenic Ministry of moves to the left toward Pan, Culture and Sports/Archaeological who lifts his syrinx to his mouth Receipts Fund. and fills the scene with his music. His liminal position allows the music to oscillate between the image and the outside world, so that the music from his syrinx fills both spaces, thereby breaking down the boundaries separating the relief and the cave shrine in which it was deposited. As the frame becomes permeable, Hermes gazes past Pan’s Page 9 of 19

 

Hermes among Pan and the Nymphs on Fourth-Century Votive Reliefs body while he also reaches out with his right hand to pierce the cave frame just above Acheloös’ head. Furthermore, the mimetic repetition between the sculpted cave frame and the actual cave in which the relief was set up visually elides any distinction between the two. Hermes thus appears to move not only within the image, but he also seems to depart from the relief altogether in order to enter the cave, passing through the damp, rocky walls from which water drips. But while Hermes moves to the left, ostensibly taking the Nymphs with him, they instead step forward, around the altar, piercing the image’s frontal plane as they move toward the viewer. While the relief connects Hermes and Pan through their coordinated actions, it also presents the Nymphs as the intended focus of the dedicator’s veneration, emphasized by their frontal stares that captivate the viewer’s gaze. Hermes, conversely, deliberately avoids any interaction with the viewer, and instead he directs his attention to his son, whose phallus is at Hermes’ eye-level. The connection between the two gods is focalized around the phallus, which appears prominently on herms, but which is also a sign of male virility, pointing once again to the genealogical ties between Hermes and Pan. Moreover, the two gods are shown on one side of the image, thus leaving the majority of the visual field open. The Nymphs, conversely, take up the center and right side of the image as they dance around the altar, physically surrounding the site of ritual sacrifice. The relief thus points to a tension between the Nymphs, the intended focus of human worship, and the two male gods. Two distinct notions of how one might worship and interact with the Nymphs co-exist here, one in which the Nymphs engage their worshippers directly and another in which their interactions are determined by Hermes and Pan. (p.44)

5. Hermes and Athens Ancient Greek visual theology constantly evolved and adapted in response to shifting social and political changes. Yet the images that I have discussed are not simply reflections of external changes, but rather, as expressions of theology, the votive reliefs accomplish those changes in a visual medium. Since the surviving evidence suggests that the cult of the Nymphs experienced increased attention during the fifth and fourth centuries, the images deposited in the cave shrines were important agents in determining the nature of the cult and any further elaboration of its visualization. As such, the reliefs claim that by the fourth century BCE Hermes was integral to the Nymphs’ cult. And yet, there existed alongside these scenes that prominently feature him a small number of reliefs where the god was not included, which show the Nymphs dancing without their choral leader.42 One must see in the tension between these simultaneous visual traditions two competing visual theologies, that is, two different conceptions of the Nymphs as divinities and two distinct approaches to their representation.

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Hermes among Pan and the Nymphs on Fourth-Century Votive Reliefs A relief found in a cave on Mt. Penteli suggests that this disconnect between the modes of representation may be related to the relationship between the Athenian city and the Attic countryside during the classical period. On this relief, dedicated to the Nymphs by Telephanes, Nikeratos, and Demophilos, three male worshippers approach three Nymphs, in front of whom stand Hermes and Pan (Fig. 3.6).43 Although the relief was deposited in a rural cave shrine,44 the encounter between the worshippers and the Nymphs is envisioned as occurring within a man-made structure. By replacing the more typical cave frame with contemporary, man-made architecture, the pastoral divinities are brought into an urban setting. It is within this tension between urban and Fig. 3.6. Votive relief dedicated to the rural, civic and pastoral, that Nymphs by Telephanes, Nikeratos, and the inclusion of Hermes and his Demophilos, found in the Cave of Pan and son Pan becomes particularly the Nymphs on Mount Penteli, white significant. In the relief, marble, 53 × 75 cm, 360–350 BCE. Hermes physically marks the Athens, National Archaeological Museum, separation between the human NM 4465, 4465a. world and the realm of the Source: DAI. Photographer: Eva-Maria gods, standing between the Czakó. DAI-Neg.-No.: D-DAI-ATH-NM pastoral world of the Nymphs 4756. and the civilized space of the Athenian men who have come to worship them. Hermes’ placement within the composition thus evokes another aspect of his own theology: his position recalls the Attic practice of setting up herms in the chora at the halfway point between demes and the city.45 Similarly, Pan, who inherits qualities from his father’s personality, (p.45) also anchors the rural cults that he shares with the Nymphs within an urban Athenian religious space through his cave located on the north slope of the Athenian Acropolis.46 Hermes and Pan thus not only mediate between the mortal men and the Nymphs within the context of worship as it is presented on the relief,47 but the image also evokes the conceptual role the two gods played in making the rural shrines accessible to the urban polis and the importance the Nymphs and their cult were thought to have for Athens.

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Hermes among Pan and the Nymphs on Fourth-Century Votive Reliefs Of all the Olympian gods, Hermes was among the most visible in Athens, where, in the form of a herm, he marked boundaries throughout the city.48 (p.46) The god who traveled, brought messages, and wandered with sheep in the countryside partitioned the Athenian landscape, bringing both city and chora together through his ubiquitous presence in each. When he was visually incorporated into the cult of the Nymphs, this aspect of Hermes’ divine personality connected the female divinities to Athenian religious and social life. Just as Pan’s incorporation into the cult of the Nymphs associated it with his cave on the Acropolis, a focal point of Athenian religion, so too did Hermes’ presence link the Nymphs and their rural cave shrines to the Athenian polis. The connection between the city and rural countryside is represented through divine relationships, so that the votive reliefs and the Homeric Hymn to Pan uniquely express a specific, theological conception of the associations among the gods and the cult’s connection to Athens. The reliefs in which Hermes is placed in a prominent position, leading the Nymphs in their dance, establish the cult to Pan and the Nymphs as integral to Athenian religious life, so that each ritual act or dedication to the Nymphs was undertaken not only for the benefit of the family and the hope of future fertility and prosperity, but for the future of the Athenians themselves and for their polis, which had undergone such dramatic political and social change during the fifth and fourth centuries. Bibliography Bibliography references: Beaumont, L. A. 2012. Childhood in Ancient Athens: Iconography and Social History. London and New York. Borgeaud, P. 1988. The Cult of Pan in Ancient Greece. Chicago. Brommer, F. 1938. “Panbilder des fünften Jahrhunderts.” AA 53: 376–81. Brommer, F. 1949. “Pan im 5. und 4. Jahrhundert v. Chr.” Marb. Jahrb. 15: 5–42. Carpenter, R. 1950. “Tradition and Invention in Attic Reliefs.” AJA 54.4: 323–36. Cole, S. G. 1984. “The Social Function of Rituals of Maturation: The Koureion and the Arkteia.” ZPE 55: 233–44. Comella, A. 2002. I rilievi votivi greci di periodo arcaico e classico: Diffusione, ideologia, committenza. Bari. De Polignac, F. 1995. Cults, Territory, and the Origins of the Greek City-State. Translated by Janet Lloyd. Chicago. Derrida, J. 1987. The Truth in Painting. Translated by Geoff Bennington and Ian McLeod. Chicago. Page 12 of 19

 

Hermes among Pan and the Nymphs on Fourth-Century Votive Reliefs Edelmann, M. 1999. Menschen auf griechischen Weihreliefs. Munich. Edwards, C. M. 1985. “Greek Votive Reliefs to Pan and the Nymphs.” Diss. New York University. Elsner, J. 1996. “Image and Ritual: Reflections on the Religious Appreciation of Classical Art.” CQ 46: 515–31. Feubel, R. 1935. Die Attischen Nymphenreliefs und ihre Vorbilder. Heidelberg. (p.47) Fuchs, W. 1962. “Attischen Nymphenreliefs.” AM 77: 242–9. Gaifman, M. 2008. “Visualized Rituals and Dedicatory Inscriptions on Votive Offerings to the Nymphs.” OpAthRom 1: 85–103. Gaifman, M. 2012. Aniconism in Greek Antiquity. Oxford. Gaifman, M. 2017. “Framing Divine Bodies in Greek Art.” In V. Platt and M. Squire, eds. The Frame in Classical Art: A Cultural History. Cambridge. 392–424. Gonzalez, J. 2015. The Epic Rhapsode and his Craft: Homeric Performance in a Diachronic Perspective. Cambridge, MA. Güntner, G. 1994. Göttervereine und Götterversammlungen auf attischen Weihreliefs: Untersuchungen zur Typologie und Bedeutung. Würzburg. Harrison, E. B. 1965. Archaic and Archaistic Sculpture. Athens. Hurwit, J. M. 1977. “Image and Frame in Greek Art.” AJA 81: 1–30. Isler, H. P. 1970. Acheloos: Eine Monographie. Bern. Janko, R. 1982. Homer, Hesiod, and the Hymns: Diachronic Development in Epic Diction. Cambridge. Jost, M. 1985. Sanctuaires et cultes d’Arcadie. Paris. Jost, M. 2007. “The Religious System in Arcadia.” In D. Ogden, ed. A Companion to Greek Religion. Oxford. 264–80. Kaltsas, N. 2002. Sculpture in the National Archaeological Museum, Athens. Malibu. Klöckner, A. 2010. “Getting in Contact: Concepts of Human-Divine Encounter in Classical Greek Art.” In J. N. Bremmer and A. Erskine, eds. The Gods of Ancient Greece: Identities and Transformations. Edinburgh. 106–25. Lambert, S. D. 1998. The Phratries of Attica. 2nd ed. Ann Arbor.

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Hermes among Pan and the Nymphs on Fourth-Century Votive Reliefs Larson, J. L. 2001. Greek Nymphs: Myth, Cult, Lore. Oxford. Martin, G. 2010. “On the Date of Euripides’ Ion.” CQ 60: 647–51. Nagy, G. 1990. Greek Mythology and Poetics. Ithaca, NY. Nancy, J-L. 2000. Being Singular Plural. Translated by R. D. Richardson and A. E. O’Byrne. Stanford. Nancy, J-L. 1996. The Muses. Translated by Peggy Kamuf. Stanford. Nielsen, T. H. 2000. “The Concept of Arkadia—the People, their Land, and their Organisation.” In T. H. Nielsen and J. Roy, eds. Defining Ancient Arkadia: Symposium, April, 1–4 1998. Copenhagen. 16–79. Nilsson, M. P. 1980. A History of Greek Religion. Translated by F. J. Fielden. 2nd ed. Oxford. Osborne, R. 1985. “The Erection and Mutilation of the Hermai.” PCPhS: 45–73. Parker, R. 1996. Athenian Religion: A History. Oxford. Parker, R. 2005. Polytheism and Society at Athens. Oxford. Platt, V. 2010. “Art History in the Temple.” Arethusa 43: 197–213. Platt, V. 2011. Facing the Gods. Epiphany and Representation in Graeco-Roman Art, Literature and Religion. Cambridge. Platt, V. and M. Squire, eds. 2017. The Frame in Classical Art: A Cultural History. Cambridge. Pottier, E. 1881. “Bas-relief des Nymphes trouvé à Éleusis.” BCH 5: 349–57. Quinn, J. C. 2007. “Herms, Kouroi and the Political Anatomy of Athens.” G&R 54: 82–105. Schörner, G. and H. R. Goette. 2004. Die Pan-Grotte von Vari. Mainz. (p.48) Strauss Clay, J. 2006. The Politics of Olympus: Form and Meaning in the Major Homeric Hymns. 2nd ed. Bristol. Thallon, I. C. 1903. “The Caves at Vari. III. Marble Reliefs.” AJA 7: 301–19. Thomas, O. 2011. “The Homeric Hymn to Pan.” In A. Faulkner, ed. The Homeric Hymns: Interpretative Essays. Oxford. 151–72. Travlos, J. 1988. Bildlexikon zur Topographie des antiken Attika. Tübingen.

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Hermes among Pan and the Nymphs on Fourth-Century Votive Reliefs Vernant, J-P. 1969. “Hestia–Hermes: The Religious Expression of Space and Movement among the Greeks.” SSI 8: 131–68. Weller, C. H. 1903. “The Cave at Vari. I. Description, Account of Excavation, and History.” AJA 7: 263–88. West, M. L., ed. 2003. Homeric Hymns, Homeric Apocrypha, Lives of Homer. Cambridge, MA. Wickens, J. M. 1986. “The Archaeology and History of Cave Use in Attica, Greece, from Prehistoric through Late Roman Times.” Diss. Indiana University. Wilson, P. 2000. The Athenian Institution of the Khoregia: The Chorus, the City, and the Stage. Cambridge. Wycherley, R. E. 1970. “Minor Shrines in Ancient Athens.” Phoenix 24: 283–95. Notes:

(1) The comprehensive account of these reliefs is Edwards 1985. Of the 113 surviving reliefs that Edwards collected, fifty-two include Hermes. He is absent from twenty-six reliefs, although the majority of these are Hellenistic or Roman. Thirty-four reliefs are fragmentary, but since the Nymphs dance on many of them, Hermes may also have been included on some. The final relief, Edwards notes, may represent maenads and satyrs. (2) Athens, NM 2011. IG II2 4652. Schörner and Goette 2004: 69–71; Kaltsas 2002: 218; Güntner 1994: 120; Fuchs 1962: 247; Feubel 1935: 6–8; Thallon 1903: 312–13; Edwards 1985: 439–46, with previous bibliography. See Pottier 1881: 355–6, for more on the composition of the reliefs. (3) Borgeaud 1988: 133–62; Larson 2001: 97. Pan had a small shrine in the Vari Cave, and terracotta votive deposits depicting Pan were found in the Cave to Pan on Mt. Parnes. Weller 1903: 266–7; Travlos 1988: 319–20, 325–6; Schörner and Goette 2004: 49, 78–89. (4) Neither relief conclusively establishes that Hermes was worshipped. The Echelos relief (Athens, NM 1783) lists Hermes, but its composition is distinct within the larger corpus and, moreover, its cult was located by the Ilissos River, not in a cave. The second relief (New York, 25.78.59) may well indicate worship for Hermes, but it is unique in doing so. It is also unusual for its composite style, lack of cave frame, and absence of Pan. Edwards 1985: nos. 4 and 62. (5) To my knowledge, Hermes is not listed as a recipient of cult within Attic cave shrines. Elsewhere in Greece he could occasionally be venerated with the Nymphs (e.g. a cave near Pharsalos in Thessaly). The only surviving instance in Attica is a shared sacrifice mentioned on the sacred calendar from the Erchia deme, but the ritual mentioned there cannot be assimilated to the Nymphs’ cave Page 15 of 19

 

Hermes among Pan and the Nymphs on Fourth-Century Votive Reliefs cults. Although both seem to involve aspirations for agricultural and human regeneration, there are numerous differences between the two. The Erchia cult occurs on a hilltop, not within a cave; this difference in sanctuary location is meaningful. Other gods feature in the cult of the Erchia deme, such as Ge and Alochos, but Pan is not worshipped. Finally, there is no indication of the gods’ musical activities, which appear on the votive reliefs and may have played a role in cult practice. If any musical activity did occur in the Erchia cult, it likely occurred on a separate day, as the mention of Apollo Nymphagetēs may indicate; importantly, Hermes does not have any association with the ritual activities on that day. One might think that the dedications in the cave could indicate cult worship for Hermes, but the surviving deposits—loutrophoroi and female terracotta figurines—cannot be intended for a male deity. For more, see Larson 2001: 16–17, 126–37, 226–67. (6) Elsner 1996: 518; Platt 2010: 200. (7) Nancy 1996: 1; Nancy 2000; Larson 2001: 258–67. (8) Borgeaud 1988: 133–62. (9) Athens, NM 2008. IG II2 4651. Schörner and Goette 2004: 62–4; Kaltsas 2002: 218; Güntner 1994: 123; Fuchs 1962: 244; Feubel 1935: 33–4; Thallon 1903: 304–5; Edwards 1985: 489–95, with previous bibliography. (10) H.Herm. 511–12. (11) Gaifman 2008: 94–6, 100. (12) Despite Aristid. Or. 53.4, “Hermes as khorēgos always leads the nymphs,” the khorēgos financed the performance, while the koryphaios led the choral dance (though it was not impossible for khorēgoi to serve as koryphaioi; see Wilson 2000: 130–6). (13) For the identification of Hermes with herms: Ar. Plut. 1153; Paus. 7.27.1; Harrison 1965: 108–20; Osborne 1985: 51–2; Gaifman 2012: 39, 66–7, 305–6. One etymology derives his name from herma, a small pile of stones that once marked boundaries. On the etymology’s plausibility: Nilsson 1980: 109–10; Parker 1996: 80–2. (14) Stories of Pan sexually pursuing the Nymphs appear in the Hellenistic period or later. Moreover, though the Nymphs and Hermes may be sexual partners (H.Aphr. 259–63), Larson 2001: 81–2 and 96 shows that these relationships are more common to cults in the Troad. (15) On the significance of frames in ancient art and literature, see Hurwit 1977: 1–30; Platt and Squire 2017.

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Hermes among Pan and the Nymphs on Fourth-Century Votive Reliefs (16) Hom. Od. 14.434–6; Vernant 1969: 134, 158–9; Borgeaud 1988: 48, 206–7, n. 17; Larson 2001: 34, 95–6. (17) Semonides, fr. 20: Μαιάδος τόκωι· / οὗτοι γὰρ ἀνδρῶν αἷμ’ ἔχουσι ποιμένων. On Hermes as a shepherd and the acquisition of wealth, see Vernant 1969: 158–9. (18) Hdt. 6.105; Larson 2001: 96–8; Borgeaud 1988: 94–6, 133–62; Brommer 1949: 5–9; Brommer 1938: 376–81. As Brommer notes, however, representations of Pan began appearing in Athens already at the end of the sixth century, casting some doubt onto Herodotus’ account. (19) Ar. Thesm. 977–8. The translation is my own. (20) Thomas 2011: 169–72; West 2003: 18; Janko 1982: 184–5. (21) All translations from the Homeric Hymn to Pan have been adapted from West 2003: 198–203. (22) Thomas 2011: 151. (23) Thomas 2011: 151, n. 1. (24) This epiphanic effect is redoubled by the enjambment of the next line, which strikingly declares the philos gonos of line 1 to be “goat-footed” (αἰγιπόδην). It continues with evocative epithets through line 3:…δικέρωτα φιλόκροτον ὅς τ’ ἀνὰ πίση / δενδρήεντ’ ἄμυδις φοιτᾷ χοροήθεσι νύμφαις (“…two-horned lover of noise, who roams around the wooded fields together with the chorus-dancing Nymphs”). (25) Janko 1982: 185 and Thomas 2011: 166–8 further establish the link between the two gods through the similarities in their respective hymns, which share diction, mode of narration, and plot lines. (26) αἰγιπόδην δικέρωτα πολύκροτον ἡδυγέλωτα. There is a discrepancy in the manuscript tradition between φιλόκροτον (2) and πολύκροτον (37), but I follow West 2003: 198–201 in treating them as essentially the same. West further maintains αἰγοπόδην rather than αἰγιπόδην, despite the change advocated by G. Hermann, in Homeri Hymni et Epigrammata (1806). Despite these minor variations, the two lines are clearly parallel. (27) πάντες δ’ ἄρα θυμὸν ἔτερφθεν / ἀθάνατοι, περίαλλα δ’ ὁ Βάκχειος Διόνυσος· / Πᾶνα δέ μιν καλέεσκον ὅτι φρένα πᾶσιν ἔτερψε. (28) Janko 1982: 184–5 analyzes the linguistic peculiarities and generally ascribes the hymn to an Attic context. However, he does express some reservations about their status as Atticisms. Both Janko 1982: 185, 198 and West Page 17 of 19

 

Hermes among Pan and the Nymphs on Fourth-Century Votive Reliefs 2003: 18 argue that the language is consistent with the fifth century, with Janko further arguing that the hymn likely does not date later than the mid-fifth century BCE. (29) Cole 1984: 233–5; Parker 1996: 104–8; Lambert 1998: 143–89; Parker 2005: 458–61; Beaumont 2012: 67–9. (30) On the matter of legitimization through Olympian recognition, see Nagy 1990: 36–82. (31) Nagy 1990: 53–6. On rhapsodic performances generally, see Gonzalez 2015. (32) Gonzalez 2015: 293–433. (33) Gonzalez 2015: 1–14, 293–433; Strauss Clay 2006: 10–16; Nagy 1990: 53–6. (34) Jost 2007: 264–6; Nielsen 2000: 39–46. On religion in Arcadia more generally, see Jost 1985. (35) For Pan’s integration within Athens, see Borgeaud 1988: 133–62. (36) ὅς τ᾽ ἀνὰ πίση / δενδρήεντ᾽ ἄμυδις φοιτᾶι χοροηθέσι νύμφαις… (37) Berlin, SK 709a. Klöckner 2010: 115–17; Comella 2002: 221–2; Larson 2001: 99–100; Carpenter 1950: 324–5; Edwards 1985: 370–8, with previous bibliography. Although the relief was discovered in Rome, I follow Edwards and Carpenter in assigning this relief to an Attic context of production. (38) Cf. Berlin, SK 711. Edwards 1985: no. 77. (39) For more on Acheloös, see Isler 1970. (40) Athens, NM 1448x. IG II2 4646. Kaltsas 2002: 219; Güntner 1994: 125; Fuchs 1962: 243, 249; Feubel 1935: xiv, 42–3; Edwards 1985: 618–24, with previous bibliography. (41) Hurwit 1977: 1–30; Derrida 1987: 52–68; Platt and Squire 2017: 1–99; Gaifman 2017: 392–424. (42) Cf. Athens, NM 1445 and 3874. (43) Athens, NM 4465. Gaifman 2008: 94–9; Kaltsas 2002: 212; Edelmann 1999: 132–3, 221; Güntner 1994: 120; Fuchs 1962: 246–7; Edwards 1985: 467–75, with previous bibliography. (44) Travlos 1988: 329–34; Wickens 1986: no. 39.

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Hermes among Pan and the Nymphs on Fourth-Century Votive Reliefs (45) In the late sixth century BCE, Hipparkhos is said to have installed herms as halfway points between Athens and the demes. [Pl.] Hipparch. 228b–29a; Osborne 1985: 48. (46) For more on the relationship between urban and extra-urban cults, see De Polignac 1995; Parker 2005: 50–78. (47) Gaifman 2008: 96. (48) On herms in Athens, see Thuc. 6.27.1; Paus. 1.24.3; Harrison 1965: 108–20; Vernant 1969: 133–4; Wycherley 1970: 284–6; Osborne 1985: 45–73; Parker 1996: 80–2; Quinn 2007: 91–2; Martin 2010: 647–9; Gaifman 2012. See also Verity Platt’s volume on epiphany, in which she shows that images of the divine allowed viewers to comprehend the image not just symbolically as a visual representation of the god, but also as the epiphanic presence of the divine. Platt 2011: 31–76, and especially 100–4, where she discusses aniconism and epiphany.

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Hermes and Heracles

Tracking Hermes, Pursuing Mercury John F. Miller and Jenny Strauss Clay

Print publication date: 2019 Print ISBN-13: 9780198777342 Published to Oxford Scholarship Online: March 2019 DOI: 10.1093/oso/9780198777342.001.0001

Hermes and Heracles Jennifer Larson

DOI:10.1093/oso/9780198777342.003.0004

Abstract and Keywords The similarities between the myths of Hermes (especially as presented in the Homeric Hymn to Hermes) and certain elements of the Heracles myths are substantial enough to indicate a relationship. Specifically, the myth of the struggle for Apollo’s tripod has to do with Heracles’ progress toward acceptance as an Olympian god. The composer of the Homeric Hymn was reacting in some degree to the Heracles myth. Keywords:   Homeric Hymns, succession myth, tripod, Hermes, Heracles

1. Introduction At first glance Hermes and Heracles seem unlikely candidates for comparative study. Hermes is a light-hearted patron of thieves and a doer of errands for Zeus. His talent lies in stealth and cunning, and he is more trickster than warrior, though he boasts one great victory over the monster Argos who was set to guard Io. Heracles, for his part, is the quintessential warrior and subduer of monsters, at once a serial violent offender and punisher of the violent, whose lineage and superhuman feats secure his apotheosis after a life of uninterrupted turmoil and physical conflict. On the other hand, both Hermes and Heracles are younger sons of Zeus, among the youngest of the Olympian gods. In the sphere of cult, they follow a similar trajectory as patrons of maturing youths, worshiped side by side in the gymnasia.1 When they begin their careers, neither has yet achieved acknowledgment as an Olympian deity. Each challenges his older sibling Apollo by attempting to steal from him. Each is accepted into the society of Olympus, Page 1 of 16

Hermes and Heracles but only after provoking Apollo to a confrontation that must be mediated by Zeus. In both cases the younger brother is expected to restore the stolen property and it is clear that his rank will remain subordinate to that of Apollo. Finally, reconciliation and subsequent goodwill between the former adversaries is an important theme in both cases. In this paper, I will argue that the similarities between the myths of Hermes (especially as presented in the Homeric Hymn to Hermes) and certain elements of the Heracles myths are substantial enough to indicate a relationship. Specifically, I will suggest that the myth of the struggle for Apollo’s tripod (p. 50) has to do with Heracles’ progress toward acceptance as an Olympian god, also a major concern for Hermes in the Hymn to Hermes, and I will argue that the composer of the Homeric Hymn was reacting in some degree to the Heracles myth. My analysis is informed by Jenny Strauss Clay’s demonstration that the Homeric Hymns seek to fill the gap between cosmogonic poetry and heroic epic, and to frame Panhellenic explanations for the accession of the gods to their ultimate roles within the cosmos. As she shows, the arrival of a new deity on an alreadycrowded Olympus, when the prerogatives or timai of the gods have been apportioned and their hierarchy determined, creates a situation of inherent conflict, which the composers of the hymns to Apollo and Hermes resolve in different ways.2 Heracles is of course unique in that he begins his career as a mortal and is the last of all deities to join the Olympians. Yet the myths treating his relationships with the gods reveal the same pattern of potential or actual conflict resolved by peaceful integration into the Olympian fold. In my view the first poems to describe Heracles’ theft of the Delphic tripod must have been composed from a theogonic perspective similar to that of the Homeric Hymns. Unfortunately, we do not know in what genre(s) these early Heraclean myths were embedded when they began to circulate.

2. The Hymn to Hermes Why Hermes was conceptualized as the last-born of the Olympians in the Homeric Hymn, and why he at first possessed no clear claim to Olympian status, are puzzling questions. Strauss Clay provides a structuralist explanation, suggesting that the interior logic of the pantheon requires a deity who embodies the “principle of motion” between the boundaries and divisions established in the cosmos (for example, between earth and Olympus, or earth and the Underworld), something that is still lacking when the poem begins.3 This principle can be implemented only after the fundamental boundaries of the cosmos have been established. We may also consider the relatively subordinate status of Hermes within the Olympian hierarchy; like Hephaestus, he “works” while the other gods take their leisure; the Olympian status of Hephaestus too is contested when he is cast out by Hera or Zeus.4 Finally, Hermes is in many respects a more earthbound deity than the other Olympians and, like his son Page 2 of 16

 

Hermes and Heracles Pan, is thought to spend much of his time there with (p.51) mortals.5 This facet of his character may be pertinent to his conceptualization as a god who is, literally, upwardly mobile. He must seek out his social elevation, and force the other gods to recognize him by doing deeds to attract their attention. These are characteristics he shares, to some extent, with Heracles. In the rest of this section, I will summarize the passages of the Hymn that are most pertinent to my argument. Hermes’ supernatural abilities, like those of his brother Apollo, are manifested immediately upon his birth: “Born with dawn, he played the lyre at noonday, and in the evening he stole the cattle of Far-Shooter Apollo on the fourth day of the month, the day that Lady Maia bore him” (H.Herm. 17–19). The poet recounts how Hermes invented the lyre first of all, and then left his cradle in Maia’s cave to steal Apollo’s cattle “because he longed to taste meat” (64). When his mother scolds him upon his return, Hermes replies that he is dissatisfied and desires to share the timē currently allotted to his brother Apollo (173–5): As for honor, I too will enter upon the rite (hosiē) that Apollo has. If my father will not give it, I shall try—and I am able—to be chief among thieves. Hermes envisions for himself a status equal to that of Apollo, and intends to secure the same rights and honors enjoyed by his brother. He probably has in mind Apollo’s oracular powers, given the later references to Hermes’ interest in this domain. If Hermes is not given these honors, he says, he will continue his mischief by plundering Apollo’s megan domon, presumably his temple, and remove the precious offerings stored there, including the tripods (178–81). When Apollo comes to the cave seeking his cattle, the confrontation gives Hermes an opportunity to appeal to Zeus; accordingly, the two make their way to Olympus where the gods are assembled and the scales of justice are set.6 Zeus is pleased with his younger son, and commands the two brothers to mend their quarrel; Hermes is to return the cattle (389–96). Once the cattle are secured, Hermes plays the lyre and sings a theogony describing how each of the gods was born from eldest to youngest, and received his or her “portion” (428 lakhe moiran). A smitten Apollo indicates his interest in the lyre, and there follows a complex negotiation in which Hermes hints broadly at his own interest in the gifts that Apollo has received from Zeus, including the power of divination (471– 2): “They say that by the utterance of Zeus you know divination (manteia), FarShooter, all the oracles (thesphata) from Zeus.” An exchange is made of the lyre for a whip that empowers its owner as “keeper of cattle herds,” and the brothers return to Olympus, where Zeus makes them friends (497–8, 506–8). (p.52) Yet Apollo is still troubled at the thought that Hermes may steal from him again, not only taking back the lyre, but also absconding with Apollo’s bow. He asks for Hermes’ oath never again to attempt theft from him (514–20). Page 3 of 16

 

Hermes and Heracles Hermes swears the oath, and Apollo in turn swears to love no other better than Hermes; he then presents Hermes with a three-branched golden staff “of riches and wealth” (529 olbou kai ploutou…rhabdon) while simultaneously declining to permit Hermes or any other god to share his core oracular function (533–8). Instead, Apollo gives Hermes yet another gift, a lesser form of divination tied to the bee maidens of Parnassus (552–66). Zeus confirms Hermes’ status as lord over birds and beasts, and makes him the messenger to Hades (567–72). Hermes’ theft of the cattle, then, has paid off handsomely by demonstrating his power, bringing him to the attention of his brother and father, and precipitating a formal delineation of the honors due to him as a god.

3. The Struggle for the Tripod: Summary of the Evidence Let us now look more closely at the Struggle for the Tripod, the episode that forms my Heraclean parallel for Hermes’ theft of Apollo’s cattle. Whereas the literary accounts of the Struggle are few and virtually all post-classical, visual representations are numerous and begin in the early archaic period. Perhaps the most influential depiction of the Struggle in antiquity was the east pediment of the Treasury of the Siphnians at Delphi (c.525; Fig. 4.1). It shows Zeus mediating between Apollo and Heracles as they pull on opposite ends of the tripod; behind Apollo stands Artemis, grasping his shoulders as if to restrain him, and in the corners of the pediment are chariots with the smaller figures of charioteers and attendants, perhaps including additional gods. Over the years, numerous interpretations of the Struggle Fig. 4.1. East pediment of the Siphnian for the Tripod, as represented Treasury, detail. in specific artistic contexts, Photo: Erich Lessing/Art Resource, have been put forward. Most of NY. these relate the Struggle to the political situation of Delphi during the archaic period. To cite the best-known example, Parke and Boardman argued that the myth fits the circumstances of the First Sacred War and rose to popularity following that conflict; Boardman later Page 4 of 16

 

Hermes and Heracles changed his position that Heracles represented the Krisaians, in favor of the idea that the hero represented the allied cities fighting against Krisa in the First Sacred War.7 (p.53) Political interpretations of the myth are numerous, yet the allegorical approach whereby Apollo and Heracles represent specific historical factions fighting to control the oracle has no universal application. Instead, it is clear that if artistic scenes of the Struggle were understood this way by contemporaries, the roles would be interpreted differently based on the political context and the biases of the viewer. As Boardman notes, Heracles can be all things to all people.8 More recently, Richard Neer reinterpreted the east pediment of the Siphnian treasury, rejecting allegorical readings in favor of understanding the scene as a generalized depiction of the settlement of disputes and the establishment of civic order through the exercise of Zeus’ justice before an assembled community of gods and mortals.9 Furthermore, the implied settlement of a dispute that arose when Heracles was turned away underlines the fact of open access to the sanctuary and its Panhellenic status. Neer’s analysis shows (p.54) why the Struggle was an excellent choice for the Siphnians to include on their treasury at Delphi, and it helps to clarify the significance of the iconography with respect to the roles of Zeus, Apollo, and Delphi in the myth. We are also entitled to ask, however, what weight of meaning the Struggle may carry with respect to its other principal actor, Heracles. To do this, we need to consider the development of the iconography of the Struggle in more detail. The earliest representations of a battle over a tripod cannot be identified with certainty because of the generic quality of the figures, but the scene from Olympia of two armed figures disputing a tripod is quite suggestive.10 Much more specific is an Orientalizing vase of the mid-seventh century from Megara Hyblaea.11 This polychrome vase is decorated with several mythological tableaux, analogous to metopes Fig. 4.2. Orientalizing vase from Megara on a temple. One of these Hyblaea. tableaux (Fig. 4.2) shows a man running to the left as he looks backward, threatening his opponent with a sword. The opponent strides forward, holding a large object (p.55) which cannot be clearly identified, but is consistent with the size and shape of a tripod. Behind Page 5 of 16

 

Hermes and Heracles Musée du Louvre, Paris, France. the opponent, a woman stands Photo: Tony Querrec. © RMN-Grand with her arms raised. Between Palais/Art Resource, NY. the two antagonists stands a tall, draped figure wearing a helmet. The mediating function of this figure is suggested by the way the head turns toward the fleeing male, while the feet turn toward the other antagonist. The composition is strikingly similar to that of the central figures on the east pediment of the Siphnian treasury (Artemis, Apollo, Zeus, Heracles), except that it shows the moment after Apollo has regained the tripod rather than the moment before.12 On the Siphnian treasury, Zeus’ head faces Apollo while his feet point toward Heracles. Doubts have been expressed regarding the identification of the Orientalizing scene due to the lack of specific attributes, but it is strikingly suggestive of the Struggle. At this period, the sword or bow are the expected weapons of Heracles (as on a seventh-century Proto-Attic amphora that shows Heracles battling Nessus with a sword), and artists do not begin to supply him with a club or lionskin until the early sixth century.13 The mediating figure is most likely Zeus, though the presence of the helmet opens the possibility that it is Athena. Not until the mid-sixth century do we have other representations of the Struggle, and only a few of these predate the Siphnian treasury (c.525). The most important is the Boston Pyxis (c.560; Fig. 4.3), the earliest known Attic representation of the myth.14 On it, Apollo and Heracles each grasp one of the rings of a massive tripod while a large group of deities watches. Behind Apollo stand Poseidon, Nereus, Dionysus, and a goddess who lacks identifiable attributes but gestures with her right hand (Artemis?); behind Heracles stand Zeus with scepter and thunderbolt, Hermes, and a god holding two wreaths. The inclusion of all these gods suggests a divine council like the one that sits in

Fig. 4.3. Apollo and Heracles on the Boston Pyxis. Photo © 2018 Museum of Fine Arts, Boston.

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Hermes and Heracles judgment over Hermes’ theft in the Homeric Hymn; at the very least it shows that the Struggle is perceived as an event of moment among the gods, and one that brings Heracles to their attention as an equal or near-equal. The two wreaths perhaps indicate that the dispute will be amicably resolved with no clear winner or loser. The Siphnian treasury is thought to have been extremely influential for the Athenian vase painters who made the Struggle such a popular subject in the second half of the century, but most did not choose to copy its composition directly.15 The element of Zeus as arbiter was quickly abandoned, while (p.56) Athena, not surprisingly, was often added in the role of Heracles’ supporter. Athenian vase painters take up the myth in earnest during the last quarter of the century, and this episode is surprisingly popular thereafter: it is the fourth most frequent of all Heracles’ exploits on Attic vases. Paintings of Heracles’ apotheosis likewise begin c.560–550 (around the same date as the “Introduction Pediment” on the Acropolis), grow in popularity during the third quarter of the century, and remain popular until the early fifth century.16 The scenes showing Heracles and Athena in a chariot were famously related by Boardman to the story of Peisistratus and Phye told by Herodotus. But whatever the tyrants’ role, there is no question that during the second half of the sixth century, Heracles’ divinity was a subject of popular enthusiasm in Athens, which claimed that it was the first city to worship the hero as a god.17 Athenian vase painting presents a Heracles who is fully capable of challenging his older brother, and clearly worthy of the status of an Olympian. While (p.57) the static “ground fight” with two combatants on either side of a tripod lingers in the repertoire, there is an overwhelming preference for compositions in which Heracles makes off with the tripod while Apollo rather ineffectually pursues him. The fact that Athenian vase painters focused on the moment of Heracles’ triumphant claiming of the tripod (rather than the initial threat, the mediation scene, or the return of the tripod) suggests a popular enthusiasm for the idea that Heracles is his brother’s equal, and even able to best him, at least temporarily. Extant literary accounts of the myth are very late compared to the visual evidence. We have space to consider only a few key texts.18 The earliest is Pindar (Ol. 9.30–43, with scholia), who describes how Phoebus “warred with his silver bow” as he pressed Heracles, but does not give the reason for the conflict. Despite Pindar’s pious disapproval of such tales, traditions of Heracles in physical conflict with gods (Poseidon, Apollo, Hades, Hera) are surprisingly numerous, a fact that drew the interest of the scholiast on this passage. For sons of Zeus who aspire to divine recognition (Hermes, Heracles, and eventually Alexander, who reportedly threatened to steal the Delphic tripod), the road to Olympus requires a testing and provocation of other gods.19

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Hermes and Heracles Pausanias (10.13.6–8) describes a sculpture group dedicated at Delphi by the Phocians c.500 BCE.20 Like many vase paintings, it showed Heracles and Apollo grasping the tripod and about to fight over it, with attendant figures on both sides. Pausanias identifies the attending figures as Leto and Artemis attempting to calm Apollo, and Athena doing the same for Heracles. He goes on to observe (19.13.8) that Heracles removed the tripod after the Pythia refused him a response, but that he subsequently returned it and received his answer. He also alludes to a literary version: “The poets have inherited this story, and they sing of a fight between Heracles and Apollo for a tripod.” Ps.-Apollodorus’ Bibliotheca (2.6.2) provides another important account of the Struggle, telling us that when the Pythia refused him an audience, Heracles “wanted to plunder the temple and carry off the tripod to establish an oracle of his own. But Apollo fought with him, and Zeus threw a thunderbolt between them.” Zeus’ intervention is reminiscent of his role on the Siphnian treasury pediment, and perhaps the vase from Megara Hyblaea. Hyginus Fab. 32 similarly specifies that Heracles returned the tripod at the command of Zeus, and duly received his oracle. In the Hymn to Hermes, the reconciliation of Apollo and Hermes leads to a gift exchange between the brothers that defines the proper allotment of their (p.58) timai. Both Neer and Shapiro likewise see reconciliation as an important element in the myth of the Struggle. Reconciliation is attested in a local version of the myth attested from Gythion (Paus. 3.21.8). At Athens, at least one vase painting depicts the moment of the tripod’s return to Apollo.21 It has often been observed that the Kyknos myth, in which Heracles defends Delphi against a brigand, has close connections to the Struggle for the Tripod (the same vase painters, for example, take up these two subjects).22 The Kyknos episode can be understood as a sign of the newly positive relationship between Apollo and Heracles subsequent to the resolution of the Struggle for the Tripod. Furthermore, the Kyknos myth itself recapitulates the idea that Heracles is powerful enough to stand against an Olympian sibling, for after dispatching Kyknos, Heracles does battle against Kyknos’ father Ares, and Zeus’ intervention is again required to separate the combatants.23

4. Divine Attributes and the Struggle for the Hind In the Homeric Hymns, a god’s attributes correspond to his timai or areas of divine power. Apollo’s wish to protect his lyre and bow from Hermes expresses the fear that the younger sibling will again attempt to appropriate a share of the divine honors reserved to the elder. Neither the Hymn to Apollo nor the Hymn to Hermes assigns a specific attribute to Apollo’s province of divination. In the visual and literary versions of the Heracles myth, on the other hand, the tripod is clearly understood as an attribute of Apollo which symbolizes his powers of

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Hermes and Heracles divination. Heracles’ attempt to steal it, therefore, represents a wish to usurp Apollo’s divinatory role, if only for his own narrow purposes. The conflict between Hermes and Apollo in the Hymn to Hermes focuses on the theft of the cattle, but in the earliest known poetic version, the hymn by Alcaeus, Hermes steals the god’s arrows as well as his cattle.24 Similarly, Heracles’ struggle with Apollo is most often represented by the attempted theft of the tripod, but in art there also appear scenes in which Heracles (p.59) attempts to make off with another of Apollo’s attributes, the deer. A group of vases depicting this lesser-known episode can be distinguished from those which show Heracles’ labor of the Kerynitian hind.25 Thus the theme of “theft from Apollo” is common to the myths of Hermes and Heracles, but absent from the myths of other gods and heroes, and in both Fig. 4.4. Comparison of the “Theft from cases it is recapitulated in Apollo” theme in myths of Hermes and literature and art with different Heracles. Apolline attributes as the object(s) of the theft(s). This suggests that at the core of these related myths (when interpreted apart from specific historical contexts) lies the challenge of the theft itself, and its significance for the perpetrator’s status, while the specific attribute to be stolen holds less significance.

5. An Archaic Hexameter Struggle for the Tripod? The myth of the Struggle almost certainly predates the First Sacred War (c.592), if indeed that conflict was historical. Its origins must be dated between the rise to prominence of the Delphic sanctuary in the eighth century and the earliest visual representations of the Struggle, which arguably belong to the seventh century. The distribution of oral and visual representations of the myth through Magna Graecia, mainland Greece, and the Aegean is wide enough to suggest an oral tradition broadly disseminated in the Greek world during the seventh or early sixth century. Pausanias is the only source to state explicitly that “the poets” sing this story; unfortunately, he provides no details. For evidence suggesting that the poem or poems he cites were archaic in date, we must return to the visual record. (p.60) Zeus appears as arbiter of the dispute in early visual representations of the Struggle. The theme of Zeus as arbiter between Heracles and Ares or Apollo also surfaces on other sixth-century vases. Thus it is plausible that the versions of Ps.-Apollodorus and Hyginus, which include Zeus as arbiter, reflect the content of a poem or poems current in the early archaic period. On this view, the Struggle required the intervention of Zeus to bring it to a satisfactory resolution, Page 9 of 16

 

Hermes and Heracles because Heracles was so powerful that he might have upset the balance of the cosmos had the father of gods and men not intervened. The Boston Pyxis also suggests a version in which the gods as a group are concerned with the outcome as they witness or judge the struggle (cf. H.Herm. 325, 332). Although the poem we are positing need not have been a Homeric Hymn, it certainly would have shared what Jenny Strauss Clay has identified as a core concern of the longer hymns: the acquisition or redistribution of timai within the Olympian cosmos.26 It is in this context that we must consider the numerous stories of Heracles challenging and/or wounding other gods. Heracles is made to battle gods over and over because the motif is a mythic exploration of how he himself becomes a god. His journey toward godhead begins with intimations of the succession myth, for he represents a potential threat to the existing Olympian and cosmic order. Like Apollo and Hermes, however, he acknowledges the authority of Zeus and puts his talents to use in the service of men and gods (as when, for example, he fights in the Gigantomachy). Given Homer’s detailed knowledge of the myths of Heracles, it seems clear that epic songs about Heracles existed from very early times. Since the Struggle myth originates in the eighth century or later, an epic version, if it existed, will have belonged to the post-Homeric period. Candidates for the author of such an epic treatment include Peisander and Kreophylos of Samos, both of whom produced a work or works on Heracles.27 Alternatively, the Struggle may have been the subject of a short hexameter poem belonging to the Hesiodic tradition, along the lines of the Shield of Heracles or the Wedding of Keyx. Finally, we may return to the possibility that the story was told in a hymn similar to the extant Homeric Hymns. (The corpus we possess contains one short hymn to Heracles, which alludes to the Labors and the apotheosis of Heracles.) As noted earlier, the nature of the Struggle myth makes it a good subject for a Homeric Hymn because of its preoccupation with the distribution of divine timai and the hierarchy of the Olympians, and its demonstration of Heracles’ ability to challenge that hierarchy. There is, however, no direct evidence that such a poem existed. (p.61)

6. Heracles and the Hymn to Hermes Next we must ask whether shared elements in the Hymn to Hermes and our presumptive lost poem have a common ancestor, or were imported from one to the other, and in what order. In fact Heracles’ journey toward apotheosis as an Olympian deity and the circumstances of Hermes’ acceptance into the circle of Olympians share many striking similarities. If there was an archaic poem along the lines of the Aspis or a Homeric Hymn that detailed the Struggle, would it have borrowed from the Hymn to Hermes or the reverse? Either possibility can be entertained, though it should be noted again that the most widely accepted dating of the Hymn to Hermes (by Janko) places it in the late sixth century.28 It could be the case, therefore, that the motifs of Hermes’ desire to set up his own Page 10 of 16

 

Hermes and Heracles oracle and his threat to plunder his brother’s sanctuary are borrowed from an account of Heracles, and not the other way around. The poet of the Hymn to Hermes seems to point to certain affinities between Hermes and Heracles, while avoiding having his protagonist obviously imitate Heracles; after all, the setting of the poem is long before Heracles’ birth. However, Richardson notes that at 102–3 the poet deploys vocabulary that is applied solely to Heracles and his deeds in the Hesiodic corpus. The use of the phrase “the strong son of Zeus” (Dios alkimos huios) is especially pointed, and Hermes’ feat of throwing down the cattle is reminiscent of Heracles’ feats of strength in wrestling animals, as is the hunger that provokes him to steal the cattle in the first place. Likewise, “wide-browed cattle” (eurumetōpous bous) brings to mind a specific feat of Heracles that is pertinent to the Hymn: these words are used in the Hesiodic account of the theft of Geryon’s cattle.29 It is notable that in the Hymn to Hermes, Hermes’ threat to plunder Delphi includes a plan to steal tripods and other wealth, but Hermes does not specifically state an intention to steal the oracular tripod itself. This is the case in spite of the fact that Hermes wishes to share in Apollo’s oracular powers, and the fact that Apollo recognizes this desire and responds to it. A threat to steal Apollo’s own tripod and set up an oracle would have point in the context of the Hymn, but the poet settles instead for a more diffuse picture of Hermes as indiscriminate temple robber, even as he insists that he is going to share in Apollo’s rites (173 hosiē). While deliberately evoking comparison to Heracles in some respects, the composer of the Hymn may eschew the image of plundering the Pythia’s tripod in order to avoid seeming derivative of an existing tradition in which Heracles does precisely this. Even the account of Apollo and Hermes’ reconciliation seems to allude to Heracles, for Apollo (p.62) promises at 525–6 that “no one among immortals” will be dearer to him than Hermes, “neither a god, nor a man begotten of Zeus.” Norman O. Brown first suggested that Hermes’ sacrificial activity in the Hymn to Hermes is a reference to the establishment of the Altar of Twelve Gods at Athens.30 The location of the sacrifice, on the banks of the Alpheios river, is often thought to refer to Olympia, with Hermes providing an aetiology for the worship of the Twelve Gods there. This hypothesis has two weaknesses, the more serious of which has always been recognized: Hermes does not go to Olympia but to Pylos. Additionally, however, the worship of the Twelve Gods at Olympia possessed an anterior, or at least rival aetiology: it was founded by Heracles. Brown pointed out that Athens is the only other archaic site of a Twelve Gods cult, and that its institution in the agora, a space consecrated to Hermes and crowded with sculpted herms, makes Athens the only place where the cults of Hermes and the Twelve Gods were “interconnected in the manner presupposed by the Hymn.” If, as Johnston and Mulroy plausibly argue, the Hymn has an Athenian provenance and was performed for the inauguration of the Altar of Page 11 of 16

 

Hermes and Heracles Twelve Gods in 522/1, the parallel with Heracles, the founder of the Olympian cult, would have been quite clear.31 Because Pylos was the home of the Peisistratids’ Neleid ancestors, the message would have been that Hermes established the worship of the Twelve Gods before Heracles did so, and that the new Altar was an extension of that original inaugurating act. In short, the myths of theft from Apollo by Heracles and Hermes can be read as variant versions of the same tale type involving sibling rivalry and access to the exclusive club of Olympians; perhaps not coincidentally, Heracles and Hermes were both represented as founders of Twelve Gods cults. Finally, a pre-existing narrative of Heracles’ struggle with Apollo seems to have influenced the composer of the Hymn to Hermes. Bibliography Bibliography references: Boardman, J. 1972. “Herakles, Peisistratos and Sons.” RA: 57–72. Boardman, J. 1978. “Herakles, Delphi and Kleisthenes.” RA: 227–34. Bonner, R. J. 1912. “Administration of Justice in the Age of Hesiod.” CP 7.1: 17– 23. Bothmer, D. von. 1977. “The Struggle for the Tripod.” In U. Höckmann and A. Krug, eds. Festschrift für Frank Brommer. Mainz. 51–63. Brown, N. O. 1947. Hermes the Thief: The Evolution of a Myth. Madison. Cairns, F. 1983. “Alcaeus’ Hymn to Hermes, P. Oxy. 2743 Fr. 1 and Horace, Odes 1.10.” QUCC 13.1: 29–35. (p.63) Chappell, M. 2006. “Delphi and the Homeric Hymn to Apollo.” CQ 56.2: 331–48. Cohen, B. 1994. “From Bowman to Clubman: Herakles and Olympia.” Art Bulletin 695–715. Daux, G. 1936. Pausanias à Delphes. Paris. Defradas, J. 1972. Les thèmes de la propagande delphique. Paris. Delorme, J. 1960. Gymnasion: Étude sur les monuments consacrés a l’éducation en Grèce. Paris. Devambez, P. and F. Villard. 1978. “Une vase orientalisant polychrome au Musée du Louvre.” MMAI 62: 13–41.

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Hermes and Heracles Harrell, S. E. 1991. “Apollo’s Fraternal Threats: Language of Succession and Domination in the Homeric Hymn to Hermes.” GRBS 32: 307–29. Huxley, G. L. 1969. Greek Epic Poetry from Eumelos to Panyassis. Cambridge, MA. Janko, R. 1982. Homer, Hesiod and the Hymns: Diachronic Development in Epic Diction. Cambridge. Johnston, R. W. and D. Mulroy. 2009. “The Hymn to Hermes and the Athenian Altar of the Twelve Gods.” CW 103.1: 3–16. Johnston, S. I. 2002. “Myth, Festival and Poet: The Homeric Hymn to Hermes and its Performative Context.” CP 97: 109–32. Kunze, E. 1950. Archaische Schildbänder: Ein Beitrag zur frühgriechischen Bildgeschichte und Sagenüberlieferung. Olympische Forschungen 2. Berlin. Larson, J. 2007. Ancient Greek Cults: A Guide. New York and London. Mackay, E. A. 1995. “Narrative Tradition in Early Greek Oral Poetry and Vase Painting.” Oral Tradition 10.2: 282–303. Molyneux, J. H. 1972. “Two Problems Concerning Heracles in Pindar Olympian 9.28–41.” TAPA 103: 301–27. Neer, R. 2001. “Framing the Gift: The Politics of the Siphnian Treasury at Delphi.” ClAnt 20.2: 273–336. Papakonstantinou, Z. 2007. “Legal Procedure in the Homeric Hymn to Hermes.” Revue internationale des droits de l’Antiquité 54: 83–110. Parke, H. W. and J. Boardman. 1957. “The Struggle for the Tripod and the First Sacred War.” JHS 77.2: 276–82. Richardson, N. 2010. Three Homeric Hymns: To Apollo, Hermes and Aphrodite. Cambridge and New York. Sakowski, A. 1997. Darstellungen von Dreifusskesseln in der griechischen Kunst bis zum Beginn der Klassischen Zeit. Frankfurt. Sanchez, P. 2001. L’Amphictyonie de Pyles et de Delphes: Recherches sur son rôle historique dès origines au IIe siècle de notre ère. Historia Einzelschriften 148. Stuttgart. Shapiro, H. A. 1983. “Hērōs Theos: The Death and Apotheosis of Herakles.” CW 77.1: 7–18. Shapiro, H. A. 1984. “Herakles and Kyknos.” AJA 88: 523–9. Page 13 of 16

 

Hermes and Heracles Shapiro, H. A. 1985. “Herakles, Kyknos, and Delphi.” In H. A. G. Brijder, ed. Ancient Greek and Related Pottery: Proceedings of the International Vase Symposium in Amsterdam 12–15 April. 1984. Amsterdam. 271–4. Shapiro, H. A. 1989. Art and Cult under the Tyrants in Athens. Mainz. Stafford, E. 2012. Herakles. New York and London. (p.64) Strauss Clay, J. 2006. The Politics of Olympus. Form and Meaning in the Major Homeric Hymns. 2nd ed. London. Vergados, A. 2013. The Homeric Hymn to Hermes. Introduction, Text and Commentary. Berlin. Williams, D. 1983. “Herakles, Peisistratos and the Alcmeonids.” In F. Lissarrague and F. Thélamon, eds. Image et céramique grecque. Actes du Colloque de Rouen, 25–26 novembre 1982. Rouen. 131–40. Notes:

(1) On worship in the gymnasia beginning in the classical period see Delorme 1960: 41, 46–9 and passim. Johnston 2002: 116 n. 25 marshals evidence for their association with athletics beginning in the late sixth century. (2) Strauss Clay 2006: 15. Compare Harrell 1991. (3) Strauss Clay 2006: 98. (4) On the Hermes of the Hymn as a “working class” role model, see Johnston and Mulroy 2009: 13–14. Hephaestus cast out of Olympus by Zeus: Hom. Il. 1.590–4. By Hera: Hom. Il. 18.395–405; H.Ap. 316–21. (5) For Hermes as an earth-dwelling deity see Larson 2007: 145–6. (6) For the dikēs talanta or “scales of justice,” see Bonner 1912: 19–20 (talanta as sums of money); Papakonstantinou 2007: 94 (arbiter’s fee). (7) Parke and Boardman 1957; Boardman 1978. For Hermes’ threat as an allusion to the First Sacred War, see Brown 1947: 132 n. 40. (8) Other political interpretations: e.g. Defradas 1972: 144; Williams 1983. For problems with political/allegorical interpretations of the Struggle, see Shapiro 1989: 62; Sanchez 2001: 66; Chappell 2006: 334 with n. 19. (9) Neer 2001: 292–7. (10) Kunze 1950: 115, 225, Beil. 8.1; Sakowski 1997: 48–9 with bibliography in n. 303.

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Hermes and Heracles (11) CA3837 Louvre; Devambez and Villard 1978. (12) The Megara Hyblaea vase is not unique in illustrating this moment: on a black-figured amphora in Baltimore (Walters 48.2127), the tripod has been recovered by Apollo. This vase is also very unusual in that it includes the Pythia, seated on a throne: Bothmer 1977: 53. (13) Doubts: Sakowski 1997: 113. Shapiro 1989: 62 n. 146 described the identification as “almost certain.” Proto-Attic amphora: New York 11.210.1; Mackay 1995: 286, pl. 1. For the sword as a weapon of Heracles in Geometric and early archaic art, see Cohen 1994: 695–8. (14) Boston Pyxis: Boston 61.1256; good photographs in Boardman 1978: 230, figs. 3–6. (15) The direct influence of the Siphnian treasury can perhaps be seen in the small group of vases that depict the combatants with one or two chariots: Bothmer 1977: 52–3. (16) Fourth most frequent: Bothmer 1977: 64. Apotheosis: Shapiro 1989: 158. (17) Hdt. 1.60.4–5; Boardman 1972. Heracles in Attica: Stafford 2012: 176–80. First city: Diod. Sic. 4.39.1. (18) The literary accounts are conveniently collected and discussed by Defradas 1972: 126–46, 157–9. (19) The evidence for Heracles’ conflicts with gods is collected by Molyneux 1972: 307–9. Alexander: Ps.-Callisthenes 1.45. (20) Hdt. 8.27.5 may be a reference to the same monument. See Daux 1936: 136– 40 for discussion of the Phocian dedication. (21) Shapiro 1989: 63–4 and pl. 30e (Louvre F58, CVA Louvre 4 pl. 30.9: a blackfigure amphora showing Heracles returning the tripod in the presence of Athena and Apollo); Neer 2001: 297. (22) Kyknos: Shapiro 1984, 1985. Over a hundred examples survive, of which about three-quarters fall into the second half of the century. The subject loses its currency after c.480. (23) Zeus’ intervention: oinochoe painted by Lydos, Berlin (East) 1732, Shapiro 1984: 526; 1989: 62 with n. 155. In the Hesiodic Aspis (443–9) it is Athena who intervenes, and Zeus when the scene is depicted on vases. (24) On the Alcaic hymn (Alcaeus fr. 306, 308a–d Campbell), see Cairns 1983.

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Hermes and Heracles (25) The earliest known Athenian example (Ashmolean 1934: 333; Shapiro 1989: 64, pl. 31a, c.550) shows Apollo and Heracles facing off over the deer; behind it stands Artemis in the “mediator” position, with her head facing Heracles and her feet facing Apollo. (26) Strauss Clay 2006: 15. (27) For epics, see Huxley 1969: 99–112. (28) Janko 1982: 141–3. (29) Richardson 2010: 172 (noting also the connection of Heracles to the Twelve Gods cult at Olympia) and Vergados 2013: 314 (implicit comparison to Heracles). Cf. Hes. Theog. 291, 526, 950, fr. 35.5, 43(a) 61; Sc. 83, 320. (30) Brown 1947: 102–32. (31) Johnston and Mulroy 2009.

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Hide and Go Seek

Tracking Hermes, Pursuing Mercury John F. Miller and Jenny Strauss Clay

Print publication date: 2019 Print ISBN-13: 9780198777342 Published to Oxford Scholarship Online: March 2019 DOI: 10.1093/oso/9780198777342.001.0001

Hide and Go Seek Hermes in Homer Jenny Strauss Clay

DOI:10.1093/oso/9780198777342.003.0005

Abstract and Keywords This contribution explores Hermes’ role in both the Iliad and the Odyssey. In the former, his benevolent qualities as guide, mediator, and psychopomp are emphasized. Many of the same features return in the latter epic, but his special relationship with the Odyssey’s hero comes to the fore, especially through their common characteristics as trickster figures and as experts at disguise, seduction, and their rhetorical skills. An examination of the god’s role, especially in the Odyssey, shows that the his characteristics, modes of action, and perhaps above all his playfulness in the Homeric Hymn are already present in Homer. Keywords:   polytropos, trickster, Odysseus, disguise, epiphany, Hermaphrodite

The Odyssey names an andra polytropon as its subject. Its polytropic hero is a master of rhetoric, especially seductive rhetoric practiced on young and innocent girls; he is also a master of disguises, an expert at lies. Crafty and resourceful, he is good at inventing things, especially improvising with whatever may be at hand. Many of his most famous exploits are nocturnal, penetrating the walls of Troy on more than one occasion. Moreover, he is greedy, nosy, and a little too preoccupied with food. If these characteristics remind you of anyone, it might well be the polytropic divinity who is the subject of this volume. Both god and the hero share the peculiar and somewhat obscure epithet, πολύτροπος.1 It suggests versatility, indirection, adaptability, but also movement on a twisted path. To be sure, the connection between Hermes and Odysseus has been

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Hide and Go Seek explored by others,2 but I think there is more to say, some of it quite amusing, that plays with the similarities of these two inveterate tricksters. In the Iliad, Hermes has a rather minor role until the epic’s close.3 In passing we hear that he stole Ares away out of the jar in which the god had been imprisoned (5.390), and he secretly impregnated a maiden, appropriately named Polymele, after spying her in the chorus of Artemis (16.181–6). The mock theomachy of Book 21 pits the decidedly unheroic god up against Leto; cheerfully, he refuses to fight with the lady whom Hesiod had called the gentlest of the gods (Theog. 406–8) and chivalrously hands her the victory (p.68) without striking a blow (21.497–501). In Book 24, his apparent reputation as a body snatcher leads the gods to recommend his stealing the mutilated body of Hector from its tormenter Achilles, but Hera vetoes the decision (24.23). It is only halfway through the Iliad’s final book that the god comes to the fore. As poor old Priam makes his way to Achilles’ camp to ransom the body of Hector, “as if he were going to his death” (ὡς εἰ θάνατόνδε κιόντα, 24.328), suddenly out of the darkness someone appears (24.347–8): βῆ δ’ ἰέναι κούρῳ αἰσυμνητῆρι ἐοικὼς πρῶτον ὑπηνήτῃ, τοῦ περ χαριεστάτη ἥβη. And he came, resembling a lordly youth With the first down, when youth is the most charming.

The ancient king almost collapses with fright; stunned, his hair stands straight up—perhaps expecting the psychopomp. Disarmingly, however, the amiable youth reassures the old king and spins out a lengthy yarn: he is the seventh son in his family and an attendant of Achilles.4 But he will nevertheless accompany Priam, who need have no fear. Only when they arrive at Achilles’ tent does the god reveal himself (24.460–4): ὦ γέρον ἤτοι ἐγὼ θεὸς ἄμβροτος εἰλήλουθα Ἑρμείας· σοὶ γάρ με πατὴρ ἅμα πομπὸν ὄπασσεν. ἀλλ’ ἤτοι μὲν ἐγὼ πάλιν εἴσομαι, οὐδ’ Ἀχιλῆος ὀφθαλμοὺς εἴσειμι· νεμεσσητὸν δέ κεν εἴη ἀθάνατον θεὸν ὧδε βροτοὺς ἀγαπαζέμεν ἄντην· Old man, yes indeed, I, an immortal god, have come, Hermes; for my father sent me to accompany you. But now I’ll go back, nor will I come into Achilles’ Sight. It would be a disgrace if An immortal god should openly show such affection for a mortal.

Despite the fact that Hermes reveals himself and announces his identity, there is no shattering epiphany here, nor later when Priam makes his way back from Achilles’ encampment with the body of Hector and the god reappears. Indeed, there Hermes performs quite menial tasks, going so far as to yoke the horses and mules and himself drive the wagons back toward Troy (24.690–1). Despite the absence of the thambos (astonishment) that often accompanies epiphany,5 Page 2 of 12

 

Hide and Go Seek Hermes enacts many of his characteristic functions throughout the scene: he promises to be a helper and benefactor to Priam, performs his role as an escort (cf. πομπός, 24.437–9, 24.461), mentions lots, which are the god’s special domain (24.400), puts the Myrmidons’ guards to sleep (24.445), and magically (p.69) opens the huge doors to what has become almost a palace of Achilles’ camp (24.453–7). Often enough, critics have noted the resemblance of Priam’s journey to a katabasis where Hermes plays the role of psychopompos.6 We note too that the whole episode has transpired at night, with dawn breaking just as Hermes departs (24.694–5); the nocturnal god operates best in darkness. The lack of any striking epiphanic revelation may have something to do with the fact that this god is especially philanthropic and close to human beings; as Zeus himself notes: σοὶ γάρ τε μάλιστά γε φίλτατόν ἐστιν / ἀνδρὶ ἑταιρίσσαι (“you much enjoy being a friend to man”),7 but then, alluding to Hermes’ capricious nature, the Olympian adds, καί τ’ ἔκλυες ᾧ κ’ ἐθέλῃσθα (“and you hearken to whomever you will,” 24.334–5).8 Indeed in the Homeric Hymns, where the epiphany of the god celebrated is a normal ingredient (such as we find, for instance, in the Hymn to Aphrodite, Demeter, and Apollo), the Hymn to Hermes offers a striking exception.9 However that may be, it seems likely that, in our passage, Hermes appears to Priam in a form pretty close to his “real shape.”10 This possibility can be supported by another Homeric passage: in Book 10 of the Odyssey, Odysseus is wandering alone on Circe’s island, at a loss as to what has happened to his companions and unaware that they have been porcinified.11 Suddenly he sees someone coming (Od. 10.275–9): ἀλλ’ ὅτε δὴ ἄρ’ ἔμελλον ἰὼν ἱερὰς ἀνὰ βήσσας Κίρκης ἵξεσθαι πολυφαρμάκου ἐς μέγα δῶμα, ἔνθα μοι Ἑρμείας χρυσόρραπις ἀντεβόλησεν ἐρχομένῳ πρὸς δῶμα, νεηνίῃ ἀνδρὶ ἐοικώς, πρῶτον ὑπηνήτῃ, τοῦ περ χαριεστάτη ἥβη. But while walking through the sacred glens, I was about to arrive at the great palace of Circe of many drugs, There Hermes of the golden staff came to meet me As I was coming toward the palace, resembling a young man With the first down, when youth is at its most charming.

(p.70) Hermes here is described with the same words used in his encounter with Priam; teasingly he addresses Odysseus: πῇ δὴ αὖτ᾽, ὦ δύστηνε, δι᾽ ἄκριας ἔρχεαι οἶος, / χώρου ἄϊδρις ἐών; “where are you going, you wretch, all alone through the glens, ignorant of where you are?” The god gives him the special herb moly, which may truly be called a hermaion, an unexpected find that protects Odysseus from Circe’s magic.12 The god is immediately recognized by Odysseus. Moreover, Odysseus hardly seems surprised: here too, no epiphany. Now this immediate recognition of a god is quite exceptional and may stem from Page 3 of 12

 

Hide and Go Seek a special relationship between Hermes and Odysseus. The Odyssey itself recounts that the god especially favored Odysseus’ grandfather Autolykos (Od. 19.395–8): ὃς ἀνθρώπους ἐκέκαστο κλεπτοσύνῃ θ’ ὅρκῳ τε· θεὸς δέ οἱ αὐτὸς ἔδωκεν Ἑρμείας· τῷ γὰρ κεχαρισμένα μηρία καῖεν ἀρνῶν ἠδ’ ἐρίφων· ὁ δέ οἱ πρόφρων ἅμ’ ὀπήδει. who surpassed all men In thievery and perjury; and a god himself granted it, Hermes; for he had burned pleasing thigh pieces to him Of sheep and lambs; and the god graced him with his favor.

Since the art of deception and craftiness is also characteristic of Odysseus, perhaps he has inherited Hermes’ divine favor too; such things sometimes run in families.13 Both Odysseus and Hermes are, as already mentioned, polytropic, and traditions abound in which the god is not just the patron, but the father of Autolykos, which would make him Odysseus’ great-grandfather.14 In that case, their special relationship would be strengthened by familial ties. Odysseus actually does lay claim to the god’s patronage when he boasts of his skill at various humdrum domestic chores like tending fires, cutting wood, carving meat, and pouring wine (Od. 15.319–24).15 There are two other incidents which may hint at further links between the hero and the trickster god. In his youth, while still a child (Od. 21.21 παιδνὸς ἐών!), Odysseus was sent on a mission by his father and the other elders to bring back the sheep that the Messenians had rustled from Ithaca. In keeping with his nature, Hermes is both a rustler of herds and their protector. It seems especially piquant to realize that his junior protégé should undertake a youthful expedition to retrieve stolen herds, especially since his grandfather, (p.71) Autolykos was a notorious cattle-thief!16 In another event with a mercurial flavor, the disguised Odysseus recounts a presumably fictional ambush during a chilly night during the Trojan War (Od. 14.468–506). He recounts how, through a ruse, a fictional (?) Odysseus was able to con a Greek into leaving his cloak so that, without outright theft, the beggar managed to get the warm garment against the cold night air. Here, not only the nocturnal setting and the devious rhetoric, but also the cloak itself have Hermetic resonances.17 To be sure, Eumaeus immediately gets the point of the ainos; the beggar, like Hermes, “has spoken a word not without profit” (οὐδέ τί πω παρὰ μοῖραν ἔπος νηκερδὲς ἔειπες, Od. 14.509).

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Hide and Go Seek But back to Circe’s: as soon as the goddess realizes that her magic has not worked on Odysseus, who although protected by moly has in addition drawn his sword and made as if to attack her, she throws herself at his mercy. Odysseus’ imperviousness to her drugs causes her suddenly to realize that he must be none other than Odysseus polytropos (10.329–31): σοὶ δέ τις ἐν στήθεσσιν ἀκήλητος νόος ἐστίν. ἦ σύ γ’ Ὀδυσσεύς ἐσσι πολύτροπος, ὅν τέ μοι αἰεὶ φάσκεν ἐλεύσεσθαι χρυσόρραπις Ἀργεϊφόντης, ἐκ Τροίης ἀνιόντα θοῇ σὺν νηῒ μελαίνῃ. In your breast you have a mind that cannot be charmed. Aha! You must be Odysseus polytropos, whom always Argeiphontes of the golden staff kept telling me would come On his return from Troy along with his swift black ship.

This is the only time—other than in the first line of the proem—when the hero is given this epithet, which he shares exclusively with Hermes. Intriguing here is the iterative αἰεὶ φάσκεν.18 Has Hermes been hanging around on Circe’s island? And what was he doing there? Is that why he popped up so unexpectedly when Odysseus was approaching her palace? I cannot help thinking that there is something fishy here, especially since we have already learned that Hermes is disinclined to fly off to faraway places when there is nothing in it for him. He is, for instance, quite out of sorts when he is ordered by his father Zeus to go off to Calypso’s Ogygia, since there are no tasty sacrifices there for him to enjoy. I hesitate to say what might detain him at Circe’s, but there is some circumstantial evidence. (p.72) In the “Lay of Ares and Aphrodite” performed by Demodocus in Book 8, the divine lovers, naked and exposed, but trapped in the invisible bonds of the cuckold Hephaestus, give rise to the unquenchable laughter of the gods; thereupon Apollo questions his younger brother (Od. 8.336–42): ἦ ῥά κεν ἐν δεσμοῖσ’ ἐθέλοις κρατεροῖσι πιεσθεὶς εὕδειν ἐν λέκτροισι παρὰ χρυσῇ Ἀφροδίτῃ; Would you be willing, even though squeezed in mighty chains, To sleep in bed next to golden Aphrodite?

Shameless Hermes answers: αἲ γὰρ τοῦτο γένοιτο, ἄναξ ἑκατηβόλ’ Ἄπολλον. δεσμοὶ μὲν τρὶς τόσσοι ἀπείρονες ἀμφὶς ἔχοιεν, ὑμεῖς δ’ εἰσορόῳτε θεοὶ πᾶσαί τε θέαιναι, αὐτὰρ ἐγὼν εὕδοιμι παρὰ χρυσῇ Ἀφροδίτῃ. If only this could happen, far-thrusting Apollo! If three times as many chains of infinite length would bind us, And you gods would observe us, as well as all the goddesses, Nevertheless, I would sleep with golden Aphrodite!

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Hide and Go Seek (Now, if Hermes and Aphrodite were bound together and even fused, they might produce a Hermaphrodite!)19 Aphrodite claims in the Hymn to Aphrodite that it was Hermes who wafted her to Anchises’ steading on Ida (121–7), and there are a good number of tales of the god’s erotic adventures (e.g. Il. 16.179–86).20 His connection with the arts of seduction are clearly on display when he outfits Pandora in the Works and Days with the necessary verbal tools for erotic conquests, while in the Homeric Hymn, he exerts his erotic powers by charming his older brother with his lovely voice and lyre-playing (H. Herm. 426, 449, 455). In any case, would it be too farfetched to wonder if Hermes’ presence on Aiaia had something to do with Circe’s charms? We can at any rate be certain that his crafty descendent is by no means immune to them. Now, Homer does not really depict Odysseus as lecherous, but there is a moment when he seems to become Circe’s sex slave. Clearly, the goddess who can turn men into swine has the power to enchant. At least, while consorting with her for a year, the hero manages to forget Ithaca altogether, and it is finally his comrades who become restive and remind him—after a whole year!—that it is time to go home. Indeed, Circe, Hermes, and Odysseus share a common trait, which may explain their attraction: all are polymechanoi.21 There is even (p.73) another scabrous tale of Hermes’ erotic adventures, one to be sure not found in the Odyssey, but at least as old as Herodotus, and perhaps originating in a Satyr play. It recounts how Hermes seduced Penelope, and how from this union Pan was born.22 I cannot help but believe that our model of feminine fidelity may have fallen victim to Hermes’ charms while he was disguised as Odysseus! Let me turn now to another encounter involving disguise: in the thirteenth book of the Odyssey, the hero finds himself on the beach in Ithaca, but since Athena has covered the whole landscape with a layer of mist, he has no notion of his whereabouts. As our hero starts to wander along the shore in despair and anger on the grounds that the Phaeacians had deceived him, suddenly (Od. 13.221–5): σχεδόθεν δέ οἱ ἦλθεν Ἀθήνη, ἀνδρὶ δέμας εἰκυῖα νέῳ, ἐπιβώτορι μήλων, παναπάλῳ, οἷοί τε ἀνάκτων παῖδες ἔασι, δίπτυχον ἀμφ’ ὤμοισιν ἔχουσ’ εὐεργέα λώπην· ποσσὶ δ’ ὑπὸ λιπαροῖσι πέδιλ’ ἔχε, χερσὶ δ’ ἄκοντα. Athena approached him, Likening herself to a young man, a shepherd, Tenderly reared, like the children of kings, With a double and finely worked cloak around his shoulders; And on his shining feet, he had sandals, and in his hand a staff.

The whole encounter between Odysseus and Athena plays itself out like a game of cat and mouse.23 Each of the players tries to trump or trip up the other. This longest dialogue in Homer between a god and a mortal centers on the theme of disguise and revelation, appearance and reality. We cannot go through the whole scene here, but we can see that the game starts right at the beginning of the Page 6 of 12

 

Hide and Go Seek scene where, I believe, Athena disguises herself…as Hermes! I note in passing that the masquerade may already have been hinted at in Book 1, where Athena, as she makes her way to Ithaca, dons Hermes’ golden sandals! (1.96–8 cf. 5.44– 6, Il. 24.340–2). It has in fact been suggested that Hermes was originally the sole divine patron of Odysseus, but the epic, in the interest of white-washing its hero and making him more respectable, gave Athena that role—though vestiges of the original version occasionally make themselves felt.24 Be that as it may, one wonders what might motivate Athena to disguise herself as Hermes. Does she think, perhaps, that if Odysseus sees his patron deity, he will be caught off balance, will immediately trust him, and tell all (p.74) without reservation? Well, that is not the way our man operates (Od. 13.253–5): καί μιν φωνήσας ἔπεα πτερόεντα προσηύδα· οὐδ’ ὅ γ’ ἀληθέα εἶπε, πάλιν δ’ ὅ γε λάζετο μῦθον, αἰὲν ἐνὶ στήθεσσι νόον πολυκερδέα νωμῶν. Addressing him [or her] he spoke winged words, Nor indeed did he speak the truth, but he swallowed his words, Always wielding a mind in his breast, bent on profit.

Our Odysseus trusts neither god nor man. Immediately, without hesitation, he launches into the first of his Cretan tales, a masterful account of how he found himself on an isolated beach, encumbered by an embarrassingly huge treasure trove. Finally Athena transforms herself into a beautiful woman (Od. 13.287–95): μείδησεν δὲ θεὰ γλαυκῶπις Ἀθήνη, χειρί τέ μιν κατέρεξε· δέμας δ’ ἤικτο γυναικὶ καλῇ τε μεγάλῃ τε καὶ ἀγλαὰ ἔργα ἰδυίῃ, καί μιν φωνήσασ’ ἔπεα πτερόεντα προσηύδα· “κερδαλέος κ’ εἴη καὶ ἐπίκλοπος, ὅς σε παρέλθοι ἐν πάντεσσι δόλοισι, καὶ εἰ θεὸς ἀντιάσειε. σχέτλιε, ποικιλομῆτα, δόλων ἄατ’, οὐκ ἄρ’ ἔμελλες, οὐδ’ ἐν σῇ περ ἐὼν γαίῃ, λήξειν ἀπατάων μύθων τε κλοπίων, οἵ τοι πεδόθεν φίλοι εἰσίν.” The goddess grey-eyed Athena smiled, And took him by the hand; she likened herself in build to a woman Beautiful and big, an expert at splendid works. And addressing him, she spoke winged words: “He would have to be a rogue and a thief who could get the best of you With all your tricks, insatiable in your ruses; you couldn’t Even in your own land leave off deception And cheating words which are dear to you from head to toe.”

The game between these two continues, but we cannot follow it here.

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Hide and Go Seek The special connection between Odysseus and Hermes surfaces in yet another passage. When Odysseus suddenly appears in the palace of Alcinoos, all the Phaeacians are dumb-struck and astonished (Od. 7.136–45): εὗρε δὲ Φαιήκων ἡγήτορας ἠδὲ μέδοντας σπένδοντας δεπάεσσιν ἐυσκόπῳ Ἀργειφόντῃ, ᾧ πυμάτῳ σπένδεσκον, ὅτε μνησαίατο κοίτου. αὐτὰρ ὁ βῆ διὰ δῶμα πολύτλας δῖος Ὀδυσσεὺς πολλὴν ἠέρ’ ἔχων, ἥν οἱ περίχευεν Ἀθήνη, ὄφρ’ ἵκετ’ Ἀρήτην τε καὶ Ἀλκίνοον βασιλῆα. ἀμφὶ δ’ ἄρ’ Ἀρήτης βάλε γούνασι χεῖρας Ὀδυσσεύς, καὶ τότε δή ῥ’ αὐτοῖο πάλιν χύτο θέσφατος ἀήρ. (p.75) οἱ δ’ ἄνεω ἐγένοντο δόμον κάτα φῶτα ἰδόντες, θαύμαζον δ’ ὁρόωντες… And he found the rulers and councilors of the Phaeacians Pouring libations in their cups to sharp-eyed Argeiphontes, To whom they were accustomed to pour libations last, when going to bed. But long suffering splendid Odysseus went through the palace Covered with a thick mist, which Athena had poured around him Until he approached Arete and King Alcinoos. Odysseus threw his arms around the knees of Arete, And then, lo and behold! the divine mist poured away from him, And they became dumb-struck throughout the palace when they saw him, And they marveled gazing upon him…

The stranger appears as the Phaeacians are pouring libations to Hermes before going to bed.25 In their reactions to Odysseus’ sudden entrance, we might well recognize all the hallmarks of an epiphany: the unexpected startling appearance and the dumb-struck wonder of the mortals, stunned at the epiphany of the god. I am alluding, of course, to the proverbial expression that describes the eerie hush when a sudden silence falls amid conversation: Hermes passes (cf. Plutarch de Gar. 502). After some initial awkwardness, even after welcoming the stranger, Alcinoos still wonders if he might be a divinity. If so, it would be an unusual machination (περιμηχανοώνται) on the part of the gods, who are accustomed to join them in their feasts and (Od. 7.204–5): εἰ δ’ ἄρα τις καὶ μοῦνος ἰὼν ξύμβληται ὁδίτης, οὔ τι κατακρύπτουσιν, ἐπεί σφισιν ἐγγύθεν εἰμέν. Even if a solitary wayfarer encounters them on his way, They do not hide themselves since we are close to them.

Little does the Phaeacian king know that the startling arrival of the mysterious stranger will put an end to their nearness to the gods and even their future

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Hide and Go Seek commerce with men. Through his tales and persuasive discourse, the putative great-grandson of Hermes will charm them into oblivion. I conclude with the words of Alcinoos, who was probably neither the first nor the last to be taken in by Odysseus and his doublet, Hermes (Od. 11.363–6): ὦ Ὀδυσεῦ, τὸ μὲν οὔ τί σ’ ἐΐσκομεν εἰσορόωντες ἠπεροπῆά τ’ ἔμεν καὶ ἐπίκλοπον, οἷά τε πολλοὺς βόσκει γαῖα μέλαινα πολυσπερέας ἀνθρώπους ψεύδεά τ’ ἀρτύνοντας, ὅθεν κέ τις οὐδὲ ἴδοιτο. (p.76) Odysseus, looking at you, you don’t seem like A deceiver and thief, such as the many men Scattered far and wide whom the dark earth nurtures, And who devise lies such that no one can make them out…

Looks are deceptive, and lies hard to detect; Outis and his mercurial patron show up in the most unexpected places; then suddenly they vanish.26 The ability to charm with song and story-telling creates a bond not only between Hermes and the Odyssey’s hero, but also between Hermes and the epic poet. Like the god, the bard with his lyre enchants the tribes of men, by traversing heaven, earth, and the nether regions, and mediating the divine song of the Muses to us mortals. Finally, Homer may be the greatest trickster of all. Bibliography Bibliography references: Cursaru, G. 2012. “Les sandales d’Hermès, I: Les kala pedila Homérique d’Hermès.” RFIC 140: 20–61. Davies, M. 2008. “Hermes the Helper Figure: Odyssey 10.275–308.” Prometheus 34: 27–32. Degani, E. 1984. Studi su Ipponate. Bari. Gartziou–Tatti, A. 1994–5. “Ἴρις καί Ερμής στήν Ἰλιάδα.” Mètis 9–10: 359–75. Hutson, A. E. 1957. “The Seventh Son as a Healer.” Western Folklore 16: 56–8. Herrero de Jáuregui, Μ. 2011. “Priam’s Catabasis: Traces of the Epic Journey to Hades in Iliad 24.” TAPA 141: 37–68. Lebassi, A. 2009. “The Erotic Goddess of the Syme Sanctuary.” AJA 113: 521–45. Marinatos, N. 2003. “Striding across Boundaries: Hermes and Aphrodite as Gods of Initiation.” In D. Dodd and C. Faraone, eds. Initiation in Ancient Greek Rituals and Narratives: New Critical Perspectives. London. 130–51. Page 9 of 12

 

Hide and Go Seek Maronitis, D. N. 1974. Αναζήτησι καί Νόστος τοῦ Ὀδυσσέα. Athens. Michel, C. 2008. “Hermes in der Odyssee.” WJA 32: 11–34. Pratt, L. 1993. Lying and Poetry from Homer to Pindar: Falsehood and Deception in Ancient Greek Poetics. Ann Arbor. Russo, J. A. 1997. “A Jungian Analysis of Odysseus.” In P. Young-Eisendrath and T. Dawson, eds. A Cambridge Companion to Jung. Cambridge. 253–68. Russo, J. A. 2000. “Athena and Hermes in Early Greek Poetry: Doubling and Complementarity.” In M. Cannatà Fera and S. Grandolini, eds. Poesia e religione in Grecia: Studi in onore di G. Aurelio Privitera. Naples. 595–603. Shelmerdine S. C. 1986. “Odyssean Allusions in the Fourth Homeric Hymn.” TAPA 116: 49–63. Stanford, W. B. 1963. The Ulysses Theme. Ann Arbor. Strauss Clay, J. 1983. The Wrath of Athena: Gods and Men in the Odyssey. Princeton. (p.77) Versnel, H. S. 2011. Coping with the Gods: Wayward Readings in Greek Theology. Leiden. Vergados, A. 2011. “The Homeric Hymn to Hermes: Humour and Epiphany.” In A. Faulkner, ed. The Homeric Hymns: Interpretive Essays. Oxford. 82–104. Vergados, A. 2013. The Homeric Hymn to Hermes. Introduction, Text and Commentary. Berlin. Wathelet, P. 1988. “Priam aux Enfers ou le retour du corps d’Hector.” Études Classiques 56: 321–35. Wathelet, P. 2014. “Hermès chez Homère ou le dieu officieux.” In S. Perceau and O. Szerwiniack, eds. Polutropia: d’Homère à nos jours. Mélanges offerts à Danièle Aubriot. Paris. 39–64. (p.78) Notes:

(1) H.Herm. 13 and 439. Other shared epithets: ποικιλομήτης: H.Herm. 155, 514; Il. 11.482; Od. 3.163, 7.168, 13.293, 22.115, 202, 281; πολύμητις: H.Herm. 319; passim in both Iliad and Odyssey. (2) Vergados 2013: 65–7; Michel 2008; Pratt 1993: 63–73; Shelmerdine 1986; Stanford 1963: esp. 8–24 and 66–89. (3) For an overview of Hermes in Homer, see Wathelet 2014.

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Hide and Go Seek (4) The widespread belief in the seventh son, especially in Irish folklore, identifies him as a seer and a healer. See Hutson 1957: 56–8. The tradition is alive: an apparently dreadful movie as well as a pop song were called “The Seventh Son.” (5) Note, in contrast, the almost epiphanic arrival of Priam himself, marked by θάμβος (24.482–3). (6) For Priam’s journey as a katabasis, see Wathelet 1988 and most recently Herrero 2011 and bibliography therein. Cursaro 2012 emphasizes the psychopompic character of Hermes in this scene, while Gartziou-Tatti 1994–5 dwells on his role as mediator. Surely both characteristics—and more—are operative throughout the episode. (7) For Hermes’ ambiguous nature, uneasily situated between god and man, see Versnel 2011: 309–77. Hermes is addressed as φιλανθρωπότατε…δαιμόνων at Ar. Pax 392. (8) There may be another joke in Hermes’ elaborate refusal of Priam’s offer of a fine goblet (24.429–36), since Hermes is known as a lover of gifts and possibly open to bribes. Herrero 2011: 58 is more solemn in seeing the cup as another katabatic resonance. (9) Cf. Vergados 2011. (10) Cursaru 2012: 40, however, believes that both in the Iliad and in Od. 10 Hermes is disguised, and tries to explain away Odysseus’ immediate recognition of the god in the latter scene. (11) The two had a near encounter at Calypso’s: Hermes had flown away before Odysseus reappeared, but “he sat down on the chair whence Hermes had arisen” (5.195–6). (12) Davies 2008 notes the parallels between Hermes in this scene and the “Helper Figure” found in countless folktales. (13) Especially striking is Diomedes’ relationship with Athena, which seems inherited from her closeness with his father Tydeus. (14) Cf. [Hesiod] fr. 64 M-W. (15) Cf. later Ar. Pax 201–2, on which see Beta and Moodie in this volume. (16) Cf. [Hesiod] fr. 67 M-W. He was able to hide his thefts by changing the animals’ color or brands.

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Hide and Go Seek (17) For Hermes’ special affinity for cloaks, see Capra and Nobili in this volume and Degani 1984: 168–70. See also [Hesiod] fr. 66 M-W. where Autolykos and Hermes are mentioned along with cloaks (?) and other items of clothing. (18) H.Herm. 13 and 439. Maronitis 1974: 83 suggests that it was Hermes who used that shared epithet πολύτροπος when he foretold Odysseus’ arrival at Circe’s. (I owe this reference to Athanassios Vergados.) (19) Hermes and Aphrodite seem to be worshipped together in the very old sanctuary of Syme on Crete, which in fact provides the earliest known images of Hermes. Aphrodite, not named until the Hellenistic period, is represented as bound! Cf. Lebassi 2009 and Marinatos 2003. (20) See Farrell in this volume. (21) In addition to being a standing epithet of Odysseus, πολυμήχανος is used of Hermes (H.Herm. 319); and Odysseus ascribes πολυμηχανίη to Circe (Od. 23.321). (22) Hdt. 2.145. Cf. Cic. ND 3.56; other versions have various or even all the suitors impregnating her. (23) Strauss Clay 1983: 186–212. (24) See Russo 1997 and 2000, and Stanford 1963: esp. 12–19. (25) The ritual fits nicely with Hermes as “bringer of dreams” and psychopomp as well as his general connections with the nocturnal. (26) Cf. Od. 8.552, 14.122.

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Hermes Iambicus

Tracking Hermes, Pursuing Mercury John F. Miller and Jenny Strauss Clay

Print publication date: 2019 Print ISBN-13: 9780198777342 Published to Oxford Scholarship Online: March 2019 DOI: 10.1093/oso/9780198777342.001.0001

Hermes Iambicus Andrea Capra Cecilia Nobili

DOI:10.1093/oso/9780198777342.003.0006

Abstract and Keywords The present chapter explores the iambic role of Hermes both within and outside iambic poetry, with a focus on the Homeric Hymn to Hermes, which can be construed as the mythical pre-history of the iambic genre, and on the fragments of Hipponax, whose predilection for Hermes calls for an explanation. In both cases, Iambic Hermes emerges as a metamorphic trickster, promoting poetic and linguistic innovation with an unprecedented emphasis on the signifier. This suggests a strong continuity between iambic poetry and its “pre-history.” Keywords:   iambus, Hipponax, Homeric Hymn to Hermes, trickster, Hermes, symposium, Callimachus, Archilochus

In archaic Greece, iambus is not just a poetic genre defined by meter, dialect, diction, and other formal features.1 The “idea of iambus” extends to works that present thematic or contextual affinities with iambus proper.2 Accordingly, the present chapter explores the iambic role of Hermes both within and outside iambic poetry, with a focus on the Homeric Hymn to Hermes, which can be construed as the mythical pre-history of the iambic genre, and on the fragments of Hipponax, whose predilection for Hermes is a well-known fact. In both cases, Iambic Hermes will emerge as a metamorphic trickster, promoting poetic and linguistic innovation with an unprecedented emphasis on the signifier. This suggests a strong continuity between iambic poetry and its “pre-history.” By contrast, Hermes the trickster does not seem to be at home in the Hellenistic

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Hermes Iambicus revival of (chol)iambic poetry, and in Callimachus’ Iambi Hipponax’s Hermes seems to turn into a rather sedate figure.

1. Homeric Hymn to Hermes Two archetypal poems in the history and the evolution of iambic poetry have found their way into the collection of the Homeric Hymns. The Hymn to Demeter displays the protos heuretes of iambic poetry: with her jests and mockeries, Iambe, the old servant of Metaneira, rouses Demeter from her grief for the loss of Persephone, thus opening the path to a long and enduring poetic tradition.3 No less interesting is an episode from the Hymn to Hermes: (p.80) in a sympotic setting, baby Hermes performs the first iambic poem in the history of Greek literature. The themes and sympotic setting of this and other passages in the Hymn are fully comparable to contemporary iambic poetry. The content of the Hymn is well known: in order to obtain from Apollo the timai he aspires to, baby Hermes makes a lyre out of a tortoise shell and steals the cattle of his brother. The Hymn, which has been defined as “the most amusing of all the earlier Greek hexameter poems,”4 features the most vivid account of the adventurous deeds of an infant god in archaic literature. Among other things, Hermes is also a virtuoso singer who performs two archetypal songs, located at the beginning and at the end of the Hymn. In fact, his song is defined as marvelous and completely new (443 θαυμασίην γὰρ τήνδε νεήφατον ὄσσαν). The fabrication of the lyre is carefully described at lines 30–51 and highlights Hermes’ inclination for manual work and handicrafts.5 When the lyre is ready, Hermes tests the sound of the strings and performs his first song: αὐτὰρ ἐπεὶ δὴ τεῦξε φέρων ἐρατεινὸν ἄθυρμα πλήκτρῳ ἐπειρήτιζε κατὰ μέλος, ἡ δ᾽ ὑπὸ χειρὸς σμερδαλέον κονάβησε·6 θεὸς δ᾽ ὑπὸ καλὸν ἄειδεν ἐξ αὐτοσχεδίης πειρώμενος, ἠΰτε κοῦροι ἡβηταὶ θαλίῃσι παραιβόλα κερτομέουσιν, ἀμφὶ Δία Κρονίδην καὶ Μαιάδα καλλιπέδιλον ὡς πάρος ὠρίζεσκον ἑταιρείῃ φιλότητι, ἥν τ᾽ αὐτοῦ γενεὴν ὀνομακλυτὸν ἐξονομάζων· ἀμφιπόλους τ᾿ ἐγέραιρε καὶ ἀγλαὰ δώματα νύμφης, καὶ τρίποδας κατὰ οἶκον ἐπηετανούς τε λέβητας.7 When he had made it, he carried the lovely plaything and tried it out with a plectrum in a tuned scale, and it rang out impressively under his hand. The god sang beautifully to it, impromptu, experimentally, as young men at dinners make ribald interjections: he sang about Zeus son of Kronos and fair-shod Maia, how they used to talk love in companionable intimacy, and declaring his own renowned lineage. He also celebrated the servants of the nymph, and her splendid home, the tripods disposed about it and the unending cauldrons.8

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Hermes Iambicus Hermes’ song has been defined as a mise en abyme, because we gather the impression that the poet is trying to compare his own poem to the song of (p. 81) Hermes, thus creating an overlap between himself and the god.9 The content of Hermes’ song supports this view: just like the Hymn itself, it begins by mentioning the love between Zeus and Maia (57–8). The following lines, however, are marked by an abrupt change: Hermes praises his ancestors, the wealth of his mother’s palace and her servants (59–61), whereas the Hymn describes Maia as a lonely nymph, who lives in a shady cave (5–6).10 The deviation is telling: Hermes presents a bombastic self-promotion of himself and his birthplace, which is in line with the baby god’s boasting attitude throughout the poem. As has been noted, the song calls to mind the Lay of Ares and Aphrodite as recounted in Odyssey 8. By having Hermes sing a licentious song to the sound of the lyre, however, the poet points also to a different model, namely sympotic iambic song.11 The first element to be noticed is that Hermes improvises his song (ἐξ αὐτοσχεδίης). This is a characteristic feature of sympotic poetry, which must fit the occasion and the reactions or expectations of the audience.12 Secondly, the erotic content of Hermes’ song is typically iambic. The verb ὀαρίζω retains its sexual overtones (as in Il. 22.127–8), which are reinforced by the phrase ἑταιρείῃ φιλότητι: this locution, featuring the newly formed adjective ἑταιρεῖος from the noun ἑταίρα (courtesan), is modeled on Hesiod’s ἐρατῇ φιλότητι (Theog. 970), which refers to the love between Iasion and Demeter. Hermes’ song is thus represented as “something new,” as an innovative and seducing form of poetry, in opposition to Apollo’s traditional music.13 The most important iambic feature of Hermes’ performance is the sympotic context of the passage and, more generally, of the whole Hymn. Hermes’ song, in fact, is apparently compared to sympotic songs, performed by youths who poke fun at each other (55–6 ἠΰτε κοῦροι ἡβηταὶ θαλίῃσι παραιβόλα κερτομέουσιν). The verb κερτομέω, “to mock, taunt, jest,”14 is found in several passages of the Hymn (300, 335, 338), thus becoming the hallmark of Hermes. The verb points to sympotic aischrologia as defined in fr. 27 W2 (“…we ought to laugh and joke, behaving properly, take pleasure in being together, engage (p.82) in foolish talk with one another, and utter jests such as to arouse laughter…”).15 Abusive language combined with erotic content is a quintessentially iambic feature, as is clear from Archilochus’ Cologne epode. The noun ἡβηταί appears for the first time here, but has several parallels in sympotic contexts.16 Sympotic allusions are a leitmotif of the Hymn. The killing of the cows may be construed as a sacrifice to the twelve gods,17 followed by a banquet, dais, to which all the gods are invited. The meat is divided into equal portions allotted by drawing, so that none of the gods can complain.18 They all receive a part of γέρας, an honorary prize consisting in a part of the back.19 Hermes thus invites the gods to a banquet characterized by fairness and equality. As a result, the Page 3 of 17

 

Hermes Iambicus scene calls to mind the classical symposium rather than the Homeric banquet and its hierarchical principles.20 The notion of dais resurfaces when Hermes envisages the tortoise as a lyre and calls her δαιτὸς ἑταίρη (31), companion of the banquet.21 Later on, after Hermes’ second lyre performance, Apollo uses the same phrase to address his brother (436 βουφόνε…δαιτὸς ἑταῖρε), thus creating a sort of convivial frame for the whole narrative.22 Despite its theogonic content, this new song is also sympotic in character, as is clear from Apollo’s reaction: the god is familiar with sympotic songs performed by youths (454 οἷα νέων θαλίῃς ἐνδέξια ἔργα πέλονται), but none can compare to Hermes’. Hermes performs his new song at Apollo’s left (424–5) and then passes the lyre to his brother, following the usual left-to-right pattern of the Greek symposium.23 Hermes’ song induces εὐφροσύνη (“merriment”), ἔρως (“love”), and ἥδυμος ὕπνος (“pleasant sleep,” 449). In archaic lyric poetry, these three elements are seen as integral to the symposium:24 εὐφροσύνη is famously highlighted in Xenophanes’ sympotic “manifesto” (fr. 2. W2 κρητὴρ δ᾿ ἕστηκεν μεστὸς ἐ (p.83) υφροσύνης),25 while ἔρως and ὕπνος are crucial to sympotic ἡδονή.26 When Hermes gives Apollo the newly invented lyre, he insists that he bring it into banquets (δαῖτα θάλειαν), dances (χορὸν ἱμερόεντα), and feasts (φιλοκυδέα κῶμον), as it produces merriment (εὐφροσύνην). Once again, song and music are seen as part of merry symposia. These sympotic entanglements have led Jenny Strauss Clay to posit a sympotic setting for the performance of the Homeric Hymns.27 The comparison with the Lay of Ares and Aphrodite in the Odyssey also suggests that the Homeric Hymns could work as self-contained songs as well as rhapsodic proems.28 Remarkably, both Demodocus’ and Hermes’ songs are called ἀναβολαί (“proems”), but neither introduces a longer performance. Similarly, the major Hymns could easily become independent songs to be performed in sympotic settings. This is particularly appropriate in the case of Hermes, whose cult, especially at Athens, was by and large “private.” No large-scale festival was devoted to Hermes, and the most important celebration was the τετραδισταί, held for the god’s birthday on the fourth day of each month. Intriguingly, the τετραδισταί consisted in banquets organized by individual families.29 In the Hymn, Hermes acts as an iambic poet. His language has been defined by Vergados as “deceptively childish.”30 His canny and ambivalent words are meant to confuse the interlocutor (317 αἱμυλίοισι λόγοισιν), and he also exhibits a noteworthy rhetoric, occasionally combined with a redundant epic tone.31 Hermes indulges in lying, refuses to admit his guilt, brags about his capacity for stealing. The young god is also depicted as a glutton (the reason that leads him to steal Apollo’s cattle is primarily hunger), which is typical of iambic poets and corresponds to their ostensible inclination for bodily instincts.32 This becomes Page 4 of 17

 

Hermes Iambicus manifest in the scene of the so-called omen. When Apollo accuses the baby god of theft and raises him from his cradle, Hermes replies with a fart (296 τλήμονα γαστρὸς ἔριθον ἀτάσθαλον ἀγγελιώτην), which prompts a laugh from Apollo.33 The parodic effect is ensured by the adjective τλήμων (LSJ: “patient, steadfast, stout-hearted”), which in epic poems usually modifies words such as θυμός or ψυχή and refers to “hard-suffering heroes” such as Odysseus.34 Word games of this kind, combined with a focus on bodily (p.84) functions, are typical of iambic and comic poetry, as is clear from both Archilochus and Hipponax.35 Hermes’ affinity with the iambic world is also traceable in the initiation of Archilochus as recounted in Mnesiepes’ inscription. Besides some points of vocabulary, both narratives share a number of elements, such as cows, lyre, bargaining, and mockeries.36 To be sure, there is no need to argue that the initiation story found in Mnesiepes’ inscription was influenced by the Hymn, though the latter is arguably earlier.37 However that may be, it is far more interesting to note the following: by describing the invention of the lyre and of a new mode of making music, the Hymn invests the iambic poet, embodied by the god Hermes, with an archetypal aura. The iambic description of Hermes found in the Hymn is in line with his characterization as a trickster.38 Although he is just a newborn baby, he employs his metis in a variety of activities that comprise artisanal abilities (the construction of the lyre), inventiveness (the discovery of fire), theft, musicality, and rhetoric, thus confirming his polutropos nature, which is mentioned in the very first lines of the poem.39 However, Hermes does not emerge as a malevolent character. With humor and wit, he aims at reconciling conflict among the other gods, and among gods and humans.40 From his very first steps, he proves an effective mediator, something that will make him one of the most beloved and familiar gods of the Greek pantheon.

2. Hipponax and Archaic Iambus As we have seen, Hermes, as thief and trickster, is relevant to what we may call the pre-history of iambus as discernible in the Hymn to Hermes, and his affair with music and Apollo calls to mind the poetic initiation of Archilochus. However, we find no traces of the god in the scanty remnants of Semonides, Ananius, and other archaic poets conventionally referred to as iambographers, and the god plays virtually no role in the extant fragments of Archilochus himself.41 By contrast, Hermes is a famously central figure in the world of Hipponax. (p.85) The first thing to note is that Hipponax seems to have an everyday relationship with Hermes: ].[ ἀ]λ̣οιᾶσθα[ι τῆς] ἀνοιίης ταύτη[ς Page 5 of 17

 

Hermes Iambicus τὴ]ν γνάθον παρα].[ ]ι̣ κηρίνους ἐποι[ ]κἀνετίλησε[ ]χρυσολαμπέτωι ῥ̣άβδ̣ω̣ι̣ ]α̣ν ἐγγὺς ἑρμῖνος. ⌞Ἑρμῆς δ’ ἐς Ἱππών⌟ακτος ἀκολουθήσας το]ῦ κυνὸς τὸν φιλήτην ]ὡς ἔχιδνα συρίζει To be cudgeled.…Of this foolishness.…(striking?) his jaw…made of wax…and he shat upon. Staff gleaming with gold…near the bed post. And Hermes providing an escort to the house of Hipponax…the dog stealer…hisses like a viper (fr. 79 Dg. = 79 W2 1–11, trans. Gerber 1999).42

As in Homer, Hermes does not seem to induce the kind of amazement that is normally integral to divine epiphanies.43 This is in tune with the way Hipponax’s characters (including his own persona) address the god in the fragments we shall discuss. Another noticeable thing is the pun between the genitive herminos (“the bed post”) and Hermes himself.44 Again, this is in line with another feature that we shall come across below, namely Hipponax’s fascination with the name of the god. Let us now examine one of Hipponax’s longest and most celebrated fragments (fr. 42 Dg. = 32 W2): a. Ἑρμῆ, φίλ’ Ἑρμῆ, Μαιαδεῦ, Κυλλήνιε, ἐπεύχομαί τοι, κάρτα γὰρ κακῶς ῥιγῶ καὶ βαμβαλύζω b. δὸς χλαῖναν Ἱππώνακτι καὶ κυπασσίσκον καὶ σαμβαλίσκα κἀσκερίσκα καὶ χρυσοῦ στατῆρας ἑξήκοντα τοὐτέρου τοίχου. a. Hermes, dear Hermes, cub of Maia, Cyllenian I pray to you, for I’m trembling, terribly trembling, and my teeth they’re tick-tickin’… b. Give Hipponax a chlaina, and a tiny tunic and tiny sandals, and tiny bootees, and in the way of gold sixty pounds on the other side.

(p.86) Indeed, “the speaker here is assuming or feigning familiarity with Hermes.”45 Degani has rightly stressed that the form Μαιαδεῦ has a jocular ring, as the suffix is normally related to animals (whence my translation, “cub of Maia”).46 On the one hand, this calls to mind the baby god of the Hymn and is in line with the diminutives that abound in lines 4–5: it is tempting to envisage the tiny tunic, sandals, and bootees as especially appropriate for an infant. On the other, the funny vocative triggers a series of further jokes: lines 2–3 are characterized by alliteration as a way of expressing the speaker’s trembling, and the diminutives found in lines 4–5 are perhaps in contrast with the very concrete Page 6 of 17

 

Hermes Iambicus requests found at the beginning (chlainai, Hermes’ specialty,47 are sturdy clothes) and at the end, as the poem is famously concluded by a request for money (χρυσοῦ στατῆρας ἑξήκοντα τοὐτέρου τοίχου). The concluding request has puzzled scholars for at least two reasons. First, there seems to be no way to assess the value of “sixty staters.” One supposes it must be much money, and yet the relationship with the other items that form the speaker’s request is far from clear. Second, the phrase τοὐτέρου τοίχου is hotly debated. Some take it as a reference to housebreaking, others to ships, still others to scales.48 All of these solutions are compatible with a prayer to Hermes, as a protector of either thieves or merchants. The Homeric usage may be of some help: τοίχου τοῦ ἑτέροιο / ἑτέρου (Il. 9.219, 24.598, Od. 23.90) is a locative phrase, meaning “on the opposite wall” or, more generally, “on the opposite side.” As noted by Degani, this makes the reference to scales more likely, all the more so because a variant that has convincingly been interpreted as a gloss renders ἑτέρου with νερτέρου, which may point to the lower balance pan.49 A solution to both problems, i.e. staters and toichos, is perhaps suggested by Aristophanes’ appropriation of fr. 41 in Assemblywomen, when the beggar Euaion shows up naked and asks the ekklesia—among other things—for a chlaina.50 Just like Hipponax, Euaion specifies the amount of staters he needs, which is arguably the worth of a chlaina. This suggests that Hipponax’s sixty staters, too, represent the price of the items he has prayed for, which in turn squares well with the possible reference to scales (τοὐτέρου τοίχου = the other side of the scales). The three Homeric passages that feature τοίχου τοῦ ἑτέροιο / ἑτέρου all revolve around the juxtaposition between two heroes. To grasp the humor of the scene, then, we should perhaps imagine Hermes as he holds his scales. Interestingly, this matches the traditional iconography of the (p.87) psychostasia, where Hermes “weighs” two heroes.51 Moreover, it is important to note that “stater” is both a coin and a balance weight.52 The ambiguity was surely much felt at the time of Hipponax, when coinage was a novelty. I suggest that a twofold double entendre lies behind the image. Hermes looks like a merchant who weighs and juxtaposes his goods for sale, but “Hipponax,” the buyer, wants to have both the goods (i.e. the various garments) and the balance weights, which are in fact precious golden coins. All in all, Hipponax’s prayer may be construed as a funny (or perhaps ludicrous) attempt at outsmarting and deceiving Hermes in things commercial. As a result, Hermes is referred to as the god of both merchants and thieves, and the poet engages with him in a battle of wits that may recall that between Hermes himself and Apollo in the Homeric Hymn.

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Hermes Iambicus The invocation of fr. 42 is apparently not the only one to Hermes. To begin with, we also have fr. 35 West, which Degani moves to an earlier section of his edition and prints as number 10:53 ἐρέω γὰρ οὕτω· “Κυλλήνιε Μαιάδος Ἑρμῆ” I will say like this: “Oh Cyllenian Hermes, son of Maia.”

This deserves a brief discussion. In comparison with fr. 42.1, fr. 10 does not feature the comic Μαιαδεῦ, “cub of Maia.” Rather, the invocation to Hermes is introduced by an explicit statement of the “I,” namely “I will say like this” (ἐρέω γὰρ οὕτω). This arguably points to a deliberate and marked variation, which is palpable in the sudden adoption of a dactylic rhythm in what follows. Remarkably, the dactylic invocation to Hermes is identical to the second half of a hexameter found in the Homeric Hymn to Hermes (408 μακρὸν ἀέξασθαι, Κυλλήνιε Μαιάδος Ἑρμῆ).54 All in all, the address to Hermes sounds selfconsciously grand and respectable, indeed a far cry from fr. 42. The two versions may well belong to the same poem or the same performative context, and may be taken as different “takes” reflecting the poet’s (and his favorite god’s) metamorphic voice. Two more invocations to Hermes are found in the remnants of Hipponax’s poetry, and they can be both read along the same lines: ἔβωσε Μαίης παῖδα, Κυλλήνης πάλμυν. He called upon Maia’s son, sultan of Cyllene. (fr. 1 Dg. = 3 W2, trans. Gerber 1999) Ἑρμῆ κυνάγχα, Μηιονιστὶ Κανδαῦλα φωρῶν ἑταῖρε, δεῦρό μοι σκαπερδεῦσαι. (p.88) Hermes, dog throttler, Candaules in Maeonian, companion of thieves, come give me a hand(?)55 (fr. 2 Dg. = 3a W2, trans. Gerber 1999)

If, as it seems very likely, both fragments belong to the same poem or performance, the first one should be taken as introducing the second.56 This results in an intriguing mirror effect. Both the “indirect” (“he called upon,” etc.) and the “direct” (“Hermes, dog throttler,” etc.) invocations feature a juxtaposition of a Greek with a non-Greek form, and as the second fragment makes clear (“in Maeonian”), we should take this as a self-conscious move on the part of Hipponax. Once again, Hermes seems to be engaged in what we may call a form of virtuoso variation involving different languages and, in the second fragment, a sample of “translation.” Indeed, Hermes is responsible for a literally “hermeneutic” achievement. How are we to assess these facts? Hipponax’s poetry, in general, shows a tendency toward repetitio cum variatione,57 and the same is generally true for invocations to the gods, so this is surely a possible way to account for this phenomenon. However, Fränkel noted long ago that the exuberance of Page 8 of 17

 

Hermes Iambicus Hipponax’s invocations far exceeds the kind of variatio found in normal prayers.58 As such, it calls for a more specific explanation, one that may account for such exceptional phenomena as the juxtaposition between dactylic and iambic rhythm, as well as that between Greek and non-Greek words. The expression “I will say like this” draws attention to the signifier, and both invocations are in fact linguistically marked as low and high, respectively, according to a principle that can be easily extended to the juxtaposition between Greek and non-Greek forms. Again, this calls to mind the characterization of Hermes in the Hymn, which, as we noted, highlights the god’s rhetoric as well as his redundant epic tone as he outsmarts Apollo. By challenging and mocking the god, moreover, Hipponax resembles Archilochus as he makes fun of the Muses in the initiation narrative reported by Mnesiepes.59 This detail is peculiar to the poetic initiation of Archilochus as opposed to those of Hesiod and Epimenides, which it clearly resembles. While Hesiod and Epimenides are both taunted by the gods, in the story of Archilochus it is the poet who mocks the Muses. This reversal of the traditional pattern is arguably designed to highlight the specific quality of iambic poetry, and it is hardly a coincidence that Hipponax, too, mocks and tries to outsmart “iambic” Hermes.60 (p.89) Iambic poetry was a relatively ephemeral phenomenon. Needless to say, it nourished Attic comedy. Yet it was precisely the genre’s “iambic” feature of ad personam slander that gradually died away during the fourth century BCE, when “old” comedy came to be superseded by its “middle” and “new” counterparts. From a more theoretical viewpoint, not only Aristotle’s Poetics, but also Plato’s Symposium shows an awareness that iambic elements were fading away, and in both cases the demise of “iambus” is construed as a step forward in a narrative of progress.61 While there is evidence for a direct (i.e. performative) link between archaic iambus and “old” comedy,62 the same cannot be said for the extraordinary revival of Hipponax in the Hellenistic era. Poets and/or scholars read and imitated his iambi, paying a tribute to Hipponax’s verbal art and linguistic creativity, but the context is of course very different and lies beyond the scope of the present chapter.63 Let us just note that we find no trace of Hermes in what we know of Hellenistic choliambic poetry, nor in one of the most Hipponactean works of the Hellenistic age, namely the Mimiambs of Herondas. By contrast, Callimachus, who explicitly presents his Iambi as a resurrection of Hipponax’s poems, has an interesting surprise in store, as two iambi, namely 7 and 9, are devoted to a speaking statue of Hermes.64 Both poems can be described as aetiological tales, complete with an edifying moral, and in iambus 9 the god, like the Muses of the Aitia, seems to “assume the role of teacher.”65 In presenting himself as Hipponax redivivus, Callimachus could hardly dispense with Hermes, but, quite naturally, he transforms him according the new spirit of his own iambi. Hipponax, as we hear in iambus 1, may well have come back from Hades as a man of peace, yet it was not Hermes the trickster who escorted him to the learned world of Callimachus. Page 9 of 17

 

Hermes Iambicus Bibliography Bibliography references: Acosta-Hughes, B. 1996. “Callimachus, Hipponax and the Persona of the Iambographer.” MD 37: 205–16. Aloni, A. 2011. “Il dono e i doni degli dèi. Sull’identità poetica di Archiloco.” In A. Aloni and M. Ornaghi, eds. Tra panellenismo e tradizioni locali. Nuovi contributi. Messina. 141–53. (p.90) Bain, D. 2007. “Low Words in High Places: Sex, Bodily Functions, and Body Parts in Homeric Epic and Other Higher Genres.” In P. J. Finglass, C. Collard, and N. J. Richardson, eds. Hesperos. Studies in Ancient Greek Poetry Presented to M. L. West on his Seventieth Birthday. Oxford. 40–57. Benveniste, E. 1969. Le vocabulaire des institutions indo-européennes. Paris. Boedeker, B. 2016. “Coarse Poetics: Listening to Hipponax.” In L. Swift and C. Carey, eds. Iambus and Elegy. New Perspectives. Oxford. 56–73. Bonanno, M. G. 2008. “Una preghiera giambica: Aristofane, Acarnesi vv. 404– 469.” SemRom 11: 55–61. Brown, N. O. 1969. Hermes the Thief. The Evolution of a Myth. New York. Burkert, W. 1984. “Sacrificio-Sacrilegio: il trickster fondatore.” StudStor 25: 835–45. Cantilena, M. 1993. “Il primo suono della lira.” In R. Pretagostini, ed. Tradizione e innovazione nella cultura Greca da Omero all’età ellenistica. Scritti in onore di Bruno Gentili. Roma. 115–27. Capra, A. 2014. Plato’s Four Muses. The Phaedrus and the Poetics of Philosophy. Washington, DC and Cambridge, MA. Carey, C. 2008. “Hipponax narrator.” Acta Antiqua 48: 89–102. Cazzato, V. 2015. “Hipponax’ Poetic Initiation and Herodas’ Dream,” CCJ 61: 1– 14. Càssola, C. 1975. Inni Omerici. Milan. Clarke, M. 2001. “‘Heart-cutting Talk’: Homeric κερτομέω and Related Words.” CQ 51: 329–38. Clay, D. 2004. Archilochos Heros: The Cult of Poets in the Greek Polis. Washington, DC and Cambridge, MA.

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Hermes Iambicus Clayman, D. L. 1980. Callimachus’ Iambi. Leiden. Collins, D. 2004. Master of the Game. Competition and Performance in Greek Poetry. Cambridge, MA and London. Degani, E. 1984. Studi su Ipponatte. Bari. Degani, E. 1991. Hipponax. Testimonia et Fragmenta. Stuttgart and Leipzig. Degani, E. 1995. “Ipponatte e i poeti filologi.” Aevum(ant) 8: 105–36. Depew, M. 2000. “Enacted and Represented Dedications: Genre and Greek Hymn.” In M. Depew and D. D. Obbink, eds. Matrices of Genre: Authors, Canons, and Society. Cambridge, MA. 59–79. Fränkel, H. 1969. Dichtung und Philosophie des frühen Griechentums. Munich. Gärtner, T. 2008. “Kritische Bemerkungen zu den Fragmenten des Hipponax.” WS 121: 53–66. Gerber, D. E. 1999. Greek Iambic Poetry. From the Seventh to the Fifth Centuries BC. Cambridge, MA. Görgemanns, H. 1976. “Rhetorik und Poetik im Homerischen Hermeshymnus.” In H. Görgemanns and E. A. Schmidt, eds. Studien zum antiken Epos. Meisenheim am Glan. 113–28. Gottesman, A. 2008. “The Pragmatics of Homeric ‘Kertomia’.” CQ 58: 1–12. Jaillard, D. 2007. Configurations d’Hermès. Une “théogonie hermaïque.” Liège. Janko, R. 1982. Homer, Hesiod and the Hymns. Diachronic Development in Epic Diction. Cambridge. Kahn, L. 1978. Hermès passe ou l’ambiguïté de la communication. Paris. (p.91) Katz, J. T. 1999. “Homeric Hymn to Hermes 296: τλήμονα γαστρὸς ἔριθον.” CQ 49: 315–19. Lissarague, F. and P. Schmitt Pantel. 1988. “Spartizione e comunità nei banchetti greci.” In C. Grottanelli and N. F. Parise, eds. Sacrificio e società nel mondo antico. Rome and Bari. 211–32. Masson, O. 1962. Les fragments du poète Hipponax. Édition critique et commentée. Paris. Miralles, C. and J. Pòrtulas 1983. Archilochus and the Iambic Poetry. Rome. Musti, D. 2001. Il simposio nel suo sviluppo storico. Rome and Bari. Page 11 of 17

 

Hermes Iambicus Nobili, C. 2011. L’Inno Omerico a Ermes e le tradizioni locali. Milan. Nobili, C. 2013. “Il gioco nell’Inno omerico a Ermes.” In C. Torre and C. Lambrugo, eds. Il gioco e i giochi nel mondo antico. Tra cultura materiale e immateriale. Bari. 155–60. Nobili, C. 2016. “I canti di Ermes tra citarodia e rapsodia.” Lexis 34: 48–58. Ornaghi, M. 2016. Dare un padre alla commedia. Susarione e le tradizioni megaresi. Alessandria. Pòrtulas, J. 2006. “Il canto di Ermes.” In P. Mureddu and M. G. Bonanno, eds. Comicità e riso tra Aristofane e Menandro. Atti Cagliari 2005. Amsterdam. 19– 32. Richardson, N. 2010. Three Homeric Hymns. To Apollo, Hermes, and Aphrodite. Cambridge. Rotstein, A. 2010. The Idea of Iambos. Cambridge. Saetta Cottone, R. 2005. Aristofane e la poetica dell’ingiuria. Rome. Scodel, R. 2010. “Iambos and Parody.” In J. J. Clauss and M. Cuypers, eds. A Companion to Hellenistic Literature. Chichester and Malden. 251–66. Shelmerdine, S. 1984. “Hermes and the Tortoise. A Prelude to the Cult.” GRBS 25: 201–8. Strauss Clay, J. 1987. “Hermes’ Dais by the Alpheus: Hymn to Hermes 105–141.” Metis 2: 221–34. Strauss Clay, J. 1989. The Politics of Olympus. Form and Meaning in the Major “Homeric Hymns.” Princeton. Strauss Clay, J. 1997. “The Homeric Hymns.” In I. Morris and B. Powell, eds. A New Companion to Homer. Leiden, New York, and Cologne. 489–507. Strauss Clay, J. 1999. “Iliad 24.649 and the Semantics of ΚΕΡΤΟΜΕΩ.” CQ 49: 618–21. Strauss Clay, J. 2011. “The Hymns as a Genre.” In A. Faulkner, ed. The “Homeric Hymns.” Interpretative Essays. Oxford. 232–53. Vamvouri Rouffy, M. 2004. La fabrique du divin. Les “Hymnes” de Callimaque à la lumière des “Hymnes homériques” et des Hymnes épigraphiques. Liège. Vergados, A. 2011a. “Shifting Focalization in the Homeric Hymn to Hermes: The Case of Hermes’ Cave.” GRBS 51: 1–25.

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Hermes Iambicus Vergados, A. 2011b. “The Homeric Hymn to Hermes. Humor and Epiphany.” In A. Faulkner, ed. The “Homeric Hymns.” Interpretative Essays. Oxford. 82–104. Vergados, A. 2013. The “Homeric Hymn to Hermes”: Introduction, Text and Commentary. Berlin. Vetta, M. 1983. Poesia e simposio nella Grecia antica. Guida storica e critica. Rome and Bari. (p.92) West, M. L. 1989. Iambi et elegi Graeci ante Alexandrum cantati, I. 2nd ed. Oxford. West, M. L. 2003. Homeric Hymns. Homeric Apocrypha. Lives of Homer. Cambridge, MA and London. Zanetto, G. 1996. Inni Omerici. Milan. Notes:

(1) This paper is the result of a close collaboration. However, C. Nobili and A. Capra are the authors of parts 1 and 2, respectively. (2) Rotstein 2010: 3–24. (3) The context is sympotic (verses 202–9), but this symposium is only partially successful, because Demeter refuses the wine and prefers the kykeon, the ritual drink. (4) West 2003: 12. (5) The construction of the lyre is described with such words as τεκταίνομαι (25), normally used to indicate carpenters’ works (Il. 5.62), or as τεύχω, which frequently refers to metallurgy (Il. 18.483). Hermes’ attitude toward handicraft is clear also at 82–6, where he makes his own sandals, and at 109–14, where he invents the technique of lighting up the fire. (6) The sound of the lyre is σμερδαλέος, terrifying, because it is new and unheard of (Cantilena 1993). (7) H.Herm. 52–62. (8) Trans. West 2003. (9) Vamvouri Rouffy 2004; Vergados 2013: 9–14. But see the differences underlined by Nobili 2016. (10) On the shifting references to Maia’s home as a dark cave or a rich palace, see Vergados 2011a.

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Hermes Iambicus (11) See Pòrtulas 2006. (12) Cf. Strauss Clay 1989: 108–10; Richardson 2010: 163. (13) See Strauss Clay 1989: 140–3. (14) On the meaning of κερτομέω, see Strauss Clay 1999 and Clarke 2001: 337 n. 46, who notes that “the pronounced repetitions in the Homeric Hymn to Hermes (56, 300, 335, and esp. 338) suggest that this word-family may have had special significance in the context of that god’s association with tricky and wheedling language and behavior.” By contrast, Gottesman 2008 underlines the connection between kertomia and symposium (7: “kertomia was thus a kind of linguistic performance, closely associated with young men and feasts, that asserted status indirectly”). See also Nobili 2013. (15) See Zanetto 1996: 261–2; Vergados 2013: 275–7. See also the sharp exchange of mocking skolia in Aristophanes’ Wasps (1222–48), on which see Vetta 1983: 117–55. The agonistic element of the symposium has been highlighted by Collins 2004: 63–83. (16) Od. 8.262–3 κοῦροι πρωθῆβαι; Theognis 877 ἥβα μοι φίλε θυμέ. Richardson 2010: 163 also recalls the passage from A.R. 1.457–9. (17) Burkert 1984 underlines the point of contacts with real sacrificial practice. Very tentatively, he connects it to the institution of the cult of the twelve gods at Olympia. The killing of the tortoise is described with the language typical of sacrifice (see Shelmerdine 1984). (18) Hermes’ sacrifice evokes Prometheus’ (see Brown 1969: 8–25; Burkert 1984), but with some noteworthy differences: the equality of the parts, in fact, aims to re-establish the order disrupted by Prometheus’ revolutionary action. The gods receive the best part of the meat, so that they cannot refuse Hermes’ invitation (cf. Kahn 1978: 56–68; Strauss Clay 1987 and 1989: 116–26; Jaillard 2007: 108–14). (19) Cf. Benveniste 1969: 2.43–9. (20) Cf. Plut. Quaest. Conv. II 10. 642f–644d and Lissarague and Schmitt Pantel 1988. The word dais is not used in this passage, but appears several times in the Hymn (31, 436, 480). (21) Similar epithets can be found in Od. 8.99 and 17.271. (22) On the differences and the evolution between the two performances, see Vergados 2013: 4–14; Nobili 2016. (23) Cf. Vergados 2013: 12. Page 14 of 17

 

Hermes Iambicus (24) See Vetta 1983: xxxv; Musti 2001: 6–10. (25) Xenoph. fr. 1.1 W. See also Od. 9.6. (26) See for example the elegy of Evenos of Paros (8a W2), where the poet gives some convivial precepts, including the commendable habit of not waking up the sleeping guests. (27) Strauss Clay 1989: 7. See also Depew 2000: 63–4; Nobili 2011: 205–7. (28) Strauss Clay 1997 and 2011. (29) Càssola 1975, 520–1. (30) Vergados 2011b: 97; see also Vergados 2013: 15–25. (31) Gorgemanns 1976. (32) Cf. Hippon. frr. 8, 26, 26a, 29a, 58, 124, 125, 128 W2; Sem. frr. 23, 24, 30 W2. Some fragments in iambic trimeters or dimeters by Alcman deal with the same topic: see 9, 11, 12, 130 Calame. (33) Cf. Katz 1999 and Bain 2007. (34) See Katz 1999. (35) Cf. Arch. frr. 40, 43, 66, 119 W2; Hipp. frr. 21, 73, 84, 92 W2 (= 34, 73, 86, 95 Dg.). (36) See Vergados 2011b: 89–90. (37) The evidence suggests that the Hymn to Hermes as we know it (with the juxtaposition of the episode of the lyre and the cattle theft) might date back to the sixth century BCE. For a wider discussion, see Janko 1982: 133–50; Richardson 2010: 24–5; Nobili 2011. (38) See Miralles and Pòrtulas 1983: 9–50. (39) See Strauss Clay in this volume. (40) See Kahn 1978: 56–68; Strauss Clay 1987 and 1989: 116–26; Jaillard 2007: 108–14; Nobili 2011: 99–100, 209–12. (41) Hermes is possibly mentioned in a fragment included in the so-called Sosthenes inscription (fr. 95). Only two letters (ερ) can be referred to the name of the god, and the context is obscure. (42) Here and elsewhere we print Degani’s text.

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Hermes Iambicus (43) See Strauss Clay in this volume. (44) Note that ἑρμίς/ἑρμίν is a very rare noun. (45) Boedeker 2016: 67. (46) Cf. Degani 1984: 190–1. (47) For Hermes as δώτωρ χλαινῶν, cf. Degani 1984: 168–70. (48) See Degani 1991 ad loc. (49) Cf. e.g. Degani 1991: 63, with added bibliography (the variant in the text of Tzetzes is found in Paris. gr. 2723). The obscurity of the reference has not failed to prompt modern conjectures: cf. Gärtner 2008, who opts for ἀπ᾽ ἐντέρου τοίχου (54). (50) Cf. Assemblywomen 408–21. Aristophanes echoes Hipponax’s poem also in the door scene of Acharnians, as Bonanno 2008 has shown. (51) For example, in a black-figure lekythos attributed either to the Sappho Painter or to the Little lion class (British Museum, London B 639, BAPD 456), Hermes stands between Memnon and Achilles, weighing two homunculi on the scales of fate. (52) LSJ s.v. (53) Cf., by contrast, the arrangement found e.g. in Masson 1962. (54) As noted by Degani 1984: 217 n. 96, dactylic insertions can be found in comedy as well. (55) This is not the place to discuss the elusive σκαπερδεῦσαι (or σκαπαρδεῦσαι, which is in fact the form given by Tzetzes and printed by previous editors). For a survey of the relevant evidence, cf. e.g. Degani 1991 ad loc. (56) In West’s Iambi et Elegi Graeci (1989) they are numbered 3 and 3a, respectively. (57) Cf. Carey 2008. (58) Fränkel 1969: 247. (59) The story was arguably known well before Mnesiepes’ time. Cf. Clay 2004. (60) While narratives of poetic initiations tend to follow a general pattern, idiosyncratic deviations often highlight specific features of a given poetic

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Hermes Iambicus tradition. See Capra 2014: ch. 3. On iambic initiations, cf. Aloni 2011 and Cazzato 2015. (61) Cf. Saetta Cottone 2005: ch. 1.4, who discusses Pl. Smp. 189a8–b7 and 193b6–c3 in the light of Aristotle’s Poetics. (62) Most obviously as regards Susarion, whom ancient sources refer to as both an iambographer and the inventor of comedy. Cf. e.g. Rotstein 2010: 43–4, with added bibliography. On Susarion, see now Ornaghi 2016. (63) For a first orientation, cf. e.g. Scodel 2010. Degani 1984: 33–56 provides a rich survey of the Hellenistic reception of Hipponax. Cf. also Degani 1995. (64) On Callimachus’ “Hipponactean” persona, cf. e.g. Acosta-Hughes 1996. Callimachus’ speaking statues may point to Hermes as found in comedy: cf. Simone Beta in this volume. (65) Clayman 1980: 39.

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The God and his Double

Tracking Hermes, Pursuing Mercury John F. Miller and Jenny Strauss Clay

Print publication date: 2019 Print ISBN-13: 9780198777342 Published to Oxford Scholarship Online: March 2019 DOI: 10.1093/oso/9780198777342.001.0001

The God and his Double Hermes as Character and Speaking Statue in Greek Comedy Simone Beta

DOI:10.1093/oso/9780198777342.003.0007

Abstract and Keywords Gods are a significant presence in Greek comedies, as it is the case of Hermes, the god who plays a decisive part as the divine assistant of the “comic hero” Trygaeus in Aristophanes’ Peace and makes the audience laugh when he asks the slave Karion to give him a job in Aristophanes’ Plutus. But the presence of Hermes on the comic stage does not limit itself to these famous examples. Quite often the god is present also as a statue, and sometimes this statue behaves like a real character, because it speaks and interacts with the other characters. The chapter deals with this peculiar role of Hermes. Given the significance of classical comic theatre for a full understanding of the life of the Athenian society, the chapter is also a contribution to the study of the figure of the god and the functions he performed in classical Athens. Keywords:   Aristophanes, Menander, Phrynichus comicus, Plato comicus, Greek comedy, Greek theatre, statue, God

Gods are often a significant presence in Greek comedies. The Birds would not be the same if Aristophanes had not introduced the divine embassy led by Poseidon; it would be difficult to imagine the Frogs without Dionysus or Wealth without Plutus; the plan of Pan is the starting point of Menander’s Grouch. But there are other gods whose presence on the stage, although not central, is significant both for the development of the story and for the creation of a witty scene. Such is the case of the god Hermes, who plays a decisive part as the divine assistant of

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The God and his Double the “comic hero” Trygaios (Peace) and makes the audience laugh when he asks the slave Carion to give him a job (Wealth).1 The presence of Hermes on the comic stage does not, however, limit itself to these famous examples. In a few cases the god is present also as a statue (mostly a Herm), and sometimes this statue behaves like a real character because it speaks and interacts with the other characters of the play. Given the acknowledged significance of classical comic theater for a full understanding of Athenian society, I hope this paper might offer a small contribution to the study of the overall place of the god in classical Athens. Let us start our analysis with the first of the Aristophanic plays where the god acts as a character. The role he plays in Peace, the comedy performed for the first time ten days before the formal conclusion of Callias’ peace in 421, is very important, both in quantity and quality. Hermes makes his appearance in the second part of the prologue, when the vine-dresser Trygaios lands on the top of Mt. Olympus (180 ff.); after his initial reluctance, he decides to help the “comic hero” and the chorus of Greek farmers in setting the goddess Peace (p.96) free (361 ff.); he confronts Trygaios and the chorus during the contest (603 ff.); he converses with the vine-dresser and Peace until the beginning of the parabasis (658 ff.). During all these scenes, Hermes behaves in quite different ways. Sometimes (or better, very often) he is a truly comic character, because he performs his extremely earnest duty (he has been ordered by Zeus not only to watch over the palace of the gods, but also to keep anyone from unearthing the goddess Peace) in a way that is anything but earnest: he welcomes Trygaios with a long sequence of abuses, but softens when he is offered a tasty piece of meat (182–94); he threatens to denounce Trygaios and the chorus to Zeus, but he gives up when he is presented with a golden cup (378–425). Both the god’s gluttony and greed are reminiscent of the iambic Hermes.2 But on other occasions Aristophanes puts words into the mouth of the god that have quite serious undertones. The speech Hermes delivers during the contest, answering a question asked by the chorus (“Where did Peace live when she was away from us?”—i.e. “Why did the conflict between Athens and Sparta start?”), is a vivid summary of the first ten years of the Peloponnesian War that, even in the usual mixture of σπουδαῖον and γελοῖον that marks the analogous speech uttered by Dikaiopolis during the contest of the Acharnians, bears witness to the point of view of the Athenian people regarding the war (and regarding the warmongers who decided to start the war).3 Equally serious also are the remarks made by the goddess herself (but uttered by Hermes, since Peace, angry at the Athenian spectators because of their past behavior, refuses to speak to them) about all the opportunities for peace the Athenians missed because of the line of conduct of the radical democrats (mostly Cleon and Hyperbolos).4

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The God and his Double Hermes’ contribution to the release of Peace is quite substantial as well: not only does the god take part in pulling the goddess out of the cave with ropes together with Trygaios and the chorus (although with an initial sluggishness: see the remark at line 469, when the farmers blame Hermes and Trygaios for being uncooperative), but he also urges the different national groups that are part of the chorus (Athenians, but also Boeotians, Spartans, Megarians, and Argives) to work together, in order to reach the same goal.5 This multi-faceted aspect of the god becomes definitely one-sided in Aristophanes’ last comedy, Wealth, first performed in 388, more than thirty years after Peace, in a completely different Athens. In the older play, Hermes had made his appearance in the first half of the comedy, the more serious one, the (p.97) part devoted to the realization of the fanciful project of the “comic hero” (the flight to heaven and the liberation of Peace); in the second, more amusing, half, the part dedicated to the funny consequences of the execution of the protagonist’s plan, Hermes was no longer present. But in the later play, the character Hermes makes his appearance in the second part of the play, when the results of Plutus’ miraculous recovery take place: since men have stopped making offerings to them, the gods are starving; since he is terribly hungry, Hermes is ready to abandon his peers and move down to the earth, in order to live with men. But, if he wants to live with men, he needs to work—and here is the comic heart of the scene, a witty dialogue between the god and Carion, the slave of Chremylos, Plutus’ healer (Pl. 1097–1170). By behaving as a contemporary job applicant who tries to tell his interviewer the many things he is able to do, Hermes makes a long list of the jobs he is willing to accept, comically modeled on his multifarious qualities. After having offered himself as a door-keeper (στροφαῖος), a tradesman (ἐμπολαῖος), a deceiver (δόλιος), a guide (ἡγεμόνιος), and a judge of the games (ἐναγώνιος), he is eventually sent by Carion into the kitchen to wash the entrails of the animals slaughtered for a sacrifice, in order to demonstrate how he might become a good scullery-boy. Again, many of these qualities are part of Hermes’ prerogatives and have already surfaced in his Hymn, where his butchering talents were also on display. Here Aristophanes deliberately repeats some of the details he had drawn in the scenes of his former play. The Hermes of Wealth is as aggressive as the Hermes of Peace, because he begins his plea by mentioning Zeus’ wrath for the consequences of Plutus’ healing, in a way that reminds us of his mention of the punishment promised by Zeus to those who intended to rescue Peace.6 Aristophanes’ last Hermes is also just as gluttonous as his first, because he complains about his destiny by regretting all the delicacies he used to receive (honey, dry figs, bread, meat, wine cakes, etc.).7 Moreover, the first job the god proposes to Carion in Wealth (door-keeper, 1153) is exactly the same one he had in Peace, where he acted as the guardian of the palace, obliged to look after the few remains of the furniture (“small vessels, small planks, small jars”).8 Page 3 of 14

 

The God and his Double But, as we have seen, the role played by the god is completely different. In Peace, Hermes played a part whose significance for the development of the plot was second only to that of the protagonist; the comic side of his character belonged to the traditional features that were so typical of the so-called βωμολόχος. In Wealth, instead, Hermes is only a caricature, whose function consists merely of humorously closing a list of people who are harmed by the recovery of the god of wealth (sycophants and the like). When he accepts Carion’s proposal, the play quickly comes to its end. (p.98) If one looks at this last scene, it is fairly natural to wonder how it might have been possible for a Greek playwright to portray a god in such a ridiculous way—and how it might have been equally possible for a Greek audience to accept such a nearly blasphemous portrayal without a bit of indignation. Dover touches on this problem briefly in his groundbreaking book on Aristophanic comedy, and this is not the right place to deal with a question that concerns other authors as well (Homer, to name only one).9 But, as far as we can see from the comedies that have come down to us, it seems clear that there were some deities with whom the Athenians (both the comic poets and their fans) felt they might take some liberty. I do not refer to Heracles only, whose gluttony is a standard comic commonplace from Old to New Comedy, but also to Dionysus and Hermes himself. In Athens Dionysus, who is the amusing protagonist of Aristophanes’ Frogs (where he even shits in his pants), owned the place, because tragic and comic performances took place during his festivals;10 this fact, and the fact that he was originally a demi-god, born (exactly like Heracles) out of the union of Zeus with a mortal woman, together with the presence of his priest in the front row of the theater, in a place of honor, might have afforded the playwright a more relaxed attitude (and the amused audience a more understanding tolerance).11 Similar origins (he was born out of Zeus’ love for the nymph Maia, one of the Pleiades), but also some quite peculiar prerogatives (he was the protector of thieves!), made Hermes another sui generis god. His special relationship with mortals (he was also an intercessor between the various realms, as it is demonstrated by his other significant role, ψυχοπομπός, the “conductor of souls” into the Underworld), made the ridiculous scene of Aristophanes’ last comedy less problematic for the Athenian audience, who were moreover accustomed to the ubiquitous presence of the god in the shape of a statue. The dissemination of a very high number of peculiar statues of the god all around Athens (the so-called Herms) leads us to the second part of this (p.99) paper.12 Compared to the scenes we have just analyzed, the other occurrences of the god in the comic world seem less significant. And yet, as we will see, even though these appearances are scrappy and disjointed (and fragments usually obscure context), the presence of a speaking (and even a non-speaking) god in

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The God and his Double the shape of a Herm allows us to make some observations on the role of Hermes in the comic world—and in Athenian society as well. Even though the ancient sources on the structure of Greek theaters never mention it, the presence of a statue of the god might have been one of the stage properties in some comic plays.13 In a passage from the final scene of the Clouds, first performed in 423, Strepsiades questions the Herm placed outside his house. Exactly as Hermes does when he talks with the goddess Peace (who is a κωφὸν πρόσωπον, “a mute character”), he relates to the audience the answers he fancies having received by the statue: ἀλλ’ ὦ φίλ’ Ἑρμῆ, μηδαμῶς θύμαινέ μοι, μηδέ μ’ ἐπιτρίψῃς, ἀλλὰ συγγνώμην ἔχε ἐμοῦ παρανοήσαντος ἀδολεσχίᾳ. καί μοι γενοῦ ξύμβουλος, εἴτ’ αὐτοὺς γραφὴν διωκάθω γραψάμενος, εἴθ’ ὅτι σοι δοκεῖ. ὀρθῶς παραινεῖς οὐκ ἐῶν δικορραφεῖν ἀλλ’ ὡς τάχιστ’ ἐμπιμπράναι τὴν οἰκίαν τῶν ἀδολεσχῶν.14

There is no need to imagine a talking Herm, because the content of the supposed answers given by the god is clearly conveyed by Strepsiades’ words— although even some good manuscripts seem to give the Herm the second half of line 1482 (εἴθ’ ὅτι σοι δοκεῖ) and the entire line 1483 (ὀρθῶς παραινεῖς οὐκ ἐῶν δικορραφεῖν).15 (p.100) Likewise, there is no need to imagine a speaking statue in the Wasps, the comedy Aristophanes staged in 422, one year after the Clouds. Here, during the prologue, the old judge Philokleon talks to the statue of the Athenian hero Lykos, whose shrine was placed near a law-court; he asks the hero to help him, but there is no answer from Lykos, either real or imagined.16 But there are a couple of examples, both coming from the world of ancient comedy, where things appear to be quite different. In a passage from a lost comedy of Phrynichus, a Herm makes an amusing remark in response to a statement uttered by an unknown character: A: ὦ φίλταθ’ Ἑρμῆ, καὶ φυλάσσου, μὴ πεσὼν αὑτὸν περικρούσῃ καὶ παράσχῃς διαβολὴν ἑτέρῳ Διοκλείδῃ βουλομένῳ κακόν τι δρᾶν. H: φυλάξομαι· Τεύκρῳ γὰρ οὐχὶ βούλομαι μήνυτρα δοῦναι τῷ παλαμναίῳ ξένῳ.17

Thanks to Plutarch, to whom we owe the fragment, we learn the context of the dialogue. In the Life of Alcibiades, after having told us that in his Histories Thucydides chose not to mention the informers who disclosed the names of Page 5 of 14

 

The God and his Double those who mutilated the Herms in 415, the night before the Athenian fleet sailed to Sicily, Plutarch adds that other writers did, such as the comic poet Phrynichus.18 The first character alludes to the notorious episode by giving a warning to the god: if he falls down and breaks into pieces, he might let an informer earn a reward for a false accusation (as happened when Dioclides had received a reward by revealing the names of the Hermocopides).19 But the god answers that he will not be taken by surprise, because he does not want to make a scoundrel like Teucer rich. (p.101) Should we suppose that Hermes was a character in the play? I do not think so—or, at least, I do not think it is necessary to think so, although since Droysen many scholars have supposed that a drunken Hermes did take part in a banquet and utter the words quoted by Plutarch.20 I would guess that the poet has taken advantage of the presence of a Herm in the scene by inserting a joke against the two sycophants—a joke made more biting by its surprising means of delivery, since it was assigned to a statue.21 In an article dedicated to the “speaking statues” in Greek theater, Rudolf Kassel acknowledges that, if he had to stage that comedy, he would be very worried by this scene, because he does not have the slightest idea how the dialogue could have been effectively realized on the stage.22 This is why he strongly rejects Kock’s opinion and states that the only possible solution is the staging of a conversation similar to that assumed in the Clouds (1478 ff.) and Peace (661 ff.), with the actors (Strepsiades and Hermes) speaking both for themselves and for the mute statue.23 In Phrynichus, however, there is a difference that cannot be ruled out, because in the fragment quoted by Plutarch the words uttered by the statue are not simply imagined by the speaking character, as in the two aforementioned Aristophanic examples, but explicitly written down by the playwright, since they belong to the text of the comedy. Moreover, since we know that the Greeks believed that a statue, being the “double” (an εἴδωλον) of the absent person they portrayed, did possess inside itself his (or her) vital energy, a speaking Herm might be regarded as an almost acceptable phenomenon (at least in the world of theater).24 There is another example that proves that such a theatrical device was not so unlikely. In a passage from a lost comedy of Plato, presumably written after Phrynichus’, we find another speaking statue—and here as well the image belongs to our god: (p.102) A: οὗτος, τίς εἶ; λέγε ταχύ· τί σιγᾷς; οὐκ ἐρεῖς; B: Ἑρμῆς ἔγωγε Δαιδάλου φωνὴν ἔχων ξύλινος βαδίζων αὐτόματος ἐλήλυθα.25

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The God and his Double Quoted by the scholiast on Euripides’ Hecuba 838, where Priam’s widow praises the miraculous nature of Daedalus’ statues, the fragment shows a wooden statue of the god capable of walking and speaking like an automaton. Even if the context of the quotation is missing—Cobet postulated a situation not too different from the one that lay behind Phrynichus’ fragment—there cannot be any doubt that here too we have a speaking statue of the god on the stage.26 Theatrically speaking, the scene was surely quite effective: the first character appears to be at first puzzled by the sudden apparition of the silent second character; we might easily imagine his more frightened reaction when he learns that the figure is a wooden statue capable of speaking and walking, a creation of the most skillful craftsman in the Greek world.27 The other passages from Old and Middle comedies that might lead us to suppose the presence of Hermes on the stage do not seem to be supported by decisive textual evidence: the invocation we read in a short fragment of Telecleides’ Stiffs (“O lord Hermes, gulp down the cakes”) might simply refer to an offering placed on the altar of the god;28 the invocation we read (p.103) in a fragment of Alexis’ Thesprotians (“You, Hermes, the escort of the dead, you to whom Philippides / has been allotted, and you, Eye of the night, dressed in a black robe”) does not necessarily imply the presence of the god.29 But the three Aristophanic scenes, together with what we can guess from Phrynichus’ and Plato’s fragments, suffice to show that Hermes was a significant presence in the theatrical reality of Greek comedy—and we would be able to say more if we had the lost play mentioned by Origen in his speech Against Celsus, where the Christian writer alludes to a comedy that staged Hermes as a messenger sent by Zeus down to the earth in order to persuade the Athenians and Spartans to make peace.30 After all, if Hermes was so present in the Greek theater (we should not forget the role he played in plays belonging to other theatrical genres, such as Euripides’ tragedy Ion and Sophocles’ satyr play Ichneutai), the reason lies in the fact that he was present in the everyday life of the Greeks. Victor Ehrenberg says that in Greece men and gods—that is, the secular and sacred worlds—were never utterly separated, because they were connected by the necessities of their daily life and by some desires whose causes were absolutely realistic.31 Well, Hermes gratified these yearnings in the best possible way—and maybe even more than the other gods. We should not wonder then that most of the god’s multifarious prerogatives are celebrated in Greek comedy. He is invoked by the Megarian tradesman as Hermes “patron of sales” (Ach. 816 ἐμπολαῖος) and by the deceitful Euripides as Hermes “patron of tricks” (Th. 1202 δόλιος), epithets we have already seen in the final scene of Wealth; he is called upon by the dishonest Sausage-seller as Page 7 of 14

 

The God and his Double Hermes “patron of traffic” (Eq. 297 ἀγοραῖος), an equivalent of ἐμπολαῖος; his role as guide of souls in the Underworld is alluded to in a four-line fragment from Timocles’ comedy Heroes we happen to know thanks to the papyrus scraps of a Hellenistic commentary on the speeches of Demosthenes;32 he is praised (with very flattering words) by the Panhellenic chorus (p.104) of Peace as the “most affectionate toward human beings and most munificent of the gods.”33 Moreover, since Hermes was also the god who presided over linguistic communication in general, his prominent position in a place—the world of theater—mostly based on linguistic communication was fully justified.34 His participation in the events of human life was mostly positive, and comedy never misses an opportunity to underline it. In Menander we find a couple of illustrative expressions: in the Grouch, the noun ἕρμαιον means an unexpected stroke of luck; in the Arbitrants, the locution κοινὸς Ἑρμῆς means a piece of good fortune shared by a group of people.35 And again, even if Homer is the first author who tells us that Greeks used to dedicate to the god the final drink of the banquet, the so-called parting glass, this piece of information is confirmed by a fragment of Strattis as well, where we learn the “Hermes” was a kind of toast (“The drink to Hermes, that some drain from a jug / and some from a small drinking cup, mixing it half-and-half”).36 In conclusion, this god was so present in the life of the ancient Athenians, both because of his extremely useful prerogatives and because of the images that covered the streets of Athens, that the audience sitting in the theater of Dionysus on the slopes of the Acropolis likely found it quite normal that tragic and comic playwrights imagined Hermes speaking on the stage or that sometimes those very comic playwrights even imagined Hermes’ statues speaking and walking. (p.105) Bibliography Bibliography references: Arnott, P. D. 1962. Greek Scenic Conventions in the Fifth Century B.C. Oxford. Arnott, W. G. 1996. Alexis. The Fragments. A Commentary. Cambridge. Bagordo, A. 2013. Telekleides. Fragmenta Comica. Heidelberg. Cassio, A. C. 1985. Commedia e partecipazione. La Pace di Aristofane. Naples. Chantraine, P. 1968. Dictionnaire étymologique de la langue grecque. Paris. Cobet, C. G. 1840. Observationes criticae in Platonis comici reliquias. Diss. Amsterdam.

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The God and his Double Dobrov, G. W., ed. 1995. Beyond Aristophanes. Transition and Diversity in Greek Comedy. Atlanta. Dover, K. J. 1972. Aristophanic Comedy. Berkeley and Los Angeles. Dover, K. J. 1993. Aristophanes. Frogs. Oxford. Ehrenberg, V. 1943. The People of Aristophanes. A Sociology of Old Attic Comedy. Oxford. Ercolani, A., ed. 2002. Spoudaiogeloion. Form und Funktion der Verspottung in der aristophanischen Komödie. Stuttgart. Frantz, W. 1891. De comoediae Atticae prologis. Diss. Strasbourg. Guidorizzi, G., ed. 1996. Aristofane. Le Nuvole. Intro. and trans., D. Del Corno. Milan. Haigh, A. E. 1889. The Attic Theatre. A Description of the Stage and Theatre of the Athenians, and of the Dramatic Performances at Athens. Oxford. Henderson, J. 1975. The Maculate Muse. Obscene Language in Attic Comedy. 2nd ed. 1991. Oxford and New York. Hunter R. L. 1983. Eubulus. The Fragments. Cambridge. Kassel, R. 1983. “Dialoge mit Statuen.” ZPE 51: 1–12 (= Kleine Schriften [Berlin 1991] 140–53). Keuls, E. C. 1985. The Reign of the Phallus. Sexual Politics in Ancient Athens. New York. Kock, T. 1880. Comicorum Atticorum Fragmenta, Vol. I. Leipzig. Leo, F. 1878. “Bemerkungen zur attischen Komödie.” RhM 33: 400–17. Meineke, A. 1839a. Fragmenta Comicorum Graecorum, Vol. I. Berlin. Meineke, A. 1839b. Fragmenta Comicorum Graecorum, Vol. II.1. Berlin. Olson, S. D. 1998. Aristophanes. Peace. Oxford. Olson, S. D. 2007. Broken Laughter. Select Fragments of Greek Comedy. Oxford and New York. Pirrotta, S. 2009. Plato Comicus. Die fragmentarischen Komödien: Ein Kommentar. Berlin.

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The God and his Double Pugliara, M. 2003. Il mirabile e l’artificio. Creature animate e semoventi nel mito e nella tecnica degli antichi. Rome. Rosen, R. M. 1995. “Plato Comicus and the Evolution of Greek Comedy.” In Dobrov 1995: 119–37. Rusten, J., ed. 2011. The Birth of Comedy. Texts, Documents, and Art from Athenian Comic Competitions, 486–280. Baltimore. Stama, F. 2014. Phrynichos. Fragmenta Comica. Heidelberg. Vernant, J.-P. 1965. “Figuration de l’invisible et catégorie psychologique du double: le colossós.” In Mythe et pensée chez les Grecs: Études de psychologie historique. Paris. English trans. Myth and Thought among the Greeks. London and Boston. 1983. Whitman, C. H. 1964. Aristophanes and the Comic Hero. Cambridge MA. Wiotte-Franz, C. 2001. Hermeneus und Interpres. Zum Dolmetscherwesen in der Antike. Saarbrücken. (p.106) Notes:

(1) For the meaning of the expression “comic hero,” I refer, here and later, to Whitman 1964. (2) See Capra and Nobili in this volume. (3) Ar. Pax 603–14, 619–27, 632–48; Ach. 497–556. On the comic “spoudaiogeloion,” see Ercolani 2002. (4) Ar. Pax 661 ff. (below, p. 101). For a political reading, see Cassio 1985; on the scenes before the parabasis, see Olson 1998: xli–xlii. (5) Pax 469 ἄγετον ξυνανέλκετε καὶ σφώ. On the different composition of the chorus throughout the play, see Dover 1972: 136–9. (6) Pl. 1107 ff.; Pax 371–2. (7) Pl. 1120 ff. (8) Pax 201–2 τὰ λοιπὰ τηρῶ σκευάρια τὰ τῶν θεῶν, / χυτρίδια καὶ σανίδια κἀμφορίδια. (9) Dover 1972: 32–3. It is well known how both Zeus’ alluring behavior in Hom. Il. 14 and Apollo’s and Hermes’ saucy remarks about the misadventures of Ares and Aphrodite in Hom. Od. 8 caused real troubles for Alexandrian editors.

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The God and his Double (10) Ra. 479. The sentence uttered by the god when his slave Xanthias sees what he has done (ἐγκέχοδα· κάλει θεόν, “I have shitted: call the god”) is, according to a scholiast, a parody of the formula ἐκκέχυται· καλεῖτε θεόν (“it has been poured out: call the god”), uttered after the pouring of a libation on a certain ritual occasion. As Dover 1993: 255 remarks, “humorous distortion of religious formulae was acceptable in comedy… but to modern taste this instance is extreme.” It is not certain whether Dionysus has the same physical reaction in another passage of the same comedy (308). (11) The priest of Dionysus Eleuthereus is addressed by the god himself in a metatheatrical scene of the same comedy (297). On his presence in the theater (and on his habit of entertaining the victorious playwright and the actors of the comedy at the end of the festivals), see Ach. 1085–94 (and also Eq. 536). (12) Statues of Hermes were also inside the houses of the Athenians. From a fragment of a lost comedy of Eubulus, the Semele or Dionysus, we learn that small stone statues of the god were kept in the cupboards together with the kitchen tools (fr. 95 K-A, quoted by Athenaeus 11.460e Ἑρμῆς ὁ Μαίας λίθινος, ὃν προσεύγμασιν / ἐν τῷ κυλικείῳ λαμπρὸν ἐκτετριμμένον); see Hunter 1983: 190. (13) For this kind of scenic addition (altars, statues, and tombs), see Haigh 1889: 183–5. (14) Nu. 1478–85: “Beloved Hermes, don’t be angry with me or crush me, but forgive me if I acted insanely because of their idle prattle. Be my counselor, please! Should I prosecute them with an indictment? Or whatever you think best. (He puts his ear closer to hermes, waiting for a reply.) This is a very good advice: I shouldn’t cobble up lawsuits, but rather set fire to the house of these idle talkers as quick as possible.” (15) In the Venetus Marcianus 474 (Dover’s V, one of the most reliable manuscripts of Aristophanes, written between the eleventh and the twelfth century) the letters Ερμ appear in the middle of line 1482, just before εἴθ’; in its list of the dramatis personae the god Hermes is mentioned among the speaking characters of the play. In the Ravennas 429 (Dover’s R, our oldest testimony, written around 1000, and the only manuscript that contains the eleven comedies of Aristophanes) the same three letters are written at the end of line 1482 (with a symbol relating it to εἴθ’), while in the Ambrosianus L 39 sup. (Dover’s M, written around 1320) the letters are written at the beginning of line 1483. (16) V. 389–94. Later in the comedy (875–84) Bdelycleon, Philocleon’s son, addresses the image (better, the symbol) of another god, the pointed stone pillar that represented Apollon Agyieus (“god of streets”); on this kind of altar, which was part of the Athenian stage, see Pollux, Onomasticon 4.123 and Arnott 1962: 45. For another mention of a Herm in a comedy of Aristophanes, see fr. 566 K-A Page 11 of 14

 

The God and his Double Ἑρμῆς τρικέφαλος, a pun both on φαλλός and on the special significance of the number three in ancient comedy, according to Henderson 1975: 113 and 121. (17) Fr. 61 K-A: A: “Sweetest Hermes, be on your guard, not to fall / and damage yourself, and give grounds for an indictment / by another Dioclides bent on making mischief.” Hermes: “I will be on guard; I have no desire to pay / an informer’s reward to that foreign reprobate Teucer” (trans. Rusten 2011: 332). Keuls 1985: 387 thinks (and I agree) of a quite specific damage (“Dearest Hermes, don’t you fall, too, and get yourself castrated, providing cause for slander”). The translation of Olson 2007: 444 seems more neutral (but see the commentary, 219–20). (18) Plutarch Alc. 20, who does not mention the title of the play; Meineke 1839b: 603 thinks that the fragment might come either from the Loner (Μονότροπος), performed in 414 (together with Aristophanes’ Birds) or, more probably, from the Revelers (Κωμασταί). (19) In his speech On the Mysteries (66), Andocides tells us that this Dioclides was then executed for having given a false testimony. (20) Droysen’s opinion is related by Meineke 1839a: 155: “Videtur enim in convivio a comissatoribus (the ‘revelers’ who give the comedy its title) instituto praesens adfuisse Mercurius, qui quum vino madidus titubanti incederet gressu ipsis illis versibus monetur, ne pronus cadat in terram et membra frangat eoque malevolis hominibus novam accusandi opportunitatem praebeat.” The names of the scholars who have followed Droyson (Stiévenart, De Gubernatis, Denis, and Guglielmino) are listed by Stama 2014: 298, n. 327. (21) This is the opinion of Kock 1880: 385: “Mercurium in convivio Hermocopidarum praesentem adfuisse et vino madidum titubantemque moneri ne cadat non credo Meinekio. Illud enim convivium si in scaena agebatur, necessario scelus ipsum comissatorum anteibat, neque in convivio commemorari poterant quae scelere demum facto evenerunt. Videtur potius Herma a nescio quo poni et monenti ne cadat tamquam vivus sit respondere.” (22) Kassel 1983: 6: “Ich möchte niemandem wünschen, das inszenieren zu müssen.” (23) Kassel 1983: 6–7. (24) On this belief, see Vernant 1965. On the efficacy of the supposed dialogue between Strepsiades and the Herm in the aforementioned passage of the Clouds, see Guidorizzi 1996: 349. (25) Fr. 204 K-A: (A) “You there! Who are you? Tell me quick; why are you quiet? Won’t you speak up?” (B) “I am a wooden Hermes made by Daedalus, and here I am, / able to speak and walking on my own two feet” (trans. Rusten 2011: 353). Page 12 of 14

 

The God and his Double Phrynichus’ career began before Eupolis’ and Aristophanes’ (presumably between 440 and 430), while Plato did not start staging his comedies before 425. (26) Cobet 1840: 179: “Ingenioso invento videtur Plato ligneum aliquem Hermen induxisse, qui in quaestione de Hermocopidis ipse testimonium diceret, in qua re scite usus est veteri Graecorum opinione, qui Daedali statuas moveri et vocem edere creduli putaverant.” The most recent commentary of Plato’s fragments (Pirrotta 2009) does not give us any help, because her edition does not include the fragments from uncertain plays, but Kaibel, whose unedited notes are often quoted by K-A in their edition, thought it came from The Long Night (Νὺξ μακρά, a comedy—see Rusten 2011: 342—that very probably “treated the circumstances surrounding the conception of Heracles, who was conceived on one ‘long night’ when Zeus slept with Alcmena”). On the basis of a passage of Plautus’ Amphitryon (142–5), Frantz 1891: 40 supposed that a fragment of The Long Night (fr. 90) was uttered by Hermes in the prologue of the play; on the relationship between the comedies of Plato and Plautus see also Rosen 1995. Kassel 1983: 5–6 gives a different interpretation of the fragment. (27) Pugliara 2003: 190–1: “Tre attributi importanti, collegati tra loro, sono rivendicati dalla statua di Hermes: parola, movimento e fattura di Dedalo. Si può immaginare che la statua apparisse sulla scena all’improvviso e che suscitasse uno stupore tale da rendere necessaria una spiegazione. Doveva essere sufficiente citare il nome di Dedalo perché la sua voce e il suo passo apparissero ‘normali,’ in linea con il modo di operare del famoso artefice.” (28) Fr. 35 K-A ὦ δέσποθ’ Ἑρμῆ, κάπτε τῶν θυλημάτων (quoted by the scholiast at Pax 1040 ἐγὼ δ’ ἐπὶ σπλάγχν’ εἶμι καὶ θυλήματα). The fact that the same invocation ὦ δέσποθ’ Ἑρμῆ is used three times in Aristophanes’ Peace (385, 648, and 711) does not imply that the god was a character in the play of Telecleides (whose four little fragments do not say anything certain about its plot). It is not clear to me if the short introduction we read in Kock 1880: 216 (“Meinek. I 90. Mercurius in hac fabula easdem fere partes videtur egisse atque in Pace et Pluto Aristophanis”) is Kock’s own opinion or refers to that of Meineke 1839a: 90 (“Quinta Teleclidae fabula, Στερροὶ inscripta, quod argumentum tractaverit pariter incertum est” and “Praeterea laudatur a Scholiasta Aristoph. Pac. 1040, ex quo loco Mercurium in scena praesentem adfuisse coniicias”). On this fragment, see also Bagordo 2013: 171–4. (29) Fr. 93 K-A Ἑρμῆ θεῶν προπομπὲ καὶ Φιλιππίδου / κληροῦχε, Νυκτός τ’ ὄμμα τῆς μελαμπέπλου (quoted by Athenaeus 12.552d). On the text (and the context) of this fragment (the only one of the comedy), see Arnott 1996: 243–6. Frantz 1891: 36 thought that the two lines were the beginning of the play, because invocations to a god were a fairly standard opening both in tragedies and comedies (also, Aeschylus’ Water-bearers begins with an invocation to Hermes).

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The God and his Double (30) Fr. ad. 45 K-A (Origen, Against Celsus 6.78 and 79). Leo 1878: 413–14 thought that it was the plot of a comedy of Aristophanes written in the time of the Peloponnesian War. (31) Ehrenberg 1943: 258. (32) Timocles fr. 14 K-A. (33) Pax 392–4 ὦ φιλαν- / θρωπότατε καὶ μεγαλο- / δωρότατε δαιμόνων. In the immediately following remark (400–2), Trygaeus hints at the notorious Hermes’ bent for thieves; see Olson 1998: 155–6. (34) Together with many others (see, for instance, Bosshardt, quoted by Chantraine 1968 s.v. Ἑρμῆς), I tend to believe that the etymological connection between Ἑρμῆς and the verb ἑρμηνεύειν, whose principal meaning was “to interpret,” is correct. On the ancient belief that such a connection did exist, see Wiotte-Franz 2001: 8–11. (35) Men. Dysc. 226 and Epit. 284. On ἕρμαιον, see also Soph. Ant. 397, and many Platonic passages (Smp. 176c and 217a, Grg. 486e and 489c, etc.). On κοινὸς Ἑρμῆς (a proverb: Diogenianus 5.38): Arist. Rh. 1401a21; Theophr. Char. 30.9; Luc. Nav. 12. (36) Hom. Od. 7.136–8 εὗρε (sc. Odysseus) δὲ Φαιήκων ἡγήτορας ἠδὲ μέδοντας / σπένδοντας δεπάεσσιν ἐϋσκόπῳ ἀργειφόντῃ, / ᾧ πυμάτῳ σπένδεσκον, ὅτε μνησαίατο κοίτου; Strattis fr. 23 K-A (quoted by Athenaeus 11.473c, from the play Lemnomeda) Ἑρμῆς, ὃν ἕλκουσ’ οἱ μὲν ἐκ προχοίδιου, / οἱ δ’ ἐκ καδίσκου ἴσον ἴσῳ κεκραμένον. See also Ath. 1.16b and 1.32b; Pollux, Onomasticon 6.100. In the passage of Wealth we discussed earlier, Hermes regrets the fairly strong toasts (one part water and one of wine) he used to receive when men offered sacrifices to the gods (Pl. 1132 οἴμοι δὲ κύλικος ἴσον ἴσῳ κεκραμένης); the peculiar wine mixture mentioned by Aristophanes and Strattis (ἴσον ἴσῳ) might come from a passage of Cratinus’ Wine Flask (fr. 196 K-A) quoted by Athenaeus 10.426b (τὸν δ’ ἴσον ἴσῳ φέροντ’· ἐγὼ δ’ ἐκτήκομαι). According to KA, Strattis’ fragment is an imitation of another passage from Cratinus’ Wine Flask (fr. 206, quoted by Pollux Onomasticon 10.70: τοὺς μὲν ἐκ προχοιδίου / τοὺς δ’ ἐκ καδίσκου).

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Hermes/Mercury

Tracking Hermes, Pursuing Mercury John F. Miller and Jenny Strauss Clay

Print publication date: 2019 Print ISBN-13: 9780198777342 Published to Oxford Scholarship Online: March 2019 DOI: 10.1093/oso/9780198777342.001.0001

Hermes/Mercury God of Comedy? Erin K. Moodie

DOI:10.1093/oso/9780198777342.003.0008

Abstract and Keywords Hermes/Mercury should be understood as the physical manifestation and divine patron of comedy. The chapter focuses on the portrayal of Hermes in Aristophanes’ Peace and that of Mercury in Plautus’ Amphitryon, and traces each character’s adoption of the abject stance associated with comic heroes, his knowledge of comic conventions, and his general metatheatrical remarks to and about the audience. The god’s association with laughter, performance, and marriage throughout myth, as well as his connection to Dionysus in Athenian religious festivals, further supports his identification as the god of comedy. Keywords:   Hermes, Mercury, Comedy, Metatheater, Aristophanes, Plautus

Hermes and Mercury share a special relationship to comedy. Given the gods’ deceptive cleverness, their association with boundaries and boundary crossing, and their skill at invention and crafting, Hermes and Mercury have often been read as trickster figures.1 Tricksters and comic heroes often behave similarly, embracing adaptation, transgressive behavior, and a low social status or a stance of abjection.2 But the metatheatrical knowledge displayed by Hermes in Aristophanes’ Peace and Mercury in Plautus’ Amphitryon suggests an even closer tie to the comic genres. First, each god is implicitly aware of the link between low-status characters and metatheater that extends across ancient comedy— both characters are careful to adopt an abject stance soon after appearing on stage. Second, each god understands the conventions of his own comic genre and of the theater in general. Third, Hermes and Mercury both engage in Page 1 of 16

Hermes/Mercury metatheatrical behavior, especially explicit address to and mention of the audience. The closest parallels for Hermes and Mercury are thus, respectively, Aristophanes’ abject hero and Plautus’ clever slave—the embodiments of each poet’s comedy—rather than any other deities appearing on the comic stage.3 We should therefore read these two gods not simply as comic heroes, but as divine patrons of their respective comic genres. (p.108) Metatheater (i.e. self-awareness or self-referentiality that draws attention to the play as a performance enacted for an audience) can take many forms, and can exist at varying levels of intensity from the overt to the merely implicit.4 I distinguish nine different types of metatheatrical language and behavior in ancient comedy, each of which varies from the others according to its intensity, that is, its likelihood to draw attention to the play as a play. This essay will focus on the most overt metatheater, which includes 1) direct address of the audience—marked by second-person-plural verbs or pronouns and byterms for spectators or audience in the vocative case; 2) awareness of the audience or of being an actor in a play—marked by words for spectator, audience, parts of the performance venue, and performance context; and 3) reference to the theater in general—marked by terms for comedy, tragedy, drama, actors, names of poets or plays, and names of stock roles. Latent metatheater, on the other hand, involves 4) semi-theatrical language—marked by general terms for poet, con-artist, image, face, mask, parts, stories, games, or pretending; 5) reference to costumes and costuming—marked by words for clothing, accessories, and the process of dressing; 6) a play-within-a-play deception and rehearsals therefor—marked by the language of teaching and learning lines, or comments on acting ability; 7) paratragedy and implicit reference to theatrical convention—e.g. the one-day rule; 8) language of deception—marked by words for trick, deceive, cleverness, or badness; and 9) disruption of the pretense of a Roman comedy’s Greek setting—marked by mention of Roman places or practices, or by the verb pergraecari. However, metatheatrical statements should be distinguished from prologues and epilogues, which serve as a frame for the stage world and a kind of steppingstone for the spectators’ movement into and out of it. Metatheatrical remarks also differ from monologues and asides that do not explicitly mention the audience. Such soliloquies are not metatheatrical in Athenian tragedy or satyrplay, so should not be considered metatheatrical in comedy.5 Although a character may seem to acknowledge the audience in a monologue or aside, such remarks are understood simply as conventions of the presentational style of the theater.6 Thus soliloquies are treated simply as reflections of a character’s inner thought process unless an explicit reference to the audience (p.109) indicates that the speech directly incorporates the spectators into the play’s action. Moreover, in the real world many people do talk to themselves.7

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Hermes/Mercury Analysis of the spectrum of metatheatrical comments in the comedies of Aristophanes, Menander, Plautus, and Terence demonstrates that they tend to come from the characters of the lowest status (Moodie 2007). Because the performance contexts, the status of the poets, and status of the actors differed so dramatically during the periods in which these men wrote, the status of the characters most often responsible for metatheater remains the only constant and thus the best explanation for the pattern. Since the comic characters themselves cannot be responsible for their own behavior, the pattern must arise from the conventions of comedy itself. For Greek New Comedy and Roman comedy, the stock characters of the (male) slave and the parasite produce the majority of all metatheatrical remarks. Such low-status characters dominate metatheatrical discourse not only in terms of raw numbers, but also in terms of proportions. In fact, across both genres the parasite is the character type most likely to say something explicitly metatheatrical at least once (Moodie 2007: 226–31, 264–316; Moodie 2015). Since slaves are especially likely to employ metatheatrical statements repeatedly, the connection between low status and metatheater becomes even more apparent. And Greek New and Roman comedy already emphasized its characters’ statuses with the use of different types of costumes for the different stock character roles. The state of affairs is similar for Aristophanic comedy. While Aristophanes does not use the same limited set of stock characters as Greek New Comedy and Roman comedy, his plays feature the predecessors of some stock roles (e.g. Lamachus of Acharnians, an ancestor of the boastful soldier). And given the hierarchical nature of Athenian society, which distinguished between slaves, metics, and citizens (especially those with military and political commands), status was also marked on the Old Comic stage. Aristophanic comedy exhibits the same pattern discussed earlier, with lower-status characters delivering a greater proportion of metatheatrical lines, especially when one takes into account Aristophanes’ propensity for abject or otherwise marginalized heroes.8 Thus across the corpora of the four major surviving comic poets and across all three genres of Greek and Roman comedy, low-status characters are closely linked to metatheater. Although overt metatheater does not appear in every play, it usually arises from a low-status character when it does. (p.110) Aristophanes’ and Plautus’ portrayal of Hermes and Mercury within the Peace and Amphitryon, respectively, is consistent with this pattern.9 In fact, both gods take pains to reduce their otherwise high status as gods among human characters during their first appearance on stage. Hermes, for example, casts himself at 201–2 as the slave doorman of the Olympian gods, who have left him in charge of the household and its σκευάρια (“furnishings/props”) in their absence: τὰ λοιπὰ τηρῶ σκευάρια τὰ τῶν θεῶν, / χυτρίδια καὶ σανίδια κἀμφορείδια (“I’m watching the left-over props of the gods, the little pots, Page 3 of 16

 

Hermes/Mercury boards, and jars”).10 Door-knocking scenes are stock comic routines, and here Hermes gives an “irritable performance of the doorkeeper-role” in such a scene (Ruffell 2011: 347). Hermes also underlines his own low position by listing the rather unimportant σκευάρια in detail: little pots (a pathetic diminutive), boards, and jars, which hardly seem worth stealing. Mercury, on the other hand, emphasizes the low status of the roles he adopts throughout Amphitryon. For the most part he performs the clever slave role, but he also becomes a parasite, a subservient son of the old-man-in-love, and a running slave. First, Mercury explains during his opening prologue (115–24) why he is dressed as a slave: sed ita adsimulavit se, quasi Amphitruo siet. nunc ne hunc ornatum vos meum admiremini, quod ego huc processi sic cum servili schema: veterem atque antiquam rem novam ad vos proferam; propterea ornatus in novom incessi modum. nam meus pater intus nunc est eccum Iuppiter; in Amphitruonis vertit sese imaginem omnesque eum esse censent servi qui vident: (p.111) ita vorsipellem se facit quando lubet. ego servi sumpsi Sosiae mi imaginem… In the same way he pretended that he was Amphitryon. Lest you wonder at my costume now, because I came out here with slave clothing, I am going to offer to you an aged and old situation made new, so I have come costumed in a new way. For my father—Jupiter— is inside there now; he has converted himself into the image of Amphitryon, and all the slaves who see him think he is Amphitryon: thus he makes himself a shapeshifter whenever he pleases. I took up the likeness/appearance of the slave Sosia for myself…

Note that the god’s concern that a show be new (118) also marks him as similar to the quintessential clever slave Pseudolus, who is often considered to represent Plautus on stage.11 Mercury even laments his spectacular loss of status from god to slave at 176–8: satiust me queri illo modo servitutem: hodie qui fuerim liber, eum nunc potivit pater servitutis… It’s more appropriate that I complain about slavery in that way; I, whose own father has now reduced him to slavery, I who was free today!

However, Mercury also understands that the low-status role of the clever slave has its own benefits. At 266–9 he decides to adopt Sosia’s usual methods—

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Hermes/Mercury employing wickedness, cleverness, and cunning—since he has already stolen Sosia’s form and status. The Latin statum is nicely ambiguous here: et enim vero quoniam formam cepi huius in med et statum, decet et facta moresque huius habere me similes item. itaque me malum esse oportet, callidum, astutum admodum, atque hunc, telo suo sibi, malitia, a foribus pellere. For in fact, since I took his [Sosia’s] form and stance/status for myself, it is fitting that I likewise have his deeds and similar customs. Therefore it is proper for me to be wicked, clever, and now astute, and to drive this man away from the doors with his own weapon— with wickedness.

Clever slaves often enjoy extensive knowledge of Roman comedy as a genre and talk about the things that other comic slaves do.12 Likewise, Mercury understands how the genre works as well. (p.112) Elsewhere Mercury consciously adapts to perform two other subordinate roles during the comedy, thus demonstrating the skill at performance usually associated with clever slaves such as Simia (Pseud. 960– 1016), Pardalisca (Cas. 621–717), or Collybiscus (Poen. 578–720). For example, Mercury portrays himself simultaneously as the powerless son of the old-man-inlove and as a parasite at 991–4: pater vocat me, eum sequor, eius dicto imperio sum audiens. ut filium bonum patri esse oportet, itidem ego sum patri. amanti subparasitor, hortor, adsto, admoneo, gaudeo. si quid patri volup est, voluptas ea mihi multo maxumast. My father calls me, I follow him; I am obedient to his word, his command. As it is proper to be a good son to a father, likewise I am good to my father. I act the parasite to/for the lover: I encourage, I assist, I warn, I rejoice. If there’s any pleasure for my father, the pleasure for me is greatest by far.

Mercury had also portrayed himself as a parasite at 515 (subparasitabor patri, “I will act the parasite to/for my father”) and had even commented metatheatrically on his failure to perform the role properly at 521 (nequiter paene expedivit prima parasitatio “My first parasiting job was basically worthless!”). Like the role of the clever slave, the role of the parasite leaves Mercury metatheatrically nimble, and with these overt comments he exploits the connection between low-status characters and metatheater.13 Mercury also reveals an understanding of Roman comedy as a genre from 986– 1008, where he metatheatrically emphasizes that he is employing the stock comedic routine of the running slave, who comes on stage in a rush with news for his master. As he hurries on stage at 986–7 the god wonders: nam mihi Page 5 of 16

 

Hermes/Mercury quidem hercle qui minus liceat deo minitarier / populo, ni decedat mihi, quam servolo in comoediis? (“By Hercules how indeed would it be less permitted for me, a god, to threaten people if they should fail to yield to me, than it is for a little slave in comedies?”). Mercury’s switch to iambic octonarii in this passage underscores his awareness of the genre. Iambic octonarii are used elsewhere in Plautus for running slaves, and Mercury follows the usual practice (Moore 1998: 122). (p.113) In fact, both Hermes and Mercury seem to embrace their own “comic degradation” (Christenson 2001: 254). Not only does Mercury adopt a series of subordinate comic roles in Amphitryon, but the grumpy Hermes of Peace is bribed into helping Trygaeus with the offer of delicious meat (192) and the gift of a golden cup (423–5, cf. 431–2). Additionally, that Hermes eats meat— implicitly here, explicitly at Aristophanes Wealth 1128, 1130, and 1137—also marks him as suited to the comic genre, given its very human emphasis on feasting and celebration.14 Both gods also display an awareness of the comic and tragic genres. Hermes actually switches from tragic metrical patterns to comic ones when he first opens the door at 180 and sees Trygaeus and his dung beetle (Goldberg 1980: 8). The god also associates the tragedian Euripides with language that is particularly forensic in style; when told that Peace smells of Euripidean poetry, Hermes retorts, οὐ γὰρ ἥδεται / αὕτη ποιητῇ ῥηματίων δικανικῶν (“She doesn’t like the writer of little law-court speechlets,” 533–4).15 He also quotes Euripides’ Bellerophon (fr. 312 Nauck) at line 722.16 Furthermore, Hermes asks after the fate of the comic poet Cratinus: τί δαὶ Κρατῖνος ὁ σοφός; ἔστιν; (“What about wise Cratinus—is he alive?” 700). Hermes’ allusion to Archilochus fr. 109 (Gerber: 1999) at 603–4 also doubles as a reference to at least one other comic poet, since both Cratinus (fr. 211 K-A) and Eupolis (fr. 392 K-A) quoted the same passage as well. At the very least Cratinus’ play must have preceded Peace, since Cratinus had died by 421 BCE, but Eupolis may have quoted Archilochus either before or after Aristophanes (and Hermes) did.17 (p.114) In addition to his extensive knowledge of the stock roles and routines of Roman comedy, Mercury also understands (60–3) two important features of his genre: that gods do not normally appear on the comic stage in Rome (apart from their rare turns as prologue-speakers) and that a major (i.e. a clever) slave role is inappropriate for tragedy: nam me perpetuo facere ut sit comoedia, reges quo veniant et di, non par arbitror. quid igitur? quoniam hic servos quoque partes habet,

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Hermes/Mercury faciam sit, proinde ut dixi, tragicomoedia. For I don’t think it fair for me to make it a comedy constantly, to which royal people and gods come. What then? Since the [clever] slave also has parts here, I’ll make it a tragicomedy, as I said before.

Thus Mercury invents the hybrid genre of tragicomedy, which should not offend the audience’s poetic sensibilities. Finally, Hermes and Mercury are responsible for some of the most overtly metatheatrical moments in their comedies. When speaking directly to or about the spectators the transgressive god crosses and destroys the boundary between the stage world and the real world, also known as the “fourth wall.” Hermes alludes to his existence as a character on stage three times; at 543–4 καὶ τῶνδε τοίνυν τῶν θεωμένων σκόπει / τὰ πρόσωφ᾽ (“Now look at the faces of these spectators”); at 658–9 ἀλλ᾽ οὐκ ἂν εἴποι πρός γε τοὺς θεωμένους (“[Peace] might not speak to the spectators”); and at 664 ἀκούσαθ᾽ ὑμεῖς ὧν ἕνεκα μομφὴν ἔχει (“Listen, you all, to the things on account of which [Peace] has cause for complaint”). In the first passage, the use of the term πρόσωπον carries extra metatheatrical weight because of its potential dual meaning. At least by the early fourth century BCE—if not by the time the Peace was staged in 421 BCE—it came to mean both “face” and “mask,” similar to imago in Latin.18 Lines 658–9 and 664, while displaying Hermes’ awareness of the audience, also show him in his familiar role as messenger, spokesman, and interpreter between gods and mortals.19 (p.115) For his part, Mercury discusses his plans and his thoughts directly with the audience in a manner similar to that of Pseudolus and other clever slaves of Roman comedy.20 Mercury’s metatheatrical monologue at 463–98 explains how the play will end happily after Alcmena gives birth to twins (one son each from Amphitryon and Jupiter), but the god—like solicitous slaves and freedmen elsewhere in Plautus—is also concerned about the audience’s experience and at 485 pointedly asks the spectators if they understand what the situation is: iamne hoc scitis quid siet?21 Finally, lines 1005–7 conclude Mercury’s “running slave” monologue with a metatheatrical appeal to the audience. Mercury wishes to invoke their indulgence and alert them to his upcoming costume change in preparation for his deceptive confrontation with the real Amphitryon: sed eccum Amphitruonem: advenit; iam ille hic deludetur probe, siquidem vos voltis auscultando operam dare. ibo intro, ornatum capiam qui potis decet… But look at Amphitryon—he’s coming. Now he will be properly bamboozled here, if you all want to give your attention to listening. I’m going inside—I’ll grab a costume suitable for a drunk guy…22

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Hermes/Mercury Thus Hermes and Mercury exploit their metatheatrical knowledge, which—given the connection between low status and metatheater elsewhere in Greek and Roman comedy—seems to stem from the abject positions each god adopts on the comic stage. Aside from the protagonist Trygaeus, Hermes is the most metatheatrical character in Peace, while Mercury dominates such activities in Amphitryon.23 Given this behavior, Hermes’ closest Aristophanic counterparts (p.116) are the abject comic heroes such as Dicaeopolis, who speaks for Aristophanes directly (at Ach. 377–84 and 502–6), and Trygaeus, whose name means “Harvester” or “Comedy Man” and who may represent the comic poet Eupolis (Sidwell 2012: 43, 46). Among the ranks of Aristophanes’ comic heroes is Dionysus himself, the cowardly—and metatheatrically savvy—god of theater in Frogs, and the only other god who overtly addresses the Athenian audience (at Ra. 297). In fact, while a few other Aristophanic gods employ overt metatheater, they usually do so only in a single instance, which contrasts with Hermes’ more diverse and frequent metatheatrical remarks.24 For his part, Mercury is most similar to the clever slaves of Roman comedy, such as Pseudolus (in his eponymous play), Chrysalus (in Bacch.), and Palaestrio (in Mil.), who themselves are considered representations of the comic poet and his inventive skill.25 Hermes/Mercury’s metatheatrical skill and knowledge of comic conventions recommends him as the god of comedy and patron of the comic genres rather than just a trickster figure on the comic stage. Several aspects of the god’s worship and mythology also support this association with comedy. First, as “a patron god of marriage” (due to his association with seduction and bride-seizure even beyond the Amphitryon; Brown 1947: 42), he is well suited to appear in comedies, which so often end with a marriage or similar celebration. Second, Hermes alone was linked to Dionysus in the Anthesteria festival, during which he helped “release and return” Dionysus to Athens in the form of wine.26 Bowie 1993: 148 even notes that Hermes and Trygaeus’ rescue of Peace occurs in a context much like a Dionysiac festival. Third, the phallus of the Old Comedy costume can be seen as echoing the phallus on every protective Athenian herm.27 Fourth, Hermes is connected with laughter, song, and performance from his birth.28 And, as both the patron of crafts and the (p.117) god of “servant professions” (Doty 1993: 64), Hermes is himself much like the clever slave of Roman comedy, who is often compared to an architectus (“architect”) in his role as creator of play-within-a-play deceptions (cf. Mil. 901, 915, 919, 1139; Poen. 1110; Sharrock 2009: 116–62). Hermes is associated with the same creative and technical skill at Pax 429, where the chorus asks the god to lead them like a craftsman/creatively (δημιουργικῶς) as they dig Peace out of the cave in which War has imprisoned her. Finally, Mercury, in Rome, was also associated with games and performances since his temple on the Aventine overlooked the Circus Maximus.29

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Hermes/Mercury Nor are Aristophanes and Plautus alone in associating Hermes/Mercury with comedy and a slave-like status; Lucian, that careful reader, does so as well. Hermes parodies Menander fr. 722 Sandbach in the first four lines of Jupiter Tragoedus, for example, and quotes Menander again (Epit. fr. 9 Sandbach) in section 53 of the same text. And in Dialogi Deorum 4.2 Hermes complains that he is virtually a slave (ὥσπερ οἱ ἐν γῇ κακῶς δουλεύοντες) to Zeus, since he must tidy Olympus’ dining room daily and carry Zeus’ messages everywhere. Hermes even jokes (σκώπτεις) that Pan must be interested in nanny-goats since he cannot be satisfied by a single wife at Dialogi Deorum 2.4. Given these similarities to other incarnations of ancient comedy and connections with laughter, creation, and performance, we should consider Hermes/Mercury a representative of the comic genres, an embodiment of that which is essentially comic.30 While Dionysus serves as the patron deity of the Athenian theater in general, and Minerva may fill the same role for Rome (Manuwald 2011: 96), Hermes/Mercury exhibits an intriguing link to comedy in both cultures, centuries apart. Bibliography Bibliography references: Bain, D. 1977. Actors and Audience: A Study of Asides and Related Conventions in Greek Drama. Oxford. Bain, D. 1987. “Some Reflections on the Illusion in Greek Tragedy.” BICS 34: 1– 14. Blazeby, C. 2011. “Woman + Wine = Prostitute in Classical Athens?” In A. Glazebrook and M. M. Henry, eds. Greek Prostitutes in the Ancient Mediterranean, 800 BCE–200 CE. Madison. 86–105. Bowie, A. 1993. Aristophanes: Myth, Ritual and Comedy. Cambridge. Brown, N. 1947. Hermes the Thief: The Evolution of a Myth. Madison. (p.118) Christenson, D., ed. 2000. Plautus: Amphitruo. Cambridge. Christenson, D. 2001. “Grotesque Realism in Plautus’ ‘Amphitruo’.” CJ 96: 243– 60. Dedoussi, C. 1995. “Greek Drama and its Spectators: Conventions and Relationships.” In A. Griffiths, ed. Stage Directions: Essays in Ancient Drama in Honor of E. W. Handley (BICS Supplement 66). London. 123–32. Doty, W. 1993. “A Lifetime of Trouble-Making: Hermes as Trickster.” In W. J. Hynes and W. G. Doty, eds. Mythical Trickster Figures. Tuscaloosa. Page 9 of 16

 

Hermes/Mercury Gerber, D., ed. 1999. Greek Iambic Poetry. Cambridge, MA. Goldberg, S. 1980. The Making of Menander’s Comedy. Berkeley. Green, J. 1994. Theatre in Ancient Greek Society. London and New York. Hall, E. 2006. The Theatrical Cast of Athens. Oxford. Henderson, J. 1997. “Mass versus Elite and the Comic Heroism of Peisetairos.” In G. Dobrov, ed. The City as Comedy. Chapel Hill. 135–48. Hornby, R. 1986. Drama, Metadrama and Perception. Lewisburg, PA. Hough, J. 1940. “Miscellanea Plautina: Vulgarity, Extra-Dramatic Speeches, Roman Allusions.” TAPA 71: 186–98. Kassel, R. and C. Austin, eds. 1983–2001. Poetae Comici Graeci. 8 vols. Berlin. Lindsay, W., ed. 1904–5. T. Macci Plauti Comoediae. 2 vols. Oxford. Macleod, M., ed. 1972. Luciani Opera. Vol. 1. Oxford. Macleod, M., ed. 1987. Luciani Opera. Vol. 4. Oxford. Manuwald, G. 2011. Roman Republican Theatre. Cambridge. Maquerlot, Jean-Pierre. 1992. “Playing within the Play: Towards a Semiotics of Metadrama and Metatheatre.” In F. Laroque, ed. The Show Within: Dramatic and Other Insets. Montpellier. 39–49. Moodie, E. 2007. “Metatheater, Pretense Disruption, and Social Class in Greek and Roman Comedy.” Ph.D. diss. University of Pennsylvania. Moodie, E. 2015. “Making Sense of Metatheater in Menander.” Annual Meeting of the Classical Association of the Middle West and South, Boulder, CO. March 26. Moore, T. 1998. The Theater of Plautus: Playing to the Audience. Austin. Nauck, A. and B. Snell, eds. 1964. Tragicorum Graecorum Fragmenta. Hildesheim. Parker, R. 2005. Polytheism and Society at Athens. Oxford. Ribbeck, O. 1898. Scaenicae Romanorum Poesis: Fragmenta. Vol. 2. Leipzig. Richardson, N., ed. 2010. Three Homeric Hymns: To Apollo, Hermes, and Aphrodite. Cambridge. Ruffell, I. 2011. Politics and Anti-Realism in Athenian Old Comedy. Oxford. Page 10 of 16

 

Hermes/Mercury Sandbach, F., ed. 1990. Menandri Reliquiae Selectae. Rev. ed. Oxford. Sharrock, A. 2009. Reading Roman Comedy: Poetics and Playfulness in Plautus and Terence. Cambridge. Sheets, G. 1983. “Plautus and Early Roman Tragedy.” ICS 8: 195–209. Sidwell, K. 2012. “Aristophanes’ Acharnians and Eupolis Again: Metacomedy in Action.” In C. W. Marshall and G. Kovacs, eds. No Laughing Matter. London. Slater, N. 1985. Plautus in Performance: The Theatre of the Mind. Princeton. Stafford, E. 2001. “Hangovers in Ancient Greece.” Omnibus 41: 10–11. Wilson, N., ed. 2007. Aristophanis Fabulae. 2 vols. Oxford. Wilson, P. and O. Taplin. 1993. “The ‘Aetiology’ of Tragedy in the Oresteia.” PCPhS 39: 169–80. Wiseman, T. 2008. Unwritten Rome. Liverpool. Notes:

(1) This essay has benefitted tremendously from the comments of audiences at the University of Virginia’s “Tracking Hermes/Mercury” conference in 2014 and the Classical Association of Canada’s Annual Conference in 2015, and from the comments of two diligent readers, Keith Dickson and Ted Fondak. Any remaining errors are, alas, my own. (2) Cf. how Aristophanes’ hero, the “marginal, or even unenfranchized Athenian citizen,” represents his own comedy in relation to the more respected tragic genre (Henderson 1997: 137). See Simone Beta in this volume. (3) The one exception is Dionysus in Aristophanes’ Frogs, that poet’s only simultaneously abject and divine protagonist, whom I discuss later. (4) Wilson and Taplin 1993: 169 prefer the somewhat imprecise term “selfreferentiality,” but they also note that “presence and absence are not the only appropriate categories; that self-referentiality can be non-explicit or submerged, and can be detected at various levels or degrees or intensities.” Cf. Hornby 1986: 32. Although Maquerlot 1992: 41 points out that all art is to some degree self-referential, the self-aware metatheatrical comments discussed here go beyond the usual self-reflection. (5) Cf. Green 1994: 27; Bain 1987: 2; Hall 2006: 108–10. (6) Hornby 1986: 104. Cf. Hough 1940: 191: “we must first exclude all simple monologues and asides as being merely voiced thoughts, a mechanism necessary to dramatic art (to an even greater extent in ancient times than now) but neither Page 11 of 16

 

Hermes/Mercury out of character nor humorous in or of themselves.” Pace Moore 1998: 8, who argues that most Plautine monologues were “addressed explicitly and emphatically to the audience.” A metatheatrical comment will affect the audience differently than even the most presentational of non-metatheatrical monologues. (7) Dedoussi 1995: 128 and Bain 1977: 96 note that soliloquies and sotto voce speaking have some basis in reality, an observation that will surprise no academic. (8) Moodie 2007: 204–25; Moodie 2015. Such heroes are a remnant of the iambic poets, such as Archilochus and Hipponax, who so influenced the Old Comic genre. Cf. n. 2. (9) Aristophanes’ Peace (presented in 421 BCE at the City Dionysia) tells the story of the elderly farmer Trygaeus’ flight to heaven astride a ridiculous dung beetle. Hermes, left behind by the other Olympians to watch their belongings, is eventually persuaded, thanks to several bribes, to help Trygaeus and the chorus of farmers rescue the goddess Peace and return her to earth. Plautus’ Amphitryon (a play of unknown date and performance context) presents the events of the long night and day leading up to the birth of Hercules and his twin brother Iphicles: the god Jupiter disguises himself as Amphitryon in order to sleep with Amphitryon’s wife Alcmena. Mercury assists Jupiter after taking the form of Amphitryon’s slave Sosia. More evidence derives from Plautus’ Mercury than from Aristophanes’ Hermes since the former plays a more central role in his comedy and is far more talkative. In fact, Mercury speaks almost twice as much as Hermes within a shorter play. Mercury delivers 325 of the 595 lines during which he appears onstage (out of Amphitryon’s total of 1146); Hermes delivers 171 of his 421 lines onstage (out of Peace’s total of 1359). Hermes does not appear as a character between Peace and Amphitryon, though he is mentioned at Men. Epit. 284 and 317. He also appears as a character in Phrynichus fr. 61 K-A, Plato fr. 204 K-A, and as the subject of jokes in Strattis fr. 23 K-A and Teleclides fr. 35 K-A. For his part, other than in the Amphitryon, Mercury appears in Roman palliata or togata comedy only at Caec. Stat. Aeth. fr. 4 Ribbeck. (10) This essay employs the following texts: for Aristophanes, Wilson 2007; Plautus, Lindsay 1904–5, except Amphitryon, Christenson 2000; Menander, Sandbach 1990; Homeric Hymn to Hermes, Richardson 2010; Lucian, Macleod 1972 and 1987. All translations are my own. (11) Pseudolus, for example, compares himself to an actor and poet in search of novelty at lines 568–73a of his own play. For Pseudolus as Plautus, see e.g. Slater 1985: 118–46.

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Hermes/Mercury (12) E.g. Libanius warns himself not to do what other slaves clever at tricking their masters do at Asinaria 256–7, and Tranio declares himself more clever than other comic slaves at Mostellaria 1149–51. While John Miller observed (personal communication) that Mercury’s declaration that it is right to be callidus and astutus could be understood as a nod to his own mythological tradition (as with his headgear: see petaso 143, 145), Mercury’s use of formam and statum in reference to Sosia suggests that this speech focuses more on the god’s roleplaying rather than on his well-known cleverness. (13) In contrast, until Jupiter apparently drops his disguise to resolve the remaining conflict as a deus ex machina at the end of the comedy, he appears as a comic old man since he is dressed and masked as Amphitryon, who is himself described as “old” at 1032 and 1072 (cf. Christenson 2000: 308, 163; Christenson 2001: 254, 257). The subtype of the lecherous old-man-in-love also appears in Plautus’ Asinaria, Casina, and Mercator, where he is inevitably stymied in his efforts to achieve sexual congress with a young woman who is not his wife. Jupiter may succeed where other old-men-in-love fail, but he is undermined in non-metatheatrical ways throughout the performance—see lines 133–5, 873–5, 903, perhaps 507, 526 (Christenson 2001: 245 n. 15). Thus, while both Jupiter and Mercury are portrayed as actors, the role that Jupiter plays further degrades him. One might say that Jupiter chooses the wrong type of comic role, while Mercury makes the most of the roles thrust upon him. (14) Although Hermes invents the practice of sacrifice in lines 115–29 of the Homeric Hymn to Hermes, his rejection of flesh in the Hymn helps set gods apart from mortals. Aristophanes erases that difference in Peace and Wealth. Parker 2005: 150 notes that comedy tends to mock the gods who are closest to and most associated with humans: Hermes, Heracles, Prometheus. (15) Although Hermes does not use Euripides’ name in his response, Aristophanic characters who explicitly mention tragic poets are primarily slaves, children, low-status comic heroes and choruses, and characters from Frogs, in which Attic tragedy is a central theme: Dicaeopolis (Aeschylus at Ach. 10, then Euripides thirteen times between 394 and 484), Dionysus (Euripides and Aeschylus passim in Ra., plus others at 79), Heracles (Ra. 73, 76, 83, 86, 87, 151), Aeacus (Ra. 801), Euripides himself (Ra. 910, plus 834 on Aeschylean tragedy), Aeschylus himself (Ra. 1299), Trygaeus’ daughter (Pax 147), Trygaeus (Pax 531, 532, 1009), the Farmer Chorus (Pax 802–3), Euripides himself (Thes. 29), Mnesilochus (Thes. 30), Xanthias (Wasps 61, 1501, 1505, 1508), Philocleon (Wasps 1414), and the Wasp Chorus (Wasps 1524). (16) ὑφ᾽ ἅρματ᾽ ἐλθὼν Ζηνὸς ἀστραπηφορεῖ (“Entering beneath Zeus’ chariot he bears the lightning”). Cf. Hermes’ quotation from another lost Euripidean tragedy at Wealth 1151. Other Aristophanic characters who quote or parody tragedy are, for the most part, abject heroes: Dicaeopolis (Ach. 8, 440–1, 446, Page 13 of 16

 

Hermes/Mercury 497–9), Euripides (Ach. 430), Peisthetairus (Birds 275–6), Blepyrus (Eccl. 392–3 misquotes Aesch. Myrm.), Dionysus (Ra. 100–2, 1471, 1475), Cleon (Eq. 1248– 52), Trygaeus (Pax 154–61, 1013–14), Euripides (passim at Thes. 855–921 and 1098–1132), Mnesilochus (Thes. 134–45, 518–19, 769–84, 850, passim at 855– 927 and 1010–71, 1107–8), Agathon (Thes. 194), a child (Wasps 304, 312, 314), and possibly Cario (Pl. 1158). (17) Comic poets are also named by the abject and/or low-status Cloud Chorus (Nu. 553), Xanthias (Ra. 13–14), Frog Chorus (Ra. 357), and Knight Chorus (Eq. 520, 526, 537). (18) Pace the LSJ, which only attributes the “mask” meaning to authors of the mid-late fourth century; Hall 2006: 109 declares that πρόσωπον means both “face” and “mask” “certainly by the fourth century.” πρόσωπον also appears in Aristophanes at Eq. 38, Ra. 912, and—most significantly—at Pl. 1064–5, where Chremylus remarks on the Old Woman’s makeup, declaring that if the white lead were washed off, the rags of her face/mask would show plainly: εἰ δ᾽ ἐκπλυνεῖται τοῦτο τὸ ψιμύθιον, / ὄψει κατάδηλα τοῦ προσώπου τὰ ῥάκη. (19) Cf. 603–14, 619–27, and 632–48, which are addressed to the Athenian audience indirectly. Although space does not permit complete citation, the following primarily abject or low-status characters also address or directly refer to the spectators in Aristophanes’ comedies: Acharnians—Chorus, Dicaeopolis; Birds—Euelpides, Chorus; Clouds—Chorus, Just Speech, Unjust Speech, Strepsiades; Ecclesiazousae—Praxagora, Woman B, Chremes, Blepyrus, Chorus, Young Woman, Slave Girl; Frogs—Xanthias, Dionysus, Frog Chorus, Aeacus, Euripides; Knights—the slaves Demosthenes and Nikias, Chorus, Sausage-seller; Lysistrata—Combined Chorus, Athenian A; Peace—Slaves A and B, Trygaeus, Chorus, Another Slave; Thesmophoriazousae—Euripides; Wasps—Xanthias, Sosias, Chorus, Philocleon; Wealth—Wealth, Wife, Old Woman. (20) Pseudolus, for example, metatheatrically discusses the fabula in which he appears at 562–73a, advising the audience about the current state of his plan and referring to or comparing himself to an actor (568 qui in scaenam provenit). Not only does Pseudolus use the language of theater and deception (572 sycophantias) just like a poet, but he also controls the flow of the play, sending the flute-player on stage to entertain the audience while he (Pseudolus) concocts a scheme to cheat both the pimp Ballio and the old man Simo out of their money. (21) Cf. the hints from the Fishermen at Rud. 293, and comments by the Advocates at Poen. 550–2 and Pseudolus himself at Pseud. 720–1. Given such parallels, Mercury’s speech should not be taken as an additional prologue, as Christenson 2000: 223 argues.

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Hermes/Mercury (22) These lines also emphasize the upcoming performance as a kind of playwithin-a-play, given Mercury’s explicit reference to the new clothing required for the scene. Cf. lines 54–5, where he acknowledges that performance style—not script—determines genre. (23) The only other overtly metatheatrical characters of Peace are Trygaeus’ slaves (two at 9–10, 13–14, 19–28, 43–61, another later at 963–5) and daughter (135–6, 146–8). The god War does address βροτοί, “mortals,” three times in 236, uses second-person verbs at 237, 243, and 246, and speaks to the cities of Prasiae and Megara at 243–7, but his comments are very different from the selfaware comments of Hermes, the abject Trygaeus, and Trygaeus’ low-status slaves and daughter. Peace’s chorus only ever addresses the audience during the parabasis (729–818). Jupiter is the only overtly metatheatrical character besides Mercury in Amphitryon (at 867–8), but see n. 13. (24) Cf. Hercules at Ra. 89–91, 132, 151 (all examples of category-three theatrical language); Aeacus at Ra. 769, 783, 802 (audience awareness and theatrical language); Dionysus at Ra. 16–18, 53, 95, 274–6, 1005, 1246, 1418–19, 1475 (audience address, audience awareness, and theatrical language); Poverty at Pl. 557 (theatrical language); Wealth at Pl. 796–9 and perhaps 771–3 (audience awareness). (25) Sharrock 2009: 117; cf. Slater 1985: 168–78. Sharrock 2009: 133 considers Mercury the best playwright figure in all Plautine comedy. (26) Blazeby argues that Dionysus was associated with Hermes in the Anthesteria because Hermes provided a balance to the god of wine. Hermes’ day was associated with boiled vegetables, and since boiled cabbage was used as a cure for hangovers by the Greeks (Stafford 2001: 11), perhaps his day was for leading people back from the “dead” of hangover suffering (Blazeby 2011: 102). (27) According to Doty 1993: 51, the phallus is adopted as a symbol for Hermes quite early. Bill Gladhill notes (personal communication) that Hermes is thus the one character on whom the Old Comic phallus would not seem unusual. (28) In the Homeric Hymn to Hermes the young god laughs (29) as he notices the tortoise and invents the lyre before composing and performing the story of his own theogony. Moreover, Hermes arouses laughter from the other gods with his deception and invention. His first speech defending himself against Apollo’s accusation of cattle theft (260–77) parodies the standard elements of defense speeches and prompts laughter from Apollo (281) (Richardson 2010: 190). His second defense speech also occasions laughter from Zeus (389), while Apollo himself laughs with delight at the music of Hermes’ newly-invented lyre (420). (29) Livy 2.21, 27.5–6. Mercury may also have had a role in the Floralia’s historical mimes, if Wiseman (2008: 184–5) is correct. Page 15 of 16

 

Hermes/Mercury (30) Pace Sheets 1983: 207, who locates the similarities between Aristophanic and Plautine comedy in their efforts to distinguish themselves from contemporary tragedians.

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Hermes in Love

Tracking Hermes, Pursuing Mercury John F. Miller and Jenny Strauss Clay

Print publication date: 2019 Print ISBN-13: 9780198777342 Published to Oxford Scholarship Online: March 2019 DOI: 10.1093/oso/9780198777342.001.0001

Hermes in Love The Erotic Career of a Mercurial Character Joseph Farrell

DOI:10.1093/oso/9780198777342.003.0009

Abstract and Keywords As a lover, Hermes is generally regarded as comparable to other male divinities. His perceived connection to ithyphallic herms only strengthens this impression. In literature, however, the character of Hermes’ erotic activity is different from that of other gods. In general, as might be expected, he relies on stealth rather than force, and he is often content to play a secondary role by facilitating the amorous adventures of other figures. In fact, Hermes can be said in most cases to sublimate his own sexuality in favor of someone else’s, often in a way that bespeaks his own greater interest in homosocial bonding than in sexual conquest. These tendencies are clearly visible in archaic, classical, and Hellenistic representations of Hermes, and they develop in generally consistent and almost predictable ways through classical Roman treatments of Mercury down to quite late texts that become foundational for the medieval reception of classical antiquity. Keywords:   Aphrodite/Venus, Apollo, brother, erotic, father, homosocial, love, sex/sexuality, sublimation, violence

It is not unusual to find Hermes described as fairly typical among the Olympian gods when it comes to sexual matters. In fact, he is occasionally described, thanks to the iconography of the herms with which he was and is widely identified, as rather more susceptible than most. But while I do not wish to go so far as to maintain that such views are mistaken, I would argue that they are either exaggerated or, perhaps, overly simplified in comparison to what the full Page 1 of 24

Hermes in Love range of evidence suggests. For everyone can agree that Hermes is a flexible character, and if one considers the variety of amorous situations in which he gets involved, and especially the roles that he plays in them, a more interesting and varied picture emerges. To do justice to a divinity who helped Eratosthenes to survey the entire globe, it will be necessary to move through a good deal of territory and, especially, of time, starting in archaic Greece and ending in early medieval Europe.1 And I will be confining myself mainly to literary evidence, partly in the interest of brevity, but partly to make the point that the literary and material evidence may be telling us different things. On the whole, I will proceed chronologically from earlier to later representations; but let me begin in the middle with a passage that emphasizes Hermes’ versatility while bringing literary and material evidence into clear contact. Cicero in Book 3 of De natura deorum gives a useful summary of a skeptical perspective, informed by Euhemerism, on Mercury and the other gods.2 His (p.122) speaker, Gaius Cotta, states that five different individuals were conflated into the god that he calls Mercury: one who was the offspring of Sky and Day; another, also called Trophonius, who inhabited the Underworld and was the son of Valens and the daughter of Phoroneus; a third, born of Jupiter and Maia and himself the father of Pan; a fourth, who cannot be named, born of the river Nile; and a fifth, worshiped at Pheneus in Arcadia, who slew Argus and fled to Egypt, where he introduced a law code and the art of writing and received the name Theyt or, more commonly, Thoth. This is anything but a disinterested perspective on the god, but it is an attempt to account for his essential attributes in all their diversity as they were perceived at the time of writing.3 Accordingly, Hermes’ roles as psychopomp, protector of herds and pastures, slayer of Argus, and even his civilizing and esoteric role as Hermes Trismegistos, all receive due emphasis. So, I believe, does his role as wayfinder, protector of travelers, and guardian of crossroads, although this major function appears in a very curious way when Cicero’s Cotta begins by citing representations of Mercury as “sexually excited” (cuius obscenius excitata natura traditur), which must have to do with the iconography of herms and other ithyphallic figures which, whatever their origin, the ancients themselves believed to represent Hermes. My second point is that the passage speaks of this first Mercury as erotically aroused. Most scholars today would draw a distinction between the categories of sex and violence in representations of the phallus, just as one would do in comparing consensual relations to the crime of rape. But, while obviously and necessarily separable, the categories are often conflated; and the ancients, even if they were capable of separating them, often did conflate them. Statues of Priapus, for instance, were meant to protect gardens from thieves by threatening trespassers with violence; but the coarse humor of the Corpus Priapeorum depends on the idea that one man’s (or woman’s) punishment might be another’s pleasure.4 Moreover, even making a straightforward, binary Page 2 of 24

 

Hermes in Love distinction between the threat of violence and the promise of erotic gratification is too simple, since Priapus and the ithyphallic Hermes both seem to symbolize benevolent protection in some contexts.5 And, in fact, the versatile (p.123) Hermes almost never means only one thing at a time. So, as a paradoxical context to what I have to say, we have to assume that, in some visual representations of what was thought to be Hermes, his sexual potential was very much on display. I say this context is paradoxical because, in literature, Hermes is in fact not the most sexually active of gods. He may be the least so; and the question that this raises is, why? Rampant sexuality, after all, is one of the Greek gods’ chief attributes. Zeus is unchallenged in this respect, one of his principal roles being precisely that he is “father of gods and men.” Poseidon’s libido is celebrated in the Homeric Odyssey, the Hesiodic Catalogue of Women, and in later sources.6 To round out the trio of senior Olympians who control the major realms of sky, sea, and Underworld, it is true that Hades is not especially well known as a philanderer, but his famous abduction of Persephone is probably all he needs to ensure his credentials in this area. Among the younger Olympians, neither Hephaestus nor Ares might seem such impressive lovers if they were not both involved with Aphrodite, as husband and paramour, respectively; but they are, and this has to count for something. That leaves us Apollo and Hermes, the two most junior Olympians. These divine brothers are paired often and in many ways, and I will be returning more than once to this theme. But the Homeric Hymn to Hermes begins with an equally important relationship that also endures in ancient literature, that between Hermes and his father.7 For instance, the first thing we learn from the hymn about Zeus’ affair with Maia is that it was a big secret: Zeus kept it hidden from Hera, in particular, under cover of night.8 These details implicitly explain how it is that Hermes inherits from his father a penchant for stealth and craft, rather than a voracious sexual appetite; and in later myth, as we shall see, Hermes is generally represented as using his own stealth and craft to support his father’s erotic escapades, much more often than his own. By beginning in this way, stressing that Hermes takes after his father in cleverness rather than libido, the hymn sets up later episodes of sexual sublimation. For instance, as soon as Hermes invents the lyre, the precocious infant celebrates his illustrious genealogy in the ribald manner of young men at banquets by hymning his parents’ trysts.9 The hymn’s return to the theme of (p. 124) these trysts looks, as many have noted, like a new beginning, and it poses the question of what the young Hermes, armed with his lyre, will do next.10 Ribaldry, young men at banquets, and secret trysts open up a number of possibilities. One of these is that Hermes, while taking his cue from those young men at banquets, imitates not their ribaldry but, instead, their hunger. That inference is confirmed by Hermes’ next act, which is to set off at once on a quest for meat that will take him to Apollo’s cattle. In a sense, eros is not wholly absent Page 3 of 24

 

Hermes in Love from this quest, but once again it is sublimated: the phrase used for Hermes’ hunger is κρειῶν ἐρατίζων, “lusting after meat.”11 Of course, one should be wary of pressing the meaning of this phrase in this context too hard. In the first place, it is formulaic: it occurs once again in this same hymn, and twice in the Iliad as well, where, as Athanassios Vergados points out, “the formula refers to a lion,” so that one of its effects in the hymn, where it refers to a newborn, may well be humorous.12 Second, these are the only passages of early epic where the verb ἐρατίζω occurs, and in all of them its object is meat. Still, ἐρατίζω is clearly an intensive form of ἔραμαι, “to love, desire passionately, long for, or lust after,” and Callimachus uses it in a passage that concerns either Zeus’ desire for Hera, or perhaps their actual lovemaking, which in either case lasted for some three hundred years.13 So, it is difficult to believe that ancient Greek speakers heard the phrase κρειῶν ἐρατίζων much differently from the way we would hear “lusting after meat.” And if they did hear it that way, this is the only lust that they would find Hermes experiencing in the poem. Otherwise, eros in this hymn is in very short supply—except for the sublimated eros of Hermes’ bromance with Apollo. The attraction between them makes itself apparent when Hermes gives big brother the tortoise-shell lyre.14 Of course, the basic issue involved here is compensation for the cattle (p.125) that Hermes has stolen, and Hermes’ main object is to win recognition in Apollo’s eyes (477 σὺ δέ μοι, φίλε, κῦδος ὄπαζε). It is also true that, in this same passage, Hermes speaks the language not of eros, but of philia (φίλε). So again, we must be wary of pressing too hard. But I think it is telling that, when Hermes gives Apollo the lyre, he calls it a λιγύφωνον ἑταίρην (478), a phrase that Martin West renders literally as “a clear-voiced girl friend.”15 West is perfectly right to do so, because in what follows, Hermes develops this metaphor. As Vergados most recently points out, “from this point on the lyre is presented simultaneously as an instrument and a woman, in fact a hetaira attending an aristocratic banquet.”16 Thus Hermes tells Apollo that he might take his new girl friend to the cheerful banquet or the charming dance or the raucous revel. (And here a bit of eros does peek through in the phrase χορὸν ἱμερόεντα, 481.) Then, Hermes (as god of herds) offers to manage Apollo’s remaining cattle so that they will mate and bear many calves.17 With this proposal, Hermes once again uses his own abilities to facilitate the expression of someone else’s sexuality—in this case, that of the animals. And Hermes’ offer proves to be the start of a beautiful friendship: the two brothers, “Zeus’ surpassingly beautiful children” (504), go skipping together back to snowy Olympus, where Zeus himself rejoices and joins them together in philotes.18 This is, I have to note, the same word used to describe Maia’s lovemaking with Zeus at the beginning of the hymn in the formulaic phrase ἐν φιλότητι μιγεῖσα (4). As a result, Hermes “began to love” (508 ἐφίλησε) Apollo continually, just as he still does; and Apollo acknowledged his brother’s love (p. 126) token, namely, the “charming lyre” (509–10 κίθαριν…ἱμερτήν, with another bit of eros peeking out through the philia).19 In sum, we are presented Page 4 of 24

 

Hermes in Love with an episode of homoerotic courtship charged with the language of love at every turn—and with the younger god, very much in keeping with his general precociousness throughout the hymn, cast as the erastes instead of the eromenos. But the relationship is very much a sublimated, homosocial one rather than an overtly erotic one, as is underlined by Hermes’ role as a kind of gobetween: he ingratiates himself to his big brother and wins respect for himself by finding Apollo a new girl friend—the lyre—and causing his cattle to mate and become prolific. There is no need to consider later retellings of these particular stories, from Alcaeus to Lucian, because none of them, so far as I can see, deals with the issue of Hermes’ sexuality as cleverly as the hymn, if indeed at all.20 Other poems tell different stories about Hermes, adapting them somewhat to their own generic expectations. A good illustration of this point involves a pair of passages, one in the Iliad and one in the Hymn to Aphrodite, that are linked by the theme of eros and also by shared diction. First, the catalogue of Myrmidons in Iliad 16 names one Eudorus as a son of Hermes and tells the story of his birth.21 Here, then, Hermes appears not only as a lover himself, but as one who acts independently, expressing many essential aspects of his own identity, but doing so in a martial context.22 Thus the formulaic language of (p.127) this passage describes Hermes, unsurprisingly, as strong and accomplished (181 κρατὺς ἀργεϊφόντης), inasmuch as early epic seems to have misunderstood the epithet argeiphontes as meaning “slayer of Argos,” and so as expressing Hermes’ battle prowess.23 Such ideas are obviously very appropriate to the context of an epic war narrative. On the other hand, in the details surrounding Eudorus’ conception and birth, the abidingly unaggressive aspects of Hermes’ character remain very much in place. Having seen and fallen in love with a young girl as she was dancing in honor of the virginal Artemis (183), Hermes escorts her into womanhood not by abducting her, as another god might have done, but by entering stealthily into the upper chamber of her home, like the thief that he is (184). In addition, the girl’s name—Polymele, daughter of Phylas (180–1 Πολυμήλη / Φύλαντος θυγάτηρ)—expresses an aspect of Hermes’ own identity as guardian of abundant flocks (πολλῶν μηλὼν φύλαξ). Similarly, the name of the son that Polymele bears him, Eudorus, reflects the many bridal gifts that her future husband, Echecles, would give in exchange for her (190 μυρία ἕδνα). Finally, Eudorus himself is praised as “preeminent as a fast runner and as a warrior” (186 πέρι μὲν θείειν ταχὺν ἠδὲ μαχητήν), presumably having inherited his speed from his father. In the passage from the Hymn to Aphrodite, line 118 closely resembles line 183 from the Iliad passage we have just been discussing.24 In the latter, Hermes sees Polymele “in a dance honoring Artemis of the golden shafts and the loud, clear voice” (ἐν χορῷ Ἀρτέμιδος χρυσηλακάτου κελαδεινῆς); in the hymn, Aphrodite tells Anchises that she is no goddess or nymph (as he rightly supposes she is), but a mortal girl whom Hermes abducted “from a dance in honor of Artemis of the golden shafts and the loud, clear voice” (ἐκ χοροῦ…) and then brought to Page 5 of 24

 

Hermes in Love him on Mt. Ida (108–27). S. Douglas Olson, commenting on this passage, notes (apropos of the verb ἀνήρπαξε, 117) that “[t]he conventional epic explanation of Hermes’ behavior would be that he snatched [the girl] in order to rape her in an isolated spot, after which she (p.128) could expect him to abandon her, allowing her to find her way eventually to Anchises’ door.”25 That is certainly true, so far as conventional epic explanations go. But Hermes is not a conventional epic god. Even in the Iliad, Hermes does not kidnap Polymele by force, but sneaks into her room by stealth; and in the hymn, Aphrodite’s story, though false, must be based on a plausible conception of Hermes as a god who is more likely to abduct a girl and take her to some other lover than he is to take advantage of her himself.26 On balance, then, a comparison between these two passages suggests that the Iliad poet had to work a bit to make Hermes’ behavior conform somewhat to the conventions of epic machismo, while the poet of the hymn could simply allow Hermes to play his usual role as helpful gobetween instead of masterful, or even stealthy lover. This same function appears later in the Aphrodite hymn, when the goddess recalls how Zeus once sent Hermes to Tros with gifts to compensate for the abduction of Ganymede.27 And still later in the same speech, Aphrodite introduces a new aspect of Hermes’ love-life when she announces her plan to have the baby Aeneas nursed by some long-lived mountain nymphs who eat divine food, dance with the immortals, and mate with Hermes and the Silenoi.28 So Aphrodite does not condemn Hermes to out-and-out sexual abstinence; but this cavorting with Silenoi and mountain nymphs is, to say the least, rather unusual by Olympian standards. Before leaving the archaic period, I have to note that in the Odyssey, Hermes’ role as amatory go-between takes on still another aspect. In the Aphrodite hymn, merely invoking the clever Hermes seems to lend plausibility to the goddess’s fictitious story that it was he who brought her to Anchises. But in the Odyssey, his role becomes one not of facilitating but of preventing or limiting erotic liaisons. In Book 1, we learn that Zeus had sent Hermes to warn Aegisthus not to get involved with Clytemnestra (37–42), just as he will later send him to tell Calypso that she must release her boy-toy Odysseus (84–7; cf. 5.75–148). In Book 10, as well, Odysseus tells Circe that Hermes appeared (p.129) to him, warned him about her spells, and gave him the moly that would protect him against them (277–308).29 Here it is worth taking quick look at the Vergilian reception of these episodes, which gives Mercury similar roles in the Aeneid, though not without certain instructive differences.30 To promote Aeneas’ affair with Dido— the Calypso of Vergil’s Odyssey, and in certain ways a Circe figure as well— Mercury plays only a limited, indirect role. This occurs when Jupiter, following his interview with Venus, sends Mercury to make the Carthaginians put off their habitual ferocia corda and welcome the Trojans.31 It is Venus herself—abetted by Cupid—and later Juno who do the specifically erotic heavy lifting.32 By the same token, when it is time to end the affair, Jupiter once again sends Mercury to Page 6 of 24

 

Hermes in Love move Aeneas along.33 But the Vergilian leavetaking goes very differently from its Homeric models. In the Odyssey, Hermes appears to Calypso, visits with her, and informs her courteously of the greater gods’ will, which she accepts, however reluctantly; and when Odysseus informs Circe that Hermes has appeared to him, she reacts knowingly, saying that Hermes had often mentioned to her that Odysseus would one day visit her island.34 In Vergil, of course, Mercury appears to Aeneas, and not to Dido; so that when Aeneas informs Dido of the god’s command, she reacts with incredulous scorn.35 I will shortly suggest what factors in the development of the god’s character facilitated the conversion of Homer’s Hermes into Vergil’s Mercury. But first, let me consider a few other aspects of Hermes’ Homeric persona. So far, apart (p. 130) from Eudorus in the Iliad, we have seen little reason to suspect that Hermes would become a great patriarch, and indeed he does not. In comparison to other gods, he is responsible for no heroic genealogies of major importance. These also tend to be attested in later sources, and in some cases we have evidence that the later sources contradict or modify earlier ones. Odysseus’ own genealogy is a significant case in point. According to Pherecydes of Athens, Odysseus’ grandfather, Autolycus, was the son of Hermes and Philonis, daughter of Deion; in fact, Pherecydes’ story once again links Hermes to Apollo, in that both gods saw, desired, and made love to Philonis on the very same day.36 That is all we know from Pherecydes, but Ovid tells a similar story about a girl whom he names not Philonis, but Chione, daughter not of Deion, but of Daedalion; and this girl gives birth to twins, the crafty Autolycus, son of Mercury, and Philammon, son of Apollo. But Chione, boasting of her child-bearing, was slain for her presumption by Diana; and Apollo, pitying her father’s grief, turned him into a bird.37 So Ovid, typically, tells the story in a way that downplays Mercury’s role as divine patriarch, in favor of his main theme of metamorphosis. All of this goes well beyond Homer, who says that Hermes granted Autolycus the arts of theft and (clever) oath-taking, because Autolycus assiduously propitiated the god.38 And that is all: nothing of a blood relationship between them. This despite the fact that Homer had every reason to stress Odysseus’ connection to Hermes, and positing direct descent would have been a good way to do so.39 But like most early poets, he tended not to regard Hermes as a divine patriarch. We do have classical, Hellenistic, and imperial sources linking Hermes to various heroes, some known for their craftiness, but none the progenitor of an important lineage.40 But whether stories like these go back to archaic traditions or, as in the case of Autolycus, simply represent a later (p.131) tendency to explain heroic character traits in terms of divine DNA, is hard to say. What we can say is that even among those mythographers who specialize in heroic genealogy, Hermes’ contribution is not that impressive.

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Hermes in Love A couple of the more famous offspring credited to Hermes may suggest why this is so. The first of these is Pan, whose parentage is variously assigned by different sources.41 But the nineteenth Homeric Hymn, which is concerned mainly with the circumstances of Pan’s birth, says emphatically that Hermes is his father.42 In the story that it tells, Hermes was struck with desire for the tree nymph Dryope, came down to earth, worked as a herdsman, and made love to her, so that she gave birth to a goat-footed baby, who frightened her but delighted his father.43 The story is told very allusively, and seems to suggest that some fuller version once existed. But we can at least say that this hymn celebrates Hermes as protector of herds, and also perhaps that it casts the god in a light somewhat similar to that of the Aphrodite hymn, where he is given mountain nymphs and Silenes as companions in his erotic escapades.44 Pan of course does go on to enjoy a varied amatory career, which includes the story that the Ovidian Mercury uses to lull Argus to sleep in Metamorphoses 1, the story of Syrinx, which is essentially a doublet of the story of Daphne earlier in the same book.45 That passage indirectly recalls yet again the close relationship between Hermes and Apollo, this time in the Augustan period.46 This is especially evident in the way that Ovid tells both of these stories—god sees nymph; god pursues nymph; nymph flees and is rescued, sort of, when she is transformed into a plant; frustrated god makes plant an emblem of himself and, in the case of Syrinx, his preferred musical instrument.47 In the narratological system of the Metamorphoses, Argus’ sleepiness is a self-reflexive joke at Ovid’s own expense, an advance warning to uncharitable critics that he actually knows what he is doing, and a notice to the reader of the many mythic permutations that are to come. But from our point of view, the story emphasizes once again the differences between Hermes and all his male relations. Apollo, his older brother, and Pan, his son, are much more typical of Ovid’s (p.132) erotic heroes, whereas Mercury in this story plays his familiar role of Jupiter’s go-between, this time focusing on damage control by lulling Argus to sleep and then slaying him in order to keep Jupiter’s dalliance with Io hidden from the jealous Juno.48 In the following book of the Metamorphoses, Mercury tries to become an erotic hero in his own right when he falls in love with Herse, daughter of Cecrops; but he is blocked by Herse’s envious sister, Aglauros. Annoyed by this opposition, Mercury becomes preoccupied with his desire to punish Aglauros and, once he does, quits Athens (if we take Ovid’s narrative as written) with no further thought for Herse.49 Later in the same book, Mercury returns to his usual role as go-between when Jupiter bids him drive the royal herd of cattle down from the hills to the shores of Sidon, where Europa and her companions are playing; and there, disguised as a bull himself, Jupiter charms and abducts the princess.50 In both these stories, Mercury plays what must be considered his primary erotic role as Jupiter’s wing-man, helping his father get the girl, the same role that Aphrodite assigns him twice in her Homeric Hymn. This may be a role that archaic Greek poets and their audiences constantly remembered whenever they Page 8 of 24

 

Hermes in Love heard the epithet argeiphontes, which they seem to have connected with the story of Io even if the actual etymology of the word has nothing to do with that.51 And it is a role that Mercury plays to the hilt in Plautus’ Amphitryon, where his clever trickery and evident zest in acting as his father’s procurer almost steal the show.52 This is the opposite, comic side of his role in removing the erotic entanglements that threaten to keep Odysseus and Aeneas from reaching their destinations. But in all these cases, Mercury manages to maintain a kind of detachment that randier gods like his father, his brother, and his son never seem to achieve. That is perhaps why, when he tells the story of Pan and Syrinx precisely as one that is likely to put Argus to sleep, I cannot help wonder whether this bit of Ovidian self-mockery might not contain a hint of Mercurial self-disclosure, as well. Because it surely cannot (p.133) be every narrator who could find in this exciting story of love at first sight, violent pursuit, and supernatural transformation the raw materials of a soporific lullaby. Mercury can, and perhaps that means that he just does not find any of these erotic adventures quite as interesting as most immortals—or mortals, for that matter— seem to do. But how can that be, if one considers that famous passage of the Odyssey in which Apollo and Hermes do such a convincing impersonation of typical frat boys, looking mirthfully on with the other gods at the trap, set by the cuckolded Hephaestus for—and speculating on whether they would trade places with—the embarrassed Ares for a night with Aphrodite.53 Apollo begins the banter, perhaps teasing his less experienced younger brother by asking whether he thinks that would be a good bargain. Hermes, as he does in his Hymn, talks big, insisting that he would willingly accept three times as many bindings in exchange for such pleasure. This episode anticipates a certain number of Hermes’ erotic adventures in later literature, in which Apollo shows the way, and Hermes follows. The most transparent example, which is attested by Galen, is that of Crocus, a beautiful boy whom Hermes loved but accidently killed while throwing a discus, so that the boy turned into a flower.54 Other authors tell a different story, so maybe Galen simply misremembered the story of Hyacinthus as that of Crocus.55 But in any case, the much better attested Hyacinthus story must be a model for the other. So, in the brotherly banter of the Odyssey passage, Apollo leads and Hermes follows, establishing a pattern that is predictive of their relationship in later literature. But not always; because, whatever this banter may have meant to its earliest audiences, later readers may have found in it an ironic, future-reflexive character. For big-brother Apollo never succeeded in hooking up with Aphrodite, whereas little Hermes eventually got his wish. The surviving sources show little interest in their actual affair. Instead, they focus on the intriguing offspring of their union.56 Visual representations of a female figure, sometimes (p.134) winged, with male genitalia, begin to appear in Greece in the fourth century BCE, and during that time the word hermaphroditus first appears in Page 9 of 24

 

Hermes in Love Theophrastus’ Characters, apparently as a name for such images.57 A century later, the comic poet Posidippus would entitle a play Hermaphroditus, thereby adding to our impression that the figure was gaining currency in the late classical and early Hellenistic periods. In this play, someone says that “every man, even if he happens to be someone poor, raises a / son, but exposes a daughter even if he is rich.”58 The title of this play notwithstanding, it is difficult to be sure what this passage may be saying about the hermaphroditus in particular, but the gender prejudices that are on display here may anticipate a later passage in which the Roman playwright Titinius uses the word to insult a man who wears his hair like a woman.59 From this one can infer that the hermaphrodite had come by about 200 BCE to be regarded not as a female with masculine characteristics, but rather as an effeminate male.60 Ovid recapitulates this trajectory in his treatment of Hermaphroditus. On the one hand, he agrees with other sources that the boy’s name expresses the combination of characteristics that he inherited from both parents; but these relate mainly to his exceptionally good looks.61 Though a child of Mercury, he is quite naïve, altogether lacking his father’s cleverness. It may be that he takes after his mother; certainly Salmacis finds him the very image of his half-brother, Cupid.62 And, though a child of Venus, Hermaphroditus is completely (p.135) ignorant of love and not much interested in it.63 In fact, he is quite indifferent, and even hostile, to the beautiful Salmacis’ advances.64 By the time Ovid tells the story, the child is born a boy who, when he comes of age, is emasculated by the water nymph Salmacis.65 So, in a sense, Ovid’s idea that Hermaphroditus is a boy who is effeminized by Salmacis amounts to a tale of redundant or unnecessary transformation—since elsewhere sexual ambiguity is Hermaphroditus’ defining property from birth. Moreover, since Aphrodite is known to have borne normal children to other fathers in other myths, it makes sense to infer that in this one Hermes’ genetic contribution must somehow have been rather weak in comparison to theirs and to that of Aphrodite herself.66 And in fact, as we have already seen, Hermes has a record of fathering physically ambiguous children, including not only the sexually ambiguous Hermaphroditus, but the theriomorphic Pan, as well.67 So, quite apart from Hermes and Apollo, Hermes and Aphrodite (or Mercury and Venus) form a mythologically significant pair as well. I will return to them before concluding. First, though, I want to look briefly at a story that involves, once again, Mercury’s greatest mythological partner, Jupiter, in what must be the most disturbing of all the younger god’s erotic adventures. The story is all the more disturbing because it shows every sign of being an original Ovidian composition, posing as an origin myth of the Feralia festival on February 21, in Book 2 of the Fasti.68 According to this myth, the nymph Lala, so called because of her talkative nature, warned Juturna that Jupiter had designs on her. As punishment, Jupiter tore out Lala’s tongue, so that she could talk no more. Ovid is not explicit that this punishment caused a change in the way Lala herself Page 10 of 24

 

Hermes in Love pronounced her name, so that it became Lara, although this is easy to infer; and in any case, Jupiter further punished the nymph by sending her to Hades. To conduct her there, he naturally called (p.136) upon Mercury, both as his usual assistant in his erotic escapades and, this time, in view of Mercury’s more official role as psychopomp. Here is where a disturbing tale becomes even more so. While conducting Lara to the land of the dead, Mercury liked the look of her and took her by force, making her the mother of the Lares. The tale is an obvious fiction drawing on numerous other myths, as is made clear by mention of Procne and Tereus in the Karistia episode that follows, almost as if the poet were citing his source for the unusual motif of imposing silence on a victim by cutting out her tongue.69 But the story also draws on authentic elements of Mercury’s character, particularly, as was just noted, his role as psychopomp.70 In addition, Mercury is occasionally linked to the Lares by inscriptional evidence, and it seems possible that some sense of similarity between Roman Lares Compitales and Greek herms may be involved, as well.71 Finally, since Mercury forces himself on Lara en route to the Underworld, perhaps we should remember what Cicero says about the first Mercury being represented as in a state of arousal upon seeing the mistress of that domain.72 For that matter, the god is said to have lusted after other hellish goddesses, including Brimo in Propertius and Daeira in Pausanias.73 So not only in this chilling Ovidian episode do the elegiac and Freudian dyad of eros and thanatos play their role in the loves of Hermes. When we move toward the end of the classical period, more or less explicit allegory begins to figure in Mercury’s amatory adventures, and marriage rather than illicit affairs becomes the main point. In this connection, a more cheerful aspect of the god’s role as psychopomp appears in, once again, his association with Venus, this time in Apuleius. The story of Cupid and Psyche features Mercury not as the goddess’s lover, but in his traditional roles of herald and psychopomp: Venus wants Mercury to publish to the world that (p.137) she is searching for the runaway Psyche and, when the missing girl is found, to conduct her not to the Underworld, but back to the sky. The main point, however, is that when Venus enlists Mercury’s help, she tells him, “I am sure you know that your sister Venus has never accomplished anything without your assistance.”74 It is true that with this speech the goddess is ingratiating herself to a fellow god from whom she needs a favor; still, the idea that Venus never accomplished anything without Mercury’s assistance seems to be laying it on a bit thick. But the idea of Mercury as a god of reason and intelligence follows from his fundamental cleverness; and his cleverness with words, which is exemplified in Homer by his giving Autolycus particular skill in the wording of oaths, is related to this as well. Another special application of Mercurial reason and eloquence is in the field of love. Plutarch attests as much in his Coniugalia praecepta, where he says, “The ancients gave Hermes a place at the side of Aphrodite, in the conviction that pleasure in marriage stands especially in need of reason; and they also assigned a place there to Persuasion and the Graces, so Page 11 of 24

 

Hermes in Love that married people should succeed in attaining their mutual desires by persuasion and not by fighting and quarrelling.”75 It seems quite likely that Apuleius has similar associations in mind when he makes Venus say that she has never accomplished anything without Mercury’s assistance. In the same vein, when we reach the fifth century, Nonnus twice refers to Peitho—conceptually and iconographically one of Aphrodite’s frequent companions—as Hermes’ wife.76 So, already by the early Empire, and even more clearly in later antiquity, the god is closely associated in allegory with the idea of erotic persuasion or seduction—an association that is not fundamentally so different from his usual role as go-between in earlier mythology. This leads to one final example of Hermes in love, a work more or less contemporary with Nonnus, but written in Latin, and better known to medievalists than to classicists: namely, Martianus Capella’s The Marriage of Mercury and Philology. This highly allegorical work consists of nine books, the first two of which tell about the circumstances of the wedding in the form of a romance that E. R. Curtius regards as modeled on Apuleius’ “Cupid and Psyche” episode.77 It can be briefly summarized as concern to all and sundry that Mercury is still a bachelor. In view of this concern, Virtue—or perhaps it would be better to call her “Manliness” (Virtus)—advises Mercury to consult (p.138) Apollo about what he should do, and Apollo proposes that he should marry Philology, a girl who is familiar with all areas of knowledge. Mercury agrees, and at the end of Book 1 the other gods sitting in council approve his choice. Then in Book 2, after all nine Muses sing hymns to honor the bride, she is prepared for the wedding by her mother, Thought; by the four cardinal virtues, Prudence, Justice, Temperance, and Courage; by the three Graces; and by Immortality— because to marry a god, she must become immortal herself. Philology is then borne by Labor, Love, Application, and Sleeplessness up to Olympus, where she receives premarital instruction from Juno. The rest of the work, Books 3 through 9, are each devoted to one of the Liberal Arts, who are given to the bride as wedding presents to serve her in married life. Thus the work as a whole, though presented in the form of an allegorical romance, is a compendium of ancient wisdom; and as such it served as a kind of universal encyclopedia from the end of antiquity until the early modern period.78 From our point of view, however, the important point is that in Martianus’ book, Mercury finally took a wife—not Persuasion, as in Nonnus, but Philology. And this seems a fitting place to end. I began by noting that my purpose would be to survey the theme of Hermes in love, not to argue a thesis; but in conclusion, after stringing together these episodes in an order that mainly just follows the chronology of their sources, I find it impossible not to notice that they describe the familiar trajectory of a novelistic biography. This could be summarized, facetiously, as follows: Hermes, the youngest of the Olympian gods, was born during the archaic period into a distinguished but dysfunctional family of extreme egotists. His older male relatives in particular had serious problems Page 12 of 24

 

Hermes in Love with impulse control, especially where the opposite sex was concerned. As a boy, Hermes served as his philandering father’s assistant in many erotic adventures. Eventually he began to emulate the exploits of an older brother to whom he was particularly attached. In the process, Hermes sowed a few wild oats, occasionally even getting involved in some really disturbing episodes that might have landed the son of a less prominent family in quite serious trouble. But, fortunately, he was smart enough not to make this a habit. Finally, at the end of antiquity, he began to act more sensibly and, eventually, found a nice girl, married her, and settled down; and together, they gave birth to the Middle Ages. But we should not allow the cheerful nature for which Hermes is so famous to content ourselves with such a flippant summary. I think it is true that Hermes’ development in classical literary treatments of his vie amoureuse moves in the general direction just outlined. For that reason, some might take comfort in the fact that, whatever peccadillos or more serious offenses Hermes may have committed along the way, it all comes out right in the end. (p.139) And in any case, the sheer number of stories involved is small in comparison to the loves of Zeus, Poseidon, or Apollo. Besides, Hermes himself is hardly as powerful or important a god as any of those, even if he is scarcely distant or obscure. Maybe these reasons combine to explain why he seems more amusing than dangerous. As Madeleine Jost writes, “Hermes was not a major divinity, but because he was essentially kindly, he was one of the most familiar gods in the daily lives of the Greeks.”79 But I would say there is food for thought in the fact that this least imposing of the Olympians, with the exception perhaps of Hestia, and arguably the least lotharian of the Olympian males, can also become, in the hands of a poet such as Ovid—who draws mainly on the god’s usual mythic associations—a central figure in an episode that disturbingly explores the darker side of eros. Bibliography Bibliography references: Atoojian, A. 1990. “Hermaphroditos.” In LIMC 5. 283. Barchiesi, A. 2005. Ovidio, Metamorfosi. Vol. 1: Libri 1–2. Florence. Curtius E. R. 1952. European Literature in the Latin Middle Ages. Trans. W. Trask. Princeton. Edmonds, J. M. 1912. The Greek Bucolic Poets, with an English Translation. Cambridge, MA. Elomaa, H. 2015. “The Poetics of the Carmina Priapea.” Ph.D. Diss. University of Pennsylvania.

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Hermes in Love Farrell, J. 2013. “Complementarity and Contradiction in Ovidian Mythography.” In S. M. Trzaskoma and R. S. Smith, eds. Writing Myth: Mythography in the Ancient World. Leuven. 223–50. Faulkner, A. 2008. The Homeric Hymn to Aphrodite: Introduction, Text, and Commentary. Oxford. Gantz, T. 1993. Early Greek Myth. A Guide to Literary and Artistic Sources. 2 vols. Baltimore. Geus, K. 2002. Eratosthenes von Kyrene. Studien zur hellenistischen Kultur- und Wissenschaftsgeschichte. Münchener Beiträge zur Papyrusforschung und antiken Rechtsgeschichte 92. Munich. Giacobello, F. 2008. Larari pompeiani: Iconografia e culto dei Lari in ambito domestico. Il filarete/Università degli studi di Milano, Facoltà di lettere e filosofia 251. Milan. Guardì, T. 1984. Titinio e Atta, Fabula togata, i frammenti: introduzione, testo traduzione e commento. Milan. Hicks, A. 2012. “Martianus Capella and the Liberal Arts.” In R. Hexter and D. Townsend, eds. The Oxford Handbook of Medieval Latin Literature. Oxford. 307– 34. Jones, W. H. S. 1918. Pausanias, Description of Greece. Cambridge, MA. (p.140) Jost, M. 2003. “Hermes.” In The Oxford Classical Dictionary, 3rd ed. revised. Ed. S. Hornblower and A. Spawforth. Oxford. 690–1. Knauer, G. N. 1964. Die Aeneis und Homer. Hypomnemata 7. Göttingen. Miller, J. F. 2009. Apollo, Augustus, and the Poets. Cambridge. Obbink, D. 2004. “Vergil’s De pietate: From Ehoiae to Allegory in Vergil, Philodemus, and Ovid.” In D. Armstrong et al., eds. Vergil, Philodemus, and the Augustans. Austin. 175–210. Oldfather, C. H. 1933. Diodorus Siculus, Library of History. Vol. 1. Cambridge, MA. Olson, S. D. 2012. The Homeric Hymn to Aphrodite and Related Texts: Text, Translation and Commentary. Texte und Kommentare 39. Berlin. Pöschl, V. 1959. “Kephalos und Prokris in Ovids Metamorphosen.” Hermes 87: 328–43.

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Hermes in Love Reinhardt, K. 1956. “Zum homerischen Aphroditehymnus.” In Festschrift Bruno Snell zum 60. Geburtstag am 18. Juni 1956 von Freunden und Schülern überreicht. Munich. 1–14. Robinson, M. 2011. A Commentary on Ovid’s Fasti, Book 2. Oxford. Rusten, J., ed. 2011. The Birth of Comedy: Texts, Documents, and Art from Athenian Comic Competitions, 486–280. Baltimore. Vergados, A. 2012. The “Homeric Hymn to Hermes.” Introduction, Text and Commentary. Berlin. West, M. L. 2003. Homeric Hymns, Homeric Apocrypha, Lives of Homer. Cambridge, MA. Notes:

(1) On Eratosthenes’ Hermes cf. Geus 2002: 110–28. (2) Cic. ND 3.56 Mercurius unus Caelo patre, Die matre natus, cuius obscenius excitata natura traditur, quod aspectu Proserpinae commotus sit; alter Valentis et Phoronidis filius is, qui sub terris habetur idem Trophonius; tertius Iove tertio natus et Maia, ex quo et Penelopa Pana natum ferunt; quartus Nilo patre, quem Aegyptii nefas habent nominare; quintus, quem colunt Pheneatae, qui Argum dicitur interemisse ob eamque causam in Aegyptum profugisse atque Aegyptiis leges et litteras tradidisse: hunc Aegyptii Theyt appellant eodemque nomine anni primus mensis apud eos vocatur (“One Mercury was born of father Sky and mother Day, and the traditional explanation for his being represented obscenely, with his sexual organ in a state of arousal, is that he was excited by looking at Proserpina; the second, son of Valens and a daughter of Phoroneus, is also held to dwell under the earth as Trophonius; the third was born of the third Jupiter and Maia, and they say that Pan was born of him and Penelope; the father of the fourth was Nile, and the Egyptians consider it impious to say his name; the fifth is he whom the people of Pheneus worship and who is said to have killed Argus, and on that account to have fled to Egypt and to have given the Egyptians laws and writing: the Egyptians call him Theyt, and among them the first month of the year goes by the same name”). (3) Cf. Henk Versnel in this volume on multiple divinities sharing the same name. (4) Cf. Elomaa 2015. (5) Cf. Sandra Blakely’s paper in this volume. (6) See Obbink 2004; cf. Farrell 2013: 224–32. (7) See Larson and Reggiani in this volume.

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Hermes in Love (8) H.Herm. 5–9…μακάρων δὲ θεῶν ἠλεύαθ᾽ ὅμιλον, / ἄντρον ἔσω ναίουσα παλίσκιον, ἔνθα Κρονίων / νύμφῃ ἐυπλοκάμῳ μισγέσκετο νυκτὸς ἀμολγῷ, / ὄφρα κατὰ γλυκὺς ὕπνος ἔχοι λευκώλενον Ἥρην, / λήθων ἀθανάτους τε θεοὺς θνητούς τ᾽ ἀνθρώπους (“…but she avoided the company of the blessed gods, dwelling in a shadowy cave, and there the son of Cronus made love to the welltressed nymph in the depth of night, as long as sweet sleep held Hera fast, keeping the immortal gods and mortal men all unaware”). (9) H.Herm. 54–9…θεὸς δ᾽ ὑπὸ καλὸν ἄειδεν / ἐξ αὐτοσχεδίης πειρώμενος, ἠύτε κοῦροι /ἡβηταὶ θαλίῃσι παραιβόλα κερτομέουσιν, / ἀμφὶ Δία Κρονίδην καὶ Μαιάδα καλλιπέδιλον, / ὡς πάρος ὠρίζεσκον ἑταιρείῃ φιλότητι, / ἥν τ᾽ αὐτοῦ γενεὴν ὀνομακλυτὸν ἐξονομάζων (“…the god sang a beautiful accompaniment, improvising, trying it out, the way young men at banquets make jeering remarks, about Zeus the son of Cronus and Maia of the lovely ankles, how they used to converse in mutual love, and declaring as well his own renowned lineage”). (10) As Vergados 2012: 271 notes, “Hermes’ first musical performance is a mise en abyme: like the Hymn poet, the poem’s main character performs a song of the same genre and topic (i.e. another Hymn to Hermes)…. By repeating what was mentioned at the beginning of the poem, the poet brings the narrative back to the point where it was interrupted.” (11) H.Herm. 64–7…ὃ δ᾽ ἄρα κρειῶν ἐρατίζων / ἆλτο κατὰ σκοπιὴν εὐώδεος ἐκ μεγάροιο / ὁρμαίνων δόλον αἰπὺν ἐνὶ φρεσίν, οἶά τε φῶτες / φηληταὶ διέπουσι μελαίνης νυκτὸς ἐν ὥρῃ (“…but he, lusting after meat, leapt out of the fragrant house to the mountaintop, devising in his wits sheer trickery such as thievish men commit in the season of dark night”). (12) Il. 11.551, 17.660; cf. Vergados 2012: 280 ad loc. (13) Call. fr. 48 Harder (= 48 Pfeiffer), Σ Iliad 1.609 τὸν δὲ Δία καὶ τὴν Ἥραν ἐπ’ ἐνιαυτοὺς τριακοσίους, ὥς φησιν Καλλίμαχος ἐν βʹ Αἰτίων· ὥς τε Ζεὺς ἑρατίζε τριηκοσίους ἐνιαυτούς (“Zeus and Hera for three-hundred years, as Callimachus says in Book 2 of the Aetia: ‘just as Zeus was in love [or] made love for threehundred years’”). Cf. Hesychius ε 5635 ἐρατίζων· ἐρῶν, ἐπιθυμῶν. (14) H.Herm. 475–82 ἀλλ᾽ ἐπεὶ οὖν τοι θυμὸς ἐπιθύει κιθαρίζειν, / μέλπεο καὶ κιθάριζε καὶ ἀγλαίας ἀλέγυνε / δέγμενος ἐξ ἐμέθεν· σὺ δέ μοι, φίλε, κῦδος ὄπαζε. / εὐμόλπει μετὰ χερσὶν ἔχων λιγύφωνον ἑταίρην, / καλὰ καὶ εὖ κατὰ κόσμον ἐπιστάμενος ἀγορεύειν. / εὔκηλος μὲν ἔπειτα φέρειν ἐς δαῖτα θάλειαν / καὶ χορὸν ἱμερόεντα καὶ ἐς φιλοκυδέα κῶμον / εὐφροσύνην νυκτός τε καὶ ἤματος…(“But since longing to play the lyre has come over you, make music, play it, and rejoice, accepting it from me; but, my friend, give me kudos. Make music, holding in your hands this clear-voiced girl friend, knowing how to speak well and fittingly. Take her confidently to the festive banquet and the Page 16 of 24

 

Hermes in Love charming dance and the raucous revel, a source of good cheer by night and day…”). (15) West 2003: 151. (16) Vergados 2012: 537 ad 478 ἑταίρην. (17) H.Herm. 491–5 ἡμεῖς δ᾽ αὖτ᾽ ὄρεός τε καὶ ἱπποβότου πεδίοιο / βουσὶ νομούς, Ἐκάεργε, νομεύσομεν ἀγραύλοισιν. / ἔνθεν ἅλις τέξουσι βόες ταύροισι μιγεῖσαι / μίγδην θηλείας τε καὶ ἄρσενας· οὐδέ τί σε χρὴ / κερδαλέον περ ἐόντα περιζαμενῶς κεχολῶσθαι (“I in turn, Farshooter, will graze the pastures of the mountain and of the horse-nurturing plain with your cattle that dwell in the fields. Then will the cows bear aplenty after mating with bulls, male and female together, nor need you be angry, greedy though you be”). (18) H.Herm. 503–10 ἔνθα βόας μὲν ἔπειτα ποτὶ ζάθεον λειμῶνα / ἐτραπέτην· αὐτοὶ δέ, Διὸς περικαλλέα τέκνα, / ἄψορροι πρὸς Ὄλυμπον ἀγάννιφον ἐρρώσαντο / τερπόμενοι φόρμιγγι· χάρη δ᾽ ἄρα μητιέτα Ζεύς, / ἄμφω δ᾽ ἐς φιλότητα συνήγαγε· καὶ τὰ μὲν Ἑρμῆς / Λητοΐδην ἐφίλησε διαμπερές, ὡς ἔτι καὶ νῦν, / (508a) / σήματ᾽, ἐπεὶ κίθαριν μὲν Ἑκηβόλῳ ἐγγυάλιξεν / ἱμερτήν, δεδαώς, ὃ δ᾽ ἐπωλένιον κιθάριζεν…(“Then they turned the cattle toward the holy meadow; but they, Zeus’ surpassingly handsome children, went prancing back to snowy Olympus, enjoying the lyre; and clever Zeus was glad, and brought the pair together in love; and Hermes loved Leto’s son steadfastly, as even now, tokens, since he gave over to the Farshooter the lovely lyre, knowingly, and he held it on his arm and played it…”). 508a add. M. L. West exempli gratia. (19) At this point West, along with some other editors, believes that a line has fallen out of our text, and I give the supplement that he suggests. It is probably true, as Vergados argues (2012: 550 and 508–9), that the supplement is not strictly necessary, but I do think that West understands the passage correctly. (20) Later renditions of and references to the stories told in the hymn are surveyed by Vergados 2012: 76–124. It is perhaps worth noting that Eratothenes’ Hermes (fr. 1 = ΣD in Il. 24.24) evidently told of a prank in which the infant Hermes stole the clothes of his mother and her sisters while they were bathing, to embarrass them; but once he had raised a laugh, he simply returned their clothes. (21) Iliad 16.179–92 τῆς δ᾽ ἑτέρης Εὔδωρος ἀρήϊος ἡγεμόνευε / παρθένιος, τὸν ἔτικτε χορῷ καλὴ Πολυμήλη / Φύλαντος θυγάτηρ· τῆς δὲ κρατὺς ἀργεϊφόντης / ἠράσατ᾽, ὀφθαλμοῖσιν ἰδὼν μετὰ μελπομένῃσιν / ἐν χορῷ Ἀρτέμιδος χρυσηλακάτου κελαδεινῆς. / αὐτίκα δ᾽ εἰς ὑπερῷ᾽ ἀναβὰς παρελέξατο λάθρῃ / Ἑρμείας ἀκάκητα, πόρεν δέ οἱ ἀγλαὸν υἱὸν / Εὔδωρον πέρι Page 17 of 24

 

Hermes in Love μὲν θείειν ταχὺν ἠδὲ μαχητήν. / αὐτὰρ ἐπεὶ δὴ τόν γε μογοστόκος Εἰλείθυια / ἐξάγαγε πρὸ φόως δὲ καὶ ἠελίου ἴδεν αὐγάς, / τὴν μὲν Ἐχεκλῆος κρατερὸν μένος Ἀκτορίδαο / ἠγάγετο πρὸς δώματ᾽, ἐπεὶ πόρε μυρία ἕδνα, / τὸν δ᾽ ὃ γέρων Φύλας εὖ ἔτρεφεν ἠδ᾽ ἀτίταλλεν / ἀμφαγαπαζόμενος ὡς εἴ θ᾽ ἑὸν υἱὸν ἐόντα (“Warlike Eudorus led the other contingent, son of a maiden, whom Polymede, lovely in the dance, daughter of Phylas, bore; strong Argus-slayer loved her, seeing her with his eyes among the singers in the chorus of Artemis of golden distaff and loud voice. Immediately, going up secretly to her room, kind Hermes lay with her, and she bore him a fine son, Eudorus, a fast runner and a warrior. But when Eileithyia of the birth pangs brought him into the light and he saw the sun’s rays, mighty Echecles, son of Actor, took her home after giving many gifts, and old Phylas reared and raised Eudorus well, loving him as if he were his own son”). (22) The Eudorus passage seems to bear a close resemblance to one in Book 2 concerning Ascalaphus and Ialmenus, Greek warriors and sons of Ares by Astyoche, daughter of Actor (512; cf. 9.802). But the earlier passage is much simpler, and the latter is distinguished by the addition of details that emphasize Hermes’ attributes in particular. (23) These are both standard Homeric epithets for Hermes, but Gantz (1993: 1.109) comments that it is “surprising for an Olympian god” to be called strong (kratus) and that Hermes is the only Homeric character who receives this modifier, always in combination with argeiphontes. Perhaps it is only in virtue of whatever exploit is commemorated by the latter epithet that Hermes demonstrated actual kratos instead of his usual craft. (24) H.Aphr. 109–17 οὔ τίς τοι θεός εἰμι· τί μ᾽ ἀθανάτῃσιν ἐίσκεις; / ἀλλὰ καταθνητή τε, γυνὴ δέ με γείνατο μήτηρ. / Ὀτρεὺς δ᾽ ἐστὶ πατὴρ ὀνομακλυτός, εἴ που ἀκούεις, / ὃς πάσης Φρυγίης εὐτειχήτοιο ἀνάσσει. / γλῶσσαν δ᾽ ὑμετέρην τε καὶ ἡμετέρην σάφα οἶδα. / Τρῳὰς γὰρ μεγάρῳ με τροφὸς τρέφεν· ἣ δὲ διαπρὸ / σμικρὴν παῖδ᾽ ἀτίταλλε, φίλης παρὰ μητρὸς ἑλοῦσα. / ὣς δή τοι γλῶσσάν γε καὶ ὑμετέρην εὖ οἶδα. / νῦν δέ μ᾽ ἀνήρπαξε χρυσόρραπις Ἀργειφόντης / ἐκ χοροῦ Ἀρτέμιδος χρυσηλακάτου, κελαδεινῆς (“I am no goddess (why do you compare me to immortals?), but mortal, and my mother was a woman. Orteus is my renowned father, if you’ve ever heard of him, who rules over all of well-built Phrygia. I know your language and ours quite well. For a Trojan nurse nursed me in our house; she raised me through my childhood, after taking me from my dear mother. So I know your language well, too. But now, goldenwand Argus-slayer has taken me from the chorus of Artemis of golden distaff and loud voice”). (25) Olson 2012: 199–200.

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Hermes in Love (26) On Hermes as an abductor of women for others, see Reinhardt 1956: 11 and Faulkner 2008: 193, but cf. n. 33. (27) H.Aphr. 212–17 τούς οἱ δῶρον ἔδωκεν ἔχειν· εἶπεν δὲ ἕκαστα / Ζηνὸς ἐφημοσύνῃσι διάκτορος Ἀργειφόντης, / ὡς ἔοι ἀθάνατος καὶ ἀγήρως ἶσα θεοῖσιν. / αὐτὰρ ἐπειδὴ Ζηνὸς ὅ γ᾽ ἔκλυεν ἀγγελιάων, / οὐκέτ᾽ ἔπειτα γόασκε, γεγήθει δὲ φρένας ἔνδον, / γηθόσυνος δ᾽ ἵπποισιν ἀελλοπόδεσσιν ὀχεῖτο (“These [horses] he gave to keep; on Zeus’ instructions Argus-slayer, the wayfinder, told him all, how [Troilus] was deathless and ageless like the gods. But when he heard Zeus’ message, then he lamented no longer, but rejoiced within his heart, and he went in joy with his wind-footed horses”). (28) H.Aphr. 260–3 δηρὸν μὲν ζώουσι καὶ ἄμβροτον εἶδαρ ἔδουσι / καί τε μετ᾽ ἀθανάτοισι καλὸν χορὸν ἐρρώσαντο. / τῇσι δὲ Σειληνοὶ καὶ ἐύσκοπος Ἀργειφόντης / μίσγοντ᾽ ἐν φιλότητι μυχῷ σπείων ἐροέντων (“They live long and eat ambrosial food, and they too dance the beautiful dance among the immortals. The Silenes and sharp-sighted Argus-slayer join with them in lovemaking in the depths of lovely caves”). (29) It is not surprising that some ancient critics (e.g. Heraclitus Hom. prob. 72.2–73.9) interpreted Hermes’ role in this story allegorically with reference to prudence and restraint in the face of temptation. (30) Cf. Sergio Casali’s paper in this volume. Knauer 1964: 148–209 and 218–22, while arguing that Aeneas’ entire sojourn in Carthage is modeled on the Homeric Phaeacis as a whole, recognizes and indeed emphasizes the importance of various secondary models, including that of Odysseus’ sojourn on Ogygia with Calypso: see n. 33. (31) Aen. 1.197–204; Knauer 1964: 209–10 compares Od. 5.29–46 and 1.84–7, 96– 8, noting the connection with Mercury’s second appearance at 4.238–46. (32) Aen. 1.657–94, 709–19, 4.90–128. (33) Knauer 1964: 209–18 argues that the hero’s departure corresponds to that of Odysseus from Ogygia, noting in particular Mercury’s (≈ Hermes’) visit at Jupiter’s (≈ Zeus’) behest (Aen. 4.238–46 ≈ Od. 5.43–9, etc.), which brings the entire episode to an end against Dido’s (≈ Calypso’s) wishes. (34) Od. 5.55–148, 10.330–2. See Jenny Strauss Clay in this volume, who hints at the possibility that Hermes has some ulterior motives, presumably not shared by Vergil’s Mercury, for managing the hero’s affairs as he does. The whole notion of a Hermes who is in effect jealous of Odysseus’ success with the ladies strikes me as very much in line with what I see of the god’s behavior in the Odyssey and elsewhere in literature.

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Hermes in Love (35) Aen. 4.376–80 …nunc augur Apollo, / nunc Lyciae sortes, nunc et Iove missus ab ipso /interpres divum fert horrida iussa per auras. / scilicet is superis labor est, ea cura quietos / sollicitat. (“…now prophetic Apollo, now the oracles of Lycia, now the gods’ messenger, even sent by Jupiter himself, brings terrifying behests across the air. There indeed is a job for those above, there a concern that troubles them in their peace”). On Apollo as augur, see Miller 2009: 47–9, 284. (36) Hes. Cat. fr. 64 M-W, heavily supplemented by West on the basis of Pherecydes as cited by Σ Od. 19.394 (= 3 F 120 FGrHist), is much too fragmentary to shed any independent light on the question of Autolycus’ parentage. (37) Met. 11.301–27. (38) Od. 19.392–8 νίζε δ᾽ ἄρ᾽ ἆσσον ἰοῦσα ἄναχθ᾽ ἑόν· αὐτίκα δ᾽ ἔγνω / οὐλήν, τήν ποτέ μιν σῦς ἤλασε λευκῷ ὀδόντι / Παρνησόνδ᾽ ἐλθόντα μετ᾽ Αὐτόλυκόν τε καὶ υἷας, / μητρὸς ἑῆς πάτερ᾽ ἐσθλόν, ὃς ἀνθρώπους ἐκέκαστο / κλεπτοσύνῃ θ᾽ ὅρκῳ τε· θεὸς δέ οἱ αὐτὸς ἔδωκεν / Ἑρμείας· τῷ γὰρ κεχαρισμένα μηρία καῖεν / ἀρνῶν ἠδ᾽ ἐρίφων· ὁ δέ οἱ πρόφρων ἅμ᾽ ὀπήδει (“So she came close and washed her lord, and instantly knew the scar, which a boar gave to him with his white tusk, when he followed Autolycus and his sons to Parnassus, his mother’s noble father, who excelled men in thievery and oaths; a god himself, Hermes, gave him this; for he burned offerings to him, lamb- and kid-thighs; and he gladly showed favor”). (39) Cf. Jenny Strauss Clay’s paper in this volume. (40) In Pindar, Hermes is father of the Argonauts Echion and Erytus (P. 4.178–9, followed by Ap. Rhod. 1.51–6 and Val. Fl. 1.436–40), who are said to be crafty like their father, but nothing is known of any further issue. Apollodorus makes Hermes the father of Oemomaus’ duplicitous charioteer, Myrtilus (Epit. 2.6), who died without (known) issue. Hermes also fathered a certain Cephalus (PsApollod. Bib. 3.14.3), who comes to be confused with Cephalus the son of Dion(eus) (see n. 49 below). (41) Aeschylus (fr. 256b R) speaks of two Pans, one the son of Cronus and the other of Zeus. More conventional variants are Apollo (Hecataeus 1 F 371 FGrHist, Pindar fr. 100 S-M) and either Odysseus or all of the suitors (“Theoc.” Syrinx [= AP 15.21] 15 ἀπάτωρ, explained as “in a sense, son of Odysseus” [according to Edmonds 1912: 503; cf. Οὐδενός 1 (≈ Οὔτινος ≈ Ὀδυσσέως)] or as ≈ πολυπάτωρ [Σ ad loc.], alongside κλωποπάτωρ, “son of [Hermes] the thief”), Penelope being the mother in both cases.

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Hermes in Love (42) Hom. H. 19.1 ἀμφί μοι Ἑρμείαο φίλον γόνον ἔννεπε, Μοῦσα (“Tell me, Muse, about Hermes’ own offspring”); cf. Hdt. 2.145; Cic. ND 3.56 (see n. 2 above); Ps.Apollod. Epit. 7.38; Lucian DD 2; Hyg. Fab. 2.24. (43) Hom. H. 19.38–41. (44) H.Aphr. 262–3. (45) Met. 1.689–712, with Barchiesi 2005: 224–5 ad loc. Similar stories are told about Pan and Echo (Moschus fr. 2 Gow; Σ “Theoc.” Syrinx 5–6; Longus 3.23; Nonnus 2.117–19) or Pitys (Σ “Theoc.” Syrinx 4; Nonnus 42.258–61). (46) In general see Miller 2009: 44–53; cf. Micah Young Myers’ paper in this volume. (47) Again, see Barchiesi 2005: 224–5 ad Met. 1.689–712, with further references. (48) Ps.-Apollod. Bib. 3.2 tells a story resembling that of Apollo and Daphne in which Hermes pursues Apemosyne, a granddaughter of Minos, who was so swift that even he was unable to catch her. The story ends, however, not with escape by metamorphosis, but with Hermes’ capture of Apemosyne by a stratagem, and with her being kicked to death by her brother, Althaimenes, who did not believe her story about the god. (49) This is in contrast to Ps.-Apollod. Bib. 3.14.3, where Hermes fathers Cephalus on Herse (Hyg. Fab. 160 tells a different version in which the mother is Creusa, daughter of Erechtheus). Cephalus then is abducted by Eos (cf. Hes. Th. 986–7, where the motif of abduction is merely implicit, and Eur. Hipp. 454–6) and with her produces a notable lineage that includes Cinyras, king of Cyprus and father of Adonis. Antoninus Liberalis (41.1) conflates this Cephalus with the son of Deion(eus), saying that he later married Procris (41.2); and similarly, Ovid’s Cephalus says that Aurora abducted him one month after his wedding, and that in spite of the goddess’s remarkable beauty, he remained in love with Procris (Met. 7.700–7). Our text of Antoninus names no source, but modern scholars have been willing to see him, and so Ovid as well, as relying on Nicander: see Pöschl 1959. (50) Met. 2.836–75. (51) Cf. n. 23 above. (52) Cf. Erin Moodie’s paper in this volume. (53) Cf. Jenny Strauss Clay’s paper in this volume.

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Hermes in Love (54) Galen, Medicorum Graecorum Fragmenta 13, 269 Kühn ἐπειδὴ μειράκιον καλούμενον Κρόκος, ἅμα τῷ Ἑρμῇ δισκεύων, εἶθ’ ἑστὸς ἀμελέστερον, ἐμπεσόντος αὐτῷ δίσκου τῇ κεφαλῇ, συνέβη μὲν ἀποθανεῖν αὐτίκα, τοῦ δ’ αἵματος εἰς τὴν γὴν ἀναχθέντος, ἐξ αὐτοῦ φῦναι τὸν κρόκον (“When a youth called Crocus, while playing discus with Hermes, then unexpectedly stood up, when the discus fell on his head, the result was that he died on the spot, and when his blood dripped on the ground, the crocus grew from it”). (55) The similarity between the stories of Narcissus and Crocus is noted by Ovid himself (Fast. 5.225–7), who elsewhere (Met. 4.283) mentions Crocus together with the nymph Smilax, and so indicates a different version of the myth (which is given more fully by Pliny NH 16.63), in which Mercury is not involved. (56) The earliest surviving sources stating that Hermaphroditus was the child of Hermes and Aphrodite are Diodorus (4.2.5) and Cicero (ND 3.21) in the first century BCE. Both of them explain the name by saying that the child, whom they treat as male, combined the characteristics of both his parents. The fullest surviving account of their courtship (“Hyginus” Astron. 16) is later still, probably dating from the second century CE, and even at that it is only three sentences in length, and is given as the fourth and last of the possible aetia of the constellation Aquila, with mention of a variant in which the Hermaphroditus’ father is not Mercury but Anaplas; in another place (Fab. 271) the same author states that the boy was also called Atlantius. (57) Atoojian 1990; Theophr. Char. 28 (the superstitious man). It is telling that this character looks female in most respects, and with reference to these statues, the word hermaphroditus itself may simply mean “a herm depicting Aphrodite,” on the analogy of formations later found in Cicero (hermathena, Att. 1.1.5, 1.4.3; hermeracles, Att. 1.103) and Pliny (hermeros, NH 36.33); it has thus been doubted whether the mythical figure Hermaphroditus was in fact originally regarded as Hermes’ offspring. (58) υἱὸν τρέφει πᾶς, κἂν πένης τις ὢν τύχῃ· / θυγατέρα δ’ ἐκτίθησι, κἂν ᾖ πλούσιος, fr. 12 K-A, quoted by Stobaeus 4.24c.40 (trans. David Konstan in Rusten, ed. 2011: 684). (59) quasi hermaphroditus fimbriatum frontem gestas feminae, fr. 115 Guardì: 1984 (≈ 112 R3, quoted by Nonius [≈ 204 M, 301 L] from the togata Setina: “Like a hermaphrodite, you wear a lady’s bangs on your forehead”). (60) Diodorus Siculus regards the hermaphrodite as “born with a physical body which is a combination of that of a man and that of a woman, in that he has a body which is beautiful and delicate like that of a woman, but has the masculine quality and vigour of a man” (4.6.5; trans. Oldfather 1933).

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Hermes in Love (61) Met. 4.288–91 Mercurio puerum diva Cythereide natum / Naides Idaeis enutrivere sub antris, / cuius erat facies, in qua materque paterque / cognosci possent; nomen quoque traxit ab illis (“A boy born of Mercury and the goddess of Cythera Naiads raised down in the glades of Mt. Ida, and his appearance was such both father and mother could be seen in it; and he got his name from them, too”). (62) Met. 4.320–1 puer o dignissime credi, / esse deus, seu tu deus es, potes esse Cupido… (“Boy, worthy to be thought a god, or if you are a god, you could be Cupid…”). (63) Met. 4.329–30 pueri rubor ora notavit / (nescit enim quid amor) (“A blush marked the boy’s face (for he does not know what love is)”). (64) Met. 4.334–6 poscenti nymphae sine fine soraria saltem / oscula iamque manus ad eburnea colla ferenti / “desinis, an fugio tecumque” ait “ista relinquo?” (“When the nymph kept demanding at least sisterly kisses and kept reaching toward his ivory neck, he asked her, ‘Do you stop or do I flee and leave these kisses behind with you?’”). (65) The frame of Ovid’s narration is insistently marked by images of weakening, softening, and diminished masculinity (Met. 4.286 enervet, remolliat; 381–2 semimarem, mollitaque…membra, sed iam non voce virili; 386 semivir, mollescat). (66) Eros and his wings notwithstanding, Aphrodite’s most physically unusual offspring must be Priapus, the product of her union with Dionysus according to Diodorus Siculus 4.6.1; cf. the following note. (67) In light of Priapus’ connection with Aphrodite (cf. the previous note), the very different tradition that makes him the son or grandson of Hermes is interesting, even if this is due mainly to the association of Hermes with herms. On Hermes as the father of the Silenes or Satyrs, cf. Gantz 1993: 1.135. (68) The most recent general introduction to the Lara episode is Robinson 2011: 369–76; for the literary background, 374–6. (69) Karistia, Fast. 2.617–38; Procne Tereusque, 629 (cf. 853–6). (70) See Nicola Reggiani in this volume on Hermes and loss of voice. (71) On the Lares and Mercury, cf. Robinson 2011: 386 on Fast. 2.608 Mercurium; on the Lares and the Dioscuri, cf. Giacobello 2008: 89–98. (72) Cf. n. 2.

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Hermes in Love (73) Propertius 2.2.12–13 Mercurio sacris fertur Boebeidos undis / virgineum Brimo composuisse latus (“Brimo is said to have lain her virgin body beside Mercury by the holy waters of Lake Boebeis”). Pausanias 1.38.7 τὰ δὲ ἐντὸς τοῦ τείχους τοῦ ἱεροῦ τό τε ὄνειρον ἀπεῖπε γράφειν, καὶ τοῖς οὐ τελεσθεῖσιν, ὁπόσων θέας εἴργονται, δῆλα δήπου μηδὲ πυθέσθαι μετεῖναί σφισιν. Ἐλευσῖνα δὲ ἥρωα, ἀφ᾽ οὗ τὴν πόλιν ὀνομάζουσιν, οἱ μὲν Ἑρμοῦ παῖδα εἶναι καὶ Δαείρας Ὠκεανοῦ θυγατρὸς λέγουσι, τοῖς δέ ἐστι πεποιημένα Ὤγυγον εἶναι πατέρα Ἐλευσῖνι· οἱ γὰρ ἀρχαῖοι τῶν λόγων ἅτε οὐ προσόντων σφίσιν ἐπῶν ἄλλα τε πλάσασθαι δεδώκασι καὶ μάλιστα ἐς τὰ γένη τῶν ἡρώων (“My dream forbade the description of the things within the wall of the sanctuary, and the uninitiated are of course not permitted to learn that which they are prevented from seeing. The hero Eleusis, after whom the city is named, some assert to be a son of Hermes and of Daeira, daughter of Ocean; there are poets, however, who have made Ogygus father of Eleusis. Ancient legends, deprived of the help of poetry, have given rise to many fictions, especially concerning the pedigrees of heroes,” trans. W. H. S. Jones). In addition, Nonnus names Hermes, along with all the other Olympians, as one of the suitors of Persephone (Dion. 5.574–5); cf. Cic. ND 3.56 (see n. 2 above). (74) Apul. Met. 6.7.7 Frater Arcadi, scis nempe sororem tuam Venerem sine Mercuri praesentia nil unquam fecisse nec te praeterit utique, quanto iam tempore delitescentem ancillam nequiverim repperire (“My Arcadian brother, you surely know that your Venus has never done anything without your aid, and you can hardly fail to notice how long a time it is that I have been unable to find my hiding handmaiden”). (75) Plut. Mor. 138c–d καὶ γὰρ οἱ παλαιοὶ τῇ Ἀφροδίτῃ τὸν Ἑρμῆν συγκαθίδρυσαν, ὡς τῆς περὶ τὸν γάμον ἡδονῆς μάλιστα λόγου δεομένης, τήν τε Πειθὼ καὶ τὰς Χάριτας, ἵνα πείθοντες διαπράττωνται παρ᾽ ἀλλήλων ἃ βούλονται, μὴ μαχόμενοι μηδὲ φιλονεικοῦντες. (76) Dion. 8.220, 48.230. (77) Curtius 1952: 38 n. 7. (78) Hicks 2012: 307–4. (79) Jost 2003: 691.

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Lascivus Puer

Tracking Hermes, Pursuing Mercury John F. Miller and Jenny Strauss Clay

Print publication date: 2019 Print ISBN-13: 9780198777342 Published to Oxford Scholarship Online: March 2019 DOI: 10.1093/oso/9780198777342.001.0001

Lascivus Puer Cupid, Hermes, and Hymns in Ovid’s Metamorphoses Micah Young Myers

DOI:10.1093/oso/9780198777342.003.0010

Abstract and Keywords This paper explores Ovid’s reception of hymnic traditions relating to Hermes in the Cupid–Apollo episode of Metamorphoses Book 1. Ovid’s depiction of Cupid alludes to Hermes in his quarrel with Apollo, as depicted in Alcaeus’ Hymn to Hermes and the Homeric Hymn to Hermes. Ovid’s allusions evoke the hymns’ thematic focus on theft, desire, competition, and divine prerogatives and attributes, themes that are also salient to the Metamorphoses more broadly. After exploring parallels between the Cupid–Apollo episode and the Hermes hymn tradition, I consider how Ovid, having presented a “Mercurial” Cupid, depicts an erotically motivated Mercury in subsequent episodes of Metamorphoses Books 1–2 and Fasti 5.663–92. Finally, the paper compares examples from ancient religion, art, and literature that link Eros/Cupid and Aphrodite/Venus with Hermes/Mercury, and considers ramifications of Ovid’s allusions to the Hermes hymn tradition in the Augustan context, particularly in relation to the princeps’ connections to the divine sphere. Keywords:   Ovid, Cupid, Hermes, Mercury, Metamorphoses, Apollo, Augustan poetry, Homeric Hymns, Alcaeus

In a famous episode of Metamorphoses Book 1, which precedes an even more famous one, Apollo quarrels with Cupid.1 Apollo rebukes the child-god for his use of the bow and arrow, which he claims as fit for himself alone. Cupid responds with his own harsh words, and he soon strikes Apollo with a loveinducing arrow and Daphne with an anti-love one. A chase, a transformation, Page 1 of 18

Lascivus Puer and the origin of Apollo’s link to laurel follow. This turning point in Metamorphoses 1 recalls the beginning of Ovid’s poetic oeuvre, Amores 1.1, where Cupid settles another quarrel by shooting Ovid’s poetic persona with a love arrow, an event that in turn evokes Apollo’s programmatic interventions in Callimachus, Vergil, and Propertius.2 Yet, if we look beyond Ovid’s poetry, we note that Apollo has also quarreled with a different child-god over his property, only to have his anger give way to desire and the acquisition of a new divine attribute: namely, Hermes, in a tradition that traces back to Alcaeus’ Hymn to Hermes and the Homeric Hymn to Hermes.3 (p.142) This paper explores Ovid’s reception of Greek hymnic traditions relating to Hermes—what I shall refer to as the “Hermes hymn tradition”—in the Cupid–Apollo episode. First I review previous scholarship on Ovid’s engagement with hymns (Sec. 1) and consider how the well-known allusion to Amores 1.1 sets a precedent for Ovid’s assimilation of Cupid and Hermes (Sec. 2). The paper next argues that the depiction of Cupid in Metamorphoses 1 alludes to Hermes in his quarrel with Apollo, as depicted in Alcaeus’ Hymn and the Homeric Hymn (Sec. 3 and 4). Ovid’s allusions to hymnic traditions relating to Hermes evoke in particular the hymns’ thematic focus on theft, desire, competition, and divine prerogatives and attributes, themes that are also salient to the Metamorphoses more broadly.4 After exploring the parallels between the Cupid–Apollo episode and the Hermes hymn tradition, I consider briefly how Ovid, having presented a “Mercurial” Cupid, depicts an erotically motivated Mercury in subsequent episodes of the first two books of his epic, creating an enduring link between the two gods that is even reflected in his portrayal of Mercury in Fasti 5 (Sec. 5). The paper next zooms out to look at examples from ancient religion, art, and literature that link Eros/Cupid and Aphrodite/Venus with Hermes/Mercury (Sec. 6), and considers ramifications of Ovid’s allusions to the Hermes hymn tradition in the Augustan context, particularly in relation to the princeps’ connections to the divine sphere (Sec. 7). As the Metamorphoses is a web of intertextuality, the episodes that this paper considers include elements that derive neither from the Homeric Hymn to Hermes nor, as far as we can discern, from Alcaeus’ Hymn. Indeed, some of the parallels to be explored may reflect engagements between Ovid and traditions relating to Hermes that cannot be pinned down to a single text or that refer to texts and traditions that are not extant.5 For instance, when Ovid relates the story of Hermes’ theft of Apollo’s cattle, a central event of Alcaeus’ Hymn to Hermes and the Homeric Hymn, his rendition focuses on Battus’ foiled doublecross of Mercury. This element is absent from the Homeric Hymn and, apparently, Alcaeus’, but is reflected in a tradition preserved in Antoninus Liberalis that, according to a scholium, goes back to Hesiod via Nicander, among others.6 Ovid’s use of the Battus version of this episode is a reminder that he engages with a multiplicity of texts and traditions in the Metamorphoses, and that the Hermes hymn tradition to which he had access was more diverse than Page 2 of 18

 

Lascivus Puer ours. Nonetheless, I shall argue that the Homeric Hymn and Alcaeus’ are important nodes in a network of hymnic, literary, (p.143) and mythical traditions about Hermes/Mercury with which Ovid repeatedly engages.

1. Ovid and the Homeric Hymns Assertions that the Homeric Hymns had limited influence on subsequent literature in antiquity have in large part given way to studies of the Hymns’ reception in a variety of texts, including the Metamorphoses.7 Hinds’ study (1987a) of Ovid’s allusions to the Hymn to Demeter in Metamorphoses 5 and Fasti 4 is seminal. Barchiesi points to the Metamorphoses’ engagement with several hymns, and sees Ovid going beyond individual instances of allusion to incorporate hymns into the matrix of his epic, especially as models for how the gods speak about themselves and are described by others in the poem (1999: 123–5).8 The sections of Book 1 that surround the Apollo–Cupid quarrel contain several hymnic features. In the episode directly prior to the quarrel, Apollo kills the Python and founds the Pythian games (1.438–51), events that are the focus of the second part of the Homeric Hymn to Apollo.9 In the wake of this “Delphic” activity, Ovid refers to Apollo as Delius (454), paralleling, but also reversing, the juxtaposition of myths about Delos and Delphi in the Hymn.10 Ovid’s progression from describing the founding of Delphi to the primus amor of Apollo may also allude to (and invert) another section of the Hymn, namely when the narrator considers singing of the loves of Apollo before turning to describing the oracle’s foundation (207–15).11 There are also hymnic elements in the subsequent story of Apollo’s lust for Daphne. Daphne’s request that her father grant her eternal virginity just as Jupiter gave to Diana (486–7) recalls Callimachus’ Hymn to Artemis (6).12 Wills (1990: 145–6) notes parallels between Ovid’s Daphne and Callimachus’ Leto in the Hymn to Delos. Moreover, Apollo praises Daphne after her transformation using the hymnic du-stil (558–65),13 while the description of the laurel tree shaking its foliage at the conclusion of the episode (566–7) recalls the opening verse of Callimachus’ (p.144) Hymn to Apollo.14 As Apollo pursues Daphne, his own hymnic connection persists. He describes his divine attributes and places of worship using diction that amounts to a self-hymn (515–22).15 Syed (2004: 103–6) also finds an allusion to the Homeric Hymn to Hermes in the Cupid–Apollo quarrel. One aim of the present paper is to explore further the parallels to the Hermes hymn tradition and to analyze the rationale and implications of Ovid’s replacement of Hermes/Mercury with Cupid.

2. Cupid, Hermes, and Amores 1.1 The allusion in the Cupid–Apollo quarrel to Amores 1.1 is well known. In that programmatic elegy Ovid’s persona complains that Cupid is intervening in the Muses’ (6) and Apollo’s (16) spheres of influence. In the Metamorphoses Apollo protests a similar trespass into another of his spheres, archery, when he catches sight of Cupid using the bow and arrow. A series of verbal and plot parallels Page 3 of 18

 

Lascivus Puer emphasize the allusion.16 But the allusion to Amores 1.1. is not in a closed loop. As mentioned earlier, both poems also allude to the theophanic tradition in which Apollo plays the role that Cupid assumes in Ovid’s works. Moreover, McKeown (1989: 13–14) notes that there are verbal parallels between Amores 1.1 and Fasti 5.663–92, a passage describing the worship of Mercury on the Ides of May. Ovid’s description of Cupid stealing a foot from his poetry in Amores 1.1 contains similar language as his depiction of Mercury at the moment that the latter divinity recalls his theft of Apollo’s cattle. Each passage features a god laughing (Am. 1.1.4 risisse; F. 5.691 ridet) and both thefts are described with surripuisse, a rare word in elegy.17 These parallels suggest that when Ovid wrote the Fasti he drew a link between Cupid and Mercury. In addition to the connection between Cupid in Amores 1.1 and Mercury in Fasti 5 that McKeown mentions, I observe that Amores 1.1 also links Cupid to Hermes/Mercury through an allusion to the Hermes hymn tradition: Amores 1.1.16 describes Apollo’s lyre as scarcely safe from Cupid (p.145) (vix etiam Phoebo iam lyra tuta sua est), a phrase that recalls Hermes’ theft of Apollo’s lyre in Alcaeus’ Hymn (see below), as well as Apollo’s fear in the Homeric Hymn that Hermes might steal the lyre from him (514–15 δείδια, Μαιάδος υἱέ,… / μή μοι ἀνακλέψῃς κίθαριν). Why might Ovid allude to Hermes via Cupid in Amores 1.1? A concept underlying Ovid’s poem is that Cupid has the ability to assimilate the roles of other gods. After Cupid transforms Ovid’s poetry from epic to elegy, Ovid attempts to demonstrate the problem with Cupid’s intervention by pointing out the absurdity of other gods switching roles, illustrating his point with the examples of Venus and Minerva, Ceres and Diana, and Apollo and Mars (7–12). Yet Cupid simply responds with an arrow and with commands to write elegy, winning the argument and setting the precedent that, in the universe of Ovid’s poetry, divine roles are fluid, especially where Love is concerned. This precedent is taken one step further in the Cupid–Apollo episode, where Cupid assimilates not Hermes’ sphere of influence, but his hymn tradition.

3. The Cupid–Apollo Quarrel and Alcaeus’ Hymn to Hermes In Alcaeus’ Hymn, Hermes steals not just Apollo’s cattle, but also his bow and arrows (τόξα), a theft to which Ovid alludes when Cupid and Apollo likewise quarrel over the use of the bow and arrow.18 The importance of Alcaeus’ Hymn as a literary model in Augustan poetry is demonstrated by Horace Odes 1.10, which Porphyrio (on 1.10.1) reports is inspired by Alcaeus. Ovid also indicates his familiarity with Alcaeus’ Hymn in the Fasti, where the depiction of Mercury at Fasti 5.663–6, well known for echoing Odes 1.10, also alludes to Alcaeus’ opening lines.19 Although all that survives of Alcaeus’ Hymn is the opening stanza describing the birth of Hermes (fr. 308b LP), testimonia indicate that in Alcaeus’ poem, after Hermes makes off with Apollo’s cattle and Apollo threatens the child-god, Hermes responds with a second theft, stealing the τόξα on

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Lascivus Puer Apollo’s shoulders. This theft causes Apollo to laugh and precipitates an exchange of gifts between the gods.20 (p.146) In the Metamorphoses, Apollo’s complaint about Cupid’s use of the bow and arrow engages with Hermes’ second theft in Alcaeus’ Hymn to Hermes. In a strict sense, the quarrel in Ovid’s Apollo–Cupid episode is not about theft, but appropriation, as Cupid has not explicitly stolen Apollo’s own bow and arrows, but rather adapted the technology for his amatory purposes. Yet Apollo’s opening words (1.456–7: “quid”que “tibi, lascive puer, cum fortibus armis?” / dixerat: “ista decent umeros gestamina nostros”) fit equally the context of the complaint—“do not use the weapons that are in my divine jurisdiction” and “you have stolen my bow”—since Apollo argues that Cupid’s bow ought to be on his shoulders. The blurring of the distinction between theft and appropriation is reinforced by the Metamorphoses’ allusion to Amores 1.1.5, where Ovid’s persona asks a question similar to Apollo’s after Cupid steals a foot of poetry. Furthermore, as the narrative of the Metamorphoses progresses from Apollo slaying the Python with his arrows to the Cupid and Daphne episodes, his bow in fact disappears: Apollo goes from deus arcitenens at 441 to a divine elegiac amator whose bow goes unmentioned.21 Indeed, although Apollo boasts to Cupid of his prowess in archery (1.458–60), during the quarrel and the subsequent pursuit of Daphne his bow and arrows are not described as being on his shoulders, a notable absence for a god who first stormed into Greek literature with his arrows clanging against his shoulders (Il. 1.46). It is as if, despite Apollo’s protests, Cupid has in fact dispossessed him of his weapons, just as in Alcaeus’ Hymn. Apollo’s claim at Metamorphoses 1.457 that Cupid’s weapons should be on his shoulders draws a further link between Cupid’s appropriation of the bow and Hermes’ theft of the same weapons from Apollo’s shoulders in Alcaeus’ Hymn. While Alcaeus’ exact wording is lost, Ovid’s ista decent umeros gestamina nostros echoes the phrasing that appears in the testimonia: P.Oxy. 2734 fr. 1.18 (τῶν ὤ]μων τὰ τ]όξα) and Scholium ABD on Iliad 15.256 (ἔκλεψεν αὐτοῦ καὶ τὰ ἐπὶ τῶν ὤμων τόξα).22 The Cupid–Apollo quarrel also shares with Alcaeus’ Hymn the features of Apollo’s harsh words to a child-god23 and that child-god assuming possession of a bow and arrow. Yet Apollo’s laughing response in Alcaeus and related traditions is not mirrored in the Metamorphoses. The amor of Ovid’s Apollo as well as several other features of the quarrel instead recall the Homeric Hymn to Hermes. (p.147)

4. The Cupid–Apollo Quarrel and the Homeric Hymn to Hermes In both the Metamorphoses and the Homeric Hymn to Hermes, Apollo emphasizes that his interlocutor is a child. The first verse of Apollo’s speech in the Metamorphoses underlines Cupid’s youth through the vocative lascive puer and through the contrast between Cupid and fortibus armis (1.456). Apollo’s contention here may be compared to his first words to Hermes in the Homeric Page 5 of 18

 

Lascivus Puer Hymn, where he rebukes Hermes for stealing his cattle and emphasizes his status as a child (254–5): ὦ παῖ, ὃς ἐν λίκνῳ κατάκειαι, μήνυέ μοι βοῦς θᾶσσον· ἐπεὶ τάχα νῶι διοισόμεθ᾽ οὐ κατὰ κόσμον… [Apollo:] “You, child, lying in your cradle, tell me where my cows are, double quick, otherwise we two shall quarrel in no seemly fashion… 24

Ovid’s Apollo addresses one child-god with the vocative puer just as the Apollo of the Hymn addresses another with the vocative παῖ. While the use of puer to describe Cupid engages with a long literary tradition of Eros/Cupid personified as a child, there is also a link to Apollo’s quarrel with the child-god Hermes. Moreover, ὦ παῖ is more marked than it may at first appear: this passage is the first time in Greek poetry that a god is addressed ὦ παῖ and, as far as I am aware, the only time ὦ παῖ is used to describe a god without an accompanying name of a divine parent.25 ὦ παῖ plus a patronymic honors a god; Apollo’s address of Hermes as παῖς when he is already aware that the latter is a divine son of Zeus is an insult aimed at reducing Hermes’ status,26 much as Apollo’s use of puer in his quarrel with Cupid comes as part of his attack on the latter’s standing. Cupid’s reply to Apollo in the Metamorphoses also has parallels with Hermes in the Hymn. Cupid frames Apollo’s challenge to him regarding the bow as part of a competition between the two gods’ gloria (1.465): tanto minor est tua gloria nostra (“so far inferior is your honor to mine”). We may compare Hermes’ retort to Maia after she warns her son that Apollo will come and punish him for stealing his cattle, a speech in which Hermes discloses that his goal is to claim a place among the Olympians (172–3): ἀμφὶ δὲ τιμῆς, / κἀγὼ τῆς ὁσίης ἐπιβήσομαι, ἧς περ Ἀπόλλων (“As for honor, I’m going to enter on my rights, the same as Apollo”). Apollo in both texts is explicitly motivated to quarrel about property, even though divine status is implicit in his concerns (Met. 1.462; H.Herm. 406–8). Hermes and Cupid ignore the question of property, but both explicitly discuss their divine status relative to Apollo, (p.148) with Ovid’s gloria echoing the Hymn’s τιμή and ὁσίη. Yet Ovid has Cupid aim even higher than his hymnic model: whereas Hermes wants τιμή and ὁσίη in equal measure as Apollo, Cupid’s claim that his gloria is by far greater than Apollo’s is all the more ambitious.27 The resolution of Apollo and Cupid’s quarrel in the Metamorphoses also has resonances with the Hymn. Hermes ends his quarrel with Apollo by charming him with the lyre. Hermes’ testing of the lyre’s strings (418–19) is echoed in Cupid bending his bowstring as Apollo first comes upon him (455 adducto flectentem cornua nervo), a parallel underlined because nervus may refer to the string of a lyre (as it does at 518) as well as a bow. In addition, Cupid causing Apollo to fall in love by piercing him with an arrow (472–4 at illo / laesit Page 6 of 18

 

Lascivus Puer Apollineas traiecta per ossa medullas; / protinus…amat) evokes the erotic language used to describe Apollo’s response to the lyre in the Hymn (421–3, 434):28 …ἐρατὴ δὲ διὰ φρένας ἤλυθ᾽ ἰωὴ θεσπεσίης ἐνοπῆς, καὶ μιν γλυκὺς ἵμερος ᾕρει θυμὸν ἀκουάζοντα· λύρῃ δ᾽ ἐρατὸν κιθαρίζων… τὸν δ᾽ ἔρος ἐν στήθεσσιν ἀμήχανος αἴνυτο θυμόν… …the lovely sound of its wondrous voice pierced his senses, and sweet longing captivated his heart as he listened. Hermes, playing delightfully on the lyre…helpless desire seized Apollo’s spirit in his breast…

In the Hymn the lyre’s “lovely sound” pierces Apollo (421) much like Cupid’s arrow in the Metamorphoses, with the Metamorphoses’ traiecta echoing the Hymn’s διέρχομαι. Ovid’s paralleling of Cupid’s arrow and Hermes’ lyre-playing even plays on the language of the Hymn, since the Hymn’s use of διέρχομαι is an extension of the Homeric usage of the word to describe objects, especially missiles, penetrating a body.29 In addition to the lyre’s sound being depicted as ἐρατή, the Hymn also deploys the vocabulary of amatory desire through the description of Apollo experiencing γλυκὺς ἵμερος (422) and ἔρος…ἀμήχανος (434) as Hermes plays in a manner described as ἐρατὸν (423), erotic language recalled in the Metamorphoses by Cupid’s love arrow. In the two texts Hermes’ lyre and Cupid’s arrow exhibit similar erotic effects upon Apollo. Yet Daphne also offers parallels to the lyre, and not just because both become divine attributes of Apollo. Ovid’s Daphne, the object of Apollo’s amor and reminiscent of many desired nymphs from myth—as well as the elegiac puella—also recalls the Hymn’s repeated comparisons of the lyre to a hetaira. As soon as Hermes conceives of transforming a tortoise shell into a lyre, he describes it as δαιτὸς ἑταίρη and as ἐρόεσσα (31), the latter a word that (p. 149) in Hesiod describes only nymphs.30 Apollo likewise calls the lyre a δαιτὸς ἑταίρη at 436 after hearing Hermes play.31 Although the phrase δαιτὸς ἑταίρη may be conventional,32 the Hymn expands upon the hetaira analogy at the moment that Hermes promises Apollo the lyre, with the former declaring (478– 9): εὐμόλπει μετὰ χερσὶν ἔχων λιγύφωνον ἑταίρην, / καλὰ καὶ εὖ κατὰ κόσμον ἐπισταμένην ἀγορεύειν (“Be a fine musician, fondling this clear-voiced hetaira who knows how to talk fine and fittingly”). The Hymn’s depiction of the lyre—the object of Apollo’s desire—as a woman finds an echo in Apollo’s primus amor in the Metamorphoses, Daphne, who is coveted by many (478) and forced by her beauty to transform into laurel (546–7). Even Daphne’s transformed state as a laurel tree finds a parallel in the Hymn. Laurel appears when Hermes uses a branch as a fire-stick to light the fire upon which he cooks two of Apollo’s cattle

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Lascivus Puer (109), a detail that offered Ovid one more reason to draw a connection between Hermes in the Hymn and Cupid in the Metamorphoses.

5. From Hermetic Cupid to Erotic Mercury: Fasti 5 and Metamorphoses 1–2 Earlier I discussed an allusion to Amores 1.1 in Fasti 5.663–92 as another instance of the link between Mercury and Cupid in Ovid’s poetry. The latter passage’s engagements with Horace Odes 1.10 and Alcaeus’ Hymn to Hermes demonstrate Ovid’s enduring interest in hymnic traditions relating to Hermes/ Mercury. After a hymnic introduction,33 Ovid describes a ritual at a sacred spring of Mercury near the Porta Capena. A merchant purifies himself and his wares with laurel dipped in the spring and asks pardon for his lies and false oaths (681–8). Mercury responds by laughing at the memory of stealing Apollo’s cattle, thereby combining the pivotal event of Alcaeus’ Hymn and the Homeric Hymn with laurel, the result of the quarrel between Cupid and Apollo. Although laurel has a variety of uses in Roman contexts,34 its link to Apollo is prominent. Ovid, moreover, gives us reason to think of the Metamorphoses’ Apollo–Daphne episode here, since two earlier references to laurel in the Fasti have points of contact with Apollo’s speech to Daphne in the Metamorphoses. At Fasti 3.139 laurel is called Apollo’s tree (arbore Phoebi), an affiliation that Apollo predicts in Met. 1.558 (arbor eris…mea). The final couplet of Fasti 4 (953–4) refers to laurel adjacent to oak boughs on Augustus’ house on the Palatine, an image that also features in Apollo’s speech to (p.150) Daphne (Met. 1.562–3. Ovid’s Cupid in the Metamorphoses evokes Hermes in his hymn tradition; Ovid’s representation of Mercury in Fasti 5 recalls the hymn tradition along with laurel, Apollo’s attribute and the outcome of his quarrel with Cupid. The depiction of Mercury in Metamorphoses 1–2 likewise suggests links with Cupid that resonate with the Cupid–Apollo quarrel, while also recalling the Hermes hymn tradition. Mercury’s actions are imbued with erotic aspects—both as a facilitator of other gods’ loves and as a lover himself. In addition, Ovid repeatedly presents Mercury stealing livestock, a central feature of the Hermes hymn tradition. Mercury first appears in the epic when Jupiter asks him to free Io. He quickly steals some goats and in pastoral disguise visits Argus with his reed pipe in tow. Mercury relates the origin of the reed pipes to Argus as he drifts off to sleep, describing the transformation of the nymph Syrinx into reed to escape Pan, a doublet of the Daphne episode. By having Mercury relate this nymph into flora redux, Ovid reinforces the link between Cupid and Mercury. In addition, the invention of the pipes by Pan, the son of Mercury, although it diverges from the tradition in the Homeric Hymn to Hermes that Hermes himself invented the pipes (511–12), nonetheless resonates with the centrality of instruments in the Hymn. Next, with Argus decapitated, Ovid’s Mercury steals his first cow: Io. When Mercury re-appears in Metamorphoses 2, Ovid depicts his theft of Apollo’s cattle. Although this is the central plot of the Alcaeus’ Hymn and the Homeric Hymn, Ovid’s version, with its focus on the petrification of Battus, is widely seen as owing more to the tradition that is reflected in Antoninus Page 8 of 18

 

Lascivus Puer Liberalis (see earlier). This version, however, includes Apollo distracted from guarding the cattle because he is in love, making Cupid a silent actor in the story. Mercury then becomes the next victim of amor in the Aglauros and Herse episode that follows, further reinforcing the connection between the two gods. At the conclusion of Book 2 Mercury is back to stealing livestock for the sake of his father’s affairs, as he rustles Agenor’s cattle and drives them to the Phoenician coast so that Jupiter can have his way with Europa. Throughout the first two books of the Metamorphoses Cupid and Mercury are linked through Apollo and love, and Mercury repeatedly commits livestock theft in a manner that glances toward Alcaeus’ Hymn and the Homeric Hymn among the many sources with which Ovid engages.

6. Hermes/Mercury and Amatory Gods Beyond Ovid and the Hymns This paper has posited a sustained link between Cupid and Hermes/Mercury in Ovid’s poetry, especially in the Cupid–Apollo episode, but also from Amores 1.1 to Fasti 5. One reason Ovid assimilates Hermes/Mercury into (p.151) Cupid may be that the two gods are connected in a variety of religious, visual, and literary contexts, often along with Aphrodite/Venus.35 Hermes/Mercury and Aphrodite/Venus have various cult connections.36 These links are also reflected in ancient art, which offers many instances where Hermes/Mercury is connected with the amatory gods. Pliny mentions that among Asinius Pollio’s sculpture collection were hermerotes (NH 36.33). With these may be compared two extant herms of Eros: a first-century BCE glass intaglio and a second-century CE herm from Ephesus.37 From the fifth century BCE onwards Eros is often depicted with Hermes’ invention—the lyre—in Greek as well as Roman contexts.38 Most significant for Ovid’s assimilation of Hermes into his representation of Cupid in the Metamorphoses are artifacts that depict Eros/Cupid with the divine attributes of Hermes/Mercury: for example, LIMC III s.v. “Eros” 948, a lekythos showing Eros holding Hermes’ caduceus (460–50 BCE); 949, a Graeco-Roman era gem with Eros holding a lyre and caduceus in front of a tripod; and LIMC III s.v. “Amor, Cupido” 575, a first-century BCE terracotta lamp from Herculaneum depicting Cupid with a caduceus in his left hand. Although, as LIMC attests, Hermes/Mercury is by no means the only god whose attributes Eros/Cupid assimilates in ancient art, the tradition nonetheless supplies additional context for Ovid’s evocation of Hermes in the Metamorphoses’ Cupid–Apollo quarrel. The connection between Hermes/Mercury and the amatory gods is also attested in literary sources. Horace (Carm. 1.30) and others make Mercury a member of Venus’ entourage.39 Some sources even intertwine the gods’ births and genealogies. An Orphic hymn makes Hermes the son of Aphrodite by Dionysus (Orph. h. 57.3–4). Philiscus wrote a play called The Births of Hermes and Aphrodite.40 Cicero records an eccentric tradition about the gods existing in multiples in which the “first Cupid” is the son of Hermes and Artemis, and the “second Cupid” is the son of Hermes and Venus (Nat. D. 3.60). In Metamorphoses 4, Ovid reflects another link between the gods via the Page 9 of 18

 

Lascivus Puer Hermaphroditus story. Ovid perhaps even evokes the tradition that Cupid is the son of Hermes and Aphrodite: after earlier stating that Hermaphroditus looks like (p.152) his parents Mercury and Venus (290–1), Ovid has Salmacis consider the possibility that Hermaphroditus is Cupid (4.321 potes esse Cupido). Another link between Hermes and the amatory gods is provided by his epithet philetes (“thief”), etymologized erotically already by Hellanicus as being from philein (Atlantis fr. 19b.1–8 Fowler = P.Oxy. VIII 1084): [Μαίαι δὲ Ζεὺς μίσγεται λανθά-] νων ἐν σπῆι· τ[ῶν] δὲ γίγνεται Ἑρμ[ῆς] Φιλήτης. ὅτι αὐτῆι φιλησίμ[ως] συνεκοιμ[ᾶτο]· καὶ γ[ίγνεται θε-] ῶν κῆ[ρυξ] ἀγήρ[αος] καὶ ἀθάνατος. And Zeus has sex with Maia hiding in a cave. From them Hermes is born, called Philetes because Zeus used to lie with her in love and he becomes the unaging and undying herald of the gods (trans. Thomas 2007).

Hellanicus’ description shares with the Homeric Hymn the detail that Hermes was born in a cave. Likewise, both Hellanicus and the Hymn describe Hermes with the epithet philetes (H.Herm. 175, 214, 292, 446). Hellanicus is the first extant source to explain philetes as deriving from Zeus’ love for Maia. Although in the Hymn philetes lacks an explicit amatory valence, the erotic etymology of philetes attested in Hellanicus offers further foundation in the literary tradition for Ovid’s allusions to Hermes in the Cupid–Apollo episode. Ovid’s assimilation of Cupid and Hermes follows the tradition exemplified by Hellanicus of eroticizing Hermes, and even suggests an erotic re-reading of the Hymn in which philetes resonates with the Hymn’s amatory diction relating to the lyre.

7. Ovid, Cupid, and Hermes/Mercury in an Augustan Context Barchiesi observes that at Met. 5.365–79, a speech in which Venus persuades Cupid to make Dis fall in love with Proserpina, Ovid discloses that Venus has a masterplot in the Metamorphoses: namely, for Cupid and herself to rule the cosmos (1999: 114–15). Cupid responds to his mother’s speech by shooting Dis (5.383–4), an act that recalls his wounding of Apollo in Book 1. Venus’ imperial ambitions for Cupid and herself are all the more fitting in the context of the present paper since they come as part of Ovid’s retelling of the Homeric (p. 153) Hymn to Demeter, although in an imperialist move Venus inserts an allusion to her own Homeric Hymn (1–35) into her speech.41 While Ovid has the Hymn to Aphrodite to draw upon for Venus, Eros is absent from the Homeric Page 10 of 18

 

Lascivus Puer Hymns (as well as Homeric epic),42 making Ovid’s assimilation of the hymnic Hermes into Cupid all the more remarkable. From this perspective, Ovid’s allusions to the Hermes hymn tradition in the Cupid–Apollo episode offer a corrective to the archaic Greek hymnic tradition: an Augustan-age hymn under the command of Cupid, a generic takeover that foreshadows the full extent of the imperial ambitions of the amatory gods revealed in Metamorphoses 5. The mortal component to Venus’ imperial ambitions in the Metamorphoses (and elsewhere) is embodied by Rome and the Julian clan, particularly Augustus.43 Ovid’s representation of the gods in his epic—especially Jupiter and Apollo—is widely seen as relating to contemporary discourses about Augustus’ association with the divine, even if the implications of Ovid’s representations are ambiguous.44 Apollo’s prophecy in the Daphne episode that laurel will decorate Augustus’ house is a famous instance where Ovid points to the connection between Apollo and princeps (1.562–3). Yet Cupid too is a relative of the Julian clan. And, for Horace, Augustus could become the terrestrial embodiment of Mercury, an identification also attested in inscriptions, coins, and images.45 Thus, all three divinities have a link to Augustus. From this perspective, Cupid’s quarrel with Apollo pits Augustus’ putative relative against the god with which he most closely aligned himself, while the allusion to Hermes and his hymns brings in another god connected to Augustus and adds a further dimension to Mercury’s subsequent complicity in Jupiter’s rapes and deceptions. In sum, Ovid’s reception of the Hermes hymn tradition in the Cupid–Apollo episode engages not just with cult, art, and literary traditions—as well as with Ovid’s own programmatic representation of divine assimilation in Amores 1.1; it also offers a further example of how Ovid configures the gods in his epic to illustrate the ambiguities of Augustus’ connections to the divine sphere. (p.154) Bibliography Bibliography references: Allen, T. W., W. R. Halliday, and E. E. Sikes. 1936. The Homeric Hymns. Oxford. Barchiesi, A. 1999. “Venus’ Masterplot: Ovid and the Homeric Hymns.” In P. Hardie, A. Barchiesi, and S. Hinds, eds. Ovidian Transformations: Essays on the Metamorphoses and its Reception. Cambridge. 112–26. Barchiesi, A. 2005. Ovidio, Metamorfosi: Volume I (Libri I–II). Milan. Bömer, F. 1958. P. Ovidius Naso: Die Fasten. Vol. 2. Heidelberg. Bömer, F. 1969–86. P. Ovidius Naso: Metamorphosen. 7 vols. Heidelberg. Brown, N. O. 1947. Hermes the Thief: The Evolution of a Myth. Madison.

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Lascivus Puer Cairns, F. 1983. “Alcaeus’ Hymn to Hermes, P. Oxy 2734 fr. 1 and Horace Odes 1,10.” QUCC 13.1: 29–35. Campbell, D. 1967. Greek Lyric Poetry: A Selection of Early Greek Lyric, Elegiac and Iambic Poetry. London. Càssola, F. 1975. Inni Omerici. Milan. Castellani, V. 1980. “Two Divine Scandals: Ovid Met. 2.680 ff. and 4.171 ff. and his Sources.” TAPA 110: 37–50. Clauss, J. 2016. “The Hercules and Cacus Episode in Augustan Literature: Engaging the Homeric Hymn to Hermes in Light of Callimachus’ and Apollonius’ Reception.” In A. Faulkner, A. Schwab, and A. Vergados, eds. The Reception of the Homeric Hymns. Oxford. 55–78. Combet-Farnoux, B. 1981. “Mercure romain, les ‘Mercuriales’ et l’institution du culte imperial sous le Principat augustéen.” ANRW 17.1: 457–501. Due, O. S. 1974. Changing Forms: Studies in the Metamorphoses of Ovid. Copenhagen. Farnell, L. R. 1896. The Cults of the Greek States. Vol. 2. Oxford. Faulkner, A. 2011. “The Collection of the Homeric Hymns: From the Seventh to the Third Centuries BC.” In A. Faulkner, ed. The Homeric Hymns: Interpretative Essays. Oxford. 175–205. Feeney, D. 1991. The Gods in Epic: Poets and Critics of the Classical Tradition. Oxford. Feeney, D. 1998. Literature and Religion at Rome: Cultures, Contexts, and Beliefs. Cambridge. Fraenkel, 1957. Horace. Oxford. Fuhrer, T. 1999. “Der Götterhymnus als Prahlrede: Zum Spiel mit einer literarischen Form in Ovids Metamorphosen.” Hermes 127: 356–67. Gesztelyi, T. 1973. “Mercury and Augustus: Horace, Odes I 2: Some Contributions to the Problem of their Identification.” ACD 9: 77–81. Gurval, R. A. 1995. Actium and Augustus: The Politics and Emotions of Civil War. Ann Arbor. Hinds, S. 1987a. The Metamorphosis of Persephone: Ovid and the Self-Conscious Muse. Cambridge. Hinds, S. 1987b. “Generalizing about Ovid.” Ramus 16: 4–31. Page 12 of 18

 

Lascivus Puer Holzberg, N. 1999. “Apollos erste Liebe und die Folgen: Ovids Daphne-Erzählung als Programm für Werk und Wirkung.” Gymnasium 106: 317–34. Janko, R. 1982. Homer, Hesiod, and the Hymns: Diachronic Development in Epic Diction. Cambridge. Janko, R. 2000. Philodemus: On Poems. Oxford. (p.155) Jung, C. G. and K. Kerényi. 1951 (=1943). Introduction to a Science of Mythology: The Myth of the Divine Child and the Mysteries of Eleusis. London. Keith, A. M. 1992. The Play of Fictions: Studies in Ovid’s Metamorphoses Book 2. Ann Arbor. Keith, A. M. 2002. “Sources and Genres in Ovid’s Metamorphoses 1–5.” In B. W. Boyd, ed. Brill’s Companion to Ovid. Leiden. 235–69. Keith, A. M. 2016. “The Homeric Hymn to Aphrodite in Ovid and Augustan Literature.” In A. Faulkner, A. Schwab, and A. Vergados, eds. The Reception of the Homeric Hymns. Oxford. 109–26. Kerényi, K. 1976 (= 1944). Hermes: The Guide of Souls. Zurich. Knox, P. E. 1986. Ovid’s Metamorphoses and the Traditions of Augustan Poetry. Cambridge. Knox, P. E. 1990. “In Pursuit of Daphne.” TAPA 120: 183–202. Lobel, E. 1968. The Oxyrhynchus Papyri: Volume XXXV. London. Ludwig, L. 1965. Struktur und Einheit der Metamorphosen Ovids. Berlin. Lyne, R. O. A. M. 2005. “Horace Odes Book 1 and the Alexandrian Edition of Alcaeus.” CQ 55: 542–58. McKeown, J. C. 1989. Ovid: Amores. Vol. II. A Commentary on Book One. Leeds. Miller, J. F. 1991. Ovid’s Elegiac Festivals: Studies in the Fasti. Frankfurt. Miller, J. F. 2009. Apollo, Augustus, and the Poets. Cambridge. Miller, J. F. 2016. “Ovid’s Bacchic Helmsman and Homeric Hymn 7.” In A. Faulkner, A. Schwab, and A. Vergados, eds. The Reception of the Homeric Hymns. Oxford. 95–108. Miller, P. A. 1991. “Horace, Mercury and Augustus, or the Poetic Ego of Odes 1– 3.” AJP 112: 365–88.

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Lascivus Puer Morrison, A. D. 2007. The Narrator in Archaic Greek and Hellenistic Poetry. Cambridge. Myers, K. S. 1994. “Ultimus Ardor: Pomona and Vertumnus in Ovid’s Met. 14.623–771.” CJ 89: 225–50. Nethercut, J. 2016. “Hercules and Apollo in Ovid’s Metamorphoses.” In A. Faulkner, A. Schwab, and A. Vergados, eds. The Reception of the Homeric Hymns. Oxford. 127–42. Nisbet, R. G. M. and M. Hubbard. 1970. A Commentary on Horace: Odes 1. Oxford. Nicoll, W. S. M. 1980. “Cupid, Apollo and Daphne (Ovid, Met. 1.452 ff.).” CQ 30: 174–82. Olson, S. D. 2011. “Immortal Encounters: Aeneid 1 and the Homeric Hymn to Aphrodite.” Vergilius 57: 55–61. Otis, B. 1970. Ovid as Epic Poet. Cambridge. Page, D. 1955. Sappho and Alcaeus: An Introduction to the Study of Ancient Lesbian Poetry. Oxford. Reitzenstein, R. 1904. Poimandres: Studien zur griechisch-ägyptischen und frühchristlichen Literatur. Leipzig. Richardson, N. J. 2007. “The Homeric Hymn to Hermes.” In P. J. Finglass, C. Collard, and N. J. Richardson, eds. Hesperos: Studies in Ancient Greek Poetry Presented to M. L. West on his Seventieth Birthday. Oxford. 83–94. Richardson, N. J. 2010. Three Homeric Hymns. Cambridge. (p.156) Schiesaro, A. 2011. “Ibis redibis.” MD 67: 79–150. Scott, K. 1928. “Mercur-Augustus und Horaz C. 1.2.” Hermes 63: 15–33. Six, J. 1916. “Octavien-Mercure.” Revue archéologique 4: 257–64. Strauss Clay, J. 1989. The Politics of Olympus: Form and Meaning in the Major Homeric Hymns. Princeton. Syed, Y. 2004. “Ovid’s Use of the Hymnic Genre in the Metamorphoses.” In A. Barchiesi, J. Rüpke, and S. Stephens, eds. Rituals in Ink: A Conference on Religion and Literary Production in Ancient Rome. Stuttgart. 99–113. Thomas, O. R. H. 2007. “Charting the Atlantic with Hesiod and Hellanicus.” ZPE 160: 15–23.

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Lascivus Puer Vergados, A. 2013. The Homeric Hymn to Hermes. Berlin. Voit, L. 1982. “Horaz-Merkur-Augustus (zu Hor. C. II 17, I 10, I 2).” Gymnasium 89: 479–96. West, M. L. 2003. Homeric Hymns, Homeric Apocrypha, Lives of Homer. Cambridge, MA. Wilamowitz-Moellendorff, U. v. 1973 (=1924). Hellenistische Dichtung in der Zeit des Kallimachos: II (Interpretationen). 3rd ed. Berlin. Wills, J. 1990. “Callimachean Models for Ovid’s ‘Apollo-Daphne’.” MD 24: 143–56. Williams, F. 1981. “Augustus and Daphne: Ovid Metamorphoses 1,560–3 and Phylarchus FGrHist 81 F 32 (b).” PLLS 3: 249–57. Notes:

(1) I would like to express my gratitude to the volume editors; to generous audiences at the Tracking Hermes/Mercury conference, the 2015 CAC, and Kenyon College, where earlier versions of this paper were presented; and to Nandini Pandey, Lauren Curtis, Andreas Zanker, Jason Nethercut, and Alessandro Barchiesi. (2) For the Cupid–Apollo–Daphne episode as turning point in the Met., see Ludwig 1965: 19–20; Otis 1970: 101–2; Knox 1986: 14; Barchiesi 2005: 204. For the allusions to Am. 1.1 and the Callimachean theophanic tradition, as well as the blending of epic and elegy here: e.g. Due 1974: 112–13; Nicoll 1980; Knox 1986: 14–18; Wills 1990; Myers 1994: 226–7; Holzberg 1999; Keith 2002: 246– 51. (3) Although the myth of Apollo’s quarrel with Hermes is later related in nonhymnic texts, Alcaeus’ Hymn and H.Herm. are the two oldest extant versions of Apollo’s quarrel with Hermes, and a negotiation over divine timai is a fundamental theme of archaic hymns (Strauss Clay 1989: 15). On the vexed issue of the dating and priority of the two hymns, see Page 1955: 254–5; Campbell 1967: 297; Morrison 2007: 82; Vergados 2013: 76–7 and 130. (4) Nethercut 2016 argues for an Apolline birth of Hercules in Met. 9, suggesting that divine assimilation is a concept that Ovid repeatedly uses. See also Clauss 2016. (5) See Keith 2002: 264–6 on Ovid’s mixing of models and genres; Miller 2016 on the Met.’s engagement with Homeric Hymn 7, along with other traditions relating to Bacchus and the Tyrrhenian pirates. (6) Ant. Lib. Met. 23 and schol. ad loc. See Castellani 1980: 37–44; Keith 1992: 108–12. Page 15 of 18

 

Lascivus Puer (7) Hymns as not influential: Allen, Halliday, Sikes 1936: lxiv–lxxxii and 200; Castellani 1980: 38; Janko 1982: 2 and 2000: 213 n. 9. Càssola 1975: lxii notes that beginning in the first century BCE there are citations of “Homer in his Hymns”; see further Barchiesi 1999: 123; Olson 2011: 60–1; Faulkner 2011. (8) On Ovid and the Homeric Hymns, see also Syed 2004; Miller 2016; Nethercut 2016; Keith 2016. Feeney 1998: 32–44 discusses hymns and Roman poetry more generally. (9) Wills 1990: 146 n. 8; Barchiesi 1999: 116 and 124; Syed 2004: 102; Miller 2009: 339. Bömer 1969: 139 observes a parallel between the description of Apollo shooting the Python with innumerable arrows in Met. 1.459–60 and Callim. Hymn 2.101. (10) Barchiesi 2005: 207. (11) Barchiesi 1999: 116. (12) Noted already by Wilamowitz 1973 (=1924): 2.52 n. 4. (13) Keith 2002: 250. (14) Williams 1981: 251; Wills 1990: 151; Barchiesi 1999: 124. (15) Wills 1990: 154; Knox 1990: 200; Fuhrer 1999: 357–9. (16) Met. 1.456 (quidque tibi) ~ Am. 1.1.5 (Quis tibi); Met. 1. 453 (saeva Cupidinis ira) and 456 (lascive puer) ~ Am. 1.1.5 (saeve puer); Met. 1.456 (fortibus armis) ~ Am. 1.1.1, 7 (arma); Met. 1.466–74 (cf. 495–6) ~ Am. 1.1.21–6; Met. 1.519–20 ~ Am. 1.1.25–6. See Nicoll 1980: 175–6; Knox 1986: 14–17. I observe that both speeches also deploy first-person plural esse verbs to contrast the speaker with Cupid (Met. 1.458 qui dare certa ferae, dare vulnera possumus hosti; Am. 1.1.6 Pieridum vates, non tua turba sumus) and mention the trope of torches as the proper tool for amatory gods (Met. 1.461; Am. 1.1.8). (17) The only other occurrence of surripuisse in elegy (Prop. 2.3.52; same metrical sedes) describes a cattle theft from Homer: the seer Melampus stealing Iphicles’ cattle (cf. Od. 11.287–98, 15.225–42). (18) Τόξα in the plural may refer to arrows as well as to the bow (LSJ s.v. II). As Cairns 1983: 32 notes, most versions indicate that Hermes stole Apollo’s arrows only; the exception is a possible allusion to this theft in H.Herm. 515, where Apollo fears that Hermes may steal his “curved bow” (καμπύλα τόξα). (19) See J. F. Miller 1991: 101 on both allusions.

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Lascivus Puer (20) P.Oxy. 2734 fr. 1 (see esp. Lobel 1968: 2–4; Cairns 1983; Lyne 2005: 547–52); Hor. C. 1.10; Porphyr. on 1.10.1 and 1.10.9–12. Philostratus Imag. 1.26; schol. ABD on Il. 15.256; and Lucian Deor. 11.1 also relate this version of the quarrel without mentioning Alcaeus. (21) Arcitenens: Naev. Bel. Pun. fr. 30 Büchner, a calque on Homeric τοξοφόρος; see Keith 2002: 247 n. 54. (22) See Cairns 1983: 32, who also suggests the supplement to line 18. (23) P.Oxy. 2734 fr. 1.15–16 Ἀπόλλω[ν/]αὐτῷ ἀπειλή[σας; cf. schol. ABD on Il. 15.256: ἀπειλουμένου δὲ τοῦ Ἀπόλλωνος. (24) All translations of the H.Herm. follow West 2003 with minor modifications. (25) ὦ παῖ with the name of a divine parent: e.g. Eur. fr. 177.1. (26) Vergados 2013: 419. (27) On τιμή and ὁσίη here, see especially Strauss Clay 1989: 128–31. Gloria is roughly equivalent, a word that Bömer 1969: 149 points out is rarely used by gods in Latin literature. (28) See Richardson 2007: 88–9 on erotic language in the H.Herm. (29) Vergados 2013: 503. (30) Th. 245, 251, 357; fr. 169.1; Richardson 2010: 158. (31) Cf. Apollo’s amatory language at 448–9. (32) Cf. Od. 8.99, 17.271; Richardson 2010: 158. (33) See J. F. Miller 1991: 100. (34) Bömer 1958: 151–2. (35) See esp. Farnell 1896: 2.653; Brown 1947: 14–16; Kerényi 1976 (=1944): 53– 9; Jung and Kerényi 1951 (=1943): 73–7. (36) Halicarnassus: Vitr. 2.8.11.13–14; Argos: Paus. 2.19.6; Megalopolis: Paus. 8.31.6; Cnidos: Farnell 1896: 2.739; Lesbos: Farnell 1896: 2.742. According to the Suda (Ψ 100) there were cults at Athens to Hermes the Whisperer, Aphrodite the Whisperer, and Eros the Whisperer. (37) LIMC III s.v. “Eros” 4 and 5, respectively. Cf. 679 (third-century BCE terracotta of baby Eros playing next to ithyphallic herm of Eros); 62 (late firstcentury BCE terracotta figurine of Eros supported by ithyphallic herm); 449–52:

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Lascivus Puer (several examples of Eros worshipping before a herm; mid-fifth century BCE– mid-fourth century BCE). (38) E.g. LIMC III s.v. “Eros” 662; LIMC III s.v. “Amor, Cupido” 451–5. (39) Corn. Nat. Deor. 24; Plut. Conj. Praec. 138c; Apul. Met. 6.7.3. (40) Suda s.v.; CPG VII p. 356, test. 1. See RE 19.2.2380.51–9. (41) Barchiesi 1999: 114–15. (42) Feeney 1991: 78. (43) Barchiesi 1999: 117–23. (44) See esp. Hinds 1987b: 24–31; Feeney 1991: 188–249; and Miller 2009: 332– 73, with further references at 333 n. 1. (45) IKosM 466; CIL 6.283; CIL 10.8342a; Bologna, Museo Civico inv. Pal. 1632: altar side panel showing Minerva–Roma leading Mercury–Augustus (c.10 BCE– 15 CE); the Marlborough gem depicting Augustus and a caduceus (see CombetFarnoux 1981: 488); RIC2 257 (see Gurval 1995: 59–60) and RPC 790. My argument here is not dependent on asserting that there was a widespread popular cult of Mercury–Augustus or that the princeps fostered such a link with any consistency, but simply that the connection existed for Ovid to exploit. See: Reitzenstein 1904: 176–9; Six 1916; Scott 1928; Fraenkel 1957: 247–9; Nisbet and Hubbard 1970: 34–6; Gesztelyi 1973; Combet-Farnoux 1981: 486–500; Voit 1982; P. A. Miller 1991: esp. 383–8; and Miller 2009: 44–53. Schiesaro 2011: 104–7, in an article arguing that Augustus is Ibis in Ovid’s Ibis, notes that Ovid may also link Augustus and Mercury at Met. 5.319–31, where Ovid’s account of the Gigantomachy includes Mercury turning into an ibis as part of a passage that alludes to Horace’s description of Mercury becoming Augustus at Carm. 1.2.41–4.

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Horace’s Mercury and Mercurial Horace

Tracking Hermes, Pursuing Mercury John F. Miller and Jenny Strauss Clay

Print publication date: 2019 Print ISBN-13: 9780198777342 Published to Oxford Scholarship Online: March 2019 DOI: 10.1093/oso/9780198777342.001.0001

Horace’s Mercury and Mercurial Horace S. J. Harrison

DOI:10.1093/oso/9780198777342.003.0011

Abstract and Keywords In this piece I have surveyed the various guises under which the god Mercury is presented in the poetry of Horace. Mercury is an important figure in the Odes as inventor of the lyre, a key patron of lyric poetry and divine protector of the poet; though he can be paralleled with the young Caesar at one moment, he is not to be taken as symbolizing him at others, especially in Horace’s account of Philippi in Odes 2.7. References to his epic role as psychopompos serve to generate some particularly elevated moments, while allusions to his role as erotic enabler look to lowlier connections with Roman comedy and the elegiac world of amatory intrigue; this combination of high and low reference suits the middling literary level of the Odes in general. We have also seen how the Satires’ narrative of Horace’s origins and their presentation of Damasippus present a different kind of vir Mercurialis (a man of business) he might have been had he not become a lyric poet. By becoming the poet of the Odes, Horace moves upwards from the world of his birth and upbringing, associated with the lower money-making role of Mercury, to the realm of literature and lyric, associated with the god’s higher divine functions, a key step in his poetic and social career. Keywords:   Horace, lyric, Mercury, protector, psychopompos, comedy, elegy, mercantilism

1. Introduction Horatian scholars have often observed the significant role played by Mercury in his poetry, especially in the Odes.1 Kenneth Reckford has suggested that the poet “perceived this god as a related being and grasped him as a felicitous symbol of his own kind,”2 while Paul Allen Miller has even argued for “a coherent pattern linking Horace, Maecenas, Augustus, the Sabine farm, the mixture of Greek and Page 1 of 16

Horace’s Mercury and Mercurial Horace Latin elements in Horace’s poetry, and the god Mercury.”3 In this piece I too want to stress the affinity between the poet and Mercury presented in the poems and the range of functions the god can fulfill, but also to suggest ways in which the figure of Mercury can assist in the reading and interpretation of certain Horatian poems. Horace presents himself as a poet protected by Mercury/ Hermes, god of the lyre, and his son Faunus/Pan, and alludes to Mercury/ Hermes’ role as psychopompos; but these more elevated aspects of the god, sometimes overtly echoing epic texts, are counterbalanced by and mixed with hints at Mercury’s involvement with erotic intrigue and money-making, a more popular view of the god that has affinities with lower types of literature. Both sides of the god can be firmly linked with the poet, a divinely-supported lyric bard who also has connections with erotic interests and a family background in commerce.

(p.160) 2. vir Mercurialis—The Poet and Divine Protection In Odes 2.17 the poet implies that he belongs to the group of viri Mercuriales, “men belonging to Mercury” (27–30): me truncus inlapsus cerebro sustulerat, nisi Faunus ictum dextra levasset, Mercurialium custos virorum. A tree-trunk falling on my skull would have taken me off, had not Faunus, guardian of those men protected by Mercury, lightened the blow with his hand.

John F. Miller has characterized Mercurialium…virorum as “a puzzling phrase,”4 and indeed the epithet Mercurialis is not easy to understand here. As Nisbet and Hubbard point out, the adjective can refer to the members of a collegium linked with Mercury (OLD s.v. 2b), but there is no indication of such a link for Horace. It could mean “born under the sign of the planet Mercury,” following Greek Ἑρμαϊκός (LSJ s.v.), and therefore under the god’s astrological protection,5 but Horace’s birth date of December 86 seems to place him outside either of the periods thought to be ruled astronomically by Mercury (Gemini and Virgo, May/ June and August/September).7 The role of Mercury in the poem is best understood by considering the further evidence of other poems. First of all, we need to be clear about the relationship between Faunus and Mercury: in Roman culture Faunus is the equivalent of Pan and the son of Mercury/Hermes (e.g. Pliny NH 7.204), and so his intervention can be seen as extending the protection of his divine father.8 A similar element of protection is offered to the poet and his flocks by Faunus in Odes 1.17.1–14: Velox amoenum saepe Lucretilem mutat Lycaeo Faunus et igneam Page 2 of 16

 

Horace’s Mercury and Mercurial Horace  defendit aestatem capellis   usque meis pluviosque ventos. inpune tutum per nemus arbutos quaerunt latentis et thyma deviae  olentis uxores mariti   nec viridis metuunt colubras nec Martialis haediliae lupos, (p.161) utcumque dulci, Tyndari, fistula valles et Usticae cubantis levia personuere saxa. di me tuentur, dis pietas mea et musa cordi est. Swift Faunus often exchanges the hill of Sabine Lucretilis for that of Greek Lykaion and always wards off fiery summer and rainy winds from my she-goats. Safely can the wives of the rank goat-husband seek wide-wandering through the tranquil grove for hard-to-find shoots and herbs, nor do their kids fear green snakes or the wolves of Mars whenever, Tyndaris, the vales and smooth rocks of low-lying Ustica resound with that sweet piping. The gods protect me, my duty and music please them.

Thus Faunus can be taken in both cases as an extension of Mercury, appropriate to natural dangers such as trees and to the safety of flocks, given the traditional associations of both gods with the country and pastoral agriculture.9 Parallel mentions in the Odes of the danger from which the poet is miraculously preserved in 2.17, a falling tree on his own Sabine estate, can also aid us in interpretation here.10 Odes 2.13 curses the tree for its attempt on its master’s life, while 3.8 presents an annual thanksgiving for the poet’s escape on March 1st, suggesting that was the day of the incident, while 3.4.27 presents the tree as one of the three mortal dangers from which the gods preserved the poet (the other two being Philippi—see below on 2.7—and drowning off Sicily). These complicate the issue a little, as in 3.8 the sacrifice of thanks is offered not to Mercury but to Liber/Bacchus (7), while in 3.4 the poet claims that his preservation was owed to his friendship with the Muses (25). All these divinities, however, have one clear factor in common—their connection with poetry and therefore their protection of the poet. Of these three divine protectors, Mercury is the most specifically linked to lyric poetry, though Liber/Bacchus is also cast in that role in prominent odes such as 2.19 and 3.25. This is made explicit in Odes 1.10, where in a hymn to Mercury at least (p.162) partly based on a largely lost Page 3 of 16

 

Horace’s Mercury and Mercurial Horace original by Alcaeus,11 the god is addressed as the originator of the lyre and other cultural skills: Mercuri, facunde nepos Atlantis, qui feros cultus hominum recentum voce formasti catus et decorae more palaestrae, te canam, magni Iovis et deorum nuntium curvaeque lyrae parentem, callidum quicquid placuit iocoso condere furto… Mercury, easy-tongued grandson of Atlas who shaped the fierce ways of fresh-born men with vocal skill, and with the ways of the fine school of wrestling, you I will sing, messenger of great Jupiter and all divinities, father of the curved lyre, cunning to conceal whatever you wished in witty theft…

Thus Mercury is the patron deity par excellence of the lyre and thence of lyric poetry, under whose protection Horace as lyric poet especially falls. In this sense, then, the lyric poet Horace is a vir Mercurialis. Mercury’s protection is exercised in the poet’s favor on one more famous occasion in the Odes, the poet’s narrative of his escape from Philippi in 2.7. This, as I have argued elsewhere, is a highly literary account that uses Greek poetic models to negotiate and re-shape an uncomfortable Roman reality into a politically and generically acceptable form, producing a version of the battle that is suitable for its context of sympotic lyric, stays away from the realism of bloody details, and makes it clear that the right side won.12 Here the poet is represented as rescued from the fatal conflict by Mercury (2.7.13–14): sed me per hostis Mercurius celer denso paventem sustulit aere. But I was spirited away through the enemy by swift Mercury in thick mist, all in a panic.

Horace’s fanciful retelling of the battle represents him as being saved by Mercury and removed miraculously from danger in a thick mist. This divine intervention strongly recalls famous moments on the battlefield of the Iliad where warriors are similarly rescued by concerned divinities from duels they are losing (Iliad 3.380–2, Aphrodite and Paris; Iliad 5.344–6, Apollo and Aeneas; Iliad 20.321–9, Poseidon and Aeneas). In some ways, Horace at (p.163) Philippi is like Paris, the weaker warrior who needs to be rescued from defeat and death by a god who owes him protection; in other ways, Horace could be like Aeneas, who Page 4 of 16

 

Horace’s Mercury and Mercurial Horace needs to be preserved for a vital future function, as a poet who will live to write this ode and other poems. In any case, the parallel of Mercury to a Homeric patron deity intervening to rescue a favorite in the battle is clear; his role here is different from that of the Homeric Hermes, whose interventions are limited to delivering messages and escorting humans or souls.13 It has sometimes been suggested that the rescuing Mercury of Odes 2.7 in some sense symbolizes the battle’s victor, the young Caesar and future Augustus, and his future support of the defeated poet.14 This is consistent in principle with the well-known close of Odes 1.2, where the poet addresses the young Caesar as a saving reincarnation of Mercury (Odes 1.2.41–4): sive mutata iuvenem figura ales in terris imitaris, almae filius Maiae, patiens vocari Caesaris ultor…. Or whether it is you that changes your shape, winged one, and mirrors a young man on the earth, son of motherly Maia, letting yourself be called Caesar’s avenger…

Here the poet takes on indeed a contemporary comparison of the young Caesar and Hermes, found in art and following Ptolemaic models,15 but it seems very difficult to apply this to the rescuing role of Mercury in Odes 2.7; after all, as confirmed by the poet’s later account of the same conflict at Ep. 2.2.48 (Caesaris Augusti non responsura lacertis), the young Caesar as Caesaris ultor was joint commander of the victorious army from which the poet, fighting for Caesar’s assassins, was “divinely rescued,” and Horace might well have shared the mortal fate of thousands of his fellow-Republicans at Philippi in a pair of battles that resulted in massive casualties.16 The poet is saved from the might of the young Caesar by Mercury, patron of lyric poets, to be the future author of the Odes. As in the biographical tradition of his lyric predecessor Pindar,17 Horace enjoys the special protection of the gods.18 (p.164)

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Horace’s Mercury and Mercurial Horace 3. Mercury as psychopompos A different use of Mercury that occurs several times in the Odes is that of psychopompos or escort of the dead. This can be seen as a neat inversion of his role as patron deity and rescuer, which we have just examined: in one form he preserves his own protégés and keeps them from the Underworld, in another form he provides secure passage to the same Underworld for those who are not so fortunate in their patronage. Like the theme of rescue from battle, this is an epic inheritance; if we return to Odes 1.10, the hymn to Mercury drawing heavily on Greek precedents, we find that it concludes with a description of Mercury as psychopompos that echoes Mercury/Hermes’ earliest appearance in that role at the start of the last book of the Odyssey (1.10.17–20): Tu pias laetis animas reponis sedibus virgaque levem coerces aurea turbam, superis deorum gratus et imis You settle holy souls in their happy abodes and marshal the insubstantial crowd with golden rod, pleasing to divine powers above and below.

Compare Odyssey 24.1–5: Ἑρμῆς δὲ ψυχὰς Κυλλήνιος ἐξεκαλεῖτο ἀνδρῶν μνηστήρων· ἔχε δὲ ῥάβδον μετὰ χερσὶν καλὴν χρυσείην, τῇ τ᾿ ἀνδρῶν ὄμματα θέλγει ὧν ἐθέλει, τοὺς δ᾿ αὖτε καὶ ὑπνώοντας ἐγείρει· τῇ ῥ᾿ ἄγε κινήσας, ταὶ δὲ τρίζουσαι ἕποντο. But Hermes of Cyllene was summoning the souls of the suitors: he held a rod in his hands, beautiful and golden, with which he enchants the eyes of all men he wants, and rouses them again though asleep: with this he stirred and led the souls, and they gibbered as they followed.

Horace’s poem fittingly closes with the opening of the closing book of the Homeric epic. The lyric context provides a warmer and less stark view of Mercury than its epic original; the god is presented as conveying pious souls to felicity rather than taking the slaughtered suitors to their eternal infernal abode. In another ode, 1.24, the lament for Quintilius, Mercury appears as psychopompos again, this time doubly evoking Homer, once more at the end of a poem (1.24.13–20): Quid si Threicio blandius Orpheo auditam moderere arboribus fidem?

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Horace’s Mercury and Mercurial Horace Num vanae redeat sanguis imagini, (p.165) quam virga semel horrida, non lenis precibus fata recludere, nigro compulerit Mercurius gregi? durum: sed levius fit patientia quicquid corrigere est nefas. What if you were to wield a lyre more sweetly than that of Thracian Orpheus, heeded even by trees? Would blood really return to the empty shade once Mercury with fearful rod, unbending to prayers to open up the world of the dead, has driven it in his flock of darkness? It is hard: but patience can lighten what it is forbidden to remedy.

Here the rod-bearing and marshaling Hermes of Odyssey 24 is paired with the blood-drinking shades of Odyssey 11, as has been well observed;19 and there is a further hexameter text intervening here, the recent Georgics of Horace’s friend Vergil, from the fourth book of which the figure of Orpheus, though long a standard comparand for persuasiveness,20 seems to be taken:21 the Horatian ode and the Vergilian didactic poem both envisage a scenario where not even the songs of Orpheus can reverse an individual’s departure to the Underworld. This resonance of Orpheus thus confirms the epic origin of the psychopompic Mercury. The third and final example of Mercury as psychopompos occurs in Odes 2.18.34–40:22 nec satelles Orci callidum Promethea revexit auro captus. hic superbum Tantalum atque Tantali genus coercet, hic levare functum pauperem laboribus vocatus atque non vocatus audit. Nor did Hades’ henchman bring back the wily Prometheus bribed by gold. He keeps prisoner proud Tantalus and Tantalus’ progeny, he is said to relieve the poor man at the end of his labors, whether called or not called.

(p.166) Once again the theme occurs at the end of an ode, most appropriately for perhaps the most closural motif in literature.23 Here we may have echoes of the epic tradition once more; the allusion to Prometheus’ attempt to bribe Page 7 of 16

 

Horace’s Mercury and Mercurial Horace Mercury is likely to allude to a lost mythological source, possibly archaic Greek epic.24 This third representation of Mercury as psychopompos gives him the most power and authority; though he is “Hades’ henchman,” he shares his master’s fearsome power and inexorability. These traces of Mercury in the role of Hermes as psychopompos in the Odes clearly allude to a higher literary tradition from epic, but are fully coherent with the role of protector of the poet that we have already identified: in both functions the god controls the passage of human souls to and from the Underworld, on the one hand preserving the deserving poet and his property, and on the other making sure that the spirits of the dead, and especially offenders against the gods, reach their appropriate infernal destinations.

4. Mercury and Erotic Intrigue Having considered the more elevated aspects of Mercury’s Horatian characterization as divine protector and escorter of souls, I now turn to some lower characteristics of the god that are equally reflected in Horace’s poetry. As we have already seen, in Odes 1.17 the poet sets up a country symposium with the hetaera Tyndaris under the protection of Mercury’s son Faunus/Pan, suggesting that such divine patronage can specifically aid the poet’s erotic enterprises as well as saving his life; we can compare the common assertion in contemporary love-elegy that the god Amor/Cupid intervenes to aid or otherwise influence the poet-lover’s affairs.25 This role of Mercury as erotic enabler looks back to Roman comedy, especially to Plautus’ Amphitryon, where Mercury as lengthy prologue-speaker (1–152) presents himself both as the god of moneymaking and as aiding his father Jupiter’s affair with the mortal Alcmena (cf. 126, ut praeservire amanti meo possem patri) by effecting his safe entrance into Amphitryon’s house disguised as Amphitryon himself.26 This aspect of Mercury may help with the interpretation of another Horatian ode, 1.30: (p.167) O Venus regina Cnidi Paphique, sperne dilectam Cypron et vocantis ture te multo Glycerae decoram transfer in aedem. Fervidus tecum puer et solutis Gratiae zonis properentque Nymphae et parum comis sine te Iuventas Mercuriusque. Venus, queen of Cnidos and of Paphos, spurn the Cyprus you love, and move into the elegant house of Glycera, who calls on you with clouds of incense. May your burning boy hurry with you, and the Graces and Nymphs with girdles loosed and Youth, no pleasure without you, Page 8 of 16

 

Horace’s Mercury and Mercurial Horace and Mercury too.

In this brief, epigrammatic poem the role of Mercury, enigmatically introduced in the final Mercuriusque is unclear: “this must be the punch-line, but quite what the point is remains uncertain.”27 Is Mercury here the god of the lyre, representing cultured musical accompaniment for an otherwise mercantile situation,28 or the god of gain, representing the need to pay the hetaera Glycera in order to enter her house,29 or a divine persuasive go-between in the affair?30 These are all possible interpretations, but the last seems closest to the mark given the evidence of the Amphitryon: Mercury could be invoked as the god of trickery to get the poet into the house of a woman who belongs to another, just as in Plautus’ play. Glycera may resemble those puellae of elegy whose resident vir needs to be outwitted in order for the poet-lover to achieve a successful encounter;31 the traditionally cunning Mercury (cf. 1.10.7, callidum) would be a useful ally indeed in this situation, as indeed he is in the Amphitryon. Mercury is invoked in an erotic context again at Odes 3.11.1–16: Mercuri, nam te docilis magistro movit Amphion lapides canendo, tuque testudo resonare septem callida nervis, nec loquax olim neque grata, nunc et divitum mensis et amica templis, dic modos, Lyde quibus obstinatas (p.168) applicet auris, quae velut latis equa trima campis ludit exultim metuitque tangi, nuptiarum expers et adhuc protervo cruda marito. Tu potes tigris comitesque silvas ducere et rivos celeres morari; cessit immanis tibi blandienti ianitor aulae. Mercury—for, taught by you as master Amphion shifted stones by singing— and you, tortoise-shell lyre, skilled to sound now friend to the tables of the rich and to temples, with seven strings, once neither ready in speech or welcome, produce notes to which Lyde can turn her obstinate ears, who, like a three-year-old filly on the wide plains leaps and plays and fears to be touched, free from marriage and still too raw for a thrusting husband. You can draw tigers and trees as companions Page 9 of 16

 

Horace’s Mercury and Mercurial Horace to follow you, and hold up swift streams: to your caresses yielded the door-keeper of that monstrous court.

Here, in the outer frame of the poem which introduces the inner mythological story of the Danaid Hypermnestra, the poet calls on Mercury as god of the lyre to persuade the reluctant Lyde to engage in love;32 the story of the virtuous Hypermnestra who loved and protected her new husband despite a family feud, and of her vicious sisters who suffered such notable punishment for killing theirs on their father’s orders, is invoked to convince her that her erotic intransigence is mistaken. In this poem several strands of Mercury’s Horatian characterization observed so far seem to come together: his status as the inventor of the lyre and therefore as patron of lyric poetry (cf. Odes 1.10), his role as erotic helper (cf. 1.30), and even (indirectly) his connection with the Underworld as psychopompos; the stanza (13–16) that describes the capacity of the lyre to tame the dangers of the infernal regions, clearly looking again to the myth of Orpheus (cf. 1.24), recalls its patron god Mercury’s similar ability to come and go to and from Hades, and to control some Underworld elements (cf. 1.10.17–20, 1.24.13– 20, 2.18.34–40, all discussed earlier).

(p.169) 5. Mercury the God of Luck and Mercantilism Finally, I turn to two further aspects of Mercury in Horace: the god’s association with windfalls and good luck, and his link with business and trading.33 As befits such everyday connections, these are not found in the more elevated world of the Odes but in the lower literary environment of the Satires. At Satires 2.6.4–5, in a poem that celebrates the poet’s Sabine estate, Horace prays to Mercury that the property remain his in perpetuity: nil amplius oro, / Maia nate, nisi ut propria haec mihi munera faxis (“I ask nothing more, son of Maia, than that you make this gift my own property”). Here Mercury is invoked as the god of good fortune, rather artfully; by this means the poet implies that the estate has come to him in some sense by chance, carefully masking the patronage of Maecenas and the exchange of property for poetry, just as the prayer itself appears to suggest with some ambiguity that he does not yet have the full ownership of the land.34 We should resist the temptation to suggest that Mercury here picks up Odes 1.2 and refers symbolically to the patronage of the young Caesar himself, for this would surely subvert the strategy of discretion and indirection here. My last example is taken from Satires 2.3, a poem spoken by Damasippus, dealer in art and property. As I have suggested elsewhere,35 Damasippus (like several of the other speakers in Satires 2) presents a number of features which invite us to associate him with the figure of Horace the poet as displayed in his work. Like the young Horace after Philippi (cf. Ep. 2.2.49–52), Damasippus loses his property and has to start again (2.3.18–20); like Horace’s father, the auctioneer’s agent (coactor, Sat. 1.6.86), he belongs to the bustling commercial world; and like the Horace of the Satires in general, he is concerned to Page 10 of 16

 

Horace’s Mercury and Mercurial Horace summarize and retail the views of other philosophers (34), and uses an Aesopic fable to make a moral point (2.3.314–20, cf. e.g. 2.6.79–117). In Satires 2.3 Damasippus is strongly associated with Mercury. Near the start of this long poem he explains that he is popularly known as “Mercury” owing to his expertise in trading (2.3.24–6): hortos egregiasque domos mercarier unus cum lucro noram; unde frequentia Mercuriale inposuere mihi cognomen compita I have unique expertise in trading with profit in gardens and fine homes: and so the corner-crowds have given me the name of “Mercury.”

(p.170) This passage exploits in mercarier…Mercuriale the popular (and possibly true) etymological derivation of the name Mercurius from merx or mercari, “profit” and “to make profit, trade.”36 Mercury’s commercial links are already present in his name. The connection between Damasippus and Mercury is reinforced at 2.3.68, where he speaks of praesens Mercurius, “a windfall come to you,” presenting Mercury as the god of unexpected opportunity (see above) through the metaphor of divine epiphany.37 In this commercial Mercury we can see the other route that Horace might have taken to being a vir Mercurialis. At Sat. 1.6.85–7 the poet suggests that neither he nor his excellent father would have been ashamed if Horace had followed him into the modest world of business despite his elite education: nec timuit, sibi ne vitio quis verteret, olim si praeco parvas aut, ut fuit ipse, coactor mercedes sequerer; neque ego essem questus… Nor did he fear that anyone would count it a fault in him if some day I were to pursue small profits as a herald or as an agent, like himself; and I would not have complained…

Here mercedes reminds the reader of Damasippus the commercial Mercurius. Had things been only slightly different, Horace might have become this other kind of vir Mercurialis.

6. Conclusion In this piece I have surveyed the various guises under which the god Mercury is presented in the poetry of Horace. Mercury is an important figure in the Odes as inventor of the lyre, a key patron of lyric poetry, and divine protector of the poet; though he can be paralleled with the young Caesar at one moment, he is not to be taken as symbolizing him at others, especially in Horace’s account of Philippi in Odes 2.7. References to his epic role as psychopompos serve to generate some particularly elevated moments, while allusions to his role as erotic enabler look Page 11 of 16

 

Horace’s Mercury and Mercurial Horace to lowlier connections with Roman comedy and the elegiac world of amatory intrigue; this combination of high and low reference suits the middling literary level of the Odes in general.38 We have also seen how the Satires’ narrative of Horace’s origins and their presentation of (p.171) Damasippus present a different kind of vir Mercurialis he might have been had he not become a lyric poet. By becoming the poet of the Odes, Horace moves upwards from the world of his birth and upbringing, associated with the lower money-making role of Mercury, to the realm of literature and lyric, associated with the god’s higher divine functions, a key step in his poetic and social career.39 Bibliography Bibliography references: Barton, T. S. 1994. Ancient Astrology. London. Bowditch, P. L. 2001. Horace and the Gift Economy of Patronage. Berkeley. Brunt, P. A. 1971. Italian Manpower 221 BC–AD 14. Oxford. Combet-Farnoux, B. 1980. Mercure Romain. Rome. Fraenkel, E. 1957. Horace. Oxford. Harrison, S. J., ed. 2007a. The Cambridge Companion to Horace. Cambridge. Harrison, S. J. 2007b. Generic Enrichment in Vergil and Horace. Oxford. Harrison, S. J. 2010. “There and Back Again: Horace’s Poetic Career.” In P. Hardie and H. Moore, eds. Classical Literary Careers and their Reception. Cambridge. 39–58. Harrison, S. J. 2013a. “Didactic and Lyric in Horace Odes 2: Lucretius and Vergil.” In T. D. Papanghelis, S. J. Harrison, and S. A. Frangoulidis, eds. Generic Interfaces in Latin Literature. Berlin and New York. 7–84. Harrison, S. J. 2013b. “Author and Speaker(s) in Horace Satires 2.” In A. Marmodoro and J. Hills, eds. The Author’s Voice in Classical and Late Antiquity. Oxford. 153–71. Harrison, S. J. 2016. “Horace Odes 2.7: Greek models and Roman Civil War.” In B. Delignon, N. Le Meur, and O. Thévenaz, eds. La poésie lyrique dans la cité antique. Lyons. 89–98. Harrison, S. J. 2017. Horace Odes Book II. Cambridge. Lefkowitz, M. 1981. The Lives of the Greek Poets. London. Lyne, R. O. A. M. 1995. Horace: Behind the Public Poetry. New Haven. Page 12 of 16

 

Horace’s Mercury and Mercurial Horace Maltby, R. 1991. A Lexicon of Ancient Latin Etymologies. Leeds. Miller, J. F. 2009. Apollo, Augustus, and the Poets. Cambridge. Miller, P. A. 1994. Lyric Texts and Lyric Consciousness. London. Neumeister, C. 1976. “Horaz und Merkur.” Antike und Abendland 22: 185–94. Nisbet, R. G. M. and M. E. Hubbard. 1970. A Commentary on Horace’s Odes: Book I. Oxford. Nisbet, R. G. M. and M. E. Hubbard. 1978. A Commentary on Horace’s Odes: Book II. Oxford. Nisbet, R. G. M. and N. Rudd. 2004. A Commentary on Horace’s Odes: Book III. Oxford. Putnam, M. C. J. 1974. “Mercuri, facunde nepos Atlantis.” CP 69: 215–17 [reprinted in Putnam 1982: 99–101]. (p.172) Putnam, M. C. J. 1982. Essays on Latin Lyric, Elegy and Epic. Princeton. Quinn, K. 1980. Horace: The Odes. Basingstoke. Reckford, K. J. 1969. Horace. New York. Roberts, D. H., F. A. Dunn, and D. P. Fowler, eds. 1997. Classical Closure. Princeton. Rüpke, J. 1998. “Merkur am Ende: Horaz, carm. 1.30.” Hermes 126: 435–53. Rüpke, J. 2007. The Religion of the Romans. Cambridge. Schmidt, E. A. 2002. Zeit und Form; Dichtungen des Horaz. Heidelberg. Stroh, W. 1999. “Vom Faunus zum Faun: Theologische Beiträge von Horaz und Ovid.” In W. Schubert, ed. Ovid: Werk und Wirkung. Bern and Frankfurt am Main. II.599–612. Voit, L. 1982. “Horaz–Merkur–Augustus [zu Horaz c. II 17. I 10. I 2].” Gymnasium 89: 479–96. West, D. 1995. Horace, Odes I: Carpe Diem. Oxford. West, D. 1998. Horace, Odes II: Vatis Amici. Oxford. Notes:

(1) Cf. e.g. Putnam 1974; Neumeister 1976; Voit 1982; Miller 1994: 139–65. Page 13 of 16

 

Horace’s Mercury and Mercurial Horace (2) Reckford 1969: 194. (3) Miller 1994: 164. (4) Miller 2009: 45. (5) As suggested e.g. by Fraenkel 1957: 163–4. (6) The date given by the ancient Vita Horati; cf. Ep. 1.20.27. (7) Cf. Barton 1994: 96. (8) For Faunus’ role here and elsewhere in Horace, see Stroh 1999. (9) For Hermes/Mercury and flocks, cf. e.g. Homeric Hymn to Hermes 567–8; for Faunus and the same, see Stroh 1999. (10) For more on the tree incident and its possible dating, see Schmidt 2002: 190–212. (11) For the details, see Nisbet and Hubbard 1970: 125–6. (12) Harrison 2016, from which I take some details here. (13) As noted by Miller 2009: 44. (14) See e.g. Lyne 1995: 120; Miller 1994: 164; Miller 2009: 52. (15) See the full material in Combet-Farnoux 1980: 433–56. (16) Cf. Brunt 1971: 487–8. Here I follow the account of Nisbet and Hubbard 1978: 108–9. (17) Cf. Lefkowitz 1981: 60–2. (18) For further instances see Odes 1.22 and 3.4, with the discussion of Harrison 2007a: 22–4. Note that the poet’s retreat from Philippi and loss of his shield specifically echoes episodes in the biographical traditions about Archilochus, Anacreon, and Alcaeus: see Nisbet and Hubbard 1978: 107–8. (19) Nisbet and Hubbard 1970: 287. (20) Nisbet and Hubbard 1970: 286–7. (21) Odes 2 seems to show a particular interest in the Vergilian Orpheus and his katabasis in Georgics 4: see Harrison 2013a. (22) There has been considerable discussion on the identity of the satelles Orci; I agree with Nisbet and Hubbard 1978: 310–12 and West 1998: 135 in identifying him with Mercury rather than Charon. See now Harrison 2017: 219. Page 14 of 16

 

Horace’s Mercury and Mercurial Horace (23) On death as closure, see Roberts, Dunn, and Fowler 1997: 304. (24) Nisbet and Hubbard 1978: 290 suggest Maecenas’ lost tragedy Prometheus, but Hesiod Theog. 615 καὶ πολύιδριν ἐόντα μέγας κατὰ δεσμὸς ἐρύκει (“and a mighty bond holds him prisoner despite his wide knowledge,” probably echoed by Horace at 2.18.35, cited earlier), may refer to a second binding of Prometheus in the Underworld (he is loosed from his Caucasian bonds at Theogony 525–9), something perhaps suggested by [Aesch.] PV 1050–3, where Prometheus envisages Zeus sending him to the Underworld for punishment. (25) E.g. Tib. 1.3.64, 2.1.80; Prop. 1.3.14, 1.9.23; Ov. Am. 1.1 and 1.2. (26) On Mercury in this scene, see Combet-Farnoux 1980: 406–11. (27) Rüpke 2007: 4. (28) Rüpke 1998 and 2007: 4; Miller 2009: 52. (29) Quinn 1980: 191, following the ancient commentary of Ps.-Acro here: per Mercurium vero vult quaestum accipi, tamquam sine venustate nec lucrum sit. (30) So Nisbet and Hubbard 1970: 347; West 1995: 145. (31) Cf. Tib. 1.2.21, 1.6.8; Ov. Am. 1.4.1, 2.12.3. (32) Love for whom is not clear; most commentators assume that the poet is pleading his own cause, as in the similar evocation of the myth of Europa in 3.27, but there is a good case that he is arguing that Lyde should get married to another—see Quinn 1980: 264. (33) The link of Mercury/Hermes with good luck goes back to the Homeric Hymn to Hermes, where his discovery of the tortoise is a windfall (24, 30)—cf. further Stein in RE 8.753.26–785.2; for his link with mercantilism at Rome, see CombetFarnoux 1980, and for his link with Fortuna, see ibid. 428–31. (34) See the analysis of this poem by Bowditch 2001: 142–54. (35) See Harrison 2013b. (36) For the link in antiquity, see Maltby 1991: 380; for the etymology see Combet-Farnoux 1980: 59–112. (37) For praesens in this sense, cf. Odes 3.5.2 praesens divus, with Nisbet and Rudd 2004: 83. (38) On the middling generic level of the Odes and their deployment of higher and lower texts, see Harrison 2007b: 168–206. (39) On Horace’s poetic career, see Harrison 2010. Page 15 of 16

 

Horace’s Mercury and Mercurial Horace

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Crossing the Borders

Tracking Hermes, Pursuing Mercury John F. Miller and Jenny Strauss Clay

Print publication date: 2019 Print ISBN-13: 9780198777342 Published to Oxford Scholarship Online: March 2019 DOI: 10.1093/oso/9780198777342.001.0001

Crossing the Borders Vergil’s Intertextual Mercury Sergio Casali

DOI:10.1093/oso/9780198777342.003.0012

Abstract and Keywords All of Mercury’s three interventions in the Aeneid are engaged in a profound intertextual dialogue with Homer and Apollonius. Mercury’s first visit to Carthage (Aen. 1.297–304) echoes Athena’s intervention at Od. 13.300–2, and also the only intervention of Hermes as messenger/emissary of Zeus in the Argonautica (Arg. 3.584–8). This suggests a parallelism between Dido and Aeetes that will resurface again at Aen. 4.563–4 and 604–6. Furthermore, Jupiter’s sending of Mercury to Carthage and the god’s flight recall both Zeus’ sending of Hermes to Ogygia in the Odyssey and Aphrodite’s sending of Eros to Aea. Vergil’s fundamental model for Jupiter’s dispatch of Mercury to Aeneas (Aen. 4.219–78) is Zeus’ dispatch of Hermes to Calypso to free Odysseus at Od. 5.28–42. Finally, Mercury’s dream apparition to Aeneas (Aen. 4.553–70) is modeled on Hermes’ second visit to Priam at Il. 24.677–95. Keywords:   Mercury, Hermes, Homer, Apollonius, Virgil, Aeneid, intertextuality, Dido, Aeetes, Medea

Mercury intervenes thrice in the Aeneid, always in connection with Dido’s story.1 In Book 1, after having reassured Venus with his prophecy, Jupiter sends Mercury to Carthage to ensure that the Trojans are hospitably received (1.297– 304); in Book 4, Iarbas complains to Jupiter about Dido’s and Aeneas’ relationship, and the god again sends Mercury to Carthage, this time to Aeneas, to remind him of his mission (4.219–72); later, after Dido has vainly attempted to delay Aeneas’ departure, Mercury, apparently on his own initiative, appears to Aeneas in a dream and urges him to leave (4.553–70). In the Aeneid Mercury is Page 1 of 21

Crossing the Borders the Greek Hermes, and acts in his traditional role of messenger and emissary of the gods, and in particular of Jupiter, though he also appears to take at least one initiative of his own.2 Hermes/Mercury is a god associated with the crossing of boundaries, with the channeling of messages, and with interpretation; if we ever had to imagine a god of intertextuality, he would be the perfect candidate. The whole Aeneid of course is a (p.174) highly intertextual work, but maybe it is not just chance that every passage in which Mercury appears holds a particularly profound dialogue with preceding texts, and especially with Vergil’s two main intertextual models, Homer and Apollonius. In what follows we will try to follow this dialogue and to disentangle some of the threads which concur in forming the image and the actions of Vergilian Mercury.

1. Mercury’s First Visit to Carthage (Aen. 1.297–304) Jupiter has just finished his prophecy on Aeneas’ and Rome’s glorious future, and sends Mercury to Carthage to appease the Carthaginians’—and Dido’s— savage hearts; paradoxically, it is the first step toward the biggest obstacle Aeneas’ Roman mission will encounter on its journey (Aen. 1.297–304):3 Haec ait et Maia genitum demittit ab alto, ut terrae utque novae pateant Karthaginis arces hospitio Teucris, ne fati nescia Dido finibus arceret. volat ille per aera magnum remigio alarum ac Libyae citus astitit oris. et iam iussa facit, ponuntque ferocia Poeni corda volente deo; in primis regina quietum accipit in Teucros animum mentemque benignam. So he says, and sends the son of Maia down from heaven, so that the land and the fortresses of newly-built Carthage may open to welcome the Teucrians, lest Dido, in ignorance of fate, should drive them from her lands. He flies down through the vast air, wielding his wings like oars, and soon he alights on the shores of Libya. And already he carries out the orders, and the Phoenicians lay aside their fierce thoughts in accordance with the will of the god; the queen most of all receives a meek mind and benevolent purpose toward the Teucrians.

Mercury here acts in his role of peace-maker, connected with his mastery over the persuasive powers of language.4 The pacifying aspect of the god’s intervention is based on two precedents in Vergil’s most important epic models: (1) Of course, the main Homeric model for Aeneas’ arrival at Carthage is Odysseus’ arrival on Scheria, and the trip of Aeneas to the temple of Juno in Aen. 1 recalls that of Odysseus to the house of Alcinous and Arete in Od. 7. (p.175) Now, the Phaeacians, like the Carthaginians, are not very well-disposed toward newcomers, as Athena, disguised as a Phaeacian maiden, instructs Odysseus: he has to follow her toward Alcinous’ house, but without looking at anyone and without posing any questions, οὐ γὰρ ξείνους οἵδε μάλ᾽ ἀνθρώπους ἀνέχονται, / οὐδ᾽ ἀγαπαζόμενοι φιλέουσ᾽ ὅς κ᾽ ἄλλοθεν ἔλθῃ (“for they neither put up very Page 2 of 21

 

Crossing the Borders much with strangers, nor welcome hospitably those who come from a foreign land,” Od. 7.32–3). Athena, as she has already done at 7.14–17, sheds a divine mist around him so that he can proceed without danger (40–2). When the goddess reveals herself to Odysseus on Ithaca, however, she says something more specific about the help she gave the hero at Scheria: he did not recognize her, his protectress, ἥ τέ τοι αἰεὶ / ἐν πάντεσσι πόνοισι παρίσταμαι ἠδὲ φυλάσσω, / καὶ δέ σε Φαιήκεσσι φίλον πάντεσσιν ἔθηκα (“I who always in all your troubles stand at your side and watch over you and made you welcome to all the Phaeacians” Od. 13.300–2).5 (2) It is possible that Apollonius alludes to this intervention of Athena when he relates in indirect speech what Aeetes says to the assembly of the Colchians (Arg. 3.584–8): οὐδὲ γὰρ Αἰολίδην Φρίξον μάλα περ χατέοντα δέχθαι ἐνὶ μεγάροισιν ἐφέστιον, ὃς περὶ πάντων ξείνων μειλιχίῃ τε θεουδείῃ τ᾽ ἐκέκαστο, εἰ μή οἱ Ζεὺς αὐτὸς ἀπ᾽ οὐρανοῦ ἄγγελον ἧκεν Ἑρμείαν, ὥς κεν προσκηδέος ἀντιάσειεν. For he would never have welcomed Phrixos, grandson of Aeolus, as a guest in his house, though he was in sore need, Phrixus who excelled among all strangers in gentleness and piety, had not Zeus himself sent Hermes his messenger down from heaven, to ensure that Phrixus might find him welcoming.

Mercury’s first intervention in the Aeneid recalls the only intervention of Hermes as messenger/emissary of Zeus in the Argonautica,6 which is not part of the main plot but is located in a flashback. “The roles played by Jupiter, Mercury, Aeneas and Dido in Vergil correspond exactly to those of Zeus, Hermes, Phrixus and Aeetes.”7 This is particularly interesting in the case of Dido ~ Aeetes, as Moorton 1989 has well illustrated: Apollonian intertextuality suggests that Mercury intervenes to calm down a character who is potentially as fierce and dangerous as the king of the Colchians.8 Vergil’s language might seem to suggest at least a slight distinction between the Poeni, who put down their ferocia…corda, and the queen (1.302–4), but in fact Dido herself, (p.176) just like any of her subjects, has a “fierce heart” ready to be roused again. Moreover, this relationship between Dido and Aeetes connects the first and the last intervention of Mercury. It is precisely when the god appears to Aeneas in a dream to warn him of the danger represented by the abandoned Dido that she is depicted not only as a potential Medea, as we shall see later, but also with traits that specifically recall the figure of Aeetes, and this is in turn a comment on an association between Medea and Aeetes suggested by Apollonius himself. At Aen. 4.563–4 Mercury warns Aeneas about Dido’s menacing thoughts: illa dolos dirumque nefas in pectore versat, / certa mori, variosque irarum concitat aestus (“She, resolved to die, revolves in her heart deceptions and nefarious crime, and stirs up the changeable tides of her anger”). This recalls a passage from the introduction to the speech of Aeetes that contains the reminiscence of Hermes’ Page 3 of 21

 

Crossing the Borders pacifying intervention on the occasion of Phrixus’ visit: Aeetes summons the assembly of the Colchians outside of his palace, ἀτλήτους Μινύῃσι δόλους καὶ κήδεα τεύχων (“devising against the Minyans insufferable deceptions and troubles,” Arg. 3.578).9 The moment when Dido fully “becomes” Aeetes is in her speech at Aen. 4.590–629; Moorton (1989: 53) points out the connection of Aen. 4.590 and 607 with Arg. 4.229 (invocation to Jupiter and Sol ~ invocation to Zeus and Helius), and that of Aen. 4.600–6 with Arg. 4.233–4 (thirst for vengeance of Dido and Aeetes). But more significant for our present purposes is the way the words of Dido at 604–6, in which she regrets not having burned the ships when she had the chance, echo not only those of the “Euripidean” Medea at Arg. 4.391–3, as is well known:10 faces in castra tulissem implessemque foros flammis natumque patremque cum genere extinxem, memet super ipsa dedissem I should have carried fire into his camp and filled his decks with flames, and killed father and son with all their race, and thrown myself on top of all, ὧς φάτ᾽ ἀναζείουσα βαρὺν χόλον· ἵετο δ᾽ ἥ γε νῆα καταφλέξαι, διά τ᾽ †ἔμπεδα πάντα κεάσσαι, ἐν δὲ πεσεῖν αὐτὴ μαλερῷ πυρί So she spoke, seething with heavy anger; and she longed to set fire to the ship and shatter everything […] in pieces, and throw herself into the raging fire,

(p.177) But Dido’s words also echo those of Aeetes at the assembly of the Colchians at Arg. 3.581–2, reported in indirect speech: as soon as the bulls had torn Jason apart: δρυμὸν ἀναρρήξας λασίης καθύπερθε κολώνης αὔτανδρον φλέξειν δόρυ νήιον, he would break up the thicket above the wooded hill, and burn the ship and her crew.

As Hunter observes (1993: 61), “[Medea’s] desire to burn the Argo (4.392) in fact echoes an intention of Aietes (3.582, cf. 4.223); in her anger she is her father’s daughter, and Jason must resort to the same tactics with her as he used to calm Aietes.” In Apollonius Medea “transforms” herself into an Aeetes, and so also in Vergil, where the dolos dirumque nefas that Mercury attributes to Dido in his speech to Aeneas during his last visit to Carthage recall the ἀτλήτους δόλους καὶ κήδεα that Aeetes plans when he delivers the speech that contains the passage that is the main model for Mercury’s first visit to Carthage. Dido is indeed a potential Aeetes at the time of Mercury’s pacifying visit, and she will

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Crossing the Borders become an Aeetes after Aeneas’ abandonment has somehow canceled the mollifying effects of Mercury’s first intervention. A major irony in the development of Dido’s story, of course, is that Aeneas’ abandonment, and thus Dido’s (re)transformation into a Euripidean Medea/ Aeetes, is provoked, or at least set in motion, by Mercury himself with his second and third visits to Carthage in Book 4. This irony appears even more acute if we consider another double influence, again simultaneously Homeric and Apollonian, on Mercury’s first intervention in Aeneid 1. Let us return to Hermes’ pacifying intervention as recalled by Aeetes in his speech to the Colchian assembly of Arg. 3. This first (and only) reference to Hermes as emissary of Zeus in Apollonius, besides evoking the pacifying intervention of Athena among the Phaeacians, alludes to the first mention of an intervention of Hermes as emissary of Zeus in the Odyssey. At the very beginning of the poem, Zeus casually recalls the time when he sent Hermes to Aegisthus to admonish him and prevent his crimes, unsuccessfully (Od. 1.27–43). Mercury’s first descent to Carthage shares with Aeetes’ remembrance of Hermes’ intervention a reference to the context of Hermes’ Odyssean interventions. Mercury’s first intervention in the Aeneid follows the conversation between Venus and Jupiter, a scene that recalls, among other passages,11 the exchange between Zeus and Athena at Od. 1.26–95.12 After Zeus agrees that the gods should think about Odysseus’ return, Athena advances two suggestions: Hermes should be sent to order Calypso to free Odysseus, and she herself will go to Ithaca to help Telemachus. Only the (p.178) second suggestion is immediately put into action; the first one is apparently forgotten until the beginning of Book 5, when Athena again addresses Zeus about the issue of Odysseus’ return (without mentioning Hermes), and the god reacts by sending Hermes to Ogygia.13 Thus Mercury’s first mission to Carthage at 1.297–304 already recalls Hermes’ mission to Ogygia as suggested in Od. 1 and realized in Od. 5, which will be the fundamental model for Mercury’s mission to Carthage in Aeneid 4.219–72.14 Apollonius also refers to the Odyssean passage(s) concerning Hermes’ mission to Ogygia in another context: Aphrodite’s sending of Eros to Aea in Arg. 3. In particular, Eros’ descent recalls Hermes’ descent in Od. 5.15 Vergil alludes to Apollonian Eros when describing the descent of Mercury in Aen. 1: “Just as Eros flies ἀν᾽ αἰθέρα πολλόν (Arg. 3.166), so Mercury flies per aëra magnum (Aen. 1.300).”16 Jupiter’s sending of Mercury to Carthage and the god’s flight recall both Zeus’ sending of Hermes to Ogygia in the Odyssey and Aphrodite’s sending of Eros to Aea and serves to heighten the narrative suspense: will the gods’ interference with Aeneas’ affairs in Carthage be limited to this intervention? The reader of the poem might legitimately think at first that with this intervention the gods’ interference in Dido’s life is over. But on the contrary, Venus is not content at all with Jupiter’s sending of Mercury to mollify the hearts of the Page 5 of 21

 

Crossing the Borders Carthaginians and of Dido. A series of more and more pressing divine interventions is about to influence the events at Carthage, culminating in the real repetition of Aphrodite’s sending of Eros at Aen. 1.657–722 and of Juno’s nuptial project at 4.90–128.

2. Mercury and Aeneas (Aen. 4.219–78) Jupiter hears Iarbas’ prayer, turns his gaze to Carthage, and sends Mercury to order Aeneas to leave and resume his mission. Vergil’s fundamental model here is Zeus’ dispatch of Hermes to Calypso to free Odysseus at Od. 5.28–42.17 In the Odyssey it is Athena, Odysseus’ protectress, who asks her father Zeus to free the hero, who is detained by Calypso against his will (Od. 5.44–62); here instead it is Iarbas, an enemy of Aeneas, who asks his father Jupiter to intervene in order to destroy the relationship between Dido and Aeneas. (p.179) The god does intervene, but he is not concerned at all with Iarbas’ own aspirations and resentments: “he [sc. Jupiter] only uses him [sc. Iarbas] as an ‘alarm bell’ that alerts him to the fact that Aeneas’ historical mission is currently on hold at Carthage.”18 In fact, notwithstanding his initial focus on “the lovers forgetful of their better repute” (221), Jupiter does not make any reference to Dido or to Aeneas’ love for her, in the message to Aeneas that he entrusts to Mercury.19 The speech of Jupiter to Mercury presents no verbal echoes of Zeus speaking to Hermes at Od. 5.29–42.20 Of course, in the Odyssey, Zeus has no reason to reproach Odysseus, and accordingly sends Hermes to Calypso, not to the hero. However, the two speeches share the same concern about the hero’s future and fate: Odysseus is fated to reach Phaeacian Scheria and then Ithaca, “since it is his destiny to see his friends and to arrive in his high-roofed house and the land of his fathers” (Od. 5.41–2 = 5.114–15, Mercury’s speech to Calypso); Aeneas’ fate, as promised to Jupiter by Venus (a striking inversion of the situation of Aen. 1), is to dominate Italy and through his descendants the whole world. (By choosing the epithet Dardanium at 224, Jupiter may hint at Dardanus’ Italic origin and at the idea of Aeneas’ voyage as a νόστος, like that of Odysseus.) Obeying his father’s command, Mercury prepares himself, and then flies to Carthage (Aen. 4.238–58): Dixerat. ille patris magni parere parabat imperio; et primum pedibus talaria nectit aurea, quae sublimem alis sive aequora supra seu terram rapido pariter cum flamine portant. tum virgam capit: hac animas ille evocat Orco pallentis, alias sub Tartara tristia mittit, dat somnos adimitque, et lumina morte resignat. illa fretus agit ventos et turbida tranat nubila. iamque volans apicem et latera ardua cernit Atlantis duri caelum qui vertice fulcit, Atlantis, cinctum adsidue cui nubibus atris Page 6 of 21

 

Crossing the Borders piniferum caput et vento pulsatur et imbri, nix umeros infusa tegit, tum flumina mento praecipitant senis, et glacie riget horrida barba. hic primum paribus nitens Cyllenius alis (p.180) constitit; hinc toto praeceps se corpore ad undas misit avi similis, quae circum litora, circum piscosos scopulos humilis volat aequora iuxta. haud aliter terras inter caelumque volabat litus harenosum ad Libyae, ventosque secabat materno veniens ab avo Cyllenia proles. So he had spoken. Mercury prepared to obey his father’s command; and first he binds on his feet the golden sandals which carry him high on wings over seas or land together with the whirling wind. Then he takes his wand, with which he calls forth the pale souls from Orcus and sends others into grim Tartarus, he gives and takes away slumber, and unseals the eyes in death. With it, he drives the winds and swims across the turbulent clouds. And now in flight he sees the top and steep sides of hard Atlas—Atlas, whose head abounding in pines is ever girt with dark clouds and beaten with wind and rain; fallen snow covers his shoulders, while rivers plunge down his chin, and his beard is rough with ice. Here, pressing on with equal wings, the Cyllenian first halted; from there with all his weight he threw himself headlong down to the waves like a bird, which around the shores, around the cliffs full of fishes, flies low near to the waters. Thus Cyllene’s offspring flew between earth and heaven to the sandy shores of Libya, cleaving his way through the winds and coming from his own maternal grandfather.

Mercury’s preparation and flight to Carthage via Atlas are closely modeled on Hermes’ preparation and flight to Ogygia via Pieria at Od. 5.43–54: ὣς ἔφατ᾽, οὐδ᾽ ἀπίθησε διάκτορος ἀργεϊφόντης αὐτίκ᾽ ἔπειθ᾽ ὑπὸ ποσσὶν ἐδήσατο καλὰ πέδιλα, ἀμβρόσια χρύσεια, τά μιν φέρον ἠμὲν ἐφ᾽ ὑγρὴν ἠδ᾽ ἐπ᾽ ἀπείρονα γαῖαν ἅμα πνοιῇς ἀνέμοιο. εἵλετο δὲ ῥάβδον, τῇ τ᾽ ἀνδρῶν ὄμματα θέλγει, ὧν ἐθέλει, τοὺς δ᾽ αὖτε καὶ ὑπνώοντας ἐγείρει. τὴν μετὰ χερσὶν ἔχων πέτετο κρατὺς ἀργεϊφόντης. Πιερίην δ᾽ ἐπιβὰς ἐξ αἰθέρος ἔμπεσε πόντῳ· σεύατ᾽ ἔπειτ᾽ ἐπὶ κῦμα λάρῳ ὄρνιθι ἐοικώς, ὅς τε κατὰ δεινοὺς κόλπους ἁλὸς ἀτρυγέτοιο ἰχθῦς ἀγρώσσων πυκινὰ πτερὰ δεύεται ἅλμῃ· τῷ ἴκελος πολέεσσιν ὀχήσατο κύμασιν Ἑρμῆς. So he spoke, and the messenger Argeiphontes did not disobey. Straightaway he bound under his feet his beautiful sandals, divine, golden, which were wont to carry him both over the sea and over the boundless land along with the blasts of the wind. And he took the Page 7 of 21

 

Crossing the Borders wand, with which he lulls to sleep the eyes of whom he wishes, while others again he awakens from slumber. With that in his hand the strong Argeiphontes flew down. From the ether he alit on Pieria and swooped down to the sea; and then he rushed over the waves like a bird, a cormorant, which over the fearful gulfs of the unharvested sea wets its dense plumage in the brine, catching fish; like it did Hermes go over many waves.

However, the designation of the god as Cyllenius (252, 258, 276) alludes to Od. 24.1, where Hermes Κυλλήνιος is introduced as leading the souls of the suitors (p.181) to the Underworld (note that Od. 24.3–4 = Il. 24.343–4 = Od. 5.47–8), a context recalled at 242–4, where Mercury is described in his function as guide of the souls of the dead, a dark detail absent from the Od. 5 passage, pointing to the lethal consequences for Dido of the god’s visit to Aeneas.21 According to Nelis (2001: 155–7), Mercury’s mission is also reminiscent of two Apollonian contexts which were in their turn modeled on Od. 5: Thetis’ descent to visit Peleus in order to prepare the Argonauts’ departure from the island of Circe, Aeaea (cf. Arg. 4.757–69 and Od. 5.29–42, Hera speaking to Iris and Zeus speaking to Hermes), and Eros’ flight down to Colchian Aea (cf. Arg. 3.156–7 and Od. 5.44–9), the same scene that, as we have seen, was already a model for Mercury’s first descent to Carthage in Book 1. As to the first passage, Nelis suggests that the fact that Mercury goes directly to Aeneas, whereas in Homer Hermes addresses Calypso rather than Odysseus, is influenced by the fact that Thetis, obeying Hera’s order, goes directly to Peleus and tells him to leave Aeaea the next morning (Arg. 4.856–81). Later Aeneas’ reaction to Mercury’s speech (279 at vero Aeneas aspectu obmutuit amens) perhaps recalls Peleus’ reaction on seeing his wife (Arg. 4.866, 880).22 At Od. 5.47–8 Homer refers only to the power of Hermes’ wand over states of sleep and wakefulness (244 dat somnos adimitque).23 Vergil adds to this multiple and emphatic references to the role of Hermes’ wand in controlling the crossings between the living and the dead (242–3 hac animas ille evocat Orco / pallentis, alias sub Tartara tristia mittit; 244 et lumina morte resignat).24 The formulation of 244 is especially ominous: Tartara is used here in the general sense of “realm of the dead,” but it has particularly sinister implications, given that it usually refers to the place of punishment of the worst sinners, whereas the dying invoked Mercurius ut se placido itinere in meliorem (p.182) sedis infernae deduceret partem (“so that he bring them with a peaceful voyage into the better part of the Underworld,” Val. Max. 2.6.8; cf. Hor. C. 1.10.16–17). Furthermore, elsewhere in the Aeneid the “formulaic” sub Tartara mittere means “to kill,” corresponding to the Homeric Ἄϊδι προϊάπτειν (Il. 1.3, 11.55, etc.). The implications are clear: Mercury’s intervention will metaphorically “awaken” Aeneas from his “slumber,”25 but it will also bring the slumber of reason and death to Dido.26 Page 8 of 21

 

Crossing the Borders Mercury summons the souls of the dead from the Underworld (242–3 hac animas ille evocat27 Orco / pallentis, where animas…evocat ~ Od. 24.1 ψυχὰς… ἐξεκαλεῖτο),28 and also, mysteriously, lumina morte resignat, a famously difficult phrase, and an unexpected return to Mercury’s involvement with death after alias sub Tartara tristia mittit. Resignare primarily means “to break the seal of,” “to unseal” (OLD s.v. 1a).29 Thus there can be no doubt30 that here lumina resignare = “open the eyes.” Most commentators since De La Cerda 1612 have accepted the explanation of Turnebus, comparing Plin. NH 11.150.31 The opening of the eyes on the pyre is not attested elsewhere, “but it would be a natural part of the Roman conception of a ψυχοπομπός, the object being that the dead might see their way to the lower world.”32 The resulting meaning, however, is too similar to alias sub Tartara…mittit to be fully convincing. Among the many other explanations, that of (p.183) Wagner (ap. Heyne and Wagner 1830) implies taking the phrase as = “resignat a morte.” In a variation of this, “he unseals the eyes from death” might mean “he restores to life the dead”; that would be an unwelcome return to the idea of 242, animas ille evocat Orco. Maybe, however, at 242 the point may be that Mercury “calls (momentarily) ghosts from the Underworld” to the realm of the living, while at 244 “he opens the eyes from death,” i.e. he “definitively” resurrects the dead and calls them back to life.33 Mercury does not usually resuscitate the dead—but one example of resuscitation by Mercury is the story about Pelops quoted earlier;34 and in fact, the recovery of Persephone and that of Protesilaus can also be seen in terms of resuscitation (intermittent, in the case of Persephone; temporary, in the case of Protesilaus) rather than of the evocation of souls. At Hor. C. 1.24.17 Mercury, as shepherd of the dead, is said to be non lenis precibus fata recludere (“not gentle in opening the Underworld35 in response to prayers.” There recludere ~ resignare), which might suggest that it was sometimes possible for him “to open the Underworld.” Alternatively, “he unseals eyes from death” might “refer mysteriously to some aspect of existence in the Underworld,”36 in particular to some aspect of metempsychosis (cf. 6.748–51, where the deus who evocat at 749 is Mercury, according to “others” cited by Servius ad loc. on the basis of the present passage).37 The descent of Hermes to Ogygia brings him to Pieria (Πιερίην δ᾽ ἐπιβὰς ἐξ αἰθέρος), a mountain range which constitutes a northern offshoot of Mt. Olympus; from there he swoops down upon the sea (Od. 5.50), like a bird (as Mercury will do at 252–8). Vergil expands this small Homeric detail by bringing his Mercury to Atlas and giving a description of both the mountain and the human figure of the god, caelum qui vertice fulcit (247). Vergil’s allusion to Homer’s Pieria is filtered through the imitation of this same Odyssey passage at Arg. 3.161–2: Eros’ flight from Olympus to Colchian Aea (already a model for Mercury’s first visit to Carthage in Aen. 1) takes him past a place at the eastern edge of the world, where δοιὼ δὲ πόλον38 ἀνέχουσι κάρηνα / οὐρέων ἠλιβάτων, κορυφαὶ χθονός (“two peaks of lofty mountains hold up the sky, the peaks of the Page 9 of 21

 

Crossing the Borders earth”).39 This suggestion of a similarity between Mercury and Eros is bitterly ironic: “Mercury’s mission is to end a love-affair, whereas Eros initiated one.”40 (p.184) The “curiously elaborated and baroque” description of Atlas41 has multiple symbolic resonances in the present context: the image of “hard Atlas” (247), describing a Giant punished for his rebellion against Jupiter, who now almost stoically tolerates his labor, can be seen as a prefiguration of Aeneas, momentarily rebellious against Jupiter in his stay in Carthage, but soon to be recalled to his hard duty by Mercury’s message.42 Mercury finds Aeneas building Carthage, dressed as a Carthaginian. The god is shocked and, briskly departing from the speech Jupiter assigned him, calls Aeneas uxorius, almost “slave of a wife” (266):43 continuo invadit: “tu nunc Karthaginis altae fundamenta locas pulchramque uxorius urbem exstruis? heu, regni rerumque oblite tuarum! ipse deum tibi me claro demittit Olympo regnator, caelum et terras qui numine torquet, ipse haec ferre iubet celeris mandata per auras: quid struis? aut qua spe Libycis teris otia terris? si te nulla movet tantarum gloria rerum [nec super ipse tua moliris laude laborem,] Ascanium surgentem et spes heredis Iuli respice, cui regnum Italiae Romanaque tellus debetur.” At once he assails him: “Are you now putting in place the foundations of high Carthage, and building up a wonderful city, enslaved to your wife? Alas, forgetful of your kingdom and of the deeds that await you! The king of the gods himself, who governs with his power heaven and earth, sends me to you from bright Olympus. He himself orders that I bring you this command through the swift breezes. What do you have in mind? Or for what are you hoping while idling your time away in Libyan lands? If you are not stirred by the glory of such a great deed, [and for your own glory you do not make any effort,] have regard for growing Ascanius and for the hopes entertained by Iulus, to whom the kingdom of Italy and the land of Rome are owed.”

The whole first part of Mercury’s speech is not based on Jupiter’s speech, but constitutes his own personal introductory “adaptation” of the message he must transmit to Aeneas. This corresponds structurally to Hermes’ personal introduction of his speech to Calypso (Od. 5.97–104). There the god, after (p. 185) having replied to the nymph (since in Od. 5 it is Calypso who first addresses Hermes, and he dines before delivering Zeus’ message), first complains about the difficulty of his voyage, but then concludes that “it is in no way possible that any other god evade or frustrate the will of aegis-bearing Page 10 of 21

 

Crossing the Borders Zeus” (103–4). Mercury substitutes Hermes’ formal words to Calypso with a harsh reproach, based not on Jupiter’s instructions but on his personal experience of having seen the “Tyrian” Aeneas busy with the building of the city of his wife. Mercury makes no complaints about the unpleasantness of his voyage but, like Hermes, he emphatically stresses the power of Jupiter with the same obvious implication that the recipient of the message has no other option than to obey his will (268–70). Of course, Odysseus is not reproached either by Zeus or by Hermes;44 Mercury’s reproach to Aeneas also corresponds to the intervention of Heracles on Lemnos (Arg. 1.865–74).45 Mercury, having left out the words about Venus’ promise (227–31), focuses on the kernel of Jupiter’s message (232–5), “repeating” it with skillful variations both in the order of the lines and in the content of the speech. Mercury (partially) repeats only two lines out of the six that constitute Jupiter’s more direct address to Aeneas: 271 ~ 235, 272 ~ 232. This is a precise allusion to the Homeric model, where, of the fourteen lines of Zeus’ speech (Od. 5.29–42), Hermes, in his nineteen-line speech to Calypso (Od. 5.97–115), repeats only two at the end of his speech (114–15 ~ 41–2), whereas Mercury places the repetition of his two lines at the beginning of his speech.46 Otherwise Mercury, even if he clearly inherits the independence of his Homeric counterpart, is a more faithful messenger than Hermes, who “in what seems a spirit of sheer perverseness… ignores ten lines in which Zeus refers to Odysseus’ future actions and experiences (31–40), and devotes six of his own to the hero’s past (106–11),”47 after having added an eight-line introduction that is entirely his own (97–104), which corresponds structurally to the completely Mercurial introduction of 265– 70. Apart from the two semi-repetitions at 271–2, Mercury echoes some other key words from Jupiter’s speech (Ascanium, respice, Italiam, Romanaque); he omits the reference to the Carthaginians as “enemy people” (235), which would have puzzled Aeneas; he transforms Jupiter’s bland nec…respicit? (236) and his brief reference to Aeneas’ duty toward Ascanius (234 Ascanione pater Romanas invidet arces?) into the much more assertive and emphatic Ascanium surgentem et spes heredis Iuli / respice, cui regnum Italiae Romanaque tellus / debetur (274–6). This is appropriate to (p.186) Mercury as the god of eloquence,48 and maybe also to his being “an essentially youthful deity” (cf. 559 membra decora iuventa), ready to champion another young man like Ascanius when he gets the chance.49

3. Mercury’s Dream Apparition to Aeneas (Aen. 4.553–70) At 259–78 Mercury, sent by Jupiter, visited Aeneas in the daytime. Now the god, apparently on his own initiative, returns at night, appears to Aeneas in his sleep, and reproaches him for sleeping in such a dangerous situation: the enraged Dido meditates crimes in her heart; he must leave now (Aen. 4.560–70):50 “nate dea, potes hoc sub casu ducere somnos, nec quae te circum stent deinde pericula cernis, Page 11 of 21

 

Crossing the Borders demens, nec Zephyros audis spirare secundos? illa dolos dirumque nefas in pectore versat certa mori, variosque irarum concitat aestus. non fugis hinc praeceps, dum praecipitare potestas? iam mare turbari trabibus saevasque videbis conlucere faces, iam fervere litora flammis, si te his attigerit terris Aurora morantem. heia age, rumpe moras. varium et mutabile semper femina.” sic fatus nocti se immiscuit atrae. “Son of a goddess, can you still sleep at a time like this? Do you not see the dangers that encircle you, madman? And do you not hear the Zephyrs that blow propitiously? She, resolved to die, revolves in her heart deceptions and nefarious crime, and stirs up the changeable tides of her anger. Will you not flee now with all your speed, while a speedy flight still is possible? Soon you will see ships churning the sea and cruel torches blazing, and soon the shores flashing with flames, if dawn finds you lingering in these lands. Come then! Break off delays! An unstable and always changing thing is woman.” So he spoke, and melted himself into the dark night.

(p.187) Whereas the main model of Mercury’s first mission was Hermes’ mission to Calypso in Od. 5, here the model is Hermes’ second visit to Priam—in the night, on his initiative, and following his earlier appearance—at Il. 24.677– 95. The god reproaches Priam for sleeping in a such a dangerous situation: Agamemnon and the other Achaeans might find out about his presence in their camp and take him hostage.51 Compare especially the beginning of Hermes’ speech to Priam (Il. 24.683–4): “ὦ γέρον οὔ νύ τι σοί γε μέλει κακόν, οἷον ἔθ᾽ εὕδεις ἀνδράσιν ἐν δηΐοισιν, ἐπεί σ᾽ εἴασεν Ἀχιλλεύς” “Old man, so you are not concerned of any danger, that you are sleeping among the enemies, after Achilles spared you.”

Surely there is a paradoxical aspect in Mercury’s exhortation to beware of Dido’s doli. After all, he himself is none other than Hermes Δόλιος (invoked as such e.g. by Odysseus at Soph. Phil. 133),52 and readers have often thought that here Mercury is in fact lying when he gives Aeneas the image of a deceitful, vengeful, and changeable Dido. As Austin points out (1955 ad loc.), “in spite of her wild moods she has never ceased deep within her to love Aeneas, and she had no plots against him to do him personal injury.” Feeney (1998: 122) also refers in this context to the image of Mercury as “the archetypal liar.” In fact we have already seen how Mercury’s words about Dido plotting “deceptions and nefarious crimes” relocate her in the role of an angry Aeetes at the time of Mercury’s first visit to Carthage. Recently, Alessandro Schiesaro has given a brilliant treatment of Mercury’s speech, emphasizing the importance of Page 12 of 21

 

Crossing the Borders the Euripidean intertext at line 568, where Mercury’s words, si te attigerit terris Aurora morantem, echo those of Creon to Medea at Medea 351–4: προυννέπω δέ σοι, / εἴ σ᾽ ἡ ‘πιοῦσα λαμπὰς ὄψεται θεοῦ / καὶ παῖδας ἐντὸς τῆσδε τερμόνων χθονός, / θανῇ (“But let me warn you, if tomorrow’s sun sees you and your children within the borders of this land, you will be put to death”).53 This allusion, which at first seems “irrationally” to suggest an identification of Medea with Aeneas, serves to signal the transformation of Dido from the lovestruck Medea of Apollonius’ Book 3 to the vengeful and dangerous “Euripidean” Medea of Apollonius’ Book 4, and of Euripides’ Medea. But this transformation has already been hinted at in Dido’s speech to Anna at 4.433 (tempus inane peto, spatium requiemque furori), a line (p.188) apparently “innocuous” and humble, which instead reworks Medea’s menacing words in her monologue following her exchange with Creon: “And so I shall wait a little time yet, and if some tower of safety appears, I shall go about this murder in silence and by deception” (Eur. Med. 389–91).54 Intertextuality suggests that the potentially deceitful Mercury of Aen. 4.560–70 is actually telling Aeneas the truth in regard to the danger Dido poses: she has been transformed into a vengeful Aeetes and a homicidal Medea, and Aeneas is actually in danger as he sleeps, just as Priam was actually in danger when he slept in the middle of the enemies’ camp. Bibliography Bibliography references: Austin, R. G. 1955. P. Vergili Maronis Aeneidos Liber Quartus. Oxford. Bailey, C. 1935. Religion in the Aeneid. Oxford. Brillante, C. 1990. “Scene oniriche nei poemi omerici.” MD 24: 31–46. Combet-Farnoux, B. 1980. Mercure romain: Le culte public de Mercure et la fonction mercantile à Rome de la republique archaïque à l’epoque augustéenne. Rome. Davidson, J. F. 1992. “Tragic Daughter of Atlas?” Mnemosyne 45: 367–71. De La Cerda, I. L. 1612. P. Virgilii Maronis Aeneidos Libri sex priores. Lyon. De la Ville de Mirmont, L. 1894. Apollonios de Rhodes et Virgile: La mythologie et les dieux dans les Argonautiques et l’Enéide. Paris. Feeney, D. 1991. The Gods in Epic: Poets and Critics of the Classical Tradition. Oxford.

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Crossing the Borders Feeney, D. 1998. “Leaving Dido: The Appearances(s) of Mercury and the Motivations of Aeneas.” In M. Burden, ed. A Woman Scorn’d: Responses to the Dido Myth. 105–27. London. Finglass, P. J. 2007. Sophocles: Electra. Cambridge. Fratantuono, L. 2015. “Lethaeum ad fluvium: Mercury in the Aeneid.” Pallas 99: 295–310. Gildenhard, I. 2012. Virgil, Aeneid, 4.1–299: Latin Text, Study Questions, Commentary and Interpretive Essay. Cambridge. Gíslason, J. 1937. Die Naturschilderungen und Naturgleichnisse in Vergils Aeneis. Diss. Münster 1934. Emstetten. Hardie, P. 2009. Lucretian Receptions: History, the Sublime, Knowledge. Cambridge. Hardie, P. 2012. Rumour and Renown: Representations of “Fama” in Western Literature. Cambridge. Harrison, E. L. 1981. “Vergil and the Homeric Tradition.” PLLS 3: 209–25. Harrison, E. L. 1984. “Vergil’s Mercury.” In A. G. McKay, ed. Vergilian Bimillenary Lectures 1982. Vancouver. 1–47. Hardie, P. 1986. Virgil’s Aeneid: Cosmos and Imperium. Oxford. Hardie, P. 2015. Ovidio: Metamorfosi, Vol. VI, Libri XIII–XIV. Milan. Hejduk, J. 2009. “Jupiter’s Aeneid: Fama and Imperium.” ClAnt 28: 279–327. (p.189) Heubeck, A., S. West, and J. B. Hainsworth. 1988. A Commentary on Homer’s Odyssey, Vol. I. Oxford. Heyne, C. G. and G. P. E. Wagner. 1830. P. Virgilius Maro varietate lectionis et perpetua adnotatione illustratus a C. G. Heyne, Editio quarta curavit G. P. E. Wagner, Vol. II. Leipzig and London. Highet, G. 1972. The Speeches in Vergil’s Aeneid. Princeton. Horsfall, N. 2013. Virgil: Aeneid 6. A Commentary. Berlin and Boston. Housman, A. E. 1888. “Emendationes Propertianae.” JPh 16: 1–35 = Class. Papers 1.29–54. Hunter, R. L. 1989. Apollonius of Rhodes: Argonautica, Book III. Cambridge. Hunter, R. L. 1993. The Argonautica of Apollonius: Literary Studies. Cambridge. Page 14 of 21

 

Crossing the Borders Kerényi, K. 1985. “The Primordial Child in Primordial Times.” In C. G. Jung and K. Kerényi, Science of Mythology: Essays on the Myth of the Divine Child and the Mysteries of Eleusis. Trans. R. F. C. Hull. London and New York. 29–82. Knauer, G. N. 1964. Die Aeneis und Homer: Studien zur poetischen Technik Vergils mit Listen der Homerzitate in der Aeneis. Göttingen. Kraggerud, E. 1968. Aeneisstudien. Oslo. Kühn, W. 1971. Götterszenen bei Vergil. Heidelberg. Lyne, R. O. A. M. 1989. Words and the Poet: Characteristic Techniques of Style in Vergil’s Aeneid. Oxford. Lyne, R. O. A. M. 1998. “Love and Death: Laodamia and Protesilaus in Catullus, Propertius, and Others.” CQ 48: 200–12 = R. O. A. M. Lyne, Collected Papers on Latin Poetry. Oxford (2007). 211–26. McGushin, P. 1964. “Virgil and the Spirit of Endurance.” AJP 85: 225–53. Moorton, R. F. 1989. “Dido and Aeetes.” Vergilius 35: 48–54. Morwood, J. H. W. 1985. “Aeneas and Mount Atlas.” JRS 75: 51–9. Nelis, D. 2001. Vergil’s Aeneid and the Argonautica of Apollonius Rhodius. Leeds. Nisbet, R. G. M. and M. Hubbard. 1970. A Commentary on Horace: Odes Book I. Oxford. Ogden, D. 2001. Necromancy in the Greek and Roman World. Princeton. O’Hara, J. 2011. Vergil: Aeneid Book 4. Newburyport. Paschalis, M. 1985. “Atlas and the Mission of Mercury (Aeneid 4.238–58).” PLLS 5: 109–29. Pearson, J. 1961. “Virgil’s ‘Divine Vision’ (Aeneid 4.238–44 and 6.724–51).” CP 56: 33–8. Pease, A. S. 1935. Publi Vergili Maronis Aeneidos Liber Quartus. Cambridge, MA. Platt, A. 1914. “On Apollonius Rhodius.” Journal of Philology 33: 1–53. Pöschl, V. 1962. The Art of Vergil: Image and Symbol in the Aeneid. Trans. G. Seligson. Ann Arbor ~ 1977. Die Dichtkunst Virgils. Bild und Symbol in der Äneis. 3rd ed. Berlin and New York.

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Crossing the Borders Reed, J. D. 2007. Virgil’s Gaze: Nation and Poetry in the Aeneid. Princeton. Rose, G. P. 1969. “The Unfriendly Phaeacians.” TAPA 100: 387–406. Scholz, U. W. 1975. “Eine Virgil-Szene im Lichte der Forschung (Aen. 4.238 ff.).” WJA NF 1: 125–36. Schmit-Neuerburg, T. 1999. Vergils Aeneis und die antike Homerexegese. Untersuchungen zum Einfluß ethischer und kritischer Homerrezeption auf imitatio und aemulatio Vergils. Berlin and New York. Schiesaro, A. 2008. “Furthest Voices in Virgil’s Dido.” SIFC N.S. 6: 60–109, 194– 245. (p.190) Sharrock, A. 2013. “Uxorius: The Praise and Blame of Husbands.” EuGeStA 3: 162–95. Short, W. M. 2012–13. “Mercury in the Middle: The Many Meanings of (medius) sermo in Latin.” CJ 108: 189–217. Turnebus, A. 1564–5. Adversaria. Vols. 1–2. Paris. Vergados, A. 2013. The Homeric Hymn to Hermes: Introduction, Text, and Commentary. Berlin. Wagner, G. P. E. 1861. P. Virgili Maronis Carmina breviter enarravit Philippus Wagner. 3rd ed. Leipzig. Notes:

(1) For essays dedicated to Mercury in the Aeneid, see Harrison 1984; Feeney 1998; Fratantuono 2015. Especially important are also Hardie 1986: 276–8; Feeney 1991: 173–5; Schiesaro 2008: 81–90; Hardie 2012: 92–5. (2) See, briefly, Bailey 1935: 117–18. Although “Hermes as θεῶν κῆρυξ (Hesiod Op. 80, Th. 939, fr. 170) is not an explicit concept in Homer” (Hainsworth in Heubeck et al. 1988 on Od. 5.28), the god acts as a messenger of Zeus in the Odyssey (1.37–43, 84–7, 5.28–148), whereas in the Iliad the messenger of Zeus is Iris (e.g. Il. 2.786–7, 8.397–408). At Il. 24.333–8 Zeus sends Hermes to accompany Priam on his voyage to the tent of Achilles, but gives him no message; however, Hermes later delivers a message to Priam on his own initiative (Il. 24.460–7) and returns to address Priam during the night (Il. 24.679–89) in a scene that is the main model for Mercury’s second intervention at 553–70 (see later); Hermes’ preparation at Il. 24.339–45 = Od. 5.43–9 (~ Aen. 4.238–46). At H.Herm. 3 the god is called ἄγγελον ἀθανάτων ἐριούνιον (“the gods’ swift messenger”; see Vergados 2013 ad loc.). See also Nisbet and Hubbard 1970 on Hor. C. 1.10.6. For excellent discussions of the divine

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Crossing the Borders messengers in Homer, Apollonius, and Vergil, see Harrison 1984: 9–17 and Feeney 1998: 106–11. (3) See Harrison 1984: 1–8; Nelis 2001: 73–5. (4) Cf. Plaut. Amph. 32 (Mercury speaking) propterea pace advenio et pacem ad vos fero; Ov. Met. 14.291 pacifer…Cyllenius (with Hardie 2015 ad loc.); F. 5.665– 6 pacis et armorum…arbiter; and for his associations with Concordia, see Combet-Farnoux 1980: 343–5; also S. Eitrem, RE 8.782–3. (5) See Harrison 1984: 8. Nausicaa, speaking to Odysseus, defines the Phaeacians as ὑπερφίαλοι (“over-weening,” Od. 6.274; see Rose 1969: 390); this may support the view that the gentis…superbas at Aen. 1.523 include the Carthaginians as well as the neighboring African tribes. (6) See de la Ville de Mirmont 1894: 249; Kuhn 1971: 28 n. 2; Moorton 1989 (esp. p. 51 on parallels between Jason’s first audience with Aeetes and Aeneas’ first audience with Dido); Schmit-Neuerburg 1999: 113 n. 309; Nelis 2001: 75. (7) Nelis 2001: 75. (8) See esp. Moorton 1989: 53. (9) Immediately after having recalled Hermes’ intervention, Aeetes refers to the κρυπταδίους…δόλους the Argonauts would be devising (Arg. 3.592), and to them as “stateless brigands living off the land,” as paraphrased by Hunter 1989 on 3.592–3, who compares Aen. 1.527–8, where Ilioneus rejects that very accusation in his speech to Dido immediately after denouncing his attack by the Carthaginians (Aen. 1.525–6). (10) See e.g. Nelis 2001: 168. (11) Cf. especially Thetis and Zeus in Il. 1.493–530; Naev. Bel. Pun. fr. 5 Mariotti. (12) See Knauer 1964: 496, with further references. (13) On the narrative problems created by this structural repetition, see Hainsworth in Heubeck et al. 1988: 251–2. (14) See also Knauer 1964: 210 n. 1 and 374; Nelis 2001: 74. The duplication of the missions of Mercury to Carthage in Aen. 1 and 4 may hint at the “duplication” of Hermes’ missions to Ogygia in Od. 1 and 5. (15) Cf. the preparations of the two gods: Arg. 3.156–7 ~ Od. 5.44–7; see Nelis 2001: 74 and n. 35. (16) Nelis 2001: 73.

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Crossing the Borders (17) See Knauer 1964: 209–14, 386–7. (18) Gildenhard 2012: 192. (19) Harrison 1984: 20: “[F]or him to proceed as if Dido did not even exist involves an extra dimension of callousness”; see also Hejduk 2009: 229 for Jupiter’s elision of any hint at the sentimental reasons that may detain Aeneas at Carthage. (20) Apart from a possible instance at 237, where the line-ending nuntius esto in the last line of Jupiter’s speech perhaps echoes the line-ending ἄγγελός ἐσσι in the first line of Zeus’ speech (Od. 5.29), with variation in the meaning of ἄγγελος, “messenger” in Homer, “message” in Vergil (Knauer 1964: 210 and n. 2). (21) The context of Il. 24.339–45 (= Od. 5.43–9) is also recalled, since Mercury’s second visit to Aeneas at 553–70 will correspond to Hermes’ returning to Priam during the night to rouse him (Il. 24.679–89); see below. (22) For important remarks on how “[t]he descent of Mercury…represents a reversal of the ascent of Fama, the reimposition of Olympian order in a space which has been threatened by an evil chthonic power,” see Hardie 1986: 276–8 (278). Among the many similarities and contrasts between Fama and Mercury, note especially that “Fama is a divinity of perverted speech; one of the most consistent allegorical identifications of Mercury is as Logos, Ratio, the unperverted word. More particularly, the Homeric scene of the equipping of Hermes was allegorized with reference to the descent of the divine Logos from heaven to earth” (Hardie 1986: 278 with n. 198; further 2012: 92–5). (23) For Hermes’ power over sleep, besides Od. 5.47–8 = Il. 24.343–4 ~ Od. 24.2– 4; cf. e.g. Il. 24.445; Od. 7.137–8; Ov. Met. 1.671–2 (virgam…/ somniferam) and 715–16; Stat. Theb. 1.306–7. (24) Hermes plays the role of ψυχοπομπός (but not the word itself, first attested at Diod. 1.96), also in association with his wand, at Od. 24.1–15 (Hermes shepherds the ghosts of the suitors down to Hades); cf. esp. 24.5 (after a repetition of Od. 5.47–8 = Il. 24.343–4). Cf. Petr. 140.12; Stat. Theb. 1.306–8 (modeled on Vergil’s passage). On Hermes conducting the dead to Hades as part of his chthonic aspect, see also Finglass 2007 on Soph. El. 111; Nisbet-Hubbard 1970 on Hor. C. 1.10.17. (25) See Kraggerud 1968: 37–8. (26) See Pöschl 1962: 145–6 = 1977: 177. See also Feeney 1998: 113, and on Vergil’s emphasis on death in this passage, Paschalis 1985: esp. 112–15.

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Crossing the Borders (27) The verb is attested elsewhere in Vergil only at 6.749, where the deus who evocat the souls after their thousand-year stay in Elysium (6.749) is possibly but not necessarily Mercury (see Horsfall 2013 ad loc., and below). (28) Already at Od. 11.625–6 there is an indirect reference to Hermes’ role in bringing up the souls of the dead, when Heracles says to Odysseus that he was able to bring back Cerberus from the nether world, “for Hermes and gleamingeyed Athena escorted me.” Hermes is also sent by Zeus down to Hades to guide Persephone back from the realm of the dead at H.Dem. 334–85 (a scene also represented on an Attic red-figure bell-krater, attributed to the Persephone Painter, c.440 BCE). At Aesch. Pers. 628–30 the chorus of the Persians invokes Hermes together with Earth and Hades, asking that they send up the soul of Darius; at Choeph. 123–6 Electra asks Hermes chthonios to summon to her the Underworld demons to hear her prayers (cf. Orestes’ prayer at Choeph. 1–5); in Aeschylus’ Psychagogoi (TrFG fr. 273a) the Evocators advise Odysseus to invoke primeval earth, chthonic Hermes, and chthonic Zeus, to send up the souls of the dead (on the Lykaon Painter’s pelike in Boston representing Odysseus, the shade of Elpenor, and Hermes [LIMC s.v. “Odysseus” 149], see Ogden 2001: 49–51). In Euripides’ Protesilaus it is quite certainly Hermes who brings back the soul of Protesilaus to the world of living; cf. Eur. TrFG fr. 646a, Hyg. Fab. 103, and see Lyne 1998: 201–4 = 2007: 213–16. According to Servius on 6.603, Mercury had a role in resuscitating Pelops from the dead: cum eum dii per Mercurium reuocare ad superos uellent (a resuscitation that might be interesting for the meaning of lumina morte resignat: see below). (29) It means “open the lips” at Ter. Maur. 810 (si non resignet labra vocalis comes); conversely, at Stat. Theb. 3.129 lumina signant = “they close the eyes” (of dead soldiers). (30) Pace e.g. Reed 2007: 199. (31) Turnebus 1564–5, Book 24, Ch. 26 (p. 507 in the 1604 Geneva ed.). (32) Conington 1884 ad loc. (33) See Wagner 1861 ad loc.: “aperit oculos morte clausos, s. revocat mortuos in vitam.” (34) See n. 37. (35) See Housman 1888: 32 = Class. Pap. 1.52. (36) O’Hara 2011 ad loc. (37) See, along these lines, Pearson 1961: 37. (38) Platt 1914: 26–7: πόλοι codd. Page 19 of 21

 

Crossing the Borders (39) Hunter 1989 ad loc.; Nelis 2001: 156. (40) Nelis 2001: 157. On Vergil’s reworking of the Homeric Hermes’ role of “preventing or limiting erotic liaisons,” see Farrell in this volume. On the association Eros ~ Hermes in Apollonius and Vergil, we might recall Kerényi’s idea that “Eros is a divinity very closely related by nature to Hermes” (Kerényi 1985: 64); see also Myers in this volume. It might also be relevant for Vergil’s choice of Atlas as a staging post between Olympus and Carthage that in Homer Calypso is a “daughter of Atlas” (Od. 1.52–4); so Knauer 1964: 210 n. 1; Davidson 1992: 369–70. (41) Hardie 1986: 276. (42) “The everlasting endurance of the mountain Atlas (246 ff.) may be compared to the Stoic resistance of Aeneas (441 ff.)” (Hardie 1986: 373; see 280–1 for a full comparison of the description of Atlas with the oak simile at 4.441–9). For other suggestions along these lines, see Gíslason 1937: 32–3; Pöschl 1962: 144–5 = 1977: 176; McGushin 1964: 225–9; Kraggerud 1968: 38–44; Scholz 1975: 134– 6; Morwood 1985; Feeney 1998: 113–14. (43) On the word and its implications, see the classic treatment of Lyne 1989: 43– 8, and now Sharrock 2013: esp. 166–74. (44) Even if Heubeck et al. 1988 at Od. 5.97–113 find “a contemptuous sneer” in Hermes’ allusion to the unmentioned Odysseus. (45) See Nelis 2001: 157–8. Aeneas has already been associated with Jason on Lemnos through the red cloak he wears building Carthage (262–3); cf. Arg. 1.722–8; Nelis 2001: 158; Hunter 1993: 179 and n. 40. (46) By the way, a supplementary reason to bracket line 273. (47) Harrison 1984: 17. (48) Highet 1972: 124. (49) Harrison 1984: 19–20. The god disappears medio…sermone “while he was still speaking” (277); this alludes to the connection of Mercury ~ medius sermo attested e.g. at Aug. CD 7.14; see Short 2012–13: esp. 206–8. Earlier at 256 terras inter caelumque volabat referred to the etymology of Mercurius from medius currens; see Pease 1935 ad loc. (50) On Hermes as “leader of dreams” see H.Herm. 14, with Vergados 2013 ad loc.; Brillante 1990: 43–5. Whereas the preceding intervention of Mercury was focalized through the god, this dream apparition is focalized through Aeneas;

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Crossing the Borders hence the cautious and uncertain expressions with which the apparition is described at 555–9; see Harrison 1984: 31. (51) Harrison 1984: 15, 30–2. (52) For Hermes’ deceitfulness, see Vergados 2013: Index rerum s.v. “deception,” “deceit.” On H.Herm. 66, Vergados 2013 refers to Il. 24.679–81 (the introduction to Hermes’ speech to Priam) for “the image of the plotting, sleepless Hermes.” (53) See Schiesaro 2008: 81–5. References to Euripides’ Medea in Aen. 4 begin most clearly with the exchange of speeches between Dido and Aeneas at 304–92 (~ Eur. Med. 446–626); for the influence of the “Euripidean” Medea of Arg. 4 on abandoned Dido, see Nelis 2001: 160–9. (54) See Schiesaro 2008: 64–8.

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Mercury and Materialism

Tracking Hermes, Pursuing Mercury John F. Miller and Jenny Strauss Clay

Print publication date: 2019 Print ISBN-13: 9780198777342 Published to Oxford Scholarship Online: March 2019 DOI: 10.1093/oso/9780198777342.001.0001

Mercury and Materialism Images of Mercury and the Tabernae of Pompeii Duncan E. MacRae

DOI:10.1093/oso/9780198777342.003.0013

Abstract and Keywords This chapter examines images of Mercury in relation to spaces of commerce in Pompeii in light of recent theorizations of material religion. Mercury was a familiar sight for Pompeian shoppers: he was frequently present in the shops, bars, restaurants, and markets of the Campanian city, especially on the façades next to the entrances of these properties. Against interpretations of these images as simply representational, the chapter argues that they played an important role in the mediation of Mercury as god of commerce in the quotidian lives of the inhabitants of the Campanian city. Keywords:   commerce, graffiti, material religion, Mercury, Pompeii, streets, wall painting

1. Introduction Near the temple of Janus in Rome stood a statue of Mercury with an unusual sobriquet: Mercurius malevolus, “Mercury the ill-willed.” The reason for the name, the lexicographer Festus explains, was that the statue “looked toward no trader’s shop,” as if the god were denying his favor to the exchanges that took place inside.1 Embedded in this short interpretation of the name is a normative connection between Mercury’s image and his role as god of commerce: it is through the materialized gaze of the god that mercantile transactions can receive his benevolence. The purpose of this chapter is to investigate this connection: what place did images of the god have in spaces of Roman commercial life? And, in broader terms, what role did these images play in the

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Mercury and Materialism materialization of Mercury in his distinctively Roman role as a god of commerce? 2

The preserved images of Mercury from Pompeii provide, I contend, some answers to these questions. Looking closely at the Pompeian Mercuries in their archaeological context shows us how the god was embedded in practices and spaces of production and exchange. Due to the unusual state of preservation of the city, we can observe how someone walking along one of the busier streets of Pompeii would have encountered paintings, plaques, and graffiti images of the god before 79 CE. Unlike their unfriendly Roman counterpart, these everyday images of Mercury were especially clustered around the wide doorways of commercial properties—the shops, the bars, the restaurants of the (p.194) Campanian city—where the inhabitants bought, sold, ate, and drank, all in the presence of the god. We are not able to be certain that this experience was paralleled widely in Roman Italy or the empire at large.3 A few similar images found in the French excavations at Delos—rough paintings of Mercury beside the entrances to commercial properties—are suggestive that his presence in Pompeii was not just a local habit, but it is only in Campania that we have sufficient evidence to see how the Romans lived with Mercury.4 Still, this body of evidence allows us to move past the early imperial stereotypes of a crassly materialist devotion to the god on the part of the arriviste rich. In surviving Roman satirical literature there is an assumed connection between the materialistic man and Mercury: Horace’s alter ego Damasippus boasts that he won the cognomen Mercuriale from the street through his commercial acumen; Persius’ greedy worshipper dissipates his fortune on sacrifices to the god; the painted autobiography of Petronius’ unforgettable Trimalchio includes an intervention by Mercury himself in his career.5 These texts give us the de haut en bas representations of the Roman one-percent; they are certainly revealing in their assumptions, but we must turn to other evidence to understand the experiences of the other ninety-nine. For this reason, the depictions of the god in Pompeian spaces of exchange are particularly useful because they allow us to recover some of the cognitive processes by which Mercury existed as god of commerce for residents of that city. At bottom, this is one of the greatest challenges in understanding ancient polytheism for us modern inhabitants of a disenchanted world: what did it mean for a god to be god of some part of human action? In order to approach these images, I draw on recent work on material religion to analyze images of Mercury in the lived religion of a Roman city. Over the last two decades, the introduction of new materialism in religious studies has challenged the dominant idealist tendencies in the study of religion.6 Certainly, these tendencies have been apparent in the case of Mercury, who has most often been understood as a combination of an originary Italian (p.195) deity of Page 2 of 17

 

Mercury and Materialism exchange and a Romanized Hermes.7 In line with this approach, Mercuries in texts and images have been read most often as representations of the god, who is assigned a dematerialized priority over the individual manifestation. The new materialists, however, have questioned such privileging of the symbolic over the experiential as loaded with Christianizing anxiety around “idolatry” and a Cartesian distinction of mind and body. Instead, they stress the agency of material culture in shaping embodied human interaction with the divine. Images and things do not simply act passively as conduits for religious ideas or meanings, but, in contact with the lives of individual people and groups, they catalyze experiences and sensation of the sacred.8 Religion, in this view, does not solely belong to the mind, but is something that also happens both visually and through and around human bodies.9 Not all of this is new to the study of Roman religion, which has had a longstanding interest in the importance of both ritual action—quand faire, c’est croire, in the words of John Scheid—and sacred space.10 It has also long been recognized that Romans did not always see cult images of deities in purely aesthetic or representational terms.11 The recent work in material religion is useful for extending this interest beyond the structured activities of formal ritual and interaction with images in defined sacred spaces. The depictions of Mercury on the streets of Pompeii were not cult images—and it is far from clear that Romans could have recognized such a phenomenon anyway—and were not the focus of cult activity.12 As several scholars have pointed out, in contrast to the marked street shrines for compital cult, there are no altars or spaces for offerings that can be related to the images of Mercury on the façades of buildings.13 At the same time, we should beware the temptation to see them as somehow “less Mercury” than statues in public temples. Instead, these images made the god present in the everyday life of the city: their placement on the façades of tabernae linked him with banal, repeated experiences of exchange and, in this way, materialized him as the god of commerce. In the absence of a body of settled doctrine on the nature of the gods or even of any institution that could generate such a set of ideas, the process of linkage is particularly significant for students of Mediterranean antiquity. Roman gods (p. 196) were a matter of social convention; this fact demands that we track the mediation of their identities, powers, and domains in the experiences of Roman society at large. This chapter offers a sketch of the mediation of Mercury in one particular local situation: Pompeii in the years before 79 CE. Focusing on Mercury’s material presence, I look first to where we can find the god in the life of the city as a whole, before turning to the experience of mercantile images of the god.

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Mercury and Materialism 2. Mercury in Pompeii Pompeii is an exception: no other site offers the historian of religion such a great quantity of material evidence for how the inhabitants of the Roman empire lived their polytheism. The raw quantity of this evidence can be deceiving. The vagaries of preservation and, in some areas, the lack of adequate archaeological publication makes the reconstruction of the religious life of the city a precarious and difficult task. In the last two decades, however, several historians and archaeologists have contributed new syntheses of the evidence for Pompeian religion, including William Van Andringa’s significant Quotidien des dieux et des hommes: la vie religieuse dans les cités du Vésuve à l’époque romaine.14 Building on this recent work, we can now see more clearly, if still imperfectly, the place of Mercury in the town’s religious assemblage and see how he figured in the everyday experiences of Pompeians. An initial stumbling block is the absence of a securely identified temple of Mercury at Pompeii. Nevertheless, a particular set of evidence supports the idea that there was some kind of public cult for him, alongside his mother Maia. A group of stone inscriptions from the first century BCE attests to a college of ministri in the city who worshipped them, made up of slaves and freedmen who had been co-opted by the decurion order from prominent familiae.15 At some point toward the end of the century, the college took on an imperial theme as the ministri Augusti Mercurii Maiae; from 2 BCE until the 40s CE, the college was called the ministri Augusti, with the names of Mercury and his mother silently dropped. These inscriptions, however, lack an archaeological context. Recently, Mario Torelli, now followed by Van Andringa, has suggested that the cult site of Mercury and Maia was in the macellum at the north-eastern edge of the forum.16 By 79, the Pompeian macellum had two cultic (p.197) spaces: a central stepped shrine at the far end of the building from the entrance from the forum, which was dedicated to the imperial family, and another, more modest, in its north-east corner, with an altar and an aedicula for a statue.17 Torelli and Van Andringa argue that the association between Augustus, Mercury, and Maia made by the ministri inscriptions fits well this pair of cultic spaces and that the statue in the north-eastern shrine was therefore an image of Mercury. If this proposal is right —and it must remain tentative given the lack of positive evidence—Mercury’s public cult place in the city was embedded in the food market. Unlike the malevolent Mercury from Rome, the god’s public statue could have watched over a fundamental arena for commercial exchange in an agrarian society. We have more certain evidence for Mercury as part of private cult. Statuettes and paintings placed the deity in the domestic shrines of several Pompeian houses. For example, the well-known shrines of the household Penates—socalled secondary lararia—in the House of the Amorini Dorati (vi.16.7) and the House of the Pareti Rosse (viii.5.37) both included statuettes of Mercury.18 In the case of the shrine in the House of Amorini Dorati, the large size of the statuette in relation to others has been taken to indicate the particular importance of the Page 4 of 17

 

Mercury and Materialism deity to the owner of the house.19 There are nine other houses of various sizes and apparent wealth where Mercury was either certainly or probably part of the household’s set of Penates.20 Although it is often assumed that the presence of Mercury in these shrines indicates a commercial occupation of the dominus, it is very difficult in reality to be sure how the diverse sets of deities collected as Penates were shaped by and shaped the experience of the inhabitants of the houses. In the lararia found in commercial spaces, however, Mercury was more closely linked to the specific practices of buying and selling. Eight tabernae and workshops probably included Mercury in their shrines.21 At the outset, I must offer an important caveat: commercial properties in Pompeii often also had a residential function, so it is not always possible to be certain that customers would have encountered the images of the god, especially when the shrines are located in rooms of uncertain use. Customers definitely did see the spectacular lararium at the end of the counter in the thermopolium at i.8.8 (Fig. 13.1). (p.198) In this painted aedicula, Mercury stands on the left of a group of five deities, which includes the Genius of the proprietor, the two Lares, and Bacchus. Below, two snakes, a common part of the iconography of the Pompeian lararia, frame an altar.22 In a fairly standard guise, which we will see again on the façades of the city, Mercury is depicted as a youth, stepping to the left with a money bag in his right hand and a caduceus in his left hand. In this way, the god’s pose mirrors the physical action of purchase, which involved a customer approaching the counter, as he does, with coins in hand.

Fig. 13.1. The lararium at the end of the counter of the thermopolium at i.8.8, Pompeii. Mercury is the far left of the five deities in the image. Photo: Erich Lessing/Art Resource, NY.


The association of the god with the immediate space of transaction at i.8.8 is not an exception: Mercury was present in very similar ways in other tabernae.23 In the thermopolium at vii.15.5, the god, holding his attributes of money bag and caduceus, looked down from the end of the short counter.24 This painting may not have stood as a formal lararium, but the divinity clearly (p.199) presided over the transactions in this little food shop. A passing mention in very early Page 5 of 17

 

Mercury and Materialism excavation records of the shop at vi.1.2 suggests that a similar painting was found at the end of that counter.25 Similarly at another thermopolium at iii.8.8, Mercury was painted with two griffins on the wall behind the counter, again looking over the material exchanges that took place in the space.26 In the taberna at vi.14.28, which does not have a counter but seems to have been a gamblers’ den, Mercury was painted on the wall, watching over the activities of the customers.27 Repeatedly, then, as we survey the appearances of Mercury in the city, we find him present in spaces of commerce, both public and private. As we will see, this presence was not limited to the interiors of these spaces; one particular venue for images of Mercury at Pompeii stands out: the façades of commercial properties.

3. Mercury on the Tabernae A survey of Thomas Fröhlich’s authoritative catalogue of the paintings on Pompeian exterior façades reveals a close connection between images of the god and commercial uses of buildings.28 The deity appeared by the distinctive wide entrances of so-called tabernae—the shops, bars, restaurants, and inns of the city.29 For the most part these images have been understood, on the one hand, as representations of Mercury qua god of commerce and, on the other, as symbols of self-expression on the part of the property owners, who are assumed to have commissioned the paintings.30 However, if we shift perspective from the people who commissioned the images to their viewers, we can find links between human bodies and practices and the god himself.31 From the portion of the city that is both excavated and recorded, we can quantify Mercury’s presence in the streets. There are images of the god on (p. 200) nineteen of twenty-nine commercial façades that were painted with the images of deities, which constitutes 65 percent of these façades.32 There is a marked conjunction between the deity and the property: the façades of tabernae were particularly Mercury’s domain. Fewer houses had painted façades; Mercury appears on just six, perhaps often in situations where the occupants of houses chose to mark a personal association with the commercial realm. We find Mercury on the outside of commercial properties at Pompeii more often than any other deity; the next most common are Bacchus, who appears on five painted commercial façades, and Minerva, who appears on four.33 Aside from the façades proper, we can also add two others where Mercury appeared on the inside door jambs of tabernae to similar effect as the images directly on the street: the Mercury at the end of the counter at vi.1.2, mentioned earlier, and another at ix.8.4.34 These popular and sometimes poorly executed images follow conventional patterns in iconography and location. In order to get at the social significance of these Pompeian Mercuries, we must focus on these conventions

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Mercury and Materialism and look to their cumulative impact on the lived experiences of the city’s inhabitants.35 A common type of image found on these façades places a youthful Mercury next to or above the doorway. In many respects, these depictions conform closely to Hellenistic sculptures of Hermes, an example of which was found in the sanctuary of Apollo by the town’s forum.36 Like Greek images of Hermes, Mercuries of this type are portrayed as unbearded youths, who wear a petasos and carry a caduceus, although several also carry a particularly Roman money bag. The Mercuries on pillars by entrances 1.12.5, iii.8.1, vii.4.22/23, and two from along the Via di Nola in regio iv, no longer extant, all are of this Hellenistic type.37 A nineteenth-century drawing of one of these now-lost paintings, held in the archive in Naples, allows a more detailed description of an example of this type.38 Painted on a fairly narrow pillar and framed by a long fruitful vine, the naked god stands in contrapposto position, holding a (p.201) caduceus in his left hand and outfitted with winged petasos and boots. A cloak is draped from his shoulders and over his left arm. The familiar attributes and the statuesque pose suggest a replication of the familiar image—known to us and, presumably, contemporary viewers from the large number of statuettes of this type—which here took on additional significance from its placement beside the opening of a taberna, presumably a bar.39 Some of these images are more complex. The painting of standing Mercury at vii.4.22/23 was elaborated by placing the young god together with Venus in a sacro-idyllic landscape featuring an ithyphallic column, exotic to the street near the Pompeian forum in which the painting originally belonged. In another case, the painted portrait of a youthful Mercury holding a caduceus above the entrance of a shop on the Via Dell’Abbondanza (ix.7.1) looked down on the street alongside three other deities—Sol, Jupiter, and Luna.40 In these latter two examples, Mercury’s divinity was emphasized respectively by the alternative landscape and association with other (heavenly) gods. Whether alone or with other deities, these images repeatedly implicated him with commerce. The open façades of these commercial premises meant that, unlike most houses, the activities inside were visible from the street, right alongside or beneath the god. From the perspective of the passer-by on the street, the god was present by the wide entrances of the tabernae: looking at the building entailed looking at Mercury and vice versa. In one case, at ix.7.7, the juxtaposition between the god and the practice of commerce can be found in the painting itself (Fig. 13.2). In a tall painting on the pillar to the left of the door, Mercury walks out of a small shrine, wearing his petasos and holding caduceus and money bag. Below, a woman sits behind a table stacked with the product for sale; another table fills the foreground. Based on a scene of felt-making on the right side of the door and nearby graffiti, it has been suggested that this is the shop of Marcus Vecilius Verecundus, a vestiarius Page 7 of 17

 

Mercury and Materialism or clothing merchant.41 In the painting, Mercury is positioned above a painted version of the shop that he seems about to step into. Jeremy Hartnett has suggested that the clothing worn by the god corresponds to the cloth on sale in the image below, and so the deity models the product on offer inside the opening.42 The double juxtaposition between the god and the real and painted shops reinforces the association between (p.202) deity and commerce for the viewer: in characteristically Mercurial fashion, he is just at the threshold of both shrine and shop. Indeed, the figure of Mercury must have matched the step of the would-be shopper, hopefully also carrying a money bag, into the shop. Bound within the painting by medium and location, but connected by his action with the viewer on the street, Mercury steps between pictorial sacred space and the real commercial space. Despite the elaboration of this particular painting, this is not an exceptional image of the god. Eight images of Mercury painted on the façades of various (p.203) tabernae show the god striding, holding a money bag.43 In the cases where we know the placement of the painting in relation to the commercial threshold, the god always steps toward the door of the shop. Again, the body of the god matches the body of the ideal viewer, the consumer, headed for the door with a bag full of coins. The kinesthetic parallelism between the two Fig. 13.2. The left doorpost of the bodies, those of the deity and taberna (“the taberna of Marcus Vecilius the pedestrian, connects the Verecundus”) at ix.7.7, Pompeii. Mercury embodied human experience of steps right from a small temple. commerce with Mercury. This is Photo: Alinari/Art Resource, NY.
 his particular trait; no other deity in these façade paintings moves toward the door of the shop in this way. At entrance v.6.1, for example, we find a contrast between a static Bacchus on the right of the entrance and, on the other side, a quickstepping Mercury with billowing cloak. Walking alongside the people on the pavement, these Mercuries move as models of the shopper and for the shopper.

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Mercury and Materialism If the linkage between Mercury and commerce here is based on a possible identity between human and god, alterity defines his agency over commerce in two other images of Mercury as phallic deity. In the first, at the right of entrance ix.12.6, a Mercury once again strides, holding the caduceus and money bag, toward a shop entrance (Fig. 13.3). Here, however, the large penis, absent petasos, and the mature beard differentiate this image from most of the other representations found on façades. Rather than conform to Hellenistic models, this Mercury is a witty response to the classical herm.44 Both are bearded and marked by their large phalloi, but the Pompeian Mercury is mobile and naturalistic, while the herm is static and artificial. This Mercury hastens toward the Fig. 13.3. A painted image to the right of door, but a herm could only look the door of the taberna at ix.12.6, out from Greek thresholds. The Pompeii. An ithyphallic Mercury runs left divine phallus bestows its towards the entrance. protection and favor on the Museo Archeologico Nazionale. © Vanni activities inside the shop. By Archive/Art Resource, NY. this playful relationship with the classical artistic form of the god (and other apotropaic phalloi on view throughout the city, including in images of another deity, Priapus) and the departure from regular human anatomy, the movement toward the door relates the deity with the practice of commerce inside the entrance. A Mercury engraved on the right side of the façade of the Thermopolium of Asellina shares the phallic attribute, just a few entrances away on the Via Dell’Abbondanza at ix.11.2. Although this graffito is no longer extant, a recently published photograph shows Mercury, with phallus hanging from his groin, carrying a money bag and moving toward the open entrance of the (p.204) tavern.45 Given the proximity to the painted ithyphallic Mercury, it is tempting to see this as an ersatz copy of the bearded phallic god, designed to bring favor to the premises. A graffito above the figure called the god munificus, “generous,” highlighting the power of the divinity over the transactions inside. In his guise as naked ithyphallic god, Mercury may not have matched the body of the clothed

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Mercury and Materialism shopper, but that distance from the viewer highlighted the more-than-human favor he could confer on the activities inside the establishment. A dipinto near another Mercury by the entrances at vii.11.13/14 also testifies to this sort of agency of the image. The dipinto calls the god Mercurius felix, “Lucky Mercury,” and, if the nineteenth-century transcription was (p.205) correct, places a very large number (100,030) next to the money bag carried by the god.46 The best interpretation for this number is that it represents a desired or real profit. The unusual number may suggest that betting on dice was a potential source of this kind of profit; we have plenty of evidence from the imperial period for the popularity of such gambling and the social fascination with disproportionate winnings.47 We can also contextualize the dipinto in the streetscape: James Franklin has shown how the graffiti in this part of the city, near the famous lupanar, allow a glimpse of a neighborhood crowd who used writing as a means of social dialogue.48 The boast of a gambling win fits in that context, but it also demonstrates a response to the presence of Mercury in the street. In this case, the dipinto assigned agency over the human practice of gaming to this image of the god. As we have seen, Mercury repeatedly appeared on the façades of tabernae at Pompeii. These images differ in form, between statuesque Hellenistic nude and dynamic Roman youth, between realism and preposterous phallism, but they all share a role as sites of linkage between the divinity and the human practices of buying and selling. One mode of this linkage was presence: very simply, Pompeians frequently saw Mercury on the façades of tabernae, and often at the counters of the tabernae. Mercury was there when they shopped. Mercury’s image on the façades could also go beyond this “mere” presence: we have observed how some functioned as divine correlates for shoppers or as phallic protectors. Graffiti also show how some were clearly granted agency as bringers of profit (munificus, felix) by their viewers. Above all, what is striking is the iteration of these images: the façades of commercial properties belonged to Mercury.

4. Conclusion In Pompeii, Mercury was a god of commerce through his presence in spaces of exchange. Context was everything: as he was materialized in and on the façades of shops, bars, and workshops, his domain—his place in the world—was experienced and internalized by the inhabitants of Pompeii. These images of the god were not simply “representations” of an abstract idea. Instead, they were sites of linkage between human and divine, indices of the god’s presence and agents of good fortune.49 A hint of this mediation is found in one of (p.206) Persius’ satires, when a rich man reproaches his heir: “I’m Mercury to you; I come here, a god, like in paintings” (Sat. 6.62–3: sum tibi Mercurius; uenio deus huc ego ut ille / pingitur). The poet blurs the distinctions between deity, painted image, and human speaker, even as the lines affirm Mercury’s role as the god of Page 10 of 17

 

Mercury and Materialism Roman materialism. The poem too suggests how images alone did not make Mercury into the Roman commercial god: a huge amount of cultural work, including text, ritual, and other forms of experience must also have played a role in granting this province to the divinity. I suggest, though, that we should not be deaf to the hint given to us by Festus: it was through his images that the god could confer his benefits on the tabernae of Roman cities—or, in the case of Mercurius malevolus, withhold them.50 Bibliography Bibliography references: Adamo-Muscettola, S. 1984. “Osservazioni sulla composizione dei larari con statuette in bronzo di Pompei ed Ercolano.” In G.-M. Faider-Feytmans, ed. Toreutik und figürlichen Bronzen römischer Zeit: Akten der 6. Tagung über antike Bronzen, 13–17 Mai 1980 in Berlin. Berlin. 9–32. Ando, C. 2010. “Praesentia Numinis Part 1: The Visibility of the Roman Gods.” Asdiwal: Revue genevoise d’anthropologie et d’histoire des religions 5: 45–73. Ando, C. 2011. “Praesentia Numinis Part 2: Objects in Roman Cult.” Asdiwal: Revue genevoise d’anthropologie et d’histoire des religions 6: 57–69. Bakker, J. T. 1994. Living and Working with the Gods: Studies of Evidence for Private Religion and its Material Environment in the City of Ostia (100–500 AD). Amsterdam. Boyce, G. K. 1937. Corpus of the Lararia of Pompeii. Rome. Braidotti, R. 2013. The Posthuman. Cambridge. Bulard, M. 1926. La religion domestique dans la colonie italienne de Délos d’après les peintures murales et les autels historiés. Paris. Cagnat, R. 1914. Cours d’épigraphie Latine. 4th rev. ed. Paris. Charles-Laforge, M-O. 2009. La religion privée à Pompéi. Naples. Chidester, D. 2000. “Material Terms for the Study of Religion.” Journal of the American Academy of Religion 68: 367–79. Cicirelli, C. 1995. Vita religiosa nell’antica Pompei. Soprintendenza archeologica di Pompei. Boscoreale. Clarke, J. R. 1998. Looking at Lovemaking: Constructions of Sexuality in Roman Art, 100 B.C.–A.D. 250. Berkeley.

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Mercury and Materialism (p.207) Clarke, J. R. 2003. Art in the Lives of Ordinary Romans: Visual Representation and Non-Elite Viewers in Italy, 100 B.C.–A.D. 315. Berkeley. Clarke, J. R. 2007. Looking at Laughter: Humor, Power and Transgression in Roman Visual Culture, 100 B.C.–A.D. 250. Berkeley. Combet Farnoux, B. 1980. Mercure romain: Le culte public de Mercure et la fonction mercantile à Rome de la République archaïque à l’époque augustéenne. Rome. Della Corte, M. 1965. Case ed abitanti di Pompei. 3rd ed. Naples. Dobbins, J. J. 1994. “Problems of Chronology, Decoration and Urban Design in the Forum at Pompeii.” AJA 98: 629–94. Elsner, J. 1995. Art and the Roman Viewer: The Transformation of Art from the Pagan World to Christianity. Cambridge. Engelke, M. 2012. “Material Religion.” In R. A. Orsi, ed. The Cambridge Companion to Religious Studies. Cambridge. 209–29. Estienne, S. 2015. “Images.” In R. Raja and J. Rüpke, eds. A Companion to the Archaeology of Religion in the Ancient World. Chichester. 379–87. Flower, H. I. 2017. The Dancing Lares and the Serpent in the Garden: Religion at the Roman Street Corner. Princeton. Franklin, J. L., Jr. 1986. “Games and a Lupanar: Prosopography of a Neighborhood in Ancient Pompeii.” CJ 81: 319–28. Fröhlich, T. 1991. Lararien- und Fassadenbilder in den Vesuvstädten: Untersuchungen zur “volkstümlichen” pompejanischen Malerei. Mainz. Gordon, R. 1979. “The Real and the Imaginary: Production and Religion in the Graeco-Roman World.” Art History 2: 5–34. Hartnett, J. 2017. The Roman Street: Urban Life and Society in Pompeii, Herculaneum, and Rome. New York. Johns, C. 1982. Sex or Symbol: Erotic Images of Greece and Rome. Austin. Kaufmann-Heinimann, A. 1998. Götter und Lararien aus Augusta Raurica: Herstellung, Fundzusammenhänge und sakrale Funktion figürlicher Bronzen in einer römischen Stadt. Augst. Krzyszowska, A. 2002. Les cultes privés à Pompéi. Wrocław. Latour, B. 1993. We Have Never Been Modern. Cambridge, MA.

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Mercury and Materialism Maiuri, A. 1949. “Di un singolare emblema sacro in una bottega pompeiana.” In Hommages à Jean Bidez et à Franz Cumont. Brussels. 185–92. Mau, A. 1907. Pompeii: Its Life and Art. Trans. F. Kelsey. 2nd ed. New York. Maulucci Vivolo, F. P. 1993. Pompei: I graffiti figurati. Foggia. McGuire, M. B. 2008. Lived Religion: Faith and Practice in Everyday Life. Oxford. Monteix, N. 2010. Les lieux de métier: Boutiques et ateliers d’Herculanum. Rome. Morgan, D. 1998. Visual Piety: A History and Theory of Popular Religious Images. Berkeley. Morgan, D. 2012. “The Look of the Sacred.” In R. A. Orsi, ed. The Cambridge Companion to Religious Studies. Cambridge. 296–318. Orr, D. G. 1988. “Learning from Lararia: Notes on the Household Shrines of Pompeii.” In R. I. Curtis, ed. Studia Pompeiana & Classica in Honor of Wilhelmina F. Jashemski. New Rochelle. 293–9. Orsi, R. A. 2005. Between Heaven and Earth: The Religious Worlds People Make and the Scholars Who Study Them. Princeton. (p.208) Potts, C. R. 2009. “The Art of Piety and Profit at Pompeii: A New Interpretation of the Painted Shop Façade at ix.7.1–2.” Greece & Rome 56: 55– 70. Purcell, N. 1995. “Literate Games: Roman Urban Society and the Game of Alea.” Past & Present 147: 3–37. Spinazzola, V. 1953. Pompei alla luce degli scavi nuovi di Via dell’Abbondanza (anni 1910–1923). 2 vols. Rome. Scheid, J. 2005. Quand faire, c’est croire: Les rites sacrificiels des romains. Paris. Torelli, M. 1998 “Il Culto Imperiale a Pompei.” In I culti della Campania Antica. Rome. 245–70. Van Andringa, W. 2000. “Autels de carrefour, organisation vicinale et rapports de voisinage à Pompéi.” Rivista di Studi Pompeiani 11: 47–86. Van Andringa, W. 2009. Quotidien des dieux et des hommes: La vie religieuse dans les cités du Vésuve à l’époque romaine. Rome.

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Mercury and Materialism Notes:

(1) Festus 152 L. Malevoli Mercurii signum erat proxime Ianum; qui item erat in Turdellis…[text damaged in Farnesinus MS]…Malevoli autem, quod in nullius tabernam spectabat. (2) For the particularly Roman commercial remit of Mercury, see BNP, s.v. Mercurius (Phillips). (3) See e.g. Bakker 1994 for the absence of such paintings in Ostia. Flower 2017, a study of the Lares, warns of the dangers of combining evidence for Roman deities into a single global picture and demonstrates the value of avoiding this scholarly pitfall. (4) On Mercury at Delos, see Bulard 1926: 245–61, who also highlights the potential differences with the representations of the god at Pompeii. (5) Hor. Sat. 2.3.24–6 hortos egregiasque domos mercarier unus / cum lucro noram; unde frequentia Mercuriale / inposuere mihi cognomen compita; Pers. 2.44–7 rem struere exoptas caeso boue Mercuriumque / arcessis fibra: “da fortunare Penatis, / da pecus et gregibus fetum.” quo, pessime, pacto, / tot tibi cum in flamma iunicum omenta liquescant?; Petron. Sat. 29.5 in deficiente vero iam porticu levatum mento in tribunal excelsum Mercurius rapiebat. (6) Morgan 1998; Chidester 2000; Engelke 2012. The journal Material Religion has served since 2005 as the intellectual hub for this approach to religious studies. See also the related work on “lived religion” by Orsi 2005 and McGuire 2008. (7) Combet Farnoux 1980. (8) In paying attention to the interaction of the human and non-human, material religion has much in common with the recent “posthuman” turn: see Latour 1993 and Braidotti 2013. (9) See Morgan 2012 for the connection between embodiment and vision. (10) Scheid 2005. (11) See especially Gordon 1979, Elsner 1995: 15–48, and now the provocative— even iconoclastic—essays by Clifford Ando: Ando 2010 and 2011. (12) For the difficulty with the concept of “cult image” for ancient religion, see Estienne 2015 for a summation of the varied evidence and scholarly positions. (13) See Fröhlich 1991: 48 and Charles-Laforge 2009: 72 for the non-cultic character of these images; though note the possible exception, discussed by

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Mercury and Materialism Maiuri 1949. See Van Andringa 2000 and Flower 2017: 145–56 for compital cult and altars in Pompeii. (14) Van Andringa 2009. See also the monographs by Krzyszowska 2002 and Charles-Laforge 2009 and the exhibition catalogue by Cicirelli 1995. The older work by Boyce 1937 and Orr 1988 on domestic religion at Pompeii also remains valuable. (15) CIL 10.884–923. See also Combet Farnoux 1980: 457–9. (16) Torelli 1998: 262–3, followed by Van Andringa 2009: 208–12. For the association of Mercury and Augustus elsewhere, see Combet Farnoux 1980: 433– 71. (17) See Dobbins 1994: 668–85 for the architecture of the macellum. The proposed Mercury shrine is his Room 30. (18) See Adamo-Muscettola 1984 for the statuettes of Mercury in these shrines. (19) Krzyszowska 2002: 95. See Gordon 1979: 13–15 for ancient thought on the appropriate size of divine images. (20) i.4.5 (statuette not in situ); i.6.2; iii.2.1; v.2.h; v.4.3; vii.7.16 (statuette not in situ); ix.6.5; ix.6.g (space of uncertain function); ix.13 (Fröhlich 1991: L110). (21) i.8.8; i.20.2; v.1.13; v.2.b/c; vii.4.20 or vii.5.22 (see Kaufmann-Heinimann 1998: GFV 31); vii.12.7; vii.12.17 and 21. (22) Flower 2017: 63–70 discusses this Campanian snake imagery. (23) I thank Prof. Steven Ellis (Cincinnati), who provided me with essential information on these Mercuries from his own work on commercial spaces at Pompeii. (24) BdI 1872: 200–1. (25) PAH 1.245 (20 October 1770). (26) NSc 1905: 274. (27) Della Corte 1965: 90–4, Mercury at 91. (28) Fröhlich 1991. In the notes that follow, references in the form “F100” refer to entries in Fröhlich’s catalogue, which provides comprehensive bibliography of publication and illustrations. (29) For the definition of taberna, see Monteix 2010: 42–8. We are not able to be certain of the function of all, or even many, of these tabernae, and they, doubtlessly, were flexible spaces. It is also essential to note that the spaces with Page 15 of 17

 

Mercury and Materialism wide-entrances were often part of bigger properties, often houses or public buildings. Nevertheless, it is generally agreed that they were commercial spaces in the broad sense. (30) For the images of Mercury on commercial properties as representations of the god as deity of commerce, see Combet Farnoux 1980: 424–6 and Van Andringa 2009: 275; for these images in terms of self-representation, see Fröhlich 1991: 49; Clarke 2003: 109; Potts 2009; Charles-Laforge 2009: 72; Van Andringa 2009: 276–7; Monteix 2010: 56; Hartnett 2017: 288. (31) For the now long-established scholarly interest in viewers of Roman art, see, for example, Elsner 1995: 1–14 and Clarke 2003: 9–13. (32) For this quantification, I follow the catalogue provided by Fröhlich 1991: 351–3. See also Monteix 2010: 52–3 for a different quantification of the painted commercial façades with extant images of deities: he finds that Mercury appears on 46 percent of these façades. Both counts show the preponderance of images of Mercury over other deities. (33) For the relative appearance of other deities on these façades, see Monteix 2010: 52–3 and Charles-Laforge 2009: 86–93. (34) For ix.8.4, see NSc 1879: 241 and 282; Mercury was depicted with a cockerel and snake coiled around an omphalos (see Fröhlich’s F28 and F34 and the Mercury by the counter at vii.15.5 for similar iconography). This painting was already damaged when excavated in 1879 and is not extant. (35) See Fröhlich 1991: 189–210 for comments on the “volkstümlichkeit” of façade paintings in the Vesuvian cities and 140–4 for the iconographies of Mercury in particular. (36) See Mau 1907: 88. (37) F11, F20, F26, F27, F49. (38) F26; a painting of Bacchus was found on the other pillar of this façade. The drawing is now ADS 100 in the archive, but is unpublished. (39) See, for example, Cicirelli 1995: 31–2 for this common type of statuette. (40) Early interpretations of the four gods depicted above this doorway suggested that they represent planets or particular days of the week. More recently, John Clarke has suggested that such readings of the four gods are overelaborate and prefers a more straightforward reading of them as anthropomorphic deities (Clarke 2003: 87–9).

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Mercury and Materialism (41) See Spinazzola 1953: 189–210 and Clarke 2003: 105–12 for discussion of the whole program of this painted façade. (42) Hartnett 2017: 90–1. (43) These were found by the following entrances: ii.1.1 (F14); v.6.1 (F34); vii. 6.35 (F51: the precise location is uncertain, though see BdI 1859: 68–9); vii. 11.13/14 (F58); vii.12.9/10 (F59); ix.3.14/15 (F62); and two along the Via di Nola (F26 and F28). (44) See, similarly, Clarke 2007: 187–8. Herms are most significantly associated with classical Athens, though they are still found in Roman-period iconography. See Johns 1982: 52–4, including herms from Pompeii and on a mold-made bowl in early imperial Arretine ware (for another example of the latter, see Clarke 1998: 75, fig. 25). (45) Maulucci Vivolo 1993: 72. Note that the drawing of this graffito on the following page (73) omits the phallus, which is visible on the photograph and, at any rate, described by Della Corte in CIL 4.9097. (46) CIL 4.812. For the form of the number, see Cagnat 1914: 31. Fröhlich 1991: 330 and Van Andringa 2009: 295 suggest the large number refers to desired profit. (47) See Purcell 1995: 10–11 and 21 for the Roman interest in the large numbers associated with gambling. (48) Franklin 1986. (49) As Ando 2010 points out, Augustine’s Platonizing construction in Serm. Dolbeau 26.24 of a pagan seeing an image of Mercury as an index for ingenium need not reflect Roman realities. (50) I thank the editors of this volume and the audience in Charlottesville for their responses and great labor in the development of this project. Liza Asbury Newman, Steven Ellis, Ted Peña, and the participants in a brown-bag seminar at LMU M?nchen all made essential suggestions or provided information that improved the chapter enormously.

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Did Mercury Build the Ship of Aeneas?

Tracking Hermes, Pursuing Mercury John F. Miller and Jenny Strauss Clay

Print publication date: 2019 Print ISBN-13: 9780198777342 Published to Oxford Scholarship Online: March 2019 DOI: 10.1093/oso/9780198777342.001.0001

Did Mercury Build the Ship of Aeneas? Thomas Biggs

DOI:10.1093/oso/9780198777342.003.0014

Abstract and Keywords For the Romans, Mercury held some particular narrative and socio-cultural implications during the First Punic War and was connected to a nexus of thought with specific resonance during a markedly naval conflict. An underappreciated testimonium of Naevius’ Bellum Punicum (c.220 BCE) suggests that he crafted a version of the god who built Aeneas’ ship and led the hero from Troy to Italy. This understanding of the god’s maritime role in the epic and its literary afterlives are traced out in later texts and objects in order best to reconstruct a largely lost characterization of the god in Roman culture. Focus is given to Naevius, Vergil, Silius Italicus, Marcellus of Side, and the visual narratives found on the Augustan Tabula Iliaca Capitolina. Keywords:   Mercury, Naevius, Bellum Punicum, maritime, First Punic War, Troy, Tabula Iliaca Capitolina, Capitoline Tablet

Sed me per hostis Mercurius celer denso paventem sustulit aere; te rursus in bellum resorbens unda fretis tulit aestuosis. But swift Mercury bore me, frightened, through the enemy in a thick mist; whereas a wave sucking you back carried you to war on a seething sea.

Horace C. 2.7.13–16

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Did Mercury Build the Ship of Aeneas? In the first book of his Histories, Polybius describes a key event of 256 BCE, the ninth year of the First Punic War. The consul M. Atilius Regulus crosses to Africa with the Roman fleet, and as Polybius relates, “the advance squadron reached the coast just south of Cape Hermaea (τὴν ἄκραν τὴν Ἑρμαίαν), as it is called, which points across the sea toward Sicily and is the most prominent headland on the gulf where Carthage is situated.”1 The actual location of this Headland of Hermes has vexed scholars,2 but it appears again with certainty in Livy’s report of P. Cornelius Scipio’s arrival in Africa for the final campaign of the Second Punic War (29.27.6–8): And after mid-day they encountered a fog, so that with difficulty could they avoid collisions between the ships. In the open sea the wind was gentler. (p.210) Through the following night, the same fog held; and when the sun was up, it was dispersed and the wind increased in force. Already they were in sight of land. Not very long afterwards the pilot told Scipio that Africa was not more than five miles away, that they sighted the Promontory of Mercury (Mercuri promunturium); if he should order him to steer for that, the entire fleet would soon be in port.3 Despite the importance of the god and his divine geography displayed within these literary depictions, the Headland of Hermes/Mercury at Carthage remains as unclear as the foggy seas of Scipio’s crossing. Still, the god’s topographic presence evoked at the boundary between Rome and Carthage in Polybius’ account, and his role as a landmark—as a guide—for the invasion of Africa in Livy’s, comprise a fitting series of images with which to begin. As I will argue in this chapter, for the Romans, Mercury held some particular narrative and sociocultural implications during the First Punic War and was connected to a nexus of thought with specific resonance during a markedly naval conflict. Although the god’s ties to the mercantile and the Mediterranean’s “corrupting” qualities played a central role in Roman thought during the era of the Punic Wars,4 Mercury’s relationship with Aeneas, especially within Latin’s first epic depiction of the Trojan hero in Naevius’ Bellum Punicum, appears connected to a more elevated register of historical narrative, one that may demand a less ambivalent reading. As we will see, similarities between the Argo and Aeneas’ ship built by Mercury in the Bellum Punicum may initially suggest that we should embrace Roman authors’ dissonant opinion of seafaring and the lost Golden Age, one often construed in primitivist or progressivst terms.5 I propose to take an alternate course. Through the analysis of not only a telling aspect of the Bellum Punicum, but also later literary and art historical echoes of a Mercury inextricably bound to the success of Rome’s first war with (p.211) Carthage and its Trojan foundation legend,6 I intend to show that the god played a more prominent role in Naevius’ epic than its fragmentary state suggests and that this

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Did Mercury Build the Ship of Aeneas? epic casting highlights a more positive role for the god during an era of maritime war.7

1. Gnaeus Naevius wrote the Bellum Punicum in the late third or early second century BCE. An epic in the Saturnian meter on the First Punic War, the poem was the first in Latin to narrate the journey of Aeneas and the first Latin work to depict Roman history.8 Naevius also appears to have related in his poem that he served in the very war he describes; at least as far as the poetic persona is concerned, we are dealing with the work of a veteran, an eyewitness with a voice enmeshed in the mentalité of the time.9 As Michael von Albrecht puts it, “[t]he experience of that great historical conflict led to the birth of the Bellum Punicum, the first Roman national epic.”10 What insight can his poem offer concerning Mercury in the era of the First Punic War? By the time Naevius completed his epic, Mercury had appeared already in Livius Andronicus’ Odusia, whose take on the Odyssey was composed during the First Punic War and stands as the first epic in Latin. The god also shows up in the fragments of the Annales of Naevius’ epic successor, Quintus Ennius.11 Indeed, in the former we encounter a solid example of how multifarious the god’s roles were during the First Punic War. As Denis Feeney observes: The Roman Mercury shared many of his mercantile affinities with the Greek Hermes, but in Rome he was not a god associated with escorting the dead, as he was in Greece. When he appeared in this role in Livius’ Odyssey it will certainly (p.212) have been a new piece of casting, and Roman readers will have had to cross mental boundaries to accommodate their Mercury to his new persona.12 While this intriguing cognitive process is hard to recover, it is clear that Mercury was a significant player within the divine worlds of early Latin epic, a god whose appearances and cultural roles warrant tracking. The idea, however, that Mercury’s mercantile characterization will have been ingrained in the Roman mindset by the time of Livius Andronicus’ epic is largely dependent upon the fact that the god’s temple in Rome (495 BCE) was bound up with the establishment of a collegium mercatorum, and that this mercantile aspect will have overridden all others.13 Although this is not the place to explore the historical event, it is worth noting that the extant accounts of the god’s installation at Rome lack, in many ways, a clear contemporary perspective. What we can say with some certainty is that Mercury was a long established Roman god by the time of the First Punic War, whose ever-expanding roles, aided by the integration of Greek narratives with local views of the god, cast doubt on his singular connection with any one sphere of influence. Within this rather opaque era for our understanding of the god, one in which we might be tempted to privilege the mercantile

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Did Mercury Build the Ship of Aeneas? Mercury so well attested in late third-and early second-century sources, we encounter a strange aspect of Naevius’ poem that helps complicate the picture. At Aeneid 1.170–3 the Trojans arrive in North Africa like Regulus and Scipio in the passages quoted earlier. Aeneas and his men are wet from the waves of a storm at sea, a scene Macrobius and Servius tell us is intertextually connected with a similar maritime storm in the Bellum Punicum that afflicted Aeneas between Sicily and Carthage.14 The storm at sea is a marked locus of epic interaction from day one of the Latin tradition,15 and it is no surprise that in his commentary on this section of the Aeneid Servius turns to Vergil’s predecessors:16 novam tamen rem Naevius bello Punico dicit, unam navem habuisse Aeneam, quam Mercurius fecerit. Naevius relates a novel thing in his Bellum Punicum, that Aeneas had one ship which Mercury made. If Mercury the boatwright sounds odd, there is good reason for discomfort. Servius calls it a novam rem, and scholars have largely declined to explore the (p.213) implications of the testimonium.17 Nevertheless, one of the epic’s extant fragments has occasionally been tied to Mercury’s role as naval craftsman:18 inerant signa expressa, quomodo Titani, bicorpores Gigantes magnique Atlantes Runcus ac Purpureus filii Terras On it were engraved images, in what way the Titans, two-bodied giants and great Atlases, Runcus and Purpureus, children of Earth…

Within these gigantomachic lines, scholars have long seen the potential explanation for a narrative excursus within the work that moves the poem’s temporality from recent times to those of the Trojan past, particularly via an ekphrasis. Contention concerning what object or structure was decorated with the imagery has been fierce over the years, and although the pediments of the Temple of Zeus at Akragas are often posited in scholarship as if accepted fact (with the Trojan narrative coming from the western pediment, and the gigantomachy known to have been depicted on the eastern),19 a recent study has rightly proclaimed that of all expressed conjectures “none rests upon solid internal evidence.”20 For all the ambiguity, however, one suggestion demands brief consideration. Numerous scholars have proposed a ship as the location of the gigantomachy. Recently, Jürgen Blänsdorf has taken this one step further to comment on the fragment, “Gigantomachiae imago, qua Mercurius navem Aeneae ornat, describitur.”21Although this description of the narrative rests upon editorial conjecture more than on ancient evidence, if we entertain the Page 4 of 18

 

Did Mercury Build the Ship of Aeneas? implications the role of artist and artifex would have for the god, we see Mercury’s narrative importance elevated within the Bellum Punicum far beyond what Servius suggests, tying him to the allegorical imagery of gigantic struggle that reflected Rome’s historical war with Carthage. Unfortunately, Blänsdorf’s reconstruction of the plot is likely specious. The Servian testimonium, however, stands firm, to which we will return later in this chapter.

2. The impact of the maritime on Roman culture during the First Punic War was immense. Matthew Leigh (2010) has dubbed it Rome’s “Maritime Moment.” (p. 214) The scale of the First Punic War exponentially increased the lived experience of the maritime as well as its monumental visibility. Within the latter category, one thinks especially of the massive expansion of temples in the Forum Holitorium vowed during battle (The Temples of Janus and Spes), the rostral column of Gaius Duilius erected in the Forum Romanum to commemorate Rome’s first major naval victory and triumph, and the Temple of the Tempestates vowed by Lucius Cornelius Scipio for a safe return home by sea.22 On a smaller scale, relevant evidence emerges from the appearance of maritime iconography and gods such as Janus and Mercury on Punic War era coinage coupled with reverses featuring the rams of Roman warships.23 While one may initially wish to read the likely reception of, for example, a Mercury with prow issue sextans or one showing a seashell with a caduceus as tied to well-known and often ambivalent aspects of the god’s timē, such as travel, trade, and commerce, the latter two fail to capture fully the positive semantics that images of naval power could have conveyed in the shadow of Rome’s victory in the First Punic War. Despite the potential for a positive view of the maritime and of a Mercury connected to Rome’s victorious war against Carthage, it is well known that opposing perspectives came to the forefront, centralizing the god’s already established ties to merx in the popular imagination and especially on the Roman stage. For example, consider how Epignomus offers a prayer of thanks at Plautus Stichus 402–5 (200 BCE):24 I give thanks to Neptune and the Weather goddesses (Tempestatibus) for letting me return home successful and safe; and also to Mercury, who helped me in my business affairs and increased my possessions fourfold with profit. Epignomus clearly implicates Mercury in a nexus of maritime gods whose ties to the First Punic War suggest a striking revision of their earlier wartime roles, when divinities like the Tempestates harkened to the aid of predecessors in prayer such as Lucius Cornelius Scipio. There is no doubt that Mercury Moneybags has here taken the stage.25 In fact, we find such a characterization spoken by the god himself in the prologue to the Amphitryon, where he also

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Did Mercury Build the Ship of Aeneas? evokes his Greek role as nuntius, highlighting his potential instantiation of numerous divine roles (simultaneously Roman and Greek).26 (p.215) For all the potential ambiguity of the Amphitryon, the second and even the late third centuries BCE are replete with comedic examples of a mercantile Mercury and, perhaps more importantly, with elite denunciation of maritime trade: the latter includes both Cato’s Preface to the De agri cultura and, even earlier, the ban on senatorial sea trade by the Lex Claudia of 218 BCE.27 Although the evidence is sparse, elite Roman opinions of the maritime certainly shifted from viewing the sea as an arena for victory and aristocratic display during the First Punic War, as a watery stage for the exploits of Gaius Duilius and Gaius Lutatius Catulus, to one that corrupts senatorial values. Nevertheless, as I have already suggested, Mercury’s prominent role in Naevius’ narrative suggests that he and Rome’s voyage onto the main may also have activated a range of positive semantics as well. Accordingly, we must now explore a version of the god that existed, perhaps primarily, within the world of epic.

3. In Book 5 of Homer’s Odyssey, Hermes serves as conduit for the will of Zeus as he moves from the heavens to the island of Calypso where Odysseus has been held, wasting away in nostalgic longing. Hermes’ general purpose is to get Calypso to release Odysseus, to set his homeward sea voyage in motion, which inevitably involves the construction of a boat. In light of the god’s visitation, Calypso, although the owner of neither ship nor crew, gives Odysseus the tools for felling trees and crafting a vessel to put out to sea. The outline of a Hermes who acts as a prompter of naval construction and maritime voyage is implied in Homer’s poem and there for later authors to expand and exploit, but what of a Roman epic world and a different Calypso, a Punic Calypso, or even a Punic Circe?28 Mercury visits Aeneas twice in Book 4 of the Aeneid and is a prime mover in his departure from Carthage.29 In Book 1, Mercury had already been sent to ease the proto-Romans’ reception in the rising city, where he is even said to have traveled by the use of his markedly maritime remigio alarum (“oarage of his wings,” 1.301). In Book 4, Mercury is the conduit once again for the will of Jupiter. By this point in the poem, Dido has already rebuilt Aeneas’ battered (p. 216) fleet. Fresh, hastily cut Carthaginian wood will soon be shaped into the oars for the Trojans’ departure (4.393–400). Because of Mercury, Aeneas will restart his naval voyage and finally travel to Italy. Dido will fall, cursing the Trojans with prophecies of the Punic Wars themselves. In fact, we should recall that Aeneas’ last words in Book 4 are a prayer to Mercury to guide the Trojans safely on their journey, while Dido’s are the curse of Punic Wars to come.30 Now it may seem like we have traveled quite far from Servius and Naevius’ ship, but the connections between the First Punic War and Aeneas’ own journey that Page 6 of 18

 

Did Mercury Build the Ship of Aeneas? Naevius shaped in the Bellum Punicum may lurk behind these Vergilian lines, where the god is the one who prompts the journey from Carthaginian shores, a journey that results over time in the cataclysmic conflict between Carthage and Rome. But another counterfactual historical trajectory is also at play here, one that strongly links Mercury with the larger subject of Naevius’ epic: as Nicholas Horsfall remarks on Vergil’s episode, “only Mercury’s intervention prevented the premature outbreak of the first Punic war.”31 If we trace out the imprint of Vergil’s Mercury within later Latin epic, we can even locate the possible reflection of Naevius’ version of the god. In Book 8 of Silius Italicus’ Punica, Anna’s report of Dido’s suicide offers a masterful Flavian recasting of Vergil’s epic tale. Silius’ poem contains the following speech delivered by Aeneas in an attempt to justify his abandonment of Dido (Pun. 8.108–11):32 respiciens aegerque animi tum regna reliqui vestra, nec abscessem thalamo, ni magna minatus meque sua ratibus dextra imposuisset et alto egisset rapidis classem Cyllenius Euris. Looking back and sick at heart, I then left behind your kingdom; nor would I have departed from our marriage chamber, if the Cyllenian god had not threatened me strongly, and placed me with his own right hand on my ship and driven my fleet on the deep sea with quick winds.

This striking passage introduces a more physical role for Mercury in prompting Aeneas’ naval journeys. As Randall Ganiban notes, “[i]n the Aeneid, Mercury must warn Aeneas twice to leave, but he does not physically lead Aeneas to his fleet and make him set sail, as Silius’ Aeneas claims.”33 Moreover, Silius’ Mercury sets Aeneas upon a ship that just might be the one that Naevius’ epic tells us the god built.34 In fact, Naevius’ Mercury, as we will soon (p.217) see, may even have led Aeneas by the hand out of Troy as well. To fill in this picture, we must now investigate several pieces of evidence in favor of a more pervasive role for Mercury in the movement of Aeneas out of Troy and across the sea to Italy.

4. In a verse inscription set up on his wife’s estate on the Via Appia, the Athenian senator and sophist Herodes Atticus (second century CE) offered a self-glorifying dedication to his recently deceased wife Regilla, likely written by Marcellus of Side.35 After praising Regilla, lines 23–9 turn to their son:36 Caesar [Antoninus Pius] granted his son [Bradua] the privilege of wearing on his feet the sandals decorated with stars which they say Hermes too wore (25) when he led Aeneas from the war waged by the Achaeans through the dark night; around his feet it was set, shining as a protecting Page 7 of 18

 

Did Mercury Build the Ship of Aeneas? savior, like the [half] globe of the moon. The descendants of Aeneas once stitched this on the sandal to be a prerogative for the noble Ausonians [Italians]. In these dense lines, a reader learns how Hermes led Aeneas out of the war at Troy. Maud Gleason has noted that the back-story of the patrician shoes given to Herodes’ son contains a quasi-Homeric etiology, “alluding to an incident at Troy that does not actually happen in the Iliad.”37 And as Malcolm Davies and Sarah Pomeroy remark, “this is our only source for the idea that Hermes…rescued Aeneas (and his family) from Troy.”38 While the scene is admittedly strange, Davies and Pomeroy have overlooked several relevant sources for Hermes’ role as Aeneas’ guide and savior during the fall of Troy. We turn first to the Tabulae Iliacae, small bas-relief sculptures mainly depicting narrative scenes from the Epic Cycle. On the Tabula Iliaca Capitolina, found at Bovillae and dated to the Augustan period, the presence of Hermes has been referred to by Michael Squire as the tablet’s “iconographic peculiarity.”39 We will come to his role shortly. The inscriptions that accompany the individual scenes of the Iliou persis are in Greek, possibility indebted (p.218) to Stesichorus, but the tablet’s focus on certain aspects of the cycle displays a clear interest in the role of Aeneas and his escape from Troy to travel, as the tablet says, “to Hesperia.” At the center of the tablet, Aeneas departs the city from the Scaean gate carrying his father Anchises and leading Ascanius and (possibly) Creusa (Fig. 14.2). Hermes, who is labeled and easily identified by his iconography, leads them out of Troy. The group moves to a ship waiting at shore in the final scene at bottom right of the central narrative panel (Fig. 14.1).

Fig. 14.2. Scene from the Tabula Iliaca. Musei Capitolini, Rome. Source: DAI. Photographer: R. Sansaini. DAI-Neg.-No.: D-DAI–Rom 57.975.

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Did Mercury Build the Ship of Aeneas? The depiction of Aeneas holding Anchises employs a style and pose most familiar from its famous iteration in the Forum Augustum.40 Concerning the tablet’s presentation of this scene, David Petrain notes that “the Capitolina adopts the iconography of this public monument for its central scene —evidently the linchpin of the narrative—but adds the detail of the god Hermes.”41 In a discussion of the Capitoline tablet in his 1969 book Aeneas, Sicily, and Rome, Karl Galinsky was prompted by the presence of Hermes to observe:

Fig. 14.1. Scene from the Tabula Iliaca. Musei Capitolini, Rome. Source: DAI. Photographer: R. Sansaini. DAI-Neg.-No.: D-DAI–Rom 57.974.

(p.219) A woman, probably Creusa, is seen standing on the left, and Hermes, who is said by Servius (Aen. 1.170) to have built a ship for Aeneas in Naevius’ Bellum Punicum, leads the group toward the shore.42 Galinsky’s introduction of the Bellum Punicum to a discussion of the tablet is a telling move, since it sets in motion the importance of the early epic for the tablet’s variant of the departure myth, but he offers no explicit commentary on the relevance Naevius’ epic might have for its interpretation. Indeed, Nicholas Horsfall’s harsh response to this passing remark seems to have taken it off the table completely for Anglophone scholars.43 Consider the fact that Naevius is not mentioned once within the recent studies of Squire and Petrain.44 So what can we make of Naevius’ novam rem? Nowhere else in ancient literature is Mercury explicitly given the role of boatwright. We have, however, seen him prompt naval construction in the Odyssey and a fateful sea voyage in (p.220) the Aeneid that just barely averted the premature outbreak of the First Punic War. In the wider culture of the late third century BCE, we have seen the god appear in connection with maritime imagery related to Rome’s great war at sea—its maritime gods, iconography, and cultural narratives. And on the Capitoline tablet, we see Hermes lead Aeneas and his family out of the city in the central scene, one unavoidably evocative of the only other known ancient image of this moment featuring Hermes—that from a painted panel in the Casa del Criptoportico in Pompeii, where the scene of Aeneas’ departure led by Mercury caps a larger series of narrative paintings.45 This iconographic Page 9 of 18

 

Did Mercury Build the Ship of Aeneas? reoccurrence is in itself strong evidence for the widespread knowledge of a narrative of Aeneas’ departure from Troy in which Mercury played a significant role, one also suggested by Marcellus of Side’s poem and, perhaps, Silius’ Punica. In fact, extant fragments of the Bellum Punicum well inform us that the exiles’ departure scene received detailed narration far beyond the attention given to Aeneas and his ship, hence providing ample room for the god’s potential interventions.46 Yet it is the one ship awaiting in the Capitoline tablet’s final scene at bottom right that fully grabs our attention—the ship to which Mercury has led Aeneas and his family, just as Mercury made a ship for Aeneas in Naevius’ epic.47 Squire’s statement that Hermes is “an iconographic peculiarity of the tablets” leaves us, then, with several curious depictions (textual and visual) of connected scenes in which the god plays a significant role in relation to Aeneas’ maritime escape from Troy. If we employ the Bellum Punicum and Mercury’s larger cultural resonance in the wake of the First Punic War to interpret the Capitoline tablet, it strengthens the argument that Hermes’ presence is not that peculiar at all—it is just not Vergilian.48 Moreover, if we employ the tablet to reconsider the Bellum Punicum, the idea emerges that Mercury may have played a more extensive role in aiding Aeneas’ journey across the Mediterranean than is indicated by Servius’ comment that the god built his ship. This argument, though at risk of circularity, leads to the conclusion that Naevius’ Mercury may very well linger behind the later glimpses of the god assisting the departure and voyage of the Aeneadae. Indeed, the poem for Regilla, the (p.221) painting from the Casa del Criptoportico, and the traces of Mercury’s connection to maritime journeys in the Aeneid and in Silius’ Punica could very well reflect the afterlife of the tradition depicted in Naevius’ epic, one in which a maritime Mercury not only crafted Aeneas’ ship, but also led the Trojan hero safely on his westward voyage.49 Bibliography Bibliography references: Albrecht, M. von. 1999. Roman Epic: An Interpretive Introduction. Leiden. Barchiesi, M. 1962. Nevio epico. Padua. Biggs. T. 2017. “Primus Romanorum: Origin Stories, Fictions of Primacy, and the First Punic War.” CP 112.3: 350–67. Biggs, T. 2018. “A Second First Punic War: Re-spoliation of Republican Naval Monuments in the Urban and Poetic Landscapes of Augustan Rome.” In M. Loar, C. Macdonald, and D. Padilla Peralta, eds. Rome, Empire of Plunder: The Dynamics of Cultural Appropriation. Cambridge. 47–68.

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Did Mercury Build the Ship of Aeneas? Blänsdorf, J. et al. 2011. Fragmenta Poetarum Latinorum Epicorum et Lyricorum praeter Ennium et Lucilium. 4th ed. Berlin and New York. Brilliant, R. 1984. Visual Narratives: Storytelling in Etruscan and Roman Art. Ithaca, NY. Casali, S. 2010. “The Development of the Aeneas Legend.” In J. Farrell and M. C. J. Putnam, eds. A Companion to Vergil’s Aeneid and its Tradition. Chichester. 37– 51. Clauss, J. J. 2010. “From the Head of Zeus: The Beginnings of Roman Literature.” In J. J. Clauss and M. Cuypers, eds. A Companion to Hellenistic Literature. Chichester. 463–79. Combet-Farnoux, B. 1980. Mercure romain. Rome. Crawford, M. H. 1974. Roman Republican Coinage. Cambridge. Davies, M. and S. Pomeroy. 2012. “Marcellus of Side’s Epitaph on Regilla (IG XIV 1389): An Historical and Literary Commentary.” Prometheus 38: 3–34. De Melo, W. 2013. Plautus Volume V: Stichus. Three-Dollar Day. Truculentus. The Tale of a Traveling-Bag. Fragments. Cambridge, MA. Dufallo, B. 2013. The Captor’s Image: Greek Culture in Roman Ecphrasis. Oxford. Dunsch, B. 2013. “Describe nunc tempestatem: Sea-Storm and Shipwreck TypeScenes in Ancient Literature.” In C. Thompson, ed. Shipwreck in Art and Literature. Images and Interpretations from Antiquity to the Present Day. London. 42–59. Faber, R. A. 2012. “The Ekphrasis in Naevius’ Bellum Punicum and Hellenistic Literary Aesthetics.” Hermes 140.4: 417–26. Fabrizi, V. 2016. “Space, Vision and the Friendly Sea: Scipio’s Crossing to Africa in Livy’s Book 29.” In E. Baltrusch, H. Kopp, and C. Wendt, eds. Seemacht, Seeherrschaft und die Antike (Historia Einzelschriften). Stuttgart. 279–90. (p.222) Fantham, E. 1990. “Nymphas…e navibus esse: Decorum and Poetic Fiction in ‘Aeneid’ 9.77–122 and 10.215–59.” CP 85.2: 102–19. Farney, G. D. 2008. “The Mamilii, Mercury and the limites: Aristocratic Genealogy and Political Conflict in the Roman Republic.” Athenaeum 96: 249–58. Feeney, D. C. 1998a. Literature and Religion at Rome. Cambridge.

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Did Mercury Build the Ship of Aeneas? Feeney, D. C. 1998b. “Leaving Dido: The Appearance(s) of Mercury and the Motivations of Aeneas.” In M. Burden, ed. A Woman Scorn’d: Responses to the Dido Myth. London. 105–27. Feeney, D. C. 2007a. Caesar’s Calendar. [title abbreviated] Berkeley. Feeney, D. C. 2007b. “The History of Roman Religion in Roman Historiography and Epic.” In J. Rüpke, ed. A Companion to Roman Religion. Chichester. 129–42. Flores, E. 2011a. Cn. Naevi Bellum Poenicum: Introduzione, edizione critica e versione italiana. Naples. Flores, E. 2011b. Livi Andronici Odusia: Introduzione, edizione critica e versione italiana. Naples. Flores, E. 2012. “Sacra penatium in Nevio et Virgilio.” Vichiana 4.14: 92–3. Flores, E. 2014. Commentario a Cn. Naevi Bellum Poenicum. Naples. Fratantuono, L. 2015. “Lethaeum ad fluvium: Mercury in the Aeneid.” Pallas 99: 295–310. Galinsky, K. 1969. Aeneas, Sicily, and Rome. Princeton. Ganiban, R. 2010. “Dido and the Heroism of Hannibal in Silius’ Punica.” In A. Augoustakis, ed. Brill’s Companion to Silius Italicus. Leiden. 73–98. Geiger, J. 2008. The First Hall of Fame: A Study of the Statues in the Forum Augustum (Mnemosyne supplements 295). Leiden. Giusti, E. 2014. “Once More unto the Breach: Virgil’s Arae and the Treaty of Philinus.” SIFC 12.1: 61–79. Gleason, M. 2010. “Making Space for Bicultural Identity: Herodes Atticus Commemorates Regilla.” In T. Whitmarsh, ed. Local Knowledge and Microidentities in the Imperial Greek World. Cambridge. 125–62. Goldberg, S. M. 1995. Epic in Republican Rome. Oxford. Harrison, E. 1982. “Vergil’s Mercury.” In A. McKay, ed. Vergilian Bimillenary Lectures. Vancouver. 1–47. Horden, P. and N. Purcell. 2000. The Corrupting Sea: A Study of Mediterranean History. Oxford. Horsfall, N. M. 1979. “Stesichorus at Bovillae?” JHS 99: 26–48. Horsfall, N. M. 1990. “Dido in the Light of History.” In S. J. Harrison, ed. Oxford Readings in Vergil’s Aeneid. Oxford. 127–44. Page 12 of 18

 

Did Mercury Build the Ship of Aeneas? Jahn, S. 2007. Der Troia-Mythos: Rezeption und Transformation in epischen Geschichtsdarstellungen der Antike. Cologne. Kondratieff, E. 2004. “The Column and Coinage of C. Duilius: Innovations in Iconography in Large and Small Media in the Middle Republic.” SCI 23: 1–39. Leigh, M. 2010. “Early Roman Epic and the Maritime Moment.” CP 105.4: 265– 80. Mac Góráin, F. 2015. “The Argo: Archaic Wonder and Innovation.” Maia 67: 233– 51. Maltby, R. 1991. A Lexicon of Ancient Latin Etymologies. Leeds. McLeish, K. 1972. “Dido, Aeneas, and the Concept of Pietas.” G&R 19.2: 127–35. (p.223) Moore, F. G. 1949. Livy History of Rome, Volume VIII, Books 28–30. Cambridge, MA. Ogilvie, R. M. 1965. A Commentary on Livy: Books 1–5. Oxford. Orlin, E. M. 1997. Temples, Religion, and Politics in the Roman Republic. Leiden. Palmer, R. E. A. 1997. Rome and Carthage at Peace. Stuttgart. Paton, W. R., F. W. Walbank, and C. Habicht. 2010. Polybius, The Histories Volume I, Books 1–2. Cambridge, MA. Petrain, D. 2014. Homer in Stone: The Tabulae Iliacae in their Roman Context. Cambridge. Phillips, C. Robert III. 2006. “Mercurius.” In H. Cancik and H. Schneider, eds. Brill’s New Pauly, Antiquity volumes. Consulted online on 15 August 2016 http:// referenceworks.brillonline.com/entries/brill-s-new-pauly/mercurius-brill800840. Pietilä-Castrén, L. 1987. Magnificentia Publica: The Victory Monuments of the Roman Generals in the Era of the Punic Wars. Commentationes humanarum litterarum, 84. Helsinki. Reed, J. 2007. Virgil’s Gaze: Nation and Poetry in the Aeneid. Princeton. Roller, M. B. 2013. “On the Intersignification of Monuments in Augustan Rome.” AJP 134.1: 119–31. Scardigli, B. 1991. I Trattati romano-cartaginesi: Introduzione, edizione critica, traduzione, commento e indici. Pisa. Scardigli, B. 2011. “Early Relations between Rome and Carthage.” In B. D. Hoyos, ed. A Companion to the Punic Wars. Chichester. 28–38. Page 13 of 18

 

Did Mercury Build the Ship of Aeneas? Sekunda, N. and P. de Souza. 2007. “Military Forces.” In P. Sabin et al., eds. The Cambridge History of Greek and Roman Warfare. Cambridge. 325–67. Serrati, J. 2006. “Neptune’s Altars: The Treaties Between Rome and Carthage (506–226 B.C.).” CQ 56.1: 113–34. Skutsch, O. 1985. The Annals of Q. Ennius. Oxford. Spannagel, M. 1999. Exemplaria Principis: Untersuchungen zu Entstehung und Ausstattung des Augustusforums. Archäologie und Geschichte, 9. Heidelberg. Squire, M. 2011. The Iliad in a Nutshell: Visualizing Epic on the Tabulae Iliacae. Oxford. Squire, M. 2014. “Figuring Rome’s Foundation on the Iliac Tablets.” In N. M. Sweeney, ed. Foundation Myths in Ancient Societies. Philadelphia. 151–89. Squire, M. 2015. “Running Rings Round Troy: Recycling the ‘Epic Circle’ in Hellenistic and Roman Art.” In M. Fantuzzi and C. Tsagalis, eds. The Greek Epic Cycle and its Ancient Reception: A Companion. Cambridge. 496–542. Strzelecki, W. 1964. Cn. Naevii Belli punici carminis quae supersunt. Leipzig. Suerbaum, W. 2002. Handbuch der lateinischen Literatur der Antike, I: Die archaische Literatur von den Anfängen bis Sullas Tod. Munich. Valenzuela Montenegro, N. 2004. Die Tabulae Iliacae: Mythos und Geschichte im Spiegel einer Gruppe frühkaiserzeitlicher Miniaturreliefs. Berlin. Vella, N. 2005. “A Maritime Perspective: Looking for Hermes in an Ancient Seascape.” In J. Chrysostomides, Ch. Dendrinos, and J. Harris, eds. The Greek Islands and the Sea. Proceedings of the First International Colloquium held at The Hellenic Institute, Royal Holloway, University of London 21–22 September 2001. Camberley. 33–57. (p.224) Walbank, F. W. 1957. A Historical Commentary on Polybius: I. Oxford. Yarrow, L. M. 2015. “Ulysses’s Return and Portrayals of Fides on Republican Coins.” In P. G. van Allen et al., eds. Fides: Contributions to Numismatics in Honor of Richard B. Witschonke. New York. 335–56. Zissos, A. 2006. “Sailing and Sea Storm in Valerius Flaccus (Argonautica 1.574– 642): The Rhetoric of Inundation.” In R. Nauta and H. J. Van Dam, eds. Flavian Poetry. Groningen. 79–95.

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Did Mercury Build the Ship of Aeneas? Notes:

(1) Polyb. 1.29.2. Cf. 1.36.11. Trans. Paton et al. 2010. See Walbank 1957 ad loc. and on 3.22.5 (a). This same Headland of Hermes was also the explicit setting for a Roman naval victory during the rescue of Regulus’ men from North Africa after the failed campaign, offering a symbolic glimpse of the god on Rome’s side in the war (1.36.10–12). (2) Capes and Promontories of Hermes are plentiful in the Mediterranean, serving as guides and navigational aids. See Vella 2005; Biggs 2017: 354–5. Scholarly interest in the landmark largely relates to the geography of the various prewar treaties between Carthage and Rome. See Polyb. 3.22.5–6 with Walbank 1957. On the treaties in general, see Scardigli 1991 and 2011. Serrati 2006 addresses the role of other landmarks within the treaties, as does Giusti 2014. (3) Trans. Moore 1949. On this passage, Fabrizi 2016. (4) For the sea as a place of corruption, Horden and Purcell 2000 passim and Feeney 2007a: esp. 118–25. Although later etymologies for Mercury seem so intuitively connected to trade (Maltby 1991 s.v. Mercurius) and Livy’s report of the dedication of the Temple of Mercury on the Aventine in 495 BCE is tied to a collegium mercatorum, scholars have questioned how early this connection truly is. Cf. Liv. 2.21.7, 27.5–6; Val. Max. 9.3.6. For the various problems with this collegium, see with caution Combet-Farnoux 1980. Ogilvie 1965 (on Liv. 2.27.5) maintains the veracity of the mercatores’ adoption of Mercury in the narrative, but he also questions the entire dedication account, suggesting it largely relates to a restoration and rededication c.300 BCE. Orlin 1997: 111 n. 133 suggests that the account of the dedication “may be apocryphal, highlighting the divisions between the Orders” (see also 1997: 97–8, 170). In the present study, I work from the basis that Mercury was viewed as intertwined with trade and mercantilism, but that this was only one of his numerous spheres of influence during the era of the First Punic War. (5) Cf. Zissos 2006 for discussion of these perspectives in relation to storm at sea passages. See also Mac Góráin 2015. Concerning the Argo in Latin literature, Fantham 1990: 106 noted that “[p]erhaps it was on the model of the Argo that Naevius gave Aeneas a ship constructed by Mercury.” Cf. Blänsdorf, Morel, and Büchner 2011: 44. (6) The main sources I will examine beyond Naevius’ epic include Homer’s Odyssey, Vergil’s Aeneid, Silius Italicus’ Punica, a poem by Marcellus of Side (IG XIV 1389), a painting from the Casa del Criptoportico in Pompeii, and the Tabula Iliaca Capitolina. (7) For more discussion of Mercury in this era, especially in relation to Carthage and Melquart, see Biggs 2017. Reed 2007 contains a good treatment of Mercury’s ties to Carthage in the Aeneid, which include a potential syncretism Page 15 of 18

 

Did Mercury Build the Ship of Aeneas? with Melqart (see 2007: 200–2). For a different “maritime” Mercury, see Blakely in this volume. (8) General studies are too numerous to list here; none are comprehensive. See e.g. Suerbaum 2002: 104–16 for bibliography. Summary discussion in, e.g., Goldberg 1995; Von Albrecht 1999: 45–61; Clauss 2010. (9) Varro ap. Gell. 17. 21. 45 = Flores II = Strzelecki 44. (10) Von Albrecht 1999: 45. (11) He appears explicitly in a fragment of the Odusia likely connected to a concilium deorum (Blänsdorf 19 = Flores XX = Prisc. GLK 2.198). In Ennius’ Annales, we find Mercury in a fragment likely depicting the lectisternium of 399 BCE (Ann. 240–1 Skutsch; cf. Liv. 5.13.4). He clearly played numerous other roles in these now fragmentary works. (12) Feeney 2007b: 130. (13) See n. 4. The comparison with a “mercantile” Greek Hermes is also controversial. See Phillips 2006. (14) Macrob. Sat. 6.2.30–1; Serv. Dan. on Aen. 1.198 (Thilo 198). Cf. Leigh 2010: 273–4. (15) Leigh 2010; Dunsch 2013. (16) Blänsdorf 7 = Flores XVI = Serv. Dan. on Aen. 1.170 (Thilo 68). (17) The few exceptions will be discussed later. I take the adjective novus here to mean “novel, unexpected,” but the more troubling semantics of the word in connection with sea travel may also have been evoked for a reader. (18) Blänsdorf 8 = Flores VII = Prisc. GLK II 198. (19) Diod. Sic. 13.82.1–4. (20) Faber 2012: 417. For another recent discussion, Dufallo 2013: 16–20. (21) Blänsdorf 2011 on F. 8: “A depiction of the gigantomachy is described, with which Mercury decorated Aeneas’ ship.” (22) See sources and discussion in Pietilä-Castrén 1987. For the dedications of Gaius Duilius, see Roller 2013; Biggs 2018. The Tempestates appear in Scipio’s famous tomb epitaph (CIL 12.9 = 6.12897). (23) Citations and general discussion in Kondratieff 2004. Cf. Crawford (RRC) 1974: 11/1, 14/5, 25/8, 56/1–8, 35/1–6, 322/2. For Mercury, ship rams, Odysseus, and the Mamilian gens on Roman coinage, see Farney 2008 and Yarrow 2015. Page 16 of 18

 

Did Mercury Build the Ship of Aeneas? (24) The Tempestates seem to have first entered Roman public religion during the First Punic War. See Pietilä-Castrén 1987 ad loc. Translation of Plautus is de Melo 2013. (25) For Mercury in Roman comedy, see Moodie in this volume. (26) Feeney 1998a: 27–8. (27) Liv. 21.63.3. General opinion of the fleet, dependent in part on the sources of its manpower, was likely complicated and context bound. Sekunda and de Souza 2007: 363–6. (28) Barchiesi 1962: 479. (29) My treatment of the Vergilian episode must remain largely superficial. On Mercury in the epic, see esp. Harrison 1982, Feeney 1998b, and Casali in this volume. Fratantuono 2015 is an excellent recent discussion. He explores the genealogical ties between Aeneas and Mercury that give the god another good reason to have taken care of the Trojan. (30) McLeish 1972: 133. (31) Horsfall 1990: 132. (32) Translation from Ganiban 2010. (33) Ganiban 2010: 95. (34) See Florus Ep. 1.18.39–41, where Rome’s first fleet for the First Punic War has a nearly divine origin: ut non arte factae, sed quodam munere deorum conversae in naves atque mutatae arbores viderentur. (35) IG XIV 1389, but see text in Davies and Pomeroy 2012. Cf. Horsfall 1979: 41– 2. (36) Translation from Davies and Pomeroy 2012. (37) Gleason 2010: 159. (38) Davies and Pomeroy 2012: 20. Many, however, have already connected the verses of Marcellus of Side with Hermes on the Tabula Iliaca Capitolina, as we will soon see. Cf. Horsfall 1979: 41 n. 119; Valenzuela Montenegro 2004: 390. It is worth comparing this Hermes with the Mercury of Horace C. 2.7, quoted in the epigraph for this chapter. Space and scope prohibit exploration at present. (39) Squire 2011: 149 n. 69. Hermes does appear as Odysseus’ guide on another tablet (Tabula Rondanini). See Squire 2012: 401. (40) Squire 2014: 148–58; Spannagel 1999; Geiger 2008. Page 17 of 18

 

Did Mercury Build the Ship of Aeneas? (41) Petrain 2014: 7. (42) Galinsky 1969: 106. (43) Horsfall 1979: 41 n. 119: “I am not sure that the reference to Hermes building a ship for Aeneas in Naevius is—pace Galinsky [1969] 106—of any relevance for this discussion.” (44) In Valenzuela Montenegro’s 2004 study of the tabulae, Naevius and Marcellus of Side’s poem are briefly introduced (2004: 390). Enrico Flores has recently reasserted the connection between Naevius’ Mercury and the Tabula Iliaca, but even his discussion extends no longer than three sentences (Flores 2012: 93, reprinted in Flores 2014: 86–7). (45) See Squire 2015: 532–8 for brief discussion that connects the Capitoline tablet with the wall painting (image on 537, fig. 27.19). Cf. also Horsfall 1979: 42; Brilliant 1984: 62–5; Petrain 2014: 129; Squire 2014: 169–74. I do not agree with those who suggest that an Athenian black-figure oenochoe in the Louvre (F 118, Collection Paravey, 1879) depicts Hermes leading Aeneas and Ascanius. (46) Blänsdorf 5 = Flores VIII = Serv. Dan. Aen. 3.10 (Thilo 336); Blänsdorf 6 = Flores IX = Serv. Dan. Aen. 2.797 (Thilo 330). (47) Whether or not Naevius depicted the Trojan exiles as only having one ship in toto is of less importance to the present discussion, but I think not; pace Goldberg 1995: 55. The Capitoline tablet, however, does appear only to depict one ship in the departure scene; implied in Casali 2010: 43–4. (48) Valenzuela Montenegro 2004: 382–400 argues too strongly against any Vergilian influence. (49) Cf. Jahn 2007: 71.

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Communicating with the Divine

Tracking Hermes, Pursuing Mercury John F. Miller and Jenny Strauss Clay

Print publication date: 2019 Print ISBN-13: 9780198777342 Published to Oxford Scholarship Online: March 2019 DOI: 10.1093/oso/9780198777342.001.0001

Communicating with the Divine Herms in Attic Vase Painting* Hélène Collard

DOI:10.1093/oso/9780198777342.003.0015

Abstract and Keywords Historians and archaeologists have long been interested in the Greek herm. However, several aspects of this topic can still be refined. The usual questions about these monuments bear on their origin, their signification, and their function. Many works have already addressed the question of the origin of the hermaic form, which seems rather clear today. But some uncertainties remain about the role, the signification and, in particular, about the function of herms: were they divine images, cult images of the god Hermes, or only boundary markers? By investigating iconographical evidence, this paper aims to shed new light on these questions. Keywords:   Attic vase painting, herms, divine representation, iconography, ritual, divine images

Historians and archaeologists have long been interested in the Greek herm, and the bibliography is considerable.1 However, several aspects of this topic must still be refined. If many works have already addressed the question of the origin of the hermaic form, which seems rather clear today,2 some uncertainties remain about the role, the significance, and, in particular, the function of herms: were they divine images, cult images of the god Hermes, or simply boundary markers? Opinions differ among scholars. If we turn to ancient texts, several points can be noted: first, herms originated in Athens3 and, according to the pseudo-Platonic Hipparchus, hundreds of them were put up in Attica by Hipparchos the Peisistratid at the end of the sixth Page 1 of 19

Communicating with the Divine century BCE as halfway marks between the city and each of the demes.4 Second, what we call a “herm” is a monument characterized mainly by its rectangular form (τετράγωνος).5 Third, it is not only a statue, but also an offering, as proved by the terms used to label it, ἄγαλμα6 and ἀ (p.228) νάθημα.7 Finally, this type of statue is for the most part simply designated by the word ἑρμῆς, especially by the traveler Pausanias, who is perfectly consistent, in this case, with his usual manner of evoking divine images by the name of the god they represent.8 The link between herms and Hermes seems clear. But should every herm be considered an image of Hermes? Is he the only god to be represented in this form? We know that, from the Hellenistic period, herms of other gods existed; but was this the case in earlier times? Moreover, what was the status of these monuments, in relation with other divine images, and in particular with other images of Hermes? By investigating iconographical evidence, this paper aims to shed new light on these questions. Indeed, herms are well attested on Attic vases, with more than two hundred occurrences known.9 Such a profusion cannot be a coincidence and it invites us to include images in our investigation. The earliest representations of herms in vase painting can be dated from the last quarter of the sixth century BCE, like the earliest stone herms themselves and consistent with the erection of herms by Hipparchos. We can then surmise that their apparition in images is linked to the monuments newly set up by the tyrant—without strictly speaking considering the herms on vases as actual representations of Hipparchos’ herms. From the moment they appeared in vase painting, herms were frequently represented and never stopped being depicted, appearing even on South Italian vases.10 We know that herms functioned, at least at the time of Hipparchos, as borderand direction-markers. They seem to have this function on some vases, as on a pelike by the Pan Painter (470–460 BCE).11 The scene shows a fisher-boy carrying baskets filled with fish on a pole over his shoulder, and passing near a herm. The herm functions here as a crossing point between two (p.229) areas of a different kind, such as the city and the countryside. Sometimes the herm is located beside a door, marking the passage between the outside and the inside, of an oikos for instance.12 But such representations are rather uncommon. Vase painters seem to have been interested in another function of herms, representations in scenes of a ritual type: blood sacrifice, libation, prayer, supplication, and offerings.13 Visual representations can be divided into two main categories: images from the first group show a “sacrificial” scene, with several figures around a herm; images of the second group present a face-toface encounter between a human and a herm, and evoke instead a “prayer” ritual. Each type appears in both black- and red-figure vase painting.

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Communicating with the Divine One of the earliest representations of a herm is on a black-figure column-krater of c.520–510 BCE showing a goat sacrifice (Fig. 15.1).14 The scene depicts the post-kill phase, the cutting up of the carcass, and the roasting of the parts. On the right is a herm, viewed from the side, before which is a blazing altar. On the other side of the altar are two youths. One is roasting part of the animal on a spit and the other is cutting up parts at a trapeza. On the ground are the goat’s head, visible underneath the table, and a large kanoun, standing at the feet of the first youth. Two legs hang above and, on the right, behind the herm, a wreath or a garland. In this image there is, therefore, no movement and no passing as was the case in the previous depiction. This example reveals the different activities involving the animal after the killing, in a location defined by the altar and the herm. The sacrifice of a goat is also depicted on a black-figure lekythos of the beginning of the fifth century BCE (Fig. 15.2),15 but at a different step of the sacrificial procedure: that of the procession, during which the sacrificial animal is led to the altar by a group of people. Here the participants are two draped men, one holding twigs and one playing pipes. They are leading a goat to an altar, behind which is a herm. This herm has long hair tied back to its neck, and seems to be mounted on the same base as the altar. Furthermore, the shaft of the herm has an incised pattern: a caduceus. We will come back to this noteworthy detail later.

Fig. 15.1. Attic black-figure columnkrater, 520–510 BCE. London, British Museum B362. Photo: © Trustees of the British Museum.

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Communicating with the Divine Similar scenes appear in redfigure vase painting. On a column-krater by the Orchard Painter (Fig. 15.3, 470–460 BCE),16 a procession of four women is seen moving toward an altar and on the right of the scene a bearded herm. The two monuments are perfectly aligned and possibly stand on a shared base, as (p.230) on the previous vase. In the field hangs a pinax, which is another element used to outline a sanctuary. Before the herm, a young kanephoros leads the procession. Her left hand is

Fig. 15.2. Attic black-figure lekythos, c. 480 BCE. Louvain-la-Neuve, Musée universitaire AC118. Photo: Jean-Pierre Bougnet © UCLMusée de Louvain-la-Neuve.

raised in prayer and the right holds an unidentified object, which looks like a stick.17 Behind her, a woman mimics the gesture of the young girl. Her face is presented frontally and thus opens up the space to the viewer. Last come a girl and another woman, holding the same object as the first two figures. Again, the herm shaft is decorated: a fillet is suspended to the side bracket and a caduceus is painted in black on its side, but the (p.231) presence of what looks like a string seems to suggest that the caduceus is suspended on the side bracket as well.18 The second category of representations shows a more intimate relation between humans and herms. Face-to-face depictions are encountered from the beginning of the fifth

Fig. 15.3. Attic red-figure column-krater, Orchard Painter, 470–460 BCE. Naples, Museo Archeologico Nazionale 81295 (H3369). Photo reproduced by permission of the Ministero dei Beni e delle Attività Culturali e del Turismo – Museo Archeologico di Napoli.

century, as seen on a black-figure amphora in Würzburg (Fig. 15.4).19 Both sides Page 4 of 19

 

Communicating with the Divine depict almost identical scenes, constructed following the same pattern: a male figure, bearded, wreathed, and wearing richly decorated garments, playing pipes before a herm. The two figures present some similarities, such as the beard and the wreath, and seem to mirror each other. The composition of the scene is very simple, stressing the close relation established between the man and the herm. On an olpe in the Louvre (Fig. 15.5, 500–490 BCE),20 the faceto-face confrontation is multiplied: three draped youths are oriented toward two herms whose base is decorated with sprigs. The first two youths on the right have their arms raised, and the hands of one of them are opened in front of him, in a conversation or a salutation gesture for the two statues. Fig. 15.4. Attic black-figure amphora, Furthermore, the (p.232) 500–480 BCE. Würzburg, Martin von figures seem to lean toward Wagner Museum 233. each other, fitting the shape of © Martin von Wagner Museum der the vase and intensifying the Universität Würzburg, photo: P. impression of complicity and Neckermann, respectively E. Oehrlein. closeness between them. The relationship can extend even further, with physical contact between the worshipper and the herm, as on a redfigure pelike by the Geras Painter (Fig. 15.6, c.490 BCE).21 A draped youth stands facing a herm and is about to touch its beard with his right arm extended forward, probably to pray and ask for something. Such contact is common in vase painting, especially in red-figure. Usually the contact is with the head or the beard of the herm, but humans can also touch the statue’s phallus or shoulders.22

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Communicating with the Divine

Fig. 15.5. Attic black-figure olpe, Dot-Ivy Group, 500–490 BCE. Paris, Musée du Louvre F325. Photo: © RMN-Grand Palais (Musée du Louvre)/Stéphane Maréchalle.

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Communicating with the Divine After observing these examples, we should make some observations concerning the position of herms in the images. Much of the time, herms are considered by scholars to be topographical elements in the background (p.233) landscape. For example, we read in F. T. van Straten’s book Hierà Kalá that “the presence of a herm in a sacrificial scene may mean no more than a rather general indication of the setting: a sacrifice in some sanctuary, or, if we think of the herms at the doors of private houses, a domestic sacrificial ceremony.”23 However, herms are always central in these scenes: they are nearly always the focal point around which the composition is constructed, and the element positioned at the center of the ritual. As is the case with the altar, the herm becomes an explicit element which meaningfully evokes and

Fig. 15.6. Attic red-figure pelike, Geras Painter, c.490 BCE. Paris, Bibliothèque nationale de France 397. Photo: Serge Oboukhoff © BnF–CNRS– Maison Archéologie & Ethnologie, René Ginouvès.

symbolizes the ritual space.24 This observation is confirmed by a group of red-figure vases on which a herm appears on its own, without any human presence (Fig. 15.7).25 In these examples, the herm is surrounded by diverse objects evoking a sacred area: (p. 234) altar, pinakes, bukranion, column, tree. The ritual space is overdetermined by this accumulation of objects. No ritual action depicted, but such action is implicitly suggested by various things, like the bukranion, which is a reference to blood sacrifice, and the pinakes, which allude to votive offerings. Moreover, the pattern depicted on the herm shaft on some vases suggests that it is covered with garments and therefore evokes the ritual gestures carried out (p.235) around it.26 We should further note that herms are usually adorned with various items—wreaths of different kinds, garments, sprigs or fillets—all showing how herms can attract human gestures. In that respect, the herm’s function comes closer to the role of a divine image. Like every divine statue, (p.236) the herm

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Communicating with the Divine is a concrete, visible, and tangible support that can be clothed, adorned, or touched; we can also talk to it or pray near it. As a result, it appears that the herm is more than a monument used to give a setting to the scene, as some scholars have argued. In images, its role is to structure space from a double perspective: on the one hand, it organizes the iconic space by creating the central axis, or the focal point, of the image. On the other hand, within this same image, it organizes the ritual space in association with other elements, mainly the altar. But herms are not only (p.237) linked to the ritual space and the altar. In images of the “faceto-face” type, they may be represented alone, without an altar or any other location markers. Only the link between the worshipper and the herm is emphasized. Some gestures, such as touching or clasping the herm, express a characteristic relationship, mixing both piety and informality. Other examples, where a figure raises a hand or leans toward it, suggest that the worshipper is speaking to the divinity through the herm, almost as if there were a dialogue between them. Consequently, a herm’s role is also to embody the divine.

Fig. 15.7. Attic red-figure lekythos, Icarus Painter, 470–460 BCE. Nicholson Museum, The University of Sydney. NM51.14. Photo: Nicholson Museum, The University of Sydney.

Let us now return to the questions asked earlier. The first one was about the identity of the divinity embodied by herms: do all these herms represent the god Hermes? If so, is Hermes always the recipient deity of the ritual performed? Would this mean that Hermes’ cult was more widespread than cults of other gods? The correspondence between Hermes and herms is considered a given by several scholars: sacrificial scenes at herms are described as “sacrifices to Page 8 of 19

 

Communicating with the Divine Hermes,”27 and areas around them as “Hermes’ sanctuaries.”28 Others identify some herms with Dionysus, especially when they are surrounded by figures of the thiasos, like maenads and satyrs,29 but sometimes without any obvious reason.30 The second question was about the status of herms in relation to other divine images. In Attic vase painting, divine statues are rather rarely depicted, even less in cultic scenes.31 Comparatively speaking, herms are very common, and we can wonder why they were frequently chosen by vase painters. It seems the answers to these two main questions can be linked. Concerning the relation between herms and Hermes, textual evidence is quite explicit, as the same word is used to designate both the statue and the god. However, we know—in particular from Pausanias32—that other gods may have been represented in a “hermaic” form at the end of the classical period and mainly during the Hellenistic and Roman periods.33 This is (p.238) consistent with the fact that beardless34 and feminine-headed35 herms are to be found on some Attic and South Italian vases from the fourth century BCE and after, but not before this period. However, we observed that, in some earlier examples, some herms are characterized as explicitly “hermaic” by the addition of a caduceus. Most of the time, the caduceus is drawn on the side of the shaft, as we saw on the lekythoi in Louvain (Fig. 15.2) and Sydney (Fig. 15.7), but it might also be suspended on the side bracket, as appears to be the case on the columnkrater by the Orchard Painter (Fig. 15.3). Finally, the caduceus can be treated as a separate object held by the side bracket, as on a fragmentary cup attributed to the Ambrosios Painter (Fig. 15.8, 510–500 BCE).36 Five male figures are moving toward an altar, two on one side and three on the other, one playing pipes, another holding a cup. Behind the altar is a herm seen frontally. The herm is only partly preserved, but is recognizable thanks to the side bracket and the caduceus, which is depicted as if it is held by the herm itself. (p.239) The fact that the caduceus is sometimes added to the herm could lead to the conclusion that herms on vases are not always representations of Hermes, as argued by H. Goldman in her paper on the origin of the Greek herm: “The very fact that the caduceus is painted on the side of some examples shows that the identification of the herm was not always certain and could not be taken for granted, otherwise the symbol of the god would have been

Fig. 15.8. Attic red-figure cup, Ambrosios Painter, 510–500 BCE. London, Sotheby’s 14.12.1995, no. 84. Photo after Sotheby’s, London, sale catalogue (14.12.1995): 45, no. 84.

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Communicating with the Divine unnecessary.”37 How can we interpret these apparently contradictory data between textual and iconographical evidence? The caduceus is actually depicted on at least thirty Attic vases.38 In proportion to the two hundred representations of herms, that is not a large number. Does it mean that only fifteen percent of the herms depicted on vases are images of Hermes? In my view, this is not a plausible assumption, but the examples are too numerous not to be taken into account: when the caduceus is depicted—since that is not always the case—it must result from the choice of the painter who added it for a reason. What does the caduceus mean and what was the reason? This question echoes the question of divine attributes and of their function in imagery. As J. Mylonopoulos has recently reminded us, divine attributes are more than signs of identification.39 They are above all the symbol of control and mastery of a specific field or activity and then are used not only to identify, but also to describe the deity they accompany and emphasize his fields of action. We can thus suppose that the caduceus may have been added to some herms to highlight some of the functions and prerogatives assigned to Hermes in Greek culture, especially those linked to his role of messenger. In Homer, Hermes is already portrayed as the messenger of the gods.40 This is also the case in the Homeric Hymn and in Hesiod, where he is said to be ἄγγελον ἀθανάτων41 or κήρυκ’ ἀθανάτων,42 two terms often used to qualify him in literature.43 But Hermes is more than the “messenger of the immortals.” He is also the one who carries out communication between gods and men, reciprocally. In the beginning of Aristophanes’ Peace, when Trygaios goes to Olympus and knocks at Zeus’ door, it is Hermes who answers him.44 In (p.240) Ps.-Apollodorus’ Library, when Deucalion sacrifices to Zeus after having survived the torrential rain, Zeus sends him Hermes to listen and grant his wish.45 Humans can also address Hermes in order to reach another god, for instance in Aeschylus’ Libation Bearers, when Electra invokes him to get her prayer heard by Gaia and the spirits beneath the earth.46 In images, when Hermes is depicted in anthropomorphic terms, it is most of the time as messenger and guide. This is the case, for example, in the numerous images of the Judgment of Paris, in which Hermes is present as messenger and intermediary between the three goddesses and the young Trojan.47 Hermes is the one who guides deities and heroes, and humans as well: he leads the wedding procession during the transfer from one house to another, the dead during their journey to the Underworld, and so on.48 We can therefore assume that the profusion of herms in Attic vase painting means neither that Hermes was worshipped more than other gods, nor that his cult aroused more interest from vase painters: such a prominence, in particular in scenes of a “ritual” type, is above all linked to Hermes’ functions. Thus, it is possible to argue that Hermes is not necessarily the god worshipped when a herm is depicted, nor always the recipient of sacrifices performed in front of a herm, but rather that the deity is invoked as an intermediary between the human and divine spheres. Consequently, the presence of a herm on a vase does not Page 10 of 19

 

Communicating with the Divine indicate that the scene takes place in a sanctuary of Hermes or that the ritual is intended for Hermes, but instead it is the sign of an existing and wellestablished relation between the mortal and immortal realms. The herm is an object that facilitates the communication between these two spheres,49 and, in images, became a self-sufficient symbol to evoke this communication. For this reason, it can be represented by itself, apart from any ritual action, without losing its signification. If Hermes is not always the recipient deity, he is nonetheless clearly the one that the worshippers address: through the intermediary of his image, they try to reach the messenger, even if the recipient of the ritual is another god, as in the case of Electra mentioned earlier. Some ritual practices related to Hermes in different parts of the Greek world are of a great interest, since they confirm the use of herms as instruments of communication and mediation, and/or the role of Hermes as the chosen (p.241) interlocutor for humans. Such is the case of the oracle of Hermes Agoraios at Pharae. According to Pausanias, in the middle of the agora was an image of Hermes (Ἑρμοῦ…ἄγαλμα) made of stone, bearded and of square shape (τετράγωνον σχῆμα); in other words, a herm. In front of the image was placed a hearth with lamps clamped to it. Whoever wanted to question the god had to come in the evening and, after having burnt incense upon the hearth, light the lamps, put a coin on the altar, and ask his question in the ear of the god (ἐρωτᾷ πρὸς τὸ οὖς τὸν θεὸν)—that is, in the ear of the statue. Then he covered his ears and left the agora; once outside he took his hands from his ears and took the first words he heard for the oracle’s answer.50 At Pellene there was also a herm (σχῆμα…τετράγωνον) of Hermes Dolios, who was always ready to fulfill the prayers of men,51 and at Athens a statue of Hermes Psithyristes—“the whisperer” or “to whom we whisper”—who got this name because men used to gather around his image to whisper their wishes.52 A scene such as the one on the olpe in the Louvre (Fig. 15.5) echoes perfectly these textual testimonies: the two youths raise their hands to their face and lean toward the two herms, as if they wanted to whisper something into their ears. Both herms are tilted toward their interlocutors as well, giving the impression that they are leaning toward them to listen closely. The movement of these two herms is purely iconographic and made possible only in the image;53 at the same time, it demonstrates the ways in which herms were perceived and the properties assigned to them in Greece: herms allow us to see Hermes in one of his modes of presence and one of his modes of action, which is underlined in some images by the presence of the caduceus.54 To conclude, vase painting leads us to suggest that herms, precisely because they are closely linked to the god Hermes, can be perceived as an efficient tool for communicating with the divine. For that reason, it would have been particularly pertinent to represent them in ritual scenes, which precisely aim to show a suitable relationship established with the gods. In this way, the herm assumes a double status: as a monument, it is a “space marker”; like the altar, Page 11 of 19

 

Communicating with the Divine (p.242) with which it is often associated, the herm organizes and defines the area in which it presents itself. As a divine image, the herm makes the divine presence manifest and transforms the space where it appears as a favorable place for establishing contact with the gods. Accordingly, iconographical evidence shows that Hermes’ head—even if originally conceived as a milestone— was chosen to surmount monuments with functions such as communication and passage. The herm was also perceived and used as a ritual instrument, fostering communication between the human and divine spheres. Bibliography Bibliography references: Beazley, J. D. 1974. The Pan Painter. Mainz. Berti, F. and C. Gasparri. 1989. Dionysos: mito e mistero. Bologna. Broc, S. 1963. “L’hermès d’Hiéron à Delphes et le nom de l’hermès en grec.” REG 76: 39–51. Clay, J. S. 1989. The Politics of Olympus: Form and Meaning in the Major Homeric Hymns. Princeton. Collard, H. 2016. Montrer l’invisible. Rituel et présentification du divin dans l’imagerie attique. Liège. Crome, J. F. 1935–6. “Ἱππάρχειοι Ἑρμαῖ.” MDAI(A) 60–1: 300–13. Curtius, L. 1903. Die antike Herme. Munich. de Cesare, M. 1997. Le statue in immagine. Studi sulle raffigurazioni di statue nella pittura vascolare greca. Rome. de La Genière, J. 1960. “Une péliké inédite du Peintre de Pan au Musée du Louvre.” REA 62: 249–53. de Ruyt, F. and T. Hackens. 1974. Vases grecs, italiotes et étrusques de la collection Abbé Mignot. Louvain-la-Neuve. Delivorrias, A. 1984. “Aphrodite.” LIMC 2: 2–151. Devambez, P. 1968. “Piliers hermaïques et stèles.” RA 1: 139–54. Durand, J.-L. 1992. “L’hermès multiple.” In C. Bron and E. Kassapoglou, eds. L’image en jeu. De l’Antiquité à Paul Klee. Lausanne. 25–34. Follmann, A.-B. 1968. Der Pan-Maler. Bonn.

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Communicating with the Divine Follmann, A.-B. 1971. Corpus Vasorum Antiquorum. Hannover, Kestner Museum 1. Munich. Furley, W. D. 1996. Andokides and the Herms: A Study of Crisis in Fifth-century Athenian Religion. London. Gebauer, J. 2002. Pompe und Thysia. Attische Tieropferdarstellungen auf schwarz- und rotfigurigen Vasen. Münster. Gerhard, E. 1852. “Über Ursprung, Bedeutung und Anwendung der Hermen.” In E. Gerhard, Hyperboräisch-Römische Studien für Archäologie. Berlin. 197–283. Gerhard, E. 1868. “Über Hermenbilder auf griechischen Vasen.” In E. Gerhard, Gesammelte akademische Abhandlungen und kleine Schriften. Berlin. 126–48. Goldman, H. 1942. “The Origin of the Greek Herm.” AJA 46.1: 58–68. Hermary, A. 1979. “À propos de l’Hermès Propylaios de Délos.” BCH 103.1: 137– 49. (p.243) Jaillard, D. 2001. “Le pilier hermaïque dans l’espace sacrificiel.” MEFRA 113.1: 341–63. Jaillard, D. 2007. Configurations d’Hermès. Une “théogonie hermaïque.” Liège. Kaempf-Dimitriadou, S. 1979. Die Liebe der Götter in der attischen Kunst des 5. Jahrhunderts v. Chr. Bern. Kahn, L. 1978. Hermès passe ou les ambiguïtés de la communication. Paris. Krämer, E. 2001. Hermen bärtiger Götter: Klassische Vorbilder und Formen der Rezeption. Münster. Langlotz, E. 1932. Griechische Vasen in Würzburg. Munich. Lissarrague, F. 1985. “Naples 127 929: Histoire d’un vase.” Dialoghi di Archeologia 3.1: 77–88. Lo Porto, F. G. 1964. “Satyrion (Taranto): Scavi e ricerche nel luogo del più antico insediamento laconico in Puglia.” Notizie degli scavi di antichità 8a.18: 177–279. Lullies, R. 1931. Die Typen der griechischen Herme. Königsberg. Malagardis, A. 1985. “Deux temps d’une fête athénienne sur un skyphos attique.” AK 28.1: 71–92. Marcadé, J. 1952. “Hermès double.” BCH 76: 596–624.

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Communicating with the Divine McPhee, I. 2011. “Two Attic Bell-kraters from the Petworth Group: A Bellerophon and Stheneboia, and a Sacrificial Procession.” AK 54: 41–54. Metzger, H. 1965. Recherches sur l’imagerie athénienne. Paris. Mylonopoulos, J. 2010. “Odysseus with a Trident? The Use of Attributes in Ancient Greek Imagery.” In J. Mylonopoulos, ed. Divine Images and Human Imaginations in Ancient Greece and Rome. Leiden. 171–203. Oenbrink, W. 1997. Das Bild im Bilde. Zur Darstellung von Götterstatuen und Kultbildern auf griechischen Vasen. Frankfurt. Osborne, R. 1985. “The Erection and Mutilation of the Hermai.” PCPhS 31: 47– 73. Radke, G. 1959a. “Psithyristes.” Realencyclopädie der classischen Altertumwissenschaft 23.2: 1414–15. Radke, G. 1959b. “Psithyros.” Realencyclopädie der classischen Altertumwissenschaft 23.2: 1415–17. Ridgway, B. S. 1997. Fourth-century Styles in Greek Sculpture. Madison. Rückert, B. 1998. Die Herme im öffentlichen und privaten Leben der Griechen. Untersuchungen zur Funktion der griechischen Herme als Grenzmal, Inschriftenträger und Kultbild des Hermes. Regensburg. Schefold, K. 1937. “Statuen auf Vasenbildern” JDAI 52: 30–75. Shapiro, H. A. 1989. Art and Cult under the Tyrants in Athens. Mainz. Siebert, G. 1990. “Hermes.” LIMC 5: 285–387. Siebert, G. 1991. “Une image dans l’image. Le pilier hermaïque dans la peinture de vases grecque.” In F. Dunant, J.-M. Spieser, and J. Wirth, eds. L’image et la production du sacré, Actes du colloque de Strasbourg (20–21 janvier 1988). Paris. 103–20. Simon, E. 1969. Die Götter der Griechen. Munich. Usener, H. 1904. “Psithyros.” RhM 59: 623–4. van Straten, F. T. 1995. Hierà Kalá: Images of Animal Sacrifice in Archaic and Classical Greece. Leiden. (p.244) Versnel, H. S. 2011. Coping with the Gods: Wayward Readings in Greek Theology. Leiden.

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Communicating with the Divine Wrede, H. 1972. Die spätantike Hermengalerie von Welschbillig. Untersuchung zur Kunsttradition im 4. Jahrhundert n. Chr. und zur allgemeine Bedeutung des antiken Hermenmals. Berlin. Wrede, H. 1986. Die antike Herme. Mainz. Zachari, V. 2013. “Image de l’espace ou espace de l’image? Autel et pilier hermaïque dans la céramique attique.” Cahiers «Mondes anciens». Histoire et anthropologie des mondes anciens 4. Zanker, P. 1965. Wandel der Hermesgestalt in der attischen Vasenmalerei. Bonn. Notes:

(*) I am very grateful to Tyler Jo Smith for her suggestions and revision of the paper. For a longer version of this study in French, see Collard 2016: 54–74. (1) Among the most important: Gerhard 1852 and 1868; Curtius 1903; Lullies 1931; Crome 1935–6; Goldman 1942; Devambez 1968; Simon 1969: 303–12; Osborne 1985; Wrede 1986; Siebert 1990; Furley 1996; Rückert 1998; and Krämer 2001, to which can be added some papers dealing with one particular monument, e.g., Broc 1963 and Hermary 1979. (2) See e.g. Curtius 1903; Crome 1935–6; Goldman 1942; Osborne 1985: 47–57; Siebert 1990: 375–7. (3) Thuc. 6.27; Paus. 1.24.3, 4.33.3. According to Hdt. 2.51, the Athenians would have taken this shape from the Pelasgians, but he is mainly talking about the herms’ ithyphallism. (4) Ps.-Plat. Hipparch. 228d–9b. On Hipparchos’ herms, see Crome 1935–6. (5) Thuc. 6.27; Paus. 1.19.2, 2.10.7, 4.33.3, 7.22.2, 7.27.1, 8.31.7, 8.32.1–2, 8.39.6, 10.12.6; Artem. Onir. 2.37; Diog. Laert. 5.82.8; Suda s.v. Ἑρμῶν (ed. Adler). See also LSJ s.v. τετράγωνος I 1. (6) Hdt. 2.51; Paus. 7.22.2, 7.27.1, 8.31.7, 8.39.6. The statues of Hermes mentioned in these passages are undoubtedly herms, as they are described as “quadrangular.” The expression τὸ ἄγαλμα τοῦ Ἑρμοῦ can be found in other places in Pausanias, but without any specification about the shape (e.g. 2.3.4). See also the inscription περικαλλὲς ἄγαλμα on the breast of the copy of Alcamenes’ herm in Pergamon (Istanbul, Archaeological Museum 1433, LIMC 5 s.v. Hermes no. 47, pl. 202). (7) And. Myst. 34; Plut. Alc. 21.2.

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Communicating with the Divine (8) Paus. 1.24.3, 4.33.3, 8.32.1–2; Thuc. 6.27.1, 6.28.1–2, 6.53.1–2, 6.60.4, 6.61.1; Lys. Alc. 42; And. Myst. 35, 37, 39, 62; Ps.-Plat. Hipparch. 228d–9b; Aeschin. Ctesiph. 183–5; Plut. Alc. 18.6, 20.4, 21.2–3; Plut. Cim. 7.4. (9) Many works deal with vase painting representations of herms: see for example Marcadé 1952; Metzger 1965: 77–91; Zanker 1965: 91–103; Shapiro 1989: 126–31; Siebert 1990: 295–306; Siebert 1991; Durand 1992; Rückert 1998: 185–220; Jaillard 2001; Versnel 2011: 335–52; Zachari 2013. Some papers on specific vases: de La Genière 1960; Lissarrague 1985b; Malagardis 1985; McPhee 2011: 47–52. (10) As a typical Athenian monument, the herm surely occupies a prominent place in Athenian vase painting production. But it can be found in other productions as well, such as Boeotian (black-figure skyphoi in Athens, National Museum 426 and Kassel, Staatliche Museen T 424; van Straten 1995: no. V110 and V112) and South Italian (for examples see Lullies 1931: 31–2; Siebert 1990: 302–3; de Cesare 1997: 263–78). (11) Vienna, Kunsthistorisches Museum 3727: ARV² 555, 88, BAPD 206331. On the Pan Painter, see Follmann 1968 and Beazley 1974. (12) Red-figure loutrophoros by the Naples Painter (Karlsruhe, Badisches Landesmuseum 69.78: ARV² 1102, 2, BAPD 216155). (13) Among the 211 Attic vases showing a herm, only about fifteen are decorated with a scene without any ritual connotation. (14) London, British Museum B 362: BAPD 30320, LIMC 5 s.v. Hermes no. 118, pl. 210. (15) Louvain-la-Neuve, Musée universitaire AC118: BAPD 9024281, de Ruyt and Hackens 1974: no. 11, fig. 23–5. (16) Naples, Museo Archeologico Nazionale 81295 (H3369): ARV² 523, 9, BAPD 205886. (17) Siebert 1990: 301, no. 100: “rameaux”; van Straten 1995: 249, no. V302: “sticks” (twigs? small torches?); Jaillard 2001: 352: “rameau.” (18) As noted by Ridgway 1997: 263, n. 49, “there is no established term for the projections that occur on either side of a herm shaft in place of the arms.” But the term “side brackets” seems to be the most frequently used. (19) Würzburg, Martin von Wagner Museum 233: BAPD 9526, Langlotz 1932: no. 233, pl. 61. (20) Paris, Musée du Louvre F325, Dot-Ivy Group: ABV 448, 2, BAPD 330141. Page 16 of 19

 

Communicating with the Divine (21) Paris, Bibliothèque nationale de France 397: ARV² 285, 8, BAPD 202583. (22) Phallus: red-figure pelike by the Perseus Painter (Berlin, Antikensammlung F2172: ARV² 581, 4, BAPD 206706); shoulders: red-figure cup by the Curtius Painter (Berlin, Antikensammlung F2525: ARV² 931, 4, BAPD 212518). (23) van Straten 1995: 28. See also Rückert 1998: 194–6. (24) Both monuments fulfill similar functions in images, and are, by the way, depicted together at least eighty-nine times in Athenian vase painting. For the association between herm and altar on vases, see Zachari 2013. (25) Sydney, Nicholson Museum NM51.14, Icarus Painter: ARV² 697, 17, BAPD 208347. This group is composed of about fifteen small vases (mainly lekythoi and skyphoi) dated from 480 to 450 BCE, and attributed to a couple of artists such as the Bowdoin, the Icarus, and the Triptolemos Painters. (26) See e.g. a red-figure pelike by the Bowdoin Painter (Saint Petersburg, State Hermitage Museum 4515: Para 514, BAPD 9017636). (27) ARV² 523, 9: “sacrifice to Hermes”; Malagardis 1985: 85: “sacrifice à Hermès”; Shapiro 1989: 128–31. (28) Zanker 1965: 98; Simon 1969: 294; Follmann 1971 in CVA Hanover 1.59; Kaempf-Dimitriadou 1979: 29. (29) Lo Porto 1964: 270: “A sinistra, su di un piedistallo a doppio gradino si erge l’erma itifallica di Dionysos barbuto con tenia sul capo e chioma fluente sulle spalle”; black-figure lekythos by the Gela Painter (Taranto, Museo Archeologico Nazionale 6250: ABL 208.56, BAPD 340818). (30) E.g. E. Ghiandoni in Berti and Gasparri 1989: 118: “L’erma destinataria del sacrificio ha un generico volto di divinità barbata, purtuttavia essendo itifallica, vi si può riconoscere una immagine di Dionysos” (red-figure bell-krater by the Marlay Painter, Ferrara, Museo Archeologico Nazionale 42888: ARV² 1276, 9bis, BAPD 216196). See also de Ruyt and Hackens 1974: 65: “statue-xoanon de Dionysos ithyphallique,” about the lekythos in Louvain (our Fig. 15.2), although the herm in this image is characterized by the caduceus and the petasos. (31) For representations of statues in vase painting, see Schefold 1937; de Cesare 1997; Oenbrink 1997. For representations of statues in a ritual context particularly, see Collard 2016. (32) Paus. 8.31.7, 8.32.1, 8.32.2, 8.32.4. (33) On this subject see Lullies 1931: 50–7; Wrede 1972: 148–60; Wrede 1986: 17–31 and 52–5; Rückert 1998: 150–6 and 164–8. Page 17 of 19

 

Communicating with the Divine (34) Athenian: red-figure bell-krater by the Toya Painter (Veroia, Archaeological Museum 508: BAPD 7995); red-figure bell-krater by the Rodin 966 Painter (Naples, Museo Archeologico Nazionale 82559: ARV² 1449, 1; BAPD 218178). South Italian: Apulian calyx-krater by the Underworld Painter (London, British Museum F 270: RVAp II 358.318, LIMC 4 s.v. Aphrodite no. 1497, pl. 147). (35) Athenian: red-figure calyx-krater (Athens, National Museum 1669: BAPD 7951, LIMC 2 s.v. Aphrodite no. 14 and 1334, pl. 131). South Italian: Darius Painter’s name vase (Naples, Museo Archeologico Nazionale 81947: RVAp II 495.38, pl. 176.1; LIMC 1 s.v. Apate no. 1, pl. 698); Apulian amphora by the Darius Painter (Naples, Museo Archeologico Nazionale 81942: RVAp II 498.48, LIMC 3 s.v. Chrysippos I no. 1, pl. 226). These “feminine herms” are generally identified as Aphrodite; see Delivorrias 1984: 10–12, no. 14, 16–17. (36) London, Sotheby’s 14.12.1995, no. 84: BAPD 47039, Gebauer 2002 fig. 341. (37) Goldman 1942: 64. (38) It can be found in South Italian vase painting too, especially on several Lucanian bell-kraters by the Pisticci Painter (e.g. Brussels, Musée du Cinquantenaire A724: LCS 34.118, LIMC 5 s.v. Hermes no. 135, pl. 212). (39) Mylonopoulos 2010. (40) Hom. Od. 5.29 (trans. A. T. Murray, Loeb Classical Library, 1953 [1919]): (Zeus speaking): Ἑρμεία· σὺ γὰρ αὖτε τά τ᾽ ἄλλα περ ἄγγελός ἐσσι (“Hermes, seeing that thou art at other times our messenger”). (41) H.Herm. 3; for this complicated text, see Kahn 1978; Clay 1989: 95–151; Jaillard 2007. (42) Hes. Th. 938–9. (43) ἄγγελος: H.Dem. 407; H.Hom. 29.8; Aesop. Fab. 108; Soph. Fr. 269c.21–2; Luc. Sacr. 8.13; Nonn. Dion. 20.264. κῆρυξ: Aesch. Ag. 515; Luc. Fug. 26.3. See also Hesychius s.v. Ἑρμῆς· κήρυξ and s.v. Εὐάγγελος· ὁ Ἑρμῆς (ed. Latte). (44) Ar. Pax 177–80 (trans. J. Henderson, Loeb Classical Library, 1998). (45) Ps.-Apollod. Bib. 1.7.2 (trans. J. G. Frazer, Loeb Classical Library, 1954 [1921]). (46) Aesch. Lib. 124–7 (trans. H. W. Smyth, Loeb Classical Library, 1957 [1926]). (47) See e.g. a black-figure amphora by the Leagros Group (Munich, Antikensammlungen 1545: BAPD 1574, CVA Munich 8, pl. 427).

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Communicating with the Divine (48) Numerous examples in LIMC 5.1 s.v. Hermes, 318–34: “VIII. Hermès messager et guide.” (49) This function of herms has already been emphasized by Furley 1996: 21–8, for whom the herms’ mutilation that happened in 415 BCE was not only a political act, nor an offense only to Hermes, but a rupture of communication between the Athenians and their gods; 22: “[N]ot only Hermes was implicated; the whole Olympian system was damaged.” For the herm as instrument of communication, see also Osborne 1985: 57–8. (50) Paus. 7.22.2–3 (trans. W. H. S. Jones, Loeb Classical Library, 1933 [1918]). (51) Paus. 7.27.1 (trans. W. H. S. Jones, Loeb Classical Library, 1933 [1918]). (52) He was associated with Aphrodite and Eros, who bore the same epithet, but it was precisely near the image of Hermes that men whispered. See Harpocr. (ed. Dindorf); Suda (ed. Adler); Lex. Seguer. (ed. Bekker) s.v. Ψιθυριστής Ἑρμῆς and Ψιθυριστοῦ Ἑρμοῦ καὶ Ἔρωτος καὶ Ἀφροδίτης. For the epithet “Psithyros/ istes,” see Usener 1904; Radke 1959a and 1959b. (53) The same effect is to be found on two black-figure oenochoai on which the herm, whose body is presented frontally, “turns” its head to the side, toward the altar in the first case, toward the kanephoros in the other (Berlin, Antikensammlung F 1928: Gerhard 1868, pl. 64.2, and Frankfurt, Archäologisches Museum 1941.9: ABV 530, 72, BAPD 330861). There is no “real” herm in stone represented in that way, with head in profile. Nor is it a technical constraint linked to black-figure, since one of the herms on the olpe in the Louvre is seen frontally. It really is an effect of the image. (54) The idea of “modes of presence” is borrowed from Jaillard 2001: 345.

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Hermes as Visible in Votive Inscriptions

Tracking Hermes, Pursuing Mercury John F. Miller and Jenny Strauss Clay

Print publication date: 2019 Print ISBN-13: 9780198777342 Published to Oxford Scholarship Online: March 2019 DOI: 10.1093/oso/9780198777342.001.0001

Hermes as Visible in Votive Inscriptions Jenny Wallensten

DOI:10.1093/oso/9780198777342.003.0016

Abstract and Keywords The chapter presents a corpus of votive inscriptions to Hermes. Who dedicated to the god, for what reasons, and to which gods was he associated? It comments on chronological and geographical aspects and proceeds to discuss some themes visible in the collected material. First, it examines why women are not frequent among worshippers visible in votive inscriptions, in contrast to Hermes’ frequent female company in myth and cult, second, how Hermes appears as the protector of magistrates, often in the company of Aphrodite, and third, the significance of the denomination New Hermes. Keywords:   votive inscriptions, dedications, Hermes, Greek religion, Aphrodite, Greek cult

1. Introduction Among the sources available for the study of ancient Greek religion, votive inscriptions offer fascinating but frustrating material. It is fascinating, since in a sense it gives us access to ancient ritual acts. Votive inscriptions let us meet the actual worshipers behind the ritual act of gift giving: the dedicators are present through their names and thus show us the worshiper and, with a bit of luck, also why and in what capacity he or she gifted the god. An inscription from Lycian Phaselis, for example, shows us a brother and a sister making a dedication to Hermes and Hestia for the benefit of their father, an ex-magistrate.1 Votive inscriptions are furthermore naturally inscribed on something, often on the gift itself, and thus we can perceive what kind of objects were thought to be pleasing to the recipient deity. A Boiotian prayer to Hermes was, for example, carved on a small ithyphallic herm,2 whereas an inscription from Egypt tells of a general who thought Hermes (along with Herakles) would enjoy an entire cult building and a Page 1 of 42

Hermes as Visible in Votive Inscriptions throne.3 At the same time, however, working with votive inscriptions is frustrating, because, sadly, very few dedicatory inscriptions give us this kind of detailed information. Many give only the name of the deity, and perhaps only a fragment of it at that. However, gathered and studied together, a collection of inscribed dedications, words and things form a dossier that will give a lot of pertinent information about the recipient god or gods in question, and they often present a deity far removed from his or her established Panhellenic mythology. This paper presents such a dossier of inscribed dedications presented to Hermes. A first section gives an overview of the collected material and (p.246) discusses its general trends. In a second section, I look at two more specific aspects, exemplified by more restricted groups of dedications.

2. Dedications to Hermes: The Material The dossier consists of 378 dedications to Hermes.4 These are all what I refer to as “direct dedications,” i.e. dedications in the dative, unless something in the context proves that a genitive formula is also in fact a dedication and not simply signifying a sacred possession of the god.5 Also excluded are the Thessalian/ Macedonian so-called dedications to Hermes Chthonios. These inscriptions are carved on tombstones and at first glance appear to show the deceased making a dedication to Hermes Chthonios, or even that their relatives dedicate the dead themselves to Hermes. These inscriptions are, however, clearly a part of a particular funerary tradition and not part of the standard gift exchange/ communication between gods and men.6 The examined dedications come from a vast geographical area, with examples from Magna Graecia in the west to Ai Khanoum (in present day Afghanistan) in the east.7 Chronologically they span a period stretching from the sixth century BCE, or perhaps even the late seventh century, to the third century CE.8 A closer look reveals the geographical dominance of the (p.247) Aegean islands (Appendix). This is to a certain extent due to the many Delian inscriptions honoring Hermes. But even if we were to subtract the sixty-five Delian examples from the 153 Aegean island inscriptions,9 this region would still be the leading area in terms of inscribed votives to Hermes. The Aegean islands are followed by Asia Minor, with sixty-six dedications, most stemming from Caria, Mysia, and Ionia. Next comes Attica, where forty inscriptions have been identified. It is always difficult to get a reliable chronological picture from this kind of broad epigraphical study. Different regions had different epigraphical habits. It is not possible to date all identified dedicatory inscriptions, and many editors give large chronological frames: “Hellenistic,” “imperial,” or even just “late.”10 We can, however, note a steady presence of inscribed dedications to Hermes throughout the archaic and classical periods, with a peak in the following Hellenistic period. Even allowing for a general increase in inscribed text during

Page 2 of 42

 

Hermes as Visible in Votive Inscriptions the Hellenistic period, this spike is much too clear to be doubted, especially in regard to the 2nd and 1st centuries BCE.

3. The Dedicators I will now move on to the dedicators visible from the material. A study of the people who presented the gifts that have come down to us through the millennia says a lot about the recipient deity, who is in fact shaped by his worshipers’ devotion.11 The Greek deities would adapt and change in accordance with their worshipers’ needs, or, if you wish to stress the human perspective, the worshipers adapted and changed the gods according to their current concerns. Hermes is often described as a god friendly to humans, a “down-to-earth deity” who likes to frequent the company of men, in both modern textbooks and in the ancient sources.12 And indeed, a very broad spectrum of mortals appears in the inscriptions I have examined: men, women, young and old, priests, magistrates, merchants, and a cheese-maker.13 Some of Hermes’ most (p.248) well-known divine responsibilities are immediately visible through these dedicators: the god of commerce and exchange through dedicating tradesmen and bynames such as Empolios;14 the god of the gymnasion through victors and various magistrates, such as the gymnasiarch, agonothetes, paidonomos, etc., and through the epithets Enagonios and Agonios.15 We find Hermes’ role as messenger of the gods through dedications made by a keryx and epithets such as Euangelos.16 The epithet Hagemon possibly alludes to Hermes as protector of travelers, at least when used by a Massaliot dedicating in Rhodes,17 but it is likely that the caseby-case context decided what kind of leader or guide this epithet designated. An association with funerary cult has also been recognized in Hermes Hagemon.18 Finally, Hermes’ connection to officials, both administrative and military, is present through a plethora of dedications from magistrates and epithets such as Agoraios,19 Prytaneios, and Eisagogeus.20 (p.249) We can further note that dedicators from a gymnasion context dominate, and also that Hermes’ protection of magistrates strongly defends its position. But perhaps even more interesting, and certainly more intriguing, is the low visibility of one major aspect of Hermes and the feeble attestation of certain categories of worshippers. Pastoral Hermes is hardly manifest in the examined dossier; only two inscriptions appear to underline this capacity. Hermes is perhaps the object of a goatherd/cheese-maker’s devotion in an enigmatic dedication from Dreros in Crete, and the epithet Phalantheios in an undated inscription from Attica might be related to wool working.21 One explanation is that the actual gifts, now lost, provided the key to this aspect. We can compare this case with inscribed dedications to Aphrodite that were carved on models of genital organs: the dedicated object makes clear which aspect of Aphrodite was aimed at, not the words of the inscription. Possibly the worship of Hermes as a pastoral deity was mainly pronounced in areas that did not have a strong tradition of inscribed votive gifts. Perhaps it was not even considered Page 3 of 42

 

Hermes as Visible in Votive Inscriptions appropriate to present Hermes the Herdsman with inscribed monuments, and that the gifts to this god were perishable; we may think of dedicated foodstuffs, animal skins, or even performances like dances. However, another possible explanation lies in the nature of dedicatory language. Votive inscriptions rarely state the obvious; they display a clear economy of expression. To add an extra word was to add effort and cost, and so what was carved on the stone was there for a reason. Thus it is possible that Hermes of the flocks and their fertility is hiding behind some of the many dedications to a non-specified Hermes. Perhaps Hermes’ pastoral aspect was more or less self-evident, so that the addition of a title such as Nomios, “of Shepherds,” or Epimelios, “Guardian of Flocks,” was considered unnecessary.22 We can compare the case of Hermes once more with Aphrodite. She is rarely specified as a goddess of love or sexuality through the addition of pertinent epithets or clearly stated reasons; the same goes for Poseidon as god of the sea.23 Another intriguing absence is that of female dedicators. Out of the examined inscriptions, I have identified only ten women dedicators, and out of these, three dedications were made by women accompanied by men (husband (p.250) and wife, or brother and sister).24 And yet we know, of course, that women worshiped Hermes. Vase paintings show women offering worship to him, as does relief sculpture.25 An epigram carved in a Cretan cave sacred to Hermes tells of a husband and his wife bringing annual offerings to Hermes.26 Being aware of the comic context, we can note in the Thesmophoriazousai that alongside Demeter, Kore, Plouton, and other predominantly female deities like Kalligenia, Kourotrophos, and Gaia, the women invoke Hermes, Pan, and the Nymphs, and hope they will enjoy the women’s dancing.27 Then why are women so poorly represented here? Perhaps for economic reasons? In general women presented less costly gifts to the gods than men, for the simple reason that most of them had less economic means at their disposal.28 But an inscribed dedication was not necessarily more expensive than an uninscribed one; this depended to a large extent on the material of the gift. And at least during the Hellenistic period, there were women with considerable means. Incidentally, among the dedications made by women alone, two tell of costly gifts: a statue and a propylon.29 Then could the lack of women be explained by the character of the god? Were his responsibilities more tied to men than to women? Women are likely to have traveled less, and to have engaged less in politics, commercial activities, and athletics. But women must have had male relatives connected to these spheres. It is quite conceivable that women would have approached Hermes the merchant god on behalf of their husbands and Hermes the travelers’ protector on behalf of their sons. Countless votives were presented on behalf of someone else, as is in fact visible in the small sample of women’s dedications to Hermes. Perhaps the Macedonian woman who prayed to Hermes Agoraios did this for the benefit of a male relative engaged in trade?30 We also meet a mother who

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Hermes as Visible in Votive Inscriptions presented a statue of her son to Hermes and Herakles, and a brother and a sister dedicating to Hermes on behalf of their father.31 In general, however, these examples seem exceptional, not only because women dedicators are rare in this dossier, but also because dedications to Hermes presented explicitly hyper, for someone or something, were mostly made for the benefit of themselves or colleagues, or for political bodies, kings, and the like— and not for family members.32 Hermes votives that (p.251) were dedicated for the benefit of someone or something appear to have a pronounced official or professional character. Perhaps Hermes was perceived as “too male” to be approached by women. We can note that in terms of sacrifice, Hermes counted as, in Gunnel Ekroth’s words, a “prominently male god,” and was one of the few alongside Zeus and Poseidon, for example, to receive uncastrated sacrificial victims.33 But probably Hermes’ involvement in the public sphere is more significant. Perhaps the lack of women dedicators is rather tied to Hermes’ pronounced role as protector of the gymnasion and of magistrates during the Hellenistic period. It is interesting to note that two of the earliest dedications (from the sixth and the mid-fifth centuries) were presented by women (alone).34 Although, as previously discussed, we could conceive of women dedicating on behalf of relatives in an athletic context, or even as magistrates themselves—we know of some examples of female gymnasiarchs35—both the gymnasion and the political arena remained a mainly male world. Did the women’s interest in Hermes diminish as he became increasingly pronounced as an athletes’ and a magistrates’ deity? We also know that men and women sometimes had different dedicatory habits. In Thessaly, men set up inscribed stelai to Asklepios, but women did not, although they honored him in other ways.36

4. The Gods Associated with Hermes In dedicatory language (the particular mode of expression used in votive inscriptions), it is significant with whom a recipient god is paired, since two gods joined in worship appears to strengthen or highlight certain qualities in each other, and thereby function as each other’s explanatory epithets. Is the pastoral Hermes I looked for before better visible through joint worship with other deities? Not in an obvious way. The dossier includes one inscription to Hermes and the Nymphs, and two or three to Hermes in the company of Pan.37 And yet we know that not only were they pictured on votive reliefs together, but they also had common sanctuaries and altars.38 Overall, Hermes does not seem to be overly friendly with other gods. Most other deities present in the material are mentioned with him just once or twice, and often clearly because of the local context and not because of some specific religious affinity (p.252) with Hermes.39 There are, however, three clusters. First, there are as many as 114 dedications to Hermes and Herakles. In fact, through the dedicators, as well as the find contexts, this couple is so strongly tied to the gymnasion that some of the fragmentary dedications can be safely identified as belonging to a gymnasion context through the mention of Hermes and Herakles together. They are such an Page 5 of 42

 

Hermes as Visible in Votive Inscriptions established couple in dedications from victors and magistrates responsible for athletic events, so often found in gymnasia, that even when the dedicator is presented with no more than his name, or is even missing from the inscription, we can broadly understand under which circumstances the votive was presented.40 In a second cluster, Apollo is paired with Hermes (twenty-eight times). It is, however, questionable whether this number informs us about the ritual context, since twenty-five of these inscriptions come from Delos.41 Although Apollo certainly is at home in the gymnasion, his presence in these inscriptions is probably mainly as the chief deity and lord of Delos. More rewarding for interpretation is a strong link to Aphrodite certified by a third group of sixteen dedications.42 Fourteen of these have clearly identifiable dedicators. These were all men, and at least eleven were magistrates. As regards the unknown dedicators, and one non-magistrate, those are dedications where Hermes and Aphrodite are not singled out as a couple, but are honored together with other gods. The find contexts of dedications to Hermes–Aphrodite are also of importance. It is notable that many of these votives were not discovered in sanctuaries, but in places like the Agora and the Prytaneion.43 The couple Hermes–Aphrodite thus clearly had a strong link to the magistrates’ sphere, by analogy with the pairing Hermes–Herakles, who together indicate a gymnasion context. An official context is probably what we should expect when we meet Hermes–Aphrodite as a couple. This is not self- (p.253) evident, because Aphrodite and Hermes had many connections in cult and mythology. Cults dedicated to the two together existed all over the Greek world: in Syme Viannou,44 in the Samian sanctuary of Hera,45 in Black Sea Olbia, and in western Locri, for example.46 Where we know something about these cults, they were not related to the protection of magistrates, but rather to sex, fertility, and marriage. The key to our identification of magistrates’ devotion to this couple thus lies not with the gods, but with the dedicators. The world of votive dedications thus presents a polyvalent Hermes of many varied local and contextual characteristics, which co-exist with the Hermes of Panhellenic myth. For my closing paragraph, I will leave the diversity of local cult contexts in order to comment on two inscriptions concerning a New (Neos) Hermes. These texts, I believe, illustrate, instead of the precise local persona of a Hermes Propylaios or Dromios, the immediate mythological associations brought to mind through the Panhellenic image of Hermes established all over the Greek world. This New Hermes belongs to a group of inscriptions presenting a specific type of combination of mortals and gods that became pronounced during the late Hellenistic and imperial eras. Two distinct groups are detectable within this epigraphical material. In the first, we find members of the imperial house honored literally by being named New Gods—e.g. Titus, New (Neos) Apollo; Sabina, New (Nea) Hera, etc.47 Developing in parallel with this group is Page 6 of 42

 

Hermes as Visible in Votive Inscriptions a second one, where mortals are honored as New Heroes or mythological or even historical characters: New Penelope, New Homer, New Themistokles.48 The rules for these titles are strict: only emperors and their close family are called New Gods; non-imperials will be honored as non-divine characters. However, a single exception breaks this hierarchy, namely, a Neos Hermes. This designation can be found once for Antinoos and once for a successful Spartan ephebe.49 A closer study of the Neos-titles shows that the divine prototypes lending their names were not chosen at random. As regards the emperors, they were a response to the projected self-image of these same rulers. Only empresses are called Nea Hera, as the wife of the ruler of the world/kosmos, and Nero, for example, was called New Apollo in accordance with his musical pretensions.50 As regards the non-imperials, the titles were rather given in recognition of some personal (p.254) characteristic or action.51 I believe that the choice of Hermes, however, relates instead to the inherent character of the god. Hermes is a young, beautiful, and athletic male, of course, but also someone who easily strides across the boundaries of the mortal and the immortal worlds.52 Hermes feels perfectly at home among humans, sometimes behaves like a human, all the while never ceasing to be a god.53 This makes him the perfect choice for this limited category of honorands, who are sometimes divine, sometimes mortal, themselves straddling those boundaries.54 Bibliography Bibliography references: Bar-Oz, G. 2001. “An Inscribed Astragalus with a Dedication to Hermes.” Near Eastern Archaeology 64.4: 215–17. Bean, G. E. and J. M. Cook. 1955. “The Halicarnassus Peninsula.” ABSA 50: 85– 171. Bielman, A. 2002. Femmes en public dans le monde hellénistique: IVe—Ier s. av. J.-C. Paris. Bielman, A. 2012. “Female Patronage in the Greek Hellenistic and Roman Republican Periods.” In S. L. James and S. Dillon, eds. A Companion to Women in the Ancient World. Malden and Oxford. 238–48. Bousquet, J. 1959. “Inscriptions de Delphes.” BCH 83: 146–92. Breccia, E. 1911. Iscrizioni greche e latine. Service des Antiquités de l’Égypte. Catalogue général des antiquités égyptiennes du Musée d’Alexandrie. Cairo. Buschor, E. 1957. “Aphrodite und Hermes.” AM 72: 77–86. Conze, A. and C. Schuchhardt. 1899. “Die Arbeiten zu Pergamon 1886–1898.” AM 24: 97–240. Page 7 of 42

 

Hermes as Visible in Votive Inscriptions Daux, G. 1961. “Chronique des fouilles et découvertes archéologiques en Grèce en 1960.” BCH 85: 601–953. Durvye, C. Forthcoming. “Of Things and Men in the Sanctuary of Aphrodite (Delos): Does the Content of a Sanctuary Define the Personality of the God?” In M. Haysom, M. Mili, and J. Wallensten, eds. The Stuff of the Gods. The Material Aspects of Religion in Ancient Greece (ActaAth-4º). Stockholm. Ekroth, G. 2014. “Castration, Cult and Agriculture. Perspectives on Greek Animal Sacrifice.” Opuscula 7: 153–74. Hall, A. S. 1968. “Notes and Inscriptions from Eastern Pisidia.” Anatolian Studies 18. British Institute at Ankara: 57–92. http://www.jstor.org/stable/ 3642643. Hepding, H. 1910. “Die Arbeiten zu Pergamon: Die Inschriften.” AM 35: 401–93. (p.255) Herzog, R. 1899. Koische Forschungen und Funde. Leipzig. Hicks, E. L. 1891. “Inscriptions from Western Cilica.” JHS 12: 225–73. Isager, S. and P. Pedersen. 2012. “Hadrian, Sabina and Halikarnassos—Some Epigraphic Evidence.” ZPE 181: 95–101. Jacobsthal, P. 1908. “Die Arbeiten zu Pergamon 1906–1907. II: Die Inschriften.” AM 33: 375–420. Jim, Theodora Suk Fong. 2014. “On Greek Dedicatory Practices: The Problem of hyper.” GRBS 54: 617–38. Larson, J. 2007. Ancient Greek Cult: A Guide. New York. Lebessi, A. 1985. Το ιερό του Ερμή και της Αφροδίτης στη Σύμη Βιάννου I. Athens. Matheou, A. and G. Kouraios. 1992–8. “᾽Επιγραφὲς Πάρου II.” Horos 10–12: 437– 40. Mili, M. 2015. Religion and Society in Ancient Thessaly. Oxford. Mili, M. and J. Wallensten. Forthcoming. “Dedications from the Dead? The Strange Case of Hermes Chthonios.” In Greek Epigraphy and Religion: Studies in Honor of Sara Aleshire. Leiden. Mitford, T. B. 1937. “Contributions to the Epigraphy of Cyprus.” JHS 57: 28–37. Nilsson, M. P. 1967. Geschichte der griechischen Religion I (Handbuch der Altertumswissenschaft 5.2.1). Munich.

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Hermes as Visible in Votive Inscriptions Osborne, R. Forthcoming. “Stuff and Godsense.” In M. Haysom, M. Mili, and J. Wallensten, eds. The Stuff of the Gods. The Material Aspects of Religion in Ancient Greece (ActaAth-4º). Stockholm. Ohly, D. 1953. “Die Göttin und ihre Basis.” AM 68: 25–50. Parker, R. 2005. Polytheism and Society at Athens. Oxford. Parker, R. 2011. On Greek Religion. Ithaca, NY. Pouilloux, J. 1954. Recherches sur l’histoire et cultes de Thasos. Paris. v. Prott, H. and W. Kolbe. 1902. “Die Arbeiten zu Pergamon 1900–1901: Die Inschriften.” AM 27: 44–151. Pugliese Carratelli, G. 1952–4. “Tituli Camirenses. Supplementum.” ASAtene 30– 2, N.S. 14–16: 211–46. Pugliese Carratelli, G. 1963–4. “Il damos Coo di Isthmos.” ASAtene 41–2, N.S. 25–6: 147–202. Rizakis, A. D. 2008. Achaïe III. Les cités achéennes: épigraphie et histoire. (Meletemata 55). Athens. Sahin, S. 2008. “Kaiserbauten und Kaiserehrungen in Patara.” In E. Winter, ed. Vom Euphrat bis zum Bosporus: Kleinasien in der Antike. Festschrift für Elmar Schwertheim zum 65. Geburtstag (Asia Minor Studien 65). Bonn. 597–610. Salviat, F. 1958. “Dédicaces de magistrats à Thasos.” BCH 82: 319–28. Schröder, B., H. Schrader, and W. Kolbe. 1904. “Die Arbeiten zu Pergamon 1902– 1903: Die Inschriften.” AM 29: 152–78. Schwertheim, E. 2011. “Die Inschriften aus der Sammlung Necmi Tolunay in Bandirma.” EA 1: 107–18. Strauss Clay, J. 1987. “Hermes’ Dais by the Alpheus.” Mètis 2: 221–34. Strauss Clay, J. 1989. The Politics of Olympus. Princeton (2nd ed. 2006. Lanham, MD). Vernant, J.-P. 1963. “Hestia-Hermès. Sur l’expression religieuse de l’espace et du mouvement chez les Grecs.” L’Homme 3: 12–50. Versnel, H. 2011. Coping With the Gods. Wayward Readings in Greek Theology. Leiden. (p.256) Vianu, M. A. 1997. “Aphrodites orientales dans le bassin du PontEuxin.” BCH 121: 15–32. Page 9 of 42

 

Hermes as Visible in Votive Inscriptions Wallensten, J. 2003. “ΑΦΡΟΔΙΤΗΙ ΑΝΕΘΗΚΕΝ ΑΡΞΑΣ. A Study of Dedications to Aphrodite from Greek Magistrates.” Ph.D. diss. Lund University. Wallensten, J. 2009. “Demand and Supply? The Character of Aphrodite in the Light of Inscribed Votive Gifts.” In C. Prêtre, ed. Le donateur, l’offrande et la déesse. Systèmes votifs dans les sanctuaires de déesses dans le monde grec (Kernos suppl. 23). Liège. 169–79. Wallensten, J. 2017. “New Gods for a New World: Observations on an Epigraphic Interplay between Greeks and Romans (part 1).” Cultural Anthropology and Ethnosemiotics 3.4: 25–40. Wallensten, J. 2018a. “New Gods for a New World. Observations on an Epigraphic Interplay between Greeks and Romans (part 3).” Cultural Anthropology and Ethnosemiotics. 4.2: 2–17. Wallensten, J. 2018b. “New Gods for a New World: Observations on an Epigraphic Interplay between Greeks and Romans (part 2).” Cultural Anthropology and Ethnosemiotics 4.1: 37–48. Willemsen, F. 1970. “Grab- und Weihinschriften.” AM 85: 100–13.

Page 10 of 42

 

Hermes as Visible in Votive Inscriptions

No.

Dedicator

Recipient Gods

Provenance

Date

Reference

1

Keryx, mnemosynes

Hermes

Attica

6th/5th BCE

IG I3 776

2

Keryx

Hermes

Aegean Islands

No date

ID 1804

3

Hierokeryx

Hermes Diaktoros

Mysia

2nd CE

Hepding 1910 451 33

4

Magistrates

Kerykeios

Boiotia

7th/6th BCE

LSAG 94.07

5

Agoranomoi

Hermes, Polis

Thessaly

3rd/2nd BCE

IG IX,2 94

6

Agoranomos

Hermes Agoraios

Macedonia

2nd/1st BCE

SEG 47 1002

7

Agoranomoi, Grammateus

Hermes

Macedonia

2nd BCE

EKM 1 Beroia 24

8

Agoranomos

Hermes Agoraios

Thrace

2nd BCE

SEG 42 662

9

Agoranomos

Hermes Agoraios

Scythia Minor

2nd BCE

IScM I 175

10

Agoranomos

Hermes Agoraios

Scythia Minor

2nd BCE

IScM I 176

11

Agoranomoi

Hermes Agoraios

Black Sea

2nd CE

SEG 57 725

12

Agoranomoi

Hermes Agoraios

Black Sea

2nd/3rd CE

IosPE I2 128

13

Agoranomoi

Hermes

Black Sea

1st/2nd CE

IosPE I2 129

14

Agoranomos

Zeus Agoraios, Themis, Hermes

Aegean Islands

2nd BCE?

NSuppl Epig Rodio 170, 21

15

Agoranomoi

Hermes Agoraios

Aegean Islands

3rd BCE

IG XI,4 1143

16

Agoranomos, astynomos

Hermes, Aphrodite

Aegean Islands

3rd BCE

IG XI,4 1144

Page 11 of 42

 

Hermes as Visible in Votive Inscriptions

No.

Dedicator

Recipient Gods

Provenance

Date

Reference

17

Agoranomos, astynomos

Hermes, Aphrodite

Aegean Islands

2nd BCE

IG XI,4 1145

18

Agoranomoi?

Hermes, Aphrodite

Aegean Islands

2nd BCE

ID 1832

19

Agoranomos

Hermes, Apollo

Aegean Islands

1st BCE

ID 1835

20

Agoranomoi, Grammateus

Hermes, Aphrodite

Aegean Islands

2nd BCE

ID 1833

21

Agoranomos

Hermes

Aegean Islands

2nd BCE

IG XII,5 26

22

Agoranomoi, epistatai

Hestia, Aphrodite, Hermes

Aegean Islands

4th BCE

SEG 17 422

23

Agoranomoi, Hestia, Aphrodite, mnemones, epistatai, Hermes grammateus

Aegean Islands

1st BCE

SEG 17 425

24

Agoranomos

Hermes Agoraios

Caria

Hellenistic

Alabanda 8

(p.258) 25

Agoranomos

Hermes

Ionia

4th BCE

IPriene 179

26

Agoranomos

Hermes, Aphrodite

Ionia

4th BCE

IPriene 183

27

Agoranomos

Hermes

Ionia

3rd BCE

IPriene 182

28

Agoranomos

Hermes

Ionia

No date

IPriene 180

29

Agoranomos

Hermes

Mysia

2nd BCE

Conze & Schuchhardt 1899, 168 Nr.6

Page 12 of 42

 

Hermes as Visible in Votive Inscriptions

No.

Dedicator

Recipient Gods

Provenance

Date

Reference

30

Agoranomos

Hermes

Mysia

Hellenistic

IPergamon I 243

31

Agoranomos

Hermes

Mysia

Hellenistic

IPergamon I 244

32

Agoranomos

Hermes

Mysia

Late royal

v.Prott & Kolbe 1902 89 73

33

Agoranomos

Hermes

Aegean Islands

1st BCE

SEG 60 910

34

Man

Hermes Agoraios

Peloponnesos

Imperial

BE 1973: 97 3

35

Man

Hermes Agoraios

Macedonia

1st BCE

SEG 53 621

36

Woman

Hermes Agoraios

Macedonia

2nd CE

EAM 9

37

Men

Hermes Agoraios

Thrace

5th BCE

IAegThrace 13

38

Men

Hermes Agoraios

Aegean Islands

4th BCE

IG XII,8 67

39

Gymnasiarch,

Hermes, Herakles

Attica

1st BCE

IG II2 2990

lampadarch 40

Gymnasiarch

Hermes

Attica

1st BCE

IG II2 2993

41

Gymnasiarch

Hermes

Peloponnesos

3rd BCE

IG V,1 938

42

Gymnasiarch, Polis

Hermes

Peloponnesos

Roman

IG V,1 1410

43

Gymnasiarch

Hermes, Dioskouroi

Peloponnesos

2nd BCE

Rizakis Achaie III 62

44

Gymnasiarch

Hermes, Herakles

Peloponnesos

2nd/1st BCE

Rizakis Achaie III 8

45

Gymnasiarch

Hermes, Herakles, Polis

Boiotia

No date

IG VII 2235

Page 13 of 42

 

Hermes as Visible in Votive Inscriptions

No.

Dedicator

Recipient Gods

Provenance

Date

Reference

46

Gymnasiarch

Hermes, Polis

Thessaly

Hellenistic

IG IX,2 31

47

Gymnasiarch

Hermes, Herakles

Epiros

3rd/2nd BCE

SEG 37 508

48

Gymnasiarch, agonothetes

Hermes, Herakles

ThLD

1st CE

IGBulg I2 322

49

Gymnasiarch

Hermes, Herakles

Scythia Minor

Hellenistic

IScM I 395

50

Gymnasiarch

Hermes, Herakles

Black Sea

3rd BCE

IosPE I2 186

51

Gymnasiarch

Thea Aiolis Karpophoros Agrippina, Hermes, Herakles

Aegean Islands

1st CE

IG XII suppl. 690

52

Hypogymnasiarchos

Hermes, Herakles

Aegean Islands

3rd-1st BCE

IG XII,3 1091

(p.259) 53

Gymnasiarch,

Hermes, Herakles

Aegean Islands

1st CE

IG XII.3 339

hypogymnasiarch, priest 54

Gymnasiarch, hypogymnasiarch

Hermes, Herakles

Aegean Islands

c. 2nd BCE

IG XII.3 391a

55

Hypogymnasiarch

Hermes

Aegean Islands

1st BCE/1st CE

IG XII.3 392

56

Gymnasiarch, hypogymnasiarch

Hermes, Herakles

Aegean Islands

No date

IG XII.3 395

57

Gymnasiarch

Hermes

Aegean Islands

No date

IG XII.3 396

58

Gymnasiarch

Hermes

Aegean Islands

Imperial

IG XII.3 397

Page 14 of 42

 

Hermes as Visible in Votive Inscriptions

No.

Dedicator

Recipient Gods

Provenance

Date

Reference

59

Gymnasiarch, hypogymnasiarch

Hermes, Herakles

Aegean Islands

3rd/2nd BCE

IG XII.3 1314

60

Gymnasiarch

Hermes

Aegean Islands

Hellenistic

Herzog KFF 15

61

Gymnasiarch

Hermes, Herakles

Aegean Islands

2nd BCE

IG XII,7 254

62

Gymnasiarch, hypogymnasiarch

Apollo, Hermes

Aegean Islands

3rd BCE

IG XI,4 1151

63

Gymnasiarch, hypogymnasiarch

Apollo, Hermes

Aegean Islands

2nd BCE

IG XI,4 1153

64

Gymnasiarch

Apollo, Hermes

Aegean Islands

2nd BCE

IG XI,4 1154

65

Gymnasiarch, hypogymnasiarch

Apollo, Hermes

Aegean Islands

2nd BCE

IG XI,4 1152

66

Gymnasiarch,

Apollo, Hermes,

Aegean Islands

2nd BCE

ID 1948

Lampadarch

Herakles

67

Gymnasiarch

Apollo, Hermes, Herakles

Aegean Islands

2nd BCE

ID 1949

68

Gymnasiarch

Hermes

Aegean Islands

1st BCE/1st CE

SEG 14 535

69

Gymnasiarch

Hermes

Aegean Islands

3rd BCE

IG XII,5 620

70

Gymnasiarch

Hermes

Aegean Islands

3rd/2nd BCE

IG XII,5 621

71

Gymnasiarch, hypogymnasiarch

Hermes, Herakles

Aegean Islands

1st BCE?

IG XII,5 232

Page 15 of 42

 

Hermes as Visible in Votive Inscriptions

No.

Dedicator

Recipient Gods

Provenance

Date

Reference

72

Gymnasiarch, hypogymnasiarch, ephebes?

Hermes, Herakles

Aegean Islands

No date

IG XII,5 1026

73

Gymnasiarch

Hermes, Herakles

Aegean Islands

No date

IG XII,5 484

74

Gymnasiarch

Ptolemaios, Hermes, Herakles

Aegean Islands

3rd/2nd BCE

IG XII,6 1 179

75

Gymnasiarch

Hermes, Herakles

Aegean Islands

3rd/2nd BCE

IG XII,6 1 181

(p.260) 76

Gymnasiarch, xustarchos

Hermes, Herakles

Aegean Islands

1st BCE/1st CE

Chios 130

77

Gymnasiarch

Hermes, Herakles

Aegean Islands

No date

Chios 131

78

Gymnasiarch, hypogymnasiarch, ephebes

Hermes, Herakles

Aegean Islands

2nd/1st BCE

IG XII,7 421

79

Gymnasiarch, hypogymnasiarch, ephebes

Hermes, Herakles

Aegean Islands

1st BCE

IG XII,7 422

80

Gymnasiarch, hypogymnasiarch, ephebes

Hermes, Herakles

Aegean Islands

1st BCE

IG XII,7 424

81

Gymnasiarch, hypogymnasiarch, ephebes

Hermes, Herakles

Aegean Islands

1st CE

IG XII,7 423

Page 16 of 42

 

Hermes as Visible in Votive Inscriptions

No.

Dedicator

Recipient Gods

Provenance

Date

Reference

82

Gymnasiarch, hypogymnasiarch, ephebes

Hermes, Herakles

Aegean Islands

1st CE

IG XII,7 425

83

Gymnasiarch (et al.?) Hermes, Herakles

Aegean Islands

No date

IG XII,7 426

84

Gymnasiarchs

Hermes, Herakles

Aegean Islands

2nd BCE

SEG 59 988

85

Gymnasiarch

Hermes Epekoos

Cyprus

1st BCE?

Salamis 13 44

86

Gymnasiarch, hypogymnasiarch

Hermes, Herakles and Demos

Caria

1st BCE

Halikarnassos 41

87

Gymnasiarch

Hermes, Herakles

Caria

2nd/1st BCE

Bean & Cook 1955, 101 11

88

Gymnasiarch, Paidonomos

Hermes

Caria

3rd BCE

Bean & Cook 1955, 101 10

89

Gymnasiarch

Hermes, Herakles

Caria

Hellenistic

Bean & Cook 1955, 100

90

Gymnasiarch

Hermes, Herakles

Caria

1st BCE/1st CE

Bean & Cook 1955, 100 8

91

Gymnasiarch

Hermes

Ionia

4th/3rd BCE

IPriene 181

92

Gymnasiarch

Hermes

Ionia

2nd BCE

IEphesos 1102

93

Gymnasiarch

Hermes

Mysia

Hellenistic?

IPergamon I 9

Page 17 of 42

 

Hermes as Visible in Votive Inscriptions

No.

Dedicator

Recipient Gods

Provenance

Date

Reference

94

Gymnasiarch, hippotropharch, trierarch, victor

Hermes, Herakles

Mysia

2nd BCE

Schwertheim 1983, 107–9 1

95

Gymnasiarch

Hermes, Herakles

Mysia

Hellenistic

Conze & Schuchhardt 1899, 168 7

96

Gymnasiarch

Hermes

Mysia

1st BCE?

Jacobsthal 1908, 401 25

97

Gymnasiarch, agonothetes

Hermes, Herakles

Cappadocia

1st BCE

SEG 1 466

(p.261) 98

Gymnasiarch, ephebarch

Hermes, Herakles Caria and the koinon of the Tarmianoi

1st BCE?

IRhodian Peraia 783

99

Gymnasiarch, ephebarch

Helios, Hermes, Herakles and the koinon of the Tarmianoi

Caria

1st BCE?

IRhodian Peraia 784

100

Gymnasiarch

Hermes

Orient

1st BCE

IGLSyr 7 4001

101

Gymnasiarch

Hermes, Herakles

Egypt

2nd BCE

Fayoum 2 103

102

Gymnasiarch

Hermes, Herakles

Egypt

2nd BCE

Fayoum 2 104

103

Gymnasiarch

Hermes, Herakles

S&MG

Augustan

SEG 46 1252

104

Ephebes

Hermes, Herakles

Aegean Islands

2nd BCE

ID 1922

Page 18 of 42

 

Hermes as Visible in Votive Inscriptions

No.

Dedicator

Recipient Gods

Provenance

Date

Reference

105

Ephebes

Apollo, Hermes, Herakles

Aegean Islands

2nd BCE

ID 1923

106

Ephebes

Apollo, Hermes, Herakles

Aegean Islands

2nd BCE

ID 1923bis

107

Ephebes

Hermes, Herakles

Aegean Islands

2nd BCE

ID 1924

108

Ephebes

Hermes, Herakles

Aegean Islands

2nd BCE

ID 1925

109

Ephebes

Apollo, Hermes, Herakles

Aegean Islands

2nd BCE

ID 1926

110

Ephebes

Apollo, Hermes, Herakles

Aegean Islands

2nd BCE

ID 1927

111

Ephebes

Apollo, Hermes, Herakles

Aegean Islands

2nd BCE

ID 2599

112

Ephebe

Apollo, Hermes, Herakles

Aegean Islands

1st BCE

ID 1932

113

Ephebe

Apollo, Hermes, Herakles

Aegean Islands

1st BCE

ID 1934

114

Ephebes

Apollo, Hermes, Herakles

Aegean Islands

1st BCE

ID 1935

115

Ephebes

Hermes, Herakles

Aegean Islands

2nd BCE

IG XII, 5 911

116

Ephebe

Hermes, Herakles

Egypt

2nd/1st BCE

Fayum I 21

117

Ephebes

Hermes, Herakles

Cyrenaica

3rd CE

SEG 9 128

Page 19 of 42

 

Hermes as Visible in Votive Inscriptions

No.

Dedicator

Recipient Gods

Provenance

Date

Reference

118

Ephebes?

Hermes

Attica

2nd BCE

SEG 19 193

119

Ephebes

Hermes

Attica

1st CE

IG II2 1967

120

Ephebes

Hermes

Attica

2nd BCE

IG II2 2980a

121

Ephebes

Hermes

Attica

2nd BCE

IG II2 2981

122

Ephebes

Hermes

Attica

2nd BCE

IG II2 2982

123

Ephebes

Hermes

Attica

2nd BCE

IG II2 2983

124

Ephebes

Hermes

Attica

2nd BCE

IG II2 2984

125

Ephebes

Hermes

Attica

2nd BCE

IG II2 2985

126

Synephebes

Hermes

Peloponnesos

2nd CE

IG V,1 493

127

Ephebarch

Hermes, Herakles

Cyrenaica

2nd CE

SEG 20 742

(p.262) 128

Unknown (Ephebe?)

Hermes, Minyas

Boiotia

No date

IG VII 3218

129

Mellakes

Hermes, Herakles

Egypt

2nd BCE

ILouvre 17

130

Aleiphomenoi

Apollo, Hermes, Herakles

Aegean Islands

1st BCE

ID 1933

131

Paidonomos

Hermes, Herakles

Aegean Islands

c. 2nd BCE

IG XII,3 193

132

Paidonomos

Hermes, Herakles

Aegean Islands

2nd BCE

ICos EV 12

133

Paidonomos

Hermes, Herakles

Caria

2nd BCE

Halikarnassos 73

Page 20 of 42

 

Hermes as Visible in Votive Inscriptions

No.

Dedicator

Recipient Gods

Provenance

Date

Reference

134

Paidonomoi, hymnodoi, grammateus

Theoi Sebastoi, Hermes, Herakles

Mysia

Imperial

Schröder, Schrader & Kolbe 1904, 167 8

135

Paidotribes

Ptolemaios, Hermes, Herakles

Aegean Islands

3rd/2nd BCE

IG XII,6 2:593

136

Paidotribes

Hermes, Herakles

Ionia

Late

Milet I 7 305

137

Paidagogos

Hermes Hegemon

Attica

2nd/3rd CE

IG II2 4814

138

Lampadarch

Hermes

Attica

1st BCE

SEG 21 686

139

Lampadarch

Hermes

Attica

1st BCE

SEG 55 262

140

Lampadarch

Hermes

Aegean Islands

3rd BCE

IG XI,4 1155

141

Lampadarch

Apollo, Hermes

Aegean Islands

3rd BCE?

IG XI,4 1156

142

Lampadarch

Apollo, Hermes,

Aegean Islands

2nd BCE

ID 1954

Herakles 143

Lampadarch

Ptolemaios, Kleopatra, Hermes, Herakles, Tyche/ Boule of Chytrion

Cyprus

2nd BCE

Mitford 1937, 33 8

144

Lampadarch

Hermes, Herakles

Cyprus

2nd BCE

SEG 20 311

145

Lampadarch

Hermes, Herakles

Ionia

1st BCE/1st CE

SEG 30 1329

146

Agonothetes

Hermes

ThLD

4th/3rd BCE?

IByzantion S22

Page 21 of 42

 

Hermes as Visible in Votive Inscriptions

No.

Dedicator

Recipient Gods

Provenance

Date

Reference

147

Agonothetes

Apollo, Hermes, Herakles

Aegean Islands

2nd BCE

ID 1945

148

Agonothetes

Demos, Hermes, Herakles, Neoi

Caria

Imperial

INysa 13

149

Unknown

Hermes Enagonios

Attica

5th BCE

IG I3 840

150

Gymnasiarch

Hermes Enagonios

Attica

4th BCE

IG II2 3023

151

Man

Hermes Enagonios

Attica

4th BCE

IG II2 4572

152

Man

Hermes Enagonios

Attica

2nd BCE

IG II2 3089

153

Men

Hermes Enagonios

Aegean Islands

Hellenistic

IG XII,2 96

154

Damiourgos

Hermes Enagonios

Aegean Islands

3rd BCE

Tit.Cam.Supp. 212, 4p

155

Victor

Hermes

Attica

2nd BCE

Willemsen 1970, 107 10

(p.263) 156

Victor

Hermes

Attica

2nd/1st BCE

IG II2 2989

157

Victor

Hermes

Attica

1st BCE

SEG 37 135

158

Victor

Hermes

Attica

1st BCE

IG II2 2992

159

Victor

Hermes

Attica

1st BCE

IG II2 2995

160

Victor

Hermes

Attica

1st BCE

IG II2 2997

161

Victor

Hermes

Attica

1st CE

AE 1973:176, 2

162

Victor

Hermes, Herakles

Attica

2nd CE

IG II2 3164

Page 22 of 42

 

Hermes as Visible in Votive Inscriptions

No.

Dedicator

Recipient Gods

Provenance

Date

Reference

163

Victor

Diosouroi Soteres, Hermes Agonios

Peloponnesos

1st CE

IG V,1 658

164

Victor

Hermes, Herakles

ThLD

3rd BCE?

IByzantion 11

165

Victor?

Hermes, Herakles

Aegean Islands

1st BCE?

IG XII,3 390

166

Victor

Hermes, Herakles

Aegean Islands

2nd BCE

ICos EV 5a

167

Victor

Hermes

Aegean Islands

3rd BCE

IG XI,4 1160

168

Victor

Hermes

Aegean Islands

post 250 BCE

IG XI,4 1161

169

Victor

Hermes

Aegean Islands

3rd BCE

IG XI,4 1162

170

Victor

Hermes

Aegean Islands

4th/3rd BCE

SEG 12 357

171

Victor

Hermes

Aegean Islands

3rd BCE

IG XI,4 1157

172

Victor

Hermes

Aegean Islands

2nd BCE

SEG 12 356

173

Victor

Apollo, Hermes

Aegean Islands

2nd BCE

ID 1950

174

Victor

Apollo, Hermes, Herakles

Aegean Islands

2nd BCE

ID 1951

175

Victor

Apollo, Hermes, Herakles

Aegean Islands

2nd BCE

ID 1953

176

Victor

Hermes, Herakles

Caria

1st BCE

ICos EV 175

177

Victor

Hermes, Herakles

Mysia

No date

Jacobsthal 1908, 401 26

178

Victor

Hermes

Pontos

2nd CE

StPont III 278a

Page 23 of 42

 

Hermes as Visible in Votive Inscriptions

No.

Dedicator

Recipient Gods

179

Victor

180

Date

Reference

King Antiochos, King Orient Seleukos, Hermes, Herakles

2nd BCE

SEG 56 1877 1

Victor

Hermes, Herakles

Asia Minor? Egypt?

Hellenistic

ILouvre 12

181

Phylarch

Hermes

Attica

3rd BCE

PraktAkadAth 8:71

182

Phylarch

Hermes

Attica

No date

SEG 36 269

183

Strategoi

Hermes Hegemonios Attica

1st BCE

IG II2 2873

184

Strategoi

Hermes Hegemonios Aegean Islands

3rd BCE

AD 26 B2 1971, 539 2

185

Strategoi

Aphrodite, Zeus Aegean Islands Aphrodisios, Hermes, Artemis Eukleia

3rd BCE

IG XII,5 220

(p.264) 186

Strategos

Hermes

Egypt

1st–2nd CE

TvD 3 55

187

Strategos, archisomatofylakas, synagontes

Chnounbis-Ammon, Satis-Hera, AnoukisHestia, PetempamentisDionysos, PetensitisKronos, PetensenesHermes

Egypt

2nd BCE

Thèbes à Syène 303

188

Strategos of the archisomatofylakes

Hermes, Herakles

Egypt

2nd BCE

ILouvre 13

Page 24 of 42

 

Provenance

Hermes as Visible in Votive Inscriptions

No.

Dedicator

Recipient Gods

Provenance

Date

Reference

189

The Eleven

Hermes

Boiotia

4th BCE

IThespies 282

190

Eisagogeis

Hermes Eisagogeus, Aphrodite Synarchis

Aegean Islands

2nd BCE

IG XII,6 2 597

191

Archontes

Hermes

Aegean Islands

3rd BCE

IG XII,8 641

192

Archon

Hermes Prytaneios

Aegean Islands

5th BCE

SEG 39 870

193

Archon

Hermes

Aegean Islands

5th/4th BCE

SEG 39 876

194

Kosmetes

Hermes Dromios

Aegean Islands

2nd BCE

IC II 23 10

195

Stephanephoros

Hermes

Aegean Islands

1st BCE?

Tit. Calymnii 118

196

Magistrates

Hermes

Aegean islands

No date

IG XII,2 97

197

Epistatai of the paides, grammateus

Hermes

Aegean Islands

2nd BCE

SEG 39 771

198

Magistrates

Hestia, Aphrodite, Hermes

Aegean Islands

3rd BCE

IG XII suppl. 403

199

Magistrates

Hestia, Aphrodite, Hermes

Aegean Islands

4th/3rd BCE

Pouilloux 1954 no 151

200

Epistates

Hermes Propylaios

Rhodian Peraia, Caria

3rd BCE

Rhodian peraia 59

201

Demiourgos

Hermes

Caria

Hellenistic

IKnidos I 183

202

Dekanoi

Hermes

Lycaonia

No date

Hall 1968, 70 12

203

Eparchos

Hermes

Egypt

1st BCE

TvD 3 38

Page 25 of 42

 

Hermes as Visible in Votive Inscriptions

No.

Dedicator

Recipient Gods

Provenance

Date

Reference

204

Priest of Hermes

Hermes, Herakles

Aegean Islands

2nd BCE

ID 1947

205

Priest and priestess

Zeus Panemerios, Caria Hermes, Hekate Soteira, Theoi Pantes

2nd CE

IStratonikeia 300

206

Neokoros

Hermes

Caria

No date

RPh 1899, 283

207

Religious group

Hermes, Peitho

Aegean Islands

2nd/1st BCE

SEG 33 643

(p.265) 208

Priests

Hermes

Cilicia

Imperial

Hicks 1891, 271 75

209

Priest

Hermes

Unknown

2nd CE

SEG 54 1782

210

Tetelesmenoi

Hermes

Aegean Islands

2nd BCE

IG XII, 8 70

211

Hermaistai

Hermes, Maia

Aegean Islands

2nd BCE

ID 1731

212

Hermaistai

Hermes, Maia

Aegean Islands

2nd BCE

ID 1732

213

Hermaistai

Hermes, Maia

Aegean Islands

2nd BCE

ID 1733

214

Hermaistai

Hermes

Aegean Islands

1st BCE

ID 1737

215

Synodos

Hermes

Italy

2nd CE

IG XIV 978a; IGUR I 143

216

Grytopolai

Augustus, Hermes

Aegean Islands

1st BCE/1st CE

NSER 466

217

Elaiopolai

Herakles, Hermes

Aegean Islands

2nd/1st BCE

ID 1713

218

Elaiopolai

Herakles, Hermes

Aegean Islands

1st BCE

ID 1714

219

Oinopolai

Hermes, Dionysos, Apollo

Aegean Islands

1st BCE

ID 1711

Page 26 of 42

 

Hermes as Visible in Votive Inscriptions

No.

Dedicator

Recipient Gods

Provenance

Date

Reference

220

Unknown

Hermes Empolaios

Black Sea

5th BCE

SEG 30 908

221

Ergazomenoi ten tetragonon

Apollo, Hermes

Aegean Islands

1st BCE

ID 1709

222

(kataskeuasantes)

Hermes, Herakles

Aegean Islands

2nd BCE

SEG 59 986

223

Shepherd, Cheesemaker?

Hermes Isalos, Artemis?

Aegean Islands

No date

R.Phi. 1947, 132– 140; BE 1948 199a

224

Demos

Tiberius Caesar, Hermes

Ionia

1st CE

IEphesos 3420

225

Metoikoi

Hermes, Herakles

Aegean Islands

Imperial (LGPN)

IG XII,5 290

226

Paroikoi, metoikoi, xenoi

Hermes, Herakles

Caria

Hellenistic

SEG 54 1101

227

Man

Hermes

Attica

5th BCE

IG I3 1018

228

Man

Hermes

Attica

5th BCE

IG I3 983

229

Man

Hermes, Nymphs

Attica

5th/4th BCE

IG I3 986

230

Man

Hermes

Attica

4th BCE

IG II2 4628

231

Man (and Ephebes?)

Hermes

Attica

4th BCE

IG II2 4594a

232

Man

Hermes

Attica

4th/3rd BCE

IG II2 4657

233

Men

Hermes

Attica

3rd BCE

IG II2 4679

234

Men

Hermes

Attica

1st BCE

SEG 21 685

Page 27 of 42

 

Hermes as Visible in Votive Inscriptions

No.

Dedicator

Recipient Gods

Provenance

Date

Reference

235

Man

Hermes Epakoos

Attica

1st/2nd CE

IG II2 4742/SEG 56 214

236

Man

Hermes

Attica

2nd CE

IG II2 4780

237

Man

Hermes Phalantheios Attica

No date

IG II2 4855

238

Man

Hermes

Peloponnesos

5th BCE

IRhegion 66/ IvOlympia 271

(p.266) 239

Man?

Hermes Dikaios

Peloponnesos

No date

IG IV 563

240

Man

Hermes Orthannes

Peloponnesos

2nd CE

IG IV2 1 514/ Asklepieion 209

241

Man

Hermes

Peloponnesos

No date

IG V,1 237

242

Man

Hermes

Peloponnesos

3rd BCE

SEG 54 457

243

Man

Hermes

Peloponnesos

2nd BCE

IG V,1 1351

244

Man

Hermes, Herakles

Peloponnesos

1st BCE

SEG 58 385

245

Man

Hermes

Boiotia

3rd BCE

IThespies 61

246

Man

Hermes, Herakles

Boiotia

4th BCE

IThespies 280

247

Man

Hermes

Boiotia

4th/3rd BCE

IThespies 283bis

248

Man

Hermes

Boiotia

Hellenistic

IThespies 284

249

Man

Hermes

Boiotia

5th BCE (LGPN)

IThespies 218

250

Man

Hermes

Boiotia

No date

IG VII 3093

Page 28 of 42

 

Hermes as Visible in Votive Inscriptions

No.

Dedicator

Recipient Gods

Provenance

Date

Reference

251

Man

Hermes

Boiotia

1st BCE

IG VII 3095

252

Man

Hermes

Thessaly

4th BCE

AE 1930, Chr. 179, 2

253

Man

Hermes

Thessaly

Hellenistic

SEG 53 541

254

Man

Hermes

Thessaly

No date

Woodward 1910, 157 11

255

Man

Hermes

Macedonia

2nd/1st BCE

SEG 42 585

256

Man

Zeus Soter, Hermes, Herakles

Macedonia

2nd BCE

SEG 50 572

257

Man

Hermes

Macedonia

3rd CE

SEG 47 884

258

Man and unknown

Hermes, Demeter

Macedonia

2nd/3rd CE

SEG 53 610

259

Man

Hermes

Illyria

Roman?

SEG 31 595

260

Man

Hermes

Illyria

No date

IApollonia 338

261

Man

Hermes

ThLD

3rd CE

IGBulg IV 2046

262

Man

Zeus, Hera, Hermes, Herakles, Dionysos, Aphrodite

ThLD

No date

IGBulg IV 2230

263

Man

Hermes

Black Sea

5th BCE

SEG 30 909

264

Man

Hermes

Aegean Islands

5th/4th BCE

Lindos II 20

265

Man

Athana Lindia, Hermes Hagemon

Aegean Islands

2nd BCE

Lindos II 184

Page 29 of 42

 

Hermes as Visible in Votive Inscriptions

No.

Dedicator

Recipient Gods

Provenance

Date

Reference

266

Man

Hermes Hagemon, Heros Daimon

Aegean Islands

Roman

NSER 276

267

Man

Hermes

Aegean Islands

4th BCE

IG XII,3 1092/1662

(p.267) 268

Men

Hermes, Herakles

Aegean Islands

2nd/1st BCE

IG XII,3 1090/1661

269

Men, synaristion

Hermes

Aegean Islands

c. 3rd BCE

IG XII,3 93

270

Men, synaristion

Hermes

Aegean Islands

c. 2nd BCE

IG XII,3 94

271

Men

Hermes, Herakles

Aegean Islands

No date

IG XII,3 340

272

Man

Hermes, Herakles

Aegean Islands

No date

IG XII,3 393

273

Man

Hermes

Aegean Islands

No date

IG XII,3 394

274

Man

Hermes

Aegean Islands

3rd/2nd BCE

SEG 54 761

275

Man

Plouton, Kore,

Aegean Islands

3rd/2nd BCE

IG XI,4 1235

Demeter, Hermes, Anoubis 276

Man

Hermes

Aegean Islands

2nd BCE

IG XI,4 1283

277

Man

Hermes, Herakles

Aegean Islands

2nd BCE

IG XI,4 1284

278

Man

Hermes

Aegean Islands

2nd BCE

ID 2154

279

Man

Sarapis, Isis, Harpokrates, Anoubis, Hermes

Aegean Islands

2nd/1st BCE

ID 2174

280

Man

Hermes

Aegean Islands

2nd/1st BCE

ID 2404

Page 30 of 42

 

Hermes as Visible in Votive Inscriptions

No.

Dedicator

Recipient Gods

Provenance

Date

Reference

281

Man

Hermes and Synetheis

Aegean Islands

1st BCE

SEG 13 425

282

Man

Dionysos, Hermes, Pan

Aegean Islands

1st BCE

ID 2400

283

Men

Apollo, Hermes, Herakles

Aegean Islands

No date

ID 1937

284

Man

Hermes

Aegean Islands

No date

ID 2403

285

Man

Hermes, Maia

Aegean Islands

No date

ID 2407

286

Man or magistrate

Hermes, Aphrodite

Aegean Islands

2nd BCE?

ID 2408

287

Man

Hermes

Aegean Islands

No date

ID 1801

288

Men

Hermes

Aegean Islands

1st BCE?

ID 2402

289

Man

Hermes, Maia

Aegean Islands

2nd/1st BCE?

ID 2406

290

Man

Hermes,?

Aegean Islands

No date

ID 2409

291

Man

Sarapis, Isis, Aegean Islands Anoubis, Hermes, Apollon, Harpokrates

2nd/1st BCE?

ID 2135

292

Men

Hermes, Herakles

Aegean Islands

1st BCE

IG XII,5 729

293

Man

Hermes

Aegean Islands

3rd/2nd BCE

IG XII,6 2 1208

294

Man

Hermes

Ionia?

4th BCE

IEphesos 3137

295

Man

Hermes

Aegean Islands

4th BCE

Chios 125

Page 31 of 42

 

Hermes as Visible in Votive Inscriptions

No.

Dedicator

Recipient Gods

Provenance

Date

Reference

296

Man

Hermes

Aegean Islands

4th BCE

Chios 128

(p.268) 297

Men

Hermes, Herakles

Aegean Islands

2nd BCE

Chios 129

298

Man

Hermes

Aegean Islands

2nd BCE

IG XII,7 250

299

Man (?)

Hermes

Aegean Islands

3rd BCE

IG XII,7 251

300

Man

Hermes

Aegean Islands

4th BCE

IG XII,8 68

301

Man

Hermes

Aegean Islands

4th BCE

IG XII,8 69

302

Man

Hermes

Aegean Islands

Hellenistic

IG XII,9 1276

303

Man

Hermes Kranaios

Aegean Islands

1st BCE

IC II 9 1

304

Man

Hermes

Aegean Islands

2nd/1st BCE

IC II 28 1

305

Man

Hermes

Aegean Islands

1st CE

SEG 57 859

306

Man

Hermes Pantokrator,

Aegean Islands

2nd CE

SEG 33 736

Eriounios 307

Man

Hermes

Ionia

2nd/1st BCE

Milet I 9, 367

308

Man

Hermes

Ionia

Imperial

Milet I 7, 284

309

Men

Hermes

Troad

Hellenistic

ILampsakos 25

310

Man

Hermes

Mysia

4th BCE?

IMTKyzProponIns 1375

311

Man

Hermes Meletenos

Bithynia

3rd/2nd BCE (LGPN) IPrusa 1020

312

Man

Hermes, Apollo

Mysia

No date

Page 32 of 42

 

CIG 3568b

Hermes as Visible in Votive Inscriptions

No.

Dedicator

Recipient Gods

Provenance

Date

Reference

313

Man

Theoi Sebastoi, Artemis Pergaia, Hermes, Demos

Pamphylia

2nd/3rd CE

IPerge 205

314

Man

Hermes Soter

Cappadocia

No date

SEG 6 795

315

Man

Hermes, Apollo

Bithynia

2nd/3rd CE

SEG 55 1341

316

Man

Demeter, Kore, Pluton Epimachos, Hermes

Caria

2nd BCE

IKnidos I 141

317

Man and relatives

Epekoos, Hermes

Lycaonia

No date

MAMA 8 1

318

Man

Hermes

Lycia

No date

SEG 57 1677

319

Man

Hermes Patrooios

Nubia

1st-3rd CE

TvD 3 48

320

Man

Hermes Patnouphis

Nubia

1st/2nd CE

TvD 3 67

321

Man

Hermes, Herakles

Cyrenaica

1st BCE

SEG 20 740

322

Men

Hermes, Herakles

Cyrenaica

1st CE

SEG 20 741

323

Man

Hermes, Herakles

Cyrenaica

1st CE

SEG 32 1607

324

Man

Hermes

Cyrenaica

Imperial

BE 1964, 568

(p.269) 325

Man

Hermes

Egypt

Roman

SB 1 341c

326

Men

Hermes, Herakles

Orient

2nd BCE

IEstremOrient 381

327

Man

Hermes

SMG

4th/3rd BCE

SEG 4 35

Page 33 of 42

 

Hermes as Visible in Votive Inscriptions

No.

Dedicator

Recipient Gods

Provenance

Date

Reference

328

Man

Hermes, Artemis Kynegetis, Dodekatheoi

Unknown

3rd CE

SEG 59 1921

329

Man

Hermes

Aegean Islands

2nd CE

SEG 54 817

330

Man

Hermes, Aphrodite

Aegean Islands

4th BCE

Matheou & Kouraios 1992–8

331

Man (?)

Hermes, Dioskouroi

Lycia

No date

SEG 44 1163d

332

Woman

Hermes Eriouneios Brychaleios

Thessaly

5th BCE

IThess. 69

333

Woman

Hermes

Thessaly

No date

AD 42 1987 chr 260

334

Woman

Hermes, Herakles

Ionia

2nd BCE

Milet I 7 247

335

Woman

Hermes

Ionia

6th BCE

IErythrai 509

336

Woman

Hermes

Cilicia

Roman

Hicks 1891, 237, 20

337

Woman

Hermes

Aegean Islands

4th BCE (LGPN) 3rd BCE (IC)

IC I 7 2

338

Man and Woman

Hestia, Hermes

Lycia

4th BCE (LGPN)

TAM II 1185

339

Man, Woman, family

Hermes

SMG

3rd BCE

SEG 37 780

340

Unknown

Hermes, politai

Thessaly

No date

IG IX,2 58

341

Unknown

Hermes Euangelos, Pan

Acarnania

No date “Late”

SEG 29 479

Page 34 of 42

 

Hermes as Visible in Votive Inscriptions

No.

Dedicator

Recipient Gods

Provenance

Date

Reference

342

Unknown

Hermes

Phokis

No date

Bousquet 1959, 176 2

343

Unknown

Athena, Hermes

ThLD

2nd/3rd CE

IGBulg II 720

344

Unknown

Hermes

ThLD

No date

IGBulg XXX,1 1446

345

Unknown

Hermes

ThLD

No date

IGBulg V 5588

346

Unknown

Hermes

ThLD

6th BCE

SEG 55 806, 1

347

Unknown

Hermes

Black Sea

6th BCE

SEG 49 1046

348

Unknown

Hermes

Black Sea

5th BCE

SEG 58 770 13

349

Unknown

Hermes

Black Sea

5th BCE

SEG 54 703

350

Unknown

Hermes

Black Sea

4th BCE

SEG 26 809c

351

Unknown

Hermes Propylais,

Aegean Islands

No date

TitCam 116

Hekate Propylaia 352

Unknown

Hermes

Aegean Islands

No date

Pugliese Carratelli 1963/64, 182 21

(p.270) 353

Unknown

Hermes

Aegean Islands

No date

ID 2202

354

Unknown

Theoi Megaloi, Hermes Euangelos

Aegean Islands

1st BCE

IG XII,5 235

355

Unknown

Hermes Amaxeitis

Aegean Islands

Roman

Daux 1961, 846

356

Unknown

Hermes

Aegean Islands

4th BCE

IG XII,6 2 611

357

Unknown

Hermes, Herakles

Caria

No date

IIasos 622

Page 35 of 42

 

Hermes as Visible in Votive Inscriptions

No.

Dedicator

Recipient Gods

Provenance

Date

Reference

358

Unknown

Hermes, Herakles

Caria

No date

IMylasa 332

359

Unknown

Hermes, Herakles

Caria

No date

IMylasa 333

360

Unknown

Hermes

Ionia

No date “Late”

Milet I 7 304

361

Unknown

Hermes, Herakles

Mysia

Roman

IPergamon II 323

362

Unknown

Hermes

Ionia

Hellenistic

Milet I 9 362

363

Unknown

Hermes

Mysia

Hellenistic

v. Prott & Kolbe 1902, 90 75

364

Unknown

Hermes, Herakles

Cilicia

3rd BCE

SEG 31 1321

365

Unknown

Dodeka theoi, Artemis Kynegetis, Hermes

Lycia

2nd-4th CE

SEG 54 1393

366

Unknown

Hermes

Orient

No date

IGLSyria 6 2881

367

Unknown

Hermes, Herakles

Cyrenaica

2nd BCE

SEG 20 738

368

Unknown

Hermes, Patnouphis, synnaoi theoi

Nubia

2nd BCE

TvD 3 W

369

Unknown

Ammon, Pan, Apollo, Hermes, Herakles

Egypt

2nd BCE

Breccia 1911, 39

370

Unknown

Hermes, Herakles

Egypt

No date

SB 1 1440

371

Unknown

Hermes, Herakles

Egypt

1st BCE

Thèbes à Syène 5

372

Unknown

Hermes

Orient

3rd/2nd BCE

Bar-Oz 2001

Page 36 of 42

 

Hermes as Visible in Votive Inscriptions

No.

Dedicator

Recipient Gods

Provenance

Date

Reference

373

Unknown

Hermes, Herakles

SMG

No date

SEG 49 1331, 1

374

Unknown

Hermes

SMG

4th BCE

SEG 58 1123

375

Unknown

Hermes

SMG

4th BCE

SEG 58 1123

376

Unknown

Hermes, Horus, Aphrodite

Egypt

No date

SB 1 5667

377

Unknown

Hermes, Horus, Aphrodite

Egypt

No date

SB 5 8639

378

Unknown

Hermes Korykios Epinekios Tropaiouchos Epikarpios

Cilicia

3rd CE

ICilicie 17

Page 37 of 42

 

Hermes as Visible in Votive Inscriptions

Notes:

(1) TAM II 1185, fourth/third century BCE. For the term hyper in votive inscriptions, see Jim 2014. (2) IG VII 3093. From Lebadeia, no date. (3) ILouvre 13. From Pharbeitos, 157/156 BCE? (4) I have not been able to examine all the inscriptions myself, because of the size and geographic spread of the material included in this study. Thus I have mainly worked with the dates and restorations of published editions. (5) A genitive certainly indicates that something is the property of the god, but the name of the god in the genitive does not necessarily signify an actual dedicatory act. (6) It is to be noted that the Thessalian so-called dedications to Hermes Chthonios are not included in this study, since I consider them to be a very specific case that does not belong together with ordinary votive gifts. The Thessalian inscriptions are found on tombstones and give the name of Hermes in the dative, as in the case of a standard dedicatory formula. The name of the deceased, often inscribed on the same tombstones, has been understood as the name of a dedicator; however, as a forthcoming study by Maria Mili and Jenny Wallensten shows, the grave stelai should be understood as presenting two separate inscriptions, one an epitaph and the other a dedicatory formula (Hermes Chthonios in the dative). This phenomenon appears to belong to a very specific and isolated context, and I have therefore chosen not to include these tombstones in the present study. The gravestone “dedications” to Hermes Chthonios comprise a collection of 118 monuments. These include both monuments that have an inscription to Hermes Chthonios, with or without a depiction of the god, and those that do not have an inscription, but just have a depiction of the god. The first category comprises sixty-eight monuments, the second, 150 monuments (Mili and Wallensten Forthcoming). (7) Ai Khanoum: IEstremOrient 381, 200–150 BCE. Magna Graecia (Rhegion): IRhegion 66, 420–410 BCE. (8) 6th BCE: SEG 55.806.1, Skythia Minor, Istria. 3rd CE: SEG 47.884, Macedonia. A phiale from Tanagra in Boiotia carries a dedication to Kerykeios, dated c.610–550 BCE (EAH s.v. Tanagra). Jeffrey believes the recipient deity to be Apollo Kerykeios (LSAG 94.07), whereas AE 1896: 243 calls the god Hermes Kerykeios. According to Pausanias 9.20.3, Hermes’ birthplace Mt. Kerykeios was at Tanagra, whereas an Apollo Kerykeios is known from Perge in Asia Minor (IPerge 264).

Page 38 of 42

 

Hermes as Visible in Votive Inscriptions (9) Cyprus excluded (two inscriptions: SEG 20.311; Salamine 13.44). (10) “Late”: SEG 29.479, Thyrreion, Acarnania. (11) See, for example, Wallensten 2009; Durvye Forthcoming; Osborne Forthcoming. (12) Larson 2007: 146; Strauss Clay 1987; 2006: 124; Hom. Il. 24.334–5; H.Herm. 576. (13) For officials, see, for example, the following: Strategoi: IG II2 2873; AD 26 B2 1971 539, 2; TvD 3 55; IG XII,5 220; Thèbes à Syène 3; ILouvre 13. Eisagogeis: IG XII,6 2 597. Archontes: IG XII,8 641; SEG 39.870 and 876. Stephanephoros: Tit. Calymnii 118. Epistates: Rhodian peraia 59. I have counted inscriptions mentioning officials, but not every official. In that case there would be many more, since several officials often dedicate together—see for example IG IX,2 94; IosPE I2 128; IG XII,2 97. For the tradesmen, see for example ID 1713; NSER 466. Among the merchant dedications, I have counted one dedication to Hermes Empolaios, with an undefined male dedicator, SEG 30.908 (cf. Ar. Ach. 816), but have not included five Hermes Agoraios dedications in the dedications of officials, since the dedicant did not identify himself or herself as such in the inscription. Robert Parker illuminates a distinction between Hermes Agoraios and Zeus Agoraios: in the former case the epithet means “of the Agora” in terms of the exchanges of the market place, whereas Zeus Agoraios is a god of political persuasion (Parker 2005: 405, 409; cf. ἀγορεύω, “speak, address, proclaim”). The epithet is, however, less precise than Empolaios, and we know that not only magistrates of the Agora would have approached Hermes Agoraios; thus, although these are likely to be magistrates’ offerings, I have not taken for granted any professional identity for these dedications. Note, for example, a woman dedicating to Hermes Agoraios, EAM 9. For priestly dedicants, see for example IG XII,3 339; ID 1947; cheese-maker, BE 1948: 199a. (14) SEG 30.908. (15) Gymnasiarch: see for example SEG 36.974; IG IX,2 31; IG VIII 2235. Agonothetes: IByzantion 22; IGBulg I2 322; ID 1945; INysa 13; SEG 1.466. Paidonomos: IG XII,3 193; ICos EV 12; Halikarnassos 73; Bean and Cook 1955: 101 no. 10; Schröder, Schrader & Kolbe 1904: 167–8, no. 8. Enagonios: IG I3 840; IG II2 3012, 3089; IG XII,2 96; Pugliese Carratelli 1952–4: 212 4p. Agonios: IG V,1 658. (16) Keryx: IG I3 776 (DAA 295), Athens, c.500 BCE; ID 1804, Delos, Roman; Hepding 1910: 451 no. 33. Euangelos: SEG 29.479, Thyrreion, Acarnania. (17) Lindos II 184.

Page 39 of 42

 

Hermes as Visible in Votive Inscriptions (18) NSER 108, no. 276. Perhaps to be understood as Psychopompos, the modern designation given to Hermes in his capacity of escorting the souls of the dead to the Underworld. The epithet Psychopompos is not attested epigraphically as a cult epithet. In literature, it is not associated with Hermes before Diod. Sic. 1.96. In earlier texts it is used of Charon, Eur. Alc. 361. We can note that two dedications from military/political leaders, strategoi, were made to Hegemonios, an indication of a different understanding of Hermes’ leadership: IG II2 2873; AD 26 B2, 1971, 539. (19) Compare, however, the comment in n. 13. (20) Agoranomoi: IG IX, 2 94; SEG 42.662, Thrace, 2nd BCE; SEG 47.1002, Elimeia, 2nd/1st BCE; EKM I, Beroia 24, 150–100 BCE; IScM I 175 & 176, Istria, 2nd BCE; SEG 57.725, Olbia, c.110 CE; IosPE I2 128, Olbia 2nd/3rd CE, 129, Olbia post 98 CE; NSupplEpR 170, 21, Lindos, no date; ID XI, 4 1143 & 1144, mid-3rd BCE, 1145, beg. 2nd BCE; ID 1832, Delos mid-2nd BCE, 1833, no date, 1835, 1st BCE; IG XII,5 26, Sikinos 2nd BCE; SEG 17.422, Thasos, 350–300 BCE and 425, Thasos, 1st BCE; Alabanda 8, Alabanda, Hellenistic; IPriene 179, 4th BCE, IPriene 180, no date, 182, 3rd BCE, 183, 4th BCE; AM 24, 1899, 168: no. 6, Kaikos, 2nd BCE; IPergamon I 243 & 244, Hellenistic; Prott and Kolbe 1902: 89, no. 73 “late royal.” It is to be noted that no recipient deity is in fact mentioned in SEG 42.662. However, the combination of a former agoranomos dedicating a (statue of) Hermes Agoraios strongly suggests Hermes as the recipient, and I have included it here. Phylarchos: PraktAkadAth 8, 1933: 71, Athens, 3rd BCE; SEG 36.269, Athens (Daphni), no date. Strategoi: ILouvre 13, Pharbaitos, 157/56 BCE; IG II2 2873, Athens 95/94 BCE; AD 26 B2, 1971, 539, Rhodos, no date; IG XII,5 220. Paros, 3rd BCE; TvD 3 55, Nubia 1st–3rd CE; Thèbes à Syène 303, Satis Island, 2nd BCE. Prytaneios: SEG 39.870, Keos, 450–400 BCE. Eisagogeus: IG XII,6 2 597. (21) BE 1948: 199a; IG II2 4855; SEG 12.168. (22) Hermes Nomios is found in literary sources, e.g. Ar. Thes. 977. See also IG II2 3977, 2nd CE. Hermes Epimelios at Koroneia: Paus. 9.34.3. Both epithets are also connected to Apollo. (23) Wallensten 2003; 2009. (24) IThess. 69, Pharsalos, mid-5th BCE; AD 42, 1987, B1 260, Pherai, no date; EAM 9, Elimeia 100–150 CE; IStratonikeia 300, Panamara 2nd CE; Milet I 7 no. 247, Miletos, 150 BCE; IErythrai 509, Klazomenai, 540/525 BCE; IGR 3 868, Cilicia, no date; TAM II 1185, Phaselis, 4th/3rd BCE; IC I 72, 3rd BCE; SEG 37.780, Metapontion, 3rd BCE. (25) See for example LIMC s.v. Hermes 107, 110, 115, 116, 117, 153, 154.

Page 40 of 42

 

Hermes as Visible in Votive Inscriptions (26) IC II, 28, no. 2. (27) Ar. Thes. 977. (28) Parker 2011: 241, with n. 46. (29) Milet I 7 no. 247; IGR 3 868; Hicks 1891: 237, 20. (30) EAM 9. (31) Milet I 7 no. 247; TAM II 1185. (32) Most hyper formulae were for the benefit of the dedicator and his or her family: Jim 2014: 618. (33) Ekroth 2014: 163. (34) IErythrai 509; IThess. 69. (35) Bielman 2012: 241; Bielman 2002: 275–7 no. 53. (36) Mili 2015: 28. (37) IG I3 986, Attica, c.400 BCE; ID 2400, Delos, 98/97 BCE (Pan restored); Breccia 1911, 39, Thebes, 116–108 BCE. (38) See for example IG II2 4994; LSAM 39. Also notable are the very meager references to the cult of the sebastoi. Could this be connected to Hermes’ very limited role as a polis protector in spite of his close ties to magistrates? (39) Hermes and Athena Lindia, Lindos II 184; with Demeter, Kore, and Plouton in their sanctuary, IKnidos I 141. We can note that this is the only dedication made by a man in this sanctuary. (40) Provided that Hermes is the god mentioned first; there are no exceptions to this rule in gymnasion dedications. There are two examples from Delos, where Herakles is placed before Hermes; however, these were made by olive-sellers. Word positioning is very important in dedicatory language: Hermes is the most important god in the gymnasion inscriptions, whereas he is of less status in those of the olive sellers: ID 1713 and 1714, Delos, c.100 BCE–early 1st BCE. (41) Delos: IG XI,4 1151–4, 1156; ID 1709, 1711, 1835, 1923 & 1923bis, 1926, 1927, 1932–5, 1945, 1948–50, 1951, 1953, 1954, 2135, 2599. Mysia: CIG 3568b. Nikaia, Bithynia: SEG 55.1341. Thebes, Egypt: Breccia 1911: no. 39. (42) Magistrates: IG XI,4 1144, Delos, 3rd BCE and 1145, 2nd BCE; ID 1832, Delos, 2nd BCE and 1833, no date; IG XII,5 220, Paros, 3rd BCE; IG XII,6 2 597, Samos, 150–100 BCE; IG XII suppl. 403, Thasos, c.250 BCE; Pouilloux 1954, no. 151, Thasos, 4th/3rd BCE; SEG 17.422, Thasos 350–300 BCE and 425, Thasos Page 41 of 42

 

Hermes as Visible in Votive Inscriptions 1st BCE; IPriene 183, Priene, 4th BCE. Private individuals: ID 2408, Delos, no date; Matheou and Kouraios 1992–8: 437, Paros, 4th BCE; IGBulg IV 2230, Pautalia, no date. Unknown dedicator: SB 1 5667 and SB 5 8639, Egypt, no date. (43) ID 1832; SEG 17.422 (Passage de théores, Salviat 1958; Daux 1961: 319 no. 1); SEG 17.425; Pouilloux 1954: no. 151 (secondary context, but is assumed not to have moved far). (44) Lebessi 1985: 221. (45) Buschor 1957: 84–5; See also Ohly 1953: 47. An inventory dated 346/345 BCE reveals that there was a temple of Aphrodite with a cult statue of Hermes in Samos. (46) Vianu 1997: 15. (47) Titus New Apollo: SEG 23.450. Sabina Nea Hera: Isager and Pedersen 2012; Sahin 2008: 605 n. 9b and 9c; TAM II 560; IG XII, suppl. 440. (48) New Penelope: IG V,1 540, 598, 599, 607. New Homer and Themistokles: SEG 26.166; IG II2 1069; IG II2 3786; IG II2 3787; IG II2 3788; IG II2 3789. (49) IG XIV 978a; IG V,1 493. (50) Nea Hera: e.g. Livia: IAssos, 43. Domitia: IStratonikeia 1008 = SEG 31.945. Sabina: Isager and Pedersen 2012. Nero Neos Apollo: e.g. SEG 32.252; SEG 44.165; IG II2 3278. (51) Wallensten 2018b: 38-9, 2018a: 5. (52) For the character and cults of Hermes, see, for example, Larson 2007; Strauss Clay 1989: 95–151; Nilsson 1967: 501–10; Vernant 1963. (53) For a “hungry Hermes” with a human appetite, see, for example, Versnel 2011. (54) This study was made possible by a generous grant from The Royal Swedish Academy of Letters, History and Antiquities and Riksbankens Jubileumsfond: The Swedish Foundation for Humanities and Social Sciences. I thank them sincerely.

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Hermes, Kyllene, Samothrace, and the Sea

Tracking Hermes, Pursuing Mercury John F. Miller and Jenny Strauss Clay

Print publication date: 2019 Print ISBN-13: 9780198777342 Published to Oxford Scholarship Online: March 2019 DOI: 10.1093/oso/9780198777342.001.0001

Hermes, Kyllene, Samothrace, and the Sea Sandra Blakely

DOI:10.1093/oso/9780198777342.003.0017

Abstract and Keywords Authors from Herodotus to Hippolytus confirm a range of roles for Hermes in the mysteries of the Great Gods of Samothrace, as psychopomp, mystagogue, divine servant, or bridegroom. A connection with the most distinctive promise of the rites—safety in travel at sea—arises through those texts which reference Hermes of Kyllene as the iconographic type of the Samothracian god. Celebrations of this Hermes arrived on the slopes of Mt. Saos along with the first Greek settlers; the archaic wooden ithyphallic xoanon is a visual sign capable of embodying Priapus as well as Hermes. Northeastern Aegean traditions commemorate the god as a hardy swimmer, able to save himself and protect mortal mariners. The Kyllenian type Hermes of Samothrace is one among many elements in the ritual vocabulary of maritime safety through which the island articulated its control over the sea. Keywords:   Priapus, maritime safety, Berthouville, xoanon, Herodotus, Hippolytus, Samothrace, Hermes Perpheraios

Hermes seems made for ritual studies grounded in geospace and structural functionalism, frameworks which recognize how location and human need determine the shape of the divine. As a traveler of many forms, he continually adapts to the location of his worshippers; as the messenger between worlds, he is summoned for rituals from magic to civic. His polymorphism is purposeful, not random, so that the essence of this god in particular lies in the extent to which his semantics are fitted to the place of his worship and the problem he is summoned to solve.

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Hermes, Kyllene, Samothrace, and the Sea On Samothrace, the location is an island, which the winds and currents make a nearly inescapable stop when traveling between the Aegean and the Black Sea. It is one of three which form the gateway into the Hellespont, all of which were locations for initiation rituals in which the Kabeiroi or Theoi Megaloi played a role, and in which Hermes Kasmilos consistently appears—among the Titans on Imbros, as father of Kabeiroi on Lemnos, and as a Phoenician prince, a divine servant, or a Kabeiros on Samothrace.1 The problem for the Samothracian mysteries was maritime risk: initiates were promised neither a glorious afterlife nor cosmic visions, but that their ship would not go down. This is unique for a mystery cult, but entirely ordinary as a ritual type. Rituals focused on maritime risk are a familiar cross-cultural phenomenon. Their analysis has been conducted largely within political ecology, and demonstrates how rituals enable human needs through group formation, communication, and cooperation, all stamped with symbols of divine authority.2 A key principle emerges: the more central an activity is to economic survival, the more encrusted with ritual it will be. (p.272) Samothrace demonstrates this unequivocally. The promise was very well known: Aristophanes joked about it already in the fifth century BC, and literary reflections of the promise continue through the Roman period.3 An extraordinary range of ritual types and mythic figures link this promise to the island. The Dioskouroi are added to the Samothracian pantheon by the fourth century BCE.4 The Pompimos or guide fish was sacred to the island.5 The purple sash worn by Samothracian initiates was said to calm storms at sea or unrest among unruly mobs.6 Magnetized iron rings worn by initiates offer a tantalizing comparison to magical gemstones designed to ensure safety at sea.7 Monuments on site advertized the rites’ maritime effectiveness. The famous Nike looms over the sanctuary from the prow of a Rhodian Trihemiola; Diagoras reported that the sanctuary was full of pinakes thanking the gods for safe travel (Cic. Nat. D. 3.37.89); a Neorion housed the dedication of an entire ship as a thank-offering to the gods.8 Inscriptions thanking the gods for saving them at sea occur so far from the shore that they suggest real-world analogies to Odysseus’ oar, planted so far inland that the locals would mistake it for a winnowing-fan.9 Does Hermes help with these maritime matters? He is included among the Samothracian gods as early as Herodotus and as late as the Christian fathers, and a generic relevance may be argued from his protection of travelers.10 The energy and abundance of Samothrace’s ritual engagements with the sea raises the question of whether or not he assumes a form more specific to the island’s most distinctive promise. Texts focused on the rites themselves do not address the question: these suggest his status as a psychopomp and mystagogue, hint that he is Kadmos the bridegroom in a sacred drama, or direct us to the Roman interpretation of the rites.11 Kyllene, however—as the mountain of his birth, the source of a spouse, and an iconographic type—connects Hermes to narratives of maritime safety with repeated manifestation in Samothrace’s northeastern Page 2 of 22

 

Hermes, Kyllene, Samothrace, and the Sea Aegean neighborhood. The mountain toponym extends beyond the designation of a single space. It has the chronological dimension of archaism, ritually accessed through engagement with wooden and aniconic images, and a metaphoric force that links widely separated mountains through mythic travelers. “Kyllene” inscribes Hermes into the mountain of Samothrace and into the animated archaic wooden swimmers that, with semantically impenetrable surfaces, navigate bodies of water as well as ethno-political boundaries. (p.273) We begin with a tale of two mountains: Saos and Kyllene. The mountain of Samothrace has long been identified as the inspiration for its maritime promise, as its great height (1664 m) made it a natural aid to navigation.12 That height materializes in the island’s myths and toponyms. Homer describes Hera using the regional mountains as stepping stones to move from Olympus to Mt. Ida in Troy (Il. 14.225–30, 281), while Poseidon sits on the Samothracian peak to watch the Greeks and Trojans fight (Il. 24.77–84, 13.33, 13.10–14). Its names include Leukosia, “white,” referring to the clouds that cluster naturally around the mountain’s height; Phengari, a name that means both “shining one” and “moon,” and Samos, or “tall” in local Thracian language (Strabo 10.2.17). All of these emphasize the visibility that made the mountain key for visual navigation. It was more frequently known as Saos, a name in which the Greeks would hear the word “saved.”13 A tale preserved in Diodorus Siculus offers the background.14 He writes that in very ancient times, before the Black Sea was joined to the Aegean, the island’s topography included low-lying plains as well as the great bulk of the mountain. When a primordial flood burst through the Hellespont, the people were suddenly threatened with drowning, scrambled up the slopes of Mt. Saos, and so found their salvation (5.47.1–48.3). Hermes has a direct connection to this landscape as the Father of Samothracian Saos by a nymph of Kyllene named Rhene.15 The importance of toponymns in signaling cultural meaning on Samothrace encourages a closer look into this pair. Arcadian Mt. Kyllene is a frequent association for Hermes.16 It is the mountain on which he was born, and is as prominent in its landscape as Samothrace is in the Thracian sea. Rising 1870 meters above the Stymphalian plain, it affords a view from its height of a large portion of the northeastern Peloponnese all the way to the gulf of Corinth. This great height drew notice from Homer onward: Homer (Il. 2.603), Pausanias (4.245), and Geminos (Elem. Astron. 1.14) wrote that it was the highest peak of the peninsula, even though Mt. Elias in Lakonia is taller. Vergil called it gelidus vertex (Aen. 8.139) and the Priapea Cyllene nivosa (75.10) because gleaming snow remained visible on its peaks into mid-June. Geminos reports that the mountain’s peak was so tall that it was beyond the touch of wind and clouds—so that pilgrims, returning to the peak shrine, would find the ashes of the previous year’s sacrifice undisturbed. Hermes’ associations with the mountain seem to have taken ritual as well as poetic form. Pausanias reported a dilapidated temple to Hermes on the peak (8.17.1). French excavations (p.274) found no sign of the temple itself, but a Page 3 of 22

 

Hermes, Kyllene, Samothrace, and the Sea three-chambered cave, rich in stalactites, was discovered in 1871; it has yielded ceramics, terracottas, and inscriptions.17 What most impressed Pausanias was a remarkable image of the god, a xoanon eight feet tall made of juniper wood (6.26.5). An analogously archaic statue, consisting of nothing but a phallus on a pedestal, was located at the homonymous seaport of Kyllene. Artemidoros (1.43.6), Lucian (Iupp. Trag. 42), Philostratos (V. Apoll. Tyre 6.20), and Hippolytus (Refutatio Haer. 5.7) all remark on this form. No source on the statues is earlier than the first century BCE; each of them arguably views the god’s statue through the antiquarian enthusiasms of his own era.18 Because of this they may be taken with caution vis-à-vis the statue itself, but as confirmation that in their time Kyllene was a toponymic signal for the archaic and ithyphallic Hermes. Versnel has noted that this is the form of Hermes most appropriate for the traveler: to measure his relevance for Samothrace, we need to look to the island itself.19 High on the slopes of Mt. Saos, the shrine of Mandal Panayia offers a glimpse into the genuinely archaic on Samothrace, when the arriving Greeks brought Artemis, and perhaps Hermes, to the mountain. A female divinity is attested in terracotta figurines from the archaic through the Hellenistic period.20 With the arrival of the Greeks in the sixth century, her celebration seems to have provided one locus for cultural mediation. Inscriptions show the Thracian language written in Greek letters, and an inscribed statue base from the sixth century preserves the letters –IDI, likely a Greek conflation of the local goddess with Artemis.21 A role for Hermes at Mandal Panayia has been affirmed through three small terracotta herms, between 15 and 25 cm tall, two of which are now headless.22 Two other small herms, whose original find spot is uncertain, complete the catalogue of preserved herms from Samothrace. Both have shafts without drapery or any signs of anthropomorphism, and abbreviated bosses for arms. The first, a 22 cm high marble herm, consists of a shaft that tapers slightly toward the top, topped by a bearded male face, with long hair and a turban (Fig. 17.1).23

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Hermes, Kyllene, Samothrace, and the Sea The second, a 55 cm tall bronze, consists of a shaft that tapers at the base; the head is bearded and topped with a pilos-style cap (Fig. 17.2).24

Fig. 17.1. Samothracian herm. Illustration by David Diener, after photo published by Charles Champoiseau, “Note sur des antiquités trouvés dans l’île de Samothrace,” Comptes rendus des séances de l’Académie des Inscriptions et Belles-Lettres, 36e année, N. 1, 1892: 24. ©Académie des inscriptions et BellesLettres, used by kind permission.

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Hermes, Kyllene, Samothrace, and the Sea Its inscription declares it an offering to Hermes from two individuals, Proe and Babous. Proe is otherwise unattested, but Babous has analogies in names from Boiotia, Thrace, Mysia, Bithynia, Lydia, and Pontos.25 The geographic reach is largely coterminous with the greatest concentration of names of Samothracian theoroi, proxenoi, and initiates.26 (p.275) The iconography of these Samothracian herms is as limited as it is unremarkable; arguments for their interpretation have relied on the literary and mythographic record of the cult. Kern connected them to the Kabeiroi (Kern 1893), Champoiseau to the Great Gods of the island (Champoiseau 1892), Chapouthier to the great mother (Chapouthier 1935: 176, 183). A fresh perspective may Fig. 17.2. Samothracian herm, published be found by tracing the by Fernand Chapouthier, Les Dioscures iconography of archaic, au service d’une déesse, E. de Boccard ithyphallic figures in the 1935: 176, figure 16. immediate neighborhood of © Editions de Boccard, used by kind Samothrace. On Imbros, just permission. twelve miles southeast of Samothrace, Hermes seems to have played a central role in the sixth-century BCE interactions between incoming Greeks and local islanders, whose ithyphallic god Imbramos was easily assimilated to Greek Hermes.27 The island god’s erect condition, reflected in his alternative name Orthanes, rendered (p.276) him similar to a number of local ithyphallic deities, and so enabled his travel. Strabo notes that he was welcomed in Athens because of his similarity to Konisalos (13.1.12); the comic poets made abundant use of him here.28 He informs divine names in Delphi, Aetolia, Thera, Messenia, Lesbos, and Nisyros.29 On Imbros, however, he is both the eponymous god of the island and the god of the mysteries. Four fourth-century BCE inscriptions record the names of initiates of Hermes (IG XII (8) 68, 69, 87a, 89 a– Page 6 of 22

 

Hermes, Kyllene, Samothrace, and the Sea b); a second-century BCE inscription notes the dedication of a kerykeion to the Great Gods of the island (IG XII.8.51.24).30 The identification of his mystes suggests that he served here as the alpha male on whom the crowd of Kabeiroi attend, analogous to Dionysos at Thebes and Hephaistos on Lemnos. The ithyphallism of the Kyllene cult (p.277) image is clearly not foreign to the Imbrian mysteries—indeed, given the connection between this iconography and the eponymous local god, it seems potentially central, the link between the island’s cult and its local identity. An analogous centrality for ithyphallism characterizes the Hermes who appears on Samothrace some nine centuries after the first Greek arrival on the island. In the third century CE, Hippolytus writes: ἕστηκε δὲ ἀγάλματα δύο ἐν τῷ Σαμοθρᾴκων ἀνακτόρῳ ἀνθρώπων γυμνῶν ἄνω τεμένας ἐχόντων τὰς χεῖρας ἀμφοτέρας ἐς οὐρανὸν καὶ τὰς αἰσχύνας ἄνω ἐστραμμένας, καθάπερ ἐν Κυλλήνῃ τὸ τοῦ Ἑρμοῦ. There stand two statues in the Anaktoron of the Samothracians, depicting naked men holding both hands stretched to heaven and genitals turned upward, just as the image of Hermes in Kyllene.31 His statement is part of the Naassene Sermon, the sole source of information on this Gnostic sect. Naassene thought connected a primal man on high, Adamas, with the man “enslaved” in earthly form, who strives toward reawakening. Continual flows move between the celestial and the earthly realms; Hippolytus compares the movement to the ocean: “in its ebb and flow it turns continually, sometimes upwards, sometimes downwards” (5.7.38). The ascent to heaven enables the receipt of knowledge, gnosis, which defines the sect. Hermes, and specifically Kyllenian Hermes, is the Naassene demiurge: he is Logios, interpreter and maker of all that is and will be.32 His erection is the embodied emblem of the movement between the man trapped in clay in the lower world and the Primordial Adam above, “possessing an impulsive power from the parts beneath toward those above” (5.7.2). Kyllenos embodies both ends of the journey —the man in clay and the Primordial Adam. The ithyphallism of Kyllene is the core of the mysteries and of Naassene cosmology and soteriology. No preserved statues from Samothrace correspond to the Naassene Hermes, though the images of serpents and the archaism of the site, would offer visual resonance with their doctrine.33 In iconographic terms, moreover, the archaic xoana or phalloi of Kyllene could have answered only half of Hippolytus’ statues: they would have no arms to raise toward heaven. These would be an element, however, of the hip herms of the early imperial period, likely familiar to Hippolytus.34 Two canthari of the Berthouville treasure offer a snapshot of the visual vocabulary of these herms. The treasure is a collection of vessels dedicated to another Hermes, the Gallo-Roman Mercury of Canetonum. Their Page 7 of 22

 

Hermes, Kyllene, Samothrace, and the Sea reliefs show hip herms positioned in landscapes scattered with super-sized satyr masks and the instruments appropriate for a Dionysiac revel.35 All of the (p. 278) herms are ithyphallic, a condition revealed by the anasyrma appropriate to Priapus. Hippolytus wrote that the Samothracian herms raised their arms skyward, a gesture that signaled adoration or prayer.36 The herms on these vessels make analogously articulate gestures. One herm lets his left arm fall to his side, while he raises his right arm only to chest height (Fig. 17.3). (p.279) He holds out his hand palm forward and directs his gaze backwards toward the tree near which he is positioned. The hand gesture may at once acknowledge the god and his power, and suggest the need for apotropaic power.37 The herm on the opposite side of this cup is capite velato; he leans slightly backward, holding with both hands a bowl that he may be bringing toward a large Dionysiac mask, or into which he may peer, finding his reflection in the surface of its contents (Fig. 17.4).

Fig. 17.3. Detail, silver cantharos from the Berthouville treasure, mid-first century CE. Photo: Tahnee Cracchiola, courtesy Département des Monnaies, médailles et antiques, Bibliothèque nationale de France. Height 15.8 cm, Diameter 13.3 cm, Weight 852 grams. Paris, BnF, 56.9.

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Hermes, Kyllene, Samothrace, and the Sea On a second cup both herms raise one arm to heaven, and turn their faces away from the upraised hand. The first herm, preserved entirely, holds a rhyton skyward while he gazes toward a gigantic satyr mask lying on the ground, or at an oval object hanging from the tree branch, very likely the tympanum proper to Dionysos’ retinue (Fig. 17.5). The second, preserved only from above the waist, holds his right hand to the sky with palm up, wrist back, and fingers positioned in the mano cornuta —a gesture with a wide range of meanings in Greek and Roman contexts, (p.280) including fertility and apotropaia.38 The enormous horned mask from which he turns away raises the possibility that his gesture evokes tauriform Dionysos (Fig.

Fig. 17.4. Silver cantharos from the Berthouville treasure, mid-first century CE. Photo: Tahnee Cracchiola, courtesy Département des Monnaies, médailles et antiques, Bibliothèque nationale de France. Height 15.8 cm, Diameter 13.3 cm, Weight 852 grams. Paris, BnF, 56.9.

17.6).39

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Hermes, Kyllene, Samothrace, and the Sea His gaze is directed downward toward a gigantic mask that leans against the trunk of the tree. (p.281) These scenes have strong parallels in two other cups that suggest the potential for these landscapes to be not merely sacral, but mystical in nature. The Morgan cup, contemporary with the Berthouville treasure, depicts the rustic, open-air worship of ithyphallic gods, its mystery character signaled by the cista

Fig. 17.5. Detail, silver cantharos from the Berthouville treasure, mid-first century CE. Photo: Tahnee Cracchiola, courtesy Département des Monnaies, médailles et antiques, Bibliothèque nationale de France. Height 16 cm, Diameter 14.6 cm, Weight 835 grams. Paris, BnF, 56.8.

mystica.40 The so-called cup of the Ptolemies presents an analogous jumble of masks, vines, panpipes, a snake emerging from a cista mystica, and a statue of Priapus.41 The gaze and gestures of the Berthouville herms, moreover, may reinforce the mystery semantic. They never look out toward the holder of the cup; their attention is directed over their backs, toward the masks, or perhaps at their own reflections. The backwards gaze has analogies in six figures from the frescoes of the Villa dei Misteri frescoes in Pompeii,

Fig. 17.6. Silver cantharos from the Berthouville treasure, mid-first century CE. Photo: Tahnee Cracchiola, courtesy Département des Monnaies, médailles et antiques, Bibliothèque nationale de France. Height 16 cm, Diameter 14.6 cm, Weight 835 grams. Paris, BnF, 56.8.

who turn away from the scene in which they are engaged.42 The same Pompeian frescoes provide a parallel for the herm holding a lekane, in the figure of a youth who seems engaged in lecanomancy, gazing into a bowl while a satyr holds a (p. 282) mask behind his head.43 These comparanda suggest that a Priapic herm is entirely at home in a mystic ritual context, particularly in one characterized by the combination of elegance and rusticity that marks both the Berthouville cups and the Samothracian site. But do Hippolytus’ statues bear on the question of Samothracian Hermes? His reference to Kyllenos clarifies only their ithyphallism, not their identity. Varro proposed that the two figures before the door were Castor and Pollux, but Page 10 of 22

 

Hermes, Kyllene, Samothrace, and the Sea Chapouthier has noted that these gods are not usually ithyphallic.44 Hermes’ familiar role as a guardian of doorways recommends him,45 but he is typically one statue, not two, and Clinton has brought into question the statues’ position before the doors.46 Herms, moreover, are hardly limited to Hermes—they may be male or female, heroic or divine.47 Lullies notes that preserved Mantelhermen from before the Hellenistic period depict only Hermes, but that during the Hellenistic period Priapus, Herakles, bearded Sileni, and Eros all appear, particularly in the Greek East. Hippolytus’ description narrows down this range to the securely male figures, but does nothing to enable a choice from among them. This plurality of choices, combined with the capacity for ithyphallic figures to take on multiple names, encourages us to focus on image and function rather than name alone to understand the Kyllenian of Samothrace, and to expand our view into the region around the island. Priapus comes quickly to the fore. He was native to the area, and repeatedly included in mystery rituals.48 Romans and the Greeks they ruled were familiar with his embodiment in the form of a herm. By tradition, he was both as wooden and as erect as Kyllenian Hermes, an iconographic reinforcement of the kinship he sometimes shared with the Hermes Greeks brought to this region.49 Though more typically associated with gardens and their protection, Priapus also had strong connections with the sea, enabled through the winds which moved between the two realms. The same gusts that encourage swallows to chatter and meadows to bloom encourage sailors to unfurl their sails, a trope found in Leonidas (10.1), Antipater of Sidon (10.2), Marcus Argentarius (10.4), Thyillus (10.5), and Satyrus (10.6), who encourages the ships to “spread their wings” and go to trade, trusting in Priapus the daimon of the harbor. A first-century CE silver cup from Avenches offers the iconography for these celebrations: here Priapus and an ithyphallic Pan, in rock-cut shrines, receive votive rudders and anchors as they supervise the departure and return of simple ships.50 The cities most linked into the Samothracian network, moreover, found particular use for archaic wooden images as guarantors of safe sea travel—and thus an appropriate sign for the promises of the mysteries. (p.283) Lampsacus, the city of Priapus, sent theoroi to the Samothracian rites, and controls the same pathway into the Black Sea as Samothrace, Lemnos, and Imbros.51 It is also one of the locations where Priapus’ expressions of maritime protection are clearest: Archias AP 10.8 gives voice to Priapus as the “guardian of the Thracian strait” (Θρηϊκίου πόρου φύλακα), and Artemidoros of Perge included an epigram for Lampsacan Priapus in his temenos on Thera.52 The god’s Theran epigram emphasizes his own arrival from afar, his concern for foreigners, and his status as the embodiment of travel that brings wealth. The god’s language echoes the promises of Samothracian proxeny as recorded in four inscriptions on Samothrace, and one proxeny inscription set up in the Samothrakeion at Odessos.53 These specify the benefits of eisploun, ekploun, freedom from tariff on all cargo, and asylia—the kinds of benefits that Page 11 of 22

 

Hermes, Kyllene, Samothrace, and the Sea encouraged Weber, Davies, and others to assign proxeny a primary function in the promotion of maritime commerce.54 Votive inscriptions from the Hellespont and Asia Minor affirm Priapus’ maritime powers. A Roman imperial-period votive inscription from Callipolis records the fisherman’s gratitude to Priapus: an image of the god stands above the text, next to an altar with fish. The god lifts his robe to expose his erection.55 The dedication echoes Priapus’ requests in the Palatine Anthology for thank-offerings from his fishermen, in the form of bogue, wrasse, squid, or scarus (10.9, 10.14, 10.16). Other epigrams reflect the pragmatic applications of Priapus for seafaring, describing his statue positioned on spurs by the beach or rocks over the Thracian straits (10.7, Archias; 10.8; 10.14, Athenaias Scholasticus). The practice described in these epigrams has parallel in the use of wooden pilings to guide ships to harbor, marking headlands and the hazards of shallow waters.56 These data suggest that phallic imagery had maritime functions in the region around Samothrace. We look in vain, however, for unambiguous textual evidence that these semantics were linked to Samothrace’s Hermes. The strongest textual evidence is also the earliest. Seven hundred years before Hippolytus, Herodotus dropped broad hints about the imagery appropriate to the gods of the rites. He writes that the Greeks learned to make ithyphallic images of Hermes from the Pelasgians, and that any Samothracian initiates would know what he means by this (2.51). He thus affirms, with Hippolytus, a central role for the ithyphallic in the rites; referring to the Pelasgians, he expresses in ethnographic terms the archaism Hippolytus suggests through Kyllene. In another logos Herodotus suggests a maritime function for the Kabeiroi, whom he considers Samothracian gods. He reports that these gods (p.284) in Egypt look like Pataiki, dwarf-like figures that the Phoenicians carry on the prows of their vessels (3.37). Herodotus falls short of affirming that the maritime function of the Pataiki bears on the Samothracian rites; what is most clear is that these figures crossed cultural boundaries, as his Egyptians are using Phoenician images, his Samothracians, Pelasgian ones. Kyzikos, Ainos, and Methymna offer more compelling evidence for a connection between archaic wooden images and maritime power. The images either aid men or save themselves at sea, and demand ritual attention from the Greeks to whom they are at first foreign and strange. Kyzikos is one of the best-attested sites in the Samothracian network, with some twenty-three individuals named on eight inscriptions as theoroi, proxenoi, epoptes, and hieropoioi.57 The city is also the setting for the most detailed narrative of maritime aid from Samothracian gods. According to Apollonius, the Argonauts arrived at Kyzikos after their initiation (Arg. 1.917–20). They then polluted themselves by killing King Kyzikos, and so found themselves locked in port by fierce storms (1.1079). A halcyon brought ritual instructions to the seer Mopsos: the instructions combined a mountain height, an archaic wooden statue, and the local mother of the mountain. The Argonauts climbed Mt. Dindymene. This mountain is much smaller (752 m) than Page 12 of 22

 

Hermes, Kyllene, Samothrace, and the Sea Samothrace (1611 m), but Apollonius’ emphasis on its commanding view narrows the distinctions, and the mountain’s name, interestingly, appears in ceramic inscriptions on Samothrace, suggesting a conscious connection forged between the island and Dindymene by fourth-century dedicants.58 On the mountain top, Argos “smooths” an old stump of vine into a xoanon, an act described as ἔχεσε, using the etymological root for xoanon (1.1119).59 Sacrifices are then made to Dindymene and to Titias and Kyllenos, identified as two of the Idaian Daktyloi whom Anchiale caused to bud, ἐβλάστησεν, from the earth in the cave of Dikte (1.1131–4). Ephoros, Diodorus Siculus, Strabo, and Arnobius know the Idaian Daktyloi as the gods of Samothrace.60 Two elements in this passage connect these Daktyloi to the Argonauts’ mountaintop performance. The first is the dance of the crew, clashing swords and shields together to drown out the cries of mourning for Kyzikos. Strabo associates these dances with the Idaian Daktyloi, and declares them the reason for their syncretization with the Kouretes (10.3.7, 22; cf. Diodorus Siculus 5.64–5). The second is the connection with terrestrial fecundity. The “budding” metaphor of the Daktyloi’s birth becomes a terrestrial reality in the Argonauts’ dance, in response to which the earth bursts into bloom and a new spring gushes forth from the ground. This spectacle of super fecundity, positioned before the newly fashioned xoanon, (p.285) offers an attractive parallel to Priapus’ powers over gardens as well as ships. The traditions behind the Daktyloi further underscore the connection from one mountain to another. The first of the Daktyloi on whom the Argonauts call is named for the local hero Titias;61 the other is Kyllenos, born on Mt. Dikte in Crete (1.1126–30). They link Kyzikos’ Dindymene to Cretan Dikte, to Samothracian Saos, and to Arcadian Kyllenos, in a mountain-to-mountain movement that echoes Hera’s Homeric stride across the northern Aegean. Rough-hewn statues and legendary mountains frame an effective response to maritime distress and draw daimones from Samothrace, Crete, Ida, and local tradition to the problems of seafarers. Ainos offers analogous evidence for the maritime power of archaic wooden statues. It was one of the richest cities of the Samothracian peraia, and well represented at the rites; sixteen initiates’ names have been preserved.62 Hermes was the alpha male of the city’s pantheon, and appeared on nearly all of its coins.63 His embodiment as the archaic wooden Hermes Perpheraios links him to the Samothracian rites and to exceptional maritime power.64 In Kallimachos’ Iambus 7 the god describes himself as a creation of Epeios, the sculptor of the Trojan Horse. After his creation he was carried down the Scamander to the sea, where fishermen from Ainos picked him up. They sought to hack him up and use him as firewood, but the god would neither be broken nor burn; they cast him back into the sea, but the god returned to their nets. They finally recognized his divinity, setting him in a shrine on the beach and offering him the first fruits of their catch. Eventually, on orders from Apollo, he was taken into the city. The xoanon-type of the statue has parallels in Ainian tetradrachs of 450–430 BCE, Page 13 of 22

 

Hermes, Kyllene, Samothrace, and the Sea which show a herm-like figure, bearded and wearing a conical cap, positioned on the seat of a high-backed throne (Fig. 17.7). This throne, and the sculptor’s creator, seem to have appeared on Samothrace in an archaic sculpture, which Bosquet identified as the Throne of Hermes.65 The throne is decorated with a relief showing a seated Agamemnon, Talthybios his herald standing behind him carrying a caduceus, and a figure labeled Epeios. Bosquet argues that the throne reflects the chair of Hermes on the city’s coins, and that the name Epeios connects it to Kallimachos’ tale. AcostaHughes notes an additional connection in the Diegesis for Kallimachos’ Iambus 9. Here Hermes explains that his erection has Tyrrhenian origins and a μυστικὸν λόγον.66 The Tyrrhenian mystikos logos offers direct correlation to Herodotus’ Pelasgian hieros logos, and Hermes’ Tyrrhenian origins signals (p.286) the

Fig. 17.7. Drachm of Ainos with head of Hermes. Greek, late classical period, about 357–342/1 BCE; Ainos mint, Thrace; silver. 19 mm dia., weight 3.99 gm. Die Axis: 12. Museum of Fine Arts, Boston. Theodora Wilbour Fund in memory of Zoë Wilbour, 61.1189. Photo © 2018 Museum of Fine Arts, Boston. Whilst every effort has been made to secure permission to reproduce the illustrations, we may have failed in a few cases to trace the copyright holders. If contacted, the publisher will be pleased to rectify any omissions at the earliest opportunity.

distance he has traveled.67 The hardy xoanon of Ainos has direct analogy to the Kyllenian Hermes of Samothrace. Steiner, Acosta-Hughes, and Petrovic have all noted the parallels between this story and Dionysos Phallen at Methymna on Lesbos.68 Methymna is an exceptionally active Samothracian site. Two second-century BCE inscriptions describe a local koinon of Samothrakiasts, the earliest epigraphic record of these organizations, and a third-century BCE Samothracian inscription lists six Methymnian mystes.69 Pausanias (10.19.3) reports that Methymnian fishermen dragged from the sea an olivewood mask that looked divine, but not Greek. Upon inquiry, the Pythia told them that this was Dionysos Phallen. The city kept and worshipped the mask, but sent a bronze copy to Delphi.70 The mask appears alone on the city’s coins of the third to second centuries BCE: it may have hung from the pillar herm on the city’s second- to first-century BCE coins.71 “Phallen” Page 14 of 22

 

Hermes, Kyllene, Samothrace, and the Sea was Lobeck’s correction to the “Kephallen” of Pausanias’ manuscript; Bousquet linked it to Dionysos Sphaleotas of Mysia; Frontisi-Ducroux reads it as an adjective for the wood, whitened and swollen from its long immersion in the sea.72 “Water-logged” would be an appealing epithet for a divine image whose maritime journey was essential to its identity and reshaped its form. The mask’s distortion underscores the visual inscrutability (p.287) of the god who floated in on the waves, a hermeneutical challenge it shares with the Ainian cult, so opaque that both cities had to inquire at Delphi. Steiner has argued that this inscrutability characterizes herms in particular, whose interior meaning lies hidden beneath a deceptively simple surface.73 In conclusion: On the island of Samothrace, where the mountain plunges into the sea, we have long known that there is no need to choose between HermesKadmos the Phoenician bridegroom, or Camillus-Hermes the servant of the gods, or the Neopythagorean lenses the Romans brought to the rites. There may, however, be a need to add one more—the Hermes of Kyllene. He is the geographically specified reference for an iconographic type at which Pausanias marveled. When this type traveled from the Peloponnese to the waters between the Thracian and Black seas, it became a visual sign capable of embodying many different gods, including Priapus, and especially those that emerge at the margin between Greeks and indigenous people. The result is gods and myths that create maritime success, in both poetic and pragmatic terms. We gain more insight into this Samothracian Hermes by investigating a combination of image and function, of which he was a part, rather than only a name, capable of many permutations. The data are far from overwhelming: what continues to impress is the gravitational force of the number of ways Samothrace advertised its least secret promise—for which the Hermes who wanders in from Kyllene may be one more addition. Bibliography Bibliography references: Acosta-Hughes, B. 2002. Polyeideia. Berkeley. Avisseau-Broustet, M., C. Colonna, and K. Lapatin. 2014. “The Berthouville Treasure: A Discovery ‘As Marvelous as It Was Unexpected’.” In K. Lapatin, ed. The Berthouville Silver Treasure and Roman luxury. Los Angeles. 40–5. Beekes, R. S. P. 2004. “Kadmos and Europa and the Phoenicians.” Kadmos 43: 167–84. Blakely, S. 2012. “Toward an Archaeology of Secrecy.” In Y. Rowan, ed. Beyond Belief: The Archaeology of Religion and Ritual, Archaeological Papers of the American Anthropology Association 21.1. Arlington, VA. 49–71.

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Hermes, Kyllene, Samothrace, and the Sea Blakely, S. 2013. “Daimones in the Thracian Sea: Mysteries, Iron and Metaphor.” ARG 14.1: 155–82. Blakely, S. 2016. “Maritime Risk and Ritual Responses: Sailing with the Gods in the Ancient Mediterranean.” In C. Buchet and P. de Souza, eds. The Sea in History: The Ancient World/La Mer dans l’histoire. L’antiquité. Woodbridge, Suffolk. 362–79. Bosquet, J. 1948. “Callimaque, Hérodote et le trône de l’Hermès de Samothrace.” RA 29/30: 105–31. Brilliant, R. 1963. Gesture and Rank in Roman Art. New Haven. (p.288) Cairns, D. 2005. “Bullish Looks and Sidelong Glances.” In D. Cairns, ed. Body Language in the Greek and Roman Worlds. Swansea. 123–56. Casevitz, M. and F. Frontisi-Ducroux. 1989. “Le masque du ‘Phallen’.” RHR 206.2: 115–27. Chapouthier, F. 1935. Les Dioscures au service d’une déesse. Paris. Champoiseau, C. 1892. “Note sur des antiquités trouvées dans l'île de Samothrace.” CRAI 36.1: 22–5. Clinton, K. 2003. “Stages of Initiation in the Eleusinian and Samothracian Mysteries.” In M. Cosmopoulos, ed. Greek Mysteries: The Archaeology of Ancient Greek Secret Cults. London. 50–78. Cole, S. 1984. Theoi Megaloi. Leiden. Collini P. 1990. “Gli dei Cabiri di Samotracia: origine indigena o semitica?” SCO 40: 237–89. Corbeill, A. 2004. Nature Embodied: Gesture in Ancient Rome. Princeton. Corsten, T. and R. W. V. Catling. 2010. A Lexicon of Greek Personal Names, Vol. V.A, Coastal Asia Minor: Pontos to Ionia. Oxford. Daux, G. and J. Bousquet. 1942–3. “Agamemnon, Télèphe Dionysos Sphaleôtas et les Attalides.” RA 20: 19–40. Dimitrova, N. M. 2008. Theoroi and Initiates in Samothrace. Princeton. Ellis, R. 1889. A Commentary on Catullus. Oxford. Edwards, M. J. 1996. “The Naming of the Naassenes: Hippolytus, Refutatio V.6– 10 as Hieros Logos.” ZPE 112: 74–80.

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Hermes, Kyllene, Samothrace, and the Sea Elliott, J. H. 2016. Beware the Evil Eye: The Evil Eye in the Bible and the Ancient World: Vol. 2, Greece and Rome. Cambridge. Engen, D. T. 2010. Honor and Profit. Ann Arbor. Frontisi-Ducroux, F. 1991. Le dieu-masque: une figure du Dionysos d’Athénes. Paris. Fraser, P. M. 1960. Samothrace: The Inscriptions on Stone. Vol 2.1. New York. Fraser, P. M. and E. Matthews. 2000. A Lexicon of Greek Personal Names, Volume IIIB, Central Greece. Oxford. Fraser, P. M. and M. J. Osborne. 2005. A Lexicon of Greek Personal Names, Vol. IV, Macedonia, Thrace, Northern Regions of the Black Sea. Oxford. Fredrich, C. 1909. “Aus Samothrake.” AM 34: 23–8. Gaifman, M. 2012. Aniconism in Greek Antiquity. Oxford. Gazda, E. K., ed. 2000. The Villa of the Mysteries in Pompeii. Ann Arbor. Gow, A. and D. L. Page. 1968. The Greek Anthology: The Garland of Philip. Cambridge. Hartswick, K. J. 2004. The Gardens of Sallust. Austin. Hemberg, B. 1950. Die Kabiren. Uppsala. Jaisle, K. 1907. Dioskouren als Retter zur See bei den Griechen. Tübingen. Kern, O. 1893. “Aus Samothrake.” AM 18: 337–84. Kern, O. 1919. “Kabeiros und Kabeiroi.” RE 10: 1399–1450. Kreutz, B. M. 1973. “Mediterranean Contributions to the Medieval Mariner’s Compass.” Technology and Culture 14.3: 367–83. Kühr, A. 2006. Als Kadmos nach Boiotien kam. Stuttgart. Lancellotti, M. G. 2000. The Naassenes. Münster. Larson, J. 2001. Greek Nymphs: Myth, Cult, Lore. Oxford. Lewis, N. 1958. Samothrace Vol. 1, The Literary Sources. New York. Lehmann, P. W. 1969. The Hieron: Text I. Princeton. (p.289) Lehmann, K. 1960. Samothrace: The Inscriptions on Ceramics and Minor Objects. Vol. 2. P. 2. New York. Page 17 of 22

 

Hermes, Kyllene, Samothrace, and the Sea Locchi, A. 2005. Le Corna di Dioniso e il politeismo greco. Dissertation, Università di Roma, “La Sapienzia.” Lullies, R. 1931. Die Typen der griechischen Hermen. Königsberg. May, J. M. F. 1950. Ainos, its History and Coinage. London. Morton, J. 2001. The Role of the Physical Environment in Ancient Greek Seafaring. Leiden. Matsas, D., C. Karadima, and M. Koutsoumanis. 1993. “Η ανασκαφή στην Παναγία τ᾽ Μάνταλ᾽ της Σαμοθράκης το 1993.” ΑΕΜΘ 7: 647–55. Marangou, C. and P. Della Casa. 2008. “Islands in the Mediterranean.” EJA 11.2– 3: 171–7. Neilson III, H. R. 2002. “A Terracotta Phallus from Pisa Ship E.” IJNA 31.2: 248– 53. Nelson, M. 2000. “Narcissus: Myth and Magic.” CJ 95.4: 363–89. Olender, M. 1978. “Éléments pour une analyse de Priape chez Justin le Gnostique.” In M. B. de Boer and T. A. Edridge, eds. Hommages à M. J. Vermaseren. Vol. 2. Leiden. 874–97. Palagia, O. 1992. “Cult and Allegory: The Life Story of Artemidoros of Perge.” In J. M. Sanders, ed. Philolakon. London. 171–7. Palagia, O. 2010. “The Victory of Samothrace and the Aftermath of the Battle of Pydna.” In O. Palagia and B. D. Wescoat, eds. Samothracian Connections. Oxford. 154–64. Petrovic, I. 2010. “The Life Story of a Cult Statue as an Allegory.” In J. Mylonopoulos, ed. Divine Images and Human Imaginations in Ancient Greece and Rome. Leiden. 205–24. Platt, V. 2011. Facing the Gods. Cambridge. Pritchett, W. K. 1998. Pausanias Periegetes. Amsterdam. Robert, L. 1950. “Inscriptions de l’Hellespont et de la Propontide.” Hellenica 9: 80–97. Rubi, K. 1969. “Ein neuer Silberbecher aus Avenches,” Bulletin de l’Association Pro Aventico 20: 37–44. Sale, J. R. 2016. “Protecting Fertility in Fra Filippo Lippi’s Portrait of a Woman with a Man at a Casement.” Metropolitan Museum Journal 51: 64–83.

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Hermes, Kyllene, Samothrace, and the Sea Stewart, P. 1997. “Fine Art and Coarse Art: The Image of Roman Priapus.” Art History 20.4: 575–88. Steiner, D. 2001. Images in Mind. Princeton. Tanner, J. 2006. The Invention of Art History in Ancient Greece. Cambridge. Tiverios, M. 2008. “Greek Colonisation of the Northern Aegean.” In G. R. Tsetskhladze, ed. Greek Colonisation: An Account of Greek Colonies and Other Settlements Overseas. Vol. 2. Leiden. 1–154. Tréheux, J. 1956. “L’inventaire des Clérouques d’Imbros.” BCH 80.1: 462–79. Versnel, H. S. 1974. “Mercurius amongst the Magni Dei.” Mnemosyne 4.27: 144– 51. Versnel, H. S. 2011. Coping with the Gods. Leiden. Wachsmuth, D. 1960. Pompimos ho Daimon. Berlin. Whitehouse, D. 1997. Roman Glass in the Corning Museum of Glass. Vol. 3. New York. Yébenes, S. P. 2010. “Magic at Sea: Amulets for Navigation.” In R. L. Gordon and F. M. Simón, eds. Magical Practice in the Latin West. Leiden. 457–86. Zwierlein-Diehl, E. 2007. Antike Gemmen und ihr Nachleben. Berlin. (p.290) Notes:

(1) Clinton 2003: 68–9; IG XII 8 no. 74; Hemberg 1950: 37, 87, 132; Beekes 2004; Kühr 2006: 27; scholia Parisina to Ap. Rh. Arg. 1.917. (2) Blakely 2016. (3) Lewis 1958: 102–15. (4) Jaisle 1907. (5) Wachsmuth 1960: 100–8; Hemberg 1950: 102; Kern 1893: 383. (6) Lewis 1958: 107–8. (7) Kreutz 1973; Yébenes 2010; Wachsmuth 1960: 440–3. (8) Palagia 2010. (9) Cole 1984: 167 (# 54, Apameia Kibotos; #55, Fasilar), 168 (#57, Koptos). (10) Lewis 1958: 16, 18, 26, 35, 63, 65–6, 68, 70, 76, 92–3. Page 19 of 22

 

Hermes, Kyllene, Samothrace, and the Sea (11) Hemberg 1950: 87–8; Cole 1984: 2–3; Collini 1990: 254–5; Kern 1919: 1426– 7; Versnel 1974. (12) Lewis 1958: 38, 38, 41; Hemberg 1950: 103, n. 3; Marangou and Della Casa 2008. (13) Larson 2001: 178. (14) Pliny NH 4.12.73; scholia to Nikander Theriaka 1.472; scholia Townleiana to Iliad N 12. (15) DS 5.47.1–48.3: scholia Laurentiana to Ap. Rh. Arg. 1.917; Dionysius of Halikarnassos, Antiquitates Romanae 1.61.2–4; Chapouthier 1935: 172–3. (16) Pritchett 1998: 266–71. (17) SEG 55.541; SEG 48.519. (18) Gaifman 2012: 50–63. (19) Versnel 2011: 337. (20) Tiverios 2008: 111–12. (21) Matsas, Karadima, and Koutsoumanis 1993. (22) Kern 1893: 383–4; Fredrich 1909: 25. (23) Champoiseau 1892. (24) Chapouthier 1935: 175. (25) Fraser and Matthews 2000: 84; Fraser and Osborne 2005: 63; Corsten and Catling 2010: 95. (26) Dimitrova 2008: 2–3, figs. 1–2. (27) Blakely 2013. (28) Aristophanes PCG F 325; Eubulus PCG F 75, 76; Plato PCG F 188. (29) Hemberg 1950: 37–43. (30) Tréheux 1956. (31) Refutatio omnium haeresium 5.8.10; see Edwards 1996. (32) Lancellotti 2000.

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Hermes, Kyllene, Samothrace, and the Sea (33) Dimitrova 2008: 119–20; 141; 240; 135–8; 141; 189–90; Lehmann 1969: 137 n. 240; Blakely 2012. (34) Cole 1984: 12–13, 29; Lullies 1931: 71–4, 83–4. (35) Avisseau-Broustet et al. 2014. (36) Brilliant 1963: 15. (37) Corbeill 2004: 23–6; Cairns 2005: 134. (38) Sale 2016; Elliott 2016: 183–8. (39) Locchi 2005: 38–54. (40) Whitehouse 1997: 48. (41) Zwierlein-Diehl 2007: 68. (42) Gazda 2000: 3, figs. 6, 11, 12, 20, 21, 24. (43) Nelson 2000: 371. (44) Chapouthier 1935: 176, 183. (45) See Duncan E. MacRae in this volume. (46) Bosquet 1948: 110; Clinton 2003. (47) Hartswick 2004: 152. (48) Olender 1978. (49) Stewart 1997. (50) Rubi 1969. (51) Ellis 1889: 504; Dimitrova 2008: 59–61. (52) Palagia 1992. (53) Cole 1984: IG XII.8.151 (Mesata in Aetolia and Oitaia); IG XII.8.152 (Kalchedon); IG XII.8.153 (Rhodes); IG XII.8.155 (Zone); IG XII.8.157 (Gortyn); Fraser 1960: 6. (54) Engen 2010: 148. (55) Robert 1950; SEG 45.1659; Morton 2001: 192–3. (56) Nielson 2002. Page 21 of 22

 

Hermes, Kyllene, Samothrace, and the Sea (57) Dimitrova 2008: 35–44, 59–60, 135–45. (58) Lehmann 1960: 8–19; CCCA Asia Minor I: 96. (59) Platt 2011: 92. (60) Ephoros (BNJ 70 F 104); Diodorus Siculus 5.64.4; Strabo 7 fr. 50; Arnobius, Adversus Nationes 3.41–3; Gow and Page 1968: 447–8. (61) Kallistratos: scholia to 1126–31a, Wendel, Fg. 2 M. IV 354. (62) Dimitrova 2008: 111–15. (63) May 1950: 57–65. (64) Petrovic 2010; Steiner 2001: 82–3; Acosta-Hughes 2002: 297–8. (65) Bosquet 1948. (66) Acosta-Hughes 2002: 265, 294–302. (67) Acosta-Hughes 2002: 298. (68) Steiner 2001: 82–3; Acosta-Hughes 2002: 297–8; Petrovic 2010. (69) Cole 1984: 20–1, 52, 83–4; Dimitrova 2008: 55–8. (70) Daux and Bousquet 1942–3; Casevitz and Frontisi-Ducroux 1989. (71) Tanner 2006: 55. (72) Frontisi-Ducroux 1991: 196. (73) Steiner 2001: 79–134.

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The Greek Magical Hymn to Hermes

Tracking Hermes, Pursuing Mercury John F. Miller and Jenny Strauss Clay

Print publication date: 2019 Print ISBN-13: 9780198777342 Published to Oxford Scholarship Online: March 2019 DOI: 10.1093/oso/9780198777342.001.0001

The Greek Magical Hymn to Hermes Syncretism or Disguise? The Hellenization of Thoth in Graeco-Egyptian Magical Literature Ljuba Merlina Bortolani

DOI:10.1093/oso/9780198777342.003.0018

Abstract and Keywords This paper investigates the so-called “magical hymn” to Hermes, a short hexametrical invocation preserved in the corpus of the Greek magical papyri (PGM) in three different papyri of different dates: PGM V 401–20, VII 668–80, and XVIIb (fourth, third, and second/third centuries CE respectively). Some of the most interesting features are analyzed in the light of both Greek and Egyptian traditions in order to illuminate the cultural background of the divine persona described by the hymn. Though the composition appears to address a quite balanced syncretistic deity, a more thorough examination reveals that the nature of the god addressed, despite the Greek meter, is closer to Hermes’ Egyptian counterpart, Thoth. Nevertheless, the hymn does not have to be the product of philosophical Hermetism (as it has often been argued), but it could just represent an earlier stage of translation of the Egyptian conception into Greek. Keywords:   magical papyri, magical hymns, Hermes, Thoth, Hermetism, PGM

The so-called “magical hymn” to Hermes is a short hexametrical invocation which appears in the corpus of the Greek magical papyri (PGM). This ongoing collection of spells from Roman Egypt includes both magical handbooks and “applied” magical charms and is often bilingual (with passages in Hieratic, Demotic, or Coptic).1 Even if it appears to be a complex tangle of different religious traditions (e.g. Egyptian, Greek, Jewish, Mithraic), the recent Page 1 of 18

The Greek Magical Hymn to Hermes interdisciplinary debate has demonstrated that its main components are Greek and Egyptian and that most papyri as we have them are the result of a long process of collection and reworking of earlier material which probably started before the first century2 and must have involved the Egyptian priesthood.3 In fact, the presence of Demotic and especially Hieratic cannot be explained outside an Egyptian priestly milieu,4 but this does not necessarily point to the involvement of temple institutions since the spells could have also been collected by off-duty priests in search of extra income.5 (p.294) The metrical sections of the PGM are used as invocations within some spells and, owing to their meter, were usually considered as the most “authentically Greek” contribution in a corpus traditionally seen as an expression of religious syncretism. The predominance of Greek gods (or rather of their names) as the addressees of these hymns also contributed to this early interpretation. However, in Roman Egypt the assimilation between Egyptian and Greek deities was very common, even if often limited to the pairing of their names.6 Already Riesenfeld, following Norden,7 opened a path to a different interpretation of the magical hymns through an analysis of their stylistic features, which showed how some of the linguistic and structural patterns they display are alien to Greek language and thought and much closer to Near Eastern hymnography. More recently, Ritner has demonstrated how the so-called “slander hymns” of the PGM parallel in style and contents Ancient Egyptian precedents and thus appear to be a Greek rendering of Egyptian invocations.8 In fact, especially when the stylistic features are not particularly distinctive, the analysis of contents in the light of both Greek and Egyptian traditions becomes fundamental in tracing back the cultural background in which the magical hymns originated.9 This contribution investigates some of the most interesting features of the magical hymn to Hermes,10 focusing mainly on the contents, in order to determine what kind of divine persona the hymn actually describes. Three versions of the hymn are preserved, in three different papyri of different dates: PGM V.400–20 [A] (fourth? century) and VII.668–80 [B] (third/fourth century) Ἑρμῆ κοσμοκράτωρ, ἐγκάρδιε, κύκλε σελήνης, στρογγύλε καὶ τετράγωνε, λόγων ἀρχηγέτα γλώσσης, πειθοδικαιόσυνε, χλαμυδηφόρε, πτηνοπέδιλε, αἰθέριον δρόμον εἱλίσσων ὑπὸ τάρταρα γαίης, πνεύματος ἡνίοχε, Ἡλίου ὀφθαλμέ, μέγιστε, παμφώνου γλώσσης ἀρχηγέτα, λαμπάσι τέρπων τοὺς ὑπὸ τάρταρα γαίης τε βροτοὺς βίον ἐκτελέσαντας· μοιρῶν προγνώστης σὺ λέγῃ καὶ θεῖος Ὄνειρος, ἡμερινοὺς καὶ νυκτερινοὺς χρησμοὺς ἐπιπέμπων, ἰᾶσαι πάντα βροτῶν ἀλγήματα σαῖς θεραπείαις. δεῦρο, μάκαρ, Μνήμης τελεσίφρονος υἱὲ μέγιστε· Page 2 of 18

 

The Greek Magical Hymn to Hermes A σῇ μορφῇ ἱλαρός τε φάνηθι ἱλαρός τ’ ἐπίτειλον ἀνθρώπῳ ὁσίῳ μορφήν θ’ ἱλαρὰν ἐπίτειλον ἐμοί, τῷ δεῖνα, ὄφρα σε μαντοσύναις ταῖς σαῖς ἀρεταῖσι λάβοιμι. B σῇ μορφῇ ἱλαρῷ τε νοῷ· δεῖγμ’ ἀνθεὶς δὲ ἀφθάρτῳ κούρῳ μαντοσύνην ἔκπεμψον ἀληθῆ. (p.295) 1 παντοκράτωρ, B 3 χρυσοπέδιλε, B 5f. πνεύματος, ἠελίου ἡνίοχε, ἀθανων τε λαμπάσι τέρπων, B; παμφώνου γλώσσης ἀρχηγέτα, missing in B 8 Μοιρῶν τε κλωστὴρ, B 9 καί, missing in A 10 πάντων βροτῶν, B 11 θεῆς τελεσίφρονος, B Hermes, ruler of the cosmos, who are in the heart, circle of the moon, spherical and square, founder of the words of language, who obeys justice, wearing a mantle, with winged sandals, who turns (around) an ethereal course beneath the abysses of the earth, who governs the wind, eye of Helios, mightiest one, founder of many-sounded speech, who with lamps make glad the mortals beneath the abysses of the earth who have finished life; you are called foreseer of fates and divine Dream, you who send day- and night-oracles, cure all mortals’ pains with your healing cares. Come here, blessed one, mightiest son of Memory, who perfects mental powers, A appear gracious in your form, and gracious rise to a pious man, and rise for me, NN, in a gracious form, so that I can understand you in divinations through your skills. B in your form and gracious mind; entrust an uncorrupted boy with a sign and send your truthful art of prophecy. 1 ruler of all, B 3 with golden sandals, B 5f. who govern the wind, the sun and who with lamps of immortals (gods) make glad B 8 thread of fate, B 10 the pains of all mortals, B 11 of the goddess who perfects mental powers, B

PGM XVIIb.1–2311 [C] (second/third century)    …κρ]άτωρ, ἐγκάρδιε, κ[ύκλε    τ]ετράγωνε, λόγων [    ] χλαμυδηφόρε [    γ]λώσσης μεδέω[ν    ]εισπνοιη γὰρ [    ]. παρων προει[    ] ἐν τυτθῷ χρόνῳ [    ]ṿ πάλι μόρσιμο[ν    ]ον τιν’ ἀληθέα [    κλωσ]τὴρ σὺ λέγῃ καὶ [ ]αστος, ἅπερ φε[ Page 3 of 18

 

The Greek Magical Hymn to Hermes α̣ . [.]ρα ι̣[. .]ε̣μ[.]ν ἐπικρίνοιο [ ἐσθλὰ μὲν ἐσ[θλο]ῖσιν παρέχεις [ σ[ο]ὶ δ’ ἠὼς ἀνέ[τ]ειλε, θοὴ δ’ ἐπελά[σσατο στοιχείων σὺ κ[ρ]ατεῖς, πυρός, ἀέρο[ς ἡνία πηδαλιοῦχος ἔφυς κόσμοιο [ ὧν δ’ [ἐ]θέλεις ψυ[χ]ὰς προάγεις, τοὺς δ’ αὖτ’ ἀνεγείρεις· (p.296) κόσμος γὰρ κόσμου γεγαὼς [ σὺ γὰρ καὶ νούσους μερόπων [ ἡμερινοὺς κα[ὶ] νυκτερινοὺ[ς χρησμοὺς καί μοι εὐχομέ[ν]ῳ τὴν σὴν [ ἀνθρώπῳ, ὁσίῳ ἱκέτῃ καὶ σ[ καὶ σὴν μαντοσύνην νη[ 8 Cf. Hom. Od. 10.175 13 Cf. Hom. Il. 14.382, 24.530     …ruler, who are in the heart, circle…     …square…of the words…     …wearing a mantle…     …lord of speech…     …inspiration/may he breathe?…       …     …in a short time…     …again the fatal…     …some true…     …you are called thread…       …     …may you judge… you offer good things to the good… dawn rose for you and quick approached… you rule the elements, fire, air… when you were born as the helmsman of the cosmos… you escort the souls of those you wish, but some you reawaken as you have become the order of the cosmos… for you (cure) also mortals’ illnesses… day- and night-oracles … and to me, praying your… to a man, a pious suppliant… and your art of prophecy…

The hymn begins with Ἑρμῆ κοσμοκράτωρ (B παντοκράτωρ), ἐνκάρδιε, two epithets that immediately suggested to Heitsch12 that this hymn’s background was the same as the philosophical Hermetica.13 Κοσμοκράτωρ would represent the supreme nature of god, and ἐνκάρδιε the divine spark present in every human being: the cosmic and the anthropological essence of the divine principle. Similarly, the following epithets, “spherical and square,” would express the allencompassing nature of god,14 and a Gnostic/Hermetic background would underlie also πνεύματος ἡνίοχε (line 5), where πνεύμα is normally (p.297) translated as “spirit” since it immediately echoes the Gnostic systems in which the πνεύμα is the divine essence emanating from the One god, which decreases in quantity in accordance with the increasing distance from its source until it Page 4 of 18

 

The Greek Magical Hymn to Hermes reaches the material world.15 Though this explanation seems plausible, the hymn appears in the PGM but is not preserved in any philosophical Hermetica, and thus it is worth setting aside this interpretation when analyzing it. First of all, it can be useful to recall some general aspects and functions that Thoth, Hermes’ Egyptian counterpart, has in ancient Egyptian religion (apart from the Hermetic assimilation of the two deities).16 Thoth embodies the power of creative speech, he is the god of knowledge par excellence and a moon-god. As god of speech and wisdom, he is the god of writing and language (of which he is said to be the inventor) and the god of justice, but also of magic and medicine since in Egyptian thought they are both tightly connected not only with knowledge, but also with the act of speaking. Furthermore, he is a good counsellor, a persuasive speaker, the scribe of the gods, and the herald of the solar god. He also plays an important role in the Netherworld, both as assessor of the dead and scribe, and as escort of the solar god during the journey that the sun undertakes every night through this realm. Moreover, as moon-god, Thoth can also control time and distinguish months, seasons, and years. Thanks to this ability, he can determine the duration of men’s lives, and thus be considered a god of fate. His competence in relation to time and fate, together with his knowledge of everything, also grants him prophetic skills.17 To return to the hymn, the first epithet κοσμοκράτωρ18 seems to be quite suitable for Thoth,19 as he could be a primeval creator god in the theology of Hermopolis in Upper Egypt, his sacred city.20 In this cosmogony, at the beginning of time there were four couples of male and female deities, represented as frogs and snakes (the Ogdoad), who embodied the four principles of chaos and indistinctness. Thoth can participate in the creation in various ways; in one version of the myth, for example, an ibis, Thoth’s sacred animal, (p. 298) laid an egg on top of the primeval mound, from which the sun-god emerged and then the whole world was created. Not by chance Thoth can be e.g. ḳmȝ-ntt-nbt, “he who created everything that exists,” or nb-pt-tȝ-mw-ḏww, “the lord of the sky, earth, water, and mountains,” four elements of nature that the Egyptians used to refer to the whole world.21 The second epithet, ἐνκάρδιε, in a generic sense means “something you have in your heart,” “something you care for.”22 Apart from the Hermetic explanation, it is not immediately clear why Hermes should be described as “in the heart” or a deity “they care for,” especially if we consider that ἐνκάρδιος is not otherwise attested as a divine epithet. Moreover, in the hymn there is no mention of the heart of men, and the idea that a god could be “in the heart” generally appears in the Greek classical tradition only with those deities who personify human emotions.23 On the other hand, as in archaic Greek thought and in some later Greek philosophical/medical theories, the Egyptians believed that the seat of the mind was the heart, and not the brain. Thus, the Egyptian word for “heart,” ỉb, means also “mind,” “intelligence,” and “will.” From the Middle Kingdom to the Page 5 of 18

 

The Greek Magical Hymn to Hermes Ptolemaic temples, one of the commonest epithets of Thoth is ỉb-n-R‘, “heart of Ra.”24 This epithet derives from another Egyptian cosmogony, the so-called Memphite theology,25 in which creation is achieved through ḥkȝ, “magic,” constituted of sỉȝ, “perception,” “understanding” (represented by the heart, namely, the mind)—i.e. the ability to perceive what is needed—and ḥw, “annunciation,” “effective word” (represented by the mouth)—i.e. the ability to make things happen by uttering them. The creator god “perceives,” i.e. “conceives” the Word in his mind, i.e. in the heart, and then, uttering the Word, he begins the creative act. Thoth embodied the power of creative speech, was the god of knowledge, of magic, and of the spoken and written word, and so, not surprisingly, he can be identified both with ḥw and with sỉȝ: he is called “heart of Ra” because he symbolizes both the Word located in the mind (heart) of the creator, and the “perception” represented by the heart-mind itself.26 This association Thoth–heart was (p.299) strong, so that in the inscriptions of the temple of Esna, for example, the hieroglyph that represents an ibis and means “ibis,” whose normal phonetic value is hb, is used to express the phonetic value ỉb and the word ỉb, “heart.”27 Therefore, at least originally, ἐνκάρδιος could have had nothing to do with the idea that every human heart contains a spark of the divine essence, but could have been chosen to refer to Thoth “heart of Ra,” who is “in the heart” as “effective speech.”28 Similarly, the epithets λόγων ἀρχηγέτα γλώσσης and παμφώνου γλώσσης ἀρχηγέτα (lines 2 and 6, γλώσσης μεδέων in C.4) easily apply to Thoth as the inventor of speech and writing. One of his commonest epithets is nb-mdw-nṯr, “lord of the divine words”;29 he is the one who “has let the writings speak,” “invented the letters,” and “began the writings.”30 On the other hand, Hermes was certainly associated with speech and language, but mainly in connection with rhetorical abilities and in his function as messenger of the gods. He is the god of wit and cunning who can use language at will to deceive men and deities, but he is also a mediator, the “interpreter” of the divine words for men; and, starting from Plato and then especially in the Stoics, he can function as logos, “word” of the gods.31 However, in the classical Greek tradition, Hermes is not the “creator” of speech and language, and it seems that this idea derived from his early association with Thoth. Plato attributes the invention of speech to Thoth, e.g. in Philebus 18b–d and in Phaedrus 274c–e, where Thoth is the one who invented (among other things) “letters,” an elixir of memory and wisdom for the Egyptians. Diodorus 1.16 uses “Hermes” as the equivalent for “Thoth” when he tells us that the Egyptians believe that Hermes was the first to further articulate language, inventing the alphabet, and giving a name to things that were still nameless. Other attestations of Hermes as the discoverer of speech and/or writing are later, sometimes stating or implying again the Egyptian origin of this idea, and other times quite vague.32 The opposite attitude can be found, for example in the Orphic Ηymns, where Hermes is said to be a “prophet of the word for men,” Page 6 of 18

 

The Greek Magical Hymn to Hermes “interpreter of everything,” and “terrible weapon of the (p.300) tongue”33— epithets that do not imply the creation of speech and thus perfectly fit Hermes. At lines 1–2 of the hymn, in the sequence κύκλε σελήνης, στρογγύλε καὶ τετράγωνε, the first two epithets, apart from the Hermetic interpretation, aptly describe the god as a lunar god: he is the orbit/disk of the moon and he is spherical. They would thus represent an Egyptian attribute, while τετράγωνος would have a Greek origin, since it has been interpreted as a reference to the shape of the apotropaic Hermae: because they were fashioned as quadrangular pillars, when talking about them Hermes was often said to be τετράγωνος.34 Various Greek authors discuss this square-shape and connect it with different things. Plutarch, for example, after stating that Hermes (= Thoth) is said to be the first god in Egypt to discover writing, tells us that the number four is sacred to Hermes because of the tradition that the god was born on the fourth day of the month.35 Other authors associate the square-shape with Hermes as logos, especially in the Stoic milieu, e.g. Cornutus who maintains that the Hermae are square-shaped because Hermes-logos is “square,” as he has a steady and unshakable quality.36 We are already in the sixth century when John Lydus37 says that the number four is sacred to Hermes-logos because, according to some philosophers, the soul is constituted by four parts: “mind (νοῦς), knowledge (ἐπιστήμη), opinion (δόξα), perception (αἴσθησις); since, as Pythagoras says, the human soul is a square (τετράγωνον) with right angles.” He continues by associating Hermes-τετράγωνος with the four turnings of the sun, the two equinoxes and the two solstices, and with the four phases of the moon (new, full, first and second quarter). All these considerations, though, seem to be a posteriori, while the most plausible explanation for the shape of the Hermae appears to be the apotropaic function they had especially at crossroads. Pausanias Atticus, for instance, mentions a statue of a four-headed Hermes in a crossroad of the Potters’ quarter in Athens bearing the inscription Ἑρμῆ τετρακέφαλε…πάνθ’ ὁράᾳς, “four-headed Hermes…you see everything,”38 clearly referring to the apotropaic protection of the limen, probably in connection with the four cardinal points. Hermes shared this function with the goddess Hekate, who was often represented with three bodies or three heads owing both to this apotropaic (p.301) function and to her lunar nature.39 Interestingly enough, in the PGM many of Hekate’s epithets are compounded with the number three, but others are compounded with four (e.g. τετραπρόσωπε, τετραώνυμε, τετραοδῖτι, with-four-faces, four-names, fourroads). In this case, four is clearly a variant of three according to the different ways of describing the phases of the moon.40 In conclusion, Hermes was certainly τετράγωνος as far as the shape of the Hermae was concerned, and his association with the logos triggered various speculations about why the logos was τετράγωνος, but looking at the sequence in our hymn, κύκλε σελήνης, στρογγύλε, καὶ τετράγωνε, the easiest interpretation is to refer the sentence to the moon: Hermes/Thoth is the orbit/disk of the moon, which is spherical but Page 7 of 18

 

The Greek Magical Hymn to Hermes also made of four parts. As already discussed, the lunar Thoth was connected with the number four also in the cosmogony of Hermopolis (called Khmunu in Egyptian, “the eight-city”), based on the four principles of indistinctness. At line 3 πειθοδικαιόσυνε is usually translated as “pleading the cause of justice” or “obedient to justice.” Even if Hermes could be connected with justice and trials thanks to his rhetorical ability and as mediator between opposite parties, “obedient to justice” does not really describe Hermes’ divine persona, otherwise a god of thieves and trickery. The epithet could also be translated as “who persuades justice/convincing of right,” but this hypothesis is not supported by the hymn’s fragmentary version C: at lines 12–13 ἐπικρίνοιο is followed by “you offer good things to the good…,” implying something like “and bad things to the evil,” which makes clear that this section described a god of justice, and not one who can bend justice to his liking. In this respect, the epithet seems more suitable for Thoth as god of justice, e.g. ỉr-Mȝ‘t, “the one who acts Maat41 (Justice/Truth),” and nb-Mȝ‘t, “the lord of Maat.”42 Some typically Greek iconographical features of Hermes appear at line 3 (χλαμυδηφόρε, πτηνοπέδιλε),43 and at line 5 we find another epithet particularly significant, πνεύματος ἡνίοχε, since it was one of the triggers of the Gnostic/ Hermetic interpretation. However, Egyptian religion knows something very (p. 302) similar to the πνεῦμα, expressed by the word ṯȝw, which, exactly like πνεῦμα, can mean both “wind” and “breath,” especially “life breath.” The creator god gives off his breath, identified with the wind, in order to make the whole cosmos live: he is the one who gives breath to the nose/throat of every god and man, he is the breath of life in all things,44 an ability that can also be ascribed to Thoth as creator god (e.g. dỉ-ṯȝw-r-fnḏ-n-s-nb, “who gives the breath to the nose of every man”).45 The reason why this Egyptian background could be more plausible for πνεύματος ἡνίοχε is that the fragmentary version C preserved εισπνοιη γὰρ (line 5), which, though ambiguous, suggests there was a passage dealing with the act of breathing rather than with the Gnostic πνεῦμα. Interestingly enough, two other PGM preserve an invocation with strong Egyptian background,46 starting with “come to me, you from the four winds, god,” παντοκράτωρ, ὁ ἐνφυσήσας πνεύματα ἀνθρώποις εἰς ζωήν, “who have blown spirits/breaths into men for life.” This sentence perfectly fits the Egyptian model and confirms that it was not alien to the PGM.47 Πνεύματος ἡνίοχε immediately precedes Ἡλίου ὀφθαλμέ, an epithet which clearly refers to Thoth since in Egyptian thought the moon was conceived as the left eye of various skysolar gods, so that the expression “eye of Helios” must be equivalent to the Egyptian “eye of Horus/(Re),”48 the wḏȝt, and Thoth as the moon could be ỉ‘ḥ-mwḏȝt, “the moon as the eye of Horus.”49 The whole hymn cannot be analyzed in detail in this short contribution, but some other interesting points can quickly be noted. For example, line 4 and lines 6–7 (λαμπάσι τέρπων…) imply that the god is imagined as traveling to/through50 the Page 8 of 18

 

The Greek Magical Hymn to Hermes Underworld, and that he has a role in connection with the dead, which would fit both Hermes and Thoth, even if “mortals who have finished life” might echo Greek conceptions more than Egyptian ones. Lines 8–9 allude to the god’s oracular nature but include a Greek feature since, though Thoth controlled fate and could be an oracular god, the special connection with dreams expressed by θεῖος Ὄνειρος51 seems to be typical of Hermes, considered a god of sleep and a bringer of dreams beginning with Homer.52 (p.303) It would thus not seem a coincidence that the first two versions of the hymn appear within two dreamoracle spells (PGM V.370–446, VII.664–85). However, dream-oracles in the PGM can be addressed to many different deities, so that it is not clear whether Hermes as god of sleep was chosen because of this special function, or if it was the dream-oracle ritual that triggered the addition of this feature of Hermes to the hymn. At line 10 the god is the one who heals all mortal pains, a function that did not originally belong to Hermes, but to Thoth, god of medicine and skilled physician. Finally, the god is said to be the son of Mneme, i.e. Mnemosyne, which, although wrong because Hermes should be the son of Maia,53 is definitely a Greek feature and reminds us of the Homeric Hymn to Hermes, where it is said that Hermes as inventor of the lyre, in his song, honored Mnemosyne, mother of the Muses, first among the gods since the son of Maia belonged to her entourage.54 In conclusion, many of the analyzed attributes can fit both Hermes and Thoth, and some others apply to only one of the two gods; thus this hymn seems to describe a balanced syncretistic deity. However, Hermes and Thoth already shared many of their functions before any syncretistic attempt (such as the roles of persuasive speakers and of heralds, and the connections with language and with the Underworld). The insistence on the lunar nature of the god, the epithet κοσμοκράτωρ, the attributes describing him as a god of justice and healing cares, as the creator of speech, and as the eye of Helios, and possibly also the reference to the πνεῦμα, all find a better explanation in considering the divine persona of Thoth. Of course the Hermetic interpretation would argue that the deity invoked is the Hellenistic syncretistic Hermes–Thoth, which may be, but what must be underlined is that this hymn does not have to be the product of philosophical Hermetism since it can be explained without it (the Hermetic interpretation could be later). In my opinion, this hymn, like much of Graeco–Egyptian magical literature, does not demonstrate that the PGM’s compilers were particularly partial to specific philosophical speculations, but it seems more to be the product of the activity of ritual specialists with an Egyptian cultural background55 and access to Greek sources who tried to adapt traditional beliefs in order to make them appealing to a Hellenized clientele.56 This preliminary analysis suggests that the hymn could be the product of an earlier stage of the translation of the (p.304) Egyptian

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The Greek Magical Hymn to Hermes conception into Greek, a translation that only at a second stage of speculation was transformed in the philosophical Hermetica. Bibliography Bibliography references: Assmann, J. 1995. Egyptian Solar Religion in the New Kingdom: Re, Amun and the Crisis of Polytheism. London. Assmann, J. 1997. Moses the Egyptian: The Memory of Egypt in Western Monotheism. Cambridge, MA and London. Baines, J. 1983. “Literacy and Ancient Egyptian Society.” Man N.S. 18.3: 572–99. Betz, H. D. 1992. The Greek Magical Papyri in Translation—Including the Demotic Spells. 2nd ed. Chicago and London. Bleeker, C. J. 1973. Hathor and Thoth: Two Key Figures of the Ancient Egyptian Religion. Leiden. Bortolani, L. M. 2016. Magical Hymns from Roman Egypt: A Study of Greek and Egyptian Traditions of Divinity. Cambridge. Boylan, P. 1922. Thoth, the Hermes of Egypt: A Study of Some Aspects of Theological Thought in Ancient Egypt. London. Brakke, D. 2010. The Gnostics: Myth, Ritual, and Diversity in Early Christianity. Cambridge, MA and London. Brashear, W. M. 1995. “The Greek Magical Papyri: An Introduction and Survey.” ANRW II, 18.5: 3380–684. Bremmer, J. N. 1983. The Early Greek Concept of the Soul. Princeton. Calvo Martínez, J. L. 2009. “Un himno hermético en tres versions.” MHNH 9: 235–50. Clarysse, W. 2009. “Egyptian Religion and Magic in the Papyri.” In R. S. Bagnall, ed. The Oxford Handbook of Papyrology. Oxford. 561–89. Crivellato, E. and D. Ribatti. 2007. “Soul, Mind, Brain: Greek Philosophy and the Birth of Neuroscience.” Brain Research Bulletin 71: 327–36. Daniel, R. W. and F. Maltomini. 1990–2. Supplementum Magicum. 2 vols. Abhandlungen der Rheinisch-Westfälischen Akademie der Wissenschaften, Sonderreihe Papyrologica Coloniensia XVI.1, 2. Opladen.

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The Greek Magical Hymn to Hermes Derchain-Urtel, M. T. 1981. Thot à travers ses épithètes dans les scènes d’offrandes des temples d’époque gréco-romaine. Brussels. Dieleman, J. 2005. Priests, Tongues, and Rites: The London-Leiden Magical Manuscripts and Translation in Egyptian Ritual (100–300 CE). Leiden. Dieleman, J. 2011. “Scribal Practices in the Production of Magic Handbooks in Egypt.” In G. Bohak, Y. Harari and S. Shaked, eds. Continuity and Innovation in the Magical Tradition. Leiden. 85–117. Dornseiff, F. 1988. Das Alphabet in Mystik und Magie. 2nd ed. Etoixeia 7. Leipzig. Festugière, A. J. 1950–4. La révélation d’Hermès Trismégiste. 4 vols. 3rd ed. Paris. Fowden, G. 1993. The Egyptian Hermes: A Historical Approach to the Late Pagan Mind. Princeton. Frankfurter, D. 1998. Religion in Roman Egypt: Assimilation and Resistance. Princeton. (p.305) Frankfurter, D. 2000. “The Consequences of Hellenism in Late Antique Egypt: Religious Worlds and Actors.” ARG 2: 162–94. Graf, F. 1991. “Prayer in Magic and Religious Ritual.” In C. A. Faraone and D. Obbink, eds. Magika Hiera: Ancient Greek Magic and Religion. Oxford. 188–213. Heitsch, E. 1959. “Zu den griechischen Zauberhymne.” Philologus 103: 215–36. Hopfner, T. 1974–90. Griechisch-ägyptischer Offenbarungszauber. 2 vols. 2nd ed. Studien zur Palaeographie und Papyruskunde 21, 23. Amsterdam. Iversen, E. 1984. Egyptian and Hermetic Doctrine. Opuscula graecolatina 27. Copenhagen. Johnston, S. I. 1991. “Crossroads.” ZPE 88: 217–24. Junker, H. 1940. Die Götterlehre von Memphis. Abhandlungen der Preußischen Akademie der Wissenschaften, Philosophisch-Historische Klasse 23. Berlin. Kahn, L. 1979. “Hermès, la frontière et l’identité ambiguë.” Ktema 4: 201–11. Kákosy, L. 1995. “Probleme der Religion im römerzeitlichen Ägypten.” ANRW II, 18.5: 2894–3049. Kákosy, L. 1986. “Probleme der ägyptischen Kosmogonien der Ptolemäer- und Römerzeit.” In Hommages à François Daumas. Montpellier. 2.429–34.

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The Greek Magical Hymn to Hermes Koenig, Y. 1994. Magie et magiciens dans l’Égypte ancienne. Paris. Krauss, R. 1997. Astronomische Konzepte und Jenseitsvorstellungen in den Pyramidentexten. Ägyptologische Abhandlungen 59. Wiesbaden. Kurth, D. 1998. “‘Alpha kai omega’: Über eine Formel in den ägyptischen Tempelinschriften griechisch-römischer Zeit.” In W. Clarysse, A. Schoors, and H. Willems, eds. Egyptian Religion: The Last Thousand Years: Studies Dedicated to the Memory of Jan Quaegebeur. OLA 84. Leuven. 2.875–82. Mahé, J.-P. 1978–82. Hermès en Haute-Égypte. 2 vols. Québec. Meeks, D. 1971. “Génies, anges et démons en Égypte.” In Génies, anges et démons: Égypte, Babylone, Israël, Islam, etc. Sources Orientales 8. Paris. 19–84. Merkelbach, R. and M. Totti. 1990–1. Abrasax: Ausgewählte Papyri religiösen und magischen Inhalts. I: Gebete, II: Gebete (Fortsetzung). Abhandlungen der Rheinisch-Westfälischen Akademie der Wissenschaften, Sonderreihe Papyrologica Coloniensia XVII.1, 2. Opladen. Montevecchi, O. 1957. “Pantokrator.” In Studi in onore di Aristide Calderini e Roberto Paribeni. 3 vols. Milan. 2.401–32. Nagel, G. 1942. “Le dieu Thot d’après les textes égyptiens.” Eranos Jahrbuch 9: 109–40. Norden, E. 1956. Agnostos Theos: Untersuchungen zur Formengeschichte religiöser Rede. 4th ed. Stuttgart. Orth, E. 1926. Logios. Leipzig. Pernot, L. 2002. “‘L’empreinte d’Hermès logios’: une citation d’Aelius Aristide chez Julien et chez Damascène.” RAAN 71: 191–207. Pfeiffer, S. 2005. “Die Entsprechung ägyptischer Götter im griechischen Pantheon (Kat. 171–181).” In H. Beck, P. C. Bol, and M. Bückling, eds. Ägypten– Griechenland–Rom, Abwehr und Berührung. Frankfurt. 285–90, 598–605. Piankoff, A. 1930. Le cœur dans le textes égyptiens depuis l’Ancien jusqu’à la fin du Nouvel Empire. Paris. Plasberg, O. 1903. “Straßburger Anekdota.” APF 2: 185–228. Preisendanz, K. and A. Henrichs, eds. 1973–4 [1941]. Papyri Graecae Magicae. Die griechischen Zauberpapyri, I–II [III]. 2nd ed. Stuttgart. (p.306) Quack, J. F. 1998. “Kontinuität und Wandel in der spätägyptischen Magie.” SEL 15: 77–94. Page 12 of 18

 

The Greek Magical Hymn to Hermes Quack, J. F. 2010. “Postulated and Real Efficacy in Late Antique Divination Rituals.” Journal of Ritual Studies 24: 45–60. Quack, J. F. 2011a. “Remarks on Egyptian Rituals of Dream-sending.” In P. I. Kousoulis, ed. Ancient Egyptian Demonology: Studies on the Boundaries Between the Demonic and the Divine in Egyptian Magic. OLA 175. Leuven. 129– 50. Quack, J. F. 2011b. “From Ritual to Magic. Ancient Egyptian Forerunners of the Charitesion and their Social Setting.” In Bohak, Harari, and Shaked 2011: 43– 84. Quaegebeur, J. 1975. “Teëphibis dieu oraculaire?” Enchoria 5: 19–24. Quaegebeur, J. 1983. “Cultes égyptiens et grecs en Égypte hellénistique: l’exploitation des sources.” In E. Van’t Dack, P. van Dessel, and W. van Hucht, eds. Egypt and the Hellenistic World. Studia Hellenistica 27. Leuven. 303–24. Ricciardelli, G., ed. 2000. Inni Orfici. Milan. Riesenfeld, H. 1946. “Remarques sur les hymnes magiques.” Eranos 44: 153–60. Ritner, R. K. 1993. The Mechanics of Ancient Egyptian Magical Practice. Studies in Ancient Oriental Civilization 54. Chicago. Ritner, R. K. 1995. “Egyptian Magical Practice under the Roman Empire: The Demotic Spells and their Religious Context.” ANRW II, 18.5: 3332–79. Roeder, G. 1959. Hermopolis: 1929–1939. Hildesheim. Sandman-Holmberg, M. 1946. The God Ptah. Lund. Sauneron, S. 1962. “Les conditions d’accès à la fonction sacerdotale à l’époque gréco- romaine.” BIFAO 61: 55–7. Sauneron, S. and J. Yoyotte. 1959. “La naissance du monde selon l’Égypte ancienne.” In La naissance du monde: Égypte ancienne, Sumer, Akkad, etc. Sources Orientales 1. Paris. 17–91. Sethe, K. 1929. Amun und die acht Urgötter von Hermopolis: Eine Untersuchung über Ursprung und Wesen des ägyptischen Götterkönigs. Berlin. Smith, M. 2002. On the Primaeval Ocean. The Carlsberg Papyri 5. Copenhagen. Spieß, H. 1991. Der Aufstieg eines Gottes: Untersuchungen zum Gott Thot bis zum Beginn des Neuen Reiches. Ph.D. Dissertation Universität Hamburg. Hamburg.

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The Greek Magical Hymn to Hermes Stadler, M. A. 2009. Weiser und Wesir: Studien zu Vorkommen, Rolle und Wesen des Gottes Thot im ägyptischen Totenbuch. Tübingen.Suárez de la Torre, E. 2015. “Himno(s)-plegaria a Hermes en los papiros mágicos griegos.” In C. Giuffré Scibona and A. Mastrocinque, eds. Ex pluribus unum: Studi in onore di Giulia Sfameni Gasparro. Rome. 193?212. Tait, W. J. 1994. “Some Notes on Demotic Scribal Training in the Roman Period.” In A. Bülow-Jacobsen, ed. Proceedings of the 20th International Congress of Papyrologists, Copenhagen 23–29 August 1992. Copenhagen. 188–92. Teodorsson, S.-T. 1989–96. A Commentary on Plutarch’s Table Talks. 3 vols. Göteborg. Versnel, H. S. 1974. “Mercurius Amongst the ‘Magni Dei’.” Mnemosyne 4th Ser. 27.2: 144–51. Vleeming, S. P. 1994. “Some Notes on Demotic Scribal Training in the Ptolemaic Period.” In A. Bülow–Jacobsen 1994: 185–7. Volokhine, Y. 2004. “Le dieu Thot et la parole.” RHR 221: 131–56. (p.307) Whitehorne, J. 1995. “The Pagan Cults of Roman Oxyrhynchus.” ANRW II, 18.5: 3050–91. Wortmann, D. 1966. “Kosmogonie und Nilflut.” Bonner Jahrbücher 166: 62–112. Zielinski, T. 1906. “Hermes und die Hermetik II.” ARG 9.1: 25–60. Zivie-Coche, C. 2009. “L’Ogdoade à Thèbes à l’époque ptolémaïque et ses antécédents.” In C. Thiers, ed. Documents de théologies thébaines tardives (D3T 1). CENIM 3. Montpellier. 167–225. Zografou, A. 2010. Chemins d’Hécate: portes, routes, carrefours et autres figures de l’entre-deux. Kernos Suppl. 24. Liège. (p.308) Notes:

(1) For an overview of the material, see Brashear 1995; on the corpus of the Demotic magical papyri (PDM), which should be considered as one with the PGM, see Ritner 1995. The standard edition of the PGM remains Preisendanz and Henrichs 1973–4, complemented by Daniel and Maltomini 1990–2. Most of the published PGM and PDM in translation can be found in Betz 1992. (2) However, some Demotic material can be traced further back to the sixth century BCE. (3) E.g. Brashear 1995: 3390–5, 3414–16, 3422–9, with rich bibliography; Ritner 1995: 3345–55, 3362–71; Ritner 1993: esp. 112–19, 157–9; Kákosy 1995: 3028– 43; Koenig 1994: 60–72, 156–65; Dieleman 2011; cf. 2005: esp. 47–101. Page 14 of 18

 

The Greek Magical Hymn to Hermes (4) E.g. Sauneron 1962: 55–7; Baines 1983: esp. 580–3; Ritner 1993: 204–14, 220–33; Vleeming 1994; Tait 1994: 190–2; Frankfurter 1998: 210–12, 248–50; Dieleman 2005: 21–3; Clarysse 2009: 565–8, 573. (5) Quack 1998: esp. 85, 89; Quack 2010; Quack 2011a: 143–4; Dieleman 2011. (6) E.g. Quaegebeur 1983; Kákosy 1995: 2948–92; Whitehorne 1995: 3053, 3058– 85; Frankfurter 1998: e.g. 106–8, 116–19; Pfeiffer 2005. (7) Riesenfeld 1946; Norden 1956. (8) Ritner 1995: 3363–71; cf. Quack 2011b. (9) A similar approach also in Merkelbach and Totti 1990–1. (10) These are preliminary results of my research on the hymn and form part of a broader work on magical hymns whose first, and largest, section appeared in Bortolani 2016. (11) Since this papyrus did not preserve any contextual spell, it has been suggested this hymn could have been just a prayer with no magical connotation: e.g. Heitsch 1959: 223–36; Graf 1991: esp. 192–4. (12) 1959: 223–36. (13) See also Plasberg 1903: 208–17 (on C); Fowden 1993: 25–6; Calvo Martínez 2009; cf. Hopfner 1974–90: 2.1.277–80. Differently, Suárez de la Torre 2015. (14) Cf. “I am the first and I am the last / I am the alpha and the omega” of Judeo–Christian tradition (e.g. LXX, Is. 44.6; NT, Apoc. 1.8, 21.6). For similar Egyptian formulations see Kurth 1998. (15) E.g. Brakke 2010: esp. 53–62; cf. Colpe, RAC “Gnosis” II (Gnostizismus). (16) On all the following, see Boylan 1922; Nagel 1942; Roeder 1959: 163–9, 182; Bleeker 1973; Spieß 1991; Stadler 2009 (and 11–35 for a summary of the studies); Derchain-Urtel 1981; Fowden 1993. (17) Cf. BoD 182; Quaegebeur 1975. (18) Κοσμοκράτωρ and παντοκράτωρ (B) in the PGM seem to be used interchangeably, mostly for deities with Egyptian supreme-creator traits (e.g. III. 135; VI.272, 968, 1599, 2192; VII.668, 962; XII.72, 238, 250); see Montevecchi 1957: esp. 410–11. (19) In astrological contexts κοσμοκράτωρ can also refer to the sun and the moon (e.g. Vett.Val. 8.7.312, 9.16.12); even in this sense it would be more suitable for

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The Greek Magical Hymn to Hermes Thoth-moon, since Hermes, despite his association with Hekate as a liminal deity, acquired actual lunar traits only after his assimilation with Thoth. (20) See e.g. Sethe 1929: § 63–80; Roeder 1959: 165, 171–4, 185–6, 190; Kessler, LdÄ “Hermupolis Magna”; Sauneron and Yoyotte 1959: 51–62; cf. Smith 2002: 73; Zivie-Coche 2009. (21) LGG 8.720.E.2, 716.A.1; cf. 723.O.1. (22) Hermes as the planet Mercury can be ἐγκάρδιος meaning “in close proximity” (e.g. CCAG 5.3.97.29, 8.3.105.5–18), but this interpretation would hardly fit with the previous κοσμοκράτωρ. (23) Cf. ἐνκάρδιος in the invocation to Eros, in the love-spell PGM IV.1716–1870 (1784): “(you are like a) child when you are generated within the heart.” Heitsch quotes this passage to support the hypothesis that Hermes is “in the heart of men” as divine spark, but the invocation largely treats Eros as a metaphor for “love,” and thus saying that he is born “in the heart” does not necessarily imply any philosophical conception regarding the divinity of the soul. (24) See LGG 8.725.R.9; also Stadler 2009: 180–1; Derchain-Urtel 1981: 81–94; cf. Boylan 1922: 114; Kákosy 1986: 432. For the heart as the seat of the mind in Greek thought, see e.g. Bremmer 1983; Crivellato and Ribatti 2007. (25) Junker 1940: esp. 42–7; Sandman-Holmberg 1946: 18–23, 42–5; Sauneron and Yoyotte 1959: 40; Assmann 1995: 171–4; also Volokhine 2004: 138–44. (26) See Piankoff 1930: 94–103; Boylan 1922: 59–60, 103–6; Meeks 1971: 58–9; Plasberg 1903: 211; PGM XIII.172 ff. (27) Derchain-Urtel 1981: 93–4. See also Horap. 1.36; on the subject in connection with heart-shaped amulets depicting Thoth-ibis, Wortmann 1966: 97. For Thoth “heart of Ra,” cf. PDM lxi.56 f. For Thoth-heart god of knowledge who, knowing everything, also knows what is in the hearts of men, cf. Boylan 1922: 101–2. (28) For the persistence of this conception in the Hermetica, see Iversen 1984: esp. 12, 31; Mahé 1978–82: 2.296–9, 303. Similarly Suárez de la Torre 2015: 201. (29) LGG 3.654. (30) LGG 4.746 (rdi-mdw-drf), 7.18 (šȝ‘-tit, šȝ‘-drf). (31) E.g. Pl. Cra. 407e ff.; cf. 298d–e; see Leisegang RE “Logos” (1061–5); Orth 1926: 77–86; Versnel 1974: 150; Fowden 1993: 24, 201–2; Pernot 2002: esp. 201– 2; cf. Zielinski 1906: esp. 25–37, 55–6. Page 16 of 18

 

The Greek Magical Hymn to Hermes (32) E.g. FHG III (Müller), 44a: the historian and traveler Mnaseas in the third century BCE would have said that Hermes invented γράμματα (either “articulate sounds,” “written characters,” or “musical notes”). More attestations in Dornseiff 1988: 6–8; cf. Boylan 1922: 99–101. (33) Orph. H. 28.4, 6, 10; Ricciardelli 2000 ad loc. (34) E.g. Paus. 7.22.2; Demetr. Phal. fr. 118.2 (Wehrli); Artem. 2.37.92. (35) Plut. Quaest. Conviv. 738e 3–5, 7–9 and Teodorsson 1989–96, III ad loc., for other attestations; the tradition starts from H.Herm. 20 ff.; cf. Ar. Pl. 1126 (and scholia ad loc.). Cf. also e.g. schol. ad Od. Ψ 198 (Dindorf): Hermes discovered four most important things: γράμματα, music, wrestling-school, and geometry; this would be the reason why the Greeks fashion him τετράγωνον. (36) Corn. ND 23.6 ff. (37) Mens. 2.9; see also 4.76.59–106; Plasberg 1903: 211. (38) Ἀττικῶνὀνομάτων, E 71.3. (39) E.g. Sarian, LIMC s.v. “Hekate”; Johnston 1991; Zografou 2010; cf. Kahn 1979. (40) Cf. Cleomedes, 2.5.87–91; Bortolani 2016 ad 12.33. (41) The goddess Maat personified the concepts of order, truth, justice, morality, and cosmic equilibrium at the same time. (42) LGG 1.456–7, 3.639–42, 8.720–1.G.2; Stadler 2009: 327–43; cf. e.g. BoD 182, 183: “Thoth…who writes what is true, who detests falsehood…master of laws who interprets writings…I am the Lord of Justice…” In the Egyptian tradition the heart is also closely connected with justice. When the deceased arrives in the Netherworld his heart is put on a scale by the god Thoth, counterweighed by the plume symbol of Maat; the heart must not weigh more than Maat, otherwise the deceased will not be allowed to live his eternal life, but will undergo total cancellation from existence. The more crimes the person committed in life, the heavier will be the heart. Subsequently, the heart can also be the seat of the deity who judges human actions inside men; see Piankoff 1930: 87–8: Thoth could be ἐνκάρδιε also as supreme judge. (43) Cf. Orph. H. 28.4 where πτηνοπέδιλε is clearly connected with Hermes’ traditional role as messenger of the gods. (44) See e.g. LGG 4.767–70; Merkelbach and Totti 1990–1: 1.140 for other Egyptian examples. (45) LGG 8.722.M.3; Iversen 1984: 19, 35–6. Page 17 of 18

 

The Greek Magical Hymn to Hermes (46) XII.238–44, XIII.761–73, cf. XXI.1–9; see e.g. Merkelbach and Totti 1990–1: 1.127–222; Assmann 1997: 203–4. (47) Plasberg 1903: 213–14. In B the god is supposed to govern not only the wind/breath but also the sun; even in this case the epithet would be more suitable for Thoth as creator god. (48) Bortolani 2016 ad 3.18; for the equation “Helios”–“Horus” in the PGM, see e.g. IV.296–466, IV.1928–2005. (49) E.g. Otto, LdÄ “Augensagen”; Krauss 1997: 261–74; Boylan 1922: 32–4, 62– 75; for the epithet see LGG 1.149. (50) For εἱλίσσω (line 4) referring to the revolution of astral bodies and thus possibly alluding here to the lunar nature of the deity, see Bortolani 2016 ad 2.3. (51) Cf. Hom. Il. 2.22: Hermes as agent of divine messages is identified with the message itself. (52) E.g. Od. 24.1–24 (cf. 7.137), Il. 24.343. But compare Μοιρῶν τε κλωστήρ in version B.8 and Thoth god of fate in his ability to determine the duration of men’s lives. (53) Possibly implied in B.11 θεῆς τελεσίφρονος. (54) 4.428 ff. (55) Cf. nn. 3 and 4 above. (56) E.g. Frankfurter 1998: 198–237; 2000; see also Kákosy 1995: 3025–35; Dieleman 2005: 1–10; Clarysse 2009: 584. Cf. Smith 2002: esp. 206–11 for an Egyptian cosmogony possibly alluded to in the PGM but not in the Hermetica. For the persistence of Egyptian tradition in the Hermetica, see e.g. Mahé 1978– 82: 2.291–5, 303–5, 449–57 and 3–35 for a summary of the state of research with rich bibliography; Iversen 1984; cf. Festugière 1950–4: e.g. 1.86, 309–10.

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Hermes and the Figs

Tracking Hermes, Pursuing Mercury John F. Miller and Jenny Strauss Clay

Print publication date: 2019 Print ISBN-13: 9780198777342 Published to Oxford Scholarship Online: March 2019 DOI: 10.1093/oso/9780198777342.001.0001

Hermes and the Figs On P.Oxy. 17.2084 Athanassios Vergados

DOI:10.1093/oso/9780198777342.003.0019

Abstract and Keywords This chapter argues that the encomium to the fig preserved on P.Oxy. 17.2084 (third century CE) is a parody of an encomium, performed at a feast in honor of Hermes as a response to another participant’s praise of Hermes as the patron of rhetoric. This chapter argues that the encomium to the fig preserved on P.Oxy. 17.2084 (third century CE) is a parody of an encomium, performed at a feast in honor of Hermes as a response to another participant’s praise of Hermes as the patron of rhetoric. Keywords:   fig, honey, Hermaia, rhetorical exercises, encomium, parody

Col. I

Col. II

Col. III

ἰσχάδος

ἰσχάδα τὴν Ἑρμοῦ

καὶ [τ]ὴν ἑροτὴν αὐτ[ο]ῦ̣

ἐγκώμιον

προσφιλεστάτην

εὐωχεῖσθαι διὰ γλυ-

τροφήν τε καὶ τρυ-

κυτάτης ἰσχάδος;

φὴν καὶ τῆς πανη-

καὶ δὴ εἰσκαλείσθω

γύρεως τὸ ἀγλάισμα

ἰσχὰς θᾶττον ἡμῖν,

[κ]ἀ̣γὼ εἰς τ̣[ὸ]ν̣ θεὸν

ἵνα καὶ ἡμεῖς Νέστο-

[ε]ὐ̣σεβῶν ὑμνήσω

ρος οὐχ ἧττον φ̣ω̣-

Page 1 of 16

Hermes and the Figs

Col. I

Col. II

Col. III

τήμερον κα[ὶ] ὑ̣π̣ὸ̣

νὴν εὐτυχήσωμεν

αὐτῆς ἑστιώμενος

μέλιτος γλυκυτέραν

λόγῳ ἀμείψομαι κα-

κεράσαντες ἰ[σ]χάδ[α]

τ᾽ ἰσχάδα, μέλιτος

τῷ μέλιτι.

μὲν οὖσαν ἀ̣[δε]λ̣φ̣ή̣[ν], εὐδαιμόνων δ᾽ ἀνθρώ-

Col. IV (in a tabula ansata)

πων τρυφή̣[ν, τῶ]ν θεῶν

ἰσχάδος

δὲ θυσίαις ἀπα[ρ]χήν, Διο-

ἐγκώμιον

νύσου δὲ τῶν β̣[οσ]τ̣ρ[υχ]ί̣ω̣ν̣ πλοκὴν εἰς στεφάνου περιβολήν. ἀλλὰ τί γὰρ λό[γ]ῳ ἰσχάδα τιμῶ καὶ οὐχὶ [τ]οῖς ἔργοις δεικν[ύ]ω ὅτι ἰσχ[ὰ]ς σήμερον ἡμᾶς οὐκ ἀνάγκῃ συνήγαγεν, ἀλλὰ ἀσμένως χορεύειν Ἑρμῇ πεποίηκεν col. i 1 ϊσ̒χ̓αδος pap. 2 εγ’κωμιον pap. col. ii 1 ϊσχαδα pap. 7 ϋμνησω pap. 8 ϋπο pap. 11 ϊσχαδα pap. 19 ϊσχαδα pap. 20 δικνυω pap. 23 ανανκη pap. col. iii 1 l. ἑορτὴν?(cf. P.Oxy. 17, p. 101) 5 ϊσχας pap. | θατ᾽τον pap. | ημειν pap. 6 ϊνα pap. 7 ητ᾽τον pap. 8 εντυχησωμεν pap. 9 κλυκυτεραν pap. 11 μελιδι pap. | post μελιδι Ͻ—pap. col. iv 2 ενκωμιον pap.

(p.310) I too, showing reverence to the god, will praise today the fig, Hermes’ most beloved foodstuff and delicacy and the feast’s ornament, and being feasted by her I will respond in turn concerning the fig: she is sister to honey, a delicacy of fortunate men, the first fruit in the sacrifices to the gods, and she is entwined with Dionysus’ vine-tendrils to make the compass of a garland. But why am I honoring the fig through words rather than showing through deeds that the fig has not convened us here today through compulsion, but has caused us to dance willingly for Hermes, and that we feast upon his holiday because of the sweetest fig? And indeed, let the fig be summoned quickly into our midst so that we, too, no less than Nestor

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Hermes and the Figs may succeed in obtaining a voice sweeter than honey, having mixed the fig with honey. This encomium to the fig has been preserved on an Oxyrhynchus papyrus dated to the third century CE on palaeographical grounds (the text itself must not be much older).1 Earlier scholarship suggested that this text might be a rhetorical exercise, composed perhaps by an ephebe for performance at a Hermaia festival as a way to showcase his rhetorical skills.2 Likewise, the handwriting, considered by the first editor of the encomium as a “comparatively uncultivated hand,” has led to the conclusion that the text was written by a pupil rather than a well-trained person. In what follows I will try to show that the text under discussion is a more clever and skillful composition than hitherto assumed. I will furthermore argue for the possibility that its author may have been familiar with the playful Homeric Hymn to Hermes and, if the archaic hymn lies in the background of this prose encomium, explore the implications. Formally this encomium presents some of the genre’s topoi. We hear of the god to whom the fig is dedicated. This corresponds to what Ps.-Hermogenes suggests at Prog. 7.14: one ought to praise plants ἀπὸ τοῦ θεοῦ ᾧ ἀνάκειται, ὡς ἡ ἐλαία τῇ Ἀθηνᾷ (“after the god to whom it is dedicated, just as the olive-tree is dedicated to Athena”).3 This god is Hermes, whose feast the fig adorns as its ἀγλάισμα. The author also addresses the fig’s usefulness: this is praise in accordance with τὸ χρήσιμον. It is τροφή and τρυφή, material for plaiting Dionysus’ wreaths, and grants sweetness to one’s voice. These topoi are preceded by a brief prologue that exhibits hymnal characteristics. Though the encomium generally aims at praising mortals, the laudanda of this particular text is an inanimate object, the fig. Rhetorical theorists include, of (p.311) course, inanimate objects such as trees as possible topics for an encomium.4 But our encomium is not straightforward, as it contains elements that seem to point to a hymn. The two genres, hymn and encomium, are certainly akin to each other, but the theorists sharply distinguish the two.5 Nonetheless, the speaker interestingly announces his intention to hymn the fig (ὑμνήσω, col. ii 7); ὑμνεῖν is typically found in poetic or rhetorical encomia to gods.6 Generally, when this verb is used for a laudandus who is not a god, there is often something divine or non-human about him. The addressee in that case is a deceased person or the emperor. We might be struck by the appearance of this verb in an encomium of the fig (rather than Hermes), especially since ἰσχάδα is the first word in this composition, which, as it is followed by ὑμνήσω, will strike a note familiar from hymnic literature already from archaic times, where the first word refers to the praised deity and is followed by a verb denoting singing or hymning. But the fact that the fig is closely associated with Hermes means that by praising the fig, the speaker can at the same time praise Hermes as well. In fact, the speaker drives this point home by connecting the praise of the fig with his devotion to Hermes at the beginning of the encomium, through the phrase εἰς τὸν θεὸν εὐσεβῶν (col. ii 6–7). A further point may be added here. Whereas the encomium begins by Page 3 of 16

 

Hermes and the Figs presenting the fig as foodstuff and a delicacy (τροφήν τε καὶ τρυφήν, col. ii 3–4), as it advances, the fig is little by little personified. First, it is presented as the sister of honey; then it appears to be a character who brings the celebrants together, συνήγαγεν (col. ii 22); and finally at col. iii 4–5, it is summoned to attend the festivities personally (on this, see later). The speaker declares his gratitude to the fig, and presents his encomium as a gift in exchange for the feast he enjoys (καὶ ὑπὸ αὐτῆς ἑστιώμενος λόγῳ ἀνταμείψομαι κατ᾽ ἰσχάδα, col. ii 8–11).7 This is another reflection of the hymnal mode, where praise is often perceived as something offered in exchange for the deity’s benevolence, thereby establishing a relationship of charis (“reciprocity”) between the speaker/community and the god.8 Thus, the expression κατ᾽ ἰσχάδα does not merely mean “concerning the fig,” as it has often been interpreted, but “indicates conformity” (“in a manner appropriate to the ἰσχάς”).9 (p.312) In addition, the material is presented κατ᾽ αὔξησιν (or ἐπὶ τὸ ἀκμαιότερον), in an ascending manner.10 From a praise λόγῳ (col. ii 10) we move to praise performed through ἔργα (20). And the part of the praise accomplished through words is itself arranged in an ascending fashion, both in terms of number of syllables11 and in terms of sense. We first hear that the fig is the honey’s sister (this kills two birds with one stone: it is simultaneously the first step in an ascending ladder of praise as well as a reference to the laudanda’s γένος). Then the author broadens his scope by praising the fig as the foodstuff of blessed men, before moving to the world of the gods, in which the fig is the first-fruit at their sacrifices. Finally, its praise is crowned by the reference to the fig’s use as material for forming Dionysus’ garlands. The exploitation of hymnal tropes becomes even more prominent through a further ascending step, when the persona loquens summons the fig so that he and his companions might benefit from the fruit’s blessings, not unlike the conclusion of a hymn where the narrator wishes for the god’s epiphany and blessing of the community. This is preceded by the presentation of the fig’s dynameis (again, as if the fruit were a divine being) throughout the second column of the text.12 A final structural/formal point: the persona loquens uses in this encomium the future tense, in a function that we could perhaps call a “performative future,” familiar from archaic poetry (e.g. Pindar’s epinicians), but also from contemporary prose hymnography (e.g. the μαντευτοί orations of Aelius Aristides). In addition, whereas he begins with the first singular (εὐσεβῶν ὑμνήσω, ἑστιώμενος…ἀμείψομαι, δεικνύω), toward the end of his praise, he switches to the plural (ἡμᾶς, ἡμῖν, ἵνα καὶ ἡμεῖς…εὐτυχήσωμεν…κεράσαντες). What appeared initially to be similar to a prose hymn delivered by one speaker

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Hermes and the Figs turns now to be an encomium that is delivered by someone who expresses the consensus and religious feeling of a group. More relevant to the topic of this volume is the association that this encomium draws between the fig and Hermes. This can be accounted for by considering the cult of both the Greek Hermes and his Egyptian counterpart Thoth.13 Hermes’ predilection for figs is reflected, for example, in Aristophanes’ Ploutos (1120–2). There Hermes laments the loss of certain foods which he used to enjoy earlier when he was worshipped by men. Among other things, he sorely misses specifically honey and figs: (p.313) πρότερον γὰρ εἶχον παρὰ ταῖς καπηλίσιν πάντ᾽ ἀγάθ᾽· ἕωθεν εὐθύς, οἰνοῦτταν, μέλι, ἰσχάδας, ὅσ᾽ εἰκός ἐστιν Ἑρμῆν ἐσθίειν For previously I would obtain all good things from the inn-keepers: right from early morning, wine-cakes, honey, figs, all things that are suitable for Hermes to eat.

This association was further emblematized in the proverb σῦκον ἐφ᾽ Ἑρμῇ: παροιμία ἐπὶ τῶν ἐκκειμένων ἐπ᾽ ὠφελείᾳ τοῖς βουλομένοις. Εἴ ποτε γὰρ φανείη σῦκον, τοῦτο τῷ Ἑρμῇ ἀνατιθέασι· τοῦτο δὲ οἱ βουλόμενοι ἀνελάμβανον. (“A fig on a herm[?]: a proverb concerning things that were laid out for the benefit of whoever wished to have them. For if ever a fig appears, they dedicate it to Hermes. And whoever wished, picked it up,” Zenobius 5.92.) On the Egyptian side, we hear in Plutarch, De Iside et Osiride 378b:14 τῇ μὲν γὰρ ἐνάτῃ ἐπὶ δέκα τοῦ πρώτου μηνὸς ἑορτάζοντες τῷ Ἑρμῇ μέλι καὶ σῦκον ἐσθίουσιν ἐπιλέγοντες “ἡδὺ ἡ ἀλήθεια” For on the 19th day of the first month (= Thoth) they celebrate Hermes and eat honey and a fig, adding “truth is sweet.” In Plutarch’s account there seems to be a link between the fig’s sweetness and truth. The 19th is also the day in which Maat, the goddess of truth and cosmic order, was celebrated. By contrast, in our encomium the emphasis rests purely on sweetness, without any theological implication. Such a deeper, metaphysical (one might say) component is not perceivable in our text, which has a decidedly more light-hearted character and, even if it was presented during the Hermaia festival of Oxyrhynchus by ephebes,15 has no expression of true religious sentiment. As well as the link of figs to Hermes, there is a connection between the god and honey, which is also related to the fig as its sister. There is evidence for the offering of honey (in addition to figs) in the Hermaia festivals in Hellenistic Egypt, while the worship of Thoth likewise involved honey and figs.16

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Hermes and the Figs As mentioned at the beginning, earlier scholarship tended to treat this encomium as a rhetorical exercise composed by a pupil. We may be able to go a bit further if we consider the context in which this prose encomium was found. As the first editor reports, this encomium was discovered in the same find as what is known as P.Oxy. 7.1015,17 an encomium from the third century (p.314) in hexameters praising Theon, who had held the office of gymnasiarch.18 For convenience, I cite the text with Hunt’s translation (modified): αὐτός μοι τεὸν ἀεῖσαι ὑποφήτορα παῖδα Ἑρμεία σπεύσειας, ἀοιδοπόλῳ δ᾽ ἐπαρήγοις ἑπτάτονον χείρεσσι λύρην πολυηχέ⸌α⸍ κρούων, τὴν αὐτὸς τὰ πρῶτα κάμες παρὰ ποσσὶ τεκούσης ἄρτι πεσών, λύτρον δὲ βοῶν πόρες Ἀπόλλωνι. σε έοι κλείουσι τούνεκα μουσοπόλον ⟦μὲ⟧ν ἀνυμνείουσιν ἀοιδοί, ήζουσι ἀγρονόμοι δὲ θεὸν νόμιον κλείουσι βοτῆρες, Ἑρμῆν δ᾽ ἐν σταδίοις ἐναγώνιον ἀθλητῆρες, γυμνασίων δὲ πόληες ἐπίσκοπον ἀείδουσιν. ἱερῷ ἐνὶ ῳ ἔνθα σε καὶ πάις οὗτος ἄναξ τίων ⟦ἀνὰ⟧ δημ⟦ον⟧ πεί⟦ρ⟧⸌δ⸍ακ᾽ ἐ̣[λ]αιόρυτον προχέων ἀστοῖσι γεραίρει. οὐ γάρ σε πρώτιστα, Θέων, μετὰ παισὶν ἑταίροις ἀρχεύοντα νέον γεινώσκομεν, ἀλλ᾽ ἔτι τηλοῦ ἠμὲν ἐλαιοχύτοισιν ἀλειφόμενοι κοτύλησιν ἠδὲ καὶ αἰνύμενοι δώρων Δημήτερος ἁγνῆς. κεῖνα μὲν ἐσθλὰ φίλος δήμῳ πόρες, ἐσθλὰ δ᾽ ἐπ᾽ ἐσθλοῖς ἐνθάδε νῦν παίδεσσι διδοῖς καὶ ἀμείνονα ταῦτα. ἤτοι μὲν γὰρ κεῖνα καὶ ἀφνειὸς πόροι ἀνήρ· κενεαυχέα δῶρα πλούτου γὰρ κενεοῖο πέλει μειλίγματα κεῖνα, ταῦτα δὲ Μουσάων σοφίης δεδαημένος ἀνήρ. τῶ σ᾽ ἐπὶ τοῖσι μάλιστα γεραίρομεν ἤ περ ἐκείνοις, οὕνεκα κεῖνα πατήρ σε διδάξατο, ταῦτα δὲ Μοῦσαι ⟦Ἑρμοῦ⟧ ἐγκώμιον

On the left margin: εἰς τὸν ἄρχοντα; and further below that ⟦Ἑρμοῦ⟧ ἐγκώμιον Hermes, you yourself hasten to sing for me of your young interpreter, and help the bard, striking with your hand the seven-stringed many-toned lyre, which you yourself first fashioned as soon as you dropped at your mother’s feet and gave to Apollo in ransom for his oxen; therefore latter-day bards celebrate your service to the Muses, and herdsmen in the fields proclaim you as a pastoral god, while athletes in the stadium call on Hermes ruler of the games, and cities hymn you as warden of the gymnasia. And here too this youth among his fellow citizens, O King, honors you, pouring a fount of oil for the citizens. For it is not recently that we know you, Theon, holding Page 6 of 16

 

Hermes and the Figs chief office among your youthful comrades, but of old, whether anointing ourselves with oil-distilling flasks, or partaking of (p.315) the gifts of chaste Demeter. Those offerings that you gave as a friend of the people were good, but these that you give now to the youths consist of good things upon good things and are even more precious. For those in truth a rich man too might bestow, since vainglorious are the gifts of vain wealth; but these come from a man learned in the wisdom of the Muses. Therefore we honor you more highly for these than for those, because you were taught those by your father, but these by the Muses. The title of this short poem appears to have been “Encomium to Hermes” and was then corrected to “Encomium to the Archon,” with Hermes’ name erased both at the left and the lower margin. In fact, both titles are justified, as the first part of this hexameter encomium begins with an address to Hermes, who is asked by the narrator to sing of his own hypophetes (interpreter) Theon, who had held the office of the gymnasiarch at a young age, and to accompany his song on the seven-stringed lyre that he himself had invented. The poem essentially combines a mini-hymn to Hermes, addressed in the second person (1– 12), before it switches gears and addresses Theon (13–22).19 Just like the prose encomium to the fig, then, this hexameter encomium features Hermes. But the hexameter encomium maintains a serious tone and appears to have a genuine intention to praise Theon, whereas our prose encomium of the fig is uttered tongue-in-cheek and resembles more a parody of an encomium than a sincere one. As I have argued elsewhere,20 the author of the hexameter encomium to Theon may have known the Homeric Hymn to Hermes, as is indicated by certain echoes of the archaic hymn in the papyrus encomium. These are: 1. Hermes is said to have fabricated the seven-string lyre, 2. as soon as he was born (P.Oxy. 7.1015.4–5 παρὰ ποσσὶ τεκούσης | ἄρτι πεσών, “as soon as you dropped at your mother’s feet” ~ H.Herm. 20 ὃς καὶ ἐπεὶ δὴ μητρὸς ἀπ᾽ ἀθανάτων θόρε γυίων, “it is he who as soon as he jumped from his mother’s immortal limbs…”). 3. Both texts stress the fact that the laudandi accomplished their deeds very early in their lives. Hermes is depicted in his Homeric Hymn as a precocious divine child (or rather baby); Theon held the office of the γυμνασίαρχος as a νέος and, if we are to believe the poet, he had already (p.316) shown his beneficence to the gymnasion previously through his donations (cf. also μετὰ παισὶν ἑταίροις, l. 12). The hexameter encomium insists that Hermes’ invention of the lyre took place as soon as the god was born, something that is particularly emphasized in the Homeric Hymn and on which the Hymn’s humor hinges. 4. Then we have the emphasis on Hermes as the πρῶτος εὑρετής (first inventor) of the lyre (P.Oxy. 7.1015.4 τὴν αὐτὸς τὰ πρῶτα κάμες, “which Page 7 of 16

 

Hermes and the Figs [sc. the lyre] you first constructed” ~ H.Herm. 25 Ἑρμῆς τοι πρώτιστα χέλυν τεκτήνατ᾽ ἀοιδόν, “Hermes, you know, was the first to turn the tortoise into a singer/construct the singing chelys”). To these points we may add that: 5. P.Oxy. 7.1015.20 (Μουσάων σοφίης δεδαημένος, “taught by the wisdom of the Muses”) may owe something to H.Herm. 483 (τέχνῃ καὶ σοφίῃ δεδαημένος, “taught through art and wisdom”), a passage that also mentions the Muses. This combination is found apart from these two texts later in the fourth century CE Peri katarchon (Maximus Ephesius). Other general reminiscences of thought were detected by the first editor of P.Oxy. 7.1015 (Hunt), namely: 6. P.Oxy. 7.1015.4–5 ~ H.Herm. 17; and 7. P.Oxy. 7.1015.7 (ἀγρονόμοι δὲ θεὸν νόμιον κλείουσι βοτῆρες, “and the field-dwelling herdsmen praise you as the god of pasture”) ~ H.Herm. 570–1 (καὶ κυσὶ καὶ μήλοισιν, ὅσα τρέφει εὐρεῖα χθών, | πᾶσι δ᾽ ἐπὶ προβάτοισιν ἀνάσσειν κύδιμον Ἑρμῆν, “and let honorable Hermes rule over dogs and sheep, which the broad earth nourishes, and over all the four-legged animals”). It should be stressed, however, that despite these similarities, the Hymn was not the only source for the material of the hexameter encomium, as it mentions, for instance, Hermes ἐναγώνιος, who is not even hinted at in the Hymn, whereas it is very much at home in the praise of a gymnasiarch. And the lyre is presented as the ransom (with a wordplay on λύρα and λύτρα) for the stolen cows, an interpretation that derives from the ancient scholarly tradition.21 That the Hymn to Hermes could have been known to the composer of the encomium at Oxyrhynchus is also suggested by P.Oxy. 68.4667,22 likewise dated to the third century, which contains fragments of two Homeric Hymns: the end of what is now known as Hymn 18 (the shorter Hymn to Hermes), followed by the Hymn 7 (to Dionysus). (p.317) If we are prepared to accept that the composer of the Encomium to Theon knew the Homeric Hymn to Hermes, even as a working hypothesis, and bearing in mind that both encomia derive from the same find, we may be able to go a bit further in the interpretation of the encomium of the fig. As mentioned earlier, Körte suggested that both pieces had been composed by ephebes to be performed at a festival of Hermes as a way to showcase their rhetorical skills. This may be true of the encomium to Theon, but it can hardly be true of the encomium to the fig. I would suggest that in the case of the encomium to the fig we are dealing with a parody of an encomium. The composer uses the hymnal and encomiastic form and some of the topoi familiar from these genres in order to praise something as trivial as a fig, which he personifies and elevates to divine status, while at the Page 8 of 16

 

Hermes and the Figs same time evoking the cultic realities of the worship of Hermes/Thoth in which figs and honey were accorded a special place. In particular, if the relation of Thoth/figs and Maat (truth) was in the mind of the composer, the praise of the fig would be distinctly humorous since Hermes, as we know him from the Homeric Hymn, was a skilled liar. In that case, the consumption of the figs and honey mentioned in the encomium would lose its religious or metaphysical meaning and become a joke at the hands of the composer. The following picture emerges: the encomium is not merely a piece that displays the rhetorical skills of the composer (which earlier scholarship considered to be meager),23 but shares in the joyous and jocular spirit of the Homeric Hymn to Hermes. This can be seen both at the level of diction and at the level of thought and attitude. The dictional issues first: the word ἰσχάς is repeated seven times.24 Furthermore, one cannot fail to notice in the second column the over-the-top repetitive patterns (homoeoteleuta) and the parallelism with which the praise is arranged. Thus we have: τροφήν τε καὶ τρυφήν, and especially: ἀδελφήν, τρυφήν, ἀπαρχήν, πλοκήν περιβολήν. Then we have the homoeoteleuton of the verbs (συνήγαγεν ~ πεποίηκεν).25 These homoeoteleuta have been interpreted as indicating that the composer’s poetic craft was limited, but they may also have been intended to create humor, the kind of humor that relies on repetition ad nauseam, not unlike the humor we find in some of Hermes’ speeches in the Homeric Hymn devoted to him.26 Finally, (p.318) there is parallelism in λόγῳ τιμῶ ~ τοῖς ἔργοις δεικνύω (while also making use of the antithesis between λόγος and ἔργα); and the same point is expressed first in a negative, then in a positive formulation (οὐκ ἀνάγκῃ συνήγαγεν ἀλλὰ ἀσμένως χορεύειν… πεποίηκεν). Rather than positing that the composer of the encomium to the fig alludes to specific passages of the archaic Hymn to Hermes, I would suggest that, given the distinct possibility that the Hymn was known to the author of the encomium, the author may have been influenced by the spirit of the Hymn. For example, he might have been impressed by Hermes’ speech in H.Herm. 261–77, in which the Hymn poet uses overly repetitive metrical patterns to imitate the effect of child talk. The divine child uses short, choppy sentences, often lacking connectives (263–4, 266–7, 273), and his speech is characterized by repetitive rhythmical patterns: eleven out of seventeen verses end with a verb-form that has the metrical shape ‒⏑⏑, while in six of these a trochaic noun precedes the verb-form. Finally, there is a lot of dictional repetition (263–4, 265–6, 275–6).27 Humor is further generated through the use of a highly rhetorical, hymnal form to praise such a lowly subject as an ἰσχάς, a dry fig, which in the course of the encomium is treated as divine. The use of the tabula ansata (“a tablet with handles”) to highlight the title of this encomium may also point in this direction. As Gianfranco Agosti has recently argued, tabulae ansatae were sometimes used in manuscripts in order to replicate the epigraphic habit. It may thus render a

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Hermes and the Figs touch of (epigraphic) monumentality to the papyrus that preserves the encomium of the fig.28 Another point that deserves consideration is that the author stages the encomium as a response to or a continuation of a previous performance. Characteristically, the narrator presents himself as someone who continues the praise of the fig: κἀγὼ εἰς τὸν θεὸν εὐσεβῶν ὑμνήσω τήμερον (“I, too, showing reverence to the god [Hermes] will praise today [the fig]”). This points not only to the religious dimension of the performance (we are at a festival in honor of Hermes at Oxyrhynchus, whose temple, the Hermaion, is mentioned in papyrological sources).29 More importantly, he presents his performance as belonging to a series of performances (or at least responding to a previous performance) that also expressed (or purported to express) the speaker’s reverence for Hermes. There may be a competition in showing one’s reverence to the god, and this is performed in the case of this author through an encomium to the god’s sacred fruit, the fig. (p.319) In fact, we may view this encomium as a παίγνιον or an ἐγκώμιον ἀδόξων,30 a verbal game stemming from the playful competition known to have taken place at the symposium. We can imagine the performance of such encomia taking place at a feast (whether private or of a more public character) following the religious festivities proper. Whereas in the archaic symposia hymns were sung or songs performed while passing a lyre or a myrtle branch from one banqueter to the next, in later symposia encomia might be performed. For example, Plato’s Symposium consists of a series of prose, rhetorical encomia of Eros. Closer to our text’s date, in Lucian’s Symposium (§ 21), when the slave of Hetoimokles, the Stoic philosopher, arrives with a γραμματίδιον of his master, everyone expects an encomium of the bride, as the occasion calls for.31 Later in the same Symposium (§ 41), Histiaios the grammarian attempts to perform a wedding-song in praise of the bride and the groom.32 One also might think of Aelius Aristides’ prose hymn to Dionysus (Or. 41 Keil), which alludes to the Platonic Symposium and is set up in such a way as to be performed at an (imaginary?) banquet.33 We may, then, propose the following, necessarily speculative, scenario. One participant at the feast in honor of Hermes (possibly an ephebe) performs a praise of the god as the patron of rhetoric who grants men such eloquence that their voice flows sweeter than honey, as was the case of the Homeric Nestor. Perhaps that first participant even alluded to or quoted Il. 1.247–9: τοῖσι δὲ Νέστωρ ἡδυεπὴς ἀνόρουσε λιγὺς Πυλίων ἀγορητὴς

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Hermes and the Figs τοῦ καὶ ἀπὸ γλώσσης μέλιτος γλυκίων ῥέεν αὐδή. Among these Nestor rose, the sweet-speaking clear-voiced orator of the Pylians, from whose tongue flowed a voice that was sweeter than even honey.

(p.320) Significantly, honey, as mentioned above, was one of the offerings in the festival of Hermes/Thoth, which then gave the Homeric reference a further point, making it more topical to the religious celebration that functioned as the locus of performance. The composer of the encomium of the fig takes over and, declaring his reverence to Hermes, he delivers a praise of the fig, i.e. of another offering to the god. In it, the fig is related to honey (as its sister) and is described as a favorite delicacy. It is furthermore personified and summoned to join the festivities, obviously to be consumed, just as the hungry Hermes wished to consume part of the offerings to the gods in his Hymn and Aristophanes’ Hermes in the Ploutos actually consumed various foodstuffs, often in a sacrificial context.34 The consumption of figs and honey will grant the participants at the feast a voice that is sweeter than Nestor’s honey-sweet voice. What was figurative speech in Homer—and presumably in the preceding speaker’s encomium—now becomes a concrete, literal expression, as figs and honey are being consumed. The youths participating in the feast that functions as the performance context for this encomium will consume the offerings to the god they are celebrating and thus playfully surpass the Homeric Nestor by having an even sweeter voice through their mixing of honey and figs on their tongues. Thus the celebrants will cap the sweet rhetoric of the Homeric Nestor, which had by that time become an epigraphic topos,35 while the composer/performer of the encomium of the fig will cap the performance of the preceding banqueter.36 Bibliography Bibliography references: Agosti, G. 2015. “La mise en page come elemento significante nell’epigrafia greca tardoantica.” In M. Maniaci and P. Orsini, eds. Scrittura epigrafica e scrittura libraria: fra Oriente e Occidente. Cassino. 45–86. Calame, C. 2011. “The Homeric Hymns as Poetic Offerings.” In A. Faulkner, ed. The Homeric Hymns: Interpretative Essays. Oxford. 334–57. Chuliara-Raiu, E. 1989. L’abeille et le miel en Égypte d’après les papyrus grecs. Ioannina. Collins, D. 2004. Master of the Game. Competition and Performance in Greek Poetry Washington, DC. (p.321) Goeken, J. 2012. Aelius Aristide et la rhétorique de l’hymn en prose. Turnhout. Page 11 of 16

 

Hermes and the Figs Griffiths, J. G. 1970. Plutarch’s De Iside et Osiride, Edited with an Introduction, Translation and Commentary. Cambridge. Kákosy, L. 1992. “Hermes and Egypt.” In A. B. Lloyd, ed. Studies in Pharaonic Religion and Society in Honour of J. Gwyn Griffiths. London. 258–61. Kennell, N. M. 2006. Ephebeia: A Register of Greek Cities with Citizen Training Systems in the Hellenistic and Roman Periods. Hildesheim. Körte, A. 1932. “Referate.” APF 10: 217–37. Kroll, W. 1913. “Hermes Trismegistos.” RE VIII: 792–823. Kurth, D. 2004. Edfou VII. Wiesbaden. Manteuffel, J. 1930. De opusculis graecis Aegypti e papyris, ostracis lapidibusque collectis. Warsaw. Miguélez Cavero, L. 2008. Poems in Context: Greek Poetry in the Egyptian Thebaid 200–600 AD. Berlin and Boston. Papanikolaou, D. 2009. “The Aretalogy of Isis from Maroneia and the Question of Hellenistic ‘Asianism’.” ZPE 168: 59–70. Patillon, M. 2008. Corpus Rhetoricum. Anonyme, Préambule à la Rhétorique, Aphthonios, Progymnasmata. En annexe: Pseudo-Hermogène Progymnasmata. Paris. Pernot, L. 1993. La rhétorique de l’éloge dans le monde gréco-romain. Tome I: Histoire et technique. Tome II: Les Valeurs. Paris. Perpillou-Thomas, F. 1993. Fêtes d’Égypte ptolémaïque et romaine d’après la documentation papyrologique grecque. Louvain. Pordomingo, F. 2007. “Ejercicios preliminaries de la composición retórica y literaria en papiro: el encomio.” In J. A. Fernández Delgado, F. Pordomingo, and A. Stramaglia, eds. Escuela y literatura en Grecia Antigua. Cassino. 405–53. Radermacher, L. 1951. Artium Scriptores. Reste der voraristotelischen Rhetorik. Vienna. Świderek, A. 1966. “Encomium on the Word.” Eos 53: 83–6. Thomas, O. 2010. “Ancient Greek Awareness of Child Language Acquisition.” Glotta 86: 185–223. Vergados, A. 2012. “Verbal Performances in Lucian’s Symposium.” Ἀρχαιογνωσία 16: 225–43.

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Hermes and the Figs Vergados, A. 2013. A Commentary on the Homeric Hymn to Hermes. Berlin and Boston. Versnel, H. S. 1990. Ter Unus: Isis, Dionysos, Hermes. Three Studies in Henotheism. Leiden and Cologne. Versnel, H. S. 2011. Coping with the Gods. Wayward Readings in Greek Theology Leiden and Boston. Whitehorne, J. 1995. “The Pagan Cults of Roman Oxyrhynchus.” ANRW 2.18.5: 3050–91. Zecchi, M. 1997. “On the Offering of Honey in Graeco-Roman Temples.” Aegyptus 77: 71–83. Zivie, A.-P. 1975. Hermopolis et le nom d’Ibis: Recherches sur la province du Dieu Thot en Basse Egypte. Tome I: Introduction et inventaire chronologique des sources. Cairo. (p.322) Notes:

(1) Editio princeps: A. S. Hunt in P.Oxy. 17, pp. 99–101. LDAB 5369; M-P3 2527; Trismegistos 64150. A high-resolution image of the papyrus is accessible at: http://163.1.169.40/gsdl/collect/POxy/index/assoc/HASHfbfe/10159132.dir/ POxy.v0017.n2084.a.01.hires.jpg. (2) Körte 1932: 221 observed that it might have been delivered by ephebes at the Hermaia “als Probestück ihrer Bildung.” (3) Patillon 2008: 168 proposes a date in the third century CE for this treatise. The attribution by some sources to Libanius suggests the fourth century as a terminus ante quem whereas Ps.-Hermogenes’ references to Aelius Aristides at 9.2 suggest a terminus post quem in the second century. Cf. also Ps.-Hermogenes 7.11. (4) E.g. Aphthonius Prog. 8.2 (end of fourth century?; cf. Patillon 2008: 50–2); Ps.Hermogenes Prog. 7.1; and Pordomingo 2007: 428–30 for further references to Hermogenes, Aphthonius, and Libanius. (5) Aphthonius 8.1 διενήνοχε δὲ ὕμνου καὶ ἐπαίνου τῷ τὸν μὲν ὕμνον εἶναι θεῶν, τὸ δὲ ἐγκώμιον θνητῶν (“It differs from the hymn and the praise, on account of the fact that the hymn belongs to the gods, whereas the encomion to mortals”); Ps.-Hermogenes 7.13 ἐντεῦθεν οὐκ ἀγνοήσεις ὅπως θεοὺς ἐγκωμιαστέον. ἰστέον δὲ ὅτι τὰ εἰς θεοὺς ὕμνους κλητέον (“From these starting points you will not be ignorant of how to praise gods; but it should be known that the praises of gods should be called ‘hymns’.”) Cf. also Aelius Theon p. 109.20–4 (Spengel) and Menander Rhetor I pp. 331.18–332.2 (Spengel).

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Hermes and the Figs (6) See Pernot 1993: 1.217 with nn. 506 and 507. (7) Pernot 1993: 1.284–6. (8) For the hymns as poetic offerings aiming at charis, see Calame 2011. (9) See LSJ s.v. κατά B IV. (10) Cf. Ps.-Hermogenes De inventione 3.13 περὶ τάξεως ἐπιχειρημάτων. (11) Col. ii 11–12 = 9 syllables; col. ii 13–14 = 9 syllables; col. ii. 14–15 = 10 syllables; col. ii. 15–18 = 20 syllables. (12) On ἔργα or δυνάμεις, see Pernot 1993: 1.226–8. (13) Cf. Kroll 1913: 792–3. For the cult of Hermes in Oxyrhynchus, which shows evidence of both the Egyptianized Hermes–Thoth (in Hermopolis) but also the distinctive Greek characteristics of Hermes (associated with Alexandria), see also Whitehorne 1995: 3069–70; and further Kákosy 1992. (14) See Griffiths 1970: 533–4. (15) For evidence on the ephebeia in Oxyrhynchus, see Kennell 2006: 90. (16) Thus, in PSI 4.391, fr. B (242/1 BCE, from the Zenon archive) we hear of three choes of honey, probably to be used in connection with the Hermaia. On honey in the festivals to Hermes/Thoth, see Griffiths 1970: 533–4; Chuliara-Raiu 1989: 154–8; Perpillou-Thomas 1993: 92–3; Zecchi 1997 with references to the offering of figs as well on pp. 80–1; Zivie 1975: 233–6 on the inscription, Edfou 7.169.11–170.1 that mentions the offering of figs and honey to the gods Thoth and Nehemetawayt (date: Ptolemy X, first century BCE); for a recent edition of the inscription,` see Kurth 2004. (17) LDAB 5218, M-P3 1847. (18) This has been repeated by other scholars discussing this text, e.g. Pordomingo 2007: 429; Körte 1932 op. cit. (19) Cf. the praise of Hermes in the encomium of the word published in Świderek 1966, now republished by D. Colomo in P.Oxy. 79.5194. On this, see also Pordomingo 2007: 421–3. (20) See Vergados 2013: 105–7. The verbal similarities by themselves do not unambiguously prove direct allusion to the Homeric Hymn to Hermes on the part of the poet of the encomium of Theon, as there may have been an intermediate source (in prose or poetry) that drew on the Hymn, from which, in turn, the poet of P.Oxy. 7.1015 might have drawn material for the first part of his encomium. If this is the case, that intermediate source must have followed the Hymn very Page 14 of 16

 

Hermes and the Figs faithfully. On the encomium of Theon, see also Pordomingo 2007: 435–8 and Miguélez Cavero 2008: 43 who, however, mistakenly quotes Manteuffel’s 1930: 58 comments on P.Oxy. 2084 as referring to the encomium of Theon. (21) See Vergados 2013: 106 with n. 62. (22) M-P3 1231.01; LDAB 10243; Trismegistos 68973. (23) But Manteuffel 1930: 58–9 was the first to comment on the skill of the orator by detecting Kunstprosa (clausulae, homoeoteleuta). (24) Apart from the title: col. ii 1, 11, 19, 20; col. iii 3, 5, 10. In some cases ἰσχάς opens and closes a period, thus creating a ring-compositional effect: col. ii 20 ~ col. iii 3; col. iii 5 ~ 10. (25) Such phenomena need not be humorous; for their occurrence in a text belonging to a similar genre, cf. the Hellenistic Isis-Aretalogy from Maroneia with Papanikolaou 2009. On the Isis-Aretalogies, see Versnel 1990: 39–52. (26) The prose Hymn to Dionysus by Aelius Aristides may be mentioned as a parallel, in which the orator imitates the Gorgianic figures found in the speech of Agathon in the Platonic Symposium. As Plato is parodying the Gorgianic style of some orators, it has been suggested that Aelius Aristides parodies (or better imitates) the Platonic parody; see Goeken 2012: 188–201. (27) See Vergados 2013: 261–77 n. and pp. 22–5 for the details; Thomas 2010: esp. 216–20. (28) See Agosti 2015: 64–5; Pordomingo 2007: 428 n. 78. (29) See n. 13. (30) Cf. Pl. Smp. 177b ἀλλ᾽ ἔγωγε ἤδη τινὶ ἐνέτυχον βιβλίῳ ἀνδρὸς σοφοῦ, ἐν ᾧ ἐνῆσαν ἅλες ἔπαινον θαυμάσιον ἔχοντες πρὸς ὠφελίαν καὶ ἄλλα τοιαῦτα συχνὰ ἴδοις ἂν ἐγκεκωμιασμένα (“but I myself have already chanced upon the book of a wise man, in which there was a marvelous praise of salt on account of its usefulness, and you might see such things being praised often”), or Isoc. 10.12 τῶν μὲν γὰρ τοὺς βομβυλιοὺς καὶ τοὺς ἅλας καὶ τὰ τοιαῦτα βουληθέντων ἐπαινεῖν οὐδεὶς πώποτε λόγων ἠπόρησεν (“for no one of those who wished to praise the humble-bees and salt and such things was ever in want of words”). Polycrates of Athens was said to have praised pots (χύτραι), pebbles (ψῆφοι), and mice; see Radermacher 1951: 130–2, esp. his testimonium No. 11 (Demetr. Eloc. 120): ἔπαιζεν γάρ, οὐκ ἐσπούδαζε, καὶ αὐτὸς τῆς γραφῆς ὁ ὄγκος παίγνιόν ἐστι (“for he was playful and not serious, and the very loftiness of his text [expression] is intended as a play”).

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Hermes and the Figs (31) Ἦ που, ὦ Λυκῖνε, τῆς νύμφης ἐγκώμιον ἢ ἐπιθαλάμιον, οἷα πολλὰ ποιοῦσιν; — Ἀμέλει καὶ ἡμεῖς τοιοῦτον ᾠήθημεν, ἀλλ᾽ οὐδ᾽ ἐγγὺς ἦν τούτου (“I suppose, Lycinus, it was an encomium of the bride or a wedding song, such as they often compose?—We ourselves had of course thought of some such thing, but it was not even close to that”). (32) On these verbal performances, see Vergados 2012. (33) This is the shortest of Aristides’ prose hymns and concludes with a reference to the φιλοτησία cup; see Goeken 2012: 196–201. (34) See Versnel 2011: 309–76 for Hermes as a hungry god. (35) Cf., for instance, SEG 13.206.7 οὗ καὶ ἀπὸ [γλώσης μέλιτος] γλυκίων ῥ[έ[εν αὐδή] (Daphni, Attica, mid-fourth century BCE, of the hymnodos Theodoros); ISinope 170.6–8 (= SGO II 10/06/09) φρεσὶ δ᾽ εἶχεν ἀληθῶς | αὐτὴν τὴν Πυλίου Νέστορος | εὐεπίην (Sinope, second century BCE of a young man named Narcissus); cf. also ISinope 173.5–8 (= SGO II 10/06/12; first-second-century CE; cf. SEG 57.1296 ter) Νέστο|ρος ἀρχεγόνου γλυκερώτερον υἷα Κο|μάνων Σόσσιον. Also, without mention of Nestor, SEG 34.1003.2–3 οὗ μέλιτος | [γ]λυκίων φθόγγος ἔην | στόματος (Milan, fourth/fifth century BCE, of Dioscorus, a physician). (36) For capping in the ancient Greek poetic tradition, see Collins 2004: ix–x, 63– 163, and passim.

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Rethinking Hermes

Tracking Hermes, Pursuing Mercury John F. Miller and Jenny Strauss Clay

Print publication date: 2019 Print ISBN-13: 9780198777342 Published to Oxford Scholarship Online: March 2019 DOI: 10.1093/oso/9780198777342.001.0001

Rethinking Hermes Cosmic Justice and Proportional Distributions Nicola Reggiani

DOI:10.1093/oso/9780198777342.003.0020

Abstract and Keywords The chapter focuses on some features of Hermes’ character that can lead to rethink his position in a complex and problematic religious frame deeply grounded on the concept of Cosmic Destiny (Moira), connected to a world vision in which concepts such as Measure, Order, Justice played a primary role. It considers in particular Hermes’ involvement in prophetic utterances, his patronage on chance, chance-based acts like pebble throwing, and instances of distributional justice. This framework allows for a reconsideration of his role as “distributor” of timai in the (re)foundation of new cosmic balances. Keywords:   justice, distribution, moira, fate, semnai theai, timai, kosmos, stones, prophecy, kleromancy

“Protéiforme par nature,”1 Hermes is perhaps one of the most complex, multifaceted characters in the classical pantheon: “[H]e has been so baffling that it has been suggested that in the beginning there must have been several different Hermes gods, which later merged into one.”2 His traditional imagery3 can be reduced, in a schematic but helpful way, to the common theme of “mobility”: herald, guide, master of commerce, thefts, exchanges, and communications.4 His quick interventions very often solve an impasse, so that to hermaion is the stroke of luck, the good chance,5 and Hermes is the lord of all fortuitous and unexpected events.6 It must be stressed that his is not a generic mobility, such as, for example, that of the herdsmen or the wanderers: it is a more precise mobility aimed at crossing a boundary.7 Mythological space is, indeed, not an abstract extension, infinitely uniform, in which an absolute Page 1 of 15

Rethinking Hermes “movement” could be possible. It is, on the contrary, a discontinuous “mosaic” (p.326) in which positions, places, directions are charged with qualitative differences, so that any move necessarily implies a change of value, a passage through what has been defined as a “semiotic border.”8 This is likely what one of the two most ancient epithets of this god, diaktoros, points to: its etymology from diagein seems clear.9 For this reason, he is not to be considered a lesser god: he is just different, reflecting a distinct conception of the divine nature.10 Hermes’ role as a shepherd, connected with natural fecundity and farming, appears to be rather far from this framework. Traditionally, he is considered as the guarantor of the multiplication of the flock,11 which has led to modern phallic interpretations.12 However, Hermes’ role as an increaser of cattle does not seem to fit straightforwardly into the idea of “mobility” through a border, and “there is not a single trace of any phallic aspect” in the Homeric Hermes,13 the most ancient known to us. In the list of his attributes at the beginning of the Homeric Hymn (13–16) he is everything (πολύτροπον, αἱμυλομήτην, ληστῆρ’, ἡγήτορ’ ὀνείρων, νυκτὸς ὀπωπητῆρα, πυληδόκον) but shepherd or herdsman. He is just said to be ἐλατῆρα βοῶν, obviously with reference to the central episode of the story, and his final consecration as protector of cattle is only due to his role as the thief of Apollo’s cows.14 The Hymn, as we possess it, is not very ancient, nor is it immune to philological controversies. While this must be taken into consideration in order to evaluate its historical usability, nonetheless it surely preserves the foundational account of Hermaic mythology and certainly harks back to material that is more archaic.15 Considered from a comprehensive standpoint, the text seems focused, rather than on the divine theft, on the acquisition of certain prophetic skills possessed by Apollo. From the beginning, Hermes’ aim is clear: to obtain some of his brother’s functional prerogatives (timai).16 Their exact nature appears clearly from Apollo’s reference at the end to an earlier request made by his brother to learn μαντείην (533), which likely refers to Hermes’ threats to plunder the sanctuary of Delphi (178–81). It is therefore apparent that the theft of Apollo’s (p.327) cattle is but the means, the excuse to realize this exchange, according to a well-known pattern of “switch” or “barter” between herds and poetic/prophetic skills that occurs several times in Greek mythical and literary imagery, from Hesiod to Parmenides, through Melampous, Epimenides, Zaleukos, Euenios of Apollonia, and Archilochos.17 No matter what the origin of such an analogical structure,18 it is very likely that its frame, misunderstood or deformed in the reworked versions of the story, gave rise to the “false myth” of Hermes as the spirit of pastoral fecundity. Hermes’ desire to gain control over a certain kind of prophetic utterance is connected to his most ancient role (attested as early as Homer) as the gods’ herald. In this capacity, he brings the gods’ will, orders, and communications to men, acting as a mediator. Indeed, heralds were also in charge of two fundamental operations connected to archaic kingship:19 giving (or taking away) Page 2 of 15

 

Rethinking Hermes the power of speech in assembly by means of the control of the scepter or staff,20 and supervising the organization of the banquet, which was the ritual representation of the aristocratic social order.21 Hermes’ power of granting a voice or taking speech away is encoded in ancient epithets and proverbs with significant connections with wolves and dogs,22 and emerges in a variant of the story of the Hymn as recounted by Antoninus Liberalis. Here Battos, the old farmer of Onchestos who witnesses the cattle rustling and informs Apollo in spite of Hermes’ prohibition, is (p.328) punished by the latter by being removed from the channels of human communication in a sort of retaliation for his “crime”: “Battos…revealed the truth about the oxen. Hermes, angry for his betrayal, hit him with his staff and turned him into a stone (ἐρράπισεν αὐτὸν τῇ ῥάβδῳ καὶ μετέβαλεν εἰς πέτρον).”23 This story provides, on the one hand, the connection between the herald’s staff and the power of speech/silence24 and, on the other hand, the connection between such items and stones.25 A close structural parallel may be found in the myth of the killing of Argos, the sleepless, many-eyed guardian of Io, whom Hermes slays by throwing a pebble (lithos).26 Again the god is “stealing” a cow, and again he annihilates a watchman by means of stones. The same myth relates to the origins of the hermaios lophos, the stone heap sacred to Hermes, which appears to be something more than a mere phallic metaphor:27 “After having killed Argos, Hermes had to undergo the gods’ judgement, because he had been the first of them to commit murder. Willing to remove the pollution and to purify him from the crime, they threw the voting pebbles (τὴν ψῆφον) on him. Therefore the same is done also nowadays.”28 Thus stoning is connected to both the power of speech and some instances of justice: Hermes is punished by retaliation just as Battos was, and the story can be regarded as the foundation of the first tribunal.29 Furthermore, in the Hymn, stone throwing is the way in which Hermes performs the subdivision (p.329) of the meat pieces during the much debated sacrifice scene.30 Drawing pebbles is here connected with chance—that is, as we saw earlier, with another main field of Hermes’ competences: “Glad-hearted Hermes dragged the rich meats he had prepared and put them on a smooth, flat stone, and divided them into twelve portions to be distributed by lot (ἔσχισε δώδεκα μοίρας / κληροπαλεῖς), and added a complete geras to each (τέλεον δὲ γέρας προσέθηκεν ἑκάστῃ).”31 This action pertains to the herald’s competence in organizing the banquet (dais) in the correct, ordered way.32 The distribution of the pieces must be performed according to an acknowledged hierarchy, since it is a way to grant social cohesion, order, harmony, stability, justice; and in this case it is based on chance because all the participants stay at the same level.33 Random pebble throwing, on the other hand, is precisely the mode of operation of the prophetic skill desired and obtained by Hermes in the Hymn. The controversial passage of the three venerable (semnai) virgins given by Apollo to his brother may indeed be

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Rethinking Hermes explained in the light of kleromancy, the oracular practice consisting in the prophetic interpretation of the random disposition of thrown stones.34 Therefore, Hermes, by enacting a stone throwing during a sacrificial banquet, which is a context of mediation,35 is involved in instances of justice and distribution in connection to chance. That all of this was thought to take place at a cosmic level is shown by the Hymn itself, when, shortly thereafter, Hermes sings a theogony, performing a (re)foundation of the divine and human order, in which the single moirai (destined parts or competences) are allotted according to Fate’s (Moira) will,36 just like the sacrificial parts of meat. He (p.330) celebrates “the deathless gods and the dark earth, how at the first they came to be and how each one received his portion…. And next the goodly son of Zeus hymned the rest of the immortals according to their order in age, and told everything according to order (κατὰ κόσμον), playing the lyre upon his arm ” (427–33). The verb used to express Hermes’ performance, κραίνων (427), usually translated as “singing,” bears the more weighty sense of “realizing, accomplishing.”37 He actually creates a new order through his powerful words,38 the sacrifice itself being a way to re-create the world.39 Stone throwing, therefore, is at the same time a way to engage and reveal Fate, and in this particular context Hermes appears to act as the distributor of “parts,” the moirai allotted, according to the cosmogonic tradition, in a new cosmic order. This particular role can be still seen in some Aesopian fables, where Hermes is ordered by Zeus to allot gifts to men; such distributions always take place according to a proportional pattern, which was intended as a display of cosmic justice.40 Hermes’ role as a distributor seems to be quite deeply rooted in the god’s own DNA, if we consider the possible origin of his name, which might derive from an Indo-European root meaning “to divide.”41 (p.331) The following fable is even more meaningful in connecting Hermes with distributions, the retribution of justice, and pebbles (in this specific case, potsherds):42 Zeus ordered Hermes to write down people’s sins and wicked deeds on potsherds (ἐν ὀστράκοις) and to pile them in a designated box, so that Zeus could then peruse them and exact a penalty from each person as appropriate (ὅπως ἑκάστου τὰς δίκας ἀναπράσσῃ). Given that the potsherds are all piled up one on top of the other until the moment that Zeus examines them, he gets to some of them quite soon while others have to wait. It is therefore no surprise that there are wicked people who commit a crime in haste but who are not punished until much later.43 The god’s cosmic role is further stressed by the possible identification of the three Semnai with the Moirai, the three goddesses who managed the allotment of men’s fates. Hermes is linked to three goddesses in a Mycenaean tablet44 where he is called Areias, a controversial epithet that, whatever its exact Page 4 of 15

 

Rethinking Hermes meaning may be,45 suggests a possible connection with the Athenian Areopagus, where the three Moirai were worshipped as Eumenides, or Semnai Theai,46 the same epithet with which the three kleromantic pebbles are referred to in the Hymn.47 (p.332) To sum up, there are grounds to rethink Hermes’ position in a more complex (and problematic) religious frame, deeply rooted in the Greek concept of cosmic destiny (Moira), and connected to foundation myths in which instances such as measure, order, and justice played a primary role. In a cosmological system based on the succession of cosmic cycles producing new orders and in a cultural environment where chance is the way to reveal the gods’ will, Hermes acts as the (re)founder of a new balance, through new proportional distributions of parts (timai), to both gods and men.48 Bibliography Bibliography references: Acosta, R. 1997. “La frontera mitológica y su guardián.” In M. Cáceres Sánchez, ed. En la esfera semiótica lotmaniana. Valencia. 153–69. Astori, D. 2008. Semantica della regalità e del comando nel lessico greco. Cesena. Athanassakis, A. 1989. “From the Phallic Cairn to Shepherd God and Divine Herald.” Eranos 87: 33–49. Bettini, M. 2000. Le orecchie di Hermes: Studi di antropologia e letterature classiche. Turin. Brisson, L. 1975. “Le mythe de Protagoras: Essai d’analyse structurale.” QUCC 20: 7–37. Burkert, W. 1988. “Sacrificio–sacrilegio: il trickster fondatore.” In C. Grottanelli and N. F. Parise, eds. Sacrificio e società nel mondo antico. Rome. 163–75. Burkert, W. 2011. Griechische Religion der archaischen und klassischen Epoche. 2nd ed. Stuttgart. Carpenter, R. 1950. “Argeiphontes: A Suggestion.” AJA 54: 177–83. Càssola, F. 1975. “Inno a Hermes: Introduzione.” In F. Càssola, ed. Inni omerici 153–75. Milan. Chittenden, J. 1948. “Diaktoros Argeiphontes.” AJA 52: 24–33. Clay, J. S. 1987. “Hermes’ Dais by the Alpheus: Hymn to Hermes, 105–41.” Metis 2: 221–34. Page 5 of 15

 

Rethinking Hermes Crippa, S. 2012. “Entre la nature et le rite: réflexions sur le statut des signesvoix divinatoires.” In S. Georgoudi, R. Koch Piettre, and F. Schmidt, eds. La Raison des signes: Présages, rites, destin dans les sociétés de la Méditerranée ancienne. Leiden. 547–55. (p.333) Delcourt, M. 1955. L’Oracle de Delphes. Paris. Deroy, L. 1952. “La sandale ailée et l’origine hittite du dieu Hermès.” Athenaeum 30: 59–84. Detienne, M. 1967. Les maîtres de vérité dans la Grèce archaïque. Paris. Dodds, E. R. 2003. I Greci e l’irrazionale. R. Di Donato, ed. Florence (= The Greeks and the Irrational. Berkeley, CA 1951). Eitrem, S. 1912. “Hermaion.” RE 8.1.709–10. Farnell, L. R. 1909. The Cults of the Greek States. Vol. 5. Oxford. Gallavotti, C. 1957. “Ares e Areios prima di Omero.” RFIC 85: 225–33. Georgoudi, S. 1996. “Les Douze Dieux des Grecs: variations sur un thème.” In S. Georgoudi and J. P. Vernant, eds. Mythes grecs au figuré de l’antiquité au baroque. Paris. 43–80. Giacometti, D. 2003. “Theon agorai.” QS 57: 141–62. Giannisi, P. 2004. “The Cows and the Poet in Ancient Greece.” In B. S. Frizell, ed. Pecus: Man and Animal in Antiquity. Rome. 125–8. Godart, L. 2009. “I due scribi della tavoletta Tn 316.” Pasiphae 3: 99–115. Graves, R. 1960. The Greek Myths. Vol. 1. 2nd ed. London. Greene, E. S. 2005. “Revising Illegitimacy: The Use of Epithets in the Homeric Hymn to Hermes.” CQ 55: 343–9. Grottanelli, C. 1988. “Uccidere, donare mangiare: problematiche attuali del sacrificio antico.” In C. Grottanelli and N. F. Parise, eds. Sacrificio e società nel mondo antico. Rome. 3–53. Grottanelli, C. 1992. “La parola rivelata.” In G. Cambiano, L. Canfora, and D. Lanza, eds. Lo spazio letterario della Grecia antica. Rome. 1.1.219–64. Grottanelli, C. 2001. “La cléromancie ancienne et le dieu Hermès.” In F. Cordano and C. Grottanelli, eds. Sorteggio pubblico e cleromanzia dall’antichità all’età moderna. Milan. 155–96.

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Rethinking Hermes Guidorizzi, G. 2001. “Aspetti mitici del sorteggio.” In F. Cordano and C. Grottanelli, eds. Sorteggio pubblico e cleromanzia dall’antichità all’età moderna. Milan. 41–54. Guilleux, N. 2010. “L’Hermès Areias des sources mycéniennes et les malheures d’Arès avec les Aloades.” In Études mycéniennes 2010. Pisa. 457–76. Hard, R. 2004. The Routledge Handbook of Greek Mythology. London. Harrell, S. E. 1991. “Apollo’s Fraternal Threats: Language of Succession and Domination in the Homeric Hymn to Hermes.” GRBS 32: 307–29. Henrichs, A. 1994. “Anonymity and Polarity: Unknown Gods and Nameless Altars at the Areopagus.” ICS 19: 27–58. Herter, H. 1976. “Hermes. Ursprung und Wesen eines griechischen Gottes.” RhM 119: 194–241. Jaillard, D. 2001. “Le pilier hermaïque dans l’espace sacrificiel.” MEFRA 113: 341–63. Jaillard, D. 2007. Configurations d’Hermès: Une “théogonie hermaïque.” Liège. Jaillard, D. 2012. “Hermès et la mantique grecque.” In S. Georgoudi, R. K. Piettre, and F. Schmidt, eds. La Raison des signes: Présages, rites, destin dans les sociétés de la Méditerranée ancienne. 91–107. Leiden. Jedrkiewicz, S. 1989. Sapere e paradosso nell’antichità: Esopo e la favola. Rome. Kahn, L. 1978. Hermès passe ou les ambiguïtés de la communication. Paris. Kahn, L. 1979. “Hermès, la frontière et l’identité ambiguë.” Ktema 4: 201–11. (p.334) Kahn-Lyotard, L. 1981. “Hermès.” In Y. Bonnefoy, ed. Dictionnaire des Mythologies. Paris. 1.500–4. Kerényi, K. 1951. Die Mythologie der Griechen: Die Götter- und Menschheitsgeschichten. Zurich. Kloekhorst, A. 2008. Etymological Dictionary of the Hittite Inherited Lexicon. Leiden. Kretschmer, P. 1921. “Ares.” Glotta 11: 195–8. Laroche, E. 1963. “Le dieu anatolien Sarrumma.” Syria 40: 277–302. Larson, J. 1995. “The Corycian Nymphs and the Bee Maidens of the Homeric Hymn to Hermes.” GRBS 36: 341–57.

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Rethinking Hermes Larson, J. 2007. Ancient Greek Cults: A Guide. New York. Leduc, C. 2005. “Le pseudo-sacrifice d’Hermès. Hymne homérique à Hermès I, vers 112–42: poésie rituelle, théologie et histoire.” Kernos 18: 141–65. Leduc, C. 2006. “Hermès et le fondement sacral de la royauté des premers âges de la Grèce.” In M. Fartzoff, É. Geny, and É. Smadja, eds. Signes et destins d’eléction dans l’antiquité. Besançon. 15–32. Legrand, A. 1963. “Mercurius.” In C. Daremberg and E. Saglio, eds. Dictionnaire des antiquités grecques et romaines. 2nd ed. Graz. 3.2.1802–30. Leick, G. 1998. A Dictionary of Ancient Near Eastern Mythology. 2nd ed. New York. Lincoln, B. 1986. Myth, Cosmos, and Society. Cambridge, MA. MacUrdy, G. H. 1921. “Hermes Chthonios as Eponym of the Skopadae.” JHS 41: 179–82. Nilsson, M. P. 1953. Geschichte der griechischen Religion. Vol. 1. 2nd ed. Munich. Nobili, C. 2011. L’“Inno omerico a Ermes” e le tradizioni locali. Milan. Onians, R. B. 1988. The Origins of European Thought about the Body, the Mind, the Soul, the World, Time, and Fate. 2nd ed. Cambridge. Orgogozo, J. J. 1949. “L’Hermès des Achéens.” RHR 136: 10–30 and 139–79. Pisano, C. 2011. “Hermes, il lupo, il silenzio.” QUCC 98: 87–100. Pisano, C. 2014. Hermes, lo scettro, l’ariete: Configurazioni mitiche della regalità nella Grecia antica. Naples. Pokorny, J. 1959. Indogermanisches etymologisches Wörterbuch. Bern. Reggiani, N. 2012. “I manteis della Grecia nord-occidentale.” In L. Breglia, A. Moleti, and M. L. Napolitano, eds. Ethne, identità e tradizioni: La terza Grecia e l’Occidente. Pisa. 1.113–38. Reggiani, N. 2015a. La Giustizia cosmica: Le riforme di Solone fra polis e kosmos. Florence. Reggiani, N. 2015b. “La voce del silenzio: il culto ateniese di Hesychos e il dio Hermes.” In I. Baglioni, ed. Ascoltare gli Dèi/Divos Audire: Costruzione e percezione della dimensione sonora nelle religioni del Mediterraneo antico. Rome. 2.71–81.

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Rethinking Hermes Reggiani, N. Forthcoming A. “Democrazia e Politeismo. La rifunzionalizzazione delle divinità nell’Atene della ‘rivoluzione democratica’: il caso di Hermes.” In I. Baglioni, ed. Politeismo: Costruzione e percezione delle divinità nel Mediterraneo antico. Rome. Reggiani, N. Forthcoming B. “Un colpo di dadi non abolirà mai il caso”: ricerche su Hermes, il Caso e il Destino nell’antichità. Reggiani, N. Forthcoming C. “Profezie sul passato: la funzione poietica dei miti cosmo- teogonici nelle performance rituali.” In I. Baglioni, ed. Mythos: Costruzione e percezione dei racconti tradizionali nel Mediterraneo antico. Rome. (p.335) Richardson, N. 2010. Three Homeric Hymns: To Apollo, Hermes, and Aphrodite. Cambridge. Ruzé, F. 1997. Délibération et pouvoir dans la cité grecque de Nestor à Socrate. Paris. Sbardella, L. 2009. “Nascita di un dio ‘minore’: l’Inno omerico a Ermes tra letteratura, mito e culto.” Paideia 64: 153–78. Scheinberg, S. 1979. “The Bee Maidens of the Homeric Hymn to Hermes.” HSCP 83: 1–28. Siebert, G. 1981. “Hermes.” In Lexicon Iconographicum Mythologiae Classicae. Zurich. 5.285–87. Siebert, G. 2000. “La meurtre d’Argos. Images médiévales d’Hermès.” In ἀγαθὸς δαίμων: Mythes et cultes. Athens. 443–51. Solmsen, F. 1949. Hesiod and Aeschylus. New York. Steiner, D. T. 1995. “Stoning and Sight: A Structural Equivalence in Greek Mythology.” ClAnt 14: 193–211. Svenbro, J. 1992. “‘Ton luth, a quoi bon?’ La lyre et la pierre tombale dans la pensée grecque.” Mètis 7: 135–60. Usener, H. 1948. Götternamen. Versuch einer Lehre von der religiösen Begriffsbildung. 3rd ed. Frankfurt. Vergados, A. 2013. The Homeric Hymn to Hermes: Introduction, Text and Commentary. Berlin. Vernant, J.-P. 2006. Myth and Thought among the Greeks. New York (= Mythe et pensée chez les Grecs. 1965).

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Rethinking Hermes Vilborg, E. 1960. A Tentative Grammar of Mycenaean Greek. Gothenburg. West, M. L. 1997. The East Face of Helicon: West Asiatic Elements in Greek Poetry and Myth. Oxford. Wilamowitz-Moellendorff, U. von. 1931. Der Glaube der Hellenen. Vol. 1. Berlin. (p.336) Notes:

(1) Siebert 1981: 286. The present paper tries to give the first organic arrangement to some thoughts arising from previous researches (Reggiani 2015a: 138 ff.) and scattered in some other articles (Reggiani 2015b, Forthcoming A); for the sake of conciseness I wish to refer to a wider exposition, still in progress, on the same topics, for deeper reflections and further bibliography: Reggiani Forthcoming B. My thanks are due to the organizers of the “Tracking Hermes/Mercury” conference, Jenny Strauss Clay and John F. Miller, for the opportunity of presenting, discussing, and now publishing my contribution. (2) Vernant 2006: 160; cf. Cic. ND 3.56 ff. (3) For a complete “traditional” exposition on Hermes, see Herter 1976. (4) Cf. Kahn-Lyotard 1981: 500–3; Vernant 2006: 159 ff. Hermes’ traditional clothing, consisting in the petasus, the travelers’ large-brimmed hat, and the winged sandals, relates indeed to his mobility and speed. (5) Hsch. ε5938; cf. Eitrem 1912; Chittenden 1948: 32; Càssola 1975: 159; Burkert 2011: 244; Kahn-Lyotard 1981: 501; Vernant 2006: 160. (6) Cf. Jaillard 2012: 91. (7) Cf. e.g. Kahn 1979; Kahn-Lyotard 1981: 501; Siebert 1981: 287. (8) Acosta 1997 passim. (9) H.Herm. 392; Chittenden 1948: 29–30; Càssola 1975: 535. (10) Càssola 1975: 160. (11) Càssola 1975: 153. See also, e.g., Chittenden 1948: 24; Burkert 2011: 243–4; Kahn-Lyotard 1981: 500–1; Athanassakis 1989: 49. (12) Noteworthy on this is Athanassakis 1989: 49, but see also, e.g., Farnell 1909: 7 ff. (especially 10–11) and 24 ff.; Graves 1960: 56; Legrand 1963: 1802; Càssola 1975: 153 ff. See also the phallic interpretation of Hermes’ connection with stones, stone pillars, and later the herms: e.g. Kerényi 1951: 169; Siebert 1981: 287; Onians 1988: 122 and 518; Athanassakis 1989 passim (paradigmatic in Page 10 of 15

 

Rethinking Hermes considering Hermes as the “indwelling numen of the cairn,” which is of course a “phallic cairn”); Burkert 2011: 240. For a critical re-examination of the topic, cf. Larson 2007: 147. I discuss below the possible true meaning of stones. (13) Chittenden 1948: 24. (14) Cf. Sbardella 2009: 167 ff. (15) In general, on the Hymn and these issues, cf. recently Richardson 2010: 15– 27; Nobili 2011; Vergados 2013. (16) ἀμφὶ δὲ τιμῆς, / κἀγὼ τῆς ὁσίης ἐπιβήσομαι, ἧς περ Ἀπόλλων (172–3: “as regards honor, I too will enter upon the rite that Apollo has”). Cf. Jaillard 2007: 86 ff. (17) Cf. Reggiani 2012: 114, with further bibliography. On Melampous: Nobili 2011: 37–44 and 94 ff. A daring as well as intriguing interpretation of the theft of herds was proposed by Usener 1948: 177 ff. On cattle and poetry, cf. Giannisi 2004. On the connection between herd theft and mantic initiation see also Nobili 2011: esp. 94–106 ff., though from the standpoint of the institution of an oracle of Hermes in the Peloponnesian region. (18) One of the more suggestive hypotheses, advanced by Jaillard 2007: 215–22, speaks of an exchange at the level of the concept of “watchfulness.” (19) Hermes’ involvement in matters of kingship is shown, for example, by peripheral traditions in Arcadia, Achaia, and Thessaly (cf., respectively, Leduc 2005, 2006; Orgogozo 1949; MacUrdy 1921) and by the myth of Pelops, who is given Zeus’ royal scepter by Hermes himself (Il. 2.100–8). In general, on Hermes’ connection with kingship, see Pisano 2014. (20) On the power of the scepter, see Il. 2.185 ff.: Odysseus takes Agamemnon’s scepter, using its authority to speak to the Achaeans, and to hit Thersites, forcing him to shut up. On the connection between heralds and the scepter, cf. e.g. Ruzé 1997: 49–51. On Hermes and the scepter, see the previous note. (21) Cf. Reggiani 2015a: 101–3. (22) Hermes and silence: “When in some meeting silence occurs, it is said that Hermes has come in” (Plut. De garr. 502f3–5); cf. Bettini 2000; Reggiani 2015b. The same effect was ascribed to the wolves’ gaze: cf. Pisano 2011: esp. 87–8. In common with wolves, in particular, Hermes possesses the ability to silence dogs: to steal Apollo’s cows he “makes the dogs guarding the cattle lethargic” (Ant. Lib. 23.1–2; cf. H.Herm. 145: at his passage οὐδὲ κύνες λελάκοντο, “not even the dogs barked”), and compare Hipponax’s famous invocation Ἑρμῆ κυνάγχα, “Hermes, dog throttler” (fr. 2a West). This is usually considered in relation to his role as protector of thieves, but a deeper meaning will be suggested below. On Page 11 of 15

 

Rethinking Hermes the other hand, Hermes’ power over the faculty of speech is shown by myth (he is asked to insert a phone into Pandora) and by rite (the oracular practice of kledonomancy, based on the interpretation of random voices and sounds: cf. Bettini 2000; Crippa 2012; Reggiani 2015b passim). (23) Ant. Lib. 23.6.3–4. (24) “Colpendo con la rhabdos gli occhi degli uomini, il dio addormenta e sveglia, suscita oblio, rende nulla la vigilanza, ‘guida’ i sogni” (Pisano 2011: 92). It is not by chance that the character’s name, Battos, means “stutterer” (cf. DELG s.v. βατταρίζω). The rhabdos is usually a vegetal stick (e.g. the one Hermes handles during the theft: H.Herm. 210), but there is no reason to doubt that here it is the golden one given to him by Apollo in H.Herm. 529, which is certainly the kerykeion, the herald’s scepter. (25) The association of turning someone to stone with the deprivation of human communication, namely of sight and speech, is discussed by Steiner 1995; cf. also Svenbro 1992: 137–45 (association Hermes–stone–death); Pisano 2011: 92 (Hermes and the wolves as eye-enchanters). (26) Ps.-Apollod. 2.1.3; cf. Schol. Aesch. Prom. 561; Schol. Hom. Il. 2.103. The more common version is recorded by Ovid (Met. 1.678–721; cf. Serv. Aen. 7.790): Hermes makes Argos fall asleep by singing and playing the syrinx, and when all the monster’s hundred eyes are closed, the god beheads him, making his blindness permanent and irreversible. However, the theme of singing comes later in the iconography, which prefers the scene of the beheading by a sword; an Italic hydria shows Argos falling asleep after the touch of Hypnos’ staff (Siebert 2000). The importance of the myth is perhaps shown by the fact that Argeiphontes is, along with diaktoros (see earlier), the most used among Hermes’ epithets in Homer and Hesiod (there have been different attempts to interpret the attribute: cf. e.g. Legrand 1963: 1804, but see the discussion by Chittenden 1948: 25–8). Carpenter 1950 suggested that argos originally meant “dog,” making Argeiphontes the exact parallel of Hipponax’s kynanches (see above, n. 22). The connection between the liberation of Io and the theft of Apollo’s cattle has already been highlighted by Chittenden 1948: 27; cf. also Greene 2005: 348, with n. 23. (27) Traditionally, wayfarers used to throw a stone at the crossroads to honor Hermes, thus forming heaps (cf. Schol. Hom. Od. 16.471; Steiner 1995: 193; Hard 2004: 158), later turned into the monumental type of the herm. (28) EM s.v. Ἑρμαῖον = Eust. in Od. 2.133, 8–13. (29) Grottanelli 2001: 176–7.

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Rethinking Hermes (30) On the sacrifice itself, see Kahn 1978: 41–73; Clay 1987; Georgoudi 1996; Leduc 2005; Jaillard 2007: 101–64. (31) H.Herm. 126–9. (32) Cf. Clay 1987: 223 ff.; Jaillard 2001: 342; Leduc 2005: 156–7. (33) Cf. Burkert 1988: 166; Guidorizzi 2001: 44–6 and 52–4. (34) On kleromancy, see Grottanelli 2001, with further bibliography. For this explanation of the passage, cf. Ps.-Apollod. 3.10.2; Larson 1995; Reggiani 2015a: 226 ff. The usual interpretation speaks of a swarm of prophetic bees (e.g. Grottanelli 2001: 164–5; Jaillard 2012: 94), but see Zenob. 5.75, who states that according to Philochorus (328 F 195 FGrHist) three Nymphs dwell on Mt. Parnassus, nurses of Apollo, called Thriai, from which the mantikai psephoi are called thriai, and their prophesying thriasthai. Kleromancy seems to have been an oracular activity practiced at Delphi (Suda π 3137 s.v. Πυθώ; cf. Delcourt 1955: 74 ff.), and this may explain Hermes’ request to acquire some of Apollo’s Delphic honors. On the difference between Apollinean mantics and the oracular form assigned to Hermes, cf. Jaillard 2012: 96–9. (35) Cf. Leduc 2005: 154–5. (36) For discussion of the value of theogonic performances as (re)foundations of the human and divine order, see Detienne 1967: 16–18; Burkert 1988: 168; Reggiani Forthcoming C. The foundation of the cosmic order, sung in the theogony, is replicated in practice by the division of the sacrificial meat, further divided into two sets of twelve pieces, probably meaning that Hermes founds the divine and the human order at the same time. After all, the whole Hymn seems to take place at a cosmic level: the invention of the lyre and fire and the throwing of the sandals in the river, for example, recall mythical themes connected to the Deluge and therefore to the passage from one cosmic age to a new one. The succession of cosmic cycles was thought to be caused by a “sin” that subverts the proportional order of the kosmos: in the Hymn, “fraternal sparring signals the crisis that occurs when the order of the cosmos must be shifted in some way” (Harrell 1991: 329). On these points, cf. Reggiani 2015a: 138 ff. (cosmogonies and justice) and 239 ff. (cosmic context of Hermes’ sacrifice). On sortition as revelation of Fate, see Guidorizzi 2001: 43–4. (37) LSJ s.v. κραίνω I; DELG s.v. κραιαίνω; Detienne 1967: 16 and 53–4; Grottanelli 1992: 248–50; Astori 2008: 57–8. (38) The same verb is used by Apollo to refer to the prophecies of the three Semnai (559) and to the power of the golden staff to reveal Zeus’ will (531): it implies creative prophecies, which “enable things to come into being” (Scheinberg 1979: 10; cf. Detienne 1967: 55–6). Page 13 of 15

 

Rethinking Hermes (39) Cf. Lincoln 1986: 1–64; Grottanelli 1988: 28–31. (40) Aesop. 103, 309, 108 Perry = 111, 112, 120 Chambry3 (for further discussion, see Reggiani 2015a: 213 ff.). The same material that became part of the Aesopian collection is later recovered by Plato, in a famous passage dealing with the origins of politics as a means of granting men’s civic survival (Prot. 322c–e; cf. Brisson 1975: 20–1): Zeus sends Hermes to bring respect and justice (αἰδῶ τε καὶ δίκην) among men; the latter asks if he has to distribute them as with the arts, i.e. giving them only to some men, but Zeus answers that everyone should have a share of them (καὶ πάντες μετεχόντων). (41) The etymology of Hermes’ name is notoriously debated (cf. DELG s.v.). Due to issues of space, I must refer to Reggiani (Forthcoming C) for a full discussion of the matter, but the main outlines of my proposal can be summarized as follows: a phonetic parallel between Hermes’ name and the Hittite god Šarruma (on whom cf. Laroche 1963; Leick 1998: 150 s.v.) was pointed out by Meriggi in Deroy 1952: 83–4. Then Laroche 1963: 278–9 demonstrated that the glyph used to represent this god derived from the Hittite root of the theonym, šarr-. This root bears the proper meaning of “to divide up, to distribute; to split, to separate; (midd[le] trans[itive]) to cross (a threshold); to pass through (a doorway); to transgress (borders); to violate (an oath); (midd[le] intr[ansitive]) to be divided; to split up.” “This verb has basically two meanings; to divide up, to distribute and to transgress (oaths, borders, doorways),” and the derived noun, šarran- / šarra-, means “portion, part, division,” likely stemming from IE √*serə1- / *srə1- (Kloekhorst 2008: 727–30). All of this exactly matches what we know of Hermes as a border crosser and a distributor. Unfortunately, we have almost no information about Šarruma’s theology (except a certain connection with kingship), but from a linguistic viewpoint the parallel seems to work. The lack of initial digamma in the root of Hermes’ name (e-ma-a2 in Mycenaean: cf. DM s.v.) does not exclude a root with a sibilant, which very often disappears in Mycenaean though surfacing in an initial aspiration in Greek (see e.g. e-re-e / ἕλος “swamp” from √*sel- [Skr. sáras-]; e-qe-ta / ἕπομαι “follower / to follow” from √*sekw- [Lat. sequor, Skr. sácate]; cf. DELG and Pokorny 1959 s.vv.; on the omission of s- and of the aspiration in Mycenaean: Vilborg 1960: 38, 48). We also know examples of the Hittite output in š- of such roots: see e.g. šākuṷa- (“eye”), likely from the already mentioned √*sekw-, and šupp(ar)- (“to sleep”) from √*sup(Gr. ὕπνος). Furthermore, in light of the proposed relation between Hermes– distributor and stones, this might fit the etymological link with ἕρμα, “stone, stone heap, hill” (cf. Wilamowitz 1931: 159 and 285; Nilsson 1953: 503; West 1997: 34), in a way that appears still blurry, but surely deserving a more thorough examination. (42) Cf. Grottanelli 2001: 175–6, who compares this fable with the myth of Hermes’ trial for the killing of Argos.

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Rethinking Hermes (43) Aesop. 313 Perry = 126 Chambry3 (translations, here and below, by L. Gibbs, http://www.mythfolklore.net/aesopica). A final suggestion about Hermes’ involvement in such proportional distributions, with a further connection to social order and justice, comes from the wolf, the animal that we already compared to Hermes as the master of silence. Another fable (348 Perry = 228 Chambry3) tells about wolves involved in an equal distribution of meat (equality being proportionality among peers): “There was a wolf who ruled over the other wolves and decreed that whatever they might catch while hunting would be kept in common and divided equally by the whole pack (πάντα εἰς μέσον ἄξῃ καὶ μερίδα ἴσην ἑκάστῳ δώσῃ).” This resembles very much Hermes’ distribution of the pieces of meat during the sacrifice on the Alpheios. (44) PY Tn 316. Cf. Godart 2009; Guilleux 2010. (45) Connected to Ares (e.g. Kretschmer 1921; DM s.v. a-re-ja; Guilleux 2010) or to aros “usefulness” (Gallavotti 1957: 226–31; Giacometti 2003: 150–1). (46) Paus. 1.28.6; Henrichs 1994: 39 ff. The Moirai were the guardians of the cosmic order (cf. Hes. Th. 217–20), agents of the cosmic Moira (Dodds 2003: 48– 9), as the Erinyes–Eumenides (perhaps to be identified with the second Moirai recorded by Hes. Th. 904–6; cf. Solmsen 1949: 36 ff.) watched over the human order. (47) The appearance of Athens and of the Areopagus is meaningful in a manifold way. Both the Aesopian fables and the Hymn have, at least in part, an Athenian cultural background (Jedrkiewicz 1989: 346–51 ff., 379 ff., 395 ff.; Reggiani 2015a: 230–1), and the Areopagus is the stage of the foundation myth of the first tribunal for Orestes’ trial, a story of a disorder to be settled where it seems that Hermes had performed a central role, which was later replaced by Athena (Reggiani Forthcoming A). Furthermore, such hints allowed Giacometti (2003) to postulate the existence of an oracle of Hermes on the Athenian hill, connected with the judicial activities of the famous court settled there. (48) It can be assumed that most of this “theology” was developed in Athens when Solon tried to establish a system of civic justice based on distributive proportions, with the aim of creating an ordered polis as a mirror of the cosmic order. I cannot deal with that here, but I have discussed it at length in Reggiani 2015a and Forthcoming A, to which I refer for further notes.

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Great Hermes

Tracking Hermes, Pursuing Mercury John F. Miller and Jenny Strauss Clay

Print publication date: 2019 Print ISBN-13: 9780198777342 Published to Oxford Scholarship Online: March 2019 DOI: 10.1093/oso/9780198777342.001.0001

Great Hermes Three Ways toward Stardom Henk Versnel

DOI:10.1093/oso/9780198777342.003.0021

Abstract and Keywords In the archaic and classical periods Hermes, though very popular, was a god of modest status. This chapter sketches three roads that led him to “stardom.” Each of them was conditioned by a specific “position” of the god. For two of them this was a spatial setting; (1) an isolated cave in Crete and (2) the imaginary area of the Netherworld. The god took advantage of the associations these abodes evoked in terms of function, quality, and status of their hallowed regular tenants, such as Pan and the Nymphs on the one hand and the dreaded Chthonioi gods on the other. The third position is determined by its inclusion into a cultural setting, in casu a stylish literary genre of its time: the hymn. In all three Hermes owed the idiom connected with his new status to the language of hyperbolic esteem, praise and exaltation current in their contemporaneous religious contexts. Keywords:   cave cult, confession stelai, hymn orphic, magical, idiom of praise, defixio, chthonic judges

1. Introduction When I received the invitation to join the conference on Hermes1 I surmised that I owed this to the fourth chapter of my latest (and last) book.2 That chapter inquires into the thoroughly human nature and demeanor of the god in various sources from the archaic and classical periods, including the part of the Homeric Hymn that precedes his ascendance toward a deserved place on Olympus.3 However, even after having reached a niche at the pinnacles of Olympus, it soon appears that the god, in spite of the tools and timai accorded to him, is far from Page 1 of 23

Great Hermes having become “a leader (ἡγεμόνα) renowned among the deathless gods,” as Apollo had promised him. We will return to this point at the appropriate place in this paper. As for ritual praxis, despite the enormous popularity of this “most philanthropic among the gods,”4 Hermes enjoyed hardly any official cult or festival (apart from the ubiquitous Hermaia). Only a handful of temples in the strict sense of that word are known and not one of them is in Athens.5 Similarly disappointing is Hermes’ share in divine praises, epithets, titles, and acclamations as they abound in hymns and prayers already in the archaic and (p.338) classical periods, and flourish in Hellenistic and imperial times.6 Here is a selection of the most popular ones: the most common are μέγας/μέγιστος; further, terms indicating a superior status (ἄναξ, κύριος, δεσπότης, βασιλεύς); notions of almightiness (παγκρατής, παντοκράτωρ), “you are the only one (μόνος) who can do that” or “you can do anything you want” (πάν, πάντα δύνασαι), also articulated as “with many names” (μυριώνυμος, πολυώνυμος); as well as other ways to give voice to admiration of the greatness of a god, for instance by terms or gestures of subservience for the human adorant (ἱκετεύω, δοῦλος, θεραπευτής). Now, if most gods enjoy an ongoing share in this fixed arsenal of divine praise, the near total absence of it in the case of Hermes during the archaic and classical periods is another most telling indication of his modest status in those times.7 In this respect, too, Hermes is an exception among the Olympians. There are, however, as I came to realize, two reasons for some reticence and further consideration. The first is that one of my earliest publications8 was on a great Hermes, lauded by Martial in a parodic hymn to a gladiator named Hermes, which ends: Hermes omnia solus et ter unus. Unus, being the translation of εἷς, is the highest praise in henotheistic hymns. Moreover, “thrice one” is the earliest reference to (Hermes) Trismegistus. The second reason is that there are two exceptions to the rule in archaic/classical literature, in that the honorific terms οἶος and δεσπότης do each occur once for Hermes. They will play an important part in the third section of this paper. So here an interesting question prompts itself: how did Hermes manage to grow from a little, very popular, but relatively low-ranking deity into an eminent god, glorified in matchless superlative terms? We will follow his ways toward stardom by having recourse to analogous phenomena in contemporaneous religious and cultural trends. The Werdegang of Hermes, so it will turn out, was highly dependent on and informed by these contexts, and may be taken as a sample of major contemporaneous religious currents.

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Great Hermes (p.339) 2. ΠΑΝΤΟΚΡΑΤΩΡ Hermes the Cave Dweller The first exploration in our search for a “great Hermes” finds its inspiration in an inscription of the second century CE from a cave dedicated to Hermes near Axos in the Talleian Mountains in West Crete.9 Ἄρτεμις ἡ Σαλουΐου θυγάτηρ. οὔρεσι Ταλλαίοισιν ἱδρυμένε Μαιάδος Ἑρμῆ, σπονδὴν καὶ θυσίην δέξο φιλοφρόσυνος, ἥν σοι Σαλούϊος Μηνᾶς λοιβαῖσι γεραίρει, κτήσεος ἐξ ὁσίης ψυχικὰ δῶρα διδούς. καὶ πρὶν μὲν ζώσης ἀλόχου φάος εἰσοροώσης, σὺν κείνῃ κατ’ ἔτος σοὺς ἐγέραιρε τόπους· ἀνθ’ ὧν δ’ ἐνχρονίσας ἐπετήσιον οὐκ ἀπέδωκεν, συμβίου ἁγνοτάτης τοῦδε καταφθιμένης, ἀλγήσας φρένα πολλά, μαθὼν δ’ ὅτι δεῖ τά γε θεῖα τιμᾶν, διπλῆν σοι τήνδ’ ἔπορεν θυσίαν. καὶ σὺ δέ, παντοκράτωρ Ἐριούνιε, τόνδε φυλάσσοις ζωόν, ὅπως τιμᾷ σὸν δι’ ὅλου τέμενος.

The inscription itself is lost, but visitors from the fifteenth to the nineteenth centuries made copies of it. It records how a certain pious visitor, Salvius Menas, asks Hermes to accept his libations and sacrifices, as well as (5) the “spiritual gifts of a pious possession,” perhaps referring to hymns or other poetic offerings, such as the present epigram. In bygone days, he and his wife used to pay annual visits to the cave and honor the place. However, after the death of his wife he had discontinued the practice. Or—an alternative reading—he neglected the practice and hence his wife died thereafter. After much suffering he finally came to the insight that one must honor divinity (9: δεῖ τά γε θεῖα τιμᾶν), acknowledges the gods’ supremacy (παντοκράτωρ) and his own delinquency, and implores the god to accept a double sacrifice by way of redemption. Finally he prays that the god “Pantokrator Eriounios” keep him safe and alive in order to take care of the sanctuary permanently. The text is clearly a personal poetic creation with hymnic traits.10 It presents several vexing riddles that, however, are not directly relevant to our (p.340) discussion.11 But very relevant and astonishing is Hermes’ title Pantokrator.12 Higher praise is hardly imaginable. Although found in Jewish and Christian texts, this predicate rarely occurs in pagan Greek texts, and never before the imperial period. In order to understand how the cave dweller Hermes could be deemed worthy of this extraordinary predicate, we need to have a closer look at the remarkable sequence of divine and human actions and reactions in the text. It closely resembles a structure that we find in a well-known series of contemporaneous inscriptions on stelai found in the borderland of Phrygia-Lydia, the area called Maeonia. These inscriptions dating to the second and third centuries CE are generally known under the name of confession stelai.13 They betray an almost paranoid belief that illness and mishap are sent by a god as Page 3 of 23

 

Great Hermes penalty for offenses against human or divine codes of behavior.14 They often open with an acclamation, “Great is the god.” Then they detail the suffering of the dedicator, followed by his acknowledgement (“confession”) of an offense (either moral—theft, slander—or religious—impurity, disobedience), his repentance, and a recognition of the greatness of the god who had punished him, but who after his repentance had also cured him. Thus the stele serves as testimony to gratitude, as well as praise (“aretalogy”) of the god and, finally, as a warning to potential offenders. Hence the different names that scholars, in accordance with personal interests or preferences, have proposed for these texts: confession, propitiatory, reconciliation, exaltation inscriptions, aretalogies, etc. The striking correspondences with our hymnic epigram have not gone unnoticed. Without suggesting direct derivation, scholars have taken them as related testimonies of a mentality that increasingly surfaced in areas far distant from the rather isolated Lydian/Phrygian region. It is one focal point (p.341) in a foundational article of 1981 by H. W. Pleket,15 in which he discussed phenomena of “verticalization” in the relationship between god and man in the late Hellenistic and especially the imperial periods.16 The most obvious testimony is the emergence of terms praising divine majesty (κύριος, δεσπότης, τύραννος), and omnipotence (παντοκράτωρ, [παμ]βασιλεύς), as well as the qualities indicated by terms like δύναμις on the one hand, and terms of human subservience (δοῦλος, θεραπευτής, ὑπουργός, λάτρις) on the other. Here and there Near Eastern influence is demonstrable, but traces of these phenomena are already visible in classical Greece. The so-called confession texts, with their acclamations (“Great is the god”) and their belief in punishing divine interventions in human life, are a case in point. With respect to our epigram one more thing should be noted: the gods honored in the confession texts are often typically local gods, committed and restricted to a single tiny village. From his local temple the god “holds in his grip” or “occupies” or “holds possession of” (κατέχουσιν17) the village whose name (s)he often bears as an epithet (e.g. Apollo Axiottenos). These gods, however much they are restricted in terms of topography, are structurally understood as great omnipotent rulers. Now here we have both an analogy and a difference with the Hermes of the Talleian cave. He too is a “local,” restricted to and defined by his Talleian residence, and as such expressly lauded in the epigram, but unlike the Lydian/Phrygian gods and despite his title Pantokrator, he is not a majestic ruler with a celebrated temple, but in origin a modest god housed in a cave. If, then, we have found comparable contemporaneous religious mentalities that may serve as a background of both belief (human guilt; punishing, all-seeing gods; human confession) and of concomitant terms of exaltation (Pantokrator), can we take a further step and find an explanation for cave-dwelling Hermes’ promotion from his modest origins to his elevated status?

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Great Hermes For this issue, a look at another analogy in the sphere of religious veneration will be helpful. To the Talleian cave (like others in Crete and generally in ancient Greece) applies what the guide Michelin would call “vaut le detour,” and not a small detour either. Even if we have only two epigraphical testimonies from the Talleian cave itself,18 at least one devotee apparently found it worthwhile to perform an annual pilgrimage to the god housed in his isolated cave (p.342) and advertise it in his inscription. Pilgrimages to remote cave-sanctuaries,19 with their extramundane mysterious atmosphere,20 were a common phenomenon in ancient Greece. As a rule the divine cave dwellers did not belong to the circle of the great Olympians. Most popular were the Nymphs, who, often in the company of Pan, enjoyed a pious and above all personal adoration as recorded in numerous inscriptions and reliefs.21 Most relevant to our issue is that it is precisely due to their primitive and remote sanctuaries that these minor gods “rose to the occasion.” They tended to appear in person in dreams of epiphanies and to exert an extraordinary power over their devotees, who might become numpholeptoi.22 Sometimes the worshippers were pictured as kneeling for them, and accordingly they also might acquire deferential forms of address, such as kuriai, despotai, etc.23 After Pan, two other less majestic gods, Asklepios and Hermes, are second best as companions or leaders of Nymphai.24 Although our Talleian Hermes is single, we have no doubt found in the personal, pious, and submissive religiosity of the adorant Salvius Menas the key to the god’s “stairway to heaven,” which in the end provoked the use of the title Pantokrator. Finally we must note one more point of resemblance between Hermes and all other cave dwellers (and the Lydian/Phrygian gods): they are not marked by one or a few specialties. Even if they might boast a specific skill or quality—as, for instance, the Nymphs with their involvement in childbirth—superior status is not its immediate corollary. As masters/mistresses of the cave, they enjoyed a multipurpose employability. Hence they could be, and were, invoked for any human need, even though “health and wealth” will have prevailed. Now, people might have taken this for granted and have left it at praise of the god for his/her majesty and superior power in one or a few simple terms, but one might also elaborate on this theme. The so-called confession texts have also been coined aretalogiai:25 glorification of the wondrous deeds or miracles (ἀρεταί, in this later period mostly called δυνάμεις) of the god. If so, they are rather rudimentary aretalogies, just like the epigram to Hermes, with (p.343) the difference that the praise in the confession texts is of a structural type prescribed by its genre, whereas the one to Hermes is of a subjective personal nature.

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Great Hermes Salvius Menas may have taken advantage of his acquaintance with contemporaneous aretalogical hymnic expression, from which he may have borrowed the title Pantokrator and thus promoted the modest cave dweller to the rank of the great majestic god of his time. As A. D. Nock phrased it, “Thus the trusted Greek God Hermes ‘under the stress of emotion’ comes into line with the great, universally worshipped ‘almighty ones’.”26 It is as if we see the foggy cave, mythical birthplace of the god, transformed into a richly furnished divine palace, as it is related in the Homeric Hymn.27 But with all this we have been approaching another stairway to divine omnipotence as summarized in the title Pantokrator. It is time now to turn our focus toward the contribution of the radical transformation of the hymnodic culture in the first centuries CE.

3. Ὡς ἀγαθόν ἐστ’ ἐπωνυμίας πολλὰς ἔχειν Making a Name for Oneselfthrough Aretalogy In Callimachus’ Hymn to Artemis 7 f., Artemis begs her father Zeus: “Grant me to keep my virginity for ever, daddy, and to be of many names (πολυωνυμίην), so that Phoebus may not sneeringly contend with me.” Menander Rhetor (third or fourth century CE), in his instructions for the composition of hymns, prayers, and encomia, avers that polyonumia counts as the highest praise. Murionumos and polyonumos indeed belong to the list of predicates of many a god.28 Not of Hermes, however—at least not in the classical period. To be sure, the Greek verse in the title of this section, “How good is it to have so many epithets” (Ar. Plut. 1164), is addressed to Hermes, but just as surely it is a blatantly ironic parody of official hymnic praise, since it reacts to Hermes’ self-advertising enumeration of the (very human!) qualities in which he could be useful to his mortal companions: strophaios (door guardian), empolaios (businessman), dolios (deceiver), hegemonios (guide), enagonios (president of the games). The Hellenistic and early imperial periods witnessed an outburst of various aretalogical implementations of the notion of polyonumia. One of them is the type in which the god is praised with a list of all the cities and lands where (p. 344) (s)he enjoys worship and cult; another, more specifically known under the name of aretalogy, consists of extended enumerations of the deity’s outstanding status in the divine world, her extraordinary capacities, and her creative achievements performed in the past. The Isis hymns—most importantly the one of Cumae—are the most explicit in this respect.29 They also display honorific titles of magnificence and superior power, identical to or comparable with the ones mentioned in our first section: despotes, kurios, basileus, and in the Cumae aretalogy, tyrannos. Claims of omnipotence occur, e.g., also in the Cumae aretalogy: Ἐγὼ τὸ ἱμαρμένον νικῶ. Ἐμοῦ τὸ εἱμαρμένον ἀκούει. I overcome Fate. Fate harkens to me.

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Great Hermes Albeit formally to be classified as hymns, these aretalogies often lack a prayerlike request at the end. Their purpose is first of all to advertise the superior power of the god as an act of missionary zeal. The Isis hymn of Maronea is explicitly presented as an act of gratitude for a recovery.30 In addition to these scattered aretalogies we have two ancient collections of aretalogical hymnic texts: first, the so-called Orphic hymns31 (eighty-seven in total), which are products of a local Dionysiac/Orphic cult group,32 most probably in Asia Minor. Their date is disputed; some scholars vote for the first century BCE or CE; others, more attractively to my mind, suggest the second/ third century CE. The second cluster consists of the hymnic sections of Greek magical papyri, of which twenty-six samples are collected in Preisendanz’s edition of the PGM (second-fifth-century.).33 Obviously, we have landed in a period in which, side by side with traditional praising predicates such as πολυώνυμος, the new terms πολυύμνος / πολυύμνητος rightly came into vogue.34 The two genres display striking similarities: both consist of extensive strings of qualities and proficiencies of the lauded god. They are brimming with praise terminology, and in both groups the gods are addressed in the most flattering terms. Polyonumos, for instance, occurs in no fewer than fourteen Orphic hymns. As for the twenty-six “magic” hymns of (p.345) the PGM, I here list a series of gods, each addressed in one or more hymns and followed by his/ her set of exalting terms: 1 Creator of All: εἷς Θεὸς ἀθάνατος—πάντα κρατύνεις—βασιλεῦ καὶ κύριε —κύριε παντοκράτωρ—δέσποτα πάντων; 2 Creator of All: κοίρανε πάντος; 4 Helios: οὐρανοῦ ἡγεμονῆα—δέσποτα κόσμου; 5 Helios: βασιλεῦ κόσμου— μέγιστε—παντο-κράτωρ—θεὸς ἔσσι σὺ δ’ ἀθάνατ’ ἔσσι μέγιστος; 6 Typhon: θεὲ θεῶν ἄναξ; 7 Typhon: δυνάστην—δεινὸν ἄνακτα— παντοκράτωρ; 10 Apollo: πανυπέρτατε—πολυώνυμε; 11 Apollo (Helios): ἄναξ σκηπτοῦχος—κοίρανε κόσμου—πολυώνυμε 12 Apollo: αὐτοκράτωρ; 15/16 Hermes: Ἑρμῆ κοσμοκράτωρ / παντοκράτωρ—κόσμον συ κρατύνεις; 17–21 Hecate, Selene, Artemis: (no. 17 mentions Hermes once: Ἑρμῇ τῷ θεῶν ἀρχηγέτῃ); 18 ὠ δέσποινα φίλη; βασίλεια, πολυώνυμε, τετραώνυμε, τριώνυμε, πάντων δὲ σὺ μούνη ἀνάσσεις—σαῖσιν ἐπωνυμίαις ἐπάκουσον; 19 κοίρανε—μόνη τύραννε; 20 ἄνασσα; 21 πότνια—πανδαμάτειρα— πολυώνυμε; 22 Aphrodite: πότνια; 23 All the great gods: δέσποτα—τὴν σὴν δύναμιν τὴν πᾶσι μεγίστην; 25 Gods of the Netherworld: κυρία. There is one difference between the two hymnic genres: the major objective of the Orphic hymns, just as of the Isis aretalogies, is worship and glorification. Hence most of them are preceded by a fumigatory sacrificial offering. Even though generally the hymns end with a supplication, the request here is mostly of a general nature and hence is not anticipated by an explicit specification in the preceding divine predicates. In the hymnic sections of the magical papyri, by contrast, in accordance with the nature of the magical act, the request is Page 7 of 23

 

Great Hermes prominent and the relevant god is selected for his/her relevant abilities. Thus these texts are basically entreaties wrapped in the rose cellophane of flattery. Hymns to Hermes can be found in both collections: two in the Orphic hymns (one to Hermes, and one to Hermes Chthonios) and three rather similar ones in the magical papyri, in all of which Hermes is invoked as a specialist in sending a prophecy (in a dream or otherwise). In the Orphic hymn he is acclaimed as παγκρατὲς ἦτορ ἔχων, and in the magical hymns as παντοκράτωρ (once) and κοσμοκράτωρ (twice). As can be seen from our list of elative terms in the PGM hymns above, glorifying terms like the ones in the hymns for Hermes belong to the conventional, even obligatory, vocabulary of all these aretalogies, and hence we have detected a second access path toward the highest glory for our god. In this respect Hermes is just piggybacking on an idiom that was in use for any god of the authors’ preference. In order to apply for a hymnic aretalogy none of them need to have been of supreme rank before. Even if allusions to the doctrines of Hermes Trismegistos may occur in the PGM hymns (on which see Ljuba Merlina Bortolani in this volume), most of the qualities in the three hymns to Hermes may apply just as well to the classic Hermes. What is more, as we have seen in the collection of glorifying terms from the PGM hymns cited above, the really exalting terms for Hermes in his PGM hymns (Ἑρμῆ κοσμοκράτωρ / παντοκράτωρ; κόσμον συ κρατύνεις; Ἑρμῇ τῷ θεῶν ἀρχηγέτῃ) and variants (p. 346) with the same meaning can also be found in hymns to all other gods. It would be special pleading to attribute the ones for Hermes to his new identity as Trismegistos. Moreover, the same god’s qualities lauded in his Orphic Hymns do not betray a single reference to Hermetism. The Greek Orphic cult group(s) in Asia Minor may belong to the period prior to the emergence and expansion of Hermetism; as yet they had not been affected by Hermetic ideology. And yet also in these hymns Hermes had acquired a supreme status equal to that of other gods. The general conclusion of the present section, then, is that in this period it was hymnic aretalogy that might make a god—any god—(temporarily) all-powerful (παντοκράτωρ) and that Hermes, according to his nature, thus seized the opportunity to steal the show.

4. Οἶον δ’ εἰς Ἀίδην τετελεσμένον ἄγγελον εἶναι Hermes Chthonios For our third exploration we must return for a moment to the Homeric Hymn to Hermes. It is notoriously full of inaccuracies, riddles, and inconsistencies. In the severe words of Martin West—a quote which, I am sure, will not increase my popularity among a number of contributors to the present volume: The Hymn to Hermes…is the most untraditional in its language, with many late words and expressions, and many used in slapdash and inaccurate ways; and it is the most incompetent in construction, with many narrative Page 8 of 23

 

Great Hermes inconsistencies and redundancies and no command of the even tempo appropriate to epic storytelling. In the chapter on Hermes in Coping with the Gods I have focused on the first part of the hymn, which pictures Hermes in a more or less human shape prior to his ascension to full divinity on Olympus, where he acquires his timai, as Jenny Strauss Clay has demonstrated in The Politics of Olympus. Yet in this latter part of the hymn, too, strange things occur. At first sight there are hints of sincere acknowledgement of the power of the god. In verses 406 ff., Apollo highly praises Hermes for his “flaying two cows,” saying: “Ι for my part admire your strength henceforth” (αὐτὸς ἐγώ γε θαυμαίνω κατόπισθε τὸ σὸν κράτος). Even more significant might have been his words, “for from now on you will have renown (κλέος) among the deathless gods” (458) and “I will surely make you prosperous, a leader (ὄλβιον, ἡγεμόνα) renowned among the deathless gods, and I will give you glorious gifts” (461). But it soon turns out that these flattering words are inspired by Apollo’s (not quite) hidden agenda. All his gifts are explicitly intended as bartering objects for the one thing that Apollo desires most: the lyre invented (p.347) by Hermes. Moreover, his gifts are far from making Hermes a god of eminent distinction, let alone a leader among the gods. Hermes himself starts with claiming nothing but the humble life of a shepherd roaming the pastures, which then he indeed receives from Apollo. Next he receives his characteristic staff, the caduceus (529). This, however, is not a time in the sense of a specific area of divine qualities and influence, but a (magic) tool, on which the god depends for actions in the relevant field. Then Apollo elaborates on the art of sooth-saying, emphasizing that in this field he himself possesses the unique patent.35 This clearly dwarfs the far humbler gift of divination through the bee-maidens, the Thriai, that Apollo (550–66) condescendingly reserves for Hermes, although promptly whistling him back to his basic task of herding cattle and life in the wilds (566 f.). It all ends up with the one and only truly superior privilege awarded to the god, namely the one quoted in the title of this section: Οἶον δ’ εἰς Ἀίδην τετελεσμένον ἄγγελον εἶναι (572). It is this time that is expressly announced as the one that Hermes alone (οἶος) controls. Being able to enter and return from Hades is indeed such an exceptional privilege that to many a reader it is inconceivable that Apollo should have the status to dispense it. Hence, T. W. Allen has conjectured Zeus into a (to my mind indispensable) lacuna to set the divine relations straight.36 Now, as we have noted earlier, the quality of being the only one (οἶος, μόνος) to achieve a thing (μόνος σὺ δύνασαι) belongs to the pearls of praise in hymns. This raises the question whether this unique time may have exerted an impact on Hermes’ later reputation.

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Great Hermes In the Odyssey the function of leader of souls occurs in the so-called second Nekuia in Book 24 (1–14), but only in that passage, which for this reason was athetized by Aristarchus, together with the final part of Book 23 and Book 24.1– 204.37 Subsequently, throughout post-Homeric Greek literature and vase painting—and increasingly in the late sixth and fifth centuries—the guide of souls was omnipresent. Yet he seemed to have reached the pinnacle of his glory only in contexts that portray him as definitively and permanently settled in the Netherworld. As Hermes Chthonios the god acquired a new identity, or rather, we witness the emergence of a new god Hermes different from and (p.348) independent of the Hermes with his many skills including the function of pompaios.38 It was inter alia this often underrated character change that lay at the root of his enormous popularity in Thessaly, where dedications in funerary inscriptions to Hermes Chthonios abound, and where his frequent epithet katachthonios typifies him ad oculos as resident in the Netherworld.39 The disparity between the two gods called Hermes is also apparent in the presence of two hymns in the Orphic hymn collection, one to Hermes and one to Hermes Chthonios, as we see them also differentiated in other samples of later hymnody. Hermes Chthonios’ peculiar status as permanent denizen of the Netherworld becomes most conspicuous in the curse tablets (defixiones),40 in many of which we see him operating side by side, and on a par with Demeter, Persephone, and Hecate, often explicitly invoked as Chthoniai as well41 (we even meet once a Γῆ χθονία) and who even more than Hermes might claim an innate affinity with the Netherworld. Among these chthonians Hermes enjoys pride of place42 and, apart from his most determinant epithet Chthonios, is invoked with a number of other stereotyped epithets: katochos, dolios, eriounios. In general terms, then, the Hermes addressed in the defixio with (or even without) any of these epithets is conceived as the chthonic Hermes who resides in the Netherworld (from) where he exerts his influence. In addition, the Nymphs and, later, Oriental gods such as Osiris and Typhon and many demons appear. In the majority of these defixiones the Chthonioi are asked to κατέχειν (“restrain, hold down, keep under control, bind”—that is, put out of action) the targets of the tablet’s author, often rivals in various roles of social life. All these curses are anonymous, and display, if at all, only a selection of body parts that must be bound, namely those limbs or faculties that the rival needs for success, and lack anything resembling an excuse or argument. Here, the gods (p.349) are not seen as representatives of right or morality, they are not approached in a reverential or submissive manner as in common prayer, but are invoked, and not seldom instructed, to act on the strength of their dark nature. However, among the large hoard of fifth- and fourth-century Attic defixiones that require our special attention here, a few present a number of remarkable deviations from the stereotypes just described. A most pertinent case in point is a curse tablet addressed to the Praxidikai (DTA 109). These goddesses, distantly Page 10 of 23

 

Great Hermes related to the Erinyes, are called upon for help only rarely,43 obviously “to do justice.” In the present curse the Praxidikai are asked to restrain a victim: ὑμεῖς δὲ φίλαι Πραξιδίκαι κατέχετε αὐτ⟨ό⟩ν (namely Manes, the target of the curse). The text concludes: “To you, Praxidikai and Hermes Restrainer (katochos), I shall, when Manes has fallen on hard times, bring an offer of rejoicing (Εὐαγγέλια θύσω).” Such a votum, typically belonging in the sphere of prayer, is, although not unique, still very exceptional in a defixio.44 In sum, this curse, unlike the defixiones discussed hitherto, is a plea for justice, with traits of a submissive/supplicative (φίλαι) prayer to gods who apparently are viewed as divine judges or avengers. Prayers for justice of this type, marked by a variety of characteristic terms, come into view in Attic defixiones of the fourth century BCE, as in the following examples: • φίλη Γῆ, βοήθει μοι. ἀδικούμενος γὰρ ὑπὸ Εὐρυπτολέμου καὶ Ξενοφῶντος καταδῶ αὐτούς (DTA 98). • κυρίαι Νύμφαι κολάσασθε…. At the end, in a mutilated passage, we read the letters δικα. (Thanks to David Jordan, who sent me a copy of the unpublished text). • “To Hermes and Persephone I send this letter (τήνδε ἐπιστό[λ]ην ἀποπέμ[πω). Because I direct this (curse) against criminal people (ἁμαρ[τωλο⟨ὺ⟩ς), they must, O Dike (Δίκη), receive their deserved punishment (τυχεῖν τέλο⟨υ⟩ς δίκης)” (DTA 103). • “Victims bound down (καταδῶ πρὸς τ[ὸν Π]αλαίμονα), and I beg you, O Palaimon, to become their punisher (καὶ δέομαί σου, ὦ Π]αλαῖμον, τιμωρὸς γένοιο), that the judges may decide that they say unjust things (δικασταῖ⟨ς⟩ ἄδικα δοκωῖεν λέγειν)” (NGCT no. 14). Common characteristics are terms of reverence/submission/supplication (φίλη, κυρίαι, βοήθει μοι, δέομαί σου) and terms referring to being wronged, to inculpation and retaliation (ἀδικούμενος, κολάσασθε, ἁμαρ[τωλο⟨ὺ⟩ς, Δίκη, τέλο⟨υ⟩ς δίκης, τιμωρὸς γένοιο). All these terms, often more than one in a (p. 350) curse, mark the difference from the contemporaneous, more common type of defixiones. In later times, beginning in the Hellenistic and increasing in the imperial periods, we find an abundance of such prayers for justice, sometimes discovered in hoards in the debris of ancient sanctuaries45 (often addressed to Demeter in her chthonic identity), which together are marked by a choice of the following distinctive features: (1) the name of the author; (2) an argument defending the action; (3) a request that the act be excused or that the writer be spared the possible adverse effects; (4) the appearance of gods other than the usual chthonic deities, (5) who are addressed either with a flattering adjective (e.g. φίλη) or with a superior title such as κύριος or δέσποινα; (6) expressions of supplication (ἱκετεύω, βοήθει μοι, βοήθησον αὐτῷ); (7) terms and names which Page 11 of 23

 

Great Hermes refer to (in)justice and punishment (e.g. Praxidike, Dike, ἐκδικέω, ἀδικέω, κολάζω, and κόλασις); (8) an extended accumulation of the cursed body, limbs, and mental faculties beyond the functional ones. According to the central issue of the present paper the most interesting aspect is the increasing emphasis on deferential forms of address (item 5), as for instance in the following: • ἀδίκημαι γάρ, δέσποινα46 Δάματερ (IKnidos no. 148 [second century BCE]) • Κύρια Δημήτηρ, βασίλισσα, ἱκέτης σου, προσπίπτω δὲ ὁ δοῦλος σου (Amorgos second century BCE–CE) (IG XII.72, p. 1; SGD 60). • Κύριοι θεοὶ καταχθόνιοι……Κύριε φανέρωσον αὐτούς (curse text from Acrocorinth, Stroud 2013:47 no. 127 [second century CE]) • Κυρία Δήμητρα δίκαια (Stroud 2013: no. 133 [second century CE]) And it is this aspect that finally leads us back to the earliest attestation of a supreme honorific title of the chthonic Hermes, whom we have already seen cooperating with other gods (Praxidike, Persephone) as helper against injustice. Here are the only two Athenian defixiones of the fourth century BCE presenting the term δεσπότης:48 DTA 89 (two sides) A) Δέσποτα Ἑρμῆ κάτοχε, κάτεχε Phrynichos and his extremities, his feet, his head, his hands, his stomach, his spirit. Δέσποτα Ἑρμῆ κάτοχε κάτεχε his arse. Restrain Kittos and his extremities, his spirit and his eyebrows…. B) Δέσποτα Ἑρμῆ κάτεχε Χαιρύλην, καταδῶ also her extremities. I bind these of Chairyle…bind her hands, {her hands}, the mind, the (stuff of) spirit, the (stuff of) head, the work, the (stuff of) heart, the stuff (τὴν οὐσίαν), the tongue. (p.351) DTA 94 Δέσποτα κάτοχε, I bind Diokles as my opponent in court; the tongue and all the thoughts of those who are helping Diokles and his speech and the witnesses and all the pleas of justification (δικαιώματα) that are being prepared against me and bind him. (Bind) all the legal pleas that Diokles has prepared against me and bind him down. All the pleas that Diokles has prepared, do not let those helping Diokles succeed, and defeat Diokles from me in every court and καὶ μ(ή)θ’ ἓν ἀντ(ῇ)ι Διοκλ(ε)ῖ δίκαιον.49 The first curse lies clearly in the field of erotic interests. Many erotic curses can be understood as belonging to a subspecies of the prayer for justice, typically displaying (long) lists of cursed body parts. Perhaps Side A wishes that two male rivals in love will be put out of action (curse of separation, “Trennungszauber”), Page 12 of 23

 

Great Hermes and B (in comparable terms) that the female object of his love or lust (or both) will remain available for the author only (curse of attraction, agoge).50 The second curse concerns litigation, the prevalent type of fourth-century Athenian defixiones. The author calls for divine help against a (most probably false) indictment and the persons involved (including a bunch of helpers and witnesses, possibly sycophants). It is in these contexts that Hermes, for the first time in his life and due to his metamorphosis into Hermes Chthonios, acquires a place in the category of the other divine chthonic judges51 and receives his share in the privileges they enjoy, in his case by being acclaimed as Δεσπότης: Master, Lord, Absolute Ruler.52

(p.352) 5. Conclusion Three ways toward stardom for our god Hermes. All three are conditioned by a specific “position” of the god. For two of them this was a spatial setting (cave, Netherworld). Here the god took advantage of the associations these abodes evoked in terms of function, quality, and status of their regular tenants. The third position is determined by its inclusion into a cultural setting, in casu a literary genre of its time: the hymn. In all three Hermes owed the idiom connected with his new status to the language of praise and exaltation current in contemporaneous religious contexts. In sum, Hermes under his own name53 used to hitch his wagon to the stars, thus rising to the occasion(s). And in the case of Hermes it was the occasion that made the chief. Bibliography Bibliography references: Adorjáni, Z. 2012. “Zwei verkappte Bittreden im Homerischen Hermes-Hymnos.” Gymnasium 119: 321–35. Athanassakis, A. N. 1977. The Orphic Hymns. 2nd ed. with B. M. Wolkow. Baltimore 2013. Avagianou, A. 1997. “Hermes βρυχάλειος and Ἐριούνιος at Pharsalus. The Epigraphical Evidence Reconsidered.” Kernos 10: 207–13. Avagianou, A. 2002. “Ἑρμῆι Χθονίωι. Θρησκεία καὶ ἄνθρωπος στὴ Θεσσαλία.” In A. Avagianou, ed. Λατρεῖες στὴν ’περιφέρεια’ τοῦ ἀρχαίου ἑλληνικοῦ κόσμου. Athens. 65–111. Belayche, N. 2005. “Au(x) dieu(x) qui règne(nt) sur…Basileia divine et fonctionnement du polythéisme dans l’Anatolie imperiale.” In A. Vigourt et al., eds. Pouvoir et religion dans le monde romain. En hommage à Jean-Pierre Martin. Paris. 257–69.

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Great Hermes Belayche, N. 2007. “Rites et ‘croyances’ dans l’épigraphie religieuse de l’Anatolie impériale.” In J. Scheid, ed. Rites et croyances dans le monde romain (Entretiens Fondation Hardt 53). Geneva–Vandoeuvres. 73–115. Belayche, N. 2010. “Deus deum…summorum maximus (Apuleius). Ritual Expressions of Distinction in the Divine World in the Imperial Period.” In S. Mitchell and P. Van Nuffelen, eds. One God. Studies in Pagan Monotheism and Related Religious Ideas in the Roman Empire. Cambridge. 141–66. Belayche, N. 2011a. “Hypsistos: A Way of Exalting the Gods in Graeco-Roman Polytheism.” In J. A. North and S. R. F. Price, eds. The Religious History of the Roman Empire. Pagans, Jews and Christians. Oxford. 139–74. (p.353) Belayche, N. 2011b. “‘Un châtiment en adviendra.’ Le malheur comme signe des dieux dans l’Anatolie imperiale.” In S. Georgoudi, R. Koch Piettre, and F. Schmidt, eds. La raison des signes. Langages divinatoires, rites, signes et destin dans les sociétés de la Méditerranée ancienne. Leiden. 319–42. Belayche, N. 2013. “L’évolution des formes rituelles: Hymnes et mystèria.” In C. Bonnet and L. Bricault, eds. Panthées. Les mutations religieuses dans l’Empire romain. Leiden. 17–40. Bevilaqua, G. 2009. “Dediche ad Hermes.” In J. Bodel and M. Kajava, eds. Religious Dedications in the Greco-Roman World. Rome. 227–44. Bile, M. 2002. “Une inscription crétoise: IC II, XXVIII, no 2.” Cretan Studies 7: 21–31. Bissinger, M. 1966. Das Adjektiv megas in der griechischen Dichtung. Munich. Burkert, W. 1996. Creation of the Sacred: Tracks of Biology in Early Religions. Cambridge, MA. Chaniotis, A. 1991 [1995]. “Von Hirten, Kräutersammlern, Epheben und Pilgern: Leben auf den Bergen im antiken Kreta.” Ktéma 16: 93–109. Chaniotis, A. 2009. “Ritual Performances of Divine Justice: The Epigraphy of Confession, Atonement, and Exaltation in Roman Asia Minor.” In H. M. Cotton et al., eds. From Hellenism to Islam: Cultural and Linguistic Change in the Roman Near East. Cambridge. 115–53. Chaniotis, A. 2014. “Megatheism: The Search for the Almighty God and the Competition of Cults.” In S. Mitchell and P. van Nuffelen, eds. One God: Pagan Monotheism in the Roman Empire. Cambridge. 112–40. Chiai, J. F. 2009. “Allmächtige Götter und fromme Menschen im ländlichen Kleinasien der Kaiserzeit.” Millennium Jahrbuch 6: 61–106. Page 14 of 23

 

Great Hermes Clay, J. S. 1989. The Politics of Olympus. Princeton. Connor, W. R. 1988. “Seized by the Nymphs: Nympholepsy and Symbolic Expression in Classical Greece.” ClAnt 7: 155–89. Edwards, C. M. 1985. Greek Votive Reliefs to Pan and the Nymphs. New York. Eidinow, E. 2007. Oracles, Curses, & Risk among the Ancient Greeks. Oxford. Fayant, M.-C. 2014. Hymnes orphiques. Paris. Graf, F. 2009. “Serious Singing: The Orphic Hymns as Religious Texts.” Kernos 12: 169–82. Grandjean, Y. 1975. Une nouvelle arétalogie d’lsis à Maronée. Leiden. Heitsch, E. 1963. Die griechischen Dichterfragmente der römischen Kaiserzeit I. 2nd ed. Göttingen. Helly, B. 1973. Gonnoi Vol. II. Amsterdam. Henrichs, A. 1976. “Despoina Kybele: Ein Beitrag zur religiösen Namenkunde.” HSCP 80: 253–86. Heubeck, A. 1992. A Commentary on Homer’s Odyssey. Vol. III, Books XXIII and XXIV. Oxford. Jaillard, D. 2011. “Hermès et la mantique grecque.” In S. Georgoudi, R. Koch Piettre and F. Schmidt, eds. La raison des signes. Langages divinatoires, rites, signes et destin dans les sociétés de la Méditerranée ancienne. Leiden. 91–107. Jordan, D. R. 1994. “Late Feasts for Ghosts.” In R. Hägg, ed. Ancient Greek Cult Practice from the Epigraphical Evidence. Stockholm. 131–43. Kagarow, E. G. 1929. Griechische Fluchtafeln. Eos Suppl. 4. Lwow and Paris. (p.354) Keyssner, K. 1932. Gottesvorstellung und Lebensauffassung im griechischen Hymnus. Stuttgart. Klöckner, A. 2001. “Menschlicher Gott und göttlicher Mensch? Zu einigen Weihreliefs für Asklepios und die Nymphen.” In R. von den Hoff and St. Schmidt, eds. Konstruktionen von Wirklichkeit. Bilder im Griechenland des 5. und 4. Jahrhunderts v. Chr. Stuttgart. 121–36. Lamont, J. L. 2015. “A New Commercial Curse Tablet from Classical Athens.” ZPE 196: 159–74. Larson, J. 1995. “The Corycian Nymphs and the Bee Maidens of the Homeric Hymn to Hermes.” GRBS 36: 341–58. Page 15 of 23

 

Great Hermes Larson, J. 1997. “Handmaidens of Artemis?” CJ 92: 249–57. Larson, J. 2001. Greek Nymphs. Myth, Cult, Lore. Oxford. Lebreton, S. 2012. “Les épiclèses dans les Hymnes Orphiques: l’exemple de Dionysos.” In R. Bouchon et al., eds. Hymnes de la Grèce antique. Lyon. 201–19. Longo, V. 1969. Aretalogie nel mondo greco I. Genoa. Melfi, M. 2008. “Cretan Nymphs: An Attic Hypothesis.” In D. Kurtz et al., eds. Essays in Classical Archaeology for Eleni Hatzivassiliou 1977–2007 (Studies in Classical Archaeology 4). Oxford. 221–7. Morand, A.-F. 2001. Études sur les hymnes orphiques. Leiden, Boston, and Cologne. Muñiz Grijalvo, E. 2006. Himnos a Isis. Barcelona. Nilsson, M. P. 1955. Geschichte der griechischen Religion. Munich. Nock, A. D. 1972. Essays on Religion and the Ancient World I. Oxford. Paz de Hoz, M. 1999. Die lydischen Kulte im Lichte der griechischen Inschriften (Asia Minor Studien 36). Bonn. Paz de Hoz, M. 2009. “The Aretalogical Character of the Maionian ‘Confession’ Inscriptions.” In A. Martínez Fernández, ed. Estudios de Epigrafía Griega. La Laguna. 357–67. Petrovic, I. 2015. “Hymns in the Papyri Graecae Magicae.” In A. Faulkner and O. Hodkinson, eds. Hymnic Narrative and the Narratology of Greek Hymns (Mnemosyne Supplement 384). Leiden. 244–67. Petzl, G. 1991. “Lukians Podagra und die Beichtinschriften Kleinasiens.” Mètis 6: 131–45. Petzl, G. 1994. Die Beichtinschriften Westkleinasiens (EA 22). Bonn. Pisano, C. 2014. Hermes, lo scettro, l’ariete. Configurazioni mitiche della regalità nella Grecia antica. Naples. Pleket, H. W. 1981. “Religious History as the History of Mentality: The ‘Believer’ as Servant of the Deity in the Greek World.” In H. S. Versnel, ed. Faith, Hope and Worship. Aspects of Religious Mentality in the Ancient World. Leiden. 152–92. Preisendanz, K. 1974. Papyri Graecae Magicae. Die griechischen Zauberpapyri (PGM). Vol. 2. 2nd ed. rev. A. Henrichs. Stuttgart 1974. Ricciardelli, G., ed. 2000. Inni Orfici. Milan. Page 16 of 23

 

Great Hermes Ricl, M. 1995. La conscience du peché dans les cultes anatoliens à l’époque romaine. La confession des fautes rituelles et éthiques dans les cultes méoniens et phrygiens. Belgrade. Shear, T. L. 1973. “A Votive Relief from the Athenian Agora.” Opuscula Romana 9: 183–91. (p.355) Sourvinou-Inwood, C. 1995. Reading Greek Death. Oxford. Stroud, R. S. 2013. The Sanctuary of Demeter and Kore: The Inscriptions (Corinth XVIII). Princeton. Totti, M. 1985. Ausgewählte Texte der Isis- und Sarapis-religion. Hildesheim. Ustinova, Y. 2009. Caves and the Ancient Greek Mind: Descending Underground in the Search for Ultimate Truth. Oxford. Van Straten, F. T. 1976. “Daikrates’ Dream. A Votive Relief from Kos and Some Other kat’onar Dedications.” BaBesch 51: 1–38. Vergados, A. 2011. “Shifting Focalization in the Homeric Hymn to Hermes: The Case of Hermes’ Cave.” GRBS 51: 1–25. Vergados, A. 2013. The Homeric Hymn to Hermes. Berlin. Versnel, H. S. 1974a. “A Parody on Hymns in Martial 5.24 and some Trinitarian Problems.” Mnemosyne 27: 365–405. Versnel, H. S. 1974b. “Mercurius amongst the Magni Di.” Mnemosyne 27: 144– 51. Versnel, H. S. 1990. Inconsistencies in Greek and Roman Religion I. TER UNUS. Isis, Dionysos and Hermes: Three Studies in Henotheism. Leiden. Versnel, H. S. 1991. “Beyond Cursing: The Appeal for Justice in Judicial Prayers.” In C. Faraone and D. Obbink, eds. Magika Hiera: Ancient Greek Magic and Religion. Oxford. 60–106. Versnel, H. S. 1998. “‘And any other part of the entire body there may be…’: An Essay on Anatomical Curses.” In F. Graf, ed. Ansichten griechischer Rituale. Geburtstags-Symposium für Walter Burkert. Leipzig and Stuttgart. 217–67. Versnel, H. S. 2002. “Writing Mortals and Reading Gods: Appeal to the Gods as a Dual Strategy in Social Control.” In D. Cohen, ed. Demokratie, Recht und soziale Kontrolle im klassischen Athen. Munich. 37–76. Versnel, H. S. 2009. “Prayers for Justice, East and West: New Finds and Publications since 1990.” In R. Gordon and F. Marco, eds. Magical Practice in Page 17 of 23

 

Great Hermes the Latin West: Papers from the International Conference held at the University of Zaragoza, 30 Sept.–1st Oct. 2005. Leiden. 275–354. Versnel, H. S. 2011. Coping with the Gods: Wayward Readings in Greek Theology. Leiden. Veyne, P. 1965. “Quid dedicatum poscit Apollinem?” Latomus 24: 932–48. Zanker, P. 1965. Wandel der Hermesgestalt in der attischen Vasenmalerei. Bonn. (p.356) Notes:

(1) For which, once more, I wish to express my gratitude to the two organizers. It was a great event. My special thanks go to Jenny for mending my English. (2) Versnel 2011: Ch. 4 “A God: Why is Hermes Hungry?” (free access at Academia.edu). (3) On which expedition, Clay 1989: Ch. 2 should be every reader’s guide. (4) Ar. Pax 392. (5) For evidence and discussion, see Versnel 2011: 351 n. 120. (6) Apart from TLG I consulted the collections of Bissinger 1966 and the everuseful Keyssner 1932 (chapters on “hyperbolische Stil” and “ausdrücklich benannte Macht der Götter”). (7) I exclude the few expressions (sometimes intended in a derisive way) in which Hermes is praised as the best in one of his special qualities: Eur. Rhesus 218 φηλητῶν ἄναξ (“ruler of thieves”); Aesch. Cho. 124 Κῆρυξ μέγιστε τῶν ἄνω τε καὶ κάτω…Ἐρμῆ χθόνιε. I leave to the Homerists the unique and puzzling Homeric passage in which Hermes is called ἄναξ in his function as transmitter of the scepter between Zeus anax and Pelops. Kirk ad loc.: “ἄναξ applied only here to Hermes, in a rather forced and wholly untraditional way.” Full discussion: Pisano 2014. (8) Versnel 1974a = Versnel 1990: Ch. 3. (9) ICret. II xxviii 2; Kaibel, EG 815; SEG 33.736 (version as given by C. Gallavotti, BPEC 4 [1983] 113–16, after John Lascaris ms. Vat. Gr. 1412 [fol. 7]). Cf. Bile 2002, on which EBGR 2002: no. 9. For other discussions of this inscription, see below nn. 10 and 15. (10) Although it betrays some acquaintance with the funerary epigram in its reference to a deceased person in its title, the reader who thinks that with this all is said and done (e.g. Bile 2002) precludes him/herself from a satisfactory interpretation. Pleket in SEG (preceding note) calls it a dedicatory epigram, Page 18 of 23

 

Great Hermes which it is if one takes the god and not the deceased wife as the recipient of the dedication. (11) For instance the word θυγάτηρ (most probably a later addition) in the title after the name of the woman Artemis, who actually can only have been the deceased wife of Salvius Menas. Kaibel for this reason omits the word, referring to earlier apographai which do not have it (but see Guarducci); SEG 33.736 does not give the title at all (after Gallavotti?). Furthermore, there is much creative conjecturing about the actual meaning of κτήσεως ἐξ ὁσίης ψυχικὰ δῶρα, where I have followed Chaniotis, EBGR 2002, no. 9. (12) There is much guessing about the meaning of eriounios, which is interpreted as “swift” or “beneficial” or “cunning/wily.” See for discussion and older literature Vergados 2013: 222–3; LfgrE s.v. As we will see in the third section, this epithet, together with others (chthonios, dolios, katochos), also occurs in (primarily Attic) defixiones. Especially in this context, Avagianou 1997: esp. 209 makes a case for a connection: Hermes as messenger must be swift, which also holds for the psychopompos, which in its turn evokes his chthonian aspect. It is quite probable that its precise meaning was unknown (perhaps already in Homer) and for that very reason the term might bestow a certain grandeur on the addressee. (13) Collections: Petzl 1994; Ricl 1995. Good discussion in Paz de Hoz 1999. Practically every year new confession inscriptions come to light. An updated complete edition is much desired. (14) On the idea of illness or misfortune as a penalty from the god, who is viewed as an omniscient judge in these Asia Minor inscriptions, see Chaniotis 2009; Belayche 2011b. (15) Pleket 1981: esp. 172, 183. Brief references before him: Nock 1972: 427 n. 77; Veyne 1965: esp. 945 n. 1. In subsequent studies: Burkert 1996: 115. All of them focus on the divine penalty for neglecting the gods. For the diffusion of this belief, see e.g. Petzl 1991. (16) Some more recent studies on the verticalization of gods in imperial Asia Minor as manifest from their titles and epithets: Belayche 2005, 2007, 2010, and 2011a; Chiai 2009; Chaniotis 2014. (17) On this verb (together with others) as a fixed term to indicate “have in possession” or “be at home somewhere,” see literature in Versnel 2011: 89 n. 239. (18) The other is ICret. II xxviii 1: Hipponax dedicated a vow (εὐχάν) to Hermes. (19) For pilgrimages to such shrines on Crete, see Chaniotis 1991. For Greece in general, see following notes. Page 19 of 23

 

Great Hermes (20) On the impact of the specific atmosphere of caves on the human mind, see Ustinova 2009. (21) On Cretan cults of the nymphs: Melfi 2008. For Pan and the Nymphs as a fixed group of local gods all over Greece, often enjoying personal devotion, see Edwards 1985; Van Straten 1976. Cf. also Klöckner 2001. (22) Connor 1988. (23) More extensive evidence and discussion of all this in Versnel 2011: 125–30. (24) Hermes and the Nymphs are close companions both in literature and in visual art, as Eumaios in Od. 14.433 ff. is the earliest to illustrate by offering a portion of the dais to the two. See further Nilsson 1955: 1.274; Zanker 1965: 56– 9; Shear 1973; Van Straten 1976; Larson 1995: esp. 348 ff. with evidence in n. 25; 1995: esp. 255 on “the special genre of ‘hermetic’ nymphs”; 2001: index s.v. Hermes: “relations with nymphs” and “on votive reliefs.” (25) Paz de Hoz 2009. (26) Nock 1972: 427 n. 77. (27) To which Vergados 2011 devoted an eye-opening paper. (28) Literature on occurrence and uses of this epithet: Versnel 1990: 50 n. 32 and 2011: 29 ff. (29) Collections: Longo 1969; Totti 1985; Muñiz Grijalvo 2006. For a discussion, see Versnel 1990: ch. 1. (30) Grandjean 1975. (31) Some recent editions: Ricciardelli 2000; Fayant 2014; Athanassakis 1977. Studies on the Orphic hymns: Morand 2001; Lebreton 2012 (especially on the multiplication and function of elative epithets). (32) There are strong arguments for the initiatory nature of their social-religious setting: Graf 2009. (33) Preisendanz 1974: collection of twenty-six Hymns in Vol. II, 237–66. The nos. 1–7, 15/16, 17–22 are the versions of Heitsch 1963: LIX 1–14 pp. 179 ff. On hymnic and non-hymnic aspects of these “hymns” and the diversity in functions of terminology of praise, see Petrovic 2015. (34) Cf. Belayche 2013: 17–40, esp. 25: “Pour une divinité comme pour une institution, une cité par example, le seul fait d’être déclarée πολυύμνος / πολυύμνητος était un sceau de gloire suffisant.”

Page 20 of 23

 

Great Hermes (35) See, for the rhetorical tricks in Apollo’s words including his reticence concerning the gift of prophecy, Adorjáni 2012. Most recently on Hermes’ oracular skills: Jaillard 2011. For the whole passage (406–572), Clay’s interpretation (1989: 136–51) is indispensable. (36) Though aware of the counter-arguments, for which see Vergados 2013 on 568, I am happy to follow here Clay 1989: 148 f., who admits (p. 144) “that no passage in this most difficult of the hymns offers so many perplexities,” but admirably solves many of them and endorses the insertion of Zeus to solve the textual problems. Be that as it may, the identity of the donor is immaterial to our present discussion. (37) Despite the fact that he also argued that the Homeric Odyssey ended at 23.296. For a discussion and earlier literature on the never-ending scholarly dispute, see Heubeck 1992 ad loc.; Sourvinou-Inwood 1995: 94–103. (38) For an outstanding treatment of Hermes in the function of psychopompos (the term itself is late; first attestation: Eur. Alc. 361 [Charon]) and as chthonios, see Sourvinou-Inwood 1995: 304–56, who, however, to a large degree identifies the two. Nor do I entirely accept the phrasing by Eidinow 2007: 148, “Hermes Chthonios does not rule over the dead, but presides over the journey between the underworld and the world of the living.” (39) A detailed study: Avagianou 2002: 65–111. Cf. SEG 52.546; EBGR 2003, no. 7. (40) Cf. Bevilaqua 2009: esp. 243, on Hermes in the defixiones under discussion here: “La sua frequente ricorrenza nelle defixiones, in particolare quelle ateniesi, lo colloca decisamente in un ambito ctonio, collegato al termine katochos.” On the predicate chthonios in defixiones, see Eidinow 2007: 147–51; 290 n. 43. (41) A few examples: [Ἑκ]άτη χθονία, Ἄρτεμι χθονία, Ἑρμῆ χθόνιε (Peiraeus, EBGR 1998, no. 55); the same triad in a recently found curse text from roughly the same area (Lamont 2015; cf. IG I3 383); Ἑρμεῖ χθόνιαι (sic) καὶ Ἑκάτῃ χθονία…….καὶ Δημήτηρ, followed by a host of other, sometimes totally unknown divinities all called chthonios (and some hundred of identical defixiones from Amathous) (Cyprus SEG 44.1279; Jordan 1994); Γᾶ, Ἑρμᾶ, Φερσεφόνα, θεοὶ καταχθόνιοι, in different combinations but all including Hermes on nine defixiones from Morgantina (SEG 29.927–34). (42) Kagarow 1929: 59 ff. gives the order of their frequency in defixiones: Hermes, Kore/Persephone, Hecate, Hades/Pluto, Ge, and Demeter. (43) SGD 14 [Athens 3rd BCE]) πρὸς τὰς Πραξιδίκας; the same formula in SGD 62 (Athens, 3rd BCE ?). A votive inscription at Volos has Πραξιδίκαις Page 21 of 23

 

Great Hermes Μεγαλοκλ̣[ῆς…] (Helly 1973: no. 204). A defixio from Cyrene (3rd BCE) identifies Praxidike with Kore: Πραξιδίκα κώρα μεγαλήτο⟨ρος⟩ Αγλαοκάρπου (SGD 150). (44) The rare instances are collected and discussed in Versnel 2009: 342–52. (45) Collections of the evidence and discussions of various aspects can be found in a number of my studies, including Versnel 1991, 1998, 2002, and 2009. (46) On this term see Henrichs 1976. (47) Stroud 2013. (48) Translations: Eidinow with minor changes. (49) Eidinow translates “and do not let one just thing come to Diokles.” I suggest that (τὸ) δίκαιον here has the sense of “lawful/just claim” or “strong case” as in Thuc. 3.54 ἃ ἔχομεν δίκαια πρός (“which just claims we have”); Demosth. 21.179 ἐδόκει δίκαιον ἔχειν ὁ προβαλλόμενος λέγειν (“you thought that the accuser had a strong case when he said…”); Plut. Luc. 3 τὰ πρὸς Σύλλαν δίκαια (“treatment rightfully due to Sulla”). Whence the expression should be taken as “and that he will not meet with (= be granted) the verdict to have a just claim.” Apparently the defendant uses a more or less official expression very close to the one we met in NGCT no. 14, δικασταῖ⟨ς⟩ ἄδικα δοκωῖεν λέγειν. (50) For all this, including the use of the same strings of body parts in both types, see Versnel 1998. (51) Also in literary sources we find references to the avenging function of Hermes Chthonios, together with other gods well known from this special type of defixiones. E.g. Soph. El. 110 ff.: “O house of Hades and Persephone, O Hermes Chthonios and mistress Curse (πότνι’ Ἀρά), and Erinyes, revered children of the gods who look upon those wrongfully done to death…avenge the murder of our father.” More generally, note that according to Pl. Prot. 322c Hermes was dispatched by Zeus “to bring respect for others and justice among men.” (52) Hdt. 3.89; Thuc. 6.77 τύραννος καὶ δεσπότης; Pl. Leg. 859a; of gods: Soph. fr. 535 Ἥλιε δέσποτα; Eur. Hipp. 88 ἄναξ, θεοὺς γὰρ δεσπότας καλεῖν χρεών (opposition between anax, here used for a human being, and despotes as most humble address to a god); Ar. Wasps. 875 ὦ δέσποτ’ ἄναξ γεῖτον Ἀγυιεῦ (both anax and despotes in an ironic address to the humble neighbour Aguieus). Cf. Versnel 2011: 136; Xen. An. 3.2.13. (53) I mention this because there is also another way toward stardom—that is, through a process (often called syncretism) of identification with another powerful foreign deity while occasionally adopting his name. Hermes Trismegistos/Thot of course is the best-known case in point, for which see Ljuba Page 22 of 23

 

Great Hermes Merlina Bortolani in this volume. Here, too, Sandra Blakely elucidates the case of the Samothracian Hermes (on which I broke my teeth in another of my earliest papers: Versnel 1974b).

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Index Locorum

Tracking Hermes, Pursuing Mercury John F. Miller and Jenny Strauss Clay

Print publication date: 2019 Print ISBN-13: 9780198777342 Published to Oxford Scholarship Online: March 2019 DOI: 10.1093/oso/9780198777342.001.0001

(p.357) Index Locorum AELIUS ARISTIDES Or. 41 312, 317–18 n. 26 AELIUS THEON (Spengel) 109.20–4 311 n. 5 AESCHINES Ctesiph. 183–5 228 n. 8 AESCHYLUS Hydrophoroi 103 n. 29 Ag. 515 239 n. 43 Cho. 1–5 182 n. 28 123–6 182 n. 28 124 338 n. 7 124–7 240 PV 1050–4 166 n. 24 Pers. 628–30 182 n. 28 Prom. 561 schol. 328 n. 26 fr. (R) 256b 131 n. 41 fr. (TrFG) 273a 182 n. 28 AESOP Fab. (Perry) 103 330 n. 40 108 239 n. 43, 330 n. 40 Page 1 of 28

Index Locorum 309 330 n. 40 313 331 348 331 n. 43 AGATHIUS SCHOLASTICUS AP 10.14 283 ALCAEUS fr. (Campbell) 306–8a–d 58 fr. (LP) 308b 145 ALCMAN fr. (Calame) 9 83 n. 32 11 83 n. 32 12 83 n. 32 130 83 n. 32 ALEXIS fr. (PCG) 93 103 ANDOCIDES Myst. 34 228 n. 7 35 228 n. 8 37 228 n. 8 39 228 n. 8 62 228 n. 8 66 100 n. 19 ANTIPATER OF SIDON AP 10.2 282 ANTONINUS LIBERALIS 23 142 23.1–2 327 n. 22 23.6.3–4 327–8 41.1 132 n. 49 APHTHONIUS Prog. 8.1 311 n. 5 8.2 311 n. 4 APOLLODORUS Bib. 1.7.2 240 2.1.3 328 n. 26 2.6.2 57 3.2 132 n. 48 3.10.2 329 n. 34 3.14.3 130 n. 40, 132 n. 49 Epit. Page 2 of 28

 

Index Locorum 2.6 130 n. 40 7.38 131 n. 42 APOLLONIUS RHODIUS Arg. 1.51–6 130 n. 40 1.457–9 82 n. 16 1.722–8 185 n. 45 1.865–74 185 1.917 271 n. 1 1.917 schol. 273 n. 14 1.917–20 284 1.1079 284 1.1119 284 (p.358) 1.1126–30 284–5 1.1126–31a schol. 285 n. 61 1.1131–4 284 3 177, 187 3.156–7 178 n. 15, 181 3.161–2 183 3.166 178 3.578 176 3.581–2 177 3.582 177 3.584–8 175 3.592 176 n. 9 4 187 4.223 177 4.233–4 176 4.391–3 176 4.392 177 4.757–69 181 4.866 181 4.880 181 APULEIUS Met. 6.7.3 151 n. 39 6.7.7 137 ARCHIAS AP 10.7 283 10.8 283 ARCHILOCHUS fr. (W2) 40 84 n. 35 43 84 n. 35 66 84 n. 35 95 84 n. 41 109 113 119 84 n. 35 Page 3 of 28

 

Index Locorum MARCUS ARGENTARIUS AP 10.4 282 ARISTOPHANES Ach. 8 113 n. 16 10 113 n. 15 377–84 116 394–484 113 n. 15 430 113 n. 16 440–1 113 n. 16 446 113 n. 16 497–9 113 n. 16 502–6 116 816 103 1085–94 98 n. 11 Av. 275–6 113 n. 16 Eccl. 392–3 113 n. 16 408–21 86, 86 n. 50 Eq. 38 114 n. 18 297 103 520 113 n. 17 526 113 n. 17 536 98 n. 11 537 113 n. 17 1248–52 113 n. 16 Nu. 553 113 n. 17 1478 ff. 101 1478–85 99 Pax 147 113 n. 15 154–61 113 n. 16 177–80 239 180 ff. 95 182–94 96 192 113 201–2 70 361 ff. 95–6 361–425 96 385 102 n. 28 392 69, 337 392–4 104 400–2 104 n. 33 423–5 113 431–2 113 Page 4 of 28

 

Index Locorum 469 96 531 113 n. 15 532 113 n. 15 533–4 113 603–4 113 603 ff. 96 648 102 n. 28 658 ff. 96 661 ff. 96 n. 4, 101 700 113 711 102 n. 28 722 113 802–3 113 n. 15 1009 113 n. 15 1013–14 113 n. 16 Pl. 9–10 115 n. 23 19–28 115 n. 23 43–61 115 n. 23 135–6 115 n. 23 (p.359) 146–8 115 n. 23 236 115 n. 23 237 115 n. 23 243 115 n. 23 246 115 n. 23 243–7 115 n. 23 429 117 543–4 114 557 116 n. 24 603–14 114 n. 19 619–27 114 n. 19 658–9 114 664 114 729–818 115 n. 23 771–3 116 n. 24 796–9 116 n. 24 963–5 115 n. 23 1097–1170 97 1120–2 312 1126 300 n. 35 1151 113 n. 16 1153 36 n. 13 1158 113 n. 16 1164 343 Ra. 13–14 113 n. 17 16–18 116 n. 24 53 116 n. 24 73 113 n. 15 Page 5 of 28

 

Index Locorum 76 113 n. 15 79 113 n. 15 83 113 n. 15 86 113 n. 15 87 113 n. 15 89–91 116 n. 24 95 116 n. 24 100–2 113 n. 16 132 116 n. 24 151 113 n. 15, 116 n. 24 274–6 116 n. 24 297 98 n. 11, 116 308 98 n. 10 357 113 n. 17 479 98 n. 10 769 116 n. 24 783 116 n. 24 801 113 n. 15 802 116 n. 24 834 113 n. 15 910 113 n. 15 912 114 n. 18 1005 116 n. 24 1246 116 n. 24 1299 113 n. 15 1418–19 116 n. 24 1471 113 n. 16 1475 113 n. 16, 116 n. 24 Th. 29 113 n. 15 30 113 n. 15 134–45 113 n. 16 194 113 n. 16 518–19 113 n. 16 769–84 113 n. 16 850 113 n. 16 855–921 113 n. 16 855–927 113 n. 16 977 249 n. 22, 250 977–8 37–8 1010–71 113 n. 16 1098–52 113 n. 16 1107–8 113 n. 16 1202 103 Vesp. 61 113 n. 15 175–84 100 n. 16 304 113 n. 16 312 113 n. 16 Page 6 of 28

 

Index Locorum 314 113 n. 16 389–94 100 875 351 n. 52 1064–5 114 n. 18 1414 113 n. 15 1501 113 n. 15 1505 113 n. 15 1508 113 n. 15 1524 113 n. 15 fr. (PCG) 325 276 n. 28 566 100 n. 16 ARISTOTLE Rh. 1401a21 104 n. 35 ARNOBIUS Adv. nat. 3.41–3 284 n. 60 ARTEMIDORUS Oneir. 2.37 227 n. 5 2.37.92 300 n. 34 ATHENAEUS Deip. 1.16b 104 n. 36 1.32b 104 n. 36 10.426b 104 n. 36 11.473c 104 n. 36 (p.360) AUGUSTINE CD 7.14 186 n. 49 CALLIMACHUS Hy. 2.1 143–4 2.101 143 n. 9 3.6 143 3.7–8 343 Ia. 7 285 9 285 Aet. (Harder) fr. 48 124 CICERO Att. 1.1.5 134 n. 57 1.4.3 134 n. 57 1.103 134 n. 57 ND 3.37.89 272 Page 7 of 28

 

Index Locorum 3.56 73 n. 22, 121 n. 2, 131 n. 42, 136 n. 73, 325 n. 2 3.60 151 CLEOMEDES 2.5.87–91 301 n. 40 CORNUTUS Nat. Deor. 23.6 ff. 300 24 151 n. 40 CRATINUS fr. (PCG) 196 104 n. 36 206 104 n. 36 211 113 DEMETRIUS OF PHALERON Eloc. 120 319 n. 30 fr. (Wehrli) 118.2 300 n. 34 DIODORUS SICULUS 1.16 299 1.96 181 n. 24, 248 n. 18 4.2.5 133 n. 56 4.6.1 135 n. 66 4.6.5 134 n. 60 4.39.1 56 n. 17 5.47.1–48.3 273 5.64–5 284 13.82.1–4 213 n. 19 DIOGENES LAERTIUS 5.82.8 227 n. 5 DIOGENIANUS 5.38 104 n. 35 DIONYSIUS OF HALICARNASSUS Ant. Rom. 1.61.2–4 273 n. 15 ERATOSTHENES fr. (Powell) 1 126 n. 20 EUBULUS fr. (PCG) 75 276 n. 28 76 276 n. 28 EUPOLIS fr. (PCG) 392 113 EURIPIDES Alc. 361 248 n. 18, 348 n. 38 Hipp. Page 8 of 28

 

Index Locorum 88 351 n. 52 454–6 132 n. 49 Med. 351–4 187 389–91 188 446–626 187 n. 53 Rh. 218 338 n. 7 fr. 177.1 147 n. 25 fr. (Nauck) 312 113 fr. (TrFG) 646a 182 n. 28 EUSTATHIUS in Od. 2.133, 8–13 328 n. 28 EVENOS OF PAROS fr. (W2) 8a 83 n. 26 FESTUS 152 L. 193 n. 1, 206 FLORUS Ep. 1.18.39–41 216 n. 34 GALEN Corp. Med. Graec. 13 133 269 133 GEMINOS Elem. Astron. 1.14 273 (p.361) HECATAEUS FGrHist 1 F 371 131 n. 41 HELLANICUS fr. (Fowler) 19b.1–8 152 HERACLITUS Hom. prob. 72.2–73.9 129 n. 29 HERODOTUS 1.60.4–5 56 2.51 227 n. 3, 227 n. 6, 283 2.145 73 n. 22, 131 n. 42 3.37 283–4 3.89 351 n. 52 6.105 37–8 HESIOD Page 9 of 28

 

Index Locorum Cat. fr. (W2) 64 130 n. 36 118 27 Op. 80 173 n. 2 Sc. 83 61 n. 29 320 61 n. 29 443–9 58 n. 23 Th. 245 149 n. 30 251 149 n. 30 291 61 n. 23 357 149 n. 30 406–8 67 525–9 166 n. 24 526 61 n. 29 615 166 n. 24 901–5 26–7 938–9 239 950 61 970 81 986–7 132 n. 49 939 173 n. 2 fr. (W2) 27 81–2 35.5 61 43(a) 61 61 64 70 66 71 n. 17 67 71 n. 16 169.1 149 170 173 n. 2 HIPPOLYTUS Ref. Omn. Haer. 5.7.2 277 5.7.38 277 5.8.10 277 HIPPONAX fr. (W2) 1–11 85 2a 327 n. 22 8 83 n. 32 21 84 n. 35 26 83 n. 32 26a 83 n. 32 29a 83 n. 32 32 85–6 Page 10 of 28

 

Index Locorum 58 83 n. 32 73 84 n. 35 84 84 n. 35 92 84 n. 35 124 83 n. 32 125 83 n. 32 128 83 n. 32 HOMER Il. 1.3 182 1.46 146 1.247–9 319 1.493–530 177 n. 11 1.590–4 50 n. 4 2.22 302 n. 51 2.100–8 327 n. 19 2.103 schol. 328 n. 26 2.185 ff. 327 n. 20 2.512 126 n. 22 2.603 273 2.786–7 173 n. 2 3.380–2 162 5.62 80 n. 5 5.344–6 162 5.390 67 8.397–408 173 n. 2 9.219 86 9.802 126 n. 22 11.55 182 11.482 67 n. 1 11.551 124 12 schol. 273 n. 14 13.10–14 273 13.33 273 14 98 n. 9 14.225–30 273 14.281 273 15.256 145 n. 20 15.256 schol. 146 16.179–86 72 16.179–92 126 16.181 127 16.181–6 67 16.183 127 17.660–1 124 (p.362) 18.395–405 50 n. 4 18.483 80 n. 5 20.321–9 162 21.497–501 68 Page 11 of 28

 

Index Locorum 22.127–8 81 24.23 67–8 24.62–3 26 24.77–84 273 24.327–28 68 24.328 68 24.333–8 173 n. 2 24.334–5 69, 247 n. 12 24.339–45 173 n. 2, 181 n. 21 24.340–2 73 24.343 302 n. 52 24.343–4 181 24.347–8 68 24.400 68 24.437–9 68 24.445 68, 181 n. 23 24.453–7 69 24.460–4 68 24.460–7 173 n. 2 24.461 68 24.482–3 68 24.598 86 24.677–95 187 24.679–81 187 n. 52 24.679–89 173 n. 2, 181 n. 21 24.683–4 187 24.690–1 68 24.694–5 69 Od. 1.26–95 177 1.27–43 177 1.37–42 128 1.37–43 173 n. 2 1.52–4 183–4 n. 40 1.84–7 128, 129 n. 31, 173 n. 2 1.96–8 73, 129 n. 31 3.163 67 n. 1 5.28–42 178 5.28–124 173 n. 2 5.29–42 179, 181, 185 5.29–46 129 n. 31 5.41–2 179 5.43–9 129 n. 33, 173 n. 2 5.43–54 180–1 5.47–8 181 5.50 183 5.97–104 184 5.97–115 185 5.44–9 181 Page 12 of 28

 

Index Locorum 5.44–6 73 5.44–7 178 n. 15 5.44–62 178 5.55–148 129 5.75–148 128 5.103–4 185 5.114–15 179 5.195–6 69 n. 11 6.274 175 n. 5 7.14–17 175 7.32–3 175 7.40–2 175 7.136–8 104 n. 36 7.136–45 74–5 7.137 302 n. 52 7.137–8 181 n. 23 7.168 67 n. 1 7.204–5 75 8 98 n. 9 8.99 82 n. 21, 149 n. 32 8.262–3 82 n. 16 8.552 76 n. 26 9.6 83 n. 25 10.275–9 69–70 10.277–308 128–9 10.329–31 71 10.330–2 129 11 165 11.287–98 144 n. 17 11.363–6 75–6 11.625–6 182 n. 28 13.253–5 74 13.287–95 74 13.293 67 n. 1 13.300–2 175 14.122 76 n. 26 14.433 ff. 342 n. 24 14.434–6 38 14.468–506 71 14.509 71 15.225–42 144 n. 17 15.319–24 70 16.471 schol. 328 n. 27 17.271 82 n. 21, 149 n. 32 19.392–8 130 19.395–8 70 21.21 70 22.115 67 n. 1 22.202 67 n. 1 Page 13 of 28

 

Index Locorum 22.281 67 n. 1 23.90 86 23.198 schol. 300 n. 35 23.296 347 n. 37 23.321 72 n. 21 24.1–5 164–5 24 165 24.1 180–2 24.1–14 347 (p.363) 24.1–24 302 n. 52 24.1–204 347 24.2–4 181 n. 23 24.3–4 181 HOMERIC HYMNS Hy. 2 (Demeter)  1–35 153 334–85 182 n. 28 407 239 n. 43 Hy. 3 (Apollo)  207–15 142 316–21 50 n. 4 Hy. 4 (Hermes)  1 15 3 173 n. 2, 239 3–7 3 4 125 5–6 15 5–9 123 6–7 24 13 67, 71 n. 18 13–16 2, 326 14 186 n. 50 17 316 17–19 51 20 315 20 ff. 300 n. 35 24 169 n. 33 25 80 n. 5, 316 29 116 n. 28 30 169 n. 33 30–51 80 31 82, 82 n. 20, 148 52–62 15, 80 54–9 123 55–6 81 57–8 81 59–61 81 64 51 64–7 124 Page 14 of 28

 

Index Locorum 66 187 n. 52 73 15 82–6 80 n. 5 109 149 109–14 80 n. 5 115–29 113 n. 14 126–9 329 145 327 n. 22 155 67 n. 1 155–72 15 172–3 147, 326 173 61 173–5 51 175 152 178–81 51, 326 202–9 79 n. 3 210 328 n. 24 214 152 254–5 147 260–77 116 n. 28 261–77 318 262–3 131 263–4 318 265–6 318 266–7 318 273 318 275–6 318 281 116 n. 28 292 152 296 83 300 81 319 67 n. 1, 72 n. 21 325 60 332 60 335 81 338 81 389 117 n. 28 389–96 51 392 326 n. 9 397 3 406 ff. 346 406–8 147 406–572 347 n. 35 418–19 148 420 117 n. 28 421–3 148 424–5 82 426 72 427–33 330 Page 15 of 28

 

Index Locorum 428 51 428 ff. 303 434 148 436 82, 82 n. 20, 149 439 67, 71 n. 18 443–4 80 446 152 448–9 149 n. 31 449 72 454 82 455 72 458 346 461 346 471–2 51 475–82 124 477 125 478 125 480 82 n. 20 481 125 483 316 491–5 125 n. 17 497–8 51 (p.364) 503–10 125–6 506–8 51 511–12 34 n. 10, 150 514 67 n. 1 514–15 145 514–20 52 515 145 n. 18 529 52, 328 n. 24, 347 533–8 52 531 330 n. 38 550–66 347 552–66 52 559 330 n. 38 567–8 161 567–72 52 567–73 15 569–71 3 570–1 316 572 347 576 247 n. 12 Hy. 5 (Aphrodite) 108–27 127–8 118 127 121–7 72 212–17 128 259–63 37 n. 14 260–3 128 Page 16 of 28

 

Index Locorum 262–3 131 Hy. 19 (Pan) 1 131 2–3 40 38–9 39 38–41 131 45–7 39 Hy. 29 (Hestia)  8 239 n. 43 HORACE Ep. 1.20.27 160 n. 6 2.2.48 163 2.2.49–52 169 2.3.18–20 169 Od. 1.2.41–4 153 n. 45, 163 1.10 145, 149, 161, 164, 168 1.10.6 173 n. 2 1.10.7 167 1.10.16–17 182 1.10.17 181 n. 24 1.10.17–20 164, 168 1.17 166 1.17.1–14 160 1.22 163 1.24 163 n. 18, 168 1.24.13–20 164–5, 168 1.24.17 183 1.30 151, 166–8 2 165 n. 21 2.3.68 170 2.7 161, 162, 163, 170, 217 n. 38 2.7.13–14 162 2.7.13–16 209 2.13 161 2.17 161 2.17.27–30 160 2.18.34–40 165–6, 168 2.18.35 166 n. 24 2.19 161 3.4 163 n. 18 3.4.25 161 3.4.27 161 3.5.2 170 n. 37 3.8.7 161 3.11.1–16 167–8 3.25 161 3.27 168 n. 32 Page 17 of 28

 

Index Locorum Sat. 1.6.85–7 170 1.6.86 169 2.3 169 2.3.18–20 169 2.3.24–6 169–70, 194 n. 5 2.3.34 169 2.3.314–20 169 2.6.4–5 169 2.6.79–117 169 HYGINUS Astron. 16 133–4 n. 56 Fab. 2.24 131 n. 42 32 57 103 182 n. 28 160 132 n. 49 271 134 n. 56 ISOCRATES 10.12 319 n. 30 JOHN LASCARIS Vat. Gr. 1412 339 n. 9 JOHN LYDUS Mens. 2.9 300 4.76.59–106 300 n. 37 LEONIDAS AP 10.1 282 (p.365) LIVY 2.21 117 n. 29 2.21.7 210 n. 4 2.27.5–6 117 n. 29, 210 n. 4 21.63.3 215 n. 27 29.27.6–8 209 LONGUS 3.23 131 n. 45 LUCIAN DDeor. 2 131 n. 42 2.4 117 4.2 117 11.1 145 n. 20 Fug. 26.3 239 n. 43 Jup. Trag. 42 274 1–4 117 Page 18 of 28

 

Index Locorum Nav. 12 104 n. 35 Sacr. 8.13 239 n. 43 Symp. 21 319 41 319 LYSIAS Alc. 42 228 n. 8 MACROBIUS Sat. 6.2.30–1 212 n. 14 MENANDER Dysc. 226 104 n. 35 Epit. 284 104 n. 35, 110 n. 9 317 110 n. 9 fr. (Sandbach) 9 117 722 117 MENANDER RHETOR (Spengel) 331.18–332.2 311 n. 5 MOSCHUS fr. (Gow) 2 131 n. 45 NAEVIUS Bell. Poen. (Mariotti) 5 177 n. 11 30 (Büchner) 146 n. 21 NEW TESTAMENT Apoc. 1.8 296 n. 14 21.6 296 n. 14 NIKANDER Ther. 1.472 schol. 273 n. 14 NONNUS Dion. 2.117–19 131 n. 45 5.574–5 136 n. 73 8.220 137 20.264 239 n. 43 42.258–61 131 n. 45 48.230 137 ORIGEN C. Cel. 6.78–9 103 ORPHIC HYMNS Page 19 of 28

 

Index Locorum 28.4 299–300, 301 n. 43 28.6 299–300 28.10 299–300 57.3–4 151 OVID Am. 1.1 141 n. 2, 142, 144–5, 166 n. 25 1.1.1 144 n. 16 1.1.4 144 1.1.5 144 n. 16, 146 1.1.7 144 n. 16 1.1.8 144 n. 16 1.1.16 144 1.1.21–6 144 n. 16 1.2 166 n. 25 1.4.1 167 n. 31 2.12.3 167 n. 31 Fast. 2.617–38 136 2.629 136 2.853–6 136 n. 69 2.608 136 n. 71 3.139 149 4.953–4 149 5.225–7 133 n. 55 5.663–6 145 5.663–92 144, 149 5.665–6 174 n. 4 5.681–8 149 Met. 1.438–51 143 1.441 146 1.453 144 n. 16 1.454 143 (p.366) 1.455 148 1.456 144 n. 16, 147 1.456–7 146 1.457 146 1.458 144 n. 16 1.458–60 146 1.459–60 143 n. 9 1.461 144 n. 16 1.462 147 1.465 147 1.466–74 144 n. 16 1.472–4 148 1.478 149 1.515–22 144 1.518 148 Page 20 of 28

 

Index Locorum 1.519 144 n. 16 1.546–7 149 1.566–7 143 1.558 149 1.558–65 143 1.562–3 150, 153 1.671–2 181 n. 23 1.678–721 328 n. 26 1.689–712 131 2.836–75 132 n. 50 4.283 133 n. 55 4.286 135 n. 65 4.288–91 134 4.290–1 152 4.320–1 134 4.321 152 4.329–30 135 4.334–6 135 4.381–2 135 n. 65 4.386 135 n. 65 5.319–31 153 n. 45 5.365–79 152 5.383–4 152 7.700–7 132 n. 49 11.301–27 130 14.291 174 n. 4 OXYRHYNCUS PAPYRI 7.1015 313–17, 315 n. 19 7.1015.4–5 315 8.1084 152 17.2084 309–20 79.5194 315 n. 19 2084 315 n. 20 2734 fr. 1.15–16 146 n. 23 fr. 1.18 146 PAPYRI GRAECAE MAGICAE III.135 297 n. 18 V.370–446 303 V.400–20 294–5 V.400.1–2 300 VI.272 297 n. 18 VI.968 297 n. 18 VI.1599 297 n. 18 VI.2192 297 n. 18 VII.664–85 303 VII.668 297 n. 18 VII.668–80 294–5 VII.962 297 n. 18 Page 21 of 28

 

Index Locorum XII.72 297 n. 18 XII.238 297 n. 18 XII.250 297 n. 18 XII.238–44 302 n. 46 XIII.761–73 302 n. 46 XVIIb.1–2311 295–6 XXI.1–9 302 n. 46 PAUSANIAS 1.19.2 227 n. 5 1.24.3 45 n. 48, 227 n. 3, 228 1.38.7 136 2.3.4 227–8 n. 6 2.10.7 227 n. 5 2.19.6 151 n. 36 3.21.8 58 4.245 273 4.33.3 227 n. 3, 227 n. 5 7.22.2 227 n. 5, 227 n. 6, 300 n. 34 7.22.2–3 241 7.27.1 36 n. 13, 227 n. 5, 227 n. 6, 241 8.17.1 273 8.31.6 151 n. 36 8.31.7 227 n. 6, 227 n. 5, 237 8.32.1–2 227 n. 5, 228, 237 8.32–4 237 8.39.6 227 n. 5, 227 n. 6 9.34.3 249 n. 22 10.12.6 227 n. 5 10.13.6–8 57 10.19.3 286 19.13.8 57 PAUSANIAS ATTICUS Att. onom. syn. E 71.3 300 n. 38 PERSIUS 2.44–7 194 n. 5 6.62–3 206 PETRONIUS 29.5 194 n. 5 140.12 181 n. 24 PHILISCUS CPG VII p. 356 151 (p.367) PHILOCHORUS FGrHist 328 F 195 329 n. 34 PHILOSTRATUS Imag. 1.26 145 n. 20 Page 22 of 28

 

Index Locorum PHRYNICHUS fr. (PCG) 61 100, 110 n. 9 PINDAR Ol. 9.30–43 57 P. 4.178–9 130 n. 40 fr. (S-M) 100 131 n. 41 PLATO Cra. 407e ff. 299 n. 31 Gorg. 486e 104 n. 35 489c 104 n. 35 Leg. 859a 351 n. 52 Phaedr. 274c–e 299 Phileb. 18b–d 299 Prot. 322c 351 n. 51 322c–e 330 n. 40 Symp. 176c 104 n. 35 177b 319 n. 30 217a 104 n. 35 PLATO COMICUS fr. (PCG) 188 276 n. 28 204 101–2, 110 n. 9 PLAUTUS Amph. 1–152 166 32 174 n. 4 54–5 115 n. 22 60–3 114 115–24 110–11 133–5 112 n. 13 142–5 102 n. 26 143 111 n. 12 145 111 n. 12 176–8 111 266–9 111 463–98 115 485 115 507 112 n. 13 Page 23 of 28

 

Index Locorum 515 112 526 112 n. 13 521 112 867–8 115 n. 23 873–5 112 n. 13 903 112 n. 13 986–7 112 986–1008 112 991–4 112 1005–7 115 1032 112 n. 13 1072 112 n. 13 Asin. 256–7 111 n. 12 Cas. 621–717 112 Mil. 901 117 915 117 919 117 1139 117 Mostell. 1149–51 111 n. 12 Poen. 550–2 115 n. 21 578–720 112 1110 117 Pseud. 562–73a 115 n. 20 568–73a 111 n. 11 720–1 115 n. 21 960–1016 112 Rud. 293 115 n. 21 Stich. 402–5 214 fr. 90 102 n. 26 PLINY NH 4.12.73 273 n. 14 7.204 160 11.150 182 16.63 133 n. 55 36.33 134 n. 57, 151 PLUTARCH Alc. 18.6 228 n. 8 (p.368) 20 100 Page 24 of 28

 

Index Locorum 20.4 228 n. 8 21.2 228 n. 7 21.2–3 228 n. 8 Cim. 7.4 228 n. 8 Conj. Praec. 138c 151 n. 39 De Gar. 502 75 502f3–5 327 n. 22 De Is. et Os. 378b 313 Luc. 3 351 n. 49 Mor. 138c–d 137 Quaest. Conv. II 10. 642f–644d 82 n. 20 738e 3–5 300 n. 35 738e 7–9 300 n. 35 fr. 325 276 n. 28 POLLUX Onom. 4.123 100 n. 16 6.100 104 n. 36 10.70 104 n. 36 POLYBIUS 1.29.2 209 n. 1 1.36.10–12 209 n. 1 1.36.11 209 n. 1 3.22.5 209 n. 1 3.22.5–6 209 n. 2 POSIDIPPUS fr. (PCG) 12 134 PRIAPEA 75.10 273 PROPERTIUS 1.3.14 166 n. 25 1.9.23 166 n. 25 2.2.12–15 136 2.3.52 144 n. 17 PSEUDO-CALLISTHENES 1.45 57 PSEUDO-HERMOGENES Inv. 3.13 312 n. 10 Prog. Page 25 of 28

 

Index Locorum 7.1 311 n. 4 7.11 310 n. 3 7.13 311 n. 5 7.14 310 PSEUDO-PLATO Hipparch. 228b–29a 44 n. 45 228d–9b 227, 228 n. 8 SATYRUS AP 10.6 282 SEMONIDES fr. (W2) 20 37 23 83 n. 32 24 83 n. 32 30 83 n. 32 SEPTUAGINT Is. 44.6 296 n. 14 SERVIUS Aen. 1.170 212 n. 16 1.198 212 n. 14 2.797 220 n. 46 3.10 220 n. 46 6.603 182 n. 28 7.790 328 n. 26 SILIUS ITALICUS 8.108–11 216 STATIUS Theb. 1.306–7 181 n. 23 1.306–8 181 n. 24 3.129 182 n. 29 STRABO 7 fr. 50 284 n. 60 10.2.17 273 10.3.7 284 10.3.22 284 13.1.12 276 STRATTIS fr. (PCG) 23 104 n. 36, 110 n. 9 SOPHOCLES Ant. 397 104 n. 35 El. 110 ff. 351 n. 51 Page 26 of 28

 

Index Locorum (p.369) Phil. 133 187 fr. 535 351 n. 52 269c.21–2 239 n. 43 TELECLIDES fr. (PCG) 35 102–3, 110 n. 9 TERENTIANUS MAURUS 810 182 n. 29 TIBULLUS 1.2.21 167 n. 31 1.3.64 166 n. 25 1.6.8 167 n. 31 2.1.80 166 n. 25 THEOCRITUS AP 15.21.4 131 n. 45 15.21.5–6 131 n. 45 15.21.15 131 n. 41 THEOGNIS 877 82 n. 16 THEOPHRASTUS Char. 28 134 30.9 104 n. 35 THUCYDIDES 6.27 227 n. 3 6.27.1 45 n. 48, 228 n. 8 6.28.1–2 228 n. 8 6.53.1–2 228 n. 8 6.60.4 228 n. 8 6.61.1 228 n. 8 6.77 351 n. 52 TIMOCLES fr. (PCG) 14 103 TITINIUS fr. (Guardi) 115 134 VALERIUS FLACCUS 1.436–40 130 n. 40 VALERIUS MAXIMUS 2.6.8 182 9.3.6 210 n. 4 VERGIL Aen. 1 177 1.170–3 212 Page 27 of 28

 

Index Locorum 1.197–204 129 1.297–304 173, 174–8 1.301 215 1.525–6 176 n. 9 1.527–8 176 n. 9 1.657–94 129 1.657–722 178 1.709–19 129 4 177 4.90–128 129, 178 4.219–72 173, 178 4.219–78 178–86 4.238–46 129 n. 31, 129 n. 33 4.259–78 186 4.304–92 187 n. 53 4.376–80 129 4.393–400 215–16 4.433 187–8 4.553–70 173, 186–8 4.563–4 176 4.590–629 176 4.600–6 176 6.748–51 183 6.749 182 n. 27 8.139 273 Geo. 4 165 n. 21 VETTIUS VALENS 8.7.312 297 n. 19 9.16.12 297 n. 19 VITRUVIUS 2.8.11.13–14 151 n. 36 XENOPHANES fr. (W) 1.1 83 n. 25 2 82–3 ZENOBIUS 5.75 329 n. 34 5.92 313

Page 28 of 28

 

Index Inscriptionum

Tracking Hermes, Pursuing Mercury John F. Miller and Jenny Strauss Clay

Print publication date: 2019 Print ISBN-13: 9780198777342 Published to Oxford Scholarship Online: March 2019 DOI: 10.1093/oso/9780198777342.001.0001

(p.370) Index Inscriptionum (excluding J. Wallensten’s Appendix) Alabanda 8 248 n. 20 CIL 12.9 214 n. 22 4.812 205 n. 46 4.9097 204 n. 45 6.283 153 n. 45 10.8342a 153 n. 45 10.884–923 297 n. 15 CIG 3568b 252 n. 40 DAA 163 248 n. 15 295 248 n. 16 EAM 9 248 n. 13, 250 n. 24, 250 n. 30 EG 815 339 n. 9 EKM I, Beroia 24 248 n. 20 Halikarnassos 73 248 n. 15 IByzantion 22 248 n. 15 ICos EV 12 248 n. 15 ICret II xxviii 2 339 n. 9, 341 n. 18 ID 1713 252 n. 40 1714 252 n. 40 1709 252 n. 41 1711 252 n. 41 1804 248 n. 16 1832 248 n. 20, 252 n. 42, 252 n. 43 1833 248 n. 20 1835 248 n. 20, 252 n. 41 1923 252 n. 41 1926 252 n. 41 1927 252 n. 41 1932–5 252 n. 41 Page 1 of 4

Index Inscriptionum 1945 248 n. 15, 252 n. 41 1947 248 n. 13 1948–50 252 n. 41 1951 252 n. 41 1953 252 n. 41 1954 252 n. 41 2135 252 n. 41 2400 251 n. 37 2408 252 n. 42 2599 252 n. 41 IEphesos 1102 260 3137 267 3420 265 IErythrai 509 250 n. 24, 251 n. 34 IEstremOrient 381 246 n. 7 IG I3 77 248 n. 16 I3 840 248 n. 15 I3 986 251 n. 37 II2 1069 253 n. 48 II2 2873 247 n. 13, 248 n. 18, 249 n. 20 II2 3012 248 n. 15 II2 3278 253 n. 50 II2 3786 253 n. 48 II2 3787 253 n. 48 II2 3788 253 n. 48 II2 3789 253 n. 48 II2 3977 249 n. 22 II2 4646 42 n. 40 II2 4651 34 n. 9 II2 4652 31 n. 2 II2 4855 249 n. 21 II2 4994 251 n. 38 V, 1 493 253 n. 49 V, 1 540 253 n. 48 V, 1 598 253 n. 48 V, 1 599 253 n. 48 V, 1 607 253 n. 48 V, 1 658 248 n. 15 VII, 3093 245 n. 2 VIII, 2235 248 n. 15 IX, 2 31 248 n. 15 IX, 2 94 247–8 n. 13, 248 n. 20 (p.371) XI, 4 1143 248 n. 20 XI, 4 1144 248 n. 20, 252 n. 42 XI, 4 1145 248 n. 20 XI, 4 1151–4 252 n. 41 XI, 4 1158 252 n. 41 XII, 2 96 248 n. 15 XII, 2 97 247–8 n. 13 Page 2 of 4

 

Index Inscriptionum XII, 3 193 248 n. 15 XII, 3 339 248 n. 13 XII, 5 26 248 n. 20 XII, 5 220 247 n. 13, 249 n. 20, 252 n. 42 XII, 6 2 597 247 n. 13, 249 n. 20, 252 n. 42 XII, 8 51 24 276 XII, 8 68 276 XII, 8 69 276 XII, 8 74 271 n. 1 XII, 8 87a 276 XII, 8 89a–b 276 XII, 8 151 283 n. 53 XII, 8 152 283 n. 53 XII, 8 153 283 n. 53 XII, 8 155 283 n. 53 XII, 8 157 283 n. 53 XII, 8 641 247 n. 13 XII, suppl. 403 252 n. 41 XII, suppl. 440 253 n. 47 XIV, 798a 253 n. 49 XIV, 1389 211 n. 6, 217 n. 35 IGBulg I2 322 248 n. 15 IV 2230 252 n. 42 IGR 3 868 250 n. 24, 250 n. 29 IKnidos 148 350 I 141 252 n. 39 IKosM 466 153 n. 45 ILouvre 13 245 n. 3, 247 n. 13, 249 n. 20 INysa 13 248 n. 15 IPergamon I 243 248–9 n. 20 I 244 248–9 n. 20 IPerge 264 246–7 n. 8 IPriene 179 248 n. 20 180 248 n. 20 183 252 n. 42 IRhegion 66 246 n. 7 IScM I 175 248 n. 20 I 176 248 n. 20 ISinope 170.6–8 320 n. 35 173.5–8 320 n. 35 IStratonikeia 300 250 n. 24 1008 253 n. 50 IThess 69 250 n. 24, 251 n. 34 Lindos II 184 248 n. 17, 252 n. 39 NSER 276 248 n. 18 466 248 n. 13 NSupplEpR 170, 21 248 n. 20 Rhodian Peraia 59 247 n. 13 Salamine 13.44 247 n. 9 Page 3 of 4

 

Index Inscriptionum SEG 45–1659 283 n. 55 55–451 274 n. 17 1.466 248 n. 15 13.206.7 320 n. 35 12.168 249 n. 21 17.422 248 n. 20, 252 n. 42, 252 n. 43 17.425 252 n. 43 20.311 247 n. 9 23.450 253 n. 47 26.166 253 n. 48 29.479 247 n. 10, 248 n. 16 29.927–34 348 n. 41 30.908 248 n. 13, 248 n. 14 31.945 253 n. 50 32.252 253 n. 50 33.736 339 n. 9, 340 n. 11 34.1003.2–3 320 n. 35 36.629 249 n. 20 36.974 248 n. 15 37.780 250 n. 24 39.870 247 n. 13, 249 n. 20 (p.372) 39.876 247 n. 13 42.662 248–9 n. 20 44.165 253 n. 50 44.1279 348 n. 41 47.884 246 n. 8 47.1002 248 n. 20 48.159 274 n. 17 52.546 348 n. 39 55.806.1 246 n. 8 55.1341 252 n. 41 57.725 248 n. 20 57.1296 320 n. 35 SGO II 10/06/09 320 n. 35 II 10/06/12 320 n. 35 TvD 355 247 n. 13, 249 n. 20

Page 4 of 4

 

General Index

Tracking Hermes, Pursuing Mercury John F. Miller and Jenny Strauss Clay

Print publication date: 2019 Print ISBN-13: 9780198777342 Published to Oxford Scholarship Online: March 2019 DOI: 10.1093/oso/9780198777342.001.0001

(p.373) General Index Aea 178, 181, 183 Aeetes 175–7, 176 n.9, 187–8 Aelius Aristides 310 n.3, 312, 317–18 n. 26 Hymn to Dionysus 317 n.26, 319 Aeneas 132, 162–3, 173, 174–88, 210–12, 215–21 Aglauros 132, 150 Ainos 284–7 Alcaeus 58–9, 126, 141 n.3, 142, 145–9 Hymn to Hermes 142, 145, 149 Alexis 103 Thesprotians 103 Amphitryon 107, 110–11, 113, 115–16, 132, 166–7, 214–15 Ananius 84 Antinoos 253 Antoninus Liberalis 142, 150, 327 Aphrodite 24, 72, 123, 142, 150–1, 162, 178, 249, 252–3, 345 Apollo 80–4, 87–8, 123–6, 130–9, 141–53 and Hermes 51–2, 125, 133, 138, 141 n.3, 145, 326, 337, 345–7 Apollonius 174–8, 181, 185, 187, 284 Argonautica 175–8, 181, 185, 284 Archilochus 82, 84, 88, 109 n.8, 113, 327 Ares 24, 60, 67, 123, 133 aretalogy 340, 342–6 Argus/Argos 49, 122, 131–2, 150, 328 Aristarchus 347 Aristophanes 38, 86, 95–100, 107, 109–10, 113–14, 116–17, 239, 272, 312, 320 Acharnians 109, 196 Clouds 99–101 Peace 95–7, 101, 103–4, 107, 110, 110 n.9, 113, 115–17, 239 Wasps 100 Wealth 95–7, 103, 104 n.36, 113, 312, 320 Page 1 of 10

General Index Artemidoros of Perge 274, 283 Artemis 19, 22, 52, 55, 57, 67, 127, 151, 274 Ascanius 184–6, 218 Atlas 179–80, 183–4 Augustus 149, 153, 159, 163, 196–7 Autolykos 70–1, 130, 137 banquets 21, 82–3, 101, 104, 123–4, 319–20, 327, 329 Battus/Battos 142, 150, 327–8 caduceus 151, 153 n.45, 198, 200–1, 203, 214, 230, 238–9, 241, 285 on herms 238–9 Callimachus/Callimachos/Kallimachos 79, 89, 124, 143–4, 285, 343 Hymn to Artemis 343 Hymn to Delos 142–3 Iambi 79, 285 Calypso 71, 128–9, 177–9, 181, 184–5, 187, 215 Camillus-Hermes 287 Carthage 129 n.30, 173–4, 177–81, 183–4, 187, 209–16 Cato 215 Circe 69–72, 128–9, 181, 215 and Hermes 71 and Odysseus 72 charis 311 cheese-maker 247, 249 Christian fathers 272 clever slave 107, 110–12, 114–17 confession stelai, confession texts 340–3 Coniugalia praecepta 137 Cratinus 113 Crocus 133 Cumae 344 Cupid 129, 134, 136, 141–53, 166 son of Hermes and Aphrodite 151 Cupid–Apollo quarrel 142–53 dais, see also banquets 82–3, 329, 342 n.24 Daktyloi, Idaian 284–5 Damasippus and Mercury 169–71, 194 Daphne 131, 132 n.48, 141, 143–4, 148–50, 153 Dardanus 179 defixiones 348–50 Delphi 52, 54, 57–8, 61, 143, 286–7, 326, 329 n.34 Demodocus 72, 83 despotes 338 Diagoras 272 Dido 129, 173–9, 181–2, 186–8, 215–16 Dionysos Phallen 286 Dionysus 21, 23, 39, 55, 95, 98, 116–17, 135 n.66, 151, 237, 276, 279–80, 310, 312, 316–19 in comedy 95, 98, 107 n.3, 113 nn. 15–16, 114 n.19, 116–17 Dioskouroi 272 Page 2 of 10

 

General Index Egypt 122, 245, 284, 293–304, 312–13 cosmogony 297–8 (p.374) Ennius 211 epigrams 250, 283, 339–42 Epimenides 88, 327 epiphany 38–9, 45 n.48, 68–70, 75, 85, 170, 312 Eratosthenes 121 eriounios 339, 340 n.12, 348 eros 124–6, 136, 139 Eros 142, 147, 151, 153, 178, 181, 183, 241 n.52, 282, 298 n.23 erotic context 16–18, 72–3, 81–2, 121–39, 141–53, 159, 170, 183 n.40, 351 erotic curses 351 Eudorus 126–7, 130 Euenios of Apollonia 327 euhemerism 121 euphrosune 82–3 Eupolis 113, 116 Euripides 103, 113, 187 Europa 132, 150, 168 n.32 Faunus 159, 160–1, 166 Feralia 135 figs 309–20 personification of 311 First Punic War 209–16, 220 François Vase 24–7 Frogs 95, 98, 107 n.3, 113 n.15 Galen 133 Great Gods 275–6 Greek Magical Papyri 293–304, 344–5 Greek New Comedy 98, 109 Hades 52, 57, 89, 123, 135, 166, 168, 181 n.24, 347 Hagemon 248 Hekate/Hecate 297 n.19, 300–1, 348 Hellanicus 152 Hellespont 271, 273, 283 Hephaestus 50, 72, 123, 133 Herakles/Heracles/Hercules 21–2, 98, 102 n.26, 110, 113 n.14, 182 n.28, 185, 245, 250, 252 in comedy 98 and Delphic tripod 49–50, 52–62 and Hermes 21–2, 49–62 herm(s) 35–7, 43–5, 98–9, 116, 121, 136, 151, 203, 227–42, 274–5, 277–9, 282, 285, 287 mutilation of 100 of other gods 237, 282 and prayer scenes 231–2 and sacrifice 228–9, 233 in vase painting 227–42 Hermaia 310, 313, 337 hermaion 70, 104, 169 n.33, 325 Page 3 of 10

 

General Index Hermaion (temple) 318 hermaios lophos 328 Hermaphrodite/Hermaphroditus 72, 133 n.56, 134–5, 151–2 Hermes, see also Mercury agonios 248 agoraios/patron of traffic 103, 241, 248, 250 in Aristophanes 96–100, 110, 113–17 and Athens 34, 44–6, 95, 151 n.36, 203 n.44, 227, 241, 276, 300, 337 beardless 14–15 and boundary crossing 325 and bow theft 52, 58–9, 145 as bringer of sleep 181, 181 n.23, 302 as cattle thief 15, 24–58, 70, 80, 124–5, 142, 144–5, 147, 149, 150, 326–7 cave dweller 339–43 chthonios 182 n.28, 246, 340 n.12, 345–8, 350–1 and cloaks 71 n.18, 86, 201, 203 and comedy 95–104, 107, 166 and commerce 248, 283, 325 and cosmic justice 325–32 cult of 22, 32–3 n. 4, 49, 62, 83, 151, 151 n.36, 237, 240, 245, 248, 253, 254 n.52, 275–7, 312, 317 despotes 338, 341, 350–1 diaktoros 326, 328 n. 26 dolios/patron of tricks 103, 187, 240, 241, 340 n.12, 343, 348 and doors 69, 97, 110, 282, 343 dromios 253 eisagogeus 248 and eloquence 319 empolaios/patron of sales 103, 343 enagonios 97, 248, 316, 343 epimelios, see also Hermes, protector of herds 249 epiphany of 68–70 erotic, see also erotic context 72–3, 121–39, 150 euangelos 248 as father of Pan 38, 40, 43, 73, 131, 135, 150, 159, 160, 282 as father of Saos 272 as father of the Silenes or Satyrs 135 n.67 and gluttony 96–7, 124 as go-between 128, 132, 137, 166 as god of comedy 116 god of gymnasion 248–9 guardian of crossroads 35, 122, 300, 328 n.27 (p.375) as guide 34, 42, 68, 97, 210, 216–17, 240, 248, 325, 343 hegemonios, see also Hermes, as guide 248 n.18, 343 as herald 136, 152, 325, 327–9 and power of speech 327–8 herdsman 131, 249, 316, 326–7 in Homer 67–76, 129–31, 137, 181–5, 215–17, 239, 319–20 as hungry 97, 254 n.52, 320 Page 4 of 10

 

General Index and iambus 79–89 katochos  340 n.12, 348–9 kosmokrator 294–7, 303 leader of dreams 75 n.25, 186 n.50, 302 and libations 75, 229, 339 and the lyre 80–4, 116 n.28, 123–6, 145, 148–9, 151, 159, 162, 167–8, 170, 303, 315–16, 329 n.36, 330 and magic 271, 293–304, 347 master of animals 15–17, 316 as mediator 69 n.6, 84, 128, 240, 254, 299, 301, 327 as messenger 15, 103, 114, 173, 173 n.2, 175, 177, 239–40, 248, 271, 299, 301 n. 43, 340 n.12 New 253 nomios, see also Hermes, protector of herds  38, 249 pantokrator 296, 297 n.18, 339–43 perpheraios 285 phalantheios 249 philanthropic 69, 98, 104, 139, 247, 254, 337 philetes, see also Hermes, cattle thief 84, 127, 152 propylaios 253 and protection of magistrates 249, 253 protector of herds 51, 70, 122, 125, 131 protector of thieves 49, 86–8, 98, 104 n.33, 301, 327 n.22 protector of travelers 122, 248, 250, 272 prytaneios 248 as psychopomp 68–9, 75 n.25, 98, 103, 122, 136, 159, 164–6, 168, 170, 181–2, 248 n.18, 272, 340 n.12, 347, 348 n.38 as mystagogue 272 psithyristes 241 and rhetoric 67, 71, 83–4, 88, 104, 299, 301, 319 and ritual 33 n.5, 34, 39–40, 43, 75 n.25, 229, 233–8, 240–2, 245 and sacrifice 22, 29, 33 n.5, 37, 43, 82, 113 n.14, 233–4, 237, 251, 257, 328–30, 329 n.30, 339 as singer 80–3, 116, 316 of a theogony 51, 116 n.28, 329 as speaking statue 95–104 and the symposium 79–82, 319 throne of 245, 285 as trickster 28, 49, 67–76, 79, 84, 89, 107 Trismegistos 122, 338, 345, 352 n.53 in votive inscriptions 32–3, 245–70 as youth 14–15, 69 Hermes-Kadmos 287 Hermetica 296–8, 301, 303, 346 Hermetism 303, 346 Herodes Atticus 217 Herodotus 37, 56, 67–8, 73, 272, 283–5 Herse 132, 150 Hesiod 27–8, 58 n.23, 61, 81, 88, 123, 148–9, 293, 327, 328 n.26 Page 5 of 10

 

General Index Catalogue of Women 27, 123 Works and Days 72 Hestia 139 Hipparchos 227–8 Hippolytus (author) 274, 277–8, 282 Hipponax 79, 84–9, 109 n. 8, 327 n.22, 328 n.26, 341 n.18 honey 97, 310–13, 317, 320 Homer 67–76, 104, 127 n.23, 129–30, 137, 164, 173 n.2, 174, 179 n.20, 181, 183, 215, 217, 239, 273, 320, 326–7, 328 n.26 Iliad 67–8, 124, 126–30, 162, 217 Odyssey 37, 67, 69–76, 81, 83, 104, 123, 128–9, 133, 164–5, 177–9, 183, 211, 215, 219, 347 Homeric Hymns 38–9, 50, 58, 60, 69, 79, 83, 143–4, 153, 316 as prooimia 39 and symposium 83 Homeric Hymn 2 (to Demeter) 28, 69, 79, 143, 152–3 Homeric Hymn 3 (to Apollo) 58, 69, 143–4 Homeric Hymn 4 (to Hermes) 15, 24, 27–8, 49–52, 57–9, 61–2, 79–84, 113 n.14, 116 n. 28, 123, 141–2, 144, 146–9, 303, 310, 315, 317, 326, 328–9, 331, 337, 346–7 Athenian provenance 62 and Peisistratids 62 Homeric Hymn 5 (to Aphrodite) 69, 72, 126–7, 153 Homeric Hymn 7 (to Dionysus) 316 Homeric Hymn 18 (to Hermes) 316 Homeric Hymn 19 (to Pan) 3, 34, 37–40, 46 Athenian context of 39–40 Horace 145, 149, 151, 153, 159–71, 194, 217 n.38 Odes 145, 149, 159–71 rescued by Mercury 161, 163 and Sabine estate 169 (p.376) Satires 169–70 as vir Mercurialis 162 Iambe 79 iambographers 84 Iarbas 173, 178–9 Imbramos 275 Imbros 271, 275–6, 283 mysteries of 276–7 inscriptions 26, 32–3, 153, 196–7, 217–18, 245–54, 272, 274–6, 340, 342 Io 132, 150 Iris 23, 173 n.2, 181 Isis hymns 344–5 Italy 179, 184, 194, 216–17 Ithaca 70, 72–3, 175, 177, 179 ithyphallic, see also phallic 35–7, 122, 151 n.37, 201, 204, 245, 274–8, 281–3 Iulus 184 Jason 175 n.6, 177, 185 n.45 Kabeiroi 271, 275–6 Kadmos 18, 18 n.17, 272 Page 6 of 10

 

General Index Kleitias 24–8 kleromancy 329 kosmokrator 345 Kyllene (mountain) 272–4, 276, 283 Kyllene (nymph) 273 Kyzikos 284–5 Lala 135 Lamachus 109 Lampsacus 283 Lares 136, 198 laurel 141, 143, 149–50, 153 Lay of Ares and Aphrodite 72, 81, 83 Lemnos 185, 271, 276, 283 Livius Andronicus 211–12 Lucian 117, 274, 319 Symposium 319 Maat 313, 317 Maeonia 88, 340 magical hymn to Hermes 293–304 Maia 13–17, 20–6, 28, 51, 80–1, 85–7, 98, 122–5, 147, 152, 196–7, 303 worship of 22, 196–7 Mandal Panayia 274 Maronea 344 The Marriage of Mercury and Philology 137 Martianus Capella 137–8 mask 108, 114, 277, 280–2, 286 Dionysiac 279 satyr 277, 279 Medea 176–7, 187–8 Melampous 327 Menander 95, 104, 108–9, 117 Arbitrants 104 Grouch 95, 104 Menander Rhetor 343 Mercury, see also Hermes beardless 200–1 and boundary crossing 107, 173 and commerce 169–71, 193–206, 212, 214 in cult 151, 153 n.45, 195–7 private 197 and Cupid in art 151 and games, see also Hermes, enagonios 26, 97, 117, 214 as god of comedy 107–17 god of eloquence 137, 186 god of gain 167 as god of intertextuality 173–4 in Horace 159–71 and iambus 112 images of 193–206, 217 Page 7 of 10

 

General Index on façades 199–200, 202–3, 205 as parasite 110, 112 in Plautus 107, 109–10, 112–17, 132, 166–7, 214 in Pompeii 193–206, 281 rescuing Aeneas 217–21 and rhetoric 174 and ritual 149 and sacrifice 194 and the sea 210, 212, 214–15, 220–1, 271–87 as slave 109–17 and tabernae 193–206 and Venus/Aphrodite 135–7, 142, 151–2, 201 in Vergil 129, 173–88 wife of 137–8 as youth 186, 198, 200–1 metatheater 107–9, 112, 114–15 and low-status characters 107, 109, 112, 115 metis 84 Methymna 284, 286 Minerva 117, 145, 153 n.45, 200 Mnesiepes’ inscription 84 Moira/Moirai 26–7, 328–32 moly 70–1, 129 money bag 197–8, 200–5 Naassene, Gnostic sect 277 Naevius 210–12, 215–17, 219–21 Nero 253 Nestor 310, 319–20 Nicander 142 (p.377) Nike 272 Nonnus 136 n.73, 137–8 Nymphs and Hermes 31–46, 128, 131, 250–1, 342, 348 in cult 40–2, 44, 46, 342 n.21 and Pan 31–46, 342, 342 n.21, 250 Odysseus 130, 174, 179, 185, 186, 272 and Athena 73, 178 and Hermes 67, 69–76, 128–30, 215 in Phaeacia 75 Ogygia 71, 129 n.30, 129 n.33, 178, 180, 183 oios 247, 338 Orpheus 165, 168 Orphic hymns 151, 299, 344–6, 348 Ovid 130–2, 134–6, 139, 141–53, 328 n.26 Amores 141–53 Fasti 135, 142–5, 149–50 Metamorphoses 14–53, 131–2, P. Oxy. 17.2084 309–20 and encomium 310–20 Page 8 of 10

 

General Index and humor 317–18 and hymns 310–20 hymnal features 312 as parody 317 as rhetorical exercise 310 and the symposium 319 Pan, see Nymphs, and Pan Pandora 72, 327 n.22 parasite 109–10, 112 Paris 162–3, 240 Peitho 137 Peleus 17, 24, 25 n.38, 181 Penates 197 pergraecari 108 Persephone 79, 123, 182 n.28, 183, 348–50 Persius 194, 206 petasos 23–4, 200–1, 203, 237 n.30 Phaeacians 73–5, 175, 177, 179 phallic, see also ithyphallic 35, 43, 116, 122, 203–5, 232, 274, 277, 283, 326, 328 Pharae 241 Philippi 162–3, 169–70 Philology 138 Phrixus 175–6 Phrynichus 100–3, 110 n.9 Pindar 57, 130 n.40, 163, 312 Plato Comicus 101, 102 n.26, 103 Plautus 102 n.26, 107–17, 132, 166–7, 214 Plutarch 100–1, 137, 300, 313 polymechanos 72 polyonumos 343–4 polytropos 67–71, 84 polyumnos 343–4 pompimos, see also Hermes, as guide 272 Praxidikai 349–50 Priam 68–70, 102, 173 n.2, 181 n.21, 187–8 Priapus 122, 135 n.66, 135 n.67, 278, 281–3, 285, 287 and the sea 282–3 Prometheus 82 n.18, 113 n.14, 165–6 Pseudolus 111, 115–16 Psiax 14 Psyche 136–7 psychostasia 87 Ptolemies 281 Roman Comedy 109, 116, 166 Salaminoi Decree 22 Salmacis 134–5, 152 Samothrace 271–5, 277, 282, 283–7 mysteries of 271, 282 Saos Mountain, in Samothrace 273–4 Page 9 of 10

 

General Index Semnai Theai 331 Semonides 84 Siphnian Treasury 52–8 Sophilos 25, 27 Sophocles 103 Stock Characters 108–9, 114 Strabo 276, 284 Strattis 104, 110 n.9 Suda 151 n. 36, 151 n.40, 227 n. 5, 241 n.52, 329 n. 34 Symposium (of Plato) 319 sympotic context 79 n.3, 80–1, 319 Syrinx (nymph) 131–2, 150 Tabulae Iliacae 217 Tabula Iliaca Capitolina 217–18 Talleian cave 341–2 Telemachus 177 ter unus 338 Terence 109 tetragonos 227, 241, 300–1 tetradistai 83 Theoi Megaloi 271 Thetis 24, 25 n.38, 26, 177 n.11, 181 Thriai 329 n. 34, 347 Thoth 122, 297–303, 312–13, 317, 320 as creator 302 god of justice 301 and Hermes 122, 297–303, 312–13, 317, 320 inventor of writing 299 tragicomedy 114 Twelve Gods 61 n.29, 82 Altar of in Athens 62 founded by Herakles 62 in Olympia 62 tyrannos 344 (p.378) Vari Cave 31–5 Venus 129, 134–7, 142, 145, 150–3, 173, 177–9, 185, 201 Vergil 129, 141, 165, 173–88, 212–16, 273 Aeneid 129, 173–88, 212–21 Georgics 165 Villa dei Misteri 281 votives 31–46, 245–54, 282, 283 and women 249–51 Xenophanes 82, 100 Zaleukos 327

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