Poets and Poetics in Greek Literary Epigram

A dissertation submitted to the Graduate School of the University of Cincinnati in partial fulfillment of the requirements for the degree of

Doctor of Philosophy

in the Department of Classics by

Charles S. Campbell

B.A. Grinnell College M.A. University of Cincinnati

November, 2013

Committee Chair: Dr. Kathryn J. Gutzwiller, Ph.D.

1 Abstract This dissertation offers a new analysis of the treatment of poets and poetics in Greek literary epigram from the early Hellenistic Period (3rd century BCE) down to the early Roman Imperial Period (1st century CE). In their authorial self-representations (the poetic ego or literary persona), their representation of other poets, and their thematization of poetry more generally, literary epigrammatists define, and successively redefine, the genre of epigram itself against the background of the literary tradition. This process of generic self-definition begins with the earliest literary epigrammatists’ fusion of inscriptional epigram with elements drawn from other genres, sympotic and erotic poetry and heroic epic, and their exploitation of the formal and conceptual repertoire of epigram to thematize poetic discourse. With the consolidation of the epigrammatic tradition in the 2nd and 1st centuries BCE, the distinctively epigrammatic poetic discourse that had evolved in the 3rd century BCE was subsumed into the persona of the poet himself, who is now figured as the very embodiment of the epigrammatic tradition and genre. In the first century BCE, as epigram was transplanted from Greece to the new cultural context of Roman Italy, the figure of the epigrammatist served to articulate the place of both poetry and the poet in this new world.

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Table of Contents

Abbreviations iv Citation of Greek and Latin Texts v Introduction 1 Chapter 1: Creating a Poetic Discourse in Literary Epigram Introduction – Origins 12 Poetic Voices and Personae in Early Hellenistic Epigram: Nossis and Asclepiades 18 Persona and Poetics in Leonidas of Tarentum 31 Callimachus’ Epigrams and the Aetia Prologue 61 Alcaeus of Messene on Homer and Hesiod 78 Dioscorides on the History of Drama 86 Epigram, Objects, and Poetic Legacy in Posidippus 96 Chapter 2: Consolidating the Tradition Introduction – Rethinking Imitation and Variation 106 Part 1 – Antipater of Sidon’s Panorama of Greek Poets Antipater’s Ancient and Modern Reception 112 The Two Antipaters 117 Systems of Generic and Stylistic Classification 121 Stylistic Imagery 125 The εὔκρατος ἁρµονία – Epigrams on Homer and Stesichorus 128 The αὐστηρὰ ἁρµονία – Epigrams on Pindar, Aeschylus and Antimachus 135 Anacreon and the γλαφυρὰ ἁρµονία 142 Part 2 – Meleager and the Riddle of Epigram 153 Chapter 3: Transplanting the Tradition – Epigrammatists in First Century BCE Italy Introduction – From Meleager to Philip 170 “Occasional” Poetry 176 Case Studies in Formal Imitation (Gaetulicus AP 6.190 and Ariston AP 6.303 182 An Epigrammatic Invitation (Philodemus AP 11.44) 188 Crinagoras from Mitylene to Italy 198 Antipater of Thessalonica – The Epigrammatist as Provocateur 211 Poetry, Poverty, and Freedom – Antipater vs. Parmenion 222 Conclusion: The Epigrammatic Sensibility 236 Works Cited 251

iii Abbreviations AB Austin, C. and G. Bastianini, eds., 2002. Posidippi Pellaei omnia quae supersunt. Milan: LED. AP Palatine Anthology APl Planudean Anthology CA Powell, J. U., ed. 1925. Collectanea Alexandrina. Oxford: Clarendon Press. CEG Hansen, P., ed. 1983. Carmina epigraphica Graeca saeculorum VII-V a. Chr. n. Berlin: Walter de Gruyter. CEG2 Hansen, P., ed. 1989. Carmina epigraphica Graeca saeculi IV a. Chr. n. Berlin: Walter de Gruyter. FGE Page, D. L., ed. 1981. Further Greek Epigrams. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. GPh Gow, A. S. F. and D. L. Page, eds. 1965. The Greek Anthology: The Garland of Philip. 2 vols. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Galán Vioque Galán Vioque, G., ed. 2001. Dioscórides, Epigramas. Huelva: Universidad de Huelva. HE Gow, A. S. F. and D. L. Page, eds. 1968. The Greek Anthology: Hellenistic Epigrams. 2 vols. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. PMG Page, D. L., ed. 1962. Poetae Melici Graeci. Oxford: Clarendon Press. Pf. Pfeiffer, R., ed. 1949-1951. Callimachus. 2 vols. Oxford: Clarendon Press. RE Pauly, A., G. Wissowa, and W. Kroll, eds. 1893-1978. Realencylopädie der klassischen Altertumswissenschaft. Stuttgart: J. B. Metzler. Sens Sens, A., ed. 2011. Asclepiades of Samos: Epigrams and Fragments. Oxford: Oxford University Press. SGO Merkelbach, R. and J. Stauber, eds. 1998. Steinepigramme aus dem griechischen Osten. 5 vols. Stuttgart: B. G. Teubner. SH Lloyd-Jones, H. and P. Parsons, eds. 1983. Supplementum Hellenisticum. Berlin: Walter de Gruyter.

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Citation of Greek and Latin Texts For each ancient text that has been quoted at length, the edition from which the text is drawn is indicated in an abbreviation in parentheses (e.g. Text = HE). In cases where the text I print diverges from the edition of reference, the abbreviation for that edition is followed by an asterisk (e.g.: Text = HE*), and discrepancies are noted in an apparatus criticus. Also noted in the apparatus will be certain places where the edition of reference differs from the editorial communis opinio or other standard editions, or where an MS reading is of significance for my argument. All translations are my own unless otherwise noted.

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Introduction

Out of fifteen otherwise run-of-the-mill epigrams transmitted in the Greek

Anthology under the name of Parmenion, a poet of the early first century CE (probably), two stand out as the expression of an ethical and poetic manifesto:

AP 9.342 – Parmenion = GPh XI (text = GPh) φηµὶ πολυστιχίην ἐπιγράµµατος οὐ κατὰ Μούσας εἶναι· µὴ ζητεῖτ’ ἐν σταδίῳ δόλιχον· πόλλ’ ἀνακυκλοῦται δολίχου δρόµος, ἐν σταδίῳ δέ ὀξὺς ἐλαυνοµένοις πνεύµατός ἐστι τόνος.

I say that the writing of many lines does not accord with the Muses of Epigram.1 Don’t look for distance running in a sprint. The distance run turns many times, but in a sprint the runners must draw their breaths quickly.

AP 9.43 – Parmenion = GPh VI (text = GPh) ἀρκεῖ µοι χλαίνης λιτὸν σκέπας, οὐδὲ τραπέζαις δουλεύσω Μουσέων ἄνθεα βοσκόµενος. µισῶ πλοῦτον ἄνουν, κολάκων τροφόν, οὐδὲ παρ’ ὀφρὺν στήσοµαι· οἶδ’ ὀλίγης δαιτὸς ἐλευθερίην.

The humble covering of a cloak suffices for me, and I will not slave at banquets since I feed on the flowers of the Muses. I hate thoughtless wealth, nourishment of flatterers, and I will not stand at attention for the proud: I know the freedom of a humble meal.

On the face of it, nothing could be simpler. The first epigram deals with poetic form, the second with the life of the poet. Each of these reinforces the other: the unassuming brevity of the epigram reflects and conditions the poet’s equally unassuming lifestyle.

Poetic “smallness” (the opposite of πολυστιχίη, AP 9.342.1) goes hand in hand with an ethics of “smallness” embodied in simple clothing (χλαίνης λιτὸν σκέπας, AP 9.43.1) and food (ὀλίγης δαιτὸς, 9.43.4). The relative stylistic simplicity of the epigrams makes them seem all the more straightforward.

1 Or, perhaps, taking ἐπιγράµµατος with πολυστιχίην, “the epigram of many lines is not in accordance with the Muses’ will” (Gow-Page), similarly Soury apud Waltz.

Campbell Introduction 1

Upon closer scrutiny, however, this appearance of simplicity is upset. Even if we grant that brevity is naturally suited to epigram, it is surprising to find an appeal to the

“Muses of epigram” in support of this contention. It is equally surprising that Parmenion correlates his poetics with a particular lifestyle and ethical outlook at all.

The connection of poetry with the Muses, of course, is foundational in Greek literature. Different Muses, moreover, inspire different kinds of poetry. The various kinds of poetry they inspire are composed by different kinds of people whose poetry is a reflection of their personality and lifestyle.2 Broadly speaking, these were basic assumptions about the nature of poetic composition in the ancient Greek world. What is surprising in Parmenion, then, is not these assumptions themselves, but the application of them to epigram.

Long before Parmenion’s time, the Greeks had classified their literature according to generic types and identified authors who represented the best and quintessential paradigms of these types. Lists of canonical authors—the “approved” (ἐγκεκριµένοι)—in each genre were drawn up in the fourth and third centuries BCE, and by common consensus treated as fixed for all time.3 The lists were constituted in accordance with a conservative attitude that rigidly excluded contemporary poets and venerated age reflexively.4 This meant that epigram, which began to be written down in books and

2 Cf. Plat. Ion, 534 c4: τοῦτο µόνον οἷός τε ἕκαστος ποιεῖν καλῶς ἐφ᾽ ὃ ἡ Μοῦσα αὐτὸν ὥρµησεν, ὁ µὲν διθυράµβους, ὁ δὲ ἐγκώµια, ὁ δὲ ὑπορχήµατα, ὁ δ᾽ ἔπη, ὁ δ᾽ ἰάµβους. (“Each man can compose well only that towards which the Muse has stirred him; the one composes dithyrambs, another encomia, another pantomimes, another epic, and another iambs.”) 3 See the discussion of Pfeiffer, 1968, 203-9. 4 Cf. Quintilian, Inst. Or., 10.1.54: Aristarchus atque Aristophanes, poetarum iudices, neminem sui temporis in numerum redegerunt. (“Aristarchus and Aristophanes, the judges of poets, did not include in their enumeration anyone of their own time.”)

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connected with named authors only in the fourth century BCE, was always shut out.

Where then does Parmenion’s generically rooted self-representation come from?

Leaving aside AP 9.342 for the moment, let us look closer at AP 9.43.

Underpinning this bold statement of poetic program and “epigrammatic” ideology are several layers of literary tradition. In its two couplets, the epigram incorporates within itself a kind of “stratigraphy” of Greek poetry. The initial image, the χλαῖνη, recalls the archaic iambist Hipponax, who addresses a prayer to Hermes:

Hipponax fr. 32.4 West … δὸς χλαῖναν Ἱππώνακτι … “… Give a cloak to Hipponax …”

… and says in a rebuke (it is not clear to whom):

Hipponax fr. 34.1 West ἐµοὶ γὰρ οὐκ ἔδωκας οὔτέ κω χλαῖναν δασεῖαν ἐν χειµῶνι φάρµακον ῥίγεος … “For you did not even give me a rough cloak in winter as an antidote for the cold …”

In his poetry, Hipponax’ clothing is an important symbol of his social status, and by extension the status and genre of his poetry. His poverty is correlated with his stance as an outsider who directs invective poetry against various targets—note how in the second fragment the cloak itself becomes an occasion for invective.

Between Hipponax and Parmenion there are several further layers of tradition, each of which adds further shades of significance to the epigram. Two key figures of early Hellenistic epigram, Callimachus and Leonidas of Tarentum, provided Parmenion with additional inspiration. The first couplet of AP 9.43 was likely inspired by Leonidas’

AP 7.655, while the second echoes Callimachus, AP 12.43:

AP 7.655 – Leonidas of Tarentum = XVII HE

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ἀρκεῖ µοι γαίης µικρὴ κόνις, ἡ δὲ περισσή ἄλλον ἐπιθλίβοι πλούσια κεκλιµένον στήλη, τὸ σκληρὸν νεκρῶν βάρος. εἴ µε θανόντα γνώσοντ᾽, Ἀλκάνδρῳ τοῦτο τί Καλλιτέλευς;

A slight dusting of earth is sufficient for me. Let the extravagant gravestone, a troublesome weight for corpses, vex some other man opulently buried. What difference does it make to Alkandros the son of Kalliteles whether or not people know me now that I am dead?

AP 12.43 - Callimachus Ἐχθαίρω τὸ ποίηµα τὸ κυκλικὸν οὐδὲ κελεύθῳ χαίρω τὶς πολλοὺς ὧδε καὶ ὧδε φέρει· µισέω καὶ περίφοιτον ἐρώµενον, οὐδ᾽ ἀπὸ κρήνης πίνω· σικχαίνω πάντα τὰ δηµόσια. Λυσανίη σὺ δὲ ναίχι καλὸς καλός· ἀλλὰ πρὶν εἰπεῖν τοῦτο σαφῶς ἠχώ φησί τις ῾ἄλλος ἔχει᾽.

I hate the cyclic poem, and do not like the path that carries many hither and thither. I also loath the promiscuous beloved, nor do I drink from the public fountain. I detest all things common. And you, Lysanias, yes you are beautiful— beautiful! But before I’ve uttered this, an echo clearly says “another has him”.

Beyond mere formal similarity, each of these echoes turns out to be quite pointed. In

Callimachus’ epigram, as in Parmenion’s, statements about lifestyle and poetics blend into one another. Callimachus’ ethic of “privacy” applies as readily to the κυκλικὸν

ποίηµα of line 1 as it does to the boy Lysanias in line 5. Parmenion’s epigram makes a similar movement, shifting from the food of the opulent convivium (for this is what I think we are to imagine) to the metaphorical “food” of the Muses, that the poet, imagined as a bee, “harvests” and on which he subsists. Each epigram, then, treats poetry as one part of a larger statement of worldview.

The connection to Leonidas is somewhat more complex. Although Leonidas’ epigram seems clearly to have provided the model for Parmenion’s epigram, the tone of the two poems is quite different. The light humor of the Leonidean model has become,

Campbell Introduction 4

through the blending with the Callimachean model, a staunchly austere statement of poetic principles.5 What is the point of this invective turn and who is its target?

The answer may be found in an epigram of Antipater of Thessalonica, AP 9.92:

Antipater of Thessalonica AP 9.92 = II GPh (Text = GPh) ἀρκεῖ τέττιγας µεθύσαι δρόσος, ἀλλὰ πιόντες ἀείδειν κύκνων εἰσὶ γεγωνότεροι. ὣς καὶ ἀοιδὸς ἀνὴρ ξενίων χάριν ἀνταποδοῦναι ὕµνους εὐέρκταις οἶδε παθὼν ὀλίγα. τοὔνεκά σοι πρώτως µὲν ἀµείβοµεν· ἢν δ’ ἐθέλωσιν 5 Μοῖραι, πολλάκι µοι κείσεαι ἐν σελίσιν.

A little dew is enough to intoxicate cicadas, but when they drink it, they are louder singers than swans. So too a poet knows how to give poems as recompense to benefactors even when he has received just a little kindness. This is why I’ve written to you, and if the Moirai should wish it, you will often lie in my pages.

Whether Antipater wrote before Parmenion (as I think likely) or after, the two are separated by, at very most, about thirty years.6 So, on top of the archaic (Hipponax) and the early Hellenistic (Callimachus and Leonidas), Antipater’s poem may constitute yet another “stratigraphic layer” to the deceptively dense texture of Parmenion’s poem, this one dating to the early Imperial period. In stark contrast to Parmenion, Antipater emphasizes the interdependency of poet and benefactor, not just on the social level, but on the poetic level too. The patron has the power to stimulate the production of poetry and, in Antipater’s telling, will even feature in the book itself. Parmenion, by contrast, champions poetic independence against what he pictures as the life of a toadie, who must

5 Regarding the Leonidean epigram, Gutzwiller, 1998a, 101, remarks, “The irony of the … epigram is especially choice, for there the deceased names himself in a poem that protests any need for the naming or for an inscribed context where the name may be read.” 6 The information we have about Antipater’s life and times will be discussed in Chapter 3 below. Parmenion’s epigrams, unlike Antipater’s, do not contain any historically dateable references.

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“slave” at banquets. At the end of this study, we will examine the relationship between

Antipater and Parmenion in greater detail. For now, it will suffice to say that the two poets present sharply opposing views of the world and the place of poetry within it, and it is plausible that it was Antipater’s ostentatious appeal for patronage that prompted

Parmenion’s invective outburst.

The purpose of this brief analysis of Parmenion’s epigrams has been to broach the basic questions about literary epigram that will be explored in this dissertation and to illustrate some of the methods I will use to answer them. Where does a generically defined epigrammatic poetic voice come from, how does it develop, and what are its literary functions? I will argue that the answer lies in the nexus of poetic discourse, that is the thematization of poetry and poetics in epigram, and authorial self-representation, the self-assertion of the author as a figure who presides over and unifies the diverse poems.

In examining the representation of poets in epigram, my study builds upon and refines the scholarly discussion of Hellenistic poets’ engagement with their literary past.

Since the beginning of the 20th century, scholars have placed phenomena such as generic hybridization and experimentation that typify the Greek literature of the late fourth and early third centuries BCE within the context of a larger shift away from old cultural and political forms, i.e. the dominance of the polis, and the rise of cosmopolitan literary centers.7 These changes, it has been argued, gave rise to a sense of “belatedness” relative

7 Kroll, 1924, 202: “Die Literatur löst sich vom Boden der Landschaft und vom Dialekt; das ergab sich aus der Auflösung der alten Polis und aus dem Entstehen von Literaturzentren zuerst in Athen, dann auch in nichtgriechischen Ländern (Alexandreia).” This seems to belie the claim of Klooster, 2011, 44, that Kroll, ignoring the importance of social and political factors, viewed the literary developments of the Hellenistic period as

Campbell Introduction 6

to the literature produced under the old order(s).8 Furthermore, under the patronage of the various Hellenistic monarchs there appeared new institutions supporting both the study and the composition of literary works. Poets might find themselves literally surrounded by works of earlier literature in a way they never had been before, and were often themselves engaged both in scholarly study and poetic composition.9 This change is reflected on the level of metaphor in the persistent focus on the written text rather than oral performance as a medium for poetry.10 In this new context, composing poetry could no longer be imagined as the seamless transmission of tradition from one generation to the next. The very terms of poetic composition had to be reconceived.

It should come as no surprise that epigram, with its intrinsic “memorializing impulse,”11 offered an attractive vehicle for the representation of the new relationship

Greeks had to their past, and a way to come to terms with a period that was in some sense definitively “over”—an object of memory rather than immediate experience.12 Indeed,

born from “a wish for originality tout court”. Barchiesi, 2001, a valuable examination and critique of the theoretical background of Kroll’s essay, compares Kroll’s model of generic mixture to “a scientific experiment in an ivory laboratory” (p. 152), but at the same time draws attention to the political/cultural dimensions of his argument (esp. pp. 151 and 153). Cf. Bing, 1988a, esp. 17. For valuable critiques and caveats, including a fresh examination of the ideas of generic contamination and experimentation, see Fantuzzi in Fantuzzi-Hunter, 2004, 17-41. 8 Hunter in Fantuzzi-Hunter, 2004, 50. 9 Cf. Klooster, 2011, 45-46. Cf., for instance, on the exemplary and prototypical case of Philitas of Cos, Spanoudakis, 2002, 68-72. 10 This is not to say that we should take this textual obsession as a simple reflection of the reality of poetic reception in the early Hellenistic period. None of the cultural changes I have mentioned, including the publication of poetry in papyrus scrolls, was by any means new. (Hunter in Fantuzzi-Hunter, 2004, 18-19, for instance, draws attention to ideas of generic contamination already in Plato and Timotheus.) Nor was any of the changes between the past and the present states of affairs total. The difference was in the intensity and confluence of these processes at the end of the fourth century BCE. 11 The phrase belongs to Bing, 1993a, 620. 12 Bing, 1988b, cf. Bing, 1993a.

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the beginning of the 3rd century BCE saw a proliferation of epigrams about poets, most of them fictional epitaphs celebrating the great figures of the archaic and classical periods.13

The Hellenistic obsession with the past should not be thought of as simple antiquarianism. It was motivated instead by contemporary concerns, and in epigram, at least, by the desire to create a new poetic form that would take its place alongside earlier, established literary genres. As Bing aptly says of the tradition of epigrams about poets:

“the entire Hellenistic vogue for poems on past poetic greats … shares a common impulse with the great comtemporary projects of literary classification, such as the Pinakes of Callimachus: namely, the wish, on the one hand, to engage the past, to give it its due through painstaking contemplation … but also the need to assert control, to master a past that was viewed as unattainably, at times oppressively distinguished.”14

Contemplation of the past was, in other words, far from disinterested. Instead, as

Klooster has recently argued, discourse about poetry functions for Hellenistic poets as both a “window” offering a view to the past, and “mirror” in which to see a reflection of the present.15

Where my work departs from studies of “Hellenistic literature” à la Bing and others, however, is in its focus on how authors working in a particular literary genre, epigram, engage with the literary past and with poetic discourse in general, and the influence of this generic form on how these topics are treated. In what sense, that is, is the representation of poetic subjects in epigram distinctly epigrammatic? What literary functions do such representations serve in epigram collections? Such questions would have seemed absurd until only fairly recently, since epigrams were for a long time treated

13 Some of this material was gathered and commented on in the still very useful study of Gabathuler, 1937. 14 Bing, 1988b, 123. 15 See in general Klooster, 2011.

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more like documents than as poems in their own right.16 More recently, however, the work of Gutzwiller has called our attention to the poetic dimensions of the epigrams themselves, the poetic agenda of their authors, and the importance of reading epigrams as parts of larger poetic wholes.17 Building upon these insights, my readings aim to illustrate the various possibilities individual poets found in epigram as a form of poetic expression, how they developed them, and how their innovations influenced the subsequent development of the genre in the hands of others.

This study traces the threads of poetic discourse and poetic self-representation through three phases, beginning with the early 3rd century BCE and concluding with the early 1st century CE. It charts the process by which the two threads came first to be intertwined and then how epigrammatic poetic discourse comes to be subsumed within the figure of the poet himself, the epigrammatist as the embodiment of the epigrammatic genre. The first chapter examines the poetic persona or poetic ego in early Hellenistic epigram alongside epigrams in which other poets and their works are represented and assessed. I argue that in their self-representational poems, as in their representations of others, the epigrammatists engage in a process of “recasting” the elements of the earlier poetic tradition, the great figures and works of the archaic and classical periods, into a new generic mold, combining elements from earlier genres with the forms and concepts of inscribed epigram. The representation of the poetic self and the representation of others in epigram thus comes to serve as a vehicle for a new, literary definition of the

16 Many examples could be cited, but fairly recent and exemplary is Cameron, 1995, 401, on Callimachus HE LV, an epigram on the Oechaliae Halosis of Creophylus. Cameron regards the poem as a genuine epigraph meant for Callimachus’ personal copy of the poem or perhaps a library copy. 17 Especially the groundbreaking Poetic Garlands (Gutzwiller, 1998a), to which I will make frequent reference particularly in the first half of the study.

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epigrammatic genre, or, in other words, as a means for individual poets to define their conception of epigram as a form against the background of the archaic and classical tradition.

The second chapter charts the consolidation—the gathering up and the synthesis—of the 3rd century tradition in the works of two key later figures, Antipater of

Sidon and Meleager of Gadara. In Antipater’s case, I argue, this synthesis is represented in the construction of a large epigram group providing a panoramic overview of the great figures of the literary past that is, at the same time, a compendious gathering of

Antipater’s own models in the genre of epigram itself. In his Garland, an epochal work in the history of the genre, Meleager puts Antipater’s obsessive engagement with earlier poetic models in the service of a new conception of the epigrammatist as a generically defined poetic subject whose persona is the complete expression of epigram as a poetic form. Meleager’s fusion of poetics and the poetic self redefined epigram at its core. For

Meleager, epigram was not, or not necessarily, reducible to a set of formal rules, much less a set of inscriptional types and topoi, but a “sensibility”, a way of viewing poetry and human life.

The final chapter studies the development of epigram in the first centuries BCE and CE, in the wake of the publication of Meleager’s Garland. While scholarly accounts have tended to focus on discontinuity and a decline in quality in epigram of this period, I show that epigrammatists at this time engage with the earlier tradition in much richer and more complex ways than has previously been realized. The resulting picture is of a concerted process of generic transplantation, undertaken by a number of key figures, including Philodemus, Crinagoras, and Antipater of Thessalonica, by which epigram was

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introduced and acclimated to the cultural context of Roman Italy. I argue that epigrammatists created new kinds of poetic personae in order to fit into this new context, weaving together elements of earlier epigrammatic models, above all Callimachus and

Leonidas of Tarentum, using techniques of textual imitation and variation learned from

Antipater of Sidon and Meleager. As heirs of Meleager, I argue that these poets embody the epigrammatic tradition in themselves, and their poetic personae constitute different

“recipes” for the integration not only of the genre of epigram, but also Greek poetry and

Greek poets into Roman life.

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Chapter 1 Creating a Poetic Discourse in Literary Epigram Introduction - Origins The earliest Greek epigrams (ἐπιγράµµατα) were carved on objects— tombstones, statues, or pieces of pottery, for instance—starting, as far as we know, around the middle of the 8th century BCE.18 They served to explain the significance of their objects, commemorating dedications to the gods, victories in competitions, and the lives of the deceased.19 Although basically functional in nature, even from the earliest period epigrams had an aesthetic dimension and inherited a great deal in terms of content, diction, and meter from the high literary tradition, especially Homeric epic.20 For instance, one of the earliest Greek inscriptions (whether prose or verse), the famous “Cup of Nestor” from Pithecusae (CEG 454) dated to ca. 715 BCE, carries a prominent reference to the cup of Nestor as described at Iliad 11.63-637.21

By the fifth century BCE, a process of “Entlapidisierung”22 had begun whereby originally inscriptional poems and forms were separated from their material contexts, giving rise to new possibilities for meaning. Poems originally carved on objects began to find new homes in books; real or alleged inscriptions were incorporated into literary

18 Archaic and classical verse-inscriptions are gathered in Hansen’s collections, CEG and CEG2. Cf. Gutzwiller, 1998a, 1, n.1, and 2, n.2. On the history of the term ἐπίγραµµα, see Puelma, 1996 and 1997. 19 Cf. Baumbach, Petrovic, and Petrovic, 2010, 4. 20 On the aesthetic dimensions of early epigrams and their connection with higher genres such as epic and choral lyric, see, for instance, Vestrheim, 2010, and Trümpy, 2010. 21 On the text and interpretation of the Nestor’s cup inscription see the discussion in Wachter, 2010, 252-254. 22 The term is derived from Baumbach, Petrovic, and Petrovic, eds. 2010.

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works such as the Histories of Herodotus and the dialogues of Plato.23 Meanwhile certain authors, most notably Simonides, came to be known for their authorship of epigrams.24 Starting in the fourth century we also know, if almost entirely at second- hand, of works in which numerous epigrams of the same type were gathered together systematically.25 These new book contexts gave rise to subtle new twists on the old inscriptional forms. The epitaphs for heroes contained in the Peplos attributed to

Aristotle, for instance, offer examples of new epigrammatic forms clearly based upon, yet distinct from real inscriptions, with a purpose and significance transcending any particular locale.26

The process by which inscriptional forms came to be divorced from objects and to find a new context in books (not to mention in oral culture), had thus already taken many complicated turns by the end of the fourth century BCE, which the present study takes as its beginning. As a result, poets at this time had available to them epigrams which had been divorced from any inscriptional context, and which could therefore be manipulated in ingenious new ways. Accordingly, rather than seeing literary epigram at this stage as in some sense determined by inscriptional forms, we should instead think of epigram as rather the limit case of a widespread tendency to self-consciously exploit the ideas of

23 On the incorporation of epigrams into pre-Hellenistic literary works see Petrovic, 2007. 24 Cf. Cameron, 1993, 1. 25 Cf. Cameron, 1993, 1-2. 26 Cf. Gutzwiller, 2010, 222: “these heroic epitaphs can be distinguished … both from inscribed epitaphs, which are characterized by more local and private concerns, and from the ‘literary’ epitaphs of the Hellenistic age, which were sometimes built on allusions to the well-known heroic epitaphs of the past.”

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writing and writtenness for poetic purposes.27 It is within this larger literary and cultural context that we must approach the experiments of the later fourth century epigrammatists.

The inscriptional tradition nevertheless continued to provide fourth century epigrammatists with concepts and forms with which to experiment. Some new, literary elements in epigram, for instance, arose from the ambiguities opened up by the very absence of the object to which the epigram originally referred. These ambiguities were exploited even further in epigrams written for circulation in books that nevertheless still maintained the fiction of being attached to an object. Bing has argued that a significant part of the intellectual appeal of early literary epigram was the demand it placed on the reader to actively construct the object and context to which a given poem was supposed to refer, a process he calls “Ergänzungspiel”.28

From the standpoint of content too, early literary epigram involves an exploration of elements already found in inscriptional poems. Literary epigram’s roots in archaic and classical verse inscriptions, for instance, obviously account for the composition of copious literary epitaphs and dedications, the outwardly formulaic character of literary epigrams, and for a playful use of quasi- or para-epigraphic vocabulary even in poems lacking any epigraphic conceit (on which more below).

These elements of continuity with the tradition of inscribed epigram coexist, however, alongside rather dramatic generic ruptures and innovations, such as the

27 On the importance of writing, writtenness, and inscription as metaphors for the changing nature of literary practice in the Hellenistic world, cf. Bing, 1988a, 17: “[Epigram] no longer has to be inscribed since all poetry has moved in the direction of epigram: a poem is now always an inscription.” 28 Bing, 1995.

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seemingly sudden appearance of epigrams on sympotic and erotic subjects.29 Hellenistic epigrammatists could, after all, have contented themselves with producing clever poems hewing to the same forms as their inscribed predecessors and exploiting the gaps between stone- and book-inscriptions.30 Instead, in addition to breaking away from the constraints of real objects, they also began to enrich the epigrammatic tradition by combining its typical forms, motifs, and themes with material drawn from other literary genres and spheres of life. AP 5.181, by Asclepiades, offers a vivid illustration of the sophisticated pay with genre that typifies literary epigram already from an early stage:

AP 5.181 – Asclepiades = HE XXV (Text = Sens) τῶν †καρίων† ἡµῖν λάβε †κώλακας†· ἀλλά ποθ’ ἥξει; καὶ πέντε στεφάνους τῶν ῥοδίνων. τί, τὸ πάξ; οὐ φῂς κέρµατ’ ἔχειν; διολώλαµεν. οὐ τροχιεῖ τις τὸν Λαπίθην; λῃστήν, οὐ θεράποντ’ ἔχοµεν. οὐκ ἀδικεῖς οὐδέν; φέρε τὸν λόγον. ἐλθὲ λαβοῦσα, 5 Φρύνη, τὰς ψήφους. ὢ µεγάλου κινάδους· πέντ’ οἶνος δραχµῶν, ἀλλᾶς δύο ̶ ⏑ ⏑ ̶ x ὦτα, λέγεις, σκόµβροι, †θέσµυκες†, σχάδονες. αὔριον αὐτὰ καλῶς λογιούµεθα. νῦν δὲ πρὸς Αἴσχραν τὴν µυρόπωλιν ἰὼν πέντε λάβ’ ἀργυρέας· 10 εἰπὲ δὲ σηµεῖον, Βάκχων ὅτι πέντ’ ἐφίλησεν ἑξῆς, ὧν κλίνη µάρτυς ἐπεγράφετο.

Buy … for us—will he ever come? And five rose garlands. What do you mean, ‘enough’? Are you saying you don’t have any change? We’re done for. Someone put the Lapith on the rack! We’ve got a bandit, not a servant. You’re not doing anything wrong? Bring the account. Get the abacus, Phryne, and bring it here. What a great rogue! Wine for five drachmas, sausage for two… ears, mackerel, hare (?), honeycomb. Tomorrow we’ll reckon everything exactly. For now, go to Aeschra the unguent-seller and get five silver (oil flasks). Tell her as proof of your status that Bacchon embraced her five times in a row, for which the bed was inscribed as a witness.

29 Cf. Cameron, 1993, 2. 30 Such as, for instance, the epigrams of Perses as read by Tueller, 2008, 58-61.

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(Translation = Sens, 2011.)

There is nothing about this epigram that is inscriptional in nature; instead, as Gow and

Page say, it is a miniature mime.31 Yet this poem fits perfectly into the sympotic ambience of Asclepiades’ other epigrams, depicting the preparations for a symposium

(just as other epigrams depict the komos that follows). Furthermore, when read in the context of these other epigrams, the poem will be seen to gesture playfully towards truly

“epigraphic” poetry with its final verb ἐπεγράφετο, which is here used in its technical legal sense, “to be placed on a list of witnesses”.32 This nicety seems to draw the reader’s attention to the generic mixture Asclepiades has created. As Sens remarks, “the only object inscribed in Asclep.’s epigram is the bed, and that only by the marks of love- making.”33 Asclepiades is in complete control of his generic resources here, and rather than being constrained by inscriptional forms he invokes them only in order to create a pleasing ambiguity within another generic context.34

31 Gow-Page compare the epigram to the hexameter mimes of Theocritus, which present a similar generic puzzle. Cf. also Sens, 2011, xlviii, on the epigram’s use of the style of mime. 32 On the legal usage cf. Gow-Page ad loc. This kind of “para-epigraphic” play—that is the use in epigram of language appropriate to an epigraphic context within a different semantic context where it is nevertheless equally at home—is a phenomenon that will reappear again and again in the epigrams of Meleager, discussed below. 33 Sens, 2011, 172. 34 On the generic enrichment of epigram in the third century BCE, cf. Cameron, 1993, 2- 3. Fantuzzi, in Fantuzzi and Hunter, 2004, connects the fusion of epigram and sympotic poetry to forms of sympotic writing such as καλός-inscriptions. See esp. 285: “… it may therefore be that the first generation of ‘literary’ epigrammatists in the first half of the third century, who had behind them not a fixed genre with its topoi and conventions, but rather the unlimited cultural and literary heritage of the past, thought of their texts as a meeting-point between the sympotic practice of composing and reading graffiti on vases and the refined literary forms elaborated in the sympotic genres of archaic poetry.”

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The most significant and problematic new voice or “character” to appear in late fourth and early third century epigram, however, is that of the poet him/herself. Whereas in earlier genres the role of the poet, and the poetic persona, were defined or conditioned by the performative context for which poets composed and (later) by an earlier generic tradition to which they could seamlessly refer, the earliest literary epigrammatists were in quite a different situation. Seen against the background of inscribed epigram and its semi-literary offshoots, the appearance of the epigrammatist as a figure within his or her own work presents a paradox. As Gutzwiller puts it, “the [inscriptional] epigrammatist, unlike the praise poet, never took up the custom of vocalizing his own participation in the praise … . The proper stance of the epigrammatist … is to have no stance at all.”35 This is because inscriptional forms provided only very limited resources for authorial self- representation. Tueller has drawn attention to the highly constrained template of basic speaking voices (“characters” in his terms) available to the inscriptional epigrammatist: the grave or the dedicated object speaks; the deceased person or the dedicator speaks; or the divinity that receives a dedication speaks.36 The voice of the poet, if involved at all, must be “hidden” beneath one of these categories.

Starting in the fourth century, we first begin to find epigrams carved on stone along with attributions of authorship (the earliest we know of is CEG 819.iii, by Ion of

Chios).37 At about the same time, meanwhile, certain epigrammatists began to write themselves into their own works as authorial figures, and in so doing collectively

35 Gutzwiller, 1998a, 11. Cf. Tueller, 2008, 54. 36 On these “characters” in archaic and classical inscribed epigrams see Tueller, 2008, 12- 15. 37 On this inscription, see Fantuzzi, in Fantuzzi-Hunter, 2004, 290-291.

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expanded and redefined epigram as a literary genre. The first part of this study will explore in detail how three early literary epigrammatists—Nossis, Asclepiades, and

Leonidas of Tarentum—created authorial personae for themselves through a melding of inscriptional elements with elements drawn from other literary genres.

Poetic Voices and Personae in Early Hellenistic Epigram: Nossis and Asclepiades

Foucault has remarked that the name of an author serves to distance discourse from everyday speech, marking it out as belonging to a certain mode. The author’s name, that is, marks out the work as different from everyday speech in the same way as stylistic devices such as the use of archaism. Foucault follows this observation with an important specification:

“The author’s name manifests the appearance of a certain discursive set and indicates the status of this discourse within a society and a culture. It has no legal status, nor is it located in the fiction of the work; rather, it is located in the break that founds a certain discursive construct and its very particular mode of being.”38 [Emphasis added.]

The status of the literary work within society and culture is all the more important when the reception of the work is envisioned as primarily through books and reading. The authorial figure within the text then as it were steps into the gap between the written text and the contexts in which it may be enunciated. In Foucault’s account, the authorial voice looks inward, unifying disparate elements of the text through a kind of focalization, and also outward, situating the new work within the world formed by other texts.39

38 Foucault’s essay is cited from the translation in Rabinow, 1984, 107. 39 On the authorial voice as an organizing force within collections of epigrams, cf. Gutzwiller, 1998a, 12-13.

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All of the early Hellenistic epigrammatists share a common interest in the expressive possibilities of inscribed forms, but they bring these into combination with a very wide variety of elements drawn from other literary genres and areas of life, sympotic and erotic lyric, elegy, drama, popular philosophical discourse, and so on. In the process, the inscriptional elements as well as those elements drawn from other genres undergo a kind of mutual transformation, rendering the result greater than the sum of its generic parts. The formal and conceptual apparatus of epigram, that is, act as a kind of filter through which the other generic elements are passed. As they are refracted, they take on qualities that are distinctly “epigrammatic” without any longer being strictly tied to inscriptional form. These include focused concision, closure, and pointedness—the sense that something is being said in a compendious way, and somehow fixed for all time.40

I will take as my first case study Nossis, a native of Epizephyrian Locri, who lived and wrote in the late fourth or early third century BCE.41 Among a scant twelve extant epigrams attributed to her are two in which she speaks to us explicitly in her own voice:

AP 5.170 – Nossis = I HE42 Ἅδιον οὐδὲν ἔρωτος, ἃ δ’ ὄλβια δεύτερα πάντα ἐστίν· ἀπὸ στόµατος δ’ ἔπτυσα καὶ τὸ µέλι. τοῦτο λέγει Νοσσίς· τίνα δ’ ἁ Κύπρις οὐκ ἐφίλασεν οὐκ οἶδεν κήνα τἄνθεα ποῖα ῥόδα.

40 See Gutzwiller, 1998a, 8: “As a statement that must define its subject for all time, and in a form short enough to be engraved on stone, the epigram developed the distinctive traits not only of brevity and restraint but also of appearing to have the last word.” 41 General studies in Gigante 1974; Gutzwiller 1997b, and 1998a, 74-87; Skinner, 1989 and 1991; Bowman, 1998 (with special attention to epigrams I and XI HE). 42 The text is identical to that of HE except for that, where Gow-Page obelize κῆνα τ᾽ (4), I follow Gutzwiller in printing κήνα τἄνθεα (based on the κηνατανθεα transmitted by P).

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Nothing is sweeter than love. Everything desirable is second to it. I spit even honey from my mouth. This is what Nossis says. But the one whom Cypris has not loved, that woman does not know what sort of flowers roses are.43

AP 7.718 - Nossis = XI HE (Text = HE) Ὤ ξεῖν᾽, εἰ τύ γε πλεῖς ποτὶ καλλίχορον Μιτυλήναν τᾶν Σαπφοῦς χαρίτων ἄνθος ἐναυσόµενος, εἰπεῖν ὡς Μούσαισι φίλαν τήνᾳ τε Λοκρὶς γᾶ τίκτε µ᾽· ἴσαις δ᾽ ὅτι µοι τοὔνοµα Νοσσίς, ἴθι.

Oh stranger, if you are sailing to fair Mitylene to harvest the blossom of Sappho’s Graces, say that Locri bore me, one dear to the Muses and to her. Knowing that my name is Nossis, go.

It has been plausibly supposed that the epigrams were intended as introduction and epilogue (respectively) to Nossis’ collected epigrams.44 The use of the priamel in the first epigram, and the epitaphic, valedictory, form of the second reinforce the poems’ supposed positions at the beginning and end of a hypothetic single-author collection. In addition to the repetition of the author’s name, the prominent floral motifs in each poem

(τἄνθεα ποῖα ῥόδα, AP 5.170.4; τᾶν Σαπφοῦς χαρίτων ἄνθος, AP 7.718.2) and the equally prominent verbs of speaking (λέγει; εἰπεῖν) give the sense that the two epigrams complement or balance one another. Finally, the objective tone of AP 5.170, especially the phrase τοῦτο λέγει (AP 5.170.3), adds to the sense that this poem is meant to be

Nossis’ definitive poetic pronouncement.45 Positioned at the “boundaries” of the poetry book, we will see, AP 5.170 and 7.718 serve to mediate between the epigrams the book comprises and the larger literary tradition.

43 Trans. adapted from Gutzwiller, 1998a, 76. 44 Cf. Gutzwiller, 1998a, 75 and 85. 45 Skinner, 1989, 5.

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Through a dense web of associations, the epigrams invoke a set of literary models—Hesiod, Erinna, and above all Sappho—that serve to claim a place for Nossis’ epigrams within the tradition at the same time as they characterize their content. They frame the collection as focused on the world of women, their social relations and

(importantly) the bonds of friendship, family, and sympathy that bind them together. In addition to laying a claim to literary glory, they thus serve as a kind of protocol, providing the reader with a set of associations to guide his or her reading and appreciation of the poems.46

AP 5.170 is densely laden with allusive connections. The priamel in the first epigram, with its ranking of love objects, draws the reader’s attention inevitably back to

Sappho, fr. 16 Lobel-Page, particularly the first four lines:

ο]ἰ µὲν ἰππήων στρότον οἰ δὲ πέσδων οἰ δὲ νάων φαῖσ’ ἐπ[ὶ] γᾶν µέλαι[ν]αν ἔ]µµεναι κάλλιστον, ἔγω δὲ κῆν’ ὄτ ‑ [ ]τω τις ἔραται· … Some say an army of cavalry, others one of infantry others one of ships, is the most beautiful thing on the dark earth. But I say it is that which one loves.

The priamel form and the embrace of Eros serve to acknowledge Sappho as a poetic model, but there are still more layers to the allusion. With the emphatic rejection of honey we move beyond the Sapphic background—the positive model—and toward a rejection of other forms of poetry, subject matter, and models. Based on similarities with the beginning of the Theogony (lines 96-7), Gutzwiller has argued that the other poet

Nossis implies here is probably to be understood as Hesiod, who claims that sweet honey

46 The function of the epigrams as a kind of protocol is emphasized by Bowman, 1998.

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flows from the mouth of the one beloved by the Muses.47 Wrapped up in this allusion to

Hesiod, moreover, may be a further reference to the “womens’ tradition” in Greek poetry, specifically the fourth-century female poet Erinna.48 Her Distaff, ostensibly written as a song of morning for the poet’s deceased friend Baucis, along with the epigrams attributed to her, may have served as a more proximate model for Nossis’ own depiction of the world of female relationships.49

In articulating this complex relationship between Nossis and the wider world of

Greek literature, the introductory and closing epigrams take on an interesting hybridized quality, a blending of the inscriptional and the non-inscriptional, that is itself a mark of their mediating function. Nossis, as an authorial figure presiding over the epigrams, emerges through this fusion. This authorial voice, in turn, informs our reading of the epigrams: epigrammatic praise takes on an erotic coloring because the authorial voice has already demonstrated this move before our eyes, taking epigraphic forms and

“expanding” or “reenergizing” them by drawing on other traditions.

Particularly in the closing piece, we can see this process play out in the modification of multiple traditional elements from inscribed verse. The epigram begins like an epitaph—the incipit, ὢ ξεῖν’ is common in inscriptions and will perhaps have reminded readers especially of Simonides’ epitaph for the Spartan dead at

Thermopylae—but then goes on to play ingeniously with the types of information this

47 See Gutzwiller, 1998a, 76: “Hesiod’s ‘sweet song’ … stands as the direct antecedent of the ‘honey’ that Nossis spits from her mouth. In her introductory manifesto, then, Nossis rejects the inspiration of Hesiodic epic, so proudly maintained by contemporary poets like Aratus and Callimachus, in favor of a tradition of more personal, erotic verse.” 48 On the “women’s tradition,” see Bowman, 2004. 49 Cf. Gutzwiller, 1998a, 76-9.

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encoding leads us to expect, the name of the deceased, her birthplace, and her family. As

Bowman’s concise analysis shows, Nossis makes Sappho her “family”, and Mitylene her

“real home”.50 Rather than news of her death, we hear instead news of her literary talent, and of how she was dear to the Muses, who take the place we would have expected to be occupied by mourners. In short, Nossis has imbued the epigram, with its built-in apparatus for praise and mourning, with a set of associations derived from her poetic models—feminine social bonds underwritten by an all-embracing eros.

If we did not possess Nossis’ introductory and concluding poems, it would probably be possible to read the (meager) remnants of her work without thinking too much of Eros or Sappho. Her poems comprise epitaphs and dedications which would have been suitable for inscription (whether they actually were or not), and while they do prominently feature females, this is as far as the obvious parallels with the two sphragistic epigrams go. In the two other early epigrammatists I will take as my case studies, Asclepiades and Leonidas of Tarentum, we are in a considerably better position to see how the construction of the authorial persona relates to the contents of the book.

Both of these epigrammatists, moreover, provide even more extensive illustrations of the intermixing of elements drawn from inscribed epigram and from other generic sources.

Asclepiades presents us with a world of sympotic revelry and erotic passion, unified both by subject matter and poetic voice. This “world” is articulated in a series of discrete moments (i.e. different epigrams) which are crystallized, often in a quite piercing way, through a well of energy drawn from the tradition of inscribed epigram. AP 12.46

50 See Bowman, 1998, 40-41. Cf. Gutzwiller, 1998a, 86, “… Nossis sends a message of her birth across both temporal and spatial seas to her poetic mother Sappho.”

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offers an interesting starting point for considering how Asclepiades constructs the speaking-voices in his epigrams, what generic ingredients he uses, and the result they yield when cooked together:

AP 12.46 – Asclepiades = XV HE (Text = Sens.) οὐκ εἴµ᾽ οὐδ᾽ ἐτέων δύο κεἴκοσι, καὶ κοπιῶ ζῶν· ὤρωτες, τί κακὸν τοῦτο; τί µε φλέγετε; ἢν γὰρ ἐγώ τι πάθω, τί ποιήσετε; δῆλον, Ἔρωτες, ὡς τὸ πάρος παίξεσθ᾽ ἄφρονες ἀστραγάλοις.

I am not yet twenty-two and I’m sick of living! O, Erotes, what kind of evil is this? Why do you burn me? For what will you do if something should happen to me? I suppose, Erotes, that you will play thoughtlessly at dice as you did before.

A young man bewails the fickleness of Eros.51 It has often been pointed out that the epigram begins like a sepulchral inscription, with the speaker a typical παῖς ἄωρος.52

This expectation, however, goes unfulfilled, since at the end of the first line we learn that the speaker is not dead but merely “sick of living”. According to Tueller, with this revelation, “the sepulchral motif fades somewhat”.53 Rather than merely fading, however, it seems more apt to say that the motif is shattered: we find that where we had expected one “character” (to use Tueller’s term)—the voice of the deceased—what we

51 Sens, 2011, analyzes this and other Asclepiadean voices as thumbnail character sketches, in which the poet creates an ironic distance between himself and the speaker of the epigram (see esp. Sens, 2011, xlix-l). In other epigrams, this may well be Asclepiades’ procedure, but there seem to be consistencies between this and a few other poems by Asclepiades and the sphragistic AP 12.50 to encourage the reader to infer that the author is the speaker. Ultimately, however, what is important for my purposes is the use of certain techniques of character-drawing, regardless of whether we believe this to be the “authorial voice” or not. 52 So, e.g., Sens, 2011, 98, who cites the rather close parallel GVI 1576.7-8. 53 Tueller, 2008, 128.

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find is another character entirely—the “young man”—drawn not from inscribed epigram but from the world of New Comedy.54

Rather than rely on the conventions of inscribed epigram, then, Asclepiades here creates a speaking voice based upon a tropos or “manner of speaking” recognizable to the reader. In the second book of the Rhetoric, Aristotle discusses the characters (ἤθη) typical of youths (νέοι), old men (πρεσβύτεροι), and men in their prime (ἀκµάζοντες).55

He connects these characters with certain typical manners of speaking (τρόποι).

Aristotle sets up the character of the young and old as polar opposites, conceiving that of the man in the prime of life as a mean between the two.

This is the character of the youth:

“The young, as to character, are ready to desire and to carry out what they desire. Of the bodily pleasures they chiefly obey those of sensual pleasure and these they are unable to control. Changeable in their desires and soon tiring of them, they desire with extreme ardor, but soon cool; for their will, like the hunger and thirst of the sick, is keen rather than strong. They are passionate, hot-tempered, and carried away by impulse, and unable to control their passion … They are not ill- natured, but simple-natured … confiding, because they have as yet not been often deceived … .” (3-8)

This is consistent in its essentials with Asclepiades’ emotional outburst at AP 12.46, where Sens aptly remarks on the speaker’s “misguided naïveté”.56 The lover figures himself as the “plaything” of the Erotes, who carelessly toy with him in lieu of knuckle- bones. Their fickleness takes on an added dimension when we read this poem alongside

Asclepiades’ other erotic epigrams. Here, we find that this young lover is equally fickle

54 On the influence of New Comedy upon Asclepiades, see Sens, 2011, xlvi-xlviii. At the stylistic level, I would point to the use of assonance and alliteration, carefully situated within lines and couplets, which, if not generically comic, at any rate add to the distinctiveness of the voice: οὐκ … οὐδ … κείκοσι καὶ κοπιῶ (1); τί τοῦτο … τί (2); ἐγὼ τι παθῶ, τί ποιήσετε (3); πάρος παίξεσθ᾽ ἄφρονες ἀστραγάλοις (4). 55 The entire discussion runs from II.12.3-14 (=1389a-1390b). 56 Sens, 2011, l. Cf. Campbell, 2011, 369.

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in his own affections, no matter how strongly-felt they may be at any given moment (i.e. in any given epigram).

I would argue that we find the same tropos speaking elsewhere in Asclepiades’ epigrams. Aristotle’s remark about the “confiding” nature of youth is borne out in epigrams AP 5.7 and 5.150 (= IX and X HE). Commentators have pointed out the use of the phrase ἥξειν … κοὐκ ἥκει in each poem, an expression of the speaker’s disappointment in the face of his beloved’s broken oath:

AP 5.7 – Asclepiades = IX HE (Text = Sens) Λύχνε, σὲ γὰρ παρεοῦσα τρὶς ὤµοσεν Ἡράκλεια ἥξειν κοὐχ ἥκει· λύχνε, σὺ δ’, εἰ θεὸς εἶ, τὴν δολίην ἀπάµυνον· ὅταν φίλον ἔνδον ἔχουσα παίζῃ, ἀποσβεσθεὶς µηκέτι φῶς πάρεχε.

Oh lamp, by you when she was here Heraclea swore three times that she would come, and she has not come. Lamp, if you are a god, take vengeance on the deceiver: Whenever she is at play with some lover at her house, burn out, and no longer provide light.

AP 5.150 – Asclepiades = X HE (Text = Sens) ὡµολόγησ’ ἥξειν εἰς νύκτα µοι ἡ ’πιβόητος Νικὼ καὶ σεµνὴν ὤµοσε Θεσµοφόρον, κοὐχ ἥκει, φυλακὴ δὲ παροίχεται. ἆρ’ ἐπιορκεῖν ἤθελε; τὸν λύχνον, παῖδες, ἀποσβέσατε.

Niko the much-maligned agreed that she would come around nightfall for me, and made an oath by the holy Thesmophoros, and she has not come, although the watch is past. Did she really break her oath on purpose? Slaves, extinguish the lamp.

The same credulous speaker reappears in AP 5.164 (HE XIII), a paraclausithyron where he finds himself locked by his beloved out in spite of an earlier invitation:

AP 5.164 – Asclepiades = XIII HE (Text = Sens*) Νύξ, σὲ γάρ, οὐκ ἄλλην µαρτύροµαι, οἷά µ’ ὑβρίζει Πυθιὰς ἡ Νικοῦς, οὖσα φιλεξαπάτης. κληθείς, οὐκ ἄκλητος, ἐλήλυθα· ταὐτὰ παθοῦσα σοὶ µέµψαιτ’ ἐτ’ ἐµοῖς στᾶσα παρὰ προθύροις. 3 ταὐτὰ apogr.] ταῦτα P probat Sens

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Oh Night, for I invoke you and no other as witness, (see) how Pythias daughter of Niko wrongs me in her love of deception. Invited, not uninvited, I have come. May she suffer the same, and rebuke you standing at the entryway to my house!

In the final line, the poet gestures towards the language and context of inscribed epigram.

The youth prays that his beloved will “stand” (στᾶσα) before in the entryway to his house in much the same way that a dedication might be “stood” or “set up” in or on the porch of a temple.57

When we take the three epigrams together, we can see how the use of inscriptional language serves as a kind of foil for the appearance on the scene of a exuberant, youthful voice drawn from (inter al.) New Comedy.58 We might view this process as the filling of the vessel of dedicatory epigram with erotic contents, as, for instance, Tueller seems to do.59 We could equally well say, however, that Asclepiades has taken the basic scenario of a paraclausithyron and “transformed” it into or crossed it with a dedicatory epigram.60

A classic example of the meeting point between sepulchral and non-sepulchral elements in literary epigram is Asclepiades, AP 5.158:

AP 5.158 – Asclepiades = IV HE (Text = Sens) Ἑρµιόνῃ πιθανῇ ποτ’ ἐγὼ συνέπαιζον ἐχούσῃ ζωνίον ἐξ ἀνθέων ποικίλον, ὦ Παφίη,

57 For placement of an object “at the front doors” as a dedicatory motif, cf. Posid. APl 275 = HE XIX, where it is said that Lysippus has placed his statue of Kairos at the doorway (ἐν προθύροις) of a temple (?) to serve an instructional purpose (διδασκαλίη) for passersby. 58 Gutzwiller, 1998a, 123, considers this to be the voice of the poet: “The identifying characteristic of this youthful Asclepiades is his entrapment within an endless cycle of love, a cycle of desire and betrayal, symbolized by the dice game of the Erotes.” 59 Thus he speaks, e.g., of Asclepiades “transforming a dedicatory setting into an erotic one”. Tueller, 2008, 120. 60 On the paraclausithyron as a motif in Greek and Latin poetry, see Copley, 1956.

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χρύσεα γράµµατ’ ἔχον· “διόλου” δ’ ἐγέγραπτο “φίλει µε, καὶ µὴ λυπηθῇς ἤν τις ἔχῃ µ’ ἕτερος.”

I once fooled around with the enticing Hermione, who has multicolored underwear as if made of flowers—O Paphian!—bearing the golden letters: “Go all the way with me,” it was written, “and don’t feel bad if another has me.

In this poem, the poet draws the reader’s attention to his play with inscriptional form. He does this, it seems, in order to create a series of paradoxes. The “inscription” in the poem is not on a stone or any similar durable object, but on a woman’s underwear, which is described as no more substantial than if it was made of flowers! This material instability correlates nicely with the emotional instability in the poem. Far from commemorating an emotion such as grief for all time, as we would find in a sepulchral inscription, the epigram commemorates fickleness itself. As Gutzwiller has argued, “the Hermione epigram reveals precisely the paradox—of fixed form and emotional instability—that is amatory epigram.”61 Like some of Asclepiades other most successful epigrams,62 this poem brings the speaker’s experience into the kind of piercing focus with which we recall our most persistent memories. In such poems, we might justly speak of a consciousness that has become, in a fundamental way, “epigrammatic.” So, at the same time as the inscriptional motif is expanded by its application to non-inscriptional (or at least not traditionally inscriptional) content, the erotic dimension of the poem is enriched by its fusion with the conceptual resources, and particularly the “memorializing impulse” of inscriptional verse.

A similar kind of mixture can be observed in AP 12.50:

AP 12.50 – Asclepiades = XVI HE (Text = Sens)

61 Gutzwiller, 2007, 318. 62 This epigrammatic “focusing” effect is especially noticeable in poems on “love at first sight” (e.g. AP 5.153 = III HE).

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πῖν᾽, Ἀσκληπιάδη. τί τὰ δάκρυα ταῦτα; τί πάσχεις; οὐ σὲ µόνον χαλεπὴ Κύπρις ἐληίσατο, οὐδ᾽ ἐπὶ σοὶ µούνῳ κατεθήκατο τόξα καὶ ἰούς πικρὸς Ἔρως· τί ζῶν ἐν σποδιῇ τίθεσαι; πίνωµεν Βάκχου ζωρὸν πόµα· δάκτυλος ἀώς. ἦ πάλι κοιµιστὰν λύχνον ἰδεῖν µένοµεν; †πίνοµεν οὐ γὰρ ἔρως·† µετά τοι χρόνον οὐκέτι πουλύν, σχέτλιε, τὴν µακρὰν νύκτ᾽ ἀναπαυσόµεθα.

Drink, Asclepiades! Why these tears? What’s the matter? It’s not only you that harsh Kypris has despoiled, nor is it only for you that Eros has donned his bow and arrow. Why, though living, do you lie in the dust? Let us drink a strong draught of Bacchus: there is only a finger’s-width of dawn. Or are we waiting for a lamp to put us to bed again (i.e. waiting until nightfall)?63 Let us drink … for not long from now, unhappy man, we will sleep the “long night”.

As in AP 5.7, death is in the background once again, and ties the poem to the thematic realm of inscribed epitaphs.64 As commentators have long noted, however, the speaking voice derives from the genre of sympotic lyric or elegy, and should perhaps be connected specifically with the archaic lyric poet Alcaeus, whose fr. 346.1, an exhortation to drink, may provide the model for lines 5 and 6 of the epigram:65

Alcaeus: πώνωµεν· τί τὰ λύχν’ ὀµµένοµεν; δάκτυλος ἀµέρα·

Asclepiades: πίνωµεν Βάκχου ζωρὸν πόµα· δάκτυλος ἀώς· ἦ πάλι κοιµιστὰν λύχνον ἰδεῖν µένοµεν;

Kathryn Gutzwiller suggests that the speaker in Asclepiades’ epigram serves a function that looks beyond the poem itself. In addition to responding to the imagined emotions of

63 On the difficulties of the text and interpretation, see Sens, 2011, 108-9. 64 Hunter, 2010, 287, points out the “almost oxymoronic” phrase “living in the dust” (ζῶν ἐν σποδιῇ) as a particularly pointed repurposing of a stock sepulchral image. 65 On the relationship between the two texts, cf. Hunter, 2010, 284-88. On the “identity” of the speaker, cf. Gutzwiller, 1998a, 148, n. 64.

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Asclepiades himself, the speaker’s advice presents, “the internal auditor’s response to the content of the collection.”66 The epigram thus serves an important poetic function, to reify the disparate epigrams as a coherent body and to model a certain aesthetic response to them.

Asclepiades’ epigrams, more so than Nossis’, combine the traditions of inscribed verse and earlier literature in complex ways. In some of his epigrams, Asclepiades seems to use inscriptional forms as a basis for the development of erotic themes (as in, e.g., AP

5.158). In others, he invokes the ideas of death and religious dedication, with which inscribed epigram was generically associated, without using it as a formal template (as in, e.g., AP 12.46). In still other poems, inscribed epigram is merely gestured at, with a kind of playful nod (cf. the mime-like AP 5.181 above). While he clearly found inscribed forms to provide a rich poetic resource, he was conscious of, and drew attention to, his experimental use of these conventions and his mixing of them with elements from other genres.

In AP 12.50, the “sphragistic” use of the poet’s own name does not just serve to claim authorship of his epigrams as gathered in some hypothetical collection. In Nossis, reading the sphragistic opening and closing poems led us, at very least, to look at the epigrams in a new light, informed by the poetry of Sappho. Here too, the “authority” of the sphragis diffuses over the individual epigrams, signaling to the reader that, in some sense, these poems belong together. At the same time, the pathos in the epigram serves also to place the “stamp” of a unified authorial persona upon the anonymous speakers of the epigrams. Through the fusion of epigrammatic form with erotic subjectivity, the

66 Gutzwiller, 1998a, 149.

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consciousness or sensibility of this authorial persona takes on a character that is, fundametally, “epigrammatic” even when the poet frees himself from the constraints of inscriptional form.

The epigrams of Asclepiades thus offer an interesting opportunity to consider where the “voice” of the epigrammatist might come from and what sort of generic character it might have. As I have already noted above, this was problematic, since inscribed epigram, which even erotic epigrammatists like Asclepiades clearly treated as a fundamental point of reference, excluded authorial self-expression. In order to overcome this obstacle and write first person erotic poetry that is also recognizably “epigrammatic”,

Asclepiades draws upon the resources of other genres, especially drama and sympotic lyric and even mime. These different voices, being brought into contact with the epigrammatic tradition, necessarily undergo a transformation of their own. Their utterances, and, so to speak, the “consciousness” they express are filtered through the conceptual apparatus of epigram; we might even say that the characters see the world in epigrammatic terms. Subtle, transitory moments come into focus in a flash, only to disappear as the next epigram begins. In this way, just as the old formulae of verse inscriptions gain new energy from being combined with other kinds of content, the content also is charged with a new pointedness and overall sensibility.

Persona and Poetics in Leonidas of Tarentum

We have now seen how the poetic persona in Nossis’ epigrams looks inward, organizing the contents of the collection under the banner of Eros, and outward, using the poetry of Sappho as a point of reference for this form of eroticism. Something of this same dynamic was at work in Asclepiades, who clearly intended to mark the connection

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between his epigrams and the sympotic lyric of (among others) Alcaeus. In Asclepiades, the poetic persona also served another function, acting as a kind of representative for the speakers in the epigrams. Whether we take these speakers to be identical to the author

(as Sens would have it) or instead the author’s “fellow symposiasts”, it remains the case that Asclepiades represents himself as, in some sense, one of them.

In the epigrams of Leonidas of Tarentum, the poetic persona serves some of these same functions. He stands as a mediator between the epigrams and the wider world of poetry and philosophy, framing the poems in terms of a Homeric worldview filtered through the popular-philosophical lens of ancient Cynicism. At the same time, perhaps because we possess so much more of Leonidas than of virtually any other Hellenistic epigrammatist, we are in a position to see how complex the interplay of different generic elements is in the creation of the persona.

Leonidas emerges as a vivid authorial presence, more fully sketched than Nossis and more clearly marked than Asclepiades. His persona is carefully drawn, and the elements of an “autobiography”—poverty, illness, a life of wandering—are sketched quickly but effectively through the various poems. He identifies his own circumstances and experiences as a poet with those of the humble characters who populate his epigrams, and his ethical exhortations are complemented by his account of his own life, in which he embodies them. The various aspects of his epigrams are thus mutually reinforcing, and the impression upon the reader is that of a miniature world focalized and unified by a distinctive speaking voice. Since his epigrams had a remarkable influence on the later

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tradition, it will be worthwhile to investigate his persona in detail here.67

Poetic style has always been at the center of criticism and scholarship on

Leonidas and his followers, and has tended to overshadow the consideration of other aspects of his work including his literary persona.68 Because Leonidas’ language is obviously recherché, and his representations of his own and others’ poverty is mediated through literary topoi, scholars have concluded not only that his poetry does not reflect his empirical circumstances but that it is, for this reason, precious or ostentatious.69 The supposed inappropriateness of his “baroque” lexical inventiveness to his humble subject- matter—indicated by Geffcken in his commentary with the lapidary tag ‘leonideisch’— has prompted many scholars to discount any larger literary or philosophical agenda and regard him, as Beckby did, as a mere ‘Formvirtuose’.70

So too, Leonidas’ supposed interest in the lives of lowly members of society is written off as due only to the fashion of the time—Theocritus, Callimachus, and Herodas all wrote about such figures too—and not part of any broader philosophical or ethical worldview.71 Even his chronology, about which there is still no firm consensus among

67 On Leonidas’ persona in general, see Gutzwiller, 1998a, 107-114; Clayman, 2007, 511. On Leonidas’ influence, Geffcken, 1896, 146-149, and below, chapter 3. 68 The most recent stylistic studies are Criscuolo, 2003, and Criscuolo, 2004. 69 This is the premise, for instance, of a polemical essay by Lombardo Radice, 1965, “Leonida Tarentino, poeta ‘ricco’”. 70 So too Gabathuler, 1937, 72. For a collection of the (mostly negative) assessments of Leonidas’ style, see Coco, 1985, 62, n. 10. 71 E.g. Zanker, 1987, 162 (on AP 7.295): “The subject matter is realistic enough and there is real pathos in the comparison of Theris’ death with a lamp dying out. Yet the style is artificial, the poem features many words not found elsewhere, and it is plainly a display piece, like most of Leonidas’ other funerary poems. Leonidas’ attitude to the realistic matter of his poems is thus in fact quite distant, for all his occasional success in evoking pathos … . Inferences from his choice of subject-matter that Leonidas was concerned with the humble life per se or as a reflection of his own poverty are accordingly dubious.”

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scholars, has been subjected to arguments based purely on his stylistic defects.72

In addition to style, philosophical orientation, and most particularly the question of the poet’s adherence or non-adherence to the Cynic doctrine, has been an important part of the scholarly assessment of Leonidas.73 Whether or not we view Leonidas as a

“card-carrying” member of the sect, it seems difficult to deny that his poetry and the outlook he adopts in it are influenced by Cynicism and its later-fourth and early-third literary exponents such as Crates of Thebes.74 What is more important than his adherence to a particular school, however, is that Leonidas represents himself in his

72 There is some dispute among scholars about Leonidas’ dates. Gigante, 1971, 37, and Mele, 1995, argue for a period of activity during the early-third century. Gutzwiller, 1998a, 88-89, suggests the second quarter of the third century as the most likely date. The argument of Gow, 1958, that Leonidas’ activity be dated to the second half of the third century rests on no firmer basis than his claim that Leonidas is worse than Callimachus and Asclepiades, and rather more akin to Dioscorides, who wrote no earlier than the late third century. Historical references in the epigrams themselves are consistent with a period of activity sometime in the first half of the third century. Dateable historical references occur in AP 6.334 (a dedication by Neoptolemus, probably the son of Alexander, king of Epirus who co-ruled with Pyrrhus prior to his murder in 295) 6.129 and 6.131 (dedications of spoils taken from the Lucanians, which may refer to hostilities between Tarentum and the Lucanians in the 290s BCE). Leonidas’ epigram praising Aratus (AP 9.25) indicates that he must have been active in the 270s or later (i.e. after the publication of the Phaenomena), as does AP 6.130 (on Pyrrhus’ defeat of Antigonus Gonatas in 273 BCE, cf. Gigante, 1971, 18, on the ascription of this epigram). Although his epigrams have many affinities with other third-century authors, it is difficult to determine which way the influence runs, or if there is in fact influence at all; cf. Izzo D’Accinni, 1958. 73 In his commentary, Geffcken claimed that Leonidas was an adherent of Cynicism. This view was afterwards attacked by Hansen, 1914, and renounced by Geffcken himself in his RE article on Leonidas. Others have disputed any philosophical dimension at all in Leonidas’ epigrams, or have seen a lack of sincerity as obviating any real ethical concerns. Thus, e.g., Izzo D’Accinni, 1958, 315. 74 On the ancient Cynic tradition, see in general Dudley, 1937, and Desmond, 2008. Unlike exponents of the other traditions in post-Platonic philosophy, Cynics were markedly resistant to the kinds of formal association typical of other philosophical schools (esp. the Epicureans, on which more below). Dudley, 1937, 48, notes the considerable variety in the views attributed to the adherents of Cynicism. On Leonidas’ ties to Cynic thought, see most recently Gutzwiller, 1998a, 107, and Clayman, 2007, 510- 12.

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epigrams as part of a coherent ethical and poetic world.75 The poems in which he speaks in his own voice are remarkable insofar as they are concerned not only with poetry, but also advocate a broader ethical worldview, a valorization of a certain lifestyle and principles, complementary to his view of poetry. In particular, his exaltation of humble life is concretized in epigrams on humble figures whose lives are sketched with the same eye to characteristic detail that Leonidas displays in his autobiographical poems.76

For the most part, however, scholars concerned with Leonidas’ style and his putative philosophical predilections have yet to explore the interpretive space opened up by the recognition that Leonidas is not a “realist” poet but a poeta doctus with a literary project of his own. Accordingly, my interest here (as elsewhere) will be not to connect the poet’s writing with his “empirical ego”, but to examine his self-representation as part of a literary endeavor.77 So, for instance, as to the question of Leonidas’ philosophical views, my concern is less with whether he was an adherent of this or that school, but the ways in which he thematizes philosphical ideas within his work.

In order to sketch Leonidas’ self-representation, I will begin AP 7.472, one of the epigrams in which his outlook on life is most explicitly laid out:

AP 7.472 = Leonidas LXXVII HE (Text = HE)

75 Barigazzi, 1985, emphasizes the broader cultural diffusion of the ethical ideas in Leonidas, though he unduly discounts the coherence of Leonidas’ worldview (e.g.: “… nella scarsa produzione di Leonida si hanno solo idee sparse che possono trovare una spiegazione diversa.” p. 202). 76 The overall coherence of Leonidas’ poetic outlook is stressed by Gutzwiller, 1998a, 114: "His achievement was to weld a variety of poignant individual epigrams--on men and women, rich and poor, gods and humans--into a coherent statement of class ideology founded on Cynic principles, that stands as a counterpart and a challenge to the whole tradition of archaic and classical inscribed epigram." 77 The basic distinction between “empirical” ego (the author as historical human being) and poetic ego (the author as a literary “function” within the text) is stressed by Paduano, 1993. This distinction will remain salient throughout my study.

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Μυρίος ἦν, ὤνθρωπε, χρόνος πρὸ τοῦ ἄχρι πρὸς ἠῶ ἦλθες, χὠ λοιπὸς µυρίος εἰν Ἀίδῃ. τίς µοῖρα ζωῆς ὑπολείπεται ἢ ὅσον ὅσσον στιγµὴ καὶ στιγµῆς εἴ τι χαµηλότερον; µικρή σευ ζωὴ τεθλιµµένη, οὐδὲ γὰρ αὐτή 5 ἡδεῖ’ ἀλλ’ ἐχθροῦ στυγνοτέρη θανάτου. ἐκ τοίης ὥνθρωποι ἀπηκριβωµένοι ὀστῶν ἁρµονίης †ὑψος τ’† ἠέρα καὶ νεφέλας. ὦνερ, ἴδ’ ὡς ἀχρεῖον, ἐπεὶ περὶ νήµατος ἄκρον εὐλὴ ἀκέρκιστον λῶπος ἐφεζοµένη 10 †οἷον τὸ ψαλάθριον ἀπεψιλωµένον οἷον† πολλῷ ἀραχναίου στυγνότερον σκελετοῦ. ἠοῦν ἐξ ἠοῦς ὅσσον σθένος, ὦνερ, ἐρευνῶν εἴης ἐν λιτῇ κεκλιµένος βιοτῇ αἰὲν τοῦτο νόῳ µεµνηµένος ἄχρις ὁµιλῇς 15 ζωοῖς ἐξ οἵης ἡρµόνισαι καλάµης. 8 ὕψος τ C: ὕψιστ᾽ P; alii alia

The time before you were born, oh man, was infinite, and the time to come in Hades is also infinite. What portion is left over for life but a pin-prick, or if anything is tinier than that? Your life is small and distressed, for even it is not sweet, but more hateful than foul death. Men built from such an assemblage of bones †…† the air and clouds. Oh man, consider how pointless it is, since at the end of the thread a moth seated on the loosely-woven garment †…† more loathsome than the body of an insect in a spider’s web. Gathering as much strength as you can from day to day, o man, sustain yourself in a simple life. May you associate with the living keeping in mind the sort of reed out of which you are composed.

I have not attempted to offer a new text of this difficult epigram.78 Nevertheless, the outlines of the thought are clear enough to allow me to offer a few points with the aim of integrating it into the larger complex of Leonidas’ corpus.

Beginning with an address to a general listener, the speaker calls life a vanishingly brief interruption (2-4) in an otherwise unbroken non-existence (1-2). This brief period of existence, moreover, is itself filled with misery (5-6). These two ideas, the negligibility and the wretchedness of human life, are then expressed through a series

78 On the considerable textual difficulties in the epigram, see Gow and Page, HE, II, 379, and Barigazzi, 1985.

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of images—clouds, air, and spider's corpses (7-12). In what stands as the second half of the poem, the listener (ὦνερ, 9) is bidden to consider the futility, probably, of wealth, status or other worldly goods—the corruption of the text makes it difficult to say.

Finally, the speaker tells his audience to be content with a meager lifestyle (13-14), bearing in mind the fragility of human existence and the uncertainty of the future (15-16).

Obviously the epigram is remote from any inscriptional form—“a collection of

Cynic sentiments which, even if inscribed on a tomb (or tombs), should be called an elegy rather than an epitaph,” as Gow and Page say.79 At the same time, the theme of death, but more specifically the use of death as a focus for ethical exhortation, is quite reminiscent of earlier inscribed epigrams. These often emphasize death’s universality, and encourage the passerby to live a good life, given his mortality, and take the deceased as a model for his own behavior.80

The epigram establishes several important, if quite commonplace, philosophical themes that run throughout Leonidas' epigrams. These are the essential fragility of human life—vividly expressed in the final image of man as fashioned out of a stalk of reed (ἐξ οἵης ἡρµόνισαι καλάµης, 16)—and the consequent imperative to live frugally, since human circumstances are subject to violent overthrow. As Geffcken noted, the entire poem (if we consider the lines to belong to one poem) works up to the praise of the simple life in line 14.81 Not only is the simple life a Cynic trademark, the “choice of

79 Gow-Page, HE, vol. II, 380. 80 For the exhortation to lead a good life as a feature of archaic inscribed epigram, see CEG 13; on the universality of death, see CEG 487. 81 “Der Kern des ganzen Gedichtes,” per Geffcken, 1896, 130).

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lifestyle” is a central topos in popular-philosophical, and especially Cynic discourse.82

The repetitious style of the poem will also reappear in many of Leonidas’ other epigrams,83 while the diction emphasizes key words and concepts—µικρός, στυγνός,

λιτός, βιότη—that relate to Leonidas’ broader literary and ethical preoccupations. These features, shared with other Leonidean poems, serve to integrate the epigrams as the variously articulated parts of a larger, coherent poetic whole.

Unlike AP 7.472, AP 6.300 follows a clear inscriptional pattern. The poet, who names himself expressly, makes a humble offering to the goddess (probably to be identified with Aphrodite), who has saved him from sickness:

AP 6.300 - Leonidas of Tarentum = XXXVI HE (Text = HE) Λαθρίη, ἐκ †πλάνης† ταύτην χάριν ἔκ τε πενέστεω κἠξ ὀλιγησιπύου δέξο Λεωνίδεω ψαιστά τε πιήεντα καὶ εὐθήσαυρον ἐλαίην καὶ τοῦτο χλωρὸν σῦκον ἀποκράδιον κεὐοίνου σταφυλῆς ἔχ’ ἀποσπάδα πεντάρρωγον, 5 πότνια, καὶ σπονδὴν τήνδ’ ὑποπυθµίδιον. ἢν δέ µε χὡς ἐκ νούσου ἀνειρύσω, ὧδε καὶ ἐχθρῆς ἐκ πενίης ῥύσῃ, δέξο χιµαιροθύτην.

Lathria, accept this offering from wandering, impoverished Leonidas, he of the small mealtub: rich cakes and long- stored olive oil, this green fig fresh from the branch and this bunch of five grapes from the vine good for wine, O goddess, and this libation from the bottom of the jar. And if you also save me from hateful poverty, as you saved me from illness, receive me as a goat-sacrificer.

In the first couplet, the poet introduces himself with a series of adjectives that rapidly sketch the outlines of a biography: a wanderer, a poor man, and a man characterized by his “little meal-tub”. The humble food items he dedicates serve as the concrete symbol of

82 Cf. later Antipater of Sidon on the Cynic Hipparchia: τῶν δὲ Κυνῶν ἑλόµαν ῥωµαλέον βίοτον, AP 7.413 = HE LXVII. 83 Μυρίος … µυρίος (1, 2); ὅσον ὅσσον (3); στιγµὴ … στιγµῆς (4); στυγνοτέρη στυγνότερον (6, 12); ἠοῦν … ἠοῦς (13).

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his lifestyle.84 The first of these introduces the key Cynic theme of exile. Diogenes’ exile from Sinope for his notorious “defacement of the currency” led, in a sense, to the beginning of the Cynic movement.85 Diogenes is said to have lamented his life as an exile, quoting a character from an unknown tragedy: ἄπολις, ἄοικος, πατρίδος

ἐστερηµένος, | πτωχός, πλανήτης, βίον ἔχων τοὐφ’ ἡµέραν.86 The triplet “poor, a wanderer, living day to day” lines up remarkably well with Leonidas’ description of himself in the first couplet of the epigram.

Leonidas’ characterization of himself here, as we will see again and again elsewhere, links him with the humble people featured in his epigrams. The first and last couplets, for instance, bear a marked resemblance to the words he puts in the mouths of three sisters at AP 6.288.9-10.

Compare: Λαθρίη, ἐκ πλάνιος ταύτην χάριν ἔκ τε πενέστεω κἠξ ὀλιγησιπύου δέξο Λεωνίδεω, … ἢν δέ µε χὡς ἐκ νούσου ἀνειρύσω, ὧδε καὶ ἐχθρῆς ἐκ πενίης ῥύσῃ, δέξο χιµαιροθύτην.

“Lathria, accept this offering from wandering, impoverished Leonidas, he of the small mealtub … And if you also save me from hateful poverty, as you saved me from illness, receive a goat-sacrificer.” with:

84 Piacenza, 2010, reads the food items metapoetically as each representing a different generic “ingredient” in Leonidas’ epigrams. 85 Indeed, one Cynic anecdote actually has Diogenes claim as much (with more than a touch of irony): Πρός τε τὸν ὀνειδίσαντα αὐτῷ τὴν φυγήν, “ἀλλὰ τούτου γ’ ἕνεκεν,” εἶπεν, “ὦ κακόδαιµον, ἐφιλοσόφησα” (Diogenes Laertius VI.49). (“To someone who cast his exile against him as a reproach, he said, ‘But it was on account of that, you fool, that I took up philosophy.’”) 86 D. L. VI.38. Diogenes (the Cynic) may be speaking ironically, since elsewhere he famously refers to himself as a “world-citizen”.

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τῶν χέρας αἰέν, Ἀθάνα, ἐπιπλήσαις µὲν ὀπίσσω, θείης δ’ εὐσιπύους ἐξ ὀλιγησιπύων.

“May you fill their hands forever after, Athena, and make their meal-tubs great instead of small.”

Note how the women do not pray for anything extravagant, but only that their “meal tubs”—in and of themselves a mark of a humble lifestyle—always be full. This preference for the “simple life” is shared by Leonidas himself. AP 6.302 gives us a look inside the poet’s house and lets us know about his diet:

AP 6.302 = XXXVII HE (Text = HE)87 Φεύγεθ’ ὑπὲκ καλύβης, σκότιοι µύες· οὔτι πενιχρή µῦς σιπύη βόσκειν οἶδε Λεωνίδεω. αὐτάρκης ὁ πρέσβυς ἔχων ἅλα καὶ δύο κρίµνα· ἐκ πατέρων ταύτην ᾐνέσαµεν βιοτήν. τῷ τί µεταλλεύεις τοῦτον µυχόν, ὦ φιλόλιχνε, 5 οὐδ’ ἀποδειπνιδίου γευόµενος σκυβάλου; σπεύδων εἰς ἄλλους οἴκους ἴθι--τἀµὰ δὲ λιτά-- ὧν ἄπο πλειοτέρην οἴσεαι ἁρµαλιήν.

Get out of my hut you shadowy mice! The poor meal-tub of Leonidas does not know how to feed mice. An old man is self-sufficient if he has salt and two biscuits: this is the life- style we have adopted from our ancestors. Why do you mine this corner, o glutton, getting to taste not even an after- dinner scrap? Hurry off to other houses—my means are slight—from which you’ll get a richer store.

The multi-layered speaking voice in this epigram offers an excellent example of the synthesis of different literary and cultural traditions that is typical of the early

Hellenistic epigrammatists. Leonidas here shows himself to be skillful at exploiting character-types, popular philosophical discourse, and inscriptional conventions, to create a self-representation that is, at the same time, an encapsulation of his poetic and ethical outlook as a whole. Note, for instance, how Leonidas’ self-representation here recalls

87 Due to his narrow focus on epigrams with inscriptional conceits, Gabathuler, 1937, did not include this epigram in his collection, although he does include the sepulchral AP 7.715.

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both his ethical exhortation in AP 7.472.14 (εἴης ἐν λιτῇ κεκλιµένος βιοτῇ) as well as his depictions of humble figures such as the fisherman Theris in AP 7.295: ἀλλ’ ἔθαν’ ἐν καλύβῃ σχοινίτιδι, λύχνος ὁποῖα, τῷ µακρῷ σβεσθεὶς ἐν χρόνῳ αὐτόµατος.

But he died in his hut of reeds, like a candle extinguished all on his own in the long span of time.

So, in addition to embodying the ethical principles he elsewhere advocates, in this epigram (as elsewhere) Leonidas also shows himself very much to belong among the humble folk who populate his epigrams.

To begin examining this peculiar poem, I would like first to return to the idea of tropos discussed above in connection with the persona(e) in Asclepiades, which drew upon features conceived of as “typical” of youths. Leonidas, by contrast, represents himself in a number of ways as an equally typical old man. The anger of this outburst, for instance, finds a parallel in Aristotle’s account of the ἦθος of the old man (οἱ θυµοὶ

ὀξεῖς µὲν ἀσθενεῖς δέ εἰσιν), and readers familiar with the conventions of New Comedy would recognize him as belonging to the dyskolos type. There are even some particular points of comparison with Menander’s Knemon, the solitary, irascible, advocate of self- sufficiency (autarkeia).88

Although the epigram does not maintain an overt inscriptional conceit, the language of inscriptions contributes to the poem’s overall tone and purpose, lending a kind of solemnity that is mixed with the humorous picture of the old man’s confrontation with the mice. Like the quasi-official tone Nossis gave to her pronouncement on the

88 For Knemon as an advocate of autarkeia, cf. 712-14, his “anagnorisis”: ἓν δ᾽ ἴσως ἥµαρτον ὅστις τῶν ἁπάντων ὠιόµην | αὐτὸς αὐτάρκης τις εἶναι καὶ δεήσεσθ᾽ οὐδενός. (“In this one thing perhaps I was mistaken, I who of all men imagined myself to be someone self-sufficient and needing no one.”)

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superiority of Eros in AP 5.170 (see above) the effect here is to give the ethical content of the poem added weight. The initial imperative is evocative of religious ritual and sacred regulations.89 Formulas of invitation to or prohibition from a certain space are sometimes found at the beginning of hymns;90 formulae such as Callimachus' ἑκὰς ἑκὰς ὅστις

ἄλιτρος (Hymn to Apollo, 2) might be uttered to warn those who were impure from entering the sacred precinct.91 Timotheus (PMG fr. 20), at what seems to be the beginning of a poem (though we are not told this explicitly), says: οὐκ ἀείδω τὰ παλαιά, καινὰ γὰρ ἁµὰ κρείσσω· νέος ὁ Ζεὺς βασιλεύει, τὸ πάλαι δ᾽ ἦν Κρόνος ἄρχων· ἀπίτω Μοῦσα παλαιά.

I do not sing the ancient songs, for new ones are better. Zeus, young, rules; in the past, Kronos was leader. Let the ancient Muse begone.

Near the end of his Persae (PMG 15.213-217), meanwhile, he says: ἐγὼ δ᾽ οὔτε νέον τιν᾽ οὔ- τε γεραὸν οὔτ᾽ ἰσήβαν εἴργω τῶνδ᾽ ἑκὰς ὕµνων· τοὺς δὲ µουσοπαλαιολυ- µας, τούτους δ᾽ ἀπερύκω …

I do not bar from these songs any youth, old man, or middle- aged man . The poetic archaizers, however, them I shut out.

Invitations to worshipers, meanwhile, were included in temple programmata, and appear

89 So Gigante, 1971, 99: “Leonida con un modulo esorcistico si difende dai topi.” See also the discussion in I. Petrovic, 2011, with discussion of formal features of sacred regulations pp. 268-9. 90 See Furley and Bremmer, 2001, vol. 1, 55, on the request for a god to come to a particular place as a common feature of hymnic invocation of deities. 91 On formulae of inclusion and exclusion in Callimachus’ Hymns, see Bassi, 1989, esp. pp. 221-2. Bassi connects the exclusionary opening of Hymn 2 with Callimachus’ combative aesthetic program in that poem.

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in literary epigram as well.92 The first couplet as a whole is structurally akin to prohibitions or incantations harmful or impure forces. A “lex sacra”, for instance, might state that the sacred space will not accomodate the presence of the impure and order them to keep away, as in SGO 1.01.17.01: πόρρω ἀπ᾽ ἀθανάτων ἔργεο καὶ τεµένους· | οὐ

στέργει φαύλους ἱερὸς δόµος ... .93 Leonidas' epigram, by comparison, lightly personifies his meal-tub, saying that it "does not know" (οὔτι ... οἶδε, 1-2) how to feed mice. Robert points to parallels in later amulets and magical papyri, and notes that inscribed lintels also carry such messages.94 The epigram's closing, meanwhile, with its urge to the addressee to “hurry off”, evokes the language of imprecation against interlopers in religious ritual and mystery rites.95

This affinity with the stylized language of religious ritual and leges sacrae may partly explain the slightly strange mixture of subjective and objective modes of expression in the poem.96 Leonidas begins by speaking of himself indirectly, with the genitive in line 2. He then speaks of himself once again in the third person, or else perhaps as an instance of a type—ὁ πρέσβυς (with ἐστίν implied) in line 3. The aorist in line 4, the poet’s statement of his ethical principle, is the only first-person verb in the

92 For an example in literary epigram, see AP 9.189, addressed to the women of Lesbos, beginning with the phrase ἔλθετε πρὸς τέµενος, possibly in imitation of Sappho fr. 53. On the programmata, see I. Petrovic, 2011, 273-275. 93 The inscription, which has been dated anywhere between the 3rd century BCE and 2nd century CE, is quoted and discussed in I. Petrovic, 2011, 269. 94 Robert, 1965, v. 13, 268. Cf., e.g: Φῦγε ἀπ᾽ ἐµοῦ, πᾶν κακόν, πᾶν πο[νηρόν] (P. Gr. Mag. II, P 5 d), cited by Robert, 1965, v. 13, 270. Cf. Weinreich, 1938, 42, n. 31, on the Haussegen (“house-blessing”) lintel-inscription quoted by Diogenes Laertius VI.50 (incidentally in the context of a Cynic anecdote). Compare the incantation against headache (SH 900) ascribed in a papyrus of the 1st c. BCE to Philinna of Thessaly: φεῦγ᾽ ὀδύν[η] κεφάλης … . 95 Cf. I. Petrovic, 2011, 269, n. 18, on the particular connection of this language with mystery-rites. 96 This feature is touched upon by Criscuolo, 2003, 334, n. 50.

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poem. Adding a further nuance to the speaking voice, the poem closes with a touch, the phrase τἀµὰ δὲ λιτά (7), that is reminiscent of sepulchral inscriptions. This phrase, which Leonidas applies to his hut and simple food, is similar to inscribed verses such as, e.g, IG II2 10345 (Attica, early 4th century BCE), lines 6-8:

… χαίρε- [τ]ε οἱ παρι<ό>ντες, ἐγὼ δέ γε τἀ- µὰ φυ<λά>ττω.

You passersby farewell; I guard what is mine.

The second word of the Leonidean poem, ὑπέκ, is uncommon in epigram and belongs instead to the stylistic register of hexameter epic.97 The juxtaposition of this preposition with its object, the "hut" (καλύβη),98 thus introduces a note of parodic incongruity, which is heightened when we learn that the addressee of Leonidas' imprecation is a group of mice, who have come to raid his meal-tub.99

97 A TLG search for ὑπέκ reveals no uses outside of hexameter/elegiac poetry apart from Leonidas and an epigram of Automedon. For its use in epic, cf. Criscuolo, 2004, 41, who aptly notes, “[la parola] ben rende l’immagine dei topi che, scavato un passaggio, entrano ed escono di sotto la casa.” 98 A reasonably clear sense of the type of shelter denoted by the word can be got from the passages cited in LSJ: a small dwelling, capable of being erected impromptu (see Thuc. I.133), apparently without foundations or cellar (see Hdt. V.16, where καλύβαι are erected on a wooden platform over a lake). They are connected with laborers: cf. Leon. AP 7.295 as well as the fishermen’s shelters, apparently some sort of tent, at [Theoc.] XXI.6-8, a poem on the theme of penia: Ἰχθύος ἀγρευτῆρες ὁµῶς δύο κεῖντο γέροντες | στρωσάµενοι βρύον αὖον ὑπὸ πλεκταῖς καλύβαισι, | κεκλιµένοι τοίχῳ τῷ φυλλίνῳ. Pan constructs a similar shelter for Cadmus when the latter is posing as a goatherd in order to deceive Typhon at Nonnus, Dionysiaca, I.369-375. It is noteworthy that the mouse at the opening of the Batrachomyomachia says that he was born and bred γείνατο δ’ ἐν καλύβῃ µε καὶ ἐξεθρέψατο βρωτοῖς in such a house ( , 30). 99 Gigante, 1971, 58 takes this feature of Leonidas’ style as imparting an epic seriousness to his subjects (cf. “nobiltà lessicale”, p. 63). Similarly Puglia, 1992, 97, who speaks of “il profondo messagio di dignità e frugalità”. I would suggest, however, that the effect of this stylistic device may vary depending upon the context in which it is employed, and thus, with Robert, 1965, v. 13, 269, find a certain humor in the poem. (Cf. my discussion

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The mice invading the poet's hut are called dark or shadowy (σκότιοι), presumably because they try to conceal themselves by hiding in corners and holes. His

"poor meal-tub" (πενιχρή | σιπύη, 1-2)100 is incapable of feeding the beasts, he claims, because he keeps on hand only as much food as he requires (αὐταρκής, 3)--a matter of principle for him and his ancestors (ταύτην ᾐνέσαµεν βιοτήν, 4).101 He then implores the mice to go somewhere where they will find fuller stores of food (πλειοτέρην ...

ἁρµαλιήν, 8), since his own are slight (τἀµὰ δὲ λιτά, 7). The old man's character and social standing are vividly expressed, and his attempt to reason with the pests that invade his house, in combination with the bathos created by the use of high-style diction to sketch such a humble scene, adds to the epigram’s parodic or mock-epic effect.102

Uses of mice in fable are also suggestive of the associations Leonidas’ epigram may have had for ancient readers. In the story of the mus urbanus and mus rusticus

(Babrius 108 = Aesopica 352 Perry, cf. Horace, Serm. 2.6), the town mouse invites the country mouse to dine at his home after enjoying a simple meal in the country. They raid the pantry, but are caught by the ταµιοῦχος of the house (who used to be called the

of 6.300, above.) The mixture of humor and seriousness is reminiscent of iambos (see Acosta-Hughes, 2002, 218-20) and is taken up in the Cynic σπουδαιογέλοιον (cf., e.g., Diogenes Laertius VI.83, describing the works of Monimus: παίγνια σπουδῇ λεληθυίᾳ µεµιγµένα). 100 Hollis, 2009, 9 (on Hecale fr. 35.1) suggests that the word σιπύη is taken over from Old Comedy. 101 Here Leonidas presents his own life as conforming to that advocated in AP 7.472. Geffcken, 1896, 127, n. 1, sees this as an acknowledgement by Leonidas of his philosophical predecessors, but it can simply be read as a mark of the traditionalism typically associated with old men in Greek literature. 102 Mice were a topic ripe for mock-epic treatment: in addition to the Molorchus episode in the Hecale, cf. the whole of Batrachomyomachia. Horace, at Ars Poetica, 139, uses the mouse as a symbol of the failure to achieve epic grandeur: parturient montes, nascetur ridiculus mus (“The mountains labor and a ridiculous mouse is born”).

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“bailiff” in British English). After they escape, the country mouse tells the town mouse,

“you enjoy the luxury of all of these victuals, I am happy with the nourishment of security and freedom.” The situation and the message of Leonidas’ epigram are similar, but in his epigram, we might say, Leonidas acts the part of both ταµιοῦχος and country mouse, shooing away the mice and proclaiming his satisfaction with a humble but independent existence.

Once again, an additional layer of signficance is added when we consider the philosophical background of the epigram. The poem is practically a compilation of themes and motifs suggestive of Cynicism, and particularly of the stories that grew up around its best-known exponent, Diogenes of Sinope. As I have already mentioned, a humble existence and its corollary principles of αὐταρκεία and λιτότης are fundamental parts of the Cynic lifestyle.103 Leonidas’ irascibility recalls the attitude of various Cynics toward potential followers and the general public—the Cynic dog was known for its ability to bite.104 The reference to the choice of a certain lifestyle (cf. ταυτὴν ᾐνέσαµεν

βιότην, 4) is characteristic of Cynic discourse, which focuses on action rather than doctrine.105 Of particular interest is the use of Leonidas’ material possessions—his food and hut—as symbols of his lifestyle. This is another key trait of Cynic discourse, where the very bare necessities of life are of central ethical significance.106 The form of the epigram itself, moreover, which resembles a miniature mime, has ties to Cynic literary

103 See, for instance, the Cynic maxim reported by Diogenes Laertius VI.11: αὐτάρκη τὸν σοφόν. 104 See, e.g., D. L. VI.3; 4; 21; 24; cf. Dudley, 1937, 37. 105 Dudley, 1937, 51. 106 On the importance of food in Cynic thought, see Dudley, 1937, 44. The πίθος in which Diogenes slept is, of course, a well-known symbol of Cynicism. Cf. D. L. VI.104, on the accoutrements typical of Cynic λιτότης.

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production.107 The genres of epigram and mime were both very well suited for the expression of Cynic sentiments, since each accommodated the representation of the life of the poor. On its own, none of these elements is exclusively “Cynic”, but in combination they tie Leonidas’ epigrams closely with both the style and substance of contemporary Cynic discourse.

The language and ideas of the epigram are tightly integrated into the larger

Leonidean corpus. Gutzwiller has pointed out connections between this poem and AP

6.300, and has suggested that the mice-epigram likely came second after that poem in an edition of epigrams organized by Leonidas himself.108 This suggestion gains plausibility from the quasi-religious language of the mice epigram, which would complement the explicitly religious dedicatory epigram it may have followed.109 This case must of course remain speculative in the absence of direct evidence about such a collection, but prominent placement in an introductory position of some kind would be consistent with the remarkable success of the poem among subsequent epigrammatists.110

Leonidas’ character in the epigram bears a marked resemblance to another mock-

107 Dudley, 1937, 68. 108 Gutzwiller, 1998a, 111-12. 109 Hymns, of course, are a feature of prooimia from Homer onwards. Other forms of religious language are also found at the beginning of poetry books, as in Meleager's reference to the readers of his anthology as initiates of a mystery cult (µύσται, AP 4.1.57); cf. the address to the dead spirits of Callimachus and Philitas at Prop. III.1. 110 Ariston, only a name to us, composed an imitation (AP 6.303 = HE III, discussed below) in which he asks the mice to go elsewhere rather than feed on his books, the implication being that these are all he has. If Gow and Page are right to assign Ariston to Meleager's Garland, then Ariston is perhaps to be credited with an important innovation on Leonidas' original. On this epigram see Gutzwiller, 1998a, 112. Cf. Herodicus of Babylon I EG = Athen. 5.222a, who takes the step of incorporating Cynic invective against grammarians into epigram (cf. Bion of Borysthenes F5B and 6 Kindstrand).

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epic protagonist, the figure of Molorchus in the third book of Callimachus’ Aetia.111

Leaving aside narrow questions of dependency or influence, the effect of the mixture of epic and non-epic elements in the epigram may be better understood if we compare the two passages.112 This comparison will inturn set the stage for a consideration of the mice-epigram within the larger context of Leonidas’ poetic project. In the third book of the Aetia, Heracles has stopped at Molorchus’ house on his way to face the Nemean lion.

During his stay, Molorchus, a poor man, finds his house assailed by mice, which he dispatches by means of his new invention, a mousetrap. Stylistic features, as well as the juxtaposition of Molorchus’ battle with the mice and Heracles’ with the Nemean lion, contribute to a marked mock-epic effect in this scene.113 Like Leonidas, Molorchus addresses the mice with exasperation (fr. 54c 12-14 Harder ≈ SH 259 ≈ fr. 177 Pf.):

“ὀ̣χληροὶ τί τ̣ο[δ’] α̣ὖ γείτονες ἡµέ[τ]ερ̣ο̣ν ἥ̣κατ’ ἀποκναί̣σοντες, ἐπεὶ µάλα [γ’] οὔτι φέρο̣[ισθε; ξ]εί̣νο̣ι̣ς̣ κωκυµ̣οὺς ἔπλασεν ὔµµε θεός.”

“Troublemakers, why have you come as neighbors to destroy our home, even though you will get nothing from it? A god created you as a source of wailing for your hosts.”

Note how the rhetorical appeal is the same as Leonidas’: why do you come to my house, where there is so little food to steal?114 There is a further (albeit slight) verbal parallel at

111 Ambühl, 2004, presents a detailed comparison of the Molorcus episode and the Hecale, arguing that they are versions of the same type-scene calibrated to different generic contexts. Elements of Leonidas’ description of his own poverty recall Hecale fr. 74 Pf., where (it seems) one of the talking crows describes the lifestyle of Hecale (in the fr. cf. λιτόν, 3, and κρῖµνον, 5). 112 As to the question of the influence of one of the passages on the other, I think we must reserve judgment considering that the underlying premise of the scenes is a simple one and there are only minor verbal similarities. 113 Harder, 2012, 389. 114 For οὔτι φέρο̣[ισθε, 13 compare Leonidas’ οὔτι πενιχρὴ, 6.302.1. Callim. uses οὔτι in this sedes three other times (frr. 278 and 801 Pf. and Hymn to Delos, 198).

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line 25 of the same fragment, where Molorchus’ possessions are ἔργα πενιχροῦ (with which compare Leonidas’ πενιχρὴ | σιπύη). The Callimachean passage shows how a similar character was used to humorous effect in a clearly mock-epic context. Perhaps more importantly, both the Molorchus episode and Leonidas’ epigram use the encounter with the mice as a new way of approaching epic. Yet while such Callimachean experimentation and play with generic categories has received a great deal of attention,

Leonidas’ has gone largely neglected even though, as I will argue, Leonidas too is concerned with how to adapt the epic tradition to the expression of new ideas and subject matter.

The theme of exile touched upon in AP 6.300 is developed further in Leonidas’ self-epitaph AP 7.715:

AP 7.715 - Leonidas of Tarentum = XCIII HE (Text = HE) Πολλὸν ἀπ’ Ἰταλίης κεῖµαι χθονὸς ἔκ τε Τάραντος πάτρης, τοῦτο δέ µοι πικρότερον θανάτου. τοιοῦτος πλανίων ἄβιος βίος· ἀλλά µε Μοῦσαι ἔστερξαν, λυγρῶν δ’ ἀντὶ µελιχρὸν ἔχω, οὔνοµα δ’ οὐκ ἤµυσε Λεωνίδου· αὐτά µε δῶρα 5 κηρύσσει Μουσέων πάντας ἐπ’ ἠελίους.

Far from Italy and from my fatherland of Taras I lie; this to me is more bitter than death. This life of wanderers is no life at all. Yet the Muses have looked kindly upon me, and so instead of pains I have what is sweet. The name of Leonidas will not dim: the gifts of the Muses will herald me for all time.

Scholars, assuming that the poem was meant for inscription, have occasionally doubted the authenticity of the poem on the grounds that the poet would have been unlikely to

“predict” the place of his death in this way.115 As the poem unfolds, however, the basic

115 The authenticity of the epigram was rejected on these grounds by Geffcken. Gow- Page also express doubts, since (HE II, 390), "the temptation to ascribe the lines to L. is, in view of their content, obvious", but at the same time allow that "the case against [the

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conceit of all epitaphs in which the deceased speaks (and thus by definition self-epitaphs) takes on a particular significance. At the end of line 3 the poet turns to consolation: the favor shown him by the Muses outweighs his sorrows (3-4) and even allows him to overcome death itself (5-6). Here the form of the self-epitaph, in which the poet speaks

“from beyond the grave” is itself a pointed illustration of this transcendent power of poetry.

As was the case in Leonidas’ other autobiographical epigrams, the themes here reflect broader popular-philosophical, and particularly Cynic, ideas.116 The rejection of worldly pursuits in favor of poetry, in particular, is closely paralleled in a fragment of

Cercidas.117 The epigram also concretizes the precepts presented by Leonidas elsewhere.

In addition to the reminiscences of AP 7.472, the poem recalls AP 7.736, in which

Leonidas warns the listener against an itinerant lifestyle. The subject matter and form of the epigram, as well as the inclusion of the epigrammatist’s name, have suggested to many scholars that this book occupied a closural position within a Leonidean poetry collection.118 The recapitulation of the motif of “gifts” (δῶρα, 5) from AP 6.300, perhaps an originally introductory poem, provides some further evidence in favor of the hypothesis, since this kind of “book-ending” effect is paralleled, for instance, in the

epigram’s authenticity] is not strong." More recently, however, the authenticity has been defended by Gigante, 1971, 20, n. 25. 116 See, e.g., Dudley, 1937, 87, on the themes of itinerancy, poverty, health, wealth, homeland, and self-sufficiency in the Cynic author Teles. 117 For the address to the soul on the exhortation to poetry as recourse against the power of death, cf. Cercidas F 3.6-7 Lomiento: πάντα τεοῖσι δ᾽ ὑπ̣ὸ̣ σ̣π̣λ̣α̣γχνο̣ις ἔσκ̣᾽ ἁ̣β̣ρ̣ὰ̣ Μουσῶν κνώδαλα, | Πιερίδων θ᾽ ἁ̣λ[ι]ευτὰς ἔπλεο θυµέ, καὶ ἰχνε̣υ̣τ̣ας ἄριστ[ο]ς. Cf. Dudley, 1937, 84. Livrea, 1997, has suggested that the same passage of Cercidas influenced Callimachus’ self-representation in the prologue to the Aetia. 118 So Gabathuler, 1937, 68, and Gigante, 1971, 81.

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arrangement of Meleager’s Garland.119 If it was intended as a concluding piece, it would serve to recapitulate in a vivid and concrete way the ethical pronouncements made earlier in the book. Note especially how the language hearkens back to AP 7.472 (esp. πικρότερον θανάτου στυγνοτέρη θανάτου , 2, cp. , 7.472.6), and how the sorrow of a life of wandering in this poem points back to Leonidas’ warning against seafaring (AP

7.736). So, in addition to the philosophical and thematic coherence of the poem, its position within the book, coupled with its invocation of key Leonidean themes, would have lent it extra force.

This epigram illustrates yet another means for constructing the poetic subject, this time through comparison not with an earlier poet, but with a character from earlier literature, Odysseus. The alliterative first three lines, (n.b. Πολλὸν, πάτρης,120 and

τοιοῦτος πλανίων) echo the beginning of the Odyssey: Ἄνδρα µοι ἔννεπε, Μοῦσα, πολύτροπον, ὃς µάλα πολλὰ πλάγχθη, ἐπεὶ Τροίης ἱερὸν πτολίεθρον ἔπερσε· πολλῶν δ’ ἀνθρώπων ἴδεν ἄστεα καὶ νόον ἔγνω, πολλὰ δ’ ὅ γ’ ἐν πόντῳ πάθεν ἄλγεα ὃν κατὰ θυµόν, ἀρνύµενος ἥν τε ψυχὴν καὶ νόστον ἑταίρων.

Like Nossis sending a message to Sappho in AP 7.718, Leonidas, in what was likely the final poem of his collected epigrams, looks outward to the broader poetic tradition. He frames his representation of himself and the world in which he lives in terms of the model offered by Homer’s Odyssey.121 In the background behind this rather prominent textual allusion may be a more subtle reference to the Iliad. The doleful tone of the first couplet

119 Cf. Dettmer, 1997, on similar compositional patterns in the polymetra of Catullus. 120 In this context, πάτρης at the beginning of line two is evocative of the phrase πατρίδα γαῖαν, which occurs often in the Odyssey. 121 The allusion to the Odyssey in Leonidas’ self-epitaph is discussed by Gutzwiller, 2012, 105-107. Gigante, 1971, 81, emphasizes the connection between Leonidas’ praise of Homer in AP 9.24 and his claim to immortality in his self-epitaph in AP 7.715.

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may remind us of Achilles’ words at the end of the the poem (24.540-542): οὐδέ νυ τόν γε |γηράσκοντα κοµίζω, ἐπεὶ µάλα τηλόθι πάτρης | ἧµαι ἐνὶ Τροίῃ, σέ τε κήδων ἠδὲ

σὰ τέκνα (“I will not take care of him [Peleus] in old age, but remain at Troy far from my fatherland, bringing pain to you and your children”). On this reading, Leonidas has deftly combined reflections on the importance of homeland drawn from each of the

Homeric epics.

In certain other respects too, the function of the self-epitaph is quite similar to that of Nossis’ AP 7.718. Indeed, the similarities between the two may have been one of the reasons Meleager situated them closely together in the preserved Garland-sequence of epigrams on poets and other famous figures running from 7.707-719 in the Palatine

Anthology. Leonidas’ representation of himself as a wanderer like Odysseus in turn reflects back onto the contents of Leonidas’ book: in his humble subjects we can find parallels, as Gigante did, with the diverse cast of characters who people the Odyssey as a whole.122 Just as Nossis’ persona placed a Sapphic stamp upon her epigrams as a collection, through his connection to the Odyssey the figure of Leonidas ties the contents of his book to the earlier literary tradition, and marks them, taken together, as a kind of

“revision” of Homer.123

122 Cf. Gigante, 1971, 77-8: “Leonida riconobbe in Omero … l’esemplare poeta del romanzo umile dell’Odissea, il creatore di personaggi domestici come Laerte, Penelope, Eumeo, Euriclea, … . Ma sopratutto Omero non ignorò gli umili artigiani … i ‘lavoratori del popolo … .” 123 One could equally well compare Asclepiades’ sphragistic poem AP 12.50, where the author portrays himself as part of the same erotic-sympotic milieu depicted in his epigrams.

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In referring to the Odyssey, Leonidas was very likely influenced by Cynic authors who had already made Odysseus into a kind of Cynic hero.124 Cynic authors such as

Crates of Thebes, moreover, had repurposed Homeric epic for the expression of Cynic ideas in a parodic poetic form. It is plausible, then, that Leonidas drew upon the existing tradition of reading the Odyssey through a Cynic lens, and combined this with the form of epigram to produce a picture of a world of humble figures for whom the poet himself is a kind of spokesperson.

Leonidas’ combination of inscriptional forms with subject matter and ethos drawn in part from a Cynic reading of the Odyssey thus bears many similarities to the experimental strategies of other early literary epigrammatists. His use of Homeric epic, however, places him within yet another current of literary innovation during the

Hellenistic period, the renovation of the epic tradition, in which, as we shall see further below (ch. 3), he came to play an influential role.

The importance of Homer (and the broader epic tradition) for Leonidas’ poetic self-conception is given further emphasis by AP 9.24 and 9.25, epigrams in praise of

Homer and Aratus respectively:125

AP 9.24 – Leonidas of Tarentum XXX HE 126 Ἄστρα µὲν ἠµαύρωσε καὶ ἱερὰ κύκλα σελήνης ἄξονα δινήσας ἔµπυρος ἠέλιος· ὑµνοπόλους δ’ ἀγεληδὸν ἀπηµάλδυνεν Ὅµηρος

124 Cf. Montiglio, 2011, 66-94. 125 It is somewhat surprising that in spite of their collocation in AP the two epigrams have never to my knowledge been discussed in connection with each other. Gow and Page, for instance, even situate them remotely from one another in their edition. 126 Although Planudes ascribes AP 9.24 to “Antipater”, its Leonidean authorship has rarely been doubted. Argentieri, 2003, 209, plausibly suggests that Planudes, or the MS from which he was working, may have fallen into error due to the fact that in the AP (and originally in Cephalas) epigrams 9.23 and 9.26, which enclose the epigrams on Homer and Aratus, are each by Antipater of Thessalonica.

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λαµπρότατον Μουσῶν φέγγος ἀνασχόµενος.

As it turns on its axis the fiery sun dims the stars and the holy circle of the moon. Homer (too), holding up the brightest light of the Muses, has obscured the whole crowd of other poets.

AP 9.25 – Leonidas of Tarentum CI HE Γράµµα τόδ’ Ἀρήτοιο δαήµονος, ὅς ποτε λεπτῇ φροντίδι δηναιοὺς ἀστέρας ἐφράσατο, ἀπλανέας τ’ ἄµφω καὶ ἀλήµονας, οἷσιν ἐναργὴς ἰλλόµενος κύκλοις οὐρανὸς ἐνδέδεται. αἰνείσθω δὲ καµὼν ἔργον µέγα, καὶ Διὸς εἶναι 5 δεύτερος, ὅστις ἔθηκ’ ἄστρα φαεινότερα.

This is the writing of learned Aratus, who once with subtle understanding explained the ancient stars—the unmoving ones and the wanderers both—by the orbits of which the bright heaven is entwined. He should be praised as having accomplished a great work, and as worthy of being second after Zeus, since he has made the stars brighter.

I would like to sidestep for the moment some problems involving the second poem in particular and concentrate first on some overlooked literary dimensions of the epigrams.

AP 9.24 pays tribute to Homer’s preeminence among poets—a practically indisputable truism in antiquity.127 Just as the sun, when it appears, renders the other stars invisible,

Homer’s excellence renders other poets “invisible”, that is negligible, by comparison.128

While Gigante and others are right to regard the poem on Homer as a statement of literary allegiance (rather than, say, an epideictic “exercise”),129 the real point of this sentiment only comes through when we read it alongside AP 9.25, on Aratus’ Phaenomena.

Parallels of imagery and structure, moreover, suggest that the two poems were composed

127 The major exception, the Certamen of Homer and Hesiod, in which Hesiod is named the victor, only winds up proving the rule. 128 The equation is paralleled, perhaps in imitation of Leonidas, at Inschriften von Pergamon 203.13-14: τόσσογ γὰρ ἐπὶ χθονὶ φ̣έγγος ἔλαµψε | Μουσάων ὁπ̣όσον τείρεσιν ἠέλιος. 129 Gigante, 1971, 77.

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to be read together, regardless of how they came to occupy their present position in the

Palatine Anthology.130

Leonidas uses imagery to create a metaphorical expression of the relationship between the subjects of the epigrams. Each uses astronomical imagery, and in particular the topos of the sun extinguishing the other stars, as a metaphor for poetic status. In

Aratus’ case, this imagery takes on an added significance, since it also reflects the content of his poem, a didactic epic on astronomy. Note how the first line of the Homer epigram, where the topos is invoked, is nicely balanced by the last line of the epigram on Aratus:

Homer had dimmed the stars; Aratus makes them brighter. Note too how the opening of the first epigram, Ἄστρα µὲν ἠµαύρωσε, is answered by the last words of the second,

ἔθηκ’ ἄστρα φαεινότερα. Furthermore, the logic of the imagery—and by extension the relationship between the two poets—is encapsulated in the balanced, line-initial adjectives: Homer’s superlative (λαµπρότατον) is answered by Aratus’ comparative

(δεύτερος, and cf. φαεινότερα at line end).131

The connection between the epigrams goes deeper than these neatly balanced elements of structure and imagery. When Leonidas praises Homer’s supreme luminosity, and goes on to praise Aratus’ less-powerful, but still impressive ability to “illuminate” his

130 The order of the epigrams at the beginning of book IX is due, most proximately, to Constantine Cephalas. Perhaps he found them this way already in the Garland of Meleager. 131 “Anspielung auf den Titel des Buches,” notes Gabathuler, 1937, 68. There is a further layer of subtlety to the formulation if Bing, 1990, is correct in seeing a playful reference in Leonidas’ Διός … δεύτερος to the opening of the Phaenomena, where the initial invocation of Zeus is followed directly by a possible pun on Aratus’ own name (ἄρρητον ≈ Ἄρητος). In this sense, as Cameron, 1995, 322, points out, Aratus’ name literally comes “second after Zeus” in the Phaenomena. Cf. Volk, 2012. On other plays on Aratus’ name, see Prioux, 2005.

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subject matter, we are to read this as a comment on the nature of the relationship between the modern poet and his archaic model.132 Aratus does not rival Homer in sheer luminosity, but within the confines of his subject he has achieved, somewhat paradoxically (note the contrast between λεπτῇ φροντίδι and ἔργον µέγα), the stylistic effect in which Homer was unquestionably supreme.

The pairing of Leonidas’ epigrams on Homer and Aratus offers a new point of departure for thinking about Callimachus’ famous epigram in praise of Aratus:

Callimachus AP 9.507 = LVI HE = 27 Pf. Ἡσιόδου τό τ᾽ἄεισµα καὶ ὁ τρόπος· οὐ τὸν ἀοιδόν ἔσχατον, ἀλλ ὀκνέω µὴ τὸ µελιχρότατον τῶν ἐπέων ὁ Σολεὺς ἀπεµάξατο. χαίρετε λεπταί ῥήσιες, Ἀρήτου σύµβολον ἀγρυπνίης. 4 σύµβολον ἀγρυπνίης Ruhnken σύντονος ἀγρυπνίη P σύγγονος ἀγρυπνίης Achilles vita Arati 5.78.28 Maass

The song and the style are Hesiod’s; not, however, did he copy the poet completely, yet I dare say that he has imitated the very sweetest of his verses. Hail, subtle words, the token of Aratus’ wakefulness.

We will return below to some of the problems of interpretation presented by this epigram in a moment, and focus for now on its relationship to Leonidas’ poem. Scholarly accounts have typically taken Callimachus’ epigram as chronologically primary and, from a literary standpoint, the foundation for the Leonidean “imitation”. Thus, Leonidas’ praise of Aratus becomes an epideictic exercise rather than a real expression of poetic ideals.133 As to the chronological relationship, I think we must say non liquet.134

132 In the same vein, Bing 1988a, 29, has argued that the word γράµµα here and elsewhere (e.g Asclepiades AP 9.63 on Antimachus’ Lyde) points to the gap between a primarily oral mode of poetic composition and reception and labor-intensive composition dependent upon writing and written to be read. 133 Cf. Gabathuler, 1937, 68-69: “auf den Spuren des Kallimachos … . [Leonidas] spricht nicht als Verehrer und Kenner des Dichters, sondern benutzt einfach dargebotenen Stoff,

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Regardless of who wrote first, it seems that each author articulated his praise of Aratus through a connection with an earlier generic model, Leonidas using Homer, Callimachus

Hesiod. Each epigrammatist is interested in the dynamics of literary tradition; for each of them, Aratus’ poem serves as the occasion to explore the possibilities of recreating some aspect of the poetry of the past in the present. Here, the tradition of ancient scholarship on the Phaenomena may offer a useful lens through which to read the epigrams. One of the Vitae of Aratus records that scholars engaged in a complicated dispute over whether

Aratus was properly to be considered the emulator (ζηλωτής) of Homer or Hesiod:135 ζηλωτὴς δὲ ἐγένετο τοῦ ὁµηρικοῦ χαρακτῆρος κατὰ τὴν τῶν ἐπῶν σύνθεσιν. ἔνιοι δὲ αὐτὸν λέγουσιν Ἡσιόδου µᾶλλον ζηλωτὴν γεγονέναι. καθάπερ γὰρ ὁ Ἡσίοδος τῶν Ἔργων καὶ Ἡµερῶν ἀπαρχόµενος τῶν ὕµνων ἀπὸ Διὸς ἤρξατο λέγων “Μοῦσαι Πιερίηθεν ἀοιδῇσι κλείουσαι, / δεῦτε Δί’ ἐννέπετε”, οὕτω καὶ ὁ Ἄρατος τῆς ποιήσεως ἀρχόµενος ἔφη “ἐκ Διὸς ἀρχώµεσθα”· τά τε περὶ τοῦ χρυσοῦ γένους ὁµοίως τῷ Ἡσιόδῳ, <καὶ> κατὰ πολλοὺς ἄλλους µύθους. Βοηθὸς δὲ ὁ Σιδώνιος ἐν τῷ (15) πρώτῳ περὶ αὐτοῦ φησιν οὐχ Ἡσιόδου αὐτὸν ζηλωτήν, ἀλλ’ Ὁµήρου γεγονέναι· τὸ γὰρ πλάσµα τῆς ποιήσεως µεῖζον ἢ κατὰ Ἡσίοδον. πολλοὶ µὲν γὰρ καὶ ἄλλοι Φαινόµενα ἔγραψαν, καὶ Κλεόπατρος καὶ Σµίνθης καὶ Ἀλέξανδρος ὁ Αἰτωλὸς καὶ Ἀλέξανδρος ὁ Ἐφέσιος καὶ Ἀλέξανδρος ὁ Λυκαΐτης καὶ Ἀνακρέων καὶ Ἀρτεµίδωρος καὶ Ἵππαρχος καὶ ἄλλοι πολλοί, ἀλλ’ ὅµως λαµπροτέρα γέγονε πάντων ἡ Ἀράτου δύναµις ἐπισκοτήσασα τοῖς ἄλλοις.

He was an emulator of the Homeric style in the composition of his verses. Some say that he was more an emulator of Hesiod. For just as Hesiod when he began his Works and Days started his hymns from Zeus, saying “Muses from Pieria who give glory in songs, come now and sing of Zeus,” so too Aratus, at the beginning of his work said, “Let us begin from Zeus.” And in his account of the Golden Age he is also like Hesiod, and in several other stories. Boethus of Sidon, however, in his first volume on him [sc. Aratus], says that he was not an emulator of Hesiod, but of Homer. For the style of his verse is grander than it is

um ihn auf seine Weise zu variieren und mit seinem Vorgänger zu wetteifern.” Against this judgment cf. Cameron, 1995, 323. 134 The most thorough discussion of the particular problems associated with AP 9.25 is Amerio, 1981 (with discussion of the attribution p. 111, n. 1). Cf. Izzo D’Accinni 1958, 305. 135 Maass, p. 12, ln. 7 - p. 13 ln. 5. The passage is brought into connection with Callimachus’ epigram by Gabathuler, 1937, 60. Cf. Cameron, 1995, 380; Riedweg, 1994, 128; and the brief discussion of Klooster, 2011, 157. A connection to Leonidas’ epigram has never been proposed.

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in Hesiod (?). For many others wrote works on/called Phaenomena, including Cleopatros, Sminthes, Alexander Aetolus, Alexander of Ephesus, Alexander of Lyke, Anacreon, Artemidorus, Hipparchus, and many others, but all the same, Aratus’ capacity proved more splendid than all and cast a shadow over the others.

There are many points of contact between the epigrams and this passage, beginning with the basic comparison of Aratus with either Homer or Hesiod. The Vita, moreover, treats first lines of the Phaenomena as a locus for the articulation of Aratus’ relationship with his models. So too, as already discussed above, the epigrams of Leonidas and

Callimachus engage on a minute level with the first lines of the Phaenomena. Then, in the summary of the judgment of Boethus of Sidon (2nd century BCE), we find the very stylistic quality of splendor (cf. λαµπροτέρα in the final sentence of the Vita-passage) used to connect Aratus with Homer rather than Hesiod. Moreover, it was by virtue of this splendor, Boethus claims, that Aratus “outshone” his competitors in the field of astronomical poetry.136

The point in citing this passage from the Vitae as a comparandum is not necessarily to suggest that the epigrams exercised a direct influence on the later tradition

(although this is possible).137 Instead, I would like to emphasize how the passage presents in an explicit and synthetic way what is presented in the epigrams in a disconnected, implicit, literary-symbolic way. The various texts, that is, represent two different modes of a unified literary-critical discourse.

136 There is a shade here of the epigram ascribed to “King Ptolemy” (FGE, 84), in which he assigns Aratus first place among authors of Phaenomena. 137 On the enormous influence of Callimachus’ epigrams in general, see Gutzwiller, 1998a, 183. The epigram on Aratus is in fact directly cited by another of the Vitae Arati (p. 9, ln. 10 Maass). Epigrams are also used elsewhere as evidence in literary critical arguments. So, e.g., the fragment of Callimachus’ epigram on Antimachus’ Lyde (fr. 398 Pf.) is cited in a discussion of literary style in the Vita Dionysii Periegeta (Cf. Kassel, 1985).

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We may now be in a better position to assess the literary function of Leonidas’ paired epigrams in praise of Homer and Aratus in the larger context of his allusion to the

Odyssey in his self-epitaph and his reworking of Homeric style elsewhere. The third century was a time in which various authors experimented with the integration of new material into the epic tradition. In addition to Aratus’ astronomical poem, we could mention Theocritus 11, featuring the young Polyphemus in love, the depiction of the young Medea (and much else) in Apollonius’ Argonautica, and Callimachus’ unconventional Hecale, a short epic centered on the meeting of a young hero (little more than a child) and a poor, elderly woman. Later on, the author of the Batrachomyomachia turned to the inspiration of both Callimachus and Leonidas—among others—to craft the quintessential mock epic.

In the case of Callimachus’ Hecale, Gutzwiller has argued that the genesis of the poem can be located within contemporary literary-critical debates about the relationship between poetic style and the scale (or more simply, length) of a work. The Hecale is a meeting point between diverse elements, “a juxtaposition of high and low that promotes a reexamination of grand epic through the lens of the humble.”138 Leonidas’ epigrams could be viewed as a (very extreme) example of the same phenomenon, combining marked elements of epic with the (equally marked) description of humble figures. This may go a long way towards explaining Leonidas’ praise of Aratus. Scholars have often regarded the Phaenomena as appealing to an exceptionally learned readership made up of people like Callimachus.139 What Leonidas admired in Aratus was not just his learning,

138 Gutzwiller, 2012, 240. 139 This aspect of Aratus’ reception is emphasized, e.g., by Bing, 1993b. While the elements of recondite, playful erudition he points out in the poem should hardly be

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however, but rather the way in which he was able to mold the epic tradition to new poetic purposes and to integrate new content and stylistic effects into it.

The preceding discussion has shown that Leonidas’ paired epigrams in praise of

Homer and Aratus, which have seemed to many scholars to be merely derivative and even vapid, can be connected, if read as a diptych, with his project of reenvisioning the epic tradition within the generic framework of epigram (recall again Leonidas’ prominent allusion to Odysseus’ travels in his self-epitaph AP 7.715). As a result of recent scholarship showing the artistry with which ancient poetry books were often composed, scholars are generally less apt to treat epigrams as isolated works, but rather as parts (or what were originally parts) of larger poetic ensembles.140 Reading groups of two or more epigrams as coherently designed artistic creations is a natural consequence of this shift in scholarly reading habits. The idea of an epigram “group” is an elastic one: Epigrams situated together in the same inscriptional context,141 or in proximity to one another on a papyrus roll, epigram “companion-pieces”,142 or epigrams on the same subject or sharing a similar form, could all be said to form groups of different kinds. We should also

discounted, it seems nevertheless that the Phaenomena held still further attractions for ancient audiences that we as yet do not understand. 140 Compare, however, Barchiesi, 2005, who emphasizes the fundamental instability of ancient poetry books, which are always subject to reordering, supplementation, or excerption. 141 Many examples of this phenomenon could be adduced. In the particular case of poet- epigrams, IG XIV.1183 and 1188 (three epigrams apiece on Menander and Homer respectively; the inscriptions date to the 3rd c. AD) and Inschriften von Pergamon 203 (three epigrams on the birthplace of Homer) stand out. 142 On this sort of epigram-pair, in which epigrams present information supplementing one another see Kirstein, 2002. Among extant poet-epigrams, the only examples which fit Kirstein’s exacting definition are Callimachus’s epitaphs for his grandfather and himself (AP 7.415 and 7.525 respectively).

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imagine epigrams grouped thematically in live performance. We have already seen how

Leonidas’ epigrams on Homer and Aratus “shed light” on one another when read as a diptych on epic poetry. By reading epigrams by a series of poets of the third and early- second centuries BCE, Callimachus, Dioscorides, and Alcaeus of Messene, we will see that this systemic approach to the composition of epigrams about poets is quite a pervasive trend.143 Reading epigrams as groups will allow us, moreover, to get a clearer idea of how assessments and representations of other poets are, for certain epigrammatists at least, part of larger coherent literary projects.

Callimachus’ epigrams and the Aetia prologue

The self-reflexive function of the representation of other poets is prominently illustrated in the epigrams of Callimachus, whose praise of Aratus, AP 9.507, we have already touched on above. I quote the text again for convenience here:

Callimachus AP 9.507 = LVI HE = 27 Pf. Ἡσιόδου τό τ᾽ἄεισµα καὶ ὁ τρόπος· οὐ τὸν ἀοιδόν ἔσχατον, ἀλλ ὀκνέω µὴ τὸ µελιχρότατον τῶν ἐπέων ὁ Σολεὺς ἀπεµάξατο. χαίρετε λεπταί ῥήσιες, Ἀρήτου σύµβολον ἀγρυπνίης. 4 σύµβολον ἀγρυπνίης Ruhnken σύντονος ἀγρυπνίη P σύγγονος ἀγρυπνίης Achilles vita Arati 5.78.28 Maass

The song and the style are Hesiod’s; not, however, did he copy the poet completely, yet I dare say that he has imitated the very sweetest of his verses. Hail, subtle words, the token of Aratus’ wakefulness.

143 See, in general, Gabathuler, 1937. Cf. Skiadas, 1965, and Bolmarcich, 2002, on epigrams on Homer. Bing, 1988b on Theocritus’ epigrams on poets; Fantuzzi, 2007a on Dioscorides’ epigrams on dramatists; Barbantani, 1993, and Acosta-Hughes and Barbantani, 2007, on epigrams on lyric poets; Rosen, 2007, on epigrams on Archilochus and Hipponax. Though beyond the scope of this study, Pini, 2006, on a group of epigrams on poems and poets in Martial’s Apophoreta, deserves consideration alongside studies of the Hellenistic material.

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Much has been written about the text and interpretation of this epigram.144 My view is that Callimachus praises the Phaenomena on the grounds that in it Aratus has imitated

Hesiod not “all the way” (ἔσχατον), but rather has “skimmed off” the sweetest part of his verses.145 Two points need to be addressed at the outset regarding the text of line 1 and the (much contested) line 4. Although an Oxyrhynchus papyrus now provides the reading ἀοιδῶν (Scaliger’s emendation),146 I am not convinced by the interpretations so far offered of the resulting text and print the ἀοιδόν transmitted in AP and the MSS of the Vita Arati. I am also not convinced by attempts to defend the transmitted σύντονος

ἀγρυπνίη in line 4, and print Ruhnken’s widely-accepted σύµβολον ἀγρυπνίης instead.

Although Callimachus and Leonidas trace Aratus’ poetic genealogy back to different sources, Hesiod and Homer respectively, it nevertheless seems that they praise him for essentially the same reasons. For each of them, Aratus’ importance lies in the essential stylistic quality of his work and its relation to his models. His work is recognizably kindred to the foundational works of Greek epic, yet at the same time possesses something that marks it as different. For Leonidas, this was a quality of luminosity, which brings the astronomical contents of Aratus’ work into detailed focus--

“illuminating the stars”, as Leonidas puts it. The movement of Callimachus’ epigram stresses the same quality of uncanny similarity to and difference from the epic tradition in

Aratus’ poem. The beginning of the epigram, the terse subjective genitive plus noun in the style of a “book tag” or sillybos, quickly gives way to something both more complex

144 See esp. Cameron, 1995, 374-379, for discussion of competing interpretations. 145 This is, substantially, the interpretation of Kaibel, 1894, 121, which is also endorsed by Cameron, 1995, 377 146 See, e.g., the interpretation of Obbink, 2005, who argues in support of the papyrus reading.

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and ambiguous. Whereas ἄεισµα had seemed at first to be simply the substantive

(“song”) derived from the verb ἀείδω (“sing”), the immediate addition of another element, ὁ τρόπος, indicates that we must be dealing with some specialized use of the word: both the ἄεισµα and the τρόπος are aspects of the work (taking ἄεισµα to mean

“the kind of song”—i.e. the meter/genre—and τρόπος the “style”), but neither of them is identical to the work. In these particular aspects, the work resembles that of Hesiod, but this resemblance does not go all the way (οὐκ ἔσχατον).147 Like Leonidas, Callimachus singles out a particular quality, in this case sweetness, as the locus for the articulation of the uncanny relationship between Aratus and Hesiod. The sweetness is an element of

Hesiod’s work, but by “skimming it off” or “taking a mold of it” (ἀπεµάξατο), isolating and condensing it, Aratus has created something truly new.

In both Callimachus and Leonidas, what is being celebrated is a new, self- conscious and sophisticated form of µίµησις or ζήλωσις distinct from simple copying.

The generation of poets and literary critics writing at the end of the fourth and beginning of the third centuries had to create and develop this mode of composition themselves, but we can see the theoretical fruits their work ultimately bore, as for example in the subtle account of µίµησις given by Longinus: ἐστὶν δ᾽ οὐ κλοπὴ τὸ πρᾶγµα, ἀλλ᾽ ὡς ἀπὸ καλῶν ἠθῶν ἡ πλασµάτων ἢ δηµιουργηµάτων ἀποτύπωσις (de sublimitate, 13.4)

“This thing [mimesis] is not theft, but is just like a mold taken of fine figures for sculptures and other artworks.”

147 Other scholars, reading τὸν ἀοιδῶν | ἔσχατον, have found in this line a reference to Homer, the ἔσχατος ἀοιδῶν (whatever that would mean). See Cameron, 1995, 374-375, for discussion of the difficulties of this approach.

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Although in Longinus we find a “fully-formed” conception of imitatio that postdates

Callimachus, the conceptual connection between Callimachus’ epigrams and this later literary criticism is not merely accidental, but an indication that the two texts are engaged in the same kind of discourse.148 For Callimachus’ poetic works quite often involve the practice of literary criticism (the classification and judgment of works of poetry) within the different generic frameworks of hymn, iambus, elegy, and so on. Callimachus’ poetic persona, in short, is as much a literary critic as the Callimachus who composed the

Pinakes. As Gutzwiller puts it, “his creative presence within the collection [of epigrams] is detectible through his constant self-reflection, in both theory and practice, upon his own literary, intellectual, and emotional position.”

We have seen that Leonidas’ epigram on Aratus fits alongside both his praise of

Homer (AP 9.24) and his reworking of Homeric epic within the generic framework of epigram (AP 7.715). Callimachus composed quite a large number of epigrams about poets (including himself), works of poetry, and poetic principles. Like Leonidas’ epigrams on Homer and Aratus, Callimachus’ epigrams on poetics ask to be read alongside one another, and create a coherent picture when we do. I would like now to consider how Callimachus’ epigrams on Aratus and other poets are connected to one another, and how they in turn relate to his broader poetic program, particularly as expressed in the prologue to the Aetia. The literary program that is presented in the two passages, I will argue, is essentially the same, but cast in two different generic molds. To put it another way, the epigrams present a literary-critical poetic program that is distinctly

148 Tueller, 2008, 173-174, proposes a further connection between Callimachus’ Aratus epigram and sculpture, arguing that the epigram was inspired by Nossis, AP 6.354, on a statue of a woman.

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epigrammatic in form, and the way in which Callimachus redefines and challenges generic elements of epigram (e.g. praise and sorrow) mirrors his aims and innovations as a poet and critic. As other poets had made epigram into a vehicle for sympotic or Cynic content, Callimachus adapts the genre to the purposes of literary criticism and to his own revolutionary aesthetic principles.

We will start with the Aetia prologue and move from there to the epigrams, illustrating points that connect with one another and with the ideas and images of the prologue. The Aetia prologue is one of the most widely studied passages in all of

Hellenistic poetry, but in spite of intense scholarly interest in its literary background, the collective significance of these similarities has never been explored.149 The connections with the epigrams are so pervasive, however that we might justly view the Aetia prologue as the transposition of Callimachus’ poetological epigrams into a connected elegy, or, depending on which we believe to have been written first, the epigrams as the resolution of the elegiac program into individual tesserae.150

Callimachus, Aetia fr. 1.1-37 (text = Harder, 2012) Πολλάκ⌟ι µοι Τελχῖνες ἐπιτρύζουσιν ἀ⌞οιδῇ νήιδε⌟ς οἳ Μούσης οὐκ ἐγένοντο φίλοι, εἵνεκε⌟ν οὐχ ἓν ἄεισµα διηνεκὲς ἢ βασιλ[η ...... ]ας ἐν πολλαῖς ἤνυσα χιλιάσιν ἢ .....]. ους ἥρωας, ἔπος δ᾽ ἐπὶ τυτθὸν ἑλ[ίσσω 5 παῖς ἅτ⌟ε, τῶν δ᾽ ἐτέων ἡ δεκὰ⌞ς⌟ οὐκ ὀλίγη.

149 On allusions to earlier literature in the Aetia prologue, see Acosta-Hughes and Stephens, 2002. 150 The relative chronology of the final edition of the Aetia and the epigrams is uncertain. Although the epigrams may have been composed over a number of years, I follow Gutzwiller, 1998a, 183-5, in believing that Callimachus published his own edition of them. The prologue was added to the Aetia some time after the composition and publication of its first edition. If we take the reference to old age at the end of the prologue as autobiographically accurate, then it would be an edition made near the end of the poet’s career and thus (likely) after the epigrams had been published. I regard this as the most likely relationship between the texts, but certainty is impossible and my argument does not rely on the epigrams’ priority.

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...... ].[.] καὶ Τε[λ]χῖσιν ἐγὼ τόδε· ῾φῦλον α[ ...... ]̣ τ̣ήκ[ειν] ἦπαρ ἐπιστάµενον, ...... ].. ρ̣εη̣ν̣ [ὀλ]ιγόστιχος· ἀλλὰ καθέλ⌞κει .... πο⌟λ̣̣ὺ̣̣ τὴν µακρὴν ὄµπνια Θεσµοφόρο[ς· 10 τοῖν δὲ] δ̣υ̣οῖν Μίµνερµος ὅτι γλυκύς, α̣⌞ἱ γ᾽ ἁ̣π̣αλαὶ [ ...... ] ἡ µεγάλη δ᾽ οὐκ ἐδίδαξε γυνή...... ]ο̣ν ἐπὶ Θρήϊκας ἀπ᾽ Αἰγύπτοιο [πέτοιτο αἵµατ]ι̣ Πυγµαίων ἡδοµένη [γ]έρα[νος, Μασσαγ˼γέ̣τ̣αι ˻κ˼αὶ µακρὸν ὀϊστεύοιε̣ν ἐπ᾽ ἄνδρα 15 Μῆδον]· ἀ̣η̣̣̣[δονίδες] δ᾽ ὧδε µελιχρ[ό]τεραι. ἔλλετε Βασκανίη⌋ς ὀλοὸν γένος· αὖθι δὲ τέχνῃ κρίνετε,] ⌊µὴ σχοί⌋νωι Περσίδι τὴν̣ σοφίην· µηδ’ ἀπ’ ἐµεῦ διφᾶ⌋τε µέγα ψοφέουσαν ἀοιδήν τίκτεσθαι· βροντᾶ⌋ν οὐκ ἐµόν, ⌊ἀλλὰ⌋ Διός.’ 20 καὶ γὰρ ὅτ⌋ε πρώ̣τιστον ἐµοῖς ἐπὶ δέλτον ἔθηκα γούνασι⌋ν, Ἀπ̣[ό]λλων εἶπεν ὅ µοι Λύκιος· ...... ]... ἀοιδέ, τὸ µὲν θύος ὅττι πάχιστον θρέψαι, τὴ]ν̣ Μοῦσαν δ’ ὠγαθὲ λεπταλέην· πρὸς δέ σε] καὶ τόδ’ ἄνωγα, τὰ µὴ πατέουσιν ἅµαξαι 25 τὰ στείβε⌋ιν, ἑτέρων ἴχνια µὴ καθ’ ὁµά δίφρον ἐλ]ᾶ̣ν µηδ’ οἷµον ἀνὰ πλατύν, ἀλλὰ κελεύθους ἀτρίπτο]υ̣ς, εἰ καὶ στε⌊ι⌋ν̣οτέρην ἐλάσεις. τῷ πιθόµη]ν· ἐνὶ τοῖς γὰρ ἀείδοµεν οἳ λιγὺν ἦχον τέττιγος, θ]όρυβον δ’ οὐκ ἐφίλησαν ὄνων. 30 θηρὶ µὲν ο⌋ὐατόεντι πανείκελον ὀγκήσαιτο ἄλλος, ἐγ]ὼ δ’ εἴην οὑλ̣[α]χύς, ὁ πτερόεις, ἆ πάντ⌋ως, ἵνα γῆρας ἵνα δρόσον ἣν µὲν ἀείδω προίκιο⌋ν ἐκ δίης ἠέρος εἶδαρ ἔδων, αὖθι τ⌋ὸ̣ δ̣’ ⌊ἐκ⌋δύοιµ⌊ι⌋, τό µοι βάρος ὅσσον ἔπεστι 35 τριγ⌋λ̣ώ̣⌊χι⌋ν̣ ὀλ⌊οῶι⌋ νῆσος ἐπ’ Ἐγκελάδωι...... Μοῦσαι γ⌋ὰρ ὅσους ἴδον ὄθµα⌊τ⌋ι παῖδας µὴ λοξῶι, πολιοὺς⌋ οὐκ ἀπέθεντο φίλους.

The Telchines are often muttering at my song, ignorant and no friends of the Muse, since I did not complete a single, continuous poem … kings … in many thousands of lines … or on heroes, but unroll my verse little by little, like a child, although the decade of my years is not short. … and I say this to the Telchines: … race knowing (only?) how to melt your livers, … of few lines, but the nourishing Lawgiver outweighs by much the long … but of the two, that Mimnermos is sweet, the smooth (?) … … but the big woman did not teach. … Let the crane that delights in the blood of pygmies fly from Egypt to Thrace, and the Massagetai take long shots at the Median man, but nightingales are sweeter like this. The hell with you, destructive breed of Spite! Judge poetry on the basis of skill, not by the Persian chain; do not look for a loud-sounding song to be born from me: thundering is Zeus’ business, not mine.

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For when I first placed my tablet upon my knees, Lycian Apollo said to me: ‘… singer, rear a sacrifice as fat as possible, but keep your Muse slim, my good man. And in addition I bid you do this: to tread where wagons do not, not to drive your chariot in the same tracks as others, and not along the broad road, but on the untrodden paths, even if it means driving on a narrower path. I heeded him, for my audience is those who love the clear sound of the cicada, and not the noise of asses. Let someone else bray like a long-eared animal, let me be the small one, the winged one. Ah, in every way, so that old age, so that dew, the one I may eat as free food from the shining air as I sing, and the other slough off, which is a weight upon me as heavy as the three-cornered island upon ruinous Enceladus. … for the Muses do not desert those friends when they are grown old, upon whom they looked not cock-eyed when they were youths.

The prologue (as I will refer to it for the sake of convenience) raises many textual and interpretive problems, around which a vast forest of scholarship has grown up.151 It falls into four basic parts: an introduction relating certain criticisms of Callimachus’ poetry voiced by critics (called ‘Telchines’) (1-6); Callimachus’ retort (7-20); his account of

Apollo’s instructions to him at the beginning of his career (20-28); and finally his account of and justification for his own poetic practice (29-38). In short, the prologue constitutes a multi-faceted discussion of poetic criticism from the point of view of Callimachus in his capacities as critic and poet.

My interest here is confined to a number of parallels between the prologue and

Callimachus’ epigrams. Commentators have of course noticed a number of points of connection between the two, but as far as I know there has been no extended discussion of the interconnections and their significance. I would like to argue here that we find in

151 In general, see the commentary of Harder, 2012, whose discussion incorporates the scholarship that has appeared since Pfeiffer.

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the epigrams a generically “epigrammatic” rendering of what is, essentially, the same poetic program represented in a different generic framework in the prologue to the Aetia.

The same poetic issues are at the heart of both texts: the appropriate style of poetry and the poet’s relationship to his models (especially early epic). A somewhat more subtle theme, yet a crucial one for both the epigrams and Aetia, is what I would call the poet’s relationship to “society”—that of his fellow poets and critics as well as society more broadly defined. In the prologue and in the epigrams, then, Callimachus is concerned with the (literary) past, but also with the poet both in contemporary society and in relation to posterity. The tradition of inscribed epigram, with its emphasis on praise and the transmission of glory across space and time, provides a fruitful conceptual field for

Callimachean literary discourse. In his “epigrammatic program” (as I would call it)

Callimachus’ reconfiguration of these traditional epigrammatic categories mirrors his own iconoclastic poetic agenda.

Near the center of the Aetia prologue is Apollo’s famous advice to the poet:

Callimachus, Aet. fr. 1.23-4 ...... ]... ἀοιδέ, τὸ µὲν θύος ὅττι πάχιστον θρέψαι, τὴ]ν̣ Μοῦσαν δ’ ὠγαθὲ λεπταλέην·

… poet, rear your sacrifice as fat as possible, but your Muse, my good man, make thin.

The couplet clearly recapitulates a distinction made in the epigrams between different stylistic qualities of poetry, “fatness” and “thinness”. Rebutting an epigram by

Asclepiades in praise of Antimachus’ Lyde, Callimachus derides the style of the work:

Callimachus, HE LXVII = fr. 398 Pf. Λύδη καὶ παχὺ γράµµα καὶ οὐ τόρον.

The Lyde is a thick writing and not clear.

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As we have already seen, instead of the Lyde Callimachus prefers Aratus’ Phaenomena, which embodies the stylistic quality of leptotes. The epigram on Aratus can, furthermore, be readily integrated with two other epigrams, HE LV and AP 9.565, about poets, poetic inheritance, and fame.152

Callimachus HE LV = 6 Pf. (Text = HE)153 Τοῦ Σαµίου πόνος εἰµὶ δόµῳ ποτὲ θεῖον ἀοιδόν δεξαµένου, κλείω δ᾽ Εὔρυτον ὅσσ᾽ ἔπαθεν, καὶ ξανθὴν Ἰόλειαν, Ὁµήρειον δὲ καλεῦµαι γράµµα. Κρεωφύλῳ, Ζεῦ φίλε, τοῦτο µέγα.

I am the work of the Samian, who once upon a time received the divine singer in his home. I sing of all that befell Eurutos, and of tawny Ioleia, and am called a Homeric writing. Dear Zeus!—what a great thing this is for Creophylus.

The initial genitive (the poet) plus nominative (the work) matches the epigram on Aratus as does ἀοιδόν at the end of the first line. The phrase “γράµµα. Κρεωφύλῳ,” matches the metrical form and—although broken up by punctuation—the sense of the phrase

ῥήσιες Ἀρήτου (note that both phrases occur in the fourth line of their respective epigrams). Meanwhile, γράµµα at the beginning of the final line recalls the first line of the epigram on the Lyde (παχὺ γράµµα, fr. 598 Pf.); if we had more of that poem than just the first six words, perhaps we would find some additional points of connection with both the Aratus and Creophylus poems.

The epigrams on Aratus and on Creophylus each deal with epic poets and their relationship to the past. The two poems create an interesting contrast: in the Aratus epigram, the speaker begins with the identification of the poem as Hesiod’s, only to move

152 Gow and Page seem to have acknowledged some affinity between the poems in their ordering (LV on Aratus; LVI on Creophylus; LVII on Theaetetus) 153 Quoted by Strabo 14.638 Sext. Emp. Adv. Math. 1.48; Σ Dion. Thr. 160.12; Eustathius 331.5.

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away from this tentative position and arrive at the “right answer”, that the poem belongs to Aratus. In the Creophylus epigram, meanwhile, what the poem boasts is precisely the fact that it is believed (however wrongly) to be by Homer. Herein lies Creophylus’

“great” achievement (τοῦτο µέγα): to have created a good enough simulacrum of

Homer that his work actually passes for Homer’s. Callimachus’ praise of Creophylus may then be double-edged: judged by one standard, Creophylus’ poem is on a par with

Homer himself, but by Callimachus’ own standard, his epic is merely a simulacrum or a fake—the wrong kind of imitation.154

Scholars have not noted the pointedness of the distinction between Callimachus’ representation of Aratus, who skimmed off only the sweetest part of the poetry of Hesiod, and Creophylus, who made a convincing replica of Homeric poetry.155 In light of this incongruity, I think we ought to read the µέγα of the final line of the Creophylus epigram as ironic. After all, for Callimachus, this is not necessarily a term of approbation. In addition to the famous formula, τὸ µέγα βιβλίον ἴσον ἔλεγεν εἶναι τῷ µεγάλῳ κακῷ

(“he used to claim that the big book was equal to the big trouble”) (fr. 465 Pf.), in the prologue we find him saying:

Callimachus – Aet. fr. 1.17-20 ἔλλετε Βασκανίη⌋ς ὀλοὸν γένος· αὖθι δὲ τέχνῃ

154 Regarding the sincerity of Callimachus’ praise, see the various views surveyed by Cameron, 1995, 400-401. Gabathuler, 1937, 61, takes the poem to be clearly ironic and in fact meant as a slight against Creophylus, whose work represents the type of “cyclic poem” attacked by Callimachus in AP 12.43.1 = II HE (ἐχθαίρω τὸ ποίηµα τὸ κυκλικόν). Gow and Page, HE vol. 2 merely say, “no criticism of the poem as a whole is intended, though the quatrain as a whole may be slightly disparaging.” Cameron himself, p. 401, taking the poem at face value (and believing it to be destined primarily for “[Callimachus’] own or a library copy of Creophylus”) asserts, “it would be a compliment for any poet to have a poem mistaken for Homer.” 155 For a reading of the Creophylus and Aratus epigrams as a contrasting pair representing negative and positive forms of imitation (respectively), see Peirano, 2012, 224-5.

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κρίνετε,] ⌊µὴ σχοί⌋νωι Περσίδι τὴν̣ σοφίην· µηδ’ ἀπ’ ἐµεῦ διφᾶ⌋τε µέγα ψοφέουσαν ἀοιδήν τίκτεσθαι· βροντᾶ⌋ν οὐκ ἐµόν, ⌊ἀλλὰ⌋ Διός.’ 20

The hell with you, accursed spawn of Envy. Judge poetic skill by craft, not according to the Persian chain. Don’t expect a big-sounding song to be born from me. Thundering belongs to Zeus, not to me.

The Creophylus epigram, like this passage, has to do both with the kind of poetry one composes as well as the reputation one gets for it. As a criterion for the evaluation of poetry, Callimachus proposes τέχνη, rather than simple measurement of length, an absurd procedure he imputes to the Telchines. Creophylus, then, may be the kind of poet whom the Telchines would praise, if he produced a work of suitable grandeur (i.e. size) as to be mistaken for Homer. At very least, Callimachus’ standard of τέχνη contrasts with the cruder one of likeness that the poem of Creophylus boasted for itself.

A similar irony (again involving the adjective µέγα) may be at work in an epigram commemorating little Simos’ dedication of a mask of Dionysus, in thanks

(perhaps) for a victory in a schoolroom competition:

AP 6.310 – Callimachus = XXVI HE = 48 Pf. εὐµαθίην ᾐτεῖτο διδοὺς ἐµὲ Σῖµος ὁ Μίκκου ταῖς Μοῦσαις, αἱ δὲ Γλαῦκος ὅκως ἔδοσαν ἀντ᾽ ὀλίγου µέγα δῶρον. ἐγὼ δ᾽ ἀνὰ τῇδε κεχηνώς κεῖµαι τοῦ Σαµίου διπλόον, ὁ τραγικός παιδαρίων Διόνυσος ἐπήκοος· οἱ δὲ λέγουσιν ῾ἱερὸς ὁ πλόκαµος᾽, τοὐµὸν ὄνειαρ ἐµοί.

Simos, son of Mikkos, begged for learning and gave me to the Muses, and they, like Glaucus, gave a great gift in return for a small one. So I am set up here gaping twice as wide as the Samian, I the tragic Dionysus, an audience for the kids. They say, “sacred is the lock,” telling me my own dream.

Fantuzzi hones in on the first word, εὐµαθίη, attested only rarely, and then only in prose, before the Hellenistic period. This word, he argues is meant to set up a contrast with AP

7.22, by Simias, where the same quality is praised in Sophocles. Whether or not we read

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the beginning of Callimachus’ epigram as an allusion to Simias’, it seems that Fantuzzi is correct to find a larger reflection on literature in the epigram. As he puts it,

“[Callimachus] implicity evokes a panorama of contemporary theater in which the tragic

εὐµαθία was no longer the extraordinarily creative εὐµαθία evoked by Simias for

Sophocles, but the reproductive εὐµαθία of school boys who learned selections from the classic theater by heart”. On this reading, we may find some irony in the words of the mask, when it says that, “the Muses, like Glaucus, gave him a great (µέγα) gift” (3).

Simos’ victory in the school contest, which is what the epigram seems to commemorate, is a “great gift” only by a reckoning of value that Callimachus himself (through the intermediary of the mask) distances himself from.

The epigram need not offer a judgment of the theater or poetry performed at festivals tout court. Instead, in drama, as in other forms of poetry, Callimachus is concerned with the distinction between originality and slavish reproduction of earlier models. The latter may win praise from certain quarters, but Callimachus himself is concerned to mark out space for a different standard of poetic excellence. Reversing the jibe of the Telchines, who had accused him of composing poetry “like a child” (παῖς ἅτε,

Aet. fr. 1.6), Callimachus likens slavish imitators to schoolchildren competing in a contest.

The questions of reputation and originality are examined from another angle in

Callimachus AP 9.565, on the dithyrambist Theaetetus:156

AP 9.565 – Callimachus = LVII HE = 7 Pf. (Text = Pf.) Ἦλθε Θεαίτητος καθαρὴν ὁδόν, εἰ δ᾽ ἐπὶ κισσόν τὸν τεὸν οὐχ αὕτη, Βάκχε, κέλευθος ἄγει

156 Perhaps to be identified with the “Theaetetus” whose epigrams are included in the Greek Anthology. See RE v, 2, 1372 (‘Theaitetos’, 4). Cf. Cameron, 1995, 59.

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ἄλλων µὲν κήρυκες ἐπὶ βραχὺν οὔνοµα καιρόν φθέγξονται, κείνου δ᾽ Ἑλλὰς ἀεὶ σοφίην.

Theaetetus traveled an unsullied path, and, even if this path did not lead him to your ivy, Bacchus, heralds will call the names of others for a short time, but Hellas will shout of his wisdom forever.

This epigram offers a good opportunity to examine how Callimachus engages with inscriptions as forms and with the idea of the inscribed epigram. A tension arises in the epigram from the distance between the praise offered by Callimachus and the civic praise offered to winners in poetic competitions by heralds and commemorated in celebratory epigrams.157 While the tragic mask, the memorial of Simos’ glory, laments its confinement in the schoolroom, Callimachus has in mind an audience imagined as unlimited in time and space. By the same token, although Theaetetus has not won recognition for his works, in the future all of Greece will celebrate his art forever.

The ideas of originality, poetic success, and the relation between the two, are further developed in Callimachus’ oeuvre. The image of the path in the Theaetetus epigram recurs in his epigram about Pittacus AP 7.89 (= 1 Pf.), in which the Atarneitan stranger asks the sage for advice about his prospective marriage. Pittacus tells him to follow the example of a group of boys who are playing with tops on the ground, telling each other to “follow your own path” (τὴν κατὰ σαυτὸν ἔλα). The epigram ends with these same words, now addressed to the reader of the epigram itself.158 The words of the boys are echoed by Callimachus himself in AP 12.43 (see the introduction above):

157 Fantuzzi, 2007b, 484. 158 See Gutzwiller, 1998a, 224-6, who proposes that the Pittacus epigram came first in Callimachus’ edition of his epigrams and served a programmatic function. She integrates it with the epigrams on Theaetetus and Aratus with that on Pittacus, calling it “another imagistic illustration of Callimachus’ philosophy of life and poetics.” (226) On the

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AP 12.43.1-2 - Callimachus Ἐχθαίρω τὸ ποίηµα τὸ κυκλικὸν οὐδὲ κελεύθῳ χαίρω τὶς πολλοὺς ὧδε καὶ ὧδε φέρει· … I hate the cyclic poem, and I do not like the path that carries crowds hither and thither.

Here Callimachus himself takes up the quality he had praised in Theaetetus, the enigmatic advice of the Pittacus epigram. In poetry, as in love, he despises what is common and used.159 The same idea reappears in lines 25-8 of the prologue, where it is now Apollo who gives advice to the poet: πρὸς δέ σε] καὶ τόδ’ ἄνωγα, τὰ µὴ πατέουσιν ἅµαξαι 25 τὰ στείβε⌋ιν, ἑτέρων ἴχνια µὴ καθ’ ὁµά δίφρον ἐλ]ᾶ̣ν µηδ’ οἷµον ἀνὰ πλατύν, ἀλλὰ κελεύθους ἀτρίπτο]υ̣ς, εἰ καὶ στε⌊ι⌋ν̣οτέρην ἐλάσεις.

There is more at stake here than a mere topical resemblance to the epigrams. Theaetetus’ career becomes a template for Callimachus’ own as represented in the prologue.

Theaetetus did not achieve the kind of loud public praise won by a contestant in the dramatic contests at Athens. Instead, Callimachus says, he will win a glory for his skill that will transcend place (Ἑλλὰς standing pars pro toto for “the world”) and time (ἀεί).

Callimachus too does not seek to gain fame by treading in the tracks of others, and this has brought down upon him the criticism of the “Telchines”. Nevertheless he will, like

Theaetetus, continue to follow his own path.

image of the path, see D’Alessio, 2007, v. 2, 374, n. 18; Fantuzzi, 2007b, 485; and, in general, Asper, 1997, 21-108. 159 Gutzwiller, 1998a, 218, notes: “it is this unity of artistic and erotic selves that helps to integrate the amatory section with the other portions of the Epigrammata.”

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A similar recasting of epigrammatic form in the service of literary criticism occurs in Callimachus’ celebrated epigram on his fellow epigrammatist Heraclitus of

Halicarnassus, a meditation on poetic immortality:160

AP 7.80 – Callimachus = XXIV HE Εἰπέ τις, Ἡράκλειτε, τεὸν µόρον ἐς δέ µε δάκρυ ἤγαγεν ἐµνήσθην δ᾽ ὁσσάκις ἀµφότεροι ἠέλιον [ἐν] λέσχῃ κατεδύσαµεν. ἀλλὰ σὺ µέν που, ξεῖν᾽ Ἁλικαρνησεῦ, τετράπαλαι σποδίη, αἱ δὲ τεαὶ ζώουσιν ἀηδόνες, ᾗσιν ὁ πάντων ἁρπακτὴς Ἀίδης οὐκ ἐπὶ χεῖρα βαλεῖ.

Someone told me, Heraclitus, of your death, and it brought a tear to my eye when I remembered how often the two of us set the sun in leisure. I suppose that you, Halicarnassian friend, are ancient dust, but your Nightingales live on, upon which Hades, which snatches away all things, will never lay a hand.

At the heart of the epigram is a topos we have seen already in the self-epitaph of

Leonidas of Tarentum, and which appears very often elsewhere: the power of poetry to overcome death itself. However Callimachus has added another layer to the topos by subverting the conventions of inscribed epigram. For, after all, the Heraclitus epigram is very pointedly not an epitaph. As speaker, Callimachus distances himself from the death and from the imagined site of the tomb, saying only “someone told me of your death” and

“I suppose you are aged dust”. The word ξεῖνος in the epigram, moreover, which in a real epitaph would have referred to the passerby, here refers to Heraclitus himself, not a

160 It was likely on the basis of this epigram that Housman, followed by many editors, restored ἀ̣η̣̣̣[δονίδες] in line 16 of the Aetia prologue. If this is the correct reading, this would add yet another point of connection between the epigrams and the prologue. See, however, the reservations of Harder, 2012, ad loc.

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“stranger” but the poet’s friend.161 Yet again, the treatment of traditional features of epigram is calibrated to the literary claim Callimachus is making.

Returning to the nexus between prologue and epigrams, we come to AP 7.525, one of Callimachus’ two preserved self-epitaphs (the other is 7.415):

AP 7.525 – Callimachus = XXIX HE = 21 Pf. (Text = Faraone, 1986):162 Ὅστις ἐµὸν παρὰ σῆµα φέρεις πόδα, Καλλιµάχου µε ἴσθι Κυρηναίου παῖδα τε καὶ γενέτην. εἰδείης δ᾽ ἄµφω· ὁ µέν κοτε πατρίδος ὅπλων ἦρξεν, ὁ δ᾽ ἤεισεν κρέσσονα βασκανίης ἄχρι βίου. Μοῦσαι γὰρ ὅσους ἴδον ὄµµατι παῖδας 5 µὴ λοξῷ πολιοὺς οὐκ ἀπέθεντο φίλους. 5 ἄχρι βίου huc transposuit Faraone e v. 6: οὐ νέµεσις P Pl 6 µὴ λοξῷ Σ Hes.: ἄχρι βίου P Pl 5-6 secluserunt multi

Whoever you are who carry your foot past my tomb, know that I am the child and the father of Callimachus of Cyrene. You might know them both: the one led the infantry forces of his fatherland, the other sang more powerfully than jealousy throughout his life. For whom the Muses do not scorn as children, they do not put aside when they are grey- haired.

The poem is ingenious—an epitaph for Callimachus’ father, who memorializes his own father as well as his son the poet, both of whom are named “Callimachus”. Scholars have emphasized the importance of the poem as a possible closing piece; in Gutzwiller’s words, “the poem is clearly Callimachus’ signature piece, the only extant epigram in which he names himself expressly”.163

161 Cf. Hunter, 1992, who analyzes Callimachus’ play with voice in the Heraclitus epigram as an expansion or radicalization of a dynamic already present in Heraclitus’ own work (exampled by AP 7.465): “Whereas Heraclitus’ poem remains within (broadly defined) boundaries of the funerary form, while exploring, with considerable originality, the overt role of the poet in such a tradition, Callimachus moves completely away from these traditional forms; they remain, however, hovering over his poem, advertising its difference.” (123) [Emphasis added.] 162 For a defense of the transmitted οὐ νέµεσις, see Gutzwiller, 1998a, 212-3. 163 Gutzwiller, 1998a, 212, who also broaches the possibility that the epigram was appended to the collection of Callimachus’ epigrams at the same time as the final edition

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It has caused great consternation among scholars that the final couplet of the epigram cited is repeated almost verbatim in the prologue:

Aet. fr. 1.37-8: ...... Μοῦσαι γ⌋ὰρ ὅσους ἴδον ὄθµα⌊τ⌋ι παῖδας µὴ λοξῶι, πολιοὺς⌋ οὐκ ἀπέθεντο φίλους.

This overlap between these texts has often been considered a mark of corruption in the epigram, especially given the other difficulties involved in making sense of the text of the epigram as transmitted. Faraone, however, has suggested that the text of the epigram suffered partial corruption from the similar passage in the Aetia prologue,164 and that the overlap itself represents ultimately not a corruption in either of the two texts, but a partial self-quotation.165

According to my argument, the overlap between the epigrams and the Aetia prologue here merely caps what is a farther reaching and more substantive set of interconnections. Callimachus has constructed complementary representations of his poetic program, one of them (the Aetia prologue) according to the generic rules of elegy, the other according to the generic rules of epigram. The prologue’s central antithesis between “thick” and “thin” style poetry is recapitulated in the paired epigrams on

Antimachus and Aratus, but there is more at stake than just stylistic preferences. As we have seen, Callimachus’ praise of Aratus also has to do with a revolutionary vision of

of the rest of his works was being prepared, and that it was followed by the couplet AP 7.415, which was meant to “sum up” Callimachus’ entire career. 164 Faraone, 1986, with the tentative approval of Harder, 2013, 84. Unlike many other editors, Harder does not print the supplement οὐ νέµεσις (derived from the scholia to Hesiod) at the beginning of Aet. fr. 1.37 despite regarding it as consistent with the context. 165 See Faraone, 1986, esp. pp. 55-6. One may be reminded of Vergil’s self-quotation of Eclogues 1.1 at the end of the final book of the Georgics.

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poetic excellence that eschews direct imitation in favor of a refined, creative, and ultimately transformative engagement with earlier models. This distinction is illustrated in the epigrams on Creophylus and on the boy Simos, both negative poetic examples I think, and Theaetetus, a positive example who takes the Callimachean unsullied path. In

Callimachus’ epigram on Aratus, the quality of λεπτότης, and the labor required to achieve it, constituted the fundamental affinity between Aratus and his model, Hesiod.

When Callimachus, in the prologue, claims this quality for his own poetry, he at the same time takes over this relationship to Hesiod, who will be invoked directly in fr. 2 (the

Somnium). Like Theaetetus in the epigrams, finally, Callimachus too will win poetic glory not by aping Hesiod, but by “following his own path” even in the face of criticism.

Read alongside one another, the prologue and the epigrams constitute the most extensive investigation of the relationship between the poet and other authors (his models and his anti-models) that we have yet seen, and would provide for later poets a standard for the representation of their own poetic values.

Alcaeus of Messene on Homer and Hesiod

Like Leonidas’ epigrams on Homer and Aratus, Alcaeus of Messene’s epigrams on Homer and Hesiod form a kind of diptych on epic poets.166

AP 7.1 – Alcaeus of Messene XI HE Ἡρώων τὸν ἀοιδὸν Ἴῳ ἔνι παῖδες Ὅµηρον ἤκαχον ἐκ Μουσέων γρῖφον ὑφηνάµενοι· νέκταρι δ’ εἰνάλιαι Νηρηίδες ἐχρίσαντο καὶ νέκυν ἀκταίῃ θῆκαν ὑπὸ σπιλάδι, ὅττι Θέτιν κύδηνε καὶ υἱέα καὶ µόθον ἄλλων 5 ἡρώων Ἰθακοῦ τ’ ἔργµατα Λαρτιάδεω. ὀλβίστη νήσων πόντῳ Ἴος, ὅττι κέκευθε βαιὴ Μουσάων ἀστέρα καὶ Χαρίτων.

166 Unlike the pair of epigrams by Leonidas, these two seem to be recognized (if tacitly) as a pair by Gow and Page, who place them side by side in their edition. On the relationship between the two epigrams see also Skiadas, 1965, 59.

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On Ios, some children brought pain to Homer, the singer of the heroes, by weaving a riddle; but the sea-nymphs anointed him with nectar and placed his body in a seaside cave, because he brought glory to Thetis and her son and the battling of the rest of the heroes, and the deeds of the Ithacan son of Laertes. Most blessed of the islands in the sea is Ios, since it, though small, has covered the star of the Muses and the Graces.

AP 7.55 – Alcaeus of Messene XII HE Λοκρίδος ἐν νέµεϊ σκιερῷ νέκυν Ἡσιόδοιο Νύµφαι κρηνίδων λοῦσαν ἀπὸ σφετέρων καὶ τάφον ὑψώσαντο· γάλακτι δὲ ποιµένες αἰγῶν ἔρραναν ξανθῷ µιξάµενοι µέλιτι· τοίην γὰρ καὶ γῆρυν ἀπέπνεεν ἐννέα Μουσέων 5 ὁ πρέσβυς καθαρῶν γευσάµενος λιβάδων.

In a shaded glen of Lokris the Nymphs of the woods washed the body of Hesiod (with water) from their springs and heaped up a tomb. Shepherds sprinkled a libation of goat’s milk, mixing it with golden honey. For such song of the nine Muses did the old man breathe forth when he had tasted pure drops of water.

In Leonidas, we have already seen how the praise of Aratus was integrated into a larger epigrammatic program, the aim of which was a generic recontextualization of the epic tradition. In Callimachus, meanwhile, we saw how the epigrammatic form could be put in service of literary critical aims. Alcaeus’ epigrams owe something to each of these approaches. Alcaeus adopts critical terminology derived from Callimachus in order to claim for his epigrams a line of descent from both the great figures of epic.

The epigrams are quite similar in content and structue (as Gow and Page may have meant to suggest by arranging them side-by-side in HE). Indeed, like Leonidas’ epigrams on Homer and Aratus, which may have been Alcaeus’ inspiration, they seem to have been composed to be read as a pair. Each begins with enigmatic references to the stories of the poets’ deaths, requiring the reader to fill in the details. The story of

Homer’s death is referenced directly, but in a way that will not make sense to someone

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who does not already know the full version of the tale.167 The full story is given in the pseudo-Herodotean Vita Homeri (35), of which the relevant passage is quoted by Gow-

Page.168 While visiting Ios, Homer and some companions were approached by some fisherboys who challenged them to solve the riddle, “what we caught we left behind, what we did not catch we take with us.” (The answer: fleas.) According to the story,

Homer, unable to answer correctly, subsequently died of sadness and was buried on

Ios.169

In the epigram on Hesiod, the details of the poet’s death are evoked in an even more roundabout way. Once again, Gow-Page summarize the story and provide the sources.170 While staying in Locri, Hesiod was unwittingly and mistakenly caught up in an adultery scandal. The brothers of the woman involved ambushed the poet near the temple of Nemean Zeus in Locri, killed him, and threw his corpse into the sea. It was carried back to shore, however, by either dolphins or sea nymphs, and was given proper burial near the same temple of Nemean Zeus where Hesiod had been ambushed.171

The epigrams not only share the same introductory strategy, they go on to develop precisely in parallel:172

Specification of place of Ios Locri death/burial Name of the poet Homer Hesiod Description of funeral rites Body anointed with nectar Body washed with by Nereids springwater by nymphs,

167 Gabathuler, 1937, 91, calls attention to this point. 168 HE II, 17. 169 The story as reported in the pseudo-Herodotean vita itself closes with a simple epigram, of which Alcaeus’ poem could be considered a kind of elaboration: ἐνθάδε τὴν ἱερὴν κεφαλὴν κατὰ γαῖα κάλυψεν | ἀνδρῶν ἡρώων κοσµήτορα θεῖον Ὅµηρον. 170 HE II, 18. 171 Note the oblique reference to Nemea in the choice noun “νέµεϊ”. 172 Specific verbal parallels are tabulated by Skiadas, 1965, 59.

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anointed with milk and honey by goatherds Explanation of the His poems featured His voice was sweet appropriateness of the rites maritime themes Reference to the Muses and Graces Muses Muses/Graces

The parallel structural development of the epigrams delineates a set of oppositions between the two poets that is reinforced through imagery. The imagery of water and land here plays much the same role as astronomical imagery did in Leonidas’ epigrams on

Homer and Aratus, creating a framework for the metaphorical expression of the relationship between the two poets. The tombs of Homer and Hesiod are situated symbolically within the epigrams’ miniature landscape. This landscape, and the epigrammatic diptych in which it is contained, is organized around the traditional identification of Homer with the sea and Hesiod with fresh water. Although this imagery seems to have gained a wider currency already by the third century,173 Alcaeus’

173 F. Williams, 1978, 88, says, “there are firm indications that it was already a commonplace in the Hellenistic period.” If we take at face value Aelian’s description of a painting by Gelaton placed (so it seems) in the temple of Homer set up by Ptolemy IV Philopator, then it would seem that the image of Homer as Ocean was certainly available by the last quarter of the third century BCE: Πτολεµαῖος ὁ Φιλοπάτωρ κατασκευάσας Ὁµήρῳ νεών, αὐτὸν µὲν καλὸν καλῶς ἐκάθισε, κύκλῳ δὲ τὰς πόλεις περιέστησε τοῦ ἀγάλµατος, ὅσαι ἀντιποιοῦνται τοῦ Ὁµήρου. Γαλάτων δὲ ὁ ζωγράφος ἔγραψε τὸν µὲν Ὅµηρον αὐτὸν ἐµοῦντα, τοὺς δὲ ἄλλους ποιητὰς τὰ ἐµηµεσµένα ἀρυτοµένους. (“Ptolemy Philopator set up a temple of Homer and not only set up a fine statue of the poet himself in a fine way but set around it all the cities that lay claim to Homer. And Galaton the painter painted Homer himself vomiting, and all the other poets drawing off the vomit for themselves.”) A passage from Manilius (II.8-11) cited in Williams’ appendix uses the image of Homer as the Ocean from whom other poets, figured as rivers, draw their water. This is an example of how precisely the same image as in Gelaton’s painting could be used in a less irreverent way.

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formulation of it owes a lot to Callimachus in particular, or perhaps more accurately to a certain way of reading the end of Callimachus’ Hymn to Apollo (text = Pf.):174 ὁ Φθόνος Ἀπόλλωνος ἐπ᾽ οὔατα λάθριος εἶπεν· 105 ῾οὐκ ἄγαµαι τὸν ἀοιδὸν ὃς οὐδ᾽ ὅσα πόντος ἀείδει.᾽ τὸν Φθόνον ὡπόλλων ποδί τ᾽ἤλασεν ὧδέ τ᾽ ἔειπεν· ῾Ἀσσυρίου ποταµοῖο µέγας ῥόος, ἀλλὰ τὰ πολλά λύµατα γῆς καὶ πολλὸν ἐφ᾽ ὕδατι συρφετὸν ἕλκει. Δηοῖ δ᾽ οὐκ ἀπὸ παντὸς ὕδωρ φορέουσι µέλισσαι, 110 ἀλλ᾽ ἥτις καθαρή τε καὶ ἀχράαντος ἀνέρπει πίδακος ἐξ ἱερῆς ὀλίγη λιβὰς ἄκρον ἄωτον.᾽

Envy whispered secretly in Apollo’s ear: ‘I do not admire the poet who does not sing as much as Ocean.’ Apollo struck Envy with his food and spoke thus: ‘Great is the current of the Assyrian River, but it carries much muck and flotsam in its water. The bees do not bring water to Deo from every source, but the little drop, the very finest, which bubbles up pure and undefiled from a sacred spring.’

This passage turns on an antithesis between the water of Ocean and fresh water that bubbles up in small droplets from a sacred spring. Williams offers a detailed allegorical reading of the passage: “The poet” (τὸν ἀοιδὸν) is Callimachus himself, and Phthonus reproaches him with not singing a quantity of song equal to that of Homer, represented by

Ocean. The “Assyrian river” of Apollo’s reply (i.e. the Euphrates) represents the poet who pursues quantity over quality in an attempt to equal Homer: the flow of the river is great, but is contaminated with all sorts of garbage. The water gathered by the bees (like the poetry of Callimachus), although it does not match Homer in quantity, is preferable to the torrent of the Euphrates because it is pure and carefully selected.

Building on Callimachus’ imagery, Alcaeus’ epigrams create an antithesis between the Ocean, represented by Homer, and fresh water, represented by Hesiod. Note

174 Note that fresh water also plays a prominent role in Callimachus’ account of his dream (the Somnium, fr. 2 Harder), in which he visits Helicon and sees the fountain of Hippocrene and the rivers there.

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how Alcaeus transforms Callimachus’ “little drop” into the inspirational water of

Hippocrene that inspired Hesiod:

Callimachus – H. 2.111-2 ἀλλ᾽ ἥτις καθαρή τε καὶ ἀχράαντος ἀνέρπει πίδακος ἐξ ἱερῆς ὀλίγη λιβὰς ἄκρον ἄωτον.᾽

Alcaeus – AP 7.55.5-6 τοίην γὰρ καὶ γῆρυν ἀπέπνεεν ἐννέα Μουσέων ὁ πρέσβυς καθαρῶν γευσάµενος λιβάδων.

The reworking of the pure Callimachean droplets in the Hesiod epigram is balanced by the reference to the sea (pontos) in Alcaeus’ Homer epigram:

Alcaeus – AP 7.1.7-8 ὀλβίστη νήσων πόντῳ Ἴος, ὅττι κέκευθε βαιὴ Μουσάων ἀστέρα καὶ Χαρίτων.

The connection with Callimachus, I would argue, goes further than reworking of imagery and language. In these epigrams, Alcaeus’ aim, like Callimachus’ at the end of the Hymn to Apollo, is to carve out a position for his own poetry in relation to the most important figures of the past.

As I have already noted, Hesiod’s burial marks his restoration to the land from the sea, where his corpse had been wickedly deposited. Nereids are responsible for

Homer’s funeral rites, Nymphs and herdsmen for Hesiod’s. Homer is anointed with nectar, Hesiod is washed with spring water and anointed with milk and honey. Homer’s body is placed in a seaside cave (νέκυν ἀκταίῃ θῆκαν ὑπὸ σπιλάδι, 4), Hesiod’s tumulus is piled up in the grove itself.

The description of the burial rites is followed by an explanation of them.175

Homer receives this treatment because he glorified Thetis, Achilles, the travails of the

175 Note the explanatory ὅττι (7.1.5) and τοίην γάρ (7.55.5).

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heroes, and the deeds of Odysseus. Hesiod is honored as he is because his song exhibited a stylistic sweetness (herdsmen, of course, play a prominent role in Hesiod’s account of his encounter with the Muses).176 Finally, as noted above, each epigram closes with a pointed reference to water: Homer is buried on a small island in the vastness of the sea

(πόντῳ, 7), Hesiod is said to have composed poetry after he “tasted pure/fresh water”

(καθαρῶν γευσάµενος λιβάδων, 6).

The cumulative effect of these antitheses is to create, as it were, an allotment of the natural world between Homer, who receives the sea as his portion, and Hesiod, who receives the land.177 The allotment of separate parts of the earth to the two poets may be read as a symbolic resolution of the traditional dispute as to which of them was the supreme poet of epos, famously presented in the Contest of Homer and Hesiod. In this way, the biographical details related to Hesiod’s death and reburial and the location of

Homer’s tomb are made to comment also on the nature of their poetry. The allotment of separate spheres to the poets seems, in a way, to respond to the Certamen tradition.

There, the question was which poet was better and according to what standard, with the prize going finally to Hesiod. In these epigrams, rather than attempting to decide the

176 Sweetness is a key metapoetic term for the genre of bucolic (cf., e.g., Theoc. Id. I.1 ἁδύ τι τὸ ψιθύρισµα…). Note that Hesiod in Alcaeus’ epigram is assimilated to bucolic heroes like Daphnis (Theoc. Id. I) or Adonis (Bion, Epitaphium Adonidis), whose deaths are lamented by herdsman and (by extension) the divine figures they invoke. 177 Rossi, 2002, 161-2 aptly remarks that the earth and the sea represent “the opposition between spheres of life and pertinence”. It may be significant that, as Hunter, 2006, 18- 19 points out in a discussion of Paus. 9.29.5, a statue of Homer was conspicuously absent among the statues of famous hexameter poets at an ancient shrine of the Muses at the base of Mount Helicon. Hesiod’s doubtful status vis à vis Homer—whether in age or in poetic skill—is a recurrent theme in the tradition about his life and work. Even when not explicitly mentioned, Homer is frequently an unacknowledged presence in ancient discussions of Hesiod’s poetry. In epigram, cf., e.g Mnasalcas AP 7.54, who claims that Hesiod is the greatest poet provided that one judges according to the appropriate standard (i.e. that of σοφία). See also Graziosi, 2002, 168-184, and Skiadas, 1965, 37-44.

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question in favor of one or the other, Alcaeus delineates their differences, and accordingly allots them primacy in different natural and, by extension, poetic spheres.

The epigrams close with parallel miniature images. In Alcaeus’ epigrams, Homer is the poet of the sea, and Hesiod the poet of seawater and the land. Yet Homer’s epigram closes with the island of Ios—a tiny rock in the midst of the ocean—while

Hesiod’s epigram ends with the image of the drops of pure water. These wittily situated miniatures seem to drive home the overarching message of the two epigrams. The allotment of spheres between Homer and Hesiod has been carried out within the compass of the epigrams. By encompassing within the world of his epigrams both masters of archaic epic, Alcaeus claims a place for his epigrams as the continuation of both sides of the archaic epic tradition,178 but regardless of their possible direct relevance for the nature of Alcaeus’ own poetry (which must remain speculative given the small amount of

Alcaeus that survives), Homer and Hesiod function in the epigrams as symbols in a dialogue between poetic past and present. The final image in each poem, the pure droplets and the island of Ios, ingeniously represents the relationship between the genre of epigram and these two outsized greats of the literary past. The droplets are, as it were, the refined element that has been distilled from Hesiod and captured in epigram, while

178 In light of his praise of both Homer and Hesiod, it may be significant that included among Alcaeus’ poems are the (extraordinarily polemical) epigrams against Philip, emphasizing martial themes (esp. AP 7.247 and APl 5) as well as bucolic epigrams such as APl 226 (cf. above on the “sweetness” of Hesiod as praised by Alcaeus and its relation to bucolic poetics). On the interpenetration of bucolic and epigram, cf. Kroll, 1924, 207- 208.

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the tiny island of Ios sits in the sea—a symbol of Homeric poetry—while at the same time Homer himself is in the island.179

Dioscorides on the History of Drama

The same set of concerns we have already seen elsewhere, the nature of poetic innovation and the relationship between the literary past and present, underlie a remarkable series of five epigrams on dramatists by the late third-century BCE epigrammatist Dioscorides.180 In this miniature literary history, Dioscorides depicts the evolution of drama as a continuous process in which each poet is both an innovator and, in turn, an ancestor whose work forms the basis for later poets’ innovations. Dioscorides places his subjects within an imaginary landscape in which motion, rest, and distance, symbolize artistic progress and the relationship between poetic past and present. The literary creativity of generations of dramatists thus acts as a bridge between different times and places, since this creativity is both forward-looking, but also (in Dioscorides’ telling) necessarily refers back to the work of earlier poets. In this way, the epigrams also serve as a form of self-reflection for the epigrammatist himself, and a novel turn on the theme of literary influence in epigram.

In the first of the epigrams the speaker is Thespis, the semi-legendary inventor of tragedy:

AP 7.410 – Dioscorides XX HE = Galán Vioque 20 (Text = Galán Vioque) Θέσπις ὅδε τραγικὴν ὃς ἀνέπλασα πρῶτος ἀοιδήν κωµήταις νεαρὰς καινοτοµῶν χάριτας †Βάκχος ὅ τετριθῦν κατάγοι χορόν ᾧ τράγος ἄθλων

179 The imagery will be developed more explicitly by Antipater of Sidon (AP 7.2) who says that Homer left his “breath” (πνεῦµα), with which he sang his songs, in the island. On this poem, see below, chapter 2. 180 In addition to the commentary of Galán-Vioque, see esp. Fantuzzi, 2007a, and Fortuna, 1993.

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χὠττικὸς ἦν σύκων ἄρριχος ἆθλος ἔτι·† εἰ δὲ µεταπλάσσουσι νέοι τάδε, µυρίος αἰὼν 5 πολλὰ προσευρήσει χἄτερα, τἀµὰ δ’ ἐµά.

I am that Thespis, who was the first to fashion tragic song, introducing new graces for his countrymen, †when Bacchus led the heavy-sounding dance, for which the prize was still a goat and a basket of Attic figs. (?)† But if the newcomers are remolding it—long time will find many new innovations, yet what is mine is mine.

Fraser has seen in this epigram, and the series of epigrams on dramatists as a whole, the expression of an archaizing taste hostile to a group of “New Poets” to be identified with

Dioscorides’ contemporaries or recent predecessors, and refers to the epigrammatist’s

“conservative leanings” and “dislike of literary innovation”.181 The categories of “old” and “new”, however, are less clearly demarcated than Fraser believes, and do not seem to function as a simple polemical antithesis. Instead, innovation and archaism are intermingled and confounded. Posterity, looking backwards, would describe Thespis as the predecessor of Aeschylus, Sophocles, and Euripides. Thespis’ sweeping reference to

νέοι (5) is no doubt intended to remind the reader of precisely this literary historical relationship. Dioscorides, however, as if aware that “archaic poets are never aware of the fact that they are archaic poets”,182 has Thespis speak of himself merely as one in a series of innovators, a “new poet” (νεαρὰς καινοτοµῶν χάριτας, 2) who looks forward to the inventions of the “new poets” (νέοι, 5). Furthermore, as Galán Vioque notes, the beginning and end of the poem are balanced by forms compounded from πλάσσω:

181 Fraser, 1972, v. 1, 601 and 599, respectively. Gutzwiller, 1998a, 260, sees rather the “reflection of a contemporary appreciation of preclassical drama and its archaizing revival in the third century.” 182 Hinds, 1998, 55.

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Thespis “molded” tragic song first (ἀνέπλασα, 7.410.1); others are “remolding” it

(µεταπλάσσουσι, 7.410.5).

Dioscorides’ epigram on Aeschylus, AP 7.411, announces itself as a companion- piece to AP 7.410:

AP 7.411 – Dioscorides = XXI HE = Galán Vioque 21 (Text = Galán Vioque) Θέσπιδος εὕρεµα τοῦτο· τὰ τ’ ἀγροιῶτιν ἀν’ ὕλαν παίγνια καὶ κώµους τούς ἀτελειοτέρους Αἰσχύλος ἐξύψωσεν, ὁ µὴ σµιλευτὰ χαράξας γράµµατα, χειµάρρῳ δ’ οἷα καταρδόµενα, καὶ τὰ κατὰ σκηνὴν µετεκαίνισεν. ὦ στόµα πάντων 5 δεξιόν, ἀρχαίων ἦσθά τις ἡµιθέων. 2 τούς ἀτελειοτέρους Salm. τοὺς δὲ τελειοτέρους P

This is the invention of Thespis. The jests in the rustic woodland and the revels still inchoate Aeschylus elevated to a more refined level, he who carved letters not finely chiseled, but as if worn away by a torrent, and he innovated in regards to stage decoration. Oh mouth accomplished in every way, you were one of the ancient heroes.

The poem begins with a direct reference to Thespis (and thus to epigram 7.410), and the epigram turns on Aeschylus’ position as a kind of intermediate figure between Thespis and the urbanity of Sophocles (who will be treated in AP 7.37). Invention is here looked at from the point of view of hindsight: a prototype will inevitably seem “inchoate”

(ἀτελειοτέρους, 2, if we accept the emendation attributed to Salmasius) in comparison with later models. After figuring Aeschylus as an innovator, the epigram turns, in line three, to his status as an “archaic” poet, characterized by the imprecision of his “carving”

(ὁ µὴ σµιλευτὰ χαράξας). His poetry is also “elevated” (cf. ἐξύψωσεν) and weather- beaten (χειµάρρῳ δ’ οἷα καταρδόµενα), metaphors borrowed from the contest between

Aeschylus and Euripides in Aristophanes’ Frogs.183 Since this whole scene was a well-

183 For the image, Galán Vioque points to Ran., 900-902 (particularly the adjective κατερρινηµένον, “chiseled” of the poetry of Euripides) and, for the word σµιλευτά, Ran., 819 (σµιλεύµατα τ᾽ἔργων, again of Euripides).

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known point of reference for descriptions of Aeschylus, reappearing in epigram and in the Vita Aeschyli,184 readers will have understood the description as implicitly pointing up

Aeschylus’ status as the “archaic” poet vis à vis Euripides. In the epigram, then,

Aeschylus is captured as at once archaic and innovative.

As in the epigrams on Aratus examined earlier, we can once again see here a poetic representation of the concerns and conceptual structures of literary criticism.185

The epigram, for instance, expresses in a concise and picturesque way an observation made in one of the Vitae accompanying the plays of Aeschylus in some manuscripts. The writer there remarks that compared to his successors, Aeschylus’ plot construction and language seem old-fashioned, but in comparison with his predecessors, highly complex and innovative.186

A second diptych on dramatists by Dioscorides centers on a pair of satyr-statues, one on the tomb of Sophocles, the other on the tomb of Sositheus.187 In the epigram on

Sophocles, Dioscorides has the statue of a satyr converse with a passerby:

AP 7.37 – Dioscorides XXII HE = Galán Vioque 22 (Text = Galán Vioque) - Τύµβος ὅδ’ ἔστ’, ὤνθρωπε, Σοφοκλέος, ὃν παρὰ Μουσῶν

184 Ran., 1004-5, an address to Aeschylus (ἀλλ᾽ ὤ πρῶτος τῶν Ἑλλήνων πυργώσας ῥήµατα σεµνὰ | καὶ κοσµήσας τραγικὸν λῆρον) is cited in the Vita Aeschyli (p. 331 in Page’s Aeschylus OCT). 185 In this connection it may be relevant to note that, as G. Williams, 1968, 255, points out, the following Dioscoridean epigrams on Sophocles and Sositheus influenced Horace in his Ars Poetica, 220-4, which, of course, explicitly “poeticizes” literary critical theory. 186 Westermann, 1845, 122: τὸ δ᾽ἁπλοῦν τῆς δραµατοποιίας εἰ µέν τις πρὸς τοὺς µετ᾽ αὐτὸν λογίζοιτο, φαῦλον µὲν ὑπολαµβάνοι καὶ ἀπραγµάτευτον, εἰ δὲ πρὸς τοὺς ἀνωτέρω, θαυµάσειε τῆς ἐπινοίας τὸν ποιητὴν καὶ τῆς εὑρέσεως. “If one considered the simplicity of his dramatic technique in comparison with those who came after him, one would suppose that it was trifling and lacking in action, but if (one considered it) in comparison with those who came before, one would wonder at the poet’s intelligence and inventiveness.” 187 On the epigrams as diptych, see Bing, 1988a, 39-40 and Fortuna, 1993, 238. On Sositheus, see RE ser. 2, vol. 5, col. 1175, ‘Sositheus’ (2).

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ἱρὴν παρθεσίην ἱερὸς ὢν ἔλαχον· ὅς µε τὸν ἐκ Φλιοῦντος ἔτι τρίβολον πατέοντα πρίνινον ἐς χρύσεον σχῆµα µεθηρµόσατο καὶ λεπτὴν ἐνέδυσεν ἁλουργίδα. τοῦ δὲ θανόντος 5 εὔθετον ὀρχηστὴν τῇδ’ ἀνέπαυσα πόδα. - Ὄλβιος, ὡς ἀγαθὴν ἔλαχες στάσιν. ἡ δ’ ἐνὶ χερσί κούριµος, ἐκ ποίης ἥδε διδασκαλίης; - Εἴτε σοὶ Ἀντιγόνην εἰπεῖν φίλον, οὐκ ἂν ἁµάρτοις, εἴτε καὶ Ἠλέκτραν· ἀµφότεραι γὰρ ἄκρον. 10

- “O man, this is the tomb of Sophocles, which I, as a priest, received as a sacred charge from the muses. He brought me from Phlius, when I was still tramping the threshing board, changed me, who had been wooden, into a golden figure, and clothed me in a fine purple cloak. When he died I arrested my nimbly dancing foot here.” “Lucky you to have gotten such an excellent post! But from what play does the mask of a girl in your hand come?” – “Whether it pleases you to say Antigone or Electra, you won’t go wrong, for both are supreme.”

The first epigram contains a number of features that do not tally with the tradition that has come down to us about Sophocles’ burial, indicating that the epigram describes an imaginary tomb. Sophocles’ tomb is said to have had a statue or carving of a Siren or a swallow on it rather than a satyr and rather than being situated ἐν ἄστει (7.707.2) it was located at Decelea.188 The significance of these fictional elements in the first epigram will only become apparent upon a reading of the second.

In this pair of epigrams, movement and physical appearance are elaborated as symbols of artistic change and progress. Sophocles has transferred the satyr from city to country and dressed him in fine new clothes—the reader almost imagines a “dressing scene” as in Euripides Bacchae, in which Sophocles outfits the rustic satyr with citified garments. The posture of the inert statue is brought into sharp focus in line six, where the phrase εὔθετον ὀρχήστην … πόδα invites the reader to picture the statue frozen in a

188 For the swallow, cf. the testimony of Pausanias, 1.21.1; for the Siren and the location at Decelea, the Vita Sophoclis, 15.

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delicately poised dance step. As Fantuzzi points out, the metaphor of physical motion as artistic progress (and its culmination) is developed through the image of the statue, frozen in its spot.189 He argues further that the verb ἀνέπαυσα symbolizes the perfection, and thus the cessation of progress, of tragedy in the hands of Sophocles, an idea further supported by the final word of the epigram, ἄκρον, which suggests that, in the satyr’s telling, Sophocles brought tragedy to the “peak” of its development.

At very least, the epigram seems to exploit the ideas of motion from city to country and of dance as metaphors for artistic practice. The movement from Phlius to the

ἄστυ in epigram 7.37 reflects the refinement of the satyr play from its primitive origins in the works of Pratinas of Phlius.190 AP 7.707, on Sositheus, the author of tragedies and satyr-plays and a member of the Alexandrian “Pleiad”, sustains this spatial symbolism.

The epigram looks back to AP 7.37 explicitly, and like it is spoken by the statue of a satyr that stands upon the tomb:

AP 7.707 – Dioscorides XXIII HE = Galán Vioque 23 (Text = Galán Vioque) Κἠγὼ Σωσιθέου κοµέω νέκυν, ὅσσον ἐν ἄστει ἄλλος ἀπ’ αὐθαίµων ἡµετέρων Σοφοκλῆν, Σκίρτος ὁ πυρρογένειος· ἐκισσοφόρησε γὰρ ὡνήρ ἄξια Φλιασίων, ναὶ µὰ χορούς, Σατύρων κἠµὲ τὸν ἐν καινοῖς τεθραµµένον ἤθεσιν ἤδη 5 ἤγαγεν εἰς µνήµην πατρίδ’ ἀναρχαΐσας, καὶ πάλιν εἰσώρµησα τὸν ἄρσενα Δωρίδι Μούσῃ ῥυθµόν, πρός τ’ αὐδὴν ἑλκόµενος µεγάλην †ἑπτά δέ µοι ἐρσων τύπος οὐχερὶ† καινοτοµηθείς τῇ φιλοκινδύνῳ φροντίδι Σωσιθέου. 10

And I Skirtos the red-bearded tend the body of Sositheus, just as in the city another of my brethren holds that of Sophocles. For he, a man worthy of the Phliasian Satyrs, won glory, I swear by the dancing-circles, and led me, who had been brought up amongst novel customs, back to my

189 Fantuzzi, 2007a, 114, has argued that the pairing of the epigrams on Sophocles and Sositheus, and the shift in the Sophocles epigram from satyr-play to tragedy, are meant to represent the Aristotelian theory of tragedy as an outgrowth of satyr-play. 190 Fortuna, 1993, 240.

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ancestral memory and restored ancient ways. And once again I imposed the masculine rhythm upon the Doric Muse, drawn to his great voice … opened afresh by the risk-taking mind of Sositheus.

Beginning with the conjunction καί, the reference to Sophocles, and to the (fictional) satyr that guards his tomb, the epigram immediately announces itself as a companion- piece to AP 7.37.191 The location of the tomb is implied to be the country by means of a contrast with Sophocles’, which is located in the city (ἐν ἄστει, 1). The path traveled by

Sophocles as he took tragedy from country to city is then retraced in reverse: whereas

Sophocles’ satyr claims to have been brought to the city from Phlius, Sositheus’ says that his poet composed plays “worthy of the satyrs of Phlius” and brought them back to their

“ancestral memory”. This reversal is mirrored on the grammatical level in line 5, which varies line 3 of the epigram on Sophocles (κἠµὲ τὸν ἐν καινοῖς τεθραµµένον ἤθεσιν ἤδη;

ὅς µε τὸν ἐκ Φλιοῦντος, ἔτι τρίβολον πατέοντα).

Sositheus’ activity in archaizing is presented almost as a form of innovation. It is difficult to assess line 9 due to textual corruption, but it seems plausible that the participle

καινοτοµηθείς (assuming of course that it is not meant to be negated by an οὐ in the corrupted portion of the line) indicates that Sositheus’ work is in its way innovative. Just as the prototypical “archaic” tragedian Thespis was also, seen from another perspective, an innovator, so too, in removing the satyr from the “novel habits” he had been made accustomed to by Sophocles, Sositheus is paradoxically doing something new.192 Given the prominence of the idea of migration in these epigrams, the idea of “path-breaking” in

191 Cf. Bing, 1988a, 40, on AP 7.37 and 7.707: “implicit in the unassuming καί and κἠγώ nothing less than the entire transformation of the world into an interior, literary landscape.” 192 Sositheus’ activity (cf. καινοτοµηθείς, 9) is made to recall Thespis’ (νεαρὰς καινοτοµῶν χάριτας, 7.410.2)

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καινοτοµηθείς may be more than a dead metaphor:193 Sositheus paradoxically “breaks a new path” on his way back to the country (note the contrast between city and country implitic in ὅσσον ἐν ἄστει), whence Sophocles had brought the satyr play in the first place.

AP 7.708 – Dioscorides XXIV HE = Galán Vioque 24 (Text = Galán Vioque)194 Τῷ κωµῳδογράφῳ, κούφη κόνι, τὸν φιλάγωνα κισσὸν ὑπὲρ τύµβου ζῶντα Μάχωνι φέροις· οὐ γὰρ ἔχεις κύφωνα παλίµπλυτον ἀλλά τι τέχνης ἄξιον ἀρχαίης λείψανον ἠµφίεσας. τοῦτο δ’ ὁ πρέσβυς ἐρεῖ· “Κέκροπος πόλι, καὶ παρὰ Νείλῳ 5 ἔστιν ὅτ’ ἐν Μούσαις δριµὺ πέφυκε θύµον.” 3 κύφωνα Gow κηφῆνα Athen. ἔχει σφῆναγε P

Oh light dust, may you bear living ivy that delights in competition over the tomb for Machon, the comic poet. For you do not contain some re-dyed slouch, but rather a worthy remnant of ancient art. The old man will say: “City of Cecrops, sometimes even by the Nile the bitter thyme grows among the Muses.”

The epitaph for Machon is somewhat the “odd man out” among Dioscorides’ epigrams on dramatists. Each of the previous examples has belonged to a pair (Thespis-Aeschylus;

Sophocles-Sositheus) marked by explicit verbal connections. Furthermore, unlike the epigrams on Thespis and Aeschylus, which do not pretend to be inscriptional, and the epigrams on Sophocles and Sositheus, in which (unusually) a statue located at the tomb tells the story of its relationship to the deceased, this epigram follows traditional inscriptional conventions rather closely.195 Athenaeus even claims that the epigram was inscribed on Machon’s tomb, although this report should be treated with due skepticism.

In spite of these caveats, the poem shows marked thematic similarities with the other

193 Alongside the more general meanings of “begin something new” and “innovate”, LSJ, citing late classical and early Hellenistic authors, gives “open a new vein” (as in mining) and “cut a new path” (as in road-making). 194 = Athen. 6.241f. 195 See especially κούφη κόνι in the opening, with Galán Vioque’s note ad loc.

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poems on dramatists, and repays examination alongside them. Certainty is impossible, but it seems like to have been meant to form part of the same ensemble, a kind of appendix to the other epigrams.

As in the case of the epigram on Sositheus, the subject here is a “new” poet, this time a native of Alexandria (according to the passage in Athenaeus where the epigram is preserved), who hearkens back to an older style, the bitter invective typical of fifth century Attic comedy. This is emphasized in lines 2 and 3, where the noun λείψανον, part of the language of funerary epigram, is given a metapoetic meaning: the tomb holds

Machon’s physical remains, but even while alive, Machon was himself a λείψανον of an earlier time.196 The epigram thus returns to key ideas from Dioscorides’ other poems on dramatists. In the epigrams on Thespis and Sositheus, the relationship between city and country was made into a metaphor for the relationship between primitive rustic and refined urbane arts. In AP 7.707 Sositheus, who is praised for having brought the satyr- play back to its rustic ancestral stomping-grounds (cf. ἀναρχαΐσας, 6), accordingly has his tomb located in the country. Space and place take on a somewhat different metaphorical significance in the Machon epigram. Here, the tomb, located in Egypt, nevertheless hearkens back to Attica: τοῦτο δ᾽ ὁ πρέσβυς ἐρεῖ· “Κέκροπος πόλι, καὶ

παρὰ Νείλῳ | ἔστιν ὅτ᾽ ἐν Μούσαις δριµὺ πέφυκε θύµον” (3-6). The old man of line 5

(probably to be thought of as representing comic character-type—perhaps to be imagined as a mask represented on the tomb—rather than Machon himself), apostrophizes Attica, saying that the “bitter thyme” also grows by the Nile—i.e. at Alexandria where Machon

196 For the various uses of λείπω and its cognates in sepulchral epigram, see Tueller, 2008, 48-9.

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lived at the end of his life. The reference to Attica and thyme here “closes the circle” that was opened up with the Thespis epigram and its mention of Attic figs (7.410.4). The generic connection between Machon and Attic comedy, the geographical relationship between Athens and Egypt, and the local fauna—thyme, in this case—express the complicated relationship between Machon and classical comic drama.197 Dioscorides’ epigrams constitute a sophisticated poetic representation of the development of literary genres more complicated than a simple teleological unfolding towards eventual perfection. Instead it is a process in which innovation and the literary past are inextricably intertwined. In the epigram on Machon, Dioscorides opens a figurative channel of communication between Athens and Alexandria, using the image of a plant, which is said to grow in both locales, as a symbol of poetic affiliation between the two places. As in Callimachus’ epigram on Aratus, moreover, the thyme also represents the process of successful imitation. According to Callimachus, rather than just aping Hesiod,

Aratus “skimmed off” the sweetest part of his verse. So too, although Machon’s work differs in form from that of the Attic comedians of the fifth and fourth centuries, nevertheless he maintains from them the key element of bitter invective represented by the “bitter thyme”.

Epigram in general was a potent vehicle for reflecting upon the past. Dioscorides, however, shows how the intrinsic bond between epigram and physical space and objects also made it possible to create a sort of “landscape” within which he placed the subjects of his epigrams. This landscape, in turn, provides a framework within which to relate the

197 On thyme as a typical “stylistic ingredient” of Attic comedy, see Fantuzzi, 2007a, 120. Fantuzzi, p. 119, aptly notes the similarity between Nossis’ invocation of Sappho and Dioscorides’ figuration of the relationship between Machon and his predecessors.

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epigrams to one another conceptually.198 By telling a history of drama not just through epigrams, but through a series of figurations of poets and poetic innovations as objects

(think of Aeschylus’ “unclear carvings” in AP 7.411), Dioscorides claims for his own epigrams a place within the continuous process of artistic change and motion they describe.

Epigram, Objects, and Poetic Legacy in Posidippus

In the past decade, our knowledge of the epigrams of Posidippus of Pella, a contemporary of Callimachus,199 has been revolutionized by the publication of a papyrus,

P.Mil.Vogl. VIII 309,200 containing about 112 epigrams generally accepted as belonging to him.201 The contents of the new papyrus were surprising: from Meleager we knew

Posidippus mostly as an erotic poet in the tradition of Asclepiades;202 the Milan papyrus, on the other hand, contains epigrams, none of them erotic, sub-divided into a number of sections according to subject matter,203 and includes poems on subjects unattested or only scantily attested in the Greek Anthology.204 It is as if we had known Martial from a small anthology of skoptic epigrams, and then discovered a large cache of xenia or apophoreta.

198 On the “landscape” created by the epigrams, see, in addition to Bing, 1988a, 40 (cited above), Höschele, 2010, 130-133. 199 For the basic information about Posidippus’ life and work, see Gutzwiller, 2005a, 3-4. 200 The editio maior is Bastianini and Galazzi, 2001; AB is the editio minor with text and English translations. The poems from the Milan papyrus are translated by Nisetich in Gutzwiller, ed., 2005. On the papyrus, see Stephens and Obbink, 2004; Obbink, 2004; and Johnson, 2005. 201 AB 15 (= XX HE) and AB 65 (= XVIII HE) were already transmitted (in Tsetzes and APl respectively) under the name of Posidippus, and formed one of the bases for the ascription of all the Milan papyrus epigrams to him. 202 On the other non-Meleagrean sources in which epigrams of Posidippus are transmitted, see Stephens and Obbink, 2004. 203 On the organization of poems in the papyrus, see Krevans, 2005, and Gutzwiller, 2005b. 204 On the relationship between the “Old” and “New” Posidippus, see Sider, 2004.

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This unique situation gives us the opportunity to consider the treatment of poets in epigram and the construction of the authorial persona in a rather different light from the case-studies we have examined so far. The overall impression one gets from bringing this new batch of epigrams together with those transmitted in the Greek Anthology and other sources (on which more in a moment) is one of diffusion and disunity, and perhaps also of reading works that come from different stages in the poet’s career when he had different concerns and when his talents were at an earlier stage of development.205 From this confusion, however, a couple of common threads emerge. Like his contemporaries,

Posidippus was very interested in the dynamic of continuity and rupture with the past, and with epigram as a vessel for preserving the poetic tradition while moving in new directions. For Callimachus, Aratus’ “skimming” off of the sweetest part of Hesiod’s poetry pointed the way toward a mode of composition rooted in the past but innovative at the same time. The same basic idea underlies Posidippus’ treatment of “poetic objects”—material objects that he imagines as imbued with the poetic tradition. These function as temporal and geographical bridges as well as symbols, things that stand for or in place of something but are—in Posidippus’ epigrams, quite pointedly—not that thing itself, advertising, in a certain sense, the gap between themselves and the thing they signify. By capturing all of these objects in his epigrams, moreover, Posidippus draws a parallel between the function of the objects as transmitters of earlier culture and his epigrams as the vessel in which the poetic tradition is preserved.

Posidippus thematizes the preservation of the poetry of the past in several of his epigrams. The first two poems we will examine, preserved in the Milan papyrus,

205 On the epigrams in the Milan papyrus as examples of Posidippus’ “occasional” poetry, see Obbink, 2005.

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concern, respectively, the lyre of the mythical poet Arion and a statue of the fourth century poet and scholar Philitas of Cos:

Posidippus – 37 AB (Text = AB) Ἀ̣ρσινόη, σοὶ τ̣ή̣[ν]δε λύρην ὑπὸ χειρ[ὸς ἀοιδο]ῦ̣ φθεγξαµ[ένην] δ̣ελφὶς ἤγαγ’ Ἀριόνιο̣[ς] ο̣ὐ̣ ̣̣̣ ̣̣ ε̣ λου[ ̣ ̣ ̣ ̣]ας ἐκ κύµατος ἀλλ’ οτ[ κεῖνος αν[ ̣ ̣ ̣ ̣]ς λευκὰ περᾶι πελά[γη] πολλα̣πο[ ̣ ̣ ̣ ̣] τητι̣ καὶ αἰόλα τῆι ̣[ 5 φωνῆι π[ ̣ ̣ ̣ ]̣ ακον καινὸν ἀηδον̣[ ἄνθεµα δ’, [ὦ Φιλ]ά̣δελφε, τὸν ἤλασεν [ ̣̣ ̣ ̣ Ἀ̣̣ ρ]ίων, τόνδε δέ̣[χου, ̣]ύσου µ〈ε〉ίλια ναοπόλο̣[υ.

Arsinoe, Arion’s dolphin brought you this lyre which once resounded at the touch [of a singer] … from the wave. But when.[ that one … crossed the foaming sea many things … and various with [ his voice … But this offering, O Philadelphus, which Arion played please accept it, a dedication of … your temple custodian. (Trans. = Bing, 2005, 128)

Posidippus – 63 AB (Text = AB) τόνδε Φιλίται χ̣[αλ]κὸν̣ [ἴ]σ̣ο̣ν̣ κατὰ πάνθ᾽ Ἑκ̣[α]τ̣αῖος ἀ]κ̣[ρ]ι̣β̣ὴς ἄκρους [ἔπλ]α̣σ̣ε̣ν̣ εἰς ὄνυχας, καὶ µε]γ̣έθει κα̣[ὶ σα]ρ̣κ̣ὶ τὸν ἀνθρωπιστὶ διώξας γνώµο]ν᾽ , ἀφ᾽ ἡρώων δ᾽ οὐδὲν ἔµειξ᾽ ἰδέης, ἀλλὰ τὸν ἀκροµέριµνον ὁλ̣[ηι κ]α̣τεµάξατο τέχνηι πρ]έσβυν, ἀληθείης ὀρθὸν [ἔχων] κανόνα· αὐδήσ]οντι δ᾽ ἔοικεν, ὅσωι πο̣ι̣κ̣ί̣λ̣λεται ἤθει, ἔµψυχ]ο̣ς, καίπερ χάλκεος ἐὼν ὁ γέρων· ἐκ Πτολε]µ̣αίου δ᾽ ὧδε θεοῦ θ᾽ ἅµα καὶ βασιλῆος ἄγκειτα̣ι Μουσέων εἵνεκα Κῶιος ἀνήρ.

Hecataeus molded this bronze and made it like Philitas in every way even down to the tips of the fingernails; in its size and its shape he followed human proportions, and did not mix in any heroic element. Instead, with all his art he expressed the punctilious old man, using the straight rule of truth. The old man is like someone about to speak, so varied in character is he, vivid, though he his made of bronze. Here, under the auspices of Ptolemy, both god and king, the Coan man is dedicated on account of his poetry.

Each of these epigrams is concerned with what seem to be real objects—the first a dedication of some kind offered by a temple-keeper in the employ of Arsinoe

Philadelphus in the first poem, and in the second a bronze statue of Philitas by the

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sculptor Hecataeus, paid for (if the supplement ἐκ Πτολε]µ̣αίου, AB 63.9, is correct) by one of the Ptolemies. The first poem, as poorly preserved as the text is, apparently describes the movement of poetry through space and time through the medium of the lyre of the quasi-mythical archaic poet Arion.206 As Bing puts it, “By describing how this lyre

… came to Egypt, [Posidippus] links the third-century-BC shrine of Arsinoe to one of the great figures of archaic poetry from the seventh century, and with him to the rich tradition of Lesbian lyric including Terpander, Sappho, and Alcaeus.”207

Although the second epigram, on the fourth-century poet Philitas of Cos, is also imperfectly preserved, the textual problems are less daunting than in the Arion epigram, and so we get a more detailed look at the way Posidippus handles the relationship between poetry and objects. Philitas, who was born about 340 BCE and flourished during the late fourth century, is said to have been engaged by Ptolemy I Soter as the teacher of his son Philadelphus.208 As a member of the royal court, a scholar, and a poet,

Philitas would serve as a kind of prototype for learned poets of the third century BCE at

Alexandria and elsewhere. His work on Homeric glosses, for instance seems to have gained instant fame,209 and the later epigrammatic tradition remembers him (humorously) for his linguistic fastidiousness and his dedication to scholarship.210

206 Compare AB 9, on the seal of Polycrates bearing the image of the poet Anacreon. 207 Bing, 2005, 129, who usefully compares the arrival of the lyre in Egypt with the story of the landfall at Lesbos of the lyre and severed head of Orpheus. 208 Philadelphus was born on Cos and so was a compatriot of Philitas. Fragments and testimonia of Philitas are collected in Spanoudakis, 2002. 209 In the Phoenikides of the New Comic poet Strato (PCG VI.1.40-6 = Spanoudakis T4), Heracles consults Philitas’ book of Homeric glosses. 210 Cf. the distich quoted at Athen. 9.401e (= T21 Spanoudakis): ξεῖνε, Φιλητᾶς εἰµί. λόγων ὁ ψευδόµενός µε | ὤλεσε καὶ νυκτῶν φροντίδες ἑσπέριοι. (“Oh stranger, I am Philitas. The counterfeiter of words and nightly lucubrations did me in.”)

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In Posidippus’ epigram, it is this scholarly side of Philitas, with its obsession with

“accuracy” (ἀκρίβεια, cf. the supplement ἀ]κ̣[ρ]ι̣β̣ὴς, 2), that is celebrated. As Sens has pointed out, the art with which Hecataeus has sculpted his subject is the perfect encapsulation of this signal quality of Philitas’ poetry.211 The third couplet neatly expresses the parallel between the poet and the sculptor, with the “punctilious”

(ἀκροµέριµνον) old man rendered according to the sculptor’s “straight rule of truth”

(ἀληθείης ὀρθὸν [ἔχων] κανόνα).212 The faithful realism of the statue likewise commemorates Philitas in his capacity as a scholar and, one might add, as Ptolemy’s teacher. Like Aratus, who in Callimachus’ judgment “skimmed off” the sweetest part of

Hesiod, Hecataeus’ statue (and, perhaps, by extension Posidippus’ epigram about it) has captured and distilled the key quality—in the view of the sculptor and the epigrammatist—of Philitas’ work.

In the Milan papyrus, Posidippus seems often to put his epigrams in the service of dedicators, a temple-keeper or Ptolemy Philadelphus himself in the case of the two epigrams we have just examined. Elsewhere, however, he seems to compose without the interests of any “clients” in mind, and when he approaches the same themes—the relationship between poetry and objects, for instance—his treatment of them seems to be more clearly self-reflexive and programmatic. Athenaeus, for instance, preserves for us a well-known epigram by Posidippus on the poetry of Sappho:

Posidippus apud Ath. 13.596.XVII HE = 122 AB (Text = AB) Δωρίχα, ὀστέα µὲν σὰ πάλαι κόνις ἦν ὅ τε δεσµὸς

211 Sens, 2005, 209-10. 212 Ἀκροµέριµνος (“punctilious”) is a typical epithet of scholars and scholar poets. Cf. Dionysius of Cyzicus, AP 7.78 = I HE, on Eratosthenes: ἀκρὰ µεριµνήσας, Ἐρατόσθενες.

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χαίτης ἥ τε µύρων ἔκπνοος ἀµπεχόνη, ἧι ποτε τὸν χαρίεντα περιστέλλουσα Χάραξον σύγχρους ὀρθρινῶν ἥψαο κισσυβίων· Σαπφῶιαι δὲ µένουσι φίλης ἔτι καὶ µενέουσιν 5 ὠιδῆς αἱ λευκαὶ φθεγγόµεναι σελίδες οὔνοµα σὸν µακαριστόν, ὃ Ναύκρατις ὧδε φυλάξει ἔστ’ ἂν ἴηι Νείλου ναῦς ἐφ’ ἁλὸς πελάγη.

Doricha, your bones have long since turned to dust, along with the band of your hair, and your shawl redolent of myrrh, with which once upon a time you enfurled lovely Charaxus and with your bodies touching lifted early-morning cups. But the Sapphic pages of beloved song, shining, remain and will still remain, resounding with your blessed name, which Naucratis will still keep safe as long as the Nile sends ships out to sea.

The poem celebrates the poetry of Sappho through one of the “characters” in her work, an

Egyptian courtesan named Doricha, who is said to have been the lover of Sappho’s brother Charaxus.213

Like the epigram on the lyre of Arion this poem involves a speaking object (note

τ̣ή̣[ν]δε λύρην … φθεγξαµ[ένην], AB 37.1-2, and φθεγγόµεναι σελίδες AB 122.6), and in each there is a similar movement from the past to the present, the origin of the object and the renewal or continuation of the song it embodies. Acosta-Hughes has remarked on the shift in the Sappho epigram from the imagery of death, attached to Doricha, to that of life, attached to the poetry of Sappho embodied in the papyrus text.214 The parallel between the two is perhaps not entirely to Doricha’s advantage—Klooster goes so far as to call Posidippus’ treatment of her “scathing”.215 Erotic experience itself, represented by

213 On this tradition and the problems it raises (which are not of immediate concern here), see Lidov, 2002, who locates its origins in 5th century comic poetry. 214 Acosta-Hughes, 2010, 3; cf. the entire discussion from 1-4 and Acosta-Hughes, 2004. 215 Klooster, 2011, 29.

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Doricha, is, like all human life, ephemeral; the erotic poetry preserved in the “Sapphic pages”, on the other hand, is capable of transcending death.216

This dynamic is representative too of Posidippus’ conception of his own poetry and of the genre of epigram. In the epigrams on Arion, Philitas, and Sappho, poetic objects, and perhaps too the epigrams that describe them, serve as a vehicle for the continuous preservation of the archaic tradition that is at the same time a kind of transformation. A remarkable poem, Posidippus’ so-called sphragis (AB 118, preserved on a first century CE wax tablet P.Berol. 14283). This lengthy poem raises many problems of interpretation. Three segments of this unusually long poem are particularly germaine to the connection between poetic legacy and material objects explored in

Posidippus’ other epigrams:

Posidippus AB 118 (excerpted) … νῦν δὲ Ποσε[ι]δίππῳ στυγερὸν συναείρατε γῆρας 5 γραψάµεναι δέλτων ἐν χρυσέαις σελίσιν. … τοίην ἐκχρήσαις τε καὶ ἐξ ἀδύτων καναχήσαι[ς φωνὴν ἀθανάτην, ὦ ἄνα, καὶ κατ᾽ ἐµοῦ, ὄφρα µε τιµήσωσι Μακηδόνες, οἵ τ᾽ ἐπὶ ν[ήσων 15 οἵ τ᾽ Ἀσίης πάσης γείτονες ἠϊόνος. Πελλαῖον γένος ἀµόν· ἔοιµι δὲ βίβλον ἑλίσσων ἄφνω λαοφόρῳ κείµενος εἰν ἀγορῇ. … µηδέ τις οὐν χεύαι δάκρυον· αὐτὰρ ἐγὼ γήραϊ µυστικὸν οἶµον ἐπὶ Ῥαδάµανθυν ἱκοίµην 25 δήµῳ καὶ λαῷ παντὶ ποθεινὸς ἐών, ἀσκίπων ἐν ποσσὶ καὶ ὀρθοεπὴς ἀν᾽ ὅµιλον καὶ λείπων τέκνοις δῶµα καὶ ὄλβον ἐµόν. 5 συναείρατε Friedrich συναεισαδε tab. … now help Posidippus to bear the burden of hateful old age, writing down the song on the golden columns of your tablets. … May you send forth and sound out from your holy shrine such an immortal voice, O Lord, even for me,

216 The invocation of the columns of a papyrus scroll rather than Sappho herself heightens this contrast between erotic experience and erotic poetry.

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so that the Macedonians may honour me, both the [islanders] and the neighbors of all the Asiatic shore. Pellaean is my family. May I find myself unrolling a book, standing all at once in the crowded market-place. … and let no one shed a tear. But in old age may I travel the mystic path to Rhadamanthys, longed for by my people and all the community, on my feet without a stick, sure of speech among the crowd, and leaving to my children my house and my wealth. (Trans. = Austin)

The movement of the poem is complex, but there is an underlying thematic logic that ties the excerpted passages together. At the beginning, the poet complains of hateful old age and prays for the Muses to lift it from him by “writing in golden columns of tablets”—i.e. by inspiring him to write beautiful poetry even about “hateful” old age. Callimachus wishes for much the same thing at the end of the Aetia prologue, when he wishes that, like a cicada, he too could slough off his outer skin (cf. LSJ s.v. γῆρας II) and thus become young again.217 The image of columns of writing also recalls Posidippus’ epigram on Sappho, where the σελίδες vouchsafe Sappho’s poetry against the power of death that consumes the erotic charm of Doricha.218

He next asks that the Muses send out their “immortal report” about him so that he can win honor from the Macedonians and have his statue set up in the agora (at Pella, the passage implies). He imagines himself rendered unrolling a papyrus scroll, probably as if about to recite his own poetry to the Macedonian crowds (cf. λαοφόρῳ, 18). If the golden tablets of the Muses in line 6 recalled Posidippus’ epigram on Sappho, the wish to

217 Klooster, 2011, 179, n. 12, notes that the Muses and old age are referenced together in the prologue to the Aetia, and, n. 13, that both the Aetia prologue and Posidippus’ sphragis feature writing tablets. 218 Note how Posidippus emphasizes that the “shining Sapphic columns remain and will still remain” (µένουσι … ἔτι καὶ µενέουσιν, AB 122.5).

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be represented as a statue recalls Philitas of Cos—both Posidippus’ epigram about the statue of him by Hecataeus and perhaps also the statue mentioned by Hermesianax

(Leontion, fr. 7.75-76 CA) set up by the citizens of Cos themselves. Like Hecataeus’ statue of Philitas, set up “on account of the Muses” (i.e. because of the excellence of his poetry) Posidippus’ imaginary statue will commemorate one aspect of his personality, his poetic skill.

The sphragis closes with a vision of the poet’s life beyond the grave. He hopes to leave behind him the accoutrements of mortal success (cf. δῶµα καὶ ὄλβον ἐµόν) and to go to meet Rhadamanthys, the presiding judge of the blessed dead in Elysium. There, he will be divested of his old age (cf. ἀσκίπων, 27) and will speak “clearly and correctly”

(ὀρθοεπής, 27) amid the crowd (by which we are perhaps to understand “the crowd of blessed poets”). This is an optimistic, but not outlandish, hope; it was not unheard of for poets to receive a special dispensation and gain admission to the ranks of the blessed. A century or so after Posidippus, for instance, Antipater of Sidon prays that the great lyric poet Anacreon be allowed to continue to enjoy drink and song even in the afterlife (ἐν

µακάρεσσιν, as Antipater puts it, AP 7.27.1).219

Posidippus’ epigrams form a fitting conclusion to this part of my study insofar as they offer vivid illustrations of the two major themes that I have examined in the other early Hellenistic epigrammatists. His poetic objects, the lyre of Arion, the statue of

Philitas, exemplify the way in which Hellenistic epigrammatists “recast” earlier poetry into the generic mold of epigram with its fundamental conceptual relationship to material objects. Even Sappho, whose poetry Posidippus praises as deathless, becomes a kind of

219 On this epigram more below.

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object—her “white” or “clear” lines still shine while Doricha’s bones have long since turned to dust. Secondly, Posidippus’ epigrams offer a case study in the way the representation of others is intimately connected with the poet’s own self-representation.

He presents the reader with a threefold vision of his legacy, in golden columns on a papyrus scroll, in a statue in Pella, and in his life among the blessed in the afterlife. In each of these aspects, his “voice” will live on, through the writing on the page, through the depiction of him reading from a bookroll, and in the “correct speech” (ὀρθοέπεια) he wishes to possess even after death in the company of the blessed. The explicit precedent

Posidippus cites for his wish is that of Archilochus (cf. ln. 12), whose father received an oracle that his son would be renowned for song.220 Read against the background of his other epigrams, however, we can also see that the fame of Sappho and Philitas serve as models or precedents for Posidippus’ vision—the sphragis is his bid to place himself in the same tradition and, in this way, divest himself of old age.221 In its recapitulation of these earlier themes, the sphragis suggests an attitude, developed over the course of

Posidippus’ long and varied career, toward the epigrammatic form itself and its relationship to earlier poetry. It presents a vivid illustration of how epigram’s constant memorialization of earlier poetry served to open new paths of poetic creativity as well as lay claim to the possibility of a poetic success and immortality rivalling the heroized authors of the past.

220 For the interpretation see Klooster, 2011, 180. 221 Klooster, 2011, 182, n. 23, cites the statue of Philitas as a precedent for Posidippus’ imagined statue.

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Chapter 2

Consolidating the Tradition Introduction – Rethinking Imitation and Variation

We have already seen that one of the defining characteristics of early literary epigram, especially the poetry of Asclepiades and his followers, involves the fusion of the traditions of inscribed epigram and sympotic song. The fusion of these two traditions is also central to the nature of allusion and intertextuality in epigram. Literary epigram borrows from inscriptions a formulaic mode of composition and fuses it with an agonistic form of imitation and variation typical of sympotic discourse.222

What Hunter has said of literary epigrams is equally true of their inscriptional antecedents: “in a physical sense … no single epigram was ever ‘alone’.”223 Rather they were often composed for inscriptional sites—locations where they would be surrounded by many other inscriptions of a similar type. Sepulchral inscriptions would be grouped with other sepulchral inscriptions, decrees with decrees, and so forth, depending upon the function of the inscription. For this and other reasons, inscriptional epigrams were bound to be highly formulaic. Any single votive inscription, for instance, would often be surrounded by other inscriptions all addressing the same god and giving thanks for his or her help in similar circumstances. The fact that the verse inscriptions must have very

222 On thematic connections between epigram and sympotic poetry, cf. in general Giangrande, 1968. 223 Hunter, 2010, 286.

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often been the work of a relatively small number of local specialists working from more or less standardized copybooks must also have contributed to their formulaic character.224

Sympotic poetry, on the other hand, was a kind of game, or rather games, since there were several distinct types, that proceeded by fixed rules and therefore produced results that were equally formulaic, but in a qualitatively different way. In one sympotic game, a theme was set and each participant improvised a composition in turn. A further rule stipulated that the participants should base their own composition on those which had come before. The later a participant’s turn came, the more he would find the material for his composition already laid out for him, the task then being rearrangement and reworking rather than fresh inventio. As Seneca puts it, in this kind of game the position of the last participant is preferable (condicio optima est ultimi).225 The fun of the game, then, derived from the combined challenges of ex tempore composition on the one hand, and agonistic variation on the other. Plato’s Symposium, for instance, paints a vivid picture of the simultaneous collaboration and competition involved in sympotic discourse. Each speaker in the dialogue takes up the same topic and carefully relates his speech to the earlier ones.226

In literary epigram, we will find that a formulaic appearance taken over from inscribed epigram masks, or serves as a trope for, a creative engagement with earlier

224 See Tsagalis, 2008, 53-55, on the probable use of inscriptional copybooks by professional epigrammatists of the 5th and 4th centuries. 225 Epist. LXXIX.6. This is what Collins, 2004, ix, calls “capping”: “… usually between two but sometimes more speakers or singers, one participant sets a topic or theme in speech or verse to which another responds by varying, punning, riddling, or cleverly modifying that topic or theme.” 226 Rowe, 1998, 8.

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models that mimics the agonistic dynamics of sympotic composition.227 The gathering of epigrams in books, and especially in anthologies, creates a space in which the reader encounters the different poems and “reads” the relationships between them.228 Epigrams aping inscriptional formularity enter into allusive relations with other epigrams, and the epigrammatists themselves take on, metaphorically, the role of symposiasts participating in a game, i.e. the genre of epigram. This dynamic is apparent in a pair of epigrams by

Alcaeus of Messene and Philip V of Macedon. Alcaeus composed an epigram vaunting over Philip’s defeat at Cynoscephalae in 197 BCE:

AP 7.247 – Alcaeus of Messene = HE IV (Text = HE) Ἄκλαυστοι καὶ ἄθαπτοι, ὁδοιπόρε, τῷδ’ ἐπὶ τύµβῳ Θεσσαλίης τρισσαὶ κείµεθα µυριάδες 〈Αἰτωλῶν δµηθέντες ὑπ᾽ ἄρεος ἠδὲ Λατίνων οὓς Τίτος εὐρείης ἤγαγ᾽ ἀπ᾽ Ἰταλίης〉 Ἠµαθίῃ µέγα πῆµα. τὸ δὲ θρασὺ κεῖνο Φιλίππου πνεῦµα θοῶν ἐλάφων ᾤχετ’ ἐλαφρότερον.

3-4 om. PPl Unmourned and unburied, oh traveler, upon this mound we thirty thousands from Thessaly lie—a great woe to Emathia. But that rash spirit of Philip has vanished faster than swift deer.

Philip then responded (ἀντικωµῳδῶν τὸν Ἀλκαῖον, as Plutarch says):

Philip V of Macedon, apud Plut. Flamininus, 9 (cf. Gow- Page HE II.11-12) Ἄφλοιος καὶ ἄφυλλος, ὁδοιπόρε, τῷδ᾽ ἐπὶ νώτῳ Ἀλκαίῳ σταυρὸς πήγνυται ἠλίβατος.

227 On the divergence between inscriptional formularity and the phenomenon of “variations on a theme”, cf. Fantuzzi, 2010, who argues that the latter is a feature of literary epigram not evident in inscriptions. Cf. also Fantuzzi, 2006, 603: “Il gusto per la variazione sul tema è una delle caratteristiche essenziali dell’epigramma letterario dell’epoca ellenistica e imperiale-romana.” (Emphasis added.) 228 Cf. the remark of Gutzwiller, 1998a, 14: “By grouping old with new, known with unknown, the poet-editors of epigram anthologies fashioned a literary context for historical intertextuality.”

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With neither branches nor leaves, oh traveler, on this ridge there stands a cross fixed on high for Alcaeus.

Philip’s epigram derives its humor from the appearance, or rather parody, of inscriptional formularity that emerges when it is set alongside Alcaeus’. The first line of each epigrams consists of two privative adjectives, the vocative ὁδοιπόρε, and a location, indicated by ἐπί + dative. By calling out Alcaeus by name in the pentameter, and substituting a crucifix for the tomb that would have been expected according to the conventions of epigram, Philip transforms this innocuous formal similarity into a humorous provocation. This is an admittedly extreme case, but it serves to illustrate a kind of agonistic dynamic that, I argue, proves central to the generic development of epigram in the second and first centuries BCE.

Although it has been widely recognized that imitation and variation are central to the practice of ancient epigrammatists, these phenomena have occasioned dismissal more often than serious study. Two assumptions have underpinned much scholarship on the phenomenon of imitation and variation in epigram and still have yet to be completely dispelled. The first is that these are essentially mechanical processes involving alteration only of a formal shell, leaving the core content of the model text unaffected. The second assumption, a corrollary of the first, is that these phenomena are essentially meaningless.

On these bases, a persistent distinction is drawn between the “real poet” whose work is meaningful (and indeed aims at the creation of meaning), and the “virtuoso”, whose purpose is only to dazzle the audience with feats that are extraneous to poetry properly

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defined. On this assumption, there is no use trying to interpret the works of such virtuosos, since there is, properly speaking, nothing to interpret.229

During the last several decades, however, scholars have begun to reexamine literature that has traditionally been viewed as derivative, epigonal, and/or imitative—in short, not the work of “true poets”. The entire revival of interest in Hellenistic poetry, aided by the discovery of so many important new papyrus texts, is part of this larger tendency. Within this context, the arts of imitation and variation in epigram have been revisited by a number of scholars, who have shown how even extremely conventional forms of imitation and variation may serve serious literary purposes.230 The extreme conventionality and topicality of epigram might, after all, be expected to preclude similarities between one epigram and another from having any interpretive significance.231 Yet scholars have noted that, somewhat paradoxically, literary epigram draws the reader’s attention precisely to the topicality of a particular utterance, and that conventional topoi and epigram-forms become vehicles for poetic self-assertion.232 The point of the epigram, that is, lies in the creative engagement with particularly authoritative instances of the same topos in epigram or with a whole tradition or sub-

229 This is not to say that the general problems associated with this approach have not been apparent to some classicists for a long time. Paratore, 1942, 3, puts it nicely: “… è necessario che non ci lasciamo indurre, nel tentativo di sceverare la poesia dalla non poesia, ad includere in quest’ ultima anche la poesia incompresa, come abbiamo visto che purtroppo spesso è avvenuto finora.” [Emphasis added.] 230 See Ludwig, 1968; Tarán, 1979; Gutzwiller, 1998a, 227-235; Sens, 2007. 231 On conventional features in literary epigram cf. Fantuzzi, in Fantuzzi-Hunter, 2004, 292: “the high degree of conventionality and the repetitiveness of inscribed archaic epigram created a precedent which, in a certain sense, authorized the highly topical character of literary epigram, perhaps indeed the most topical form of all Greek poetry.” [Emphasis added.] 232 See, e.g., Sens, 2007, 390.

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genre focused on the topos. Sites of maximum conventionality, that is, are precisely the place where epigrammatists mark themselves out from their peers.

Earlier studies of imitation and variation, including those of Sens and Tarán, have regarded these techniques essentially as processes by which new epigrams may be created on the basis of earlier ones. So an epigram (or set of epigrams) may be used by a later epigrammatist as the raw material for the creation of a new poem. The remainder of this study, by contrast, will aim to show that what we might regard as “mechanical” processes of (often quite minute) textual manipulation are endemic to the later poetic tradition (not just epigram) and blend seamlessly into higher level forms of imitation.

We will find, for instance, that entire groups of epigrams can be viewed as imitative adaptations of earlier model groups. What is more, even high-level literary phenomena such as the authorial persona can be fruitfully analyzed in terms of the techniques of imitation and variation.

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Chapter 2: Part 1

Antipater of Sidon’s Panorama of Greek Poets

Antipater’s Modern and Ancient Reception

“He had few ideas of his own, but is sufficiently skillful to vary other people’s agreeably … .”233

Such was the judgment of Gow and Page of the poetry of Antipater of Sidon, the second- century BCE epigrammatist whose poems were included in the Garland of Meleager, composed in the decade or so after 100 BCE. The second half of their statement is true as far as it goes: the most immediately striking quality of Antipater’s poetry is his mastery of the techniques of imitation and variation. At times, his epigrams even seem to be little more than a cento fashioned from the works of earlier epigrammatists. The first half of Gow and Page’s judgment, however, implicitly underrates these techniques as potential modes of poetic expression. Other scholars too have regarded Antipater’s epigrams as somehow resistant to interpretation, showpieces of an essentially mechanical technique of imitation lacking any conceptual depth.234 Yet I would suggest that this very derivative quality of the epigrams, an index of Antipater’s deep immersion in the epigrammatic tradition, makes him an especially interesting test case for assessing imitation and variation as modes of poetic composition. Since, moreover, these techniques are quite prevalent in later Greek epigram—even if they are not taken to quite the same extreme—a clear account of them is vital, as I hope to show, to the assessment of these later poets, beginning with Meleager.

233 Gow-Page, HE v. 2, 32. 234 More recently, scholars such as Goldhill, 1994, and Gutzwiller, 1998a, 236-275, have begun to find greater cultural and literary interest in Antipater’s poetry.

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So far we have seen successive epigrammatists engage with the “literary past”, particularly poets of the archaic and classical periods, as a way of creating the new poetic form of literary epigram. Or, rather, forms—the various epigrammatic experiments we have encountered so far have involved the fusion of inscriptional forms with diverse generic elements. The results varied widely, ranging from Asclepiades’ combination of sympotic and inscriptional elements, Nossis’ filtering of epigrammatic praise through the lens of Sapphic eroticism, Leonidas’ fusion of the poetic Cynicism of Crates with sepulchral and dedicatory forms, and Callimachus’ literary criticism cast as epigrams.

Antipater’s innovation, in contrast with these earlier figures, was to study epigram itself and synthesize the diverse approaches to the literary past he found there in his own work.

In his long series of epigrams on poets, I will argue that what he winds up creating is both a panoramic history of archaic and classical Greek literature and a synthesis of earlier epigrammatic representations of poetry.

Unlike some earlier epigrammatists (e.g. Leonidas of Tarentum) who had already created rather elaborate literary personae, Antipater presents the reader with very little in the way of poetic subjectivity. The second part of my argument may therefore seem paradoxical: through his synthesis of earlier epigrammatic views of poetry, Antipater laid the foundation for a conception of the epigrammatist himself as a generically defined poetic subject. This conclusion will be supported through a reading of Meleager’s epitaph for Antipater AP 7.428 in which Meleager situates Antipater himself within the epigrammatic panorama he (Antipater) had created. Counterintuitive as it may at first seem, for Meleager, Antipater—the poet who hides himself behind a wall of tradition—

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provides the starting point for a construction of the epigrammatist as a generically defined authorial figure.

Antipater is elusive for reasons both intrinsic and accidental. As I have already emphasized, his poetic techniques emphasize his debt to his predecessors, and, at least in the epigrams we have, he does not present the reader with an authorial persona of his own that might give an overt shape and unity to the collection. Furthermore, he has suffered even more than most other epigrammatists from the complicated process by which parts of the anthologies of Meleager and Philip have come down to us. He shares his name with Antipater of Thessalonica, the epigrammatist whose works were included in the

Garland of Philip, and the attribution of epigrams between the two is often vexed. To further complicate the picture, Antipater is one of the few epigrammatists for whom we have a rich body of (nearly contemporary) testimonia, which, I will argue, offer some valuable clues about how we ought to approach his work.

The few biographical data that can be gleaned from the testimonia on Antipater are by now not a matter of much controversy. He was born at Sidon about 170 BCE or before and probably died about 100 BCE.235 Some indication of his success as a poet for hire is given by an inscription at Delos (Inscr. de Délos 2549 = XLII HE, where an otherwise unknown epigram by him commemorating dedications made to Apollo and

Artemis by a Delian banker named Philostratus is paired with an epigram on the same subject by a certain Antisthenes of Paphos.236

235 On Antipater’s life see in general Gutzwiller, 1998a, 236-7 and Argentieri, 2003, 29- 33. 236 The inscription was originally published by Peek, 1957. See also, on the commissioner Philostratus, Mancinetti-Santamaria, 1981, and on the epigrams, Fantuzzi, 2008.

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Antipater’s live performances were famous enough, and his display of virtuosity impressive enough, that Cicero not only has Crassus cite his technique with approval but even couches his praise within a kind of argumentum a fortiori: what Antipater was able to accomplish in verse should be all the easier to do in prose:

Quod si Antipater ille Sidonius quem tu probe, Catule, meministi solitus est versus hexametros aliosque variis modis atque numeris fundere ex tempore, tantumque hominis ingeniosi ac memoris valuit exercitatio ut cum mente ac voluntate coniecisset in versum verba sequerentur, quanto id facilius in oratione exercitatione et consuetudine adhibita consequemur. (de Oratore, III.194)

But if Antipater of Sidon, whom I suppose you, Catulus, surely remember, was accustomed to pour forth hexameter and other verse in varied modes and meters extemporaneously and if the training of this talented man possessed of an excellent memory was so effective that when he had applied his mind and will to versification, the words would follow, then so much the more easily, with training and practice, ought we to achieve this effect in oratory. Writing in 55 BCE, Cicero presents a fictional conversation, set in 91 BCE, among a group of aristocratic Romans with literary and rhetorical interests. Among them are

Marcus Licinius Crassus and Quintus Lutatius Catulus. He very likely traveled to Rome later in life and was acquainted with Quintus Lutatius Catulus (cos. 102). This acquaintanceship is significant in itself. Catulus was an enthusiastic patron of the arts and had a special fondness for epigram.237 In addition to Antipater, he was also connected with the poet Archias (likely the epigrammatist). Catulus also composed epigrams, and a couple of his poems, Latin reworkings of Greek epigrams by

Callimachus, come down to us thanks to Aulus Gellius.238 Antipater can thus claim an important role as a conduit by which the epigrammatic tradition—and the methods of

237 Catulus’ friendship with the poet Archias is mentioned by Cicero (pro Archia poeta 5- 6). On Catulus’ literary relationships and interests see Morelli, 2000, 136-142. Cf. Morelli, 2007. 238 Catulus fr. 1 Courtney adapts Callimachus AP VII.317; fr. 2 adapts Meleager AP XII.12.

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poetic imitation and variation—were propagated at Rome. What is more, as this passage from Cicero illustrates, Catulus even had a personal acquaintance of some kind with

Antipater (quem tu probe Catule meministi), and—so the logic of the passage suggests— would have seen him perform his epigrams or other kinds of poetry ex tempore.239

The passage from Cicero is important not only for its high estimation of

Antipater’s abilities, but also for its attestation of a certain moment in the reception of his poetry: we have here a clear indication that one way Antipater’s poetry was received was through oral, ex tempore, performance. What is more, Cicero tells us that Antipater’s example showed what talent (ingenium) combined with training of the memory

(exercitatio memoriae) could accomplish. Antipater, then, had not only subjected himself to the kind of memory training that all educated ancient people undertook to one degree or another, but had achieved the status of a prodigy.240

Antipater’s poetry has often been analyzed based on the assumption—implicit or explicit—that his poetry was composed and received through live, improvisatory performance. A commentator on the Greek Anthology, for instance, remarks that

Antipater’s series of five epigrams on Anacreon, discussed here at length below, reflects in its repetitiousness Antipater’s “vie d’improvisateur”.241 That is to say that as an improvisational performer, Antipater developed a kind of toolbox of common forms and themes, which he could reproduce and modify almost automatically ad infinitum (or ad

239 Cicero praises Archias’ ex tempore performances in similar terms at pro Archia, 18. 240 Cicero’s reference to Antipater’s memory has not received much attention from modern scholars, but already Weigand, 1840, 48, suggested that Antipater is called memor because he had committed to memory a vast amount of the poetry of others, which he could then vary. 241 Desrousseaux in Waltz et al., 1928, vol. 4, 71 n. 1. Cf. the remark of Setti, 1890, 18, on Meleager, CXXII and Cicero, de Oratore, III.194: “ben s’addicono [i.e. the two testimonia] ad una natura d’improvvisatore.” [Emphasis added.]

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nauseam depending on the taste of the critic). In spite of the popularity of Antipater’s performances, however, they were not the only context in which his poetry was received.

We should accordingly beware of writing off peculiar qualities of his work, such as extended series of epigrams on the same theme, simply as relics of its origins in improvised, oral performance.242 Yet even if we were to suppose that all of Antipater’s epigrams originated in oral ex tempore performance, the poems that survived through preservation by Meleager had, obviously, to be written down at some point. Unless we imagine a stenographer transcribing the oral performance directly, the epigrams will have to have been written out by the poet himself at some point afterwards, and it is inconceivable that Antipater would not have expended some effort on preparing and reworking his poems if they were to circulate in books of some kind.

The Two Antipaters

The absence of an authorial persona in Antipater’s corpus as well as his methods of imitation and variation make it difficult to glimpse the figure of the poet behind his work. There is however a further obstruction to our understanding of Antipater’s particular artistry, this one accidental: Antipater is an extremely common name shared by Antipater of Thessalonica, an epigrammatist of the Garland of Philip. In the Palatine and Planudean anthologies, epigrams come down to us assigned variously to “Antipater”,

“Antipater of Sidon”, “Antipater of Thessalonica”, and “Antipater of Macedon”

242 E.g HE, v. II, 48: “… it may be well to remember that A. of Sidon was an improviser, and some of his epigrams may naturally show lack of polish.” Cf. ibid., vol. II, 33: “He is fond of variations on the same theme … and in view of his reputation as an improvvisatore it is not uncharitable to suppose that a good many of the surviving epigrams were impromptu compositions.” Compare once again the apt remark of Fantuzzi, 2006, 603, already cited above, that “Il gusto per la variazione sul tema è una delle caratteristiche essenziali dell’epigramma letterario dell’epoca ellenistica e imperiale-romana.” (My emphasis.)

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(generally taken to be identical with the Thessalonican).243 Since no clear-cut stylistic criteria present themselves for judging the lemmatists’ ascriptions,244 their value must be evaluated based on instances where their statements can be checked against other criteria, such as the presence of chronologically decisive references in the epigram itself; this procedure often shows the lemmatists in a rather bad light.245 Furthermore, we must examine the contexts in which the epigrams are attested in the Palatine and Planudean anthologies, which can provide strong evidence about authorship.246 In the end, it must be acknowledged that any epigram transmitted to us in the MS tradition attributed to an

‘Antipater’, not belonging to a Garland-context, and not containing information decisively fixing its date of composition in either the second or the first century BCE could be by either of the two Antipaters.247

The problem of ascription is particularly acute in the case of the numerous epigrams on poets ascribed to an “Antipater” in the Anthology. The large majority of these, along many other the Hellenistic epigrams on poets, is clustered at the beginnings

243 The attribution of poems between the two Antipaters has been dealt with at length by Weigand, 1840; Setti, 1890; Waltz, 1906; and Argentieri, 2003. For tables presenting the attributions of the epigrams in the manuscripts, see Argentieri, 2003, 17-23, esp. 16 n. 15. 244 HE, v. I, 33. 245 For instance, the lemmatist [J] makes a rather elementary chronological error in ascribing 9.93, a gift epigram addressed to Lucius Calpurnius Piso (cos. 15 BCE), to Antipater of Sidon. ([J] is guilty of similar mistakes elsewhere: at AP 7.715 he makes Leonidas of Tarentum out to be the author of the isopsephic epigrams that can be ascribed with certainty to Leonidas of Alexandria, an author known on the basis of explicit internal references to belong to the Neronian period.) So too Planudes ascribes his epigram 184 to Antipater of Sidon in spite of a reference to Piso. 246 The “Corrector” [C], for instance, ascribes epigrams 7.409 and 7.413 (both in a long Meleagrean sequence) to Antipater of Thessalonica. 247 There is, of course, the additional possibility that such an ascription is entirely mistaken, or, conversely, that an epigram not ascribed to Antipater is in fact by him. In the absence of further papyrological evidence, this latter possibility remains untestable. Stylometric statistics are provided in Argentieri, 2003, but it must be borne in mind that the total sample size is rather small.

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of books VII and IX of the Palatine Anthology, in sections arranged by Constantine

Cephalas.248 As a result of Cephalas’ reorganization, we lack for most of these epigrams either Meleagrean or Philippan contexts, which otherwise provide a good indication of authorship. The following table presents all of the epigrams on poems and poets ascribed in the MSS to an ‘Antipater’ (with or without specification of the city of origin, Sidon or

Thessalonica):249

Poet-epigrams ascribed to one of the Antipaters

Subject Anth. Gr. Gow-Page Gabathuler Homer AP 7.2 HE VIII 76 Homer AP 7.6 HE IX 75 Orpheus AP 7.8 HE X 74 Sappho AP 7.14 HE XI 78 Sappho AP 7.15 GPh LXXIII 80 Alcman AP 7.18 GPh XII Anacreon AP 7.23 HE XIII 84 Anacreon AP 7.26 HE XIV 85 Anacreon AP 7.27 HE XV 83 Anacreon AP 7.29 HE XVI 87 Anacreon AP 7.30 HE XVII 86

248 On book the organization of AP VII see Lenzinger, 1965, 11-15, and 17-20 on book IX. Cf. the tables at Lenzinger, 1965, 64-5; Cameron, 1993, 126-7; and tables V and VI at the end of Gutzwiller, 1998a. The thematically arranged sections run from VII.1-363 and IX.1-214. An epigram like AP VII.1 could quite easily have been incorporated into Book IX, insofar as it narrates an anecdote—the manner of Homer’s death and burial— and is not strictly sepulchral. It is only the fact that the “anecdote” has to do with the death of Homer that has led to its inclusion in the sepulchral book. 249 Excluded from this list are poems that can be ascribed with certainty to the Thessalonican. AP 9.93 (Antipater of Thessalonica on a book of his own poems) and 9.541 (mentioning Aratus’ Phaenomena) can be definitively ruled out of consideration here by the mention of the Thessalonican’s patron Piso. AP 11.20, a polemic against pedantic poets, fits well into the 1st century BCE/CE tradition of epigrams against grammarians (cp. AP 11.321 Philip; 11.322 Antiphanes; 11.347 Philip) and can be ascribed with confidence to the Thessalonican. AP 9.517, comparing a piper named Glaphyrus with Orpheus, can be safely ascribed to Antipater of Thessalonica, since a Glaphyrus is also praised in AP 9.266 (in a securely Philippan context). Neither the attribution of epigram AP 7.18 nor of epigram 7.39 is specifically discussed by Argentieri, 2003, who asserts (p. 192) that Antipater of Thessalonica is the author without further comment.

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Pindar AP 7.34 HE XVIII 88 Aeschylus AP 7.39 GPh XIII Stesichorus AP 7.75 GPh LXXIII 81 Antimachus AP 7.409 HE LXVI 89 Erinna AP 7.713 HE LVIII 90 Ibycus AP 7.745 HE XIX 82 Nine Female Poets AP 9.26 GPh XIX Sappho AP 9.66 HE XII 79 Aristophanes AP 9.186 GPh CIII Homer APl 296 GPh LXXI 77 Pindar APl 305 GPh LXXV

Only two of these epigrams, 7.409 and 7.713, are preserved in long Meleagrean sequences and can thus be ascribed with a high degree of certainty to Antipater of Sidon.

In ascribing the remainder, we must have recourse to literary arguments. It seems at least plausible, and in some of these cases highly likely, that Antipater of Sidon is the author of epigrams that have not traditionally been ascribed to him. In what follows, I will specify instances where my argument relies on authorship by the Sidonian (or, conversely, the

Thessalonican) or where an attribution is not crucial to the argument itself.

However we ascribe the epigrams of doubtful authorship, it seems safe to say that no other epigrammatist composed so many surviving poet-epigrams or as many poems on a single subject. Although we must always bear in mind Meleager’s interventions as editor, this large number of poet-epigrams seems to evince a particular affinity for this sub-type on Antipater’s part.250

In what follows, I will argue that Antipater’s poet-epigrams constitute a purposefully designed group, or bundle of groups with intersecting organizational principles. These include internal features such as common subject-matter and imagery

250 As noted by Gutzwiller, 1998a, 260, and Argentieri, 2003, 103.

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and explicit cross-references, as well as external factors, namely the structure of the contemporary literary system.251

Antipater doubtless had access to epigram collections written by his predecessors, and he was able to vary and adapt their works not only on the level of the individual epigram, but on that of the epigram group as well. That is to say, Antipater not only takes up and varies the diction and themes of other poets, but also adapts their organizational strategies to his own purposes. Again and again we will find Antipater employing, with subtle modifications, language, imagery, and organizational schemes derived from Leonidas, Callimachus, Dioscorides, Alcaeus of Messene, and others.

Starting from the works of these predecessors—both their individual epigrams and their organizational strategies—Antipater creates a panoramic survey of Greek poetry organized in the manner of a tripartite (“three-style”) system of generic and stylistic classification.252 Antipater’s reception of his subjects in these epigrams is thus mediated both by the terms of contemporary literary-critical discourse as well as the epigrammatic tradition. Thus Antipater simultaneously situates himself within the traditions of archaic and classical literature and that of Hellenistic epigram.253

Systems of Generic and Stylistic Classification

251 Antipater’s poet-epigrams could thus be said to form an “epigrammatic cycle,” according to the definition formulated by Lorenz, 2004, 257: “… all groups of epigrams, adjacent poems, or scattered pieces that display a common theme or motif, common use of language, or common structural features.” The important thing, of course, is to identify precisely what these common features are in a given case. 252 By contrast, previous studies of poet-epigrams, including those of Antipater, have tended to focus on single poets or genres: e.g. Skiadas, 1965, and Bolmarcich, 2002 on Homer; Barbantani, 1993, and, 2010, on lyric poets; Chirico, 1981, on Antipater’s epigrams on Anacreon. 253 On this phenomenon in Hellenistic epigram, see Sens, 2007.

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Antipater responded to a contemporary literary milieu different from that in which his predecessors operated, in which the relationships among authors were no longer conceived in the same terms. During the Hellenistic period, under the influence of

Peripatetic scholarship and the work of literary classification and criticism underway at

Alexandria and other intellectual centers, we begin to see attempts at general schemes for the analysis of language, encompassing all literary genres whether poetry or prose.254 An incipient classification was already in place by the fifth century BCE: both Aristophanes’

Frogs and Alcidamas’ Against those who write written speeches rely on a dichotomous view of literary style.255 This basic framework seems to underpin later stylistic criticism.256 However, although the schemes presented by later authors have in common an evident origin in the system of two diametrically opposed modes of expression, they disagree in their analysis of the intermediate grades of style. The author of the περὶ

ἑρµηνείας (“On Style”) ascribed to a “Demetrius”, meanwhile, presents a system of four styles, two of which are mutually exclusive, and two of which can combine with any of the others indifferently.257 Others employ a third style that incorporates elements of the

254 The early Hellenistic works of this kind are lost, but the author of the Rhetorica ad Herennium indicates that such works already by his time formed an established genre in Greek. On the history of stylistic classification of authors see, in general, Russell, 1981, 129-172. 255 I would suggest that the epigrammatic diptychs we encountered earlier are, in part, an index of an original dualism in stylistic classification. 256 On the literary criticism of Alcidamas and its relationship to Aristophanes see O’Sullivan, 1992. 257 The date and authorship of the περὶ ἑρµηνείας is a famously vexed question. Opinions have ranged from the third century BCE down to the first century CE. On the one hand, Demetrius responds overtly to a system comprising only two styles, and this would seem to place his work (or at any rate the ideas contained therein) sometime before the first century BCE. But some linguistic points militate against such an early date. On the date, see the discussion in Marini, 2007, 4-16, but against her late (first cent. CE) dating of the work (p. 16), see de Jonge, 2009.

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two extremes—i.e. a “mixed” style—sometimes positing an intermediate style that is a mean between the other two, but nevertheless autonomous and possessing its own distinct characteristics.258

One major source for the system of three styles is Dionysius of Halicarnassus, who, in his series of essays on poetry and prose authors and his de compositione verborum gives both a theoretical and practical account of literary stylistics. Marked similarities between Antipater’s epigrams and Dionysius’ works, particularly in the choice of poetic exemplars and the imagery used to describe them, indicate that each drew on a common stock of ideas about genre, style and the history of literature, as well as a shared repertory of metaphorical imagery for describing literary style. Thus, even in spite of the lack of any particularly close connection between the texts otherwise,

Dionysius’ practice can be useful for making explicit what Antipater leaves implicit in his poems.

In the de compositione verborum (esp. chs. 21-24) and in de Demosthene (chs. 38-

42) Dionysius employs a system of three styles, two of which—the αὐστηρά (“austere” or “severe”), and the γλαφυρά (“smooth” or “polished”) ἁρµονίαι are conceived as the two limits of a continuum, while a middle style (which Dionysius calls εὔκρατος or

“well-mixed”) consitutes not a third autonomous style, but instead a judicious mixture of the two extremes.

Stylistic exemplars in the de compositione verborum and de Demosthene of Dionysius of Halicarnassus259

258 We should also beware of assuming that all “three style” systems are equivalent. Cf. Lausberg, 1998, 477: “The three genera [genus subtile; medium; grande] only represent a selection of the possibilities of the really necessary forms of expression … In practice the system of the three genera dissolves into a large number of variants … .”

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αὐστηρὰ ἁρµονία (de εὔκρατος ἁρµονία (de γλαφυρὰ ἁρµονία (de comp. verb. 22; Dem. 38) comp. verb. 24; Dem. 41) comp. verb. 23; Dem. 40)

Epic ἐπικὴ ποίησις Antimachus; Empedocles Homer Hesiod

Lyric Sappho; Anacreon; µελοποιία Pindar Stesichorus; Alcaeus Simonides

Tragedy τραγῳδία Aeschylus Sophocles Euripides

Oratory πολιτικοὶ λόγοι Antiphon Demosthenes Isocrates

History ἱστορία Thucydides Herodotus -----

Looking at this system alongside Antipater’s epigrams, there are some fairly obvious points of comparison. First, there is a striking overlap in the authors who are treated: out of nine possible poetic stylistic positions in Dionysius’ scheme, we have epigrams by Antipater on six exemplary authors. (As for those authors cited by

Dionysius but absent from Antipater, many are treated little or not at all in extant

Hellenistic epigram: prose authors in general are largely ignored,260 as are, perhaps more surprisingly, Alcaeus and Simonides.261) Secondly, the imagery and themes of the epigrams closely track those used by Dionysius to describe his three styles. Finally,

Antipater’s procedure and that of Dionysius and other authors on style share a common purpose. The authors on style seek to present their readers with a set of recognizable

259 Pindar, Aeschylus, Sappho, Anacreon, Isocrates, Plato, Homer, Herodotus and Demosthenes himself are the exemplars cited in the shorter treatment of the styles in the de Demosthene; the full list is given in the de compositione verborum. 260 The lack of epigrams on prose authors is noted by Gabathuler, 1937, 1. Philosophers, however, feature prominently in epigram, and Antipater himself composed an epigram on the Cynic Hipparchia (AP 7.413). 261 Though both are mentioned in a catalog of the nine lyric poets: AP 9.571 ἀδέσποτον.

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signposts, a matrix within which they can select a particular position depending on their purposes on a given occasion, and a position that comes pre-loaded with a set of literary and even social and political associations.262 As in Dionysius, the poets featured in

Antipater’s epigrams are not treated as multifaceted, varied figures, but rather as illustrative types. Also like Dionysius’ system of classification, Antipater’s epigrams create a mutually reinforcing group of poetic exempla, the individual elements of which depend on one another for their significance.

Stylistic imagery

The Greek and Latin authors on literary style made use of an extensive metaphorical vocabulary to capture the impressionistic effects of different kinds of writing and speaking on the listener. In the de compositione verborum, Dionysius says that even the names he uses to designate his three styles (ἁρµονίαι) are themselves not technical terms, but rather metaphorical descriptions.263 Descriptions of literary style employ a further wealth of metaphors encompassing age, physical mass and magnitude, as well as tactile, auditory, and olfactory or gustatory qualities. They extend further to ethical and social ideas such as moral probity, sobriety, seriousness, and bravery in battle.

To further complicate the picture, there is a persistent tendency to confound style and subject matter: the idea of a proper harmony between the form and content of an

262 On the latter valence of literary and oratorical stylistics, see, in general Krostenko, 2004. 263 Cf. Dion. Hal., de compositione verborum, 21: ἐγὼ µέντοι κυρίοις ὀνόµασιν οὐκ ἔχων αὐτὰς προσαγορεῦσαι ὡς ἀκατονοµάστους µεταφορικοῖς ὀνόµασι καλῶ τὴν µὲν αὐστηράν, τὴν δὲ γλαφυράν, τὴν δὲ τρίτην εὔκρατον. “I, however, lacking agreed upon names to call them by (for they do not have them), using metaphors call the first ‘harsh’, the second ‘smooth’, and the third the ‘well-mixed’.”

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utterance slips naturally into the view that certain styles are necessarily affiliated with certain subject matter.264

The Greeks analyzed sensation in terms of polar opposites, and this made it easy to apply sense-terms to literary stylistics, which were likewise understood, at least initially, in terms of two opposing types.265 The best-known comparison of literary styles using these metaphorical descriptors is probably the agon of Aeschylus and Euripides in the Frogs of Aristophanes. Here, Aeschylus’ poetry is characterized by a set of adjectives and metaphors connoting weight and magnitude (“swollen”, οἰδοῦσαν, 940), loud sound, physical power, imposing countenance and monstrosity (ὀφρῦς ἔχοντα, δείν᾽

ἄττα µορµορωπά, 925). This diametrical opposition between literary styles, along with the metaphorical terms in which it is expressed, become staples of later critical discussions, both in poetry and in prose sources. The picture is complicated, however, by changes in theoretical conceptions of style, and particularly the introduction of a third,

“middle” style. The concept of a “middle style”, whatever its nature, was a product of the period between Aristotle on the one hand and the rhetorical authors of the first century BCE on the other. What remained in Aristotle somewhat general references to the desirability of the mean and of mixture (Aristotle’s verb is κεράννυµι) in literary style had by the first century turned into a common assumption of the existence of a discrete middle style defined either as a mean or a mixture of some kind.

264 Demetrius, de elocutione, 76, tells us that the painter Nicias applied this maxim to painting. 265 Pairs of diametrically opposed sense-terms are cataloged, e.g., by Aristotle (de Anima 422b). A very similar catalog of sensory opposites is used by Xenophon Mem. 3.10 to comment on painting.

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In the περὶ συνθέσεως ὀνοµάτων (De compositione verborum), Dionysius sets out to instruct his young dedicatee Rufus Metilius in how to “arrange [words] in a combination which unites grace and dignity.”266 After a discussion of the nature, effect, and aims of this process, σύνθεσις (composition), Dionysius describes its γενικώταται

διαφοραί (“principal varieties”). Although he acknowledges that in practice there exist many types of composition, he identifies three which are primary, dubbing them the

αὐστηρά (rough), γλαφυρά (smooth/polished), and εὔκρατος (well-mixed). He then discusses each in turn, first providing a general description, a list of authors exemplary of the form of composition in each genre, and a passage drawn from one of their works followed by a detailed syllabic and lexical analysis.

Dionysius begins with a description of the austere style of composition using a series of concrete metaphorical terms. He emphasizes especially its solidity, strength, roughness, lack of polish, breadth, nobility, grandeur, and archaism. He exemplifies this style using passages from Pindar and Thucydides. I quote parts of his description exempli gratia: … ἐρείδεσθαι βούλεται τὰ ὀνόµατα ἀσφαλῶς καὶ στάσεις λαµβάνειν ἰσχυράς … τραχείαις τε χρῆσθαι πολλαχῃ καὶ ἀντιτύποις ταῖς συµβολαῖς οὐδὲν αὐτῇ διαφέρει … συντιθεµένων ἐν οἰκοδοµίαις λίθων αἱ µὴ εὐγώνιοι καὶ µὴ συνεξεσµέναι βάσεις … µεγάλοις τε καὶ διαβεβηκόσιν εἰς πλάτος ὀνόµασιν ὡς τὰ πολλὰ µηκύνεσθαι φιλεῖ … ἐπιτηδεύει τοὺς ῥυθµοὺς ἀξιωµατικοὺς καὶ µεγαλοπρεπεῖς … ἥκιστ᾽ ἀνθηρά, µεγαλόφρων, τὸν ἀρχαϊσµὸν καὶ τὸν πίνον ἔχουσα κάλλος. … ταῦθ᾽ ὅτι µέν ἐστιν ἰσχυρὰ καὶ στιβαρὰ καὶ ἀξιωµατικὰ … . (de compositione verborum, 22)

… It requires that the words shall stand firmly on their own feet and occupy strong positions … It does not mind admitting rough and dissonant collocations … like blocks of natural stone laid together in building, with their sides not cut square or polished smooth, but remaining unworked and rough-hewn. … It has a general liking for expansion by means of long words which extend over a wide space … it cultivates dignified and impressive rhythms … [it is] not at all florid, but magnanimous … its beauty consists in its patina of antiquity. (Trans. = Usher)

266 De compositione verborum, 1. (Trans. = Usher.)

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Dionysius then describes the polar opposite form of composition, the γλαφυρὰ ἁρµονία, which is flowing (ὥσπερ τὰ ῥέοντα), smooth (λεῖα), soft (µαλακά), flowery, and youthful (τὸ νεαρόν). It abhors roughness (τραχείαις δὲ συλλαβαῖς καὶ ἀντιτύποις

ἀπέχθεταί που). Instead of old-fashioned and stately figures of speech, it employs delicate and appealing ones (τρυφεροῖς τε καὶ κολακικοῖς). Dionysius exemplifies this style using passages from Isocrates and Sappho.

Dionysius’ third form of composition, the εὔκρατος ἁρµονία, is a kind of mixture, which draws judiciously on elements of each of the two extreme styles: σχῆµα µὲν ἴδιον οὐδὲν ἔχει, κεκέρασται δὲ ὡς ἐξ ἐκείνων µετρίως καὶ ἔστιν ἐκλογή τις τῶν ἐν

ἑκατέρᾳ κρατίστων (“It has no form of its own, but is as it were mixed in equal measures from the others and is a selection of what is most effective in each.”).267

Composition in this style therefore implies a mastery of the other two as well as the ability to properly intermingle them. No passages are adduced to illustrate this style, but

Homer is pointed out as its chief exemplar. In what follows I will aim to show broad parallels in imagery and organization between Dionysius’ scheme of stylistic classification and imagery and Antipater’s series of poet-epigrams.

The εὔκρατος ἁρµονία – Epigrams on Homer and Stesichorus

Antipater composed perhaps as many as four epigrams on Homer.268 The briefest of these, and the simplest in structure, is a four-line epitaph, in which a string of honorific epithets evocative of the epic style is attached to Homer’s name in the accusative. This is

267 De comp. verb. 24. 268 AP 7.2; 7.6; 9.792; APl 296. On the changing views of Homer in Greek (and Roman) culture, see Zeitlin, 2001, and Graziosi, 2002. On Homer in epigram see Skiadas, 1965, and Bolmarcich, 2002.

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followed by an address to the reader (ξεῖνε) and the common sepulchral formula κέκευθε

κόνις:269

AP 7.6 – Antipater of Sidon = IX HE (Text = HE) Ἡρώων κάρυκ’ ἀρετᾶς µακάρων δὲ προφήταν, Ἑλλάνων βιοτᾷ δεύτερον ἀέλιον, Μουσῶν φέγγος, Ὅµηρον, ἀγήρατον στόµα κόσµου παντός, ἁλιρροθία, ξεῖνε, κέκευθε κόνις.

Herald of the greatness of heroes, prophet of the immortals, second sun for the life of the Greeks: Homer, light of the Muses, ageless mouth of the entire cosmos, o stranger, the sea-girt dust covers.

This epigram, like the longer AP 7.2, is structured around a paradox that is common- place in poet-epigrams but particularly appropriate to Homer: the grandeur of the man is all out of proportion to the physical tomb which holds his remains.270 The more particular idea underlying this commonplace, however, is that no physical space could encompass Homer, since he and his poetry are, in fact, all-encompassing. This point is made three times over in AP 7.6. Homer is a second sun (δεύτερον ἀέλιον, 2)—he shines on all the Greeks. The triplet of phrases in the first couplet, taken as a group, express the global scope of Homer’s poetry: he ministers to heroes (Ἡρώων κάρυκ’, 1), gods (µακάρων δὲ προφήταν, 1), and men alike (Ἑλλάνων βιοτᾷ δεύτερον ἀέλιον,

2).271 In AP 7.5, Alcaeus of Messene had claimed Homer as a native son of Chios, and as we have already seen, allotted him the sphere of the Ocean, making him a counterpart to

269 Unless otherwise stated, my decision to discuss the epigrams in a particular order does not imply any claim about their order in Meleager’s Garland or in a hypothetical Antipatrean collection. 270 Cf., e.g., AP 7.18 on Alcman: Ἀνέρα µὴ πέτρῃ τεκµαίρεο· λιτὸς ὁ τύµβος | ὀφθῆναι, µεγάλου δ’ ὀστέα φωτὸς ἔχει. This poem is ascribed by Gow and Page to Antipater of Thessalonica, but may well be by Antipater of Sidon. 271 Cf. Theophrastus fr. 708 Fortenbaugh, who defines epic poetry as περιοχὴ θείων καὶ ἡρωικῶν καὶ ἀνθρωπίνων πραγµάτων (“an encompassing of divine, heroic, and human affairs”).

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Hesiod, who received the land and fresh water as his portion. Antipater’s second couplet revises this picture, dubbing Homer the “ageless mouth of the entire universe”

(ἀγήρατον στόµα κόσµου | παντός).272

As Gabathuler and Skiadas have shown, this epigram draws heavily on diction, themes, and imagery that, by Antipater’s time, had come to be stock features in representations of Homer in epigram as well as other kinds of literature.273 Two epigrammatic models are particularly important, Alcaeus of Messene AP 7.1 and

Leonidas of Tarentum AP 9.24 (both discussed above). The phrases Ἡρώων + accusative and Ἑλλήνων + dative are paralleled in two epigrams on Homer by Alcaeus

(ἡρώων τὸν ἀοιδόν, AP 7.1.1, and Ἑλλήνων παισίν, AP 7.5.6, respectively), and the comparison of Homer with the sun (δεύτερον ἀέλιον) and the phrase Μουσῶν φέγγος are paralleled in Leonidas AP 9.24.3 (λαµπρότατον Μουσέων φέγγος).274 Even in this brief epigram, we have seen that although Antipater bases his representation of Homer on these models, he renders a rather different picture of his subject.

Not only is Homer’s greatness is incongruent to the small island where he died, but the magnitude of his poetry vastly surpasses the little poems that commemorate

272 A. Plan. 296 has usually been ascribed to Antipater of Thessalonica, but it may be noted that the catalogue of cities as well as the final point of the epigram (that Homer transcends any specific geographical location), would be equally at home in an epigram of the Sidonian. On epigrammatic catalogues of cities claiming Homer as a native son, see the helpful synoptic table of Argentieri, 2003, 165 (who ascribes this epigram to the Antipater of Sidon). 273 See Gabathuler, 1937, 33 (= epigram no. 75), and Skiadas, 1965, 78-82. 274 The language of AP 7.6 and the theme of AP 16.296 are rather closely paralleled in Inschriften von Pergamon 203, which comprises three epigrams on the birthplace of Homer: compare IvP 203.13-4: … τόσσογ γὰρ ἐπὶ χθονὶ φ̣έγγος ἔλαµψε | Μουσάων ὁπ̣όσον τείρεσιν ἠέλιος.

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him.275 This incongruity is developed in the longer epigram AP 7.2, where the speaker is the island of Ios itself:

AP 7.2 – Antipater of Sidon = VIII HE (Text = HE) Τὰν µερόπων Πειθώ, τὸ µέγα στόµα, τὰν ἴσα Μούσαις φθεγξαµέναν κεφαλάν, ὦ ξένε, Μαιονίδεω ἅδ’ ἔλαχον νασῖτις Ἴου σπιλάς, οὐ γὰρ ἐν ἄλλᾳ ἱερόν, ἀλλ’ ἐν ἐµοὶ πνεῦµα θανὼν ἔλιπεν, ᾧ νεῦµα Κρονίδαο τὸ παγκρατές, ᾧ καὶ Ὄλυµπον 5 καὶ τὰν Αἴαντος ναύµαχον εἶπε βίαν καὶ τὸν Ἀχιλλείοις Φαρσαλίσιν Ἕκτορα πώλοις ὀστέα Δαρδανικῷ δρυπτόµενον πεδίῳ. εἰ δ’ ὀλίγα κρύπτω τὸν ταλίκον, ἴσθ’, ὅτι κεύθει καὶ Θέτιδος γαµέταν ἁ βραχύβωλος Ἴκος. 10

The power of Persuasion personified, the great mouth, the head of the son of Maeonis that spoke with a voice like the Muses, O stranger, this island rock of Ios has as its share. For in no other place but me did he leave his breath when he died. That breath with which he spoke of the all-powerful nod of the son of Cronus, with which too he sang of Olympus, and the prowess of Ajax in the battle by the sea, and Hector torn to the bones on the Dardanian plain by the Pharsalian horses of Achilles. But if I am small to cover so great a man, consider that little Ikos covers even the husband of Thetis.

As Gabathuler points out in his notes on the epigram, much of the diction hearkens back to Alcaeus of Messene’s epigram on the burial of Homer (AP 7.1), one half of the

Homer-Hesiod diptych discussed above. Antipater also takes over (and strengthens rhetorically) the antithesis between the great poet and the little island of Ios, who becomes the speaker in this epigram.276 Nevertheless, its form and content, although also somewhat similar, make substantive alterations to the underlying point of the model. As

275 Gutzwiller, 1998a, 263, reads the reference to the size of the tomb as a programmatic statement, with the tomb representing epigram as a genre. I will return to this point in my discussion of Antipater’s epigrams on Anacreon. 276 Skiadas, 1965, 61.

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in AP 7.6, the point once again is to emphasize the boundless capacity and global scope of Homer’s poetry, and it is this that guides Antipater’s reworking of his models.

The structure is slightly complicated: the subject of the epigram is identified in the first couplet by three epithets, the location of his tomb in the second couplet. In the third and fourth couplets the focus shifts from Homer to the contents of his work, and three famous scenes from the Iliad are presented in a very abbreviated form: the nod

(νεῦµα, 5) of Zeus (punningly compared with the breath (πνεῦµα, 6) of Homer); the battle by the ships; and Achilles’ mistreatment of Hector’s corpse. These scenes are not chosen at random, nor simply because of their overall importance to the plot of the

Iliad.277 Instead, they are deployed in furtherance of the same point that was made in epigram 7.6, namely that Homer’s poetry is all-encompassing in its scope. Like Alcaeus, then, Antipater uses the spatial location of the scenes he has chosen as a symbol of poetic qualities. However, whereas Alcaeus identifies Homer with the sea (in contrast to the fresh water representing Hesiod), Antipater asserts Homer’s dominion over all three natural realms (i.e. the “whole cosmos”, παντὸς | κόσµου, AP 7.6 3-4). The tripartite division of the cosmos goes back to a famous passage in the Iliad (15.189-193), however the particular form it takes here is a result of Antipater’s methods of imitation and variation. He has essentially crossed Alcaeus AP 7.1 with Leonidas AP 6.13, commemorating the dedication of three brothers, one a hunter, one a fisherman, one a bird-catcher. Antipater was quite familiar with this epigram, and even composed a direct

277 As Gabathuler, 1937, 33 notes, the scenes mentioned are 1) Il. I.528; 2) XV.674-746; 3) XXII.395-404—scenes from the beginning, middle, and end of the poem, respectively. Ajax’s bravery in the battle by the ships was a famous scene and is already referenced as an exemplary deed of heroism by Bacchylides (13.71-76) and by Teucer in Sophocles’ Ajax (1273-9).

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adaptation of it (AP 6.14).278 In its careful delineation of the three natural realms,

Antipater’s epigram on Homer precisely mirrors the way Leonidas’ describes the brothers’ dedication of their respective nets, one for catching birds, one for catching woodland creatures, and one for catching fish. Like the brothers’ nets, Homer’s poetry encompasses all three realms, sky (Ὀλύµπον), sea (ναύµαχον … βίαν), and land

(πεδίῳ).279 In Antipater, Homer has been recast in the role he played in the system of three styles as the quintessential poet of the εὔκρατος ἁρµονία.

In Dionysius’ system, Homer is joined as a poetic exemplar of the εὔκρατος

ἁρµονία by Sophocles and Stesichorus. We have no epigrams by Antipater on

Sophocles, but Stesichorus is celebrated in AP 7.75. This poem echoes a number of features of AP 7.2 and 7.6 on Homer, and even connects its subject explicitly with

Homer:

AP 7.75 – Antipater of Sidon*280 Στασίχορον, ζαπληθὲς ἀµέτρητον στόµα Μούσης, ἐκτέρισεν Κατάνας αἰθαλόεν δάπεδον, οὗ, κατὰ Πυθαγόρεω φυσικὰν φάτιν, ἁ πρὶν Ὁµήρου ψυχὰ ἐνὶ στέρνοις δεύτερον ᾠκίσατο. Ἀντιπάτρου Pl

278 Cf. Prioux, 2008, 45: “Les filets offerts à Pan contiennent en effet un abregé du monde.” Prioux makes the attractive suggestion that the point of the epigram lies in the implicit play on Pan’s name and its homophone πᾶν (“everything”). 279 The parallelism between these two particular epigrams may be particularly noteworthy: adjacent frescoes in the “House of the Epigrams” at Pompeii depict the dedications of the three brothers (with Leonidas’ epigram AP 6.13 painted below) and Homer’s ultimately fatal encounter with the fishermen (an incident alluded to by Alcaeus of Messene, AP 7.1). Cf. the extensive discussion of this material in Prioux, 2008, 29-64. 280 Ascribed by Gow and Page to Antipater of Thessalonica (= LXXIV GPh), though they admit “we see no means of deciding” between the two Antipaters in this case. Of the arguments given by Argentieri, 2003, 107, in favor of attribution to the Sidonian (which he supports), the most compelling is the parallel between the phrases ζαπληθὲς ἀµέτρητον στόµα Μούσης, AP 7.75.1, τὸ µέγα στόµα, AP 7.2.1, and ἀγέραντον (ἀγήρατον P) στόµα κόσµου, AP 7.6.3.

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Stesichorus, the full-sounding measureless mouth of the Muse, the fiery land of Catane has buried, in whose breast, according to Pythagoras’ teaching on nature, the erstwhile spirit of Homer took up a second home.

The epigram outwardly references a tradition according to which the soul of Homer transmigrated into the body of Stesichorus.281 This was not the only way in which the two were thought to be connected, however.282 Stesichorus composed long lyric poems, such as the Geryoneis, on typically heroic themes, and Quintilian (Inst. Or. X.1.62) pointed to similarities in subject matter between the two poets, illustrating the point with a metaphor: Stesichorum quam sit ingenio validus materiae quoque ostendunt, maxima bella et clarissimos canentem duces et epici carminis onera lyra sustinentem

(“Stesichorus’ subject matter shows how endowed with natural talent he was, since he sings of the greatest wars and most famous generals and supports the weight of epic verse with his lyre”).

The praise of Stesichorus is markedly similar to the praise of Homer in AP 7.6.

First, as Barbantani points out, whereas Homer was called the “ageless mouth of the cosmos” (ἀγήρατον στόµα κόσµου, AP 7.6.3) Stesichorus is described, in the same metrical sedes, as the “measureless mouth of the Muse” (ἀµέτρητον στόµα Μούσης,

1).283 Calling a poet a κεφαλή (“head”) or a στόµα (“mouth”) is a way of indicating that

281 On this tradition see Kivilo, 2010, 82-4, with the suggestion (p. 83, n. 99), based on Longinus de sublimitate 13.3, that the point of this story may be to suggest a stylistic affinity between the two poets. 282 On ancient comparisons between the two poets, see Barbantani, 2010, 26-7. 283 Barbantani, 2010, 26. Alpha-privatives, mostly in ornamental epithets, are in fact so common in Antipater’s poet epigrams that they may be said to constitute a common thread connecting the poems with one another: ἀγήρατον 7.6.3; φιλακρήτου 7.26.6; ἄκρητον 7.27.8; ἀµέτρητον 7.75.1; ἀθανάταις 7.14.1; πανάφθιτον 7.14.7; ἄφθιτα 7.14.8; ἀκαµάτου 7.409.1; ἀγέλαστον 7.409.4; ἄτριπτον, ἀνέµβατον 7.409.5.

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his or her work partakes of a superhuman quality that can only be gotten from a divinity, for whom the poet serves as a mere mouthpiece.284 These words are often used of those poets who are in some respect judged equal to or akin to Homer, as Stesichorus is here.285

Finally, the adjectives ζαπληθές (“full”/“fully”) and ἀµέτρητον (“measureless”) set

Stesichorus alongside Homer as an exemplar of the capacious εὔκρατος ἁρµονία.

The αὐστηρὰ ἁρµονία – Epigrams on Pindar, Aeschylus, and Antimachus

The epigrams on Homer and Stesichorus emphasize the boundless power of these poets. In AP 7.34, 7.39, and 7.409, the canonical representatives of the αὐστηρὰ

ἁρµονία, the poetry of Pindar, Aeschylus, and Antimachus (respectively), is characterized by imagery associated with that style—weight, grandeur booming noise, and so on. AP 7.34 praises Pindar’s special combination of these qualities with a certain stylistic sweetness:

AP 7.34 – Antipater of Sidon = XVIII HE (Text = HE) Πιερικὰν σάλπιγγα, τὸν εὐαγέων βαρὺν ὕµνων χαλκευτάν, κατέχει Πίνδαρον ἅδε κόνις, οὗ µέλος εἰσαΐων φθέγξαιό κεν, ὡς ἀπὸ Μουσῶν ἐν Κάδµου θαλάµοις σµῆνος ἀπεπλάσατο.

This dust holds the Pierian trumpet, the stout smith of clear- sounding songs, Pindar. Hearing his song you would say that a swarm of bees from the Muses had molded it in the halls of Kadmos.

284 Lucillius 9.572 makes the meaning of the periphrasis clear: it is really the Muse who sings, but through Homer’s (or a similarly inspired poet’s) mouth (… εἶπεν Ὁµηρείῳ Καλλιόπη στόµατι). 285 Anyte, the “female Homer” is called by synecdoche Ἀνύτης στόµα in the epigram ascribed to ‘Antipater’ cataloging the female poets (AP 9.26.3). Cf. AP 7.12.2 κυκνείῳ … στόµατι, of Erinna, sometimes herself called the female Homer (e.g ἄδηλον AP 9.190).

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Antipater uses Pindaric motifs and diction in order to characterize the poet’s work. The poet is likened to a blacksmith, with the poems as the metal he works.286 The likening of poetic practice or speech to metalworking is borrowed from Pindar himself (Pyth. I.86:

ἀψευδεῖ δὲ πρὸς ἄκµονι χάλκευε γλῶσσαν), and thus evokes a Pindaric style by using the poet’s own words. Similarly, the word εὐαγέων, found also at Pindar Paean fr. 52h ln. 47—although Antipater may have borrowed it from Leonidas (AP 6.204.3) if we accept Dindorf’s emendation there—is rare enough in earlier Greek poetry to evoke a

Pindaric style as well.287 Another element drawn from Pindar’s poetry itself may be found in the second couplet: as Gow-Page note, lines 3-4 seem to refer obliquely to

Pindar Pyth. 3.88-91, where the Muses are said to have sung at the wedding of Cadmus and Harmonia.

In the first couplet, we find imagery typical of accounts of the αὐστηρὰ ἁρµονία.

In addition to employing the metaphor of the poet as metalworker, Antipater calls Pindar

βαρύς, “heavy”—at the surface level of the metaphor a reference to the deep booming of the forge in which he works, but of course also a description of his poetry. The second couplet, in addition to connecting Pindar with his home town of Thebes, adds another element to the description of his poetry. The simplest explanation of these admittedly difficult lines is that, if you heard Pindar’s song, you would think that it was made by a swarm of bees, sent by the Muses (ἀπὸ Μούσων) in the halls of Cadmus (i.e. “at

286 Indeed, APl 305, also ascribed to “Antipater” (plausibly the Sidonian) elaborates the image, emphasizing the loud volume of the σάλπιγξ in comparison with other instruments. 287 A TLG search yields one two two instances apiece in Callimachus, Apollonius, and Theocritus, one in Euripides, and one in Parmenides.

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Thebes”).288 Although the text may not be entirely sound, it seems that this would then be a reference to the bees who were said to have built a honeycomb around the lips of

Pindar (either while he slept or in a dream).289 The imagery of the bees carries a further metapoetic connotation, indicating that Pindar’s poetry possesses an element of sweetness in addition to its typically high-style characteristics.290

Similar imagery recurs in AP 7.39 on Aeschylus, the exemplar of the αὐστηρὰ

ἁρµονία in tragedy:

AP 7.39 – Antipater of Sidon*291 Ὁ τραγικὸν φώνηµα καὶ ὀφρυόεσσαν ἀοιδὴν πυργώσας στιβαρῇ πρῶτος ἐν εὐεπίῃ, Αἰσχύλος Εὐφορίωνος, Ἐλευσινίης ἑκὰς αἴης κεῖται κυδαίνων σήµατι Τρινακρίην.

He who built up the tower of tragic speech and its proud poetry, who was first in stout eloquence, Aeschylus, the son of Euphorion, lies here, bringing glory to Trinacria with his tomb far from the Eleusinian land.

The structure of the poem is closely patterned on that of AP 7.34 on Pindar. The first couplets of each poem (which are almost metrically identical to one another), are loaded

288 It may be preferable to take ἀπεπλάσατο to mean, more specifically, “copied”, in the way that a seal stamped in wax is a “copy” of the original. I.e., the wax honeycomb molded by the bees, representing Pindar’s song (Lefkowitz, 1981, 59, notes the pun on µέλος ≈ µέλι), is “copied” from the song of the Muses itself. 289 On this tradition, see Lefkowitz, 2012, 59. The story is more clearly invoked at APl, which may also be by Antipater of Sidon. 290 On the imagery of the bees, see F. Williams, 1978, 93. 291 Attributed by Gow and Page (without further comment) to Antipater of Thessalonica (= XIII GPh). Argentieri too accepts the lemmatist’s attribution to the Thessalonican without comment. The context in AP does not help with determining authorship in this case. Both the style and content are very similar to AP 7.34 (generally attributed to the Sidonian), and as we shall see the epigram fits neatly into the conceptual structure formed by Antipater’s other poet-epigrams, so that one seems justified in assigning this epigram (if only tentatively) to the Sidonian instead. I can find no scholarly discussion of the attribution of the epigram otherwise.

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with imagery associated with the αὐστηρὰ ἁρµονια. Pindar’s trumpet—a famously loud, martial instrument—is matched, in the same sedes, by Aeschylus’ imposing φώνηµα.292

Pindar’s poetry was characterized by its weight, Aeschylus’ by its grandeur; he is said to have placed tragedy’s “proud” or “severe” (ὀφρυόεσσαν, 1) song in a tower of sturdy eloquence (στιβαρῇ … ἐν εὐεπίῃ, 2).293

The chief model in earlier epigram is Dioscorides AP 7.410, also on Aeschylus.

As in that epigram, the language of the agon between Aeschylus and Euripides from

Aristophanes’ Frogs features prominently in the description of Aeschylus’ poetry.294

Antipater, however, is also interested to fit Aeschylus into his own scheme. Whereas

Dioscorides’ miniature history of tragedy began with Thespis (cf. AP 7.410.1, τραγικὴν

ὃς ἀνέπλασα πρῶτος ἀοιδήν), for Antipater, who is more interested in literary stylistics than the history of genre, it is Aeschylus who is πρῶτος, 2, at least in respect of his stylistic innovation.

292 According to a TLG search, φώνηµα is found in extant Greek poetry only in Aeschylus (1x) (ap. Alciphr. Letters of Parasites III, 12, 1 = fr. 352b Mette) and Sophocles (3x) (Phil. 234; 1295; fr. 314.45 Radt), and so may be meant to evoke an elevated, stereotypically “tragic” style. Compare the use of εὐαγέων in AP 7.34, discussed above. 293 The language and imagery used to describe Aeschylus’ poetry is derived from Ar. Ran., 925 (ὀφρῦς ἔχοντα) and 1004-5 (ἀλλ’ ὦ πρῶτος τῶν Ἑλλήνων πυργώσας ῥήµατα σεµνὰ | καὶ κοσµήσας τραγικὸν κλῆρον). Cf. my discussion of Dioscorides AP 7.411 above. 294 As pointed out by Gabathuler, 1937, 28.

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The imagery of height, weight, grandeur, and loud sound, staples of the αὐστηρὰ

ἁρµονία, is intensified and elaborated in Antipater’s epigram on Antimachus of

Colophon, the exemplar of this style in the genre of epic:295

AP 7.409 – Antipater of Sidon = LXVI HE (Text = HE) Ὄβριµον ἀκαµάτου στίχον αἴνεσον Ἀντιµάχοιο, ἄξιον ἀρχαίων ὀφρύος ἡµιθέων, Πιερίδων χαλκευτὸν ἐπ’ ἄκµοσιν, εἰ τορὸν οὖας ἔλλαχες, εἰ ζαλοῖς τὰν ἀγέλαστον ὄπα, εἰ τὰν ἄτριπτον καὶ ἀνέµβατον ἀτραπὸν ἄλλοις µαίεαι· εἰ δ’ ὕµνων σκᾶπτρον Ὅµηρος ἔχει, καὶ Ζεύς τοι κρέσσων Ἐνοσίχθονος, ἀλλ’ Ἐνοσίχθων τοῦ µὲν ἔφυ µείων, ἀθανάτων δ’ ὕπατος, καὶ ναετὴρ Κολοφῶνος ὑπέζευκται µὲν Ὁµήρῳ, ἁγεῖται δ’ ἄλλων πλάθεος ὑµνοπόλων.

Praise the thunderous verse of tireless Antimachus, worthy of the hauteur of the ancient demigods, forged on the anvils of the Pierides; if you’ve got a sharp ear, if you’re eager for the voice that is without laughter, if you search for the path that is untrod and difficult for others. Even if Homer holds the scepter for his songs, Zeus also is greater than the Earth-shaker, but the Earth-shaker, though weaker than him, is loftiest of the (other) immortals; so too an inhabitant of Colophon is yoked behind Homer, but leads the pack of the rest of the poets.

In this epigram, Antipater’s densely-packed references to poems of his predecessors and to his own work create a kaleidescopic effect, in which the ability to spot the repurposed elements of the model-texts is crucial. The poem is, in part a jab at Callimachus, turning his own literary critical language against him. As has often been noted, the epigram recapitulates the literary controversies that played themselves out between the poets of the early third-century. Callimachus, responding to Asclepiades’ epigram praising the

Lyde (AP 9.63), attacked the poem as “unclear”—οὐ τόρον. Antipater’s rejoinder here

(εἰ τορὸν οὖας ἔλλαχες) implies that the fault lies not with the poem, but with the dull

295 On the attribution, see Skiadas, 1965, 122-123 (cf. 122 n. 1 and 123 n. 1), who notes that earlier scholars, attributing the poem to Antipater of Thessalonica, ignored the fact that the poem is preserved in a Meleagrean context.

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ear of the critic.296 Antipater goes on to say that it is Antimachus’ poetry that presents the would-be imitator with a “difficult path” (τὰν ἄτριπτον καὶ ἀνέµβατον ἄτραπον

ἄλλοις), usurping the image of the “untrodden path” so dear to Callimachus in the prologue to the Aitia and elsewhere.297

Although Asclepiades and Callimachus have furnished grist for Antipater’s mill,

Antipater treats Antimachus in a categorically different way. At issue for them was the quality of the elegiac Lyde and whether or not it could be described as a τορὸν γράµµα, i.e. a work fulfilling the quality of fineness and precision signified by the term λεπτότης.

In Antipater, the object of praise is not the Lyde, but instead Antimachus’ στίχος (“line of verse”), a term most easily understood as referring to hexameters rather than elegiac couplets.298 Morever, the στίχος is not “fat” or “thin” or “exalted”, but “thunderous”,

“tireless”, “proud”, and “forged on the anvils of the Muses”. The word στίχος, like

Pindar’s µέλος (AP 7.34.3) and Aeschylus’ τραγικόν φώνηµα (AP 7.39.1) serves to identify the genre of poetry under consideration in the epigram, while the description of it places it within the larger stylistic matrix Antipater is building.

296 Antipater’s οὖας picks up on Callimachus’ θηρί … οὐατόεντι at Aet. fr. 1.31 (in that context a reference to an ass). The same phrase is later quoted to humorous effect by the second-century epigrammatist Pollianus, AP 11.130. Cf. also Callim. Hymn to Apollo 105—another significant metapoetic context—where Envy “whispers secretly in Apollo’s ear” (ἐπ᾽ οὔατα λάθριος εἶπεν). One suspects that similar anti-Callimachean jabs may lie behind such distinctive lexical choices as µαίεαι, 6 or ναέτηρ, 9 (both in these forms only here, according to TLG), but I am unable to find specific Callimachean parallels. For µαίεαι, cf. Hermesianax, Leontion, fr. 7.80 CA: σκοτίην µαιόµενοι σοφίην (a description of scholars like Philitas of Cos); cf. Catullus, 116.1: saepe tibi studioso animo venante requirens, also in an invective context, alluding to Callimachus (see Barchiesi, 2005). 297 fr. 1.28 Pf. Cf. Callim. HE II and Hymn to Artemis, 48. See my discussion of Callimachus’ epigrams and the Aetia prologue above. 298 See HE, vol. II, 87 on the question of whether Antipater praises a particular poem of Antimachus here.

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The first word of the epigram, ὄβριµον, with its connotations of deep, loud, noise immediately connects the poem with the imagery in the poems on Aeschylus and

Pindar.299 Like Pindar’s σάλπιγξ or Aeschylus’ φώνηµα, the imagery of thunder, and the forge are all vividly evocative of the powerful stylistic qualities attributed to

Antimachus’ poetry.300 The word ὀφρύος, 2 and the phrase Πιερίδων χαλκευτὸν, 3, also echo the language of Antipater’s epigrams on Pindar and Aeschylus.301

In the second half of the epigram, Antimachus’ relationship to Homer is likened to the relationship of Poseidon to Zeus through the image of a team of horses, of which

Homer is the leader and Antimachus is the second member.302 This is in line with the shift from priase of the Lyde to praise of the epic στίχος. The effect is to recast

Antimachus from the role he had played in early Hellenistic literary disputes into the role he took on later, in the stylistic criticism of the first century BCE and onward.303

299 The adjective ὄβριµον also recalls the poetological terminology and programmatic statements of Callimachus (e.g Aet. fr. 1.20 Pf.: βροντᾶν οὐκ ἐµόν, ἀλλὰ Διός). 300 For the equine imagery here, cf. Aristophanes, Ran., 821, on Aeschylus’ ἱπποβάµονα ῥήµατα. 301 Cf. AP 7.39.1 ὀφρυόεσσαν ἀοιδήν and the first words of lines 1 and 2 of 7.34: Πιερίκαν … χαλκευτάν. 302 Penzel, 2006, 186 ad loc. notes the similarity between line 1 of the epigram and Hermesianax fr. 7.45; Grilli, 1979, 204 points instead to Hes. Th. 39 ἀκάµατος ῥέει αὐδή; but an even closer parallel is nearer to hand: Antipater’s ἀκαµάτου … αἴνεσον recalls αἰνείσθω … καµών of Leonidas’ epigram (HE CI = AP 9.25) on Aratus’ Phaenomena. For Leonidas, Aratus came second to Homer (as a star to Homer’s sun), but for Antipater, the same position is filled (using similar diction) by Antimachus. For the quality of the listener’s ear as decisive for the reception of poetry cf. Posid. AB 118.2: καθαροῖς οὔασιν ἐκλ[ύ]ετε. 303 Cf., e.g., Quint. Inst. Or. X.53: Sed quamvis ei secundas fere grammaticorum consensus deferet, et adfectibus et iucunditate et dispositione et omnino arte deficitur, ut plane manifesto appareat quanto sit aliud proximum esse, aliud secundum. (“But although the grammarians pretty much agree in giving him second prize, he falls short in passion, in charm, in composition, and in technique in general, so that it becomes plainly obvious what a difference there is between being ‘nearest’ and being ‘second’.”)

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Antimachus is no longer one of the paradigms of elegiac verse, but rather the “second- place” poet of epos and the exemplar of the “grand” style in that genre.304 Antipater’s epigram, while drawing on several of his epigrammatic predecessors in pointed ways, nevertheless reflects, in the words of Argentieri, a contemporary

“rediscovery/reevaluation” of Antimachus, who now takes his place in Antipater’s panorama.305

In a sense, in this epigram, Antimachus’ poetry has been “reduced” to epic, and the over-the-top imagery and diction seems even to stress that we are dealing with a stereotype. We will see a similar phenomenon in the epigrams on Anacreon, which I will discuss next. These stereotypes, considered in isolation, are relatively impoverished as representations of the poets themselves. It is only within the context of a larger conceptual framework that their significance can be appreciated.

Anacreon and the γλαφυρὰ ἁρµονία

The final group of poet-epigrams by Antipater I will consider comprises five epigrams on the 6th century BC lyric poet Anacreon of Teos.306 In his poems on

Anacreon, Antipater drew upon a well-established tradition in Hellenistic epigram.307

Along with figures like Homer, Sappho, and Hipponax, Anacreon is one of the most

Quintilian’s uncharitable gloss on the phrase secundas deferet is, in a sense, implied by the comparison between Zeus and Poseidon insofar as the idea of the comparison itself goes back to a scene in the Iliad in which Zeus asserts that his power is not only greater than Poseidon’s, but greater by far (Il. 15.158-167). 304 See Skiadas, 1965, 124, on Antimachus as a canonical poet of epic. 305 Argentieri, 2003, 94. 306 On these epigrams, see esp. Chirico, 1981, and Barbantani, 1993. 307 Cf. Leonidas APl 306 and 307; Theocritus AP 9.599; [Simonides] AP 7.24 and 25; Dioscorides, AP 7.31; On the tradition in general see, in general, Barbantani 1993, 47-66. Cf. Posidippus, 9 AB, from the Milan papyrus, though this epigram is of a much different type from the others.

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popular subjects in Hellenistic poet-epigram. The epigrammatists were not, however, interested in presenting a rounded representation of the poet and his work.308 Instead, they portray him as the stereotyped figure found depicted in vase paintings and literature as early as the classical period, a poet of wine, song, and love (especially pederastic).309

Whether or not they served as a direct model for the epigrammatists, the ten extant hexameters on Anacreon by Critias (PMG 500), the politician, poet, and friend of

Socrates, already feature several key elements of what becomes practically a template for the representation of Anacreon in Hellenistic epigram:310 τ ὸ ν δὲ γυναικείων µελέων πλέξαντά ποτ’ ὠ ιδάς ἡ δ ὺ ν Ἀ νακρείοντα Τέως εἰ ς Ἑ λλάδ’ ἀ ν ῆ γεν, συµποσίων ἐ ρέθισµα, γυναικῶ ν ἠ περόπευµα, α ὐ λ ῶ ν ἀ ντίπαλον, φιλοβάρβιτον, ἡ δύν, ἄ λυπον. ο ὔ ποτέ σου φιλότης γηράσεται οὐ δ ὲ θανεῖ ται, 5 ἔ στ’ ἂ ν ὕ δωρ οἴ νωι συµµειγνύµενον κυλίκεσσιν παῖ ς διαποµπεύηι προπόσεις ἐ π ὶ δεξιὰ νωµῶ ν παννυχίδας θ’ ἱ ερὰ ς θήλεις χοροὶ ἀ µφιέπωσιν, πλάστιγξ θ’ ἡ χαλκοῦ θυγάτηρ ἐ π’ ἄ κραισι καθίζηι κοττάβου ὑ ψηλαῖ ς κορυφαῖ ς Βροµίου ψακάδεσσιν.

308 A point already noted at HE, vol. 2, 45. Cf. Acosta-Hughes and Barbantani, 2007, 442: “The epigrammatic tradition views Anacreon as a character rather than an author.” In some of Antipater’s epigrams, however, Anacreon is emphatically figured as an author (see below on AP 7.26.2). 309 The process by which Anacreon’s personality came to be constructed using only certain themes of his poetry to the exclusion of all others is described by Rosenmeyer, 1992, with a discussion of depictions of Anacreon on Attic red-figure vases on pp. 329- 33. Chirico, 1981, 53 ascribes to Antipater, “l’intenzione di recuperare il valore autentico della poesia di Anacreonte.” [Emphasis added.] This is true only if we define “authentic” as that which had been judged by the tradition to be the “essential” qualities of Anacreon’s work. 310 Gabathuler, 1937, 71, speculates that the epigrammatists’ depictions of Anacreon depend in part upon the scholarly work of Chamaeleon, the author of a lost περὶ Ἀνακρείοντος. (Cf. Bing, 1988b, 121, n. 17.) While this is possible, it is worth noting that the only extant fragment of this work (quoted by Athenaeus ΧΙΙ.46 Kaibel), quotes an invective passage from Anacreon (against Artemon), an aspect of the poetry that the epigrammatists completely elide.

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“Teos brought sweet Anacreon to Greece, the weaver of womanly songs, rouser of revels, seducer of women, opponent of the flute, lover of the lyre, the delightful, the carefree; and never shall love of you (/ your love), Anacreon, grow old or die, so long as the serving-boy brings water mixed with wine for cups, pouring toasts on the right-hand side, so long as female choruses perform night-long rites, so long as the scale-pan—the daughter of bronze—sits high upon the summit of the cottabus-pole ready for the throwing of the wine-drops.” (Translation adapted from Edmonds’ Loeb.)

The major elements of this depiction of Anacreon are love (5), poetry and music (1-2, 4), wine (6-7, 10) and Dionysus (10), and the symposium (3, 10). Furthermore, the passage claims for Anacreon a certain kind of immortality that is activated precisely by the performance of the “rituals” of the symposium.311 In this sense, Critias’ poem is an index of Anacreon’s transformation from a mere poet to a sympotic hero. Taken together, these elements constitute a template—a collection of formal and thematic elements—that recurs again and again in portrayals of Anacreon.312

We have seen that Antipater is always very attentive to his predecessors in epigram, often basing his poems quite closely on theirs. In the case of Antipater’s epigrams on Anacreon, Dioscorides’ AP 7.31 provides an especially important background in its form, diction, the accumulation of motifs drawn from Anacreontic poetry, and the notion of a kind of continued life after death for the poet:

AP 7.31 – Dioscorides = HE (Text = HE) Σµερδίῃ ὦ ἐπὶ Θρῃκὶ τακεὶς καὶ ἐπ’ ἔσχατον ὀστεῦν, κώµου καὶ πάσης κοίρανε παννυχίδος, τερπνότατε Μούσῃσιν Ἀνάκρεον, ὦ ’πὶ Βαθύλλῳ χλωρὸν ὑπὲρ κυλίκων πολλάκι δάκρυ χέας, αὐτόµαταί τοι κρῆναι ἀναβλύζοιεν ἄκρητου 5

311 As Rosenmeyer, 1992, 17, remarks, “Critias’ symposium is a sacred one, and Anacreon, dead and venerated, seems to rank just below Dionysus as the presiding divinity.” 312 Critias’ depiction also differs from those of the epigrammatists in some important ways. The prominent references to heterosexual love, Anacreon’s putative aversion to the αὐλός, and most importantly the reference to the mixture of water with wine, either go unmentioned or are contradicted by the epigrammatists.

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κἠκ µακάρων προχοαὶ νέκταρος ἀµβροσίου, αὐτόµατοι δὲ φέροιεν ἴον τὸ φιλέσπερον ἄνθος κῆποι, καὶ µαλακῇ µύρτα τρέφοιτο δρόσῳ, ὄφρα καὶ ἐν Δηοῦς οἰνωµένος ἁβρὰ χορεύσῃς βεβληκὼς χρυσέην χεῖρας ἐπ’ Εὐρυπύλην. 10

Consumed right down to the bone-marrow by Thracian Smerdies, leader of revelry and of every night-time celebration, Anacreon, most loved by the Muses, you who often pour out a fresh tear over your cups for Bathyllus: may springs of pure wine spontaneously spout forth and may founts of ambrosial nectar pour forth and may the gardens spontaneously sprout violets—the blossom that delights in the night-time—and may the myrtle be fed with mild dew. This way even in the grave, wine-drunk, you may step nimbly, your hands stretched out to golden Eurypyle.

The litany of images in the epigram evokes the sympotic triad of wine, love, and song, in a celebration of Anacreon’s poetry.313 The theme of love is introduced right away in the first line with the mention of Smerdies, and is sustained by the naming of other loves of

Anacreon, Bathyllus and Eurypyle (3 and 10). The theme of wine is represented in the depiction of Anacreon as habitué of the symposium (πάσης κοίρανε παννυχίδος, 2) followed by wine-cups (4), the unmixed wine (ἄκρητον, 5), and the adjective οἰνωµένος

(9). As Gow-Page note ad loc., the milieu of the symposium is further evoked by profusion of flowers, used at symposia for plaiting garlands, at lines 7-8, and by the epithet φιλέσπερος, used of the violet in line 7.

Dioscorides also uses key words and images that stand metaphorically for the intangible stylistic qualities of Anacreon’s poetry. The adjective χλωρός describes a tear in line 4, but gains added significance when we consider that Demetrius singles out the related adjective χλωρηΐς at Od. 19.518 as imparting to that passage the χάρις that is for

313 On elements of Anacreon’s own poetry (e.g. the names of his beloveds) taken up in Hellenistic epigram, see the discussion of Barbantani, 1993, 47-66.

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him the signal quality of the γλαφυρὸς χαρακτήρ.314 Similarly, the adjective µαλακός used of dew (8), the violets of lines 7-8, and the adjective ἁβρός used adverbially of

Anacreon’s gait at line 9 all anticipate the imagery of Dionysius of Halicarnassus’ description of the γλαφυρά ἁρµονία, discussed above. This adjective emphasizes the poet’s continued vitality even in the underworld, where souls are usually sluggish and slowed by the weight of death.

With this background in mind, we will turn to Antipater’s series of five epigrams on Anacreon:315

AP 7.23 – Antipater of Sidon = XIII HE (Text = HE) Θάλλοι τετρακόρυµβος, Ἀνάκρεον, ἀµφὶ σὲ κισσός ἁβρά τε λειµώνων πορφυρέων πέταλα, πηγαὶ δ’ ἀργινόεντος ἀναθλίβοιντο γάλακτος, εὐῶδες δ’ ἀπὸ γῆς ἡδὺ χέοιτο µέθυ, ὄφρα κέ τοι σποδιή τε καὶ ὀστέα τέρψιν ἄρηται, 5 εἰ δή τις φθιµένοις χρίµπτεται εὐφροσύνα.

May the ivy with its four-tipped leaves and the soft flowers of the crimson meadows blossom around you, Anacreon, and may fountains of shining milk pour forth and fragrant sweet wine flow from the earth, so that even your ashes and bones may receive delight, if in fact any joy reaches the dead.

AP 7.26 – Antipater of Sidon = XIV HE (Text = HE) Ξεῖνε, τάφον παρὰ λιτὸν Ἀνακρείοντος ἀµείβων, εἴ τί τοι ἐκ βίβλων ἦλθεν ἐµῶν ὄφελος, σπεῖσον ἐµῇ σποδιῇ, σπεῖσον γάνος, ὄφρα κεν οἴνῳ ὀστέα γηθήσῃ τἀµὰ νοτιζόµενα, ὡς ὁ Διωνύσου µεµεληµένος εὐάσι κώµοις, 5 ὡς ὁ φιλακρήτου σύντροφος Ἁρµονίης µηδὲ καταφθίµενος Βάκχου δίχα τοῦτον ὑποίσω τὸν γενεῇ µερόπων χῶρον ὀφειλόµενον.

Stranger, passing by the slight tomb of Anacreon: If any benefit has come to you from my books, pour out liquid upon my dust, so that my bones may delight in being wetted. Thus I, who was devoted to the rites of

314 On Style, 133. 315 On this series, see, in general, Chirico, 1981; Barbantani, 1993, 55-60; Gutzwiller 1998a, 263-265.

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Bacchus with the shout of ‘Euhoe’, and who was the companion of unbridled harmony, may not, when dead, endure without Bacchus this land where the race of men must go.

AP 7.27 – Antipater of Sidon = XV HE (Text = HE) Εἴης ἐν µακάρεσσιν, Ἀνάκρεον, εὖχος Ἰώνων, µήτ’ ἐρατῶν κώµων ἄνδιχα µήτε λύρης· ὑγρὰ δὲ δερκοµένοισιν ἐν ὄµµασιν οὖλον ἀείδοις αἰθύσσων λιπαρῆς ἄνθος ὕπερθε κόµης, ἠὲ πρὸς Εὐρυπύλην τετραµµένος ἠὲ Μεγιστῆ 5 ἢ Κίκονα Θρῃκὸς Σµερδίεω πλόκαµον, ἡδὺ µέθυ βλύζων, ἀµφίβροχος εἵµατα Βάκχῳ, ἄκρητον θλίβων νέκταρ ἀπὸ στολίδων. τρισσοῖς γάρ, Μούσαισι, Διωνύσῳ καὶ Ἔρωτι, πρέσβυ, κατεσπείσθη πᾶς ὁ τεὸς βίοτος. 10

May you in the company of the blessed, Anacreon, pride of the Ionians, not be without your lusty revels or your lyre; and may you sing clearly with eyes glancing moistly, shaking flowers upon your anointed head; turned toward Eurypyle or Megistes, or to the Ciconian hair of Thracian Smerdies, dribbling sweet wine, your clothes drenched with Bacchus, wringing the unmixed nectar from your clothes. For, old man, your whole life was poured as an offering to three divinities: the Muses, Dionysus, and Eros.

AP 7.29 – Antipater of Sidon = XVI HE (Text = HE*) Εὕδεις ἐν φθιµένοισιν, Ἀνάκρεον, ἐσθλὰ πονήσας, εὕδει δ’ ἡ γλυκερὴ νυκτιλάλος κιθάρη, εὕδει καὶ Σµέρδις, τὸ Πόθων ἔαρ, ᾧ σὺ µελίσδων †βάρβιτ’ ἀνεκρούου† νέκταρ ἐναρµόνιον· ἠιθέων γὰρ Ἔρωτος ἔφυς σκοπός, εἰς δὲ σὲ µοῦνον 5 τόξα τε καὶ σκολιὰς εἶχεν ἑκηβολίας. 5 ἔφυ Grotius (Gow-Page sequentibus) ἔφυς PPl

You sleep among the dead, Anacreon, having accomplished worthy things, and the sweet lyre, sounding at night, sleeps as well, and Smerdis, the springtime of desires sleeps. Singing a song to him you […] tuneful nectar. For you were a target of the Love of youths, and at you alone he aimed his bow and his skill in archery.

AP 7.30 – Antipater of Sidon = XVII HE (Text = HE) Τύµβος Ἀνακρείοντος· ὁ Τήιος ἐνθάδε κύκνος εὕδει χἠ παίδων ζωροτάτη µανίη. ἀκµὴν οἶν᾽ ἐρόεντι µελίζεται ἀµφὶ Βαθύλλῳ ἵµερα, καὶ κισσοῦ λευκὸς ὄδωδε λίθος, οὐδ’ Ἀίδης σοι ἔρωτας ἀπέσβεσεν, ἐν δ’ Ἀχέροντος 5 ὢν ὅλος ὠδίνεις Κύπριδι θερµοτέρῃ. 3 οἶν᾽ Gow ἐρόεντι Stadtmüller οἱ λυρόεν PPl

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The tomb of Anacreon: Here sleeps the Tean swan and the purest madness for boys. Some lovely song is still sung by him for Bathyllus, and the white stone is redolent of ivy. Hades has not extinguished your love, and even in Acheron you are all in agony with burning desire.

The epigrams present Anacreon as the consummate symposiast. Each, accordingly, features motifs representing the sympotic triad of, wine, song, and love,316 as well as an abundance of floral imagery evocative of sympotic garlands. Antipater’s picture of

Anacreon is especially dependent upon the “extreme” Anacreon represented by

Dioscorides AP 7.31 and Leonidas AP 306 and 307.317 Thus his love, like his song and his wine, is unrestrained and “unmixed”.318 This Anacreon fits the character-type of the inveterate drinker we find elsewhere, for example, at Leonidas AP 7.455, on the old woman Maronis, who calls for wine even in the grave.

The whole sequence treats Anacreon as the kind of sympotic “hero” encountered in Critias’ hexameters (PMG 500), a quasi-divine figure also invoked in the Carmina

Anacreontea.319 The similarity may incidentally offer a hint as to why Antipater composed a full five epigrams—variations, but nevertheless each quite similar to the others—on this poet: they are meant to recall the formulaic songs sung by symposiasts one after the other, of which the Anacreontea are specimens.320 The speaker in AP 7.23

316 Cf. esp. AP 7.27.9-10: τρισσοῖς γὰρ, Μούσαισι, Διωνύσῳ καὶ Ἔρωτι, | πρέσβυ, κατεσπείσθη πᾶς ὁ τεὸς βίοτος. 317 On the connections between Antipater’s epigrams on Anacreon and earlier models, see Gabathuler, 1937, 37-8, Barbantani, 1993, 55-60, and Penzel, 2006, 85-92. 318 Cf. φιλακρήτου … ἁρµονίης, 7.26.6; παίδων ζωροτάτη µανίη, 7.30.2; ἄκρητον … νέκταρ, 7.27.8. 319 Cf. Anacreontea 1, where Anacreon appears to the speaker in a dream and presents him with a garland that inspires eros in him. 320 Antipater composed multiple epigrams on other poets (e.g. Homer, AP 7.2 and 7.6; Pindar, AP 7.34 and APl 305), but these seem to differ categorically from the Anacreon

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prays for a supernatural efflorescence of flowers and spouts of wine and milk. Pictured this way, the poet’s grave bears more than a passing resemblance to the pirate ship overtaken by a sudden growth of grape vines in the Homeric Hymn to Dionysus (34-44), with Anacreon now acting as a surrogate for the god. The poet himself, meanwhile, calls on the reader to pour a libation of wine at his grave,321 in order to bring him the joy ordinarily denied to the dead in Greek thought.322 He is also pictured continuing his revels among the blessed (µακάριοι, 7.27.1), where he wrings wine--likened to nectar, the drink of the gods—from his robes (7.27.8).

Antipater has fit Anacreon into his larger ensemble of poet-epigrams as the representative of the γλαφυρὰ ἁρµονία. We have already seen that Dioscorides, AP

7.31, was loaded with words—µαλακός, χλωρός, and so on—evocative of the “smooth” style. So too in Antipater’s Anacreon epigrams much of the descriptive language of softness and liquidity (e.g. ἁβρός, 7.23.2; ἡδύς 7.23.4, 7.23.7; λιπαρός, 7.27.4; γλυκερή,

7.29.2) evokes descriptions of this poetic style in Dionysius and other authors, and offers a sharp contrast to the descriptions of the exemplars of the αὐστηρὰ ἁρµονία as heavy, rough, hard, and thundering.323 In addition to being a sympotic motif, moreover, the flowers that are so abundant in the epigrams are a key symbol of the γλαφυρὰ series. In these other cases, one poem is a brief summary treatment, the other a more detailed elaboration of the same theme. 321 Where note the unusual word γάνος (“brightness”/“joy”, “of water and wine from their quickening qualities” per LSJ). In the Cretan Hymn to Zeus (ln. 3) Zeus is the παγκρατὲς γάνος (“universales Lebensprinzip”, according to the explanation of Wilamowitz cited in Furley and Bremmer, 2001, v. 2, 8, who add, “γάνος belongs to the language of cult: it may refer to the god-givenness of what is decisive for the quality of human life: water, wine, honey.” 322 On the lack of joy amongst the dead as a commonplace in Greek though, cf. Sens, 2011, 10-11 on Asclep. AP 5.85. 323 See, e.g., the extracts from Dionysius discussed above.

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ἁρµονία.324 Antipater’s Anacreon even dubs his lyre the “fellow nursling of the undiluted harmony” (ὁ φιλάκρητου σύντροφος ἁρµονίης, 7.26.6), outwardly a reference to music, but easily read, metapoetically, as setting Anacreon’s style at an extreme point distinct from the “well-mixed” (εὔκρατος) middle style.

This series of epigrams engages with the themes of poetic change and continuity we have seen already, for example, in Dioscorides’ epigrams on dramatists. For

Antipater, the gravestone itself becomes a medium for the revivification of Anacreon’s poetic voice. In earlier epigram, such as Heraclitus AP 7.465, the garland left on the

“brow” of the gravestone symbolized the fusion of sympotic and sepulchral poetic traditions. Here, it is not just a garland, but the miraculous efflorescence of sympotic elements around the stone that marks the union of these poetic traditions. The ivy, a symbol of both the symposium and Anacreon’s poetic excellence, even leaves the hint of its odor upon the stone as the token of this commingling.325

As we have seen, poets of the early Hellenistic period had written about figures of the past in order to make space for their own poetic innovations. In their own distinct ways, each of them was concerned with the preservation and continuity of earlier poetic voices within the context of a new world that entailed new poetic forms. In his panoramic survey of archaic and classical poets, Antipater too assimilates his famous subjects into the world of his epigrams at the same time as he assimilates—and outdoes—

324 Compare, for instance, Demetrius, de elocutione, 131-2: εἰσὶν δὲ αἱ µὲν ἐν τοῖς πράγµασι χάριτες, οἷον νυµφαῖοι κῆποι, ὑµέναιοι, ἔρωτες, ὅλη ἡ Σαπφοῦς ποίησις. (“There are also charming kinds of subject matter, like gardens of the nymphs, wedding songs, Erotes—the whole of Sappho’s poetry.”) 325 On the motif of ivy, cf. Barbantani, 2010, 20-21 (and n. 60). To the passages cited there add Callim. AP 9.565 on Theaetetus, discussed above.

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the earlier epigrammatists he takes as models for his endeavor. When the island of Ios in

AP 7.2 boasts that Homer has “deposited his breath in me” (πνεῦµα θάνων ἔλιπεν), we can easily see this as a metapoetic statement: this little epigram is now the purveyor of the Greek poetic tradition.326 The immortal voice of Anacreon is here too, and they are accomodated in a poetic landscape like (and likely modeled after) that of Dioscorides, but stretching much farther, from Sicily in the West to Teos in the East, and encompassing all genres and literary styles.

Yet in Antipater, this all this occurs as if at a remove. Homer, Anacreon, and the others, are no longer voices that are being reenergized and transformed (as in the case of

Nossis’ Sappho), but rather figures received through the earlier epigrammatic tradition and now installed in Antipater’s museum-like panorama. In the fleeting moments when he does seem to offer reflections on his own poetry, as when the gravestone of Anacreon serves as a site for the revival of the poet’s voice, these seem to be exaltations of an established epigrammatic tradition, rather than attempts to gain authorization for a new poetic form. For earlier epigrammatists, the poetic persona was a means of opening new space in the literary tradition, acting as a mediator between epigrammatic forms and the other generic elements with which the poet might combine them. For Antipater, this process of fusion and innovation was already complete, and his project, rather than to create a new literary form, was to synthesize the diverse innovations of his predecessors.

326 Cf. Gutzwiller, 1998a, 263: “Like Ios, Antipater feels himself small in comparison with the monumental literary figures of the past, who lie deeply buried under the only memorial he can make to them, not rivalrous imitations, but the smaller commemoration of fictitious epitaph.” Chirico, 1979, 20-1, remarks on Antipater’s use of Homeric language: “Antipatro … ha sopratutto sempre presente Omero e i due grandi poemi a lui tradizionalmente attribuiti.”

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The occlusion of the authorial persona in Antipater’s epigrams thus marks, in a certain sense, the end of the first period in the development of epigram as a literary genre.

This first period self-consciously marked itself off from the archaic and classical past, and used this past as a fulcrum for the creation of a new literary genre. Antipater brought together this material and created a corpus of poetry that synthesized it at the level of diction, the conception of individual poems, and, as I have tried to show here, the design of whole groups of poems. Turning to Meleager, Antipater’s close successor, we will see how the figure of the poet in epigram was reconceived in light of Antipater’s consolidation of the genre, and how Antipater himself comes to provide, paradoxically enough, a template for the figuration of the epigrammatist as a generically defined authorial persona.

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Chapter 2: Part 2

Meleager and the Riddle of Epigram

Scholars have recognized that Antipater, as an avid imitator of earlier epigram, was an important model for Meleager’s anthological project.327 It would seem that the same influence could not be detected in the construction of Meleager’s authorial persona, since Antipater, as we have already seen, did not create a poetic persona of his own. I would like, however, to argue that, paradoxically, Antipater did offer Meleager a model—though only a partial model—of the epigrammatist as an authorial figure. For

Meleager, Antipater was the epitome of the poet as the sum of his literary models.

Beginning from this starting point, Meleager, especially in his self-epitaphs, which will form the focus of my discussion here, reconstitutes a poetic persona that is the perfect reflection or analog of the text of his Garland, the synthesis of diverse, even contradictory, elements.

The image of the poet as a complex entity, appearing through the combination of multiple literary models, had roots in early Hellenistic epigram too. Posidippus’ self- representation appealed greatly to Meleager, and poems by him seem to have occupied important positions in Meleager’s book of erotika.328 Moreover—a point I shall return to below—Meleager’s self-representation recalls Posidippus’ in many places.

327 Cf. Gutzwiller, 1998a, 276: “… we may attribute to [Antipater] the impetus for the earliest epigram anthologies, which were based, as Meleager’s Garland and the Amyntas papyrus show, on grouping poems in sets of variations.” 328 For reconstructions of the possible layout of the books of Meleager’s Garland, see the tables at the back of Gutzwiller, 1998a.

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Like Nossis and others, Posidippus in AP 12.168 represents himself in reference to earlier poets, but he complicates the picture by invoking multiple, and disparate, models:

AP 12.168 – Posidippus = IX HE = 140 AB (Text = AB) Ναννοῦς καὶ Λύδης ἐπίχει δύο καὶ φιλεράστου Μιµνέρµου καὶ τοῦ σώφρονος Ἀντιµάχου· συγκέρασον τὸν πέµπτον ἐµοῦ, τὸν δ’ ἕκτον ἑκάστου, Ἡλιόδωρ’, εἴπας, ὅστις ἐρῶν ἔτυχεν. ἕβδοµον Ἡσιόδου, τὸν δ’ ὄγδοον εἶπον Ὁµήρου, 5 τὸν δ’ ἔνατον Μουσῶν, Μνηµοσύνης δέκατον. µεστὸν ὑπὲρ χείλους πίοµαι, Κύπρι. τἆλλα δ’ Ἔρωτες νήφειν οἰνωθέντ’ οὐχὶ λίην ἄχαρι. 1 φιλεράστου Jacobs φερεκαστου P

For Nanno and Lyde pour two measures, one for the lover’s friend Mimnermus and one for sober Antimachus. Mix in the fifth in my name and the sixth with the words, “For everyone, Heliodorus, who ever chanced to love”. Say the seventh is for Hesiod and the eighth for Homer, the ninth for the Muses and the tenth for Mnemosyne. Full above the brim will I drink the cup, Cypris. For the rest, Ye Loves, for a man who has drunk much to remain sober is not at all unpleasant.329

In form, the epigram combines two elements of earlier sympotic poetry, the series of toasts and the ethical pronouncement on the good kind of symposium/symposiast.330

Posidippus manipulates both of these elements in a distinctive way. The toasts come in pairs, each of which fills a line (or in one case, a couplet): Nanno and Lyde (1);

Mimnermus and Antimachus (2); the poet himself and “anyone who ever chanced to love” (3-4); Hesiod and Homer (5); the Muses and Mnemosyne (6). There are pointed relationships between various pairs in this carefully constructed list. Nanno and Lyde correspond to Mimnermus (author of the erotic elegy Nanno) and Antimachus (author of

329 Trans. = Austin. 330 Passages of this type from philosophical authors are helpfully gathered by Lewy, 1929, 26, n. 1.

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the mythological elegy Lyde); Hesiod and Homer pair with the Muses (the underwriters of Hesiod’s poems) and Mnemosyne (who inspired Homer).

The point of the epigram emerges as the various pairs are introduced. It is made plain with the sententia of the final line, in which the poet describes the paradoxical (yet not unpleasant) effect that the various toasts have upon him: “being sober when drunk”.

The paired toasts prepare us for this conclusion. In the first, the seventh-century elegiac poet Mimnermus is paired with his compatriot, the fifth-century elegist Antimachus.

While the pairing seems natural enough, the two represent different “brands” of elegy:

Mimnermus was an exponent of the sympotic-erotic type, in which Erotic pathos played a major role; Antimachus, meanwhile, was famous for his Lyde, a mythological poem about the various lost loves of the gods, which he wrote, we are told, to console himself over the death of his wife Lyde. Antimachus’ distance from the sympotic Mimnermus is signalled by the epithet sophron attached to him: while Mimnermus is a poet of wine,

Antimachus is abstemious.331 As Sider remarks, the drink mixed in this epigram is “a compilation of the interdependent components of the poet Posidippus, including his literary models.”332 [Emphasis added.]

Although various scholars have proposed to emend the poem in order to yield a sense along the lines of “drunk or sober it is pleasing to …”, this would needlessly banalize the line. Posidippus instead seems to aim for a paradoxical effect through the modification of an earlier form of sympotic sententia of a kind we find in Theognis:

331 Gutzwiller, 1998a, 163, goes on to connect Homer with wine and Hesiod with water, and interprets Mnemosyne and the Muses as competing sources of inspiration. 332 Sider, 2005, 180. Cf., in a similar vein, Gutzwiller, 1998a, 163: “… when the ladling has been done, the full cup that the poet consumes contains a mixture of the literary ingredients from which his epigram has been fashioned.”

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αἰσχρόν τοι µεθύοντα παρ᾽ ἀνδράσι νήφοσιν εἶναι, αἰσχρὸν δ᾽ εἰ νήφων πὰρ µεθύουσι µένει. (Theognidea, 627-8) “It is shameful that a man be drunk among men who are sober, and it is shameful if he remains sober among drunkards.”

The ability to mold one’s behavior to match the varying dispositions of one’s associates is a key value in the politically ambiguous world of the Theognidea. It is the same characteristic that Callimachus claims for himself in AP 7.415 (discussed above).333 I will return to this idea below in my discussion of Meleager, but for now I would like to note that Posidippus has taken Theognidean polytropia a step further and combined the opposing dispositions within the same series of toasts, leading to his paradoxical state of sober drunkenness at the close of the epigram.334

In addition to being a poet of “mixture”, Posidippus, in his epigrams, is a poet of different moments. This aspect of his work and that of some others, including

Callimachus and Meleager, has been highlighted by Paduano, who argues that in

Posidippus’ epigrams, the reader gains a “sense of time”, by virtue of which we see the poet now as a scholar, now as a lover, now in possession of his wits, now out of his mind, yet nevertheless presented as one and the same individual.335 This captures more accurately the dynamics and the continuity of the poetic ego in Posidippus than the

333 In Callimachus’ case, the political significance of Theognis’ passage seems to be transferred to the sphere of poetics. Although Callimachus’ world lacks the radical political uncertainty of Theognis’, Callimachus must nevertheless situate himself within a poetic milieu that (in his representation) mirrors the gamesmanship and duplicity of archaic politics. 334 Paradoxical but not oxymoronic: the verb νήφω, like English “to be sober”, had long since acquired the secondary meaning, “to be master of oneself” (so Chantraine, citing Pl. Laws, 818d). 335 Paduano, 1993, esp. pp. 137-140.

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account of Fantuzzi, who regards it as a kind of ad hoc persona, to be taken up and discarded at a whim (i.e. at the beginning and end of each individual epigram).336 Just as

Posidippus’ poetry reflects a multitude of literary models, his authorial persona is pulled in different directions by conflicting impulses. This tension is dramatized in AP 12.98, where the poet pictures himself as the “cicada of the Muses”, inoculated against Pothos by his literary (and philosophical?) training:

Posidippus AP 12.98 = HE VI = 137 AB τὸν Μουσῶν τέττιγα Πόθος δήσας ἐπ᾽ ἀκάνθαις κοιµίζειν ἐθέλει πῦρ ὑπὸ πλευρὰ βαλών· ἡ δὲ πρὶν ἐν βύβλοις πεπονηµένη ἄλλα θερίζει ψυχὴ ἀνιηρῷ δαίµονι µεµφοµένη.

Desire bound the Muses’ cicada on thorns and wishes to put him to sleep by casting fire into his breast, but the soul, already exercised in books, harvests other things, finding fault with the wicked god.

The poet, represented by the cicada, is caught somewhere between the unbridled passion of youth and the sober life of the scholar or philosopher.337 The epigram provides a counterpoint to AP 5.134, where Posidippus bids Zeno and Cleanthes to be silent so that the poet and his friends can concern themselves with Eros:

AP 5.134 – Posidippus = I HE Κεκροπί, ῥαῖνε, λάγυνε, πολύδροσον ἰκµάδα Βάκχου, ῥαῖνε· δροσιζέσθω συµβολικὴ πρόποσις· σιγάσθω Ζήνων, ὁ σοφὸς κύκνος, ἥ τε Κλεάνθους Μοῦσα, µέλοι δ᾽ ἡµῖν ὁ γλυκύπικρος Ἔρως.

Drip, Cecropian jug, a dewy drop of Bacchus. Drip. Let the group toast be a dewy one. Let Zeno, the wise swan, be

336 Cf. Fantuzzi in Fantuzzi-Hunter, 2004, 348: “the poets seem to declare: ‘I, Callimachus (or I, Posidippus, or I, Meleager), even if I have been brought up to make use of my intellect under the guidance of the Muses, I, too, sometimes get drunk, and therefore I fall in love, but only because I am/I want to become a sympotic poet.’” 337 The philosopher or intellectual overtaken by Eros is a rather common topos in epigram and elsewhere: cf. Hermesianax, Leontion, fr. 7.75-84 Powell (on Philitas of Cos); Leon. Tar. AP AP 6.293 (on the Cynic Sochares); ἄδηλον AP 12.100; Meleager AP 12.101 (the model for Propertius I.1). Cf. Gutzwiller, 1998a, 160.

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silent, and the Muse of Cleanthes, and for us let bittersweet Eros be our care.

These antithetical moments in Posidippus’ persona are of a piece with his representation of himself in AP 12.168. The multiplicity of models invoked there, Mimnermus,

Antimachus, and the rest, corresponds to a multiplicity of moments in the personality of the poet, who emerges as a complex figure within his work.

We will see that this image of the poet as a mixture of different, perhaps conflicting, elements, provided one of the bases for Meleager’s portrayal of Antipater of

Sidon and, in turn, for Meleager’s own self-representation. Antipater’s panorama only made room for canonical archaic and classical poets and genres. When Meleager created his anthology, however, he made a kind of special dispensation, and furnished Antipater with a place of his own in the panorama by composing an epitaph for him. Set alongside the other elements of the panorama, Meleager’s epitaph for Antipater offers an interesting illustration of the relationship between epigram and other literary genres and between the epigrammatist and other poetic subjectivities. The other genres are represented by clearly defined representative types, but the epigrammatist is a riddle:

AP 7.428 – Meleager = HE CXXII Ἁ στάλα, σύνθηµα τί σοι γοργωπὸς ἀλέκτωρ ἔστα, καλλαΐνᾳ σκαπτοφόρος πτέρυγι, ποσσὶν ὑφαρπάζων νίκας κλάδον; ἄκρα δ’ ἐπ’ αὐτᾶς βαθµῖδος προπεσὼν κέκλιται ἀστράγαλος; ἦ ῥά γε νικάεντα µάχᾳ σκαπτοῦχον ἄνακτα 5 κρύπτεις; ἀλλὰ τί σοι παίγνιον ἀστράγαλος; πρὸς δέ, τί λιτὸς ὁ τύµβος; ἐπιπρέπει ἀνδρὶ πενιχρῷ ὄρνιθος κλαγγαῖς νυκτὸς ἀνεγροµένῳ. οὐ δοκέω· σκᾶπτρον γὰρ ἀναίνεται. ἀλλὰ σὺ κεύθεις ἀθλοφόρον νίκαν ποσσὶν ἀειράµενον. 10 οὐ ψαύω καὶ τᾷδε. τί γὰρ ταχὺς εἴκελος ἀνὴρ ἀστραγάλῳ; νῦν δὴ τὠτρεκὲς ἐφρασάµαν· φοῖνιξ µὲν νίκαν ἐνέπει πάτραν τε µεγαυχῆ µατέρα Φοινίκων, τὰν πολύπαιδα Τύρον· ὄρνις δ’, ὅττι γεγωνὸς ἀνὴρ καί που περὶ Κύπριν 15 πρᾶτος κἠν Μούσαις ποικίλος ὑµνοθέτας·

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σκᾶπτρα δ’ ἔχει σύνθηµα λόγου· θνᾴσκειν δὲ πεσόντα οἰνοβρεχῆ προπετὴς ἐννέπει ἀστράγαλος. καὶ δὴ σύµβολα ταῦτα, τὸ δ’ οὔνοµα πέτρος ἀείδει, Ἀντίπατρον, προγόνων φύντ’ ἀπ’ ἐρισθενέων.

O stele, why does a bright-eyed cock stand upon you as an emblem, carrying a scepter in his blue-green wing, seizing with his claws the branch of victory, and a die lies fallen at the edge of the base? Is it that you cover a scepter-bearing king, a victor in war? But why then do you have this plaything, a die? And what’s more, the tomb is slight, and befits a poor man roused in the night by the cries of a bird. I don’t think this is right, for the scepter argues against it. Rather you cover a champion who won victory with his feet. Here too I haven’t hit upon it, for how is a swift man like a die? But now I’ve got it: The palm indicates both victory and a proud fatherland, the mother of the Phoenicians, Tyre with its many children; and the bird indicates that this was a man who made himself heard, and one who was outstanding in matters of love, and amidst the Muses a versatile poet. And he holds a scepter as a symbol of his speech, and the fallen die indicates that he died after falling while drunk. Yes, these are the symbols, but the stone sings the name: Antipater, offspring of powerful ancestors.

The speaker begins by inquiring of the stone as to the meaning of the symbols carved on it—a rooster carrying a sceptre in his claws and a fallen die (1-4). By way of explaining these symbols, the speaker then introduces several biographical speculations about the deceased (5-10), rejecting each of them in turn as inconsistent with the symbols. The speaker then announces that he has found the solution (12) and interprets the symbols as indicating that the deceased was a citizen of Tyre, a poet, and died as the result of a drunken fall. In the last couplet, the speaker reveals that the only word carved on the stone is the name of the deceased—ΑΝΤΙΠΑΤΡΟY (19-20).

As the poem unfolds, the reader becomes gradually aware that the poem is reflecting on itself—on its relationship to other poems and on its position within the

Garland. Through this ingenious device, the process of reading and understanding

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epigrams is dramatized, before our eyes, as the solving of a certain kind of puzzle. The poem outwardly asks merely for the identity of the deceased, but read self-reflexively, it is really asking, who the epigrammatist is, the elusive figure behind this enigmatic literary form. Gow and Page’s terse summary of the poem entirely fails to take note this effect, saying only, “after the customary rejection of other guesses the correct answer is given … .”338 Goldhill, by contrast, gets at the peculiar effect of the epigram when he describes it as:

“an elaborate game of ironic description of Antipater and his poetry (especially the type of poem immediately preceding Meleager’s in this collection), a description that depends on a competitive establishment of Meleager’s art through and against Antipater’s (and Leonidas’) poetry (that Meleager has collected and organised).”339

The poem recapitulates motifs and words from the six riddle epigrams that precede it, the first of them by Leonidas and the rest by Antipater himself,340 and is thus constructed according to the rules of Antipater’s own art of imitation and variation. There are also elements drawn in from other poems by Leonidas of Tarentum as well as by Antipater.

As the speaker of the poem proceeds, for instance, the figures of Leonidas and

Anacreon briefly come into view before being dissolved in the final lines, when the speaker comes to his conclusion. As was the case with Antipater’s epigrams, the effect is a bit disorienting, as Antipater’s and Leonidas’ depictions of Anacreon, and Leonidas’ poetic persona, blend with the elements taken over from the series of riddle epigrams immediately preceding Meleager’s epitaph. The humble appearance of the tomb initially

338 HE, v. II, 673. 339 Goldhill, 1994, 204. Goldhill’s parenthetical phrasing neatly suggests the kaleidoscopic effect of Antipater’s/Meleager’s methods of composition on the reader. 340 The connections are illustrated by Gutzwiller, 1998a, 274-5.

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leads the speaker to conjecture that its inhabitant must be a poor man (τί λιτὸς ὁ τύµβος;

ἐπιπρέπει ἀνδρὶ πενιχρῷ, 7). For a reader of epigram, the word λιτός inevitably points

(among other places) back to Leonidas AP 6.302, the mice-epigram, and it is also used by

Antipater to describe Anacreon’s tomb (7.26.1).341 So too with the mention of

Antipater’s fatal drunken fall (17), which has caused commentators difficulty. It is of course possible that Antipater did die as the result of such a fall, but this report conflicts with Cicero (de Fato 5), who says that he died of a fever. The problem disappears, however, if we suppose that Meleager is aiming at a point other than biographical accuracy.342 First of all, the drunken fall is a motif in Leonidas AP 7.422, which forms the kernel of the series of riddle epigrams,343 but it also recalls Leonidas’ epigrams on images of Anacreon, in which the speaker observes Anacreon’s unsteady gait, and prays that Dionysus not allow the drunken poet to fall (APl 306, cp. APl 307):

A. Plan. 306 – Leonidas of Tarentum Πρέσβυν Ἀνακρείοντα χύδαν σεσαλαγµένον οἴνῳ 1 θάεο δινωτοῦ στρεπτὸν ὕπερθε λίθου, ὡς ὁ γέρων λίχνοισιν ἐπ’ ὄµµασιν ὑγρὰ δεδορκὼς ἄχρι καὶ ἀστραγάλων ἕλκεται ἀµπεχόναν· δισσῶν δ’ ἀρβυλίδων τὰν µὲν µίαν οἷα µεθυπλὴξ 5 ὤλεσεν, ἐν δ’ ἑτέρᾳ ῥικνὸν ἄραρε πόδα. µέλπει δ’ ἠὲ Βάθυλλον ἐφίµερον ἠὲ Μεγιστέα, αἰωρῶν παλάµᾳ τὰν δυσέρωτα χέλυν. ἀλλά, πάτερ Διόνυσε, φύλασσέ µιν· οὐ γὰρ ἔοικεν ἐκ Βάκχου πίπτειν Βακχιακὸν θέραπα.

Gaze on old Anacreon, brim-full of wine, turned over the two-sided stone; see how the old old man, tripping along

341 As pointed out by Gutzwiller, 1998a, 111, λιτός and πενιχρός are both key terms for Leonidas. Cf. my discussion of Leonidas’ ethical program above. 342 Contrast the approach of Weigand, 1840, who attempts to harmonize the two different accounts of Antipater’s death, and of Waltz, 1906, 12, who thinks Meleager more reliable insofar as he is a contemporary source. But the fact that a writer was in a position to provide more accurate biographical information is no guarantee that he has done so. 343 As noted by Gutzwiller, 1998a, 275.

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with a moist glance in his lusty eyes, carries a pouch of dice. The wine-addled man has lost one of his boots, and in the other he lifts a wrinkled foot. He sings some song of lovely Bathyllus, or Megistes, raising with his hand his lovesick lyre. But father Dionysus, keep him safe: for it is not right that a minister of Bacchus should fall because of Bacchus.

Like the other epigrams on Anacreon examined already, this poem gives him three basic attributes: he is drunken (σεσαλαγµένον οἴνῳ, 1, µεθυπλήξ, 5), a lover of boys (7), and a poet (µέλπει, 7). It also includes a motif not featured in other epigrams on the poet—

Anacreon’s unsteady gait, which the speaker of the epigram views with (playful) alarm, fearful that the old man will fall. The connection between Meleager’s depiction of

Antipater and Leonidas’ of Anacreon is further solidified by the words of Meleager’s speaker at lines 15-18: ὄρνις δ’, ὅττι γεγωνὸς ἀνὴρ καί που περὶ Κύπριν 15 πρᾶτος κἠν Μούσαις ποικίλος ὑµνοθέτας· σκᾶπτρα δ’ ἔχει σύνθηµα λόγου· θνᾴσκειν δὲ πεσόντα οἰνοβρεχῆ προπετὴς ἐννέπει ἀστράγαλος.

The themes of poetry, love, and wine are interwoven here, with the phrases ‘γεγωνὸς

ἀνὴρ’, ‘κἠν Μούσαις ποικίλος ὑµνοθέτας’, and ‘σκᾶπτρα δ’ ἔχει σύνθηµα λόγου indicating Antipater’s poetic excellence, ‘που περὶ Κύπριν | πρᾶτος’ his reputation as a passionate lover, and the adjective ‘οἰνοβρεχῆ’ his fondness for alcohol.344 Meleager’s portrayal thus combines an image of Anacreon drawn from Leonidas with the “sympotic triad” of wine, poetry, and love, used in epigrams on Anacreon by ‘Simonides’,

Dioscorides, and Antipater himself, and so paints Antipater as a kind of “new Anacreon”.

344 As G-P note, οἰνοβρέχη is a rare word (a TLG search finds it only here and at P. Lit. Lond. 192), and may remind the reader of Antipater’s description of Anacreon, ἀµφίβροχος εἵµατα Βάκχῳ (AP 7.27.7), discussed above.

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Meleager’s report of Antipater’s birthplace as Tyre, rather than Sidon, contrary to the contemporary testimony of ID 2549, may reflect a literary rather than biographical agenda as well. As Argentieri, following Weigand and Waltz, points out, Tyre stands here for the common ancestral source of all the Phoenician people, regardless of their actual place of birth.345 The specific motive behind Meleager’s phrasing, however, may be to connect Antipater and himself through a bond of geography. At Gadara, Meleager says he wrote under the influence of Menippus, whereas at Tyre he composed epigrams.

By connecting Antipater with Tyre rather than Sidon, and connecting his own composition of epigrams with his residence at Tyre, Meleager casts Antipater as an inspirational figure for epigram analogous to Menippus in the literary genre that bore his name.346

Thanks to this epitaph, Antipater, the poet who spoke through, and thus disappeared into, his models receives a place of his own alongside the classics of Greek poetry, ranged among them in the panorama he himself created. Meleager does not do

Antipater this service without self-interest, however. The construction of Antipater as a protean figure provides the starting point for Meleager’s own self-representation.

Meleager constructs himself not just as the sum of his literary models, but as the embodiment of his own literary text, the Garland, that contains them.

As a literary work, the Garland is held together by a complex web of metaphors.

The long prefatory poem AP 4.1 establishes weaving as the “master metaphor” of the

345 Argentieri, 2003, 29. 346 On the metapoetic significance of a poet’s hometown, in this case Hipponax and Ephesus, cf. Callim. Iam. 13.64-6. On this passage see Fantuzzi and Hunter, 2004, 16 and Acosta-Hughes, 2002, 99-103. On “geo-literary” discourse in Iambus 13, see Lelli, 2004, esp. 123-5.

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entire collection, with the major poets whose works are included in the Garland each likened to a different flower. Through this metaphor, the literary text is made into an imaginary physical object created by the combination of disparate elements into a single whole.347 The same synthetic quality of the collection is once again emphasized in the final poem, in which the koronis, marking the end of the text, places Meleager’s sphragis on the work and boasts: … φαµὶ τὸν ἐκ πάντων ἠθροισµένον εἰς ἕνα µόχθον ὑµνοθετᾶν βύβλῳ τᾷδ᾽ ἐνελιξάµενον ἐκτελέσαι Μελέαγρον, ἀείµνηστον δὲ Διοκλεῖ 5 ἄνθεσι συµπλέξαι µουσοπόλων στέφανον. …

“I declare that Meleager has finished, he who enrolled in this book the labor of all poets gathered into one, and that it was for Diocles he wove with flowers a wreath, whose memory is evergreen.” (Trans. = Bing, 1988, 34)348

Aspects of the opening poem AP 4.1 and this concluding poem are mirrored or recalled in

Meleager’s series of five self-epitaphs (AP 7.416-7.421).349 In his capacity as anthologist, of course, Meleager is a gatherer and a mixer of poems, but what the self- epitaphs return to over and over again is that Meleager himself is as much a “mixture” of elements as his text. The series begins with a distich establishing the basic theme that is taken up with greater complexity in the longer epigrams that follow:

AP 7.416 – Meleager350

347 Cf. Höschele, 2010, 184: “Die Zusammenführung distinkter Elemente zu einem trotz aller Heterogenität einheithlichen Ganzen kann mithin für Meleager, den Schöpfer des Kranz wie den liebenden Dichter, als Charakteristikum gelten.” 348 On the tortuous syntax of these lines as an ethopoesis of the koronis, see Bing, 1988a, 33-34. 349 See especially Gutzwiller, 1998b, and Männlein-Robert 2007. 350 The poem has often been excluded from Meleager’s epigrams and regarded as anonymous. However, its position in a Meleagrean sequence (not to mention its

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Εὐκράτεω Μελέαγρον ἔχω, ξένε, τὸν σὺν Ἔρωτι καὶ Μούσαις κεράσανθ’ ἡδυλόγους Χάριτας.

I hold Meleager, the son of Eukrates, who mixed the sweet- speaking Graces with Eros and the Muses.

AP 7.417 – Meleager = II HE Νᾶσος ἐµὰ θρέπτειρα Τύρος· πάτρα δέ µε τεκνοῖ Ἀτθὶς ἐν Ἀσσυρίοις ναιοµένα Γάδαρα· Εὐκράτεω δ’ ἔβλαστον ὁ σὺν Μούσαις Μελέαγρος πρῶτα Μενιππείοις συντροχάσας Χάρισιν. εἰ δὲ Σύρος, τί τὸ θαῦµα; µίαν, ξένε, πατρίδα κόσµον 5 ναίοµεν, ἓν θνατοὺς πάντας ἔτικτε Χάος. πουλυετὴς δ’ ἐχάραξα τάδ’ ἐν δέλτοισι πρὸ τύµβου· γήρως γὰρ γείτων ἐγγύθεν Ἀίδεω. ἀλλά µε τὸν λαλιὸν καὶ πρεσβύτην σὺ προσειπὼν χαίρειν εἰς γῆρας καὐτὸς ἵκοιο λάλον.

The island of Tyre brought me up but Gadara, an Attic fatherland situated among the Assyrians, gave birth to me. I blossomed into Meleager, son of Eucrates, companion of the Muses, having first entered competition with my Menippean Graces. And if I am Syrian, what wonder is that? We inhabit a single world, oh stranger, and one Chaos birthed all us mortals. In old age I wrote these things on tablets prior to my death, for old age is a neighbor near to Hades. But bid me, a garrulous old man, ‘hail’, may you yourself reach a chatty old age.

AP 7.418 – Meleager = III HE Πρώτα µοι Γαδάρων κλεινὰ πόλις ἔπλετο πάτρα, ἤνδρωσεν δ’ ἱερὰ δεξαµένα µε Τύρος· εἰς γῆρας δ’ ὅτ’ ἔβην, ἁ καὶ Δία θρεψαµένα Κῶς κἀµὲ θετὸν Μερόπων ἀστὸν ἐγηροτρόφει. Μοῦσαι δ’ εἰν ὀλίγοις µε, τὸν Εὐκράτεω Μελέαγρον 5 παῖδα, Μενιππείοις ἠγλάισαν Χάρισιν.

The famed city of Gadara was my fatherland in the first place; then holy Tyre received me and brought me to manhood; and when I reached old age, Kos, which also reared Zeus, made me a citizen and cared for me. The Muses made me, Meleager the son of Eucrates, flourish like few others with my Menippean Graces.

AP 7.419 – Meleager = IV HE Ἀτρέµας, ὦ ξένε, βαῖνε· παρ’ εὐσεβέσιν γὰρ ὁ πρέσβυς εὕδει κοιµηθεὶς ὕπνον ὀφειλόµενον, Εὐκράτεω Μελέαγρος, ὁ τὸν γλυκύδακρυν Ἔρωτα καὶ Μούσας ἱλαραῖς συστολίσας Χάρισιν· ὃν θεόπαις ἤνδρωσε Τύρος Γαδάρων θ’ ἱερὰ χθών· 5 Κῶς δ’ ἐρατὴ Μερόπων πρέσβυν ἐγηροτρόφει. similarity to Callimachus’ self-epitaph that precedes it in AP) is more than enough reason to suppose that it is Meleager’s.

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ἀλλ’ εἰ µὲν Σύρος ἐσσί, „Σαλάµ“, εἰ δ’ οὖν σύ γε Φοῖνιξ, „Αὐδονίς“, εἰ δ’ Ἕλλην, „Χαῖρε“, τὸ δ’ αὐτὸ φράσον. 8 φράσον PPl φράσεις Herwerden

Walk without fear, oh stranger: The old man sleeps among the pious, bedded down for the sleep that is owed (by all men), Meleager son of Eucrates, who united the tearful-sweet Eros and the Muses with the cheerful Graces. Him divine Tyre and the holy land of Gadara brought to manhood. Lovely Kos, land of the Meropes, cared for him in his old age. But if you are Syrian, ‘Salam’, if Phoenician, ‘Audonis’ and if you are Greek ‘Chairei’: and you say the same thing yourself.

AP 7.421 – Meleager = V HE Πτανέ, τί σοι σιβύνας, τί δὲ καὶ συὸς εὔαδε δέρµα; καὶ τίς ἐὼν στάλας σύµβολον ἐσσὶ τίνος; οὐ γὰρ Ἔρωτ’ ἐνέπω σε—τί γὰρ νεκύεσσι πάροικος Ἵµερος; αἰάζειν ὁ θρασὺς οὐκ ἔµαθεν— οὐδὲ µὲν οὐδ’ αὐτὸν ταχύπουν Χρόνον· ἔµπαλι γὰρ δὴ 5 κεῖνος µὲν τριγέρων, σοὶ δὲ τέθηλε µέλη. ἀλλ’ ἄρα, ναί, δοκέω γάρ, ὁ γᾶς ὑπένερθε σοφιστὰς ἐστί, σὺ δ’ ὁ πτερόεις τοὔνοµα τοῦδε λόγος. Λατῴας δ’ ἄµφηκες ἔχεις γέρας ἔς τε γέλωτα καὶ σπουδὰν καί που µέτρον ἐρωτογράφον. 10 ναὶ µὲν δὴ Μελέαγρον ὁµώνυµον Οἰνέος υἱῷ σύµβολα σηµαίνει ταῦτα συοκτασίας. χαῖρε καὶ ἐν φθιµένοισιν, ἐπεὶ καὶ Μοῦσαν Ἔρωτι καὶ Χάριτας σοφίαν εἰς µίαν ἡρµόσαο.

Winged one, why do the hunting spear and the boar-skin please you? Who are you, and a symbol on whose grave-stone? I shouldn’t call you Eros—for how can desire be a neighbor of the dead? That rash one never learned to lament.—Nor would I call you Time, for that one is a very old man, whereas you are in the prime of life. But now, yes, I think: the one beneath the earth was a rhetorician, and you, with your wings, are a description of his speech. You hold the double-edged gift of Leto’s daughter, fit for laughter and seriousness and, I suppose, the elegiac meter. Yes, indeed, these symbols of hunting represent a Meleager, the namesake of the son of Oineus. Hail even among the dead, since you have fit together the Muse with Eros and the Graces in a single work.

The tomb in AP 7.416 informs the reader that it holds Meleager, who has “mixed the sweet-speaking Graces with Eros and the Muses.” The poet, like his Garland, is a mixture of distinct elements. The key idea, mixture, and the underlying unity of apparently distinct elements, gains further emphasis from the redender Name of

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Meleager’s father, Eukrates, or “Well-mixed”.351 This same basic theme is developed in the course of the next four self-epitaphs, where the idea of mixture is expanded to include the ideas of ethnicity, geography, and language.352 Gadara is “Attic” (Ἀτθίς) and yet situated “among the Assyrians”; the poet’s Syrian ethnicity is dismissed as unimportant, or at any rate unremarkable (εἰ δὲ Σύρος, τί τὸ θαῦµα;, 7.417.5), since we all have all come from the same Χάος, the primordial state in which everything was mixed together indiscriminately.

In AP 7.419, the primordial unity of nations referenced in AP 7.417 is transmuted into an ultimate identity among languages, with a trilingual greeting in Greek, Syrian, and

Phoenician, the native languages of each of Meleager’s three homelands. The final poem, with its emphasis on the idea of the (paradoxical) combination of disparate elements into a unified whole, provides a fitting conclusion to the whole series.353

Moreover, as Höschele notes, the final couplet neatly recapitulates AP 7.416, which, as we have seen, forms a kind of generative kernel and supplies the leitmotif of mixture that underlies the self-epitaphs as a group.354 As a form, the Rätselepigramm is especially appropriate for the exploration of this kind of mixture, especially the mixture of seemingly contradictory or incongruous elements. The perplexity of the speaker as he tries to puzzle out the meaning of the signs on the tomb arises from the paradoxical

351 Höschele, 2010, 186. Etymologically speaking, of course, “Eukrates” is actually formed from a combination of εὐ and the root κρατ-, as in κράτος. 352 On Meleager’s representation of his ethnicity, cf. Gutzwiller, 1998b, 83, and Höschele, 2010, 186. 353 Gutzwiller, 1998b, 86: “The final couplet, with its play on χαῖρε and Χάριτας rounds off the series of epitaphs by suggesting an essential unity to Meleager’s literary career and by connecting that unity to the quality of the poet’s continuing existence among the dead.” 354 Höschele, 2010, 184.

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associations they evoke. The winged figure calls up Eros, but as a young god he ill befits the sepulchral context (3-4); Chronos, on the other hand, is proverbially old, while the figure depicted is evidently vigorous. So too, the generic elements of Meleager’s art, the

“double-edged” spoudaiogeloion and the bipartite elegiac meter--reflect this duality.

Like the Garland as a whole, the self-epitaphs assimilate an impressive amount of the earlier epigrammatic tradition, and particularly earlier poets’ representations of themselves and assessments of others. As with Antipater’s panorama of Greek poetry, the geographical and temporal dimensions of Meleager’s self-representation incorporate and transcend those of his predecessors. The self-epitaphs are bordered on one side by

Callimachus’ two-line self-epitaph, AP 7.415, and on the other by the series of riddle- epigrams culminating with Meleager’s epitaph for Antipater of Sidon. Accordingly,

Meleager’s cycle of epigrams about himself begins with a couplet in the manner of

Callimachus and ends with a riddle-epigram. Posidippus’ notion of the poet as a mixture of his models, meanwhile, provides the conceptual background for Meleager’s couplet on himself, the son of “well-mixed”.355 In AP 7.418, the beginnings of the first three lines

(Πρώτα; ἤνδρωσεν; εἰς γῆρας) divide the poet’s life temporally, while the line endings

(Γαδάρων … πόλις … πάτρα; Τύρος; Κῶς) divide it geographically. This geographical and temporal progression, coupled as it is with the poet’s activity in various literary genres, looks back above all to Nossis’ invocation of Sappho, Lesbos, and Locri in her self-epitaph (AP 7.718). Rather than connecting himself to a single place, however, Meleager identifies himself with three. We have also seen that Leonidas

355 The influence of Posidippus’ epigram on Meleager’s self-representation is even more marked in Meleager AP 5.136 and 5.137 (near the beginning of the erotika), where he “mixes” the name of his beloved Heliodora with his wine.

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portrayed himself as an old man, while the persona of Asclepiades displayed characteristics typical of a youth, and that their ages played a programmatic role in their epigrams. Meleager, by contrast, wraps all three stages of human life into his epitaphs.

The possibility of representing people, including the author, as complex and multi-sided was always, in a sense, implicit in the form of epigram itself. The fragmented nature of the epigram supplies a ready trope for the different events in a single life or in the social life of a community.356 It was not until Meleager, however, that the circle was closed between the epigrammatic form and the representation of the poet as a figure within epigram. Portraying Antipater of Sidon’s omnivorous art of variation as a precursor of his own anthological practice, Meleager at the same time makes Antipater into a model for the representation of the epigrammatist as a poetic persona. In his twin roles as anthologist and epigrammatist, Meleager creates a unique kind of “textual self”—an authorial presence within the text that mirrors the multifarious structure of the text itself. To paraphrase the ancient saying, epigrammatic oratio was correlated by Meleager with an equally “epigrammatic” vita.

356 Cf. Gutzwiller, 1998a, 13, “… epigram, matching form to content, could represent individuals as they now were—marginal, drifting, fragmentary and fractured selves. … epigram books, inasmuch as they lacked the unified and balanced structures of earlier literature, as discontinuous and fragmented entities without organic requirements of length or form, were effective representations of the changeable and unpredictable patterns of affiliation that linked Hellenistic individuals one to another.”

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Chapter 3

Transplanting the Tradition: Epigram in Italy in the 1st Centuries BCE/CE

Introduction – From Meleager to Philip

Meleager’s Garland marks a turning point in the history of Greek epigram in several respects. It had an immense influence on the later Greek and Latin poetic tradition, becoming almost immediately the standard of reference for readers of Greek epigram, and largely (if not, perhaps, entirely) supplanting earlier collections; its influence is already evident in authors of the first half of the first century BCE, such as

Philodemus (on whom more below) and Catullus.357. Its authoritative status is further indicated by the fact that in the first century CE the epigrammatist Philip of Thessalonica composed an anthology of his own, expressly modeled after Meleager’s.358

Meleager also happens to stand at a turning point in the larger history of Greek literature, at a time when the political and cultural center of gravity was shifting ever more rapidly westward and Greek poets more and more composed within a culturally

Roman (and geographically Italian) context for a Roman audience.359 As G.M.

Bowersock has argued, as the Roman empire expanded to encompass formerly Greek lands, the Romans found that dealing with the practical problems of local administration was facilitated by the development of Greek clientelae.360 At the same time, Romans

357 See Gutzwiller, 2012b, on Catullus and Gutzwiller, 1996, on Vergil. 358 AP 4.2.3-4: καὶ σελίδος νεαρῆς θερίσας στάχυν ἀντανέπλεξα | τοῖς Μελεαγρείοις ὡς ἴκελον στεφάνοις. On the composition of Philip’s Garland, see in general GPh, xi- xxi; cf. Cameron, 1993, 33-43; Argentieri, 2007. On the programmatic function of Philip’s prologue, AP 4.2, see Magnelli, 2004. 359 On these developments, see esp. Laurens, 1965a. Cf. Cogitore, 2010, esp. p. 269. 360 Bowersock, 1965, esp. 1-2.

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traveling or serving in an official capacity abroad acquired Greek intellectuals, doctors, grammarians, philosophers, etc. as slaves or dependents and brought them back to Italy.

Others, such as the epigrammatist Antipater of Thessalonica (on whom more below), made their way to Italy to take advantage of the opportunities available to an educated

Greek there.361 For Greek intellectuals of the second and first centuries BCE, therefore, success now depended upon integration into these new networks structured according to

Roman social norms. While some of Meleager’s authors, such as Antipater of Sidon, had already been part of this great historical shift, Philip himself and all of his most prominent authors were integrated to one degree or another into this Roman/Italian milieu. Philip’s Garland itself is dedicated to a certain Camillus,362 and significant number of the poets he anthologized can be linked with Roman patrons.363

The anthologies of Philip and Meleager account for the bulk of extant epigram from their respective periods, and the epigrammatic tradition before the mid-first century

CE thus comes down to us largely pre-packaged and periodized in terms of the chronology and aesthetic standards of these two ancient curators. Philip gathered the poems of epigrammatists beginning where Meleager left off—the earliest datable is

Philodemus (ca. 110 - ca. 40 BCE)—and continuing down to his own day, the reign of either Gaius or Nero.364 Although he organized his anthology in alphabetical sequences, this practice extended only to the first letter of each poem and so left room for

361 On this phenomenon see Bowersock, 1965. On the thematization of the migration and importation of Greek intellectuals in Latin literature, see Hinds, 2001, and Young, 2011. 362 See GPh I, xlix. 363 See GPh I, xxxii-xxxiii. 364 The terminus ante quem of Philip's Garland is a matter of some controversy. Gow and Page argue for a probable date of 40 CE, GPh I, xlix. Argentieri, 2007, 158-9 opts for a date in the mid-50s. The debate hinges upon certain epigrams ascribed to Antiphilus containing references to events of the 50s CE.

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considerable editorial discretion.365

Philip’s epigrammatists have suffered greatly from their awkward situation vis à vis the subsequent periodization and transmission of Greek literature. Too late to be considered really "Hellenistic", they also pre-date the "Second Sophistic", the other major period of focus in scholarship on post-classical Greek literature. Moreover, little Greek poetry of this period has survived apart from epigram, and so it is difficult to assess the epigrammatists against the background of the contemporary Greek literary scene.

Among the Philippan epigrammatists only Philodemus has been the subject of a dedicated scholarly commentary in the past century.366 They are typically given short shrift in histories of literature as well as in specialized studies. This scholarly neglect is no doubt due in part to the extremely negative evaluation passed on them by successive generations of scholars.367 Gow and Page particularly disliked most of these poets, and

Page excluded all but Philodemus and Crinagoras--the ‘epigrammatistae praecipui’ of their time368--from his Oxford text.369

The differing editorial tastes of Philip and Meleager, and the differing tastes of the poets whose works they collected, will be evident even to the casual reader. A prominent motif in scholarship on the Garland of Philip is the lament over the obvious penchant of

365 No full study of Philip’s editorial practice has yet been undertaken. See Cameron, 1993, 33-43. 366 Sider, 1997. 367 On the relative merits of Meleager’s and Philip’s anthologies, see, e.g., the assessment of Baumgarten and Wagner, 1913, 573: “Ein Vergleich zwischen beiden läßt den Rückgang der Kunst mit Händen greifen.” 368 EG, v. 369 The hostility of Gow and Page against the Philippan epigrammatists can be perceived throughout the introduction to GPh. Their objections are most compendiously stated at p. xxxvi, where they condemn most of the Philippan epigrammatists as "second-rate", "second hand", pretentious, and insincere.

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Philip and his poets for the elaborate style of Leonidas of Tarentum and for the techniques of imitation and variation. The extraordinary scorn poured upon most of

Philip's authors in GPh, for instance, is a direct consequence of their evident high regard for Leonidas, who was one of Gow and Page's particular bêtes noires.370 For Gow and

Page, the influence of Leonidas vitiated even the otherwise laudable attributes of these epigrammatists, infecting them with the same pretentious, insincere artificiality that they ascribed to Leonidas himself:

"The present collection [The Garland of Philip] includes a few other competent and pleasing authors, notably Adaeus, Antiphanes, Antistius, Diodorus of Sardis, and Erucius. These compose as a rule in a relatively straightforward style on conventional themes; but a much stronger impression is left on the reader's mind by those epigrammatists who reflect the baneful influence of the Tarentine Leonidas. ... The characteristics of the style are too familiar to need more than a summary description here. ... The themes are as a rule conventional or novel variations on the conventional, and the epigram is designed simply to exhibit the composer's skill in the Leonidean style." (GPh I, xxxiv)371

As with their view of Antipater of Sidon quoted at the beginning of chapter two, their verdict here is based on a kernel of accurate observation: the widespread and undeniable influence of Leonidas of Tarentum on the poets of Philip's Garland. Three aspects of their account stand out, however, and have rather far-reaching implications. The first is their vehement abhorrence of Leonidas' style and his "baneful influence".372 Along with

370 The animus seems to have come mostly from Gow, for whom Leonidas was a "tedious writer", Gow, 1958, 113. On the other hand, Dudley, 1937, 114, for instance, goes so far as to call Leonidas "one of the greatest of Hellenistic authors". 371 Repeated nearly verbatim by Magnelli, 2007, 175-6. Cf., e.g, GPh xxxvi: “It matters little or nothing if the style is second-rate and second-hand, and the subject inspired in the author by nothing more than a desire to impress the sophisticated city-folk. Many of these epigrams reflect, as Lucas says, ‘the joys and sorrows, hopes and fears’ of simple people; there were and still are, many homes in the remote villages of Greece and Crete where they ring truer than they ever did in the minds of their composers.” The purported insincerity of the Philippan epigrammatists is still lamented by Argentieri, 2007, 161. 372 On Gow-Page's hostility to Leonidas, cf. Gutzwiller, 1998a, 89, n. 103, and 90, n. 108.

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their tendency, already noted at the beginning of chapter two, to treat imitation and variation as mechanical rather than artistic procedures, this distaste led them to greatly oversimplify the nature and scope of Leonidas' influence.373 In short, Gow and Page viewed the epigrammatic tradition as containing a malignant tendency towards formal imitation and variation—the Leonidean blight374—which had to be occluded so that the vital elements in the tradition could be appreciated.375 In this way, aesthetic judgments about Leonidas—particularly the view that he is a mere “Formvirtuose” whose style is gratuitous and jarring—led to unwarranted literary-historical assumptions: that his influence is confined to the stylistic level. Second, they presume to separate the "good"

Philippan poets from the "bad" in part by referring to the criterion of Leonidean influence, and regard the “relatively straightforward” style they privilege in certain epigrammatists as an indication of their freedom from this influence.376

As was the case with Antipater of Sidon, the prominence of imitation and variation in the Garland of Philip has largely discouraged scholars from engaging in any detailed literary interpretation. On the basis of this reconsideration of the techniques of imitation and variation offered earlier, however, I will propose a reevaluation of how the

373 Gigante, 1971, 17, complains both of the negative aesthetic judgment passed against Leonidas by Gow and Page and of their tendency to emphasize the stylistic qualities of his poetry over its substance. 374 Comparing Leonidas with other early Hellenistic epigrammatists such as Callimachus and Asclepiades, Gow, 1958, 117 remarks, “a ripe fruit may already have a rotten patch”. 375 On Crinagoras, cf. the generally positive assessment of Gow and Page, who call him "one of the most interesting authors in the Anthology" (GPh II, 210), and of the Cambridge History of Classical Literature, "vivid and clever" (CHCL, 650). Cf. the glowing appraisal of Philodemus at GPh II, 373. Compare Geffcken’s assessment of Crinagoras as a “Poetaster”, RE XI.2.1860. 376 This dichotomy is taken over in the Cambridge History of Classical Literature by Bowersock, who notes the influence on the Philippan epigrammatists of Leonidas’ "overwrought" style (CHCL, I, 651).

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Philippan epigrammatists engage with their predecessors in the genre of epigram. During this time, epigrammatists ceased to define themselves in terms of archaic and classical models. Instead, it was poets of the Hellenistic period who now formed the “literary past” of epigram. Through the art of imitation and variation, Callimachus and Leonidas of Tarentum, perhaps the two epigrammatists whose influence is most pervasive in later epigram, shaped the way that epigrammatists portrayed themselves within their own works. In this chapter, we will trace the development of an ethical and poetic discourse in epigram tied to the construction of the poetic persona, through the reception and revision of these two figures.

In chapter one, we saw that Leonidas’ key achievement was to manifest himself as a character within the world of his epigrams who acts as a mouthpiece for certain values. This, as much as his linguistic pyrotechnics, was the reason for his astonishing popularity among later poets. For Leonidas exercises an influence as a figure—"Men who live their visions as well as write them, who are what they write, whom we think of as standing for something as men because of what they have written in their books. They preside, as it were, over certain ideas and attitudes."377 In short, while Gow and Page

(and others) have been quite right to emphasize the importance of Leonidas as a model for epigrammatists of the Garland of Philip, their mistake was to confine their investigation of his influence, for aesthetic reasons, to the stylistic level, and to neglect the influence of his persona and ethical outlook (let alone those of other epigrammatists).

I will argue, however, that Leonidas was influential in substantive matters of philosophy, lifestyle, attitudes toward poetry, and, most importantly, the construction of poetic

377 Trilling, 1952, ix, writing, incidentally, about George Orwell.

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persona. Leonidas (or rather the persona he presents in his epigrams) thus constitutes not only a poetic model, but also a "paradigm"--a figure whose biography and worldview was adapted by poets of the first centuries BCE and CE to articulate their position in the literary and social spheres of their time.378 In Augustan poetry, “Callimachean” echoes often take on political dimensions. At the end of the Georgics, for instance Augustus

“thunders” along the Euphrates. The collocation fulminat Euphraten evokes two

Callimachean passages—the Aetia prologue (fr. 1. 20 Pf.) βροντᾶν οὐκ ἐµὸν ἀλλὰ Διός

(as pointed out by Thomas)379, and also, perhaps, the end of the Hymn to Apollo, where

Callimachus distances himself, metaphorically, from the “Assyrian river” (i.e., the

Euphrates).380 The image of the Callimachean poet is deployed, that is, in order to create a space for poetry within the political landscape of the Roman empire. In Greek epigram of the same period, Leonidean and Callimachean notions of ethical and poetic simplicity, of the power of poetry, and of the nature of power, crop up again and again as the epigrammatists, in their own way, grapple with the new world in which they found themselves and invent ways of transplanting the Greek tradition into new soil.

“Occasional” poetry

Antipater’s poetic “panorama”, surveyed above, represents the culmination of the

Hellenistic tradition of poet-epigrams devoted to the tombstones, statues, and works of the great figures primarily of the archaic and classical periods. This form of epigram continued to be produced after Meleager, but, if the number of such epigrams extant from the subsequent period is any indication, in much smaller numbers and on a more limited

378 Cf., in general, the studies of the reception of classical “literary careers” in Hardie and Moore, eds., 2010. 379 Thomas, 1988, on Georgics IV.560-561. 380 See F. Williams, 1978, 91.

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range of figures.381 Furthermore, although the same tradition is in evidence for poets of

Philip's Garland, a shift seems to have occurred during this time away from the obsessive interest in a monumentalized literary past and towards the epigrammatists' contemporary situation. Consequently, we see much more attention paid to the poet’s own life (or representation thereof)—his literary activity, his relationships with his patrons, the

Roman/Italian milieu, and so forth.382 It is partially indicative of this shift that even those poems that do take a poem or poet of the past as their subject tend to treat them within a contemporary context of some kind, rather than presenting them as figures of the past mediated through a tombstone or statue.383

This emphasis on contemporary situations and social relations poses an interpretive problem. Are these merely occasional (i.e. ephemeral) poems composed for a limited reception within a narrowly circumscribed social sphere, or did their authors

381 The apparent drop-off could always be put down to Philip’s editorial preferences. Examples of the earlier type of poet-epigram included in or contemporary with Philip’s Garland include Pinytus AP 7.16 and Tullius Laurea 7.17 on Sappho; Erycius 7.36 on Sophocles; Diodorus 7.38, 7.40, and 7.370 on Aristophanes, Aeschylus, and Menander (respectively); Bianor 7.49 and Adaeus 7.51 on Euripides; Philip 7.405 on Hipponax. Cf. Archias, AP 9.64 on Hesiod (on the attribution of which see most recently Sens, 2011). (Antipater of Thessalonica is excluded from this list, since, as outlined in Chapter 2, I harbor doubts about the attribution of most of the poet-epigrams he is supposed to have written.) 382 Cogitore, 2010, 254, justly notes a certain ‘sociabilité nouvelle’ in the works of the Philippan epigrammatists. Cf. Laurens, 1965, 325, on the shift in this period towards epigram as “Zeitgedicht”. 383 A few examples illustrate the considerable diversity of epigrammatic contexts in which poets are invoked during this period: Philodemus XII GPh on an Oscan dancing girl who does not know the poems of Sappho; Crinagoras VII GPh on the poems of (probably) Anacreon presented as a gift to Antonia; Marcus Argentarius XV GPh on being distracted from Hesiod’s Works and Days by the appearance of his mistress.

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compose with an eye toward a wider, more literary, reception?384 On the one hand, biographical factors play a significant, and in some cases demonstrable, role in the constitution of the poet’s voice and his account of his life. As we shall see, however, this biographical empirical reality is heavily mediated by the earlier literary, and especially the epigrammatic, tradition. The creation of a poetic “self”—a picture of the Greek poet in Roman society articulated through models drawn from the epigrammatic genre itself— could be considered one of the overarching literary endeavors of major Philippan poets such as Crinagoras and Antipater of Thessalonica. The poets of Meleager’s Garland developed a genre with roots in anonymous inscriptions and thus had to look beyond the genre of epigram for their models of self-representation (as, for instance, Nossis looked back to the erotic lyric of Sappho). Poets writing after Meleager encountered epigram as an already established, consolidated poetic form with quasi-canonical models.

Closely intertwined with the influence of Leonidas is that of Callimachus, whose poetic declarations, which as we have already seen informed the poetics of, e.g., Alcaeus of Messene, continue to exercise a major influence. Particular passages—the beginning of the Aetia, the Hymn to Apollo, and in several epigrams—provide the epigrammatists with a repertory of programmatic, and polemical, motifs and terminology, which, whether treated positively or negatively, recurs again and again in later epigram.

Meleager, finally, exercises a multi-faceted influence on the Philippan poets. As I shift my focus to these epigrammatists, it will be necessary to adopt an interpretive framework that takes into account Meleager’s activity as an editor, since his “packaging”

384 The problem has been well-explored in studies of the Latin epigrammatist Martial, with White, 1974, representing the “narrow” approach and Fowler, 1995, the more literary. It will become clear as my argument develops that I follow the latter approach.

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of the earlier tradition shaped the way earlier epigrammatists were received. Philodemus, for instance, demonstrably knew Meleager’s Garland, and, as I will argue below, was influenced by Meleager’s arrangement. Meleager also anticipates and perhaps encouraged the popularity of Leonidas of Tarentum as a model among the Philippan poets. In chapter two, for example, we saw that in Meleager’s anthology a Leonidean original often serves as the “base” for a group of thematically and/or formally related poems.

By reading epigrams by a number of Philippan epigrammatists alongside their earlier models, we will see that there is a continuity between the strict stylistic imitation so deplored by scholars and variation and freer kinds of adaptation. We will follow particular images (the poet’s house and food) and key words (especially λιτότης) in order to see how they are adapted and transformed by successive epigrammatists. In addition to tracing the development of motifs and themes, we will see how in these poets an awareness of form and diction is accompanied by an interest in ethical ideas, particularly as they apply to the lifestyle of the poet. Finally, in the examination of multiple imitations of the same Leonidean model text, we will see how the awareness of previous imitations can give rise to innovations within the tradition, as epigrammatists respond to one another’s interpretations of Leonidas. The epigrammatists’ use of common generic models as points of reference for the construction of their poetic personae generates an idea of “the epigrammatist” as a stylized authorial figure. This figure, with his habits of expression and typical ethical concerns comes to constitute a generic marker of epigram.

To begin with, as noted above, we need to adjust the frame of reference in which

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we read the early Hellenistic epigrammatists. Up till now I have discussed their works within the interpretive context of hypothetical single-author collections. For their reception, however, the context of their epigrams within the Garland of Meleager is of decisive importance. This point is well illustrated by two of Leonidas’ self-referential poems, AP 6.300 and 6.302, which come down to us in a brief, intact Garland sequence.

This comprises four poems on the theme of simple food, by Leonidas, Callimachus,

Leonidas, and Ariston, respectively:

AP 6.300 - Leonidas of Tarentum = XXXVI HE Λαθρίη, ἐκ πλάνιος ταύτην χάριν ἔκ τε πενέστεω κἠξ ὀλιγησιπύου δέξο Λεωνίδεω, ψαιστά τε πιήεντα καὶ εὐθήσαυρον ἐλαίην καὶ τοῦτο χλωρὸν σῦκον ἀποκράδιον κεὐοίνου σταφυλῆς ἔχ’ ἀποσπάδα πεντάρρωγον, 5 πότνια, καὶ σπονδὴν τήνδ’ ὑποπυθµίδιον. ἢν δέ µ’ ἔθ’, ὡς ἐκ νούσου ἀνειρύσω, ὧδε καὶ ἐχθρῆς ἐκ πενίης ῥύσῃ, δέξο χιµαιροθύτην.

Lathria, accept this offering from wandering, impoverished Leonidas, he of the small mealtub: rich cakes and long- stored olive oil, this green fig fresh from the branch and this bunch of five grapes from the vine, oh goddess, good for wine, along with this libation from the bottom of the jar. And if you also save me from hateful poverty, as you saved me from illness, receive a goat-sacrificer.

AP 6.301 – Callimachus = XXVIII HE = 47 Pfeiffer τὴν ἁλίην Εὔδηµος, ἐφ᾽ ἧς ἅλα λιτὸν ἐπέσθων χειµῶνας µεγάλους ἐξέφυγεν δανέων, θῆκε θεοῖς Σαµόθρᾳξι, λέγων ὅτι τήνδε κατ᾽ εὐχήν, ὦ λαοί, σωθεὶς ἐξ ἁλὸς ὧδε θέτο.

Eudemus dedicated his salt-box to the Samothracian gods, the box aboard which—eating his humble salt—he weathered great storms of debts, saying, O people, that he placed it here since in accordance with his prayer he had been saved from the salt/sea.

AP 6.302 – Leonidas of Tarentum = XXXVII HE (Text = HE) Φεύγεθ’ ὑπὲκ καλύβης, σκότιοι µύες· οὔτι πενιχρή µῦς σιπύη βόσκειν οἶδε Λεωνίδεω. αὐτάρκης ὁ πρέσβυς ἔχων ἅλα καὶ δύο κρίµνα· ἐκ πατέρων ταύτην ᾐνέσαµεν βιοτήν. τῷ τί µεταλλεύεις τοῦτον µυχόν, ὦ φιλόλιχνε, 5 οὐδ’ ἀποδειπνιδίου γευόµενος σκυβάλου;

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σπεύδων εἰς ἄλλους οἴκους ἴθι--τἀµὰ δὲ λιτά-- ὧν ἄπο πλειοτέρην οἴσεαι ἁρµαλιήν.

Get out of my hut you shadowy mice! The poor meal-tub of Leonidas does not know how to feed mice. An old man is self-sufficient if he has salt and two biscuits: this is the life- style we have adopted from our ancestors. Why do you mine this corner, oh glutton, getting to taste not even an after-dinner scrap? Hurry off to other houses—my means are slight—from which you’ll get a richer store.

AP 6.303 - Ariston = III HE ὦ µύες, εἰ µὲν ἐπ᾽ ἄρτον ἐληλύθατ᾽, ἐς µυχὸν ἄλλον στείχετ᾽-ἐπεὶ λιτὴν οἰκέοµεν καλύβην- οὗ καὶ πίονα τυρὸν ἀποδρέψεσθε καὶ αὔην ἰσχάδα καὶ δεῖπνον συχνὸν ἀπὸ σκυβάλων· εἰ δ᾽ἐν ἐµαῖς βύβλοισι πάλιν καταθήξετ᾽ ὀδόντα 5 κλαύσεσθ᾽, οὐκ ἀγαθὸν κῶµον ἐπερχόµενοι.

Oh mice, if you have come for bread, head to another house, for I inhabit a humble hut. There, you’ll get rich cheese and a dry fig and a great feast of leftovers. But if, on the other hand, you sharpen your tooth on my books again, you will lament that you have come to no good banquet.

This sequence illustrates some of Meleager’s usual working methods as well as his literary and “philological” sensibilities. He strives for an artistic effect in the selection and ordering of poems, following a “twofold system” of organization involving the alternation of poems by major poets interspersed with those of minor ones connected by verbal and thematic links.385 The cohesion of this particular group depends upon a number of overlapping generic, topical, and/or lexical features: each poem treats the closely-linked themes of poverty (πενίη) and/or simplicity (λιτότης); the first and third poems are by the same author, Leonidas of Tarentum; the first and second are dedications of humble food items by poor men; the speakers of the second and third subsist on a bread and salt diet; the last poem, AP 6.303, is a relatively close variation of AP 6.302.

385 On Meleager as editor, see Gutzwiller 1997a. On the “twofold system” of organization in the Garland, cf. Cameron, 1993, 19.

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As we study these (and other) poems, it will become clear that Meleager’s studied, sometimes provocative, collocation of poems was paradigmatic for the entire way in which the Philippan epigrammatists approached the earlier tradition.

Case Studies in Formal Imitation (Gaetulicus AP 6.190 and Ariston AP 6.303)

I have suggested that the techniques of formal imitation and variation are continuous (and coexist with) “higher level” (i.e. thematic) engagement with literary models. At one end of the spectrum, the more formal end, we have a remarkable epigram by Gaetulicus (AP 6.190), probably dating to the early first century CE.386 This exercise in close, even minute, formal imitation and variation will provide a useful basis for the examination of freer adaptations by other epigrammatists:

AP 6.190 – Gaetulicus = II FGE Λάζεο, τιµήεσσα Κυθηριάς, ὑµνοπόλοιο λιτὰ τάδ’ ἐκ λιτοῦ δῶρα Λεωνίδεω· πεντάδα τὴν σταφυλῆς εὐρώγεα καὶ µελιηδὲς πρώιον εὐφύλλων σῦκον ἀπ’ ἀκρεµόνων καὶ ταύτην ἀπέτηλον ἁλινήκτειραν ἐλαίην 5 καὶ ψαιστῶν ὀλίγων δρᾶγµα πενιχραλέον καὶ σταγόνα σπονδῖτιν, ἀεὶ θυέεσσιν ὀπηδόν, τὴν κύλικος βαιῷ πυθµένι κευθοµένην. εἰ δ’, ὥς µευ βαρύγυιον ἀπώσαο νοῦσον, ἐλάσσεις καὶ πενίην, δώσω πιαλέον χίµαρον. 10

2 λιτὰ τάδ’ ἐκ λιτοῦ Jacobs] αἶψα τάδε κλυτοῦ P, Suda, αἶψα τάδε κλειτοῦ Pl

Receive, oh honorable Cytherian, these humble gifts from the humble poet Leonidas: a bunch of five fine grapes and a sweet early fig from leafy branches, this leafless olive that swam in brine,

386 This poet, to whom ten epigrams are ascribed in the Greek Anthology, may be identical with Gnaeus Cornelius Lentulus Gaetulicus cos. 26 CE, executed by Caligula in 39 CE, who is mentioned by Martial in the preface to his Epigrammaton Libri as a composer of (Latin) epigrams. None of the epigrams attributed to him occur in a Philippan series, and there are no historical references in the epigrams that would provide further information about their date.

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a poor handful of little cakes, and a drop of wine for a libation, ever the accompaniment of sacrifices, lying hidden in the tiny bottom of a kylix. And if, as you warded off limb-wearying disease from me, you will also drive away poverty, I will give you a fat goat.

Imitating Leonidas’ dedication in AP 6.300, Gaetulicus effectively appropriates the voice of his model.387 Page, in FGE, rates Gaetulicus rather highly for his abilities as an imitator of Leonidas: “he is indeed so like Leonidas that, if his epigrams had been transmitted under that author’s name, there would have been no reason to doubt the ascriptions … .”388 Although this may be a dubious distinction in light of the views of

Leonidas and his imitators expressed in HE and GPh, it is nevertheless true that the epigrams of Gaetulicus, and in particular 6.190, seem to be among the purest examples of formal imitation of Leonidas in epigram of the period.

The overall structure of AP 6.190 and 6.300 is the same: the goddess (Aphrodite) is invoked, the poet identifies himself as the dedicator, his dedications are enumerated, and a further (richer) dedication is promised if the goddess will perform further kindness for him. The appeal of the later poem derives from the tension between formal identity with its model and a studied distancing achieved through a variety of rhetorical and grammatical techniques.

A set of elements taken over directly from the model undergirds the imitation:

Λεωνίδεω, 2 and ἐλαίην, 5 appear in the same form, line, and metrical sedes (cf. πενίην,

10, in the same line and sedes as Leonidas’ πενίης). The individual items in the catalogue of dedications are enumerated with line-initial καί (5, 6, 7) in a manner almost

387 Cf. the very similar epigram AP 6.191, by Cornelius Longus. 388 FGE, 49

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identical to Leonidas’ (4, 5, 6).

Other elements of the poem, however, seem designed to draw the reader’s attention, in one way or another, to the simultaneous similarity and difference between the model and the imitation. The first words of the poems are different, but each begins with the letters Λα-; other examples of the same phenomenon include σῦκον ἀπ’

ἀκρεµόνων, 4, which varies Leonidas’ σῦκον ἀποκράδιον in the same line and metrical sedes. Compound adjectives beginning with εὐ- are used repeatedly (6.190.3, 4, compare

AP 6.300.3, 5), but the adjectives themselves are different. Gaetulicus also employs various kinds of grammatical mutatio, such as the expression of the same idea using a different construction at line 9, ἀπώσαο, where the change in verb demands a change in the construction of the rest of the line, even as the sound of the verb—compare

ἀνειρύσω, 7, in Leonidas (where correptio epica yields a metrical shape identical to

ἀπώσαο)—remains aurally similar. Likewise, although the grammatical subject of the final verb has been changed, from the second-singular-middle-aorist-imperative δέξο to first-singular-active-future-indicative δώσω, the poet has again shown his ingenuity in retaining a quite similar sound-effect. A somewhat more mundane version of the same process involves the use of distinct, but lexically related, words (e.g σπονδῖτιν, 7 replacing Leonidas’ σπονδήν, 6). Elements are reordered within lines (as at πεντάδα

τὴν σταφυλῆς εὐρώγεα, a rewriting of Leonidas’ line 5, σταφυλῆς ἔχ᾽ ἀποσπάδα

πεντάρρωγον) and shuffled between couplets—so, the first element of Leonidas’ list

(ψαιστά, 3) comes next-to-last in Gaetulicus’ and Leonidas’ next-to-last element

(ἀπόσπαδα, 5) comes first in Gaetulicus’.

Although the fireworks of formal imitation and variation au Antipater of Sidon

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are the main attraction in this epigram, it is also of some conceptual interest. The poem is remarkable in being not merely an imitation of Leonidas (AP 6.300), but also an impersonation of him (as Gow and Page note, the word ὑµνοπόλος in line 1 forestalls any confusion about which ‘Leonidas’ is being invoked). Thus Gaetulicus, who elsewhere channels the “voice” of Leonidas insofar as he composes epigrams on the same themes and in a similar style as him, now appropriates his persona in an even more direct way. The epigram thus fits into the same tradition of poetic impersonation represented by Callimachus’ first Iambus, or the image of poetic inheritance presented in the first poem of the carmina Anacreontea, both discussed briefly in chapter 2 above. Gaetulicus’ prayer also bears an affinity to Antipater of Sidon’s prayers for the revivification of

Anacreon, especially those in which the dead Anacreon himself speaks. The poem highlights several Leonidean themes and keywords, with a catalogue of rustic foods,389 a lament of the ills of poverty (πενίη), and, if Jacobs’ emendation in line 2 is correct, an embrace of simplicity (λιτότης) not found in the primary model (AP 6.300), which

Gaetulicus has instead imported from AP 6.302.390 In this respect at least, the epigram constitutes an interpretation or distillation of the characteristic elements of Leonidas’ poetry in addition to a formal reworking of it.

Now that we have seen an example of more or less pure formal imitation, I would like to turn to an epigram that combines these techniques with a freer, more additive, approach to a Leonidean model. In this poem, AP 6.303 Ariston, the Leonidean model

389 The meal offered by country mouse to town mouse at Babrius 108 (= Aesopica 352 Perry), for instance, includes some of the same items. 390 For a comparable analysis of imitations of Leonidas by later epigrammatists, and in particular the use of elements from more than one Leonidean model within the same epigram, see Ypsilanti, 2006, especially 69-70.

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remains immediately identifiable, but entirely new material has been introduced.

Although the poem is included in the “dedicatory” book of the Palatine Anthology, its position is due to its close formal similarity to Leonidas AP 6.302—as is his common practice, Meleager has juxtaposed a model and its imitation in order to highlight the relationship between the two. Ariston reproduces the basic scene from Leonidas’ mice- epigram AP 6.302, including much of the same diction and imagery, but gives the epigram a closing “pointe” that departs from the Leonidean original:

AP 6.303 - Ariston = III HE ὦ µύες, εἰ µὲν ἐπ᾽ ἄρτον ἐληλύθατ᾽, ἐς µυχὸν ἄλλον στείχετ᾽—ἐπεὶ λιτὴν οἰκέοµεν καλύβην— οὗ καὶ πίονα τυρὸν ἀποδρέψεσθε καὶ αὔην ἰσχάδα καὶ δεῖπνον συχνὸν ἀπὸ σκυβάλων· εἰ δ᾽ ἐν ἐµαῖς βύβλοισι πάλιν καταθήξετ᾽ ὀδόντα 5 κλαύσεσθ᾽, οὐκ ἀγαθὸν κῶµον ἐπερχόµενοι.

Oh mice, if you have come for bread, then go to another house, for I inhabit a simple hut; there you will get fat cheese and a dried fig and a rich meal from the crumbs. But if you whet your teeth on my books again, you will regret coming to an unpleasant party.

The poem develops in a way similar to Leonidas’, with the same basic points presented in a more compressed or elaborated way. If the mice have come for food, they are told to go elsewhere, since, as his house itself suggests, Ariston’s circumstances are humble

(ἐπεὶ λιτὴν οἰκέοµεν καλύβην, 2). There, they will find richer stores of food, a catalogue of which replaces Leonidas’ (very brief) description of his own diet.

Many of the techniques of imitation and variation found in Gaetulicus are also present in this epigram of Ariston. The words σκυβάλων, 4, οὗ, 3, µύχον, 1, and λιτήν

… καλύβην, 2, for instance are all taken from Leonidas with variations in grammatical form and/or position in the poem. In the final couplet, however, the poet turns to a second, and entirely new, possibility—that the mice have come looking not for bread, but

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for books to eat. In this case, they will face a severe, if unspecified punishment. Puglia has aptly noted that Ariston’s innovation has given his poem a particular ethical point: the poet’s books are, to him, a form of sustenance more important than food itself.391

On the one hand Ariston’s epigram represents a formal departure from the model that would be out of bounds according to the aesthetic principles of, e.g., Gaetulicus’ imitation. At a conceptual level, however, Ariston’s epigram functions as a kind of

“gloss” or interpretation of the Leonidean model in terms of Leonidas’ own ethics as represented elsewhere in his epigrams. Ariston has taken the message of Leonidas’ self- epitaph—that poetry confers upon the poet an everlasting glory that transcends death and physical privation, in and of itself a common enough idea—and, in his final couplet, incorporated it into an imitation of Leonidas’ mice-epigram.392

Ariston’s reading of Leonidas may have inspired the long series of imitations of

Leonidas’ “self-referential” poems in Greek epigram after Meleager. Indeed, Gaetulicus’ choice to “impersonate” Leonidas could itself be seen as a manifestation of this trend. I will now consider epigrams that, like Ariston’s, depart from the letter of the model while in some way engaging with its conceptual significance. Observing the techniques employed in these free imitations of Leonidas will shed light on the finer contours of epigrammatists’ use of their models and provide a corrective to more narrowly stylistic analyses.

The systematic inversion or substitution not only of particular words and phrases but also of motifs and rhetorical features of their models is one of the fundamental

391 Puglia, 1992, 98. 392 Piacenza, 2010, may be right to see this poem as constructed through the conflation of two models, AP 6.300 and 6.302.

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compositional principles of the epigrams I will consider. All the poems, moreover, evince the poets’ awareness of the traditions of imitation and variation: not only particular models, but also the subsequent history of their reception and rewriting, are implied in their construction. Antipater of Thessalonica, for instance, can be seen to respond not only to early Hellenistic figures, but also to his more recent predecessors

Philodemus and Crinagoras.

An Epigrammatic Invitation (Philodemus AP 11.44)

The earliest of the poets named in the preface to Philip’s Garland is the Epicurean philosopher Philodemus. Born at Gadara, Philodemus travelled to Athens and from there to Italy, where he was resident on the Bay of Naples and a friend of Lucius Calpurnius

Piso.393 In this capacity he met other members of Piso’s circle, including Vergil and

Horace, and composed works of philosophy, including some, such as On the Good King

According to Homer, dedicated to Piso himself. Philodemus is thus a prominent example of a phenomenon increasingly prevalent in the first century BCE—the migration of learned Greeks to Italy and their installation in the aristocratic coteries.

It is a somewhat surprising fact that within the now rather large body of scholarship on literary patronage, Greek epigrammatists of the first century BCE have been almost entirely ignored.394 For the relationship to Roman military power in general, and the specific power of Roman patrons over their clients, is a major theme in these poets’ autobiographical poems. In their works, the various stages of the patron-client relationship are depicted, from the establishment of the relationship to its continuation

393 On Philodemus’ life, see Gigante, 1995, 49-61. 394 No references to epigrammatists in Gold, 1987 or Bowditch, 2001; one reference to Antipater of Thessalonica (as writer of epic) in White, 1993, 80-81.

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through the giving of gifts and shared personal interactions. Such an interaction between poet and patron is the subject of Philodemus AP 11.44:

Philodemus AP 11.44 = GPh XXIII = Sider 27 αὔριον εἰς λιτήν σε καλιάδα, φίλτατε Πείσων, ἐξ ἐνάτης ἕλκει µουσοφιλὴς ἕταρος εἰκάδα δειπνίζων ἐνιαύσιον· εἰ δ’ ἀπολείψῃς οὔθατα καὶ Βροµίου Χιογενῆ πρόποσιν, ἀλλ’ ἑτάρους ὄψει παναληθέας, ἀλλ’ ἐπακούσῃ 5 Φαιήκων γαίης πουλὺ µελιχρότερα· ἢν δέ ποτε στρέψῃς καὶ ἐς ἡµέας ὄµµατα, Πείσων, ἄξοµεν ἐκ λιτῆς εἰκάδα πιοτέρην.

Tomorrow at three your Muse-loving friend drags you to his humble cottage, oh dearest Piso, to feed you your yearly dinner celebrating The Twentieth.395 If you miss sows- udders and toasts of Chian wine, nevertheless you will see true friends and hear things sweeter than the Phaeacian tales. And if you turn your eyes towards us, oh Piso, we shall celebrate a richer, rather than a humbler, Twentieth.

This epigram takes the form of an invitation, in which Philodemus invites Piso to join him and some friends at his dwelling. Although it has been much discussed, the relationship between this poem and Leonidas’ mice-epigram has never to my knowledge been pointed out. I will argue that here we find a clever adaptation of the Leonidean persona to figure the poet’s relationship with his patron. In this respect, Philodemus is a key figure for subsequent Greek epigrammatists, many of whom address their poetry to one or more patrons and adapt Leonidas in similar ways. The epigram ingeniously blends a series of literary references evocative of the themes of food, friendship, philosophy, and the simple life.396 Philodemus invites his patron to a dinner-party in honor of Epicurus, the occasion known as the εἰκάς.397

395 For the interpretation of ἐνιαύσιον, see Sider, 1997, ad loc. 396 On this epigram, see the introductory remarks in Sider, 1997, and in general Gigante, 1995, 79-90, with extensive discussion of secondary literature. 397 The ‘Piso’ named here is the consular Lucius Calpurnius Piso Caesoninus. On the historical background, see the concise account of Hiltbrunner, 1972, 168-9.

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The poet bids Piso to forego opulent feasting in favor of true friendship (3-4).

The conversation will outclass even the “things of the Phaeacians” (5-6). Ea igitur oris licentia utitur philosophus erga patronum, qua semper adversus deos Graeci uti solebant, Kaibel rightly says.398 The poet prays that Piso will forego more opulent fare in favor of a humble dinner party. Race, 1979, 183, points to Bacchylides, fr. 21,399 a prayer to the Dioscuri: Οὐ βοῶν πάρεστι σώµατ᾽ οὔτε χρυσός οὔτε πορφύρεοι τάπητες, ἀλλὰ θυµὸς εὐµενὴς Μοῦσά τε γλυκεῖα καὶ Βοιωτίοισιν ἐν σκύφοισιν οἶνος ἡδύς.

No bodies of bulls nor gold nor crimson cloths are here, but a kind heart, and a delightful Muse, and sweet wine in Boeotian cups.

This and other religious formulae undergo a process of “laicization”, and become a part of courtly, and finally merely polite, language. This phenomenon is especially salient in epigram, where, for instance, the language of dedicatory epigram is made to serve the function of gift epigram.

The poem has often been discussed as an example of the subgenre of the

"invitation-poem", which becomes somewhat common in Latin literature of the first centuries BCE/CE.400 Scholars have expressed some puzzlement over the origins of this form, since Philodemus' epigram seems to be the only comparandum in Greek literature

398 Kaibel, 1885, xxiv. 399 = Athen. 11.500a. 400 See Cairns, 1972, 240-4 (‘vocatio ad cenam’); Edmunds, 1982; Marcovich, 1991; Gowers, 1993, 220-310. Cf. G. Williams, 1968, 125-9.

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before Catullus.401 Clayman points to Epicurus’ own dinner invitation (text in Clay,

1986, T6), calling Philodemus’ poem a versification of that type of text, but the two do not share any particular formal or verbal similarities.402 At least some aspects of the epigram parallel non-literary invitations: a Latin invitation to a birthday party, preserved on one of the wooden tablets from Vindolanda, provides a later parallel for the sentiment expressed in the final couplet of the epigram, that the presence of the addressee will make the occasion even happier.403

Sider remarks that given the importance of the celebration, and the appearance of another such invitation at Philodemus de Pietate 812-819 Obbink, the poem may belong to an entirely Epicurean tradition, and that "[t]here may be no need ... to search earlier

Greek literature for the origins of the poetic invitation ... ."404 We cannot, of course, rule out the possibility that other invitations now lost—epigrams or not—may have provided a generic background for Philodemus’ poem. Even though there are no proper invitations to be found in earlier literary epigram, other epigrammatic models, as yet unnoticed, are crucial for the form and content of Philodemus’ poem. Specifically, through a series of witty inversions, Philodemus has adapted the language and rhetoric of Leonidas' mice-

401 Edmunds, 1982, 186, nn. 9-12 cites several Greek examples, but most (from Lucillius) post-date Philodemus by more than a century. Gowers, 1993, 222, meanwhile, points to the "specifically Roman" elements in Philodemus' poem. Many scholars have assumed that the Greek comparanda have simply been lost: “è molto probabile che si tratti di argomenti e situazioni, di cui si presuppone la presenza in epigrammi greci più antichi ma perduti”, Carilli, 1975, 925. Cf. Hollis, 2009, 348: “… there must have been earlier epigrams of the same type, now lost”; Pasquali apud Braga, 1950, 195, “Invitare a cena con un epigramma dovette essere di modo nell’età ellenistica …”. 402 Clayman, 2007, 515. 403 Cf., e.g., tablet 291.5-7 in Bowman, 1983: libenter facias ut venias | ad nos iucundiorem mihi | [diem] interventu tuo factura. 404 Sider, 1997, 153. Sider, 1997, 161, draws attention to earlier Hellenistic epigrams featuring preparations for a meal, which provide at least circumstantial evidence for lost invitation poems.

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epigram to serve as a dinner-invitation addressed to his patron.405 In doing so, he varies not just the poem’s language, but its philosophical orientation, shifting from the ethics of

Cynicism towards the ethics of Epicureanism. The epigram begins with a loaded image—Philodemus’ “simple cottage” (λιτήν ... καλιάδα, 1)—which invokes Leonidas as a literary model and broaches the key ethical concept which underlies the rest of the poem.406 Λιτός was a keyword for the Epicureans as well as the Cynics, but had a different meaning. The Cynics were minimalists, and litotes entailed austerity—living on as little as possible. For the Epicureans, it was not austerity as such, but ataraxia that was the goal. One could make full use of material goods so long as one avoided the disturbance caused by gluttony, for instance. The same goes for the καλιή (“cottage”), which replaces Leonidas’ καλύβη.407 The similarity between the words creates an obvious aural reminiscence, but we have moved from the drastic austerity of the Cynics to the moderate litotes of the Epicureans—one could not host any kind of dinner party, no matter how humble, in a καλύβη.408 The entire force and affect of the epigram is

405 A connection with Leonidas has not been noted by earlier scholars, although Carilli, 1975, 944, does point to ἅλς in Leonidas’ epigram in connection with the sal of Catullus 13, a poem that has always been acknowledged to be closely connected to Philodemus AP 11.44. 406 As Hiltbrunner, 1972, 169, remarks, “[λιτή] führt sogleich in einen zentralen Bereich epikureischer Lebensführung.” Cf., e.g., Epicurus, fr. 51 Arrighetti: ἐζηλώσαµεν τὴν αὐτάρκειαν οὐχ ὅπως τοῖς εὐτελέσι καὶ λιτοῖς πάντως χρώµεθα ἀλλ᾽ ὅπως θαρρῶµεν πρὸς αὐτά. (“We have pursued self-sufficiency not in order to live always in cheap and humble circumstances, but rather in order to bear up against them.”) 407 Chantraine, s.v. ‘καλιή’ doubts the existence of a real etymological connection between the two words. It would have been hyperbolic for Philodemus to have spoken of himself as living in a καλυβή, which was in any case no place for a party however humble. 408 The hut to which Philodemus invites Piso is, in a sense, the mirror image of evocations of the grand domus of the patron as evoked by Latin poets. On this motif in Latin literature see the discussion of White, 1993, 4. Cf. Hiltbrunner, 1972, 169.

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similarly reversed: Leonidas’ irascibility, with its background in stories about the Cynic philosophers, is replaced by Philodemus’ echt-Epicurean conviviality and friendliness.409

Finally, each of the epigrams, one a prohibition from, the other an invitation to, a dinner, uses the subjects of food and shelter as an occasion for philosophical reflection.410

Now to turn to the way in which Philodemus addresses Piso, where once again earlier epigrammatic models provide important clarification. Kaibel and others rightly point out the debt to religious language in Philodemus’ treatment of Piso, but did not realize that this dimension of the poem can also be explained in terms of epigrammatic models. If we set the poem alongside the sequence from Meleager’s Garland AP 6.300-

303, reproduced above, it becomes clear that Philodemus has imitated multiple poems from this sequence, and that the infusion of religious undertones into the epigram is a result of this approach. Leonidas’ dedication to Aphrodite, AP 6.300, for instance, gives

Philodemus the basic form for his address to Piso:

Leonidas AP 6.300.7-8 ἢν δέ µ’ ἔθ’, ὡς ἐκ νούσου ἀνειρύσω, ὧδε καὶ ἐχθρῆς ἐκ πενίης ῥύσῃ, δέξο χιµαιροθύτην.

And if you also save me from hateful poverty, as you saved me from illness, receive a goat-sacrificer.

Philodemus AP 11.44.7-8 ἢν δέ ποτε στρέψῃς καὶ ἐς ἡµέας ὄµµατα, Πείσων, ἄξοµεν ἐκ λιτῆς εἰκάδα πιοτέρην.

And if you turn your eyes towards us, oh Piso, we shall celebrate a richer, rather than a humbler, Twentieth.

He also inverts Leonidas’ ἀποποµπή to the mice in AP 6.302. Leonidas tells the mice:

409 On Epicurean ideas of friendship, see Gordon, 2012, 59. 410 Like the Cynics, the Epicureans advocated simplicity of nourishment. Sider, 1997, 161, notes the humorous remark of Cicero Disp. Tusc. 5.89 regarding the Epicureans: nemo de tenui victu plura dixit (“no one talked more about a meager diet”).

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go elsewhere, where you will find a richer dinner. Philodemus says to Piso: even though you could find a richer dinner elsewhere, have dinner here instead:

AP 6.302.7-8 - Leonidas σπεύδων εἰς ἄλλους οἴκους ἴθι--τἀµὰ δὲ λιτά-- ὧν ἄπο πλειοτέρην οἴσεαι ἁρµαλιήν.

Hurry off to other houses—my means are slight—from which you’ll get a richer store.

AP 11.44.7-8 - Philodemus ἢν δέ ποτε στρέψῃς καὶ ἐς ἡµέας ὄµµατα, Πείσων, ἄξοµεν ἐκ λιτῆς εἰκάδα πιοτέρην.

And if you turn your eyes towards us, oh Piso, we shall celebrate a richer, rather than a humbler, Twentieth.

Also remarkable is that Philodemus has imitated not only Leonidas, but Ariston’s imitation of Leonidas:

Prohibition from the καλύβη: AP 6.303.1-2 - Ariston ὦ µύες, εἰ µὲν ἐπ᾽ ἄρτον ἐληλύθατ᾽, ἐς µυχὸν ἄλλον στείχετ᾽-ἐπεὶ λιτὴν οἰκέοµεν καλύβην-

Oh mice, if you have come for bread, head to another house, for I inhabit a humble hut.

Invitation to the καλιάς: AP 11.44.1-2 – Philodemus αὔριον εἰς λιτήν σε καλιάδα, φίλτατε Πείσων, ἐξ ἐνάτης ἕλκει µουσοφιλὴς ἕταρος

Tomorrow at three your Muse-loving friend drags you to his humble cottage,

AP 6.303.5-6 - Ariston εἰ δ᾽ἐν ἐµαῖς βύβλοισι πάλιν καταθήξετ᾽ ὀδόντα κλαύσεσθ᾽, οὐκ ἀγαθὸν κῶµον ἐπερχόµενοι.

But if, on the other hand, you sharpen your tooth on my books again, you will lament that you have come to no good banquet.

AP 11.44.7-8 - Philodemus ἢν δέ ποτε στρέψῃς καὶ ἐς ἡµέας ὄµµατα, Πείσων, ἄξοµεν ἐκ λιτῆς εἰκάδα πιοτέρην.

And if you turn your eyes towards us, oh Piso, we shall

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celebrate a richer, rather than a humble, Twentieth.

In the discussion of Leonidas’ mice-epigram in chapter 1, we saw that these forms of protrepsis and apotrepsis were rooted in religious language, the resonance of which

Leonidas exploited for literary purposes. The conclusion of Philodemus’ epigram adds a further religious note. The references to Piso's gaze (στρέψῃς ... ὄµµατα, 7, cf. ὄψει, 5) and to his capacity to change the poet's circumstances (ἐκ λίτης) recall Callimachus’ hymn to Apollo: ὡπόλλων οὐ παντὶ φαείνεται, ἀλλ’ ὅτις ἐσθλός· ὅς µιν ἴδῃ, µέγας οὗτος, ὃς οὐκ ἴδε, λιτὸς ἐκεῖνος. 10 ὀψόµεθ’, ὦ Ἑκάεργε, καὶ ἐσσόµεθ’ οὔποτε λιτοί.

Apollo does not appear to everyone, but only to him who is worthy. He who sees him is great, and he who doesn’t is small. We will see, O Far-shooter, and we will no longer be small.

The use of the language of prayer or supplication to address kings or patrons is a common phenomenon in Greek and Latin literature, but it takes on a particular dimension in the context of an Epicurean gathering. By addressing Piso in this way Philodemus likens him not only to a divine figure, but to Epicurus himself, the inspiration for the dinner- party, who was commonly called by his followers θεῖος ἀνήρ.411 Piso will not just confer quasi-divine favor on his friends, but will also, so to speak, fill in for Epicurus himself.412

Philodemus’ use of these models, which has gone unnoticed till now, illuminates the way he handles the more explicit literary background of his invitation to Piso—the guest friendship of Odysseus and Alcinous, which is introduced with the phrase

Φαιήκων γαίης in line 6. In the case of the Odyssey, just as with the epigrammatic models, Philodemus can be seen to rework the earlier literary tradition so as to fit an

411 On the use of the term θεῖος ἀνήρ/divinus vir of Epicurus, see Bieler, 1935, 136. 412 Hiltbrunner, 1972, 172-3.

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Epicurean mold.

At the beginning of book IX, Odysseus accepts the dinner invitation of the

Phaeacian king Alcinous:

οὐ γὰρ ἐγώ γέ τί φηµι τέλος χαριέστερον εἶναι 5 ἢ ὅτ’ ἐϋφροσύνη µὲν ἔχῃ κάτα δῆµον ἅπαντα, δαιτυµόνες δ’ ἀνὰ δώµατ’ ἀκουάζωνται ἀοιδοῦ ἥµενοι ἑξείης, παρὰ δὲ πλήθωσι τράπεζαι σίτου καὶ κρειῶν, µέθυ δ’ ἐκ κρητῆρος ἀφύσσων οἰνοχόος φορέῃσι καὶ ἐγχείῃ δεπάεσσι· 10 τοῦτό τί µοι κάλλιστον ἐνὶ φρεσὶν εἴδεται εἶναι.

I say that no goal is more pleasurable than when joy fills the land and revelers in the halls listen to a bard seated side by side and the tables beside them are full of bread and meat, and the wine-pourer drawing wine from the mixing bowl brings it around and pours it into the cups. This seems, to my mind, to be the finest thing there is.

The scene is one of friendly conviviality—note how the participants are pictured as ἑξείης sitting next to one another ( )—including eating, drinking and song. Odysseus’ quasi-ethical claim—no goal is more pleasurable than this—is rendered all the more forceful by the typically repetitious Homeric framing provided by lines 5 and 11. This passage functions as a rhetorical background for Philodemus’ epigram: when

Philodemus says that Piso will hear “things sweeter than the Phaeacians” he effectively claims, in the manner of a priamel—“some (i.e. Odysseus) say that feasting and drinking in abundance is the sweetest and finest thing, but I say …”.

In Kaibel’s view, the elliptical phrase Φαιήκων γαίης involved an audacissima brevitas. For a reader with a philosophical background, however, the phrase would not have presented much difficulty.413 The phrase recalls the introduction to the "Myth of

Er" told at the end of Plato's Republic. Here, the tales told by Odysseus to Alcinous

413 Cf. Gordon, 2012, 43 on the phrase τὰ Φαιάκων at Plut., non posse suaviter vivi secundum Epicurum 1093c.

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(including, of course, Odysseus’ many fabrications) are similarly foregone in favor of the

(true) account of Er's journey.414 More germane to Philodemus’ epigram is the common ancient view of the Phaeacians as Epicureans avant la lettre. Gordon points to the beginning of book nine of the Odyssey as an important locus for ethical, and in particular

Epicurean, readings of the poem.415 Later writers go so far as to call Epicurus and his followers “Phaeacians” and read Odysseus’ speech to Alcinous at the beginning of Book

IX of the Odyssey as a statement of Epicurean ideals.416 This connection has traditionally been seen as forming part of the ancient polemics against Epicureanism, but Philodemus’ epigram may point in a different direction: perhaps Epicurus invoked the Phaeacians in a somewhat ironic way, identifying himself with their exaltation of pleasure while defining pleasure in different terms.417 Otherwise, it is possible that, as Gordon argues,

Philodemus exploits the Epicurus-Phaeacian connection as a background, but frames his point in a way that does not derive directly from the master or any other source.418

If Epicurus provides the philosophical background for Philodemus' εἰκάς, and the

Roman patron-client relationship the social framework for the invitation to Piso,

Leonidas has furnished the poetic framework for the expression in epigram of the poet’s ethics of λιτότης.419 Moreover, if the literary background of the Latin "invitation-poem" seems obscure, then this may be because its earliest Greek exemplar is actually modeled

414 Rep. 614b, where the phrase ἡδίον ἀκούοντι picks up on references to listening to songs at the beginning of Od. IX (τόδε καλὸν ἀκουέµεν, 3; ἀκουάζωνται, 7). 415 Gordon, 2012, 38-71. On the Odyssean reference, see Clayman, 2007, 514-5 and Bettenworth, 2012. 416 Gordon, 2012, 40-46. 417 On the use of the Odyssey as a background here, cf. most recently Bettenworth, 2012. 418 Gordon, 2012, 54. 419 Gutzwiller, 1998a, 110, points to the further affinity between Leonidas' and Philodemus' attitudes towards Aphrodite as patron goddess.

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after a poem that shoos its addressees away, rather than inviting them in. Philodemus' epigram, although it engages with the earlier poetic tradition using many of the same formal methods as, e.g., Gaetulicus in AP 6.190, is hardly a mere formal exercise. Nor is the engagement with the literary tradition in the service of merely “occasional” poetry.420

To the contrary, Philodemus treats Leonidas’ epigram as an ethical statement, and his formal variation of the model mirrors his “variation” or reworking of this ethical content.

In much the same way that earlier epigrammatists serve as erotic models for

Philodemus—models, that is of the poet as lover—Leonidas serves as an ethical model or a model of the poet in society.

Crinagoras from Mitylene to Italty

Now that we have seen the techniques of imitation and variation at work in the creation of authorial persona in a single epigram, I would like to consider how they operate across multiple epigrams by particular authors. I will argue that epigrammatists create coherent poetic personae through strategies of imitation and variation that can be traced across multiple poems. To begin to explore this phenomenon, I would first like to turn to Crinagoras of Mitylene, a younger contemporary of Philodemus. Here, we find a more fully worked out response to Leonidas’ biography and poetic persona. Again and again in these poems, Crinagoras can be shown to use the epigrams of Leonidas as point of reference for the construction of his own authorial persona. This response is developed across autobiographical and metapoetic poems in which the poet presents his

420 Compare Braga, 1950, 197, who regards the epigram as “poesia ufficiosa”, “senza slancio”, “troppo controllati nella forma per contenere una sola ‘mica salis’”; cf. Carilli, 1975, 945, on the putative “interessata e forzata reverenza” exhibited by Philodemus towards Piso. Carilli, 1975, 943, views Catullus’ poem as “parodia degli ossequiosi inviti che si rivolgevano ai patroni” and imputes to Catullus “l’intento di mettere in ridicolo il formalismo della poesia di invito vera e propria” [Emphases added].

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attitudes towards life in Italy, his relationship to members of the Augustan regime, and his attitude towards poetry as a vocation. This common thread between the poems once again indicates that the use of Leonidas (and other models) is not simply a matter of craft deployed sporadically in poems written purely for special occasions, but part of a fully- fledged literary agenda.

Crinagoras is a remarkable figure among the epigrammatists of Philip’s Garland.

He was born at Mitylene, evidently into a family of high status.421 He was among a group of ambassadors sent from Mitylene to Rome to renegotiate the island’s political status. His subsequent activity as an envoy included two more embassies to Rome, in 45

BCE and 26/25 BCE. Following this last embassy, he remained in Rome and, in the words of Bowersock, enjoyed the status of a Greek “poet laureate” at the courts of

Augustus and Tiberius. In the course of a long career as an epigrammatist—beginning probably in the 40s BCE and lasting until at least 11 CE—he composed poetry for members of the emperor’s intimate inner circle. Thus, like Philodemus and even more so his younger contemporary Antipater of Thessalonica, Crinagoras’ poetry is heavily marked by his relationships with high-status Romans and by the Italian environment in which he lived and worked.

Roman Italy constitutes the background or “setting”, implicit or explicit, for much of the Garland of Philip. Philodemus, Crinagoras, and Antipater of Thessalonica all came to Italy and made their journies and/or new environs a theme in their epigrams.

Leonidas, since he associated himself prominently with his Italian homeland, was a natural model for the representation of what became a very common experience among

421 The following summary of Crinagoras’ career is derived from GPh II, 210-3. On the historical context of Crinagoras’ epigrams, see also Cichorius, 1922.

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Greeks of the first century BCE. Crinagoras, AP 9.559, illustrates how Leonidas’ example may shape the poet’s self-representation even as he inverts or otherwise alters certain elements. In this epigram, Crinagoras announces his intention to voyage to Italy and asks his friend Menippus to compose a travel-guide to help him on his way:

AP 9.559 - Crinagoras = GPh XXXII πλοῦς µοι ἐπ᾽ Ἰταλίην ἐντύνεται· ἐς γὰρ ἑταίρους στέλλοµαι, ὧν ἤδη δηρὸν ἄπειµι χρόνον. διφέω δ᾽ ἡγητῆρα περίπλοον, ὅς µ᾽ ἐπὶ νήσους Κυκλάδας ἀρχαίην τ᾽ ἄξει ἐπὶ Σχερίην. σύν τί µοι ἀλλά, Μένιππε, λάβευ φίλος, ἵστορα κύκλον 5 γράψας, ὦ πάσης ἴδρι γεωγραφίης.

I am planning a trip to Italy, for I’m going to see friends I’ve been away from for a long time. But I need a periplous to guide me, which will take me to the Cycladic Islands and ancient Scheria. Help me out, my dear Menippus, by writing a learned “Tour”, you who are knowledgeable in all aspects of geography.

Here, imitation and variation at the grammatical level mirror certain similarities and differences in the actual lives of Crinagoras and Leonidas. Whereas Leonidas was a

Greek native of Italy, who warned against the itinerant life (AP 7.736) and lamented his own absence from Italy (AP 7.715), Crinagoras, as an ambassador of his native Mitylene, traveled to Italy on several occasions and eventually took up residence there. He signals this affinity with and divergence from the experiences of Leonidas in the opening of his epigram, which neatly reverses the direction of Leonidas' travels while retaining his sound and structure. The two (metrically identical) lines share a strong aural/graphic similarity: πλοῦς µοι ἐπ᾽ Ἰταλίην ≈ πολλὸν ἀπ’ Ἰταλίης

ἐς γὰρ ἑταίρους ≈ ἔκ τε Τάραντος.

In addition to the grammatical and directional inversions, there is a complementary

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inversion of the emotional affect of the model. Crinagoras’ journey is not framed as a separation from homeland and loved ones (even though it was that, in a sense), but as a journey to visit friends. If he does lament at all, it is over the length of his absence from

Italy, his destination: the expression of (temporal) separation, δηρὸν ἄπειµι χρόνον, 2, again recalls, but inverts the force of, Leonidas' expression of (spatial) separation,

Πολλὸν ἀπ’ Ἰταλίης.422

The overall construction of the poem is closely comparable with Catullus, c. 101, and a comparison between the two sheds light on both poets’ methods:

Catullus c. 101 (Text = Mynors) Multas per gentes et multa per aequora uectus aduenio has miseras, frater, ad inferias, ut te postremo donarem munere mortis et mutam nequiquam alloquerer cinerem quandoquidem fortuna mihi tete abstulit ipsum, heu miser indigne frater adempte mihi, nunc tamen interea haec, prisco quae more parentum tradita sunt tristi munere ad inferias, accipe fraterno multum manantia fletu, atque in perpetuum, frater, aue atque uale.

Having come through many peoples and seas I arrive, brother, at these pitiful funeral rites, to give you death’s final due and speak in vain to your ashes, since fortune has robbed me of yourself— alas, wretched brother, wrongly robbed from me. Now, however, receive these things, which are given to the dead in a grim rite in accordance with the custom of our ancestors, dripping much with brotherly tears, and forever, brother, hail and farewell.

Conte first pointed out the first line of the poem recalls the beginning of the Odyssey:423

Catullus’ voyage is figured as a kind of reversal of Odysseus’—to Troy rather than away from it. Gutzwiller recently has noted that this Odyssean background is mediated

422 Crinagoras’ procedure can be compared with the similar reversal of direction in Philodemus, AP 11.44. 423 Conte, 1986, 32-3.

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through a combination of epigrams, Meleager’s lament for Heliodora (AP 7.476) and, most relevant for Crinagoras, Leonidas’ self-epitaph (AP 7.715).424

The simultaneous presence of the first line of the Odyssey and Leonidas’ self- epitaph is a striking coincidence, but Crinagoras exploits the Leonidean epigram in a more detailed way than Catullus.425 Crinagoras’ reading of the Odyssey is exactly the opposite of Leonidas’. In Leonidas, Odysseus’ wanderings are viewed pessimistically— they keep him from his homeland. Crinagoras, however, is more optimistic, and looks instead to the completion of the journey and the joy he will feel at seeing old friends, like

Odysseus being reunited with his family. The double allusion to the beginning of the

Odyssey and to what was likely the end of Leonidas’ collected epigrams suggests that this poem may be of greater thematic importance than has previously been acknowledged.

The case must remain speculative, of course, but it is possible that the poem was meant to introduce (a collection of) Crinagoras’ epigrams and identify them thematically with Italy and his experience as a Greek poet among the Romans.

We already have seen Philodemus use the epigrammatic tradition, particularly

Leonidas’ mice-epigram and later imitations and variations of it, as a framework for representing his relationship with Piso. Crinagoras AP 9.545, is an equally brilliant adaptation in just the same tradition, although the elements have undergone even more radical and ingenious transformations. Like AP 11.44, this epigram too is concerned with the relations between the epigrammatist and a powerful Roman aristocrat. The poet

424 Gutzwiller, 2012b, 103-7. 425 As Gutzwiller, 2012b, 106, remarks, “As intertext, the Leonidas epigram functions as model for the epitaph Catullus could have written for his brother had he not more closely followed the intervening model of Meleager’s ritual lament.” (Emphasis added.)

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sends a book of poetry as a gift for Marcellus, the nephew of Augustus:426

AP 9.545 – Crinagoras = XI GPh Καλλιµάχου τὸ τορευτὸν ἔπος τόδε· δὴ γὰρ ἐπ’ αὐτῷ ὡνὴρ τοὺς Μουσέων πάντας ἔσεισε κάλως. ἀείδει δ’ Ἑκάλης τε φιλοξείνοιο καλιὴν καί, Θησεῖ Μαραθὼν οὓς ἐπέθηκε πόνους· τοῦ σοὶ καὶ νεαρὸν χειρῶν σθένος εἴη ἀρέσθαι, 5 Μάρκελλε, κλεινοῦ τ’ αἶνον ἴσον βιότου.

This is the chiselled epic of Callimachus: on it the man shook all the sails of the Muses. He sings both of the hospitable hut of Hecale, and the labors which Marathon imposed upon Theseus. May it also be possible for you to achieve the youthful strength of your hands, and equal praise for a glorious life.

The Hecale told the story of the young Theseus’ journey from Athens to Marathon to fight a bull who was ravaging the area.427 Along the way, he is offered hospitality during a storm at the hut of a poor old woman named Hecale. Returning having defeated and captured the bull, he learns that the old woman has died and institutes sacred rites in her honor. Hecale thus becomes a kind of “patron saint” of travelers (cf. Hecale fr. 1.1

Hollis, τῖον δὲ ἑ πάντες ὁδῖται).

The poem makes a very apt gift for the young Marcellus. The expedition to

Marathon was the last of the deeds Theseus accomplished during the early period of his life, prior to his voyage to Crete and subsequent establishment as king at Athens. If, as

Gow and Page plausibly suggest, the epigram belongs to the period around 27 BCE when

Marcellus was first embarking on a military career, the figure of Theseus would have offered him an inspiring example.428 According to Plutarch (Thes. 5.4), Theseus, in his

426 Crinagoras also composed AP 6.161 (= X HE) for Marcellus on the occasion of the cutting of his first beard (depositio barbae). 427 On the Hecale see, in general, Hollis, 2009. 428 The poem offers, "un miroir du prince," in the words of Cogitore, 2010, 258. Theseus was later worshipped as a hero, and Marcellus too might have hoped for as much: see the

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early youth, was marked by an uncommon combination of physical strength and virtue that is emphasized again and again in various treatments of his story. When he first set out on his labors, he did so with the goal of stopping wrongdoers and scrupulously avoiding any wickedness himself. Crinagoras recalls this element of the tradition in his final wish for Marcellus, that he not only prove himself strong, but also win praise for the conduct of his life. Theseus was inspired in this civilizing mission by the greatness of

Heracles, whom he hoped to emulate. So too, we should consider the comparison of

Marcellus with Theseus within the context of the very widespread contemporary comparisons between Augustus and Heracles, such as, for instance, Horace C. 3.14. Seen as a piece of this larger literary (and artistic) context, the epigram functions as a kind of miniature royal propaganda, setting up Marcellus as Augustus’ heir.

The Hecale and Crinagoras’ epigram are thus perfectly suited to the situation, and it is quite easy to see a real occasion behind the poem. Yet a dense web of connections between the epigram and the earlier poetic tradition on the one hand and to Crinagoras’ other epigrams on the other suggest that we should beware of regarding the poem as subliterary because its composition can plausibly be tied to a certain occasion. The poem’s eventual publication was not an accident or afterthought, but was envisioned by the poet already when he was writing, and the poem is meant to be understood within this larger literary context.

In addition to making subtle use of the traditions surrounding Theseus, the epigram engages in a complicated play with earlier epigram, with Callimachus’ poetic career, and, to a degree we are only in a position to partially appreciate, with the text of list of Roman magistrates who received cult honors in the East in Bowersock, 1965, 150- 1.

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the Hecale itself. The very first words of the poem, Καλλιµάχου τὸ τορευτὸν ἔπος, evoke the famous literary dispute between Callimachus and his contemporaries over the evaluation of Antimachus' Lyde. Crinagoras' adjective τορευτόν mimics the sound of

Callimachus' τορόν at fr. 194 Pf., but carries a vividly physical sense—“chiselled”—that is appropriate to describe not only the careful work expended by Callimachus on its composition,429 but also appropriate to the epigram that accompanies it.430 The epigram also invokes the opening of the Hecale itself when referring to the poem’s central theme of hospitality.431

Crinagoras rather ingeniously thematizes the ambiguous generic status of the

Hecale and the literary polemics which where thought to have motivated its composition.

The poem was thought in antiquity to have been Callimachus’ attempt, in response to his critics, to accomplish epic poetry within a brief compass—not a poem on kings and heroes in “thousands of lines” (a project he dismissed at the beginning of the Aetia (fr.

1.3-5), but an epic poem shrunk down to the size of a single papyrus roll.432 Crinagoras plays on this set of generic issues in the phrase πάντας ἔσεισε κάλως (“he shook out all

429 On the meaning of the word, see Milne, 1941, who argues that it refers to embossing and engraving (as opposed to sculptural work of any kind in the round). For the meta- literary connotations, cf. D. Hal. Thuc. 24: διετέλεσέ γέ τοι τὸν ἑπτακαιεικοσαετῆ χρόνον τοῦ πολέµου ἀπὸ τῆς ἀρχῆς ἕως τῆς τελευτῆς τὰς ὀκτὼ βύβλους, ἃς µόνας κατέλιπεν, στρέφων ἄνω καὶ κάτω καὶ καθ’ ἓν ἕκαστον τῶν τῆς φράσεως µορίων ῥινῶν καὶ τορεύων. 430 Cf., e.g., Honestus AP 7.274.4, where the inscription (i.e. the epigram) is described (per the reading of the Corrector of P) as a γράµµα τορευθέν. 431 Φιλοξείνοιο καλιὴν recalls the opening of the Hecale (fr. 2 Hollis): τίον δὲ ἑ πάντες ὁδῖται | ἦρα φιλοξενίης. The precise collocation φιλοξείνοιο καλιήν is paralleled at Hecale fr. 263: φιλοξείνοιο καλιῆς, as pointed out by Jacobs, 1826, ad loc. On the importance of the Hecale as a model for scenes of poverty in later literature, see Hollis, 2009, 341-54, Appendix III (“The Hospitality Theme”). 432 On the Hecale and ancient disputes over the genre and length of poetry, see Gutzwiller, 2012a.

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his sails”).433 It refers here to the writing of epic poetry as at, e.g., Propertius III.9.3-4: quid me scribendi tam vastum mittis in aequor? | non sunt apta meae grandia vela rati.434

Propertius recuses himself from writing a martial epic; Crinagoras’ purpose here is to underline that the Hecale was Callimachus’ distinctive version of epic. It is slightly ironic since, after all, the trip to Marathon from Athens is only about 15 miles and, like

Theseus’ other early labors, this one did not include any travel by sea, a point that is emphasized by Plutarch (Thes. 4.6).435 Crinagoras’ point in folding all of this into his into his epigram is to make a self-reflective comment about his own poetry. It is precisely the programmatic brevity of the Hecale that makes it doubly appropriate as a gift given by an epigrammatist. If, that is, Callimachus had “miniaturized” the scope of heroic epic in terms of geography and size, Crinagoras has gone one step further, reducing the Hecale and its core ethical and poetic message to epigrammatic length.436

While Crinagoras has one eye on the Hecale and on the traditions surrounding its composition and reception, he keeps another fixed on the earlier epigrammatic tradition.

Crinagoras exploits the name of the poem’s titular character and its author, the central motif of the poem (the old woman's hut, καλίη), and, figuratively, its style (πάντας

ἔσεισε κάλως) to create a wordplay that runs through the first three lines (Καλλιµάχου ...

433 The phrase has a slight echo in the Hecale (fr. 239 Hollis): διερὴν δ᾽ ἀπεσείσατο λαίφην. 434 Where Heyworth and Morwood, 2011, 184, paraphrase, “the elegiac poet unable to set out onto the epic sea in his small boat”. For further comparanda, see Wimmel, 1960, 230. 435 Theseus journeyed overland from Troezen to Athens contrary to the wishes of his grandfather Pittheus, who warned him of monsters plaguing the land route. Plutarch further remarks that Theseus’ kingship took place during the time before the Athenians were “addicted” to the sea (Thes. 17.6). 436 The phrase would make the gift of the poem doubly appropriate if, as Gow-Page suggest, Marcellus is embarking on a sailing voyage. On the generic implications of this image, see further Gutzwiller, 2012a.

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κάλως ... Ἑκάλης ... καλιήν).437 This soundplay is traditionally “epigrammatic”, hearkening back to the sound-play at, e.g., Leonidas AP 7.726:

AP 7.726 – Leonidas = LXXII HE ἡ καλὰ καὶ καλῶς Πλατθὶς ὑφηναµένη 10

There is also perhaps a parallel in the humorous, equivocal use of ἅλς (“salt”) in

Callimachus AP 6.301. The point of the wordplay has been already been discussed above; here it is the sound of the lines that is salient:

AP 6.301 – Callimachus = XXVIII HE = 47 Pf. τὴν ἁλίην Εὔδηµος, ἐφ᾽ ἧς ἅλα λιτὸν ἐπέσθων 1 … ὦ λαοί, σωθεὶς ἐξ ἁλὸς ὧδε θέτο. 4

A further epigrammatic touch is the poet’s wish for Marcellus: σοί ... εἴη ἀρέσθαι ...

κλεινοῦ ... αἶνον ἴσον βιότου. Using the same procedure as in 9.559 (πλοῦς µοι ἐπ᾽

Ἰταλίην … inverting Leonidas’ πόλλον ἀπ᾽ Ἰταλίης) Crinagoras reworks Leonidas' avowal of his own poverty (ἐκ πατέρων ταύτην ᾐνέσαµεν βιοτήν, AP 6.302.4), making it apply instead to the lofty Marcellus.

These are merely minor elements of formal poetic technique, however. What is more noteworthy is the way the entire conception of the poem is informed by earlier epigrams, and most of all by AP 6.302 (the “mice-epigram”) and its descendants,

437 It is interesting to consider this wordplay in connection with Leonidas AP VII.726. As Reitzenstein, 1893, 148, remarked parenthetically of this epigram, “Anklänge an … Hekale”. There may then be a hidden point in Leonidas' closing his poem with the words ἡ καλὰ καὶ καλῶς Πλατθὶς ὑφηναµένη (text = Page). Whether or not Leonidas aimed for this effect (see Izzo D'Accinni, 1958, 306 on the question of dependency), Crinagoras’ phrasing seems to look back to the Platthis epigram and thus to have been inspired by the similarity between Platthis and Hecale. For similar wordplay elsewhere in Leonidas, cf. the chiastically-arranged AP 6.13.2: ἀγρότα Πάν, ἄλλης ἄλλος ἀπ᾽ ἀγρεσίης. For similar techniques employed elsewhere in Hellenistic epigram, see Garrison, 1978, 41-2.

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including Philodemus 11.41, discussed already earlier in this chapter. We saw that

Philodemus had quite ingeniously inverted Leonidas’ curse-like address to the mice and turned it into a dinner invitation. Both the Leonidean poem and Philodemus’ reworking, moreover, served as vehicles for the expression of the poet’s ethical ideals. Crinagoras’ epigram fits perfectly into this chain of imitations and variations. The καλίη in

Crinagoras evokes the καλιάς of Philodemus and, through that intermediary, the καλυβή of Leonidas.438 Beyond the mere formal similarity, in each poem the dwelling serves as a symbol of the ethical message the poet wishes to convey. Crinagoras does not set himself up as an advocate of “the simple life” in the way Leonidas and Philodemus do, but this ethical ideal does play an important role in his message to Marcellus. Like Philodemus inviting Piso to a dinner in honor of Epicurus, Crinagoras is using the Hecale and his epigram as a form of ethical protreptic. The path he is trying to turn him toward is that of

Theseus, the paradoxical “democratic king” brought on stage, for instance, by Euripides in the Suppliant Women. When a Theban herald arrives at Athens and asks, “Who is the tyrant of this land?” (399), Theseus replies: πρῶτον µὲν ἤρξω τοῦ λόγου ψευδῶς, ξένε, ζητῶν τύραννον ἐνθάδ᾽· οὐ γὰρ ἄρχεται ἑνὸς πρὸς ἀνδρός, ἀλλ᾽ ἐλευθέρα πόλις. δῆµος δ᾽ ἀνάσσει διαδοχαῖσιν ἐν µέρει ἐνιαυσίαισιν, οὐχι τῷ πλούτῳ διδοὺς τὸ πλεῖστον, ἀλλα χὡ πένης ἔχων ἴσον.

You spoke falsely at the very start of your speech, stranger, when you sought a tyrant here. For this city is not ruled by one man, but is free. The people rule in turn with yearly terms of office, not giving the wealthy man the greater portion—no, the poor man has an equal share.

While it would be rash to suggest that Crinagoras must be gesturing towards this sort of

438 Going back further one could add to this litany Eumaeus’ κλισίη in the Odyssey (starting at bk. XIV.45), where Odysseus receives his servant’s humble hospitality.

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strongly democratic vein in the Theseus-tradition, it seems nevertheless that there is a fundamental connection between Theseus’ respect for the poor and the nature of his kingship that would have resonated as an undertone to the epigram. The Hecale story is of special importance for this aspect of Theseus’ character, since it was through her hospitality that Theseus learned of the reciprocal relationship between the leader and “the people”.439 In addition to military glory (implied by νεαρὸν χειρῶν σθένος) Crinagoras urges Marcellus to adopt an attitude toward the poor and powerless like that of Theseus.

Philodemus’ invitation to Piso, examined above, serves as a particularly valuable intermediary for Crinagoras. That epigram took up the Leonidean theme of Lebenswahl, an inheritance from archaic elegy, fifth century philosophy, and more recently Cynic literature. Philodemus’ epigram is more than just an invitation to dinner; it is also an

“invitation” to a certain lifestyle and certain philosophical outlook. So too, Crinagoras’ poem is more than just an “invitation” to read a poem, it is also an invitation to choose a lifestyle in accordance with a certain view of the world. The epigram (in Greek, of course), invites Marcellus to read a Greek poem (itself about Hecale’s invitation to

Theseus), which will supply him with a Greek hero after whom to model himself as

Roman conquering warrior.

Scholars have missed the presence of the poet himself in this poem.440 Cogitore infers from the overt absence of the poet that Crinagoras presents the gift without the

439 On Theseus’ institution of democracy at Athens, cf., e.g., Plut., Thes., 24-25. On Theseus as a model “democratic king” in late 6th and 5th century BCE Athens, see Walker, 1995, 35-66. 440 Contrary to his practice in other gift epigrams (AP 6.227; 229; 261 = III, IV, V GPh) Crinagoras here omits his own name.

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expectation of recompense.441 But this misses the delicate way in which Crinagoras figures his relationship to Marcellus. For the poet is still implicitly present; someone after all must be giving the gift. Like Philodemus, Crinagoras adopts in relation to his patron the persona of the lowly man who entertains his social superior in his humble hut.

The copy of the Hecale Crinagoras gives to Marcellus serves as a suitable token of friendship not only because it deals with the journey of a young hero, but also because it too involves a relationship of ξενία (φιλοξείνοιο, 3) between lofty and humble figures.

In fact, Crinagoras' comparison of Marcellus to Theseus (τοῦ σοὶ καί, 5; ἴσον, 6), leaves implicit—to a reader who knows the plot of the Hecale—the analogy between

Crinagoras' position as a Greek client to a Roman patron and that of Hecale vis à vis

Theseus in the poem.442 As in Philodemus’ invitation poem, the Leonidean background

(refracted through the lens of its “rereadings” in later epigram) provides the poet with a vehicle for situating himself within his poetic and social environment.

So far, we have examined Crinagoras’ use of Leonidean motifs, phrases, and situations. In an epigrammatic soliloquy Crinagoras engages with Leonidas’ poetic ethics, placing dreams of wealth in opposition to literary pursuits:

AP 9.234 - Crinagoras = XLVIII GPh Ἄχρι τεῦ, ἆ δείλαιε, κεναῖς ἔτ’ ἐπ’ ἐλπίσι, θυµέ, πωτηθεὶς443 ψυχρῶν ἀσσοτάτω νεφέων, ἄλλοις ἄλλ’ ἔπ’ ὄνειρα διαγράψεις ἀφένοιο; κτητὸν γὰρ θνητοῖς οὐδὲ ἓν αὐτόµατον. Μουσέων ἀλλ’ ἐπὶ δῶρα µετέρχεο· ταῦτα δ’ ἀµυδρὰ 5 εἴδωλα ψυχῆς ἠλεµάτοισι µέθες.

How long, oh wretched heart, flying on hopes up in the chilly clouds, will you write palimpsests of dreams of

441 Cogitore, 2010, 258. 442 Note that at Hec. fr. 49 Hollis a speaker, almost certainly Hecale herself, discusses the importance of setting sail under favorable omens. See Hollis, 2009, 46-7. 443 Like Icarus at AP 7.699, ἀδέσποτον: Ἰκάρου … ἐς ἠέρα πωτηθέντος.

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riches? Nothing comes into man’s possession of its own accord. Pursue the gifts of the Muses instead: leave these dim phantoms of the mind to idle men.

Here Crinagoras takes up philosophical themes raised by Leonidas in the “diatribe” AP

7.472. Crinagoras’ poem employs the hortatory stance of the diatribe, but turns the exhortation inward, to his own heart (θυµός), which he urges to turn towards poetry.

In the first two couplets, the poet tells his heart to cease dreaming idly of wealth, likening these dreams to clouds using an image partly borrowed from Leonidas (cf. AP

7.472.8 νεφέλας).444 A transition is made from the theme of wealth to poetry in line three, where the image of “writing” dreams one on top of another (as in a palimpsest) is used to illustrate the vanity of the pursuit of wealth. The final couplet then bids the poet to turn to poetry—“the gifts of the Muses” (Μουσέων δῶρα, 5). This figurative way of describing poetry, as well as the adjective ἀµυδρά, 5, used to describe the ephemeral nature of wealth, refer back to Leonidas’ claim to immortality in his self-epitaph: οὔνοµα δ’ οὐκ ἤµυσε Λεωνίδου· αὐτά µε δῶρα | κηρύσσει Μουσέων πάντας ἐπ’

ἠελίους (5-6). Crinagoras, in relating the adjective ἀµυδρά to the verb ἤµυσε, once again takes up a Leonidean expression and recasts it. Drawing from two Leonidean models, he combines Leonidas’ ethical exhortations, vocabulary, and elements of his autobiographical narrative to craft his poetic statement.445

Antipater of Thessalonica – The Epigrammatist as Provocateur

We have seen that although Philodemus recasts the quasi-religious language of

Leonidas in philosophical terms, his epigram retains an undercurrent of religious

444 The opening words ἄχρι τεῦ likewise may look back to ἄχρι at AP 7.472.1 445 Rubensohn, 1888, 84, suggests that line 3 of the epigram may have been inspired by Callimachus, H. 1.95-96, οὐτ᾽ ἀρετῆς ἄτερ ὄλβος ἐπίσταται ἄνδρας ἀέξειν | οὐτ᾽ ἀρετὴ ἀφένοιο … .

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deference. Later poets too evidently recognized both the religious undertones of the mice-epigram as well as its function as a programmatic introductory piece. Antipater of

Thessalonica, in his imitation of AP 6.302, fastens upon the religious undertones of the poem to craft a poetic manifesto that is quite different, even radically at odds with, the message of the model. Antipater is the first of the datable Philippan poets to write an overt imitation of Leonidas' mice-epigram.446 In his poem, we are transported from

Leonidas’ humble καλύβη to a symposium in honor of the birthday of Archilochus and

Homer:

AP 11.20 - Antipater of Thessalonica = XX GPh Φεύγεθ’, ὅσοι λόκκας ἢ λοφνίδας ἢ καµασῆνας 1 ᾄδετε, ποιητῶν φῦλον ἀκανθολόγων, οἵ τ’ ἐπέων κόσµον λελυγισµένον ἀσκήσαντες κρήνης ἐξ ἱερῆς πίνετε λιτὸν ὕδωρ. σήµερον Ἀρχιλόχοιο καὶ ἄρσενος ἦµαρ Ὁµήρου 5 σπένδοµεν· ὁ κρητὴρ οὐ δέχεθ’ ὑδροπότας.

Away all you who sing of ‘loccae’ (cloaks) or ‘lophnides’ (torches) or ‘camasenes’ (fish), you race of thorn-gathering poets, who trick out the twisted ornament of your verse and drink humble water from a sacred spring. Today we pour libations in honor of the birthday of Archilochus and Homer: the krater does not receive water-drinkers.

The epigram advertises its relationship with its model, Leonidas, AP 6.302, the “mice epigram”, one of only two other epigrams in the Palatine and Planudean Anthologies to begin this way.447 Like Leonidas, Antipater shoos away a group of pests. The mice of

Leonidas’ epigram, however, have been wittily transformed. This time, the "pests" that assail the poet are actually other poets, attacked for their excessively abstruse diction.448

446 On the dates of Antipater of Thessalonica, see GPh II, 18-20. His datable epigrams belong to the next-to-last decade of the first century BCE. 447 The other, by Herodicus of Babylon (quoted in Athenaeus 5.222a), also seems to imitate Leonidas. 448 As Gow-Page note ad loc., λόκκες, λοφνίδες, and καµασῆνες are all exceedingly rare words.

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In addition to Leonidas, there is, at very least, an implied comparison with Posidippus’ elaborately mixed drink in AP 12.168—an important epigram, as I have argued, for

Meleager’s construction of a “mixed” poetic persona. Antipater features Homer at his symposium, but excludes Hesiod, tacitly for now, but overtly in AP 11.24, discussed below.

Scholars have often noted the appropriation of Callimachean language in this epigram. Knox, 1985, points to a number of specific verbal parallels: The obscure words in line one may be meant to parody Callimachean learning; Callimachus himself used at least one of the words (λοφνίδας, fr. 755 Pf.).449 In φῦλον ἀκανθολόγων, 2, there is an unmistakeable echo of Callimachus' attack against the Telchines (φῦλον ἀ[ ... ) at Aet. fr.

1.7.450 Further Callimachean imagery, once again from an explicitly poetological context, is taken up in line 4, with the address to the water-drinkers: κρήνης ἐξ ἱερῆς

πίνετε λιτὸν ὕδωρ.451 The draught from the sacred spring seems to refer back to the beginning of the Aetia (fr. 2), where Callimachus recalls Hesiod’s vision of the Muses by the spring of Hippocrene. The phrasing, meanwhile, derives from another Callimachean passage, the close of his Hymn to Apollo, where Callimachus said that

Δηοῖ δ’ οὐκ ἀπὸ παντὸς ὕδωρ φορέουσι µέλισσαι, ἀλλ’ ἥτις καθαρή τε καὶ ἀχράαντος ἀνέρπει πίδακος ἐξ ἱερῆς ὀλίγη λιβὰς ἄκρον ἄωτον.

“Bees of Demeter do not gather water from just anywhere, but only the small drop that bubbles up from a sacred

449 Knox, 1985, 108. 450 Skiadas, 1965, 116. The use of animal imagery to attack pedants goes back at least to Timon of Phlius (SH 786), and is paralleled in Callimachus’ comparison (in the mouth of Hipponax) of philologists to wasps or flies, Iam. 1.26-28. 451 Antipater also distances himself from water-drinking/water-drinkers at AP 9.305 and 11.31.

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spring.”

The use of Callimachean language in the poem is thus similar to Antipater of Sidon’s epigram in praise of Antimachus (AP 7.409, discussed above), where the language of the

Callimachean poetic program (as enunciated in the epigrams and Aetia prologue) was put in the service of a distinctly non-Callimachean message.452 The poem has often, for this reason, been read as an anti-Callimachean manifesto.453 Knox, noting Antipater’s use of distinctive language used also by Callimachus,454 goes so far as to mark this poem as the point at which the symbolism of water-drinkers vs. wine-drinkers is first given a fixed meta-poetic significance, with Callimachus being identified polemically with the former group.455 The inclusion of Archilochus in the epigram seems to be yet another slight at

Callimachus, who called him µεθυπλήξ (fr. 544 Pf.).456 Epigrammatists after Antipater take an explicitly hostile stance toward Callimachus: he figures prominently, for instance, in attacks against grammarians (some of which will be considered below), and

Martial makes the Aetia into a poetic anti-model (X.5).457 Yet even if the epigram pokes fun at Callimachus, a purely “anti-Callimachean” reading risks missing important, and, from the point of view of the later epigrammatic tradition, productive aspects of the

452 On this epigram see the discussion in ch. 2, above. 453 So, e.g., Gow-Page at GPh II, 37: "[T]he sneers are evidently directed, if not at Callimachus himself, at his followers and admirers." Cf. Skiadas, 1965, 116. Hunter, in Fantuzzi-Hunter, 2004, 447, is more circumspect: “… in opposition to (probably) Callimachus … and/or (? self-styled) imitators.” 454 Knox, 1985, 108, notes the presence of Callimachean language in the phrase κρήνης ἐξ ἱερῆς and the word λοφνίδες, used by Callimachus at fr. 755 Pf. 455 Knox, 1985, 107. Compare the reservations of Argentieri, 2003, 98, and Magnelli and De Stefani, 2011, 543, n. 34, about the supposedly “anti-Callimachean” message. 456 Skiadas, 1965, 117. 457 Martial's epigram takes its inspiration from a frankly invective poem attributed to 'Apollonius the grammarian' (AP 11.275), but his attitude toward Callimachus is not uniformly hostile (compare Mart. IV.23.1).

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poem’s artistry. The first of these has to do with the use of religious language, and in particular the application of Callimachean religious language as a kind of "gloss" on the

Leonidean model; the second with the poem’s relationship to the ethical content of its various models, including, in addition to Callimachus, Leonidas and Philodemus.

I have argued above (Ch. 1) that Leonidas' epigram used language evocative of religious prohibitions in a non-religious context to create a humorous, parodic effect.

Philodemus’ epigram too was informed by the language of religious ritual, even though its subject matter is distinctly non-religious. Antipater’s epigram, by contrast, uses the language of ritual explicitly. In so doing, the poet merges the Callimachean and

Leonidean texts, using the religiously charged language of the Hymn to Apollo to bring to the surface the religious undertones of Leonidas’ text (discussed above, ch. 1).

Furthermore, the philosophical “ritual” of Philodemus’ epigram, the εἰκάς, provides a foil for the imagined ritual context of Antipater’s epigram.

We have already seen the marked presence of both Leonidean and Callimachean elements in the epigram. In line 4, however, these two models converge in an interesting way. In rejecting Callimachus' clear water, Antipater takes up the adjective λιτός, a crucial word both in Callimachus' hymn (2.10-11) and in Leonidas' mice-epigram (not to mention AP 11.44). This word, which Leonidas had used to describe the paltriness of his own means of subsistence (τἀµὰ δὲ λιτά, AP 6.302.7), and which Callimachus had used to speak of those whom the gods do not deem worthy of witnessing epiphany, is here transferred into the "sacred water" drunk by the pedantic poets as a source of inspiration.

Antipater thus collapses images from Callimachus’ metapoetics and Leonidas’ ethics in the single image of the λιτὸν ὑδώρ (“plain water”).

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The ethical dimension of the epigram becomes even more important in the final couplet. The first part of the epigram is concerned with a particular stylistic feature—the use of obscure words—as a marker of a broader poetic and even ethical orientation, to which Antipater opposes his own outlook. In the final couplet, this outlook is concretized in the image of the krater.

In the final couplet Antipater turns from condemnation of the pedantic poets to a description of his own practice. He announces that today he and a group of celebrants are pouring a libation (σπένδοµεν, 6) in honor of the birthdays of Archilochus and Homer.

This verb characterizes the context of the epigram as both sympotic and ritualistic. The verb δέχεται (6) comes also from the lexicon of religious ritual, evoking not only the acceptance of sacrificial offerings by a god but, more pointedly, the admission of worshippers into sacred space.

Two elements of the Leonidean model AP 6.302 are adapted in this final couplet, the hut and the meal-tub. The part of Leonidas’ meal-tub is now played by Antipater’s krater, while the physical space of the hut has been transformed into the ambience of a symposium. Antipater has also adapted Leonidas’ symbolic use of these motifs. Just as the hut and the meal-tub were icons of Leonidas’ lifestyle and ethical outlook, so too the krater and the sympotic space and occasion are used to symbolize a hedonism that is developed as a programmatic stance in a number of Antipater’s other epigrams.

Antipater’s transformation of motifs from AP 6.302 owes something to the reworkings of this poem by earlier epigrammatists. The metapoetic reading of Ariston laid the groundwork for Antipater’s literary polemic. The occasion of the poem, meanwhile, the birthday of Archilochus and Homer, reworks Philodemus’ Leonidean

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adaptation, where the occasion of the poem was the εἰκάς in honor of Epicurus. As the revaluation of the term λιτός indicates, Antipater’s lifestyle is as far (if not farther) from that of Philodemus or Leonidas as his poetics is from Callimachus’, though all of these poets have provided him with poetic models for this epigram.458 He has borrowed his frame from Leonidas, and blends Leonidas’ quasi-religious language seamlessly with that of Callimachus. The occasion of his epigram, a symposium, is formulated as if in opposition to Philodemus’ Epicurean celebration. Antipater’s polemic is perhaps not so narrowly directed against one figure, say Callimachus, as it is against an array of other poetic and ethical stances, some of which are exemplified by his models. The awareness of Antipater’s models does not serve simply to inform the reader about the covert “target” of his attacks, but rather provides the reader a background against which to assess

Antipater’s distinctive programmatic claim.459

AP 11.20 situates Antipater within the epigrammatic tradition as a hedonist, defined in opposition to earlier poets of different ethical and/or poetic orientations—

Callimachus, Leonidas, and Philodemus, for instance. This persona is further developed in a pair of epigrams, AP 11.24, and 9.517, in which objects of the poet’s desire provide a

458 It is worth noting that the attack on water-drinkers in this epigram, connected with Callimachus in particular by Knox, 1985, would be equally applicable to a poet so influenced by Cynic ethics as Leonidas, since water-drinking was a key part of Cynic askesis (see Gigante, 1992, 48-9, with ample documentation; cf. Dudley, 1937, 88). The Cynic Crates of Thebes, moreover, compares human folly to a “wine-dark” sea (οἰνόπι τύφῳ, fr. 6.1 Diehl), laying special emphasis on the traditional Homeric epithet (see Dudley, 1937, 44). On the Epicureans as “water-drinkers” see Hiltbrunner, 1972, 169. Posidippus HE I develops a similar opposition between philosophical and erotic/sympotic themes: the Stoic Zeno (student of Crates of Thebes) and his student Cleanthes are told to “keep silent” as the poet orders wine to be poured and announces love as the subject of the conversation. 459 See also Carilli, 1975, 974, who points to Callimachus’ ἔλλετε βασκανίης ὀλοὸν γένος as the common point of reference for both Catullus 14.21-23 and Antipater’s epigram.

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metaphorical framework for him to comment on his own poetry.

The metapoetic symbolism of water and wine, and their affect on the quality of one’s poetry, is once again invoked in AP 11.24, an epigram in praise of a cupbearer named “Helicon”:

AP 11.24 – Antipater of Thessalonica = III GPh (text = GPh) ὢ Ἑλικὼν Βοιωτέ, σὺ µέν ποτε πολλάκις ὕδωρ εὐεπὲς ἐκ πηγέων ἔβλυσας Ἡσιόδῳ· νῦν δ’ ἡµῖν ἔτι κοῦρος ὁµώνυµος Αὔσονα Βάκχον οἰνοχοεῖ κρήνης ἐξ ἀµεριµνοτέρης. βουλοίµην δ’ ἂν ἔγωγε πιεῖν παρὰ τοῦδε κύπελλον 5 ἓν µόνον ἢ παρὰ σεῦ χίλια Πηγασίδος.

Oh Boeotian Helicon, in earlier times you often burbled up from your fonts water inspiring sweet speech for Hesiod. And now too, for us, a boy who shares your name pours Italian Bacchus from a more carefree source. I would rather drink a single draught from this cup that a thousand from you, Pegasid fountain.

Within the large epigrammatic subgenre of poems in praise of a beautiful boy or woman, this poem belongs to a smaller, yet still well-represented, subset of epigrams in which poetry itself—whether that sung by the performer or composed by the poet—is made part of a sympathetic reaction between the speaker (i.e. the epigrammatic persona) and the praised beloved. In some of these epigrams, an element of the poetry sung by the performer is transmitted into the epigrammatist (the listener), and causes a change in him, specifically the arousal of eros. An early, relatively transparent example is Dioscorides,

AP 5.138:460

Dioscorides AP 5.138 = HE II = Galán Vioque 4 (Text = Galán Vioque) Ἵππον Ἀθήνιον ᾖσεν ἐµοὶ κακόν· ἐν πυρὶ πᾶσα Ἴλιος ἦν, κἀγὼ κείνῃ ἅµ᾽ ἐφλεγόµην, οὐ δείσας Δαναῶν δεκέτη πόνον· ἐν δ᾽ ἑνὶ φέγγει τῷ τότε καὶ Τρῶες κἀγὼ ἀπωλόµεθα.

460 See in general Iordanoglou, 2009, with discussion of earlier interpretations.

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Athenion sang of the horse, ruinous to me. All Ilion was aflame, and I burned along with it, fearing not the Danaans’ decade-long toil. But on that single day, both I and the Trojans were destroyed.

The playful wit of the epigram lies in the juxtaposition two kinds of fire and destruction—the conflagration of Troy narrated in the song of Athenion and the figurative fire of Eros kindled in the heart of the poet as he watches the performance. We might also read the epigram in a programmatic way: the epigrammatist pays attention to the erotic charms of the singer rather than the cyclic epic that she sings (shades of, e.g.

Callimachus’ ἐχθαίρω τὸ ποίηµα τὸ κυκλικόν, AP 12.43.1) though if present this message is left implicit.461

Just as this epigram relies for its wit on two distinct senses of fire and destruction,

Antipater AP 11.24 turns very neatly on the duality encapsulated in the name ‘Helicon’, once upon a time (ποτε) a mountain, but now (νῦν) a boy (κοῦρος). As the epigram develops, the two referents of this name are in turn correlated, respectively, with water and the wine, and (implicitly) with the types of poetry that these draughts inspire,

Hesiodic epic and sympotic epigram. The epigram makes the programmatic potential that was latent in Dioscorides overt, making Helicon and the wine he pours inspire a particular kind of poetry, defined in opposition to the poetry of Hesiod and the labor with which it is associated. Antipater rejects at once the content of Hesiod’s work (Erga) and the labor one is to imagine the poet expending in its composition—think of Callimachus’ praise of Aratus’ diligent ἀγρυπνία at AP 9.507, discussed above ch. 1, or Marcus

Argentarius’ witty play on the title of the Works and Days, ἔργα τί µοι παρέχεις, ὢ

461 So too the speaker’s comparison of the drawn out seige of Troy (Δαναῶν δεκέτη πόνον, 3) and the instantaneous action of Eros (ἐν δ᾽ ἑνὶ φέγγει) mirrors the relationship between the expansiveness of epic and compression of the epigram .

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γέρον Ἡσιόδε; (AP 9.161).462

Looked at in terms of the methods of imitation and variation, the most relevant prior model seems to be an epigram of Callimachus, AP 12.51, in praise of an eromenos:

AP 12.51 - Callimachus = V HE = 29 Pf. ἔγχει καὶ πάλιν εἰπὲ “Διοκλέος”· οὐδ᾽ Ἀχελῷος κείνου τῶν ἱερῶν αἰσθάνεται κυάθων. καλὸς ὁ παῖς, Ἀχελῷε, λίην καλός, εἰ δέ τις οὐχί φησίν ἐπισταίµην µοῦνος ἐγὼ τὰ καλά.

Pour a toast and once again say, “For Diocles!” Achelous does not taste the cups dedicated to that one. The boy is lovely, Achelous, all too lovely. And if someone says otherwise, then I alone recognize the beautiful.

Callimachus’ epigram depends on the significance of the name Achelous, also the name of a famous river. As Clarke points out, “Achelous is water in general … but water is inappropriate in a cup pledged to an eromenos.”463 Formally speaking, Antipater

“replaces” Callimachus’ Achelous (i.e. water) with his own Helicon. This is not the

Helicon of Hesiod (and Callimachus) but a new (cf. νῦν) Helicon who pours out inspirational wine—Italian wine (Αὔσονα Βάκχον)—instead of water. The formal imitation and variation of Callimachus’ Achelous epigram, then, maps onto a larger thematic reworking and challenging of Callimachean poetics. Just as Callimachus rejects the idea of writing an epic of many thousands of lines at the beginning of the Aetia (fr.

1.3-5), Antipater here rejects “a thousand” drafts of the water of Hesiod, representing

462 The scenario is developed more fully by Propertius (3.3), where the poet prepares to drink from the springs of Helicon (as Ennius had done, 6), but is dissuaded by Apollo, who warns him against attempting something beyond his abilities (15-24). The poet then enters the cave of the Muses, where Calliope advises him to devote himself to erotic themes instead (39-52). 463 Clarke, 1981, 298.

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sober, moralistic didactic poetry, in favor of just one drink from Helicon’s cup.464

Antipater returns to the theme of sympotic praise for a beautiful youth, this time a piper, in AP 9.517:

AP 9.517 – Antipater of Thessalonica = IV GPh (text = GPh) Ὀρφεὺς θῆρας ἔπειθε, σὺ δ᾽ Ὀρφέα· Φοῖβος ἐνίκα τὸν Φρύγα, σοὶ δ᾽ εἴκει µελποµένῳ, Γλάφυρε, οὔνοµα καὶ τέχνης καὶ σώµατος. οὔ κεν Ἀθήνη ἔρριψεν λωτοὺς τοῖα µελιζοµένη οἷα σύ, ποικιλοτερπές. ἀφυπνώσαι κεν ἀκούων αὐτὸς Πασιθέης Ὕπνος ἐν ἀγκαλίσιν.

Orpheus enticed animals, but you enticed Orpheus, Phoebus overcame the Phrygian, but yields to you as a singer, Glaphyrus—a name for your art and your body. Athena would not have cast aside the pipes had she played the way you do, with your varied charms. If he heard, Sleep himself would awaken in the arms of Pasithea.

Once again, the poet’s praise takes its point of departure from the name of the beloved,

Γλάφυρος (“Polished”/“Smooth”/“Elegant”). As before with the name “Helicon”,

Antipater does not leave it up to the reader to unpack the double meaning of the name, which describes both the body of the performer and his art. During the discussion of

Antipater of Sidon, we discussed the literary-critical usage of the term, which by

Antipater of Thessalonica’s time was already firmly established.465 The γλαφυρὰ

ἁρµονία/γλαφυρὸς χαρακτήρ was associated with several canonical figures (including

Hesiod), but in an erotic-sympotic context like the one Antipater has set up here, the name brings to mind most of all Anacreon, Alcaeus, and Sappho. Much like the Italian wine offered by Helicon in AP 11.24, then, Glaphyrus’ body and his song are meant to

464 This is also a variation of the approach taken by Alcaeus of Messene, AP 7.55, who distilled Hesiod’s poetry down to “pure droplets” of Callimachean water. See above, chapter 1. 465 Cf. the discussion of Dionysius of Halicarnassus’ system of styles and Antipater’s epigrams on poets above.

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reflect on Antipater’s own art.

Poetry, Poverty, and Freedom – Antipater vs. Parmenion

Antipater’s rejection of Callimacheanism, exemplified in 11.20 and 11.24, flies in the face of some of the trends of the time, particularly among Latin poets (recall that

Antipater’s dateable epigrams span the period from about 14 BCE to 14 CE and so postdate most major works of “Golden” Latin poetry). Chief among these trends is the refusal to write martial epic and, more specifically, to celebrate the military deeds of particular Roman generals, and the literary form—the recusatio—that expresses and, through repeated use, comes to symbolize this refusal.466

We have already seen how, using the same Leonidean model, epigrammatists may alternately enact a poetics of inclusion (e.g Philodemus) or exclusion (e.g Antipater of

Thessalonica), the former in regard to patrons, the latter in regard to critics or other poetic enemies. Two epigrams, these by Antipater of Thessalonica and Parmenion, provide a further example of how the earlier epigrammatic tradition can be used as a staging area for diametrically opposed programmatic claims.

The common epigrammatic background they each start from is, once again, and epigram by Leonidas:

AP 7.655 – Leonidas of Tarentum = XVII HE ἀρκεῖ µοι γαίης µικρὴ κόνις, ἡ δὲ περισσή ἄλλον ἐπιθλίβοι πλούσια κεκλιµένον στήλη, τὸ σκληρὸν νεκρῶν βάρος. εἴ µε θανόντα γνώσοντ᾽, Ἀλκάνδρῳ τοῦτο τί Καλλιτέλευς;

A slight dusting of earth is sufficient for me. Let the extravagant gravestone, a troublesome weight for corpses, vex some other man opulently buried. What difference does

466 E.g. Horace, C. 2.12; Verg. Ecl. 6.3-8. On the Latin recusatio and its connections to Callimachus, cf. Wimmel, 1960, 162-167.

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it make to Alkandros the son of Kalliteles whether or not people know me now that I am dead?

It may be, as Giangrande has suggested, that in this poem Leonidas has taken a stock topos of sympotic poetry and transposed it into a sepulchral context. Some support for this view may be provided by the lines ascribed to Nicaenetus of Samos (CA fr. 6), which describe a symposium in a rustic context, where the poet will content himself with a simple cloak as a cushion: ἀρκεῖ µοι λιτὴ µὲν ὑπὸ πλευροῖσι χάµευνα, 3

A simple cushion beneath my sides is enough for me …

Together, this passage and the epigram—a first century BCE reader would perhaps have been aware of other, similar passages—establish some generic expectations. The reader becomes accustomed to treat the sentence-initial ἀρκεῖ (especially at the beginning of a poem or line) as a signal that the author is about to meditate on the ethical topos of self- sufficiency, simple pleasures, and the shunning of vanity.

It is with this background in mind that we ought to read Antipater AP 9.92:

Antipater of Thessalonica AP 9.92 Ἀρκεῖ τέττιγας µεθύσαι δρόσος· ἀλλὰ πιόντες ἀείδειν κύκνων εἰσὶ γεγωνότεροι. ὣς καὶ ἀοιδὸς ἀνὴρ ξενίων χάριν ἀνταποδοῦναι ὕµνους εὐέρκταις οἶδε παθὼν ὀλίγα. τοὔνεκά σοι πρώτως µὲν ἀµείβοµεν· ἢν δ’ ἐθέλωσιν 5 Μοῖραι, πολλάκι µοι κείσεαι ἐν σελίσιν.

A little dew is enough to intoxicate cicadas, but when they drink it, they are louder singers than swans. So too a poet knows how to give poems as recompense to benefactors even when he has received just a little kindness. This is why I’ve written to you, and if the Moirai should wish it, you will often lie in my pages.

The image underpinning the analogical structure of Antipater’s epigram is a familiar one.

The τεττίξ (“cicada”), thought to subsist solely on air and dew (Arist. HA 532b13), is

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likened to a poet in Plato’s Phaedrus, and this comparison goes on to achieve great popularity in Hellenistic epigram. Antipater has two more proximate models in mind. At the end of the Aetia prologue (fr. 1.29), Callimachus likens his song to that of the cicada and wishes that he too could slough off old age and live on dew the way the cicada does

(1.33-35). Antipater’s intoxicated cicada, meanwhile, which is suited to his overall sympotic program, is taken over from Meleager, AP 7.196.1 (δροσεραῖς σταγόνεσσι

µεθυσθείς).

The situation between poet and addressee is a little obscure. I agree with those who suggest that Antipater addresses an (unnamed) patron, who has so far been unforthcoming with support. The poet’s appeal has two parts. On the one hand, a little favor goes a long way with poets; but if the Moirai should wish it, the addressee will often “lie” in Antipater’s pages. This may be perfectly innocuous: in return for a little favor Antipater will compose frequent poems about his patron. It may also be menacing: if no favor is forthcoming, the patron will often “lie” (i.e. “lie dead”) in Antipater’s books. The point, on this reading, would be that, like Archilochus, Antipater knows how to gratify and how to sting with his verse. If the addressee is not officious, then, the

“Fates of Death” (Moirai) will see to it that he will often find himself “lying” in

Antipater’s pages.

This polemical reading of the final couplet is further strengthened if we consider

πολλάκι µοι in line 6 as a further reminiscence of the Aetia prologue. Antipater has already reworked Callimachus’ metapoetic image of the cicada feeding on dew; in this final couplet he transforms the very first two words of the Aetia from a polemic against

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critics into an attack on a (would-be) patron.467

In conception, then, this poem is far different from the Leonidean epigram that supplies its formal model as well as from generic relatives like the passage from

Nicaenetus. In Leonidas, the verb ἀρκεῖ activates the ethics of αὐτάρκεια, which is pointedly inappropriate to a poem in which the epigrammatist seeks support from a patron (and much less to a poem in which the poet threatens a potential patron!). The use of the same verb in the context of a request for patronage, taken over as it obviously is from the ostentatiously self-reliant Leonidas, seems, like so much else about Antipater’s persona, intentionally provocative.

The model of agonistic, allusive, imitation and variation that Antipater applied to his predecessors was turned back around on him by his own contemporaries. Although we have little to go on, it seems that the Philippan epigrammatist Parmenion’s outlook, and particularly his attitude toward patronage, is precisely the inverse of Antipater’s, even making use of the same matrix of earlier models and meta-poetic imagery. AP 9.43 is a scathing invective against poets who rely on such relationships:

AP 9.43 - Parmenion = VI GPh Ἀρκεῖ µοι χλαίνης λιτὸν σκέπας, οὐδὲ τραπέζαις δουλεύσω Μουσέων ἄνθεα βοσκόµενος. µισῶ πλοῦτον ἄνουν, κολάκων τροφόν, οὐδὲ παρ’ ὀφρὺν στήσοµαι· οἶδ’ ὀλίγης δαιτὸς ἐλευθερίην.

The humble covering of a cloak suffices for me, and I will not slave at banquets since I feed on the flowers of the Muses. I hate thoughtless wealth, the nourishment of flatterers, and I will not stand at attention for the proud: I know the freedom of a humble meal.

Parmenion represents himself here as an easily identifiable ethical type, the humble man

467 Compare the equivalent Callimachean allusion (saepe tibi…) at Catullus 116.1, also an invective poem, pointed out by Barchiesi, 2005, 333-335.

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who shuns the accoutrements of wealth as a matter of principle. In classical literature, this type is represented, for instance, by Eteoclus in the funeral oration delivered by

Adrastus in Euripides’ Suppliant Women:468 τὸν δεύτερον λέγω Ἐτέοκλον, ἄλλην χρηστότητ’ ἠσκηκότα. νεανίας ἦν τῶι βίωι µὲν ἐνδεής, πλείστας δὲ τιµὰς ἔσχ’ ἐν Ἀργείαι χθονί. φίλων δὲ χρυσὸν πολλάκις δωρουµένων 875 οὐκ εἰσεδέξατ’ οἶκον ὥστε τοὺς τρόπους δούλους παρασχεῖν χρηµάτων ζευχθεὶς ὕπο.

the second man I mention is Eteoclus, who was practiced in an exceptional virtue. As a youth he was wanting in means, yet he had the greatest honors in the Argive land. And though his friends would often offer money, he did not accept it into his house so as to enslave his behavior beneath the yoke of wealth.

Eteoclus’ poverty, the enticement of money, and the refusal to “enslave” himself all match Parmenion quite neatly; this is a well-worn ethical type.

Yet although Parmenion’s ethical posture is commonplace, it is articulated through the same earlier models, Callimachus and Leonidas, invoked by Antipater in AP

9.92, and this affinity of generic models makes the poem readily identifiable as a pointed

“retort” to Antipater’s epigram. The epigram is organized into four clauses with verbs at the beginning of each line. These are capped by a short clause summing up the sense of the poem as a whole. The first four verbs break into two pairs, each with a positive and a negative member. The poet avows a simple life (note λιτόν, 1) and foreswears luxury in favor of poetry. The first word of the second line, δουλεύσω, sets up the first leg of an

468 For the topoi of noble poverty in preference to ignoble wealth and the enslavement to wealth in archaic and classical poetry, see Collard on Eur. Suppl. 871-2 and 875-7, respectively. Among later authors, Babrius 108.29-32 (the rustic mouse’s rejection of urbane food) is strikingly similar: “τοιαῦτα δειπνῶν” εἶπε “χαῖρε καῖ πλούτει, καὶ τοῖς περισσοῖς αὐτὸς ἐντρύφα δείπνοις, ἔχων τὰ πολλὰ ταῦτα µεστὰ κινδύνων. ἐγὼ δὲ λιτῆς οὐκ ἀφέξοµαι βώλου, ὑφ᾽ ἣν τὰ κρίµνα µὴ φοβούµενος τρώγω.”

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antithesis between freedom and slavery that will be completed in the final word

ἐλευθερίην. The remainder of the line sets up a coordinated contrast between the status of the poet and that of the parasite.

As we have already seen, along with the broader ethical ideas associated with “the simple life”, the incipit ἀρκεῖ µοι invokes some definite literary predecessors including

Nicaenetus and Leonidas.469 In line with practices we have seen already, e.g. in

Philodemus’ invitation to Piso, Parmenion takes key words and motifs and pointedly transforms them. Leonidas’ dust (µικρὴ κόνις) and Antipater’s dew (δρόσος) are replaced by the "simple covering of a cloak" (χλαίνης λιτὸν σκέπας, 1). The χλαίνα, a garment charged with poetic and philosophical significance through its association with

Hipponax and later the Cynics,470 provides a foretaste of the attitude that will be taken up in the poem. Furthermore, the garment not only takes the place of Leonidas’ dust formally speaking, but also assumes precisely the same symbolic function served by that motif in the Leonidean model. In Leonidas, the dust represented, metonymically, a memorial not only to the man—indeed in this capacity it was too slight to be very effective—but also to his ideals, of which its simplicity and size were the perfect embodiment. So too Parmenion’s simple cloak, with its literary pedigree running back to

Hipponax, and his epigram itself, with its roots in Leonidas, function as memorials of his poetic ideals. Like Leonidas (and, incidentally, Philodemus), Parmenion uses food as an index of morality, making poetic activity his own sustenance and attacking poets who

"sing for their supper". His poverty, represented by his humble clothing and food, is

469 Identical incipits are, of course, not uncommon in epigram, but this particular one is found in the Greek Anthology only in the three epigrams under discussion here. 470 Cf. Hipponax frr. 32 and 34 West.

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noble because it frees him from the obligation to “enslave” himself at banquets

(τραπέζαις | δουλεύσω, 1-2), and his small meal brings with it freedom (ἐλευθερίην,

4).471

The second half of the first line and the first pentameter introduce the image of the poet as a bee.472 The image is common enough in Greek literature, but the particular form it takes here is derived from Leonidas, who likened the poetess Erinna to a bee.473

Although the image of the bee and the collocation ἄνθεα βοσκόµενος may be derived from Leonidas’ epigram on Erinna (AP 7.13.1-2), the ideological force Parmenion gives this image pretty clearly owes something to the end of Callimachus’ Hymn to Apollo, a passage we have already seen invoked by earlier poets—it is in fact the very passage alluded to, polemically, by Antipater of Thessalonica at AP 11.20. In this passage,

Callimachus opposes the muddy water of the Euphrates with the pure drops that the

“bees” (priestesses) bring to Demeter:

Δηοῖ δ’ οὐκ ἀπὸ παντὸς ὕδωρ φορέουσι µέλισσαι, ἀλλ’ ἥτις καθαρή τε καὶ ἀχράαντος ἀνέρπει πίδακος ἐξ ἱερῆς ὀλίγη λιβὰς ἄκρον ἄωτον.

“Bees of Demeter do not gather water from just anywhere, but only the small drop that bubbles up from a sacred spring.”

In Parmenion’s reimagining, rich banquets take the place of the muddy water while the

“blossoms of the Muses” effectively correspond to the clear water. The thought looks

471 Cf. also Ariston AP 6.303, discussed above, where the poet is more concerned about the safety of his books than of his food-supply. 472 The entomological image nicely corresponds to the poet-as-cicada in Antipater’s epigram. 473 AP 7.13.1-2: Παρθενικὰν νεαοιδὸν ἐν ὑµνοπόλοισι µέλισσαν | Ἤρινναν Μουσῶν ἄνθεα δρεπτοµέναν.

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back to Leonidas' self-epitaph AP 7.715. There, the poet laments his life of wandering, and his death far from his homeland. He takes comfort, however, in poetry, saying that he is happy in spite of his troubles, since his poetry will enjoy a life of its own after his own life is over. The same thought, of poetry as a special, autonomous space, is invoked by Crinagoras in AP 9.234. In all three epigrammatists, poetry is figured as a means of transcending the constraints of human life.

This idea is developed further in the second couplet, where the word µισῶ points the reader back to Callimachus’ poetic manifesto in AP 12.43 (discussed above, ch. 1): Ἐχθαίρω τὸ ποίηµα τὸ κυκλικὸν οὐδὲ κελεύθῳ χαίρω τὶς πολλοὺς ὧδε καὶ ὧδε φέρει· µισέω καὶ περίφοιτον ἐρώµενον, οὐδ᾽ ἀπὸ κρήνης πίνω· σικχαίνω πάντα τὰ δηµόσια. Λυσανίη σὺ δὲ ναίχι καλὸς καλός· ἀλλὰ πρὶν εἰπεῖν τοῦτο σαφῶς ἠχώ φησί τις ῾ἄλλος ἔχει᾽.

I hate the cyclic poem, and do not like the path that carries many hither and thither. I also loath the promiscuous beloved, nor do I drink from the public fountain. I detest all things common. And you, Lysanias, yes you are beautiful— beautiful! But before I’ve uttered this, an echo clearly says “another has him”.

Unlike Callimachus, Parmenion’s target is not “the public”, but another social sphere— the wealthy and their parasites. In spite of this distinction, there is an underlying affinity between the two poets. Callimachus too wishes to create an autonomous space for poetry away from the ephemeral concerns of the public sphere.

This Callimachean echo is intertwined with another Leonidean touch, the combination οἶδα – λιτός. These were used as book-ends by Leonidas in his mice- epigram AP 6.302. Parmenion has transferred the verb οἶδα from Leonidas' meal-tub, which in Leonidas' poem "[did] not know how to feed many mice" to himself, saying forcefully "I know the freedom of a small meal" (οἶδ', 4). Like Leonidas, Parmenion too

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uses the word λιτός to describe his possessions, in his case his clothing. Parmenion has inverted the order of these elements of Leonidas’ poem (where οἶδε occurred in the second line, λιτά in the penultimate line), but maintained their book-ending function.

The epigram as a whole, then, involves a blending of motifs and diction derived from different Leonidean epigrams, in the service of a self-reflexive poetic statement.

Parmenion “updates” Leonidas—the Hellenistic epigrammatist not affiliated with any royal court—to respond to contemporary patronage relations, particularly as embodied by

Parmenion’s contemporary epigrammatist Antipater of Thessalonica. Through the careful responsion of motifs and allusions between his epigram and Antipater’s,

Parmenion not only sets up an antithesis between the poet who depends upon aid from his patron with the one who advocates poetic independence, but calls on the support of an entire tradition, including most prominently Callimachus and Leonidas, and more recently Crinagoras, which conceived poetry as an autonomous realm in which the poet was sovereign.

A final word may be said about the placement of Antipater’s AP 9.92 and

Parmenion’s AP 9.43 in hypothetical poetry books by these authors, and this may in turn tell us something further about the epigrams’ literary function. I have already noted some parallels between Antipater AP 9.92 and Catullus 116, the final poem (deliberately so, it seems) in the Catullan corpus.474 In Parmenion’s epigram AP 9.43, the verb µισέω may also argue for an original prominent placement at the beginning or end of a book, since by Parmenion’s time it the verb ‘to hate’ had likely already been used by Horace in both

474 Macleod, 1973, pointed out the closural features in c. 116. Forsyth, 1977, building on this conclusion, noted the balancing effect with c. 65. As noted above, Barchiesi, 2005, further noted that the first words of 116, saepe tibi, formally recall the beginning of the Aetia.

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introductory and closing positions (Persicos odi, puer, apparatus, 1.38.1; odi profanum volgus et arceo, 3.1.1, both phrases reminiscent of Callimachus).475 The parallels between the epigrams by Antipater and Parmenion and poems of Catullus and Horace which have come down to us within artistically designed poetry books suggest that the epigrams too were conceived of as programmatic in nature and held a correspondingly prominent position at or near the beginning or end of their respective books.

Unlike their predecessors, the epigrammatists of Philip’s Garland did not turn to the archaic and classical past in search of models for their own self-representation. To the contrary, during this period the long-lived tradition of writing epigrams about the great poets of those days goes into steep decline. As poets turned more and more for inspiration to their own circumstances and surroundings, it was the poets of the early

Hellenistic period, and chiefly Callimachus and Leonidas, who provided them with models for self-expression.

A very different picture of Leonidas’ reception has emerged from the polemical account of Gow and Page (et al.) outlined at the beginning of this chapter. According to that view, Leonidas, himself a deficient poet, was the favored model for a mechanistic form of imitation and variation—in the sterile tradition exemplified by Antipater of

Sidon—practiced by a certain subset of the poets of Philip’s Garland. Their work, vitiated by this insincere, pretentious, stylistic bombast, was compared invidiously with the more original efforts of poets like Philodemus and Crinagoras.

In the foregoing analysis, however, I have tried to show that Leonidean influence manifests itself in ways more complex and expansive than previous scholars had allowed.

475 Nisbet on Hor. C. 1.38, cites Parmenion AP 9.43 as a “particularly relevant” example, though he is not concerned with the question of book organization per se.

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Like the masters of the narrower form of imitation and variation exemplified by Antipater of Sidon, each of the poets I have examined in this chapter exhibits a close textual engagement with Leonidas and other models. Beyond the textual level, however, the

Leonidean persona, with its distinctive manners of speaking, favorite motifs, themes, epigrammatic forms, and poetic and ethical outlook serves as a common point of reference for the Philippan epigrammatists. They refer back to it again and again not only in order to articulate their own poetics, but in constructing literary representations of their relationships with Roman patrons and the Italian cultural and political context.

Leonidas offered a versatile model, as evidenced by the diverse attitudes of these poets, who often differ greatly from Leonidas and from one another. Philodemus inverts the polemical force of Leonidas’ mice-epigram, retaining the ideas of simplicity and virtue, in order to craft an Epicurean invitation addressed to his patron. Crinagoras’ suite of autobiographical epigrams, meanwhile, returns again and again to different Leonidean models, framing his own situation as a Greek resident in the Augustan court at Rome in the terms offered by Leonidas, whose own circumstances were quite different. Antipater of Thessalonica, paradoxically, repurposes Leonidas’ Cynic-inspired philosophical outlook to express an exuberant hedonism. By way of a “correction” of Antipater’s attitudes toward patronage, Parmenion attacks the very institution and its deleterious effect on poetry, framing his stance as a return, of sorts, to authentic Leonidean ideals.

Stylistic imitation is, then, only the “tip of the iceberg” of Leonidean influence in later epigram. Leonidas’ vivid poetic persona inspired a succession of imitators, each of whom engaged not only with Leonidas himself, but with the tradition of imitation that had grown up around him. This common tradition served as a conventional background

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against which epigrammatists could stake their own literary claims and portray their lives as Greek poets in a Roman context. Not only is epigram of this period marked by the influence of Leonidas, the figure of the epigrammatist is largely defined in terms created by him.

The presence of Callimachus in the Garland of Philip is equally important and similarly multi-faceted. As we have seen, it is also often intertwined with that of

Leonidas. The same passages that served as Callimachean “emblems” for contemporary

Latin poets reecho again and again in the Greek epigram of the period—the Aetia prologue, of course, but also the end of the Hymn to Apollo and several of the epigrams.

It would be the subject of another study to explore how these invocations (which have never attracted much sustained attention) relate to those of contemporary Latin poetry, where the reception of Callimachus has now for a long time been a major area of inquiry.

More substantively, however, for the Greek epigrammatists as much as for their

Latin counterparts, Callimachus was not simply a source of poetic ideals. As important as these were, they were always bound up with what could be called either political or ethical ideals, depending on the frame of reference. As Hunter observes,

“in the last years of the Republic and the early years of the empire there was an important political dimension to the ‘pastness’ of Callimachus and his contemporaries. The turn to the poets of the first three Ptolemies was a turn to the ‘glory days’ of Alexandria, when the city was believed to have flourished politically, militarily, and artistically under powerful and virtuous rulers, and before corruption and vice brought the dynasty and country low in a way that the Romans knew only too vividly.”476

For Greek poets, the question of the nature of the new regime (whether that of Roman domination in general or the Augustan order in particular) and its relationship to the past

476 Hunter, 2006, 143.

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was not unimportant: Crinagoras’ epigram on the Hecale pushes Marcellus to adopt a certain set of traditional attitudes about political power, for instance. More generally, however, figures such as Callimachus and Leonidas offered Greeks templates for how to figure themselves as poets in a foreign society. Homeric and Callimachean models of guest friendship, each mediated through the epigrams of Leonidas, underpin Philodemus’ and Crinagoras’ addresses to their powerful Roman counterparts. Note too, for instance, how prominently Crinagoras features the themes of friendship and travel in AP 9.559, his inversion of Leonidas, AP 7.715. The imagination of poetry as an autonomous sphere unto itself, to which the poet could retreat from worldly affairs is part of the same matrix of concerns. For a Roman poet, this “retreat” had to be figured in terms of otium and/or the recusatio, a kind of apology, however ironic, for the failure to participate in the political and poetic activities of empire. A Greek experienced no such “anxiety”.

Parmenion valorizes the private sphere of poetry because it is the place where Greek

ἐλευθερία (note the contrast with the Roman ideology of otium) still exists.

The best illustration of the ethical dimension in the treatment of literary models is

Antipater of Thessalonica, whose whole literary program could justly be summarized as the rejection and inversion of his predcessors’ ethical ideas. We should accordingly keep in mind when reading his epigrams that the persona he has created—the poet as hedonistic parasite—is constructed according to the same principles as the personae of

Philodemus or Crinagoras; indeed, Antipater at times invokes them as (anti-)models alongside the early Hellenistic epigrammatists. When we find Antipater addressing an epigram to Piso to accompany a martial epic he has written about his defeat of the Bessi

(AP 9.428), we might read this as a mere document of the traffic in praise and patronage

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in Augustan Rome:

AP 9.428 – Antipater of Thessalonica = I GPh (Text = GPh) σοί µε, Θρηϊκίης σκυληφόρε, Θεσσαλονίκη µήτηρ ἡ πάσης πέµψε Μακηδονίης, ἀείδω δ᾽ὑπὸ σοὶ δεδµηµένον Ἄρεα Βεσσῶν ὅσσ᾽ ἐδάην πολέµου πάντ᾽ ἀναλεξάµενος. ἀλλά µοι ὡς θεὸς ἔσσο κατήκοος, εὐχοµένου δέ κλῦθι. τίς ἐς Μούσας οὔατος ἀσχολίη;

To you, desploiler of Thracia, Thessalonica, mother of all Macedonia, sends me. I sing of the Ares of the Bessi, subdued beneath you—all that I learned by reading. But you, like a god, hear me, and listen as I pray. What ear does does not have leisure for the Muses?

We will notice the literary dimensions of this poem only when we integrate it into the larger picture of Antipater’s work. It is only natural, after all, that the poet who inverts so many dearly-held ideas about the autonomy of poetry would also be the one to write an epigram (to say nothing of the poem it accompanied) that is precisely the inverse of the recusatio, one of Latin poetry’s stylized Callimachean symbols par excellence.

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Conclusion The Epigrammatic Sensibility This study began with a survey of poetic self-representations created by the early

Hellenistic literary epigrammatists Asclepiades, Nossis, and Leonidas of Tarentum.

These poets, I have argued, created their distinct bodies of poetry by drawing on different literary genres, sympotic lyric, Sappho, and epic, respectively. They combined these various generic elements with the tradition of inscribed epigram in different ways, with

Nossis and Leonidas drawing heavily upon sepulchral and dedicatory motifs, while

Asclepiades instead mined the traditions of inscribed verse for a treasury of symbols and metaphors for aspects of erotic experience. One need only compare the exuberant symposiastic persona of Asclepiades with the irascible, austere Leonidas to see that these diverse approaches to the genre gave rise to equally diverse conceptions of the epigrammatist as an authorial figure.

The poets of the Garland of Philip are quite reminiscent of these early Hellenistic predecessors in the diversity of their outlooks and poetic personae, as illustrated, for instance, by a comparison of the mercenary hedonism of Antipater of Thessalonica with the self-sufficient asceticism of Parmenion. The outward disparity, however, is of a qualitatively different kind from what we have seen before, and appears on closer scrutiny to be the mark of a deeper generic affinity among the epigrammatists. As we have seen, although Antipater and Parmenion appear to be diametrically opposed to one another, they turn out to be rooted in the same poetic tradition and depend on the very same poetic models. Poets of this period are in this sense rather like the various speakers at a symposium, whose own words rely for a large part of their significance (and, indeed,

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their content) on the words of other, earlier speakers, with whom they may differ in the strongest terms, but without whom they themselves could not be fully understood.

Parmenion’s ethical posture, his ideal of the poet’s place in the world, and the poetics that goes along with it were probably conceived, that is, as a response to Antipater, and are able to be understood as such because he employs the same storehouse of generic materials as his counterpart.

This study has been concerned primarily with exploring the mechanisms by which this matrix of generic possibilities took shape from the early Hellenistic down to the early

Imperial period, and the ways in which it was augmented and transformed by individual poets along the way. Writing epigrams about poetry, and writing oneself into epigram as an authorial figure, were both means first of defining, and later of redefining, epigram as a poetic form. Leonidas’ praise of Aratus in AP 9.25, for instance, so often derided as arid rhetorical posturing, proved to part of a larger poetic program aiming at the renovation of epic within new formal contexts. Aratus’ versified astronomy and

Leonidas’ miniaturized epigrammatic Odyssey (see my discussion of Leonidas’ self- epitaph, AP 7.715) are each instantiations of this poetic project. I have argued that a key part of this process of generic self-definition for Leonidas and other epigrammatists is the dramatization of the relationship between past and present, the interconnections between the two, and the ways in which quite new literary creations can emerge from earlier models.

The second claim advanced in the first chapter of this study was that epigrammatists of the 3rd and early 2nd centuries BCE created a way of talking about poetry that was unique to the genre of epigram, a properly epigrammatic poetic discourse,

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in other words. I argued, for example, that in Callimachus’ epigrams we find the poetic program of the Aetia prologue recast according to the generic norms of epigram. In a similar way, Dioscorides, in his epigrams on dramatists, filtered contemporary literary critical debates through the conceptual apparatus of epigram. I argued that much the same metaphorical repertoire was also at work in other Hellenistic epigrams on poets, such as Alcaeus of Messene’s epigrammatic “miniaturizations” of Homer and Hesiod, AP

7.1 and 7.55. In the epigrams of Posidippus (e.g. AB 37, 63, 118, 122) we saw the connection between epigram and objects exploited for programmatic purposes, as material objects again and again serve as conduits for the transmission and renovation, continuity and change, in the tradition through space and time and come to function as a symbol for Posidippus’ own poetic practice.

The second chapter argued that the second-century constitutes a turning point, at which epigrammatists began to construct in earnest a proper epigrammatic tradition with its own canonical models, against the background of which their own work acquires its meaning. One of the most important figures in this great project of generic consolidation was Antipater of Sidon. The poetic “panorama” he created is an ingenious artifact, containing within it a complete accounting of the great literature of the archaic and classical periods. At the same time, in its diction, imagery, and structural design, it is an encapsulation of the previous epigrammatic tradition. This group of epigrams, along with the rest of Antipater’s work, might be dismissed as a kind of curiosity, the limit case of a particular type of epigrammatic composition. For Meleager, however, Antipater’s experiment illustrated something fundamental about the nature of epigram as a poetic form. In Meleager’s presentation, epigram is defined by mixture and synthesis. On the

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one hand, this refers to the synthesis of particular epigrammatic model texts, as in

Antipater’s epigrams. But Meleager broadens this concept to refer to mixture of all kinds, including the mixture of different, even contradictory elements constituting the epigrammatist himself. This is where Antipater’s and Meleager’s undeniable obsession with the formal qualities of literature broadens into a true outlook, becoming the basis for a new, generically defined conception of the epigrammatist as an authorial figure.

The poets of the Garland of Philip inherited a conception of epigram that had already been enriched by the introduction of the authorial figure as a unifying force in the collection, the insertion and situation of epigram within the literary system, and the development of an intensely intertextual model of imitation and variation. The third part of this study examined how epigrammatists of the first centuries BCE/CE used these tools in order to refashion the genre of epigram for the cultural context of Roman Italy.

Crucial to my reevaluation of these poets was the contention that the techniques of formal imitation and variation should not be, or indeed cannot be, separated from higher level thematic engagement with literary models. This was most clearly illustrated in poems such as Crinagoras AP 9.559, the poet’s announcement of his intention to sail to Italy, where the manner in which Crinagoras reworked the precise letters of Leonidas AP

7.715.1 could be fit into a larger project of recontextualizing the poetic values of

Leonidas (and other epigrammatic models) in the milieu of the Augustan court.

Crinagoras’ poem on the Hecale (AP 9.545), meanwhile, illustrated how the tradition of writing epigrams about poetry and other poets could be seamlessly interwoven with the tradition of authorial self-representation in epigram, with the poem fusing Leonidas’

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mice-epigram (AP 6.302), Callimachus’ Hecale, and Callimachus’ epigram on

Antimachus’ Lyde (fr. 398 Pf.) all at once.

In short, the various poetic innovations I have studied here yield, in combination with one another, a robust conception of epigram as a genre with norms of style and content as well as its own quasi-canonical group of “classics”—Callimachus and

Leonidas above all—who served not only as poetic, but also ethical and political paradigms. It would be the topic of still another study to consider fully the ramifications of these developments outside the genre of Greek epigram proper. In the light of recent scholarship showing the extensive intertextual connections between Latin poetry and

Greek epigram, few would deny that the Latin poets frequently read and adapted

(elements from) Greek epigrams for their own purposes. I would argue that what I have called the “epigrammatic sensibility”, a set of generic norms embodied in a conception of the epigrammatist as an authorial figure, is an especially important factor in determining the nature of Greek epigram’s influence in Latin poetry.

I would like to conclude with some observations about the poetry of Catullus, where, I argue, we can see this “epigrammatic sensibility” at work in the poet’s creation of a unified outlook on life and literature. Catullus’ relationship to the genre of epigram is more complicated than it may at first appear. His so-called “epigrams”, with their heavy dose of invective, do not conspicuously resemble earlier (or contemporary) Greek epigram. Nevertheless, scholars have noticed many places in both the polymetric and the elegiac poems where Catullus can be seen to adapt particular Greek epigrams or rework

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epigrammatic topoi.477 Catullus’ close familiarity with the epigrammatic tradition is also suggested by the works of his friends, such as Helvius Cinna, who composed an adaptation of Callimachus, AP 9.507, on Aratus’ Phaenomena.

A series of poems in hendecasyllabics cc. 12, 13, and 14 (text = Mynors) is, I would argue, paradigmatic not only of the way Catullus engages with Greek epigram and with his literary models more generally. This sequence further illustrates the ways in which the epigrammatic tradition informs Catullus’ outlook or sensibility, how it supplies a template for a coherent representation of the author’s social world as well as his ethical and poetic ideals:

12. Marrucine Asini, manu sinistra non belle uteris: in ioco atque vino tollis lintea neglegentiorum. hoc salsum esse putas? fugit te inepte: quamvis sordida res et invenusta est. 5 non credis mihi? crede Pollioni fratri, qui tua furta vel talento mutari velit: est enim leporum differtus puer ac facetiarum. quare aut hendecasyllabos trecentos 10 exspecta, aut mihi linteum remitte; quod me non movet aestimatione, verum est mnemosynum mei sodalis. nam sudaria Saetaba ex Hiberis miserunt mihi muneri Fabullus 15 et Veranius: haec amem necessest ut Veraniolum meum et Fabullum.

Marrucinus Asinius, you use your left hand in a way that is not nice: amid joking and wine you steal the napkins of the distracted. You this this is funny? It escapes you, you fool, how base and uncouth a thing it is. You don’t believe me? Believe your brother Pollio, who would be willing to absolve your thefts even at the price of a talent, being as he is a boy stuffed with charm and wit. Therefore, either await three- hundred hendecasyllables, or return the napkin to me, which

477 See, e.g., Hezel, 1932; Tait, 1941; Avallone, 1944; Braga, 1950; Paratore, 1963; Laurens 1965b; Carilli, 1975; Hutchinson, 2003; Ingleheart, 2003; Gutzwiller, 2012b.

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affects me not because of its cost, but because it is a true keepsake of my friend. For Fabullus and Veranius sent them to me as a gift, handkerchiefs from Saetabis, from where the Spaniards live. I must love these just as I love my dear Veranius and Fabullus.

13. Cenabis bene, mi Fabulle, apud me paucis, si tibi di favent, diebus, si tecum attuleris bonam atque magnam cenam, non sine candida puella et vino et sale et omnibus cachinnis. 5 haec si, inquam, attuleris, venuste noster, cenabis bene: nam tui Catulli plenus sacculus est aranearum. sed contra accipies meros amores seu quid suavius elegantiusvest: 10 nam unguentum dabo, quod meae puellae donarunt Veneres Cupidinesque; quod tu cum olfacies, deos rogabis, totum ut te faciant, Fabulle, nasum.

You will dine well, my Fabullus, at my place in a few days, if the gods are kind to you, if you bring with you a good, large feast, a white-skinned girl, and wine and salt and all the laughs. If you bring these things, I say, my lovely man, you will dine well, for your Catullus’ wallet is full of cobwebs. But on the other hand, you will receive the truest love or something sweeter and more elegant—if any such thing exists: for I will give you a balm which the Venuses and Cupids have bestowed upon my girlfriend. When you smell it, you will pray to the gods, Fabullus, to make you all nose.

14. Ni te plus oculis meis amarem, iucundissime Calue, munere isto odissem te odio Vatiniano: nam quid feci ego quidue sum locutus, cur me tot male perderes poetis? 5 isti di mala multa dent clienti, qui tantum tibi misit impiorum. quod si, ut suspicor, hoc nouum ac repertum munus dat tibi Sulla litterator, non est mi male, sed bene ac beate, 10 quod non dispereunt tui labores. di magni, horribilem et sacrum libellum! quem tu scilicet ad tuum Catullum misti, continuo ut die periret, Saturnalibus, optimo dierum! 15

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non non hoc tibi, false, sic abibit. nam si luxerit ad librariorum curram scrinia, Caesios, Aquinos, Suffenum, omnia colligam uenena. ac te his suppliciis remunerabor. 20 uos hinc interea ualete abite illuc, unde malum pedem attulistis, saecli incommoda, pessimi poetae.

If I did not love you more than my own eyes, dearest Calvus, because of that gift of yours I would hate you with a Vatinian hatred: for what have I done or said to make you ruin me with such a miserable quantity of poets? May the gods give many ills to that client of yours who sent you such a load of wicked men. But if, as I suspect, Sulla, the grammarian, gives this new and recherché gift to you, then it’s not a bother to me, but rather happy and lucky, since you haven’t wasted your own labor on it. Great gods, what a horrible and accursed book! You, of course, sent it to your Catullus so that he would perish just on the Saturnalia, the finest of days! You won’t get away with this, you schemer. For if day breaks, I will run to the cases in the book shops and gather up Caesii, Aquini, Suffenus—all that poison— and with these punishments I will pay you back. You, meanwhile, farewell; away with you back whence you brought your wicked foot, you banes of our age, oh awful poets.

Scholars have often considered these poems as a group;478 they share the same meter

(hendecasyllabics) and are bordered by poem 11 (Sapphic stanzas) and the apparently transitional fragmentary poem 14b.479 Each is a direct address to a friend or acquaintance on the subject of the exchange of presents and/or punishments.

Scholars have filled in some of the poems’ background in Greek poetry. It is now generally recognized that poem 13, for instance, is closely connected with Philodemus

AP 11.44, examined at length in chapter 3 above. The findings outlined there will prove to be of some significance for the understanding of this series of poems, and indeed for

478 See, e.g., Wiseman, 1985, 147. 479 On 14b as a transitional piece, cf. Skinner, 1981, 44.

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our appreciation of Catullus’ way of approaching Greek epigram in general. We saw that

Philodemus’ epigram is, in conception, a variation on Leonidas’ mice-epigram AP 6.302.

What is more, Philodemus incorporated into his imitation elements of an earlier imitation of the same Leonidean model (Ariston, AP 6.303). That is to say, AP 11.44 is an imitation of (at least) two epigrams that Philodemus found situated together in

Meleager’s Garland.

When we place Catullus c. 13 into its libellus-context, between cc. 12 and 14, we find something suprising: the poems constitute a sequence organized according to principles derived from Meleager’s Garland, specifically the intact Meleagrean sequence

AP 6.300-303.480 A simple comparison of various features of the poems will suffice to show the basic relationship between them. The napkin theft in poem 12 matches the attempted theft by the mice in poem 6.302 (and 6.303); the invitation in poem 13 matches

Philodemus’ invitation-poem AP 11.44, which, as already discussed above (ch. 3), is itself an imitation of 6.300, 6.302, and 6.303. The situation in poem 14 is slightly more complicated. As in Ariston, AP 6.303, the subject is now a book (or books) of poetry

(ἐµαῖς … βίβλοις, 6.303.5; libellum 13.2), but whereas the books in Ariston’s epigram belonged to the poet himself, here it is the book (and, figuratively, the poets whose work it contains) that “assails” the poet like a pest. Note how the end of Catullus’ poem vos hinc interea valete abite | illuc, unde malum pedem attulistis, would be just as suitable an address to mice as it is (in this case) to bad poets. Here Catullus’ “imitation” of the

Meleagrean sequence AP 6.300-303 shows an awareness of other epigrams imitating

480 Skinner, 2007, reviews the long and heated scholarly debate over the arrangement of poems in the corpus Catullianum. My proposals here, if accepted, would join the other arguments in favor of some degree of authorial influence over (at least) the first part of the polymetra.

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Leonidas’ mice-epigram; Philodemus AP 11.44 has already been mentioned, but there is also an echo of an epigram by Herodicus of Babylon preserved by Athenaeus:

Herodicus of Babylon apud Athenaeus 5.222a = SH 494 φεύγετ’, Ἀριστάρχειοι, ἐπ’ εὐρέα νῶτα θαλάττης Ἑλλάδα, τῆς ξουθῆς δειλότεροι κεµάδος, γωνιοβόµβυκες, µονοσύλλαβοι, οἷσι µέµηλε τὸ σφὶν καὶ σφῶιν καὶ τὸ µὶν ἠδὲ τὸ νίν. τοῦθ’ ὑµῖν εἴη δυσπέµφελον· Ἡροδίκῳ δὲ Ἑλλὰς ἀεὶ µίµνοι καὶ θεόπαις Βαβυλών.

Flee Hellas over the broad backs of the sea, Aristarcheans more cowardly than a flighty deer, who buzz monosyllabically in the margins, who obsess over “sphin” and “sphoin” and “min” and “nin”. I wish you a bad journey. But for Herodicus, may Hellas and divinely-born Babylon always remain.

The epigram seems to refer to the flight of the Aristarcheans from Alexandria during the reign of Ptolemy VIII Phsycon, and would thus belong to the 140s BCE or so.481 If this is the case, then the epigram likely served as a model for later epigrams (and other poems) that inveigh against grammarians in terms ultimately derived from Leonidas, AP 6.302.482

Just as Philodemus’ invitation poem acted as an intermediary between Leonidas

AP 6.302 and Catullus 13, Herodicus’ epigram stands between Leonidas and Catullus 14.

From Herodicus’ epigram (or others like it) Catullus has taken the motif of the grammarian as an object of invective, giving his poem a double target—Sulla, the grammarian (litterator) and the poets he has anthologized. It is especially fitting that an

481 On this incident, see Pfeiffer, 1968, 252-3. 482 So Lloyd-Jones and Parsons at SH p. 248, comparing in Greek Ant. Thess. AP 11.20; Antiphanes AP 11.322; Philip AP 11.321; in Latin: [Verg.] Cat. 2 and 5 against pedantic rhetors. Cf. in addition Philip AP 11.347, although the target there is pedantic astronomers (followers of Aristarchus of Samos) rather than grammarians.

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apparent anthology, this one consisting of bad poetry, should figure in a series of poems modeled largely on another anthology!483

Once we recognize these basic points of connection between Catullus’ poems and the epigrams, several finer points come to light illustrative of how carefully Catullus has handled the motifs and themes taken over from the epigrams. The overarching themes of cc. 12-14, for instance, are the interdependent ideas of friendship and enmity, between which Catullus oscillates over the course of the series. He gives gifts to his friends and receives them in return, and threatens punishments against those who violate himself and his friends. At c. 12.7-8, for instance, Pollio is willing to recompense his brother’s napkin theft at the price of a whole talent, while Catullus threatens to dispatch three hundred hendecasyllabi against Marrucinus if the napkin is not returned. All this because the napkin is a “real keepsake” (verum … mnemosynum) of a friend (12.13), and is as dear to him as his friends Veranius and Fabullus who sent it to him (12.13-17). In poem

13, by contrast, Catullus’ mood is friendly (if ironically so), and he promises his own modest gift to Fabullus, who will have to supply all the other elements of the feast. In c.

14, enmity and friendship are closely bound up with each other. As if to cap the series thematically, Catullus begins by saying “if I did not love you… I would hate you”

(amarem … odissem). The humorous phrasing mirrors the oscillation between the two emotions in the previous two poems on the one hand, but also the shifting modes of

Catullus’ models (Leonidas’ invective, Philodemus’ friendly invitation, and so forth).

The ironic ambivalence of Catullus’ mood is, in part, a reflection of his expert mixture of

483 Meanwhile, in c. 27, Catullus prefigures a later Greek imitation of Leonidas: c. 27.5- 7: at vos quo libet hinc abite, lymphae, | vini pernicies, et ad severos | migrate: hic merus est Thyonianus. Compare Ant. Thess. AP 11.20.6: ὁ κρήτηρ οὐ δέχεθ᾽ ὑδροπότας.

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literary models, a technique he learned brilliantly from Meleager both in his capacities as an epigrammatist (which we already knew) but also as anthologist.

The imagery in the poems takes on a fluid, metamorphic quality when looked at against the epigrammatic background. Salt, a metaphor for wit, is a recurring image in

Catullus’ oeuvre.484 Its metaphorical meaning features prominently in poem 12, where

Marrucinus’ theft is condemned more for its gaucheness than the damage it causes (cf. hoc salsum esse putas?, 12.4). Note how the napkin which Marrucinus steals serves, even if only ironically, the same function as Leonidas’ salt-box in AP 6.302—a symbol of the author’s ethical values. The metaphorical sense of sal as “wit” may perhaps recur in poem 14, where Catullus may call Calvus salse (O and R read false; G has false with salse as an alternate reading485). Martial, ep. IV.23, will later mark this as a distinctly

Roman quality, “the salt of Roman Minerva” (sal Romanae Minervae) in contrast to

“Attic charm” (lepor Cecropius), but in c. 13 we catch a glimpse of how the Catullan product was manufactured. In addition to its semantic meaning of “wit”, the rhetorical structure of this poem gives the salt a further shade of significance as an mark of the poet’s (extreme) poverty. Salt, along with bread, was, after all, one of the components of what antiquity viewed as the simplest, most austere kind of diet—the diet of a Cynic or someone simply destitute. To say that Fabullus must bring even the salt is, then, an ironic play on, for instance, Leonidas’ claim to autarkeia in AP 6.302. In AP 6.301, the poem that preceded AP 6.302 in Meleager’s Garland, Callimachus too had capitalized on

484 In addition to 12.4 cf. 13.5, 16.7, and 86.4. On 14.16, where the manuscripts have false or salse, more below. 485 salse is printed by Thomson, Goold, and most recently adopted by Trappes-Lomax, 2007, 66, who notes that Calvus has been witty (salsus) at Catullus’ expense rather than treacherous (falsus).

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multiple meanings of the word “salt” (salt proper as well as “brine” or simply “the sea”) and its status as a symbol of poverty:

AP 6.301 – Callimachus = XXVIII HE = 47 Pfeiffer τὴν ἁλίην Εὔδηµος, ἐφ᾽ ἧς ἅλα λιτὸν ἐπέσθων χειµῶνας µεγάλους ἐξέφυγεν δανέων, θῆκε θεοῖς Σαµόθρᾳξι, λέγων ὅτι τήνδε κατ᾽ εὐχήν, ὦ λαοί, σωθεὶς ἐξ ἁλὸς ὧδε θέτο.

Eudemus dedicated his salt-box to the Samothracian gods, the box aboard which—eating his humble salt—he weathered great storms of debts, saying, O people, that he placed it here since in accordance with his prayer he had been saved from the salt/sea.

Through a similar wordplay the salt in Catullus c. 13 doubles as “wit”, gaining extra humor from the fact that, because the host is so impoverished, it is just one more of the things Fabullus will have to bring with him to the dinner. The full significance of

Catullan “salt” emerges out of this complicated mixture of earlier models, in much the same way that Catullus’ attitude in the three poems—the oscillation between amiable and invective modes—reflects his methods of imitation and variation of epigrammatic models. Like the rest of the meal in c. 13, the salt is indeed programmatic, but not in the manner of a simple stylistic allegory: salt = the wit that is a typical ingredient of Catullan style.486 Instead, this poem and those that stand alongside it in the libellus situate

Catullus programmatically within a particular tradition (implicating Leonidas, Meleager,

Philodemus and others in addition to Callimachus) against which his innovations stand out.

For all this, however, Catullus’ poems are not “epigrams”, at least not formally. It is not just that they do not feature any inscriptional conceit, they also depart from the

486 Straightforward readings of the elements of the meal as stylistic symbols are well discussed and problematized by Gowers, 1993, 229-233.

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standards Meleager himself had established in his Garland, in which short poems of about 6-8 lines in elegiac couplets predominate. What Catullus takes over from epigram is, instead, a generically determined sensibility—a coherent way of looking at the world and at poetry, embodied or focalized in the figure of the poet. This concept of the character and function of the author within the work is grounded in epigrammatic traditions of authorial self-representation, literary critical discourse, and intense intertextuality that have been the subject of this dissertation. As this concluding discussion of Catullus has suggested, the importance of these developments was not limited to epigram or to Greek poetry of the 1st centuries BCE/CE; Latin poets of the first century BCE, not to mention later poets such as Martial, are equally implicated.487 In their works, recognizably “epigrammatic” articulations of the poet and his or her poetic ideals, employing textual strategies learned from the likes of Antipater of Sidon and

Meleager, begin to proliferate across generic boundaries.488

At the same time, as we have seen, literary epigram continued in the 1st century

BCE to undergo changes of its own. In the epochal turn toward “occasional poetry” that is such a marked feature of the Garland of Philip, epigram began to embrace more and more of human life in all its aspects, anticipating Martial’s famous declaration of epigrammatic realism, hominem pagina nostra sapit (X.4.10). It was through the figure of the poet, who has subsumed the epigrammatic tradition and its poetic discourse within himself to the point even of embodying it, that epigram as a genre came “back to life”,

487 The papers gathered in Keith, 2011, explore some aspects of the interplay between 1st century BCE epigram and contemporary Latin literary production, but much work remains to be done. 488 See Thomas, 2011, for instance, on the porousness of the boundary between epigram and Latin love elegy.

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reborn as a form whose fragmented, multifarious nature is mirrored in its representation of the world and in the subjectivity of the poet who presides over it.

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