Iambic Poetics in the Roman Empire (Cambridge, 2014)

Iambic Poetics in the Roman Empire

This is the first book to study the impact of invective poetics associated with early Greek iambic poetry on Roman imperial authors and audiences. It demonstrates how authors as varied as Ovid and Gregory Nazianzen wove recognizable elements of the iambic tradition (e.g., meter, motifs, or poetic biographies) into other literary forms (e.g., elegy, oratorical prose, anthologies of fables), and it shows that the humorous, scurrilous, efficacious aggression of Archilochus continued to facilitate negotiations of power and social relations long after Horace's Epodes. The eclectic approach encompasses Greek and Latin, prose and poetry, and exploratory interludes appended to each chapter help to open four centuries of later classical literature to wider debates about the function, propriety, and value of the lowest and most debated poetic form from archaic Greece. Each chapter presents a unique variation on how each of these imperial authors became Archilochus - however briefly and to whatever end.

TOM HAWKINS is Associate Professor of Classics at Ohio State University. His work and teaching focus on iambic poetics and invective as well as animal studies and personhood.

Iambic Poetics in the Roman 'Empire

TOM HAWKINS

Ohio State University

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Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Hawkins, Tom, 1972-

Iambic poetics in the Roman Empire I Tom Hawkins, Ohio State University. pages cm

Includes bibliographical references.

ISBN 978-1-107-01208-0 (Hardback)

1. Archilochus-Criticism and interpretation. 2. Archilochus-Influence. 3. Iambic poetry,

Classical-History and criticism. 4. Greek language-Metrics and rhythmics. 5. Latin

language-Metrics and rhythmics. 6. Latin literature-Greek influences. I. Title. PA3873.A77H39 2014

870.9'001-dc23

ISBN 978-1-107-01208-0 Hardback

Cambridge University Press has no responsibility for the persistence or accuracy of

URLs for external or third-party internet websites referred to in this publication,

and does not guarantee that any content on such websites is, or will remain, accurate or appropriate.

For Madeleine and Phoebe

Table of Contents

Acknowledgements [page ix] Abbreviations [x]

Introduction: the bitter Muse [1] Introduction [l] Post-Horatian iambic poetics [7] Slurring Thersites' words: dissimulated iambic poetry (Chapters 1-3) [9] Prosaic pastures of the Muses: simulated iambic poetics

(Chapters 4-6) [16] Conjuring up Iambe: what the imperial era knew about

iambic poetics [23]

1 Iambus delayed: Ovid's Ibis [32] Introduction [32] Ovid's iambic dissimulation [38] Callimachus and the idea of ibidic invective [ 46] Callimachus' Ibis and Plato's Phaedrus [51] The geopoetics of washing ashore at Tomis [63]

Ruining the New Year in Ovid's Ibis [69] Ibidic therapy as a remedy for exile [73] Conclusions [78]

Interlude 1 "Bad artists imitate, great artists steal": Martial and the trope of not being iambic [82]

2 Iambos denied: Babrius' Mythiambi [87] Introduction [87] Iambos and fable [89] Choliambs that neither sting nor bite [93] Preconditioning an iambic reading of Babrius' fables [111] The iambic mode in Babrius' fables [118] Babrius and Phaedrus [128] Conclusions [134]

Interlude 2 Iambopoioi after Babrius [137]

3 The Christian laµ13ono16s - Gregory Nazianzen [142] Introduction [142] The Callimachean turn: Eis ta emmetra [146] Gregory bites back at the dog [163]

vii

viii Table of Contents

Gregory the holy man vs. the bishops [169]

Conclusions [178] Acknowledgements Interlude 3 Palladas and epigrammatic iambos [181]

4 Archilochus in Tarsus: Dio Chrysostom's First Tarsian [186] Introduction [186] Ethical i\018opla and ethical crisis in Tarsus [188] Becoming Archilochean and theorizing i\018opla [194] Rereading Dio's persona [198] Dio's Archilochean performance [206] Conclusions [214]

Interlude 4 Begging with Hipponax [216]

5 Playful aggression: Lucian's Pseudologista [220] Introduction [221] Lucian on the attack [225] Fun with (fighting over) words [230] The gauche aggressor [237] The mouth of the barbarian [242] Mock salvation on the kalends [250] Conclusions [254]

Interlude 5 Neobule in love: the Ps.-Lucianic Amores [257]

6 Festive iambos: Julian's Misopogon [262] Introduction [262] Updating iambic poetics [267] The emperor's beard [275] Of Hellenes and barbarians [280] Carnival at Antioch [286] Conclusions [293]

Interlude 6 Iambic time travel: Julian the Egyptian on Archilochus [295]

Conclusions: becoming Archilochus [300]

Works cited [304] Index of passages cited [318] Index of Greek words [328] General index [329]

I am grateful to a host of friends, family, and colleagues for their support while the ideas presented in this book came together. Bob Gregg, Richard

Martin, and Alessandro Barchiesi patiently read early drafts, and Benjamin Acosta-Hughes offered invaluable advice as I was preparing to submit the manuscript for publication. Along the way, I benefited immensely from the feedback of Ewen Bowie, Andrew Dyck, Maud Gleason, Simon Goldhill, Fritz Graf, John Henderson, Anthony Kaldellis, Denise McCoskey, Ralph

Rosen, Susan Stephens, and Tim Whitmarsh. Countless hours of conversation with Don Lavigne and David Smith lie behind my approach to iambos and, indeed, to classical scholarship and the art of living.

Ohio State gave generous support during the most important writing stages, and my students often served as helpful sounding boards for many of the ideas found in these pages (as well as others that deserved to be left out!). My department chairs, David Hahm, Fritz Graf, and Benjamin

Acosta-Hughes, each provided mentorship and guidance along the way, and my colleagues Richard Fletcher and Sarah Johnston have sustained me

with their humor and friendship w~en my energy flagged. I am deeply indebted to Michael Sharp, Editor for Classics and Byzan

tine Studies, and his team at Cambridge University Press. The two

anonymous readers presented a wealth of suggestions that helped me shape and sharpen the book into its current form.

Phil Smith taught me to love stories when I was a child, and Marsh

McCall saved me from a career as an engineer. In addition to the people mentioned above, I have enjoyed and benefited from the friendships of Bruce Fudge and Louisa Shea, Allen Romano, David Larmour, Erica Kallis, Dana Renga, Pete Carey and Cyndi Stamps, Desiree Floyd, and Chris Witmore. My family has been a bulwark of love and encouragement,

particularly my parents, who have shown me the way. Maddie and Phoebe, together with Maverick and Django, have provided endless distractions, and have always been ready to remind me of what is most important in life.

And above all, I want to thank my wife Julia, who knows the true value of classics and who has taught me how to live deliberately and joyously.

ix

x

Abbreviations

Acosta-Hughes/

Cuss et

Bidez

Blockley

de Borries

CAH

Dg

Dindorf

DK

Di.iring

Gow

GP

HE

Hercher

JG

IGR

Koster

Acosta-Hughes, B. and C. Cusset, eds. 2012.

Euphorion. Paris.

Bidez, J., ed. 1924-32. Julien: Oeuvres completes. Paris.

Blockley, R. C., ed. 1983. The Fragmentary Classicizing Historians of the Later Roman Empire: Eunapius, Olympiodorus, Priscus and Malchus. Liverpool.

de Borries, J., ed. 1911. Phrynichi Sophistae Praeparatio sophistica. Leipzig.

1970-2005. The Cambridge Ancient History. 2nd edn. Cambridge.

Degani, E., ed. 1983. Hipponactis testimonia et fragmenta. Leipzig.

Dindorf, W., ed. 1829. Aristides. Leipzig.

Diels, H. and W. Kranz, eds. 1960-61. Die Fragmente der Vorsokratiker. 10th edn. Berlin.

Di.iring, I., ed. 1957. Aristotle in the Ancient Biographical Tradition. Gothenburg.

Gow, A. S. F., ed. 1952. Theocritus. 2nd edn.

Cambridge.

Gow, A. S. F. and D. L. Page, eds. 1968. The Garland of Philip and Some Contemporary Epigrams. Cambridge.

Gow, A. S. F. and D. L. Page, eds. 1965. The Greek Anthology: Hellenistic Epigrams. Cambridge.

Hercher, R., ed. 1866. Claudius Aelianus: Varia historia, Epistolae, Fragmenta Volume 2. Leipzig.

Inscriptiones Graecae. Berlin 1873-.

Cagnat, R., ed. 1911-27. Inscriptiones Graecae ad res Romanas pertinentes. Paris.

Koster, W. J. W., ed. 1975. Scholia in Aristophanem IA: Prolegomena de comoedia. Groningen.

Ki.ihn

Lenz-Behr

Lightfoot

Lomiento

Masson

P.Bour. PCG

P.Cair.Zen.

P.Dubl.

Perry

Pf.

PG P.Hib.

P.Lond.inv.

PMG P.Oxy.

SH

SIG

Tarditi

w

List of Abbreviations

Ki.ihn, C. G., ed. 1821-33. Claudii Galeni Opera omnia. Leipzig.

Lenz, F. W. and C. A. Behr, eds. 1976-80. P. Aelii Aristidis Opera quae exstant omnia. Leiden.

Lightfoot, J. L., ed. 2009. Hellenistic Collection. Cambridge, Massachusetts.

Lomiento, L. 1993. Cercida. Rome.

Masson, 0., ed. 1962. Les Fragments du poete Hipponax. Paris.

Collart, P., ed. 1926. Les Papyrus Bouriant. Paris.

Kassel, R. and C. Austin, eds. 1983-95. Poetae comici Graeci. Berlin.

Edgar, C. C., ed. 1925-40. Zenon Papyri, Catalogue general des antiquites egyptiennes du Musee du Caire. Cairo. McGing, B. C., ed. 1995. Greek Papyri from Dublin. Bonn.

Perry, B. E. 1952. Aesopica. Urbana.

Pfeiffer, R., ed. 1949-53. Callimachus. Oxford.

Migne, J. P., ed. 1857-66. Patrologia Graeca. Paris.

Turner, E.G. and M.-Th. Lenger, eds. 1955.

The Hibeh Papyri. Part II. London. Egypt Exploration

Society, Graeco-Roman Memoirs 32.

Greek Papyri in the British Museum, London,

referenced by inventory number.

Page, D. L., ed. 1962. Poetae Melici Graeci. Oxford.

The Oxyrhynchus Papyri. Egypt Exploration Society in

Graeco-Roman Memoirs. London 1898-.

Lloyd-Jones, H. and P. Parsons, eds. 1983.

Supplementum Hellenisticum. Berlin.

Dittenberger, W., ed. 1915-24. Sylloge inscriptionum Graecarum. Leipzig.

Tarditi, G., ed. 1968. Archiloco. Paris.

West, M. L., ed. 1971. Iambi et Elegi Graeci. Oxford.

Abbreviations of ancient authors and works follow Liddell, H. G., R. Scott

and H. S. Jones, 1996. A Greek-English Lexicon. Oxford.

Abbreviations of journals follow L 'Annee philologique. All translations, unless otherwise noted, are my own.

xi

Introduction: the bitter Muse

Et mea Musa potest proprio deprensa colore

insignis uitiis forsitan esse suis.

Tam mala Thersiten prohibebat forma latere

quam pulchra Nireus conspiciendus erat.

Maybe my Muse can be caught in her own hue, marked by her shortcomings.

For Thersites' foul mien kept him from hiding, as much as Nireus stood out for his beauty.

Ovid, Ex Pont. 4.13.13-16

Introduction

This book focuses largely on the memory and literary appropriation of

Archilochus of Paros (7th century BCE) and his poetry from the first through the fifth centuries CE. The debased persona, themes and vocabulary that were remembered as being so central to archaic iambos,

a form of poetry that Archilochus supposedly created, naturally drew the

scorn of many later authors, but throughout these pages I maintain that the Archilochean biographical tradition, which consists of bits of his poetry combined with layers of legendary or semi-legendary accretions, offered a powerful dramatization of a narrative with universal appeal,

namely the defense of ethical behavior after the transgression of communal norms. A well-known ancient tale about Archilochus, although it is not attested until centuries later, encapsulates this basic dynamic:

Lycambes had sworn an oath that he would marry his daughter Neobule to Archilochus, but Lycambes reneged on his promise. As a result, Archilochus composed invective poems so savage that they drove Lycambes and his family to hang themselves. Some aspects of those poems were dangerously or shockingly transgressive, but those elements

were conceived as a response to a remediation of a previous, unprovoked affront.

2 The bitter Muse

A similar story about Hipponax of Ephesus (6th century BC_E) clearly derives from this tale about Lycambes' perfidy and is neatly summarized by Pliny (NH 36.4.12):

Hipponacti notabilis foeditas voltus erat; quam ob rem imaginem eius lascivia

iocosam hi proposuere ridentium circulis, quod Hipponax indignatus destrinxit

amaritudinem carminum in tantum, ut credatur aliquis ad laqueum eos conpulisse.

Hipponax had a famously ugly face, for which reason [Bupalus and Athenis]

maliciously displayed a ridiculous image of him to a laughing crowd. Hipponax

in anger unleashed a poem of such bitterness that one might believe that he drove

them to the noose.

The close similarity between these two stories that describe the personal impetus for composing iambos offers important insight into why later

audiences linked these two poets so tightly. Both composed in iambic meters, to be sure, but so did various other figures, such as Solon of Athens, whose· reputation is never conflated with these two quintessential iambists. Rather,

the pattern that unites these aetiological narratives shows the poet being attacked without provocation, responding with a blistering poetic attack, and the subsequent (self-)punishment of those responsible. When authors of the imperial era incorporated recognizable elements of Archilochean or Hipponactean poetics into their own compositions, they most often did so in order

to resurrect and reactivate this basic storyline. Invective language always articulates social boundaries, and the ancient authors studied here did so through various forms of discourse centered in the intersection between the

lived experiences and poetic output of these poets from archaic Greece. Horace's Epodes, published soon after the end of the Roman civil wars,

regularly mark the final resting place of iambic poetry, that raunchy and dangerous mode first made famous in the archaic Greek world by Archilo

chus. Yet iambic poetics continued to exist after Horace and even acquired a new vitality in responding to the literary opportunities of the vast and variegated Roman Empire. 1 This vitality probably had a deep sociopolitical

1 I need to define four closely related terms that will be used throughout this book, and for which I rely heavily on the terminological analysis of Rotstein 2010: lambos refers to those poems regularly included in the archaic genre and the most overt later continuers, such as Callimachus' Iambi and Horace's Epodes, but not the trimeters of Solon. Iambic mode provides a label for the compositional strategies of any work or passage that seems significantly engaged with iambos, e.g., many scenes from Old Comedy, as discussed by Rosen 1988a; certain fragments of Archilochus and Semonides fr. 1 seem to lack evidence of the iambic mode. Iambic poetics includes the notional compendium of all the "salient features" of iambos. Individual traits such as the narration of animal fables come from the repertoire of iambic poetics, but they can be found in literature not composed in the iambic mode (e.g., a fable in Aeschylus). Finally, the iambic tradition encompasses anything that relates to iambos in any way, such as an anecdote about an iambic poet or a quotation preserved by a lexicographer.

Introduction

impulse behind it, since the figure of the iambist transgressed cultural categories by combining traits of the disempowered outsider (he is often ugly, obstreperous, rejected, driven out, ignoble, crass, or otherwise

Tiovrip6s) with a legendary verbal efficacy that supposedly impelled the targets of archaic iambos to suicide. Like Callimachus and Catullus, imperial era authors must have been attracted to the idea that words could be so

tremendously efficacious. This composite mask of the iambist, developed within the ritual and

sympotic norms of small-scale archaic communities such as Paros and Thasos, afforded imperial authors the opportunity to play with the idea of

standing outside the regular hierarchies and bureaucracies of Roman order. By donning the trappings of an Archilochus an author could comment upon those structures without running the risk of doing so in his own voice. In

some cases, this process can be understood in reverse Nietzschean terms as an infusion of Dionysian disruptiveness into typically Apolline quadrants of imperial culture (formal, stylized oratory, Christian apology, etc.). As such, the iambic mode enabled moments of speaking truth to power in situations

that demanded indirect lines of communication. This is not to say that all of the authors in this book were social radicals (some were clearly not), but rather that as each adopted and adapted iambic poetics to his own circumstances, the awkward breaches of decorum and propriety that this persona entailed fostered the opportunity to speak with the archaic iambist's dan

gerous and efficacious bluntness. The iambic persona also provided a certain immunity by foregrounding the iambist's voice as a ventriloquial trick. Much like fable (a genre intimately associated with iambos), the iambic mode can present the fa<;:ade of a peripheral or marginalized figure speaking to someone ensconced in the center of society while putting some of the

onus of interpretation onto its more powerful characters. But whereas fables induce laughter because of their wit and give pleasure because of their sweetness, iambic speech slaps the powerful in the face and cows them into

submission with the memory of its murderous legacy. Although many scholars have traced some part of the reception and

reputation of iambic poetry into the imperial era, only a few have considered the possibility that iambic poetics continued to influence the compositional strategies of imperial authors.2 My intention here, therefore,

2 Miralles and Portulas 1988, 71-119, deal with Hipponactean influences on Petronius; Agosti 2001 offers a rapid survey of many of the places one can find the iambike idea in late antiquity;

· Zanetto 2003 shows how iambic poetics influenced certain elements of the Greek novel; and Rosen 2007b concludes his book with a chapter on Juvenal, though the similarities he finds between iambic poets and Roman satirists do not lead him to suggest that Juvenal was making

any significant use of uniquely iambic compositional strategies.

3

4 The bitter Muse

is to draw upon evidence about the iambic tradition in order to· analyze late texts that participate in that tradition in an era when the iambic mode was largely dissociated from any formal constraints. 3 In the imperial era the iambic mode continues to be a vehicle for verbal aggression from a firstperson speaker and directed at a second-person target. It also maintains the traditional prominence of low-register themes (sex, bodily functions, sub-heroic violence, etc.) and reveals a deep connection with the legends about the earliest iambic poets. Other matters, however, are new to the imperial context, such as an interest in the kalends of January, the Roman New Year's celebration, which Ovid, Lucian, and Julian draw into the dramatic settings of their iambic texts. The portentousness of the kalends may amount to a Roman substitution for the legendary magico-religious power of the archaic iambists' words. Perhaps even more interesting are those themes that have some tenuous connection with archaic iambos but which become more prominent in this later period. The monkey-like Cercopes, for example, seem to have been evoked in one extant bit of Archilochus (fr. 178; cp. fr. 313) and, according to Suetonius, were mentioned by Semonides (fr. 34), but they have far more significant roles in the invective strategies of all three prose authors in this book.4

Yet above all, imperial iambic modes are marked by their extreme flexibility and adaptability in form, content, and social context. The authors studied in this book wrote in prose and elegiac couplets as well as trimeters and choliambs; they wrote invective but also moralizing guides for behavior; they adopted the typically abject pose of an archaic iambist but also the arch superiority of a philosopher and the conviction of a Christian theologian. And they all lived in a world in which the autocratic power structures of the Roman Empire organized a great deal of everyday life and determined that expressions of personal rage and frustration could prove dangerous. Ovid, Dio Chrysostom and (effectively) Gregory Nazianzen all suffered exile; Dio, Babrius and Gregory had to adapt the low-register anger of the iambic tradition to the elevated spheres of their

3 That is to say that although we have a huge amount of evidence about the iambic tradition from the imperial era, the vast majority of it is primarily antiquarian (e.g., biographical details about or citations of iambic poets in texts that show no signs of activating an iambic mode). In the texts studied here, the authors draw programmatic inspiration for their own compositions from iambic poetics. They are doing iambos. The many texts of iambic authors found at Oxyrhynchus (see below, n. 56) offer important clues about the continued reading of iambic poetry into the Roman era.

4 All citations of the archaic iambists come from West's 1971 edition, though for Hipponax I also provide Degani's 1983 numbering.

Introduction

philosophical, royal, and religious milieus; Lucian and (perhaps) Babrius had to prove their literary credentials by mastering the art of Hellenic literature to which they came as outsiders; and even Julian, who, as emperor, might seem to be above all such concerns for power hierarchies, found himself in a precarious position, both because his personal tastes were too extreme and austere for his empire and because his target audience in Antioch was careering toward revolt. Highlighting an iambic mode amounts to a high-stakes tightrope act, an opportunity to walk a thin line between risk and reward. My aim, then, is to examine a representative selection of texts from a variety of social and historical contexts that demonstrate the literary potential for imperial iambic poetics. 5

To this end, I have chosen six authors, who clearly state their relationship with the iambic tradition, most often through a programmatic reference to Archilochus the arch-iambist. The nearly universal association between Archilochus and his poetic mode ensures that whatever iambos meant to a given author in a given era (and we should certainly not assume a diachronic stability for iambic poetics within the four centuries of imperial literature here surveyed), programmatic invocations of Archilochus demand that we appreciate these texts vis-a-vis the iambic tradition.6 Among the prose authors, the formula is simple and consistent: Dio's First Tarsian Oration (Or. 33), Lucian's Pseudologista, and Julian's Misopogon all include a declaration of fundamental similarity between the author and Archilochus. This is not to say that their presentations of Archilochus are accurate, but rather that they skew this simple equation to fit the demands of their particular situations. In the statement "I am like Archilochus," the final term serves as a variable (rather than a fixed historical constant) that allows each author to fashion an Archilo

chus like himself.7 Among the poets, the game becomes more coy and varied. Ovid denies

any connection whatsoever between his Ibis and iambic poetry, but his explicit denial amounts to a praeteritio that activates the register he claims to eschew. Babrius sets his fables in the choliambic meter, which

5 My analysis is far from encyclopedic, cp. n. 1. The rich and fascinating intersection between iambic poetics and epigram, for example, deserves its own treatment, which would extend and narrow the discussion of Nisbet 2003.

6 Rotstein 2010 surveys a wealth of information about the diachronic ups and downs of the reputation of the iambic tradition, and she discusses many issues that derive from the

imperial era. 7 Cf. Propertius' claim to be the "Roman Callimachus," a vaunt which attempts to plaster over

Propertius' manipulation of his model.

5

6 The bitter Muse

announces his debt to the Hipponactean branch of iambic poetry, but he claims to have defanged the fierce bite of his meter's originally brutal nature. And in the case of Gregory's poems, it could be argued that his iambic trimeters have more to do with that meter's development into the standard vehicle for a huge range of chatty poetry than it does with an interest in iambos. And yet, given his fascination with synthesizing earlier poetic traditions (his use of Sappho and Callimachus is well documented), along with his first-person vitriol, which is a cornerstone of the iambic mode, and his admission that he had composed abusive iambic poetry in some contexts, it becomes increasingly probable that the poems I have selected out of his vast corpus draw their breath from an iambic source.

These texts do not, however, represent the sum total of imperial literature that was influenced by the iambic tradition. I do believe that they represent something of a reliable core group, however, beyond which such influences become more debatable, partial, attenuated, or veiled. The scoptic epigrams of Lucillius and Nicarchus, for example, present an ambivalent case for a strong iambic influence, though they clearly owe some debt, however distant and indirect, to the early iambists. Or again, Aelius Aristides markedly turns to Archilochus in his two major critiques of Plato (Orr. 2 and 3 Lenz-Behr= 45 and 46 Dindorf), but although he invokes Archilochus as a model of acceptable invective (supported by Apollo and attacking only those who deserved such treatment, Or. 3.610-12 Lenz-Behr = 46.293-94 Dindorf), he nevertheless does not.go so far as to assimilate his voice to that of Archilochus as do all the prose authors studied here. Aristides, that is to say, keeps the iambic dog on a tight leash, rather than setting the beast loose. Yet in order to give some sense of where else iambic poetics can be found in imperial literature, I have appended an "interlude" to the end of each chapter that looks beyond that chapter's primary focus toward a related, more isolated, or more hypothetical case study. And whereas each chapter aims to pursue its arguments to a clear conclusion, these quick forays mean merely to break the ice and promote discussion about the place of the iambic tradition (or, indeed, various other similarly "outdated" poetic modes) in imperial literature.

Although the majority of these authors composed in Greek, it is important to recognize how poetic traditions cross the time-honored linguistic divide that continues to provide a basic organizational structure for the field of classical scholarship. Amidst the recurring themes and motifs that I have found among the iambic adaptations studied here, the one thing I do not see is a significant difference based on language. In terms

Post-Horatian iambic poetics

of their manipulation of iambic poetics, Lucian and Ovid, for example, seem to have plenty in common.8

Post-Horatian iambic poetics

From archaic Greece to Augustan Rome, iambic poetry sparked contentious debates among poets and critics alike for its use of aggressive invective, graphic depictions of sex, and picaresque adventures.9 Already with Pindar, we find Archilochus and his poetry being spurned in what amounts to a cross-generic battle between high-register epinician and low-register iambos played out in terms of each poet's persona. From Pindar's perspective, Archilochus is dangerous, out of control, spouting venom, unhealthy, and on the margins of society, whereas Pindar himself aims to maintain his distance from such social contagion by sticking close to his aristocratic patrons and avoiding everything that the long-dead Archilochus represents. It is important that Pindar recasts this generic rivalry in terms of a physical line of sight that is chronologically impossible but programmatically powerful (Pyth. 2.52-56):

EµE 5E )(pEWV

qieuye1v 56Kos 6:51v6v KCXKcxyop15:v.

eT5ov yap eKas Ewv Ta TI671A' Ev O:µcxxcxvic;x

\jlOyEpOV J\pxiAOXOV ~CXpUAoyolS ex0ecnv

Titcxtv6µevov.

I must flee the swarming bite of slander.

For I've seen him from afar in great distress -

bilious Archilochus fattening himself

on heavy words of hate.

Although such disparaging comments do not tell the whole story of what archaic iambos actually was, they became the negative pole of its later reputation.10 As with most ancient vitae, the biographical lore about Archilochus and the other iambists consists primarily of extrapolations from narratives found in their poetry. Inevitably, then, many of the

8 This is not to say that no differences exist. As Morgan 2010, 114-121, shows, the story of Roman iambics becomes muddied by Catullus and his legacy. By the time we get to Martial and Persius, therefore, the iambike idea can be found in a variety of meters. For the persistent connection between abuse and the choliamb in Martial, however, see P. Watson 2006.

9 Bowie 2001b and 2008 has greatly clarified our understanding of how such narratives function

in archaic iambos. 10 As discussed in detail by Rotstein 2010.

7

8 The bitter Muse

arguments in this book have more to do with the sedimertt of cultural

memory about iambic poets and their poetry than with historical realities, but once we get beyond a fascination with origins, such sediment becomes the only reality worth talking about.

After Horace's Epodes, iambic poetics became unmoored from its formal

roots. This process had already begun with Old Comedy and Catullus, but in the imperial era the "bitter Muse," as Gaetulicus described Archilochean iambos, became more diffuse.11 Like the various colors of a pinwheel, the imperial instantiations of iambic poetics take on unique hues even as they

can all be traced back to the same source. Thus the authors studied here present a great deal of variation both in terms of their relationship to each

other (Ovid and Julian, for example, would seem to be an odd couple indeed if it were not for the other authors who cushion the jarring juxtaposition) and with their iambic models (Babrius' moralizing revival of the choliamb shares few overt traits with Lucian's rage).

A basic but important example of this variety can be found in these authors' speaking personas. Ovid and Lucian most nearly recoup the personal rage of the seething archaic iambist; Gregory is, in some poems, deeply angry

as well, but his Christian scruples smooth away the coarsest edges; Julian complains that the tastes of his era won't allow him fully to become Archilo

chus, a point that makes him seem every bit the social misfit that the people of Antioch accuse him of being; Dio takes up the Archilochean mantle but does so as a purely ethical move that is devoid of personal animus; and Babrius all

but runs away from any association with an iambic model even as he can't stop talking about the old sting and bite of his chosen choliambic form. 12

This variegation of the imperial iambic persona is easy to recognize if one reads the texts assembled here with an eye to the iambic tradition. But

11 The argument that Old Comedy was deeply influenced by the iambographic tradition is now well established following Rosen 1988a, though Bowie 2002b sets out important counterarguments. Heyworth 2001 demonstrates the way in which Catullus often splits his poems in iambic form from those with strong thematic connections with archaic iambos. Now see also Morgan 2010, 121-58.

12 A long association between iambos and the sting of the wasp lies behind Babrius' comment. Callimachus (fr. 380 Pf.) says that "Archilochus drew in the dog's pungent bile and the wasp's sharp sting"; Leonidas of Tarentum (3rd century BCE, AP 7.408) calls Hipponax a "bitter wasp" (m1<p6> crept\~); Gaetulicus (1st century CE, AP 7.71) describes wasps around Archilochus' tomb. Perhaps also relevant are Pindar's description of the "bite" (5aKo>) of Archilochean slander (Pyth. 2.53), Anacreon's attack on Artemon, who wears something on his head that is

eo-cpriKwµ~vcx, which surely implies "tightly wrapped" but which literally refers to anything having to do with a wasp (fr. 338.1 PMG), and a line from Cratinus' Archi/ochoi (fr. 2 PCG): oTov crocplcrT&v crµfjvo> ave81cpl\o-cm, "such a swarm of sophists you've scrounged up." Katz 2007 contrasts "Archilochus the wasp" with "Horace the honeybee."

Slurring Thersites' words: dissimulated iambic poetry (Chapters 1-3)

these authorial moves are far from being simple assumptions of an old iambist's voice, a fact that should alert us to other manipulations of the iambic tradition that are less obvious, especially in light of our limited information about archaic poets and poetry. If, for example, Dio's philo

sophical Archilochus turns out to be a willful and intentional manipulation of what the best educated members of his audience knew about the Parian iambist, then why shouldn't we suspect that Orodocides, the enemy of

Semonides who is attested only in one passage of Lucian, has been invented for rhetorical effect? Or that Lucian has not also invented what we know as Archilochus fr. 223, in which the Parian compares himself to a cicada,

since this too is preserved only in the same passage?13 Or again, should Ovid's description of Archilochus dying because of his own words be taken as a recherche variation on standard biographical lore, as it is sometimes

described, or a creative innovation? As these unique pieces of evidence pile up, an important distinction emerges within imperial literature. While some authors were clearly interested in chronicling and preserving information about the iambic tradition via some form of antiquarianism (lexica,

scholia, etc.), others sought to insert themselves into the annals of classical literature by producing works that touched upon the iambic tradition and that did more than rearrange what ancient scholars knew about that tradition. So whereas writers like Pollux and Clement are surely far more reliable witnesses to the history of Greek literature, we should ·be more

circumspect about historicizing information garnered from an Ovid or a Dio. As we make our way through the texts and contexts of the ensuing chapters, therefore, we should be attuned to iambic poetics as a still vibrant, flexible, oppositional, irreverant, and often mischievous literary

mode, that could be intensified or softened at will.


The first three chapters of this book deal with manifestations of the iambic mode in poetry. Iambos had always been poetic, but the authors studied in these chapters all turn away from the stock association between iambic form and content. What unites Ovid's Ibis, Babrius' choliambic fables, and

13 Given Lucian's popularity throughout the Byzantine era, references to this line by Constantinus Rhodius (Anecd. Gr. p. 628, 36 Matranga) and Leo Philosophus (ibid. 557, 25) may follow Lucian rather than deriving from Archilochus' poetry. Bossi 1990, 226-34, discusses fr. 223 in great detail.

9

10 The bitter Muse

certain poems in iambic trimeters by Gregory Nazianzen, in· fact, is their combination of an overt denial of any iambic agenda with a pron~unced reliance on iambic poetics. Although rejections of iambic poetics and satirical aggression had a long history prior to the imperial era, these

authors make generic dissimulation a centerpiece of their literary undertakings. Such dissimulation grows out of a long tradition of pushing away iambic poetry. This habit can be traced back to the archaic era - possibly even to Homeric poetry.

Through the work of Detienne and Dumezil modern scholars now regularly understand the opposition between poetic praise and blame to reflect a deep structure in In do-European cultures, including classical antiquity.14 This, in turn, has provided the foundation for interpretations

of the confrontation between Thersites and Odysseus in the second book of the Iliad in terms of some sort of discourse between traditions of praise and blame, perhaps even between epic and iambos.15 In this scene, Thersites appears as an overdetermined vituperative monster (similar in some respects to Archilochus' stocky general in fr. 114, Hipponax's ugly persona,

and Pindar's description of Archilochus in Pyth. 2). Thersites is hideous, hateful to the best Achaean leaders, and ready to say anything that will get

a laugh out of the army. Most interestingly for my purposes, however, he is also described as aµSTporni]s (2.212), literally "of unmeasured words." This

term clearly refers to a lack of moderation in Thersites' speech, but Martin has shown that his verses are also marked by "massive correption," which

produces a pronounced slurring in his speech and thus depicts Thersites as " 'th "16 Th' Wl out meter. is description of Greek literature's first satirist reveals a near disjunction between his rhythms and his content - Thersites' aggressive, low-register attack threatens to mangle the Homeric hexameter

with its (and his) inappropriateness. From Thersites to the poets studied here we can map out a history of the deformations, rejections, modifications, and denials of iambic modes, all of which highlight problems in the relationship between form and content or in the social acceptability of such content in any form.

After Thersites, the satirist whose low-register and abusive words sully the Homeric hexameter, we next see a rejection of such poetics by Archilochus himself, though the exact implications of his words ·are not clear.

14 Dumezil 1943 made this point for Indo-European studies; Detienne 1996, 18-27, gave the theory currency for Greek culture and poetry.

:: Rose~ 2007b, 67-116, provides an updated discussion and bibliography on this topic. Martm 1989, 112-13, with original emphasis.


According to Tzetzes, who seems to have had access to a great deal of iambic poetry, it was after the death of his brother-in-law that Archilochus

said (fr. 215):

Kai µ' o\h' iaµl?>c.:iv ouTE TEpirc.:iAec.:iv µeAE1.

and I have no interest in iambos or amusements.

Whatever this fragment meant in its fuller, lost context, it is an unparal

leled moment for the protos heuretes of a genre to reject his genre for any reason. And although Archilochus' use of the word iambos probably refers

to a social occasion for the type of poetry that we now call iambic and had little to do with form or meter, it is nevertheless striking to recognize that

the iambist here poses as something other than an iambist. Archilochus' eschewal of iambos (in an iambic trimeter, no less) in some ways parallels the story found in Demetrius' On Style (301) that Hipponax created his choliambic form with an outburst of anger so intense that it shattered its

poetic mould, an idea which again highlights the notion that iambic fury can disrupt metrical form. Neither poet, in a sense, gets it right, though

Archilochus falls short and claims to have lost the taste for iambos, whereas Hipponax goes too far and produces something new. The ugly iambist has produced a lame metrical line (the word choliambic derives from xwMs, "lame", but may also recall xo"Aos, "bile" or "anger"). As with the charac

terization of Thersites as aµETporni]s, we see that the two primary models of iambic poetry could present themselves (or be remembered) as having

trouble dealing with their own poetics.17

From this archaic evidence, the subsequent history of Greek literature is

littered with similar rejections of iambic poetics. Pindar denounces Archi

lochean invective in Pythian 2, but he trots out Archilochus as a strawman at precisely the moment that he is, in some ways, being recognizably

Archilochean.18 After vilifying Archilochus' person, Pindar goes on to refer enigmatically to children's fascination with the ape (72) and the trickiness of the fox (78), two animals that recall the fables used by

17 We can add two Hellenistic texts that make similar points. The Mnesiepes Inscription records a fragmentary tale in which one of Archilochus' first public performances seems to have been deemed to be !aµ~1Kc.:mpov, "too iambic"; and a 3rd-century-BCE papyrus text, which clearly recounts the foul treatment and subsequent deaths of Lycambes' daughters, includes the words aµETp' iaµ~c.u1 which surely refer to Archilochus abusing the girls "excessively in his iambs" (P.Dubl. 193a.6 = SH 997). For the latter, see Bond 1952. Again, notions of excess and meterlessness (concepts central to the poetry of Gregory Nazianzen), echo Homer's description

of Thersites. 18 Steiner 2011.

11

12 The bitter Muse

Archilochus in his invective epodes. Perhaps more tellingly, Pythian 2.83-85 provides a close parallel to one of Archilochus' sweeping ethical

statements:

q>if..ov elT] q>lAElV,

1TOTi 5' ex0p6v I'd ex0p6s ewv AUKOIO 5iKaV l'.moeeucrnµai,

&M' &MOTE 1TOTEWV 65oTs CJ"KOAiaTs.

May I befriend my friend and as an enemy to my enemy I will jump on him like a wolf,

tracking here and there along crooked paths.

In a damaged passage of Archilochus a first person speaker (perhaps

Archilochus' authorial persona) makes a similar statement, which seems to contradict Critias' accusation that Archilochus slandered friends and

enemies alike (fr. 23.14-15):

ETI)icrwµai TOI TOV q>17'.[fo)v[w) µEv q>[l]t..eTv,

TO)V 5' EX0poV ex0aipe!V TE (Ka)i KOKO(

µuJpµri~ ...

I know how to love my friend, and hate and harm ... my enemy ...

like (?) an ant. .. 19

In Pythian 2, then, Pindar may be rejecting an Archilochean mode even as

he inches closer to it.20 How better to renounce iambos than with a

paradoxically iambic retort? In the classical era, Aristotle tells us, Crates, whose career came to an

end about the time that Aristophanes' began, was the first Athenian comic

playwright to abandon the iambic tenor (iambike idea, Poet. 1449b) and turn his craft in a new direction. Whatever Aristotle means by this, it represents yet another example of an author rejecting or modifying the iambic mode. Whereas Archilochus surely returned to composing iambos (unless we are to understand fr. 215 as his last iambic utterance) and

19 Semonides 7.34-36 effectively endorses the same ethical position as that in Archilochus fr. 23 in

the description of the woman made from the sea, who is chastised for raging like a bitch protecting her pups and who becomes harsh and distempered (&µell1txos, <'mo0uµln) to friends

and enemies alike. 20 If Pindar is moving toward an iambic mode here, he may be doing so in the guise of a nouveau

Lycambes given his transformation into a wolf-walker. Steiner 2011 makes a similar point in arguing that "the encomiast turns the tables on the individual whom he has positioned as his poetic opponent and defeats Archilochus in the very terms in which the iambographer declared

victory" (239).


Hipponax made good use of his limping and broken choliambs, Crates

may have eschewed iambic poetics permanently. Yet even if this were the case, Athenian comedy continued to draw upon iambic material, as is amply attested throughout the plays of Aristophanes.

Most famous in the series of iambic rejections are the well-known com

ments by Callimachus and Horace, who each provides an explanation of the ways in which he is not composing archaic iambos. In the opening lines of his Iambi Callimachus brings Hipponax up from Hades but makes it clear that the archaic iambist is no longer singing about Bupalus (Ia. 1.1-4). For the

moment, what exactly this means is of less importance than the point that here we find an iambic poet distancing himself in some way or another from his model. Horace, commenting on his Epodes (which he calls his Iambi), makes precisely the same claim in his Epistles when he tells us that he was the first to bring Archilochean poetry to Latium (1.19.23-25).21 He dissects this boast and claims that he has taken Archilochus' "spirit and meters" (animos numerosque) but not his "content and words that harried Lycambes" (res et agentia verba Lycamben). Up to the time of Horace's Epodes, then, we can recognize a strangely pervasive trope of rejecting some elements of iambic

poetics, even by poets engaged in a form of iambic composition. After Horace, Ovid sets his most vituperative poetry in elegiac couplets

and explicitly denies any iambic quality to his Ibis (an homage to Callimachus' own Ibis) by threatening that his next poem will drip with Lycambes' blood - a clear reference to Archilochean invective.22 And yet he also notes

that something is odd about his poem, since he laments that his content does not suit his metrical form (45-46).23

21 The use of Epodes as a title is not attested before Porphyrio's commentary from the 3rd or 4th century.

22 Callimachus' Ibis does not survive, and we do not even know its meter. Ancient sources tell us that Callimachus penned it as an attack on Apollonius, but even if this report is true, it surely does not adequately sum up the Greek Ibis. Schiesaro 2001 has interpreted Ovid's poem as constructed around a network of inversions that lead him to conclude that the Ibis is a form of dissimulated iambic poetry. Ovid's line about Archilochean weaponry is later quoted by Martial in a poem in which he claims tliat others accuse him of being iambic (7.12.5-8). In Martial's

epigram, discussed in greater detail in Interlude l, we enter something like a hall of mirrors in which Ovid's disavowal of Archilochean poetics becomes the benchmark by which Martial facetiously claims to have been falsely accused of being, himself, an Archilochean poet.

23 Ovid is up to various tricks here, since proelia and bella suggest epic warfare, rather than personal enmity. Furthermore, the hexameter line is appropriate for heroic battles, whereas his apologetic hemiepes is not. In the final couplet Ovid makes essentially the same point about the tension between form and content (643-44): Postmodo plura leges et nomen habentia verum /et pede quo debent acria bella geri, "Soon you will read more lines with your real name/ and in the meter fit for waging harsh wars."

13

14 The bitter Muse

Prima quidem coepto committam proelia versu,

Non soleant quamvis hoc pede bella geri.

First I will enter the fray with the meter in which I began

though wars are not usually fought in this meter.

That is to say, rather like Thersites' slurred hexameters in the Iliad, Ovid's abuse chafes under the constraints of his couplets. As I argue in Chapter 1 this tension in the Ibis, which Ovid himself foregrounds for us, can be read as evidence of a new type of iambic rejection. He claims to be delaying a real engagement with iambic poetics, but he hints that he has already jumped the gun.

Babrius presents a simpler situation, since the moderation of his stinging choliambs is reminiscent of Callimachus' opening to his Iambi, a collection to which Babrius makes several allusions. But whereas Callimachus seems to have altered Hipponax's fury by redirecting it away from the outdated Bupalus toward contemporary targets and issues among the Alexandrian literati, Babrius claims to have made his poetic form completely safe. Three times in his two prologues, which together total a mere thirty-five lines, he tells us not to fear his meter. Yet as discussed in Chapter 2, his excessive denials serve to prevent us from forgetting that very Hipponactean ferocity he claims to have removed. In his second prologue he gives the lie to this praeteritio by pairing two disavowals of his choliambs' venom with an attack on literary imposters who have already begun to ape the poetic achievement of his first book. Moreover, his combination of choliambic meter with a collection of fables effectively follows Callimachus in uniting two strands of the iambic tradition: Archilochus' fables and Hipponax's meter. Babrius' emphasis on the harmlessness of his poetic form pointedly underlines the persistent aggressive possibilities of his choliambic fables.

In the case of Gregory, we return to poetry composed in iambic trimeters, though by his era that meter had a variety of associations, among which Archilochean invective is the most distant. At an early stage trimeters had become the standard form for dramatic dialogue (with more relaxed rules in comedy than in tragedy), and Aristotle is only the first to assert that iambic trimeters are the poetic form that most nearly approximates the cadence of colloquial speech. And yet in a fow of Gregory's myriad poems, as discussed in Chapter 2, we find traces of both iambic poetics and musings on the challenges of engaging with that mode.24 Most

24 We would like to know more about Gregory's acquaintance with Callimachus' Iambi. Hollis 2002, 43-44, constructs an outline of the Aetia prologue in terms of Gregory's scattered references to it throughout his corpus, and such an exercise could be undertaken for the Iambi

as well (something for which Hollis lays the foundations, 48-49).


telling in this regard is his Eis ta emmetra (2.1.39 = PG 37: 1329-36),

in which he defends his poetic endeavors and lashes out at a detractor, whom he describes as an iambist. In this statement of his own poetic agenda, which barely exceeds one hundred lines, Gregory plays with notions of prose and poetry, elegance and clumsiness, in a striking density of metrical imagery. He claims to write poetry in order to restrain his own lack of moderation (T~v eµ~v aµETpiav, 35 = 1332.1) by laboring over his meter (Kaµwv To µihpov, 37 = 1332.3). The word aµETpia refers to some sort of excess (and thus forms an understandable charge against a poet who composed over eighteen thousand verses!), but in speaking about versification, this unmetricality hints at a lack of rhythm reminiscent of Homer's description of Thersites as aµETporn~s, a word that would be impossible to fit into an iambic line without resorting to the most pliant forms of the comic trimeter. Gregory goes on to taunt his accuser for being an &µETpos taµ~ono16s (69-70 = 1334.8-9) and a m~os vauaywv (77 = 1335.3). Again, these barbs work on multiple levels. His rival is an "overthe-top satirist," yet his trimeters don't flow smoothly. In the latter quip his enemy is both an oxymoronic "shipwrecked foot-soldier" and "flounderingly prosaic." As Gregory fends off this (possibly fictitious) attack, he sets himself up as someone who struggles with his chosen form and who defines his rival as an iambist, even as he himself is on the iambic

counterattack. These three imperial poets all wash away some of the stains of their

iambic inheritance. Their deflections have helped keep them clear of modern discussions of iambic poetry, and in isolation some of the evidence for them as crypto-iambists may be thin. But taken together, we can discern a pattern of iambic dissimulation that runs counter to what I will outline for the prose authors. While these more oratorical texts will be shown to simulate the stance of an archaic iambist in order to infuse their prose with Archilochean bile, the poets take up some of the trappings of the iambist while overtly rejecting others. In an earlier era Callimachus so convincingly put words in the mouth of Hipponax that we may never know with certainty whether or not the first lines of his Iambi are a verbatim citation of his model, but no poet in this study sails so close to the wind, since they all seek to keep one foot outside the treacherous eddy

of the iambic tradition.25

25 Cusset 2011, 471-73, presents a fresh approach to this old crux, and his arguments may shift the debate toward the idea that Callimachus is here quoting Hipponax directly. As he puts it,

"the character of Callimachus (Hipponax) can cite from the verses of Hipponax, which

Hipponax himself can no longer utter" ( 473).

15

16 The bitter Muse

Prosaic pastures of the Muses: simulated iambic prose (Chapters 4-6)

In sharp contrast to these poets are three prose authors who "did iambos" in prose, and we need to consider the implications of this surprising innovation. Archaic iambos had been an exclusively poetic phenomenon, of course, and even Callimachus, who wrote many prose works (all of which are now lost), revived the old mode in poetry, though importantly he seems to refer to his Iambi at the end of his Aetia as the "prosaic pasture of the Muses" (a1hO:p eyw Moucrewv TIE~OV [s]m1µ1 voµ6v, fr. 112.9 Pf.).26

But if "prosaic" implied a lowering of Callimachus' poetic register, what are we to make of these prose works in which invective strategies are overtly tied to Archilochus and, therefore, his poetic form?

One simple but important answer to this question has to do with performance context. Dio, Lucian, and Julian all claim to speak to broad audiences, and in the imperial era prose was the primary vehicle for such messages. Original poetic compositions and performances still had their place in symposia and various other social contexts, of course, but if you wanted to deliver a message to an entire theater or an entire city, oratorical prose was the common medium. While we cannot be certain that Lucian actually performed his invective texts and Julian's Misopogon may have been presented publicly as an inscription (though perhaps after a live performance), they both assume the same performative voice that we find in Dio's speech in Tarsus (or in any contemporary work of oratorical prose).27 Ovid, Babrius, and Gregory, however, do not aim at such audiences. Ovid continues to write for the same elite Roman clientele who had been devouring Augustan poetry for a generation; Babrius dedicates his collection of fables to a private and royal patron over whose shoulder we read his poetry; and Gregory's poetry comes from his later, reclusive years, and he often seems to have had no audience in mind other than himself, posterity, and God.

26 That this is a reference to the Iambi is now the generally accepted position. The phrase may, however, refer to Callimachus' prose works. Pfeiffer 1965, ad loc., provides the fundamental discussion of this issue. On the "epilogue" to the Aetia, see P. Knox 1985 and 1993.

27 Prose performances could also be staged at symposia or in odeia, but the three prose texts treated here all strike more demotic tones. Anderson 1993, 45-67, remains an outstanding overview of what can be said about sophistic performances in this era. Bracero 1995 follows Bellinger 1928 in arguing that Lucian's dialogues were intended for public recitation by a single performer, but this is, at best, a plausible hypothesis. For the most recent assessment of the presentation ofJulian's Misopogon, see Reinsch 2009.


This answer, however, merely shifts the terms of the issue. Even if we accept that large-scale public address typically demanded prose, we still need to consider how the spirit of iambic poetry (if I may be permitted such a notion for the moment) adapted itself to the medium of prose. To some extent, the emergence of iambic prose participates in a larger trend of prose colonization of traditional poetic forms.28 Thus in imperial literature we find Aristides composing hymns, Himerius recapturing forms of archaic lyric, and the authors of novels taking over the sweeping scope and basic narrative framework of epic - all in prose. Such innovations seem radical, but they may fit into a much longer history of prosaic experimentation that is interrupted by the virtual disappearance of Hellenistic prose. Kurke has recently highlighted the importance of Plato's use of mimetic prose as a major turning point in the history of Greek literature. Plato himself obfuscates this innovation, according to Kurke, by attacking mimetic literature but narrowly focusing our attention exclusively on mimetic poetry even as he composes mimetic prose.29 And at the end of the classical era, Theophrastus' Characters can be understood as a prose collection of New Comic character-types. What Theophrastus achieves in the relationship between his prose vignettes and New Comedy, thus closely parallels the various genre-bending prose experiments of many imperial authors. If more Hellenistic prose survived a smoother curve might be found between Theophrastus and later prose innovations.

Even within the narrower confines of the iambic tradition, prose has a role to play prior to the imperial era, and thus it is important to note that iambic prose does not originate with Dio, the earliest prose author studied here. As so often, Athenaeus provides the few landmarks along this trajectory. Most immediately relevant, he claims that in the Hellenistic era Asopodorus of Phlius composed iambic prose (ev Tels KaTa:Aoya5riv laµ~o1s, 10.445b ). More suggestive than this bare hint about the obscure Asopodorus, however, are Athenaeus' many comments that imply that Plato could be understood as part of the iambic tradition. In a lengthy discussion of Plato's irascibility

28 Such a notion is likely to be too unidirectional, and it is probably best to think of prose and poetry as always poaching from one another. Thus, e.g., Himerius (4th century CE) infuses his oratory with lyrical, Sapphic qualities, and Marcellus of Side (2nd century CE) puts his medical acumen into hexameters, and similar examples can be adduced from the earliest interactions of

Greek poetry and prose. 29 Kurke 2006 and 2010. Herodicus (cited by Athenaeus at ll.505c) levels this same charge against

Plato: in the Republic he gets rid of Homer and other mimetic poetry while he composes mimetic dialogues. Kurke 2010 takes great pains to defamiliarize both Plato and Herodotus in order to highlight the bold daring involved in their prose projects.

17

18 The bitter Muse

and small-mindedness in book eleven, Athenaeus mentions his jealousy (l)1i\0TuTTlo:, 504e) of Xenophon, his habit of abuse (Ko:Koi\oyETv, 505b), how he slanders (810:~6:i\i\E1, 505c) the historical characters in his dialogues, his generally snappish attitude (8uaµEv~s, 506a), and his disposition of a step-mother (µTJTpu15:s 816:6Ecns, 507c).30 More pointedly, he tells us that after Gorgias had read the Gorgias the sophist exclaimed, "How well Plato knows how to satirize (ws KO:AWS o\8E ni\6:TC.UV lo:µ~il;EtV, 505d)!" While this anecdote is unattributed (he introduces it with the ubiquitous i\Eyno:t, "they say ... "), Athenaeus goes on to cite Hermippus, the colleague of Callimachus, for the following story (505d-e): as Gorgias returned from Delphi, where he had dedicated a golden statue of himself, Plato said, "Here comes the beautiful and golden ( 6 Ko:Ms TE Ko:\ )(PUaoCis) Gorgias," to which the orator replied, "What a lovely young Archilochus Athens has produced" (~ KO:AOV YE o:i f\Sfjvo:t KO:i vfov TOUTOV f\pxii\oxov evrivoxo:atv.)

Although such stories may be late fabrications, they show that Plato could be remembered as a practitioner of iambic abuse. To these anecdotes we can add Worman's provocative thesis that an iambic discourse runs through much of classical literature.31 In her assessment, Plato and the Platonic Socrates connect the iambic elements of Old Comedy with the iambic aggression of fourth-century oratory exemplified in the exchanges between Demosthenes and Aeschines. The manner in which Worman discusses these aspects of Platonic dialogues represents a close and important parallel for my central arguments. Indeed, her emphasis on the degraded body as central to this classical iambic discourse finds myriad parallels in Ovid, Gregory, Dio, Lucian, and Julian (though not in Babrius).

However, whereas Worman focuses largely on the mouth in analyzing the archaic and classical material, here that model only fits well with the example of Lucian (whose mouth-focused attack perfectly exemplifies Worman's thesis - in the Pseudologista the mouth is the quintessential point of intersection for bad sex and bad language). All of the prose authors assembled here show a particular interest in the feminized male body and (with the exception of Lucian) are less interested in what their targets say. This downplaying of verbal issues surely is an outgrowth of the fact that Dio and Julian are speaking to entire cities, whereas Lucian (more like the classical examples studied by Worman) engages with a

30 This does not necessarily mean that this passage constitutes an attack on Plato, who is referred to as the wise (6 aoqi6s, 504b), the most illustrious (6 :haµirp6Tmos, 504e), and the noble (6 KaMs, 505b).

31 Worman 2008 and 2009.


single figure who is a rival professional speaker. Julian and Dio, therefore, are not concerned about their target audience as potential rivals in the field of public authority. All three, however, draw upon trends in depilation and equate the denuded male body with a barbarous aberration and present themselves as idealized counterexamples.32 In Tarsus, Dio builds his speech towards a climax that reveals the smooth genitals of the local men to be the ultimate proof of their abdication of Hellenic virility, and he does so after describing himself in the rugged and unkempt terms of an imperial-era philosopher; Lucian's narrator similarly turns to his opponent's depilation of"those parts that ought not to be seen" as a crowning jab after thoroughly excoriating his sexual and verbal depravity. And Julian puts out his shaggy chin as an example of proper, old-time Greek manliness in contrast to the smooth chins and skin of the louche men of Antioch. For all three prose authors, therefore, their Archilochean turn involves equating excessive male shaving with a betrayal of normative Greek behavior. This literary slide between abject bodies and cultural identity represents the same "metonymic shift" that Worman discusses.

Dio, Lucian, and Julian also foster an iambic mode by combining a firstperson address to an audience in the second-person with sordid and scurrilous themes. The importance of this point cannot be overstated. Although the effect is less pronounced in Semonides than in the other archaic iambists, the power and danger of archaic iambos derived from the perspective of its abject, aggressive, or aggrieved first-person voice. This degradation was shocking, titillating, transgressive, and liberating, while the speaking ego challenged the audience either to conflate the poet and the persona or to recognize that iambos involved playing with various dramatic fictions. As Rosen demonstrates, this fictional self-presentation

is central to the poetic posturing of any satirist:33

... when ... the poet represents himself as the mocking agent ... the poet disingenuously insists that behind his mockery of a target lies a "real" antipathy toward his target, and a genuine relationship with him. By poeticizing this reality, and so

32 Zanker 1995 surveys the artistic depictions of intellectuals throughout antiquity. Those of Dio and Julian fit particularly well into his model. Also, see Moles 1978, Whitmarsh 2004, 183-86, and Sidebottom 2009 for more on Dio's philosophical posturing.

33 Rosen 2007b, 22, with original emphasis. This formulation becomes one of the cornerstones of his analysis. Oratory, of course, frequently involves first-person invective directed toward a second-person target. In most cases, such aggression intends the demolition of an opposing position or speaker in the name of achieving legal or policy-based ends, and indeed such political aims may have informed archaic iambos as well, as demonstrated by Bowie 2008. Worman 2008, 153-212, analyzes the iambic features of classical oratory.

19

20 The bitter Muse

removing it to a fictional realm, the poet playfully calls into question the credibility

of his self-representation, as well as of any claims to historical truth that may be embedded in the narrative.

For Rosen, this process of fictionalization relies on the power of marked or affected forms of language, and the prose authors studied here effect a similar type of poeticization.

This fictionalization underpins a central feature of the iambic tradition, namely the persistence of legends about the murderous efficacy of the iambist who could drive his enemies to the noose. The active negotiation of this verbal power is best attested in the third-century Mnesiepes Inscription (SEG 15 no. 517) from the Parian Archilocheion, which recounts a moment when the people of Paros thought Archilochus had gone too far and had said something !aµ~1KwTepov, "too iambic." The idea that the "inventor" of iambos could say something "too iambic" is a conundrum in itself, but it also asserts (from a 3rd-century-BCE perspective) an element of boundary-crossing in the purported origins of this new poetic concept. The community deemed Archilochus' iambic speech to be unacceptable and punished the poet accordingly. As a result, the entire community suffered a divine pestilence until they changed their attitude and accepted iambic scurrility. The Mnesiepes Inscription thus attests a type of iambic speaker who challenges and unsettles the community-audience.

In actual performance much of the attraction of archaic iambos must have derived from this daring role-playing of the poet, who was well-known to his community, claiming to be something other than what they knew him to be. Even though there may have been significant differences between Archilochean and Hipponactean instantiations of iambos, we may nevertheless make a general assumption that when an iambic speaker says "I seduced his daughter" or "I had to beg for a cloak" or "I bashed his nose in with a rock" such statements clashed with what the immediate audience knew about the poet himself or could deduce from his bearing. Surely these poets, whether performing at a festival or at a symposium, adopted dramatic postures that were intentionally recognizable as masks. 34 This means that iambic poetry, especially when contrasted with the inspired and impersonal voice of the epic bard, demands that the audience negotiate the relationship between the poet and the persona. As archaic iambos became further and further distanced from its original contexts and became

34 This idea goes back to Dover 1963, who was the first to argue that the iambic ego is a theatrical construction, and he compares iambic poetry to popular music, in which audiences realize that the musician can adopt a variety of personas.


a typical schtick on the rhapsodic circuit, the persona and the poet understandably moved closer together with the result that a performance of Archilochus' poetry by Plato's Ion, for example, could easily be understood as a historical re-presentation of Archilochus' life and experiences rather than as a performance of Archilochus' fictionalized persona.35 Thus when classical (i.e., late) figures lil<e Critias and Alcidamas describe Archilochus in negative terms, their comments come from a context in which it would be quite reasonable to equate the historical poet and his enduring persona. And yet it is clear from the collections of Callimachus and Horace that savvy readers continued to recognize the distinction, and it may even be that the lil<es of Critias and Alcidamas too understood such a distinction but willfully misrepresented the situation for their own purposes.

In the small-scale, local communities of archaic Greece, we can assume with some confidence that an iambic poet must have been intimately known to his audience. That is to say, those people listening to Archilochus doubtless recognized the precise discrepancies between his personal life and his stage-character's sordid adventures. If that were the case, then the poet himself would be in little danger of besmirching himself with the details of his narratives. In the context of imperial performances, however, in which speakers lil<e Dio and Lucian travelled around the urban centers of the eastern Mediterranean, no such personal intimacy can be assumed, though some audiences surely knew some travelling performers quite well. So, iambic poetics allowed imperial performers a unique opportunity to adopt the pose of iambic abjection while mitigating the risk to their own status - more lil<e a rhapsode taking on the voice of Archilochus than lil<e Archilochus taking on the voice of violent scoundrel. Whereas Archilochus may have played upon the relationship between his personal life and his stage persona in front of an intimate, local audience, an imperial author could foist his inspiration off on Archilochus and thereby highlight his

f . t' t 36 adoption o a pose, a vmce, a perspec 1ve, a one. For the particular prose authors studied here, we can refine this model

one step further, since all three call into question (or respond to such

35 For more on the rhapsodic performance of Archilochus, see n. 41. 36 Lavigne 2008, 388, makes a similar point about why the authors of Hellenistic epigrams were so

interested in iambos: " ... the persona of the archaic iambographer offers a means for these literary epigrammatists to distinguish themselves from their personae loquentes." Lowrie 2009 offers a wealth of insight about the nature of various kinds of performance that are relevan~ to themes under discussion here. Her comment (in a discussion of Horace, Sat. 2.1) that, unlike the law, literature "just cannot bring about what it directly represents" (331) helps explain the safe cover that imperial prose authors had in likening themselves to iambic poets.

21

22 The bitter Muse

questions about) their masculinity (or the masculinity of their personas). Gleason has shown how imperial sophistic gender constructions deem the manliest figures to be those who successfully manipulate public performances. "Rhetoric," as she puts it "was a calisthenics of manhood."37 In such

elite educated circles, the effective use of language could generate personal authority, and in this crucible of rhetorical scrutiny the opposite was also

true. In these terms we can see that Dio, Lucian, and Julian have been, to varying degrees, feminized in the opening scenarios of their texts under consideration here.38 Dio represents the mildest example of this, when he

begins his speech by claiming to be broke and befuddled about what the people of Tarsus expect of him, and he goes on to deal with a situation in Tarsus that has led the locals to confound gender categories. Thus when he takes up the mantle of Archilochus, he may have done so in order to treat

his subject on an appropriately low-register footing. His chosen topic demands a literary style that can comfortably speak to such matters, which

ordinarily are not discussed at all in public. As I show in Chapter 4, his Socratic pose of being an unsophisticated and simple speaker clears the way for communicating a low-register message to an audience of failed men.

Lucian and Julian face starker challenges to their standing as members of a cultural elite in which mastery of language conferred masculine authority. Lucian's narrator is accused of speaking like a barbarian, and it is tempting to connect this charge with Lucian's own barbarous Syrian origins. His narrator responds by revealing his enemy to be something worse: a slutty

and ignorant barbarian, who has made himself sexually available to all comers and who does not have the literary chops to succeed in public performance. Both Lucianic characters have been compromised, and in Chapter 5 I show how Lucian displays his own masculinity via rhetorical prowess by

elegantly constructing a tableau in which both of his characters fail to assert themselves. Lucian's two inept marionettes move to the script crafted by Lucian, who stands above his quarreling sophists as the puppet-master.

Julian too has been ridiculed, but unlike Lucian, he cannot slip free of the

abuse with a literary trick. His subjects had likened him to one of the Cercopes and told him to plait ropes from his barbarously unkempt beard; in his

Misopogon, the central text in Chapter 6, he begins by sarcastically admitting that he is not so manly as the delicate and smooth-faced sophisticates of

37 Gleason 1995, xxii. The generation of sophistic authority and masculine power was not a totalizing game. Wealth, political influence, athletic success, etc. offered other avenues to such attainments.

38 Gleason 1995.

Conjuring up Iambe: what the imper!al era knew about iambic poetics

Antioch (seemingly as effete as Dio's audience in Tarsus). It is an ironic twist

of fate that Julian's untimely death allowed Antioch to persist in its famously lax ways, while the idea of a robustly austere emperor perished with Julian.

In many ways, a central trait of all iambic speakers derives from this questioning of the iambist's masculinity that then elicits an attack on the

target's masculinity.39 The imperial prose authors who turned to iambic poetics fit easily into this model, and their texts play with the conventions of gender by dipping into a gender-bending genre in order ultimately to reassert their superior masculinity. In contrast to Dio's modulation of his

register, then, Lucian and Julian capitalize on the power of iambic poetics to deliver a damning retort in order to escape associations with barbarism -

the former by displaying his sophistic flair and the latter by demonstrating the pious, philosophical rigor that underpins his imperial authority. Yet all three begin their speeches from a compromised standing in the arena of

masculine contestation (i.e., they fall somehow short of the ideal of the polished, educated, elite, Greek male). From this dramatic starting point, iambic poetics offers an ideal response that allows each author to demonstrate his true manliness. Indeed, the legends about Archilochus and

Hipponax begin from a similar premise: Lycambes rejected Archilochus as a suitable husband for his daughter, and Hipponax was ridiculed for his ugliness.40 Both of these acts challenge the social standing and, thereby, the masculinity of these iambists, and their violent responses amount to socially problematic bids to reassert their impugned manhood.

Conjuring up Iambe: what the imperial era knew about iambic poetics

Particularly in light of the transition that I have outlined above from whatever archaic iambos actually was to its later reputation and manifestations, it is important to ask what the late authors and audiences studied in

39 Lavigne 2005, 144: "One of the primary features of the iambic poet, whether archaic, Hellenistic or Roman is a challenge to his masculinity."

40 Arch. fr. 23 presents an interesting parallel, although it is impossible to identify either the speaker or the addressee. If, however, this scrap of 2nd-century-CE papyrus preserves a scene in which Archilochus is speaking to Neobule or some other potential lover (for which, see West 1974, 118-20 and Bowie 2008, 139-41), then the poet's persona can be heard expressing his concern that he might be mistaken for someone who is 5e1i\6s, "base" (12). He responds to such a possibility by asserting himself with a robust ethical stance of supporting friends and being ready to attack enemies. The speaker then goes on to praise his female interlocutor in decidedly masculine terms as someone who has won great Ki\e6s, "reputation," for having captured a city with her spear.

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24 The bitter Muse

this book might have known about the iambic tradition. Especially in terms of audiences, no sure answers are possible, but at the very least we can outline a range of plausible levels of awareness, beginning from the near certainty that many people knew almost nothing at all about iambic matters. Such lack of knowledge, however, is never an insurmountable obstacle to appreciating imperial iambic texts. These works always hold together even if the audience fails to recognize or understand iambic allusions. Yet a few clues do indicate that, at least in some circles, information about the iambic tradition, primarily focused on the person of Archilochus, was in circulation. And it is quite obvious from the quantity of references preserved in a wide range of imperial sources that highly educated authors still had access to more iambic poetry and more ancient scholarship on iambic poetry than do we modern readers.

At least in earlier eras, the most important source for a broadly based familiarity with Archilochus' poetry would have derived from rhapsodic performances at public festivals, though we cannot be sure whether his iambos, elegies, or both were part of the rhapsodic repertoire. In his Ion

(53la), Plato lists Hesiod and Archilochus together with Homer as mainstays of the rhapsodic performances, and Athenaeus (14.620c) provides further confirmation of this from intermediate sources: Clearchus of Soli, a student of Aristotle, claimed that Simonides of Zacynthus recited works by Archilochus (Ta 'l\px1i\6xou) in theaters while sitting on a stool (Ev To is

6ecXTpo1s ETii 8iqipou Ka6fiµevos); another Peripatetic, Chamaeleon of Heraklea, noted that poetry by Archilochus (as well as that of Homer, Hesiod, Mimnermus, and Phocylides) was performed to music (µei\(}>8ri6fjvaf. .. Ta 'Oµiipou &Ma Kai Ta 'Hcr168ou Kai 'Apx1i\oxou, ET! 8e

M1µvepµou Kai <l>wKvi\i8ou); and Lysanias, the second-century author of a treatise On the Iambic Poets, said that the aptly named rhapsode Mnasion acted out (un0Kpivecr6a1) iamboi by Semonides. The absence of Hipponax from the rhapsodic context may be due simply to the chance preservation of evidence, or it may derive from his diction and dialect, both of which would have made his poetry less accessible to many audiences. As Bowie has demonstrated in two recent articles, this lack of evidence for the performance of Hipponactean iambos could also be a clue that rhapsodes were working with Archilochean elegy rather than Archilochean iambos.41

41 The matter of what part of Archilochus' poetry rhapsodes performed is impossible to determine. Bowie 1986 and 200la suggested a larger role for narrative elegy than had typically been assumed. In most circumstances an unqualified reference to Archilochus would probably bring iambos to mind, but this could be explained away either by rhapsodic iambos or by the

Conjuring up Iambe: what the impe~ial era knew about iambic poetics

Archilochean performances by rhapsodes at athletic competitions, dramatic festivals, and various other occasions for civic display must have kept alive some familiarity with the iambic tradition for a vast number of people, and inscriptional evidence for rhapsodic performances persists into the third century CE after which time the overall inscriptional record declines.

42 Unfortunately, we have no clear indication of how long iambic

poetry remained in vogue on rhapsodic playlists. So, while rhapsodes surely introduced classical and perhaps even Hellenistic audiences to the works of Archilochus and, more rarely, Semonides, we have no evidence for the imperial era from which to argue the point and should probably conclude that imperial audiences did not get to experience iambic rhapsody.

Another theatrical form, Old Comedy, also included a great deal of information about the iambic tradition through quotations and quips, though it is likely that imperial audiences were not frequently treated to performances of this old fare either.43 As Bowie bluntly states, "if Aristophanes and his rivals in the fifth century BC were important for the literary imagination of the second and third centuries AD, it was hardly, if at all, as a result of performances of their comedies."44 Bowie goes on to offer his opinion that New Comedy enjoyed more regular stagings. So while we should not expect a broad familiarity with, say, Cratinus' Archi

lochoi, which seems to have presented a confrontation between iambic and epic poetic styles, we may wonder how many had seen something like Diphilus' Sappho, in which Archilochus and Hipponax were presented as rivals for the poetess' affections (Athenaeus 13.599d = Diphilus frr. 70-71 KA). While Diphilus' love triangle obviously presents a historically dubious tableau, it also gives a glimpse into a version of New Comedy that does not rely on the stock characters so familiar from Menander. And whatever the status of imperial performances of Athenian comedy, Julian could still accuse the people of Antioch of knowing the great Athenian philosophers only because their names have often been fodder for comedies ( noi\i\6K1s

KWµC}>8ouµeva, Mis. 353b). Although the verb that Julian uses here can

general recognition that elegy, rather than iambos, was the obvious referent in rhapsodic contexts. The evidence that Mnasion specifically performed the iamboi of Semonides at least shows that iambos could be rhapsodized (perhaps already implicit in Heraclitus fr. 42, which states that Homer and Archilochus deserve to be thrown of the contests and beaten, pmrl~ea6a1, clearly punning on rhapsodic performance). The appearance of the Telephus elegy of P.Oxy. 4708 has confirmed much of Bowie's thesis on this topic. For the most detailed overviews of the performance of iambic poetry, see Bartol 1992 and 1993.

42 E.g. Sld 711 L 31, 958.35, 959.9, JG vii.1773.17-18 and 1776.15-16.

43 Jones 1993 provides an invaluable study of imperial era Greek drama.

44 Bowie 2007, 32-33.

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26 The bitter Muse

simply mean "satirize" or "ridicule," it evokes theatrical comedy and could still be used in this sense in the imperial era (e.g., Luc. Pisc. 25). And yet, even if we push this evidence to the extreme and assume that most audiences in major urban centers would have heard something about Archilochus and perhaps a few quotations from the stage, we can hardly imagine that the average citizen would have gleaned from this much of anything beyond a simple association of Archilochus (and perhaps Hipponax) with verbal abuse.

Perhaps more promisingly, Paros had a cultic space dedicated to Archilochus, and it presumably is this sanctuary that lies behind the comment by Alcidamas, preserved in Aristotle (Rhet. 1398b), that "the Parians honor ( TETtµi]Kcxcn) Archilochus even though he was abusive (~McrcpT]µos)." This shrine, therefore, must have served as an extra-literary source for information about Archilochus and his poetic style that would have come to the ears of travelers and traders and been taken all across the Mediterranean. Yet although the Parian Archilocheion may have functioned in this way, no evidence exists confirming that it actually did, nor can we be certain about what a local guide might have said about the famous poet. But as Clay has shown, it is just possible that Hadrian's elegiac couplet that mentions the grave of Archilochus (AP 7.674) demonstrates more than a persistent literary trope of funerary epigram, and it is generally agreed that the cult continued to be active into the third century CE.45 Furthermore, some of the tales preserved on inscriptions at the site, particularly the Sosthenes Inscription, highlight Archilochus' role in Parian political and military events rather than his activities as a poet. So although the Parian cult probably did keep Archilochus' name alive in various circles, we again cannot look to this evidence for the basis of a broad knowledge of iambic poetics among imperial audiences.

Similarly, a 5th century BCE painting by Polygnotus, which was on public display in Delphi well into the imperial era, depicts Archilochus' grandfather (or perhaps his great-grandfather) in a manner that makes no allusion to iambic poetry. Polygnotus, who was a native of Thasos, painted a scene representing the Parian colonization of Thasos as part of a series that decorated the Lesche of the Cnidians, and it was still extant in the 2nd

45 Clay 2004, 34-39. Clay's book is an excellent resource for all matters relating to the cult of Archilochus. He also conveniently assembles the evidence for cults of other poets (127-53 ). Hadrian's epigram offers a back-handed compliment to the iambist as the peer of (Maionian) Homer: 'Apx1Mxou T68e aijµa, TOV ES i\uaa<:>vws !6µj3ous I ~yaye Ma1ovl8n MoOaa xap1~oµev11. "This, Archilochus' grave, whom to raging iambics I the Muse led, favoring the Maionian."


century CE when Pausanias saw it and was told that the central figures were Cleoboea and Tellis, the ancestor of Archilochus.46 It is probable that Polygnotus' painting reflects something of the political landscape of his day, when the goldmines of Thasos were coveted by Athens, but it also can create a connection between this scene and Archilochus' extant poetry (e.g. frr. 21 and 116). But while it is certainly possible that a well-educated viewer would connect this scene with some of Archilochus' verses, Polygnotus' portrayal of Archilochus' family as a force in Parian and Thasian history provides no direct evidence for a poetic reputation.

One final piece of evidence in this direction provides another possible mechanism for preserving Archilochus' extra-literary reputation into the imperial era, namely popular sayings. Aelius Aristides connects Archilochus with, but does not directly quote, a saying about two people being stronger than one even if that one were very strong (Arch. fr. 259 =

Aristid. Or. 2.406 Lenz-Behr = Or. 45.102 Dindort). Unfortunately, although the scholiast (ad loc.) provides the exact wording of the proverb ("Not even Heracles against two"), he also admits ignorance about what Archilochus had actually said, showing that the saying may have outlived any vital connection with Archilochus. Eustathius, writing a twelfthcentury commentary on Homer's Odyssey, explains the proverbial expression "you've stepped on Archilochus" (in Hom. Od. 11.277) in reference to Archilochus' vituperative nature; and in a discussion of the proper accentuation of the word "lewd" (µ1criJTTJ), he preserves fr. 206 "a lewd woman fat about the ankles" (in Hom. Od. 10.114). Eustathius makes it clear that the latter quip was used with an implication of prostitution and thus connects Archilochus with slander and low-register topics. The existence of such sayings at this late date hints that a connection between Archilochus and verbal abuse had become deeply implanted in the common parlance of the Byzantine Empire even if few people had any idea about who Archilochus was, when he had lived, or what he had done. Nevertheless, Eustathius' reference to the saying that preserves Archilochus' name gives us perhaps the best indication that some colloquial familiarity with the spare outlines of an iambic narrative about Archilochus as a verbal wrangler may have persisted even into this very late period.47

46 Graham 2001, 165-230 (originally published as Graham 1978), provides a thorough discussion of this painting and the textual cruces in Pausanias' description of it as well as the relevant information about the role of Archilochus and his family on Thasos.

47 We can compare the argument of Pontani 2001 that late Byzantine writers do not seem to have been reading Sappho, though they could refer to her as, effectively, a literary trope.

27

28 The bitter Muse

Sources such as these suggest that Archilochus' reputation as a paragon of poetic aggression could be encountered by those who had not studied at Athens and who did not pour over the classic masters in the urban libraries of the imperial East. We must still conclude, nevertheless, that such information was not widely disseminated and that the vast majority of people in the imperial era knew little or nothing about the iambic tradition. We may even find support for this position in the fact that Dio, Lucian, and Julian, the three authors treated in this book who speak to the broadest audiences, are also the ones who provide significant detail (not always historically reliable, to be sure!) about who Archilochus was and what he did. Thus it may be that each explains his model, because a large part of his audience needed some such basic information. With Ovid, Babrius, and Gregory, all of whom clearly have more limited and erudite audiences in mind for their poetry, no such explanatory information appears.

Entries in the tenth-century Suda provide a very late witness to how thinking about iambos had melded with other literary traditions. The entire entry on Archilochus (s. v.), for example, consists of a passage from Aelian (fr. 80 Hercher) that recounts the story of how Apollo honored the poet after his death in battle. The only allusion to Archilochus' iambic poetry comes in the comment that his "shameful and slanderous speech" ( auToCi To ala}(Pomes Kai To KaKoppfjµov) detract from his reputation. Similarly, under laµ[3i~w we find this definition:

TO uf3pil;c.:i. ws yap 6 \'aµf3os EK f3paxEias Kai µaKpas, OUTc.:> Kai Ti uf3p1s e~ 6;\iyou

apxoµevri lTpOE!O"!V erri µEll;ov. Kai "Oµripos: [Ep1s] ii T> 6;\iyri µev TCx rrp&':>Ta.

Behave insolently. Since iambos comes from a short and a long [syllable], so insolence arises from a small matter and becomes larger. Thus, Homer: [strife] is small at the start.

It is striking that this definition contains no reference to iambos or the eponymous Iambe (whose entry in the Suda simply states: "a proper name"), and that the recourse to ancient authority merely produces an ethical platitude from Homer rather than an example from an iambic poet. In general, the word iambos and its cognates appear in the Suda in reference to poetry composed in an iambic meter (such as the iambic trimeter of classical drama) rather than to iambos in the archaic sense. A few echoes do persist, as in the description of Hipponax (s.v.) as an lcxµ[3oypex<pos or the connection between an iambic meter and invective (crKWlTTEtv, crKwµµaTa) under the entry for 6p!cxµ[3os, but in general one senses that the distinction between iambos as a literary form and iambos as a metrical category has been all but lost.


So the ultimate assessment of what the imperial audiences relevant to this study probably knew of the iambic tradition is not very promising. But even if we are on firm ground in concluding that few in Dio's audience at Tarsus or Lucian's at Ephesus or Julian's at Antioch knew much about Archilochus, we still would lilce to know more about what the authors themselves knew. On this issue richer evidence exists, and several modern scholars have explored different aspects of imperial authors' familiarity with the iambic tradition.48 In general, it appears that a great deal of information about Archilochus and Hipponax continued to be available, though it is often difficult to determine whether a particular imperial author had gleaned his information from a complete edition, a work of scholarship with discussion but no complete text, an anthology that contained a few excerpts, or references talcen from an intermediate (or even an oral) source.

It is quite clear that there was an Alexandrian edition of Archilochus that was organized by meter, though we have no way of knowing at what point copies of this or similar editions were lost.49 With Hipponax, although there is no solid evidence for a typical Alexandrian edition, his poetry was obviously well known in the Hellenistic era, so there must have been some sort of collection of his poetry.50 In considering the format through which Callimachus would have known Hipponax's poetry, Fantuzzi speculates that the presentation of Hipponax's works could have influenced the structure of Callimachus' own Jambi.51 In whatever form the Alexandrian writers knew Hipponax, we hear much later of at least two volumes of his poetry. Many sources refer to his first book of iamboi (and thereby prove the existence of at least one other volume), and Pollux (10.18, citing fr. 118a W/129 Dg) and the anti-Atticist Lexicon (An. Gr.

85.23) both refer to a second book.52 These two latter sources come from the same general era (2nd century CE) for which Nesselrath has determined that Archilochus was still considered to be a poet of the first rank

48 Including Bowie 1997 and 2000 and Degani 1984, 33-117. 49 Organization by meter was standard, though Alcaeus' poems were collected by theme. Rotstein

2010, 29-31, discusses the Alexandrian editions of the main iambic poets, and she also presents the hypothesis, based on Athenaeus' habits of citing Archilochus, that there may have been a different, perhaps Pergamene, edition of Archilochus that was not organized by meter.

so Degani 1984, 171-86, provides an excellent discussion of both poets' fortunes in the Hellenistic era.

51 Fantuzzi 1993, 49: "e almeno plausibile che la sua polimetria riprendesse la configurazione che ai tempi di Callimaco poteva avere J"edizione' delle poesie di Ipponatte ... "

52 Degani 1983, 10, gathers all of this evidence in one place. Knox 1985 assumes that these references to multiple books are evidence for an Alexandrian edition of Hipponax.

29

30 The bitter Muse

and therefore must have been readily available to the educated elite.s3_ We

can find further support for this point in Lucian's ridicule of someone who bought but did not actually read the works of Archilochus and Hipponax

(Adv. ind. 27) and even in the fourth century when Julian bans pagan priests from reading the scurrilous works of these iambographers (Ep. 89b

Bidez), an idea which only makes sense if their poetry was in general

circulation. Whatever the availability of editions of Archilochus and Hipponax,

iambic poetry was a favorite topic for late classical and Hellenistic scholars,

and much of their work was still available into the imperial era. For example, Hesychius of Miletus (6th CE, p. 87 During) refers to an otherwise unattested three-volume work by Aristotle on problems in Archilochus, Euripides and Choerilus; Diogenes Laertius (5.87) speaks of a two-volume work on Archilochus and Homer by Heraclides of Pontus

(4th century BCE); Aristarchus wrote a commentary on Archilochus that was used by Clement of Alexandria (Strom. 1.21.117); Athenaeus records

that both Apollonius of Rhodes (10.451d) and Aristophanes of Byzantium (3.85e) wrote about Archilochus' reference to the o-KvTa/\11 or "message stick" (fr. 185); and Athenaeus also draws upon a text by Lysanias of Cyrene (2nd century BCE) titled On the Iambic Poets (14.620c). Further

more, papyrus and inscriptional evidence shows that there were other scholarly works beyond those cited by imperial authors that may also have continued to be available.s4

The evidence collected here for pre-imperial editions of and scholarship on the archaic iambists suggests that imperial and Byzantine authors, such as Pausanias, Pollux, Aelian, Athenaeus, Clement, and Tzetzes, all of whom demonstrate a deep familiarity with the iambic poets, had a variety of avenues for acquiring their information.ss We can add to this list the rich

53 Nesselrath 2007. 54 E.g., the mid-third century BCE P.Hib. 173 (= P.Lond.inv. 2946), discussed by Slings 1989,

preserves twenty-two lines which compare verses of Archilochus and Homer, an endeavor also undertaken by Clement (Strom. 6.6.1 and 6.2.5, which cite Archilochus frr. 110-11, 127, 134). And P.Oxy. 2176 (=Hipp. fr. 118 W/29 Dg) records parts of a commentary on Hipponax, for

which see Degani's apparatus and Bremer et al. 1987, 70-94. The two large inscriptions from the Parian sanctuary of Archilochus represent important repositories of infor1'Jation about the poet. While the 3rd-century-BCE Mnesiepes Inscription strikes a tone similar to that of an inspired poet (the first readable words are: "The god declared to Mnesiepes"), the 2nd/lstcentury-BCE Sosthenes Inscription has a much more scholarly tone and relies heavily on the research of a certain Demeas. For the poetics of the former inscription, see Hawkins 2009; for updated discussions of both inscriptions, see Clay 2004.

55 Degani 1984, 33-83, is foundational for understanding the reception of Hipponax from the Hellenistic era to the end of antiquity.


finds from Oxyrhynchus, which testify to the copying of Archilochean poetry well into the 2nd century CE, as well as the iconographic evidence for images of or related to Archilochus.s6 As a general conclusion, then, we can say with surprising confidence that all of the authors studied in this

book could have had access to more primary material and ancient secondary scholarship about archaic iambos than we do. This, however, does not

mean that we should immediately conclude that each had his head cocked toward a complete edition and commentary of Archilochus or Hipponax. As a final consideration, then, we must take into account the relevant

particulars in each case, since it would be foolish to assume that all imperial authors consulted such material with equal attention. As Degani and Bowie have shown, for example, Plutarch, a close contemporary of Dio, knew Archilochus well, but his disinterest in Hipponax (he cites only a line and a half of Hipponax, fr. 32 W/42 Dg, and repeats the quotation in

several places) probably has more to do with an ethical preference than with an inability to lay hands on his poetry.s7 Similarly, Bowie concludes that Athenaeus must have consulted editions of Archilochus and Semonides while we cannot be certain in the case of Hipponax. ss For each

author in this study, I will assess his familiarity with the iambic tradition at the appropriate point in the chapters to come, but for the moment, we have set the stage upon which each author took up his iambic poetics.

56 The following fragments of Archilochus are preserved in imperial-era papyri from Oxyrhynchus: frr. 4, 9, 10 (elegies); 23-29, 47-60, 67, 82 (iambic trimeters); 112, 113, 135-66 (trochaic tetrameters); and 175, 181 (epodes). P. Colon. 58, which preserves frr. 188 and 196, the famous Cologne Epodes, is also dated to the 2nd century. Clay 2004, 40-62, collects and discusses the iconographic material.

57 Degani 1984, 73, describes Plutarch's attitude toward Hipponax as irnprontato a schietta antipatia while he has una certa arnrnirazione per Archiloco. Bowie 2000, 128-29, makes a similar point in showing that Archilochus was likely to have been of more use to Plutarch's moralizing arguments than was Hipponax.

58 Bowie 2000 surveys both Plutarch and Athenaeus, while relying on Bowie 1997 for his conclusions about the former.

31

32

1 Iambus delayed: Ovid's Ibis

Tune inquietum pectus ira protinus ebulliebat fervida,

tumulis potentem scepe devovens deam: nee vota Naso in Ibida

concepit alto diriora pectore, graiusque vates parcius

turpem Lycambis execratus est do/um, sponsamque Neobolen suam.

Then in my grieving breast, hot anger surged,

I cursed the dread goddess of the grave; nor were Naso's curses against Ibis,

born deep in his heart, more horrible; and the Greek poet more sparingly

cursed the foul perfidy of Lycambes and his betrothed Neobule.

John Milton, In Obitum Praesulis Eliensis

In his Epodes Horace loudly proclaims his debt to Archilochus and Hipponax, but as the Augustan era drew to a close, Ovid turned his elegiac form in a fiercely invective direction while denying that his Ibis is iambic in any way. Yet traces of the iambic mode can be found throughout Ovid's poem that provide our earliest witness of post-Horatian iambic dissimulation. Some aspects of this crypto-iambic project are predictable, such as strong abuse and an authorial pose of retaliating against an undeserved affront. But his treatment of the Caesarian calendar activates a political dimension to his invective because of its close connection with the Augustan regime. And the therapeutic possibilities associated with the ibis engage with his avowed Callimachean model in a manner particularly relevant to the wretched life of an exile. Ovid's manipulation of iambic poetics in the Ibis ultimately challenges us to consider how Augustan power inspires and limits patterns ofliterary production.

Introduction

In the opening lines of his Amores, Ovid says that he set out to compose an

epic but that Cupid spoiled his plans. After one bold line of hexameters the

Introduction

arrows of the impish god maim the second line and leave the poem to limp

along in the alternating ~ines of the elegiac couplet. Ovid himself now

burns with love and can't hold back from writing erotic, rather than

martial, poetry even though he has yet to find a femme fatale upon whom

he can lavish his affection. This gambit makes a joke of the standard

relationship between elegiac form and content, and this Propertius

without-Cynthia gives the lie to the genre's basic premise of the tormented

lover.1

Many years later, after he has been relegated to Tomis by Augustus,

Ovid turns his pen to extended abusive poetry in the Ibis, and his debut

in this new register causes as much disruption as his entry into erotic

elegy. 2 No longer overwhelmed by love, the exiled poet perverts his

elegiac form by filling it with the anger and personal animus more

familiar from iambos, and he points to Callimachus' (lost) Ibis as his

primary model. Ovid's poem, slightly shorter than a single book of his

Metamorphoses, begins with thirty-three prefatory couplets in which he

announces his themes and discusses his models and intentions. This

section, which I will scrutinize in greatest detail, leads into an invoca

tion of a bevy of gods that concludes with Ovid imagining himself as a

sacrificial priest cutting the throat of a victim to ratify a divine exchange

(67-106). After this Ovid begins to curse his rival, whom he names only

with the Callimachean pseudonym Ibis, in terms that effectively deny

him any social interaction and threaten that the Fates have appointed

Ovid to harry Ibis even beyond the grave (107-250). The remainder of

the poem then concocts a dazzling array of punishments for Ibis

modeled on the most macabre episodes in classical mythology (and,

occasionally, history). In this tour-de-force of poetic control Ovid

condenses nearly every one of these fantasized punishments into a

single couplet.

Indeed it seems likely that no Roman poet since Horace had displayed

such sustained control of invective poetics. 3 Horace, however, relied on

recognizably iambic meters in his Epodes while attenuating the personal

1 At Am. 1.1.26 Ovid is enflamed but has no love interest (uror, et in vacuo pectore regnat Amor, "I burn, and Eros rules over an empty heart"), and he does not mention a puella until 1.3.1.

2 Ibidic matters can easily become confused: I will refer to the poem as Ibis, the target of Ovid's abuse as Ibis, and the bird as the ibis. Other examples of smaller scale Ovidian invective can be found in Tr. 1.6.7-16, 1.8, 2.77-120, 3.11, 4.9, 5.8, 5.11, and Ex Pont. 4.3. Schiesaro 2001, 127, reads Tr. 4.9 as particularly relevant to the Ibis, which he interprets as constituting "l' esito della minacda articolata in trist. IV.9."

3 The relationship between Horace's Epodes and Ovid's Ibis is explored in greater detail in Hawkins (forthcoming).

33


animosity associated with those forms.4 His collection begins with a poem about friendship not betrayed, a theme that chafes against the famous biographical stories about the archaic iambists but which thereby fosters the transition from Civil Wars to the Pax Romana and the transformation of Horace from partisan to party loyalist. Epode 11, where the iambic form seems to move markedly toward an acceptance of the content of erotic elegy, offers a particularly valuable model for considering Ovid's invective, which pushes the elegiac form into the realm of iambic content.5 We should keep in mind, however, that before Horace Catullus had already experimented with splitting traditional iambic forms from typical iambic content, though he did not eschew iambic meters altogether, as does Ovid.6 And yet it is hard not to see a particularly tight contrast between Horace's iambic collection that lists toward elegy at the rise of Augustan power and Ovid's elegy that founders under its angry bilge as Augustus' revolutionary regime began to ossifiy into imperial bureaucracy. Although thinking in terms of such neat periodizations risks anachronism and becoming complicit in the entrenchment of received views, Ovid's Ibis forms a tempting bookend to the era that Horace helped inaugurate as the later poet eschews iambic forms altogether and creates a hybrid monster, an elegiac invective that takes its breath from iambic models. Ovid's abusive poetics stakes his claim as a new kind of poet. Whereas Callimachus and Horace had openly sought to become masters of iambos, Ovid's iambic experiment has the feel of a recusatio, since he flatly denies that he is currently writing iambic poetry but threatens that he might yet do so.7

4 At many points Horace's iambic poems contrast sharply with the post-archaic reputation of Archilochus, but this may well be due to the fact that he was engaging more with Archilochus' actual poetry than with his reputation. Archil. fr. 24 deals with friendship not betrayed, fr. 196a (the Cologne Epode) includes erotic material that prefigures Epode 11, and even the Strasbourg Epode, which seems to be an important model for Epode 10, may have been known to Horace as an Archilochean poem.

5 In the next chapter we will see that Babrius comes close to doing the opposite, namely, influsing the deeply aggressive choliambic meter with lyrical sweetness.

6 Indeed Catullus uses iambic trimeters ( 4, 29, 52), catalectic trimeters (25), and choliambics (8, 22, 31, 37, 39, 44, 59, 60). Heyworth 2001, studying the relationship between iambic meters and iambic tone in Catullus' poetry, concludes that "the iambic spirit surfaces at many points within Catullus' corpus, not just in iambics, not just in iambi" (139). Heyworth also confronts the possibility ofCatullan elegiac iambi (137-39), an idea that comes to fruition in Ovid's elegiac invective in the Ibis.

7 The rejection of iambic poetics is as old as iambos itself. Already in fr. 215 Archilochus claims that he has no interest in pleasures or iambos (oih' 16µ{3c.iv ouTE TEpirc.ii\fov). See pp. 10-13 for more on the tradition of iambic rejections.

Introduction

Callimachus had announced his iambic turn with an act of literary colonization when he brought Hipponax up from Hades to speak the first words of Alexandrian iambos.8 Horace did something similar when he boasted of being the first Latin author to take over the numeros animosque but not the res et agentia verba Lycamben of Archilochean iambos (his "meters and vehemence, but not the themes or language that harried Lycambes," Ep. 1.19.23-25). He flaunted his metrical brilliance by using a range of iambic forms (though never the Hipponactean-Callimachean choliamb) throughout his Epodes.9 Ovid, however, pushes his iambic ancestors away. He gives us enough clues to recognize an iambic tenor in his poem but coyly promises that it is his next composition that will be truly iambic. Yet no poem could be more saturated with iambic aggression than the Ibis (and it is clear that Ovid's interest in iambic poetics centers in its aggressive possibilities). Any further amplification of the abusive rhetoric would not lead, as Ovid claims, to a true example of archaic iambos but to an iambic spoof, humorous in its excess, something like Lucian's Pseudologista, which will be discussed in Chapter 5.

In composing such an overtly Callimachean poem that bemoans the poet's own demise, the Ibis highlights and laments the differences between the systems of royal patronage in Hellenistic Alexandria and contemporary Rome. Callimachus had composed his own Ibis, which supposedly attacked Apollonius of Rhodes, in the Ptolemaic court in Alexandria where humanistic pursuits of all sorts flourished. 10 When the young Octavian defeated Cleopatra, the last Ptolemaic ruler, at the Battle of Actium in 31 BCE, Rome inherited the twin legacy of Alexandrian political power and literary prowess. As Octavian transformed himself into Augustus and the Republic into the Empire, Horace, Virgil, Propertius, and the young Ovid testify to the Roman success at maintaining this system of mutually beneficial

8 On Callimachus' interplay with Hipponax and his rejection of invective that typified Hipponax's attacks on Bupalus, see Acosta-Hughes 2002, 36-49. Rosen 2007b, 177, argues that "the iambus [Callimachus' Hipponax) bears still offers makhe, only not one that involves

Bupalus." Note that µaxri does not appear in any extant Hipponactean fragment (though, as always, arguments about what is not found in Hipponax are always slippery), but we do find the word several times in Archilochus. Frr. 3 (elegy), 5 (elegy) and 94 (tetrameter) all seem to refer to actual battles; fr. 125 (tetrameter, µaxriTOt) may be martial or erotic; and fr. 176 apparently describes the Eagle's conflict with the Fox as a µaxri.

9 Barchiesi 200 l, 160, states that the "use of meter in the planning of the collection [i.e. Horace's Epodes] is invested with a semiotic responsibility that is unparalleled in earlier and contemporary books of verse." See also Barchiesi 1994 for a discussion of the meter of Epode 11

as a marker of generic transition. 10 What little information we have about Callimachus' Ibis consists of frr. 381-82 and test. l, 23,

39-41 Pf.

35


patronage (a limit of which may be seen in the demise of Gallus). When, however, Augustus relegated Ovid to the shores of the Black Sea in 8 CE for an offense that was at least partially literary (Ovid's carmen et error, "poem and mistake," Tr. 2.207), the golden age of Augustan patronage was drawing to a close. Ovid's mobilization of the traditionally abject iambic persona in the Ibis is, therefore, politicized, since Ovid's presence in Tomis is the result of an imperial decree, regardless of what villain may lurk behind the name Ibis.11

In excavating the iambic dimensions of this poem, I will look to Ovid's overt rejection of iambos and the generic markers he uses to alternately evoke and deny iambic connections. This, in turn, will necessitate a confrontation with Callimachus' Ibis, but rather than hoping to squeeze anything new from our scant and dubious information about this lost poem, I will trace a history of ibidic invective that stretches back to Aristophanes and Plato. Along this trajectory, we can find a cluster of themes that reappear in Ovid's poem.

Shifting from literary history to movement from one poetic space to another, I will next turn to geopoetics, an issue that Ovid hardwires into his Ibis by stressing the triangulation among Alexandria, where Callimachus wrote his Greek Ibis, Tomis, where Ovid pens his Callimachean homage, and Rome, the ultimate destination of his poem. Ovid's Tomis emerges from this analysis as both an incubator of iambic dystopias (e.g., the target of the Strasbourg Epode expiring on the nearby Thracian shore) and a pale reflection of Callimachus' Alexandria. 12 Rome stands as the fulcrum between Ovid's Tomis and Callimachus' Alexandria and as the place where Hellenistic harmony between politics and poetry no longer exists. These geopoetic themes show how his litany of personal complaints reflects ultimately upon Augustus' city. The poet's dislocation had played a prominent role among the Greek iambists, but with Ovid this theme becomes the central obsession.13

11 Rosen 2007b, especially 244-45, has a great deal to say about standardized satirical abjection. Since Housman's groundbreaking article (1920) readers have doubted the reality of Ovid's Ibis.

12 The Strasbourg Epode (= Hipponax fr. 115 W/194 Dg) is among the most blistering invectives from antiquity. Attribution to Hipponax is contested, and some commentators prefer to assign it to Archilochus or, less frequently, a Hellenistic imitator. It seems to have influenced Horace's Epode 10 against Mevius. I print the entire poem later in this chapter on pp. 63-64, where I discuss its role in Ovid's Ibis. For the most recent discussion of this poem see Nicolosi 2007

13 . ) • For the poetics of displacement in archaic Greek poetry, see Martin 1992. Critias, via Aelian VH 10.13, claims that Archilochus had to leave Paros for Thasos because of poverty and lack of means (51ix mvfav Kai ixTropfav ). The Suda claims that Hipponax was banished from Ephesus by the otherwise unknown tyrants Athenagoras and Comas. Callimachus' Iambus 13 deals with

Introduction

While the Callimachean aspects of the Ibis keep us thinking about Hellenistic Alexandria, Ovid's references to the Julian calendar are purely Roman. In associating his Ibis with the kalends of January and the dies Alliensis (he asks that someone read the Ibis to Ibis every year on these two dates), Ovid both provides a reminder of his own Fas ti and offers a tableau of negative New Year's festivities that predates our earliest evidence for a presentation of the kalends that will become more prominent in Chapters 5 (Lucian) and 6 (Julian).14 One of the major achievements of Caesar's dictatorship was the reform of the calendar, which streamlined the regulation of Roman time. 15 Readers of Ovid's Fasti regularly account for the relationship between Ovid's and Caesar's calendars, but Hinds has recently shown that the Ibis, too, encodes a similar concern for matters of time and calendar. Ovid's articulation of a new and degraded calendrical system thus represents another deeply politicized element in his lbis. 16

But many invective strategies in the Ibis show no political dimension whatsoever, and in the final section I will return to the ibis itself. This bird, which is often described in disgusting terms, was also valorized for being able to heal itself. 17 Despite Ovid's hatred and despair, therefore, his poetic icon presents an opportunity for health and a return to vigor. This avenue has nothing to do with Augustus, but instead transforms Ovid's self-avowed wretchedness into a new kind of poetic transcendence. In Rome he had achieved amazing success, but in Tomis and through his manipulation of iambic poetics, he becomes a powerful monstrosity, an efficacious spealcer lilce the iambic poets of old, and a castaway who can save himself by assimilating his life to the debased but therapeutic habits of his poetic bird.

the efforts by the poet's rivals to condemn his choliambic poetry on the grounds that he had never been to Hipponax's Ephesus. Hunter 1997 argues that this charge is ridiculous and serves primarily as an opportunity for Callimachus to outline his own poetic agenda.

14' Hinds 2005, 227, argues that in Pont. 4.4, where Ovid provides an important and detailed

description of the state pomp held on the kalends, the poet "is thinking himself back into Book 1 of his own Fasti." The role of the kalends in the Ibis represents a darker twist on Ovid's exilic imagination.

15 Wallace-Hadrill has frequently analyzed Roman control of time. His 1987 article brings together Augustan politics and Ovidian poetry; two later articles (1997 and 2005) discuss Roman time more generally; Wallace-Hadrill 2008, 239-48, provides something of a summary retrospective on these issues. Feeney 2007, the published version of his Sather lectures, similarly attests to the importance of time in political and poetic contexts in the late Republic and Augustan eras.

·16 Hinds 1999 and 2005. 17 E.g., Cic. ND 2.126 purgandoalvo se ibes Aegyptiae curant; Plut. De sol. anim. 974c; Plut.

De Is. et Osir. 381; Ael. NA 2.35 and 10.29; Pliny NH 8.44.

37


Ovid's iambic dissimulation

Ovid's Ibis is not an iambic poem in any formal sense, but neither is it a traditional elegy on the basis of content, much as he pitches his Metamorphoses as an epic that coheres only around the theme of unending transformation. Ovid's similar flirtation with iambic poetics shows how he

mobilizes an iambic mode as one important (but not totalizing) part of his authorial stance in the Ibis. Unlike Horace and Callimachus, who grounded their iambic innovations in traditional iambic forms, Ovid

dispenses with such matters and fits Archilochus and Hipponax to his elegiac meter. He refers to both archaic poets twice (the only historical

figures to be mentioned more than once in this poem), and together with Callimachus they are the only authors included with reference to their literary output. 18 Yet the difficulty in pinning down the genre of the Ibis begins well before Ovid denies any iambic influence on his poem, since both its title and first words seem designed to foster disorientation. The

Ibis opens with the phrase "up to this time" (tempus ad hoc, 1). Although first words often encapsulate a poem's major themes, as with Virgil's arma virumque or Ovid's own tempora cum causis, the Ibis rather announces a sea change (as well as a reconsideration of his Fasti). His universe had been one thing "up to this time," but now everything is different. Whether we choose to emphasize the historical, generic, or biographical, the overall

message is the same: times have changed, and the old rules have been thrown out. This first impression leaves us in the dark rather than providing a roadmap.19

If we hope for a new set of guidelines that will make this strange, exilic world understandable, Ovid's title offers nothing but frustration. Many stories and associations with the Egyptian ibis will complicate readings of the poem, but its very name, its sequence of letters in Latin, activates

several purely Roman associations as well. As has been noted before, Ovid's title recalls Horace's Epodes, which began with the word ibis, "you

18 Ovid names Callimachus once, 55, and alludes to him through a reference to his libellus, 449-50. For Archilochus' attacks on Lycambes and foul tongue (i.e., his invective): 53-54 and 521-22. For Hipponax's curses against his enemies: 447-48. Other authors are mentioned only once and never in relation to their writings: Sirnonides narrowly escapes being crushed in a house collapse, 511-12; Lycophron is killed by an arrow, 531-32; Euripides is devoured by dogs, 595-96; Eupolis dies on his wedding night, 529-30.

19 We can even discern a triptych of temporal frameworks in Ovid's poetry. His Metamorphoses deals with the history of the universe ad mea tempora (1.4); the Fasti focuses on cyclical time within the Caesarian calendar, and the Ibis represents the seeming timelessness of Ovid's dreary life in Tomis.


will go."20 Horace's ibis in turn forges a double connection with Callimachus. It evokes Callimachus' Ibis, and the Epodes as a whole, known originally as his Iambi, look back to Callimachus' own Iambi as an important model (though the Archilochean influence predominates, particularly

in terms of meter).21 Casali has argued that Ovid's title also taps into a colloquial, euphemistic meaning of the verb ire, "to go," as "to die."22 Thus

ibis may convey the message "you will die," a sentiment that Casali reads in Ovid's poem as a message directed at Augustus and which he sees as a fitting response to the emperor's verdict against Ovid, which he recon

structs as litus ad Euxinum ... ibis, "You will go to [and die by] the shore of the Black Sea" (taken from Ex Pont. 4.3.51).23 Tying all this together, Ovid places himself in the iambic tradition of Horace and Callimachus even as he maintains his independence from that tradition by adhering to his non-iambic, elegiac form. Moreover, by activating so many associations

with the mere title of his poem, he prepares his audience for ambiguities (ambages, 59) that will frustrate any definitive interpretation.

One such frustration derives from the Ibis' ambivalent relationship to the iambic tradition hinted at in his title. At first blush, the case against the

Ibis as an iambic poem is simple and compelling. To start, Ovid threatens that his next poem will be iambic through a reference to Archilochus'

famous enemy, Lycambes, implying that this poem is something else altogether and a mere prelude to an iambus (45-54):

Prima quidem coepto committam proelia versu, non soleant quamvis hoc pede bella geri.

utque petit primo plenum flaventis harenae

20 Heyworth 1993. 21 For the invective implications of Horace's use of the word ibis (both in terms of its relationship

to Callimachean models and as a model for Ovid's poem), see Heyworth 1993, Schiesaro 2001, 129-30, Mankin 1995, 6 n. 28 and 12 n. 44, and Watson 2003, 59.

22 Casali 1997, 105-08, following Baehrens 1914. Surely this nuance of ibis should not be felt too forcefully in Horace's first Epode which places such a strong emphasis on the poet's friendly devotion to Maecenas.

23 I am grateful to Alessandro Barchiesi for telling me about another cryptic phrase involving ibis, which now stands as the title of Schiesaro 2011. A Latin oracle of uncertain date provides this example of grammatical ambiguity: ibis redibis numquam peribis in be/lo, which can either mean "you will go, return and not die in battle" or "you will go, never return and die in battle." The source for this Delphic response is the very late (13th century) Chronicon of Alberico della tre Fontane, though it bears certain resemblances to an oracle given to Pyrrhus and recorded by Ennius (Ann ales 6.179): Aio te Aeacida Romanos vi11cere posse, which can be translated as either ·~r declare that you, child of Aeacus, can conquer the Romans" or "I declare that the Romans can conquer you, child of Aeacus." This passage is quoted and noted for its ambiguity at Cic. De div. 2.116 and Quint. 7.96. (the theme of Quintilian's chapter is various forms of ambiguity).

39


nondum calfacti militis hasta solum,

sic ego te nondum ferro iaculabor acuto,

protinus invisum nee petet hasta caput, et neque nomen in hoc nee dicam facta libello,

teque brevi qui sis dissimulare sinam.

postmodo, si perges, in te mihi liber iambus

tincta Lycambeo sanguine tela dabit.24

For the moment I will enter the fray with the verse I have begun, though wars are not usually fought in this meter.

Just as a soldier not yet hot for battle casts his first spear at the earth's yellow sand,

not yet will I aim my sharpest steel at you,

nor will my spear hurtle straight for your hated head.

So in this little poem I will speak neither your name nor your crimes, and I'll let you conceal, for a short while, who you are.

But after this, if you persist, my unleashed iambus will send out weapons against you steeped in Lycambes' blood.

Second, he claims to follow in the steps of Callimachus' Ibis (55-56), when

he could have chosen that poet's Iambi as a model instead; third, Ovid does not refer to his enemy by name (51), whereas iambic poetry typically does, even if we suspect that some of those names might be derisive nicknames; fourth, the Ibis is set to elegiac couplets, which Ovid claims are inappropri

ate for his current "battle" against Ibis (non soleant quamvis hoc pede bella geri, "yet battles are not typically waged in this meter," 46). The over

whelming weight of this evidence seems to put the iambic debate to rest before it has even begun, but toward the end of his introductory section Ovid destabilizes his position by announcing a "twisting tale" (historiis caecis, 57) filled with "uncertainties" (ambages, 59) and a "dose of obscurity" (aliquantum noctis, 63).

On a generic level, we can understand these promises of the unexpected as a hint that Ovid's disavowal of iambic poetics is not absolute. Indeed, his many iambic allusions push the Ibis' elegiac form in the direction of its

iambic opposite.25

This generic deformation toward iambic invective

24 All passages of Ovid's Ibis are cited from La Penna's 1957 edition. Ovid's tela here recall those of Catullus 116. Both poems, with their overt references to Callimachus, also point back to the iambos of Hipponax that no longer sings the battle against Bupalus, and both promise eternal torment for their target.

25 Schiesaro 2001, 126-29, examines Ovid's discussion of genre in the Ibis and finds a "strategia di dissimulazione e inversione" and an "inversione sistematica di topoi" that leads him to conclude that the Ibis is an extreme form of iambic poetry.


begins with the Archilochean threat that in his next poem Ovid's "unrestrained iambus will hurl weapons dipped in Lycambes' blood" (53-54), a taunt recalled in the poem's final couplet (643-44):

Postmodo plura leges et nomen habentia verum

et pede quo debent acria bella geri.

Soon you will read more lines with your real name

and in the meter fit for waging harsh wars.

While the epic hexameter is the standard meter for martial poetry, Ovid's personal war with Ibis suggests an iambic meter, as in the opening call of

Callimachus' Iambi, where Hipponax appears but eschews his "battles with Bupalus" (Ia. 1 fr. 191.3-4). TI:ie Callimachean connection throughout the Ibis may even shade Ovid's liber iambus in the direction of a Callimachean "papyrus scroll" containing iambus. And if the wars that Ovid has under

taken (proelia, bella, 45-46, 644) look back to that Hipponactean war eschewed (µ6:x11, fr. 191.3) in Callimachus' Iambus 1, then the emphasis on feet (hoc pede, 46) in a passage about metrical transgression

surely brings to mind the epilogue to the Aetia, which may announce Callimachus' move from elegiac to iambic poetry (MoucrEc.uv ml,;6v ... voµ6v,

fr. 112).26 This elegant transition from one mode to another increases the intentional awkwardness of Ovid's efforts to force his iambic emotion into elegiac form. Although Ovid points to the future with the claim that his next poem will properly harmonize meter and content, his present effort falls between the cracks of the Callimachean corpus.

Just as importantly for Ovid's generic claims, both of his threats about a future poem belie the fact that the Ibis' long catalogue of curses claims the murderous efficacy of archaic iambos at its most extreme. The passages from the proem and coda keep us focused on the iambic tradition and boast of

(without demonstrating) Ovid's ability to compose recognizable iambic verse in the manner of Archilochus, but they also show Ovid already toying with an iambic persona as he fantasizes myriad deaths for Ibis. In one

couplet he explicitly assumes the role of an iambic speaker by assimilating himself and Ibis to Hipponax and his enemy, respectively (447-48):

Et quae Pytheides fecit de fratre Medusae, eveniant capiti vota sinistra tuo,

26 For this Callimachean phrase, see the Introduction, n. 26. Cp. Archilochus fr. 176, which includes the word µax11, apparently in the Fox's description of its own efforts to take vengeance on the Eagle.

41


And may Pytheides' dire curses against Medusa's brother

Fall upon your head.

La Penna laments that this is the "thorniest" couplet in the entire poem, and much remains opaque, but the scholiastic tradition is at least consistent in claiming that Pytheides is a patronymic referring to Hipponax and that "Medusa's brother" must refer to one of his enemies.27 For our purposes, this is enough to show that Ovid's murderous curses can accommodate the voice of Hipponax, despite his earlier denial that the Ibis is iambic. That is to say, the curse in 447-48, in which Ovid invokes the power of Hipponactean speech, gives the lie to Ovid's promises (at least for a fleeting moment) about a future iambic engagement, since these lines already activate the legends about the efficacious power of iambic speech.

While the passage about Pytheides is frustrating in many ways, two more couplets about the archaic iambographers are even more baffling in terms of how they fit into the Ibis' overall agenda (521-24):

Utque repertori nocuit pugnacis iambi,

sic sit in exitium lingua proterva tuum.

utque parum stabili qui carmine laesit Athenin,

invisus pereas deficiente cibo.

Like the inventor of the combative iamb,

may your shameless tongue be your destruction.

And like him who savaged Athenis with his unsound meter

may you perish, hated, for want of food.

Archilochus was known as the inventor of iambic poetry, and Hipponax had attacked Athenis, but no extant sources speak of Archilochus dying because of his spiteful tongue or Hipponax starving to death (though he is hungry in frr. 32 W/42 Dg and 34 W/43 Dg). Again, we must accept a degree of uncertainty and focus on the relevance of what is clear: Ovid again conjures up models of archaic iambos, but he now associates Ibis (rather than himself) with these poets. In a surprising move, as Rosen has noted, Ovid has accepted the role of iambic victim and cast Ibis as an iambic poet in these lines.28 While it is true that Ovid conn~cts Ibis with

27 La Penna 1957, ad loc.: "il distico piu spinoso." For the name Pytheides, see Rosen 1988b, 292 n. 8. Bupalus is the most obvious suspect in any Hipponactean context, but Rosen 1988b argues that Medusae frater here refers to A thenis.

28 Rosen 1988b, 295. Chapter 3 will show how Gregory Nazianzen does the same thing when he accuses an enemy of being an iambic poet (iaµj?>on016,).


these figures only in their dying moments, the more salient point is th.at we can see Ovid easily and casually playing with iambic masks. At one pomt he speaks like Hipponax, at another he sees Ibis as an iambic poet, and despite such material he can still deny his iambic intentions even though he continues to present his relationship with Ibis in terms of a basic iambic pattern. The shadow of the iambic tradition thus looms over the Ibis through the title's connection with the iambic collections of Callimachus and Horace and in Ovid's references to the archaic iambic poets and their targets.

yet the poem also cultivates an iambic atmosphere by building a narrative around a furious poetic response to a personal betrayal. In describing his relationship with Ibis that has now gone so far awry, Ovid gives hints that he and his enemy had previously enjoyed something at least approach

ing friendship (19-20):

Et, qui debuerat subitas extinguere flammas,

Hie praedam medio raptor ab igne petit.

And he who ought to have put out the sudden blaze,

Greedily seeks some profit from amidst the flames.

This places Ovid's fierce invective in the realm of intensely personal anger (rabies rather than the more satirical impetus of indignatio), which is a hallmark of the archaic iambic persona.29 Ovid's ardor in these lines is all the more pronounced, since his language calls to mind the less intense invective of Callimachus' Iambus 5. That poem, which opens with a mild "O friend," includes an admonition to extinguish the flames of ill

conceived passion (fr. 195.23-26 Pf.):

TO lTUp 5~ TWVEKOUCJ"OS, &xp1s pj} no71Afl

np6ucu KEXWPT\KEV cpfloyl,

0.7171' aTpeµl~EI KTJTII Ti\V TE<pPT\.V 9l[x].vel,

)<plµriuov.

But, the fire which you have set alight, as long as it has not

progressed further with much flame,

29 Juvenal, particularly in his first two books of poetry, typifies the connection between satire and indignatio. Braund 1988, 1-23, provides a helpful overview of indignatio in these early poems

and the shift away from it in the third book. The idea of indignation as the source ~f th~ satirist's wit long endured. John Wilmot, writing in the mid-seventeenth century, put ~t this way in his Satire against Reason: "All this with indignation have I hurled I At the pretendmg part of the proud world, / Who, swollen with selfish vanity, devise I False freedoms, hol! cheats, and

formal lies / Over their fellow slaves to tyrannize." For the contrast between rabies and

indignatio, cp. Livy 31.17.5, Sen. Ep. 30.12, Apuleius, Fl. 17.

43


but lies still and dwells in the ashes,

quench it.

trans. Acosta-Hughes

Ovid's Ibis hints at various other connections with Iambus 5: Both involve a sea journey (fr. 195.13; Ibis, 17-18) and writing tablets (fr. 195.41; Ibis 18); Callimachus asks his addressee to interpret a riddle (ai'.v1yµa, fr. 195.32-33), and Ovid claims that his poem is filled with "coded stories" (historiis involvam carmina caecis, 57). Moreover, the implication that Ibis ought to have helped Ovid (19-20) suggests a perversion of Callimachus' initial ·w ~ETve. The Diegesis claims that Callimachus directs this advice to a teacher (supposedly named either Apollonius or Cleon) who has been abusing his students.30 The echoes of Iambus 5 allow Ovid to cast himself in the roles of both Callimachus the author (since Ovid follows Callimachus as a model) and the victimized students of this lecherous teacher (since Ovid, too, is the victim of another's malicious behavior).

In addition to these connections with Iambus 5, Ovid's rage can also be traced back to the stories about Archilochus' cancelled wedding. According to tradition, he had been engaged to Lycambes' daughter prior to the passionate rupture, which may be described in frr. 172-3. It is important to keep in mind, however, that these two passages are nowhere linked in the ancient sources and that neither is mentioned in connection with a wedding (though Origen, who preserves fr. 173 does say that Lycambes has violated an agreement with Archilochus, Sf}Kas O:SnficraVTa, Cels. 2.21).31

nchEp /\uK6:µj3a, Tioiov Eq>p6:aw TOCE;

TIS aas TiapiiEtpE q>pevas

Tis TO Tip\v iiPiiP1l06a; vuv OE oi] 1TOAUS

aaToia1 q>alvea1 y{Aws.

Father Lycambes, what is this you have come up with?!

Who has taken away your wits,

which used to be sound? Now indeed you seem

altogether ridiculous to the townspeople.

Fr. 172

30 The confusion about the name of Callimachus' target shows that the commentator is speculating rather than reporting a detail made clear in the poem. The names are suspect, since Callimachus supposedly attacked Apollonius of Rhodes in his Ibis and Cleon recalls Aristophanes' most famous b~te noire. Beyond this, however, the uncertainty shows that Callirnachus, like Ovid in his Ibis, does not name his addressee and thus tempts readers to guess his identity.

31 Schiesaro 2001, 130, sees the tone of the Ibis encapsulated in the example of Archilochus fr. 173. Interestingly, Archilochus' claim that everyone already finds Lycambes laughable may be heard in Callirnachus' Iambus 5 (fr. 195.30); a, µ~ µE 'ITOl~O"US ye[i\w, "Ah, don't make me ridiculous" (trans. Acosta-Hughes).

l opKOV 5' EVOaq>{a611S µeyav

&Aas TE Ka\ Tp6:m~av.

You have turned your back on a great oath

sworn by salt and table.

Fr. 173


The white-hot rage which Ovid stokes in the Ibis takes its spirit from the narratives of personal betrayal that typified archaic iambic poetry.

Ovid has composed an extremely abusive poem but, as we have seen, flirtatiously claims that his material does not fit his meter, even going so far as to express this sentiment (non soleant quamvis hoc pede bella geri) in the less martial second line of the elegiac couplet. In effect, he gives us both a praeteritio and something of a coy recusatio (instead of "I was going to but didn't," he says "I haven't but still might"). For Williams, the subterfuge of presenting the Ibis as "a relatively harmless poem" that boasts more vicious verses for the future amounts to "the sadistic converse of erotic anticipation ... " so familiar from Ovid's pre-exilic elegies.32 The expectation of fulfillment provides an anguish of its own, and Ovid's invective builds to a crescendo as much through torturous teasing as explicit malevolence.

Ovid's Ibis, then, is the earliest example of a new pattern of iambic dissimulation. Ovid combines clear markers of his iambic intentions, such as personal rage and references to iambic poets, with overt denials that he is drawing upon the iambic mode. This incorporation of iambic material into a non-iambic form appears as a combination of explicit rejection and implicit adoption of iambic strategies, and his teasing deferral of openly accepting Archilochean poetics fosters an iambic frame of mind as he savages Ibis. But this dissimulated iambic influence must be read against his trumpeting of his debt to Callimachus. If we know too little about that earlier Ibis, we nevertheless can reconstruct a tradition of ibidic invective that stretches back to Aristophanes, influenced Plato's discussion of the ibis-headed god Thoth in the Phaedrus, and touched upon debates about the nature of poetry among Hellenistic poets. Many of the themes that will be examined in this journey into the past will reappear in Ovid's Ibis and influence my reading of that poem.

32 Williams 1996, 15-16. From here Williams moves into a discussion of poetry's power to kill, which raises the idea that Ovid could be holding back in order not to push his invective to the brink of ridiculousness.

45


Callimachus and the idea of ibidic invective

Ovid denies that his Ibis is an iambic poem and emphasizes, instead, that he is looking to Callimachus' Ibis as his main model (55-62):

Nunc, quo Battiades inimicum devovet Ibin,

hoc ego devoveo teque tuosque modo.

utque ille, historiis involvam carmina caecis,

non soleam quamvis hoc genus ipse sequi.

illius ambages imitatus in Ibide dicar

oblitus moris iudiciique mei.

et, quoniam qui sis nondum quaerentibus edo,

Ibidis interea tu quoque nomen habe.33

Now, just as Battiades cursed his hated Ibis,

I curse you and yours in the same way.

Like him, I will weave my poem from shadowy tales,

though I'm not accustomed to following this sort of thing.

In imitating his riddling in Ibis I will be said

to have forgotten my style and taste.

And since I am not yet telling the curious who you are,

you too, for the moment, will take the name Ibis.

In a show of Callimachean periphrasis, Ovid declares himself to be a reluctant follower of an old invective model (unlike Horace who boasted of following only certain elements of Archilochus in Ep. 1.19.24-25:

numeros animosque secutus I Archilochi, non res et agentia verba Lycamben). Ovid models his poem on the Ibis of Battiades (i.e., Callimachus); the present indicative verbs (devovet, devoveo) claim a similar temporal vantage for both poets; the reuse of the pseudonym Ibis beguilingly promises an identical poetic treatment of the target; and the words hoc ... nwdo and imitatus assert a close connection between Ovid's poem and his Alexandrian model. This seemingly pellucid programmatic statement was once accepted in such a straightforward manner that Rostagni believed Ovid's poem to be a translation of the Greek Ibis with the addition of an original proem. 34 Yet even if we take a more circumspect approach to Ovid's words here, these lines clearly expect that we will read the Latin Ibis

33 As with Ovid's use of tela, Battiades recalls Catullus 116 (and 65). Ovid proclaims his dependence on Callimachus, but he also leaves a trail of Roman appropriations of that debt to Alexandria.

34 Rostagni 1920, capped in typically biting style by Housman 1921. See Kolar 1933 for more on this topic.


in light of a strong Hellenistic influence. 35 Despite the fact that virtually all specific points of comparison are beyond our reach (the length, meter, themes, etc. of Callimachus' Ibis are all matters of guesswork), I will proceed on the assumption that we can make headway by exploring the wider symbolic value of the ibis itself for Callimachus' world and for Ovid as a reader of that world.36

Callimachus' Ibis has disappeared without much of a trace. The meager ancient evidence (frr. 381-82 and test. l, 23, 39-41 Pf.) claims that Callimachus used the name Ibis as a cover for attacking his student Apollonius of Rhodes. This basic point has, until roughly the past quarter century, been taken at face value but is now strongly doubted.37

For my purposes, however, the debate about Apollonius starts from the wrong question, namely, is Apollonius Ibis or not? The many stories about ibises - from tales of their dietary regulation based on the phases of the moon to the power of an ibis feather to paralyze snakes - hold more imaginative possibilities for discussing Ibis' identity than the very narrow question of Apollonius' role in Callimachus' poem.38 If we approach the ibis as a cipher for abuse, rather than asking more restricted questions about Apollonius, we can better appreciate the fact

35 For those who read Ovid's poem primarily from a formal angle, this Hellenistic connection holds the key to understanding the text. Thus, Watson 1991, 81, writes that Ovid's Ibis "is still, in some ways, the best evidence for [Hellenistic curse] poems." Those scholars more interested in uncovering Ibis' identity appreciate Ovid's nod to Callimachus as playful and erudite but find little interpretive value in it. Thus, for example, Janssen 1981 argues that Ibis is the jurist C. Ateius Capito, and Herrmann 1938 argues that he is Ovid's son-in-law Cornelius Fidus, but

neither position relies on any particular understanding of Ovid's relationship to Callimachus. Williams 1996, 89, takes a balanced approach: "Ovid's debt to the Hellenistic curse-tradition in general and to Callimachus in particular .. .is undeniable, at least on the most superficial and formalistic level. Culturally, however, the two !bides are worlds apart: given the distinctive Roman tendencies which can now be discerned in the poem, Ovid's Ibis need be no closer in spirit to its Callimachean original ... than the Metamorphoses are to Nicander' s Heteroioumena." Schiesaro 2001, 129, voices a similar cautionary note: "L'identificazione esplicita dell'Ibis di Ovidio con quello di Callimaco ha spesso distratto dal riconoscere un precedente romano che si rivelera molto importante."

36 On the question of the meter of Callimachus' Ibis, see Williams 1996, 27 n. 46. The overwhelming weight of scholarly opinion concludes that it must have been elegiac, though, as

Williams notes, Ovid would more typically have used modis rather than modo in line 56 in discussions of meter if he had wanted to claim that he was using Callimachus' meter. Williams also highlights the guesswork involved in this discussion with his suggestion that Callimachus' Ibis could have even been an epigram!

37 Lefkowitz 1981 has been the most vocal opponent of such ancient notices: "Ancient commentators characteristically sought out particular incidents to 'explain' what poets deliberately left general and metaphorical" (122). Watson 1991 has challenged Lefkowitz's position and may for some, have, reopened this debate.

38 The many ancient discussions about the ibis are collected by Thompson 1936, 60-64.

47


that Callimachus' invective use of this bird was not original but looks

back to a classical Greek model. 39

A century or so before Callimachus penned his Ibis, Aristophanes had likened a certain Lycurgus to an ibis (Birds 1296).40 The joke is just one in a list of quick jabs that connect prominent Athenians to various birds, and unfortunately much of the humor here falls flat for us without an insider's understanding of the comic potential in each human-avian connection. In the case of the ibis-like Lycurgus, the scholiast, too, is uncertain. He offers (ad loc.) a buffet of possibilities: Lycurgus may have had Egyptian ancestors; or he may have had Egyptian habits; or he may have been long-legged like an ibis; or he may, more generally, have been an all-round scoundrel. While Aristophanes' words may well have "played" on several levels at once, including the somatic and/or familial, it is worth noting that Greek animal typologies tended to rely more on behavioral than physical characteristics.41 Yet regardless of how Aristophanes' joke was taken by his audience, the important point is that ibidic invective was not an Alexandrian invention. Callimachus, like Ovid, was following a pre-established

(if narrow) literary tradition.42

Callimachus' appropriation of the ibis for invective engages in a wider pattern of Alexandrian reworking of Greek models. As Stephens has shown, Hellenistic poets regularly took Greek material, adapted it to their world outside the traditional boundaries of old Greece, and re-presented it

39 As Stephens 2005a, 229-31, and Lavigne and Romano 2004 have shown, the Alexandrian poets were already using birds as poetic ciphers that refused any simple identification with a single

individual. 4° For a focused assessment of this passage, see Dunbar 1995, ad loc. Dunbar shows that

Aristophanes' target here is surely Lycurgus the son of Lycomedes of the Eteobutades family and thus the grandfather of the famous orator, whom Ps.-Plutarch mistakenly identifies as Aristophanes' target in this passage (Vit. decem 843e). Dunbar also notes that most Athenians

would have known more about the Glossy Ibis (Plegadis falcinellus) than the Sacred (Threskiornis aethiopicus) or Hermit Ibis ( Geronticus eremita), neither of which was ever found

in Greece. 41 Thus for example, in Semonides 7 the beautiful mare-woman is lovely and the pig-woman

disgusting because each shares certain non-somatic traits with her assigned animal - neither woman looks like her animal type. Similarly, the Aesopic fable about the weasel who is turned

into a woman builds to an aphoristic point about the difficulty in changing one's nature when the "woman" pounces upon a scurrying mouse (Perry 50 =Bahr. 32). There is.no hard, fast rule here, however, (e.g., Semonides' monkey-woman does share certain physical traits with a monkey) so the point need not be pushed. Somatic humor has also been used to explain the alleged connection between Callimachus' poem and Apollonius. See Watson 1991, 123-24, for a detailed critique of this and other explanations of the bird in Callimachus' poem.

42 The decision to valorize an unusual and seemingly unimportant word from earlier Greek literature is a typical Hellenistic move, as seen, for example, in Theocritus' focus in Idyll l on a

K1cmv~1ov, the word used to describe Polyphemus' drinking cup at Od. 9.346.

) ..

J

'


for their communities.43 This dynamic can be observed most clearly in Alexandria, where the new Ptolemaic rulers were associated with two traditions of authority (Macedonian, by blood, and Pharaonic, by conquest) that did not naturally go together. As the "image makers" of the Ptolemaic court,44 poets such as Callimachus and Theocritus rendered this strange Helleno-Egyptian hybrid understandable by placing it within more familiar categories.

One example of this practice is directly relevant to our understanding of Callimachus' and Ovid's bird poems: the migration of cranes. At the opening of Iliad 3, Homer compares the advancing Trojan army to the clangorous migratory return of the cranes to Egypt. As has often been noted, Callimachus reverses this process in the opening lines of his Aetia, where he banishes these noisy birds to Thrace, a move that parallels Callimachus' advocacy of small-scale, sonorous poetry.45 Callimachus' reorientation of Homer is interesting in its own right, but the dynamic, contemporary negotiation of Alexandrian identity and Ptolemaic kingship implicit in this passage becomes apparent only when placed next to an epigram from the recently published Milan papyrus of Posidippus, a native of Pella in Macedonia and allegedly one of Callimachus' enemies lurking behind the name "Telchines" against whom the Aetia was aimed (Epigr. 22 = 4.14-19):46

i:ipv1c µev ~[o]uKaToc eTii]pmoc 6:v5p\ yewpyw1

qimvecew, Ai]TITT]C Ka\ mpi qiuT71' 6:ya06[c·

i]µTv 5' Alyu1nou TIEAayoc µe?\Aouc1 51wKe1v

8pfi<1>cca KaTa TipoT6vwv i]yeµovfo1 yepavoc,

cfiµa Ku~epvi]TT]<t> Kma5e~1ov, ti To µey[

KCiµa, 51' fiepiwv cw[1~o]µevri m51wv.

Let the lovely cowherd's bird appear to the farmer,

a helper welcome among the crops; but for us, soon to set out onto the Egyptian sea,

may the Thracian crane rule throughout the forestays -

43 Stephens 2003. For similar examples of this type of analysis, see Feeney 2004. 44 Stephens 2003, 12. 45 E.g. Acosta-Hughes and Stephens, 2002, 247-48. Aristophanes mentions cranes returning from

Africa to Greece (Birds 1137), and the Egyptian chorus of Euripides' Helen long to escape to Greece like cranes (1478-86). Callimachus' cranes thus follow the flight plan of Aristophanes' and Euripides' birds, though his text most closely alludes to Homer.

46 This text is a slightly simplified version of the periodically updated online text of Angio, Cuypers, Acosta-Hughes and Kosmetatou, version 12.1, 2011: http://chs.harvard.edu/wb/l/wo/ WPCZeiAhxaHcNEPvoXEOgg/0.1.

49


a trusty sign for the helmsman that ... the great swell, safe on the airy plane.

In this epigram, Posidippus reiterates the direction of migration found in Homer, that is, cranes moving from Thrace into Egypt. On a metapoetic level, this discussion of birds travelling between northeastern Greece and

Alexandrian Egypt engages with a debate about the nature of Ptolemaic society.47 Is Egypt now the land of sonorous bird calls (and, by extension,

elegant poetry and harmonious royal leadership)? Or is it still a land of discordant clamoring compared to the Lagid' s ancestral Macedonian home?

What connection is there, then, between a debate about the Ptolemaic

society that was carried on partly through the image of cranes migrating between Egypt and Thrace, and two invective texts, one from Egyptian Alexandria, one from Thracian Tomis, that both encode their abuse

through the image of the migratory ibis?48 The biographical tradition militates against any such connection, and urges us to find some ibidic trait in Apollonius (physical, literary, or otherwise) that explains Callimachus' decision to use an ibis as the conduit for his abuse. If, however, we do not find sufficient explanatory power in the ever-dubious vita-models, then a wider range of possibilities beckons.

In taking over Aristophanes' jab at Lycurgus, Callimachus brought the

Greek trope of ibis-as-insult into Alexandrian literary culture.49 Having

47 On this epigram see Lavigne and Romano 2004 and Stephens 2005a, 229-31. Gutzwiller 2007, 172, reads this poem and its relationship to Callimachus on a more aesthetic level.

48 There are some ancient notices that ibises did not migrate, and that the bird would die if forcibly removed from Egypt (Ael. NA 2.38). For an overview of the history and modern issues related to the sacred ibis (Threskionis aethiopicus), see Y esou and Clergeau 2005, who show that ibises of all sorts do and always have migrated, and the evidence of Thompson 1936, 60-64. The sacred ibis is quite common throughout sub-Saharan Africa, and was common in Egypt until the last century. The sacred ibis never lived in Europe, although it has recently been introduced and has become a pest in some areas. Alexandrians knew their birds far better than most of us. Callimachus composed a work on birds, Peri omeon; Posidippus' epigram comes from a collection of oionoskopika, poems about bird omens; and the Hellenistic arae include a surprisingly large number of bird references given the paucity of texts. Thus, birds were very much a part of active literary trends. This means both that we need not force a connection between cranes and ibises and that we can assume that a discriminating audience would appreciate the particular relevance (ornithological, literary, political, etc.) of any given bird.

49 Given the sacrality of ibises in Egyptian culture, it is unlikely that there was a trope of ibis-asinsult in Egypt prior to Alexander's conquest. Ibises were associated with the god Thoth and were raised (and ultimately mummified) in sacred precincts. The simple description of the ibis as aKa0cxpTos, "foul" (Strabo 17.2.4), that Greek authors could provide would be foreign to traditional Egyptian thinking about the bird. For an interesting ancient account of the life of a worker at an ibis farm who writes a letter of complaint to Thoth about a co-worker, see Smelik 1979, 237-38.

Callimachus' Ibis and Plato's Phaedrus

sent away Homer's noisy cranes, Callimachus may well have taken up Aristophanes' ibis as a non-epic bird that already had associations with Egypt (of course) and abuse. The possibility that Aristophanes' ibis could

be understood as a comment on the otherness of Egypt from an Athenian perspective makes it ripe for the type of cultural reworking that was,

according to Stephens, so prominent among Alexandrian poets. But what would it mean to be slandered as an ibis in Egypt, a land where the bird was venerated? We cannot answer this question with certainty, but we can map

out potential associative interpretations that were available to Callimachus' audience that involve the same pattern of rethinking earlier texts. One such line of semiotic tension leads back to Plato's Phaedrus, where we find a direct connection with ibises in the image of the ibis-headed god Thoth.50

A short digression on the relationship between Plato and Callimachus will

show that this point of contact opens onto a broader set of issues about literature that connect both authors to Ovid's Ibis.


Before Thoth appears in the Phaedrus, Plato sets a striking bucolic scene in

which Socrates tells a story about the origins of the cicada, a creature with both iambic and Callimachean associations. The narrative begins as Socrates, who famously left the confines of Athens on only a few occasions, walks with Phaedrus into a pastoral landscape outside the city. The portrait is tranquil and relaxing in the shade of trees that hum with cicadas, creatures which, Socrates tells us, used to be human but now serve as

informants to the Muses (259b-d):51

i\eyETm 5' &s iroT' ficrav ouTot &v8pwiro1 Twv irplv Moucras yEyoveva1, yEvoµevwv

5e Moucrwv Kai cpavE(crTJs 05f\s OUTWS &pa TlVES TWV T6TE e~rni\c'xyT]crav ucp' T,5ovf\s,

WcrTE l;X5ovTEs fiµei\Tjcrav crhwv TE Ka\ TIOTWV, Kai EA.aeov TEAEUTficraVTES avTous· e~ WV To TEn!ywv yevos µET' EKEivo cpuETai, yepas To0To irap<'x Moucrwv i\aj36v, µTj5ev

Tpocpf\s 5Efo8at YEV6µEVOV, ai\i\' &crtT6V TE Kai OTIOTOV EU8us i;X5EtV, EWS &v TEAEUTi\crn,

Ka\ µET<'x TaUTa Ei\8ov irap<'x Moucras airayyei\i\ElV T(S Tiva aUTWV Ttµ<;i: TWV Ev8a5E.

TEpljliX6pc;x µev ouv TOUS EV Tois xopois TETlµTjK6Tas aun'Jv airayyei\i\oVTES lTOlOUcrt

irpocrcp1i\ecrTepous, Tfi 5e 'Epawi To us Ev Tois EpwnKois, Kai Tais &Mais o\hws, KaT<'x TO

5° Callimachus and Plato form a fascinating ode and antode in the history ofliterary criticism, for which see Acosta-Hughes and Stephens 2011, 23-83.

51 That the pseudo-Lucianic Amores stages a debate over the virtues of different types of love in a nearly identical setting testifies to the enduring influence of Plato's imagery here. For the importance of Plato's Phaedrus in the second century, see Trapp 1990.

51


doos EKOO"TT]S Ttµfjs· Tji OE TrpEaf?iuTOTD KaM16Trn Kai Tii µn' auTi]V Ou'pavl<;i :rous EV

<p!AOO"O<pi<;X 8tayoVTOS TE Kal TtµwVTas Ti]v EKElvwv µoua1Ki]v 6:yyeMoua1v, a'i oi]

µaA!O"Ta TWV Mouawv mpl TE oupavov Kal :A6yous OUO"a! 8Elous TE Kai 6:v8pwTrfvous

\aaiv KaMfaTT]V <pwvi]v.

They say that [cicadas] used to be people before the Muses were born and that with the birth of the Muses and the creation of song, some were so smitten with joy that they sang and ignored food and drink until they died. From them, the race of cicadas was later born, and they have this gift from the Muses: that they need no nourishment but sing continuously without food or drink until they die. And after this they go to the Muses and report on who here honors them. To Terpsichore they mention those who revere her with dances and thereby make themselves dearer to her, to Erato those who do so with erotic arts, and to all the other Muses similarly according to the form of each person's devotion. But to Calliope, the eldest, and, next after her, to Ourania they give an account of those who spend their time in philosophy honoring the music of these two, who being most concerned of all the Muses for heaven and for divine and mortal thought send forth the loveliest of voices.

A hint of danger briefly enters this peaceful setting when Socrates and

Phaedrus discuss the story of Oreithyia, a girl whom the wind god Boreas

supposedly swept away while she was playing with a shadowy figure called

Pharmakeia. Although the ominous memory of poor Oreithyia soon

recedes amid the pleasing natural backdrop, the name Pharmakeia is later

called to mind with the cognate word cp6:pµaKov, which plays a key role in

the tale about Thoth and the invention of writing (274c-275a).

Socrates says that Thoth had invented the art of writing and offered it

as a gift to Thamus, the king of Egypt. As Thamus reflects upon this

invention, Thoth boasts that his creation will make the Egyptians wiser,

because he has discovered a µvi]µT]s ... Kai o-ocplas cp6:pµaKov, "a drug for

memory and wisdom" (274e). To this Thamus replies that Thoth's

discovery will actually do the opposite of what he claims, ouKovv µvi]µT]s

&"Ma l'.rrroµvijo-Ews cp6:pµaKov T]vpEs, "because you have invented a drug not

for memory but, rather, for reminding" (275a). Just like the English word

"drug", Plato's word cp6:pµaKov spans both positive (cure) and negative

(poison) meanings.s2 Clearly, Thoth had something positive in mind

when he unveiled his invention to the king, but his usage was capped

by a negative spin on his own word. This scene is one of the cornerstones

52 Derrida emphasized this ambivalence in the word q>apµaKOv in his famous essay "Plato's

Pharmacy." Like a q>apµaKOv the ibis is alternately described in ancient sources as a foul pest and an emblem of health.


of Plato's ironic assault on literature as both a degenerate reflection of

reality and a poor substitute for philosophical dialogue.s3 The Egyptian

and ibis-headed Thoth emerges from the text as an inventor of writing

who lacks the vision necessary to see how greatly a literary world would

dull the human mind.s4

Plato's use of cp6:pµaKov demonstrates careful consideration of the

semantic reach of this word, but it opens an interpretive avenue to a

metapoetic comment from an Archilochean elegiac poem that meditates

on how we deal with loss and grief.ss Stobaeus preserves these lines in his

anthology, giving us an unusually complete look at an Archilochean poem

(Stob. 4.56.30 = Archil. fr. 13):

Ki]oea µev O"TOV6EVTa nEpfKAEES OUTE TIS OO"TWV

µEµ<p6µEvos ea:Af111s TEp\jlETOl OUOE Tr6A1s·

TO{ous yap KaTa Kuµa TfOAU<pAofaf?io10 8aAOO"O"T]S

EMuaEv, ol8a:Afous 8' 6:µ<p' 68uv111s EXoµEv

TIVEUµovas. 6:Ma eeoi yap OVT]KEO"TO!O"l KaKOla!V

c1 <pill' ETri KpmEpi]v TAT]µoaUVT]V Eeeaav

<papµaKov. &MoTE &Mos EXE! T65e· vuv µev ES f]µfos

hpaTIE8', a\µaT6Ev 8' EAKOS 6:vaaTevoµEv,

E~auTtS 8' hepous ETraµEf\jlETat. &Ma Tax1aTa

TAfjTE, yuvaiKEiov TrEv8os 6:TrwaaµEvo1.

As we grieve, Pericles, no one of the city or even the city itself will blame us while they enjoy the festival -

such men did the wave of the roaring sea envelop. Our lungs are swollen with pain.

But the gods have set stout endurance as a remedy, friend, for incurable grief.

Each bears it in due time. Now to us it has turned, and we lament a bloody wound.

But soon it will move on to others. So swiftly endure and push away a woman's mourning.

53 Recent analyses of Plato's discussions of writing include Asmis 1992, Burke 2008, and Cerri

2007. Allen 2010 presents a major re-assessment of this topic. 54 Vasunia 2001, 136-59, provides a helpful analysis of Plato's Phaedrus and its relation to the

distinctly Greek and Egyptian ideas about writing. He shows that Greeks in general expressed more anxiety about the issue of writing than did the Egyptians, for whom the art was sacred.

Thus, Plato's Thoth makes sense only from a Greek perspective, rendering the Phaedrus' tale of the origins of writing culturally and ethnically marked.

55 Gorgias (Hel. 14), too, could be brought into this discussion, since he directly compares the

impact of a q>apµaKov on the disposition (Tafo) of the body to that of /ogoi on the disposition of

the soul.

53


The poem claims that gods have given us endurance as a means of dealing with emotional trauma, but the fact that it is a poem which proffers this advice shows that poetry, too, offers a kind of emotional healing by having the power and authority to speak to the variability of the human condition. As Steiner has recently shown, this poem asserts its own power to serve as a <pexpµaKov that we can see starkly in relation to certain passages of hexameter poetry.56 Most important among these are Helen's <pexpµaKov,

that she mixes with wine at Od. 4.220-21, and which combines with her subsequent speech, µ06os, to dispel grief, and Hesiod Theog. 98-103, where the poet does not mention any <pexpµaKa but does discuss the power of the poet, 6:0186s, to drive away sadness. Archilochus' poem essentially combines elements recognizable in both passages to claim for his poem the specifically pharmacological power to heal (as Helen similarly claims for her epic µ06os). Steiner shows, however, that whereas the hexameter examples eliminate grief by promoting forgetfulness, Archilochus' poem suggests that solace without oblivion comes from engaging in the social and poetic delights of the symposium.

In the Hellenistic period we can catch a whiff of a movement that sought to respond to Plato's challenge to literature and to return to something more like the positive Archilochean model of poetry as a <pexpµaKov. The outlines of this response provide a plausible context for a reconsideration of Callimachus' Ibis. For example, Acosta-Hughes and Stephens have shown that the prologue to Callimachus' Aetia reworks Socrates' tale about the cicada from the Phaedrus.57 Callimachus describes himself as a cicada (something Archilochus had already done in fr. 223, at least according to Lucian, who preserves this fragment: T~TTtyos E8pex~cu TITEpoO, "You have caught a cicada by the wing") and claims a fully independent poetic voice, rather than following the Platonic Socrates in imagining the cicada as a messenger to the Muses.58 What Plato had placed in the pleasing background to the philosophical conversation between Socrates and Phaedrus becomes, in Callimachus, a central focus of a new poetic movement.

56 Steiner 2012a, especially 30-38. Her larger argument shows how fr. 13 combjnes consolation with prescriptions for sympotic behavior. Particularly attractive as well is her suggestion (S0-51) that the under-specified T66e, "this thing," in line 7 refers not just to suffering but also to the <p6pµaKov, which may imply, through a network of associations that Steiner teases out, that <p6pµaKov par excellence of the symposium: wine.

57 Other literary models are, of course, present as well, such as Iliad 3.151-52, where the old Trojan advisors are likened to cicadas.

58 Acosta-Hughes and Stephens 2002.


The most apposite example of Callimachus reworking Platonic material comes from Epigram 53 GP (23 P£) about Cleombrotus, who reappears in

Ovid's Ibis.

Ehras "'HAtE xaipe' Klle6µf3poTOS wµf3paKtWTT')S

t\llaT' &q>' UIJlTJAou Teixeos els 'At5riv,

Cx~!OV ou5ev !5wv 6avcnou KOKOV, &Ma nMTWVOS

ev To mp\ IJlVXfis ypc'xµµ' &valle~aµevos.

Cleombrotus of Ambracia said, "Farewell, Sun,"

and leapt from a lofty rampart down to Hades. He had seen nothing so bad as to warrant death, but he had read one book of Plato's On the Soul.

Ovid references Cleombrotus' fate obliquely amidst a short list of figures who die from high falls (Ibis 493-94):

nee de praecipiti venias in Tartara saxo, ut qui Socraticum de nece legit opus.

And may you not come to Tartarus from a high rock, as did he who read the Socratic work about death.

Callimachus' short poem has been interpreted in a variety of ways (both pro- and anti-Platonic), but most of these analyses are rooted either in the question of Callimachus' reaction to Plato's theory of the immortality of the soul or in assessing the many post-Callimachean reactions to the story of Cleombrotus.59 Any Callimachean reaction to Plato's theories of literature has been largely left out of the debate. But Acosta-Hughes and Stephens now make a strong argument that the epigram hinges specifically on literary themes that encode Callimachus' response to Plato's stance against poetry. As they claim, Callimachus' account of Cleombrotus' suicide (expressly forbidden at Phaedo 6lc-62c) encourages the possibility of strategically "misreading" the Phaedo. Such misreading, in turn, engages with the anxiety about the inadequacies of writing expressed by Socrates in the Phaedrus. In the figure of Cleombrotus, then, we can

59 Spina 1989 argues that the effect of Callimachus' epigram is an ironic tension between the Phaedo's rejection of suicide and Cleombrotus' own demise. He goes on to address the problem of the Latin tradition, which records the jumper's name as Theombrotus. Williams 1995, 196-97, offers insight on the relationship between a possible variation on Callimachus' epigram (that

can be found in Cicero Tusc. 1.84 in which Cleombrotus jumps into the sea) and Ovid's sandwiching of his reference to Cleombrotus in the Ibis between two examples of characters who committed suicide by jumping into the sea. White 1994 reads the epigram as pro-Platonic.

55


find both a debate between Callimachus and Plato about poetry c;ind a connection between both authors and Ovid's Ibis.60

Acosta-Hughes and Stephens show that a key text open to this sort of misreading is Phaedrus 258e:....zs9d, where Plato boldly claims that philosophy (an intellectual project, a way of life, but also, through Plato's efforts, a newly recognizable genre) is the realm of Calliope, traditionally the Muse of epic poetry, because it has the greatest truth-value of any literary form. In effect, Plato here creates an intellectual space for philosophy, and the turf that he claims for his new project is won at the expense of other traditional cultural categories, such as poetry.61 Callimachus challenged Plato on both points by replacing the Platonic pairing of Calliope and Socrates with the alliterative coupling of Calliope and Callimachus.

This Alexandrian "strategic misreading" of Plato can be seen to cluster around specific passages of Platonic texts that afford points of access to broader issues. As with the image of the cicada, the word cpapµaKov offers another example of this dynamic. Plato's Thoth had sought to present the invention of writing as a cpapµaKov in its positive sense; Thamus, however, retorted by declaring it to be a cpapµaKov in the negative sense. Plato leaves his readers the task of sorting through the ambivalence ofliterature and the ironies of his own textual dialogue. Both Callimachus and Theocritus recoup the positive implications of the word cpapµaKov for poetry in presenting the Cyclops Polyphemus singing to himself as a cure for his love-lorn heart.62 Theocritus Idyll 11, addressed to the doctor-poet Nicias, opens with these lines (1-9):

Ou5ev TTon6v epwTa TTecpuKe1 cp6:pµaKov &Mo, NtKfa, o(h' EYXPl<YTOV, eµ\v 5oKei, o\h' ETTiTTa<YTOV, fi ml Oiepf5es· Koucpov 5e Tl TovTo Kai c'x5u yivn' ETT' c'xv6pC::mo1s, eupeiv 5' OU p<x516v E<YTI. y1vwaKe1v 5' oTµal TU KcxAws imp6v E6vrn Kai TalS evvfo 5fi mcp1A.11µevov E~oxa Moi<Yais. ouTw youv p6:10-rn 51ay' 6 KuK?l.w\Ji 6 Trap' c'xµiv,

60 Acosta-Hughes and Stephens 2011, 24. Cp. 258 n. 131 where they suggest that the catalogue of curses in Ovid's Ibis represents "a grab-bag of erudite 'curses,' each derived from a literary source, and the game was to guess the author."

61 On the emergence of philosophy as a recognizable genre, see Nightingale 2000. Summarizing her own earlier thesis, Nightingale puts it this way: "Creating the professional discipline of philosophy required an extraordinary effort of self-definition and legitimation" from fourthcentury Greek thinkers (2004, 3).

62 For a discussion of these passages and references to Polyphemus in late classical and Hellenistic literature more broadly, see Hordern 2004.

l I


wpxaios OoMcpaµos, oK' ljpmo TiiS rat..meias, &pTI yeve16:0-5wv mp\ To <YT6µa TWS KpoTc'x<pws TE.

There exists no other cure for love, Nicias, neither ointment nor, I think, plaster, except the Pierian Muses. It's light and sweet for mortals, but not easy to find. Surely you must know this well, being a doctor, and, what's more, greatly beloved by the nine Muses. So easily did that Cyclops from our land demonstrate this, Polyphemus of long ago, when he fell for Galatea, a beard just starting to appear around his mouth and cheeks.

After describing how Polyphemus became too distracted by love to tend his flock, Theocritus again calls poetry a cpapµaKov ( 17) as the Cyclops sits down to sing his ode to Galatea.63

Callimachus Ep. 46 begins in a similar vein (1-4):

'Ws c'xya6c'xv noMcpaµos c'xveupOTO TCxV ETTao15av TWpaµEVC}>' val rav, OUK c'xµa6fis 6 KuKAW\ji'

a\ Mofoa1 TOV epwTa KaT10-xvalvovT1, <DiAITTTTE' ~ TTavaKES TTclVTWV cp6:pµaKov c'x o-ocpfa.

What a great charm Polyphemus discovered for the lover. By Gaia, that Cyclops wasn't dumb!

The Muses, Philip, slim the lover's swelling. Truly, the best remedy for everything is wisdom.

In this image of Polyphemus' discovery of poetry as a cpapµaKov for love, an Alexandrian aesthetic emerges: the Iliadic image of Achilles singing to himself is blurred with the Odyssean image of the monstrous Cyclops, who is now recast as suffering melodramatically from unrequited love; the impressions of both Homeric models are reoriented in terms of love instead of war and violence; the Platonic description of a divine but ultimately myopic inventor whose literary cpapµaKov is rejected is reworked through the image an inventor of limited vision (Polyphemus has not yet met Odysseus, but we all know his fate) who discovers the unambiguously positive cpapµaKov of poetry as a cure for love in the surpassingly odd, perhaps comical, case of an amorous Cyclops; and the TEXVTJ, "skill," with

63 At Id. 14.52-53, Theocritus has another character lament his ignorance of any

qiapµaKov ... aµnxavfonos iipc.nos, "cure for unendurable passion," except for the extreme solution of joining the army in order to achieve a forced separation from his beloved.

57


which the image is constructed reactivates the archaic power of the O:o156s,

"poet," to heal, charm, and access divine truth. One aspect of this debate over the truth-value of poetry involves the

theme of substitution, as discussed in terms of Plato's story about Thoth.64

Thoth as the god of writing offers a substitute for speech, something that the Platonic Socrates deems deplorable. Yet we can see a whole series of substitutions in which figures do their best with what they have, as with Plato disseminating his textual dialogues that substitute, however imperfectly, for real dialogue. The figure of Socrates may, in many cases, also substitute for Plato himself, the author who hides behind his characters as he presents a mimesis of actual philosophical conversations. Achilles too, as he sings the l<Afo O:v5pwv, "deeds of men" (IL 9.189), presents a substitute, psychologically and in terms of narrative, for his active participation in warfare. And the Alexandrian depictions of Polyphemus show the Cyclops relying on a substitute for actually being with and actually being

loved by Galatea. Broadly speaking, each of these examples highlights the deficiencies

inherent in the dynamics of substitution. Achilles' absence from battle strengthens the Trojan position. Even when Patroclus serves as a more powerful substitute than Achilles' songs about the deeds of others, the Greek cause remains weakened so long as their greatest warrior does not take the field. The Platonic Socrates, if not Plato himself, similarly suggests in the Phaedrus that writing does not amount to an adequate substitute for conversation. And Callimachus and Theocritus show poetry to be an effective, though still far from perfect, substitution for love in the case of Polyphemus. The cpapµaKov may still involve a process of substitution, but the Alexandrian discourse asserts an effective, rather than a fundamentally ineffective, substitutive role for poetry. We can contrast this group of examples involving substitution with non-mimetic invective, such as the opening portions of Ovid's Ibis before the litany of curses against Ibis that compress each mythical narrative into a few spare words. Although the iambic tradition includes a robust role for narrative (often mimetic narrative), examples of direct abuse (such as the opening of the Ibis, Archilochus fr. 172 and Hipponax fr. 115 W/194 Dg) do not mimetically narrate anything. Such verses present themselves as if they have the direct and illocutionary impact of announcing and delimiting one person's condescending perception of another. Thus, the Platonic Socrates' criticisms of

64 Derrida 1981, 84-94.


writing as a substitution for something better are circumvented in the case of such invective poetry, which need not be understood as a substitute for anything else.65

In a more theoretical vein, Callimachus asserts a role for poetry that escapes the Platonic concerns for the shortcomings of substitution. Callimachus and the Platonic Socrates both place the cicada among the Muses, but by assimilating himself to this ever-singing creature Callimachus stations the poet above the philosopher. This elevation of poets and poetry to the realm of the Muses effectively rejects Socrates' charge that mimetic poetry is ontologically inferior to other forms of reality. 66 What the Platonic Socrates could condemn as an imitation of an imitation (that is, an imitation of life which imitates the Forms) has here found a champion. If poetry can soothe a Cyclops' heart, it can also smooth away the scars by which the Ptolemaic kingdom in Alexandrian Egypt became the heir to the traditions of classical and archaic Greek culture, and, as Callimachus' Aetia describes, it can rejuvenate the poet himself and present a counteroffer to the inevitability of mortal decay. At the end of this chapter I will suggest that Ovid relies on this Hellenistic valorization of the power of poetry in his attempt to access the therapeutic powers of the ibis to improve his situation in Tomis, but for the moment I want merely to emphasize that the Callimachean reception of Plato's cpapµaKov in terms of its role in conceptualizing literature includes a theme that can be traced back to Plato's story about an Egyptian god with an ibis for a head.

This dialogue between Plato and Callimachus could have played a part in Callimachus' Ibis, but since we know almost nothing about that poem, it is safer to say that certain Platonic elements that I find in Ovid's Ibis could be the result of Ovid strategically mis-reading Plato through Callimachus' poetry. Most obviously, Plato's story about the ibis-headed Egyptian god Thoth calls to mind the title of Callimachus' lost poem. But there is more.

65 Rosen 2007b, 23-27, briefly sets out a model of mimetic satirical poetics. By understanding "the interpersonal conflict - whether real, imagined or deliberately feigned - between two people" as the "mimetic object" of all such poetry, Rosen seems to obviate the possibility that satire (broadly understood) can directly influence its audience. Bowie 2008 and Steiner (forthcoming) present starkly different perspectives on this topic. Neu 2007, 167-69, discusses the illocutionary force of invective and some potential shortcomings of such a model.

66 I owe this point to Stephens who states that "[Callimachus'] own work on a reductive level can be understood as a response to [Plato's] philosophical challenge. But more important, I believe, he was reasserting the value of poetry (not philosophy, not a philosophically driven criticism) as a dominant voice in emerging Ptolemaic society" ("The Rhapsode's Song: Plato in the Iambi," an unpublished paper presented at Rome). See Acosta-Hughes and Stephens 2011, 23-83, for Stephens' published thoughts on the relationship between Callimachus and Plato.

59


Even if we accept the alleged role of Apollonius in Callimachu's' Ibis, other

themes were surely present, and a link with Plato's story about Thoth raises

the possibility that one such theme dealt with the value of writing or

literature.67 As Vasunia has shown, many Greek stories about writing

follow Plato's tale in expressing anxiety about the nature of letters and

texts, whereas Egyptians viewed writing as something sacred - something

that does not substitute for anything else but is, in itself, sufficient and

complete.68 Thoth, as imagined by the Egyptians, was not only the inventor

of writing but also an author in his own right. The ibis, with its stylus-like

beak, becomes an idealized image of the author of a written text, just as the

cicada serves as the idealized image of the singer of an inspired poetic

song.69 If Callimachus wanted to top Plato's ibidic attack on literature, an

ibidic invective, which presents itself as illocutionary rather than mimetic

and which takes a cue from a joke in Aristophanes, would be a fitting place

to do it.

While there are obvious risks in using this hypothesis about Callima

chus' lost poem as a lens through which to interpret Ovid's Ibis, I will add

one more piece of circumstantial evidence to strengthen the case: among

classical literature, Aristophanes' Clouds, Plato's Phaedrus, and Ovid's

exilic poems share the striking concern for an author's texts as orphaned

children.70 In the parabasis of the Clouds 530-32 Aristophanes describes

himself as an unmarried girl exposing her child (i.e., his play) for his

audience and another girl (i.e., playwright) to raise (i.e., applaud):

Kc'xyc.0, Trap8evos yap h' ~v, KOUK e~fiv TIW µ01 TEKElV,

e~e811Ka, Trals 5' hepa TIS !-a~oucr' c'xvEiAETo,

uµEis 5' E~E8PE\l'OTE yEvva!ws KCxTial5EUO'OTE.

And I, since I was still a virgin and should not yet have had children, exposed it, and some other girl took it up and reared it, and you generously raised and educated it.

67 This is a standard assumption about Callimachus' Ibis, but the claim is typically made about the contrasting styles of Callimachus and Apollonius.

68 Vasunia 2001, 151-82. Although it was once assumed that Greeks in Egypt lived in a world that was completely isolated from the local Egyptian culture, it is now realized that such a model is untenable (as shown throughout Stephens 2003 and more succinctly demonstrated in Stephens 2005b). Someone like Callimachus surely knew enough about the Egyptian pantheon to obviate the complaint that he could not have conceived of Thoth from an Egyptian point of view.

69 In Neil Gaimon's wildly successful fantasy novel American Gods, Mr. Ibis, the Egyptian god Thoth living in disguise in modern America, is both a mortician and an author.

70 The trope of the author giving birth or as a parent is quite common, but only these texts (to my knowledge) show any interest in stretching that image to include the "life," perspective, and volition of the textual offspring.


This moment comes from a heavily revised section of the Clouds as we now

have it, and it may not have been part of the lost original version. Plato, of

course, knew some version(s) of Aristophanes' play only too well, as is

made clear in the Apology, though we can't know for sure whether or not

he had ever encountered the image of Aristophanes and his orphaned

"child".71 It would, however, be an amazing coincidence for Plato, whose

teacher had been pilloried by Aristophanes in the Clouds, to deride written

literature as orphaned ideas abandoned by their parents at Phaedrus 275e if

he did not know the Aristophanic precedent:72

TIATJµµEf-ouµEvos 51' Kai ouK ev 5!Kn !-015op118Eis Tou TIOTp6s c'xEi 5E1Ta1 ~011800· a1h6s

yap o\h' c'xµuvacr8a1 ouTE ~0118ficr01 5uvm6s avT<{l.

For being rebuked and unjustly abused [the written word) always needs a father's help, because on its own it is unable to defend and protect itself.

A similar trope appears at the end of Horace's first book of Epistles, where

he speaks directly to his liber that is eager to dive into the world. The

language here is convoluted, however, and this liber seems to be a house

slave rather than Horace's own child. The liber is eager to be put up for

sale (ut prostes, 2) and it ends up being used as a sex slave (7-8). Yet

when Horace claims to have raised this liber for a different fate, his

language evokes images similar to those of Aristophanes and Plato

(Ep. 1.20.5-8):

non ita nutritus, fuge quo descendere gestis. non erit emisso reditus tibi. 'quid miser egi? quid volui?' dices, ubi quis te laeserit, et scis in breve te cogi, cum plenus languet amator.

I did not raise you thus - go wherever you choose. Once away there will be no return for you. 'What have I done?! What was I thinking?!' you'll say when someone mistreats you and you find yourself living on slim means when your lover, sated, turns languid.

Ovid may have had this passage of Horace in mind in Tristia 1.1 and 1.2

where he speaks of his early books of poetry as orphans and describes his

71 Although it has long been suspected that the second (i.e., the extant) version of the Clouds was never intended for production, Revermann 2006, 326-32, concludes that it was, though it remains uncertain whether or not the revised play was ever staged. Whatever the case, Plato

surely had access to texts of Aristophanic plays. 72 To this image of the written word as an orphan we may compare Socrates the midwife of ideas

in the Theaetetus (149a-15ld).

61


exilic works going to meet their "siblings" and to speak on his behalf in Rome. But especially since Horace confounds the biological connection between himself and his poetry, Ovid's own literary trick brings him closer

to the Athenian models of poet as parent. A shadowy and impartial trajectory from Aristophanes to Plato to

Callimachus to Ovid is emerging around references to ibises, cicadas, Cleombrotus, and orphaned literature. It is just possible, then, that Ovid found in Callimachus' Ibis some of the debate over the status of literature that is apparent in other extant Alexandrian poetry and that looks back to Plato. Although the overlap could certainly be coincidental, Ovid's Ibis and all of his exilic poetry engage with this same issue, inasmuch as these poems ask us to take sides about the power of poetry. Can poetry ease Ovid's grief? More than that, can it win him a reprieve and a return to Rome? Will Augustus rebuff Ovid's pleas for clemency as bluntly as Thamus shut down Thoth or will a more positive image of literary patronage win out? Or are his verses nothing more than a pleasing distraction that lacks the power to influence a bleak and hostile world? The most daring readers can push us even further and ask whether poetry is powerful enough to pull off an exilic hoax.73 Given the immediacy of these issues for Ovid's poetry, I would be surprised to find that Callimachus' Ibis, were it suddenly to be discovered, did not engage with questions · such as these, though the matter cannot now move beyond the realm of

speculation. With these impressions and conjectures clustering around Callimachus'

Ibis (migratory birds as part of dialogue about royal image making; the appropriation of earlier models; and the Alexandrian response to Plato's critique of poetry), we are ready to confront Ovid's Ibis more directly. Now that I have drawn together several themes relating to Ovid's manipulation of his classical and Hellenistic models, in what follows I will argue that we can detect in the Ibis not just an angry lament or a formal poetic exercise, but also a bid for re-empowering and healing Ovid's narrator, who has been marooned on the Thracian shore. And as the exile recovers his power and his voice, we can hear a challenge to the emperor who sought to silence Ovid, and a critical perspective on Augustan patronage emerges.

73 Brown 1985 made the first strong case that Ovid was never exiled. More recently see Oliensis 2004, 316-19, whose discussion of the exilic poetry, Ovid's rivalry with Augustus-as-Romulus, and the role of Remus in the Ibis all repay close attention.

The geopoetics of washing ashore at Tomis


Ovid's Ibis encourages us to look to geopoetic movement (i.e., geographical shifts that imply a corresponding poetic transformation) as an appropriate conceptual framework, because three geographical and metapoetic poles pull the poem taut: Ovid's unhappy home in Tomis, his primary audience in Rome to which he longs to return, and his avowed literary model in Callimachus' Alexandria. The poem's winged figurehead suggests the possibility of flying among all three, but we know that Ovid's persona has lost such mobility. His arrival in Tomis from Rome, therefore, is freighted with significance, and his dislocation from the City reveals a fracture between the Roman inheritance of Alexandria's political and poetic legacies.

After quickly declaring his own innocence and justified anger, Ovid claims that his enemy, who ought to have offered help, tormented him as he clutched the planks of his shattered ship (I7-I8).

Cumque ego quassa meae complectar membra carinae, naufragii tabulas pugnat habere mei,

And while I cling to the shattered fragments of my boat, he fights for the planks from my shipwreck.

This image of Ovid cast adrift combined with the poem's invective tone offers a reworking of the curse-and-shipwreck motif best known from two iambic poems: the archaic Strasbourg Epode (Hipponax fr. llS W/194 Dg) and Horace's Epode 10, both of which clearly influenced Ovid's poem. The Strasbourg Epode is particularly relevant, because its fantasy of a Thracian shipwreck becomes real-life trauma for Ovid's narrator in the Ibis:

Kuµ[mt) TTAa[~6µ)evqs·

Kc'xv ~a/\µu5[riaa)ci:lt yuµvov eucppol(E.[

0prfiKES CxKpo[K]oµot

Mpo1ev - lrvea TT6M' c'xvaTTAiJaat KaKa

5ouA10V apTOV E5wv -

piyet TTETTTJYOT' OUTOV' EK 51: TOU xv6ou

cpvKia TT6M' Eit:EXOt,

KpoT<fo1> 5' 656vrns, ws [K])iwv ETTi UT6µa

KEiµevos c'xKpaairit

OKpov TTapO: priyµiva Kvµa ... ppµ·

TOOT' EeE/\01µ' {'xv i5~iv,

os µ' iJ5iKTJaE, i\[ 6:)~ 5' !:TT' 6pKio1s !rpri,

To TTpiv ha!pos [l:)wv.

63


... wandering on the waves.

And at Salmydessus

may the top-knotted Thracians welcome

him - and there endure many hardships

eating the bread of slavery -

turned stiff with cold; and from the brine

may he be covered with seaweed,

his teeth chattering, and on his face like dog

lying in distress

at the edge of the waves ...

I would love to see him suffer this,

he who wronged me, and trod on our oaths with his heel,

though he once had been my friend.

Most critics now agree that this poem was probably written by Hipponax, though Archilochean authorship has not been ruled out. Whoever he may

be, the author wishes a disastrous shipwreck upon a former friend who has betrayed their mutually sworn oaths. He then sarcastically envisions a most inhospitable reception for his enemy among the Thracians of Salmydessus,

a city on Black Sea coast of what is now called Turkish Thrace (or East Thrace or European Turkey), northwest of the Bosphorous.74 Thrace was a

proverbially unfriendly territory, so it is a fitting place to stage a shipwreck for one's enemy and to inspire a poet who has been "shipwrecked" there to

fit this trope to his autobiographical poetry. Ovid follows the Strasbourg Epode in combining a shipwreck narrative

and the detail of a broken friendship encapsulated in the image of a grinding heel (i\Cx~ calcasti).75

74 The ancient name for the Black Sea, the Euxine Sea, is itself a joke, since the area was anything but eu~evos. "welcoming to strangers." Cp. Xen. Anab. 7 .5 and Strabo 7 .6 on the frequency of shipwrecks near Salmydessus (now Kiyikiiy, formerly Midye) and the well-organized scavenging operations carried on by the locals.

75 Other examples of this gesture with the foot can be adduced, but not in combination with a shipwreck. Theognis twice pairs a form of emj3a!vw and i\O~. The first example may imply that an oath has been sworn, but the second does not seem to involve an oath of any sort. j3ovs µ01 err\ yi\wcrCJll1 Kp0Tepw1 rro8l i\a~ emj3afvwv I icrxe1 KWTfi\i\e1v Kafmp ETTt<JTaµevov, "An ox, standing upon my tongue with mighty hoof, keeps me from gossipping, though I know" (814-15), and i\a~ fo(j3a 6i')µw1 KEVEO<ppov1, TVTTTE 6€ KIVTpWI I 6~11 Kai ~evyi\11v 6vcri\ocpov aµcp1T!6e1, "Grind your heel on the senseless people, strike them with a sharp goad, and set about them a heavy yoke" (846-47). The word i\O~ combined with the verb j3a!vw and a similar theme (though without any indication of an oath) appears in an unattributed trochaic line quoted by Plutarch (De cohib. 9.457c): j3aive i\a~ err\ Tpaxi')i\ou, j3aive Kai rrli\a x6ov!, "crush his neck with your heel, crush and bring him to the ground." Alcaeus 129.20-24 provides a closer parallel in accusing Pittacus of betraying sworn oaths of allegiance: Ki')vwv 6 cpvcrywv ov 81eM~mo I rrpos 6vµov Oi\i\a

j3pa'i6lws TTO<JIV I e]µj3a1s err' 6pKio1cr1 80TTTEI I TCxV rr6i\1v, "That Potbelly did not talk sincerely,


os µ' i]8fKT]CYE, AO:~ 8' err' 6pKfo1s Ej3T],

To rrplv ha!pos ewv.

He wronged me and trod upon our oaths with his heel who was formerly a friend.

Hipp. fr. 115.15-16 WI 194 Dg

At tibi, calcasti qui me, violente, iacentem,

Qua licet ei misero! debitus hostis ero.

But as for you, you brute, who trampled me when I was down,

Wherever you'll be, I'll be your dogged enemy.

Ovid, Ibis 29-30

But for all the similarities between the two poems, the narrative has changed significantly.

Whereas the Strasbourg Epode's speaker wishes a shipwreck upon his

enemy (as Horace, too, does in Epod. 10), Ovid's persona here is both the speaker of curses and the victim of a typical fate for the accursed. It is almost as if Ovid were writing the invective retort of the poor soul doomed

by the Strasbourg Epode's malediction (a bitter twist on his ventriloquial experiments in his Heroides).

Many other connections between invective literature and Thrace can be adduced, and this region serves as a boneyard for victims of literary

curses.76 Ovid's exilic home at Tomis was near the mouth of the Ister River (i.e., the Danube), which formed the northeasternmost boundary of

but trampling our oaths with his feet he consumes the city." Later evidence (e.g. Antiphon. 5.11, Dem. 23.67-68, Aeschin. 2.87, Paus. 5.24.9-10) shows that standing upon or over the cut-up pieces (Ta T6µ1a) of sacrificial victims could be part of particularly solemn oath ceremonies. On this topic, see Faraone 1993 and 2002.

76 Euphorion's Thrax (frr. 30-37 Acosta-Hughes/Cusset = frr. 24-26 Lightfoot) is an obvious example, and like Ovid's Ibis (537-38) it refers to the myth of Tereus and Procne, which combines a Thracian locale, a prominent bird motif, and a theme of suppressed speech (Augustus and Tereus both fail in their attempts to silence Ovid and Philomela, respectively). Conon, the Augustan era mythographer, also treats the myth of Tereus and Procne and includes the detail that Tereus cut out Philomela's tongue 8e61ws Tov EK i\6ywv 6pfaµj3ov,

"fearing the thriambos from her words," (Dieg. 31); Brown 1997, 28-30, discusses this passage and the connection between the words iambos and thriambos. Nicander's Alexipharmaka claims a Thracian origin for Iambe, the sometime eponym of iambos (132). Similarly, Diomedes, the 4th-century-CE grammarian, records an account oflambos, who was a son of Ares and therefore probably Thracian; for discussion of this evidence and the slim possibility that it could date back to Arctinus of Miletus, see Rotstein 2010, 121-24. According to the Diegesis (3-6), Callimachus' Iambus 4 responds to a Thracian paidokleptes, "seducer of boys," who is either named Sirnus or is simos, "snub-nosed." And the curse in Theocritus' Idyll 7.111-12 also includes a wish that the addressee spend a winter in the mountains of Thrace.

65


ancient Thrace (Pliny, NH 4.19). So as Ovid recasts his arrival 'in To.mis as a cursed shipwreck, he moves his persona into one of the the literary topographies of iambic invective. And just as he locates his narrative at

the extreme edge of Roman hegemony, so his poem pushes the limits of its invective tradition. Although Tomis is dangerous enough, the wild Scyth

ians were just across the Ister, which marked the boundary of Roman control; and although Ovid promises that his next poem will truly be iambic, we are virtually there already.77

The Ibis' shipwreck can be construed easily enough as Ovid's arrival in Tomis (or his exile more generally), but certainly he didn't actually suffer such a fate.78 As he struggles to keep hold of his tabulae, the "timbers" of

his ship but also his "writing tablets'', we can see that the poet's craft itself has betrayed him as his poetry, which used to support him, disintegrates all

around. And in the contrast between Ovid struggling to hang on to his tabulae and the controlled image of Callimachus in the Aetia prologue recording Apollo's dictation sir\ 8sATou, "on a writing tablet," we can move to the geopoetic trade route from Alexandria.79

Before Ovid's career had begun, Rome had eclipsed Alexandria as the preeminent city of the Mediterranean in terms of both politics and litera

ture. Augustus (then, Octavian) had effectively defeated Cleopatra at Actium and solidified Roman hegemony; and the Augustan poets, of whom Ovid was the last, took up the mantle of their Alexandrian predecessors. With Ovid's relegation to Tomis, however, Rome's role as the new Alexan

dria split: the conqueror of the Ptolemies was in Rome, presiding over a city with many Egyptianizing features, but the new Callimachus was languishing in Tomis, turning his art in its most aggressive and dangerous direction.

While Roman incorporation of recognizably Egyptian landmarks and architectural motifs has been amply studied, we can also see a pronounced connection between Alexandria and Ovid's Tomis, which could thus haunt

77 I am indebted to Alessandro Barchiesi for the idea that the Ibis approaches Scythian extremity. Ovid's proximity to the Getic tribes may also echo Cyrus' difficulties with the Massagetae, who curbed his expansion into Thrace and thus provided a limit to his Persian Empire, just as Egypt formed its southwestern extremity, At Tristia 5.10.33-34 Ovid claims that the inhabitants of Tomis have abandoned their ancestral customs (the city was originally a colony ofMiletus) and now wear Persian trousers. Schiesaro 2001, 129, calls the Ibis a "forma addirittura estrema di poesia giambica ... non certo meno violenta dei suoi archetipi archilochei o ipponattei.''

78 In Tristia 7.10, Ovid describes himself arriving to Tomis on land, after getting to Thrace on ship. Dougherty 2001 presents a detailed study of the Odyssey that starts from the intersection of poetry and Odysseus' raft that breaks apart after he leaves Calypso's island.

79 Similar to both passages is the scene in Ovid's Fasti in which the narrator interviews Janus "with writing tablet in hand" (tabellis .. ,sumptis 1.93),


Rome as an alternate "New Alexandria."80 I have already discussed the image of cranes migrating between Egypt and Thrace, and Ovid's use of the

ibis suggests a literary migration pattern through notions that the bird resided only in Egypt. More than this, the Thracian coast sported its own

river "delta" at the mouth of the Ister, the other great river system of the Mediterranean world, just north of Tomis. As Hartog has discussed in detail, Herodotus (2.33) even describes the Nile and the Ister as mirror images of one another, furthering the possibility that Tomis could be

configured by Ovid as a new, alternate, or parodic version of Alexandria.81

Furthermore, Herodotus tells us that the Egyptian king Sesostris con

quered all of Thrace and that Colchis was founded by members of Sesostris' army (2.103-104).82 Colchis, in turn, held an important place in

Ovid's exilic poetry. In Tristia 3.9 he plays with the name Tomis and its

apparent connection to Greek Toµos, "a slice," in claiming that it was here that Medea dismembered her brother Apsyrtus as she and Jason fled from Colchian pursuit. This etymological game makes Tomis a fitting location for both a reconfiguration of Apollonius' Argonautica, which saw Apsyrtus

killed on an island in the Ister Delta (4.303-481), and the splintering of

Ovid's poetic ship.83

The Ibis, then, creates a rift in the Alexandrian legacy. By the time of Ovid's relegation, the other prominent Augustan poets were all dead, and

he was clearly among the most celebrated literary figures in the Roman world. Prior to his departure from Rome, the Alexandrian tenor of his poetry had supported the connection between Rome's political and poetic

takeover of Ptolemaic preeminence. (I do not mean to imply that he was an active proponent or mouthpiece of the principate, but, rather, that his career was a testimony to the favorable conditions for poetic success that existed under Augustus' rule.) To beat a Callimachean drum in Tomis,

however, suggested that the poetic greatness of the Alexandrian tradition now resided outside Augustus' city. This bifurcation opens an implicit

8° For the Egyptian face of Augustan Rome, see Takacs 1995. 81 Hartog 1988, 229-30. Nelson-Hawkins forthcoming, discusses the importance of the pairing of

the Nile and the Ister in Horace Ode 4.14. 82 For the problems of Herodotus' information about Sesostris and Thrace, see Armayor 1980. 83 In Epode 16 Horace describes an ideal world to which Romans might escape from the cloud of

the Civil Wars. Among other attractions, this place will be noted for never having been befouled by Medea's presence: neque impudica Colchis intulit pedem (58). Ovid's Tomis, then, which he describes as the place where Medea committed her first atrocity after leaving home, responds to Horace's text. The earlier poem dreams ofleaving Rome, rent by fratricidal warfare, for a better place untouched by Medea; the later exilic poems bemoan Ovid's inability to return to Rome

while being trapped on the site of Medea's fratricidal crime.

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dialogue on the merits, dangers, advantages, and consequences of a rupture in the patronage relationship between the poet and the prince.

This implied discourse creates a final (all but counterfactual) geopoetic trajectory in Ovid's Ibis from Tomis back to Rome. Ovid's exilic poetry took this route from author to audience, but Ovid himself could only fantasize the journey. This last movement, then, is part overture, as Ovid hopes for clemency from the emperor, part flight of fancy, as his poem malces the journey that he cannot, and part commentary, as the rift between Tomis and Rome refuses to close. This commentary is rooted in Rome's relationship to Hellenistic Alexandria, since Ovid's most overtly Alexandrian poem made its debut in a heavily Egyptianized Rome. The princeps was the new Ptolemy (Augustus, the vanquisher of the Ptolemies is even depicted as a Pharaoh on the walls of the temple of Dendur in Egypt), and through Augustus' efforts, the city now included many recognizably Egyptian features.84 These Egyptian influences, of course, trumpet Rome's victory over Egypt, but they also show the degree to which Rome incorporated recognizably Egyptian elements into the design of the princeps' remodeled city.

As Ovid sends his poem modeled on Callimachus' Ibis to Rome, we can recognize an implicit critique of the current state of affairs vis-a-vis the heyday of Ptolemaic Egypt. The original Ibis had been composed in Alexandria by a poet who enjoyed a privileged and honored relationship with the Ptolemaic Pharaoh - a relationship which benefited both players. 85 This new Ibis comes from the pen of a poet who has been cast out of the new Alexandria by the new Roman Pharaoh, and the distance between Tomis and Rome demonstrates the gap between their relationship and that of their Alexandrian forebears.86 The Ibis holds up an Alexandrian mirror to the Augustan regime and shows that the mutually

84 Takacs 1995 charts the increasingly important role of Egypt in imperial Rome, from the first recognizable traces of this trend in Pompey's imitation of Alexander to the point when for " ... every successive Roman emperor the Ptolemaic model became more pertinent" (268). Of particular importance to the urban landscape were the massive Heliopolitan obelisks (one of which stood as the gnomon of the Horologium in the Campus Marti us and is now in the Piazza di Montecitorio; the other adorned the spina of the Circus Maximus and is now in the Piazza de! Popolo); the two great Augustan libraries attached to temples (the Library of the Porticus Octaviae connected to the Temple of Jupiter Stator and Juno and the Palatine Library at the Temple of Apollo) that evoked the Alexandrian Serapeum and the Mouseion; and the temple of Isis and Sarapis in the Campus Martius that was approved (if not constructed) under the Second Triumvirate.

85 Stephens 2003; Feeney 2004. 86 Perhaps I should say that Ovid is the new "new Callimachus," since Catullus, Virgil, Horace,

and Propertius had all, at least implicitly, laid claim to this title as well.

Ruining the New Year in Ovid's Ibis

beneficial Hellenistic relationship between politics and poetry has broken down. And as we imagine the poem's iambic vitriol and torturous curses being performed, as per Ovid's request, on the kalends of January, vre can hear Ovid making a similar point, though one that relies not on Rome's relationship to Hellenistic Alexandria but on the principate's intimate

relationship with the Caesarian calendar.·


The preceding sections have dealt primarily with matters that have their roots in classical or Hellenistic Greek cultures, but Ovid also adapts a purely Roman element to his iambic mode in the Ibis: the Caesarian calendar. This aspect of his invective strategy is not simply new with Ovid, it is a theme that was not yet available to any of the earlier iambic poets, even Horace. For Horace's Epodes were composed at a time when Rome was just on the verge of establishing an enduring new order. From Ovid's perspective in Tomis, however, Caesar's reformation of the calendar in 46 could be clearly seen as part of the build-up to a stable imperial system. While the start of the Julian calendar might seem to be a surprising point of intersection with iambic poetics, Lucian and Julian would both return to

this nexus (as discussed in Chapters 5 and 6). Ovid obviously recognized the importance of the Caesarian conquest of

time, since his Fasti testifies to the intimate connection between the imperial family and the annual cycle of Roman festivals and commemorations. His opening focus in the Ibis on how times have changed (tempus ad hoc) shows that the poem's aggressive program is hardwired into a new and pathetic calendrical cycle. Toward the end of the proem Ovid wishes that someone "whose lips will not lie" might read the Ibis to Ibis every year on his birthday (which turns out to be July 18, the ominous dies Alliensis) and on the kalends of January, the festival of the imperial Roman New

Year (65-66).87

The kalends was known as a particularly portentous day, since the fortunes of the festival could determine the course of the entire ensuing

year. In the Fasti Janus explains why this is so (1.178-82):

"omnia principiis" inquit "inesse solent.

ad primam vocem timidas advertitis aures,

et visam primum consulit augur avem.

87 Ovid's interest in birthdays has been insightfully treated by Hinds 2005, 219, and Lenz 1953.

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templa patent auresque deum, nee lingua caducas concipit ulla preces, dictaque pondus habent."

"Everything tends," he said, "to be present in its beginnings. You turn your cautious ears to a first word,

and the augur notes the bird seen first. Temples lie open as do the gods' ears, no tongue

offers a prayer in vain, and words have weight.

In the Ibis, Ovid seems to be picking up on the notion that the gods were

particularly responsive to prayers on the kalends, since immediately after

mentioning the festival he begins a twelve-line chant of supplication to a

wide range of deities (67-89). He begs that they might "turn their minds"

to his pleas ( 69), "give weight" to his petitions (70, pondus repeats Fast. 1.182), accept his prayers (72), be present at his maledictions (84), give

their assent (87), and ensure that his prayers come to pass (89). The

religious lore about the kalends, then, made it an apt day for praying for

anything- even the destruction of your hated enemy. But if Ovid's primary

aim was to take advantage of the gods' attentiveness on the kalends, his

decision to replay the Ibis every year also has political consequences.

As Wallace-Hadrill has amply demonstrated, the regulation of Roman

time was a cornerstone of the Julio-Claudian transformation of the Repub

lic, and thus to speak of the calendar was to speak of the imperial regime. 88

We can see this in the Fasti's opening proem (as we now have it), where

Ovid binds the Roman calendar to the Augustan regime (9-12):89

lnvenies illic et festa domestica vobis: saepe tibi pater est, saepe legendus avus,

quaeque ferunt illi pictos signantia fastos, tu quoque cum Druso praemia fratre feres.

There [i.e. in the Fasti] you will also find festivals rooted in your own house often you will read of your father, often your grandfather,

and the honors they bear, which adorn the calendar's tableau, you too, together with your brother Drusus, will bear.

88 Seen. 15. 89 The proem to the Fasti as we now have it is clearly an exilic revision. If, as most commentators

agree, the proem to the second book originally served as the dedication to the entire poem, then the connection between the Augustan regime and the calendar is equally strong. In explaining how his poem offers a brand of non-military support to Augustus he claims (2.15-16): at tua prosequimur studioso pectore, Caesar I nomina, per titulos ingredimurque tuos, "but with eager spirit I attend your glories and proceed through your titles."


More than virtually any other political system, the Augustan principate

bore a special responsibility for the organization of time because of Julius

Caesar's radical reform of the calendar. Every bit as much as the Ara Pads

or the monumentalization of the Circus Maxim us, the Julian calendar was

an enduring achievement of the imperial family.

The Fasti, the poetic calendar that Ovid had started prior to his exile,

brims over with noteworthy festivals and commemorations, but Hinds and

Williams have both shown that time in Tomis was virtually non-existent

for Ovid. 90 The passing of days and the changing of seasons were stripped

of their cultural significance without the complementary influence of the

Roman social and religious cycle, which gave meaning to the sidereal

procession. In this morose fog, the Ibis outlines a bare-bones calendar with

only two festivals: a now-perverted New Year's celebration and a birthday

that happens to fall on the anniversary of Republican Rome's greatest

military defeat at the Allia River c. 390 BCE. These two days create a

politically charged inversion of Ovid's Fasti, since, as Hinds has already

noted, these references to the calendar "[reframe] the Ibis as an ad hominem (per)version of the poem which should inaugurate each new

Ovidian year, i.e. the Fasti itself."91 The Ibis' singular tempus follows up

on the Fasti's plural tempora as if Ovid's pre-exilic interest in festivals has

been ground down and attenuated by his struggle against the singular

torment of monotonous, undifferentiated Time.

The two dates mentioned in the Ibis divide the year into two nearly

equal periods, and both ought to be happy occasions but, in this instance,

are overwhelmed with malice. As a commentary on his Fasti, the invective

use of these dates can activate a reconsideration of the political tone of the

earlier poem. The Fasti boldly honors the new calendar and more insidi

ously stakes an implicit claim for himself, rather than the princeps, as the

final arbiter of Roman time.92 To bring the calendar crashing down to just

two sad festivals in the Ibis, therefore, is another, more openly antagonistic

challenge, since the Julian calendar has been dismantled by the victim of

Augustus' power. Even without going so far as to suggest that Augustus is

90 Williams 2002, 356, says that "it is not just the Roman conventions of (literary) birthday celebration which are out of place in Tomis; the Roman birthday as a marker of time and progress in life is also redundant in exile, where [Ovid's] existence lacks all positive development and the years merge into each other without meaningful distinction," Hinds 2005,

225, speaks of "the measurelessness of space and time in exile" (223) and claims that "the onset of exile stops time in its tracks."

91 Hinds 2005, 205, with original emphasis. 92 Boyle 1997 provides a strongly subversive reading of the Fasti.

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Ibis, as Casali, Schiesaro, and Oliensis have recently done, we can realize that the Ibis' temporal framework evokes a vision of the Roman world that runs

starkly counter to the organizational principles of the Augustan regime.93

When birthday celebrations are made bleak by remembrances of humiliations past and New Year's festivities resound with abuse rather than good

cheer, then the entire system is on the verge of breaking down, since the intended rhythm of periodic holiday merriment no longer delivers on its

promises. Just as with the geopoetic themes discussed in the previous section, therefore, the Ibis' dramatic appropriation of the kalends of January sets up Ovid's poetic world as an alternative model for Augustan Rome. In creating this invective "other" to shadow Augustus' Rome, Ovid's poetry engenders a

discourse between the two entities. It is tempting to find in this exchange a hostile parody of the princeps' world, but this may be the result of our knowledge that Ovid would never return to Rome. We should not dismiss

the possibility that the bleak, hostile, and condemnatory world of the Ibis could have led to other, happier outcomes - a challenge rather than a defini

tive condemnation. Had Ovid been granted a reprieve, he surely could have re-harmonized the ibidic and Augustan versions of Rome in subsequent poems or subsequent revisions of earlier poems. Ovid even laid the groundwork for such a move in the proem of the Ibis in his praise of Augustus (23-28):94

Di melius, quorum longe mihi maximus ille est,

qui nostras inopes noluit esse vias.

huic igitur meritas grates, ubicumque licebit,

pro tam mansueto pectore semper agam.

audiet hoc Pontus, faciet quoque forsitan idem

terra sit ut propior testificanda mihi.

Better fortune, gods! And of them the greatest to me is by far that one

who kept my journey from being destitute. To him, therefore, I will give deserved praise wherever I can,

on behalf of his ever so well-disposed heart. The sea will hear this, and perhaps he will also ensure

that some nearer land might be called to witness on my behalf.

93 Casali, 1997, 107, cf. 91; Schiesaro 2001, 136 and 2011, passim; Oliensis 2004, 316. I am very sympathetic to the idea that Augustus is Ibis, but I also resist any such totalizing identification. To me, Ibis is better understood as a more flexible catch-all for abuse that can include various people, including Augustus and even Ovid himself (an idea first suggested by Gasparov 1977).

94 Casali 1997 and Schiesaro 2001 both make much of this passage as well. Casali calls it part of Ovid's "insurance-policy" (89) that obfuscates his dangerous attack on Augustus. For Schiesaro, it is a key passage for understanding Ovid's inversione sistematica di topoi (107).

Ibidic therapy as a remedy for exile

In these lines - the only ones in the entire poem that do not drip with

hatred - Ovid has demurely proposed a mitigation of his sentence and promised greater praise for Augustus should his suggestion be accepted. But since time ultimately ran out for Ovid, we are left with the harsh

complaints which the Ibis lets fall without any more of such courtly fanfare, and their connection between the kalends and invective points a skeletal finger toward Rome and the princeps.

There is no precedent in iambic or Roman literature for Ovid's perver

sion of the kalends of January. This is partly due, of course, to the newness of the Caesarian calendar. Ovid was among the earliest poets who could have conceived of the kalends as a vehicle for imperial commentary of any

sort. It is, however, possible that he was inspired by the types of inversion festivals that are commonly associated with the New Year throughout the world. Ovid's own account of the Republican New Year's celebration of the

Festival of Anna Perenna on the Ides of March includes aspects of just this sort of inversion, such as excessive drinking, sexual license, playing tricks on those at the top of the social structure, and the symbolic rejuvenation of the

old year (Fasti 3.523-710). And whether or not Ovid intended to suggest any connection between this festival and the assassination of Caesar, he at least sets the two events next to each other in his text in recognition that on at least one occasion the revelers who enjoyed celebrating Anna Perenna's

rites came home to a world remade. The kalends, then, may already have held some such potential for Ovid, even though the carnivalesque excess of this holiday were in their infancy in his day. In Chapters 5 and (especially) 6,

we will see that the kalends later developed into an uproarious party in which the remaking of the world could move from playful fantasy dangerously close to revolutionary historical reality. Before leaving Ovid's angry calendar poem, however, we need to explore a more positive theme - a

therapeutic manipulation of avian lore about the ibis. The ibis may have taught Ovid a way to improve his sad situation in Tomis through the power of poetry and without reference to what happened in Rome.


Of the many stories told about ibises in antiquity, the most frequently repeated one centers on the bird's trick of hygienic medicine. Importantly,

this is also the only ornithological detail that Ovid mentions about the bird, and we can, therefore, use it with some confidence as a hermeneutic guide. Whenever the ibis feels a pang of gastric distress, it blasts a beakful of water

73


up its anus (the modern term for this avian orifice is cloaca; Latin for "sewer") to relieve its discomfort (449-50):

Et quibus exiguo volucris devota libello, corpora proiecta quae sua purgat aqua.

As [the curses] with which the bird, which purges its body with a blast of water, was cursed in that little book.

The libellus, here, points to Callimachus' poem and suggests that Ovid may be including a detail mentioned in the Greek Ibis, but this possibility need not be pressed. More importantly, this amazing story about the ibis pulls in

two semantic directions at once. On the one hand, this maneuver is disgusting. It sounds like something

that could be found among the fragments of Hipponax or in a debauched passage of the Satyricon, and it fits naturally into the world of grotesque iambic.95 In bringing together the animal's mouth and anus it even

suggests a satirical commentary on eating, an activity which neatly separates intake and outflow, and fills the gap between with all manner of taboos, aesthetic refinement, and luxury, as if to deny the reality of the less mannerly side of the equation.96 Yet the ibis' enema can be read in

another, more positive light as well. Medical writers praise the bird's ability to heal itself and to teach humans a technique that we needed more than animal instinct to discover.97 At its best, the ibis is even likened, head-down and beak inserted, to a perfect triangle.98 The

95 Ovid may even hint at an iambic connection, since his description of the bird's enema immediately follows his reference to Hipponax cursing his enemies (447-48). West 1974, 142-43, and Miralles and Po1tulas 1988, 71-119, examine the connection between scenes of purgative therapy in Hipponax and Petronius, between whom Ovid could be an intermediary. A picaresque twist on this can be found in the "House of Neptune" mosaic from Italica, which features a variety of scenes in which pygmies fight against ibises. In one such image an ibis seems to be vanquishing a pygmy by inserting its beak into the prone warrior's bottom.

96 Strabo, who has both positive and negative things to say about ibises, calls the bird dirty, aKa6apTos, immediately after noting that it eats everything (17.2.4). Lack of discrimination about consumption, both in choice of foods and in distinguishing between points of entry and exit, leads to impurity.

97 E.g. Cic. ND 2.50.126 purgando autem alvo se ibes Aegyptiae curant; Plut. De sol. anim. 974c; Plut. De Is. et Osir. 381; Ael. NA 2.35 and 10.29; Pliny NH 8 (27) 41. Curiously, a similar story of self-cleansing is told about storks in the second book of Don Quixote.

98 Plut. Quaest. conv. 670c describes the bird's body as forming an equilateral triangle and then immediately proceeds to mention several points of Pythagorean beliavior, as if the mention of the ibidic triangle had prompted a Pythagorean connection. The ibis' ability to purge itself may also represent something of an avian version of the ouroboros, the image of the snake devouring its tail that symbolized eternity. Like the Pythagorean perfection of the triangle, the ouroboros offers an avenue to immortality.


treatment that had seemed squalid a moment ago is now a beacon of mystical philosophic enlightenment.

Ovid's personal situation is in many ways like the ambivalent nature of the ibis, since he laments his terrible circumstances yet retains his poetic

vigor (despite protestations to the contrary). In taking up this bird as the cipher for abuse, therefore, he can access the power of its positive traits. The ibis can heal itself by means of self-purgation, and Ovid can ameliorate

his own condition by means of his poetic ibis. Just as the bird twists itself around to find relief, the very word ibis can, as a palindrome, activate a new semantic register in Latin. Ibis becomes sibi, "for himsel£" This ibis-sibi connection suggests a self-abusive aspect to Ovid's invective (the Ibis is, in some way, directed at himself, and he is already wretched, because of his relegation) and leads to the possibility of remedying his own personal

distress by becoming like the ibis. We can find support for this idea that Ovid stands as the target of some

of his own abuse both in the general dynamics of satire and in the specific

tenor of Ovid's poem. Rosen has shown that comic abjection (Tiovripia)

was a standard trait of all satirical abusers and that "the satirist's abjection will presume a moral superiority" (171).99 Gasparov's reading of the Ibis roughly fits into Rosen's model.100 He finds that Ovid parodies himelf as a

response to his unfortunate role in a political intrigue. In order to distract critics from the artificiality of imperial succession, Gasparov argues, the

princeps relegated Ovid without offering any specific charge, leaving the vague carmen and error as pretexts. Ovid's self-parody, on this reading, is part of a pattern in the exilic poems of Ovid trying to guess what the real cause of his downfall might have been. More recently, various scholars have noted the striking similarities between Ovid and Ibis, which seem to

present them as connected in surprisingly close ways.101 In the Ibis Ovid both lowers himself in a manner typical of satirical speakers and in a way that draws him into the image he has constructed of Ibis.

If we accept a self-abusive theme in Ovid's poem, then we can make

sense of the strange passage about Archilochus and Hipponax discussed above (521-24):

99 Rosen 2007b, 171. Throughout he uses terms such as "satirical" and "satirist" in a broad sense that encompasses comic and iambic speakers and is not narrowly confined to formal Latin satire.

100 Gasparov 1977. 101 Schiesaro 2001, 131, says that Ovid's text "sembra fare di Ibis quasi ii doppio di Ovidio," and

Hinds twice uses such language, calling Ibis Ovid's "evil twin" (1999, 65) and "the poet's antitype" (2005, 205). Oliensis 2004, 316, too, notes the similarity between Ovid and lbis.

75


Utque repertori nocuit pugnacis iambi, sic sit in exitium lingua proterva tuum.

utque parum stabili qui carmine laesit Athenin, invisus pereas deficient ecibo.

Like the inventor of the combative iambus, may your shameless tongue be your destruction.

And like him who savaged Athenis with in his unsound meter may you perish, hated, for want of food.

These lines are terribly perplexing, both because their narratives are otherwise unattested and because Ovid, who has elsewhere likened himself to

Archilochus and Hipponax, here uses them as models for Ibis. Yet if Ovid's narrator is like Ibis, then these lines make an illogical, Escher-like sense.

This interpretation now admits an explanation for Ovid's unparalleled stories about the archaic poets. Archilochus may not have been undone by his own tongue, but Ovid was. His carmen et error led to his relegation and in the opening lines of the Ibis he claims that his poetry has never hurt

anyone except himself (3-6):

Nullaque, quae possit, scriptis tot milibus, extat littera Nasonis sanguinolenta legi;

nee quemquam nostri, nisi me, laesere libelli, artificis periit cum caput Arte sua.

No letter of Naso's, of so many thousands written, exists that could be read as reeking of blood;

nor have my booklets hurt anyone but me: the artist lost his head because of his Art.

Ovid's account of Archilochus' death has been distorted in a way that now more closely parallels Ovid's own personal circumstance. 102 Ovid is on the

verge of perishing because of the trouble his tongue has brought him. Similarly, Hipponax may not have starved to death, but he often presents himself as needing food, and he wishes a similar hunger ("eating a slave's bread" fr. 115.5 W/194.5 Dg) upon the target of the Strasbourg Epode (on the uncertain assumption that Ovid understood Hipponax to be the author). 103 Although the Ibis shows a strong influence from the Strasbourg Epode, Ovid seems to be writing from the perspective of that poem's target

102 Watson 1991, 106, believes that this account of Archilochus' death is a "recherche variant," rather than an Ovidian creation.

103 On the theme of hunger in Hipponax, see Kantzios 2006.


in experiencing a shipwreck and ending up in Thrace in a wretched condition. Ovid thus presents himself as suffering the ravenous fate of Hipponax and his enemy. These two anomalous couplets about Archilochus and Hipponax make better sense, therefore, in light of this self-abusive thread

in Ovid's invective program. But such self-abuse is only half the story. Like Plato's cp6:pµaKov, both

poison and cure, and the pharmakos, the detested scapegoat who becomes the savior of the community through his ritual expulsion (the Abderan version of this ritual is mentioned in the Ibis, 467-68), the ibidic Ovid is

both the polluted bird that puts its beak in its fecal blockage and the self-healing bird that can cure its problems on its own. This suggests that Ovid's exilic condition can be ameliorated through his own efforts. The

castaway can, like the monstrous Polyphemus of Alexandrian poetry, heal himself through the power of his song. This healing power of poetry, which Julia Nelson Hawkins has termed "therapoetics," permits even the

Ibis' blistering invective to have restorative possibilities. 104 Invective tempts us to think in biographical terms, especially when Ovid teases us by withholding Ibis' real name, but the low-register poetics associated

with iambos, fables, scapegoats, exiles, monstrosities, and other such hybrids and transgressions have a certain power of their own apart from historicist questions. Even if Ovid actually had no one in mind as a model for his Ibis, therefore, his poetic choice can influence his circumstances in Tomis.

Finding a way to help himself must have been a tempting fantasy for Ovid, since the exilic poems give no hint that the princeps is ever the least bit interested in recalling him. Ovid himself claims that his font of inspiration is choked with sludge in exile (Pont. 4.2.17-20), and the rhetoric of

self-criticism and decline is prominent.105 In this condition, Ovid-as-ibis can find a way to purge himself without help from Rome and without any need to read a crypto-political agenda into his verses. Poetry and, perhaps,

the Ibis in particular offer a ready means of curing the sorrows of exile. The poetic immortality that Ovid had predicted for himself at the end of the Metamorphoses has been recuperated through the back door of ibidic

104 In her forthcoming study Nelson-Hawkins defines this term as "a poetics in which political patronage, medical science, and literary criticism are tightly woven into the fabric of medical metaphors and set-pieces."

105 Williams 1994, 50-99, charts Ovid's rhetoric of decline and ineptitude. The image of Hippocrene blocked with mud has been discussed by Hinds 1987, 21-24, who concludes: "Sadly, Ovid intimates, the symbol used by him in his greatest years to characterize his poetic output has caved in under the pressures of life in exile ... " (24).

77


poetics.106 There he imagined that he would soar above the stars; here he has again tapped into the world of flight but in a way that addresses his own desperate, angry, and earthly concerns. Like the Hellenistic return to a model of therapeutic poetry, the Ibis and the ibis combine to hint at a new

kind of triumph for Ovid even from the distant shores of cultureless Tomis.

Conclusions

Aelian says that Hermes loves the ibis, because the mystery of language can be read on its very body (NA 10.29):

Kai T0 'Epµfi 8e q>acr1 T0 irmpl TWV Mywv q>tllEhat, Em\ fotKE To ET8os Tfi q>UcrE1 Tou

ll6you· TO µev yop µellava WKU1TTEpa T0 TE cr1ywµev~ Kai ev8ov E1TlcrTpEq>oµev~ My~

Tiapa~OAAOITO av, TO 81: AEUKO T0 1Tp0q>Epoµev~ TE Kai CxKOuoµev~ fi8ri Kai U1TT]pET1]

TOU ev8ov Ka\ exyye;\~, WS av ElTIOlS.

They say that [the ibis] is dear to Hermes, the father of words, since its shape

resembles the nature of speech. For its black wings can stand for speech that has been silenced and turned inwards, and its white wings for speech sent forth and already audible, the servant and messenger, as it were, of what is inside.

This description, enigmatic as it is, encapsulates many of the tensions in Ovid's poem. Particularly interesting is Aelian's depiction of suppressed speech, inaudible and unexpressed though it be, as a recognizable form of speech. Words, whether spoken or not, exist, and one wonders if the

connection between the unuttered words and blackness might represent a kind of decay or self-injury resulting from the experience of suppression.

Like the ibis, Ovid has feathers of both colors, since he tells us openly that he is not sharing all the words that he has inside him. He is clear about the

opacity of his style, and he gives us enough hints to wonder just how much has been held back from these lines. Are we simply missing the name of a single historical rival who had angered the poet? Or, in line with Aelian's suggestion that the ibis evokes speech that has been repressed, do Ovid's tricks and teases move toward a deeper, darker critique of Augustus' use of

power? The themes and motifs within the poem that pick up on iambic traditions favor the latter reading, but only via the recognition of a profoundly new conceptualization of how that poetic legacy can be deployed.

106 Apion (apud Ael. NA 10.29) records the Egyptian notion that the ibis was immortal, though both Apion and Aelian remain incredulous. Nevertheless, Ovid's exilic ibis/Ibis begins to look a bit like a degraded inversion of the phoenix described in the Metamorphoses (15.391-407).

Conclusions

Ovid has ensconced his Ibis among various facets of the iambic tradition,

though there is little benefit in trying to classify his poem as an iambus in any strict sense. Yet especially if we read his poem against Horace's iambic collection from a generation earlier, Ovid seems to have chosen to emphasize those traits that would have distanced him from what his contemporary

audience must have assumed about the iambic tradition. And in retrospect it is difficult not to be drawn into such a contrast, since Horace's mild iambi helped to win him both his Sabine farm and a role in the imperial inner

circle, whereas Ovid's bitter invective seems to attest to both his ejection from that inner circle and his sad fate as he rots on the shores of the Black

Sea: Horace began his Epodes with the word ibis in a poem that made iambus friendly; Ovid creates an Ibis that makes elegy brim over with anger. Horace names names, as any good iambist should, but he does so in a manner that is hardly edgy, as he teases Maecenas about serving garlic, tells ghost stories

about Canidia the witch, and piles it on Mevius, who emerges as a rather hapless target. Ovid, however, refuses to call his target anything but Ibis as he asserts and sustains (however facetiously) a posture of anger. And finally,

in Horace's penultimate poem he imagines that the horrors of civil strife can be escaped by fleeing Rome, whereas Ovid's last curse to Ibis, before his sixline coda, leaves us with a consummate vision of such conflict (635-38):

Utque Remo muros auso transire recentes, noxia sint capiti rustica tela tuo.

denique Sarmaticas inter Geticasque sagittas

his precor ut vivas et moriare locis.

And as Remus dared to trespass over new walls so may these rustic weapons be a bane to your head.

And finally, here among the Sarmatian and Getic arrows

I pray that you may live and die.

Remus, forever linked with his murderous brother, consigns Ovid's poem to precisely the turmoil that Horace's sixteenth Epode had sought to escape. But if Ibis is Remus in these lines, then Ovid, of course, takes on

the role of Romulus. Yet Rome already had its modern Romulus living on the Palatine, and this final curse suggests a strategy of competitive scapegoating in which Ovid and Augustus take on shades of both founding brothers. Poetic and political modes of power, which had worked in harmony in earlier eras, now vie with one another to see which discourse

will set the tone for imagining Rome. But although such contact with Horace and Augustus seems undeniable,

there is much more to Ovid's iambic strategies in the Ibis. Archilochus and

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Hipponax haunt the poem, showing that Ovid clearly had the iambic tradition in mind as he composed his invective homage to Callimachus. ·. Given this background noise, some of the Ibis' tropes, such as personal betrayal and murderous rage, come as little surprise. In adapting his iambic models to his own circumstances, however, he has brought new themes into the iambic universe. Earlier iambic poetry had often demonstrated a strong sense of place (even places lost, such as Archilochus' longing for Paros), but the geopoetic network through which Ovid creates a dialogue between Alexandria, Rome, and Tomis reflects a larger degree of geographical complexity and interrelatedness than was possible for Archilochus or Hipponax and a significant amplification of the geopoetic theme of Callimachus' Iambus 13, which questioned the relevance of Hipponax's Ephesus for an iambic poet in Alexandria.

Similarly, the connections between the Ibis' invective and the calendar represent a uniquely Roman innovation. While it is possible that Ovid's conflation of iambic poetics and the kalends of January was directly known to and imitated by Lucian or Julian, who also brought these notions together, it seems more probable that these examples are distinct. This means that imperial authors who turned to iambic poetics, for whatever reason, saw the celebration of the Roman New Year as a target ripe for assimilation into a politicized invective program.

In different ways, therefore, matters of geopoetics and the calendar reflect the influence of an empire the likes of which (in terms of its size and hegemony) earlier iambic authors could not have experienced (even Horace's Epodes come from an era when Rome was still consolidating its imperial power).107 It may be that the paired themes of self-abuse and therapoetic healing also derived from the weight of empire. Self-abuse and self-abasement are common themes in Archilochus and Hipponax, but with Ovid these motifs take on recognizably political overtones, since his relegation and much-bemoaned wretchedness were the direct result of imperial judgment.108 The iambic tradition of the poet's persona humbling or critiquing himself, therefore, has been amplified by Ovid, and self-abuse has become a vehicle for reflecting and, thereby, inviting reflection and commentary upon the hegemonic presence that cannot safely be critiqued

107 Bowie 200la, however, emphasizes many of the ways in which archaic iambos may have been importantly engaged with matters of politics.

108 Explicitly politicized abjection may also have been prominent in Hipponax's poetry. The Suda claims that he was exiled by the otherwise unknown Ephesian tyrants Athenagoras and Comas, but his surviving poetry is too fragmentary to hazard a guess about any relationship between those tyrants' verdict and the sorry condition of Hipponax's poetic persona.

Conclusions

more directly. In the coming chapters we will see that this dynamic recurs, though never in precisely the same way, as each author tailors his iambic inspiration to different circumstances.

Ovid has set in motion several of the main themes of this book. He has cut the iambike idea free from any recognizable form, and like the other poets studied here, he has denied any iambic intentions. In his malevolent elegy we can find various iambic themes, tropes, characters, and resonances, much as the authors examined in the coming chapters will combine iambic material with other literary forms (e.g. fable, civic oratory, sophistic entertainment, imperial decree, and ecclesiastical poetry). On Ovid's eclectic model, imperial iambic poetics will not claim a fixed set of themes or tropes but will, rather, be recognizable through an overt return to some aspect of the old Greek tradition. Several decades ago, West claimed that archaic iambos was defined in large part by its avoidance of elegiac topics;109 I suggest that imperial iambic poetics coheres around its overt reconsiderations of earlier iambic models that can be attached to virtually any literary form or subject matter. Thus each author analyzed in the pages that follow will go back to an archaic source and set the tone for his text by revivifying the power of (most frequently) Archilochus or some other recognizably iambic marker (such as the choliambic meter). This is one of the reasons that imperial iambic poetics exists as a series of episodes and does not have a connected history but, rather, erupts in wildly different forms. In the next chapter we will examine one such episode in the choliambic fables of Babrius.

109 West 1974, 25.

81

82

Interlude 1 "Bad artists imitate, great artists steal": 1 Martial and

the trope of not being iambic

The Devil: "Martial put me very much in mind of Archi/ochus . .. " Bon-Bon: [Hiccup!]

Edgar Allan Poe, "Bon -Bon"

Ovid's Ibis was, in many ways, a failure. It was never going to win him the return to Rome for which he longed, and it has never been counted among

his best works (though it has a robust commentary tradition). So it is no surprise that this angry and odd poem has not left a prominent trail oflater

receptions. One striking exception to this, however, can be found among the epigrams of Martial. In 7.12 Martial disavows aggressive poetry and laments that others have passed off such verses under his name, but he undermines such facetious claims through a winking dissimulation built

around a quotation from the Ibis. It may be particularly apt for Martial to look to the Ibis for inspiration at

this particular moment, since his seventh book of epigrams begins with Domitian on campaign in 92 CE not far from Ovid's Tomis. Several examples

suffice to show this wider context into which his reference to the Ibis fits so

neatly. The first poem presents the collection as a cuirass and aegis for the emperor to wear into battle, and the second claims that this cuirass will ward off all Sarmatian arrows and will be a better defense than Meleager's Getic

shield (7.2.1-4). The Sarmatians and Getae, of course, were the tribes that Ovid most feared during his exile. Poems five through eight express Martial's

anxiety and, finally, relief in the latter stages of Domitian's campaign. And 7.19 provides a mythical connection to this region through Martial's comments on the value of an ancient bit of the hull of the Argo that had survived the buffeting of the Black Sea. If we have the Ibis in mind, then the closing line echoes Ovid's metaliterary comments about ships (7.19.6):

sanctior est salva parva tabella rate ("this small plank is more venerable than the undamaged vessel"). The "small plank" here becomes Martial's "brief poem", which is more valuable than the entire Argo.

1 The street artist Banksy reproduced this quote from Picasso, scratched out the artist's name, and scrawled his own in its place.

"Bad artists imitate, great artists steal"

Amid these evocations of the Black Sea littoral, Martial includes the following poem which is literally built around his overt allusion to the Ibis in the middle of the seventh line (7.12):2

Sic me fronte legat dominus, Faustine, serena excipiatque meos, qua solet aure, iocos,

ut mea nee, iuste quos odit, pagina laesit, et mihi de nullo fama rubore placet.

quid prodest, cupiant cum quidam nostra videri, si qua Lycambeo sanguine tela madent,

vipereumque vomat nostro sub nomine virus, qui Phoebi radios ferre diemque negat?

ludimus innocui: scis hoc bene: iuro potentis

per genium Famae Castaliumque gregem perque tuas aures, magni mihi numinis instar,

lector inhumana liber ab invidia.

May our master read me with such calm mein, Faustinus, and understand my jokes in his usual way -

that my page has not even harmed those it justly hates nor does fame from anyone's shame give me pleasure.

But what can be done, when some want to pass off as mine

whatever weapons drip Lycambes' blood? And he belches forth viper's poison under my name

who can't stand the day and Phoebus' rays? I play harmlessly. You know this. I swear it

5

10

5

in the name of Reputation's power and the brood of Castalia! 10 and your ears, icon of divine power for me,

a reader who art free of churlish jealousy.

Martial describes his poetry as nothing more than harmless jokes (2, 9), and he claims that, although he has enemies who justly deserve such excoriation, he has never attacked them with his pen (3). Yet even without recourse to

examples of his blistering invective (e.g. 6.64, 7.11) the dynamics of this poem prevent us from putting much faith in Martial's innocence. His emphasis on playfulness and his histrionic performance of sincerity in the last four lines are only the most obvious signs of this poem's slipperiness. More subtly, it

treats invective poetics and poetic emulation in a complex interweaving of

2 In his epigram titled "To my Booke," Jonson recalls Martial's poem in both its playful discussion of the poet's reputation and, in particular, in the fifth couplet, which echoes Martial's second: "Thou art not covetous of least selfe-same I made from the hazard of anothers shame."

83

84 "Bad artists imitate, great artists steal"

synchronic and diachronic motifs that I begin to tease out here in order to demonstrate Martial's own adaptation of the trope of not being iambic. 1

•

Martial's verses focus primarily on the contemporary literary scene. He hopes that Domitian will (very soon) receive his poems favorably,

and he strikes a pose of being annoyed that rivals have (quite recently) been publishing invectives under his name. But if poetry that drips with the blood of Lycambes (i.e., Archilochean iambos) and snake venom can be passed off as his, then Martial clearly has (right now) a reputation for being

just such an aggressive poet. It is precisely in this issue of imitation and reputation that Martial's poem points toward an interpretative trap

door. Aspiring poets can succeed at publishing invectives under Martial's name, because he has a reputation as a prominent blame poet; but since 7.12, despite its surface claims, acknowledges and builds upon that

reputation, then how can we know if this poem is authentic or not? The epigram assumes an ongoing contestation of authority in which the

successful poet provides a type of patronage through which the aspiring poet

can get his verses published by parasitic association with someone whose career is already well established.3 A flourishing system of this sort ends up effacing the author himself and replacing him with an author-tradition. We

can see something like this, of course, at various other points in the annals of classical literature, such as Theognis' famous sphragis that uses the name of Cyrnus effectively to franchise Theognidean poetry, the sniping allegations

of collaborations or ghost writing among Aristophanes and his rivals, and in the easy slide from Babrius to the Babrian tradition discussed in the next chapter. Although Martial may be raising a false alarm here, since he seems to have prepared his books for publication himself and thereby ensured that

none of these epigrams has been slipped in by a rival, his conceit creates a space for doubt and discussion, especially about unpublished epigrams that might be in circulation. In daring us to contemplate such matters, Martial has taken Ovid's dissimulating iambic postponement that looked toward a future

poem and transformed it into a tool ofliterary criticism that simultaneously mocks and comments upon the state of poetry in Domitianic Rome.

But if this synchronic meditation on invective poetry pretends to blur the distinction between Martial and his rivals, it has done so through the diachronic impact of Martial's quotation of Ovid. In speaking of the

3 The contestation of authority also involves Martial's relationship to his patron Faustinus. The claim that rivals have coopted Martial's name draws the patron into the fray. Ovid's liber iambus may be recalled in the final description of Faustinus as inhumana liber ab invidia. Nauta 2002, 162, discusses the role of Faustina in 7.12.

"Bad artists imitate, great artists steal"

contemporary rivalry, he directs our attention to poems "stained with Lycambes' blood," which not only quotes but also fills the same metrical position as Ovid's futurist allusion to Archilochean iambos (53-54):

Postmodo, si perges, in te mihi liber iambus

tincta Lycambeo sanguine tela dabit.

But after this, if you persist, my unleashed iambus will send out weapons against you steeped in Lycambes' blood.

Martial's quotation has been duly noted before but never fully unpacked.4

Most importantly, Martial rejects any association with iambic poetics by using the very words with which Ovid too tells us that he is not being

iambic. And since Ovid's disavowal was part of a poem saturated with rage and murderous hate, Martial's reuse of it undermines his own rejection. Like Ovid, Martial is perfectly capable of savaging an enemy.

Once we recognize the implications of this Ovidian quotation, Martial's playful claim to innocence begins to sound quite like Ovid's similar

declaration at the opening of the Ibis ( 1-6):

Tempus ad hoc, lustris bis iam mihi quinque peractis, omne fuit Musae carmen inerme meae;

nullaque, quae possit, scriptis tot milibus, extat littera Nasonis sanguinolenta legi:

nee quemquam nostri nisi me laesere libelli,

artificis periit cum caput Arte sua.

Until now, with twice five decades already on me, every song of my Muse has been unarmed;

no letter of Naso's, of so many thousands, exists that could be read as reeking of blood;

nor have my booklets hurt anyone but me: the artist lost his head because of his Art.

Depending on how we date the Ibis it may actually precede Ovid's other exilic invectives, but this misses the larger point. The historical reality of his claim about his harmless poetry is clearly less important than its literary function here. He poses as an innocent in order to add force to the venom he is about

to spew. Accordingly, we can see that Martial follows Ovid in a discussion of invective for the emperor's ears while trumpeting his earlier avoidance of

4 E.g., Vioque 2002, ad lac. Fitzgerald 2007, 154-57, discusses this poem in terms of Martial's Ovidian tactics but does not mention the connection with the Ibis.

85

86 "Bad artists imitate, great artists steal"

slander (laesere, Ovid, Ibis 5 and Martial 7.12.3) in his poetic '1triflings" (Ovid: libelli, Martial: ioci) and engaging specifically with the iambic trad~

ition. The two poems even look toward each other in time, since Ovid threatens that he will turn to iambic poetry in the future while Martial makes clear that he has composed iambic poems in the past.

With this allusive structure in place, Martial's epigram plays a game that distinguishes "in" and "out" groups among its audience. Those on the

outside can tie themselves in knots trying to support Martial's innocence, while those who know his other invectives and who understand the

Ovidian quotation can properly decode the iocus of this poem. Martial is not only an invective poet, he is (at least here) deeply engaged with the iambic tradition and is both embracing his reputation for Archilochean spite (even as he pretends to reject it) and establishing a parallel between his own poetry and Ovid's Ibis. And by quoting Ovid's own threat, Martial

acknowledges that his disingenuous pose is itself a trope of the trade. Ovid's claim that he will be known as an imitator of Callimachus (imitatus

dicar, 60) suggests that Martial is also commenting on the mimetic nature of all literature. He clearly had Ovid's Ibis in mind as he penned this

epigram and surely saw that Ovid was trumpeting his dependency on a Callimachean model. Every new poetic utterance emerges from a system of more or less overt emulation in which everyone steals from everyone (a truism, to be sure, but one that is rarely so overt as it is in this sequence of receptions from Callimachus to Ovid to Martial). The winners in this

game, like Ovid and Martial, can be seen interacting with one another in a way that benefits all parties. But the losers, too, could make use of such connections by foisting off their efforts onto others.

Martial's epigram participates in the general pattern of iambic dissimulation among imperial era poets, but it also provides an insight into how Ovid's Ibis was read roughly a century after it was composed. Martial attests to the iambic nature of the Ibis through his manipulation of Ovid's words.

Martial acknowledges his own iambic and invective mettle by quoting a line from Ovid's raging poem, and he attests to his own wit by taking a line in

which he mimics Ovid's pose of rejecting iambic poetics. Even if we try to deny the iambic dimensions of Ovid's poem in isolation, therefore, Martial

shows that he interpreted the Ibis as an example of iambic poetics and one that allowed him the opportunity to insert himself into the iambic tradition. Centuries earlier, Archilochus had begun the trope of rejecting iambos in fr. 215; in Martial 7 .12 we can see that this trope had developed in such a way that however much one tries to deny this poetic mode, the stain of Lycambean blood can never be washed away.

2 Iambos denied: Babrius' Mythiambi

And on that day on which Adam went forth from the Garden, he offered as a sweet savour an offering, frankincense, galbanum, and stacte, and spices in the morning with the rising of the sun from the day when he covered his shame. And on that day was closed the mouth of all beasts, and of cattle, and of birds, and of whatever walks, and of whatever moves, so that they could no longer speak: for they had all spoken one with another with one lip and with one tongue.

Jubilees 3:27-28

Ovid's Ibis seethes with a murderous frenzy, but he claims that his poem does not have the form or the full power and efficacy of iambic poetry.

Babrius does the opposite by making clear that his iambic form has been drained of any iambic animus. His choliambic fables no longer have the iamb's famous sting. Traditional lore about iambos, however, clashes with these claims and creates connections with and tensions within the iambic

tradition. Babrius' two prologues point the way toward an adaptation of iambic poetics starkly different from what Ovid achieved in his Ibis.

Introduction

Like many of the authors in this book, Babrius has trouble finding readers today. Most are more likely to dip into his fables to grab a particular story than to read them straight through, and thus the sense of his poetry as poetry and (especially) his collection as a collection gets lost. While

on one level, therefore, this chapter presents a piece of a larger argument about iambic poetics, it also aims to demonstrate one way that this collection of poems can be read. Textual questions abound, but they present nothing like the impediments we find in so much archaic or

Hellenistic poetry. Against the backdrop of the ascendant oratorical prose of the imperial era and anthologies of epigrams and excerpts, Babrius offers a rare example of a well-preserved and carefully organized collection of short Greek poems by a single author. If we know effectively 87


nothing about Babrius the man, we should not, for that reasori, ignore

the role of his poetry in ancient literary culture.1

Babrius, probably writing in the first or second century CE, has left us two

books of Aesopic fables in the choliambic meter, the more aggressive and

abusive Hipponactean sibling of the iambic trimeter.2 In archaic iambos Archilochus and, seemingly, Semonides had incorporated animal fables into

their invective, but we have no evidence that Hipponax did the same (though

his poetry survives in such a sorry state that we can never have much

confidence in arguments built upon what is not attested among his extant

verses). In the Hellenistic era, however, Callimachus had brought together

fables and the Hipponactean meter in his Iambi, a collection that Babrius

clearly knew quite well. In both Archilochus and Callimachus (not to mention

Hesiod, Aristophanes, and others), fables serve to deliver stinging rebukes

in more or less disguised form. But Babrius urges us not to fear this traditional

meter by claiming that he has softened the sting that used to characterize

choliambic poetry. Yet his urgent disavowals may imply that the choliambic

bite has not completely been removed. The fact that he directs his two

prologues to a young prince gives the appearance that his fables are intended

for application as well as pleasure.3 And the ethical message of a fable is

suitably reinforced by the choliambic sting Babrius so scrupulously denies.

1 The Codex Athous (British Museum Add. 22087) contains 122 fables that are generally considered authentic and are placed at the beginning of all modern editions. Throughout the rest of Babrius' corpus it is difficult to distinguish him from Babrian imitators. Other, more distinct followers can be found outside his corpus as well, such as Ignatius Diaconus, on whom see Marenghi 1957 and van Dijk 1996.

2 The Suda' s entry on Babrius claims that he composed ten books. Excellent surveys of the key issues surrounding Babrius (his date, his ethnicity, his native language, his meter, etc.) can be found in Crusius' 1879 dissertation and the introduction to his 1897 Teubner edition, which together set the parameters for all subsequent analyses: Adrados 1999-2003, I 100-19, which represents the current scholarly benchmark, and Holzberg 2002, 52-62, which offers a quick and reliable overview. Crusius 1879, 164-92, is particularly important for its analysis of Babrius' Latinate approach to meter, a topic that has been taken in a more rhetorical direction by Luzzatto 1985.

3 Luzzatto and La Penna 1986, x, conclude that this "son of King Alexander," to whom the second book is dedicated, is the same person as the Branch us of the first prologue on the grounds that the last line of the second prologue portrays Babrius presenting a second book to the same dedicatee. Holzberg 2002, 60, also supports this position. Given the cultural value of these two names, however, we should not completely dismiss the possibility that these are not historical figures. Babrius may have addressed his first book to the mythical son of Apollo and Milesian seer named Branchus and the second to a fictive "son" of Alexander the Great. It was once common to assume that Babrius' "King Alexander" was Alexander Severus (ruled 222-35), but once it became clear that Ps.-Dositheus, writing no later than 207 CE, had copied two Babrian fables, this hypothesis became untenable. As Perry 1965, xlviii-1, notes, the only historical "King Alexander" to whom Babrius' dedicatee could correspond is a figure appointed by Vespasian to rule over some part of Cilicia and mentioned by Josephus in a corrupt passage (AJ 18.140).

Iambos and fable

Before discussing Babrius' poetry in detail, it will be helpful to review the

relationship between the iambic tradition and the fable. Thereafter, Babrius'

two prologues will be analyzed in detail, since it is in these few lines that he

most directly articulates his poetic program. With this foundation in place, we

can then turn to the fables themselves in terms of both their overall tenor and

possible points of contact with earlier iambic poetry. In constructing these

arguments about Babrius' poetry I will rely heavily on the assumption that the

prologues condition our reception of the fables themselves. We can, that is,

read Babrius' iambic program from the prologues into his collection of fables.

Iambos and fable

Before Babrius ever set his Aesopic vignettes to the choliambic meter, the fable

had a long history of intersecting with iambic poetics. Indeed, the fable is

primarily associated with iambic genres, and although the earliest fable in

Greek literature, "The Hawk and Nightingale" in Hesiod's Works and Days (202-11), is in hexameters, the scenario closely parallels the dynamics typical

of fables told in an iambic mode.4 Hesiod, eschewing the impersonal voice

of the epic bard for the intimate persona of an angry brother, takes the

subordinate role in the power hierarchy by directing his story to "kings who

understand," and he uses his humble fable (o:Tvos) to attempt to rectify the

situation with his brother Perses, who had finagled Hesiod's share of their

inheritance. In this fable, the Hawk ignores the Nightingale's complaints and

uses his strength to dominate the weaker bird. Adrados points out the

strangeness of this narrative pattern: "Fables in which the strong summarily

imposes force, rejecting the pleas of the weak, as in Hesiod, are rare or non

existent," but if we have here an unusual fable in which the strong crushes

the weak, Hesiod also makes the unusual counterbalancing move of using

this fable as a specifically negative exemplum.5 That is to say, Hesiod urges

Perses not to follow the lead of the Hawk. His overall strategy, then, presents a

fable spoken from a disempowered social position and pitches the fable as a

4 Adrados 1999-2003, I 242. Steiner (2007 and 2012b) offers many insightful comments on Hesiod's fable and its relation to various matters of both genre and register.

5 Adrados 1999-2003, I 181. Other exceptions can be found. For example, the only complete and undisputed fable in Herodotus comes in Croesus' response to the Ionians and Aeolians, who had earlier rejected his terms but now, after he has crushed the Lydians, try to take him up on his original offer. He tells them "The Flute-Player and the Fish" (1.141), which follows Hesiod's tale in being "top-down" but which is not used as a negative exemplum. The king simply uses a fabular register to tell the petitioners that they missed their chance and must now pay the price.

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cautionary tale intended to curb behavior that is not conducive to s10cial cohesion. The fiction of Hesiod's fable is that it has the potential to bring

Perses back into the realm of proper and acceptable behavior. The same basic narrative conceit can also be detected in archaic iambos.

In the fragments of Archilochus we find numerous fables.6 The clearest and most famous of these is his version of "The Eagle and the Fox" ( = Perry 1 ), which he uses to skewer Lycambes. Whereas Hesiod's story presents a simple moral teaching (i.e., don't behave like the rapacious Hawk), Archilochus'

fables involve more trickery and aggression. The opening scenario of "The Fox and the Eagle" presents an unnatural and inherently problematic set of circumstances as the two creatures, who reside in different regions of the inhabitable world, decide to bind themselves to one another in an unlikely

friendship. Once the Eagle snatches away the Fox's kits and relies on her wings to keep herself safe, the Archilochean Fox gets the better of the Lycambean Eagle by cursing the Eagle and praying to Zeus for justice, a request that seems

to be answered when the Eagle steals a bit of smoldering sacrificial meat from an altar. The hot morsel sets the nest on fire, as a result of which the unfledged birds fall to the ground, where the Fox gobbles them up. This is no negative

exemplum, as in Hesiod. Rather, it is a coded but clearly violent threat spoken indirectly by a social inferior. As Irwin has shown, this fable (alvos, fr. 174) presents a powerful and nuanced encapsulation of the legendary conflict between the two Parian men.7 The younger (lower) Archilochus lashes out

at the older (higher) Lycambes after the latter has broken his promise to give his daughter in marriage to Archilochus, and the beasts' offspring stand in for Lycambes' daughters and the children that Archilochus expected to have. As in the the Hesiodic example, the fable serves to demonstrate the corrosive

effect of such social breaches. In these two examples, the best preserved fable-exempla from the

earliest era of extant Greek poetry, we can recognize the critical connection between narrative and voice. The lower-status poetic speaker, who has

suffered some affront, announces the insult through the similarly lowstatus fable, which in turn recasts the human relationships into the natural

6 For the broadest study of fables in Archilochus, see Corr~a 2007 and 2010. Nqte also the two discussions of van Dijk 1997: first his assessment of fables among the surviving fragments of Archilochus (138-48) and then his inventory of fragments that have been wrongly (in his

opinion) connected with fabular material (635-38). 7 Irwin 1998. Hawkins 2008 and Steiner 2010 build upon Irwin's analysis. As always, it must be

kept clearly in mind that the famous story of the broken marriage pact comes from testimonia, not from the extant fragments of Archilochus' own poetry. Bowie 2008, 137-39, suggests that the conflict between the two men is more probably political than amatory.

lambos and fable

world. In the Hesiodic example, the speaker reminds his brother (as well as the kings, who form a second target audience) that whereas animals must simply accept the domination of the mighty, men should understand the

workings of Justice and the power of Zeus to punish the arrogant. In the iambic example, more typical of the inset fables but again relying on the power of Zeus' divine oversight, the outcome in the animal world

(the Fox eats the Eaglets) naturalizes and predicts the outcome in the human scenario (Archilochus ruins Lycambes' family, who deserve their

fate because Lycambes had violated his sworn oath). It is important to note that in neither case does the fable aim at any sort of revolutionary agenda. Even in iambos, with all of its unheroic descriptions of sex and violence, a conservative attitude prevails and works toward the reestablishment of idealized social norms that allow society to function smoothly.8

From here the history of the fable-exemplum remains remarkably stable throughout antiquity: the speaker is degraded in some way or other and the

fable articulates a persuasive and witty transformation from that low vantage. Within the spectrum of genres, iambos and those genres related to it, such as Old Comedy, are the least elevated and are, therefore, most

easily paired with this narrative pattern. 9 And it is in this that we can make sense of the apparent exception of Hesiod's hexameter fable. Although his meter suggests similarities with Homeric epic, his authorial voice in Works and Days lowers the hexameter's register and thus puts his poem on a tonal

footing closer to that of Archilochean iambos. 10 The archaic and classical fable sets a picaresque scene through which to deliver its moralizing or didactic message. For Adrados the connection between low-register poetic modes, such as iambos, and fables can be explained by a shared derivation

from the same type of agrarian festival setting. But even if such a theory were to be proven false, the two literary modes of speech nevertheless form a natural pair.

8 It is worth noting that in both cases (and others can be adduced) the shaming power of the oral

poet is brought to bear on a social moment in which transaction costs could spiral out of control. If inheritances and sworn marriage pacts become highly problematic and fail to inspire confidence in the parties involved, these critical transactions become extremely costly. In such situations iambos dramatizes social crises and aims to rectify matters in the present tense.

9 Rothwell 1995 and van Dijk 1997, 188-229, situate the fable in comedy. 10 The boundaries of fabular practice are not strict, but they can be seen to trend in recognizable

directions. Rothwell 1995, 246-48, has shown that elite speakers use fables to lower the register of their speech and that the discrepancy between the total absence of fables from surviving classical speeches and the various anecdotes about orators using fables may result from the orators wanting to clean up their published texts by eliminating effective but declasse tricks such as resorting to fables. Kurke 2010, 157 and 244, makes much the same point.

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In the classical era, by which time fables begin to be connected with Aesop, prose fables appear for the first time, especially in Socratic literature.11 But we

still find the same basic pattern, since the intentionally un-elevated Socratic banter fits well with the simple fable. Furthermore, Socrates shares many

traits with the archaic iambographers and Aesop. Socrates is ugly, like Aesop and Hipponax; he is a chatty and conversational speaker who warns us against the slick elegance of high-style oratory; and like Aesop and Archilochus, he is a favorite of Apollo who has been condemned

by a public that cannot understand him. Plato's description in the Phaedo of Socrates versifying Aesopic fables (and composing a hymn to Apollo)

as he awaits execution thus becomes a powerfully defining moment. As Kurke has argued, this isolates the moment at which "the slave prose of Aesop becomes the transcendent master discourse of philosophy."12

In the Hellenistic era, Callimachus included at least two fables in his Iambi, which begins with Hipponax returning from Hades to chastise the Alexandrian literati.13 However one interprets Callimachus' choice of meter and model, it is clear that his iambic voice often reveals a desire to straighten

out social situations that have gone awry. Of particular interest is Iambus 4, in which the fable of "The Olive and the Laurel" again uses the rare pattern of

the strong keeping down the weak. The Laurel and Olive, noble trees favored by Apollo and Athena respectively, engage in a contest of worth with one another, but they join forces to keep the lowly Bramble out of their circle

altogether. The Diegesis tells us that the three botanical characters here represent real people and that Callimachus' general message to the person represented by the Bramble was that he had no business participating in erudite manners. This is a unique moment in which an iambic fable works

to heal a social rift by excoriating someone of lower status (a replay of Hesiod's "Hawk and Nightingale" but now as a positive, rather than negative exemplum). Callimachus has here left aside the traditionally picaresque aspect of the fable in bringing it into the emerging world of Alexandrian literature.

It was also in the Hellenistic era that another major transformation of

the iambic fable seems to have taken place. Adrados has argued that during

11 Van Dijk 1997, 311-350, surveys the use of fables by philosophical writers. 12 Kurke 2006, 38. Kurke 2010, 241-50 and 325-360, returns to this same theme iri greater detail

and in a broader context. Worman 2008, 153-212, provides an important parallel here in

discussing the connection between Plato and the iambic tradition. 13 A mangled passage of Iambus 6 may refer to the famous "Tortoise and the Hare." In other

Hellenistic poetry the only other clear evidence for a fable comes from Cercidas fr. 7 Lomiento (= Stobaeus 4.16.7), which references "Zeus and the Tortoise" (106 Perry). Additionally, Galen records that some have interpreted Theocritus 7.23 as a reference to Aristophanes' version of "The Lark and her Father" (447 Perry). The case is convoluted, however; van Dijk 1997, 251-53,

lays out the relevant evidence.

Cho/iambs that neither sting nor bite

this period Cynic poets, or poets heavily influenced by Cynicism, took over the choliambic fable, since this intersection of meter and moralizing tale fit well with their philosophical tenets. Phoenix of Colophon and Cercidas of Megalopolis, in whose writings a few traces of fable material can be found,

are the primary examples of this phenomenon, but so too is the choliambic

portion of the Life of Alexander attributed to pseudo-Callisthenes. "The Cynics consciously placed themselves within the tradition represented by the ancient iambic poets, scathing paupers; by the Aesop of the legend, piercing, witty and persecuted; by Socrates, poor and acting against the

values of 'normal' society." 14

All of this lies in the background of Babrius' collection of fables. Although the act of anthologizing moves Babrius away from the history of the fable-exemplum, many of the old traits of the iambic fable appear in

his prologues. He adopts a Hesiodic tone of mentorship to young men and reworks the myth of metallic ages; he takes (and changes) Hipponax's meter; he alludes broadly to Callimachus' Iambi; he presents his fables as

educational, and fables, like iambic poetry, tend to make their points for their audiences by dramatizing one main character getting the better of

another; he preserves the Hellenistic jargon about the danger of iambic poetry; and in his second prologue he takes an aggressive stance toward his rivals. In what follows, I will demonstrate that although Babrius does not assume for himself the guise of a degraded iambist, he adapts the iambic mode traditionally associated with the fable to his new literary undertaking

in which the narrator no longer speaks with a subordinate voice.

Choliambs that neither sting nor bite

Babrius begins each book of fables with a brief introduction, and these

few lines provide the only opportunities to engage with Babrius outside his fables. Here we find a first-person voice, various perspectives on the origins and history of fables, a few insights into his own compositional strategies and motivations, the term mythiamboi (his new coinage for his generic

experiment that recalls Cercidas' Meliambi and Herodas' Mimiambi), as well as a handful of stylistic claims that build toward concluding statements about his iamboi. We have, that is, a brief but intense engagement with the poetic

14 Adrados 1999-2003, I 605, though this description is more apt for Hipponax than the other iambic poets. Adrados' work draws upon and brings together a great deal of scholarship on the Cynic tradition and the specific connection between Cynicism and fables, such as Gerhard 1909 on Phoenix and Thiele's series of articles about Phaedrus (1906-11). Van Dijk 1997, 664, denies that any fables can be identified in the surviving fragments of Phoenix.

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persona dilating on his own art before that voice leaves the stage and allows

his myriad loquacious animals to take over. As with similarly highly wrought

prefaces, such as Callimachus' prologue to the Aetia or the prologues (and

concluding tags) to Phaedrus' fables, we hear the poet pretending to throw

open the doors to his workshop in order to foster a range of preconditioned

readings among his audience. In terms of Babrius' place in the history of

iambic literature, his two prologues are immensely valuable for their claims

that the poet himself has (just recently, it seems) made iambos safe for general

consumption. I find these claims to be intentionally disingenuous and will argue that contrary to their surface meanings they actually set the stage for

a new type of engagement with the iambic mode, one that owes a deep debt

to Callimachus and which features a far more flexible ethical code than

we find in earlier fables. Since these texts are not generally well known and

since they will be discussed in detail in the pages to come, I reproduce them in

their entirety here.

For both passages I print Perry's Greek text with my own translations.

The first several lines of the first prologue have caused some controversy,

and until the last century, the accepted text was based on the tenth-century

Codex Athous, which begins:

yevei] 81Kalc.uv ~v TO lTpWTOV av6pc.01TC.UV

w Bp6:yxe TEKvov ftv KaAoucn xPucrel11v.

Tp{TT) 8'aTI'mhwv <TIS> eyevTi6T) XOAKEIT).

µee' ftv yevfo6al cpacr1( v) 6elav i]pwc.uv·

µEµTITi] crJ8l)pa p!i;a Ka\ yevos XElpOV·

Once upon a time, there was an age of just men,

Branchus my boy, whom people called Golden.

From these a third, was born: Bronze.

After them, they say, came the divine race of Heroes.

That blameworthy race had roots of Iron and was worse.

Then, in 1926 Collart published a fourth-century papyrus (P.Bour. 1)

containing eleven lines of this prologue. Perry and most modern editors

have relied on this witness on the theory that the lines in the Codex A thous

have been drawn into the Hesiodic model.15

15 Luzzatto and La Penna 1986, however, print a hybrid: yeve~ !i1Kalwv ~v To irpwTov &vepwirwv I w Bp6Yl(E TlKvov i\v KaAoucn )(PVcrelriv. I µee' i\v yevfo6a1 cpacr\v &pyupijv l!t.Mriv·I TplTTJ

!i'&ir'mhwv ~ylve6' i\ <ye> xallKE{Tj. I µeµirTi1S crlOTjp~s p{~a Kai ylvos xeTpov· "Once upon a time, there was an age of just men, Branchus my boy, whom people called Golden. After them, they say, came another: Silver. From these was born the third: Bronze. The root of blameworthy iron and a worse race." Vaio 2001 provides a thorough and updated discussion of this issue and endorses Perry's text.


Babrius' First Prologue

reveii 81Kc:xic.uv ~v TO lTpGnov 6:v6pC.:mc.uv,

w Bpayxe TEKvov, fiv Kc:x:AoOcr1 xPucrelriv,

µe6' fiv yevfo6c:x1 cpc:xcriv O:pyupfiv &Mriv·

TpiTT) 8' alT' C:XUTWV ecrµev i'J crt8T]pE[T].

ETii TfiS 8e XPucrfis Kc:xi Ta :Aom6: Twv 1;0c.uv

cpc.uvi;v evc:xp0pov eTxe KC:Xi Myous.fi8e1

o'ious mp iiµeTs µu6foµev Tipos O:Mi']:Aous,

O:yopc:x\ 8e TOUTc.uv ~crc:xv ev µfoc:x1s u:Ac:x1s.

EA<'x:Ae1 8e muKTJ Kc:xl Ta cpuMc:x Tfis 86:cpvris,

Kc:xl lTAC.UTOS ixeus O"UVEACxAEl cp[Acp VC:XUTTI,

crTpou0oi 8e cruveTa Tipos yec.upyov c.0µ{;\ouv.

Ecpun' EK yfis lTCxVTC:X µri8ev c:xhoUO"T]S,

6VT]Twv 8' uTifipxe Kc:xl 6ewv hmpeiri.

µc'x601s &v ouTc.u TC:XiiT' exoVTc:x KC:Xi yvolris

EK Toii crocpoO yepovTos ~µ1v AicrwTiou

µu6ous cppc'xcrc:xvTOs Ti;S EAEU6EpT]S µoUO"T]S'

WV vOv EKC:XO"TOV 6:v6icrc:xs Eµji µvi'Jµn

µe:A1crTc:xyes cr01 Ac.uToKT]piov. 61'\crc.u,

mKpwv ic'xµ~u:iv crKllrip6: Kw:Ac:x 6riMvc:xs.

Once upon a time, there was an age of just men, Branchus my boy, whom people called Golden. After them, they say, came another: Silver. And from these, we are the third age: Iron. Now in the Golden age the other creatures, too, had intelligible voices and used words such as we ourselves do in telling each other tales, And their gatherings were among the trees. Even the Pine and the leaves of the Laurel talked, the Fish as it swam chatted with the friendly sailor, and the Sparrows conversed intelligibly with the Farmer. Everything grew from the untilled earth, and among mortals and gods good fellowship prevailed. That this was so, you may learn and fully understand from wise old Aesop, who has told us fables with his free Muse. Now having garlanded each of these with my own recollections, I shall set before you a honeycomb dripping with sweetness, having softened the hard chords of the bitter iambs.

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10

15

19

5

10

15

19

95

Babrius' Second Prologue

Mueos µev, w irai !3aa1:hfois 'A:AE~6:v5pou,

~UpWV iraAatWV EaTlV EUpEµ' exvepWlTWV,

o'i irpiv lTOT' ficrav sir\ Nivou TE Kai Bfj:.\ou.

irpwTos 5e, cpacriv, EfoE ira1crlv 'EMfivwv

Aicrwiros 6 aocp6s, EfoE Kai /\113ucrTlvo1s

Myous KuplcrOTJs. 16 exM' eyw ven µouan

5i5wµ1, cpaMpcp )(PUO"Etp xa:A1vwaas

TOV µuelaµpov wcrmp lirirov 6ir:Ah11v.

tm' eµoCi 5e lTpWTOU Tf\S eupTJS CxVOlXeEicrTJS

E!crfj:Aeov &Mo1, Kai crocpwTEPTJS µoua11s

ypicpo1s 6µoias EK<pEpoucr1 ir01fjo-E15,

µaeovTES ou5ev lTAEioV fi'µe ytVWO"KElV.

eyw 5e AEUKji µue16:~oµai pfjcrEl,

Kai TWV i6:µpwv TOUS 656vrns OU ef]yw,

exM' EU irupwaas, EU 5e KEVTpa irp11uvas,

EK 5EUTEpOU O"Ol Tfjv5E !3i!3i\ov CxEl5W.

Fable, son of King Alexander, was invented among the Syrians of old, who lived in the days of Ninus and Bel us. First, they say, to speak fables to the sons of the Hellenes, was wise Aesop, and to the Libyans it was Cybisses. But I will hold forth in a new style,

having bridled with trappings of gold the iambic fable like a warhorse. After I had first opened this door,

others entered, who bring forth poems resembling the riddles of a wiser Muse having learned nothing more than how to read me. But I tell my fables in a transparent style. I do not sharpen the iambs' teeth, but having fired them well and softened their sting, once again, for you, do I sing this scroll.

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15

5

10

15

In each of these prologues, Babrius begins by whirling us back in time to find the origins of the fable before jumping back to the present to articulate his own poetic agenda. In positioning himself as the heir to Aesopic lore Babrius stresses his artistic innovation and the claim to have removed the choliambic meter's old hostility. The iambike idea no longer limps its way through Hipponax's form, he tells us. Most commentators have accepted

16 Dio Chrysostom presents a µil6os /\1J3uK6s about a ferocious hybrid monster (Or. 5). He notes that this story is not for children (16), a clarification which suggests that his tale can be considered a type of fable. See van Dijk 1997, 105-06, for the figure of Cybisses and the connection between Lybia and fables. For a discussion of Dio's tale (and its many parallels) in the context of ancient thinking about uninhabited geographical spaces, see

Leigh 2000.


Babrius' claims at face value, in part, no doubt, because of the generally mild tenor of the choliambic adaptations that preceded him. Most of Herodas' Mimiambi and the choliambic portions of Pseudo-Callisthenes' "Alexander Romance," for example, appear to be virtually devoid of the archaic iambic mode.17 In the case of Babrius, however, his disavowal rings false for at least three reasons (the second and third of which will be discussed in greater detail below). First, fables had always been used as ethical narratives of more or less indirect aggression making them among the most difficult literary forms to cleanse of iambic undertones. Second, Babrius ties his project closely to Callimachus' Iambi through the name Branchus and his mention of a speaking Laurel, and effectively demands a post-Callimachean reading from anyone familiar with that poet's Iambi,

which do exude the iambike idea, if not to a murderous degree.18 Callimachus' resurrection of Hipponax thus haunts Babrius' return to Hipponax's meter. And third, Babrius uses a highly standardized vocabulary to describe iambos, which ensures that we linger over precisely those traits of the Hipponactean choliamb that he asks us to forget. In effect, this jargon recalls certain iambic patterns (sharp, bestial aggression) while ignoring others (scurrilous language and graphic sexual details). The overall effect is that his prologues serve as a nod to his readers to kindle the latent iambic mode in his collection whenever the need or opportunity should arise. The Hipponactean form and the longstanding connection between iambos and fable need only the direct application to a particular situation - a new Bupalus, as it were - to burst into action and become again the efficacious words of old (the agentia verba Lycamben that Horace rejects at Epistle 1.19.25).

We can follow Babrius' own lead in beginning to assess his interest in iambic poetics by looking at how he concludes each prologue. In both cases, he speaks directly of his iamboi in a way that makes clear that he is using this term as a generic marker rather than a strictly metrical

17 The obvious exception is that Hipponax does appear in Herodas' Mimiambus 8. Furthermore, West 1982, 30, reveals an allusion to Archilochus fr. 176 in Ps-Call. 1.46a.8.48-51. He denies that this allusion offers any help for interpreting or reconstructing Archilochus' poem, but it could influence our reading of Ps.-Callisthenes' tale. In this light, it might be worth reconsidering Flavius Polemius' claim that his 4th-century Latin translation of the "Alexander Romance" was based on a version written by Aesop. Knox 1929 remains a valuable gathering point for all the hodge-podge of choliambic adaptations.

18 In.addition to the speaking Laurel of Iambus 4, the Branchus poem (fr. 229 Pf.) describes how a shoot of a laurel from Delphi is planted at the oracular shrine of Apollo at Didymus. See Acosta-Hughes and Stephens 2011, 111-12 and 158-59.

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classification ( 1.19, 2.14). The first prologue ends with a particularly jarring twist as he moves from the promise of a dripping honeycomb into a final reminder that iambos used to be bitter (mKp6s) and that the legs (Kwi\a) of the limping choliambic line are stiff (crKAfJp<'x). 19 The sounds of these two lines mimic each other at certain points, and this draws the contrast in imagery all the more sharply. Sweetness sours and fluidity congeals. Babrius' description of his register's ancestry is harsh and masculine, and it clearly recalls the earlier history of the iambic mode in which iambos was virtually synonymous with scathing abuse, but he turns all this on its head with his final word. In 6rii\uvas he has "softened" or even "given a feminine touch" to this brutal and inelegant meter. The emphasis on honeyed sweetness in the previous line now seems to suggest that the traditional iambic wasp has been replaced by his more productive, more feminine cousin, the honey-bee.20 It is almost as if Babrius has moved iambos (hard, masculine and waspish) toward a more lyrical register (pliant, feminine, bee-like).21 The second prologue ends on a similar note. His chosen form has teeth (656vTEs) and stingers (KEVTpa), but we should not worry, since Babrius has not sharpened the former and has softened the latter. Degani saw in this close pairing of teeth and stings a combination of the traditional iambic images of the dog and the wasp as seen in Callimachus' comment about Archilochus (fr. 380):22

EiAKUO"E 51: 5p1µuv TE xot..ov KUVOS 6~u TE KEVTpOV

mpTJKOS, cm' &µq>oTEpc.vv 5' 16v EXEi O"TOµaTOs

He dragged in the fierce bile of the dog and the sharp sting of the wasp, and his mouth takes its poison from both.

On an impressionistic level, Degani is surely correct, but in terms of the specific imagery we can press still harder, since neither dogs nor their

19 It is likely that the stiffness of o-l<AT]pa and the sound of Kooi\a would call to mind the name of Babrius' lame (xwi\6s) meter. It is also worth noting that Demetrius uses the term Kwi\a for the basic units of prose writing (Bloc. 1).

20 In Semonides 7, the Bee-woman seems to be an interloper into the iambic worldview, since she is the exception that proves the rule, the one good woman who contrasts sharply with the others. She is so wonderful, in fact, that she may not exist. Each member of s.emonides' male audience believes that he has married a Bee-woman while everyone else recognizes that she more closely resembles one of the loathesome feminine forms. Although this poem does not include any actual fables, the connections between animals and corresponding female stereotypes suggests a similar thought process.

21 Much as Horace's Epode 14 reaches away from its preceding poems toward a more lyrical

vision. 22 Degani 1984, 77.


masters "sharpen" a canine's teeth. The only animal in the classical imaginaire with such a dental regimen is the wild boar, which whets its tusks for battles against the realm of man.23 The dog, moreover, is an ambivalent creature, since it can help man guard and hunt but can also become rabid, return to the wild, and approach the looks and savagery of the wolf. The boar, however, is completely wild and exists in Greek literature only as a threat to agriculture and as a challenge to would-be heroes. As Babrius transforms the icons of the wasp and the dog, his claims about his own literary undertaking reach their starkest clarity. Old-style iambos is as anti-social as the boar, while Babrian mythiambi are as harmless and delightful as the honeybee. The combined impact of these lines underscores the longstanding dangerous reputation of iambic, especially Hipponax's choliambic poetry, while soothing our apprehension. Babrius has made iambos safe.

My skepticism about these claims goes against the general consensus that Babrius has traded in the fable's ethical platform for high literary gloss. And it is certainly true that Babrius' catalogue impedes the sharply moralizing tone found in many fable-exempla. The fables that are embedded in the poetry of Hesiod, Archilochus, and Callimachus, for example, all become pointedly meaningful within their particular contexts and have immediate and focused applications. Yet much as Phaedrus turns the fable in the direction of broad social satire (transforming Horace's satirical fable-exemplum into a cottage industry), Babrius keeps the iambic fable close to its Greek roots by emphasizing the meter's potential violence and the role of personal animosity, now in the form of literary rivalries.24

Such antagonism is, his prologues strongly suggest, the result of our movement away from the Golden Age. The appropriately Hesiodic allusion reminds us of our sad circumstances, and Babrius' description of the easy relationships among humans, animals, and plants in that distant time serves to underscore the hostility and dangers of our world.25 Aesop and

23 E.g., II. 11.414-16, where a wild boar (Kcmp1os) is "sharpening its white tusk" (6~ywv i\euK6v

686VTa); Ar. Lys. 1255-56, where soldiers "sharpen their tusks like boars" (~mp TWS KaTTpws eayoVTas ... T6v 686VTa); at Frogs. 815 we find similar wording though without the explicit mention of a boar.

24 Marchesi 2005 analyzes the relationship between fables and Roman satire. Among her central arguments are the claims that "the strategies through which fable [in Roman satire] proves its new status preserve traces of the past it purports to hide" and that even within the confines of Horatian and Petronian satire "something of its past has clung to fable and that some measure of uneasiness accompanies the language of fable in its literary peregrinations" (308).

25 In addition to Hesiod (Erga 109-201), whose famous version contains five generations, Ovid had four generations (gold, silver, bronze, and iron, Met. 1.89-150), and Aratus (100-36) and

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Babrius become the gatekeepers of fables that offer us our only glimpse of that Edenic era. " Wise old Aesop" (15) is cast as a well-intentioned story teller, and Babrius does seem to be concerned primarily with the most elegant aspects of his poetry as he prepares his poetical honeycomb. And yet Babrius' mention of Aesop's "free Muse" (16) recalls the bold and even obstreperous manner of speaking that characterized the Aesop of legend. And with the last line of the first prologue Babrius goes out of his way to remind us of the hardness and bitterness of the meter that he claims to hold in check.

In the second prologue, too, Aesop appears as "the wise" (5), suggesting that these stories are fundamentally pedagogical and exemplary. The first prologue advertises that "you can learn" (µ6601s &v, 14), and the second compares Babrius' rivals to failed students (µa66vTES ou5~v, 12).26

So while it is certainly true that Babrius is deeply concerned with the artistry of his poems, his prologues preserve some of the traditional ethical and efficacious dimensions of the fable. His narrative fiction is that he has provided his patron with the raw material of ethical critique, which the future ruler (and all readers) can learn to apply to any situation. And beyond the typical school exercise of adapting fables to specific circumstances, Babrius' prince can use this collection to experience the last traces of Golden Age perfection, he can learn that he lives in a world that has devolved from its original harmonious fecundity, and he can find in Babrius himself a modern-day Aesop ready to guide and advise a future ruler. This new Aesop, however, is not the debased slave of old but an elegant literary artist. With Babrius, the fable and the fabulist have become respectable, though such emergent status never completely leaves

its humbler roots behind.27

A major element in this new respectability has to do with Babrius' meter. He clearly understands something of the choliamb's disreputable past, but it is difficult to determine the extent to which he associated the meter with Hipponax. Degani found only one clear Babrian allusion to a fragment of Hipponax, but if Hipponax himself is not obviously a direct and major influence, Babrius' denials of the choliambic bite look back to Callimachus'

Antipater of Thessalonica (AP 5.31) had three (gold, silver, and bronze), as did Horace, who made the unusual move of using this progression as a closural device (gold, bronze, iron, Epod. 16.64-67). Babrius' sequence of gold-silver-iron is, to my knowledge, unique.

26 Thus recalling the language Callimachus' Iambus 13, fr. 203.13-14 = 65-66. 27 Marchesi 2005 argues that Latin animal fables always retain and are marginalized because of

their connections with slave status and slave language.


claim that his choliambic Iambi no longer resound with the Battles of Bupalus (Iambus 1.1-4).28 So even if, unlikely as it is, Babrius had never read a single word of Hipponax, he clearly knew Callimachus' Iambi well enough to have encountered Callimachus' Hipponax.29 But whereas Callimachus embraces Hipponax with a caveat, Babrius coaxes us to ignore any Hipponactean influence whatsoever. Similarly to what I have argued about Ovid in Chapter l, then, Babrius urges us to believe that his project has nothing to do with the iambic tradition and that any chance overlap (Babrius' meter, Ovid's fury) no longer generates traction. In his Ibis Ovid had paired rage worthy of iambos with a non-iambic meter and threatened that his next poem would be truly iambic. Babrius effectively does the opposite in calling attention to his aggressive meter while declaring any aggressive associations to be a thing of the past.

The choliambic fables in Callimachus' Iambi provide obvious and relevant models for Babrius' royal patron. Allusions to various Callimachean themes and images pepper Babrius' articulation of his poetic plan, beginning with the figure of Branchus (1.2), who virtually amounts to a Callimachean calling card, appearing in both Iambus 4 and the so-called "Branchus" poem (fr. 229 Pf.).30 Moreover, the larger strategy of using the choliambic form and a fable narrative as a vehicle for rediscovering a lost theriolingual age recalls Iambus 2. That poem begins by taking us back to a time when animals could speak and describes how that Edenic past came to an end, thus mirroring Babrius' opening gambit. According to the Diegesis, Callimachus tells of an embassy to Zeus that included the Swan's request to be freed from old age and the Fox's complaint that Zeus did not wield his power with justice.31 The extant portion of the poem relates that Zeus responded by depriving animals of their voices and includes what seems to be Callimachus' comment that although Zeus is just, he was not

28 Degani 1984, 76-77, discusses Hipp. fr. 48W/52 Dg. 29 Morgan 2010, 119-20, suggests that the choliambic meter always "seems to demand that the

poet who employs it orient himself vis-a-vis Hipponax, so close is the identification of the iambist with his signature medium."

30 It has often been supposed that fr. 229 may have been part of Callimachus' Iambi, on the premise that the collection contained seventeen, rather than thirteen, poems. The most recent advocate of this position is Lelli 2005. For my purposes, the position of Acosta-Hughes 2003 is more relevant, namely that Callimachus' original arrangement probably encouraged a close association between the Iambi and frr. 226-29 regardless of whether or not they were, strictly speaking, included as part of the former. We cannot know with any certainty, therefore, whether or not Babrius would have read "Branch us" as part of his Callimachean book of iamboi.

31 Acosta-Hughes 2002, 175-82, provides an important discussion of this fable (including the version preserved by Philo that seems to derive from Callirnachus) and its role in Iambus 2.

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ruling justly (8iKa1os 6 [Ze]us, ou 8iKa1[a] ~)' aicrvµv~c..;>v, fr. 192.6). As the Fox speaks to Zeus about justice in a fable set within an iambic poem, it is impossible not to be reminded of Archilochus' epode against Lycambes

that included an Archilochean Fox praying to Zeus and invoking his concern for justice (frr. 172-81). The Swan, on the other hand, recalls

associations with Apollo elsewhere in Callimachus' poetry.32 In these passages Callimachus picks up on earlier associations between the Swan and high-register poetry or even the poet himself, and after the Hellenistic

age the Swan was regularly associated with figures such as Anacreon and Plato.33 So although we must be careful not to rely too heavily on

the Diegesis, we can suggest with some confidence that Callimachus' fable set up a metapoetic and stylistic contrast between the iambic Fox and the hymnic or lyrical Swan. Such a contrast, of course, parallels Callimachus' own project of, more narrowly, adapting low-register iambos and fable to

the needs of Alexandrian literary criticism and, more broadly, polyeideia, the combination of various generic and stylistic effects. This interpretation finds support in the way that Callimachus concludes Iambus 2 with a

spray of ad hominem quips about which person received which animal's voice - Eudemus now barks lil<e a dog, Philton brays like an ass, etc. One type of animal voice can now be heard from the mouth of a human who

corresponds in some way to that animal, but Callimachus emerges as the master of all of these voices, all of these poetic registers. For Babrius then, Iambus 2 not only provides a model of a choliambic fable that deals with

movement from verbal to mute animals, but it also serves as an example of how registers can be combined. Babrius' meter, his fabular material, and his Hesiodic-didactic tone, all need to be carefully immured into his

overall poetic elegance and polish. In pairing a Hesiodic myth of metals with echoes of Iambus 2, Babrius

also activates an old poetic debate about the workings of Justice. As Steiner has recently shown, the issue of justice is central to Callimachus'

reworking of fabular themes in both Hesiod (where 8iKTJ exists among men but not among animals, Erga 276-80) and Archilochus fr. 177

(where Zeus is said to be concerned with the 8!KTJ of men and animals).34

Particularly in Babrius' description of the men of the Golden Age as

32 Ger. 3-5, Dian. 249-54, Ia. 4, fr. 194. 46-48, and, on the reconstruction of Hopkinson 1988, 15-16 and 98, at Aet. fr. 1.39-40.

33 For the Swan as poet: Eur. H.F. 691 and Bacch. 1361; Posidipp. in AP 2.48. For further references, especially about Anacreon and Plato, see Thompson 1936, 107.

34 Steiner 2010, especially 103. The personified Dike plays a prominent role in Aratus' myth of metals ( 100-36).


8iKaio1 (Prol. 1.1 - the same word Callimachus had used to describe Zeus in Ia. 2), this ongoing discussion of the nature of Justice enters into Babrius' collection. These allusions further articulate his own poetic stance and afford his fables a voice in the grandest possible debates about the working of the cosmos and, writ somewhat smaller, the authority of

earthly rulers who rely on Zeus' favor. 35 We may even catch Babrius absorbing himself into the Callimachean Aesop, since our fragment

of Iambus 2 ends with a performative oxymoron that simultaneously depicts Aesop as speaking (e!mv, 16) and singing his fables (t;x8ovTa

µ06ov, 17) whereas Babrius bookends his second prologue with the words µ06os (1) and &ei8w (16).36 Babrius too will (at least claim to) sing

the traditionally spoken narratives of Aesopic fable. The transition between Aesop beginning to sing and Babrius singing Aesop suggests that the fabulist has become rather lil<e a Muse for the poet.37 Whereas

epic could turn to the goddess for inspiration that allows the bard to transcend space and time, choliambic fables rely on the figure of Aesop to provide such mediation.

These evocations of Iambus 2 (insofar as they were recognized) may

have created more interference than clarity for Babrius' patron, since they suggest that the powerful need to follow Zeus' lead in suppressing uprisings harshly, but they also preserve echoes of the poet's disagreement with Zeus's judgment. For both Callimachus and Babrius, therefore, Iambus 2

may have opened a space for the poet to speak his mind (his eAev6epa

Movcra) to a powerful figure while mitigating any fear of punishment. Callimachus can let Ptolemy draw his own conclusions about how close the similarities might be between divine and Ptolemaic power, and this merely follows the traditional fabular narrative pattern of placing the onus of interpretation and analysis onto the fabulist's audience. For Babrius' patron, therefore, the line of sight that connects Callimachus' poem with

Babrius' collection raises similar interpretative cruces. Babrius takes on the role of the Alexandrian court poet and thus fosters a positive image of patronage as a model for his own situation (an image that remains

powerful even if one were to suppose that Babrius' rather flimsy patrons

35 Call. Jov. 78-82 asserts that "kings are from Zeus" and that the god grants authority to earthly rulers and watches closely over their judgments.

36 Lowrie 2009 begins her monumental work by considering the tension inherent in Vergil's arma virumque cano. Vergil wrote his epic and did not sing it. Lowrie returns to this crux again and -again throughout her book as she teases out the implications of this gambit.

37 Acosta-Hughes and Scodel 2004, 13, suggested that Callimachus effectively turned Aesop into an Alexandrian poet (as is also made clear in their title: "Aesop Poeta").

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serve as literary foils and did not actually exist) but also preserves space for his own independence and critical perspectives. Furthermore, the end of Iambus 2 teaches Babrius' readers to recognize the imprint of the Golden Age on our own world. As is always the case with fable material, but is made pointedly clear in Iambus 2, careful attention to animal traits and behaviors can help explain contemporary human society through a fabular "theriognomy." Issues such as these, which are not overtly articulated in Babrius' verse, sneak in on the Callimachean intertextual guy-ropes Babrius has used to support his poetic edifice.

In his description of the Golden Age, which seems to allude to Callimachus' Iambus 2, Babrius notes that even the leaves of the Laurel could speak (9), but curiously no extant Babrian fable includes such a character. We can assume, then, given the other Callimachean touches, that Babrius includes this detail as a reference to "The Olive, the Laurel and the Bramble" found in Callimachus' Iambus 4. And if we reread that poem from Babrius' perspective, that fable too comes from a long-lost era. Iambus 4, which supposedly used its fable as a foil through which to recast an argument between Callimachus, a rival, and a poseur, has received a torrent of attention in recent years.38 What runs through all of the readings, however, is a clear emphasis on the role of the fable in articulating intellectual hierarchies and class distinctions. Babrius' clarion allusions to this poem through his references to Branchus and the talking Laurel thus suggest not only that Iambus 4 can be used as a key for understanding Babrius' fables but also that such matters of hierarchies and ethics will be of central importance as well. It is in Iambus 4 that we find three elements that reappear in Babrius: the highly wrought choliambic fable that shows no clear signs of either Cynic appropriation or a degraded narrator, the previously unattested fable of "the Laurel, the Olive and the Bramble," to which Babrius surely alludes, and the use of a top-down fable in an iambic mode. This last point deserves particularly careful consideration, given the rarity of top-down fables in any ancient era. Hesiod's fable

38 Edmunds 2001 reads Callimachus' Laurel as the rejected voice of Hipponactean poetics. Acosta-Hughes 2002, 152-204, discusses both of Callimachus' iambic fables, and analyzes the Olive as the voice of Callimachean poetics and the Bramble as the parallel for. Callimachus' addressee. Lelli 2004, 60-78, views the Olive and the Laurel as representatives of the styles of Callimachus and Apollonius respectively, while the Bramble represents a traditionalist who rejects Alexandrian innovations. Rosen 2007b, 195-206, argues that the Bramble's interruption of the two trees represents its transgression into the community of literary scholars (as represented by the two nobler trees). And Konstan and Landrey 2008 argue that Bramble represents the Callimachean voice of conciliation between squabbling pedants (relying, in part, on a nice pun between ~chos, "bramble," and the name of Callimachus' father, Battos.


of "The Hawk and the Nightingale" is top-down, but it is also presented as a negative exemplum. These two unusual manipulations of a fable effectively cancel each other out and leave us with something very similar to the standard use of a bottom-up fable as a positive exemplum (i.e., "don't behave like the more powerful figure[s] in this tale"). In Callimachus' Iambus 4, however, the fable serves as a top-down positive exemplum. That is to say that the fable works from the top to maintain the power and status of the elite characters against those of lower standing. While the Olive and the Laurel are surely interested in besting each other, they show a strongly united front against the upstart Bramble, who, according to the Diegesis, represents either a snub-nosed ( c11µ6s) Thracian or a certain Simos who behaves like a Thracian (i.e., barbarously).

The ethical orientation of Callimachus' fable, now a tool of the Alexandrian literary elite to be used against outsiders and upstarts, becomes all the more surprising because of the suspicion that the person represented by the Bramble has certain Aesopic shadowings. The Bramble represents someone of low-status who tries to interfere with those who are of nobler lineage and who wield greater power, and this adheres to the typical pattern of Aesopic behavior as evidenced clearly throughout the Life of Aesop but also in Callimachus' Iambus 2, which mentions Aesop's fateful trip to Delphi. The person represented by the Bramble is also ugly, since even if the word cr1µ6s should be taken as a proper name it would certainly be understood as a derogatory speaking name (i.e., Mr. Snubnose). The negative aesthetic implications of cr1µ6s, too, tie the Bramble to Aesop, as well as to Socrates.39 Furthermore, Aesop was most often known as a Thracian (or a Phrygian), and here the Bramble is either Thracian or he behaves like one. It is quite possible, then, that just as Callimachus has created a new form of Hipponactean iambos in his collection, so too he has developed a new brand of fable that rejects the traditional trappings of Aesop (who was, at any rate, killed off at the end of Iambus 2). Similarly, Babrius shows little interest in the degraded Aesop and describes him only as old and wise, though again the reference to Aesop's "free Muse" (Prol. 1.16) may sound a more discordant note. So in addition to the other points of contact, Babrius seems largely to follow Callimachus' implicit rejection of the debased Aesop's discourse strategies in Iambus 4, though without silencing Aesop's boisterousness altogether.

39 Acosta-Hughes 2002, 194, discusses the Hellenistic use of the word simos and calls Socrates "the original simos".

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As important as Callimachus is for Babrius, other Hellenistic adaptations of iambic poetics had also highlighted the possibilities of harnessing the choliambic meter to ethical 'ontent. Phoenix of Colophon, a rough contemporary of Callimachus; and Cercidas of Megalopolis, who wrote somewhat later, both exemplify this trend, and their moralizing themes are sharpened by their meter's old reputation. But the most important example of the Hellenistic choliamb put to ethical use appears in a choliambic epigram by Theocritus (13 GP = 19 Gow= AP 13.3):40

6 µoucroTIOIOS ev6a5' 'ITITIWVa~ KElTaJ.

el µev Tl"OVT)pos, µfi Trpocrepxeu T0 TUµf3Cjl'

el 5' ecrcri Kpfiyu6s TE Kai Trapa XPTJCYTWV,

6apcrewv Ka6l~eu, K~v 6e/rns <'m6f3p1~ov.

Here lies the poet Hipponax.

If you're a scoundrel, don't approach the tomb;

but if you are honest and from worthy stock,

take courage, sit and, if you like, fall asleep.

Gone are the debaucheries, the ugliness, and the anger. The original choliambist now judges the souls of the living in order to distinguish the Trovripoi from the better sorts. Many years earlier, Euripides had characters such as Medea and Hippolytus lament the impossibility of recognizing whether someone is base or noble, but Theocritus has transformed the most abjectly Trovrip6s poet into the touchstone of ethical character. This poem presents a strange inversion of the typical workings of the Underworld. There, the famously virtuous figures of Minos and Rhadymanthus evaluate the souls of the dead and determine their fates in the afterlife; here on earth, however, it is the wretched Hipponax who serves a similar function. Theocritus' epigram thus challenges us to consider conflicting interpretative paths. On the one hand, the image of Hipponax scaring off the Trovripoi while welcoming the just may be amusing or ridiculous, rather like the besotted Polyphemus singing the blues over Galatea. On the other hand, however, if we understand the iambist's rage as rising to full spate over a violation of just behavior, Theocritus' Hipponax (much like Callimachus' Hipponax at the beginning of the Iambi) may offer a serious and powerful vantage point on the complexities of Justice in the imperfect land of the living.

40 On this epigram, see Rossi 2001, ad loc., and Rosen 2007a, 469-71, who responds to Rossi's argument that it was intended to correct misconceptions about Hipponax.


In addition to the Hellenistic precedent for choliambic fable and choliambic moralizing, various Hellenistic characterizations of iambos swirl around Babrius' description of (what is absent from) his poetry. In the last line of his first prologue, he describes iambos as Tr!Kp6s, "bitter," and at the end of his second prologue he claims to have softened the KEVTpa, "sting" of his choliambs. Both terms are iambic buzzwords that often combine with or imply a comparison to wasps. Callimachus said that Archilochus "drew in the dog's pungent (6~us, a virtual synonym for mKp6s) bile and the wasp's sting" (fr. 380 Pf.); Leonidas of Tarentum (3rd century BCE) described Hipponax as a bitter wasp (mKpos uqii]~,

AP 7.408.2); Gaetulicus (d. 37 CE) claimed that Archilochus was the first to dip his pen in the Bitter Muse (mKpi] MoOua, AP 7.71); Philip of Thessaloniki, whose Garland was assembled about 60 CE, warned passersby not to rouse the dead Hipponax, whom he calls "the sleeping wasp" (AP 7.405.4). The jargon about the bitter sting of iambos was thus both standardized and deeply entrenched by the time Babrius composed his fables, and his rejection of this language creates the friction of a praeteritio, since his denials keep these words and ideas squarely in our focus.41 Such standardized language allows a poet to announce his interest in iambic poetics and then create a new twist. In Babrius' case, the conclusions to his two prologues stretch the range of associations implied by these bitter and stinging wasps into a radical opposition between wild savagery and domesticated productivity. They also move from an emphasis on the localized power of individuals and their graves in the sepulchral epigrams to a concern for the nature and potency of a meter itself, for poetics rather than poets.

As the weight of Babrius' models makes a straightforward reading of his allegedly innocent program increasingly difficult to maintain, we can find in these passages a nod to another character, loosely associated with both fables and iambos and who was devilishly difficult to pin down: Socrates. Babrius' emphasis on his metrical innovations to Aesopic tales situates him as a follower of the Platonic Socrates who versified fables as he awaited execution. The fables presented by Hesiod and Archilochus were, of course, in meter, and Aesop is often referred to as a poet in discussions

41 We know next to nothing about Callimachus' Grapheion (a hardly believable title that may have confused a tidbit that came "from Callimachus' pen" with something "from Callimachus' Pen"), from which fr. 380 Pf. derives, but it may be important that these other sources are all epigrams. The bitter sting of iambos as remembered in these poems may fit particularly well with poetic short form, which puts great emphasis on sharp wit. Babrius may thus be drawing his typically brief fables into the realm of epigrammatic styling.

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of early Greek literature.42 Kurke, however, argues persuasively that by the classical era Aesopic lore was associated specifically with prose. She adduces, in particular, Herodotus' description of Aesop as a 'Aoyono16s,

"prose-writer" (2.134) and Plato's image of Socrates evTelvas Taus Tou

Alcrwnou Myous, "setting Aesopic tales to verse" (Phd. 60d). As discussed above, Kurke reads this scene in the Phaedo as a profound transition in terms of Plato's manipulation of literary decorum and filiation in order to create a space for his new style of mimetic philosophical prose.43

The evocations of Socrates in Babrius' verses, therefore, similarly announce a stylistic innovation with ethical implications.

Especially in the second prologue, Babrius emphasizes that he is the first to adorn Aesopic lore in his particular way, though it is not clear what exactly he means. On a historical level, Babrius may have been the first to have composed a verse anthology of fables (or at least to have done so in Greek). Perry's interpretation of the last lines of the first prologue certainly supports this reading, since he renders the phrase Tfjs e'Aeu6epTJs µoucrTJs (16) as "in the free manner of prose." His translation thus implies that Babrius was working from a prose edition of Aesop, a claim that Adrados summarily rejects in favor of a more narrowly metrical interpretation.44 Yet surely the most important implication of this e'Aeu6epa Moucra is that Aesop was regularly remembered as having been a slave who later became free (e.g. Vita G, 90; in the sections leading up to Aesop's manumission in this text, there is a remarkable density of words relating to e'Aeu6epia).45 It is even possible that Babrius' e'Aeu6epa Moucra, who appears in an iambic meter and in a discussion of iambic poetics, recalls Ovid's threat about his liber iambus, "unrestrained iambus" (Ib. 53). Particularly since Babrius is usually assumed to be of Italian descent, a reference to Ovid's "free iambus" may return here as a "free Muse" who regulates iambic themes. The stylistic issue that Perry and Adrados differently emphasize emerges more poignantly with this detail in mind, since in thinking about the early career of the legendary Aesop we are also reminded that he was also supposedly born mute. When Babrius describes Aesop "speaking" his

42 Nagy 1979, 279-90; Compton 2006, 19. 43 See n. 12. . 44 Adrados 1999-2003, I 597: "The 'free muse' that [Perry] attributes to Aesop in the first

prologue undoubtedly refers to the freer metre of the fabulistic choliamb of the Hellenistic Age; it is not prose .. ,"

45 Aristotle depicts Aesop on Samos arguing a case on behalf of a demagogue and thus implies that Aesop won his freedom at some point (Rhet. 2.1393a-b). Herodotus suggests the same, though more obliquely, in his account of the Delphians paying compensation for the death of Aesop to the grandson of Aesop's master, Iadmon (2.134).


fables (Alcrwnou µu6ous cpp6:craVTos, 1.15-16), therefore, we can recognize the transformational power of fabular speech. Aesop, who originally was not able to speak at all, does so. His voice is freed so that he may speak freely, and in most cases his words describe a lost world in which animals, who are now mute, can speak. And when fables, now spoken by any author or symposiast, are aptly chosen and presented in just the right context, Aesopic speech continues to transform the world by helping audiences see the realities of social relationships and abuses of power dynamics in a new light. Yet for all this miraculous attraction of Aesop's tales, Babrius clearly boasts of his own stylistic and formal innovations. In the first prologue he claims to have "garlanded each of those fables with my own recollections" (vOv EKOO"TOV av6icras eµfi µviJµn, 17) and in the second prologue he vaunts that his fables are in a "new poetic style" (ven µoucrn, 6).46

And perhaps just as importantly, after all the words of speaking in these two prologues, Babrius concludes by trumpeting his ability to sing. In terms of both literary history and Aesopic biography, Babrius has broadened the horizons of fabular speech with his own e'Aeu6epa Moucra.

Whatever Babrius has done, he expects that we will notice some sort of artistic transformation to the traditional Aesopic fable. And although Callimachus' presentation of fables in his Iambi was certainly innovative, the most important moment in ancient literature of an author calling attention to his formal reworking of Aesopic tales is surely the scene in Plato's Phaedo (60c-62c).47 Awaiting execution and eager to fulfill his last obligations to this world, Socrates heeds a command given to him in dreams to "make music." Unsure of what exactly this means and downplaying his own poetic skill (he coyly claims not to be µu6o'AoytK6s

immediately after inventing a fable about Pleasure and Pain), he composes a hymn to Apollo and sets to verse some Aesopic fables (6lb):

5Ja TauTa 5i\ oOs irpoxelpous eTxov µu0ous Kai fim0Taµ11v Tous Alcrwirou, TOVTwv

E1Tol11cra ots 1TpWTOIS ev1fruxov.

And so, from those Aesopic tales that I had at hand and knew I set to verse the

ones that came to me first.

This passage may (but does not certainly) imply that Socrates had a book of fables from which he was worldng, but here Plato clearly draws our attention to some formal transformation of these fables. Acosta-Hughes

46 This "new Muse" probably recalls Timotheus' Moucrn veoTeuxii~ (Pers. 216). 47 Kurke 2006. Adrados 1999-2003, I 244, opines that Socrates set these fables specifically to an

iambic meter.

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and Scodel have noted that Callimachus later took up this Platonic tease and actually composed the sort of fable that Plato describes.48 So it could be imagined that Babrius was looking more to Callimachus than the Platonic Socrates in this case. But although Callimachus may well have taken a cue from Plato, he does not bray about his creativity on this point as openly as do Babrius and the Platonic Socrates. So even though no signs of a specific verbal allusion to Plato exist here, an important connection emerges between what Socrates did in the Phaedo and what Babrius claims for his own poetry in both of his prologues.49

By claiming to be the first to present fables in a fresh guise, Babrius gives a nod to the Platonic Socrates and thereby opens his collection to a transformational agenda. The unprepossessing Socrates preached a new perspective on the world in language that was as humble as that of an Aesopic fable, and he sought to spark a new awareness of a reality beyond the sensible world around us; Babrius' fables, which derive from the Golden Age dawn of humanity, offer a historicizing alternative to Platonic metaphysics. Both modes direct our minds elsewhere and promise profound insights. Intriguingly, both also realize that not everyone will understand their messages properly. Babrius tells Branchus (the Milesian seer of this name was a favorite of Apollo, like Socrates and Aesop) that he can learn {µa601s &v, Prol. 1.14) from the wisdom of Aesop, but later laments that some readers have learned nothing more than how to copy him (µa66VTES ou8h n?.e!ov fi 'µE y1vc.0crKe1v, Prol. 2.12), much as Plato shows an awareness that some of the companions of Socrates, such as Critias and Alcibiades, never truly understood and absorbed the lessons of philosophy. The important difference here is that while Socrates becam~ a thorn in the side of the Athenian governing establishment, Babrius aligns himself with such power. The "free Muse" of Babrius' Aesop may have inspired a style of speech that could speak truth to power, but Babrius dissociates himself from any such extremity by concluding his first prologue by transitioning away from Aesop's freedom and toward his own stylistic and aesthetic flourishes. In terms of ethics, Babrius constructs his collection of fables in a manner that accords well with elite tastes and sensibilities. His fables in effect reverse the Cynic appropriation of fables as

48 Acosta-Hughes and Scodel 2004, 7-8, and esp. 10, where they discuss Callimachus' association of Aesop with Socrates.

49 Gera 2003, 18-37, draws Plato and Babrius together in terms of their contrasting approaches to

Golden Age language. She reads Babrius' prologues against the description of Kronos' reign in

Politicus 269a-274e (as well as noting the fabular aspects of Socrates' tale at X. Mem. 2.17.3).

Preconditioning an iambic reading of Babrius' fables

outlined by Adrados. Babrius has removed the fable from the world of the picaresque and made it safe to be handled by the lilces of his royal patron.


If I am correct that, despite Babrius' beguiling promises to have made his meter safe, the iambic mode does influence his collection as a whole, then we must be able to discern some such impact among the fables themselves. In many ways, the main impediment to an iambic reading of these fables derives from the formal conditions of Babrius' anthology. Whereas individual fable-exempla had regularly been used in earlier literature as part of verbal attacks rooted in or similar to an iambic mode, those aggressive strategies depended on embedding the fable in a context that directed our attention toward the speaker's rival and provided a key for reading the fable within that personal and unique context. Thus, as Irwin has shown, Archilochus' version of "The Fox and the Eagle" encapsulates his legendary encounter with Lycambes.50 Lycambes' elevated age and social status are reflected in the Eagle's ability to fly above the Fox; the strife between the two men is replayed as an association between two animals that was doomed from the start; the key issue of the broken marriage arrangement returns in the fable's emphasis on offspring, the natural and expected product of any ancient marriage. It is important to note that in isolation this fable does not demand such a reading. Rather, we construct this reading only in the context of Archilochus' framing narrative and the accretions of later traditions about him.

In Babrius' collection, we are given no such contexts for his fables. We can imagine them, of course, and indeed the people who later provided morals for many of the fables were doing precisely this when they noted that a particular fable could be directed at a particular type of person or used in a specific type of situation. But without any contextualizing clues, we must find the iambic mode in different ways. In order to demonstrate a significant influence of the iambic mode in Babrius' collection I will proceed along several lines of thought moving from general reading strategies to specific passages.

On the first and broadest level of analysis, the role of fables throughout the history of the classical world would predispose ancient readers to

so Irwin 1998. Cp. Bowie 2008, 137-39.

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supply or imagine something like an iambic context for Babrius' fables. In contrast with the modern world, where fables are primarily known as clever moralizing or aetiological tales for children, the most famous literary examples of fables for Babrius' audience came from texts such as Hesiod's chastisement of Perses in Works and Days or Archilochus' savaging of Lycambes or any number of similarly low, satirical, or aggressive examples drawn from Socratic literature or humorous poetry. Although Babrius was not the first to create a repository of fables, his audience probably understood the fable as the raw material of verbal or literary confrontations closely tied to iambic poetics.

In addition to this literary pedigree, fables were also frequently used as school exercises. Theon (Prag. 3, 2.72-78 Spengel; cf. Demetrius, Bloc. 157-58; Quint. 1.9.2) describes the manner in which students were expected to be able to manipulate fables in various ways including . the creation of a suitable context for an appropriate delivery of a particular fable. That is to say that beyond the importance of obvious allusions or potential intertextual connections, the educated elite would be specifically skilled at imagining an apt social context for delivering

any given fable. 51

The techniques learned in school and observed in famous works of literature could be put to use in sympotic contexts where one observed a certain decorum and was expected to be ready to display one's wits within a group of people bound to each other by ties of friendship: Although the evidence is uncertain for the classical era, from which time we must look to the dubious case of Aristophanes' Wasps or perhaps "Aristophanes"' speech in Plato's Symposium (neither of which offers unimpeachable evidence about real sympotic practice), by later antiquity we have ample testimony that fables were common fare at symposia. 52

They could be included or alluded to in skolia, comradely drinking songs, offered as pure fun, or used as gentle and genteel admonitions to proper behavior. At this most general level, then, the fables in Babrius' collection lent themselves to imagined social scenarios in which one could raise a laugh (good natured or derisive) by directing just the right fable at

someone else. A second and more focused analysis derives from Adrados' claim (one

of the main arguments of his monumental study of the ancient fable) that

51 Van Dijk 1997, 77-78, briefly discusses the role of fable in schools; Fisher 1991 covers this topic

in detail for the period from antiquity to the nineteenth century. 52 Zafiropoulos 2001, 18, collects this evidence.


during the Hellenistic period Cynics took over the fable and made it their own. 53 The history and typical narrative structure of the fable lent itself to this sect's philosophical principles, since fables had most often been told by speakers who did not embrace (or who were forcibly excluded from the privilege of) elite values and pretentions. Fabular narratives provided a mechanism for these speakers to send a didactic low-register message, and when Cynics turned their interest to fables and choliambic fables in particular, they matched their rejection of high-society values with humble narratives and the lowliest poetic form.

Adrados' thesis has two important implications for how a particular audience reads fables. First, by inserting themselves into the tradition of fable-writers, the Cynics made themselves Aesopic. That is to say, they embraced and valorized the low-register social standing of the speaker of fables and thereby provided a traditional set of associations for their philosophical movement. Cynics did not fall short of social and behavioral norms; rather, they were now like Aesop and Socrates in claiming the true high-ground by taking up what most people would assume to be the inferior position. In the Introduction, I suggested that archaic audiences very probably recognized a distinction between the iambists themselves and their poetic personas and that this distinction was part of the pleasure of an iambic performance. Cynic authors, however, seem to have aimed at collapsing that distinction inasmuch as their philosophy urged them to adopt precisely the low-register practices typical among iambic personas. Secondly, these authors also provided the fable with a new and much more radical social force than it had had in the archaic era. Hesiod and Archilochus, for example, present fables (that at least pose) as a mechanism for righting wrongs and defending the already existing boundaries of social interactions. If Archilochus transgressed social norms, the result of his transgressions was to underline the proper boundary that figures such as Lycambes should never have crossed. For Cynics, however, a fable could now provide a rallying cry to reject elite values altogether, in their attempt to create a new normative model rather than simply rectify a violation of the status quo. Adrados' theory points to a fundamental turning point in the history of the ancient fable, and it hinges on a particular audience transforming the traditional associations of the literary form as well as their own habits of reading (and hearing) fables. So just as the ancient educational and sympotic norms demonstrate that an audience could

53 Adrados 1999-2003, I 538-49 and 604-34.

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readily imagine a social scenario in which to articulate a fable, so. too the Cynic appropriation of the fable shows that the entire genre could come to be understood in a wholly new light.

When we turn to Babrius, we find another type of appropriation, namely the valorization of the fable as a polished and respectable literary genre. Unlike Phaedrus, for example, who tells of the Athenians erecting a statue of Aesop and thereby putting a slave on a pedestal (2.9), Babrius never refers to the low or servile origins of his material, and he gives no hint of being in any way degraded himself. When he mentions Aesop, Babrius pays him the honor of twice calling him "wise" (crncp6s, Prol. 1.15, Prol. 2.5) without saying anything about his famously ugly appearance or low social, status (except, by implication, in his mention of Aesop's eA.evOepa Moucra,

Prol. 1.15, a claim from which Babrius, however disingenuously, immediately distances himself). Holzberg has even suggested an interpretation of one fable that allows it to aspire to epic standing. If he is correct that Fable 95, "The Lion, the Fox, and the Deer" (= Perry 336), can be read as a fable-epyllion, then Babrius has brought together the antipodes of the Greek generic spectrum.54 Babrius' claims to have controlled and mitigated the associations of the choliambic meter, then, can be under-' stood as part of his larger project of gentrifying the fable by elevating the style of the narratives and the status of the narrator. And this stylistic elevation of the fable is deeply connected to Babrius' interest in the poetry of Callimachus, especially the fables included in his Iambi. If Babrius has brought the fable and the traditionally harsh choliamb into a more refined and mannered era, then we should not be surprised to find that the ethical tone of his fables, too, has departed from both the Cynic pattern discussed by Adrados and the earlier mode typified by Archilochean iambos, Aristophanic comedy, and Socratic prose.

While it appears that Babrius has provided a new totalizing (i.e., encyclopedic, non-Cynic, artful, allusive) approach to fables, he also owes a significant debt to Callimachus. From the very notion of choliambic fables to specific details, such as the speaking Laurel and the conflation of elegant stylistic features with low-register content, we can see traces of his Alexandrian model. On the argument that Babrius has crafted a collection of choliambic fables that demands a post-Callimachean reading,

54 Holzberg 2002, 58. This fable has an interesting history before Babrius. Its narrative pattern is worked into both Solon fr. 11, reproaching the Athenians about the establishment of Pisistratus' tyranny, and Herodotus' account of Maeandrius trying to establish isonomia on Samos after the fall of Polycrates (3.143). Both passages are discussed by Kurke 2010, 153-56 and 412-13.

. I


we might well expect that the overall ethical tenor of his fables would follow the pattern of Callimachus' Iambus 4. On one level this is surely not the case, since many of the fables in Babrius' collection follow the traditional pattern of lowly or powerless creatures getting an advantage over the mighty. Fable 107 (= Perry 150), for example, tells the famous story of the Mouse who convinces a Lion to spare him and later saves the Lion's life by gnawing through a net in which the powerful creature was trapped. The tiniest and seemingly least significant animal proves its worth by preserving the life of the lordliest beast in the ancient imagination.

Cheek by jowl with such predictable examples, Babrius' collection preserves a striking number of narratives that exemplify the opposite ethical position. Fable 67 (= Perry 339) offers a clear example of this top-down mode: a Lion and a Wild Ass agree to become hunting partners, but once they have killed their prey the Lion divides the spoils into three portions, one for himself as king of all animals, a second for himself as an equal partner with the Ass, and a final portion over which the two animals will contend if the Ass does not relinquish his claim to it. The mighty can use force to take whatever they want even in the face of any agreements they might previously have struck with those below them. In the Codex Athous, which contains the one hundred and twenty-two fables that have the best claim to being authentic compositions of Babrius, I count more than thirty fables that are clearly top-down as opposed to no more than twenty-five that obviously follow the bottom-up pattern (with the rest conforming to neither simple pattern). While it is certainly possible that these top-down fables could be put to use as negative exempla, as in Hesiod, such a pattern is the exception rather than the rule throughout the ancient history of the fable.

For several reasons, we should be careful not to put too much weight on such evidence, but with a bit of caution I think that we can, nevertheless, recognize that Babrius' collection is not attuned primarily to the perspective of a degraded speaker. Rather, Babrius has opened the fable's application to a wider range of ethical moods and keys. Whereas iambic genres had long used fables in the service of rectifying breaches in social decorum and the Cynics had, on Adrados' thesis, commandeered the same narrative form as a mechanism for transforming social values altogether, Babrius weakens the connection between the rhetorical force of the iambic mode and the traditionally degraded or scurrilous posturing of the iambic speaker. That is to say, Babrius' collection invites us to imagine the iambic mode, at least at times, being used in the service of the powerful against the weak. Again, this is not, in itself, new. Callimachus had already

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used a top-down narrative to banish the person represented by. the Bramble in Iambus 4. What has changed is that Babrius has elaborated upon this pattern and given it at least as much emphasis as the traditional bottom-up model (if not more).

This interpretation, in turn, suggests a new set of implications in Babrius' prologues. In those lines he repeatedly claims to have controlled and tempered the force of iambos. It may be, however, that such messages relate to an ethical adaptation of the iambic fable to new contexts in addition to an overall reduction of the violence and anger typically associated with iambos. This ethical reorientation would be an understandable shift in composing iambic fables for the likes of Babrius' dedicatees. If, as Holzberg has argued, the Branchus to whom the first prologue is dedicated is the son of the second prologue's "King Alexander,"55 then such an elite character surely would expect a literary presentation that was free of the squalid old associations of iambos and Aesopic fable. Similarly, whether the "son of King Alexander" in the second prologue is a historical figure or not, we might assume that this royal prince would anticipate something more up-scale than Archilochean fable. Babrius' authorial control, then, provides the refinement necessary to present these rough literary modes (the iambike idea, the choliambic meter, and the fable) as suitable gifts to such patrons. Even in this case, however, we need not imagine that the iambic sting or bite has been removed completely. As Babrius himself reminds us in his second prologue, iambic rebukes are still needed for the likes of the literary poseurs who have sought to ride on his coattails. And Babrius' aggression (albeit far from furious) toward his rivals demonstrates how his literary project encourages application: These rivals (fictive or otherwise) are put in their place from above by the master of the choliambic fable. And as Babrius urges us to forget the darker side of the choliamb's past or to direct it only against rival poets or see it only as a stylistic challenge to be overcome, readers can find an aggressive - even revolutionary -agenda safely hidden within the ethical ambivalence and high poetic gloss of these fables. After all, literary rivals are to the poet what political challengers are to the potentate.

This new flexibility of the iambic fable calls into question who can, in good taste, relate an Aesopic tale. Quintilian's claim that the uneducated masses enjoy hearing fables is surely a truism throughout antiquity (5.11.19),

55 Holzberg 2002, 60, despite Perry 1965, !vi.


and it is probably this popular enjoyment that, in turn, made the fable inappropriate to high-register literature. Thus the authors who make use of fables do so when they consciously take on a low-register persona. Hesiod includes a fable in his Works and Days but not in his loftier Theogony. Similarly, fables are prominent in Archilochus' iambic and epodic poems but absent from his elegies; they appear in comedy far more often than in tragedy; in Horatian satire more than in the Odes, etc. 56 And as we will see in later chapters, fables (and iambic allusions) appear in the chattier, racier, and more demotic works of Dio, Lucian, and Julian than in their more formal treatises.

Livy suggests that this elite disdain for fables is not a purely literary phenomenon when he describes in disapproving terms how Menenius Agrippa reconciled the plebs and the patricians by telling the fable of "The Limbs and the Belly"(= Perry 130; another example of a top-down fable being used as a positive exemplum).57 Livy reports that Agrippa's rhetoric at this point dipped into "that old-fashioned and rustic manner of speaking" (prisco illo dicendi et horrido modo, 2.32.8). He shows that Agrippa was the right man for the job by describing him as both eloquent and as someone dear to the plebs, indeed as someone who had arisen from them. Yet if he was also a senator, then it would be strildng in his era for anyone of senatorial rank to have begun his career among the lowest class. It may be, then, that Agrippa's connection with the plebs is here used as a mild ad hominem caricature that explains why someone of high rank and tastes would deign to tell such a tale. Importantly, Livy does not suggest that the fable was in any way ineffective but, rather, that for the sake of decorum Agrippa ought to have used a more elevated rhetorical strategy. For Babrius' patrons and audience, however, Livy's hesitancy about the use of fables disappears. With a grand literary flourish, Babrius has mastered the violent choliamb and brought it under his control, he has elevated the fable to a Callimachean level of literary craftsmanship, and he has provided an array of ethical tones that makes (or tries to make us believe) the fable's bottom-up obstreperousness a thing of the past.

56 Even in Ode 1.16, where we seem to have fabular material, we can easily understand that entire poem as an example of high-register lyric listing toward lowly iambus. In that poem, Horace tries (but may not be able) to put iambus behind him, just as in Epode 14 he wanders away from iambic material and seems to stray close to a lyrical register.

57 Livy 2.32. Cp. Quint. 5.11.20. Herodotus puts a similarly top-down fable in the mouth of Croesus at 1.141. On Livy's fable, see Schmidt 1979.

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The iambic mode in Babrius' fables

Having argued that Babrius' prologues would predispose some readers to finding an iambic element in his fables and that his fables could reasonably be open to such readings, the time has come to examine the fables themselves. I will not claim that an iambic element pervades all of them but rather that the iambic mode, which is perceptible both through the historical connection between the iambic genres and the fable and in the two prologues, appears at various points throughout this collection. These intersections will be surveyed by clustering the examples into three categories: direct and intentional allusions to earlier iambic literature; connections with earlier iambic literature that can reasonably be read into Babrius' text; and evidence of an iambic reception of Babrian fables.

One important allusion to earlier iambic literature has arisen several times already. In the first prologue Babrius describes the Golden Age world from which fables derive, and he mentions that even the Pine and the Laurel· could speak. In Fable 38 (=Perry 303) we do find a speaking Pine, but no Laurel appears in the Babrian tradition. While fables that featured a Laurel may simply have been lost, it is curious that the only extant fable from the ancient world that does include a speaking Laurel is the one found in Callimachus' Iambus 4. Whether or not Babrius ever composed a fable in which a Laurel speaks, it is almost certainly the case that the reference in his first prologue alludes to Callimachus' poem. This Hellenistic fable is of particular importance to Babrius since it provides a model of form (choliambic meter), narrative pattern (top-down fable), and voice (the speaker is in no obvious way degraded or servile). Babrius' allusion to this Callimachean presentation of choliambic fables can thus be understood as a guiding hint for reading Babrius' own corpus.

If we go looking for Callimachus' fable, however, we will be disappointed, since his speaking Laurel appears only in the prologue. Yet there are a few points at which Callimachus' poem might sneak in less directly. In Fable 39 (=Perry 62) Dolphins and Whales are constantly in conflict with one another, but when a Crab tries to intervene, his ·efforts are summarily dismissed. The Crab has no clout (he is &8o~os) and is thus unable to resolve the issues between battling kings (cn6:cns Tvpavv&v

µaxoµevc.uv). Babrius' awkward and spiney Crab fills exactly the same role as Callimachus' low and prickly Bramble, and it receives similar treatment from the more powerful creatures. It may be important to note that


whereas Callimachus' trees represent literary figures (or, perhaps, styles) Babrius' context is political, as is the setting of his second prologue, which is dedicated to the "son of King (~acnA.eus) Alexander." The narrative structure of Callimachus' retort to an impudent upstart scholar is here adapted to the life of Babrius' princely patron.

While Fable 39 recalls the pattern of Callimachus' fable in his Iambus 4, Fable 64 ( = Perry 304) may point toward a Callimachean character. In Iambus 4, the Bramble (~6:Tos, also an unprecedented character in fable) had interrupted an argument about the relative value of two noble trees. Fable 64 features a Bramble (also ~6:Tos) that engages in and wins a similar contest with a Fir. As the Fir boasts of its height and strength, the Bramble notes that these traits make it a ripe target for the woodsman's axe, whereas its own humble stature keeps it free and clear of such dangers. If we have Callimachus' quarreling trees in mind, then the outcome of this fable comes as a surprise. Fable 39 had reiterated Callimachus' new ethical twist on the fable as iambic exemplum by having the more powerful Whales and Dolphins unite against the contemptible Crab, but Fable 64 returns us to the more traditional path. Babrius' Bra~ble is lowly, unconspicuous, clever, and a survivor. Its bottom-up victory over the loftier and nobler Fir thus follows the pattern of Archilochus' victories over Lycambes, the rollicking triumphs of Aristophanic anti-heroes, the coarse irony of Socrates, and the countless usurpations carried out by the small and weak animals of so many fables.

The contrast between these two echoes of Callimachus' "Laurel, Olive and Bramble" exemplifies Babrius' iambic flexibility. His collection does not drip with the archaic hatred of Archilochus or Hipponax, nor does it push a consistent ethical agenda. Rather, in mobilizing the weight of the traditional literary connection between iambos and fable and selectively evoking earlier iambic narratives and themes, Babrius has composed a set of vignettes in which an iambic tone resonates through his allegedly tame meter. Whether recouping a Callimachean narrative with a new set of characters and contexts, as in Fable 39, or overturning the outcome of such a narrative, as in Fable 64, he keeps hinting at and teasing us with enough iambic material to keep us in alert expectation of more to come. These different adaptations of the Callimachean model may even initiate a dialogue about ethics and/or style. And without a frame narrative to pin down our reading of these fables, they remain far more open than fable-exempla.

A similar ethical flexibility may emerge from a potential allusion to Archilochus' most famous epode in Fable 137 (= Perry 2), in which a

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Jackdaw tries to act like an Eagle. This fable breaks off in the middle, though the contours of the story are not in doubt, and begins with these lines:

"Ovu~iv &pas &pvcx Amcxp6v EK Tiofµv11s

JiveyKE Timaiv 5efovov cxln6s 5wae1v·

Grabbing with its talons a fat lamb from the flock

Eagle carried off a meal to give to its young.

The second line recalls Archilochus fr. 179 and preserves the metrical position and grammatical relationships of the underlined words:

Carried off and presented a dread meal to its young.

Additionally, both passages include (admittedly very different) forms of the verb <pepw, and there is a close phonic resemblance between Babrius' aiET65 and Archilochus' a!11vE5.

These, then, are the technical details that link these two passages, but what are we to make of this connection? The two modern scholars who have compared these passages disagree strongly.58 Davies finds here nothing more than a similarity of fabular mode in which animal offspring are referred to as "children" and parents naturally bring food to their young. This, he argues, is simply the thumbprint of fables in their conflation of the human and animal worlds. West, in an article that came out a year after Davies' but which had been submitted for publication before that piece appeared in print, sees in these two passages a clear nod to Archilochus but uses Babrius' version as evidence for how we might read and reconstruct Archilochus' epode. I agree with West that we have more than a fabular commonplace here, but I am more interested in what this can tell us about Babrius. If we accept the Archilochean echo, then we have a Babrian fable about an Eagle that quotes an iambic poem that included a fable about an Eagle. This is an obvious point but one that strongly suggests that Babrius was not only aware of but also (at least here) actively working with the ancient affinity between iambos and fable. It therefore is important that Babrius has placed his Eagle in a very different kind of story.

58 Davies 198la and West 1982. Although I agree with West's position, I am far more interested in the fact that two such informed readers could disagree about what is going on in Babrius' text. This difference of interpretation underscores the importance of each reader's engagement with a text (or performance).


Whereas the Archilochean Eagle must deal with a Fox, a standard character in fables for effecting tricky bottom-up victories, Babrius' interacts with a Jackdaw, an animal that regularly plays the part of a foolish pretender (e.g. Babr. 72 =Perry 101, Phaedrus 1.3 =Perry 472). Babrius thus changes the Archilochean script radically. In pointing toward Archilochus' epode, we recall Lycambes' betrayal and the iambist's blistering responses that claim to be both just and justified. As Babrius swaps out the savvy Archilochean Fox for the bumbling Jackdaw who will make a disastrous attempt to snatch up the tasty little Lamb, we hear lots of static as the two stories interact. Perhaps Babrius wants to valorize Lycambes' role and urge his royal patron to view the behavior of foxy Archilochus as inappropriate and a poor imitation of acceptable elite behavior. After all, Lycambes may well have had good reasons for turning his back on such a son-in-law. Less speculatively, it is at least possible to recognize that Babrius' light touch here provides a form of camouflage, so effective that Davies could deny any actual allusion. On this reading, the top-down message of this fable (if you aren't a true Eagle, don't try to fake it) is potentially, but not definitively, destabilized by the Archilochean intertext. If we hear Archilochus in these lines and import the tenor of his epode, then the Babrian Eagle becomes more tyrannical and egregious. The Jackdaw's efforts, therefore, might cover an Archilochean uprising that some of Babrius' readers might want to hear even as others have vested interests in denying any such thing. As with the split receptions of Callimachus' Iambus 4 in Fables 39 and 64, this fable about the Eagle can activate a literary debate with politico-ethical implications.

In addition to these reminiscences of Callimachus and Archilochus, we also find a tiny quotation of Hipponax in the opening line of Fable 19,

"Sour Grapes"(= Perry 15): B6Tpus µeAa!vris aµTieAou Tiapwpeln, "A bunch of grapes [hanging] from a dark vine on a hill." As Degani noted, this line reworks fragment 48W /52 Dg of Hipponax, which conforms to Babrius' metrical rule of accenting the penultimate syllable of every line: 2:uKfjv

µeAa1vav, aµTIEAOU KO<YIYVTJT11Y, "the black fig, sister of the vine." This fragment is preserved by Athenaeus (3.78c) in the midst of a discussion about figs. At 3.78b he recounts how the epic poet Pherenicus (of unknown date) explained the origin of the word fig (aOKov) in this way: a certain Oxylus married his sister Hamadryas, and their many children, including both Syke (fig) and Ampelus (vine), were tree-nymphs and gave their names to many trees. Immediately after this summary of Pherenicus' tale, Athenaeus quotes this line of Hipponax. It is not likely that Pherenicus included this choliambic line in his epic, so we may assume that both

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Athenaeus and Babrius knew it from some other source (a full edition of Hipponax, an anthology that included this line, vel sim.). And Babrius clearly took care to rework these words into his fable. He retains the . position of the two central words but by changing the grammatical relationship produces a new balance. If we knew more about Hipponax's poem, perhaps we could discern some implications for the reading of Babrius' fable.59 Whatever Hipponax did with this line, Athenaeus presents it as corroboration of Pherenicus' myth: the Fig really is a sister to the Vine. And Babrius, if he knew of Pherenicus' tale, must have been interested in its fable-like slide between the human and natural worlds. Even though we cannot go very far in interpreting the content in this allusion, we can at least recognize that Babrius has picked up and reworked a phrase also known to Athenaeus. This makes it virtually certain that Babrius recognized a Hipponactean flare in this line, and that is enough to show that the iambic mode has reared its head among Babrius' fables.

Although there are only these three clear allusions to earlier iambic literature among Babrius' fables, I nevertheless find a greater number of iambic intertexts. As with all such connections that are not overtly or intentionally part of the poet's work, my examples involve a certain amount of subjectivity and are not exhaustive. As this circumstantial evidence mounts, however, it will argue for a closer relationship between Babrius' poems and the iambic tradition.

One such intertext appears in Fable 31 (= Perry 165), which describes an episode in the perennial war between the Mice and Weasels. Since the Mice were regularly bested in these confrontations, they decided that they needed more distinguished generals and consequently gave over command of their forces to those among them who were the biggest, noblest, smartest, and bravest. With mud chips gallantly perched upon their heads so that they would be more conspicuous on the field of battle, these

59 One intriguing possibility is to read the epigram about the tomb of Hipponax by Alcaeus of Messene (3rd/2nd century BCE) as a witness to some of what is going on here (AP 7.536). In the opening couplet we find both j36Tpus (present in Babrius' quotation of Hipp. 48 W/52 Dg) and j3chos (as in Callim. Ia. 4 and Babr. 39): ou5f. eavwv 6 irpfoj3us E0 E1TlTfrpoq>E TVµj3cp I j36Tpuv fur' oivav0ris ~µepov, &:Ma j3aTov, "Even dead the old man doesn't nurtl\re on his tomb I clusters of the cultivated vine, just brambles ... " The interpretive trail is faint, to be sure, but might Alcaeus not understand both words as importantly applicable to the old iambist? Alcaeus may be reading Callimachus' Bramble as a representation of Hipponax, or he might be picking up on a more atmospheric connection between the important, but perhaps quite distinct, roles of the Bramble and Hipponax in the Iambi. Such thinking is speculative, but Alcaeus' choice of words suggests that somehow j3mos and j36Tpus form a natural pair when thinking of Hipponax.

j

j

1


generals led the Mice into the fray. Yet not only was the result the same as in their earlier sorties, but these strapping generals, prevented by their magnificent helmets from dashing into their holes once the rout was on, were slaughtered to a man. In the imperial era, Dia, Galen, and Pollux all preserve Archilochus' lines about his preference for a small and hearty general over an aristocratic giant (fr. 114). Although there are obvious differences between this passage and Babrius' tale, both make the surprising claim that the most Homeric generals are not always the best. And if Babrius' choice of characters in this fable also evokes poems such as the Battle of Mice and Frogs and the fragmentary Battle of the Weasel and the Mice then we can find here a two-pronged critique of or response to epic pretensions, one that derives from the tradition of mock-epic that miniaturizes and trivializes warfare and another that comes from the regular opposition between epic and iambic.60 If we find something of Archilochus' stuffed-shirt general in the Mice's commanders, then Babrius projects a bit of the iambic mode that is not dominated by aggression but which presents a practical or even a commoner's corrective to elite culture.

Fable 130 ( = Perry 345; not part of the Codex Athous and therefore open to questions of authenticity) preserves an even greater density of iambic clues. The story begins with a Fox salivating over a piece of meat that sits in a trap. A Wolf approaches and politely asks if he might take the meat for himself, since the Fox doesn't seem to be making a move. The Fox not only encourages the Wolf but even declares warmly that "you are one of my dearest friends" (cpif.os yap et µ01 Twv &yav O:vayKaiwv).61 With this, the Wolf charges in, and after the trap slams down on his snout he wonders how the Fox can ever hope to find a friend ( cpif.os) in the future given this rough treatment. We have here a typical bottom-up fable but with one striking innovation: the more powerful animal had in no way

threatened the weaker. If we read with an eye to iambic connections, this fable recalls two

Archilochean fables in which a Fox is regularly understood to represent Archilochus. In his version of "The Fox and the Eagle" (frr. 172-81), the Archilochean Fox gets revenge on the Eagle, who stands for Lycambes, the Wolf-Walker. But as the Babrian Fox lures a Wolf into a trap baited

60 See Cebrian 2008 for a recent discussion of comic epic and epic parody. In the eighteenth century, Lady Winchelsea crafted a mock-epic in the style of The Battle of Mice and Frogs that derives from Babrius' fable.

61 In retrospect here avayKaios associates less with close ties of intimacy and more with the Fox's

basic needs.

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with meat, we find themes familiar from Archilochus' more overtly political adaptation of "The Fox and the Monkey" (frr. 185-7; = Perry 81).62

The poem that included the latter fable was particularly remembered in antiquity for its reference to the crKuTai\T], "message stick," that appears in fr. 185, and in Babrius' fable, the trap's trigger is called a crKVTai\1ov.

While these details open the possibility of reading Babrius' story against these Archilochean fragments, the implications of that connection splinter. In so far as Babrius' fable recalls Archilochus' rivalry with Lycambes, it evokes the theme of ruptured social networks. Our sources speak of Lycambes breaking his sworn oath that he would give his daughter in marriage to Archilochus. This breach of contract ruptured the network of philia that should have bound these people together. Archilochus thus begins with justice on his side as he launches his attacks against Lycambes and his family, and Lycambes becomes the Eagle who betrays the Fox and ruins the Fox's chances of having a family. But Babrius' Wolf plays a role much closer to that of Archilochus' Monkey in the epode directed at Kerykides. Both animals end up caught in traps, because they did not proceed with caution. Babrius' fable, then, follows the narrative pattern of Archilochus' "The Fox and the Monkey" while more closely replicating the ethical universe of"The Fox and the Eagle." In Babrius' fable, however, it is the Fox who violates the parameters of friendship by treacherously fabricating a relationship of philia in order to bring about the Wolfs demise (and then, of course, snatch away the meat). The Wolf may be a bit simple, but the Fox tricks him by pretending to be his friend, and the archaic iambic models allow us to imagine a scenario in which the fox-like Archilochus is in the wrong. Iambic anger typically rises in response to an affront (e.g., Lycambes betraying Archilochus or Hipponax being mocked by Bupalus and Athenis), but Babrius' Fox treats the Wolf shabbily without provocation. On this reading, the righteous authority of the weaker animal to correct the behavior of the mighty has been stripped away, leaving the elite unmolested by any justifiable harassment from below. And yet Archilochus' Monkey, whose vanity landed him literally bottom-up in a trap and exposed to public ridicule, encourages a type of trivializing laughter that can undermine the pretensions of a rival, whereas a fabular Wolf may always call to mind a tyrannical autocrat whose fate

62 On this latter poem, see West 1988, Bowie 2008, 133-36, who argues persuasively both that Kerykides is a real name and that this epode largely political in nature, and Steiner 2012b, 19-29, who teases out the importance of the monkey's dance, a performative theme unparalleled in Babrius' poem.

l The iambic mode in Babrius' fables

here would have been warmly appreciated by proponents of more democratic modes of discourse.

In Fables 10 and 22 (=Perry 301and31) we find another iambic theme, namely the intersection of erotic, ethical, and aesthetic evaluation. Although archaic iambos typically calls to mind outrageous and inappropriate adventures, its focus on the unattractive, the inappropriate, and the ungracious also serves to delimit and emphasize the opposite categories. As Zanetto has argued, archaic iambos often deals with matters of erotic instruction, and this theme opens onto the broader topic of aesthetic critique.63 These themes appear in combination most extensively in Semonides' long poem about animal-wives (7).64 Each character type is excoriated for her irksome habits, especially those relating to food and sex, and the poem contains only a few descriptions of physical traits: the Marewoman is explicitly beautiful, and the Monkey-woman has an ugly face and body. Yet the cumulative effect of Semonides' portraits, as is made clear in the poem's final lines, is to put a sub-human face to the vices of all wives. Even if one reads these lines as emerging from some sort of humorous or ritual context that explains away its misogyny, the narrative provides a type of lesson in which we learn to put an unattractive face to virtually all women, even those who are outwardly beautiful, and to valorize the best wife for reasons other than her aesthetic attractions.65

The poem sets up the Bee-woman as the ideal object of erotic attention (at least within the purview of marriage) and shows that her worth derives from her behavior rather than her appearance. The proper ethical-aesthetic orientation, in turn, leads to successful erotic relationships, since only this wife produces legitimate offspring and avoids the problems that can result from failed marital relations (no heirs, heirs of uncertain parentage, etc.).

In the best known legends about Archilochus and Hipponax, we find examples of similar issues. Archilochus' Cologne Epode (fr. 196a), for example, works as a form of erotic didactic both in its detailed account of a seduction (regardless of how we understand the implications of that encounter) and in the speaker's justification of his rejection of Neobule. And Hipponax's most violent poetry supposedly erupted from a situation in which Bupalus and Athenis mistakenly assumed that the poet's outwardly ugly appearance encapsulated his power and overall worth.

63 Zanetto 2003. 64 For which see Shear 1984, Osborne 2001, Morgan 2005, and Payne 2010, 112-20. 65 E.g., Shear 1984 suggests that this poem was appropriate for a wedding, though the sympotic

context suggested by Osborne 2001 seems more likely.

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Such themes of ethical, erotic, and aesthetic critique continue to appear throughout the later iambic tradition (from the degraded comic hero to Socrates' strange combination of a satyr's looks and the complete suppression of the satyr's uncontrollable sex-drive to many scenes in the iambic poetry of Callimachus and Horace), and these interconnected motifs show up in several of Babrius' poems as well.

Fable 32 (=Perry 50) returns to some of the motifs found in Semonides 7. In the archaic poem, real women were revealed to share the bestial traits of animals. In Babrius' poem, a real Weasel falls in love with a man and is granted the opportunity to take human shape. She is gorgeous to behold and is soon betrothed to the object of her affection. When, however, a Mouse runs by, she reveals her true nature (qivcr1s) by darting after the vermin. Although the starting points of the two poems are diametrically opposed (real women in Semonides and a real animal in Babrius), the implicit lesson in both presents women in such a way that we feel we can never be sure of a woman's character, even if she appears to be a paragon of beauty. As in the case of Semonides' Mare-woman, we recognize the need to see beneath outward appearances and are given a cautionary tale about where men ought to direct their erotic interests.

In Fable 10 a man falls in love with an ugly and ill-tempered (alcrXPii Kai KaK6Tporros) female slave. The girl receives expensive gifts from her lover and begins to quarrel with the legitimate mistress of the house. Every day the girl thanks Aphrodite for her good fortune until one night the goddess comes and tells her to stop, since she (Aphrodite), far from being the cause of this romance, is angry (Kex6flwµa1) at the man for thinking that such an ugly girl is beautiful. The man has failed to make a proper aesthetic judgment, and this has led to an erotic relationship that angers the goddess of desire herself. In Fable 32 a similar error had led to a failed marriage, but in Fable 10 we are thrust into a more dire domestic situation, because this liason is disrupting the proper social order. Unlike the notoriously ugly Hipponax, Socrates, and Aesop, all of whom demonstrated virtues that belied their outward appearances, this ugly slave girl deserves to be left at the bottom of the social order. This fable, then, articulates a very conservative position in which slavish looks have no business rising above their slavish status. This slave· girl has not committed the transgression of the (presumably) aristocratic Lycambes, nor has she done anything to valorize or empower her degraded position. Rather, she has wreaked havoc, because the man failed to make the obvious and appropriate assessment of her looks and her corresponding place in society.


Finally, in Fable 22, we meet a middle-aged man who has two lovers, one young and one old. The former plucks out all his white hairs, so that he might appear attractive to her, while the latter does the same to his black hairs. With neither his salt nor his pepper, the man is left bald and unattractive to both women. In this scenario the aesthetic evaluation comes only as a punch-line. The man has been rendered universally unattractive, because he overreached his grasp in the arena of erotics. Perhaps in part because the aesthetic point in question now involves a man rather than a woman, the pattern of causation that we find in Fables 32 and 10 is reversed. In those tales, a man had misjudged a woman and this led to a dysfunctional erotic situation; here, a man puts himself in an untenable erotic predicament which results in his aesthetic demise. All three of these Babrian fables, however, include themes and issues that are familiar from earlier iambic material. There are no verbal echoes, but within the traditional framework of iambic fables, these overlapping patterns of aesthetic critique and erotic education evoke aspects of the iambic mode.

While the preceding pages have outlined my own method and strategies for finding the iambic mode in various guises throughout Babrius' collection, the Emperor Julian seems to have identified another fable that fits well in an iambic context. His Misopogon owes a great deal to the iambic tradition and utilizes an iambic mode for many of its satirical attacks on the people of Antioch. It also includes the fable about the Kite that tried to change its voice, which Julian probably knew from Babrius. Even though he does not here replicate the wording of Babrius 73 ( = Perry 396), on two other occasions Julian amply demonstrates his familiarity with Babrius. In a letter to Dionysius (Ep. 82.444b Bidez) he quotes the opening line of Fable 32 about the Weasel who becomes a bride and mentions how much can be learned from Babrius' book, the very point that Babrius himself makes in his prologues. And in Ep. 26 Bidez, we find references to "The Lion and the Mouse," which appears as Babrius 107, though Julian does not quote Babrius' text.

As Julian retells the fable in the Misopogon, the Kite becomes enamoured with the voice of the Horse and attempts to imitate it. In the end, however, the Kite loses its original voice and fails to acquire a new one. As with "The Fox and the Eagle," in isolation there is little that demands an iambic reading of this tale. But just as Archilochus provided a framework within which to understand his fable as a pointedly personal attack, so too Julian personalizes the Kite's demise. In this strange text Julian directs abuse intended for the people of Antioch at himself, and he thus claims that the story about the Kite offers him a cautionary lesson.

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He should not try to learn the decadent ways of Antioch, lest 'he end up

without any discernible way of life whatsoever. In thinly-veiled reality, the fable is aimed at the Antiochenes and warns that they, like the Kite, may find themselves bereft of their voice in Julian's empire. In a text that begins

with the emperor likening himself to Archilochus, this Babrian fable has been deployed within an explicitly iambic mode. Julian, that is, has

provided one of Babrius' allegedly safe fables with a context that returns it

to the dangerous and efficacious world of iambic abuse.

Babrius and Phaedrus

By pulling together and tangling these threads that lead back to earlier iambos Babrius replays scenarios, turns traditions on their heads, and, above all, keeps us thinking about how the iambic mode is (not) present in his collection. Some of his narratives are deeply involved in Archilo

chean themes, but he certainly is no Archilochus; his meter owes a debt to Hipponax, but scant traces suggest any programmatic connection; and

although he trumpets a Callimachean legacy, his anthology plays out quite differently even from that gentler version of the iambic mode. In this section I will contrast his overall project with that of Phaedrus, whose own anthology of verse fables provides an obvious mirror, in order to

highlight the differences between their treatment of fables.66

Phaedrus supposedly was a freedman of Augustus, and he mentions a run-in with Sejanus, which means that he probably composed his fables

under Tiberius. This rough date places his career in the (very general) neighborhood ofBabrius, so we can assume with some confidence (though no certainty) that the two writers composed within roughly a century of one another. Phaedrus says that he is a Greek (as one would expect given his Greek name) for whom Latin was a second language, and this presents

an interesting inversion of the strong suspicion that Babrius was an Italian (or perhaps the descendent of one) who had gone east. Phaedrus' five surviving books of fables in iambic senarii boast an artful veneer that likens

them to Babrius' tales. And both poets composed highly wrought introductions to each of their books (and, in the case of Phaedrus,' at least three epilogues). Curiously, in each author's first prologue, we find references to talking trees (Bahr. Prol. 1.9; Phaed. Prol. 1.6), though no corresponding

66 Phaedrus, like Babrius, has largely been ignored by modern scholarship. The great exception is

Henderson 2001.


fables exist in the books to follow, at least as we now have them.67 Beyond these points of contact, however, the two collections display importantly different approaches in their presentation and conception of fable. I will touch briefly on several of these differences here: the origin of fables, the

role of Aesop, and authorial commentary within the fables themselves. Babrius presents different (though reconcilable) accounts of the origins

of fables in his two prologues. In the first, Aesop's tales connect the

contemporary world with the lost Golden Age, and in the second, fables come from Syria and later spread to Libya and Greece through the efforts of Cybisses and Aesop, respectively. In both versions, fables clearly serve, at

least in part, an educational purpose. That pedagogical dimension appears in Phaedrus' collection as well, though typically paired with an emphasis on the delight and wit of fables (e.g., Prol. 1.3-5; Prol. 2.2-4). On Phaedrus'

presentation, however, fable itself developed as a form of slave speech that involved speaking truth to power but steered clear of harsh punishment. Phaedrus' tale attaches only to a generic slave, but because Aesop shows up elsewhere in his fables as a slave and because Phaedrus mentions Aesop by

name before and after this story, this generic slave and the particular example of Aesop blur together (Prol. 3.33-38):

nunc fabularum cur sit inventum genus,

brevi docebo. Servitus obnoxia,

quia quae volebat non audebat dicere,

affectus proprios in fabellas transtulit,

calumniamque fictis elusit iocis.

ego illius pro semita feci viam ...

Now I will briefly teach you why fables

were invented. The slave, exposed to punishment, since he didn't dare speak his mind,

presented his own sentiments through fables

and dodged backlash with fanciful trifles.

I have made a road out from his footpath ...

This passage offers Phaedrus' clearest statement about the social hierarch

ies and systems of patronage that are implicit in fabular speech. In fact, this statement is so powerful that we might wonder if the note in manuscript P

67 I have suggested above that Babrius' reference to the leaves of the Laurel may look back to Callimachus. In the case of Phaedrus, it has been suggested that his first book included "The Pine and the Axe," which is known in medieval summary and Babrius 38 (=Perry 303), See Zander 1921, 32-35 and Marchesi 1923, 75.

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about Phaedrus being a freedman of Augustus isn't yet another bit of biographical lore constructed around an author's persona. Phaedrus does not tell us that he ever spent time as a slave, but his account of the origins

of fables, in combination with various glimpses of Aesop as a slave and Phaedrus' self-presentation as beholden to the power of patrons and

power-brokers, gives the strong impression that he speaks from experience. We need only recall that his first prologue describes his writings as nothing more than "jokes about things that never happened" to be reminded of

how greatly we expose ourselves to Phaedrus' ridicule when we put too

much stock in what he says about himself.68

Babrius too presents himself within a system of patronage, but his

two patrons test the limits of credulity. Branchus and the "son of King Alexander" may be historical figures or covers for historical figures, but they are far more evocative than Phaedrus' unknown but unprepossessing

patrons Eutychus, Particulo, and, perhaps, Philetus.69 Furthermore, the two poets' discussions of Aesop further differentiate their sociopolitical perspectives. Babrius calls Aesop "wise" and looks to him as an ancient

source. Phaedrus engages with Aesop far more frequently and intimately. Each of his five prologues articulates this relationship in, a slightly different way. His first couplet of the prologue to Book 1 makes the poetic filiation

abundantly dear:7°

Aesopus auctor quam materiam repperit, bane ego polivi versibus senariis.

Aesop is my origin. He found the themes that I have smoothed with senarian verse.

From here, Aesop and Phaedrus carry on a dialogue throughout the rest of the corpus in which the poet relies on, moves away from, keeps bumping

into, and tries not to be overshadowed by the ancient fabulist. The fifth and

68 Indeed this is the thesis of Champlin 2005, which is neatly summarized: "Whoever he may have been, 'Phaedrus' was not a Greek freedman struggling against envious detractors to ennoble his humble artistic craft, he did not suffer for his art under Sejanus, and indeed he published nothing before the reign of Claudius. Rather, let us say that he was a Roman gentleman or aristocrat, a native of the city itself, and an author who flaunted his Romanit~ by appropriating a minor Greek genre, subjecting it to Latin metre, and shaping it with the two most Roman of high cultural inventions, satire and the ius civile" (ll5).

69 Seen. 3 above. Philetus is the addressee of fable 5.10, the last fable in Phaedrus' corpus as it now stands.

70 Phaedrus' metrical claim here closely parallels that of Babrius in his prologues. Just as Babrius' choliamb can never be completely cured of its offensive limp, so too the notion of polished senarian verse is, at the least, ironic.

i

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final prologue again starts with Aesop, but now Phaedrus claims that he has paid off his debt to the fabulist and uses that name only for the sake of its prestige (auctoritas, Prol. 5.3). Phaedrus here presents himself as a forger working under the name of Aesop, just as other artisans attach to

their works the names of Praxiteles, Mys, and Zeuxis (4-7). Even as he claims to have paid off his debt (or, perhaps, purchased his freedom:

cui reddidi iam pridem quicquid debui, Prol. 5.2) he still remains under the artistic patronage of Aesop's reputation.

Between these statements about Aesop that effectively bookend Phaedrus' corpus, we find numerous references to him. Comments about

Aesop in the other three prologues, for example, smooth the trajectory between the two passages discussed in the preceding paragraph. More interesting, however, are those vignettes in which he plays a leading part.

These four tales (3.5, 3.14, 3.19 and 4.5) lack proper fables and feel more like bits of legendary biographical lore. Such narratives would repay close scrutiny for their own sake, but for now I merely want to point out that each presents Aesop as a character (rather than as a fabulist or author)

under the control of Phaedrus' pen and in a disempowered position within a social hierarchy. In 3.5 a rude fellow hits him with a rock, to which Aesop responds by giving the lout congratulations and a small coin. He then urges the man to throw a rock at someone richer in order to get a more lucrative

reward. The consequences are predictable, but they rely on a three-tiered hierarchy in which Aesop holds the lowest status. In two other tales (both set in Athens), Aesop demonstrates his cleverness in unexpected ways after being initially ridiculed (3.14) or overlooked (4.S).71 And in 3.19

Aesop is working as a slave and ends up playing the part of Diogenes the Cynic when, on an errand to gather fire, someone teasingly asks him what

he is doing with a lamp in the middle of the day and he retorts that he is looking for a (sc. real) man. This quip recalls the similar anecdote about Diogenes (preserved at Diogenes Laertius 6.41) but now focuses the punchline on a single person. Throughout these passages, Aesop serves

to reinforce Phaedrus' emphasis on the social dynamics of fables. Another handful of tales also involves Aesop, but they move away from

such full-blooded dramatic scenarios and offer a more generic motivation for proper fables. The most telling of these is 3.3, which describes a farmer

desperate to sort out conflicting reports from various diviners and soothsayers. We are not given any details about who this farmer is or where or

71 Aesop in Athens is a fascinating conundrum on its own. Henderson 2001, 189-90, touches on some of the relevant issues.

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when he lived, but suddenly Aesop appears as a bystander to offer a bit of

practical advice. We can find a similar role for Aesop in other narratives

(1.2, 1.3, 1.6, 1.10, 2.3, and 4.18), but in 3.3 we get a clue about how

Phaedrus conceives of his own Aesopic voice. Just before Aesop opens his

mouth, Phaedrus describes him this way (3.3.14-15):

Aesopus ibi stans naris emunctae senex natura numquam verba cui potuit dare

Aesop standing there, the old man of keen wit whom Nature could never outwit.

The phrase naris emunctae, "of keen wit", also appears in Horace's first book

of Satires in his characterization of Lucilius (to which naris obesae, "insensate,"

in Epode 12.3 responds ).72 Satire 1.4 discusses the origins of the satirist's frank

speech, which Horace traces back to the poets of Old Comedy. Lucilius stands

as an intermediary who inherited the spirit of those comic poets and adapted

their meters but who falls short of Horace's polish. When Phaedrus uses this

striking phrase to describe Aesop, his fables take on an indelibly satirical

dimension. More specifically, Phaedrus' Aesop here assumes precisely the

role of the inspired but scruffy model for a more refined stylist that Lucilius

had played for Horace. Phaedrus thus lays claim to being the heir to Horatian

(and through him Lucilian) satire that has been infused with Aesopic material.

This satirical dimension to Phaedrus' fables, which is made most obvi

ous through this allusion to Horace's Lucilius, also appears in countless

introductory frames throughout Phaedrus' collections. Only rarely does

Phaedrus launch straight into the fable proper. Particularly in his first book

he tends to introduce a story with a quick orienting comment. For

example, as a preface to his version of "The Eagle and the Crow" ( = Perry

490), in which the Eagle learns how to smash a Turtle's shell only through

the advice of a hungry Crow, who tells the Eagle to drop the Turtle from a

great height onto a rock, Phaedrus comments (2.6.1-3):

Contra potentes nemo est munitus satis; si vero accessit consiliator malefi.cus, vis et nequitia quicquid oppugnant ruit.

No one is safe enough from the powerful; but if a sly advisor joins in

force and cunning destroy whatever resists.

72 As discussed by Champlin 2005, 109-10.


With such prefatory blurbs, we have something akin to the frame narrative

of a Hesiod or an Archilochus through which to interpret inset fable

exempla. On its own, we might read this fable as describing the benefits of

working together or how even the mighty (Eagle) need the assistance of the

more humble (Crow). But Phaedrus urges us to eschew such a range of

possibilities in favor of an interpretation grounded in a sympathetic pre

sentation of the Turtle's plight. Nature had given the Turtle a chance

against the imperious but blinkered Eagle, but the combined forces of the

Eagle and the clever Crow have doomed the poor beast. Phaedrus' fables

thus tend to foster an awareness of social hierarchies, abuses of power, the

privilege of the patron, and the bodily plight of the weak and defenseless.

We can look to the fable about the middle-aged man with two lovers

discussed above as an example of how differently Babrius and Phaedrus

work with their material. Babrius 22 has no introduction or frame and

simply tells the tale in twelve lines. Again (reading from the perspective of

someone interested in the iambic tradition) I found no obvious interpretive

clues based on language or content, but I do suggest a generic affiliation

with iambos through the theme of erotic instruction. On that reading,

I conclude that the man got himself into a mess by failing to follow a viable

erotic plan. The conflicting interests of his two lovers rendered him

aesthetically unacceptable to both. Phaedrus 2.2, however, begins with an

orienting lesson:

A feminis utcumque spoliari viros, ament, amentur, nempe exemplis discimus.

That men are always stripped bare by women -whether they love or are loved - we can learn from this example.

Phaedrus starts us off, before we even get to the story itself (told in only

eight lines this time), by letting us know that this one will be about how

women take advantage of men. We can certainly resist Phaedrus' instruc

tions and try to tell him that it is really about something else, but he

has launched the first (if not also the last) salvo on how to approach this

tale. Babrius leaves things far more open after dropping a fable in our laps,

whereas Phaedrus provides detailed hermeneutic guidance.

When set against one another in this way, Phaedrus looks like the

satirical counterpart to the iambic Babrius. Each author acknowledges

and takes pains to discuss his poetic inheritance. Satire and iambos are,

to be sure, related genres, but whereas the latter derives from personal

anger and personal affronts, the former takes a broader view of society that

133


grows out of a sense of indignation.73 Thus the bite and sting, which so concern Babrius through their association with his chosen form, aim at confronting individual transgressions, whereas Phaedrus' presentation of

Aesop, the comments that preface most of his fables, and his own musings about fables all cultivate a stronger social awareness of the workings of the

vertical hierarchies and power imbalances that, far from being breaches of decorum to be corrected, form a key organizational principle for Roman society. In my analysis of the ethical orientation of Babrius' fables, I had

suggested that the high proportion of top-down fables in conjunction with the influence of Callimachus' Iambus 4 (in which the nobler Olive and

Laurel squelch the pretentions of the lowly Bramble) foster an ethical ambivalence in which the surprise outcomes of bottom-up fables are intermingled with the more conservative and normalizing top-down varieties. With Phaedrus, however, such a contrast becomes largely irrelevant,

since the vast majority of his fables are constructed in such a way that our attention is focused on the realities of Roman power dynamics and social hierarchies.

Conclusions

By way of conclusion, I'd like to return to the beginning. Just after wrapping up his first prologue with the claim that he has softened the hard edges of

his "bitter" (lTlKpo!) iambs Babrius launches into his first fable (at least as his collection stands in the Codex Athous). For various reasons, this fable comes as a surprise. After building our expectations about talking animals (not to mention trees!) and an Aesopic glimpse into the Golden Age, we

find a poem that begins with the word "Man" ('f\v6pc.mos, 1.1 = Perry 340 -

the second fable begins with 'l\v~p) and that tells an Iron Age tale of hunting. This Man, armed with a bow, roams the mountains and terrifies

all the animals. Only the Lion stands his ground, but even he is bitten by the "bitter messenger" (lT!Kpos &yysA.os, 1.15) that the Man shoots. When the Fox urges the Lion to attack again, the Lion joins the others in retreat

and tells the Fox that he won't be tricked into such folly. In many ways, this first story seems to spell the end for tables, since a

Man, not even a hero and using post-Golden Age technology, has conquered the animal world. These animals can still talk, but only to let us

73 Hor., Ars 220-74 is the locus classicus for the close relationship between satire and iambos.

Conclusions

know that even the Lion has been reduced to sharing the victimhood of all beasts before the horrors of Man's weapons. The natural order and the Lion's natural kingship have been overthrown by the unnatural innovations of Man. And the Fox himself is now deprived of his ability to sway King Lion, because his rhetoric stands no chance in the face of Man's force majeure. And the completely aniconic quality of this hunter - he is simply anthropos - introduces "Man" as the new hegemonic force in the world.

But this Man does not remain quite so universal as the Lion bemoans his

weaponry. His arrows serve as a "bitter messenger" that amply prove to the Lion how fearsome (qiopsp6s, 16) is the Man himself. In this description,

Babrius has immediately reintroduced the word lT!Kp6s and its attendant generic connotations. Since Homer, arrows had been described as lT!Kp6s,

"bitter" but also simply as "sharp" (e.g. Il. 4.118), but the epic pedigree of Babrius' words also looks back to the structures of thought that underlie

the epigram by Gaetulicus that has already figured in various discussions above but which I now print in full (AP 7.71):

crfiµa T65' 'Apx1Mxou irapmTOVT!OV, os lTOTE lT!Kpi]v

µoucrav ex15va!~ irpc;:nos E~OljJE xoA.~,

aiµa~as 'EA.1Kwva Tov fiµepov. oT5e AuKaµ~TJ»

µup6µevos Tptcrcrwv &µµaTa 6uyaTepwv.

fipeµa 5i] irapaµmyov, 65om6pe, µiJ iroTE Tou5e

K1v1'Jcrns Tuµ~~ crq>f]Kas eqie(;oµevous.

This is the seaside tomb of Archilochus, who long ago

was first to dip the Bitter Muse in Echidna's gall,

bloodying gentle Helicon. Lycambes knows -

mourning three daughters hanged.

Pass in silence, traveler, lest

you rouse the wasps resting on his grave.

Archilochus' Muse here is lTlKpa, but more than this, she is being drawn

like an arrow while Gaetulicus plays etymological games that connect iambos both with arrows (loi) and verbs of shooting or hurling.74 This Archilochus, that is, dips his Muse in angry gall as one dips an arrow in poison, just as Heracles, the greatest of hunters, did with Echidna's blood.

Gaetulicus also recalls the other great iambist by virtually quoting Leonidas' sepulchral epigram that describes Hipponax as a "bitter wasp"

(lTlKpos cr<p~~' AP 7.405.2). If we connect Babrius' 1T1Kp6s messenger with the iamboi mentioned in the final line of the first prologue, then

74 As argued by Brown 2001.

135


Gaetulicus' epigram offers a fitting point of intersection that helps us understand something of Babrius' undertaking.75

Just after claiming to have put away the sharpness that iambos used to have, Babrius shows us a Man shooting arrows that sting. Gaetulicus' etymological punning now suggests that Babrius is undermining his own prefatory claims. Iambos is back, and it stings like hell. The Man shooting arrows now looks a good bit like Babrius himself, or perhaps Babrius' Aesop or Heracles, but he is using Archilochus' weapons (and, via Leonidas, Hipponax's as well). And whoever he is, he kills off the old world order. The Lion, with an arrow "buried in his moist guts" (xoi\c'xs is "innards" and is cognate with x6"Aos, "bile" or "anger"), will find a slow and painful death, and the Golden Age is overturned. Will anthropos take the Lion's hide and wear it across his shoulders during his labors against other monstrous and kingly figures or will he simply move on to other game? Babrius leaves that question unanswered, though the Lion will return countless times, sometimes magnificently and sometimes swindled

again by the Fox. Babrius' mythiamboi are built with ample cover. He tells us that the

iambike idea has been removed, but he protests too much. We can catch glimpses of his more aggressive project at various points - those that I have outlined and, certainly, others. In this first fable, moreover, we find a surprising narrative that does not take us back to the promised age of harmony but, rather, overawes us with a Man on a shooting spree. If, as is standard in fables, beasts represent people (either specific individuals or types) then this hunter is taking aim at powerful game indeed. And as the echoes of Gaetulicus' poem bring the tradition of Archilochean iambos into our reading, we can wonder if the bygone era mentioned in the prologue might refer not to the mythical Golden Age but, rather, to the earliest era of iambic fables when the Fox still could get the better of the likes of the Eagle and the Monkey. Here in this late and belated form of fable anthropos sends a 1TlKp6s messenger that has killed off the king of the beasts and undermined the rhetoric of the Fox, that Archilochean trickster par excel

lence of fable and iambos. The king of fable is dead. Long live the king of fable.

75 On the assumption that Babrius either knew of Gaetulicus' epigram, probably composed in the middle of the first century CE or that both poets were independently drawing upon common

fare.

Interlude 2 lambopoioi after Babrius

Babrius claims to have put the iambike idea behind us once and for all. Against this I maintain that his prologues and their relationship to the fable tradition show otherwise. Now, however, I would like to turn things around and look more broadly at Babrius' claims against the backdrop of what we can deduce about the composition of old-style iambic poetry in Babrius' era and later. The coming chapters will build the case that iambic poetics continued to inform various types ofliterature (even, in the case of Gregory Nazianzen, poetry in the iambic trimeter), but none of the authors that we will survey could reasonably called an laµl30TI016s, a term regularly reserved for only the hard or pure examples of old-style iambos. Indeed, one of the major arguments of this book is that iambic poetics detached itself from iambic forms as it infected a wider range of literary undertakings. And yet, the notion of the laµl30TI016s in its old sense was not completely dead, and it is to the several bits of evidence for this figure that I now turn.1

Babrius' presentation of his second book of fables offers, in some ways, the most telling yet least obvious example of the continued role of iambic poetics after its presumed decline. In isolation, his first prologue sounds a triumphal and definitive note, but when he tells us that he has returned to composing fables in no small part, it seems, because others have encroached upon his literary turf, the picture changes. Phaedrus, by contrast, keeps coming up with reasons to write another book of fables in his introductions, but he never sounds as though he has been driven to it by jealousy or iritation at anyone else.2 Babrius, however, is decidedly upset that some, as he tells his dedicatee, have not learned their proper lesson

1 I will not deal here with examples of iambic poetry that seems devoid of the iambic mode, such as the choliambic prologue to Perseus' satires or the fascinating choliambic Greek epitaph from Rome for Amazaspus, a brother of King Mithridates of Iberia, who died on campaign near Nisibis while serving under Trajan ca. 115 (IG 14, 1374 = IGR l, 192). The latter is discussed in Bowie 2002a, 183-84.

2 In .his third prologue, Phaedrus clearly attests to the horrors of Sejanus as someone who persecuted him for what he wrote, not as an inspiration (though, to be sure, the experience of persecution may have been an indirect inspiration). 137

138 Iambopoioi after Babrius

and instead can only do a bad imitation of his style. This situation has a

decidedly Callimachean feel and recalls the literary controversies that feature prominently in both the introduction to his Aetia and his Iambi (especially 1, 2, 4, and 13). Babrius is not, of course, displaying the personal

rage of an Archilochus or a Hipponax, but he is combining a quarrelsome stance and a competitive eye toward rivals with his choliambic disavowals that such sentiments adhere any longer to iambos. In his boast that he "does not sharpen the teeth of his iambs" (Prol. 2.14) we may even hear an

allegation that others have done precisely this. Whatever the case may be,

the teeth remain despite the negations, and his articulation of his return to fables, therefore, offers a suggestive starting point for assessing the vitality of old-style iambic poetry in the wake of his claims in the first book.

Pliny the Younger speaks of several acquaintances of his who write

iambic poetry. In Epistle 4.3 he praises Arrius Antoninus in resplendent terms (as again in 4.15). Saying that his poetry looms larger even than his

political career (Antoninus, the grandfather of Antoninus Pius, was twice consul and served as proconsul of Asia), Pliny describes Antoninus' voice

as having the honeyed sweetness of Homer and his poetry as an inspiration for bees to take their fill from flowers. This effusion comes after Pliny had read some of Antoninus' epigrams and mimiambi, which reminded him of Callimachus and Herodas, though neither of these, he claims, could approach Antoninus' mastery. And importantly, Pliny

stresses that Antoninus, who is a native Latin speaker, has written these works in Greek.

In a letter to Caninius (6.21), Pliny recalls a recent performance by a comic playwright, Virgilius Romanus, who was already an established

author of New Comic plays but who had just (nuper, 2) presented his first attempt at something in the style of Old Comedy. Again, Pliny lauds the

poet's talents and compares him both to the Greek Menander and the Romans Plautus and Terrence. After noting that Virgilius stands out for his virtue, his skill and "the variety of his literary output" ( operum varietate monstrabilis, 3), Pliny mentions that he has also composed some

mimiambi, which he describes as paragons of their kind (tenuiter argute venuste, atque in hoc genere eloquentissime, 4). In the cases of both Antoninus and Virgilius we may wonder what precisely Pliny means with the term mimiambi, since Herodas' poems are often described as primarily

dramatic rather than iambic. Sometime around the end of the first century CE, Pliny also encouraged

his friend Suetonius to publish some of his eagerly anticipated writings (scripta). Pliny mockingly threatens his friend, who is such a perfectionist

Iambopoioi after Babrius

that his hesitation (cunctatio, tarditas) to share his work outstrips even that of the scrupulous Pliny himself (5.10.2):

cave ne eosdem istos libellos, quos tibi hendecasyllabi nostri blanditiis elicere non possunt, convicio scazontes extorqueant.

Watch out, those books, which my Phalaecians can't coax out of you with flattery, my scazons will extort with screams.

Pliny and Suetonius were close friends, so we can be sure that everything here is in good fun. But the friendly banter turns on the traditional associations with the two meters Pliny mentions. Phalaecian hendecasyl

lables immediately evoke kind and complimentary words, whereas scazons, or choliambs, activate the brutish iambic register that can never be confused with the chattiness of dramatic trimeters. 3 The meter that limps, in

turn, suggests a scene of torture in which the victim is hobbled in horrific fashion.4 The joking implication is that it is a crime for Suetonius to hold back his work from his friends who eagerly await it. We might wonder if

Pliny here refers to Suetonius' Peri blasphemion, the fragments of which include several important citations of and glosses on the archaic iambists (e.g., Semonides fr. 34 at Taillardat 1967: 54). The scazontes that Pliny

threatens to compose clearly expect that Suetonius and his audience will understand the poetic and metapoetic implications of his comment in terms of the ancient Hipponactean legacy.

Not long after the death of Commodus in 192, the same period in which Archilochean fables were still being transcribed, Athenaeus of Naucratis

composed his rambling treasure house of antiquarian lore, the Deipnosophistae.5 The text now available to us consists of a compilation of the legible portions of an unabridged manuscript supplemented by a fully extant epitome.6 The epitomator has added a brief preface (1.1) in which

3 Morgan 2010 offers a great range of ideas for thinking about Roman meters. For Pliny's contrast between hendecasyllables and scazons, see 87-88; and for the reactions of Catullus and Horace

against the comic use of iambic meters, see 130-32. 4 Pliny's verb, extorqueo, regularly refers to the painful wrenching of body parts in accidents or

from intentional aggression or torture (as at Livy 32.38.8). At 6.21.6 Pliny admittedly uses this same verb to describe his insistent demand for a book from Vergilius Romanus (himself the author of mimiambi), but in 5.10 the mention of a "scream" (convicium) ensures the mockingly hostile tone.

5 Lobel dated Arch. P.Oxy. 2315 =fr. 175 and P.Oxy. 2316 =fr. 181 to the 2nd and 3rd century CE, respectively. Both preserve parts of Archilochus' epode against Lycambes that included the fable of "The Fox and the Eagle."

6 In addition to various other lacunae, everything up to 3.74a has disappeared from Venetus Marcianus 447, the lone witness to the full and unabridged text.

139

140 Iambopoioi after Babrius

he names Athenaeus and Timocrates, whose conversation constitutes the outermost frame-narrative of the Deipnosophistae, and gives an account of Larensius, the host of the dinner-party and probably Athenaeus' patron. The epitomator then goes on to introduce the other members of the dinner

party, and the first guest he mentions is a certain Masurius, a polymath

who, among other distinctions, is said to be second to none among those iambic poets after Archilochus (l.lc):

o\ 5' EV T(i) 5ehrVC}> 5f\6ev Em5riµftoaVTES 5mrvoooqnow\ fioav Maooup1os, v6µwv

E~T\YT\TTtS Kai TTaoris TTai5eias ou TTapepyws Emµelle1av TT01ouµevos, 5a1µ6v1os TT01riTfts,

&vT'\p Kai KaTCx TTtV &Mriv TTai5e{av ou5ev6s OEUTEpos Kai Tftv EyKUMlOV OU TTapepyws

EsflAWKws· eKaoTov yap wv ETTe5e{KvuTo ws µ6vov TOCiTo fjoKflKWS Eq>a{vno, TOlaVTTI

TTOAUµa6Ei<jX EK TTai5wv OUVETpCx<j>fl' laµpwv 5e fiv TTOlT\TTtS ou5ev6s 5eUTEpos, <j>T}O{, TWV

µn' '.Apxilloxov TTOlflTWv.

The sophists who were supposedly present at the banquet included Masurius, a legal scholar who was interested in every serious type of learning, an outstanding poet, and a man second to none in other fields. He had enthusiastically pursued a rigorous education, and every topic he addressed seemed to be his specialty, such breadth of learning had he sought since his youth. He was also an iambic poet, [Athenaeus] says, inferior to none of those poets who followed Archilochus.

We won't make much headway if we hope to decide whether or not

Masurius was a real person or a fictional construct, but such a question

doesn't really matter here. What is critical is that Athenaeus could expect his audience to understand this character - fictional or not - in such terms. He is an iambic poet in the mold of Archilochus, and that means that we need not wonder whether his iambs were influenced by dramatic models or Cynic philosophy or any such later trend. The connection with the arche

typical laµ[30TT016s (whom even this amazing Masurius cannot rival) is enough. Thus even if we push Babrius' career to the latest possible extreme (the terminus ante quern is 207 CE, when Ps.-Dositheus copied two of his fables verbatim), Athenaeus shows that the Archilochean laµ[30TT016s was

still part of elite cultural discourse. Also from the early third century comes a story from Philostratus' Life of

Apollonius of Tyana that articulates a hierarchy of literary and intellectual callings. This fable has a great deal in common with similar tales of assigning skill-sets at the dawn of creation, best known from Plato's fable of Epimetheus and Prometheus as told by Protagoras (Prat. 320d-322d). In this case, Philostratus has Apollonius tell an etiology of Aesopic fable

that he had heard from his mother as a child (5.15). She told him that

Iambopoioi after Babrius

Aesop had once been a shepherd who tended his flocks near a sanctuary of Hermes. He earnestly prayed that the god of wisdom would bestow his gift upon him, but while rich devotees presented the god with gold and jewels,

all Aesop could offer was mill<: and honey. When Hermes appeared, he distributed his blessings in accordance with each person's dedication. Thus the one who had given most lavishly was assigned Philosophy. After this,

Hermes allotted Oratory, Astronomy, Music, Epic, and Iambic poetry. As always with this narrative pattern, the benefactor forgets to give something to one character (in this case Aesop) and he has to come up with an adhoc

but special reward (in this case Fable) to make everything right. Fable is here presented as both outside (and therefore below) the typical roster of intellectual pursuits and the perfect gift for Aesop, but Hermes places

iambos on the lowest rung of the regularly recognized hierarchy of such skills. Although Archilochus is not mentioned, it is obvious that iambic

poetics of the archaic mold is here implied, since only that brand of iambic

poetry deserves to be relegated to the bottom of the literary world opposite high-register epic. As in the case of Athenaeus' Masurius, therefore, we

have here an example of an old-style iambic mode discussed in terms that suggest such poetry was still available (even if that implies only a bookish antiquarian circulation among educated elites).

In the next chapter we will again find an laµ[30TT016s, though some modern commentators have understood this to be a purely formal term by the fourth century. But the laµ[30TT016s mentioned in a letter by Gregory

Nazianzen derives from the same class of earlier imperial individuals seen dimly here. So although the leap from Babrius to Gregory carries us over quite a stretch of time and cultural change, the iambographer nevertheless continued to be a recognizable (if rare) figure in imperial literary culture.

141

142

3 The Christian 1aµ~ono16s - Gregory N azianzen

6 5e Kcm.:iv aqi65pa napo~uv8eis Kai 51aKaeis emxelpTJO"E µev ETIE~ef..6eiv 51<'x 51KTJs,

ws 5e ol qilf..01 TOUTo eKwf..uaav, 6pyfi Kai ve6TTJTI TP~ljlas eauTov els i6:µ~us

noM<'x Tov ~KTJTilwva Ka6u~p1ae, Tei:> 1TIKP0 npoaXPTJa6:µevos Tou f\.pxit..oxou,

TO 5e OKOAaO"TOV aqieis Kai nai5ap1&5es.

And Cato vexed and seething sought to take [Scipio] to court, but when his friends prevented this, because of his anger and youth he turned to iambics and thoroughly savaged Scipio. He took Archilochus' gall but not his outrageous petulance.

Plutarch, Cato the Younger 7.2

Gregory Nazianzen's rise to the top of the Christian world was meteoric. But when the great orator attained the See of Constantinople, his enemies

orchestrated his swift demise. In voluntary exile he reinvented himself as a poet and holy man. In this new guise, the iambic mode offered a powerful tool for countering his rivals and renewing his claim to being the spiritual

and moral leader of Nicene Christendom.

Introduction

Gregory N azianzen was among the most influential theologians and orators of the early Christian era. With his friends Basil of Caesarea and Gregory of

Nyssa, he championed and molded Nicene orthodoxy in the second half of the fourth century in the face of staunch Arian opposition. Like his younger contemporary John Chrysostom, he rivals Demosthenes as a paragon of rhetorical style, and like Cicero and Augustine, we know about Gregory's life and career from a rare wealth of evidence by and about him. Yet his volumin

ous poetry has received scant attention from literary scholars beyond the mining of his works for theological principles and references 'to earlier poets, notably Sappho and Callimachus in addition to the more expected authors.1

1 Notable and commendable exceptions to this trend can be found in McGuckin 2001, 371-98, and 2006 and McLynn 1997, 1998 and 2006, all of which have had a significant influence on my reading of Gregory's poetry. For Sappho in Gregory's writings, see Koster 1964 and 1965.

l Introduction

The amazing range of authors that influenced Gregory's writings is interesting in its own right, but his breadth of literary vision was part of a conscious mission to create a body of Christian poetry that laid claim to

the entire spectrum of Greek genres, styles, modes and tones. Already the premier orator and philosopher of the Christian world, he set his sights on

becoming the greatest Christian poet as well. In part, this project emerged in direct response to Julian's attempt to define "Hellenism" in opposition to "Christianity," and Gregory's poetry demonstrates how seamlessly Hellenic and Christian identities could be fused. And yet even though Gregory

sought to claim the Hellenic literary tradition as part of the Christian inheritance, he rarely stuck to canonical forms. Instead, he blended elements of the classical masters into new and hybrid forms, such as poetic epistles (familiar in Latin, but not in Greek) and long verse autobiography.

This chapter focuses on the particularly tricky question of how Gregory made use of the scurrilous and angry poetics of the iambic tradition.

I will construct my arguments about Gregory's iambic adaptations around three poems that all participate in his efforts to explain and justify his brief, disappointing, and tumultuous stint in Constantinople.2 In 379

he came to the capital in order to support the beleaguered Nicene faction, and he seems to have been very successful at building up this community, which was far outnumbered by its Arian rivals. He was soon made bishop of the city, despite the fact that he was still technically the bishop of Sasima,

a see that Gregory had always refused to accept. During this time in Constantinople he experienced the worst of political backbiting and personal betrayal, especially by a certain Maxim us the Cynic, who had connivingly sought Gregory's friendship. The extent to which Gregory was duped by Maximus' efforts can be seen in his Oration 25, a eulogy to Maximus as

the ideal Christian philosopher. This false friend soon showed his true colors, however, and tried to have himself ordained bishop of the city behind Gregory's back in a secret and unofficial ceremony. After a brilliant

early career as a theologian and orator and a rapid rise to the pinnacle of ecclesiastical power, in 381 Gregory was summarily forced out by his enemies and rivals after only a few weeks in office. Like Cato the Younger,

whose rivalry with Scipio is described in the epigraph to this chapter, Gregory dealt with this stinging defeat by composing iambic poetry.

The poems discussed here were all written soon after Gregory's hasty departure from Constantinople. Until recently, these later years had been

2 McGuckin 2001 provides the latest and best overview of Gregory's entire career.

143

144 The Christian iaµf3orrozo) - Gregory Nazianzen

described as a time of meditative retirement, but McGuckin has shown that Gregory immediately began organizing a collection of his poetry to

be sent to the capital as a strong proof of his poetic mastery, a defense of his recent career, a voice of encouragement for his followers, and a counterattack against his enemies.3 Not surprisingly, it is in this last area

that we find the clearest signs of the iambic mode. Although the present discussion by no means exhausts Gregory's invective palette, the three following selections offer a representative sampling of his varied applica

tion of iambic poetics. Eis ta emmetra is likely to have been the introductory piece in Gregory's

self-edited collection of poetry, as McGuckin has already suggested.4 In this short poem we hear Gregory explain and defend his poetic program in a manner that clearly recalls the prologue to Callimachus' Aetia.5 But in articulating and def ending his new undertaking, Gregory combines

Platonic philosophy with sharp retorts typical of iambos. And in a new twist that may be the result of Christian condemnation of iambic scurrility, as voiced, for example, by Origen ( Cels. 3.25), Gregory vacillates between

adopting an iambic persona and calling his enemy an iambic poet. That is to say, at times he seems to speak more from the perspective of a justified Lycambes than that of an Archilochus. Similar iambic dissimulation has

already been discussed in terms of Ovid's Ibis, which Ovid himself claims is not iambic and in which he too speaks through the voice of iambic targets, and Babrius' choliambic fables, which he boasts of having freed from the

old iambic sting, but Gregory puts his own stamp on this pattern of dissimulation by interlarding his iambic invective with motifs taken from Pindaric epinician, like epic, a genre starkly opposed to archaic iambos. Gregory even concludes Eis ta emmetra with an obvious allusion to a famously aggressive line of Pindar, leaving us with the misleading

3 McGuckin 2006, 205-08. McLynn 1997 (further developed in 1998 and 2006) argues strongly against the image of Gregory's contemplative retirement.

4 This poem is typically referred to by its traditional Latin title In suos versus or an English translation, such as On his own Verses. McGuckin 2006, 195, rightly complains about how badly such renderings miss the mark of Gregory's punning on "meter" and "moderation" in the Greek title Eis ta emmetra. McGuckin suggests "On Matters of Measure" or "On Me,trical Issues," but even these fail to get at the aggressive apologetics of Gregory's poem. I have chosen, therefore, to use the Greek title. For his other poems, I will follow the habit of using Latin titles.

5 Hollis 2002, 43-49, updates the discussion of Gregory's use of Callimachus (for which see also Wyss 1983, 849-53). Of particular interest is the outline of the Aetia prologue that Hollis reconstructs from passages scattered throughout Gregory's corpus. This exercise shows that Gregory had thoroughly absorbed this poem and that it continually came to mind throughout his career whenever he put pen to paper.

Introduction

impression that his own antagonistic posturing has been carried out in the more elegant and mannered register of epinician rather than iambos.

Even if we are correct to assume that Eis ta emmetra stood as the first item in a collection of Gregory's poetry, we have no way of knowing what other works might have been included in such a volume. De vita sua and De se ipso et de episcopis, however, are likely candidates. The former is a long autobio

graphical poem that treats Gregory's entire career. In the section in which he deals with his relationship with Maximus he speaks to his betrayer directly

and savages him with a barrage of abuse rife with Archilochean themes. This is the most obvious and intense example of Gregory's iambic mode.

The iambic dimensions of De se ipso, like what we find in Eis ta emmetra, are more complex. Gregory constructs for himself a Socratic persona of the pious sage who has been rejected by a city that did not want to hear his transformative message. And it may be due to Socrates' famously biting

playfulness that some of Gregory's attacks on the corrupt bishops of Constantinople combine iambic motifs with tropes borrowed from Old Comedy.6 Of the many similarities between these two modes is a shared

concern for the defense of a civic community. As Gregory blends his iambic poetics with the voice of the Platonic Socrates and the humorous aggression of Aristophanes he recoups the literary voice of a civic benefactor.

But Gregory could no longer serve as a physically present guide to the Nicene community of Constantinople, since he had been all but driven out

of the city. And in constructing his hybrid literary persona in De se ipso he also emphasizes his new role as an outsider who has willingly removed himself from the decadence and corruption of the urban church. As such,

he takes on the trappings of an ascetic holy man, a powerful figure emerging in this era who became a major player in late antique Christendom.7 The holy man, whose asceticism and devotion stationed him as an

intermediary between the terrestrial and heavenly realms, had a powerful voice, with which he could heal, kill, and otherwise intercede on the behalf of petitioners in support of the faithful and as a bulwark against the forces

of evil. As Gregory makes iambos Christian, therefore, he also blends the model of efficacious iambic speech with that of the holy man - again synthesizing the Hellenic and Christian traditions.

6 McGuckin 2006, 202, describes two of Gregory's tirades against his enemies as examples of "New Comedy farce," but the spirit of these lines is far closer to the outraged tone of Old Comedy than the lighter and less personal tenor of New Comedy.

7 McLynn 1998 presents a thorough investigation of Gregory as "a self-made holy man." The image of the late antique Christian holy man has undergone many refinements since Brown's seminal article of 1971, but his analysis continues to provide the basic template.

145

146 The Christian iaµ(3orro16c; - Gregory Nazianzen

The Callimachean turn: Eis ta emmetra

When Gregory finally left public life after the events of 381 in Constantinople, he returned to his family's estate and, among other pursuits, wrote poetry. After dealing with all the underhand, heretical fomenters and

pompous, power-mongering bishops, he was eager to move toward the more contemplative and ascetic life for which he had always yearned, but

he also sought a new means of participating actively in the theological and political debates within the Church. These sentiments pervade much of his huge poetic output, and his physically marginalized position became the

basis of a new persona as a poet and holy man. Eis ta emmetra (Carm. 2.1.39 =PG 37: 1329-36) serves as Gregory's debut

in this new guise. In just over a hundred iambic trimeters he explains his reasons for turning to verse at this point in his career and attacks unnamed

detractors, who had ridiculed this decision. On McGuckin' s theory that this poem would have introduced Gregory's new endeavor, the poem stands at

the turning point in Gregory's career as a new kind of Christian leader. The orator and bishop here announces his transformation into a poet and holy man. As in the preface to Lucian's True Histories, Gregory teasingly declares

that much of his material comes from other sources and dares us to ferret out and analyze his literary references. Indeed, the principal unifying theme of the poem emerges only through the ever-changing associations with the notion of being µfrp1os, a concept that encompasses various notions of "balance" while always punning on poetic "meter".

This shifting and polyvalent set of interwoven words and ideas encompasses a complex web of allusions. Although Gregory's interest in Callima

chus' Aetia has long been recognized, in this poem he also draws upon the Iambi in articulating his literary agenda and defending it against detractors. And through the Iambi we can recognize that Gregory's invective

strategies also owe a great deal to the habits of archaic iambic abuse.8 But even as he throws out low-register and coarse insults, he simultaneously evokes scenes and debates from Plato. McGuckin has provided a foundational discussion of Gregory's harmonization of Platonic and Aristotelian

literary criticism in his poetry, and I will build upon his work, particularly

8 Agosti 2001 briefly analyzes Gregory's use of iambic poetics in several contexts. He even assesses

Gregory's two orations against Julian (Orr. 4-5) in this light, though I do not see that these speeches employ an iambic mode. Despite the fact that Gregory knew Julian personally from their student days in Athens, these orations are not filled with personal rage, nor do they take life from any direct interaction between Julian and Gregory. These orations are, rather, gloating and triumphalist celebrations of the death of a hated oppressor.


in terms of the Callimachean response to Plato's literary theories.9 In addition to Platonic echoes, we can hear a markedly Pindaric tone in

certain passages, and I will conclude my discussion of Eis ta emmetra by showing how Gregory gives his iambic poetics a surprisingly Pindaric

veneer.10 In part, no doubt, because of the negative view of Archilochus among Christian writers, Gregory may have wanted to use iambic poetics without being sullied by them. This stew of influences leads to an emphatically eclectic picture of Gregory's poetic style. He combines biting abuse in

the mode of an Archilochus or Hipponax with a refined Callimachean aesthetic, a close attention to Platonic philosophy and literary criticism, and a Pindaric finish. When Gregory dips his pen in iambic gall, therefore,

his angry posturing never overwhelms these other literary voices, and he surrounds his iambic poetics with a panoply of wide-ranging allusions. As

always, the iambic speaker's anger and outrage are carefully constructed poetic postures, whether or not the poet himself was angry and outraged.

As a statement of his literary program, Eis ta emmetra has been compared to the opening lines of Callimachus' Aetia and, indirectly, Horace's

Ars poetica. 11 As Cataudella noted long ago, both Eis ta emmetra and the prologue to the Aetia are relatively short responses to carping critics, who claim that each poet is somehow "doing it wrong." Gregory's gambit recalls several themes in Callimachus' own opening lines, even in the similar sense of crowded pressure in Gregory's "many people" and Callimachus' "many times":

noMous 6pwv yp6:q>oVTo:S EV T~ vuv f3i(}l

i\6yous aµhpous, KO:l pEoVTo:S EUKOAWS

Ko:\ rri\EicrTov EKTpif3oVTO:S EV rr6vo1s )(P6vov,

WV KEp8os ou8ev Ti KEVT\ yi\wcrcro:i\yio: ... 12

Seeing many people in this generation writing

unmeasured words - flowing along easily

9 McGuckin 2006, esp. 195-201, outlines Gregory's debt to Plato and Aristotle. Cp. AcostaHughes and Stephens 2011, 31-47.

10 For Gregory's use of Pindar, see Wyss 1983, 844-45, and Smith 2001, xxviii, n. 51. 11 For this connection with Callirnachus, see Cataudella 1928. For Horace, see Milovanovic

Barharn 1997, 499 and especially n. 9, where she notes that Gregory is the first Greek author to compose verse epistles, a genre he might have discovered among Latin authors, such as Horace. Wyss 1949, 205-10, lists many parallels between Horace and Gregory, though he ultimately concludes that Gregory probably had not read Horace. Another possible point of contact is with Misopogon 338a, where Julian says that even if others don't appreciate his literary talents he, at least, will take pleasure in them. Gregory makes effectively the same point in lines 22-23.

12 Citations are from White's 1996 edition which has some slight improvements over Migne's text (PG 37: 1329-36). I preserve both her line numbering and the traditional citation of PG.

147

148 The Christian laµf3orro16) - Gregory Nazianzen

and wasting most of their time in toil,

from which there is no profit other than hollow chatter. ..

Eis ta Emmetra 1-4 = 1329.8-11

noMaKl µ01 Tei\xives ElTlTpU~OUOlV ao18ft,

vi]18es o'i MoUO'T)S OUK eyeVOVTO qiii\01.

EJVEKEV oux EV cmaµa ClT]VEKES 1i ~aalAT] ...... ]as EV TIOAAais fivuaa x1i\1aa1v. 13

Often the Telchines croak at my song,

fools, no friends of the Muse,

because I did not complete one continuous poem on kings

[ ... ] in many thousands oflines.

Aetia fr. 1.1-4

Both authors immediately display the ability to make critical aesthetic

judgments, they reduce their opponents' output to inarticulate noise (KEVTJ

y?\wcrcra?\yia, ETT1Tpu~oucr1v), and they align themselves against literature

produced by the yard.

The importance of the Aetia in Gregory's formulation of a scathing

literary manifesto has, however, obscured the role of another Callimachean

model, the Iambi, in which Callimachus announces his use ofHipponax as

his iambic model against the squabbling literati of Alexandria.14 The

Callimachean Hipponax addresses his words to men of the present

day (fr. 191.6), just as Gregory speaks to his contemporaries (Ev Ti;l vOv

13i(}I, 1 = 1329.8). As in the Aetia prologue, Callimachus again accuses his

detractors ofinarticulate speech (fr. 191.11 ), but several points that are not

found in the Aetia are common to the Iambus 1 and Eis ta emmetra. For

example, the latter two poems liken their opponents' literary efforts to a

swarm of biting insects (Callim.: µui01, "flies," and crcpfjKES, "wasps," 26-27;

Greg.: crKv!ms AiyunT101, "Egyptian flies," 7 = 1330.1);15 both claim that

13 A simplified version of the text printed by Acosta-Hughes and Stephens 2002. 14 Hollis 2002, 48-49, presents a variety of allusions to the Iambi in Gregory's writings. 15 These Egyptian flies "play" simultaneously on a variety of registers. According to Socrates the

historian, bishop Timothy of Alexandria and a swarm of other Egyptian bishops raised serious questions about Gregory's election to the bishopric of Constantinople on the grounds that he was already bishop of Sasima and that the transfer of a bishop from one see to another was not permissible. The crKvl<ji appears in the Septuagint in descriptions of Moses' magical ability to produce gnats that confounded Pharaoh's magicians (Ex. 8:16 and Ps. 105:31). A reader attuned to the Callimachean influence, however, might also wonder if Gregory's "Egyptian flies" have come from Callimachus' Alexandria. Callimachus' µuTcu are paired with wasps (which are closely connected with iambos in the Hellenistic imaginail'e, e.g., Callimachus, fr. 380; Leonidas, AP 7.408; Gaetulicus, AP 7.71), and Gregory's crKvTms evoke the adjective crKvm6s, which Pollux (2.65) glosses as "dim-sighted" in his citation of Sem. fr. 19.


their critics will exhaust themselves rather than succeed (Tpil3w: Callim.: 30;

Greg.: 3 = 1329.10); and both finally promise to deliver a poem of no

excessive length (Callim.: 32; Greg.: 61 = 1333.13). More speculatively, a

badly damaged line of Iambus 1 contains the letters ]aµnpa (23), which

has most often been understood as a reference to "pentameters" based on

the parallel in Iambus 13 (fr. 203.31). But it is at least possible that in Eis ta

emmetra Gregory bears witness to a different text involving some form of )/ 16 aµnpos.

In addition to these parallels with Iambus 1, Gregory's charge that one of

his enemies is an iambic poet, laµ13ono16s (70 = 1334.9), activates a self

conscious meditation on his own status as an iambic poet (in meter, if

nothing else) that closely follows the main theme of Callimachus Iambus 13.

In that poem, Callimachus had responded to accusations - quite likely

fictitious - that he could not compose choliambic poetry, because he had

never been to Hipponax's Ephesus. Much as Callimachus' poem about this

quarrel proves the poet's case (i.e., he clearly can compose Hipponactean

poetry), so too Gregory's accusation, paired with blistering invective, shows

that he can don the mask of the laµl3ono16s and that he was fully aware of the

overlap between his iambic form and his iambic poetics. So although the

Aetia prologue makes its presence felt in the opening lines of Gregory's

poem, the Iambi offer an even closer (and heretofore largely unexplored)

parallel. Gregory's use of the term laµ13ono16s obviously gets to the heart of

his understanding of and engagement with iambic poetics. Before we can

discuss that term in detail, however, it will be helpful to confront a more

pervasive and slippery set of terminologies around which Eis ta emmetra

coheres, namely the notion of µihpov, "measure" but also "poetic meter."

In the second line of Eis ta emmetra Gregory begins to weave his poem's

unifying theme, which also serves as a primary vehicle for invective: all

around him he sees people writing A6yo1 &µnpo1. The idea of being in (or

out) of proper measure recurs a dozen more times throughout this short

text, and Gregory clearly intends various meanings to overlap, clash,

and spur reflection in each appearance of words related to µihpov - fitting

his statement that Tc'x n01~6vTwv Myo1, "words are the stuff of tricksters"

(60 = 1333.12). Three times Gregory refers to poetic meter, and these are

the simplest examples of words connected to the notion of µETpa. In

composing poetry he sets his personal labors (novijµaw) to verse (µfrpo1s,

16 A Callimachean comment in an iambic meter about something being i'xµETpos could be in dialogue with the fascinating bit of P.Dubl. 193a6, which, after mentioning the daughters of Lycambes, reads ] .. aµETp' iaµ~w1. For a full discussion, see Bond 1952.

149

150 The Christian faµf3orro16) - Gregory Nazianzen

24 = 1331.4); he works hard at his meter (Ko:µwv To µ!frpov, 37 = 1332.3);

and he accuses his antagonist of criticizing his meter (µ!frpov KO:Ki(;e1s,

69 = 1334.8).

These straightforward cases slide into the more subjective area of meas

urement and aesthetic assessment when Gregory defends his choice to

write poetry while also lashing out at his detractors (22-32 = 1331.2-12):17

"AMT]v µETfjA0ov TWV Mywv TaUTTJV 656v,

el µev KaAfiv ye, el 5e µfi y', eµoi <piAT]V'

µihpo1s Tl 50Civa1 TWV eµwv 1TOVT]µcnwv.

oux, ws &v olT]6eiev Ol 1TOAAoi ~POTWV,

TWV TIOVTa pc;icrTwv, 56~av EKKapTiouµevos

Kevfiv, 8 5fi AeyETai. TouvaVTiov µev oliv

TPEXOVTas oT5a TOiS eµois, OUTW yp6:qie1v,

6:v6pwTiapecrKeiv µO:Mov· o! yap TIAeioves

TOiS crqiwv µETpOlS µETpOUO"l Kai Ta TWV 1TEAas,

oliTe TipoTtµwv ToCiTo Twv 6eiwv TI6vwv·

µft µ01 TocroCiTov EKTifoo1 8eou A6yos.

I have taken this other path of writing, a good one, it seems, but at the very least dear to me: to set something of my labors to verse. Not, as many people may think -those always most hasty - to earn a reputation that is hollow, as they say (though by contrast I know that those who run down my poems write to ingratiate themselves with others, since most people

25

30

25

measure the works of their neighbors by their own standards), 30

but neither placing this effort before divine labors -may the Word of God never fall so far from my sight!

Gregory's use of the unspecified Ta (30 = 1331.10) recalls his noun-less

title, Eis ta emmetra, and hints that the "thing" that everyone measures

may be poetry. Such aesthetic evaluation is explicit later in the poem when

Gregory def ends his decision to compose poetry by pointing to the

metrical portions of the Bible. He challenges his critic: "If the tones of

the strings do not sound µsTpov to you ... then let Saul persuade you - his

own spirit freed by the songs of the harp" (84, 88-89 = 1335.10, 14-15).

Here µ!frpov must mean something like "harmonious" or "in tune," but

17 The word avepwnapeaKos (29) appears as a term of derision at Eph. 6.6, Col. 3.22, and LXX Ps. 52 (53).6. The two passages from the New Testament both use the term to describe those who lack a pious focus on divine things.


again the cutting implication is that the critic cannot appreciate what is

naturally and spiritually beautiful. This same point appears again with

slight, but important, alteration at the end of the poem as Gregory interro

gates his enemy one last time (100-01 = 1336.11-12):

Tl ouv KaK!~e1s Tiiv eµfiv euµETplav,

TOiS crois µihpo1s crTa6µwµevos Ta Twv TIEAas;

Why then do you criticize my good measure, measuring your neighbors' works by your own standards?

In the earlier passage the statement was generic: Most people assess their

neighbor's stuff by their own standards. But in these closing lines everything

has become pointedly personal. Now Gregory speaks directly to his single

critic in the second-person, and the bone of contention is Gregory's euµe

Tpio:, his "harmonious good measure and balance," a term so irrepressibly

positive in this context that it definitively convicts his rival of bad judgment.

But Gregory admits that he was not always able to boast of such harmo

nious balance. Most often the concept of aµETpio: is clearly derisive, as when

Gregory uses it to describe his unnamed adversary as &µETpos ( 69 =

1334.8), but he also speaks of his own aµnplo: (33-41 = 1331.13-1332.7):

Tl ouv TIETiov6a, TOUT' \'crws 6auµ6:crETe.

TipwTOv µev fi6eATJcra, Tols &Mo1s Kaµwv,

OUTW m5fjcra1 Tiiv ~µfiv aµETplav·

ws &v yp6:qiwv ye, O:Ma µfi TioMa yp6:qiw,

Kaµwv To µeTpov . .lleuTepov 5e Tois vfo1s,

Kai TWV 00"01 µ6:AtcrTa xalpoucrl A6yo1s,

wcrTiep Tl TepTivov TOUTo 50Civa1 qi6:pµaKov,

m16ous O:ywyov els Ta XPTJcrtµwTepa,

TEXVTI y71uK6:~wv To mKpov Twv evToAwv.

Why did I undertake this, you might wonder. First, I wanted, by working on other projects, to rein in my own lack of measure so that, even though I wrote, I might not write too much needing to refine my meter. And second, for the young -especially those who delight in literature -I wanted to present this as a pleasant medicine, An elegant goad toward more useful matters, Sweetening with art the bitterness of commands.

35

40

35

40

Gregory describes poetry as a <papµo:Kov, "medicine" (39 = 1332.5), to

help young people but also, it appears, as a "remedy" for his own &µnpio:

151

152 The Christian taµf3orro165 - Gregory Nazianzen

(35 = 1332.1), which the composition of poetry restrains. Although various connotations of exµETpicx may overlap here (i.e., he fears that he

is too wordy, awkward at handling his meter, has spent too many years writing prose, etc.), a personal implication is certainly uppermost in this line. Gregory had been "out of balance" until he turned to poetry. Greek

medical writers frequently speak of being µ1hp1os to express the equilibrium of good health. Thus exµETpicx is a symptom and root cause of illness.

He claims that poetry is a pleasing medicine (Tepnv6v <pexpµcxKov, 39 = 1332.5), and he later relates that he turned to poetry while he was suffering

from an illness (v6cros, 54 = 1333.6). These associations also make it clear that in the last line of this passage we have a version of the famous Lucretian ploy of using poetry as the honey to sweeten bitter medicine.18

Gregory's words, therefore, suggest that a lack of aesthetic discrimination

can become a physiognomic signal of sickness of the body as well as the soul.19

The idea that literature can be a <papµcxKov has a long history stretching all the way back to Archilochus fr. 13, as discussed in greater detail in Chapter 1. To briefly recap: Archilochus used this elegiac poem to describe

how the gods have granted endurance to humans as a <papµcxKov for grief, but even as his poem claims an external source for healing, it implicitly demonstrates the role of poetry itself as a <papµcxKov. In his Phaedrus, Plato

had Socrates tell a story about the invention of writing by the Egyptian god Thoth, who presented his creation to King Thamus and called it a

<papµcxKov for memory. Thamus responded by agreeing that writing would

indeed be a <papµcxKov, but he capped Thoth's positive use of this word ("cure") with an equally legitimate negative twist ("poison"). Plato's text

seems to assert that writing pales in comparison to philosophical dialogue

and that texts are similar to orphaned children whose parents can no longer care for them in person. In the Hellenistic era, both Callimachus (Ep. 46) and Theocritus (Id. 11 and 14) recouped a decidedly positive connotation for poetry as a <papµcxKov. In their poems about Polyphemus,

they portray the love-lorn Cyclops as soothing his anguished heart with poetry. Like the Alexandrian version of this Homeric monstrosity, then,

18 The locus classicus for this image is Lucretius 1.936-38, but we have also seen similar imagery in Babrius (Pro!. 1.18-19), and we will encounter it again in Dio's "First Tarsian" (33.10).

19 Gregory's statement that his writing of poetry has allowed him to overcome his oµETpla is structurally similar to typical Christian statements concerning divine intervention which saves a sinner from his sin. If the balance of his claim were to be felt in such a way by his audience, this would be a dramatic conflation of personal salvation and literary aesthetics similar to, but on a far larger scale than, the discussion of aµETpla as an aesthetic-critical term below.


Gregory has healed himself with the <papµcxKov of poetry and has purged himself of the &µETpicx that still bedevils his enemy.20

Poetry has healed Gregory, but his critic, though a poetaster himself, has not benefited from such therapy. In his most aggressive attack, Gregory describes him as &µETpos, and these lines present a scathing retort and a dense adaptation of iambic poetics. The word TCX0Tcx in the first line of this passage refers to the eclectic style of Gregory's poetry (68-81 = 1334.7-1335.7):

Ei µ1Kpa Taiha, au TEAEI TCx µEi,ova.

µhpov KaKi,EIS' ElKOTWS, &µETpos (;)v,

laµj30TI016s, auyypaqiwv 6:µj311wµma.

TiS yap j3AETIOVTa, µi'J j3AETIWV, eyvwp1aEv;

fi Tis TPEXOVT!, µi'J TPEXWV, auvecpaµE;

lTATJV OU AEAT]6as, 8 lj!EYEIS, wvouµEvos.

8 yap KaKi,E1s, TovT6 ao1 aTiou56:,ETa1,

Kai aqi65p~ 6:µhpws, To yp6:qiEJV TI01i]µma.

chav 5' EAEYXTI> TiiaTIS CxVTEl<JEPXETaJ,

Kai m'6s fiµlv vauaywv 6 qiiATaTos.

TOIOUTa TEXV6:,Ea6E, uµE\s oi aoqioi.

TOUT' OU lTp65T]AOV \jlEU5os, ouxi 5mMT];

Tii6T]Kos fiµiv 6:pTiws, Mwv 51: vuv.

OUTWS 6:!.iaKn' EUlTETWS 569Js epws.

If these are trivial, do something grander.

70

75

80

You criticize my meter. Understandably, since you're immoderate, 70

an iaµj30TI016s, stitching together fetuses. Can a blind man spot the sighted? Can a lame man overtake the swift? But you can't conceal that you want what you mock. You're hot for what you revile: Writing poetry - and yours is exceptionally tasteless. Whenever you criticize, confidence rises, and our dear little prosaic poet has run aground. Such things you contrive, you wise men -

75

20 Ovid's ibis can cure itself. As we will see in the next chapter, Dio compares his job in the First Tarsian to a doctor treating a sick body, and his speech may evoke the Mnesiepes Inscription's plague narrative that is precipitated and resolved via Archilochean iambos. This intersection between iambic poetics and healing is already present in the archaic era. For example, in Archilochus fr. 11 (admittedly, in elegiac couplets) the speaker claims that he will "cure" (h\aoµa1) nothing by weeping, and the speaker in fr. 67 refers to a cure (lria1s) for a growth of some sort (likely an erotic euphemism). Hipponax 78 W/78 Dg seems to describe a cure for impotence, as discussed in detail by West 1974, 142-43, and Miralles and Portulas 1988, 9-21.

153


aren't they all patently deceitful and duplicitous? A moment ago we had a monkey, but now he's a lion. How easily the lust for fame is convicted!21

80

Gregory here assumes the pose of a prototypical iambic speaker, who has been wronged without provocation and is now justified in striking back ruthlessly. Just as the testimonia recall how Archilochus was denied the

chance to begin a family with Neobule and Hipponax was maliciously caricatured, so too, Gregory has been blindsided by a jealous literary critic.

He begins this screed by announcing his enemy's crime and definitively securing his own position by showing that his target has given voice to a negative judgment even though he is unqualified to do so. Again, the

charge of having criticized the poet's iambic meter has close parallels to Callimachus' Aetia prologue and Iambus 13. He next insults his target by calling him an !o:µ~otro16s, literally a "composer of iambs" and a word

with a very specific semantic history, as discussed in Interlude 2. Although the iambike idea had never been narrowly restricted to iambic meters,

io:µ~otro16s had always denoted someone who used iambic poetics (i.e., an abusive poet) - not someone who composed in iambic meters.22

Thus Hipponax was an io:µ~otro16s even when he composed in dactylic hexameters, but Sophocles was not an io:µ~otro16s even though the iambic

trimeter was the standard meter for dramatic dialogue.23 In accusing his opponent of being an lo:µ~otro16s while he himself composes vituperative iambic trimeters, Gregory uses the word as a term of abuse and as a generic

marker of the poetics at play; i.e., these are not just the moralizing trimeters of Solon or (to take a contemporary example) Gregory's cousin Amphilochius, but the iambike idea in the tradition of the archaic iambographers.24

21 A literal rendering of this passage misses the point. My translation, therefore, has taken several liberties in order to capture more of Gregory's taunting tone.

22 West 1974, 22-39, still offers the best succinct discussion of the relationship between iambos and iambic meters.

23 Philodemus (On Poems Book 1, fr. 117) records a corresponding scenario (probably attributed by Philodemus either to Pausimachus of Miletus or Crates of Mallos) by stating that Sappho composed some verses "iambically" (icxµj31Koos) and that Archilochus at times did the opposite. Milovanovic-Barham 1997, 503-4, is, therefore, offbase in suggesting that the sting of calling someone an iaµj301ro16s derives from the lowly reputation of tragedy in Gregory's day. In addition to the three archaic iambists, the label icxµj301ro16s is applied to several other authors, e.g., Herodas (Zen. 6.10.7), Ananius (Ath. 3.78£), Aeschrion of Samos (Ath. 8.335c), and Phoenix of Colophon (Ath. 8.359e).

24 The Iambi ad Seleucum, preserved among Gregory's works but regularly attributed to Amphilochius, is a poetic letter to a certain Seleucus. It offers guidelines about how to live a virtuous Christian life (including a list of which sacred writings should be deemed "biblical") and is free of any inkling of iambic poetics.


In a personal letter (Ep. 176), we can confirm that Gregory was aware of

this generic (rather than metrical) implication of lo:µ~otro16s when he admits that he has offended his friend Eudoxius by having played the part of the !o:µ~otr016s.25 He suspects that his friend has not been in touch in quite some time, because he has a bad taste in his mouth from certain

iamboi ( Twv laµ~wv TjµTv µv11a1Ko:Kels) that he had heard recited. In context, it becomes clear that the person who composed these lines (io:µ~otro1elv) was Gregory himself (though they were recited by a certain Valentinus).

Curiously, although Gregory believes that his poetry, which presumably made fun of Eudoxius, is the cause of his friend's silence, he does not apologize. Rather he quotes a line of Homer (II. 9.496) urging his friend essentially to buck up and take it like a man. Gregory is thus well equipped

both to recognize his enemy as an lo:µ~otro16s and to engage in such a discourse himself. And since Gregory wants to revive his friendship with Eudoxius, he also shows that his iambic register encompasses friendly

teasing or reprimanding as well more hostile posturing. In Eis ta emmetra, therefore, the insult of calling his enemy an lo:µ~otro16s effectively begins a process of competitive scapegoating.

The word lo:µ~otro16s, however, does not come from the standard vocabulary of iambos. Rather, it is a classificatory word of the literary critic, and in using it in this way, Gregory blurs such categorizations. Like

an archaic lo:µ~otro16s he has been attacked by the words and (in his opinion) invalid judgments of an enemy, and he responds with a fierce counterattack worthy of Archilochus. But like a moderate (µ1hp1os) literary scholar, he pigeon-holes his opponent as an un-justified slanderer, a

Thersites who should never have raised his voice. Gregory thus shows himself to be both a better critic and a better poet than his target, both an

effective io:µ~otro16s and the justified victim of such an abusive speaker. Moreover, in light of the rich tradition of denigrating the archaic iambic poets for their unbridled rage and scurrilous antics, we can suspect that Gregory here uses the poetic strategies of the iambist while foisting off onto

his rival the unseemly associations of that label. Ironically, Gregory has transformed the critic's word io:µ~otro16s into a slanderous insult worthy of an lo:µ~otro16s.

Gregory next continues his description of his bete noire as an author, and claims that all he can compose are abortions (6µ~/\wµmo:, 70 =

1334.9), another word that stretches in several different directions at once.

25 McLynn 1997, 300, and 2006, 237-38, discusses this letter.

155

156 The Christian faµ{3orro165 - Gregory Nazianzen

On the one hand, &µ~/\wµa is a technical term used by physicians, such as Gregory's fellow Cappadocian Aretaeus (1st century CE, CA 1.6). Thus a literary abortion returns us to the medical notion of being µ!hp1os and again shows Gregory's enemy to be unhealthy and out of balance. On the other hand, the term also recalls Platonic notions of the philosopher as midwife and texts as orphaned children, philosophical associations that excoriate the intellectual capabilities of Gregory's enemy, who could not even bring a work of literature "to term" let alone "raise" it properly.26

Furthermore, these abortions resonate with other fertility crises in the iambic tradition. Archilochus fears that sex with Neobule might lead to "blind and premature" offspring (fr. 196a.39); among Semonides' descriptions of the various types of animal-women in fr. 7, only the Bee-woman produces healthy and legitimate children; Hipponax describes various scenes that may involve horrifying treatments for impotence (e.g. fr. 78 W/78 Dg); and the Mnesiepes Inscription contains the legend of a community-wide plague of flaccidity connected with Archilochus' poetic debut (discussed in greater detail in Chapter 4). Perhaps most importantly, however, the refrain of Callimachus' Iambus 13 includes this phrase (fr. 203. 13-14 = 65-66):

"Ecpeaov, oeev 1TEp oi TO µeTpa µei\AOVTES

To xc.oM TIKTe1v µiJ &µaews EvauovTa1.

Ephesus, where those about to give birth to lame metra are not unlearnedly inspired.

This passage clearly deals with the production of poetry, but the language frames the act of composition as a form of giving birth. No one hopes to give birth to damaged offspring, but the iambist walks a thin line between poetic failure and the successful production of ugly, bitter, or lame verses. Gregory's words ensure that we understand that his rival has failed on both counts.

The barren poet thus shades into a failed woman. Gregory attacks his enemy's manliness with this sexually charged image in a manner that recalls many of the iambic images referenced in the previous paragraph, though we can now add Hipponax's fragments that seem to describe himself and Bupalus as rival lovers of Arete, who may be Bupalus' mother (e.g., frr. 12W/20Dg, 15 W/18 Dg, 16 W/23 Dg). With these images in

26 In Aristophanes' Clouds Strepsiades interrupts one of Socrates' students and causes him to abort an idea (q>poVTIS' ~~fiµ~i\c.iKa5, 137).


mind, Gregory's rival deserves to suffer the shame of a defective pregnancy that brings with it the suggestion of inappropriate sex. With matters of poetics presented in a bodily register, Gregory builds a derisive catalogue of faults. This man is both dim-sighted and lame in contrast to the swift and clear-sighted Gregory, and these taunts continue to undermine his enemy's manhood and present him in the unheroic, inelegant, or socially inappropriate manner of iambos. 27

This hideous monster is next shown to be concealing his desire to write poetry by attacking Gregory as a poet, and the combination of m~6s and vauaywv ("foot soldier" and "shipwreck," 77 = 1335.3) again eludes reductive analysis. This bad poet is similar to a foot-soldier who has been washed up on shore after his ship has sunk. We might suspect that this m~6s should never have ventured onto the high seas and sought to be sailor, much as Archilochus' Fox and Eagle should never have tried to strike up a friendship.28 But the m~6s is also a "prose" author who has foundered among the unpredictable conditions of the sea of poetry. Returning to the idea of A6yo1 &µETpo1 as "prose texts" (2 = 1229.9), the critic now seems to have brashly entered the realm of poetry without even being a credible prose author. From a Callimachean perspective, the m~6s also recalls the "prosaic pasture of the Muses" at the end of the Aetia (Moua€wv m~6v ... voµ6v, fr. 112.9 Pf.), a phrase generally interpreted as referring to Callimachus' low-register Iambi rather than his prose works.29

Especially since Gregory's target has already been labeled an iaµ~ono16s, this Callimachean intertext brands him as a failed iambic poet, someone who cannot play the Callimachean game.

As the m~6s becomes shipwrecked (vauaywv is either a nominative participle from vauay€w or a partitive genitive of vauay6s), other iambic associations arise. Horace's Epode 10 is a reverse propemptikon to "stinky" Mevius, who is often interpreted as a rival poet. 30 Horace gleefully wishes him a disastrous bon voyage that will leave him shipwrecked and dead now that their former friendship has been betrayed. A primary model for

27 The primary thesis of Worman 2008 is that iambic discourses in the classical era focused on the

degraded body, especially the mouth. 28 We might even suspect a contrast with the persona of Archilochus himself, a soldier who

survived various naval ventures and was killed in a battle on land only to be hailed posthumously (as he was prior to his birth) by Apollo.

29 That this is a reference to the Iambi is now the generally accepted position. This phrase may, however, refer to Callimachus' prose works. Pfeiffer 1949-53, ad loc., and P. Knox 1985 and 1993 provide the fundamental discussions of this issue. See the Introduction, n. 26.

30 For the identification of Horace's Mevius as the same bad poet mentioned by Virgil at Eel. 3.90, see Harrison 1989 and Watson 2003, 342.

157

158 The Christian laµf3orro105 - Gregory Nazianzen

Horace's poem is the archaic Strasbourg Epode (Hipp. fr. 115 W/194 Dg), which similarly envisions a back-stabbing friend marooned on the barbarous Thracian coast of the Black Sea.31 In Gregory's poem, this theme of the broken friendship is even implied in the deeply sarcastic superlative

<pi/\wT05, "dearest" (77 = 1335.3). Elsewhere in Gregory's writing we find a hint that he knew of the

connection between iambos and shipwrecks. In one of his many epigrams about the evils of greed and wealth, he notes that a dead man washed up on the shore often receives a decent burial whereas a rich man's grave is

subject to plundering (AP 8.210.1-4):

noMcXKl vauriyoio 8eµas KOTEXWCYEV 68iT11s

Kuµacr1 ni\a~6µevov, noi\i\CxKI 0T]poi\hou,

ti8TJ Kai, noi\eµw1 TIS ov wi\ecrev aM' eµe yehwv

xwcr0eVT' OAAOTpia!S XEpcr\v ETIEpcrE TCx<pOV.

Often a traveler buries the body of a sailor,

tossed by the waves, or someone mauled by beasts,

or even a man he had killed in war. But my neighbor

despoiled my grave, heaped up by another's hands.

The words Kuµacn ir/\al;6µevov, "tossed by the waves," repeat the standard reconstruction of the first legible words of the Strasbourg Epode: Kuµ[m1]

ir/\a[l;6µ]evo5, and these are the only two instances of this combination of words in ancient Greek. If Gregory is here quoting the Strasbourg Epode, and that seems to be a real possibility, then the shipwrecked foot soldier in Eis ta emmetra is not only out of his depth in terms of his own abilities, but he may also be thrown up on the same deadly shores as Horace's Mevius

and the target of the Strasbourg Epode. 32

From bad critic to failed iambic poet to physical invalid to unhealthy woman to the shipwrecked target of traditional iambic venom, Gregory's rival has spun through a litany of transformations in this passage. Toward

the end of the poem, however, he is removed completely from the human world and is worked over one more time through animal typologies. The man who had been a monkey, aping Gregory's literary success, is now

31 For the most recent and updated discussion of this poem, see Nicolosi 2007. Full text see Chapter 1, pp. 63-64.

32 The possibility that Gregory is here alluding to the Strasbourg Epode is not new, though it has only been noted in passing. Masson 1962 (Hipp. fr. ll5) and Tarditi 1968 (Arch. fr. 193) both follow Cantarella 1944, 43, in printing Kuµcxcr1 rather than Kuµcm. West 1971 (Hipp. fr. ll5) and Degani 1983 (Hipp. fr. 194) both follow Reitzenstein's Kuµm1 from 1899. Degani provides many close parallels to this phrase.


a lion in his ferocity (if not his kingly nature, 80 = 1335.6). The iri0TJKOS

appears five times in the archaic iambographers and is a fertile source of mockery, since it is described in ancient sources as a parody of a human being. Gregory's rival thus can produce only a parody of true poetry. 33 The lion, on the other hand, embraces the savage power of the animal world and

shows that poetic apery has given way to aggressive criticism. There may be

no full-blown fable narrative here through which to interpret the use of these animals, but a passage in Plato's Republic describes the subjection of the spirited part of the soul to the appetitive as a transformation of a lion into an

ape.34 Gregory sarcastically presents his opponent as making a last-ditch effort to straighten his spine after a lifetime of slavish subjugation to his baser impulses. As in traditional iambos, animals familiar from fable are used to describe and deride persons and situations in the human world, but

the Platonic overlay adds an acutely philosophical edge to Gregory's raillery. As a poet, Gregory's enemy lacks proper measure (he is &µETpos, 69 =

1334.8, and composes aµ1frpc.u5, 75 = 1335.1). Lines 68-81(= 1334.7-1335.7) deliver a strongly negative verdict, but the exact meaning of these terms in

reference to poetry embraces a whole slate of problems. His poetry could simultaneously be quantitatively too long ("beyond all measure"), qualitatively tinny ("off key"), inappropriate in terms of theme or content ("off color"), metrically rough ("unrhythmical"), or even built around a system of prosody

based on stress rather than quantity.35 But in casting the net broadly enough to encompass so many possible implications of aµeTpia relating to the critic's own poetry, we are now in a position to address the most open-ended examples of

this concept. With his first thought, Gregory describes his contemporaries as producing /\6y01 &µETpo1 (2 = 1329.9). All of the poetic criticisms mentioned above may also be at work in these words, but since this comment is not limited

33 Arch. fr. 185.3, 187.2; Hipp. fr. 155a.l; Sem. fr. 7.71, 79. For literary uses of monkeys, see Connors 2004.

34 Pl. Rep. 590b. KoACXKElcx 5e Kal ave;\eu6eplcx aux OTCXY TIS TO CXUTO TOUTO, TO 6uµoe15€s, UlTO Tei'>

oxMi5e1 6T]pl~ lTOlfi Kal EYEKCX XPTJµCTTCilY KCXI Tfjs EKE!vou CTlTAT]OTlcxs 1Tp01TT]ACXK!~6µevov Eel~n EK vfou avTi AiovTos ni6T]11ov ylyvecr6m. "Is it not flattery and bondage whenever someone subjects the spirited part of the soul to the mob-like beast of the appetite and accustoms it to being degraded for the sake of money and the insatiability of the appetite so that from childhood it becomes an ape instead of a lion?" Gregory clearly draws upon this Platonic image in De vita sua 408-9 when he complains that Basil considers himself inferior to Gregory by saying MoYTES i;µev ex6es aMa crfiµepov irl6wv i!ywye, "yesterday we were lions [i.e., equal partners in friendship) but now I am an ape [i.e., now I am in subjection to you]." Cp. Gregory Bp. 48 in which he blames their episcopal careers for rendering his friendship with Basil

unequal. Lucian draws upon the idea of a monkey in a lion skin at Phi/ops. 5. 35 Milovanovic-Barham 1997 argues for this last point but may overemphasize its influence on Bis

ta emmetra.

159

160 The Christian laµ{3orro16) - Gregory Nazianzen

to the arena of poetry, it may also be that &µETpos rather literally implies "without meter," i.e., prose.36 On this reading, one of the most important

Greek rhetoricians since Demosthenes begins the radical transformation of his literary career. 37 After building a reputation as a theologian and orator that led him to a brief stint in the highest see in all of Christendom and brought him to

the capital of the Eastern Empire, Gregory re-presents himself to the world as a poet and dismissively turns his back on the prose undertakings of his preConstantinopolitan profession.

Every possible implication of being µfrp1os discussed above comes crash

ing down on this bogeyman, who is now over-determined to play the part of the artless critic, the hack poet, the bombastic speaker, the unhealthy invalid, and the spiritual miscreant. Amid such a concatenation of aggressive messages, a distant echo may be heard from the garbled voice of aµETporni]s

Thersites in the Iliad. Most generally, this term indicates that Thersites does

not have a proper sense of social moderation in his speech, his foea are &µETpa. Although the content of his speech is not, in itself, inappropriate (his

arguments closely parallel Achilles' criticisms of Agamemnon), his lowly social position makes it shameful for him to raise his voice against the Achaean leadership. As mentioned in the Introduction, Martin has shown

a more specific, literal, and metrical interpretation of aµETporni]s, based on the marked frequency of correption and synizesis in Thersites' words, which gives the appearance that this character "slurs his words."38 Gregory had absorbed Homer every bit as much as the Second Sophistic pepaideumenoi, and such intertextual nuances were surely recognized by the most educated among his contemporary and future audiences. Beyond everything else, then, Gregory's opponent has been reduced to a repulsive Thersites-like interloper in the world of belles lettres, a literary Quasimodo. The flexible

and unstable concept of being µthp1os not only provides a unifying theme throughout Eis ta emmetra but also articulates battle lines.

Gregory has thoroughly savaged his detractor, but this aggressive tone is not sustained throughout the poem, which marries iambic poetics to other stylistic registers. This union is particularly innovative at points when

echoes of Pindar combine with iambic aggression. When Gregory announces that his poetry can encompass ~ Twv Ko::Awv foo:1vos ~ KaKwv

36 One might compare Gorgias' simple delimitation of poetry (He/. 9): Ti'jv TIDil]cr1v i'macrav Kai

voµi~c.:> Kai ovoµa~c.:> Myov exoVTa µihpov, "I consider and call all poetry speech with meter." 37 Michael Psellos called Gregory the "Christian Demosthenes," and according to McGuckin 2001,

402, Gregory's orations are "the most copied genre of all Byzantine manuscripts after the Bible." 38 Martin 1989, 112-13.


lJ.16yos, "either praise of the noble or abuse of the wretched" ( 65 = 1334.4),

he straddles the fence between epinician and iambos. Pindar had described his poetry in similar terms (Nern. 8.39): alvewv alv11Ta, µoµq>av 8' emcr

mipwv O::Anpoi's, "praising the praiseworthy, and sowing blame on the

unworthy." Gregory's statement is, however, more jarring than Pindar's

because at least in a poetic context his epainos and lJ.16yos point to the genres of epinician and iambos, whereas Pindar's terms merely articulate the content and social function of praise and blame in his poetry.39

In Eis ta emmetra Gregory blends two traits that typically distinguish Pindaric µoµq>a, "censure," from the harsher and more offensive Archilochean lJ.16yos. Both are exemplified in Pindar's Pythian 2, which may, therefore, be an important model for Gregory's poem. First, Pindar's abuse is never directed at real, contemporary individuals. Rather, he attacks

character types, classes, mythical ne'er-do-wells, such as Ixion (Pyth. 2.21-48), or a long-dead iambic poet, claiming that he must "flee the bite" of Archilochean raillery which drips with "heavy words of hate" (52-56). In this same passage Pindar describes himself seeing Archilochus ev O:µaxavlc;x,

"helpless," a phrase that is evoked in Gregory's description of his enemy's

literary project as O:µiJxavov ("beyond help," 18 = 1330.12). Iambos on the other hand, tends to attack named individuals who are presented as real

members of the poet's community, such as Lycambes and Bupalus. Gregory clearly directs his anger at a single detractor, in the manner of an iambic poet, but here he follows the Pindaric pattern of avoiding names. In Pythian 2 Pindar also states enigmatically that children always find the monkey (lTi6wv) to be beautiful (KaMs, 72). Whatever he meant by this riddling and likely derisive comment, his reference to the animal world does not outline

the narrative of a fable, as Archilochus had done in his epode that incorporates the fable of "The Fox and the Monkey" as part of its invective strategy. So when Gregory insults his enemy as a monkey-turned-lion, he follows Archilochus (as well as Callimachus' Iambus 2 and 4 and several of Horace's Epodes) in using animal lore as part of a direct assault, but the generality of

his typology, which does not outline a fable narrative, is more Pindaric. Finally, Gregory closes his poem with a clear allusion to another famous

Pindaric image (102-3 = 1336.13-14):

xwp\s TO Mucrwv Kai C!>puywv 6plcrµma,

xwp\s KOAO!WV K' 6:nwv Ul.jlWµaTa.

39 Already in Aristotle's Rhetoric (1368a) we see epainos and psogos presented as closely related forms of epideictic rhetoric. This usage persisted into the Byzantine era and was certainly known to Gregory.

161

162 The Christian iaµf3orro165 - Gregory Nazianzen

Distinct are the borders of Mysia and Phrygia.

Distinct are the heights of jackdaws and eagles.

McGuckin has argued that these verses attest to the vast separation between Gregory, who was from Phrygia, and his critics, in Mysian Constantinople, but Constantinople was not in Mysia.40 This proverbial

line may not have alluded to anyone in particular or it may contain a reference that we cannot recover, but the final line points unambiguously

to the eagle and crows in Pindar Nemean 3.80-82:41

foT1 5' aiETos wKus ev TroTavois,

8s ei\af?iev ahya, TI)i\60e µETaµai6µevos, Oaq>OIVOV &ypav TIO<Yiv

Kpayhai OE Koi\01oi TOTIEIVCx veµoVTaI.

The eagle is swift among birds,

suddenly snatches his prey, marked from afar, bloodied in his talons;

but the jackdaws squawk and keep to the lower air.

Again, the aggression in these lines is cloaked in obscurity, and we should not casually accept the explanation of the scholia that the eagle refers to

Pindar himself while the jackdaws represent Bacchylides and Simonides. Whether or not any such specific reference was ever intended, these very

different birds certainly- function as foils for distinct kinds of poetry (whether different in genre or quality), and Pindar envisions himself and his poetics soaring above the pedestrian level of others.

At times Gregory's aggression is more carefully concealed than what we

find in iambic 1j16yos, but as a closural device, the reference to Pindar's eagle and jackdaws leaves us on an elegant note. In pairing harsh abuse typical of iambic poetics ("you can only compose abortions") with the higher-register censure of epinician, Gregory gives his occasionally crass

iambic poetics a coat of Pindaric polish. He hints that he no longer needs to engage in low-register invective and from now on will assume the higher

literary ground. Again, Gregory wants us to think of him not as a successful iaµ~oiro16s in the archaic mold but as someone who has risen above the carping of a failed iambist. In a creative twist he has used an iambic punch

with a Pindaric follow-through to access the angry persona and the efficacious spite of iambos while avoiding any unseemly equation between his own literary voice and that of someone like Archilochus or Hipponax.

Gregory's poem provides a complex demonstration of how a Christian

40 McGuckin, 2006, 208. 41 Line 102 is also a proverb preserved by Strabo 12.4.4. For Pindar's imagery, see (most recently)

Steiner 2007 and 2011.

Gregory bites back at the dog

poet can maintain his religious identity while manipulating and participat

ing in some of the roughest parts of the Greek literary tradition. Against Julian's efforts to keep Greek literature out of the hands of Christians, Gregory shows that the entire spectrum of genres, styles, and authors can and should be part of the Christian poet's repertoire.


The flight of Gregory's condescending eagle leads to another poem that is as savagely invective (at least in certain passages) and which probably was slated for inclusion in the collection of poetry Gregory intended to send to

Constantinople. De vita sua (Carm. 2.1.12 =PG 37: 1029-1166) is a long apology of nearly two thousand lines for Gregory's entire career, and the section dealing with Maximus the Cynic is an intense tirade against the one person who most embodied what Gregory loathed about his short tenure

as head of the church in Constantinople: back-stabbing betrayal for personal aggrandizement.42 Like Eis ta emmetra, De vita sua is written in iambic trimeters and contains the same proverbial line about the borders of Phrygia and Mysia (1240).

These similarities to Eis ta emmetra offer a convenient pivot to an analysis of De vita sua, but this new poem moves in a very different direction. After the primarily literary and aesthetic themes of Eis ta emmetra, Gregory here begins to give his socially marginal status a more

personal voice. Whereas that poem had looked back to a variety of texts that dealt with contentious issues of literary criticism (such as Callimachus' Aetia and Iambi), De vita sua interweaves narratives of exclusion and castigation with motifs that echo Archilochus' attacks on Lycambes.

Although Gregory was no longer physically in the Nicene community of Constantinople, his excluded voice argues that Maximus and the bishops are the true outsiders. The experience oflife at the center of urban decadence and corruption had profoundly changed Gregory's sense of his place in the Chris

tian world. Much like Plato's Apology, De vita sua replays a city's rejection of a just and philosophical man, but if Gregory, like Socrates, has left the field, he

has not given up the fight. Much as the cpapµaKov of poetry had cured him of being &µETpos in his discussion of literature in Eis ta emmetra, in this poem he tells his supporters in Constantinople that this poem and its message can be a cpapµaKov for their troubles as well (De vita sua 557-561):

42 The text of De vita sua is well served by Bernardi's 2004 Bude edition, which updates White's 1996 reprinting of Migne's text, with slight alterations, in her edition with English translation.

163

164 The Christian iaµf3orro16c; - Gregory Nazianzen

epw 8' & AE~W, KahrEp EU eyvwK6cr1v,

Iv' !)µas ouK exovTEs &Ma T6v i\Oyov

EXT)TE TOVTov, Tfis &vias qic'xpµaKov,

ex6pois OVEl8oS, µapTup{av 8E TOJS <pii\01s

WV fi81Ki]µE6' ou8EV i\8!Kl)KOTES.

I will say what I will, though to those who know it well, so that you, deprived of me, might have

this poem, a remedy for your troubles,

a reproach to enemies and a testament to friends

of the wrongs I have undeservedly suffered.

Again, the Archilochean and Hellenistic trope of poetry as a cp6:pµaKov for the ills of the soul combines with the stance of an iambic speaker who lashes out pointedly at those who have unjustly attacked him. And

although Gregory had accepted many tenets of Platonic philosophy, his positive designation of literature as a cp6:pµaKov and his implicit claim that his ideas have not been orphaned through the process of writing go against Plato's stance in the Phaedrus and return to a model much closer to that found in Archilochus fr. 13.43

Upon his arrival at Constantinople, this Cynic philosopher had immediately and deceitfully sought Gregory's friendship. The high point in their relationship, recorded in Gregory's Oration 25, soon passed when Max

imus had himself ordained bishop of Constantinople in a direct challenge

to Gregory's authority and power. In De vita sua (750-56), Gregory introduces Maximus with blistering contempt in terms that recall the openings of Callimachus' Iambi 1 and 2:

THv Tis Tio6' !)µiv EV TIOAE! e11i\u8pias,

AlyuTITtov qic'xVTacrµa, i\ucrcrw8Es KaK6v,

Kuc.iv, KvvlcrKos, &µqi68wv uTIT)PETT)S,

&pis, &qiwvov m'jµa, KT)TW8ES TEpas,

~av66s µEi\c'xv6p1~, oui\os cmi\ous Tl)v Tpixa

Ta µEv Tiai\a1c'x, Ta 8' &pTiws Eup11µeva

TEXVTl yc'xp EcrTl 811µ1oupy6s 8euTepa.

At that time a womanly man was among us in the city, an Egyptian freak, an evil blight,

43 Although Gregory does not speak of his poems in anthropomorphic terms (let alone referring to them as orphans), the image of his poetry going to Constantinople to give assistance to Gregory's supporters is strikingly similar to Ovid's directions to his exilic poems to go to Rome, join their siblings (i.e., Ovid's earlier works), and plead Ovid's case.

a dog, a lap-dog, a servant of the streets,

a tool, a dumb bane, a leviathan monster,

a bleach-blond with straightened curls -


the curls were always there, the straightening just found,

because craftiness is a second creator.

These lines may evoke the role of Euhemerus in Callimachus' first Iambus (A.aMswv &8!Ka ~1~/..ia 1.Jn'Jxe1, "babbling as he scrawls his unjust books," fr. 191.11), but they point even more clearly to the opening of Iambus 2. That poem began with a move into the fabular past when animals of all sorts could speak (fr. 192.1-3):

'H v KEJVOS OUVlaUTOS, 4i TO TE 1TTT)VOV

Kai TOUV eai\c'xcrcrn Kai TO TETpCx1TOUV a\hws

E<p6EyyE6' ws 6 TIT)Ms 6 npoµi]6E1os.

It was in that time, when the winged

and the sea-dwelling, and likewise the four-footed

had voices as does the Promethean clay.

Gregory does not have to delve into ancient history to find a perversion

that blurs distinctions between humans and animals. The positive Golden Age imagery of fables is here replayed as a chaos of categorization.

Gregory's string of imprecations also looks back to Aristophanic comedy in its excess, and it initiates a heavy-handed play on "Cynic" and Kuwv, "dog," the most shameful of all animals in Greek culture. Maximus' dog-like shameless

ness is encapsulated in a comment from an imaginary interlocutor who asks Gregory if Maximus wasn't his friend "only yesterday" (954). The question touches on the iambic motif of betrayal of the close bonds of friendship familiar from Archilochus' invectives against Lycambes (e.g. frr. 172-73 ),

the Strasbourg Epode (Hipp. fr. 115.15-16W/fr. 194 Dg) and Horace's Epode 10 (as well as the dog imagery in Epod. 6). In addition to Gregory's seething anger at a friend's betrayal, his rage against Maximus shows further signs of iambic poetics as he hammers away at Maximus' masculinity with the word 6T)Av8pias, "womanish man." This theme will continue in Gregory's comments

on Maximus' hair, here introduced as both dyed and straightened, treatments inappropriate for any man, let alone a Cynic.

Moreover, almost all of De vita sua is written to an unspecified audience

in the second person plural with Maximus typically in the third person. But when Gregory reaches the pinnacle of his tirade he switches into the second person singular to address his former friend, who has just been tonsured as part of his failed attempt to usurp Gregory's position as bishop (929-938):

165


5pc'xcms 5e 5i] Ti Ti]V Ka'Ai]v K6µ11v; lTCxAIV

0peyms q>1'Aepy&'iv ii µeveis Toios yellws;

aµq>W yap alcr)(PCx, Kai Tl TOiV 5uoiv µfoov

OUK EcrT\V eupeiv ou5e EV - lTAi]v &yx6v11s.

0ficre1s 5e Tiou µ01 Tas Tpixas, Tieµyms 5e Tiou

crK11vais 0e<'xTpwv, elTie µ01, ii 1Tap6evo1s

Ticr1v 5e TOUTWV aU01s ~ Kop1v6ia1s

Tais crais, µe0' wv Ta 0eia E~T\crKou lTOTe

µ6vos µ6va1s TE lTOVO"Oq>WS KOIVOUµevos;

&ve' WV O"E 0ficrw µ5:Mov oupavou KUVa.

What will you do with your beautiful hair? Will you

painstakingly grow it back or remain such a joke?

Both are shameful and between the two it is impossible

to find a middle ground - except the noose!

Where will you put your hair? Where will you send it?

To the stages in the theaters, tell me, or to the maidens?

To which of these? Or to your Corinthian mistresses

with whom you used to practice divine rites,

alone with just them, cunningly coming together? For all these things I will set you as the dog-star in heaven.

In this apostrophe Gregory's focus on Maximus' unnaturally golden locks underlines an ethically charged discourse about male hair (and, more particularly, its removal) that will appear again in each of the prose authors surveyed

in Chapters 4-6. Although Maximus has participated in what he deemed to be a holy and pious ritual shaving, Gregory's comments link this depilation to the

effete and depraved bodies and lifestyles targeted by Dio, Lucian, and Julian. These lines also reveal a density of themes paralleled in Archilochus' attacks

on Lycambes. The epode against Lycambes that contains the fable of "The Fox and the Eagle" begins with Archilochus announcing that Lycambes is yfA.cus, a

"laughing stock" (fr. 172.4), the same word that Gregory uses of Maximus (930).44 He goes on to suggest that Maximus' laughable reputation might well lead him to the noose, a detail that surely recalls the various testimonia that tell how the enemies of both Archilochus and Hipponax were driven to hang

themselves in shame after they had been subjected to iambic attacks.45

44 Callim. Ia. 5 fr. 195.30: a, µfi µE 1rOtficrns y~[llw, "Ah, don't make me ridiculous." Sophocles' Ajax (Aj. 303, 382) and Euripides' Medea (Med. 404) express similar concern for becoming the object of laughter.

45 The relevant testimonia about hangings are Archilochus TlO, 60, 64, 66, 84, 86, 88, 106, 109, 119, 159, 120, and 160 Tarditi and Hipponax T8, 9a, 9b Dg. In Greek literature hanging was a very rare way for men to commit suicide and was far more typical for women (cp. Loraux 1987,


Gregory's account of Maximus' erotic encounter also finds parallels in the climactic scene in Archilochus' Cologne Epode (fr. 196a). First and foremost, both poems describe inappropriate sexual encounters, although Gregory does not provide the details alluded to in Archilochus' poem.

Beyond this, both passages work to undermine their targets' standing within their respective communities. The Cologne Epode shames Lycambes' family by publicizing his inability to defend his daughters'

honor, and Gregory reveals Maximus' pious reputation to be a sham. Both poems also involve multiple women. Although Archilochus is directly involved with only one of Lycambes' daughters in the Cologne Epode, he

is invited to have his way with Neobule, his one-time fiancee, as well. The sexual nature of Gregory's passage is more blatant in Greek than in English, since Corinth was famous for the prostitutes at its temple of Aphrodite and the intimate pairing of µ6vos µ6va1s, "alone with just them"

(937), loses effect in any English rendering.46

Far more insidious than these plot parallels is Gregory's mocldng reference to Ta Sela, the "divine rites" (936), in which Maximus and his Corinthian courtesans engage. Given the sexually charged scenario here,

readers familiar with Archilochus' poetry could connect this to the Cologne Epode's singular To 6eiov )(Pf\µa, the "divine thing" (i.e., the pinnacle of sexual experience, fr. 196a.15) that Aphrodite has given to humans. This Archilochean intertext (and the connection here is probably too faint to be classified as an allusion) pushes Gregory's "divine rites" from simple

sarcasm about Maximus' behavior into a cutting association between Maximus and Archilochus' persona at its most scurrilous. In a quintessen

tially iambic move, Gregory has attacked his target by publicizing a sexual scandal that ruins the target's reputation. But whereas Archilochus had presented himself as the seducer of Lycambes' younger daughter and Hipponax may have cast himself as the lover of Bupalus' mother, Gregory

keeps his own person clear of such associations. Gregory claims the iambist's righteous anger and justified perspective, but foists the most picaresque dimensions of the iambist's persona onto his enemies.

The passage quoted above ends with Gregory's catasterization of Maximus as a dog. Turning someone into a star most often signifies some

13-17). The noose, of course, also refers to that most famous of Christian betrayers, Judas Iscariot (as noted by White, ad Joe.), but this does not preclude a specifically Hellenic referent as well.

46 Gregory's derisive and insinuating µ6vos µ6va1s also sharply contrasts Sophocles' µ6vos µ6vo1s

(Aj. 467), which portrays Ajax as ready to undergo a series of man-to-man encounters on the battlefield.

167

168 The Christian iaµ{3orro165 - Gregory Nazianzen

form of divine or poetic favor, but Gregory's ploy is clearly sarcastic and cutting. In terms of the pun on dog and Cynic, this new star will forever advertise to the universe the ~ynic's dog-like shamelessness - perhaps an intentional twist on a comment by Cercidas of Megalopolis in his Iambi that Diogenes the Cynic died by holding his breath and became an oup6:v105 KUC.UV, "a heavenly dog" (preserved at Diog. Laert. 6.76). Diogenes had made the dog's disregard for human mores into a virtue, but Maximus fails to live up to Diogenes' standards. A dog in heaven also must refer to the Dog Star, famous for its appearance during the hottest season of the year, and there may even be an Archilochean dimension to Maximus' transformation into the Dog Star as well. A much debated passage of Ps.-Longinus (De subl. 33.5) compares Archilochus' poetry to the Erigone of Eratosthenes, which recounted, among other things, the origin of the Dog Star. Although the basis of this comparison remains uncertain, it demonstrates a close juxtaposition of Archilochus and the Dog Star in a text that Gregory would probably have known.47 It is possible, then, in light of the other Archilochean motifs in this passage, that in Gregory's move to cast Maximus as the new Dog Star we can hear a variation on a specifically Archilochean theme that associates Maximus with the baleful effects of the Dog Star.48 Maximus is further feminized, that is, by being associated with the Dog Star's power to sap male virility and amplify

female lechery. Gregory's excoriation of Maximus continues unabated for many more

lines, and he further develops some of the themes already mentioned. For example, Maximus' excessive concern for his hair shows that he is of ambiguous sex, another issue that will be prominent in the harangues of Dio, Lucian, and Julian examined in the coming chapters (765-68):

49

47 Russell 1964, 159, made the unlikely suggestion that the comparison between these two poets

rested on the ease with which iambic and elegiac poetry could be conflated. Bowie 2001b, 51-52, argues much more persuasively that this passage implies Archilochean elegy, such as the

Telephus poem of P.Oxy. 4708, rather than iambos. Hawkins 2009, 11, suggests the possibility

that this passage of Ps.-Longinus refers to a poem about Erigone by Archilochus and involving fr. 107, which mentions the Dog Star. Hunter 2011, 230-35, speculates that Eratosthenes' poem

involving a great deal of wine and a girl who hangs herself could have suggested an Archilochean point of comparison, but he concludes his discussion by recognizing that the

Archilochean Telephus poem has probably shifted the debate over this passage in the direction

outlined by Bowie. See Oliensis 1991, esp. 120-35, on the Dog Star in Hor. Epod. 17 as an

intersection of invective, rampant feminine sexuality, and male impotence. 48 Such an Archilochean echo would certainly combine with other lore about the Dog Star, such as

the similar comments by Hesiod (Erga 586) and Alcaeus (fr. 347a). 49 Dio, for example, builds his First Tarsian toward a final cutting jab at the people of Tarsus,

whom he describes as virtual av6p6yuvo1, "hermaphrodites" (33.64).

Gregory the holy man vs. the bishops

To1cxihcx 0cxuµcx0' fiµiv EK TWV viJv ao<pC:iv,

5rrr;\oiJv Ttv' eTvcx1 TTJV <pUO"lV TO axfiµ6: TE

O:µcpoiv µep!~e1v Toiv yevoiv Tptacx0;\ic.:is,

K6µriv yuvcx1~!v, 6:v5p6:a1v ~CXKTT]p!cxv.

Such are our marvels from modern sages, for someone to be double in nature and form and wretchedly have a share of both sexes -a woman's hair, and a man's rod.

Moreover Maximus' constant, clever plotting (799-803) is rather like that of Semonides' monkey-woman (7.71-82), who, like Maximus, has no concern for being yE/1c.v5, the butt of laughter. All of these invective strategies combine in Gregory's adaptation of the iambic mode, through which he brings to light a scourge to the community and attacks him in terms similar to Archilochus' invective that drove Lycambes and his daughters to the noose.


Examples of Gregory's iambic poetics could be multiplied, but rather than try to compile an exhaustive list, it will be more useful to reflect upon the broader purposes and contexts for these episodes. On some level, of course, no explanation is necessary to justify the influence of the iambic tradition, but certain elements in his writing, especially in De se ipso et de episcopis (Carm. 2.1.12 = PG 37: 1166-1227), hint at a project that goes beyond mere personal vengeance and the goal of creating a thoroughly Hellenized corpus of Christian poetry. In this final section, therefore, I will show how in De se ipso Gregory combines iambic poetics with his new role as a holy man.50

Gregory was absent from Constantinople when he wrote the bulk of his poetry, but he did not want to be forgotten. In his characterization of himself and his opponents, therefore, he uses the iambic mode to perform a new role for himself, that of someone who has been spurned by society but who has left that world on his own terms in order to pursue a higher form of spirituality. No longer a bishop in the center of urban affairs, Gregory now stands outside traditional power structures and portrays himself as an ascetic holy man. By literarily reinventing himself as a holy man, Gregory is able to transform his failures at Constantinople into a

50 McLynn 1998 analyzes Gregory's self-styled transformation into a holy man.

169

170 The Christian laµf3orro165 - Gregory Nazianzen

spiritual promotion to a new level of power, purity, and irapp11cria ("frank speech") - all necessary elements in the holy man's spiritual dossier. The late antique Christian holy man was, among other things, a person who

renounced the conventions of human society. Like the Cynics' often antinormative behavior, this renunciation needed to be performed, and thus

the holy man tended to be conspicuous in his efforts to leave behind the mortal world.51 By embracing the potentially offensive and philosophically risky aggression of iambic and comic poetics, and by associating himself

with the figure of Socrates (something of a pre-Christian holy man in his ascetic ways and his willingness to go against the grain of Athenian society)

Gregory performs his rejection of any prim literary propriety. In De se ipso a pastiche of Socratic traits combines with strong verbal aggression, and with this hybrid authorial pose Gregory builds his new ascetic identity. 52 In

the process, he leans heavily on the sharp divergence between his simple ways and the (allegedly) sybaritic excesses of the urban bishops.

Gregory quickly establishes an aggressive tone in De se ipso and identifies his invective as A.018opia, which, like \jl6yos, amounts to a virtual definition of iambic abuse. After acknowledging that everyone will receive their just rewards in the afterlife and that he need not worry that evil men might go

unpunished, Gregory cannot resist imposing his own mortal and earthly judgment. Not content to leave vengeance to God, he says (1167.5-11):

aihos OE µ1Kpc'il TOUS eµous MyCJ? irAiJ~c.u

cpoveis. cpoveis yap o\ KpivovTes EKToira

lJ'ux&v &ewwv EKXEoVTES alµma,

iravTc.uv, oaous eirAanov, oOs c;:.Kov6µouv.

ep& o' & Ae~c.u, µ110Ev euAaf3ouµevos

To Ao1oopefo6a1, npayµ' an11yopeuµevov

TICx<JIV µev, eµoi OE Ka\ TIAEoV µ1aouµevov.

I myself will strike my murderers with a brief rant

for they are murderers who make absurd judgments,

pouring out the blood of innocent souls,

all of whom I molded, I guided.

And I will say what I have to say without fear of

51 Krueger 1996 discusses the role of Cynic behavior in the Empire. McLynn 1998, 464, highlights the critical difference between most holy men, whose biographies were penned by others, and Gregory's autobiographical fashioning.

52 Gregory's appropriation of the Socratic figure can be found in many other texts as well, as at De vita sua 655 where he claims to have been accused of ws elcray6VTwv ave' ev6s irllefous 6eous, "introducing many gods in place of one," a charge that amounts to a Christianized version of one of the indictments brought against Socrates in 399.


invective, a thing which is renounced by

everyone, but to me it is especially hateful.

Gregory's charge seems unambiguous. He and his flock have been attacked by murderous villains, and he intends to strike back violently, though literarily. But when he claims that he will not worry about To A.018opdcr6at,

his words vacillate between the more predictable passive meaning ("being

slandered") and the more aggressive middle ("reciprocally engaging in abuse"). In later antiquity, such aggression was frowned upon by

Christians and non-Christians alike except in the direst of circumstances,

but Gregory is prepared to go on the attack in order to avenge the ignominious treatment he had so recently suffered.

With his intentions thus set out, he surveys his experiences at Constantinople, which began with hope but ended in frustration. In the process, he

forges connections between himself and the Platonic Socrates, a theme first evident in Gregory's comparison between the man of ascetic virtue (who turns out to be Gregory himself, of course) and the man who has enjoyed easy, loose living and found success and high reputation at every turn (1170.7-71.9):

"AAA.cs µev e~fivTATJ<JE µox611pov [3lov,

<JTEVC.UV, CxUTIVWV, OCxKpU<JlV TiJKc.uV µEATJ,

xaµeuvlc;x TE Kai Tpo<pft <JTEVOVµEVOS,

Ka\ vou µeplµva1s, EV 6eoTIVEU<JTOlS r pacpais,

µCx<JTl~l e' aUTOV wis foc.u ~aivwv &el.

Tl µot napehat; µi] OEoV Tl T' EOpaaa;

&AA.cs Ta TEpnva TWV vewv EOpE\jJaTO,

foat~ev, floe, yaaTpos fo ATJO"EV voaov,

naaa1s ecpfjKev fioovais, ala6fiaea1

KAei6p' OUK E611Ke, TIWAOS fivlas chep.

Kam1Ta TOV µl:v auµcpopai KaTEOpaµov·

ou auµcpopa\ µev· ou yap aTITETat aocpwv

Twvo' ev66:o' ouol:v, C::.s OOKEl Tots TIAEIO<JlV

ucp' &iv 0Aeha1 Kai TO cpalvea6a1 aocp6v.

6 o' euopoµwv aTiaVTa, Kai Too' euopoµei,

KpCxTl<JTOS eTvat Ti]v apETf}V Voµ{~ETal.

Myou OE µapTus auTos, 8s Aeye1 Taoe.

The one has endured a hard life,

groaning, keeping vigil, wasting his body with tears, attenuated by sleeping on the ground and fasting,

by anxieties of mind, by living amid the sacred Scripture,

and always flogging himself with his spiritual scourges.

IO

1171

5

10

171

172 The Christian iaµf3orro16) - Gregory Nazianzen

Did I disregard anything? Did I fail to do what was required? But the other has culled the joys of youth, he's played and sung, he's satisfied the anguish of his appetite,

he's given in to every pleasure, to no experience

has he barred the door, like an unbridled colt. But in the end, disaster befalls the former. No, not disaster, since no such thing can lay hold of the wise, as most people think (though such fall short of even the appearance of wisdom). But the one who sails through everything else has it easy here too,

and he's thought to be a paragon of virtue. He who writes these lines can, himself, attest that this is so.

1171

5

The contrast represents a Christian adaptation of the challenge that Glaucon issues to Socrates in the second book of Plato's Republic (360e-61d), demanding that he defend the value of being a just person even when the reputation for being just is stripped away. Gregory characterizes himself as exactly this type of just man, who has gone without recognition in his own community. In evoking the model of Socrates, Gregory plays the part of the innocent victim whose unsullied virtue has gone unnoticed. While the archaic iambic poets presented themselves as suffering an unprovoked insult, Gregory uses a Socratic persona to show that he is not simply innocent but a paragon of virtue.

This Socratic theme continues, drawing upon a greater variety of Platonic texts, and is amplified in the next lines. Like one basking in the celestial chariot race described in the Phaedrus or ascending toward Beauty in the Symposium, Gregory says (1171.10-11):

&vw Ka81)µEv6v µE TWV 6pwµevwv,

Kai vouv µ6vo1s µ1yvuvTa Tois voouµevo1s

I was seated above the world of perception, and my mind mingled only with ideas.

Gregory here strikes the pose of the detached intellectual, who chooses not to interact in terrestrial matters. A few lines later, however, he presents himself as a newly arrived stranger who is ready to guide those who have just emerged from something like the shadowy world of Plato's Cave and are now dazzled by the blinding light ofreality (1172.7-14):

"ApTl TIPOS auyas l)i\fou µ1Kpov ~i\fowv

WS av TIS ei\801 Tc}> i\6yV( TiappT)afa,

µ1Kp6v T' &vaTIVEuawai TWV KuKi\v;i KaKwv,

i\0.i\wv TE yi\waawv, Kai Tioi\uax1oous Tii\avT)s,


ucp' c!'iv EKaµvov OUK EXOVTES Tl O"KETIT)S,

oT6v Tl TEpTivov EV µfov;i ~aTu:>V p65ov,

fins µei\aiva pa~ Ev &wpv;i ~6Tpu'i,

OUTW µev oliv ETIT'ji\8ov EUO"E~i]s ~evos.

Just now looking a bit toward the rays of the sun so that some freedom might come into their speech and they could breathe in the circle of evils

and babbling tongues and the web of heresies under which they struggled without any defense. Like some delightful rose in the midst of brambles or like a ripe grape in a spoiled cluster did I, a pious stranger, come onto the scene.

From Republic 517a we know that the benighted souls who have never seen the sun will ridicule, scorn, or even kill anyone who has escaped from the Cave and returned enlightened. Thus Gregory's entrance into Constantinople is marked (albeit retrospectively) as doomed. The solitary stranger among the brambles and rotten grapes of the city closely parallels the image of Socrates as the annoying gadfly, speaking an unwelcome truth to classical Athens.

The flora adduced by Gregory may also suggest that when he came to the city he had no interest in the iambic mode. In the previous chapter I suggested that a Hellenistic epigram by Alcaeus of Messene ties together Callimachus' Bramble (~chos) of Iambus 4 and a scrap of Hipponax (fr. 48 W /52 Dg): cruKfiv µe?\aivav, O:µTIEAou Kacr1yvl)Tllv, "the black fig, sister of the vine." Babrius 19 connects the underlined words with a ~6Tpus, "cluster": ~6Tpus µs?\aivris aµTieAou TiapwpEln, "A bunch of grapes [hanging] from a dark vine on a hill." Alcaeus' poem describes the tomb of Hipponax in terms of what plants grow upon it (AP 7.536):

ou51: 8avwv 6 Tipfo~us Ee}> E'TT!TETpO<pE TUµ~v;i

~6TpUV aTI' olvav8r]s fiµepov, ai\i\a ~OTOV,

Even dead the old man doesn't nurture on his tomb

clusters of the cultivated vine, just brambles.

As Gregory likens himself to a rose among the brambles and a ripe grape in a spoiled cluster, he declares his innocence and takes us back to a time when he did not suffer from the burning of iambic bile.

Combining these various strains in Gregory's authorial persona in De

se ipso, we find an aggressive speaker who does not shy away from ?\018opia, who takes up the mantle of the Platonic Socrates, and who

173

174 The Christian laµf3orro10) - Gregory Nazianzen

recoups the efficacious power of poetry that was central to both archaic iambos and Hellenistic poetics. It is with this hybrid voice that Gregory pens his most direct and colorful abuse of the bishops (De se ipso

1190.7-1191.4):

Elalv yap, elaiv 6:67uC::mpoi TIVES,

5uaTTjv', OlTEUKT<'x TOO piou KvpeuµaTa, 53

Tiiv lTlO"TIV 6:µcp15e~101, Ka1pwv v6µous,

OU TOUS 8eo0 aepovTES, Eupmo1 Mywv

Tia71.1ppoovvTES, ii J<Ac'x5wv µnal<Alae1s,

6wms yuva1Kwv, TEpTivc'x CflAflTi\p1a,

µ1Kpois AEoVTES, Tois KpaTOVO"\ 5' au KUVES,

TICxO"flS TpalTESflS eucpueis lxveuµoves,

6upas KpaTouvTwv EKTpipones, ou aocpwv,

TO Tipos xap!V TlµWVTES, OU TO auµcpepov,

ws &v KaKous TI01wa1 Kai Tolls TIAflcrlov.

For there are those who are wretched,

miserable, abominable cheaters of livelihood,

duplicitous in faith, worshipping the laws of chance

rather than those of God, Euripuses of doctrine

flowing with the tide, bendings of branches,

flatterers of women, cloying poisons,

lions among the meek, but dogs to the powerful,

born trackers of every table,

crowding the doors of the powerful, not the wise,

seeking favor rather than usefulness -

so that they make their neighbors evil as well.

10

1191

10

1191

Such an avalanche of excoriations widens the gulf between Gregory's virtuous persona and the bishops' voracious appetite for all vice.

As this catalogue of the bishops' failings builds, Gregory's anger takes on comical proportions and recalls Old Comedy's debt to iambic poetics. Beyond his imprecatory excess, Gregory brings in imagery drawn from animal fables, which were closely associated with Archilochean iambos and which play a significant role in some Aristophanic comedy. He refers to the bishops as wolves in sheep's clothing (1169.5), as jackdaws vying with eagles (1215.3), as insignificant men who lamely try to imitate the great (1215.4-5), and as the weasel that tried to pass herself off as a bride only to be defrocked when she pounced upon a

53 Kup,uµaTa is a hapax. The singular, Klipwµa, is given by Hesychius as a gloss for KuPEla (s.v.). The sense here seems to be that the bishops are swindlers, like cheating dice players.


mouse (1217.4-18.11).54 And his clear allusions to comic drama suggest that his incorporation of such material may recall the comic poets' attacks on public figures whose behavior left them open to mockery. For example, he compares the greedy bishops to dung beetles rising up toward heaven (KCxV6apOl 1TpOS oupaVOV, 1178.11), an image that replays Trygaeus' flight in the Peace, and he claims that a bishop is made merely by placing a comic mask on the head of any insignificant person (1195.2-4).55 As Gregory casts the bishops as comic characters, he himself takes on the role of a comic dramaturge. Like the poet of iambos and the Platonic Socrates, the Old Comic poets touted themselves on stage as defenders of their community and watchdogs against the machinations of anyone who did not have the best interests of the community in mind. Gregory's aggressive persona adopts a similar stance in challenging the corrupt clergy.

With dissolute bishops such as these in charge, it is not surprising to hear that they prevent Gregory's flock in Constantinople from making spiritual progress. These men prove their worthlessness by their base behavior that persists even after their consecration (De se ipso 1210.8-

1212.6):

To1avTa KCxAAfl Kai au µ01 cppc'xl;eiv Ta ac'x·

oTKos, yuvfi acpp1ywaa, TEKviwv 656s,

KTfja1s, KEAEUO"Tai, TipCxKTOPES, poai, 51Kat,

cmaVTa µEO"TCx cppoVTl5WV Kai TipayµaTWV.

TpaTiel;a cpt..eyµalvouaa TWV 6:0151µwv

Tais 01.jlOlTO\WV Kai KEpaaµCxTWV TIAOKais,

yfjs Kai 6aA6:acrfls KapTiocpopounwv evT€po1s

(I:~ c::iv 6 vous PaTITll;n', ou5' EXEi TIACxTOS),

µupo1s, y€7'.wcr1, l.jlaAµaTwv cruvau7'.ia1s,

oTs Kvµpc'xt..wv 5ei Kai Tio56s 1.jJOcpflµaTwv.

&At..01 5e Maaris EµTI7'.eo1 Tfjs cruµcpuTov,

VOO'OUVTES, ol5alvovTEs, EcrT1Apwµ€vo1

1211

54 These tales all derive from fables of the Aesopic tradition. "The Wolf in Sheep's clothing" (451 Perry); "The Jackdaw and the Eagle" (2 Perry); "The Frog and the Ox" (376 Perry); "Aphrodite and the Weasel" (SO Perry). Gregory alludes to the moral of the Aesopic story of the frog and the ox without referencing the animal narrative. (The frog wanted to be bigger than an ox and puffed itself up with air until it finally exploded!) Petronius similarly evokes this wellknown fable without retelling the full narrative (74.13).

55 The dung beetle rising up to heaven also appears in the Aesopic fable "The Eagle and the Dung Beetle" (3 Perry). The Kav6epos appears in Hipponax (fr. 92.10 W/95.10 Dg) and is plausibly reconstructed in 78.12 W/78.12 Dg. Steiner 2008 discusses the role of the dung beetle and, in particular, how it serves as an authorial marker of a low, abusive, and scatological register.

175

176 The Christian iaµf3orro1or; - Gregory Nazianzen

yuvai~iV, apTl VUµ<pfO!, W µETplOV,

oihrw MaavTES naaTaSas yaµ11i\fous,

ii Kai n6601s O"U~WVTES a~uyo1s ET!,

TipiV Kai TiapE!CxV, avSp1K0 KOaµfiµaTJ,

6p1~\v KaAU\j)a!, TiaVTEAWS apTfxvoo1,

VEol TO awµa, TOY TPOTIOV VEWTEpo1,

ii Kai nai\a1wv f)µEpwv, ni\fipEIS KaKwv·

ETIE!T' aaapKWV Ela\ TEKVWV npoaTCxTal,

& TIVECiµa TfKTEl aapKos E~Evwµevov.

Tlµi;Xv TICx6T) µa66vTEs, oTs TIETIOV6acn,

auvfiyopol acpwv EV KaKols ai\i\0Tpio1s.

S1S6VTES, wamp i\aµf3avoua', E~ouaiav.

Oiho1 µEv ouTws· Kai Tax' &v Kai f3EATfous

auTwv yEv6µEvo1, Kwi\uovTai Tols 6p6vo1s.

TO yap KpaTElv TOY &qipova no1EI XEipova.

Tell me if such lovely things are yours:

a house, a lusty wife (the path to children),

property, butlers, secretaries, quarrels, law suits -

all filled with anxiety and business.

Your table overflowing with dishes of famed

chefs and mixtures of bounties

harvested from land and sea for your guts

(from which your mind is numbed and loses its range),

with unguents, laughter, with concertized psalms,

for which you need cymbals and foot-stomping.

Others are full of a congenital lust -

sick, swollen, burning

for women, just now grooms, to put it mildly,

not yet having seen the bridal chamber,

or still living with unmarried passions

before their cheeks are covered with hair,

the sign of manhood, truly just youths,

young of body and younger in habits,

or else old as the hills and full of vice.

Then they are patrons of children not of the flesh,

whom the spirit, a stranger to the flesh, brings forth.

By their sufferings they have learned to honor the passions,

their own advocates amidst the sins of others,

giving, and in turn receiving, license.

They are like this. And though they could, perhaps,

improve themselves, they are hindered by their thrones.

For power makes the senseless worse.

10

1212

1211

10

1212


Again, the Archilochean pattern of the groom givmg full rein to his passions presents these men in the worst possible light. And in addition to the obvious vices of lust and gluttony, the bishops are far too involved with the goings-on of secular life and are obsessed with coarse activities that obviate the possibility of spiritual advancement.

This identification of the bishops with luxury, extravagant food, and lustful living may well show a flagrant distortion of reality, but the impact of these lines comes into sharp focus in contrast to Gregory's comments about the good, ascetic bishop - namely himself. This man sleeps on the ground in the dust and mortifies his flesh with discipline and vigils. He is always hungry and poorly protected from the elements (1209.9-12):

00Tos cpuywv noi\EIS TE Kai Sfiµou Kp6Tous,

Ka\ TfiV ~CxAT)V, f} TICxVTO TCxV µfoG(l O"TpE<pEl,

Tou voCi TO KaMos T0 8E0 auvfipµoaE,

µ6vos TCx 6Eia Kai µ6v'1l KOIVOUµEvos. 56

He flees the cities and the roar of crowds

and the storm which roils all public affairs;

he fits the beauty of his mind to God -

alone sharing divine rites with him alone.

This passage seems to go against the pervasive image of the bishop as politically savvy and an effective lobbyist for ecclesiastical and civic agendas. The best bishop, it is now clear from Gregory's lament, is the sort who so utterly rejects worldly trappings and affairs that he cannot fulfill his episcopal duties in a city like Constantinople. His asceticism is an admirable model for others, but such a man clearly cannot succeed at guiding a major urban episcopate. By aligning himself with this model, Gregory provides an explanation for his failures at Constantinople (as well as his half-hearted job as bishop of Nazianzen and his complete refusal to accept the bishopric of Sasima after it had been assigned to him). Far from being an inept administrator, he was actually too good a Christian! His ascetic behavior and his spiritual purity were simply overmatched by the vices of the urban bishops. The orator turned poet and bishop turned holy

56 Note the similarity between this line and Gregory's description of Maximus' Corinthian trysts. Here, the µ6vos ... µ6v<j> captures the ideal communion between the lone holy man and God; there µ6vos µ6va1s pithily gets at the worst of Maxim us' transgressions. Here TO 0eia represents the only possible activity for a living saint and a divinity; there it attested to the travesty of Maximus' ordination.

177

178 The Christian faµf3orrozor - Gregory Nazianzen

man has constructed for himself a new literary and ecclesiastical identity that blends the efficacious voice of the iambist and ascetic saint into a

medium that works best from afar, since his words bring the purity and

spiritual power of withdrawal into the morass of urban corruption.

Conclusions

Gregory's interest in the life of the ascetic holy man did not originate in his

experiences at Constantinople. He had always felt torn between the appeal of monasticism and the pressure to pursue a worldly career. His poetic Comparatio vitarum (PG 37: 649-67) presents a dialogue between Spiritual Life and Worldly Life which ends by validating the importance of both. In

De vita sua, Gregory describes his earlier resolution to follow a middle path

of ascetic involvement in this way (299-311):

EulS err' aµ<pw TioAA6:KIS µeTCXKA16els

Te:Aos 81cx1Tw Tots rr6601s To0Tov Tp6rrov

Kcxi TTJV rr:Aav11v foTT]crcx TOO voO µETplws.

opwv y6:p, ous µev TipCXKTIKOS TEpTIEl ~los,

&M01s µev ovTCXs XP11crlµous Twv lv µfo~,

cxuToTs 8' O:)(Pi]crTous Kcxl KcxKoTs crTpo~ouµevous,

e~ c!'iv To :Aeiov ~eos EKKuµcxlvETcx1,

Tous 5' eKTos ovTcxs eucrTcx6eTs µev rrws rri\Eov

KCXi rrpos 6e6v ~AETIOVTCXS ncrux~ voi,

cxuTols µ6vo1s 8e )(PT]criµous <piATp~ crTevc'i'>

KCXi ~WVTCXS E~CXAAoV TE Kcxi TPCXXUV ~lov,

µfo11v nv' ~Aeov ep11µ1Kwv Kcxi µ1y6:8wv,

TWV µev TO auvvouv, TWV 8e TO )(PTJO"TOV <pepwv.

Having often gone back and forth

300

305

310

I decided upon this plan for my desires 300

and I reasonably brought my mind's unrest to a stop.

For seeing that those whom the practical life delights were

for others useful in the midst of everything

but for themselves useless and turned around by evils,

by which their serene habits are disturbed, 305

but the monastics are somewhat more grounded

and look toward God with a peaceful mind,

though they benefit only themselves with narrow appeal

and living a strange and harsh life,

I went between monasticism and involvement, 310

holding to the usefulness of one and the tranquility of the other.

Conclusions

The unhappy events at Constantinople gave Gregory the chance to devote himself more fully to the contemplative, ascetic life to which he had always been drawn.

While this model of the monastic holy man had been attractive to

Gregory long before his elevation to the episcopal throne of Constantinople, it also conveniently provided a new idiom of power to compensate for the setbacks he had recently suffered. In the late fourth century, especially

in Syria and Cappadocia, the Christian holy man was quickly becoming an influential figure by providing a form of patronage and authority that was

based on a total rejection of worldly values. Looking from the perspective of a village peasant in need of a protection no longer provided by a civicminded aristocracy, Peter Brown, in his classic study, explains the status of the holy man in this way: "It was the villagers who had to look around to

recreate, with the human material that lay to hand, the vital figure of the hinge-man [i.e., the patron who could intercede with the aristocratic elite on their behalf]."57 While this may be true from a social perspective, Gregory approaches the idea of the holy man from an elite, literary point

of view. By emphasizing his own ascetic discipline, Gregory undertakes and announces his transformation into a holy man and sets his own ascetic agenda.58 In this way he could hope to maintain his former status and continue to exert an influence on behalf of his flock after his reversals at the hands of the urban clergy.

A simple declaration of his own asceticism, however, would not suffice, since such a statement could be perceived as self-promoting and a violation

of the holy man's disregard for his own worldly affairs. Gregory needed a reason to demonstrate his new role to the wider community. His attack

upon the bishops provided an ideal opportunity to open a line of communication with the world he had left, to defend the faithful, and to indict the

malfeasance of the urban bishops. Thus his iambic poetics in all three of these poems served as a badge of integrity and a sign of his disregard for corrupt societal values. This aggressive poetic stance allowed Gregory to

broadcast the "solemn ritual of dissociation - of becoming the total stranger" necessary for achieving and performing the role of the holy man. 59

57 Brown 1971, 86. 58 The idea that a holy man's status is performed and constructed is not new. Brown 1971, 95,

notes that in general "power in society was blatantly based on 'achieved status."' This was no different for the holy men who proved their status via spectacular forms of a<YKTJ<YIS. Symeon's career atop the pillar is only the most famous of a wide variety of asocial practices. Martin 1993 similarly presents the Seven Sages of archaic Greece specifically as performers of wisdom.

59 Brown 1971, 91-92.

179

180 The Christian fr:xµ{3orro1or; - Gregory Nazianzen

Within Gregory's poetry the iambic mode thus served two distinct and complementary functions. In Eis ta emmetra he adapted a primarily Callimachean model in order to define a legitimate literary space for himself in

which to compose his verses. Turning away from his famed oratorical prose became tantamount to renouncing the world in which such high rhetoric was the norm. By following the path of Callimachus, Gregory vaunted his

own mastery of his new literary program and attacked his detractors as mired in contemporary conventionality. In De vita sua and De se ipso he

more fully recouped the archaic spirit of personal, aggressive, retaliatory iambos and turned it against Maximus and the bishops, who had thwarted his efforts on behalf of the Nicene community in Constantinople.

In these poems Gregory attacks his enemies with an eclectic version of the

voice of an iambic speaker. He has been attacked without provocation or justification, and his own abjection attests to his unblemished character, which will, in the end, be vindicated. Knowing that the true sources of

corruption and strife were still at large, he created his highly allusive version of the iambic mode to bolster his new identity as a holy man living outside

the traditional power structure and attacking those who falsely claimed to be true representatives of the Christian life. The poetic thumbprint of Archilochus that had so often been felt to be too violent, too dangerous, too scurrilous to be permitted to stay within the community has come again from the margins and again makes the claim that the obstreperous figure

who has been rejected actually has divine support on his side and can save the community with the power of his righteous and angry voice.

Interlude 3 Palladas and epigrammatic iambos

.. . all the Muses seem to have fled, and to have left nothing behind them

but a few lame Iambicks canting at the corners of our desolate streets.

John Donne the Younger, 1660

"To the Right Honorable Christiana, Countess of Devonshire,

Dowager"

Palladas, the fourth-century epigrammatist from Alexandria, is the rare

author treated in this book whose iambic aspirations have been discussed before.1 In this section I will not, therefore, say much about the breadth of Palladas' invective sweep, which includes a bevy of classical allusions crafted in an often riddling style and with palpable glee at grinding enemies

into the dust. Instead, I will here turn to the very few instances in which he discusses his art in technical, perhaps even programmatic, terms.

Palladas frequently composes in iambic trimeters, but in one such poem he lashes out at some profiteering poet who sells iamboi for cash (AP

11.291):

Tl &icpE7rr1aas Tiiv TT67uv aT!xous yp6:cpu:iv,

XPuaov ToaouToV ;\cxµ[!i6:vu:iv f!i?\aacp11µicxs,

TTu:>Awv l<'xµf!ious, ws EAatov EµTTopos;

You help the city by writing verses?

Taking so much gold for slander,

selling iamboi like a trader sells oil?

The general issue of how to value activities within the polis recalls myriad texts, such as Xenophanes' famous rant about the contrast between athletic victors and sages (fr. 2). In that poem, Xenophanes' complaints clearly

show that the wider community seemed quite happy to shower praise and honors on its champions while largely ignoring the self-styled wise men in their midst. Palladas here takes that general pattern and fingers someone

in the second person who is a burden to the polis and who turns out

1 Henderson 2008 and Agosti 2001. 181

182 Palladas and epigrammatic iambos

invective (useless) like oil (a staple). In narrowing the civic· focus to this

directly addressed individual, Palladas moves into the realm of iambic invective, even before we read the reference to this entrepreneurial poet's

iamboi. Yet the emphasis here rests upon the dynamics and performance habits of

the epigrammatic form. Day has argued that already in the archaic era, epigrams inscribed on monuments effected a re-performance that created a

dialogue among the author/inscriber, reader/viewer, artistic object, and commemorated object/event.2 When a viewer reads or even hears the inscribed epigram read out, the ritual of dedication comes to life again in a

re-enactment that transcends time. By Palladas' era, of course, the epigram had long dissociated itself from inscriptional limitations and could exist as a purely literary phenomenon, but some of these issues pertain nonetheless. If Palladas presents his trimeters at a symposium, the standard social context for epigrammatic wit and satire, then his lines look outward toward the culprit who drains the city's resources. Yet as the epigram is re-performed

and read from a book (as it was surely meant to be) that context returns, and each reader/performer levies Palladas' charge against the mercenary iambist.

But this, clearly, is only part of what is going on here, since the poem is

itself composed of iambic lines. At the very least, then, Palladas is taking aim at a poet who resembles him in terms of literary output. Far more likely, however, Palladas also presents an introspective critique and an admission of his own doubt, itself typical of his pessimistic worldview.

What benefit does Palladas himself confer upon the city as he composes his iambic lines? On this reading, every reader now re-performs and draws himself into Palladas' masochistic castigation of his role as poet within the

city. Now anyone can join in chastising Palladas for not offering something better for the good of the polis, but that criticism must be articulated by someone reading Palladas' poem. Target, poet, and reciter are conflated.

As we have already seen with Ovid and Gregory and as will become even more apparent with the prose authors, iambic speech goes hand in hand with self-abuse and abjection.

When, however, we judge this message in terms of the consistently dark and cynical tone of Palladas' other poems, we may wonder what his city really needs. Does the moribund and tedious world of fourth-century Alexandria, where figures like Hypatia can be bludgeoned to death in the street by a mob, really just need more oil? Will that conservative approach do

2 Day 2000.

Palladas and epigrammatic iambos

anything other than maintain the sad status quo? If the answer is no (and of course it is), then iambic invective may be just the tonic needed in such desperate times.

Two more poems (both in elegiacs) make this last point abundantly clear (AP 11.340 and 341):

wµoo-a µup1aKlS EmypaµµaTa µT]KET! 1TO!ElV

TioM&v yap µcop&v 1\6pav ETiwTiao-aµ11v.

aM' 01TOTOV KaTi5CO TOU nacpi\ay6vos TO 1Tpoo-c.:>1TOV

navTay6:6ou, 0-TE~al TTJV v6o-ov OU 5uvaµm.

I swore a million times I'd stop writing epigrams, for I've drawn the ire of a thousand dolts,

but when I see the face of that Paphlagonian Pantagathus, I can't fend off the disease.

Alvi~E!V µEV &p!O-TOV, 6 CE \jl6yos l!x6eos apxfi:

O:Ma KaK&s elmTv, An1K6v Eo-T1 µei\1.

Praise is best, and abuse spawns enmity, but abuse? ... that's Attic honey.

In 340 Palladas swears off epigrams, as if that form were itself the root of hostility. But it turns out that the problem is not the literary mode but the fact that society has so many problems. In typical iambic and satirical style, Palladas reacts to what society gives him, and the throng of miscreants

sickens him. That sickness is both bodily, since Palladas himself has been polluted by the sight of the generic Mr. Do-right (much as Lucian's narrator in the Pseudologista argues that the very presence of his enemy demands purificatory rites), and poetic, since he can no longer stay away

from the epigrams he sought to escape. This befouled inspiration comes from the dregs of society and forces the poet to purge himself of the hateengendering poetry that wells up inside him.

In a lighter but perhaps more malicious vein, 341 begins as if with a Pindaric priamel only to be truncated into a single-couplet quip.3 Praise

may be best, but invective, \J)oyos, is irresistible, perhaps even the ideal tenor for Atticizing Greek. \j'6yos is the most vicious mode of invective and is a virtual synonym for iambic abuse. So, as Palladas turns away from what he acknowledges to be the best thing for an author, he shows

that epigrams in an iambic register may be more necessary, helpful and

3 Compare Palladas' first words (cxlvl~e1v µIv &p1enov) with the opening to Pindar's Olympian 1 (&p1crrov µ€v v8op ... ).

183

184 Palladas and epigrammatic iambos

compulsory in such a context. When taken together, 340 and'341 form a

neat therapeutic doublet. Invective epigrams cause enmity and sickness, which amount to the same thing within the body politic, and yet 1jJ6yos is also a remedy, since Attic honey was famous for its therapeutic powers.4

As so often, iambic speech is double-edged, and the same Archilochean

register that can rip society apart can, if it does its work properly, lead to harmony.

As a final example of how Palladas sets up his iambic register, consider

AP 10.49, a riddling poem in which some issues remain opaque:

Ka\ µupµllKl xoi\fiv Kai O'EP<J>C\l qiaaiv eveTva1:

eha xoi\fiv µev EXEi ~c;ia TCx q>aUAOTaTa,

EKKETa6ai 5' eµe TICxO'l xoi\fiv µfi exovrn KEAEVEIS,

ws µll5e ljltAoTs pfiµaa1v avrn51KeTv

TOUS epyo1s &51Kouvrns; OTIOq>pa~avrn 5ei]ael

i\omov oi\oaxo!vcii TO O'T6µa, µll5E TIVEEIV.

They say that even ants and gnats have bile.

So when the least of creatures have bile you expect me, foregoing bile, to lie open to all

and not strike back with mere words

at those wronging me with deeds? I'll have to stop up

my mouth for the rest of my life with a reed and not even breathe.

The phrase "even the ant and the gnat have bile" was proverbial (evwT1 Kav

µupµT]KI Kav ere pep~ xoJ\.ii, schol. ad Ar. Av. 82 and V. 352, where there is also a note that Cratinus claims that the mlpcpos is a type of ant), but Palladas quickly turns xo/\ii into something more than a platitude. The smallest beasts have such bile, but so too did that most famous of Myrmidons ("Ant-Men"), Achilles, whose bile was the humoral source of his antisocial

and unconquerable might.5 Furthermore, in fr. 23 Archilochus claims that he, "as an ant," knows how to "hate and harm" his enemies, and Callimachus

describes Archilochean poetics in terms of its bilious nature (fr. 380).6 These references combine to present Palladas as an iambic Achilles who uses words as weapons. The iambic mode transforms words into deeds through the efficacy of its speech, and Palladas has justice on his side as he refuses to be held back from attacking those who have wronged him.

4 I am grateful to Tulia Nelson Hawkins for pointing out the medically apposite role of honey here. 5 Homer spoke of Achilles in terms of his xo'Aos (II. 2.241), which is the earlier form of xo'Ai']. 6 Here I follow the heterodox but insightful interpretation of Payne 2010, 33-34, who argues that

Archilochus is not merely likening himself to an ant but, rather, claiming to be one.

Palladas and epigrammatic iambos

The last line and a half are difficult to decipher, but we can at least connect the imagery to a passage in Aeschines' description of that famous embassy to Philip. He says that Demosthenes had promised to overawe the king with

such a display of oratory that success would be like "sewing up Philip's

mouth with an unsoaked reed" (alToppalJ'EIV To <D1/..ilTlTOV aT6µa 6/..ocrxolv~

&~pox~ 2.21). That is to say, the task would be extremely easy. But as with the proverbial opening to this epigram, Palladas here twists away from the familiar and expected. His desire to speak his righteous and bilious words is

so strong that it would be easier for him to commit suicide than to hold back. When Athena prevented Achilles from killing Agamemnon in the first book of the Iliad, the hero restrained himself despite the upwelling of 6uµ6s

that urged him to attack (1.216-17). Achilles' only recourse at this juncture

was to go off and "digest his xof..os" (4.513, cp. 1.81). Palladas, however, sees

no hope of dealing with his xoJ\.ii in this way, and he must choose between speech and death. And as the words of this poem mal<e clear, he has already decided to vent his xoM1 by means of his poetry.

Palladas clearly could modulate his sharp wit from mild teasing to blistering hatred, but in the four epigrams discussed here, he presents an

image of how invective poetry can come into being. It emerges from a complex of civic and bodily issues in which the poet, his audience and his targets are all caught up. He reacts viscerally to the input from the world around him, and since that world is dilapidated, his verses bite. Like the

poet and his society, his poems are unhealthy, out of balance in terms of their excess of bile, and they do harm. But that harm is justified and needed if the community is to return to a state of health and harmony. In the same general era that Gregory lamented the greed and treachery of the urban ecclesiastical hierarchy in Constantinople, Palladas looked out upon

Alexandria in decline. Although Palladas most probably was not himself a Christian, he and Gregory similarly harnessed classical literary traditions to upbraid and perhaps remake their worlds. And since both saw that their communities were fraught with perils and shortcomings, the iambic mode

provided a natural means of responding to the excesses around them.

185

186

4 Archilochus in Tarsus: Dio Chrysostom's First Tarsian

Archilochus . . . composed much grander [than Mimnermus]; but where there is at once ferocity and immodesty, either the age must have been barbarous or the poet must have been left behind it.

W. S. Landor from Pericles and Aspasia

When Dio Chrysostom came to Tarsus, the city was in crisis. Its reputation and prowess were declining, he tells us, because of a pervasive "snort" that was the outward sign of the male population's descent into effeminacy. Dio adopts the voice of Archilochus to upbraid the citizenry in hopes of helping them see the error of their ways. To do this, Dio constructs a theory of the ethical benefits of A018opia that can be traced back through Socrates and the comic poets to Archilochus. Dio's First Tarsian presents the earliest example of a prose author adapting the legacy of Archilochus to fit his oratorical needs. Lucian and Julian will follow his lead so closely that they may have intentionally modeled their texts on his.

Introduction

It seems to have been some time during the reign of Vespasian (69-79)

and therefore before he was banned from Italy and his native Bithynia by Domitian in 82 that Dio Chrysostom went to Tarsus and delivered a strange speech regularly known as his First Tarsian (Or. 33).1 Here, in

1 The most recent overarching analysis of the First Tarsian is that ofBost-Pouderon 2006, 141-79.

She also updates discussions of the basic historical questions relating to this speech (7-40), and I rely largely on her assessment. She concludes that Dio delivered the First Tarsian during the reign of Vespasian; that it was probably presented in Tarsus' theater; and that it was not performed in conjunction with the Second Tarsian, which she believes to be ~ later work. The date of this speech (as with much ofDio's corpus) remains open to lively debate. Others to have supported a Vespasianic date include Lemarchand 1926, 125-26 (where it is also suggested that Or. 33 is a fictional and humorous Cynic diatribe that was never intended for performance in Tarsus); Desideri 1978, 423; and Moles 1978 (later reversed in Moles 1983). Sheppard 1982 suggests that Or. 33 (as well as Orr. 79-80, which are said to have been delivered in Tarsus as well) was delivered in 89 during Dio's exile (81-96) and therefore under Domitian. Von Arnim 1898, 443-45, 460-65, however, dates both Orr. 33 and 34 after 105, and therefore toward the

Introduction

the capital of Roman Cilicia and probably in the city's theater, Dio constructs a colorful and rollicking harangue about some coarse and inelegant bodily noise, which, he claims, can be heard constantly throughout the city and which serves as a shameful token of contemporary Tarsian identity.2 Debate continues about what exactly this noise was, and I will refer to it simply as a "snort."3 More importantly, it has rarely been asked why Dio would take up this particular issue as the unifying theme for an oration. But what becomes quite obvious is that he uses this snort as the rhetorical point of entry for reprimanding the citizenry for their increasingly effeminate and barbarous lifestyle. But well before this message becomes clear and even before he introduces the snort as a central topic, Dio crafts for himself an Archilochean persona. In so doing he provides the earliest extant example of an orator assimilating his voice to that of the arch-iambist.4 In the next two chapters we will find Lucian and Julian following Dio's lead in this, and it is certainly possible that the many similarities among these texts are not coincidental.

Whatever their precise relationship, these authors all exhibit a fundamentally different style of adapting iambic poetics from what we have already seen among the poets. These latter denied any iambic role for their texts even as they flirted with various iambic associations. Ovid's rage and the prominent place for Archilochus and Hipponax in his Ibis play out much like Babrius' claims that his iamboi no longer have their old bite even as he draws our attention to his meter and alludes to Callimachus' Iambi. And Gregory too, had set up a game of donning and doffing his iambic mask to his advantage at various points. These poets tempt us to wonder if the iambic mode was really too outdated, too risky, too edgy for them to embrace openly. In reality, however, they are far more likely to be sidling

end ofDio's life. Jones 1978, 136-37, argues for a date of 100 or later for both speeches based on Dio's claims in Or. 33 not to be young (14) or a philosopher (16). Others to endorse a similarly late date include Callander 1904, 61; Salmeri 1982, 100 n. 40 and 2000, 78 n. 126 and 79 n. 129;

Moles 1983 (reversing his own opinion in Moles 1978 that Or. 33 was Vespasianic); Sidebottom 1992, 418 n. 95 (relying on Moles 1983); and Swain 1996, 206.

2 This theme, even before we interrogate Dio's treatment of it, pairs the First Tarsian much more naturally with the similarly amusing and blunt scolding of his Alexandrian (Or. 32) than with the far more serious and sedate Second Tarsian (Or. 34).

3 Kokkinia 2007 surveys the state of this issue and lobbies for the idea that Dio is speaking about flatulence.

4 In Or. 18.8, which deals with oratorical training, Dio states that anyone interested in a public career as an orator will have no time for iambic poetry (or lyric or elegy) and that he must spend all his time with Homer. The valorization of Archilochus over Homer in the First Tarsian is, therefore, all the more surprising or, perhaps, facetious.

187

188 Archilochus in Tarsus: Dia Chrysostom's First Tarsian

up to the dangerous aspects of the iambic legacy in order· to thereby heighten such perceived dangers in a pleasing way. Whether these games were merely artful (though when is anything ever merely artful?) or engaged in sociopolitical commentary about the dynamics of power of their day, Ovid, Babrius, and Gregory all felt compelled to obscure most -but not all - of the clues about their iambic inheritance.

In contrast to this covert poetic filiation, the prose authors flaunt their connections with Archilochus, in part, no doubt, because such an association was always bound to fail. A poet can lay claim to either the personal legacy or the formal mastery of an old model in a way that does not come easily to oratorical prose. Connected with this formal disjunction between iambos and oratory, these imperial era speakers may have found in Archilochus two usefully paired bits of characterization: he was ensconced within and angry about matters within his local community. For professional speakers, who spent a great deal of time travelling across the Empire, connecting to the local affairs of a particular city must, at times, have been difficult. When, however, there was need to take an aggressive stance, Archilochus provided an appropriate mask behind which to dive into such local matters with a pose of intimacy and embeddedness that could be removed when the moment had passed. The seething rage that Ovid supposedly postpones and that Babrius denies can thus be drawn into a speech without besmirching the speaker himself. With Julian, the case is somewhat different, as we will find in Chapter 6, since his anger and personal involvement with the situation in Antioch were quite real. Dio, then, likens himself to Archilochus in order to chastise the people of Tarsus, and the task of this chapter will be to see what he has done with the archaic persona and how he has used it in this particular situation. We will find that Archilochus serves as the point of intersection between an oratorical voice and a degraded body - the oratorical voice that Dio chooses to adopt in order to address a crisis of degraded bodies in Tarsus.

Ethical Ao1Sopia and ethical crisis in Tarsus

Dio's primary interest in archaic iambos grows out of the pre-existing ethical dimensions of that ancient mode and its penchant for a bodily discourse that offered obvious parallels with the situation in Tarsus. 5

5 In a discussion of the scholarly reception of Dio, Swain 2000, 21-34, shows that Philostratus' "double-labeling" of Dio as a sophist and philosopher implied a simultaneous melding of these

Ethical J..018opia and ethical crisis in Tarsus

Beyond the striking innovation of bringing Archilochus and iambic poetics into oratorical prose, his central adaptation is not so much the addition of anything new as it is a rebalancing of recognizable iambic traits. Intensely personal invective (1jJ6yos, i\015opio:) emerges as a form of social criticism, and the scatological and sexual license of ancient iambos appears in the guise of the Tarsian snort and the depraved bodies and lifestyles that it suggests. Thus when Dio claims that he is like Archilochus, he does so by manipulating his ancient model to smooth the transition between his personal circumstances and the themes and issues he has identified for his speech. In working within the iambic tradition, he distorts but also relies on a recognizable core set of associations.

The most enduring stories about archaic iambos are rooted in ethical crises, though their violent conclusions or declasse narratives can easily obscure this point. Archilochus' anger against Lycambes in the epode that is now represented by frr. 172-81 and the publicly trumpeted seduction of Lycambes' "other" daughter in the Cologne Epode (fr. 196a) both seem to be (and were certainly remembered as) part of the aftermath of Lycambes' betrayal of his oath and the cancelation of the promised marriage between Archilochus and Neobule. The question of whether or not these are real people (rather than fictional or stock characters) has no bearing on the fact that the legendary suicide of Lycambes and his daughters is a harsh but logically motivated consequence of Lycambes' failure to respect the sworn oath as a powerfully defended social contract.

Beyond the cycle of poems against the Lycambids, Athenaeus (1.7f-8b) tells us that Archilochus also mocked the sympotic comportment of Pericles (fr. 124), who came uninvited and drank too much, and Aristides mentions a handful of other figures who were subjected to such scrutiny (3.610-12 Lenz-Behr= 46.293-94 Dindorf; cp. Arch. frr. 167-71, 182).6

categories. It was Synesius who transformed Philostratus' description into a periodization of Dio's career - first as a sophist, then a convert to philosophy. Synesius' view was enthusiastically taken up by von Arnim, whose work continues to shape scholarly debates about Dio. Swain's arguments build on and update the important discussions of Brancacci 1985 on Philostratus' description of Dio (86-110) and Synesius' engagement with that description (144-80). Sidebottom 2009, however, takes an anthropological approach to show that many of the symbols of philosophical or sophistic allegiances could not be harmonized. So while there was a great deal of overlap between the two categories in terms of elite origins, education, and social function, "no one could present himself unambiguously as both sophist and philosopher because the separate and opposed symbolic roles had been created by the Greek elite to represent itself, its ideals and their inherent tensions" (70).

6 Bowie 2008, 137, connects Batusiades in Arch. fr. 182 with the seer mentioned by Aristides (Or. 3.611-12 Lenz-Behr= 46.293-94 Dindorf) as a target of Archilochus' invective. Similarly, Steiner 2012a has discussed the importance of sympotic comportment in Arch. fr. 13.

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Furthermore, Archilochus extols an earthy manliness that does not expect

Homeric transcendence but that displays and urges patriotic valor in battle.7 And his rejection of tyranny and opulence in fr. 19, preserved by Plutarch, gives an impression of political realism opposed to radical deca

dence. What counts as a radical idea, however, varies according to taste, and it is certainly the case that these spare outlines of an ethical code at

times engendered criticism rather than admiration. In addition to various individuals who rejected Archilochus or his poetry (e.g., Pindar, Critias, Alcidamas, Horace, et al.), Valerius Maximus preserves a tale about how

the Spartans banned Archilochus' "books" from their territory on the grounds that they would corrupt young readers (6.3), and Plutarch (Inst.

Lac. 239b) mentions a similar story and specifically explains that the poet was driven away because of his verses that advocate throwing away one's shield in order to survive a battle (fr. 5).8 Such anecdotes reveal a concern

that goes well beyond personal preference and moves into the realm of concerns for social values.9 Although any attempt to recover a thoroughgoing ethical system from the fragments of Archilochus would be not only wrongheaded but bedeviled by lacunae, these anecdotes and fragments have

been gathered from authors working roughly in Dio's era. Given the intellectual trends of the period, then, Dia was surely not alone in pondering the ethical valence of Archilochus' poetry.

Hipponax too presents himself as a scrappy defender of ethical principles, although his readership may have been declining in the imperial era. The foundational tale about his anger at Bupalus and Athenis follows a pattern quite similar to that of Archilochus' confrontations with Lycambes'

family, but it rests upon a different core issue. Whereas Lycambes had failed to uphold his promise, Bupalus and Athenis failed to realize that

Hipponax's mettle was greater than his outward appearance would have suggested. The poet who spoke (or: would go on to speak) so much about

7 E.g., frr. 4, 5, 101, 114, and 128; the 2nd/1st-century-BCE Sosthenes Inscription amply attests to the enduring memory of Archilochus' martial doughtiness.

8 Pl., Lg. 829b-e presents, perhaps in idealized form, a monthly Spartan festival that included

encomia of praise and blame directed at individuals. Such 1Jl6yos. Plato notes, can only be composed by men over fifty who have accomplished noteworthy deeds for the city. And Plutarch describes the custom of Spartan youths exchanging jests (cJKC;,µµma) with one another, though he also adds the important comment that anyone who found it difficult to endure such teasing had only to say a word and the jokes would come to an end (Quaest. conv. 2.1 =Mor. 63lf; Lye. 12. 4-5).

9 Aristotle urged that young people be kept away from performances of iambos (Pol. 1336b, discussed by Rotstein 2010, 261-63), and Julian (as discussed in detail in Chapter 6) wanted all priests to refrain from reading the works of Archilochus and Hipponax.

Ethical i\018opia and ethical crisis in Tarsus

the pharmakos ritual refused to be mocked like a scapegoat by these artists, and, in justified retaliation for their caricature of him, he drove them too to the noose. Surely Hipponax presents a more difficult case than Archilochus in this regard, as we can see in Bowie's comment that Plutarch (an exact contemporary of Dia) may well have avoided citing the "other" iambist

not because he did not have access to his poetry but because it may not have fitted his tastes on moral or philosophical grounds.10 Yet again,

such opinions are open to debate. Theocritus' epigram about Hipponax (13 GP= 19 Gow, printed at p. 106 above) presents him as something of an arbiter of human virtue, and even if this portrait originally seemed

humorous, it may not have been received that way by later generations. The memories and legends about the archaic iambists ultimately speak to a community's need for stable ethical principles by which social action can be regulated. The iambists' responses may be extreme, scurrilous, shocking,

or depraved, but they stem from a basic impulse to dramatize the defense of ethical behavior and the punishment of its violation.11

However Dia understood the ethical legacy of the iambic tradition, its

debased tenor offers an appropriate platform from which to confront the crisis in Tarsus. Although Dio's descriptions of the snort at times seem designed to frustrate any simple or singular explanation, the noise serves as a clear manifestation of a behavioral calamity. After a scattershot assessment of what sort of person makes this noise in what situation, Dia narrows

his focus to the incremental feminization of the men of Tarsus, and this becomes the ultimate subject of his invective.12 The citizens behave as if they were asleep (32) and worst of all, they "snort" (peyKElV, 33); this sound

can be heard all the time throughout the city even from young boys and well-heeled adults (34); the snort indicates shamelessness and licentiousness

(6:vo:1crxvvTlo:, 6:crsl\yE10:, 35); anyone who hears such snorting coming from a building would assume it to be a brothel, but it can also be heard in every

10 Bowie 2000, 128-29. 11 Myriad other examples could be adduced, such as Archilochus fr. 114, which praises a military

leader who does not have a Homeric build; fr. 122, partially preserved by Stobaeus, in which a father dilates on the implications of an eclipse (from a poem that Aristotle describes as an example of 1Jl6yos not spoken in the poet's own voice, Rhet. 3.1418b28); Hipponax. fr. 115 W/194 Dg, the Strasbourg Epode, in which the speaker's violent fantasies respond to a former friend's betrayal; Semonides 7, which launches a misogynistic tirade but finally reminds the (presumably) male audience that it is far easier to find fault with another man's wife than with one's own. Osborne 2001 now provides the best discussion of the latter.

12 Gleason 1995, 82-84, and Hawley 2001, 128-29 and 134-38, discuss this slide from the Tarsian "snort" to effeminacy. Gleason situates Dio's harangue within ancient physiognomic practices, while Hawley provides a discussion of the role of effeminacy throughout Dio's corpus.

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public space in Tarsus from daybreak (36); the sound is characteristic of people of ambiguous gender (6v8p6yvvo1) and (bafflingly) such people use

this sound amongst themselves as a password (avµ~oi\ov, 39); and if someone were to hear it from a distance he would conclude that the Tarsians were "the most depraved Phoenicians" rather than Greeks (41),

a comment that surely draws upon the offensive connotations of cpo1v1Kl~E1v, "to perform cunnilingus."13

With this last point, Dio sets out the ethical poles of his performance:

Hellenism and barbarism in both sexual and ethnic registers. Whatever this snort may have been exactly, he uses it as a litmus test of cultural

orthodoxy, with failures relegated to the realm of the barbaric other. Once he has placed the snort within this framework, he piles on other evidence. For example, this aural epidemic closely parallels a change in musical taste that has seen the old Ionian modes give way to increasingly "eastern" styles

at Tarsus, with the current preference being Aradian modes and melodies of Phoenicia (again, audibly depraved, 42). The moral decline that leads

away from Hellenic norms manifests itself on many levels, so the personal habit of snorting is exactly comparable to this change in musical tastes. Dio pushes the musical connection to an extreme by sarcastically predicting

that Tarsus will soon be training choruses of girls and boys to accompany public displays of snorting on stage ( 43) - a barbaric perversion of the customs of Greek performance culture.

But for Dio the most pressing aspect of this crisis is a breakdown of the

masculine code. The process can be charted by the increasingly extreme tastes in male depilation, which began with dandyish beard trimming, progressed to smooth faces and smooth chests, then to the arms and legs, and culminated with hairless genitals (62-63). The connection between the publicly audible Tarsian snort and this razor craze does not seem

immediately obvious, but a physiognomic anecdote shows that from Dio's perspective this is all part of the same bodily discourse. A man from Tarsus (seemingly from a bygone era before the city's slide into decadence), Dio

tells us, had the reputation for being able to assess anyone's character at a glance. In one public display of his skills, however, the crowd pushed

forward a man of generally shabby appearance, and the expert was stumped. Just as he admitted defeat, however, the man in question sneezed and the performer immediately declared (correctly, we must assume) that the man was a catamite (53-55). Through a metonymic shift, one bit of

13 In the next chapter we will see Lucian using this language in even more patently sexual terms in associating his rival with i\eo-p1a~e1v Ka\ cp01v1Kf~e1v, "fellatio and cunnilingus" (Pseudo/. 28).

Ethical A.018opia and ethical crisis in Tarsus

somatic evidence can seal a conviction regarding other bodily matters, and in Tarsus, the snort is proof of its citizens' effeminate ways.14

Seemingly less critical for the women (they too make the noise, but Dio has no interest in their shaving habits), this matrix of bodily themes has had disastrous results for Tarsus. For example, he mentions that the neighboring towns of Aegae and Adana mock (i\018opwa1, 51) the city, and her

enemies describe the populace as so many Cercopes (8), impish dwarves who stole Heracles' weapons but avoided his wrath when they laughed at

the sight of his hairy bottom.15 Dio probably chose to highlight this taunt, because the tale has points of contact with both Tarsus and his Archilochean persona. Heracles was one of the patron deities of Tarsus (as Dio mentions in his first words, 1), and stories about the Cercopes thus effect

ively undermine the gravitas of the Tarsian figurehead. But the Cercopes, who will appear again in Lucian's Pseudologista and Julian's Misopogon, seem to have had a role in Archilochus' cycle of poetry against Lycambes.16

That is to say that Tarsus has become the target of a style of verbal abuse (i\018opia) that follows an iambic pattern in tone and content by describing

the Tarsians as Cercopes. These mythical scoundrels are not just weak and inconsequential (a cutting jibe in itself for the population of a provincial capital), but they also laugh at the exemplar of masculine power. More specifically and problematically, the Cercopes laugh at the sight of Heracles'

14 This same basic story is told about Cleanthes at Anon. Lat. 132.2.144 and Diog. Laert. 7.173. Gleason 1995, 76-81, discusses this scene as part of the intersection of physiognomic expertise and gender roles. As Gleason has made abundantly clear, physiognomy played a prominent role in the performance of masculinity in the imperial era. This case of the catamite, however, also links up with a far older connection between iambic invective and failed masculinity, as discussed by Lavigne 2010.

15 In Dio's text "Cercopes" is the restored and universally accepted reading of Selden and replaces KEpKIBas, "rods." Rosen 2007b, who uses the story of Heracles and the Cercopes as a paradigmatic tale for analyzing the role of fictionalized aggression and laughter in classical literature, argues that in the story of Heracles and the Cercopes "the expected violent punishment is suddenly averted, and the expected moral of the story frustrated; the 11'ov11pla

of the Cercopes is not so much endorsed in the end as 'paid for' by the currency of laughter" (59) and that this "illustrates the therapeutic powers of laughter" (62).

16 Fr. 178 includes the word µei\Oµrruyos, "black-assed," which is the epithet of Heracles in stories about the Cercopes. It is not certain, however, that this adjective was associated with that story in Archilochus' era or that the story of the Cercopes existed at all at that date (though the Cercopes do appear with Herakles in archaic art, for which, see Walsh 2005 and Marconi 2007). One late witness, Zenobius of Athas (2.85), does connect Archilochus' use of this word with

the Cercopes, though Porphyrius' quotation of fr. 178 suggests that this line refers only to a type of eagle without evoking the Cercopes at all. Bossi 1990, 190-96, provides a thorough discussion of this matter. Connors 2004 surveys monkey imagery in ancient literature, and Kirkpatrick and Dunn 2002 present valuable insights about traditions associated with the

Cercopes.

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exposed body and the manly hair that the Tarsians prefer to shave away.

Both the Cercopes and the Tarsians find traditional emblems of masculinity to be strange and comical. Such a perspective is amusing in a mythical tale, but virtually anti-social among a real citizenry. In the next section I will show how Dio positioned himself to confront this crisis of masculinity in large part through his appropriation and reworking of the iambic tradition.

Becoming Archilochean and theorizing ~01Sopia

Dio begins in mock confusion as he wonders what on earth the people of Tarsus could have expected when they invited him to speak.17 The options

that he considers (only to reject) set some broad parameters for what he is not going to do in terms of genre and register. He lets his audience know that he will not give them any lyrical sweetness or grand rhetorical flourishes, nor will he fulfill their expectations of a traditional encomium that starts from Tarsus' famous founders, Perseus and Heracles, its patron deity, Poseidon, or its idyllic natural setting. All that, he tells them, they have heard often enough before from poets and fauning orators. He, by contrast, has neither the brains nor the interest for such undertakings, nor can he offer the city any financial

gain in exchange for their applause. Virtually in his first breath he has turned away from all forms of elevated tone and decorum. And before he gives any

hint that he will be expounding upon the Tarsian snort or its crippling social effects, he takes his time to articulate his iambic voice.

After telling the Tarsians what he will not do, Dio spends the next

several mintues creating oppositions that begin to suggest what he will do, and these passages build toward his assimilation of a philosophical Archilochean voice. In each case, he rejects the flashier and higher-register option in preference for the less amazing, the less enjoyable but the more

truly valuable alternative. Everyone knows of medical performances in which the doctor delights the crowd with his elaborate explanations, but that, Dio says, is not what real doctors do (6-7). In comparative obscurity the real doctor comes face to face with sick people - touches their sores,

smells their odors, prescribes unpleasant treatments, and lances their abscesses. And just as such a doctor would probably disappoint a crowd of invalids hoping to be healed by a dazzling performance, so too Dio is likely to disappoint the people of Tarsus. This first example holds together

17 Brancacci 1985, 39 n. 47, provides parallels to this ploy elsewhere in Dio's corpus and identifies it as an inherently Socratic trick.

Becoming Archilochean and theorizing ?.018opia

on its own, but it also sets up Dio's consistent preference for substance over style and is the first of a large number of medical metaphors in this speech.

Dio next glides from medical to theatrical performances, and recounts a cautionary tale about a tragic actor who, on a visit to Troy, grew increas

ingly irritated by the locals who were pestering him to display his skills (7-8). He finally snapped that they should leave him alone lest he put on a

show that they would live to regret. Presumably, this threat implies that he would have performed some episode of the fall of Troy and thus grieved and shamed his audience.18 Dio warns that the Tarsians should not rile

up a philosopher (sc. like himself) either. And, as if prompted by his reference to philosophers, he sketches a quick history that connects classical Athenian comedy and philosophy. Comic performances originally had served to chastise (i\015ope'i'v) the people for their faults, but they soon

exchanged jokes and flattery (aKwµµaTCX, 13c.uµoi\oxia, 6c.u1m'.mv) for such harsh fare (9-10). By the time Socrates came along, therefore, Athens put the great man to death, because it had lost its stomach for tough criticism. Philosophy inherited from comedy the responsibility for blunt civic cri

tique, but it did not enjoy the protection of comedy's festival license. With this series of examples, Dio creates a map of various performance

styles. Doctors can give wonderful displays of their knowledge, but the real work of healing is not actually performative; tragedy is, of course, high

register, but the sumptuous librettos made famous primarily in Athens can sound biting in other places; comedy, just as obviously, is low-register and it can (indeed it once did) have useful admonitory dimensions when

playwrights are not overly focused on flattering the crowd to win the prize; and Socratic discourse, unremitting but also doomed to failure, offers the best classical example of the value of rejecting high-style praise. From here

Dio delves into the most distant past (perhaps following an Aristotelian trajectory from classical dramatic forms to their archaic predecessors) to find the ultimate examples of this opposition in the figures of Homer and Archilochus.

Having quickly moved through these preliminaries, Dio next develops a freestanding theory of the benefits of i\015opicx (11): 19

18 Lucian, Pseudo/. 10, implies just this sentiment: 'l?11eus wv Tpay~Bous €µ1a6wac.:i, "as a Trojan, you've paid for tragedies." This is one of the many points of contact between these texts.

19 Philostratus blames both Favorinus and Polemo for allowing themselves to be drawn into their famously rebarbative relationship, and he provides what must surely have been the more expected ethical truism: acrellyiis yap ?\018opfa, KCxV CxATJ6iis TVXTI· OUK acpfT]crlV aiaxUVTJS ou8e TOV vTrep TotovTc.:iv eiTrovTa, "invective is crass, and even if it turns out to be true this does not spare the one who says such things from disgrace" (VS 1.8.491).

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Kai µiiv 00"(}> TO i\015opeiv Kai Tiiv a~EATEplav Tiiv EKCxCJ"TOU Kai Tiiv TIOVT)plav cpavepc'xv

TIOlElV KpEiTT6v ECJ"Tl TOU xapf~ecr6a1 516: TWV i\6ywv Kai TOlS eyKwµio1s 6pll1TTEIV TOU)

aKouovTas, oux i']KlcrTa EKEi6Ev eicrecr6e.

You will learn from what I am about to say how much better it is to abuse everyone's stupidity and to make known their wretchedness than to give pleasure with your words and corrupt your listeners with praise.

Flattery can corrupt (6pvTITE1v can even imply a decadent and effeminate

enfeebling of the body), and only invective (To /l.018opeTv) has the power to reveal our faults. Dio proves his point by contrasting the two poets

"with whom no other deserves to be compared," namely Homer and Archilochus (11). Homer praised everything from armor to animals and even called Thersites "clear-voiced." (Given the bodily associations that will emerge from Dio's discussion, we might wonder in retrospect if Dio is

toying, tongue in cheek, with the idea that Thersites' famously hideous physical appearance resulted from Homer's scant but unwarranted praise.)

In contrast to this disastrous Homeric vapidity stands Archilochean invective. Dio has Archilochus react against Homer's penchant for praise and

supposes that the Parian did so because he saw that people needed l.f'6yos.

In this first introduction of Archilochus Dio provides several details for his audience, many of whom surely knew almost nothing about the ancient

iambist, and focuses our attention on how he not only abused (To l.f'Eye1v)

but also nobly directed that abuse at himself first ( npwTov mhov l.f'Eye1, 12). He then mentions two legends about the poet: the first, preserved in a wide range of ancient sources, tells how Apollo showed high favor to Archilo

chus after he had been killed in battle, calling him a "servant of the Muses" (6epc:mc.vv Movo-wv, 12); the second, known elsewhere (in slightly altered form) only from the Mnesiepes Inscription from the Parian Archilocheon, is set before Archilochus' birth and describes his father receiving an Apol

line prophesy that his son would be immortal (6:6<'xvmos, 12).20

With these literary models in place, Dio goes on to show what effects praise and blame have on the bodies and behaviors of those involved. You can spot the flatterer, for example, because he will praise himself first of

20 Archilochus fr. 1 includes the words 0epc'mcuv and Moua~cuv as he claims to be a "servant of Lord Enyalius" and know the gifts "of the Muses." Stories about Apollo calling Archilochus a 0epc'mcuv Moua&v may, therefore, derive from a conflation of the words in this poem. Dio's second story differs from the narrative of the Mnesiepes Inscription only in setting it prior to the poet's birth rather than in his boyhood. In the inscriptional account, Archilochus was already old enough to drive a cow to market (and lose it) before his father received Apollo's prophecy.

Becoming Archilochean and theorizing ?to18opia

all (npwTov mhov ... KoAaKevovw, 13 - a detail that chafes against Archilochus' self-directed abuse), he will take too much pleasure in his

food and his clothes, and he will move in a licentious (aK6fl.ao-Tov) way. Such a person will fawn upon you too, Dio says, "being effeminate among the effeminate" (Tpv<pwvw 8Tj nap6: Tpv<pwVTos, 13-14). Flattery, which

traces its literary history back to Homer, corrupts, and it does so in a way that is clearly visible in the body and behavior of both the flatterer and the person who has been excessively flattered. As Dio will soon make evident, the people of Tarsus show all the signs of having heard too much

flattery. And just like Homeric praise, Archilochean abuse leaves its mark. The

person who is good at abusing (6 /l.018opel'v lKav6s) is like a wandering Cynic: he is rough (avxµ11p6s), walks alone, testing and abusing himself before others ( npwTov mhov e~ET<'x~ovTa Kai /l.018opoCivTa), and he does

not speak in that wheedling manner that most effectively persuades democracies, satraps, and tyrants (14). We are, of course, meant to see Dio in this description, but he makes the point more obvious by associating himself with Odysseus (Dio distinguishes between Homer, the poet

of praise, and Odysseus, the rugged and noble character).21 The man who values /l.018opia looks upon all the failings of the world and behaves like the Ithacan (15):

auT6v µ1v TIAT)yftmv ae1Kei'llncr1 5aµacrcras,

crmipa KCxK' aµq>' wµo1cr1 ~ai\wv, oiKfil EolKW),

&v5pwv 6pUTIToµevwv KaTe5u TI6i\1v eupuayu1av·

He beat himself up with harsh blows, tossed a shabby scrap around his shoulders like a slave and entered the broad streets of the city of dissolute men.

These lines quote Homer's description of Odysseus when he sneaked into

Troy in disguise ( Od. 4.244-46), but Dio has changed two things. First, he has replaced Homer's 8vo-µevec.vv, "enemy'', with the metrically equivalent 6pvTIToµevc.vv, "dissolute." Paired with this switch, Dio claims that this

passage relates to Odysseus' appearance when he stole among the suitors of Penelope on Ithaca. These changes may, as the editors of the Loeb

21 On Dio and Odysseus, see Moles 1978, 96-97, and Brancacci 1985, 103. For Dio's appearance, which conforms to a roughly Socratic-Cynic model of the scruffy itinerant sage, see Zanker 1995. Socrates and the Cynics come up time and again in Zanker's volume, but the basic models are set out at 32-39 and 129-33, respectively. Zanker connects Dio's long hair and beard with the Cynic look at 261-62. Sidebottom 2009 provides an important discussion of the visual cues that would have distinguished a philosopher from a sophist in the imperial era.

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edition suggest in their note, be a sign that Dio is here quoting from memory and has simply made a few tiny slips. But in addition to the general unlikelihood of such errors from someone who knew Homer so well, Dio's changes to the Homeric script effectively incorporate various themes important to his oration. Specifically, he had used the verb 6pvrrTe1v

only moments ago in his description of the corrosive effects of praise ( 11 ), and this choice of words thus recasts Odysseus as a bulwark against the dangers of excessive praise; and the overarching message of Dio' s speech (though by this point he has not yet made this clear) is that the Tarsians are just like the louche and decadent suitors in being Greeks who have eschewed proper Greek norms. Easterners can be expected to be decadent, but on Ithaca - as in Tarsus - the marks of such a lifestyle are out of place. This Odysseus, who speaks like a Socratic Archilochus, has not infiltrated foreign enemy territory but, rather, has come home to clean house.

Most probably, then, Dio has manipulated Homer's text with calculated intent. Some in his audience surely caught these changes, perhaps taking offense at his cheap tactics or delighting at being on the inside of an "inside joke" or perhaps realizing, in retrospect, what Dio was up to; but many others surely missed this sleight of hand. We would do well to remember such carefully distorted presentations whenever we, with our fragmented information about the ancient world, choose to accept the reports and testimonies of authors working within (not simply preserving or attesting to) literary traditions. Through this discussion of the effects of abuse and flattery (and even before he has broached the dread topic of the snort) Dio both establishes his authorial voice and gives a theoretical orientation for his abuse. But we can, I believe, pause at this point to retrace these last steps and get more out of his articulation of this voice before moving ahead to analyze his one direct and deeply programmatic quotation of Archilochus. Specifically, his rejection of Homer and valorization of Archilochus, coming immediately after comments about comic poets and Socrates in classical Athens, suggest a variety of allusions that can be traced back to Plato, Cratinus, and Critias about the nature and value of iambic abuse.

Rereading Dio's persona

The history of opposing (or pairing) Archilochus and Homer is surprisingly rich, but two cases from classical Athens offer particularly apt parallels to Dio's Archilochean voice in the First Tarsian: Plato's Socrates


and Cratinus' Archilochoi.22 To see how Dio hints at such matters we need to look more closely at a passage already touched upon. He explicitly brings together philosophical and comic models in his description of classical Athenian ethical discourse immediately before moving into his analysis of Homer and Archilochus (9-11 ):

'Aerivaiot yap elwe6TES aKouE1v KaKws, Kai vii L'l.la ETI1

aiho TOUTo auv16vTES EIS To

efoTpOV WS i\otBOpT]eT]aOµEVOt, Ka\ TipOTEeE!KOTES aywva Ka\ ViKT]V TOlS aµEtVOV aiho

TipCcTTOUCJtV, OUK aUTOt TOUTO EUpoVTES, O:i\i\a TOU emu auµf3oui\EUCJaVTOS, fl.pta

TOq:>avous µev T\Kouov Kai KpaTlvou Ka\ ni\aTu:>vos, Kai TOUTOUS ouBev KaKOV ETiolriaav.

€ml Be ~u:>KpclTT]S &vw CJKT]Vfjs Kai IKplwv ETIOiEt TO TOU emu TipoaTOyµa, OU

Kop8aKl~wv ouBe TEpnl~wv, oux UTIEµmav. EKEivot µev yap uqiopwµEVOI Kai BEBIOTES

TOV Bfjµov ws BECJTIOTT]V Eewmuov, fipeµa BaKVOVTES Kai µrn'x yei\wws, wamp al

Them Tois TiatBl01s, oTav Ben Tt TWV ariBEaTepwv mEiv auTa, rrpoaqiepoua1 µei\n1

XPlaaaaJ Ti\V KUAJKa. w1yapouv ef3i\aTITOV oux fjTTOV T\mp Wq:>EAOUV, ayEpwxlas Ka\

aKwµµaTwv Ka\ f3wµoi\oxlas O:vamµrri\O:VTES Ti\v rr6i\tv. 6 Be qi1i\6aoqios T\AfYXE Kai

€voueeTEJ.

The Athenians were used to hearing obloquies about themselves, and, by Zeus,

they crowded into the theater for the express purpose of being abused. Having set up a contest with a prize for those who were best at this - they did not come up with this idea on their own but acted on the advice of the god - they used to listen to Aristophanes, Cratinus, and Plato [Comicus] and did not punish them at all. But when Socrates, with neither set nor stage followed the instructions of his god, without any vulgar dances or prattling, they couldn't take it. Those comic poets being distrustful and fearing the populace began to flatter it as if it were a tyrant, nibbling on easy targets with a laugh, just as nurses, whenever they have to give their wards something unpleasant to drink, smear the cup with honey before they hold it out to the children. So the comic poets did no less harm than good, by inflaming the city with effrontery and jokes and foolishness. On the other hand, the philosopher censured and rebuked his auditors.

The comic poets began on the side of vituperation but slid into flattery, perhaps through excessive eagerness to win the prize. But they and Socrates both emerge from the same tradition of upbraiding the people of Athens and providing them with the same sort of "medicine" that Archilochus administered to the Parians and that Dio, like a doctor, prepares for the Tarsians.

This passage leaves unanswered several important questions about the relationship between comic and philosophical vituperation, since Dio's

22 Brancacci 2000 discusses Dio's interest in Socrates and provides a wealth of relevant bibliography.

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explanation of the devolution of comedy is not entirely clear. On the one hand he admits that the comic poets were at one time truly critical, so perhaps Aristophanes, Cratinus, and Plato Comicus are part of an early and nobler generation.23 On the other hand the comparison to the honeyed cup is a standard image for actually delivering a difficult message, not for sidestepping that unpleasant duty. Thus it may be that later comic playwrights continued to be critical but diluted their admonitions with too much flattery. Whatever the case, Socrates is clearly the best and boldest (if most reckless) model of civic chastisement in classical Athens, but Dio also acknowledges that the comic poets, too, have a stake in the ethical value of invective.

Given the fact that Dio himself has just chastised Homer for being too vapid, it is hard not to see the Socrates in this passage as the same scrupulous figure who spurned Homer in Plato's Republic. In the imperial era readers puzzled over what Plato's condemnation of Homeric epic might mean. In the middle of a long screed against the philosopher, for example, Athenaeus, drawing upon the attacks of Herodicus of Babylon, notes that Plato, "who has flatly abused (KaKolloyi'jcras) others, in the Republic banishes Homer and mimetic poetry while he himself writes mimetic dialogues" (l 1.SOSc).24 The Platonic Socrates finds in Homer too many episodes that cast his poetry in a dubious ethical light and which would not provide ennobling moral examples for young people. Dio's disapproval of Homeric praise is quite different from Socrates' concern about the behavior and representation of Homeric characters, but both evaluations stem from an ethical reading of Homer that finds his epics inadequate for the needs of a modern civic population.25

In the same section of the Deipnosophistae in which Athenaeus discusses Plato's treatment of Homer in the Republic, he also records the two stories (already mentioned in the Introduction) that connect Plato with iambic aggression. In the first, introduced only with the ubiquitous "they say,"

23 This reading finds support in Dio's Alexandrian, which is similar in tone to the First Tarsian, where he commends the comic poets, quoting a few lines of Aristophanes and Eupolis as examples, for their admonitory function. He points out that Alexandria hears no such critical voices and so he offers himself to fill that void for them (6-7). ,

24 For the idea that Herodicus is the source of this anti-Platonic commentary, see Gudeman 1913, 976, and During 1941, 54-59 and 63-81. Athenaeus, of course, lived roughly a century after Dio, though he regularly draws upon much earlier material. I am not, however, suggesting any direct connection here. I set them together merely as independent witnesses to the same strands of elite erudition.

25 Plutarch's De aud. poet. provides a similarly ethical approach to literature, as discussed by Hunter and Russell 2011, 2-21.


Gorgias reads Plato's Gorgias and exclaims: "How well Plato knows how to abuse (laµpl~EJV: 11.SOSd)." In the second story, attributed to Callimachus' colleague Hermippus, Gorgias calls Plato the "new Archilochus" of Athens (11.SOSe). In Athenaeus, then, the Platonic rejection of Homer is at least loosely associated with becoming Archilochean, just as it is in Dio's First Tarsian. And although Athenaeus' anecdotes are not likely to be historically accurate, they show that by Dio's era, Plato's bold stances and his attacks on the fifth-century sophists could be construed as a form of iambic aggression. Worman has pushed this idea further in arguing that the Platonic Socrates often engages in a recognizably iambic discourse when he attacks, teases, and tricks his interlocutors.26 In following the Platonic Socrates' rejection of Homer, then, Dio takes up a position that overlaps with imperial conceptions of iambic poetics.

This thematic similarity between the rejections of Homer by both Dio and the Platonic Socrates is tightened through Dio's obviously Socratic self-presentation. By the imperial era the uniform of various philosophical sects derived from Socrates' lack of concern for outward appearances, and so an unshaven and unkempt man-about-town did not imply any particular doctrinal association (though Cynics were the most scrupulous in their disregard for their habiliments).27 The philosophical look also overlapped with the world of iambos, however, as we can see in Plutarch's barbed comment that some Stoics, after trumpeting themselves as kings on account of their self-sufficiency, can be caught begging door-to-door and quoting Hipponax fr. 32 W/42 Dg.(= Stoic. parad. 6.1058d-e):

5os XAOlVCXV 'lmrwVaKTl KCxpTCX yap ptyw

Kai (3aµ(3ai\Ui;w.

Give Hipponax a cloak, for I am shivering violently and my teeth chatter ...

This fragment, part of a prayer to Hermes, also includes a request for sandals, slippers, and cash.28

26 Worman 2008, 153-212. 27 Dio makes this point in Or. 72.9, where he clearly links his own look to both a standardized

philosopher's appearance but also specifically to Socrates and Diogenes. We can see this sartorial trend already in the opening of Plato's Ion, where Socrates begins his sly interrogation of Ion by claiming to envy his fine clothes (250b ). It soon becomes clear that the rhapsode's elegant attire serves to highlight his intellectual shortcomings.

28 This passage of Plutarch will be studied in greater detail in Interlude 4. Plutarch has assembled his Hipponactean quip from different bits of the accepted text of this fragment: 'Epµfi, qifi\' 'Epµfi,

Maia8E0, Kui\i\~VIE, I ~muxoµal TOI, KOpTO yap KOKWS ptyw I Kai ~aµ~aM<cu ... I 8os xi\aivav

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In casting these Stoics in terms of an iambic costume, we can even recall

traces of a Hipponactean ancestor in early depictions of Socrates, who makes a virtue out of Hipponactean ugliness and the need for a cloak and sandals.29 In Aristophanes' Clouds Socrates swipes Strepsiades' cloak

(497-500, 856-59, 1498) and contrives to use two compasses to snatch cloaks from the palaistra (177-79), but in Plato's dialogues Socrates seems to have little use for sandals or cloaks (e.g., Symp. 174a and 220b). As has

often been noted, Hipponax's self-characterization frequently evokes the

image of Odysseus, and the second half of the Odyssey is peppered with references to and veiled requests for cloaks.30 As we might expect, however, the Homeric theme that becomes an artful riddle about identities and serves to characterize the hero's endurance appears in Hipponax in coarser

terms. Hipponax is cold, and he simply begs. Dio complements his Socratic look with a corresponding rhetorical tone

when he begins his speech by claiming not to know how to deliver pleasing flattery, a message that recalls Socrates' strategy in the Apology (3):

Tl ouv i]µas ei\TTl,ETE epelv; fi Tl µai\taTa CxKOUO"at amu5ETE TTapa av5pwv OUK

EUTpamli\wv ou5e TTpos xaptv 6µ1i\eTv el56TWV ou5e alµui\wv ou5e UTTO Tpuqifis i6VTWV

ETT\ TOUS i\6yous; OT! µev yap OU XPiiµma EATTl,OVTES Trap' i]µwv ou5e &Mo Tl 5wpov

Ka\ iravu ETTlaTaµa1.

What, then, do you expect me to say? And what do you particularly want to hear from men who are not witty and do not know how to hold forth for the sake of applause, who are neither wheedling nor roused to word by fastidiousness?

Because I certainly understand that you are not expecting money from me or any other gift.

Dio, then, looks, sounds, and abuses like the Platonic Socrates. This comparison makes Socrates the "guarantor of Dio's Greek identity" and tilts the entire discourse in Dio's favor.31 Athens was universally remembered as having made a terrible mistake when it executed Socrates, and

thus Dio's manipulation of the Socratic legacy urges his audience to see in him all the ethical rigor and rightness of the most famous philosopher.

'hnrwvaKTl Kai Kvirao-o-lo-Kov I Kai o-aµ~a}..fo-Ka Kao-KEpfo-Ka Kai )(pVo-oO I o-Tmi]pas 1~1\KovTa

Totrr~pov Tolxov "Hermes, dear Hermes, son of Maia, Cyllenian, I pray to you because I am shivering so terribly and my teeth are chattering. Give a cloak to Hipponax and a tunic, sandals,

felt shoes, and sixty slaters of gold on the other side." 29 Kurke 2010 ch. 8, has argued for a strong Aesopic pedigree in Plato's portrait of Socrates. This is

surely correct, but Hipponax and Aesop share certain traits, such as their ugliness, their

displacement from their homes, and their scurrilous speech. The Platonic Socrates may, therefore, incorporate some Hipponactean elements as well.

3° For Hipponax and Odysseus, see Rosen 1990. 31 Brancacci 2000, 241.


The possibility that Cratinus' Archilochoi might also lurk in the background of Dio's First Tarsian is more speculative but, in some ways, more intriguing than the rather obvious parallels with the Platonic Socrates.

Dio includes Cratinus among the early playwrights who had abused (and perhaps also descended into flattering) Athens.32 Beyond this simple reference, however, Dio's articulation of his rhetorical strategy in the First Tarsian generally follows what we know of Cratinus' play in opposing Archilochean and Homeric poetics and promoting the iambic over the epic

mode. The play also seems to have included a role for the Cercopes (fr. 12 PCG), whom Dio has already brought into his speech as a term of abuse used against Tarsus. Cratinus, moreover, was remembered by later antiquity as having theorized the ethical benefits of comic abuse that mirror Dio's own position in this speech.33 And on Bost-Pouderon's plausible

suggestion that Dio most probably presented this oration in Tarsus' theater, a nod toward a well-known classical play would be particularly fitting.34

Any specific evocations of the Archilochoi cannot be discerned, of course, since we know so little about it. But at the level of intertextual resonance, it

is possible that some of his audience would see Dio's persona shading into that of Cratinus, since both espouse ethically motivated abuse and find in

Archilochus a model to counterbalance the influence of Homer. Dio overtly aligns himself with the traditions of invective that go back to

Socrates and the comic poets (perhaps even the Archilochoi in particular),

but he also implicitly reacts against another classical figure who goes unnamed: Critias. Of all the ancient opinions about the social role of

Archilochean invective, that of Critias stands out for being most perfectly

32 Dio also quotes a line of Cratinus (fr. 313 PCG) in Or. 56.2. Fragments of Archilochoi are

preserved by Dio's contemporary Plutarch (Cim. 10.1) and roughly a century later by Athenaeus (3.86e, 4.164d, 9.375a and 9.410d), which implies that it was still generally known in

educated circles. Bakola 2010, 65-80 and with bibliography at 71 n. 178, now provides a much needed detailed assessment of Archilochoi. Bakola also discusses the important papyrus sources

for Cratinus (especially 4, 49-50, 97-98, 297-304, and 322-23). 33 The evidence for Cratinus' ethical theory of invective can be found both in Platonius'

commentary on Aristophanes (Proleg. de com. 2, Koster 1975, 6 = Cratinus test. 17 PCG) and in the anonymous de comoedia (Proleg. de com. 5, Koster 1975, 13 = Cratinus test. 19 PCG). This

evidence is discussed in Rosen 1988a, 40-41, and Bakola 2010, 75-78, who also connects this discussion with Dio's comments about the ethical value of Archilochean iambos at 33.12.

34 Bost-Pouderon 2006, 7-8. The theater is a likely venue for such a speech however one dates the

First Tarsian, and in the similar Alexandrian Dio makes clear that he is speaking in the theater.

In contrast to the Second Tarsian, these orations are aimed at a broad and general audience. If the First Tarsian is pre-exilic, then it may be more of a showpiece and would, therefore, be

appropriate for a theater or other large venue. And if it is Trajanic, then, as Callander 1904

notes, it is probably the popular counter part to the official Second Tarsian.

203


and precisely opposed to Dio's on virtually every point. Dio finds in iambic

abuse an edifying principle predicated on the recognition that in a world

full of problems vituperation can reveal a person's failings and cajole him

toward better behavior. He further ennobles this perspective by claiming

that Archilochus criticized himself before turning his harsh scrutiny to

others - a fittingly iambic spin on the Delphic mantra "know thyself."

Against this positive evaluation we can set the views of Critias, the uncle of

Plato and one of the Thirty, as preserved by Aelian (Critias 88b44 DK =

Aelian VH 10.13):35

Critias censures (ah1chai) Archilochus because he spoke very ill of himself (KaK1crw eauTov eTmv). For if, he says, Archilochus had not made public among the Greeks such an opinion of himself, we should not have learned that he was the son of Enipo, a slave-woman, that because of poverty and difficult straits he left Paras and went to Thasos, that upon his arrival he became an enemy of the inhabitants, and in addition that he spoke ill (KaK&'lS elleye) of friends and enemies alike. And furthermore, he says, we should not have known that he was an adulterer, if we had not learned it from him, nor that he was lecherous and arrogant, nor what is still more shameful than this, that he threw away his shield. Therefore, by leaving behind such a report and such an account of himself Archilochus was not a good witness on his own behalf. It is Critias who censures him for this, not I.

The invective that Dio sees as a means of bettering one's fellow citizens is,

for Critias, a corrosive force that blurs the boundary between friend and

enemy. Ironically, Archilochus himself has one of his characters articulate

precisely this standard ethical dividing line in fr. 23.14-16 (slightly simplified; see above p. 12):36

en]lcrwµal TOI TOV qitA[fo]v[w] µ~v qi[1]Aeiv,

To]v 5' EX8pov exBafpEIV TE (Ka]i KOKO(

µu]pµ11~.

I know how to love my friend, and hate and harm ... my enemy ... like (?)an ant ...

35 Critias' views on Archilochus have recently been discussed by Rosen 2007b, 248-55, and Rotstein 2007 and 2010, 300-17.

36 Bossi 1990 ad Joe. provides an important discussion of the text here and reconstructs the end of line 15 with KaKo[Ts 5aKeTv. The ant (if that is the proper reconstruction) in line 16 may or may

not be linked to lines 14-15. The speaker may be claiming to have a bite as painful as that of an

ant. This same basic ethical stance is closely paralleled in many places: e.g., Aeschylus, Ch. 123; Pindar, Pyth. 2.83-85; Plato, Crit. 49b-c and Rep. l.332d; and Xenophon, Mem. 2.3.14, 2.6.35.


Dio and Critias also disagree about the value of Archilochus' self-abuse.

What Dio takes to be a profound willingness in Archilochus to critique

himself seems to Critias to be simply a foolish decision to broadcast his base

character to the world. For us, Critias comes to life more through Plato's

depictions of him than from his now fragmentary writings, but his writings

were well known in the imperial era. Aelian (ca.165/70-230/5) preserves

Critias' thoughts on Archilochus and a few other topics; Herodes Atticus,

born in Dio' s old age, was known to be a devoted student of Critias (Phil. VS

2.1.564); and Philostratus knew enough about him to give a glowing assess

ment of his literary style combined with a savage critique of his political

career and his failure at philosophy (VS 1.16.503). Thus Dio was likely to be

familiar enough with Critias' writings to provide a plausible frame of refer

ence for such a contrast between opinions about Archilochean invective.

Through this chorus of voices - explicitly named or evoked at a glance -

Dio's harangue charts a literary history organized around a moralizing

vision of civic life. The idle flattery of Homer serves no practical purpose,

but Archilochus can shake us out of our torpor and provide an ideal model

of chastising oneself and rebuffing the shortcomings of fellow citizens. Dio

replays this opposition in classical Athens as comedy became too enam

oured of the applause of the crowd and Socrates took up the comic

playwrights' slack, rejected Homer's otiose praise, and laid claim to certain

cultural spaces that overlapped with iambic traditions (Plato as the "new

Archilochus" in Athenaeus, and Socrates' aggressive, often low-register

style of discourse). Together with these explicit models, Dio's speech also

suggests the outlines of a contrast between Critias' implicit preference for

concealing one's faults and a comic pattern of civic chastisement married

to literary criticism that we can see among the fragments of Cratinus'

Archilochoi. Dio constructs his voice in this speech to combine elements of

Archilochean invective, Socratic philosophy, and (quite possibly) Old

Comic satirical humor.

We have now lingered long enough over Dio' s opening salvo, in which he

takes on, adapts, and provides a theoretical apparatus for his Archilochean

voice (blended as it is with shadings of Odysseus and Socrates). With this

foundation in place, we can better evaluate what Dio does in the rest of his

discourse. After composing an Aesopic fable and discussing a fragment of

Archilochus, he begins his diatribe in earnest and spends the rest of his time

excoriating the people of Tarsus for their snort and the corresponding decline

of their morals and social structure. In the next section I will both begin and

end with Dio's Archilochean quotation, since it takes on greater significance

in retrospect. Above all, as Dio makes a show of donning his iambic mask he

205


also takes up Archilochus' questionable masculine status in order to confront

the Tarsian crisis head-on. We are thus asked to recognize his mask as a mask and to understand the performative dynamics of this speech as one of so

many fictive roles available to the orator of the imperial Roman world.

Dio's Archilochean performance

Dio's Archilochean response to the situation in Tarsus is well suited to

confront both the city's crisis of masculinity and an intra-regional rivalry.

Like Tarsus' neighboring cities (which had called the city a bunch of

Cercopes), Archilochus and (now) Dio wield the weapon of /..018opia,

and he concludes his contrast between the respective physical appearances

of the flatterer and the abuser with yet another invective warning to the

Tarsians. He asks why they would rile up an Archilochean speaker lilce

him, since he will seem to them to be ill-tempered and uncultured.37 Just as

the hooves of cattle are soft ( 6:a6evels) when they have been raised in gentle

fields, so too our ears become delicate ( Tpvq>Ep6:) when we hear flattery and

lies (15). This jab reiterates the negative somatic effects of praise and lilcens

the Tarsians to a timid herd of cattle with a word, 6:a6mls, to which I will

return below. The animal imagery also motivates a transition into a

standard low-register and iambic strategy of telling a fable. This is not

the only fable that Dio tells, but it is worth noting both that it immediately

precedes his only citation of Archilochus and that he elsewhere connects

Aesop with the admonitory function of a sage.38

Curiously, the fable that Dio tells and which he attributes to Aesop is

attested only here (16), but its imagery looks back to his discussion of the

comic poets. There he had likened comic drama to the proverbial honeyed

cup of medicine. In his fable, Dio describes how the eyes became jealous of the

mouth for all the delicious things it got to enjoy. When, however, the eyes

were given a dollop of honey (a typical medical treatment for various afflic

tions of the eye), 39 they found it stinging. Just so, the Tarsians should beware

37 In light of the references to Archilochus in these lines, Dio's question about ,riling him up (KtveiTe, 15) might recall Gaetulicus' epigram (AP 7.71) which warns passersby not to stir up (K1vfians) the wasps that have settled on Archilochus' tomb.

38 At Or. 72.12 Dio connects Aesop with the Seven Sages but singles him out for delivering his advice to the world in a pleasing and crafty way.

39 For honey as eye medicine, see P. Gair.Zen. 3 59426, where a god has advised a healthy individual to use Attic honey prophylactically, and Nunn 1996, 198, where an Egyptian recipe is given for treating eye maladies. Egyptian eye doctors were highly esteemed (e.g. Hdt. 3.1).


lest they ask for philosophy and wind up feeling as though they have been

bitten (5aKv6µevo1) by abuse and slander (/..018opia Kai ~f..6:~11). This recollec

tion of biting /..018opia, now firmly connected with Archilochus even in the

minds of those audience members who did not know of him previously,

smoothes the move to Dio's only discussion of Archilochus' poetry.

Dio returns to the Tarsians' pride in their natural surroundings and

chastises them for their obtuseness in overlooking their own wretched condi

tion by adducing Archilochus fr. 114 (17). These lines initially seem ill-fitted

to the rhetorical demands of the moment, which calls for comment on

topography, architecture, and city management, but Archilochus' emphasis

on the physical traits of his general make this passage increasingly relevant to

the situation in Tarsus.40 After quoting the first two lines of our standard text

of fr. 114, he provides an inexact summation of the last two. Here is the

complete and accepted text (with Dio's exact quotations underlined and close

similarities in bold) followed by his presentation of the last two lines:41

OU qni\Ew µeyav GTpaTT)y6v ou5e 5tmrrni\1yµevov

OUbE ~OUTpUXOIO"l yaupOV ou5' ll1TE~Up11µEVOV,

ai\i\a µ01 crµ!KpOS TIS Elll Kat mp\ Kvi)µas 15Eiv

po1KOS, acr<pai\ews ~E~llKWS 1rocrcrl, Kap5!11s TIAEWS.

I have no liking for a general who is tall, a strider, takes pride in his curls, and is partly shaven. But let mine be short, a bent look about the shins,

stands firmly on his feet, full of courage.

Dio's summary contains much but not all of the same information (17-18):

"But let mine," he says, "be bent-legged, stand firm, and have hairy

shins."

40 It might have been more immediately obvious for Dio to develop this argument with a nod to the opening of Gorgias' Encomium to Helen (K6aµos TI6;\E1 µev euav5pfa, "A city's pride is its manpower"), but such a move might have seemed stylistically suspect, and it would have upset the larger set of oppositions between Homeric praise and Archilochean censure that structure

this speech. 41 This text is itself an amalgam: The first two lines are preserved in this passage ofDio, and Galen

twice references it. Once, he quotes the first line exactly, does not include any version of the second, and then gives lines 3-4 in what seems to be a close summary with µaKp6s erroneously for µtKpOS (in Hp. TI, ap6pwv, 18.605 Ki.ihn): aM' os µ01, q>TJO"\, µaKpOS EITJ Kai mpl Kvfiµas/ !5eiv

potKm'.is, aaq>aMws !3el311Kws Tioa\, Kap5fas TIMws. Earlier in the same work, he presented lines 3-4 in this way (537): &Ma µlKpOS TIS ElTJ Ka\ mp\ Kvfiµas !5eiv I potKOS, aaq>ai\~ws 13Ei3TJKUfas Tioa\,

Kap5111s Tii\fos.

207


As with his quotation of Homer discussed above, it is possible that Dio's memory has failed him here and that he has simply gotten it wrong.42

Again, however, I suspect that he has cleverly manipulated his model text to fit his needs. In particular Dio makes the already bent shins of Archilochus' commander hairy, a detail which contrasts more sharply with the general who pays too much attention to his shaving. And as Dio's speech turns toward Tarsian tastes in grooming, these hairy shins will also contrast with the smooth legs among his audience.

On the surface Dio uses this passage to make a simple, but rather gawky, point. Just as Archilochus preferred a good commander to one who only looked good, so too he would not have praised Tarsus merely because it

was well situated. The rivers, porticoes, baths, houses, and parks of a city are nothing more than the foppish "curls" (l36<Hpvxo1) of the oversold general (17). It is difficult to imagine Archilochus making any such statement or accepting Dio's comparison between the commander's hair and, for example, the river that must have sustained the health and economy of Tarsus.43 But if we read this passage within the broader terms of Dio's speech as it is taking shape, his choice makes increasingly good sense, since it puts great emphasis on the construction of masculinity.

When we broaden our view slightly, Dio's presentation of Archilochus' verses seems to continue his contrast with Homer, since the general whom Archilochus rejects looks a good bit like statuesque Homeric leaders whose grandeur surpasses their martial prowess, such as Menelaus or Paris. Homer describes a world in which nearly every major character is a magnificent example of manly beauty, and any questions about someone's manhood are typically settled for good on the field of battle. Valor in battle serves as the ultimate marker of unimpeachable virility. Archilochus, on the other hand, frequently speaks from the un-Homeric vantage point of a common soldier who can, at various points, get drunk while enduring a long night watch (fr. 4) or throw away his shield (fr. 5), though he also can speak of remaining in even the most daunting of battles (e.g., fr. 3). Concerned more about living to fight another day than with highfalutin notions of immortal glory, he cares about a commander's guts rather than

42 At first glance, this idea could also explain why Dio uses the word paiR><Js rather than potK6>. Yet Pollux (2.192), who tends to be scrupulous in his citations, also claims that Archilochus used pm~6,. Both Erotian fr. 43, which discusses the phrase potKol µ11pol, and schol. Theoc. 4.49a cite parts of this fragment and use po1K6>-

43 R><Jcnpuxos can refer to the ornamentation of a city (Aristid. Or. 18.9, Lib. Or. 61.12), but not only do the examples postdate Dio, but even if the civic usage is acceptable, the close juxtaposition with Archilochus' natty general creates a jarring contrast.

l Dio 's Archilochean performance

his looks. In the archaic situation these different perspectives on masculine roles are articulated through the habits of poetic performative-generic practice. Epos rarely focuses on sub-elite matters, and when it does, it tends to violently drive out the likes of Thersites and Irus. But iambos presents the world differently and frequently seems to be reacting to epic trappings. Archilochus' critique of what seems to be a typical Homeric hero in fr. 114 is thus rooted in the performative-generic thumbprint of iambos.

Lavigne has recently discussed how the iambic persona typically engages in "a performance of masculine excellence which, in turn, is based upon a failed performance of masculinity."44 Among the most famous scenes of archaic iambos we find questions surrounding the manliness of the speaker, who then lashes out in an effort to vindicate his virility. The testimonia about Archilochus' relationship with the Lycambids and the articulation of that relationship in the Cologne Epode (fr. 196a) exemplify this. Archilochus has been rejected as a husband and son-in-law, and in response he creates a poetic tableau in which he eviscerates Lycambes' paternal standing by dramatizing the sexual violation of his daughters. This provides Archilochus with an opportunity to vaunt his masculine gender in a self-defeating assertion of his sexual aggression that further distances him from the possibility of securing a legitimate and respectable marriage. In the archaic era, then, a discourse about masculinity could be implicit in matters of genre.

In our surviving literary evidence from the imperial era, dominated by oratorical prose as it is, no genre-crossing dialogue can be heard, but this does not mean that matters of masculinity could not be debated and contested within the parameters of publicly presented prose speeches. Thus, for example, the battle lines between the unrepentantly effete Favorinus and the hypermasculine Polemo were drawn within the capacious arena of imperial declamatory performance. More important for the topic of manliness than transgeneric issues was the blunt reality that under the pax Romana one rarely had the opportunity to prove or demonstrate valor on the battlefield. This, in turn, forced elite men to find other avenues through which to establish their manly bona fides. Gleason has shown how sophistic oratory could provide such an outlet, and van Nijf reminds us that the world of imperial athletics, visible primarily in the epigraphic record, also offered the chance for men to put themselves to the test and

44 Lavigne 2010, 87.

209


display their manliness to the world.45 In the First Tarsian, Dio draws upon the oratorical and sophistic trends of his day, but far more importantly, he also reinscribes the discourse between epic and iambos within the ambit of his oratorical prose.

Parallel to this shift away from warfare as the ultimate venue for sorting out the gender hierarchy is a change in the aesthetic valuing of the male and female forms. In Dio's On Beauty (Or. 21) he claims that tastes have changed to favor the ideal of female rather than male beauty. Traditional masculine forms of beauty now receive less attention, and this, in turn, means that men who want to be noticed for their beauty have begun to resort to traditionally feminine wiles. In light of the discussion above, it is interesting to note that Dio traces this feminizing trend back to Critias during the reign of the Thirty (21.2). Thus whereas Archilochus serves as a bastion of enobling invective and a champion of traditional manly beauty in the First Tarsian, Critias may be his unnamed opposite who opposed iambic scurrility and promoted a feminine aesthetic. So not only do the men of Tarsus not have the opportunity to prove themselves in battle but they are also caught up in a wider feminizing trend that seduced men away from old-time masculine aesthetics. The gender-bending motifs that he connects with Archilochus and weaves throughout his speech mimic similar themes in archaic iambos even though the discourse about masculinity has undergone a deep transformation in the intervening eras. Dio and Archilochus may both call into question their own gender and that of their targets, but they do so for reasons that would have been differently understood by their respective audiences.

In the First Tarsian, where questions of martial prowess have no place whatsoever, the opposition between epic and iambos stands as a revived and prominent model. As Dio rejects Homer in favor of Archilochus, he also casts the dubious gender of the local men as the central issue and simultaneously calls his own masculinity into question. Following the lead of Gleason's important thesis that within the spectrum of imperial gender constructions the most manly figures are those who successfully manipulate public performances (especially those involving sophistic panache or political acumen), we should recognize that Dio presents his own masculinity as compromised.46 At least to the people of Tarsus. as he portrays

45 In many ways Gleason 1995 and van Nijf 2001 and 2003 represent starkly opposing views. But in terms of my argument they both demonstrate how masculinity could be displayed, contested, and evaluated in non-military venues.

46 Gleason 1995.

Dio 's Archilochean performance

them, Dio initially depicts himself in a manner that must have seemed too scruffy and uncultured to have matched their masculine ideal of refinement. Furthermore, he begins his speech claiming to be the opposite of wise, rich, eloquent, and socially graceful (i.e., not pepaideumenos), and he goes on to deal with a situation in Tarsus that has led the local men ultimately to depilate their genitals and become androgynous - that is, they have, from Dio's traditional perspective, abdicated their manhood. Thus when Dio takes up the mantle of Archilochus, he does so in order to meet his subject matter on an equally low-register footing. His chosen topic demands a literary style that can comfortably address such matters, which ordinarily are not discussed in public at all. He calls his own manhood into question (however disingenuously) in order to create an appropriate rhetorical context for critiquing that of the Tarsian men. Once he has added the recognizably Socratic pose of being an unsophisticated and simple speaker, Dio clears the way for communicating a low-register message to an audience of failed men.

Yet this project may be doomed from the start, since in addition to Socrates' own failure in Athens, there had always been certain audiences that didn't understand Archilochean poetry in a positive light. Pindar warned himself (and thus his audience) to "shun the bite" of Archilochean abuse (Pyth. 2.52-56, advice Babrius mimics in his prologues); Critias criticized Archilochus for revealing shameful details about himself; and Aristotle preserved the judgment of Alcidamas, the student of Gorgias, who acknowledged that Archilochus was wise but was amazed that the Parians would give him honors ( Tmµi]Kacn) in light of his penchant for abuse (Rhet. 1398bl 1). Alcidamas' reference to honors suggests that the Parian Archilocheion existed already in the fourth century, and it is from this cult-site that we hear of a communal crisis of masculinity that provides a close parallel for the situation in Tarsus.

The third-century Mnesiepes Inscription preserves what it claims to be an old story about the debut of Archilochean iambos.47 The putative first audience of Archilochean iambos rejects this new poetic utterance and deems it to be iaµ~lKWTEpov, "too iambic" (E1 3.38). As a result the poet was censured, spurned, and perhaps even exiled. Most probably through

47 Clay 2004 updates the text and all discussions of this inscription, and Hawkins 2009 analyzes the inscription's narrative in terms of a social and environmental crisis. Whether or not Dio knew of Mnesiepes' text, he clearly knew some of the lore contained therein. The story of Archilochus' father receiving a prophecy at Delphi about his son is preserved only by Mnesiepes, though it may also be referenced by Posidippus in a now fragmentary elegiac poem that probably postdates Mnesiepes' text by at most a few decades (705 SH).

211


Apolline or Dionysiac intervention, the men of Paros are then rendered impotent (au6mls sls Ta al5o\a, 43-44). Understandably panicked, the Parians send to Delphi for advice and learn from Apollo that they need to bring back Archilochus and accept the value of his poetry. When the poet was rehabilitated, male potency (presumably) returned.

The divine mechanism of Mnesiepes' tale operates with a typically iambic focus. The opening of the Iliad, which provides a fitting contrast, also begins with a crisis among kings that precipitates a deadly plague and unleashes chaos in the Achaean camp, but while Mnesiepes' narrative involves a plague of similarly devastating potential, it hits the male population squarely in the genitals (as does so much iambic banter). In the Iliad,

plague takes on the appropriately martial form of Apollo raining arrows upon a military camp, whereas the Parian plague starts from ribaldry and manifests itself in a shameful and scurrilous way. In Dio's Tarsus, the men are not victims of divine wrath (he makes this clear, 50), but they have ended up in much the same circumstances as the impotent Parians. In order to convey the severity of the situation to his audience, he asks them to imagine a scenario in which all the men suddenly begin to speak with women's voices (38). This hypothetical catastrophe, he says, would be more difficult to bear than any plague (:Ao1µ6s), and the city would surely send ambassadors to a sanctuary to propitiate a god. Although Dio doesn't clarify which god they would need to consult, the basic story-line follows the many Greek tales that lead to Delphi, and his imagined disaster of men who have lost their masculinity finds close parallels in Mnesiepes' tale.48

The crisis in imperial Tarsus, then, replicates the contours of the Parian debacle recorded centuries earlier and suggests the possibility that the parallel between these Archilochean narratives is not coincidental. And in both cases, the cure is to be found in the acceptance of Archilochean poetics.

In the Tarsian situation, however, it is the Archilochean Dio who claims to be powerless as he laments that neither Homer nor Archilochus could help the Tarsians (61) and that his own speech is "enfeebled," au6Ev~s (62), the same word Mnesiepes had used to describe the Parians' condition. Dio urges us to believe that his rhetoric has little chance of reversing the devastating circumstances in Tarsus, where the men, through 'an incremental slide into increasingly decadent habits, have rendered themselves

48 The etiology of the Athenian cult of Dionysus Eleuthereus, preserved in the scholia to Aristophanes' Acharnians 243, follows precisely the same pattern as Mnesiepes' narrative, a point mentioned by Nagy 1994, 397.


unmanly. This, in turn, leaves them open to the :Ao15opia of their regional rivals and, in the worst case, unable to maintain not only their reputation but even their own population, since their gender roles had so far disintegrated. Just as the Parians had to accept Archilochus and a new attitude toward iambic scurrility (a nea boule about the one-time fiance ofNeobule), so too the Tarsians need to accept this new Archilochus and his revamped philosophical Ao15opia, which aims at helping them regain their virility and Tarsus' status as the respected and dominant metropolis it ought to be.

When we now look back at Dio's use of Archilochus fr. 114 about the stylishly shaven ( vm~upriµ8vov) general, we can find a new layer of significance. The immediate and rather clumsy point of his citation indicated that just as Archilochus was unimpressed by a heroic looking commander, Dio was not going to be taken in by the natural delights of Tarsus ( 17). By the end of the speech, his topic has developed into a hectoring of the Tarsians' own shaving habits, and in the penultimate section, he bemoans that these citizens have taken to shaving ( E~vpc.vv) their entire faces and more (63). In retrospect, Archilochus' natty commander has become more than a typological example of ethically based vituperation and now emerges as a precise model of shaving habits that distract from the business of behaving like a man.49 In light of this, Dio's deformations of the standard text of fr. 114 make even better sense. He changes Archilochus' focus away from a contrast between grand looks and courage and creates a new tension between shaved cheeks and hairy legs. As we move from the upper to the lower parts of the body, Dio replays the experience of the Cercopes, who now stand in for the people of Tarsus through the jibes of their rivals. The Cercopes saw the hair on Heracles' lower body and laughed; the Tarsians too have effectively scoffed at such hair by removing it from their own bodies; the Archilochean voice of Dio, however, lauds the hirsute male body as a testament to virility and proper Hellenic values.

And thus Dio's crowning threat and admonition to his audience (that they need to take back their manliness and reclaim their Greek identity) emerges most elegantly and with the greatest rhetorical flourish from his manipulation of Archilochus. This begins with the contrast between the poetics of praise and blame as filtered through epic and iambos and initially stands as something of an enigma in his reference to fr. 114. But

49 In his Encomium comae preserved in Synesius' Encomium calvitii, Dio presents male hair as a prime indication of heroic beauty. This brief sophistic text makes no mention of any sort of shaving, but in the final section Dio does note that Homer tends to focus on the hair of male characters far more often than the hair of women or goddesses.

213


as he builds toward the culmination of his speech, he again invokes his models to ask what Homer or Archilochus could ameliorate the situation in Tarsus (61). The insanity (µavia), the sickness (v6cniµa) has already

attacked too many parts of the body, and Dio is powerless ( acr6ev~s) to do anything (61-62). He therefore closes with a final sarcastic barb (63-64).

As the Tarsians shave away the hair that would have declared their manliness to the world, they begin to look more like women. They thus

mock (KaTOyet.av) nature for providing males with superfluous hair. Clearly, Dio says, all that we (his fervor has now drawn him and us into

the Tarsian effeminization) really need to be happy are bellies and genitals (Tex a!8oia). And if we could only take over "other feminine traits" (Tiapex

Twv yuva1Kwv Tipocr!.a~eiv TCx hepa), then we would be truly blest (eu8ai

µoves). He does not go so far as to spell out what else men might want to borrow from women, but the last words of his speech leave little to the

imagination. In this new state we could be 6MK!.ripoi TIVES Kai KOTCx cpucnv

av8p6yuvo1, "whole creatures and, by nature, hermaphrodites" (64).

Conclusions

Tarsus' enemies have good reason to make fun of the city, as we can see in Dio's harsh critique. But whereas nothing more than jealousy and mali

cious opportunism probably lie behind the insults of Aegae and Adana, Dio upbraids Tarsus with a purpose. His own t.018op!a is thus intended to be efficacious in a manner that parallels the legends about the early iambists, but instead of killing off the likes of Lycambes, Dio's censure

(if properly understood by his audience) can rehabilitate Tarsus in the face of such unproductive criticism. The reputed power of early iambic speech

has developed into a form of philosophical protreptic. Much like Archilochus' poetry and Socrates' career, Dio's speech is

structured in a way that encourages a different perspective on societal norms and values. Although Dio himself disingenuously laments that he

is not wise and that his rhetoric is weak, he assumes the efficacious voice of Archilochus, and like Archilochus Dio has critiqued himself ( auTov

\jJEye1, 12). And that brand of iambic invective, which, according to Mnesiepes, had precipitated and then helped resolve a fertility plague, now helps Dio combine the voice of Archilochus and the practice of a

doctor to confront a crisis of masculinity that he describes as a plague (t.01µ6s, 38). And as Dio reminds us, Archilochus had received the highest possible honors from Apollo and the epithet "servant of the Muses" (12).

Conclusions

Dio's last words in the First Tarsian may invert Aristotle's notion of females as defective males (GA 7371.27-28) or reawaken the verve of "Aristophanes"' memorable speech in Plato's Symposium about the ancient av8p6yuvo1, who exist now only as a name of reproach (ev ovei8e1 ovoµa) and

from whom current notions of heterosexuality derive (189e). For anyone who catches such references, Dio's speech ends on a humorous note. But he

sets the humor up to be transformational, for although Dio does not emphasize this point, Archilochus was famous for the virtually magical efficacy of his poetic utterances. This power, also attested for Hipponax, is lmown to us

most clearly from the relevant testimonia rather than from his poetry itself, but the story that Archilochus' verses drove Lycambes and his family to hang themselves was among the best known anecdotes about him. So while we might wonder what, if anything, Dio's audience knew about Archilochus or archaic iambos we can be confident that the better educated would

have known of that Archilochus who drove his enemies to the noose with his poetry. Far from claiming to have such efficacy himself, Dio laments that he is powerless, acr6ev~s ( 62), and this assertion of powerlessness can be read as a pivot between his two most prominent personal models in this speech:

Archilochus and Socrates. Unlike Archilochus' words, Dio's voice so completely lacks efficacious power that he has lost his manliness, just like the people of Paros who refused to welcome that legendary first performance of Archilochean iambos. Even if we don't hear a specific allusion to the Mne

siepes Inscription, the notion of powerless rhetoric contrasts sharply with the reputation of Archilochus' voice.

But at the same time, Dio's professed oratorical wealmess allies him with

the image of Socrates. Plato's Apology stood as a monumental statement of Socrates' disregard for legal and popular success at precisely the same moment when Plato pushed him forward as the heroic martyr of ascendant

philosophy. In the word acr6ev~s and the attendant conception of powerlessness, we can hear Dio acknowledging that he cannot access that ancient potency of Archilochean speech even as he soothes his audience with the familiar Socratic move of downplaying his own powers. The synchronic

availability of the Socratic model contrasts with the diachronic inaccessibility of the Archilochean. In understanding the situation in this way, it also rigs the game in Dio's favor. If his message falls on deaf ears, then he has done no worse than Socrates, but if he were to succeed in getting the Tarsians to change their ways then he will have outdone Socrates

and mimicked Archilochus' efficacious voice, though by means of philosophically informed rhetoric rather than through the seemingly supernatural power of the archaic iambists.

215

215

216

Interlude 4 Begging with Hipponax

Dio brought Archilochus into the world of sophistic oratory, and we have

good evidence that he started something of a small trend.1 Here, however,

I would like to stir things up a bit and focus on a strange reappearance of

Hipponax "on the street." Plutarch, an exact contemporary of Dio, only

quotes a single fragment of Hipponax (fr. 32 W/42 Dg), though he does so

several times (De cupid. 2.523e; Stoic. parad. 6.1058d; and Comm. not. 1068b ). In the fullest of these citations, Plutarch points an accusatory

finger at Stoics who trumpet their self-sufficiency but then beg for hand

outs by reciting a bit of Hipponax. This passage stands at the end of

our text, which is only an excerpt from an originally longer work (Stoic. parad. 6.1058d):

Ka\ 6 µEv '10aKTjalwv ~aa1il.eus irpoaatTEl il.av06:ve1v as EaT\ ~ouMµevos KOi 1TO\WV

EaUTOV ws µ6:i1.1aTa 'irTWX<fl il.euyaM<f> evail.lyK1ov'· 6 5' EK Tfis ~TOOS ~owv µeya Kai

KEKpayws· 'eyw µ6vos eiµl ~aa1il.eus, eyw µ6vos elµ\ iril.oua1os' 6paw1 iroM6:KtS eir'

6:M0Tpla1s 0upa1s il.eywv '5os XAaTvav 'ITITIWVOKTl' K6:pTa yap p1yw Kai ~aµ~aM,w.'

And when the King of Ithaca wants to be incognito, he begs and makes himself as

much "like a pitiful beggar" as possible, but the one who bellows from the Stoa and

shouts "I alone am king! I alone am rich!" can often be seen going door to door

saying: "Give a cloak to Hipponax, 'cause I'm cold And my teeth chatter."

As so often, we can try to argue that Plutarch (or someone involved in

transmitting this fragmentary text) has made an error here or that he is

constructing an invective fiction for rhetorical purposes. But if we take his

description at face value (a reasonable, if not unassailable, move), we

1 In addition to the cases of Lucian and Julian that will be studied in detail in the coming chapters, Philostratus mentions a sophist named Hippodromus, who was a great student of Archilochus, calling him "the breath of the sophists" (VS 2.27.620). Like Dio, Aristides, too, brings Archilochus into a contentious text, but he never goes so far as to assimilate his own voice with that of the iambist (esp. 3.610-12 Lenz-Behr= 46.293-94 Dindorf). In the third century, Menander Rhetor could still advise orators to pay attention to Archilochus in their composition of7-a7uaf (2.393.9-12), chatty rhetorical performance pieces that were less formal than logoi and which were typically delivered while sitting down.

Begging with Hipponax

must wonder why on earth a Stoic would say such things and what

Plutarch saw in such a scenario.

Two basic but important points are clear enough. First, the Stoic's claims

to being rich and kingly obviously derive from the idealization of autarkeia or "self-sufficiency." If you need nothing, then you obviously have every

thing and that makes you rich and kingly (a point that Plutarch derides at

Comm. not. 1068b, where he also invokes this bit of Hipponax). Secondly,

Plutarch saw this performance of autarkeia to be a sham, since some Stoics

had to beg for their livelihood. Regardless of the panache of doing so by

quoting an old poet, boasting and beggary just don't fit together. Further

more, Plutarch was likely to have been happy to preserve the iambic

quotation, since, although he made ample use of Archilochus, he doesn't

seem to have had much interest in the more scurrilous iambist. Those

crazy Stoics and the distasteful Hipponax form an apt pairing. And on the

other hand, it seems improbable that Plutarch would simply invent this

connection, since Hipponax was a bit recherche because of his often

strange language and the fact that he was never going to break into the

ranks of the school texts. The image of Stoic beggars quoting the Ephesian

iambist, therefore, stretches fictional plausibility and is much more likely to

be a moment of quirky reality.

Everything, then, fits quite well from Plutarch's perspective, but what

stake could a Stoic have had in quoting Hipponax? The key probably lies in

the theatricality of the iambic mask. In the Introduction, I outlined my

general ideas about the performative challenge implicit in iambos (beyond

that of any other archaic poetic form), and in analyzing Dio's adaptation of

Archilochus' voice I updated those comments to Dio's particular context.

Simply put, the iambic ego in combination with the debased tales of the

iambist challenge an audience to negotiate the relationship between poet

and persona, something of far less importance for the lyric or elegiac poet

who gives voice to positive, idealized, or typical social values and which is

altogether irrelevant to the epic bard's channeling of the Muse. In this way,

therefore, iambos is deeply theatrical.

We find some corroboration for this point in the imperial era within the

Plutarchan corpus itself from a passage of Pseudo-Plutarch's De musica (20.1140f-4lb). The author claims that among Archilochus' many other

innovations he was also "the first to introduce the practice whereby some

iambics were spoken to musical accompaniment and others sung and that

afterwards the tragic poets made use of this procedure ... " That is to say,

one of the basic formal features of tragic drama (its integration of spoken

iambics) derives from a performance style that could be theorized as

217

218 Begging with Hipponax

distinctly Archilochean. In this passage (the actual historical value of which is irrelevant for a consideration of Plutarch's Stoic beggar), the perform

ance habits of actors, who literally and physically take on the mask etc. of scripted characters, blur together with the iambist's marked gesture of

donning a poetic persona.2 Plutarch's beggar, therefore, may have used an iambic tag in order to

highlight the theatricality of his performance. We might imagine explanatory notes that go something like this: Yes, I want a cloak (and, if you know the rest of this passage, a tunic, sandals, shoes, and some cash), but I also want you to see that I am performing Hipponax. I'm not Hipponax, it's just a mask. What do you see when you look through that mask? I'll give you a hint. When some people looked at Hipponax, all they saw was ugly wretchedness. They laughed and gasped and made fun of him. Those people paid the price. Because Hipponax was far more than his outward appearance. All of us are like that. So look beyond my mask of rags and see that I am a man. Just like you. And give me that cloak.

If I am correct in this reading of the Stoic's performance, then we

can anticipate several likely consequences. Perhaps most importantly, this Hipponactean display throws the onus of connecting the dots onto the audience. This is a typical iambic trick: Archilochus and Hipponax urge

us to turn against Lycambes and Bupalus, but as has been amply discussed throughout this study, many people refused to listen. If, however, the person being solicited by this shabby Stoic properly understands what is going

on, then he will have recognized a critical philosophical principle. Once we remove our outer trappings, we're all alike in our shared humanity. We can find plenty of examples to back up the Stoic belief in the common dignity of man, but a particularly apt case centers on a quip by Herodes

Atticus who, against his companions' advice, gave some alms to a beggar. He silenced his friends' objections by declaring simply that in this beggar he saw a man (Gell. NA 9.2.7 and Diog. Laert. 5.1.21).

Once we recognize that the beggar and the wealthy homeowner share

the same core humanity, we can return to the contrast between the Stoic king and the Stoic beggar that Plutarch mocks. Both are, of course, the

2 Over the years I have benefited greatly from talking with Don Lavigne about this very subject. Might Aristotle's influential claim that the dramatists took over the iambic trimeter because it

most closely approximated every day speech be wrong? (It is, after all, strange for the highly wrought and highly marked speech of tragic characters to be associated with common speech.) If so, we can wonder ifthe connection between archaic iambos and dramatic trimeters might have more to do with matters of performance and creating a character or persona that is recognized as being distinct from the performer.

Begging with Hipponax

same, and from the Stoic perspective there is no contradiction at all. The Stoic can be a king of self-sufficiency even as he asks another for basic sustenance, for in asking for assistance he is far less encumbered than those we typically call kings. And if we don't believe that this Stoic is such a noble

sage and begin to suspect that he might be a half-baked rogue, we can wonder if anyone handed over a cloak because he recalled that Hipponax

also boasted that he could strike just as well with his left fist as with his

right (fr. 121 W/122 Dg). Returning from the Stoic on the street to our bit of text, it is surely the

case that Plutarch did not fail to understand the issues that I have outlined

above but, rather, that he willfully misrepresented them. After all, both here and in one of his other references to Hipponax he makes clear that he rejects all this Stoic bunk about self-sufficiency for the very reason that

Stoics are clearly not self-sufficient if they need food, water and shelter. I leave the debate over philosophical fine points to others and simply conclude by noting that if we reread his words for their articulation of matters of literary and philosophical decorum, we can suspect that this

vignette about the begging Stoic encapsulates a nexus of cultural modes

that Plutarch rejects. Hipponax's unseemly poetry fits well with the ridiculousness of Stoic philosophy. The two deserve each other, and men of Plutarch's tastes can safely consign the pair to the bottom shelf of society and move on. The two degraded modes may well serve to drag each other

down. If you already see Hipponax (or Stoicism) as scandalous, then you're more likely to be convinced that Stoicism (or Hipponax) has condemned

itself by association.

219

220

5 Playful aggression: Lucian's Pseudologista

But they that have incensed me, can in soul

Acquit me of that guilt. They know I dare

To spurn or baffle them, or squirt their eyes

With ink or urine; or I could do worse,

Arm'd with Archilochus' fury, write Iambics,

Should make the desperate lashers hang themselves;

Rhime them to death, as they do Irish rats

In drumming tunes.

Ben Jonson, The Poetaster

From the barbarous Tarsian snort we move into the world of lexical barbarisms in a work by Lucian of Samosata, himself always playing -laughingly or desperately - with the construction of Greek and non-Greek identities. Because Lucian hails from a city at the easternmost edge of the Hellenized world on the eastern border of Roman Syria and because we know effectively nothing about him except what we dare to believe from his own sly pen, it is always tempting to read biographical details into Lucian's many discussions of Greek language, style and public performance. The text at the center of this chapter, his Pseudologista, falls into this category, since it presents a conflict about acceptable usage of a particular word between a narrator who initially seems to be Lucian himself and a rival sophistic performer. Although he elsewhere draws attention to his innovative conflation of Old Comedy and Platonic philosophical prose into a new literary alloy, he also alerts us to his debt to iambic poetics. In the Pseudologista, Lucian simultaneously amplifies traditional iambic aggression and undermines the personal animosity that gives rise to such aggression. The result is an overtly humorous and fictional twist on iambic poetics, which nevertheless takes a serious stance on policing the boundaries of verbal performance.

Introduction

Introduction

"But that you are ignorant of the word c:moqipas ["unpropitious"] is patently clear to everyone." With these words Lucian's Pseudologista begins with a bang.1 We pick up the words of his already impassioned Narrator in midstream (first word: &Ma, "but") as he points an accusatory finger at someone addressed in the second-person (the unnamed target of the entire text, whom I will call the Critic).2 The Narrator goes on to wonder sarcastically how the Critic could have been so idiotic as to say that the Narrator's description of him as an "&lroqipas day" was barbaric. In many ways, this argument into which we are thrown typifies the Second Sophistic era, when matters of diction and usage go a long way toward constructing and demonstrating one's oratorical prowess and, thereby, standing among the educated elite. But as the Narrator ratchets up his rhetoric he also exposes himself to criticism, and this entire confrontation becomes a farce. This first begins to become apparent when Lucian likens himself to Archilochus and then claims that the combined powers of Archilochus, Hipponax, and Semonides could not sufficiently excoriate the Critic for his crimes (1-2). After beginning virtually in midsentence, Lucian soon backs up to give a broader sense of what is going on and what is at stake here. With a volley of opening insults that set up these two central characters as an iambist and an iambic target,

1 Lucian has had a greater influence on the Western literary tradition than any of the other authors studied in this book except Ovid (though the Ibis was overshadowed by other works), as shown by Robinson 1979. Lucian was immensely popular throughout the Byzantine era (Mattioli 1980, 9-38, and Zappala 1990, 21-30), and in the Italian Renaissance his texts were among the first to be "rediscovered" under the influence of Manuel Chrysoloras, who began to teach Greek in Florence in 1397 (Marsh 1998). Baumbach 2002 surveys Lucian's influence in Germany. There were, however, always those who did not appreciate Lucian, as seen in Lactantius' description: Lucianus, qui neque diis pepercit neque hominibus, "Lucian, who spared neither gods nor men" (Div. inst. 1.9.8). In later times, Lucian's wit inspired the likes of Erasmus, More, Cervantes, Jonson, Swift, Fielding, and thus all of modern satirical writing.

2 As with the case of Ovid's Ibis, several modern scholars have sought to identify Lucian's target in this piece. Harmon 1936, 371, discounted the old idea that the Critic might be a certain Timarchus based on the Narrator's claim that he was known as Atimarchus in Athens (27); Degani 1984, 76, however, still refers to Lucian's target as Timarchus; Baldwin 1962, 3-4, argues that Lucian's target is Phrynichus; Hall 1981, 297, suggested that he was Ulpian of Tyre; Jones 1986, 113-14 and 1972 passim, argued for Hadrian of Tyre, an identification accepted by Swain 1996, 48. As with my arguments regarding Ovid's Ibis, 1 prefer to interrogate broader literary themes than attempt to identify a specific historical target.

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the Narrator asks a Menandrian prologue speaker named· Elen_chus, "the Scrutinizer," to fill in the backstory (4-9).3

It all began, Elenchus says, some time ago at Olympia, when the Narrator laughed at the Critic's stale sophistic performance that consisted of a pastiche of plagiarisms and hackneyed tropes. The topic of this speech, which by prearrangement a friend of the Critic had shouted out from the audience as if on a whim, was the Athenians' refusal to initiate Pythagoras into the mysteries at Eleusis on the grounds that he had been Euphorbus, a Trojan and, therefore, a barbarian, in a former life.4 Elenchus likens the performance (and, by implication, the performer) to Aesop's Jackdaw that tried to win a beauty contest by covering itself in other birds' feathers.5

That is to say, the performance was bad, consisting of bits stolen from others poorly stitched together. Not surprisingly, the Critic failed to pull off the hoax. The audience howled with laughter and made a game of spotting the sources from which the Critic was cribbing, and the Narrator, "seeing an Ass playing the lyre," burst out into such a fit of laughter that the Critic took notice from the stage.6 Thereafter, the two were enemies, and this explains, Elenchus continues, the recent (evayxos, 8) dust-up that occurred during the festival of the kalends of January. The Narrator spots the Critic on the street and loudly tells his friends that they should give a wide berth to this "cnro<ppas day." The Critic responds by laughing and holding forth briefly on this turn of phrase (8):

3 At Cal. 5 Lucian introduces a character named Agnoia, who likely derives from the character by that name in Menander's Perikeiromene. Menander's Elenchus, of course, has clear Socratic shadings.

4 Euphorbus appears in Callimachus' Iambus 1 (fr. 191.59) as part of Hipponax's story about the cup of Bathycles. Two passages of Hipponax seem to touch upon this same basic story (frr. 63 W /65 Dg and 123W /12 Dg). It is at least possible, therefore, that Euphorbus also had a role to play in Hipponax' s poetry and that Lucian here nods to this intersection of iambic material.

5 This fable (101 Perry) was very popular in later antiquity and probably circulated orally from a very early date. The only full version that predates Lucian is that of Babrius (72), but it is first clearly alluded to twice by Philodemus in the second book of On Rhetoric (frr. 3.11-12, 25-27 Sudhaus). Van Dijk 1997, 305-07, assesses Philodemus' agenda in these passages.

6 "The Ass and the Lyre" (542 Perry) first appears in Cratinus' Chirones (fr. 247 PCG) and is fully preserved in Phaedrus App. 14. Lucian's chaotic scene parallels Philostratus' story about Philagrus of Cilicia, who was caught passing off his own earlier work as an improvisation (VS 2.8.578-80), but it also is surprisingly similar to Philostratus' description of the conflict between Gorgias, who, according to Philostratus, invented this type of public improvisational oratory, and Prodicus, who composed and then frequently re-performed his story about Heracles' choice between Virtue and Vice (VS 1.482-83, preface). For Philostratus' account of Philagrus and his confrontation with Herodes Atticus and his students, see Whitmarsh 2005, 33-34.

Introduction

'Airoqipexs, Tl 81: TOUTO EO"Tlj Kapir6s TIS Ti 13oTCxVT) TIS Ti O"KEUOSj apa TWV ea610µ€vc.uv ii mvoµ€vc.uv Tl EO"TIV c':moq>pexs; eyw µev OUTE T']Kouaa 1TW1TOTE OUT' &v auvEIT)V lTOTE 8 Tl

Kai ll€yE1.

c':moqipexs?! What's that? Some fruit? An herb or a tool? Is cmoqipexs something to eat

or drink? I've never heard the word and can't possibly guess what it means.

Elenchus concludes by saying that the Narrator had asked him to say all this in order to show that this "famous orator" (&oi51µos uo<p10Tr]s, 9) does not know words that are familiar to all Greeks even among the working classes.

Elenchus' speech gets us caught up on what's been going on and explains the Narrator's opening outburst. The rest of the harangue, which takes place in Ephesus very soon after the encounter during the festival of the kalends of January, falls roughly into two parts. In the first, the Narrator expounds on matters of diction and style in order to defend himself and condemn his rival, and the second describes the Critic's earlier career and myriad examples of his lewd and shameless behavior. All of these matters come together in the body of the Critic, and we hear a detailed explanation of how sophistic and sexual control of one's mouth intersect and reinforce one another. Just as Dio had used the Tarsian snort to demonstrate the city's abdication of its virility and Greek identity, so too, Lucian's quick alternation between issues of diction and depravity ultimately aim at the same revelation of the Critic's utter barbarity. But whereas Dio had presented himself in mildly reduced form - he was unskilled, unprepared and unlikely to succeed - Lucian gives us a Narrator whose professional credentials seem little better than those of the Critic. By telling his aggressive tale from the point of view of a second-rate sophist who resorts to a style of hyper-Attic pedantry which Lucian elsewhere condemns, he undermines both his Narrator and the seriousness of typical iambic aggression. More than any other author connected with the iambic tradition, Lucian emphasizes the fictionality of his aggressive pose, and this recognizably feigned anger leads to humor.

What makes Lucian such a pronounced example of this process is that he simultaneously ramps up his angry rhetoric and undermines any plausible foundation for it. So although the poetic form and language of an Archilochus or an Ovid is a more obviously marked form of communication than Lucian's prose (since their words are built into the already artificial framework of poetic meter), such poetry nevertheless seeks to sustain the fiction of its real, historical enmity. They urge us to believe in their animosity (even if such encouragement comes with a recognized performative wink); Lucian does the opposite. Typical iambic or satiric

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aggression is understood to be fictional, because its poetic stance emerges from an artistic rather than the alleged emotional source (x6P.os, ira, indignatio, etc.), even when some real and historical antagonism inspires

the artistic simulacrum. Lucian's aggression is more easily recognized as fictional, because he strands his own Narrator beyond the sympathy of his .

audience and thereby cuts the apron-strings connecting life and art. Yet if Lucian makes light of iambic aggression and presents the central

conflict of the Pseudologista as a farce, this does not mean that his text lacks a serious message. Rather, Lucian stations himself as the arbiter elegantiae for sophistic performance. As he displays his mastery of iambic

abuse, he polices the strictures of taste which regulate elite performance for his era and his class. He leaves his Narrator (as well as his target) open to charges of verbal barbarism and thus articulates the limits of acceptable verbal performance by means of a negative example. He then amplifies the

dangers of transgressing these limits by connecting the plot of the Pseudologista with the sacred potency of the kalends of January. As in Ovid's Ibis, the nature of this festival, which portends the fate of the coming year, adds a particularly Roman twist to the legendary efficacy of iambic speech.

In Lucian's case, however, the apocalyptic pairing of iambic speech and the kalends' portentousness dissolves into a picaresque game which could easily enliven the holiday's festivities.

I will begin, therefore, by showing that the bone of contention between the Narrator and the Critic is recognizably humorous. This basic point will then be supported and expanded by analyzing three aspects of the argument in greater detail. First, Lucian manipulates the lore about the archaic iambic poets in a manner that fits neither the received iambic tradition

nor the disagreement about 0:-rrocppc'xs.7 Rather, his appeal to the archaic iambic poets (as well as a nod toward Callimachus' Iambi) is designed to vaunt his own iambic credentials as an author of simulated iambic prose

and make light of sophistic word-splitting. Lucian bases his aggression on what seems to be a real conflict, but as the seriousness of that conflict evaporates, Lucian emerges as a master of literary, fictionalized aggression.

7 Harold Bloom used the term apophrades to describe one type of interaction (one of Blooms "revisionary ratios") between a poet and his predecessors. Strong poets, such as Eliot, can overcome the problem of "influence" so powerfuJJy, that they seem to have turned around the arrow of causation and managed, paradoxically, to influence their models and predecessors. Bloom describes his apophrades as "the triumph of having so stationed the precursor, in one's own work, that particular passages in his work seem to be not presages of one's own advent, but rather to be indebted to one's own achievement ... The mighty dead return, but they return in our colors, and speaking in our voices, at least in part, at least in moments ... " (1973, 141).

Lucian on the attack

Second, Lucian, who often played up his non-Greek origins, frames the text's central conflict as a matter of identifying the true barbarian. The Narrator clearly claims the higher ground on this issue, but the pepaideumenoi in Lucian's audience would likely recognize that the Narrator was not as suave as he would have us believe. The question of barbarism, then,

turns out to be a trap for the audience. Those who accept the Narrator's authority can equate him with Lucian and admire the Syrian's thoroughly Hellenized panache with which he outmaneuvers a rival. The truly pepaideumenoi, however, should be able to see that Lucian actually distances himself from his rather gauche Narrator and demonstrates his literary skill by staging the entire conflict. The Narrator, on this reading, is more of a degraded Aristophanic hero than a sophistic master. Again, this literary trick erodes the audience's confidence in finding a serious foundation in the

Pseudologista's drama and transforms iambic aggression into comedy. Finally, Lucian uses the dramatic context of the kalends of January as an

opportunity to turn the debate over cnrocppc'xs into a calendar joke. His Narrator claims a community-wide danger in the Critic's criminal ignorance

that is tied to the logic of the New Year's festival, but, since his sophistic

pretensions have already been exposed, this comically heightened alarm actually reinforces the exuberant merriment of the celebration.


Lucian is often caustically satirical, but that does not always mean that he employs iambic poetics. His claims about his abusive registers effectively distinguish between iambic and non-iambic aggression as we can see in

his Bis accusatus. This distinction, in turn, sets the Pseudologista into starker relief when we see him open the floodgates and unleash a torrent of invective. Although Lucian delivers his iambic aggression with a laugh,

ultimately that laughter serves to debunk the claims to elite performance status of figures who do not deserve such lofty renown or the rewards of

the public's adulation. At one extreme, we can see that Lucian's primary interest in iambic

poetics lies in its fierce invective. Nesselrath has recently shown that in Lucian's day there were three main perspectives on Archilochus and his poetic legacy. Most often he was portrayed either as a great poet on a par with Homer (as we have already seen in Dio), as a harsh but justified critic, or as an extreme mocker and verbal abuser. Lucian seems little interested

in the first of these categories, and although he frequently presents himself

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as a justified critic, he never references Archilochus or anything to do with

the iambic tradition except when he adopts an abusive or aggressively defensive stance. Thus Nesselrath concludes that Lucian "fuses his own literary image with that of Archilochus so as to be able to pounce on his

enemy [in the Pseudologista] with greater authority and effect."8

Lucian lays the groundwork for his iambic voice in Bis accusatus, in which the main character, identified as "the Syrian" (a name, like that of so

many Lucianic narrators, that dares us to equate the narrator with Lucian himself), stands trial on the Athenian Areopagus. A pair of charges has

been leveled against him by the personifications of Rhetoric, who says that she is the Syrian's legitimate but now spurned wife, and Dialogue, who claims to have been slandered and degraded by him.9 Among other points, Dialogue makes this accusation (33):

Kai TO µev Tpay1KOV EKElVO Kal CJ"Wq>poVlKOV 1TpOC1W1TEioV aqieil\e µou, KWµlKOV 5e Ka\

amup1Kov &Mo ETIE0TJKE µ01 Kai µ1Kpou 5eTv yefloTov. ehc'x µ01 els To mho qiepwv

auyKa0eTp~ev To aKwµµa Kai Tov laµj3ov Ka\ Kuv1aµov Kai Tov EuTioA1v Kai Tov

'Ap!O"TOq>CxVT], 5e1vous &v5pas E1TlKEpToµfjaa1 TCx aeµva Kai XAEUCxCJ"al TCx 6p0ws exoVTa.

TEAeuTaiov 5e Kai MevmTI6v nva Twv Tiaflaiwv Kuvwv µc'xfla uflaKTlKov ws 5oKeT Kai

Kapxapov avopu~as, Kai TOUTOV E1TElCJ"iJyayev µ01 q>oj3ep6v TlVa ws &A110ws Kuva Kal TO

5fjyµa Aa0paiov, oayi Kai yeflwv &µa E5aKvev.

He took off my sensible tragic mask and put on another, comic, satyr-like, and almost ridiculous. Then he shut me up in the same room with joking, iambus, cynicism, Eupolis and Aristophanes - men terribly clever at criticizing serious things and pouring scorn on what is right and proper. Finally, he even dug up one of the ancient dogs, Menippus. And he had a reputation for much barking and biting. The Syrian put him in with me. A truly terrifying dog he is too, only you don't notice his bite, because he laughs while he's biting you. (trans. Sidwell 2004)

Lucian here nods toward a wide range of generic inputs that have influ

enced his style, and he by no means vaunts the iambic tradition above the rest. 10 Nevertheless, he reserves for himself the right to include iambic

8 Nesselrath 2007, 142. Branham 1989, 29, similarly calls Lucian's reference to Archilochus in the Pseudo/ogista a "warrant for this verbal aggression."

9 In the Rhetorum praeceptor Lucian shows that someone properly trained as ~ public speaker will "contract a lawful marriage with Rhetoric" (9). Thus, his persona in Bis accusatus, who has left Rhetoric, has moved away from traditional oratory to something new. Braun 1994 provides an excellent study of Bis accusatus.

10 We may wonder about some of Lucian's choices here, especially the combination of individuals, genres, and speech acts. Cratinus is noticeably absent, but his Pytine, mentioned by Lucian in his Macrobii (25), seems to have provided a primary model for the plot of Bis accusatus. In that play Cratinus presented himself as the errant husband of Comedy and the adulterous lover of


poetics in his satirical palette, and, to judge from his references to Archilochus and Hipponax, Lucian's iambic poetics is rooted in distilled

verbal abuse. But before discussing his use of the archaic iambic poets directly, we can map the boundary of his deployment of iambic

poetics by assessing a group of texts in which Lucian displays certain

aggressive traits without invoking his iambic models.11

In Alexander and De morte Peregrini Lucian bombards named individuals with scorn, a standard starting point for iambic venom. In these

cases, however, he clearly holds up his targets not as personal enemies but

as deplorable character-types of whom we should all be wary.12 His caricature of Alexander of Abonoteichus, for example, is savage, but his

intent is to debunk a fraudulent type and to help us recognize and avoid such figures wherever they might appear. Thus these works are filled

with a strong sense of social outrage, as can be seen when Lucian claims to be embarrassed that his friend Celsus (to whom his Alexander is dedicated) has asked him to recount Alexander's "tricks and frauds"

(Alex. 1) or when his audience groans about the "vanity" of Peregrinus

(Peregr. 2). Lucian presents both targets as if they were already commonly known as rogues and thus his literary task is not to expose and excoriate a personal enemy but simply to guide his audience's response to men of

such ilk. Lucian's Prometheus es suggests another type of invective. This text

begins from the premise that someone has just referred to Lucian as "a Prometheus in words," a description that Lucian largely rejects and which prompts him to speak at length about theories of literary

innovation.13 This judgment about Lucian's style may well have been intended as a backhanded compliment, though, of course, the whole

Drunkenness, a scenario that Lucian evokes in the Syrian's troubled marriage to Rhetoric and his problematic relationship with Dialogue. Cratinus' play has received a great deal of recent attention: Sidwell 1995, Rosen 2000, Biles 2002, Ruffell 2002, Hawkins 2008, and Bakola 2010, esp. 59-64. Menippus in Lucian's passage stands on his own as the representative of

Menippean Satire. 11 Jones 1986, 109, and Branham 1989, 29-31, both connect the Pseudo/ogista with other abusive

texts in Lucian's corpus. 12 Petsalis-Diomidis 2010, 12-66, presents a careful analysis of Lucian's polemic in Alexander.

She underscores the fact that we have no independent corroboration that Alexander even existed (he could be "a literary creation ... given the name Alexander in order to create a ludicrous anti-hero contrasted with Alexander the Great," 45), but she also notes that "the rhetoric employed [by Lucian] argues for a high degree of personal involvement in the religious

debates of the time" (59). 13 The form of this comment may have been rather standard, since we also hear that the

Critic is known as a "Cerberus in words" (Pseudo/. 29).

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situation may also have been invented as a narrative excuse to speak pro grammatically about his literary style. Yet if he did perceive an insult

in being likened to Prometheus, he does not respond with a strong frontal counterattack. Rather, as Peterson has shown, in defining and articulating

his own literary agenda Lucian sets up his rivals as clumsy hacks who only know how to put together the simplest of literary associations. This text (and perhaps similar works, such as the Zeuxis and Hercules, which also deal with matters of literary traditionalism and innovation) shows Lucian gently, subtly, and condescendingly relegating his rivals to

an inferior position.14 His goal is more to flaunt his own skill than to personally attack those whose style he condemns.

A more openly aggressive tone pervades Lucian's Adversus indoctum. In the last pages of this rant against an uneducated aficionado who

buys books in order to look smart, Lucian invokes Archilochus and Hipponax and thus brings the shadow of iambic poetics into his text. As with the Peregrinus and Alexander, the Adversus indoctum is more

concerned with a particular type of despicable character, but more like the Pseudologista, Lucian addresses this tirade directly against an

unnamed target in the second person. The intense hatred which motivates this piece is, however, a sentiment allegedly shared by everyone rather than stemming from a unique personal rivalry between Lucian's

narrator and the book collector: µterns 8€ &yp1ov, qiaai, Tiapa lTCxVTC.VV exe1s,

"they say that you've earned everyone's hatred" (16). Furthermore, whereas the butt of the Pseudologista is described in rich detail, Lucian's target in the Adversus indoctum remains flat, since the attack in this work focuses on a broader level of stereotyping than we find in the

Pseudologista. The less intensely personal scenario of the Adversus indoctum when compared with that of the Pseudologista is mirrored in the lighter and more obviously humorous use of iambic poetics in the former work.

Lucian ensures that we feel this lighter touch in the Adversus indoctum in the manner in which he incorporates his iambic reference. Most importantly, whereas the Pseudologista begins with an immediate reference to Archilochus, which then bursts into a larger discussion of the

iambic poets and their enemies, the Adversus indoctum wields the iambic poets as a parting shot. Lucian's narrator taunts his target with a series of references which, we are made to understand, he does not get. Those who

14 Peterson 2010, 33-105.


are in the know laugh at the book collector and Lucian's dripping sarcasm,

but the book collector himself does not know why (27):

'H5ec.:is 5' CxV Kai epoiµ11v cre, Tel TOcraCha f31~i\ia EXUJV T{ µaA!CJTa avay1yvwcrKe1s

aUTWV; Tel nt.aTUJVos; Tel 'AvT1cr0evous; Tel :A.px1Mxou; Tel 'hrTIWVaKTOS; ii TOUTUlV µEV

umpqipoveTs, pi]TOpes 5e µCxA!CJTCx CJO! 5!el xe1p6s; elm~ µ01, Kai Alcrxlvou TOV KaTel

T1µapxou Myov &vay1yvwcrKe1s; ii eKeTva ye navrn ofo0a Kai y1yvwcrKe1s auTwv

eKa<YTov, Tov 5e 'Ap1crToqiav11v Kai Tov EOnoi\1v uno5e5uKas; &veyvc.:is Kai Tous

BanTas, TO 5paµa oi\ov;

As you have so many books, I've got to ask which ones you most enjoy reading. Plato? Antisthenes? Archilochus? Hipponax? Or do you look down your nose at them and reach for the orators? Tell me, did you read the speech of Aeschines against Timarchus? No doubt you know it all and understand everything in it, but have you dipped into Aristophanes and Eupolis? Have you read the Baptae? The whole play?

As in the Bis accusatus the iambic reference participates in a series of quick and glancing quips. In this case, however, the rationale of Lucian's

choices is clearly different and more pointed: he has marshaled a collection of the most aggressive authors in order to make an indirect attack on his target. Plato and Antisthenes were rival heirs to the Socratic tradition, and

Worman has shown how Plato's literary technique owed a great deal to the iambic tradition as filtered through Old Comedy and Athenian political oratory.15 Aeschines appears here in his most abusive guise, and the reference to Timarchus suggests that the book collector's personal failings, which Lucian hints at with his closing lines (30), would remind us of those

of Timarchus. 16 Lucian similarly focuses our attention not just on the two great comic poets, but on Eupolis' Baptae, which depicted a group of effeminate Athenian men and was directed primarily against Alcibiades. 17

Archilochus and Hipponax, therefore, serve as iambic representatives

15 Worman 2008, 153-212. All discussed in the Introduction, Athenaeus 11.505d-e records two references to Plato as an iambic speaker, and Antisthenes composed his Sathon, The Dick, against Plato (Diog. Laert. 6.16).

16 Mention ofTimarchus works as shorthand for a thoroughly debauched and immoral character. In the Rhetorum praeceptor Lucian sarcastically advises the hack speaker to lead a private life that includes most of the activities that Aeschines pinned to Timarchus (23).

17 Schol. ad Ael. Arist. Or. 3.3 Lenz-Behr= Or. 46.117.18 Dindorf claims that the standard story of Cleon's attempt to curb onomastic comedy in the aftermath of Aristophanes' pillorying of him is wrong and that personal attacks only came to an end when Alcibiades killed Eupolis during the Sicilian Expedition by throwing him into the sea and saying (in reference to the Baptae); Bcnrre µe EV 6uµ01ncnv, eyw 8~ cre Kuµao-1 lTOVTOU (3a1TTl~c.uv 6"Afoc.u vexµao-1 lTlKpOTCxTOlS,

("You dyed me in the theater, but by dyeing you in the waves of the sea, I'll kill you in stinging waters.")

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within a range of hostile literary allusions. Their presence· does not

dominate the text (as it will in the Pseudologista), and the book collector's

alleged ignorance means that we, Lucian's audience, are supposed to laugh

while the book collector himself wonders what exactly has happened.

When we turn to the Pseudologista we find Lucian giving vent to

passionate and personal anger that moves beyond the deeply annoyed

indignation or cool superiority of the texts discussed in the preceding

paragraphs.18 And it is in this text that we can see Lucian taking full

advantage of the iambic potential outlined in Bis accusatus. Dialogue's

complaint that the Syrian has forced him to consort with iambos finds easy

corroboration in Lucian's appeals to Archilochus, Hipponax, and Semo

nides to identify his invective mode. But we will also find that his anger

turns out to be more bluster than substance as he delivers his iambic rage

with a wink. The result is that his invective fury is transformed into comic

material as it is communicated to an audience who cannot share the

premise of the Narrator's anger. When we hear that Archilochus has been

betrayed by Lycambes, or that Hipponax has been disrespected by Bupalus,

or that Ovid has an enemy whom he hates but does not name, we have

good grounds for sympathizing with the poet's plight, and the scenario

feels like a historical reality drawn from the poet's own life, whether or not

it actually is. With Lucian's adaptation of iambic poetics, however,

such sympathy is nearly impossible to maintain. Instead, Lucian urges us

to laugh at the pretentious affectations of these sophistic characters, and

in so doing his humor articulates and reinforces the boundaries of accept

able elite behavior.

Fun with (fighting over) words

In his opening lines Lucian connects the central quarrel of the Pseudologista with iambic poetics as his Narrator announces his intention to

enlighten the Critic about the meaning of the word O:rrocppO:s. He cites a

line of Archilochus, and this leads him to vaunt the archaic poet as the

model for his own justified iambic aggression (fr. 223): TETTtya ToO mepoO

crvvei/\ricpas, "you have caught a cicada by the wing" (1). As if his adversary

does not recognize the name Archilochus, the Narrator next launches into

18 Even here, however, the points of contention between the main characters continue to be drawn from the world of public, sophistic display: the proper use and meaning of words, public comportment, and the drive to burnish one's own credentials by attacking those of a rival.


a fuller, and more obviously problematic, discussion of the archaic poet.

Unlike the situation in the Ad versus indoctum, where the audience was

expected to understand an iambic reference which the book collector

himself could not, Lucian here makes sure that the Critic realizes exactly

what is happening (Pseudol. 1):

EllTEp T!VCx TIOlTJTilV i<'xµ~c..:>V OKOUE!S f>.pxii\oxov, nap1ov TO YEVOS, &v8pa Koµ18ii

ei\eu6epov Kai TiappTJCYic;t CYUVOVTa, µTj8Ev OKVoOvTa 6ve'18i~E!V, ei Ka\ OT! µaA!CYTO

AUTifjCYE!V EµEAAE TOVS 1TEpl1TETEiS fooµEVOUS Ti\ xoi\fj TWV iaµ~wv a1hoO. EKEivos TOivuv

Tip6s Ttvos TWV To1ouTwv aKouuas KaKws TETTtya Eq>TJ Tov &v8pa eii\TJcpEva1 TOO

TITEpoO, eiKa~wv fouT6v Tc{) TEn1y1 6 'Apxii\oxos cpuue1 µev Mi\({! ovT1 Kai &veu Ttvos

avayKTJS, OTIOTaV 8e Kal TOO TITEpoO ATjcp6i\, yeyc..:>VOTEpov ~OWVT!. "Kai CYU 5fi," Eq>TJ,

"w KaK68aiµov &v6pc..:>TIE, Ti ~oui\6µevos TIOITJTilV i\ai\ov Tiapo~uve1s ETii ueauT6v ahias

~TJTo0vTa Kal i'.mo6foe1s Tois iaµ~o1s;"

If, indeed, you've heard of a poet of iamboi named Archilochus, a Parian, a man free in his bearing and open in his speech, never hesitating to abuse, no matter how much pain he was going to cause those falling victim to the bile of his iambics. Archilochus, then, when he heard something bad from one of these sorts said that the man had caught a cicada by the wing, likening himself to the cicada, being by nature a chatterer even without provocation, but whenever he is caught by the wing, becoming even louder. "And you," he said, "you wretch, what were you thinking - inciting against yourself a chattering poet who is already searching for sources and themes for his iambics?"19

Much as Dio had done before him and Julian would later do in the opening

of his Misopogon, Lucian adduces a biographical detail about Archilochus

and uses it as the basis for asserting a straightforward similarity between

himself and Archilochus, between his current circumstances and those that

pushed Archilochus into his most abusive register. The Narrator claims

that, like Archilochus, he is reacting to some unprovoked insult, and the

retaliations of both are appropriate and natural. What is glaringly absent

from Lucian's description of Archilochus is any mention of the workings of

philia. From what we can reconstruct of Archilochus' poetic practice he

19 It is curious to note that Eustathius (in Hom. Od. 11.277) records a saying that delivers a similar, though far more aggressive, message ("you have stepped on Archilochus"). This coincidence of a saying about Archilochus and a fragment by Archilochus, both of which focus on a reaction to directly encountering the poet, combined with Lucian's other distortions of the iambic tradition, raise the possibility that this fragment is the creation of Lucian, not Archilochus. Hendrickson 1925, however, claims that it derives from Archilochus' "first epode", which now exists as frr. 172-84 and which attacks "father Lycambes." Lucian's explanation of Archilochus' line is taken up by Jonson in his Poetaster 100-1, which stands as the epigraph to this chapter.

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teased friends and savaged those who betrayed friendship or violated the bonds of a group defined by sympotic comportment. Such details do not have a place in either this particular narrative or in the habits of professional sophists who regularly travelled across the Empire. Just as Dio had done, Lucian adapts his ancient source to meet the dynamics of his contemporary situation, even going so far as to invent a prose quotation by Archilochus (or, perhaps, summarizing a bit of poetry) that provides an unlikely and rather lumbering gloss on the poetic tag.

From explanation to amplification, Lucian next throws the entire clique of archaic iambic poets at the Critic (Pseudo!. 2):

Ta(iTa 0"01 Kai a1h6s CllfEIAW, OU µc'x TOV [).\a T<';':> f\px1Mx~ EJKal;wv eµaUTOV - Tr60ev;

Troi\i\oO ye Kai 5ew - aoi 51: µupla auve15ws laµj3wv &~1a j3ej31wµeva, Trpos & µ01 5oKET

ou5' &v 6 'Apxli\oxos aUTOS 51apKfoa1, TrpOaTrapaKai\foas Ka\ TOV ~1µwvl5riv Kai TOV

'ITrTrWVaKTa auµTro1eiv µET' auToO Kav l!v Tl TWV TrpoaovTwv ao1 KaKwv, ouTw au ye

Trai5as cmecprivas EV Traan j35ei\uplc;i: TOV 'Opo5oKi5T]V Kai TOV t\uKaµj3T]V Ka\ TOV

BouTrai\ov, Tous eKelvwv laµj3ous. 20

And I myself threaten you with these same things - not, by god, likening myself to

Archilochus, for how could I, since I fall far short - but knowing that you have

lived myriad experiences deserving of iambics for which, I think, not even Archilo

chus himself is prepared even if he should call upon Semonides and Hipponax to

help him with just one of your bad traits, so convincingly have you shown

Orodocides, Lycambes, and Bupalus (the butts of their iambics) to be mere

children in their indecency.21

The Critic's crime of misunderstanding the word cnrocppas is inflated to impressively comic proportions, and it is likely that Lucian has embellished his iambic material, since this is the sole evidence that Semonides had a particular target for his abuse and the name Orodocides is otherwise unattested.22 Yet this is not simply exaggeration or fabrication. Lucian here demurely prepares to vault to the top of the iambic pantheon as he musters the major archaic exponents of the genre in order to outdo them

20 The name of the poet of Amorgos is usually given as 2:1µc.:.vlST]s, as in this passage. For the alternate spelling, l:T]µc.:.vlST]s, see C. Brown 1997, 70 n. 2.

21 This catalogue of masters of invective finds an interesting parallel in Henry Fielding's obituary on Swift: "A Genius who deserves to be ranked among the first whom the World ever saw. He possessed the Talents of a Lucian, a Rabelais and a Cervantes and in his Works exceeded them all." "Obituary of Jonathan Swift," The True Patriot (No. 1), November 5, 1745.

22 See Watson 1991, 73-74, 135, and 145, on the humor of Hellenistic curse poetry. We may contrast the humor here with the tragic impact ofLysias' similar rhetorical move as he claims at the end of his Against Eratosthenes that no speaker - not even any two speakers - could enumerate all the crimes of the Thirty Tyrants (99).


all. For even as he claims not to be the equal of Archilochus, he implicitly asserts that he is, since he boasts that the Critic presents more daunting challenges than all of the archaic betes noires combined. More than this, in his suggestion that Semonides and Hipponax might be called forth, he overmatches Callimachus, who had conjured up only Hipponax from Hades in order to open his iambic collection and deal with the situation in Alexandria.

Although in the two preceding passages Lucian is working with a simple biographical methodology, he also does something far more complex in distorting his biographical material to the point that it does not accurately reflect what we, at least, can reconstruct of Archilochus' most aggressive narratives, such as his attacks on Lycambes. While it is true that Archilochus' rage was widely explained as having burst forth from something he had heard, namely Lycambes' decision to renege on their marriage agreement, the situation is otherwise quite different from that of Lucian's Narrator.23 Archilochus' abuse of Lycambes hinges on the fact that, regardless of the historicity of the broken engagement, the two men are portrayed as having formerly shared close social bonds. Archilochus' anger, then, stems from a personal betrayal and the violation of that intimate relationship.24 Contrary to this standard reading of Archilochus' attack on Lycambes, Lucian's explanation of Archilochus' invective inspiration is devoid of any longstanding personal connection and is, therefore, probably an idiosyncratic spin on the Archilochean vita tradition. According to Lucian, Archilochus simply heard some chance malicious comment about himself and responded with the full force of his iambos. Lucian's Archilochus, therefore, looks a good bit more like the sophistic figures in Philostratus' Lives of the Sophists or Gellius' Attic Nights, who frequently bump into one another on the street and do their utmost to outposture potential rivals, than the archaic poet we can reconstruct from other sources.

While Lucian's adaptation of Archilochus' story clashes with most other ancient accounts, it initially seems to match well with the Narrator's situation, though this connection, too, soon falls apart. The Narrator claims that he, like Archilochus, was unprovoked and totally justified in

23 There is no compelling reason to connect fr. 223 with the cycle of poetry against Lycambes, and I refer to those narratives only because they offer the ricliest evidence for how Archilochean aggression worked.

24 In Gulliver's Travels, Swift relates that the Lilliputians considered betrayal to be the most heinous crime for exactly this reason.

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unleashing his iambic fury against a slanderer. But rather than using_ verbal aggression to negotiate a personal relationship, as Archilochus had done with Lycambes, the Narrator attacks a professional rival with whom he apparently had no personal connection at all. He uses his iambic poetics to police the cadre of elite public figures, a strategy which Lucian overtly connects to Aeschines' vicious attack on Timarchus from the middle of the 4th century BCE. The Narrator claims that the Critic was known in Athens as "Atimarchus," a nickname which Lucian glosses as "not Timarchus, but worse!"25 Yet here, too, we can sense a certain deflation in seriousness. Aeschines had claimed that Timarchus' vile character made him (and, by association, Demosthenes) unfit to guide Athenian policy; Lucian's Narrator uses strikingly similar tactics in hopes that the Critic will never again take the stage for a sophistic performance.

Debates over language and acceptable Attic diction were, of course, central to establishing one's sophistic credentials throughout this era, but as the Narrator continues to speak about the archaic iambists, his attacks surely sound more humorous than consequential.26 Even as we acknowledge that Second Sophistic pepaideumenoi placed a huge emphasis on such matters, it seems clear that Lucian depicts a spat over lexical minutiae in mockingly apocalyptic terms as he laments that the combined force of all the archaic iambic poets would not suffice to punish the Critic's ignorance and reprehensible lifestyle. The incongruity between the Critic's offense and the Narrator's response opens the door to a humorous reading of Lucian's narrative. After all, even if some members of his audience were such scrupulous sophists that they could feel real outrage over this quarrel, surely most people had little vested interest in such matters.

Three stories from Philostratus' Lives support this point that, for nonexperts, the pleasure of sophistic performance could have little to do with

25 This nickname (whether real or an invention of Lucian's) may even pun on Timarchus' fate. After Aeschines won his case, Timarchus was sentenced to cmµlcx, or loss of citizen rights (Fisher 2001 provides a translation and full commentary). Atimarchus, then, can be heard as a conflation of the man and his punishment. Worman 2008, 241-47, analyzes Aeschines' prosecution of Timarchus as part of the iambic tradition.

26 Although some recent scholars have advocated a rigorously biographical an;uysis of the Pseudologista, Bompaire 1958 had already recognized that Lucian was flaunting his stylistic

range in this piece, regardless of what historical realities it conceals. His discussion of this text as a rhetorical pamphlet (471-77), complete with a host of classical citations, frequent use of paroemia, his psychological portraiture, etc., still repays careful consideration. More recently, Branham 1989, 29-30, emphasizes Lucian's reliance on comical strategies but views the encounter as largely serious.


the sort of lexical sensitivity that we tend to associate with Second Sophistic authors. The first anecdote describes how Trajan, while sharing his triumphal chariot with Dio Chrysostom, is said to have responded to the sophist's discourse by gushing: "I don't understand a thing you're saying, but I love you as I love myself" (VS 1.7.488). Somewhat more plausible is the report that Favorinus packed a theater in Rome, and, although many in the audience did not know Greek, he "fascinated even them with the tones of his voice, by his expressive glance and the rhythm of his speech" (VS 1.8.491-92). A similar story is told about Hadrian of Tyre, who, when promoted from the imperial chair of rhetoric at Athens to that in Rome c. 178, so amazed even those who did not know Greek with his voice and his rhythms in both prose and poetry that he seems to have been described as a "sweet-voiced nightingale" (EvcrToµoOcra a115wv, VS 2.10.589).27

In each of these cases the sophistic speaker entertains an audience that is cut off from matters of diction, content and theme. These stories show that an insider's appreciation of sophistic expertise can explain only part of the performer's appeal. In Lucian's tale, therefore, it is exceedingly unlikely that a broad audience would sympathize with the central issues of the Pseudologista as they are presented. The fact that the Critic allegedly does not know the word anoqip6:s even suggests that many in Lucian's audience might be similarly unfamiliar with the word.28

The iambic fury of Lucian's Narrator presents a humorous adaptation of the iambic tradition that finds little support among the many ancient theorists who commented upon the genre. In recalling Nesselrath's three perspectives on Archilochus among imperial authors, it is noteworthy that each of his categories is quite serious (great poet, justified critic, extreme reviler). Aristotle's well-known but problematic explanation of the close relationship between Old Comedy and archaic iambos (paralleling the relationship between Athenian tragedy and epic) is the rare instance of ancient literary theory admitting a humorous strain of iambic poetry.29

Among authors working within (rather than commenting on) the iambic

27 For the date of Hadrian's promotion to Rome, see Swain 1990. For the idea that Hadrian is the target of Lucian's Pseudologista, seen. 2 above.

28 In the first century CE lexicographers such as Dorotheus of Ascalon and Pamphilus of Alexandria compiled massive repositories of words that offered resources for the educated elite to refine and purify their diction. The enormous efforts of Dorotheus (at least 108 books) and Pamphilus (95 books) were abridged and condensed in the ensuing centuries.

29 Aristotle, Poetics 1449a2-6. For the connection between iambic poetry and Old Comedy see Rosen 1988a and Bowie's 2002b skeptical reconsideration of the connection. More typical of ancient theoretical texts is Demetrius' comment that Hipponax created his choliambic form in a moment of blinding rage (On Style, 301).

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tradition, however, humor is rampant from Archilochus' most forceful denunciation of Lycambes, in which he claims that the townspeople are already laughing at what Lycambes has done (fr. 172),30 through the comic adaptations of Cratinus, Aristophanes, and Diphilus, to Horace's third Epode, in which he hopes that anyone who attacks his own parent will be forced to eat the worst imaginable poison: garlic.31 Thus Lucian's combination of humor and iambic poetics is not at all surprising in itself. What is unusual in his treatment is that he mocks and undermines the central premise of iambic aggression, namely the seriousness of personal animosity, and this brings him close to the practice of Old Comedy.32

As he has done in his other invective texts, Lucian shows a concern for unmasking and pillorying frauds. In the Pseudologista, therefore, what at first seems to be an instance of one sophist using iambic aggression against another turns out to be Lucian using the satirical edge of the iambic lllOde to sort out the parameters of sophistic decorum.

As Lucian puts his own spin on Archilochus' poetry (and Aeschines' aggressive oratory), he obscures the details of the confrontation between his Narrator and the Critic. In the opening lines, he announces his plan to humiliate and condescendingly instruct the Critic, who had laughed at the Narrator's use of 6:nocpp6:s. What does not become clear until later in the text, however, is that the Narrator had actually begun the conflict by laughing uproariously at the Critic's allegedly clumsy performance during the Olympic festival. The quarrel between these two men, then, turns out to be neither like the standard account of Archilochus' treatment of Lycambes over a personal betrayal nor lil<e Lucian's unique depiction of Archilochus vehemently attacking someone for a chance, off-color remark, but rather it is part of an ongoing argument over literary aesthetics and the personal status which attends the successful literary scholar.

30 This human laughter directed at a human target parallels fabular examples, such as the eagle mocking, perhaps laughing at, the fox (Ei\acpl~wv, fr. 176) and the laughter that presumably followed the fox's comment directed toward the monkey, caught bottom-up in a trap, in fr. 187 ("monkey, with with a beard like that .. .'). Van Dijk 1997,passim, discusses the role of humor both within fabular narratives and an in theorizing about fables.

31 Plutarch, Quaest. conv. 632e-633a, speaks of a type of jesting (crKwµµa) that fit~ Horace's poem, namely the facetious complaint as a form of thanks. In this text Plutarch deals with non-literary jokes and offers important commentary on the social practice of joking and its proper limits.

32 In this respect, Lucian's text finds parallels in Horace's Epod. 3, in which much of the humor derives from the aggressive relationship and which also looks toward Old Comedy, since garlic is a common food in Aristophanic Comedy (e.g., Ach. 65, Ee. 404, Eq. 199, Lys. 688, Ra. 555, Th. 494). Whether or not Lucian knew Horace or any Latin author is, as usual for ancient Greeks, uncertain.

The gauche aggressor

The Narrator invokes Archilochus, bringing in Hipponax and Semonides as well, in order to amplify his theme and to align himself with the canonical authorities of blame. In pushing his iambic agenda in such a hyperbolic direction that does not accord with traditional lore about Archilochus, however, Lucian gives the most attentive members of his audience a nod and sets his Narrator up not as a stand-in for Lucian himself but, rather, as a straw man who has no better claim than the Critic to elite status. Lucian positions himself as the new master of the iambic tradition by marking the Critic as a more daunting enemy than those of the early iambists, and he demonstrates his mastery by distorting the tradition in a way that sabotages the assumed connection between himself and his Narrator. If the debate over the word 6:nocpp6:s has already begun to admit a good bit of humor, it can now be shown to be ridiculous from the start and a cover for other issues.


Lucian's Narrator has invoked the iambic tradition to sharpen his attack on his enemy, but in twisting that tradition in a new direction, he opens himself to ridicule from the educated elite. Yet his hyperbole is only the tip of the iceberg. Even as his rhetoric about barbarism supports his case against his rival, it also makes him increasingly risible. In the end neither sophist can be taken seriously, and the only credible performer is Lucian himself, who has tweaked the nose of sophistic pretention in the manner of an Aristophanes or a Petronius.

The charges of barbarism and the discrediting of Lucian's Narrator initially arise from the word 6:nocpp6:s and the Narrator's description of the Critic as an "6:nocpp6:s day." In the opening lines, we hear that the Critic has deemed this phrase to be a barbarism (j36:pj3apov ... Ti]v cpwvi]v, 1). Elenchus, the Menandrian character who gives the backstory, concludes his tale with the comment that even workers in the workshops (epyacr

Ti]p1a) and taverns (KaTITJAEia) know the word 6:nocpp6:s (9). Such a point seems unlikely to impress, since the whole goal of Atticizing sophistry is to demonstrate proper language and style not from every day speech but from the canonical masters. The authority and acceptability of a word, therefore, can have little to do with the language of contemporary laborers. As the Narrator continues, his subsequent arguments about 6:nocpp6:s

similarly fall apart. In response to the Critic's claim that 6:nocpp6:s is a foreign word that had crept into Greek usage (<'hi j3apj3api~w Kal ~evi~w Kal

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vmp~o:ivc.v TOVS opous TOVS 'AntKovs, "that I barbarize, sound like a foreigner, and overstep Attic bounds"), the Narrator asks rhetorically what could be more "local to Athens" (f\6T]vo:io1s Einxwp1ov) than this word (11)? He goes on to make the absurd boast that arrocpp6:s is more at home (olKeio:v) and even more autochthonous (wh6x6ovo:) than the legendary Athenian figures Erechtheus and Cecrops. In fact, while many words are common to all Greeks, only the Athenians use the word O:rrocpp6:s

to designate (12)

n'tv µiapav Kai &muKTI'tv Kai aTTaicnov Kai aTTpaKTOV Kai uol 6µolav T)µ~pav. 33

a polluted, accursed, ill-starred, businessless day - a day just like you.

This argument works as a fine bit of invective, and it also continues the theme of centering the evidence for this debate in Athens, but as will be discussed in the coming pages, this focus on uniquely Athenian calendrical details will also create friction with the Roman festival of the kalends of

January. After this narrowing of his argument to Athenian practice, the Narra

tor's scope seems to be unsteady as he first says that nothing requiring good omens (such as business deals and sacrifices) is undertaken on an arrocpp6:s day (12) and then claims that such a custom developed differently among different peoples (13). The former point accords well enough with Athenian practice (again in contrast with the Roman kalends of January festival), but the latter universalizes beyond Athens. The Narrator wraps up this discussion of the concept of an O:rrocpp6:s day by noting that the term is still in use at Athens (14) and that it is so well attested among the best writers that the real challenge for the Critic is to adduce a single classical Athenian writer who did not employ it (15). Should the Critic rise to such a challenge, the Narrator continues, he would richly deserve a gold statue at Olympia, a reward that would both affirm his unimpeachably elite status and compensate for the Narrator's laughter at the Critic's performance in that sacred sanctuary.

33 Lucian's choice of words here seems to be exceedingly careful, since nearly all of these adjectives are attested in descriptions of certain types of days. Dio Cassius (51.19) says, that after Actium, Caesar's birthday was hailed with thanksgivings whereas Antony's was deemed µ1ap6;

Hesychius (s. v. µtapal ljµepai) describes the propitiation of the dead during the Anthesterion; Gregory Nazianzen (Carmina moralia 881.5) mentions an c'nrwKTlj j\µEpa; Appian (B.C. 1.78) describes the postponement of a consular election because the omens on the appointed day were c'nralcnos; Plutarch (Quaest. Rom. 270a) describes the days immediately following the kalends, nones and ides as arroq>pa8Es Kai cmpaKT01. Plutarch's comments come immediately after mentioning the dies Alliensis as an arroq>pas day (269e).


With this bit of lecturing, the Narrator sets forth the core of his case against the Critic, but several issues suggest that we should not be persuaded. If we take up nothing but the final claim that it would be nearly impossible to find a canonical author who did not use the word arrocpp6:s,

we are forced to conclude that our evidence simply does not support such a statement. Even when we dismiss such grandiose and ridiculous boasts, we will have trouble siding with the Narrator, and modern scholars have been mixed in their assessments. But these efforts have all been (to varying degrees) hampered by their reliance on a biographical approach to the Pseudologista. If we assume that the Narrator is Lucian, then our evaluation of the phrase "arro<pp6:s day" necessitates a referendum on Lucian's understanding of the word.34 But when we recognize that Lucian may have strategically undermined his Narrator by having him stridently defend what surely amounts to a dubious turn of phrase by the standards of the day, things fall into place. The Narrator's usage accords best with a pedantic and extreme Attic style that Lucian elsewhere ridicules, and the Narrator's technical justification, therefore, begins to differentiate him from Lucian.

For professional speakers of Lucian's era, the merits of any word or phrase had to be determined by its role in classical Athenian literature (as the Narrator freely admits). From this body of evidence, as far as it survives, arro<pp6:s appears only three times. In the Laws, Plato's Athenian wishes that somber choruses only be presented on days that are "not pure but O:rrocpp6:s" (iJµepo:i µi] Ko:6o:po:I T1ves &Ma

O:rro<pp6:8es, 800d). A fragment of Lysias claims that a group of young men adopted the name "the Damned" (Ko:Ko8o:iµov1Cno:i), because they had partied together on an arrocpp6:s day (fr. 53 = Athenaeus 12.55lf). And a bit of Eupolis refers to an arrocpp6:s man (&v6pc.vrros

34 On the usage of arroq>pas, Bompaire 1958, 472 n. 5, whose work began the modern era in the study of Lucian, understands Lucian's phrase as a neologism but also offers the important hunch that Lucian is concealing some aspects of what is really going on here. What he took to be a historical cover-up, I see as a literary strategy. Baldwin 1962 (cp. 1973, 56-57.) supports

Lucian's usage and calls it "an apt and cutting jibe" and understands the Critic as a hyperAtticist, such as Phrynichus. Mikalson 1975 argues that Lucian's usage has been influenced by the Latin dies ater; Hall 1981, 294-5, follows Bompaire in disapproving of Lucian's phrase; Swain 1996, 48, wonders if Lucian eschewed recourse to Eu polis on the grounds that such a defense "might have been felt too narrow;" Anderson 1993, 94, offers the rare insight that Lucian's treatment of the word might be conditioned by the tenor of his response to the Critic. It is interesting to note that the only occurrence of arroq>pas in Julian's writings is in his Misopogon (346c), a text built upon a literary strategy quite similar in many ways to that of Lucian's Pseudologista. A direct connection between these two texts is a possibility.

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6:nocpp6:s PCG 332).35 Some have claimed that the Narrator's position would have been vindicated if he had only referenced this fragment of Eupolis, and others have asserted that none of these examples justify calling a person an "6:nocpp6:s day" as the Narrator has done (even if Eupolis could speak of an "6:nocpp6:s man"). Yet the more telling point is that Lucian's Narrator, so far as we can see, is far from correct in vaunting the prominence of this word among classical writers, and thus his bravado amounts to insubstantial bluster. Even without assessing the particular application of this word, then, Lucian's Narrator skates on thin ice, and his expostulation attempts to pass off bombast in lieu of substance. As we can see from other Lucianic texts, such a rhetorical move is a sign of a bad sophist.

In his Rhetorum praeceptor, for example, Lucian sarcastically offers a quick and easy plan for attaining rhetorical success, and his advice is a transparent description of oratorical gimmickry. 36 He suggests that the aspiring but ignoble sophist memorize fifteen or, at most, twenty Attic words to flaunt (16). In particular, the student should "hunt up rare and foreign Wva) words, seldom used by the ancients" (17). Moreover, if you are caught committing one of the cardinal sins of solecism or barbarism (~ap~apio-ns), the best response is shamelessness (Ti O:vaio-xvvT!a) and a quick citation of someone who used the word in question, even if you have to make up a citation on the spot (17). Lucian goes on to argue that these performance strategies must be combined with combative behavior as a member of an audience. Laugh at all speakers, and even if someone makes a fine presentation, let it be known that he has stolen his material from someone else, and above all, find a way to draw attention to yourself at any public performance (22).

In the Lexiphanes, Lucian (now speaking through a narrator named Lycinus) puts these principles into action as he advises a friend who is pathologically addicted to bloviation that he should avoid "wind-flowers of speech" (at O:veµwvai Twv Mywv, 23) and focus instead on "solid food" (Ti o-Tepp6: ... Tpocpfi, 23). He goes on to chastise his friend for recently

35 The earliest attestation for this phrase of Eupolis comes from Philoxenus ,of Alexandria (fr. 45.13). It is also preserved in Phrynichus (Praep. soph. 5.11-14 de Borries), where av0pwiros

c'moq>pas receives its own entry. For the possibility that Lucian's target in the Pseudologista is Phrynichus, see n. 2.

36 It is possible that Lucian's target in this piece is Pollux ofNaucratis (Jones 1986, 107-8), yet as Sidebottom 2009, 76, shows, nearly the entire text is built to attack a general type and only in the closing sections does Lucian tighten the focus enough to permit speculation on an individual identification.


tossing out the word 6uµ6:Aw\jJ in conversation (24). This rare word, which refers to a bit of burning wood, appears twice in Aristophanes but nowhere else among the sorts of classical authors Lucian recommends for study. He says that although the rabble (ot l8LC:>Tai) were dazzled by this word, the pepaideumenoi laughed.37

These examples from the Rhetorum praeceptor and the Lexiphanes exactly parallel the scenario in the Pseudologista: 6:nocpp6:s has a classical pedigree that is virtually as thin as that of 6uµ6:Aw\jJ and should, therefore, be considered too recherche for the polished and moderate Attic style favored by Lucian.38 The Narrator's use of 6:nocpp6:s, regardless of the correctness of calling a person an 6:nocpp6:s day, reveals him to be the sort of tacky sophist who aims at cheap plaudits simply by digging up a rare word. As Philostratus says in praising the moderate Attic style of Critias, "tastelessness in Atticizing is barbaric" (To yap 6:m1p6Kat.ov ev T4°>

6:n1Ki~e1v ~6:p~apov, VS 1.16.501-03).

Moreover, as we begin to recognize the Narrator for the hack that he is, we must reconsider his account of the Critic's performance at Olympia. Given Lucian's instructions to the bad sophist in the Rhetorum praeceptor, the Narrator's laughter on that occasion may say more about the Narrator than it does about the Critic. And the claim that the Critic's speech was a patchwork of plagiarisms cannot now be trusted, since that is precisely the accusation that a bad sophist would make at an exemplary performance. So, whether or not the Critic actually gave a painfully bad demonstration of his skills, Lucian has given us enough clues to realize that the Narrator is no better than his rival (and potentially far worse).

37 Lucian makes a similar point in Adversus indoctum when he ridicules his unnamed target for collecting beautiful books rather than focusing on their contents. Such a person becomes the object of laughter for the pepaideumenoi (28). This point is reiterated in the Somnium sive Vita Luciani, in which the narrator (here explicitly equated with Lucian) learns from the personified Education, that "the gaping masses" (KEXl)VOTES oi iroN\of, 12) are amazed at the words and fortunes of public speakers. The verb xaaKw, "to gape," makes clear that this segment of the audience does not appreciate or understand the subtleties at play in sophistic performance. Hipponax also used a compound of this verb in his attack on the painter Mimnes, whom he describes as Kmwµ6xave, "gaping to the shoulder" (fr. 28 W/39 Dg). On the role of Mimnes in the scholion to Lycophron 425, see Acosta-Hughes 2002, 74.

38 Baldwin 1962, 3-4, has to do some argumentative gymnastics to explain the coincidence that Phrynichus, whose extreme Atticism contrasts sharply with Lucian's style, included airoq>pas in his Preparatio sophistica (5.11-14 de Borries). For Baldwin, this suggests that c'moq>pas was a much-debated word of which both Lucian and Phrynichus could approve. If, however, we do

. not conflate Lucian and his Narrator, then the latter fits precisely into the mold of someone like Phrynichus. It may be more probable, that is, that Phrynichus lurks behind the Narrator, rather than the Critic.

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The mouth of the barbarian

In light of this possibility that the Critic may not be such a sham and despite Elenchus' disparaging remarks about his performance at Olympia, it is fitting that that earlier speech provides a key to reading the rest of Lucian's text.39 The exclusion of Pythagoras from Panhellenic cult because of his barbarous pedigree parallels the attempts of the Narrator and the Critic to exclude one another from the community of literati based on the use of the word c:mocppas. The Pythagorean theme informs much of what follows, as when the Narrator taunts the Critic by saying (10): 'li\1eus

WV Tpay~8ous eµ1cr6wcrw, "As a Trojan, you have paid to watch tragedies." On its own, this quip plays with the irony that any Trojan who watched a Greek tragedy would risk witnessing the recreation of some part of his homeland's defeat at the hands of the Greeks and that the Critic is similarly witnessing his own demise. In context, however, this general aphorism becomes specifically meaningful through the earlier reference to Pythagoras/Euphorbus. The Critic is taunted with being a Trojan, marking him as a by-form of Euphorbus, whose presence in Pythagoras' psychical dossier undermines the philosopher's claim to a pure Hellenic pedigree. The ones who had appeared to be authentic (the Critic and Pythagoras) have turned out to be dangerous frauds. The Critic's accusations that the Narrator had spoken like a barbarian now take on further relevance as well, since they imply not just a simple tit-for-tat but that the Narrator too, like Pythagoras, should be excluded from participation in Hellenic culture.40

Thus the Critic's oration at Olympia provides an interpretive lens that further clarifies how Lucian is pitting his two sophists against one another. The Critic is not the villain here; rather he is one of two creatively bumbling characters controlled by Lucian, who stands outside the narrative. But although the Narrator may be neither a simple stand-in for

39 I know of no parallel for this story, and it may, therefore, be a creative innovation rather than a tired old trope. But even if the story were fresh rather than hackneyed, this does not necessarily salvage the Critic's reputation. Lucian makes it quite clear in other works that innovation unmoored from tradition is inelegant. Anderson 1993, 61, states that Lucian's aversion to recent literary achievements could have been opposed to the "formation of a living tradition."

40 This may well have been a particularly effective taunt given Lucian's Syrian (i.e., barbarian) origins. Cp. Hall 1981, 296, and Branham 1989, 32. The fact that Lucian refers to his own Syrian and barbarian background on numerous occasions (Bis acc. 27, 34; Scyth. 9; Pisc. 19; Syr. d. 1) may suggest that his writings do not reflect a personal anxiety about his speech patterns, but rather a flexibility in his self-presentation in any given literary circumstance. Swain 1996, 311, rules out such a suggestion based on the "crucial importance of correct language and the status guaranteed by demonstrating paideia."


Lucian himself nor as smooth a performer as he wants us to believe, this does not, for those reasons, mean that he fails to land many a good blow on his opponent.

The Narrator pushes hard on the theme of expelling the barbarous, which pervades the Pseudologista from straightforward accusations of barbarous speech (23) to the Narrator's frustration that he should have spoken to the Critic in the manner of a Paphlagonian, Cappodocian, or Bactrian if it weren't for the principle that (14): Tols 8' &i\i\01s "Ei\i\ricr1v olµa1

Ka6' 'Ei\i\6:8a yi\wTTav cruve!va1 )(Pi], "Greeks, I take it, should be addressed in the Greek tongue." As he builds his case against the Critic, he works to banish his rival beyond the bounds of Hellenism on two counts that (as always) turn out to be mutually reinforcing: language and sex, specifically, the Critic's willingness to perform fellatio and cunnilingus. These interwoven themes perpetuate the ancient iambic pattern of driving out an enemy with laughter and cutting abuse while also building upon the example of Dio's First Tarsian. In that speech, Dio had lowered himself a bit by claiming to be somewhat inept and clueless in order to speak about Tarsian virility in a rather roundabout way. Far blunter is the Pseudologista, in which the Narrator admits that he has been mocked and ridiculed, which by the strictures of sophistic performance culture means that his masculine standing has been called into question. He responds to this challenge with an attack as explicit and sordid as anything we find in archaic iambos. And with a dramatic flourish he focuses our attention on the Critic's tongue as the damning lynchpin of both his verbal and sexual failings. That this organ offers an intersection of sex and language is obvious enough, but the Narrator personalizes the matter by complaining that the Critic had at some point offered him a traditional form of greeting: a kiss. The kiss of someone with such erotic passions had long been known as a consummate horror.41

After holding forth on the meaning and usage of cmocppas, Lucian's Narrator launches into an attack on the Critic's disreputable past that has seen him crisscross the Mediterranean. While such frequent travelling was de rigueur for professional speakers, the Narrator presents the Critic as constantly fleeing his own misdeeds that are, at each stop, suggested to be of a sexual nature. This itinerary culminates at Rome, his last port of call before coming to Ephesus, where his patron had to purify his house

41 Henderson 1991, 185, discusses the examples of men whose kiss was famously avoided because of their penchant for oral sex.

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(Ka6apa1ov, 22) in order to free himself from the Critic's stain. It is at this

point that the Narrator first bemoans that the Critic had kissed him (23):

&:Ma Tl, TIPOS b.16s, Kai qni\f\aat TC}> <JT6µaTJ TIPO<JETI Cx~IW<JEIS fiµ5:s en' EKelvo1s TOlS

epyo1s; TOUTO youv TO uj3pl<JTOTOTOV TIOlElS, Kai µ<'xi\10-Ta npos oOs fiKl<JTa E)(Pf\V, Kai

Tous 6µ1i\T]TOS, ols !Kava ~v eKeTva µ6va Ta KaKa TOU aou aT6µaTOS <'xnoi\aue1v, TO

j3apj3apov TWV 6voµaTU:>V, TO Tpaxu Tf\s qiu:ivf\s, TO &Kp!TOV, TO aTOKTOV, TO TIOVTD

&µouaov, Kai Ta To1auTa· qni\f\aai 0€ ae eni TOUTOIS µi] yevo1To, w <'xi\e~IKaKe. <'xani5a

µ5:i\i\ov fi ex1ovav qni\f\aat &µEIVOV. ofjyµa EKEl TO KIVOUVEUµa, Kai &i\yT]µa, Kai 6 lmpos

el<rKAT]6EiS em']µuvev· CxTIO OE TOU <JOU qni\i]µmos Kai TOU lou EKEivou TIS &v Ti iepoTs ii j3u:iµoTs npoa€i\601; Tis o' &v 6eos ETIOKOU<JEIEV ET\ euxoµevou; TIO<Jc.:>V TIEplppavTT]plu:iv,

n6au:iv noTaµwv oeT;

So why, oh why, after all this did you think to kiss me on the mouth?! You commit this outrage even against those who least deserve it - your students, for whom it was already enough to deal just with those other horrors from your mouth: barbarous words, your harsh voice, the lack of discernment and style, your overall illiberality and so forth. On top of all that, 0 Averter of Evils, may they not have to kiss you as well. Far better to kiss an asp or a viper. That gets you a dangerous bite and pain, which the doctor, once called, can treat. But after your kiss and its poison, who could get near sacrifices or altars? What god would listen to your prayers? How many censers, how many rivers would it take?

The kiss of a vile person is understandably offensive, but the Narrator

builds upon this basic point in a theatrical fantasy of bodily justice.

What would you do, the Narrator asks, if your tongue were to take you

to court? The personified tongue dishes out what are, by now, predictable

charges about the Critic's professional failings, but she also makes allega

tions about her night duties that make her wish she were as fortunate as the

tongue of Philomela (25):42

<'xi\i\' OUOE VUKTOS Ti]V KaKo5a!µova axoi\i]v &ye1v e~s, <'xi\i\a µ6vT] <JOI TIOVTa TIOIW Ka\

TIOTOuµa1 Kai µ1alvoµai, Ka\ CxVTi yAWTTT]S O<Ja Kai XElpi )(Pf\<r6at OIEYVU>KOS Kai

wamp <'xi\i\oTplav uj3pl~EIS Kai ETIIKAU~EIS TO<JOUTOIS KaKoTs. i\ai\eTv µ01 epyov E<JTi

µ6vov, Ta OE To1auTa no1ETv Kai naaxe1v &i\i\01s µepeo-1 npoaThaKTat. ciis C:iqiei\e K<'xµe

TIS W<rmp Ti]V Tf\S ©1i\oµfii\as EKTEµETV.

And you don't even allow wretched me any free time during the night and alone I do everything for you - I'm trampled, defiled, you use me lil,<e a hand, not a tongue, and you abuse me as if I were another's and flood me with such horrors.

42 In the Rhetorum praeceptor Lucian advises the declasse sophist to "let your mouth be open for everything indifferently; let your tongue serve you not only in your speeches, but in any other way it can. And it can not only solecize and barbarize, not only twaddle and forswear, call names and slander and lie - it can perform other services even at night. .. " (23).


My only job is to talk, and it has been assigned to other parts to do (and endure!) such things. Alas - if only someone had cut me out like the tongue of Philomela.

The Critic's tongue has been vilely abused, but she is still not ready to

explain what, exactly, she has been forced to do and can only bring herself

to allude to such things (TOO"OUTOIS KaKols, TOIOUTa).

The Narrator inches closer to revealing the Critic as a willing and active

participant in oral sex in the series of nicknames he has acquired in his

escapades (28). In Syria he is called Rhododaphne, which associates him

with poisons and snakes, but also, through the connotation of all p65os

words, with the female genitals.43 The exact connontation remains unclear,

but this name likely indicates the Critic's affinity for this part of the female

anatomy or, more pointedly, that his mouth serves as such. In Palestine,

he was known as Phragmos, which refers to anything that forms an

enclosure, such as a hedge, and is explicitly associated with the Critic's

prickly beard (which eventually joined his tongue in bringing formal

charges against him, 26). The Narrator supposes that this name came

about because his facial hair evune µETa~u, "prickled between," sc. the legs

of his bedmates (27). In Egypt, they called him Sunagkhe, which means

"Sore Throat," but clearly means something more like "Deepthroat" given

the Narrator's elaboration:

µ1Kpou youv q>O<JIV CxTIOTIVlyf\val <JE vmhn T!Vl TWV Tp1apµevu:iv EVTUXOVTa, 8s eµTIE

<JWV <'xneqipa~e 0-01 TO aT6µa.

They say you were nearly choked to death by some sailor from a trireme you met who went at it and stopped up your mouth.

In Athens the Critic is known as Atimarchus, "not Timarchus but worse,"

which calls to mind the scandalous trial of Timarchus at Athens just as it

did in Lucian's quip from the Adversus indoctum discussed above. And

finally, in Italy he is known as Cyclops because of some sort of semi-public

performance in which he played the part of the drunken Polyphemus

opposite a strapping Odysseus, who stabbed his burning brand not into

the monster's eye but into his mouth. Polyphemus is the ultimate symbol

of the barbarous Other, and the Critic has here dragged even this Cyclops

down into the muck with a degrading use of his mouth.44 The game is

43 For the implications of p68os words, see Henderson 1991, 135. This connotation is likely at play in Dioscorides' description of po86nuyov Doris (HE 5).

44 Worman 2008 focuses on how the mouth becomes the metonymic locus for assessing the character of a public speaker. We can apply her insights to the Narrator's description of the Critic and recognize the characterization of him as an effete and overly mincing figure.

245


pretty well up now, and the Narrator finally abandons euphemisms and riddles as he asks the Critic how it feels to be called names associated with /\ecr[31a~e1v Ka\ cpo1v1Ki~E1V, that is, the performance of fellatio and cunnilingus, respectively (28).45 This intense focus on the Critic's sexual depravity

concludes with one last cutting remark from a woman who refused a

marriage proposal from him by saying: ouK &v npocrelµr]V &vopa Ka\ auTov

avopos 8e6µevov, "I'd not welcome into my house a man in need of a man." The easy slide between sexual and lexical failings is exemplified by the

Narrator's return to matters of rhetoric and style immediately after this

barrage of scurrilous, shameful, and comical allegations. Although we need not assume that these new charges were as funny or shocking as what we

have just heard, they are presented as being similarly condemnatory. Thus on one occasion when the Critic should have said Tov lhepov,

"the one" (as opposed to "the other") he mistakenly said 6aTepov, and,

when everyone laughed, he tried to make amends by saying that he had meant to say &Tepov (29) - both words being deviations from acceptable Attic forms. The Narrator has a handful of similar slips and infelicitous turns of phrase to throw at the Critic, and although they fall rather flat for

modern readers, they are clearly intended to be the linguistic counterpart of the Narrator's more salacious allegations.46

As Lucian's text makes clear, bad sophistry and oral gratification continue to be closely associated categories.

45 On the prominence of allusions to fellatio among the iambic poets, see Grassmann 1960, 3-25. In addition to the frequent references in iambic, comic and scoptic poetry to such forms of sex

that were inappropriate for elite men to perform, Lucian's language recalls an epigram by

Nicarachus (AP 11.329). I have underlined words that appear in Lucian, though it is aKav6a that suggests to me the possibility of a close connection here:

ll.11µwva~. µi') rraVTa KaTW PMm, µ118~ xapl<ou

Tji yllwcron· 8e1Y1iY xoTpos CXKOY6av EXE!. Kai cru <iis t i')µTv, EV C!>otvfKn 8~ Ka6eu8Eis

KouK wv EK ~eµlll11s µ11p0Tpaq>i')s ylyovas.

"Demonax, don't always look down there, don't indulge your tongue. Pussy has a fierce prickle.

You live for us ???, and sleep Phoenician

and though not from Semele, you're nourished by thighs."

46 We can, of course, find plenty of examples in modern politics of prominent figures being

ridiculed for their verbal slips, from bilingual blunders such as John F. Kennedy's "Ich bin ein

Berliner" or George W. Bush's "Viva Cuba Libre" to the many neologisms of Sarah Palin, such as "refudiate." Such gaffs, however, generate a bit of condescending ridicule but do not make or break careers, nor do they pack the punch of sex scandals.


The Narrator begins to wrap up his tirade by saying that he has plenty more that he could say but opts instead to recap (31). He begs that there be no more kisses from someone of the Critic's ilk and, unable to hold back

from throwing more gas on the fire, tells him to stop dyeing the gray hairs on his head and completely shaving away his hair "that it is not proper even to see." Again both in detail and broad stroke, these points look back to Dio's

excoriation of the shaving habits of the Tarsians and their overall removal of the markers of gender and age, and they anticipate what we have already seen in Gregory's attacks on Maximus the Cynic. The absence of such

distinguishing marks creates social chaos and amounts to an abnegation of Greek masculinity. The Critic has done precisely the same thing.

In his closing lines, the Narrator includes a final jab that underscores the iambic tenor of this speech and again mimics Dio's vocabulary of abuse.

The Narrator evokes an Archilochean reference to the Cercopes from

fr. 178 as he says (32):47

ou5em.v yoOv oTo-ea ws OATJV Tiiv &µa~av ETIE<rn6:uc.v, 5fov, w TianraATjµa Ka\ Kiva5os,

UTIOTITTJCYCYE\V El TIS &viip 5auus, Ka\ TOUTO 5ii TO apxaiov, µeAci:µTiuyos 5p1µu µovov els

CYE CxTIO~AEl!'EIEV.

Of course, you do not yet realize that you have upset the entire apple-cart, you clever fox, and that you ought to cower if some man who is shaggy and (this is really ancient) a blackass were simply to glare at you fiercely.

This is a master stroke of allusive invective that would be difficult to dissect in live performance.48 The word µe/\exµnuyos, used by various authors throughout antiquity, points clearly toward Archilochus, because of the role of the iambist earlier in the text, the mention of a fox and the use of the

word 8p1µu, which Callimachus had used in his description of Archilochus in fr. 380. In addition to the return of Archilochus, Lucian's narna/\riµo: Ka\

Kivo:oos seems to come straight from the first attested use of nama/\riµa at

47 As noted in West's apparatus on fr. 178 and discussed by Bossi 1990, 191-96, Nauck had

suggested that apxaTov should be replaced with :t1.px1Mxou, which would mal<e the iambic reference overt ("as Archilochus says" rather than "as the old saying goes"). But even without

such an emendation, this passage rekindles the opening discussion of Archilochus in Pseudo/. 1

via the word µeMµrruyos in Arch. fr. 178. Cp. Semonides fr. 34 where Suetonius glosses this

poet's use of Cercopia, "Cercope-ism" as deceit (arraT11). 48 As always with Lucian, we have no firm evidence for public performances. Such performances

were, however, standard fare, and many of his texts would work well on stage. For the

performance of prolaliae (prologues or short speeches that preceded or introduced more formal

· declamations), see Anderson 1993, 52-56. Bracero 1995 has argued (following Bellinger 1928) that Lucian's dialogues were most likely performed by a single person, though we simply do not

have the evidence to confirm or contradict this thesis.

247


Aristophanes' Birds 430-31, where it is paired with Kiva8os; "fox," in a

sarcastic description of Pisthetaerus and Euelpides. Aeschines, in turn, may be referring back to this passage, when he says that it was on the return of that famous embassy to Philip that Demosthenes (presented as a shameless

boob) had taught him the true meaning of such scandalous words as

1ramat.riµa and KEpKC.V\fl (2.40), the latter, no doubt, involving some detail about the "tails" of the Cercopes.49

While these points of contact with Aristophanes and Aeschines form easy overlays onto the Narrator's invective that depicts the Critic as a

comic character and a bumbling Demosthenes, an epigram by the little known poet Aeschrion, who is called an iaµ~ono16s by Athenaeus, offers a

more powerful model (1 GP = Athenaeus 8.335d = AP 7.345):50

eyw <l>1;\aiv\s Tj '1ri~WTOS av6pW1TOlS

EVTa06a YtlP<;l T0 µaKpi;':> KEKofµT]µat.

µTj µ', W µchaie va0Ta, TI']v CXKpav KaµTITWV

xt.euriv TE TI01eO Kai yef.wTa Kai ;\acr6riv,

ou yap, µa Tov Zf\v, ou µa Tous KaTw Koupous,

OUK ~v es av8pas µaxt.os ou8~ 8riµw8ris.

nof.uKpclTT]S 8~ TI']v yovi]v 'l\6T]vaTos,

Mywv Tl Tiamat.riµa Kai KaKTj yf.waaa,

eypmpev of eypay/· eyw yap OUK oT8a.

I, Philaenis, infamous among men, Rest here after a long old age. Rounding the headland, rash sailor, Don't make fun, mock and insult me. For by Zeus, by the youths below, I did not lust after men or whore. But, Polycrates, of Athenian stock, A mincer of words and an evil tongue, Wrote what he wrote; for I don't know.

Although Aristophanes and Aeschines were surely better known than Aeschrion in Lucian's day, the invective strategies in this poem offer a wonderful mirror for the Narrator's final attack. That this poem is iambic

49 This passage represents a potentially dangerous intertext for the Narrator, since he should not want his enemy to look as good as Demosthenes, nor would he want to be caught impugning Demosthenes' reputation. Inasmuch as Aeschines is here exposing the inflated reputation of a public speaker, however, the parallel works well.

so My interpretation of this poem owes a great deal to Lavigne 2008, 398-401. Dioscorides also composed an epigram in which Philaenis denies her unsavory reputation (AP 7.450).


(choliambic to be precise) attaches it to the iambic tone Lucian had established at the beginning of the Pseudologista, and the word namc'xt.riµa

puts it in the middle of the thin literary history of this odd word. Beyond this, it also gives prominent place to a tongue, as does the Pseudologista, and the Narrator had earlier suggested that the Critic might have found some of his stagnant elocution in the infamous "books of Philaenis" that he

keeps ready at hand (24). As Aeschrion's poem attests, these racy tales purport to have been written by Philaenis herself but may not have been.

Thus in associating the Critic with Philaenis the Narrator not only continues his barrage of feminizing insults but also raises the specter of both lewd behavior and questions of literary authenticity. But in the passage above, the Narrator describes the Critic as namat.riµa, and this links him with Polycrates in Aeschrion's poem. That is to say, the Critic sounds like

both a literary poseur and a woman with a bad reputation. Most importantly, however, Aeschrion brings together questions of voice and sex here. The indelibly tainted Philaenis lashes back at Polycrates, accuses him of literary and (by implication) sexual improprieties, and leaves him and his

nasty tongue behind her. But Aeschrion himself has repeated Polycrates' act of sexual and literary conquest, since he now controls both characters -the woman who claims to have been silenced and the silent man who

supposedly stole her voice. Ultimately, only Aeschrion's voice can be heard here, and he uses iambos to savage the unconvincing, too assertive prostitute, who undermines her innocence in swearing by "the youths below,"

and the sophist whose "evil tongue" can no longer speak. Aeschrion's poem thus prefigures the overarching strategy of Lucian's

Pseudologista, but it is the shadow of Archilochus that exerts the greatest influence in the Narrator's warning to the Critic to avoid the eyes of the

"blackass," µEMµnuyos. This word first appears in Archilochus fr. 178, and although it there describes an eagle, it alludes to a specific legend about Heracles. The word is an epithet of Heracles and derives from his confrontation with the Cercopes, those mischievous little dwarves who stole the

hero's weapons, were caught, and hung upside-down over his shoulder like rabbits and who were likened to the the people of Tarsus by that city's rivals in Dio's First Tarsian. In this helpless position, they laughed at Heracles' hairy bottom and thereby won a reprieve despite their misdeeds. The Cercopes commit a grave transgression for which they amply deserve

punishment, but their surprising reaction to being captured leads to an equally surprising and humorous conclusion to the myth.

As a closural device, this final mobilization of the iambic tradition leaves a complex impression. With the word µEMµnuyos Lucian has his Narrator

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boast that he is a real Heracles, and thus a slayer of monsters and a safeguard of civilization. The Narrator delivers his lines with apparent venom, but by calling the Cercopes to mind, Lucian urges us to imagine

the Narrator as Heracles at his most comical and, more specifically, as a

Heracles by whom serious personal offense can be dismissed with a laugh. This leaves the Critic in the role of the Cercopes, naughty little gnomes to be sure, but villains who are humorous bumblers who fail to carry off their theft undetected. And perhaps most importantly, the Cercopes - alone of

Heracles' opponents - refuse to take their dire situation seriously.

Mock salvation on the kalends

The comical hyperbole which characterizes the iambic relationship

between aggressor and target in the Pseudologista is further amplified by a calendrical joke that runs throughout the text. As the Narrator explains, c:moq>pc'xs (the word at the center of this whole fracas) describes a certain

kind of day (whether or not it should be used to describe a certain kind of person), and the confrontation in Ephesus happened during the festival

of the kalends of January. Thus we have two calendar references that interact in various ways but, even though they overlap at some points, are not identical. By interpreting these calendrical matters, Lucian creates friction between the Roman kalends festival and the Athenian notion of an

cnroq>pc'xs day, and this friction serves to further skewer the Critic. As I have already shown in reference to Ovid's Ibis, nothing could be worse for the Roman kalends festival than to have it become cnroqipas in the Athenian

sense, but the Critic, by his very presence, can make this most pleasant day

( Tijv T]5icrTIJV T]µepo:v, 8) accursed or cnroq>pas.

The first reference to a calendrical system comes when Elenchus says that the sophists ran into each other at the beginning of the year on

January 3, the day which traditionally featured public games and on which day above all others, Elenchus says, the gods are receptive to prayers (8).51

He ensures that we see the specifically Roman pedigree of this day by tracing it back to the kingship of Numa. Ovid presents this same picture of the kalends in his Fasti though with much more elaboration. Both texts

agree that the kalends served as a bellwether for the coming year, and its

51 Not all ancient calendars began in January. The Roman year had originally begun in March, and in classical Athens the year began in the summer. By Lucian's day, however, the whole empire acknowledged the Julian calendar (though other calendars could be maintained as well).


merry rituals and the exchange of gifts sought to ensure that the kalends and, thereby, the whole year would be happy and successful. Thus, as the

Narrator says later in the text, it is right and natural for people to avoid bad omens of all sorts at the beginning of the New Year. The Critic, then, is just the sort of bad omen that we all ought to shun.

And that was the Narrator's point, of course, when he called the Critic an O:rroqipas day. We do not have much information about what exactly an 6:rroqip6:s day was, but according to the description provided by

the Narrator the term applies to black days that are so bad that nothing of importance should be done (12):

c':moqipc'x8a 81: µ6vo1 EKeivo1 TiJv µ1ap6:v Kai CxTIEUKTiJv Kai c':malcr1ov Kai CXTipaKTOV Kai

croi 6µolav fiµepav ... chav µfiTe a\ 6:pxai XPTJµml~c.vcr\ µfiTe eicraywy1µ01 ai 8iKa\ WO"\

µiiTe Ta iep6: lepoupyfjTa! µii9' oi\c.vs Tl TWV aicr!c.vv TEAfjTal, aUTT] Cx1TOq>p6:s fiµepa.

They alone [i.e., Athenians, designate] as 6:Tioq>pc'xs a day that is polluted, accursed, ill-starred, businessless - a day just like you ... Whenever offices are closed, trials not prosecuted, sacrifices not made and, generally, nothing auspicious is undertaken is an 6:Tioq>pc'xs day.

Here we can see a key difference between Ovid's and Lucian's calendrical references. The kalends, according to Ovid's description, is so portentous

that everything of importance must be undertaken in token fashion (i.e., do

a little bit of business) in order that those critical endeavors might flourish throughout the year; on O:rroqipas days, however, no business was undertaken at all in Athens, because such days were unremittingly inauspicious.

One specific point of difference between the nature of the Roman

kalends and an Athenian cmoqipas day points back to Ovid's calendar in

the Ibis. Lucian's Narrator says that a day can be marked as &rroq>pc'xs for various reasons but only offers one example, namely that it may recall the date of a painful military defeat (13). July 18, the dies Alliensis, which commemorates the Roman defeat at the Allia River in 387 BCE (or thereabouts), is the most famous example of such a dolorous mark

on the calendar.52 As in the Ibis, then, we have iambic poetics involved in an angrytext that draws in the kalends ofJanuary and the commemoration of an ancient defeat (specifically the dies Alliensis in the Ibis, generally as an

explanation of O:rroqipc'xs in the Pseudologista). And in both cases, the two poles of the calendar collide and threaten to poison the positive potential of

52 E.g., Luc. 7.409 et damnata diu Romanis Allia fastis. Plut. Quaest. Rom. 269e calls the dies Alliensis cnroq>pas. August 2, which similarly recalls Cannae, offers the next best example, but this was not so deeply entrenched in Roman calendars.

251


the kalends festival, and the auspicious nature of the kalends becomes the basis for amplifying aggressive rhetoric. Just as the recitation of the Ibis on the kalends would ruin the fortunes of the year for Ibis and, perhaps, the entire empire, Lucian's pillorying of the Critic draws on the same festival logic. Far worse than being just a tacky sophist who offends against elite taste, the Critic now endangers the entire year for all of Ephesus by making the Roman kalends cmocpp6:s by Athenian standards. The Narrator's attack stands as a bulwark against this foul scourge, but amidst the high drama, the closing reference to the Cercopes ensures that we appreciate the humor and fictionality of Lucian's aggression. The happy atmosphere of the New Year's celebration is heightened as we enjoy the drama of the amusingly pompous Narrator blistering the depraved Critic.

By strapping the rivalry between two sophists to the religious dynamics of the kalends, Lucian recasts their debate as a matter of public health and safety. Should the Critic's presence be tolerated, the entire year would be in jeopardy, but if the Narrator can drive him out of the public eye for good by convicting him of barbarity, then he will have preserved the fortunes of the entire city and deserve ample rewards. If Lucian's Narrator had cut a nobler figure - rather than disrupting the Critic's performance with rambunctious laughter, resorting to an arcane word to zing his rival, and promoting his turn of phrase with more sound and fury than substance -we might be able to understand his role as the defender of Ephesus and the coming year in a serious way. But Lucian ensures that his speaker is so defective, such a fraud himself, that this interpretation becomes difficult to maintain. Instead, he may play upon another aspect of the kalends festival, namely its uproarious celebrations and masquerades, to make his performance intelligible. Although these elements of the festival are not well attested until the fourth century, it is not unreasonable to think, given the scenario that Lucian constructs, that his performance would have been understood as a form of dramatic fiction that tapped into the spirit of the kalends, even if the festival had not yet attained the status it later would.s3

By the end of the speech, then, his comical protagonist has saved Ephesus from a comical threat, and everyone can recapture a bit of the kalends' high

53 The 6th-century Byzantine antiquarian John Lydus, De mensibus, records that on the kalends "the crowd cheerfully mocked their leaders not only with words but with funny skits" (Kai

aOEW) TO ;r71fj6os wfoKUllTTEV els TOV) apxovws OU pfiµacnv, aMa Kai crxfiµacnv ElTl TO ye71otWOE) sxoucrt, 4.10 Wiinsch). Gleason 1986 both provides a survey of the evidence for the kalends in the fourth century and also makes the compelling argument that Julian's Misopogon was composed to draw upon the festive logic of the kalends in Antioch in 363.


spirits by laughing at this tale of sophistic pretension - not by siding with the Narrator against the Critic.

This theme of expulsion and civic preservation may have held particular relevance for Ephesus. When, early in his performance, the Narrator brings Hipponax into his indictment against the Critic, he conjures up one of Ephesus' earliest literary figures and one who was supposedly exiled.s4

Although Hipponax's surviving poetry does not mention such an exile, he does call for the expulsion of others in the manner of the pharmakos or "scapegoat," who cleansed the city of its pollution by his departure. In Hipponax, then, we have a poet who combines iambic aggression, an interest in purifying the community by excluding a reprobate figure, and an Ephesian connection. In the Hellenistic era, Callimachus could still reference Ephesus as the home of Hipponactean choliambic poetry and raise the idea, however facetiously, that authentic iambic poetry had to include a physical connection with this city.ss The Pseudologista recalls this debate by performing Hipponactean invective in the home of choliambic poetry.

A story much closer to Lucian's era similarly connects Ephesus with a narrative of purification rooted in aggression toward an individual. Philostratus, writing a generation or so after Lucian, mingles a narrative that recalls the pharmakos pattern and an Ephesian context as he recounts how the first-century-CE wonder-worker Apollonius of Tyana came to Ephesus to save the city from a plague. Apollonius accomplished his goal by gathering the citizens into the theater and inciting them to stone to death a stranger, who turned out to be a demon. In thanks for preserving the city, a statue of Heracles Apotropaeus was erected on the spot (VA 4.10).s6 Given the Ephesian setting of the Pseudologista, the parallels between the Narrator's attack on the Critic and these tales of exclusion and purification provide an apt backdrop to Lucian's performance. Perhaps most intriguingly, if we make the reasonable (though by no means certain) assumption that Lucian delivered his harangue in Ephesus' theater within sight of the statue of Heracles Apotropaeus and that the statue was known in Lucian's day to be connected to the legend of Apollonius' feat, then the

54 Suda, s.v. Hipponax. 55 At about the same time Herodas, himself greatly influenced by Hipponax, set his sixth and

seventh Mimiambi in Ephesus. 56 Lactantius (Div. inst. 5.3.14) refers to this incident and statue: simulacrum eius sub nomine

Herculis Alexicaci constitutum ab Ephesiis etiamnunc honorari.

253


Narrator's concluding reference to the Cercopes serves as· an explicitly humorous and iambic parting shot.57

As we imagine Lucian performing near the Ephesian statue of Heracles Apotropaeus, we can hear in his narrative a comical reenactment of Apollonius' purification of the city (and perhaps even various Hipponactean themes of expulsion as well). The Critic, who does not know the word 6:irocpp6:s, is like the demon who unleashed a plague upon Ephesus. And under the watchful eyes of the indomitable Heracles, Lucian plays a joke on the hero by reminding us of his encounter with the snickering banditos, who got the better of him near Ephesus and laughed off their punishment.58 By concluding with this allusion to the Cercopes, Lucian shows that he stands outside his narrative's angry conflict and highlights the split between his raging Narrator and himself as he gives us a seething clown as a leading man. In all this, the primary mechanism for first amplifying and later undermining this tale of scorn and aggression is Lucian's manipulation of iambic poetics. By the end of his performance he has shown that nothing is beyond the reach of his humor.

Conclusions

Lucian's Pseudologista presents the most purely comical and the most overtly fictional face of the later iambic tradition as Lucian rises above his text as the puppet-master who can sustain both sides of an angry conflict without getting mud on himself. But this does not mean that Lucian's text is devoid of serious implications. Quite the contrary, just as Old Comedy presented a didactic and corrective voice to counterbalance the influence of Sicilian sophistry, democratic demagoguery, and elite corruption, Lucian articulates a set of acceptable behaviors through this comical sophistic rivalry. Although the Narrator presents his case in a tone of serious outrage, Lucian ensures that his Narrator's arguments can be recognized as a house of cards, and it becomes impossible (and ultimately irrelevant) to evaluate the relative merits of the Narrator and the Critic. Although humor is not new to the iambic tradition, Lucian's text is the rare

57 Again, we cannot be confident that this or any other Lucianic text was ever performed publicly. At the very least, however, we readers are encouraged to imagine a live performance in Ephesus and during or soon after the kalends festival, regardless of whether or not such a performance actually took place.

58 Apollodorus (2.6.3) claims that Heracles encountered the Cercopes "near Ephesus" (irep\ T~v ·Eq>eaov); the Suda s.v. ayopa KepKc.Oirwv says that it was "in Ephesus" (~v 'Eq>fowt).

Conclusions

example of a work in which a tone of serious anger is so strategically undermined.59 Every bit as much as Aristophanes and Plato, the greatest parodists in the Greek literary tradition, Lucian here composes an elegant text that relies, in large part, upon the inelegance of its picaresque characters who make a travesty of sophistic pretentions and passions.

Lucian accomplishes this trick by doing what every other prose author in this study does: he works within a biographical framework and adapts his biographical material to meet his literary project of the moment without concern for conforming to a standardized set of biographical lore. Whereas Lefkowitz has argued that such material about a poet typically derives ultimately from the poet's own works, in examples of the postHoratian iambic mode episodes in the lives of the iambic poets seem to be invented or distorted without being limited by the poets' actual words or

any established vita.60

In addition to this freedom in working with biographical material, numerous points of contact unite the Pseudologista with texts discussed in previous chapters. Aesopic narratives, which show up three times in the Pseudologista (3, 5, 7), are standard iambic fare that had first appeared in Archilochus, were prominent in Callimachus' Iambi, became the central concern for Babrius, and appear in Dio's Archilochean turn in his First Tarsian. The serious moralizing tone of Dio's harangue of the people of Tarsus also appears in Lucian's text, though mockingly deflated, and both Dio and Lucian bring the Cercopes into their discourses as part of their closural strategies. In the next chapter we will see that Julian's Misopogon recapitalates all of these points as he takes on the voice of Archilochus to vent anger, tell a fable, and respond to taunts that compared him to these pesky monkey-men. The iambic tradition also emerges through discourses of self-abuse and compromised masculinity, themes that play a part in all of the iambic adaptations studied here with the exception of Babrius' fables. In the Pseudologista we can even say that self-abuse is what differentiates Lucian from his Narrator. We begin with no better reason to reject a connection between author and narrator than we would have in any first-person performance, and it is only as the Narrator boasts of what Lucian elsewhere condemns that we can sense a

59 If we knew more about the performance of earlier iambic poetry, this claim might be proven false. In performance, it could be made clear that a speaker has no firm foundation for his

. anger. With Lucian, however, we have that evidence in the surviving text. 60 Lefkowitz 1981, viii. See the discussion of Ovid's account of the deaths of Archilochus and

Hipponax in Chapter 1; and Dio's presentation of Archilochus as a philosopher in Chapter 4.

255


clear distinction between the two. Thus Ovid had used a self-abusive stance as a trick to embrace and· ultimately salvage his wretched situation in Tomis through the iconic power of the ibis; Gregory embraced his downfall as the foundation for a new career as an ascetic holy man; for Dio selfabuse became a philosophical tenet about the value of self-critical reflection and a way to attune his authorial voice to the theme of his speech; and in Lucian's text, the rhetoric of self-abuse serves a narratological purpose in separating himself from his Narrator. In taking on a persona that is recognizably different from and lesser than the author, Lucian closely mirrors the performance strategies of the archaic iambists.

The distinction between Lucian and his Narrator leads to much of the Pseudologista's humor, and that humor is amplified by the role of the festival of the kalends of January. Lucian incorporates the kalends as the temporal and social backdrop for iambic aggression, as Ovid had already done in his Ibis and as Julian would later do on a larger scale in his Misopogon. Lucian's reference to the kalends does not seem to have strong political overtones and is, instead, an opportunity to use the dynamics of the festival to allege a more damning (and in this context, therefore, more laughable) set of accusations against the Critic.61 More than just a lexical deviant, the Critic threatens the safety of the community because his appearance coincides with the portentous kalends. And that portentousness (Ovid says that "words have weight" during the kalends, F. 1.182), also recoups the efficacious quality of archaic iambos. If Archilochus could drive the Lycambids to the noose with his poetry, then Lucian can mimic that power by combining iambic speech with the kalends festival. In drawing upon the ritual lore about the festival, Lucian also offers a preview of what we will find in the next chapter, where we will have stronger evidence for the most elaborate celebrations of the kalends. Thus when Julian composed his angry and satirical retort to the mockery that was directed against him during the kalends of 363 in Antioch, we can be more certain of the inversions, traditional mockery, and costumed escapades that attended the festival and provided a context for his iambic rant against his own beard. Lucian, however, seems to have already understood (or anticipated) some such aspects of the festival in presenting an elaborate facyade of iambic aggression that comes crashing down to the delight of his laughing audience.

61 Lucian's calendar play is political inasmuch as it is predicated on a bicultural perspective that can pit Roman against Athenian understandings of time.

Interlude 5 Neobule in love: the Ps.-Lucianic Amores

The Ps.-Lucianic Amores is an odd text with an odd history. It has long been deemed the work of a forger, and that view may well be correct. For better or worse, the Amores was brought from the pseudonymous fringes of classical studies and into more central discussions by Foucault and has been a source of some controversy ever since.1 In the best recent analysis of it, Mossman unpacks the "play of genres" that makes it difficult to grab hold of the serious tone of the text's central debate about the relative merits of homosexual and heterosexual love. I would like to build on Mossman's argument by dissecting two easily recognizable and strategically placed "errors" (or, perhaps, jokes) committed by the author and show how these slips work within the larger context of the dialogue. Whether or not this makes us have more or less confidence in the ultimate verdict in favor of pederastic love, these prominent and recognizable errors reveal an unusually sly and playful approach to classical erudition and the iambic tradition.

The Amores consists of a simple conversation between two characters, the scholarly Lycinus and the lothario Theomnestus. Brief exchanges open and close the text, but the bulk of the dialogue comes from Lycinus' account of a debate that he once adjudicated between champions of homosexual and heterosexual love. In that reported and inset contest of passions, presented in front of (and occasionally behind) the famous Aphrodite of Cnidus by Praxiteles, a kaleidoscope of classical allusions swirl, but it is in the short framing narratives that we find the two errors I want to explore. Shortly before beginning his long reported speech, Lycinus says that Theomnestus, who has been recounting his myriad trysts in graphic and stimulating detail, sounds like the dreamy-eyed daughter of Lycambes (3); and in Theomnestus' closing words he claims that Alcibiades actually managed to seduce Socrates on the night famously described in Plato's Symposium (219c).

1 Foucault 1986, 193-227; Bloch 1907 provides the foundational discussion of authorship; Goldhill 1995, 46-111, and Mossman 2007 offer post-Foucaldian analyses. Jope 2011 argues for Lucianic authorship. 257

258 Neobule in love: the Ps.-Lucianic Amores

It is, of course, possible that the author has simply made a few mistakes or that he knew of versions of these erotic encounters that could admit such descriptions, but such skepticism seems excessively cautious. Plato's writings were staples of the curriculum, and so we can be confident both that educated readers would have known the Symposium intimately and that variant accounts of what happened between Socrates and Alcibiades beneath their shared cloak would have been noted. And similarly, an episode in which Neobule (assuming we are not dealing with the "other" sister seduced in the Cologne Epode, fr. 196a) speaks with love-struck warmth could find no place in the iambic tradition. The history of iambic poetics derives, in large part, from the unhappy experiences of the daughter of Lycambes. Just as Medusa exists in mythology only for the moment of her death, so too Neobule is, for us, the love-interest who has already been lost. As the many later epigrams and other testimonia agree, there can be no happy and doe-eyed romance for her, whose poetic life begins with her father's decision to cancel her wedding to Archilochus. Given the deluge of allusions to classical literature in this piece, the Amores seems to have been aimed at an educated audience, and we must conclude that these heterodox details were not only intentional but that they were also intended to be recognized as meaningful distortions.

We are, therefore, almost certainly confronted with two willful misreadings. Both are erotic in nature (not surprising, of course, in light of the theme of this treatise). More subtly, both passages also move toward more normative and pleasurable sexual relations - one heterosexual, the other homosexual. Instead of the broken marriage pact, the various sordid encounters and her final, pitiful death, we find Neobule happy and happily in love; instead of Socrates' strange temperance - that jarring Hippolytean twist on his satyr-like looks - we get the outcome Alcibiades had sought and expected.

Yet we can, I think, make better sense of these distortions by recognizing the importance of their position within the text and how they fit into the discourse strategies of each character. From this approach we will find that the Amores actually contains two erotic debates, not just one. Bookending the prominent comparison of homosexual and heterosexual love that is embedded in Lycinus' reported account (and which has been the main focus of most scholarship on this text) we find a contrast between Lycinus' own abstemious lifestyle and Theomnestus' omnivorous and uninhibited passion. Once we see this other erotic tension as a secondary orienting device for the dialogue, we can begin to make sense of why Lycinus speaks to Theomnestus about the sweet and blushing

Neobule in love: the Ps.-Lucianic Amores

daughter of Lycambes and why Theomnestus tells Lycinus that Alcibiades got what he wanted from Socrates.

Lycinus begins by saying to his friend Theomnestus how wonderful it has been to have spent the morning listening to his tales of love (1). He claims that these juicy stories have offered a much-needed respite from his q>1i\6T1µ01 n6vo1, "noble labors," that portray him as a scholarly Heracles.2 This image does double duty, however, as Lycinus begs that not a single conquest be omitted and draws an implied parallel between the wide-ranging lusts of Theomnestus and those of Heracles, whose festival is being celebrated that day. Although a straight reading of this opening is certainly possible, we can also hear an adversarial or teasing tone. Lycinus, that is to say, may well be announcing somewhat sarcastically that he, rather like a serious Heracles, has had enough of Theomnestus' litany of escapades that recall the hero's comical gluttony and randiness in their indiscriminacy.

For his part, Theomnestus seems to accept this portrayal of his lifestyle, because he responds that his loves are as innumerable as the waves of the sea and a full accounting of them would be as difficult as conquering the Lernean Hydra without the help of Iolaus (2). As something of a super-Heracles of love, he is far different from the Lemnian Women and Hippolytus, characters who swore off sex altogether. Immediately before and after these two mythical references, Theomnestus says that he is being unfairly punished by the anger (x6i\os, opy~) of Aphrodite. This chiastic arrangement (Aphrodite's divine xoi\os, the Lemnian Women's female chastity, Hippolytus' male chastity, Aphrodite's divine opy~) suggests that, while he mockingly languishes under Aphrodite's wrath, the people who truly deserve such punishment are those who do not gratify the goddess at all. Lycinus, who has already said that he spends most of his time in "serious" matters, fits the bill, as becomes clearer in what follows. Theomnestus accepts his friend's teasing description of himself as a Heracles of love and responds by casting Lycinus as a dangerously chaste

Hippolytus or Hypsipyle. Lycinus next teases Theomnestus for complaining about his lot in life

and suggests that if he doesn't stop moaning he'll need purgatives (Kcx6apcncx, 3). And it is at this point that he says that amid the "Hesiodic cataloguing" of erotic conquests Theomnestus' voice had the delicate (i\mT6v) sweetness of the daughter of Lycambes. Again, there may be a

2 Mossman 2007, 148.

259


It is, of course, possible that the author has simply made a few mistakes

or that he knew of versions of these erotic encounters that could admit

such descriptions, but such skepticism seems excessively cautious. Plato's

writings were staples of the curriculum, and so we can be confident both

that educated readers would have known the Symposium intimately and

that variant accounts of what happened between Socrates and Alcibiades

beneath their shared cloak would have been noted. And similarly, an

episode in which Neobule (assuming we are not dealing with the "other"

sister seduced in the Cologne Epode, fr. 196a) speaks with love-struck

warmth could find no place in the iambic tradition. The history of iambic

poetics derives, in large part, from the unhappy experiences of the daughter

of Lycambes. Just as Medusa exists in mythology only for the moment of

her death, so too Neobule is, for us, the love-interest who has already been

lost. As the many later epigrams and other testimonia agree, there can be

no happy and doe-eyed romance for her, whose poetic life begins with her

father's decision to cancel her wedding to Archilochus. Given the deluge of

allusions to classical literature in this piece, the Amores seems to have been

aimed at an educated audience, and we must conclude that these heterodox

details were not only intentional but that they were also intended to be

recognized as meaningful distortions.

We are, therefore, almost certainly confronted with two willful misread

ings. Both are erotic in nature (not surprising, of course, in light of the

theme of this treatise). More subtly, both passages also move toward more

normative and pleasurable sexual relations - one heterosexual, the other

homosexual. Instead of the broken marriage pact, the various sordid

encounters and her final, pitiful death, we find Neobule happy and happily

in love; instead of Socrates' strange temperance - that jarring Hippolytean

twist on his satyr-like looks - we get the outcome Alcibiades had sought and expected.

Yet we can, I think, make better sense of these distortions by recogniz

ing the importance of their position within the text and how they fit into

the discourse strategies of each character. From this approach we will

find that the Amores actually contains two erotic debates, not just one.

Bookending the prominent comparison of homosexual and heterosexual

love that is embedded in Lycinus' reported account (and which has been

the main focus of most scholarship on this text) we find a contrast

between Lycinus' own abstemious lifestyle and Theomnestus' omnivorous

and uninhibited passion. Once we see this other erotic tension as a

secondary orienting device for the dialogue, we can begin to make sense

of why Lycinus speaks to Theomnestus about the sweet and blushing


daughter of Lycambes and why Theomnestus tells Lycinus that Alcibiades

got what he wanted from Socrates.

Lycinus begins by saying to his friend Theomnestus how wonderful it

has been to have spent the morning listening to his tales of love (1).

He claims that these juicy stories have offered a much-needed respite

from his cp1MT1µ01 n6vo1, "noble labors," that portray him as a scholarly

Heracles.2 This image does double duty, however, as Lycinus begs that not

a single conquest be omitted and draws an implied parallel between the

wide-ranging lusts of Theomnestus and those of Heracles, whose festival

is being celebrated that day. Although a straight reading of this opening is

certainly possible, we can also hear an adversarial or teasing tone. Lycinus,

that is to say, may well be announcing somewhat sarcastically that he,

rather like a serious Heracles, has had enough of Theomnestus' litany of

escapades that recall the hero's comical gluttony and randiness in their

indiscriminacy.

For his part, Theomnestus seems to accept this portrayal of his lifestyle,

because he responds that his loves are as innumerable as the waves of the

sea and a full accounting of them would be as difficult as conquering

the Lernean Hydra without the help of Iolaus (2). As something of a

super-Heracles of love, he is far different from the Lemnian Women and

Hippolytus, characters who swore off sex altogether. Immediately before

and after these two mythical references, Theomnestus says that he is being

unfairly punished by the anger (xo/..os, 6pyi]) of Aphrodite. This chiastic

arrangement (Aphrodite's divine xo/..os, the Lemnian Women's female

chastity, Hippolytus' male chastity, Aphrodite's divine 6pyi]) suggests that,

while he mockingly languishes under Aphrodite's wrath, the people who

truly deserve such punishment are those who do not gratify the goddess

at all. Lycinus, who has already said that he spends most of his time

in "serious" matters, fits the bill, as becomes clearer in what follows.

Theomnestus accepts his friend's teasing description of himself as a

Heracles of love and responds by casting Lycinus as a dangerously chaste

Hippolytus or Hypsipyle. Lycinus next teases Theomnestus for complaining about his lot in life

and suggests that if he doesn't stop moaning he'll need purgatives

(Ka66:pcna, 3). And it is at this point that he says that amid the "Hesiodic

cataloguing" of erotic conquests Theomnestus' voice had the delicate

(AmT6v) sweetness of the daughter of Lycambes. Again, there may be a

2 Mossman 2007, 148.

259


hint in this that Theomnestus has gone on plenty long enough, but the reference to Neobule introduces a more dangerous note as well. Few erotic comparisons from antiquity could be as inept as this one. The lore that

surrounds the Lycambids is filled with betrayal, anger, rape, and death. Lycinus' analogy, therefore, probably serves to warn Theomnestus against

the dangers of unrestrained passion. If he bears any resemblance to Neobule, then he is on a feminized path to destruction.

Again, Theomnestus seems to hear and respond in kind to this barb (4).

He says that Bouqiayos 6 5aiµwv, i.e., Heracles the gluttonous devourer of cattle, does not take pleasure in smokeless sacrifices. The god and

Theomnestus both need their flesh. But because he has been talking since dawn (is this repetition a sarcastic response to Lycinus' earlier similar comment?), he asks that Lycinus turn to his Muse. He acknowledges that this would entail a departure from his friend's customary seriousness, but

since Lycinus shows no erotic interest at all in either young men or women (another dig from Theomnestus), he would make a fine and impartial judge of erotic matters. Accordingly, he suggests that Lycinus, now con

firmed as the sort of abstemious figure Aphrodite hates, cast his vote for loving boys or loving women, though we can hardly expect his verdict to have any influence on Theomnestus' behavior. Nonetheless, Lycinus agrees, tells his friend to expect something useful in his pleasant tale, and

starts in on his long speech about the debate between advocates of homosexual and heterosexual love.

We can now jump to the end of the Amores and pick up again just after Lycinus has awarded the palm to pederastic love in a debate in which we have heard impassioned arguments both for and against this sexual preference. Theomnestus happily accepts Lycinus' verdict, though he adds that

he now regrets having spent the day suffering like Tantalus or enduring thirst when drinks are at hand (53). He then works himself into paroxysms oflust as he describes how much better a real seduction would be. Breaking off at the last possible moment, he condemns anyone whose head is in the

clouds and speal<S with the arched brow of philosophy, for Alcibiades, Theomnestus claims, got what he had been angling for from Socrates as they lay together under that shared cloak.

Framing the long debate about which sexual orientation is better, the author of the Amores has sketched out a teasing rivalry between friends

that deals with the pitfalls of erotic extremism. Lycinus goads Theomnestus the nymphomaniac with an Archilochean twist, and Theomnestus

responds by upending the high-brow pretentions of Lycinus and the Platonic Socrates. Both allusions activate legendary stories and invite


reflection by presenting them in distorted ways. The iambic tradition enters in a seemingly harmless way, but the fate of Neobule may serve as the sort of friendly didactic raillery that we find in the less murderous examples of archaic iambic invective. Theomnestus needs to recognize that his unbridled sexuality may lead to dangerous situations and deadly

passion. Theomnestus clearly does not accept this point and walks off to find some new conquest while we, with Lycinus, can ponder what to make of the history of philosophy if Socrates really did give in to his lust with the

young and eager Alcibiades.

261

262

6 Festive Iambos: Julian's Misopogon

The soldiers led him into the courtyard that is the Praetorium and

assembled the whole unit. They dressed him in purple and set upon him a

woven crown of thorns, and they began to salute him: "Hail King of the

Jews." And they struck his head with a rod and spat on him and with bent

knees paid him honor. And having mocked him, they stripped off the

purple and put his own clothes on him. Then they led him out to be

crucified.

Mark 15: 16-20

Antioch was a famously wild place, so the austere Emperor Julian's plans to make it his new capital may have been doomed from the start. His attempts to win the favor of the locals backfired time and again, and when they made fun of him and his beard during the kalends of January festival, he responded with a blistering, if heavy-handed, satire in which he takes on the voice of Archilochus to rail against the world around him. The Mis

opogon begins from the Antiochenes' taunts and proceeds to assert the emperor's power throughout the year by accepting his abject role within the carnival world of the kalends.

Introduction

In 363, the Emperor Julian turned the force of the iambic tradition against himself and his ridiculous beard. In his surpassingly strange and often rambling Misopogon ("Beard Hater"), Julian replays many of the invective strategies that we have already seen in Dio's First Tarsian and Lucian's Pseudologista.1 Lilce those authors, Julian crafts a correlation between

The title of this chapter represents a twist on Maud Gleason's seminal 1986 article, "Festive Satire." Her work and, more importantly, her mentorship and friendship have left their stamp on this chapter and, indeed, this entire book. l Julian seems to have been thoroughly familiar with Dio's works and, as argued by Asmus 1895,

he may have used Dio's first oration as a model for his own Or. 7, the only text in which Julian mentions Dio by name (Or. 7.212c).

Introduction

himself and Archilochus, but he accepts a far more degraded role than either of his predecessors in this venture. He effects this by building his rant off the jokes and skits at his expense that were all the rage in Antioch during the celebration of the kalends of January. Under the cover of that festival's license, his subjects had chanted that he should plait his beard into ropes, caricatured him as one of the Cercopes, and had generally made fun of his habits and lifestyle. In the Misopogon he takes up these taunts and uses them as the starting point for depicting the people of Antioch as depilated Christian sybarites while arguing that his beard is the most immediately obvious sign of his own manly code that favors Hellenic tradition and philosophical rigor. As we have seen in the preceding chapters, bodily matters reveal and are shaped by value judgements about ethics and cultural identities. And as Lucian had done, Julian resurrects the ancient efficacy of iambic speech through the license and portentousness of the Roman kalends.

By the fourth century, the kalends had become an uproarious celebration that ran for several days in every major urban center of the Empire.2

In 363, the people of Antioch took full advantage of the festival's license and delighted in spoofing Julian, who was then residing in the city as he prepared for his conquest of Persia. They had ample fodder for their skits and anapestic chants, since his popularity had plummeted through his failed efforts to revitalize traditional religious ritual and to stabilize the local economy. So when the people of this famously decadent city made fun of the emperor for his unkempt beard and sarcastically advised him to twist his whiskers into ropes, their raillery must have been delivered with a satisfying dose of venom.

Such sanctioned inversions of the social hierarchy are common in carnivalesque festivals, and they are always predicated on the assumption that the normal decorum and hierarchical structures will be in force again after the period of license.3 But Julian, whose tastes favored traditional blood sacrifice and temple worship over popular preferences for endless

2 See Meslin 1970 for the most thorough analysis of the kalends of January festival in the imperial era and Gleason 1986, 108-113, for a succinct overview of the kalends ofJanuary as it relates to the composition of the Misopogon.

3 Gluckman 1963 is the main authority for understanding such inversion rituals or carnivalesque festivals as offering a form of social control. Gilmore 1998, 34-35, critiques some aspects of Gluckman's basic position and provides an overview of scholarship that understands carnival festivals as opportunities to affirm the positive values of individuals and (even lower status)

·subgroups rather than leading to feelings of systemwide commw1itas in Turner's sense of the term (Turner 1969; ch. 3). Ladurie 1979 offers a fascinating case study of carnival transformed into deadly civil unrest during Mardi Gras in the French city of Romans in 1850.

263


chariot races and theater performances, refused to let pass what he perceived to be an affront. Sometime soon after the kalends, therefore, he composed the Misopogon, which is alternately titled f\vTtoX1K6s ('Antiochene Oration'), and then had it prominently displayed in the city center.4

The Misopogon purports to be a self-condemnation (like Dio's Archilochus, Julian valorizes self-abuse), but in reality it is a thinly veiled attack on the people of Antioch in retaliation for their A018opia and crKwµµaw

during the kalends of January festival. As always iambic poetics erupts in response to a previous affront.

Well before the kalends of January of 363, however, the relationship between the emperor and the most important city in Roman Syria had begun to sour. Soon after ascending to the imperial throne in Constantinople in 361, Julian had set out for Antioch, where he planned and launched his (ultimately unsuccessful) invasion of Persia. The months he spent in the city were crowded with disappointed expectations. 5 Prior to his arrival, he had made a generous overture to the local population by reducing their tax burden, and he even had hopes of making Antioch his new imperial headquarters and transforming it into a "city of marble" after his Eastern campaign.6 Yet his adventus in July 362 was marred by the ill-omened sounds of ritual lamentation arising from the city's

4 That the Misopogon was inscribed on the Tetrapylon of the Elephants is recorded by John Malalas (6th century CE), Chron. 328, 3-4: Kai ayavaKn\o-as KaTCx TWV 'AVTloxlwv ~mlllf1 mhois,

"Afywv UITOO"TpEq>EIV Kai TtµwpeTo-6ai mhous, C:,5 µ~ exovTas MT)06va, eirrC:,v mp\ TWV aUTWV 'AvT1oxlwv Myov, 51af36Mwv auTous C:,s Tupavvous. Ka\ rrpoE6T)KE Tov KaT' auTwv pT)61vTa rrap'

mhou Myov e~w TOU rralo.mlou Tfjs auTfjs rr6lo.ews els TO llfy6µevov TETparru;\.ov TWV EAEq>CxVTWV rrlo.rio-lov Tfjs 'Priyias. "Angry at the Antiochenes, he threatened them by saying that he would return and punish them since they do not have a good reputation, delivering a speech about them, and slandering them as so many tyrants. And he had his speech against them displayed outside the palace of the same city on the so-called Tetra pylon of the Elephants near the royal street." Libanius Or. 11.204 provides a description of what is surely this otherwise unattested monument and its surrounding complex. Reinsch 2009 argues against the common assumption that Malalas' passage refers to the Misopogon and suggests that Julian's piece was a sympotic rather than a public work. Whatever the case, it surely was intended for performance whether or not it later ended up carved in stone.

5 The complex and well-documented events of these months, which span issues of economics, religion, public spectacle, euergetism, civic reform, and land redistribution, are clearly and succinctly discussed by Bowersock 1978, 94-105, and Hunt 1998, 67-73. Alfonso-Nunez 1979 assembled all of the ancient discussions of Julian's stay in Antioch, as well as providing an overview of the scholarly debates up to the time of publication. A useful overview of Julian's attempt to revitalize the cities of the empire (devastated by the centralization of the empire in the third century) is provided by Athanassiadi-Fowden 1981, 103-12. Gleason 1986, ll5, refusing to follow modern practice of treating the Misopogon separately from Julian's other official writings, examines the text in conjunction with Julian's other imperial responses to events at Antioch.

6 According to Libanius Or. 15.52.

Introduction

celebration of the Adonia.7 This aural backdrop to Julian's official entrance hints at the complexities involved in understanding his stay at Antioch. Julian often complained that the city was too devoted to Christianity, but here we find a loud and disruptive celebration of a pagan festival; he lamented that the local population paid too little attention to traditional rites, but here we see them engaged in a very old and amply attested ritual; yet the Adonia in particular evoked some of the most licentious aspects of Julian's adored Hellenic tradition, since it was known primarily as a celebration for loose women.8 From this unfortunate beginning, his relationship with the people of Antioch became frustrating, difficult, and increasingly antagonistic.

The Misopogon was written in the latter stages of this unhappy relationship, after Julian had made many rather inept attempts to curry favor with the people only to be rebuffed and disheartened. In the text, he accepts the popular mockery of his long and shaggy beard and, in the spirit of ritual inversion, twists their caricature into a weapon with which to strip the Antiochenes of their claim to being a civilized (i.e., Hellenic) city. He accomplishes this goal by using his beard as a cipher through which to transform the abuse directed at him during the kalends of January festival into an indictment of the Antiochenes' slavish devotion to luxury, excess, and pliable morals. And while the Antiochenes had begun their abuse with Julian's beard, the emperor grounds his attack in the poetics of archaic iambic aggression.

As both Dia and Lucian had done centuries earlier, the emperor articulates his invective agenda in the Misopogon through a reference to the life of Archilochus (as well as Alcaeus and, by Julian's own contrast, Anacreon).9 Although Julian does not quote any of Archilochus' poetry, the connection between Archilochus and beards may have evoked fr. 114,

7 Amm. Marc. 22.9.15. This instance of "Christians" celebrating a "pagan" festival is one of the many examples of how religious affiliations in late antiquity were not based on a simple choice between mutually exclusive, binary oppositions. Cf. P. Brown 1998, esp. 632-37.

8 Plato, for example, seems to have had little use for the Adonia (Phdr. 276b). The question of

who, exactly, participated in the Athenian Adonia has vexed modern scholarship. Goff 2004, 138-44, offers an updated discussion and bibliography. The Adonia represents an interesting parallel to the carnivalesque aspects of the kalends of January, since it can be read (as, for example, by Detienne 1977) as a ritual that focused on the opposite of ideal women (e.g., prostitutes instead of citizen wives), or, following Goff, as an event that debates and reconsiders categories of female activity and civic identity.

9 This pattern of reading, institutionalized by Aristotle's claim that a poet's nature is reflected in his literary output (Poet. 1448b25), seems to have produced an overemphasis on a poet's most

. notable behavior. Thus, Archilochus, who wrote in a wide variety of tones, is reduced to a nearpersonification of invective poetry itself. Anacreon's gaiety, Simonides' greed, and Alcaeus' fixation on politics are examples of similar reductions.

265


which was quoted by Dio (among others) and which describes a hulking general who paid too much attention to his shaving regimen.10 After

situating himself among these archaic poets, Julian offers a detailed account of why he cannot· follow his models more closely in form and

content. With these words he paves the way for his iambic tone and unpacks his particular adaptation of the iambic mode. In setting out his project in these explicit terms, he goes against his own consistent opinion about the dangers of iambic poetry, which he articulates in other works.

Thus he sets up the Misopogon as exceptional and as a violation of his usual principles of composition, a point which he also makes at the beginning of his Saturnalian Caesars (306a).11 Each of these texts clearly takes its tone

from a close association with a particular festival context. After announcing and justifying his combination of iambic aggression

and self-abuse in the Misopogon, Julian responds to the Antiochenes' comments about his beard by taking their insults and turning them into a condemnation of Antioch's freewheeling lifestyle. The emperor uses this discussion of his beard as the starting point for aggressively defining the

people of Antioch as outside the civilized world (a strategy also quite similar to that of Dio's Tarsian harangue and Lucian's sniping sophists in his Pseudologista). Furthermore, Julian combines the traditional abjection of the iambic speaker with the upside-down logic of the kalends of January to accept his temporary role as the butt of carnival humor (assigned to him by

his subjects) in order to reinforce his permanent standing during normal time as the final authority and arbiter for the entire empire. A similar point is implicit in the epigraph to this chapter: Jesus may have been mocked and killed, but the Gospel of Mark promises a transformation of this one-time

defeat into an eternal victory. Julian concedes control over the kalends of

January in order to underline his power throughout the rest of the year. In adopting such a literary strategy, he also exaggerates the Antiochenes'

devotion to Christianity and thereby harmonizes their civil unruliness with his vision of the empire. He viewed the Christian religion as an impediment to his efforts to revitalize the East through the power of traditional

Greek religion and literary culture. In explaining Antioch's resistance to his policies in largely religious terms, he presents what may have been primarily an economic and political crisis as an episode in his efforts to

10 Bits of fr. 114 are also preserved by Galen and Pollux. 11 Julian begins his Caesars by stating flatly that he has nothing funny (yE7'010v) to contribute, but

then forces himself to make an attempt nonetheless, since the holiday demands it. His opening gambit has been analyzed by Relihan 1989.

Updating iambic poetics

root out Christianity with the axe of traditionalism. Read from this perspective, the Misopogon trumpets Julian's power while using broad strokes to paint Antioch as an out-of-control and morally bankrupt bastion

of Christianity and an example of all that is wrong with that religion. Because the Misopogon moves to the topsy-turvy logic of the kalends of January the emperor's abuse gets launched at himself, but the text's

absurdity is constructed around a serious plan, and if we can see that plan, then we can make sense of the absurdity.


In its opening lines, the Misopogon declares its strong reliance on ancient

models and juxtaposes Anacreon with Alcaeus and Archilochus, claiming that the tone of each author's poetry derived from his experiences in life (33 7a-b ):12

i\vaKpEoVTI T(i) TIOIT]Tft noMa ETI01Ti611 µei\11 xapiEVTO' Tpucp5:v yap l!i\axev EK µ01pwv·

i\i\Kaic.::> 5' OUKETI ou5' i\px1i\6xc.::> T(i) napil}> TIJV µouaav E5wKEV 6 6e6s Eis eucppoauvas

Ka\ fi5ovas TPElflOl' µox6E'lv yap &MoTE &Mc.vs avayKa~6µevo1 Tft µouatKft Tipos TOUTO

expwVTO, Koucp6Tepa TIOlOUVTES OUTOlS oaa 6 5aiµwv E5!5ou Tft el TOUS a5tKOUVTOS

i\015opic;x.

Anacreon the poet composed many pleasant songs because he received an easy life from the fates. But god did not grant it to Alcaeus and Archilochus the Parian to turn the Muse to merriment and pleasure. For being compelled to struggle in one way or another they used their poetry to this end: making lighter for themselves whatever heaven set against them by abusing those who wronged them.

Julian here presents the standard, simple connection between poetic content and a poet's biography, and he allies himself with the poetics of

12 It is interesting to note that Heraclitus (Alleg. Hom. 5) quotes poems by Archilochus (fr. 105), Alcaeus (fr. 6.1-3 and fr. 208) and Anacreon (fr. 417) in succession as examples of allegories.

The impression of the three poets, garnered solely from these citations, matches quite well with Julian's assessment of them here. Both Archilochus and Alcaeus are described as being swamped by storms and strife, while Anacreon is chasing a Thracian "filly," who shies from accepting Anacreon as her "rider." Although no evidence suggests that Julian had read Heraclitus, the coincidence does remind us that Julian may not have been the first to have grouped these three archaic authors in this way. One may even think of Horace's implicit pairing of Archilochus and Anacreon in Epode 14. The opening couplet is based on an Archilochean fragment (either fr. 191 or 193) and Anacreon is explicity mentioned. Because of the condition of the Archilochean model it is difficult to determine the exact implications of Horace's reference, but it appears that his Archilochus and Anacreon are imagined as being overwhelmed by passionate desire. See the notes at Mankin 1995 and Watson 2003 ad Joe.

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A.018opla, a standard term (like ljJ6yos) throughout antiquity for the most

aggressive elements of iambic poetry. With this biographical move, he

sends his audience a clear, concise poetic signal of what to expect from

the present work. Some of the poems of Alcaeus and Archilochus explain

their vitriol by mentioning personal attacks against the author, and to

follow this model implies that Julian, too, has suffered a personal affront,

which will naturally inspire iambic abuse.

In the preceding chapters we have encountered various authors who

positioned their works within the iambic tradition, but none has been so

explicit about his intentions as Julian, who offers a detailed explanation of

why he cannot follow his archaic models more closely. His words amount

to a reasonable approximation of some of the most important differences

between pre- and post-Horatian modes of iambic abuse (337b-338b):

eµol 5e c'mayopeue1 µev 6 v6µos Eir' 6v6µaTOs ah1au6a1 TOUS c'xfaKouµevous µev ou5ev,

eTvai 5' hnxe1pouvTas 5uuµeveis, c'xqiaipehai 5e Ti]v ev Tois µe/..eu1 µouu1Ki]v 6 vOv

emKpaTwv ~v TOis e/..eu6epo1s Tfjs irai5eias Tp6iros. a\'ux1ov yap eTvai 5oKei vOv

µouu1Ki]v emTT]5eue1v, fi m'x/..ai TIOTE E56Ke1 TO ir/..ouTeiv c'x5iKws. ou µi]v c'xqie~oµa1

510 TOUTO Tf\S eµoi 5uvaTf\S EK µouuwv E1T1Koup1c'xs ... T6 5' {xuµa TIE~fl µev AE~el

miroiriw1, /..oi5opias 5' l\e1 iroMas Kai µeyc'x/..as, ouK els &:Mous µa L'i.ia· irws yc'xp;

c'xirayopeuovTos Tou v6µou· els 5e Tov iro1riTi]v auT6v Kai Tov ~uyypaqiea.

But custom prevents me from attacking by name those who have not been wronged by me at all but who nevertheless seek enmity with me, and the current trend of paideia holding sway among the educated has taken away the lilt of poetry. For nowadays the study of poetry is thought more shameful than unjust aggrandizement was in the old days. But I will not, for this reason, keep my hand from the aid available to me from the Muses ... And so, this song is written in prose but it's is full of much powerful abuse (/..015opfa) - not directed at others, by god (for how could it, since the law prevents it?!) but at the poet and author himself.

Julian presents his desire to compose invective abuse in the manner of

Archilochus and Alcaeus as thwarted both by changes in the landscape of

literary genres and by the presence of a cultural regime that controls the

range of acceptable speech (napp'flcria). 13 The result is an oxymoronic

"song in prose" ({xcrµa m~n A.e~e1) that confounds traditional categories.

For the emperor to declare that the dictates of the society he 'rules constrain

him is, of course, striking (and perhaps tauntingly sarcastic), but the

13 Agosti 2001, 224-47, discusses the late antique aversion to outbursts of anger and shows that within the Christian worldview such outbursts, so central to iambic poetics, could even be denounced as sinful.


juxtaposition of a declaration of verbal limits and an endorsement of

iambic poetics also sets the stage for a strategic violation of those bound

aries.14 Much as Horace had done in Satires 2.1, Julian transforms contra

ints on free speech into an opportunity to turn "the satiric lens on himself,

his social position, and his own thwarted satiric libertas." 15

In adopting the authorial pose of a poet besieged not only by his

detractors but by contemporary tastes as well, Julian's choice of self

abuse provides an effective and flexible paradigm for lashing out at his

enemies. His discussion of the discrepancy between his archaic models

and his present literary circumstances simultaneously serves a four-fold

function: it introduces his program of abuse, furnishes an excuse for

writing in prose rather than in outdated lyric meters, provides an oppor

tunity to paint himself as a poet held hostage by a generation which

cannot appreciate the natural form of his ire, and refocuses all discussion

of Antioch on himself, thus denying the Antiochenes the central role

even in their own condemnation. 16 In this way, Julian claims the author

ity and tone of archaic iambos while providing a key to understanding

how he is adapting that tradition to the horizon of expectations of

his day.

In stating so bluntly his literary affiliations, Julian draws upon the

standard reputations of these archaic poets. Whereas Ovid, Dio, and Lucian

had played fast and loose with those reputations and had distorted them to

fit their needs of the moment, Julian sticks closer to the generally accepted

vita tradition. As Lefkowitz has shown, a poet's enduring reputation often

took shape as a result oflater generations' fixation on a particular theme in

his poetry. Thus although Anacreon could launch vicious attacks which

bring him close to iambic aggression, he was known by the end of his life as

the poet par excellence of love and intoxication.17 The Anacreontea are

14 Long 1993, 15, makes a similar point about how "Julian's apparently sincere outbursts of frustration contribute to [the Misopogon's] effectiveness.'' Bowder 1978, 118-22, discusses the Misopogon in terms of the relationship between freedom of speech and autocratic power.

15 Lowrie 2009, 332-33, referring to Horace, Sat. 2.1. Both Horace's poem and Lowrie's discussion of it, 327-48, offer important parallels for understanding the Misopogon. The notion of legally constrained speech can be traced to both the Athenian law against the slander of named individuals and the legacy of the Twelve Tables that included libel as a capital offense.

16 Long 1993, 19, notes that "[s]tructurally, Julian subordinates discussion of Antioch to discussion of himself."

17 Lefkowitz 1981 discusses the marked trend toward biographical reading, especially oflyric poets whose first-person statements seem to offer insight into their characters which are not present in Homeric or even Hesiodic poetry (24-31). The Suda, s.v., claims that Anacreon wrote, among other things, iambic poems, and fr. 388 PMG against Artemon is certainly iambic in tone if not in meter, as argued by C. Brown 1983 and Maclachlan 1997, 201-09, who build

269


proof of this and at the same time reinforce the connection between

Ancreon and such pleasant themes. 18 Similarly, Alcaeus wrote many intimate and reflective verses, yet he came to be known primarily for his o-wo-1c.v

TIK<'x, as Strabo dubbed his poems which document his role in the political

dissidence of Mytilene.19 Lefkowitz presents Alcaeus as a particularly clear instance of her general thesis, since citations and testimonia from later

antiquity do not reflect the range of themes and tones found in papyrus evidence.20

Thus, it may be that Julian here simply accepts the general reputation of each of these poets, but Anacreon and Alcaeus also carried specific political associations that could offer more focused application in the Misopogon's upside-down logic. Anacreon led such a happy life, the story goes, because

he accommodated himself to the authority of tyrants - first Polycrates and later the Peisistratids; Alcaeus encountered difficulties because he stood

against the political establishment. On the surface, these associations suggest that Julian's time in Antioch had been difficult, because he followed the model of Alcaeus rather than Anacreon in failing to conform to the local status quo. When we turn this message around (as we must do with

all of Julian's self-deprecating comments in the Misopogon), we can hear Julian threatening a population which has set itself at odds with his

upon Slater 1978 and Davies 198lb. Ironically, Anacreon's description of Artemon closely parallels the standard visual depiction of Anacreon himself. Price 1990 explains the apparent conflict in the similarity between Anacreon's description of Artemon and his own appearance in the plastic arts as deriving from a form of early comic burlesque which found in Anacreon a fitting target for ridicule because of his connections with the east and tyranny, "a satire of a familiar favorite under the unpopular Pisistratid tyranny" (171-72). Martin 2002 analyzes the manner in which Anacreon's popular persona changed the perception of his poetry "causing one portion of authentic Anacreon verse to hypertrophy" (ll5). Most recently, Bruce 2011 proposes new explanations (lexical and social) of Artemon's attire that contribute to Anacreon's depiction of him as deserving of ridicule.

18 The sixty-two poems known to us as the Anacreon tea (thoroughly treated by Rosenmeyer 1992) were, until the 19th century, considered to be authentic works of Anacreon.

19 Andrisano 2001 argued that the aggressive elements of Alcaeus' poetry of exile (when the persona loquens begins to behave like a wolf) should be read as part of the pattern of the iambike idea. This ties in with the many discussions of the role of the wolf in iambos, most notably West 1974, 25-28, Nagy 1979, 241-52, Miralles and Portulas 1983, 51-60, and Miller 1994, 9-36. MacLachlan 1997, 141-42, compares Alcaeus' political invective with Archilochean poetry. These approaches to Alcaeus sharply contrast the view of Alcaeus as too refined to approximate the tone of the coarse iambographers, as exemplified by Page 1955, 243, and Kurke 1994, 68, who explicitly dismisses a connection between Alcaeus and iambos.

20 It should also be noted that the Alexandrian edition of Alcaeus may have been organized by theme rather than meter, which seems to have been a more typical criterion. See Pardini 1991 and now Acosta-Hughes 2010, 134-40. This might lead a later author such as Julian more easily to co-opt Alcaeus for his own programmatic ends.


political authority. The people of Antioch will no longer be able to

maintain their easygoing lifestyle, because their ruler has given up on Anacreon's political accommodation and paired Alcaeus' politics of opposition with the poetic efficacy of Archilochus. Julian now takes his cues from angry poets who raged against the injustices in their communities. From

the perspective of Antioch, we might say that the city's Anacreontic way of life is about to become much more like that of Alcaeus.

Unlike these two poets, who are mentioned by name only here in all of

Julian's writings, Archilochus shows up frequently enough to provide a fuller sense of his place in Julian's thinking. The most explicit statement comes from a fragmentary letter, in which he calls for priests of Hellenic cults to follow a moral code similar to that preached in Christian churches.

Part of this program involved curtailing priests' exposure to iambic poetry (Ep. 89b.300c-d Bidez):

ayveuEIV 81: XPii TOUS lepeas OUK epyu:iv µ6vov aKa6apTWV ou8e O:cre"Aywv Tip6:~eu:iv,

&Ma Ka\ p11µaTu:iv Kai 6:Ka6apTwv To1ouTu:iv. e~e"AaTea Toivuv foTiv fiµlv TI6:vTa T0

ETiax6fi crKwµµaTa, Tiacra 81: O:cre"Ayi]s 6µ1"A!a. Kai OTIWS el8evai exns 8 ~ou"Aoµai

cppa(;e1v, \epu:iµevos TIS µi]TE 'Apx!"Aoxov O:vayvu:icrKhu:i µi]TE 'ITITIWvaKrn µi]TE &Mov

Ttva TWV TO To1auTa ypacp6VTu:iv.

The priests must be pure not only of unclean and impious deeds, but also even of such unclean words. And so we must drive out all offensive jests and all impious associations. And so that you might be able to know what I mean by this, let no

priest read Archilochus or Hipponax or any other such author.

This connection between a ban on the archaic iambographers and Julian's vision for a morally and philosophically pure religious hierarchy is the clearest indication in any of his writings of the danger which the unbridled obscenity of iambos posed to late antique society.21 In Julian's plan for a

Hellenic religion based on the philosophical tenets of Neoplatonism and imbued with an awareness of social issues, such vitriol had no place. The presence of Archilochus in the prologue of the Misopogon is, therefore, all the more striking and shows that it should be read as a marker fore

shadowing the tone of the rest of the work. That is to say that while Julian had attempted to legislate the boundaries of appropriate literary culture, in the Misopogon he claims to be ready to transgress those boundaries.

21 By limiting the kinds of poetry available to his religious leaders, Julian follows the example of Plato in seeking to establish a philosophically pure society in the Republic. It is interesting to note that Clement of Alexandria mentions the shamefulness of Archilochus and Hipponax but explicitly grants them their space in the literary world (Strom. 1.1.1).

271


The moral tenor of Julian's condemnation of the iambic poets finds a close parallel in a letter to Alypius, the man whom Julian had appointed

to oversee the rebuilding of the Jewish Temple in Jerusalem (Amm. Marc. 23.1.2). The brief text communicates the emperor's delight at having received a map, upon which Alypius had written some iambic verses

(iamboi). Julian commends these lines, because they "do not 'sing the Bupalean Battle,' as the Cyrenean poet says, but such as lovely Sappho used to add to her melodies ( voµo!)" (Ep. 10.403d Bidez). O'Higgins suggests that

this shows that Julian knew of Sapphic poetry in iambic trimeters, and Rotstein argues that Julian is praising Alypius' verses for being more like

Sappho's hymns than Callimachus' aggressive iambics.22 Whatever is going on here, it is at least clear that Julian approves of Alypius' avoidance of Hipponactean choliambic invective, and this point is enough to show that Julian again militates against abusive iambic poetics.

Julian also refers to Archilochus twice in his seventh oration (Contra Heracleium). First, in a discussion of how the fable (alvos), which contains

a moral message, grew out of myth (µ06os), which is simply entertainment for children or halfwits, he cites Hesiod and Archilochus as examples of

poets who used fables (207b). While he offers no explanation for why Hesiod employed fables, he does say that Archilochus composed them "because he saw that his subject matter was in need of such enticement (1.11uxayc.vyia)" (207b). The harsh words of an iambic poet needed the pleasing honey of fables to make his bitter message palatable. In making

this claim Julian obfuscates his own thesis by his inconsistent use of the words µ06os and alvos. He begins by contrasting µ06os, which is designed for the young or people of limited intelligence (as was Christianity, Contra Galilaeos 39b), with alvos, which is composed for adults and contains an instructive message. This distinction is blurred quickly, however, when he

clearly intends Archilochus to be an example of a fabulist but refers to his

poetry as µ06os. This led Wright to claim that Julian had forgotten his own categories.23 The better explanation of the breakdown of Julian's own

antithesis, however, is to understand alvos as a subcategory of µ06os. Since the real goal of the oration is not to ruminate on the differences between

µ06os and alvos, but rather to inveigh against Heraclius who, contrary

22 O'Higgins 2003, 87, and Rotstein 2010, 37-38. Neither O'Higgins nor Rotstein comments on

how strange it is for Julian to invoke Callimachus as a model for iambic aggression at the very moment that the Alexandrian famously eschewed at least some aspects of Hipponactean

aggression. For the enduring association between Sappho and Callimachus, see Acosta-Hughes 2010, 62-82.

23 Wright 1913, ad loc.


to the proper spirit of Cynicism as Julian understood it, presented a philosophic lesson in indirect (i.e., mythic) speech rather than in direct philosophic language, Julian merely needs these terms to refer to speech acts which hide their true meaning in pleasing narratives. This is made

clear at 216c-17b. where Julian describes µ06os as the best substitute for those who are not yet ready to hear the divine truth unfiltered. Thus, Julian did not, as Wright suggests, make a small slip in his terminology when describing Archilochus' poetry, but rather he had, by that point, conflated

his terms and no longer needed any distinction between µ06os and alvos.24

The second reference to Archilochus in this speech forms part of a criticism of Heraclius' lack of originality in working with myths (Or. 7.227a):

&AA' 6 µev µ06os fo-n nai\ai6s, ecpfipµoaas 5e aih6v au np6:yµaa1v hepo1s, omp 0Tµa1

no1eiv e!w6aa1v ol Tfj TpomKft XPwµevo1 Twv vo1iµ6:Twv KaTaaKeuft· noi\Us 5e ev TouT01s 6 D6:p16s eaT1 nonFfis.

But your myth is an old one and you have just fitted it to other circumstances as is the habit of those who use tropes and figures of thought. The poet of Paros often does this.

Julian goes on to praise Plutarch and Demosthenes for their originality in myth-making. Since his admiration for these authors contrasts with Julian's abuse of Heraclius, it is clear that this reference to Archilochus is

disparaging, though the passing comment is not susceptible to detailed

analysis. Finally, in a letter written from Constantinople in 362 to his uncle (also

named Julian), the emperor appeals to the archaic iambist as an example of someone who used inappropriate speech (Ep. 80 Bidez):

Tis yap &aei\ye1a, Tis u13p1s, Tis TipOTif1AaKJaµ6s, Tis Ao15opia, Tis a!aXPOPpflµoauvri Tais

eµaTs ETI\aTOAaTs eveypci:q>ri TIOTE; os ye, Kai Et np6s T\Va TpaxuTEpov eTxov, 515ouaris µ01

Tfis (mo6foews &amp E~ aµci:~s elmTv, oTa l.jlEUOWS en\ TOU J\au5aKi5ou 'Apx1i\oxos,

aeµv6Tepov aihc'x Kai awq>povfoTEpov ecp6ey~6:µriv ft TIS lepc'xv (m66ea1v µETJie1.

What impiety, what insolence, what contumely, what abuse, what obscenity has ever been written in my letters? On the contrary, whenever I have been vexed at someone and my subject afforded the opportunity to speak as if from the proverbial cart saying such things as Archilochus slanderously wrote against Laudakides, I have spoken more piously and prudently than someone who treats a sacred subject.

24 Dio's use of µii6os reveals a similar lack of terminological precision, as shown by Said 2000,

161-64.

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Julian here claims for himself the rhetoric of a controlled a:nd temperate ruler who is able to fulfill his role without allowing personal feelings to influence his behavior, and Archilochus serves as a metonym for speech which permits passion to overwhelm decorum and propriety. Control over such impulses was an important mark of paideia in late antiquity, and "formalized speech was held to be, in itself, a form of self-control."25

Julian's endorsement of impassioned Archilochean poetics in the Misopogon was surely on the mind of Socrates of Constantinople when he praised the Emperor Theodosius for his self-restraint but condemned Julian because "he did not control his rage ( 6pyi]} against the Antiochenes who had made up riddles (cdv1~aµsvwv} about him" (HE 7.22).26

Two further points arise from Julian's mention of Archilochus in the letter to his uncle. First, Julian calls Archilochus' enemy Laudakides rather than Lycambes. In 1886 Weil emended the text to bring it into line with all other discussions of Archilochus' antagonist, but the manuscript reading (if it is Julian's) could indicate that Julian was not so familiar with Archilochus' poetry as to remember accurately Lycambes' name.27 It may be, therefore, that Julian knew Archilochus more from his reputation as the canonical poet of blame than from his actual poetry or any focused study. Secondly and more importantly, the emperor connects Archilochus' abusive words with a traditional ritual context. To speak "from the cart" refers to the abuse which Athenian women hurled at passersby while being taken to the Eleusinian mysteries in a wagon.28 Like the ysqiup10-µ6s ritual, the mockery of the initiates as they crossed the bridge over the river Cephisus on the way to Eleusis, this raillery "from the cart" is acceptable and positive because of the ritual inversion of normal modes of

25 P. Brown 1992, 48, and, in general, 48-61. Compare the advice of Julian's physician and friend, Oribasius, who told the emperor that "even ifhe felt anger, he should not show it in his eyes or his voice" (Eunapius, fr. 28.2 in Blockley, 1983, 43). For visual analyses of such emotional control, see Zanker 1995, 119-20 (Metrodorus' placid brow) and 85-87 (a visual assertion of Demosthenes' emotional self-control). For the particular role of the emperor in the control of power and passion, see Wallace-Hadrill 1982, 47-48., and Gordon 1990, 209. On anger in antiquity more generally, see Harris 2001.

26 Similar praise for a good temper is given to Constantius II by Gregory Nazianzus, Carmina 1.2.25.290-303.

27 Wilamowitz 1924, 270, argued for emending /\au5aKl6ou to /\a(35aKl5ou. He suggested that Labdakides referred to Laius of Thebes and that Archilochus is here chastising him for the mythical rape of Chrysippus. I am grateful to one of the anonymous readers of my manuscript for the intriguing suggestion that with this strange name Julian might even have conflated the names of two of Archilochus' targets: Lycambes and Kerykides.

28 Ar. Plut. 1013-14 and schol. ad loc.; cf. Dem. 21Meid.158 and Suda s.v. Ta Twv aµa~wv crKwµµaw.

The emperor's beard

communication.29 Julian connects Eleusinian ritual abuse, Archilochean poetics, and the mode of speech which is inappropriate for an emperor. The implicit association between iambic poetics and ritual license in this passage leads us back to the context of the Misopogon. 30

After all of his rejections of iambic aggression discussed above, Julian embraced precisely this harsh and abusive tone in the Misopogon in order to counter the ridicule he had endured during the festival of the kalends of January. In theory the ritual license of the New Year's celebration should have renewed and strengthened both the horizontal and vertical social bonds which held the community together. In 363, however, the people of Antioch genuinely angered the emperor. The Misopogon thus is "an answer in kind that appropriates some of the festive license of the holiday."31 Just as in the letter to his uncle, Julian combines Archilochean abusive speech and a context of ritually sanctioned inversion. In the letter, he strikes a formal and proper pose by eschewing all scurrilous speech whatsoever; in the very different literary context of the Misopogon however, the emperor adopts precisely the tone that he normally avoided and condemned.

The emperor's beard

During the festival of the kalends of January, the people of Antioch had ridiculed Julian for having a beard that was criminally out of fashion. In the Misopogon the emperor agrees with this, but he asserts a positive value for his beard that the local population cannot appreciate. While he finds that it spurs him toward a more philosophical lifestyle (encapsulated in the notion of o-wqipoo-vvT]), the people of Antioch cannot get beyond their obsession with superficial aesthetics. His beard thus becomes the fulcrum on which the emperor leverages his satirical message. The consensus opinion about his ugly beard provides a starting point from which the two parties quickly move further and further apart.32 Accordingly, the people of

29 O'Higgins 2003, 19-20, discusses the role of the yE<pup1crµ6s in Eleusinian initiation. On Julian's own Eleusinian initiation, which he mentions rather elliptically, see Orr. 7.217d-18a, 5.173a-74d, and Smith 1995, 30 and 114-17.

30 The use of the phrase 5i5oiicrTJs µ01 Tfjs urro6foHos &amp e~ aµa~s eimiv, "even when my subject afforded the opportunity to speak as if from the proverbial cart ... ," shows Julian turning his persona away from even the sanctioned aiO')(polloyla of inversion rituals. This merely reiterates the point, however, that each different performative context admits the possibility of a different poetic stance vis-a-vis earlier authors.

31 Gleason 1986, 108. 32 The choice between viewing the beard as either ridiculous (the Antiochenes) or as a

misunderstood sign of a noble character (Julian) does not boil down to a bifurcation between

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Antioch see his scruffy face as a ridiculous symbol of all ofJulian's austerity, seriousness, and misguided religiosity, but as he works their taunts into his own invective, Julian uses his subjects' tastes against them.

Julian wore his beard iri the manner of a Cynic philosopher, and his literary self-abuse in the Misopogon (:f..015opio: ... sis 5s Tov ;ro1T]TftV mhov

Ko:i Tov ~uyypo:cpfo, 338a-b) parallels the critical attitude implied by his grooming.33 His description of his shaggy facial hair is amusing and blunt, but it also sets out the basic set of oppositions which run throughout the entire text. Julian's beard emblematizes the difference between his selfcontrol (awcppoavvri) and the Antiochenes' devotion to excess (described as an extreme form of e/..w6spio:).34 His beard prevents him from having the lifestyle which he deplores in the Antiochenes, and it forces him to behave according to his temperate nature, which they, in turn, despise.35

He confesses that his beard is unattractive and filled with lice and bits of food, but this eliminates the possibility of gluttonous eating and drinking, since he must be careful not to consume some of his whiskers inadvertently (338c). He admits that his beard is an obstacle to kissing, although this does not bother him in the least (338d), since it thus protects him from the madness of erotic excess.

Given this extreme temperance imposed upon him by his facial hair, Julian's story about the one time that he vomited is appropriately understated (340c-342a). While his drunken subjects must have had many uproarious stories about this unpleasant bodily function, the

carnival laughter and satirical condescension. Graf 2005, 202-5, underscores this false dichotomy in Bakhtin's theory and uses the example of Seneca's Apocolocyntosis to show that a Saturnalian text need not identify with the target of its humor. Thus, Julian's strategy of starting

from a point of agreement about his ugly beard need not imply any move toward a sense of communitas or group solidarity from the experience of carnival.

33 The philosophical basis of the Misopogon is decidedly Cynic; the iambic elements of its literary delivery are an apt match for such an ethical stance. Billerbeck 1996, 216-20, offers a compact assessment of Julian's relation to Cynicism and situates him in the tradition of other prominent Cynics. See Zanker 1995, 129-33, on the Cynic look. Zanker does not discuss Julian's beard, but he does devote a great deal of space to that of Hadrian, 198-266, whose imperial whiskers form part of the backdrop to Julian's text.

34 These two words (crwcppoouv11 and eA£u6epfcx) appear more frequently in the Misopogon than in any of Julian's other works. Sabbah 1978, 309-11, argues that Julian's physical description of himself serves as a metonymic account of his moral nature.

35 As such, his beard activates the power of "the abject" as analyzed by Kristeva 1982. As will become clear below, the Antiochenes view his facial hair as a symbol of mortal decay and, therefore, their own mortality. Julian looks with similar horror at the male Antiochenes' smooth faces, which (for him) efface all social distinctions (male vs. female; young vs. old). Thus, for them, the beard is an unwelcome reminder of aspects of the human condition which they wish to ignore, while for him it is a bulwark against the putrefaction of anomie.

The emperor's beard

emperor speaks not of binge drinking or gluttonous eating but a moment when his study in Paris became quite humid because of a glitch in the heating system. On his doctor's orders he threw up, instantly felt better, and that was the end of it. Sex, consumption, and evacuation - all normal human activities that become exaggerated and prominent during carnivalesque festivals such as the kalends, are here mitigated in Julian's life, especially because of the presence of his beard. His facial hair forces him to be the sort of person that his philosophical beliefs urge him to be, even as it also becomes the point of contention between himself and

his subjects. It is clear that the Antiochenes pilloried Julian for many perceived

oddities, but he devotes a particularly elaborate and threatening response to their taunt that he should plait ropes from his beard. He playfully tells the people that he would gladly take up their suggestion on one condition (338d):

fiv µ6vov EAKE!V SvvTj8fjTE Kai µfi TCx'j chphnouc; uµwv Kai µaAaKCx'j xelpac; Ti TPaXUTTJCj

mhwv Se1va Epya<JT)Tai

if only you could tug it and its roughness wouldn't chafe your soft and tender hands.

The line recalls the failure of Leiodes, the first of Penelope's suitors to try to string Odysseus' bow in the Odyssey (21.150-51):

ouSe µIV EVTCxVUO'E. nplv yap KCxµE xelpac; CxVEAKWV CxTpiTITOUCj cmaMc;

he didn't string it, because his unworn and tender hands soon tired from pulling.

This connection has been noticed by modern scholars, but its implications, beyond the mere fact of Julian's literary allusion, have not been realized.36

If the people of Antioch are like Penelope's suitors, then Julian is like Odysseus at his most latently dangerous, just before he reveals himself and slaughters the suitors and the treacherous female servants. The emperor and the hero have both arrived in town recently to tepid welcome. Neither is properly recognized as the rightful master, and both plan to restore proper social order and put an end to the protracted revelling in their domains. Our knowledge of what happens next to the suitors serves as an allusive threat to the citizens of Antioch. As with the men who courted

36 Wright 1913 ad Joe.; Long 1993, 16. Note that Dio, too, had likened himself to Odysseus in disguise among the suitors, though without such a menacing tone (33.15). This passage was analyzed at pp. 197-98 above.

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another man's wife, the strands with which the Antiochenes· now toy will

soon become the instrument of their own destruction. Julian's words presage a harsh, epic response from one who has endured unjust treatment in his own home. They also begin the process of depicting the male population as failed men in contrast to Julian's under-appreciated virility.

Like the suitors, they are feckless dandies, whereas the emperor plays the

part of the king who can string the bow, slaughter a small army of rivals, and win back the queen.

In an earlier text, Julian had forged a connection between himself and

another Homeric hero in order to deliver a similarly aggressive message. While still at the rank of Caesar, he composed a panegyric on the emperor, his cousin Constantius II, and he began his speech by likening himself and Constantius to the Iliadic heroes Achilles and Agamemnon respectively (Or. 3.49c). The ominous comparison between the Homeric and imperial

contests for power is obvious.37 But the similarities penetrate far beneath the surface narrative of the Iliad. In the mythical preparation for the war at

Troy, Agamemnon had lured his daughter, Iphigenia, to Aulis with the promise of a marriage to Achilles but with the secret intention of sacrificing her to Artemis for the good of the military expedition. This story of a

murderous royal plot, which deprives a prince of a bride (and thus a future family) and which haunts interactions between Agamemnon and Achilles in the Iliad, is mirrored by Constantius' execution of all of Julian's immediate male relatives (with the exception of Gallus) in a move to consolidate

his control of the empire.38 Both here and in the Misopogon, Julian paints himself as a Homeric hero in order to attack his enemies, though in the latter work the image of the beard conveys a deadly, not just an antagonistic message. 39

After likening himself to the disguised Odysseus, Julian continues in

this threatening vein by further developing the delicate quality of the Antiochenes' hands and skin. In the space of twenty-eight lines, forms of

the word "smooth" (f..elos) appear five times to describe the boyish and effeminate complexion of the men of Antioch, though nowhere else in the

37 As discussed briefly by Athanassiadi-Fowden 1981, 63. . 38 Julian could only express his outrage at this bloody crime after he had broken ties with

Constantius. His most direct complaints about the event are found in his Letter to the Athenians 270a-7lc. Cf. Smith 1995, 187. In its connection between fertility and betrayal, this story pattern is also quite similar to the quarrel between Archilochus and Lycambes, especially in the analysis of Archilochus' use of the fable of "The Fox and the Eagle" proposed by Irwin 1998.

39 Athanassiadi-Fowden 1981, 132-33, notes that in his Or. 7 (Contra Heracleium), Julian works subtly to identify himself with Heracles.

The emperor's beard

rest of Julian's extensive corpus is this word applied to people.40

The sybaritic associations of the Antiochenes' smoothness are countered, however, by Julian's confession that his own chest is shaggy wcnrep Twv

f..e6vTwv, o'imp ~acnf..evovcr1 Twv 6T]piwv, "just like that oflions, who are kings over the lesser beasts" (338b-c).41 The repetition of Ae'l'.os, "smooth," may

draw attention to its orthographic and phonetic similarities to Mwv, "lion." Smoothness no longer stands in opposition only to hairiness, but also to

kingliness and the natural authority of the mighty over the weak.42 The beasts (6T]pla) over which the lion rules, in turn, recall the lice which run throughout Julian's beard "as in a den oflittle beasts (6T]pla)" (338c). Thus the beard, which is the central focus of the emperor's self-abuse, is found to

be an aggressive symbol warning the people of Antioch of his wrath. Not only does Julian liken himself to Odysseus on the verge of proving his true, deadly identity to the suitors, but his beard connects him to the natural

royalty of the lion while relegating the Antiochenes to the niggling role of lice, which are unable to do more than pester and annoy their host.

After mockingly agreeing with the Antiochenes' ridicule of his facial hair, Julian finally offers a positive reason for why he wears a beard (339a):

uµeis 5~ Kai EV T0 yi'Jpc;t (r1AouvTES TOUS uµwv auTWV uleas Kai TclS Suymepas U1TO

c'il3p6T11TOS 13iou Kai fows clTiaAaTTlTOS Tp01TOV AEioV EmµEAWS Epya,ECJ6E, TOV &v5pa

UTIOq>aivoVTES Kai 1Tapa5EJKVVVTES 51c'x TOU µETW1TOU Kai oux wcrmp fiµeis EK TWV

yvc'xewv.

Even in your old age you strive to emulate your sons and daughters in your most luxurious lifestyle and your delicate manners, you fastidiously make your chins smooth, hinting and suggesting your manhood by your brow rather than with your jaws, as I do.

All of these points are picked up later in the text and shape the depictions of both Julian and the people of Antioch: whereas Julian is temperate in all things, the people of Antioch are rapacious and indulgent. He makes this clear as he concludes his discussion of his beard. "If you don't mind, I'll tell

you one more thing: It's not enough for me that my body is lilce this, so

40 Or. l.25c and Or. 2.60b both use A£ios to refer to a level plain upon which a chariot rides smoothly.

41 Dio's abuse of the Tarsians focuses on a similar importance of body hair. Dio claims that the noise made by the Tarsians leads (somehow or other) to an ever-increasing habit of male depilation, until it had become trendy to make even one's genitals smooth.

42 Athanassiadi-Fowden 1981, 145, comments on Or. 8.168b-c that the lion is the Mithraic symbol of fire. I see no compelling reason to believe that Julian intended such a connection to be felt in this passage of the Misopogon, but the possibility certainly exists.

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I also have a very rigorous way of life" (8iamx nayxc:Xt..mos, 339c). Julian's beard, which the Antiochenes view as amusingly boorish, now stands for the differences between their way of life and his. They are so slick and sleek that it is difficult to tell the old men from the girls. As in Dio's depiction of

the Tarsian men, Julian shows the men of Antioch to be androgynous. The loss of distinction between male and female creates a chaos of categoriza

tion that, from Julian's perspective, jeopardizes the city's ability to function properly. The personified voice of Archilochus has once again responded to an affront to his manhood by attacking that of his enemies. This

disagreement about lifestyles and, most pointedly, body hair amounts to a debate over who should be privileged and who should be marginalized in the Empire, a debate in which Julian held nearly all the power.

Of Hellenes and barbarians

Julian's mocking self-abuse and his dripping sarcasm directed at the people of Antioch build toward the goal of casting the populace outside the

bounds of the Hellenic world. On a historical level, Julian's demotion of Caesarea and his plans to return to Tarsus rather than Antioch after his Persian expedition demonstrate that he was ready to use his administrative powers to reconfigure the Eastern Empire. In terms of his literary project, however, his strategy plays out much like that of Lucian's Pseudologista, in

which each of the two antagonists struggles to claim for himself the high

ground of being pepaideumenos and to saddle the other with a barbarous reputation. As a reformer of culture and religion, Julian had a clear vision

of what constituted and what defied his understanding of Hellenism, and it

was his duty as emperor and pontifex maximus to lead the way in restoring and defending the integrity of that system. 43 The viability of the entire

Empire was predicated, in Julian's mind, on the shared cultural heritage of its individual components. If Antioch could not conform to his precepts of Hellenism, then it would no longer enjoy a privileged place in the Empire.44

43 This is to be seen most famously in his edict that barred Christians from teaching rhetoric. Though he admitted that there were Christians of sufficient learning to teach the canon of classical paideia, he nevertheless felt that no one could properly teach these texts to impressionable students without having the spirit of Hellenism in his soul. Julian's educational legislation has been discussed most recently by Banchich 1993.

44 For Julian's conception of Hellenism, I rely heavily on the work Boulfartigue 1991, who shows that the word 'EM11v1aµ6s is not at issue for Julian (it only appears once in all his writings) but that the issues that we associate with Hellenism were deeply rooted in his vision of the world. Of


By the middle of the fourth century, words such as Hellene and Hellenism were regularly being used by Christian writers as the standard

disparaging terminology for pagan and paganism. That is to say that Hellenism was put forward as the degraded religious opposite of a valorized Christianity. As Alan Cameron has shown, Julian enthusiastically embraced this usage, broadened its connotations, turned it on its head, and proudly

held up pagan Hellenism as the good, pure, traditional, and educated culture.45 That is to say, Christianity was now defined as the degraded

cultural opposite of a valorized Hellenism. This forceful counterattack in the war of words meant that the Christian writers who had begun the debate as a way to oppose traditional religion were now caught in a backlash that effectively denied them access to anything associated with Greek culture. Julian put all pre-Christian literature, philosophy, art, and, especially, his

beloved Homer off-limits for anyone who did not also commit to traditional Hellenic religion.46 As we have already seen in Chapter 3, this move was vigorously opposed by Gregory Nazianzen, who felt that he had as much

right to Hellenic paideia as did Julian and argued that there was nothing incompatible between Hellenism and Christianity.47 Julian's bid to distinguish Christianity from Hellenism largely succeeded, though he did not live

long enough to enjoy his victory, and late antique Christianity regularly wrestled with the question of what to do with the Hellenic tradition. In the Misopogon, then, we should not be surprised to find that as Julian publicizes the barbarous aspects of the Antiochenes' way of life he also implies that their city is thoroughly Christianized. These two charges work together to

leave Antioch without a viable role in Julian's empire. We have already seen from Julian's manipulation of his beard that many

of his comments in the Misopogon must be read backwards. When he admits that he is ugly and uncouth compared to the elegant Antiochenes, we should hear a defense of his philosophical rigor and a condemnation of their easy virtue. Such upside-down messages continue as he moves into matters that help determine where he and his subjects fit on the spectrum

particular importance are Bouffartigue' s comments that for Julian "I' ethnie hellene possede des traits anthropologiques ... " (255) and that "la question de l'hellenisme ne peut done pas etre isolee de la question de l'etre Hellene" (265).

45 Cameron 1993, 25-26. 46 Cp. Banchich 1993. 47 Gregory makes his point succinctly at Or. 4.5. Cp. Cameron 1993, 26. Perhaps the best evidence

for the middle ground in this debate is represented by Basil's Oratio ad adolescentes which wrestles with issues surrounding the appropriateness of Greek literature for Christian youth. For more on Basil's assessment of Greek literature, see Wilson 1975. It is interesting to note that the three men who all dealt with this matter, Basil, Gregory, and Julian, spent time together in their student years at Athens.

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that valorizes Hellenism and deplores barbarity. What we will find is that he presents himself and his boyhood tutor as dangerously barbarous and uncultured compared with the suave city of Antioch, but this message, too, must be understood in reverse.

Julian sets up the opposition between the urbane and the uncouth in his

opening words, though it is only in retrospect that the full importance of these categories becomes clear. He contrasts the trends in elite education

(ev TOlS ei\eu6~po1s TfjS 1TaJ8eias TpOlTOS) with the harsh-voiced barbarians across the Rhine, who derive pleasure from their bad singing (337b-c). The former stand in Julian's way of composing in the manner of Alcaeus and Archilochus, and from the latter he draws inspiration to sing on neverthe

less. Thus he already aligns himself with the barbarous faction against the refined strictures in Antioch.48 By the time Julian refers again to barbarians

from the West, he has already made it clear that many of his statements must be inverted. He says that the boorishness (&ypo1Kia) of the Celts around Lutetia (Paris) allowed them to accept his strange personal habits, but the city of Antioch, which has more mimes than citizens, is too

"prosperous and content" (eu8aiµwv Ka\ µaKap!a) to put up with such nonsense (342a-b). When we invert this comparison, we understand that those barbarians from Gaul, despite their rusticity, embraced the ideals of Julian's Hellenism far more than the superficial Antiochenes.

When Julian returns to these themes, he does so in a slightly different vein but with the same ultimate point. He apologizes to the people of Antioch for his tense relationship with them and takes full responsibility

for not being better prepared to deal with the city's long-established

character (e~ O:pxfls To Tfjcr8e Tfjs 1T6i\ews Tj6os, 347a). He then pins the origin of that character to a story about Antioch us, the eponymous ancestor of the city and son of its founder, Seleucus II.49 As he tells his tale, we

48 As noted by Agosti 2001, 227-28. 49

Making reference to a city's founder is part of the standard rhetoric for praising a city (e.g., Men. Rh. 346.26-29). Marcone 1984 saw this scene as the beginning ofJulian's "panegirico rovesciato," a particularly attractive argument in light of the alternate title, 1ivT10x1K6s, which suggests (but never delivers) a civic panegyric. Long 1993, 18, argues that this is not actually the case, since "Julian does not deploy [the Antiochus story] within an invective structure aimed primarily at [the Antiochenes]." While this is technically true, it is quite cl,ear that Julian has crafted everything within the text to reflect badly upon the people of Antioch. Julian elsewhere so closely adheres to the standard rhetorical forms that Athanassiadi-Fowden 1981, 61, suggests that his panegyric of Constantius "follows so faithfully the model of the basi/ikos logos established by Menander, that it arouses the suspicion that its author saw in slavish imitation the only way of absolving himself from the charge of lying." In his First Tarsian Dia Chrysostom begins his abusive treatment of Tarsus by manipulating the standard praise of a city's founder. The parallels between the two civic harangues are striking, as noted by Said 2000,


realize that his apology amounts to another statement of the Antiochenes' inability to conform to proper Hellenic norms. In his demeaning characterization of Antiochus, based most directly on Plutarch's version of this

well-known tale, Julian traces the current licentiousness of the city back to the depraved lust of its early ancestor, a portrayal of a city that is truly

'A ' "lik A t' h "50 VT1ox1Kos, e n 10c us. The emperor recalls how Antiochus fell in love with his stepmother

(named Stratonice in other versions but left anonymous in the Misopogon) and became sick with longing. In a scene that looks back to Euripides'

Hippolytus, Julian describes the physical weakness and suffering which Antiochus endured because of his lust.51 Just as Phaedra's passion for her stepson is discovered by her response to Hippolytus' name (Hipp. 307-12), so Antiochus is diagnosed (by the famous physician Erasistratus, no less) by

his feverish reaction to the presence of his stepmother (347c-48a). And just as Julian attributes the present insolence of the Antiochenes to the character of their ancestral founder, so Phaedra states that her passion for Hippolytus

is the result of an old, inherited family curse (343). In the Euripidean tale of incestuous love, Phaedra is a pawn in Aphrodite's

bid to punish Hippolytus, who does not respect her divine power. 52 In Julian's reworking of this story pattern, the gender roles have been switched, and Hippolytus' asceticism is replaced by Antiochus' effeminate lust. The young

man in Julian's story has more in common with Phaedra and her unbridled longing than with Hippolytus. The Euripidean hero suffered for being too austere and perversely self-controlled (like Julian in the eyes of the Antio

chenes); and he has been replaced by a depraved ruler who gives himself over

169, but while Julian abuses a human forefather, Dia claims that Tarsus' founding duo, Heracles and Perseus, would be too embarrassed to visit the city in its current condition (Or. 33.47). On the connection between Julian and Dia, see also Smith 1995, 134 and 186. In maligning Antiochus for being morally corrupt, Julian is embellishing a point which does not figure prominently in Plutarch's portrayal of the Hellenistic ruler. Most sources depict Antioch us as a vigorous and successful leader. For a thorough assessment of his career, see Ma 2002, and cf.

Kuhrt and Sherwin-White 1991. 50 In addition to Plutarch's account (Dem. 38), the story can also be found in Appian (Syr. 59-61),

Lucian (Syr. d. 17-18., Icar. 15), and Valerius Maximus (5.7). For an overview of the different accounts, see Breebaart 1967.

51 The connection with Phaedra is made explicit by Lucian (Syr. d. 23) and is discussed by

Lightfoot 2003, 373-79. 52 Euripides had composed an earlier version of this story in which Phaedra's lust did not derive

from any divine source. This first Euripidean Hippolytus was remembered as having failed in large part because of Phaedra's lecherous character. Euripides' extant play is unique among the sources for this myth in relieving Phaedra of all responsibility for her passion. Barrett 1964,

10-31 and esp. 30-31, surveys the evidence.

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to the unbridled passion more expected in a woman (like the Antiochenes in

the eyes of the emperor). Unlike the tragic drama, however, there is no immediate disaster to end Julian's tale. Antiochus simply marries his stepmother. The fallout comes much later in the form of the entrenched depravity

of the city to which Antioch us gave his name. Antioch is heir to Antiochus' inappropriate passions, which are made all the more unmanly through their

recollection of Phaedra. Tragic drama has become tragic history. Beyond the obvious inappropriateness of falling in love with the wife of

one's father or the son of one's husband, the comparison between Antiochus and Hippolytus also highlights the theme of barbarism. Hippolytus' excessive devotion to hunting and his abhorrence of sexuality violated traditional behavioral norms, and the root of his perversion is best explained by the fact that his mother was an Amazon and thus a barbarian.

Hippolytus' maternal ancestry prevents him from properly fulfilling the role of a young (urban, sexual) Greek male. The case of Antioch suggests a

close parallel. Julian believed that every people had a historically determined character, but Antioch's ethos is warped in its origins in a way that taints the city with a barbaric and effeminate stain and prevents it from

fulfilling its proper Hellenic role. Julian shows that the local population is deeply and anthropologically predisposed toward a violation of norms that veers away from acceptable behavior, and the wholesale deviation from Greek ways is the essence of barbarity.

Having set out the theme of barbarian virtue early in the Misopogon and followed it up with this shameful tale about Antiochus, Julian returns the focus to himself in order to reveal another scandalous bit of information. Although in his speech praising the Empress Eusebia he had claimed to be a Hellene, in the Misopogon he admits that he is a Thracian (348d; cp.

350c).s3 The Thracians were typically thought of as a wild and barbarous people, and Julian's alleged ancestry stands in stark contrast to Antiochus' elegant but debauched character.s4

But there is more. Traditionally the only people more barbarous than the Thracians were the Scythians, and Julian soon confesses that his childhood mentor came from this quintessentially barbarous tribe.ss Here we find the

ambivalent extreme in Julian's game of opposing Hellenic and barbaric

s3 On this passage, see Bouffartigue 1991, 261.

s4 For the connection between Thrace and iambos, see p. 65.

ss This image of the Scythians in the Greek imaginaire can be traced back to the fourth book of Herodotus' Histories, but the contrapuntal idea of the Scythian "noble savage," most often embodied in the figure of Anacharsis (on whom, see Kindstrand 1981 and, more recently, Richter 2011, 161-75), also enjoyed wide currency.


themes, because he vaunts his tutor in two mutually exclusive directions (35 la-52b ). Julian identifies him by confessing that he has the same name as

the man who persuaded Xerxes to invade Greece: Mardonius. Between his Scythian origins and this connection with the prototypical barbarian invasion, Julian's teacher now looks like a barbarian extraordinaire. And yet

Julian also gives full credit to this Mardonius for molding his cultural and literary ideals, i.e., his Hellenism. Thus the overdetermined barbarian is found to be virtually a culture-hero and the ultimate source ofJ ulian' s vision for the Empire. Once again, Julian has turned the tables on his surface

message: those who seem barbaric (Julian himself and his Scythian tutor Mardonius) are shown to be the true Hellenes, while the prosperous and successful Antiochenes (like their eponymous ancestor) are depraved.

One of the last stories that Julian tells brings to a close this series of oppositions between Hellenism and barbarism: the fable about the Kite that tried to neigh like a Horse (366a-b; Perry 396 = Babrius 73). In its attempt

to change its voice, the bird forgot its native tongue but was unable to master its new mode of speech. The result was that the bird could only muster a rough rasping sound. The use of an animal fable, as Julian well knew, is one of the hallmarks of iambic writing, and the general message of such a fable in context is usually clear.s6 In the Misopogon, however, the interpretation of

this fable is complicated by Julian's professed self-abuse, since he claims that the fable offers a lesson primarily for himself (366b). As such it must indicate that emperor would gain nothing and jeopardize nearly everything

by trying to change his ways, but once again he also uses himself as a decoy for messages intended for the people of Antioch. Given the litany of barbarisms he has strung together earlier in his narrative, this fable hints ominously that the people of Antioch have (in figurative terms, of course)

nearly lost their power of rational speech, and it is the inability to communicate verbally that lies behind the etymology of the Greek word j3apj3apos,

i.e., the person who cannot speak but only repeats inarticulate sounds. In retrospect, however, Julian should have paid more attention to the

semantic pliability of his fable. Even had he survived the Persian campaign,

his program of religious and administrative reform was doomed to failure because his empire, much like the Kite, was in no position to change its

s6 Although an aTvos typically admits (perhaps even demands) a variety of non-exclusive interpretations, it seems clear that embedded in iambos a particular aTvos bears a pointed and clear message for its original audience (if not for us). For a detailed survey of fables in their literary contexts, see van Dijk 1997, 121-384 (esp. 138-50 for Archilochus and Semonides). Zanetto 2001, 67: " ... the aTvos is a rhetorical device that a speaker adopts when addressing his interlocutor in a polemical tone and with an aggressive attitude."

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character to suit an abstract ideal. Julian's supporters, such as Libanius, and

his personal heroes, such as Marcus Aurelius, all understood better than the emperor himself that a rarefied and high-minded approach to Hellenic culture would appeal to many among the philosophically educated elite but

would never find broadly based support. This is not to say that the empire was too devoted to Christianity by this time to embrace paganism once again, but rather that neither pagans nor Christians (identities that

were not so totalizing and exclusive as my usage here implies) were ready to accept his brand of ascetic, philosophical Hellenism.57

In the Misopogon, then, Julian accepts the uncivilized portrait of himself, which the Antiochenes had popularized during the kalends, not just as a symbol of his philosophical lifestyle but as proof of his own refined and

Hellenic identity in contrast to the scurrilous and barbaric ways of the people of Antioch. There is a careful logic to Julian's text, but it is a logic that

demands that things be inverted before they make proper sense. This semantic instability is not, however, randomly chosen, and the topsy-turvy rules of the kalends of January pervade Julian's text and condition its message.

Carnival at Antioch

Under ordinary circumstances, Julian would not have dealt with a fractious city in this way. As he says in his letter to his uncle, he did not approve of spealdng "from the cart," which makes his satirical turn in the Misopogon all the more surprising. And as the Christian historian Sozomen recounts, Julian had summarily demoted Caesarea without any such literary flourish when that population showed itself unwilling to abandon Christianity

(HE 5.4.1-5). Julian's decision to turn his pen so fiercely (if facetiously) against himself in the Misopogon, therefore, is best understood through the influence of the carnival atmosphere of the kalends of January. His response to this festival determined much of his overall strategy in the Misopogon as ~ell as many points of detail. 58 In particular, his self-abuse

will now become meaningful as more than a witty game about his beard or an ironic revelation that those who seem to be barbarians are actually the cultured elite (and vice versa). Beyond these points, Julian's acceptance of

57 One might compare Gregory Nazianzen's excessively optimistic claim that Christianity had so permeated the Empire by Julian's reign that his attempts to destabilize the "Galilean" religion were tantamount to endangering the Empire itself (Or. 4.74).

58 As first demonstrated by Gleason 1986.

Carnival at Antioch

the Antiochenes' mockery works as a reiteration of his claim to power. The

butt of carnival humor is catapulted to the top of the social hierarchy and power structure once festival time gives way to ordinary time.

In evaluating Julian's stay in their city, the people of Antioch had accused the emperor of turning the world upside down ( 0T1 Trap' eµe Ta Tou Kocrµou

Trpayµma &vmfrpaTrTal, 360d), and theMisopogon starts from this premise that brings the carnivalesque spirit of the kalends into his narrative in a

variety of ways. For the Roman emperor to attack himself represents a fascinating topsy-turvyness in and of itself, but Julian describes a world in which nearly everything is out of place, backward, and chaotic. Some of

these elements closely parallel notions of the carnival grotesque that are more familiar from medieval festivals in the West. Sex, gluttony, excretion, animals behaving like humans, and fuzzy boundaries between categories such as male and female, old and young - these are the hallmarks of the.

liberating anarchy of carnival, and all of them are present in the Misopogon. While such tawdry themes have a certain salacious attraction on their

own, Julian weaves them into a story cobbled together with strategically misapplied words. Throughout, he pounds a steady rhythm oflanguage that

is rooted in the traditional and highly standardized jargon of Greek behavioral norms. Yet none of the connections that these words ought to establish between ethics, civic virtues, and Hellenized ideals works as it should. For example, ei\eu6epia, "freedom," which had been a key term in political

theorizing for centuries, is everywhere applied to the licentious lifestyle of the people of Antioch; forms of crwcppocruvri are equated with "prudery" or "stodginess" by the Antiochenes, whereas Julian understands the traditional meaning of "moderation" or "prudence;" and at the opposite end of the

spectrum, words like 8oui\Eia, "slavery," are consistently applied to Julian's devotion to law and order, the traditional pantheon of gods, and his austere brand of philosophical living.59 We can also see this surprising use of 8oui\ela in reverse in reference to the Antiochenes' liberality: "I think that

you are so happy because you are free from all slavery (8oui\Eia) first from the power of the gods, then from the laws and third from me, who am guardian of the laws" (356d). The terms of this debate are thus all wrong.

The subjects have more freedom than the ruler; the king is a slave; and this

59 Within the Misopogon, these words appear quite frequently: forms of Ei\w0epla/E7'Eu0epos: 337b, 343c, 343d, 345b, 345c, 349c, 355b, (twice), 355c (four times), 356b (three times), 356d, 359c 37lb; forms related to 8oui\Ela/8oi\os: 343a, 343c, 343d, 356c, 356d, 361a; forms of crui<ppocruvT)/

crw<ppuiv: 342d (twice), 343a, 343b (three times), 343c, 344d, 345b, 346a, 350c, 351c, 354a, 354b,

356a,356c,358a,364c,364d,365b,365d.

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standard lexical pairing of independence and subjugation has been applied 1 h . d' 'al60 in a way that makes sense on y on t e comic stage or unng carmv .

All these terms come together when Julian puts a discussion of crc.ucppocruvri into the mouths· of the people of Antioch that is directed back at the emperor (343a-c):

El 5' OlTOloV au vuv ElTlTTl5EUEIS EaTiv, ElTiCJTaa6ai µev OT! 6EOJS XPii 5ouAEUEIV Kai v6µ01s ...

ira15aywyEiV 5e aUTOV, ws ev5exETal, Kai awcppovi~EIV' El 5e Kai TOUTO TIS epyov 6E'i'To

awcppoaUVT]S> C:rnexmeai lTCxaT]s fi5ovf\s OU i\iav C:rnpmous ou5' ElTOVEJ5iCJTOU 50KOUaT]s EV

T(i'l cpavEp(i'l, mm1aµevos ws ouK EaTIV l5i<;X awcppovEiv Kai i\Cx6p<;i Tov 5T]µoai<;i Kai cpavEpws

CxKOAaaTOV Elva! 6EAOVTa Kai TEplTOµEVOV TOJS 6Empo1s· El 5fi oi'.iv OVTWS Ti awcppoaUVT]

TOIOUTOV ECJTIV, air6i\wi\as µev aUTOS, airoi\AUEIS 51: fiµas OUK avExoµevous CxKOUEIV irp6:>TOV

ovoµa 5ou/..Eias OUTE irpos 6EOVS OUTE irpos v6µous· fi5u y6:p EV iraa1 TO EAEU6Epov.

If [ awcppoauvT]] is like what you practice - knowing that one must be enslaved to the

gods and the laws ... and also train oneself, as much as possible, to be temperate -

and if also someone makes it the proof of awcppoauvT] to abstain from every pleasure

even if it is not excessively inappropriate or deemed blameworthy in public (since

you are convinced that it is impossible to be temperate in private while at the same

time, openly and in public, wanting to be unrestrained and delighting in spectacles) -

if, then, awcppoauvT] is truly such a thing as this, then you have destroyed yourself

and you are destroying us who cannot endure hearing even the name of slavery

whether to the gods or the laws. For freedom is sweet in all things.

So great is the ideological gap between Julian and Antioch that these cornerstones of the Greek cultural code - freedom, piety, and temperance -are here confused in a jumble of absurdities. By showing the Antiochenes to be devoted only to an extreme form of ei\eu6epia, offended by the idea of 5oui\ela even to the gods and the law, and disinterested in crc.ucppocruvri

altogether, Julian effectively counters the Antiochenes' original charge against him: he has not turned the world upside down ... they have.

From Julian's perspective, the most damning proof of the Antiochenes' "freedom" from "slavery" is their rejection of traditional religion. In the emperor's opinion, every people had their own divine patrons, though such gods were ultimately subordinate to the one supreme god of the universe. Thus, for example, Julian saw Judaism as a legitimate religion, since the Jewish people were simply following their own proper and ancient customs; their mistake was in believing that their god ·was the god. Christianity, however, presented a completely different case, since its

60 This sarcastic inversion of the true meaning of words can be paralleled by Julian's menacing use of qni\av6pwnla in a threat to a certain Hecebolius to avoid "rousing our royal benevolence" (Ti]v i]µETepav tpti\av6po:mlav Ktvi]aaVTes) lest the emperor sentence him to death (Ep. 115.425a Bidez). 1

i

J

Carnival at Antioch

recent rejection of ancestral devotion and its creation of a new form of worship amounted to a radical rebellion against true religion. This attitude toward Christianity explains how Julian could so easily combine the personal details of the Antiochene way of life with larger matters of religion. Local customs about grooming, for example, are the small-scale manifestations of Antioch's rejection of traditional religion in favor of its fractious devotion to Christianity. Julian's strategy thus follows those of Dio and Lucian in finding telling connections between details of personal comportment and adornment with sweeping claims about cultural or professional identity. So when Julian claims that the people "love Christ as their city's guardian (Tioi\1ouxos)" (357c), we can understand his assessment of their other failings - their extravagant and effeminate tastes, their barbaric habits, their failure to understand his dream for the Empire - as the natural and logical ramifications of this fundamental religious error.

One particularly apt example of Julian's strange use of language in the Misopogon moves us from a narrow focus on lexical detail and prepares the way for his more rollicking accounts of carnival behavior. After comparing himself to Menander's grumpy and misanthropic Dyskolos, Julian offers what amounts to a parodic definition of manly virtue (342b):

'Epu6p1av y6:p lTpETIEI TOJS avav5po1s, ElTEi TOJS YE av5pEl01s, &amp uµEis, EW6EV

KWµa~EIV, VUKTWp fi5uira6Eiv, OT! TWV v6µwv umpopaTE µfi Mycp 515aaKEIV, &MO:

TOJS epyo1s EV5EIKvua6ai

A blush of modesty only befits the weak. For manly men like yourselves, it is

proper to party from dawn till dusk, to enjoy pleasure by night, and to make plain

both in word and deed that you look down on the laws.

Self-restraint, prudence, moderation, piety, and devotion won't get you ahead in this city where decadence reigns supreme. During the kalends of January celebration, Antioch proudly enacts the antithesis of proper civic life. This is, of course, the main attraction of carnival celebrations, but Julian clearly feels that the festivities went too far in 363, and he accuses the city of engaging in this sort of uproarious festival behavior on a regular basis.

With this idea of protracted carnival behavior in mind, we can now make better sense of the "progressive" traits that Julian ascribes to the people of Antioch. For example, in his taunt about the Antiochenes' delicate hands (338d), Julian not only suggests that he is like Odysseus about to unleash his murderous wrath, but he also associates the Antiochenes with Penelope's suitors, men who feasted all day at another's expense. In case we missed this connection, he later likens the Antiochenes to the Phaeacians, those expert partiers from the Odyssey who ended up living in an isolated non-reality and who were more adept at refreshing

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their linens and changing their outfits than boxing or wrestling (342c-d).61

The suitors, the Phaeacians, and the Antiochenes have all chosen to remain

permanently in a festival lifestyle that ought to be temporary. And in

Julian's comparisons, Antioch should fear that it, too, will be excluded

from participation in the Greek world as were these other groups.

Julian goes on to add more personal detail to his critique. With mock

confusion stemming from his lack of fashion sense, he complains that the

men of Antioch are so completely depilated, so decadently groomed, and so

nattily attired that a traditionalist such as himself cannot distinguish the old

men from the young, or even, in some cases, the men from the women (342c).

And as for these women, who ought to be under the watchful eye of their male

kin, Julian says that in Antioch they largely govern themselves (356b). The

situation is even worse with the animals. He claims that camels and donkeys

are "led through the porticoes like brides" and that no one would dare kick

these animals out of the elegant and shaded colonnades for fear of comprom

ising the beasts' freedom. The complete liberality of the people of Antioch is

proved by their support for their asses' independence, and the traditionally

positive associations of efleu6epia are perverted by being taken to an absurd

extreme.62 This snowballing "freedom" from all limitation and restraint for

men, women, and, finally, animals bespeaks a descent into a social morass

where no philosophically minded ruler such as Julian could ever feel at home.

In his comments about animals Julian may allude to a passage from Plato's

Republic in which the nadir of specifically democratic license (efleu6epia Tou

TIAi)6ous) is reached when slaves share their master's freedom and when

horses and asses knock any human out of the road who refuses to make way

for them (563b-c).63 Reading the Misopogon with the political theory of the

Republic in mind paints Antioch in the image of Plato's worst-case chaotic

democracy. In that imagined city excessive freedom leads to a social break

down and, ultimately, anarchy. The city wallows in anomie and desperately

needs the strong guidance of an enlightened autocrat, someone who will take

back some of that efleu6epla and give stability and structure in return.

Julian's evocation of Plato reveals a crux that calls into question any

consistent reading of the text, because his classical Athenian model presents

61 Buffiere 1956, 319-22, discusses the later ancient tradition of castigating the Phaeacians as prototypes of the Epicurean lifestyle, a perspective already apparent at Hor. Ep. 1.2.27-31.

62 In this passage, in which Julian assumes the voice and perspective of the Antiochenes, he explains that the character of this city is "excessively free" (~Aeu0epov i'.kxv, 355c). In this brief paragraph, forms of ~Aeu0eplcx appear six times.

63 Plato makes a similar point in the Laws (627a): "In whichever cities the better people (oi &µeivoves) subdue the masses (To nAfj0os) and the lower class (Taus xelpovs), the city may rightly be said to overcome itself ... where the opposite happens, we must give the opposite verdict."

Carnival at Antioch

two very different scenarios. On the one hand, his appeal to Plato must

derive in large part from the typical reverence that classicizing authors felt

for the Athens of yesteryear. As Bregman puts it: "For Julian, fourth century

C.E. Athens is 'mystically' linked with fourth century B.C.E. Athens."64 I do

not mean to imply that Julian did not know the contemporary city. Indeed,

he had been initiated at Eleusis and had spent time in Athens as a student

(together with the future Christian leaders Gregory Nazianzen and Basil of

Caesarea). Rather, his adulation is preconditioned by the city's famous past.

In the Misopogon he says that he has found the Athenians to be "the most

noble and humane" of all the Greeks (348c); and in his Letter to the Athenians, a text from 361 designed to curry favor as he prepared for an

anticipated showdown (which never ultimately came to pass) with Con

stantius, he claims that "it would be hard to find another people and city who

are such lovers (epacnai) of just words and deeds" (269b ).65 He backs up this

point with standard praise for the likes of Themistocles and Aristides. The

greatness that was Athens sits up straight at one end of the spectrum, and the

disappointment that is contemporary Antioch slouches around the other.

On the other hand, a less glowing aspect of Julian's Platonic reference

creeps into this simple opposition between Athenian nobility and Antio

chene degeneracy. Plato's description of the excessively democratic city

bears many disturbing resemblances to Athenian radical democracy, the

regime that gave power to demagogues like Cleon and sentenced all of its

best military leaders to death after the battle of Arginusae. Thus Antioch

cannot be beaten with this Platonic stick without recognizing that that stick

had originally been designed for Plato's Athens. From this perspective, a

surprisingly close connection emerges between classical Athens and

Antioch of Julian's day. Other parallels can easily be adduced. For example,

Plato accused Athens of being a "theatrocracy" (Leg. 701a), while Julian says

that the Antiochenes know of Plato, Socrates, and Aristotle only from seeing

them ridiculed on the comic stage (353b), so Antioch, too, is something of a

theatrocracy (though Julian shows that in typical Roman fashion the race

track served as an equally or even more important center of civic life).66

Plato was not alone in his condemnation of Athenian radical democracy.

The so-called Old Oligarch opens his Constitution of Athens with the

complaint that the lower-classes ( Tiovripol) have usurped the rightful power

64 Bregman 1997, 358. 65 The image of Athenians as lovers (i:pcxcncxl) of their city and way of life derives from

Thucydides' famous account of Pericles' funeral oration of 431/30. 66 References to comic theater abound in the Misopogon. Heather Vincent presented an excellent

study of the comic and satirical aspects of the text at the annual meeting of the American Philological Association in 2008 titled "Comic Technique in Julian's Misopogon."

291


of the Athenian nobility (xpTJo"Toi) ( 1.1). Aristotle makes a similar point in

his Politics, arguing that a government in which artisans and merchants

have a significant voice cannot attain virtue or stability (1319a26-30).67

Even without invoking the plentiful comic evidence, then, we can see a

significant branch of political theorizing that viewed Athenian democracy

as an inversion of traditional power structures. Democratic Athens was

upside down, and we can understand both Athens and Antioch as

examples of cities in which the appropriate and effective governmental

structure has been replaced by less efficient models.

In a brilliant article exploring the surprising absence of Athenian comedy

from Bakhtin's theories of carnival humor, Edwards has gone so far as to

suggest that democratic Athens was in a state of protracted carnival: "The

establishment of the demos as sovereign through its power in the assembly

and courts resulted in what seemed to some a saturnalian state, in effect

institutionalizing the misrule offestival and marketplace ... "68 In the years

after Ephialtes' democratic reforms in the 460's BCE, populist leaders and

upstart politicians gained more and more power at the expense of conserva

tive aristocrats. In Edwards' formulation, t?is left the aristocratic authors of

politicized Old Comedy in a complicated position. On the one hand, they

were attacking elites, such as Cleon, and were thus engaging in a type of

anti-authoritarian festival anarchy. On the other hand, they were taking

shots almost exclusively at that new class ofleaders (rather than aristocrats,

such as Nicias) whose power itself represents a usurpation and overturning

of traditional hierarchies. The situation in Antioch is surely similar: the

people of Antioch accuse Julian of turning the world upside down, but from

his perspective, all his efforts (lilce those of many Athenian comic poets, in

Edwards' model) are aimed at restoring the proper social structures that

Antioch had recklessly overturned. For Julian, then, an allusion to Plato's

complaints about Athenian democratic license simultaneously participates

in the glorification of classical Athens and establishes an unsettling parallel

between its social problems and those of Antioch.

The tension between Julian's admiration for past Athenian greatness and

the implicit (perhaps even unintended) parallel between the political dynam

ics of Athenian democracy and contemporary Antioch need not be resolved.

Inversion festivals celebrate social distinctions even as they are temporarily

obliterated; they rearticulate hierarchies by joyously flattening them for a short

67 Such complaints about the current state of affairs can be found much earlier than classical Athens. For example, Theognis 53-58 laments that the riff-raff of Megara have become the new aristocracy (ayaeol), while the nobility (eo6i\ol) have become disenfranchised (5e1i\ol).

68 Edwards, 2002, esp. 37.

Conclusions

while. Bakhtin notes that carnival rhetoric "was always essentially ambivalent;

it closely combined praise and abuse, it glorified and humiliated."69 So if

Julian's text is, as Gleason has argued, a response in kind to the mockery that

was enacted during the festival of the kalends of January, then we can

understand this ambivalence between structure and anarchy within the Misopogon as a dynamic unity. The two visions of society play with one another

within the festive rhetoric, even though the emperor himself clearly anticipates

a return to ordinary time and the imperial power structure atop which he sits.

Conclusions

In this strange text, Julian experiments with speaking "from the cart" in

order to counter the Antiochenes' taunts during the festival of the kalends of .

January, and he does so by adapting the abusive tradition of iambic literature

to the carnivalesque world of the New Year's festival. He takes up themes

from his subjects' insulting jokes and skits, particularly those about his

beard, and constructs a response in which his anger conforms to the

carnivalesque logic of the festival. After invoking and explaining his connec

tion to the archaic exemplars of f.018opia he twists his rough and prickly

whiskers against the Antiochenes' soft and effeminate hands. He begins from

a point of aesthetic agreement about his beard's unattractiveness, but then

quickly uses his ugly facial hair as a demonstration of the vast difference

between his philosophical grounding in traditional Greek ethics and their

deviant habits, which erode social boundaries. This erosion of boundaries

and norms leads to a valorization of Julian's coarse and manly virtue against

the barbarous decadence he found in Antioch. From the emperor's perspec

tive, then, Antioch has shown itself to be permanently addicted to the sorts of

social and ethical inversions that should only be allowed during the festival

of the kalends of January (if at all). His Misopogon moves from the festive

inversion of the kalends and threateningly hints at a realignment that would

exclude Antioch's deviance from Julian's reformed and revitalized empire.

Into this exchange in which both the people of Antioch and the emperor

claim that the other has overthrown the proper order of things, we can add

the telling detail that, according to Ammianus, the people had heckled

Julian by calling him a Cercops (i.e., one of the Cercopes).7° If this report is

69 Bakhtin 1984, 418. 70 Amm. Marc. 22.14.3: Ridebatur enim ut Cercops, homo brevis, humeros extentans angustos et

barbam prae se ferens hircinam, grandiaque incedens tamquam Oti frater et Bphialtis, quorum

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correct, then we can hear something of Antioch's own verbal aggression

unmediated by Julian, and in likening the emperor to these impish rascals the Antiochenes have mobilized a traditional iambic theme of their own that goes back to Archilochus. As discussed in the two preceding chapters,

the Cercopes also figured in Dio's Archilochean harangue of the people of Tarsus, where he warned that city that their regional rivals were calling

them a bunch of Cercopes, and in Lucian's hyper-iambic Pseudologista, in which the seriousness of the text's core conflict is undermined by our final glimpse of the Narrator as Heracles the Blackass and the Critic as a

laughing Cercops. Within the kalends ofJanuary festival, the Antiochenes' jab attacks Julian's appearance, undermines his auctoritas, and denies him

any consequential power through normal channels by re-imagining him as a hairy, monkey-like imitation of the human form.

Such jests were standard fare during the kalends of January festival, but

what makes this exchange remarkable is Julian's apparent refusal to let such comments pass as ephemera of festival license. Instead, he has mockingly embraced his role, assigned to him by the citizenry, as one of the Cercopes while menacingly reminding his subjects that with the end of

the festival, the normal social hierarchies must be created anew. But that is not to say that what happened during the period of carnival is forgotten. The Cercopes gained new insight about the world when they were turned upside down, and the kalends has provided Julian with a similar experience. He has now realized that Antioch is in a permanent state of carnival,

and that the city will not have the privileged place in his empire that he had once imagined. Rather than transforming Antioch into a "city of marble," he soon left it under the control of a brutal lieutenant, and were it not for

Julian's death on his Persian campaign, the city might well have suffered further sanctions. Instead, the demise of Julian's vision for the Empire

allowed the city to carry on with its unruly ways. A generation later, the Christian bishop and orator John Chrysostom would inveigh against the sinful excesses of the kalends of January from a perspective as austere and conservative as Julian's, but in his homilies, the kalends of January was now a sign not of Antioch's permissive Christianity, but of its persistent

devotion to permissive pagan holdovers.71

proceritatem Homerus in i11mensum to/lit . .. "He was mocked as a Cercops, a midget, stretching out his narrow shoulders, wearing a goatee, taking giant steps as if the brother of Otus and Ephialtes, whom Homer described as enormous ... " Ammianus describes these taunts as responses to the Misopogon, but this is surely back-to-front.

71 For John Chrysostom's treatment of the kalends of January, see Graf 2011.

Interlude 6 Iambic time travel: Julian the Egyptian ·on Archilochus

Sepulchral epigram was a major industry in the ancient world. The seventh book of the Palatine Anthology preserves well over seven hundred examples, so it is no great surprise that we have about a dozen such dealing with Archilochus and Hipponax. 1 Most are from the Hellenistic and early

imperial eras, but two, by Julian the Egyptian, were composed in the sixth century during a classicizing renaissance under Justinian (ruled 527-65).

In many ways they do little more than reiterate standard tricks and tropes of this well-worn epigrammatic form, but Julian does present some innov

ations related to the theme of becoming Archilochean that has been

explored in the preceding chapters. AP 7.69

KeppepE 5e1µaAEl]V uAaKfiv VEKUEO"O"IV laMwv,

T;5ri qip!KaAfov 5el5161 Kai au VEKUV

'Apxit.oxos Te0vriKe· qiuA6aaeo 0uµ6v !aµpwv

5p1µuv, TI!Kpox6t.ou TIKT6µevov aT6µaTos.

ofoea pofis KEivo10 µeya aeevos, EUTE J\uKaµpew

Vl]US µla O"OI 51aaas i;yaye 0uymepas.

Cerberus, hurling ferocious barks at corpses,

now you too should fear a frightful shade; Archilochus is dead. Guard against the pungent wrath

of his iambs, born from his bitter-angry mouth.

You know the great might of his shout, since one boat brought you both Lycambes' daughters.

AP 7.70

vuv TIAfov ii To Tiapo16e TiuAas KpaTEpoTo pepe0pou

1iµµaa1v &ypuTivo1s Tp1aae qiullaaae Kuov.

el yap qieyyos EAE!1TOV aAUO"Kcl~OUO"a! laµpwv

&yp1ov 'Apx1Mxou qiMyµa J\uKaµp1a5es,

m';':is OUK &v 1TpoAi1TOI O"KOTlc.:>v 1TUAEwvas evauAc.:>V

VEKpOS OTIOS, qieuywv Tappos emapoAll]s;

1 For which, see Rosen 2007a. 295

296 Iambic time travel: Julian the Egyptian on Archilochus

Now more than before, guard the gate of the dread pit

with your wakeful eyes, triple-dog.

For if the Lycambids have left the light to avoid

the fierce heat of Archilochus' iambs,

won't every corpse leave the gates of the dark

abode, fleeing the horror of his attack?

The majority of sepulchral epigrams, including most of those dealing with Archilochus and Hipponax, play with the fiction of standing before the grave of the deceased, and the experience of being transported to the final resting place of the famous or beloved person testifies somehow or other to the person's character or the author's style. Indeed, the evocation of the grave's physical presence is a primary trope of most sepulchral epigrams. Thus Gaetulicus sets his poem (AP 7.71, 1st century CE) on a shore that suggests Paros itself, describes Archilochus' bitterness, and recalls how well Lycambes knew the sting of his invective, since it drove his (uniquely, in this case, three) daughters to hang themselves. And Hadrian's two lines (AP 7.674) are set at the grave of Archilochus and tell how the Muses steered the Parian toward invective in order to favor Homer - a supremely backhanded compliment and yet another example of someone spurning or degrading the value of iambos.

Some of the epigrams on the iambists also revive and rework the gender dynamics implicit in iambic poetics that have been touched on frequently in the preceding pages. Dioscorides (AP 7.351, 3rd century BCE) and Meleager (or anon., AP 7.352, 1st century BCE?) both allow the daughters of Lycambes to speak through their verses. As the dead girls proclaim their innocence, we first hear a simple condemnation of Archilochus, who should not have attacked them. But upon further reflection, we realize that they are sadly just playing into Archilochus' original strategy. If they had really been brazen whores, they would not have made fitting targets for marriage plans or bitter abuse from a jilted lover. The girls deserve invective, that is, precisely because they were virtuous targets.

But as in my analysis in Chapter 5 of the poem about Philaenis by the !cxµ~ono16s Aeschrion, two more issues inform these epigrams. On the one hand, Archilochus had tried to recoup the insult to his manhood that resulted from the canceled marriage by turning to invective. As he slandered the girls and Lycambes and presented himself as a rake, he aims to have the last word. Lycambes does not speak at all, and in the Cologne Epode the younger daughter ofLycambes only has voice enough to suggest (unsuccessfully) that Archilochus have his way with Neobule rather than

Iambic time travel: Julian the Egyptian on Archilochus

with her. These voices from beyond the grave in the sepulchral epigrams of Dioscorides and Meleager, therefore, foil his plan and, once again, unman him by giving his female victims a voice. But the epigrammatists have taken over those voices and spoken through them. They, too, now speak like females and thereby draw themselves into the ongoing gender-bending games of iambos. And just as I suggested in the case of Aeschrion, even as these poets valorize the voice of the victimized girls they also further impugn their reputations by showing them to be, yet again, fair game for conquest by male poets.

Julian once again makes the daughters of Lycambes the focal point, and he also follows Dioscorides and Meleager in eschewing the trope of the physical presence of a tomb. But whereas those two poets had crafted a dramatic setting that was completely unmoored from any temporal reference (aside from being set some time after the deaths of the Lycambids) Julian gives us very precise present time scenarios. In 7.69 Archilochus has just died, though he has yet to make it to the underworld, and in 7.70 it seems that he has just arrived in Hades. In both cases Julian warns Cerberus to be on his guard, first against Archilochus himself and then against a potential flood of corpses trying to escape Hades and flee the iambist's spite.2

Julian's present-tense vignettes and his precise temporal frames combine to do something unprecedented among these sepulchral epigrams about iambists, namely they elide the centuries that separate Archilochean Paros and the epigrammatist's contemporary world. This is a striking way to deal with the experience of cultural lateness, and recalls Callimachus' resurrection of Hipponax at the beginning of the Iambi. In these epigrams Julian deals with figures who had been dead for more than a millennium, yet he gives them immediacy by bringing them into his and his audience's temporal frame. In doing this, he follows Dio, Lucian, and Julian in manipulating Archilochus, but he makes a bolder theatrical move by saying that Archilochus has just died and that we have been living in those perilous years between the deaths of the Lycambids and Archilochus' own demise.

And yet by bringing Archilochus into the temporal scheme of the Justinianic world, Julian may effect something like the grand Ovidian tease that is

2 There is a great deal more that could be said about these two poems. Poem 7.69 quotes Callim. fr. 380, which puts the 8p1µus x6"Aos of the dog into Archilochus' mouth. Both poems also look back toward Iliad 18.322, where Achilles is described in terms of his 8p1µus x6"Aos. Poem 7.70 uses the same word to describe Archilochean invective, emcr~o"Ala, that we find at A.P. 9.185 (anonymous but also about Archilochus).

297

298 Iambic time travel: Julian the Egyptian on Archilochus

the Ibis. That poem begs us to ponder who Ibis might be and dares us to buy into the reductive quest to follow the clues and finger the villain. Julian, who also composed sepulchral epigrams on various recently deceased figures, makes Archilochus Justinian and tempts his audience to look around their

own world to see if someone might fill the bill as the "new Archilochus" or find

some group of victims who might stand in for the daughters ofLycambes.3

In most sources, Justinian comes across as an outstanding emperor, but we need only recall Procopius' Secret History to recognize that the majority

of our evidence comes with a very high gloss. This insider's tell-all presents a far darker and more sordid tale. Justinian and his circle, Procopius whispers, are really a thuggish lot, but such perspectives cannot be shared openly. Hartigan, in bringing together all of Julian's epigrams on contem

porary subjects, finds a similar voice of resistance among his poems and suggests that Julian's refusal to praise Justinian's building projects and his decision to commemorate in verse those who opposed the emperor

encourages us to read an agenda that is surprisingly similar to what we find in the Secret History. Julian is more public than Procopius, and,

therefore, he has to dissimulate more carefully, but he nevertheless attests to a similar set of critical opinions and attitudes.4 If we bring together his classicizing epigrams with those on more recent themes and people (a move that Hartigan does not make), then we can at least consider the

impact of reading his two Archilochean poems in light of what appears to be a pattern of coded political opposition to Justinian's official posturing.

We do not know enough about Julian himself, nor can we derive enough information from his poetry, to push this idea too far, but rather than

dismissing his Archilochean epigrams as little more than formal exercises on a long overripe set of themes, we can wonder if Julian might be

engaging more creatively and acerbically with the iambic tradition. If his contemporary audience considered the possibility of finding some "new Archilochus" or a new set of Lycambids in their midst, the options are, of course, wide open. Might Julian be claiming for himself the powerful voice of the ethically scrupulous (or anti-social) iambist? Or, especially in the

anticipation of a grand exodus from Hades, might the emperor or his general Belisarius fill the bill? Was there a group of contemporary victims

3 Bakker 2009, 123, develops the concept of"projected indexicalitf,'' through which a poem's deictic words shift the audience's frame of reference from the moment of composition to the moment of performance or reperformance. Thus when someone reads Julian's epigrams in a symposium, his temporal adverbs bring the narrative into the present moment of that performance. This same idea applies equally well to my comments about Palladas' epigrams discussed in Interlude 3.

4 Hartigan 1975, 54.

Iambic time travel: Julian the Egyptian on Archilochus

(perhaps those slaughtered during the Nika Revolt) who look a bit like the daughters of Lycambes, who died because of the scandalous but powerful

words of some member of the royal court? We can only guess. But it is not unreasonable to imagine that these

sepulchral epigrams about Archilochus and his victims continue the models of iambic simulation (there is a "new Archilochus" in Justinian's court) and dissimulation (the authorial voice seems to stand clear of the iambic figure) and that together they represent another example of an

iambic reaction to the power and danger of public voices in the imperial era. An emperor had sought to quiet Ovid; Babrius had to tread carefully with his royal patron; the Emperor Julian threatened his subjects in Antioch for their audacious words and their reprobate lifestyles (themes

also central to Dio's First Tarsian and Lucian's Pseudologista), and Gregory had been driven out of his see and the capital of the empire. By the era of Julian of Egypt, therefore, the iambic tradition not only fostered the poetic

opportunity to construct or construe a dangerously critical agenda in his epigrams, but it also may have pre-conditioned some in his audience to

suspect and anticipate some such agenda as well.

299

300

Conclusions: becoming Archilochus

.. . a thistle with graceful leaves . .. Meleager on Archilochus

A great deal of this book has been devoted to chasing through the afterlife of Archilochus in order to determine the manner in which Archilochean poetics survived well into the imperial era. Archilochus has provided a useful point of interpretive stability and has often allowed me to sidestep the slippery topic of genre. The presence of invective directed at a secondperson target and low-register descriptions of sex, brawling, and eating from a debased first-person speaker may bring us close to the heart of the iambic mode, but by the imperial era such delimitation could too easily point toward other literary forms. A scurrilous epigram by Nicarchus, for example, need not be in dialogue with iambos or any other specific model in order to generate traction with its anger, humor, or transgressive language. I have not, therefore, sought to write a book about the totality of the iambic mode, in part because such a project would have too much gray and not enough black and white.

But the shadow of Archilochus does more than tether the authors I have studied to a particular poetic legacy - it also suggests a biographical contour. That is to say, evocations of Archilochus call to mind in equal

parts a body of poetry and a life's story. These two issues blur together and reinforce one another in an unusually tight way. Perhaps erotic poetry presents the closest parallel in urging us to read a Sappho or a Propertius as deeply committed to the compositional and private dimensions of their legends, but erotic poetry tends to envision the poet frozen in a moment of erotic expression - it leans more toward the imagistic than the narrative experience. (And for starker contrast, in their texts as we now have them dramatists, epic bards, panegyrists, and the like do not infuse much biographical material into their art at all.)1 So for a late author to take up

1 In his Republic, Plato describes Homer as "hiding" his own voice by means of his mimetic style (393cll-d3), an ironic comment from the author who most often hides behind the voice of his Socrates.

Becoming Archilochus

the mantel of Archilochus implies an inseparable interest in that figure's poems and life. And his life, developed through his poetry, famously articulates both a personal trajectory and a lasting impact on his society. It is in these issues, I believe, that we can best understand the returns of Archilochus analyzed here. In each case - most overtly with Julian and most covertly with Babrius - the "Archilochus effect" begins in conflict and authorizes verbal transgressions. At the same time, it also promises that words can and will transform reality and that the author himself will ultimately be vindicated, even if such rehabilitation cannot be had in his lifetime. We need not resort to historicist biography to maintain such an idea (though it seems hardly avoidable in the well-documented case of Julian at Antioch), and we can appreciate Archilochus' vita as every bit as much a construction as those of Ovid or Lucian. But for anyone -person or persona - forced into society's back alleys or distant margins or who has become a punch line rather than the speaker of devastating quips, the model of Archilochus becomes a template for success.

Such marginality can come in various forms, from Babrius' speaking animals that tell us Golden Age tales, to Dio's admonitory (or teasing?) concern for Tarsus' slide into barbarism. More ominously, Julian's approving comments about the merry caterwauling of the barbarians on the Rhine introduces the pristine power and shaggy horror of the uncivilized world into the heart of an urban space that has (in his opinion) forfeited its claims to civilization. Such a note of incivility comes with an Apolline promise that the Archilochean speaker will win out in the end - that Ovid will not be forgotten even if he dies in Tomis; that Gregory in his Cappodocian retreat will come off better as a holy man and poet than the urban bishops who seem to hold all the cards; that Lucian will transcend both his two bumbling sophistic antagonists and the skeptics in his audience who don't buy into the polish of this Hellenized Syrian. And even Babrius, reviving the originally Archilochean pairing of fables and iambic meter may be pressing such an agenda - rooted in social ethics or the politics of patronage. Donning the mask of Archilochus (or doffing it with a flourish), therefore, had as much to do with biographical modeling and the perdurative power of narrative biography as it did with the poetry, since Archilochus can never be cut away from his verse.

But if Archilochus projects a narrative trajectory into the future each time he reappears in some imperial guise, he also remains safely a figure of the distant past. Already in Ovid's day he must have been a dim memory, and so even his terrifying power to kill with words came with a buffer of centuries. No one, that is, felt any real risk of finding the heirs of Lycambes

301

302 Becoming Archilochus

swinging from an imperial era noose. Yet it is precisely this innocence that provides cover for other agendas and usurpations. We can see both sides of this issue in an anecdote from Plutarch's Life of Cato the Younger (7). Just as Cato prepares to ·marry a certain Lepida, the older and more powerful Metellus Scipio swoops in at the last minute and steals the bride away. Understandably furious, Cato immediately wants to go to court. But when his friends dissuade him from pursuing his case, the jilted groom angrily devotes himself to writing iambic poems with the venom of Archilochus. In Plutarch's era (and, supposedly, in Cato's too) the scenario of a man deprived of his promised bride still screamed out for an Archilochean reaction but now only after legal recourse had been set aside. For the direct and effective excoriation of a personal enemy, that is, Archilochean words had lost their murderous power. Plutarch need not specify the themes of Cato's poetry, since the details are easy to imagine. But the more important point is that Cato has become Archilochean only in order to assuage his anger and wounded pride - not to effect a change in his community. His impulse to do real damage to his enemy had pointed him first toward the courts, not to iambic verse.

Yet the narrative trajectory was still there, and this is what the likes of Ovid and Lucian have taken up as they harness the legacy of Archilochean speech to broader debates and complaints. Ovid tells us that he hopes Ibis will die a thousand deaths, but the overarching goal of his exilic poetry is to persuade Augustus to allow him to return to Rome. Iambic efficacy here aims not at some quasi-magical murder that strains credulity but, rather, at revealing and ideally remaking the ways in which the princeps wields his imperial power. Precisely the same point can be made for Lucian and Gregory. Lucian's narrator is hardly believable in his claim that the combined power of all the archaic iambists would be overmatched by his foul-mouthed rival; but in terms of articulating matters of decorum and propriety, this Archilochean turn works smoothly. In Gregory's Christian context, truly murderous wrath would be inappropriate, but the Archilochean pattern of invective paired with the motifs of rejection and ultimate vindication matches his situation perfectly. With Dio and Julian, Archilochus serves as both the outcast who will achieve victory in the end and as a parallel model of verbal power. Dio implicitly likens the impact of his rhetoric to that of iambos in the hope (however facetious) of changing the situation at Tarsus, and Julian both embraces the role of the outsider and threatens that imperial fiat can remake his empire every bit as much as Archilochus' poetry could hound the Lycambids all the way to Hades.

Becoming Archilochus

Babrius eschews biographical angles almost completely, though his prologues do contain a first-person voice, a few personal statements, and his one barbed comment about rivals. Beyond such details, however, fables always look toward personal application in real-world situations. Thus his largely impersonal anthology evokes and hints at the role of personalized fables in educational settings, symposia, and public debates. His meter, clear allusions to Callimachus' iambic fables, and the various intertextual connections with other iambic literature bring this implicit personalization of fables together with the iambic tradition. There is no need to force every one of his fables into an iambic mold, but the overall effect of his collection relies to a significant extent on the reactivation of the old connection between iambos and fable. The power of iambic poetics, therefore, influences how we see Babrius position himself vis-a-vis his literary models, his patrons, and his rivals. The propriety of the court poet thus reveals a potentially dangerous and destabilizing countercurrent.

If iambos, as is often argued, incorporates invective strategies derived from agrarian, and perhaps specifically women's rituals, then it is an urbane and masculine poetic incorporation of those origins. Even in these later adaptations of iambic poetics, we can still hear the echoes of themes that seem to come from that imagined past. Above all, the negotiation of male gender (which continually feels the threat of emasculation) and the uncivilizable potency of iambic speech work together to invade the pretensions and illusions of decorous society. And the mask of Archilochus provides imperial authors with the dangerous, troubled, irrepressible, and, above all, recognizably theatrical cover through which to launch such attacks.

303

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Index of passages cited

Aelian fr. 388.1, 8 NA 10.29, 37, 74, 78 fr. 417, 267 NA 2.35, 37, 74 Anon. Lat. NA 2.38, 50 132.2.144, 193 VH 10.13, 36 anonymous

Aelius Aristides AP 9.185, 297 Or. 2.406, 27 Anti-Atticist Lexicon Or. 3.610-12, 6, 189, 216 An. Gr. 85.23, 29 Or. 3.611-12, 189 Antipater of Thessalonica Or. 18.9, 208 AP 5.31, 100

Aeschines Antiphon 2.21, 185 5.11, 65 2.40, 248 Apollodorus 2.87, 65 2.6.3, 254

Aeschrion Apollonius of Rhodes 1 GP, 248 4.303-481, 67

[Aesop] Appian fab. 1, 90 BC 1.78, 238 fab. 2, 175 Syr. 59-61, 283 fab. 3, 175 Apuleius fab. 50, 175 Fl. 17, 43 fab. 101, 222 Aratus fab. 106, 92 100-36, 99, 102 fab. 130, 117 Archilochus fab. 376, 175 fr. 1, 196 fab. 396, 285 fr. 3, 35, 208 fab. 447, 92 fr. 4, 31, 190, 208 fab. 451, 175 fr. 5,35, 190,208 fab. 542, 222 fr. 9, 31 Vita G 90, 108 fr. 10, 31

Alcaeus fr. 11, 153 fr. 6.1-3, 267 fr. 13, 53, 152, 164, 189 fr. 129.20-24, 65 fr. 19, 190 fr. 208,267 fr. 21, 27 fr. 347a, 168 fr.23, 12,23, 184

Alcaeus of Messene frr. 23-29, 31 AP 7.536, 122, 173 fr. 23.14-15, 12

Ammianus Marcellinus fr. 23.14-16, 204 22.9.15, 265 fr.24, 34 22.14.3, 294 frr. 47-60, 31 23.1.2, 272 fr. 67, 31, 153

Anacreon fr. 82, 31

318 fr. 388, 269 fr. 94, 35

fr. 101, 190 fr. 105, 267 fr. 107, 168 frr. 110-11, 127, 134, 30 fr. 112-13, 31 fr. 114, 10, 123, 190-1,207,209,213, 265 fr. 116, 27 fr. 122, 191 fr. 124, 189 fr. 125, 35 fr. 128, 190

frr. 135-66, 31 frr. 167-71, 189 fr. 172,44,58,236 frr. 172-73, 44, 165 frr. 172-81, 102, 123, 189 frr. 172-84, 231 fr. 172.4, 166 fr. 173, 44-5 fr. 174,90 fr. 175, 31, 139 fr. 176,35,41,97,236 fr. 178,4, 193,247,249 fr. 179, 120 fr. 181, 31, 139 fr. 182, 189 fr. 185, 30 fr. 185.3, 159 fr. 185-7, 124 fr. 187, 236 fr. 187.2, 159 fr. 188, 31 fr. 191, 267 fr. 193, 267 fr. 196a,31,34, 125, 167, 189,209,258 fr. 196a.15, 167 fr. 196a.39, 156 fr. 206,27 fr. 215, 11, 12, 34, 86 fr.223,9,54,230,233 fr. 259, 27 fr. 313, 4 P.Oxy. 4708 (Telephus), 168

Aretaeus CA 1.6, 156

Aristophanes Ach.65,236 Birds 430-31, 248 Birds 1137, 49 Birds 1296, 48 Clouds 137, 156 Clouds 177-79, 202 Clouds 497-500, 202


Clouds 530-32, 60 Clouds 856-59, 202 Clouds 1498, 202 Ec.404,236 Frogs 555, 236 Frogs 815, 99 Knights 119, 236 Lys. 688, 236 L ys. 1255-56, 99 Th.494,236 Wealth 1013-14, 274

Aristotle GA 737a.27-28, 215 Poet. 1448b25, 265 Poet. 1449a2-6, 235 Poet. 1449b, 13 Pol. 1319a26-30, 292 Pol. 1336b, 190 Rhet. 2.1393a-b, 108 Rhet. 2.1398b, 26 Rhet. 2.1398bll, 211 Rhet. 3.1418b28, 191

Athenaeus 1.lc, 140 1.7f-8b, 189 3.78b, 121 3.78f, 154 3.85e, 30 3.86e, 203 4.164d, 203 8.335c, 154 8.359e, 154 9.375a, 203 9.410d, 203 10.445b, 17 10.451d, 30 11.504e-505e, 18 11.SOSc, 17, 200 11.SOSd, 201 11.SOSd-e, 229 11.SOSe, 201 12.SSlf, 239 13.599d, 25 14.620c, 24, 30

Babrius 1.1, 134 1.15, 134 1.16, 135

10, 126 19, 173 19.1, 121 22, 127, 133

319

320 Index of passages cited Index of passages cited 321

Babrius (cont.) fr. 229, 97, 101 Bloc. 157-58, 112 6.16, 229

31, 122 fr. 380,8, 98, 107, 148, 184, 247,297 Bloc. 301, 11, 235 6.41, 131

32,48, 126-7 frr. 226-29, 101 Demosthenes 6.76, 168

38, 118, 129 Ia. 1 fr. 191.1-4, 101 21.158, 274 7.173, 193

39, 118-19, 122 Ia. 1 fr. 191.3, 41 23.67-68, 65 Dioscorides

39 and 64, 121 Ia. 1 fr. 191.3-4, 41 Dio Cassius 5 HE, 245

64, 119 Ia. 1 fr. 191.6, 148 51.19, 238 AP 7.351, 296

67, 115 Ia. 1fr.191.11, 148, 165 Dio Chrysostom AP 7.450, 248

72, 121, 222 Ia. 1 fr. 191.23, 149 Encomium comae, 213 Diphilus

73, 127,285 Ia. 1 fr. 191.26-27, 148 Or. 5, 96 frr. 70-71, 25

95, 114 Ia. 1 fr. 191.30, 149 Or. 18.8, 187

107, 115, 127 Ia. 1 fr. 191.32, 149 Or. 21.2, 210 Ennius

130, 123 Ia. 1 fr. 191.59, 222 Or. 32, 187, 203 Ann. 6.179, 39

137, 119 Ia. 2 fr. 192.1-3, 165 Or. 32.6-7, 200 Erotian

137.1-2, 120 Ia. 2 fr. 192.6, 102 Or. 33.1, 193 fr. 43,208

Pro!. 1, 95, 152 Ia. 4, 92, 122 Or. 33.3, 202 Eunapius

Pro!. 1 and 2, 14 Ia. 4 fr. 194.46-48, 102 Or. 33.6-7, 194 fr. 28.2, 274

Pro!. 1.1-5 (as printed by Luzzatto and La Ia. 4 fr. 194.96, 261 Or. 33.7-8, 195 Euphorion

Penna), 94 Ia. 5 fr. 195.13, 44 Or. 33.9-10, 195 Thrax, 65

Pro!. 1.1-5 (Codex Athous), 94 Ia. 5 fr. 195.23-26, 44 Or. 33.9-11, 199 Eu polis

Pro!. 1.1, 103 Ia. 5 fr. 195.30, 44, 166 Or. 33.10, 152 fr. 332, 240

Pro!. 1.2, 101 Ia. 5 fr. 195.32-33, 44 Or. 33.11, 196, 198 Euripides

Prol. 1.9, 104, 128 Ia. 5 fr. 195.41, 44 Or. 33.12, 196, 203, 214 Bacch. 1361, 102

Pro!. 1.14, 100, 110 Ia. 6 P.Oxy 2171 fr 2.22, 92 Or. 33.13, 197 Helen 1478-86, 49

Pro!. 1.15, 100, 114 Ia. 13 fr. 203, 36 Or. 33.13-14, 197 HF69l, 102

Pro!. 1.15-16, 109 Ia. 13 fr. 203.13-14, 100, 156 Or. 33.14, 197 Hipp. 307-12, 283

Pro!. 1.16, 105, 108 Ia. 13 fr. 203.31, 149 Or. 33.15, 197, 206, 277 Hipp. 343, 283

Pro!. 1.16-17, 103 Jov. 78-82, 103 Or. 33.16, 206 Med. 404, 166

Pro!. 1.17, 109 Catullus 1 Or. 33.17, 207-8, 213 Eustathius

Pro!. 1.19, 98 116, 40 Or. 33.17-18, 207 in Hom. Od. 11.277, 27, 231

Pro!. 2, 96 Cercidas

l Or. 33.32-41, 192

Pro!. 2.1 and 16, 103 fr. 7,92 Or. 33.38, 193, 212, 214 Gaetulicus

Pro!. 2.5, 100, 114 Cicero Or. 33.42-43, 192 AP 7.71, 107, 135, 148

Pro!. 2.6, 109 De div. 2.116, 39 Or. 33.47, 283 AP 7.71, 8, 206, 296

Pro!. 2.12, 100, 110 ND 2.126, 37, 74 Or. 33.50, 212 Galen

Pro!. 2.14, 98, 138 Clement of Alexandria Or. 33.51, 193 in Hp. TI. ap6pwv, 18.537 Kiihn, 207

Bible Strom. 1.1.1, 271 l Or. 33.53-55, 192 in Hp. TI. ap6pwv, 18.605 Kiihn, 207 '

Ep. Col. 3:22, 150 Strom. 1.21.117, 30 t Or. 33.61, 212 Gellius

Ep. Eph. 6:6, 150 Strom. 6.2.5 and 6.6.1, 30 Or. 33.61-62, 214 NA 9.2.7, 218

Ex. 8:16, 148 Constantinus Rhodius· Or. 33.62, 212, 215 Gorgias

Mark 15:16-20, 262 An. Gr. p. 628, 36 Matranga, 9 Or. 33.62-63, 192 Hel. 14, 53

Ps. 52 (53):6, 148 Cratin us Or. 33.63, 213 Hel. 9, 160

Ps. 105(106):31,150 fr. 2, 8 Or. 33.63-64, 214 Gregory Nazianzen

fr. 12, 203 Or. 33.64, 214 AP 8.210.1-4, 158

Callimachus fr. 247, 222 Or. 34, 186 Carm. mor. 881.5, 238

Aetia fr. 1.1-4, 148 fr. 313, 203 Or. 56.2, 203 Carmina 1.2.25.290-303, 274

Aetia fr. 1.39-40, 102 test. 17, 203 Or. 72.9, 201 De se ipso et de episcopis 1167.5-11, 171

Aetia fr. 112, 41 test. 19, 203 Or. 72.12, 206 De se ipso et de episcopis 1169.5, 174

Aetia fr. 112.9, 16, 157 Critias Or. 79, 186 De se ipso et de episcopis 1170.7-71.9, 172

Cer. 3-5, 102 88b44 DK, 204 Or. 80, 186 De se ipso et de episcopis 1171.10-11, 172

Dian. 249-54, 102 Diogenes Laertius De se ipso et de episcopis 1172. 7-14, 173

Epigr. 46 GP, 57, 152 Demetrius 5.1.21, 218 De se ipso et de episcopis 1178.11, 175

Epigr. 53 GP, 55 Bloc. 1, 98 5.87, 30 De se ipso et de episcopis 1190.7-1191.4, 174


Gregory Nazianzen (cont.) Or. 4.74, 286 II. 11.414-16, 99 Mis. 337b-38b, 268

De se ipso et de episcopis 1195.2-4, 175 Or. 25, 143, 164 II. 18.322, 297 Mis. 338a, 147

De se ipso et de episcopis 1209.9-12, 177 Od. 4.220-21, 54 Mis. 338a-b, 276

De se ipso et de episocopis 1210.8-12.6, Hadrian Od. 4.244-46, 197 Mis. 338b-c, 279

176 AP 7.674, 26, 296 Od. 9.346, 48 Mis. 338c, 276

De se ipso et de episcopis 1215.3, 174 Heraclitus Od. 21.150-51, 277 Mis. 338d, 276-7, 289

De se ipso et de episcopis 1215.4-5, 174 All. 5, 267 Horace Mis. 339a, 279

De se ipso et de episcopis 1217.4-18.11, 175 Herodas Ars 220-74, 134 Mis. 339c, 280

De vita sua 299-311, 178 Mimiambus 8, 97 c. 1.16, 117 Mis. 340c-42a, 276

De vita sua 408-09, 159 Herodotus c. 4.14, 67 Mis. 342a-b, 282

De vita sua 557-61, 164 1.141, 89, 117 Ep. 1.2.27-31, 290 Mis. 342b, 289

De vita sua 655, 170 2.33, 67 Ep. 1.19.23-25, 13, 35 Mis. 342c, 290

De vita sua 750-56, 164 2.103-104, 67 Ep. 1.19.24-25, 46 Mis. 342c-d, 290

De vita sua 765-68, 169 2.134, 108 Ep. 1.19.25, 97 Mis. 343a-c, 288

De vita sua 799-803, 169 3.1, 206 Ep. 1.20.2-8, 61 Mis. 346c, 239

De vita sua 929-38, 166 3.143, 114 Epod. 1.1, 39 Mis. 347a, 282

De vita sua 930, 166 Hesiod Epod. 3,236 Mis. 347c-48a, 283

De vita sua 936, 167 Erga 109-201, 99 Epod. 6, 165 Mis. 348c, 291

De vita sua 937, 167 Erga 202-11, 89 Epod. 10, 157, 165 Mis. 348d, 284

De vita sua 954, 165 Erga 276-80, 102 Epod. 11, 34 Mis. 350c, 284

De vita sua 1240, 163 Erga 586, 168 Epod. 12.3, 132 Mis. 35la-52b, 285

Eis ta emmetra 1, 148 Theog. 98-103, 54 Epod. 14, 98, 117 Mis. 353b, 25, 291

Eis ta emmetra 1-4, 148 Hesychius Epod. 16.58, 67 Mis. 355c, 290

Eis ta emmetra 2, 157, 159 Kupe!a, 174 Epod. 16.64-67, 100 Mis. 356b, 290

Eis ta emmetra 3, 149 µtapa! f}µEpat, 238 Epod. 17, 168 Mis. 356d, 287

Eis ta emmetra 7, 148 Hesychius of Miletus Sat. 1.4, 132 Mis. 357c, 289

Eis ta emmetra 18, 161 p. 87 Di.iring 1.144, 30 Sat. 2.1, 21 Mis. 360d, 287

Eis ta emmetra 22-23, 147 Hipponax Mis. 366a-b, 285

Eis ta emmetra 22-32, 150 fr. 12W/20Dg, 156 John Lydus Mis. 366b, 285

Eis ta emmetra 24, 150 fr. 15W/18Dg, 156 De mensibus 4.10 Wunsch, 252 Or. l.25c, 279

Eis ta emmetra 30, 150 fr. 16W/23Dg, 156

J John Malalas Or. 2.60b, 279

Eis ta emmetra, 33-41, 151 fr. 28W/39Dg, 241 Chron. 328, 3-4, 264 Or. 3.49c, 278

Eis ta emmetra 35, 152 fr. 32W/42Dg, 31, 42, 201, 216 I Josephus Orr. 4-5, 146

Eis ta emmetra 35-37, 15 fr. 34W/43Dg, 42 ' A] 18.140, 88 Or. 5.173a-74d, 275

Eis ta emmetra 37, 150 fr. 48W/52Dg, 101, 121-2, 173 t Jubilees Or. 7.207b, 272

Eis ta emmetra 39, 151, 152 fr. 63W/65Dg, 222 3: 27-28, 87 Or. 7.212c, 262

Eis ta emmetra 54, 152 fr. 78W/78Dg, 153, 156 Julian the Egyptian Or. 7.216c-217b, 273

Eis ta emmetra 60, 149 fr. 78.12W/78Dg, 175 AP 7.69, 295 Or. 7.217d-18a, 275

Eis ta emmetra 61, 149 fr. 92.10W/95Dg, 175 AP 7.70, 296 Or. 7.227a, 273

Eis ta emmetra 65, 161 fr. 115W/194Dg, 36, 58, 63-4, 158, Julian, Emperor Or. 8.168b-c, 279

Eis ta emmetra 68-81, 154, 159 191 Ad Ath. 269b, 291

Eis ta emmetra 69, 150, 151, 159 fr. 115.15W/194Dg, 165 Ad Ath. 270a-7lc, 278 Lactantius

Eis ta emmetra 69-77, 15 fr. 115.15-16W/194.15-16Dg, 65 Caes. 306a, 266 Div. inst. 1.9.8, 221

Eis ta emmetra 70, 149, 155 frr. 118a W /129Dg, 29, 30 Ep. 10.403d Bidez, 272 Div. inst. 5.3.14, 253

Eis ta emmetra 75, 159 fr. 121W/122Dg, 219 Ep. 26 Bidez, 127 Leo Philosophus

Eis ta emmetra 77, 157-8 fr. 123W/12Dg, 222 Ep. 80 Bidez, 273 An. Gr. p. 557, 25 Matranga, 9

Eis ta emmetra 80, 159 fr. 155al W /135Dg, 159 Ep. 82.444b Bidez, 127 Leonidas of Tarentum

Eis ta emmetra 84, 88-89, 150 Homer Ep. 89b Bidez, 30 AP 7.405.2, 135

Eis ta emmetra 100-1, 151 II. 2.241, 184 Ep. 89b.300c-d Bidez, 271 AP 7.408, 8, 107, 148

Eis ta emmetra 102-3, 162 II. 3.151-52, 54 Ep. 115.425a Bidez, 288 Libanius

Ep. 48, 159 II. 4.118, 135 Gal. 39b, 272 Or. 11.204, 264

Ep. 176, 155 II. 9.189, 58 Mis. 337a-b, 267 Or. 15.52, 264

Or. 4.5, 281 II. 9.496, 155 Mis. 337b-c, 282 Or. 61.12, 208


Livy Pseudo/. 31, 247 F. 2.15-16, 70 P.Dubl. 193a6 = SH 997, 11, 149

2.32, 117 Pseudo/. 32, 247 F. 3.523-710, 73 P.Hib. 173 (= P.Lond.i11v. 2946), 30

2.32.8, 117 Rh. pr. 9, 226 lb. l, 38, 69 P.Oxy. 2176, 30

31.17.5, 43 Rh. pr. 16, 240 lb. 1-6, 85 P.Oxy. 4708, 25

32.38.8, 139 Rh. pr. 17, 240 lb. 3-6, 76 Palladas

Lucan Rh. pr. 22, 240 lb. 17-18, 44, 63 AP 10.49, 184

7.409, 251 Rh.pr.23,229,244 lb. 18, 44 AP 11.291, 181

Lucian Scyth. 9, 242 lb. 19-20, 43-4 AP 11.340, 183

Alex. l, 227 Somn. 12, 241 lb. 23-28, 72 AP 11.341, 183

Am. 1, 259 Syr. d. l, 242 lb. 29-30, 65 Pausanias

Am. 2, 259 Syr. d. 17-18, 283 lb. 45-46, 14, 41 5.24.9-10, 65

Am. 3, 257, 259 Syr. d. 23, 283 lb. 45-54, 40 Petronius

Am. 4, 260 Lucretius lb. 46, 41 74.13, 175

Am. 53, 260 1.936-38, 152 lb. 53, 108 Phaedrus

Bis acc. 27, 242 Lysias lb. 53-54, 38, 41, 85 1.2, 132

Bis acc. 33, 226 12.99, 232 lb. 55-56, 40 1.3, 121, 132

Bis acc. 34, 242 fr. 53, 239 lb. 55-62, 46 1.6, 132

Cal. 5, 222 lb. 57, 40, 44 1.10, 132

Icar. 15, 283 Martial lb. 59, 39, 40 2.2, 133

Ind. 16, 228 6.64, 83 lb. 60, 86 2.3, 132

Ind. 27, 229 7.2.1-4, 82 lb. 63, 40 2.6.1-3, 133

Ind. 28, 241 7.5-8, 82 lb. 65-66, 69 3.3, 131

Ind. 30, 229 I lb. 67-89, 70 3.3.14-15, 132 7.11, 83

Lex.23,240 7.12, 86 lb. 67-106, 33 3.5, 131

Lex. 24, 241 7.12.5-8, 13 lb. 107-250, 33 3.14, 131

Macr. 25, 226 7.19.6, 82 lb. 447-48, 38, 42 3.19, 131

Peregr. 2, 227 Meleager (or anonymous) lb. 449-50, 38, 74 4.5, 131

Philops. 5, 159 AP 7.352, 296 lb. 467-68, 77 4.18, 132

Pisc. 19, 242 Menander Rhetor lb. 493-94, 55 5.10, 130

Pisc. 25, 26 346.26-29, 282 lb. 511-12, 38 App. 14, 222

Pseudo/. 1, 231, 237 393.9-12, 216 lb. 521-22, 38 Pro!. 1.1-2, 130

Pseudo!. 1-2, 221 Mnesiepes Inscription, SEG 15.517 lb. 521-24, 42, 76 Pro!. 1.3-5, 129

Pseudo/. 2, 232 E1 3.38, 211 lb. 529-30, 38 Pro!. 1.6, 128

Pseudo/. 3, 255 E1 3.43-44, 212 lb. 531-32, 38 Pro!. 2.2-4, 129

Pseudo/. 4-9, 222 lb. 595-96, 38 Pro!. 3, 137

Pseudo/. 5, 255 Nicander lb. 635-38, 79 Pro!. 3.33-38, 129

Pseudo/. 7, 255 Al. 132, 65 lb. 643-44, 13, 41 Pro!. 5.2-7, 131

Pseudo/. 8, 223, 250 Nicarchus lb. 644, 41 Philip of Thessaloniki

Pseudo!. 9, 237 AP 11.329, 246 · Met. 1.4, 38 AP 7.405.4, 107

Pseudo/, 10, 195, 242 Tr. 1.1 and 1.2, 61 Philodemus

Pseudo/. 11, 238 Origen Tr. 1.6.7-16, 33 On Poems 1, fr. 117, 154

Pseudo/. 12, 238, 251 Cels. 2.21, 44 Tr. 1.8, 33 011 Rhetoric frr. 3.11-12, 25-27, 222

Pseudo!. 13, 238, 251 Cels. 3.25, 144 Tr. 2.77-120, 33 Philostratus

Pseudo/. 14, 238, 243 Ovid Tr. 2.207, 36 VA 4.10, 253

Pseudo/. 15, 238 Am. 1.1.26, 33 Tr. 3.9, 67 VA 5.15, 140

Pseudo/. 22, 244 Am. 1.3.1, 33 Tr. 3.11, 33 vs 1.482-83, 222

Pseudo/, 23, 243-4 Ex Pont. 4.1.13-16, 1 Tr. 4.9, 33 vs 1.7.488, 235

Pseudo/. 24, 249 Ex Pont. 4.2.17-20, 77 Tr. 5.8, 33 vs 1.8.491, 235

Pseudo/. 25, 245 Ex Pont. 4.3, 33 Tr. 5.10.33-34, 66 vs 1.8.491-2, 195

Pseudo/. 26, 245 Ex. Pont. 4.3.51, 39 Tr. 5.11, 33 vs 1.16.501-3, 241

Pseudo/. 27, 221, 245 F. 1.9-12, 70 vs 1.16.503, 205, 241

Pseudo/. 28, 192, 245-6 F. 1.93, 66 P.Cair.Zen. vs 2.1.564, 205

Pseudo/. 29, 227, 246 F. 1.178-82, 69 3 59426, 206 VS 2.8.578-80, 222

j

l i J j

326 Index of passages cited

Philostratus (cont.) Pliny the Younger

vs 2.10.589, 23S Ep. 4.3, 138

vs 2.27.620, 216 Ep. 4.15, 138

Philoxenus of Alexandria Ep. S.10.2, 139

fr. 4S.13, 240 Ep. 6.21, 138

Phrynichus Ep. 6.21.6, 139

PS S.11-14, 240 Plutarch

Pindar Cat. Min. 7, 302

Nern. 3.80-82, 162 Cat. Min. 7.2, 142

Nern. 8.39, 161 Cim. 10.1, 203

01. 1.1, 183 Comm. not. 1068b, 216-17

Pyth. 2, 12 De aud. poet., 200

Pyth. 2.21-48, 161 De cohib. 4S7c, 64

Pyth. 2.52-S6, 7, 10, 161, 211 De cupid. S23e, 216

Pyth. 2.53, 8 De Is. et Os. 381, 37, 74

Pyth. 2.72, 161 De soil. an. 974c, 37, 74

Pyth. 2.83-8S, 12, 204 Dem. 38, 283

Plato Inst. Lac. 239b, 190

Crit. 49b-c, 204 Lye. 12.4-S, 190

Ion S30b, 201 Quaest. conv. 63lf, 190

Ion S3la, 24 Quaest. conv. 632e-33a, 236

Lg.627a,290 Quaest. conv. 670c, 53

Lg. 70la, 291 Quaest. Rom. 269e, 2Sl

Lg. 800d,239 Quaest. Rom. 270a, 238

Lg. 829b-e, 190 Stoic. parad. 10S8d, 201, 216

Phd. 60c-62c, 109 Pollux

Phd.60d, 108 2.6S, 148 Phd. 6lb, 109 2.192, 208

Phd. 6lc-62c, SS 10.18, 29

Phdr. 2S8e-2S9d, S6 Posidippus

Phdr. 2S9b-d, S2 AP 2.48, 102

Phdr. 274c-27Sa, S2 Epigr. 22, SO

Phdr. 274e, S2 SH 70S, 211

Phdr. 27Sa, S2 Ps.-Callisthenes

Phdr. 27Se, 61 1.46a.8.48-Sl, 97

Phdr. 276b, 26S Ps.-Longinus

Pit. 269a-74e, 110 De subl. 33.S, 168

Prot. 320d-22d, 140 Ps.-Plutarch

Rep. l.332d, 204 De mus. 20.1140f-4lb, 217

Rep. 360e-6ld, 172 Vit. decem. 843e, 48

Rep. 393cll-d3, 300 Ps.-Xenophon (=Old Oligarch)

Rep. Sl7a, 173 Ath. 1.1, 292

Rep. S63b-c, 290

Rep. S90b, 1S9 Quintilian

Symp. 174a, 202 1.9.2, 112

Symp. 189e, 21S S.11.19, 116

Symp. 220b, 202 S.11.20, 117

Theaet. 149a-Sld, 61 7.9, 39

Pliny NH 4.19, 66 schol. Ael. Arist. Or. 3.3, NH 8.41, 74 229

NH 8.44, 37 schol. Ar. Acharn. 243, 212

NH 36.4.12, 2 schol. Ar. Birds. 82, 184

~

l • ' 1 L i

schol. Ar. Wasps 352, 184

schol. Ar. Wealth. 1013-14, 274

schol. Theoc. 4.49a, 208

Semon ides

7,48, 12S-6, 1S6, 191

7.34-36, 12

7.71, 1S9

7.71-82, 169

7.79, 1S9

fr. 1, 2 fr. 19, 148

fr. 34, 4, 247

Seneca Ep. 30.12, 43

Socrates of Constantinople HE 7.22, 274

Solon

fr. 11, 114

Sophocles

Aj. 303, 166

Aj. 382, 166 Aj. 467, 167

Sosthenes Inscription, JG 12.5.45S + suppl. p.212, 190

Sozomen

HE S.4.1-S, 286

Strabo

7.6, 64

12.4.4, 162

17.2.4, so Suda

ayopa KepKwirwv, 254

Anacreon, 269

Archilochus, 28

Babrius, 88

Hipponax, 2S3 Iambe, 28

!aµj3f~w, 28

Ta TWV aµa~&v CJKWµµarn, 274


Synesius

Encomium calvitii, 213

Theocritus

Epigr. 13, 106, 191

Id. 7.23, 92

Id. 7.111-12, 6S Id. 11, 1S2

Id. 11.1-9, S7

Id. 11.17, S7 Id. 14, 1S2

Id. 14.S2-S3, S7

Theognis

S3-S8, 292

814-15, 64

846-47, 64

Th eon

Prog. 3, Spengel, 2.72-78, 112

Timotheus

Pers. 216, 109

Valerius Maximus

S.7, 283

6.3, 190

Vergil

Aen. 1.1, 103

Eel. 3.90, 1S7

Xenophanes fr. 2, 181

Xenophon

Anab. 7.5, 64

Mem. 2.3.14, 204 Mem. 2.6.35, 204

Mem. 2.17.3, 110

Zenobius

2.8S, 193

6.10.7, 1S4

327

328

Index of Greek words

aµETpoem'\s, 10, 15, 160 avSp6yuvo1, 214

6plaµpos, 28, 65

laµp1KWTEpov, 20, 211 laµpon016s, 15, 42, 137, 140-1

Aeschrion as, 154, 248, 296

Ananius as, 154 Arrius Antoninus, author of mimiambi, as,

138 as a generic (rather than metrical) term, 149

as classificatory word, 155

as insult, 155 Athenaeus' Masurius as, 139

Babrius as, 137 Gregory Nazianzen as, 149, 155, 162

Gregory Nazianzen's enemy as, 149, 154

Herodas as, 154

Palladas as, 182 Palladas' target as, 181

Phoenix of Colophon as, 154

Pliny the Younger threatens to compose choliambic verses, 138

Virgilius Romanus, author of mimiambi, as, 138

7'01Sopla, 170, 213 as ethical theory in Dio Chrysostom, 195

as social criticism in Dio Chrysostom,

189 Dio Chrysostom's use of, 193

in the Emperor Julian's Misopogon, 268

mKP6s, 98, 107, 134-6 1TOVT]p65, 3, 106 aKUTOAT], 30, 124

q>apµOKOV in Archilochus, 53, 152

in Callimachus, 57, 152 in Derrida, 52

in Gregory Nazianzen, 151, 163 in Homer, Helen's use of, 54

in Palladas, 184

in Plato, 52, 152

in Theocritus, 56, 152

x671os, 11 in Babrius, 136 of Aphrodite, in Lucian's Amores, 259

xwMs, 11, 98 1j16yos, 160, 162, 170, 182-3, 196

at Sparta, 190

General index

Achilles, 57

as leader of the Ant-Men, 184

as model for the Emperor Julian, 278

his song as substitute for fighting, 58 Aeschines, vs Timarchus, 229, 234 Aeschrion

as model for Lucian's Pseudologista, 249 on Philaenis, 248

Aesop

as a character in Phaedrus, 131 as author of the "Alexander Romance", 97 as poet, 103

as prose author, 108 as slave, 108

in Aristotle, 108

in Athens, 131

in Dio Chrysostom, 206

in Herodotus, 108

in Philostratus, 140 animals

ant, 12, 184

ape, 11 bee, 98

boar, 99

cicada

Archilochus as, 9, 54, 230

as informant to the Muses, 51 as inspired poet, 60

Callimachus as, 54

differing roles in Callimachus and Plato, 59

cranes, and Alexandrian identity, 49 dog, 12, 64, 98

Maximus the Cynic as, 165 Diogenes the Cynic as, 168

dung beetle, 175 eagle, 162 fly, 148

fox, 11, 101, 247 gnat, 184

ibis · and medical therapy, 73

as author, 60

as insult, 51

as symbol of speech, 78 in Ovid's Ibis, 74

jackdaw, 162 lion, 159

Julian the Emperor as, 279 lice, in Julian's beard, 276 monkey, 158, 161

swan (in Callimachus' Iambus 2), 101 wasp, 8, 98, 107, 148

Anna Perenna, festival of, 73

Antisthenes, rival of Plato, 229 Apollo

and the plague of Iliad l, 212

favors Archilochus, Aesop, and Socrates, 92 honoring Archilochus, 28, 196

Socrates composes a hymn to, 109 Apollonius of Rhodes

as target of Callimachus' Ibis, 47

death of Apsyrtus in, 67 Apollonius of Tyana

expels demon from Ephesus, 253 Archilochus

Alexandrian edition of, 29

as depicted by Alcidamas, 26

as depicted by Critias, 12, 204

as depicted by Dio Chrysostom, 196 as depicted by Lucian, 230

as depicted by Pindar, 7, 11

as depicted by the Emperor Julian, 267 biographical lore

Apollo prophesies his immortal fame, 196

at Sparta, 190

combined sung and spoken iambics, 217 conflict with Lycambes, 1, 44 his death, 28, 196 his first performance, 211

impoverished son of Enipo, 204 lover of Sappho, 25

Mnesiepes' account of his first performance, 20

Muses' preference for Homer over, 26 329

330 General index

Archilochus (cont.) Ovid's account of his death, 9, 42, 76 political and military activites, 26, 190 Polygnotus' painting of his family arriving

at Thasos, 26 biographical trajectory of, 300 compared to Homer, 208 cult of, on Paros, 26, 211 ethical interests, 189, 204

invective against Pericles, 189 rejecting iambos, 10

Aristophanes as parent of orphaned text/child, 60 calls Lycurgus an ibis, 48

Asopodorus of Phlius and iambic prose, 17

Athens, democratic as a carnival state, 292 as "theatrocracy", 291 classical era criticism of, 291

Augustus as the new Ptolemy, 68

Babrius absence of framing narratives, 133 Aesop in, 100, 114, 130 allusions to Archilochus, 119, 122-3 allusions to Callimachus' Iambus 4, 118 allusions to Semonides, 125-6 and Gaetulicus, 135 and his rivals, 116 and the Golden Age, 99, 102 Branchus as dedicatee, 97 claims to have made his iamboi safe, 96 engagement with Hipponax, 100, 121 ethical agenda, 110, 115 fab. 95 as an epyllion, 114 his Latinate approach to meter, 88 his patrons, 88, 116, 130 iambic dissimulation in, 100 iamboi as generic (rather than metrical)

term, 97 Julian the Emperor's reception of, 127 on the origins of fables, 129 prologue 1 (full text), 95 prologue 2 (full text), 96 singing his fables, 103 stylistic innovations, 109 textual problems in his first prologue, 94 ugliness in, 126

Callimachus Aesop in, 103 as model for Babrius, 101, 114

his Ibis, 47 as model for Ovid's Ibis, 46 as model for Gregory Nazianzen, 165

Iambus 2

and Babrius, 101 and patronage, 103

Iambus 4

and Babrius, 104 interpretations, 104 the Bramble as Aesop, 105

Iambus 5 and Ovid's Ibis, 43 in Gregory Nazianzen, 142 in the Aetia, writing Apollo's words, 66

on the power of poetry, 59 Cercidas of Megalopolis, 93, 106, 168

Cercopes, 4, 193 Dio compares Tarsians to, 213 in Cratinus, 203 in Lucian, 247, 249 Julian ridicules Antiochenes as, 293

Cleombrotus in Callimachus, 55 in Ovid, 55

Crates rejects the iambike idea, 12

Cratinus and ethical invective, 203 Archilochus vs Homer in, 203 in Lucian, 226

Critias, 203, 210 Cybisses, as originator of L ybian fables, 96

Demosthenes ridiculed by Aeschines, 248

dies Alliensis, 69 Dio Chrysostom

a physiognomic performance in, 192 adapts Homer, 197 and the Tarsian "snort," 191 Archilochus and Homer in, 196 as enfeebled (aa6ev~s) speaker, 212 as Odysseus, 197 as Socrates, 201 as sophist and philosopher, 188 beloved by Trajan, 235 Cratinus in, 203 disapproval of Homer informed by Plato,

200 ethical invective, 194 First Tarsian, performance details, 186 his compromised masculinity, 210 his manipulation of Archilochus fr. 114,

207, 213

l

I I t

his philosophical Archilochean persona, 194, 198

iambic simulation, 188 medical imagery in, 194

on comedy and philosophy in classical Athens, 195, 199

on flattery and abuse, 195 physiognomic effects of praise and blame,

196 response to Critias' description of

Archilochus, 203 Socrates in, 200

Dog Star, 168

Eudoxius

target of Gregory Nazianzen's iamboi, 155 Euphorbus

in Callimachus and (perhaps) Hipponax, 222 Eupolis' Baptae, vs Alcibiades, 229

fables and ethics, 100 and framing narratives, 111, 132 and Hellenistic Cynicism, 92, 112 and low-register genres, 91, 111 as populist entertainment, 116 as school exercises, 112 at symposia, 112 in Archilochus

Fox and Eagle, 90, 111, 123 Fox and Monkey, 124

in Callimachus, 92 in Cercidas, 92

in Dio Chrysostom, 96, 206 in Gregory Nazianzen, 174 in Herodotus, 89, 114 in Hesiod, 89 in Julian the Emperor, 127, 285 in Livy, 117 in Lucian, 222, 255 in Petronius, 175 in Plato, 140 in Roman satire, 99 in Solon, 114 in Theocritus, 92 Phaedrus' satirical use of, 99 Philostratus' account of their origin, 140 Socrates versifies Aesop, 92 strong oppressing the weak in, 89 top-down vs bottom-up, 105

Favorinus

adored by non-Greek-speaking audience, 235

General index

Gallus punished by Augustus, 36

gender

Babrius feminizes his masculine iamboi, 98 contested in imperial oratorical prose, 209 female vs male beauty, 210 females as defective males, 215 feminized male bodies, 18, 156, 165, 191,

193, 210, 249, 279

masculinity of iambic speakers, 21, 209-10, 243, 280,296

plague of impotence on Paros, 211 Tarsians as hermaphrodites, 214

the feminine virtues of the Lycambids, 296 Gorgias

invective exchange with Plato, 18, 200 Gregory Nazianzen

allusions to Archilochus in, 166 allusions to Callimachus in, 146, 157, 164 allusions to Hipponax in, 157 allusions to Horace in, 157 allusions to Pindar in, 160 allusions to Plato in, 159, 172

and Maximus the Cynic, 143, 163-4, 167 and Old Comedy, 165, 174 as comic dramaturge, 175 as failed bishop, 177 as holy man, 169, 177 as poet, 143

Comparatio Vitarum, 178 Bis ta emmetra

as programmatic poem, 146 µeTp1os and related words in, 146, 149-50,

152, 157, 159-60 iambic dissimulation, 144, 147 in Constantinople, 143 invective against bishops, 175 models himself on Socrates, 171 opposed to Julian's definition of Hellenism,

143 poetic persona, 145, 173

Hadrian of Tyre, adored by non-Greekspeaking audience, 235

hair/depilation, as iambic theme, 19 Heracles' hairy bottom, 193, 249 in Dio Chrysostom, 192, 213 in Dio Chrysostom and Archilochus, 208 in Gregory Nazianzen, 166, 168 in Julian, 2 78 in Lucian, 247

Julian the Emperor's beard, 275 Hellene/Hellenism, in the 4th century, 281

331

332 General index

Heracles Apotropaeus, 253 Heracles µei\clµrruyos, 249 Herodas, 93, 97, 138

Hipponax and the choliambic meter, 101 as lover of Arete, 156 biographical lore

as Ephesian, 253 conflict with Bupalus and/or Athenis, 2, 41 creates choliamb while angry, 11, 235 exiled from Ephesus, 36 lover of Sappho, 25 Ovid's account of his death, 75, 154

ethical interests, 190 Hellenistic editions of, 29 in Callimachus, 13, 35 in Herodas, 97, 253 in Ovid, 41 in Theocritus, 106 Plutarch's attitude toward, 31, 217

Stoic beggars as, 216 Strasbourg Epode as model for Ovid's Ibis, 63

Horace Epistles 1 presented as a house slave, 61 Epode 10 as model for Ovid's Ibis, 63 Epodes as iambic poetry, 33 portrayal of Lucilius, 132

Hypatia, 182

Iambe, 28 iambic mode/poetics/tradition, 3, 7, 12, 81,

96, 116, 136-7, 154,270 ancient scholarship on, 30 and Cato the Younger, 302 and fables, 303 and fictionality, 218, 223 and gender, 303 and healing, 153 and Old Comedy, 8, 25, 235 and oral sex, 192, 246 and Plato, 17, 229 and rhapsodic performances, 24 and social bonds, 233 and Socrates, 201 and Thersites, 10 Babrius' adaptation of, 14 Callimachus' adaptation of, 13, 35 Catullus' adaptation of, 7, 34 Crates moves away from, 12 definitions of, 2 Demosthenes, Aeschines, and, 18 described in Hellenistic epigrams, 107 Dio Chrysostom's adaptation of, 194

efficacious speech in, 3, 20, 214, 256, 298, 302

erotic themes in, 125, 167 ethics in, 12, 188, 191 Gregory Nazianzen's adaptation of, 14, 179 Horace's adaptation of, 13

Epodes as end of, 2

in Alcaeus, 270 in Anacreon, 269 in imperial era, 4 in Pindar, 11 in prose, 17 invective without mimesis in, 58 Julian the Emperor's adaptation of, 262 Lucian's adaptation of, 223 Martial's adaptation of, 13 papyrus evidence for, 30 persona in, l, 20, 75, 217 responding to an affront, 264 VS epic, 209

Ignatius Diaconus, follower of Babrius, 88

Julian the Egyptian and criticism ofJ ustinian, 298 and time, 297 epigrams on Archilochus, 295 iambic simulation and dissimulation in, 299

Julian the Emperor accepts role as butt of carnival humor, 266 and Antioch, 264 and Athens, 290 and Cynicism, 276 and the Adonia at Antioch in 362 CE, 264 Antiochenes as Penelope's suitors, 277 as a barbarian, 282 as a Thracian, 284 as Achilles, 278 as Odysseus, 277 Caesars, 266 demotion of Caesarea, 280 his beard as cipher for abuse, 265 his knowledge of Dio Chrysostom, 262 his vision for the Empire, 280 iambic simulation, 265 Mardonius, his Scythian teacher, 284

Misopogon allusions to Plato in, 290 Anacreon and Alcaeus in, 267 and Archilochus, 269 as a "song in prose", 268 iambic poetics in, 268 inscribed in Antioch, 264 Julian vomits, 276

1

Julian's beard emblematizes conflict, 276 presentation of Christianity in, 266 self-abuse and festival license in, 264, 286

mocked at Antioch during the kalends of January, 263

on Archilochus (outside Misopogon), 271 on Antioch as a carnival state, 293 on fables, 272

on iambic poetics of Callimachus and Sappho, 272

on manly behavior, 289

on speaking "from the cart," 273, 286 on the distinction between Hellenism and

Christianity, 281 on the origin and character of Antioch, 282 on the treatment of animals at Antioch, 290 on rrwq>porruvri at Antioch, 288 presents Antiochene men as androgynous,

280

presents the Antiochenes as barbarous, 280, 284

presents the Antiochenes as Phaeacians, 289

strategically misapplied ethical language, 287

kalends of January

at Antioch in 363 CE, 263 in John Chrysostom, 294 in Lucian, 222, 225

in Ovid's Fasti, 69, 250 in Ovid's Ibis, 69, 251 in the 4th century, 263

Lucian

Amores, 257

Alcibiades' seduction of Socrates in, 257 Lycinus as a scholarly Heracles in, 259 Neobule as a cautionary figure in, 259 Neobule as a happy lover in, 257 Theomnestus as lusty as Heracles in, 259

and iambos (outside Pseudo/.), 226, 229 and invective, 225 and public performance, 247

attacks unnamed book-collector, 228 invective against named individuals, 227 on his Syrian origins, 242

on sophistic diction (outside Pseudo!.), 240 Pseudologista

and Heracles Apotropaeus, 254

and Hipponactean iambos in Ephesus, 253 and iambic humor, 235 and sophistic diction, 234, 237 and the kalends of January, 250 as fictionalized aggression, 223

General index

barbarism as theme in, 225, 237, 243 Critic

and oral sex, 245 as bad performer, 222, 241 historical identity of, 221 nicknames of, 234, 245 tongue of, 243-4

vs targets of archaic iambos, 232 manipulation of Archilochus fr. 223, 230 misrepresentation of Archilochus in, 233 Narrator, 223, 237

on Orodocides, target of Semonides, 232 Philaenis in, 249

Pythagoras/Euphorbus in, 222, 242 cmoq>pas

and the kalends of January, 250 as insult in, 222, 230, 23 7 modern scholarship on, 239 usage outside Lucian, 239

taken to court by Rhetoric and Dialogue, 226 Lycambes

and Judas Iscariot, 166

called Laudakides by Julian the Emperor, 274

in Horace, 13, 35 in Ovid, 13, 41

Martial

and mimetic poetry, 86 iambic dissimulation, 82 quotation of Ovid's Ibis, 83

Menenius Agrippa, 117 Mnesiepes Inscription, 211 mouth

and invective, 18

in Aeschrion's attack on Philaenis, 248 Lucian's Narrator and Critic kiss, 243

men speaking with female voices, 212 oral sex in Dio Chrysostom, 192 sophistic and sexual control of, 223, 243, 246

Oreithyia, 52 Ovid

and the power of poetry, 62 as ibis (disgusting, therapeutic) in his Ibis, 77 as Romulus in his Ibis, 79

as victim of a shipwreck in Ibis, 63 former relationship with Ibis, 43 his exile as hoax, 62 his Ibis

and the kalends of January, 69 as critique of Augustan power, 78 as Hellenistic curse poetry, 47

333

334 General index

Ovid (cont.) as inversion of Fasti, 71 authors named in, 38 iambic dissimulation, 35, 38 iambic persona in, 41

Ibis as Augustus, 71 as iambic poet, 43

meter of, 13 modeled on Callimachus' Ibis, 33 non-iambic meter, 40 praise of Augustus in, 72 self-abusive rhetoric in, 75 title, 38 vs. Horace's Epodes, 79

invective poetry (excluding Ibis), 33 presentation of time in Met., F., and lb., 38 presents Tomis as linked to Rome and

Alexandria, 63 speaks to his poetry as orphans, 61 the Fas ti and the Julian calendar, 69

Palladas of Alexandria, 181 and the well-being of the polis, 181

Phaedrus Aesop in, 130 allusions to Horace, 132 and framing narratives, 132 biographical lore, 128 his meter, 130 his patrons, 130 on the origins of fables, 129 satirical tone, 132 Sejanus in, 137

pharmakos, scapegoat, 77, 190, 253 Pherenicus, discussion of figs, 121 Philomela's tongue, 244 Phoenix of Colophon, 93, 106 Plato

as iambic speaker, 17, 201 Hellenistic responses to, 54 hiding behind the voice of Socrates, 300

on literature as orphaned ideas, 61 on the treatment of animals in democracies,

290 Thoth and the invention of writing in, 52

Plutarch facetious complaint as sincere gratitude, 236 invective against Stoics, 216

Polygnotus, 26 Polyphemus, 56 Posidippus, and Alexandrian identity, 49

Remus, as Ibis in Ovid's Ibis, 79 Rome, as new Alexandria, 66

Sappho could compose iambically (iaµp1K.;')s), 154

in Gregory Nazianzen, 142 Socrates

as heir to comic i\018op(a, 195, 200

as iambic figure, 92 as model for Babrius, 107, 109 as substitute for Plato, 58 composes an original fable, 109 heir to Hipponactean appearance, 202 in Plato's Phaedrus, 51 seduced by Alcibiades, 257 versifies Aesop, 92, 107

Solon, 2

Theocritus choliambic epigram about Hipponax, 106,

191 Thersites

and iambic poetics in the Iliad, 10 evoked by Gregory Nazianzen, 160 in Dio Chrysostom, 196

Thoth, in Plato's Phaedrus, 52 Thrace, and invective, 65

Tomis as new Alexandria, 66 named after Medea's murder of Apsyrtus, 67

Iambic Poetics in the Roman Empire (Cambridge, 2014)

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Transcript of Iambic Poetics in the Roman Empire (Cambridge, 2014)