The Greek Figure Poems 9042927453, 9789042927452

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Hellenistica Groningana

The Greek Figure Poems Jan Kwapisz

PEETERS

The earliest European specimens of visual poetry are found in the literature of the ancient Greeks: these are six famous technopaegnia, which were composed between the end of the fourth century BC and the first half of the second century AD by poets such as Simias of Rhodes, a scholar-poet and precursor of ­Callimachus, or Iulius Vestinus, an important official at ­Hadrian’s court. The present book provides an edition of the six Greek figure poems, which is accompanied by an extensive commentary and the introduction to various aspects of this mini-genre. This is the first such comprehensive treatment of the six technopaegnia in 125 years.

PEETERS-LEUVEN

PEETERS

the greek figure poems

HELLENISTICA GRONINGANA Monographs Editorial Board: M.A. Harder R.F. Regtuit G.C. Wakker Advisory Board: K. Gutzwiller, Cincinnati, OH R.L. Hunter, Cambridge A. Köhnken, Münster R.F. Thomas, Cambridge, Mass. F. Williams, Belfast  1. M.A. Harder, R.F. Regtuit, G.C. Wakker, Callimachus, 1993.  2. M.A. Harder, R.F. Regtuit, G.C. Wakker, Theocritus, 1996.   3.  M.A. Harder, R.F. Regtuit, G.C. Wakker, Genre in Hellenistic Poetry, 1998.  4. M.A. Harder, R.F. Regtuit, G.C. Wakker, Apollonius Rhodius, 2000.  5. L. Rossi, The Epigrams Ascribed to Theocritus: A Method of Approach, 2001.  6. M.A. Harder, R.F. Regtuit, G.C. Wakker, Hellenistic Epigrams, 2002.  7. M.A. Harder, R.F. Regtuit, G.C. Wakker, Callimachus II, 2004.  8. G. Berkowitz, Semi-Public Narration in Apollonius’ Argonautica, 2004.  9. A. Ambühl, Kinder und junge Helden. Innovative Aspekte des Umgangs mit der literarischen Tradition bei Kallimachos, 2005. 10. J.S. Bruss, Hidden Presences. Monuments, Gravesites, and Corpses in Greek Funerary Epigram, 2005. 11. M.A. Harder, R.F. Regtuit, G.C. Wakker, Beyond the Canon, 2006. 12. É. Prioux, Regards alexandrins. Histoire et théorie des arts dans l’épigramme hellénistique, 2007. 13. M.A. Tueller, Look Who’s Talking: Innovations in Voice and Identity in Hellenistic Epigram, 2008. 14. E. Sistakou, Reconstructing the Epic. Cross-Readings of the Trojan Myth in Hellenistic Poetry, 2008. 15. M.A. Harder, R.F. Regtuit, G.C. Wakker, Nature and Science in Hellenistic Poetry, 2009. 16. M.A. Harder, R.F. Regtuit, G.C. Wakker, Gods and Religion in Hellenistic Poetry, 2012. 17. E. Sistakou, The Aesthetics of Darkness. A Study of Hellenistic Romanticism in Apollonius, Lycophron and Nicander, 2012. 18. C. Cusset, N. Le Meur-Weissman, F. Levin, Mythe et pouvoir à l’époque hellénistique, 2012.

hellenistica groningana 19

the greek figure poems

Jan Kwapisz

PEETERS LEUVEN – PARIS – WALPOLE, MA

2013

A catalogue record for this book is available from the Library of Congress. © 2013 – Peeters – Bondgenotenlaan 153 – B-3000 Leuven – Belgium All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any forms or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the holder of the copyright. ISBN 978-90-429-2745-2 D/2013/0602/75

For my parents

table of CONTENTS Acknowledgements.   .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .IX Introduction .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .

1

1. Preliminary remarks .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .3 2. Origin .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .8 3. Date and authorship .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .21 3.1. Simias’ poems .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .21 3.2. Syrinx and Doric Altar .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .23 3.3. Ionic Altar .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .29 3.4. Schematic summary .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .30 4. Nachleben .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .30 5. Shape .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .33 5.1. Axe and Wings .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .34 5.2. Egg .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .35 5.3. Syrinx .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .38 5.4. Altars .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .38 6. Metre .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .38 6.1. Axe and Wings .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .39 6.2. Egg .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .40 6.3. Syrinx .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .43 6.4. Doric Altar .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .44 6.5. Ionic Altar .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .45 7. Dialect .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .45 8. Ancient collection .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .47 9. MS tradition .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .50 9.1. Palatine Anthology (Anth.) .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .51 9.2. Bucolic MSS (Buc.) .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .52 Text .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .

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Sigla and a note on the translation .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .59 1. Simias, Axe .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .60 2. Simias, Wings of Eros .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .62 3. Simias, Egg .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .64 4. Ps.-Theocritus, Syrinx .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .67 5. Dosiadas, Altar (Doric Altar) .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .69 6. Vestinus, Altar (Ionic Altar) .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .71

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table of contents

Commentary .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .

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1. A farewell to arms: Simias, Axe .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .75 1.1. Preliminary remarks .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .75 1.2. Commentary .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .78 2. Platonic games: Simias, Wings of Eros .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .91 2.1. Preliminary remarks .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .91 2.2. Commentary .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .93 3. A scrambled poem: Simias, [Egg]? .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .106 3.1. Preliminary remarks .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .106 3.2. Commentary .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .109 4. “Tedious”, “geschmacklos”, “saugrenue”: Ps.-Theocritus, Syrinx .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .138 4.1. Preliminary remarks .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .138 4.2. Commentary .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .142 5. A tribute to Lycophron: Dosiadas, Altar (Doric Altar) .  .  .163 5.1. Preliminary remarks .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .163 5.2. Commentary .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .165 6. A gift to the New Ptolemy: Vestinus, Altar (Ionic Altar) . 177 6.1. Preliminary remarks .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .177 6.2. Commentary .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .179 Bibliography .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  . 191 Index locorum .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  . 205 General index .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  . 217

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS This book is a revised version of my doctoral dissertation, completed at the University of Warsaw in 2009 and written in the friendly atmosphere of the Institute of Classical Studies. I will not even try to put into words my gratitude to Miko¥aj Szymanski, who supervised my thesis, but the extent of my debt to him will be obvious to those who know him and are, therefore, aware that his fondness for the purely altruistic acts of eûergesía is matched only by his deep learning. To Ma¥gorzata Borowska and Jerzy Danielewicz, examiners of my thesis as well as its attentive and critical readers (and much more than that), I owe thanks for, inter alia, the many acute, specific observations which are not acknowledged in the footnotes, and I am similarly indebted to David Petrain, who read the chapter on the Egg. Additionally, it was the comments of Jerzy Danielewicz that led me to rewrite the section on the metre and to give it its present form. Annette Harder, just as Hermes in Simias’ Egg, showed the author the way on more than one path, and eventually enabled him to bring his work fÕlˆ êv brot¬n. For the remaining errors I am indebted to myself alone. I wish to thank Alessandra Lukinovich, Aliki Tsoukala and Krzysztof Rzepkowski for their help in acquiring those of the materials for my research that were, and are, virtually inaccessible. I am also grateful to Anna Maciejewska, Marek Tesluk and Alfred Twardecki for discussing with me the problems connected with the ancient Greek panpipe, and to Valentina Garulli and Andrej Petrovic for their expertise on epigraphy, and to Pauline LeVen for her expertise on fourth-century poetry. I am indebted to Guillermo Galán Vioque, Pauline LeVen, Alessandra Lukinovich and Christine Luz for allowing me to read their manuscripts in advance of publication. Bruna Marilena Palumbo and Luis Arturo Guichard kindly informed me about the editions of the technopaegnia they are currently preparing, although we did not see each other’s work. For the proofreading, my thanks go to Marta Walkowiak and the proofreaders involved, and for shepherding this manuscript to publication, I owe thanks to Laura Verheyden of Peeters Publishers. Much of my research was made possible by a grant from the Lanc­ koronski Foundation. I also gratefully acknowledge the financial support provided by the Foundation for Polish Science, which was particularly helpful at the final stage of preparing this work, and by the Institute of Classical Studies of the University of Warsaw. My doctoral dissertation

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acknowledgements

was awarded the Prize of the Prime Minister of Poland, which made my work on this book much more convenient. This book is dedicated to my parents, for many reasons too intimate and at the same too obvious to mention here. Speaking of intimacy, until now I have, strangely enough, never thanked Kasia Pietruczuk for all her patience with me during my nukt¬n frontídev ëspérioi. To cut a long story short – Dziπkujπ.

INTRODUCTION

1.  Preliminary remarks …vous ne me ferez jamais prendre ces… calligrammes pour de la poésie. Je m’y refuse. – Évidemment, ce ne sont que des fantaisies, dit S.-T. Caravant. – Je vous demande bien pardon, réplique J.-H. Cormois. Ce sont des poèmes, et même de grands poèmes.

The present edition does not deal to any extent with Guillaume Apollinaire’s Calligrammes, to which the just-quoted French gentlemen allude; my only concern here are the six figure poems, or technopaegnia, as they are often referred to, gathered in the ancient collection preserved in the MS of the Palatine Anthology and in the bucolic MSS of Theocritus. Their traditional titles correspond – in accord with the later generic convention – with the shapes which the artful arrangement of their verses reproduces on the page: the collection consists of the Axe, Wings of Eros, Egg, Syrinx, and two Altars (which I will distinguish as Doric and Ionic). In the course of my discussion they will be ascribed to Simias of Rhodes, Pseudo-Theocritus, Dosiadas, and Julius Vestinus, and I will show that the dates of their composition range from c. 300 BC to AD 132 (?). My reason for quoting the rather trivial café conversation on Apollinaire’s visual experiments – for which the scene is Paris in the 1920s as depicted by Raymond Queneau in his 1936 novel Les Derniers jours – is that it not only conveniently summarises how the ancient precursors of Apollinaire’s visual poetry were viewed since their rediscovery in the Renaissance, but also, I believe, it enables us to grasp something of their essence. I do not think that the authors of the Greek figure poems had much pretension to moral depth or true philosophic wisdom. The technopaegnia emerged in an age which, by some respects, deserves to be labelled with Hesse’s phrase as feuilletonistisches Zeitalter. To occasion a short controversy among the Parisian intellectuals in a café would be, we are free to imagine, enough to satisfy the ambitions of their authors. But the poems are not bad poetry; each of them merits to be viewed as a fine specimen of its time, and the way in which they echo contemporary poetic programmes and new contexts for making poetry is remarkable. Unfortunately for them, however, the moral depth and true wisdom were what had long been sought for in ancient poetry by its readers. And when those severe critics did not find it there, they were severely displeased. To give a few examples: Gabriel Harvey, in one of his letters written in

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the greek figure poems

the 1570s, charmingly summarises Simias as “a folishe idle phantasticall poett that first devised this odd riminge with many other triflinge and childishe toyes to make verses, that shoulde in proportion represente the form and figure of an egg, an ape [sic!], a winge, and sutche ridiculous and madd gugawes and crockchettes, and of late foolishely revivid by sum, otherwise not unlernid, as Pierius, Scaliger, Crispin, and the rest of that crue”.1 Dryden, in no less charming verses scathing Thomas Shadwell, gives the poor dramatist telling advice (Mac Flecknoe 203-8): “Thy genius calls thee not to purchase fame | In keen iambics, but mild anagram: | Leave writing plays, and choose for thy command | Some peaceful province in acrostic land. | There thou may’st wings display and altars raise, | And torture one poor word ten thousand ways”. Joseph Addison, in one of his popular tirades printed at the beginning of the eighteenth century in the Spectator, eloquently argues that the ancient technopaegnia are “species of false wit”.2 Legrand – who was a contemporary of the gentlemen disputing on Apollinaire in Queneau’s novel – says of the Greek figure poems in a tone of contempt that “n’ont guère d’autre valeur que celle de curiosités” and that “leur mérite littéraire est mince, sinon nul”.3 And this is not just digging into the past. In 1988 the technopaegnia were still capable of disappointing such an influential Oxfordian scholar as Hutchinson, as one may infer from a passage in his Hellenistic Poetry, in which he is prepared to admit that “[t]he three pattern-poems of Simias … do display tensions between serious and unserious elements”, but adds that “[t]hese tensions are essentially far less sophisticated and intriguing than those of the later poets”.4 But the ancient and mediaeval readers that had a liking for the technopaegnia were also few in number. For Lucian, the Doric Altar, like the Alexandra of Lycophron, was an example of bad taste in poetry (Lex. 25). And one should not make too much of the fact that the figure poems are preserved in the relatively numerous bucolic MSS of Theocritus. None of them has all of the poems; this is a clear indication of the fact that the scribes were little interested in preserving the ancient collection of the technopaegnia as a whole, and rather treated them as an unessential addition to the bucolic corpus. That the collection is preserved and that we are now able to comprehend its unity is, above all, the merit of two Byzantine scholars: Constantine the Rhodian, who in the tenth century included 1.  Harvey (1884: 100). 2.  Addison (1711: 218). 3.  Legrand (1925: 226-7). 4.  Hutchinson (1988: 17 with n. 39). On the modern criticism of pattern poetry (including the ancient technopaegnia), see further Higgins (1987: 13-16).



introduction

5

the technopaegnia in his compilation, known as Book 15 of the Palatine Anthology, and Holobolus, who made his recension, a source for all of the so-called bucolic MSS, in the thirteenth century (see Int. 9). This fortunate survival of the technopaegnia can be compared to the preservation of Beowulf in a single MS which we owe to a copyist with an eccentric taste for marvellous stories.5 Of course, this is a simplistic picture; there were always readers capable of appreciating the Greek figure poems, such as Saumaise (Salmasius) – their first modern editor who was able to take into account the MS of the Anthology.6 Still, the general tendency in criticism is clear. The climate began to change significantly in favour of the technopaegnia at the end of the nineteenth century with the development of modern German philology and its great project of re-examining and cataloguing every known passage of ancient literature. It is no wonder that Wilamowitz devoted some attention to these poems and that his contributions on the subject have been significant.7 The dissertation of his disciple, Carl Haeberlin, is a milestone in the scholarship on the technopaegnia and has been, until now, the only existing edition of all six poems, and devoted to them exclusively (they were normally edited either as an appendix to the bucolic poets or with the epigrams of the Greek Anthology).8 The reputation of the Greek figure poems as “marginal aberrations”9 is not wholly undeserved, but the truth is that it attracts many readers. In the course of the twentieth century, a considerable effort was made to present them – especially the Syrinx, which is the quintessence of the collection – to wider audiences of non-specialists10 and to literature specialists who were not classicists.11 The technopaegnia have become available in translations (or paraphrases, as the riddling Syrinx and Doric Altar are virtually untranslatable) in a number of languages (for the list of translations, see Prelim. rem. in my commentary to each poem). Visual poetry is a well-established genre and the scholarship on it has developed into a considerable, autonomous discipline. General monographs often 5.  Cf. Orchard (2003: 1-27). 6.  Saumaise (1619). 7.  Wilamowitz (1883: 12-13; 1899; 1906: 89-90, 243-50; 1910; 1924: 1.111-13, 2.151-2). 8.  Haeberlin (1887); with Haeberlin (1890). 9.  The phrase is from Fantuzzi – Hunter (2004: 37-41). 10. Cf. Lombardo (1989), Simonini – Gualdoni (1978), Verdenius (1971; 1985), Kanakis (1970), ™anowski (1984), Kwapisz (2004). 11.  Cf. Martínez Fernández (1987-1988), Bonanno (2002), Pérez López (2002), Plotke (2005).

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have a special place reserved for the technopaegnia, from which the European history of the genre begins. Two such books deserve to be mentioned here especially. Ernst’s Carmen figuratum on the ancient and mediaeval history of the genre, and not limited to Europe, is a product of wide learning and should become a model for future synthesising approaches.12 Dick Higgins’ Pattern Poetry is of an impressively broad scope and is often used as a first reference book, although numerous inaccuracies impair its value.13 A number of similar monographs exist in various languages, but they need not be listed here (Higgins has the full bibliography).14 The technopaegnia have also attracted the attention of adherents to several of the most recent scholarly trends – for good and for worse. Their obscurity was mistaken for a mystic, religious code by Wojaczek, Reinhold Merkelbach’s disciple promptly responding to Reitzenstein’s old concept of the ritual origin of bucolic poetry.15 Although many of his ideas are untenable, it is Wojaczek’s merit that he was able to, in accordance with the current trends, situate the technopaegnia within the wider context of Hellenistic poetry and to view them as documents of their time. But more recent approaches have promised better results. The past few decades have witnessed the rapid and revolutionary development of scholarship on Hellenistic poetry, marked and instigated by events such as the appearance of Supplementum Hellenisticum in 1983, the start of a series of workshops on Hellenistic poetry held at the University of Groningen in 1992, or the publication of the ‘New Posidippus’ in 2001.16 Two of the fields on which the modern debate tends to focus have a special place reserved for the technopaegnia. First, some of the most fascinating recent contributions to classical scholarship (and Hellenistic in particular) have been exploring the interplay between art and literature, and specifically between text and image.17 The significance of the technopaegnia on this subject has already been noted,18 but I suspect that the last word has not yet been spoken about it. Secondly, the technopaegnia 12. Ernst (1991); cf. Adler – Ernst (1987). 13.  Higgins (1987). 14.  The most recent is Dencker (2011). 15.  Wojaczek (1969); for a criticism see Berg (1971). See also Wojaczek (1979; 1993). 16.  The fruits of the revolution are now conveniently summarised in Gutzwiller (2007) and Clauss – Cuypers (2010). 17. E.g. Small (2003), Zanker (2003). 18.  For such approaches to the technopaegnia, see Pappas (2004: 141-214; 2011: 49-51; 2013), Männlein-Robert (2007: 140-54), Squire (2009: 165-8; 2010: 77-84); these discussions are foreshadowed by Onians (1979: 108-10).



introduction

7

could not have been passed over in the fervent debate on orality vs. ­literacy in the Hellenistic age, which was opened up by Cameron’s influential book entitled Callimachus and His Critics.19 I will address this issue in detail below (Int. 2). A barrier that may restrict this flourishing scholarship is that scholars interested in the technopaegnia are deprived of a basic research tool – a modern commented edition which would address the whole range of problems that the student of these difficult poems has to face. Haeberlin’s edition has long been largely outdated. The standard edition that remains is Gow’s Bucolici Graeci,20 but what it lacks is not only a commentary (his edition of Theocritus has a commentary on the Syrinx21), but above all Gow’s enthusiasm (see Syr. Prelim. rem.). Strodel’s recent commented edition of Simias’ technopaegnia must be highly rated, especially in its part discussing the textual tradition of the poems,22 but only one half of the collection receives full treatment in her book. Pappas’ recent doctoral dissertation, a large part of which is devoted to the technopaegnia, does not provide the critical text (and the Ionic Altar has been excluded),23 and neither does Luz’s even more recent discussion in her much-needed book on Greek linguistic games.24 That a new edition is much needed is, therefore, evident, and it should not be surprising that at least two other editions of the technopaegnia are currently expected – from Bruna Marilena Palumbo and Luis Arturo Guichard (such overlaps are recently not infrequent in the crowded field of Hellenistic scholarship). One may hope that this abundance will significantly raise the quality of the scholarship on these difficult poems, which until now has not been free from implausible interpretations and confusing inaccuracies. My aim with the present edition is to propose new and unorthodox solutions to the numerous and persistent problems, as I believe that only the accumulation of scholarship allows one, in the longer perspective, to assess them properly. Hence, for instance, where the text is corrupt I am often inclined to prefer a new solution to the problem, if I find one, to the earlier emendations. Although it is likely that none of the poems in the collection can be dated to the period that coincides with the floruit of Theocritus and ­Callimachus, I intend the present edition to be, above all, a study of 19.  Cameron (1995). 20.  Gow (1958). 21.  Gow (1952: 2.552-7). 22.  Strodel (2002). 23.  Pappas (2004: 141-214). 24.  Luz (2010: 327-53); a basic apparatus accompanies the text of the Wings and the Egg.

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Alexandrian poetry. The poems of Simias, together with the meagre fragments of Philitas, are crucial witnesses of the period immediately preceding the golden age of Callimachus and Theocritus; not only Philitas, but also Simias influenced and largely foreshadowed the Callimachean programme. The rest of the technopaegnia were composed in subsequent periods and witness, in turn, the unceasing vitality of Alexandrian poetics. Instead of treating all six poems merely as eccentric experiments with the visual form, I will focus on their contents and will attempt to see their place within the context in which they were composed. My edition consists of the critical Greek text with apparatus, followed by an extensive commentary. The commentary on each poem is preceded by a brief introduction, including a note on the poem’s structure and a short bibliographical note. The latter does not list publications earlier than Haeberlin’s edition,25 which is to be consulted for older literature alongside Stodel’s book containing the full register of the editions of the technopaegnia.26 I have not provided the edition of the scholia since this would require a separate, book-length study, and good editions already exist (see Prelim. rem. in my commentary to each poem), although I do quote them extensively in my commentary whenever I find this necessary (more extensively in the commentary to the Syrinx and the Doric Altar). I did not inspect all of the MSS that transmit the text of the technopaegnia, as the full collation was recently made by Strodel,27 but I did examine the text provided by some of the important bucolic MSS28 and I devoted special attention to the text of the Anthology29 (see Int. 9). 2. Origin The reasons for which the Greek technopaegnia cannot be located precisely within any ancient genre, e.g. the epigram, are self-evident; they can therefore be legitimately said to form a mini-genre.30 A comment on Simias’ Axe in the scholia to Hephaestio (p. 140.16-19 Consbruch) may be taken to suggest that Simias had among the Greeks imitators other than those whose ­ élekuv, êpeid® katà poems comprise our collection:31 súggramma ö P 25.  Haeberlin (1887). 26.  Strodel (2002: 279-313). 27.  Strodel (2002). 28.  Some of the photographs in Ernst (1991) can be used in research. 29.  The facsimile: Preisendanz (1911). 30.  Cf. Palumbo (2003: 573). 31.  Cf. Palumbo (2003: 573), Guichard (2006: 83 n. 2).



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mímjsin pelékeov suntéqeike … ∂sti dè kaì Sfa⁄ra kaì Qrónov súggramma kaloúmenon. Saumaise thought that the same Sfa⁄ra is mentioned in Eust. in Il. 18.570 (which refers to the Homeric scholia) fasì … oï palaioì poijmátión ti êpì t¬ç Línwç e˝nai, Ω Sfa⁄ra mèn kale⁄tai, eîv ˆOrféa dè ânaféretai,32 but there is nothing to suggest that the otherwise unknown Orphic Ball (Orph. test. 408 Bernabé) was a figure poem; M. West is surely right that it “must surely have been of the same nature as the Sphaera of Musaeus, mentioned by Diogenes Laertius (1.3) in a context which shows that it had some scientific pretensions, and the Sphaera attributed to Democritus”.33 Resulting from the fact that other sources have nothing to say about the Ball or the Throne, and that no author is given in the scholion under discussion, we might infer that these two poems were conceived outside the mainstream literary production. Papyrological finds, such as SH 983-4 (the riddle on the oyster with an extensive commentary) and SH 996 (a school collection of various wordplays), suggest that there were different audiences interested in linguistic plays, and that we may be unaware of the existence of many such experiments, especially those less ambitious and appearing in more marginal contexts. However, we should also consider the possibility that the Throne and the Ball are ghost poems which never existed. It is suspicious, I argue, that sfa⁄ra appears to be an appropriate description of the layout of the Egg (at least as it stands in the MS of the Anthology, see Int. 5.2), and I suppose that the layout of one of the Altars can be taken by mistake to display a throne. We should also note that perhaps an alternative reading of the scholion is possible: ∂sti … kaloúmenon might in the late Greek of the scholiast stand periphrastically for kale⁄tai. What our scholiast intended to say would be, ‘the poem [sc. the Axe] is also called Ball or Throne’. This may sound at first absurd, but Simias’ poem has the shape of a double-axe in the MSS, which looks like a sort of stool or throne. In some MSS (which are relatively late, but the scholiast may have seen something similar) both blades of the double-axe are rounded, so that the layout is spherical (cf. Int. 9). We can therefore conclude that the collection which we have is likely to comprise all significant (i.e. composed by recognised poets) Greek technopaegnia known in antiquity. If other such poems had existed, they would have been included in the same compilation (on Latin imitations, see Int. 4). The term texnopaígnia/technopaegnia, often applied to the poems under discussion, is of late ancient provenance, but it was not used to 32.  Saumaise (1619: 219). 33.  M. West (1983: 33 n. 99).

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refer to them in antiquity.34 Technopaegnion is the title of Ausonius’ hexametric work, in which each line ends with a monosyllabic word. The title is explained by the poet himself in the preface (Techn. 1): libello Technopaegnii nomen dedi, ne aut ludum laboranti, aut artem crederes defuisse ludenti. Ausonius seems to have in mind the title of a collection of poems by one of the neoterics, Laevius’ Erotopaegnia, which, nota bene, included the figure poem Phoenix which alluded to Simias’ Wings.35 This title is, in turn, modelled on the popular denomination of the Hellenistic poetry books as paígnia, and attested, for example, for the ­collections of Philitas’ and Aratus’ poems.36 Hephaestio (p. 62.5-6 Consbruch) uses the term paígnia in reference to the figure poems of Simias (see further below); if any specific illustrative term for them circulated in antiquity, it has long disappeared without a trace. It is intriguing, however, that Eustathius of Thessalonica (in hymn. Pent. Damasc., PG 136.513c Migne), who refers to them as âqúrmata Mous¬n, probably alluding to the term paígnia (the phrase appears in the Ps.-Bacchylidean Ep. 2.3 FGE), immediately adds, semnóteron dè fánai âgálmata. ‰Agalma, which occurs with a different meaning in the Syrinx, is a very appropriate term for figure poems; see Syr. 8 n. But technopaegnia, in the light of what has been said, is also an appropriate denomination. Its history goes back to the early seventeenth and even late sixteenth century; it is thought that the word was first applied to ancient pattern poems by the Italian polymath, Fortunio Liceti, in his 1635 commentary to Optatian Porfyry’s Syrinx (the same scholar wrote commentaries on the Greek figure poems),37 but I find it used of various jeux de mots in general and of ancient figure poems in particular, with Simias’ Egg reproduced as an illustration of the term, in the famous ­Encyclopaedia of Johann Heinrich Alsted, first published in 1630.38 Throughout the present edition I interchangeably use the terms ­ ­tech­nopaegnia, ‘pattern poetry’ or ‘figure poems’ (the translation of the Latin carmina figurata), which were originally applied to the visual poetry of later periods. Note, however, that recent scholars extend the 34.  Cf. Strodel (2002: 1), Guichard (2006: 83-4). 35.  See Courtney (1993: 118-20); Kwapisz – Petrain – Szymanski (2013). 36.  See Sbardella (2000: 49-52), Spanoudakis (2002: 328). 37.  Liceti (1635: 76); cf. Higgins (1987: 49), Guichard (2006: 83-4). Liceti suggests that he found the term in Giraldi’s 1545 Historiae poetarum, but what Giraldi speaks of is in fact Ausonius’ Technopaegnion; see Giraldi (1580: 34). 38.  Alsted (1649: 508, 539-40, 547); I quote from a reprint of the 1630 work; cf. Hotson (2000: 177). For an even earlier occurrence of the word technopaegnion, which is used as the title for the collection of poesis artificiosa edited by Miko¥aj Lubomirski, cf. Tyrigeta (1598). On this book, see Rypson (2002: 65-6, 193).



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meaning of the term technopaegnia to include various types of wordplay.39 Simias’ figure poems, as the earliest known European specimens of the genre, are cultural innovations that have in some way influenced world literature (see Int. 4); the question of their genesis is therefore hardly trivial. The context in which the Greek figure poems emerge must be viewed from various perspectives and reconstructed as a complex and multidimensional reality. Even in my capacious approach, however, I see no room for the conception that found its full realisation in the work of Wojaczek,40 according to which the technopaegnia were developed from magical formulae and were heavily influenced by Orphism. Apart from the cosmogonic themes in the Wings (which are not necessarily Orphic; see Wings Prelim. rem.), nothing in the content of the technopaegnia provides convincing ground to accept the ‘Orphic hypothesis’; therefore, it will not be further discussed here.41 On the contrary, the link between the figure poems and the dedicatory epigram, either inscriptional or literary, which was noted by many scholars, is evident (in one case there is a link with the ecphrastic epigram; see Wings Prelim. rem. and 1 n.).42 This is not surprising in early thirdcentury book-poetry since the most developed tradition of written poetry with which the Greeks were familiar at the dawn of the Hellenistic age was that of the inscriptional epigram; it has recently been shown that this tradition significantly influenced even non-epigrammatic Hellenistic compositions.43 But such an influence was even stronger in the case of the technopaegnia, which, to some extent, present themselves as inscriptions or epigrams. Just as, e.g. Posidippus’ anathematika (Ep. 36-41 Austin-Bastianini) purport to accompany votive offerings, so do Simias’ Axe and the Syrinx purport to be inscribed on them (the case of the Ionic Altar is different as it wants to be viewed not as an inscription on the object, but as the object itself44). The technopaegnia abundantly use the conventional language of votive formulae and thus mirror the narrative situation familiar to us from dedicatory epigrams (cf. Axe 1-2 n., Wings 1 n.). A step further was attempted. Since a votive inscription on the axe found in Calabria, dated to the second half of the sixth century BC 39.  See Lloyd-Jones and Parsons’ commentary to SH 996, Danielewicz (2005a: 600-1) and esp. Luz (2010) and Kwapisz – Petrain – Szymanski (2013). 40.  Wojaczek (1969: 60-4); cf. Ernst (1991: 33-45) and already Dieterich (1891: 199) and Deonna (1926: 192-3). 41.  Cf. Cameron (1995: 36 n. 77), Guichard (2006: 89-90). 42.  Cf. Strodel (2002: 267-9), Guichard (2006: 90-1), with further literature. 43.  See Meyer (2005: 225-63). 44.  Cf. Cameron (1995: 36).

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(IG 14.643), was written so as to adjust the writing to the shape of the blade, it was often taken as evidence in support of the hypothesis, most recently advocated by Cameron,45 that Simias’ figure poems had been composed for inscription on real objects. But even though in many cases inscribed and quasi-inscriptional epigrams are notoriously difficult to discern,46 would it not be equally naïve to argue that all of Posiddipus’ dedicatory epigrams once accompanied real offerings?47 Simias’ poems are intricate metrical productions, for which the trivial inscription that is not even metrical does not provide a good parallel. Simias’ technopaegnia surely do not belong to the class of oral dictated texts; at least the act of their composition required a papyrus or a tablet, which makes them an obvious product of the developing book culture. Moreover, their virtuosity now, as they are found on a page of the book, is not just metrical; it also consists in the fact that they play with the epigraphic convention; not being real inscriptions but imitating them. Book epigrams often engage their readers in Ergänzungsspiel,48 i.e. a game in which the reader is left with the task of supplementing the missing material context of the pseudo-inscriptional epigram – the context which the narrative implies and to which it alludes without going into all the details. The technopaegnia seem to expect from the reader familiarity with such a game of supplementation; the visual form of these poems provides a most unusual aid to the imagination, the cleverness of which only such a competent reader, accustomed to looking for much more evident intratextual hints, can appreciate in full. It is much more attractive to think of this concept as deliberate, and to ascribe it to the poet rather than to some scribe who would have eventually copied the poems down from the objects on which they were written. Additionally, it is perhaps not a coincidence that the size of Simias’ technopaegnia allows one to imagine the Axe and the Wings filling in one column of a book scroll (12 + 12 lines), and the Egg – another (20 lines).49 It may be inferred from the polymetry of some of the fragments of S ­ imias which have reached us that the poems of which once they were a part were composed to be included in one and the same poetry book,50 and 45.  Cameron (1995: 33-7). Cf. Wilamowitz (1906: 245-6), Legrand (1925: 224-6). 46.  Cf. e.g. Bing (2009: 194-216), whose terminology I have adopted. 47.  Cf. Palumbo (2003: 574), Guichard (2006: 91). 48.  The term was coined in 1995 by Bing; see Bing (2009: 85-105). See also Zanker (2003: 72-102). 49. On the standard length of the papyrus column, see Van Sickle (1980: 6). 50.  See the chapter “Variorum metrorum fragmenta” in Fränkel (1915: 46-52), M. West (1982: 145, 151-2). Esp. fr. 15 Powell can be viewed as a metrical gr⁄fov; see Int. 5.2.



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the unusual metre of the technopaegnia make them likely candidates for such a collection of metrical novelties (see also Int. 5.2). The Egg, which contains a reference to Simias himself, may be imagined as his sphragis in such a book; we might compare it to Posidippus’ Seal (Ep. 118 Austin-Bastianini), which may have been composed as the closing poem for Posidippus’ epigram collection.51 Note that the Phoenix, a figure poem modelled on Simias’ Wings (see Int. 4), was, according to Charis. p. 376. 1-2 Barwick, the last poem in Laevius’ book of Erotopaegnia (for which an alternative title may have been, intriguingly, Polymetra; cf. Prisc. GL 2.258 Keil) – is this because a technopaegnion also concluded Simias’ book?52 The naïveté of the theory of the epigraphic nature of the technopaegnia reaches its climax with the confession made by Wilamowitz, one of its advocates, with reference to Simias’ Egg: “ich habe in meinem Leben manches Osterei beschrieben”.53 I cannot help but imagine Wila­ mo­witz inscribing Simias’ poems on ostrich eggs for Easter (it would be difficult, if not impossible, to inscribe the poem’s twenty lines on a smaller egg). The metrical novelty and complexity of Simias’ technopaegnia allow us to locate them more firmly within the context of Alexandrian poetry.54 In its basic form, the choriambic verse employed by Simias in the Axe and the Wings may be regarded as one of the “verse-forms derived from archaic monody” that, in accord with a common Hellenistic practice, were invented “to widen the repertory of stichic and distichic metres available for literary purposes”.55 We might think that such ‘inventions’ have contributed nothing new to the field of metrics, but the Hellenistic poets felt the contrary. Philicus, a poet of the generation after Simias (see Int. 3.1), reuses Simias’ choriambic verse in his Hymn to Demeter (SH 676-80), which is composed of catalectic choriambic hexameters. This is a sufficient reason for him to emphasise explicitly the novelty of his composition (SH 677): kainográfou sunqésewv t±v Filíkou, grammatikoí, d¬ra férw pròv üm¢v. A similar self-conscious expression of pride is found in the (contemporary?) fragment of Boiscus of Cyzicus (SH 233): Boískov äpò KuhikoÕ, kainoÕ grafeùv poißmatov, | tòn ôktápoun eürÑn stíxon, Foíbwç tíqjsi d¬ron.56 An anonymous lyric passage preserved in the P. Berol. 13270 also highlights its own novelty 51.  As was suggested by Gutzwiller (2005a: 317-19). 52. On Simias’ poetry book, see further Kwapisz (2013). 53.  Wilamowitz (1906: 245). 54.  Cf. Guichard (2006: 91-2). 55.  M. West (1982: 149). Cf. Hunter (1996: 4-5). 56.  Cf. Bing (1988: 22-3).

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(fr. 917c.3-4 Campbell): ãrti brúousan âoidàn | prwtopage⁄ sofíaç diapoikílon êkféromen. This is Timothean rather than Alexandrian, since the poem should perhaps be dated to the first half of the fourth century BC (cf. Tim. fr. 791.203 Campbell MoÕsan neoteux±),57 but the papyrus on which the text is preserved is from the early third century BC, and it seems significant that the poem re-emerges in the time of Calli­ machus. Paradoxically then, the manifestation of innovativeness is now recognisable as one of the Hellenistic conventions. This is the context in which one must view the opening of the Egg, with which the poem introduces itself to the reader as ãtrion néon; perhaps the reference is to the poem’s novel metrical pattern (see Egg 3 n.). However, it is the poem of Simias that is of relatively early date and may be suspected to provide a programmatic stimulus for later tendencies. The peculiar metrical characteristics of Simias’ poems deserve consideration, and not just because they allow us to situate the technopaegnia in the context of Hellenistic virtuoso poetry.58 They lead me to formulate a more tentative proposal that might shed light on the genesis of visual poetry. This requires a brief digression. The opinio communis on the ancient colometry of lyric texts (i.e. the marked division of lyric poetry into longer metrical units, or cola, in writing) is that it is the invention of Aristophanes of Byzantium.59 Classic passages are in this context D. H. Comp. 22 and 26, which associate the colometric division with ˆAristofánjv Æ t¬n ãllwn tiv. The papyrus evidence, as provided, for example, by the just-mentioned P. Berol. 13270, dated to the first half of the third century BC, the lyric part of which is written in scriptio continua as prose, strengthens the supposition that colometry begins with Aristophanes. This general picture, however, has not remained unchallenged. The Lille Papyrus of Stesichorus (Stesich. fr. 222A Campbell), perhaps to be dated to the second half of the third century BC, may or may not coincide with Aristophanes’ lifetime60 – the second possibility is not to be ruled out too hastily.61 Gentili thinks that some colometric awareness can be attributed even to the authors of several archaic poetic inscriptions.62 As a matter of fact, it was already Pfeiffer who noticed that the Hellenistic practice (which I have already mentioned) of using 57. See Bravo (1997: 53-8, 94). On the fourth-century context of the Timothean expression, see Hordern (2002: 234). 58.  Cf. Palumbo (2007: 118 n. 5). 59.  See Pfeiffer (1968: 185-8), Parker (2001: 31). 60.  See M. West (1978: 3-4). 61.  Cf. Rutherford (2001: 146-7 with n. 14). 62.  Gentili (1992: 773).



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lyric ‘members’ katà stíxon “implies a certain consciousness of individual cola in the text of early lyric and dramatic poetry”.63 I am convinced that it is not accidental that the invention of colometry appears to coincide with the rapid development of book culture and the efflorescence of poetry books in the third century BC.64 In a time when poetry is often first experienced through reading, the written poetic text no longer merely mechanically records a performance. It becomes, instead, a scenario, i.e. it should supply the reader with enough interpretive hints to enable him or her to properly read or even perform the text without having heard it first. Recently it has been noted by Palumbo – attractively, to my mind – that the mise en page created by the metrical pattern of the technopaegnia implies that colometry was not alien to their authors.65 I think that it is particularly the Egg that may be used to reinforce Palumbo’s suggestion (even though I suspect that it is not a figure poem like the others; see Int. 5.2), since one can infer from the metrical plan of this lyric composition, as it is described by the poem itself (lines 9-10), as well as from how the plan is carried out (see Int. 6.2), that Simias had his own theory of lyric colometry. But there is more to that. If there are third-century lyric papyri in which colometric division does not appear, then the invention must be very fresh in the time of Simias (which would also explain the confusion about its date). Would it not be Simias himself – a metrical experimentalist, a poet-scholar who, like Philitas, foreshadowed later generations of the Alexandrian scholars66 – to be a likely candidate for the title of protos heuretes? Even if not, the likely temporal coincidence between the invention of colometry and the emergence of the technopaegnia is striking. My conclusion is that it may have been the invention of colometry – the amorphous lyric text was arranged so that, by accident, it gained a visual shape – that made possible the foundation of the new genre of visual poetry, or even provided a direct stimulus for it. Cameron, who does not believe that the technopaegnia are true figure poems (see above and Int. 5), remarks that “it would be surprising if such an enterprise had originated in an age when non-stichic verse texts were copied in continuous lines that took no account of metrical units”.67 This line of reasoning is certainly correct, but does not necessarily imply that the technopaegnia were not a visual book phenomenon; it is rather the 63.  Pfeiffer (1968: 185-6). Cf. Hunter (1996: 6). 64. On the emergence of Hellenistic book culture, see Bing (1988: 10-48). 65.  Palumbo (2003: 581). Cf. also Di Gregorio (2008: 71-2). 66.  Cf. Pfeiffer (1968: 89-90). 67.  Cameron (1995: 33).

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common view of ancient colometry that is imperfect and should be verified. In this sense, if the technopaegnia are dependent on the invention of colometry, they are also the offspring of the fast-developing culture of the book, and the poetry book in particular, since all of these phenomena appear to be closely interconnected. One more tradition that may have influenced the technopaegnia is the riddle (the Greek word for it, frequently used in connection with the technopaegnia by modern scholarship, is gr⁄fov).68 The predilection for wordplays and language games in Hellenistic poetry is famous.69 Callimachus is known to have composed a riddling poem, Athena, of which no fragment has reached us (Call. test. 23.9-10 Pfeiffer), and Lycophron’s Alexandra is the culmination of such tendencies. The third-century papyrus, on which the riddling poem on the oyster is followed by a detailed commentary (SH 983-4), shows that such poetry was not only intended to amuse the reader, but was also treated seriously enough to be met with regular exegetical interest. The Oyster itself is a learned poem, full of Homeric allusions and written in an elaborate style.70 Its ambition is not to shock the audience with its eccentrity, but – just as in the case of the poems which the present book discusses – to be a source of the refined entertainment which only successful poetry can provide. The riddling style of the Syrinx and the Doric Altar is easily recognisable as that of Lycophron’s Alexandra (see Int. 3.2).71 The question is, however, whether also Simias’ figure poems, the style of which is not riddling, may be somehow related to the riddle. Such a connection seems quite probable. We have already seen that although the term techno­ paegnia refers primarily to figure poems, it has been at times used as a label under which various wordplays are grouped – as is in Alsted’s 1630 Encyclopaedia, but also in modern scholarship. It seems very probable that Simias’ contemporaries, as well as Simias himself, viewed the technopaegnia as a sort of gr⁄foi. This can be inferred from the remaining fragments of the treatise Perì grífwn, written by a pupil of Aristotle (and therefore perhaps Simias’ contemporary), Clearchus of Soli. This work included a discussion of Castorion of Soli’s Hymn to Pan (SH 310 = Clearch. fr. 88 Wehrli), a poem that is not, strictly speaking, a riddle 68. On ancient riddles and wordplay, see now esp. Luz (2010) and Kwapisz – Petrain – Szymanski (2013). Ohlert (1912) will remain useful, and see further Cameron (1995: 80-1), M. West (2007: 363-72). On the Rätselepigramm, see Forster (1945) and Kirstein (2008). 69.  See e.g. Wilamowitz (1924: 2.152) and Gutzwiller (2007: 42-3). 70.  For a discussion, see Sbardella (2000: 183-4). 71.  Cf. Hollis (2007: 283).



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or text difficult to understand – it plays with the metre just as Simias’ poems do.72 Moreover, one of Simias’ technopaegnia, the Wings, does begin in a manner reminiscent of a riddle – the persona loquens (Eros) does not reveal his identity until it is expressed explicitly in line 9 (note that the text is uncertain here and it is possible that the narrator was not explicitly identified at all). The reader is at first tempted to figure out who is speaking on his or her own. Yet the Axe is different; the identity of the object described is obvious from the very beginning. Note also a structural element that both the Axe and the Wings (but not the Egg), as well as all three later technopaegnia which allude to Simias’ poems, have in common – the syntax oûk … âllá which describes the object to which it refers by somewhat redundantly stating both what it is and what it is not. Its exact nature and origin are unclear to me (but perhaps videbunt alii), yet it seems possible that such a mode of double characterisation was typical of the riddle; see Axe 5-6 n. This would reinforce the assumption that the technopaegnia were conceived primarily as (metrical) gr⁄foi. Finally, we have already seen that Hephaestio refers to the Egg as one of paígnia (62.5-6 Consbruch). This does not seem to be a precise generic term, but it appears likely that during Simias’ lifetime it may have encompassed short, epigram-like riddling poems (see further below).73 The collection of Philitas’ Paígnia is attested firmly enough; one of the two poems that have reached us under this title seems to be a sort of riddle (this is fr. 8 Lightfoot, no less elegant than the Oyster; the MS attribution of the other fragment to the same book seems erroneous, cf. fr. 7 Lightfoot), and some scholars were tempted (rightly, I think) to see its companion from the same book in another Philitean riddling fragment (fr. 15 Lightfoot).74 In this light it is not unreasonable to suggest that Simias’ book, which comprised what we now call technopaegnia (and other metrical experiments?) bore the title of Paígnia, and that it was different from his book of Epígrammata – there is evidence for the existence of such two distinct poetry books that went under the name of his contemporary, Philitas.75 As a matter of fact, however, there is no clear boundary as to where the Hellenistic poetic diction ceases to be just erudite and becomes ­riddling. The most conspicuous feature of the riddling style of Lycophron’s 72.  Cf. Guichard (2006: 92). On Castorion’s poem, see Bing (1985). 73.  See Sbardella (2000: 51-2). 74.  Cf. Hollis (2007: 283 n. 35). 75.  See Sbardella (2000: 50) – but see his n. 159 for the contrary view. On Philitas’ and Simias’ books of Paígnia, see Kwapisz (2013).

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Alexandra are the elaborate poetic compounds; they are, out of necessity, abundant in the Syrinx and in both Altars, i.e. in poems whose style is more or less directly modelled on Lycophron’s language. But this use of compounds is vaguely reminiscent of the language of Aeschylus, Pindar and of riddling dithyrambic compounds.76 As LeVen rightly emphasises in her discussion of the latter, poetic compounds are, in fact, “a feature of all Greek poetry”,77 and we may add to this that all Hellenistic poetry is deeply rooted in this tradition. Compounds are evidently something for which also Simias had a predilection78 – Wilamowitz even saw a connection between his artful diction and the dithyrambic language,79 although Simias does not seek obscurity. The language of all six figure poems, despite its apparent innovativeness, places them where various traditions of Greek poetry meet. When we speak of poetic compounds a remarkable document must be mentioned: P. Hibeh 172, a papyrus dated to 270-230, contains a list of poetic compounds, in great part already known to us, but also partly new (SH 991).80 Producing poetry was a well-developed industry in the Hellenistic age; it is tempting to imagine the poet of the Syrinx with a glossary of rare compounds in one hand, Philitas’ famous lexicon in another,81 and with a writing tablet on his (or her) lap (cf. Call. fr. 1.21-2 Harder). One last word remains to be added in this section on the cultural context in which the technopaegnia emerged. The standard view of Hellenistic poetry used to be that it was to be situated almost entirely within the framework of book culture; as Bing puts it in his most influential discussion, “poetry was now largely experienced through books”, and “chiefly composed and experienced in writing”.82 More recently, this view of Hellenistic poetry was ardently contested by Cameron, who eloquently argued that the symposium remained in the Hellenistic age as a basic medium of poetic communication, which is, therefore, still to be considered as the oral, not written, act.83 Cameron thus opened up one of the most important modern debates concerning Hellenistic poetry,84 and stimulating studies have been devoted to the attitude of the chief Hellenistic poets 76. On dithyrambic compounds, see LeVen (2008: 140-3; forthcoming). On the differences between Hellenistic and dithyrambic compounds, see LeVen (2013). 77.  LeVen (2008: 143). Cf. Dover (1971: lxvi) on Theocritus. 78.  Cf. Martínez Fernández (1987: 218). 79.  Wilamowitz (1924: 1.112). 80.  See Spanoudakis (2002: 402-3). 81. On Philitas’ ‰Ataktoi gl¬ssai, see Bing (2009: 11-32). 82.  Bing (1988: 15, 20). 83.  Cameron (1995: 71-103). 84.  For a criticism, see Bing (2009: 106-15).



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towards the symposium.85 My belief is that we have enough evidence to show that Hellenistic symposia were significantly different from their predecessors.86 As a consequence, I share Bing’s view that most Hellenistic poetry was experienced through books. However, I admit that Cameron’s formulation of the problem, one-sided as it is, is successful in drawing our attention to the fact that Hellenistic poetry could still have been heard at banquets, even if this experience was different from that of the past, or at least it helps us to realise that it may be rewarding to search for traces of oral conventions. For Bing, as well as for others, the Hellenistic figure poems are obvious witnesses to book culture, since, alongside acrostichs, they are “purely visual phenomena” and “verses that must be read to be understood”.87 The technopaegnia are undeniably intended for a book, but even opposite phenomena can coexist in the time of change. I find it thought-provoking to consider what it would mean to hear a figure poem. One curious feature of all the technopaegnia, and of Simias’ poems in particular, is that, unless the editor intervenes, the shape formed by their verses is very imperfect.88 In the already mentioned poem of Castorion of Soli (SH 310), each metron consists of eleven letters, so that all lines are of equal length. While Optatian Porfyry was able to achieve the same effect of regularity in his figure poems, the lines of Simias’ technopaegnia (and of the poems composed by his imitators) are regular only metrically, not visually. In addition, the shapes of Simias’ poems, as well as that of the Syrinx, are not particularly refined (the Altars are not that unsophisticated). In fact, when viewed as specimens of visual poetry, the technopaegnia of Simias, as well as the Syrinx, turn out to be quite unsatisfactory, perhaps to be counted among the least spectacular compositions in the history of the genre. This surely calls for an explanation, as both Simias and the poet of the Syrinx are easily recognised as highly skilled poets (cf. Int. 3). Why is that so? A good enough answer is, as far as I can see, that even when Simias experiments with the visual form of poetry, he remains a traditional poet – it ought to be again emphasised that his floruit is to be dated to the generation before Callimachus – who is accustomed to composing for the 85.  See Bruss (2004) on Callimachus, J. Burton (1992) and Pretagostini (2006) on Theocritus, López Cruces (1995: 139-86) on Cercidas, Guichard (2004: 47-57) on Asclepiades, Gutzwiller (1998: 115-82) and Bing – Bruss (2007a: 12-14) on the epigram. For a useful summary, see Gutzwiller (2007: 178-88). 86.  See Kwapisz (forthcoming). 87.  Bing (1988: 15, 18); cf. e.g. Gutzwiller (2007: 180-1). 88.  Cf. Legrand (1925: 225).

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ear rather than for the eye, and who thinks in terms of metre and symposium rather than visual effect and book.89 This impression is reinforced by the fact that his poetry is rich in Klangspiele (cf. Axe 11-12 n.). The Egg was, I think, almost certainly intended for some kind of performance; it is particularly remarkable for its dynamic rhythm and metre as well as numerous sound-plays, and although one should be careful, as Gutzwiller warns, not to “confuse the representation of a speech act with the speech act itself”,90 it is suggestive how this poem explores the themes of music, song and dance. The Syrinx shares with the Egg many of these characteristics (see my commentaries on both poems, passim).91 The last point to be highlighted in the discussion of a possible connection between the technopaegnia and the sympotic tradition is that the symposium is a natural environment for the riddle, as well as for games that require erudition and assume a certain level of literary sensitiveness of their participants92 – hence the riddling character of the technopaegnia suggests the possibility of some link between them and those gr⁄foi that were specifically sympotic. We have seen that Simias’ figure poems may have originally been, similarly to Philitas’ riddling poems, a part of the collection of paígnia. Because we can see that both in classical and in Hellenistic poetry the verb paíhein can be applied to the sympotic entertainment or, specifically, to the poetic performances at the symposium (cf. Pi. O. 1.14-17, Ion fr. eleg. 26.16 and 27.7 Campbell, Hedyl. 5.3-4 and 6.3-4 Gow-Page), it has been attractively suggested that in the time of Philitas, paígnia, as opposed to êpigrámmata, were composed for the symposium (real or fictitious, a symposium in which one participates through the act of reading).93 Philit. fr. 15 Lightfoot, a riddling description of the aulos, fits within what was identified in the discussion of the poetry of Ion of Chios as “a distinctive tradition of sympotic poetry that aims exactly at mystifying the equipment and practices of the sym­ posium”.94 This tradition is attested in sympotic poetry as early as with Ion’s riddling metaphor depicting the vine and grapes (Ion fr. eleg. 26 Campbell).95 The possibility that Simias’ figure poems belong to this tradition surely deserves serious consideration. 89.  Cf. Palumbo (2007: 118 n. 5). 90.  Gutzwiller (1998: 115-16). 91.  Cf. Männlein-Robert (2007: 140-54), Cameron (1995: 36). 92.  Cf. Cameron (1995, 80-1), Slater (1982: 346-9). 93.  Sbardella (2000: 51); cf. Reitzenstein (1893: 87-9). 94.  Power (2007: 201), who provides examples of musical riddles. Cf. Reitzensten (1893: 179-80), Sbardella (2000: 146-7), Lightfoot (2009: 49 n. 12). 95. On this fragment and its context, see Clarke (2007: 209-13) and Katsaros (2007: 231-6).



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It seems appropriate to add here that perhaps we should not, at this stage, restrict our thinking of poetry at the Hellenistic banquet to performance; one might imagine a papyrus sheet circulating among the participants as the illustration to what is being performed. The already mentioned P. Berol. 13270 may probably serve as an example of a papyrus that witnessed a Hellenistic drinking party. Although its interpretation is highly problematic,96 its clearly sympotic content suggests that it could be used as a sort of “‘prontuario’ o promemoria per chi dovesse partecipare ad un convito”.97

3.  Date and authorship The problems of dating and authenticity are among the most difficult which students of the technopaegnia must face. The authorship of the Syrinx and the relative chronology of it and the Doric Altar must receive special attention. The two poems are in many ways linked to each other and I will discuss them jointly. 3.1.  Simias’ poems Simias’ authorship of the Axe, the Wings and the Egg is warranted by the joint testimony of MSS (though not by their consensus) and of Hephaestio, who mentions all three poems as having been composed by Simias (see my apparatus).98 That some MSS either explicitly or silently ascribe the Axe and the Wings to Theocritus should not bother us – the collection of the technopaegnia was part of a compilation of bucolic poems, for the most part Theocritean. Moreover, in that edition the two poems immediately followed the Syrinx, which was ascribed to Theocritus (see Int. 8). Analogically, the triple ascription of the Egg, which we find below the text of the poem in the MS of the Anthology – to ‘Besantinus, Dosiadas or Simias’ – can be easily explained by the assumption that the Egg followed either the Altar of Dosiadas or the one of Besantinus in the MSS from which it was copied (see Int. 8). It was already Saumaise who was familiar with a passage in which Hephaestio comments on the fragment of Philicus, quoted above (Int. 2), 96.  Cf. Kwapisz (2008c). 97.  Maltomini (2002: 75). For an important discussion of the context of the technopaegnia, see now Pappas (2013). 98.  Cf. e.g. Guichard (2006: 84 n. 5).

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in which the poet boasts about the invention of the choriambic hexameter (SH 677): ceúdetai dé· prò gàr aûtoÕ [sc. Philicus] Simmíav ö ¨Ródiov êxrßsato [sc. employed such a metre] ên t¬ç Pelékei … kân ta⁄v Ptéruzin (Heph. p. 30.21-31.13 Consbruch).99 This implies that Hephaestio knew that Simias had died before Philicus’ floruit, and since we see Philicus as a priest of Dionysus in Ptolemy’s so-called Grand Procession,100 Simias must have lived not later than in the early third century BC. The date cannot be much earlier since it is very likely, as Fränkel noted, that Simias knew Timaeus of Tauromenium (see Axe 1-2 n.).101 This universally accepted dating is supported by the fact that Simias’ diction and unusual metrics seem to be in agreement with the taste predominant in the age of Callimachus, which suggests that both poets are not distant in time from each other.102 On the other hand, Simias’ concept of Eros as an ephebe, not a little child (see Wings 2 n.), is surely pre-Hellenistic, and the fact that this figure is very different from the conventional Hellenistic putti appears to me to confirm the proposed terminus ante quem. Simias of Rhodes (not Simmias, as our sources sometimes call him103) was, therefore, a contemporary of Philitas of Cos, whom he resembles in many respects.104 Both were, to evoke the famous phrase applied to Philitas by Strabo (14.2.19), poijtaì †ma kaì kritikoí – just like Philitas, Simias was the author of Gl¬ssai, of which almost nothing survives.105 Both appear to have had a strong influence on the Hellenistic poetic programmes; Callimachus and Theocritus give Philitas a prominent place in their most famous programmatic poems (see Call. fr. 1.9-12 Harder with the scholia, Theoc. Id. 7.39-41), whereas Posidippus, in a remarkable epigram, honours the poet by describing a monument set up for him by King Ptolemy on Cos (Ep. 63 Austin-Bastianini). Whether Simias was regarded with similar reverence is less evident (for Meleager he is brwt® âxráv – an edible, yet not particularly sweet fruit; cf. Mel. 1.30 GowPage), but the influence of the Egg is, with much certainty, detected in Theocritus, and can be suspected in Callimachus (see my commentary on the Egg). See further Int. 4. For us, unfortunately, both personages remain somewhat enigmatic due to the scarcity of the surviving fragments.   99.  Saumaise (1619: 160-1). 100. On Philicus, see Fantuzzi (2007). 101.  Cf. Fränkel (1915: 10-11). 102.  Cf. Gow – Page (1965: 2.511). 103.  See J. Powell (1925: 109), Cameron (1995: 33 n. 63). 104. On Philitas, see Sbardella (2000), Spanoudakis (2002), Bing (2009: 11-32). 105.  The fragments were collected by Fränkel (1915: 113-15).



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The importance of Philitas has been fully recognised only recently, and my impression is that Simias – a poet that, like Philitas, foreshadows many later tendencies – deserves more attention than he has received until now.106 Hermann Fränkel’s edition of Simias’ fragments is now almost a hundred years old. 3.2.  Syrinx and Doric Altar The Syrinx is ascribed to Theocritus by all the MSS and the scholia; this unanimity results from the internal evidence, as the poem itself claims to be Theocritean at lines 11-12. The Syrinx was, however, generally considered spurious before Bergk, primarily due to the naïve belief that such a monstrum107 could not have been produced by such a subtle poet.108 Bergk saw the argument hardly sufficient and defended the poem’s authenticity,109 which was after that, in turn, accepted as Theocritean until Gow raised an objection in 1914 – arguing that the Greek panpipe is rectangular in shape, while the trapezoidal shape, which the layout of the poem exhibits, is of Etruscan or Roman origin.110 In his 1952 edition of Theocritus, he sustained this view by noting: “Beazley has called my attention to two vases which might provide evidence for the stepped form of syrinx in Greece as early as the third century BC – a plastic vase in Paris … and a lagynos in Petrograd … On the first however the instrument looks to have been tampered with by a restorer, and on the second not to be a syrinx”.111 This should be approached with a strong dose of skepticism; the evidence which Gow dismissed deserves reconsideration. The plastic vase (Louvre CA 1959) dated to the first half of the fifth century BC (!) can be seen in a fine photograph in Haas’ useful book on the Greek panpipe;112 to maintain that a restorer changed the vase’s form is mere fantasy. Gow’s “not a syrinx” on the Hermitage lagynos113 looks just like other panpipes on similar lagynoi114 – but perhaps this is ­irrelevant to our discussion since the lagynos is dated to the third/second century.115 106.  Yet see now Sistakou (2007) and esp. Di Gregorio (2008). 107.  The denomination is of Legrand (1925: 219). 108.  Cf. Gow (1914: 128). 109.  Bergk (1868: lxviii-lxix). 110.  Gow (1914). On the Greek panpipe, see Haas (1985), M. West (1992: 109-12); cf. Kwapisz (2008a). 111.  Gow (1952: 2.554 n. 3). 112.  Haas (1985: 106 with figs. 94, 94a). 113.  For a photograph and discussion, see Pharmakowsky (1907: 138-9 with fig. 9). 114.  See Haas (1985: figs. 102, 106, 106a). 115.  See Pharmakowsky (1907: 139).

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Yet Haas adduces another stepped panpipe dated to 370-280.116 In sum, evidence for the early trapezoidal instruments is not very abundant and it would not be a waste of time if some musicologist (or an expert in art?) made an attempt at explaining the striking preference for the rectangular panpipe in the surviving representations; nevertheless, that the Greeks were, at least a century before the Ptolemies, familiar with the stepped panpipe can no longer be doubted. All of this, i.e. that Gow was wrong, that stepped panpipes were in use among the Greeks and that the authenticity of the Syrinx cannot be questioned on this ground, is well known to the German-speaking scholars,117 but Gow’s view on the authenticity of the poem still finds adherents.118 Should we, then, view the Syrinx as Theocritean? There are good reasons not to. In a recent discussion Palumbo argued that the large number of allusions to Theocritus’ poems, primarily to the most famous, Idylls 1 and 7 (see my commentary, passim), may suggest that the Syrinx is a sort of tribute to Theocritus, “un omaggio a Teocrito, consacrato fondatore della poesia bucolica”.119 This actually partly revives an old suggestion of Hiller’s, according to whom numerous allusions to Theocritus’ poetry, apart from the “Geschmacklosigkeit des Ganzen”, are highly suspect.120 Gow thought that the Theocritean reminiscences “do not … warrant more than a suspicion”,121 but I think that Hiller’s and Palumbo’s intuitions may be leading us in the right direction. Even though self-quotations are not rare in the poetry of Theocritus,122 the perspective from which the poet of the Syrinx looks at the poetry of Theocritus is, I argue, too distanced to be genuinely Theocritean, as he takes only what is the most famous from the most famous pieces, i.e. Simichidas and Comatas from Id. 7, the main motif (dedication of a panpipe to Pan) from Id. 1, and the vocabulary from both of these poems. It is particularly striking that the poet of the Syrinx recognises Theocritus as a bucolic poet par excellence and evidently distinguishes the bucolic element from the rest of his ­corpus, thus giving special emphasis to Idylls 1 and 7; in other words, it is undeniably the bucolic Theocritus to whom the Syrinx is devoted (see my commentary, 116.  Haas (1985: 117 with fig. 137). 117.  See Wojaczek (1969: 93 with n. 4), Haas (1985: 55-7 with n. 290), Ernst (1991: 82), Nickau (2002: 401 with n. 41), Bernsdorff (2006: 177 n. 44). M. West (1992: 111 n. 133) is aware of Louvre CA 1959, yet thinks that it is “one isolated example” and in the same note ascribes the Syrinx to “Ps.-Theoc.” 118.  See e.g. Guichard (2006: 84 with n. 6). 119.  Palumbo (2007: 120-6). 120.  Hiller (1881: 296). 121.  Gow (1914: 128 n. 11). 122.  See e.g. Stanzel (1996).



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esp. 11-12 n.). It was convincingly suggested that the label ‘bucolic’ was attached to a part of Theocritus’ poems retrospectively – by the post-­ Theocritean tradition.123 Even if one disagrees with this theory, it is obvious that the way in which the Syrinx deals with the generic concept of the bucolic is exactly the same as that in which later bucolic poets, and not Theocritus, develop it. “Unless the tradition deceives us, the portrayal of the bucolic poet as a herdsman is particularly clear in the fragments of Bion”, Bernsdorff notes, and in this context also mentions the Syrinx.124 Although this line of reasoning does not promise any conclusive results, I think it is more successful than anything else in explaining the feeling of spuriousness that many readers of this poem have felt, and in the absence of a better explanation thought it was brought about by the poem’s alleged Geschmacklosigkeit. See besides Int. 6.3 on the metre of the Syrinx. Nevertheless, I emphasise throughout my commentary the fact that the Syrinx betrays the highly advanced knowledge of Theocritus’ poetry – not just in the direct quotations and the play on Theocritean metre, but above all in the Klangspiele characteristic of Theocritus, in the typically Theocritean care for structure and in the recognition of the programmatic keywords, either Theocritean or, more generally, Alexandrian, such as ligú (line 7) or ädú (line 17). I do not think that such a profound understanding of what the Idylls are would have been possible after Virgil, and perhaps the poem’s composition is to be located even closer to the date of Theocritus. I am inclined to think of some date not later than a century after his lifetime. The intricate web of artful allusions to Theocritus is significant in one more respect – it, better than anything else, reflects the author’s poetic skill, which has only recently been fully appraised by scholars.125 This observation is hardly trivial, as the list of highly accomplished Hellenistic poets is not short, but at least we know the names. Two more questions remain to be addressed which may shed light on the problems of dating and authorship – What was the poet’s purpose in composing a poem that so copiously alludes to Theocritus? And why did he adopt a riddling style which does not resemble anything one usually associates with the Idylls? The answer to the former question is easier. I have already mentioned Palumbo’s suggestion that the poem appears to be some sort of tribute to Theocritus. The same may, perhaps, be said a bit more clearly if we attempt to look for a convention that the poem might fit in. It is crucial to note that the poem explicitly claims to be 123.  See Gutzwiller (1996; 2006) for further reading. 124.  Bernsdorff (2006: 177 with n. 44); similarly Gutzwiller (1991: 177). 125.  See esp. Dupont-Roc – Lallot (1974); cf. Fantuzzi – Hunter (2004: 40 n. 162).

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Theocritean. Such a declaration may be taken as a hint – as was the case with Posidipp. 118 Austin-Bastianini126 – that the poem which contains it is a poetic sphragis. In some respects the composition that resembles the Syrinx most closely is the Pseudo-Theocritean Ep. 27 Gow, which begins, ‰Allov ö X⁄ov, êgÑ dè Qeókritov, Ωv tádˆ ∂graca. It is tempting to assume that the Syrinx was composed, similarly as that epigram (see Syr. 11-12 n.), for the edition of Theocritus’ bucolic Idylls. But why is the diction of the Syrinx so strikingly un-Theocritean? Before an attempt at answering this question can be made, we have to turn to the problem of authorship of the Doric Altar – a poem that has many points of contact with the Syrinx. The poet’s name of the earlier of the two Altars (it is called Doric because of the dialect it shares with the poems of Simias and the Syrinx) is known: he is said to be Dosiadas not just by all the MSS, but also by Lucian (Lex. 25). The terminus ante quem for the composition of the poem is earlier (though not much earlier) than the mention in Lucian implies, as the poem is imitated by the author of the Ionic Altar, which was almost certainly composed under Hadrian (see below). Unfortunately, we know nothing of who Dosiadas was. Hecker once thought that he may have been identical to the writer of Krjtiká, i.e. Dosiadas of Crete (of uncertain date; FGrHist 458),127 and Pfeiffer reflected on this by pointing out that “Hecker’s identification … has not yet been refuted”,128 but in truth it is hard to refute such speculations; anyhow, one ought not to forget that not every Fraenkel is Eduard. Dosiadas, Besantinus and Simias are all three called ‘Rhodian’ in the MS of the Anthology (see my apparatus to the Egg), but the note of the copyist is there apparently due to the fact that the three names were confused, and cannot be considered to provide any firm evidence. At this point we enter the domain of controversy. The Doric Altar and the Syrinx are clearly interconnected, most notably by the fact that several gr⁄foi occur in both poems; e.g. stßta, méroc, Páriv/Qeókritov (see further my commentary). It is, however, difficult to decide which poem came first.129 Gow’s argument that “[t]he riddles in the Syrinx are harder … which might suggest that its author was anxious to improve upon a predecessor” does not seem to me to carry much weight, as it would be equally valid to argue that Dosiadas 126.  See Lloyd-Jones (1963), Gutzwiller (2005a: 317-19). 127.  Hecker (1852: 127). 128.  Pfeiffer (1968: 90 n. 3). 129. The Altar imitates the Syrinx according to Wilamowitz (1883: 12-13; 1899: 57; 1906: 247), things are the other way round according to Haeberlin (1887: 49-50). Ignoramus is uttered, e.g. by Palumbo (2007: 129).



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was unable to match his predecessor (note besides that the Syrinx surely cannot be claimed to have attempted to improve upon the Altar in one hardly negligible aspect – the shape). Yet we can do better than that. It is a well-known fact, at least since Wilamowitz, that the Syrinx and the Doric Altar are linked not only with each other, but also with Lycophron’s Alexandra.130 The nature of this relationship is, however, in each case different. Whereas the language of the Doric Altar is directly and strongly influenced by the Alexandra (see my commentary; note that the Altar plays on the metre of the Alexandra precisely as the Syrinx plays on the metre of Theocritus), the relationship between Lycophron’s poem and the Syrinx is more difficult to characterise. The diction of the Syrinx is, in general, easily recognisable as Lycophronian, but explicit borrowings are difficult to find.131 Moreover, in spite of the connections between the two poems, none of those of Dosiadas’ riddles, periphrases or stories, which are clearly borrowed from Lycophron, are found in the Syrinx (one exception is eûnétav in the Altar and eûnáteira in the Syrinx, which are surely linked and do have a Lycophronian tinge – see Dor. Alt. 16 n. – but these are not riddles). Can we be led to believe that the poet of the Syrinx imitated every aspect of the Doric Altar, including its generally Lycophronian diction, except that he (or she) carefully avoided direct allusions to the Alexandra, which are a substantial element of the Altar? The assumption of the priority of the Altar, though on the whole not impossible, does not seem very plausible. A more reasonable supposition is that the Doric Altar, a poem of definitely lower literary value than the Syrinx, took most of its riddles and obscurities from two sources: the Alexandra, which also provided the metre, and the Syrinx, from which came the dialect and, above all, the inspiration to compose a figure poem. Remove from the Syrinx what it might potentially owe to the Altar and you will still get a highly original poem. The Doric Altar, on the contrary, does not have much more to offer than what it, I argue, takes from the Syrinx and the Alexandra. But perhaps we do not need to rely exclusively on the arguments regarding the relative, rather than absolute, chronology. It is usually assumed that the Syrinx and the Doric Altar, since they in many ways resemble each other, are children of the same age. Palumbo’s impression is that both poems were conceived in the same intellectual climate and perhaps as a result of play between friends.132 Yet I think that this view is an illusion 130.  Wilamowitz (1883: 12-13). 131.  It is telling that the alleged analogies listed by Wojaczek (1969: 102) are quite imperfect. 132.  Palumbo (2007: 129).

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which the interconnectedness of the two poems produces. The Ionic Altar is also tied to Dosiadas’ poem by several links – why should one not suppose that it is rather these two poems that come from the same milieu? In fact, if I am not mistaken in detecting the polemical stance toward the Doric Altar in Vestinus’ poem (see Ion. Alt. Prelim. rem. and 22-6 n.), it would be legitimate to assume that Vestinus’ polemic was aimed at a poem composed not much earlier. This would also explain why Lucian, in the passage of his Lexiphanes that I refer to more than once throughout (25), adduced as examples of obscure poetic style the Alexandra and the Doric Altar, although, as Gow noted, “[t]he Syrinx deserves on its merits to be remembered before the Altar of Dosiadas”.133 Both Lucian and Vestinus may have been interested in the Doric Altar because it was relatively fresh and had not yet ceased to appear provocative. Additionally, perhaps some internal evidence may be adduced to support the above argument. There are two metrical anomalies in the Doric Altar, the nature of which might suggest that either the poem is late or that in the field of metre the poet allowed himself to do what the Romans do, which could imply that ‘Dosiadas’ was a penname for some Roman, or that he was a speaker of Latin (for details, see Int. 6.4). Apart from these metrical irregularities, my impression is that there is something about the word súrgastrov, employed by Dosiadas in line 14, which suggests that it is of late origin (see n.). It would be safer to stop here and to utter ignoramus et ignorabimus as to the identity of Dosiadas,134 but I have an extremely tentative suggestion to offer about who he could have been. I am inclined to search out a suspect among the ancient editors of Theocritus, for it seems possible that Dosiadas was the one to attach Simias’ poems to the edition of Theocritus which included the Syrinx (see Int. 8). I would eventually point to Munatius, identified with Munatius of Tralles, who was a teacher of Herodes Atticus and, therefore, could have been active some time before Vestinus composed his Ionic Altar.135 We might imagine that the name Dwsiádav is a pun on Munatius, as dósiv (dídwmi) approaches the meaning of munus (munero). In sum, although some uncertainty remains, as is usual in similar debates concerning the relative chronology, I think that a strong case can be made for the priority of the Syrinx over the Doric Altar. Armed with knowledge that the Syrinx is perhaps early Hellenistic and that the Doric Altar is perhaps its late imitation, we can return to the tantalising question 133.  Gow (1914: 134). 134.  Cf. Gow (1914: 131) on the implausibility of attempts to identify Lycidas in Theocritus Idyll 7 as Dosiadas. 135.  Cf. Gow (1952: 1.lxxxii–lxxxiii).



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of the riddling style of the Syrinx. We have seen that the poem was composed by a talented poet, in the Lycophronian manner, but without explicitly quoting Lycophron, and additionally that Dosiadas put the Alexandra and the Syrinx on the same footing. In this light it is difficult not to think that the Syrinx may have been composed by Lycophron himself. We must realise how peculiar the diction of the Alexandra accurately reproduced in the Syrinx is in order to understand that one must have had a very good reason to adopt it – on the one hand it is a pastiche of the prophetic style that would be expected in Cassandra’s frenzied monologue, on the other, as S. West noted, it should be viewed as “a sustained tribute to Aeschylus”.136 The problem of the Lycophronian colouring of the Syrinx would disappear if the peculiar style could be taken to be the poet’s signature. We know that the Hellenistic poets composed epigrams for the books of their colleagues; the epigrams of Callimachus and Leonidas of Tarentum for an edition of Aratus Phaenomena provide useful examples of this practice (Leon. 101 and Call. Epigr. 56 Gow-Page).137 I find it attractive to suppose that the Syrinx was a similar homage of Lycophron’s to Theocritus, composed for the edition of the bucolic Idylls. Of course, we cannot rule out the possibility that the Syrinx was composed by some unknown poet, or even by Theocritus himself. What I argue for is that the name of Lycophron should be added to the list of ‘suspects’. Finally, it should be emphasised that even if we agree that the Syrinx is Lycophron’s, it does not help us to establish when Lycophron was active, as the date of the Syrinx is similarly uncertain. Nevertheless, I can hardly resist the impression that my conception of the authorship of the Syrinx, the poem that was labelled by Palumbo as “pseudepigrafo preterintenzionale”,138 seems to have something in common with ­Fraser’s conception of the Alexandra to have been composed by Pseudo-­Lycophron in the early second century BC as “a deliberate p­ seudepigraphon” and “an ironic reminiscence of the earlier [i.e. third-century] writer”.139 3.3.  Ionic Altar I have little doubt that the ˆOlúmpiov, to whom the acrostich and the whole poem are addressed, is Hadrian, as was seen by Haeberlin.140 This identification allows us to see in the name ‘Besantinus’, under which the 136.  S. West (1983: 114); cf. S. West (1984: 150). 137.  For further examples, see L. Rossi (2001: 82 with n. 6). 138.  Palumbo (2007: 126). 139.  Fraser (2003: 896). 140.  Haeberlin (1887: 65-6).

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poem is transmitted by the MSS, the corrupt Greek form of the name of Lucius Iulius Vestinus, an Atticist and important official at Hadrian’s court.141 Bowie recently showed that the likely context for the composition of the poem was Hadrian’s dedication of Olympieion in Athens in 131/2.142 For a fuller discussion of these proposals, see Ion. Alt. Prelim. rem. and n. on the acrostich in my commentary. The fact that the name of Vestinus takes the form Oûjst⁄nov in our sources for his biography (the Suda and IG 14.1085 = IGUR 62; see Ion. Alt. Prelim. rem.), not Bjst⁄nov, which would be closer to Bjsant⁄nov transmitted by the MSS, is not a serious objection to Haeberlin’s proposal of identifying the poet; Haeberlin adduced CIG 3148.10 Loúkiov Bjste⁄nov,143 and we can note that, e.g. Oûárrwn is used interchangeably with Bárrwn. An attempt was once made to connect the name ‘Besantinus’ with the Egyptian town of Besantinoea, earlier Besa,144 but there seems to be no linguistic ground to accept this suggestion. 3.4.  Schematic summary Axe Wings Egg

}

Simias of Rhodes

}

late fourth or early third century BC

Syrinx

Ps.-Theocritus (Lycophron?)

late third or second century BC

Doric Altar

Dosiadas (a Roman? Munatius of Tralles?)

first or early second century AD

Ionic Altar

Lucius Iulius Vestinus

AD 132 or near this date

4. Nachleben The influence of the technopaegnia on European and world literature is, I think, twofold. Since their invention by Simias, the genre has never ceased to find its adherents. The story begins, obviously, with the Syrinx and both Altars, but the first Latin figure poem of which we are aware appeared as early as in the first century BC; the Phoenix of Laevius had the shape of wings and began with a prayer to Venus amoris altrix – this 141.  Cf. Haeberlin (1890: 283-4). 142.  Bowie (2002: 185-9). 143.  Haeberlin (1890: 284). 144.  See Haeberlin (1887: 64-5).



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evokes Simias’ Wings.145 The only fragment of this poem that has reached us consists of what seems to be two long initial lines. That they belonged to a figure poem can be deduced from how the fragment is introduced by Charisius, who preserves it (p. 375-6 Barwick): the poem is referred to as pterygion and the verse at its summum – apparently the beginning – is said to be longer than the following one. The orgy of Optatian Porfyry’s visual poetic experiments (at the time of Constantine the Great) has had better luck than Laevius’ Phoenix.146 Among the various eccentricities in his collection as we have it, one finds ‘traditional’ figure poems that are clearly modelled on the Greek technopaegnia, the Syrinx and the Altar (poems 26 and 27). The short list of ancient Latin figure poems known to us ends here, but there are textual phenomena which perhaps deserve to be mentioned; these are the so-called Tabulae Iliacae, in some of which verbal inscriptions are shaped to form various grids – in one case this is an altar. The affinity of this concept to that of the figure poem has recently been noted,147 even though the Tabulae Iliacae did not necessarily emerge within the sphere of direct influence of the Greek figure poems. The ancient chapter of pattern poetry ends with Optatian Porfyry, but this is only the beginning of this genre’s impressive career. There is no period in the post-ancient history from which they would be absent.148 The Greek figure poems were unknown in the West in the Middle Ages,149 but visual poetry was composed by such authors as Venantius Fortunatus (sixth century) or Rabanus Maurus (eighth/ninth century); this tradition looked back to Optatian Porfyry.150 The Byzantine authors of visual poetry preferred to walk the same path and completely ignored the Greek forerunners of Optatian, although the mediaeval textual tradition of the technopaegnia clearly shows that these poems were continuously read and copied by Byzantine scholars (see Int. 9; cf. also Eust. Thess. in hymn. Pent. Damasc., PG 136.513c Migne, in which ptérugev, âzínai, Öà kaì bwmoí are mentioned).151 The Greek technopaegnia were brought to the West by Byzantine refugees in the fifteenth century,152 and 145.  The text and discussion are in Courtney (1993: 136-7). 146. On Optatian Porfyry, see Barnes (1975), Levitan (1985). 147.  Squire (2010: 77-84). 148. On the history of the genre, see Ernst (1991), Higgins (1987); further literature in Guichard (2006). 149. On the distinction between the two traditions of visual poetry, ancient and mediaeval, see Adler (1982). 150. On mediaeval carmina figurata, see Ernst (1991). 151.  See Hörandner (1990: 7-8). 152.  Cf. Rypson (2002: 49).

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we find one of these poems, the Syrinx, printed for the first time in an Aldine edition of Theocritus (1495).153 The rediscovery of the Greek figure poems was a powerful stimulus to the development of the genre of visual poetry in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries; George Herbert’s Altar and Easter Wings are only the most famous examples of poems to clearly have been inspired by their ancient predecessors.154 As has recently been noted, the return of the Greek technopaegnia coincided with the explosion of print culture, which additionally encouraged experimentation with the visual shape of poetry.155 Perhaps one can compare this moment of history to the atmosphere of the third century BC, in which figure poems emerged for the first time as fruits of the flourishing literate culture. Even those poets of later periods well known for breaking with tradition stand in the shadow of Simias and his imitators. The history of the genre is charmingly summarised by Osborne, when she reflects upon Apollinaire’s Calligrammes that: “it is … of no little interest to find in an age in which conventions are being cast aside rather than rigidly followed that an author would choose deliberately to revive an ancient artifice. Possibly these twentieth-century poets evolved the technique without knowledge of the past, but this seems unlikely, for Apollinaire in particular, while reaching eagerly forward, was well grounded and well informed. From Theocritus to the World War – a long period for so slender and conscious a device to have been preserved!”156 To my mind, however, the development of the genre of visual poetry is not the only lasting effect that the six technopaegnia have had on literature. We have seen in the course of the present discussion that Simias’ Egg, like the poetry of his contemporary Philitas, had an influence on both Callimachus and Theocritus. We have also seen that Philicus reused the metre invented by Simias, and that not only did Simias’ metrical technique foreshadow later practice, but perhaps his poetry even played some role in propagating the fresh invention of colometry. The scarcity of our evidence prevents us from being able to see Simias’ importance in full, but what must be said is that it cannot be measured only by the fact that he was the inventor of a genre that necessarily locates itself in the margins of literature;157 Simias shaped not only poems, but also trends in poetry. Still, there can be little doubt that it was, above all, due 153. On two Aldine versions of the Syrinx, see Osborne (1933). 154.  See Church (1946), Westerweel (1984: 67-93), Rypson (2002). 155.  A. Fowler (1985: 44-5). 156. Osborne (1933: 8). 157.  See Guichard (2006: 95-6).



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to his invention of pattern poetry that he received recognition at the dawn of an age that was particularly open to novelty and experimentalism. 5. Shape Paradoxically, many wordplays which are usually considered to be displays of poetic virtuosity are childishly simple; for instance, to compose a poem containing an acrostich is a trivial task (at least it is trivial to produce an acrostich; composing poetry is much more difficult). Figure poems are equally easy to compose (especially if one is already a poet) – this basic assumption determines my discussion of the shape of the technopaegnia. My second initial assumption is that neither the various layouts in which the mediaeval scribes arranged the technopaegnia when copying them to the MSS in which they were preserved, nor the testimonies of the ancient grammarians can be safely supposed to provide firm evidence as to the original shape of the poems. The technopaegnia in the MSS show a variety of shapes and layouts; in some of the MSS the reader discovers graphic elements that shape the text or simply accompany it, e.g. a handle for the Axe (cf. my apparatus).158 These issues, as well as the moment of passage from the MSS to printed editions, deserve separate treatment,159 but for the most part are not helpful in reconstructing the original form of the ancient collection, and as such I will pass them over here (see, however, Int. 9). The MS of the Anthology, our earliest witness, contains none of the later Byzantine ornamental additions and must be treated as the most reliable source of information on what the technopaegnia may have originally looked like.160 Moreover, the evidence of the Anthology, as we will soon see, finds confirmation both in the scholia and in Hephaestio’s account (note, however, that the Anthology and the rest of the MSS form two separate branches of the tradition; see Int. 9). Occasionally, the layouts presented in the later MSS can prove useful, as the imagination of the Byzantine copyists may have corresponded with the concepts of the 158.  Many reproductions can be consulted in Preisendanz (1911), Ernst (1991), Strodel (2002), and Guichard (2006). 159.  For a detailed description of the content of the MSS, see Strodel (2002: 48-107); even more is expected to come from Guichard; see Guichard (2006: 85-9 with n. 26). On the passage of the technopaegnia to printed books, see Guichard (2006: 88), Osborne (1933), Ferreri (2006). See also Galán Vioque (2012) on Vossius’ sylloge of the technopaegnia. 160.  Cf. Guichard (2006: 89).

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ancient editors (cf. the problem of the Ball and the Throne, already discussed in Int. 2). 5.1.  Axe and Wings The layout of the Wings that the MS of the Anthology exhibits does not differ significantly from what I print – except that the beginning of each line is aligned to the left margin in the Anthology, while I form a shape that more resembles wings (as already Stephanus did161). There is little doubt that this is close to the original shape. Cameron complains that the layout of the MS does not “in the least look like a pair of wings on a standing Eros”,162 but rotating the book (or the papyrus scroll) is sufficient to dismiss the objection. The real problem concerns the shape of the Axe. The MS of the Anthology (as well as the later MSS) preserves the layout which resembles the shape of the Wings; six lines of decreasing length are followed by six increasing lines. They have to be read in an unusual order: after the line from the top, the one from the bottom must follow, then the second line comes, then the penultimate one, etc. This procedure is described by Hephaestio (p. 61.19-62.6 Consbruch), with a reference to tò ˆWiòn tò Simíou kaì ãlla paígnia (sc. the Axe; cf. p. 68.7-13). The scholia to the Axe contain the same instruction. Hephaestio labels such poems as ântiqetiká; Simias’ poems are his sole examples. The evidence is, as we can see, ancient and strong, and it satisfies many editors. The problem is, however, that it goes against the first of the initial assumptions I have made – that it is easy to compose a figure poem. If it had been Simias’ intention to produce the shape of a double-axe, it could have been easily produced by lines that would read in the normal order.163 It is not just that reading ântiqetik¬v is highly inconvenient (the scribes responsible for the present corruption of the text of the Egg might confirm this). As a matter of fact, the object on which the poem purports to be inscribed is the axe with which Epeius built the Trojan horse, not the combat weapon, and when the lines are printed normally as I have done it, the shape they produce looks more like a carpenter’s tool. This simpler layout is also adopted by Fränkel in his edition.164 There exists, I admit, no direct evidence that we should not trust the scholiasts and Hephaestio; it is possible that the concept of the â ­ ntiqetiká 161. Estienne (1566: 286). 162.  Cameron (1995: 33-4). 163.  Cf. Cameron (1995: 36), Danielewicz (2005a: 598). 164.  See Fränkel (1915: 63-4); cf. Cameron (1995: 35).



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was a genuine invention of Simias rather than of the later grammarians. However, the later evidence of the MSS, with the richness of the visual forms they exhibit, clearly shows how vulnerable the technopaegnia were to the destructive assaults of their scholarly readers. The earlier discussed scholion to Hephaestio, which possibly implies that some of the technopaegnia were referred to with various titles (see Int. 2), might provide similar testimony. Nonetheless, it should be highlighted that Hephaestio’s account proves that such poets as Optatian Porfyry, and probably already Vestinus, knew the poem to be an ântiqetikón, i.e. the double-axe, even if the shape had once been different. 5.2. Egg As we have just seen, Hephaestio assigns the Egg, alongside the Axe, to the class of the so-called ântiqetiká. The arrangement of the lines of the poem in the MS of the Anthology agrees with this classification – as in the case of the Axe, after the line from the top, the one from the bottom must be read, then the second line follows, after that the penultimate one, etc. Here, the problem of the shape is clearer than in the case of the Axe, since the poem, at least as it stands in the MS of the Anthology, copied in accord with Hephaestio’s instructions, is evidently not ovoid – it is diamond-shaped, “une sorte de losange qui ne ressemble à rien”.165 Of course, this pattern could have looked slightly different when the poem was written in a third-century hand in an early edition of Simias’ poetry; nevertheless, this does not seem, to me, to be the most natural way to produce an egg shape. The impression that the order of the lines may have once been altered is strengthened by the bad state of preservation of the text. The later scribes and scholars variously responded to this problem. In the later bucolic MSS, the lines are rearranged so as to fit the outline of an egg, apparently without paying much attention to the sense, as the text is even more heavily mutilated and, for the most part, barely intelligible. Modern scholars have sought different solutions; and attempts were made to arrange the lines into a spiral or so as to form concentric circles out of the text166 – but this would either require no special metre or produce unintelligible text.167 And why would the scribes have altered the layout so drastically so as to produce what we can now find in the MSS, evidently to worse effect? Yet, when the lines are 165.  Legrand (1925: 223). 166.  Legrand (1925: 225), Wojaczek (1969: 57-8, 145), Buffière (1970: 141). 167.  Cf. Cameron (1995: 35 n. 72, 36 n. 75).

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arranged in the order in which they have to be read, the shape thus produced is that of a pyramid, not of an egg. Again, my conviction is that it would not have been difficult for Simias to compose a perfectly egg-shaped poem. In the case of this particular poem, this leads me to a conclusion which was reached by Cameron (although I do not accept his proposal that the Axe and the Wings were not strictly figure poems, but real inscriptions; see Int. 2) – and that is that the Egg is not a figure poem at all; it was given a place in the collection by some later compiler who, perhaps deliberately rather than by mistake, read the opening metaphor too literally (see Egg 1-8 n.) and rearranged the lines ântiqetik¬v.168 The differences between this poem and the five other technopaegnia are striking. Whereas the other poems contain clearly marked pointers to their shape or emphasise the significance of their visual form (see Axe 2, Wings 1 and perhaps 9, Syrinx 11-12, Dor. Alt. 1-3, 9, Ion. Alt., esp. lines 7, 22-3), the Egg is deprived of such allusions (that is if the opening is correctly reconstructed; see 1-4 n.). Instead, the poem insistently calls the attention of the reader to its metrical pattern, and the emphasis is clearly put on the voice and sound rather than on the image (see Egg Prelim. rem. 7-8, 9-10 and 11-20 n.).169 While the Axe and the Wings share the metre, and the metrical plan for the Syrinx and the Doric Altar bears much resemblance to it (see Int. 6; the Ionic Altar is somewhat different, but it is definitely late), so the Egg, an orgy of lyric polymetry, again occupies an isolated place in the collection. Even the peculiar syntactical construction oûk … âllá (see Int. 2 and Axe 5-6 n.) is common to all the technopaegnia except for the Egg. Finally, it may not be by coincidence that in the MS of the Anthology the Egg comes as the last poem in the collection, after both the Altars and isolated from the two other poems of Simias (see Int. 8), while we would naturally expect it to follow them. My impression, based on the poem’s metrical structure as is described by the poem itself in lines 9-10, is that the Egg belongs to a different class of gr⁄foi than the Wings and the Axe – it is not a figure poem, but instead it may be placed in the category of word games to which a much later theorist refers to as versus crescentes: poems in which each line is one unit longer than the preceding line.170 This unit, usually a syllable, is a metron in the case of the Egg. I am somehow reminded of Opt. Porf. 20b, a part of the Organ, consisting of twenty-six hexameters, each one 168.  Cameron (1995: 36-7); cf. Danielewicz (2005a: 598). 169.  Cf. Cameron (1995: 36). 170.  Tuwim (1950: 391).



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letter longer than the preceding one. As in the case of the Egg, this unusual pattern is described by the poem itself. A cognate concept is that of the so-called ‘rhopalic verse’, in which each word is one syllable longer than the preceding one, as in Il. 3.182 √ mákar ˆAtreídj moirjgenèv ôlbiódaimon (see sch. ad loc. and Plot. Sacerd. GL 6.505-6 Keil). Note that a variation on the rhopalic verse is apparently found among the preserved fragments of Simias; as was noted by Fränkel, in fr. 15 Powell, which consists of a cretic tetrameter in which the first three cretics are completely resolved and the fourth is resolved into a fourth paeon, the first metron begins with a one-syllable word, the second metron with a two-syllable word, the third metron with a three-syllable word, and a four-syllable word fills the fourth metron:171 Sé pote Diòv ânà púmata nearè kóre nebroxítwn. My suggestion is that this Hymn to Dionysus may have been part of the same poetry book of Simias in which his three technopaegnia were included (see Int. 2). I would risk one more conjecture: it is perhaps not impossible that the lines of the Egg were originally written in a flow of continuous text according to the normal early third-century practice of writing lyric poetry. In that case, the reader would have had to figure out the colometry by him or herself, led by internal suggestions (lines 9-10) – the poem would have been, then, a sort of metrical riddle.172 Yet the peculiarity of the metrical pattern allows us to think that the colometric division had somehow already been visually marked in Simias’ original edition (see Int. 2). Although my belief is that the Egg was not conceived as a figure poem, it would not be prudent to exclude this poem from the present edition. As in the case of the Axe, it must be emphasised that we have clear evidence, provided by Hephaestio (and perhaps also by the Ionic Altar; see Int. 8), that already in the second century AD the Egg was a part of what we now know as the collection of the technopaegnia. Moreover, however unfortunate the concept of the ântiqetiká may appear to me, I admit that if the ancient grammarians can be credited with this invention, so can be Simias. He was a grammarian himself, after all, and to assume that he had fewer misconceived ideas than his later colleagues may be an ungrounded idealisation. The decision whether the Egg was originally a figure poem should belong to the reader of this book, not to its author. 171.  Fränkel (1915: 48). 172.  For a somewhat similar view of the Egg as “eine Art Rätsel”, see Luz (2008), who also extends her hypothesis to the rest of the technopaegnia.

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5.3. Syrinx The case of the Syrinx shows most clearly that the MSS cannot be trusted as evidence for the original shape of the technopaegnia. It is self-evident that the shape of the panpipe is produced by lines of decreasing length when they are aligned to the left, so that they form a right-angled triangle. But this shape is found only in the late, fifteenth- and sixteenth-century MSS,173 while in the earlier MSS, including the MS of the Anthology, the lines of the Syrinx are centred so that they form an isosceles triangle. What this shape depicts is explained by those MSS which contain illustrations; that the instrument is not a panpipe, but “the aûlóv or pastoral oboe”.174 Altogether, this is a fine example of the Byzantine imagination. I have already demonstrated that, although rectangular panpipes were prevalent, the stepped form of the Syrinx is evidenced already for the classical period (see Int. 3.2). It may be added here that the rectangular panpipe, for obvious reasons, is not an attractive model for an author of pattern poetry. 5.4.  The Altars There is no controversy here; the MSS have undoubtedly preserved the original shape. Dosiadas can be credited with producing the first truly accomplished figure poem in the history of the genre, as the shape of the Altar clearly improves upon its predecessors. The complex architecture of the poem consists of four elements: a two-stepped base, a block of the altar proper, projecting cornice moldings, and a sacrificial slab placed on the upper surface, without which, as in the poem’s modern imitations, “the altar shape becomes indistinguishable from a column”.175 6. Metre As I have already emphasised, each technopaegnion deserves no less attention as a self-conscious metrical experiment than as a visual phenomenon (see Int. 2). I have also shown that Simias’ approach to metre, apparent in the Axe and the Wings, locates these poems within the context of the early Hellenistic age. Simias’ originality must, again, be ­underscored here; 173.  See Strodel (2002: 79). 174. Osborne (1933: 2). 175.  A. Fowler (1995: 46). On the architecture of Dosiadas’ poem, cf. O



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his date makes him a foreshadower of later trends. Nothing similar to the Egg emerges after Simias; M. West sees in it “the most complex product (metrically) of all Hellenistic book-poetry”.176 Philicus reuses the choriambic metre of the Axe and the Wings in his Hymn to Demeter (SH 676-80), to which he himself refers at the same time both as a ‘mystic gift’ to the goddess (SH 676) and as ‘the gift of the innovative composition’ which he offers to grammatikoí (SH 677); he seems to suggest some connection between the mystical subject-matter and the experimental metre, adopted directly from the metrical gr⁄foi of Simias. It should also be said that Simias’ metrical craftsmanship is appraised by the poets of the Syrinx and the Doric Altar; since for them Simias’ choriambic verse is already one of stichic metres, his use of it is very closely paralleled in their use of the dactylic and iambic metres. 6.1.  Axe and Wings A key to understanding the metre of the Axe and the Wings in particular, but in fact of all the technopaegnia, has been provided, I believe, by Danielewicz in his handbook on Greek lyric metre, even though he mentions these poems only in passing, in the chapter discussing the so-called ‘theory of expansion’.177 Let us focus on what scholars label as ‘internal expansion’. According to the adherents of this theory, as Danielewicz puts it, “cola are extended ‘from within’. The expansion consists in repeating once, twice or three times the internal sequence (– · ·) or (– · · –)”.178 The converse is ‘compression’.179 A suggestive illustration of an internally expanded glyconic is provided in S. fr. 244 Radt, in which Åjgnùv xrusódeton kérav (– – – · · – · –) is immediately followed by Åjgnùv ärmonían xordotónou lúrav (– – – · · – – · · – · –).180 From the point of view of a student of the technopaegnia, the theory finds some confirmation in the fact that it instructively elucidates the metrical structure of Simias’ Axe and Wings. Simias manipulates the length of the lines in his figure poems by means of expanding/compressing the choriambic base. In his apparent adaptation of lyric practice, he exhibits a considerable dose of metrical consciousness (cf. Int. 2) – a single metron becomes for him a movable brick that he uses to produce the desired graphic pattern with. 176.  M. West (1982: 151). 177.  Danielewicz (1996: 48). 178.  Danielewicz (1996: 33). 179.  Danielewicz (1996: 48). 180.  Cf. Danielewicz (1996: 44).

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Danielewicz proposes the following metrical scheme for the Wings (where cho stands for – ·· – and ia” for · – –, the bacchiac clausula):181 lines lines lines lines lines lines

1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6,

12: 11: 10: 9: 8: 7:

cho cho cho cho cho ia”

cho cho cho cho ia”

cho cho cho ia” cho cho ia” cho ia” ia”

Analogously, we can draw a scheme for the Axe: lines 1-2: lines 3-4: lines 5-6: lines 7-8: lines 9-10: lines 11-12:

cho cho cho cho cho cho cho cho cho ia” ia”

cho cho cho ia” cho cho ia” cho ia” ia”

The length of both poems is thus determined by the metre, the movement from the choriambic hexameter to the smallest unit possible (and back). Note that the word-breaks and metrical divisions frequently coincide (though this is by no means a rule);182 a similar tendency is observable in what has reached us of Philicus’ Hymn to Demeter (SH 676-80) as well as in the remaining scraps of Simias’ other metrical experiments (cf. esp. fr. 15 and 9 Powell). 6.2. Egg The metrical interpretation of Simias’ most advanced composition poses serious difficulties; what will allow us to overcome them is the observation of certain analogies with the Axe and the Wings on the one hand, and on the other the internal instruction provided by the text of the poem itself. Simias’ awareness of individual metra, apparent from the Axe and the Wings, is further evidenced by scarce remnants of his experiments with dactylic, anapaestic and cretic-paeonic compositions (fr. 9, 13-17 Powell).183 The Egg may be viewed as the culmination of such metrical pursuits. After having achieved expertise in the technique of expanding/ compressing various metrical fabrics so as to create new metres, the next 181.  Cf. also M. West (1982: 151). 182.  Cf. Fränkel (1915: 70). 183.  See Fränkel (1915: 46-52), M. West (1982: 145, 151-2).



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step is to extract from these structures diverse metra not just to expand a verse, but to form a new, heterogeneous whole. This is precisely how the Egg presents itself; it is hardly a coincidence that apart from the iambic metra, it employs dactyls, spondees, anapaests, cretics, paeons, choriambs, and bacchii – all of which can be detected in either the Axe and the Wings or Simias’ other polymetric fragments. But no less significant than these analogies is the fact that the metrical plan is explicitly exposed by the Egg itself, in lines 9-10 (note the persistent use throughout the poem of vocabulary alluding to metrical nomenclature; see 9-10 n. at the end). The number of métra is said to increase from one to ten, and since the poem consists of twenty lines formed in pairs, in which two verses correspond to each other (a short syllable may correspond to the long one if it is the initial syllable in an iambic metron, the resolution of a spondee in an anapaest apparently occurs in lines 19-20). The obvious implication is that one metron is added in each consecutive couplet; the movement is from the monometer to the decameter through the dimeter, trimeter, tetrameter, and so forth. The commonly accepted interpretation of the Egg’s metre is that proposed by Wilamowitz,184 which, in accord with modern views on Greek lyric poetry, discerns in the poem such sequences as – · · – · · –  or, to use M. West’s formulation, “an odd telesillean”.185 But our familiarity with Simias’ concept of metron, as well as the internal instructions discussed above (we know the exact number of metra in each pair of verses), should lead us to a different interpretation; even if it is not by accident that Simias’ metra are at times assembled in larger structures familiar to us from earlier lyric poetry, the poet’s own words clearly show that the small metron always remains the basic structural element to him.186 As a result of this author-guided analysis, the following scheme emerges (I provide it with a commentary on selected problems): lines 1-2: lines 3-4: lines 5-6: lines 7-8: lines 9-10: lines 11-12:

– · – | – · – | · – · – | · – · – | „ – · – | · – – | „ – · – | · · · – | „ – · – | · – – | · – · – | · – · · | – · – | „ – · – | · – – | · – · – | – · – | · – · – | – · · – | · · – | · – – |

184.  Wilamowitz (1906: 248-50); cf. Buffière (1970: 217), M. West (1982: 151), Strodel (2002: 55). See Prier (1994: 84) for an alternative interpretation, and for a new, well-balanced view, see Lukinovich (forthcoming). 185.  M. West (1982: 151). 186.  For a similar interpretation, see Palumbo (2003: 585-7).

42 lines 13-14: lines 15-16: lines 17-18: lines 19-20:

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„ – · – | · – · – | – – | – – | – · · – | · · – | · – – | – – | – – | · · · – | · · · – | · · · – | · – · – | – – | · – – | – · – | · – · – | · – · – | – – | – – | – – | – · · – | · · – | · – · – | – – | „ „  – | · · – | · · – | · · – | · · – | · · · – | · · · – | – · · | – – |

Lines 1-4: Wilamowitz takes the first couplet, – · –, to be the trochaic monometers, and the second to be the trochaic dimeters, but I prefer to regard the former as a syncopated iambic metron and the latter also as the iambic – · – | · – · –, since the iambic metra are used throughout the poem while the trochees do not reappear.187 Lines 7-8: for the paeon here and elsewhere (as well as for the cretics), cf. Simias fr. 13-15 Powell. Lines 11-14: Palumbo prefers to view the endings of these lines as · · – · | – –, but two facts support my interpretation: (1) the apparent preference in the poem for the bacchiac clausulae, which also noticeably occur in the Axe and the Wings (one might also consider – · · | – · · – | · – –  with the aristophanean clausula reminiscent of the Axe and the Wings, but see the next point), and (2) the fact that the word-breaks at the endings of lines 11 and 13 (sporádjn pífausken and êláfwn tékessi) fit my scheme; the frequent coincidence of word-breaks and metrical divisions is observable in other poems of Simias (see above on the metre of the Axe and the Wings). Analogously, I identify the fourth metron in lines 11-12 and the fifth in 13-14 as – · · –, and this is supported by the fact that it coincides with word-breaks in three of these lines (line 11 neÕma pod¬n, line 12 Pierídwn, line 13 ôrsipódwn). For the anapaest, cf. the run of anapaests at lines 19-20 and Simias fr. 9 Powell. Lines 15-16: the scholars took the first syllable of ÷xnov in line 15 to be short, printed ânˆ/üpˆ/êv ãntra in lines 16 and interpreted the clausula of this distich as · – · – – (Wilamowitz) or · – · – | – (Prier, Palumbo), yet (1) there should be eight metra in this distich and the solitary – can barely be recognised as a self-contained metron, (2) it is tempting to discern one more bacchiac clausula here and, again, (3) perhaps we have the wordbreaks in line 15 (÷xnov tiqßnav) to show us the proper interpretation. Therefore, I take the first syllable of ÷xnov to be long and fill the lacuna in line 16 with eîv;188 this gives us the satisfying spondaic metron (which recurs elsewhere in the poem) before the bacchiac clausula. Note how well the spondaic metron here corresponds with the anapaestic metron in lines 11-14. 187.  Cf. Palumbo (2003: 585). 188.  Cf. Luz (2010: 337).



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Lines 19-20: one might think it attractive to detect here one more bacchiac clausula, but this would simply leave us with too little to fill the preceding metron. Besides, we have the word-breaks at the ending of line 19 (∂ssutai ãgkov) to suggest what I have printed, and furthermore, it seems particularly appropriate that an extended Homeric simile end with the heroic clausula (see 19 n.). 6.3. Syrinx The poem plays with Theocritus’ preferred metre. It begins with a pair of dactylic hexameters, and since each consecutive distich is truncated by catalexis, the end comes unavoidably and predictably after ten couplets – with the catalectic dimeter, the shortest hexametric verse that the theory allows as an independent whole. The way in which the length of the lines is manipulated obviously imitates Simias’ Axe and Wings, yet is different in one regard: the compression is by catalexis, not by removing a metron; this innovation suits the character of the dactylic hexameter, an essentially catalectic verse. The poem may be analysed as follows (da stands for dactyl, sp for spondee):189 lines 1-2: da sp da da da – – sp da da da sp – – da sp da da da – lines 3-4: sp da da da da – lines 5-6: da sp sp da da sp da da da da lines 7-8: sp da da da – da da da da – lines 9-10: da da sp da da da sp da lines 11-12: da da da – da da da – lines 13-14: sp da sp sp da sp lines 15-16: da da – da da – lines 17-18: da sp da sp lines 19-20: da – sp – 189.  Cf. Dupont-Roc – Lallot (1974: 191).

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Note that in lines 9-18 the metrical correspondence between two lines within each pair is exact. As there are only two full hexameters in the Syrinx and, moreover, the metre may be affected by the unusual vocabulary, it is obviously impossible to confront the poem, as one would like to, with the usual Theocritean practice, especially the practice of his bucolic Idylls. Note, however, that whereas the Hellenistic poets in general show preference for the use of spondeiáhontev, the proportion for Theocritus’ bucolic poems is only 1.3%,190 and hence Syr. 2 which is spondeiáhwn deserves notice. Furthermore, the pattern sp da da da sp in this line is even more unusual for Theocritus.191 6.4.  Doric Altar The author of the poem clearly imitates the metre of the Syrinx, yet not in employing it, but in doing with the iambic trimeter (of Lycophron’s Alexandra) precisely the same thing that the poet of the Syrinx does with the hexameter of Theocritus. The pair of acatalectic trimeters, the base for the metrical transformations through which the poem is shaped, is found in lines 3-4, and if we recognise them as such, all the other verses may be regarded as their derivatives moulded by means of catalexes or, in the case of lines 17-18, hypercatalexis (this is then a counterpart of the compression/expansion in which a metron serves as a building block). There are no resolutions. Both lines 5 and 6 are curiously quasi-choliambic; the effect is perhaps not deliberate. The following scheme illustrates the metrical structure of the poem (ia stands for „ – · –, the iambic metron, ia” for „ – –, the catalectic iambic metron): lines 1-2: lines 3-4: lines 5-6: lines 7-14: lines 15-16: lines 17-18:

ia ia” ia ia ia ia ia – · ia ia” ia ia – ia ia ia –

Two metrical anomalies have been detected here by M. West.192 In the catalectic iambic dimeter, an antepenultimate is always short.193 In ten 190.  See Hunter (1999: 19). 191.  Cf. Sens (1997: 44). On the metre of the Syrinx, see further Palumbo (2007: 117-19). 192.  M. West (1982: 17, 151 n. 37). 193.  Cf. Dale (1954: 70) on Eur. Alc. 232.



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such dimeters in the poem (lines 1-2, 7-14), there are two dimeters (1 and 10) in which Dosiadas does not observe this rule, or an initial consonant group does not lengthen the preceding syllable in accordance with the rules of Latin metrics, or the consonant combinations st and kt are treated as undivided. Note that the length of the antepenultimate is uncertain in the dimeters in lines 9 and 12 (i in îúhw and in its cognates tends to be short in tragedy, long in the epic poets and Pindar194). Analogically as in the case of the Syrinx, one would wish to confront the iambic metre of the Doric Altar with that of the Alexandra, but again there are only two trimeters that could be used in such a confrontation (lines 3-4). 6.5.  Ionic Altar The polymetry of the poem makes one think, at first, of the Egg, however, it must be said that Vestinus is not another prophet of the metrical revolution – he employs the metrical patterns that were commonly used, as Haeberlin shows, in the time of Hadrian.195 In the following schema metrorum, ia and tr stand respectively for „ – · – and – · – „, i.e. the iambic and trochaic metra, ia” and tr” respectively for · – – and – · –, i.e. the metra with catalexis (the former in the role of the bacchiac clausula), an for „„ – „„ –, i.e. the anapaestic metron, and cho for – · · –. lines 1-3: anacreontics lines 4-6: trochaic tetrameters catalectic lines 7-9: phalaecians lines 10-20: iambic dimeters lines 21-3: anapaestic dimeters lines 24-6: choriambic tetrameters

· · – · – · – – tr tr tr tr” – – – · · – · – · – –  ia ia an an cho cho cho ia”

Note that the metre of the closing lines alludes to the metrical form of the Axe and the Wings. On the metrical structure of the acrostich, see n. on the acrostich in my commentary. 7. Dialect The dialect and language of Simias’ technopaegnia was discussed at length by Martínez Fernández.196 It is a mixture of Doric and epic 194.  Cf. LSJ s.vv. îugß, îugmóv, ÷ugz, îúhw. 195.  See Haeberlin (1887: 64). 196.  Martínez Fernández (1987: 218-25).

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e­ lements, which may be labelled as Salondorisch. This ‘Doricisation’ manifests itself almost exclusively in retaining a in place of the Ionic j and in the use of the Doric gen. pl. ending -¢n. Taí in Egg 14, which Martínez Fernández classifies as a Doricism, occurs in Homer. Epicisms are abundant; note, e.g. the use of unaugmented and uncontracted forms, Egg 13 tékessi, dat. pl. -oisi, -aisi, etc. Note the half-epic, half-Doric sán in Axe 8. See Axe 2 n. and Egg 6 n. One might expect the Syrinx to imitate the Doric dialect of Theocritus, and the Doric Altar to be composed in the tragic dialect of the Alexandra, but both poems show the same combination of Doric alphas and epic forms which are perfectly familiar to us from Simias’ poems. The only explanation I can see is that the dialect is assumed by both poets to be the generic feature of the figure poems, and they use it to mark their indebtedness to Simias. Note, however, that in one case the gen. sing. ending -w is a variant in the MS of the Anthology (see Syr. 8 n.); this may imply that in some lost tradition the text may have exhibited more typically Doric characteristics. This sole testimony is not sufficient reason to rewrite the whole poem in a dialect that would closer resemble what we recognise as the Doric of Theocritus’ bucolic Idylls,197 but the idea at least deserves some consideration. P¢ma in Syr. 12 is perhaps ambiguous and can be regarded as a hyperdorism; see n. The dialect of the Doric Altar is not insistently Doric; analogically, the Ionism of the Ionic Altar is only slightly marked by such forms as Ion. Alt. 1 ïr¬n, 3 üpofoiníjÇsi, 4 pétrjÇ NazíjÇ, 7 ör±Çv. It is striking that after line 7 the Ionic forms cease to appear. Just as the authors of the earlier technopaegnia, Vestinus is fond of epicisms; cf. e.g. the Hesiodean eînáv in line 15 (cf. Hes. Op. 810), táwn in line 16, the unaugmented kólace in line 19. If Dosiadas and his Doric Altar belong to the Roman period, then the effect of employing the Doric dialect is surely archaising, as the decay of the Doric in the epigrams of the Anthology implies.198 The Ionic Altar is similar in this respect to Dosiadas’ poem since the noticeable revival of the Ionic in the second century AD, attested with such works as Arrian’s Indica or De dea Syria, ascribed to Lucian, is an archaising movement.199 On the language of the technopaegnia, see also Int. 2. 197. On the Doric of Theocritus, see Gow (1952: 1.lxxii-lxxvii), Dover (1971: xxviixlv), Hunter (1999: 22-6). 198.  See Magnelli (2007: 177-8). 199.  See Allinson (1886); cf. Haeberlin (1887: 63-4).



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8.  Ancient collection In the present edition, the technopaegnia are arranged in chronological order, except that I arbitrarily place the Axe before the Wings, as its shape seems to be the least developed, and, for obvious reasons, I put the Egg after the two poems. This says little about the original arrangement of the poems. The six technopaegnia are preserved in the tenth-century MS of the Anthology and in the relatively large group of bucolic MSS of Theocritus, which are of considerably later date. The bucolic MSS have all the poems, but none of them contains the whole collection (for details see Int. 9). The latter fact, and above all the fact that some of the bucolic MSS that have the technopaegnia omit the Syrinx, seemed “curious” to Gow,200 but it will not bother us here – the copyists working with the text of Theocritus may have had their reasons for not finding delight in experimental visual poetry, and particularly in a poem that claims to be by Theocritus but openly offends the simplicity of Theocritus’ bucolic Idylls (cf. Int. 1). I suppose that many of those modern editors and translators who neglected the technopaegnia did so for quite similar reasons. As far as the technopaegnia are concerned, the bucolic MSS have a common source with the MS of the Anthology (see Int. 9); from this fact, and from the fact that the Syrinx, as ascribed to Theocritus, opens the collection in the MS of the Anthology, it can be safely inferred that the technopaegnia came to the Anthology from some bucolic collection.201 It is commonly assumed that there existed a collection of the technopaegnia in antiquity which was at a certain moment attached to the bucolic collection, from whence we have it, either by one of the ancient editors of Theocritus202 or by some Byzantine compiler (this is Gallavotti’s view).203 In my opinion, the concept of the ancient collection needs to be reconsidered. Although the temporal priority of Simias’ poems is unquestionable (see Int. 3) and the Syrinx is, in its general outline, modelled on them (cf. Syr. 1-10 n.), I think that we should revive the old conception as presented by Bergk, according to which it was the Syrinx that acted as a magnet drawing together all of the technopaegnia,204 ‘one figure poem to bring them all’. On the one hand, we have just seen that the common 200.  Gow (1952: 2.552). 201.  This is the opinio communis since Bergk (1868: lxix); cf. Gow (1952: 2.552). 202.  Bergk (1868: lxix) thought of Artemidorus, Wendel (1920: 164) of Amarantus. 203. Gallavotti (1993: 14-15). For a useful summary of the discussion, see Gow (1952: 2.552). 204.  Bergk (1868: lxix).

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source of our MSS was some bucolic collection of Theocritus, on the other, I have shown that the Syrinx was probably composed as a seal for the edition of Theocritus (see Int. 3.2; naturally, if the poem were genuinely Theocritean, it would also derive from Theocritus’ poetry book). These two hypothetical editions of Theocritus are undoubtedly the same book. The Syrinx could not have been composed for the collection of the technopaegnia, for no such collection existed at the moment of its composition; only Simias’ poems precede the Syrinx. It seems unlikely, in the light of what has been already said, that the Syrinx was intended for an edition of Simias. Another commonly accepted assumption that needs verification is that the terminus ante quem for the existence of the collection of the technopaegnia is the activity of Optatian Porfyry under Constantine in the first half of the fourth century, as Optatian imitated various pieces of the collection in his poems 20, 26 and 27.205 I hope that my discussion of the Ionic Altar leaves no doubt that the collection was already known to Vestinus, as his composition contains allusions to all of the earlier technopaegnia (see Ion. Alt. Prelim. rem.; some uncertainty persists about whether Vestinus alludes to the Egg, but I am inclined to think that he does). Moreover, there are good reasons to believe that Dosiadas also knew Simias’ poems (see Dor. Alt. 1-8, 1-3 and 5 n.), and his poem’s debt to the Syrinx is evident (see Int. 3.2). This implies either that the edition of Theocritus which included the Syrinx as well as Simias’ techno­ paegnia existed before Dosiadas or that Dosiadas himself was a compiler who attached Simias’ poems (and his own Altar) to the collection of Theocritus. We might alternatively assume that the Doric Altar was composed not with the intention of accompanying the Syrinx in the bucolic collection, but, e.g. to accompany the edition of Lycophron’s Alexandra, and that it only joined the Syrinx later. In the final stage the collection was enlarged to include the Ionic Altar – perhaps by Vestinus himself, as his poem can be fully appreciated only when it is in a pair with the Doric Altar (see Ion. Alt. 22-6 n.). What if it was the Doric Altar that preceded the Syrinx in time, not vice versa? Things would get slightly more complicated, but perhaps all the facts that have been hitherto brought forward, i.e. that both the poets of the Syrinx and the Altar were aware of Simias, that the Syrinx was composed for the poetry book of Theocritus, and that all the technopaegnia eventually found their place in that edition of Theocritus – could be reconciled by assuming that what was attached to the book of Theocritus 205.  See Wendel (120: 164).



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by the poet of the Syrinx was not only his (her) own poem, but also the rest of the technopaegnia. Yet, it is simpler to assume the Syrinx’s priority. My conclusion is that the ancient collection of the technopaegnia as their students pictured it – as a short, but extensively annotated poetic collection contained in a separate book-roll – never existed. The technopaegnia were attached, one by one, to join the Syrinx in the bucolic collection; and Simias’ poems probably came from Simias’ poetry book. It seems possible that the Egg did not join the collection with the Axe and the Wings, but later, e.g. with Vestinus’ poem. My reconstruction of the arrangement of the ancient collection appears to be confirmed by the order of the poems in the MS of the Anthology, in which they are arranged as follows: Syrinx, Axe, Wings, Ionic Altar, Doric Altar, Egg. For some reason, the order of the Altars is inverted, but what is striking is that the Egg comes last. There was probably more than one source for the technopaegnia in the Anthology (see Int. 9), and an alternative order is attested in the index to the Anthology. The index suffered much from neglegentia librarii, but Bergk seems to have been successful in emending it: SÕrigz Qeokrítou kaì ptérugev Simmíou· Dwsiáda· bwmòv Bjsantínou· Öòn kaì pélekuv.206 This implies that the Altars had been arranged in the ‘correct’ order in one of the MSS from which the technopaegnia were copied into the Anthology. The position of the Axe is, by all means, odd and cannot be easily explained. I suppose that either the scribe added the title at the end of the list of technopaegnia after he realised that he had omitted it earlier in the index – there is a number of omissions and mistakes in the index – or that due to the similar forgetfulness of an earlier scribe, the Axe was already transposed in the MS which had served as the source for the index. At any rate, the index seems to confirm the Egg’s striking position. Cameron speaks of “Preisendanz’s ludicrous notion that J’s index is not the index to AP at all but to its source”,207 but as far as the specific problem of the index to the section containing the technopaegnia is concerned, this criticism seems ungrounded. It would have been quite natural for the scribe preparing the index to his compilation to not scan through the copy in which he was writing, but to look at the source MSS that he had before him. If there is more than one source for each specific text in the compilation (cf. Int. 9), it will be difficult to avoid making mistakes. My final remark concerns one more fact that seemed “curious” to Gow, i.e. that the series of the technopaegnia is broken up by epigrams 206.  Bergk (1868: lxx). 207.  Cameron (1993: 299).

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(not just one epigram, as Gow noted) which clearly do not belong to the group.208 These are Arethas’ epigram on Marcus Aurelius’ Meditations, copied beneath the Axe, and two epigrams on Marinus’ Life of Proclus beneath the Doric Altar, repeated from book 9 of the Anthology (196 and 197). As a matter of fact, it had already been observed by Bergk that Arethas’ epigram was copied “ne quid chartae vacuum esset” and, what is more important, that one can similarly explain the striking fact that the Wings appear twice on the same page, copied in cursive and in uncial.209 Bergk’s suggestion was strongly supported by Cameron, who convincingly demonstrated that the scribe’s intention was to write each poem on a fresh page, but without leaving blank spaces.210 9.  MS tradition Strodel’s recent study provides a detailed survey of the textual tradition of the technopaegnia.211 My aim in the present section is to provide a general overview and the brief characteristics of those MSS on which the text of the poems printed in the present edition is based – this will be largely dependent on Strodel’s painstaking description of the MSS (but also on the work of Gow and Gallavotti). To this I will add a few more specific observations concerning the MSS. The MS of the Anthology and the bucolic MSS – the two branches of the textual tradition of the technopaegnia – descend from a common source (cf. e.g. Egg 6 n.), and the bucolic MSS undoubtedly do not derive from the MS of the Anthology, as they sometimes give better readings than it does. However, one must never lose sight of the undisputable superiority of the MS of the Anthology. The case of the Egg provides a particularly instructive illustration; until Saumaise rediscovered the MS of the Anthology,212 the Egg was merely a picture drawn with letters that could not speak. A scribal comment beneath the text in one of the bucolic MSS (Z) is telling: pollà dè ên aût¬ç ™mártjtai· âllˆ Üv eî ên t¬ç ântigráfwç ¥n, oÀtw kaì ke⁄tai.213 208.  Gow (1952: 2.552). 209.  Bergk (1868: lxx). 210.  Cameron (1993: 321). It remains to be explained, however, whether the scribe’s choice of the redundant epigrams is meaningful; Alexandra Pappas, as she kindly informed me, is working on this problem. 211.  Strodel (2002). 212.  Saumaise (1619). 213.  Cf. Strodel (2002: 115).



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9.1.  Palatine Anthology (Anth.) Of the two parts in which the famous Palatine Anthology has come to us, the Heidelbergian codex (Palatinus Gr. 23) is irrelevant for the discussion of the technopaegnia; our attention is focused entirely on the second part now in the Bibliothèque National (Parisinus suppl. Gr. 384). The MS is to be dated to c. 940 (980, the commonly given date, is erroneous).214 The so-called Book 15 of the Anthology, in which the technopaegnia are included (poems 21-2, 24-7 in the modern editions), and which among the various heterogeneous poems also preserves the Anacreontea, was shown by Cameron to be in fact the post-Cephalan compilation intended to supplement the Anthology proper. Cameron seems, to me, to be absolutely convincing when he argues that the compiler of the supplement is to be identified as Constantine the Rhodian.215 M. West, in the introduction to his edition of the Anacreontea, proved beyond doubt that the scribe whom we now know to be Constantine the Rhodian checked the copied text with another MS, from which several variants have been adduced on the margin or between the lines of the text.216 We may note that the same observation is valid in the case of the text of the technopaegnia. The variants given by the scribe are usually noted with a single letter or several letters added above the line of writing; in one case, when the same line is repeated below in a slightly altered version, this is marked by a marginal note, gr. ãllwv (Wings 11; the line is in fact written four times, as the poem appears twice on the page). In some cases there can be no doubt that the alternative text is not a self-correction or Constantine’s conjecture, but a textual variant, e.g. when in Egg 1 the suprascript letters give the absurd djmosúnav (the text is mjdosúnav). We may also note Ion. Alt. 5 oû feídontai (the text is feídonto), and esp. the dialectal variant purismarágw (the text is -ou, I print it as purisfarágou of the bucolic MSS) in Syr. 8 (see Int. 7). In some cases the variant agrees with the text of the bucolic MSS; e.g. Syr. 12 p¢ma (the main text of the Anthology reads p±ma), Axe 1 krater¢v (the main text has the incorrect kratístav). The variants are marked as ‘Anth.2’ in my apparatus. Note besides that the MS of the Anthology clearly preserves several strata of the scholia (see Egg 9-10 and 11-12 n. and cf. Wendel’s edition217); I am now inclined to suppose that it was Constantine the Rhodian himself 214.  See Cameron (1993: 99); cf. Diller (1974: 520-1). 215.  See Cameron (1993: 298-328). 216.  M. West (1984: vi). 217.  Wendel (1914: 336-52).

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who compiled the scholia, or at least a part of them, from different sources. All of this sheds light on the extent of Constantine the Rhodian’s bookshelves and the methodology of his ‘editorial’ work.218 I have already discussed the problem of the Anthology’s index, in which the order of the poems is altered (see Int. 8). 9.2.  Bucolic MSS (Buc.) The bucolic MSS are split, as far as the textual tradition of the technopaegnia is concerned, into three further branches, of which two may be more aptly referred to as ‘twigs’, as either one is represented in the present edition by just one MS (in one case it is an MS and the two editions that derive from it). The so-called recensio Ambrosiana is one of the ‘twigs’; the sole MS that represents it is, however, of considerable, wellknown value: Ambrosianus C 222 inf. (K). It is dated to the end of the thirteenth century, but, as Gallavotti showed, it bears traces of the ninthor tenth-century recension, as it preserves some typically majuscule errors (cf. my apparatus to Axe 6).219 This MS preserves the text of the Axe and the Wings and is also important for providing the ancient scholia to them. Note besides that a vestige of the Egg – its corrupt closing line – is to be recognised in the ‘handle’ attached to the Axe by some Byzantine (see my apparatus to the Axe). Two 1516 editions, signed by Zacharias Callierges (Call.) and Filippo Giunta (Iunt.), are, at least in part, indirect descendants of K, but may have also been contaminated by other traditions. Whether the two editions should be treated simply as sources of valuable early conjectures or are significant witnesses to some lost tradition has been much debated, and definite answers are still beyond reach;220 at any rate, both Call. and Iunt. appear in my apparatus. The other ‘twig’ is Laurentianus 32.52 (G), dated to the end of the thirteenth century.221 It has the text of solely one technopaegnion – Simias’ Wings – but is important for having preserved some genuine readings unattested elsewhere; Wings 2 láxnaiv and 4 dè g¢v e˝ke are remarkable. It was seen by Wendel that a collation of the ancient scholia that G preserves proves that it is akin to K (but not a source for it), and not to 218.  See further Cameron (1993: 322-3, 402-3). 219.  Gallavotti (1993: 298). 220.  For diverse views on the complicated problem of the origin of the two editions, see Gow (1952: 1.xlv-xlvi, lvii-lix), Smutny (1955), Gallavotti (1993: 363-9), Sens (1997: 51-3). 221.  See Gallavotti (1993: 300 n. 1).



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the MS of the Anthology, as it had been earlier assumed.222 The picture of the winged Eros shooting his bow, which accompanies the text, is said by Ernst and Strodel, after Wendel, to be “nachträglich über Text und Scholien gemalt”,223 but to my eye it is the other way round; although the text is not inscribed in the drawing accurately, the scribe had clearly made several attempts to keep his writing away from the picture and to fill in the blank spaces. I will further discuss this drawing below in connection with the other illustrations. G, K and Anth. are the only MSS to have the full text of the Wings (but F has its title and a very unsuccessful drawing; see below). All of the MSS that have not been hitherto mentioned form one distinct class of the utmost significance. The common source from which they derive was identified by Wendel as the recension made by the Byzantine monk and intellectual, Manuel Holobolus, a prominent thirteenth-century figure.224 Holobolus’ edition must have contained all six of the technopaegnia; its main part consisted of the commentary, of which large portions are preserved (the scholia to the Axe, Syrinx and both Altars). Its importance is undeniable, particularly in the case of the Doric Altar, for which the ancient scholia are missing. We also have a commentary on the Syrinx written by Holobolus’ pupil, Pediasimus.225 Some of these MSS deserve to be mentioned separately. Perhaps the most spectacular among them is Parisinus Gr. 2832 (R in Gallavotti, Strodel and the present edition, Tr in Gow). It is dated to the fourteenth century. Some believe that it is Triclinius’ autograph, others recognise his recension but credit some disciple of his with the Triclinius-style writing.226 It preserves the handsomely illustrated text of the Syrinx and the Doric Altar, and it is commonly assumed that a few pages have been lost in it, but Ambrosianus B 75 sup. (C), dated to the fifteenth century, is in the part which contains the three technopaegnia thought to be an apograph of R, and to the Syrinx and Altar, which R has, it adds the Egg.227 C provides a unique testimony for Holobolus’ edition of all six of the technopaegnia, as apart from the text of the three poems, it not 222.  Wendel (1907: 465). 223.  Wendel (1907: 463 n. 1), Ernst (1991: 753), Strodel (2002: 108). 224. On Holobolus’ edition of the technopaegnia, see Wendel (1907; 1910), Sbordone (1951), Ernst (1991), Strodel (2002), Ferreri (2006), Galán Vioque (2009). Holobolus is portrayed in Treu (1896). 225.  Holobolus’ commentary should be consulted in: Sbordone (1951) – the Axe, Strodel (2002) – all remnants, i.e. the Axe, the Syrinx, both Altars, Ferreri (2006) – the Doric Altar. For further reading, see Galán Vioque (2009). 226.  See Strodel (2002: 31), Gow (1952: 1.xliv), with further literature. 227.  See Gow (1952: 1.xliv).

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only preserves the commentary to the Axe, but also mentions the Wings in the scholion, of which neither the text of Holobolus’ recension nor his commentary are attested elsewhere (Holobolus’ commentary to the Ionic Altar is preserved in other sources; see below).228 C is not illustrated, but the illustrations of R, as well as the layout of the technopaegnia which both C and R exhibit, are very closely paralleled by Laurentianus Ashburnhamiensis 1174 (Z; the fifteenth/sixteenth century); the three figure poems that Z preserves are the same as those in C. The collation of the three MSS shows that Z is a copy of neither R nor C, but they all clearly belong to the same group with a common source. Until recently it was believed that C and Z are the only bucolic MSS to have preserved the Egg, but Strodel has argued that the text of the Egg in Moscoviensis Bibl. Synod. Gr. 480 (Mosc. in my edition, S 17 in Strodel; the fifteenth/sixteenth century) derives from the same source as the just-described MSS, and it is not a copy of either one. Like C, it is not illustrated. Apart from the Egg, this sylloge contains other technopaegnia (all except the Ionic Altar), but takes them from the sources known to us.229 Let us go back to the Egg for a while. Mosc. usually agrees with C and Z against Anth. and/or common sense, but after checking Strodel’s collation against the photographs of Mosc., C and Z, I am able to confirm that Mosc. agrees with Anth. in having the corrupt ÷xnj at Egg 12 (I print C and Z’s ÷xnei), that Mosc. has âlláswn at line 13, which is closer to Anth. âllásswn than C Z âllà s¬n/s¬v, and that Mosc. again fully agrees with Anth. in preserving the correct ∫rousˆ, where C and Z have ∫roiv at line 18. These may seem to be insignificant errors, but one must remember that, as the already quoted scribal comment in Z confirms, the text of the Egg was not legible to the scribes, and hence scribal emendations are unlikely. To my eye, however, Strodel erroneously maintains that 15 tiqßnav is correct in Mosc., while C, Z and Anth. give tiqenav; in fact, tiqenav is found only in Anth., whereas C and Z agree with Mosc. in the good reading. Still, I agree that the list of MSS an editor of the Egg should use is complete only after Mosc. has its place in it. We have seen an example of a true scribal work of art in the Triclinian R, now let us turn for a while to the MS of which the scribe was no talented illustrator (and there was no such other person around). Ambrosianus B 99 sup. (F), dated to the fourteenth century,230 has the Axe, 228.  Cf. Strodel (2002: 21). 229.  See Strodel (2002: 25). 230.  See Gallavotti (1993: 348).



introduction

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Syrinx and Doric Altar with large portions of Holobolus’ commentary, but would also have had the Wings and the Ionic Altar, if only its scribe had been a more accomplished artist. For one finds in F an infantile sketch of a half-man, half-bird supposed to be Eros (the title Ptérugev is inscribed on one of the wings), and another unsuccessful drawing – an altar next to which (and partly on it) some figure is sketched; the title is Bjsantínou Bwmóv.231 Both sketches are disastrous accomplishments, and it is not surprising that the scribe lost heart for his work after having produced them, whereas the text of the poems is still missing. Nevertheless, the importance of the collection in F lies in the fact that it provides significant evidence for Holobolus’ edition. Vaticanus Gr. 434 (Y; the end of the thirteenth century) is one of few MSS to have preserved the Ionic Altar; besides it has the Axe, the Doric Altar and Holobolus’ commentary. It appears akin to F in many respects. Strodel was able to see that one more MS, which had been neglected by the editors, deserved attention – the Oxfordian D’Orville 71 (S 23 in Strodel, I adopt Galán Vioque’s Orv. in my edition), dated to the fourteenth century, which includes, among other poetic texts, the Axe and the Ionic Altar with Holobolus’ comments.232 That her conclusions are correct is confirmed by the discovery of Galán Vioque, who was able to prove beyond doubt that the folio on which the two figure poems are written, now bound in Orv., originates from a different MS.233 Its source is surely Vaticanus Gr. 1824 (V; it is dated to the fourteenth century), the MS that not only has long been used in the recension of the technopaegnia, as it contains the Doric Altar with Holobolus’ commentary, but is also known to be incomplete; its page with the text of the Syrinx was bound in the ‘disorderly’ Vaticanus Gr. 1825 (U).234 Now, when these three MSS are regarded as one, the joint testimony of U + V + Orv. becomes one of the most important to attest Holobolus’ edition. The remaining MSS that are used in the present edition and preserve the text of the Syrinx or the Doric Altar need not be discussed in detail; see the sigla. My final remarks concern two problems that I would like to bring forth for consideration by others, as I have no ready solution for them. Wendel once thought that Holobolus’ edition of the technopaegnia was illustrated, but Strodel adduced a good argument against this hypothesis – Holobolus’ commentary in V, a relatively early MS (fourteenth century), 231.  Photographs are in Strodel (2002). 232.  See Strodel (2002: 113-14, 121). 233.  Galán Vioque (2009). 234.  Cf. Gow (1952: 1.xlii).

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explains that the Doric Altar was dedicated by Jason to Athena, which is in accordance with the text of the poem (see Dor. Alt. 5 n.), but the sixteenth-century editions change the name of the dedicatee to ˆApóllwni.235 This appears odd at first, but the explanation comes from R and Z, where an illustration of Apollo standing next to the altar accompanies the text of the poem. The conclusion is that Holobolus wrote ˆAqjn¢ç; the text of the scholion was influenced by the later illustration. This seems convincing; however, it is not true, as Strodel claims, that illustrations are found only in the MSS that form a group with R. We have seen two sketches in F and we should not dismiss them too quickly, as the scribe did, only because they do not come up to the standards of the Triclinian R. As a matter of fact, a figure that accompanies the (Ionic) altar in F reminds me of the figures of Dosiadas and Apollo that stand next to the (Doric) altar in R, as well as of those of Theocritus and Pan that stand with the Syrinx. Furthermore, F also has the drawing of Eros, and another puzzle is that a drawing of Eros also appears in G, the text of which does not even derive from Holobolus’ recension and comes from the thirteenth century. What is then the origin of all those illustrations? And is there a connection between them? A somewhat similar problem concerns the shape of the Axe. In K, the two blades of the Axe are rounded so that they take on a spherical shape (cf. Int. 2). Strodel classifies this shape as “Textgestalt A” and opposes it to “Textgestalt B”, in which the lines that form the two blades run straight; this is supposed to be represented by the MSS deriving from Holobolus’ recension, i.e. F, Y and Orv.236 But in Orv. the lines are rounded, not straight. Again – can the two MSS that belong to two different classes be in some way interconnected? Altogether, it seems to me that much still remains to be said on the evolution of the layouts of the technopaegnia in the Byzantine MSS. The stemma based on the above sketch of the textual tradition of the technopaegnia would be oversimplified and at the same time complicated enough not to be clearly legible; therefore, I refrain from drawing such a diagram. Strodel provides separate stemmata for each of the poems.237

235.  Strodel (2002: 122 n. 11, 138); cf. Ferreri (2006: 351). 236.  Strodel (2002: 70–2). 237.  Strodel (2002: 123-8).

TEXT

Sigla and a note on the translation I adopt the system of sigla used by Gow, Gallavotti and Strode!. Minor discrepancies have been noted above (Int. 9). Anth.: Parisinus suppl. Gr. 384, the Palatine Anthology (c. 940); all of the six poems (Wings twice, line 11 four times) C: Ambrosianus B 75 sup. (15th cent.); Egg, Syrinx, Doric Altar E: Vaticanus Gr. 42 (early 14th cent.); Syrinx F: Ambrosianus B 99 sup. (14th cent.); Axe, Syrinx, Doric Altar G: Laurentianus 32.52 (13th cent. end); Wings K: Ambrosianus C 222 inf. (13th cent. end); Axe, Wings M: Vaticanus Gr. 915 (early 14th cent.); Syrinx P: Laurentianus 32.37 (13th/14th cent.); Syrinx R: Parisinus Gr. 2832 (14th cent.); Syrinx, Doric Altar T: Vaticanus Gr. 38 (1322); Syrinx, Doric Altar U: Vaticanus Gr. 1825 (14th cent.); Syrinx V: Vaticanus Gr. 1824 (14th cent.); Doric Altar X: Vaticanus Gr. 1311 (15th cent.); Syrinx Y: Vaticanus Gr. 434 (13th cent. end); Axe, Doric Altar, Ionic Altar Z: Laurentianus Ashbumhamiensis 1174 (15th/16th cent.); Egg, Syrinx, Doric Altar Mose.: Moscoviensis Bibi. Synod. Gr. 480 (15th/16th cent.); Axe, Wings, Egg, Syrinx, Doric Altar Orv.: D'Orville 71 (14th cent.): Axe, Ionic Altar Call.: Zacharias Callierges' edition, Rome (1516); Axe, Wings, Syrinx, Doric Altar Iunt.: Filippo Giunta's edition, Florence (1516); Axe, Wings, Syrinx Anth.2, C 2 : variae lectiones (suprascript) I:: scholia The English paraphrases that accompany each text are from Paton's Loeb edition of the Anthology (note, however, that Paton reprints Edmonds' translation of the Egg); 1 I have altered them to fit my understanding of the poems. I. Paton (1918); cf. Edmonds (1912).

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61

1. Simias, Axe 'Av8po0tg. 8ropov 6 ffiKEUc; Kpu-cepiic;µ11800-uvac;~pa 'ttV(J)V'A06.vg. ,:qi noi:e nupyffiv 0eoi:euK,ffiV Ka,Epenvev ainoc;, wnacr' 'Eneu'>c; 1tEAEKUV, i:iiµoc;, E7tet 'tUV\epuv KT}pi1tupi1tvq:> 7tO/\.lV1'106.A(J)O"EV dap8avt8iiv xpucropmpeic; ,:' foi:uq>EAt~' EK 0eµt0Affiv civaKi:ac;, 5 OUKtv6.pt0µoc; yeyawc; EV1tpoµa.xotc; 'Axmrov, a.H' am'> Kpaviiv l0apiiv viiµa Koµtl;;e 8ucrKAl'lc;' vi'iv 8' tc; 'OµiJpetov epa KEAeu0ov cruv xa.ptv, ayvu 1toMPouAE TiaHa.c;. ,pie; µa.Kap, OVO"U0uµcp 10 tAaoc; aµqit8epx0flc;· 88' oApov aei nvei.

Codd.: Anth., K, F, Y, Orv., v. I habet Heph. p. 31.6-7 Consbruch Titulus: :Eiµµiou 'Po8iou F Y Orv. Heph. p. 31.4-5 Consbruch; Ka' (scil. Theocriti carmen xxi) K; 0EoKpii:ou Call. I TIEAEKU W!lamow1tz(~p. Haeberlin [1887: 26)); (1619: 174-5) I av,pav Mose. I Nuµcp&vcodd.; corr. Bergk (1868: Jxxix) II Saull_!a1se 17 ,ric;_CZ Mos7. I c.1Jµ60uµoc; Anth.2 ; 6µ6- cett. I ai1j!' ou6' av Biic;c z Mose. I K6Arrco Sauma1se I 0aAaµotc; Anth.; corr. Haeberlin (1887: 26) (0aAaµrov Saumaise [1619·: 158)); om. C ~ M?sc. I µuxot,'awic; Gow (1958: 177) post Wilamowitz (ap. Haeberlin [18_87: 26)) qm -,a,cp; 7tOUKom,ovAnth.; 1tOUK6,ri,aC Z Mose.; 1tUKCO,a,cov Sauma1se (1619: 175-?) 1118rr,EpOKOl'tOV Anth.; corr. Saumaise (1619: 176); rrEpiKot,ov C Z ,Mose.I EKAmcovAnth/ ~ Z_Mosc.;_-11.Eirrcov Anth. I opotc; C Z I rrAaK,ovKm6µevoc; P~Atmc;_cZ Mose. 1119K 8. 7t0crt Edn;ionds ~,191_2:499); e. rrocriv 6. Gallavotti (1993: 281); supplendum ex. gr. Pa6tcrtv W1lamowitz(1910: 149) I µ011.rraic; Anth. z Mose. II

1-3 Lo here a new weft of a twittering mother, 4 a Dorian nightingale. 5-6 Receive it with a right good will, for pure was the mother whose shrilly throes did labour for it. 7-8 Hermes, the loud-voiced herald of the gods, took it up from beneath its dear mother's wings and carried it to the tribes of mortals, 9-10 and bade, properly arranging and dividing the rhythm, that what was earlier [one mixed form] should increase the numb~r fr?m a one-footed measure unto a full ten measures. 11-12 Quickly drrectmg here and there the nod of his feet, the movement that swiftly slants from up above, the god, thumping the earth with his foot, made ~anifest _themotle~ concordant cry of the Pierians; 13 he was alternating his feet like the qmck spotted fawns, offspring of the swift-footed deer. 14 Now these fawns through immortal desire of their dear mother rush

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apace after the beloved teat, 15 all passing with far-basting feet over the hilltops in the track of their friendly nurse - 16 the bleating of sheep resounds then through the much-nourishing mountain pastures and enters the caves of the slender-ankled Nymphs. 17 And at once some cruelhearted beast, receiving the echoing cry in the innermost hollows of his den, 18 leaps violently forward leaving his rocky bed with intent to snatch a wandering offspring of the dappled mother, 19 and then swiftly following the sound of the cry, this beast straightaway hastens through the shaggy dell of the snow-clad hills. 20 Like those fawns, the famed god shook the earth with his swift feet, emitting the manifold measures of the song. In the MS of the Palatine Anthology, the poem has the following layout, also suggested by Hephaestio (see Int. 5.2): KoltD..llEpetV1t60ac; ve6rov - the sense of the whole would be 'to direct bending feet [i.e. leaping in dance] here and there in a quick movement from above downwards'; AEXptov and the repetition of adverbial forms denoting swif~ness would have an emphatic function. For q>EpEtV1t60ac;, cf. Call. Ep1gr. 29.1 and 30.1 Gow-Page; the whole syntax and phrasing are per~aps mos~ closelr paralleled in E. Tr. 333-4 EAtcrcre't(iO' EKEtcrEµe.' eµe0ev 1toorov I q>epoucra q>tA .a.av /3cicrw.This reading seems to be e':hoed in and confirmed by the expression that follows, tXVEt 0tvrov yav (see 12 n. on my treatment of the corruption of the passage), and is also encouraged by another passage in the scholia (most probably by ~nother scholiast - apparently several strata of comments are preserved 1~ the ~MS of !he Ant~ology.3 cf. ~-10 n.): a.11,11,riyopei os 1tapetKal,;rov n1~ •~V 1toorov 6pµriv :ou 0wu vej3poic;, at CTKtp't&crt•iic; µri'tpoc; •~U _raAanoc; E1t~0uµoucr~t· ou.ro cpricri crKtp'tftcrav.a 'tOV 'Epµfiv EUp~0µotc; ~Ktp'tllµacrt µE'tpa a.vacp0eysaµEVOV 7tapaOOUVat •fie; .:1rop~ac;a.rioovoc;. Note that the image of Hermes' dance, his leading the danc1_ngN~mphs o~ Muses, is well familiar to us from Greek iconography, mcludmg a rehef from the Athenian Acropolis. 92 Neuµa may also denote 'command'. 93 If the word were intended to be ambiguous, or at least to bear a shade of ambiguity - the second sense is suggested by the verbs civroye and 1tiq>aUcrKevin its proximity - the m~tapho~ of _'thecomman~ o~ feet' would be quite eccentric, but perhaps this readmg 1s not to be d1sm1ssed too hastily (cf. Onos. 26.1 1tapacr6v0riµa ... ve6µan XEtp6c;).94 In a similar meaning, the expression cptprov veuµa recurs in Philostr. Her. 35.6. 95 11 U7ttp9t: the choice between U7tep0' and U7tEp0Ev- both forms are ~ound in the MSS and both metrical variants are allowed - may not seem like a matter of much importance, but it has consequences when determining the exact length of the lacuna in the metrically responding passage of line 12. The editors usually print -ev, but the simplest assumption would be that the archetype had U7tep0e written in scriptio plena, which was recognised as such by one scribe who marked the elision and was (erroneously) corrected by another who added v. 92. 93. 94. 95.

See Larson (2001: 258-67). See LSJ s.v. I.2. Cf. Prier (1994: 80). Cf. Strode( (2002: 255).

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IT'_ is mgeruous and confirmed by what we find in line 20. Nevertheless we are left with one difficulty. In the expression KcoA'dA.A.acrcrrovthe ;ord KCOA.a is apparently ambiguous; it is intended to make us think of multif~ous_ metrical units, but, taken what was said in the preceding lines, it pnmardy refers to Hermes' feet. 109 The sense we need is 'to move rImb s ,110 - the pro b!em 1s, . however, that UA.A.acrcrro, as far as I am aware, does not even come close to this meaning anywhere else. Yet 'to alternate feet' does not sound absurd, and it seems that we have little choice but 102. Cf. Martinez Fernandez (1990: 168). 103. Ap. Gow (1958: 176). 104. Wojaczek (1969: 80). 105. Prier (1994: 80). 106. Jacobs (1798: 15-16). Cf. J. Powell (1919: 35). 107. Mendez Dosuna (2008: 199-200). 108. LSJ s.v. aHcicrcrroITI.I. 109. Cf. Prier (1994: 80), Strode! (2002: 258). 110. Cf. Martinez Fernandez (1990: 163).

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THE GREEK FIGURE POEMS COMMENTARY

to accept it; cf. Hor. Carm. l.4.6- 7 iunctaeque Nymphis Gratiae decentes I alterno terram quatiunt pede. . ai611.ati;:Mendez Dosuna seems to be right when he argues, quotmg a number of parallels, that the adjective does not mean 'swift' here (this was already said by the preceding 0oai