names and narrative techniques in xenophon's anabasis

Narratology and Interpretation

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Trends in Classics -Supplementary Volumes

Edited byFranco Montanari and Antonios Rengakos

Scientific CommitteeAlberto Bernabe · Margarethe Billerbeck · Claude Calame

Philip R. Hardie · Stephen J. Harrison · Stephen HindsRichard Hunter · Christina Kraus · Giuseppe MastromarcoGregory Nagy · Theodore D. Papanghelis · Giusto Picone

Kurt Raaflaub · Bernhard Zimmermann

Volume 4

Walter de Gruyter · Berlin · New York



Narratology and InterpretationThe Content of Narrative Form

in Ancient Literature

Edited by

Jonas GrethleinAntonios Rengakos

Walter de Gruyter · Berlin · New York



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ISBN 978-3-11-021452-9

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Narratology and interpretation : the content of narrative form inancient literature / edited by Jonas Grethlein and Antonios Rengakos.

p. cm. - (Trends in classics, supplementary volumes ; 4)Includes bibliographical references and index.ISBN 978-3-11-021452-9 (hardcover : alk. paper)1. Narration (Rhetoric) - History. 2. Greek literature - History

and criticism. I. Grethlein, Jonas, 1978- II. Rengakos, Antonios.PA3003.N37 2009808-dc22

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Contents

Introduction . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1

I. Ancient Predecessors of Narratology

Stephen HalliwellThe Theory and Practice of Narrative in Plato . . . . . . . . . . . . 15

Richard HunterThe Trojan Oration of Dio Chrysostom and Ancient HomericCriticism . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 43

René NünlistNarratological Concepts in Greek Scholia . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 63

II. Narratology – New Concepts

Irene de JongMetalepsis in Ancient Greek Literature . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 87

Egbert J. BakkerHomer, Odysseus, and the Narratology of Performance . . . . . 117

Deborah BeckSpeech Act Types, Conversational Exchange, and the SpeechRepresentational Spectrum in Homer . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 137

Jonas GrethleinPhilosophical and Structuralist Narratologies – Worlds Apart? . 153



III. Narratology and the Interpretation of Epic and LyricPoetry

Evanthia Tsitsibakou-VasalosChance or Design? Language and Plot Management in theOdyssey. Klytaimnestra %kowor lmgstµ 1l^sato . . . . . . . . . . . . 177

Marios Skempis – Ioannis ZiogasArete’s Words: Etymology, Ehoie-Poetry and GenderedNarrative in the Odyssey . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 213

Lucia AthanassakiNarratology, Deixis, and the Performance of Choral Lyric. OnPindar’s First Pythian Ode . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 241

Georg DanekApollonius Rhodius as an (anti-)Homeric Narrator: Time andSpace in the Argonautica . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 275

Evina Sistakou‘Snapshots’ of Myth: The Notion of Time in HellenisticEpyllion . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 293

Theodore D. PapanghelisAeneid 5.362–484: Time, Epic and the Analeptic Gauntlets . . 321

IV. Narratology and the Interpretation of Tragedy

Francis DunnSophocles and the Narratology of Drama . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 337

Marianne HopmanLayered Stories in Aeschylus’ Persians . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 357

Seth L. ScheinNarrative Technique in the Parodos of Aeschylus’ Agamemnon . 377

Anna A. LamariKnowing a Story’s End: Future Reflexive in the TragicNarrative of the Argive Expedition Against Thebes . . . . . . . . . 399

Ruth ScodelIgnorant Narrators in Greek Tragedy . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 421

ContentsVI



V. Narratology and the Interpretation of Historiography

Christos C. TsagalisNames and Narrative Techniques in Xenophon’s Anabasis . . . 451

Nikos MiltsiosThe Perils of Expectations: Perceptions, Suspense and Surprisein Polybius’ Histories . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 481

Christopher PellingSeeing through Caesar’s Eyes: Focalisation and Interpretation . 507

Chrysanthe Tsitsiou-ChelidoniHistory beyond Literature: Interpreting the ‘InternallyFocalized’ Narrative in Livy’s Ab urbe condita . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 527

Philip HardieFame’s Narratives. Epic and Historiography . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 555

List of Contributors . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 573

Bibliography . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 577

General Index . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 617Passages Index . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 623

Contents VII



Introduction

1

In the last two decades, a technical analysis of narrative, as outlined byGenette, Bal and others,1 has become increasingly popular in the field ofClassics. De Jong’s groundbreaking study of ‘narrators and focalizers’ inthe Iliad has inspired narratological readings of other genres as well asprompting further studies of epic.2 Narratology has proven itself to bea highly apt tool with which to explore the complex structures of theancient novel.3 Hornblower has shown that concepts such as ‘anachro-ny’ and ‘embedded focalisation’ can help us to elucidate the sophisticat-ed narratives of ancient historians and so paved the way for Rood’smonograph length study of Thucydides.4 The application of narratologyhas also been extended beyond prose-narratives: even before de Jong’sstudy of the Iliad, Hurst and Köhnken had explored the temporal struc-ture of epinicean poetry;5 now we also have a full study of the narratorin Archaic and Hellenistic poetry by Morrison.6 Furthermore, scholarssuch as Goward, Barrett and Markantonatos have applied a narratolog-ical approach to Greek tragedy.7 The project to write a history of Greekliterature from a narratological point of view has already produced twodoor-stop volumes, Narrators, Narratees, and Narratives in Ancient Greek

1 See, e. g., Genette (1972) 1980; Chatman 1978; Bal (1985) 1997. All these ap-proaches are discourse-oriented, i. e. they focus on the mediation of a story in adiscourse. Although the works of Calame 1996 and Edmonds 2004 illustratethat there have been attempts to apply story-oriented narratologies (e. g. thatof Greimas, Bremond) to classical texts, the influence of this branch of narra-tology has been significantly smaller.

2 De Jong (1987) 2004. On Homer, see, e. g., Richardson 1990; Rabel 1997;Alden 2000. Fusillo’s narratological study of Apollonius Rhodius’ Argonautica(1985) predates de Jong’s Iliad-monograph.

3 Winkler 1985; Fusillo 1989; Morales 2005.4 Hornblower 1994; Rood 1998.5 Hurst 1983; 1985; Köhnken 1983.6 Morrison 2007.7 Goward 1999; Barrett 2002; Markantonatos 2002.



Literature and Time in Ancient Greek Literature, and a third volume tofocus on space and narrative is in preparation.Narratological theory has however, in the meanwhile, moved on.

Whereas most Classicists are still busy exploring the avenues openedby the application of the structuralist models developed in the 1960sand 70s, in literary theory the singular ‘narratology’ has given way toa plurality of ‘narratologies’.8Many approaches including feminism, cul-tural history and postcolonial studies have developed their own specificnarratologies, and in a wide range of disciplines, notably history, psy-chology and philosophy, the paradigm of narrative has inspired newfields of research.9 At the same time, attempts have been made towiden the breadth of subjects covered by narratology so as to includein it not only genres such as drama and lyric, but also oral conversationand other media, especially film, art and music.10 While many of theseinterdisciplinary and intermedial narratologies still rely on traditionalstructuralist concepts, some scholars have ventured to set narratologyon a new footing. Cognitive studies, in particular, have presented them-selves as an attractive starting point for scholars who try to move fromthe text to the act of reception, one of the most advanced conceptsbeing Fludernik’s natural narratology.11

The ‘explosion of activity in the field of narrative study’12 has notbeen met with unqualified enthusiasm. Besides denouncing the abuseof ‘narratology’ as a fashionable label for all kinds of readings that scarce-ly treat of narratological matters, scholars have expressed their anxietythat the interdisciplinary and intermedial enlargement would lead firstto the dilution of narratology and ultimately to its dissolution.13 A

8 For surveys, see Nünning 2003; Fludernik 2005. On the ‘new narratologies’,see also Herman 1999.

9 The seminal article for feminist narratology is Lanser 1986; Nünning 2000charts a cultural historical narratology; Bhaba 1994 is important for postcolonialnarratology. White 1973 established the paradigm of narratology in history; inpsychology, see Bruner 1986; Straub, 1998; in philosophy, see Ricoeur1984–1988 (for an early predecessor, see Schapp (1953) 1976).

10 See in general Wolf 2002 and the contributions to Ryan 2004; Meister 2005.On a narratology which embraces both literary narratives and oral story-telling,see Fludernik 1996; Herman 2004. Chatman 1978 is a pioneering study for anarratology of film. On narratology and music, see Kramer 1991; Neubauer1997; on narratology and figurative art, Dieterle 1988; Steiner 1988.

11 Fludernik 1996. For another approach see Jahn 1997.12 Herman 1999, 1.13 See, e. g., Meister 2003.

Introduction2



new debate has started which raises pressing questions such as whethernarratology should be defined by its object or character as a discipline orwhat the relationship between abstract theoretical reflections and theanalysis of particular narratives ought to be.14

The editors of this volume at once share the concerns of traditionalnarratologists, while at the same time they are fascinated by the results ofsome of the new lines of inquiry. It seems that narratology can makesignificant contributions to other approaches through a clear profilerather than through lending its name to fashionable labels. Technicalanalysis of narrative ought not however to be an end in itself, butneeds to be made fruitful for interpretation. For example, observingthat the Homeric epos contains a dense net of anachronies does notin itself merit much attention, but does become worth our time, if,say, the impact of the temporal organisation on the recipients’ percep-tion of the plot is explored, or if it is linked to the discussion of how weare to place Homer between orality and literacy. We therefore suggestadhering to narratology in the singular and using it as a heuristic tool forinterpretation.15 Narratology thus defined will not deliver fully devel-oped interpretations, but rather present observations which, thoughwithout claim on objectivity, are sufficiently formal to enrich variousreadings.If we follow this conception of narratology, then combining it with

other approaches emerges as a crucial step. Given that, especially in thefield of Classics, many studies in the tradition of structuralist narratologycontent themselves with the task of classification and that, on the otherhand, most works of the new narratologies have little to say on narrativestructures, one of the major challenges of the moment is to open upnew paths following which the technical analysis of narrative can bemade fruitful for other approaches such as feminist and New Historicalstudies.16 On the same principle, it is well worth exploring the interfaceof narratology with theories such as reader-response and speech-act aswell as the potential of close textual analysis for psychology, philosophyand other disciplines. Although the categories provided by traditionalnarratology are not at all concerned with history, they can nevertheless

14 See, for example, the papers in Kindt – Müller 2003b.15 See Kindt – Müller 2003a, who argue for a heuristic concept of narratology

against autonomist, contextualist and foundationalist approaches.16 See, for example, Bender’s examination of modes of narrativization and their

role for the rise of the penitentiary in the eighteenth century (Bender 1987).

Introduction 3



be used for diachronic analysis alike and thereby open the door to a his-torical narratology,17 which is a project of particular interest to Classi-cists.In accordance with these reflections, this volume aims at drawing

out the subtler possibilities of narratological analysis for the interpreta-tion of both ancient Greek, and in three cases, Latin texts. The contrib-utors explore the heuristic fruitfulness of various narratological catego-ries, several combining them with other approaches: Linguistics (Beck)and performance studies (Bakker) are shown to have important contri-butions still to make to structuralist narratology. In other papers, narra-tology is put together with studies in deixis (Athanassaki, Schein), read-er-response theory (Hopman; Miltsios), cognitive psychology (Scodel),landscape studies (Danek), the biography-of-goods approach (Papan-ghelis) and etymology (Ziogas and Skempis; Tsitsibakou-Vasalos) aswell as Ricoeur’s philosophy of time (Sistakou, Grethlein). A brief syn-opsis of the individual chapters concludes this introductory chapter.

2

Narratology as a discipline is the fruit of the second half of the twentiethcentury, but narrative had already been the object of inquiry in Antiq-uity. The first section assembles three papers which through exploringtexts of very different provenance highlight the variety of ancient ap-proaches to narrative. Halliwell challenges the notion that Plato presentsa comprehensive ‘embryonic narratology’ in Republic 3. In linking thereflections on narrative discourse with Plato’s own narrative practice,Halliwell demonstrates that there are not only tensions between the tri-partite typology of lexis in 392–4 (plain, mimetic, mixed) and the nor-mative typology laid out in 394–8, but that the model proposed bySocrates fails to do justice to the complexities of Platonic dialogue aswell as epic narrative. Read from this perspective, the narrative itself en-ables Plato to express the complexity of narrative which it is impossibleto theorize fully.In the Trojan Oration, Dio Chrysostomus argues that Paris was the

lawful husband of Helena, that Hector killed Achilles and that theGreeks did not capture Troy. Hunter reads the speech as an artful explo-ration of the limits and purposes of poetic myth that touches on many of

17 Examples for diachronic narratological studies are Wolf 1993; Fludernik 1996.

Introduction4



the core issues of narratology. He demonstrates the breadth of questionsdiscussed by Dio, including the anastrophic character of the narrative, interms of modern narratology its anachronies, and elaborates on Dio’s re-lationship to earlier Homeric criticism and his use of it. What emergesfrom this analysis is a Dio who sets up a sophisticated game with Homeras well as with Homeric criticism which in turn openly invites criticismof the same kind as that which it itself brings against the Homericpoems.Nünlist brings to our attention that it is not only technical treatises,

but also scholia that explore narratological issues. Examples from thescholia on Homer illustrate that the ‘ancient critic at work’ reflectedon questions of time, voice and focalisation. While the scholia do notdevelop a theoretical and terminological framework and thereforeought not to be seen as a narratological theory avant la lettre, it is none-theless striking that even complex phenomena such as embedded focal-isation were noted and drew comments.

A second section brings together four papers which concentrate ontheory, either by putting forth a narratological concept that is new inClassical studies or by using other approaches to overcome deficienciesof current narratological studies or by bringing structuralist narratologyinto a dialogue with narratology in other disciplines. Metalepsis, i. e. theblurring of the hierarchy of narrative levels, is a much discussed phe-nomenon in modern fiction. De Jong contributes to the project of a his-torical narratology by exploring the use of metalepsis in early Greek lit-erature. She examines in particular the figure of apostrophe, that is refer-ences to the narrative at the level of the action, the blending of narrativevoices and the merging of the worlds of the narrator and the narrated atthe end of narratives. While in modern fiction metalepses often serve asan ‘anti-illusionistic device’, de Jong makes a strong case that in earlyGreek literature metalepses tend to increase the authority of the narratorand the realism of the narrative.Bakker notes that traditional narratology fails to do justice to narra-

tives such as the Homeric epics the composition and reception of whichtake place alike in the very act of performance. In his ‘narratology ofperformance’, he argues that the virtual absence of free indirect dis-course is due to the fixed setting of performance, suggests the term of‘projected indexicality’ which takes into account the diachronic dimen-sion of performance, and challenges the value of a sharp distinction be-tween narrator and character speech in the case of orally performed po-

Introduction 5



etry. As the Odyssey illustrates, the boundaries between the characters’5pg and the bards’ !oid^ become easily blurred. Like de Jong’s paper,Bakker’s approach also underscores the importance of a historical narra-tology that goes beyond the unhistorical frame of traditional narratolo-gy.Beck’s argument brings narratology into a profitable dialogue with

linguistics. Her test case is the relationship between direct and indirectspeech in the Homeric epics. While traditional narratological studieshave noted that indirect speeches in Homer are relatively unimportantand are mostly used for orders, Beck observes that, even if not to thesame extent, orders nonetheless dominate direct speeches too. In apply-ing the concept of ‘expressivity’ which addresses the degree of emotion-al involvement of the speaker, she argues that indirect speeches are oftenchosen where expressive features do not exist or do not matter. Theconcept of ‘move’ which elucidates the way in which particular utter-ances operate in context sheds further light on the position of indirectspeeches in conversations.In the last paper of the second section, Grethlein outlines an ap-

proach which combines Ricoeur’s philosophical narratology with Gen-ette’s taxonomy. More specifically, the refiguration of time in narrative,a rather vague concept in Time and Narrative, can be elucidated by thetransformation of a fabula into a sjuzet, which shapes the tension be-tween expectation and experience at the levels of action and reception.This model is then applied to Herodotus and Thucydides who havesimilar views of human being in time, but present them in rather differ-ent narrative modes. It is finally suggested that the double refiguration oftime contributes to the appeal of narrative across cultures and that thedifferent reading experiences offered by Herodotus’ and Thucydides’Histories illustrate the basic tension between enacting and distancinghuman temporality in narrative.

While most narratologists have used examples from modern novels toillustrate their models, the dissemination of their theory in the field ofClassics started from the study of Homeric epic. The third section ofthis volume presents papers which explore new avenues in the narrato-logical study of Homer or tackle later epic and other poetic genres thenarrative forms of which have not yet been given the attention due tothem. In her reading of the Odyssey, Tsitsibakou-Vasalos shows that thestudy of etymology and narratology can complement one another. It hasnot gone unnoticed by scholarship that Orestes’ revenge for his father’s

Introduction6



murder is evoked as a foil to Telemachus’ coming of age in the Odyssey.Tsitsibakou-Vasalos argues that a dense net of etymological links under-scores and enriches the juxtaposition of Odysseus’ return to Penelopewith the murderous reception of Agamemnon by Clytaemnestra. Theterm lmgst^, in particular, used as an epithet for %kowor and, as Tsitsi-bakou-Vasalos suggests, figuring as the second part of the name Klytae-mnestra, links the two stories while encapsulating through etymologiesthe indeterminacies of female characters which stand at the core of theplot of the Odyssey.The link between etymology and narratology is also explored by

Skempis and Ziogas who examine the narrative dynamics of (para-)ety-mologies of the name Arete in the Odyssey. Not only does ‘Arete’,through the association with !q\olai and -Ngtor, establish links be-tween different segments of the text and fulfil pro- and analeptic func-tions, but it also evokes the genre of Ehoie-poetry and so brings out thejuxtaposition of genders more sharply through a play with different gen-res. On this argument, in which narratology intersects with gender andgenre studies as well as with an etymological reading, Ehoie-poetry pro-vides a channel for inter-gender communication and enables Odysseusto complete his nostos.In studies of Greek lyric poetry, much attention has lately been paid

to deixis, a concept which has some elements in common with narratol-ogy, besides place and person also time. Athanassaki demonstrates thatthe narrative category of frequency can enhance our understanding ofdeictic indications that delineate performative contexts in lyric poems.In particular the notion of (pseudo-)iterative narratives proves helpfulfor conceptualizing the polysemy of deixis as an expression of dissemi-nation through re-performance. Athanassaki’s test case, Pindar’s First Py-thian, features both choral and sympotic performances which establish acomplex reflection on song reception and survival through re-perform-ance.Narratologists have paid much more attention to time than to space.

Danek shows that the differences between Homer and Apollonius Rho-dius are due not so much to a different management of narrative time –Zielinski’s laws can, with important modifications, be applied to theepics of both – as to different treatments of space. To demonstratethis, Danek goes beyond narrative and draws on recent studies whichhave elaborated the differences between orientation through landmarksand a more complex two-dimensional spatial sense. While the first twobooks of the Argonautica follow a one-dimensional line through space,

Introduction 7



book 3 plays with multiple storylines. Danek argues that this is madepossible not by an innovative treatment of time, but by the introductionof triangular movements which seem to be absent from Homeric epic.Most Hellenistic epyllia are limited in length and focus on single ep-

isodes. Sistakou uses the term ‘snapshot’ to shed light on the genre’s pe-culiar temporal form in readings of three examples. In the CallimacheanHecale, Theocritus’ Little Heracles and the Europa of Moschus, the gener-ic tendency to focus on minor moments and to freeze time convergeswith a focus on different aspects of time, notably age, memory andman’s ephemeral nature. Sistakou demonstrates that, despite the differ-ences, the three texts all explore the tension between objective and phe-nomenological time (Ricoeur) and so illustrates the way in which timein narrative can be linked to the general notion of time.A paper dealing with Latin literature complements the third section.

In his examination of the funeral games in Aeneid 5, Papanghelis com-bines the narratological analysis of order with anthropological studiesthat have investigated ‘biographies-of-goods’. The temporal structureof the funeral games for Anchises are far more complex than their Ho-meric model, those for Patroclus in Iliad 23. Both the narrative and thespeeches set up a panopticon in which the present of the games refractsthe past as well as the future. Papanghelis elaborates in particular the nar-rative significance of Eryx’ gauntlets which evoke a mythical past andcan also be interpreted at a metapoetic level.

Tragedy has been as tempting as it has proved difficult for narratologists.While there is no narrator, the speeches and songs of characters and cho-rus contain narratives and somehow mediate a story. A survey of recentattempts to apply narratology to drama leads Dunn to the conclusionthat, while the absence of a narrator makes it impossible to develop acomprehensive narratology of drama, there is nonetheless room for astrategic narratology of drama which focuses on situations with a narrat-ing agent. Dunn borrows from Chatman the term ‘slant’ to describe theframe with which internal playwrights such as Athena in Ajax provideGreek tragedy. While such internal playwrights cannot be found in alltragedies, the chorus, which presents a specific ‘angle’ on the dramaticaction, is a feature common to all. In a reading of Sophocles’ Electra,Dunn demonstrates the way in which the slant of the tutor and theangle of the chorus shape the audience’s perception of the dramatic ac-tion.

Introduction8



Hopman’s paper illustrates that narratological models other thanGenette’s, in this case Greimas’ actantial model, in combination witha reader-response approach can be a powerful tool with which toshed new light on much discussed questions. In her reading of Aeschy-lus’ Persians, Hopman distinguishes two storylines, first the ‘war story’,the Persians’ defeat at Salamis, which is the object of embedded narra-tives, and second the ‘p|hor story’, the Chorus’ desire to be reunitedwith the Persian soldiers, which forms the action played out on stage.While many interpretations of Persians have focused on static juxtaposi-tions such as that of East with West, Greimas’ narratological model letsHopman trace the development of the actantial position of the Choruswhich first opposes Xerxes and is then, in the end, joined by him in themourning of the dead. It is this intersection of ‘war’ and ‘p|hor stories’,Hopman argues, that allowed the Athenian audience to project theirown emotions on their enemies.Aeschylus’ tragedies stand out by virtue of long narratives in the

choral songs. Schein examines the arguably most complex example ofchoral lyric in extant Attic tragedy, the parodos of Agamemnon, chartingit on the ‘sliding scale’ of choral song which ranges from direct com-ments on the action to general reflections. While the introductory ana-paests are imbued with the specific identity of the chorus as citizens ofArgos, the lyric part draws on the traditional communal authority ofchoruses. In combining narratology with deixis, Schein explores in par-ticular the intricate narrative structure and the vagueness of the temporaland spatial deixis in this ode.Lamari presents a fresh look at both Aeschylus’ and Euripides’ plays

on the Argive expedition against Thebes, arguing for it to be seen as ahighly complex dialogue between the authors which plays with ‘futurereflexivity’. Just as Aeschylus seems to have written Eleusinians afterSeven although it deals with earlier events, Euripides composed Phoeni-cian Women as a ‘prequel’ to a play staged earlier, Suppliants. Althoughone may have doubts about whether such ‘bookish’ interpretations dofully justice to the performance culture of fifth-century Athens, thechiastic play with mythological time and the time of performance re-veals an interesting aspect of tragedy’s manifold relation to time.Scodel draws on the concept of ‘Theory of Mind’ which recent

cognitive literary studies have developed, and with its help discusses nar-rative unreliability in Greek tragedy. The distinction of three axes of re-liability, those of fact, ethic and knowledge or perception, allows Scodelto explore three cases: narrators, who are aware of their own perceptual

Introduction 9



limits, such as the Phrygian in Orestes ; narrators who recognize theirlimits, but nonetheless attempt to interpret events, for example Tecmes-sa in Ajax ; and narrators whose limits are important within a narrativestrategy. In this last and most interesting case, the understanding ofthe plot would require explanations which are not provided by the nar-rator. For example, the numerous blanks in the narratives of Io in Prom-etheus Bound and the exangelos in Oedipus Rex force the audience to re-flect intensely upon the events which actually took place.

The final section is devoted to historiography, with one paper crossingthe borderline to biography. While the papers of Tsitsibakou-Vasalosand Skempis and Ziogas have explored the intersection of narratologyand etymology in Homeric epic, Tsagalis argues that proper namesserve important narrative functions in Xenophon’s Anabasis. Accordingto his paper, names establish links between distant sections and producedramatic effects. Even the use of anonymous characters, patronymicsand periphrastic denomination seems to bear narrative significance.While historians have extensively used and discussed Polybius as a

source, literary aspects of his work have found little attention, if weleave aside complaints about his awkward style and endless sentences.In Miltsios’ paper, the combination of narratology with reader-re-sponse-theory proves a fruitful strategy for elucidating Polybius’ under-appreciated narrative artistry. Close readings of select passages show theways in which Polybius plays with the cognitive gap between charactersand narratees to create dramatic irony and suspense of anticipation aswell as of uncertainty.Pelling explores the relevance of focalisation for narrative interpre-

tations and representations of the past. Caesar affords a particularly inter-esting test case, not only because of his power and failure in the end tocontrol history which raise the question whether his role is expressed bythe prominence of his focalisation in narrative or not, but also since hislife is the object of biography as well as of historiography. In comparingthe accounts of Caesar by Cassius Dio, Appian, Plutarch, Suetonius andVelleius, Pelling demonstrates how differently focalisation can be han-dled and how its use encourages specific interpretations of history.At the end of the volume stand two papers treating Latin texts. Tsit-

siou-Chelidoni examines internally focalized narratives in Livy’s Ab urbecondita. She follows Genette in distinguishing narratized, transposed andreported speech and explores the artful use of all three forms of internalfocalizations to make the narrative vivid, to give it a strong mimetic di-

Introduction10



mension and to render it plausible. Her close readings of select passageslead Tsitsiou-Chelidoni to a general reflection on the value of narratol-ogy which needs to be complemented by further interpretation, but canthen yield rich fruits for our understanding of ancient texts.Hardie examines the use of fama in the narratives of Roman epic

and historiography. Fama, which signifies not only fame, the productof narrative, but also the process of narrating, can shift between insideand outside of the text. Tacitus in particular exploits artfully the possi-bilities which are based on fama’s ambivalence towards focalization.Narratives concerning fama too play a special role in beginnings andendings where they allow the balancing of closure with openness.As previous works have amply demonstrated, the strength of narra-

tology lies in its ability to analyze the form of narrative. This is of par-ticular value for the study of ancient Greek and Latin literatures whichreveal a high awareness of form. Form is often crucial to the creation ofmeaning. In combination with other approaches, narratology can helpto elucidate the content of the form, more specifically the meaning gener-ated by narrative structures, and thereby deepen our understanding ofancient texts. It is our hope that the papers assembled in this volume il-lustrate some ways in which this can be done as well as inspiring newexplorations.

Jonas GrethleinAntonios Rengakos

Heidelberg – Thessaloniki,January 2009

Introduction 11



Names and Narrative Techniquesin Xenophon’s Anabasis

Christos C. Tsagalis

It is no novelty to argue that scrupulous etymologizing has been the in-terpretive lens through which Greek personal names were studied in thepast. The seminal chapter by Simon Hornblower on ‘Narratology andThucydides’ published in a volume on Greek Historiography thirteenyears ago has broken new ground regarding the exploration of narrativetechniques in the most dense and arcane Greek historian. A significantpart of Hornblower’s chapter was devoted to the study of names inThucydides from a narratological point of view, i. e. as mechanismsthat produce semantic nuances that go beyond the mere manifestationof identity. Such a methodological approach has never before, at leastto my knowledge, been applied to Xenophon, whose narrative abilitieshave only to a small extent been studied, despite the fact that we nowpossess, thanks to V. Gray, a good, though brief, overview in the respec-tive chapter of Narrators, Narratees, and Narratives in Ancient Greek Liter-ature.1 I have decided to map out the broad range of the use of names inthe Anabasis and explore the multiple functions they have within theunfolding of Xenophon’s narrative. Before setting out, I would liketo draw attention to the following ‘questions’ related to authors and au-thorship in Xenophontean historiography: the first concerns the plot ofthe Anabasis and the second the famous and enigmatic reference in Hel-lenica 3.1.2, where Xenophon refers to the author of the Anabasis by thename Themistogenes of Syracuse.2

With respect to the plot of the Anabasis, it must be taken into ac-count that Xenophon has reserved for himself a rather magisterial ‘en-trance’ in the beginning of the third Book. It is no exaggeration tosay that he has, in all probability, taken great pains at keeping himselfin the background – if at all – during the first two Books where he

1 2004, 129–146.2 Hell. 3.1.2; Plut. Mor. 345E. See MacLaren 1934. Krentz 1995, 157 argues that

the name Themistogenes (born of Themis) implies a narrator who tells thetruth. I owe this observation to Gray 2004, 130 n. 7.


Download Date | 5/27/12 7:49 AM

creeps up in the plot just three times (1.8.15; 2.5.37, 2.5.40–41) andeven then he is nothing more than a mere name. Viewed from the vant-age point of the continuous upheavals and turmoils that the Greek mer-cenary army is going through in the first two Books as a result of boththe conception and effective carrying out of a master-plan of deceptionby the treacherous Tissaphernes and the rivalry between various Greekgenerals (Clearchus and Menon being the most outcrying example), it isplausible to argue that Xenophon has deliberately erased his presenceduring this tormented first phase of the plot. It is, for example, quitesurprising that he does not report any of the conversations he nodoubt had with his close friend Proxenos from Boeotia, the man wholured him to the expedition and one of the five Greek generals who fea-ture as key figures in the first two Books.As far as the attribution of the Anabasis to this – otherwise unknown

– Themistogenes of Syracuse (Hell. 3.1.2) is concerned, what is of par-ticular interest to my investigation is Xenophon’s preoccupation withauthorship and names. First, a closer look at this passage is needed:

¢r l³m owm JOqor stq\teul\ te sum]kene ja· toOtû 5wym !m]bg 1p· t¹m !dek-v|m, ja· ¢r B l\wg 1c]meto, ja· ¢r !p]hame, ja· ¢r 1j to}tou !pes~hgsamoR >kkgmer 1p· h\kattam, Helistoc]mei t` Suqajos_\ c]cqaptai.

As to how then Cyrus collected an army and with it went up against hisbrother, and how the battle was fought and how he died, and how inthe sequel the Hellenes escaped to the sea (all this), is written by Themis-togenes the Syracusan.3

This summary of Anabasis Books 1–4 is replete with diction that is typ-ical of interpolations and may well have been the work of a later copyist4

if it was not for the mention of Themistogenes; for it is plausible that aninterpolator would have been interested in adding an exegetical com-ment, not in inventing a fictional author.5 That this passage is not thework of a copyist but of Xenophon himself gains considerable supportby Plutarch’s following observation (Mor. 345E):

3 Translation by Dakyns 1890–1897.4 Prentice 1947, 73–77.5 Cf. the interpolated summaries in the beginning of Books 2–5 and 7 of the

Anabasis, e. g. 2.1: ¢r l³m owm Bhqo_shg J}q\ t¹ :kkgmij¹m fte 1p· t¹m !dek-v¹m )qtan]qngm 1stqate}eto, ja· fsa 1m t0 !m|d\ 1pq\whg ja· ¢r B l\wg1c]meto ja· ¢r b JOqor 1teke}tgse ja· ¢r 1p· t¹ stqat|pedom 1khºmter oR >kkg-mer 1joil^hgsam oQ|lemoi t± p\mta mij÷m ja· JOqom f/m, 1m t` pq|shem k|c\ded^kytai.

Christos C. Tsagalis452



As for Xenophon, he was his own historian, relating the exploits of thearmy under his command, but saying that Themistogenes the Syracusanhad written the history of them; dedicating the honor of his writing to an-other, that writing of himself as of another, he might gain the more credit.

Lucian made a comment along the same lines, when he called Xeno-phon ‘a stranger in his text, a man without a city’.6 Although Xeno-phon’s self-distancing from his text bestows reliability and objectivityon his narrative, the reference to Themistogenes is still very puzzling.The case of Isocrates who ‘addressed one work to Nicocles of Cyprus[ad Nicoclem] in his own voice [and] another to the subjects of Nicocles,calling this work Nicocles… [and introducing] Nicocles as narrator [whosays] that the king will instruct his own subjects more persuasively thanthe author could’ is indeed instructive, but it fails to explain why Xen-ophon referred to Themistogenes as the author of only the first fourBooks of the Anabasis.This is hardly the place to deal with such a thorny issue but one fur-

ther point may be useful with respect to the topic of this paper, i. e.Xenophon’s fascination with and narrative exploitation of names. The-mistogenes is not the only person who has been ascribed an Anabasis.There is also a certain Sophaenetus who has been identified by somescholars7 with his namesake from Stymphalos in Arcadia, a minor char-acter with a trivial role in Xenophon’s Anabasis. So, three different pic-tures concerning a work or works entitled Anabasis have been painted:(a) there existed at least 3 Anabaseis, one by Themistogenes containingonly a portion of the adventures of the Ten Thousand, one by Sophae-netus, and one by Xenophon; (b) there existed two Anabaseis, one bySophaenetus and one by Xenophon who used the alias Themistogenesin Hell. 3.1.2;8 (c) there was only one Anabasis by Xenophon who usedthe alias Themistogenes in Hell. 3.1.2.9

The first scenario seems to me implausible, since it is unlikely thatXenophon would have referred en passant to an Anabasis by Themisto-

6 Hist. Conscr. 38–41.7 See e. g. Cawkwell 2004, 61.8 See Gwynn 1929, 38–39.9 The situation is complicated even more by the fact that there is no general con-

sensus concerning the sources of Ephorus on whom the account of DiodorusSiculus (14.19–31 and 37) on the expedition of Cyrus is based. Both Sophae-netus and Xenophon have been suggested as the possible sources of the Ephor-an narrative; on the former, cf. Cawkwell 2004, 50–55, 61; on the latter, cf.Stylianou 2004, 68–69.

Names and Narrative Techniques in Xenophon’s Anabasis 453



genes in the Hellenica but never in his own Anabasis. The other two sce-naria are equally plausible and arguments can be adduced in favor eitherof the one or the other: Xenophontean secrecy, highlighted by Cawk-well, may explain the absence of any reference in Xenophon’s Anabasisto an Anabasis by Sophaenetus but fails to catter for the mention of othersources Xenophon used, like the Persica by Ctesias (1.8.26–28); on theother hand, the existence of an Anabasis by Sophaenetus, which rests onthe four entries offered by Stephanus of Byzantium,10 would offer themost plausible scenario, at least in my view: Xenophon started writinga work on the expedition of Cyrus after this great adventure was over;at this stage he covered only the events down to the arrival of the TenThousand at the Black Sea, i. e. the end of Book 4; in the Hellenica hewanted to ‘hide’ behind a false name, for the reasons Plutarch success-fully explained. But then another event, the publication of a rival Ana-basis by one of his comrades-in-arms, Sophaenetus the Stymphalian,11

was completed and Xenophon felt the need to rival him. Sophaenetuswas much older than Xenophon, so the latter knew well that timewas on his side and that if he waited his competitor would have nochance of replying. When in Scyllus, the time was ripe for Xenophonto expand and improve his older work; if this was indeed his plan,then he must be applauded, for history has clearly proved him morethan right.This digression shows that given Xenophon’s special attention on

names with respect to both narrative and authorship, it is only too nat-ural to investigate their function in a work like the Anabasis wherenames of persons and places are abundantly attested.

1. Proper Names and Toponymics

In this section, I will attempt to survey various uses of personal namesand toponymics and investigate their role as narrative mechanismswhich allow the historian to shed light on a specific person or topic,make an evaluative comment, dislocate a character, produce dramaticeffect, bridge scattered passages, and (re)direct the readers’ attention.

10 On the fragments of Sophaenetus, see FGrHist 109; see also Bux, RE s.v.11 See Westlake 1989, 267–270.




1.1 Narrative Emphasis

What Hornblower has rightly observed regarding the use of patronym-ics in Thucydides, i. e. that some characters like Pericles and Melesippus‘are given full patronymics not on the occasions of their first appearancebut on their most solemn first appearance’12 is applicable to Xenophon’suse of a person’s special toponymic right after his name.Xenias is the first Greek introduced in the Anabasis as the leader of

300 hoplites who accompanied Cyrus together with Tissaphernes to thepalace of his mother Parysatis at the event of Darius’ death. This is theonly case in the entire work where Xenias is not designated as an Arca-dian but as a Parrasian, i. e. by means not of his area of origin but of thespecific city of Arcadia he came from, named after the mountain Parra-sion. This is an implicit indication that Xenias was a close friend ofCyrus, a person of great loyalty and trust, the only Greek leaderwhom Cyrus deemed worthy to accompany him at one of the mostcritical moments of his life.In Anabasis 1.4.7 two of the Greek leaders, Xenias the Arcadian and

Pasion the Megarian, mount a ship and after taking with them theirmost valuable belongings sail out, since they were insulted by Cyrus’ de-cision to put under the command of Clearchus almost half of their men(1.3.7: paq± d³ Nem_ou ja· Pas_ymor pke_our C disw_kioi kab|mter t±fpka ja· t± sjeuov|qa 1stqatopede}samto paq± Jke\qw\), who hadgone to Clearchus in hope of returning to Greece instead of continuingtheir march against Artaxerxes. The Greek text reads as follows:

ja· Nem_ar b )qj±r [stqatgc¹r] ja· Pas_ym b Mecaqe»r 1lb\mter eQr pko ?omja· t± pke¸stou %nia 1mh]lemoi !p]pkeusam, ¢r l³m to ?r pke_stoir 1d|joumvikotilgh]mter fti to»r stqati¾tar aqt_m to»r paq± Jk]aqwom !pekh|m-tar ¢r !pi|mtar eQr tµm :kk\da p\kim ja· oq pq¹r basik]a eUa JOqor t¹mJk]aqwom 5weim.

Xenias the Arcadian general, and Pasion the Megarian got on board a trad-er, and having stowed away their most valuable effects, set sail for home;most people explained the act as the outcome of a fit of jealousy, becauseCyrus had allowed Clearchus to retain their men, who had deserted to him,in hopes of returning to Hellas instead of marching against the king.

Although manuscript tradition unanimously offers the reading stqatg-c|r with respect to Xenias the Arcadian, E. C. Marchant, the editor ofvolume III of Xenophon’s OCT, following the suggestion of Cobet,

12 Hornblower 1994, 161.




has put it into square brackets. Conversely, the reading stqatgc|r,when viewed from the vantage point of narratology, may have indeedbeen the original reading. This may well be a case where the externalnarrator makes a covert statement concerning the decision of Xeniasto withdraw from the expedition. Let us recall that Xenias was a key-figure among the Greeks who supported Cyrus. He had gathered noless than 4000 hoplites (1.2.3), almost 1/3 of the total number ofGreek mercenaries who fought at Cunaxa in 401 BCE. Given that as-sembling such a significant amount of heavily armed soldiers was not aneasy task, Xenophon makes sure to highlight the fact that these hoplites– and most notably Xenias himself – trusted Cyrus, who had promisedto help them return home, once they accomplished the goal of the ex-pedition (1.2.2):

… rposw|lemor aqto ?r, eQ jak_r jatapq\neiem 1vû $ 1stqate}eto, lµpq|shem pa}seshai pq·m aqto»r jatac\coi oUjade.

promising them that if he were successful in his object, he would not pauseuntil he had reinstated them in their native city.

In the light of this initial underscoring of the role of Xenias in the prep-aration of the expedition, I would like to argue that the term stqatgc|rjuxtaposed to his name + toponymic is not an interpolation but a so-phisticated method of implicitly pointing at the importance of Xenias’withdrawal. Being Cyrus’ right hand in gathering a large hoplite army,which he had brought to Sardis (1.2.3), Xenias appears on the top of thesecond catalogue of the Greek forces (1.2.3–5), with Proxenus the Boeo-tian, one of Cyrus’ best friends occupying only the second rank. Tomake a long story short, the term stqatgc|r may be a means of empha-sizing the discrepancy between the close link between Xenias and Cyrusand the former’s withdrawal from the expedition, since – of all people –Xenias was the least expected to abandon his friend Cyrus. Taking intoaccount the fact that the theme of p_stir (trust) and its continuous andconsistent violations by both Greeks and Persians permeates the entireAnabasis, the dry reference to Xenias acquires a deeper significance.This line of argumentation is further supported by the fact that Pa-

sion the Megarian is deprived of any reference to his rank in the army.Of course, Pasion is not a general, since he had arrived in Sardis being incharge of only 300 hoplites and 300 light-shielded soldiers (1.2.3). Con-versely, if some copyist had felt the need to insert the word stqatgc|rafter Xenias’ name he could have very well have added something likekowac|r after Pasion’s name. The lack of any reference to Pasion’s mili-




tary status is, I maintain, due to Xenophon’s narrative technique ofdownplaying his role. It is as if the historian aimed at indicating the dif-ferent status of the two Greek leaders who had withdrawn in secret fromCyrus’ army, Xenias the Arcadian, a general and close friend of Cyrus,and Pasion the Megarian, a third-rate figure in the Anabasis.

1.2 Absence of Toponymics

Aberration from common practice, which is to mention one’s topo-nymic the first time he is introduced in the diegesis, may also be narra-tively significant. A characteristic example is offered in 3.1.26, whensome Apollonides who speaks in the Boeotian dialect ()pokkym_dgrtir Gm boiyti\fym t0 vym0) and is deprived of a toponymic suggeststhat the only way to salvation in view of all the troubles the Greekshave to deal with is to convince the Persian king to let them returnhome. The way this Apollonides is introduced markedly divergesfrom Xenophontean name-typology in the Anabasis, as it can be easilyseen from numerous other cases but most importantly from the narra-tor’s first reference to Proxenus the Boeotian, a friend (n]mor) ofCyrus (1.1.11) and a positively portrayed character. Contrary to Prox-enus, Apollonides will be negatively described not only with respectto his proposal but also, and most importantly, on the basis of his falsify-ing his origin (3.1.30–31).13

‘… oxtor c±q ja· tµm patq_da jataisw}mei ja· p÷sam tµm :kk\da, fti>kkgm £m toioOt|r 1stim.’ (end of Xenophon’s speech) 1mteOhem rpokab½m)cas_ar b Stulv\kior eWpem· ‘!kk± to}t\ ce oute t/r Boiyt_ar pqos^jeioqd³m oute t/r :kk\dor pamt\pasim, 1pe· 1c½ aqt¹m eWdom ¦speq Kud¹m!lv|teqa t± §ta tetqupgl]mom.’

‘The man is a disgrace to his own fatherland and the whole of Hellas, that,being a Hellene, he is what he is.’ Here Agasias the Stymphalian broke in,exclaiming: ‘Nay, this fellow has no connection either with Boeotia orwith Hellas, none whatever. I have noted both his ears bored like a Lydi-an’s.’

The fact that the narrator introduces Apollonides by emphasizing his use ofthe Boeotian dialect although nobody knows where he comes from (hence hislack of a toponymic) ‘foreshadows’ his role in the plot, namely his at-

13 See Rinner 1978, 146 who suggests that Apollonides functions as an anti-hero(‘Anti-Held’).




tempt to fake his origin. Xenophon is coy about giving more informa-tion regarding this incident but in light of the abovementioned obser-vations, I would like to suggest that the tir following Apollonides inthe text may be disparaging, contrary to other passages in the Anabasiswhere it is not (3.1.4).

1.3 Dramatic Effect

Instead of the Thucydidean practice of giving patronymics on the occa-sion of one’s first appearance, Xenophon employs toponymics in thesame way. Having done this systematically from the very beginning ofthe Anabasis, Xenophon can assume the readers’ familiarity with thistechnique in order to make other, more revealing from a narrativepoint of view, statements. A noteworthy example creeps up in3.1.46–47, when the new Greek leaders are introduced:

‘… paq]sty dû Bl ?m, 5vg, ja· Tokl_dgr b j/qun. ja· ûla taOtû eQp½m!m]stg, ¢r lµ l]kkoito !kk± peqa_moito t± d]omta. 1j to}tou Òq]hgsam%qwomter !mt· l³m Jke\qwou Tilas_ym Daqdame}r, !mt· d³ Syjq\tour Nam-hijk/r )wai|r, !mt· d³ )c_ou Jke\myq )qj\r, !mt· d³ L]mymor Vik^sior)wai|r, !mt· d³ Pqon]mou Nemov_m )hgma ?or.’

‘Let Tolmides, the herald,’ he added, ‘be in attendance.’ With these wordson his lips he got up, in order that what was needful might be done at oncewithout delay. After this the generals were chosen. These were Timasionthe Dardanian, in place of Clearchus; Xanthicles, an Achaean, in placeof Socrates; Cleanor, an Arcadian, in place of Agias; Philesius, an Achaean,in place of Menon; and in place of Proxenus, Xenophon the Athenian.

This small third catalogue acquires its full semantic potential only whenknowledge of the previous two, longer catalogues in Book 1 is takenfor granted. By assuming that his readers would bring to mind the ex-tended catalogues placed in the beginning of the Anabasis, Xenophonaims at creating a dramatic effect. Both the brevity of the catalogueand the use of the !mt_-formula allude to the tragic events that havetaken place in the recent past and the perils that will follow in the future.In particular, the terse meaning of the !mt_-formula (‘instead of’)14 func-

14 The use of the !mt_-formula consitutes a covert reminiscence of the ‘funerary’list in 2.5.31. See Hornblower 1994, 157–158, who argues that the !mt_-for-mula is a form of implied negation and refers to its early use in Od. 20.307. Thissame formula with its funerary overtones is abundantly attested in fourth-cen-tury Attic inscribed epitaphs, see Tsagalis 2008, 201–204, 278–280.




tions as a covert cross-reference and creates a pathetic effect, since theabsence of a toponymic points back to their commemorative, almost‘funerary’, list in 2.5.31 and stands for a bitter reminder of the factthat the five Greek leaders (Clearchus, Socrates, Agias, Menon, Proxe-nus) have been killed by Tissaphernes and that their replacements aretaking the lead under extremely difficult circumstances. The juxtapositionof the personal names of the five dead Greek leaders and the personalnames + toponymics of the five new leaders epitomizes in a solemnway the gravity of the present situation. As an aside, I would also liketo draw attention to five more features of this third catalogue: (a) Cheir-isophus is clearly singled out by not being included in this catalogue. In-terestingly enough, he will be the only of these new leaders who will diein the Anabasis (6.4.11); (b) Xenophon leaves his readers to understandthat one of the main aims of the Greek army was to keep its cohesion,and so it would have been better if each dead leader was replaced by oneof his countrymen. This was not an absolute rule but seems to have beenfollowed to a certain extent (Socrates is replaced by Xanthicles, bothAchaeans – Agias by Cleanor, both Arcadians, but Clearchus the Lace-daemonian by Timasion the Dardanian, Menon the Thessalian by Phil-esios the Achaean, Proxenus the Boeotian by Xenophon the Athenian);(c) by occupying the last place, Xenophon aims at highlighting his per-sonal contribution and role to the salvation of the Greek army, and sohis placement at the end of the list may not be accidental ; (d) in bothcatalogues toponymics are not preceded by the article b, as it is commonpractice;15 (e) the almost complete reversal in the order of names incomparison to the scene before their death in Book 2 is dramatically ef-fective (see 2.5.31):

9pe· d³ Gsam 1p· h}qair ta ?r Tissav]qmour, oR l³m stqatgco· paqejk^hg-sam eUsy, Pq|nemor Boi~tior, L]mym Hettak|r, )c_ar )qj\r, Jk]aqworK\jym, Syjq\tgr )wai|r.

On arrival at the doors of Tissaphernes’s quarters the generals were sum-moned inside. They were Proxenus the Boeotian, Menon the Thessalian,Agias the Arcadian, Clearchus the Laconian, and Socrates the Achaean.

Xenophon aims at dropping a hint for his audience that what happenedto the first Greek leaders will not happen to those who replaced them. Inthis respect it is implied that, despite the grimness of the present situa-tion for the Greeks, things will finally turn out well. Viewed from this

15 On this topic, see section 2.




vantage point, this catalogue stands in stark contrast to the first two cata-logues in Book 1, which had been narrated within the framework of arather positive and ambitious undertaking but were followed by deceitand death at the hands of Tissaphernes.

1.4 Narrative Dislocation

Sometimes new characters are narratively dislocated by being properly in-troduced not at the point of their entrance in the plot but later on. Themost prominent example of this technique is the pronounced introduc-tion of Xenophon in the plot at the beginning of Book 3 (3.1.4: Gm d´tir 1m t0 stqatiø Nemov_m )hgma ?or, dr…), despite the fact that he hadbeen incidentally mentioned in 1.8.15, 2.5.37 and 2.5.41. In cases likethis, Xenophon feels the need to offer a kind of explanation for this lateentrance.16 The following example belongs to what I would call the ‘de-fault mode’ or ‘innocuous’17 (as opposed to profound) dislocation,where a detail is not given in its proper place but later on with no ap-parent other reason for suppressing its previous presentation.A typical example is offered by the second catalogue of Greek forces

gathered at Sardis (Anabasis 1.2.3):

Nem_ar l³m dµ to»r 1j t_m p|keym kab½m paqec]meto eQr S\qdeir bpk_tar eQrtetqajiswik_our, Pq|nemor d³ paq/m 5wym bpk_tar l³m eQr pemtajos_our ja·wik_our, culm/tar d³ pemtajos_our, Sova_metor d³ b Stulv\kior bpk_tar5wym wik_our, Syjq\tgr d³ b )wai¹r bpk_tar 5wym ¢r pemtajos_our,Pas_ym d³ b Lecaqe»r tqiajos_our l³m bpk_tar, tqiajos_our d³ pektast±r5wym paqec]meto· Gm d³ ja· oxtor ja· b Syjq\tgr t_m !lv· L_kgtom stqa-teuol]mym. oxtoi l³m eQr S\qdeir aqt` !v_jomto.

So, too, Xenias arrived at Sardis with the contingent from the cities, fourthousand hoplites; Proxenus, also, with fifteen hundred hoplites and fivehundred light-armed troops; Sophaenetus the Stymphalian, with one thou-sand hoplites; Socrates the Achaean, with five hundred hoplites ; while theMegarian Pasion came with three hundred hoplites and three hundred pel-tasts. This latter officer, as well as Socrates, belonged to the force engagedagainst Miletus. These all joined him at Sardis.

Since the very last entry (Pasion the Megarian) in the catalogue of Greektroops summoned at Sardis has not been mentioned before (all the otherleaders appear in the first catalogue or, in the case of Xenias, immediately

16 On narrative dislocation in Thucydides, see Hornblower 1994, 141–143.17 See Hornblower 1994, 143 n. 35.




after it), Xenophon feels the need to add a piece of explanatory informa-tion that allows him to ‘anticipate’ potential complaints by his readerswho unexpectedly come across a new name in this list. By disruptingthe formal order of the list at its very end, Xenophon flags for his readersthe prima facie casual observation Gm d³ ja· oxtor ja· b Syjq\tgr t_m!lv· L_kgtom stqateuol]mym. This is not, I hope, philological trivia,the more so since Xenophon had systematically explained in the firstcatalogue the reason that made each leader join the expedition onCyrus’ side. Under this scope, Xenophon informs his audience who Pa-sion was in terms of his involvement in the siege of Miletus, even at theexpense of reiterating the same piece of information about Socrates theAchaean, who had been already introduced – partly within the sameframework – in the first catalogue (1.1.11).

1.5 Names as Cross-References

Personal names can be also used as cross-references that allow the nar-rator to create internal links between close or distant parts of his work.By facilitating the making of these links, the narrator is then able to pro-duce stronger effects and comment on the development of the plot. In3.3.5, we suddenly hear the name of Nicarchus the Arcadian, who wasdeceived by Mithradates’ words and followed him together with twentymore soldiers:

di]vheiqom c±q pqosi|mter to»r stqati~tar, ja· 6ma ce kowac¹m di]vheiqamM_jaqwom )qj\da, ja· åweto !pi½m mujt¹r s»m !mhq~poir ¢r eUjosi.

For they used to come and corrupt the soldiers, and they were even suc-cessful with one officer, Nicarchus, an Arcadian, who went off in thenight with about twenty men.

Is this just an isolated piece of information or is Xenophon aiming deep-er? Who is this Nicarchus the Arcadian, who is here designated as a cap-tain (kowac|r)? Before we discuss this question and focus our attentionon the specific verbalization of the abovementioned passage, let us recallthat in his thorough description of Herodotus’ oral strategies, Slings18

refers to the technique of chunking and addition of information units.One subcategory of this technique concerns the introduction of anew element, which conjures up the technique of chunking. The new

18 Slings 2002, 64–71.




element is of course the captain but this does not necessarily entail therepetition of the verb, the more so since we are not dealing, as Slings hasrightly observed, with dense information that results in the reiteration ofthe verbal form as a recapitulation device. In fact, the repetition of theverb is accompanied by the particle ce and a change of tense, the aoristtaking the place of the imperfect.Given that the aorist often expresses a present-oriented point of

view within a narrative describing a past event and that the sequenceja_ … ce ‘serves to focus the attention upon a single idea, and placeit, as it were, in the limelight’,19 it may be plausibly argued that Xeno-phon aims at zooming his narrative lens on the fact that even a captainwas seduced by Mithradates’ offer. Chunking mechanisms are not inde-pendent from narrative strategies; on the contrary they occasionallystand for sophisticated techniques of producing literary effects. In thewords of Slings:20

There is an important lesson to be drawn from this instance: chunking de-vices may be used as literary devices. In Slings (1997) 175 I formulated thegeneral rule for detecting such phenomena, and formulated it within theframework of reader-response stylistics : ‘As a general rule it may be statedthat the more complex the information supplied in a clause or sentence is,the higher the chances are for one of these distribution phenomena (i. e. ,chunking) to occur. In reader-response stylistics it follows automaticallythat the simpler the information supplied in a clause or sentence is, thehigher the chances are that the distribution phenomena were experiencedas being “literary”. Put differently: A figure of speech is a fixed strategyused for arranging information, borrowed from everyday language but em-ployed in such a way that the competent native reader/listener will recog-nize it as untypical of everyday language and interpret it as literary.’

The purpose of this digression was to indicate how the technique ofchunking is used as a literary device in order to emphasize the awkward-ness of the situation described in 3.3.5, where Nicarchus is singled outand flagged for the readers.In this conception, I would like to suggest that by giving the cap-

tain’s name, Xenophon aims at creating an implicit cross-referencebridging this passage with the famous 2.5.33, where an otherwise un-known Nicarchus the Arcadian escaped from the camp of Tissapherneswounded in his belly and holding his entrails in his hands and informedthe stunned Greeks about the treachery of the Persian satrap.

19 Denniston 21950, 114.20 Slings 2002, 62–63 quoting Slings 1997, 175.




… pq·m M_jaqwor )qj±r Hje ve}cym tetqyl]mor eQr tµm cast]qa ja· t±5mteqa 1m ta ?r weqs·m 5wym, ja· eWpe p\mta t± cecemgl]ma.

Until Nicarchus the Arcadian came tearing along for bare life with a woundin the belly, and clutching his protruding entrails in his hands. He told themall that had happened.

By using the name of Nicarchus as a link between the two passages,Xenophon aims at making a comment concerning human nature: thevery person who had witnessed with his own eyes the slaughter ofthe Greeks at the hands of Tissaphernes and had escaped death at thelast moment was now seduced by Mithradates. Contrary to E. C.Marchant, the editor of the Anabasis for OCT who in the index nomin-um designates the Nicarchus of 2.5.33 as a different person from Ni-carchus in 3.3.5, I would like to suggest that Nicarchus may be oneand the same person, since Xenophon has used other personal namesas a mechanism that would link the two passages together. Interestinglyenough, in 2.5.35, i. e. right after the wounded Nicarchus tells theGreeks about the slaughter in the camp of Tissaphernes and while theGreeks are expecting a large-scale attack by the Persians, it is onlyAriaios, Artaozos and Mithradates, the three Persian leaders who weremost loyal to Cyrus and had now joined forces with Artaxerxes, that ap-proached (accompanied by 300 soldiers) the Greek army and asked themto lay down their weapons. These three names comprise the full list ofPersian leaders, who narratively bridge the first false offer by the Persiansto the Greeks in 2.4.16 (where the anonymous messenger said that hewas sent by Ariaios and Artaozos, who were loyal to Cyrus) with thesecond in 3.3.2 (where Mithradates without success attempted to de-ceive the Ten Thousand).In this light, I would like to argue that the names of the three Per-

sian leaders (Ariaios, Artaozos, Mithradates) allow the narrator to presentcontinuous false offers by the Persians to the Greeks as parts of an ex-tended narrative chain. Nicarchus the Arcadian is, I suggest, intrinsicallylinked to this narrative sequence, thus connecting widely dispersed pas-sages and also engaging readers in the process of evaluating the ways ofhuman nature.




2. Article and Proper Name

The standard view concerning the use of the article in Ancient Greekwas, according to authoritative grammarians like Gildersleeve21 andHumbert,22 that there are only general tendencies (lack of the article be-fore a proper name in epic and lyric, rare use in drama etc.) and thatmore precise rules and, by extension, interpretive trends cannot be es-tablished, the more so in prose authors like Plato and Xenophon.23 Ina recent study, Rijksbaron24 after ‘resurrecting’ the pathbreaking butvirtually inaccessible work of Zucker,25 made the following suggestionsconcerning the use of the article before a proper name with respect toXenophon’s Anabasis: (a) the majority of the cases where the article isused before a proper name belong to ‘turn-takings’ (alternance des prisesde parole, Wechselgespräch);26 (b) in the rest, the occurence of the ar-ticle before a proper name aims at highlighting the role of a given figurein a specific episode; (c) the use of the article before a proper name isrestricted to the narrative of the Anabasis and never features in thespeeches; (d) Xenophon’s role as a main figure of the plot can beamply seen by investigating the frequent use of the article before hisname in the narrative parts of the work: in 154 attestations of hisname (Nemov_m) in the nominative, 73 (47.4%) are preceded by the ar-ticle, whereas the relevant numbers for Cyrus, who is also a key figurein Books 1–2, are 21 with the article (30.88%) out of a total of 68 inthe nominative.In this light, it becomes clear that Xenophon adopted a sophisticated

use of the article that allowed him to shed light on characters accordingto their importance for the plot and also to create a system of differen-tiation between the narrative and the speeches. In the former the articlebefore a proper name points to identity and is therefore une anaphoreforte,27 while in the latter its use would have been redundant, sincethe presence of any speaker in a speech is guaranteed by the communi-cative situation itself.28

21 1900–1911, 215.22 1960, 46–47.23 Rijksbaron 2006, 245.24 Rijksbaron 2006, 243–257.25 1899. See also the even earlier study of Schmidt 1890.26 Cf. e. g. the interrogation of Orontas by Cyrus in 1.6.7–8.27 Grimes 1975, 92; Rijksbaron 2006, 248.28 Rijksbaron 2006, 247.




3. Anonymity vs Eponymity

Anonymity may sometimes reflect narrative intentions rather than lackof information, especially when similar situations are narrated. A caseworth studying concerns 2.4.15–2.4.22 and 3.3.1–3.3.4:

let± d³ t¹ de ?pmom 5tuwom 1m peqip\t\ emter pq¹ t_m fpkym Pq|nemor ja·Nemov_m· ja· pqosekh½m %mhqyp|r tir Aq~tgse to»r pqov}kajar poO #mUdoi Pq|nemom C Jk]aqwom· L]myma d³ oqj 1f^tei, ja· taOta paq û )qia_ou£m toO L]mymor n]mou. 1pe· b Pq|nemor eWpem fti aqt|r eQli dm fgte ?r,eWpem b %mhqypor t\de. ‘5pelx] le )qia ?or ja· )qt\ofor, pisto· emterJ}q\ ja· rl ?m ewmoi, ja· jeke}ousi vuk\tteshai lµ rl ?m 1pih_mtai t/rmujt¹r oR b\qbaqoi· 5sti d³ stq\teula pok» 1m t` pkgs_om paqade_s\.ja· paq± tµm c]vuqam toO T_cqgtor potaloO p]lxai jeke}ousi vukaj^m,¢r diamoe ?tai aqtµm kOsai Tissav]qmgr t/r mujt|r, 1±m d}mgtai, ¢r lµ dia-b/te !kkû 1m l]s\ !pokgvh/te toO potaloO ja· t/r di~quwor.’ !jo}samtertaOta %cousim aqt¹m paq± t¹m Jk]aqwom ja· vq\fousim $ k]cei. b d³Jk]aqwor !jo}sar 1taq\whg sv|dqa ja· 1vobe ?to. meam_sjor d] tir t_mpaq|mtym 1mmo^sar eWpem ¢r oqj !j|kouha eUg t| te 1pih^seshai ja·k}seim tµm c]vuqam. d/kom c±q fti 1pitihel]mour C mij÷m de^sei C Btt÷shai.1±m l³m owm mij_si, t_ de ? k}eim aqto»r tµm c]vuqam ; oqd³ c±q #m pokka·c]vuqai §sim 5woilem #m fpoi vuc|mter Ble ?r syh_lem. 1±m d³ Ble ?r mij_lem,kekul]mgr t/r cev¼qar oqw 6nousim 1je ?moi fpoi v}cysim· oqd³ lµm bogh/saipokk_m emtym p]qam oqde·r aqto ?r dum^setai kekul]mgr t/r cev}qar. !jo}-sar d³ b Jk]aqwor taOta Eqeto t¹m %ccekom p|sg tir eUg w~qa B 1m l]s\toO T_cqgtor ja· t/r di~quwor. b d³ eWpem fti pokkµ ja· j_lai 5meisi ja·p|keir pokka· ja· lec\kai. t|te dµ ja· 1cm~shg fti oR b\qbaqoi t¹m%mhqypom rpop]lxeiam, ajmoOmter lµ oR >kkgmer diek|mter tµm c]vuqam le_-maiem 1m t0 m^s\ 1q}lata 5womter 5mhem l³m t¹m T_cqgta, 5mhem d³ tµmdi~quwa.

After supper, Proxenus and Xenophon were walking in front of the placed’armes, when a man came up and demanded of the advanced guard wherehe could find Proxenus or Clearchus. He did not ask for Menon, and thattoo though he came from Ariaeus, who was Menon’s friend. As soon asProxenus had said: ‘I am he, whom you seek,’ the man replied: ‘I havebeen sent by Ariaeus and Artaozus, who have been trusty friends toCyrus in past days, and are your well-wishers. They warn you to be onyour guard, in case the barbarians attack you in the night. There is alarge body of troops in the neighbouring park. They also warn you tosend and occupy the bridge over the Tigris, since Tissaphernes is mindedto break it down in the night, if he can, so that you may not cross, butbe caught between the river and the canal.’ On hearing this they tookthe man to Clearchus and acquainted him with his statement. Clearchus,on his side, was much disturbed, and indeed alarmed at the news. But ayoung fellow who was present, struck with an idea, suggested that thetwo statements were inconsistent as to the contemplated attack and the




proposed destruction of the bridge. Clearly, the attacking party must eitherconquer or be worsted: if they conquer, what need of their breaking downthe bridge? ‘Why! if there were half a dozen bridges,’ said he, ‘we shouldnot be any the more able to save ourselves by flight – there would be noplace to flee to; but, in the opposite case, suppose we win, with the bridgebroken down, it is they who will not be able to save themselves by flight;and, what is worse for them, not a single soul will be able to bring themsuccour from the other side, for all their numbers, since the bridge willbe broken down.’ Clearchus listened to the reasoning, and then he askedthe messenger, ‘How large the country between the Tigris and the canalmight be?’ ‘A large district,’ he replied, ‘and in it are villages and cities nu-merous and large.’ Then it dawned upon them: the barbarians had sent theman with subtlety, in fear lest the Hellenes should cut the bridge and oc-cupy the island territory, with the strong defences of the Tigris on the oneside and of the canal on the other.

!qistopoioul]mym d³ aqt_m 5qwetai Lihqad\tgr s»m RppeOsim ¢rtqi\jomta, ja· jakes\lemor to»r stqatgco»r eQr 1p^joom k]cei ¨de. ‘1c~,§ %mdqer >kkgmer, ja· J}q\ pist¹r Gm, ¢r rle ?r 1p_stashe, ja· mOm rl ?meumour· ja· 1mh\de dû eQl· s»m pokk` v|b\ di\cym. eQ owm bq]gm rl÷r syt^-qi|m ti boukeuol]mour, 5khoili #m pq¹r rl÷r ja· to»r heq\pomtar p\mtar5wym. k]nate owm pq|r le t_ 1m m` 5wete ¢r v_kom te ja· eumoum ja· bouk|le-mom joim0 s»m rl ?m t¹m st|kom poie ?shai.’ boukeuol]moir to ?r stqatgco ?r5donem !pojq_mashai t\de· ja· 5kece Weiq_sovor· ‘Bl ?m doje ?, eQ l]m tir 1øBl÷r !pi]mai oUjade, diapoqe}eshai tµm w~qam ¢r #m dum~leha !si-m]stata· Cm d] tir Bl÷r t/r bdoO !pojyk},, diapokele ?m to}t\ ¢r #mdum~leha jq\tista.’ 1j to}tou 1peiq÷to Lihqad\tgr did\sjeim ¢r %poqomeUg basik]yr %jomtor syh/mai. 5mha dµ 1cicm~sjeto fti rp|pelptor eUg·ja· c±q t_m Tissav]qmour tir oQje_ym paqgjokouh^jei p_steyr 6meja.

While they were breakfasting, Mithridates came with about thirty horse-men, and summoning the generals within earshot, he thus addressedthem: ‘Men of Hellas, I have been faithful to Cyrus, as you know well,and to-day I am your well-wisher; indeed, I am here spending my daysin great fear: if then I could see any salutory course in prospect, I shouldbe disposed to join you with all my retainers. Please inform me, then, asto what you propose, regarding me as your friend and well-wisher, anxiousonly to pursue his march in your company.’ The generals held council, andresolved to give the following answer, Cheirisophus acting as spokesman:‘We have resolved to make our way through the country, inflicting theleast possible damage, provided we are allowed a free passage homewards;but if any one tries to hinder us, he will have to fight it out with us, and weshall bring all the force in our power to bear.’ Thereat Mithridates set him-self to prove to them that their deliverance, except with the king’s goodpleasure, was hopeless. Then the meaning of his mission was plain. Hewas an agent in disguise; in fact, a relation of Tissaphernes was in attend-ance to keep a check on his loyalty.




Given that these two passages develop similar themes and share a num-ber of common features, the difference between the anonymity of boththe Persian messenger and the young Greek in the former, and Mithra-dates and Cheirisophus in the latter becomes all the more intriguing. Iam not inclined to interpret the anonymous characters of the first inci-dent as a by-product of a fictitious story, especially since Proxenus andXenophon are directly involved in it. On the contrary, I think that bycomparing the two stories we can better understand Xenophon’s narra-tive exploitation of the use of personal names. In the first story, there isone internal feature that is not attested in the second one, namely theexplanation of the way the Greeks suspected the Persian messenger.As soon as Xenophon the narrator informs us that some anonymousPersian messenger approached the Greek camp asking where he couldfind Proxenus or Clearchus, he inserts a negative clause (‘He was notlooking for Menon, although he was sent by Ariaios, who was a friendof Menon’). This insertion is an authorial comment made by Xenophonthe historian that something is going wrong. But what exactly isgoing wrong? Is it simply that Proxenus and Xenophon who metwith the Persian messenger in the first place suspected that this was aset up because the one person whom the messenger sent by Ariaiosshould be looking for would be his friend, Menon, or is this an authorialhint that they did not realize from the beginning what the Persians wereplanning to do and, even more, that Menon might have been collabo-rating in secret with the enemy? In fact, it would make perfect sense, ifthe messenger did not look for Menon because (a) Menon already knewthe plan and (b) because Ariaios did not want to raise suspicions againsthim among the Greeks, since they knew that the Thessalian general wasin close terms with him. Surprisingly enough, the jigsaw puzzle of thePersian suggestion is solved not by Clearchus, Proxenus or even Xeno-phon but by an anonymous young man (2.4.19: meam_sjor tir) who ex-plained the non sequitur of the Persian army launching an attack and de-stroying the bridge at the same time. The Greeks finally realize that thisis a trap but it is clear that Clearchus is afraid of Tissaphernes and as soonas they arrive at Zapatas river (2.5.1) he tries to reach an agreement withthe powerful and treacherous Persian satrap. Xenophon paves the wayfor the execution of Tissaphernes’ master plan. The speeches of bothClearchus and Tissaphernes show that the Lacedaemonian will soonbe snared, together with other Greek leaders, in the Persian camp.In the incident with Mithradates in 3.3.1–5, the authorial comment

concerning the revelation of the Persian plan comes only after the al-




most formulaic expression 5mha dµ 1cicm~sjeto fti rp|pelptor eUg bymeans of an implicit embedded focalization introduced by c\q : ja· c±qt_m Tissav]qmour tir oQje_ym paqgjokouh^jei p_steyr 6meja (an alterna-tive of which in the form of t|te dµ ja· 1cm~shg fti oR b\qbaqoi t¹m%mhqypom rpop]lxeiam, ajmoOmter lµ oR >kkgmer diek|mter tµm c]vuqamle_maiem 1m t0 m^s\ 1q}lata 5womter 5mhem l³m t¹m T_cqgta, 5mhem d³ tµmdi~quwa was also used in 2.4.22). Moreover, and in direct contrast tothe aforementioned incident in Book 2 where Clearchus was terrified,29

here it is Cheirisophus, the Lacedaemonian general who plainly declareshis intentions to Mithradates. In a nutshell, whereas in the first case thecore of the incident is based on the speeches of two anonymous speak-ers, in the second it is orchestrated by two eponymous, key-figures ofthe plot, Mithradates and Cheirisophus. The difference is more thanclear. While in the first case the Greeks will be soon after deceivedby Tissaphernes, in the second they will not be taken in by Persian de-ception.In this light, the use of personal names draws a line between the two

incidents. The external narrator aims at actively engaging his audience inthe very process of evaluating the two incidents and realizing that theGreeks have learned their lesson after being deceived by Tissaphernesin the first case. Additionally, he lets his readers entertain the possibilitythat he too, like Clearchus, suspected Menon the Thessalian. To thisend, he has gradually alluded to Menon’s suspicious actions in the Ana-basis.Menon’s friendship to Ariaios has been already highlighted in Ana-basis 2.1.6, when Clearchus sent Cheirisophus and Menon to Ariaios.The choice of Cheirisophus was in all probability done by Clearchushimself, who trusted his fellow citizen. Menon, on the other hand, in-sisted himself, for he was a friend of Ariaios:

taOta eQp½m !post]kkei to»r !cc]kour ja· s»m aqto ?r Weiq_sovom t¹mK\jyma ja· L]myma t¹m Hettak|m· ja· c±q aqt¹r L]mym 1bo}keto· Gmc±q v_kor ja· n]mor )qia_ou.

With these words he sent back the messengers and with them he sentCheirisophus the Laconian, and Menon the Thessalian. That was whatMenon himself wished, being, as he was, a friend and intimate of Ariaeus,and bound by mutual ties of hospitality.

Interestingly enough, in 2.2.1 Menon does not return together withCheirisophus from Ariaios’ camp:

29 See 2.4.18–19: b d³ Jk]aqwor !jo}sar 1taq\whg sv|dqa ja· 1vobe ?to.




oR d³ paq± )qia_ou Hjom Pqojk/r ja· Weiq_sovor· L]mym d³ aqtoO 5lemepaq± )qia_\.

But the messengers from Ariaeus, Procles and Cheirisophus came back. Asto Menon, he stayed behind with Ariaeus.

This, like the previous, example seems to be another authorial commentpointing at Menon’s dubious role. Finally, there is one more occasion(2.5.28) where a third authorial comment will bring this sequence of au-thorial interventions to an end,30 a comment placed just before the climac-tic point of the arrival of the Greek generals and captains at Tissa-phernes’ camp where they will be killed:

rp~pteue d³ [sc. Jk]aqwor] eWmai t¹m diab\kkomta L]myma, eQd½r aqt¹m ja·succecemgl]mom Tissav]qmei letû )qia_ou ja· stasi\fomta aqt` ja· 1pi-bouke}omta, fpyr t¹ stq\teula ûpam pq¹r art¹m kab½m v_kor × Tissa-v]qmei.

The slanderer and traducer was Menon; so, at any rate, he [sc. Clearchus]suspected, because he knew that he had had meetings with Tissapherneswhilst he was with Ariaeus, and was factiously opposed to himself, plottinghow to win over the whole army to him, as a means of winning the goodgraces of Tissaphernes.

Menon’s distrustful role has been also clear by the fact that he advised hismen to cross the river Euphrates before all the other Greeks decide whatthey should do, so that Cyrus may reward them for being so eager tofollow him (1.4.14–15). Personal gain had always been a high priorityin Menon’s agenda. His obituary (2.6.21–29), which testifies to that inthe most emphatic manner, comes to a closure with a hint to his betrayalof the Greeks:

L]mym d³ b Hettak¹r d/kor Gm 1pihul_m l³m pkoute ?m Qswuq_r, 1pihul_m d³%qweim, fpyr pke_y kalb\meim, 1pihul_m d³ til÷shai, Vma pke_y jeqda_moi·v_kor te 1bo}keto eWmai to ?r l]cista dumal]moir, Vma !dij_m lµ dido_g d_jgm.

As to Menon the Thessalian, the mainspring of his action was obvious;what he sought after insatiably was wealth. Rule he sought after only asa stepping-stone to larger spoils. Honours and high estate he craved for sim-ply that he might extend the area of his gains; and if he studied to be onfriendly terms with the powerful, it was in order that he might commitwrong with impunity.

!pohm,sj|mtym d³ t_m sustqat^cym fti 1stq\teusam 1p· basik]a n»mJ}q\, taqt± pepoigj½r oqj !p]hame, let± d³ t¹m t_m %kkym h\matom

30 On interventions and citations in Xenophon, see Gray 2003; on narrator-am-biguity, see Dorati 2007, 105–116.




stqatgc_m tilyqghe·r rp¹ basik]yr !p]hamem, oqw ¦speq Jk]aqwor ja· oR%kkoi stqatgco· !potlgh]mter t±r jevak\r, fspeq t\wistor h\mator doje ?eWmai, !kk± f_m aQjishe·r 1miaut¹m ¢r pomgq¹r k]cetai t/r tekeut/r tuwe ?m.

When his fellow-generals were put to death on the plea that they hadmarched with Cyrus against the king, he alone, although he had sharedtheir conduct, was exempted from their fate. But after their deaths thevengeance of the king fell upon him, and he was put to death, not likeClearchus and the others by what would appear to be the speediest ofdeaths – decapitation – but, as report says, he lived for a year in pain anddisgrace and died the death of a felon.

This may well be a covert indication to the historian’s endorsing or, atleast, entertaining, the view that Menon had been the one who, throughhis friendship with Ariaios, was in secret contact with Tissaphernes(2.5.25–26):

‘ja· 1c½ l]m ce, 5vg b Tissav]qmgr, eQ bo}kesh] loi oV te stqatgco· ja· oRkowaco· 1khe ?m, 1m t` 1lvame ? k]ny to»r pq¹r 1l³ k]comtar ¢r s» 1lo· 1pi-bouke}eir ja· t0 s»m 1lo· stqatiø.’

‘Even so,’ replied Tissaphernes, ‘and if your generals and captains care tocome in some open and public way, I will name to you those who tellme that you are plotting against me and the army under me.’

It would have been consonant with the practice of Tissaphernes and Ar-taxerxes to have used Menon, as long as he was useful to their plan ofdeceiving Clearchus and the Greeks, and then punish him, since theyknew very well that he was completely untrustworthy and disloyal.After all, the expression !kk± f_m aQjishe·r 1miaut¹m ¢r pomgq¹r k]cetait/r tekeut/r tuwe ?m (2.6.29) may cause enormous head-scratching as towhat exactly Xenophon is alluding to but may also suggest that Xeno-phon regarded Menon’s punishment as just or, at least, as becoming. Alast authorial comment in 2.6.28 may be also a covert indication of Xen-ophon suspecting Menon.

ja· t± l³m dµ !vam/ 5nesti peq· aqtoO xe}deshai, $ d³ p\mter Usasi t\d’1st_.

As to certain obscure charges brought against his character, these may cer-tainly be fabrications. I confine myself to the following facts, which areknown to all.

Xenophon has decided to avail himself only of information that had be-come common knowledge among the army. The rest will not be re-ported, since it may be doubted, but at least it can be hinted at.




4. Patronymics

It has been rightly observed that in the Hellenika Xenophonûs use of pat-ronymics is arbitrary.31 Does the same hold for the Anabasis, where pat-ronymics are extremely rare? In 3.3.20, Xenophon uses both a patro-nymic and a toponymic at the same time, when he introduces Lycius,son of Polystratus, an Athenian. Given that this is indeed a rara avis re-garding regular Xenophontean practice in the Anabasis, I think that weshould dwell more on this exceptional occasion:

ja· ta}tgr t/r mujt¹r svemdom/tai l³m eQr diajos_our 1c]momto, Vppoi d³ ja·Rppe ?r 1dojil\shgsam t0 rsteqa_ô eQr pemt^jomta, ja· spok\der ja· h~qa-jer aqto ?r 1poq_shgsam, ja· Vppaqwor 1pest\hg K}jior b Pokustq\tou)hgma ?or.

These proposals were carried, and that night two hundred slingers were en-rolled, and next day as many as fifty horse and horsemen passed muster asduly qualified; buff jackets and cuirasses were provided for them, and acommandant of cavalry appointed to command – Lycius, the son of Poly-stratus, by name, an Athenian.

Why does Xenophon mention Lycius in such a formal way (name, father’sname, city of origin)? The use of his toponymic should not strike thewrong note, for it is consonant with Xenophon’s standard usage inthe Anabasis, where he regularly gives a person’s toponymic on hisfirst appearance. Lycius is also mentioned in 4.3.22, 4.3.25 and 4.7.24where he is deprived of both patronymic and toponymic. This Athenianleads the cavalry in pursuit of the fleeing Carduchi, steals clothing andcups from these dangerous people, and last but certainly not least, it washe and Xenophon who drove their horses forward to see what was tak-ing place when the Greek soldiers saw the sea and shouted ‘Thalatta,Thalatta’. Is it completely accidental that Xenophon mentions only inthis case a person’s patronymic, especially since Lycius is a ratherthird-rate figure in the Anabasis?The reference to Lycius follows a speech delivered by Xenophon

(3.3.16) who had stressed the fact that the army immediately neededslingers (svemdom/tai) and horsemen (Rppe ?r):

Ble ?r owm eQ l]kkoilem to}toir eUqceim ¦ste lµ d}mashai bk\pteim Bl÷rpoqeuol]mour, svemdomgt_m tµm taw_stgm de ? ja· Rpp]ym.

31 Hornblower 1994, 162.




If, then, we are to exclude them from all possibility of injuring us as wemarch, we must get slingers as soon as possible and cavalry.

Xenophon’s proposal is welcomed by the army and so the next day theGreeks are equipped with 200 slingers and 50 horsemen who, as Xen-ophon had probably suggested, were furnished with leather garments(spok\der) and breastplates (h~qajer). Xenophon was particularly wellinformed with respect to horses. This can also be seen in various passagesof the Anabasis32 but pre-eminently in his two treatises Zppaqwij|r andDe re equestri (peq· Rppij/r), where he discusses in detail various matterspertaining to the leader of the cavalry in the former, and the purchase,feeding, training etc. of horses according to their use by their owners inthe latter. In the very last chapter of his work De re equestri (peq·Rppij/r), Xenophon explains the way a horseman should be equippedand lays emphasis on the use of a breastplate. A similar interest on ex-actly the same topic can be found in Xenophon’s Memorabilia ()polmg-lome}lata) in the discussion between Socrates and Pistias. Given thespecial interest and knowledge of Xenophon in equestrian matters, itmay be assumed that the appointment of Lycius as commander of thecavalry was his own suggestion and that Lycius was, in all likelihood,also experienced in equestrian matters. In this conception, the mentionof Lycius’ patronymic may imply that Xenophon knew his fellow-citi-zen Lycius on a personal level and that there was some sort of connec-tion between himself and the family of Lycius. In the words of RobertLane Fox:33

Lycius was one of three brothers, all of whom were horsemen in the laterfifth century; two of them are known to us from funerary inscriptions inAttica. Their father Polystratus was the infamous oligarch who was twicetried in court during the political upheavals of 411 and was defended byone of his sons in Lysias’ Speech 20.34 This son, a horseman, was in myview Lycius himself; he was no natural democrat; he had served in Sicilyand survived, he said, to fight and plunder there after 413; he returnedhome, but he presumably had had to leave Athens in 404/3 for participat-ing too keenly in the months of rule by the Thirty Tyrants. Xenophon, his

32 Like the description of the way the Persian horses were equipped in 1.8.7–8 orthe incident with Soteridas the Sicyonian in 3.4.47–48 or 3.2.18–20 in con-trast to Thucydides, where Nikias argues that Sicily will have two big advantag-es against the Athenians, cavalry and supplies. See Rood 1998, 165–166. Onhorses in the Anabasis, see Fox 2004, 10–11.

33 Fox 2004, 11–12.34 IG II2 12499, 12658, 12969. See also Davies 1971, 467–468.




fellow horseman, had had to leave too: the two of them, mounted warri-ors, had many an undemocratic memory which they could have shared,two partners in prejudice on the winter march north to the sea.

Xenophon feels coy about revealing such a connection, in the same wayThucydides (as Hornblower has suggested) feels coy about showing offhis special knowledge concerning place names, thus finding recourse tothe expression ‘the so-called’. The historian’s reserve regarding therevelation of his exact liaison with Lycius may be due to his ultimatepolitical aspirations concerning his future return to Athens35 but it isalso consonant with Xenophon’s constant aim to ‘give his audiencesan impression of unmediated historical objectivity.’36

Xenophon’s utmost care in the narrative exploitation of this Lyciusmay be also seen in his choosing two different ways to introduce him inthe plot. Fox37 has argued that, if the identification between the speakerin Lysias 20.11 ff. and Lycius is correct and if Lysias’ information regard-ing Lycius’ military service for Catana, a city opposed to Syracuse, inand after 413 is dishonest, then ‘[Lycius] the “Syracusan”38 [may wellbe] Xenophon’s allusion (witty, perhaps, or actually true) to one andthe same Lycius and his wicked western escapades.’ If this holds true,then his reintroduction in a positive light in 3.3.20 accompanied byhis patronymic becomes all the more narratively functional.

5. Periphrastic Denomination (!mtymolas_a)39

The term periphrastic denomination or antonomasia designates ‘a refer-ence to a character not by proper name but by a form of indirect de-scription.’40 A typical case is Artaxerxes, who is constantly designatedas ‘king’ (basike}r). This is, of course, the usual Greek practice for re-ferring to the king of Persia, but given that the Anabasis begins as thestruggle between Artaxerxes and his younger brother Cyrus aboutwho should be king of Persia, royal denomination may be hinting at

35 This attitude is fully compatible with Xenophon’s systematic use of his auto-biography in the last two Books of the Anabasis as ‘a vehicle for personal apol-ogetic.’ See Hornblower 1994, 31.

36 Gray 2003, 111 n. 2.37 Fox 2004, 11–12 n. 34.38 Lycius from Syracuse is mentioned in 1.10.14 as a prominent horseman.39 See scholia ad Il. 13.154 and de Jong 1993, 289–306.40 See de Jong 2001a, xvi.




the unsuccessful outcome of Cyrus’ undertaking. This line of interpre-tation is further supported by another form of periphrastic denominationemployed for Artaxerxes. Just before the fatal battle at Cunaxa,Clearchus asks Cyrus whether he thinks that his brother will fightagainst him. Cyrus’ answer is revealing (1.7.9–10):

Mµ D_û, 5vg b JOqor, eUpeq ce Daqe_ou ja· Paqus\tid|r 1sti pa ?r, 1l¹r d³!dekv|r, oqj !lawe· taOtû 1c½ k^xolai.

Cyrus answered: ‘Not without a battle, be assured, shall the prize be won;if he be the son of Darius and Parysatis, and a brother of mine.’

By designating Artaxerxes as the son of Darius and Parysatis, Xenophonallows Cyrus, as a speaker, to give his own point of view and cue thereaders to the beginning of the plot.When periphrastic denomination is juxtaposed to a personal name,

it seems pleonastic but is narratively exploited in order to link scatteredpassages and redirect the readers to a key-point in the plot. In 2.4.27, themention of the name Parysatis is followed by the periphrastic denomi-nation ‘the mother of Cyrus and the king’, which also contains the per-iphrastic denomination ‘king’:

1mteOhem d’ 1poqe}hgsam di± t/r Lgd_ar stahlo»r 1q^lour 4n paqas\ccartqi\jomta eQr t±r Paqus\tidor j~lar t/r K}qou ja· basik]yr lgtq|r. ta}-tar Tissav]qmgr J}q\ 1peccek_m diaqp\sai to ?r >kkgsim 1p]tqexe pkµm!mdqap|dym. 1m/m d³ s ?tor pok»r ja· pq|bata ja· %kka wq^lata.

From this place they marched through Media six desert stages – thirty para-sangs – to the villages of Parysatis, Cyrus’s and the king’s mother. TheseTissaphernes, in mockery of Cyrus, delivered over to the Hellenes to plun-der, except that the folk in them were not to be made slaves. They con-tained much corn, cattle, and other property.

This double antonomasia is narratively effective for it invites readers torecall the very beginning of the Anabasis, where Parysatis was designatedas the mother of the two princes (1.1.1) and, more importantly, as a sup-porter of the younger Cyrus against his brother Artaxerxes (1.1.4):

Daqe_ou ja· Paqus\tidor c_cmomtai pa ?der d}o, pqesb}teqor l³m )qtan]q-ngr, me~teqor d³ JOqor. […] Paq}satir l³m dµ B l^tgq rp/qwe t` J}q\,vikoOsa aqt¹m l÷kkom C t¹m basike}omta )qtan]qngm.

Darius and Parysatis had two sons: the elder was named Artaxerxes, and theyounger Cyrus. […] Parysatis, his mother, was his first resource; for she hadmore love for Cyrus than for Artaxerxes upon his throne.




In this light, readers do not need to cudgel their brains about the func-tion of this piece of information. The reference to Tissaphernes’ allow-ing the Greeks to loot the small towns belonging to Parysatis, in his at-tempt to show his utmost content against the dead Cyrus, invites thereaders to make a narrative leap to the very beginning of the Anabasis,where all these players had initially appeared, at the very first instance ofthe narrative shuffling of the cards. In this way, Tissaphernes’ viciousslander against Cyrus and Parysatis’ intervention to save her youngerson are easily conjured on the narrative surface giving cohesion to thedeployment of the plot.

6. Floating Kindreds: tir and eXr

Hornblower has rightly drawn attention to the use of tir in Thucydides,which he calls a ‘buttonholing device’, i. e. a mechanism employed tobuttonhole the reader. Contrary to Fornara, Hornblower argues or atleast leaves to understand that sometimes tir may be disparaging, as isthe case with Dolon in Iliad 10.314 and Hyperbolus in Thucydides8.73. In a famous passage of the Anabasis (3.1.4) where Xenophon isalso designated by tir, its disparaging function is absent but still the useof this indefinite pronoun covertly indicates that Xenophon is a specialcharacter, one who ‘followed [Cyrus] neither as a general nor as a cap-tain nor as a soldier but because Proxenus summoned him from homesince he was an old friend of his.’ Not being disparaging, we can securelyclassify tir as a device accompanying the introduction of a character orhis first important appearance or his undertaking of a more active rolethan before, and this is certainly the case with Xenophon in this passage.But, apart from tir, which is used 137 times in the Anabasis, Xenophonavails himself of eXr, which is attested 12 times. When eXr is not employedas a numeral, does it have any specific narrative function?

eXr is employed 5 times in speeches uttered by Xenophon and 7 inplain narrative (once with respect to Xenophon, Clearchus and Phali-nos, twice for anonymous Greeks and twice for anonymous barbarians).Of all these cases, only those where eXr accompanies a name or has thesame meaning with the indefinite pronoun tir are worth studying fur-ther.In all the cases where eXr goes with a name, there is no toponymic.

This use is emphatically different from the use of tir with a personalname followed by its toponymic. Given that toponymics are used




only for Greeks in order to highlight their specific origin, its absenceshows that eXr is a special term marking someone as Greek, not as Thessa-lian or Lacedaemonian or Athenian. When a character is designated byeXr, then Xenophon buttonholes him as Greek either in positive or neg-ative manner but always as Greek par excellence. This narrative techni-que is particularly apt in the case of Phalinus (2.1.7), where Xenophonaims at alerting his readers to the fact that the ensuing dialogue will takeplace between two Greeks, one in the service of Artaxerxes and theother being one of the Ten Thousand. Phalinus is not a simple messen-ger sent by the king but a Greek in the service of Artaxerxes and theway he is going to converse with the Greeks will be a special one.In the single case where eXr is used for an anonymous speaker, the

first person intrudes, so to speak, in the indirect discourse that is blurredwith direct speech (1.3.13–14):

1j d³ to}tou !m_stamto oR l³m 1j toO aqtol\tou, k]nomter $ 1c_cmysjom, oRd³ ja· rpû 1je_mou 1cj]keustoi, 1pideijm}mter oVa eUg B !poq_a %meu t/rJ}qou cm~lgr ja· l]meim ja· !pi]mai. eXr d³ eWpe pqospoio}lemor spe}deim¢r t\wista poqe}eshai eQr tµm :kk\da stqatgco»r l³m 2k]shai %kkour¢r t\wista, eQ lµ bo}ketai Jk]aqwor !p\ceim· … 1kh|mtar d³ JOqomaQte ?m pko ?a ¢r !popk]oiem· 1±m d1 lµ did` taOta, Bcel|ma aQte ?m JOqomfstir di± vik_ar t/r w~qar !p\nei. 1±m d³ lgd³ Bcel|ma did`, sumt\tteshaitµm taw_stgm, p]lxai d³ ja· pqojatakgxol]mour t± %jqa, fpyr lµvh\sysi l^te JOqor l^te oR J_kijer jatakab|mter, ¨m pokko»r ja· pokk±wq^lata 5wolem !mgqpaj|ter.

Then various speakers stood up; some of their own motion to propoundtheir views; others inspired by Clearchus to dilate on the hopeless difficultyof either staying, or going back without the goodwill of Cyrus. One ofthese, in particular, with a make-believe of anxiety to commence thehomeward march without further pause, called upon them instantly tochoose other generals, if Clearchus were not himself prepared to leadthem back … he added, ‘go to Cyrus and ask for some ships in order toreturn by sea: if he refused to give them ships, let them demand of hima guide to lead them back through a friendly district ; and if he wouldnot so much as give them a guide, they could but put themselves, withoutmore ado, in marching order, and send on a detachment to occupy thepass–before Cyrus and the Cilicians, whose property,’ the speaker added,‘we have so plentifully pillaged, can anticipate us.’

The same is the case with a speech delivered immediately afterwards byanother anonymous Greek designated as %kkor. Since eXr is used as indef-inite in contrapposizione, this is a covert indication that another speechwill follow against this one. In fact, Xenophon may well be projectinghis own point of view at a point of the plot where he wishes to remain




in the background. In this conception, the eXr employed for an anony-mous speaker may be a slighting device, but a slighting device alludingto the fact that the speaker will present a Greek, though negatively col-ored, point of view.In this light, tir and eXr may be called floating kindreds since they are

both buttonholing devices but with a different emphasis and scope.

7. Mythical Names and Intertextuality

In the Anabasis, there are at least two cases, where recourse to mythicalnames fulfills a specific narrative goal, i. e. it engages the readers into afuture-oriented intertextuality. Instead of the well-known Barchesianreflessivo futuro,41 which designates an intratextually future but intertex-tually past event, Xenophon introduces mythical names to exploit hisreaders’ mythical storage and foreshadow the way the plot will unravel.One of the most prominent areas of intertextual exploitation is theOdyssey, since Xenophon systematically draws analogies between the re-turn and perils of the Ten Thousand on their way from Kunaxa to Tra-pezous and then to the Aegean and the adventures of Odysseus.42 Inparticular, Lossau has convincingly argued, on the basis of numerous rel-evant examples, that the analogy between the Anabasis and the Odysseyis profound. He has also offered a possible scenario for Xenophon’s in-tertextual play with Homeric poetry, claiming that Xenophon was notcontent with the plain ‘memoir-style’ and the pattern of peq_odor-liter-ature but dallied with the idea of exploiting a famous work of undeni-able excellence such as the Odyssey.43

In Anabasis 3.2.25–26, Xenophon in his long speech to the Greekarmy expresses his only fear about the future not only in terms of a fa-mous Odyssean episode but also in Odyssean diction (9.97 & 102) parexcellence:44

41 Barchiesi 2001, 105–127.42 On this topic, see Lossau 1990, 47–52 with further bibliography. Apart from

the Odyssey, Xenophon has also exploited, though to a smaller extent, theIliad ; on possible Iliadic echoes in the Anabasis, see Rinner 1978, 144–149;Tsagalis 2002, 101–121.

43 1990, 52.44 See Lossau 1990, 47.




!kk± c±q d]doija l^, #m ûpan l\hylem !qco· f/m ja· 1m !vh|moir biote}eim,ja· L^dym d³ ja· Peqs_m jaka ?r ja· lec\kair cumain· ja· paqh]moir blike ?m,lµ ¦speq oR kytov\coi 1pikah~leha t/r oUjade bdoO.

For I fear, if once we learn to live in idleness and to batten in luxury anddalliance with these tall and handsome Median and Persian women andmaidens, we shall be like the Lotus-Eaters, and forget the road home alto-gether.

kyt¹m 1qept|lemoi lem]lem m|stou te kah]shai (9.97)

to browse on the lotus and to forget all thoughts of return

l^ p~r tir kyto ?o vac½m m|stoio k\hgtai (9.102)

[for fear] that others of them might eat the lotus and think no more ofhome

Xenophon’s fear will not materialize but the reference to the Lotus-Eat-ers aims mainly at his external audience. Readers are invited to use themythical name Lotus-Eaters as a specific hint to the Odyssey, which willsoon begin for the Ten Thousand. Xenophon thus makes a profoundnarrative gesture to his audience, a gesture that makes the most of anintertextual reference of undisputed authority and widespread diffusion,in order not only to allude to the perils the Greeks are about to face butalso to the way Xenophon wants his readers to interpret these perils.In Anabasis 5.1.2, Leon from Thourioi emphatically declares that he

is tired of these long adventurous wanderings, and desires, Odysseus-like, to stretch himself out and arrive at Greece:

9c½ l³m to_mum, 5vg, § %mdqer, !pe_qgja Edg nusjeuaf|lemor ja· bad_fymja· tq]wym ja· t± fpka v]qym ja· 1m t\nei £m ja· vukaj±r vuk\ttym ja·law|lemor, 1pihul_ d³ Edg paus\lemor to}tym t_m p|mym, 1pe· h\kattam5wolem, pke ?m t¹ koip¹m ja· 1jtahe·r ¦speq idusse»r !vij]shai eQr tµm:kk\da.

He said: ‘For my part, sirs, I am weary by this time of getting kit togetherand packing up for a start, of walking and running and carrying heavy arms,and of tramping along in line, or mounting guard, and doing battle. Thesole desire I now have is to cease from all these pains, and for the future,since here we have the sea before us, to sail on and on, stretched out insleep, like Odysseus, and so to find myself in Hellas.’

The reference to Odysseus is basically intended for the external audi-ence. Xenophon invites his readers to interpret the adventures and dan-gers the Ten Thousand will face in the light of the Odyssean tradition.After all, his narrative abilities owe much to his famous epic predecessor,whose Iliad and Odyssey he has struggled to fuse into the two distinct




parts of his Anabasis, the first one with its Iliadic warlike tone, and thesecond one with its colorful Odyssean character.

8. Conclusion

To sum up, Xenophon, like his predecessor Thucydides, often usesproper names as narrative mechanisms that allow him to illuminatethe function of a person within the plot in terms of either highlightingor downplaying his importance. Patronymics and toponymics that mayaccompany the proper names of Greeks are occasionally employed as asophisticated means of inviting the readers to explore a whole web ofinterwoven intratextual threads: distant passages are thus bridged reveal-ing unnoticed aspects of events, evaluative comments are shored up dis-closing the historian’s own point of view, dramatic effect is produced,and last, but certainly not least, the readers’ attention is directed toviews that are implied and not explicitly stated. The use of propernames is so systematically and vigorously pursued by Xenophon thattheir absence can be also narratively significant, ‘foreshadowing’ a char-acter’s negative role in the plot or implying a disparaging and unfavor-able comment on the part of the historian. Finally, mythical names areemployed, at times, as narrative devices that allow Xenophon not onlyto make full use of his readers’ mythical storage and foreshadow the waythe plot will unravel but also to enrich the generic apparatus on whichthe Anabasis relies, thus encompassing a wide range of genres such asmemoir, peq_pkour-literature and even Homeric epic. In light of thefact that the Anabasis is a mosaic of peoples and places, Xenophon’s ex-ploitation of their names must be interpreted within his larger aim tocreate a sense of narrative cohesion in an ever-changing medley ofmen, space and events.




names and narrative techniques in xenophon's anabasis

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