John F. Miller - Jenny Strauss Clay - Tracking Hermes, Pursuing Mercury-Oxford University Press (2019)

Title Pages
Tracking Hermes, Pursuing Mercury

John F. Miller and Jenny Strauss Clay
Print publication date: 2019

Print ISBN-13: 9780198777342
Published to Oxford Scholarship Online: March 2019
DOI: 10.1093/oso/9780198777342.001.0001
Title Pages
John F. Miller, Jenny Strauss Clay
(p.i) Tracking Hermes, Pursuing Mercury (p.ii)
(p.iii) Tracking Hermes, Pursuing Mercury
(p.iv) Copyright Page
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Page 2 of 2
Acknowledgements


Print ISBN-13: 9780198777342
DOI: 10.1093/oso/9780198777342.001.0001
(p.v) Acknowledgements
After discussing the project of a collaborative interdisciplinary approach to

Hermes and Mercury for many years, we were fortunate finally to bring together
a group of scholars for the conference ‘Tracking Hermes/Mercury’ at the
University of Virginia in March of 2014. The papers delivered at that symposium
form the basis of the present volume. We are grateful in the first instance for the
funding that made the conference possible—from the Dean of the College of Arts
and Sciences, the Ancient History Fund, the McIntire Department of Art, and the
Department of Classics—to the Classics staff, Shelly Rojas and Glenda Notman,
for making arrangements and going well beyond the call of duty during the
conference; to our graduate students and colleagues for so generously helping
to host visitors for the event. For chairing sessions and other intellectual
contributions to the symposium we are particularly grateful to Anna Stelow,
Tyler Jo Smith, Kelly Shannon, Jon Mikalson, Gregory Hays, Coulter George,
John Dobbins, Jane Crawford, Stéphanie Paul, Deborah Boedeker, and Shane
Black.
Many have assisted in bringing this book to fruition. Anonymous referees at two
stages helped with shaping the volume and with many other useful suggestions.
At Oxford University Press, Charlotte Loveridge encouraged the project from the
start and saw us through the initial stages; Georgina Leighton expertly and
patiently stewarded the book to publication. Our two editorial assistants, Megan
Bowen and Matthew Pincus, helped mightily with preparation of the copy. Above
all, we thank the contributors to the volume for their stimulating scholarship and
their collegial spirit.
John F. Miller, Jenny Strauss Clay (p.vi)
Page 1 of 2
Acknowledgements
Page 2 of 2
List of Figures


Print ISBN-13: 9780198777342
DOI: 10.1093/oso/9780198777342.001.0001
(p.xi) List of Figures

2.1. Athenian black-figure hydria. Hermes and Maia. c.520 BCE. Paris,
Petit Palais 310. 14
Photo © Petit Palais/Roger-Viollet.
2.2. Detail of the hydria in Fig. 2.1: lion. 16
2.3. Detail of the hydria in Fig. 2.1: goat. 17
2.4. Athenian black-figure lekythos. Chariot of Apollo, with Hermes. c.500
BCE. Yale University Art Gallery 1913.111. 18
Photo: Museum, courtesy of Susan B. Matheson.
2.5. View of the lekythos in Fig. 2.4: Maia (?). 19
Photo: Museum, courtesy of Susan B. Matheson.
2.6. Athenian black-figure neck-amphora. Apollo between Dionysos/
Thyone and Hermes/Maia. c.520 BCE. San Simeon, Hearst Castle inv.
5563. 20
Photo by Victoria Garagliano/© Hearst Castle®/CA State Parks.
2.7. Athenian red-figure amphora. Detail of Hermes and Maia. c.510 BCE.
Munich, Antikensammlungen 2304. 23
After Knauss (2012) 166. By permission of the Staatliche
Antikensammlungen und Glyptothek, Munich.
2.8. Athenian black-figure volute-krater (“François Vase”). Detail of
chariot of Hermes and Maia, with the Moirai. c.570 BCE. Florence,
Museo Nazionale Archaeologico 4209. 25
Photo courtesy of the National Archaeological Museum of Florence.
3.1. Votive relief dedicated to the Nymphs, from the Cave to the Nymphs
(Vari Cave) on Mount Hymettos, white marble, 52 × 36 cm, 340–330 BCE.
Athens, National Archaeological Museum, NM 2011. 32
Page 1 of 4
List of Figures
Source: DAI. Photographer: Hermann Wagner. DAI-Neg.-No.: D-DAI-ATH-

NM 4419.
3.2. Votive relief dedicated to the Nymphs by Eukleides, Eukles, and
Lakrates, from the Cave to the Nymphs (Vari Cave) on Mount Hymettos,
white marble, 40 × 50 cm, 340–330 BCE. Athens, National Archaeological
Museum, NM 2008. 35
Source: DAI. Photographer: Elmar Gehnen. DAI-Neg.-No.: D-DAI-
ATH-1995/2197.
3.3. Ithyphallic herm, of Attic manufacture but found on Siphnos, marble,
66 × 13 cm, c.520 BCE. Athens, National Archaeological Museum, NM
3728. 36
Photo: Bridgeman-Giraudon/Art Resource, NY.
(p.xii) 3.4. Votive relief dedicated to the Nymphs, found on the Quirinal
Hill in Rome, marble, 175 × 85 cm, c.400–390 BCE. Berlin,
Antikensammlung, SK 709 a. 41
Photo: bpk Berlin/Antikensammlung/Jürgen Liepe/Art Resource, NY.
3.5. Votive relief dedicated to Pan and the Nymphs by Telephanes, from
the Cave of Pan on Mount Parnes, white marble, 43 × 47 cm, 310–290
BCE. Athens, National Archaeological Museum, NM 1448. 42
National Archaeological Museum, Athens. © Hellenic Ministry of Culture
and Sports/Archaeological Receipts Fund.
3.6. Votive relief dedicated to the Nymphs by Telephanes, Nikeratos, and
Demophilos, found in the Cave of Pan and the Nymphs on Mount Penteli,
white marble, 53 × 75 cm, 360–350 BCE. Athens, National Archaeological
Museum, NM 4465, 4465a. 45
Source: DAI. Photographer: Eva-Maria Czakó. DAI-Neg.-No.: D-DAI-ATH-
NM 4756.
4.1. East pediment of the Siphnian Treasury, detail. 53
Photo: Erich Lessing/Art Resource, NY.
4.2. Orientalizing vase from Megara Hyblaea. 54
Musée du Louvre, Paris, France. Photo: Tony Querrec.© RMN-Grand
Palais/Art Resource, NY.
4.3. Apollo and Heracles on the Boston Pyxis. 56
Photo © 2018 Museum of Fine Arts, Boston.
4.4. Comparison of the “Theft from Apollo” theme in myths of Hermes and
Heracles. 59
13.1. The lararium at the end of the counter of the thermopolium at i.8.8,
Pompeii. Mercury is the far left of the five deities in the image. 198
Photo: Erich Lessing/Art Resource, NY.
13.2. The left doorpost of the taberna (“the taberna of Marcus Vecilius
Verecundus”) at ix.7.7, Pompeii. Mercury steps right from a small temple.
202
Photo: Alinari/Art Resource, NY.
Page 2 of 4
List of Figures
13.3. A painted image to the right of the door of the taberna at ix.12.6,
Pompeii. An ithyphallic Mercury runs left towards the entrance. 204
Museo Archeologico Nazionale. © Vanni Archive/Art Resource, NY.
14.1. Scene from the Tabula Iliaca. Musei Capitolini, Rome. 218
Source: DAI. Photographer: R. Sansaini. DAI-Neg.-No.: D-DAI–Rom
57.974.
14.2. Scene from the Tabula Iliaca. Musei Capitolini, Rome. 219
Source: DAI. Photographer: R. Sansaini. DAI-Neg.-No.: D-DAI–Rom
57.975.
15.1. Attic black-figure column-krater, 520–510 BCE. London, British
Museum B362. 230
Photo: © Trustees of the British Museum.
(p.xiii) 15.2. Attic black-figure lekythos, c.480 BCE. Louvain-la-Neuve,
Musée universitaire AC118. 231
Photo: Jean-Pierre Bougnet © UCL-Musée de Louvain-la-Neuve.
15.3. Attic red-figure column-krater, Orchard Painter, 470–460 BCE.
Naples, Museo Archeologico Nazionale 81295 (H3369). 232
Photo reproduced by permission of the Ministero dei Beni e delle Attività
Culturali e del Turismo – Museo Archeologico di Napoli.
15.4. Attic black-figure amphora, 500–480 BCE. Würzburg, Martin von
Wagner Museum 233. 233
© Martin von Wagner Museum der Universität Würzburg, photo: P.
Neckermann, respectively E. Oehrlein.
15.5. Attic black-figure olpe, Dot-Ivy Group, 500–490 BCE. Paris, Musée
du Louvre F325. 234
Photo: © RMN-Grand Palais (Musée du Louvre)/Stéphane Maréchalle.
15.6. Attic red-figure pelike, Geras Painter, c.490 BCE. Paris, Bibliothèque
nationale de France 397. 235
Photo: Serge Oboukhoff © BnF–CNRS–Maison Archéologie & Ethnologie,
René Ginouvès.
15.7. Attic red-figure lekythos, Icarus Painter, 470–460 BCE. Nicholson
Museum, The University of Sydney. NM51.14. 236
Photo: Nicholson Museum, The University of Sydney.
15.8. Attic red-figure cup, Ambrosios Painter, 510–500 BCE. London,
Sotheby’s 14.12.1995, no. 84. 238
Photo after Sotheby’s, London, sale catalogue (14.12.1995): 45, no. 84.
17.1. Samothracian herm. 275
Illustration by David Diener, after photo published by Charles
Champoiseau, “Note sur des antiquités trouvés dans l’île de Samothrace,”
Comptes rendus des séances de l’Académie des Inscriptions et Belles-
Lettres, 36e année, N. 1, 1892: 24. ©Académie des inscriptions et Belles-
Lettres, used by kind permission.
Page 3 of 4
List of Figures
17.2. Samothracian herm, published by Fernand Chapouthier, Les

Dioscures au service d’une déesse, E. de Boccard 1935: 176, figure 16.
276
© Editions de Boccard, used by kind permission.
17.3. Detail, silver cantharos from the Berthouville treasure, mid-first
century CE. 278
Photo: Tahnee Cracchiola, courtesy Département des Monnaies,
médailles et antiques, Bibliothèque nationale de France. Height 15.8 cm,
Diameter 13.3 cm, Weight 852 grams. Paris, BnF, 56.9.
17.4. Silver cantharos from the Berthouville treasure, mid-first century
CE. 279
médailles et antiques, Bibliothèque nationale de France. Height 15.8 cm,
(p.xiv) 17.5. Detail, silver cantharos from the Berthouville treasure, mid-
first century CE. 280
médailles et antiques, Bibliothèque nationale de France. Height 16 cm,
17.6. Silver cantharos from the Berthouville treasure, mid-first century
CE. 281
médailles et antiques, Bibliothèque nationale de France. Height 16 cm,
17.7. Drachm of Ainos with head of Hermes. Greek, late classical period,
about 357–342/1 BCE; Ainos mint, Thrace; silver. 19 mm dia., weight 3.99
gm. Die Axis: 12. Museum of Fine Arts, Boston. Theodora Wilbour Fund in
memory of Zoë Wilbour, 61.1189. 286
Photo © 2018 Museum of Fine Arts, Boston.
Whilst every effort has been made to secure permission to reproduce the
illustrations, we may have failed in a few cases to trace the copyright holders. If
contacted, the publisher will be pleased to rectify any omissions at the earliest
opportunity.
Page 4 of 4
List of Abbreviations


Print ISBN-13: 9780198777342
DOI: 10.1093/oso/9780198777342.001.0001
(p.xv) List of Abbreviations

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5–46.
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Page 9 of 11
Pauly-Wissowa, Real-Encyclopädie der Classischen

Altertumswissenschaft
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Page 11 of 11
List of Contributors


Print ISBN-13: 9780198777342
DOI: 10.1093/oso/9780198777342.001.0001
(p.xxiii) List of Contributors

Simone Beta, Associate Professor of Classical Philology at the

University of Siena.
Thomas Biggs, Assistant Professor of Classics at the University of
Georgia.
Sandra Blakely, Associate Professor of Classics at Emory University.
Ljuba Merlina Bortolani, Akademische Mitarbeiterin at Heidelberg
University.
Andrea Capra, Associate Professor (Reader) of Classics at Durham
University.
Sergio Casali, Associate Professor at the University of Rome ‘Tor
Vergata.’
Jenny Strauss Clay, William R. Kenan Professor of Classics Emerita
at the University of Virginia.
Hélène Collard, Postdoctoral Researcher F.R.S.–FNRS (Belgian
National Fund of Research) at the University of Liège.
Joseph Farrell, Professor of Classical Studies and Mark K. and
Esther W. Watkins Professor in the Humanities at the University of
Pennsylvania.
S. J. Harrison, Professor of Latin Literature and Fellow and Tutor in
Classics at Corpus Christi College, University of Oxford.
Carolyn M. Laferrière, Postdoctoral Associate in Ancient and
Premodern Cultures and Civilizations, with ARCHAIA, at Yale
University.
Jennifer Larson, Professor of Classics at Kent State University.
Duncan E. MacRae, Assistant Professor of Classics at the University
of California, Berkeley.
Page 1 of 2
List of Contributors
John F. Miller, Arthur F. and Marian W. Stocker Professor of Classics

at the University of Virginia.
Erin K. Moodie, Assistant Professor of Classics at Purdue University.
Micah Young Myers, Assistant Professor of Classics at Kenyon
College.
Cecilia Nobili, Research Fellow at the University of Milan.
Nicola Reggiani, Ricercatore di Papirologia at the University di
Parma.
(p.xxiv) H. A. Shapiro, W. H. Collins Vickers Professor of
Archaeology Emeritus at Johns Hopkins University.
Athanassios Vergados, Reader in Greek at Newcastle University.
Henk Versnel, Professor of Ancient History Emeritus at Leiden
University.
Jenny Wallensten, Director of the Swedish Institute at Athens.
Page 2 of 2
Introduction


Print ISBN-13: 9780198777342
DOI: 10.1093/oso/9780198777342.001.0001
Introduction
Jenny Strauss Clay
John F. Miller
DOI:10.1093/oso/9780198777342.003.0001
Abstract and Keywords

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

at the University of Virginia in the Spring of 2014. It consists of twenty original
contributions, and brings together a wide range of disciplines, including Greek
and Roman literature (epic, lyric, and drama), epigraphy, cult and religion, vase
painting, and sculpture. Such an interdisciplinary approach is not only
appropriate, but essential in investigating such a multi-faceted and elusive
character. Moreover, in dealing with this patron divinity of exchange, commerce,
and dialogue, we hope ourselves to encourage dialogue between Latinists and
Hellenists as well as scholars of literary and material cultures. Pursuing this
elusive divinity requires multiple skills and multiple approaches.
Page 1 of 11
Introduction
Of all the divinities of classical antiquity, the Greek Hermes (Mercury in his
Roman alter ego) is the most versatile, enigmatic, complex, and ambiguous. The
runt of the Olympian litter, he is the god of lies and tricks, yet is also kindly to
mankind and a bringer of luck; his functions embrace both the marking of
boundaries and their transgression, as well as commerce, lucre and theft,
rhetoric, and practical jokes; he also plays the role of mediator between all
realms of human and divine activity, embracing heaven, earth, and the
Netherworld. His assimilation to the Egyptian Thoth and Hermes Trismegistus,
the diffusion of his cult beyond Greece and Rome, and his role in late antique
and medieval allegory demonstrate how his multifarious aspects continuously
evolved and changed in different periods and environments. While we do not
pretend to cover exhaustively the myriad aspects of Hermes/Mercury—origins,
patronage of the gymnasium, relation to the other trickster figures—
nevertheless, we hope at least to track the god’s footprints in many domains that
reflect his variegated nature.
Despite his appeal and iconic presence in marketing everything from flowers to
silk scarves, the figure of Hermes/Mercury has been understudied, although
recent work—including commentaries on the Homeric Hymn to Hermes by A.
Vergados (2012) and N. Richardson (2010), as well as D. Jaillard’s study (p.2)
(Configurations d’Hermès. Une ‘théogonie hermaïque,’ 2007), Chapter 4 in H.
Versnel’s Coping with the Gods (2011), and Jenny Strauss Clay’s chapter on the
Homeric Hymn to Hermes in Politics of Olympus: Gods and Men in the Major
Homeric Hymns (1989)—has focused attention on this many-faceted figure.
Older studies on disparate aspects of the god include N. O. Brown, Hermes the
Thief (1947), L. Kahn’s structuralist interpretation (Hermès passe, 1978), P.
Zanker (1965) on iconography, and B. Combet Farnoux, Mercure romain (1980),
as well as individual articles on specific manifestations of the god—e.g. as an
avatar of Augustus (P. A. Miller 1991). But up to now there has been no attempt
to discuss in a coherent manner the surprising variety of his literary, cultic, and
artistic manifestations. Our volume is a beginning and, in bringing together
scholars with varied approaches from different disciplines, it will, we hope, offer
a model for future investigations.
Here we preview the volume by pinpointing some important aspects of Hermes

and Mercury as suggested by our nine groupings of papers that organize the
book. In doing so, for the most part we use the Homeric Hymn to Hermes as a
touchstone text, undoubtedly the most sustained—and comic—presentation of
this complex and endlessly fascinating figure whom we will pursue in his many
manifestations. Our aim is to invite consideration of how the papers in each
cluster are, so to speak, in dialogue with one another against the background of
the god’s manifold dimensions as adumbrated in the Hymn. Along the way, other
connections among the chapters will emerge.
Page 2 of 11
Introduction
The Homeric Hymn begins from Hermes’ birth in a shadowy cave on remote
Cyllene, fruit of Zeus’ secret affair with the nymph Maia (13–16):
καὶ τότ’ ἐγείνατο παῖδα πολύτροπον, αἱμυλομήτην,

ληϊστῆρ’, ἐλατῆρα βοῶν, ἡγήτορ’ ὀνείρων,
νυκτὸς ὀπωπητῆρα, πυληδόκον, ὃς τάχ’ ἔμελλεν
ἀμφανέειν κλυτὰ ἔργα μετ’ ἀθανάτοισι θεοῖσιν.
And then she bore a child, polytropic, with deceptive cunning,

A thief, cattle rustler, leader of dreams,
A nocturnal spy, lurking at gates, who soon was going to
Reveal famous deeds among the immortal gods.
Mention of the god’s parentage here is more than the usual opening hymnic
gambit, for Maia and Zeus are the chief characters in the featured story, along
with Hermes’ older brother Apollo. This narrative is very much a family affair.
The infant divinity’s ultimate goal is, from his lowly beginning in that Arcadian
cave, to reclaim his patrimony and to be acknowledged as a child of Zeus,
worthy of joining the august company of the gods on Olympus and acquiring the
prerogatives appropriate to his status. His mother figures importantly in an
intimate scene where she upbraids the truant for his nocturnal mischief and he
in turn responds by boldly announcing that his behavior aims to improve (p.3)
conditions for them both. Foremost among the precocious deity’s “famous
deeds” on the day of his birth is the theft of Apollo’s cattle, which precipitates
the Hymn’s crisis, only finally resolved by Zeus, as both the ruling arbiter of
Olympus and the boys’ father. He orders his two “beautiful children” (397) to
settle their dispute, and in the end, once the two are reconciled, “lord Apollo
showed his love for the son of Maia with every sort of affection, and the son of
Kronos added his favor.”
The papers in Part I reflect and expand upon these familial relationships. The
Hymn’s sympathetic portrayal of Maia—otherwise an obscure figure in ancient
literature and art—forms the background for H. A. Shapiro’s reading of Hermes’
mother on ancient vases, where the company of Hermes helps to identify her. He
pours a libation in her presence, no doubt as a preliminary to leaving home, and
his beardless condition marks him out as young. The animals in such scenes,
recalling the sphere of influence granted to Hermes at the end of the Hymn
(569–71), Shapiro suggests may derive from an association with Maia as
resident of rustic Arcadia. Elsewhere Apollo plays the cithara for his brother
Hermes while the woman holding his signature kerykeion must be his mother.
Hermes’ stately demeanor in escorting his mother to the wedding of Peleus and
Thetis on the François Vase is sharply at variance with the mischievous child of
the Homeric Hymn, as is the presence of Maia at such a high-profile event
among the major divinities—in the Hymn she shuns the company of the blessed
gods, staying in the dark cave where she and Zeus made love (5–7).
Page 3 of 11
Introduction
The Hymn’s central conflict, arising from Hermes’ theft of Apollo’s cattle,
Jennifer Larson insightfully maps onto the myth of Heracles attempting to wrest
away Apollo’s tripod. These two younger sons of Zeus only gradually gain
acknowledgement as Olympian divinities, after each challenges his older sibling
Apollo by trying to steal from him, and their confrontation is eventually mediated
by Zeus. In both cases the younger brother must restore the stolen property,
reconcile with his fraternal adversary, and continue in a subordinate rank to
Apollo. Larson concludes that this remarkable nexus of similarities (among other
things) suggests that the composer of the Hymn to Hermes was reacting to the
myth of Heracles and Apollo’s tripod.
Hermes as the father of Pan is examined by Carolyn Laferrière in the context of

late classical reliefs dedicated to Pan and the Nymphs. In the Homeric Hymn to
Pan the nymphs who dance in Pan’s company sing a song in honor of his father
Hermes, which depicts Hermes’ legitimizing presentation of the goatish son to
his fellow immortals. Against such a horizon of expectation, viewers would
comprehend the visual theology of the Attic reliefs, in particular the connection
of both Hermes and Pan with the cult of the Nymphs and how both father and
son serve as mediators between mortal worshippers and the Nymphs. The
otherwise surprising appearance of Hermes in the reliefs thus makes perfect
sense.
(p.4) Hermes’ role as a trickster figure at the heart of the Homeric Hymn is
well represented in the two papers in Part II. The god’s polytropic nature, his
thievish character and interest in profit, seductive rhetoric, and inventiveness
are already on display in Homer. Likewise, his philanthropic side as well as his
all too human concern with eating and other bodily functions find a place in his
Homeric appearances. Jenny Strauss Clay first analyzes Hermes’ role in the
Iliad, especially Priam’s encounter with the god in Book 24. Like a psychopomp,
he escorts the old king through the Trojan no-man’s-land to Achilles’
encampment, thus demonstrating his ability to cross boundaries and penetrate
forbidden territory, as he does in his Hymn, as well as his inclination for
nocturnal adventures. But the bulk of her paper explores the affinities between
Hermes and Odysseus in the Odyssey; both the god and the hero share the
epithet polytropos, and Odysseus resembles his patron in his craftiness, whether
in making his raft or tricking the Cyclops, as well as in his deceptive speech that
charms his listeners. The interest Hermes shows for meat in the Hymn finds a
correspondence in Odysseus’ devotion to his belly; both of them, moreover, are
bent on profit. And if the hymnic Hermes manages to smuggle his way into
Olympus, his avatar Odysseus smuggles his way into the affections of the
Phaeacians and achieves his more terrestrial nostos.
The contribution by Andrea Capra and Cecilia Nobili also exploits the Homeric
Hymn to document an archaeology of iambus and Hermes as its first
practitioner. The various songs Hermes sings in the course of the Hymn and the
Page 4 of 11
Introduction
allusions to their sympotic setting provide archetypes of what will become the
iambic genre with its competitive, provocative, humorous, and sometimes erotic
character. The pleasure and charm of Hermes’ performances correspond to the
desired features of sympotic poetry, as does his playful banter and occasional
scurrilous behavior. The poet Hipponax constructs his iambic persona as an
intimate and almost as an embodiment of Hermes’ traits; the poet’s prayer to the
god with its jocular word play incorporates a Hermetic interest in cloaks and
gain. Combining high and low and sometimes using parodic language, the
iambist seems to imitate Hermes’ own range, which extends from self-serving
theogony to youthful exchanges of insult. When Hipponax is reborn in his
Callimachean guise, he has shed his more obstreperous Hermetic features. As
Capra and Nobili note, the decline of iambus coincides with the eclipse of Old
Comedy.
Their observations lead into the next part (III), which focuses on the role of
Hermes in comedy, where he exhibits many of the features of the iambic Hermes
as well as those that he enacts in the Homeric Hymn. In outlining the varied
manifestations of Hermes in Old Comedy, Simone Beta attests to the continuities
in his presentation on the comic stage, both as a character in the plot and,
intriguingly, in his possible role as a talking statue, the Herms that dotted the
Athenian landscape and were familiar to the audience in the theater (p.5) of
Dionysus. The well-known traits of the god are on display even in some of our
more fragmentary texts: his lowly status among the Olympians, his role as door-
keeper and glutton, god of luck and thievery, of verbal tricks and mediation, as
well as his earthier features on view in his images. Prominent in Aristophanes’
Peace, Hermes plays the doorman of Olympus, easily bribed by the offer of meat,
and hence the crucial mediator between heaven and earth in liberating
imprisoned Peace (Hermes the body-snatcher!) to dwell among mankind. In
Wealth Hermes, who himself is often enough considered a giver of wealth and
prosperity, is literally brought down to earth by the distress of the Olympian
gods and his own hunger when Plutos regains his sight and therefore ceases to
act capriciously. Intriguingly, Beta explores the various possibilities of staging
Herms in comedy, where on occasion they seem to play a comic oracular role,
perhaps to be connected with the god’s relation to the Bee oracle in the Homeric
Hymn.
In the following contribution, Erin K. Moodie extends the discussion of comedy

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

Philippi, in which Horace fought against the forces of Octavian, as well as on
another momentous occasion. The lyric poet projects a particular affinity
between himself and the inventor of the lyre. On the other hand, Mercury’s more
elevated associations like the lyre and his guiding of souls to the Underworld are
counterbalanced in Horace’s poetry by more humble roles, such as erotic
enabler and patron of money-making—the latter most conspicuous in the Satires.
Mapping these characteristics in the Horatian oeuvre, Harrison suggests,
reflects the trajectory of both the poet’s life and his literary career.
The second paper in Part V (Mediator), by Sergio Casali, explores Mercury’s

appearances in Virgil’s Aeneid, where he three times intervenes in the episode at
Carthage. Jupiter sends him in the first instance to arrange for a hospitable
welcome for Aeneas and his men, but then for a second time to remind the
delaying Trojan hero of his mission, a message reinforced by a third visit at
Mercury’s own initiative. Dispatch of the messenger-god richly recalls similar
scenes in Greek epic, and Casali underscores the appropriateness of the god of
boundary-crossings to be so deeply implicated in such (p.7) intertextuality. The
Vergilian Mercury finds counterparts not only in the Hermes of Homer and
Apollonius, but in the latter’s Eros and Thetis, and in Athena in the Odyssey.
Particularly complex is the dynamic in Mercury’s third visitation, to Aeneas in a
dream. In urging the hero to leave Carthage, he seems to reveal his trait as a
liar when he claims that Dido is plotting against him. But, Casali argues, the
intertexts that align Dido with the murderous Medea and the vengeful Aeetes
suggest that Mercury is actually telling the truth as regards the dangerousness
of the jilted Carthaginian queen.
The representations of Mercury were heavily Hellenized in all spheres of Roman

culture. Horace’s hymn to Mercury (Odes 1.10), for instance, enumerates roles
familiar from the Hellenic tradition, while the divinity appears in Virgil’s Aeneid
basically like the envoy Hermes seen in Greek epic. Yet Mercury’s most
distinctive Roman association was with trade and commerce. Hermes embodied
exchange as far back as the Homeric Hymn, but the specific connection with
mercantile activity seems to be the principal characteristic of his Roman
counterpart. The collegium of merchants oversaw Mercury’s annual festival on
the Ides of May, the anniversary of his temple’s dedication on the Aventine Hill
in 495 BCE. Such commercial connections explain his place in the lectisternia of
399 and 217 BCE, respectively, alongside Neptune (= sea transport) and Ceres
(= trade in grain). In Roman art Mercury typically carries a money bag
suggestive of business transactions. In Plautus’ Amphitryon, set in Thebes, the
trickster messenger-god common in Greek culture identifies himself to the
audience in the first instance as the Roman patron of business. In Horace’s
Satires, too, Mercury is prominently figured in commercial terms.
Page 7 of 11
Introduction
The papers in Part VI deal with Mercury’s affiliations with commerce. Duncan E.
MacRae offers a fresh reading of the images of Mercury found at the shops of
Pompeii. Not the focus of cult activity, these depictions were part of the lived
religion of the city. The images draw on classical and Hellenistic modes of
representing the god but are squarely oriented toward the Roman divinity’s
relation to commerce—in fact, they materialize him as such. Mercury appears on
the façades of Pompeii’s commercial properties more frequently than any other
deity. His presence there, as well as sometimes at the counter inside—and
depicted in motion—mirrors the action of the shopper visiting the taberna, and
so links the human experience of shopping with the god of business. In his
phallic form, Mercury also protects the shop.
Thomas Biggs considers Mercury’s expanding roles beyond commerce in the

historical circumstances of Rome’s first great war against Carthage, specifically
the god’s connection with Rome’s ascendance in the maritime realm during that
conflict. Biggs’ point of departure is the early epic poet Naevius’ account (known
from Servius) of Mercury building a ship for Aeneas. Comparison with hints at
such a non-Virgilian Mercury in later literature and art suggests that in Naevius’
Bellum Punicum the god actually led Aeneas on his sea-voyage from Troy to Italy.
This maritime Mercury is furthermore (p.8) expressive of the positive valuation
of Rome’s sea power in the wake of its victory over Carthage, before elite
attitudes modulated toward a denunciation of maritime trade in the subsequent
era.
Our Part VII focuses on some aspects of Hermes in relation to religion and cult.
No discussion of Hermes can avoid the question of the meaning of the ubiquitous
herms that dotted the Greek landscape. In her contribution, “Communicating
with the Divine: Herms in Attic Vase Painting,” Hélène Collard approaches her
subject via vase painting and notes the high frequency of depictions of herms
and their many occurrences with human subjects, often in the context of ritual
scenes such as sacrifice. On this basis, she argues that the large number of
herms on Attic vase painting does not reflect the popularity of cult of Hermes,
but rather symbolizes the god’s role as intermediary and messenger, not only
between the gods and human beings, but also as the divinity that conveys and
communicates the prayers and desires of mortals to the gods. Collard’s
discussion brings out the pervasive importance of this mediating aspect of the
god not only in literature, but also in visual media.
Jenny Wallensten’s “Hermes as Visible in Votive Inscriptions” surveys the

substantial number of votive dedications to Hermes from the archaic through
the Hellenistic periods. These inscriptions embrace a wide range of dedicators
from all social strata, with a high frequency of dedications connected with
commerce, the protection of travelers and magistrates, and with the gymnasium
of which Hermes was a patron (although this function does not appear in the
Homeric Hymn), often in conjunction with Heracles. Striking is the absence of
Page 8 of 11
Introduction
dedications by women, although there are traces of Hermes’ connection to

Aphrodite. Hermes’ bestriding the boundaries between god and mortal, already
prominent in the Iliad and central to the Homeric Hymn, emerges in an
intriguing fashion in the Hellenistic period where mortal rulers are identified as
a New Hermes.
In the Odyssey, Hermes flies off to Calypso’s island to convey Zeus’ orders; he
also shows up on Circe’s island to provide protective magic against the nymph’s
wiles. Sandra Blakeley argues that Hermes, the god from Cyllene in landlocked
Arcadia, has an unexpected connection with another island, Samothrace, and
with its mysteries that promised protection for sailors. Untangling a complex
knot of cultic, archaeological, and literary evidence, Blakely links the Cyllenian
god to other local ithyphallic divinities of the north-eastern Aegean, including
Priapus, whose cults focused on ensuring safety at sea. Thus the god who is
traditionally identified with exchange and the protection of travelers becomes a
guardian of maritime commerce and promises his devotees safe passage.
Two contributions (Part VIII) deal with papyrus materials from Egypt, involving
hymns associated with Hermes, and once again attest to his multiple facets. In
both cases, the authors question conventional wisdom. Ljuba (p.9) Merlina
Bortolani’s “The Greek Magical Hymn to Hermes: Syncretism or Disguise? The
Hellenization of Thoth in Graeco-Egyptian Magical Literature” examines a
hexametrical hymn from the collection of Greek magical papyri of which several
versions are preserved. The invocation, with its lengthy list of the god’s
attributes, has been related to Gnostic or Hermetic religio-philosophic circles in
late Roman Egypt. But Bortolani’s analysis reveals instead that the hymn reflects
the syncretism characteristic of an earlier period in which features of the
Egyptian Thoth and the Greek Hermes were combined to assimilate traditional
Egyptian religious lore to a Hellenized population.
Athanassios Vergados’ piece on “Hermes and the Figs” takes on a parodic

encomium of the fig in the hymnic style that was rescued from the dust bins of
Oxyrhychus. Both Hermes and his Egyptian avatar Thoth had long associations
with figs and honey, much as Athena had with the olive. Vergados demonstrates
that this hymn of praise of the fig, far from being a naïve schoolboy exercise as
is usually thought, reveals an acquaintance with the rhetorical practices of the
encomium and quite possibly a knowledge of the Homeric Hymn to Hermes. The
composition manages to incorporate many aspects of the god and may in fact
refer to a tradition alluded to in the Hymn: the practice of competition in song,
especially of praise, that was the hallmark of the Greek symposium.
In our two final contributions (Part IX), the infant trickster god who was born in
a remote cave, who at first is even unsure of his divine status, and who must
finagle his way to Olympus, reveals unexpected cosmic dimensions. First, Nicola
Reggiani in “Rethinking Hermes” argues that over-emphasis on Hermes’ role as
Page 9 of 11
Introduction
herder and fertility god has overshadowed the centrality of his function as
distributor of shares (moirai) and hence his involvement with Fate (Moira) and
prophecy that he seeks to acquire from Apollo. These also relate to the god’s
mediating and communicating prerogatives as facilitator and suppressor of
speech, as symbolized by his scepter. These factors contribute, according to
Reggiani, to the god’s engagement with both human and cosmic justice.
In a wide-ranging discussion, Henk Versnel’s “Great Hermes” traces Hermes’

surprising trajectory (largely in the post-classical period) from his lowly origins
to mighty Lord and Master of the universe. Versnel attributes the ascent of the
quondam runt of the Olympian litter to several converging factors: first, the
elevation of local or secondary divinities in the context of a shift in religious
mentalities evident in so-called confession inscriptions, where the god is
implored to forgive or thanked for forgiving various transgressions. Second,
Hermes participates in a general inflationary trend of hymnic praise in the
Hellenistic period. Finally, the same period bears witness to the growing
influence of Hermes Chthonios, who evolved from the god’s role as divine
messenger, and is especially prominent in magical and curse texts.
(p.10) Tracking Hermes from the naughty babe in his cradle to awesome
kosmokrator, from shadowy Cyllene to Hellenized Egypt and Augustan Rome,
requires us to follow a zig-zag path, tracing continuities that cross generic and
temporal boundaries, but also to encounter detours and byways and the
transformations of our wayward god who easily adjusts to new settings and
easily morphs into Mercury and Thoth. The contributions in the present volume
by no means exhaust his enigmatic yet captivating tracks, but we hope we have
erected signposts for further pursuits.
Bibliography
Bibliography references:
Brown, N. O. 1947. Hermes the Thief: The Evolution of a Myth. Madison.
Combet Farnoux, B. 1980. Mercure romain: Le culte public de Mercure et la

fonction mercantile à Rome de la République archaïque à l’époque augustéenne.
Rome.
Jaillard, D. 2007. Configurations d’Hermès. Une ‘théogonie hermaïque.’ Liège.
Kahn, L. 1978. Hermès passe ou les ambiguités de la communication. Paris.
Miller, P. A. 1991. “Horace, Mercury, and Augustus, or the Poetic Ego of Odes 1–
3.” AJP 112: 365–88.
Richardson, N. 2010. Three Homeric Hymns: To Apollo, Hermes, and Aphrodite.

Cambridge.
Page 10 of 11
Introduction
Strauss Clay, J. 1989. The Politics of Olympus: Gods and Men in the Major
Homeric Hymns. Princeton. 2nd ed. Bristol 2016.
Vergados, A. 2012. The “Homeric Hymn to Hermes.” Introduction, Text and

Commentary. Berlin.
Versnel, H. 2011. Coping with the Gods: Wayward Readings in Greek Theology.
Leiden.
Zanker, P. 1965. Wandel der Hermesgestalt in der attischen Vasenmalerei. Bonn.
Page 11 of 11
Like Mother, Like Son?


Print ISBN-13: 9780198777342
DOI: 10.1093/oso/9780198777342.001.0001

Hermes and Maia in Text and Image
H. Alan Shapiro
DOI:10.1093/oso/9780198777342.003.0002

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

One of the most unusual Attic black-figure vases in the entire corpus is a small
hydria (only about ten inches tall) in the collections of the Petit Palais in Paris
(Figs. 2.1–3). The vase traveled a few years ago to the J. Paul Getty Museum for
the landmark exhibition on special techniques in Attic pottery called “The Colors
of Clay.”1 Among the several techniques that make this vase special is the
application of a creamy white slip to the whole body, an experiment that began
in the period of our hydria, the penultimate decade of the sixth century.2
Furthermore, there is a modeled lion’s head at the top end of the vertical handle
and a mold-made clay appliqué of a palmette at the lower end of this handle,
Page 1 of 18
features that suggest the potter was inspired by vessels in precious metals,
silver or bronze.3
Of special interest is the fact

that, while Hermes himself is
ubiquitous on Greek vases, this
is one of a tiny number that
show him with his mother Maia,
whom the painter has clearly
labeled with an inscription that
runs vertically alongside her at
the left, behind her back. (The
inscription naming Hermes is
similarly placed.) Maia is
elegantly dressed in red and
black, with a red wreath
gathering her hair into a
krobylos. She is also bejeweled,
befitting a daughter of Atlas
and one of the Pleiades.4 The
use of “second white,” whiter
white than (p.14) the creamy
ground, to highlight her face
and neck, hands and feet, is
Fig. 2.1. Athenian black-figure hydria.
another special technique.5
Hermes and Maia. c.520 BCE. Paris, Petit
Hermes’ appearance is more
Palais 310.
unexpected: a beardless youth,
when the god is almost always
bearded on black-figure vases;
and wearing the “civilian dress”
of a striped himation over a thin
chiton. He sports a red wreath like that of his mother. There are no winged boots
or winged cap or short chitoniskos, all typical features of Hermes’ iconography
in this period.6 Only the kerykeion is a standard attribute. Maia holds out a
wreath in her left hand, while Hermes reaches out a phiale as if to pour a
libation.
The other inscription of note on the vase is an unusual kalos-inscription—kalos

Karystios—unusual because the name occurs on only one other vase, an
alabastron in Six’s technique attributed to the painter Psiax.7 Thus we have two
contemporary vases in unusual, experimental techniques, both (p.15) praising
a youth whose name suggests he could be a visitor to Athens from Euboean
Karystos. In fact the alabastron was found at Eretria on the same island.
Page 2 of 18
Can the Homeric Hymn to Hermes, whose unknown date cannot be too far from
that of these two vases,8 help us better understand the unique scene on the
hydria in the Petit Palais? There is no narrative here, such as Hermes’ theft of
Apollo’s cattle (which, as we shall see, did interest the vase-painters), but I think
there are hints. Hermes’ unusual beardlessness is surely meant to underline his
role as young son, or Maiados, as the Hymn several times expresses it (1, 73, et
al.). His outfit would have conveyed to the viewer that this mother and son,
though divine, could be models for any aristocratic Athenian family. And the
relationship of Maia and Hermes in the Hymn is remarkably “human”—that is,
they talk to each other in a manner that would be easily recognizable in many
contemporary families. I am thinking in particular of the scene in which Maia
first reproaches her son for sneaking home late at night and he then teases her
about staying cooped up in a dark cave when she could be partying with the
other gods on Mt. Olympos, as the gregarious Hermes likes to do (155–72; cf. 5–
6). Or the fact that Hermes’ first performance on the newly invented lyre takes
the form of a sly hymn in praise of the clandestine affair of his mother and father
(52–62). Since the pouring of a libation from a phiale often marks a departure
from home,9 we might imagine that Hermes is taking leave of his mother for that
very reason, to return to Olympos and resume the messenger duties implied in
the kerykeion. The wreath in Maia’s hand could be a parting gift, even
something she made herself.10
Fig. 2.2. Detail of the hydria in Fig. 2.1:

lion.
Page 3 of 18
The much debated verses at the Photo © Petit Palais/Roger-Viollet.

very end of the Hymn seem to
say that, in compensation for
yielding his invention, the chelis
lyre, to Apollo, Hermes will be
master of a whole range of
animals: wild ones like the lion
and domestic ones such as the
ram and the goat, and many
more (567–73).11 The first three
are the very animals depicted
on our vase: a big, fierce lion
painted under the vertical
handle (Fig. 2.2) and a small,
friendly one modeled at the top
of this handle, as if peering into
the jug (Fig. 2.1), a slender ram
walking slowly beneath one of
the horizontal handles (its head
barely visible at the right in Fig.
2.1);12 and a billy goat with long
antlers and beard in similar
stately movement beneath the
other horizontal handle (Fig. Fig. 2.3. Detail of the hydria in Fig. 2.1:
2.3). Could it be (p.16) that goat.
Hermes’ mastery over the Photo © Petit Palais/Roger-Viollet.
animal kingdom came at least in
part through his mother, a
goddess inhabiting a cave on
Mt. Kyllene in Arkadia, a region
associated with pastures and the animal kingdom more generally?13
2. Tracking Maia and Hermes

Of the few vases that depict Hermes with a woman who is likely to be Maia, even
if unlabeled, there is a marked correlation with one or another of these animals.
Thus, on an amphora by the Swing Painter, Hermes, carrying a ram
(“kriophoros”), moves off to the left but turns to look back at a woman who (p.
17) I think must be his mother.14 On a somewhat later neck-amphora, we see a
different version of the god taking his leave of his mother, who holds out a fruit
to him—perhaps provisions for the road?15 The ram stands between them, and it
is unclear if he is going or staying behind. But it is clear that they are a
threesome, part of an extended family. We can make an instructive comparison
with the scene on the other side of the vase, Peleus delivering the infant Achilles
to Chiron, with a white dog in roughly the spot occupied by the ram on the other
Page 4 of 18
side. The dog is a hint at the bond that will develop between Chiron and Achilles,
as the future hero is initiated into the art of hunting. Chiron, like Maia, is a
denizen of a mountain cave.
The notion that Hermes derived his mastery over wild animals from his mother
leads me to a new interpretation of an enigmatic vase in the collection at Yale
University (Figs. 2.4–5).16 On this black-figure lekythos of about 500, (p.18)
Apollo drives a chariot drawn by no fewer than four different beasts: lion,
panther, boar, and perhaps a wolf. Scholars have tried to connect the scene with
the myths of heroes, Admetos or Kadmos, who were said to have yoked strange
combinations of beasts to a chariot.17 But the characters here seem to (p.19)
be all divinities: Apollo and his sister Artemis, Hermes, and, at the right, a
female who has sometimes been called Leto, to complete the “Delian Triad” with
her twin offspring. But I am struck by this goddess’s gestures, gently (p.20)
reaching out to the wild beasts with one hand, as if to calm them and bring them
to order, and signaling to Hermes and Apollo with the other, outstretched hand.
Could she be Maia, who magically soothes the beasts at the behest of her son, so
that his brother Apollo may show his own prowess in driving such a bizarre
variation on the usual quadriga?
Page 5 of 18
The labeled Maia on the Petit Fig. 2.4. Athenian black-figure lekythos.
Palais hydria with which we Chariot of Apollo, with Hermes. c.500
started (Fig. 2.1) is one of only BCE. Yale University Art Gallery
two certain depictions in Attic 1913.111.
art—we shall come (p.21) to Photo: Museum, courtesy of Susan B.
the other presently—and the Matheson.
small corpus I have just
presented comprises most of
the “probables.” There are a
few more, where the presence
of animals is not a clue, but the
context suggests we may be
dealing with Hermes and his
mother. A black-figure hydria in
Berlin depicts Apollo playing his
kithara for Hermes and a
woman who I believe is Maia.18
Apollo’s entourage of Muses, as
well as Dionysos, accompanies
them. Not by accident, the
shoulder of the vase includes
Hermes observing Herakles
wrestle the Nemean Lion. A
contemporary neck-amphora at
the Hearst Castle in San
Simeon is once again focused
on Apollo Kitharoidos, here
accompanied by a bull (Fig.
2.6).19 He is framed by pairs of
male and female divinities—the
males are clearly Dionysos and
Hermes, but who are the
females? I would like to think Fig. 2.5. View of the lekythos in Fig. 2.4:
that each god is with his Maia (?).
mother. Dionysos’ mother Photo: Museum, courtesy of Susan B.
Semele was, of course, Matheson.
incinerated before the god’s
birth. But she later became a
goddess on Olympos with the
new name Thyone.20 Unusually, here, Maia holds her son’s kerykeion.
Page 6 of 18
3. Hermes, Herakles, and

Family
A handsome and unusual hydria
in the British Museum belongs
to a significant group of images
in both black- and red-figure of
Herakles reclining like a
banqueter and attended by the
goddess Athena.21 I believe the
scenes are set on earth, not
Olympos, and show a kind of
prelude to the hero’s ascent to
Mt. Olympos, as he rests from
his earthly labors and prepares
for his apotheosis under the
watchful eye of his divine
sponsor. What sets this version
apart is the presence of
Alkmene, Herakles’ mother,
who appears only here. Though
Maia is not present, her son
Fig. 2.6. Athenian black-figure neck-
Hermes is, beside Athena. And
amphora. Apollo between Dionysos/
Maia might be the extra
Thyone and Hermes/Maia. c.520 BCE.
goddess on another version of
San Simeon, Hearst Castle inv. 5563.
this subject, on a neck-amphora
Photo by Victoria Garagliano/©
once on the German art
Hearst Castle®/CA State Parks.
market.22 Yet another example
of the banqueting Herakles
attended by Athena decorates a
fine, recently published hydria
at Fordham University.23 Hermes and Iolaos frame the scene. The subsidiary
scene on the (p.22) shoulder complements the theme by showing the first of
Herakles’ labors, wrestling the Nemean Lion. Hermes and Iolaos are once again
present, but, unusually, a symmetrical pair of women follows the action with
keen interest. One wonders if they could be the mothers of the hero (Alkmene)
and of the god (Maia). The gathering of the gods on Olympos, or
Götterversammlung, on yet another black-figure hydria shows Athena presenting
her protégé Herakles to Hermes and a goddess who could well be the latter’s
mother.24
This cluster of images may shed some light on what may be the only attestation
of the worship of Maia in Attika. The well-known fourth-century inscription
commonly referred to as the Salaminoi decree contains long lists of cults for
which the genos of the Salaminioi was responsible.25 At Porthmos, near Sounion,
are mentioned sacrifices to Herakles and members of his family: Iolaos, his
Page 7 of 18
nephew and frequent sidekick, and his mother Alkmene (lines 84–6). In the midst
of these is listed a sacrifice to Maia (line 86). A few scholars, especially Martin
Nilsson, have been puzzled by the inclusion of Hermes’ mother amidst the family
of Herakles and proposed to read maia with lower-case “m,” an unspecified
nurse.26 But the iconography going back to the sixth century suggests that
Hermes (and probably his mother) had an especially close association with
Herakles and his family,27 to which the cluster of sacrifices alludes. Hermes and
Herakles recline together like boon companions,28 and Hermes often serves as
an escort to the hero on his journey to Olympos. We may be reminded of the
famous cup signed by Sosias, on which Hermes Kriophoros, along with Athena
and a goddess who may be Artemis, accompany an especially modest Herakles
as he crosses the threshold of Olympos and greets the divine father he has never
met.29
A most unusual pot attributed to a painter known for his (perhaps inadvertent)
sense of humor is the large amphora by the Nikoxenos Painter in Munich, which
most likely has a unique depiction of Hermes and his mother (Fig. 2.7).30 At first
glance, we might have thought that both sides of the vase comprise one big
Götterversammlung, a popular motif in this period toward the very end of the
sixth century, as for example on the Sosias cup just mentioned.31 But then we
notice that Hermes appears on both sides of the amphora, which is not a slip the
painters are apt to make, so a different reading (p.23) is needed. I believe the
one side shows an abbreviated Götterversammlung: Zeus and Hera attended by
Iris; Athena and Poseidon; and Hermes just arriving with a jaunty wave of the
hand. Of even greater interest is the juxtaposition at the far left of the other side
of the vase: Hermes holding the syrinx, his own invention, together with a
goddess who must be his mother (Fig. 2.7). A majestic Apollo kitharoidos in the
middle of the scene underlines the contrast between the rustic instrument of the
one, Hermes, and the noble instrument of his elder brother. Dionysos and a
maenad holding krotala (another humble instrument) fill out the scene, further
evidence that the setting is on earth, not Olympos. Hermes is without his
kerykeion here, but by the time he has arrived on Olympos, on the other side of
the vase, he has retrieved it, and also wears a proper winged traveling cap,
instead of the absurdly small petasos that makes him look like a bit of a mama’s
boy.32
Page 8 of 18
(p.24) 4. Hermes the Cattle

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

Attic cup is a Caeretan (that is,
Etruscan) hydria of about 530–
30 with the baby Hermes as Fig. 2.7. Athenian red-figure amphora.
34 Detail of Hermes and Maia. c.510 BCE.
cattle thief. As the young god
feigns sleep or ignorance, a Munich, Antikensammlungen 2304.
lively debate ensues above him: After Knauss (2012) 166. By
Apollo remonstrating to Maia permission of the Staatliche
and a bearded male who is most Antikensammlungen und Glyptothek,
likely her lover Zeus.35 Munich.
5. Maia’s Entry into Greek Art

When we look for the earliest
secure depiction of Maia in
Greek art, it may come as no surprise that it appears on a famous Attic vase that
is known for a whole laundry list of “firsts,” namely, the François Vase in
Florence. This volute-krater is dated to about 570 BCE and signed by Ergotimos
as potter and Kleitias as painter.36 Among the long row of chariots bringing the
Olympian gods to the wedding of Peleus and Thetis is one in which Hermes
escorts his mother, both of them labeled (Fig. 2.8). Clearly Kleitias did not know
Page 9 of 18
the tradition that Maia shunned the company of the other gods out of shame that
she was carrying on an illicit affair with Zeus, who would make regular secret
visits to her cave (Hymn to Hermes 6–7). The pairing of mother and son might
seem like an obvious one, since neither of them has a steady partner like most of
the pairs in the other cars: Zeus and Hera, Poseidon and Amphitrite, Doris and
Nereus, or even that other illicit couple, Aphrodite and Ares.37 We might (p.25)
even think that Hermes has coaxed his mother from her cave for this special
occasion, the most glittering wedding in antiquity.38
Some forty-five years ago, the

British Museum’s acquisition of
the great dinos signed by
Sophilos, made about a decade
before the François Vase, gave
clear evidence that Kleitias was
not the first to make this
wedding the subject of an
especially ambitious
composition.39 His departures
from Sophilos’ cast of
characters, evident in ways
both striking and subtle Fig. 2.8. Athenian black-figure volute-
throughout the two friezes, is krater (“François Vase”). Detail of chariot
perhaps nowhere more of Hermes and Maia, with the Moirai. c.
revealing than in the treatment 570 BCE. Florence, Museo Nazionale
of Hermes.40 Sophilos had Archaeologico 4209.
paired Hermes with his brother Photo courtesy of the National
Apollo, the latter depicted as Archaeological Museum of Florence.
(p.26) kitharoidos, Hermes in
his short chitoniskos and jaunty
cap. The contrast is so glaring
that it is almost as if Hermes is simply acting as charioteer for his far more
distinguished elder brother, whose music will entertain the gods assembled at
the feast (Iliad 24.62–3).
Kleitias’ version is altogether different, presenting a dignified Hermes with long,

elaborately coiffed hair and long robes, a fitting escort for his equally elegant
mother. This unique pairing of mother and son has another meaning as well. The
larger scene is all about motherhood, about a goddess, Thetis, who will bear the
greatest of the heroes, Achilles, something both painters, Sophilos and Kleitias,
were keenly aware of, though they treat the motif differently. Leto, for example,
is up front, on foot, on the Sophilos dinos, along with other motherly figures like
Demeter and Chariklo, the wife of Chiron.41 We do not, unfortunately, know
where, or even if, Leto was included on the François Vase, because a number of
inscriptions are lost.42 At the very rear of the divine procession on both vases is
Page 10 of 18
Okeanos with his consort Tethys.43 Perhaps Kleitias also had in mind that Maia
and Hermes, whose chariot is immediately ahead of this pair, are descendants of
Okeanos, since Pleione, the mother of Maia and the other Pleiades, was a
daughter of Ocean.44
Hermes and Maia are singled out in yet another way as important figures on the
François Vase (Fig. 2.8): their chariot is accompanied by the Moirai (Fates), a
direct reference to the coming birth of Achilles and the fateful saga of Troy.45 As
is well known, Achilles the warrior appears several times elsewhere on the
François Vase—presiding over the funeral games of Patroklos; ambushing the
hapless Troilos; and twice as a corpse, rescued from the fray by Ajax, the most
explicit references to his moira.46 The Moirai are here, surprisingly, four in
number, and there is nothing in their dress or appearance to characterize them
as individuals or explain the presence of a fourth.47 Perhaps, as Erika Simon has
(p.27) suggested, the fourth is actually their mother Themis, as we learn from
Hesiod.48 Themis had been given a place of honor by Sophilos, near the head of
the procession,49 and she should not be absent from the François Vase, even if
Kleitias failed to inscribe her name.
That the juxtaposition of Hermes and his mother with the Moirai is not
accidental is confirmed by another, much smaller vase attributed to Kleitias, a
deep cup or skyphos that survives now only in a few fragments but was once a
handsome dedication to Athena on the Akropolis.50 The subject was most likely
the Birth of Athena—she can be seen on one of the fragments emerging from the
(no longer preserved) head of Zeus. Alongside what must have been the central
group depicting the birth stands Hermes, followed by the Moirai. This may be
the earliest surviving depiction of the Birth of Athena,51 but the Moirai will not
become a regular element in the scene. It seems that Kleitias had a special
interest in them. Hermes, on the other hand, will become a regular presence at
the birth.52 As noted earlier, one of the other earliest depictions of Athena’s birth
from the head of Zeus is on the well-known Tyrrhenian amphora that bears the
unique inscription ΗΕΡΜΕΣ ΕΙΜΙ ΚΥΛΛΕΝΙΟΣ: “I am Hermes of Kyllene,” the
mountain of his origin in Arkadia.53
Before leaving the Kleitias fragments from the Akropolis, we may note an
interesting detail. A fragment from the other side of the cup,54 with a row of
youths and women holding hands, can be understood with reference to the
better preserved frieze on the François Vase showing (as I believe) the arrival of
Theseus and the Athenian youths and maidens on Crete.55 In other words,
Kleitias must have depicted this rare story more than once. The link between
Athena, on one side of the cup, and the heroic deed of her Athenian protégé par
excellence, on the other, would have been apparent to the ancient viewer and
certainly to the dedicator of the vase on the Akropolis. Hermes, who will spread
the word of these two great events, and the Moirai, who place them in a cosmic
Page 11 of 18
framework, suggest a newly crystallizing identity of the Athenians in the last

years of Solon’s lifetime and those of the rise of the tyrant Peisistratos.56
In conclusion, we have seen that the Hymn to Hermes transforms a goddess who
had been not much more than a mere name in the epic tradition of genealogical
poetry (Theogony 938; Ehoiai fr. 118 M-W) into a vivid and (p.28) highly
sympathetic maternal figure. Indeed, the relationship of mother and son is
portrayed with a psychological insight that is only slightly less compelling than
the mother–daughter relationship at the core of the Homeric Hymn to Demeter.
While it cannot be said that Greek artists ever rendered Maia with the nuance
and vibrancy of the poet of the Hymn, they did rescue her from obscurity in
Hesiod and complete absence from Homer. And they did so starting roughly a
half-century before the composition of the Hymn to Hermes. Thanks to the
genius of Kleitias, Maia assumes her rightful place in the company of the
Olympian gods, escorted by her son (Fig. 2.8). Hermes is an especially dignified
figure. He has changed out of his “work clothes,” a short garment that facilitates
running and flying, into a sumptuously embroidered long cloak. To be sure, their
chariot is toward the back of the procession, at a discreet distance from Zeus,
Maia’s secret lover, and his vengeful wife. If, as seems likely, Apollo and Leto are
in a now badly damaged chariot,57 then we have two instances of mother and
son sharing a car. Just as Apollo’s filial piety is expressed in several stories
(Tityos, the Niobids), so too Hermes is presented here as the model son. The
mischievous trickster and incorrigible truant may be the invention of a later age
and of a poet of exceptional wit and grace.
Bibliography
Babelon, E. 1914. “La déesse Maia.” RA 24: 182–90.
Bell, E. E. 1977. “The Attic Black-figured Vases at the Hearst Monument, San
Simeon.” Diss. Berkeley.
Böhr, E. 1982. Der Schaukel Maler. Mainz.
Brommer, R. 1961. “Die Geburt der Athena.” JbRGZM 8: 66–83.
Burke, S. M. and J. J. Pollitt. 1975. Greek Vases at Yale. New Haven.
Cambitoglou, A. 1968. The Brygos Painter. Sydney.
Cavaliere, B. and J. Udell. 2012. Ancient Mediterranean Art. The William D. and
Jane Walsh Collection at Fordham University. New York.
Page 12 of 18
Clay, J. S. 2016. “Visualizing Divinity: The Reception of the Homeric Hymns in

Greek Vase Painting.” In A. Faulkner, A. Vergados, and A. Schwab, eds. The
Reception of the Homeric Hymns. Oxford. 41–50.
Cohen, B. 2006. The Colors of Clay, Exh. cat. J. Paul Getty Museum. Malibu.
Ferguson, W. S. 1938. “The Salaminioi of Heptaphylai and Sounion.” Hesperia 7:

1–74.
Frontisi-Ducroux, F. and F. Lissarrague. 2009. “Char, marriage et mixitié: Une

métaphore visuelle.” In D. Yatromanolakis, ed. An Archaeology of
Representations. Athens. 87–97.
(p.29) Gantz, T. 1993. Early Greek Myth. Baltimore.
Giuliani, L. 2003. Bild und Mythos. Munich.
Graef, B. and E. Langlotz. 1925–33. Die antiken Vasen von der Akropolis zu
Athen. Berlin.
Haspels, C. H. E. 1936. Attic Black-figured Lekythoi. Paris.
Hedreen, G. 2011. “Bild, Mythos, and Ritual: Choral Dance in Theseus’ Cretan
Adventure on the François Vase.” Hesperia 80: 491–510.
Hedreen, G. 2016. The Image of the Artist in Archaic and Classical Greece.
Cambridge.
Hemelrijk, J. 1984. Caeretan Hydriae. Mainz.
Himmelmann, N. 1980. Über Hirtengenre in der antiken Kunst. Opladen.
Hirayama, T. 2010. Kleitias and Attic Black-figure Vases in the Sixth Century B.C.
Tokyo.
Iozzo, M. 2009. “Un nuovo dinos da Chiusi con le nozze di Peleus e Thetis.” In E.
M. Moormann and V. Stissi, eds. Shapes and Images. Studies on Attic Black
Figure and Related Topics in Honour of Herman A. G. Brijder. Leuven. 63–85.
Isler-Kerényi, C. 2007. Dionysos in Archaic Greece: An Understanding through

Images. Leiden.
Knauss, F. 2012. Die unsterblichen Götter Griechenlands. Exh. cat.

Antikensammlungen. Munich.
Kreutzer, B. 2013. “Myth as Case Study and the Hero as Exemplum.” In Shapiro,
Iozzo, Lezzi-Hafter 2013. 105–17.
Page 13 of 18
Lambert, S. D. 1997. “The Attic Genos Salaminioi and the Island of Salamis.”
ZPE 119: 85–106.
Lee, M. 2015. Body, Dress and Identity in Ancient Greece. Cambridge.
Moon, W. G. 1983. Ancient Greek Art and Iconography. Madison.
Picón, C. A. 2007. Art of the Classical World in the Metropolitan Museum of Art:
Greece, Cyprus, Etruria, Rome. New York.
Robertson, M. 1992. The Art of Vase-painting in Classical Athens. Cambridge.
Schauenburg, K. 1957. “Zu Darstellungen aus der Sage des Admet und des
Kadmos.” Gymnasium 64: 210–30.
Schauenburg, K. 1964. “Iliupersis auf einer Hydria des Priamosmalers.”

RömMitt 91: 60–70.
Shapiro, H. A. 1989. Art and Cult under the Tyrants in Athens. Mainz.
Shapiro, H. A., M. Iozzo and A. Lezzi-Hafter. 2013. The François Vase: New
Perspectives. Kilchberg.
Simon, E. and M. Hirmer. 1981. Die griechischen Vasen. 2nd ed. Munich.
Stewart, A. 1983. “Stesichoros and the François Vase.” In Moon 1983. 53–78.
Vergados, A. 2011. “Shifting Focalization in the Homeric Hymn to Hermes: The

Case of Hermes’ Cave.” GRBS 51: 1–25.
Vergados, A. 2013. The Homeric Hymn to Hermes. Introduction, Text, and

Commentary. Berlin.
Wehgartner, I. 1983. Attisch weissgrundige Keramik. Mainz.
Williams, D. 1983. “Sophilos in the British Museum.” In Greek Vases in the J.

Paul Getty Museum I. Malibu. 9–34.
Wolf, S. R. 1992. Herakles beim Gelage. Cologne. (p.30)
Notes:
(1) Petit Palais 322A; ABV 668; BAPD 306443; CVA (Petit Palais) pl. 11; Cohen
2006: 252–3, cat. 71. I thank the editors of this volume for the invitation to
participate in the stimulating conference in Charlottesville.
(2) Wehgartner 1983: 3–4.
(3) See the discussion of B. Cohen, in Cohen 2006: 252.
Page 14 of 18
(4) For Maia’s genealogy see LIMC 6. 333 s.v. Maia; Gantz 1993: 105; 140; 212–
14. The only other mythological narrative involving Maia, apart from those
discussed in this paper, is the story of how the baby Arkas was rescued by
Hermes and given to Maia to raise on Mt. Kyllene: LIMC 2. 609–10 s.v. Arkas for
the sources. An early study of the goddess is that of Babelon 1914, and see most
recently Vergados 2011.
(5) J. R. Mertens, in Cohen 2006: 191.
(6) On the image of Hermes on Attic vases more generally, see Zanker 1965.
(7) British Museum 1900.6–11.1; ABV 668–9, 2; BAPD 200034; Cohen 2006: 187,
Fig. 1. This vase also names Smikrion and Morylos. On Six’s Technique see B.
Cohen, in Cohen 2006: 72–80.
(8) For the dating of the Hymn, see Vergados 2013: 130, who favors a date in the
later sixth century.
(9) See ThesCRA I (2004) 242, s.v. Libation (E. Simon).
(10) We might compare wreaths held by women in scenes of the departure of

Theseus, e.g. on the red-figure cup by the Briseis Painter, New York MMA
53.11.4; ARV2 406, 7; BAPD 204406; Picón 2007: 104.
(11) On the authenticity and arrangement of these lines, see Vergados 2013: 578.
(12) For a detail of the ram, see Shapiro 1989: pl. 58b.
(13) Hermes’ epithet Kyllenios is attested as early as the mid-sixth-century

Tyrrhenian amphora showing the Birth of Athena: Berlin F 1704; ABV 96, 14;
BAPD 310014; LIMC 5. 343 s.v. Hermes, no. 681. Depictions of Hermes riding on
or carrying a ram or goat are numerous: see LIMC 5. 310 s.v. Hermes, nos. 254–
7 and passim. On Hermes as the kriophoros par excellence, especially in the
form of bronze statuettes, see Himmelmann 1980: 72–4.
(14) St. Petersburg 2065; ABV 309, 95; BAPD 301574; Böhr 1982: pl. 116.
(15) Black-figure neck-amphora, Warsaw 142328; BAPD 14007; CVA (Goluchów,

Musée Czartoryski) pl. 3 a–b; LIMC 5. 310 s.v. Hermes, no. 244.
(16) New Haven, Yale University Art Gallery 1913.111; Burke and Pollitt 1975:
32–5, no. 35; BAPD 3200.
(17) For references see C. Kondoleon, in Burke and Pollitt 1975: 32–3. A black-
figure neck-amphora of c.500–480 depicts Kadmos (labeled Kassmos) and
Harmonia in a chariot drawn by a lion and a boar: Louvre CA 1961; BAPD
361411; Haspels 1936: 239, 125; Schauenburg 1957: pl. 2. Schauenburg
compares a contemporary black-figure oinochoe (ibid. pl. 1) with a chariot
Page 15 of 18
drawn by four animals: two lions, a wolf, and a boar. These two vases and the
Yale lekythos are discussed together by Frontisi-Ducroux and Lissarrague 2009:
87–92. They associate the Yale vase with the story of Admetos, with Apollo
acting as the hero’s charioteer and the goddess in the middle Artemis, who
punished Admetos for omitting to sacrifice to her.
(18) Berlin, Antikenmuseum F 1905; ABV 332, 23; BAPD 301801; Schauenburg
1964: 68 and pl. 7.1 had already suggested she is probably Maia. Cf. CVA (Berlin
7) pl. 21 and p. 28 (H. Mommsen).
(19) San Simeon inv. 5563; ABV 392, 6; BAPD 302922; Bell 1977: 21–3; pll. 34–7;
LIMC 6. 336 s.v. Maia, no. 15.
(20) Thyone appears (labeled) on the black-figure hydria Florence 3790; ABV
260, 30; BAPD 302262; LIMC 7. 724 s.v. Semele, no. 36. For the sources on
Semele’s apotheosis and name change see ibid. p. 719.
(21) See Wolf 1993 for the reclining Herakles. The hydria is British Museum F
301; ABV 282; BAPD 320244; LIMC 1. 555 s.v. Alkmene, no. 17.
(22) Antike Welt 8 (1977) Heft 4, p. 64.
(23) Fordham University Collection 11.006; Cavaliere and Udell 2012: 48–81, cat.
12.
(24) British Museum B 345; ARV2 332, 20; BAPD 301798; Moon 1983: 99, fig.
7.4a; Schauenburg 1964: 68, no. 65 and pl. 6, 2 tentatively suggests she is Maia.
(25) See Ferguson 1938 for the full publication.
(26) Cf. Lambert 1997: 92.
(27) On the various links between Herakles and Hermes, see J. Larson in this
volume.
(28) E.g. LIMC 5. 331–2, s.v. Hermes, no. 548.
(29) Berlin 2278; ARV2 21, 1620; BAPD 200108; Simon 1981: pl. 119.
(30) Munich 2304; ARV2 220, 1; BAPD 202095; CVA (Munich 4) pl. 179; 181;
Knauss 2012: 166. Robertson 1992: 118 describes the painter’s red-figure vases
as “barely competent hackwork,” which seems rather harsh. Note that the
painter also worked in black-figure, including the neck-amphora in San Simeon,
supra n. 19 and Fig. 2.6.
(31) See Knell 1965 for the motif.
Page 16 of 18
(32) For the comically miniature petasos on the adult Hermes, cf. the well-known
cup by Oltos, Tarquinia RC 6848; ARV2 60, 66; BAPD 200502; Simon and Hirmer
1981: pl. 93.
(33) Vatican 16582; ARV2 269, 6; BAPD 203905; Cambitoglou 1968: pl. 4. See
LIMC 5. 309 s.v. Hermes, no. 242a.
(34) Louvre E 702; Hemelrijk 1984: 10–14. On this hydria, as well as the cup by
the Brygos Painter (see n. 33) and other depictions of Hermes with cattle in
relation to the Hymn, see Clay 2016: 41–50.
(35) For other possible identifications of the figure I take to be Zeus, see
Hemelrijk 1984: 12.
(36) Florence 4209; ABV 76, 1; BAPD 300000; Shapiro, Iozzo, and Lezzi-Hafter
2013, with earlier bibliography. See pll. 23–6 for the Wedding of Peleus and
Thetis and pl. 29 for a detail of Hermes and Maia.
(37) For Ares as the “traditional partner” of Aphrodite (apart from the song of
Demodokos in the Odyssey), see Hedreen 2016: 147.
(38) A recently published, fragmentary black-figure dinos found at Chiusi (where

the François Vase was also found) depicts the same scene, the Wedding of Peleus
and Thetis, and was made only a few years after Kleitias’ great krater: see Iozzo
2009 for the full publication; Chiusi 67371; BAPD 902267. Though there are no
inscriptions, the figure at the head of the procession is clearly Hermes, and
Iozzo identifies the woman behind him as Maia (67–8, figs. 10–11).
(39) British Museum 1971: 11–1.1; Para 19, 16 bis; BAPD 350099; Williams 1983.
(40) For a detailed comparison of the groupings of divinities on the Sophilos

dinos and on the François Vase, see Stewart 1983; Torelli 2007: 38–40. Cf. now
the chart in Iozzo 2009: 75, which includes the new dinos from Chiusi.
(41) Williams 1983: 23, fig. 26.
(42) Simon 1981: 71 suggests that the chariot ahead of Nereus and Doris, of
which the upper half, with its inscriptions, is lost, contained Apollo with his
mother Leto.
(43) See Williams 1983: 27, fig. 34 for the Sophilos dinos; Shapiro, Iozzo, and
Lezzi-Hafter 2013: pl. 24 for the François Vase (mostly missing). Simon 1981:
71–2 suggests that, since the chariot cannot be driven by Okeanos (his enormous
snaky body would not fit in the car), it probably contained Tethys and the
Okeanid Eurynome, one of their other daughters.
(44) On Pleione and the Pleiades see LIMC 2. 921–2 s.v. Astra (S. Karusu).
Page 17 of 18
(45) Cf. Hymn to Hermes 428, where Hermes sings of the moira (portion) of each
of the gods.
(46) See illustrations in Shapiro, Iozzo, and Lezzi-Hafter 2013: pl. 18 (Games for
Patroklos), 39 (ambush of Troilos), 8–9 (his body rescued by Ajax).
(47) A curious detail of their dress is that two of the four (far left and second
from right) are the only peplophoroi on the vase who wear a metal pin, with the
pointed end up, to fasten the garment. See Lee 2015: 129–30. Isler-Kerényi
2007: 78 observes that one of the Moirai (second from left) has a frieze of
chariots drawn by winged horses embroidered on her peplos. This recalls the
many animal friezes embroidered on the garments of Sophilos’ goddesses, e.g.
Williams 1983: 24, figs. 27–8.
(48) Theogony 901–5; Simon 1981: 71.
(49) Williams 1983: 24, fig. 28.
(50) Akr. 597; ABV 77, 3; BAPD 305074; Graef and Langlotz I (1925) pl. 24;
Hiroyama 2010: pl. vi a–b.
(51) Hiroyama 2010: 204.
(52) Brommer 1961: 76 and n. 10.
(53) See n. 13.
(54) Hirayama 2010: pl. vi c.
(55) Shapiro, Iozzo, and Lezzi-Hafter 2013: pll. 10–12. For the interpretation of
the scene see Shapiro 1989: 147; Hedreen 2011; and, for other views, Giuliani
2003: 294–6.
(56) Cf. Kreutzer 2013.
(57) Shapiro, Iozzo, and Lezzi-Hafter 2013: pl. 26. The chariot behind them (pl.
25) holds Athena and a goddess whose name has been lost, but, by process of
elimination, ought to be Artemis. This leaves Apollo and Leto as the most likely
candidates for the male and female in the forward car.
Page 18 of 18
Hermes among Pan and the Nymphs on Fourth-Century Votive Reliefs


Print ISBN-13: 9780198777342
DOI: 10.1093/oso/9780198777342.001.0001
Hermes among Pan and the Nymphs on

Fourth-Century Votive Reliefs
Carolyn M. Laferrière
DOI:10.1093/oso/9780198777342.003.0003

The presence of Hermes on many Attic fourth-century BCE votive reliefs
dedicated to Pan and the Nymphs is a common but unexpected feature of the
corpus. Although he is not mentioned in the dedications inscribed onto the
reliefs, Hermes nevertheless occupies a prominent position within the images as
leader of the Nymphs’ dance. The incongruity between the dedication and the
sculpted scenes is accounted for by considering the votive reliefs’ ritual function
within Athenian religion and the genealogical relationship established between
Hermes and Pan by the Homeric Hymn to Pan. It is argued that the votive reliefs,
as expressions of Athenian visual theology, emphasize Hermes and Pan as
coordinated figures within the reliefs, suggesting that the two gods work
together to integrate the cult of the Nymphs within Athenian religious life.
Keywords: Greek art, votive reliefs, Greek religion, Homeric Hymn, Hermes, Pan, Nymphs
1. Introduction
The figure of Hermes is a surprising presence on late classical votive reliefs
dedicated to Pan and the Nymphs.1 The reliefs typically depict Hermes and the
Nymphs dancing, Pan playing music, or, as on a votive relief discovered in the
Vari Cave, the divinities sitting and standing together in a cave (Fig. 3.1).2
Page 1 of 19
This image is enclosed by a

frame, which, mimicking the
appearance of rocks, stretches
up in undulating, rounded lines,
recalling the Hymettos
Mountain in which the Vari
Cave is situated. An inscription,
Numphais, indicates the
recipients of this relief, while
the inscription’s location,
carved into the rock of the
mountain, establishes both the
relief and the actual landscape
to which it refers as sacred to
the Nymphs. Pan, who also
appears in the image, is shown
perched among the rocks with
his sheep while he plays his
pipes. During the fifth century
BCE, the worship of Pan had
already been incorporated into
Fig. 3.1. Votive relief dedicated to the
the Attic cult of the Nymphs,
Nymphs, from the Cave to the Nymphs
and though he is not identified
(Vari Cave) on Mount Hymettos, white
here in the dedication, in many
marble, 52 × 36 cm, 340–330 BCE.
other contemporary reliefs he is
Athens, National Archaeological Museum,
listed alongside the Nymphs.
NM 2011.
His frequent presence in the
Source: DAI. Photographer: Hermann
sculpted reliefs is thus
Wagner. DAI-Neg.-No.: D-DAI-ATH-NM
unsurprising since it is also
4419.
confirmed by late classical cult
practice.3 The remaining figure
shown in the relief from the Vari
Cave is Hermes. Wearing only a chlamys around (p.32) his shoulders, his nude
form catches the viewer’s attention as he twists his body toward the frontal
plane of the image. However, Hermes goes almost entirely unmentioned in the
inscriptions, with only two exceptions;4 moreover, within (p.33) the Nymphs’
caves, Hermes is not listed in rock-cut inscriptions, nor is he the recipient of
smaller shrines.5 Yet on the relief from the Vari Cave, the three Nymphs appear
to direct their full attention to Hermes, visually underscoring his importance in
the scene. One would expect Hermes to appear more frequently in the relief
dedications, if he had been considered integral to the Attic cult of the Nymphs.
The cult itself, therefore, cannot explain Hermes’ presence. Why, then, has
Hermes been represented so prominently?
Page 2 of 19
Since the votive reliefs dedicated to the Nymphs are religious objects, they
feature their own visual theology: that is, they visually define and express the
gods’ personalities, the relationships among the gods, and the agency projected
onto the deities during cult practice.6 As such, they may represent a specifically
Athenian understanding of these particular divinities. For instance, the figures’
positions on the vertical relief from the Vari Cave may illustrate a particular
conception of the relationship between Hermes, Pan, and the Nymphs. The three
Nymphs are layered one upon another, so that their overlapping forms suggest
that they may be conceived as a singular plural; that is, multiple Nymphs who
are worshipped as a singular entity.7 Their plurality is juxtaposed with Hermes’
singularity, who stands apart from them though still within the main visual field,
as well as Pan’s, who sits alone on the relief’s frame. Having been kept separate
from the female divinities, the male gods are presented as external to their
group, perhaps even as interlopers within the Nymphs’ cave. The two gods may
even be extraneous to the dedicator’s devotion, which is expressly given only to
the Nymphs. An incongruity thus appears between the image and the dedication,
in which the dedication obscures what appears in the image, that is, a strategic
invocation of Hermes.
(p.34) In what follows, I propose to read the visual theology of the votive reliefs
together with the Homeric Hymn to Pan, both of which advance a distinctively
Attic conception of Hermes’ relationship with Pan and the Nymphs. I show that
the Attic cult of the Nymphs was re-conceived during the classical period to
incorporate the presence of other gods. Though Pan was fully integrated into the
Nymphs’ cave shrines and associated cult, he remains a liminal figure within the
image; conversely, Hermes was peripheral to their cult but is central to the
composition of the reliefs. I argue that the genealogical relationship between
Hermes and Pan, established also in the Homeric Hymn to Pan, became an
essential feature of their relationship in Athens: not only did it achieve
recognition for Pan among the Olympian pantheon,8 but the connection between
Pan and Hermes determined how they could interact with each other and how
their coordinated visual representation could work together within the context
of ritual worship. The objects thus express contemporary theological notions
about the gods and, furthermore, by presenting the Nymphs alongside Hermes,
the reliefs reveal fifth- and fourth-century Athenian social and political concerns.
Page 3 of 19
2. Hermes and Pan in the Visual Record

An example of the typical scene
in which Hermes appears with
Pan and the Nymphs occurs on
another relief from the Vari
Cave (Fig. 3.2).9 Dedicated by
Eukleides, Eukles, and Lakrates
to the Nymphs and Pan, the
relief depicts three Nymphs
dancing to the sounds of Pan’s
syrinx, an instrument invented
by Hermes.10 Hermes stands on
the left, holding his kerykeion in
his left hand while he grasps
the hand of one Nymph to guide Fig. 3.2. Votive relief dedicated to the
the group’s movements. As the Nymphs by Eukleides, Eukles, and
largest male figure in the scene, Lakrates, from the Cave to the Nymphs
Hermes is presented as the (Vari Cave) on Mount Hymettos, white
individual who oversees the marble, 40 × 50 cm, 340–330 BCE.
actions of the female Nymphs, Athens, National Archaeological Museum,
who are subordinate to his NM 2008.
authority.11 But above all he is Source: DAI. Photographer: Elmar

shown as their koryphaios, their Gehnen. DAI-Neg.-No.: D-DAI-
chorus leader.12 ATH-1995/2197.
(p.35) More than simply

providing musical accompaniment and guiding the Nymphs’ dance, Pan and
Hermes enclose the Nymphs within the image. Hermes’ body creates a vertical
line on the left, his frontal form visually obstructing the Nymphs’ forward motion
so that they cannot move beyond his position. On the far right, Pan’s erect
posture creates a second vertical barrier parallel to Hermes’ body. Pan’s right
leg extends diagonally into the main scene, where it overlaps with the Nymph’s
foot. That step prevents the Nymphs from taking any lateral movement beyond
his position, and instead he pushes them forward, encouraging them to follow
Hermes. Pan’s other leg is parallel with the vertical fall of the frame, anchoring
his body upon the solid rock wall that surrounds the scene. Pan thus acts as a
second framing device, used here to enclose the Nymphs within their cave.
Page 4 of 19
Pan’s ithyphallic form and his

stationary, vertical
representation may further
recall the appearance and
function of herms. These
objects, associated with the god
Hermes, consisted of a stēlē
with an anthropomorphic head
and an erect phallus (e.g. Fig.
3.3), and were set up at
entryways, at crossroads, at
property (p.36) boundaries,
and within the Athenian
agora.13 Although Pan retains
his hybrid form in the relief and
thus does not simply mimic the
herm’s shape, that he is (p.37)
shown as ithyphallic may
suggest a symbolic connection
between himself and herms,
and by extension, Hermes.
Moreover, there is little in the
image that indicates a sexual
relationship between Pan and
the Nymphs, which would Fig. 3.3. Ithyphallic herm, of Attic
otherwise account for the god’s manufacture but found on Siphnos,
particular representation as marble, 66 × 13 cm, c.520 BCE. Athens,
ithyphallic.14 Within the image, National Archaeological Museum, NM
the physical similarities shared 3728.
between Pan and herms allow Photo: Bridgeman-Giraudon/Art
him visually to establish the Resource, NY.
limit of the Nymphs’ dance and
to demarcate the point of
separation between the relief
and the world external to it
since he is at once essential for the main scene, where he provides music for the
Nymphs’ dance, but also marginal to it, since he stands to one side and overlaps
with the frame.15
Similarly, through his own association with herms, Hermes shares with a herm-
like Pan a certain protective, even restrictive, function with respect to the
Nymphs. Again, the two male gods are shown overseeing access to the female
divinities by marking the scene’s barriers and controlling the Nymphs’
movements. Their representation and function in this relief thus raise two
Page 5 of 19
further questions. First, what in Pan’s nature allows him to adopt elements of
the herm’s appearance and function? And, second, why do Hermes and Pan,
among all the other gods who may act as consorts of the Nymphs, guide their
actions in these images?
3. Genealogical Ties in the Homeric Hymn to Pan

Some clarification of these questions can be provided by the surviving literary
testimony, which broadly associates Hermes, Pan, and the Nymphs. Hermes and
the Nymphs appear together in the Odyssey, where, in book 14, Eumaios divides
six equal portions of meat between his companions and gives a seventh to the
Nymphs and Hermes.16 Similarly, in a fragment of Semonides, shepherds
sacrifice to the Nymphs and Hermes because they have close ties with
herdsmen.17 Pan is only later connected to them following his introduction to
Attica after the battle of Marathon, as recounted by Herodotus,18 and in (p.38)
Aristophanes’ Thesmophoriazeusai from 411 BCE, where the chorus prays to
“Hermes Nomios / and Pan and the dear Nymphs.”19 All of this, however, does
little more than establish what the reliefs already confirm, namely, that these
deities could be associated with one another. Among the surviving literary
evidence, only the Homeric Hymn to Pan, which may be dated to approximately
the mid-fifth century BCE,20 features a sufficiently complex theological
conception of the relationships among Pan, Hermes, and the Nymphs.
The narrative of the hymn establishes a familial connection between Pan and
Hermes. From the first line, which reads ἀμφί μοι Ἑρμείαο φίλον γόνον ἔννεπε
Μοῦσα, “Tell me, Muse, of the dear child of Hermes,” the goat god is introduced
through his relationship with his father.21 As Thomas notes, this is the only
instance in the corpus of Homeric Hymns where the name of the intended god is
not mentioned in the first line.22 Instead, the hymn conveys the genealogical
connection between Hermes and Pan, and the divine father’s affection for his
son. The delay of Pan’s identification until after the hemiepes surprises the
reader with a change of subject, acting almost as an epiphany of the god Pan; up
to that point, according to the convention of numerous hymns,23 the addressee
would instead seem to be Hermes. Following the caesura, the god’s child is
clearly identified as the narratee of the poem.24 Their seeming
interchangeability, upon which the poet capitalizes for this surprising effect of
narration, indicates the close relationship between father and son.25
A hymn to Hermes, internal to the Homeric Hymn to Pan and sung by the
Nymphs, reveals Pan a second time, so that Hermes’ paternal authority over Pan
is further reinforced. After characterizing Pan’s habits and nature (6–26), the
internal hymn describes his birth (27–37). The Nymphs sing that Hermes
conceived a child with the daughter of the shepherd Dryops, and that the “dear
son” was a “marvel to behold” (36); finally, the nymphs describe the god child,
singing that he was “goat-footed, two-horned, rowdy, [with] merry
laughter” (37).26 These words echo the Homeric Hymn to Pan’s second line,
Page 6 of 19
thereby (p.39) repeating Pan’s epiphany by once again remarking upon his
striking visual presence. This internal hymn also demonstrates the difference
between human and divine reactions to Pan. His mortal mother, startled by his
distinctive appearance, runs away screaming in panic (38–9). Yet afterwards,
Hermes appears and carries Pan to Mt. Olympus, where Hermes sits beside Zeus
and displays his son. There, “all the immortals,” in contrast to his human mother,
are “delighted, especially Bacchic Dionysos; and they took to calling him Pan,
because he delight[s] them all” (45–7).27 Hermes’ actions, by establishing
legitimate paternity, thus function to normalize Pan among the gods, even as he
remains monstrous to humans.
Taken together, the linguistic, ritual, and socio-cultural evidence suggest an

Athenian context for the Homeric Hymn to Pan. As Janko establishes, some of its
linguistic features may indicate an Attic provenance for the hymn.28
Furthermore, the concept of displaying one’s child to a group of peers recalls
the Athenian ritual of confirming one’s genealogy, wherein a father would
officially present his son to his phratry during the festival of the Apatouria;
following this three-day festival, the child was considered to be a legitimate
citizen.29 Similarly in the hymn, once Hermes presents Pan to the other gods, he
too is confirmed as a legitimate member of the Olympian pantheon.30 Finally,
although the performance context for the Homeric Hymn to Pan is uncertain, the
structure of the Homeric Hymns suggests that they were preludes, or prooimia,
to more extensive epic narrations performed by rhapsodes during religious
festivals.31 Thus, one could speculate that the Homeric Hymn to Pan may have
been sung during such contests held at Athenian festivals, especially following
Pan’s increased popularity after the Persian Wars.32
Since a common feature of these hymns was the narrative of the god’s ascent to
Olympus, the public nature of the hymn’s performance would have been crucial
in legitimizing the god’s Panhellenic personality.33 One can imagine that the
hymn’s establishment of Pan’s genealogical connection to (p.40) Hermes and,
by extension, to Zeus, may have seemed initially surprising to the Athenian
audience for which it was composed, since in Arcadia Pan was often worshipped
with Zeus Lykaios in temples on mountaintops.34 Given his cultic associations
with Zeus, Pan would not need any paternal support from Hermes to justify his
cult and his connection with the Olympians. However, if the hymn was indeed
designed for an Athenian audience and context, where the cult for Pan
developed in the early fifth century, it may have been necessary to explain how
the monstrous Pan came to be accepted among the Olympian pantheon. With
each performance, therefore, Pan’s personality was further established, so that
his connection with Hermes and the similar ways they could act with respect to
the Nymphs became a fundamental aspect of his theology. Just as Pan gained
access to Mt. Olympus through the actions of his father Hermes and thus
became a Panhellenic god, so too through the performance of his hymn during
Athenian rhapsodic contests would he have acquired a specific place within the
Page 7 of 19
Athenian imaginary.35 The hymn then does not simply present a mythological
story about Pan, but rather it reveals a deeper process of integrating the
Arcadian god into Athenian religion.
4. Hermes, Pan, and a Changing Theology of the Nymphs

The Homeric Hymn to Pan further reveals why Pan might have been grafted onto
the cult of the Nymphs throughout Attica: Pan “roams about the wooded fields
together with the dance-merry nymphs” (2–3).36 Sharing these associations with
the wooded fields, forests, and caves, Pan and the Nymphs were suitable
companions within the Attic rural cult. But the Homeric Hymn to Pan, by
insisting upon Hermes’ paternity with respect to Pan, exploits Hermes’
association with the Nymphs in order to link them to a greater system of
Panhellenic cults. Just as Pan is subordinate to Hermes within the hymn, so too
could Pan and the Nymphs be subordinate to Hermes in the visual material. With
Hermes and Pan positioned in significant places in the surviving images, so that
father and son coordinate the Nymphs’ dance and make them ritually available
to their human worshippers, the fourth-century votive reliefs insist that Hermes
and Pan together exert control over their female companions. They thus
emphasize the same Panhellenic connection between the two male deities.
(p.41) In order to show that the surviving images establish Hermes and Pan as
figures indispensable to the Nymphs’ cult, I look first at a relief that depicts
human worshippers within the same frame as the gods (Fig. 3.4).37
Here, three Nymphs hold each

other’s hands and dance across
the relief, their drapery
streaming out behind them. The
central figure opens her body to
glance back over her shoulder,
as if to check the position of her
companion and to make visual
contact with their musician.
Although little of Pan’s form has
survived, scarcely more than his
two feet that hang over a rocky
outcrop on the right, both the Fig. 3.4. Votive relief dedicated to the
Nymphs’ dance and the scene’s Nymphs, found on the Quirinal Hill in
visual similarity to other images Rome, marble, 175 × 85 cm, c.400–390
indicate that he plays his BCE. Berlin, Antikensammlung, SK 709 a.
syrinx.38 The rock upon which Photo: bpk, Berlin/Antikensammlung/
Pan sits recalls his connection Jürgen Liepe/Art Resource, NY.
to the Nymphs’ rural caves,
suggesting that he sits at the
far limit of the cave’s walls. The
Page 8 of 19
Nymphs follow Hermes, their koryphaios, leaving Pan, Acheloös, and their cave
behind as they dance dynamically past the (p.42) source of music.39 Hermes
guides the divinities toward a small human worshipper, a man who raises his
hand in recognition as he begins to see the Nymphs for whom he prays. He may
perceive the Nymphs, first, because Pan has initiated a performance that brings
the space of the image and the separate space of the human worshipper into
contact, and, second, because of Hermes, whose lowered right hand reaches out
slightly toward the worshipper’s left arm, mere moments away from making
contact and revealing the Nymphs to the devotee.
Hermes plays an even greater role in making the Nymphs accessible to their
devotees on scenes that do not include human worshippers. A relief dedicated by
Telephanes in a cave on Mt. Parnes (Fig. 3.5) suggests that Hermes’ relationship
with Pan and their shared ability to mark and transcend boundaries are
responsible for breaking down the barrier that separates mortal from divine, at
least within the Nymphs’ caves.40
(p.43) Pan sits cross-legged at

the top left of the rectangular
frame, surrounded by goats.
Positioned in this way on the
frame, that liminal space
belonging neither to the image
nor to the external world, Pan
marks the point of separation
between the figures within the
relief and those mortal viewers
who exist beyond it.41 Pan thus
acts as an extension of Hermes’
Fig. 3.5. Votive relief dedicated to Pan
divine powers, since he aids in
and the Nymphs by Telephanes, from the
maintaining the boundaries
Cave of Pan on Mount Parnes, white
separating the human from the
marble, 43 × 47 cm, 310–290 BCE.
divine, even as he renders them
Athens, National Archaeological Museum,
permeable. Within the frame,
NM 1448.
Hermes leads the Nymphs’
National Archaeological Museum,
dance past a stone altar. He
Athens. © Hellenic Ministry of
moves to the left toward Pan,
Culture and Sports/Archaeological
who lifts his syrinx to his mouth
Receipts Fund.
and fills the scene with his
music. His liminal position
allows the music to oscillate
between the image and the
outside world, so that the music from his syrinx fills both spaces, thereby
breaking down the boundaries separating the relief and the cave shrine in which
it was deposited. As the frame becomes permeable, Hermes gazes past Pan’s
Page 9 of 19
body while he also reaches out with his right hand to pierce the cave frame just
above Acheloös’ head. Furthermore, the mimetic repetition between the
sculpted cave frame and the actual cave in which the relief was set up visually
elides any distinction between the two. Hermes thus appears to move not only
within the image, but he also seems to depart from the relief altogether in order
to enter the cave, passing through the damp, rocky walls from which water
drips. But while Hermes moves to the left, ostensibly taking the Nymphs with
him, they instead step forward, around the altar, piercing the image’s frontal
plane as they move toward the viewer.
While the relief connects Hermes and Pan through their coordinated actions, it
also presents the Nymphs as the intended focus of the dedicator’s veneration,
emphasized by their frontal stares that captivate the viewer’s gaze. Hermes,
conversely, deliberately avoids any interaction with the viewer, and instead he
directs his attention to his son, whose phallus is at Hermes’ eye-level. The
connection between the two gods is focalized around the phallus, which appears
prominently on herms, but which is also a sign of male virility, pointing once
again to the genealogical ties between Hermes and Pan. Moreover, the two gods
are shown on one side of the image, thus leaving the majority of the visual field
open. The Nymphs, conversely, take up the center and right side of the image as
they dance around the altar, physically surrounding the site of ritual sacrifice.
The relief thus points to a tension between the Nymphs, the intended focus of
human worship, and the two male gods. Two distinct notions of how one might
worship and interact with the Nymphs co-exist here, one in which the Nymphs
engage their worshippers directly and another in which their interactions are
determined by Hermes and Pan. (p.44)
5. Hermes and Athens

Ancient Greek visual theology constantly evolved and adapted in response to
shifting social and political changes. Yet the images that I have discussed are not
simply reflections of external changes, but rather, as expressions of theology, the
votive reliefs accomplish those changes in a visual medium. Since the surviving
evidence suggests that the cult of the Nymphs experienced increased attention
during the fifth and fourth centuries, the images deposited in the cave shrines
were important agents in determining the nature of the cult and any further
elaboration of its visualization. As such, the reliefs claim that by the fourth
century BCE Hermes was integral to the Nymphs’ cult. And yet, there existed
alongside these scenes that prominently feature him a small number of reliefs
where the god was not included, which show the Nymphs dancing without their
choral leader.42 One must see in the tension between these simultaneous visual
traditions two competing visual theologies, that is, two different conceptions of
the Nymphs as divinities and two distinct approaches to their representation.
Page 10 of 19
A relief found in a cave on Mt. Penteli suggests that this disconnect between the
modes of representation may be related to the relationship between the
Athenian city and the Attic countryside during the classical period. On this relief,
dedicated to the Nymphs by Telephanes, Nikeratos, and Demophilos, three male
worshippers approach three Nymphs, in front of whom stand Hermes and Pan
(Fig. 3.6).43
Although the relief was

deposited in a rural cave
shrine,44 the encounter between
the worshippers and the
Nymphs is envisioned as
occurring within a man-made
structure. By replacing the
more typical cave frame with
contemporary, man-made
architecture, the pastoral
divinities are brought into an
urban setting. It is within this
tension between urban and Fig. 3.6. Votive relief dedicated to the
rural, civic and pastoral, that Nymphs by Telephanes, Nikeratos, and
the inclusion of Hermes and his Demophilos, found in the Cave of Pan and
son Pan becomes particularly the Nymphs on Mount Penteli, white
significant. In the relief, marble, 53 × 75 cm, 360–350 BCE.
Hermes physically marks the Athens, National Archaeological Museum,
separation between the human NM 4465, 4465a.
world and the realm of the Source: DAI. Photographer: Eva-Maria
gods, standing between the Czakó. DAI-Neg.-No.: D-DAI-ATH-NM
pastoral world of the Nymphs 4756.
and the civilized space of the
Athenian men who have come to
worship them. Hermes’ placement within the composition thus evokes another
aspect of his own theology: his position recalls the Attic practice of setting up
herms in the chora at the halfway point between demes and the city.45 Similarly,
Pan, who inherits qualities from his father’s personality, (p.45) also anchors the
rural cults that he shares with the Nymphs within an urban Athenian religious
space through his cave located on the north slope of the Athenian Acropolis.46
Hermes and Pan thus not only mediate between the mortal men and the Nymphs
within the context of worship as it is presented on the relief,47 but the image
also evokes the conceptual role the two gods played in making the rural shrines
accessible to the urban polis and the importance the Nymphs and their cult were
thought to have for Athens.
Page 11 of 19
Of all the Olympian gods, Hermes was among the most visible in Athens, where,
in the form of a herm, he marked boundaries throughout the city.48 (p.46) The
god who traveled, brought messages, and wandered with sheep in the
countryside partitioned the Athenian landscape, bringing both city and chora
together through his ubiquitous presence in each. When he was visually
incorporated into the cult of the Nymphs, this aspect of Hermes’ divine
personality connected the female divinities to Athenian religious and social life.
Just as Pan’s incorporation into the cult of the Nymphs associated it with his
cave on the Acropolis, a focal point of Athenian religion, so too did Hermes’
presence link the Nymphs and their rural cave shrines to the Athenian polis. The
connection between the city and rural countryside is represented through divine
relationships, so that the votive reliefs and the Homeric Hymn to Pan uniquely
express a specific, theological conception of the associations among the gods
and the cult’s connection to Athens. The reliefs in which Hermes is placed in a
prominent position, leading the Nymphs in their dance, establish the cult to Pan
and the Nymphs as integral to Athenian religious life, so that each ritual act or
dedication to the Nymphs was undertaken not only for the benefit of the family
and the hope of future fertility and prosperity, but for the future of the Athenians
themselves and for their polis, which had undergone such dramatic political and
social change during the fifth and fourth centuries.
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Notes:
(1) The comprehensive account of these reliefs is Edwards 1985. Of the 113
surviving reliefs that Edwards collected, fifty-two include Hermes. He is absent
from twenty-six reliefs, although the majority of these are Hellenistic or Roman.
Thirty-four reliefs are fragmentary, but since the Nymphs dance on many of
them, Hermes may also have been included on some. The final relief, Edwards
notes, may represent maenads and satyrs.
(2) Athens, NM 2011. IG II2 4652. Schörner and Goette 2004: 69–71; Kaltsas
2002: 218; Güntner 1994: 120; Fuchs 1962: 247; Feubel 1935: 6–8; Thallon 1903:
312–13; Edwards 1985: 439–46, with previous bibliography. See Pottier 1881:
355–6, for more on the composition of the reliefs.
(3) Borgeaud 1988: 133–62; Larson 2001: 97. Pan had a small shrine in the Vari
Cave, and terracotta votive deposits depicting Pan were found in the Cave to Pan
on Mt. Parnes. Weller 1903: 266–7; Travlos 1988: 319–20, 325–6; Schörner and
Goette 2004: 49, 78–89.
(4) Neither relief conclusively establishes that Hermes was worshipped. The
Echelos relief (Athens, NM 1783) lists Hermes, but its composition is distinct
within the larger corpus and, moreover, its cult was located by the Ilissos River,
not in a cave. The second relief (New York, 25.78.59) may well indicate worship
for Hermes, but it is unique in doing so. It is also unusual for its composite style,
lack of cave frame, and absence of Pan. Edwards 1985: nos. 4 and 62.
(5) To my knowledge, Hermes is not listed as a recipient of cult within Attic cave
shrines. Elsewhere in Greece he could occasionally be venerated with the
Nymphs (e.g. a cave near Pharsalos in Thessaly). The only surviving instance in
Attica is a shared sacrifice mentioned on the sacred calendar from the Erchia
deme, but the ritual mentioned there cannot be assimilated to the Nymphs’ cave
Page 15 of 19
cults. Although both seem to involve aspirations for agricultural and human
regeneration, there are numerous differences between the two. The Erchia cult
occurs on a hilltop, not within a cave; this difference in sanctuary location is
meaningful. Other gods feature in the cult of the Erchia deme, such as Ge and
Alochos, but Pan is not worshipped. Finally, there is no indication of the gods’
musical activities, which appear on the votive reliefs and may have played a role
in cult practice. If any musical activity did occur in the Erchia cult, it likely
occurred on a separate day, as the mention of Apollo Nymphagetēs may indicate;
importantly, Hermes does not have any association with the ritual activities on
that day. One might think that the dedications in the cave could indicate cult
worship for Hermes, but the surviving deposits—loutrophoroi and female
terracotta figurines—cannot be intended for a male deity. For more, see Larson
2001: 16–17, 126–37, 226–67.
(6) Elsner 1996: 518; Platt 2010: 200.
(7) Nancy 1996: 1; Nancy 2000; Larson 2001: 258–67.
(8) Borgeaud 1988: 133–62.
(9) Athens, NM 2008. IG II2 4651. Schörner and Goette 2004: 62–4; Kaltsas 2002:
218; Güntner 1994: 123; Fuchs 1962: 244; Feubel 1935: 33–4; Thallon 1903:
304–5; Edwards 1985: 489–95, with previous bibliography.
(10) H.Herm. 511–12.
(11) Gaifman 2008: 94–6, 100.
(12) Despite Aristid. Or. 53.4, “Hermes as khorēgos always leads the nymphs,”
the khorēgos financed the performance, while the koryphaios led the choral
dance (though it was not impossible for khorēgoi to serve as koryphaioi; see
Wilson 2000: 130–6).
(13) For the identification of Hermes with herms: Ar. Plut. 1153; Paus. 7.27.1;
Harrison 1965: 108–20; Osborne 1985: 51–2; Gaifman 2012: 39, 66–7, 305–6.
One etymology derives his name from herma, a small pile of stones that once
marked boundaries. On the etymology’s plausibility: Nilsson 1980: 109–10;
Parker 1996: 80–2.
(14) Stories of Pan sexually pursuing the Nymphs appear in the Hellenistic
period or later. Moreover, though the Nymphs and Hermes may be sexual
partners (H.Aphr. 259–63), Larson 2001: 81–2 and 96 shows that these
relationships are more common to cults in the Troad.
(15) On the significance of frames in ancient art and literature, see Hurwit 1977:
1–30; Platt and Squire 2017.
Page 16 of 19
(16) Hom. Od. 14.434–6; Vernant 1969: 134, 158–9; Borgeaud 1988: 48, 206–7, n.
17; Larson 2001: 34, 95–6.
(17) Semonides, fr. 20: Μαιάδος τόκωι· / οὗτοι γὰρ ἀνδρῶν αἷμ’ ἔχουσι
ποιμένων. On Hermes as a shepherd and the acquisition of wealth, see Vernant
1969: 158–9.
(18) Hdt. 6.105; Larson 2001: 96–8; Borgeaud 1988: 94–6, 133–62; Brommer
1949: 5–9; Brommer 1938: 376–81. As Brommer notes, however, representations
of Pan began appearing in Athens already at the end of the sixth century, casting
some doubt onto Herodotus’ account.
(19) Ar. Thesm. 977–8. The translation is my own.
(20) Thomas 2011: 169–72; West 2003: 18; Janko 1982: 184–5.
(21) All translations from the Homeric Hymn to Pan have been adapted from West
2003: 198–203.
(22) Thomas 2011: 151.
(23) Thomas 2011: 151, n. 1.
(24) This epiphanic effect is redoubled by the enjambment of the next line, which
strikingly declares the philos gonos of line 1 to be “goat-footed” (αἰγιπόδην). It
continues with evocative epithets through line 3:…δικέρωτα φιλόκροτον ὅς τ’
ἀνὰ πίση / δενδρήεντ’ ἄμυδις φοιτᾷ χοροήθεσι νύμφαις (“…two-horned lover of
noise, who roams around the wooded fields together with the chorus-dancing
Nymphs”).
(25) Janko 1982: 185 and Thomas 2011: 166–8 further establish the link between
the two gods through the similarities in their respective hymns, which share
diction, mode of narration, and plot lines.
(26) αἰγιπόδην δικέρωτα πολύκροτον ἡδυγέλωτα. There is a discrepancy in the

manuscript tradition between φιλόκροτον (2) and πολύκροτον (37), but I follow
West 2003: 198–201 in treating them as essentially the same. West further
maintains αἰγοπόδην rather than αἰγιπόδην, despite the change advocated by G.
Hermann, in Homeri Hymni et Epigrammata (1806). Despite these minor
variations, the two lines are clearly parallel.
(27) πάντες δ’ ἄρα θυμὸν ἔτερφθεν / ἀθάνατοι, περίαλλα δ’ ὁ Βάκχειος

Διόνυσος· / Πᾶνα δέ μιν καλέεσκον ὅτι φρένα πᾶσιν ἔτερψε.
(28) Janko 1982: 184–5 analyzes the linguistic peculiarities and generally
ascribes the hymn to an Attic context. However, he does express some
reservations about their status as Atticisms. Both Janko 1982: 185, 198 and West
Page 17 of 19
2003: 18 argue that the language is consistent with the fifth century, with Janko
further arguing that the hymn likely does not date later than the mid-fifth
century BCE.
(29) Cole 1984: 233–5; Parker 1996: 104–8; Lambert 1998: 143–89; Parker 2005:
458–61; Beaumont 2012: 67–9.
(30) On the matter of legitimization through Olympian recognition, see Nagy

1990: 36–82.
(31) Nagy 1990: 53–6. On rhapsodic performances generally, see Gonzalez 2015.
(32) Gonzalez 2015: 293–433.
(33) Gonzalez 2015: 1–14, 293–433; Strauss Clay 2006: 10–16; Nagy 1990: 53–6.
(34) Jost 2007: 264–6; Nielsen 2000: 39–46. On religion in Arcadia more
generally, see Jost 1985.
(35) For Pan’s integration within Athens, see Borgeaud 1988: 133–62.
(36) ὅς τ᾽ ἀνὰ πίση / δενδρήεντ᾽ ἄμυδις φοιτᾶι χορο<γ>ηθέσι νύμφαις…
(37) Berlin, SK 709a. Klöckner 2010: 115–17; Comella 2002: 221–2; Larson 2001:
99–100; Carpenter 1950: 324–5; Edwards 1985: 370–8, with previous
bibliography. Although the relief was discovered in Rome, I follow Edwards and
Carpenter in assigning this relief to an Attic context of production.
(38) Cf. Berlin, SK 711. Edwards 1985: no. 77.
(39) For more on Acheloös, see Isler 1970.
(40) Athens, NM 1448x. IG II2 4646. Kaltsas 2002: 219; Güntner 1994: 125; Fuchs
1962: 243, 249; Feubel 1935: xiv, 42–3; Edwards 1985: 618–24, with previous
bibliography.
(41) Hurwit 1977: 1–30; Derrida 1987: 52–68; Platt and Squire 2017: 1–99;
Gaifman 2017: 392–424.
(42) Cf. Athens, NM 1445 and 3874.
(43) Athens, NM 4465. Gaifman 2008: 94–9; Kaltsas 2002: 212; Edelmann 1999:
132–3, 221; Güntner 1994: 120; Fuchs 1962: 246–7; Edwards 1985: 467–75, with
previous bibliography.
(44) Travlos 1988: 329–34; Wickens 1986: no. 39.
Page 18 of 19
(45) In the late sixth century BCE, Hipparkhos is said to have installed herms as
halfway points between Athens and the demes. [Pl.] Hipparch. 228b–29a;
Osborne 1985: 48.
(46) For more on the relationship between urban and extra-urban cults, see De
Polignac 1995; Parker 2005: 50–78.
(47) Gaifman 2008: 96.
(48) On herms in Athens, see Thuc. 6.27.1; Paus. 1.24.3; Harrison 1965: 108–20;
Vernant 1969: 133–4; Wycherley 1970: 284–6; Osborne 1985: 45–73; Parker
1996: 80–2; Quinn 2007: 91–2; Martin 2010: 647–9; Gaifman 2012. See also
Verity Platt’s volume on epiphany, in which she shows that images of the divine
allowed viewers to comprehend the image not just symbolically as a visual
representation of the god, but also as the epiphanic presence of the divine. Platt
2011: 31–76, and especially 100–4, where she discusses aniconism and epiphany.
Page 19 of 19
Hermes and Heracles


Print ISBN-13: 9780198777342
DOI: 10.1093/oso/9780198777342.001.0001
Hermes and Heracles

Jennifer Larson
DOI:10.1093/oso/9780198777342.003.0004

The similarities between the myths of Hermes (especially as presented in the
Homeric Hymn to Hermes) and certain elements of the Heracles myths are
substantial enough to indicate a relationship. Specifically, the myth of the
struggle for Apollo’s tripod has to do with Heracles’ progress toward acceptance
as an Olympian god. The composer of the Homeric Hymn was reacting in some
degree to the Heracles myth.
Keywords: Homeric Hymns, succession myth, tripod, Hermes, Heracles
1. Introduction
At first glance Hermes and Heracles seem unlikely candidates for comparative
study. Hermes is a light-hearted patron of thieves and a doer of errands for Zeus.
His talent lies in stealth and cunning, and he is more trickster than warrior,
though he boasts one great victory over the monster Argos who was set to guard
Io. Heracles, for his part, is the quintessential warrior and subduer of monsters,
at once a serial violent offender and punisher of the violent, whose lineage and
superhuman feats secure his apotheosis after a life of uninterrupted turmoil and
physical conflict.
On the other hand, both Hermes and Heracles are younger sons of Zeus, among
the youngest of the Olympian gods. In the sphere of cult, they follow a similar
trajectory as patrons of maturing youths, worshiped side by side in the
gymnasia.1 When they begin their careers, neither has yet achieved
acknowledgment as an Olympian deity. Each challenges his older sibling Apollo
by attempting to steal from him. Each is accepted into the society of Olympus,
Page 1 of 16
Hermes and Heracles
but only after provoking Apollo to a confrontation that must be mediated by

Zeus. In both cases the younger brother is expected to restore the stolen
property and it is clear that his rank will remain subordinate to that of Apollo.
Finally, reconciliation and subsequent goodwill between the former adversaries
is an important theme in both cases.
In this paper, I will argue that the similarities between the myths of Hermes
(especially as presented in the Homeric Hymn to Hermes) and certain elements
of the Heracles myths are substantial enough to indicate a relationship.
Specifically, I will suggest that the myth of the struggle for Apollo’s tripod (p.
50) has to do with Heracles’ progress toward acceptance as an Olympian god,
also a major concern for Hermes in the Hymn to Hermes, and I will argue that
the composer of the Homeric Hymn was reacting in some degree to the Heracles
myth.
My analysis is informed by Jenny Strauss Clay’s demonstration that the Homeric

Hymns seek to fill the gap between cosmogonic poetry and heroic epic, and to
frame Panhellenic explanations for the accession of the gods to their ultimate
roles within the cosmos. As she shows, the arrival of a new deity on an already-
crowded Olympus, when the prerogatives or timai of the gods have been
apportioned and their hierarchy determined, creates a situation of inherent
conflict, which the composers of the hymns to Apollo and Hermes resolve in
different ways.2 Heracles is of course unique in that he begins his career as a
mortal and is the last of all deities to join the Olympians. Yet the myths treating
his relationships with the gods reveal the same pattern of potential or actual
conflict resolved by peaceful integration into the Olympian fold. In my view the
first poems to describe Heracles’ theft of the Delphic tripod must have been
composed from a theogonic perspective similar to that of the Homeric Hymns.
Unfortunately, we do not know in what genre(s) these early Heraclean myths
were embedded when they began to circulate.
2. The Hymn to Hermes

Why Hermes was conceptualized as the last-born of the Olympians in the
Homeric Hymn, and why he at first possessed no clear claim to Olympian status,
are puzzling questions. Strauss Clay provides a structuralist explanation,
suggesting that the interior logic of the pantheon requires a deity who embodies
the “principle of motion” between the boundaries and divisions established in
the cosmos (for example, between earth and Olympus, or earth and the
Underworld), something that is still lacking when the poem begins.3 This
principle can be implemented only after the fundamental boundaries of the
cosmos have been established. We may also consider the relatively subordinate
status of Hermes within the Olympian hierarchy; like Hephaestus, he “works”
while the other gods take their leisure; the Olympian status of Hephaestus too is
contested when he is cast out by Hera or Zeus.4 Finally, Hermes is in many
respects a more earthbound deity than the other Olympians and, like his son
Page 2 of 16
Hermes and Heracles
Pan, is thought to spend much of his time there with (p.51) mortals.5 This facet
of his character may be pertinent to his conceptualization as a god who is,
literally, upwardly mobile. He must seek out his social elevation, and force the
other gods to recognize him by doing deeds to attract their attention. These are
characteristics he shares, to some extent, with Heracles. In the rest of this
section, I will summarize the passages of the Hymn that are most pertinent to
my argument.
Hermes’ supernatural abilities, like those of his brother Apollo, are manifested
immediately upon his birth: “Born with dawn, he played the lyre at noonday, and
in the evening he stole the cattle of Far-Shooter Apollo on the fourth day of the
month, the day that Lady Maia bore him” (H.Herm. 17–19). The poet recounts
how Hermes invented the lyre first of all, and then left his cradle in Maia’s cave
to steal Apollo’s cattle “because he longed to taste meat” (64). When his mother
scolds him upon his return, Hermes replies that he is dissatisfied and desires to
share the timē currently allotted to his brother Apollo (173–5):
As for honor, I too will enter upon the rite (hosiē) that Apollo has. If my
father will not give it, I shall try—and I am able—to be chief among thieves.
Hermes envisions for himself a status equal to that of Apollo, and intends to
secure the same rights and honors enjoyed by his brother. He probably has in
mind Apollo’s oracular powers, given the later references to Hermes’ interest in
this domain. If Hermes is not given these honors, he says, he will continue his
mischief by plundering Apollo’s megan domon, presumably his temple, and
remove the precious offerings stored there, including the tripods (178–81).
When Apollo comes to the cave seeking his cattle, the confrontation gives
Hermes an opportunity to appeal to Zeus; accordingly, the two make their way to
Olympus where the gods are assembled and the scales of justice are set.6 Zeus is
pleased with his younger son, and commands the two brothers to mend their
quarrel; Hermes is to return the cattle (389–96). Once the cattle are secured,
Hermes plays the lyre and sings a theogony describing how each of the gods was
born from eldest to youngest, and received his or her “portion” (428 lakhe
moiran). A smitten Apollo indicates his interest in the lyre, and there follows a
complex negotiation in which Hermes hints broadly at his own interest in the
gifts that Apollo has received from Zeus, including the power of divination (471–
2): “They say that by the utterance of Zeus you know divination (manteia), Far-
Shooter, all the oracles (thesphata) from Zeus.” An exchange is made of the lyre
for a whip that empowers its owner as “keeper of cattle herds,” and the brothers
return to Olympus, where Zeus makes them friends (497–8, 506–8).
(p.52) Yet Apollo is still troubled at the thought that Hermes may steal from
him again, not only taking back the lyre, but also absconding with Apollo’s bow.
He asks for Hermes’ oath never again to attempt theft from him (514–20).
Page 3 of 16
Hermes and Heracles
Hermes swears the oath, and Apollo in turn swears to love no other better than
Hermes; he then presents Hermes with a three-branched golden staff “of riches
and wealth” (529 olbou kai ploutou…rhabdon) while simultaneously declining to
permit Hermes or any other god to share his core oracular function (533–8).
Instead, Apollo gives Hermes yet another gift, a lesser form of divination tied to
the bee maidens of Parnassus (552–66). Zeus confirms Hermes’ status as lord
over birds and beasts, and makes him the messenger to Hades (567–72).
Hermes’ theft of the cattle, then, has paid off handsomely by demonstrating his
power, bringing him to the attention of his brother and father, and precipitating
a formal delineation of the honors due to him as a god.
3. The Struggle for the Tripod: Summary of the Evidence

Let us now look more closely at the Struggle for the Tripod, the episode that
forms my Heraclean parallel for Hermes’ theft of Apollo’s cattle. Whereas the
literary accounts of the Struggle are few and virtually all post-classical, visual
representations are numerous and begin in the early archaic period.
Perhaps the most influential

depiction of the Struggle in
antiquity was the east pediment
of the Treasury of the Siphnians
at Delphi (c.525; Fig. 4.1). It
shows Zeus mediating between
Apollo and Heracles as they pull
on opposite ends of the tripod;
behind Apollo stands Artemis,
grasping his shoulders as if to
restrain him, and in the corners
of the pediment are chariots
with the smaller figures of
charioteers and attendants,
perhaps including additional
gods.
Over the years, numerous

interpretations of the Struggle
for the Tripod, as represented Fig. 4.1. East pediment of the Siphnian
in specific artistic contexts, Treasury, detail.
have been put forward. Most of Photo: Erich Lessing/Art Resource,
these relate the Struggle to the NY.
political situation of Delphi
during the archaic period. To
cite the best-known example,
Parke and Boardman argued that the myth fits the circumstances of the First
Sacred War and rose to popularity following that conflict; Boardman later
Page 4 of 16
Hermes and Heracles
changed his position that Heracles represented the Krisaians, in favor of the
idea that the hero represented the allied cities fighting against Krisa in the First
Sacred War.7
(p.53) Political interpretations of the myth are numerous, yet the allegorical
approach whereby Apollo and Heracles represent specific historical factions
fighting to control the oracle has no universal application. Instead, it is clear
that if artistic scenes of the Struggle were understood this way by
contemporaries, the roles would be interpreted differently based on the political
context and the biases of the viewer. As Boardman notes, Heracles can be all
things to all people.8
More recently, Richard Neer reinterpreted the east pediment of the Siphnian
treasury, rejecting allegorical readings in favor of understanding the scene as a
generalized depiction of the settlement of disputes and the establishment of
civic order through the exercise of Zeus’ justice before an assembled community
of gods and mortals.9 Furthermore, the implied settlement of a dispute that
arose when Heracles was turned away underlines the fact of open access to the
sanctuary and its Panhellenic status. Neer’s analysis shows (p.54) why the
Struggle was an excellent choice for the Siphnians to include on their treasury
at Delphi, and it helps to clarify the significance of the iconography with respect
to the roles of Zeus, Apollo, and Delphi in the myth. We are also entitled to ask,
however, what weight of meaning the Struggle may carry with respect to its
other principal actor, Heracles. To do this, we need to consider the development
of the iconography of the Struggle in more detail.
The earliest representations of

a battle over a tripod cannot be
identified with certainty
because of the generic quality
of the figures, but the scene
from Olympia of two armed
figures disputing a tripod is
quite suggestive.10 Much more
specific is an Orientalizing vase
of the mid-seventh century from
Megara Hyblaea.11 This
polychrome vase is decorated
with several mythological
tableaux, analogous to metopes Fig. 4.2. Orientalizing vase from Megara
on a temple. One of these Hyblaea.
tableaux (Fig. 4.2) shows a man
running to the left as he looks backward, threatening his opponent with a sword.
The opponent strides forward, holding a large object (p.55) which cannot be
clearly identified, but is consistent with the size and shape of a tripod. Behind
Page 5 of 16
Hermes and Heracles
the opponent, a woman stands Musée du Louvre, Paris, France.

with her arms raised. Between Photo: Tony Querrec. © RMN-Grand
the two antagonists stands a Palais/Art Resource, NY.
tall, draped figure wearing a
helmet. The mediating function
of this figure is suggested by
the way the head turns toward the fleeing male, while the feet turn toward the
other antagonist. The composition is strikingly similar to that of the central
figures on the east pediment of the Siphnian treasury (Artemis, Apollo, Zeus,
Heracles), except that it shows the moment after Apollo has regained the tripod
rather than the moment before.12 On the Siphnian treasury, Zeus’ head faces
Apollo while his feet point toward Heracles. Doubts have been expressed
regarding the identification of the Orientalizing scene due to the lack of specific
attributes, but it is strikingly suggestive of the Struggle. At this period, the
sword or bow are the expected weapons of Heracles (as on a seventh-century
Proto-Attic amphora that shows Heracles battling Nessus with a sword), and
artists do not begin to supply him with a club or lionskin until the early sixth
century.13 The mediating figure is most likely Zeus, though the presence of the
helmet opens the possibility that it is Athena.
Not until the mid-sixth century

do we have other
representations of the Struggle,
and only a few of these predate
the Siphnian treasury (c.525).
The most important is the
Boston Pyxis (c.560; Fig. 4.3),
the earliest known Attic
representation of the myth.14
On it, Apollo and Heracles each
grasp one of the rings of a
massive tripod while a large
group of deities watches.
Behind Apollo stand Poseidon,
Nereus, Dionysus, and a
goddess who lacks identifiable
attributes but gestures with her
right hand (Artemis?); behind Fig. 4.3. Apollo and Heracles on the
Heracles stand Zeus with Boston Pyxis.
scepter and thunderbolt, Photo © 2018 Museum of Fine Arts,
Hermes, and a god holding two Boston.
wreaths. The inclusion of all
these gods suggests a divine
council like the one that sits in
Page 6 of 16
Hermes and Heracles
judgment over Hermes’ theft in the Homeric Hymn; at the very least it shows
that the Struggle is perceived as an event of moment among the gods, and one
that brings Heracles to their attention as an equal or near-equal. The two
wreaths perhaps indicate that the dispute will be amicably resolved with no
clear winner or loser.
The Siphnian treasury is thought to have been extremely influential for the
Athenian vase painters who made the Struggle such a popular subject in the
second half of the century, but most did not choose to copy its composition
directly.15 The element of Zeus as arbiter was quickly abandoned, while (p.56)
Athena, not surprisingly, was often added in the role of Heracles’ supporter.
Athenian vase painters take up the myth in earnest during the last quarter of the
century, and this episode is surprisingly popular thereafter: it is the fourth most
frequent of all Heracles’ exploits on Attic vases. Paintings of Heracles’
apotheosis likewise begin c.560–550 (around the same date as the “Introduction
Pediment” on the Acropolis), grow in popularity during the third quarter of the
century, and remain popular until the early fifth century.16 The scenes showing
Heracles and Athena in a chariot were famously related by Boardman to the
story of Peisistratus and Phye told by Herodotus. But whatever the tyrants’ role,
there is no question that during the second half of the sixth century, Heracles’
divinity was a subject of popular enthusiasm in Athens, which claimed that it
was the first city to worship the hero as a god.17
Athenian vase painting presents a Heracles who is fully capable of challenging

his older brother, and clearly worthy of the status of an Olympian. While (p.57)
the static “ground fight” with two combatants on either side of a tripod lingers
in the repertoire, there is an overwhelming preference for compositions in which
Heracles makes off with the tripod while Apollo rather ineffectually pursues him.
The fact that Athenian vase painters focused on the moment of Heracles’
triumphant claiming of the tripod (rather than the initial threat, the mediation
scene, or the return of the tripod) suggests a popular enthusiasm for the idea
that Heracles is his brother’s equal, and even able to best him, at least
temporarily.
Extant literary accounts of the myth are very late compared to the visual
evidence. We have space to consider only a few key texts.18 The earliest is
Pindar (Ol. 9.30–43, with scholia), who describes how Phoebus “warred with his
silver bow” as he pressed Heracles, but does not give the reason for the conflict.
Despite Pindar’s pious disapproval of such tales, traditions of Heracles in
physical conflict with gods (Poseidon, Apollo, Hades, Hera) are surprisingly
numerous, a fact that drew the interest of the scholiast on this passage. For sons
of Zeus who aspire to divine recognition (Hermes, Heracles, and eventually
Alexander, who reportedly threatened to steal the Delphic tripod), the road to
Olympus requires a testing and provocation of other gods.19
Page 7 of 16
Hermes and Heracles
Pausanias (10.13.6–8) describes a sculpture group dedicated at Delphi by the

Phocians c.500 BCE.20 Like many vase paintings, it showed Heracles and Apollo
grasping the tripod and about to fight over it, with attendant figures on both
sides. Pausanias identifies the attending figures as Leto and Artemis attempting
to calm Apollo, and Athena doing the same for Heracles. He goes on to observe
(19.13.8) that Heracles removed the tripod after the Pythia refused him a
response, but that he subsequently returned it and received his answer. He also
alludes to a literary version: “The poets have inherited this story, and they sing
of a fight between Heracles and Apollo for a tripod.”
Ps.-Apollodorus’ Bibliotheca (2.6.2) provides another important account of the

Struggle, telling us that when the Pythia refused him an audience, Heracles
“wanted to plunder the temple and carry off the tripod to establish an oracle of
his own. But Apollo fought with him, and Zeus threw a thunderbolt between
them.” Zeus’ intervention is reminiscent of his role on the Siphnian treasury
pediment, and perhaps the vase from Megara Hyblaea. Hyginus Fab. 32 similarly
specifies that Heracles returned the tripod at the command of Zeus, and duly
received his oracle.
In the Hymn to Hermes, the reconciliation of Apollo and Hermes leads to a gift
exchange between the brothers that defines the proper allotment of their (p.58)
timai. Both Neer and Shapiro likewise see reconciliation as an important
element in the myth of the Struggle. Reconciliation is attested in a local version
of the myth attested from Gythion (Paus. 3.21.8). At Athens, at least one vase
painting depicts the moment of the tripod’s return to Apollo.21 It has often been
observed that the Kyknos myth, in which Heracles defends Delphi against a
brigand, has close connections to the Struggle for the Tripod (the same vase
painters, for example, take up these two subjects).22 The Kyknos episode can be
understood as a sign of the newly positive relationship between Apollo and
Heracles subsequent to the resolution of the Struggle for the Tripod.
Furthermore, the Kyknos myth itself recapitulates the idea that Heracles is
powerful enough to stand against an Olympian sibling, for after dispatching
Kyknos, Heracles does battle against Kyknos’ father Ares, and Zeus’ intervention
is again required to separate the combatants.23
4. Divine Attributes and the Struggle for the Hind

In the Homeric Hymns, a god’s attributes correspond to his timai or areas of
divine power. Apollo’s wish to protect his lyre and bow from Hermes expresses
the fear that the younger sibling will again attempt to appropriate a share of the
divine honors reserved to the elder. Neither the Hymn to Apollo nor the Hymn to
Hermes assigns a specific attribute to Apollo’s province of divination. In the
visual and literary versions of the Heracles myth, on the other hand, the tripod is
clearly understood as an attribute of Apollo which symbolizes his powers of
Page 8 of 16
Hermes and Heracles
divination. Heracles’ attempt to steal it, therefore, represents a wish to usurp

Apollo’s divinatory role, if only for his own narrow purposes.
The conflict between Hermes and Apollo in the Hymn to Hermes focuses on the
theft of the cattle, but in the earliest known poetic version, the hymn by Alcaeus,
Hermes steals the god’s arrows as well as his cattle.24 Similarly, Heracles’
struggle with Apollo is most often represented by the attempted theft of the
tripod, but in art there also appear scenes in which Heracles (p.59) attempts to
make off with another of Apollo’s attributes, the deer. A group of vases depicting
this lesser-known episode can be distinguished from those which show Heracles’
labor of the Kerynitian hind.25
Thus the theme of “theft from

Apollo” is common to the myths
of Hermes and Heracles, but
absent from the myths of other
gods and heroes, and in both
cases it is recapitulated in Fig. 4.4. Comparison of the “Theft from
literature and art with different Apollo” theme in myths of Hermes and
Apolline attributes as the Heracles.
object(s) of the theft(s). This
suggests that at the core of
these related myths (when interpreted apart from specific historical contexts)
lies the challenge of the theft itself, and its significance for the perpetrator’s
status, while the specific attribute to be stolen holds less significance.
5. An Archaic Hexameter Struggle for the Tripod?

The myth of the Struggle almost certainly predates the First Sacred War (c.592),
if indeed that conflict was historical. Its origins must be dated between the rise
to prominence of the Delphic sanctuary in the eighth century and the earliest
visual representations of the Struggle, which arguably belong to the seventh
century. The distribution of oral and visual representations of the myth through
Magna Graecia, mainland Greece, and the Aegean is wide enough to suggest an
oral tradition broadly disseminated in the Greek world during the seventh or
early sixth century. Pausanias is the only source to state explicitly that “the
poets” sing this story; unfortunately, he provides no details. For evidence
suggesting that the poem or poems he cites were archaic in date, we must
return to the visual record.
(p.60) Zeus appears as arbiter of the dispute in early visual representations of

the Struggle. The theme of Zeus as arbiter between Heracles and Ares or Apollo
also surfaces on other sixth-century vases. Thus it is plausible that the versions
of Ps.-Apollodorus and Hyginus, which include Zeus as arbiter, reflect the
content of a poem or poems current in the early archaic period. On this view, the
Struggle required the intervention of Zeus to bring it to a satisfactory resolution,
Page 9 of 16
Hermes and Heracles
because Heracles was so powerful that he might have upset the balance of the
cosmos had the father of gods and men not intervened. The Boston Pyxis also
suggests a version in which the gods as a group are concerned with the outcome
as they witness or judge the struggle (cf. H.Herm. 325, 332).
Although the poem we are positing need not have been a Homeric Hymn, it
certainly would have shared what Jenny Strauss Clay has identified as a core
concern of the longer hymns: the acquisition or redistribution of timai within the
Olympian cosmos.26 It is in this context that we must consider the numerous
stories of Heracles challenging and/or wounding other gods. Heracles is made to
battle gods over and over because the motif is a mythic exploration of how he
himself becomes a god. His journey toward godhead begins with intimations of
the succession myth, for he represents a potential threat to the existing
Olympian and cosmic order. Like Apollo and Hermes, however, he acknowledges
the authority of Zeus and puts his talents to use in the service of men and gods
(as when, for example, he fights in the Gigantomachy).
Given Homer’s detailed knowledge of the myths of Heracles, it seems clear that
epic songs about Heracles existed from very early times. Since the Struggle
myth originates in the eighth century or later, an epic version, if it existed, will
have belonged to the post-Homeric period. Candidates for the author of such an
epic treatment include Peisander and Kreophylos of Samos, both of whom
produced a work or works on Heracles.27 Alternatively, the Struggle may have
been the subject of a short hexameter poem belonging to the Hesiodic tradition,
along the lines of the Shield of Heracles or the Wedding of Keyx. Finally, we may
return to the possibility that the story was told in a hymn similar to the extant
Homeric Hymns. (The corpus we possess contains one short hymn to Heracles,
which alludes to the Labors and the apotheosis of Heracles.) As noted earlier,
the nature of the Struggle myth makes it a good subject for a Homeric Hymn
because of its preoccupation with the distribution of divine timai and the
hierarchy of the Olympians, and its demonstration of Heracles’ ability to
challenge that hierarchy. There is, however, no direct evidence that such a poem
existed. (p.61)
6. Heracles and the Hymn to Hermes

Next we must ask whether shared elements in the Hymn to Hermes and our
presumptive lost poem have a common ancestor, or were imported from one to
the other, and in what order. In fact Heracles’ journey toward apotheosis as an
Olympian deity and the circumstances of Hermes’ acceptance into the circle of
Olympians share many striking similarities. If there was an archaic poem along
the lines of the Aspis or a Homeric Hymn that detailed the Struggle, would it
have borrowed from the Hymn to Hermes or the reverse? Either possibility can
be entertained, though it should be noted again that the most widely accepted
dating of the Hymn to Hermes (by Janko) places it in the late sixth century.28 It
could be the case, therefore, that the motifs of Hermes’ desire to set up his own
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Hermes and Heracles
oracle and his threat to plunder his brother’s sanctuary are borrowed from an
account of Heracles, and not the other way around.
The poet of the Hymn to Hermes seems to point to certain affinities between
Hermes and Heracles, while avoiding having his protagonist obviously imitate
Heracles; after all, the setting of the poem is long before Heracles’ birth.
However, Richardson notes that at 102–3 the poet deploys vocabulary that is
applied solely to Heracles and his deeds in the Hesiodic corpus. The use of the
phrase “the strong son of Zeus” (Dios alkimos huios) is especially pointed, and
Hermes’ feat of throwing down the cattle is reminiscent of Heracles’ feats of
strength in wrestling animals, as is the hunger that provokes him to steal the
cattle in the first place. Likewise, “wide-browed cattle” (eurumetōpous bous)
brings to mind a specific feat of Heracles that is pertinent to the Hymn: these
words are used in the Hesiodic account of the theft of Geryon’s cattle.29
It is notable that in the Hymn to Hermes, Hermes’ threat to plunder Delphi

includes a plan to steal tripods and other wealth, but Hermes does not
specifically state an intention to steal the oracular tripod itself. This is the case
in spite of the fact that Hermes wishes to share in Apollo’s oracular powers, and
the fact that Apollo recognizes this desire and responds to it. A threat to steal
Apollo’s own tripod and set up an oracle would have point in the context of the
Hymn, but the poet settles instead for a more diffuse picture of Hermes as
indiscriminate temple robber, even as he insists that he is going to share in
Apollo’s rites (173 hosiē). While deliberately evoking comparison to Heracles in
some respects, the composer of the Hymn may eschew the image of plundering
the Pythia’s tripod in order to avoid seeming derivative of an existing tradition in
which Heracles does precisely this. Even the account of Apollo and Hermes’
reconciliation seems to allude to Heracles, for Apollo (p.62) promises at 525–6
that “no one among immortals” will be dearer to him than Hermes, “neither a
god, nor a man begotten of Zeus.”
Norman O. Brown first suggested that Hermes’ sacrificial activity in the Hymn to
Hermes is a reference to the establishment of the Altar of Twelve Gods at
Athens.30 The location of the sacrifice, on the banks of the Alpheios river, is often
thought to refer to Olympia, with Hermes providing an aetiology for the worship
of the Twelve Gods there. This hypothesis has two weaknesses, the more serious
of which has always been recognized: Hermes does not go to Olympia but to
Pylos. Additionally, however, the worship of the Twelve Gods at Olympia
possessed an anterior, or at least rival aetiology: it was founded by Heracles.
Brown pointed out that Athens is the only other archaic site of a Twelve Gods
cult, and that its institution in the agora, a space consecrated to Hermes and
crowded with sculpted herms, makes Athens the only place where the cults of
Hermes and the Twelve Gods were “interconnected in the manner presupposed
by the Hymn.” If, as Johnston and Mulroy plausibly argue, the Hymn has an
Athenian provenance and was performed for the inauguration of the Altar of
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Twelve Gods in 522/1, the parallel with Heracles, the founder of the Olympian
cult, would have been quite clear.31 Because Pylos was the home of the
Peisistratids’ Neleid ancestors, the message would have been that Hermes
established the worship of the Twelve Gods before Heracles did so, and that the
new Altar was an extension of that original inaugurating act.
In short, the myths of theft from Apollo by Heracles and Hermes can be read as
variant versions of the same tale type involving sibling rivalry and access to the
exclusive club of Olympians; perhaps not coincidentally, Heracles and Hermes
were both represented as founders of Twelve Gods cults. Finally, a pre-existing
narrative of Heracles’ struggle with Apollo seems to have influenced the
composer of the Hymn to Hermes.
Bibliography
Boardman, J. 1972. “Herakles, Peisistratos and Sons.” RA: 57–72.
Boardman, J. 1978. “Herakles, Delphi and Kleisthenes.” RA: 227–34.
Bonner, R. J. 1912. “Administration of Justice in the Age of Hesiod.” CP 7.1: 17–

23.
Bothmer, D. von. 1977. “The Struggle for the Tripod.” In U. Höckmann and A.
Krug, eds. Festschrift für Frank Brommer. Mainz. 51–63.
Cairns, F. 1983. “Alcaeus’ Hymn to Hermes, P. Oxy. 2743 Fr. 1 and Horace, Odes
1.10.” QUCC 13.1: 29–35.
(p.63) Chappell, M. 2006. “Delphi and the Homeric Hymn to Apollo.” CQ 56.2:
331–48.
Cohen, B. 1994. “From Bowman to Clubman: Herakles and Olympia.” Art

Bulletin 695–715.
Daux, G. 1936. Pausanias à Delphes. Paris.
Defradas, J. 1972. Les thèmes de la propagande delphique. Paris.
Delorme, J. 1960. Gymnasion: Étude sur les monuments consacrés a l’éducation

en Grèce. Paris.
Devambez, P. and F. Villard. 1978. “Une vase orientalisant polychrome au Musée

du Louvre.” MMAI 62: 13–41.
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Harrell, S. E. 1991. “Apollo’s Fraternal Threats: Language of Succession and

Domination in the Homeric Hymn to Hermes.” GRBS 32: 307–29.
Huxley, G. L. 1969. Greek Epic Poetry from Eumelos to Panyassis. Cambridge,

MA.
Janko, R. 1982. Homer, Hesiod and the Hymns: Diachronic Development in Epic
Diction. Cambridge.
Johnston, R. W. and D. Mulroy. 2009. “The Hymn to Hermes and the Athenian
Altar of the Twelve Gods.” CW 103.1: 3–16.
Johnston, S. I. 2002. “Myth, Festival and Poet: The Homeric Hymn to Hermes
and its Performative Context.” CP 97: 109–32.
Kunze, E. 1950. Archaische Schildbänder: Ein Beitrag zur frühgriechischen

Bildgeschichte und Sagenüberlieferung. Olympische Forschungen 2. Berlin.
Larson, J. 2007. Ancient Greek Cults: A Guide. New York and London.
Mackay, E. A. 1995. “Narrative Tradition in Early Greek Oral Poetry and Vase
Painting.” Oral Tradition 10.2: 282–303.
Molyneux, J. H. 1972. “Two Problems Concerning Heracles in Pindar Olympian

9.28–41.” TAPA 103: 301–27.
Neer, R. 2001. “Framing the Gift: The Politics of the Siphnian Treasury at
Delphi.” ClAnt 20.2: 273–336.
Papakonstantinou, Z. 2007. “Legal Procedure in the Homeric Hymn to Hermes.”

Revue internationale des droits de l’Antiquité 54: 83–110.
Parke, H. W. and J. Boardman. 1957. “The Struggle for the Tripod and the First
Sacred War.” JHS 77.2: 276–82.
Richardson, N. 2010. Three Homeric Hymns: To Apollo, Hermes and Aphrodite.

Cambridge and New York.
Sakowski, A. 1997. Darstellungen von Dreifusskesseln in der griechischen Kunst

bis zum Beginn der Klassischen Zeit. Frankfurt.
Sanchez, P. 2001. L’Amphictyonie de Pyles et de Delphes: Recherches sur son

rôle historique dès origines au IIe siècle de notre ère. Historia Einzelschriften
148. Stuttgart.
Shapiro, H. A. 1983. “Hērōs Theos: The Death and Apotheosis of Herakles.” CW

77.1: 7–18.
Shapiro, H. A. 1984. “Herakles and Kyknos.” AJA 88: 523–9.

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Shapiro, H. A. 1985. “Herakles, Kyknos, and Delphi.” In H. A. G. Brijder, ed.

Ancient Greek and Related Pottery: Proceedings of the International Vase
Symposium in Amsterdam 12–15 April. 1984. Amsterdam. 271–4.
Stafford, E. 2012. Herakles. New York and London.
(p.64) Strauss Clay, J. 2006. The Politics of Olympus. Form and Meaning in the
Major Homeric Hymns. 2nd ed. London.
Vergados, A. 2013. The Homeric Hymn to Hermes. Introduction, Text and

Commentary. Berlin.
Williams, D. 1983. “Herakles, Peisistratos and the Alcmeonids.” In F. Lissarrague

and F. Thélamon, eds. Image et céramique grecque. Actes du Colloque de Rouen,
25–26 novembre 1982. Rouen. 131–40.
Notes:
(1) On worship in the gymnasia beginning in the classical period see Delorme
1960: 41, 46–9 and passim. Johnston 2002: 116 n. 25 marshals evidence for their
association with athletics beginning in the late sixth century.
(2) Strauss Clay 2006: 15. Compare Harrell 1991.
(3) Strauss Clay 2006: 98.
(4) On the Hermes of the Hymn as a “working class” role model, see Johnston
and Mulroy 2009: 13–14. Hephaestus cast out of Olympus by Zeus: Hom. Il.
1.590–4. By Hera: Hom. Il. 18.395–405; H.Ap. 316–21.
(5) For Hermes as an earth-dwelling deity see Larson 2007: 145–6.
(6) For the dikēs talanta or “scales of justice,” see Bonner 1912: 19–20 (talanta as
sums of money); Papakonstantinou 2007: 94 (arbiter’s fee).
(7) Parke and Boardman 1957; Boardman 1978. For Hermes’ threat as an
allusion to the First Sacred War, see Brown 1947: 132 n. 40.
(8) Other political interpretations: e.g. Defradas 1972: 144; Williams 1983. For
problems with political/allegorical interpretations of the Struggle, see Shapiro
1989: 62; Sanchez 2001: 66; Chappell 2006: 334 with n. 19.
(9) Neer 2001: 292–7.
(10) Kunze 1950: 115, 225, Beil. 8.1; Sakowski 1997: 48–9 with bibliography in n.
303.
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(11) CA3837 Louvre; Devambez and Villard 1978.
(12) The Megara Hyblaea vase is not unique in illustrating this moment: on a
black-figured amphora in Baltimore (Walters 48.2127), the tripod has been
recovered by Apollo. This vase is also very unusual in that it includes the Pythia,
seated on a throne: Bothmer 1977: 53.
(13) Doubts: Sakowski 1997: 113. Shapiro 1989: 62 n. 146 described the
identification as “almost certain.” Proto-Attic amphora: New York 11.210.1;
Mackay 1995: 286, pl. 1. For the sword as a weapon of Heracles in Geometric
and early archaic art, see Cohen 1994: 695–8.
(14) Boston Pyxis: Boston 61.1256; good photographs in Boardman 1978: 230,
figs. 3–6.
(15) The direct influence of the Siphnian treasury can perhaps be seen in the
small group of vases that depict the combatants with one or two chariots:
Bothmer 1977: 52–3.
(16) Fourth most frequent: Bothmer 1977: 64. Apotheosis: Shapiro 1989: 158.
(17) Hdt. 1.60.4–5; Boardman 1972. Heracles in Attica: Stafford 2012: 176–80.
First city: Diod. Sic. 4.39.1.
(18) The literary accounts are conveniently collected and discussed by Defradas
1972: 126–46, 157–9.
(19) The evidence for Heracles’ conflicts with gods is collected by Molyneux
1972: 307–9. Alexander: Ps.-Callisthenes 1.45.
(20) Hdt. 8.27.5 may be a reference to the same monument. See Daux 1936: 136–
40 for discussion of the Phocian dedication.
(21) Shapiro 1989: 63–4 and pl. 30e (Louvre F58, CVA Louvre 4 pl. 30.9: a black-
figure amphora showing Heracles returning the tripod in the presence of Athena
and Apollo); Neer 2001: 297.
(22) Kyknos: Shapiro 1984, 1985. Over a hundred examples survive, of which
about three-quarters fall into the second half of the century. The subject loses its
currency after c.480.
(23) Zeus’ intervention: oinochoe painted by Lydos, Berlin (East) 1732, Shapiro
1984: 526; 1989: 62 with n. 155. In the Hesiodic Aspis (443–9) it is Athena who
intervenes, and Zeus when the scene is depicted on vases.
(24) On the Alcaic hymn (Alcaeus fr. 306, 308a–d Campbell), see Cairns 1983.
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(25) The earliest known Athenian example (Ashmolean 1934: 333; Shapiro 1989:
64, pl. 31a, c.550) shows Apollo and Heracles facing off over the deer; behind it
stands Artemis in the “mediator” position, with her head facing Heracles and her
feet facing Apollo.
(26) Strauss Clay 2006: 15.
(27) For epics, see Huxley 1969: 99–112.
(28) Janko 1982: 141–3.
(29) Richardson 2010: 172 (noting also the connection of Heracles to the Twelve
Gods cult at Olympia) and Vergados 2013: 314 (implicit comparison to Heracles).
Cf. Hes. Theog. 291, 526, 950, fr. 35.5, 43(a) 61; Sc. 83, 320.
(30) Brown 1947: 102–32.
(31) Johnston and Mulroy 2009.
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Print ISBN-13: 9780198777342
DOI: 10.1093/oso/9780198777342.001.0001
Hide and Go Seek

Hermes in Homer
Jenny Strauss Clay
DOI:10.1093/oso/9780198777342.003.0005

This contribution explores Hermes’ role in both the Iliad and the Odyssey. In the
former, his benevolent qualities as guide, mediator, and psychopomp are
emphasized. Many of the same features return in the latter epic, but his special
relationship with the Odyssey’s hero comes to the fore, especially through their
common characteristics as trickster figures and as experts at disguise,
seduction, and their rhetorical skills. An examination of the god’s role, especially
in the Odyssey, shows that the his characteristics, modes of action, and perhaps
above all his playfulness in the Homeric Hymn are already present in Homer.
Keywords: polytropos, trickster, Odysseus, disguise, epiphany, Hermaphrodite
The Odyssey names an andra polytropon as its subject. Its polytropic hero is a
master of rhetoric, especially seductive rhetoric practiced on young and
innocent girls; he is also a master of disguises, an expert at lies. Crafty and
resourceful, he is good at inventing things, especially improvising with whatever
may be at hand. Many of his most famous exploits are nocturnal, penetrating the
walls of Troy on more than one occasion. Moreover, he is greedy, nosy, and a
little too preoccupied with food. If these characteristics remind you of anyone, it
might well be the polytropic divinity who is the subject of this volume. Both god
and the hero share the peculiar and somewhat obscure epithet, πολύτροπος.1 It
suggests versatility, indirection, adaptability, but also movement on a twisted
path. To be sure, the connection between Hermes and Odysseus has been
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explored by others,2 but I think there is more to say, some of it quite amusing,
that plays with the similarities of these two inveterate tricksters.
In the Iliad, Hermes has a rather minor role until the epic’s close.3 In passing we
hear that he stole Ares away out of the jar in which the god had been imprisoned
(5.390), and he secretly impregnated a maiden, appropriately named Polymele,
after spying her in the chorus of Artemis (16.181–6). The mock theomachy of
Book 21 pits the decidedly unheroic god up against Leto; cheerfully, he refuses
to fight with the lady whom Hesiod had called the gentlest of the gods (Theog.
406–8) and chivalrously hands her the victory (p.68) without striking a blow
(21.497–501). In Book 24, his apparent reputation as a body snatcher leads the
gods to recommend his stealing the mutilated body of Hector from its tormenter
Achilles, but Hera vetoes the decision (24.23). It is only halfway through the
Iliad’s final book that the god comes to the fore. As poor old Priam makes his
way to Achilles’ camp to ransom the body of Hector, “as if he were going to his
death” (ὡς εἰ θάνατόνδε κιόντα, 24.328), suddenly out of the darkness someone
appears (24.347–8):
βῆ δ’ ἰέναι κούρῳ αἰσυμνητῆρι ἐοικὼς

πρῶτον ὑπηνήτῃ, τοῦ περ χαριεστάτη ἥβη.
And he came, resembling a lordly youth
With the first down, when youth is the most charming.
The ancient king almost collapses with fright; stunned, his hair stands straight
up—perhaps expecting the psychopomp. Disarmingly, however, the amiable
youth reassures the old king and spins out a lengthy yarn: he is the seventh son
in his family and an attendant of Achilles.4 But he will nevertheless accompany
Priam, who need have no fear. Only when they arrive at Achilles’ tent does the
god reveal himself (24.460–4):
ὦ γέρον ἤτοι ἐγὼ θεὸς ἄμβροτος εἰλήλουθα

Ἑρμείας· σοὶ γάρ με πατὴρ ἅμα πομπὸν ὄπασσεν.
ἀλλ’ ἤτοι μὲν ἐγὼ πάλιν εἴσομαι, οὐδ’ Ἀχιλῆος
ὀφθαλμοὺς εἴσειμι· νεμεσσητὸν δέ κεν εἴη
ἀθάνατον θεὸν ὧδε βροτοὺς ἀγαπαζέμεν ἄντην·
Old man, yes indeed, I, an immortal god, have come,
Hermes; for my father sent me to accompany you.
But now I’ll go back, nor will I come into Achilles’
Sight. It would be a disgrace if
An immortal god should openly show such affection for a mortal.
Despite the fact that Hermes reveals himself and announces his identity, there is
no shattering epiphany here, nor later when Priam makes his way back from
Achilles’ encampment with the body of Hector and the god reappears. Indeed,
there Hermes performs quite menial tasks, going so far as to yoke the horses
and mules and himself drive the wagons back toward Troy (24.690–1). Despite
the absence of the thambos (astonishment) that often accompanies epiphany,5
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Hermes enacts many of his characteristic functions throughout the scene: he

promises to be a helper and benefactor to Priam, performs his role as an escort
(cf. πομπός, 24.437–9, 24.461), mentions lots, which are the god’s special
domain (24.400), puts the Myrmidons’ guards to sleep (24.445), and magically
(p.69) opens the huge doors to what has become almost a palace of Achilles’
camp (24.453–7). Often enough, critics have noted the resemblance of Priam’s
journey to a katabasis where Hermes plays the role of psychopompos.6 We note
too that the whole episode has transpired at night, with dawn breaking just as
Hermes departs (24.694–5); the nocturnal god operates best in darkness.
The lack of any striking epiphanic revelation may have something to do with the
fact that this god is especially philanthropic and close to human beings; as Zeus
himself notes: σοὶ γάρ τε μάλιστά γε φίλτατόν ἐστιν / ἀνδρὶ ἑταιρίσσαι (“you
much enjoy being a friend to man”),7 but then, alluding to Hermes’ capricious
nature, the Olympian adds, καί τ’ ἔκλυες ᾧ κ’ ἐθέλῃσθα (“and you hearken to
whomever you will,” 24.334–5).8 Indeed in the Homeric Hymns, where the
epiphany of the god celebrated is a normal ingredient (such as we find, for
instance, in the Hymn to Aphrodite, Demeter, and Apollo), the Hymn to Hermes
offers a striking exception.9
However that may be, it seems likely that, in our passage, Hermes appears to
Priam in a form pretty close to his “real shape.”10 This possibility can be
supported by another Homeric passage: in Book 10 of the Odyssey, Odysseus is
wandering alone on Circe’s island, at a loss as to what has happened to his
companions and unaware that they have been porcinified.11 Suddenly he sees
someone coming (Od. 10.275–9):
ἀλλ’ ὅτε δὴ ἄρ’ ἔμελλον ἰὼν ἱερὰς ἀνὰ βήσσας

Κίρκης ἵξεσθαι πολυφαρμάκου ἐς μέγα δῶμα,
ἔνθα μοι Ἑρμείας χρυσόρραπις ἀντεβόλησεν
ἐρχομένῳ πρὸς δῶμα, νεηνίῃ ἀνδρὶ ἐοικώς,
πρῶτον ὑπηνήτῃ, τοῦ περ χαριεστάτη ἥβη.
But while walking through the sacred glens,
I was about to arrive at the great palace of Circe of many drugs,
There Hermes of the golden staff came to meet me
As I was coming toward the palace, resembling a young man
With the first down, when youth is at its most charming.
(p.70) Hermes here is described with the same words used in his encounter
with Priam; teasingly he addresses Odysseus: πῇ δὴ αὖτ᾽, ὦ δύστηνε, δι᾽ ἄκριας
ἔρχεαι οἶος, / χώρου ἄϊδρις ἐών; “where are you going, you wretch, all alone
through the glens, ignorant of where you are?” The god gives him the special
herb moly, which may truly be called a hermaion, an unexpected find that
protects Odysseus from Circe’s magic.12 The god is immediately recognized by
Odysseus. Moreover, Odysseus hardly seems surprised: here too, no epiphany.
Now this immediate recognition of a god is quite exceptional and may stem from
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a special relationship between Hermes and Odysseus. The Odyssey itself

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

perhaps he has inherited Hermes’ divine favor too; such things sometimes run in
families.13 Both Odysseus and Hermes are, as already mentioned, polytropic,
and traditions abound in which the god is not just the patron, but the father of
Autolykos, which would make him Odysseus’ great-grandfather.14 In that case,
their special relationship would be strengthened by familial ties. Odysseus
actually does lay claim to the god’s patronage when he boasts of his skill at
various humdrum domestic chores like tending fires, cutting wood, carving
meat, and pouring wine (Od. 15.319–24).15
There are two other incidents which may hint at further links between the hero
and the trickster god. In his youth, while still a child (Od. 21.21 παιδνὸς ἐών!),
Odysseus was sent on a mission by his father and the other elders to bring back
the sheep that the Messenians had rustled from Ithaca. In keeping with his
nature, Hermes is both a rustler of herds and their protector. It seems especially
piquant to realize that his junior protégé should undertake a youthful expedition
to retrieve stolen herds, especially since his grandfather, (p.71) Autolykos was
a notorious cattle-thief!16 In another event with a mercurial flavor, the disguised
Odysseus recounts a presumably fictional ambush during a chilly night during
the Trojan War (Od. 14.468–506). He recounts how, through a ruse, a fictional (?)
Odysseus was able to con a Greek into leaving his cloak so that, without outright
theft, the beggar managed to get the warm garment against the cold night air.
Here, not only the nocturnal setting and the devious rhetoric, but also the cloak
itself have Hermetic resonances.17 To be sure, Eumaeus immediately gets the
point of the ainos; the beggar, like Hermes, “has spoken a word not without
profit” (οὐδέ τί πω παρὰ μοῖραν ἔπος νηκερδὲς ἔειπες, Od. 14.509).
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But back to Circe’s: as soon as the goddess realizes that her magic has not
worked on Odysseus, who although protected by moly has in addition drawn his
sword and made as if to attack her, she throws herself at his mercy. Odysseus’
imperviousness to her drugs causes her suddenly to realize that he must be none
other than Odysseus polytropos (10.329–31):
σοὶ δέ τις ἐν στήθεσσιν ἀκήλητος νόος ἐστίν.

ἦ σύ γ’ Ὀδυσσεύς ἐσσι πολύτροπος, ὅν τέ μοι αἰεὶ
φάσκεν ἐλεύσεσθαι χρυσόρραπις Ἀργεϊφόντης,
ἐκ Τροίης ἀνιόντα θοῇ σὺν νηῒ μελαίνῃ.
In your breast you have a mind that cannot be charmed.
Aha! You must be Odysseus polytropos, whom always
Argeiphontes of the golden staff kept telling me would come
On his return from Troy along with his swift black ship.
This is the only time—other than in the first line of the proem—when the hero is
given this epithet, which he shares exclusively with Hermes. Intriguing here is
the iterative αἰεὶ φάσκεν.18 Has Hermes been hanging around on Circe’s island?
And what was he doing there? Is that why he popped up so unexpectedly when
Odysseus was approaching her palace? I cannot help thinking that there is
something fishy here, especially since we have already learned that Hermes is
disinclined to fly off to faraway places when there is nothing in it for him. He is,
for instance, quite out of sorts when he is ordered by his father Zeus to go off to
Calypso’s Ogygia, since there are no tasty sacrifices there for him to enjoy. I
hesitate to say what might detain him at Circe’s, but there is some
circumstantial evidence.
(p.72) In the “Lay of Ares and Aphrodite” performed by Demodocus in Book 8,

the divine lovers, naked and exposed, but trapped in the invisible bonds of the
cuckold Hephaestus, give rise to the unquenchable laughter of the gods;
thereupon Apollo questions his younger brother (Od. 8.336–42):
ἦ ῥά κεν ἐν δεσμοῖσ’ ἐθέλοις κρατεροῖσι πιεσθεὶς

εὕδειν ἐν λέκτροισι παρὰ χρυσῇ Ἀφροδίτῃ;
Would you be willing, even though squeezed in mighty chains,
To sleep in bed next to golden Aphrodite?
Shameless Hermes answers:
αἲ γὰρ τοῦτο γένοιτο, ἄναξ ἑκατηβόλ’ Ἄπολλον.

δεσμοὶ μὲν τρὶς τόσσοι ἀπείρονες ἀμφὶς ἔχοιεν,
ὑμεῖς δ’ εἰσορόῳτε θεοὶ πᾶσαί τε θέαιναι,
αὐτὰρ ἐγὼν εὕδοιμι παρὰ χρυσῇ Ἀφροδίτῃ.
If only this could happen, far-thrusting Apollo!
If three times as many chains of infinite length would bind us,
And you gods would observe us, as well as all the goddesses,
Nevertheless, I would sleep with golden Aphrodite!
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(Now, if Hermes and Aphrodite were bound together and even fused, they might
produce a Hermaphrodite!)19 Aphrodite claims in the Hymn to Aphrodite that it
was Hermes who wafted her to Anchises’ steading on Ida (121–7), and there are
a good number of tales of the god’s erotic adventures (e.g. Il. 16.179–86).20 His
connection with the arts of seduction are clearly on display when he outfits
Pandora in the Works and Days with the necessary verbal tools for erotic
conquests, while in the Homeric Hymn, he exerts his erotic powers by charming
his older brother with his lovely voice and lyre-playing (H. Herm. 426, 449, 455).
In any case, would it be too farfetched to wonder if Hermes’ presence on Aiaia
had something to do with Circe’s charms? We can at any rate be certain that his
crafty descendent is by no means immune to them. Now, Homer does not really
depict Odysseus as lecherous, but there is a moment when he seems to become
Circe’s sex slave. Clearly, the goddess who can turn men into swine has the
power to enchant. At least, while consorting with her for a year, the hero
manages to forget Ithaca altogether, and it is finally his comrades who become
restive and remind him—after a whole year!—that it is time to go home. Indeed,
Circe, Hermes, and Odysseus share a common trait, which may explain their
attraction: all are polymechanoi.21 There is even (p.73) another scabrous tale
of Hermes’ erotic adventures, one to be sure not found in the Odyssey, but at
least as old as Herodotus, and perhaps originating in a Satyr play. It recounts
how Hermes seduced Penelope, and how from this union Pan was born.22 I
cannot help but believe that our model of feminine fidelity may have fallen victim
to Hermes’ charms while he was disguised as Odysseus!
Let me turn now to another encounter involving disguise: in the thirteenth book
of the Odyssey, the hero finds himself on the beach in Ithaca, but since Athena
has covered the whole landscape with a layer of mist, he has no notion of his
whereabouts. As our hero starts to wander along the shore in despair and anger
on the grounds that the Phaeacians had deceived him, suddenly (Od. 13.221–5):
σχεδόθεν δέ οἱ ἦλθεν Ἀθήνη,

ἀνδρὶ δέμας εἰκυῖα νέῳ, ἐπιβώτορι μήλων,
παναπάλῳ, οἷοί τε ἀνάκτων παῖδες ἔασι,
δίπτυχον ἀμφ’ ὤμοισιν ἔχουσ’ εὐεργέα λώπην·
ποσσὶ δ’ ὑπὸ λιπαροῖσι πέδιλ’ ἔχε, χερσὶ δ’ ἄκοντα.
Athena approached him,
Likening herself to a young man, a shepherd,
Tenderly reared, like the children of kings,
With a double and finely worked cloak around his shoulders;
And on his shining feet, he had sandals, and in his hand a staff.
The whole encounter between Odysseus and Athena plays itself out like a game
of cat and mouse.23 Each of the players tries to trump or trip up the other. This
longest dialogue in Homer between a god and a mortal centers on the theme of
disguise and revelation, appearance and reality. We cannot go through the whole
scene here, but we can see that the game starts right at the beginning of the
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scene where, I believe, Athena disguises herself…as Hermes! I note in passing

that the masquerade may already have been hinted at in Book 1, where Athena,
as she makes her way to Ithaca, dons Hermes’ golden sandals! (1.96–8 cf. 5.44–
6, Il. 24.340–2). It has in fact been suggested that Hermes was originally the sole
divine patron of Odysseus, but the epic, in the interest of white-washing its hero
and making him more respectable, gave Athena that role—though vestiges of the
original version occasionally make themselves felt.24
Be that as it may, one wonders what might motivate Athena to disguise herself
as Hermes. Does she think, perhaps, that if Odysseus sees his patron deity, he
will be caught off balance, will immediately trust him, and tell all (p.74)
without reservation? Well, that is not the way our man operates (Od. 13.253–5):
καί μιν φωνήσας ἔπεα πτερόεντα προσηύδα·

οὐδ’ ὅ γ’ ἀληθέα εἶπε, πάλιν δ’ ὅ γε λάζετο μῦθον,
αἰὲν ἐνὶ στήθεσσι νόον πολυκερδέα νωμῶν.
Addressing him [or her] he spoke winged words,
Nor indeed did he speak the truth, but he swallowed his words,
Always wielding a mind in his breast, bent on profit.
Our Odysseus trusts neither god nor man. Immediately, without hesitation, he
launches into the first of his Cretan tales, a masterful account of how he found
himself on an isolated beach, encumbered by an embarrassingly huge treasure
trove. Finally Athena transforms herself into a beautiful woman (Od. 13.287–95):
μείδησεν δὲ θεὰ γλαυκῶπις Ἀθήνη,

χειρί τέ μιν κατέρεξε· δέμας δ’ ἤικτο γυναικὶ
καλῇ τε μεγάλῃ τε καὶ ἀγλαὰ ἔργα ἰδυίῃ,
καί μιν φωνήσασ’ ἔπεα πτερόεντα προσηύδα·
“κερδαλέος κ’ εἴη καὶ ἐπίκλοπος, ὅς σε παρέλθοι
ἐν πάντεσσι δόλοισι, καὶ εἰ θεὸς ἀντιάσειε.
σχέτλιε, ποικιλομῆτα, δόλων ἄατ’, οὐκ ἄρ’ ἔμελλες,
οὐδ’ ἐν σῇ περ ἐὼν γαίῃ, λήξειν ἀπατάων
μύθων τε κλοπίων, οἵ τοι πεδόθεν φίλοι εἰσίν.”
The goddess grey-eyed Athena smiled,
And took him by the hand; she likened herself in build to a woman
Beautiful and big, an expert at splendid works.
And addressing him, she spoke winged words:
“He would have to be a rogue and a thief who could get the best of
you
With all your tricks, insatiable in your ruses; you couldn’t
Even in your own land leave off deception
And cheating words which are dear to you from head to toe.”
The game between these two continues, but we cannot follow it here.
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The special connection between Odysseus and Hermes surfaces in yet another
passage. When Odysseus suddenly appears in the palace of Alcinoos, all the
Phaeacians are dumb-struck and astonished (Od. 7.136–45):
εὗρε δὲ Φαιήκων ἡγήτορας ἠδὲ μέδοντας

σπένδοντας δεπάεσσιν ἐυσκόπῳ Ἀργειφόντῃ,
ᾧ πυμάτῳ σπένδεσκον, ὅτε μνησαίατο κοίτου.
αὐτὰρ ὁ βῆ διὰ δῶμα πολύτλας δῖος Ὀδυσσεὺς
πολλὴν ἠέρ’ ἔχων, ἥν οἱ περίχευεν Ἀθήνη,
ὄφρ’ ἵκετ’ Ἀρήτην τε καὶ Ἀλκίνοον βασιλῆα.
ἀμφὶ δ’ ἄρ’ Ἀρήτης βάλε γούνασι χεῖρας Ὀδυσσεύς,
καὶ τότε δή ῥ’ αὐτοῖο πάλιν χύτο θέσφατος ἀήρ.
(p.75) οἱ δ’ ἄνεω ἐγένοντο δόμον κάτα φῶτα ἰδόντες,

θαύμαζον δ’ ὁρόωντες…
And he found the rulers and councilors of the Phaeacians
Pouring libations in their cups to sharp-eyed Argeiphontes,
To whom they were accustomed to pour libations last, when going to
bed.
But long suffering splendid Odysseus went through the palace
Covered with a thick mist, which Athena had poured around him
Until he approached Arete and King Alcinoos.
Odysseus threw his arms around the knees of Arete,
And then, lo and behold! the divine mist poured away from him,
And they became dumb-struck throughout the palace when they saw
him,
And they marveled gazing upon him…
The stranger appears as the Phaeacians are pouring libations to Hermes before
going to bed.25 In their reactions to Odysseus’ sudden entrance, we might well
recognize all the hallmarks of an epiphany: the unexpected startling appearance
and the dumb-struck wonder of the mortals, stunned at the epiphany of the god.
I am alluding, of course, to the proverbial expression that describes the eerie
hush when a sudden silence falls amid conversation: Hermes passes (cf. Plutarch
de Gar. 502). After some initial awkwardness, even after welcoming the
stranger, Alcinoos still wonders if he might be a divinity. If so, it would be an
unusual machination (περιμηχανοώνται) on the part of the gods, who are
accustomed to join them in their feasts and (Od. 7.204–5):
εἰ δ’ ἄρα τις καὶ μοῦνος ἰὼν ξύμβληται ὁδίτης,

οὔ τι κατακρύπτουσιν, ἐπεί σφισιν ἐγγύθεν εἰμέν.
Even if a solitary wayfarer encounters them on his way,
They do not hide themselves since we are close to them.
Little does the Phaeacian king know that the startling arrival of the mysterious
stranger will put an end to their nearness to the gods and even their future
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commerce with men. Through his tales and persuasive discourse, the putative
great-grandson of Hermes will charm them into oblivion.
I conclude with the words of Alcinoos, who was probably neither the first nor the
last to be taken in by Odysseus and his doublet, Hermes (Od. 11.363–6):
ὦ Ὀδυσεῦ, τὸ μὲν οὔ τί σ’ ἐΐσκομεν εἰσορόωντες

ἠπεροπῆά τ’ ἔμεν καὶ ἐπίκλοπον, οἷά τε πολλοὺς
βόσκει γαῖα μέλαινα πολυσπερέας ἀνθρώπους
ψεύδεά τ’ ἀρτύνοντας, ὅθεν κέ τις οὐδὲ ἴδοιτο.
(p.76) Odysseus, looking at you, you don’t seem like

A deceiver and thief, such as the many men
Scattered far and wide whom the dark earth nurtures,
And who devise lies such that no one can make them out…
Looks are deceptive, and lies hard to detect; Outis and his mercurial patron
show up in the most unexpected places; then suddenly they vanish.26
The ability to charm with song and story-telling creates a bond not only between
Hermes and the Odyssey’s hero, but also between Hermes and the epic poet.
Like the god, the bard with his lyre enchants the tribes of men, by traversing
heaven, earth, and the nether regions, and mediating the divine song of the
Muses to us mortals. Finally, Homer may be the greatest trickster of all.
Bibliography
Cursaru, G. 2012. “Les sandales d’Hermès, I: Les kala pedila Homérique

d’Hermès.” RFIC 140: 20–61.
Davies, M. 2008. “Hermes the Helper Figure: Odyssey 10.275–308.” Prometheus

34: 27–32.
Degani, E. 1984. Studi su Ipponate. Bari.
Gartziou–Tatti, A. 1994–5. “Ἴρις καί Ερμής στήν Ἰλιάδα.” Mètis 9–10: 359–75.
Hutson, A. E. 1957. “The Seventh Son as a Healer.” Western Folklore 16: 56–8.
Herrero de Jáuregui, Μ. 2011. “Priam’s Catabasis: Traces of the Epic Journey to

Hades in Iliad 24.” TAPA 141: 37–68.
Lebassi, A. 2009. “The Erotic Goddess of the Syme Sanctuary.” AJA 113: 521–45.
Marinatos, N. 2003. “Striding across Boundaries: Hermes and Aphrodite as Gods

of Initiation.” In D. Dodd and C. Faraone, eds. Initiation in Ancient Greek Rituals
and Narratives: New Critical Perspectives. London. 130–51.
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Maronitis, D. N. 1974. Αναζήτησι καί Νόστος τοῦ Ὀδυσσέα. Athens.
Michel, C. 2008. “Hermes in der Odyssee.” WJA 32: 11–34.
Pratt, L. 1993. Lying and Poetry from Homer to Pindar: Falsehood and Deception
in Ancient Greek Poetics. Ann Arbor.
Russo, J. A. 1997. “A Jungian Analysis of Odysseus.” In P. Young-Eisendrath and

T. Dawson, eds. A Cambridge Companion to Jung. Cambridge. 253–68.
Russo, J. A. 2000. “Athena and Hermes in Early Greek Poetry: Doubling and
Complementarity.” In M. Cannatà Fera and S. Grandolini, eds. Poesia e religione
in Grecia: Studi in onore di G. Aurelio Privitera. Naples. 595–603.
Shelmerdine S. C. 1986. “Odyssean Allusions in the Fourth Homeric Hymn.”

TAPA 116: 49–63.
Stanford, W. B. 1963. The Ulysses Theme. Ann Arbor.
Strauss Clay, J. 1983. The Wrath of Athena: Gods and Men in the Odyssey.
Princeton.
(p.77) Versnel, H. S. 2011. Coping with the Gods: Wayward Readings in Greek
Theology. Leiden.
Vergados, A. 2011. “The Homeric Hymn to Hermes: Humour and Epiphany.” In

A. Faulkner, ed. The Homeric Hymns: Interpretive Essays. Oxford. 82–104.
Vergados, A. 2013. The Homeric Hymn to Hermes. Introduction, Text and

Commentary. Berlin.
Wathelet, P. 1988. “Priam aux Enfers ou le retour du corps d’Hector.” Études

Classiques 56: 321–35.
Wathelet, P. 2014. “Hermès chez Homère ou le dieu officieux.” In S. Perceau and

O. Szerwiniack, eds. Polutropia: d’Homère à nos jours. Mélanges offerts à
Danièle Aubriot. Paris. 39–64. (p.78)
Notes:
(1) H.Herm. 13 and 439. Other shared epithets: ποικιλομήτης: H.Herm. 155, 514;
Il. 11.482; Od. 3.163, 7.168, 13.293, 22.115, 202, 281; πολύμητις: H.Herm. 319;
passim in both Iliad and Odyssey.
(2) Vergados 2013: 65–7; Michel 2008; Pratt 1993: 63–73; Shelmerdine 1986;
Stanford 1963: esp. 8–24 and 66–89.
(3) For an overview of Hermes in Homer, see Wathelet 2014.
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(4) The widespread belief in the seventh son, especially in Irish folklore,
identifies him as a seer and a healer. See Hutson 1957: 56–8. The tradition is
alive: an apparently dreadful movie as well as a pop song were called “The
Seventh Son.”
(5) Note, in contrast, the almost epiphanic arrival of Priam himself, marked by
θάμβος (24.482–3).
(6) For Priam’s journey as a katabasis, see Wathelet 1988 and most recently
Herrero 2011 and bibliography therein. Cursaro 2012 emphasizes the
psychopompic character of Hermes in this scene, while Gartziou-Tatti 1994–5
dwells on his role as mediator. Surely both characteristics—and more—are
operative throughout the episode.
(7) For Hermes’ ambiguous nature, uneasily situated between god and man, see
Versnel 2011: 309–77. Hermes is addressed as φιλανθρωπότατε…δαιμόνων at
Ar. Pax 392.
(8) There may be another joke in Hermes’ elaborate refusal of Priam’s offer of a
fine goblet (24.429–36), since Hermes is known as a lover of gifts and possibly
open to bribes. Herrero 2011: 58 is more solemn in seeing the cup as another
katabatic resonance.
(9) Cf. Vergados 2011.
(10) Cursaru 2012: 40, however, believes that both in the Iliad and in Od. 10
Hermes is disguised, and tries to explain away Odysseus’ immediate recognition
of the god in the latter scene.
(11) The two had a near encounter at Calypso’s: Hermes had flown away before
Odysseus reappeared, but “he sat down on the chair whence Hermes had
arisen” (5.195–6).
(12) Davies 2008 notes the parallels between Hermes in this scene and the
“Helper Figure” found in countless folktales.
(13) Especially striking is Diomedes’ relationship with Athena, which seems

inherited from her closeness with his father Tydeus.
(14) Cf. [Hesiod] fr. 64 M-W.
(15) Cf. later Ar. Pax 201–2, on which see Beta and Moodie in this volume.
(16) Cf. [Hesiod] fr. 67 M-W. He was able to hide his thefts by changing the
animals’ color or brands.
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(17) For Hermes’ special affinity for cloaks, see Capra and Nobili in this volume
and Degani 1984: 168–70. See also [Hesiod] fr. 66 M-W. where Autolykos and
Hermes are mentioned along with cloaks (?) and other items of clothing.
(18) H.Herm. 13 and 439. Maronitis 1974: 83 suggests that it was Hermes who
used that shared epithet πολύτροπος when he foretold Odysseus’ arrival at
Circe’s. (I owe this reference to Athanassios Vergados.)
(19) Hermes and Aphrodite seem to be worshipped together in the very old
sanctuary of Syme on Crete, which in fact provides the earliest known images of
Hermes. Aphrodite, not named until the Hellenistic period, is represented as
bound! Cf. Lebassi 2009 and Marinatos 2003.
(20) See Farrell in this volume.
(21) In addition to being a standing epithet of Odysseus, πολυμήχανος is used of

Hermes (H.Herm. 319); and Odysseus ascribes πολυμηχανίη to Circe (Od.
23.321).
(22) Hdt. 2.145. Cf. Cic. ND 3.56; other versions have various or even all the
suitors impregnating her.
(23) Strauss Clay 1983: 186–212.
(24) See Russo 1997 and 2000, and Stanford 1963: esp. 12–19.
(25) The ritual fits nicely with Hermes as “bringer of dreams” and psychopomp
as well as his general connections with the nocturnal.
(26) Cf. Od. 8.552, 14.122.
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Hermes Iambicus


Print ISBN-13: 9780198777342
DOI: 10.1093/oso/9780198777342.001.0001
Hermes Iambicus
Andrea Capra
Cecilia Nobili
DOI:10.1093/oso/9780198777342.003.0006

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

seems to turn into a rather sedate figure.
1. Homeric Hymn to Hermes

Two archetypal poems in the history and the evolution of iambic poetry have
found their way into the collection of the Homeric Hymns. The Hymn to Demeter
displays the protos heuretes of iambic poetry: with her jests and mockeries,
Iambe, the old servant of Metaneira, rouses Demeter from her grief for the loss
of Persephone, thus opening the path to a long and enduring poetic tradition.3
No less interesting is an episode from the Hymn to Hermes: (p.80) in a
sympotic setting, baby Hermes performs the first iambic poem in the history of
Greek literature. The themes and sympotic setting of this and other passages in
the Hymn are fully comparable to contemporary iambic poetry.
The content of the Hymn is well known: in order to obtain from Apollo the timai
he aspires to, baby Hermes makes a lyre out of a tortoise shell and steals the
cattle of his brother. The Hymn, which has been defined as “the most amusing of
all the earlier Greek hexameter poems,”4 features the most vivid account of the
adventurous deeds of an infant god in archaic literature. Among other things,
Hermes is also a virtuoso singer who performs two archetypal songs, located at
the beginning and at the end of the Hymn. In fact, his song is defined as
marvelous and completely new (443 θαυμασίην γὰρ τήνδε νεήφατον ὄσσαν).
The fabrication of the lyre is carefully described at lines 30–51 and highlights
Hermes’ inclination for manual work and handicrafts.5 When the lyre is ready,
Hermes tests the sound of the strings and performs his first song:
αὐτὰρ ἐπεὶ δὴ τεῦξε φέρων ἐρατεινὸν ἄθυρμα

πλήκτρῳ ἐπειρήτιζε κατὰ μέλος, ἡ δ᾽ ὑπὸ χειρὸς
σμερδαλέον κονάβησε·6 θεὸς δ᾽ ὑπὸ καλὸν ἄειδεν
ἐξ αὐτοσχεδίης πειρώμενος, ἠΰτε κοῦροι
ἡβηταὶ θαλίῃσι παραιβόλα κερτομέουσιν,
ἀμφὶ Δία Κρονίδην καὶ Μαιάδα καλλιπέδιλον
ὡς πάρος ὠρίζεσκον ἑταιρείῃ φιλότητι,
ἥν τ᾽ αὐτοῦ γενεὴν ὀνομακλυτὸν ἐξονομάζων·
ἀμφιπόλους τ᾿ ἐγέραιρε καὶ ἀγλαὰ δώματα νύμφης,
καὶ τρίποδας κατὰ οἶκον ἐπηετανούς τε λέβητας.7
When he had made it, he carried the lovely plaything and tried it out
with a plectrum in a tuned scale, and it rang out impressively under
his hand. The god sang beautifully to it, impromptu, experimentally,
as young men at dinners make ribald interjections: he sang about
Zeus son of Kronos and fair-shod Maia, how they used to talk love in
companionable intimacy, and declaring his own renowned lineage.
He also celebrated the servants of the nymph, and her splendid
home, the tripods disposed about it and the unending cauldrons.8
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Hermes’ song has been defined as a mise en abyme, because we gather the
impression that the poet is trying to compare his own poem to the song of (p.
81) Hermes, thus creating an overlap between himself and the god.9 The
content of Hermes’ song supports this view: just like the Hymn itself, it begins by
mentioning the love between Zeus and Maia (57–8). The following lines,
however, are marked by an abrupt change: Hermes praises his ancestors, the
wealth of his mother’s palace and her servants (59–61), whereas the Hymn
describes Maia as a lonely nymph, who lives in a shady cave (5–6).10 The
deviation is telling: Hermes presents a bombastic self-promotion of himself and
his birthplace, which is in line with the baby god’s boasting attitude throughout
the poem.
As has been noted, the song calls to mind the Lay of Ares and Aphrodite as
recounted in Odyssey 8. By having Hermes sing a licentious song to the sound of
the lyre, however, the poet points also to a different model, namely sympotic
iambic song.11 The first element to be noticed is that Hermes improvises his
song (ἐξ αὐτοσχεδίης). This is a characteristic feature of sympotic poetry, which
must fit the occasion and the reactions or expectations of the audience.12
Secondly, the erotic content of Hermes’ song is typically iambic. The verb ὀαρίζω
retains its sexual overtones (as in Il. 22.127–8), which are reinforced by the
phrase ἑταιρείῃ φιλότητι: this locution, featuring the newly formed adjective
ἑταιρεῖος from the noun ἑταίρα (courtesan), is modeled on Hesiod’s ἐρατῇ
φιλότητι (Theog. 970), which refers to the love between Iasion and Demeter.
Hermes’ song is thus represented as “something new,” as an innovative and
seducing form of poetry, in opposition to Apollo’s traditional music.13
The most important iambic feature of Hermes’ performance is the sympotic

context of the passage and, more generally, of the whole Hymn. Hermes’ song, in
fact, is apparently compared to sympotic songs, performed by youths who poke
fun at each other (55–6 ἠΰτε κοῦροι ἡβηταὶ θαλίῃσι παραιβόλα κερτομέουσιν).
The verb κερτομέω, “to mock, taunt, jest,”14 is found in several passages of the
Hymn (300, 335, 338), thus becoming the hallmark of Hermes. The verb points
to sympotic aischrologia as defined in fr. 27 W2 (“…we ought to laugh and joke,
behaving properly, take pleasure in being together, engage (p.82) in foolish
talk with one another, and utter jests such as to arouse laughter…”).15 Abusive
language combined with erotic content is a quintessentially iambic feature, as is
clear from Archilochus’ Cologne epode. The noun ἡβηταί appears for the first
time here, but has several parallels in sympotic contexts.16
Sympotic allusions are a leitmotif of the Hymn. The killing of the cows may be
construed as a sacrifice to the twelve gods,17 followed by a banquet, dais, to
which all the gods are invited. The meat is divided into equal portions allotted by
drawing, so that none of the gods can complain.18 They all receive a part of
γέρας, an honorary prize consisting in a part of the back.19 Hermes thus invites
the gods to a banquet characterized by fairness and equality. As a result, the
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scene calls to mind the classical symposium rather than the Homeric banquet
and its hierarchical principles.20
The notion of dais resurfaces when Hermes envisages the tortoise as a lyre and
calls her δαιτὸς ἑταίρη (31), companion of the banquet.21 Later on, after
Hermes’ second lyre performance, Apollo uses the same phrase to address his
brother (436 βουφόνε…δαιτὸς ἑταῖρε), thus creating a sort of convivial frame for
the whole narrative.22 Despite its theogonic content, this new song is also
sympotic in character, as is clear from Apollo’s reaction: the god is familiar with
sympotic songs performed by youths (454 οἷα νέων θαλίῃς ἐνδέξια ἔργα
πέλονται), but none can compare to Hermes’. Hermes performs his new song at
Apollo’s left (424–5) and then passes the lyre to his brother, following the usual
left-to-right pattern of the Greek symposium.23
Hermes’ song induces εὐφροσύνη (“merriment”), ἔρως (“love”), and ἥδυμος

ὕπνος (“pleasant sleep,” 449). In archaic lyric poetry, these three elements are
seen as integral to the symposium:24 εὐφροσύνη is famously highlighted in
Xenophanes’ sympotic “manifesto” (fr. 2. W2 κρητὴρ δ᾿ ἕστηκεν μεστὸς ἐ (p.83)
υφροσύνης),25 while ἔρως and ὕπνος are crucial to sympotic ἡδονή.26 When
Hermes gives Apollo the newly invented lyre, he insists that he bring it into
banquets (δαῖτα θάλειαν), dances (χορὸν ἱμερόεντα), and feasts (φιλοκυδέα
κῶμον), as it produces merriment (εὐφροσύνην). Once again, song and music are
seen as part of merry symposia.
These sympotic entanglements have led Jenny Strauss Clay to posit a sympotic
setting for the performance of the Homeric Hymns.27 The comparison with the
Lay of Ares and Aphrodite in the Odyssey also suggests that the Homeric Hymns
could work as self-contained songs as well as rhapsodic proems.28 Remarkably,
both Demodocus’ and Hermes’ songs are called ἀναβολαί (“proems”), but
neither introduces a longer performance. Similarly, the major Hymns could
easily become independent songs to be performed in sympotic settings. This is
particularly appropriate in the case of Hermes, whose cult, especially at Athens,
was by and large “private.” No large-scale festival was devoted to Hermes, and
the most important celebration was the τετραδισταί, held for the god’s birthday
on the fourth day of each month. Intriguingly, the τετραδισταί consisted in
banquets organized by individual families.29
In the Hymn, Hermes acts as an iambic poet. His language has been defined by
Vergados as “deceptively childish.”30 His canny and ambivalent words are meant
to confuse the interlocutor (317 αἱμυλίοισι λόγοισιν), and he also exhibits a
noteworthy rhetoric, occasionally combined with a redundant epic tone.31
Hermes indulges in lying, refuses to admit his guilt, brags about his capacity for
stealing. The young god is also depicted as a glutton (the reason that leads him
to steal Apollo’s cattle is primarily hunger), which is typical of iambic poets and
corresponds to their ostensible inclination for bodily instincts.32 This becomes
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Hermes Iambicus
manifest in the scene of the so-called omen. When Apollo accuses the baby god
of theft and raises him from his cradle, Hermes replies with a fart (296 τλήμονα
γαστρὸς ἔριθον ἀτάσθαλον ἀγγελιώτην), which prompts a laugh from Apollo.33
The parodic effect is ensured by the adjective τλήμων (LSJ: “patient, steadfast,
stout-hearted”), which in epic poems usually modifies words such as θυμός or
ψυχή and refers to “hard-suffering heroes” such as Odysseus.34 Word games of
this kind, combined with a focus on bodily (p.84) functions, are typical of
iambic and comic poetry, as is clear from both Archilochus and Hipponax.35
Hermes’ affinity with the iambic world is also traceable in the initiation of
Archilochus as recounted in Mnesiepes’ inscription. Besides some points of
vocabulary, both narratives share a number of elements, such as cows, lyre,
bargaining, and mockeries.36 To be sure, there is no need to argue that the
initiation story found in Mnesiepes’ inscription was influenced by the Hymn,
though the latter is arguably earlier.37 However that may be, it is far more
interesting to note the following: by describing the invention of the lyre and of a
new mode of making music, the Hymn invests the iambic poet, embodied by the
god Hermes, with an archetypal aura.
The iambic description of Hermes found in the Hymn is in line with his
characterization as a trickster.38 Although he is just a newborn baby, he employs
his metis in a variety of activities that comprise artisanal abilities (the
construction of the lyre), inventiveness (the discovery of fire), theft, musicality,
and rhetoric, thus confirming his polutropos nature, which is mentioned in the
very first lines of the poem.39 However, Hermes does not emerge as a malevolent
character. With humor and wit, he aims at reconciling conflict among the other
gods, and among gods and humans.40 From his very first steps, he proves an
effective mediator, something that will make him one of the most beloved and
familiar gods of the Greek pantheon.
2. Hipponax and Archaic Iambus

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

]ι̣ κηρίνους ἐποι[
]κἀνετίλησε[
]χρυσολαμπέτωι ῥ̣άβδ̣ω̣ι̣
]α̣ν ἐγγὺς ἑρμῖνος.
⌞Ἑρμῆς δ’ ἐς Ἱππών⌟ακτος ἀκολουθήσας
το]ῦ κυνὸς τὸν φιλήτην
]ὡς ἔχιδνα συρίζει
To be cudgeled.…Of this foolishness.…(striking?) his jaw…made of

wax…and he shat upon. Staff gleaming with gold…near the bed post.
And Hermes providing an escort to the house of Hipponax…the dog
stealer…hisses like a viper (fr. 79 Dg. = 79 W2 1–11, trans. Gerber
1999).42
As in Homer, Hermes does not seem to induce the kind of amazement that is
normally integral to divine epiphanies.43 This is in tune with the way Hipponax’s
characters (including his own persona) address the god in the fragments we
shall discuss. Another noticeable thing is the pun between the genitive herminos
(“the bed post”) and Hermes himself.44 Again, this is in line with another feature
that we shall come across below, namely Hipponax’s fascination with the name of
the god.
Let us now examine one of Hipponax’s longest and most celebrated fragments
(fr. 42 Dg. = 32 W2):
a. Ἑρμῆ, φίλ’ Ἑρμῆ, Μαιαδεῦ, Κυλλήνιε,

ἐπεύχομαί τοι, κάρτα γὰρ κακῶς ῥιγῶ
καὶ βαμβαλύζω
b. δὸς χλαῖναν Ἱππώνακτι καὶ κυπασσίσκον
καὶ σαμβαλίσκα κἀσκερίσκα καὶ χρυσοῦ
στατῆρας ἑξήκοντα τοὐτέρου τοίχου.
a. Hermes, dear Hermes, cub of Maia, Cyllenian
I pray to you, for I’m trembling, terribly trembling,
and my teeth they’re tick-tickin’…
b. Give Hipponax a chlaina, and a tiny tunic
and tiny sandals, and tiny bootees, and in the way
of gold sixty pounds on the other side.
(p.86) Indeed, “the speaker here is assuming or feigning familiarity with

Hermes.”45 Degani has rightly stressed that the form Μαιαδεῦ has a jocular
ring, as the suffix is normally related to animals (whence my translation, “cub of
Maia”).46 On the one hand, this calls to mind the baby god of the Hymn and is in
line with the diminutives that abound in lines 4–5: it is tempting to envisage the
tiny tunic, sandals, and bootees as especially appropriate for an infant. On the
other, the funny vocative triggers a series of further jokes: lines 2–3 are
characterized by alliteration as a way of expressing the speaker’s trembling, and
the diminutives found in lines 4–5 are perhaps in contrast with the very concrete
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Hermes Iambicus
requests found at the beginning (chlainai, Hermes’ specialty,47 are sturdy

clothes) and at the end, as the poem is famously concluded by a request for
money (χρυσοῦ στατῆρας ἑξήκοντα τοὐτέρου τοίχου).
The concluding request has puzzled scholars for at least two reasons. First,
there seems to be no way to assess the value of “sixty staters.” One supposes it
must be much money, and yet the relationship with the other items that form the
speaker’s request is far from clear. Second, the phrase τοὐτέρου τοίχου is hotly
debated. Some take it as a reference to housebreaking, others to ships, still
others to scales.48 All of these solutions are compatible with a prayer to Hermes,
as a protector of either thieves or merchants. The Homeric usage may be of
some help: τοίχου τοῦ ἑτέροιο / ἑτέρου (Il. 9.219, 24.598, Od. 23.90) is a locative
phrase, meaning “on the opposite wall” or, more generally, “on the opposite
side.” As noted by Degani, this makes the reference to scales more likely, all the
more so because a variant that has convincingly been interpreted as a gloss
renders ἑτέρου with νερτέρου, which may point to the lower balance pan.49
A solution to both problems, i.e. staters and toichos, is perhaps suggested by

Aristophanes’ appropriation of fr. 41 in Assemblywomen, when the beggar
Euaion shows up naked and asks the ekklesia—among other things—for a
chlaina.50 Just like Hipponax, Euaion specifies the amount of staters he needs,
which is arguably the worth of a chlaina. This suggests that Hipponax’s sixty
staters, too, represent the price of the items he has prayed for, which in turn
squares well with the possible reference to scales (τοὐτέρου τοίχου = the other
side of the scales). The three Homeric passages that feature τοίχου τοῦ ἑτέροιο /
ἑτέρου all revolve around the juxtaposition between two heroes. To grasp the
humor of the scene, then, we should perhaps imagine Hermes as he holds his
scales. Interestingly, this matches the traditional iconography of the (p.87)
psychostasia, where Hermes “weighs” two heroes.51 Moreover, it is important to
note that “stater” is both a coin and a balance weight.52 The ambiguity was
surely much felt at the time of Hipponax, when coinage was a novelty.
I suggest that a twofold double entendre lies behind the image. Hermes looks
like a merchant who weighs and juxtaposes his goods for sale, but “Hipponax,”
the buyer, wants to have both the goods (i.e. the various garments) and the
balance weights, which are in fact precious golden coins. All in all, Hipponax’s
prayer may be construed as a funny (or perhaps ludicrous) attempt at
outsmarting and deceiving Hermes in things commercial. As a result, Hermes is
referred to as the god of both merchants and thieves, and the poet engages with
him in a battle of wits that may recall that between Hermes himself and Apollo
in the Homeric Hymn.
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Hermes Iambicus
The invocation of fr. 42 is apparently not the only one to Hermes. To begin with,
we also have fr. 35 West, which Degani moves to an earlier section of his edition
and prints as number 10:53
ἐρέω γὰρ οὕτω· “Κυλλήνιε Μαιάδος Ἑρμῆ”

I will say like this: “Oh Cyllenian Hermes, son of Maia.”
This deserves a brief discussion. In comparison with fr. 42.1, fr. 10 does not
feature the comic Μαιαδεῦ, “cub of Maia.” Rather, the invocation to Hermes is
introduced by an explicit statement of the “I,” namely “I will say like this” (ἐρέω
γὰρ οὕτω). This arguably points to a deliberate and marked variation, which is
palpable in the sudden adoption of a dactylic rhythm in what follows.
Remarkably, the dactylic invocation to Hermes is identical to the second half of a
hexameter found in the Homeric Hymn to Hermes (408 μακρὸν ἀέξασθαι,
Κυλλήνιε Μαιάδος Ἑρμῆ).54 All in all, the address to Hermes sounds self-
consciously grand and respectable, indeed a far cry from fr. 42. The two versions
may well belong to the same poem or the same performative context, and may
be taken as different “takes” reflecting the poet’s (and his favorite god’s)
metamorphic voice.
Two more invocations to Hermes are found in the remnants of Hipponax’s

poetry, and they can be both read along the same lines:
ἔβωσε Μαίης παῖδα, Κυλλήνης πάλμυν.

He called upon Maia’s son, sultan of Cyllene. (fr. 1 Dg. = 3 W2, trans.
Gerber 1999)
Ἑρμῆ κυνάγχα, Μηιονιστὶ Κανδαῦλα
φωρῶν ἑταῖρε, δεῦρό μοι σκαπερδεῦσαι.
(p.88) Hermes, dog throttler, Candaules in Maeonian,
companion of thieves, come give me a hand(?)55 (fr. 2 Dg. = 3a W2,
trans. Gerber 1999)
If, as it seems very likely, both fragments belong to the same poem or
performance, the first one should be taken as introducing the second.56 This
results in an intriguing mirror effect. Both the “indirect” (“he called upon,” etc.)
and the “direct” (“Hermes, dog throttler,” etc.) invocations feature a
juxtaposition of a Greek with a non-Greek form, and as the second fragment
makes clear (“in Maeonian”), we should take this as a self-conscious move on the
part of Hipponax. Once again, Hermes seems to be engaged in what we may call
a form of virtuoso variation involving different languages and, in the second
fragment, a sample of “translation.” Indeed, Hermes is responsible for a literally
“hermeneutic” achievement.
How are we to assess these facts? Hipponax’s poetry, in general, shows a

tendency toward repetitio cum variatione,57 and the same is generally true for
invocations to the gods, so this is surely a possible way to account for this
phenomenon. However, Fränkel noted long ago that the exuberance of
Page 8 of 17
Hermes Iambicus
Hipponax’s invocations far exceeds the kind of variatio found in normal

prayers.58 As such, it calls for a more specific explanation, one that may account
for such exceptional phenomena as the juxtaposition between dactylic and
iambic rhythm, as well as that between Greek and non-Greek words. The
expression “I will say like this” draws attention to the signifier, and both
invocations are in fact linguistically marked as low and high, respectively,
according to a principle that can be easily extended to the juxtaposition between
Greek and non-Greek forms. Again, this calls to mind the characterization of
Hermes in the Hymn, which, as we noted, highlights the god’s rhetoric as well as
his redundant epic tone as he outsmarts Apollo. By challenging and mocking the
god, moreover, Hipponax resembles Archilochus as he makes fun of the Muses in
the initiation narrative reported by Mnesiepes.59 This detail is peculiar to the
poetic initiation of Archilochus as opposed to those of Hesiod and Epimenides,
which it clearly resembles. While Hesiod and Epimenides are both taunted by
the gods, in the story of Archilochus it is the poet who mocks the Muses. This
reversal of the traditional pattern is arguably designed to highlight the specific
quality of iambic poetry, and it is hardly a coincidence that Hipponax, too, mocks
and tries to outsmart “iambic” Hermes.60
(p.89) Iambic poetry was a relatively ephemeral phenomenon. Needless to say,

it nourished Attic comedy. Yet it was precisely the genre’s “iambic” feature of ad
personam slander that gradually died away during the fourth century BCE, when
“old” comedy came to be superseded by its “middle” and “new” counterparts.
From a more theoretical viewpoint, not only Aristotle’s Poetics, but also Plato’s
Symposium shows an awareness that iambic elements were fading away, and in
both cases the demise of “iambus” is construed as a step forward in a narrative
of progress.61 While there is evidence for a direct (i.e. performative) link
between archaic iambus and “old” comedy,62 the same cannot be said for the
extraordinary revival of Hipponax in the Hellenistic era. Poets and/or scholars
read and imitated his iambi, paying a tribute to Hipponax’s verbal art and
linguistic creativity, but the context is of course very different and lies beyond
the scope of the present chapter.63 Let us just note that we find no trace of
Hermes in what we know of Hellenistic choliambic poetry, nor in one of the most
Hipponactean works of the Hellenistic age, namely the Mimiambs of Herondas.
By contrast, Callimachus, who explicitly presents his Iambi as a resurrection of
Hipponax’s poems, has an interesting surprise in store, as two iambi, namely 7
and 9, are devoted to a speaking statue of Hermes.64 Both poems can be
described as aetiological tales, complete with an edifying moral, and in iambus 9
the god, like the Muses of the Aitia, seems to “assume the role of teacher.”65 In
presenting himself as Hipponax redivivus, Callimachus could hardly dispense
with Hermes, but, quite naturally, he transforms him according the new spirit of
his own iambi. Hipponax, as we hear in iambus 1, may well have come back from
Hades as a man of peace, yet it was not Hermes the trickster who escorted him
to the learned world of Callimachus.
Page 9 of 17
Hermes Iambicus
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Notes:
(1) This paper is the result of a close collaboration. However, C. Nobili and A.
Capra are the authors of parts 1 and 2, respectively.
(2) Rotstein 2010: 3–24.
(3) The context is sympotic (verses 202–9), but this symposium is only partially
successful, because Demeter refuses the wine and prefers the kykeon, the ritual
drink.
(4) West 2003: 12.
(5) The construction of the lyre is described with such words as τεκταίνομαι
(25), normally used to indicate carpenters’ works (Il. 5.62), or as τεύχω, which
frequently refers to metallurgy (Il. 18.483). Hermes’ attitude toward handicraft
is clear also at 82–6, where he makes his own sandals, and at 109–14, where he
invents the technique of lighting up the fire.
(6) The sound of the lyre is σμερδαλέος, terrifying, because it is new and
unheard of (Cantilena 1993).
(7) H.Herm. 52–62.
(8) Trans. West 2003.
(9) Vamvouri Rouffy 2004; Vergados 2013: 9–14. But see the differences
underlined by Nobili 2016.
(10) On the shifting references to Maia’s home as a dark cave or a rich palace,
see Vergados 2011a.
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(11) See Pòrtulas 2006.
(12) Cf. Strauss Clay 1989: 108–10; Richardson 2010: 163.
(13) See Strauss Clay 1989: 140–3.
(14) On the meaning of κερτομέω, see Strauss Clay 1999 and Clarke 2001: 337 n.
46, who notes that “the pronounced repetitions in the Homeric Hymn to Hermes
(56, 300, 335, and esp. 338) suggest that this word-family may have had special
significance in the context of that god’s association with tricky and wheedling
language and behavior.” By contrast, Gottesman 2008 underlines the connection
between kertomia and symposium (7: “kertomia was thus a kind of linguistic
performance, closely associated with young men and feasts, that asserted status
indirectly”). See also Nobili 2013.
(15) See Zanetto 1996: 261–2; Vergados 2013: 275–7. See also the sharp
exchange of mocking skolia in Aristophanes’ Wasps (1222–48), on which see
Vetta 1983: 117–55. The agonistic element of the symposium has been
highlighted by Collins 2004: 63–83.
(16) Od. 8.262–3 κοῦροι πρωθῆβαι; Theognis 877 ἥβα μοι φίλε θυμέ. Richardson
2010: 163 also recalls the passage from A.R. 1.457–9.
(17) Burkert 1984 underlines the point of contacts with real sacrificial practice.
Very tentatively, he connects it to the institution of the cult of the twelve gods at
Olympia. The killing of the tortoise is described with the language typical of
sacrifice (see Shelmerdine 1984).
(18) Hermes’ sacrifice evokes Prometheus’ (see Brown 1969: 8–25; Burkert
1984), but with some noteworthy differences: the equality of the parts, in fact,
aims to re-establish the order disrupted by Prometheus’ revolutionary action.
The gods receive the best part of the meat, so that they cannot refuse Hermes’
invitation (cf. Kahn 1978: 56–68; Strauss Clay 1987 and 1989: 116–26; Jaillard
2007: 108–14).
(19) Cf. Benveniste 1969: 2.43–9.
(20) Cf. Plut. Quaest. Conv. II 10. 642f–644d and Lissarague and Schmitt Pantel
1988. The word dais is not used in this passage, but appears several times in the
Hymn (31, 436, 480).
(21) Similar epithets can be found in Od. 8.99 and 17.271.
(22) On the differences and the evolution between the two performances, see
Vergados 2013: 4–14; Nobili 2016.
(23) Cf. Vergados 2013: 12.
Page 14 of 17
Hermes Iambicus
(24) See Vetta 1983: xxxv; Musti 2001: 6–10.
(25) Xenoph. fr. 1.1 W. See also Od. 9.6.
(26) See for example the elegy of Evenos of Paros (8a W2), where the poet gives
some convivial precepts, including the commendable habit of not waking up the
sleeping guests.
(27) Strauss Clay 1989: 7. See also Depew 2000: 63–4; Nobili 2011: 205–7.
(28) Strauss Clay 1997 and 2011.
(29) Càssola 1975, 520–1.
(30) Vergados 2011b: 97; see also Vergados 2013: 15–25.
(31) Gorgemanns 1976.
(32) Cf. Hippon. frr. 8, 26, 26a, 29a, 58, 124, 125, 128 W2; Sem. frr. 23, 24, 30
W2. Some fragments in iambic trimeters or dimeters by Alcman deal with the
same topic: see 9, 11, 12, 130 Calame.
(33) Cf. Katz 1999 and Bain 2007.
(34) See Katz 1999.
(35) Cf. Arch. frr. 40, 43, 66, 119 W2; Hipp. frr. 21, 73, 84, 92 W2 (= 34, 73, 86,
95 Dg.).
(36) See Vergados 2011b: 89–90.
(37) The evidence suggests that the Hymn to Hermes as we know it (with the
juxtaposition of the episode of the lyre and the cattle theft) might date back to
the sixth century BCE. For a wider discussion, see Janko 1982: 133–50;
Richardson 2010: 24–5; Nobili 2011.
(38) See Miralles and Pòrtulas 1983: 9–50.
(39) See Strauss Clay in this volume.
(40) See Kahn 1978: 56–68; Strauss Clay 1987 and 1989: 116–26; Jaillard 2007:
108–14; Nobili 2011: 99–100, 209–12.
(41) Hermes is possibly mentioned in a fragment included in the so-called

Sosthenes inscription (fr. 95). Only two letters (ερ) can be referred to the name
of the god, and the context is obscure.
(42) Here and elsewhere we print Degani’s text.
Page 15 of 17
Hermes Iambicus
(43) See Strauss Clay in this volume.
(44) Note that ἑρμίς/ἑρμίν is a very rare noun.
(45) Boedeker 2016: 67.
(46) Cf. Degani 1984: 190–1.
(47) For Hermes as δώτωρ χλαινῶν, cf. Degani 1984: 168–70.
(48) See Degani 1991 ad loc.
(49) Cf. e.g. Degani 1991: 63, with added bibliography (the variant in the text of
Tzetzes is found in Paris. gr. 2723). The obscurity of the reference has not failed
to prompt modern conjectures: cf. Gärtner 2008, who opts for ἀπ᾽ ἐντέρου
τοίχου (54).
(50) Cf. Assemblywomen 408–21. Aristophanes echoes Hipponax’s poem also in

the door scene of Acharnians, as Bonanno 2008 has shown.
(51) For example, in a black-figure lekythos attributed either to the Sappho

Painter or to the Little lion class (British Museum, London B 639, BAPD 456),
Hermes stands between Memnon and Achilles, weighing two homunculi on the
scales of fate.
(52) LSJ s.v.
(53) Cf., by contrast, the arrangement found e.g. in Masson 1962.
(54) As noted by Degani 1984: 217 n. 96, dactylic insertions can be found in
comedy as well.
(55) This is not the place to discuss the elusive σκαπερδεῦσαι (or σκαπαρδεῦσαι,
which is in fact the form given by Tzetzes and printed by previous editors). For a
survey of the relevant evidence, cf. e.g. Degani 1991 ad loc.
(56) In West’s Iambi et Elegi Graeci (1989) they are numbered 3 and 3a,
respectively.
(57) Cf. Carey 2008.
(58) Fränkel 1969: 247.
(59) The story was arguably known well before Mnesiepes’ time. Cf. Clay 2004.
(60) While narratives of poetic initiations tend to follow a general pattern,

idiosyncratic deviations often highlight specific features of a given poetic
Page 16 of 17
Hermes Iambicus
tradition. See Capra 2014: ch. 3. On iambic initiations, cf. Aloni 2011 and
Cazzato 2015.
(61) Cf. Saetta Cottone 2005: ch. 1.4, who discusses Pl. Smp. 189a8–b7 and
193b6–c3 in the light of Aristotle’s Poetics.
(62) Most obviously as regards Susarion, whom ancient sources refer to as both
an iambographer and the inventor of comedy. Cf. e.g. Rotstein 2010: 43–4, with
added bibliography. On Susarion, see now Ornaghi 2016.
(63) For a first orientation, cf. e.g. Scodel 2010. Degani 1984: 33–56 provides a
rich survey of the Hellenistic reception of Hipponax. Cf. also Degani 1995.
(64) On Callimachus’ “Hipponactean” persona, cf. e.g. Acosta-Hughes 1996.

Callimachus’ speaking statues may point to Hermes as found in comedy: cf.
Simone Beta in this volume.
(65) Clayman 1980: 39.
Page 17 of 17
The God and his Double


Print ISBN-13: 9780198777342
DOI: 10.1093/oso/9780198777342.001.0001

Hermes as Character and Speaking Statue in Greek Comedy
Simone Beta
DOI:10.1093/oso/9780198777342.003.0007

Gods are a significant presence in Greek comedies, as it is the case of Hermes,
the god who plays a decisive part as the divine assistant of the “comic hero”
Trygaeus in Aristophanes’ Peace and makes the audience laugh when he asks
the slave Karion to give him a job in Aristophanes’ Plutus. But the presence of
Hermes on the comic stage does not limit itself to these famous examples. Quite
often the god is present also as a statue, and sometimes this statue behaves like
a real character, because it speaks and interacts with the other characters. The
chapter deals with this peculiar role of Hermes. Given the significance of
classical comic theatre for a full understanding of the life of the Athenian society,
the chapter is also a contribution to the study of the figure of the god and the
functions he performed in classical Athens.
Keywords: Aristophanes, Menander, Phrynichus comicus, Plato comicus, Greek comedy, Greek
theatre, statue, God
Gods are often a significant presence in Greek comedies. The Birds would not be
the same if Aristophanes had not introduced the divine embassy led by Poseidon;
it would be difficult to imagine the Frogs without Dionysus or Wealth without
Plutus; the plan of Pan is the starting point of Menander’s Grouch. But there are
other gods whose presence on the stage, although not central, is significant both
for the development of the story and for the creation of a witty scene. Such is
the case of the god Hermes, who plays a decisive part as the divine assistant of
Page 1 of 14
the “comic hero” Trygaios (Peace) and makes the audience laugh when he asks
the slave Carion to give him a job (Wealth).1
The presence of Hermes on the comic stage does not, however, limit itself to
these famous examples. In a few cases the god is present also as a statue (mostly
a Herm), and sometimes this statue behaves like a real character because it
speaks and interacts with the other characters of the play. Given the
acknowledged significance of classical comic theater for a full understanding of
Athenian society, I hope this paper might offer a small contribution to the study
of the overall place of the god in classical Athens.
Let us start our analysis with the first of the Aristophanic plays where the god
acts as a character. The role he plays in Peace, the comedy performed for the
first time ten days before the formal conclusion of Callias’ peace in 421, is very
important, both in quantity and quality. Hermes makes his appearance in the
second part of the prologue, when the vine-dresser Trygaios lands on the top of
Mt. Olympus (180 ff.); after his initial reluctance, he decides to help the “comic
hero” and the chorus of Greek farmers in setting the goddess Peace (p.96) free
(361 ff.); he confronts Trygaios and the chorus during the contest (603 ff.); he
converses with the vine-dresser and Peace until the beginning of the parabasis
(658 ff.). During all these scenes, Hermes behaves in quite different ways.
Sometimes (or better, very often) he is a truly comic character, because he
performs his extremely earnest duty (he has been ordered by Zeus not only to
watch over the palace of the gods, but also to keep anyone from unearthing the
goddess Peace) in a way that is anything but earnest: he welcomes Trygaios with
a long sequence of abuses, but softens when he is offered a tasty piece of meat
(182–94); he threatens to denounce Trygaios and the chorus to Zeus, but he
gives up when he is presented with a golden cup (378–425). Both the god’s
gluttony and greed are reminiscent of the iambic Hermes.2
But on other occasions Aristophanes puts words into the mouth of the god that
have quite serious undertones. The speech Hermes delivers during the contest,
answering a question asked by the chorus (“Where did Peace live when she was
away from us?”—i.e. “Why did the conflict between Athens and Sparta start?”),
is a vivid summary of the first ten years of the Peloponnesian War that, even in
the usual mixture of σπουδαῖον and γελοῖον that marks the analogous speech
uttered by Dikaiopolis during the contest of the Acharnians, bears witness to the
point of view of the Athenian people regarding the war (and regarding the
warmongers who decided to start the war).3 Equally serious also are the
remarks made by the goddess herself (but uttered by Hermes, since Peace,
angry at the Athenian spectators because of their past behavior, refuses to speak
to them) about all the opportunities for peace the Athenians missed because of
the line of conduct of the radical democrats (mostly Cleon and Hyperbolos).4
Page 2 of 14
Hermes’ contribution to the release of Peace is quite substantial as well: not only
does the god take part in pulling the goddess out of the cave with ropes together
with Trygaios and the chorus (although with an initial sluggishness: see the
remark at line 469, when the farmers blame Hermes and Trygaios for being
uncooperative), but he also urges the different national groups that are part of
the chorus (Athenians, but also Boeotians, Spartans, Megarians, and Argives) to
work together, in order to reach the same goal.5
This multi-faceted aspect of the god becomes definitely one-sided in

Aristophanes’ last comedy, Wealth, first performed in 388, more than thirty years
after Peace, in a completely different Athens. In the older play, Hermes had
made his appearance in the first half of the comedy, the more serious one, the
(p.97) part devoted to the realization of the fanciful project of the “comic
hero” (the flight to heaven and the liberation of Peace); in the second, more
amusing, half, the part dedicated to the funny consequences of the execution of
the protagonist’s plan, Hermes was no longer present. But in the later play, the
character Hermes makes his appearance in the second part of the play, when the
results of Plutus’ miraculous recovery take place: since men have stopped
making offerings to them, the gods are starving; since he is terribly hungry,
Hermes is ready to abandon his peers and move down to the earth, in order to
live with men. But, if he wants to live with men, he needs to work—and here is
the comic heart of the scene, a witty dialogue between the god and Carion, the
slave of Chremylos, Plutus’ healer (Pl. 1097–1170). By behaving as a
contemporary job applicant who tries to tell his interviewer the many things he
is able to do, Hermes makes a long list of the jobs he is willing to accept,
comically modeled on his multifarious qualities. After having offered himself as a
door-keeper (στροφαῖος), a tradesman (ἐμπολαῖος), a deceiver (δόλιος), a guide
(ἡγεμόνιος), and a judge of the games (ἐναγώνιος), he is eventually sent by
Carion into the kitchen to wash the entrails of the animals slaughtered for a
sacrifice, in order to demonstrate how he might become a good scullery-boy.
Again, many of these qualities are part of Hermes’ prerogatives and have
already surfaced in his Hymn, where his butchering talents were also on display.
Here Aristophanes deliberately repeats some of the details he had drawn in the
scenes of his former play. The Hermes of Wealth is as aggressive as the Hermes
of Peace, because he begins his plea by mentioning Zeus’ wrath for the
consequences of Plutus’ healing, in a way that reminds us of his mention of the
punishment promised by Zeus to those who intended to rescue Peace.6
Aristophanes’ last Hermes is also just as gluttonous as his first, because he
complains about his destiny by regretting all the delicacies he used to receive
(honey, dry figs, bread, meat, wine cakes, etc.).7 Moreover, the first job the god
proposes to Carion in Wealth (door-keeper, 1153) is exactly the same one he had
in Peace, where he acted as the guardian of the palace, obliged to look after the
few remains of the furniture (“small vessels, small planks, small jars”).8
Page 3 of 14
But, as we have seen, the role played by the god is completely different. In Peace,
Hermes played a part whose significance for the development of the plot was
second only to that of the protagonist; the comic side of his character belonged
to the traditional features that were so typical of the so-called βωμολόχος. In
Wealth, instead, Hermes is only a caricature, whose function consists merely of
humorously closing a list of people who are harmed by the recovery of the god of
wealth (sycophants and the like). When he accepts Carion’s proposal, the play
quickly comes to its end.
(p.98) If one looks at this last scene, it is fairly natural to wonder how it might
have been possible for a Greek playwright to portray a god in such a ridiculous
way—and how it might have been equally possible for a Greek audience to
accept such a nearly blasphemous portrayal without a bit of indignation. Dover
touches on this problem briefly in his groundbreaking book on Aristophanic
comedy, and this is not the right place to deal with a question that concerns
other authors as well (Homer, to name only one).9 But, as far as we can see from
the comedies that have come down to us, it seems clear that there were some
deities with whom the Athenians (both the comic poets and their fans) felt they
might take some liberty. I do not refer to Heracles only, whose gluttony is a
standard comic commonplace from Old to New Comedy, but also to Dionysus and
Hermes himself. In Athens Dionysus, who is the amusing protagonist of
Aristophanes’ Frogs (where he even shits in his pants), owned the place, because
tragic and comic performances took place during his festivals;10 this fact, and
the fact that he was originally a demi-god, born (exactly like Heracles) out of the
union of Zeus with a mortal woman, together with the presence of his priest in
the front row of the theater, in a place of honor, might have afforded the
playwright a more relaxed attitude (and the amused audience a more
understanding tolerance).11
Similar origins (he was born out of Zeus’ love for the nymph Maia, one of the
Pleiades), but also some quite peculiar prerogatives (he was the protector of
thieves!), made Hermes another sui generis god. His special relationship with
mortals (he was also an intercessor between the various realms, as it is
demonstrated by his other significant role, ψυχοπομπός, the “conductor of souls”
into the Underworld), made the ridiculous scene of Aristophanes’ last comedy
less problematic for the Athenian audience, who were moreover accustomed to
the ubiquitous presence of the god in the shape of a statue.
The dissemination of a very high number of peculiar statues of the god all
around Athens (the so-called Herms) leads us to the second part of this (p.99)
paper.12 Compared to the scenes we have just analyzed, the other occurrences of
the god in the comic world seem less significant. And yet, as we will see, even
though these appearances are scrappy and disjointed (and fragments usually
obscure context), the presence of a speaking (and even a non-speaking) god in
Page 4 of 14
the shape of a Herm allows us to make some observations on the role of Hermes
in the comic world—and in Athenian society as well.
Even though the ancient sources on the structure of Greek theaters never
mention it, the presence of a statue of the god might have been one of the stage
properties in some comic plays.13 In a passage from the final scene of the
Clouds, first performed in 423, Strepsiades questions the Herm placed outside
his house. Exactly as Hermes does when he talks with the goddess Peace (who is
a κωφὸν πρόσωπον, “a mute character”), he relates to the audience the answers
he fancies having received by the statue:
ἀλλ’ ὦ φίλ’ Ἑρμῆ, μηδαμῶς θύμαινέ μοι,

μηδέ μ’ ἐπιτρίψῃς, ἀλλὰ συγγνώμην ἔχε
ἐμοῦ παρανοήσαντος ἀδολεσχίᾳ.
καί μοι γενοῦ ξύμβουλος, εἴτ’ αὐτοὺς γραφὴν
διωκάθω γραψάμενος, εἴθ’ ὅτι σοι δοκεῖ.
ὀρθῶς παραινεῖς οὐκ ἐῶν δικορραφεῖν
ἀλλ’ ὡς τάχιστ’ ἐμπιμπράναι τὴν οἰκίαν
τῶν ἀδολεσχῶν.14
There is no need to imagine a talking Herm, because the content of the

supposed answers given by the god is clearly conveyed by Strepsiades’ words—
although even some good manuscripts seem to give the Herm the second half of
line 1482 (εἴθ’ ὅτι σοι δοκεῖ) and the entire line 1483 (ὀρθῶς παραινεῖς οὐκ ἐῶν
δικορραφεῖν).15
(p.100) Likewise, there is no need to imagine a speaking statue in the Wasps,

the comedy Aristophanes staged in 422, one year after the Clouds. Here, during
the prologue, the old judge Philokleon talks to the statue of the Athenian hero
Lykos, whose shrine was placed near a law-court; he asks the hero to help him,
but there is no answer from Lykos, either real or imagined.16
But there are a couple of examples, both coming from the world of ancient
comedy, where things appear to be quite different.
In a passage from a lost comedy of Phrynichus, a Herm makes an amusing

remark in response to a statement uttered by an unknown character:
A: ὦ φίλταθ’ Ἑρμῆ, καὶ φυλάσσου, μὴ πεσὼν

αὑτὸν περικρούσῃ καὶ παράσχῃς διαβολὴν
ἑτέρῳ Διοκλείδῃ βουλομένῳ κακόν τι δρᾶν.
H: φυλάξομαι· Τεύκρῳ γὰρ οὐχὶ βούλομαι
μήνυτρα δοῦναι τῷ παλαμναίῳ ξένῳ.17
Thanks to Plutarch, to whom we owe the fragment, we learn the context of the
dialogue. In the Life of Alcibiades, after having told us that in his Histories
Thucydides chose not to mention the informers who disclosed the names of
Page 5 of 14
those who mutilated the Herms in 415, the night before the Athenian fleet sailed
to Sicily, Plutarch adds that other writers did, such as the comic poet
Phrynichus.18 The first character alludes to the notorious episode by giving a
warning to the god: if he falls down and breaks into pieces, he might let an
informer earn a reward for a false accusation (as happened when Dioclides had
received a reward by revealing the names of the Hermocopides).19 But the god
answers that he will not be taken by surprise, because he does not want to make
a scoundrel like Teucer rich.
(p.101) Should we suppose that Hermes was a character in the play? I do not
think so—or, at least, I do not think it is necessary to think so, although since
Droysen many scholars have supposed that a drunken Hermes did take part in a
banquet and utter the words quoted by Plutarch.20 I would guess that the poet
has taken advantage of the presence of a Herm in the scene by inserting a joke
against the two sycophants—a joke made more biting by its surprising means of
delivery, since it was assigned to a statue.21
In an article dedicated to the “speaking statues” in Greek theater, Rudolf Kassel

acknowledges that, if he had to stage that comedy, he would be very worried by
this scene, because he does not have the slightest idea how the dialogue could
have been effectively realized on the stage.22 This is why he strongly rejects
Kock’s opinion and states that the only possible solution is the staging of a
conversation similar to that assumed in the Clouds (1478 ff.) and Peace (661 ff.),
with the actors (Strepsiades and Hermes) speaking both for themselves and for
the mute statue.23 In Phrynichus, however, there is a difference that cannot be
ruled out, because in the fragment quoted by Plutarch the words uttered by the
statue are not simply imagined by the speaking character, as in the two
aforementioned Aristophanic examples, but explicitly written down by the
playwright, since they belong to the text of the comedy.
Moreover, since we know that the Greeks believed that a statue, being the
“double” (an εἴδωλον) of the absent person they portrayed, did possess inside
itself his (or her) vital energy, a speaking Herm might be regarded as an almost
acceptable phenomenon (at least in the world of theater).24
There is another example that proves that such a theatrical device was not so
unlikely. In a passage from a lost comedy of Plato, presumably written after
Phrynichus’, we find another speaking statue—and here as well the image
belongs to our god:
(p.102)
A: οὗτος, τίς εἶ; λέγε ταχύ· τί σιγᾷς; οὐκ ἐρεῖς;

B: Ἑρμῆς ἔγωγε Δαιδάλου φωνὴν ἔχων
ξύλινος βαδίζων αὐτόματος ἐλήλυθα.25
Page 6 of 14
Quoted by the scholiast on Euripides’ Hecuba 838, where Priam’s widow praises
the miraculous nature of Daedalus’ statues, the fragment shows a wooden statue
of the god capable of walking and speaking like an automaton. Even if the
context of the quotation is missing—Cobet postulated a situation not too
different from the one that lay behind Phrynichus’ fragment—there cannot be
any doubt that here too we have a speaking statue of the god on the stage.26
Theatrically speaking, the scene was surely quite effective: the first character
appears to be at first puzzled by the sudden apparition of the silent second
character; we might easily imagine his more frightened reaction when he learns
that the figure is a wooden statue capable of speaking and walking, a creation of
the most skillful craftsman in the Greek world.27
The other passages from Old and Middle comedies that might lead us to suppose
the presence of Hermes on the stage do not seem to be supported by decisive
textual evidence: the invocation we read in a short fragment of Telecleides’ Stiffs
(“O lord Hermes, gulp down the cakes”) might simply refer to an offering placed
on the altar of the god;28 the invocation we read (p.103) in a fragment of
Alexis’ Thesprotians (“You, Hermes, the escort of the dead, you to whom
Philippides / has been allotted, and you, Eye of the night, dressed in a black
robe”) does not necessarily imply the presence of the god.29
But the three Aristophanic scenes, together with what we can guess from
Phrynichus’ and Plato’s fragments, suffice to show that Hermes was a significant
presence in the theatrical reality of Greek comedy—and we would be able to say
more if we had the lost play mentioned by Origen in his speech Against Celsus,
where the Christian writer alludes to a comedy that staged Hermes as a
messenger sent by Zeus down to the earth in order to persuade the Athenians
and Spartans to make peace.30
After all, if Hermes was so present in the Greek theater (we should not forget
the role he played in plays belonging to other theatrical genres, such as
Euripides’ tragedy Ion and Sophocles’ satyr play Ichneutai), the reason lies in the
fact that he was present in the everyday life of the Greeks. Victor Ehrenberg
says that in Greece men and gods—that is, the secular and sacred worlds—were
never utterly separated, because they were connected by the necessities of their
daily life and by some desires whose causes were absolutely realistic.31 Well,
Hermes gratified these yearnings in the best possible way—and maybe even
more than the other gods.
We should not wonder then that most of the god’s multifarious prerogatives are
celebrated in Greek comedy. He is invoked by the Megarian tradesman as
Hermes “patron of sales” (Ach. 816 ἐμπολαῖος) and by the deceitful Euripides as
Hermes “patron of tricks” (Th. 1202 δόλιος), epithets we have already seen in
the final scene of Wealth; he is called upon by the dishonest Sausage-seller as
Page 7 of 14
Hermes “patron of traffic” (Eq. 297 ἀγοραῖος), an equivalent of ἐμπολαῖος; his

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

Amsterdam.
Page 8 of 14
Dobrov, G. W., ed. 1995. Beyond Aristophanes. Transition and Diversity in Greek
Comedy. Atlanta.
Dover, K. J. 1972. Aristophanic Comedy. Berkeley and Los Angeles.
Dover, K. J. 1993. Aristophanes. Frogs. Oxford.
Ehrenberg, V. 1943. The People of Aristophanes. A Sociology of Old Attic

Comedy. Oxford.
Ercolani, A., ed. 2002. Spoudaiogeloion. Form und Funktion der Verspottung in
der aristophanischen Komödie. Stuttgart.
Frantz, W. 1891. De comoediae Atticae prologis. Diss. Strasbourg.
Guidorizzi, G., ed. 1996. Aristofane. Le Nuvole. Intro. and trans., D. Del Corno.
Milan.
Haigh, A. E. 1889. The Attic Theatre. A Description of the Stage and Theatre of
the Athenians, and of the Dramatic Performances at Athens. Oxford.
Henderson, J. 1975. The Maculate Muse. Obscene Language in Attic Comedy.

2nd ed. 1991. Oxford and New York.
Hunter R. L. 1983. Eubulus. The Fragments. Cambridge.
Kassel, R. 1983. “Dialoge mit Statuen.” ZPE 51: 1–12 (= Kleine Schriften [Berlin
1991] 140–53).
Keuls, E. C. 1985. The Reign of the Phallus. Sexual Politics in Ancient Athens.
New York.
Kock, T. 1880. Comicorum Atticorum Fragmenta, Vol. I. Leipzig.
Leo, F. 1878. “Bemerkungen zur attischen Komödie.” RhM 33: 400–17.
Meineke, A. 1839a. Fragmenta Comicorum Graecorum, Vol. I. Berlin.
Meineke, A. 1839b. Fragmenta Comicorum Graecorum, Vol. II.1. Berlin.
Olson, S. D. 1998. Aristophanes. Peace. Oxford.
Olson, S. D. 2007. Broken Laughter. Select Fragments of Greek Comedy. Oxford

and New York.
Pirrotta, S. 2009. Plato Comicus. Die fragmentarischen Komödien: Ein

Kommentar. Berlin.
Page 9 of 14
Pugliara, M. 2003. Il mirabile e l’artificio. Creature animate e semoventi nel mito

e nella tecnica degli antichi. Rome.
Rosen, R. M. 1995. “Plato Comicus and the Evolution of Greek Comedy.” In

Dobrov 1995: 119–37.
Rusten, J., ed. 2011. The Birth of Comedy. Texts, Documents, and Art from
Athenian Comic Competitions, 486–280. Baltimore.
Stama, F. 2014. Phrynichos. Fragmenta Comica. Heidelberg.
Vernant, J.-P. 1965. “Figuration de l’invisible et catégorie psychologique du

double: le colossós.” In Mythe et pensée chez les Grecs: Études de psychologie
historique. Paris. English trans. Myth and Thought among the Greeks. London
and Boston. 1983.
Whitman, C. H. 1964. Aristophanes and the Comic Hero. Cambridge MA.
Wiotte-Franz, C. 2001. Hermeneus und Interpres. Zum Dolmetscherwesen in der

Antike. Saarbrücken. (p.106)
Notes:
(1) For the meaning of the expression “comic hero,” I refer, here and later, to
Whitman 1964.
(2) See Capra and Nobili in this volume.
(3) Ar. Pax 603–14, 619–27, 632–48; Ach. 497–556. On the comic
“spoudaiogeloion,” see Ercolani 2002.
(4) Ar. Pax 661 ff. (below, p. 101). For a political reading, see Cassio 1985; on the
scenes before the parabasis, see Olson 1998: xli–xlii.
(5) Pax 469 <ἀλλ’> ἄγετον ξυνανέλκετε καὶ σφώ. On the different composition
of the chorus throughout the play, see Dover 1972: 136–9.
(6) Pl. 1107 ff.; Pax 371–2.
(7) Pl. 1120 ff.
(8) Pax 201–2 τὰ λοιπὰ τηρῶ σκευάρια τὰ τῶν θεῶν, / χυτρίδια καὶ σανίδια
κἀμφορίδια.
(9) Dover 1972: 32–3. It is well known how both Zeus’ alluring behavior in Hom.
Il. 14 and Apollo’s and Hermes’ saucy remarks about the misadventures of Ares
and Aphrodite in Hom. Od. 8 caused real troubles for Alexandrian editors.
Page 10 of 14
(10) Ra. 479. The sentence uttered by the god when his slave Xanthias sees what
he has done (ἐγκέχοδα· κάλει θεόν, “I have shitted: call the god”) is, according
to a scholiast, a parody of the formula ἐκκέχυται· καλεῖτε θεόν (“it has been
poured out: call the god”), uttered after the pouring of a libation on a certain
ritual occasion. As Dover 1993: 255 remarks, “humorous distortion of religious
formulae was acceptable in comedy… but to modern taste this instance is
extreme.” It is not certain whether Dionysus has the same physical reaction in
another passage of the same comedy (308).
(11) The priest of Dionysus Eleuthereus is addressed by the god himself in a

metatheatrical scene of the same comedy (297). On his presence in the theater
(and on his habit of entertaining the victorious playwright and the actors of the
comedy at the end of the festivals), see Ach. 1085–94 (and also Eq. 536).
(12) Statues of Hermes were also inside the houses of the Athenians. From a
fragment of a lost comedy of Eubulus, the Semele or Dionysus, we learn that
small stone statues of the god were kept in the cupboards together with the
kitchen tools (fr. 95 K-A, quoted by Athenaeus 11.460e Ἑρμῆς ὁ Μαίας λίθινος,
ὃν προσεύγμασιν / ἐν τῷ κυλικείῳ λαμπρὸν ἐκτετριμμένον); see Hunter 1983:
190.
(13) For this kind of scenic addition (altars, statues, and tombs), see Haigh 1889:
183–5.
(14) Nu. 1478–85: “Beloved Hermes, don’t be angry with me or crush me, but
forgive me if I acted insanely because of their idle prattle. Be my counselor,
please! Should I prosecute them with an indictment? Or whatever you think
best. (He puts his ear closer to hermes, waiting for a reply.) This is a very good
advice: I shouldn’t cobble up lawsuits, but rather set fire to the house of these
idle talkers as quick as possible.”
(15) In the Venetus Marcianus 474 (Dover’s V, one of the most reliable
manuscripts of Aristophanes, written between the eleventh and the twelfth
century) the letters Ερμ appear in the middle of line 1482, just before εἴθ’; in its
list of the dramatis personae the god Hermes is mentioned among the speaking
characters of the play. In the Ravennas 429 (Dover’s R, our oldest testimony,
written around 1000, and the only manuscript that contains the eleven comedies
of Aristophanes) the same three letters are written at the end of line 1482 (with
a symbol relating it to εἴθ’), while in the Ambrosianus L 39 sup. (Dover’s M,
written around 1320) the letters are written at the beginning of line 1483.
(16) V. 389–94. Later in the comedy (875–84) Bdelycleon, Philocleon’s son,

addresses the image (better, the symbol) of another god, the pointed stone pillar
that represented Apollon Agyieus (“god of streets”); on this kind of altar, which
was part of the Athenian stage, see Pollux, Onomasticon 4.123 and Arnott 1962:
45. For another mention of a Herm in a comedy of Aristophanes, see fr. 566 K-A
Page 11 of 14
Ἑρμῆς τρικέφαλος, a pun both on φαλλός and on the special significance of the
number three in ancient comedy, according to Henderson 1975: 113 and 121.
(17) Fr. 61 K-A: A: “Sweetest Hermes, be on your guard, not to fall / and damage
yourself, and give grounds for an indictment / by another Dioclides bent on
making mischief.” Hermes: “I will be on guard; I have no desire to pay / an
informer’s reward to that foreign reprobate Teucer” (trans. Rusten 2011: 332).
Keuls 1985: 387 thinks (and I agree) of a quite specific damage (“Dearest
Hermes, don’t you fall, too, and get yourself castrated, providing cause for
slander”). The translation of Olson 2007: 444 seems more neutral (but see the
commentary, 219–20).
(18) Plutarch Alc. 20, who does not mention the title of the play; Meineke 1839b:
603 thinks that the fragment might come either from the Loner (Μονότροπος),
performed in 414 (together with Aristophanes’ Birds) or, more probably, from the
Revelers (Κωμασταί).
(19) In his speech On the Mysteries (66), Andocides tells us that this Dioclides
was then executed for having given a false testimony.
(20) Droysen’s opinion is related by Meineke 1839a: 155: “Videtur enim in

convivio a comissatoribus (the ‘revelers’ who give the comedy its title) instituto
praesens adfuisse Mercurius, qui quum vino madidus titubanti incederet gressu
ipsis illis versibus monetur, ne pronus cadat in terram et membra frangat eoque
malevolis hominibus novam accusandi opportunitatem praebeat.” The names of
the scholars who have followed Droyson (Stiévenart, De Gubernatis, Denis, and
Guglielmino) are listed by Stama 2014: 298, n. 327.
(21) This is the opinion of Kock 1880: 385: “Mercurium in convivio

Hermocopidarum praesentem adfuisse et vino madidum titubantemque moneri
ne cadat non credo Meinekio. Illud enim convivium si in scaena agebatur,
necessario scelus ipsum comissatorum anteibat, neque in convivio commemorari
poterant quae scelere demum facto evenerunt. Videtur potius Herma a nescio
quo poni et monenti ne cadat tamquam vivus sit respondere.”
(22) Kassel 1983: 6: “Ich möchte niemandem wünschen, das inszenieren zu

müssen.”
(23) Kassel 1983: 6–7.
(24) On this belief, see Vernant 1965. On the efficacy of the supposed dialogue
between Strepsiades and the Herm in the aforementioned passage of the Clouds,
see Guidorizzi 1996: 349.
(25) Fr. 204 K-A: (A) “You there! Who are you? Tell me quick; why are you quiet?
Won’t you speak up?” (B) “I am a wooden Hermes made by Daedalus, and here I
am, / able to speak and walking on my own two feet” (trans. Rusten 2011: 353).
Page 12 of 14
Phrynichus’ career began before Eupolis’ and Aristophanes’ (presumably

between 440 and 430), while Plato did not start staging his comedies before 425.
(26) Cobet 1840: 179: “Ingenioso invento videtur Plato ligneum aliquem Hermen
induxisse, qui in quaestione de Hermocopidis ipse testimonium diceret, in qua re
scite usus est veteri Graecorum opinione, qui Daedali statuas moveri et vocem
edere creduli putaverant.” The most recent commentary of Plato’s fragments
(Pirrotta 2009) does not give us any help, because her edition does not include
the fragments from uncertain plays, but Kaibel, whose unedited notes are often
quoted by K-A in their edition, thought it came from The Long Night (Νὺξ μακρά,
a comedy—see Rusten 2011: 342—that very probably “treated the circumstances
surrounding the conception of Heracles, who was conceived on one ‘long night’
when Zeus slept with Alcmena”). On the basis of a passage of Plautus’
Amphitryon (142–5), Frantz 1891: 40 supposed that a fragment of The Long
Night (fr. 90) was uttered by Hermes in the prologue of the play; on the
relationship between the comedies of Plato and Plautus see also Rosen 1995.
Kassel 1983: 5–6 gives a different interpretation of the fragment.
(27) Pugliara 2003: 190–1: “Tre attributi importanti, collegati tra loro, sono
rivendicati dalla statua di Hermes: parola, movimento e fattura di Dedalo. Si può
immaginare che la statua apparisse sulla scena all’improvviso e che suscitasse
uno stupore tale da rendere necessaria una spiegazione. Doveva essere
sufficiente citare il nome di Dedalo perché la sua voce e il suo passo apparissero
‘normali,’ in linea con il modo di operare del famoso artefice.”
(28) Fr. 35 K-A ὦ δέσποθ’ Ἑρμῆ, κάπτε τῶν θυλημάτων (quoted by the scholiast
at Pax 1040 ἐγὼ δ’ ἐπὶ σπλάγχν’ εἶμι καὶ θυλήματα). The fact that the same
invocation ὦ δέσποθ’ Ἑρμῆ is used three times in Aristophanes’ Peace (385, 648,
and 711) does not imply that the god was a character in the play of Telecleides
(whose four little fragments do not say anything certain about its plot). It is not
clear to me if the short introduction we read in Kock 1880: 216 (“Meinek. I 90.
Mercurius in hac fabula easdem fere partes videtur egisse atque in Pace et Pluto
Aristophanis”) is Kock’s own opinion or refers to that of Meineke 1839a: 90
(“Quinta Teleclidae fabula, Στερροὶ inscripta, quod argumentum tractaverit
pariter incertum est” and “Praeterea laudatur a Scholiasta Aristoph. Pac. 1040,
ex quo loco Mercurium in scena praesentem adfuisse coniicias”). On this
fragment, see also Bagordo 2013: 171–4.
(29) Fr. 93 K-A Ἑρμῆ θεῶν προπομπὲ καὶ Φιλιππίδου / κληροῦχε, Νυκτός τ’ ὄμμα
τῆς μελαμπέπλου (quoted by Athenaeus 12.552d). On the text (and the context)
of this fragment (the only one of the comedy), see Arnott 1996: 243–6. Frantz
1891: 36 thought that the two lines were the beginning of the play, because
invocations to a god were a fairly standard opening both in tragedies and
comedies (also, Aeschylus’ Water-bearers begins with an invocation to Hermes).
Page 13 of 14
(30) Fr. ad. 45 K-A (Origen, Against Celsus 6.78 and 79). Leo 1878: 413–14
thought that it was the plot of a comedy of Aristophanes written in the time of
the Peloponnesian War.
(31) Ehrenberg 1943: 258.
(32) Timocles fr. 14 K-A.
(33) Pax 392–4 ὦ φιλαν- / θρωπότατε καὶ μεγαλο- / δωρότατε δαιμόνων. In the
immediately following remark (400–2), Trygaeus hints at the notorious Hermes’
bent for thieves; see Olson 1998: 155–6.
(34) Together with many others (see, for instance, Bosshardt, quoted by
Chantraine 1968 s.v. Ἑρμῆς), I tend to believe that the etymological connection
between Ἑρμῆς and the verb ἑρμηνεύειν, whose principal meaning was “to
interpret,” is correct. On the ancient belief that such a connection did exist, see
Wiotte-Franz 2001: 8–11.
(35) Men. Dysc. 226 and Epit. 284. On ἕρμαιον, see also Soph. Ant. 397, and
many Platonic passages (Smp. 176c and 217a, Grg. 486e and 489c, etc.). On
κοινὸς Ἑρμῆς (a proverb: Diogenianus 5.38): Arist. Rh. 1401a21; Theophr. Char.
30.9; Luc. Nav. 12.
(36) Hom. Od. 7.136–8 εὗρε (sc. Odysseus) δὲ Φαιήκων ἡγήτορας ἠδὲ μέδοντας /
σπένδοντας δεπάεσσιν ἐϋσκόπῳ ἀργειφόντῃ, / ᾧ πυμάτῳ σπένδεσκον, ὅτε
μνησαίατο κοίτου; Strattis fr. 23 K-A (quoted by Athenaeus 11.473c, from the
play Lemnomeda) Ἑρμῆς, ὃν ἕλκουσ’ οἱ μὲν ἐκ προχοίδιου, / οἱ δ’ ἐκ καδίσκου
<γ’> ἴσον ἴσῳ κεκραμένον. See also Ath. 1.16b and 1.32b; Pollux, Onomasticon
6.100. In the passage of Wealth we discussed earlier, Hermes regrets the fairly
strong toasts (one part water and one of wine) he used to receive when men
offered sacrifices to the gods (Pl. 1132 οἴμοι δὲ κύλικος ἴσον ἴσῳ κεκραμένης);
the peculiar wine mixture mentioned by Aristophanes and Strattis (ἴσον ἴσῳ)
might come from a passage of Cratinus’ Wine Flask (fr. 196 K-A) quoted by
Athenaeus 10.426b (τὸν δ’ ἴσον ἴσῳ φέροντ’· ἐγὼ δ’ ἐκτήκομαι). According to K-
A, Strattis’ fragment is an imitation of another passage from Cratinus’ Wine
Flask (fr. 206, quoted by Pollux Onomasticon 10.70: τοὺς μὲν ἐκ προχοιδίου /
τοὺς δ’ ἐκ καδίσκου).
Page 14 of 14
Hermes/Mercury


Print ISBN-13: 9780198777342
DOI: 10.1093/oso/9780198777342.001.0001
Hermes/Mercury
God of Comedy?
Erin K. Moodie
DOI:10.1093/oso/9780198777342.003.0008

Hermes/Mercury should be understood as the physical manifestation and divine
patron of comedy. The chapter focuses on the portrayal of Hermes in
Aristophanes’ Peace and that of Mercury in Plautus’ Amphitryon, and traces each
character’s adoption of the abject stance associated with comic heroes, his
knowledge of comic conventions, and his general metatheatrical remarks to and
about the audience. The god’s association with laughter, performance, and
marriage throughout myth, as well as his connection to Dionysus in Athenian
religious festivals, further supports his identification as the god of comedy.
Keywords: Hermes, Mercury, Comedy, Metatheater, Aristophanes, Plautus
Hermes and Mercury share a special relationship to comedy. Given the gods’
deceptive cleverness, their association with boundaries and boundary crossing,
and their skill at invention and crafting, Hermes and Mercury have often been
read as trickster figures.1 Tricksters and comic heroes often behave similarly,
embracing adaptation, transgressive behavior, and a low social status or a
stance of abjection.2 But the metatheatrical knowledge displayed by Hermes in
Aristophanes’ Peace and Mercury in Plautus’ Amphitryon suggests an even closer
tie to the comic genres. First, each god is implicitly aware of the link between
low-status characters and metatheater that extends across ancient comedy—
both characters are careful to adopt an abject stance soon after appearing on
stage. Second, each god understands the conventions of his own comic genre
and of the theater in general. Third, Hermes and Mercury both engage in
Page 1 of 16
Hermes/Mercury
metatheatrical behavior, especially explicit address to and mention of the

audience. The closest parallels for Hermes and Mercury are thus, respectively,
Aristophanes’ abject hero and Plautus’ clever slave—the embodiments of each
poet’s comedy—rather than any other deities appearing on the comic stage.3 We
should therefore read these two gods not simply as comic heroes, but as divine
patrons of their respective comic genres.
(p.108) Metatheater (i.e. self-awareness or self-referentiality that draws

attention to the play as a performance enacted for an audience) can take many
forms, and can exist at varying levels of intensity from the overt to the merely
implicit.4 I distinguish nine different types of metatheatrical language and
behavior in ancient comedy, each of which varies from the others according to
its intensity, that is, its likelihood to draw attention to the play as a play. This
essay will focus on the most overt metatheater, which includes 1) direct address
of the audience—marked by second-person-plural verbs or pronouns and by-
terms for spectators or audience in the vocative case; 2) awareness of the
audience or of being an actor in a play—marked by words for spectator,
audience, parts of the performance venue, and performance context; and 3)
reference to the theater in general—marked by terms for comedy, tragedy,
drama, actors, names of poets or plays, and names of stock roles. Latent
metatheater, on the other hand, involves 4) semi-theatrical language—marked by
general terms for poet, con-artist, image, face, mask, parts, stories, games, or
pretending; 5) reference to costumes and costuming—marked by words for
clothing, accessories, and the process of dressing; 6) a play-within-a-play
deception and rehearsals therefor—marked by the language of teaching and
learning lines, or comments on acting ability; 7) paratragedy and implicit
reference to theatrical convention—e.g. the one-day rule; 8) language of
deception—marked by words for trick, deceive, cleverness, or badness; and 9)
disruption of the pretense of a Roman comedy’s Greek setting—marked by
mention of Roman places or practices, or by the verb pergraecari.
However, metatheatrical statements should be distinguished from prologues and

epilogues, which serve as a frame for the stage world and a kind of stepping-
stone for the spectators’ movement into and out of it. Metatheatrical remarks
also differ from monologues and asides that do not explicitly mention the
audience. Such soliloquies are not metatheatrical in Athenian tragedy or satyr-
play, so should not be considered metatheatrical in comedy.5 Although a
character may seem to acknowledge the audience in a monologue or aside, such
remarks are understood simply as conventions of the presentational style of the
theater.6 Thus soliloquies are treated simply as reflections of a character’s inner
thought process unless an explicit reference to the audience (p.109) indicates
that the speech directly incorporates the spectators into the play’s action.
Moreover, in the real world many people do talk to themselves.7
Page 2 of 16
Hermes/Mercury
Analysis of the spectrum of metatheatrical comments in the comedies of

Aristophanes, Menander, Plautus, and Terence demonstrates that they tend to
come from the characters of the lowest status (Moodie 2007). Because the
performance contexts, the status of the poets, and status of the actors differed
so dramatically during the periods in which these men wrote, the status of the
characters most often responsible for metatheater remains the only constant and
thus the best explanation for the pattern. Since the comic characters themselves
cannot be responsible for their own behavior, the pattern must arise from the
conventions of comedy itself.
For Greek New Comedy and Roman comedy, the stock characters of the (male)
slave and the parasite produce the majority of all metatheatrical remarks. Such
low-status characters dominate metatheatrical discourse not only in terms of
raw numbers, but also in terms of proportions. In fact, across both genres the
parasite is the character type most likely to say something explicitly
metatheatrical at least once (Moodie 2007: 226–31, 264–316; Moodie 2015).
Since slaves are especially likely to employ metatheatrical statements
repeatedly, the connection between low status and metatheater becomes even
more apparent. And Greek New and Roman comedy already emphasized its
characters’ statuses with the use of different types of costumes for the different
stock character roles.
The state of affairs is similar for Aristophanic comedy. While Aristophanes does
not use the same limited set of stock characters as Greek New Comedy and
Roman comedy, his plays feature the predecessors of some stock roles (e.g.
Lamachus of Acharnians, an ancestor of the boastful soldier). And given the
hierarchical nature of Athenian society, which distinguished between slaves,
metics, and citizens (especially those with military and political commands),
status was also marked on the Old Comic stage. Aristophanic comedy exhibits
the same pattern discussed earlier, with lower-status characters delivering a
greater proportion of metatheatrical lines, especially when one takes into
account Aristophanes’ propensity for abject or otherwise marginalized heroes.8
Thus across the corpora of the four major surviving comic poets and across all
three genres of Greek and Roman comedy, low-status characters are closely
linked to metatheater. Although overt metatheater does not appear in every play,
it usually arises from a low-status character when it does.
(p.110) Aristophanes’ and Plautus’ portrayal of Hermes and Mercury within

the Peace and Amphitryon, respectively, is consistent with this pattern.9 In fact,
both gods take pains to reduce their otherwise high status as gods among
human characters during their first appearance on stage. Hermes, for example,
casts himself at 201–2 as the slave doorman of the Olympian gods, who have left
him in charge of the household and its σκευάρια (“furnishings/props”) in their
absence: τὰ λοιπὰ τηρῶ σκευάρια τὰ τῶν θεῶν, / χυτρίδια καὶ σανίδια
κἀμφορείδια (“I’m watching the left-over props of the gods, the little pots,
Page 3 of 16
Hermes/Mercury
boards, and jars”).10 Door-knocking scenes are stock comic routines, and here
Hermes gives an “irritable performance of the doorkeeper-role” in such a scene
(Ruffell 2011: 347). Hermes also underlines his own low position by listing the
rather unimportant σκευάρια in detail: little pots (a pathetic diminutive), boards,
and jars, which hardly seem worth stealing.
Mercury, on the other hand, emphasizes the low status of the roles he adopts
throughout Amphitryon. For the most part he performs the clever slave role, but
he also becomes a parasite, a subservient son of the old-man-in-love, and a
running slave. First, Mercury explains during his opening prologue (115–24) why
he is dressed as a slave:
sed ita adsimulavit se, quasi Amphitruo siet.

nunc ne hunc ornatum vos meum admiremini,
quod ego huc processi sic cum servili schema:
veterem atque antiquam rem novam ad vos proferam;
propterea ornatus in novom incessi modum.
nam meus pater intus nunc est eccum Iuppiter;
in Amphitruonis vertit sese imaginem
omnesque eum esse censent servi qui vident:
(p.111) ita vorsipellem se facit quando lubet.

ego servi sumpsi Sosiae mi imaginem…
In the same way he pretended that he was Amphitryon. Lest you

wonder at my costume now, because I came out here with slave
clothing, I am going to offer to you an aged and old situation made
new, so I have come costumed in a new way. For my father—Jupiter—
is inside there now; he has converted himself into the image of
Amphitryon, and all the slaves who see him think he is Amphitryon:
thus he makes himself a shapeshifter whenever he pleases. I took up
the likeness/appearance of the slave Sosia for myself…
Note that the god’s concern that a show be new (118) also marks him as similar
to the quintessential clever slave Pseudolus, who is often considered to
represent Plautus on stage.11 Mercury even laments his spectacular loss of
status from god to slave at 176–8:
satiust me queri illo modo servitutem:

hodie qui fuerim liber, eum nunc
potivit pater servitutis…
It’s more appropriate that I complain about slavery in that way; I,

whose own father has now reduced him to slavery, I who was free
today!
However, Mercury also understands that the low-status role of the clever slave
has its own benefits. At 266–9 he decides to adopt Sosia’s usual methods—
Page 4 of 16
Hermes/Mercury
employing wickedness, cleverness, and cunning—since he has already stolen

Sosia’s form and status. The Latin statum is nicely ambiguous here:
et enim vero quoniam formam cepi huius in med et statum,

decet et facta moresque huius habere me similes item.
itaque me malum esse oportet, callidum, astutum admodum,
atque hunc, telo suo sibi, malitia, a foribus pellere.
For in fact, since I took his [Sosia’s] form and stance/status for
myself, it is fitting that I likewise have his deeds and similar customs.
Therefore it is proper for me to be wicked, clever, and now astute,
and to drive this man away from the doors with his own weapon—
with wickedness.
Clever slaves often enjoy extensive knowledge of Roman comedy as a genre and
talk about the things that other comic slaves do.12 Likewise, Mercury
understands how the genre works as well.
(p.112) Elsewhere Mercury consciously adapts to perform two other

subordinate roles during the comedy, thus demonstrating the skill at
performance usually associated with clever slaves such as Simia (Pseud. 960–
1016), Pardalisca (Cas. 621–717), or Collybiscus (Poen. 578–720). For example,
Mercury portrays himself simultaneously as the powerless son of the old-man-in-
love and as a parasite at 991–4:
pater vocat me, eum sequor, eius dicto imperio sum audiens.
ut filium bonum patri esse oportet, itidem ego sum patri.
amanti subparasitor, hortor, adsto, admoneo, gaudeo.
si quid patri volup est, voluptas ea mihi multo maxumast.
My father calls me, I follow him; I am obedient to his word, his

command. As it is proper to be a good son to a father, likewise I am
good to my father. I act the parasite to/for the lover: I encourage, I
assist, I warn, I rejoice. If there’s any pleasure for my father, the
pleasure for me is greatest by far.
Mercury had also portrayed himself as a parasite at 515 (subparasitabor patri, “I

will act the parasite to/for my father”) and had even commented
metatheatrically on his failure to perform the role properly at 521 (nequiter
paene expedivit prima parasitatio “My first parasiting job was basically
worthless!”). Like the role of the clever slave, the role of the parasite leaves
Mercury metatheatrically nimble, and with these overt comments he exploits the
connection between low-status characters and metatheater.13
Mercury also reveals an understanding of Roman comedy as a genre from 986–

1008, where he metatheatrically emphasizes that he is employing the stock
comedic routine of the running slave, who comes on stage in a rush with news
for his master. As he hurries on stage at 986–7 the god wonders: nam mihi
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quidem hercle qui minus liceat deo minitarier / populo, ni decedat mihi, quam
servolo in comoediis? (“By Hercules how indeed would it be less permitted for
me, a god, to threaten people if they should fail to yield to me, than it is for a
little slave in comedies?”). Mercury’s switch to iambic octonarii in this passage
underscores his awareness of the genre. Iambic octonarii are used elsewhere in
Plautus for running slaves, and Mercury follows the usual practice (Moore 1998:
122).
(p.113) In fact, both Hermes and Mercury seem to embrace their own “comic
degradation” (Christenson 2001: 254). Not only does Mercury adopt a series of
subordinate comic roles in Amphitryon, but the grumpy Hermes of Peace is
bribed into helping Trygaeus with the offer of delicious meat (192) and the gift
of a golden cup (423–5, cf. 431–2). Additionally, that Hermes eats meat—
implicitly here, explicitly at Aristophanes Wealth 1128, 1130, and 1137—also
marks him as suited to the comic genre, given its very human emphasis on
feasting and celebration.14
Both gods also display an awareness of the comic and tragic genres. Hermes
actually switches from tragic metrical patterns to comic ones when he first
opens the door at 180 and sees Trygaeus and his dung beetle (Goldberg 1980:
8). The god also associates the tragedian Euripides with language that is
particularly forensic in style; when told that Peace smells of Euripidean poetry,
Hermes retorts, οὐ γὰρ ἥδεται / αὕτη ποιητῇ ῥηματίων δικανικῶν (“She doesn’t
like the writer of little law-court speechlets,” 533–4).15 He also quotes Euripides’
Bellerophon (fr. 312 Nauck) at line 722.16 Furthermore, Hermes asks after the
fate of the comic poet Cratinus: τί δαὶ Κρατῖνος ὁ σοφός; ἔστιν; (“What about
wise Cratinus—is he alive?” 700). Hermes’ allusion to Archilochus fr. 109
(Gerber: 1999) at 603–4 also doubles as a reference to at least one other comic
poet, since both Cratinus (fr. 211 K-A) and Eupolis (fr. 392 K-A) quoted the same
passage as well. At the very least Cratinus’ play must have preceded Peace,
since Cratinus had died by 421 BCE, but Eupolis may have quoted Archilochus
either before or after Aristophanes (and Hermes) did.17
(p.114) In addition to his extensive knowledge of the stock roles and routines
of Roman comedy, Mercury also understands (60–3) two important features of
his genre: that gods do not normally appear on the comic stage in Rome (apart
from their rare turns as prologue-speakers) and that a major (i.e. a clever) slave
role is inappropriate for tragedy:
nam me perpetuo facere ut sit comoedia,

reges quo veniant et di, non par arbitror.
quid igitur? quoniam hic servos quoque partes habet,
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Hermes/Mercury
faciam sit, proinde ut dixi, tragicomoedia.
For I don’t think it fair for me to make it a comedy constantly, to

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

siquidem vos voltis auscultando operam dare.
ibo intro, ornatum capiam qui potis decet…
But look at Amphitryon—he’s coming. Now he will be properly

bamboozled here, if you all want to give your attention to listening.
I’m going inside—I’ll grab a costume suitable for a drunk guy…22
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Hermes/Mercury
Thus Hermes and Mercury exploit their metatheatrical knowledge, which—given

the connection between low status and metatheater elsewhere in Greek and
Roman comedy—seems to stem from the abject positions each god adopts on the
comic stage. Aside from the protagonist Trygaeus, Hermes is the most
metatheatrical character in Peace, while Mercury dominates such activities in
Amphitryon.23 Given this behavior, Hermes’ closest Aristophanic counterparts
(p.116) are the abject comic heroes such as Dicaeopolis, who speaks for
Aristophanes directly (at Ach. 377–84 and 502–6), and Trygaeus, whose name
means “Harvester” or “Comedy Man” and who may represent the comic poet
Eupolis (Sidwell 2012: 43, 46). Among the ranks of Aristophanes’ comic heroes is
Dionysus himself, the cowardly—and metatheatrically savvy—god of theater in
Frogs, and the only other god who overtly addresses the Athenian audience (at
Ra. 297). In fact, while a few other Aristophanic gods employ overt metatheater,
they usually do so only in a single instance, which contrasts with Hermes’ more
diverse and frequent metatheatrical remarks.24 For his part, Mercury is most
similar to the clever slaves of Roman comedy, such as Pseudolus (in his
eponymous play), Chrysalus (in Bacch.), and Palaestrio (in Mil.), who themselves
are considered representations of the comic poet and his inventive skill.25
Hermes/Mercury’s metatheatrical skill and knowledge of comic conventions

recommends him as the god of comedy and patron of the comic genres rather
than just a trickster figure on the comic stage. Several aspects of the god’s
worship and mythology also support this association with comedy. First, as “a
patron god of marriage” (due to his association with seduction and bride-seizure
even beyond the Amphitryon; Brown 1947: 42), he is well suited to appear in
comedies, which so often end with a marriage or similar celebration. Second,
Hermes alone was linked to Dionysus in the Anthesteria festival, during which
he helped “release and return” Dionysus to Athens in the form of wine.26 Bowie
1993: 148 even notes that Hermes and Trygaeus’ rescue of Peace occurs in a
context much like a Dionysiac festival. Third, the phallus of the Old Comedy
costume can be seen as echoing the phallus on every protective Athenian
herm.27 Fourth, Hermes is connected with laughter, song, and performance from
his birth.28 And, as both the patron of crafts and the (p.117) god of “servant
professions” (Doty 1993: 64), Hermes is himself much like the clever slave of
Roman comedy, who is often compared to an architectus (“architect”) in his role
as creator of play-within-a-play deceptions (cf. Mil. 901, 915, 919, 1139; Poen.
1110; Sharrock 2009: 116–62). Hermes is associated with the same creative and
technical skill at Pax 429, where the chorus asks the god to lead them like a
craftsman/creatively (δημιουργικῶς) as they dig Peace out of the cave in which
War has imprisoned her. Finally, Mercury, in Rome, was also associated with
games and performances since his temple on the Aventine overlooked the Circus
Maximus.29
Page 8 of 16
Hermes/Mercury
Nor are Aristophanes and Plautus alone in associating Hermes/Mercury with

comedy and a slave-like status; Lucian, that careful reader, does so as well.
Hermes parodies Menander fr. 722 Sandbach in the first four lines of Jupiter
Tragoedus, for example, and quotes Menander again (Epit. fr. 9 Sandbach) in
section 53 of the same text. And in Dialogi Deorum 4.2 Hermes complains that
he is virtually a slave (ὥσπερ οἱ ἐν γῇ κακῶς δουλεύοντες) to Zeus, since he
must tidy Olympus’ dining room daily and carry Zeus’ messages everywhere.
Hermes even jokes (σκώπτεις) that Pan must be interested in nanny-goats since
he cannot be satisfied by a single wife at Dialogi Deorum 2.4.
Given these similarities to other incarnations of ancient comedy and connections

with laughter, creation, and performance, we should consider Hermes/Mercury a
representative of the comic genres, an embodiment of that which is essentially
comic.30 While Dionysus serves as the patron deity of the Athenian theater in
general, and Minerva may fill the same role for Rome (Manuwald 2011: 96),
Hermes/Mercury exhibits an intriguing link to comedy in both cultures,
centuries apart.
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Notes:
(1) This essay has benefitted tremendously from the comments of audiences at
the University of Virginia’s “Tracking Hermes/Mercury” conference in 2014 and
the Classical Association of Canada’s Annual Conference in 2015, and from the
comments of two diligent readers, Keith Dickson and Ted Fondak. Any remaining
errors are, alas, my own.
(2) Cf. how Aristophanes’ hero, the “marginal, or even unenfranchized Athenian
citizen,” represents his own comedy in relation to the more respected tragic
genre (Henderson 1997: 137). See Simone Beta in this volume.
(3) The one exception is Dionysus in Aristophanes’ Frogs, that poet’s only
simultaneously abject and divine protagonist, whom I discuss later.
(4) Wilson and Taplin 1993: 169 prefer the somewhat imprecise term “self-
referentiality,” but they also note that “presence and absence are not the only
appropriate categories; that self-referentiality can be non-explicit or submerged,
and can be detected at various levels or degrees or intensities.” Cf. Hornby
1986: 32. Although Maquerlot 1992: 41 points out that all art is to some degree
self-referential, the self-aware metatheatrical comments discussed here go
beyond the usual self-reflection.
(5) Cf. Green 1994: 27; Bain 1987: 2; Hall 2006: 108–10.
(6) Hornby 1986: 104. Cf. Hough 1940: 191: “we must first exclude all simple
monologues and asides as being merely voiced thoughts, a mechanism necessary
to dramatic art (to an even greater extent in ancient times than now) but neither
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Hermes/Mercury
out of character nor humorous in or of themselves.” Pace Moore 1998: 8, who

argues that most Plautine monologues were “addressed explicitly and
emphatically to the audience.” A metatheatrical comment will affect the
audience differently than even the most presentational of non-metatheatrical
monologues.
(7) Dedoussi 1995: 128 and Bain 1977: 96 note that soliloquies and sotto voce
speaking have some basis in reality, an observation that will surprise no
academic.
(8) Moodie 2007: 204–25; Moodie 2015. Such heroes are a remnant of the iambic
poets, such as Archilochus and Hipponax, who so influenced the Old Comic
genre. Cf. n. 2.
(9) Aristophanes’ Peace (presented in 421 BCE at the City Dionysia) tells the
story of the elderly farmer Trygaeus’ flight to heaven astride a ridiculous dung
beetle. Hermes, left behind by the other Olympians to watch their belongings, is
eventually persuaded, thanks to several bribes, to help Trygaeus and the chorus
of farmers rescue the goddess Peace and return her to earth. Plautus’
Amphitryon (a play of unknown date and performance context) presents the
events of the long night and day leading up to the birth of Hercules and his twin
brother Iphicles: the god Jupiter disguises himself as Amphitryon in order to
sleep with Amphitryon’s wife Alcmena. Mercury assists Jupiter after taking the
form of Amphitryon’s slave Sosia. More evidence derives from Plautus’ Mercury
than from Aristophanes’ Hermes since the former plays a more central role in
his comedy and is far more talkative. In fact, Mercury speaks almost twice as
much as Hermes within a shorter play. Mercury delivers 325 of the 595 lines
during which he appears onstage (out of Amphitryon’s total of 1146); Hermes
delivers 171 of his 421 lines onstage (out of Peace’s total of 1359). Hermes does
not appear as a character between Peace and Amphitryon, though he is
mentioned at Men. Epit. 284 and 317. He also appears as a character in
Phrynichus fr. 61 K-A, Plato fr. 204 K-A, and as the subject of jokes in Strattis fr.
23 K-A and Teleclides fr. 35 K-A. For his part, other than in the Amphitryon,
Mercury appears in Roman palliata or togata comedy only at Caec. Stat. Aeth. fr.
4 Ribbeck.
(10) This essay employs the following texts: for Aristophanes, Wilson 2007;
Plautus, Lindsay 1904–5, except Amphitryon, Christenson 2000; Menander,
Sandbach 1990; Homeric Hymn to Hermes, Richardson 2010; Lucian, Macleod
1972 and 1987. All translations are my own.
(11) Pseudolus, for example, compares himself to an actor and poet in search of
novelty at lines 568–73a of his own play. For Pseudolus as Plautus, see e.g.
Slater 1985: 118–46.
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(12) E.g. Libanius warns himself not to do what other slaves clever at tricking
their masters do at Asinaria 256–7, and Tranio declares himself more clever than
other comic slaves at Mostellaria 1149–51. While John Miller observed (personal
communication) that Mercury’s declaration that it is right to be callidus and
astutus could be understood as a nod to his own mythological tradition (as with
his headgear: see petaso 143, 145), Mercury’s use of formam and statum in
reference to Sosia suggests that this speech focuses more on the god’s role-
playing rather than on his well-known cleverness.
(13) In contrast, until Jupiter apparently drops his disguise to resolve the
remaining conflict as a deus ex machina at the end of the comedy, he appears as
a comic old man since he is dressed and masked as Amphitryon, who is himself
described as “old” at 1032 and 1072 (cf. Christenson 2000: 308, 163;
Christenson 2001: 254, 257). The subtype of the lecherous old-man-in-love also
appears in Plautus’ Asinaria, Casina, and Mercator, where he is inevitably
stymied in his efforts to achieve sexual congress with a young woman who is not
his wife. Jupiter may succeed where other old-men-in-love fail, but he is
undermined in non-metatheatrical ways throughout the performance—see lines
133–5, 873–5, 903, perhaps 507, 526 (Christenson 2001: 245 n. 15). Thus, while
both Jupiter and Mercury are portrayed as actors, the role that Jupiter plays
further degrades him. One might say that Jupiter chooses the wrong type of
comic role, while Mercury makes the most of the roles thrust upon him.
(14) Although Hermes invents the practice of sacrifice in lines 115–29 of the
Homeric Hymn to Hermes, his rejection of flesh in the Hymn helps set gods
apart from mortals. Aristophanes erases that difference in Peace and Wealth.
Parker 2005: 150 notes that comedy tends to mock the gods who are closest to
and most associated with humans: Hermes, Heracles, Prometheus.
(15) Although Hermes does not use Euripides’ name in his response,
Aristophanic characters who explicitly mention tragic poets are primarily slaves,
children, low-status comic heroes and choruses, and characters from Frogs, in
which Attic tragedy is a central theme: Dicaeopolis (Aeschylus at Ach. 10, then
Euripides thirteen times between 394 and 484), Dionysus (Euripides and
Aeschylus passim in Ra., plus others at 79), Heracles (Ra. 73, 76, 83, 86, 87,
151), Aeacus (Ra. 801), Euripides himself (Ra. 910, plus 834 on Aeschylean
tragedy), Aeschylus himself (Ra. 1299), Trygaeus’ daughter (Pax 147), Trygaeus
(Pax 531, 532, 1009), the Farmer Chorus (Pax 802–3), Euripides himself (Thes.
29), Mnesilochus (Thes. 30), Xanthias (Wasps 61, 1501, 1505, 1508), Philocleon
(Wasps 1414), and the Wasp Chorus (Wasps 1524).
(16) ὑφ᾽ ἅρματ᾽ ἐλθὼν Ζηνὸς ἀστραπηφορεῖ (“Entering beneath Zeus’ chariot he
bears the lightning”). Cf. Hermes’ quotation from another lost Euripidean
tragedy at Wealth 1151. Other Aristophanic characters who quote or parody
tragedy are, for the most part, abject heroes: Dicaeopolis (Ach. 8, 440–1, 446,
Page 13 of 16
Hermes/Mercury
497–9), Euripides (Ach. 430), Peisthetairus (Birds 275–6), Blepyrus (Eccl. 392–3
misquotes Aesch. Myrm.), Dionysus (Ra. 100–2, 1471, 1475), Cleon (Eq. 1248–
52), Trygaeus (Pax 154–61, 1013–14), Euripides (passim at Thes. 855–921 and
1098–1132), Mnesilochus (Thes. 134–45, 518–19, 769–84, 850, passim at 855–
927 and 1010–71, 1107–8), Agathon (Thes. 194), a child (Wasps 304, 312, 314),
and possibly Cario (Pl. 1158).
(17) Comic poets are also named by the abject and/or low-status Cloud Chorus
(Nu. 553), Xanthias (Ra. 13–14), Frog Chorus (Ra. 357), and Knight Chorus (Eq.
520, 526, 537).
(18) Pace the LSJ, which only attributes the “mask” meaning to authors of the
mid-late fourth century; Hall 2006: 109 declares that πρόσωπον means both
“face” and “mask” “certainly by the fourth century.” πρόσωπον also appears in
Aristophanes at Eq. 38, Ra. 912, and—most significantly—at Pl. 1064–5, where
Chremylus remarks on the Old Woman’s makeup, declaring that if the white lead
were washed off, the rags of her face/mask would show plainly: εἰ δ᾽
ἐκπλυνεῖται τοῦτο τὸ ψιμύθιον, / ὄψει κατάδηλα τοῦ προσώπου τὰ ῥάκη.
(19) Cf. 603–14, 619–27, and 632–48, which are addressed to the Athenian
audience indirectly. Although space does not permit complete citation, the
following primarily abject or low-status characters also address or directly refer
to the spectators in Aristophanes’ comedies: Acharnians—Chorus, Dicaeopolis;
Birds—Euelpides, Chorus; Clouds—Chorus, Just Speech, Unjust Speech,
Strepsiades; Ecclesiazousae—Praxagora, Woman B, Chremes, Blepyrus, Chorus,
Young Woman, Slave Girl; Frogs—Xanthias, Dionysus, Frog Chorus, Aeacus,
Euripides; Knights—the slaves Demosthenes and Nikias, Chorus, Sausage-seller;
Lysistrata—Combined Chorus, Athenian A; Peace—Slaves A and B, Trygaeus,
Chorus, Another Slave; Thesmophoriazousae—Euripides; Wasps—Xanthias,
Sosias, Chorus, Philocleon; Wealth—Wealth, Wife, Old Woman.
(20) Pseudolus, for example, metatheatrically discusses the fabula in which he

appears at 562–73a, advising the audience about the current state of his plan
and referring to or comparing himself to an actor (568 qui in scaenam provenit).
Not only does Pseudolus use the language of theater and deception (572
sycophantias) just like a poet, but he also controls the flow of the play, sending
the flute-player on stage to entertain the audience while he (Pseudolus) concocts
a scheme to cheat both the pimp Ballio and the old man Simo out of their money.
(21) Cf. the hints from the Fishermen at Rud. 293, and comments by the
Advocates at Poen. 550–2 and Pseudolus himself at Pseud. 720–1. Given such
parallels, Mercury’s speech should not be taken as an additional prologue, as
Christenson 2000: 223 argues.
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(22) These lines also emphasize the upcoming performance as a kind of play-
within-a-play, given Mercury’s explicit reference to the new clothing required for
the scene. Cf. lines 54–5, where he acknowledges that performance style—not
script—determines genre.
(23) The only other overtly metatheatrical characters of Peace are Trygaeus’
slaves (two at 9–10, 13–14, 19–28, 43–61, another later at 963–5) and daughter
(135–6, 146–8). The god War does address βροτοί, “mortals,” three times in 236,
uses second-person verbs at 237, 243, and 246, and speaks to the cities of
Prasiae and Megara at 243–7, but his comments are very different from the self-
aware comments of Hermes, the abject Trygaeus, and Trygaeus’ low-status
slaves and daughter. Peace’s chorus only ever addresses the audience during the
parabasis (729–818). Jupiter is the only overtly metatheatrical character besides
Mercury in Amphitryon (at 867–8), but see n. 13.
(24) Cf. Hercules at Ra. 89–91, 132, 151 (all examples of category-three
theatrical language); Aeacus at Ra. 769, 783, 802 (audience awareness and
theatrical language); Dionysus at Ra. 16–18, 53, 95, 274–6, 1005, 1246, 1418–19,
1475 (audience address, audience awareness, and theatrical language); Poverty
at Pl. 557 (theatrical language); Wealth at Pl. 796–9 and perhaps 771–3
(audience awareness).
(25) Sharrock 2009: 117; cf. Slater 1985: 168–78. Sharrock 2009: 133 considers
Mercury the best playwright figure in all Plautine comedy.
(26) Blazeby argues that Dionysus was associated with Hermes in the
Anthesteria because Hermes provided a balance to the god of wine. Hermes’ day
was associated with boiled vegetables, and since boiled cabbage was used as a
cure for hangovers by the Greeks (Stafford 2001: 11), perhaps his day was for
leading people back from the “dead” of hangover suffering (Blazeby 2011: 102).
(27) According to Doty 1993: 51, the phallus is adopted as a symbol for Hermes
quite early. Bill Gladhill notes (personal communication) that Hermes is thus the
one character on whom the Old Comic phallus would not seem unusual.
(28) In the Homeric Hymn to Hermes the young god laughs (29) as he notices the
tortoise and invents the lyre before composing and performing the story of his
own theogony. Moreover, Hermes arouses laughter from the other gods with his
deception and invention. His first speech defending himself against Apollo’s
accusation of cattle theft (260–77) parodies the standard elements of defense
speeches and prompts laughter from Apollo (281) (Richardson 2010: 190). His
second defense speech also occasions laughter from Zeus (389), while Apollo
himself laughs with delight at the music of Hermes’ newly-invented lyre (420).
(29) Livy 2.21, 27.5–6. Mercury may also have had a role in the Floralia’s
historical mimes, if Wiseman (2008: 184–5) is correct.
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Hermes/Mercury
(30) Pace Sheets 1983: 207, who locates the similarities between Aristophanic
and Plautine comedy in their efforts to distinguish themselves from
contemporary tragedians.
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Hermes in Love


Print ISBN-13: 9780198777342
DOI: 10.1093/oso/9780198777342.001.0001
Hermes in Love
The Erotic Career of a Mercurial Character
Joseph Farrell
DOI:10.1093/oso/9780198777342.003.0009

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

sublimation, violence
It is not unusual to find Hermes described as fairly typical among the Olympian
gods when it comes to sexual matters. In fact, he is occasionally described,
thanks to the iconography of the herms with which he was and is widely
identified, as rather more susceptible than most. But while I do not wish to go so
far as to maintain that such views are mistaken, I would argue that they are
either exaggerated or, perhaps, overly simplified in comparison to what the full
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range of evidence suggests. For everyone can agree that Hermes is a flexible
character, and if one considers the variety of amorous situations in which he
gets involved, and especially the roles that he plays in them, a more interesting
and varied picture emerges. To do justice to a divinity who helped Eratosthenes
to survey the entire globe, it will be necessary to move through a good deal of
territory and, especially, of time, starting in archaic Greece and ending in early
medieval Europe.1 And I will be confining myself mainly to literary evidence,
partly in the interest of brevity, but partly to make the point that the literary and
material evidence may be telling us different things.
On the whole, I will proceed chronologically from earlier to later

representations; but let me begin in the middle with a passage that emphasizes
Hermes’ versatility while bringing literary and material evidence into clear
contact. Cicero in Book 3 of De natura deorum gives a useful summary of a
skeptical perspective, informed by Euhemerism, on Mercury and the other
gods.2 His (p.122) speaker, Gaius Cotta, states that five different individuals
were conflated into the god that he calls Mercury: one who was the offspring of
Sky and Day; another, also called Trophonius, who inhabited the Underworld
and was the son of Valens and the daughter of Phoroneus; a third, born of
Jupiter and Maia and himself the father of Pan; a fourth, who cannot be named,
born of the river Nile; and a fifth, worshiped at Pheneus in Arcadia, who slew
Argus and fled to Egypt, where he introduced a law code and the art of writing
and received the name Theyt or, more commonly, Thoth. This is anything but a
disinterested perspective on the god, but it is an attempt to account for his
essential attributes in all their diversity as they were perceived at the time of
writing.3 Accordingly, Hermes’ roles as psychopomp, protector of herds and
pastures, slayer of Argus, and even his civilizing and esoteric role as Hermes
Trismegistos, all receive due emphasis. So, I believe, does his role as wayfinder,
protector of travelers, and guardian of crossroads, although this major function
appears in a very curious way when Cicero’s Cotta begins by citing
representations of Mercury as “sexually excited” (cuius obscenius excitata
natura traditur), which must have to do with the iconography of herms and other
ithyphallic figures which, whatever their origin, the ancients themselves
believed to represent Hermes.
My second point is that the passage speaks of this first Mercury as erotically
aroused. Most scholars today would draw a distinction between the categories of
sex and violence in representations of the phallus, just as one would do in
comparing consensual relations to the crime of rape. But, while obviously and
necessarily separable, the categories are often conflated; and the ancients, even
if they were capable of separating them, often did conflate them. Statues of
Priapus, for instance, were meant to protect gardens from thieves by
threatening trespassers with violence; but the coarse humor of the Corpus
Priapeorum depends on the idea that one man’s (or woman’s) punishment might
be another’s pleasure.4 Moreover, even making a straightforward, binary
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distinction between the threat of violence and the promise of erotic gratification
is too simple, since Priapus and the ithyphallic Hermes both seem to symbolize
benevolent protection in some contexts.5 And, in fact, the versatile (p.123)
Hermes almost never means only one thing at a time. So, as a paradoxical
context to what I have to say, we have to assume that, in some visual
representations of what was thought to be Hermes, his sexual potential was very
much on display.
I say this context is paradoxical because, in literature, Hermes is in fact not the
most sexually active of gods. He may be the least so; and the question that this
raises is, why? Rampant sexuality, after all, is one of the Greek gods’ chief
attributes. Zeus is unchallenged in this respect, one of his principal roles being
precisely that he is “father of gods and men.” Poseidon’s libido is celebrated in
the Homeric Odyssey, the Hesiodic Catalogue of Women, and in later sources.6
To round out the trio of senior Olympians who control the major realms of sky,
sea, and Underworld, it is true that Hades is not especially well known as a
philanderer, but his famous abduction of Persephone is probably all he needs to
ensure his credentials in this area. Among the younger Olympians, neither
Hephaestus nor Ares might seem such impressive lovers if they were not both
involved with Aphrodite, as husband and paramour, respectively; but they are,
and this has to count for something. That leaves us Apollo and Hermes, the two
most junior Olympians. These divine brothers are paired often and in many
ways, and I will be returning more than once to this theme. But the Homeric
Hymn to Hermes begins with an equally important relationship that also endures
in ancient literature, that between Hermes and his father.7 For instance, the first
thing we learn from the hymn about Zeus’ affair with Maia is that it was a big
secret: Zeus kept it hidden from Hera, in particular, under cover of night.8 These
details implicitly explain how it is that Hermes inherits from his father a
penchant for stealth and craft, rather than a voracious sexual appetite; and in
later myth, as we shall see, Hermes is generally represented as using his own
stealth and craft to support his father’s erotic escapades, much more often than
his own.
By beginning in this way, stressing that Hermes takes after his father in
cleverness rather than libido, the hymn sets up later episodes of sexual
sublimation. For instance, as soon as Hermes invents the lyre, the precocious
infant celebrates his illustrious genealogy in the ribald manner of young men at
banquets by hymning his parents’ trysts.9 The hymn’s return to the theme of (p.
124) these trysts looks, as many have noted, like a new beginning, and it poses
the question of what the young Hermes, armed with his lyre, will do next.10
Ribaldry, young men at banquets, and secret trysts open up a number of
possibilities. One of these is that Hermes, while taking his cue from those young
men at banquets, imitates not their ribaldry but, instead, their hunger. That
inference is confirmed by Hermes’ next act, which is to set off at once on a quest
for meat that will take him to Apollo’s cattle. In a sense, eros is not wholly absent
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from this quest, but once again it is sublimated: the phrase used for Hermes’
hunger is κρειῶν ἐρατίζων, “lusting after meat.”11 Of course, one should be
wary of pressing the meaning of this phrase in this context too hard. In the first
place, it is formulaic: it occurs once again in this same hymn, and twice in the
Iliad as well, where, as Athanassios Vergados points out, “the formula refers to a
lion,” so that one of its effects in the hymn, where it refers to a newborn, may
well be humorous.12 Second, these are the only passages of early epic where the
verb ἐρατίζω occurs, and in all of them its object is meat. Still, ἐρατίζω is clearly
an intensive form of ἔραμαι, “to love, desire passionately, long for, or lust after,”
and Callimachus uses it in a passage that concerns either Zeus’ desire for Hera,
or perhaps their actual lovemaking, which in either case lasted for some three
hundred years.13 So, it is difficult to believe that ancient Greek speakers heard
the phrase κρειῶν ἐρατίζων much differently from the way we would hear
“lusting after meat.” And if they did hear it that way, this is the only lust that
they would find Hermes experiencing in the poem.
Otherwise, eros in this hymn is in very short supply—except for the sublimated
eros of Hermes’ bromance with Apollo. The attraction between them makes itself
apparent when Hermes gives big brother the tortoise-shell lyre.14 Of course, the
basic issue involved here is compensation for the cattle (p.125) that Hermes
has stolen, and Hermes’ main object is to win recognition in Apollo’s eyes (477
σὺ δέ μοι, φίλε, κῦδος ὄπαζε). It is also true that, in this same passage, Hermes
speaks the language not of eros, but of philia (φίλε). So again, we must be wary
of pressing too hard. But I think it is telling that, when Hermes gives Apollo the
lyre, he calls it a λιγύφωνον ἑταίρην (478), a phrase that Martin West renders
literally as “a clear-voiced girl friend.”15 West is perfectly right to do so, because
in what follows, Hermes develops this metaphor. As Vergados most recently
points out, “from this point on the lyre is presented simultaneously as an
instrument and a woman, in fact a hetaira attending an aristocratic banquet.”16
Thus Hermes tells Apollo that he might take his new girl friend to the cheerful
banquet or the charming dance or the raucous revel. (And here a bit of eros does
peek through in the phrase χορὸν ἱμερόεντα, 481.) Then, Hermes (as god of
herds) offers to manage Apollo’s remaining cattle so that they will mate and bear
many calves.17 With this proposal, Hermes once again uses his own abilities to
facilitate the expression of someone else’s sexuality—in this case, that of the
animals. And Hermes’ offer proves to be the start of a beautiful friendship: the
two brothers, “Zeus’ surpassingly beautiful children” (504), go skipping together
back to snowy Olympus, where Zeus himself rejoices and joins them together in
philotes.18 This is, I have to note, the same word used to describe Maia’s
lovemaking with Zeus at the beginning of the hymn in the formulaic phrase ἐν
φιλότητι μιγεῖσα (4). As a result, Hermes “began to love” (508 ἐφίλησε) Apollo
continually, just as he still does; and Apollo acknowledged his brother’s love (p.
126) token, namely, the “charming lyre” (509–10 κίθαριν…ἱμερτήν, with
another bit of eros peeking out through the philia).19 In sum, we are presented
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with an episode of homoerotic courtship charged with the language of love at

every turn—and with the younger god, very much in keeping with his general
precociousness throughout the hymn, cast as the erastes instead of the
eromenos. But the relationship is very much a sublimated, homosocial one rather
than an overtly erotic one, as is underlined by Hermes’ role as a kind of go-
between: he ingratiates himself to his big brother and wins respect for himself
by finding Apollo a new girl friend—the lyre—and causing his cattle to mate and
become prolific. There is no need to consider later retellings of these particular
stories, from Alcaeus to Lucian, because none of them, so far as I can see, deals
with the issue of Hermes’ sexuality as cleverly as the hymn, if indeed at all.20
Other poems tell different stories about Hermes, adapting them somewhat to
their own generic expectations. A good illustration of this point involves a pair of
passages, one in the Iliad and one in the Hymn to Aphrodite, that are linked by
the theme of eros and also by shared diction. First, the catalogue of Myrmidons
in Iliad 16 names one Eudorus as a son of Hermes and tells the story of his
birth.21 Here, then, Hermes appears not only as a lover himself, but as one who
acts independently, expressing many essential aspects of his own identity, but
doing so in a martial context.22 Thus the formulaic language of (p.127) this
passage describes Hermes, unsurprisingly, as strong and accomplished (181
κρατὺς ἀργεϊφόντης), inasmuch as early epic seems to have misunderstood the
epithet argeiphontes as meaning “slayer of Argos,” and so as expressing
Hermes’ battle prowess.23 Such ideas are obviously very appropriate to the
context of an epic war narrative. On the other hand, in the details surrounding
Eudorus’ conception and birth, the abidingly unaggressive aspects of Hermes’
character remain very much in place. Having seen and fallen in love with a
young girl as she was dancing in honor of the virginal Artemis (183), Hermes
escorts her into womanhood not by abducting her, as another god might have
done, but by entering stealthily into the upper chamber of her home, like the
thief that he is (184). In addition, the girl’s name—Polymele, daughter of Phylas
(180–1 Πολυμήλη / Φύλαντος θυγάτηρ)—expresses an aspect of Hermes’ own
identity as guardian of abundant flocks (πολλῶν μηλὼν φύλαξ). Similarly, the
name of the son that Polymele bears him, Eudorus, reflects the many bridal gifts
that her future husband, Echecles, would give in exchange for her (190 μυρία
ἕδνα). Finally, Eudorus himself is praised as “preeminent as a fast runner and as
a warrior” (186 πέρι μὲν θείειν ταχὺν ἠδὲ μαχητήν), presumably having
inherited his speed from his father.
In the passage from the Hymn to Aphrodite, line 118 closely resembles line 183
from the Iliad passage we have just been discussing.24 In the latter, Hermes sees
Polymele “in a dance honoring Artemis of the golden shafts and the loud, clear
voice” (ἐν χορῷ Ἀρτέμιδος χρυσηλακάτου κελαδεινῆς); in the hymn, Aphrodite
tells Anchises that she is no goddess or nymph (as he rightly supposes she is),
but a mortal girl whom Hermes abducted “from a dance in honor of Artemis of
the golden shafts and the loud, clear voice” (ἐκ χοροῦ…) and then brought to
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him on Mt. Ida (108–27). S. Douglas Olson, commenting on this passage, notes
(apropos of the verb ἀνήρπαξε, 117) that “[t]he conventional epic explanation of
Hermes’ behavior would be that he snatched [the girl] in order to rape her in an
isolated spot, after which she (p.128) could expect him to abandon her,
allowing her to find her way eventually to Anchises’ door.”25 That is certainly
true, so far as conventional epic explanations go. But Hermes is not a
conventional epic god. Even in the Iliad, Hermes does not kidnap Polymele by
force, but sneaks into her room by stealth; and in the hymn, Aphrodite’s story,
though false, must be based on a plausible conception of Hermes as a god who is
more likely to abduct a girl and take her to some other lover than he is to take
advantage of her himself.26 On balance, then, a comparison between these two
passages suggests that the Iliad poet had to work a bit to make Hermes’
behavior conform somewhat to the conventions of epic machismo, while the poet
of the hymn could simply allow Hermes to play his usual role as helpful go-
between instead of masterful, or even stealthy lover.
This same function appears later in the Aphrodite hymn, when the goddess
recalls how Zeus once sent Hermes to Tros with gifts to compensate for the
abduction of Ganymede.27 And still later in the same speech, Aphrodite
introduces a new aspect of Hermes’ love-life when she announces her plan to
have the baby Aeneas nursed by some long-lived mountain nymphs who eat
divine food, dance with the immortals, and mate with Hermes and the Silenoi.28
So Aphrodite does not condemn Hermes to out-and-out sexual abstinence; but
this cavorting with Silenoi and mountain nymphs is, to say the least, rather
unusual by Olympian standards.
Before leaving the archaic period, I have to note that in the Odyssey, Hermes’
role as amatory go-between takes on still another aspect. In the Aphrodite hymn,
merely invoking the clever Hermes seems to lend plausibility to the goddess’s
fictitious story that it was he who brought her to Anchises. But in the Odyssey,
his role becomes one not of facilitating but of preventing or limiting erotic
liaisons. In Book 1, we learn that Zeus had sent Hermes to warn Aegisthus not to
get involved with Clytemnestra (37–42), just as he will later send him to tell
Calypso that she must release her boy-toy Odysseus (84–7; cf. 5.75–148). In Book
10, as well, Odysseus tells Circe that Hermes appeared (p.129) to him, warned
him about her spells, and gave him the moly that would protect him against them
(277–308).29 Here it is worth taking quick look at the Vergilian reception of
these episodes, which gives Mercury similar roles in the Aeneid, though not
without certain instructive differences.30 To promote Aeneas’ affair with Dido—
the Calypso of Vergil’s Odyssey, and in certain ways a Circe figure as well—
Mercury plays only a limited, indirect role. This occurs when Jupiter, following
his interview with Venus, sends Mercury to make the Carthaginians put off their
habitual ferocia corda and welcome the Trojans.31 It is Venus herself—abetted by
Cupid—and later Juno who do the specifically erotic heavy lifting.32 By the same
token, when it is time to end the affair, Jupiter once again sends Mercury to
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move Aeneas along.33 But the Vergilian leavetaking goes very differently from its
Homeric models. In the Odyssey, Hermes appears to Calypso, visits with her, and
informs her courteously of the greater gods’ will, which she accepts, however
reluctantly; and when Odysseus informs Circe that Hermes has appeared to him,
she reacts knowingly, saying that Hermes had often mentioned to her that
Odysseus would one day visit her island.34 In Vergil, of course, Mercury appears
to Aeneas, and not to Dido; so that when Aeneas informs Dido of the god’s
command, she reacts with incredulous scorn.35
I will shortly suggest what factors in the development of the god’s character
facilitated the conversion of Homer’s Hermes into Vergil’s Mercury. But first, let
me consider a few other aspects of Hermes’ Homeric persona. So far, apart (p.
130) from Eudorus in the Iliad, we have seen little reason to suspect that
Hermes would become a great patriarch, and indeed he does not. In comparison
to other gods, he is responsible for no heroic genealogies of major importance.
These also tend to be attested in later sources, and in some cases we have
evidence that the later sources contradict or modify earlier ones. Odysseus’ own
genealogy is a significant case in point. According to Pherecydes of Athens,
Odysseus’ grandfather, Autolycus, was the son of Hermes and Philonis, daughter
of Deion; in fact, Pherecydes’ story once again links Hermes to Apollo, in that
both gods saw, desired, and made love to Philonis on the very same day.36 That is
all we know from Pherecydes, but Ovid tells a similar story about a girl whom he
names not Philonis, but Chione, daughter not of Deion, but of Daedalion; and
this girl gives birth to twins, the crafty Autolycus, son of Mercury, and
Philammon, son of Apollo. But Chione, boasting of her child-bearing, was slain
for her presumption by Diana; and Apollo, pitying her father’s grief, turned him
into a bird.37 So Ovid, typically, tells the story in a way that downplays Mercury’s
role as divine patriarch, in favor of his main theme of metamorphosis.
All of this goes well beyond Homer, who says that Hermes granted Autolycus the
arts of theft and (clever) oath-taking, because Autolycus assiduously propitiated
the god.38 And that is all: nothing of a blood relationship between them. This
despite the fact that Homer had every reason to stress Odysseus’ connection to
Hermes, and positing direct descent would have been a good way to do so.39 But
like most early poets, he tended not to regard Hermes as a divine patriarch. We
do have classical, Hellenistic, and imperial sources linking Hermes to various
heroes, some known for their craftiness, but none the progenitor of an important
lineage.40 But whether stories like these go back to archaic traditions or, as in
the case of Autolycus, simply represent a later (p.131) tendency to explain
heroic character traits in terms of divine DNA, is hard to say. What we can say is
that even among those mythographers who specialize in heroic genealogy,
Hermes’ contribution is not that impressive.
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A couple of the more famous offspring credited to Hermes may suggest why this
is so. The first of these is Pan, whose parentage is variously assigned by different
sources.41 But the nineteenth Homeric Hymn, which is concerned mainly with
the circumstances of Pan’s birth, says emphatically that Hermes is his father.42
In the story that it tells, Hermes was struck with desire for the tree nymph
Dryope, came down to earth, worked as a herdsman, and made love to her, so
that she gave birth to a goat-footed baby, who frightened her but delighted his
father.43 The story is told very allusively, and seems to suggest that some fuller
version once existed. But we can at least say that this hymn celebrates Hermes
as protector of herds, and also perhaps that it casts the god in a light somewhat
similar to that of the Aphrodite hymn, where he is given mountain nymphs and
Silenes as companions in his erotic escapades.44 Pan of course does go on to
enjoy a varied amatory career, which includes the story that the Ovidian
Mercury uses to lull Argus to sleep in Metamorphoses 1, the story of Syrinx,
which is essentially a doublet of the story of Daphne earlier in the same book.45
That passage indirectly recalls yet again the close relationship between Hermes
and Apollo, this time in the Augustan period.46 This is especially evident in the
way that Ovid tells both of these stories—god sees nymph; god pursues nymph;
nymph flees and is rescued, sort of, when she is transformed into a plant;
frustrated god makes plant an emblem of himself and, in the case of Syrinx, his
preferred musical instrument.47 In the narratological system of the
Metamorphoses, Argus’ sleepiness is a self-reflexive joke at Ovid’s own expense,
an advance warning to uncharitable critics that he actually knows what he is
doing, and a notice to the reader of the many mythic permutations that are to
come. But from our point of view, the story emphasizes once again the
differences between Hermes and all his male relations. Apollo, his older brother,
and Pan, his son, are much more typical of Ovid’s (p.132) erotic heroes,
whereas Mercury in this story plays his familiar role of Jupiter’s go-between, this
time focusing on damage control by lulling Argus to sleep and then slaying him
in order to keep Jupiter’s dalliance with Io hidden from the jealous Juno.48
In the following book of the Metamorphoses, Mercury tries to become an erotic

hero in his own right when he falls in love with Herse, daughter of Cecrops; but
he is blocked by Herse’s envious sister, Aglauros. Annoyed by this opposition,
Mercury becomes preoccupied with his desire to punish Aglauros and, once he
does, quits Athens (if we take Ovid’s narrative as written) with no further
thought for Herse.49 Later in the same book, Mercury returns to his usual role as
go-between when Jupiter bids him drive the royal herd of cattle down from the
hills to the shores of Sidon, where Europa and her companions are playing; and
there, disguised as a bull himself, Jupiter charms and abducts the princess.50 In
both these stories, Mercury plays what must be considered his primary erotic
role as Jupiter’s wing-man, helping his father get the girl, the same role that
Aphrodite assigns him twice in her Homeric Hymn. This may be a role that
archaic Greek poets and their audiences constantly remembered whenever they
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heard the epithet argeiphontes, which they seem to have connected with the
story of Io even if the actual etymology of the word has nothing to do with
that.51 And it is a role that Mercury plays to the hilt in Plautus’ Amphitryon,
where his clever trickery and evident zest in acting as his father’s procurer
almost steal the show.52 This is the opposite, comic side of his role in removing
the erotic entanglements that threaten to keep Odysseus and Aeneas from
reaching their destinations. But in all these cases, Mercury manages to maintain
a kind of detachment that randier gods like his father, his brother, and his son
never seem to achieve. That is perhaps why, when he tells the story of Pan and
Syrinx precisely as one that is likely to put Argus to sleep, I cannot help wonder
whether this bit of Ovidian self-mockery might not contain a hint of Mercurial
self-disclosure, as well. Because it surely cannot (p.133) be every narrator who
could find in this exciting story of love at first sight, violent pursuit, and
supernatural transformation the raw materials of a soporific lullaby. Mercury
can, and perhaps that means that he just does not find any of these erotic
adventures quite as interesting as most immortals—or mortals, for that matter—
seem to do.
But how can that be, if one considers that famous passage of the Odyssey in
which Apollo and Hermes do such a convincing impersonation of typical frat
boys, looking mirthfully on with the other gods at the trap, set by the cuckolded
Hephaestus for—and speculating on whether they would trade places with—the
embarrassed Ares for a night with Aphrodite.53 Apollo begins the banter,
perhaps teasing his less experienced younger brother by asking whether he
thinks that would be a good bargain. Hermes, as he does in his Hymn, talks big,
insisting that he would willingly accept three times as many bindings in
exchange for such pleasure. This episode anticipates a certain number of
Hermes’ erotic adventures in later literature, in which Apollo shows the way, and
Hermes follows. The most transparent example, which is attested by Galen, is
that of Crocus, a beautiful boy whom Hermes loved but accidently killed while
throwing a discus, so that the boy turned into a flower.54 Other authors tell a
different story, so maybe Galen simply misremembered the story of Hyacinthus
as that of Crocus.55 But in any case, the much better attested Hyacinthus story
must be a model for the other.
So, in the brotherly banter of the Odyssey passage, Apollo leads and Hermes
follows, establishing a pattern that is predictive of their relationship in later
literature. But not always; because, whatever this banter may have meant to its
earliest audiences, later readers may have found in it an ironic, future-reflexive
character. For big-brother Apollo never succeeded in hooking up with Aphrodite,
whereas little Hermes eventually got his wish. The surviving sources show little
interest in their actual affair. Instead, they focus on the intriguing offspring of
their union.56 Visual representations of a female figure, sometimes (p.134)
winged, with male genitalia, begin to appear in Greece in the fourth century
BCE, and during that time the word hermaphroditus first appears in
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Theophrastus’ Characters, apparently as a name for such images.57 A century

later, the comic poet Posidippus would entitle a play Hermaphroditus, thereby
adding to our impression that the figure was gaining currency in the late
classical and early Hellenistic periods. In this play, someone says that “every
man, even if he happens to be someone poor, raises a / son, but exposes a
daughter even if he is rich.”58 The title of this play notwithstanding, it is difficult
to be sure what this passage may be saying about the hermaphroditus in
particular, but the gender prejudices that are on display here may anticipate a
later passage in which the Roman playwright Titinius uses the word to insult a
man who wears his hair like a woman.59 From this one can infer that the
hermaphrodite had come by about 200 BCE to be regarded not as a female with
masculine characteristics, but rather as an effeminate male.60 Ovid recapitulates
this trajectory in his treatment of Hermaphroditus. On the one hand, he agrees
with other sources that the boy’s name expresses the combination of
characteristics that he inherited from both parents; but these relate mainly to
his exceptionally good looks.61 Though a child of Mercury, he is quite naïve,
altogether lacking his father’s cleverness. It may be that he takes after his
mother; certainly Salmacis finds him the very image of his half-brother, Cupid.62
And, though a child of Venus, Hermaphroditus is completely (p.135) ignorant
of love and not much interested in it.63 In fact, he is quite indifferent, and even
hostile, to the beautiful Salmacis’ advances.64 By the time Ovid tells the story,
the child is born a boy who, when he comes of age, is emasculated by the water
nymph Salmacis.65 So, in a sense, Ovid’s idea that Hermaphroditus is a boy who
is effeminized by Salmacis amounts to a tale of redundant or unnecessary
transformation—since elsewhere sexual ambiguity is Hermaphroditus’ defining
property from birth. Moreover, since Aphrodite is known to have borne normal
children to other fathers in other myths, it makes sense to infer that in this one
Hermes’ genetic contribution must somehow have been rather weak in
comparison to theirs and to that of Aphrodite herself.66 And in fact, as we have
already seen, Hermes has a record of fathering physically ambiguous children,
including not only the sexually ambiguous Hermaphroditus, but the
theriomorphic Pan, as well.67
So, quite apart from Hermes and Apollo, Hermes and Aphrodite (or Mercury and
Venus) form a mythologically significant pair as well. I will return to them before
concluding. First, though, I want to look briefly at a story that involves, once
again, Mercury’s greatest mythological partner, Jupiter, in what must be the
most disturbing of all the younger god’s erotic adventures. The story is all the
more disturbing because it shows every sign of being an original Ovidian
composition, posing as an origin myth of the Feralia festival on February 21, in
Book 2 of the Fasti.68 According to this myth, the nymph Lala, so called because
of her talkative nature, warned Juturna that Jupiter had designs on her. As
punishment, Jupiter tore out Lala’s tongue, so that she could talk no more. Ovid
is not explicit that this punishment caused a change in the way Lala herself
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pronounced her name, so that it became Lara, although this is easy to infer; and
in any case, Jupiter further punished the nymph by sending her to Hades. To
conduct her there, he naturally called (p.136) upon Mercury, both as his usual
assistant in his erotic escapades and, this time, in view of Mercury’s more
official role as psychopomp. Here is where a disturbing tale becomes even more
so. While conducting Lara to the land of the dead, Mercury liked the look of her
and took her by force, making her the mother of the Lares. The tale is an obvious
fiction drawing on numerous other myths, as is made clear by mention of Procne
and Tereus in the Karistia episode that follows, almost as if the poet were citing
his source for the unusual motif of imposing silence on a victim by cutting out
her tongue.69 But the story also draws on authentic elements of Mercury’s
character, particularly, as was just noted, his role as psychopomp.70 In addition,
Mercury is occasionally linked to the Lares by inscriptional evidence, and it
seems possible that some sense of similarity between Roman Lares Compitales
and Greek herms may be involved, as well.71 Finally, since Mercury forces
himself on Lara en route to the Underworld, perhaps we should remember what
Cicero says about the first Mercury being represented as in a state of arousal
upon seeing the mistress of that domain.72 For that matter, the god is said to
have lusted after other hellish goddesses, including Brimo in Propertius and
Daeira in Pausanias.73 So not only in this chilling Ovidian episode do the elegiac
and Freudian dyad of eros and thanatos play their role in the loves of Hermes.
When we move toward the end of the classical period, more or less explicit
allegory begins to figure in Mercury’s amatory adventures, and marriage rather
than illicit affairs becomes the main point. In this connection, a more cheerful
aspect of the god’s role as psychopomp appears in, once again, his association
with Venus, this time in Apuleius. The story of Cupid and Psyche features
Mercury not as the goddess’s lover, but in his traditional roles of herald and
psychopomp: Venus wants Mercury to publish to the world that (p.137) she is
searching for the runaway Psyche and, when the missing girl is found, to
conduct her not to the Underworld, but back to the sky. The main point,
however, is that when Venus enlists Mercury’s help, she tells him, “I am sure you
know that your sister Venus has never accomplished anything without your
assistance.”74 It is true that with this speech the goddess is ingratiating herself
to a fellow god from whom she needs a favor; still, the idea that Venus never
accomplished anything without Mercury’s assistance seems to be laying it on a
bit thick. But the idea of Mercury as a god of reason and intelligence follows
from his fundamental cleverness; and his cleverness with words, which is
exemplified in Homer by his giving Autolycus particular skill in the wording of
oaths, is related to this as well. Another special application of Mercurial reason
and eloquence is in the field of love. Plutarch attests as much in his Coniugalia
praecepta, where he says, “The ancients gave Hermes a place at the side of
Aphrodite, in the conviction that pleasure in marriage stands especially in need
of reason; and they also assigned a place there to Persuasion and the Graces, so
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that married people should succeed in attaining their mutual desires by

persuasion and not by fighting and quarrelling.”75 It seems quite likely that
Apuleius has similar associations in mind when he makes Venus say that she has
never accomplished anything without Mercury’s assistance. In the same vein,
when we reach the fifth century, Nonnus twice refers to Peitho—conceptually
and iconographically one of Aphrodite’s frequent companions—as Hermes’
wife.76 So, already by the early Empire, and even more clearly in later antiquity,
the god is closely associated in allegory with the idea of erotic persuasion or
seduction—an association that is not fundamentally so different from his usual
role as go-between in earlier mythology.
This leads to one final example of Hermes in love, a work more or less
contemporary with Nonnus, but written in Latin, and better known to
medievalists than to classicists: namely, Martianus Capella’s The Marriage of
Mercury and Philology. This highly allegorical work consists of nine books, the
first two of which tell about the circumstances of the wedding in the form of a
romance that E. R. Curtius regards as modeled on Apuleius’ “Cupid and Psyche”
episode.77 It can be briefly summarized as concern to all and sundry that
Mercury is still a bachelor. In view of this concern, Virtue—or perhaps it would
be better to call her “Manliness” (Virtus)—advises Mercury to consult (p.138)
Apollo about what he should do, and Apollo proposes that he should marry
Philology, a girl who is familiar with all areas of knowledge. Mercury agrees, and
at the end of Book 1 the other gods sitting in council approve his choice. Then in
Book 2, after all nine Muses sing hymns to honor the bride, she is prepared for
the wedding by her mother, Thought; by the four cardinal virtues, Prudence,
Justice, Temperance, and Courage; by the three Graces; and by Immortality—
because to marry a god, she must become immortal herself. Philology is then
borne by Labor, Love, Application, and Sleeplessness up to Olympus, where she
receives premarital instruction from Juno. The rest of the work, Books 3 through
9, are each devoted to one of the Liberal Arts, who are given to the bride as
wedding presents to serve her in married life. Thus the work as a whole, though
presented in the form of an allegorical romance, is a compendium of ancient
wisdom; and as such it served as a kind of universal encyclopedia from the end
of antiquity until the early modern period.78
From our point of view, however, the important point is that in Martianus’ book,
Mercury finally took a wife—not Persuasion, as in Nonnus, but Philology. And
this seems a fitting place to end. I began by noting that my purpose would be to
survey the theme of Hermes in love, not to argue a thesis; but in conclusion,
after stringing together these episodes in an order that mainly just follows the
chronology of their sources, I find it impossible not to notice that they describe
the familiar trajectory of a novelistic biography. This could be summarized,
facetiously, as follows: Hermes, the youngest of the Olympian gods, was born
during the archaic period into a distinguished but dysfunctional family of
extreme egotists. His older male relatives in particular had serious problems
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with impulse control, especially where the opposite sex was concerned. As a boy,
Hermes served as his philandering father’s assistant in many erotic adventures.
Eventually he began to emulate the exploits of an older brother to whom he was
particularly attached. In the process, Hermes sowed a few wild oats,
occasionally even getting involved in some really disturbing episodes that might
have landed the son of a less prominent family in quite serious trouble. But,
fortunately, he was smart enough not to make this a habit. Finally, at the end of
antiquity, he began to act more sensibly and, eventually, found a nice girl,
married her, and settled down; and together, they gave birth to the Middle Ages.
But we should not allow the cheerful nature for which Hermes is so famous to
content ourselves with such a flippant summary. I think it is true that Hermes’
development in classical literary treatments of his vie amoureuse moves in the
general direction just outlined. For that reason, some might take comfort in the
fact that, whatever peccadillos or more serious offenses Hermes may have
committed along the way, it all comes out right in the end. (p.139) And in any
case, the sheer number of stories involved is small in comparison to the loves of
Zeus, Poseidon, or Apollo. Besides, Hermes himself is hardly as powerful or
important a god as any of those, even if he is scarcely distant or obscure. Maybe
these reasons combine to explain why he seems more amusing than dangerous.
As Madeleine Jost writes, “Hermes was not a major divinity, but because he was
essentially kindly, he was one of the most familiar gods in the daily lives of the
Greeks.”79 But I would say there is food for thought in the fact that this least
imposing of the Olympians, with the exception perhaps of Hestia, and arguably
the least lotharian of the Olympian males, can also become, in the hands of a
poet such as Ovid—who draws mainly on the god’s usual mythic associations—a
central figure in an episode that disturbingly explores the darker side of eros.
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Farrell, J. 2013. “Complementarity and Contradiction in Ovidian Mythography.”

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Notes:
(1) On Eratosthenes’ Hermes cf. Geus 2002: 110–28.
(2) Cic. ND 3.56 Mercurius unus Caelo patre, Die matre natus, cuius obscenius
excitata natura traditur, quod aspectu Proserpinae commotus sit; alter Valentis
et Phoronidis filius is, qui sub terris habetur idem Trophonius; tertius Iove tertio
natus et Maia, ex quo et Penelopa Pana natum ferunt; quartus Nilo patre, quem
Aegyptii nefas habent nominare; quintus, quem colunt Pheneatae, qui Argum
dicitur interemisse ob eamque causam in Aegyptum profugisse atque Aegyptiis
leges et litteras tradidisse: hunc Aegyptii Theyt appellant eodemque nomine anni
primus mensis apud eos vocatur (“One Mercury was born of father Sky and
mother Day, and the traditional explanation for his being represented obscenely,
with his sexual organ in a state of arousal, is that he was excited by looking at
Proserpina; the second, son of Valens and a daughter of Phoroneus, is also held
to dwell under the earth as Trophonius; the third was born of the third Jupiter
and Maia, and they say that Pan was born of him and Penelope; the father of the
fourth was Nile, and the Egyptians consider it impious to say his name; the fifth
is he whom the people of Pheneus worship and who is said to have killed Argus,
and on that account to have fled to Egypt and to have given the Egyptians laws
and writing: the Egyptians call him Theyt, and among them the first month of
the year goes by the same name”).
(3) Cf. Henk Versnel in this volume on multiple divinities sharing the same name.
(4) Cf. Elomaa 2015.
(5) Cf. Sandra Blakely’s paper in this volume.
(6) See Obbink 2004; cf. Farrell 2013: 224–32.
(7) See Larson and Reggiani in this volume.
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(8) H.Herm. 5–9…μακάρων δὲ θεῶν ἠλεύαθ᾽ ὅμιλον, / ἄντρον ἔσω ναίουσα

παλίσκιον, ἔνθα Κρονίων / νύμφῃ ἐυπλοκάμῳ μισγέσκετο νυκτὸς ἀμολγῷ, /
ὄφρα κατὰ γλυκὺς ὕπνος ἔχοι λευκώλενον Ἥρην, / λήθων ἀθανάτους τε θεοὺς
θνητούς τ᾽ ἀνθρώπους (“…but she avoided the company of the blessed gods,
dwelling in a shadowy cave, and there the son of Cronus made love to the well-
tressed nymph in the depth of night, as long as sweet sleep held Hera fast,
keeping the immortal gods and mortal men all unaware”).
(9) H.Herm. 54–9…θεὸς δ᾽ ὑπὸ καλὸν ἄειδεν / ἐξ αὐτοσχεδίης πειρώμενος, ἠύτε

κοῦροι /ἡβηταὶ θαλίῃσι παραιβόλα κερτομέουσιν, / ἀμφὶ Δία Κρονίδην
καὶ Μαιάδα καλλιπέδιλον, / ὡς πάρος ὠρίζεσκον ἑταιρείῃ φιλότητι, / ἥν τ᾽
αὐτοῦ γενεὴν ὀνομακλυτὸν ἐξονομάζων (“…the god sang a beautiful
accompaniment, improvising, trying it out, the way young men at banquets
make jeering remarks, about Zeus the son of Cronus and Maia of the lovely
ankles, how they used to converse in mutual love, and declaring as well his own
renowned lineage”).
(10) As Vergados 2012: 271 notes, “Hermes’ first musical performance is a mise
en abyme: like the Hymn poet, the poem’s main character performs a song of the
same genre and topic (i.e. another Hymn to Hermes)…. By repeating what was
mentioned at the beginning of the poem, the poet brings the narrative back to
the point where it was interrupted.”
(11) H.Herm. 64–7…ὃ δ᾽ ἄρα κρειῶν ἐρατίζων / ἆλτο κατὰ σκοπιὴν εὐώδεος
ἐκ μεγάροιο / ὁρμαίνων δόλον αἰπὺν ἐνὶ φρεσίν, οἶά τε φῶτες / φηληταὶ
διέπουσι μελαίνης νυκτὸς ἐν ὥρῃ (“…but he, lusting after meat, leapt out of
the fragrant house to the mountaintop, devising in his wits sheer trickery such
as thievish men commit in the season of dark night”).
(12) Il. 11.551, 17.660; cf. Vergados 2012: 280 ad loc.
(13) Call. fr. 48 Harder (= 48 Pfeiffer), Σ Iliad 1.609 τὸν δὲ Δία καὶ τὴν Ἥραν ἐπ’
ἐνιαυτοὺς τριακοσίους, ὥς φησιν Καλλίμαχος ἐν βʹ Αἰτίων· ὥς τε Ζεὺς ἑρατίζε
τριηκοσίους ἐνιαυτούς (“Zeus and Hera for three-hundred years, as Callimachus
says in Book 2 of the Aetia: ‘just as Zeus was in love [or] made love for three-
hundred years’”). Cf. Hesychius ε 5635 ἐρατίζων· ἐρῶν, ἐπιθυμῶν.
(14) H.Herm. 475–82 ἀλλ᾽ ἐπεὶ οὖν τοι θυμὸς ἐπιθύει κιθαρίζειν, / μέλπεο καὶ
κιθάριζε καὶ ἀγλαίας ἀλέγυνε / δέγμενος ἐξ ἐμέθεν· σὺ δέ μοι, φίλε, κῦδος
ὄπαζε. / εὐμόλπει μετὰ χερσὶν ἔχων λιγύφωνον ἑταίρην, / καλὰ καὶ εὖ κατὰ
κόσμον ἐπιστάμενος ἀγορεύειν. / εὔκηλος μὲν ἔπειτα φέρειν ἐς δαῖτα θάλειαν /
καὶ χορὸν ἱμερόεντα καὶ ἐς φιλοκυδέα κῶμον / εὐφροσύνην νυκτός τε καὶ
ἤματος…(“But since longing to play the lyre has come over you, make music,
play it, and rejoice, accepting it from me; but, my friend, give me kudos. Make
music, holding in your hands this clear-voiced girl friend, knowing how to
speak well and fittingly. Take her confidently to the festive banquet and the
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charming dance and the raucous revel, a source of good cheer by night and
day…”).
(15) West 2003: 151.
(16) Vergados 2012: 537 ad 478 ἑταίρην.
(17) H.Herm. 491–5 ἡμεῖς δ᾽ αὖτ᾽ ὄρεός τε καὶ ἱπποβότου πεδίοιο / βουσὶ νομούς,
Ἐκάεργε, νομεύσομεν ἀγραύλοισιν. / ἔνθεν ἅλις τέξουσι βόες ταύροισι
μιγεῖσαι / μίγδην θηλείας τε καὶ ἄρσενας· οὐδέ τί σε χρὴ / κερδαλέον περ
ἐόντα περιζαμενῶς κεχολῶσθαι (“I in turn, Farshooter, will graze the pastures of
the mountain and of the horse-nurturing plain with your cattle that dwell in the
fields. Then will the cows bear aplenty after mating with bulls, male and
female together, nor need you be angry, greedy though you be”).
(18) H.Herm. 503–10 ἔνθα βόας μὲν ἔπειτα ποτὶ ζάθεον λειμῶνα / ἐτραπέτην·
αὐτοὶ δέ, Διὸς περικαλλέα τέκνα, / ἄψορροι πρὸς Ὄλυμπον ἀγάννιφον
ἐρρώσαντο / τερπόμενοι φόρμιγγι· χάρη δ᾽ ἄρα μητιέτα Ζεύς, / ἄμφω δ᾽ ἐς
φιλότητα συνήγαγε· καὶ τὰ μὲν Ἑρμῆς / Λητοΐδην ἐφίλησε διαμπερές, ὡς ἔτι
καὶ νῦν, / <Λητοΐδης δὲ κασιγνήτου φιλότητος ἀνέγνω> (508a) / σήματ᾽, ἐπεὶ
κίθαριν μὲν Ἑκηβόλῳ ἐγγυάλιξεν / ἱμερτήν, δεδαώς, ὃ δ᾽ ἐπωλένιον
κιθάριζεν…(“Then they turned the cattle toward the holy meadow; but they,
Zeus’ surpassingly handsome children, went prancing back to snowy
Olympus, enjoying the lyre; and clever Zeus was glad, and brought the pair
together in love; and Hermes loved Leto’s son steadfastly, as even now, <and
Leto’s son acknowledged his brother’s love> tokens, since he gave over to the
Farshooter the lovely lyre, knowingly, and he held it on his arm and played
it…”). 508a add. M. L. West exempli gratia.
(19) At this point West, along with some other editors, believes that a line has
fallen out of our text, and I give the supplement that he suggests. It is probably
true, as Vergados argues (2012: 550 and 508–9), that the supplement is not
strictly necessary, but I do think that West understands the passage correctly.
(20) Later renditions of and references to the stories told in the hymn are
surveyed by Vergados 2012: 76–124. It is perhaps worth noting that Eratothenes’
Hermes (fr. 1 = ΣD in Il. 24.24) evidently told of a prank in which the infant
Hermes stole the clothes of his mother and her sisters while they were bathing,
to embarrass them; but once he had raised a laugh, he simply returned their
clothes.
(21) Iliad 16.179–92 τῆς δ᾽ ἑτέρης Εὔδωρος ἀρήϊος ἡγεμόνευε / παρθένιος, τὸν
ἔτικτε χορῷ καλὴ Πολυμήλη / Φύλαντος θυγάτηρ· τῆς δὲ κρατὺς
ἀργεϊφόντης / ἠράσατ᾽, ὀφθαλμοῖσιν ἰδὼν μετὰ μελπομένῃσιν / ἐν χορῷ
Ἀρτέμιδος χρυσηλακάτου κελαδεινῆς. / αὐτίκα δ᾽ εἰς ὑπερῷ᾽ ἀναβὰς
παρελέξατο λάθρῃ / Ἑρμείας ἀκάκητα, πόρεν δέ οἱ ἀγλαὸν υἱὸν / Εὔδωρον πέρι
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μὲν θείειν ταχὺν ἠδὲ μαχητήν. / αὐτὰρ ἐπεὶ δὴ τόν γε μογοστόκος Εἰλείθυια /
ἐξάγαγε πρὸ φόως δὲ καὶ ἠελίου ἴδεν αὐγάς, / τὴν μὲν Ἐχεκλῆος κρατερὸν μένος
Ἀκτορίδαο / ἠγάγετο πρὸς δώματ᾽, ἐπεὶ πόρε μυρία ἕδνα, / τὸν δ᾽ ὃ γέρων
Φύλας εὖ ἔτρεφεν ἠδ᾽ ἀτίταλλεν / ἀμφαγαπαζόμενος ὡς εἴ θ᾽ ἑὸν υἱὸν ἐόντα
(“Warlike Eudorus led the other contingent, son of a maiden, whom Polymede,
lovely in the dance, daughter of Phylas, bore; strong Argus-slayer loved
her, seeing her with his eyes among the singers in the chorus of Artemis of
golden distaff and loud voice. Immediately, going up secretly to her room,
kind Hermes lay with her, and she bore him a fine son, Eudorus, a fast runner
and a warrior. But when Eileithyia of the birth pangs brought him into the light
and he saw the sun’s rays, mighty Echecles, son of Actor, took her home after
giving many gifts, and old Phylas reared and raised Eudorus well, loving him
as if he were his own son”).
(22) The Eudorus passage seems to bear a close resemblance to one in Book 2
concerning Ascalaphus and Ialmenus, Greek warriors and sons of Ares by
Astyoche, daughter of Actor (512; cf. 9.802). But the earlier passage is much
simpler, and the latter is distinguished by the addition of details that emphasize
Hermes’ attributes in particular.
(23) These are both standard Homeric epithets for Hermes, but Gantz (1993:
1.109) comments that it is “surprising for an Olympian god” to be called strong
(kratus) and that Hermes is the only Homeric character who receives this
modifier, always in combination with argeiphontes. Perhaps it is only in virtue of
whatever exploit is commemorated by the latter epithet that Hermes
demonstrated actual kratos instead of his usual craft.
(24) H.Aphr. 109–17 οὔ τίς τοι θεός εἰμι· τί μ᾽ ἀθανάτῃσιν ἐίσκεις; / ἀλλὰ
καταθνητή τε, γυνὴ δέ με γείνατο μήτηρ. / Ὀτρεὺς δ᾽ ἐστὶ πατὴρ ὀνομακλυτός, εἴ
που ἀκούεις, / ὃς πάσης Φρυγίης εὐτειχήτοιο ἀνάσσει. / γλῶσσαν δ᾽ ὑμετέρην τε
καὶ ἡμετέρην σάφα οἶδα. / Τρῳὰς γὰρ μεγάρῳ με τροφὸς τρέφεν· ἣ δὲ διαπρὸ /
σμικρὴν παῖδ᾽ ἀτίταλλε, φίλης παρὰ μητρὸς ἑλοῦσα. / ὣς δή τοι γλῶσσάν γε καὶ
ὑμετέρην εὖ οἶδα. / νῦν δέ μ᾽ ἀνήρπαξε χρυσόρραπις Ἀργειφόντης / ἐκ
χοροῦ Ἀρτέμιδος χρυσηλακάτου, κελαδεινῆς (“I am no goddess (why do
you compare me to immortals?), but mortal, and my mother was a woman.
Orteus is my renowned father, if you’ve ever heard of him, who rules over all of
well-built Phrygia. I know your language and ours quite well. For a Trojan nurse
nursed me in our house; she raised me through my childhood, after taking me
from my dear mother. So I know your language well, too. But now, goldenwand
Argus-slayer has taken me from the chorus of Artemis of golden distaff
and loud voice”).
(25) Olson 2012: 199–200.
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(26) On Hermes as an abductor of women for others, see Reinhardt 1956: 11 and
Faulkner 2008: 193, but cf. n. 33.
(27) H.Aphr. 212–17 τούς οἱ δῶρον ἔδωκεν ἔχειν· εἶπεν δὲ ἕκαστα / Ζηνὸς
ἐφημοσύνῃσι διάκτορος Ἀργειφόντης, / ὡς ἔοι ἀθάνατος καὶ ἀγήρως ἶσα
θεοῖσιν. / αὐτὰρ ἐπειδὴ Ζηνὸς ὅ γ᾽ ἔκλυεν ἀγγελιάων, / οὐκέτ᾽ ἔπειτα γόασκε,
γεγήθει δὲ φρένας ἔνδον, / γηθόσυνος δ᾽ ἵπποισιν ἀελλοπόδεσσιν ὀχεῖτο
(“These [horses] he gave to keep; on Zeus’ instructions Argus-slayer, the
wayfinder, told him all, how [Troilus] was deathless and ageless like the gods.
But when he heard Zeus’ message, then he lamented no longer, but rejoiced
within his heart, and he went in joy with his wind-footed horses”).
(28) H.Aphr. 260–3 δηρὸν μὲν ζώουσι καὶ ἄμβροτον εἶδαρ ἔδουσι / καί τε μετ᾽
ἀθανάτοισι καλὸν χορὸν ἐρρώσαντο. / τῇσι δὲ Σειληνοὶ καὶ ἐύσκοπος
Ἀργειφόντης / μίσγοντ᾽ ἐν φιλότητι μυχῷ σπείων ἐροέντων (“They live long and
eat ambrosial food, and they too dance the beautiful dance among the
immortals. The Silenes and sharp-sighted Argus-slayer join with them in
lovemaking in the depths of lovely caves”).
(29) It is not surprising that some ancient critics (e.g. Heraclitus Hom. prob.
72.2–73.9) interpreted Hermes’ role in this story allegorically with reference to
prudence and restraint in the face of temptation.
(30) Cf. Sergio Casali’s paper in this volume. Knauer 1964: 148–209 and 218–22,
while arguing that Aeneas’ entire sojourn in Carthage is modeled on the
Homeric Phaeacis as a whole, recognizes and indeed emphasizes the importance
of various secondary models, including that of Odysseus’ sojourn on Ogygia with
Calypso: see n. 33.
(31) Aen. 1.197–204; Knauer 1964: 209–10 compares Od. 5.29–46 and 1.84–7, 96–
8, noting the connection with Mercury’s second appearance at 4.238–46.
(32) Aen. 1.657–94, 709–19, 4.90–128.
(33) Knauer 1964: 209–18 argues that the hero’s departure corresponds to that
of Odysseus from Ogygia, noting in particular Mercury’s (≈ Hermes’) visit at
Jupiter’s (≈ Zeus’) behest (Aen. 4.238–46 ≈ Od. 5.43–9, etc.), which brings the
entire episode to an end against Dido’s (≈ Calypso’s) wishes.
(34) Od. 5.55–148, 10.330–2. See Jenny Strauss Clay in this volume, who hints at
the possibility that Hermes has some ulterior motives, presumably not shared by
Vergil’s Mercury, for managing the hero’s affairs as he does. The whole notion of
a Hermes who is in effect jealous of Odysseus’ success with the ladies strikes me
as very much in line with what I see of the god’s behavior in the Odyssey and
elsewhere in literature.
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(35) Aen. 4.376–80 …nunc augur Apollo, / nunc Lyciae sortes, nunc et Iove missus
ab ipso /interpres divum fert horrida iussa per auras. / scilicet is superis labor
est, ea cura quietos / sollicitat. (“…now prophetic Apollo, now the oracles of
Lycia, now the gods’ messenger, even sent by Jupiter himself, brings terrifying
behests across the air. There indeed is a job for those above, there a concern
that troubles them in their peace”). On Apollo as augur, see Miller 2009: 47–9,
284.
(36) Hes. Cat. fr. 64 M-W, heavily supplemented by West on the basis of
Pherecydes as cited by Σ Od. 19.394 (= 3 F 120 FGrHist), is much too
fragmentary to shed any independent light on the question of Autolycus’
parentage.
(37) Met. 11.301–27.
(38) Od. 19.392–8 νίζε δ᾽ ἄρ᾽ ἆσσον ἰοῦσα ἄναχθ᾽ ἑόν· αὐτίκα δ᾽ ἔγνω / οὐλήν,
τήν ποτέ μιν σῦς ἤλασε λευκῷ ὀδόντι / Παρνησόνδ᾽ ἐλθόντα μετ᾽ Αὐτόλυκόν
τε καὶ υἷας, / μητρὸς ἑῆς πάτερ᾽ ἐσθλόν, ὃς ἀνθρώπους ἐκέκαστο /
κλεπτοσύνῃ θ᾽ ὅρκῳ τε· θεὸς δέ οἱ αὐτὸς ἔδωκεν / Ἑρμείας· τῷ γὰρ
κεχαρισμένα μηρία καῖεν / ἀρνῶν ἠδ᾽ ἐρίφων· ὁ δέ οἱ πρόφρων ἅμ᾽ ὀπήδει
(“So she came close and washed her lord, and instantly knew the scar, which a
boar gave to him with his white tusk, when he followed Autolycus and his sons
to Parnassus, his mother’s noble father, who excelled men in thievery and
oaths; a god himself, Hermes, gave him this; for he burned offerings to
him, lamb- and kid-thighs; and he gladly showed favor”).
(39) Cf. Jenny Strauss Clay’s paper in this volume.
(40) In Pindar, Hermes is father of the Argonauts Echion and Erytus (P. 4.178–9,
followed by Ap. Rhod. 1.51–6 and Val. Fl. 1.436–40), who are said to be crafty
like their father, but nothing is known of any further issue. Apollodorus makes
Hermes the father of Oemomaus’ duplicitous charioteer, Myrtilus (Epit. 2.6), who
died without (known) issue. Hermes also fathered a certain Cephalus (Ps-
Apollod. Bib. 3.14.3), who comes to be confused with Cephalus the son of
Dion(eus) (see n. 49 below).
(41) Aeschylus (fr. 256b R) speaks of two Pans, one the son of Cronus and the
other of Zeus. More conventional variants are Apollo (Hecataeus 1 F 371
FGrHist, Pindar fr. 100 S-M) and either Odysseus or all of the suitors (“Theoc.”
Syrinx [= AP 15.21] 15 ἀπάτωρ, explained as “in a sense, son of
Odysseus” [according to Edmonds 1912: 503; cf. Οὐδενός 1 (≈ Οὔτινος ≈
Ὀδυσσέως)] or as ≈ πολυπάτωρ [Σ ad loc.], alongside κλωποπάτωρ, “son of
[Hermes] the thief”), Penelope being the mother in both cases.
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(42) Hom. H. 19.1 ἀμφί μοι Ἑρμείαο φίλον γόνον ἔννεπε, Μοῦσα (“Tell me, Muse,
about Hermes’ own offspring”); cf. Hdt. 2.145; Cic. ND 3.56 (see n. 2 above); Ps.-
Apollod. Epit. 7.38; Lucian DD 2; Hyg. Fab. 2.24.
(43) Hom. H. 19.38–41.
(44) H.Aphr. 262–3.
(45) Met. 1.689–712, with Barchiesi 2005: 224–5 ad loc. Similar stories are told
about Pan and Echo (Moschus fr. 2 Gow; Σ “Theoc.” Syrinx 5–6; Longus 3.23;
Nonnus 2.117–19) or Pitys (Σ “Theoc.” Syrinx 4; Nonnus 42.258–61).
(46) In general see Miller 2009: 44–53; cf. Micah Young Myers’ paper in this
volume.
(47) Again, see Barchiesi 2005: 224–5 ad Met. 1.689–712, with further
references.
(48) Ps.-Apollod. Bib. 3.2 tells a story resembling that of Apollo and Daphne in
which Hermes pursues Apemosyne, a granddaughter of Minos, who was so swift
that even he was unable to catch her. The story ends, however, not with escape
by metamorphosis, but with Hermes’ capture of Apemosyne by a stratagem, and
with her being kicked to death by her brother, Althaimenes, who did not believe
her story about the god.
(49) This is in contrast to Ps.-Apollod. Bib. 3.14.3, where Hermes fathers

Cephalus on Herse (Hyg. Fab. 160 tells a different version in which the mother is
Creusa, daughter of Erechtheus). Cephalus then is abducted by Eos (cf. Hes. Th.
986–7, where the motif of abduction is merely implicit, and Eur. Hipp. 454–6)
and with her produces a notable lineage that includes Cinyras, king of Cyprus
and father of Adonis. Antoninus Liberalis (41.1) conflates this Cephalus with the
son of Deion(eus), saying that he later married Procris (41.2); and similarly,
Ovid’s Cephalus says that Aurora abducted him one month after his wedding,
and that in spite of the goddess’s remarkable beauty, he remained in love with
Procris (Met. 7.700–7). Our text of Antoninus names no source, but modern
scholars have been willing to see him, and so Ovid as well, as relying on
Nicander: see Pöschl 1959.
(50) Met. 2.836–75.
(51) Cf. n. 23 above.
(52) Cf. Erin Moodie’s paper in this volume.
(53) Cf. Jenny Strauss Clay’s paper in this volume.
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Hermes in Love
(54) Galen, Medicorum Graecorum Fragmenta 13, 269 Kühn ἐπειδὴ μειράκιον
καλούμενον Κρόκος, ἅμα τῷ Ἑρμῇ δισκεύων, εἶθ’ ἑστὸς ἀμελέστερον,
ἐμπεσόντος αὐτῷ δίσκου τῇ κεφαλῇ, συνέβη μὲν ἀποθανεῖν αὐτίκα, τοῦ δ’
αἵματος εἰς τὴν γὴν ἀναχθέντος, ἐξ αὐτοῦ φῦναι τὸν κρόκον (“When a youth
called Crocus, while playing discus with Hermes, then unexpectedly stood
up, when the discus fell on his head, the result was that he died on the spot, and
when his blood dripped on the ground, the crocus grew from it”).
(55) The similarity between the stories of Narcissus and Crocus is noted by Ovid
himself (Fast. 5.225–7), who elsewhere (Met. 4.283) mentions Crocus together
with the nymph Smilax, and so indicates a different version of the myth (which is
given more fully by Pliny NH 16.63), in which Mercury is not involved.
(56) The earliest surviving sources stating that Hermaphroditus was the child of
Hermes and Aphrodite are Diodorus (4.2.5) and Cicero (ND 3.21) in the first
century BCE. Both of them explain the name by saying that the child, whom they
treat as male, combined the characteristics of both his parents. The fullest
surviving account of their courtship (“Hyginus” Astron. 16) is later still, probably
dating from the second century CE, and even at that it is only three sentences in
length, and is given as the fourth and last of the possible aetia of the
constellation Aquila, with mention of a variant in which the Hermaphroditus’
father is not Mercury but Anaplas; in another place (Fab. 271) the same author
states that the boy was also called Atlantius.
(57) Atoojian 1990; Theophr. Char. 28 (the superstitious man). It is telling that
this character looks female in most respects, and with reference to these
statues, the word hermaphroditus itself may simply mean “a herm depicting
Aphrodite,” on the analogy of formations later found in Cicero (hermathena, Att.
1.1.5, 1.4.3; hermeracles, Att. 1.103) and Pliny (hermeros, NH 36.33); it has thus
been doubted whether the mythical figure Hermaphroditus was in fact originally
regarded as Hermes’ offspring.
(58) υἱὸν τρέφει πᾶς, κἂν πένης τις ὢν τύχῃ· / θυγατέρα δ’ ἐκτίθησι, κἂν ᾖ
πλούσιος, fr. 12 K-A, quoted by Stobaeus 4.24c.40 (trans. David Konstan in
Rusten, ed. 2011: 684).
(59) quasi hermaphroditus fimbriatum frontem gestas feminae, fr. 115 Guardì:
1984 (≈ 112 R3, quoted by Nonius [≈ 204 M, 301 L] from the togata Setina:
“Like a hermaphrodite, you wear a lady’s bangs on your forehead”).
(60) Diodorus Siculus regards the hermaphrodite as “born with a physical body
which is a combination of that of a man and that of a woman, in that he has a
body which is beautiful and delicate like that of a woman, but has the masculine
quality and vigour of a man” (4.6.5; trans. Oldfather 1933).
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(61) Met. 4.288–91 Mercurio puerum diva Cythereide natum / Naides Idaeis
enutrivere sub antris, / cuius erat facies, in qua materque paterque / cognosci
possent; nomen quoque traxit ab illis (“A boy born of Mercury and the goddess of
Cythera Naiads raised down in the glades of Mt. Ida, and his appearance was
such both father and mother could be seen in it; and he got his name from them,
too”).
(62) Met. 4.320–1 puer o dignissime credi, / esse deus, seu tu deus es, potes esse
Cupido… (“Boy, worthy to be thought a god, or if you are a god, you could be
Cupid…”).
(63) Met. 4.329–30 pueri rubor ora notavit / (nescit enim quid amor) (“A blush
marked the boy’s face (for he does not know what love is)”).
(64) Met. 4.334–6 poscenti nymphae sine fine soraria saltem / oscula iamque
manus ad eburnea colla ferenti / “desinis, an fugio tecumque” ait “ista
relinquo?” (“When the nymph kept demanding at least sisterly kisses and kept
reaching toward his ivory neck, he asked her, ‘Do you stop or do I flee and leave
these kisses behind with you?’”).
(65) The frame of Ovid’s narration is insistently marked by images of weakening,

softening, and diminished masculinity (Met. 4.286 enervet, remolliat; 381–2
semimarem, mollitaque…membra, sed iam non voce virili; 386 semivir,
mollescat).
(66) Eros and his wings notwithstanding, Aphrodite’s most physically unusual
offspring must be Priapus, the product of her union with Dionysus according to
Diodorus Siculus 4.6.1; cf. the following note.
(67) In light of Priapus’ connection with Aphrodite (cf. the previous note), the
very different tradition that makes him the son or grandson of Hermes is
interesting, even if this is due mainly to the association of Hermes with herms.
On Hermes as the father of the Silenes or Satyrs, cf. Gantz 1993: 1.135.
(68) The most recent general introduction to the Lara episode is Robinson 2011:
369–76; for the literary background, 374–6.
(69) Karistia, Fast. 2.617–38; Procne Tereusque, 629 (cf. 853–6).
(70) See Nicola Reggiani in this volume on Hermes and loss of voice.
(71) On the Lares and Mercury, cf. Robinson 2011: 386 on Fast. 2.608
Mercurium; on the Lares and the Dioscuri, cf. Giacobello 2008: 89–98.
(72) Cf. n. 2.
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Hermes in Love
(73) Propertius 2.2.12–13 Mercurio sacris fertur Boebeidos undis / virgineum

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


Print ISBN-13: 9780198777342
DOI: 10.1093/oso/9780198777342.001.0001
Lascivus Puer
Cupid, Hermes, and Hymns in Ovid’s Metamorphoses
Micah Young Myers
DOI:10.1093/oso/9780198777342.003.0010

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

famous one, Apollo quarrels with Cupid.1 Apollo rebukes the child-god for his
use of the bow and arrow, which he claims as fit for himself alone. Cupid
responds with his own harsh words, and he soon strikes Apollo with a love-
inducing arrow and Daphne with an anti-love one. A chase, a transformation,
Page 1 of 18
Lascivus Puer
and the origin of Apollo’s link to laurel follow. This turning point in
Metamorphoses 1 recalls the beginning of Ovid’s poetic oeuvre, Amores 1.1,
where Cupid settles another quarrel by shooting Ovid’s poetic persona with a
love arrow, an event that in turn evokes Apollo’s programmatic interventions in
Callimachus, Vergil, and Propertius.2 Yet, if we look beyond Ovid’s poetry, we
note that Apollo has also quarreled with a different child-god over his property,
only to have his anger give way to desire and the acquisition of a new divine
attribute: namely, Hermes, in a tradition that traces back to Alcaeus’ Hymn to
Hermes and the Homeric Hymn to Hermes.3
(p.142) This paper explores Ovid’s reception of Greek hymnic traditions

relating to Hermes—what I shall refer to as the “Hermes hymn tradition”—in the
Cupid–Apollo episode. First I review previous scholarship on Ovid’s engagement
with hymns (Sec. 1) and consider how the well-known allusion to Amores 1.1 sets
a precedent for Ovid’s assimilation of Cupid and Hermes (Sec. 2). The paper
next argues that the depiction of Cupid in Metamorphoses 1 alludes to Hermes
in his quarrel with Apollo, as depicted in Alcaeus’ Hymn and the Homeric Hymn
(Sec. 3 and 4). Ovid’s allusions to hymnic traditions relating to Hermes evoke in
particular the hymns’ thematic focus on theft, desire, competition, and divine
prerogatives and attributes, themes that are also salient to the Metamorphoses
more broadly.4 After exploring the parallels between the Cupid–Apollo episode
and the Hermes hymn tradition, I consider briefly how Ovid, having presented a
“Mercurial” Cupid, depicts an erotically motivated Mercury in subsequent
episodes of the first two books of his epic, creating an enduring link between the
two gods that is even reflected in his portrayal of Mercury in Fasti 5 (Sec. 5). The
paper next zooms out to look at examples from ancient religion, art, and
literature that link Eros/Cupid and Aphrodite/Venus with Hermes/Mercury (Sec.
6), and considers ramifications of Ovid’s allusions to the Hermes hymn tradition
in the Augustan context, particularly in relation to the princeps’ connections to
the divine sphere (Sec. 7).
As the Metamorphoses is a web of intertextuality, the episodes that this paper

considers include elements that derive neither from the Homeric Hymn to
Hermes nor, as far as we can discern, from Alcaeus’ Hymn. Indeed, some of the
parallels to be explored may reflect engagements between Ovid and traditions
relating to Hermes that cannot be pinned down to a single text or that refer to
texts and traditions that are not extant.5 For instance, when Ovid relates the
story of Hermes’ theft of Apollo’s cattle, a central event of Alcaeus’ Hymn to
Hermes and the Homeric Hymn, his rendition focuses on Battus’ foiled double-
cross of Mercury. This element is absent from the Homeric Hymn and,
apparently, Alcaeus’, but is reflected in a tradition preserved in Antoninus
Liberalis that, according to a scholium, goes back to Hesiod via Nicander, among
others.6 Ovid’s use of the Battus version of this episode is a reminder that he
engages with a multiplicity of texts and traditions in the Metamorphoses, and
that the Hermes hymn tradition to which he had access was more diverse than
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Lascivus Puer
ours. Nonetheless, I shall argue that the Homeric Hymn and Alcaeus’ are
important nodes in a network of hymnic, literary, (p.143) and mythical
traditions about Hermes/Mercury with which Ovid repeatedly engages.
1. Ovid and the Homeric Hymns

Assertions that the Homeric Hymns had limited influence on subsequent
literature in antiquity have in large part given way to studies of the Hymns’
reception in a variety of texts, including the Metamorphoses.7 Hinds’ study
(1987a) of Ovid’s allusions to the Hymn to Demeter in Metamorphoses 5 and
Fasti 4 is seminal. Barchiesi points to the Metamorphoses’ engagement with
several hymns, and sees Ovid going beyond individual instances of allusion to
incorporate hymns into the matrix of his epic, especially as models for how the
gods speak about themselves and are described by others in the poem (1999:
123–5).8
The sections of Book 1 that surround the Apollo–Cupid quarrel contain several
hymnic features. In the episode directly prior to the quarrel, Apollo kills the
Python and founds the Pythian games (1.438–51), events that are the focus of
the second part of the Homeric Hymn to Apollo.9 In the wake of this “Delphic”
activity, Ovid refers to Apollo as Delius (454), paralleling, but also reversing, the
juxtaposition of myths about Delos and Delphi in the Hymn.10 Ovid’s progression
from describing the founding of Delphi to the primus amor of Apollo may also
allude to (and invert) another section of the Hymn, namely when the narrator
considers singing of the loves of Apollo before turning to describing the oracle’s
foundation (207–15).11 There are also hymnic elements in the subsequent story
of Apollo’s lust for Daphne. Daphne’s request that her father grant her eternal
virginity just as Jupiter gave to Diana (486–7) recalls Callimachus’ Hymn to
Artemis (6).12 Wills (1990: 145–6) notes parallels between Ovid’s Daphne and
Callimachus’ Leto in the Hymn to Delos. Moreover, Apollo praises Daphne after
her transformation using the hymnic du-stil (558–65),13 while the description of
the laurel tree shaking its foliage at the conclusion of the episode (566–7) recalls
the opening verse of Callimachus’ (p.144) Hymn to Apollo.14 As Apollo pursues
Daphne, his own hymnic connection persists. He describes his divine attributes
and places of worship using diction that amounts to a self-hymn (515–22).15 Syed
(2004: 103–6) also finds an allusion to the Homeric Hymn to Hermes in the
Cupid–Apollo quarrel. One aim of the present paper is to explore further the
parallels to the Hermes hymn tradition and to analyze the rationale and
implications of Ovid’s replacement of Hermes/Mercury with Cupid.
2. Cupid, Hermes, and Amores 1.1

The allusion in the Cupid–Apollo quarrel to Amores 1.1 is well known. In that
programmatic elegy Ovid’s persona complains that Cupid is intervening in the
Muses’ (6) and Apollo’s (16) spheres of influence. In the Metamorphoses Apollo
protests a similar trespass into another of his spheres, archery, when he catches
sight of Cupid using the bow and arrow. A series of verbal and plot parallels
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emphasize the allusion.16 But the allusion to Amores 1.1. is not in a closed loop.
As mentioned earlier, both poems also allude to the theophanic tradition in
which Apollo plays the role that Cupid assumes in Ovid’s works. Moreover,
McKeown (1989: 13–14) notes that there are verbal parallels between Amores
1.1 and Fasti 5.663–92, a passage describing the worship of Mercury on the Ides
of May. Ovid’s description of Cupid stealing a foot from his poetry in Amores 1.1
contains similar language as his depiction of Mercury at the moment that the
latter divinity recalls his theft of Apollo’s cattle. Each passage features a god
laughing (Am. 1.1.4 risisse; F. 5.691 ridet) and both thefts are described with
surripuisse, a rare word in elegy.17 These parallels suggest that when Ovid wrote
the Fasti he drew a link between Cupid and Mercury. In addition to the
connection between Cupid in Amores 1.1 and Mercury in Fasti 5 that McKeown
mentions, I observe that Amores 1.1 also links Cupid to Hermes/Mercury
through an allusion to the Hermes hymn tradition: Amores 1.1.16 describes
Apollo’s lyre as scarcely safe from Cupid (p.145) (vix etiam Phoebo iam lyra
tuta sua est), a phrase that recalls Hermes’ theft of Apollo’s lyre in Alcaeus’
Hymn (see below), as well as Apollo’s fear in the Homeric Hymn that Hermes
might steal the lyre from him (514–15 δείδια, Μαιάδος υἱέ,… / μή μοι ἀνακλέψῃς
κίθαριν).
Why might Ovid allude to Hermes via Cupid in Amores 1.1? A concept underlying
Ovid’s poem is that Cupid has the ability to assimilate the roles of other gods.
After Cupid transforms Ovid’s poetry from epic to elegy, Ovid attempts to
demonstrate the problem with Cupid’s intervention by pointing out the absurdity
of other gods switching roles, illustrating his point with the examples of Venus
and Minerva, Ceres and Diana, and Apollo and Mars (7–12). Yet Cupid simply
responds with an arrow and with commands to write elegy, winning the
argument and setting the precedent that, in the universe of Ovid’s poetry, divine
roles are fluid, especially where Love is concerned. This precedent is taken one
step further in the Cupid–Apollo episode, where Cupid assimilates not Hermes’
sphere of influence, but his hymn tradition.
3. The Cupid–Apollo Quarrel and Alcaeus’ Hymn to Hermes

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

exchange of gifts between the gods.20
(p.146) In the Metamorphoses, Apollo’s complaint about Cupid’s use of the

bow and arrow engages with Hermes’ second theft in Alcaeus’ Hymn to Hermes.
In a strict sense, the quarrel in Ovid’s Apollo–Cupid episode is not about theft,
but appropriation, as Cupid has not explicitly stolen Apollo’s own bow and
arrows, but rather adapted the technology for his amatory purposes. Yet Apollo’s
opening words (1.456–7: “quid”que “tibi, lascive puer, cum fortibus armis?” /
dixerat: “ista decent umeros gestamina nostros”) fit equally the context of the
complaint—“do not use the weapons that are in my divine jurisdiction” and “you
have stolen my bow”—since Apollo argues that Cupid’s bow ought to be on his
shoulders. The blurring of the distinction between theft and appropriation is
reinforced by the Metamorphoses’ allusion to Amores 1.1.5, where Ovid’s
persona asks a question similar to Apollo’s after Cupid steals a foot of poetry.
Furthermore, as the narrative of the Metamorphoses progresses from Apollo
slaying the Python with his arrows to the Cupid and Daphne episodes, his bow in
fact disappears: Apollo goes from deus arcitenens at 441 to a divine elegiac
amator whose bow goes unmentioned.21 Indeed, although Apollo boasts to Cupid
of his prowess in archery (1.458–60), during the quarrel and the subsequent
pursuit of Daphne his bow and arrows are not described as being on his
shoulders, a notable absence for a god who first stormed into Greek literature
with his arrows clanging against his shoulders (Il. 1.46). It is as if, despite
Apollo’s protests, Cupid has in fact dispossessed him of his weapons, just as in
Alcaeus’ Hymn.
Apollo’s claim at Metamorphoses 1.457 that Cupid’s weapons should be on his

shoulders draws a further link between Cupid’s appropriation of the bow and
Hermes’ theft of the same weapons from Apollo’s shoulders in Alcaeus’ Hymn.
While Alcaeus’ exact wording is lost, Ovid’s ista decent umeros gestamina
nostros echoes the phrasing that appears in the testimonia: P.Oxy. 2734 fr. 1.18
(τῶν ὤ]μων τὰ τ]όξα) and Scholium ABD on Iliad 15.256 (ἔκλεψεν αὐτοῦ καὶ τὰ
ἐπὶ τῶν ὤμων τόξα).22 The Cupid–Apollo quarrel also shares with Alcaeus’ Hymn
the features of Apollo’s harsh words to a child-god23 and that child-god assuming
possession of a bow and arrow. Yet Apollo’s laughing response in Alcaeus and
related traditions is not mirrored in the Metamorphoses. The amor of Ovid’s
Apollo as well as several other features of the quarrel instead recall the Homeric
Hymn to Hermes. (p.147)
4. The Cupid–Apollo Quarrel and the Homeric Hymn to Hermes

In both the Metamorphoses and the Homeric Hymn to Hermes, Apollo
emphasizes that his interlocutor is a child. The first verse of Apollo’s speech in
the Metamorphoses underlines Cupid’s youth through the vocative lascive puer
and through the contrast between Cupid and fortibus armis (1.456). Apollo’s
contention here may be compared to his first words to Hermes in the Homeric
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Hymn, where he rebukes Hermes for stealing his cattle and emphasizes his
status as a child (254–5):
ὦ παῖ, ὃς ἐν λίκνῳ κατάκειαι, μήνυέ μοι βοῦς

θᾶσσον· ἐπεὶ τάχα νῶι διοισόμεθ᾽ οὐ κατὰ κόσμον…
[Apollo:] “You, child, lying in your cradle, tell me where my cows are,
double quick, otherwise we two shall quarrel in no seemly fashion…
24
Ovid’s Apollo addresses one child-god with the vocative puer just as the Apollo of
the Hymn addresses another with the vocative παῖ. While the use of puer to
describe Cupid engages with a long literary tradition of Eros/Cupid personified
as a child, there is also a link to Apollo’s quarrel with the child-god Hermes.
Moreover, ὦ παῖ is more marked than it may at first appear: this passage is the
first time in Greek poetry that a god is addressed ὦ παῖ and, as far as I am
aware, the only time ὦ παῖ is used to describe a god without an accompanying
name of a divine parent.25 ὦ παῖ plus a patronymic honors a god; Apollo’s
address of Hermes as παῖς when he is already aware that the latter is a divine
son of Zeus is an insult aimed at reducing Hermes’ status,26 much as Apollo’s
use of puer in his quarrel with Cupid comes as part of his attack on the latter’s
standing.
Cupid’s reply to Apollo in the Metamorphoses also has parallels with Hermes in
the Hymn. Cupid frames Apollo’s challenge to him regarding the bow as part of a
competition between the two gods’ gloria (1.465): tanto minor est tua gloria
nostra (“so far inferior is your honor to mine”). We may compare Hermes’ retort
to Maia after she warns her son that Apollo will come and punish him for
stealing his cattle, a speech in which Hermes discloses that his goal is to claim a
place among the Olympians (172–3): ἀμφὶ δὲ τιμῆς, / κἀγὼ τῆς ὁσίης
ἐπιβήσομαι, ἧς περ Ἀπόλλων (“As for honor, I’m going to enter on my rights, the
same as Apollo”). Apollo in both texts is explicitly motivated to quarrel about
property, even though divine status is implicit in his concerns (Met. 1.462;
H.Herm. 406–8). Hermes and Cupid ignore the question of property, but both
explicitly discuss their divine status relative to Apollo, (p.148) with Ovid’s
gloria echoing the Hymn’s τιμή and ὁσίη. Yet Ovid has Cupid aim even higher
than his hymnic model: whereas Hermes wants τιμή and ὁσίη in equal measure
as Apollo, Cupid’s claim that his gloria is by far greater than Apollo’s is all the
more ambitious.27
The resolution of Apollo and Cupid’s quarrel in the Metamorphoses also has
resonances with the Hymn. Hermes ends his quarrel with Apollo by charming
him with the lyre. Hermes’ testing of the lyre’s strings (418–19) is echoed in
Cupid bending his bowstring as Apollo first comes upon him (455 adducto
flectentem cornua nervo), a parallel underlined because nervus may refer to the
string of a lyre (as it does at 518) as well as a bow. In addition, Cupid causing
Apollo to fall in love by piercing him with an arrow (472–4 at illo / laesit
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Apollineas traiecta per ossa medullas; / protinus…amat) evokes the erotic

language used to describe Apollo’s response to the lyre in the Hymn (421–3,
434):28
…ἐρατὴ δὲ διὰ φρένας ἤλυθ᾽ ἰωὴ

θεσπεσίης ἐνοπῆς, καὶ μιν γλυκὺς ἵμερος ᾕρει
θυμὸν ἀκουάζοντα· λύρῃ δ᾽ ἐρατὸν κιθαρίζων…
τὸν δ᾽ ἔρος ἐν στήθεσσιν ἀμήχανος αἴνυτο θυμόν…
…the lovely sound of its wondrous voice pierced his senses,
and sweet longing captivated his heart as he listened. Hermes,
playing
delightfully on the lyre…helpless desire seized Apollo’s spirit in his
breast…
In the Hymn the lyre’s “lovely sound” pierces Apollo (421) much like Cupid’s
arrow in the Metamorphoses, with the Metamorphoses’ traiecta echoing the
Hymn’s διέρχομαι. Ovid’s paralleling of Cupid’s arrow and Hermes’ lyre-playing
even plays on the language of the Hymn, since the Hymn’s use of διέρχομαι is an
extension of the Homeric usage of the word to describe objects, especially
missiles, penetrating a body.29 In addition to the lyre’s sound being depicted as
ἐρατή, the Hymn also deploys the vocabulary of amatory desire through the
description of Apollo experiencing γλυκὺς ἵμερος (422) and ἔρος…ἀμήχανος
(434) as Hermes plays in a manner described as ἐρατὸν (423), erotic language
recalled in the Metamorphoses by Cupid’s love arrow.
In the two texts Hermes’ lyre and Cupid’s arrow exhibit similar erotic effects
upon Apollo. Yet Daphne also offers parallels to the lyre, and not just because
both become divine attributes of Apollo. Ovid’s Daphne, the object of Apollo’s
amor and reminiscent of many desired nymphs from myth—as well as the elegiac
puella—also recalls the Hymn’s repeated comparisons of the lyre to a hetaira. As
soon as Hermes conceives of transforming a tortoise shell into a lyre, he
describes it as δαιτὸς ἑταίρη and as ἐρόεσσα (31), the latter a word that (p.
149) in Hesiod describes only nymphs.30 Apollo likewise calls the lyre a δαιτὸς
ἑταίρη at 436 after hearing Hermes play.31 Although the phrase δαιτὸς ἑταίρη
may be conventional,32 the Hymn expands upon the hetaira analogy at the
moment that Hermes promises Apollo the lyre, with the former declaring (478–
9): εὐμόλπει μετὰ χερσὶν ἔχων λιγύφωνον ἑταίρην, / καλὰ καὶ εὖ κατὰ κόσμον
ἐπισταμένην ἀγορεύειν (“Be a fine musician, fondling this clear-voiced hetaira
who knows how to talk fine and fittingly”). The Hymn’s depiction of the lyre—the
object of Apollo’s desire—as a woman finds an echo in Apollo’s primus amor in
the Metamorphoses, Daphne, who is coveted by many (478) and forced by her
beauty to transform into laurel (546–7). Even Daphne’s transformed state as a
laurel tree finds a parallel in the Hymn. Laurel appears when Hermes uses a
branch as a fire-stick to light the fire upon which he cooks two of Apollo’s cattle
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(109), a detail that offered Ovid one more reason to draw a connection between
Hermes in the Hymn and Cupid in the Metamorphoses.
5. From Hermetic Cupid to Erotic Mercury: Fasti 5 and Metamorphoses 1–2

Earlier I discussed an allusion to Amores 1.1 in Fasti 5.663–92 as another
instance of the link between Mercury and Cupid in Ovid’s poetry. The latter
passage’s engagements with Horace Odes 1.10 and Alcaeus’ Hymn to Hermes
demonstrate Ovid’s enduring interest in hymnic traditions relating to Hermes/
Mercury. After a hymnic introduction,33 Ovid describes a ritual at a sacred
spring of Mercury near the Porta Capena. A merchant purifies himself and his
wares with laurel dipped in the spring and asks pardon for his lies and false
oaths (681–8). Mercury responds by laughing at the memory of stealing Apollo’s
cattle, thereby combining the pivotal event of Alcaeus’ Hymn and the Homeric
Hymn with laurel, the result of the quarrel between Cupid and Apollo. Although
laurel has a variety of uses in Roman contexts,34 its link to Apollo is prominent.
Ovid, moreover, gives us reason to think of the Metamorphoses’ Apollo–Daphne
episode here, since two earlier references to laurel in the Fasti have points of
contact with Apollo’s speech to Daphne in the Metamorphoses. At Fasti 3.139
laurel is called Apollo’s tree (arbore Phoebi), an affiliation that Apollo predicts in
Met. 1.558 (arbor eris…mea). The final couplet of Fasti 4 (953–4) refers to laurel
adjacent to oak boughs on Augustus’ house on the Palatine, an image that also
features in Apollo’s speech to (p.150) Daphne (Met. 1.562–3. Ovid’s Cupid in
the Metamorphoses evokes Hermes in his hymn tradition; Ovid’s representation
of Mercury in Fasti 5 recalls the hymn tradition along with laurel, Apollo’s
attribute and the outcome of his quarrel with Cupid.
The depiction of Mercury in Metamorphoses 1–2 likewise suggests links with

Cupid that resonate with the Cupid–Apollo quarrel, while also recalling the
Hermes hymn tradition. Mercury’s actions are imbued with erotic aspects—both
as a facilitator of other gods’ loves and as a lover himself. In addition, Ovid
repeatedly presents Mercury stealing livestock, a central feature of the Hermes
hymn tradition. Mercury first appears in the epic when Jupiter asks him to free
Io. He quickly steals some goats and in pastoral disguise visits Argus with his
reed pipe in tow. Mercury relates the origin of the reed pipes to Argus as he
drifts off to sleep, describing the transformation of the nymph Syrinx into reed to
escape Pan, a doublet of the Daphne episode. By having Mercury relate this
nymph into flora redux, Ovid reinforces the link between Cupid and Mercury. In
addition, the invention of the pipes by Pan, the son of Mercury, although it
diverges from the tradition in the Homeric Hymn to Hermes that Hermes himself
invented the pipes (511–12), nonetheless resonates with the centrality of
instruments in the Hymn. Next, with Argus decapitated, Ovid’s Mercury steals
his first cow: Io. When Mercury re-appears in Metamorphoses 2, Ovid depicts his
theft of Apollo’s cattle. Although this is the central plot of the Alcaeus’ Hymn and
the Homeric Hymn, Ovid’s version, with its focus on the petrification of Battus, is
widely seen as owing more to the tradition that is reflected in Antoninus
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Liberalis (see earlier). This version, however, includes Apollo distracted from
guarding the cattle because he is in love, making Cupid a silent actor in the
story. Mercury then becomes the next victim of amor in the Aglauros and Herse
episode that follows, further reinforcing the connection between the two gods.
At the conclusion of Book 2 Mercury is back to stealing livestock for the sake of
his father’s affairs, as he rustles Agenor’s cattle and drives them to the
Phoenician coast so that Jupiter can have his way with Europa. Throughout the
first two books of the Metamorphoses Cupid and Mercury are linked through
Apollo and love, and Mercury repeatedly commits livestock theft in a manner
that glances toward Alcaeus’ Hymn and the Homeric Hymn among the many
sources with which Ovid engages.
6. Hermes/Mercury and Amatory Gods Beyond Ovid and the Hymns

This paper has posited a sustained link between Cupid and Hermes/Mercury in
Ovid’s poetry, especially in the Cupid–Apollo episode, but also from Amores 1.1
to Fasti 5. One reason Ovid assimilates Hermes/Mercury into (p.151) Cupid
may be that the two gods are connected in a variety of religious, visual, and
literary contexts, often along with Aphrodite/Venus.35 Hermes/Mercury and
Aphrodite/Venus have various cult connections.36 These links are also reflected
in ancient art, which offers many instances where Hermes/Mercury is connected
with the amatory gods. Pliny mentions that among Asinius Pollio’s sculpture
collection were hermerotes (NH 36.33). With these may be compared two extant
herms of Eros: a first-century BCE glass intaglio and a second-century CE herm
from Ephesus.37 From the fifth century BCE onwards Eros is often depicted with
Hermes’ invention—the lyre—in Greek as well as Roman contexts.38 Most
significant for Ovid’s assimilation of Hermes into his representation of Cupid in
the Metamorphoses are artifacts that depict Eros/Cupid with the divine
attributes of Hermes/Mercury: for example, LIMC III s.v. “Eros” 948, a lekythos
showing Eros holding Hermes’ caduceus (460–50 BCE); 949, a Graeco-Roman
era gem with Eros holding a lyre and caduceus in front of a tripod; and LIMC III
s.v. “Amor, Cupido” 575, a first-century BCE terracotta lamp from Herculaneum
depicting Cupid with a caduceus in his left hand. Although, as LIMC attests,
Hermes/Mercury is by no means the only god whose attributes Eros/Cupid
assimilates in ancient art, the tradition nonetheless supplies additional context
for Ovid’s evocation of Hermes in the Metamorphoses’ Cupid–Apollo quarrel.
The connection between Hermes/Mercury and the amatory gods is also attested
in literary sources. Horace (Carm. 1.30) and others make Mercury a member of
Venus’ entourage.39 Some sources even intertwine the gods’ births and
genealogies. An Orphic hymn makes Hermes the son of Aphrodite by Dionysus
(Orph. h. 57.3–4). Philiscus wrote a play called The Births of Hermes and
Aphrodite.40 Cicero records an eccentric tradition about the gods existing in
multiples in which the “first Cupid” is the son of Hermes and Artemis, and the
“second Cupid” is the son of Hermes and Venus (Nat. D. 3.60). In
Metamorphoses 4, Ovid reflects another link between the gods via the
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Hermaphroditus story. Ovid perhaps even evokes the tradition that Cupid is the
son of Hermes and Aphrodite: after earlier stating that Hermaphroditus looks
like (p.152) his parents Mercury and Venus (290–1), Ovid has Salmacis
consider the possibility that Hermaphroditus is Cupid (4.321 potes esse Cupido).
Another link between Hermes and the amatory gods is provided by his epithet
philetes (“thief”), etymologized erotically already by Hellanicus as being from
philein (Atlantis fr. 19b.1–8 Fowler = P.Oxy. VIII 1084):
[Μαίαι δὲ Ζεὺς
μίσγεται λανθά-]
νων ἐν σπῆι· τ[ῶν]
δὲ γίγνεται Ἑρμ[ῆς]
Φιλήτης. ὅτι αὐ-
τῆι φιλησίμ[ως]
συνεκοιμ[ᾶτο]·
καὶ γ[ίγνεται θε-]
ῶν κῆ[ρυξ] ἀγήρ[αος]
καὶ ἀθάνατος.
And Zeus has sex with Maia hiding in a cave. From them Hermes is
born, called Philetes because Zeus used to lie with her in love and he
becomes the unaging and undying herald of the gods (trans. Thomas
2007).
Hellanicus’ description shares with the Homeric Hymn the detail that Hermes
was born in a cave. Likewise, both Hellanicus and the Hymn describe Hermes
with the epithet philetes (H.Herm. 175, 214, 292, 446). Hellanicus is the first
extant source to explain philetes as deriving from Zeus’ love for Maia. Although
in the Hymn philetes lacks an explicit amatory valence, the erotic etymology of
philetes attested in Hellanicus offers further foundation in the literary tradition
for Ovid’s allusions to Hermes in the Cupid–Apollo episode. Ovid’s assimilation
of Cupid and Hermes follows the tradition exemplified by Hellanicus of
eroticizing Hermes, and even suggests an erotic re-reading of the Hymn in which
philetes resonates with the Hymn’s amatory diction relating to the lyre.
7. Ovid, Cupid, and Hermes/Mercury in an Augustan Context

Barchiesi observes that at Met. 5.365–79, a speech in which Venus persuades
Cupid to make Dis fall in love with Proserpina, Ovid discloses that Venus has a
masterplot in the Metamorphoses: namely, for Cupid and herself to rule the
cosmos (1999: 114–15). Cupid responds to his mother’s speech by shooting Dis
(5.383–4), an act that recalls his wounding of Apollo in Book 1. Venus’ imperial
ambitions for Cupid and herself are all the more fitting in the context of the
present paper since they come as part of Ovid’s retelling of the Homeric (p.
153) Hymn to Demeter, although in an imperialist move Venus inserts an
allusion to her own Homeric Hymn (1–35) into her speech.41 While Ovid has the
Hymn to Aphrodite to draw upon for Venus, Eros is absent from the Homeric
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Hymns (as well as Homeric epic),42 making Ovid’s assimilation of the hymnic
Hermes into Cupid all the more remarkable. From this perspective, Ovid’s
allusions to the Hermes hymn tradition in the Cupid–Apollo episode offer a
corrective to the archaic Greek hymnic tradition: an Augustan-age hymn under
the command of Cupid, a generic takeover that foreshadows the full extent of
the imperial ambitions of the amatory gods revealed in Metamorphoses 5.
The mortal component to Venus’ imperial ambitions in the Metamorphoses (and

elsewhere) is embodied by Rome and the Julian clan, particularly Augustus.43
Ovid’s representation of the gods in his epic—especially Jupiter and Apollo—is
widely seen as relating to contemporary discourses about Augustus’ association
with the divine, even if the implications of Ovid’s representations are
ambiguous.44 Apollo’s prophecy in the Daphne episode that laurel will decorate
Augustus’ house is a famous instance where Ovid points to the connection
between Apollo and princeps (1.562–3). Yet Cupid too is a relative of the Julian
clan. And, for Horace, Augustus could become the terrestrial embodiment of
Mercury, an identification also attested in inscriptions, coins, and images.45
Thus, all three divinities have a link to Augustus. From this perspective, Cupid’s
quarrel with Apollo pits Augustus’ putative relative against the god with which
he most closely aligned himself, while the allusion to Hermes and his hymns
brings in another god connected to Augustus and adds a further dimension to
Mercury’s subsequent complicity in Jupiter’s rapes and deceptions. In sum,
Ovid’s reception of the Hermes hymn tradition in the Cupid–Apollo episode
engages not just with cult, art, and literary traditions—as well as with Ovid’s
own programmatic representation of divine assimilation in Amores 1.1; it also
offers a further example of how Ovid configures the gods in his epic to illustrate
the ambiguities of Augustus’ connections to the divine sphere.
(p.154) Bibliography
Allen, T. W., W. R. Halliday, and E. E. Sikes. 1936. The Homeric Hymns. Oxford.
Barchiesi, A. 1999. “Venus’ Masterplot: Ovid and the Homeric Hymns.” In P.

Hardie, A. Barchiesi, and S. Hinds, eds. Ovidian Transformations: Essays on the
Metamorphoses and its Reception. Cambridge. 112–26.
Barchiesi, A. 2005. Ovidio, Metamorfosi: Volume I (Libri I–II). Milan.
Bömer, F. 1958. P. Ovidius Naso: Die Fasten. Vol. 2. Heidelberg.
Bömer, F. 1969–86. P. Ovidius Naso: Metamorphosen. 7 vols. Heidelberg.
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Cairns, F. 1983. “Alcaeus’ Hymn to Hermes, P. Oxy 2734 fr. 1 and Horace Odes
1,10.” QUCC 13.1: 29–35.
Campbell, D. 1967. Greek Lyric Poetry: A Selection of Early Greek Lyric, Elegiac
and Iambic Poetry. London.
Càssola, F. 1975. Inni Omerici. Milan.
Castellani, V. 1980. “Two Divine Scandals: Ovid Met. 2.680 ff. and 4.171 ff. and
his Sources.” TAPA 110: 37–50.
Clauss, J. 2016. “The Hercules and Cacus Episode in Augustan Literature:

Engaging the Homeric Hymn to Hermes in Light of Callimachus’ and Apollonius’
Reception.” In A. Faulkner, A. Schwab, and A. Vergados, eds. The Reception of
the Homeric Hymns. Oxford. 55–78.
Combet-Farnoux, B. 1981. “Mercure romain, les ‘Mercuriales’ et l’institution du

culte imperial sous le Principat augustéen.” ANRW 17.1: 457–501.
Due, O. S. 1974. Changing Forms: Studies in the Metamorphoses of Ovid.

Copenhagen.
Farnell, L. R. 1896. The Cults of the Greek States. Vol. 2. Oxford.
Faulkner, A. 2011. “The Collection of the Homeric Hymns: From the Seventh to
the Third Centuries BC.” In A. Faulkner, ed. The Homeric Hymns: Interpretative
Essays. Oxford. 175–205.
Feeney, D. 1991. The Gods in Epic: Poets and Critics of the Classical Tradition.
Oxford.
Feeney, D. 1998. Literature and Religion at Rome: Cultures, Contexts, and

Beliefs. Cambridge.
Fraenkel, 1957. Horace. Oxford.
Fuhrer, T. 1999. “Der Götterhymnus als Prahlrede: Zum Spiel mit einer
literarischen Form in Ovids Metamorphosen.” Hermes 127: 356–67.
Gesztelyi, T. 1973. “Mercury and Augustus: Horace, Odes I 2: Some

Contributions to the Problem of their Identification.” ACD 9: 77–81.
Gurval, R. A. 1995. Actium and Augustus: The Politics and Emotions of Civil War.
Ann Arbor.
Hinds, S. 1987a. The Metamorphosis of Persephone: Ovid and the Self-Conscious

Muse. Cambridge.
Hinds, S. 1987b. “Generalizing about Ovid.” Ramus 16: 4–31.

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Holzberg, N. 1999. “Apollos erste Liebe und die Folgen: Ovids Daphne-Erzählung
als Programm für Werk und Wirkung.” Gymnasium 106: 317–34.
Janko, R. 1982. Homer, Hesiod, and the Hymns: Diachronic Development in Epic
Diction. Cambridge.
Janko, R. 2000. Philodemus: On Poems. Oxford.
(p.155) Jung, C. G. and K. Kerényi. 1951 (=1943). Introduction to a Science of

Mythology: The Myth of the Divine Child and the Mysteries of Eleusis. London.
Keith, A. M. 1992. The Play of Fictions: Studies in Ovid’s Metamorphoses Book 2.

Ann Arbor.
Keith, A. M. 2002. “Sources and Genres in Ovid’s Metamorphoses 1–5.” In B. W.

Boyd, ed. Brill’s Companion to Ovid. Leiden. 235–69.
Keith, A. M. 2016. “The Homeric Hymn to Aphrodite in Ovid and Augustan

Literature.” In A. Faulkner, A. Schwab, and A. Vergados, eds. The Reception of
the Homeric Hymns. Oxford. 109–26.
Kerényi, K. 1976 (= 1944). Hermes: The Guide of Souls. Zurich.
Knox, P. E. 1986. Ovid’s Metamorphoses and the Traditions of Augustan Poetry.

Cambridge.
Knox, P. E. 1990. “In Pursuit of Daphne.” TAPA 120: 183–202.
Lobel, E. 1968. The Oxyrhynchus Papyri: Volume XXXV. London.
Ludwig, L. 1965. Struktur und Einheit der Metamorphosen Ovids. Berlin.
Lyne, R. O. A. M. 2005. “Horace Odes Book 1 and the Alexandrian Edition of

Alcaeus.” CQ 55: 542–58.
McKeown, J. C. 1989. Ovid: Amores. Vol. II. A Commentary on Book One. Leeds.
Miller, J. F. 1991. Ovid’s Elegiac Festivals: Studies in the Fasti. Frankfurt.
Miller, J. F. 2016. “Ovid’s Bacchic Helmsman and Homeric Hymn 7.” In A.

Faulkner, A. Schwab, and A. Vergados, eds. The Reception of the Homeric
Hymns. Oxford. 95–108.
Miller, P. A. 1991. “Horace, Mercury and Augustus, or the Poetic Ego of Odes 1–
3.” AJP 112: 365–88.
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Morrison, A. D. 2007. The Narrator in Archaic Greek and Hellenistic Poetry.

Cambridge.
Myers, K. S. 1994. “Ultimus Ardor: Pomona and Vertumnus in Ovid’s Met.

14.623–771.” CJ 89: 225–50.
Nethercut, J. 2016. “Hercules and Apollo in Ovid’s Metamorphoses.” In A.

Faulkner, A. Schwab, and A. Vergados, eds. The Reception of the Homeric
Hymns. Oxford. 127–42.
Nisbet, R. G. M. and M. Hubbard. 1970. A Commentary on Horace: Odes 1.

Oxford.
Nicoll, W. S. M. 1980. “Cupid, Apollo and Daphne (Ovid, Met. 1.452 ff.).” CQ 30:
174–82.
Olson, S. D. 2011. “Immortal Encounters: Aeneid 1 and the Homeric Hymn to

Aphrodite.” Vergilius 57: 55–61.
Otis, B. 1970. Ovid as Epic Poet. Cambridge.
Page, D. 1955. Sappho and Alcaeus: An Introduction to the Study of Ancient

Lesbian Poetry. Oxford.
Reitzenstein, R. 1904. Poimandres: Studien zur griechisch-ägyptischen und

frühchristlichen Literatur. Leipzig.
Richardson, N. J. 2007. “The Homeric Hymn to Hermes.” In P. J. Finglass, C.

Collard, and N. J. Richardson, eds. Hesperos: Studies in Ancient Greek Poetry
Presented to M. L. West on his Seventieth Birthday. Oxford. 83–94.
Richardson, N. J. 2010. Three Homeric Hymns. Cambridge.
(p.156) Schiesaro, A. 2011. “Ibis redibis.” MD 67: 79–150.
Scott, K. 1928. “Mercur-Augustus und Horaz C. 1.2.” Hermes 63: 15–33.
Six, J. 1916. “Octavien-Mercure.” Revue archéologique 4: 257–64.
Strauss Clay, J. 1989. The Politics of Olympus: Form and Meaning in the Major
Homeric Hymns. Princeton.
Syed, Y. 2004. “Ovid’s Use of the Hymnic Genre in the Metamorphoses.” In A.

Barchiesi, J. Rüpke, and S. Stephens, eds. Rituals in Ink: A Conference on
Religion and Literary Production in Ancient Rome. Stuttgart. 99–113.
Thomas, O. R. H. 2007. “Charting the Atlantic with Hesiod and Hellanicus.” ZPE
160: 15–23.
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Vergados, A. 2013. The Homeric Hymn to Hermes. Berlin.
Voit, L. 1982. “Horaz-Merkur-Augustus (zu Hor. C. II 17, I 10, I 2).” Gymnasium

89: 479–96.
West, M. L. 2003. Homeric Hymns, Homeric Apocrypha, Lives of Homer.

Cambridge, MA.
Wilamowitz-Moellendorff, U. v. 1973 (=1924). Hellenistische Dichtung in der Zeit

des Kallimachos: II (Interpretationen). 3rd ed. Berlin.
Wills, J. 1990. “Callimachean Models for Ovid’s ‘Apollo-Daphne’.” MD 24: 143–56.
Williams, F. 1981. “Augustus and Daphne: Ovid Metamorphoses 1,560–3 and

Phylarchus FGrHist 81 F 32 (b).” PLLS 3: 249–57.
Notes:
(1) I would like to express my gratitude to the volume editors; to generous
audiences at the Tracking Hermes/Mercury conference, the 2015 CAC, and
Kenyon College, where earlier versions of this paper were presented; and to
Nandini Pandey, Lauren Curtis, Andreas Zanker, Jason Nethercut, and
Alessandro Barchiesi.
(2) For the Cupid–Apollo–Daphne episode as turning point in the Met., see
Ludwig 1965: 19–20; Otis 1970: 101–2; Knox 1986: 14; Barchiesi 2005: 204. For
the allusions to Am. 1.1 and the Callimachean theophanic tradition, as well as
the blending of epic and elegy here: e.g. Due 1974: 112–13; Nicoll 1980; Knox
1986: 14–18; Wills 1990; Myers 1994: 226–7; Holzberg 1999; Keith 2002: 246–
51.
(3) Although the myth of Apollo’s quarrel with Hermes is later related in non-
hymnic texts, Alcaeus’ Hymn and H.Herm. are the two oldest extant versions of
Apollo’s quarrel with Hermes, and a negotiation over divine timai is a
fundamental theme of archaic hymns (Strauss Clay 1989: 15). On the vexed issue
of the dating and priority of the two hymns, see Page 1955: 254–5; Campbell
1967: 297; Morrison 2007: 82; Vergados 2013: 76–7 and 130.
(4) Nethercut 2016 argues for an Apolline birth of Hercules in Met. 9, suggesting
that divine assimilation is a concept that Ovid repeatedly uses. See also Clauss
2016.
(5) See Keith 2002: 264–6 on Ovid’s mixing of models and genres; Miller 2016 on
the Met.’s engagement with Homeric Hymn 7, along with other traditions
relating to Bacchus and the Tyrrhenian pirates.
(6) Ant. Lib. Met. 23 and schol. ad loc. See Castellani 1980: 37–44; Keith 1992:
108–12.
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Lascivus Puer
(7) Hymns as not influential: Allen, Halliday, Sikes 1936: lxiv–lxxxii and 200;
Castellani 1980: 38; Janko 1982: 2 and 2000: 213 n. 9. Càssola 1975: lxii notes
that beginning in the first century BCE there are citations of “Homer in his
Hymns”; see further Barchiesi 1999: 123; Olson 2011: 60–1; Faulkner 2011.
(8) On Ovid and the Homeric Hymns, see also Syed 2004; Miller 2016; Nethercut
2016; Keith 2016. Feeney 1998: 32–44 discusses hymns and Roman poetry more
generally.
(9) Wills 1990: 146 n. 8; Barchiesi 1999: 116 and 124; Syed 2004: 102; Miller
2009: 339. Bömer 1969: 139 observes a parallel between the description of
Apollo shooting the Python with innumerable arrows in Met. 1.459–60 and
Callim. Hymn 2.101.
(10) Barchiesi 2005: 207.
(11) Barchiesi 1999: 116.
(12) Noted already by Wilamowitz 1973 (=1924): 2.52 n. 4.
(13) Keith 2002: 250.
(14) Williams 1981: 251; Wills 1990: 151; Barchiesi 1999: 124.
(15) Wills 1990: 154; Knox 1990: 200; Fuhrer 1999: 357–9.
(16) Met. 1.456 (quidque tibi) ~ Am. 1.1.5 (Quis tibi); Met. 1. 453 (saeva
Cupidinis ira) and 456 (lascive puer) ~ Am. 1.1.5 (saeve puer); Met. 1.456
(fortibus armis) ~ Am. 1.1.1, 7 (arma); Met. 1.466–74 (cf. 495–6) ~ Am. 1.1.21–6;
Met. 1.519–20 ~ Am. 1.1.25–6. See Nicoll 1980: 175–6; Knox 1986: 14–17. I
observe that both speeches also deploy first-person plural esse verbs to contrast
the speaker with Cupid (Met. 1.458 qui dare certa ferae, dare vulnera possumus
hosti; Am. 1.1.6 Pieridum vates, non tua turba sumus) and mention the trope of
torches as the proper tool for amatory gods (Met. 1.461; Am. 1.1.8).
(17) The only other occurrence of surripuisse in elegy (Prop. 2.3.52; same
metrical sedes) describes a cattle theft from Homer: the seer Melampus stealing
Iphicles’ cattle (cf. Od. 11.287–98, 15.225–42).
(18) Τόξα in the plural may refer to arrows as well as to the bow (LSJ s.v. II). As
Cairns 1983: 32 notes, most versions indicate that Hermes stole Apollo’s arrows
only; the exception is a possible allusion to this theft in H.Herm. 515, where
Apollo fears that Hermes may steal his “curved bow” (καμπύλα τόξα).
(19) See J. F. Miller 1991: 101 on both allusions.
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Lascivus Puer
(20) P.Oxy. 2734 fr. 1 (see esp. Lobel 1968: 2–4; Cairns 1983; Lyne 2005: 547–52);
Hor. C. 1.10; Porphyr. on 1.10.1 and 1.10.9–12. Philostratus Imag. 1.26; schol.
ABD on Il. 15.256; and Lucian Deor. 11.1 also relate this version of the quarrel
without mentioning Alcaeus.
(21) Arcitenens: Naev. Bel. Pun. fr. 30 Büchner, a calque on Homeric τοξοφόρος;
see Keith 2002: 247 n. 54.
(22) See Cairns 1983: 32, who also suggests the supplement to line 18.
(23) P.Oxy. 2734 fr. 1.15–16 Ἀπόλλω[ν/]αὐτῷ ἀπειλή[σας; cf. schol. ABD on Il.
15.256: ἀπειλουμένου δὲ τοῦ Ἀπόλλωνος.
(24) All translations of the H.Herm. follow West 2003 with minor modifications.
(25) ὦ παῖ with the name of a divine parent: e.g. Eur. fr. 177.1.
(26) Vergados 2013: 419.
(27) On τιμή and ὁσίη here, see especially Strauss Clay 1989: 128–31. Gloria is
roughly equivalent, a word that Bömer 1969: 149 points out is rarely used by
gods in Latin literature.
(28) See Richardson 2007: 88–9 on erotic language in the H.Herm.
(29) Vergados 2013: 503.
(30) Th. 245, 251, 357; fr. 169.1; Richardson 2010: 158.
(31) Cf. Apollo’s amatory language at 448–9.
(32) Cf. Od. 8.99, 17.271; Richardson 2010: 158.
(33) See J. F. Miller 1991: 100.
(34) Bömer 1958: 151–2.
(35) See esp. Farnell 1896: 2.653; Brown 1947: 14–16; Kerényi 1976 (=1944): 53–
9; Jung and Kerényi 1951 (=1943): 73–7.
(36) Halicarnassus: Vitr. 2.8.11.13–14; Argos: Paus. 2.19.6; Megalopolis: Paus.

8.31.6; Cnidos: Farnell 1896: 2.739; Lesbos: Farnell 1896: 2.742. According to
the Suda (Ψ 100) there were cults at Athens to Hermes the Whisperer, Aphrodite
the Whisperer, and Eros the Whisperer.
(37) LIMC III s.v. “Eros” 4 and 5, respectively. Cf. 679 (third-century BCE
terracotta of baby Eros playing next to ithyphallic herm of Eros); 62 (late first-
century BCE terracotta figurine of Eros supported by ithyphallic herm); 449–52:
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Lascivus Puer
(several examples of Eros worshipping before a herm; mid-fifth century BCE–

mid-fourth century BCE).
(38) E.g. LIMC III s.v. “Eros” 662; LIMC III s.v. “Amor, Cupido” 451–5.
(39) Corn. Nat. Deor. 24; Plut. Conj. Praec. 138c; Apul. Met. 6.7.3.
(40) Suda s.v.; CPG VII p. 356, test. 1. See RE 19.2.2380.51–9.
(41) Barchiesi 1999: 114–15.
(42) Feeney 1991: 78.
(43) Barchiesi 1999: 117–23.
(44) See esp. Hinds 1987b: 24–31; Feeney 1991: 188–249; and Miller 2009: 332–
73, with further references at 333 n. 1.
(45) IKosM 466; CIL 6.283; CIL 10.8342a; Bologna, Museo Civico inv. Pal. 1632:
altar side panel showing Minerva–Roma leading Mercury–Augustus (c.10 BCE–
15 CE); the Marlborough gem depicting Augustus and a caduceus (see Combet-
Farnoux 1981: 488); RIC2 257 (see Gurval 1995: 59–60) and RPC 790. My
argument here is not dependent on asserting that there was a widespread
popular cult of Mercury–Augustus or that the princeps fostered such a link with
any consistency, but simply that the connection existed for Ovid to exploit. See:
Reitzenstein 1904: 176–9; Six 1916; Scott 1928; Fraenkel 1957: 247–9; Nisbet
and Hubbard 1970: 34–6; Gesztelyi 1973; Combet-Farnoux 1981: 486–500; Voit
1982; P. A. Miller 1991: esp. 383–8; and Miller 2009: 44–53. Schiesaro 2011:
104–7, in an article arguing that Augustus is Ibis in Ovid’s Ibis, notes that Ovid
may also link Augustus and Mercury at Met. 5.319–31, where Ovid’s account of
the Gigantomachy includes Mercury turning into an ibis as part of a passage
that alludes to Horace’s description of Mercury becoming Augustus at Carm.
1.2.41–4.
Page 18 of 18
Horace’s Mercury and Mercurial Horace


Print ISBN-13: 9780198777342
DOI: 10.1093/oso/9780198777342.001.0001

S. J. Harrison
DOI:10.1093/oso/9780198777342.003.0011

In this piece I have surveyed the various guises under which the god Mercury is
presented in the poetry of Horace. Mercury is an important figure in the Odes as
inventor of the lyre, a key patron of lyric poetry and divine protector of the poet;
though he can be paralleled with the young Caesar at one moment, he is not to
be taken as symbolizing him at others, especially in Horace’s account of Philippi
in Odes 2.7. References to his epic role as psychopompos serve to generate some
particularly elevated moments, while allusions to his role as erotic enabler look
to lowlier connections with Roman comedy and the elegiac world of amatory
intrigue; this combination of high and low reference suits the middling literary
level of the Odes in general. We have also seen how the Satires’ narrative of
Horace’s origins and their presentation of Damasippus present a different kind
of vir Mercurialis (a man of business) he might have been had he not become a
lyric poet. By becoming the poet of the Odes, Horace moves upwards from the
world of his birth and upbringing, associated with the lower money-making role
of Mercury, to the realm of literature and lyric, associated with the god’s higher
divine functions, a key step in his poetic and social career.
Keywords: Horace, lyric, Mercury, protector, psychopompos, comedy, elegy, mercantilism
1. Introduction
Horatian scholars have often observed the significant role played by Mercury in
his poetry, especially in the Odes.1 Kenneth Reckford has suggested that the poet
“perceived this god as a related being and grasped him as a felicitous symbol of
his own kind,”2 while Paul Allen Miller has even argued for “a coherent pattern
linking Horace, Maecenas, Augustus, the Sabine farm, the mixture of Greek and
Page 1 of 16
Latin elements in Horace’s poetry, and the god Mercury.”3 In this piece I too
want to stress the affinity between the poet and Mercury presented in the poems
and the range of functions the god can fulfill, but also to suggest ways in which
the figure of Mercury can assist in the reading and interpretation of certain
Horatian poems. Horace presents himself as a poet protected by Mercury/
Hermes, god of the lyre, and his son Faunus/Pan, and alludes to Mercury/
Hermes’ role as psychopompos; but these more elevated aspects of the god,
sometimes overtly echoing epic texts, are counterbalanced by and mixed with
hints at Mercury’s involvement with erotic intrigue and money-making, a more
popular view of the god that has affinities with lower types of literature. Both
sides of the god can be firmly linked with the poet, a divinely-supported lyric
bard who also has connections with erotic interests and a family background in
commerce.
(p.160) 2. vir Mercurialis—The Poet and Divine Protection

In Odes 2.17 the poet implies that he belongs to the group of viri Mercuriales,
“men belonging to Mercury” (27–30):
me truncus inlapsus cerebro

sustulerat, nisi Faunus ictum
dextra levasset, Mercurialium
custos virorum.
A tree-trunk falling on my skull

would have taken me off, had not Faunus,
guardian of those men protected by Mercury,
lightened the blow with his hand.
John F. Miller has characterized Mercurialium…virorum as “a puzzling phrase,”4

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

mutat Lycaeo Faunus et igneam
Page 2 of 16
defendit aestatem capellis

usque meis pluviosque ventos.
inpune tutum per nemus arbutos
quaerunt latentis et thyma deviae
olentis uxores mariti
nec viridis metuunt colubras
nec Martialis haediliae lupos,
(p.161) utcumque dulci, Tyndari, fistula
valles et Usticae cubantis
levia personuere saxa.
di me tuentur, dis pietas mea
et musa cordi est.
Swift Faunus often exchanges the hill

of Sabine Lucretilis for that of Greek Lykaion
and always wards off fiery summer
and rainy winds from my she-goats.
Safely can the wives of the rank goat-husband
seek wide-wandering through the tranquil grove
for hard-to-find shoots and herbs,
nor do their kids fear green snakes
or the wolves of Mars
whenever, Tyndaris, the vales and smooth rocks
of low-lying Ustica resound
with that sweet piping.
The gods protect me, my duty and music
please them.
Thus Faunus can be taken in both cases as an extension of Mercury, appropriate

to natural dangers such as trees and to the safety of flocks, given the traditional
associations of both gods with the country and pastoral agriculture.9
Parallel mentions in the Odes of the danger from which the poet is miraculously
preserved in 2.17, a falling tree on his own Sabine estate, can also aid us in
interpretation here.10 Odes 2.13 curses the tree for its attempt on its master’s
life, while 3.8 presents an annual thanksgiving for the poet’s escape on March
1st, suggesting that was the day of the incident, while 3.4.27 presents the tree
as one of the three mortal dangers from which the gods preserved the poet (the
other two being Philippi—see below on 2.7—and drowning off Sicily). These
complicate the issue a little, as in 3.8 the sacrifice of thanks is offered not to
Mercury but to Liber/Bacchus (7), while in 3.4 the poet claims that his
preservation was owed to his friendship with the Muses (25). All these divinities,
however, have one clear factor in common—their connection with poetry and
therefore their protection of the poet. Of these three divine protectors, Mercury
is the most specifically linked to lyric poetry, though Liber/Bacchus is also cast in
that role in prominent odes such as 2.19 and 3.25. This is made explicit in Odes
1.10, where in a hymn to Mercury at least (p.162) partly based on a largely lost
Page 3 of 16
original by Alcaeus,11 the god is addressed as the originator of the lyre and other
cultural skills:
Mercuri, facunde nepos Atlantis,

qui feros cultus hominum recentum
voce formasti catus et decorae
more palaestrae,
te canam, magni Iovis et deorum
nuntium curvaeque lyrae parentem,
callidum quicquid placuit iocoso
condere furto…
Mercury, easy-tongued grandson of Atlas

who shaped the fierce ways of fresh-born men
with vocal skill, and with the ways of the fine
school of wrestling,
you I will sing, messenger of great Jupiter
and all divinities, father of the curved lyre,
cunning to conceal whatever you wished
in witty theft…
Thus Mercury is the patron deity par excellence of the lyre and thence of lyric
poetry, under whose protection Horace as lyric poet especially falls. In this
sense, then, the lyric poet Horace is a vir Mercurialis.
Mercury’s protection is exercised in the poet’s favor on one more famous

occasion in the Odes, the poet’s narrative of his escape from Philippi in 2.7. This,
as I have argued elsewhere, is a highly literary account that uses Greek poetic
models to negotiate and re-shape an uncomfortable Roman reality into a
politically and generically acceptable form, producing a version of the battle that
is suitable for its context of sympotic lyric, stays away from the realism of bloody
details, and makes it clear that the right side won.12 Here the poet is
represented as rescued from the fatal conflict by Mercury (2.7.13–14):
sed me per hostis Mercurius celer

denso paventem sustulit aere.
But I was spirited away through the enemy

by swift Mercury in thick mist, all in a panic.
Horace’s fanciful retelling of the battle represents him as being saved by

Mercury and removed miraculously from danger in a thick mist. This divine
intervention strongly recalls famous moments on the battlefield of the Iliad
where warriors are similarly rescued by concerned divinities from duels they are
losing (Iliad 3.380–2, Aphrodite and Paris; Iliad 5.344–6, Apollo and Aeneas; Iliad
20.321–9, Poseidon and Aeneas). In some ways, Horace at (p.163) Philippi is
like Paris, the weaker warrior who needs to be rescued from defeat and death by
a god who owes him protection; in other ways, Horace could be like Aeneas, who
Page 4 of 16
needs to be preserved for a vital future function, as a poet who will live to write
this ode and other poems. In any case, the parallel of Mercury to a Homeric
patron deity intervening to rescue a favorite in the battle is clear; his role here is
different from that of the Homeric Hermes, whose interventions are limited to
delivering messages and escorting humans or souls.13
It has sometimes been suggested that the rescuing Mercury of Odes 2.7 in some
sense symbolizes the battle’s victor, the young Caesar and future Augustus, and
his future support of the defeated poet.14 This is consistent in principle with the
well-known close of Odes 1.2, where the poet addresses the young Caesar as a
saving reincarnation of Mercury (Odes 1.2.41–4):
sive mutata iuvenem figura

ales in terris imitaris, almae
filius Maiae, patiens vocari
Caesaris ultor….
Or whether it is you that changes your shape,

winged one, and mirrors a young man on the earth,
son of motherly Maia, letting yourself be called
Caesar’s avenger…
Here the poet takes on indeed a contemporary comparison of the young Caesar
and Hermes, found in art and following Ptolemaic models,15 but it seems very
difficult to apply this to the rescuing role of Mercury in Odes 2.7; after all, as
confirmed by the poet’s later account of the same conflict at Ep. 2.2.48 (Caesaris
Augusti non responsura lacertis), the young Caesar as Caesaris ultor was joint
commander of the victorious army from which the poet, fighting for Caesar’s
assassins, was “divinely rescued,” and Horace might well have shared the mortal
fate of thousands of his fellow-Republicans at Philippi in a pair of battles that
resulted in massive casualties.16 The poet is saved from the might of the young
Caesar by Mercury, patron of lyric poets, to be the future author of the Odes. As
in the biographical tradition of his lyric predecessor Pindar,17 Horace enjoys the
special protection of the gods.18 (p.164)
Page 5 of 16
3. Mercury as psychopompos
A different use of Mercury that occurs several times in the Odes is that of
psychopompos or escort of the dead. This can be seen as a neat inversion of his
role as patron deity and rescuer, which we have just examined: in one form he
preserves his own protégés and keeps them from the Underworld, in another
form he provides secure passage to the same Underworld for those who are not
so fortunate in their patronage. Like the theme of rescue from battle, this is an
epic inheritance; if we return to Odes 1.10, the hymn to Mercury drawing heavily
on Greek precedents, we find that it concludes with a description of Mercury as
psychopompos that echoes Mercury/Hermes’ earliest appearance in that role at
the start of the last book of the Odyssey (1.10.17–20):
Tu pias laetis animas reponis

sedibus virgaque levem coerces
aurea turbam, superis deorum
gratus et imis
You settle holy souls in their happy abodes

and marshal the insubstantial crowd
with golden rod, pleasing to divine powers
above and below.
Compare Odyssey 24.1–5:
Ἑρμῆς δὲ ψυχὰς Κυλλήνιος ἐξεκαλεῖτο

ἀνδρῶν μνηστήρων· ἔχε δὲ ῥάβδον μετὰ χερσὶν
καλὴν χρυσείην, τῇ τ᾿ ἀνδρῶν ὄμματα θέλγει
ὧν ἐθέλει, τοὺς δ᾿ αὖτε καὶ ὑπνώοντας ἐγείρει·
τῇ ῥ᾿ ἄγε κινήσας, ταὶ δὲ τρίζουσαι ἕποντο.
But Hermes of Cyllene was summoning
the souls of the suitors: he held a rod in his hands,
beautiful and golden, with which he enchants
the eyes of all men he wants, and rouses them again though asleep:
with this he stirred and led the souls, and they gibbered as they
followed.
Horace’s poem fittingly closes with the opening of the closing book of the
Homeric epic. The lyric context provides a warmer and less stark view of
Mercury than its epic original; the god is presented as conveying pious souls to
felicity rather than taking the slaughtered suitors to their eternal infernal abode.
In another ode, 1.24, the lament for Quintilius, Mercury appears as

psychopompos again, this time doubly evoking Homer, once more at the end of a
poem (1.24.13–20):
Quid si Threicio blandius Orpheo

auditam moderere arboribus fidem?
Page 6 of 16
Num vanae redeat sanguis imagini,
(p.165) quam virga semel horrida,

non lenis precibus fata recludere,
nigro compulerit Mercurius gregi?
durum: sed levius fit patientia
quicquid corrigere est nefas.
What if you were to wield a lyre more sweetly

than that of Thracian Orpheus, heeded even by trees?
Would blood really return to the empty shade
once Mercury with fearful rod, unbending
to prayers to open up the world of the dead,
has driven it in his flock of darkness?
It is hard: but patience can lighten
what it is forbidden to remedy.
Here the rod-bearing and marshaling Hermes of Odyssey 24 is paired with the
blood-drinking shades of Odyssey 11, as has been well observed;19 and there is a
further hexameter text intervening here, the recent Georgics of Horace’s friend
Vergil, from the fourth book of which the figure of Orpheus, though long a
standard comparand for persuasiveness,20 seems to be taken:21 the Horatian ode
and the Vergilian didactic poem both envisage a scenario where not even the
songs of Orpheus can reverse an individual’s departure to the Underworld. This
resonance of Orpheus thus confirms the epic origin of the psychopompic
Mercury.
The third and final example of Mercury as psychopompos occurs in Odes

2.18.34–40:22
nec satelles Orci

callidum Promethea
revexit auro captus. hic superbum
Tantalum atque Tantali
genus coercet, hic levare functum
pauperem laboribus
vocatus atque non vocatus audit.
Nor did Hades’ henchman

bring back the wily Prometheus
bribed by gold. He keeps prisoner
proud Tantalus and Tantalus’ progeny,
he is said to relieve the poor man
at the end of his labors,
whether called or not called.
(p.166) Once again the theme occurs at the end of an ode, most appropriately
for perhaps the most closural motif in literature.23 Here we may have echoes of
the epic tradition once more; the allusion to Prometheus’ attempt to bribe
Page 7 of 16
Mercury is likely to allude to a lost mythological source, possibly archaic Greek

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

Having considered the more elevated aspects of Mercury’s Horatian
characterization as divine protector and escorter of souls, I now turn to some
lower characteristics of the god that are equally reflected in Horace’s poetry. As
we have already seen, in Odes 1.17 the poet sets up a country symposium with
the hetaera Tyndaris under the protection of Mercury’s son Faunus/Pan,
suggesting that such divine patronage can specifically aid the poet’s erotic
enterprises as well as saving his life; we can compare the common assertion in
contemporary love-elegy that the god Amor/Cupid intervenes to aid or otherwise
influence the poet-lover’s affairs.25 This role of Mercury as erotic enabler looks
back to Roman comedy, especially to Plautus’ Amphitryon, where Mercury as
lengthy prologue-speaker (1–152) presents himself both as the god of money-
making and as aiding his father Jupiter’s affair with the mortal Alcmena (cf. 126,
ut praeservire amanti meo possem patri) by effecting his safe entrance into
Amphitryon’s house disguised as Amphitryon himself.26 This aspect of Mercury
may help with the interpretation of another Horatian ode, 1.30:
(p.167)
O Venus regina Cnidi Paphique,

sperne dilectam Cypron et vocantis
ture te multo Glycerae decoram
transfer in aedem.
Fervidus tecum puer et solutis
Gratiae zonis properentque Nymphae
et parum comis sine te Iuventas
Mercuriusque.
Venus, queen of Cnidos and of Paphos,

spurn the Cyprus you love, and move
into the elegant house of Glycera, who calls on you
with clouds of incense.
May your burning boy hurry with you,
and the Graces and Nymphs with girdles loosed
and Youth, no pleasure without you,
Page 8 of 16
and Mercury too.
In this brief, epigrammatic poem the role of Mercury, enigmatically introduced

in the final Mercuriusque is unclear: “this must be the punch-line, but quite what
the point is remains uncertain.”27 Is Mercury here the god of the lyre,
representing cultured musical accompaniment for an otherwise mercantile
situation,28 or the god of gain, representing the need to pay the hetaera Glycera
in order to enter her house,29 or a divine persuasive go-between in the affair?30
These are all possible interpretations, but the last seems closest to the mark
given the evidence of the Amphitryon: Mercury could be invoked as the god of
trickery to get the poet into the house of a woman who belongs to another, just
as in Plautus’ play. Glycera may resemble those puellae of elegy whose resident
vir needs to be outwitted in order for the poet-lover to achieve a successful
encounter;31 the traditionally cunning Mercury (cf. 1.10.7, callidum) would be a
useful ally indeed in this situation, as indeed he is in the Amphitryon.
Mercury is invoked in an erotic context again at Odes 3.11.1–16:
Mercuri, nam te docilis magistro

movit Amphion lapides canendo,
tuque testudo resonare septem
callida nervis,
nec loquax olim neque grata, nunc et
divitum mensis et amica templis,
dic modos, Lyde quibus obstinatas
(p.168) applicet auris,
quae velut latis equa trima campis
ludit exultim metuitque tangi,
nuptiarum expers et adhuc protervo
cruda marito.
Tu potes tigris comitesque silvas
ducere et rivos celeres morari;
cessit immanis tibi blandienti
ianitor aulae.
Mercury—for, taught by you as master

Amphion shifted stones by singing—
and you, tortoise-shell lyre, skilled to sound
now friend to the tables of the rich and to temples,
with seven strings,
once neither ready in speech or welcome,
produce notes to which Lyde can turn
her obstinate ears,
who, like a three-year-old filly on the wide plains
leaps and plays and fears to be touched,
free from marriage and still too raw
for a thrusting husband.
You can draw tigers and trees as companions
Page 9 of 16
to follow you, and hold up swift streams:

to your caresses yielded the door-keeper
of that monstrous court.
Here, in the outer frame of the poem which introduces the inner mythological
story of the Danaid Hypermnestra, the poet calls on Mercury as god of the lyre
to persuade the reluctant Lyde to engage in love;32 the story of the virtuous
Hypermnestra who loved and protected her new husband despite a family feud,
and of her vicious sisters who suffered such notable punishment for killing theirs
on their father’s orders, is invoked to convince her that her erotic intransigence
is mistaken. In this poem several strands of Mercury’s Horatian characterization
observed so far seem to come together: his status as the inventor of the lyre and
therefore as patron of lyric poetry (cf. Odes 1.10), his role as erotic helper (cf.
1.30), and even (indirectly) his connection with the Underworld as
psychopompos; the stanza (13–16) that describes the capacity of the lyre to tame
the dangers of the infernal regions, clearly looking again to the myth of Orpheus
(cf. 1.24), recalls its patron god Mercury’s similar ability to come and go to and
from Hades, and to control some Underworld elements (cf. 1.10.17–20, 1.24.13–
20, 2.18.34–40, all discussed earlier).
(p.169) 5. Mercury the God of Luck and Mercantilism

Finally, I turn to two further aspects of Mercury in Horace: the god’s association
with windfalls and good luck, and his link with business and trading.33 As befits
such everyday connections, these are not found in the more elevated world of
the Odes but in the lower literary environment of the Satires. At Satires 2.6.4–5,
in a poem that celebrates the poet’s Sabine estate, Horace prays to Mercury that
the property remain his in perpetuity: nil amplius oro, / Maia nate, nisi ut propria
haec mihi munera faxis (“I ask nothing more, son of Maia, than that you make
this gift my own property”). Here Mercury is invoked as the god of good fortune,
rather artfully; by this means the poet implies that the estate has come to him in
some sense by chance, carefully masking the patronage of Maecenas and the
exchange of property for poetry, just as the prayer itself appears to suggest with
some ambiguity that he does not yet have the full ownership of the land.34 We
should resist the temptation to suggest that Mercury here picks up Odes 1.2 and
refers symbolically to the patronage of the young Caesar himself, for this would
surely subvert the strategy of discretion and indirection here.
My last example is taken from Satires 2.3, a poem spoken by Damasippus, dealer
in art and property. As I have suggested elsewhere,35 Damasippus (like several
of the other speakers in Satires 2) presents a number of features which invite us
to associate him with the figure of Horace the poet as displayed in his work. Like
the young Horace after Philippi (cf. Ep. 2.2.49–52), Damasippus loses his
property and has to start again (2.3.18–20); like Horace’s father, the
auctioneer’s agent (coactor, Sat. 1.6.86), he belongs to the bustling commercial
world; and like the Horace of the Satires in general, he is concerned to
Page 10 of 16
summarize and retail the views of other philosophers (34), and uses an Aesopic
fable to make a moral point (2.3.314–20, cf. e.g. 2.6.79–117).
In Satires 2.3 Damasippus is strongly associated with Mercury. Near the start of
this long poem he explains that he is popularly known as “Mercury” owing to his
expertise in trading (2.3.24–6):
hortos egregiasque domos mercarier unus

cum lucro noram; unde frequentia Mercuriale
inposuere mihi cognomen compita
I have unique expertise in trading with profit

in gardens and fine homes: and so the corner-crowds
have given me the name of “Mercury.”
(p.170) This passage exploits in mercarier…Mercuriale the popular (and

possibly true) etymological derivation of the name Mercurius from merx or
mercari, “profit” and “to make profit, trade.”36 Mercury’s commercial links are
already present in his name. The connection between Damasippus and Mercury
is reinforced at 2.3.68, where he speaks of praesens Mercurius, “a windfall come
to you,” presenting Mercury as the god of unexpected opportunity (see above)
through the metaphor of divine epiphany.37
In this commercial Mercury we can see the other route that Horace might have
taken to being a vir Mercurialis. At Sat. 1.6.85–7 the poet suggests that neither
he nor his excellent father would have been ashamed if Horace had followed him
into the modest world of business despite his elite education:
nec timuit, sibi ne vitio quis verteret, olim

si praeco parvas aut, ut fuit ipse, coactor
mercedes sequerer; neque ego essem questus…
Nor did he fear that anyone would count it a fault in him

if some day I were to pursue small profits as a herald
or as an agent, like himself; and I would not have complained…
Here mercedes reminds the reader of Damasippus the commercial Mercurius.

Had things been only slightly different, Horace might have become this other
kind of vir Mercurialis.
6. Conclusion
In this piece I have surveyed the various guises under which the god Mercury is
presented in the poetry of Horace. Mercury is an important figure in the Odes as
inventor of the lyre, a key patron of lyric poetry, and divine protector of the poet;
though he can be paralleled with the young Caesar at one moment, he is not to
be taken as symbolizing him at others, especially in Horace’s account of Philippi
in Odes 2.7. References to his epic role as psychopompos serve to generate some
particularly elevated moments, while allusions to his role as erotic enabler look
Page 11 of 16
to lowlier connections with Roman comedy and the elegiac world of amatory
intrigue; this combination of high and low reference suits the middling literary
level of the Odes in general.38 We have also seen how the Satires’ narrative of
Horace’s origins and their presentation of (p.171) Damasippus present a
different kind of vir Mercurialis he might have been had he not become a lyric
poet. By becoming the poet of the Odes, Horace moves upwards from the world
of his birth and upbringing, associated with the lower money-making role of
Mercury, to the realm of literature and lyric, associated with the god’s higher
divine functions, a key step in his poetic and social career.39
Bibliography
Barton, T. S. 1994. Ancient Astrology. London.
Bowditch, P. L. 2001. Horace and the Gift Economy of Patronage. Berkeley.
Brunt, P. A. 1971. Italian Manpower 221 BC–AD 14. Oxford.
Combet-Farnoux, B. 1980. Mercure Romain. Rome.
Fraenkel, E. 1957. Horace. Oxford.
Harrison, S. J., ed. 2007a. The Cambridge Companion to Horace. Cambridge.
Harrison, S. J. 2007b. Generic Enrichment in Vergil and Horace. Oxford.
Harrison, S. J. 2010. “There and Back Again: Horace’s Poetic Career.” In P.

Hardie and H. Moore, eds. Classical Literary Careers and their Reception.
Cambridge. 39–58.
Harrison, S. J. 2013a. “Didactic and Lyric in Horace Odes 2: Lucretius and

Vergil.” In T. D. Papanghelis, S. J. Harrison, and S. A. Frangoulidis, eds. Generic
Interfaces in Latin Literature. Berlin and New York. 7–84.
Harrison, S. J. 2013b. “Author and Speaker(s) in Horace Satires 2.” In A.

Marmodoro and J. Hills, eds. The Author’s Voice in Classical and Late Antiquity.
Oxford. 153–71.
Harrison, S. J. 2016. “Horace Odes 2.7: Greek models and Roman Civil War.” In
B. Delignon, N. Le Meur, and O. Thévenaz, eds. La poésie lyrique dans la cité
antique. Lyons. 89–98.
Harrison, S. J. 2017. Horace Odes Book II. Cambridge.
Lefkowitz, M. 1981. The Lives of the Greek Poets. London.
Lyne, R. O. A. M. 1995. Horace: Behind the Public Poetry. New Haven.

Page 12 of 16
Maltby, R. 1991. A Lexicon of Ancient Latin Etymologies. Leeds.
Miller, P. A. 1994. Lyric Texts and Lyric Consciousness. London.
Neumeister, C. 1976. “Horaz und Merkur.” Antike und Abendland 22: 185–94.
Nisbet, R. G. M. and M. E. Hubbard. 1970. A Commentary on Horace’s Odes:

Book I. Oxford.
Nisbet, R. G. M. and M. E. Hubbard. 1978. A Commentary on Horace’s Odes:

Book II. Oxford.
Nisbet, R. G. M. and N. Rudd. 2004. A Commentary on Horace’s Odes: Book III.

Oxford.
Putnam, M. C. J. 1974. “Mercuri, facunde nepos Atlantis.” CP 69: 215–17

[reprinted in Putnam 1982: 99–101].
(p.172) Putnam, M. C. J. 1982. Essays on Latin Lyric, Elegy and Epic.

Princeton.
Quinn, K. 1980. Horace: The Odes. Basingstoke.
Reckford, K. J. 1969. Horace. New York.
Roberts, D. H., F. A. Dunn, and D. P. Fowler, eds. 1997. Classical Closure.

Princeton.
Rüpke, J. 1998. “Merkur am Ende: Horaz, carm. 1.30.” Hermes 126: 435–53.
Rüpke, J. 2007. The Religion of the Romans. Cambridge.
Schmidt, E. A. 2002. Zeit und Form; Dichtungen des Horaz. Heidelberg.
Stroh, W. 1999. “Vom Faunus zum Faun: Theologische Beiträge von Horaz und
Ovid.” In W. Schubert, ed. Ovid: Werk und Wirkung. Bern and Frankfurt am
Main. II.599–612.
Voit, L. 1982. “Horaz–Merkur–Augustus [zu Horaz c. II 17. I 10. I 2].”

Gymnasium 89: 479–96.
West, D. 1995. Horace, Odes I: Carpe Diem. Oxford.
West, D. 1998. Horace, Odes II: Vatis Amici. Oxford.
Notes:
(1) Cf. e.g. Putnam 1974; Neumeister 1976; Voit 1982; Miller 1994: 139–65.
Page 13 of 16
(2) Reckford 1969: 194.
(3) Miller 1994: 164.
(4) Miller 2009: 45.
(5) As suggested e.g. by Fraenkel 1957: 163–4.
(6) The date given by the ancient Vita Horati; cf. Ep. 1.20.27.
(7) Cf. Barton 1994: 96.
(8) For Faunus’ role here and elsewhere in Horace, see Stroh 1999.
(9) For Hermes/Mercury and flocks, cf. e.g. Homeric Hymn to Hermes 567–8; for
Faunus and the same, see Stroh 1999.
(10) For more on the tree incident and its possible dating, see Schmidt 2002:
190–212.
(11) For the details, see Nisbet and Hubbard 1970: 125–6.
(12) Harrison 2016, from which I take some details here.
(13) As noted by Miller 2009: 44.
(14) See e.g. Lyne 1995: 120; Miller 1994: 164; Miller 2009: 52.
(15) See the full material in Combet-Farnoux 1980: 433–56.
(16) Cf. Brunt 1971: 487–8. Here I follow the account of Nisbet and Hubbard
1978: 108–9.
(17) Cf. Lefkowitz 1981: 60–2.
(18) For further instances see Odes 1.22 and 3.4, with the discussion of Harrison
2007a: 22–4. Note that the poet’s retreat from Philippi and loss of his shield
specifically echoes episodes in the biographical traditions about Archilochus,
Anacreon, and Alcaeus: see Nisbet and Hubbard 1978: 107–8.
(19) Nisbet and Hubbard 1970: 287.
(20) Nisbet and Hubbard 1970: 286–7.
(21) Odes 2 seems to show a particular interest in the Vergilian Orpheus and his
katabasis in Georgics 4: see Harrison 2013a.
(22) There has been considerable discussion on the identity of the satelles Orci; I
agree with Nisbet and Hubbard 1978: 310–12 and West 1998: 135 in identifying
him with Mercury rather than Charon. See now Harrison 2017: 219.
Page 14 of 16
(23) On death as closure, see Roberts, Dunn, and Fowler 1997: 304.
(24) Nisbet and Hubbard 1978: 290 suggest Maecenas’ lost tragedy Prometheus,
but Hesiod Theog. 615 καὶ πολύιδριν ἐόντα μέγας κατὰ δεσμὸς ἐρύκει (“and a
mighty bond holds him prisoner despite his wide knowledge,” probably echoed
by Horace at 2.18.35, cited earlier), may refer to a second binding of
Prometheus in the Underworld (he is loosed from his Caucasian bonds at
Theogony 525–9), something perhaps suggested by [Aesch.] PV 1050–3, where
Prometheus envisages Zeus sending him to the Underworld for punishment.
(25) E.g. Tib. 1.3.64, 2.1.80; Prop. 1.3.14, 1.9.23; Ov. Am. 1.1 and 1.2.
(26) On Mercury in this scene, see Combet-Farnoux 1980: 406–11.
(27) Rüpke 2007: 4.
(28) Rüpke 1998 and 2007: 4; Miller 2009: 52.
(29) Quinn 1980: 191, following the ancient commentary of Ps.-Acro here: per
Mercurium vero vult quaestum accipi, tamquam sine venustate nec lucrum sit.
(30) So Nisbet and Hubbard 1970: 347; West 1995: 145.
(31) Cf. Tib. 1.2.21, 1.6.8; Ov. Am. 1.4.1, 2.12.3.
(32) Love for whom is not clear; most commentators assume that the poet is
pleading his own cause, as in the similar evocation of the myth of Europa in
3.27, but there is a good case that he is arguing that Lyde should get married to
another—see Quinn 1980: 264.
(33) The link of Mercury/Hermes with good luck goes back to the Homeric Hymn
to Hermes, where his discovery of the tortoise is a windfall (24, 30)—cf. further
Stein in RE 8.753.26–785.2; for his link with mercantilism at Rome, see Combet-
Farnoux 1980, and for his link with Fortuna, see ibid. 428–31.
(34) See the analysis of this poem by Bowditch 2001: 142–54.
(35) See Harrison 2013b.
(36) For the link in antiquity, see Maltby 1991: 380; for the etymology see
Combet-Farnoux 1980: 59–112.
(37) For praesens in this sense, cf. Odes 3.5.2 praesens divus, with Nisbet and
Rudd 2004: 83.
(38) On the middling generic level of the Odes and their deployment of higher
and lower texts, see Harrison 2007b: 168–206.
(39) On Horace’s poetic career, see Harrison 2010.

Page 15 of 16
Page 16 of 16
Crossing the Borders


Print ISBN-13: 9780198777342
DOI: 10.1093/oso/9780198777342.001.0001

Vergil’s Intertextual Mercury
Sergio Casali
DOI:10.1093/oso/9780198777342.003.0012

All of Mercury’s three interventions in the Aeneid are engaged in a profound
intertextual dialogue with Homer and Apollonius. Mercury’s first visit to
Carthage (Aen. 1.297–304) echoes Athena’s intervention at Od. 13.300–2, and
also the only intervention of Hermes as messenger/emissary of Zeus in the
Argonautica (Arg. 3.584–8). This suggests a parallelism between Dido and
Aeetes that will resurface again at Aen. 4.563–4 and 604–6. Furthermore,
Jupiter’s sending of Mercury to Carthage and the god’s flight recall both Zeus’
sending of Hermes to Ogygia in the Odyssey and Aphrodite’s sending of Eros to
Aea. Vergil’s fundamental model for Jupiter’s dispatch of Mercury to Aeneas
(Aen. 4.219–78) is Zeus’ dispatch of Hermes to Calypso to free Odysseus at Od.
5.28–42. Finally, Mercury’s dream apparition to Aeneas (Aen. 4.553–70) is
modeled on Hermes’ second visit to Priam at Il. 24.677–95.
Keywords: Mercury, Hermes, Homer, Apollonius, Virgil, Aeneid, intertextuality, Dido, Aeetes, Medea
Mercury intervenes thrice in the Aeneid, always in connection with Dido’s story.1
In Book 1, after having reassured Venus with his prophecy, Jupiter sends
Mercury to Carthage to ensure that the Trojans are hospitably received (1.297–
304); in Book 4, Iarbas complains to Jupiter about Dido’s and Aeneas’
relationship, and the god again sends Mercury to Carthage, this time to Aeneas,
to remind him of his mission (4.219–72); later, after Dido has vainly attempted to
delay Aeneas’ departure, Mercury, apparently on his own initiative, appears to
Aeneas in a dream and urges him to leave (4.553–70). In the Aeneid Mercury is
Page 1 of 21
the Greek Hermes, and acts in his traditional role of messenger and emissary of
the gods, and in particular of Jupiter, though he also appears to take at least one
initiative of his own.2 Hermes/Mercury is a god associated with the crossing of
boundaries, with the channeling of messages, and with interpretation; if we ever
had to imagine a god of intertextuality, he would be the perfect candidate. The
whole Aeneid of course is a (p.174) highly intertextual work, but maybe it is not
just chance that every passage in which Mercury appears holds a particularly
profound dialogue with preceding texts, and especially with Vergil’s two main
intertextual models, Homer and Apollonius. In what follows we will try to follow
this dialogue and to disentangle some of the threads which concur in forming
the image and the actions of Vergilian Mercury.
1. Mercury’s First Visit to Carthage (Aen. 1.297–304)

Jupiter has just finished his prophecy on Aeneas’ and Rome’s glorious future,
and sends Mercury to Carthage to appease the Carthaginians’—and Dido’s—
savage hearts; paradoxically, it is the first step toward the biggest obstacle
Aeneas’ Roman mission will encounter on its journey (Aen. 1.297–304):3
Haec ait et Maia genitum demittit ab alto,

ut terrae utque novae pateant Karthaginis arces
hospitio Teucris, ne fati nescia Dido
finibus arceret. volat ille per aera magnum
remigio alarum ac Libyae citus astitit oris.
et iam iussa facit, ponuntque ferocia Poeni
corda volente deo; in primis regina quietum
accipit in Teucros animum mentemque benignam.
So he says, and sends the son of Maia down from heaven, so that the
land and the fortresses of newly-built Carthage may open to welcome
the Teucrians, lest Dido, in ignorance of fate, should drive them from
her lands. He flies down through the vast air, wielding his wings like
oars, and soon he alights on the shores of Libya. And already he
carries out the orders, and the Phoenicians lay aside their fierce
thoughts in accordance with the will of the god; the queen most of all
receives a meek mind and benevolent purpose toward the Teucrians.
Mercury here acts in his role of peace-maker, connected with his mastery over
the persuasive powers of language.4 The pacifying aspect of the god’s
intervention is based on two precedents in Vergil’s most important epic models:
(1) Of course, the main Homeric model for Aeneas’ arrival at Carthage is
Odysseus’ arrival on Scheria, and the trip of Aeneas to the temple of Juno in Aen.
1 recalls that of Odysseus to the house of Alcinous and Arete in Od. 7. (p.175)
Now, the Phaeacians, like the Carthaginians, are not very well-disposed toward
newcomers, as Athena, disguised as a Phaeacian maiden, instructs Odysseus: he
has to follow her toward Alcinous’ house, but without looking at anyone and
without posing any questions, οὐ γὰρ ξείνους οἵδε μάλ᾽ ἀνθρώπους ἀνέχονται, /
οὐδ᾽ ἀγαπαζόμενοι φιλέουσ᾽ ὅς κ᾽ ἄλλοθεν ἔλθῃ (“for they neither put up very
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much with strangers, nor welcome hospitably those who come from a foreign
land,” Od. 7.32–3). Athena, as she has already done at 7.14–17, sheds a divine
mist around him so that he can proceed without danger (40–2). When the
goddess reveals herself to Odysseus on Ithaca, however, she says something
more specific about the help she gave the hero at Scheria: he did not recognize
her, his protectress, ἥ τέ τοι αἰεὶ / ἐν πάντεσσι πόνοισι παρίσταμαι ἠδὲ
φυλάσσω, / καὶ δέ σε Φαιήκεσσι φίλον πάντεσσιν ἔθηκα (“I who always in all
your troubles stand at your side and watch over you and made you welcome to
all the Phaeacians” Od. 13.300–2).5 (2) It is possible that Apollonius alludes to
this intervention of Athena when he relates in indirect speech what Aeetes says
to the assembly of the Colchians (Arg. 3.584–8):
οὐδὲ γὰρ Αἰολίδην Φρίξον μάλα περ χατέοντα

δέχθαι ἐνὶ μεγάροισιν ἐφέστιον, ὃς περὶ πάντων
ξείνων μειλιχίῃ τε θεουδείῃ τ᾽ ἐκέκαστο,
εἰ μή οἱ Ζεὺς αὐτὸς ἀπ᾽ οὐρανοῦ ἄγγελον ἧκεν
Ἑρμείαν, ὥς κεν προσκηδέος ἀντιάσειεν.
For he would never have welcomed Phrixos, grandson of Aeolus, as a

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

assembly of the Colchians outside of his palace, ἀτλήτους Μινύῃσι δόλους καὶ
κήδεα τεύχων (“devising against the Minyans insufferable deceptions and
troubles,” Arg. 3.578).9 The moment when Dido fully “becomes” Aeetes is in her
speech at Aen. 4.590–629; Moorton (1989: 53) points out the connection of Aen.
4.590 and 607 with Arg. 4.229 (invocation to Jupiter and Sol ~ invocation to
Zeus and Helius), and that of Aen. 4.600–6 with Arg. 4.233–4 (thirst for
vengeance of Dido and Aeetes). But more significant for our present purposes is
the way the words of Dido at 604–6, in which she regrets not having burned the
ships when she had the chance, echo not only those of the “Euripidean” Medea
at Arg. 4.391–3, as is well known:10
faces in castra tulissem

implessemque foros flammis natumque patremque
cum genere extinxem, memet super ipsa dedissem
I should have carried fire into his camp and filled his decks with
flames, and killed father and son with all their race, and thrown
myself on top of all,
ὧς φάτ᾽ ἀναζείουσα βαρὺν χόλον· ἵετο δ᾽ ἥ γε

νῆα καταφλέξαι, διά τ᾽ †ἔμπεδα πάντα κεάσσαι,
ἐν δὲ πεσεῖν αὐτὴ μαλερῷ πυρί
So she spoke, seething with heavy anger; and she longed to set fire
to the ship and shatter everything […] in pieces, and throw herself
into the raging fire,
(p.177) But Dido’s words also echo those of Aeetes at the assembly of the
Colchians at Arg. 3.581–2, reported in indirect speech: as soon as the bulls had
torn Jason apart:
δρυμὸν ἀναρρήξας λασίης καθύπερθε κολώνης

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

mollifying effects of Mercury’s first intervention.
A major irony in the development of Dido’s story, of course, is that Aeneas’

abandonment, and thus Dido’s (re)transformation into a Euripidean Medea/
Aeetes, is provoked, or at least set in motion, by Mercury himself with his
second and third visits to Carthage in Book 4. This irony appears even more
acute if we consider another double influence, again simultaneously Homeric
and Apollonian, on Mercury’s first intervention in Aeneid 1.
Let us return to Hermes’ pacifying intervention as recalled by Aeetes in his

speech to the Colchian assembly of Arg. 3. This first (and only) reference to
Hermes as emissary of Zeus in Apollonius, besides evoking the pacifying
intervention of Athena among the Phaeacians, alludes to the first mention of an
intervention of Hermes as emissary of Zeus in the Odyssey. At the very
beginning of the poem, Zeus casually recalls the time when he sent Hermes to
Aegisthus to admonish him and prevent his crimes, unsuccessfully (Od. 1.27–43).
Mercury’s first descent to Carthage shares with Aeetes’ remembrance of
Hermes’ intervention a reference to the context of Hermes’ Odyssean
interventions. Mercury’s first intervention in the Aeneid follows the conversation
between Venus and Jupiter, a scene that recalls, among other passages,11 the
exchange between Zeus and Athena at Od. 1.26–95.12 After Zeus agrees that the
gods should think about Odysseus’ return, Athena advances two suggestions:
Hermes should be sent to order Calypso to free Odysseus, and she herself will go
to Ithaca to help Telemachus. Only the (p.178) second suggestion is
immediately put into action; the first one is apparently forgotten until the
beginning of Book 5, when Athena again addresses Zeus about the issue of
Odysseus’ return (without mentioning Hermes), and the god reacts by sending
Hermes to Ogygia.13 Thus Mercury’s first mission to Carthage at 1.297–304
already recalls Hermes’ mission to Ogygia as suggested in Od. 1 and realized in
Od. 5, which will be the fundamental model for Mercury’s mission to Carthage in
Aeneid 4.219–72.14
Apollonius also refers to the Odyssean passage(s) concerning Hermes’ mission to

Ogygia in another context: Aphrodite’s sending of Eros to Aea in Arg. 3. In
particular, Eros’ descent recalls Hermes’ descent in Od. 5.15 Vergil alludes to
Apollonian Eros when describing the descent of Mercury in Aen. 1: “Just as Eros
flies ἀν᾽ αἰθέρα πολλόν (Arg. 3.166), so Mercury flies per aëra magnum (Aen.
1.300).”16 Jupiter’s sending of Mercury to Carthage and the god’s flight recall
both Zeus’ sending of Hermes to Ogygia in the Odyssey and Aphrodite’s sending
of Eros to Aea and serves to heighten the narrative suspense: will the gods’
interference with Aeneas’ affairs in Carthage be limited to this intervention? The
reader of the poem might legitimately think at first that with this intervention
the gods’ interference in Dido’s life is over. But on the contrary, Venus is not
content at all with Jupiter’s sending of Mercury to mollify the hearts of the
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Carthaginians and of Dido. A series of more and more pressing divine

interventions is about to influence the events at Carthage, culminating in the
real repetition of Aphrodite’s sending of Eros at Aen. 1.657–722 and of Juno’s
nuptial project at 4.90–128.
2. Mercury and Aeneas (Aen. 4.219–78)

Jupiter hears Iarbas’ prayer, turns his gaze to Carthage, and sends Mercury to
order Aeneas to leave and resume his mission. Vergil’s fundamental model here
is Zeus’ dispatch of Hermes to Calypso to free Odysseus at Od. 5.28–42.17 In the
Odyssey it is Athena, Odysseus’ protectress, who asks her father Zeus to free the
hero, who is detained by Calypso against his will (Od. 5.44–62); here instead it is
Iarbas, an enemy of Aeneas, who asks his father Jupiter to intervene in order to
destroy the relationship between Dido and Aeneas. (p.179) The god does
intervene, but he is not concerned at all with Iarbas’ own aspirations and
resentments: “he [sc. Jupiter] only uses him [sc. Iarbas] as an ‘alarm bell’ that
alerts him to the fact that Aeneas’ historical mission is currently on hold at
Carthage.”18 In fact, notwithstanding his initial focus on “the lovers forgetful of
their better repute” (221), Jupiter does not make any reference to Dido or to
Aeneas’ love for her, in the message to Aeneas that he entrusts to Mercury.19
The speech of Jupiter to Mercury presents no verbal echoes of Zeus speaking to

Hermes at Od. 5.29–42.20 Of course, in the Odyssey, Zeus has no reason to
reproach Odysseus, and accordingly sends Hermes to Calypso, not to the hero.
However, the two speeches share the same concern about the hero’s future and
fate: Odysseus is fated to reach Phaeacian Scheria and then Ithaca, “since it is
his destiny to see his friends and to arrive in his high-roofed house and the land
of his fathers” (Od. 5.41–2 = 5.114–15, Mercury’s speech to Calypso); Aeneas’
fate, as promised to Jupiter by Venus (a striking inversion of the situation of Aen.
1), is to dominate Italy and through his descendants the whole world. (By
choosing the epithet Dardanium at 224, Jupiter may hint at Dardanus’ Italic
origin and at the idea of Aeneas’ voyage as a νόστος, like that of Odysseus.)
Obeying his father’s command, Mercury prepares himself, and then flies to
Carthage (Aen. 4.238–58):
Dixerat. ille patris magni parere parabat

imperio; et primum pedibus talaria nectit
aurea, quae sublimem alis sive aequora supra
seu terram rapido pariter cum flamine portant.
tum virgam capit: hac animas ille evocat Orco
pallentis, alias sub Tartara tristia mittit,
dat somnos adimitque, et lumina morte resignat.
illa fretus agit ventos et turbida tranat
nubila. iamque volans apicem et latera ardua cernit
Atlantis duri caelum qui vertice fulcit,
Atlantis, cinctum adsidue cui nubibus atris
Page 6 of 21
piniferum caput et vento pulsatur et imbri,

nix umeros infusa tegit, tum flumina mento
praecipitant senis, et glacie riget horrida barba.
hic primum paribus nitens Cyllenius alis
(p.180) constitit; hinc toto praeceps se corpore ad undas
misit avi similis, quae circum litora, circum
piscosos scopulos humilis volat aequora iuxta.
haud aliter terras inter caelumque volabat
litus harenosum ad Libyae, ventosque secabat
materno veniens ab avo Cyllenia proles.
So he had spoken. Mercury prepared to obey his father’s command;

and first he binds on his feet the golden sandals which carry him
high on wings over seas or land together with the whirling wind.
Then he takes his wand, with which he calls forth the pale souls from
Orcus and sends others into grim Tartarus, he gives and takes away
slumber, and unseals the eyes in death. With it, he drives the winds
and swims across the turbulent clouds. And now in flight he sees the
top and steep sides of hard Atlas—Atlas, whose head abounding in
pines is ever girt with dark clouds and beaten with wind and rain;
fallen snow covers his shoulders, while rivers plunge down his chin,
and his beard is rough with ice. Here, pressing on with equal wings,
the Cyllenian first halted; from there with all his weight he threw
himself headlong down to the waves like a bird, which around the
shores, around the cliffs full of fishes, flies low near to the waters.
Thus Cyllene’s offspring flew between earth and heaven to the sandy
shores of Libya, cleaving his way through the winds and coming from
his own maternal grandfather.
Mercury’s preparation and flight to Carthage via Atlas are closely modeled on
Hermes’ preparation and flight to Ogygia via Pieria at Od. 5.43–54:
ὣς ἔφατ᾽, οὐδ᾽ ἀπίθησε διάκτορος ἀργεϊφόντης

αὐτίκ᾽ ἔπειθ᾽ ὑπὸ ποσσὶν ἐδήσατο καλὰ πέδιλα,
ἀμβρόσια χρύσεια, τά μιν φέρον ἠμὲν ἐφ᾽ ὑγρὴν
ἠδ᾽ ἐπ᾽ ἀπείρονα γαῖαν ἅμα πνοιῇς ἀνέμοιο.
εἵλετο δὲ ῥάβδον, τῇ τ᾽ ἀνδρῶν ὄμματα θέλγει,
ὧν ἐθέλει, τοὺς δ᾽ αὖτε καὶ ὑπνώοντας ἐγείρει.
τὴν μετὰ χερσὶν ἔχων πέτετο κρατὺς ἀργεϊφόντης.
Πιερίην δ᾽ ἐπιβὰς ἐξ αἰθέρος ἔμπεσε πόντῳ·
σεύατ᾽ ἔπειτ᾽ ἐπὶ κῦμα λάρῳ ὄρνιθι ἐοικώς,
ὅς τε κατὰ δεινοὺς κόλπους ἁλὸς ἀτρυγέτοιο
ἰχθῦς ἀγρώσσων πυκινὰ πτερὰ δεύεται ἅλμῃ·
τῷ ἴκελος πολέεσσιν ὀχήσατο κύμασιν Ἑρμῆς.
So he spoke, and the messenger Argeiphontes did not disobey.

Straightaway he bound under his feet his beautiful sandals, divine,
golden, which were wont to carry him both over the sea and over the
boundless land along with the blasts of the wind. And he took the
Page 7 of 21
wand, with which he lulls to sleep the eyes of whom he wishes, while
others again he awakens from slumber. With that in his hand the
strong Argeiphontes flew down. From the ether he alit on Pieria and
swooped down to the sea; and then he rushed over the waves like a
bird, a cormorant, which over the fearful gulfs of the unharvested
sea wets its dense plumage in the brine, catching fish; like it did
Hermes go over many waves.
However, the designation of the god as Cyllenius (252, 258, 276) alludes to Od.
24.1, where Hermes Κυλλήνιος is introduced as leading the souls of the suitors
(p.181) to the Underworld (note that Od. 24.3–4 = Il. 24.343–4 = Od. 5.47–8), a
context recalled at 242–4, where Mercury is described in his function as guide of
the souls of the dead, a dark detail absent from the Od. 5 passage, pointing to
the lethal consequences for Dido of the god’s visit to Aeneas.21
According to Nelis (2001: 155–7), Mercury’s mission is also reminiscent of two

Apollonian contexts which were in their turn modeled on Od. 5: Thetis’ descent
to visit Peleus in order to prepare the Argonauts’ departure from the island of
Circe, Aeaea (cf. Arg. 4.757–69 and Od. 5.29–42, Hera speaking to Iris and Zeus
speaking to Hermes), and Eros’ flight down to Colchian Aea (cf. Arg. 3.156–7 and
Od. 5.44–9), the same scene that, as we have seen, was already a model for
Mercury’s first descent to Carthage in Book 1. As to the first passage, Nelis
suggests that the fact that Mercury goes directly to Aeneas, whereas in Homer
Hermes addresses Calypso rather than Odysseus, is influenced by the fact that
Thetis, obeying Hera’s order, goes directly to Peleus and tells him to leave Aeaea
the next morning (Arg. 4.856–81). Later Aeneas’ reaction to Mercury’s speech
(279 at vero Aeneas aspectu obmutuit amens) perhaps recalls Peleus’ reaction
on seeing his wife (Arg. 4.866, 880).22
At Od. 5.47–8 Homer refers only to the power of Hermes’ wand over states of
sleep and wakefulness (244 dat somnos adimitque).23 Vergil adds to this multiple
and emphatic references to the role of Hermes’ wand in controlling the
crossings between the living and the dead (242–3 hac animas ille evocat Orco /
pallentis, alias sub Tartara tristia mittit; 244 et lumina morte resignat).24 The
formulation of 244 is especially ominous: Tartara is used here in the general
sense of “realm of the dead,” but it has particularly sinister implications, given
that it usually refers to the place of punishment of the worst sinners, whereas
the dying invoked Mercurius ut se placido itinere in meliorem (p.182) sedis
infernae deduceret partem (“so that he bring them with a peaceful voyage into
the better part of the Underworld,” Val. Max. 2.6.8; cf. Hor. C. 1.10.16–17).
Furthermore, elsewhere in the Aeneid the “formulaic” sub Tartara mittere means
“to kill,” corresponding to the Homeric Ἄϊδι προϊάπτειν (Il. 1.3, 11.55, etc.). The
implications are clear: Mercury’s intervention will metaphorically “awaken”
Aeneas from his “slumber,”25 but it will also bring the slumber of reason and
death to Dido.26
Page 8 of 21
Mercury summons the souls of the dead from the Underworld (242–3 hac animas
ille evocat27 Orco / pallentis, where animas…evocat ~ Od. 24.1 ψυχὰς…
ἐξεκαλεῖτο),28 and also, mysteriously, lumina morte resignat, a famously difficult
phrase, and an unexpected return to Mercury’s involvement with death after
alias sub Tartara tristia mittit. Resignare primarily means “to break the seal of,”
“to unseal” (OLD s.v. 1a).29 Thus there can be no doubt30 that here lumina
resignare = “open the eyes.” Most commentators since De La Cerda 1612 have
accepted the explanation of Turnebus, comparing Plin. NH 11.150.31 The
opening of the eyes on the pyre is not attested elsewhere, “but it would be a
natural part of the Roman conception of a ψυχοπομπός, the object being that the
dead might see their way to the lower world.”32 The resulting meaning, however,
is too similar to alias sub Tartara…mittit to be fully convincing. Among the many
other explanations, that of (p.183) Wagner (ap. Heyne and Wagner 1830)
implies taking the phrase as = “resignat a morte.” In a variation of this, “he
unseals the eyes from death” might mean “he restores to life the dead”; that
would be an unwelcome return to the idea of 242, animas ille evocat Orco.
Maybe, however, at 242 the point may be that Mercury “calls (momentarily)
ghosts from the Underworld” to the realm of the living, while at 244 “he opens
the eyes from death,” i.e. he “definitively” resurrects the dead and calls them
back to life.33 Mercury does not usually resuscitate the dead—but one example
of resuscitation by Mercury is the story about Pelops quoted earlier;34 and in
fact, the recovery of Persephone and that of Protesilaus can also be seen in
terms of resuscitation (intermittent, in the case of Persephone; temporary, in the
case of Protesilaus) rather than of the evocation of souls. At Hor. C. 1.24.17
Mercury, as shepherd of the dead, is said to be non lenis precibus fata recludere
(“not gentle in opening the Underworld35 in response to prayers.” There
recludere ~ resignare), which might suggest that it was sometimes possible for
him “to open the Underworld.” Alternatively, “he unseals eyes from death” might
“refer mysteriously to some aspect of existence in the Underworld,”36 in
particular to some aspect of metempsychosis (cf. 6.748–51, where the deus who
evocat at 749 is Mercury, according to “others” cited by Servius ad loc. on the
basis of the present passage).37
The descent of Hermes to Ogygia brings him to Pieria (Πιερίην δ᾽ ἐπιβὰς ἐξ

αἰθέρος), a mountain range which constitutes a northern offshoot of Mt.
Olympus; from there he swoops down upon the sea (Od. 5.50), like a bird (as
Mercury will do at 252–8). Vergil expands this small Homeric detail by bringing
his Mercury to Atlas and giving a description of both the mountain and the
human figure of the god, caelum qui vertice fulcit (247). Vergil’s allusion to
Homer’s Pieria is filtered through the imitation of this same Odyssey passage at
Arg. 3.161–2: Eros’ flight from Olympus to Colchian Aea (already a model for
Mercury’s first visit to Carthage in Aen. 1) takes him past a place at the eastern
edge of the world, where δοιὼ δὲ πόλον38 ἀνέχουσι κάρηνα / οὐρέων ἠλιβάτων,
κορυφαὶ χθονός (“two peaks of lofty mountains hold up the sky, the peaks of the
Page 9 of 21
earth”).39 This suggestion of a similarity between Mercury and Eros is bitterly

ironic: “Mercury’s mission is to end a love-affair, whereas Eros initiated one.”40
(p.184) The “curiously elaborated and baroque” description of Atlas41 has

multiple symbolic resonances in the present context: the image of “hard
Atlas” (247), describing a Giant punished for his rebellion against Jupiter, who
now almost stoically tolerates his labor, can be seen as a prefiguration of
Aeneas, momentarily rebellious against Jupiter in his stay in Carthage, but soon
to be recalled to his hard duty by Mercury’s message.42
Mercury finds Aeneas building Carthage, dressed as a Carthaginian. The god is

shocked and, briskly departing from the speech Jupiter assigned him, calls
Aeneas uxorius, almost “slave of a wife” (266):43
continuo invadit: “tu nunc Karthaginis altae

fundamenta locas pulchramque uxorius urbem
exstruis? heu, regni rerumque oblite tuarum!
ipse deum tibi me claro demittit Olympo
regnator, caelum et terras qui numine torquet,
ipse haec ferre iubet celeris mandata per auras:
quid struis? aut qua spe Libycis teris otia terris?
si te nulla movet tantarum gloria rerum
[nec super ipse tua moliris laude laborem,]
Ascanium surgentem et spes heredis Iuli
respice, cui regnum Italiae Romanaque tellus
debetur.”
At once he assails him: “Are you now putting in place the foundations
of high Carthage, and building up a wonderful city, enslaved to your
wife? Alas, forgetful of your kingdom and of the deeds that await
you! The king of the gods himself, who governs with his power
heaven and earth, sends me to you from bright Olympus. He himself
orders that I bring you this command through the swift breezes.
What do you have in mind? Or for what are you hoping while idling
your time away in Libyan lands? If you are not stirred by the glory of
such a great deed, [and for your own glory you do not make any
effort,] have regard for growing Ascanius and for the hopes
entertained by Iulus, to whom the kingdom of Italy and the land of
Rome are owed.”
The whole first part of Mercury’s speech is not based on Jupiter’s speech, but
constitutes his own personal introductory “adaptation” of the message he must
transmit to Aeneas. This corresponds structurally to Hermes’ personal
introduction of his speech to Calypso (Od. 5.97–104). There the god, after (p.
185) having replied to the nymph (since in Od. 5 it is Calypso who first
addresses Hermes, and he dines before delivering Zeus’ message), first
complains about the difficulty of his voyage, but then concludes that “it is in no
way possible that any other god evade or frustrate the will of aegis-bearing
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Zeus” (103–4). Mercury substitutes Hermes’ formal words to Calypso with a

harsh reproach, based not on Jupiter’s instructions but on his personal
experience of having seen the “Tyrian” Aeneas busy with the building of the city
of his wife. Mercury makes no complaints about the unpleasantness of his
voyage but, like Hermes, he emphatically stresses the power of Jupiter with the
same obvious implication that the recipient of the message has no other option
than to obey his will (268–70). Of course, Odysseus is not reproached either by
Zeus or by Hermes;44 Mercury’s reproach to Aeneas also corresponds to the
intervention of Heracles on Lemnos (Arg. 1.865–74).45
Mercury, having left out the words about Venus’ promise (227–31), focuses on
the kernel of Jupiter’s message (232–5), “repeating” it with skillful variations
both in the order of the lines and in the content of the speech. Mercury
(partially) repeats only two lines out of the six that constitute Jupiter’s more
direct address to Aeneas: 271 ~ 235, 272 ~ 232. This is a precise allusion to the
Homeric model, where, of the fourteen lines of Zeus’ speech (Od. 5.29–42),
Hermes, in his nineteen-line speech to Calypso (Od. 5.97–115), repeats only two
at the end of his speech (114–15 ~ 41–2), whereas Mercury places the repetition
of his two lines at the beginning of his speech.46 Otherwise Mercury, even if he
clearly inherits the independence of his Homeric counterpart, is a more faithful
messenger than Hermes, who “in what seems a spirit of sheer perverseness…
ignores ten lines in which Zeus refers to Odysseus’ future actions and
experiences (31–40), and devotes six of his own to the hero’s past (106–11),”47
after having added an eight-line introduction that is entirely his own (97–104),
which corresponds structurally to the completely Mercurial introduction of 265–
70. Apart from the two semi-repetitions at 271–2, Mercury echoes some other
key words from Jupiter’s speech (Ascanium, respice, Italiam, Romanaque); he
omits the reference to the Carthaginians as “enemy people” (235), which would
have puzzled Aeneas; he transforms Jupiter’s bland nec…respicit? (236) and his
brief reference to Aeneas’ duty toward Ascanius (234 Ascanione pater Romanas
invidet arces?) into the much more assertive and emphatic Ascanium surgentem
et spes heredis Iuli / respice, cui regnum Italiae Romanaque tellus / debetur
(274–6). This is appropriate to (p.186) Mercury as the god of eloquence,48 and
maybe also to his being “an essentially youthful deity” (cf. 559 membra decora
iuventa), ready to champion another young man like Ascanius when he gets the
chance.49
3. Mercury’s Dream Apparition to Aeneas (Aen. 4.553–70)

At 259–78 Mercury, sent by Jupiter, visited Aeneas in the daytime. Now the god,
apparently on his own initiative, returns at night, appears to Aeneas in his sleep,
and reproaches him for sleeping in such a dangerous situation: the enraged Dido
meditates crimes in her heart; he must leave now (Aen. 4.560–70):50
“nate dea, potes hoc sub casu ducere somnos,

nec quae te circum stent deinde pericula cernis,
Page 11 of 21
demens, nec Zephyros audis spirare secundos?

illa dolos dirumque nefas in pectore versat
certa mori, variosque irarum concitat aestus.
non fugis hinc praeceps, dum praecipitare potestas?
iam mare turbari trabibus saevasque videbis
conlucere faces, iam fervere litora flammis,
si te his attigerit terris Aurora morantem.
heia age, rumpe moras. varium et mutabile semper
femina.” sic fatus nocti se immiscuit atrae.
“Son of a goddess, can you still sleep at a time like this? Do you not
see the dangers that encircle you, madman? And do you not hear the
Zephyrs that blow propitiously? She, resolved to die, revolves in her
heart deceptions and nefarious crime, and stirs up the changeable
tides of her anger. Will you not flee now with all your speed, while a
speedy flight still is possible? Soon you will see ships churning the
sea and cruel torches blazing, and soon the shores flashing with
flames, if dawn finds you lingering in these lands. Come then! Break
off delays! An unstable and always changing thing is woman.” So he
spoke, and melted himself into the dark night.
(p.187) Whereas the main model of Mercury’s first mission was Hermes’
mission to Calypso in Od. 5, here the model is Hermes’ second visit to Priam—in
the night, on his initiative, and following his earlier appearance—at Il. 24.677–
95. The god reproaches Priam for sleeping in a such a dangerous situation:
Agamemnon and the other Achaeans might find out about his presence in their
camp and take him hostage.51 Compare especially the beginning of Hermes’
speech to Priam (Il. 24.683–4):
“ὦ γέρον οὔ νύ τι σοί γε μέλει κακόν, οἷον ἔθ᾽ εὕδεις

ἀνδράσιν ἐν δηΐοισιν, ἐπεί σ᾽ εἴασεν Ἀχιλλεύς”
“Old man, so you are not concerned of any danger, that you are
sleeping among the enemies, after Achilles spared you.”
Surely there is a paradoxical aspect in Mercury’s exhortation to beware of

Dido’s doli. After all, he himself is none other than Hermes Δόλιος (invoked as
such e.g. by Odysseus at Soph. Phil. 133),52 and readers have often thought that
here Mercury is in fact lying when he gives Aeneas the image of a deceitful,
vengeful, and changeable Dido. As Austin points out (1955 ad loc.), “in spite of
her wild moods she has never ceased deep within her to love Aeneas, and she
had no plots against him to do him personal injury.” Feeney (1998: 122) also
refers in this context to the image of Mercury as “the archetypal liar.”
In fact we have already seen how Mercury’s words about Dido plotting
“deceptions and nefarious crimes” relocate her in the role of an angry Aeetes at
the time of Mercury’s first visit to Carthage. Recently, Alessandro Schiesaro has
given a brilliant treatment of Mercury’s speech, emphasizing the importance of
Page 12 of 21
the Euripidean intertext at line 568, where Mercury’s words, si te attigerit terris
Aurora morantem, echo those of Creon to Medea at Medea 351–4: προυννέπω δέ
σοι, / εἴ σ᾽ ἡ ‘πιοῦσα λαμπὰς ὄψεται θεοῦ / καὶ παῖδας ἐντὸς τῆσδε τερμόνων
χθονός, / θανῇ (“But let me warn you, if tomorrow’s sun sees you and your
children within the borders of this land, you will be put to death”).53 This
allusion, which at first seems “irrationally” to suggest an identification of Medea
with Aeneas, serves to signal the transformation of Dido from the lovestruck
Medea of Apollonius’ Book 3 to the vengeful and dangerous “Euripidean” Medea
of Apollonius’ Book 4, and of Euripides’ Medea. But this transformation has
already been hinted at in Dido’s speech to Anna at 4.433 (tempus inane peto,
spatium requiemque furori), a line (p.188) apparently “innocuous” and humble,
which instead reworks Medea’s menacing words in her monologue following her
exchange with Creon: “And so I shall wait a little time yet, and if some tower of
safety appears, I shall go about this murder in silence and by deception” (Eur.
Med. 389–91).54
Intertextuality suggests that the potentially deceitful Mercury of Aen. 4.560–70

is actually telling Aeneas the truth in regard to the danger Dido poses: she has
been transformed into a vengeful Aeetes and a homicidal Medea, and Aeneas is
actually in danger as he sleeps, just as Priam was actually in danger when he
slept in the middle of the enemies’ camp.
Bibliography
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Bailey, C. 1935. Religion in the Aeneid. Oxford.
Brillante, C. 1990. “Scene oniriche nei poemi omerici.” MD 24: 31–46.
Combet-Farnoux, B. 1980. Mercure romain: Le culte public de Mercure et la

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Davidson, J. F. 1992. “Tragic Daughter of Atlas?” Mnemosyne 45: 367–71.
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et les dieux dans les Argonautiques et l’Enéide. Paris.
Feeney, D. 1991. The Gods in Epic: Poets and Critics of the Classical Tradition.
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Feeney, D. 1998. “Leaving Dido: The Appearances(s) of Mercury and the

Motivations of Aeneas.” In M. Burden, ed. A Woman Scorn’d: Responses to the
Dido Myth. 105–27. London.
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Literature. Cambridge.
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Bimillenary Lectures 1982. Vancouver. 1–47.
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Hejduk, J. 2009. “Jupiter’s Aeneid: Fama and Imperium.” ClAnt 28: 279–327.
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Homer’s Odyssey, Vol. I. Oxford.
Heyne, C. G. and G. P. E. Wagner. 1830. P. Virgilius Maro varietate lectionis et

perpetua adnotatione illustratus a C. G. Heyne, Editio quarta curavit G. P. E.
Wagner, Vol. II. Leipzig and London.
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Papers 1.29–54.
Hunter, R. L. 1989. Apollonius of Rhodes: Argonautica, Book III. Cambridge.
Hunter, R. L. 1993. The Argonautica of Apollonius: Literary Studies. Cambridge.
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Kerényi, K. 1985. “The Primordial Child in Primordial Times.” In C. G. Jung and

K. Kerényi, Science of Mythology: Essays on the Myth of the Divine Child and the
Mysteries of Eleusis. Trans. R. F. C. Hull. London and New York. 29–82.
Knauer, G. N. 1964. Die Aeneis und Homer: Studien zur poetischen Technik
Vergils mit Listen der Homerzitate in der Aeneis. Göttingen.
Kraggerud, E. 1968. Aeneisstudien. Oslo.
Kühn, W. 1971. Götterszenen bei Vergil. Heidelberg.
Lyne, R. O. A. M. 1989. Words and the Poet: Characteristic Techniques of Style in

Vergil’s Aeneid. Oxford.
Lyne, R. O. A. M. 1998. “Love and Death: Laodamia and Protesilaus in Catullus,

Propertius, and Others.” CQ 48: 200–12 = R. O. A. M. Lyne, Collected Papers on
Latin Poetry. Oxford (2007). 211–26.
McGushin, P. 1964. “Virgil and the Spirit of Endurance.” AJP 85: 225–53.
Moorton, R. F. 1989. “Dido and Aeetes.” Vergilius 35: 48–54.
Morwood, J. H. W. 1985. “Aeneas and Mount Atlas.” JRS 75: 51–9.
Nelis, D. 2001. Vergil’s Aeneid and the Argonautica of Apollonius Rhodius.

Leeds.
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O’Hara, J. 2011. Vergil: Aeneid Book 4. Newburyport.
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5: 109–29.
Pearson, J. 1961. “Virgil’s ‘Divine Vision’ (Aeneid 4.238–44 and 6.724–51).” CP

56: 33–8.
Pease, A. S. 1935. Publi Vergili Maronis Aeneidos Liber Quartus. Cambridge,

MA.
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Pöschl, V. 1962. The Art of Vergil: Image and Symbol in the Aeneid. Trans. G.
Seligson. Ann Arbor ~ 1977. Die Dichtkunst Virgils. Bild und Symbol in der
Äneis. 3rd ed. Berlin and New York.
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Reed, J. D. 2007. Virgil’s Gaze: Nation and Poetry in the Aeneid. Princeton.
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WJA NF 1: 125–36.
Schmit-Neuerburg, T. 1999. Vergils Aeneis und die antike Homerexegese.

Untersuchungen zum Einfluß ethischer und kritischer Homerrezeption auf
imitatio und aemulatio Vergils. Berlin and New York.
Schiesaro, A. 2008. “Furthest Voices in Virgil’s Dido.” SIFC N.S. 6: 60–109, 194–
245.
(p.190) Sharrock, A. 2013. “Uxorius: The Praise and Blame of Husbands.”

EuGeStA 3: 162–95.
Short, W. M. 2012–13. “Mercury in the Middle: The Many Meanings of (medius)

sermo in Latin.” CJ 108: 189–217.
Turnebus, A. 1564–5. Adversaria. Vols. 1–2. Paris.
Vergados, A. 2013. The Homeric Hymn to Hermes: Introduction, Text, and

Commentary. Berlin.
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Wagner. 3rd ed. Leipzig.
Notes:
(1) For essays dedicated to Mercury in the Aeneid, see Harrison 1984; Feeney
1998; Fratantuono 2015. Especially important are also Hardie 1986: 276–8;
Feeney 1991: 173–5; Schiesaro 2008: 81–90; Hardie 2012: 92–5.
(2) See, briefly, Bailey 1935: 117–18. Although “Hermes as θεῶν κῆρυξ (Hesiod
Op. 80, Th. 939, fr. 170) is not an explicit concept in Homer” (Hainsworth in
Heubeck et al. 1988 on Od. 5.28), the god acts as a messenger of Zeus in the
Odyssey (1.37–43, 84–7, 5.28–148), whereas in the Iliad the messenger of Zeus is
Iris (e.g. Il. 2.786–7, 8.397–408). At Il. 24.333–8 Zeus sends Hermes to
accompany Priam on his voyage to the tent of Achilles, but gives him no
message; however, Hermes later delivers a message to Priam on his own
initiative (Il. 24.460–7) and returns to address Priam during the night (Il.
24.679–89) in a scene that is the main model for Mercury’s second intervention
at 553–70 (see later); Hermes’ preparation at Il. 24.339–45 = Od. 5.43–9 (~ Aen.
4.238–46). At H.Herm. 3 the god is called ἄγγελον ἀθανάτων ἐριούνιον (“the
gods’ swift messenger”; see Vergados 2013 ad loc.). See also Nisbet and
Hubbard 1970 on Hor. C. 1.10.6. For excellent discussions of the divine
Page 16 of 21
messengers in Homer, Apollonius, and Vergil, see Harrison 1984: 9–17 and
Feeney 1998: 106–11.
(3) See Harrison 1984: 1–8; Nelis 2001: 73–5.
(4) Cf. Plaut. Amph. 32 (Mercury speaking) propterea pace advenio et pacem ad
vos fero; Ov. Met. 14.291 pacifer…Cyllenius (with Hardie 2015 ad loc.); F. 5.665–
6 pacis et armorum…arbiter; and for his associations with Concordia, see
Combet-Farnoux 1980: 343–5; also S. Eitrem, RE 8.782–3.
(5) See Harrison 1984: 8. Nausicaa, speaking to Odysseus, defines the

Phaeacians as ὑπερφίαλοι (“over-weening,” Od. 6.274; see Rose 1969: 390); this
may support the view that the gentis…superbas at Aen. 1.523 include the
Carthaginians as well as the neighboring African tribes.
(6) See de la Ville de Mirmont 1894: 249; Kuhn 1971: 28 n. 2; Moorton 1989
(esp. p. 51 on parallels between Jason’s first audience with Aeetes and Aeneas’
first audience with Dido); Schmit-Neuerburg 1999: 113 n. 309; Nelis 2001: 75.
(7) Nelis 2001: 75.
(8) See esp. Moorton 1989: 53.
(9) Immediately after having recalled Hermes’ intervention, Aeetes refers to the
κρυπταδίους…δόλους the Argonauts would be devising (Arg. 3.592), and to them
as “stateless brigands living off the land,” as paraphrased by Hunter 1989 on
3.592–3, who compares Aen. 1.527–8, where Ilioneus rejects that very
accusation in his speech to Dido immediately after denouncing his attack by the
Carthaginians (Aen. 1.525–6).
(10) See e.g. Nelis 2001: 168.
(11) Cf. especially Thetis and Zeus in Il. 1.493–530; Naev. Bel. Pun. fr. 5 Mariotti.
(12) See Knauer 1964: 496, with further references.
(13) On the narrative problems created by this structural repetition, see

Hainsworth in Heubeck et al. 1988: 251–2.
(14) See also Knauer 1964: 210 n. 1 and 374; Nelis 2001: 74. The duplication of
the missions of Mercury to Carthage in Aen. 1 and 4 may hint at the
“duplication” of Hermes’ missions to Ogygia in Od. 1 and 5.
(15) Cf. the preparations of the two gods: Arg. 3.156–7 ~ Od. 5.44–7; see Nelis
2001: 74 and n. 35.
(16) Nelis 2001: 73.
Page 17 of 21
(17) See Knauer 1964: 209–14, 386–7.
(18) Gildenhard 2012: 192.
(19) Harrison 1984: 20: “[F]or him to proceed as if Dido did not even exist
involves an extra dimension of callousness”; see also Hejduk 2009: 229 for
Jupiter’s elision of any hint at the sentimental reasons that may detain Aeneas at
Carthage.
(20) Apart from a possible instance at 237, where the line-ending nuntius esto in
the last line of Jupiter’s speech perhaps echoes the line-ending ἄγγελός ἐσσι in
the first line of Zeus’ speech (Od. 5.29), with variation in the meaning of
ἄγγελος, “messenger” in Homer, “message” in Vergil (Knauer 1964: 210 and n.
2).
(21) The context of Il. 24.339–45 (= Od. 5.43–9) is also recalled, since Mercury’s
second visit to Aeneas at 553–70 will correspond to Hermes’ returning to Priam
during the night to rouse him (Il. 24.679–89); see below.
(22) For important remarks on how “[t]he descent of Mercury…represents a

reversal of the ascent of Fama, the reimposition of Olympian order in a space
which has been threatened by an evil chthonic power,” see Hardie 1986: 276–8
(278). Among the many similarities and contrasts between Fama and Mercury,
note especially that “Fama is a divinity of perverted speech; one of the most
consistent allegorical identifications of Mercury is as Logos, Ratio, the
unperverted word. More particularly, the Homeric scene of the equipping of
Hermes was allegorized with reference to the descent of the divine Logos from
heaven to earth” (Hardie 1986: 278 with n. 198; further 2012: 92–5).
(23) For Hermes’ power over sleep, besides Od. 5.47–8 = Il. 24.343–4 ~ Od. 24.2–
4; cf. e.g. Il. 24.445; Od. 7.137–8; Ov. Met. 1.671–2 (virgam…/ somniferam) and
715–16; Stat. Theb. 1.306–7.
(24) Hermes plays the role of ψυχοπομπός (but not the word itself, first attested
at Diod. 1.96), also in association with his wand, at Od. 24.1–15 (Hermes
shepherds the ghosts of the suitors down to Hades); cf. esp. 24.5 (after a
repetition of Od. 5.47–8 = Il. 24.343–4). Cf. Petr. 140.12; Stat. Theb. 1.306–8
(modeled on Vergil’s passage). On Hermes conducting the dead to Hades as part
of his chthonic aspect, see also Finglass 2007 on Soph. El. 111; Nisbet-Hubbard
1970 on Hor. C. 1.10.17.
(25) See Kraggerud 1968: 37–8.
(26) See Pöschl 1962: 145–6 = 1977: 177. See also Feeney 1998: 113, and on
Vergil’s emphasis on death in this passage, Paschalis 1985: esp. 112–15.
Page 18 of 21
(27) The verb is attested elsewhere in Vergil only at 6.749, where the deus who
evocat the souls after their thousand-year stay in Elysium (6.749) is possibly but
not necessarily Mercury (see Horsfall 2013 ad loc., and below).
(28) Already at Od. 11.625–6 there is an indirect reference to Hermes’ role in

bringing up the souls of the dead, when Heracles says to Odysseus that he was
able to bring back Cerberus from the nether world, “for Hermes and gleaming-
eyed Athena escorted me.” Hermes is also sent by Zeus down to Hades to guide
Persephone back from the realm of the dead at H.Dem. 334–85 (a scene also
represented on an Attic red-figure bell-krater, attributed to the Persephone
Painter, c.440 BCE). At Aesch. Pers. 628–30 the chorus of the Persians invokes
Hermes together with Earth and Hades, asking that they send up the soul of
Darius; at Choeph. 123–6 Electra asks Hermes chthonios to summon to her the
Underworld demons to hear her prayers (cf. Orestes’ prayer at Choeph. 1–5); in
Aeschylus’ Psychagogoi (TrFG fr. 273a) the Evocators advise Odysseus to invoke
primeval earth, chthonic Hermes, and chthonic Zeus, to send up the souls of the
dead (on the Lykaon Painter’s pelike in Boston representing Odysseus, the shade
of Elpenor, and Hermes [LIMC s.v. “Odysseus” 149], see Ogden 2001: 49–51). In
Euripides’ Protesilaus it is quite certainly Hermes who brings back the soul of
Protesilaus to the world of living; cf. Eur. TrFG fr. 646a, Hyg. Fab. 103, and see
Lyne 1998: 201–4 = 2007: 213–16. According to Servius on 6.603, Mercury had
a role in resuscitating Pelops from the dead: cum eum dii per Mercurium
reuocare ad superos uellent (a resuscitation that might be interesting for the
meaning of lumina morte resignat: see below).
(29) It means “open the lips” at Ter. Maur. 810 (si non resignet labra vocalis
comes); conversely, at Stat. Theb. 3.129 lumina signant = “they close the
eyes” (of dead soldiers).
(30) Pace e.g. Reed 2007: 199.
(31) Turnebus 1564–5, Book 24, Ch. 26 (p. 507 in the 1604 Geneva ed.).
(32) Conington 1884 ad loc.
(33) See Wagner 1861 ad loc.: “aperit oculos morte clausos, s. revocat mortuos in
vitam.”
(34) See n. 37.
(35) See Housman 1888: 32 = Class. Pap. 1.52.
(36) O’Hara 2011 ad loc.
(37) See, along these lines, Pearson 1961: 37.
(38) Platt 1914: 26–7: πόλοι codd.
Page 19 of 21
(39) Hunter 1989 ad loc.; Nelis 2001: 156.
(40) Nelis 2001: 157. On Vergil’s reworking of the Homeric Hermes’ role of
“preventing or limiting erotic liaisons,” see Farrell in this volume. On the
association Eros ~ Hermes in Apollonius and Vergil, we might recall Kerényi’s
idea that “Eros is a divinity very closely related by nature to Hermes” (Kerényi
1985: 64); see also Myers in this volume. It might also be relevant for Vergil’s
choice of Atlas as a staging post between Olympus and Carthage that in Homer
Calypso is a “daughter of Atlas” (Od. 1.52–4); so Knauer 1964: 210 n. 1;
Davidson 1992: 369–70.
(41) Hardie 1986: 276.
(42) “The everlasting endurance of the mountain Atlas (246 ff.) may be compared
to the Stoic resistance of Aeneas (441 ff.)” (Hardie 1986: 373; see 280–1 for a
full comparison of the description of Atlas with the oak simile at 4.441–9). For
other suggestions along these lines, see Gíslason 1937: 32–3; Pöschl 1962: 144–5
= 1977: 176; McGushin 1964: 225–9; Kraggerud 1968: 38–44; Scholz 1975: 134–
6; Morwood 1985; Feeney 1998: 113–14.
(43) On the word and its implications, see the classic treatment of Lyne 1989: 43–
8, and now Sharrock 2013: esp. 166–74.
(44) Even if Heubeck et al. 1988 at Od. 5.97–113 find “a contemptuous sneer” in
Hermes’ allusion to the unmentioned Odysseus.
(45) See Nelis 2001: 157–8. Aeneas has already been associated with Jason on
Lemnos through the red cloak he wears building Carthage (262–3); cf. Arg.
1.722–8; Nelis 2001: 158; Hunter 1993: 179 and n. 40.
(46) By the way, a supplementary reason to bracket line 273.
(47) Harrison 1984: 17.
(48) Highet 1972: 124.
(49) Harrison 1984: 19–20. The god disappears medio…sermone “while he was
still speaking” (277); this alludes to the connection of Mercury ~ medius sermo
attested e.g. at Aug. CD 7.14; see Short 2012–13: esp. 206–8. Earlier at 256
terras inter caelumque volabat referred to the etymology of Mercurius from
medius currens; see Pease 1935 ad loc.
(50) On Hermes as “leader of dreams” see H.Herm. 14, with Vergados 2013 ad
loc.; Brillante 1990: 43–5. Whereas the preceding intervention of Mercury was
focalized through the god, this dream apparition is focalized through Aeneas;
Page 20 of 21
hence the cautious and uncertain expressions with which the apparition is
described at 555–9; see Harrison 1984: 31.
(51) Harrison 1984: 15, 30–2.
(52) For Hermes’ deceitfulness, see Vergados 2013: Index rerum s.v. “deception,”
“deceit.” On H.Herm. 66, Vergados 2013 refers to Il. 24.679–81 (the introduction
to Hermes’ speech to Priam) for “the image of the plotting, sleepless Hermes.”
(53) See Schiesaro 2008: 81–5. References to Euripides’ Medea in Aen. 4 begin
most clearly with the exchange of speeches between Dido and Aeneas at 304–92
(~ Eur. Med. 446–626); for the influence of the “Euripidean” Medea of Arg. 4 on
abandoned Dido, see Nelis 2001: 160–9.
(54) See Schiesaro 2008: 64–8.
Page 21 of 21
Mercury and Materialism


Print ISBN-13: 9780198777342
DOI: 10.1093/oso/9780198777342.001.0001

Images of Mercury and the Tabernae of Pompeii
Duncan E. MacRae
DOI:10.1093/oso/9780198777342.003.0013

This chapter examines images of Mercury in relation to spaces of commerce in
Pompeii in light of recent theorizations of material religion. Mercury was a
familiar sight for Pompeian shoppers: he was frequently present in the shops,
bars, restaurants, and markets of the Campanian city, especially on the façades
next to the entrances of these properties. Against interpretations of these
images as simply representational, the chapter argues that they played an
important role in the mediation of Mercury as god of commerce in the quotidian
lives of the inhabitants of the Campanian city.
Keywords: commerce, graffiti, material religion, Mercury, Pompeii, streets, wall painting
1. Introduction
Near the temple of Janus in Rome stood a statue of Mercury with an unusual
sobriquet: Mercurius malevolus, “Mercury the ill-willed.” The reason for the
name, the lexicographer Festus explains, was that the statue “looked toward no
trader’s shop,” as if the god were denying his favor to the exchanges that took
place inside.1 Embedded in this short interpretation of the name is a normative
connection between Mercury’s image and his role as god of commerce: it is
through the materialized gaze of the god that mercantile transactions can
receive his benevolence. The purpose of this chapter is to investigate this
connection: what place did images of the god have in spaces of Roman
commercial life? And, in broader terms, what role did these images play in the
Page 1 of 17
materialization of Mercury in his distinctively Roman role as a god of commerce?

2
The preserved images of Mercury from Pompeii provide, I contend, some

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

analyze images of Mercury in the lived religion of a Roman city. Over the last
two decades, the introduction of new materialism in religious studies has
challenged the dominant idealist tendencies in the study of religion.6 Certainly,
these tendencies have been apparent in the case of Mercury, who has most often
been understood as a combination of an originary Italian (p.195) deity of
Page 2 of 17
exchange and a Romanized Hermes.7 In line with this approach, Mercuries in

texts and images have been read most often as representations of the god, who
is assigned a dematerialized priority over the individual manifestation. The new
materialists, however, have questioned such privileging of the symbolic over the
experiential as loaded with Christianizing anxiety around “idolatry” and a
Cartesian distinction of mind and body. Instead, they stress the agency of
material culture in shaping embodied human interaction with the divine. Images
and things do not simply act passively as conduits for religious ideas or
meanings, but, in contact with the lives of individual people and groups, they
catalyze experiences and sensation of the sacred.8 Religion, in this view, does
not solely belong to the mind, but is something that also happens both visually
and through and around human bodies.9
Not all of this is new to the study of Roman religion, which has had a long-
standing interest in the importance of both ritual action—quand faire, c’est
croire, in the words of John Scheid—and sacred space.10 It has also long been
recognized that Romans did not always see cult images of deities in purely
aesthetic or representational terms.11 The recent work in material religion is
useful for extending this interest beyond the structured activities of formal ritual
and interaction with images in defined sacred spaces. The depictions of Mercury
on the streets of Pompeii were not cult images—and it is far from clear that
Romans could have recognized such a phenomenon anyway—and were not the
focus of cult activity.12 As several scholars have pointed out, in contrast to the
marked street shrines for compital cult, there are no altars or spaces for
offerings that can be related to the images of Mercury on the façades of
buildings.13 At the same time, we should beware the temptation to see them as
somehow “less Mercury” than statues in public temples. Instead, these images
made the god present in the everyday life of the city: their placement on the
façades of tabernae linked him with banal, repeated experiences of exchange
and, in this way, materialized him as the god of commerce.
In the absence of a body of settled doctrine on the nature of the gods or even of
any institution that could generate such a set of ideas, the process of linkage is
particularly significant for students of Mediterranean antiquity. Roman gods (p.
196) were a matter of social convention; this fact demands that we track the
mediation of their identities, powers, and domains in the experiences of Roman
society at large. This chapter offers a sketch of the mediation of Mercury in one
particular local situation: Pompeii in the years before 79 CE. Focusing on
Mercury’s material presence, I look first to where we can find the god in the life
of the city as a whole, before turning to the experience of mercantile images of
the god.
Page 3 of 17
2. Mercury in Pompeii
Pompeii is an exception: no other site offers the historian of religion such a great
quantity of material evidence for how the inhabitants of the Roman empire lived
their polytheism. The raw quantity of this evidence can be deceiving. The
vagaries of preservation and, in some areas, the lack of adequate archaeological
publication makes the reconstruction of the religious life of the city a precarious
and difficult task. In the last two decades, however, several historians and
archaeologists have contributed new syntheses of the evidence for Pompeian
religion, including William Van Andringa’s significant Quotidien des dieux et des
hommes: la vie religieuse dans les cités du Vésuve à l’époque romaine.14
Building on this recent work, we can now see more clearly, if still imperfectly,
the place of Mercury in the town’s religious assemblage and see how he figured
in the everyday experiences of Pompeians.
An initial stumbling block is the absence of a securely identified temple of

Mercury at Pompeii. Nevertheless, a particular set of evidence supports the idea
that there was some kind of public cult for him, alongside his mother Maia. A
group of stone inscriptions from the first century BCE attests to a college of
ministri in the city who worshipped them, made up of slaves and freedmen who
had been co-opted by the decurion order from prominent familiae.15 At some
point toward the end of the century, the college took on an imperial theme as the
ministri Augusti Mercurii Maiae; from 2 BCE until the 40s CE, the college was
called the ministri Augusti, with the names of Mercury and his mother silently
dropped. These inscriptions, however, lack an archaeological context. Recently,
Mario Torelli, now followed by Van Andringa, has suggested that the cult site of
Mercury and Maia was in the macellum at the north-eastern edge of the forum.16
By 79, the Pompeian macellum had two cultic (p.197) spaces: a central stepped
shrine at the far end of the building from the entrance from the forum, which
was dedicated to the imperial family, and another, more modest, in its north-east
corner, with an altar and an aedicula for a statue.17 Torelli and Van Andringa
argue that the association between Augustus, Mercury, and Maia made by the
ministri inscriptions fits well this pair of cultic spaces and that the statue in the
north-eastern shrine was therefore an image of Mercury. If this proposal is right
—and it must remain tentative given the lack of positive evidence—Mercury’s
public cult place in the city was embedded in the food market. Unlike the
malevolent Mercury from Rome, the god’s public statue could have watched
over a fundamental arena for commercial exchange in an agrarian society.
We have more certain evidence for Mercury as part of private cult. Statuettes
and paintings placed the deity in the domestic shrines of several Pompeian
houses. For example, the well-known shrines of the household Penates—so-
called secondary lararia—in the House of the Amorini Dorati (vi.16.7) and the
House of the Pareti Rosse (viii.5.37) both included statuettes of Mercury.18 In the
case of the shrine in the House of Amorini Dorati, the large size of the statuette
in relation to others has been taken to indicate the particular importance of the
Page 4 of 17
deity to the owner of the house.19 There are nine other houses of various sizes
and apparent wealth where Mercury was either certainly or probably part of the
household’s set of Penates.20 Although it is often assumed that the presence of
Mercury in these shrines indicates a commercial occupation of the dominus, it is
very difficult in reality to be sure how the diverse sets of deities collected as
Penates were shaped by and shaped the experience of the inhabitants of the
houses.
In the lararia found in commercial spaces, however, Mercury was more closely
linked to the specific practices of buying and selling. Eight tabernae and
workshops probably included Mercury in their shrines.21 At the outset, I must
offer an important caveat: commercial properties in Pompeii often also had a
residential function, so it is not always possible to be certain that customers
would have encountered the images of the god, especially when the shrines are
located in rooms of uncertain use. Customers definitely did see the spectacular
lararium at the end of the counter in the thermopolium at i.8.8 (Fig. 13.1).
(p.198) In this painted

aedicula, Mercury stands on the
left of a group of five deities,
which includes the Genius of
the proprietor, the two Lares,
and Bacchus. Below, two
snakes, a common part of the
iconography of the Pompeian
lararia, frame an altar.22 In a
fairly standard guise, which we
will see again on the façades of
the city, Mercury is depicted as
a youth, stepping to the left
Fig. 13.1. The lararium at the end of the
with a money bag in his right
counter of the thermopolium at i.8.8,
hand and a caduceus in his left
Pompeii. Mercury is the far left of the five
hand. In this way, the god’s
deities in the image.
pose mirrors the physical action
of purchase, which involved a Photo: Erich Lessing/Art Resource, NY.
customer approaching the
counter, as he does, with coins
in hand.
The association of the god with the immediate space of transaction at i.8.8 is not
an exception: Mercury was present in very similar ways in other tabernae.23 In
the thermopolium at vii.15.5, the god, holding his attributes of money bag and
caduceus, looked down from the end of the short counter.24 This painting may
not have stood as a formal lararium, but the divinity clearly (p.199) presided
over the transactions in this little food shop. A passing mention in very early
Page 5 of 17
excavation records of the shop at vi.1.2 suggests that a similar painting was
found at the end of that counter.25 Similarly at another thermopolium at iii.8.8,
Mercury was painted with two griffins on the wall behind the counter, again
looking over the material exchanges that took place in the space.26 In the
taberna at vi.14.28, which does not have a counter but seems to have been a
gamblers’ den, Mercury was painted on the wall, watching over the activities of
the customers.27
Repeatedly, then, as we survey the appearances of Mercury in the city, we find

him present in spaces of commerce, both public and private. As we will see, this
presence was not limited to the interiors of these spaces; one particular venue
for images of Mercury at Pompeii stands out: the façades of commercial
properties.
3. Mercury on the Tabernae

A survey of Thomas Fröhlich’s authoritative catalogue of the paintings on
Pompeian exterior façades reveals a close connection between images of the god
and commercial uses of buildings.28 The deity appeared by the distinctive wide
entrances of so-called tabernae—the shops, bars, restaurants, and inns of the
city.29 For the most part these images have been understood, on the one hand, as
representations of Mercury qua god of commerce and, on the other, as symbols
of self-expression on the part of the property owners, who are assumed to have
commissioned the paintings.30 However, if we shift perspective from the people
who commissioned the images to their viewers, we can find links between
human bodies and practices and the god himself.31
From the portion of the city that is both excavated and recorded, we can
quantify Mercury’s presence in the streets. There are images of the god on (p.
200) nineteen of twenty-nine commercial façades that were painted with the
images of deities, which constitutes 65 percent of these façades.32 There is a
marked conjunction between the deity and the property: the façades of tabernae
were particularly Mercury’s domain. Fewer houses had painted façades;
Mercury appears on just six, perhaps often in situations where the occupants of
houses chose to mark a personal association with the commercial realm. We find
Mercury on the outside of commercial properties at Pompeii more often than any
other deity; the next most common are Bacchus, who appears on five painted
commercial façades, and Minerva, who appears on four.33 Aside from the
façades proper, we can also add two others where Mercury appeared on the
inside door jambs of tabernae to similar effect as the images directly on the
street: the Mercury at the end of the counter at vi.1.2, mentioned earlier, and
another at ix.8.4.34 These popular and sometimes poorly executed images follow
conventional patterns in iconography and location. In order to get at the social
significance of these Pompeian Mercuries, we must focus on these conventions
Page 6 of 17
and look to their cumulative impact on the lived experiences of the city’s
inhabitants.35
A common type of image found on these façades places a youthful Mercury next
to or above the doorway. In many respects, these depictions conform closely to
Hellenistic sculptures of Hermes, an example of which was found in the
sanctuary of Apollo by the town’s forum.36 Like Greek images of Hermes,
Mercuries of this type are portrayed as unbearded youths, who wear a petasos
and carry a caduceus, although several also carry a particularly Roman money
bag. The Mercuries on pillars by entrances 1.12.5, iii.8.1, vii.4.22/23, and two
from along the Via di Nola in regio iv, no longer extant, all are of this Hellenistic
type.37 A nineteenth-century drawing of one of these now-lost paintings, held in
the archive in Naples, allows a more detailed description of an example of this
type.38 Painted on a fairly narrow pillar and framed by a long fruitful vine, the
naked god stands in contrapposto position, holding a (p.201) caduceus in his
left hand and outfitted with winged petasos and boots. A cloak is draped from his
shoulders and over his left arm. The familiar attributes and the statuesque pose
suggest a replication of the familiar image—known to us and, presumably,
contemporary viewers from the large number of statuettes of this type—which
here took on additional significance from its placement beside the opening of a
taberna, presumably a bar.39
Some of these images are more complex. The painting of standing Mercury at
vii.4.22/23 was elaborated by placing the young god together with Venus in a
sacro-idyllic landscape featuring an ithyphallic column, exotic to the street near
the Pompeian forum in which the painting originally belonged. In another case,
the painted portrait of a youthful Mercury holding a caduceus above the
entrance of a shop on the Via Dell’Abbondanza (ix.7.1) looked down on the street
alongside three other deities—Sol, Jupiter, and Luna.40 In these latter two
examples, Mercury’s divinity was emphasized respectively by the alternative
landscape and association with other (heavenly) gods. Whether alone or with
other deities, these images repeatedly implicated him with commerce. The open
façades of these commercial premises meant that, unlike most houses, the
activities inside were visible from the street, right alongside or beneath the god.
From the perspective of the passer-by on the street, the god was present by the
wide entrances of the tabernae: looking at the building entailed looking at
Mercury and vice versa.
In one case, at ix.7.7, the juxtaposition between the god and the practice of
commerce can be found in the painting itself (Fig. 13.2). In a tall painting on the
pillar to the left of the door, Mercury walks out of a small shrine, wearing his
petasos and holding caduceus and money bag. Below, a woman sits behind a
table stacked with the product for sale; another table fills the foreground. Based
on a scene of felt-making on the right side of the door and nearby graffiti, it has
been suggested that this is the shop of Marcus Vecilius Verecundus, a vestiarius
Page 7 of 17
or clothing merchant.41 In the painting, Mercury is positioned above a painted

version of the shop that he seems about to step into. Jeremy Hartnett has
suggested that the clothing worn by the god corresponds to the cloth on sale in
the image below, and so the deity models the product on offer inside the
opening.42 The double juxtaposition between the god and the real and painted
shops reinforces the association between (p.202) deity and commerce for the
viewer: in characteristically Mercurial fashion, he is just at the threshold of both
shrine and shop. Indeed, the figure of Mercury must have matched the step of
the would-be shopper, hopefully also carrying a money bag, into the shop. Bound
within the painting by medium and location, but connected by his action with the
viewer on the street, Mercury steps between pictorial sacred space and the real
commercial space.
Despite the elaboration of this

particular painting, this is not
an exceptional image of the
god. Eight images of Mercury
painted on the façades of
various (p.203) tabernae show
the god striding, holding a
money bag.43 In the cases
where we know the placement
of the painting in relation to the
commercial threshold, the god
always steps toward the door of
the shop. Again, the body of the
god matches the body of the
ideal viewer, the consumer,
headed for the door with a bag
full of coins. The kinesthetic
parallelism between the two
Fig. 13.2. The left doorpost of the
bodies, those of the deity and
taberna (“the taberna of Marcus Vecilius
the pedestrian, connects the
Verecundus”) at ix.7.7, Pompeii. Mercury
embodied human experience of
steps right from a small temple.
commerce with Mercury. This is
Photo: Alinari/Art Resource, NY.
his particular trait; no other
deity in these façade paintings
moves toward the door of the
shop in this way. At entrance v.6.1, for example, we find a contrast between a
static Bacchus on the right of the entrance and, on the other side, a quick-
stepping Mercury with billowing cloak. Walking alongside the people on the
pavement, these Mercuries move as models of the shopper and for the shopper.
Page 8 of 17
If the linkage between Mercury and commerce here is based on a possible

identity between human and god, alterity defines his agency over commerce in
two other images of Mercury as phallic deity. In the first, at the right of entrance
ix.12.6, a Mercury once again strides, holding the caduceus and money bag,
toward a shop entrance (Fig. 13.3).
Here, however, the large penis,

absent petasos, and the mature
beard differentiate this image
from most of the other
representations found on
façades. Rather than conform to
Hellenistic models, this
Mercury is a witty response to
the classical herm.44 Both are
bearded and marked by their
large phalloi, but the Pompeian
Mercury is mobile and
naturalistic, while the herm is
static and artificial. This
Mercury hastens toward the Fig. 13.3. A painted image to the right of
door, but a herm could only look the door of the taberna at ix.12.6,
out from Greek thresholds. The Pompeii. An ithyphallic Mercury runs left
divine phallus bestows its towards the entrance.
protection and favor on the
Museo Archeologico Nazionale. © Vanni
activities inside the shop. By
Archive/Art Resource, NY.
this playful relationship with the
classical artistic form of the god
(and other apotropaic phalloi on view throughout the city, including in images of
another deity, Priapus) and the departure from regular human anatomy, the
movement toward the door relates the deity with the practice of commerce
inside the entrance.
A Mercury engraved on the right side of the façade of the Thermopolium of

Asellina shares the phallic attribute, just a few entrances away on the Via
Dell’Abbondanza at ix.11.2. Although this graffito is no longer extant, a recently
published photograph shows Mercury, with phallus hanging from his groin,
carrying a money bag and moving toward the open entrance of the (p.204)
tavern.45 Given the proximity to the painted ithyphallic Mercury, it is tempting to
see this as an ersatz copy of the bearded phallic god, designed to bring favor to
the premises. A graffito above the figure called the god munificus, “generous,”
highlighting the power of the divinity over the transactions inside. In his guise as
naked ithyphallic god, Mercury may not have matched the body of the clothed
Page 9 of 17
shopper, but that distance from the viewer highlighted the more-than-human
favor he could confer on the activities inside the establishment.
A dipinto near another Mercury by the entrances at vii.11.13/14 also testifies to

this sort of agency of the image. The dipinto calls the god Mercurius felix,
“Lucky Mercury,” and, if the nineteenth-century transcription was (p.205)
correct, places a very large number (100,030) next to the money bag carried by
the god.46 The best interpretation for this number is that it represents a desired
or real profit. The unusual number may suggest that betting on dice was a
potential source of this kind of profit; we have plenty of evidence from the
imperial period for the popularity of such gambling and the social fascination
with disproportionate winnings.47 We can also contextualize the dipinto in the
streetscape: James Franklin has shown how the graffiti in this part of the city,
near the famous lupanar, allow a glimpse of a neighborhood crowd who used
writing as a means of social dialogue.48 The boast of a gambling win fits in that
context, but it also demonstrates a response to the presence of Mercury in the
street. In this case, the dipinto assigned agency over the human practice of
gaming to this image of the god.
As we have seen, Mercury repeatedly appeared on the façades of tabernae at

Pompeii. These images differ in form, between statuesque Hellenistic nude and
dynamic Roman youth, between realism and preposterous phallism, but they all
share a role as sites of linkage between the divinity and the human practices of
buying and selling. One mode of this linkage was presence: very simply,
Pompeians frequently saw Mercury on the façades of tabernae, and often at the
counters of the tabernae. Mercury was there when they shopped. Mercury’s
image on the façades could also go beyond this “mere” presence: we have
observed how some functioned as divine correlates for shoppers or as phallic
protectors. Graffiti also show how some were clearly granted agency as bringers
of profit (munificus, felix) by their viewers. Above all, what is striking is the
iteration of these images: the façades of commercial properties belonged to
Mercury.
4. Conclusion
In Pompeii, Mercury was a god of commerce through his presence in spaces of
exchange. Context was everything: as he was materialized in and on the façades
of shops, bars, and workshops, his domain—his place in the world—was
experienced and internalized by the inhabitants of Pompeii. These images of the
god were not simply “representations” of an abstract idea. Instead, they were
sites of linkage between human and divine, indices of the god’s presence and
agents of good fortune.49 A hint of this mediation is found in one of (p.206)
Persius’ satires, when a rich man reproaches his heir: “I’m Mercury to you; I
come here, a god, like in paintings” (Sat. 6.62–3: sum tibi Mercurius; uenio deus
huc ego ut ille / pingitur). The poet blurs the distinctions between deity, painted
image, and human speaker, even as the lines affirm Mercury’s role as the god of
Page 10 of 17
Roman materialism. The poem too suggests how images alone did not make
Mercury into the Roman commercial god: a huge amount of cultural work,
including text, ritual, and other forms of experience must also have played a role
in granting this province to the divinity. I suggest, though, that we should not be
deaf to the hint given to us by Festus: it was through his images that the god
could confer his benefits on the tabernae of Roman cities—or, in the case of
Mercurius malevolus, withhold them.50
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Morgan, D. 2012. “The Look of the Sacred.” In R. A. Orsi, ed. The Cambridge
Companion to Religious Studies. Cambridge. 296–318.
Orr, D. G. 1988. “Learning from Lararia: Notes on the Household Shrines of

Pompeii.” In R. I. Curtis, ed. Studia Pompeiana & Classica in Honor of
Wilhelmina F. Jashemski. New Rochelle. 293–9.
Orsi, R. A. 2005. Between Heaven and Earth: The Religious Worlds People Make
and the Scholars Who Study Them. Princeton.
(p.208) Potts, C. R. 2009. “The Art of Piety and Profit at Pompeii: A New
Interpretation of the Painted Shop Façade at ix.7.1–2.” Greece & Rome 56: 55–
70.
Purcell, N. 1995. “Literate Games: Roman Urban Society and the Game of Alea.”
Past & Present 147: 3–37.
Spinazzola, V. 1953. Pompei alla luce degli scavi nuovi di Via dell’Abbondanza
(anni 1910–1923). 2 vols. Rome.
Scheid, J. 2005. Quand faire, c’est croire: Les rites sacrificiels des romains. Paris.
Torelli, M. 1998 “Il Culto Imperiale a Pompei.” In I culti della Campania Antica.
Rome. 245–70.
Van Andringa, W. 2000. “Autels de carrefour, organisation vicinale et rapports de

voisinage à Pompéi.” Rivista di Studi Pompeiani 11: 47–86.
Van Andringa, W. 2009. Quotidien des dieux et des hommes: La vie religieuse
dans les cités du Vésuve à l’époque romaine. Rome.
Page 13 of 17
Notes:
(1) Festus 152 L. Malevoli Mercurii signum erat proxime Ianum; qui item erat in
Turdellis…[text damaged in Farnesinus MS]…Malevoli autem, quod in nullius
tabernam spectabat.
(2) For the particularly Roman commercial remit of Mercury, see BNP, s.v.
Mercurius (Phillips).
(3) See e.g. Bakker 1994 for the absence of such paintings in Ostia. Flower 2017,
a study of the Lares, warns of the dangers of combining evidence for Roman
deities into a single global picture and demonstrates the value of avoiding this
scholarly pitfall.
(4) On Mercury at Delos, see Bulard 1926: 245–61, who also highlights the
potential differences with the representations of the god at Pompeii.
(5) Hor. Sat. 2.3.24–6 hortos egregiasque domos mercarier unus / cum lucro
noram; unde frequentia Mercuriale / inposuere mihi cognomen compita; Pers.
2.44–7 rem struere exoptas caeso boue Mercuriumque / arcessis fibra: “da
fortunare Penatis, / da pecus et gregibus fetum.” quo, pessime, pacto, / tot tibi
cum in flamma iunicum omenta liquescant?; Petron. Sat. 29.5 in deficiente vero
iam porticu levatum mento in tribunal excelsum Mercurius rapiebat.
(6) Morgan 1998; Chidester 2000; Engelke 2012. The journal Material Religion
has served since 2005 as the intellectual hub for this approach to religious
studies. See also the related work on “lived religion” by Orsi 2005 and McGuire
2008.
(7) Combet Farnoux 1980.
(8) In paying attention to the interaction of the human and non-human, material
religion has much in common with the recent “posthuman” turn: see Latour
1993 and Braidotti 2013.
(9) See Morgan 2012 for the connection between embodiment and vision.
(10) Scheid 2005.
(11) See especially Gordon 1979, Elsner 1995: 15–48, and now the provocative—
even iconoclastic—essays by Clifford Ando: Ando 2010 and 2011.
(12) For the difficulty with the concept of “cult image” for ancient religion, see
Estienne 2015 for a summation of the varied evidence and scholarly positions.
(13) See Fröhlich 1991: 48 and Charles-Laforge 2009: 72 for the non-cultic
character of these images; though note the possible exception, discussed by
Page 14 of 17
Maiuri 1949. See Van Andringa 2000 and Flower 2017: 145–56 for compital cult
and altars in Pompeii.
(14) Van Andringa 2009. See also the monographs by Krzyszowska 2002 and
Charles-Laforge 2009 and the exhibition catalogue by Cicirelli 1995. The older
work by Boyce 1937 and Orr 1988 on domestic religion at Pompeii also remains
valuable.
(15) CIL 10.884–923. See also Combet Farnoux 1980: 457–9.
(16) Torelli 1998: 262–3, followed by Van Andringa 2009: 208–12. For the
association of Mercury and Augustus elsewhere, see Combet Farnoux 1980: 433–
71.
(17) See Dobbins 1994: 668–85 for the architecture of the macellum. The
proposed Mercury shrine is his Room 30.
(18) See Adamo-Muscettola 1984 for the statuettes of Mercury in these shrines.
(19) Krzyszowska 2002: 95. See Gordon 1979: 13–15 for ancient thought on the
appropriate size of divine images.
(20) i.4.5 (statuette not in situ); i.6.2; iii.2.1; v.2.h; v.4.3; vii.7.16 (statuette not in
situ); ix.6.5; ix.6.g (space of uncertain function); ix.13 (Fröhlich 1991: L110).
(21) i.8.8; i.20.2; v.1.13; v.2.b/c; vii.4.20 or vii.5.22 (see Kaufmann-Heinimann

1998: GFV 31); vii.12.7; vii.12.17 and 21.
(22) Flower 2017: 63–70 discusses this Campanian snake imagery.
(23) I thank Prof. Steven Ellis (Cincinnati), who provided me with essential
information on these Mercuries from his own work on commercial spaces at
Pompeii.
(24) BdI 1872: 200–1.
(25) PAH 1.245 (20 October 1770).
(26) NSc 1905: 274.
(27) Della Corte 1965: 90–4, Mercury at 91.
(28) Fröhlich 1991. In the notes that follow, references in the form “F100” refer
to entries in Fröhlich’s catalogue, which provides comprehensive bibliography of
publication and illustrations.
(29) For the definition of taberna, see Monteix 2010: 42–8. We are not able to be
certain of the function of all, or even many, of these tabernae, and they,
doubtlessly, were flexible spaces. It is also essential to note that the spaces with
Page 15 of 17
wide-entrances were often part of bigger properties, often houses or public

buildings. Nevertheless, it is generally agreed that they were commercial spaces
in the broad sense.
(30) For the images of Mercury on commercial properties as representations of

the god as deity of commerce, see Combet Farnoux 1980: 424–6 and Van
Andringa 2009: 275; for these images in terms of self-representation, see
Fröhlich 1991: 49; Clarke 2003: 109; Potts 2009; Charles-Laforge 2009: 72; Van
Andringa 2009: 276–7; Monteix 2010: 56; Hartnett 2017: 288.
(31) For the now long-established scholarly interest in viewers of Roman art, see,
for example, Elsner 1995: 1–14 and Clarke 2003: 9–13.
(32) For this quantification, I follow the catalogue provided by Fröhlich 1991:
351–3. See also Monteix 2010: 52–3 for a different quantification of the painted
commercial façades with extant images of deities: he finds that Mercury appears
on 46 percent of these façades. Both counts show the preponderance of images
of Mercury over other deities.
(33) For the relative appearance of other deities on these façades, see Monteix
2010: 52–3 and Charles-Laforge 2009: 86–93.
(34) For ix.8.4, see NSc 1879: 241 and 282; Mercury was depicted with a
cockerel and snake coiled around an omphalos (see Fröhlich’s F28 and F34 and
the Mercury by the counter at vii.15.5 for similar iconography). This painting
was already damaged when excavated in 1879 and is not extant.
(35) See Fröhlich 1991: 189–210 for comments on the “volkstümlichkeit” of

façade paintings in the Vesuvian cities and 140–4 for the iconographies of
Mercury in particular.
(36) See Mau 1907: 88.
(37) F11, F20, F26, F27, F49.
(38) F26; a painting of Bacchus was found on the other pillar of this façade. The
drawing is now ADS 100 in the archive, but is unpublished.
(39) See, for example, Cicirelli 1995: 31–2 for this common type of statuette.
(40) Early interpretations of the four gods depicted above this doorway
suggested that they represent planets or particular days of the week. More
recently, John Clarke has suggested that such readings of the four gods are over-
elaborate and prefers a more straightforward reading of them as
anthropomorphic deities (Clarke 2003: 87–9).
Page 16 of 17
(41) See Spinazzola 1953: 189–210 and Clarke 2003: 105–12 for discussion of the
whole program of this painted façade.
(42) Hartnett 2017: 90–1.
(43) These were found by the following entrances: ii.1.1 (F14); v.6.1 (F34); vii.
6.35 (F51: the precise location is uncertain, though see BdI 1859: 68–9); vii.
11.13/14 (F58); vii.12.9/10 (F59); ix.3.14/15 (F62); and two along the Via di Nola
(F26 and F28).
(44) See, similarly, Clarke 2007: 187–8. Herms are most significantly associated
with classical Athens, though they are still found in Roman-period iconography.
See Johns 1982: 52–4, including herms from Pompeii and on a mold-made bowl
in early imperial Arretine ware (for another example of the latter, see Clarke
1998: 75, fig. 25).
(45) Maulucci Vivolo 1993: 72. Note that the drawing of this graffito on the
following page (73) omits the phallus, which is visible on the photograph and, at
any rate, described by Della Corte in CIL 4.9097.
(46) CIL 4.812. For the form of the number, see Cagnat 1914: 31. Fröhlich 1991:
330 and Van Andringa 2009: 295 suggest the large number refers to desired
profit.
(47) See Purcell 1995: 10–11 and 21 for the Roman interest in the large numbers
associated with gambling.
(48) Franklin 1986.
(49) As Ando 2010 points out, Augustine’s Platonizing construction in Serm.

Dolbeau 26.24 of a pagan seeing an image of Mercury as an index for ingenium
need not reflect Roman realities.
(50) I thank the editors of this volume and the audience in Charlottesville for
their responses and great labor in the development of this project. Liza Asbury
Newman, Steven Ellis, Ted Peña, and the participants in a brown-bag seminar at
LMU M?nchen all made essential suggestions or provided information that
improved the chapter enormously.
Page 17 of 17
Did Mercury Build the Ship of Aeneas?


Print ISBN-13: 9780198777342
DOI: 10.1093/oso/9780198777342.001.0001

Thomas Biggs
DOI:10.1093/oso/9780198777342.003.0014

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

denso paventem sustulit aere;
te rursus in bellum resorbens
unda fretis tulit aestuosis.
But swift Mercury bore me, frightened,

through the enemy in a thick mist;
whereas a wave sucking you back
carried you to war on a seething sea.
Horace C. 2.7.13–16
Page 1 of 18
In the first book of his Histories, Polybius describes a key event of 256 BCE, the
ninth year of the First Punic War. The consul M. Atilius Regulus crosses to Africa
with the Roman fleet, and as Polybius relates, “the advance squadron reached
the coast just south of Cape Hermaea (τὴν ἄκραν τὴν Ἑρμαίαν), as it is called,
which points across the sea toward Sicily and is the most prominent headland on
the gulf where Carthage is situated.”1 The actual location of this Headland of
Hermes has vexed scholars,2 but it appears again with certainty in Livy’s report
of P. Cornelius Scipio’s arrival in Africa for the final campaign of the Second
Punic War (29.27.6–8):
And after mid-day they encountered a fog, so that with difficulty could they
avoid collisions between the ships. In the open sea the wind was gentler.
(p.210) Through the following night, the same fog held; and when the sun
was up, it was dispersed and the wind increased in force. Already they
were in sight of land. Not very long afterwards the pilot told Scipio that
Africa was not more than five miles away, that they sighted the Promontory
of Mercury (Mercuri promunturium); if he should order him to steer for
that, the entire fleet would soon be in port.3
Despite the importance of the god and his divine geography displayed within
these literary depictions, the Headland of Hermes/Mercury at Carthage remains
as unclear as the foggy seas of Scipio’s crossing. Still, the god’s topographic
presence evoked at the boundary between Rome and Carthage in Polybius’
account, and his role as a landmark—as a guide—for the invasion of Africa in
Livy’s, comprise a fitting series of images with which to begin. As I will argue in
this chapter, for the Romans, Mercury held some particular narrative and socio-
cultural implications during the First Punic War and was connected to a nexus of
thought with specific resonance during a markedly naval conflict.
Although the god’s ties to the mercantile and the Mediterranean’s “corrupting”
qualities played a central role in Roman thought during the era of the Punic
Wars,4 Mercury’s relationship with Aeneas, especially within Latin’s first epic
depiction of the Trojan hero in Naevius’ Bellum Punicum, appears connected to a
more elevated register of historical narrative, one that may demand a less
ambivalent reading. As we will see, similarities between the Argo and Aeneas’
ship built by Mercury in the Bellum Punicum may initially suggest that we should
embrace Roman authors’ dissonant opinion of seafaring and the lost Golden Age,
one often construed in primitivist or progressivst terms.5 I propose to take an
alternate course. Through the analysis of not only a telling aspect of the Bellum
Punicum, but also later literary and art historical echoes of a Mercury
inextricably bound to the success of Rome’s first war with (p.211) Carthage
and its Trojan foundation legend,6 I intend to show that the god played a more
prominent role in Naevius’ epic than its fragmentary state suggests and that this
Page 2 of 18
epic casting highlights a more positive role for the god during an era of maritime
war.7
1.
Gnaeus Naevius wrote the Bellum Punicum in the late third or early second
century BCE. An epic in the Saturnian meter on the First Punic War, the poem
was the first in Latin to narrate the journey of Aeneas and the first Latin work to
depict Roman history.8 Naevius also appears to have related in his poem that he
served in the very war he describes; at least as far as the poetic persona is
concerned, we are dealing with the work of a veteran, an eyewitness with a
voice enmeshed in the mentalité of the time.9 As Michael von Albrecht puts it,
“[t]he experience of that great historical conflict led to the birth of the Bellum
Punicum, the first Roman national epic.”10 What insight can his poem offer
concerning Mercury in the era of the First Punic War?
By the time Naevius completed his epic, Mercury had appeared already in Livius
Andronicus’ Odusia, whose take on the Odyssey was composed during the First
Punic War and stands as the first epic in Latin. The god also shows up in the
fragments of the Annales of Naevius’ epic successor, Quintus Ennius.11 Indeed,
in the former we encounter a solid example of how multifarious the god’s roles
were during the First Punic War. As Denis Feeney observes:
The Roman Mercury shared many of his mercantile affinities with the
Greek Hermes, but in Rome he was not a god associated with escorting the
dead, as he was in Greece. When he appeared in this role in Livius’
Odyssey it will certainly (p.212) have been a new piece of casting, and
Roman readers will have had to cross mental boundaries to accommodate
their Mercury to his new persona.12
While this intriguing cognitive process is hard to recover, it is clear that Mercury
was a significant player within the divine worlds of early Latin epic, a god whose
appearances and cultural roles warrant tracking. The idea, however, that
Mercury’s mercantile characterization will have been ingrained in the Roman
mindset by the time of Livius Andronicus’ epic is largely dependent upon the fact
that the god’s temple in Rome (495 BCE) was bound up with the establishment
of a collegium mercatorum, and that this mercantile aspect will have overridden
all others.13 Although this is not the place to explore the historical event, it is
worth noting that the extant accounts of the god’s installation at Rome lack, in
many ways, a clear contemporary perspective. What we can say with some
certainty is that Mercury was a long established Roman god by the time of the
First Punic War, whose ever-expanding roles, aided by the integration of Greek
narratives with local views of the god, cast doubt on his singular connection with
any one sphere of influence. Within this rather opaque era for our understanding
of the god, one in which we might be tempted to privilege the mercantile
Page 3 of 18
Mercury so well attested in late third-and early second-century sources, we

encounter a strange aspect of Naevius’ poem that helps complicate the picture.
At Aeneid 1.170–3 the Trojans arrive in North Africa like Regulus and Scipio in
the passages quoted earlier. Aeneas and his men are wet from the waves of a
storm at sea, a scene Macrobius and Servius tell us is intertextually connected
with a similar maritime storm in the Bellum Punicum that afflicted Aeneas
between Sicily and Carthage.14 The storm at sea is a marked locus of epic
interaction from day one of the Latin tradition,15 and it is no surprise that in his
commentary on this section of the Aeneid Servius turns to Vergil’s
predecessors:16
novam tamen rem Naevius bello Punico dicit, unam navem habuisse
Aeneam, quam Mercurius fecerit.
Naevius relates a novel thing in his Bellum Punicum, that Aeneas had one
ship which Mercury made.
If Mercury the boatwright sounds odd, there is good reason for discomfort.
Servius calls it a novam rem, and scholars have largely declined to explore the
(p.213) implications of the testimonium.17 Nevertheless, one of the epic’s
extant fragments has occasionally been tied to Mercury’s role as naval
craftsman:18
inerant signa expressa, quomodo Titani,

bicorpores Gigantes magnique Atlantes
Runcus ac Purpureus filii Terras
On it were engraved images, in what way the Titans, two-bodied

giants and great Atlases, Runcus and Purpureus, children of Earth…
Within these gigantomachic lines, scholars have long seen the potential
explanation for a narrative excursus within the work that moves the poem’s
temporality from recent times to those of the Trojan past, particularly via an
ekphrasis. Contention concerning what object or structure was decorated with
the imagery has been fierce over the years, and although the pediments of the
Temple of Zeus at Akragas are often posited in scholarship as if accepted fact
(with the Trojan narrative coming from the western pediment, and the
gigantomachy known to have been depicted on the eastern),19 a recent study has
rightly proclaimed that of all expressed conjectures “none rests upon solid
internal evidence.”20 For all the ambiguity, however, one suggestion demands
brief consideration. Numerous scholars have proposed a ship as the location of
the gigantomachy. Recently, Jürgen Blänsdorf has taken this one step further to
comment on the fragment, “Gigantomachiae imago, qua Mercurius navem
Aeneae ornat, describitur.”21Although this description of the narrative rests
upon editorial conjecture more than on ancient evidence, if we entertain the
Page 4 of 18
implications the role of artist and artifex would have for the god, we see
Mercury’s narrative importance elevated within the Bellum Punicum far beyond
what Servius suggests, tying him to the allegorical imagery of gigantic struggle
that reflected Rome’s historical war with Carthage. Unfortunately, Blänsdorf’s
reconstruction of the plot is likely specious. The Servian testimonium, however,
stands firm, to which we will return later in this chapter.
2.
The impact of the maritime on Roman culture during the First Punic War was
immense. Matthew Leigh (2010) has dubbed it Rome’s “Maritime Moment.” (p.
214) The scale of the First Punic War exponentially increased the lived
experience of the maritime as well as its monumental visibility. Within the latter
category, one thinks especially of the massive expansion of temples in the Forum
Holitorium vowed during battle (The Temples of Janus and Spes), the rostral
column of Gaius Duilius erected in the Forum Romanum to commemorate
Rome’s first major naval victory and triumph, and the Temple of the Tempestates
vowed by Lucius Cornelius Scipio for a safe return home by sea.22 On a smaller
scale, relevant evidence emerges from the appearance of maritime iconography
and gods such as Janus and Mercury on Punic War era coinage coupled with
reverses featuring the rams of Roman warships.23 While one may initially wish to
read the likely reception of, for example, a Mercury with prow issue sextans or
one showing a seashell with a caduceus as tied to well-known and often
ambivalent aspects of the god’s timē, such as travel, trade, and commerce, the
latter two fail to capture fully the positive semantics that images of naval power
could have conveyed in the shadow of Rome’s victory in the First Punic War.
Despite the potential for a positive view of the maritime and of a Mercury
connected to Rome’s victorious war against Carthage, it is well known that
opposing perspectives came to the forefront, centralizing the god’s already
established ties to merx in the popular imagination and especially on the Roman
stage. For example, consider how Epignomus offers a prayer of thanks at Plautus
Stichus 402–5 (200 BCE):24
I give thanks to Neptune and the Weather goddesses (Tempestatibus) for

letting me return home successful and safe; and also to Mercury, who
helped me in my business affairs and increased my possessions fourfold
with profit.
Epignomus clearly implicates Mercury in a nexus of maritime gods whose ties to

the First Punic War suggest a striking revision of their earlier wartime roles,
when divinities like the Tempestates harkened to the aid of predecessors in
prayer such as Lucius Cornelius Scipio. There is no doubt that Mercury
Moneybags has here taken the stage.25 In fact, we find such a characterization
spoken by the god himself in the prologue to the Amphitryon, where he also
Page 5 of 18
evokes his Greek role as nuntius, highlighting his potential instantiation of

numerous divine roles (simultaneously Roman and Greek).26
(p.215) For all the potential ambiguity of the Amphitryon, the second and even
the late third centuries BCE are replete with comedic examples of a mercantile
Mercury and, perhaps more importantly, with elite denunciation of maritime
trade: the latter includes both Cato’s Preface to the De agri cultura and, even
earlier, the ban on senatorial sea trade by the Lex Claudia of 218 BCE.27
Although the evidence is sparse, elite Roman opinions of the maritime certainly
shifted from viewing the sea as an arena for victory and aristocratic display
during the First Punic War, as a watery stage for the exploits of Gaius Duilius
and Gaius Lutatius Catulus, to one that corrupts senatorial values. Nevertheless,
as I have already suggested, Mercury’s prominent role in Naevius’ narrative
suggests that he and Rome’s voyage onto the main may also have activated a
range of positive semantics as well. Accordingly, we must now explore a version
of the god that existed, perhaps primarily, within the world of epic.
3.
In Book 5 of Homer’s Odyssey, Hermes serves as conduit for the will of Zeus as
he moves from the heavens to the island of Calypso where Odysseus has been
held, wasting away in nostalgic longing. Hermes’ general purpose is to get
Calypso to release Odysseus, to set his homeward sea voyage in motion, which
inevitably involves the construction of a boat. In light of the god’s visitation,
Calypso, although the owner of neither ship nor crew, gives Odysseus the tools
for felling trees and crafting a vessel to put out to sea. The outline of a Hermes
who acts as a prompter of naval construction and maritime voyage is implied in
Homer’s poem and there for later authors to expand and exploit, but what of a
Roman epic world and a different Calypso, a Punic Calypso, or even a Punic
Circe?28
Mercury visits Aeneas twice in Book 4 of the Aeneid and is a prime mover in his
departure from Carthage.29 In Book 1, Mercury had already been sent to ease
the proto-Romans’ reception in the rising city, where he is even said to have
traveled by the use of his markedly maritime remigio alarum (“oarage of his
wings,” 1.301). In Book 4, Mercury is the conduit once again for the will of
Jupiter. By this point in the poem, Dido has already rebuilt Aeneas’ battered (p.
216) fleet. Fresh, hastily cut Carthaginian wood will soon be shaped into the
oars for the Trojans’ departure (4.393–400). Because of Mercury, Aeneas will
restart his naval voyage and finally travel to Italy. Dido will fall, cursing the
Trojans with prophecies of the Punic Wars themselves. In fact, we should recall
that Aeneas’ last words in Book 4 are a prayer to Mercury to guide the Trojans
safely on their journey, while Dido’s are the curse of Punic Wars to come.30
Now it may seem like we have traveled quite far from Servius and Naevius’ ship,
but the connections between the First Punic War and Aeneas’ own journey that
Page 6 of 18
Naevius shaped in the Bellum Punicum may lurk behind these Vergilian lines,
where the god is the one who prompts the journey from Carthaginian shores, a
journey that results over time in the cataclysmic conflict between Carthage and
Rome. But another counterfactual historical trajectory is also at play here, one
that strongly links Mercury with the larger subject of Naevius’ epic: as Nicholas
Horsfall remarks on Vergil’s episode, “only Mercury’s intervention prevented the
premature outbreak of the first Punic war.”31
If we trace out the imprint of Vergil’s Mercury within later Latin epic, we can
even locate the possible reflection of Naevius’ version of the god. In Book 8 of
Silius Italicus’ Punica, Anna’s report of Dido’s suicide offers a masterful Flavian
recasting of Vergil’s epic tale. Silius’ poem contains the following speech
delivered by Aeneas in an attempt to justify his abandonment of Dido (Pun.
8.108–11):32
respiciens aegerque animi tum regna reliqui

vestra, nec abscessem thalamo, ni magna minatus
meque sua ratibus dextra imposuisset et alto
egisset rapidis classem Cyllenius Euris.
Looking back and sick at heart, I then left behind your kingdom; nor
would I have departed from our marriage chamber, if the Cyllenian
god had not threatened me strongly, and placed me with his own
right hand on my ship and driven my fleet on the deep sea with quick
winds.
This striking passage introduces a more physical role for Mercury in prompting
Aeneas’ naval journeys. As Randall Ganiban notes, “[i]n the Aeneid, Mercury
must warn Aeneas twice to leave, but he does not physically lead Aeneas to his
fleet and make him set sail, as Silius’ Aeneas claims.”33 Moreover, Silius’
Mercury sets Aeneas upon a ship that just might be the one that Naevius’ epic
tells us the god built.34 In fact, Naevius’ Mercury, as we will soon (p.217) see,
may even have led Aeneas by the hand out of Troy as well. To fill in this picture,
we must now investigate several pieces of evidence in favor of a more pervasive
role for Mercury in the movement of Aeneas out of Troy and across the sea to
Italy.
4.
In a verse inscription set up on his wife’s estate on the Via Appia, the Athenian
senator and sophist Herodes Atticus (second century CE) offered a self-glorifying
dedication to his recently deceased wife Regilla, likely written by Marcellus of
Side.35 After praising Regilla, lines 23–9 turn to their son:36
Caesar [Antoninus Pius] granted his son [Bradua] the privilege of wearing
on his feet the sandals decorated with stars which they say Hermes too
wore (25) when he led Aeneas from the war waged by the Achaeans
through the dark night; around his feet it was set, shining as a protecting
Page 7 of 18
savior, like the [half] globe of the moon. The descendants of Aeneas once
stitched this on the sandal to be a prerogative for the noble Ausonians
[Italians].
In these dense lines, a reader learns how Hermes led Aeneas out of the war at
Troy. Maud Gleason has noted that the back-story of the patrician shoes given to
Herodes’ son contains a quasi-Homeric etiology, “alluding to an incident at Troy
that does not actually happen in the Iliad.”37 And as Malcolm Davies and Sarah
Pomeroy remark, “this is our only source for the idea that Hermes…rescued
Aeneas (and his family) from Troy.”38 While the scene is admittedly strange,
Davies and Pomeroy have overlooked several relevant sources for Hermes’ role
as Aeneas’ guide and savior during the fall of Troy.
We turn first to the Tabulae Iliacae, small bas-relief sculptures mainly depicting
narrative scenes from the Epic Cycle. On the Tabula Iliaca Capitolina, found at
Bovillae and dated to the Augustan period, the presence of Hermes has been
referred to by Michael Squire as the tablet’s “iconographic peculiarity.”39 We
will come to his role shortly. The inscriptions that accompany the individual
scenes of the Iliou persis are in Greek, possibility indebted (p.218) to
Stesichorus, but the tablet’s focus on certain aspects of the cycle displays a clear
interest in the role of Aeneas and his escape from Troy to travel, as the tablet
says, “to Hesperia.” At the center of the tablet, Aeneas departs the city from the
Scaean gate carrying his father Anchises and leading Ascanius and (possibly)
Creusa (Fig. 14.2).
Hermes, who is labeled and

easily identified by his
iconography, leads them out of
Troy. The group moves to a ship
waiting at shore in the final
scene at bottom right of the
central narrative panel (Fig.
14.1).
Fig. 14.2. Scene from the Tabula Iliaca.

Musei Capitolini, Rome.
Source: DAI. Photographer: R. Sansaini.
DAI-Neg.-No.: D-DAI–Rom 57.975.
Page 8 of 18
The depiction of Aeneas holding

Anchises employs a style and
pose most familiar from its
famous iteration in the Forum
Augustum.40 Concerning the
tablet’s presentation of this
scene, David Petrain notes that
“the Capitolina adopts the
iconography of this public
monument for its central scene
—evidently the linchpin of the
narrative—but adds the detail of
the god Hermes.”41 In a Fig. 14.1. Scene from the Tabula Iliaca.
discussion of the Capitoline Musei Capitolini, Rome.
tablet in his 1969 book Aeneas, Source: DAI. Photographer: R. Sansaini.
Sicily, and Rome, Karl Galinsky DAI-Neg.-No.: D-DAI–Rom 57.974.
was prompted by the presence
of Hermes to observe:
(p.219)
A woman, probably Creusa, is seen standing on the left, and Hermes, who
is said by Servius (Aen. 1.170) to have built a ship for Aeneas in Naevius’
Bellum Punicum, leads the group toward the shore.42
Galinsky’s introduction of the Bellum Punicum to a discussion of the tablet is a

telling move, since it sets in motion the importance of the early epic for the
tablet’s variant of the departure myth, but he offers no explicit commentary on
the relevance Naevius’ epic might have for its interpretation. Indeed, Nicholas
Horsfall’s harsh response to this passing remark seems to have taken it off the
table completely for Anglophone scholars.43 Consider the fact that Naevius is not
mentioned once within the recent studies of Squire and Petrain.44
So what can we make of Naevius’ novam rem? Nowhere else in ancient

literature is Mercury explicitly given the role of boatwright. We have, however,
seen him prompt naval construction in the Odyssey and a fateful sea voyage in
(p.220) the Aeneid that just barely averted the premature outbreak of the First
Punic War. In the wider culture of the late third century BCE, we have seen the
god appear in connection with maritime imagery related to Rome’s great war at
sea—its maritime gods, iconography, and cultural narratives. And on the
Capitoline tablet, we see Hermes lead Aeneas and his family out of the city in
the central scene, one unavoidably evocative of the only other known ancient
image of this moment featuring Hermes—that from a painted panel in the Casa
del Criptoportico in Pompeii, where the scene of Aeneas’ departure led by
Mercury caps a larger series of narrative paintings.45 This iconographic
Page 9 of 18
reoccurrence is in itself strong evidence for the widespread knowledge of a

narrative of Aeneas’ departure from Troy in which Mercury played a significant
role, one also suggested by Marcellus of Side’s poem and, perhaps, Silius’
Punica. In fact, extant fragments of the Bellum Punicum well inform us that the
exiles’ departure scene received detailed narration far beyond the attention
given to Aeneas and his ship, hence providing ample room for the god’s potential
interventions.46 Yet it is the one ship awaiting in the Capitoline tablet’s final
scene at bottom right that fully grabs our attention—the ship to which Mercury
has led Aeneas and his family, just as Mercury made a ship for Aeneas in
Naevius’ epic.47 Squire’s statement that Hermes is “an iconographic peculiarity
of the tablets” leaves us, then, with several curious depictions (textual and
visual) of connected scenes in which the god plays a significant role in relation
to Aeneas’ maritime escape from Troy.
If we employ the Bellum Punicum and Mercury’s larger cultural resonance in the
wake of the First Punic War to interpret the Capitoline tablet, it strengthens the
argument that Hermes’ presence is not that peculiar at all—it is just not
Vergilian.48 Moreover, if we employ the tablet to reconsider the Bellum Punicum,
the idea emerges that Mercury may have played a more extensive role in aiding
Aeneas’ journey across the Mediterranean than is indicated by Servius’ comment
that the god built his ship. This argument, though at risk of circularity, leads to
the conclusion that Naevius’ Mercury may very well linger behind the later
glimpses of the god assisting the departure and voyage of the Aeneadae. Indeed,
the poem for Regilla, the (p.221) painting from the Casa del Criptoportico, and
the traces of Mercury’s connection to maritime journeys in the Aeneid and in
Silius’ Punica could very well reflect the afterlife of the tradition depicted in
Naevius’ epic, one in which a maritime Mercury not only crafted Aeneas’ ship,
but also led the Trojan hero safely on his westward voyage.49
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Notes:
(1) Polyb. 1.29.2. Cf. 1.36.11. Trans. Paton et al. 2010. See Walbank 1957 ad loc.
and on 3.22.5 (a). This same Headland of Hermes was also the explicit setting
for a Roman naval victory during the rescue of Regulus’ men from North Africa
after the failed campaign, offering a symbolic glimpse of the god on Rome’s side
in the war (1.36.10–12).
(2) Capes and Promontories of Hermes are plentiful in the Mediterranean,

serving as guides and navigational aids. See Vella 2005; Biggs 2017: 354–5.
Scholarly interest in the landmark largely relates to the geography of the various
prewar treaties between Carthage and Rome. See Polyb. 3.22.5–6 with Walbank
1957. On the treaties in general, see Scardigli 1991 and 2011. Serrati 2006
addresses the role of other landmarks within the treaties, as does Giusti 2014.
(3) Trans. Moore 1949. On this passage, Fabrizi 2016.
(4) For the sea as a place of corruption, Horden and Purcell 2000 passim and
Feeney 2007a: esp. 118–25. Although later etymologies for Mercury seem so
intuitively connected to trade (Maltby 1991 s.v. Mercurius) and Livy’s report of
the dedication of the Temple of Mercury on the Aventine in 495 BCE is tied to a
collegium mercatorum, scholars have questioned how early this connection truly
is. Cf. Liv. 2.21.7, 27.5–6; Val. Max. 9.3.6. For the various problems with this
collegium, see with caution Combet-Farnoux 1980. Ogilvie 1965 (on Liv. 2.27.5)
maintains the veracity of the mercatores’ adoption of Mercury in the narrative,
but he also questions the entire dedication account, suggesting it largely relates
to a restoration and rededication c.300 BCE. Orlin 1997: 111 n. 133 suggests
that the account of the dedication “may be apocryphal, highlighting the divisions
between the Orders” (see also 1997: 97–8, 170). In the present study, I work
from the basis that Mercury was viewed as intertwined with trade and
mercantilism, but that this was only one of his numerous spheres of influence
during the era of the First Punic War.
(5) Cf. Zissos 2006 for discussion of these perspectives in relation to storm at sea
passages. See also Mac Góráin 2015. Concerning the Argo in Latin literature,
Fantham 1990: 106 noted that “[p]erhaps it was on the model of the Argo that
Naevius gave Aeneas a ship constructed by Mercury.” Cf. Blänsdorf, Morel, and
Büchner 2011: 44.
(6) The main sources I will examine beyond Naevius’ epic include Homer’s
Odyssey, Vergil’s Aeneid, Silius Italicus’ Punica, a poem by Marcellus of Side (IG
XIV 1389), a painting from the Casa del Criptoportico in Pompeii, and the Tabula
Iliaca Capitolina.
(7) For more discussion of Mercury in this era, especially in relation to Carthage
and Melquart, see Biggs 2017. Reed 2007 contains a good treatment of
Mercury’s ties to Carthage in the Aeneid, which include a potential syncretism
Page 15 of 18
with Melqart (see 2007: 200–2). For a different “maritime” Mercury, see Blakely
in this volume.
(8) General studies are too numerous to list here; none are comprehensive. See
e.g. Suerbaum 2002: 104–16 for bibliography. Summary discussion in, e.g.,
Goldberg 1995; Von Albrecht 1999: 45–61; Clauss 2010.
(9) Varro ap. Gell. 17. 21. 45 = Flores II = Strzelecki 44.
(10) Von Albrecht 1999: 45.
(11) He appears explicitly in a fragment of the Odusia likely connected to a

concilium deorum (Blänsdorf 19 = Flores XX = Prisc. GLK 2.198). In Ennius’
Annales, we find Mercury in a fragment likely depicting the lectisternium of 399
BCE (Ann. 240–1 Skutsch; cf. Liv. 5.13.4). He clearly played numerous other
roles in these now fragmentary works.
(12) Feeney 2007b: 130.
(13) See n. 4. The comparison with a “mercantile” Greek Hermes is also

controversial. See Phillips 2006.
(14) Macrob. Sat. 6.2.30–1; Serv. Dan. on Aen. 1.198 (Thilo 198). Cf. Leigh 2010:
273–4.
(15) Leigh 2010; Dunsch 2013.
(16) Blänsdorf 7 = Flores XVI = Serv. Dan. on Aen. 1.170 (Thilo 68).
(17) The few exceptions will be discussed later. I take the adjective novus here to
mean “novel, unexpected,” but the more troubling semantics of the word in
connection with sea travel may also have been evoked for a reader.
(18) Blänsdorf 8 = Flores VII = Prisc. GLK II 198.
(19) Diod. Sic. 13.82.1–4.
(20) Faber 2012: 417. For another recent discussion, Dufallo 2013: 16–20.
(21) Blänsdorf 2011 on F. 8: “A depiction of the gigantomachy is described, with

which Mercury decorated Aeneas’ ship.”
(22) See sources and discussion in Pietilä-Castrén 1987. For the dedications of
Gaius Duilius, see Roller 2013; Biggs 2018. The Tempestates appear in Scipio’s
famous tomb epitaph (CIL 12.9 = 6.12897).
(23) Citations and general discussion in Kondratieff 2004. Cf. Crawford (RRC)
1974: 11/1, 14/5, 25/8, 56/1–8, 35/1–6, 322/2. For Mercury, ship rams, Odysseus,
and the Mamilian gens on Roman coinage, see Farney 2008 and Yarrow 2015.
Page 16 of 18
(24) The Tempestates seem to have first entered Roman public religion during
the First Punic War. See Pietilä-Castrén 1987 ad loc. Translation of Plautus is de
Melo 2013.
(25) For Mercury in Roman comedy, see Moodie in this volume.
(26) Feeney 1998a: 27–8.
(27) Liv. 21.63.3. General opinion of the fleet, dependent in part on the sources of
its manpower, was likely complicated and context bound. Sekunda and de Souza
2007: 363–6.
(28) Barchiesi 1962: 479.
(29) My treatment of the Vergilian episode must remain largely superficial. On

Mercury in the epic, see esp. Harrison 1982, Feeney 1998b, and Casali in this
volume. Fratantuono 2015 is an excellent recent discussion. He explores the
genealogical ties between Aeneas and Mercury that give the god another good
reason to have taken care of the Trojan.
(30) McLeish 1972: 133.
(31) Horsfall 1990: 132.
(32) Translation from Ganiban 2010.
(33) Ganiban 2010: 95.
(34) See Florus Ep. 1.18.39–41, where Rome’s first fleet for the First Punic War
has a nearly divine origin: ut non arte factae, sed quodam munere deorum
conversae in naves atque mutatae arbores viderentur.
(35) IG XIV 1389, but see text in Davies and Pomeroy 2012. Cf. Horsfall 1979: 41–
2.
(36) Translation from Davies and Pomeroy 2012.
(37) Gleason 2010: 159.
(38) Davies and Pomeroy 2012: 20. Many, however, have already connected the
verses of Marcellus of Side with Hermes on the Tabula Iliaca Capitolina, as we
will soon see. Cf. Horsfall 1979: 41 n. 119; Valenzuela Montenegro 2004: 390. It
is worth comparing this Hermes with the Mercury of Horace C. 2.7, quoted in
the epigraph for this chapter. Space and scope prohibit exploration at present.
(39) Squire 2011: 149 n. 69. Hermes does appear as Odysseus’ guide on another
tablet (Tabula Rondanini). See Squire 2012: 401.
(40) Squire 2014: 148–58; Spannagel 1999; Geiger 2008.

Page 17 of 18
(41) Petrain 2014: 7.
(42) Galinsky 1969: 106.
(43) Horsfall 1979: 41 n. 119: “I am not sure that the reference to Hermes
building a ship for Aeneas in Naevius is—pace Galinsky [1969] 106—of any
relevance for this discussion.”
(44) In Valenzuela Montenegro’s 2004 study of the tabulae, Naevius and

Marcellus of Side’s poem are briefly introduced (2004: 390). Enrico Flores has
recently reasserted the connection between Naevius’ Mercury and the Tabula
Iliaca, but even his discussion extends no longer than three sentences (Flores
2012: 93, reprinted in Flores 2014: 86–7).
(45) See Squire 2015: 532–8 for brief discussion that connects the Capitoline
tablet with the wall painting (image on 537, fig. 27.19). Cf. also Horsfall 1979:
42; Brilliant 1984: 62–5; Petrain 2014: 129; Squire 2014: 169–74. I do not agree
with those who suggest that an Athenian black-figure oenochoe in the Louvre (F
118, Collection Paravey, 1879) depicts Hermes leading Aeneas and Ascanius.
(46) Blänsdorf 5 = Flores VIII = Serv. Dan. Aen. 3.10 (Thilo 336); Blänsdorf 6 =
Flores IX = Serv. Dan. Aen. 2.797 (Thilo 330).
(47) Whether or not Naevius depicted the Trojan exiles as only having one ship in
toto is of less importance to the present discussion, but I think not; pace
Goldberg 1995: 55. The Capitoline tablet, however, does appear only to depict
one ship in the departure scene; implied in Casali 2010: 43–4.
(48) Valenzuela Montenegro 2004: 382–400 argues too strongly against any
Vergilian influence.
(49) Cf. Jahn 2007: 71.
Page 18 of 18
Communicating with the Divine


Print ISBN-13: 9780198777342
DOI: 10.1093/oso/9780198777342.001.0001

Herms in Attic Vase Painting*
Hélène Collard
DOI:10.1093/oso/9780198777342.003.0015

Historians and archaeologists have long been interested in the Greek herm.
However, several aspects of this topic can still be refined. The usual questions
about these monuments bear on their origin, their signification, and their
function. Many works have already addressed the question of the origin of the
hermaic form, which seems rather clear today. But some uncertainties remain
about the role, the signification and, in particular, about the function of herms:
were they divine images, cult images of the god Hermes, or only boundary
markers? By investigating iconographical evidence, this paper aims to shed new
light on these questions.
Keywords: Attic vase painting, herms, divine representation, iconography, ritual, divine images
Historians and archaeologists have long been interested in the Greek herm, and
the bibliography is considerable.1 However, several aspects of this topic must
still be refined. If many works have already addressed the question of the origin
of the hermaic form, which seems rather clear today,2 some uncertainties remain
about the role, the significance, and, in particular, the function of herms: were
they divine images, cult images of the god Hermes, or simply boundary markers?
Opinions differ among scholars.
If we turn to ancient texts, several points can be noted: first, herms originated in
Athens3 and, according to the pseudo-Platonic Hipparchus, hundreds of them
were put up in Attica by Hipparchos the Peisistratid at the end of the sixth
Page 1 of 19
century BCE as halfway marks between the city and each of the demes.4 Second,
what we call a “herm” is a monument characterized mainly by its rectangular
form (τετράγωνος).5 Third, it is not only a statue, but also an offering, as proved
by the terms used to label it, ἄγαλμα6 and ἀ (p.228) νάθημα.7 Finally, this type
of statue is for the most part simply designated by the word ἑρμῆς, especially by
the traveler Pausanias, who is perfectly consistent, in this case, with his usual
manner of evoking divine images by the name of the god they represent.8 The
link between herms and Hermes seems clear. But should every herm be
considered an image of Hermes? Is he the only god to be represented in this
form? We know that, from the Hellenistic period, herms of other gods existed;
but was this the case in earlier times? Moreover, what was the status of these
monuments, in relation with other divine images, and in particular with other
images of Hermes?
By investigating iconographical evidence, this paper aims to shed new light on

these questions. Indeed, herms are well attested on Attic vases, with more than
two hundred occurrences known.9 Such a profusion cannot be a coincidence and
it invites us to include images in our investigation. The earliest representations
of herms in vase painting can be dated from the last quarter of the sixth century
BCE, like the earliest stone herms themselves and consistent with the erection
of herms by Hipparchos. We can then surmise that their apparition in images is
linked to the monuments newly set up by the tyrant—without strictly speaking
considering the herms on vases as actual representations of Hipparchos’ herms.
From the moment they appeared in vase painting, herms were frequently
represented and never stopped being depicted, appearing even on South Italian
vases.10
We know that herms functioned, at least at the time of Hipparchos, as border-

and direction-markers. They seem to have this function on some vases, as on a
pelike by the Pan Painter (470–460 BCE).11 The scene shows a fisher-boy
carrying baskets filled with fish on a pole over his shoulder, and passing near a
herm. The herm functions here as a crossing point between two (p.229) areas
of a different kind, such as the city and the countryside. Sometimes the herm is
located beside a door, marking the passage between the outside and the inside,
of an oikos for instance.12 But such representations are rather uncommon. Vase
painters seem to have been interested in another function of herms,
representations in scenes of a ritual type: blood sacrifice, libation, prayer,
supplication, and offerings.13 Visual representations can be divided into two
main categories: images from the first group show a “sacrificial” scene, with
several figures around a herm; images of the second group present a face-to-
face encounter between a human and a herm, and evoke instead a “prayer”
ritual. Each type appears in both black- and red-figure vase painting.
Page 2 of 19
One of the earliest representations of a herm is on a black-figure column-krater

of c.520–510 BCE showing a goat sacrifice (Fig. 15.1).14 The scene depicts the
post-kill phase, the cutting up of the carcass, and the roasting of the parts. On
the right is a herm, viewed from the side, before which is a blazing altar. On the
other side of the altar are two youths. One is roasting part of the animal on a
spit and the other is cutting up parts at a trapeza. On the ground are the goat’s
head, visible underneath the table, and a large kanoun, standing at the feet of
the first youth. Two legs hang above and, on the right, behind the herm, a
wreath or a garland. In this image there is, therefore, no movement and no
passing as was the case in the previous depiction. This example reveals the
different activities involving the animal after the killing, in a location defined by
the altar and the herm.
The sacrifice of a goat is also

depicted on a black-figure
lekythos of the beginning of the
fifth century BCE (Fig. 15.2),15
but at a different step of the
sacrificial procedure: that of the
procession, during which the
sacrificial animal is led to the
altar by a group of people. Here
the participants are two draped
men, one holding twigs and one
playing pipes. They are leading
a goat to an altar, behind which
is a herm. This herm has long
hair tied back to its neck, and
seems to be mounted on the
same base as the altar. Fig. 15.1. Attic black-figure column-
Furthermore, the shaft of the krater, 520–510 BCE. London, British
herm has an incised pattern: a Museum B362.
caduceus. We will come back to Photo: © Trustees of the British Museum.
this noteworthy detail later.
Page 3 of 19
Similar scenes appear in red-

figure vase painting. On a
column-krater by the Orchard
Painter (Fig. 15.3, 470–460
BCE),16 a procession of four
women is seen moving toward
an altar and on the right of the
scene a bearded herm. The two
monuments are perfectly
aligned and possibly stand on a
shared base, as (p.230) on the Fig. 15.2. Attic black-figure lekythos, c.
previous vase. In the field hangs 480 BCE. Louvain-la-Neuve, Musée
a pinax, which is another universitaire AC118.
element used to outline a Photo: Jean-Pierre Bougnet © UCL-
sanctuary. Before the herm, a Musée de Louvain-la-Neuve.
young kanephoros leads the
procession. Her left hand is
raised in prayer and the right
holds an unidentified object,
which looks like a stick.17
Behind her, a woman mimics
the gesture of the young girl.
Her face is presented frontally
and thus opens up the space to
the viewer. Last come a girl and
another woman, holding the
same object as the first two
figures. Again, the herm shaft is
decorated: a fillet is suspended
to the side bracket and a
caduceus is painted in black on
its side, but the (p.231)
presence of what looks like a
string seems to suggest that the Fig. 15.3. Attic red-figure column-krater,
caduceus is suspended on the Orchard Painter, 470–460 BCE. Naples,
side bracket as well.18 Museo Archeologico Nazionale 81295
(H3369).
The second category of Photo reproduced by permission of the
representations shows a more Ministero dei Beni e delle Attività
intimate relation between Culturali e del Turismo – Museo
humans and herms. Face-to-face Archeologico di Napoli.
depictions are encountered
from the beginning of the fifth
century, as seen on a black-figure amphora in Würzburg (Fig. 15.4).19 Both sides
Page 4 of 19
depict almost identical scenes, constructed following the same pattern: a male
figure, bearded, wreathed, and wearing richly decorated garments, playing
pipes before a herm. The two figures present some similarities, such as the
beard and the wreath, and seem to mirror each other. The composition of the
scene is very simple, stressing the close relation established between the man
and the herm.
On an olpe in the Louvre (Fig.

15.5, 500–490 BCE),20 the face-
to-face confrontation is
multiplied: three draped youths
are oriented toward two herms
whose base is decorated with
sprigs. The first two youths on
the right have their arms
raised, and the hands of one of
them are opened in front of him,
in a conversation or a salutation
gesture for the two statues. Fig. 15.4. Attic black-figure amphora,
Furthermore, the (p.232) 500–480 BCE. Würzburg, Martin von
figures seem to lean toward Wagner Museum 233.
each other, fitting the shape of © Martin von Wagner Museum der
the vase and intensifying the Universität Würzburg, photo: P.
impression of complicity and Neckermann, respectively E. Oehrlein.
closeness between them. The
relationship can extend even
further, with physical contact between the worshipper and the herm, as on a red-
figure pelike by the Geras Painter (Fig. 15.6, c.490 BCE).21 A draped youth
stands facing a herm and is about to touch its beard with his right arm extended
forward, probably to pray and ask for something. Such contact is common in
vase painting, especially in red-figure. Usually the contact is with the head or
the beard of the herm, but humans can also touch the statue’s phallus or
shoulders.22
Page 5 of 19
Fig. 15.5. Attic black-figure olpe, Dot-Ivy

Group, 500–490 BCE. Paris, Musée du
Louvre F325.
Photo: © RMN-Grand Palais (Musée du
Louvre)/Stéphane Maréchalle.
Page 6 of 19
After observing these examples,

we should make some
observations concerning the
position of herms in the images.
Much of the time, herms are
considered by scholars to be
topographical elements in the
background (p.233)
landscape. For example, we
read in F. T. van Straten’s book
Hierà Kalá that “the presence of
a herm in a sacrificial scene
may mean no more than a
rather general indication of the
setting: a sacrifice in some
sanctuary, or, if we think of the
herms at the doors of private
houses, a domestic sacrificial
ceremony.”23 However, herms
are always central in these
scenes: they are nearly always Fig. 15.6. Attic red-figure pelike, Geras
the focal point around which Painter, c.490 BCE. Paris, Bibliothèque
the composition is constructed, nationale de France 397.
and the element positioned at Photo: Serge Oboukhoff © BnF–CNRS–
the center of the ritual. As is the Maison Archéologie & Ethnologie, René
case with the altar, the herm Ginouvès.
becomes an explicit element
which meaningfully evokes and
symbolizes the ritual space.24
This observation is confirmed by a group of red-figure vases on which a herm

appears on its own, without any human presence (Fig. 15.7).25 In these
examples, the herm is surrounded by diverse objects evoking a sacred area: (p.
234) altar, pinakes, bukranion, column, tree. The ritual space is overdetermined
by this accumulation of objects. No ritual action depicted, but such action is
implicitly suggested by various things, like the bukranion, which is a reference
to blood sacrifice, and the pinakes, which allude to votive offerings. Moreover,
the pattern depicted on the herm shaft on some vases suggests that it is covered
with garments and therefore evokes the ritual gestures carried out (p.235)
around it.26 We should further note that herms are usually adorned with various
items—wreaths of different kinds, garments, sprigs or fillets—all showing how
herms can attract human gestures. In that respect, the herm’s function comes
closer to the role of a divine image. Like every divine statue, (p.236) the herm
Page 7 of 19
is a concrete, visible, and tangible support that can be clothed, adorned, or

touched; we can also talk to it or pray near it.
As a result, it appears that the

herm is more than a monument
used to give a setting to the
scene, as some scholars have
argued. In images, its role is to
structure space from a double
perspective: on the one hand, it
organizes the iconic space by
creating the central axis, or the
focal point, of the image. On the
other hand, within this same
image, it organizes the ritual
space in association with other
elements, mainly the altar. But
herms are not only (p.237)
linked to the ritual space and
the altar. In images of the “face-
to-face” type, they may be
represented alone, without an
altar or any other location
markers. Only the link between
the worshipper and the herm is
emphasized. Some gestures,
such as touching or clasping the
herm, express a characteristic
relationship, mixing both piety
and informality. Other Fig. 15.7. Attic red-figure lekythos,
examples, where a figure raises Icarus Painter, 470–460 BCE. Nicholson
a hand or leans toward it, Museum, The University of Sydney.
suggest that the worshipper is NM51.14.
speaking to the divinity through Photo: Nicholson Museum, The University
the herm, almost as if there of Sydney.
were a dialogue between them.
Consequently, a herm’s role is
also to embody the divine.
Let us now return to the questions asked earlier. The first one was about the
identity of the divinity embodied by herms: do all these herms represent the god
Hermes? If so, is Hermes always the recipient deity of the ritual performed?
Would this mean that Hermes’ cult was more widespread than cults of other
gods? The correspondence between Hermes and herms is considered a given by
several scholars: sacrificial scenes at herms are described as “sacrifices to
Page 8 of 19
Hermes,”27 and areas around them as “Hermes’ sanctuaries.”28 Others identify

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

caduceus is sometimes added to
the herm could lead to the
conclusion that herms on vases
are not always representations
of Hermes, as argued by H.
Goldman in her paper on the
origin of the Greek herm: “The
very fact that the caduceus is
Fig. 15.8. Attic red-figure cup, Ambrosios
painted on the side of some
Painter, 510–500 BCE. London, Sotheby’s
examples shows that the
14.12.1995, no. 84.
identification of the herm was
not always certain and could Photo after Sotheby’s, London, sale
not be taken for granted, catalogue (14.12.1995): 45, no. 84.
otherwise the symbol of the god
would have been
Page 9 of 19
unnecessary.”37 How can we interpret these apparently contradictory data

between textual and iconographical evidence? The caduceus is actually depicted
on at least thirty Attic vases.38 In proportion to the two hundred representations
of herms, that is not a large number. Does it mean that only fifteen percent of
the herms depicted on vases are images of Hermes? In my view, this is not a
plausible assumption, but the examples are too numerous not to be taken into
account: when the caduceus is depicted—since that is not always the case—it
must result from the choice of the painter who added it for a reason. What does
the caduceus mean and what was the reason? This question echoes the question
of divine attributes and of their function in imagery. As J. Mylonopoulos has
recently reminded us, divine attributes are more than signs of identification.39
They are above all the symbol of control and mastery of a specific field or
activity and then are used not only to identify, but also to describe the deity they
accompany and emphasize his fields of action. We can thus suppose that the
caduceus may have been added to some herms to highlight some of the
functions and prerogatives assigned to Hermes in Greek culture, especially
those linked to his role of messenger.
In Homer, Hermes is already portrayed as the messenger of the gods.40 This is

also the case in the Homeric Hymn and in Hesiod, where he is said to be
ἄγγελον ἀθανάτων41 or κήρυκ’ ἀθανάτων,42 two terms often used to qualify him
in literature.43 But Hermes is more than the “messenger of the immortals.” He is
also the one who carries out communication between gods and men,
reciprocally. In the beginning of Aristophanes’ Peace, when Trygaios goes to
Olympus and knocks at Zeus’ door, it is Hermes who answers him.44 In (p.240)
Ps.-Apollodorus’ Library, when Deucalion sacrifices to Zeus after having survived
the torrential rain, Zeus sends him Hermes to listen and grant his wish.45
Humans can also address Hermes in order to reach another god, for instance in
Aeschylus’ Libation Bearers, when Electra invokes him to get her prayer heard
by Gaia and the spirits beneath the earth.46 In images, when Hermes is depicted
in anthropomorphic terms, it is most of the time as messenger and guide. This is
the case, for example, in the numerous images of the Judgment of Paris, in which
Hermes is present as messenger and intermediary between the three goddesses
and the young Trojan.47 Hermes is the one who guides deities and heroes, and
humans as well: he leads the wedding procession during the transfer from one
house to another, the dead during their journey to the Underworld, and so on.48
We can therefore assume that the profusion of herms in Attic vase painting
means neither that Hermes was worshipped more than other gods, nor that his
cult aroused more interest from vase painters: such a prominence, in particular
in scenes of a “ritual” type, is above all linked to Hermes’ functions. Thus, it is
possible to argue that Hermes is not necessarily the god worshipped when a
herm is depicted, nor always the recipient of sacrifices performed in front of a
herm, but rather that the deity is invoked as an intermediary between the human
and divine spheres. Consequently, the presence of a herm on a vase does not
Page 10 of 19
indicate that the scene takes place in a sanctuary of Hermes or that the ritual is
intended for Hermes, but instead it is the sign of an existing and well-
established relation between the mortal and immortal realms. The herm is an
object that facilitates the communication between these two spheres,49 and, in
images, became a self-sufficient symbol to evoke this communication. For this
reason, it can be represented by itself, apart from any ritual action, without
losing its signification. If Hermes is not always the recipient deity, he is
nonetheless clearly the one that the worshippers address: through the
intermediary of his image, they try to reach the messenger, even if the recipient
of the ritual is another god, as in the case of Electra mentioned earlier.
Some ritual practices related to Hermes in different parts of the Greek world are
of a great interest, since they confirm the use of herms as instruments of
communication and mediation, and/or the role of Hermes as the chosen (p.241)
interlocutor for humans. Such is the case of the oracle of Hermes Agoraios at
Pharae. According to Pausanias, in the middle of the agora was an image of
Hermes (Ἑρμοῦ…ἄγαλμα) made of stone, bearded and of square shape
(τετράγωνον σχῆμα); in other words, a herm. In front of the image was placed a
hearth with lamps clamped to it. Whoever wanted to question the god had to
come in the evening and, after having burnt incense upon the hearth, light the
lamps, put a coin on the altar, and ask his question in the ear of the god (ἐρωτᾷ
πρὸς τὸ οὖς τὸν θεὸν)—that is, in the ear of the statue. Then he covered his ears
and left the agora; once outside he took his hands from his ears and took the
first words he heard for the oracle’s answer.50 At Pellene there was also a herm
(σχῆμα…τετράγωνον) of Hermes Dolios, who was always ready to fulfill the
prayers of men,51 and at Athens a statue of Hermes Psithyristes—“the
whisperer” or “to whom we whisper”—who got this name because men used to
gather around his image to whisper their wishes.52 A scene such as the one on
the olpe in the Louvre (Fig. 15.5) echoes perfectly these textual testimonies: the
two youths raise their hands to their face and lean toward the two herms, as if
they wanted to whisper something into their ears. Both herms are tilted toward
their interlocutors as well, giving the impression that they are leaning toward
them to listen closely. The movement of these two herms is purely iconographic
and made possible only in the image;53 at the same time, it demonstrates the
ways in which herms were perceived and the properties assigned to them in
Greece: herms allow us to see Hermes in one of his modes of presence and one
of his modes of action, which is underlined in some images by the presence of
the caduceus.54
To conclude, vase painting leads us to suggest that herms, precisely because

they are closely linked to the god Hermes, can be perceived as an efficient tool
for communicating with the divine. For that reason, it would have been
particularly pertinent to represent them in ritual scenes, which precisely aim to
show a suitable relationship established with the gods. In this way, the herm
assumes a double status: as a monument, it is a “space marker”; like the altar,
Page 11 of 19
(p.242) with which it is often associated, the herm organizes and defines the
area in which it presents itself. As a divine image, the herm makes the divine
presence manifest and transforms the space where it appears as a favorable
place for establishing contact with the gods. Accordingly, iconographical
evidence shows that Hermes’ head—even if originally conceived as a milestone—
was chosen to surmount monuments with functions such as communication and
passage. The herm was also perceived and used as a ritual instrument, fostering
communication between the human and divine spheres.
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Notes:
(*) I am very grateful to Tyler Jo Smith for her suggestions and revision of the
paper. For a longer version of this study in French, see Collard 2016: 54–74.
(1) Among the most important: Gerhard 1852 and 1868; Curtius 1903; Lullies
1931; Crome 1935–6; Goldman 1942; Devambez 1968; Simon 1969: 303–12;
Osborne 1985; Wrede 1986; Siebert 1990; Furley 1996; Rückert 1998; and
Krämer 2001, to which can be added some papers dealing with one particular
monument, e.g., Broc 1963 and Hermary 1979.
(2) See e.g. Curtius 1903; Crome 1935–6; Goldman 1942; Osborne 1985: 47–57;
Siebert 1990: 375–7.
(3) Thuc. 6.27; Paus. 1.24.3, 4.33.3. According to Hdt. 2.51, the Athenians would
have taken this shape from the Pelasgians, but he is mainly talking about the
herms’ ithyphallism.
(4) Ps.-Plat. Hipparch. 228d–9b. On Hipparchos’ herms, see Crome 1935–6.
(5) Thuc. 6.27; Paus. 1.19.2, 2.10.7, 4.33.3, 7.22.2, 7.27.1, 8.31.7, 8.32.1–2,
8.39.6, 10.12.6; Artem. Onir. 2.37; Diog. Laert. 5.82.8; Suda s.v. Ἑρμῶν (ed.
Adler). See also LSJ s.v. τετράγωνος I 1.
(6) Hdt. 2.51; Paus. 7.22.2, 7.27.1, 8.31.7, 8.39.6. The statues of Hermes
mentioned in these passages are undoubtedly herms, as they are described as
“quadrangular.” The expression τὸ ἄγαλμα τοῦ Ἑρμοῦ can be found in other
places in Pausanias, but without any specification about the shape (e.g. 2.3.4).
See also the inscription περικαλλὲς ἄγαλμα on the breast of the copy of
Alcamenes’ herm in Pergamon (Istanbul, Archaeological Museum 1433, LIMC 5
s.v. Hermes no. 47, pl. 202).
(7) And. Myst. 34; Plut. Alc. 21.2.
Page 15 of 19
(8) Paus. 1.24.3, 4.33.3, 8.32.1–2; Thuc. 6.27.1, 6.28.1–2, 6.53.1–2, 6.60.4,
6.61.1; Lys. Alc. 42; And. Myst. 35, 37, 39, 62; Ps.-Plat. Hipparch. 228d–9b;
Aeschin. Ctesiph. 183–5; Plut. Alc. 18.6, 20.4, 21.2–3; Plut. Cim. 7.4.
(9) Many works deal with vase painting representations of herms: see for
example Marcadé 1952; Metzger 1965: 77–91; Zanker 1965: 91–103; Shapiro
1989: 126–31; Siebert 1990: 295–306; Siebert 1991; Durand 1992; Rückert 1998:
185–220; Jaillard 2001; Versnel 2011: 335–52; Zachari 2013. Some papers on
specific vases: de La Genière 1960; Lissarrague 1985b; Malagardis 1985;
McPhee 2011: 47–52.
(10) As a typical Athenian monument, the herm surely occupies a prominent

place in Athenian vase painting production. But it can be found in other
productions as well, such as Boeotian (black-figure skyphoi in Athens, National
Museum 426 and Kassel, Staatliche Museen T 424; van Straten 1995: no. V110
and V112) and South Italian (for examples see Lullies 1931: 31–2; Siebert 1990:
302–3; de Cesare 1997: 263–78).
(11) Vienna, Kunsthistorisches Museum 3727: ARV² 555, 88, BAPD 206331. On
the Pan Painter, see Follmann 1968 and Beazley 1974.
(12) Red-figure loutrophoros by the Naples Painter (Karlsruhe, Badisches

Landesmuseum 69.78: ARV² 1102, 2, BAPD 216155).
(13) Among the 211 Attic vases showing a herm, only about fifteen are decorated
with a scene without any ritual connotation.
(14) London, British Museum B 362: BAPD 30320, LIMC 5 s.v. Hermes no. 118,
pl. 210.
(15) Louvain-la-Neuve, Musée universitaire AC118: BAPD 9024281, de Ruyt and

Hackens 1974: no. 11, fig. 23–5.
(16) Naples, Museo Archeologico Nazionale 81295 (H3369): ARV² 523, 9, BAPD
205886.
(17) Siebert 1990: 301, no. 100: “rameaux”; van Straten 1995: 249, no. V302:
“sticks” (twigs? small torches?); Jaillard 2001: 352: “rameau.”
(18) As noted by Ridgway 1997: 263, n. 49, “there is no established term for the
projections that occur on either side of a herm shaft in place of the arms.” But
the term “side brackets” seems to be the most frequently used.
(19) Würzburg, Martin von Wagner Museum 233: BAPD 9526, Langlotz 1932: no.
233, pl. 61.
(20) Paris, Musée du Louvre F325, Dot-Ivy Group: ABV 448, 2, BAPD 330141.
Page 16 of 19
(21) Paris, Bibliothèque nationale de France 397: ARV² 285, 8, BAPD 202583.
(22) Phallus: red-figure pelike by the Perseus Painter (Berlin, Antikensammlung

F2172: ARV² 581, 4, BAPD 206706); shoulders: red-figure cup by the Curtius
Painter (Berlin, Antikensammlung F2525: ARV² 931, 4, BAPD 212518).
(23) van Straten 1995: 28. See also Rückert 1998: 194–6.
(24) Both monuments fulfill similar functions in images, and are, by the way,
depicted together at least eighty-nine times in Athenian vase painting. For the
association between herm and altar on vases, see Zachari 2013.
(25) Sydney, Nicholson Museum NM51.14, Icarus Painter: ARV² 697, 17, BAPD
208347. This group is composed of about fifteen small vases (mainly lekythoi
and skyphoi) dated from 480 to 450 BCE, and attributed to a couple of artists
such as the Bowdoin, the Icarus, and the Triptolemos Painters.
(26) See e.g. a red-figure pelike by the Bowdoin Painter (Saint Petersburg, State
Hermitage Museum 4515: Para 514, BAPD 9017636).
(27) ARV² 523, 9: “sacrifice to Hermes”; Malagardis 1985: 85: “sacrifice à

Hermès”; Shapiro 1989: 128–31.
(28) Zanker 1965: 98; Simon 1969: 294; Follmann 1971 in CVA Hanover 1.59;
Kaempf-Dimitriadou 1979: 29.
(29) Lo Porto 1964: 270: “A sinistra, su di un piedistallo a doppio gradino si erge

l’erma itifallica di Dionysos barbuto con tenia sul capo e chioma fluente sulle
spalle”; black-figure lekythos by the Gela Painter (Taranto, Museo Archeologico
Nazionale 6250: ABL 208.56, BAPD 340818).
(30) E.g. E. Ghiandoni in Berti and Gasparri 1989: 118: “L’erma destinataria del
sacrificio ha un generico volto di divinità barbata, purtuttavia essendo itifallica,
vi si può riconoscere una immagine di Dionysos” (red-figure bell-krater by the
Marlay Painter, Ferrara, Museo Archeologico Nazionale 42888: ARV² 1276, 9bis,
BAPD 216196). See also de Ruyt and Hackens 1974: 65: “statue-xoanon de
Dionysos ithyphallique,” about the lekythos in Louvain (our Fig. 15.2), although
the herm in this image is characterized by the caduceus and the petasos.
(31) For representations of statues in vase painting, see Schefold 1937; de

Cesare 1997; Oenbrink 1997. For representations of statues in a ritual context
particularly, see Collard 2016.
(32) Paus. 8.31.7, 8.32.1, 8.32.2, 8.32.4.
(33) On this subject see Lullies 1931: 50–7; Wrede 1972: 148–60; Wrede 1986:
17–31 and 52–5; Rückert 1998: 150–6 and 164–8.
Page 17 of 19
(34) Athenian: red-figure bell-krater by the Toya Painter (Veroia, Archaeological

Museum 508: BAPD 7995); red-figure bell-krater by the Rodin 966 Painter
(Naples, Museo Archeologico Nazionale 82559: ARV² 1449, 1; BAPD 218178).
South Italian: Apulian calyx-krater by the Underworld Painter (London, British
Museum F 270: RVAp II 358.318, LIMC 4 s.v. Aphrodite no. 1497, pl. 147).
(35) Athenian: red-figure calyx-krater (Athens, National Museum 1669: BAPD

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

Antikensammlungen 1545: BAPD 1574, CVA Munich 8, pl. 427).
Page 18 of 19
(48) Numerous examples in LIMC 5.1 s.v. Hermes, 318–34: “VIII. Hermès
messager et guide.”
(49) This function of herms has already been emphasized by Furley 1996: 21–8,
for whom the herms’ mutilation that happened in 415 BCE was not only a
political act, nor an offense only to Hermes, but a rupture of communication
between the Athenians and their gods; 22: “[N]ot only Hermes was implicated;
the whole Olympian system was damaged.” For the herm as instrument of
communication, see also Osborne 1985: 57–8.
(50) Paus. 7.22.2–3 (trans. W. H. S. Jones, Loeb Classical Library, 1933 [1918]).
(51) Paus. 7.27.1 (trans. W. H. S. Jones, Loeb Classical Library, 1933 [1918]).
(52) He was associated with Aphrodite and Eros, who bore the same epithet, but
it was precisely near the image of Hermes that men whispered. See Harpocr.
(ed. Dindorf); Suda (ed. Adler); Lex. Seguer. (ed. Bekker) s.v. Ψιθυριστής Ἑρμῆς
and Ψιθυριστοῦ Ἑρμοῦ καὶ Ἔρωτος καὶ Ἀφροδίτης. For the epithet “Psithyros/
istes,” see Usener 1904; Radke 1959a and 1959b.
(53) The same effect is to be found on two black-figure oenochoai on which the
herm, whose body is presented frontally, “turns” its head to the side, toward the
altar in the first case, toward the kanephoros in the other (Berlin,
Antikensammlung F 1928: Gerhard 1868, pl. 64.2, and Frankfurt,
Archäologisches Museum 1941.9: ABV 530, 72, BAPD 330861). There is no “real”
herm in stone represented in that way, with head in profile. Nor is it a technical
constraint linked to black-figure, since one of the herms on the olpe in the
Louvre is seen frontally. It really is an effect of the image.
(54) The idea of “modes of presence” is borrowed from Jaillard 2001: 345.
Page 19 of 19
Hermes as Visible in Votive Inscriptions


Print ISBN-13: 9780198777342
DOI: 10.1093/oso/9780198777342.001.0001

Jenny Wallensten
DOI:10.1093/oso/9780198777342.003.0016

The chapter presents a corpus of votive inscriptions to Hermes. Who dedicated
to the god, for what reasons, and to which gods was he associated? It comments
on chronological and geographical aspects and proceeds to discuss some themes
visible in the collected material. First, it examines why women are not frequent
among worshippers visible in votive inscriptions, in contrast to Hermes’ frequent
female company in myth and cult, second, how Hermes appears as the protector
of magistrates, often in the company of Aphrodite, and third, the significance of
the denomination New Hermes.
Keywords: votive inscriptions, dedications, Hermes, Greek religion, Aphrodite, Greek cult
1. Introduction
Among the sources available for the study of ancient Greek religion, votive
inscriptions offer fascinating but frustrating material. It is fascinating, since in a
sense it gives us access to ancient ritual acts. Votive inscriptions let us meet the
actual worshipers behind the ritual act of gift giving: the dedicators are present
through their names and thus show us the worshiper and, with a bit of luck, also
why and in what capacity he or she gifted the god. An inscription from Lycian
Phaselis, for example, shows us a brother and a sister making a dedication to
Hermes and Hestia for the benefit of their father, an ex-magistrate.1 Votive
inscriptions are furthermore naturally inscribed on something, often on the gift
itself, and thus we can perceive what kind of objects were thought to be pleasing
to the recipient deity. A Boiotian prayer to Hermes was, for example, carved on a
small ithyphallic herm,2 whereas an inscription from Egypt tells of a general who
thought Hermes (along with Herakles) would enjoy an entire cult building and a
Page 1 of 42
throne.3 At the same time, however, working with votive inscriptions is

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

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

broad epigraphical study. Different regions had different epigraphical habits. It
is not possible to date all identified dedicatory inscriptions, and many editors
give large chronological frames: “Hellenistic,” “imperial,” or even just “late.”10
We can, however, note a steady presence of inscribed dedications to Hermes
throughout the archaic and classical periods, with a peak in the following
Hellenistic period. Even allowing for a general increase in inscribed text during
Page 2 of 42
the Hellenistic period, this spike is much too clear to be doubted, especially in
regard to the 2nd and 1st centuries BCE.
3. The Dedicators
I will now move on to the dedicators visible from the material. A study of the
people who presented the gifts that have come down to us through the millennia
says a lot about the recipient deity, who is in fact shaped by his worshipers’
devotion.11 The Greek deities would adapt and change in accordance with their
worshipers’ needs, or, if you wish to stress the human perspective, the
worshipers adapted and changed the gods according to their current concerns.
Hermes is often described as a god friendly to humans, a “down-to-earth deity”

who likes to frequent the company of men, in both modern textbooks and in the
ancient sources.12 And indeed, a very broad spectrum of mortals appears in the
inscriptions I have examined: men, women, young and old, priests, magistrates,
merchants, and a cheese-maker.13 Some of Hermes’ most (p.248) well-known
divine responsibilities are immediately visible through these dedicators: the god
of commerce and exchange through dedicating tradesmen and bynames such as
Empolios;14 the god of the gymnasion through victors and various magistrates,
such as the gymnasiarch, agonothetes, paidonomos, etc., and through the
epithets Enagonios and Agonios.15 We find Hermes’ role as messenger of the
gods through dedications made by a keryx and epithets such as Euangelos.16 The
epithet Hagemon possibly alludes to Hermes as protector of travelers, at least
when used by a Massaliot dedicating in Rhodes,17 but it is likely that the case-
by-case context decided what kind of leader or guide this epithet designated. An
association with funerary cult has also been recognized in Hermes Hagemon.18
Finally, Hermes’ connection to officials, both administrative and military, is
present through a plethora of dedications from magistrates and epithets such as
Agoraios,19 Prytaneios, and Eisagogeus.20
(p.249) We can further note that dedicators from a gymnasion context

dominate, and also that Hermes’ protection of magistrates strongly defends its
position. But perhaps even more interesting, and certainly more intriguing, is
the low visibility of one major aspect of Hermes and the feeble attestation of
certain categories of worshippers. Pastoral Hermes is hardly manifest in the
examined dossier; only two inscriptions appear to underline this capacity.
Hermes is perhaps the object of a goatherd/cheese-maker’s devotion in an
enigmatic dedication from Dreros in Crete, and the epithet Phalantheios in an
undated inscription from Attica might be related to wool working.21 One
explanation is that the actual gifts, now lost, provided the key to this aspect. We
can compare this case with inscribed dedications to Aphrodite that were carved
on models of genital organs: the dedicated object makes clear which aspect of
Aphrodite was aimed at, not the words of the inscription. Possibly the worship of
Hermes as a pastoral deity was mainly pronounced in areas that did not have a
strong tradition of inscribed votive gifts. Perhaps it was not even considered
Page 3 of 42
appropriate to present Hermes the Herdsman with inscribed monuments, and

that the gifts to this god were perishable; we may think of dedicated foodstuffs,
animal skins, or even performances like dances. However, another possible
explanation lies in the nature of dedicatory language. Votive inscriptions rarely
state the obvious; they display a clear economy of expression. To add an extra
word was to add effort and cost, and so what was carved on the stone was there
for a reason. Thus it is possible that Hermes of the flocks and their fertility is
hiding behind some of the many dedications to a non-specified Hermes. Perhaps
Hermes’ pastoral aspect was more or less self-evident, so that the addition of a
title such as Nomios, “of Shepherds,” or Epimelios, “Guardian of Flocks,” was
considered unnecessary.22 We can compare the case of Hermes once more with
Aphrodite. She is rarely specified as a goddess of love or sexuality through the
addition of pertinent epithets or clearly stated reasons; the same goes for
Poseidon as god of the sea.23
Another intriguing absence is that of female dedicators. Out of the examined

inscriptions, I have identified only ten women dedicators, and out of these, three
dedications were made by women accompanied by men (husband (p.250) and
wife, or brother and sister).24 And yet we know, of course, that women
worshiped Hermes. Vase paintings show women offering worship to him, as does
relief sculpture.25 An epigram carved in a Cretan cave sacred to Hermes tells of
a husband and his wife bringing annual offerings to Hermes.26 Being aware of
the comic context, we can note in the Thesmophoriazousai that alongside
Demeter, Kore, Plouton, and other predominantly female deities like Kalligenia,
Kourotrophos, and Gaia, the women invoke Hermes, Pan, and the Nymphs, and
hope they will enjoy the women’s dancing.27 Then why are women so poorly
represented here? Perhaps for economic reasons? In general women presented
less costly gifts to the gods than men, for the simple reason that most of them
had less economic means at their disposal.28 But an inscribed dedication was not
necessarily more expensive than an uninscribed one; this depended to a large
extent on the material of the gift. And at least during the Hellenistic period,
there were women with considerable means. Incidentally, among the dedications
made by women alone, two tell of costly gifts: a statue and a propylon.29 Then
could the lack of women be explained by the character of the god? Were his
responsibilities more tied to men than to women? Women are likely to have
traveled less, and to have engaged less in politics, commercial activities, and
athletics. But women must have had male relatives connected to these spheres.
It is quite conceivable that women would have approached Hermes the
merchant god on behalf of their husbands and Hermes the travelers’ protector
on behalf of their sons. Countless votives were presented on behalf of someone
else, as is in fact visible in the small sample of women’s dedications to Hermes.
Perhaps the Macedonian woman who prayed to Hermes Agoraios did this for the
benefit of a male relative engaged in trade?30 We also meet a mother who
Page 4 of 42
presented a statue of her son to Hermes and Herakles, and a brother and a
sister dedicating to Hermes on behalf of their father.31
In general, however, these examples seem exceptional, not only because women
dedicators are rare in this dossier, but also because dedications to Hermes
presented explicitly hyper, for someone or something, were mostly made for the
benefit of themselves or colleagues, or for political bodies, kings, and the like—
and not for family members.32 Hermes votives that (p.251) were dedicated for
the benefit of someone or something appear to have a pronounced official or
professional character. Perhaps Hermes was perceived as “too male” to be
approached by women. We can note that in terms of sacrifice, Hermes counted
as, in Gunnel Ekroth’s words, a “prominently male god,” and was one of the few
alongside Zeus and Poseidon, for example, to receive uncastrated sacrificial
victims.33 But probably Hermes’ involvement in the public sphere is more
significant. Perhaps the lack of women dedicators is rather tied to Hermes’
pronounced role as protector of the gymnasion and of magistrates during the
Hellenistic period. It is interesting to note that two of the earliest dedications
(from the sixth and the mid-fifth centuries) were presented by women (alone).34
Although, as previously discussed, we could conceive of women dedicating on
behalf of relatives in an athletic context, or even as magistrates themselves—we
know of some examples of female gymnasiarchs35—both the gymnasion and the
political arena remained a mainly male world. Did the women’s interest in
Hermes diminish as he became increasingly pronounced as an athletes’ and a
magistrates’ deity? We also know that men and women sometimes had different
dedicatory habits. In Thessaly, men set up inscribed stelai to Asklepios, but
women did not, although they honored him in other ways.36
4. The Gods Associated with Hermes

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

athletic events, so often found in gymnasia, that even when the dedicator is
presented with no more than his name, or is even missing from the inscription,
we can broadly understand under which circumstances the votive was
presented.40
In a second cluster, Apollo is paired with Hermes (twenty-eight times). It is,

however, questionable whether this number informs us about the ritual context,
since twenty-five of these inscriptions come from Delos.41 Although Apollo
certainly is at home in the gymnasion, his presence in these inscriptions is
probably mainly as the chief deity and lord of Delos.
More rewarding for interpretation is a strong link to Aphrodite certified by a

third group of sixteen dedications.42 Fourteen of these have clearly identifiable
dedicators. These were all men, and at least eleven were magistrates. As
regards the unknown dedicators, and one non-magistrate, those are dedications
where Hermes and Aphrodite are not singled out as a couple, but are honored
together with other gods. The find contexts of dedications to Hermes–Aphrodite
are also of importance. It is notable that many of these votives were not
discovered in sanctuaries, but in places like the Agora and the Prytaneion.43 The
couple Hermes–Aphrodite thus clearly had a strong link to the magistrates’
sphere, by analogy with the pairing Hermes–Herakles, who together indicate a
gymnasion context. An official context is probably what we should expect when
we meet Hermes–Aphrodite as a couple. This is not self- (p.253) evident,
because Aphrodite and Hermes had many connections in cult and mythology.
Cults dedicated to the two together existed all over the Greek world: in Syme
Viannou,44 in the Samian sanctuary of Hera,45 in Black Sea Olbia, and in western
Locri, for example.46 Where we know something about these cults, they were not
related to the protection of magistrates, but rather to sex, fertility, and marriage.
The key to our identification of magistrates’ devotion to this couple thus lies not
with the gods, but with the dedicators.
The world of votive dedications thus presents a polyvalent Hermes of many

varied local and contextual characteristics, which co-exist with the Hermes of
Panhellenic myth. For my closing paragraph, I will leave the diversity of local
cult contexts in order to comment on two inscriptions concerning a New (Neos)
Hermes. These texts, I believe, illustrate, instead of the precise local persona of
a Hermes Propylaios or Dromios, the immediate mythological associations
brought to mind through the Panhellenic image of Hermes established all over
the Greek world. This New Hermes belongs to a group of inscriptions presenting
a specific type of combination of mortals and gods that became pronounced
during the late Hellenistic and imperial eras. Two distinct groups are detectable
within this epigraphical material. In the first, we find members of the imperial
house honored literally by being named New Gods—e.g. Titus, New (Neos)
Apollo; Sabina, New (Nea) Hera, etc.47 Developing in parallel with this group is
Page 6 of 42
a second one, where mortals are honored as New Heroes or mythological or

even historical characters: New Penelope, New Homer, New Themistokles.48 The
rules for these titles are strict: only emperors and their close family are called
New Gods; non-imperials will be honored as non-divine characters. However, a
single exception breaks this hierarchy, namely, a Neos Hermes. This designation
can be found once for Antinoos and once for a successful Spartan ephebe.49 A
closer study of the Neos-titles shows that the divine prototypes lending their
names were not chosen at random. As regards the emperors, they were a
response to the projected self-image of these same rulers. Only empresses are
called Nea Hera, as the wife of the ruler of the world/kosmos, and Nero, for
example, was called New Apollo in accordance with his musical pretensions.50
As regards the non-imperials, the titles were rather given in recognition of some
personal (p.254) characteristic or action.51 I believe that the choice of Hermes,
however, relates instead to the inherent character of the god. Hermes is a
young, beautiful, and athletic male, of course, but also someone who easily
strides across the boundaries of the mortal and the immortal worlds.52 Hermes
feels perfectly at home among humans, sometimes behaves like a human, all the
while never ceasing to be a god.53 This makes him the perfect choice for this
limited category of honorands, who are sometimes divine, sometimes mortal,
themselves straddling those boundaries.54
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Page 10 of 42
No. Dedicator Recipient Gods Provenance Date Reference
1 Keryx, mnemosynes Hermes Attica 6th/5th BCE IG I3 776
2 Keryx Hermes Aegean Islands No date ID 1804
3 Hierokeryx Hermes Diaktoros Mysia 2nd CE Hepding 1910 451 33
4 Magistrates Kerykeios Boiotia 7th/6th BCE LSAG 94.07
5 Agoranomoi Hermes, Polis Thessaly 3rd/2nd BCE IG IX,2 94
6 Agoranomos Hermes Agoraios Macedonia 2nd/1st BCE SEG 47 1002
7 Agoranomoi, Hermes Macedonia 2nd BCE EKM 1 Beroia 24

Grammateus
8 Agoranomos Hermes Agoraios Thrace 2nd BCE SEG 42 662
9 Agoranomos Hermes Agoraios Scythia Minor 2nd BCE IScM I 175
10 Agoranomos Hermes Agoraios Scythia Minor 2nd BCE IScM I 176
11 Agoranomoi Hermes Agoraios Black Sea 2nd CE SEG 57 725
12 Agoranomoi Hermes Agoraios Black Sea 2nd/3rd CE IosPE I2 128
13 Agoranomoi Hermes Black Sea 1st/2nd CE IosPE I2 129
14 Agoranomos Zeus Agoraios, Aegean Islands 2nd BCE? NSuppl Epig Rodio
Themis, Hermes 170, 21
15 Agoranomoi Hermes Agoraios Aegean Islands 3rd BCE IG XI,4 1143
16 Agoranomos, Hermes, Aphrodite Aegean Islands 3rd BCE IG XI,4 1144

astynomos
Page 11 of 42
17 Agoranomos, Hermes, Aphrodite Aegean Islands 2nd BCE IG XI,4 1145

astynomos
18 Agoranomoi? Hermes, Aphrodite Aegean Islands 2nd BCE ID 1832
19 Agoranomos Hermes, Apollo Aegean Islands 1st BCE ID 1835
20 Agoranomoi, Hermes, Aphrodite Aegean Islands 2nd BCE ID 1833

Grammateus
21 Agoranomos Hermes Aegean Islands 2nd BCE IG XII,5 26
22 Agoranomoi, Hestia, Aphrodite, Aegean Islands 4th BCE SEG 17 422

epistatai Hermes
23 Agoranomoi, Hestia, Aphrodite, Aegean Islands 1st BCE SEG 17 425

mnemones, epistatai, Hermes
grammateus
24 Agoranomos Hermes Agoraios Caria Hellenistic Alabanda 8
(p.258) 25 Agoranomos Hermes Ionia 4th BCE IPriene 179
26 Agoranomos Hermes, Aphrodite Ionia 4th BCE IPriene 183
27 Agoranomos Hermes Ionia 3rd BCE IPriene 182
28 Agoranomos Hermes Ionia No date IPriene 180
29 Agoranomos Hermes Mysia 2nd BCE Conze &

Schuchhardt 1899,
168 Nr.6
Page 12 of 42
30 Agoranomos Hermes Mysia Hellenistic IPergamon I 243
31 Agoranomos Hermes Mysia Hellenistic IPergamon I 244
32 Agoranomos Hermes Mysia Late royal v.Prott & Kolbe 1902

89 73
33 Agoranomos Hermes Aegean Islands 1st BCE SEG 60 910
34 Man Hermes Agoraios Peloponnesos Imperial BE 1973: 97 3
35 Man Hermes Agoraios Macedonia 1st BCE SEG 53 621
36 Woman Hermes Agoraios Macedonia 2nd CE EAM 9
37 Men Hermes Agoraios Thrace 5th BCE IAegThrace 13
38 Men Hermes Agoraios Aegean Islands 4th BCE IG XII,8 67
39 Gymnasiarch, Hermes, Herakles Attica 1st BCE IG II2 2990

lampadarch
40 Gymnasiarch Hermes Attica 1st BCE IG II2 2993
41 Gymnasiarch Hermes Peloponnesos 3rd BCE IG V,1 938
42 Gymnasiarch, Polis Hermes Peloponnesos Roman IG V,1 1410
43 Gymnasiarch Hermes, Dioskouroi Peloponnesos 2nd BCE Rizakis Achaie III 62
44 Gymnasiarch Hermes, Herakles Peloponnesos 2nd/1st BCE Rizakis Achaie III 8
45 Gymnasiarch Hermes, Herakles, Boiotia No date IG VII 2235

Polis
Page 13 of 42
46 Gymnasiarch Hermes, Polis Thessaly Hellenistic IG IX,2 31
47 Gymnasiarch Hermes, Herakles Epiros 3rd/2nd BCE SEG 37 508
48 Gymnasiarch, Hermes, Herakles ThLD 1st CE IGBulg I2 322

agonothetes
49 Gymnasiarch Hermes, Herakles Scythia Minor Hellenistic IScM I 395
50 Gymnasiarch Hermes, Herakles Black Sea 3rd BCE IosPE I2 186
51 Gymnasiarch Thea Aiolis Aegean Islands 1st CE IG XII suppl. 690

Karpophoros
Agrippina, Hermes,
Herakles
52 Hypogymnasiarchos Hermes, Herakles Aegean Islands 3rd-1st BCE IG XII,3 1091
(p.259) 53 Gymnasiarch, Hermes, Herakles Aegean Islands 1st CE IG XII.3 339

hypogymnasiarch,
priest
54 Gymnasiarch, Hermes, Herakles Aegean Islands c. 2nd BCE IG XII.3 391a

hypogymnasiarch
55 Hypogymnasiarch Hermes Aegean Islands 1st BCE/1st CE IG XII.3 392
56 Gymnasiarch, Hermes, Herakles Aegean Islands No date IG XII.3 395

hypogymnasiarch
57 Gymnasiarch Hermes Aegean Islands No date IG XII.3 396
58 Gymnasiarch Hermes Aegean Islands Imperial IG XII.3 397
Page 14 of 42
59 Gymnasiarch, Hermes, Herakles Aegean Islands 3rd/2nd BCE IG XII.3 1314

hypogymnasiarch
60 Gymnasiarch Hermes Aegean Islands Hellenistic Herzog KFF 15
61 Gymnasiarch Hermes, Herakles Aegean Islands 2nd BCE IG XII,7 254
62 Gymnasiarch, Apollo, Hermes Aegean Islands 3rd BCE IG XI,4 1151

hypogymnasiarch
63 Gymnasiarch, Apollo, Hermes Aegean Islands 2nd BCE IG XI,4 1153

hypogymnasiarch
64 Gymnasiarch Apollo, Hermes Aegean Islands 2nd BCE IG XI,4 1154
65 Gymnasiarch, Apollo, Hermes Aegean Islands 2nd BCE IG XI,4 1152

hypogymnasiarch
66 Gymnasiarch, Apollo, Hermes, Aegean Islands 2nd BCE ID 1948

Lampadarch Herakles
67 Gymnasiarch Apollo, Hermes, Aegean Islands 2nd BCE ID 1949

Herakles
68 Gymnasiarch Hermes Aegean Islands 1st BCE/1st CE SEG 14 535
69 Gymnasiarch Hermes Aegean Islands 3rd BCE IG XII,5 620
70 Gymnasiarch Hermes Aegean Islands 3rd/2nd BCE IG XII,5 621
71 Gymnasiarch, Hermes, Herakles Aegean Islands 1st BCE? IG XII,5 232

hypogymnasiarch
Page 15 of 42
72 Gymnasiarch, Hermes, Herakles Aegean Islands No date IG XII,5 1026

hypogymnasiarch,
ephebes?
73 Gymnasiarch Hermes, Herakles Aegean Islands No date IG XII,5 484
74 Gymnasiarch Ptolemaios, Hermes, Aegean Islands 3rd/2nd BCE IG XII,6 1 179

Herakles
75 Gymnasiarch Hermes, Herakles Aegean Islands 3rd/2nd BCE IG XII,6 1 181
(p.260) 76 Gymnasiarch, Hermes, Herakles Aegean Islands 1st BCE/1st CE Chios 130
xustarchos
77 Gymnasiarch Hermes, Herakles Aegean Islands No date Chios 131
78 Gymnasiarch, Hermes, Herakles Aegean Islands 2nd/1st BCE IG XII,7 421

hypogymnasiarch,
ephebes
79 Gymnasiarch, Hermes, Herakles Aegean Islands 1st BCE IG XII,7 422

hypogymnasiarch,
ephebes
80 Gymnasiarch, Hermes, Herakles Aegean Islands 1st BCE IG XII,7 424

hypogymnasiarch,
ephebes
81 Gymnasiarch, Hermes, Herakles Aegean Islands 1st CE IG XII,7 423

hypogymnasiarch,
ephebes
Page 16 of 42
82 Gymnasiarch, Hermes, Herakles Aegean Islands 1st CE IG XII,7 425

hypogymnasiarch,
ephebes
83 Gymnasiarch (et al.?) Hermes, Herakles Aegean Islands No date IG XII,7 426
84 Gymnasiarchs Hermes, Herakles Aegean Islands 2nd BCE SEG 59 988
85 Gymnasiarch Hermes Epekoos Cyprus 1st BCE? Salamis 13 44
86 Gymnasiarch, Hermes, Herakles Caria 1st BCE Halikarnassos 41

hypogymnasiarch and Demos
87 Gymnasiarch Hermes, Herakles Caria 2nd/1st BCE Bean & Cook 1955,
101 11
88 Gymnasiarch, Hermes Caria 3rd BCE Bean & Cook 1955,

Paidonomos 101 10
89 Gymnasiarch Hermes, Herakles Caria Hellenistic Bean & Cook 1955,

100
90 Gymnasiarch Hermes, Herakles Caria 1st BCE/1st CE Bean & Cook 1955,
100 8
91 Gymnasiarch Hermes Ionia 4th/3rd BCE IPriene 181
92 Gymnasiarch Hermes Ionia 2nd BCE IEphesos 1102
93 Gymnasiarch Hermes Mysia Hellenistic? IPergamon I 9
Page 17 of 42
94 Gymnasiarch, Hermes, Herakles Mysia 2nd BCE Schwertheim 1983,

hippotropharch, 107–9 1
trierarch, victor
95 Gymnasiarch Hermes, Herakles Mysia Hellenistic Conze &

Schuchhardt 1899,
168 7
96 Gymnasiarch Hermes Mysia 1st BCE? Jacobsthal 1908, 401

25
97 Gymnasiarch, Hermes, Herakles Cappadocia 1st BCE SEG 1 466

agonothetes
(p.261) 98 Gymnasiarch, Hermes, Herakles Caria 1st BCE? IRhodian Peraia 783
ephebarch and the koinon of the
Tarmianoi
99 Gymnasiarch, Helios, Hermes, Caria 1st BCE? IRhodian Peraia 784

ephebarch Herakles and the
koinon of the
Tarmianoi
100 Gymnasiarch Hermes Orient 1st BCE IGLSyr 7 4001
101 Gymnasiarch Hermes, Herakles Egypt 2nd BCE Fayoum 2 103
102 Gymnasiarch Hermes, Herakles Egypt 2nd BCE Fayoum 2 104
103 Gymnasiarch Hermes, Herakles S&MG Augustan SEG 46 1252
104 Ephebes Hermes, Herakles Aegean Islands 2nd BCE ID 1922
Page 18 of 42
105 Ephebes Apollo, Hermes, Aegean Islands 2nd BCE ID 1923

Herakles
106 Ephebes Apollo, Hermes, Aegean Islands 2nd BCE ID 1923bis

Herakles

Herakles

Herakles

Herakles
112 Ephebe Apollo, Hermes, Aegean Islands 1st BCE ID 1932

Herakles
113 Ephebe Apollo, Hermes, Aegean Islands 1st BCE ID 1934

Herakles
114 Ephebes Apollo, Hermes, Aegean Islands 1st BCE ID 1935

Herakles
115 Ephebes Hermes, Herakles Aegean Islands 2nd BCE IG XII, 5 911
116 Ephebe Hermes, Herakles Egypt 2nd/1st BCE Fayum I 21
117 Ephebes Hermes, Herakles Cyrenaica 3rd CE SEG 9 128
Page 19 of 42
118 Ephebes? Hermes Attica 2nd BCE SEG 19 193
119 Ephebes Hermes Attica 1st CE IG II2 1967
120 Ephebes Hermes Attica 2nd BCE IG II2 2980a
121 Ephebes Hermes Attica 2nd BCE IG II2 2981
126 Synephebes Hermes Peloponnesos 2nd CE IG V,1 493
127 Ephebarch Hermes, Herakles Cyrenaica 2nd CE SEG 20 742
(p.262) 128 Unknown (Ephebe?) Hermes, Minyas Boiotia No date IG VII 3218
129 Mellakes Hermes, Herakles Egypt 2nd BCE ILouvre 17
130 Aleiphomenoi Apollo, Hermes, Aegean Islands 1st BCE ID 1933

Herakles
131 Paidonomos Hermes, Herakles Aegean Islands c. 2nd BCE IG XII,3 193
132 Paidonomos Hermes, Herakles Aegean Islands 2nd BCE ICos EV 12
133 Paidonomos Hermes, Herakles Caria 2nd BCE Halikarnassos 73
Page 20 of 42
134 Paidonomoi, Theoi Sebastoi, Mysia Imperial Schröder, Schrader

hymnodoi, Hermes, Herakles & Kolbe 1904, 167 8
grammateus
135 Paidotribes Ptolemaios, Hermes, Aegean Islands 3rd/2nd BCE IG XII,6 2:593
Herakles
136 Paidotribes Hermes, Herakles Ionia Late Milet I 7 305
137 Paidagogos Hermes Hegemon Attica 2nd/3rd CE IG II2 4814
138 Lampadarch Hermes Attica 1st BCE SEG 21 686
139 Lampadarch Hermes Attica 1st BCE SEG 55 262
140 Lampadarch Hermes Aegean Islands 3rd BCE IG XI,4 1155
141 Lampadarch Apollo, Hermes Aegean Islands 3rd BCE? IG XI,4 1156
142 Lampadarch Apollo, Hermes, Aegean Islands 2nd BCE ID 1954

Herakles
143 Lampadarch Ptolemaios, Cyprus 2nd BCE Mitford 1937, 33 8

Kleopatra, Hermes,
Herakles, Tyche/
Boule of Chytrion
144 Lampadarch Hermes, Herakles Cyprus 2nd BCE SEG 20 311
145 Lampadarch Hermes, Herakles Ionia 1st BCE/1st CE SEG 30 1329
146 Agonothetes Hermes ThLD 4th/3rd BCE? IByzantion S22
Page 21 of 42
147 Agonothetes Apollo, Hermes, Aegean Islands 2nd BCE ID 1945

Herakles
148 Agonothetes Demos, Hermes, Caria Imperial INysa 13

Herakles, Neoi
149 Unknown Hermes Enagonios Attica 5th BCE IG I3 840
150 Gymnasiarch Hermes Enagonios Attica 4th BCE IG II2 3023
151 Man Hermes Enagonios Attica 4th BCE IG II2 4572
152 Man Hermes Enagonios Attica 2nd BCE IG II2 3089
153 Men Hermes Enagonios Aegean Islands Hellenistic IG XII,2 96
154 Damiourgos Hermes Enagonios Aegean Islands 3rd BCE Tit.Cam.Supp. 212,
4p
155 Victor Hermes Attica 2nd BCE Willemsen 1970, 107

10
(p.263) 156 Victor Hermes Attica 2nd/1st BCE IG II2 2989
157 Victor Hermes Attica 1st BCE SEG 37 135
158 Victor Hermes Attica 1st BCE IG II2 2992
161 Victor Hermes Attica 1st CE AE 1973:176, 2
162 Victor Hermes, Herakles Attica 2nd CE IG II2 3164
Page 22 of 42
163 Victor Diosouroi Soteres, Peloponnesos 1st CE IG V,1 658

Hermes Agonios
164 Victor Hermes, Herakles ThLD 3rd BCE? IByzantion 11
165 Victor? Hermes, Herakles Aegean Islands 1st BCE? IG XII,3 390
166 Victor Hermes, Herakles Aegean Islands 2nd BCE ICos EV 5a
167 Victor Hermes Aegean Islands 3rd BCE IG XI,4 1160
168 Victor Hermes Aegean Islands post 250 BCE IG XI,4 1161
170 Victor Hermes Aegean Islands 4th/3rd BCE SEG 12 357
172 Victor Hermes Aegean Islands 2nd BCE SEG 12 356
173 Victor Apollo, Hermes Aegean Islands 2nd BCE ID 1950
174 Victor Apollo, Hermes, Aegean Islands 2nd BCE ID 1951

Herakles
175 Victor Apollo, Hermes, Aegean Islands 2nd BCE ID 1953

Herakles
176 Victor Hermes, Herakles Caria 1st BCE ICos EV 175
177 Victor Hermes, Herakles Mysia No date Jacobsthal 1908, 401

26
178 Victor Hermes Pontos 2nd CE StPont III 278a
Page 23 of 42
179 Victor King Antiochos, King Orient 2nd BCE SEG 56 1877 1
Seleukos, Hermes,
Herakles
180 Victor Hermes, Herakles Asia Minor? Egypt? Hellenistic ILouvre 12
181 Phylarch Hermes Attica 3rd BCE PraktAkadAth 8:71
182 Phylarch Hermes Attica No date SEG 36 269
183 Strategoi Hermes Hegemonios Attica 1st BCE IG II2 2873
184 Strategoi Hermes Hegemonios Aegean Islands 3rd BCE AD 26 B2 1971, 539
2
185 Strategoi Aphrodite, Zeus Aegean Islands 3rd BCE IG XII,5 220
Aphrodisios, Hermes,
Artemis Eukleia
(p.264) 186 Strategos Hermes Egypt 1st–2nd CE TvD 3 55
187 Strategos, Chnounbis-Ammon, Egypt 2nd BCE Thèbes à Syène 303

archisomatofylakas, Satis-Hera, Anoukis-
synagontes Hestia,
Petempamentis-
Dionysos, Petensitis-
Kronos, Petensenes-
Hermes
188 Strategos of the Hermes, Herakles Egypt 2nd BCE ILouvre 13

archisomatofylakes
Page 24 of 42
189 The Eleven Hermes Boiotia 4th BCE IThespies 282
190 Eisagogeis Hermes Eisagogeus, Aegean Islands 2nd BCE IG XII,6 2 597
Aphrodite Synarchis
191 Archontes Hermes Aegean Islands 3rd BCE IG XII,8 641
192 Archon Hermes Prytaneios Aegean Islands 5th BCE SEG 39 870
193 Archon Hermes Aegean Islands 5th/4th BCE SEG 39 876
194 Kosmetes Hermes Dromios Aegean Islands 2nd BCE IC II 23 10
195 Stephanephoros Hermes Aegean Islands 1st BCE? Tit. Calymnii 118
196 Magistrates Hermes Aegean islands No date IG XII,2 97
197 Epistatai of the Hermes Aegean Islands 2nd BCE SEG 39 771
paides, grammateus
198 Magistrates Hestia, Aphrodite, Aegean Islands 3rd BCE IG XII suppl. 403
Hermes
199 Magistrates Hestia, Aphrodite, Aegean Islands 4th/3rd BCE Pouilloux 1954 no
Hermes 151
200 Epistates Hermes Propylaios Rhodian Peraia, 3rd BCE Rhodian peraia 59
Caria
201 Demiourgos Hermes Caria Hellenistic IKnidos I 183
202 Dekanoi Hermes Lycaonia No date Hall 1968, 70 12
203 Eparchos Hermes Egypt 1st BCE TvD 3 38
Page 25 of 42
204 Priest of Hermes Hermes, Herakles Aegean Islands 2nd BCE ID 1947
205 Priest and priestess Zeus Panemerios, Caria 2nd CE IStratonikeia 300
Hermes, Hekate
Soteira, Theoi Pantes
206 Neokoros Hermes Caria No date RPh 1899, 283
207 Religious group Hermes, Peitho Aegean Islands 2nd/1st BCE SEG 33 643
(p.265) 208 Priests Hermes Cilicia Imperial Hicks 1891, 271 75
209 Priest Hermes Unknown 2nd CE SEG 54 1782
210 Tetelesmenoi Hermes Aegean Islands 2nd BCE IG XII, 8 70
211 Hermaistai Hermes, Maia Aegean Islands 2nd BCE ID 1731
214 Hermaistai Hermes Aegean Islands 1st BCE ID 1737
215 Synodos Hermes Italy 2nd CE IG XIV 978a; IGUR I

143
216 Grytopolai Augustus, Hermes Aegean Islands 1st BCE/1st CE NSER 466
217 Elaiopolai Herakles, Hermes Aegean Islands 2nd/1st BCE ID 1713
218 Elaiopolai Herakles, Hermes Aegean Islands 1st BCE ID 1714
219 Oinopolai Hermes, Dionysos, Aegean Islands 1st BCE ID 1711

Apollo
Page 26 of 42
220 Unknown Hermes Empolaios Black Sea 5th BCE SEG 30 908
221 Ergazomenoi ten Apollo, Hermes Aegean Islands 1st BCE ID 1709
tetragonon
222 (kataskeuasantes) Hermes, Herakles Aegean Islands 2nd BCE SEG 59 986
223 Shepherd, Hermes Isalos, Aegean Islands No date R.Phi. 1947, 132–
Cheesemaker? Artemis? 140; BE 1948 199a
224 Demos Tiberius Caesar, Ionia 1st CE IEphesos 3420

Hermes
225 Metoikoi Hermes, Herakles Aegean Islands Imperial (LGPN) IG XII,5 290
226 Paroikoi, metoikoi, Hermes, Herakles Caria Hellenistic SEG 54 1101

xenoi
227 Man Hermes Attica 5th BCE IG I3 1018
228 Man Hermes Attica 5th BCE IG I3 983
229 Man Hermes, Nymphs Attica 5th/4th BCE IG I3 986
230 Man Hermes Attica 4th BCE IG II2 4628
231 Man (and Ephebes?) Hermes Attica 4th BCE IG II2 4594a
232 Man Hermes Attica 4th/3rd BCE IG II2 4657
233 Men Hermes Attica 3rd BCE IG II2 4679
234 Men Hermes Attica 1st BCE SEG 21 685
Page 27 of 42
235 Man Hermes Epakoos Attica 1st/2nd CE IG II2 4742/SEG 56

214
236 Man Hermes Attica 2nd CE IG II2 4780
237 Man Hermes Phalantheios Attica No date IG II2 4855
238 Man Hermes Peloponnesos 5th BCE IRhegion 66/

IvOlympia 271
(p.266) 239 Man? Hermes Dikaios Peloponnesos No date IG IV 563
240 Man Hermes Orthannes Peloponnesos 2nd CE IG IV2 1 514/

Asklepieion 209
241 Man Hermes Peloponnesos No date IG V,1 237
242 Man Hermes Peloponnesos 3rd BCE SEG 54 457
243 Man Hermes Peloponnesos 2nd BCE IG V,1 1351
244 Man Hermes, Herakles Peloponnesos 1st BCE SEG 58 385
245 Man Hermes Boiotia 3rd BCE IThespies 61
246 Man Hermes, Herakles Boiotia 4th BCE IThespies 280
247 Man Hermes Boiotia 4th/3rd BCE IThespies 283bis
248 Man Hermes Boiotia Hellenistic IThespies 284
249 Man Hermes Boiotia 5th BCE (LGPN) IThespies 218
250 Man Hermes Boiotia No date IG VII 3093
Page 28 of 42
251 Man Hermes Boiotia 1st BCE IG VII 3095
252 Man Hermes Thessaly 4th BCE AE 1930, Chr. 179, 2
253 Man Hermes Thessaly Hellenistic SEG 53 541
254 Man Hermes Thessaly No date Woodward 1910, 157

11
255 Man Hermes Macedonia 2nd/1st BCE SEG 42 585
256 Man Zeus Soter, Hermes, Macedonia 2nd BCE SEG 50 572
Herakles
257 Man Hermes Macedonia 3rd CE SEG 47 884
258 Man and unknown Hermes, Demeter Macedonia 2nd/3rd CE SEG 53 610
259 Man Hermes Illyria Roman? SEG 31 595
260 Man Hermes Illyria No date IApollonia 338
261 Man Hermes ThLD 3rd CE IGBulg IV 2046
262 Man Zeus, Hera, Hermes, ThLD No date IGBulg IV 2230

Herakles, Dionysos,
Aphrodite
263 Man Hermes Black Sea 5th BCE SEG 30 909
264 Man Hermes Aegean Islands 5th/4th BCE Lindos II 20
265 Man Athana Lindia, Aegean Islands 2nd BCE Lindos II 184
Hermes Hagemon
Page 29 of 42
266 Man Hermes Hagemon, Aegean Islands Roman NSER 276

Heros Daimon
267 Man Hermes Aegean Islands 4th BCE IG XII,3 1092/1662
(p.267) 268 Men Hermes, Herakles Aegean Islands 2nd/1st BCE IG XII,3 1090/1661
269 Men, synaristion Hermes Aegean Islands c. 3rd BCE IG XII,3 93
270 Men, synaristion Hermes Aegean Islands c. 2nd BCE IG XII,3 94
271 Men Hermes, Herakles Aegean Islands No date IG XII,3 340
272 Man Hermes, Herakles Aegean Islands No date IG XII,3 393
273 Man Hermes Aegean Islands No date IG XII,3 394
274 Man Hermes Aegean Islands 3rd/2nd BCE SEG 54 761
275 Man Plouton, Kore, Aegean Islands 3rd/2nd BCE IG XI,4 1235
Demeter, Hermes,
Anoubis
276 Man Hermes Aegean Islands 2nd BCE IG XI,4 1283
277 Man Hermes, Herakles Aegean Islands 2nd BCE IG XI,4 1284
278 Man Hermes Aegean Islands 2nd BCE ID 2154
279 Man Sarapis, Isis, Aegean Islands 2nd/1st BCE ID 2174

Harpokrates,
Anoubis, Hermes
280 Man Hermes Aegean Islands 2nd/1st BCE ID 2404
Page 30 of 42
281 Man Hermes and Aegean Islands 1st BCE SEG 13 425
Synetheis
282 Man Dionysos, Hermes, Aegean Islands 1st BCE ID 2400

Pan
283 Men Apollo, Hermes, Aegean Islands No date ID 1937

Herakles
284 Man Hermes Aegean Islands No date ID 2403
285 Man Hermes, Maia Aegean Islands No date ID 2407
286 Man or magistrate Hermes, Aphrodite Aegean Islands 2nd BCE? ID 2408
287 Man Hermes Aegean Islands No date ID 1801
288 Men Hermes Aegean Islands 1st BCE? ID 2402
289 Man Hermes, Maia Aegean Islands 2nd/1st BCE? ID 2406
290 Man Hermes,? Aegean Islands No date ID 2409
291 Man Sarapis, Isis, Aegean Islands 2nd/1st BCE? ID 2135

Anoubis, Hermes,
Apollon, Harpokrates
292 Men Hermes, Herakles Aegean Islands 1st BCE IG XII,5 729
293 Man Hermes Aegean Islands 3rd/2nd BCE IG XII,6 2 1208
294 Man Hermes Ionia? 4th BCE IEphesos 3137
295 Man Hermes Aegean Islands 4th BCE Chios 125
Page 31 of 42
296 Man Hermes Aegean Islands 4th BCE Chios 128
(p.268) 297 Men Hermes, Herakles Aegean Islands 2nd BCE Chios 129
298 Man Hermes Aegean Islands 2nd BCE IG XII,7 250
299 Man (?) Hermes Aegean Islands 3rd BCE IG XII,7 251
300 Man Hermes Aegean Islands 4th BCE IG XII,8 68
301 Man Hermes Aegean Islands 4th BCE IG XII,8 69
302 Man Hermes Aegean Islands Hellenistic IG XII,9 1276
303 Man Hermes Kranaios Aegean Islands 1st BCE IC II 9 1
304 Man Hermes Aegean Islands 2nd/1st BCE IC II 28 1
305 Man Hermes Aegean Islands 1st CE SEG 57 859
306 Man Hermes Pantokrator, Aegean Islands 2nd CE SEG 33 736

Eriounios
307 Man Hermes Ionia 2nd/1st BCE Milet I 9, 367
308 Man Hermes Ionia Imperial Milet I 7, 284
309 Men Hermes Troad Hellenistic ILampsakos 25
310 Man Hermes Mysia 4th BCE? IMTKyzProponIns

1375
311 Man Hermes Meletenos Bithynia 3rd/2nd BCE (LGPN) IPrusa 1020
312 Man Hermes, Apollo Mysia No date CIG 3568b
Page 32 of 42
313 Man Theoi Sebastoi, Pamphylia 2nd/3rd CE IPerge 205

Artemis Pergaia,
Hermes, Demos
314 Man Hermes Soter Cappadocia No date SEG 6 795
315 Man Hermes, Apollo Bithynia 2nd/3rd CE SEG 55 1341
316 Man Demeter, Kore, Caria 2nd BCE IKnidos I 141

Pluton Epimachos,
Hermes
317 Man and relatives Epekoos, Hermes Lycaonia No date MAMA 8 1
318 Man Hermes Lycia No date SEG 57 1677
319 Man Hermes Patrooios Nubia 1st-3rd CE TvD 3 48
320 Man Hermes Patnouphis Nubia 1st/2nd CE TvD 3 67
321 Man Hermes, Herakles Cyrenaica 1st BCE SEG 20 740
322 Men Hermes, Herakles Cyrenaica 1st CE SEG 20 741
323 Man Hermes, Herakles Cyrenaica 1st CE SEG 32 1607
324 Man Hermes Cyrenaica Imperial BE 1964, 568
(p.269) 325 Man Hermes Egypt Roman SB 1 341c
326 Men Hermes, Herakles Orient 2nd BCE IEstremOrient 381
327 Man Hermes SMG 4th/3rd BCE SEG 4 35
Page 33 of 42
328 Man Hermes, Artemis Unknown 3rd CE SEG 59 1921

Kynegetis,
Dodekatheoi
329 Man Hermes Aegean Islands 2nd CE SEG 54 817
330 Man Hermes, Aphrodite Aegean Islands 4th BCE Matheou & Kouraios
1992–8
331 Man (?) Hermes, Dioskouroi Lycia No date SEG 44 1163d
332 Woman Hermes Eriouneios Thessaly 5th BCE IThess. 69

Brychaleios
333 Woman Hermes Thessaly No date AD 42 1987 chr 260
334 Woman Hermes, Herakles Ionia 2nd BCE Milet I 7 247
335 Woman Hermes Ionia 6th BCE IErythrai 509
336 Woman Hermes Cilicia Roman Hicks 1891, 237, 20
337 Woman Hermes Aegean Islands 4th BCE (LGPN) 3rd IC I 7 2

BCE (IC)
338 Man and Woman Hestia, Hermes Lycia 4th BCE (LGPN) TAM II 1185
339 Man, Woman, family Hermes SMG 3rd BCE SEG 37 780
340 Unknown Hermes, politai Thessaly No date IG IX,2 58
341 Unknown Hermes Euangelos, Acarnania No date “Late” SEG 29 479

Pan
Page 34 of 42
342 Unknown Hermes Phokis No date Bousquet 1959, 176

2
343 Unknown Athena, Hermes ThLD 2nd/3rd CE IGBulg II 720
344 Unknown Hermes ThLD No date IGBulg XXX,1 1446
345 Unknown Hermes ThLD No date IGBulg V 5588
346 Unknown Hermes ThLD 6th BCE SEG 55 806, 1
347 Unknown Hermes Black Sea 6th BCE SEG 49 1046
348 Unknown Hermes Black Sea 5th BCE SEG 58 770 13
349 Unknown Hermes Black Sea 5th BCE SEG 54 703
350 Unknown Hermes Black Sea 4th BCE SEG 26 809c
351 Unknown Hermes Propylais, Aegean Islands No date TitCam 116

Hekate Propylaia
352 Unknown Hermes Aegean Islands No date Pugliese Carratelli

1963/64, 182 21
(p.270) 353 Unknown Hermes Aegean Islands No date ID 2202
354 Unknown Theoi Megaloi, Aegean Islands 1st BCE IG XII,5 235
Hermes Euangelos
355 Unknown Hermes Amaxeitis Aegean Islands Roman Daux 1961, 846
356 Unknown Hermes Aegean Islands 4th BCE IG XII,6 2 611
357 Unknown Hermes, Herakles Caria No date IIasos 622
Page 35 of 42
358 Unknown Hermes, Herakles Caria No date IMylasa 332
359 Unknown Hermes, Herakles Caria No date IMylasa 333
360 Unknown Hermes Ionia No date “Late” Milet I 7 304
361 Unknown Hermes, Herakles Mysia Roman IPergamon II 323
362 Unknown Hermes Ionia Hellenistic Milet I 9 362
363 Unknown Hermes Mysia Hellenistic v. Prott & Kolbe

1902, 90 75
364 Unknown Hermes, Herakles Cilicia 3rd BCE SEG 31 1321
365 Unknown Dodeka theoi, Lycia 2nd-4th CE SEG 54 1393

Artemis Kynegetis,
Hermes
366 Unknown Hermes Orient No date IGLSyria 6 2881
367 Unknown Hermes, Herakles Cyrenaica 2nd BCE SEG 20 738
368 Unknown Hermes, Patnouphis, Nubia 2nd BCE TvD 3 W

synnaoi theoi
369 Unknown Ammon, Pan, Apollo, Egypt 2nd BCE Breccia 1911, 39
Hermes, Herakles
370 Unknown Hermes, Herakles Egypt No date SB 1 1440
371 Unknown Hermes, Herakles Egypt 1st BCE Thèbes à Syène 5
372 Unknown Hermes Orient 3rd/2nd BCE Bar-Oz 2001
Page 36 of 42
373 Unknown Hermes, Herakles SMG No date SEG 49 1331, 1
374 Unknown Hermes SMG 4th BCE SEG 58 1123
375 Unknown Hermes SMG 4th BCE SEG 58 1123
376 Unknown Hermes, Horus, Egypt No date SB 1 5667

Aphrodite
377 Unknown Hermes, Horus, Egypt No date SB 5 8639

Aphrodite
378 Unknown Hermes Korykios Cilicia 3rd CE ICilicie 17

Epinekios
Tropaiouchos
Epikarpios
Page 37 of 42
Notes:
(1) TAM II 1185, fourth/third century BCE. For the term hyper in votive
inscriptions, see Jim 2014.
(2) IG VII 3093. From Lebadeia, no date.
(3) ILouvre 13. From Pharbeitos, 157/156 BCE?
(4) I have not been able to examine all the inscriptions myself, because of the
size and geographic spread of the material included in this study. Thus I have
mainly worked with the dates and restorations of published editions.
(5) A genitive certainly indicates that something is the property of the god, but
the name of the god in the genitive does not necessarily signify an actual
dedicatory act.
(6) It is to be noted that the Thessalian so-called dedications to Hermes

Chthonios are not included in this study, since I consider them to be a very
specific case that does not belong together with ordinary votive gifts. The
Thessalian inscriptions are found on tombstones and give the name of Hermes in
the dative, as in the case of a standard dedicatory formula. The name of the
deceased, often inscribed on the same tombstones, has been understood as the
name of a dedicator; however, as a forthcoming study by Maria Mili and Jenny
Wallensten shows, the grave stelai should be understood as presenting two
separate inscriptions, one an epitaph and the other a dedicatory formula
(Hermes Chthonios in the dative). This phenomenon appears to belong to a very
specific and isolated context, and I have therefore chosen not to include these
tombstones in the present study. The gravestone “dedications” to Hermes
Chthonios comprise a collection of 118 monuments. These include both
monuments that have an inscription to Hermes Chthonios, with or without a
depiction of the god, and those that do not have an inscription, but just have a
depiction of the god. The first category comprises sixty-eight monuments, the
second, 150 monuments (Mili and Wallensten Forthcoming).
(7) Ai Khanoum: IEstremOrient 381, 200–150 BCE. Magna Graecia (Rhegion):

IRhegion 66, 420–410 BCE.
(8) 6th BCE: SEG 55.806.1, Skythia Minor, Istria. 3rd CE: SEG 47.884,
Macedonia. A phiale from Tanagra in Boiotia carries a dedication to Kerykeios,
dated c.610–550 BCE (EAH s.v. Tanagra). Jeffrey believes the recipient deity to
be Apollo Kerykeios (LSAG 94.07), whereas AE 1896: 243 calls the god Hermes
Kerykeios. According to Pausanias 9.20.3, Hermes’ birthplace Mt. Kerykeios was
at Tanagra, whereas an Apollo Kerykeios is known from Perge in Asia Minor
(IPerge 264).
Page 38 of 42
(9) Cyprus excluded (two inscriptions: SEG 20.311; Salamine 13.44).
(10) “Late”: SEG 29.479, Thyrreion, Acarnania.
(11) See, for example, Wallensten 2009; Durvye Forthcoming; Osborne

Forthcoming.
(12) Larson 2007: 146; Strauss Clay 1987; 2006: 124; Hom. Il. 24.334–5; H.Herm.
576.
(13) For officials, see, for example, the following: Strategoi: IG II2 2873; AD 26 B2
1971 539, 2; TvD 3 55; IG XII,5 220; Thèbes à Syène 3; ILouvre 13. Eisagogeis: IG
XII,6 2 597. Archontes: IG XII,8 641; SEG 39.870 and 876. Stephanephoros: Tit.
Calymnii 118. Epistates: Rhodian peraia 59. I have counted inscriptions
mentioning officials, but not every official. In that case there would be many
more, since several officials often dedicate together—see for example IG IX,2 94;
IosPE I2 128; IG XII,2 97. For the tradesmen, see for example ID 1713; NSER
466. Among the merchant dedications, I have counted one dedication to Hermes
Empolaios, with an undefined male dedicator, SEG 30.908 (cf. Ar. Ach. 816), but
have not included five Hermes Agoraios dedications in the dedications of
officials, since the dedicant did not identify himself or herself as such in the
inscription. Robert Parker illuminates a distinction between Hermes Agoraios
and Zeus Agoraios: in the former case the epithet means “of the Agora” in terms
of the exchanges of the market place, whereas Zeus Agoraios is a god of political
persuasion (Parker 2005: 405, 409; cf. ἀγορεύω, “speak, address, proclaim”).
The epithet is, however, less precise than Empolaios, and we know that not only
magistrates of the Agora would have approached Hermes Agoraios; thus,
although these are likely to be magistrates’ offerings, I have not taken for
granted any professional identity for these dedications. Note, for example, a
woman dedicating to Hermes Agoraios, EAM 9. For priestly dedicants, see for
example IG XII,3 339; ID 1947; cheese-maker, BE 1948: 199a.
(14) SEG 30.908.
(15) Gymnasiarch: see for example SEG 36.974; IG IX,2 31; IG VIII 2235.
Agonothetes: IByzantion 22; IGBulg I2 322; ID 1945; INysa 13; SEG 1.466.
Paidonomos: IG XII,3 193; ICos EV 12; Halikarnassos 73; Bean and Cook 1955:
101 no. 10; Schröder, Schrader & Kolbe 1904: 167–8, no. 8. Enagonios: IG I3 840;
IG II2 3012, 3089; IG XII,2 96; Pugliese Carratelli 1952–4: 212 4p. Agonios: IG V,1
658.
(16) Keryx: IG I3 776 (DAA 295), Athens, c.500 BCE; ID 1804, Delos, Roman;
Hepding 1910: 451 no. 33. Euangelos: SEG 29.479, Thyrreion, Acarnania.
(17) Lindos II 184.
Page 39 of 42
(18) NSER 108, no. 276. Perhaps to be understood as Psychopompos, the modern
designation given to Hermes in his capacity of escorting the souls of the dead to
the Underworld. The epithet Psychopompos is not attested epigraphically as a
cult epithet. In literature, it is not associated with Hermes before Diod. Sic. 1.96.
In earlier texts it is used of Charon, Eur. Alc. 361. We can note that two
dedications from military/political leaders, strategoi, were made to Hegemonios,
an indication of a different understanding of Hermes’ leadership: IG II2 2873; AD
26 B2, 1971, 539.
(19) Compare, however, the comment in n. 13.
(20) Agoranomoi: IG IX, 2 94; SEG 42.662, Thrace, 2nd BCE; SEG 47.1002,
Elimeia, 2nd/1st BCE; EKM I, Beroia 24, 150–100 BCE; IScM I 175 & 176, Istria,
2nd BCE; SEG 57.725, Olbia, c.110 CE; IosPE I2 128, Olbia 2nd/3rd CE, 129,
Olbia post 98 CE; NSupplEpR 170, 21, Lindos, no date; ID XI, 4 1143 & 1144,
mid-3rd BCE, 1145, beg. 2nd BCE; ID 1832, Delos mid-2nd BCE, 1833, no date,
1835, 1st BCE; IG XII,5 26, Sikinos 2nd BCE; SEG 17.422, Thasos, 350–300 BCE
and 425, Thasos, 1st BCE; Alabanda 8, Alabanda, Hellenistic; IPriene 179, 4th
BCE, IPriene 180, no date, 182, 3rd BCE, 183, 4th BCE; AM 24, 1899, 168: no. 6,
Kaikos, 2nd BCE; IPergamon I 243 & 244, Hellenistic; Prott and Kolbe 1902: 89,
no. 73 “late royal.” It is to be noted that no recipient deity is in fact mentioned in
SEG 42.662. However, the combination of a former agoranomos dedicating a
(statue of) Hermes Agoraios strongly suggests Hermes as the recipient, and I
have included it here. Phylarchos: PraktAkadAth 8, 1933: 71, Athens, 3rd BCE;
SEG 36.269, Athens (Daphni), no date. Strategoi: ILouvre 13, Pharbaitos, 157/56
BCE; IG II2 2873, Athens 95/94 BCE; AD 26 B2, 1971, 539, Rhodos, no date; IG
XII,5 220. Paros, 3rd BCE; TvD 3 55, Nubia 1st–3rd CE; Thèbes à Syène 303,
Satis Island, 2nd BCE. Prytaneios: SEG 39.870, Keos, 450–400 BCE. Eisagogeus:
IG XII,6 2 597.
(21) BE 1948: 199a; IG II2 4855; SEG 12.168.
(22) Hermes Nomios is found in literary sources, e.g. Ar. Thes. 977. See also IG
II2 3977, 2nd CE. Hermes Epimelios at Koroneia: Paus. 9.34.3. Both epithets are
also connected to Apollo.
(23) Wallensten 2003; 2009.
(24) IThess. 69, Pharsalos, mid-5th BCE; AD 42, 1987, B1 260, Pherai, no date;
EAM 9, Elimeia 100–150 CE; IStratonikeia 300, Panamara 2nd CE; Milet I 7 no.
247, Miletos, 150 BCE; IErythrai 509, Klazomenai, 540/525 BCE; IGR 3 868,
Cilicia, no date; TAM II 1185, Phaselis, 4th/3rd BCE; IC I 72, 3rd BCE; SEG
37.780, Metapontion, 3rd BCE.
(25) See for example LIMC s.v. Hermes 107, 110, 115, 116, 117, 153, 154.
Page 40 of 42
(26) IC II, 28, no. 2.
(27) Ar. Thes. 977.
(28) Parker 2011: 241, with n. 46.
(29) Milet I 7 no. 247; IGR 3 868; Hicks 1891: 237, 20.
(30) EAM 9.
(31) Milet I 7 no. 247; TAM II 1185.
(32) Most hyper formulae were for the benefit of the dedicator and his or her
family: Jim 2014: 618.
(33) Ekroth 2014: 163.
(34) IErythrai 509; IThess. 69.
(35) Bielman 2012: 241; Bielman 2002: 275–7 no. 53.
(36) Mili 2015: 28.
(37) IG I3 986, Attica, c.400 BCE; ID 2400, Delos, 98/97 BCE (Pan restored);
Breccia 1911, 39, Thebes, 116–108 BCE.
(38) See for example IG II2 4994; LSAM 39. Also notable are the very meager
references to the cult of the sebastoi. Could this be connected to Hermes’ very
limited role as a polis protector in spite of his close ties to magistrates?
(39) Hermes and Athena Lindia, Lindos II 184; with Demeter, Kore, and Plouton
in their sanctuary, IKnidos I 141. We can note that this is the only dedication
made by a man in this sanctuary.
(40) Provided that Hermes is the god mentioned first; there are no exceptions to
this rule in gymnasion dedications. There are two examples from Delos, where
Herakles is placed before Hermes; however, these were made by olive-sellers.
Word positioning is very important in dedicatory language: Hermes is the most
important god in the gymnasion inscriptions, whereas he is of less status in
those of the olive sellers: ID 1713 and 1714, Delos, c.100 BCE–early 1st BCE.
(41) Delos: IG XI,4 1151–4, 1156; ID 1709, 1711, 1835, 1923 & 1923bis, 1926,
1927, 1932–5, 1945, 1948–50, 1951, 1953, 1954, 2135, 2599. Mysia: CIG 3568b.
Nikaia, Bithynia: SEG 55.1341. Thebes, Egypt: Breccia 1911: no. 39.
(42) Magistrates: IG XI,4 1144, Delos, 3rd BCE and 1145, 2nd BCE; ID 1832,
Delos, 2nd BCE and 1833, no date; IG XII,5 220, Paros, 3rd BCE; IG XII,6 2 597,
Samos, 150–100 BCE; IG XII suppl. 403, Thasos, c.250 BCE; Pouilloux 1954, no.
151, Thasos, 4th/3rd BCE; SEG 17.422, Thasos 350–300 BCE and 425, Thasos
Page 41 of 42
1st BCE; IPriene 183, Priene, 4th BCE. Private individuals: ID 2408, Delos, no
date; Matheou and Kouraios 1992–8: 437, Paros, 4th BCE; IGBulg IV 2230,
Pautalia, no date. Unknown dedicator: SB 1 5667 and SB 5 8639, Egypt, no date.
(43) ID 1832; SEG 17.422 (Passage de théores, Salviat 1958; Daux 1961: 319 no.
1); SEG 17.425; Pouilloux 1954: no. 151 (secondary context, but is assumed not
to have moved far).
(44) Lebessi 1985: 221.
(45) Buschor 1957: 84–5; See also Ohly 1953: 47. An inventory dated 346/345
BCE reveals that there was a temple of Aphrodite with a cult statue of Hermes in
Samos.
(46) Vianu 1997: 15.
(47) Titus New Apollo: SEG 23.450. Sabina Nea Hera: Isager and Pedersen 2012;
Sahin 2008: 605 n. 9b and 9c; TAM II 560; IG XII, suppl. 440.
(48) New Penelope: IG V,1 540, 598, 599, 607. New Homer and Themistokles:
SEG 26.166; IG II2 1069; IG II2 3786; IG II2 3787; IG II2 3788; IG II2 3789.
(49) IG XIV 978a; IG V,1 493.
(50) Nea Hera: e.g. Livia: IAssos, 43. Domitia: IStratonikeia 1008 = SEG 31.945.
Sabina: Isager and Pedersen 2012. Nero Neos Apollo: e.g. SEG 32.252; SEG
44.165; IG II2 3278.
(51) Wallensten 2018b: 38-9, 2018a: 5.
(52) For the character and cults of Hermes, see, for example, Larson 2007;
Strauss Clay 1989: 95–151; Nilsson 1967: 501–10; Vernant 1963.
(53) For a “hungry Hermes” with a human appetite, see, for example, Versnel
2011.
(54) This study was made possible by a generous grant from The Royal Swedish
Academy of Letters, History and Antiquities and Riksbankens Jubileumsfond:
The Swedish Foundation for Humanities and Social Sciences. I thank them
sincerely.
Page 42 of 42
Hermes, Kyllene, Samothrace, and the Sea


Print ISBN-13: 9780198777342
DOI: 10.1093/oso/9780198777342.001.0001

Sandra Blakely
DOI:10.1093/oso/9780198777342.003.0017

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

Hermes Perpheraios
Hermes seems made for ritual studies grounded in geospace and structural
functionalism, frameworks which recognize how location and human need
determine the shape of the divine. As a traveler of many forms, he continually
adapts to the location of his worshippers; as the messenger between worlds, he
is summoned for rituals from magic to civic. His polymorphism is purposeful, not
random, so that the essence of this god in particular lies in the extent to which
his semantics are fitted to the place of his worship and the problem he is
summoned to solve.
Page 1 of 22
On Samothrace, the location is an island, which the winds and currents make a
nearly inescapable stop when traveling between the Aegean and the Black Sea.
It is one of three which form the gateway into the Hellespont, all of which were
locations for initiation rituals in which the Kabeiroi or Theoi Megaloi played a
role, and in which Hermes Kasmilos consistently appears—among the Titans on
Imbros, as father of Kabeiroi on Lemnos, and as a Phoenician prince, a divine
servant, or a Kabeiros on Samothrace.1 The problem for the Samothracian
mysteries was maritime risk: initiates were promised neither a glorious afterlife
nor cosmic visions, but that their ship would not go down. This is unique for a
mystery cult, but entirely ordinary as a ritual type. Rituals focused on maritime
risk are a familiar cross-cultural phenomenon. Their analysis has been
conducted largely within political ecology, and demonstrates how rituals enable
human needs through group formation, communication, and cooperation, all
stamped with symbols of divine authority.2 A key principle emerges: the more
central an activity is to economic survival, the more encrusted with ritual it will
be.
(p.272) Samothrace demonstrates this unequivocally. The promise was very

well known: Aristophanes joked about it already in the fifth century BC, and
literary reflections of the promise continue through the Roman period.3 An
extraordinary range of ritual types and mythic figures link this promise to the
island. The Dioskouroi are added to the Samothracian pantheon by the fourth
century BCE.4 The Pompimos or guide fish was sacred to the island.5 The purple
sash worn by Samothracian initiates was said to calm storms at sea or unrest
among unruly mobs.6 Magnetized iron rings worn by initiates offer a tantalizing
comparison to magical gemstones designed to ensure safety at sea.7 Monuments
on site advertized the rites’ maritime effectiveness. The famous Nike looms over
the sanctuary from the prow of a Rhodian Trihemiola; Diagoras reported that the
sanctuary was full of pinakes thanking the gods for safe travel (Cic. Nat. D.
3.37.89); a Neorion housed the dedication of an entire ship as a thank-offering to
the gods.8 Inscriptions thanking the gods for saving them at sea occur so far
from the shore that they suggest real-world analogies to Odysseus’ oar, planted
so far inland that the locals would mistake it for a winnowing-fan.9
Does Hermes help with these maritime matters? He is included among the
Samothracian gods as early as Herodotus and as late as the Christian fathers,
and a generic relevance may be argued from his protection of travelers.10 The
energy and abundance of Samothrace’s ritual engagements with the sea raises
the question of whether or not he assumes a form more specific to the island’s
most distinctive promise. Texts focused on the rites themselves do not address
the question: these suggest his status as a psychopomp and mystagogue, hint
that he is Kadmos the bridegroom in a sacred drama, or direct us to the Roman
interpretation of the rites.11 Kyllene, however—as the mountain of his birth, the
source of a spouse, and an iconographic type—connects Hermes to narratives of
maritime safety with repeated manifestation in Samothrace’s northeastern
Page 2 of 22
Aegean neighborhood. The mountain toponym extends beyond the designation of

a single space. It has the chronological dimension of archaism, ritually accessed
through engagement with wooden and aniconic images, and a metaphoric force
that links widely separated mountains through mythic travelers. “Kyllene”
inscribes Hermes into the mountain of Samothrace and into the animated
archaic wooden swimmers that, with semantically impenetrable surfaces,
navigate bodies of water as well as ethno-political boundaries.
(p.273) We begin with a tale of two mountains: Saos and Kyllene. The mountain
of Samothrace has long been identified as the inspiration for its maritime
promise, as its great height (1664 m) made it a natural aid to navigation.12 That
height materializes in the island’s myths and toponyms. Homer describes Hera
using the regional mountains as stepping stones to move from Olympus to Mt.
Ida in Troy (Il. 14.225–30, 281), while Poseidon sits on the Samothracian peak to
watch the Greeks and Trojans fight (Il. 24.77–84, 13.33, 13.10–14). Its names
include Leukosia, “white,” referring to the clouds that cluster naturally around
the mountain’s height; Phengari, a name that means both “shining one” and
“moon,” and Samos, or “tall” in local Thracian language (Strabo 10.2.17). All of
these emphasize the visibility that made the mountain key for visual navigation.
It was more frequently known as Saos, a name in which the Greeks would hear
the word “saved.”13 A tale preserved in Diodorus Siculus offers the
background.14 He writes that in very ancient times, before the Black Sea was
joined to the Aegean, the island’s topography included low-lying plains as well as
the great bulk of the mountain. When a primordial flood burst through the
Hellespont, the people were suddenly threatened with drowning, scrambled up
the slopes of Mt. Saos, and so found their salvation (5.47.1–48.3).
Hermes has a direct connection to this landscape as the Father of Samothracian

Saos by a nymph of Kyllene named Rhene.15 The importance of toponymns in
signaling cultural meaning on Samothrace encourages a closer look into this
pair. Arcadian Mt. Kyllene is a frequent association for Hermes.16 It is the
mountain on which he was born, and is as prominent in its landscape as
Samothrace is in the Thracian sea. Rising 1870 meters above the Stymphalian
plain, it affords a view from its height of a large portion of the northeastern
Peloponnese all the way to the gulf of Corinth. This great height drew notice
from Homer onward: Homer (Il. 2.603), Pausanias (4.245), and Geminos (Elem.
Astron. 1.14) wrote that it was the highest peak of the peninsula, even though
Mt. Elias in Lakonia is taller. Vergil called it gelidus vertex (Aen. 8.139) and the
Priapea Cyllene nivosa (75.10) because gleaming snow remained visible on its
peaks into mid-June. Geminos reports that the mountain’s peak was so tall that it
was beyond the touch of wind and clouds—so that pilgrims, returning to the
peak shrine, would find the ashes of the previous year’s sacrifice undisturbed.
Hermes’ associations with the mountain seem to have taken ritual as well as
poetic form. Pausanias reported a dilapidated temple to Hermes on the peak
(8.17.1). French excavations (p.274) found no sign of the temple itself, but a
Page 3 of 22
three-chambered cave, rich in stalactites, was discovered in 1871; it has yielded

ceramics, terracottas, and inscriptions.17 What most impressed Pausanias was a
remarkable image of the god, a xoanon eight feet tall made of juniper wood
(6.26.5). An analogously archaic statue, consisting of nothing but a phallus on a
pedestal, was located at the homonymous seaport of Kyllene. Artemidoros
(1.43.6), Lucian (Iupp. Trag. 42), Philostratos (V. Apoll. Tyre 6.20), and
Hippolytus (Refutatio Haer. 5.7) all remark on this form. No source on the
statues is earlier than the first century BCE; each of them arguably views the
god’s statue through the antiquarian enthusiasms of his own era.18 Because of
this they may be taken with caution vis-à-vis the statue itself, but as confirmation
that in their time Kyllene was a toponymic signal for the archaic and ithyphallic
Hermes. Versnel has noted that this is the form of Hermes most appropriate for
the traveler: to measure his relevance for Samothrace, we need to look to the
island itself.19
High on the slopes of Mt. Saos, the shrine of Mandal Panayia offers a glimpse
into the genuinely archaic on Samothrace, when the arriving Greeks brought
Artemis, and perhaps Hermes, to the mountain. A female divinity is attested in
terracotta figurines from the archaic through the Hellenistic period.20 With the
arrival of the Greeks in the sixth century, her celebration seems to have provided
one locus for cultural mediation. Inscriptions show the Thracian language
written in Greek letters, and an inscribed statue base from the sixth century
preserves the letters –IDI, likely a Greek conflation of the local goddess with
Artemis.21 A role for Hermes at Mandal Panayia has been affirmed through three
small terracotta herms, between 15 and 25 cm tall, two of which are now
headless.22 Two other small herms, whose original find spot is uncertain,
complete the catalogue of preserved herms from Samothrace. Both have shafts
without drapery or any signs of anthropomorphism, and abbreviated bosses for
arms. The first, a 22 cm high marble herm, consists of a shaft that tapers slightly
toward the top, topped by a bearded male face, with long hair and a turban (Fig.
17.1).23
Page 4 of 22
The second, a 55 cm tall bronze,

consists of a shaft that tapers at
the base; the head is bearded
and topped with a pilos-style
cap (Fig. 17.2).24
Fig. 17.1. Samothracian herm.

Illustration by David Diener, after photo
published by Charles Champoiseau,
“Note sur des antiquités trouvés dans l’île
de Samothrace,” Comptes rendus des
séances de l’Académie des Inscriptions et
Belles-Lettres, 36e année, N. 1, 1892: 24.
©Académie des inscriptions et Belles-
Lettres, used by kind permission.
Page 5 of 22
Its inscription declares it an

offering to Hermes from two
individuals, Proe and Babous.
Proe is otherwise unattested,
but Babous has analogies in
names from Boiotia, Thrace,
Mysia, Bithynia, Lydia, and
Pontos.25 The geographic reach
is largely coterminous with the
greatest concentration of names
of Samothracian theoroi,
proxenoi, and initiates.26
(p.275) The iconography of

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

Great Gods of the island (IG XII.8.51.24).30 The identification of his mystes
suggests that he served here as the alpha male on whom the crowd of Kabeiroi
attend, analogous to Dionysos at Thebes and Hephaistos on Lemnos. The
ithyphallism of the Kyllene cult (p.277) image is clearly not foreign to the
Imbrian mysteries—indeed, given the connection between this iconography and
the eponymous local god, it seems potentially central, the link between the
island’s cult and its local identity.
An analogous centrality for ithyphallism characterizes the Hermes who appears

on Samothrace some nine centuries after the first Greek arrival on the island. In
the third century CE, Hippolytus writes:
ἕστηκε δὲ ἀγάλματα δύο ἐν τῷ Σαμοθρᾴκων ἀνακτόρῳ ἀνθρώπων γυμνῶν

ἄνω τε<τα>μένας ἐχόντων τὰς χεῖρας ἀμφοτέρας ἐς οὐρανὸν καὶ τὰς
αἰσχύνας ἄνω ἐστραμμένας, καθάπερ ἐν Κυλλήνῃ τὸ τοῦ Ἑρμοῦ.
There stand two statues in the Anaktoron of the Samothracians, depicting

naked men holding both hands stretched to heaven and genitals turned
upward, just as the image of Hermes in Kyllene.31
His statement is part of the Naassene Sermon, the sole source of information on
this Gnostic sect. Naassene thought connected a primal man on high, Adamas,
with the man “enslaved” in earthly form, who strives toward reawakening.
Continual flows move between the celestial and the earthly realms; Hippolytus
compares the movement to the ocean: “in its ebb and flow it turns continually,
sometimes upwards, sometimes downwards” (5.7.38). The ascent to heaven
enables the receipt of knowledge, gnosis, which defines the sect. Hermes, and
specifically Kyllenian Hermes, is the Naassene demiurge: he is Logios,
interpreter and maker of all that is and will be.32 His erection is the embodied
emblem of the movement between the man trapped in clay in the lower world
and the Primordial Adam above, “possessing an impulsive power from the parts
beneath toward those above” (5.7.2). Kyllenos embodies both ends of the journey
—the man in clay and the Primordial Adam. The ithyphallism of Kyllene is the
core of the mysteries and of Naassene cosmology and soteriology.
No preserved statues from Samothrace correspond to the Naassene Hermes,

though the images of serpents and the archaism of the site, would offer visual
resonance with their doctrine.33 In iconographic terms, moreover, the archaic
xoana or phalloi of Kyllene could have answered only half of Hippolytus’ statues:
they would have no arms to raise toward heaven. These would be an element,
however, of the hip herms of the early imperial period, likely familiar to
Hippolytus.34 Two canthari of the Berthouville treasure offer a snapshot of the
visual vocabulary of these herms. The treasure is a collection of vessels
dedicated to another Hermes, the Gallo-Roman Mercury of Canetonum. Their
Page 7 of 22
reliefs show hip herms positioned in landscapes scattered with super-sized satyr
masks and the instruments appropriate for a Dionysiac revel.35 All of the (p.
278) herms are ithyphallic, a condition revealed by the anasyrma appropriate to
Priapus. Hippolytus wrote that the Samothracian herms raised their arms
skyward, a gesture that signaled adoration or prayer.36 The herms on these
vessels make analogously articulate gestures. One herm lets his left arm fall to
his side, while he raises his right arm only to chest height (Fig. 17.3).
(p.279) He holds out his hand

palm forward and directs his
gaze backwards toward the tree
near which he is positioned. The
hand gesture may at once
acknowledge the god and his
power, and suggest the need for
apotropaic power.37 The herm
on the opposite side of this cup
is capite velato; he leans slightly
backward, holding with both
hands a bowl that he may be
bringing toward a large
Dionysiac mask, or into which
he may peer, finding his
reflection in the surface of its
contents (Fig. 17.4).
Fig. 17.3. Detail, silver cantharos from

the Berthouville treasure, mid-first
century CE.
Photo: Tahnee Cracchiola, courtesy
Département des Monnaies, médailles et
antiques, Bibliothèque nationale de
France. Height 15.8 cm, Diameter 13.3
cm, Weight 852 grams. Paris, BnF, 56.9.
Page 8 of 22
On a second cup both herms

raise one arm to heaven, and
turn their faces away from the
upraised hand. The first herm,
preserved entirely, holds a
rhyton skyward while he gazes
toward a gigantic satyr mask
lying on the ground, or at an
oval object hanging from the
tree branch, very likely the
tympanum proper to Dionysos’
retinue (Fig. 17.5).
The second, preserved only

Fig. 17.4. Silver cantharos from the
from above the waist, holds his
Berthouville treasure, mid-first century
right hand to the sky with palm
CE.
up, wrist back, and fingers
positioned in the mano cornuta
Département des Monnaies, médailles et
—a gesture with a wide range of
antiques, Bibliothèque nationale de
meanings in Greek and Roman
France. Height 15.8 cm, Diameter 13.3
contexts, (p.280) including
cm, Weight 852 grams. Paris, BnF, 56.9.
fertility and apotropaia.38 The
enormous horned mask from
which he turns away raises the
possibility that his gesture
evokes tauriform Dionysos (Fig.
17.6).39
Page 9 of 22
His gaze is directed downward Fig. 17.5. Detail, silver cantharos from
toward a gigantic mask that the Berthouville treasure, mid-first
leans against the trunk of the century CE.
tree.
(p.281) These scenes have Département des Monnaies, médailles et
strong parallels in two other antiques, Bibliothèque nationale de
cups that suggest the potential France. Height 16 cm, Diameter 14.6 cm,
for these landscapes to be not Weight 835 grams. Paris, BnF, 56.8.
merely sacral, but mystical in
nature. The Morgan cup,
contemporary with the
Berthouville treasure, depicts
the rustic, open-air worship of
ithyphallic gods, its mystery
character signaled by the cista
mystica.40 The so-called cup of
the Ptolemies presents an
analogous jumble of masks,
vines, panpipes, a snake
emerging from a cista mystica,
and a statue of Priapus.41 The
gaze and gestures of the
Berthouville herms, moreover,
may reinforce the mystery Fig. 17.6. Silver cantharos from the
semantic. They never look out Berthouville treasure, mid-first century
toward the holder of the cup; CE.
their attention is directed over Photo: Tahnee Cracchiola, courtesy
their backs, toward the masks, Département des Monnaies, médailles et
or perhaps at their own antiques, Bibliothèque nationale de
reflections. The backwards gaze France. Height 16 cm, Diameter 14.6 cm,
has analogies in six figures from Weight 835 grams. Paris, BnF, 56.8.
the frescoes of the Villa dei
Misteri frescoes in Pompeii,
who turn away from the scene in which they are engaged.42 The same Pompeian
frescoes provide a parallel for the herm holding a lekane, in the figure of a youth
who seems engaged in lecanomancy, gazing into a bowl while a satyr holds a (p.
282) mask behind his head.43 These comparanda suggest that a Priapic herm is
entirely at home in a mystic ritual context, particularly in one characterized by
the combination of elegance and rusticity that marks both the Berthouville cups
and the Samothracian site.
But do Hippolytus’ statues bear on the question of Samothracian Hermes? His

reference to Kyllenos clarifies only their ithyphallism, not their identity. Varro
proposed that the two figures before the door were Castor and Pollux, but
Page 10 of 22
Chapouthier has noted that these gods are not usually ithyphallic.44 Hermes’
familiar role as a guardian of doorways recommends him,45 but he is typically
one statue, not two, and Clinton has brought into question the statues’ position
before the doors.46 Herms, moreover, are hardly limited to Hermes—they may be
male or female, heroic or divine.47 Lullies notes that preserved Mantelhermen
from before the Hellenistic period depict only Hermes, but that during the
Hellenistic period Priapus, Herakles, bearded Sileni, and Eros all appear,
particularly in the Greek East. Hippolytus’ description narrows down this range
to the securely male figures, but does nothing to enable a choice from among
them.
This plurality of choices, combined with the capacity for ithyphallic figures to
take on multiple names, encourages us to focus on image and function rather
than name alone to understand the Kyllenian of Samothrace, and to expand our
view into the region around the island. Priapus comes quickly to the fore. He
was native to the area, and repeatedly included in mystery rituals.48 Romans and
the Greeks they ruled were familiar with his embodiment in the form of a herm.
By tradition, he was both as wooden and as erect as Kyllenian Hermes, an
iconographic reinforcement of the kinship he sometimes shared with the Hermes
Greeks brought to this region.49 Though more typically associated with gardens
and their protection, Priapus also had strong connections with the sea, enabled
through the winds which moved between the two realms. The same gusts that
encourage swallows to chatter and meadows to bloom encourage sailors to
unfurl their sails, a trope found in Leonidas (10.1), Antipater of Sidon (10.2),
Marcus Argentarius (10.4), Thyillus (10.5), and Satyrus (10.6), who encourages
the ships to “spread their wings” and go to trade, trusting in Priapus the daimon
of the harbor. A first-century CE silver cup from Avenches offers the iconography
for these celebrations: here Priapus and an ithyphallic Pan, in rock-cut shrines,
receive votive rudders and anchors as they supervise the departure and return
of simple ships.50 The cities most linked into the Samothracian network,
moreover, found particular use for archaic wooden images as guarantors of safe
sea travel—and thus an appropriate sign for the promises of the mysteries.
(p.283) Lampsacus, the city of Priapus, sent theoroi to the Samothracian rites,
and controls the same pathway into the Black Sea as Samothrace, Lemnos, and
Imbros.51 It is also one of the locations where Priapus’ expressions of maritime
protection are clearest: Archias AP 10.8 gives voice to Priapus as the “guardian
of the Thracian strait” (Θρηϊκίου πόρου φύλακα), and Artemidoros of Perge
included an epigram for Lampsacan Priapus in his temenos on Thera.52 The
god’s Theran epigram emphasizes his own arrival from afar, his concern for
foreigners, and his status as the embodiment of travel that brings wealth. The
god’s language echoes the promises of Samothracian proxeny as recorded in
four inscriptions on Samothrace, and one proxeny inscription set up in the
Samothrakeion at Odessos.53 These specify the benefits of eisploun, ekploun,
freedom from tariff on all cargo, and asylia—the kinds of benefits that
Page 11 of 22
encouraged Weber, Davies, and others to assign proxeny a primary function in

the promotion of maritime commerce.54 Votive inscriptions from the Hellespont
and Asia Minor affirm Priapus’ maritime powers. A Roman imperial-period votive
inscription from Callipolis records the fisherman’s gratitude to Priapus: an
image of the god stands above the text, next to an altar with fish. The god lifts
his robe to expose his erection.55 The dedication echoes Priapus’ requests in the
Palatine Anthology for thank-offerings from his fishermen, in the form of bogue,
wrasse, squid, or scarus (10.9, 10.14, 10.16). Other epigrams reflect the
pragmatic applications of Priapus for seafaring, describing his statue positioned
on spurs by the beach or rocks over the Thracian straits (10.7, Archias; 10.8;
10.14, Athenaias Scholasticus). The practice described in these epigrams has
parallel in the use of wooden pilings to guide ships to harbor, marking headlands
and the hazards of shallow waters.56
These data suggest that phallic imagery had maritime functions in the region
around Samothrace. We look in vain, however, for unambiguous textual evidence
that these semantics were linked to Samothrace’s Hermes. The strongest textual
evidence is also the earliest. Seven hundred years before Hippolytus, Herodotus
dropped broad hints about the imagery appropriate to the gods of the rites. He
writes that the Greeks learned to make ithyphallic images of Hermes from the
Pelasgians, and that any Samothracian initiates would know what he means by
this (2.51). He thus affirms, with Hippolytus, a central role for the ithyphallic in
the rites; referring to the Pelasgians, he expresses in ethnographic terms the
archaism Hippolytus suggests through Kyllene. In another logos Herodotus
suggests a maritime function for the Kabeiroi, whom he considers Samothracian
gods. He reports that these gods (p.284) in Egypt look like Pataiki, dwarf-like
figures that the Phoenicians carry on the prows of their vessels (3.37).
Herodotus falls short of affirming that the maritime function of the Pataiki bears
on the Samothracian rites; what is most clear is that these figures crossed
cultural boundaries, as his Egyptians are using Phoenician images, his
Samothracians, Pelasgian ones.
Kyzikos, Ainos, and Methymna offer more compelling evidence for a connection
between archaic wooden images and maritime power. The images either aid men
or save themselves at sea, and demand ritual attention from the Greeks to whom
they are at first foreign and strange. Kyzikos is one of the best-attested sites in
the Samothracian network, with some twenty-three individuals named on eight
inscriptions as theoroi, proxenoi, epoptes, and hieropoioi.57 The city is also the
setting for the most detailed narrative of maritime aid from Samothracian gods.
According to Apollonius, the Argonauts arrived at Kyzikos after their initiation
(Arg. 1.917–20). They then polluted themselves by killing King Kyzikos, and so
found themselves locked in port by fierce storms (1.1079). A halcyon brought
ritual instructions to the seer Mopsos: the instructions combined a mountain
height, an archaic wooden statue, and the local mother of the mountain. The
Argonauts climbed Mt. Dindymene. This mountain is much smaller (752 m) than
Page 12 of 22
Samothrace (1611 m), but Apollonius’ emphasis on its commanding view

narrows the distinctions, and the mountain’s name, interestingly, appears in
ceramic inscriptions on Samothrace, suggesting a conscious connection forged
between the island and Dindymene by fourth-century dedicants.58 On the
mountain top, Argos “smooths” an old stump of vine into a xoanon, an act
described as ἔχεσε, using the etymological root for xoanon (1.1119).59 Sacrifices
are then made to Dindymene and to Titias and Kyllenos, identified as two of the
Idaian Daktyloi whom Anchiale caused to bud, ἐβλάστησεν, from the earth in the
cave of Dikte (1.1131–4). Ephoros, Diodorus Siculus, Strabo, and Arnobius know
the Idaian Daktyloi as the gods of Samothrace.60 Two elements in this passage
connect these Daktyloi to the Argonauts’ mountaintop performance. The first is
the dance of the crew, clashing swords and shields together to drown out the
cries of mourning for Kyzikos. Strabo associates these dances with the Idaian
Daktyloi, and declares them the reason for their syncretization with the Kouretes
(10.3.7, 22; cf. Diodorus Siculus 5.64–5). The second is the connection with
terrestrial fecundity. The “budding” metaphor of the Daktyloi’s birth becomes a
terrestrial reality in the Argonauts’ dance, in response to which the earth bursts
into bloom and a new spring gushes forth from the ground. This spectacle of
super fecundity, positioned before the newly fashioned xoanon, (p.285) offers
an attractive parallel to Priapus’ powers over gardens as well as ships. The
traditions behind the Daktyloi further underscore the connection from one
mountain to another. The first of the Daktyloi on whom the Argonauts call is
named for the local hero Titias;61 the other is Kyllenos, born on Mt. Dikte in
Crete (1.1126–30). They link Kyzikos’ Dindymene to Cretan Dikte, to
Samothracian Saos, and to Arcadian Kyllenos, in a mountain-to-mountain
movement that echoes Hera’s Homeric stride across the northern Aegean.
Rough-hewn statues and legendary mountains frame an effective response to
maritime distress and draw daimones from Samothrace, Crete, Ida, and local
tradition to the problems of seafarers.
Ainos offers analogous evidence for the maritime power of archaic wooden
statues. It was one of the richest cities of the Samothracian peraia, and well
represented at the rites; sixteen initiates’ names have been preserved.62 Hermes
was the alpha male of the city’s pantheon, and appeared on nearly all of its
coins.63 His embodiment as the archaic wooden Hermes Perpheraios links him to
the Samothracian rites and to exceptional maritime power.64 In Kallimachos’
Iambus 7 the god describes himself as a creation of Epeios, the sculptor of the
Trojan Horse. After his creation he was carried down the Scamander to the sea,
where fishermen from Ainos picked him up. They sought to hack him up and use
him as firewood, but the god would neither be broken nor burn; they cast him
back into the sea, but the god returned to their nets. They finally recognized his
divinity, setting him in a shrine on the beach and offering him the first fruits of
their catch. Eventually, on orders from Apollo, he was taken into the city. The
xoanon-type of the statue has parallels in Ainian tetradrachs of 450–430 BCE,
Page 13 of 22
which show a herm-like figure, bearded and wearing a conical cap, positioned on
the seat of a high-backed throne (Fig. 17.7).
This throne, and the sculptor’s

creator, seem to have appeared
on Samothrace in an archaic
sculpture, which Bosquet
identified as the Throne of
Hermes.65 The throne is
decorated with a relief showing
a seated Agamemnon,
Talthybios his herald standing Fig. 17.7. Drachm of Ainos with head of
behind him carrying a Hermes. Greek, late classical period,
caduceus, and a figure labeled about 357–342/1 BCE; Ainos mint,
Epeios. Bosquet argues that the Thrace; silver. 19 mm dia., weight 3.99
throne reflects the chair of gm. Die Axis: 12. Museum of Fine Arts,
Hermes on the city’s coins, and Boston. Theodora Wilbour Fund in
that the name Epeios connects memory of Zoë Wilbour, 61.1189.
it to Kallimachos’ tale. Acosta-
Photo © 2018 Museum of Fine Arts,
Hughes notes an additional
Boston.
connection in the Diegesis for
Whilst every effort has been made to
Kallimachos’ Iambus 9. Here
secure permission to reproduce the
Hermes explains that his
illustrations, we may have failed in a
erection has Tyrrhenian origins
few cases to trace the copyright
and a μυστικὸν λόγον.66 The holders. If contacted, the publisher
Tyrrhenian mystikos logos
will be pleased to rectify any
offers direct correlation to
omissions at the earliest opportunity.
Herodotus’ Pelasgian hieros
logos, and Hermes’ Tyrrhenian
origins signals (p.286) the
distance he has traveled.67 The
hardy xoanon of Ainos has direct analogy to the Kyllenian Hermes of
Samothrace.
Steiner, Acosta-Hughes, and Petrovic have all noted the parallels between this
story and Dionysos Phallen at Methymna on Lesbos.68 Methymna is an
exceptionally active Samothracian site. Two second-century BCE inscriptions
describe a local koinon of Samothrakiasts, the earliest epigraphic record of these
organizations, and a third-century BCE Samothracian inscription lists six
Methymnian mystes.69 Pausanias (10.19.3) reports that Methymnian fishermen
dragged from the sea an olivewood mask that looked divine, but not Greek.
Upon inquiry, the Pythia told them that this was Dionysos Phallen. The city kept
and worshipped the mask, but sent a bronze copy to Delphi.70 The mask appears
alone on the city’s coins of the third to second centuries BCE: it may have hung
from the pillar herm on the city’s second- to first-century BCE coins.71 “Phallen”
Page 14 of 22
was Lobeck’s correction to the “Kephallen” of Pausanias’ manuscript; Bousquet

linked it to Dionysos Sphaleotas of Mysia; Frontisi-Ducroux reads it as an
adjective for the wood, whitened and swollen from its long immersion in the
sea.72 “Water-logged” would be an appealing epithet for a divine image whose
maritime journey was essential to its identity and reshaped its form. The mask’s
distortion underscores the visual inscrutability (p.287) of the god who floated
in on the waves, a hermeneutical challenge it shares with the Ainian cult, so
opaque that both cities had to inquire at Delphi. Steiner has argued that this
inscrutability characterizes herms in particular, whose interior meaning lies
hidden beneath a deceptively simple surface.73
In conclusion: On the island of Samothrace, where the mountain plunges into the
sea, we have long known that there is no need to choose between Hermes-
Kadmos the Phoenician bridegroom, or Camillus-Hermes the servant of the gods,
or the Neopythagorean lenses the Romans brought to the rites. There may,
however, be a need to add one more—the Hermes of Kyllene. He is the
geographically specified reference for an iconographic type at which Pausanias
marveled. When this type traveled from the Peloponnese to the waters between
the Thracian and Black seas, it became a visual sign capable of embodying many
different gods, including Priapus, and especially those that emerge at the margin
between Greeks and indigenous people. The result is gods and myths that create
maritime success, in both poetic and pragmatic terms. We gain more insight into
this Samothracian Hermes by investigating a combination of image and function,
of which he was a part, rather than only a name, capable of many permutations.
The data are far from overwhelming: what continues to impress is the
gravitational force of the number of ways Samothrace advertised its least secret
promise—for which the Hermes who wanders in from Kyllene may be one more
addition.
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Notes:
(1) Clinton 2003: 68–9; IG XII 8 no. 74; Hemberg 1950: 37, 87, 132; Beekes 2004;
Kühr 2006: 27; scholia Parisina to Ap. Rh. Arg. 1.917.
(2) Blakely 2016.
(3) Lewis 1958: 102–15.
(4) Jaisle 1907.
(5) Wachsmuth 1960: 100–8; Hemberg 1950: 102; Kern 1893: 383.
(6) Lewis 1958: 107–8.
(7) Kreutz 1973; Yébenes 2010; Wachsmuth 1960: 440–3.
(8) Palagia 2010.
(9) Cole 1984: 167 (# 54, Apameia Kibotos; #55, Fasilar), 168 (#57, Koptos).
(10) Lewis 1958: 16, 18, 26, 35, 63, 65–6, 68, 70, 76, 92–3.
Page 19 of 22
(11) Hemberg 1950: 87–8; Cole 1984: 2–3; Collini 1990: 254–5; Kern 1919: 1426–
7; Versnel 1974.
(12) Lewis 1958: 38, 38, 41; Hemberg 1950: 103, n. 3; Marangou and Della Casa
2008.
(13) Larson 2001: 178.
(14) Pliny NH 4.12.73; scholia to Nikander Theriaka 1.472; scholia Townleiana to

Iliad N 12.
(15) DS 5.47.1–48.3: scholia Laurentiana to Ap. Rh. Arg. 1.917; Dionysius of

Halikarnassos, Antiquitates Romanae 1.61.2–4; Chapouthier 1935: 172–3.
(16) Pritchett 1998: 266–71.
(17) SEG 55.541; SEG 48.519.
(18) Gaifman 2012: 50–63.
(19) Versnel 2011: 337.
(20) Tiverios 2008: 111–12.
(21) Matsas, Karadima, and Koutsoumanis 1993.
(22) Kern 1893: 383–4; Fredrich 1909: 25.
(23) Champoiseau 1892.
(24) Chapouthier 1935: 175.
(25) Fraser and Matthews 2000: 84; Fraser and Osborne 2005: 63; Corsten and
Catling 2010: 95.
(26) Dimitrova 2008: 2–3, figs. 1–2.
(27) Blakely 2013.
(28) Aristophanes PCG F 325; Eubulus PCG F 75, 76; Plato PCG F 188.
(29) Hemberg 1950: 37–43.
(30) Tréheux 1956.
(31) Refutatio omnium haeresium 5.8.10; see Edwards 1996.
(32) Lancellotti 2000.
Page 20 of 22
(33) Dimitrova 2008: 119–20; 141; 240; 135–8; 141; 189–90; Lehmann 1969: 137
n. 240; Blakely 2012.
(34) Cole 1984: 12–13, 29; Lullies 1931: 71–4, 83–4.
(35) Avisseau-Broustet et al. 2014.
(36) Brilliant 1963: 15.
(37) Corbeill 2004: 23–6; Cairns 2005: 134.
(38) Sale 2016; Elliott 2016: 183–8.
(39) Locchi 2005: 38–54.
(40) Whitehouse 1997: 48.
(41) Zwierlein-Diehl 2007: 68.
(42) Gazda 2000: 3, figs. 6, 11, 12, 20, 21, 24.
(43) Nelson 2000: 371.
(44) Chapouthier 1935: 176, 183.
(45) See Duncan E. MacRae in this volume.
(46) Bosquet 1948: 110; Clinton 2003.
(47) Hartswick 2004: 152.
(48) Olender 1978.
(49) Stewart 1997.
(50) Rubi 1969.
(51) Ellis 1889: 504; Dimitrova 2008: 59–61.
(52) Palagia 1992.
(53) Cole 1984: IG XII.8.151 (Mesata in Aetolia and Oitaia); IG XII.8.152

(Kalchedon); IG XII.8.153 (Rhodes); IG XII.8.155 (Zone); IG XII.8.157 (Gortyn);
Fraser 1960: 6.
(54) Engen 2010: 148.
(55) Robert 1950; SEG 45.1659; Morton 2001: 192–3.
(56) Nielson 2002.
Page 21 of 22
(57) Dimitrova 2008: 35–44, 59–60, 135–45.
(58) Lehmann 1960: 8–19; CCCA Asia Minor I: 96.
(59) Platt 2011: 92.
(60) Ephoros (BNJ 70 F 104); Diodorus Siculus 5.64.4; Strabo 7 fr. 50; Arnobius,
Adversus Nationes 3.41–3; Gow and Page 1968: 447–8.
(61) Kallistratos: scholia to 1126–31a, Wendel, Fg. 2 M. IV 354.
(62) Dimitrova 2008: 111–15.
(63) May 1950: 57–65.
(64) Petrovic 2010; Steiner 2001: 82–3; Acosta-Hughes 2002: 297–8.
(65) Bosquet 1948.
(66) Acosta-Hughes 2002: 265, 294–302.
(67) Acosta-Hughes 2002: 298.
(68) Steiner 2001: 82–3; Acosta-Hughes 2002: 297–8; Petrovic 2010.
(69) Cole 1984: 20–1, 52, 83–4; Dimitrova 2008: 55–8.
(70) Daux and Bousquet 1942–3; Casevitz and Frontisi-Ducroux 1989.
(71) Tanner 2006: 55.
(72) Frontisi-Ducroux 1991: 196.
(73) Steiner 2001: 79–134.
Page 22 of 22
The Greek Magical Hymn to Hermes


Print ISBN-13: 9780198777342
DOI: 10.1093/oso/9780198777342.001.0001

Syncretism or Disguise? The Hellenization of Thoth in Graeco-Egyptian Magical
Literature
Ljuba Merlina Bortolani
DOI:10.1093/oso/9780198777342.003.0018

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

which appears in the corpus of the Greek magical papyri (PGM). This ongoing
collection of spells from Roman Egypt includes both magical handbooks and
“applied” magical charms and is often bilingual (with passages in Hieratic,
Demotic, or Coptic).1 Even if it appears to be a complex tangle of different
religious traditions (e.g. Egyptian, Greek, Jewish, Mithraic), the recent
Page 1 of 18
interdisciplinary debate has demonstrated that its main components are Greek
and Egyptian and that most papyri as we have them are the result of a long
process of collection and reworking of earlier material which probably started
before the first century2 and must have involved the Egyptian priesthood.3 In
fact, the presence of Demotic and especially Hieratic cannot be explained
outside an Egyptian priestly milieu,4 but this does not necessarily point to the
involvement of temple institutions since the spells could have also been collected
by off-duty priests in search of extra income.5
(p.294) The metrical sections of the PGM are used as invocations within some
spells and, owing to their meter, were usually considered as the most
“authentically Greek” contribution in a corpus traditionally seen as an
expression of religious syncretism. The predominance of Greek gods (or rather
of their names) as the addressees of these hymns also contributed to this early
interpretation. However, in Roman Egypt the assimilation between Egyptian and
Greek deities was very common, even if often limited to the pairing of their
names.6 Already Riesenfeld, following Norden,7 opened a path to a different
interpretation of the magical hymns through an analysis of their stylistic
features, which showed how some of the linguistic and structural patterns they
display are alien to Greek language and thought and much closer to Near
Eastern hymnography. More recently, Ritner has demonstrated how the so-called
“slander hymns” of the PGM parallel in style and contents Ancient Egyptian
precedents and thus appear to be a Greek rendering of Egyptian invocations.8 In
fact, especially when the stylistic features are not particularly distinctive, the
analysis of contents in the light of both Greek and Egyptian traditions becomes
fundamental in tracing back the cultural background in which the magical
hymns originated.9
This contribution investigates some of the most interesting features of the

magical hymn to Hermes,10 focusing mainly on the contents, in order to
determine what kind of divine persona the hymn actually describes. Three
versions of the hymn are preserved, in three different papyri of different dates:
PGM V.400–20 [A] (fourth? century) and VII.668–80 [B] (third/fourth century)
Ἑρμῆ κοσμοκράτωρ, ἐγκάρδιε, κύκλε σελήνης,

στρογγύλε καὶ τετράγωνε, λόγων ἀρχηγέτα γλώσσης,
πειθοδικαιόσυνε, χλαμυδηφόρε, πτηνοπέδιλε,
αἰθέριον δρόμον εἱλίσσων ὑπὸ τάρταρα γαίης,
πνεύματος ἡνίοχε, Ἡλίου ὀφθαλμέ, μέγιστε,
παμφώνου γλώσσης ἀρχηγέτα, λαμπάσι τέρπων
τοὺς ὑπὸ τάρταρα γαίης τε βροτοὺς βίον ἐκτελέσαντας·
μοιρῶν προγνώστης σὺ λέγῃ καὶ θεῖος Ὄνειρος,
ἡμερινοὺς καὶ νυκτερινοὺς χρησμοὺς ἐπιπέμπων,
ἰᾶσαι πάντα βροτῶν ἀλγήματα σαῖς θεραπείαις.
δεῦρο, μάκαρ, Μνήμης τελεσίφρονος υἱὲ μέγιστε·
Page 2 of 18
A σῇ μορφῇ ἱλαρός τε φάνηθι ἱλαρός τ’ ἐπίτειλον

ἀνθρώπῳ ὁσίῳ μορφήν θ’ ἱλαρὰν ἐπίτειλον ἐμοί, τῷ δεῖνα,
ὄφρα σε μαντοσύναις ταῖς σαῖς ἀρεταῖσι λάβοιμι.
B σῇ μορφῇ ἱλαρῷ τε νοῷ· δεῖγμ’ ἀνθεὶς δὲ ἀφθάρτῳ
κούρῳ μαντοσύνην <τὴν σὴν> ἔκπεμψον ἀληθῆ.
(p.295) 1 παντοκράτωρ, B 3 χρυσοπέδιλε, B 5f. πνεύματος, ἠελίου

ἡνίοχε, ἀθαν<άτ>ων τε λαμπάσι τέρπων, B; παμφώνου γλώσσης
ἀρχηγέτα, missing in B 8 Μοιρῶν τε κλωστὴρ, B 9 καί, missing in A
10 πάντων βροτῶν, B 11 θεῆς τελεσίφρονος, B
Hermes, ruler of the cosmos, who are in the heart, circle of the
moon,
spherical and square, founder of the words of language,
who obeys justice, wearing a mantle, with winged sandals,
who turns (around) an ethereal course beneath the abysses of the
earth,
who governs the wind, eye of Helios, mightiest one,
founder of many-sounded speech, who with lamps make glad
the mortals beneath the abysses of the earth who have finished life;
you are called foreseer of fates and divine Dream,
you who send day- and night-oracles,
cure all mortals’ pains with your healing cares.
Come here, blessed one, mightiest son of Memory, who perfects
mental powers,
A appear gracious in your form, and gracious rise
to a pious man, and rise for me, NN, in a gracious form,
so that I can understand you in divinations through your skills.
B in your form and gracious mind; entrust an uncorrupted boy with a
sign
and send your truthful art of prophecy.
1 ruler of all, B 3 with golden sandals, B 5f. who govern the wind, the
sun and who with lamps of immortals (gods) make glad B 8 thread of
fate, B 10 the pains of all mortals, B 11 of the goddess who perfects
mental powers, B
PGM XVIIb.1–2311 [C] (second/third century)
…κρ]άτωρ, ἐγκάρδιε, κ[ύκλε

τ]ετράγωνε, λόγων [
] χλαμυδηφόρε [
γ]λώσσης μεδέω[ν
]εισπνοιη γὰρ [
]. παρων προει[
] ἐν τυτθῷ χρόνῳ [
]ṿ πάλι μόρσιμο[ν
]ον τιν’ ἀληθέα [
κλωσ]τὴρ σὺ λέγῃ καὶ [
]αστος, ἅπερ φε[
Page 3 of 18
α̣ . [.]ρα ι̣[. .]ε̣μ[.]ν ἐπικρίνοιο [

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

epithets that immediately suggested to Heitsch12 that this hymn’s background
was the same as the philosophical Hermetica.13 Κοσμοκράτωρ would represent
the supreme nature of god, and ἐνκάρδιε the divine spark present in every
human being: the cosmic and the anthropological essence of the divine principle.
Similarly, the following epithets, “spherical and square,” would express the all-
encompassing nature of god,14 and a Gnostic/Hermetic background would
underlie also πνεύματος ἡνίοχε (line 5), where πνεύμα is normally (p.297)
translated as “spirit” since it immediately echoes the Gnostic systems in which
the πνεύμα is the divine essence emanating from the One god, which decreases
in quantity in accordance with the increasing distance from its source until it
Page 4 of 18
reaches the material world.15 Though this explanation seems plausible, the hymn
appears in the PGM but is not preserved in any philosophical Hermetica, and
thus it is worth setting aside this interpretation when analyzing it.
First of all, it can be useful to recall some general aspects and functions that
Thoth, Hermes’ Egyptian counterpart, has in ancient Egyptian religion (apart
from the Hermetic assimilation of the two deities).16 Thoth embodies the power
of creative speech, he is the god of knowledge par excellence and a moon-god.
As god of speech and wisdom, he is the god of writing and language (of which he
is said to be the inventor) and the god of justice, but also of magic and medicine
since in Egyptian thought they are both tightly connected not only with
knowledge, but also with the act of speaking. Furthermore, he is a good
counsellor, a persuasive speaker, the scribe of the gods, and the herald of the
solar god. He also plays an important role in the Netherworld, both as assessor
of the dead and scribe, and as escort of the solar god during the journey that the
sun undertakes every night through this realm. Moreover, as moon-god, Thoth
can also control time and distinguish months, seasons, and years. Thanks to this
ability, he can determine the duration of men’s lives, and thus be considered a
god of fate. His competence in relation to time and fate, together with his
knowledge of everything, also grants him prophetic skills.17
To return to the hymn, the first epithet κοσμοκράτωρ18 seems to be quite

suitable for Thoth,19 as he could be a primeval creator god in the theology of
Hermopolis in Upper Egypt, his sacred city.20 In this cosmogony, at the
beginning of time there were four couples of male and female deities,
represented as frogs and snakes (the Ogdoad), who embodied the four principles
of chaos and indistinctness. Thoth can participate in the creation in various
ways; in one version of the myth, for example, an ibis, Thoth’s sacred animal, (p.
298) laid an egg on top of the primeval mound, from which the sun-god
emerged and then the whole world was created. Not by chance Thoth can be e.g.
ḳmȝ-ntt-nbt, “he who created everything that exists,” or nb-pt-tȝ-mw-ḏww, “the
lord of the sky, earth, water, and mountains,” four elements of nature that the
Egyptians used to refer to the whole world.21
The second epithet, ἐνκάρδιε, in a generic sense means “something you have in
your heart,” “something you care for.”22 Apart from the Hermetic explanation, it
is not immediately clear why Hermes should be described as “in the heart” or a
deity “they care for,” especially if we consider that ἐνκάρδιος is not otherwise
attested as a divine epithet. Moreover, in the hymn there is no mention of the
heart of men, and the idea that a god could be “in the heart” generally appears
in the Greek classical tradition only with those deities who personify human
emotions.23 On the other hand, as in archaic Greek thought and in some later
Greek philosophical/medical theories, the Egyptians believed that the seat of the
mind was the heart, and not the brain. Thus, the Egyptian word for “heart,” ỉb,
means also “mind,” “intelligence,” and “will.” From the Middle Kingdom to the
Page 5 of 18
Ptolemaic temples, one of the commonest epithets of Thoth is ỉb-n-R‘, “heart of

Ra.”24 This epithet derives from another Egyptian cosmogony, the so-called
Memphite theology,25 in which creation is achieved through ḥkȝ, “magic,”
constituted of sỉȝ, “perception,” “understanding” (represented by the heart,
namely, the mind)—i.e. the ability to perceive what is needed—and ḥw,
“annunciation,” “effective word” (represented by the mouth)—i.e. the ability to
make things happen by uttering them. The creator god “perceives,” i.e.
“conceives” the Word in his mind, i.e. in the heart, and then, uttering the Word,
he begins the creative act. Thoth embodied the power of creative speech, was
the god of knowledge, of magic, and of the spoken and written word, and so, not
surprisingly, he can be identified both with ḥw and with sỉȝ: he is called “heart of
Ra” because he symbolizes both the Word located in the mind (heart) of the
creator, and the “perception” represented by the heart-mind itself.26 This
association Thoth–heart was (p.299) strong, so that in the inscriptions of the
temple of Esna, for example, the hieroglyph that represents an ibis and means
“ibis,” whose normal phonetic value is hb, is used to express the phonetic value
ỉb and the word ỉb, “heart.”27 Therefore, at least originally, ἐνκάρδιος could have
had nothing to do with the idea that every human heart contains a spark of the
divine essence, but could have been chosen to refer to Thoth “heart of Ra,” who
is “in the heart” as “effective speech.”28
Similarly, the epithets λόγων ἀρχηγέτα γλώσσης and παμφώνου γλώσσης

ἀρχηγέτα (lines 2 and 6, γλώσσης μεδέων in C.4) easily apply to Thoth as the
inventor of speech and writing. One of his commonest epithets is nb-mdw-nṯr,
“lord of the divine words”;29 he is the one who “has let the writings speak,”
“invented the letters,” and “began the writings.”30 On the other hand, Hermes
was certainly associated with speech and language, but mainly in connection
with rhetorical abilities and in his function as messenger of the gods. He is the
god of wit and cunning who can use language at will to deceive men and deities,
but he is also a mediator, the “interpreter” of the divine words for men; and,
starting from Plato and then especially in the Stoics, he can function as logos,
“word” of the gods.31 However, in the classical Greek tradition, Hermes is not
the “creator” of speech and language, and it seems that this idea derived from
his early association with Thoth.
Plato attributes the invention of speech to Thoth, e.g. in Philebus 18b–d and in
Phaedrus 274c–e, where Thoth is the one who invented (among other things)
“letters,” an elixir of memory and wisdom for the Egyptians. Diodorus 1.16 uses
“Hermes” as the equivalent for “Thoth” when he tells us that the Egyptians
believe that Hermes was the first to further articulate language, inventing the
alphabet, and giving a name to things that were still nameless. Other
attestations of Hermes as the discoverer of speech and/or writing are later,
sometimes stating or implying again the Egyptian origin of this idea, and other
times quite vague.32 The opposite attitude can be found, for example in the
Orphic Ηymns, where Hermes is said to be a “prophet of the word for men,”
Page 6 of 18
“interpreter of everything,” and “terrible weapon of the (p.300) tongue”33—

epithets that do not imply the creation of speech and thus perfectly fit Hermes.
At lines 1–2 of the hymn, in the sequence κύκλε σελήνης, στρογγύλε καὶ
τετράγωνε, the first two epithets, apart from the Hermetic interpretation, aptly
describe the god as a lunar god: he is the orbit/disk of the moon and he is
spherical. They would thus represent an Egyptian attribute, while τετράγωνος
would have a Greek origin, since it has been interpreted as a reference to the
shape of the apotropaic Hermae: because they were fashioned as quadrangular
pillars, when talking about them Hermes was often said to be τετράγωνος.34
Various Greek authors discuss this square-shape and connect it with different
things. Plutarch, for example, after stating that Hermes (= Thoth) is said to be
the first god in Egypt to discover writing, tells us that the number four is sacred
to Hermes because of the tradition that the god was born on the fourth day of
the month.35 Other authors associate the square-shape with Hermes as logos,
especially in the Stoic milieu, e.g. Cornutus who maintains that the Hermae are
square-shaped because Hermes-logos is “square,” as he has a steady and
unshakable quality.36 We are already in the sixth century when John Lydus37 says
that the number four is sacred to Hermes-logos because, according to some
philosophers, the soul is constituted by four parts: “mind (νοῦς), knowledge
(ἐπιστήμη), opinion (δόξα), perception (αἴσθησις); since, as Pythagoras says, the
human soul is a square (τετράγωνον) with right angles.” He continues by
associating Hermes-τετράγωνος with the four turnings of the sun, the two
equinoxes and the two solstices, and with the four phases of the moon (new, full,
first and second quarter).
All these considerations, though, seem to be a posteriori, while the most

plausible explanation for the shape of the Hermae appears to be the apotropaic
function they had especially at crossroads. Pausanias Atticus, for instance,
mentions a statue of a four-headed Hermes in a crossroad of the Potters’ quarter
in Athens bearing the inscription Ἑρμῆ τετρακέφαλε…πάνθ’ ὁράᾳς, “four-headed
Hermes…you see everything,”38 clearly referring to the apotropaic protection of
the limen, probably in connection with the four cardinal points. Hermes shared
this function with the goddess Hekate, who was often represented with three
bodies or three heads owing both to this apotropaic (p.301) function and to her
lunar nature.39 Interestingly enough, in the PGM many of Hekate’s epithets are
compounded with the number three, but others are compounded with four (e.g.
τετραπρόσωπε, τετραώνυμε, τετραοδῖτι, with-four-faces, four-names, four-
roads). In this case, four is clearly a variant of three according to the different
ways of describing the phases of the moon.40 In conclusion, Hermes was
certainly τετράγωνος as far as the shape of the Hermae was concerned, and his
association with the logos triggered various speculations about why the logos
was τετράγωνος, but looking at the sequence in our hymn, κύκλε σελήνης,
στρογγύλε, καὶ τετράγωνε, the easiest interpretation is to refer the sentence to
the moon: Hermes/Thoth is the orbit/disk of the moon, which is spherical but
Page 7 of 18
also made of four parts. As already discussed, the lunar Thoth was connected
with the number four also in the cosmogony of Hermopolis (called Khmunu in
Egyptian, “the eight-city”), based on the four principles of indistinctness.
At line 3 πειθοδικαιόσυνε is usually translated as “pleading the cause of justice”

or “obedient to justice.” Even if Hermes could be connected with justice and
trials thanks to his rhetorical ability and as mediator between opposite parties,
“obedient to justice” does not really describe Hermes’ divine persona, otherwise
a god of thieves and trickery. The epithet could also be translated as “who
persuades justice/convincing of right,” but this hypothesis is not supported by
the hymn’s fragmentary version C: at lines 12–13 ἐπικρίνοιο is followed by “you
offer good things to the good…,” implying something like “and bad things to the
evil,” which makes clear that this section described a god of justice, and not one
who can bend justice to his liking. In this respect, the epithet seems more
suitable for Thoth as god of justice, e.g. ỉr-Mȝ‘t, “the one who acts Maat41
(Justice/Truth),” and nb-Mȝ‘t, “the lord of Maat.”42
Some typically Greek iconographical features of Hermes appear at line 3

(χλαμυδηφόρε, πτηνοπέδιλε),43 and at line 5 we find another epithet particularly
significant, πνεύματος ἡνίοχε, since it was one of the triggers of the Gnostic/
Hermetic interpretation. However, Egyptian religion knows something very (p.
302) similar to the πνεῦμα, expressed by the word ṯȝw, which, exactly like
πνεῦμα, can mean both “wind” and “breath,” especially “life breath.” The
creator god gives off his breath, identified with the wind, in order to make the
whole cosmos live: he is the one who gives breath to the nose/throat of every
god and man, he is the breath of life in all things,44 an ability that can also be
ascribed to Thoth as creator god (e.g. dỉ-ṯȝw-r-fnḏ-n-s-nb, “who gives the breath
to the nose of every man”).45 The reason why this Egyptian background could be
more plausible for πνεύματος ἡνίοχε is that the fragmentary version C preserved
εισπνοιη γὰρ (line 5), which, though ambiguous, suggests there was a passage
dealing with the act of breathing rather than with the Gnostic πνεῦμα.
Interestingly enough, two other PGM preserve an invocation with strong
Egyptian background,46 starting with “come to me, you from the four winds,
god,” παντοκράτωρ, ὁ ἐνφυσήσας πνεύματα ἀνθρώποις εἰς ζωήν, “who have
blown spirits/breaths into men for life.” This sentence perfectly fits the Egyptian
model and confirms that it was not alien to the PGM.47 Πνεύματος ἡνίοχε
immediately precedes Ἡλίου ὀφθαλμέ, an epithet which clearly refers to Thoth
since in Egyptian thought the moon was conceived as the left eye of various sky-
solar gods, so that the expression “eye of Helios” must be equivalent to the
Egyptian “eye of Horus/(Re),”48 the wḏȝt, and Thoth as the moon could be ỉ‘ḥ-m-
wḏȝt, “the moon as the eye of Horus.”49
The whole hymn cannot be analyzed in detail in this short contribution, but some
other interesting points can quickly be noted. For example, line 4 and lines 6–7
(λαμπάσι τέρπων…) imply that the god is imagined as traveling to/through50 the
Page 8 of 18
Underworld, and that he has a role in connection with the dead, which would fit
both Hermes and Thoth, even if “mortals who have finished life” might echo
Greek conceptions more than Egyptian ones. Lines 8–9 allude to the god’s
oracular nature but include a Greek feature since, though Thoth controlled fate
and could be an oracular god, the special connection with dreams expressed by
θεῖος Ὄνειρος51 seems to be typical of Hermes, considered a god of sleep and a
bringer of dreams beginning with Homer.52 (p.303) It would thus not seem a
coincidence that the first two versions of the hymn appear within two dream-
oracle spells (PGM V.370–446, VII.664–85). However, dream-oracles in the PGM
can be addressed to many different deities, so that it is not clear whether
Hermes as god of sleep was chosen because of this special function, or if it was
the dream-oracle ritual that triggered the addition of this feature of Hermes to
the hymn.
At line 10 the god is the one who heals all mortal pains, a function that did not
originally belong to Hermes, but to Thoth, god of medicine and skilled physician.
Finally, the god is said to be the son of Mneme, i.e. Mnemosyne, which, although
wrong because Hermes should be the son of Maia,53 is definitely a Greek feature
and reminds us of the Homeric Hymn to Hermes, where it is said that Hermes as
inventor of the lyre, in his song, honored Mnemosyne, mother of the Muses, first
among the gods since the son of Maia belonged to her entourage.54
In conclusion, many of the analyzed attributes can fit both Hermes and Thoth,
and some others apply to only one of the two gods; thus this hymn seems to
describe a balanced syncretistic deity. However, Hermes and Thoth already
shared many of their functions before any syncretistic attempt (such as the roles
of persuasive speakers and of heralds, and the connections with language and
with the Underworld). The insistence on the lunar nature of the god, the epithet
κοσμοκράτωρ, the attributes describing him as a god of justice and healing
cares, as the creator of speech, and as the eye of Helios, and possibly also the
reference to the πνεῦμα, all find a better explanation in considering the divine
persona of Thoth. Of course the Hermetic interpretation would argue that the
deity invoked is the Hellenistic syncretistic Hermes–Thoth, which may be, but
what must be underlined is that this hymn does not have to be the product of
philosophical Hermetism since it can be explained without it (the Hermetic
interpretation could be later).
In my opinion, this hymn, like much of Graeco–Egyptian magical literature, does

not demonstrate that the PGM’s compilers were particularly partial to specific
philosophical speculations, but it seems more to be the product of the activity of
ritual specialists with an Egyptian cultural background55 and access to Greek
sources who tried to adapt traditional beliefs in order to make them appealing to
a Hellenized clientele.56 This preliminary analysis suggests that the hymn could
be the product of an earlier stage of the translation of the (p.304) Egyptian
Page 9 of 18
conception into Greek, a translation that only at a second stage of speculation

was transformed in the philosophical Hermetica.
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Riesenfeld, H. 1946. “Remarques sur les hymnes magiques.” Eranos 44: 153–60.
Ritner, R. K. 1993. The Mechanics of Ancient Egyptian Magical Practice. Studies

in Ancient Oriental Civilization 54. Chicago.
Ritner, R. K. 1995. “Egyptian Magical Practice under the Roman Empire: The
Demotic Spells and their Religious Context.” ANRW II, 18.5: 3332–79.
Roeder, G. 1959. Hermopolis: 1929–1939. Hildesheim.
Sandman-Holmberg, M. 1946. The God Ptah. Lund.
Sauneron, S. 1962. “Les conditions d’accès à la fonction sacerdotale à l’époque

gréco- romaine.” BIFAO 61: 55–7.
Sauneron, S. and J. Yoyotte. 1959. “La naissance du monde selon l’Égypte

ancienne.” In La naissance du monde: Égypte ancienne, Sumer, Akkad, etc.
Sources Orientales 1. Paris. 17–91.
Sethe, K. 1929. Amun und die acht Urgötter von Hermopolis: Eine Untersuchung
über Ursprung und Wesen des ägyptischen Götterkönigs. Berlin.
Smith, M. 2002. On the Primaeval Ocean. The Carlsberg Papyri 5. Copenhagen.
Spieß, H. 1991. Der Aufstieg eines Gottes: Untersuchungen zum Gott Thot bis
zum Beginn des Neuen Reiches. Ph.D. Dissertation Universität Hamburg.
Hamburg.
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Stadler, M. A. 2009. Weiser und Wesir: Studien zu Vorkommen, Rolle und Wesen
des Gottes Thot im ägyptischen Totenbuch. Tübingen.Suárez de la Torre, E.
2015. “Himno(s)-plegaria a Hermes en los papiros mágicos griegos.” In C.
Giuffré Scibona and A. Mastrocinque, eds. Ex pluribus unum: Studi in onore di
Giulia Sfameni Gasparro. Rome. 193?212.
Tait, W. J. 1994. “Some Notes on Demotic Scribal Training in the Roman Period.”
In A. Bülow-Jacobsen, ed. Proceedings of the 20th International Congress of
Papyrologists, Copenhagen 23–29 August 1992. Copenhagen. 188–92.
Teodorsson, S.-T. 1989–96. A Commentary on Plutarch’s Table Talks. 3 vols.

Göteborg.
Versnel, H. S. 1974. “Mercurius Amongst the ‘Magni Dei’.” Mnemosyne 4th Ser.
27.2: 144–51.
Vleeming, S. P. 1994. “Some Notes on Demotic Scribal Training in the Ptolemaic

Period.” In A. Bülow–Jacobsen 1994: 185–7.
Volokhine, Y. 2004. “Le dieu Thot et la parole.” RHR 221: 131–56.
(p.307) Whitehorne, J. 1995. “The Pagan Cults of Roman Oxyrhynchus.” ANRW

II, 18.5: 3050–91.
Wortmann, D. 1966. “Kosmogonie und Nilflut.” Bonner Jahrbücher 166: 62–112.
Zielinski, T. 1906. “Hermes und die Hermetik II.” ARG 9.1: 25–60.
Zivie-Coche, C. 2009. “L’Ogdoade à Thèbes à l’époque ptolémaïque et ses

antécédents.” In C. Thiers, ed. Documents de théologies thébaines tardives (D3T
1). CENIM 3. Montpellier. 167–225.
Zografou, A. 2010. Chemins d’Hécate: portes, routes, carrefours et autres

figures de l’entre-deux. Kernos Suppl. 24. Liège. (p.308)
Notes:
(1) For an overview of the material, see Brashear 1995; on the corpus of the
Demotic magical papyri (PDM), which should be considered as one with the
PGM, see Ritner 1995. The standard edition of the PGM remains Preisendanz
and Henrichs 1973–4, complemented by Daniel and Maltomini 1990–2. Most of
the published PGM and PDM in translation can be found in Betz 1992.
(2) However, some Demotic material can be traced further back to the sixth
century BCE.
(3) E.g. Brashear 1995: 3390–5, 3414–16, 3422–9, with rich bibliography; Ritner
1995: 3345–55, 3362–71; Ritner 1993: esp. 112–19, 157–9; Kákosy 1995: 3028–
43; Koenig 1994: 60–72, 156–65; Dieleman 2011; cf. 2005: esp. 47–101.
Page 14 of 18
(4) E.g. Sauneron 1962: 55–7; Baines 1983: esp. 580–3; Ritner 1993: 204–14,
220–33; Vleeming 1994; Tait 1994: 190–2; Frankfurter 1998: 210–12, 248–50;
Dieleman 2005: 21–3; Clarysse 2009: 565–8, 573.
(5) Quack 1998: esp. 85, 89; Quack 2010; Quack 2011a: 143–4; Dieleman 2011.
(6) E.g. Quaegebeur 1983; Kákosy 1995: 2948–92; Whitehorne 1995: 3053, 3058–
85; Frankfurter 1998: e.g. 106–8, 116–19; Pfeiffer 2005.
(7) Riesenfeld 1946; Norden 1956.
(8) Ritner 1995: 3363–71; cf. Quack 2011b.
(9) A similar approach also in Merkelbach and Totti 1990–1.
(10) These are preliminary results of my research on the hymn and form part of a
broader work on magical hymns whose first, and largest, section appeared in
Bortolani 2016.
(11) Since this papyrus did not preserve any contextual spell, it has been
suggested this hymn could have been just a prayer with no magical connotation:
e.g. Heitsch 1959: 223–36; Graf 1991: esp. 192–4.
(12) 1959: 223–36.
(13) See also Plasberg 1903: 208–17 (on C); Fowden 1993: 25–6; Calvo Martínez
2009; cf. Hopfner 1974–90: 2.1.277–80. Differently, Suárez de la Torre 2015.
(14) Cf. “I am the first and I am the last / I am the alpha and the omega” of
Judeo–Christian tradition (e.g. LXX, Is. 44.6; NT, Apoc. 1.8, 21.6). For similar
Egyptian formulations see Kurth 1998.
(15) E.g. Brakke 2010: esp. 53–62; cf. Colpe, RAC “Gnosis” II (Gnostizismus).
(16) On all the following, see Boylan 1922; Nagel 1942; Roeder 1959: 163–9, 182;
Bleeker 1973; Spieß 1991; Stadler 2009 (and 11–35 for a summary of the
studies); Derchain-Urtel 1981; Fowden 1993.
(17) Cf. BoD 182; Quaegebeur 1975.
(18) Κοσμοκράτωρ and παντοκράτωρ (B) in the PGM seem to be used

interchangeably, mostly for deities with Egyptian supreme-creator traits (e.g. III.
135; VI.272, 968, 1599, 2192; VII.668, 962; XII.72, 238, 250); see Montevecchi
1957: esp. 410–11.
(19) In astrological contexts κοσμοκράτωρ can also refer to the sun and the moon
(e.g. Vett.Val. 8.7.312, 9.16.12); even in this sense it would be more suitable for
Page 15 of 18
Thoth-moon, since Hermes, despite his association with Hekate as a liminal

deity, acquired actual lunar traits only after his assimilation with Thoth.
(20) See e.g. Sethe 1929: § 63–80; Roeder 1959: 165, 171–4, 185–6, 190; Kessler,
LdÄ “Hermupolis Magna”; Sauneron and Yoyotte 1959: 51–62; cf. Smith 2002:
73; Zivie-Coche 2009.
(21) LGG 8.720.E.2, 716.A.1; cf. 723.O.1.
(22) Hermes as the planet Mercury can be ἐγκάρδιος meaning “in close
proximity” (e.g. CCAG 5.3.97.29, 8.3.105.5–18), but this interpretation would
hardly fit with the previous κοσμοκράτωρ.
(23) Cf. ἐνκάρδιος in the invocation to Eros, in the love-spell PGM IV.1716–1870
(1784): “(you are like a) child when you are generated within the heart.” Heitsch
quotes this passage to support the hypothesis that Hermes is “in the heart of
men” as divine spark, but the invocation largely treats Eros as a metaphor for
“love,” and thus saying that he is born “in the heart” does not necessarily imply
any philosophical conception regarding the divinity of the soul.
(24) See LGG 8.725.R.9; also Stadler 2009: 180–1; Derchain-Urtel 1981: 81–94;
cf. Boylan 1922: 114; Kákosy 1986: 432. For the heart as the seat of the mind in
Greek thought, see e.g. Bremmer 1983; Crivellato and Ribatti 2007.
(25) Junker 1940: esp. 42–7; Sandman-Holmberg 1946: 18–23, 42–5; Sauneron
and Yoyotte 1959: 40; Assmann 1995: 171–4; also Volokhine 2004: 138–44.
(26) See Piankoff 1930: 94–103; Boylan 1922: 59–60, 103–6; Meeks 1971: 58–9;
Plasberg 1903: 211; PGM XIII.172 ff.
(27) Derchain-Urtel 1981: 93–4. See also Horap. 1.36; on the subject in
connection with heart-shaped amulets depicting Thoth-ibis, Wortmann 1966: 97.
For Thoth “heart of Ra,” cf. PDM lxi.56 f. For Thoth-heart god of knowledge who,
knowing everything, also knows what is in the hearts of men, cf. Boylan 1922:
101–2.
(28) For the persistence of this conception in the Hermetica, see Iversen 1984:
esp. 12, 31; Mahé 1978–82: 2.296–9, 303. Similarly Suárez de la Torre 2015:
201.
(29) LGG 3.654.
(30) LGG 4.746 (rdi-mdw-drf), 7.18 (šȝ‘-tit, šȝ‘-drf).
(31) E.g. Pl. Cra. 407e ff.; cf. 298d–e; see Leisegang RE “Logos” (1061–5); Orth
1926: 77–86; Versnel 1974: 150; Fowden 1993: 24, 201–2; Pernot 2002: esp. 201–
2; cf. Zielinski 1906: esp. 25–37, 55–6.
Page 16 of 18
(32) E.g. FHG III (Müller), 44a: the historian and traveler Mnaseas in the third
century BCE would have said that Hermes invented γράμματα (either “articulate
sounds,” “written characters,” or “musical notes”). More attestations in
Dornseiff 1988: 6–8; cf. Boylan 1922: 99–101.
(33) Orph. H. 28.4, 6, 10; Ricciardelli 2000 ad loc.
(34) E.g. Paus. 7.22.2; Demetr. Phal. fr. 118.2 (Wehrli); Artem. 2.37.92.
(35) Plut. Quaest. Conviv. 738e 3–5, 7–9 and Teodorsson 1989–96, III ad loc., for
other attestations; the tradition starts from H.Herm. 20 ff.; cf. Ar. Pl. 1126 (and
scholia ad loc.). Cf. also e.g. schol. ad Od. Ψ 198 (Dindorf): Hermes discovered
four most important things: γράμματα, music, wrestling-school, and geometry;
this would be the reason why the Greeks fashion him τετράγωνον.
(36) Corn. ND 23.6 ff.
(37) Mens. 2.9; see also 4.76.59–106; Plasberg 1903: 211.
(38) Ἀττικῶνὀνομάτων, E 71.3.
(39) E.g. Sarian, LIMC s.v. “Hekate”; Johnston 1991; Zografou 2010; cf. Kahn
1979.
(40) Cf. Cleomedes, 2.5.87–91; Bortolani 2016 ad 12.33.
(41) The goddess Maat personified the concepts of order, truth, justice, morality,
and cosmic equilibrium at the same time.
(42) LGG 1.456–7, 3.639–42, 8.720–1.G.2; Stadler 2009: 327–43; cf. e.g. BoD 182,
183: “Thoth…who writes what is true, who detests falsehood…master of laws
who interprets writings…I am the Lord of Justice…” In the Egyptian tradition the
heart is also closely connected with justice. When the deceased arrives in the
Netherworld his heart is put on a scale by the god Thoth, counterweighed by the
plume symbol of Maat; the heart must not weigh more than Maat, otherwise the
deceased will not be allowed to live his eternal life, but will undergo total
cancellation from existence. The more crimes the person committed in life, the
heavier will be the heart. Subsequently, the heart can also be the seat of the
deity who judges human actions inside men; see Piankoff 1930: 87–8: Thoth
could be ἐνκάρδιε also as supreme judge.
(43) Cf. Orph. H. 28.4 where πτηνοπέδιλε is clearly connected with Hermes’
traditional role as messenger of the gods.
(44) See e.g. LGG 4.767–70; Merkelbach and Totti 1990–1: 1.140 for other
Egyptian examples.
(45) LGG 8.722.M.3; Iversen 1984: 19, 35–6.

Page 17 of 18
(46) XII.238–44, XIII.761–73, cf. XXI.1–9; see e.g. Merkelbach and Totti 1990–1:
1.127–222; Assmann 1997: 203–4.
(47) Plasberg 1903: 213–14. In B the god is supposed to govern not only the
wind/breath but also the sun; even in this case the epithet would be more
suitable for Thoth as creator god.
(48) Bortolani 2016 ad 3.18; for the equation “Helios”–“Horus” in the PGM, see
e.g. IV.296–466, IV.1928–2005.
(49) E.g. Otto, LdÄ “Augensagen”; Krauss 1997: 261–74; Boylan 1922: 32–4, 62–
75; for the epithet see LGG 1.149.
(50) For εἱλίσσω (line 4) referring to the revolution of astral bodies and thus
possibly alluding here to the lunar nature of the deity, see Bortolani 2016 ad 2.3.
(51) Cf. Hom. Il. 2.22: Hermes as agent of divine messages is identified with the
message itself.
(52) E.g. Od. 24.1–24 (cf. 7.137), Il. 24.343. But compare Μοιρῶν τε κλωστήρ in
version B.8 and Thoth god of fate in his ability to determine the duration of
men’s lives.
(53) Possibly implied in B.11 θεῆς τελεσίφρονος.
(54) 4.428 ff.
(55) Cf. nn. 3 and 4 above.
(56) E.g. Frankfurter 1998: 198–237; 2000; see also Kákosy 1995: 3025–35;
Dieleman 2005: 1–10; Clarysse 2009: 584. Cf. Smith 2002: esp. 206–11 for an
Egyptian cosmogony possibly alluded to in the PGM but not in the Hermetica.
For the persistence of Egyptian tradition in the Hermetica, see e.g. Mahé 1978–
82: 2.291–5, 303–5, 449–57 and 3–35 for a summary of the state of research with
rich bibliography; Iversen 1984; cf. Festugière 1950–4: e.g. 1.86, 309–10.
Page 18 of 18
Hermes and the Figs


Print ISBN-13: 9780198777342
DOI: 10.1093/oso/9780198777342.001.0001
Hermes and the Figs

On P.Oxy. 17.2084
Athanassios Vergados
DOI:10.1093/oso/9780198777342.003.0019

This chapter argues that the encomium to the fig preserved on P.Oxy. 17.2084
(third century CE) is a parody of an encomium, performed at a feast in honor of
Hermes as a response to another participant’s praise of Hermes as the patron of
rhetoric. This chapter argues that the encomium to the fig preserved on P.Oxy.
17.2084 (third century CE) is a parody of an encomium, performed at a feast in
honor of Hermes as a response to another participant’s praise of Hermes as the
patron of rhetoric.
Keywords: fig, honey, Hermaia, rhetorical exercises, encomium, parody
Col. I Col. II Col. III
ἰσχάδος ἰσχάδα τὴν Ἑρμοῦ καὶ [τ]ὴν ἑροτὴν αὐτ[ο]ῦ̣
ἐγκώμιον προσφιλεστάτην εὐωχεῖσθαι διὰ γλυ-
τροφήν τε καὶ τρυ- κυτάτης ἰσχάδος;
φὴν καὶ τῆς πανη- καὶ δὴ εἰσκαλείσθω
γύρεως τὸ ἀγλάισμα ἰσχὰς θᾶττον ἡμῖν,
[κ]ἀ̣γὼ εἰς τ̣[ὸ]ν̣ θεὸν ἵνα καὶ ἡμεῖς Νέστο-
[ε]ὐ̣σεβῶν ὑμνήσω ρος οὐχ ἧττον φ̣ω̣-
Page 1 of 16
Hermes and the Figs
Col. I Col. II Col. III
τήμερον κα[ὶ] ὑ̣π̣ὸ̣ νὴν εὐτυχήσωμεν
αὐτῆς ἑστιώμενος μέλιτος γλυκυτέραν
λόγῳ ἀμείψομαι κα- κεράσαντες ἰ[σ]χάδ[α]
τ᾽ ἰσχάδα, μέλιτος τῷ μέλιτι.
μὲν οὖσαν ἀ̣[δε]λ̣φ̣ή̣[ν],
εὐδαιμόνων δ᾽ ἀνθρώ- Col. IV (in a tabula ansata)
πων τρυφή̣[ν, τῶ]ν θεῶν ἰσχάδος
δὲ θυσίαις ἀπα[ρ]χήν, Διο- ἐγκώμιον
νύσου δὲ τῶν β̣[οσ]τ̣ρ[υχ]ί̣ω̣ν̣
πλοκὴν εἰς στεφάνου πε-
ριβολήν. ἀλλὰ τί γὰρ λό[γ]ῳ
ἰσχάδα τιμῶ καὶ οὐχὶ [τ]οῖς
ἔργοις δεικν[ύ]ω ὅτι ἰσχ[ὰ]ς
σήμερον ἡμᾶς οὐκ ἀνάγκῃ
συνήγαγεν, ἀλλὰ ἀσμένως
χορεύειν Ἑρμῇ πεποίηκεν
col. i 1 ϊσ̒χ̓αδος pap. 2 εγ’κωμιον pap. col. ii 1 ϊσχαδα pap. 7 ϋμνησω

pap. 8 ϋπο pap. 11 ϊσχαδα pap. 19 ϊσχαδα pap. 20 δικνυω pap. 23
ανανκη pap. col. iii 1 l. ἑορτὴν?(cf. P.Oxy. 17, p. 101) 5 ϊσχας pap. |
θατ᾽τον pap. | ημειν pap. 6 ϊνα pap. 7 ητ᾽τον pap. 8 εντυχησωμεν
pap. 9 κλυκυτεραν pap. 11 μελιδι pap. | post μελιδι Ͻ—pap. col. iv 2
ενκωμιον pap.
(p.310)
I too, showing reverence to the god, will praise today the fig, Hermes’ most
beloved foodstuff and delicacy and the feast’s ornament, and being feasted
by her I will respond in turn concerning the fig: she is sister to honey, a
delicacy of fortunate men, the first fruit in the sacrifices to the gods, and
she is entwined with Dionysus’ vine-tendrils to make the compass of a
garland. But why am I honoring the fig through words rather than showing
through deeds that the fig has not convened us here today through
compulsion, but has caused us to dance willingly for Hermes, and that we
feast upon his holiday because of the sweetest fig? And indeed, let the fig
be summoned quickly into our midst so that we, too, no less than Nestor
Page 2 of 16
Hermes and the Figs
may succeed in obtaining a voice sweeter than honey, having mixed the fig
with honey.
This encomium to the fig has been preserved on an Oxyrhynchus papyrus dated
to the third century CE on palaeographical grounds (the text itself must not be
much older).1 Earlier scholarship suggested that this text might be a rhetorical
exercise, composed perhaps by an ephebe for performance at a Hermaia festival
as a way to showcase his rhetorical skills.2 Likewise, the handwriting,
considered by the first editor of the encomium as a “comparatively uncultivated
hand,” has led to the conclusion that the text was written by a pupil rather than
a well-trained person. In what follows I will try to show that the text under
discussion is a more clever and skillful composition than hitherto assumed. I will
furthermore argue for the possibility that its author may have been familiar with
the playful Homeric Hymn to Hermes and, if the archaic hymn lies in the
background of this prose encomium, explore the implications.
Formally this encomium presents some of the genre’s topoi. We hear of the god
to whom the fig is dedicated. This corresponds to what Ps.-Hermogenes suggests
at Prog. 7.14: one ought to praise plants ἀπὸ τοῦ θεοῦ ᾧ ἀνάκειται, ὡς ἡ ἐλαία
τῇ Ἀθηνᾷ (“after the god to whom it is dedicated, just as the olive-tree is
dedicated to Athena”).3 This god is Hermes, whose feast the fig adorns as its
ἀγλάισμα. The author also addresses the fig’s usefulness: this is praise in
accordance with τὸ χρήσιμον. It is τροφή and τρυφή, material for plaiting
Dionysus’ wreaths, and grants sweetness to one’s voice. These topoi are
preceded by a brief prologue that exhibits hymnal characteristics. Though the
encomium generally aims at praising mortals, the laudanda of this particular text
is an inanimate object, the fig. Rhetorical theorists include, of (p.311) course,
inanimate objects such as trees as possible topics for an encomium.4 But our
encomium is not straightforward, as it contains elements that seem to point to a
hymn. The two genres, hymn and encomium, are certainly akin to each other,
but the theorists sharply distinguish the two.5 Nonetheless, the speaker
interestingly announces his intention to hymn the fig (ὑμνήσω, col. ii 7); ὑμνεῖν
is typically found in poetic or rhetorical encomia to gods.6 Generally, when this
verb is used for a laudandus who is not a god, there is often something divine or
non-human about him. The addressee in that case is a deceased person or the
emperor. We might be struck by the appearance of this verb in an encomium of
the fig (rather than Hermes), especially since ἰσχάδα is the first word in this
composition, which, as it is followed by ὑμνήσω, will strike a note familiar from
hymnic literature already from archaic times, where the first word refers to the
praised deity and is followed by a verb denoting singing or hymning. But the fact
that the fig is closely associated with Hermes means that by praising the fig, the
speaker can at the same time praise Hermes as well. In fact, the speaker drives
this point home by connecting the praise of the fig with his devotion to Hermes
at the beginning of the encomium, through the phrase εἰς τὸν θεὸν εὐσεβῶν (col.
ii 6–7). A further point may be added here. Whereas the encomium begins by
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Hermes and the Figs
presenting the fig as foodstuff and a delicacy (τροφήν τε καὶ τρυφήν, col. ii 3–4),
as it advances, the fig is little by little personified. First, it is presented as the
sister of honey; then it appears to be a character who brings the celebrants
together, συνήγαγεν (col. ii 22); and finally at col. iii 4–5, it is summoned to
attend the festivities personally (on this, see later).
The speaker declares his gratitude to the fig, and presents his encomium as a
gift in exchange for the feast he enjoys (καὶ ὑπὸ αὐτῆς ἑστιώμενος λόγῳ
ἀνταμείψομαι κατ᾽ ἰσχάδα, col. ii 8–11).7 This is another reflection of the
hymnal mode, where praise is often perceived as something offered in exchange
for the deity’s benevolence, thereby establishing a relationship of charis
(“reciprocity”) between the speaker/community and the god.8 Thus, the
expression κατ᾽ ἰσχάδα does not merely mean “concerning the fig,” as it has
often been interpreted, but “indicates conformity” (“in a manner appropriate to
the ἰσχάς”).9
(p.312) In addition, the material is presented κατ᾽ αὔξησιν (or ἐπὶ τὸ

ἀκμαιότερον), in an ascending manner.10 From a praise λόγῳ (col. ii 10) we
move to praise performed through ἔργα (20). And the part of the praise
accomplished through words is itself arranged in an ascending fashion, both in
terms of number of syllables11 and in terms of sense. We first hear that the fig is
the honey’s sister (this kills two birds with one stone: it is simultaneously the
first step in an ascending ladder of praise as well as a reference to the
laudanda’s γένος). Then the author broadens his scope by praising the fig as the
foodstuff of blessed men, before moving to the world of the gods, in which the
fig is the first-fruit at their sacrifices. Finally, its praise is crowned by the
reference to the fig’s use as material for forming Dionysus’ garlands.
The exploitation of hymnal tropes becomes even more prominent through a

further ascending step, when the persona loquens summons the fig so that he
and his companions might benefit from the fruit’s blessings, not unlike the
conclusion of a hymn where the narrator wishes for the god’s epiphany and
blessing of the community. This is preceded by the presentation of the fig’s
dynameis (again, as if the fruit were a divine being) throughout the second
column of the text.12
A final structural/formal point: the persona loquens uses in this encomium the
future tense, in a function that we could perhaps call a “performative future,”
familiar from archaic poetry (e.g. Pindar’s epinicians), but also from
contemporary prose hymnography (e.g. the μαντευτοί orations of Aelius
Aristides). In addition, whereas he begins with the first singular (εὐσεβῶν
ὑμνήσω, ἑστιώμενος…ἀμείψομαι, δεικνύω), toward the end of his praise, he
switches to the plural (ἡμᾶς, ἡμῖν, ἵνα καὶ ἡμεῖς…εὐτυχήσωμεν…κεράσαντες).
What appeared initially to be similar to a prose hymn delivered by one speaker
Page 4 of 16
Hermes and the Figs
turns now to be an encomium that is delivered by someone who expresses the

consensus and religious feeling of a group.
More relevant to the topic of this volume is the association that this encomium
draws between the fig and Hermes. This can be accounted for by considering
the cult of both the Greek Hermes and his Egyptian counterpart Thoth.13
Hermes’ predilection for figs is reflected, for example, in Aristophanes’ Ploutos
(1120–2). There Hermes laments the loss of certain foods which he used to enjoy
earlier when he was worshipped by men. Among other things, he sorely misses
specifically honey and figs: (p.313)
πρότερον γὰρ εἶχον <ἂν> παρὰ ταῖς καπηλίσιν

πάντ᾽ ἀγάθ᾽· ἕωθεν εὐθύς, οἰνοῦτταν, μέλι,
ἰσχάδας, ὅσ᾽ εἰκός ἐστιν Ἑρμῆν ἐσθίειν
For previously I would obtain all good things from the inn-keepers:
right from early morning, wine-cakes, honey, figs, all things that are
suitable for Hermes to eat.
This association was further emblematized in the proverb σῦκον ἐφ᾽ Ἑρμῇ:
παροιμία ἐπὶ τῶν ἐκκειμένων ἐπ᾽ ὠφελείᾳ τοῖς βουλομένοις. Εἴ ποτε γὰρ φανείη
σῦκον, τοῦτο τῷ Ἑρμῇ ἀνατιθέασι· τοῦτο δὲ οἱ βουλόμενοι ἀνελάμβανον. (“A fig
on a herm[?]: a proverb concerning things that were laid out for the benefit of
whoever wished to have them. For if ever a fig appears, they dedicate it to
Hermes. And whoever wished, picked it up,” Zenobius 5.92.)
On the Egyptian side, we hear in Plutarch, De Iside et Osiride 378b:14
τῇ μὲν γὰρ ἐνάτῃ ἐπὶ δέκα τοῦ πρώτου μηνὸς ἑορτάζοντες τῷ Ἑρμῇ μέλι
καὶ σῦκον ἐσθίουσιν ἐπιλέγοντες “ἡδὺ ἡ ἀλήθεια”
For on the 19th day of the first month (= Thoth) they celebrate Hermes
and eat honey and a fig, adding “truth is sweet.”
In Plutarch’s account there seems to be a link between the fig’s sweetness and
truth. The 19th is also the day in which Maat, the goddess of truth and cosmic
order, was celebrated. By contrast, in our encomium the emphasis rests purely
on sweetness, without any theological implication. Such a deeper, metaphysical
(one might say) component is not perceivable in our text, which has a decidedly
more light-hearted character and, even if it was presented during the Hermaia
festival of Oxyrhynchus by ephebes,15 has no expression of true religious
sentiment. As well as the link of figs to Hermes, there is a connection between
the god and honey, which is also related to the fig as its sister. There is evidence
for the offering of honey (in addition to figs) in the Hermaia festivals in
Hellenistic Egypt, while the worship of Thoth likewise involved honey and figs.16
Page 5 of 16
Hermes and the Figs
As mentioned at the beginning, earlier scholarship tended to treat this

encomium as a rhetorical exercise composed by a pupil. We may be able to go a
bit further if we consider the context in which this prose encomium was found.
As the first editor reports, this encomium was discovered in the same find as
what is known as P.Oxy. 7.1015,17 an encomium from the third century (p.314)
in hexameters praising Theon, who had held the office of gymnasiarch.18 For
convenience, I cite the text with Hunt’s translation (modified):
αὐτός μοι τεὸν ἀεῖσαι ὑποφήτορα παῖδα

Ἑρμεία σπεύσειας, ἀοιδοπόλῳ δ᾽ ἐπαρήγοις
ἑπτάτονον χείρεσσι λύρην πολυηχέ⸌α⸍ κρούων,
τὴν αὐτὸς τὰ πρῶτα κάμες παρὰ ποσσὶ τεκούσης
ἄρτι πεσών, λύτρον δὲ βοῶν πόρες Ἀπόλλωνι.
σε έοι κλείουσι
τούνεκα μουσοπόλον ⟦μὲ⟧ν ἀνυμνείουσιν ἀοιδοί,
ήζουσι
ἀγρονόμοι δὲ θεὸν νόμιον κλείουσι βοτῆρες,
Ἑρμῆν δ᾽ ἐν σταδίοις ἐναγώνιον ἀθλητῆρες,
γυμνασίων δὲ πόληες ἐπίσκοπον ἀείδουσιν.
ἱερῷ ἐνὶ ῳ
ἔνθα σε καὶ πάις οὗτος ἄναξ τίων ⟦ἀνὰ⟧ δημ⟦ον⟧
πεί⟦ρ⟧⸌δ⸍ακ᾽ ἐ̣[λ]αιόρυτον προχέων ἀστοῖσι γεραίρει.
οὐ γάρ σε πρώτιστα, Θέων, μετὰ παισὶν ἑταίροις
ἀρχεύοντα νέον γεινώσκομεν, ἀλλ᾽ ἔτι τηλοῦ
ἠμὲν ἐλαιοχύτοισιν ἀλειφόμενοι κοτύλησιν
ἠδὲ καὶ αἰνύμενοι δώρων Δημήτερος ἁγνῆς.
κεῖνα μὲν ἐσθλὰ φίλος δήμῳ πόρες, ἐσθλὰ δ᾽ ἐπ᾽ ἐσθλοῖς
ἐνθάδε νῦν παίδεσσι διδοῖς καὶ ἀμείνονα ταῦτα.
ἤτοι μὲν γὰρ κεῖνα καὶ ἀφνειὸς πόροι ἀνήρ·
κενεαυχέα δῶρα
πλούτου γὰρ κενεοῖο πέλει μειλίγματα κεῖνα,
ταῦτα δὲ Μουσάων σοφίης δεδαημένος ἀνήρ.
τῶ σ᾽ ἐπὶ τοῖσι μάλιστα γεραίρομεν ἤ περ ἐκείνοις,
οὕνεκα κεῖνα πατήρ σε διδάξατο, ταῦτα δὲ Μοῦσαι
⟦Ἑρμοῦ⟧ ἐγκώμιον
On the left margin: εἰς τὸν ἄρχοντα; and further below that ⟦Ἑρμοῦ⟧ ἐγκώμιον
Hermes, you yourself hasten to sing for me of your young interpreter, and
help the bard, striking with your hand the seven-stringed many-toned lyre,
which you yourself first fashioned as soon as you dropped at your mother’s
feet and gave to Apollo in ransom for his oxen; therefore latter-day bards
celebrate your service to the Muses, and herdsmen in the fields proclaim
you as a pastoral god, while athletes in the stadium call on Hermes ruler of
the games, and cities hymn you as warden of the gymnasia. And here too
this youth among his fellow citizens, O King, honors you, pouring a fount of
oil for the citizens. For it is not recently that we know you, Theon, holding
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Hermes and the Figs
chief office among your youthful comrades, but of old, whether anointing
ourselves with oil-distilling flasks, or partaking of (p.315) the gifts of
chaste Demeter. Those offerings that you gave as a friend of the people
were good, but these that you give now to the youths consist of good things
upon good things and are even more precious. For those in truth a rich
man too might bestow, since vainglorious are the gifts of vain wealth; but
these come from a man learned in the wisdom of the Muses. Therefore we
honor you more highly for these than for those, because you were taught
those by your father, but these by the Muses.
The title of this short poem appears to have been “Encomium to Hermes” and
was then corrected to “Encomium to the Archon,” with Hermes’ name erased
both at the left and the lower margin. In fact, both titles are justified, as the first
part of this hexameter encomium begins with an address to Hermes, who is
asked by the narrator to sing of his own hypophetes (interpreter) Theon, who
had held the office of the gymnasiarch at a young age, and to accompany his
song on the seven-stringed lyre that he himself had invented. The poem
essentially combines a mini-hymn to Hermes, addressed in the second person (1–
12), before it switches gears and addresses Theon (13–22).19 Just like the prose
encomium to the fig, then, this hexameter encomium features Hermes. But the
hexameter encomium maintains a serious tone and appears to have a genuine
intention to praise Theon, whereas our prose encomium of the fig is uttered
tongue-in-cheek and resembles more a parody of an encomium than a sincere
one.
As I have argued elsewhere,20 the author of the hexameter encomium to Theon

may have known the Homeric Hymn to Hermes, as is indicated by certain echoes
of the archaic hymn in the papyrus encomium. These are:
1. Hermes is said to have fabricated the seven-string lyre,

2. as soon as he was born (P.Oxy. 7.1015.4–5 παρὰ ποσσὶ τεκούσης | ἄρτι
πεσών, “as soon as you dropped at your mother’s feet” ~ H.Herm. 20 ὃς
καὶ ἐπεὶ δὴ μητρὸς ἀπ᾽ ἀθανάτων θόρε γυίων, “it is he who as soon as he
jumped from his mother’s immortal limbs…”).
3. Both texts stress the fact that the laudandi accomplished their deeds
very early in their lives. Hermes is depicted in his Homeric Hymn as a
precocious divine child (or rather baby); Theon held the office of the
γυμνασίαρχος as a νέος and, if we are to believe the poet, he had already
(p.316) shown his beneficence to the gymnasion previously through his
donations (cf. also μετὰ παισὶν ἑταίροις, l. 12). The hexameter encomium
insists that Hermes’ invention of the lyre took place as soon as the god
was born, something that is particularly emphasized in the Homeric
Hymn and on which the Hymn’s humor hinges.
4. Then we have the emphasis on Hermes as the πρῶτος εὑρετής (first
inventor) of the lyre (P.Oxy. 7.1015.4 τὴν αὐτὸς τὰ πρῶτα κάμες, “which
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Hermes and the Figs
[sc. the lyre] you first constructed” ~ H.Herm. 25 Ἑρμῆς τοι πρώτιστα
χέλυν τεκτήνατ᾽ ἀοιδόν, “Hermes, you know, was the first to turn the
tortoise into a singer/construct the singing chelys”). To these points we
may add that:
5. P.Oxy. 7.1015.20 (Μουσάων σοφίης δεδαημένος, “taught by the wisdom
of the Muses”) may owe something to H.Herm. 483 (τέχνῃ καὶ σοφίῃ
δεδαημένος, “taught through art and wisdom”), a passage that also
mentions the Muses. This combination is found apart from these two texts
later in the fourth century CE Peri katarchon (Maximus Ephesius). Other
general reminiscences of thought were detected by the first editor of
P.Oxy. 7.1015 (Hunt), namely:
6. P.Oxy. 7.1015.4–5 ~ H.Herm. 17; and
7. P.Oxy. 7.1015.7 (ἀγρονόμοι δὲ θεὸν νόμιον κλείουσι βοτῆρες, “and the
field-dwelling herdsmen praise you as the god of pasture”) ~ H.Herm.
570–1 (καὶ κυσὶ καὶ μήλοισιν, ὅσα τρέφει εὐρεῖα χθών, | πᾶσι δ᾽ ἐπὶ
προβάτοισιν ἀνάσσειν κύδιμον Ἑρμῆν, “and let honorable Hermes rule
over dogs and sheep, which the broad earth nourishes, and over all the
four-legged animals”).
It should be stressed, however, that despite these similarities, the Hymn was not
the only source for the material of the hexameter encomium, as it mentions, for
instance, Hermes ἐναγώνιος, who is not even hinted at in the Hymn, whereas it
is very much at home in the praise of a gymnasiarch. And the lyre is presented
as the ransom (with a wordplay on λύρα and λύτρα) for the stolen cows, an
interpretation that derives from the ancient scholarly tradition.21
That the Hymn to Hermes could have been known to the composer of the
encomium at Oxyrhynchus is also suggested by P.Oxy. 68.4667,22 likewise dated
to the third century, which contains fragments of two Homeric Hymns: the end of
what is now known as Hymn 18 (the shorter Hymn to Hermes), followed by the
Hymn 7 (to Dionysus).
(p.317) If we are prepared to accept that the composer of the Encomium to

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

encomium of the fig.28
Another point that deserves consideration is that the author stages the
encomium as a response to or a continuation of a previous performance.
Characteristically, the narrator presents himself as someone who continues the
praise of the fig: κἀγὼ εἰς τὸν θεὸν εὐσεβῶν ὑμνήσω τήμερον (“I, too, showing
reverence to the god [Hermes] will praise today [the fig]”). This points not only
to the religious dimension of the performance (we are at a festival in honor of
Hermes at Oxyrhynchus, whose temple, the Hermaion, is mentioned in
papyrological sources).29 More importantly, he presents his performance as
belonging to a series of performances (or at least responding to a previous
performance) that also expressed (or purported to express) the speaker’s
reverence for Hermes. There may be a competition in showing one’s reverence
to the god, and this is performed in the case of this author through an encomium
to the god’s sacred fruit, the fig.
(p.319) In fact, we may view this encomium as a παίγνιον or an ἐγκώμιον

ἀδόξων,30 a verbal game stemming from the playful competition known to have
taken place at the symposium.
We can imagine the performance of such encomia taking place at a feast

(whether private or of a more public character) following the religious festivities
proper. Whereas in the archaic symposia hymns were sung or songs performed
while passing a lyre or a myrtle branch from one banqueter to the next, in later
symposia encomia might be performed. For example, Plato’s Symposium consists
of a series of prose, rhetorical encomia of Eros. Closer to our text’s date, in
Lucian’s Symposium (§ 21), when the slave of Hetoimokles, the Stoic
philosopher, arrives with a γραμματίδιον of his master, everyone expects an
encomium of the bride, as the occasion calls for.31 Later in the same Symposium
(§ 41), Histiaios the grammarian attempts to perform a wedding-song in praise
of the bride and the groom.32 One also might think of Aelius Aristides’ prose
hymn to Dionysus (Or. 41 Keil), which alludes to the Platonic Symposium and is
set up in such a way as to be performed at an (imaginary?) banquet.33
We may, then, propose the following, necessarily speculative, scenario. One

participant at the feast in honor of Hermes (possibly an ephebe) performs a
praise of the god as the patron of rhetoric who grants men such eloquence that
their voice flows sweeter than honey, as was the case of the Homeric Nestor.
Perhaps that first participant even alluded to or quoted Il. 1.247–9:
τοῖσι δὲ Νέστωρ
ἡδυεπὴς ἀνόρουσε λιγὺς Πυλίων ἀγορητὴς
Page 10 of 16
Hermes and the Figs
τοῦ καὶ ἀπὸ γλώσσης μέλιτος γλυκίων ῥέεν αὐδή.
Among these Nestor rose, the sweet-speaking clear-voiced orator of

the Pylians, from whose tongue flowed a voice that was sweeter than
even honey.
(p.320) Significantly, honey, as mentioned above, was one of the offerings in

the festival of Hermes/Thoth, which then gave the Homeric reference a further
point, making it more topical to the religious celebration that functioned as the
locus of performance. The composer of the encomium of the fig takes over and,
declaring his reverence to Hermes, he delivers a praise of the fig, i.e. of another
offering to the god. In it, the fig is related to honey (as its sister) and is
described as a favorite delicacy. It is furthermore personified and summoned to
join the festivities, obviously to be consumed, just as the hungry Hermes wished
to consume part of the offerings to the gods in his Hymn and Aristophanes’
Hermes in the Ploutos actually consumed various foodstuffs, often in a sacrificial
context.34 The consumption of figs and honey will grant the participants at the
feast a voice that is sweeter than Nestor’s honey-sweet voice. What was
figurative speech in Homer—and presumably in the preceding speaker’s
encomium—now becomes a concrete, literal expression, as figs and honey are
being consumed. The youths participating in the feast that functions as the
performance context for this encomium will consume the offerings to the god
they are celebrating and thus playfully surpass the Homeric Nestor by having an
even sweeter voice through their mixing of honey and figs on their tongues. Thus
the celebrants will cap the sweet rhetoric of the Homeric Nestor, which had by
that time become an epigraphic topos,35 while the composer/performer of the
encomium of the fig will cap the performance of the preceding banqueter.36
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Notes:
(1) Editio princeps: A. S. Hunt in P.Oxy. 17, pp. 99–101. LDAB 5369; M-P3 2527;
Trismegistos 64150. A high-resolution image of the papyrus is accessible at:
http://163.1.169.40/gsdl/collect/POxy/index/assoc/HASHfbfe/10159132.dir/
POxy.v0017.n2084.a.01.hires.jpg.
(2) Körte 1932: 221 observed that it might have been delivered by ephebes at the
Hermaia “als Probestück ihrer Bildung.”
(3) Patillon 2008: 168 proposes a date in the third century CE for this treatise.
The attribution by some sources to Libanius suggests the fourth century as a
terminus ante quem whereas Ps.-Hermogenes’ references to Aelius Aristides at
9.2 suggest a terminus post quem in the second century. Cf. also Ps.-Hermogenes
7.11.
(4) E.g. Aphthonius Prog. 8.2 (end of fourth century?; cf. Patillon 2008: 50–2); Ps.-
Hermogenes Prog. 7.1; and Pordomingo 2007: 428–30 for further references to
Hermogenes, Aphthonius, and Libanius.
(5) Aphthonius 8.1 διενήνοχε δὲ ὕμνου καὶ ἐπαίνου τῷ τὸν μὲν ὕμνον εἶναι θεῶν,
τὸ δὲ ἐγκώμιον θνητῶν (“It differs from the hymn and the praise, on account of
the fact that the hymn belongs to the gods, whereas the encomion to mortals”);
Ps.-Hermogenes 7.13 ἐντεῦθεν οὐκ ἀγνοήσεις ὅπως θεοὺς ἐγκωμιαστέον. ἰστέον
δὲ ὅτι τὰ εἰς θεοὺς ὕμνους κλητέον (“From these starting points you will not be
ignorant of how to praise gods; but it should be known that the praises of gods
should be called ‘hymns’.”) Cf. also Aelius Theon p. 109.20–4 (Spengel) and
Menander Rhetor I pp. 331.18–332.2 (Spengel).
Page 13 of 16
Hermes and the Figs
(6) See Pernot 1993: 1.217 with nn. 506 and 507.
(7) Pernot 1993: 1.284–6.
(8) For the hymns as poetic offerings aiming at charis, see Calame 2011.
(9) See LSJ s.v. κατά B IV.
(10) Cf. Ps.-Hermogenes De inventione 3.13 περὶ τάξεως ἐπιχειρημάτων.
(11) Col. ii 11–12 = 9 syllables; col. ii 13–14 = 9 syllables; col. ii. 14–15 = 10
syllables; col. ii. 15–18 = 20 syllables.
(12) On ἔργα or δυνάμεις, see Pernot 1993: 1.226–8.
(13) Cf. Kroll 1913: 792–3. For the cult of Hermes in Oxyrhynchus, which shows
evidence of both the Egyptianized Hermes–Thoth (in Hermopolis) but also the
distinctive Greek characteristics of Hermes (associated with Alexandria), see
also Whitehorne 1995: 3069–70; and further Kákosy 1992.
(14) See Griffiths 1970: 533–4.
(15) For evidence on the ephebeia in Oxyrhynchus, see Kennell 2006: 90.
(16) Thus, in PSI 4.391, fr. B (242/1 BCE, from the Zenon archive) we hear of
three choes of honey, probably to be used in connection with the Hermaia. On
honey in the festivals to Hermes/Thoth, see Griffiths 1970: 533–4; Chuliara-Raiu
1989: 154–8; Perpillou-Thomas 1993: 92–3; Zecchi 1997 with references to the
offering of figs as well on pp. 80–1; Zivie 1975: 233–6 on the inscription, Edfou
7.169.11–170.1 that mentions the offering of figs and honey to the gods Thoth
and Nehemetawayt (date: Ptolemy X, first century BCE); for a recent edition of
the inscription,` see Kurth 2004.
(17) LDAB 5218, M-P3 1847.
(18) This has been repeated by other scholars discussing this text, e.g.
Pordomingo 2007: 429; Körte 1932 op. cit.
(19) Cf. the praise of Hermes in the encomium of the word published in Świderek
1966, now republished by D. Colomo in P.Oxy. 79.5194. On this, see also
Pordomingo 2007: 421–3.
(20) See Vergados 2013: 105–7. The verbal similarities by themselves do not
unambiguously prove direct allusion to the Homeric Hymn to Hermes on the part
of the poet of the encomium of Theon, as there may have been an intermediate
source (in prose or poetry) that drew on the Hymn, from which, in turn, the poet
of P.Oxy. 7.1015 might have drawn material for the first part of his encomium. If
this is the case, that intermediate source must have followed the Hymn very
Page 14 of 16
Hermes and the Figs
faithfully. On the encomium of Theon, see also Pordomingo 2007: 435–8 and
Miguélez Cavero 2008: 43 who, however, mistakenly quotes Manteuffel’s 1930:
58 comments on P.Oxy. 2084 as referring to the encomium of Theon.
(21) See Vergados 2013: 106 with n. 62.
(22) M-P3 1231.01; LDAB 10243; Trismegistos 68973.
(23) But Manteuffel 1930: 58–9 was the first to comment on the skill of the orator
by detecting Kunstprosa (clausulae, homoeoteleuta).
(24) Apart from the title: col. ii 1, 11, 19, 20; col. iii 3, 5, 10. In some cases ἰσχάς
opens and closes a period, thus creating a ring-compositional effect: col. ii 20 ~
col. iii 3; col. iii 5 ~ 10.
(25) Such phenomena need not be humorous; for their occurrence in a text
belonging to a similar genre, cf. the Hellenistic Isis-Aretalogy from Maroneia
with Papanikolaou 2009. On the Isis-Aretalogies, see Versnel 1990: 39–52.
(26) The prose Hymn to Dionysus by Aelius Aristides may be mentioned as a

parallel, in which the orator imitates the Gorgianic figures found in the speech
of Agathon in the Platonic Symposium. As Plato is parodying the Gorgianic style
of some orators, it has been suggested that Aelius Aristides parodies (or better
imitates) the Platonic parody; see Goeken 2012: 188–201.
(27) See Vergados 2013: 261–77 n. and pp. 22–5 for the details; Thomas 2010:
esp. 216–20.
(28) See Agosti 2015: 64–5; Pordomingo 2007: 428 n. 78.
(29) See n. 13.
(30) Cf. Pl. Smp. 177b ἀλλ᾽ ἔγωγε ἤδη τινὶ ἐνέτυχον βιβλίῳ ἀνδρὸς σοφοῦ, ἐν ᾧ
ἐνῆσαν ἅλες ἔπαινον θαυμάσιον ἔχοντες πρὸς ὠφελίαν καὶ ἄλλα τοιαῦτα συχνὰ
ἴδοις ἂν ἐγκεκωμιασμένα (“but I myself have already chanced upon the book of
a wise man, in which there was a marvelous praise of salt on account of its
usefulness, and you might see such things being praised often”), or Isoc. 10.12
τῶν μὲν γὰρ τοὺς βομβυλιοὺς καὶ τοὺς ἅλας καὶ τὰ τοιαῦτα βουληθέντων
ἐπαινεῖν οὐδεὶς πώποτε λόγων ἠπόρησεν (“for no one of those who wished to
praise the humble-bees and salt and such things was ever in want of words”).
Polycrates of Athens was said to have praised pots (χύτραι), pebbles (ψῆφοι),
and mice; see Radermacher 1951: 130–2, esp. his testimonium No. 11 (Demetr.
Eloc. 120): ἔπαιζεν γάρ, οὐκ ἐσπούδαζε, καὶ αὐτὸς τῆς γραφῆς ὁ ὄγκος παίγνιόν
ἐστι (“for he was playful and not serious, and the very loftiness of his text
[expression] is intended as a play”).
Page 15 of 16
Hermes and the Figs
(31) Ἦ που, ὦ Λυκῖνε, τῆς νύμφης ἐγκώμιον ἢ ἐπιθαλάμιον, οἷα πολλὰ ποιοῦσιν;
— Ἀμέλει καὶ ἡμεῖς τοιοῦτον ᾠήθημεν, ἀλλ᾽ οὐδ᾽ ἐγγὺς ἦν τούτου (“I suppose,
Lycinus, it was an encomium of the bride or a wedding song, such as they often
compose?—We ourselves had of course thought of some such thing, but it was
not even close to that”).
(32) On these verbal performances, see Vergados 2012.
(33) This is the shortest of Aristides’ prose hymns and concludes with a reference
to the φιλοτησία cup; see Goeken 2012: 196–201.
(34) See Versnel 2011: 309–76 for Hermes as a hungry god.
(35) Cf., for instance, SEG 13.206.7 οὗ καὶ ἀπὸ [γλώσης μέλιτος] γλυκίων ῥ[έ[εν
αὐδή] (Daphni, Attica, mid-fourth century BCE, of the hymnodos Theodoros);
ISinope 170.6–8 (= SGO II 10/06/09) φρεσὶ δ᾽ εἶχεν ἀληθῶς | αὐτὴν τὴν Πυλίου
Νέστορος | εὐεπίην (Sinope, second century BCE of a young man named
Narcissus); cf. also ISinope 173.5–8 (= SGO II 10/06/12; first-second-century CE;
cf. SEG 57.1296 ter) Νέστο|ρος ἀρχεγόνου γλυκερώτερον υἷα Κο|μάνων
Σόσσιον. Also, without mention of Nestor, SEG 34.1003.2–3 οὗ μέλιτος |
[γ]λυκίων φθόγγος ἔην | στόματος (Milan, fourth/fifth century BCE, of
Dioscorus, a physician).
(36) For capping in the ancient Greek poetic tradition, see Collins 2004: ix–x, 63–
163, and passim.
Page 16 of 16
Rethinking Hermes


Print ISBN-13: 9780198777342
DOI: 10.1093/oso/9780198777342.001.0001
Rethinking Hermes
Cosmic Justice and Proportional Distributions
Nicola Reggiani
DOI:10.1093/oso/9780198777342.003.0020

The chapter focuses on some features of Hermes’ character that can lead to
rethink his position in a complex and problematic religious frame deeply
grounded on the concept of Cosmic Destiny (Moira), connected to a world vision
in which concepts such as Measure, Order, Justice played a primary role. It
considers in particular Hermes’ involvement in prophetic utterances, his
patronage on chance, chance-based acts like pebble throwing, and instances of
distributional justice. This framework allows for a reconsideration of his role as
“distributor” of timai in the (re)foundation of new cosmic balances.
Keywords: justice, distribution, moira, fate, semnai theai, timai, kosmos, stones, prophecy, kleromancy
“Protéiforme par nature,”1 Hermes is perhaps one of the most complex,

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

(p.326) in which positions, places, directions are charged with qualitative
differences, so that any move necessarily implies a change of value, a passage
through what has been defined as a “semiotic border.”8 This is likely what one of
the two most ancient epithets of this god, diaktoros, points to: its etymology
from diagein seems clear.9 For this reason, he is not to be considered a lesser
god: he is just different, reflecting a distinct conception of the divine nature.10
Hermes’ role as a shepherd, connected with natural fecundity and farming,

appears to be rather far from this framework. Traditionally, he is considered as
the guarantor of the multiplication of the flock,11 which has led to modern
phallic interpretations.12 However, Hermes’ role as an increaser of cattle does
not seem to fit straightforwardly into the idea of “mobility” through a border,
and “there is not a single trace of any phallic aspect” in the Homeric Hermes,13
the most ancient known to us. In the list of his attributes at the beginning of the
Homeric Hymn (13–16) he is everything (πολύτροπον, αἱμυλομήτην, ληστῆρ’,
ἡγήτορ’ ὀνείρων, νυκτὸς ὀπωπητῆρα, πυληδόκον) but shepherd or herdsman. He
is just said to be ἐλατῆρα βοῶν, obviously with reference to the central episode
of the story, and his final consecration as protector of cattle is only due to his
role as the thief of Apollo’s cows.14 The Hymn, as we possess it, is not very
ancient, nor is it immune to philological controversies. While this must be taken
into consideration in order to evaluate its historical usability, nonetheless it
surely preserves the foundational account of Hermaic mythology and certainly
harks back to material that is more archaic.15 Considered from a comprehensive
standpoint, the text seems focused, rather than on the divine theft, on the
acquisition of certain prophetic skills possessed by Apollo. From the beginning,
Hermes’ aim is clear: to obtain some of his brother’s functional prerogatives
(timai).16 Their exact nature appears clearly from Apollo’s reference at the end
to an earlier request made by his brother to learn μαντείην (533), which likely
refers to Hermes’ threats to plunder the sanctuary of Delphi (178–81). It is
therefore apparent that the theft of Apollo’s (p.327) cattle is but the means,
the excuse to realize this exchange, according to a well-known pattern of
“switch” or “barter” between herds and poetic/prophetic skills that occurs
several times in Greek mythical and literary imagery, from Hesiod to
Parmenides, through Melampous, Epimenides, Zaleukos, Euenios of Apollonia,
and Archilochos.17 No matter what the origin of such an analogical structure,18
it is very likely that its frame, misunderstood or deformed in the reworked
versions of the story, gave rise to the “false myth” of Hermes as the spirit of
pastoral fecundity.
Hermes’ desire to gain control over a certain kind of prophetic utterance is

connected to his most ancient role (attested as early as Homer) as the gods’
herald. In this capacity, he brings the gods’ will, orders, and communications to
men, acting as a mediator. Indeed, heralds were also in charge of two
fundamental operations connected to archaic kingship:19 giving (or taking away)
Page 2 of 15
Rethinking Hermes
the power of speech in assembly by means of the control of the scepter or

staff,20 and supervising the organization of the banquet, which was the ritual
representation of the aristocratic social order.21
Hermes’ power of granting a voice or taking speech away is encoded in ancient

epithets and proverbs with significant connections with wolves and dogs,22 and
emerges in a variant of the story of the Hymn as recounted by Antoninus
Liberalis. Here Battos, the old farmer of Onchestos who witnesses the cattle
rustling and informs Apollo in spite of Hermes’ prohibition, is (p.328) punished
by the latter by being removed from the channels of human communication in a
sort of retaliation for his “crime”: “Battos…revealed the truth about the oxen.
Hermes, angry for his betrayal, hit him with his staff and turned him into a stone
(ἐρράπισεν αὐτὸν τῇ ῥάβδῳ καὶ μετέβαλεν εἰς πέτρον).”23 This story provides, on
the one hand, the connection between the herald’s staff and the power of
speech/silence24 and, on the other hand, the connection between such items and
stones.25 A close structural parallel may be found in the myth of the killing of
Argos, the sleepless, many-eyed guardian of Io, whom Hermes slays by throwing
a pebble (lithos).26 Again the god is “stealing” a cow, and again he annihilates a
watchman by means of stones. The same myth relates to the origins of the
hermaios lophos, the stone heap sacred to Hermes, which appears to be
something more than a mere phallic metaphor:27 “After having killed Argos,
Hermes had to undergo the gods’ judgement, because he had been the first of
them to commit murder. Willing to remove the pollution and to purify him from
the crime, they threw the voting pebbles (τὴν ψῆφον) on him. Therefore the
same is done also nowadays.”28
Thus stoning is connected to both the power of speech and some instances of
justice: Hermes is punished by retaliation just as Battos was, and the story can
be regarded as the foundation of the first tribunal.29 Furthermore, in the Hymn,
stone throwing is the way in which Hermes performs the subdivision (p.329) of
the meat pieces during the much debated sacrifice scene.30 Drawing pebbles is
here connected with chance—that is, as we saw earlier, with another main field
of Hermes’ competences: “Glad-hearted Hermes dragged the rich meats he had
prepared and put them on a smooth, flat stone, and divided them into twelve
portions to be distributed by lot (ἔσχισε δώδεκα μοίρας / κληροπαλεῖς), and
added a complete geras to each (τέλεον δὲ γέρας προσέθηκεν ἑκάστῃ).”31 This
action pertains to the herald’s competence in organizing the banquet (dais) in
the correct, ordered way.32 The distribution of the pieces must be performed
according to an acknowledged hierarchy, since it is a way to grant social
cohesion, order, harmony, stability, justice; and in this case it is based on chance
because all the participants stay at the same level.33 Random pebble throwing,
on the other hand, is precisely the mode of operation of the prophetic skill
desired and obtained by Hermes in the Hymn. The controversial passage of the
three venerable (semnai) virgins given by Apollo to his brother may indeed be
Page 3 of 15
Rethinking Hermes
explained in the light of kleromancy, the oracular practice consisting in the

prophetic interpretation of the random disposition of thrown stones.34
Therefore, Hermes, by enacting a stone throwing during a sacrificial banquet,

which is a context of mediation,35 is involved in instances of justice and
distribution in connection to chance. That all of this was thought to take place at
a cosmic level is shown by the Hymn itself, when, shortly thereafter, Hermes
sings a theogony, performing a (re)foundation of the divine and human order, in
which the single moirai (destined parts or competences) are allotted according
to Fate’s (Moira) will,36 just like the sacrificial parts of meat. He (p.330)
celebrates “the deathless gods and the dark earth, how at the first they came to
be and how each one received his portion…. And next the goodly son of Zeus
hymned the rest of the immortals according to their order in age, and told
everything according to order (κατὰ κόσμον), playing the lyre upon his arm
” (427–33). The verb used to express Hermes’ performance, κραίνων (427),
usually translated as “singing,” bears the more weighty sense of “realizing,
accomplishing.”37 He actually creates a new order through his powerful
words,38 the sacrifice itself being a way to re-create the world.39
Stone throwing, therefore, is at the same time a way to engage and reveal Fate,
and in this particular context Hermes appears to act as the distributor of
“parts,” the moirai allotted, according to the cosmogonic tradition, in a new
cosmic order. This particular role can be still seen in some Aesopian fables,
where Hermes is ordered by Zeus to allot gifts to men; such distributions always
take place according to a proportional pattern, which was intended as a display
of cosmic justice.40 Hermes’ role as a distributor seems to be quite deeply rooted
in the god’s own DNA, if we consider the possible origin of his name, which
might derive from an Indo-European root meaning “to divide.”41 (p.331) The
following fable is even more meaningful in connecting Hermes with
distributions, the retribution of justice, and pebbles (in this specific case,
potsherds):42
Zeus ordered Hermes to write down people’s sins and wicked deeds on
potsherds (ἐν ὀστράκοις) and to pile them in a designated box, so that
Zeus could then peruse them and exact a penalty from each person as
appropriate (ὅπως ἑκάστου τὰς δίκας ἀναπράσσῃ). Given that the
potsherds are all piled up one on top of the other until the moment that
Zeus examines them, he gets to some of them quite soon while others have
to wait. It is therefore no surprise that there are wicked people who
commit a crime in haste but who are not punished until much later.43
The god’s cosmic role is further stressed by the possible identification of the
three Semnai with the Moirai, the three goddesses who managed the allotment
of men’s fates. Hermes is linked to three goddesses in a Mycenaean tablet44
where he is called Areias, a controversial epithet that, whatever its exact
Page 4 of 15
Rethinking Hermes
meaning may be,45 suggests a possible connection with the Athenian Areopagus,
where the three Moirai were worshipped as Eumenides, or Semnai Theai,46 the
same epithet with which the three kleromantic pebbles are referred to in the
Hymn.47
(p.332) To sum up, there are grounds to rethink Hermes’ position in a more
complex (and problematic) religious frame, deeply rooted in the Greek concept
of cosmic destiny (Moira), and connected to foundation myths in which instances
such as measure, order, and justice played a primary role. In a cosmological
system based on the succession of cosmic cycles producing new orders and in a
cultural environment where chance is the way to reveal the gods’ will, Hermes
acts as the (re)founder of a new balance, through new proportional distributions
of parts (timai), to both gods and men.48
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Reggiani, N. 2015a. La Giustizia cosmica: Le riforme di Solone fra polis e

kosmos. Florence.
Reggiani, N. 2015b. “La voce del silenzio: il culto ateniese di Hesychos e il dio
Hermes.” In I. Baglioni, ed. Ascoltare gli Dèi/Divos Audire: Costruzione e
percezione della dimensione sonora nelle religioni del Mediterraneo antico.
Rome. 2.71–81.
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Reggiani, N. Forthcoming A. “Democrazia e Politeismo. La rifunzionalizzazione

delle divinità nell’Atene della ‘rivoluzione democratica’: il caso di Hermes.” In I.
Baglioni, ed. Politeismo: Costruzione e percezione delle divinità nel
Mediterraneo antico. Rome.
Reggiani, N. Forthcoming B. “Un colpo di dadi non abolirà mai il caso”: ricerche
su Hermes, il Caso e il Destino nell’antichità.
Reggiani, N. Forthcoming C. “Profezie sul passato: la funzione poietica dei miti

cosmo- teogonici nelle performance rituali.” In I. Baglioni, ed. Mythos:
Costruzione e percezione dei racconti tradizionali nel Mediterraneo antico.
Rome.
(p.335) Richardson, N. 2010. Three Homeric Hymns: To Apollo, Hermes, and

Aphrodite. Cambridge.
Ruzé, F. 1997. Délibération et pouvoir dans la cité grecque de Nestor à Socrate.

Paris.
Sbardella, L. 2009. “Nascita di un dio ‘minore’: l’Inno omerico a Ermes tra

letteratura, mito e culto.” Paideia 64: 153–78.
Scheinberg, S. 1979. “The Bee Maidens of the Homeric Hymn to Hermes.” HSCP
83: 1–28.
Siebert, G. 1981. “Hermes.” In Lexicon Iconographicum Mythologiae Classicae.

Zurich. 5.285–87.
Siebert, G. 2000. “La meurtre d’Argos. Images médiévales d’Hermès.” In ἀγαθὸς

δαίμων: Mythes et cultes. Athens. 443–51.
Solmsen, F. 1949. Hesiod and Aeschylus. New York.
Steiner, D. T. 1995. “Stoning and Sight: A Structural Equivalence in Greek

Mythology.” ClAnt 14: 193–211.
Svenbro, J. 1992. “‘Ton luth, a quoi bon?’ La lyre et la pierre tombale dans la
pensée grecque.” Mètis 7: 135–60.
Usener, H. 1948. Götternamen. Versuch einer Lehre von der religiösen

Begriffsbildung. 3rd ed. Frankfurt.
Vergados, A. 2013. The Homeric Hymn to Hermes: Introduction, Text and

Commentary. Berlin.
Vernant, J.-P. 2006. Myth and Thought among the Greeks. New York (= Mythe et
pensée chez les Grecs. 1965).
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Vilborg, E. 1960. A Tentative Grammar of Mycenaean Greek. Gothenburg.
West, M. L. 1997. The East Face of Helicon: West Asiatic Elements in Greek
Poetry and Myth. Oxford.
Wilamowitz-Moellendorff, U. von. 1931. Der Glaube der Hellenen. Vol. 1. Berlin.

(p.336)
Notes:
(1) Siebert 1981: 286. The present paper tries to give the first organic
arrangement to some thoughts arising from previous researches (Reggiani
2015a: 138 ff.) and scattered in some other articles (Reggiani 2015b,
Forthcoming A); for the sake of conciseness I wish to refer to a wider exposition,
still in progress, on the same topics, for deeper reflections and further
bibliography: Reggiani Forthcoming B. My thanks are due to the organizers of
the “Tracking Hermes/Mercury” conference, Jenny Strauss Clay and John F.
Miller, for the opportunity of presenting, discussing, and now publishing my
contribution.
(2) Vernant 2006: 160; cf. Cic. ND 3.56 ff.
(3) For a complete “traditional” exposition on Hermes, see Herter 1976.
(4) Cf. Kahn-Lyotard 1981: 500–3; Vernant 2006: 159 ff. Hermes’ traditional
clothing, consisting in the petasus, the travelers’ large-brimmed hat, and the
winged sandals, relates indeed to his mobility and speed.
(5) Hsch. ε5938; cf. Eitrem 1912; Chittenden 1948: 32; Càssola 1975: 159;
Burkert 2011: 244; Kahn-Lyotard 1981: 501; Vernant 2006: 160.
(6) Cf. Jaillard 2012: 91.
(7) Cf. e.g. Kahn 1979; Kahn-Lyotard 1981: 501; Siebert 1981: 287.
(8) Acosta 1997 passim.
(9) H.Herm. 392; Chittenden 1948: 29–30; Càssola 1975: 535.
(10) Càssola 1975: 160.
(11) Càssola 1975: 153. See also, e.g., Chittenden 1948: 24; Burkert 2011: 243–4;
Kahn-Lyotard 1981: 500–1; Athanassakis 1989: 49.
(12) Noteworthy on this is Athanassakis 1989: 49, but see also, e.g., Farnell 1909:
7 ff. (especially 10–11) and 24 ff.; Graves 1960: 56; Legrand 1963: 1802; Càssola
1975: 153 ff. See also the phallic interpretation of Hermes’ connection with
stones, stone pillars, and later the herms: e.g. Kerényi 1951: 169; Siebert 1981:
287; Onians 1988: 122 and 518; Athanassakis 1989 passim (paradigmatic in
Page 10 of 15
Rethinking Hermes
considering Hermes as the “indwelling numen of the cairn,” which is of course a

“phallic cairn”); Burkert 2011: 240. For a critical re-examination of the topic, cf.
Larson 2007: 147. I discuss below the possible true meaning of stones.
(13) Chittenden 1948: 24.
(14) Cf. Sbardella 2009: 167 ff.
(15) In general, on the Hymn and these issues, cf. recently Richardson 2010: 15–
27; Nobili 2011; Vergados 2013.
(16) ἀμφὶ δὲ τιμῆς, / κἀγὼ τῆς ὁσίης ἐπιβήσομαι, ἧς περ Ἀπόλλων (172–3: “as
regards honor, I too will enter upon the rite that Apollo has”). Cf. Jaillard 2007:
86 ff.
(17) Cf. Reggiani 2012: 114, with further bibliography. On Melampous: Nobili
2011: 37–44 and 94 ff. A daring as well as intriguing interpretation of the theft
of herds was proposed by Usener 1948: 177 ff. On cattle and poetry, cf. Giannisi
2004. On the connection between herd theft and mantic initiation see also Nobili
2011: esp. 94–106 ff., though from the standpoint of the institution of an oracle
of Hermes in the Peloponnesian region.
(18) One of the more suggestive hypotheses, advanced by Jaillard 2007: 215–22,
speaks of an exchange at the level of the concept of “watchfulness.”
(19) Hermes’ involvement in matters of kingship is shown, for example, by

peripheral traditions in Arcadia, Achaia, and Thessaly (cf., respectively, Leduc
2005, 2006; Orgogozo 1949; MacUrdy 1921) and by the myth of Pelops, who is
given Zeus’ royal scepter by Hermes himself (Il. 2.100–8). In general, on
Hermes’ connection with kingship, see Pisano 2014.
(20) On the power of the scepter, see Il. 2.185 ff.: Odysseus takes Agamemnon’s
scepter, using its authority to speak to the Achaeans, and to hit Thersites,
forcing him to shut up. On the connection between heralds and the scepter, cf.
e.g. Ruzé 1997: 49–51. On Hermes and the scepter, see the previous note.
(21) Cf. Reggiani 2015a: 101–3.
(22) Hermes and silence: “When in some meeting silence occurs, it is said that
Hermes has come in” (Plut. De garr. 502f3–5); cf. Bettini 2000; Reggiani 2015b.
The same effect was ascribed to the wolves’ gaze: cf. Pisano 2011: esp. 87–8. In
common with wolves, in particular, Hermes possesses the ability to silence dogs:
to steal Apollo’s cows he “makes the dogs guarding the cattle lethargic” (Ant.
Lib. 23.1–2; cf. H.Herm. 145: at his passage οὐδὲ κύνες λελάκοντο, “not even the
dogs barked”), and compare Hipponax’s famous invocation Ἑρμῆ κυνάγχα,
“Hermes, dog throttler” (fr. 2a West). This is usually considered in relation to his
role as protector of thieves, but a deeper meaning will be suggested below. On
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the other hand, Hermes’ power over the faculty of speech is shown by myth (he
is asked to insert a phone into Pandora) and by rite (the oracular practice of
kledonomancy, based on the interpretation of random voices and sounds: cf.
Bettini 2000; Crippa 2012; Reggiani 2015b passim).
(23) Ant. Lib. 23.6.3–4.
(24) “Colpendo con la rhabdos gli occhi degli uomini, il dio addormenta e sveglia,
suscita oblio, rende nulla la vigilanza, ‘guida’ i sogni” (Pisano 2011: 92). It is not
by chance that the character’s name, Battos, means “stutterer” (cf. DELG s.v.
βατταρίζω). The rhabdos is usually a vegetal stick (e.g. the one Hermes handles
during the theft: H.Herm. 210), but there is no reason to doubt that here it is the
golden one given to him by Apollo in H.Herm. 529, which is certainly the
kerykeion, the herald’s scepter.
(25) The association of turning someone to stone with the deprivation of human
communication, namely of sight and speech, is discussed by Steiner 1995; cf.
also Svenbro 1992: 137–45 (association Hermes–stone–death); Pisano 2011: 92
(Hermes and the wolves as eye-enchanters).
(26) Ps.-Apollod. 2.1.3; cf. Schol. Aesch. Prom. 561; Schol. Hom. Il. 2.103. The
more common version is recorded by Ovid (Met. 1.678–721; cf. Serv. Aen. 7.790):
Hermes makes Argos fall asleep by singing and playing the syrinx, and when all
the monster’s hundred eyes are closed, the god beheads him, making his
blindness permanent and irreversible. However, the theme of singing comes
later in the iconography, which prefers the scene of the beheading by a sword;
an Italic hydria shows Argos falling asleep after the touch of Hypnos’ staff
(Siebert 2000). The importance of the myth is perhaps shown by the fact that
Argeiphontes is, along with diaktoros (see earlier), the most used among
Hermes’ epithets in Homer and Hesiod (there have been different attempts to
interpret the attribute: cf. e.g. Legrand 1963: 1804, but see the discussion by
Chittenden 1948: 25–8). Carpenter 1950 suggested that argos originally meant
“dog,” making Argeiphontes the exact parallel of Hipponax’s kynanches (see
above, n. 22). The connection between the liberation of Io and the theft of
Apollo’s cattle has already been highlighted by Chittenden 1948: 27; cf. also
Greene 2005: 348, with n. 23.
(27) Traditionally, wayfarers used to throw a stone at the crossroads to honor

Hermes, thus forming heaps (cf. Schol. Hom. Od. 16.471; Steiner 1995: 193;
Hard 2004: 158), later turned into the monumental type of the herm.
(28) EM s.v. Ἑρμαῖον = Eust. in Od. 2.133, 8–13.
(29) Grottanelli 2001: 176–7.
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(30) On the sacrifice itself, see Kahn 1978: 41–73; Clay 1987; Georgoudi 1996;
Leduc 2005; Jaillard 2007: 101–64.
(31) H.Herm. 126–9.
(32) Cf. Clay 1987: 223 ff.; Jaillard 2001: 342; Leduc 2005: 156–7.
(33) Cf. Burkert 1988: 166; Guidorizzi 2001: 44–6 and 52–4.
(34) On kleromancy, see Grottanelli 2001, with further bibliography. For this
explanation of the passage, cf. Ps.-Apollod. 3.10.2; Larson 1995; Reggiani 2015a:
226 ff. The usual interpretation speaks of a swarm of prophetic bees (e.g.
Grottanelli 2001: 164–5; Jaillard 2012: 94), but see Zenob. 5.75, who states that
according to Philochorus (328 F 195 FGrHist) three Nymphs dwell on Mt.
Parnassus, nurses of Apollo, called Thriai, from which the mantikai psephoi are
called thriai, and their prophesying thriasthai. Kleromancy seems to have been
an oracular activity practiced at Delphi (Suda π 3137 s.v. Πυθώ; cf. Delcourt
1955: 74 ff.), and this may explain Hermes’ request to acquire some of Apollo’s
Delphic honors. On the difference between Apollinean mantics and the oracular
form assigned to Hermes, cf. Jaillard 2012: 96–9.
(35) Cf. Leduc 2005: 154–5.
(36) For discussion of the value of theogonic performances as (re)foundations of

the human and divine order, see Detienne 1967: 16–18; Burkert 1988: 168;
Reggiani Forthcoming C. The foundation of the cosmic order, sung in the
theogony, is replicated in practice by the division of the sacrificial meat, further
divided into two sets of twelve pieces, probably meaning that Hermes founds the
divine and the human order at the same time. After all, the whole Hymn seems to
take place at a cosmic level: the invention of the lyre and fire and the throwing
of the sandals in the river, for example, recall mythical themes connected to the
Deluge and therefore to the passage from one cosmic age to a new one. The
succession of cosmic cycles was thought to be caused by a “sin” that subverts
the proportional order of the kosmos: in the Hymn, “fraternal sparring signals
the crisis that occurs when the order of the cosmos must be shifted in some
way” (Harrell 1991: 329). On these points, cf. Reggiani 2015a: 138 ff.
(cosmogonies and justice) and 239 ff. (cosmic context of Hermes’ sacrifice). On
sortition as revelation of Fate, see Guidorizzi 2001: 43–4.
(37) LSJ s.v. κραίνω I; DELG s.v. κραιαίνω; Detienne 1967: 16 and 53–4;
Grottanelli 1992: 248–50; Astori 2008: 57–8.
(38) The same verb is used by Apollo to refer to the prophecies of the three
Semnai (559) and to the power of the golden staff to reveal Zeus’ will (531): it
implies creative prophecies, which “enable things to come into
being” (Scheinberg 1979: 10; cf. Detienne 1967: 55–6).
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(39) Cf. Lincoln 1986: 1–64; Grottanelli 1988: 28–31.
(40) Aesop. 103, 309, 108 Perry = 111, 112, 120 Chambry3 (for further
discussion, see Reggiani 2015a: 213 ff.). The same material that became part of
the Aesopian collection is later recovered by Plato, in a famous passage dealing
with the origins of politics as a means of granting men’s civic survival (Prot.
322c–e; cf. Brisson 1975: 20–1): Zeus sends Hermes to bring respect and justice
(αἰδῶ τε καὶ δίκην) among men; the latter asks if he has to distribute them as
with the arts, i.e. giving them only to some men, but Zeus answers that everyone
should have a share of them (καὶ πάντες μετεχόντων).
(41) The etymology of Hermes’ name is notoriously debated (cf. DELG s.v.). Due
to issues of space, I must refer to Reggiani (Forthcoming C) for a full discussion
of the matter, but the main outlines of my proposal can be summarized as
follows: a phonetic parallel between Hermes’ name and the Hittite god Šarruma
(on whom cf. Laroche 1963; Leick 1998: 150 s.v.) was pointed out by Meriggi in
Deroy 1952: 83–4. Then Laroche 1963: 278–9 demonstrated that the glyph used
to represent this god derived from the Hittite root of the theonym, šarr-. This
root bears the proper meaning of “to divide up, to distribute; to split, to
separate; (midd[le] trans[itive]) to cross (a threshold); to pass through (a
doorway); to transgress (borders); to violate (an oath); (midd[le] intr[ansitive]) to
be divided; to split up.” “This verb has basically two meanings; to divide up, to
distribute and to transgress (oaths, borders, doorways),” and the derived noun,
šarran- / šarra-, means “portion, part, division,” likely stemming from IE
√*serə1- / *srə1- (Kloekhorst 2008: 727–30). All of this exactly matches what we
know of Hermes as a border crosser and a distributor. Unfortunately, we have
almost no information about Šarruma’s theology (except a certain connection
with kingship), but from a linguistic viewpoint the parallel seems to work. The
lack of initial digamma in the root of Hermes’ name (e-ma-a2 in Mycenaean: cf.
DM s.v.) does not exclude a root with a sibilant, which very often disappears in
Mycenaean though surfacing in an initial aspiration in Greek (see e.g. e-re-e /
ἕλος “swamp” from √*sel- [Skr. sáras-]; e-qe-ta / ἕπομαι “follower / to follow”
from √*sekw- [Lat. sequor, Skr. sácate]; cf. DELG and Pokorny 1959 s.vv.; on the
omission of s- and of the aspiration in Mycenaean: Vilborg 1960: 38, 48). We also
know examples of the Hittite output in š- of such roots: see e.g. šākuṷa- (“eye”),
likely from the already mentioned √*sekw-, and šupp(ar)- (“to sleep”) from √*sup-
(Gr. ὕπνος). Furthermore, in light of the proposed relation between Hermes–
distributor and stones, this might fit the etymological link with ἕρμα, “stone,
stone heap, hill” (cf. Wilamowitz 1931: 159 and 285; Nilsson 1953: 503; West
1997: 34), in a way that appears still blurry, but surely deserving a more
thorough examination.
(42) Cf. Grottanelli 2001: 175–6, who compares this fable with the myth of
Hermes’ trial for the killing of Argos.
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Rethinking Hermes
(43) Aesop. 313 Perry = 126 Chambry3 (translations, here and below, by L. Gibbs,
http://www.mythfolklore.net/aesopica). A final suggestion about Hermes’
involvement in such proportional distributions, with a further connection to
social order and justice, comes from the wolf, the animal that we already
compared to Hermes as the master of silence. Another fable (348 Perry = 228
Chambry3) tells about wolves involved in an equal distribution of meat (equality
being proportionality among peers): “There was a wolf who ruled over the other
wolves and decreed that whatever they might catch while hunting would be kept
in common and divided equally by the whole pack (πάντα εἰς μέσον ἄξῃ καὶ
μερίδα ἴσην ἑκάστῳ δώσῃ).” This resembles very much Hermes’ distribution of
the pieces of meat during the sacrifice on the Alpheios.
(44) PY Tn 316. Cf. Godart 2009; Guilleux 2010.
(45) Connected to Ares (e.g. Kretschmer 1921; DM s.v. a-re-ja; Guilleux 2010) or
to aros “usefulness” (Gallavotti 1957: 226–31; Giacometti 2003: 150–1).
(46) Paus. 1.28.6; Henrichs 1994: 39 ff. The Moirai were the guardians of the
cosmic order (cf. Hes. Th. 217–20), agents of the cosmic Moira (Dodds 2003: 48–
9), as the Erinyes–Eumenides (perhaps to be identified with the second Moirai
recorded by Hes. Th. 904–6; cf. Solmsen 1949: 36 ff.) watched over the human
order.
(47) The appearance of Athens and of the Areopagus is meaningful in a manifold

way. Both the Aesopian fables and the Hymn have, at least in part, an Athenian
cultural background (Jedrkiewicz 1989: 346–51 ff., 379 ff., 395 ff.; Reggiani
2015a: 230–1), and the Areopagus is the stage of the foundation myth of the first
tribunal for Orestes’ trial, a story of a disorder to be settled where it seems that
Hermes had performed a central role, which was later replaced by Athena
(Reggiani Forthcoming A). Furthermore, such hints allowed Giacometti (2003) to
postulate the existence of an oracle of Hermes on the Athenian hill, connected
with the judicial activities of the famous court settled there.
(48) It can be assumed that most of this “theology” was developed in Athens
when Solon tried to establish a system of civic justice based on distributive
proportions, with the aim of creating an ordered polis as a mirror of the cosmic
order. I cannot deal with that here, but I have discussed it at length in Reggiani
2015a and Forthcoming A, to which I refer for further notes.
Page 15 of 15
Great Hermes


Print ISBN-13: 9780198777342
DOI: 10.1093/oso/9780198777342.001.0001
Great Hermes
Three Ways toward Stardom
Henk Versnel
DOI:10.1093/oso/9780198777342.003.0021

In the archaic and classical periods Hermes, though very popular, was a god of
modest status. This chapter sketches three roads that led him to “stardom.”
Each of them was conditioned by a specific “position” of the god. For two of
them this was a spatial setting; (1) an isolated cave in Crete and (2) the
imaginary area of the Netherworld. The god took advantage of the associations
these abodes evoked in terms of function, quality, and status of their hallowed
regular tenants, such as Pan and the Nymphs on the one hand and the dreaded
Chthonioi gods on the other. The third position is determined by its inclusion
into a cultural setting, in casu a stylish literary genre of its time: the hymn. In all
three Hermes owed the idiom connected with his new status to the language of
hyperbolic esteem, praise and exaltation current in their contemporaneous
religious contexts.
Keywords: cave cult, confession stelai, hymn orphic, magical, idiom of praise, defixio, chthonic judges
1. Introduction
When I received the invitation to join the conference on Hermes1 I surmised that
I owed this to the fourth chapter of my latest (and last) book.2 That chapter
inquires into the thoroughly human nature and demeanor of the god in various
sources from the archaic and classical periods, including the part of the Homeric
Hymn that precedes his ascendance toward a deserved place on Olympus.3
However, even after having reached a niche at the pinnacles of Olympus, it soon
appears that the god, in spite of the tools and timai accorded to him, is far from
Page 1 of 23
Great Hermes
having become “a leader (ἡγεμόνα) renowned among the deathless gods,” as

Apollo had promised him. We will return to this point at the appropriate place in
this paper.
As for ritual praxis, despite the enormous popularity of this “most philanthropic
among the gods,”4 Hermes enjoyed hardly any official cult or festival (apart from
the ubiquitous Hermaia). Only a handful of temples in the strict sense of that
word are known and not one of them is in Athens.5 Similarly disappointing is
Hermes’ share in divine praises, epithets, titles, and acclamations as they
abound in hymns and prayers already in the archaic and (p.338) classical
periods, and flourish in Hellenistic and imperial times.6 Here is a selection of the
most popular ones: the most common are μέγας/μέγιστος; further, terms
indicating a superior status (ἄναξ, κύριος, δεσπότης, βασιλεύς); notions of
almightiness (παγκρατής, παντοκράτωρ), “you are the only one (μόνος) who can
do that” or “you can do anything you want” (πάν, πάντα δύνασαι), also
articulated as “with many names” (μυριώνυμος, πολυώνυμος); as well as other
ways to give voice to admiration of the greatness of a god, for instance by terms
or gestures of subservience for the human adorant (ἱκετεύω, δοῦλος,
θεραπευτής). Now, if most gods enjoy an ongoing share in this fixed arsenal of
divine praise, the near total absence of it in the case of Hermes during the
archaic and classical periods is another most telling indication of his modest
status in those times.7 In this respect, too, Hermes is an exception among the
Olympians.
There are, however, as I came to realize, two reasons for some reticence and
further consideration. The first is that one of my earliest publications8 was on a
great Hermes, lauded by Martial in a parodic hymn to a gladiator named
Hermes, which ends: Hermes omnia solus et ter unus. Unus, being the
translation of εἷς, is the highest praise in henotheistic hymns. Moreover, “thrice
one” is the earliest reference to (Hermes) Trismegistus. The second reason is
that there are two exceptions to the rule in archaic/classical literature, in that
the honorific terms οἶος and δεσπότης do each occur once for Hermes. They will
play an important part in the third section of this paper.
So here an interesting question prompts itself: how did Hermes manage to grow
from a little, very popular, but relatively low-ranking deity into an eminent god,
glorified in matchless superlative terms? We will follow his ways toward stardom
by having recourse to analogous phenomena in contemporaneous religious and
cultural trends. The Werdegang of Hermes, so it will turn out, was highly
dependent on and informed by these contexts, and may be taken as a sample of
major contemporaneous religious currents.
Page 2 of 23
Great Hermes
(p.339) 2. ΠΑΝΤΟΚΡΑΤΩΡ Hermes the Cave Dweller

The first exploration in our search for a “great Hermes” finds its inspiration in
an inscription of the second century CE from a cave dedicated to Hermes near
Axos in the Talleian Mountains in West Crete.9
Ἄρτεμις ἡ Σαλουΐου θυγάτηρ.

οὔρεσι Ταλλαίοισιν ἱδρυμένε Μαιάδος Ἑρμῆ,
σπονδὴν καὶ θυσίην δέξο φιλοφρόσυνος,
ἥν σοι Σαλούϊος Μηνᾶς λοιβαῖσι γεραίρει,
κτήσεος ἐξ ὁσίης ψυχικὰ δῶρα διδούς.
καὶ πρὶν μὲν ζώσης ἀλόχου φάος εἰσοροώσης,
σὺν κείνῃ κατ’ ἔτος σοὺς ἐγέραιρε τόπους·
ἀνθ’ ὧν δ’ ἐνχρονίσας ἐπετήσιον οὐκ ἀπέδωκεν,
συμβίου ἁγνοτάτης τοῦδε καταφθιμένης,
ἀλγήσας φρένα πολλά, μαθὼν δ’ ὅτι δεῖ τά γε θεῖα
τιμᾶν, διπλῆν σοι τήνδ’ ἔπορεν θυσίαν.
καὶ σὺ δέ, παντοκράτωρ Ἐριούνιε, τόνδε φυλάσσοις
ζωόν, ὅπως τιμᾷ σὸν δι’ ὅλου τέμενος.
The inscription itself is lost, but visitors from the fifteenth to the nineteenth
centuries made copies of it. It records how a certain pious visitor, Salvius Menas,
asks Hermes to accept his libations and sacrifices, as well as (5) the “spiritual
gifts of a pious possession,” perhaps referring to hymns or other poetic
offerings, such as the present epigram. In bygone days, he and his wife used to
pay annual visits to the cave and honor the place. However, after the death of his
wife he had discontinued the practice. Or—an alternative reading—he neglected
the practice and hence his wife died thereafter. After much suffering he finally
came to the insight that one must honor divinity (9: δεῖ τά γε θεῖα τιμᾶν),
acknowledges the gods’ supremacy (παντοκράτωρ) and his own delinquency, and
implores the god to accept a double sacrifice by way of redemption. Finally he
prays that the god “Pantokrator Eriounios” keep him safe and alive in order to
take care of the sanctuary permanently.
The text is clearly a personal poetic creation with hymnic traits.10 It presents
several vexing riddles that, however, are not directly relevant to our (p.340)
discussion.11 But very relevant and astonishing is Hermes’ title Pantokrator.12
Higher praise is hardly imaginable. Although found in Jewish and Christian
texts, this predicate rarely occurs in pagan Greek texts, and never before the
imperial period. In order to understand how the cave dweller Hermes could be
deemed worthy of this extraordinary predicate, we need to have a closer look at
the remarkable sequence of divine and human actions and reactions in the text.
It closely resembles a structure that we find in a well-known series of
contemporaneous inscriptions on stelai found in the borderland of Phrygia-Lydia,
the area called Maeonia. These inscriptions dating to the second and third
centuries CE are generally known under the name of confession stelai.13 They
betray an almost paranoid belief that illness and mishap are sent by a god as
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penalty for offenses against human or divine codes of behavior.14 They often
open with an acclamation, “Great is the god.” Then they detail the suffering of
the dedicator, followed by his acknowledgement (“confession”) of an offense
(either moral—theft, slander—or religious—impurity, disobedience), his
repentance, and a recognition of the greatness of the god who had punished
him, but who after his repentance had also cured him. Thus the stele serves as
testimony to gratitude, as well as praise (“aretalogy”) of the god and, finally, as a
warning to potential offenders. Hence the different names that scholars, in
accordance with personal interests or preferences, have proposed for these
texts: confession, propitiatory, reconciliation, exaltation inscriptions, aretalogies,
etc.
The striking correspondences with our hymnic epigram have not gone
unnoticed. Without suggesting direct derivation, scholars have taken them as
related testimonies of a mentality that increasingly surfaced in areas far distant
from the rather isolated Lydian/Phrygian region. It is one focal point (p.341) in
a foundational article of 1981 by H. W. Pleket,15 in which he discussed
phenomena of “verticalization” in the relationship between god and man in the
late Hellenistic and especially the imperial periods.16 The most obvious
testimony is the emergence of terms praising divine majesty (κύριος, δεσπότης,
τύραννος), and omnipotence (παντοκράτωρ, [παμ]βασιλεύς), as well as the
qualities indicated by terms like δύναμις on the one hand, and terms of human
subservience (δοῦλος, θεραπευτής, ὑπουργός, λάτρις) on the other. Here and
there Near Eastern influence is demonstrable, but traces of these phenomena
are already visible in classical Greece. The so-called confession texts, with their
acclamations (“Great is the god”) and their belief in punishing divine
interventions in human life, are a case in point.
With respect to our epigram one more thing should be noted: the gods honored
in the confession texts are often typically local gods, committed and restricted to
a single tiny village. From his local temple the god “holds in his grip” or
“occupies” or “holds possession of” (κατέχουσιν17) the village whose name (s)he
often bears as an epithet (e.g. Apollo Axiottenos). These gods, however much
they are restricted in terms of topography, are structurally understood as great
omnipotent rulers. Now here we have both an analogy and a difference with the
Hermes of the Talleian cave. He too is a “local,” restricted to and defined by his
Talleian residence, and as such expressly lauded in the epigram, but unlike the
Lydian/Phrygian gods and despite his title Pantokrator, he is not a majestic ruler
with a celebrated temple, but in origin a modest god housed in a cave. If, then,
we have found comparable contemporaneous religious mentalities that may
serve as a background of both belief (human guilt; punishing, all-seeing gods;
human confession) and of concomitant terms of exaltation (Pantokrator), can we
take a further step and find an explanation for cave-dwelling Hermes’ promotion
from his modest origins to his elevated status?
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For this issue, a look at another analogy in the sphere of religious veneration will
be helpful. To the Talleian cave (like others in Crete and generally in ancient
Greece) applies what the guide Michelin would call “vaut le detour,” and not a
small detour either. Even if we have only two epigraphical testimonies from the
Talleian cave itself,18 at least one devotee apparently found it worthwhile to
perform an annual pilgrimage to the god housed in his isolated cave (p.342)
and advertise it in his inscription. Pilgrimages to remote cave-sanctuaries,19 with
their extramundane mysterious atmosphere,20 were a common phenomenon in
ancient Greece. As a rule the divine cave dwellers did not belong to the circle of
the great Olympians. Most popular were the Nymphs, who, often in the company
of Pan, enjoyed a pious and above all personal adoration as recorded in
numerous inscriptions and reliefs.21 Most relevant to our issue is that it is
precisely due to their primitive and remote sanctuaries that these minor gods
“rose to the occasion.” They tended to appear in person in dreams of epiphanies
and to exert an extraordinary power over their devotees, who might become
numpholeptoi.22 Sometimes the worshippers were pictured as kneeling for them,
and accordingly they also might acquire deferential forms of address, such as
kuriai, despotai, etc.23
After Pan, two other less majestic gods, Asklepios and Hermes, are second best
as companions or leaders of Nymphai.24 Although our Talleian Hermes is single,
we have no doubt found in the personal, pious, and submissive religiosity of the
adorant Salvius Menas the key to the god’s “stairway to heaven,” which in the
end provoked the use of the title Pantokrator.
Finally we must note one more point of resemblance between Hermes and all
other cave dwellers (and the Lydian/Phrygian gods): they are not marked by one
or a few specialties. Even if they might boast a specific skill or quality—as, for
instance, the Nymphs with their involvement in childbirth—superior status is not
its immediate corollary. As masters/mistresses of the cave, they enjoyed a
multipurpose employability. Hence they could be, and were, invoked for any
human need, even though “health and wealth” will have prevailed.
Now, people might have taken this for granted and have left it at praise of the
god for his/her majesty and superior power in one or a few simple terms, but one
might also elaborate on this theme. The so-called confession texts have also
been coined aretalogiai:25 glorification of the wondrous deeds or miracles
(ἀρεταί, in this later period mostly called δυνάμεις) of the god. If so, they are
rather rudimentary aretalogies, just like the epigram to Hermes, with (p.343)
the difference that the praise in the confession texts is of a structural type
prescribed by its genre, whereas the one to Hermes is of a subjective personal
nature.
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Salvius Menas may have taken advantage of his acquaintance with

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

Oneselfthrough Aretalogy
In Callimachus’ Hymn to Artemis 7 f., Artemis begs her father Zeus: “Grant me
to keep my virginity for ever, daddy, and to be of many names (πολυωνυμίην), so
that Phoebus may not sneeringly contend with me.” Menander Rhetor (third or
fourth century CE), in his instructions for the composition of hymns, prayers,
and encomia, avers that polyonumia counts as the highest praise. Murionumos
and polyonumos indeed belong to the list of predicates of many a god.28 Not of
Hermes, however—at least not in the classical period. To be sure, the Greek
verse in the title of this section, “How good is it to have so many epithets” (Ar.
Plut. 1164), is addressed to Hermes, but just as surely it is a blatantly ironic
parody of official hymnic praise, since it reacts to Hermes’ self-advertising
enumeration of the (very human!) qualities in which he could be useful to his
mortal companions: strophaios (door guardian), empolaios (businessman), dolios
(deceiver), hegemonios (guide), enagonios (president of the games).
The Hellenistic and early imperial periods witnessed an outburst of various

aretalogical implementations of the notion of polyonumia. One of them is the
type in which the god is praised with a list of all the cities and lands where (p.
344) (s)he enjoys worship and cult; another, more specifically known under the
name of aretalogy, consists of extended enumerations of the deity’s outstanding
status in the divine world, her extraordinary capacities, and her creative
achievements performed in the past. The Isis hymns—most importantly the one
of Cumae—are the most explicit in this respect.29 They also display honorific
titles of magnificence and superior power, identical to or comparable with the
ones mentioned in our first section: despotes, kurios, basileus, and in the Cumae
aretalogy, tyrannos. Claims of omnipotence occur, e.g., also in the Cumae
aretalogy:
Ἐγὼ τὸ ἱμαρμένον νικῶ. Ἐμοῦ τὸ εἱμαρμένον ἀκούει.

I overcome Fate. Fate harkens to me.
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Albeit formally to be classified as hymns, these aretalogies often lack a

prayerlike request at the end. Their purpose is first of all to advertise the
superior power of the god as an act of missionary zeal. The Isis hymn of
Maronea is explicitly presented as an act of gratitude for a recovery.30
In addition to these scattered aretalogies we have two ancient collections of

aretalogical hymnic texts: first, the so-called Orphic hymns31 (eighty-seven in
total), which are products of a local Dionysiac/Orphic cult group,32 most
probably in Asia Minor. Their date is disputed; some scholars vote for the first
century BCE or CE; others, more attractively to my mind, suggest the second/
third century CE. The second cluster consists of the hymnic sections of Greek
magical papyri, of which twenty-six samples are collected in Preisendanz’s
edition of the PGM (second-fifth-century.).33 Obviously, we have landed in a
period in which, side by side with traditional praising predicates such as
πολυώνυμος, the new terms πολυύμνος / πολυύμνητος rightly came into
vogue.34 The two genres display striking similarities: both consist of extensive
strings of qualities and proficiencies of the lauded god. They are brimming with
praise terminology, and in both groups the gods are addressed in the most
flattering terms. Polyonumos, for instance, occurs in no fewer than fourteen
Orphic hymns. As for the twenty-six “magic” hymns of (p.345) the PGM, I here
list a series of gods, each addressed in one or more hymns and followed by his/
her set of exalting terms:
1 Creator of All: εἷς Θεὸς ἀθάνατος—πάντα κρατύνεις—βασιλεῦ καὶ κύριε

—κύριε παντοκράτωρ—δέσποτα πάντων; 2 Creator of All: κοίρανε πάντος;
4 Helios: οὐρανοῦ ἡγεμονῆα—δέσποτα κόσμου; 5 Helios: βασιλεῦ κόσμου—
μέγιστε—παντο-κράτωρ—θεὸς ἔσσι σὺ δ’ ἀθάνατ’ ἔσσι μέγιστος; 6
Typhon: θεὲ θεῶν ἄναξ; 7 Typhon: δυνάστην—δεινὸν ἄνακτα—
παντοκράτωρ; 10 Apollo: πανυπέρτατε—πολυώνυμε; 11 Apollo (Helios):
ἄναξ σκηπτοῦχος—κοίρανε κόσμου—πολυώνυμε 12 Apollo: αὐτοκράτωρ;
15/16 Hermes: Ἑρμῆ κοσμοκράτωρ / παντοκράτωρ—κόσμον συ κρατύνεις;
17–21 Hecate, Selene, Artemis: (no. 17 mentions Hermes once: Ἑρμῇ τῷ
θεῶν ἀρχηγέτῃ); 18 ὠ δέσποινα φίλη; βασίλεια, πολυώνυμε, τετραώνυμε,
τριώνυμε, πάντων δὲ σὺ μούνη ἀνάσσεις—σαῖσιν ἐπωνυμίαις ἐπάκουσον;
19 κοίρανε—μόνη τύραννε; 20 ἄνασσα; 21 πότνια—πανδαμάτειρα—
πολυώνυμε; 22 Aphrodite: πότνια; 23 All the great gods: δέσποτα—τὴν σὴν
δύναμιν τὴν πᾶσι μεγίστην; 25 Gods of the Netherworld: κυρία.
There is one difference between the two hymnic genres: the major objective of
the Orphic hymns, just as of the Isis aretalogies, is worship and glorification.
Hence most of them are preceded by a fumigatory sacrificial offering. Even
though generally the hymns end with a supplication, the request here is mostly
of a general nature and hence is not anticipated by an explicit specification in
the preceding divine predicates. In the hymnic sections of the magical papyri, by
contrast, in accordance with the nature of the magical act, the request is
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prominent and the relevant god is selected for his/her relevant abilities. Thus
these texts are basically entreaties wrapped in the rose cellophane of flattery.
Hymns to Hermes can be found in both collections: two in the Orphic hymns
(one to Hermes, and one to Hermes Chthonios) and three rather similar ones in
the magical papyri, in all of which Hermes is invoked as a specialist in sending a
prophecy (in a dream or otherwise). In the Orphic hymn he is acclaimed as
παγκρατὲς ἦτορ ἔχων, and in the magical hymns as παντοκράτωρ (once) and
κοσμοκράτωρ (twice).
As can be seen from our list of elative terms in the PGM hymns above, glorifying
terms like the ones in the hymns for Hermes belong to the conventional, even
obligatory, vocabulary of all these aretalogies, and hence we have detected a
second access path toward the highest glory for our god. In this respect Hermes
is just piggybacking on an idiom that was in use for any god of the authors’
preference. In order to apply for a hymnic aretalogy none of them need to have
been of supreme rank before. Even if allusions to the doctrines of Hermes
Trismegistos may occur in the PGM hymns (on which see Ljuba Merlina
Bortolani in this volume), most of the qualities in the three hymns to Hermes
may apply just as well to the classic Hermes. What is more, as we have seen in
the collection of glorifying terms from the PGM hymns cited above, the really
exalting terms for Hermes in his PGM hymns (Ἑρμῆ κοσμοκράτωρ /
παντοκράτωρ; κόσμον συ κρατύνεις; Ἑρμῇ τῷ θεῶν ἀρχηγέτῃ) and variants (p.
346) with the same meaning can also be found in hymns to all other gods. It
would be special pleading to attribute the ones for Hermes to his new identity as
Trismegistos. Moreover, the same god’s qualities lauded in his Orphic Hymns do
not betray a single reference to Hermetism. The Greek Orphic cult group(s) in
Asia Minor may belong to the period prior to the emergence and expansion of
Hermetism; as yet they had not been affected by Hermetic ideology. And yet also
in these hymns Hermes had acquired a supreme status equal to that of other
gods.
The general conclusion of the present section, then, is that in this period it was
hymnic aretalogy that might make a god—any god—(temporarily) all-powerful
(παντοκράτωρ) and that Hermes, according to his nature, thus seized the
opportunity to steal the show.
4. Οἶον δ’ εἰς Ἀίδην τετελεσμένον ἄγγελον εἶναι Hermes Chthonios

For our third exploration we must return for a moment to the Homeric Hymn to
Hermes. It is notoriously full of inaccuracies, riddles, and inconsistencies. In the
severe words of Martin West—a quote which, I am sure, will not increase my
popularity among a number of contributors to the present volume:
The Hymn to Hermes…is the most untraditional in its language, with many
late words and expressions, and many used in slapdash and inaccurate
ways; and it is the most incompetent in construction, with many narrative
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inconsistencies and redundancies and no command of the even tempo

appropriate to epic storytelling.
In the chapter on Hermes in Coping with the Gods I have focused on the first
part of the hymn, which pictures Hermes in a more or less human shape prior to
his ascension to full divinity on Olympus, where he acquires his timai, as Jenny
Strauss Clay has demonstrated in The Politics of Olympus. Yet in this latter part
of the hymn, too, strange things occur.
At first sight there are hints of sincere acknowledgement of the power of the
god. In verses 406 ff., Apollo highly praises Hermes for his “flaying two cows,”
saying: “Ι for my part admire your strength henceforth” (αὐτὸς ἐγώ γε θαυμαίνω
κατόπισθε τὸ σὸν κράτος). Even more significant might have been his words,
“for from now on you will have renown (κλέος) among the deathless gods” (458)
and “I will surely make you prosperous, a leader (ὄλβιον, ἡγεμόνα) renowned
among the deathless gods, and I will give you glorious gifts” (461). But it soon
turns out that these flattering words are inspired by Apollo’s (not quite) hidden
agenda. All his gifts are explicitly intended as bartering objects for the one thing
that Apollo desires most: the lyre invented (p.347) by Hermes. Moreover, his
gifts are far from making Hermes a god of eminent distinction, let alone a leader
among the gods. Hermes himself starts with claiming nothing but the humble
life of a shepherd roaming the pastures, which then he indeed receives from
Apollo. Next he receives his characteristic staff, the caduceus (529). This,
however, is not a time in the sense of a specific area of divine qualities and
influence, but a (magic) tool, on which the god depends for actions in the
relevant field. Then Apollo elaborates on the art of sooth-saying, emphasizing
that in this field he himself possesses the unique patent.35 This clearly dwarfs
the far humbler gift of divination through the bee-maidens, the Thriai, that
Apollo (550–66) condescendingly reserves for Hermes, although promptly
whistling him back to his basic task of herding cattle and life in the wilds (566
f.). It all ends up with the one and only truly superior privilege awarded to the
god, namely the one quoted in the title of this section: Οἶον δ’ εἰς Ἀίδην
τετελεσμένον ἄγγελον εἶναι (572). It is this time that is expressly announced as
the one that Hermes alone (οἶος) controls. Being able to enter and return from
Hades is indeed such an exceptional privilege that to many a reader it is
inconceivable that Apollo should have the status to dispense it. Hence, T. W.
Allen has conjectured Zeus into a (to my mind indispensable) lacuna to set the
divine relations straight.36
Now, as we have noted earlier, the quality of being the only one (οἶος, μόνος) to
achieve a thing (μόνος σὺ δύνασαι) belongs to the pearls of praise in hymns.
This raises the question whether this unique time may have exerted an impact on
Hermes’ later reputation.
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In the Odyssey the function of leader of souls occurs in the so-called second
Nekuia in Book 24 (1–14), but only in that passage, which for this reason was
athetized by Aristarchus, together with the final part of Book 23 and Book 24.1–
204.37 Subsequently, throughout post-Homeric Greek literature and vase
painting—and increasingly in the late sixth and fifth centuries—the guide of
souls was omnipresent. Yet he seemed to have reached the pinnacle of his glory
only in contexts that portray him as definitively and permanently settled in the
Netherworld. As Hermes Chthonios the god acquired a new identity, or rather,
we witness the emergence of a new god Hermes different from and (p.348)
independent of the Hermes with his many skills including the function of
pompaios.38 It was inter alia this often underrated character change that lay at
the root of his enormous popularity in Thessaly, where dedications in funerary
inscriptions to Hermes Chthonios abound, and where his frequent epithet
katachthonios typifies him ad oculos as resident in the Netherworld.39 The
disparity between the two gods called Hermes is also apparent in the presence
of two hymns in the Orphic hymn collection, one to Hermes and one to Hermes
Chthonios, as we see them also differentiated in other samples of later hymnody.
Hermes Chthonios’ peculiar status as permanent denizen of the Netherworld

becomes most conspicuous in the curse tablets (defixiones),40 in many of which
we see him operating side by side, and on a par with Demeter, Persephone, and
Hecate, often explicitly invoked as Chthoniai as well41 (we even meet once a Γῆ
χθονία) and who even more than Hermes might claim an innate affinity with the
Netherworld. Among these chthonians Hermes enjoys pride of place42 and, apart
from his most determinant epithet Chthonios, is invoked with a number of other
stereotyped epithets: katochos, dolios, eriounios. In general terms, then, the
Hermes addressed in the defixio with (or even without) any of these epithets is
conceived as the chthonic Hermes who resides in the Netherworld (from) where
he exerts his influence. In addition, the Nymphs and, later, Oriental gods such as
Osiris and Typhon and many demons appear.
In the majority of these defixiones the Chthonioi are asked to κατέχειν

(“restrain, hold down, keep under control, bind”—that is, put out of action) the
targets of the tablet’s author, often rivals in various roles of social life. All these
curses are anonymous, and display, if at all, only a selection of body parts that
must be bound, namely those limbs or faculties that the rival needs for success,
and lack anything resembling an excuse or argument. Here, the gods (p.349)
are not seen as representatives of right or morality, they are not approached in a
reverential or submissive manner as in common prayer, but are invoked, and not
seldom instructed, to act on the strength of their dark nature.
However, among the large hoard of fifth- and fourth-century Attic defixiones that
require our special attention here, a few present a number of remarkable
deviations from the stereotypes just described. A most pertinent case in point is
a curse tablet addressed to the Praxidikai (DTA 109). These goddesses, distantly
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related to the Erinyes, are called upon for help only rarely,43 obviously “to do
justice.” In the present curse the Praxidikai are asked to restrain a victim: ὑμεῖς
δὲ φίλαι Πραξιδίκαι κατέχετε αὐτ⟨ό⟩ν (namely Manes, the target of the curse).
The text concludes: “To you, Praxidikai and Hermes Restrainer (katochos), I
shall, when Manes has fallen on hard times, bring an offer of rejoicing
(Εὐαγγέλια θύσω).” Such a votum, typically belonging in the sphere of prayer, is,
although not unique, still very exceptional in a defixio.44
In sum, this curse, unlike the defixiones discussed hitherto, is a plea for justice,
with traits of a submissive/supplicative (φίλαι) prayer to gods who apparently
are viewed as divine judges or avengers. Prayers for justice of this type, marked
by a variety of characteristic terms, come into view in Attic defixiones of the
fourth century BCE, as in the following examples:
• φίλη Γῆ, βοήθει μοι. ἀδικούμενος γὰρ ὑπὸ Εὐρυπτολέμου καὶ

Ξενοφῶντος καταδῶ αὐτούς (DTA 98).
• κυρίαι Νύμφαι κολάσασθε…. At the end, in a mutilated passage, we
read the letters δικα. (Thanks to David Jordan, who sent me a copy of
the unpublished text).
• “To Hermes and Persephone I send this letter (τήνδε ἐπιστό[λ]ην
ἀποπέμ[πω). Because I direct this (curse) against criminal people
(ἁμαρ[τωλο⟨ὺ⟩ς), they must, O Dike (Δίκη), receive their deserved
punishment (τυχεῖν τέλο⟨υ⟩ς δίκης)” (DTA 103).
• “Victims bound down (καταδῶ πρὸς τ[ὸν Π]αλαίμονα), and I beg
you, O Palaimon, to become their punisher (καὶ δέομαί σου, ὦ
Π]αλαῖμον, τιμωρὸς γένοιο), that the judges may decide that they say
unjust things (δικασταῖ⟨ς⟩ ἄδικα δοκωῖεν λέγειν)” (NGCT no. 14).
Common characteristics are terms of reverence/submission/supplication (φίλη,

κυρίαι, βοήθει μοι, δέομαί σου) and terms referring to being wronged, to
inculpation and retaliation (ἀδικούμενος, κολάσασθε, ἁμαρ[τωλο⟨ὺ⟩ς, Δίκη,
τέλο⟨υ⟩ς δίκης, τιμωρὸς γένοιο). All these terms, often more than one in a (p.
350) curse, mark the difference from the contemporaneous, more common type
of defixiones.
In later times, beginning in the Hellenistic and increasing in the imperial

periods, we find an abundance of such prayers for justice, sometimes discovered
in hoards in the debris of ancient sanctuaries45 (often addressed to Demeter in
her chthonic identity), which together are marked by a choice of the following
distinctive features: (1) the name of the author; (2) an argument defending the
action; (3) a request that the act be excused or that the writer be spared the
possible adverse effects; (4) the appearance of gods other than the usual
chthonic deities, (5) who are addressed either with a flattering adjective (e.g.
φίλη) or with a superior title such as κύριος or δέσποινα; (6) expressions of
supplication (ἱκετεύω, βοήθει μοι, βοήθησον αὐτῷ); (7) terms and names which
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refer to (in)justice and punishment (e.g. Praxidike, Dike, ἐκδικέω, ἀδικέω,

κολάζω, and κόλασις); (8) an extended accumulation of the cursed body, limbs,
and mental faculties beyond the functional ones.
According to the central issue of the present paper the most interesting aspect is
the increasing emphasis on deferential forms of address (item 5), as for instance
in the following:
• ἀδίκημαι γάρ, δέσποινα46 Δάματερ (IKnidos no. 148 [second century

BCE])
• Κύρια Δημήτηρ, βασίλισσα, ἱκέτης σου, προσπίπτω δὲ ὁ δοῦλος σου
(Amorgos second century BCE–CE) (IG XII.72, p. 1; SGD 60).
• Κύριοι θεοὶ καταχθόνιοι……Κύριε φανέρωσον αὐτούς (curse text
from Acrocorinth, Stroud 2013:47 no. 127 [second century CE])
• Κυρία Δήμητρα δίκαια (Stroud 2013: no. 133 [second century CE])
And it is this aspect that finally leads us back to the earliest attestation of a
supreme honorific title of the chthonic Hermes, whom we have already seen
cooperating with other gods (Praxidike, Persephone) as helper against injustice.
Here are the only two Athenian defixiones of the fourth century BCE presenting
the term δεσπότης:48
DTA 89 (two sides)
A) Δέσποτα Ἑρμῆ κάτοχε, κάτεχε Phrynichos and his extremities, his feet,
his head, his hands, his stomach, his spirit. Δέσποτα Ἑρμῆ κάτοχε κάτεχε
his arse. Restrain Kittos and his extremities, his spirit and his eyebrows….
B) Δέσποτα Ἑρμῆ κάτεχε Χαιρύλην, καταδῶ also her extremities. I bind

these of Chairyle…bind her hands, {her hands}, the mind, the (stuff of)
spirit, the (stuff of) head, the work, the (stuff of) heart, the stuff (τὴν
οὐσίαν), the tongue.
(p.351) DTA 94 Δέσποτα κάτοχε, I bind Diokles as my opponent in court;

the tongue and all the thoughts of those who are helping Diokles and his
speech and the witnesses and all the pleas of justification (δικαιώματα)
that are being prepared against me and bind him. (Bind) all the legal pleas
that Diokles has prepared against me and bind him down. All the pleas that
Diokles has prepared, do not let those helping Diokles succeed, and defeat
Diokles from me in every court and καὶ μ(ή)θ’ ἓν ἀντ(ῇ)ι Διοκλ(ε)ῖ
δίκαιον.49
The first curse lies clearly in the field of erotic interests. Many erotic curses can
be understood as belonging to a subspecies of the prayer for justice, typically
displaying (long) lists of cursed body parts. Perhaps Side A wishes that two male
rivals in love will be put out of action (curse of separation, “Trennungszauber”),
Page 12 of 23
Great Hermes
and B (in comparable terms) that the female object of his love or lust (or both)
will remain available for the author only (curse of attraction, agoge).50 The
second curse concerns litigation, the prevalent type of fourth-century Athenian
defixiones. The author calls for divine help against a (most probably false)
indictment and the persons involved (including a bunch of helpers and
witnesses, possibly sycophants). It is in these contexts that Hermes, for the first
time in his life and due to his metamorphosis into Hermes Chthonios, acquires a
place in the category of the other divine chthonic judges51 and receives his share
in the privileges they enjoy, in his case by being acclaimed as Δεσπότης: Master,
Lord, Absolute Ruler.52
(p.352) 5. Conclusion
Three ways toward stardom for our god Hermes. All three are conditioned by a
specific “position” of the god. For two of them this was a spatial setting (cave,
Netherworld). Here the god took advantage of the associations these abodes
evoked in terms of function, quality, and status of their regular tenants. The
third position is determined by its inclusion into a cultural setting, in casu a
literary genre of its time: the hymn. In all three Hermes owed the idiom
connected with his new status to the language of praise and exaltation current in
contemporaneous religious contexts. In sum, Hermes under his own name53
used to hitch his wagon to the stars, thus rising to the occasion(s). And in the
case of Hermes it was the occasion that made the chief.
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(p.356)
Notes:
(1) For which, once more, I wish to express my gratitude to the two organizers. It
was a great event. My special thanks go to Jenny for mending my English.
(2) Versnel 2011: Ch. 4 “A God: Why is Hermes Hungry?” (free access at
Academia.edu).
(3) On which expedition, Clay 1989: Ch. 2 should be every reader’s guide.
(4) Ar. Pax 392.
(5) For evidence and discussion, see Versnel 2011: 351 n. 120.
(6) Apart from TLG I consulted the collections of Bissinger 1966 and the ever-
useful Keyssner 1932 (chapters on “hyperbolische Stil” and “ausdrücklich
benannte Macht der Götter”).
(7) I exclude the few expressions (sometimes intended in a derisive way) in

which Hermes is praised as the best in one of his special qualities: Eur. Rhesus
218 φηλητῶν ἄναξ (“ruler of thieves”); Aesch. Cho. 124 Κῆρυξ μέγιστε τῶν ἄνω
τε καὶ κάτω…Ἐρμῆ χθόνιε. I leave to the Homerists the unique and puzzling
Homeric passage in which Hermes is called ἄναξ in his function as transmitter
of the scepter between Zeus anax and Pelops. Kirk ad loc.: “ἄναξ applied only
here to Hermes, in a rather forced and wholly untraditional way.” Full
discussion: Pisano 2014.
(8) Versnel 1974a = Versnel 1990: Ch. 3.
(9) ICret. II xxviii 2; Kaibel, EG 815; SEG 33.736 (version as given by C.

Gallavotti, BPEC 4 [1983] 113–16, after John Lascaris ms. Vat. Gr. 1412 [fol. 7]).
Cf. Bile 2002, on which EBGR 2002: no. 9. For other discussions of this
inscription, see below nn. 10 and 15.
(10) Although it betrays some acquaintance with the funerary epigram in its
reference to a deceased person in its title, the reader who thinks that with this
all is said and done (e.g. Bile 2002) precludes him/herself from a satisfactory
interpretation. Pleket in SEG (preceding note) calls it a dedicatory epigram,
Page 18 of 23
Great Hermes
which it is if one takes the god and not the deceased wife as the recipient of the
dedication.
(11) For instance the word θυγάτηρ (most probably a later addition) in the title
after the name of the woman Artemis, who actually can only have been the
deceased wife of Salvius Menas. Kaibel for this reason omits the word, referring
to earlier apographai which do not have it (but see Guarducci); SEG 33.736 does
not give the title at all (after Gallavotti?). Furthermore, there is much creative
conjecturing about the actual meaning of κτήσεως ἐξ ὁσίης ψυχικὰ δῶρα, where
I have followed Chaniotis, EBGR 2002, no. 9.
(12) There is much guessing about the meaning of eriounios, which is interpreted
as “swift” or “beneficial” or “cunning/wily.” See for discussion and older
literature Vergados 2013: 222–3; LfgrE s.v. As we will see in the third section,
this epithet, together with others (chthonios, dolios, katochos), also occurs in
(primarily Attic) defixiones. Especially in this context, Avagianou 1997: esp. 209
makes a case for a connection: Hermes as messenger must be swift, which also
holds for the psychopompos, which in its turn evokes his chthonian aspect. It is
quite probable that its precise meaning was unknown (perhaps already in
Homer) and for that very reason the term might bestow a certain grandeur on
the addressee.
(13) Collections: Petzl 1994; Ricl 1995. Good discussion in Paz de Hoz 1999.
Practically every year new confession inscriptions come to light. An updated
complete edition is much desired.
(14) On the idea of illness or misfortune as a penalty from the god, who is viewed
as an omniscient judge in these Asia Minor inscriptions, see Chaniotis 2009;
Belayche 2011b.
(15) Pleket 1981: esp. 172, 183. Brief references before him: Nock 1972: 427 n.
77; Veyne 1965: esp. 945 n. 1. In subsequent studies: Burkert 1996: 115. All of
them focus on the divine penalty for neglecting the gods. For the diffusion of this
belief, see e.g. Petzl 1991.
(16) Some more recent studies on the verticalization of gods in imperial Asia
Minor as manifest from their titles and epithets: Belayche 2005, 2007, 2010, and
2011a; Chiai 2009; Chaniotis 2014.
(17) On this verb (together with others) as a fixed term to indicate “have in
possession” or “be at home somewhere,” see literature in Versnel 2011: 89 n.
239.
(18) The other is ICret. II xxviii 1: Hipponax dedicated a vow (εὐχάν) to Hermes.
(19) For pilgrimages to such shrines on Crete, see Chaniotis 1991. For Greece in
general, see following notes.
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Great Hermes
(20) On the impact of the specific atmosphere of caves on the human mind, see
Ustinova 2009.
(21) On Cretan cults of the nymphs: Melfi 2008. For Pan and the Nymphs as a
fixed group of local gods all over Greece, often enjoying personal devotion, see
Edwards 1985; Van Straten 1976. Cf. also Klöckner 2001.
(22) Connor 1988.
(23) More extensive evidence and discussion of all this in Versnel 2011: 125–30.
(24) Hermes and the Nymphs are close companions both in literature and in
visual art, as Eumaios in Od. 14.433 ff. is the earliest to illustrate by offering a
portion of the dais to the two. See further Nilsson 1955: 1.274; Zanker 1965: 56–
9; Shear 1973; Van Straten 1976; Larson 1995: esp. 348 ff. with evidence in n.
25; 1995: esp. 255 on “the special genre of ‘hermetic’ nymphs”; 2001: index s.v.
Hermes: “relations with nymphs” and “on votive reliefs.”
(25) Paz de Hoz 2009.
(26) Nock 1972: 427 n. 77.
(27) To which Vergados 2011 devoted an eye-opening paper.
(28) Literature on occurrence and uses of this epithet: Versnel 1990: 50 n. 32 and
2011: 29 ff.
(29) Collections: Longo 1969; Totti 1985; Muñiz Grijalvo 2006. For a discussion,
see Versnel 1990: ch. 1.
(30) Grandjean 1975.
(31) Some recent editions: Ricciardelli 2000; Fayant 2014; Athanassakis 1977.
Studies on the Orphic hymns: Morand 2001; Lebreton 2012 (especially on the
multiplication and function of elative epithets).
(32) There are strong arguments for the initiatory nature of their social-religious
setting: Graf 2009.
(33) Preisendanz 1974: collection of twenty-six Hymns in Vol. II, 237–66. The nos.
1–7, 15/16, 17–22 are the versions of Heitsch 1963: LIX 1–14 pp. 179 ff. On
hymnic and non-hymnic aspects of these “hymns” and the diversity in functions
of terminology of praise, see Petrovic 2015.
(34) Cf. Belayche 2013: 17–40, esp. 25: “Pour une divinité comme pour une
institution, une cité par example, le seul fait d’être déclarée πολυύμνος /
πολυύμνητος était un sceau de gloire suffisant.”
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(35) See, for the rhetorical tricks in Apollo’s words including his reticence
concerning the gift of prophecy, Adorjáni 2012. Most recently on Hermes’
oracular skills: Jaillard 2011. For the whole passage (406–572), Clay’s
interpretation (1989: 136–51) is indispensable.
(36) Though aware of the counter-arguments, for which see Vergados 2013 on
568, I am happy to follow here Clay 1989: 148 f., who admits (p. 144) “that no
passage in this most difficult of the hymns offers so many perplexities,” but
admirably solves many of them and endorses the insertion of Zeus to solve the
textual problems. Be that as it may, the identity of the donor is immaterial to our
present discussion.
(37) Despite the fact that he also argued that the Homeric Odyssey ended at
23.296. For a discussion and earlier literature on the never-ending scholarly
dispute, see Heubeck 1992 ad loc.; Sourvinou-Inwood 1995: 94–103.
(38) For an outstanding treatment of Hermes in the function of psychopompos

(the term itself is late; first attestation: Eur. Alc. 361 [Charon]) and as chthonios,
see Sourvinou-Inwood 1995: 304–56, who, however, to a large degree identifies
the two. Nor do I entirely accept the phrasing by Eidinow 2007: 148, “Hermes
Chthonios does not rule over the dead, but presides over the journey between
the underworld and the world of the living.”
(39) A detailed study: Avagianou 2002: 65–111. Cf. SEG 52.546; EBGR 2003, no.
7.
(40) Cf. Bevilaqua 2009: esp. 243, on Hermes in the defixiones under discussion
here: “La sua frequente ricorrenza nelle defixiones, in particolare quelle
ateniesi, lo colloca decisamente in un ambito ctonio, collegato al termine
katochos.” On the predicate chthonios in defixiones, see Eidinow 2007: 147–51;
290 n. 43.
(41) A few examples: [Ἑκ]άτη χθονία, Ἄρτεμι χθονία, Ἑρμῆ χθόνιε (Peiraeus,
EBGR 1998, no. 55); the same triad in a recently found curse text from roughly
the same area (Lamont 2015; cf. IG I3 383); Ἑρμεῖ χθόνιαι (sic) καὶ Ἑκάτῃ
χθονία…….καὶ Δημήτηρ, followed by a host of other, sometimes totally unknown
divinities all called chthonios (and some hundred of identical defixiones from
Amathous) (Cyprus SEG 44.1279; Jordan 1994); Γᾶ, Ἑρμᾶ, Φερσεφόνα, θεοὶ
καταχθόνιοι, in different combinations but all including Hermes on nine
defixiones from Morgantina (SEG 29.927–34).
(42) Kagarow 1929: 59 ff. gives the order of their frequency in defixiones:
Hermes, Kore/Persephone, Hecate, Hades/Pluto, Ge, and Demeter.
(43) SGD 14 [Athens 3rd BCE]) πρὸς τὰς Πραξιδίκας; the same formula in SGD
62 (Athens, 3rd BCE ?). A votive inscription at Volos has Πραξιδίκαις
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Great Hermes
Μεγαλοκλ̣[ῆς…] (Helly 1973: no. 204). A defixio from Cyrene (3rd BCE) identifies
Praxidike with Kore: Πραξιδίκα κώρα μεγαλήτο⟨ρος⟩ Αγλαοκάρπου (SGD 150).
(44) The rare instances are collected and discussed in Versnel 2009: 342–52.
(45) Collections of the evidence and discussions of various aspects can be found
in a number of my studies, including Versnel 1991, 1998, 2002, and 2009.
(46) On this term see Henrichs 1976.
(47) Stroud 2013.
(48) Translations: Eidinow with minor changes.
(49) Eidinow translates “and do not let one just thing come to Diokles.” I suggest
that (τὸ) δίκαιον here has the sense of “lawful/just claim” or “strong case” as in
Thuc. 3.54 ἃ ἔχομεν δίκαια πρός (“which just claims we have”); Demosth. 21.179
ἐδόκει δίκαιον ἔχειν ὁ προβαλλόμενος λέγειν (“you thought that the accuser had
a strong case when he said…”); Plut. Luc. 3 τὰ πρὸς Σύλλαν δίκαια (“treatment
rightfully due to Sulla”). Whence the expression should be taken as “and that he
will not meet with (= be granted) the verdict to have a just claim.” Apparently
the defendant uses a more or less official expression very close to the one we
met in NGCT no. 14, δικασταῖ⟨ς⟩ ἄδικα δοκωῖεν λέγειν.
(50) For all this, including the use of the same strings of body parts in both types,
see Versnel 1998.
(51) Also in literary sources we find references to the avenging function of

Hermes Chthonios, together with other gods well known from this special type
of defixiones. E.g. Soph. El. 110 ff.: “O house of Hades and Persephone, O
Hermes Chthonios and mistress Curse (πότνι’ Ἀρά), and Erinyes, revered
children of the gods who look upon those wrongfully done to death…avenge the
murder of our father.” More generally, note that according to Pl. Prot. 322c
Hermes was dispatched by Zeus “to bring respect for others and justice among
men.”
(52) Hdt. 3.89; Thuc. 6.77 τύραννος καὶ δεσπότης; Pl. Leg. 859a; of gods: Soph.
fr. 535 Ἥλιε δέσποτα; Eur. Hipp. 88 ἄναξ, θεοὺς γὰρ δεσπότας καλεῖν χρεών
(opposition between anax, here used for a human being, and despotes as most
humble address to a god); Ar. Wasps. 875 ὦ δέσποτ’ ἄναξ γεῖτον Ἀγυιεῦ (both
anax and despotes in an ironic address to the humble neighbour Aguieus). Cf.
Versnel 2011: 136; Xen. An. 3.2.13.
(53) I mention this because there is also another way toward stardom—that is,
through a process (often called syncretism) of identification with another
powerful foreign deity while occasionally adopting his name. Hermes
Trismegistos/Thot of course is the best-known case in point, for which see Ljuba
Page 22 of 23
Great Hermes
Merlina Bortolani in this volume. Here, too, Sandra Blakely elucidates the case
of the Samothracian Hermes (on which I broke my teeth in another of my
earliest papers: Versnel 1974b).
Page 23 of 23
Index Locorum


Print ISBN-13: 9780198777342
DOI: 10.1093/oso/9780198777342.001.0001
(p.357) Index Locorum

AELIUS ARISTIDES
Or.
41 312, 317–18 n. 26
AELIUS THEON (Spengel)
109.20–4 311 n. 5
AESCHINES
Ctesiph.
183–5 228 n. 8
AESCHYLUS
Hydrophoroi 103 n. 29
Ag.
515 239 n. 43
Cho.
1–5 182 n. 28
123–6 182 n. 28
124 338 n. 7
124–7 240
PV
1050–4 166 n. 24
Pers.
628–30 182 n. 28
Prom.
561 schol. 328 n. 26
fr. (R)
256b 131 n. 41
fr. (TrFG)
273a 182 n. 28
AESOP
Fab. (Perry)
103 330 n. 40
108 239 n. 43, 330 n. 40
Page 1 of 28
Index Locorum
309 330 n. 40
313 331
348 331 n. 43
AGATHIUS SCHOLASTICUS
AP
10.14 283
ALCAEUS
fr. (Campbell)
306–8a–d 58
fr. (LP)
308b 145
ALCMAN
fr. (Calame)
9 83 n. 32
11 83 n. 32
12 83 n. 32
130 83 n. 32
ALEXIS
fr. (PCG)
93 103
ANDOCIDES
Myst.
34 228 n. 7
35 228 n. 8
37 228 n. 8
39 228 n. 8
62 228 n. 8
66 100 n. 19
ANTIPATER OF SIDON
AP
10.2 282
ANTONINUS LIBERALIS
23 142
23.1–2 327 n. 22
23.6.3–4 327–8
41.1 132 n. 49
APHTHONIUS
Prog.
8.1 311 n. 5
8.2 311 n. 4
APOLLODORUS
Bib.
1.7.2 240
2.1.3 328 n. 26
2.6.2 57
3.2 132 n. 48
3.10.2 329 n. 34
3.14.3 130 n. 40, 132 n. 49
Epit.
Page 2 of 28
Index Locorum
2.6 130 n. 40
7.38 131 n. 42
APOLLONIUS RHODIUS
Arg.
1.51–6 130 n. 40
1.457–9 82 n. 16
1.722–8 185 n. 45
1.865–74 185
1.917 271 n. 1
1.917 schol. 273 n. 14
1.917–20 284
1.1079 284
1.1119 284
(p.358) 1.1126–30 284–5
1.1126–31a schol. 285 n. 61
1.1131–4 284
3 177, 187
3.156–7 178 n. 15, 181
3.161–2 183
3.166 178
3.578 176
3.581–2 177
3.582 177
3.584–8 175
3.592 176 n. 9
4 187
4.223 177
4.233–4 176
4.391–3 176
4.392 177
4.757–69 181
4.866 181
4.880 181
APULEIUS
Met.
6.7.3 151 n. 39
6.7.7 137
ARCHIAS
AP
10.7 283
10.8 283
ARCHILOCHUS
fr. (W2)
40 84 n. 35
43 84 n. 35
66 84 n. 35
95 84 n. 41
109 113
119 84 n. 35
Page 3 of 28
Index Locorum
MARCUS ARGENTARIUS
AP
10.4 282
ARISTOPHANES
Ach.
8 113 n. 16
10 113 n. 15
377–84 116
394–484 113 n. 15
430 113 n. 16
440–1 113 n. 16
446 113 n. 16
497–9 113 n. 16
502–6 116
816 103
1085–94 98 n. 11
Av.
275–6 113 n. 16
Eccl.
392–3 113 n. 16
408–21 86, 86 n. 50
Eq.
38 114 n. 18
297 103
520 113 n. 17
526 113 n. 17
536 98 n. 11
537 113 n. 17
1248–52 113 n. 16
Nu.
553 113 n. 17
1478 ff. 101
1478–85 99
Pax
147 113 n. 15
154–61 113 n. 16
177–80 239
180 ff. 95
182–94 96
192 113
201–2 70
361 ff. 95–6
361–425 96
385 102 n. 28
392 69, 337
392–4 104
400–2 104 n. 33
423–5 113
431–2 113
Page 4 of 28
Index Locorum
469 96
531 113 n. 15
532 113 n. 15
533–4 113
603–4 113
603 ff. 96
648 102 n. 28
658 ff. 96
661 ff. 96 n. 4, 101
700 113
711 102 n. 28
722 113
802–3 113 n. 15
1009 113 n. 15
1013–14 113 n. 16
Pl.
9–10 115 n. 23
19–28 115 n. 23
43–61 115 n. 23
135–6 115 n. 23
(p.359) 146–8 115 n. 23
236 115 n. 23
237 115 n. 23
243 115 n. 23
246 115 n. 23
243–7 115 n. 23
429 117
543–4 114
557 116 n. 24
603–14 114 n. 19
619–27 114 n. 19
658–9 114
664 114
729–818 115 n. 23
771–3 116 n. 24
796–9 116 n. 24
963–5 115 n. 23
1097–1170 97
1120–2 312
1126 300 n. 35
1151 113 n. 16
1153 36 n. 13
1158 113 n. 16
1164 343
Ra.
13–14 113 n. 17
16–18 116 n. 24
53 116 n. 24
73 113 n. 15
Page 5 of 28
Index Locorum
76 113 n. 15
79 113 n. 15
83 113 n. 15
86 113 n. 15
87 113 n. 15
89–91 116 n. 24
95 116 n. 24
100–2 113 n. 16
132 116 n. 24
151 113 n. 15, 116 n. 24
274–6 116 n. 24
297 98 n. 11, 116
308 98 n. 10
357 113 n. 17
479 98 n. 10
769 116 n. 24
783 116 n. 24
801 113 n. 15
802 116 n. 24
834 113 n. 15
910 113 n. 15
912 114 n. 18
1005 116 n. 24
1246 116 n. 24
1299 113 n. 15
1418–19 116 n. 24
1471 113 n. 16
1475 113 n. 16, 116 n. 24
Th.
29 113 n. 15
30 113 n. 15
134–45 113 n. 16
194 113 n. 16
518–19 113 n. 16
769–84 113 n. 16
850 113 n. 16
855–921 113 n. 16
855–927 113 n. 16
977 249 n. 22, 250
977–8 37–8
1010–71 113 n. 16
1098–52 113 n. 16
1107–8 113 n. 16
1202 103
Vesp.
61 113 n. 15
175–84 100 n. 16
304 113 n. 16
312 113 n. 16
Page 6 of 28
Index Locorum
314 113 n. 16
389–94 100
875 351 n. 52
1064–5 114 n. 18
1414 113 n. 15
1501 113 n. 15
1505 113 n. 15
1508 113 n. 15
1524 113 n. 15
fr. (PCG)
325 276 n. 28
566 100 n. 16
ARISTOTLE
Rh.
1401a21 104 n. 35
ARNOBIUS
Adv. nat.
3.41–3 284 n. 60
ARTEMIDORUS
Oneir.
2.37 227 n. 5
2.37.92 300 n. 34
ATHENAEUS
Deip.
1.16b 104 n. 36
1.32b 104 n. 36
10.426b 104 n. 36
11.473c 104 n. 36
(p.360) AUGUSTINE
CD
7.14 186 n. 49
CALLIMACHUS
Hy.
2.1 143–4
2.101 143 n. 9
3.6 143
3.7–8 343
Ia.
7 285
9 285
Aet. (Harder)
fr. 48 124
CICERO
Att.
1.1.5 134 n. 57
1.4.3 134 n. 57
1.103 134 n. 57
ND
3.37.89 272
Page 7 of 28
Index Locorum
3.56 73 n. 22, 121 n. 2, 131 n. 42, 136 n. 73, 325 n. 2

3.60 151
CLEOMEDES
2.5.87–91 301 n. 40
CORNUTUS
Nat. Deor.
23.6 ff. 300
24 151 n. 40
CRATINUS
fr. (PCG)
196 104 n. 36
206 104 n. 36
211 113
DEMETRIUS OF PHALERON
Eloc.
120 319 n. 30
fr. (Wehrli)
118.2 300 n. 34
DIODORUS SICULUS
1.16 299
1.96 181 n. 24, 248 n. 18
4.2.5 133 n. 56
4.6.1 135 n. 66
4.6.5 134 n. 60
4.39.1 56 n. 17
5.47.1–48.3 273
5.64–5 284
13.82.1–4 213 n. 19
DIOGENES LAERTIUS
5.82.8 227 n. 5
DIOGENIANUS
5.38 104 n. 35
DIONYSIUS OF HALICARNASSUS
Ant. Rom.
1.61.2–4 273 n. 15
ERATOSTHENES
fr. (Powell)
1 126 n. 20
EUBULUS
fr. (PCG)
75 276 n. 28
76 276 n. 28
EUPOLIS
fr. (PCG)
392 113
EURIPIDES
Alc.
361 248 n. 18, 348 n. 38
Hipp.
Page 8 of 28
Index Locorum
88 351 n. 52
454–6 132 n. 49
Med.
351–4 187
389–91 188
446–626 187 n. 53
Rh.
218 338 n. 7
fr.
177.1 147 n. 25
fr. (Nauck)
312 113
fr. (TrFG)
646a 182 n. 28
EUSTATHIUS
in Od.
2.133, 8–13 328 n. 28
EVENOS OF PAROS
fr. (W2)
8a 83 n. 26
FESTUS
152 L. 193 n. 1, 206
FLORUS
Ep.
1.18.39–41 216 n. 34
GALEN
Corp. Med. Graec.
13 133
269 133
GEMINOS
Elem. Astron.
1.14 273
(p.361) HECATAEUS
FGrHist 1
F 371 131 n. 41
HELLANICUS
fr. (Fowler)
19b.1–8 152
HERACLITUS
Hom. prob.
72.2–73.9 129 n. 29
HERODOTUS
1.60.4–5 56
2.51 227 n. 3, 227 n. 6, 283
2.145 73 n. 22, 131 n. 42
3.37 283–4
3.89 351 n. 52
6.105 37–8
HESIOD
Page 9 of 28
Index Locorum
Cat.
fr. (W2)
64 130 n. 36
118 27
Op.
80 173 n. 2
Sc.
83 61 n. 29
320 61 n. 29
443–9 58 n. 23
Th.
245 149 n. 30
251 149 n. 30
291 61 n. 23
357 149 n. 30
406–8 67
525–9 166 n. 24
526 61 n. 29
615 166 n. 24
901–5 26–7
938–9 239
950 61
970 81
986–7 132 n. 49
939 173 n. 2
fr. (W2)
27 81–2
35.5 61
43(a) 61 61
64 70
66 71 n. 17
67 71 n. 16
169.1 149
170 173 n. 2
HIPPOLYTUS
Ref. Omn. Haer.
5.7.2 277
5.7.38 277
5.8.10 277
HIPPONAX
fr. (W2)
1–11 85
2a 327 n. 22
8 83 n. 32
21 84 n. 35
26 83 n. 32
26a 83 n. 32
29a 83 n. 32
32 85–6
Page 10 of 28
Index Locorum
58 83 n. 32
73 84 n. 35
84 84 n. 35
92 84 n. 35
124 83 n. 32
125 83 n. 32
128 83 n. 32
HOMER
Il.
1.3 182
1.46 146
1.247–9 319
1.493–530 177 n. 11
1.590–4 50 n. 4
2.22 302 n. 51
2.100–8 327 n. 19
2.103 schol. 328 n. 26
2.185 ff. 327 n. 20
2.512 126 n. 22
2.603 273
2.786–7 173 n. 2
3.380–2 162
5.62 80 n. 5
5.344–6 162
5.390 67
8.397–408 173 n. 2
9.219 86
9.802 126 n. 22
11.55 182
11.482 67 n. 1
11.551 124
12 schol. 273 n. 14
13.10–14 273
13.33 273
14 98 n. 9
14.225–30 273
14.281 273
15.256 145 n. 20
15.256 schol. 146
16.179–86 72
16.179–92 126
16.181 127
16.181–6 67
16.183 127
17.660–1 124
(p.362) 18.395–405 50 n. 4
18.483 80 n. 5
20.321–9 162
21.497–501 68
Page 11 of 28
Index Locorum
22.127–8 81
24.23 67–8
24.62–3 26
24.77–84 273
24.327–28 68
24.328 68
24.333–8 173 n. 2
24.334–5 69, 247 n. 12
24.339–45 173 n. 2, 181 n. 21
24.340–2 73
24.343 302 n. 52
24.343–4 181
24.347–8 68
24.400 68
24.437–9 68
24.445 68, 181 n. 23
24.453–7 69
24.460–4 68
24.460–7 173 n. 2
24.461 68
24.482–3 68
24.598 86
24.677–95 187
24.679–81 187 n. 52
24.679–89 173 n. 2, 181 n. 21
24.683–4 187
24.690–1 68
24.694–5 69
Od.
1.26–95 177
1.27–43 177
1.37–42 128
1.37–43 173 n. 2
1.52–4 183–4 n. 40
1.84–7 128, 129 n. 31, 173 n. 2
1.96–8 73, 129 n. 31
3.163 67 n. 1
5.28–42 178
5.28–124 173 n. 2
5.29–42 179, 181, 185
5.29–46 129 n. 31
5.41–2 179
5.43–9 129 n. 33, 173 n. 2
5.43–54 180–1
5.47–8 181
5.50 183
5.97–104 184
5.97–115 185
5.44–9 181
Page 12 of 28
Index Locorum
5.44–6 73
5.44–7 178 n. 15
5.44–62 178
5.55–148 129
5.75–148 128
5.103–4 185
5.114–15 179
5.195–6 69 n. 11
6.274 175 n. 5
7.14–17 175
7.32–3 175
7.40–2 175
7.136–8 104 n. 36
7.136–45 74–5
7.137 302 n. 52
7.137–8 181 n. 23
7.168 67 n. 1
7.204–5 75
8 98 n. 9
8.99 82 n. 21, 149 n. 32
8.262–3 82 n. 16
8.552 76 n. 26
9.6 83 n. 25
10.275–9 69–70
10.277–308 128–9
10.329–31 71
10.330–2 129
11 165
11.287–98 144 n. 17
11.363–6 75–6
11.625–6 182 n. 28
13.253–5 74
13.287–95 74
13.293 67 n. 1
13.300–2 175
14.122 76 n. 26
14.433 ff. 342 n. 24
14.434–6 38
14.468–506 71
14.509 71
15.225–42 144 n. 17
15.319–24 70
16.471 schol. 328 n. 27
17.271 82 n. 21, 149 n. 32
19.392–8 130
19.395–8 70
21.21 70
22.115 67 n. 1
22.202 67 n. 1
Page 13 of 28
Index Locorum
22.281 67 n. 1
23.90 86
23.198 schol. 300 n. 35
23.296 347 n. 37
23.321 72 n. 21
24.1–5 164–5
24 165
24.1 180–2
24.1–14 347
(p.363) 24.1–24 302 n. 52
24.1–204 347
24.2–4 181 n. 23
24.3–4 181
HOMERIC HYMNS
Hy. 2 (Demeter)
1–35 153
334–85 182 n. 28
407 239 n. 43
Hy. 3 (Apollo)
207–15 142
316–21 50 n. 4
Hy. 4 (Hermes)
1 15
3 173 n. 2, 239
3–7 3
4 125
5–6 15
5–9 123
6–7 24
13 67, 71 n. 18
13–16 2, 326
14 186 n. 50
17 316
17–19 51
20 315
20 ff. 300 n. 35
24 169 n. 33
25 80 n. 5, 316
29 116 n. 28
30 169 n. 33
30–51 80
31 82, 82 n. 20, 148
52–62 15, 80
54–9 123
55–6 81
57–8 81
59–61 81
64 51
64–7 124
Page 14 of 28
Index Locorum
66 187 n. 52
73 15
82–6 80 n. 5
109 149
109–14 80 n. 5
115–29 113 n. 14
126–9 329
145 327 n. 22
155 67 n. 1
155–72 15
172–3 147, 326
173 61
173–5 51
175 152
178–81 51, 326
202–9 79 n. 3
210 328 n. 24
214 152
254–5 147
260–77 116 n. 28
261–77 318
262–3 131
263–4 318
265–6 318
266–7 318
273 318
275–6 318
281 116 n. 28
292 152
296 83
300 81
319 67 n. 1, 72 n. 21
325 60
332 60
335 81
338 81
389 117 n. 28
389–96 51
392 326 n. 9
397 3
406 ff. 346
406–8 147
406–572 347 n. 35
418–19 148
420 117 n. 28
421–3 148
424–5 82
426 72
427–33 330
Page 15 of 28
Index Locorum
428 51
428 ff. 303
434 148
436 82, 82 n. 20, 149
439 67, 71 n. 18
443–4 80
446 152
448–9 149 n. 31
449 72
454 82
455 72
458 346
461 346
471–2 51
475–82 124
477 125
478 125
480 82 n. 20
481 125
483 316
491–5 125 n. 17
497–8 51
(p.364) 503–10 125–6
506–8 51
511–12 34 n. 10, 150
514 67 n. 1
514–15 145
514–20 52
515 145 n. 18
529 52, 328 n. 24, 347
533–8 52
531 330 n. 38
550–66 347
552–66 52
559 330 n. 38
567–8 161
567–72 52
567–73 15
569–71 3
570–1 316
572 347
576 247 n. 12
Hy. 5 (Aphrodite)
108–27 127–8
118 127
121–7 72
212–17 128
259–63 37 n. 14
260–3 128
Page 16 of 28
Index Locorum
262–3 131
Hy. 19 (Pan)
1 131
2–3 40
38–9 39
38–41 131
45–7 39
Hy. 29 (Hestia)
8 239 n. 43
HORACE
Ep.
1.20.27 160 n. 6
2.2.48 163
2.2.49–52 169
2.3.18–20 169
Od.
1.2.41–4 153 n. 45, 163
1.10 145, 149, 161, 164, 168
1.10.6 173 n. 2
1.10.7 167
1.10.16–17 182
1.10.17 181 n. 24
1.10.17–20 164, 168
1.17 166
1.17.1–14 160
1.22 163
1.24 163 n. 18, 168
1.24.13–20 164–5, 168
1.24.17 183
1.30 151, 166–8
2 165 n. 21
2.3.68 170
2.7 161, 162, 163, 170, 217 n. 38
2.7.13–14 162
2.7.13–16 209
2.13 161
2.17 161
2.17.27–30 160
2.18.34–40 165–6, 168
2.18.35 166 n. 24
2.19 161
3.4 163 n. 18
3.4.25 161
3.4.27 161
3.5.2 170 n. 37
3.8.7 161
3.11.1–16 167–8
3.25 161
3.27 168 n. 32
Page 17 of 28
Index Locorum
Sat.
1.6.85–7 170
1.6.86 169
2.3 169
2.3.18–20 169
2.3.24–6 169–70, 194 n. 5
2.3.34 169
2.3.314–20 169
2.6.4–5 169
2.6.79–117 169
HYGINUS
Astron.
16 133–4 n. 56
Fab.
2.24 131 n. 42
32 57
103 182 n. 28
160 132 n. 49
271 134 n. 56
ISOCRATES
10.12 319 n. 30
JOHN LASCARIS
Vat. Gr. 1412 339 n. 9
JOHN LYDUS
Mens.
2.9 300
4.76.59–106 300 n. 37
LEONIDAS
AP
10.1 282
(p.365) LIVY
2.21 117 n. 29
2.21.7 210 n. 4
2.27.5–6 117 n. 29, 210 n. 4
21.63.3 215 n. 27
29.27.6–8 209
LONGUS
3.23 131 n. 45
LUCIAN
DDeor.
2 131 n. 42
2.4 117
4.2 117
11.1 145 n. 20
Fug.
26.3 239 n. 43
Jup. Trag.
42 274
1–4 117
Page 18 of 28
Index Locorum
Nav. 12 104 n. 35
Sacr.
8.13 239 n. 43
Symp.
21 319
41 319
LYSIAS
Alc.
42 228 n. 8
MACROBIUS
Sat.
6.2.30–1 212 n. 14
MENANDER
Dysc.
226 104 n. 35
Epit.
284 104 n. 35, 110 n. 9
317 110 n. 9
fr. (Sandbach)
9 117
722 117
MENANDER RHETOR (Spengel)
331.18–332.2 311 n. 5
MOSCHUS
fr. (Gow)
2 131 n. 45
NAEVIUS
Bell. Poen. (Mariotti)
5 177 n. 11
30 (Büchner) 146 n. 21
NEW TESTAMENT
Apoc.
1.8 296 n. 14
21.6 296 n. 14
NIKANDER
Ther.
1.472 schol. 273 n. 14
NONNUS
Dion.
2.117–19 131 n. 45
5.574–5 136 n. 73
8.220 137
20.264 239 n. 43
42.258–61 131 n. 45
48.230 137
ORIGEN
C. Cel.
6.78–9 103
ORPHIC HYMNS
Page 19 of 28
Index Locorum
28.4 299–300, 301 n. 43

28.6 299–300
28.10 299–300
57.3–4 151
OVID
Am.
1.1 141 n. 2, 142, 144–5, 166 n. 25
1.1.1 144 n. 16
1.1.4 144
1.1.5 144 n. 16, 146
1.1.7 144 n. 16
1.1.8 144 n. 16
1.1.16 144
1.1.21–6 144 n. 16
1.2 166 n. 25
1.4.1 167 n. 31
2.12.3 167 n. 31
Fast.
2.617–38 136
2.629 136
2.853–6 136 n. 69
2.608 136 n. 71
3.139 149
4.953–4 149
5.225–7 133 n. 55
5.663–6 145
5.663–92 144, 149
5.665–6 174 n. 4
5.681–8 149
Met.
1.438–51 143
1.441 146
1.453 144 n. 16
1.454 143
(p.366) 1.455 148
1.456 144 n. 16, 147
1.456–7 146
1.457 146
1.458 144 n. 16
1.458–60 146
1.459–60 143 n. 9
1.461 144 n. 16
1.462 147
1.465 147
1.466–74 144 n. 16
1.472–4 148
1.478 149
1.515–22 144
1.518 148
Page 20 of 28
Index Locorum
1.519 144 n. 16
1.546–7 149
1.566–7 143
1.558 149
1.558–65 143
1.562–3 150, 153
1.671–2 181 n. 23
1.678–721 328 n. 26
1.689–712 131
2.836–75 132 n. 50
4.283 133 n. 55
4.286 135 n. 65
4.288–91 134
4.290–1 152
4.320–1 134
4.321 152
4.329–30 135
4.334–6 135
4.381–2 135 n. 65
4.386 135 n. 65
5.319–31 153 n. 45
5.365–79 152
5.383–4 152
7.700–7 132 n. 49
11.301–27 130
14.291 174 n. 4
OXYRHYNCUS PAPYRI
7.1015 313–17, 315 n. 19
7.1015.4–5 315
8.1084 152
17.2084 309–20
79.5194 315 n. 19
2084 315 n. 20
2734
fr. 1.15–16 146 n. 23
fr. 1.18 146
PAPYRI GRAECAE MAGICAE
III.135 297 n. 18
V.370–446 303
V.400–20 294–5
V.400.1–2 300
VI.272 297 n. 18
VI.968 297 n. 18
VI.1599 297 n. 18
VI.2192 297 n. 18
VII.664–85 303
VII.668 297 n. 18
VII.668–80 294–5
VII.962 297 n. 18
Page 21 of 28
Index Locorum
XII.72 297 n. 18
XII.238 297 n. 18
XII.250 297 n. 18
XII.238–44 302 n. 46
XIII.761–73 302 n. 46
XVIIb.1–2311 295–6
XXI.1–9 302 n. 46
PAUSANIAS
1.19.2 227 n. 5
1.24.3 45 n. 48, 227 n. 3, 228
1.38.7 136
2.3.4 227–8 n. 6
2.10.7 227 n. 5
2.19.6 151 n. 36
3.21.8 58
4.245 273
4.33.3 227 n. 3, 227 n. 5
7.22.2 227 n. 5, 227 n. 6, 300 n. 34
7.22.2–3 241
7.27.1 36 n. 13, 227 n. 5, 227 n. 6, 241
8.17.1 273
8.31.6 151 n. 36
8.31.7 227 n. 6, 227 n. 5, 237
8.32.1–2 227 n. 5, 228, 237
8.32–4 237
8.39.6 227 n. 5, 227 n. 6
9.34.3 249 n. 22
10.12.6 227 n. 5
10.13.6–8 57
10.19.3 286
19.13.8 57
PAUSANIAS ATTICUS
Att. onom. syn.
E 71.3 300 n. 38
PERSIUS
2.44–7 194 n. 5
6.62–3 206
PETRONIUS
29.5 194 n. 5
140.12 181 n. 24
PHILISCUS
CPG
VII p. 356 151
(p.367) PHILOCHORUS
FGrHist 328
F 195 329 n. 34
PHILOSTRATUS
Imag.
1.26 145 n. 20
Page 22 of 28
Index Locorum
PHRYNICHUS
fr. (PCG)
61 100, 110 n. 9
PINDAR
Ol.
9.30–43 57
P.
4.178–9 130 n. 40
fr. (S-M)
100 131 n. 41
PLATO
Cra.
407e ff. 299 n. 31
Gorg.
486e 104 n. 35
489c 104 n. 35
Leg.
859a 351 n. 52
Phaedr.
274c–e 299
Phileb.
18b–d 299
Prot.
322c 351 n. 51
322c–e 330 n. 40
Symp.
176c 104 n. 35
177b 319 n. 30
217a 104 n. 35
PLATO COMICUS
fr. (PCG)
188 276 n. 28
204 101–2, 110 n. 9
PLAUTUS
Amph.
1–152 166
32 174 n. 4
54–5 115 n. 22
60–3 114
115–24 110–11
133–5 112 n. 13
142–5 102 n. 26
143 111 n. 12
145 111 n. 12
176–8 111
266–9 111
463–98 115
485 115
507 112 n. 13
Page 23 of 28
Index Locorum
515 112
526 112 n. 13
521 112
867–8 115 n. 23
873–5 112 n. 13
903 112 n. 13
986–7 112
986–1008 112
991–4 112
1005–7 115
1032 112 n. 13
1072 112 n. 13
Asin.
256–7 111 n. 12
Cas.
621–717 112
Mil.
901 117
915 117
919 117
1139 117
Mostell.
1149–51 111 n. 12
Poen.
550–2 115 n. 21
578–720 112
1110 117
Pseud.
562–73a 115 n. 20
568–73a 111 n. 11
720–1 115 n. 21
960–1016 112
Rud.
293 115 n. 21
Stich.
402–5 214
fr.
90 102 n. 26
PLINY
NH
4.12.73 273 n. 14
7.204 160
11.150 182
16.63 133 n. 55
36.33 134 n. 57, 151
PLUTARCH
Alc.
18.6 228 n. 8
(p.368) 20 100
Page 24 of 28
Index Locorum
20.4 228 n. 8
21.2 228 n. 7
21.2–3 228 n. 8
Cim.
7.4 228 n. 8
Conj. Praec.
138c 151 n. 39
De Gar.
502 75
502f3–5 327 n. 22
De Is. et Os.
378b 313
Luc.
3 351 n. 49
Mor.
138c–d 137
Quaest. Conv.
II 10. 642f–644d 82 n. 20
738e 3–5 300 n. 35
738e 7–9 300 n. 35
fr.
325 276 n. 28
POLLUX
Onom.
4.123 100 n. 16
6.100 104 n. 36
10.70 104 n. 36
POLYBIUS
1.29.2 209 n. 1
1.36.10–12 209 n. 1
1.36.11 209 n. 1
3.22.5 209 n. 1
3.22.5–6 209 n. 2
POSIDIPPUS
fr. (PCG)
12 134
PRIAPEA
75.10 273
PROPERTIUS
1.3.14 166 n. 25
1.9.23 166 n. 25
2.2.12–15 136
2.3.52 144 n. 17
PSEUDO-CALLISTHENES
1.45 57
PSEUDO-HERMOGENES
Inv.
3.13 312 n. 10
Prog.
Page 25 of 28
Index Locorum
7.1 311 n. 4
7.11 310 n. 3
7.13 311 n. 5
7.14 310
PSEUDO-PLATO
Hipparch.
228b–29a 44 n. 45
228d–9b 227, 228 n. 8
SATYRUS
AP
10.6 282
SEMONIDES
fr. (W2)
20 37
23 83 n. 32
24 83 n. 32
30 83 n. 32
SEPTUAGINT
Is.
44.6 296 n. 14
SERVIUS
Aen.
1.170 212 n. 16
1.198 212 n. 14
2.797 220 n. 46
3.10 220 n. 46
6.603 182 n. 28
7.790 328 n. 26
SILIUS ITALICUS
8.108–11 216
STATIUS
Theb.
1.306–7 181 n. 23
1.306–8 181 n. 24
3.129 182 n. 29
STRABO
7 fr. 50 284 n. 60
10.2.17 273
10.3.7 284
10.3.22 284
13.1.12 276
STRATTIS
fr. (PCG)
23 104 n. 36, 110 n. 9
SOPHOCLES
Ant.
397 104 n. 35
El.
110 ff. 351 n. 51
Page 26 of 28
Index Locorum
(p.369) Phil.
133 187
fr.
535 351 n. 52
269c.21–2 239 n. 43
TELECLIDES
fr. (PCG)
35 102–3, 110 n. 9
TERENTIANUS MAURUS
810 182 n. 29
TIBULLUS
1.2.21 167 n. 31
1.3.64 166 n. 25
1.6.8 167 n. 31
2.1.80 166 n. 25
THEOCRITUS
AP
15.21.4 131 n. 45
15.21.5–6 131 n. 45
15.21.15 131 n. 41
THEOGNIS
877 82 n. 16
THEOPHRASTUS
Char.
28 134
30.9 104 n. 35
THUCYDIDES
6.27 227 n. 3
6.27.1 45 n. 48, 228 n. 8
6.28.1–2 228 n. 8
6.53.1–2 228 n. 8
6.60.4 228 n. 8
6.61.1 228 n. 8
6.77 351 n. 52
TIMOCLES
fr. (PCG)
14 103
TITINIUS
fr. (Guardi)
115 134
VALERIUS FLACCUS
1.436–40 130 n. 40
VALERIUS MAXIMUS
2.6.8 182
9.3.6 210 n. 4
VERGIL
Aen.
1 177
1.170–3 212
Page 27 of 28
Index Locorum
1.197–204 129
1.297–304 173, 174–8
1.301 215
1.525–6 176 n. 9
1.527–8 176 n. 9
1.657–94 129
1.657–722 178
1.709–19 129
4 177
4.90–128 129, 178
4.219–72 173, 178
4.219–78 178–86
4.238–46 129 n. 31, 129 n. 33
4.259–78 186
4.304–92 187 n. 53
4.376–80 129
4.393–400 215–16
4.433 187–8
4.553–70 173, 186–8
4.563–4 176
4.590–629 176
4.600–6 176
6.748–51 183
6.749 182 n. 27
8.139 273
Geo.
4 165 n. 21
VETTIUS VALENS
8.7.312 297 n. 19
9.16.12 297 n. 19
VITRUVIUS
2.8.11.13–14 151 n. 36
XENOPHANES
fr. (W)
1.1 83 n. 25
2 82–3
ZENOBIUS
5.75 329 n. 34
5.92 313
Page 28 of 28
Index Inscriptionum


Print ISBN-13: 9780198777342
DOI: 10.1093/oso/9780198777342.001.0001
(p.370) Index Inscriptionum

(excluding J. Wallensten’s Appendix)
Alabanda 8 248 n. 20
CIL 12.9 214 n. 22
4.812 205 n. 46
4.9097 204 n. 45
6.283 153 n. 45
10.8342a 153 n. 45
10.884–923 297 n. 15
CIG 3568b 252 n. 40
DAA 163 248 n. 15
295 248 n. 16
EAM 9 248 n. 13, 250 n. 24, 250 n. 30
EG 815 339 n. 9
EKM I, Beroia
24 248 n. 20
Halikarnassos 73 248 n. 15
IByzantion 22 248 n. 15
ICos EV 12 248 n. 15
ICret II xxviii 2 339 n. 9, 341 n. 18
ID 1713 252 n. 40
1714 252 n. 40
1709 252 n. 41
1711 252 n. 41
1804 248 n. 16
1832 248 n. 20, 252 n. 42, 252 n. 43
1833 248 n. 20
1835 248 n. 20, 252 n. 41
1923 252 n. 41
1926 252 n. 41
1927 252 n. 41
1932–5 252 n. 41
Page 1 of 4
Index Inscriptionum
1945 248 n. 15, 252 n. 41

1947 248 n. 13
1948–50 252 n. 41
1951 252 n. 41
1953 252 n. 41
1954 252 n. 41
2135 252 n. 41
2400 251 n. 37
2408 252 n. 42
2599 252 n. 41
IEphesos 1102 260
3137 267
3420 265
IErythrai 509 250 n. 24, 251 n. 34
IEstremOrient 381 246 n. 7
IG I3 77 248 n. 16
I3 840 248 n. 15
I3 986 251 n. 37
II2 1069 253 n. 48
II2 2873 247 n. 13, 248 n. 18, 249 n. 20
II2 3012 248 n. 15
II2 3278 253 n. 50
II2 3786 253 n. 48
II2 3787 253 n. 48
II2 3788 253 n. 48
II2 3789 253 n. 48
II2 3977 249 n. 22
II2 4646 42 n. 40
II2 4651 34 n. 9
II2 4652 31 n. 2
II2 4855 249 n. 21
II2 4994 251 n. 38
V, 1 493 253 n. 49
V, 1 540 253 n. 48
V, 1 598 253 n. 48
V, 1 599 253 n. 48
V, 1 607 253 n. 48
V, 1 658 248 n. 15
VII, 3093 245 n. 2
VIII, 2235 248 n. 15
IX, 2 31 248 n. 15
IX, 2 94 247–8 n. 13, 248 n. 20
(p.371) XI, 4 1143 248 n. 20
XI, 4 1144 248 n. 20, 252 n. 42
XI, 4 1145 248 n. 20
XI, 4 1151–4 252 n. 41
XI, 4 1158 252 n. 41
XII, 2 96 248 n. 15
XII, 2 97 247–8 n. 13
Page 2 of 4
Index Inscriptionum
XII, 3 193 248 n. 15

XII, 3 339 248 n. 13
XII, 5 26 248 n. 20
XII, 5 220 247 n. 13, 249 n. 20, 252 n. 42
XII, 6 2 597 247 n. 13, 249 n. 20, 252 n. 42
XII, 8 51 24 276
XII, 8 68 276
XII, 8 69 276
XII, 8 74 271 n. 1
XII, 8 87a 276
XII, 8 89a–b 276
XII, 8 151 283 n. 53
XII, 8 152 283 n. 53
XII, 8 153 283 n. 53
XII, 8 155 283 n. 53
XII, 8 157 283 n. 53
XII, 8 641 247 n. 13
XII, suppl. 403 252 n. 41
XII, suppl. 440 253 n. 47
XIV, 798a 253 n. 49
XIV, 1389 211 n. 6, 217 n. 35
IGBulg I2 322 248 n. 15
IV 2230 252 n. 42
IGR 3 868 250 n. 24, 250 n. 29
IKnidos 148 350
I 141 252 n. 39
IKosM 466 153 n. 45
ILouvre 13 245 n. 3, 247 n. 13, 249 n. 20
INysa 13 248 n. 15
IPergamon I 243 248–9 n. 20
I 244 248–9 n. 20
IPerge 264 246–7 n. 8
IPriene 179 248 n. 20
180 248 n. 20
183 252 n. 42
IRhegion 66 246 n. 7
IScM I 175 248 n. 20
I 176 248 n. 20
ISinope 170.6–8 320 n. 35
173.5–8 320 n. 35
IStratonikeia 300 250 n. 24
1008 253 n. 50
IThess 69 250 n. 24, 251 n. 34
Lindos II 184 248 n. 17, 252 n. 39
NSER 276 248 n. 18
466 248 n. 13
NSupplEpR 170, 21 248 n. 20
Rhodian Peraia 59 247 n. 13
Salamine 13.44 247 n. 9
Page 3 of 4
Index Inscriptionum
SEG
45–1659 283 n. 55
55–451 274 n. 17
1.466 248 n. 15
13.206.7 320 n. 35
12.168 249 n. 21
17.422 248 n. 20, 252 n. 42, 252 n. 43
17.425 252 n. 43
20.311 247 n. 9
23.450 253 n. 47
26.166 253 n. 48
29.479 247 n. 10, 248 n. 16
29.927–34 348 n. 41
30.908 248 n. 13, 248 n. 14
31.945 253 n. 50
32.252 253 n. 50
33.736 339 n. 9, 340 n. 11
34.1003.2–3 320 n. 35
36.629 249 n. 20
36.974 248 n. 15
37.780 250 n. 24
39.870 247 n. 13, 249 n. 20
(p.372) 39.876 247 n. 13
42.662 248–9 n. 20
44.165 253 n. 50
44.1279 348 n. 41
47.884 246 n. 8
47.1002 248 n. 20
48.159 274 n. 17
52.546 348 n. 39
55.806.1 246 n. 8
55.1341 252 n. 41
57.725 248 n. 20
57.1296 320 n. 35
SGO II 10/06/09 320 n. 35
II 10/06/12 320 n. 35
TvD
355 247 n. 13, 249 n. 20
Page 4 of 4
General Index


Print ISBN-13: 9780198777342
DOI: 10.1093/oso/9780198777342.001.0001
(p.373) General Index

Aea 178, 181, 183
Aeetes 175–7, 176 n.9, 187–8
Aelius Aristides 310 n.3, 312, 317–18 n. 26
Hymn to Dionysus 317 n.26, 319
Aeneas 132, 162–3, 173, 174–88, 210–12, 215–21
Aglauros 132, 150
Ainos 284–7
Alcaeus 58–9, 126, 141 n.3, 142, 145–9
Hymn to Hermes 142, 145, 149
Alexis 103
Thesprotians 103
Amphitryon 107, 110–11, 113, 115–16, 132, 166–7, 214–15
Ananius 84
Antinoos 253
Antoninus Liberalis 142, 150, 327
Aphrodite 24, 72, 123, 142, 150–1, 162, 178, 249, 252–3, 345
Apollo 80–4, 87–8, 123–6, 130–9, 141–53
and Hermes 51–2, 125, 133, 138, 141 n.3, 145, 326, 337, 345–7
Apollonius 174–8, 181, 185, 187, 284
Argonautica 175–8, 181, 185, 284
Archilochus 82, 84, 88, 109 n.8, 113, 327
Ares 24, 60, 67, 123, 133
aretalogy 340, 342–6
Argus/Argos 49, 122, 131–2, 150, 328
Aristarchus 347
Aristophanes 38, 86, 95–100, 107, 109–10, 113–14, 116–17, 239, 272, 312, 320
Acharnians 109, 196
Clouds 99–101
Peace 95–7, 101, 103–4, 107, 110, 110 n.9, 113, 115–17, 239
Wasps 100
Wealth 95–7, 103, 104 n.36, 113, 312, 320
Page 1 of 10
General Index
Artemidoros of Perge 274, 283

Artemis 19, 22, 52, 55, 57, 67, 127, 151, 274
Ascanius 184–6, 218
Atlas 179–80, 183–4
Augustus 149, 153, 159, 163, 196–7
Autolykos 70–1, 130, 137
banquets 21, 82–3, 101, 104, 123–4, 319–20, 327, 329
Battus/Battos 142, 150, 327–8
caduceus 151, 153 n.45, 198, 200–1, 203, 214, 230, 238–9, 241, 285
on herms 238–9
Callimachus/Callimachos/Kallimachos 79, 89, 124, 143–4, 285, 343
Hymn to Artemis 343
Hymn to Delos 142–3
Iambi 79, 285
Calypso 71, 128–9, 177–9, 181, 184–5, 187, 215
Camillus-Hermes 287
Carthage 129 n.30, 173–4, 177–81, 183–4, 187, 209–16
Cato 215
Circe 69–72, 128–9, 181, 215
and Hermes 71
and Odysseus 72
charis 311
cheese-maker 247, 249
Christian fathers 272
clever slave 107, 110–12, 114–17
confession stelai, confession texts 340–3
Coniugalia praecepta 137
Cratinus 113
Crocus 133
Cumae 344
Cupid 129, 134, 136, 141–53, 166
son of Hermes and Aphrodite 151
Cupid–Apollo quarrel 142–53
dais, see also banquets 82–3, 329, 342 n.24
Daktyloi, Idaian 284–5
Damasippus and Mercury 169–71, 194
Daphne 131, 132 n.48, 141, 143–4, 148–50, 153
Dardanus 179
defixiones 348–50
Delphi 52, 54, 57–8, 61, 143, 286–7, 326, 329 n.34
Demodocus 72, 83
despotes 338
Diagoras 272
Dido 129, 173–9, 181–2, 186–8, 215–16
Dionysos Phallen 286
Dionysus 21, 23, 39, 55, 95, 98, 116–17, 135 n.66, 151, 237, 276, 279–80, 310, 312,
316–19
in comedy 95, 98, 107 n.3, 113 nn. 15–16, 114 n.19, 116–17
Dioskouroi 272
Page 2 of 10
General Index
Egypt 122, 245, 284, 293–304, 312–13

cosmogony 297–8
(p.374) Ennius 211
epigrams 250, 283, 339–42
Epimenides 88, 327
epiphany 38–9, 45 n.48, 68–70, 75, 85, 170, 312
Eratosthenes 121
eriounios 339, 340 n.12, 348
eros 124–6, 136, 139
Eros 142, 147, 151, 153, 178, 181, 183, 241 n.52, 282, 298 n.23
erotic context 16–18, 72–3, 81–2, 121–39, 141–53, 159, 170, 183 n.40, 351
erotic curses 351
Eudorus 126–7, 130
Euenios of Apollonia 327
euhemerism 121
euphrosune 82–3
Eupolis 113, 116
Euripides 103, 113, 187
Europa 132, 150, 168 n.32
Faunus 159, 160–1, 166
Feralia 135
figs 309–20
personification of 311
First Punic War 209–16, 220
François Vase 24–7
Frogs 95, 98, 107 n.3, 113 n.15
Galen 133
Great Gods 275–6
Greek Magical Papyri 293–304, 344–5
Greek New Comedy 98, 109
Hades 52, 57, 89, 123, 135, 166, 168, 181 n.24, 347
Hagemon 248
Hekate/Hecate 297 n.19, 300–1, 348
Hellanicus 152
Hellespont 271, 273, 283
Hephaestus 50, 72, 123, 133
Herakles/Heracles/Hercules 21–2, 98, 102 n.26, 110, 113 n.14, 182 n.28, 185, 245, 250,
252
in comedy 98
and Delphic tripod 49–50, 52–62
and Hermes 21–2, 49–62
herm(s) 35–7, 43–5, 98–9, 116, 121, 136, 151, 203, 227–42, 274–5, 277–9, 282, 285, 287
mutilation of 100
of other gods 237, 282
and prayer scenes 231–2
and sacrifice 228–9, 233
in vase painting 227–42
Hermaia 310, 313, 337
hermaion 70, 104, 169 n.33, 325
Page 3 of 10
General Index
Hermaion (temple) 318

hermaios lophos 328
Hermaphrodite/Hermaphroditus 72, 133 n.56, 134–5, 151–2
Hermes, see also Mercury
agonios 248
agoraios/patron of traffic 103, 241, 248, 250
in Aristophanes 96–100, 110, 113–17
and Athens 34, 44–6, 95, 151 n.36, 203 n.44, 227, 241, 276, 300, 337
beardless 14–15
and boundary crossing 325
and bow theft 52, 58–9, 145
as bringer of sleep 181, 181 n.23, 302
as cattle thief 15, 24–58, 70, 80, 124–5, 142, 144–5, 147, 149, 150, 326–7
cave dweller 339–43
chthonios 182 n.28, 246, 340 n.12, 345–8, 350–1
and cloaks 71 n.18, 86, 201, 203
and comedy 95–104, 107, 166
and commerce 248, 283, 325
and cosmic justice 325–32
cult of 22, 32–3 n. 4, 49, 62, 83, 151, 151 n.36, 237, 240, 245, 248, 253, 254 n.52,
275–7, 312, 317
despotes 338, 341, 350–1
diaktoros 326, 328 n. 26
dolios/patron of tricks 103, 187, 240, 241, 340 n.12, 343, 348
and doors 69, 97, 110, 282, 343
dromios 253
eisagogeus 248
and eloquence 319
empolaios/patron of sales 103, 343
enagonios 97, 248, 316, 343
epimelios, see also Hermes, protector of herds 249
epiphany of 68–70
erotic, see also erotic context 72–3, 121–39, 150
euangelos 248
as father of Pan 38, 40, 43, 73, 131, 135, 150, 159, 160, 282
as father of Saos 272
as father of the Silenes or Satyrs 135 n.67
and gluttony 96–7, 124
as go-between 128, 132, 137, 166
as god of comedy 116
god of gymnasion 248–9
guardian of crossroads 35, 122, 300, 328 n.27
(p.375) as guide 34, 42, 68, 97, 210, 216–17, 240, 248, 325, 343
hegemonios, see also Hermes, as guide 248 n.18, 343
as herald 136, 152, 325, 327–9
and power of speech 327–8
herdsman 131, 249, 316, 326–7
in Homer 67–76, 129–31, 137, 181–5, 215–17, 239, 319–20
as hungry 97, 254 n.52, 320
Page 4 of 10
General Index
and iambus 79–89

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

Works and Days 72
Hestia 139
Hipparchos 227–8
Hippolytus (author) 274, 277–8, 282
Hipponax 79, 84–9, 109 n. 8, 327 n.22, 328 n.26, 341 n.18
honey 97, 310–13, 317, 320
Homer 67–76, 104, 127 n.23, 129–30, 137, 164, 173 n.2, 174, 179 n.20, 181, 183, 215,
217, 239, 273, 320, 326–7, 328 n.26
Iliad 67–8, 124, 126–30, 162, 217
Odyssey 37, 67, 69–76, 81, 83, 104, 123, 128–9, 133, 164–5, 177–9, 183, 211, 215,
219, 347
Homeric Hymns 38–9, 50, 58, 60, 69, 79, 83, 143–4, 153, 316
as prooimia 39
and symposium 83
Homeric Hymn 2 (to Demeter) 28, 69, 79, 143, 152–3
Homeric Hymn 3 (to Apollo) 58, 69, 143–4
Homeric Hymn 4 (to Hermes) 15, 24, 27–8, 49–52, 57–9, 61–2, 79–84, 113 n.14, 116 n.
28, 123, 141–2, 144, 146–9, 303, 310, 315, 317, 326, 328–9, 331, 337, 346–7
Athenian provenance 62
and Peisistratids 62
Homeric Hymn 5 (to Aphrodite) 69, 72, 126–7, 153
Homeric Hymn 7 (to Dionysus) 316
Homeric Hymn 18 (to Hermes) 316
Homeric Hymn 19 (to Pan) 3, 34, 37–40, 46
Athenian context of 39–40
Horace 145, 149, 151, 153, 159–71, 194, 217 n.38
Odes 145, 149, 159–71
rescued by Mercury 161, 163
and Sabine estate 169
(p.376) Satires 169–70
as vir Mercurialis 162
Iambe 79
iambographers 84
Iarbas 173, 178–9
Imbramos 275
Imbros 271, 275–6, 283
mysteries of 276–7
inscriptions 26, 32–3, 153, 196–7, 217–18, 245–54, 272, 274–6, 340, 342
Io 132, 150
Iris 23, 173 n.2, 181
Isis hymns 344–5
Italy 179, 184, 194, 216–17
Ithaca 70, 72–3, 175, 177, 179
ithyphallic, see also phallic 35–7, 122, 151 n.37, 201, 204, 245, 274–8, 281–3
Iulus 184
Jason 175 n.6, 177, 185 n.45
Kabeiroi 271, 275–6
Kadmos 18, 18 n.17, 272
Page 6 of 10
General Index
Kleitias 24–8
kleromancy 329
kosmokrator 345
Kyllene (mountain) 272–4, 276, 283
Kyllene (nymph) 273
Kyzikos 284–5
Lala 135
Lamachus 109
Lampsacus 283
Lares 136, 198
laurel 141, 143, 149–50, 153
Lay of Ares and Aphrodite 72, 81, 83
Lemnos 185, 271, 276, 283
Livius Andronicus 211–12
Lucian 117, 274, 319
Symposium 319
Maat 313, 317
Maeonia 88, 340
magical hymn to Hermes 293–304
Maia 13–17, 20–6, 28, 51, 80–1, 85–7, 98, 122–5, 147, 152, 196–7, 303
worship of 22, 196–7
Mandal Panayia 274
Maronea 344
The Marriage of Mercury and Philology 137
Martianus Capella 137–8
mask 108, 114, 277, 280–2, 286
Dionysiac 279
satyr 277, 279
Medea 176–7, 187–8
Melampous 327
Menander 95, 104, 108–9, 117
Arbitrants 104
Grouch 95, 104
Menander Rhetor 343
Mercury, see also Hermes
beardless 200–1
and boundary crossing 107, 173
and commerce 169–71, 193–206, 212, 214
in cult 151, 153 n.45, 195–7
private 197
and Cupid in art 151
and games, see also Hermes, enagonios 26, 97, 117, 214
as god of comedy 107–17
god of eloquence 137, 186
god of gain 167
as god of intertextuality 173–4
in Horace 159–71
and iambus 112
images of 193–206, 217
Page 7 of 10
General Index
on façades 199–200, 202–3, 205

as parasite 110, 112
in Plautus 107, 109–10, 112–17, 132, 166–7, 214
in Pompeii 193–206, 281
rescuing Aeneas 217–21
and rhetoric 174
and ritual 149
and sacrifice 194
and the sea 210, 212, 214–15, 220–1, 271–87
as slave 109–17
and tabernae 193–206
and Venus/Aphrodite 135–7, 142, 151–2, 201
in Vergil 129, 173–88
wife of 137–8
as youth 186, 198, 200–1
metatheater 107–9, 112, 114–15
and low-status characters 107, 109, 112, 115
metis 84
Methymna 284, 286
Minerva 117, 145, 153 n.45, 200
Mnesiepes’ inscription 84
Moira/Moirai 26–7, 328–32
moly 70–1, 129
money bag 197–8, 200–5
Naassene, Gnostic sect 277
Naevius 210–12, 215–17, 219–21
Nero 253
Nestor 310, 319–20
Nicander 142
(p.377) Nike 272
Nonnus 136 n.73, 137–8
Nymphs
and Hermes 31–46, 128, 131, 250–1, 342, 348
in cult 40–2, 44, 46, 342 n.21
and Pan 31–46, 342, 342 n.21, 250
Odysseus 130, 174, 179, 185, 186, 272
and Athena 73, 178
and Hermes 67, 69–76, 128–30, 215
in Phaeacia 75
Ogygia 71, 129 n.30, 129 n.33, 178, 180, 183
oios 247, 338
Orpheus 165, 168
Orphic hymns 151, 299, 344–6, 348
Ovid 130–2, 134–6, 139, 141–53, 328 n.26
Amores 141–53
Fasti 135, 142–5, 149–50
Metamorphoses 14–53, 131–2,
P. Oxy. 17.2084 309–20
and encomium 310–20
Page 8 of 10
General Index
and humor 317–18

and hymns 310–20
hymnal features 312
as parody 317
as rhetorical exercise 310
and the symposium 319
Pan, see Nymphs, and Pan
Pandora 72, 327 n.22
parasite 109–10, 112
Paris 162–3, 240
Peitho 137
Peleus 17, 24, 25 n.38, 181
Penates 197
pergraecari 108
Persephone 79, 123, 182 n.28, 183, 348–50
Persius 194, 206
petasos 23–4, 200–1, 203, 237 n.30
Phaeacians 73–5, 175, 177, 179
phallic, see also ithyphallic 35, 43, 116, 122, 203–5, 232, 274, 277, 283, 326, 328
Pharae 241
Philippi 162–3, 169–70
Philology 138
Phrixus 175–6
Phrynichus 100–3, 110 n.9
Pindar 57, 130 n.40, 163, 312
Plato Comicus 101, 102 n.26, 103
Plautus 102 n.26, 107–17, 132, 166–7, 214
Plutarch 100–1, 137, 300, 313
polymechanos 72
polyonumos 343–4
polytropos 67–71, 84
polyumnos 343–4
pompimos, see also Hermes, as guide 272
Praxidikai 349–50
Priam 68–70, 102, 173 n.2, 181 n.21, 187–8
Priapus 122, 135 n.66, 135 n.67, 278, 281–3, 285, 287
and the sea 282–3
Prometheus 82 n.18, 113 n.14, 165–6
Pseudolus 111, 115–16
Psiax 14
Psyche 136–7
psychostasia 87
Ptolemies 281
Roman Comedy 109, 116, 166
Salaminoi Decree 22
Salmacis 134–5, 152
Samothrace 271–5, 277, 282, 283–7
mysteries of 271, 282
Saos Mountain, in Samothrace 273–4
Page 9 of 10
General Index
Semnai Theai 331

Semonides 84
Siphnian Treasury 52–8
Sophilos 25, 27
Sophocles 103
Stock Characters 108–9, 114
Strabo 276, 284
Strattis 104, 110 n.9
Suda 151 n. 36, 151 n.40, 227 n. 5, 241 n.52, 329 n. 34
Symposium (of Plato) 319
sympotic context 79 n.3, 80–1, 319
Syrinx (nymph) 131–2, 150
Tabulae Iliacae 217
Tabula Iliaca Capitolina 217–18
Talleian cave 341–2
Telemachus 177
ter unus 338
Terence 109
tetragonos 227, 241, 300–1
tetradistai 83
Theoi Megaloi 271
Thetis 24, 25 n.38, 26, 177 n.11, 181
Thriai 329 n. 34, 347
Thoth 122, 297–303, 312–13, 317, 320
as creator 302
god of justice 301
and Hermes 122, 297–303, 312–13, 317, 320
inventor of writing 299
tragicomedy 114
Twelve Gods 61 n.29, 82
Altar of
in Athens 62
founded by Herakles 62
in Olympia 62
tyrannos 344
(p.378) Vari Cave 31–5
Venus 129, 134–7, 142, 145, 150–3, 173, 177–9, 185, 201
Vergil 129, 141, 165, 173–88, 212–16, 273
Aeneid 129, 173–88, 212–21
Georgics 165
Villa dei Misteri 281
votives 31–46, 245–54, 282, 283
and women 249–51
Xenophanes 82, 100
Zaleukos 327
Page 10 of 10

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Tracking Hermes, Pursuing Mercury

Print publication date: 2019

(p.i) Tracking Hermes, Pursuing Mercury (p.ii)

(p.iii) Tracking Hermes, Pursuing Mercury

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Published in the United States of America by Oxford University Press

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Library of Congress Control Number: 2018957369

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Links to third party websites are provided by Oxford in good faith

Tracking Hermes, Pursuing Mercury

Print publication date: 2019

After discussing the project of a collaborative interdisciplinary approach to

John F. Miller, Jenny Strauss Clay (p.vi)

Tracking Hermes, Pursuing Mercury

Print publication date: 2019

(p.xi) List of Figures

Source: DAI. Photographer: Hermann Wagner. DAI-Neg.-No.: D-DAI-ATH-

17.2. Samothracian herm, published by Fernand Chapouthier, Les

Tracking Hermes, Pursuing Mercury

Print publication date: 2019

(p.xv) List of Abbreviations

Advanced Study, Princeton. 1991. Packard Humanities Institute CD

Bollettino del comitato per la preparazione dell’edizione nazionale dei

Epigraphica Anatolica: Zeitschrift für Epigraphik und historische

Loukopoulou, L., M. Gabriella Parissaki, S. Psoma, and A.Zournatzi.

Corsten, T. 1991–3. Die Inschriften von Prusa ad Olympum. 2 vols.

Leitz, C., ed. Lexikon der ägyptischen Götter und

Jordan, D. “New Greek Curse Tablets (1985–2000),” GRBS 41 (2000)

Pauly-Wissowa, Real-Encyclopädie der Classischen

Seminari romani di cultura greca

Tracking Hermes, Pursuing Mercury

Print publication date: 2019

(p.xxiii) List of Contributors

Simone Beta, Associate Professor of Classical Philology at the

John F. Miller, Arthur F. and Marian W. Stocker Professor of Classics

Tracking Hermes, Pursuing Mercury

Print publication date: 2019

Abstract and Keywords

Keywords: Hermes, Mercury, Homeric Hymn, thief, child

The present volume grew out of a conference, “Tracking Hermes/Mercury,” held

Here we preview the volume by pinpointing some important aspects of Hermes

καὶ τότ’ ἐγείνατο παῖδα πολύτροπον, αἱμυλομήτην,

And then she bore a child, polytropic, with deceptive cunning,

Hermes as the father of Pan is examined by Carolyn Laferrière in the context of

In the following contribution, Erin K. Moodie extends the discussion of comedy

personal protector—indeed, as the divinity who saved him at the Battle of

The second paper in Part V (Mediator), by Sergio Casali, explores Mercury’s

The representations of Mercury were heavily Hellenized in all spheres of Roman

Thomas Biggs considers Mercury’s expanding roles beyond commerce in the

Jenny Wallensten’s “Hermes as Visible in Votive Inscriptions” surveys the

dedications by women, although there are traces of Hermes’ connection to

Athanassios Vergados’ piece on “Hermes and the Figs” takes on a parodic

In a wide-ranging discussion, Henk Versnel’s “Great Hermes” traces Hermes’