2012 The So-Called Orphic Gold Tablets I PDF

BORIS KAYACHEV
T HE S O -C ALLED O RPHIC G OLD T ABLETS IN A NCIENT P OETRY AND P OETICS
aus: Zeitschrift für Papyrologie und Epigraphik 180 (2012) 17–37
© Dr. Rudolf Habelt GmbH, Bonn

17
TH E S O -C A LLED O R PH IC G OLD TA BLETS IN A NCI EN T P OET RY AND P OET ICS *
Surprisingly little has been said about the possible connection between the famous Virgilian Golden
Bough1, which is a kind of talisman that opens for Aeneas the way to the underworld, and the so-called
Orphic gold tablets2 found in a number of graves in different places throughout the Greek world, which are
likewise Totenpässe intended to help holders on their afterlife journey. That little is what Eduard Norden
wrote about a century ago in his fundamental commentary on Aeneid 6: “In diesem Zusammenhang ist
auch <…> der bekannten Goldblättchen zu gedenken, die in Unteritalien den in die Mysterien Eingeweih-
ten ins Grab mitgegeben wurden. Solche πέταλα χρυσᾶ oder λεπίδες χρυσαῖ begegnen auch im Zauber
<…>; mit diesen Ausdrücken hat der vergilische 209 crepitabat b ra t tea (= λεπίς) auffällige Ähnlichkeit
(vgl. 144 frondescit virga m eta llo).”3 However, in what nowadays is the standard commentary on Aeneid
6 for the English-speaking audience, Roland Austin, without even mentioning the gold tablets, merely states
that “the Bough remains an enigma”4. In the same vein, four contemporary scholars, writing specifically
on the (speaking broadly) mystical background of Aeneid 6, take no notice of the similarities between the
Golden Bough and the gold tablets, despite the fact that in their analysis they make use of texts written
on some of the tablets5. On the other hand, an ingenious alternative explanation of the Golden Bough has
been proposed, namely that the Bough is a reference to the χρύσειον ἀεὶ θείοιο Πλάτωνος | κλῶνα of
Meleager’s introductory epigram (AP 4.1.47f.), intended to signal the importance of Plato’s writings for the
interpretation of the Virgilian underworld6. Likewise, in studies focusing on the gold tablets themselves,
beginning with that by Günther Zuntz, no mention of the Golden Bough is ever made, although other Vir-
gilian contexts are occasionally cited7.
Certainly more facts about the gold tablets are available now than at the beginning of the twentieth
century, so that one hardly needs a justification for re-examining Norden’s scarce dossier; but before we
begin, a warning is necessary. The gold tablets are not a uniform and consolidated phenomenon8: on the
contrary, such tablets have been found in places as far apart as Southern Italy, mainland Greece, and Crete
(and possibly Ionia), they date from different periods from the fourth (or even fifth) century B.C. to the
second (or third) century A.D., and they vary significantly in both their shape and inscribed content. Thus,
when comparing these tablets with the Golden Bough, we should ideally confine ourselves to one specific
tradition that would appear, on considerations of geography and chronology, most relevant to Virgil. How-
ever, since our evidence for any individual tradition is still very fragmentary (to say the least), we are bound
to adopt an eclectic approach and to point out parallels wherever we can find them.
* I am grateful to Prof. Robert Maltby and Prof. Jürgen Hammerstaedt for their valuable suggestions and criticism. I am
also greatly indebted to Mr. Richard Davies for his generous help with my English.
1 The literature on the Golden Bough is enormous; for a recent treatment, with further bibliography, see Pârvulescu
(2005).
2 Several editions and monograph-length studies, often under the same cover, of the gold tablets have appeared recently;
to cite just some of them: Pugliese Carratelli (2003), Edmonds (2004), Graf and Johnston (2007), Bernabé and Jiménez San
Cristóbal (2008). An important collection of essays, also including an edition of the tablets, was published last year: Edmonds
(2011). As individual studies are numberless, for further bibliography one should consult the books cited above.
3 Norden (1926: 172).
4 Austin (1977: 83).
5 Molyvati-Toptsis (1994), Weber (1995), Torjussen (2008), Bremmer (2009) and (2011).
6 First suggested by Michels (1945), later resumed by West (1987), and subsequently developed by Weber (1995).
7 Zuntz (1971). Cf. also e.g. Pugliese Carratelli (2003), Edmonds (2004), Graf and Johnston (2007), Bernabé and Jiménez
San Cristóbal (2008).
8 The most up-to-date collection of the gold tablets is perhaps that by Edmonds in Edmonds (2011: 16–50). I find, however,
Graf and Johnston (2007: 1–49) more useful in some respects. In the former tablets are arranged according to their type, in the
latter according to the place they were found.
18 B. Kayachev
First of all, the question must be asked whether Virgil could be aware of the gold tablets at all. This
seems likely, though impossible to prove decisively. As already pointed out, a number of tablets come from
Southern Italy (and Sicily), and although they all date from about the fourth century B.C., one similar tablet,
dating from the second or third century A.D., has been found in Rome, which strongly suggests that the
tradition continued uninterrupted in Virgil’s time as well9.
The most obvious and fundamental point of contact concerning the physical appearance of the Golden
Bough and the gold tablets is that, as already seen by Norden, both the leaves of the Bough and the tablets
are made of gold foil. To this we should add that a number of tablets are actually leaf-shaped: in some cases
their precise shape is not reported, two are in the shape of an ivy-leaf10, but the majority, in cases when the
type of leaf is made explicit, can be described as myrtle-leaf shaped11. Remarkably, Virgil compares the
Golden Bough to a mistletoe, and a mistletoe-leaf happens to be more or less like a myrtle-leaf; the problem
is, however, that none of the leaf-shaped tablets has been found in Italy.
There are basically two types of gold tablets: those inscribed with a longer, generally metrical, text,
which are normally of a rectangular shape; and those briefly inscribed with either the name of the deceased,
a profession of his status as an initiate, or a greeting to Persephone and/or Pluto (sometimes the first ele-
ment is combined with either of the two latter), which often are of a leaf-shape. In most cases only tablets
of one type have been found in the same place, which makes it look almost as if these two types of tablets
represented two different and unrelated traditions. However, in Crete tablets of both types have been found
in close proximity12, so that at least they are not necessarily mutually exclusive. Thus, it may not be impos-
sible that leaf-shaped tablets were known in Italy as well.
In addition to the obvious physical resemblance between the Golden Bough and the leaf-shaped gold
tablets, they also perform analogous functions. The Sibyl speaks of the Bough as a ritual offering to Perse-
phone that grants access to the underworld (Aen. 6.142f.): hoc sibi pulchra suum ferri Proserpina munus |
instituit. In a similar manner, some of the tablets of the ‘shorter’ type have inscriptions which present them
as either a ‘letter’ or an offering to Persephone (and/or Pluto)13. Perhaps the most telling parallel is provided
by the much-discussed Posidippus tablet – which actually happens to be of a myrtle-leaf shape: Φερσεφόνηι
Ποσείδιππος μύστης εὐσεβής14. What is Posidippus implied to be doing to, or for, Persephone? One option
is to supplement χαίρειν (with the implied κελεύει), as in three of the five similar tablets, which would
make it sound almost as the standard greeting formula used in letters15. We should note, however, that,
whereas in letters the sender is normally named before the addressee (much as in the two analogous tablets
from Macedonia, see the preceding note), in the Posidippus tablet Persephone, the receiver, is named first,
which seems to be more natural for dedicatory texts. Thus, alternatively, we may rather take the inscription
to announce that Posidippus offers to Persephone the gold leaf itself. Whichever is the right interpretation,
in either case Persephone receives the gold leaf, whether it be as a ‘letter’ or an offering, and in this respect
the parallel with the Golden Bough is, I think, undeniable.
But what is the purpose of offering to Persephone either the Golden Bough or a gold leaf? At first
sight, the reason why Aeneas needs the Bough seems plain: as the Sibyl tells him, no-one is allowed to
9 These are tablets 1 to 9 in Graf and Johnston (2007: 4–19).
10 Tablets 26 a and b in Graf and Johnston (2007: 36).
11 Their shape is variously indicated by editors as that of an almond, a laurel-leaf, or a myrtle-leaf, but as has been argued
by Dickie (1995: 86), it is “a myrtle-leaf not a laurel-leaf [or almond] that we would expect initiates going on their journey to
the Underworld to have with them” and that, therefore, all of these tablets are most probably meant to represent; cf. Tzifopoulos
(2011: 169f.).
12 For example, tablet 15, which is of the ‘shorter’ type, comes from the same cemetery in Eleuthera, and dates from the
same period, as 10–12, which are of the ‘longer’ type; see Graf and Johnston (2007: 24).
13 The five relevant tablets are brought together in Edmonds (2011: 39 and 46).
14 Tablet 31 in Graf and Johnston (2007: 42).
15 These are the three tablets with the χαίρειν formula: [Πλού]τωνι καὶ Φ[ερσ]οπόνει χαίρεν (Crete), Φιλίστη Φερσεφόνηι
χαίρειν (Macedonia), and Φιλωτήρα τῶι ∆εσπ⟨ό⟩τε⟨ι⟩{α} χέρε⟨ν⟩ ἐ{ι}μω⟨ι⟩ (?) (Macedonia). The first two are tablets 15 and 37
in Graf and Johnston (2007: 14), the last is tablet E6 in Edmonds (2011: 39).
The So-Called Orphic Gold Tablets in Ancient Poetry and Poetics 19
go down into the underworld without it (Aen. 6.140f.). The tablets with shorter inscriptions do not provide
enough evidence for their precise function, but if we use the information supplied by the longer texts, the
picture becomes clear enough. On two similar tablets from Thurii we see the deceased announce: νῦν
δ’ ἱκέτις ἥκω παραὶ ἁγνὴν Φερσεφόνειαν, | ὥς με πρόφρων πέμψηι ἕδρας ἐς εὐαγέων16. Bearing in
mind that several tablets of the ‘shorter’ type also explicitly identify the deceased as an initiate, we can
thus draw the conclusion that their purpose is to open the way not to the underworld in general, but rather
to a specific, and better, place allotted to those who were initiated into the mysteries. In other tablets we
find the same idea expressed in a number of similar ways: 1) δεξιὰν ὁδοιπόρει | λειμῶνάς θ’ ἱεροὺς
καὶ ἄλσεα Φερσεφονείας (Thurii); 2) καὶ δὴ καὶ σὺ πιὼν ὁδὸν ἔρχεαι, ἅν τε καὶ ἄλλοι | μύσται καὶ
βάχχοι ἱερὰν στείχουσι κλεεινοί (Hipponion); 3) κἀπιμένει σ’ ὑπὸ γῆν τέλεα ἅσσαπερ ὄλβιοι ἄλλοι
(Pelinna); 4) πέμπε με πρὸς μυστῶν θιάσους· ἔχω ὄργια … (Pherae); 5) εἴσιθι ἱερὸν λειμῶνα· ἄποινος
γὰρ ὁ μύστης (Pherae)17. Thus, the function of the gold tablets would appear significantly different from
that of the Golden Bough. Indeed, the first task the Bough is employed for is to persuade Charon to carry
Aeneas and the Sibyl over Styx (Aen. 6.406–410), in other words, it seems to grant access to the under-
world in general and not to a particular part of it. However, we see the Bough once again when, after a long
journey through various regions of the underworld, it is eventually delivered to Persephone’s palace (Aen.
6.628–636). It is hardly by chance, although the connection is not made explicitly, that only after this do
Aeneas and the Sibyl proceed to Elysium (6.637–639): his demum exactis, perfecto munere diuae, | deue-
nere locos laetos et amoena uirecta | fortunatorum nemorum sedesque beatas. Many similarities between
Virgil’s description of Elysium (where the first person to be mentioned is none other than Orpheus18)
and the picture given by the gold tablets have been pointed out by others19, but, surprisingly, it has so far
escaped notice that the Bough and the tablets play virtually the same role as they open the way to either
sedes beatas or ἕδρας εὐαγέων20.
The tablets of the ‘longer’ type feature a variety of different texts, but among them two groups are espe-
cially prominent. One group comprises tablets speaking of Persephone as the queen of the underworld who
determines the posthumous fate of the dead21; it is mainly from these tablets that we took the above-cited
references to the happy abodes allotted to the initiated. The other group consists of tablets which describe
the encounter of the deceased with the guardians of the spring of Mnemosyne22. I would suggest that, much
as the delivery of the Golden Bough by Aeneas to Persephone’s palace parallels the appeal by the deceased
to Persephone implied in the tablets of the first group, Aeneas and the Sibyl’s encounter with Charon may
be alluding to the narrative told in the tablets of the second group.
Let us list individual parallels. Aeneas and the Sibyl enter the palace of Dis (Aen. 6.269 domos Ditis);
the deceased approaches the palace of Hades (4 Ἀίδαο δόμων). In the forecourt of Dis’ palace Aeneas
sees a huge dark elm-tree (283 ulmus opaca); near Hades’ palace a white cypress grows (5 λευκὴν …
κυπάρισσον). Aeneas and the Sibyl approach the river of Styx (384 fluuioque propinquant); by contrast,
the deceased is told not to come near to the first spring (7 ταύτης τῆς κρήνης μηδὲ σχεδὸν ἐμπελάσῃσθα).
Both these places are described as the gathering place of the souls of the dead (305 huc omnis turba ad
ripas effusa ruebat and 390 umbrarum hic locus est, cf. 6 ἔνθα κατερχόμεναι ψυχαὶ νεκύων ψύχονται).
Styx is guarded by Charon (298 portitor has horrendus aquas et flumina seruat); there are guardians at the
spring of Mnemosyne (9 φύλακες δ’ ἐπύπερθεν ἔασιν). Both Aeneas and the deceased are asked by either
Charon or the guardians what they have come for (389 fare age, quid uenias, cf. 12 ὅτι χρέος εἰσαφικάνεις).
16 Tablets 6 and 7 in Graf and Johnston (2007: 14).
17 Tablets 3, 1, 26a, 28 and 27 in Graf and Johnston (2007).
18 Cf. Austin (1977: 202f.).
19 See e.g. Molyvati-Toptsis (1994: 38 and 44f.), Pârvulescu (2005: 905f.), Torjussen (2008: 76f.), Bremmer (2009: 200).
20 Pârvulescu (2005: 905f.) comes closest to my conclusion when he observes that both Aeneas and the initiate act in the
manner of a suppliant.
21 These are mainly the tablets of A series, as they are conventionally labelled since Zuntz (1971).
22 B series in Zuntz (1971) and thereafter. For a synoptic text see below.
20 B. Kayachev
Their ends are, of course, quite different, but they both manage to dispose towards themselves their ‘hosts’
(407, cf. 18): the latter, because he knows the right answer, written on the gold tablet for him to remember;
the former, because he (or rather the Sibyl for him) can produce the Golden Bough.
If, as has been recently argued by Christoph Riedweg, the various metrical texts inscribed on the gold
tablets come originally from a single poem with a coherent narrative23, Aeneas’ catabasis would thus par-
allel the story told in this hypothetical poem not only in some individual situations and motifs, but also
in terms of general structure, whereas the role played by the Golden Bough would be comparable to the
function performed de facto by the gold tablets, whether or not the use of the tablets was referred to in, and
thus sanctioned by, the poem itself.
To be sure, all the collected parallels are suggestive at best and, on their own, cannot prove beyond
reasonable doubt that in Aeneid 6 Virgil does indeed refer either to the gold tablets as physical objects, or to
the poem preserved on these tablets as an independent literary text, or to both the tablets and the poem as
connected phenomena (that is, as we know them). Obviously, the problem largely depends on whether the
gold tablets and/or the poem were widespread enough, firstly, for Virgil to know about them and, secondly,
for Virgil’s audience to expect and recognise allusions to them. It seems easy to give a negative answer,
since “no author contemporary with the gold tablets seems to mention them, even though they range in date
from the fifth century BCE to the third century CE”24. However, although indeed no explicit reference to
the gold tablets exists, it has been convincingly argued that Posidippus’ appeal to the Muses to write down
in golden columns what they have heard from either Apollo or Bacchus (SH 705.6 γραψάμεναι δέλτων ἐν
χρυσέαις σελίσιν) is an allusion to the gold tablets of the same kind as known to us25. I would tentatively
suggest that Meleager’s ‘golden branch of Plato’, which is sometimes believed to be the prototype of the
Virgilian Golden Bough, may likewise be an allusion to the gold tablets, specifically hinting at the affin-
ity of Plato’s eschatological myths with the ideas expressed in the tablets26. In addition to these (arguable)
references to the gold tablets as physical objects, possible echoes of the vocabulary and ideas featured by
the tablets have also been pointed out in a whole range of poetic texts of different types and periods, from
Parmenides and Empedocles to late antique funerary epigrams27.
This is not the place to re-examine all these parallels, which anyway are mostly too general to indicate
unambiguously a direct textual relationship rather than a common conceptual background. Instead, I shall
suggest a few further possible allusions to the texts of the gold tablets. They will be, however, of a differ-
ent and somewhat unexpected kind, with points of contact primarily found not on the level of specifically
‘Orphic’ concepts (as in most earlier examples), but on that of narrative (as, at least in part, in the case of
Aeneas’ catabasis28). To be more precise, I shall compare the narrative of the B series tablets with a number
of passages from Theocritus, Apollonius, Callimachus, Virgil, Propertius, and Ovid. I must, however, warn
from the outset that the parallels I shall be drawing are probably not close enough to convince a sceptic and
their validity largely depends on what currency as a literary text one is ready to assign to the (hypotheti-
cal) poem of which fragments have been preserved on the gold tablets. If this poem was a fact not only
religious, but also literary, the parallels are most likely to be deliberate literary allusions, potentially with
far-reaching implications for the meaning of the texts they are inserted into. In what follows I shall adopt
this maximalist position and speak of parallels with the texts of the gold tablets as allusions without further
qualifications.
23 Riedweg (2011: 245–256), developing an observation made by Zuntz (1971: 383f.). In what follows, for convenience’s
sake, I shall be speaking of metrical texts from the tablets as deriving from a single poem.
24 Edmonds (2004: 31).
25 See Dickie (1998: 65–76); cf. Dickie (1995), Rossi (1996), Clay (2004: 84f.), Dignas (2004).
26 See especially the comparative study by Edmonds (2004).
27 Feyerabend (1984), Sassi (1988), Riedweg (1995), Dickie (1998), Clay (2004: 176 n. 203).
28 Another notable exception is an epigram by Leonidas (AP 16.230) whose narrative situation, as has been tentatively
suggested by Bernabé and Jiménez San Cristóbal (2008: 35), is modelled on that of the tablets of B series.
The tablets of B series allow us to stitch together about twenty lines of uninterrupted narrative, which
thus constitute the longest continuous fragment we have of the (hypothetical) poem. It will be useful to have
the text of the whole passage before our eyes, and of several reconstructions that have been attempted so
far29, I suggest that we take the least conservative one, that by Richard Janko, as our starting-point, while,
when relevant, also adducing the actual wording of individual tablets:
Μνημοσύνης τόδε (?)θρῖον· ἐπεὶ ἂν μέλλῃσι θανεῖσθαι
[ ] τόδε γρα[ψάτω
[ ] . . . . . . . . . . σκότος ἀμφικαλύψας.
εὑρήσεις δ’ Ἀίδαο δόμων ἐπὶ δεξιὰ κρήνην,
πὰρ δ’ αὐτῇ λευκὴν ἑστηκυῖαν κυπάρισσον, 5
ἔνθα κατερχόμεναι ψυχαὶ νεκύων ψύχονται.
ταύτης τῆς κρήνης μηδὲ σχεδὸν ἐμπελάσῃσθα.
πρόσθεν δ’ εὑρήσεις τῆς Μνημοσύνης ἀπὸ λίμνης
ψυχρὸν ὕδωρ προρέον· φύλακες δ’ ἐπύπερθεν ἔασιν.
οἱ δέ σε εἰρήσονται ἐνὶ φρεσὶ πευκαλίμῃσιν 10
ὅττι δὴ ἐξερέεις Ἄϊδος σκότος †οὐλοέεντος30.
/οἱ δέ σε εἰρήσονται ὅτι χρέος εἰσαφικάνεις./31
τοῖς δὲ σὺ εὖ μάλα πᾶσαν ἀληθείην καταλέξαι·
εἰπεῖν· ‘Γῆς παῖς εἰμι καὶ Οὐρανοῦ ἀστερόεντος·
αὐτὰρ ἐμοὶ γένος οὐράνιον· τὸ δὲ ἴστε καὶ αὐτοί. 15
δίψῃ δ’ εἰμ’ αὖος καὶ ἀπόλλυμαι· ἀλλὰ δότ’ ὦκα
ψυχρὸν ὕδωρ προρέον τῆς Μνημοσύνης ἀπὸ λίμνης.’
καὶ δὴ τοί σ’ ἐλεοῦσιν ὑποχθόνιοι βασιλῆες.
καὐτοί σοι δώσουσι πιεῖν θείης ἀπὸ κρήνης,
καὶ δὴ καὶ σὺ πιὼν ὁδὸν ἔρχεαι, ἥν τε καὶ ἄλλοι 20
μύσται καὶ βάκχοι ἱερὴν στείχουσι κλεεινοί.
καὶ τότ’ ἔπειτ’ ἄλλοισι μεθ’ ἡρώεσσιν ἀνάξεις.
Let us first consider a parallel in Theocritus. One point of resemblance was already noted by Zuntz, and
so we may start by quoting his comment on the mysterious λευκὴ κυπάρισσος mentioned in the tablets:
“This ‘white cypress’ indeed has never ceased puzzling students; for the cypress is not white <…>. Greeks
reading these words of the Gold Leaves are therefore likely to have recalled, rather, the cypresses in Kalyp-
so’s garden [n. 3: Od. 5. 64] and at the cave of the enamoured Cyclops [n. 4: Theocr. xi. 45]; add that the
cypress grows, according to two passages in Theocritus, at springs [n. 5: Theocr. xxii. 41 (with λεῦκαι and
πλάτανοι, by ἀέναος κρήνη) and Epigr. iv. 7. A. S. F. Gow <…> confirms the poet’s description by a quo-
tation from the Geoponica but subsequently calls Theophrastus to witness that it is ‘not very appropriate’,
since ‘the tree dislikes moisture’. Even so, the Gold Leaves and Theocritus confirm each other].”32 Now,
the Theocritean context we are interested in (22.41) is modelled on the only context in Homer mentioning
a cypress (Od. 5.64), as is pointed out by Alexander Sens: “The line preserves a slight botanical inconcin-
nity already found in Homer: both the λεύκη and πλάτανος are appropriate near a stream, since they
grow in wet, marshy ground <…>, but the cypress demands dry soil <…>; likewise, at ε 64, the two trees
29 Janko (1984: 99), Ferrari (2008: 25), Riedweg (2011: 248).

30 More recent collations of the Hipponion tablet, as well as the discovery of a new tablet (from Entella: tablet 8 in Graf
and Johnston [2007: 16]), have now apparently established that ὀρφνήεντος can be reconstructed here more securely than
Janko (1984: 95) thought; see the apparatus in Bernabé and Jiménez San Cristóbal (2008: 247).
31 Line 12 is generally thought to be a contracted variant of 10–11. I would rather suggest that 12 represents the original
form of 10, so that the passage should be reconstructed as follows: οἱ δέ σε εἰρήσονται ὅτι χρέος εἰσαφικάνεις, | ὅττι δὴ
ἐξερέεις Ἄϊδος σκότος ὀρφνήεντος.
32 Zuntz (1971: 373).
22 B. Kayachev
mentioned before the cypress, the κλήθρη and the αἴγειρος, appropriately favor wet soils.”33 The Homeric
allusion in Theocritus is beyond doubt, so that at first sight it might appear that the parallel with the cypress
of the gold tablets is nothing but a coincidence. There exist, however, further points of contact, which are
specific to Theocritus and the gold tablets. To begin with, in place of the Homeric κλήθρη, the Theocritean
landscape features λεῦκαι (mentioned in the same line as κυπάρισσοι), which are obviously reminiscent
of the curious epithet λευκή that defines κυπάρισσος in the tablets. Also, whereas in Homer the landscape
is described throughout in a static mode (note especially Od. 5.70 κρῆναι δ’ ἑξείης πίσυρες ῥέον ὕδατι
λευκῷ), in Theocritus the reader follows the progress of the Dioscuri as they find a spring (22.37 εὗρον δ’
ἀέναον κρήνην), much in the same way as the deceased is instructed in the tablets that he will find a spring
(4 εὑρήσεις δ’ Ἀίδαο δόμων ἐπὶ δεξιὰ κρήνην, cf. also 8f.). Remarkably, in some of the shorter tablets of B
series the spring is likewise described as either αἰέναος or αἰείροος34, in contrast to Homer. Furthermore,
at the spring Castor and Pollux meet Amycus, much as the deceased meets the guardians. However, unlike
the tablets where the guardians address the deceased and ask what he has come for (12 οἱ δέ σε εἰρήσονται
ὅτι χρέος εἰσαφικάνεις and 11 ὅττι δὴ ἐξερέεις Ἄϊδος σκότος ὀρφνήεντος) and, in the shorter version,
who he is (τίς δ’ ἐσσί; πῶ δ’ ἐσσί;)35, in Theocritus it is Pollux who asks Amycus whose place it is they
have come to (54 χαῖρε, ξεῖν’, ὅτις ἐσσί. τίνες βροτοί, ὧν ὅδε χῶρος;). The conversation is not going on
very smoothly, when at last, and rather unexpectedly, Pollux asks Amycus if he would not even give him
water to drink (62 οὐδ’ ἂν τοῦδε πιεῖν ὕδατος σύγε δοίης;), much in the same way as the deceased asks
water from the guardians (16f. ἀλλὰ δότ’ ὦκα | ψυχρὸν ὕδωρ προρέον [the Hipponion tablet has πιέναι]
τῆς Μνημοσύνης ἀπὸ λίμνης), who, in contrast to Amycus, willingly give him to drink (19 καὐτοί σοι
δώσουσι πιεῖν θείης ἀπὸ κρήνης). Amycus rudely replies to Pollux that, if he is really thirsty, he will
learn that soon (63 γνώσεαι, εἴ σευ δίψος ἀνειμένα χείλεα τέρσει), and this reply cannot but remind of
the claim made by the deceased that he is dying from thirst (16 δίψῃ δ’ εἰμ’ αὖος καὶ ἀπόλλυμαι: note the
emphasis on the ‘dryness’ caused by thirst in both contexts, δίψος … τέρσει and δίψῃ … αὖος). Amycus
invites Pollux to a boxing match, in which the latter obviously wins, but we do not hear of water again.
What shall we make of these parallels – perhaps not unexplainable in some other way, but certainly
striking? What is the thematic connection, if any, that would make an allusion to the narrative of the gold
tablets meaningful? Let us consider the wider context of Theocritus’ Dioscuri. The poem is a hymn in
honour of Castor and Pollux that celebrates them, first of all, as saviours of those who are within a hair’s
breadth of death (6 ἀνθρώπων σωτῆρας ἐπὶ ξυροῦ ἤδη ἐόντων). Their first prerogative is to save ships in
storms (8–22), when the sailors have already lost all hope (18 ὀιομένοις θανέεσθαι, cf. 1 ἐπεὶ ἂν μέλλῃσι
θανεῖσθαι in the tablets). Thus, I would suggest that the first narrative of the hymn, that of Pollux’ fight
with Amycus, provides an implicit aetiological explanation of the Dioscuri’s status as saviours. On the one
hand, Theocritus clearly draws a parallel between the Argo which brings them to Bebrycia and the ship
suffering wreck (note the chiastic echo: 12f. τοίχους | ἀμφοτέρους, of the latter, and 30f. ἀμφοτέρων ἔξ |
τοίχων, of the former)36. On the other, he casts their visit to the land of the Bebrycians as in a sense a cata-
basis: it is no doubt significant that, in contrast to Apollonius’ version37, in Theocritus the Argo comes to
Bebrycia straight after the passage through the Clashing Rocks which are often thought of as the gates to
the underworld38. Remarkably, it has been suggested that the scene of the Argonauts’ debarkation on the
Bebrycian shore (29–37) is imitated in Virgil’s account of the Trojans’ arrival at Cumae at the beginning
33 Sens (1997: 109).

34 Tablets 10–14, 16, 18 and 29 in Graf and Johnston (2007).
35 The same tablets as listed in the preceding note.
36 Sens (1997: 28f. and 82) has also suggested that Theocritus’ storm narrative owes certain details to the account of the
Argo’s passage through the Clashing Rocks in Apollonius.
37 In Apollonius the Argonauts’ visit to Bebrycia takes place before the Clashing Rocks. If, as is argued by Sens (1997:
24–33), the Argonautica predates the Dioscuri, this would be a telling alteration. Cf. also the preceding footnote.
38 Nelis (2001: 228–244), cf. Knight (1995: 44).
of Aeneid 6 (2–8)39, so that perhaps a connection can be made between Pollux’ adventures in Bebrycia and
Aeneas’ catabasis. If my reading of the first narrative part of the Dioscuri as a quasi-catabasis is valid, its
thematic link with the gold tablets becomes obvious. Furthermore, I would like to speculate that in Pollux’
encounter with Amycus Theocritus may be providing not just an analogy to the encounter of the deceased
with the guardians, but in fact an aetiology. We have seen at a number of points that Amycus’ hostile behav-
iour is almost exactly the opposite of the solemn hospitality displayed by the guardians. Now we may point
out that, again in contrast to Apollonius where Amycus is eventually killed, in Theocritus Pollux does not
kill Amycus but makes him promise that in future he will not attack newcomers (134 μήποτ’ ἔτι ξείνοισιν
ἑκὼν ἀνιηρὸς ἔσεσθαι), in other words, that he will behave more like the guardians of the gold tablets.
Perhaps it even would not be too much to say that, after the encounter with Pollux, Amycus becomes as it
were precisely this sort of a guardian.
Let us now turn to Apollonius whose Argonautica features (at least) two passages arguably alluding
to the texts of the gold tablets. The first and the less certain one is the account of the Argonauts’ arrival
in Colchis; I shall deal with it only briefly, simply listing parallels without much discussion. As in the
case of Theocritus’ Dioscuri, the most general point of contact with the texts of the tablets is established
by the chthonic associations of Colchis40. The Argonauts direct their steps to δώματα Αἰήταο (3.177, cf.
213f.), much as the deceased of the tablets finds himself near Ἀίδαο δόμοι. On their way to Aeetes’ palace
the Argonauts cross a plain with trees upon which the Colchians put the bodies of their dead as a way of
burial (3.200–202 ἔνθα δὲ πολλαὶ | ἑξείης πρόμαλοί τε καὶ ἰτέαι ἐμπεφύασι, | τῶν καὶ ἐπ’ ἀκροτάτων
νέκυες σειρῇσι κρέμανται), and so in the tablets a cypress is the landmark at which the souls of the dead
gather for refreshment (6 ἔνθα κατερχόμεναι ψυχαὶ νεκύων ψύχονται). In the forecourt of the palace the
Argonauts see four marvellous springs (3.222–227), flowing with either milk, wine, perfumed oil, or water
changing from cold to hot41, and so in the tablets two springs with different qualities are found at Hades’
palace (4 and 8f., cf. 19). We should especially note the similarity between the expression used by Apol-
lonius to introduce the last of his springs (3.225 ἡ δ’ ἄρ’ ὕδωρ προρέεσκε) and that applied in the tablets
to the spring of Mnemosyne (ψυχρὸν ὕδωρ προρέον, at the same metrical position as in Apollonius): the
exact collocation ὕδωρ προρ- does not occur elsewhere in Greek poetry42. Finally, Aeetes who questions
the Argonauts about their identity and the purpose of their coming can be compared to the guardians.
The second and more detailed parallel is found in the episode of the Argonauts’ encounter with the
Hesperides (4.1381–1501)43. In fact, this episode contains two narratives imitating the plot of the gold tab-
lets: the first, the Argonauts’ encounter with the Hesperides itself; the second, Aegle’s account of Heracles’
coming to their garden the day before (1432–1449). Let us start with the main narrative. The very first par-
allel we see is in the way it is introduced: the expression Μουσάων ὅδε μῦθος (1381) is strikingly similar
to the formula which introduces instructions for the dead in one of the tablets, Μνημοσύνης τόδε (?)θρῖον
(1). Not only is the grammatical structure the same in the two sentences, but it also may not be irrelevant
that the Muses are actually Mnemosyne’s daughters. As for the function of this introductory formula in
Apollonius, it is generally taken to signal the author’s scepticism towards the narrative that follows, and its
39 Henry (1878: 549f.), Hügi (1952: 127). Aen. 6.8 inuentaque flumina might thus be an allusion to Theocr. 22.37 εὗρον
δ’ ἀέναον κρήνην, which in its turn I argue to derive from 4 εὑρήσεις … κρήνην of the tablets.
40 See Knight (1995: 177 and 182f.), Nelis (2001: 228–235).
41 As Hunter (1989: 122) remarks, “[s]treams of milk and wine are among the traditional Bacchic miracles”. We may point
out that milk and wine also figure in some of the tablets, cf. for example: κριὸς εἰς γάλα ἔπεσες. οἶνον ἔχεις εὐδαίμονα τιμήν
(tablets 26 a and b in Graf and Johnston [2007: 36]).
42 This is admittedly the only solid textual parallel between the two contexts. It may not be sufficient on its own, but it
is also corroborated by the fact that Apollonius’ springs have a direct intertextual connection with the spring in Theocritus
(which in its turn, as we have seen, has further, and more secure, points of contact with the spring of the gold tablets): see Sens
(1997: 29 and 106).
43 Again, it is suggested by a remark in Zuntz (1971: 391) that makes an indirect connection between the white cypress
and the tree of the Hesperides as variants on the universal concept of the tree of life.
24 B. Kayachev
use may be ironical indeed, but at face value it certainly rather denotes the story-teller’s awe, as if he were
about to give an account of a divine revelation.
For twelve days the Argonauts have been carrying the Argo through the Libyan desert, when at last
they come to Lake Tritonis (referred to as 1391 λίμνη, cf. the lake – 8 and 17 λίμνη – of Mnemosyne in the
tablets), the water of which, however, proves salty and undrinkable. (I would thus suggest that Lake Tritonis
may be juxtaposed with the first spring in the tablets, which the deceased is instructed not to drink from.)
So the Argonauts, tortured by thirst (1394f. ἐπὶ ξηρὴ γὰρ ἔκειτο | δίψα δυηπαθίῃ τε καὶ ἄλγεσιν and
1459 δίψῃ κεκμηότας, cf. the thirst experienced by the deceased: 16 δίψῃ δ’ εἰμ’ αὖος καὶ ἀπόλλυμαι),
set out to look for fresh water. They come to the garden of the Hesperides, where they find the carcass of
the guardian-dragon (1434 φρουρὸν ὄφιν, cf. 9 φύλακες of the tablets) Ladon, killed by Heracles, and the
nymphs themselves, mourning over him. As the Argonauts approach (1407 ἐπέλασσαν, cf. the instruction
not to come near the first spring: 7 μηδὲ σχεδὸν ἐμπελάσῃσθα), the Hesperides turn to dust, but Orpheus
addresses them with a supplication, asking for water with which he and his companions could quench their
thirst (1417f. ῥόον, ᾧ ἀπὸ δίψαν | αἰθομένην ἄμοτον λωφήσομεν). The prayer for water obviously paral-
lels the analogous request about which the deceased is instructed in the tablets (16f. δίψῃ δ’ εἰμ’ αὖος καὶ
ἀπόλλυμαι· ἀλλὰ δότ’ ὦκα | ψυχρὸν ὕδωρ προρέον), and perhaps, given the supposed Orphic character
of the tablets, it is not irrelevant that in Apollonius it is none other than Orpheus who utters the prayer. The
Hesperides are said to take pity on the Argonauts (1422 ἐλέαιρον), and so are the guardians, if one accepts
Pugliese Carratelli’s conjecture (ἐλεοῦσιν: the Hipponion tablet44 has ἐρέουσιν). In reply to Orpheus’
prayer one of the Hesperides, Aegle, tells the Argonauts how on the previous day Heracles came to their
garden, likewise suffering from thirst: Aegle’s account reproduces the narrative of the gold tablets for a
second time.
Aegle describes Heracles as literally ‘dry with thirst’ (1442 δίψῃ καρχαλέος), virtually the same
expression as used by the deceased in the tablets (16 δίψῃ δ’ εἰμ’ αὖος: note also that both phrases occupy
the same metrical position)45. She also says that he came looking for water (1443 ὕδωρ ἐξερέων) using the
same verb, and at the same metrical position, as the guardians in the tablets when asking the deceased what
he is seeking in the underworld (11 ὅττι δὴ ἐξερέεις). With a kick of his foot Heracles makes water spring
forth from a rock, and it is this spring that Aegle shows to the Argonauts.
After they have quenched their thirst, the Argonauts decide to go after Heracles and try to catch him.
In a sense, this repeats the narrative pattern found in the tablets where the deceased is promised to follow,
after he has drunk from the spring of Mnemosyne, the ‘other μύσται and βάκχοι’ along the sacred road.
Although στείχειν is not a rare word in Greek epos, it seems nevertheless worth noting that it is applied to
both Heracles (1459f. ἀλλά μιν εἴ πως | δήοιμεν στείχοντα δι’ ἠπείροιο κιόντες and 1481f. ἐς δ’ ἑτάρους
ἀνιὼν μυθήσατο μή μιν ἔτ’ ἄλλον | μαστῆρα στείχοντα κιχησέμεν) and to these μύσται and βάκχοι
(20f. καὶ δὴ καὶ σὺ πιὼν ὁδὸν ἔρχεαι, ἥν τε καὶ ἄλλοι | μύσται καὶ βάκχοι ἱερὴν στείχουσι κλεεινοί).
Remarkably, the second passage from the Argonautica has also other textual parallels with the tablets: the
participles ἀνιών and πιών are placed at the same metrical position, and ἄλλον | μαστῆρα and ἄλλοι |
μύσται both produce enjambement.
Again, we should ask the same question as in Theocritus’ case: what is the meaning of this allusion,
if such it is; what is the point Apollonius intends to make, if any, by bringing together the Argonauts’ visit
to the Hesperides with instructions for the initiates about the underworld? To begin with, the garden of the
Hesperides, traditionally placed at the western end of the world, is thus closely associated with the under-
world, much in the same way as Colchis is by virtue of its location at the furthest east: allusions to the texts
of the gold tablets would obviously intensify these associations. At the same time, since, as has been often
noted, the capturing of the Hesperides’ golden apples by Heracles is a counterpart to Jason’s quest for the
45 It should be noted, of course, that Apollonius’ variant of the phrase, with καρχαλέος instead of αὖος, comes from
Homer (where it occurs only once: Il. 21.541 δίψῃ καρχαλέοι). In the Homeric context the phrase is however, unlike both
Apollonius and the gold tablets, just a passing remark without any specific function in the narrative, since those who are said
to be thirsty are not looking for water.
Golden Fleece, the use of the same model in both contexts would underline their parallelism and add to its
implications. On the other hand, Apollonius seems to play on the connection of the gold tablets with mys-
teries. Heracles, who created the marvellous spring in the garden of the Hesperides, is cast as it were in the
role of a founder of mysteries, whom the Argonauts follow in the manner of initiates. Thus, the intertextual
pun on μαστῆρα – μύσται may in fact be not merely phonetical, but also imply some sort of etymological
connection46.
However, potentially the most significant implication of the allusions to the texts of the gold tablets is to
be found elsewhere. As has been often observed, these funerary texts have striking similarities with Egyp-
tian representations of the afterlife journey47. The most relevant shared motif for our present purposes is
that of thirst experienced by the deceased, which he seeks to relieve by drinking from a spring flowing near
a tree. Of course, there are perceptible differences in detail as well; the most remarkable functional differ-
ence is that, whereas in the tablets the white cypress seems to play the role of a mere landmark and it is the
guardians who are asked for water, in the Egyptian representations it is the tree itself (generally either a
palm or a sycamore, but never a cypress), as a manifestation of a goddess, that the dead addresses his prayer
to48. Now, looking back at the episode of the Argonauts’ encounter with the Hesperides, we cannot fail to
notice that in several details it comes much closer to the Egyptian scenario than to that of the gold tablets.
To begin with, Orpheus directs his prayer to the Hesperides who in response first reappear in the shape of
trees and only then turn back into their anthropomorphic form. This identification of a female deity with a
tree is strikingly reminiscent of what we find in the Egyptian version, which is especially remarkable since
the Hesperides do not seem to figure as hamadryads elsewhere. Also, Orpheus addresses the Hesperides
first, without being questioned by them, as the deceased is by the guardians in the tablets, and similarly in
the Egyptian texts the prayer for water is not prompted by any questions.
As has recently been argued by Susan Stephens, in a study dealing with (hitherto largely ignored)
Egyptian intertexts in the three major Hellenistic poets – Callimachus, Theocritus, and Apollonius49 –, the
Argonautica features numerous implicit allusions to figures and events of Egyptian mythology. The most
extensive parallels are found in the Egyptian representations of the underworld: as Stephens observes, in
book 4 Apollonius “has not only deliberately constructed his narrative to evoke a vaguely Greek poetic
katabasis but conformed his text in strategic locations to mirror one of the most prominent (and idiosyn-
cratic) features of Egyptian cosmology, the voyage of the Sun through the realms of the night”50. Stephens’
remarks on the Libyan section of the Argonauts’ journey are particularly relevant to our argument: “From
the perspective of the Egyptians who lived to the east of this region, the area of the western desert was the
land of the dead. <…> The crossing of Libya requires the Argonauts to carry their boat for twelve days and
nights (4.1389) – the number of hours of darkness in the dat. The final stages of the Egyptian underworld
journey provide a close parallel: the waterways become a desert, and the solar boat must be carried or
dragged before it can emerge again into the light.”51
True, Stephens mainly points out parallels with the Egyptian underworld in its cosmological rather
than eschatological function, but the two are in fact very similar in many respects, and the underworld
journey of the soul closely resembles that of the Sun. So I think it is justified to assume that Apollonius in
the episode of the Argonauts’ encounter with the Hesperides is indeed alluding to that station of the tradi-
tional Egyptian afterlife journey where the deceased asks for water. And I would further suggest that this
46 I am unaware of μαστήρ and μύστης (or their cognates) having been directly connected in antiquity, but both have
been linked with μοῦσα: on the derivation of μοῦσα from μῶσθαι see Assaël (2000: 17–27), from μυεῖν see A. Hardie (2004:
11–14).
47 See Zuntz (1971: 370–376), Merkelbach (1999) and Dousa (2011). The latter discussion is by far the most detailed.
48 See Dousa (2011: 129–140). As Dousa (2011: 133) specifies, the tree is normally either “merged with a human form or
merely associated with one”.
49 Stephens (2003). Cf. also, on Apollonius, Noegel (2004) and, with the emphasis on the political context of Ptolemaic
Egypt, Mori (2008).
50 Stephens (2003: 218f.).
51 Stephens (2003: 231).
26 B. Kayachev
Egyptian parallel does support, rather than exclude, the allusion to the texts of the gold tablets, since on the
one hand it confirms the underworld associations of the episode, while on the other it cannot explain textual
parallels with the tablets. Thus, it would seem that Apollonius noticed the affinity of Egyptian eschatology
with that of the gold tablets52 long before modern scholars.
The Callimachean parallel I want to suggest (in the Hymn to Athena) is, among those we have seen
so far, the least certain, but at the same time potentially the richest in important implications. Perhaps on
its own this arguable allusion to the texts of the gold tablets would not even be worth noting, but it is cor-
roborated by considerable circumstantial evidence, for several Latin poetic texts alluding to the hymn53
seem at the same time, with various degrees of plausibility, to recognise its ‘Orphic’ subtext. Moreover, this
parallel provides, as I shall argue, an interpretative key to an important aspect of the poetological imagery
employed by a number of Hellenistic and Roman poets.
Let us start by listing the few available direct points of contact between the Hymn to Athena and
the (hypothetical) poem fragmentarily preserved on the gold tablets. In general, I suggest that Tiresias’
encounter with Athena narrated in the hymn (lines 57–136) can be compared to that of the deceased with
the guardians as described in the tablets. The most obvious similarity is the motif of thirst: Tiresias comes
to Hippocrene, the deceased to the spring of Mnemosyne, both urged by irresistible thirst (77 διψάσας δ’
ἄφατόν τι ποτὶ ῥόον ἤλυθε κράνας, cf. 16 δίψῃ δ’ εἰμ’ αὖος καὶ ἀπόλλυμαι). (Outside the Tiresias sec-
tion, the narrator of the hymn gives the prescription – for which the story of Tiresias provides an aetiologi-
cal explanation – to drink, on the day of Athena’s festival, not from the river but from springs, 46 πίνετ’
ἀπὸ κρανᾶν μηδ’ ἀπὸ τῶ ποταμῶ, which cannot but remind us of the instruction for the deceased to avoid
the first spring, κρήνη, and to drink only from the pond, λίμνη, of Mnemosyne.) Both are asked, by either
Athena or the guardians, what brings them there (80f. τίς σε ⟨…⟩ χαλεπὰν ὁδὸν ἄγαγε δαίμων; cf. 12 ὅτι
χρέος εἰσαφικάνεις). It has been remarked that Tiresias’ blindness, with which he is punished for seeing
Athena, can be symbolically equated with death54: this obviously assimilates Tiresias to the protagonist of
the gold tablets narrative. Whether or not Tiresias is given water to drink, remains unclear, but in response
to the pleas of his mother Chariclo Athena takes pity (95 θεὰ δ’ ἐλέησεν ἑταίραν, cf. the conjectural
18 ἐλεοῦσιν) and promises him that in Hades, unlike all the other dead, he will retain his intelligence
(129f. καὶ μόνος, εὖτε θάνῃ, πεπνυμένος ἐν νεκύεσσι | φοιτασεῖ, μεγάλῳ τίμιος Ἁγεσίλᾳ), which is also,
of course, exactly the point of drinking from the spring of Mnemosyne – to be able to remember one’s own
identity when confronting the rulers of the underworld. Before I propose an interpretation for this allusion,
I suggest that we first consider several literary responses to the Hymn to Athena in Latin poetry. Not only
will they support my claim that Callimachus does allude to the narrative of the gold tablets, but they may
also provide some clues for the role this ‘Orphic’ subtext plays in the hymn.
The first relevant context is found in Virgil: the Orpheus narrative at the end of Georgics 4 is, I would
suggest, much indebted to Callimachus’ treatment of the story of Tiresias. Let us list the most remarkable
correspondences. Both Orpheus and Tiresias are going upwards, the former from the underworld to the
upper world, the latter to the top of Helicon. Both break a law given by a deity (487 hanc dederat Pro-
serpina legem; 100 Κρόνιοι δ’ ὧδε λέγοντι νόμοι), by looking at what they are forbidden to see, although
they do not do it deliberately (491 immemor heu! uictusque animi respexit; 78 σχέτλιος· οὐκ ἐθέλων δ’
εἶδε τὰ μὴ θεμιτά), but urged by some irresistible desire (488 subita incautum dementia cepit; 77 διψάσας
δ’ ἄφατόν τι). Both are addressed in similar ways by the person they have looked at, Orpheus by Eury-
dice and Tiresias by Athena (494f. quis et me … miseram et te perdidit, Orpheu, | quis tantus furor?;
80f. τίς σε … | ὦ Εὐηρείδα, χαλεπὰν ὁδὸν ἄγαγε δαίμων;). The punishment is also similar in both cases:
Orpheus is deprived of the possibility to see Eurydice again, Tiresias of that to see at all (499f. dixit et ex
52 Cf. Stephens’ (2003: 225) remarks on Apollonius’ practice of conflating analogous patterns from Greek and Egyptian
mythology.
53 On the reception of the Hymn to Athena in Latin poetry, in addition to what I have to discuss, cf. Heyworth (2004:
145f.).
54 Cf. Hunter (1992: 20): “The loss of sight is like the loss of life.”
oculis subito … fugit; 82 ἁ μὲν ἔφα, παιδὸς δ’ ὄμματα νὺξ ἔλαβεν). Orpheus attempts to embrace Eury-
dice and to speak to her, but this proves no more effective than Tiresias’ physical stupor (500–502 neque
illum | prensantem nequiquam umbras et multa uolentem | dicere praeterea uidit; 83 ἐστάθη δ’ ἄφθογγος,
ἐκόλλασαν γὰρ ἀνῖαι | γώνατα καὶ φωνὰν ἔσχεν ἀμαχανία). From this moment, it may be said that
Eurydice takes over Tiresias’ role, while Orpheus becomes Chariclo’s counterpart: it is Eurydice who
literally loses her sight, much as Tiresias does (496 conditque natantia lumina somnus, 497 circumdata
nocte; 82 ὄμματα νὺξ ἔλαβεν, 92 φάεα: note that lumina renders φάεα), and it is like Chariclo embracing
Tiresias that Orpheus attempts, though in vain, to embrace Eurydice (501 prensantem nequiquam umbras;
93 ἀμφοτέραισι φίλον περὶ παῖδα λαβοῖσα). Also, both Orpheus’ and Chariclo’s laments are compared to
a nightingale’s song (511 qualis … maerens philomela; 94 γοερᾶν οἶτον ἀηδονίδων), but, unlike Chariclo,
Orpheus is unable to mitigate the gods (505 quo fletu Manis, quae numina uoce moueret?; 95 ἆγε βαρὺ
κλαίοισα, θεὰ δ’ ἐλέησεν ἑταίραν). Finally, Orpheus’ own death evokes that of Actaeon, with whom Tire-
sias is explicitly contrasted, as both are violently dismembered (520–522, cf. 114–116).
It is beyond the scope of the present study to discuss in detail the meaning of Virgil’s allusion to Cal-
limachus. What we can do is highlight some points that may possibly attest to Virgil’s recognition of the
gold tablets as a subtext of Callimachus’ hymn. First of all, Virgil as it were reinstates the plot to its origi-
nal setting, the underworld, although, unlike the tablets, in the Georgics it is on the way from, not to, the
underworld that the events happen. In a similar vein, the very figure of the Virgilian protagonist may create
a link with the texts of the tablets if they indeed originate, as is often assumed, from an Orphic context. In
addition to these general similarities I would like to suggest a more specific point of contact. As is noted
above, it is some sort of dementia that makes Orpheus break Persephone’s prescription and thus parallels
Tiresias’ insufferable thirst. In its own turn, the motif of thirst plays a crucial role in the tablets, where the
deceased is instructed not even to come near the first spring (apparently, the spring of Lethe) and is only
allowed to quench his thirst from the second, the spring of Mnemosyne. To put it in more abstract terms,
the deceased is urged by an irrational desire to drink from the spring of forgetfulness, but as an initiate he
knows, and his gold tablet helps him to remember, that he must conquer this desire until he can drink from
the spring of memory. Orpheus’ situation is similar: he is forbidden to look at Eurydice only until a certain
moment, and his ability to resist the temptation can likewise be said to depend on whether he remembers
Persephone’s prescription. In fact, Virgil seems to etymologise dementia as ‘loss of memory’ by explicitly
calling Orpheus immemor (4.491) and thus hinting at the connection of mens with meminisse55. So the Vir-
gilian Orpheus would seem to fail in performing, mutatis mutandis, precisely that task of resisting forget-
fulness to which the narrator of our (hypothetical) ‘Orphic’ poem, possibly likewise Orpheus, encourages
the deceased.
In Propertius there are two contexts, in elegies 3.3 and 4.956, which refer to Callimachus’ Hymn to
Athena while also arguably alluding to the gold tablets as its subtext. Let us start with the later of the two. In
elegy 4.9 Propertius narrates how Heracles, after the fight with Cacus, came to the sanctuary of Bona Dea,
from which men were excluded, asking for water to quench his thirst. Since the elegy’s connection with
the Tiresias narrative of Callimachus’ hymn, as well as with the episode of the Argonauts’ encounter with
the Hesperides in Apollonius, has been pointed out by others57, we can immediately turn our attention to
a possible allusion to the texts of the gold tablets. Of course, there are several motifs shared by Propertius’
elegy and the tablets that are also found in either Callimachus or Apollonius, which therefore have hardly
any weight in proving Propertius’ acquaintance with the tablets. But one point of contact seems specific to
Propertius and the tablets: unlike both Callimachus’ Tiresias and Apollonius’ Orpheus and Heracles, who
do not introduce themselves when, looking for water, they meet a deity, Propertius’ Heracles does present
himself, and moreover in an emphatic manner reminiscent of the tablets. In the tablets the deceased iden-
tifies himself before the guardians as a child of Earth and Heaven (14 Γῆς παῖς εἰμι καὶ Οὐρανοῦ, with
55 See Maltby (1991) s.v. mens and amens.
56 Note Berry (2011), who draws suggestive parallels between the two.
57 See Hutchinson (2006: 205 and 216). Cf. Berry (2011: 399f.).
28 B. Kayachev
a qualification: 15 αὐτὰρ ἐμοὶ γένος οὐράνιον), while also intimating that they must know his lineage
already (15 τὸ δὲ ἴστε καὶ αὐτοί). In Propertius Heracles curiously presents himself as the one who has
held the vault of heaven on his shoulders and who has received (whatever this means) the earth (37f. audis-
tisne aliquem, tergo qui sustulit orbem? | ille ego sum: Alciden terra recepta uocat), and he also suggests
that his deeds can hardly be unknown to his prospective hosts (39 quis facta Herculeae non audit fortia
clauae?). At the same time, Heracles’ remark that on earth he is called Alcides (38), i.e. (grand)son of
Alcaeus, seems to allude to the fact that in heaven he is known as a son of Zeus. This may seem at first sight
a random coincidence, but in fact the motif of divine descent plays similarly crucial roles in both contexts.
In the tablets it is the insistence of the deceased that his true lineage is from heaven (15 αὐτὰρ ἐμοὶ γένος
οὐράνιον) that secures his request for water (in the tablets of A series the deceased even claims his descent
to be from gods: καὶ γὰρ ἐγὼν ὑμῶν γένος ὄλβιον εὔχομαι εἶναι58). In Propertius Heracles is refused
water, perhaps precisely because he does not state his divine parentage clearly enough (although at 43f. he
mentions Hera as his stepmother; but note that the priestess, at 53, addresses him with a mere hospes, as if
not understanding, or not believing, what he hints at), so that he is compelled to take it by force. After that,
however, instead of being punished as an ordinary mortal who has broken a divine prohibition, Heracles
himself acts like a deity as he institutes a symmetric ritual taboo, banning women from the Ara Maxima
(note also the invocation of the deified Heracles concluding the elegy). Perhaps the water Heracles drinks
can even be considered, in a sense, the agent of his deification, much as in the tablets the water from the
spring of Mnemosyne opens for the initiates the way to the abodes of the blessed.
The second Propertian context arguably alluding to the gold tablets is the programmatic elegy 3.3. Its
connection with the prologue and the dream narrative of Callimachus’ Aetia is well-known, but Propertius
also appears to be using the Hymn to Athena, a fact not generally acknowledged. Given the highly fragmen-
tary state of the Aetia, it is, of course, likely that a number of points shared by Propertius’ elegy and Cal-
limachus’ hymn could also find parallels in a lost part of the prologue, but on the whole the amount of close
correspondences seems to favour a direct relationship. As is noted above, Propertius was certainly familiar
with the Hymn to Athena. Let us list the most important parallels. Both narratives take place on Helicon, by
Hippocrene, at midday (in Propertius the last point can be inferred from the reference to siesta): uisus eram
molli recubans Heliconis in umbra, | Bellerophontei qua fluit umor equi (1f.), ἵππω ἐπὶ κράνᾳ Ἑλικωνίδι
καλὰ ῥεοίσᾳ | λῶντο· μεσαμβρινὰ δ’ εἶχ’ ὄρος ἁσυχία (71f.)59. Propertius attempts to drink from the
spring of Hippocrene after the manner of thirsty Ennius (5f. paruaque iam magnis admoram fontibus ora |
unde pater sitiens Ennius ante bibit), and likewise Tiresias, tortured by thirst, comes to the same spring
(77 διψάσας δ’ ἄφατόν τι ποτὶ ῥόον ἤλυθε κράνας). Both Propertius and Tiresias are rebuked in similar
ways by a deity, either Apollo or Athena (15f. quid tibi cum tali, demens, est flumine? quis te | carminis
heroi tangere iussit opus? 80f. τίς σε ⟨…⟩ χαλεπὰν ὁδὸν ἄγαγε δαίμων;)60. Athena’s speech is confined
to this single question, whereas Propertius’ Apollo develops the Callimachean motif of road by enriching
it with borrowings from Apollo’s instructions in the prologue of the Aetia; finally Apollo shows Propertius
a new path (26 qua noua muscoso semita facta solo est). Propertius follows the path and finds himself in
a grotto where he meets the Muses; Tiresias becomes blind, and momentarily also speechless, so that his
mother Chariclo has time to make reproaches to Athena for her cruelty. Athena’s answer (introduced by
95f. θεὰ δ’ ἐλέησεν ἑταίραν. | καί νιν Ἀθαναία πρὸς τόδ’ ἔλεξεν ἔπος) is in a number of points similar to
Calliope’s welcome to Propertius (37f. e quarum numero me contigit una dearum: | ut reor a facie, Callio-
58 Tablets 5–7 in Graf and Johnston (2007: 12–14).

59 I would suggest that umbra may be hinting at μεσαμβρινά, especially as Ovid’s allusion to the same Callimachean
passage (Met. 3.144 dies medius rerum contraxerat umbras) seems both to render μεσαμβρινά literally as dies medius and to
imitate it in sound with umbras (on Ovid’s engagement in his Actaeon narrative with the Hymn to Athena, see below); a further
confirmation comes from Ovid’s Amores, where in a similar manner Callimachus’ μεσαμβρινά is playfully evoked by membra
(1.5.1f.): aestus erat, mediamque dies exegerat horam; | adposui medio membra leuanda toro.
60 I would tentatively suggest that demens may be alluding to δαίμων (while perhaps also acknowledging Virgil’s use of
dementia in the Orpheus narrative).
pea fuit)61. Athena forbids Chariclo to deplore her son’s blindness, Calliope warns Propertius from touch-
ing epic themes. At the same time, Athena promises to make Tiresias a prophet (121 μάντιν ἐπεὶ θησῶ
νιν ἀοίδιμον ἐσσομένοισιν), and similarly Propertius is told that he will be an elegiac poet (47f. quippe
coronatos alienum ad limen amantes | nocturnaeque canes ebria signa morae); much as Tiresias will be
an expert, among other things, in ornithomancy (123 γνωσεῖται δ’ ὄρνιθας), Propertius will be able to give
competent advice on matters of love (49 per te clausas sciat excantare puellas). Both goddesses confirm
their promises with a symbolic gesture: Athena nods after Zeus’ manner (131f. ὣς φαμένα κατένευσε· τὸ
δ’ ἐντελές, ᾧ κ’ ἐπινεύσῃ | Παλλάς), Calliope gives Propertius to taste the water from the spring (51f. talia
Calliope, lymphisque a fonte petitis | ora Philitea nostra rigauit aqua).
The most fundamental point of contact with the texts of the gold tablets is the fact that Propertius’ elegy
likewise features two springs, the ‘wrong’ one and the ‘right’ one (even though apparently they turn out to
be the same62). In both the tablets and Propertius’ elegy the protagonist is deterred from the first spring and
is only allowed to drink from the second (which, strictly speaking, is a pond rather than a spring: 8 and 17
λίμνη or 32 lacus, in contrast to 4 κρήνη or 5 fontes; although it then figures as 19 κρήνη or 51 fons too).
In the tablets the first spring is the place where the souls of the uninitiated come for refreshment (6); in
Propertius Ennius, after drinking from Hippocrene, conjures as it were the spirits of some figures of Roman
history (7–12). The spring of Mnemosyne is reserved for those initiated into mysteries (note 21 μύσται καὶ
βάκχοι, cf. πέμπε με πρὸς μυστῶν θιάσους· ἔχω ὄργια … in a tablet from Pherae63), and similarly the
spring from which Propertius eventually drinks is associated with the mysteries of the Muses (29 orgia
Musarum); and the Muses are, of course, Mnemosyne’s daughters. An untrodden path shown by Apollo
leads Propertius to this secret spring (25f.); in the tablets the deceased follows a sacred road, open only to
the initiates, after drinking the water of Mnemosyne (20f.).
Ovid possibly alludes to the texts of the gold tablets in the Actaeon narrative of the Metamorphoses
(3.138–252), which, of course, is also known to be indebted to the Tiresias section of Callimachus’ Hymn
to Athena64. The setting of Actaeon’s encounter with Artemis recalls at once the landscape pictured in the
tablets. It is a valley thickly grown with pines and cypresses (155 uallis erat piceis et acuta densa cupressu:
note the collective singular of cupressu; cf. 5 λευκὴν ἑστηκυῖαν κυπάρισσον); in the valley there is a grot-
to with a spring to the right (161 fons sonat a dextra, cf. 4 ἐπὶ δεξιὰ κρήνην)65, and to this spring Artemis
often comes to bathe (163f. hic dea siluarum uenatu fessa solebat | uirgineos artus liquido perfundere
rore and 165 quo postquam subiit, cf. 6 ἔνθα κατερχόμεναι ψυχαὶ νεκύων ψύχονται). It is not thirst but
chance that brings Actaeon to the spring and thus makes him see the naked goddess, so it is all the more
striking that in Actaeon’s punishment water plays a crucial role as the material agent of his metamorphosis.
When Artemis sprinkles him with ultricibus undis (190), Actaeon begins transforming into a stag until
it is only his mind that remains unchanged (203 mens tantum pristina mansit). The function of the water
from the spring of Mnemosyne is likewise to preserve the memory of the deceased in the underworld, and
possibly also in his future reincarnations (perhaps, not necessarily human)66. I would further suggest that
the peculiar periphrastic reference to Actaeon as Autonoeius heros (198) is intended to convey, through its
61 We may note that both Athena and Calliope are explicitly identified as goddesses. As is noted by Heyworth and Mor-
wood (2011: 122), cf. A. Hardie (2009: 22), Propertius etymologises Calliope’s name as deriving from ὄψ in the sense of ‘face’
(cf. facie) rather than ‘voice’; one could speculate that the other sense of ὄψ is meant to be evoked by ἔπος in the Callimachean
subtext.
62 Both Bellerophontei … umor equi (2) and Gorgoneo … lacu (32) must refer to Hippocrene, cf. Heyworth and Mor-
wood (2011: 121).
64 See recently Van Tress (2004: 97–109).
65 As Bömer (1969: 493) rightly remarks, “keine bewußt exakte Ortsangabe”; so perhaps its only raison d’être is to evoke
the location of the spring in the tablets.
66 Of course, as noted above, the motif of preserving one’s own memory figures also in Callimachus’ account of Tiresias,
so on its own it cannot establish a secure point of contact between Ovid and the tablets; however, it is only in Ovid and the
tablets, in contrast to Callimachus, that water makes the protagonist preserve his memory.
30 B. Kayachev
etymological associations (cf. αὐτός and νοῦς), precisely this idea of the ‘unchanged mind’ (mens pristina),
and, if understood in that way, it can be certainly compared to the expression ‘mindful hero’, μεμνημένος
ἥρως (apparently referring to the deceased), that features in one of the tablets of B series (from Entella)67.
Chased by his own hunting dogs, Actaeon attempts to stop them by naming his identity and appealing to
the fact that they must know him (230 Actaeon ego sum: dominum cognoscite uestrum! cf. ille ego sum at
Prop. 4.9.38), in a manner reminiscent of how the deceased acts when questioned by the guardians (14f. Γῆς
παῖς εἰμι … τὸ δὲ ἴστε καὶ αὐτοί).
I am ready to concede that, taken on their own, parallels with the gold tablets found in individual pas-
sages of Virgil, Propertius and Ovid may not be conclusive. However, since these passages also allude to
one and the same Callimachean model, which in its turn likewise has certain points of contact with the
tablets, it seems natural that all parallels should be considered cumulatively, as if found in a single context.
Taken in this way, I believe, they constitute quite a substantial, if still not irrefutable, argument for assuming
that the three Latin poets recognised in the gold tablets, or rather in the poem inscribed thereon, a subtext
of Callimachus’ hymn.
Why then does Callimachus (supposing he does) allude in his hymn to the gold tablets? What is the
principal point he wants to be inferred from this allusion? On the basis of the comparison with Propertius’
elegy 3.3, it can be suggested, firstly, that Tiresias’ wish (whether realised or not) to drink from Hippocrene
implies the motif of drinking the water of inspiration and, secondly, that Callimachus associates this motif
with drinking from the spring of Mnemosyne. As has been convincingly demonstrated by a number of
studies68, the Tiresias section of Callimachus’ hymn features systematic allusions to Hesiod’s account of
his encounter with the Muses at the beginning of the Theogony, so that Tiresias’ own encounter with Athe-
na turns out to be a variation on the theme of poetic initiation. Of course, as has also been pointed out many
times69, in the original account of Hesiod’s initiation there is no drinking from either Hippocrene or any
other spring, and it is only in Hellenistic poetry that the motif of drinking the water of inspiration is first
attested. Although one might speculate that the Hymn to Athena is the ultimate model from which all later
examples of this motif derive, it seems much more plausible that here Callimachus is himself alluding to
an earlier and more detailed treatment (in the hymn we are not told whether Tiresias actually drinks). Cal-
limachus’ own dream narrative at the beginning of the Aetia is, of course, an obvious, if far from perfect,
candidate for the role of such a model. It has been often assumed that in his dream Callimachus imagines
either himself or Hesiod drinking from Hippocrene (or some other spring on Helicon), but unfortunately the
evidence is not conclusive70. Later I shall discuss another possible source text for the motif of drinking the
water of inspiration (not necessarily excluding, but certainly predating, the Aetia), whereas at the moment
I would like to focus on the Hymn to Athena and the Aetia. Whether or not Callimachus made use of this
motif in the Aetia as well as in the hymn, the former can shed some light on its significance in the latter.
Crucial for my argument is the fact that the Hymn to Athena parallels in a number of details the Aetia
in general and its opening part(s) in particular71. To name just the most basic point of contact, both the
dream narrative in the Aetia and the Tiresias section of the hymn are variations on the topos of poetic
initiation, both dependent to a significant degree on the proem of the Theogony. On a more precise level,
perhaps the most striking verbal parallel is derived from the fact that both Callimachus of the dream nar-
rative and Tiresias in the hymn are referred to as young men in very similar, and very specific, terms: the
former as ἀρτιγένειος (schol. Flor. 18), the latter as ἄρτι γένεια | περκάζων (75f.). In addition to the proem
68 See, most relevantly, Müller (1987: 55–61), Heath (1988: 81–86) and Ambühl (2005: 113–120); cf. also Hunter (2006:
17) and Hadjittofi (2008: 16).
69 See e.g. Heath (1988: 83 n. 41).
70 The motif of drinking the water of inspiration is too complex a topic to deal with here in a systematic manner; one may
consult the following discussions: Reitzenstein (1931: 52–69), Wimmel (1960: 222–238), Kambylis (1965: 98–102, 110–122),
Cameron (1995: 362–373). On the related opposition of water- vs. wine-drinking, see Crowther (1979), Knox (1985), Asper
(1997: 128–134), Albiani (2002).
71 See Heath (1988: 81–83), Heyworth (2004: 143–146), Ambühl (2005: 366, 410f.).
of the Theogony, I would like to suggest two further subtexts which arguably are likewise shared by both
the opening of the Aetia and the Hymn to Athena. These two subtexts will provide important clues for our
understanding of Callimachus’ allusion to drinking from the spring of Mnemosyne.
The first subtext I would like to discuss is Parmenides. Although the Parmenidean parallel to Cal-
limachus’ motif of untrodden path is well-known (fr. 1.25 τὰ μὴ πατέουσιν, cf. B 1.27 ἐκτὸς πάτου)72,
Parmenides is not generally considered among Callimachus’ sources73. I suggest that Apollo’s advice in
the Aetia prologue (fr. 1.23–28) owes more to Parmenides than just this single motif. The relevant passage
is fragment B 6 where the Goddess instructs Parmenides to follow one way of inquiry while avoiding two
others, thus constituting a neat counterpart to Apollo’s commandment to avoid the highway and to follow
the less frequented path74. The most obvious and uncontroversial parallel is established by the fact that
both Apollo and Parmenides’ Goddess refer to their own precepts in almost the same way: καὶ τόδ’ ἄνωγα,
τὰ μὴ πατέουσιν ἅμαξαι | τὰ στείβειν (fr. 1.25f.) and τά σ’ ἐγὼ φράζεσθαι ἄνωγα (B 6.2). As is easy to
observe, in both cases the same verb of command (ἄνωγα) governs an infinitive (στείβειν or φράζεσθαι)
with a direct object expressed by the same demonstrative pronoun (τά). The actual instructions also have
points of contact, although these are less certain because of the lacunae in Callimachus’ fragment: […]
ἀοιδέ, τὸ μὲν θύος ὅττι πάχιστον | [θρέψαι, τὴ]ν Μοῦσαν δ’ ὠγαθὲ λεπταλέην (fr. 1.23f.) and χρὴ τὸ
λέγειν τε νοεῖν τ’ ἐὸν ἔμμεναι (B 6.1). Although it is not impossible that the conjectural θρέψαι is an infini-
tive with imperative force, it is rather more probable that it depends on a modal word like Parmenides’ χρή,
especially given the presence of a precise counterpart in the well-known Virgilian rendering of Apollo’s
prescriptions (Ecl. 6.5 oportet).
Turning now to the Hymn to Athena, we can hardly fail to notice that the hymn too seems to allude
to Parmenides. There are some similarities of diction that may well look accidental if taken on their own
(55f. μέσφα δ’ ἐγώ τι | ταῖσδ’ ἐρέω· μῦθος δ’ οὐκ ἐμός, ἀλλ’ ἑτέρων, cf. B 2.1 εἰ δ’ ἄγ’ ἐγὼν ἐρέω, κόμισαι
δὲ σὺ μῦθον ἀκούσας; 65 πολλάκις ἁ δαίμων νιν ἑῶ ἐπεβάσατο δίφρω, cf. B 1.2f. ἐπεί μ’ ἐς ὁδὸν βῆσαν
πολύφημον ἄγουσαι | δαίμονος), but the scenes of the meeting of either Tiresias or Parmenides with either
Athena or the Goddess have more telling, even if contrasting, resemblance. In contrast to the benevolent
address of Parmenides’ Goddess (B 1.22f. καί με θεὰ πρόφρων ὑπεδέξατο … ἔπος φάτο καί με προσηύδα),
Athena’s address to Tiresias is tinted with anger (79 τὸν δὲ χολωσαμένα περ ὅμως προσέφασεν Ἀθάνα).
Perhaps more significant is the fact that whereas Parmenides is assured that what brings him to the abodes
of the Goddess is not ‘ill fate’ (B 1.26f. οὔ τί σε μοῖρα κακὴ προὔπεμπε νέεσθαι | τήνδ’ ὁδόν, note also
that at 1.2f. this way is described as ὁδὸς δαίμονος), with the implication that it is generally those who have
died that come there75, Athena’s message is pointedly almost the reverse as she intimates to Tiresias that it
was bad luck that brought him to Helicon (80f. τίς σε … χαλεπὰν ὁδὸν ἄγαγε δαίμων;), for he will become
blind, which in this context, as we have seen already, is a kind of substitute for death.
The second subtext which I suggest to be likewise alluded to in both the Aetia and the Hymn to Athena
is Plato’s Phaedrus. It is now widely agreed that Callimachus’ (conjectural) reference to the singing of
cicadas (fr. 1.29f. λιγὺν ἦχον | [τέττιγος]) and his wish to become, presumably, one of these creatures
(32 ἐγὼ δ’ εἴην οὑλαχύς, ὁ πτερόεις) are meant to evoke the famous myth of the cicadas told by Socrates
in the Phaedrus (258e6–259d8)76. Indeed, Callimachus’ remark that he belongs to those οἳ λιγὺν ἦχον |
72 See e.g. Massimilla (1996: 219), who also mentions among parallels B 6.3–5 but without discussing it.
73 For example, Acosta-Hughes and Stephens (2002: 246) do not name Parmenides in their list of (ten) poets Callimachus
alludes to in the Aetia prologue.
74 Interpretation of Parmenides’ fragment is a matter of controversy. The traditional understanding (which I adopt)
depends on the supplement εἴργω in line 3, instead of which ἄρξω has been suggested: see Palmer (2009: 65–68) who accepts
the latter reading and argues for an alternative interpretation, making this fragment an introduction to the Goddess’ exposition
of the ‘notions of mortals’ (B 1.30 βροτῶν δόξας). Even if Palmer is right, Parmenides will be instructed to avoid the wrong
way of inquiry elsewhere (B 7.2 ἀλλὰ σὺ τῆσδ’ ἀφ’ ὁδοῦ διζήσιος εἶργε νόημα).
75 See e.g. Coxon (2009: 10).
76 See, most importantly, Andrews (1998: 13–17). Cf. also Müller (1987: 38f.), Hunter (1989: 2), Kyriakou (1995: 208),
Acosta-Hughes and Stephens (2002: 252f.), Marinčič (2007: 39–43).
32 B. Kayachev
[τέττιγος] … ἐφίλησαν puts him in the company of Socrates who admires the place Phaedrus has led him
to precisely because, among other things, it λιγυρὸν ὑπηχεῖ τῷ τῶν τεττίγων χορῷ (Phaedrus 230c2f.). As
has been observed, Socrates narrates the myth “ἐν μεσημβρίαι and stresses that they should not nod off
into sleep in the heat like most men (Phaedrus 259a). If Callimachus’ dream took place in the heat of the
day, the image of the cicada may have formed part of the link between it and the Reply.”77 Now, midday is
precisely the time of Tiresias’ encounter with Athena at Hippocrene, and I would suggest that Callimachus’
strikingly repetitive insistence upon the fact (72 μεσαμβρινὰ δ’ εἶχ’ ὄρος ἁσυχία and 73 μεσαμβριναὶ
δ’ ἔσαν ὧραι) may be reproducing the analogous, even if less conspicuous, feature of Socrates’ narrative
(Socrates refers to midday three times on a single page: 259a2 ἐν μεσημβρίᾳ, a7 μεσημβριάζοντα, and d8
ἐν τῇ μεσημβρίᾳ). Moreover, both in Callimachus’ hymn and in Plato’s dialogue the location is at a spring
(71f. ἵππω ἐπὶ κράνᾳ Ἑλικωνίδι καλὰ ῥεοίσᾳ | λῶντο· μεσαμβρινὰ δ’ εἶχ’ ὄρος ἁσυχία, cf. 259a5f.
ὥσπερ προβάτια μεσημβριάζοντα περὶ τὴν κρήνην εὕδειν). Perhaps there also exists a certain parallel-
ism between the protagonists of the two narratives. In Socrates’ myth the cicadas are descendants of the
people who became so devoted to the Muses that they incessantly sang, forgetting to eat and drink, until
they died. As a reward (259c3 γέρας τοῦτο παρὰ Μουσῶν), the cicadas do not need nourishment and sing
all their life, and when they die, they come to the Muses and inform them who among the living honours
them (259c4–6 ᾄδειν, ἕως ἂν τελευτήσῃ, καὶ μετὰ ταῦτα ἐλθὸν παρὰ Μούσας ἀπαγγέλλειν τίς τίνα
αὐτῶν τιμᾷ τῶν ἐνθάδε). In Callimachus’ hymn Tiresias receives in a sense an analogous gift from Athena
(120 ἐξ ἐμέθεν πολλὰ μενεῦντι γέρα): he will live a long life as a famous seer (121 μάντιν … ἀοίδιμον
ἐσσομένοισιν), and when he dies, he will obtain a position of honour in the underworld (129f. εὖτε θάνῃ,
πεπνυμένος ἐν νεκύεσσι | φοιτασεῖ, μεγάλῳ τίμιος Ἁγεσίλᾳ).
To the possible allusions to the Phaedrus found in the Aetia and the Hymn to Athena we may add par-
allels from Propertius’ elegy 3.3, which, as has been argued, is in its turn alluding to both of Callimachus’
texts. Whether these parallels are a sign of Propertius recognising the Platonic subtext behind his Callima-
chean models, or they derive from some lost passage in the opening parts of the Aetia, in either case they
obviously corroborate the evidence for Callimachus’ use of the Phaedrus. To begin with, the locus amoenus
that provides the background for the conversation between Socrates and Phaedrus has certain similarities
with the grotto where Propertius encounters the Muses. The place is explicitly called a μουσεῖον (278b9 τὸ
Νυμφῶν νᾶμά τε καὶ μουσεῖον)78, and it is decorated with votive figures (230b7f. Νυμφῶν τέ τινων καὶ
Ἀχελῴου ἱερὸν ἀπὸ τῶν κορῶν τε καὶ ἀγαλμάτων ἔοικεν εἶναι), much in the same way as the Muses’
grotto has votive offerings (28 tympana, 29 orgia, 30 calami) and statues (29 Sileni patris imago and, per-
haps, diuersaeque nouem sortitae iura Puellae79). Both Socrates in his myth of the cicadas and Propertius
allot the Muses specific domains in which they assist their followers (259c5–d7, 33–36)80. Both play on the
etymology of Calliope’s name, the former with 259d7 καλλίστην φωνήν, the latter with 38 ut reor e facie81.
And here, in the figure of Calliope as the eldest of the Muses, we find a link to the Aetia: as has been
observed by Nancy Andrews, “Callimachus’ choice of Kalliope as the first speaker suggests that Callima-
chus <…> wants to engage in dialectic and song”82 after the manner of the Platonic cicada, which is “the
symbolic embodiment of the immortal soul, and, in particular, the soul of the philosopher”83. Andrews’
77 Hunter (1989: 2).
78 The Platonic passage is cited by Rothstein (1898: 20).
79 Cf. Heyworth and Morwood (2011: 121): “[W]e might think of a grotto in garden, with nine statues artfully distributed.”
80 This parallel is noted, in general terms, by Heyworth and Morwood (2011: 122). The idea of ascribing specific domains
to each of the Muses, in accordance with the etymological associations of their names, originates in Hesiod who seems to play
with the etymologies of their names in passages adjacent to the catalogue of the nine Muses (Th. 76–80; see A. Hardie [2009:
10–17]), which admittedly makes the parallel between Plato and Propertius less specific.
81 Plato’s etymology follows the Theogony where, as is pointed out by A. Hardie (2009: 12, cf. 23), “Καλλιόπη (Cal-
liope) picks up ὀπὶ καλῇ (68 ‘with beautiful voice’)”. Propertius’ is unorthodox and, as such, is obviously bound to evoke the
traditional one as well.
82 Andrews (1998: 17).
83 Andrews (1998: 16).
observation brings us very close to the point I want to make concerning the programmatic message of the
Aetia prologue. By alluding to Plato’s Phaedrus and to Parmenides, Callimachus, I would suggest, recasts
in philosophical, or, to be more precise, epistemological, terms the polemic between the Telchines and him-
self that at first sight appears a purely literary dispute concerned with matters of style.
Callimachus’ hints at the doctrine of transmigration in the Aetia prologue evoke, along with the myth
of the cicadas, the famous chariot allegory (presented shortly before the myth, at 246a3–249d3)84, which
in its turn is directly related to Parmenides’ proem85 – likewise alluded to in the prologue. The basic point
Socrates makes in his account of the allegory is that philosophers and their likes are those who, in their
preexistence, have seen, and can remember, the most of the true, ontological, reality (248d2–4 τὴν μὲν
πλεῖστα [sc. τῶν ἀληθῶν] ἰδοῦσαν εἰς γονὴν ἀνδρὸς γενησομένου φιλοσόφου ἢ φιλοκάλου ἢ μουσικοῦ
τινος καὶ ἐρωτικοῦ), whereas those who have seen less become men of a more mundane nature, from kings
to ‘poets’86 to tyrants. Parmenides draws an analogous distinction between the true knowledge of the onto-
logical reality conferred by the Goddess and the unstable notions of mortals about the phenomenal world
(B 1.29f. ἠμὲν ἀληθείης εὐκυκλέος ἀτρεμὲς ἦτορ, | ἠδὲ βροτῶν δόξας, τῇς οὐκ ἔνι πίστις ἀληθής, cf.
B 2.3–6). By alluding to these two contexts in the Aetia prologue, Callimachus unambiguously aligns him-
self with the philosophers, the few who aspire to the true knowledge, whilst his opponents are thus assigned
to the company of the irrational many.
What is the implication of Callimachus’ claim to, as it were, true philosophical knowledge? On the one
hand, it obviously is a response to the Muses’ famous assertion on the epistemological status of poetry in
the proem of the Theogony (27f.): ἴδμεν ψεύδεα πολλὰ λέγειν ἐτύμοισιν ὁμοῖα, | ἴδμεν δ’ εὖτ’ ἐθέλωμεν
ἀληθέα γηρύσασθαι. But on the other, whereas for Hesiod it may be natural to lay claims to truth on a
universal level, Callimachus must be making a more specific point. I would therefore suggest that, rather,
the Parmenidean-Platonic metaphysics is evoked in the Aetia prologue as a poetological metaphor, with
the implication that Callimachus values and seeks to understand the true essence of poetry, whereas for
his critics it is the sheer length of a poem (or its subject, or genre), not its quality, that matters87. What is
it that enables Callimachus to claim such things? On the metaphorical level, as we have seen, the answer
is more or less clear: Callimachus receives a revelation from Apollo, much as Parmenides does from his
philosophical Goddess, and, being like Socrates an admirer of the singing of cicadas, he must have likewise
a philosopher’s soul. But what does this mean on the level of poetics? What is this ἀλήθεια, as opposed to
δόξαι, about poetry that Callimachus declares (according to my reading) he has the knowledge of? What
is it that distinguishes Callimachus from his opponents? I would suggest we should indeed ask not so
much what the objective difference between the ‘substantial’ and the ‘accidental’ qualities of poetry is, but
rather what faculty it is that enables Callimachus to see the true essence of poetry. This faculty, I believe, is
memory. Although, again, we should perhaps shift the emphasis from the Platonic dichotomy of the ideal
and the phenomenal realities towards the Pythagorean notion of the transmigration of souls. Whereas for
Plato it is vital that the soul remembers what she has seen in the ideal celestial world, for Pythagoras it is
important to remember what you have seen not in the other world, but in your previous reincarnations. And
so, I would suggest, for Callimachus it is a deep knowledge of the poetic tradition (which, to an extent, may
admittedly be a case of the transformation of quantity into quality, after the manner of Pythagoras rather
than Plato) that distinguishes him from his opponents. Indeed, Callimachus’ wished-for immortality would
make him contemporary with, and thus an eyewitness of, every single event (which, of course, has always
been the privilege of the Muses themselves, cf. Il. 2.485: ὑμεῖς γὰρ θεαί ἐστε πάρεστέ τε ἴστε τε πάντα)
and, what matters even more, every single poetic utterance. Ennius’ claim to be a reincarnation of Homer
is arguably nothing more than a banalised version of precisely this concept.
84 In addition to Andrews (1998: 15f.), cf. Marinčič (2007: 42f.).

85 See recently Palmer (1999: 18–30), cf. Slaveva-Griffin (2003).
86 248e1f. ποιητικὸς ἢ τῶν περὶ μίμησίν τις ἄλλος, apparently opposed to the μουσικός who is ranged with the philosopher.
87 Cf. Cameron (1995).
34 B. Kayachev
Drinking from the spring of Mnemosyne fits this pattern perfectly, for the memory its water gives is not
of a temporal, but of an eschatological, thus everlasting, nature. It thus seems far from inconceivable that
Callimachus would have made the springs of the Muses, Mnemosyne’s daughters, flow with water of com-
parable qualities. The difference would be that drinking the Muses’ water opens access not to the abodes
of the blessed in the underworld, but to the eternal world of poetic tradition88.
The difficulty is, of course, that Hesiod’s, or Callimachus’ own, drinking in the Aetia is but a conjec-
ture, however plausible it may seem. The only solid fact we have is that in the Hymn to Athena Tiresias
comes to Hippocrene with the intention to drink from it (though even here it is left unspecified whether he
actually does). Can what I have suggested about the meaning of the Parmenidean and Platonic allusions
in respect of the Aetia prologue be applied likewise to the hymn? Whereas the modality of Callimachus’
programmatic statement in the Aetia prologue seems to be more or less straightforward, the poetological
message of the Tiresias narrative is at first sight ambiguous. There is, of course, no doubt that Tiresias’
encounter with Athena is a variation on the theme of poetic initiation; what is unclear is whether it is a
positive or a negative example. Leaving aside what is on the surface, the suspicion that something is going
wrong seems to be supported by Callimachus’ apparent reversal of his Parmenidean model where, as we
have seen, the Goddess, in stark contrast to Athena, demonstrates conspicuous benevolence in her welcome
to Parmenides. If we take this reversal at face value, it would imply that Tiresias’ initiation is, if not sim-
ply unsuccessful, of quite an opposite nature to that of Parmenides (and, therefore, to that of Callimachus
himself as it is pictured in the Aetia prologue). I would suggest that the reversal of Parmenides’ situation
is meant, rather, ironically, and that Parmenides should still be considered a positive model. A similar
case can be found in the passage where Athena states the reason for Tiresias’ blinding (100–102): Κρόνιοι
δ’ ὧδε λέγοντι νόμοι· | ὅς κε τιν’ ἀθανάτων, ὅκα μὴ θεὸς αὐτὸς ἕληται, | ἀθρήσῃ, μισθῶ τοῦτον ἰδεῖν
μεγάλω. In addition to the parallels between Callimachus’ hymn and the myth of the cicadas in Plato’s
Phaedrus, I would further suggest that the laws of Cronus Athena refers to are meant to recall the decree
of Adrastea in Socrates’ account of the life-cycle of the souls (248c2–4): θεσμός τε Ἀδραστείας ὅδε. ἥτις
ἂν ψυχὴ θεῷ συνοπαδὸς γενομένη κατίδῃ τι τῶν ἀληθῶν, μέχρι τε τῆς ἑτέρας περιόδου εἶναι ἀπήμονα
… (cf. especially τι τῶν ἀληθῶν with τιν’ ἀθανάτων). In the light of the importance Socrates gives to the
seeing of the divine, true reality as the only condition of the soul’s well-being, it seems natural to suppose
that, on the level beneath the narrative, Tiresias is granted the gift of prophecy and afterlife memory not
despite his having seen Athena, the goddess of wisdom and truth (cf. 135f.), naked, but precisely because of
it. In the same vein, I think, we should interpret the apparently negative connotations (note 77 ἄφατόν τι) of
Tiresias’ thirst, namely not as an indication that it was wrong for him to come to this particular spring, but
rather as a way of concealing the fact that it is, again, not despite but because of his coming to Hippocrene
(and, more probable than not, eventually drinking from it) that he obtains his gift89.
If I am right in connecting the motif of drinking the water of inspiration with the drinking from the
spring of Mnemosyne referred to in the gold tablets, one further potentially relevant text should be at least
mentioned. This is, of course, Philitas, to whom (together with Callimachus) Propertius’ famous ques-
tion – quamue bibistis aquam? (3.1.6) – is directed, and more precisely the Demeter, where, as has been
often assumed, some kind of a scene of poetic initiation, apparently involving drinking from the spring of
Burina, took place90. I would tentatively suggest that Philitas, in his Demeter, may actually have been also
the first to allude to the drinking from the spring of Mnemosyne in a poetological context. Given the mystic
associations of the Demeter myth (in particular, in its Homeric version), it would hardly be surprising to
find in Philitas’ treatment references to the texts of the gold tablets which had a functional connection with
88 Cf., from the Renaissance perspective, Murrin (1969: 75–97).

89 Cf. in general Müller’s (1987: 61) positive interpretation of Tiresias’ encounter with Athena. Cf. also Murrin (1969: 83f.).
90 Cf. Müller (1987: 55 n. 177). For a (not always secure) reconstruction of Philitas’ Demeter, see Spanoudakis (2002:
223–243).
certain mystery rites91. A detailed reconstruction of this hypothetical scene of poetic initiation would be
unnecessarily complicated, and even so the results would hardly be conclusive. Instead, I propose a much
shorter argument, which is perhaps no more convincing, but hopefully not much less suggestive either.
About a half of the contexts I have argued to contain allusions to the gold tablets have been also demon-
strated to bear traces of Philitean influence, which can mean that the authors of these contexts alluding to
Philitas recognised the tablets as his subtext. I confine myself to citing relevant discussions. To start with,
Philitas is explicitly referred to in the Aetia prologue and in Propertius’ elegy 3.392. Among Callimachus’
hymns it is, of course, the Hymn to Demeter – the twin piece to the Hymn to Athena – that is most obvi-
ously indebted to the Demeter93, but the other hymn is likely to have references to Philitas’ poem too94.
The Libyan episode of Apollonius’ Argonautica has also been convincingly argued to be in play with the
poetological passage of the Demeter95. Finally, the Demeter has been proposed as an influence on the
Orpheus narrative in Virgil’s Georgics96.
To round off this essay, I would like to make one final suggestion. I began with Norden’s observation
that the Golden Bough features certain similarities to the gold tablets; at a later point I argued that Proper-
tius’ drinking from the ‘Philitean’ spring in a grotto of the Muses may be modelled on the drinking from
the spring of Mnemosyne referred to in these tablets. Now I would like to call attention to the fact that in his
account of how he finds that spring Propertius seems to be alluding to the scene of Aeneas’ search for the
Bough. Both Propertius and Aeneas are shown the way (3.3.26 semita, 6.194 uia), the former by Apollo, the
latter – indirectly – by Venus. Both places they start from are situated in a pleasant environment, character-
ised by green and soft soil (3.3.26 muscoso … solo, cf. uiridis in the next line, 6.192 uiridi … solo, cf. also
195f. pinguem … humum). Both places they come to, and this is the most remarkable point of resemblance,
are associated with doves: Propertius finds doves at the pond from which he is about to drink, Aeneas is
led by two doves to the tree on which the Bough grows; in both cases the doves are explicitly identified as
Venus’ birds (3.3.31 et Veneris dominae uolucres, mea turba, columbae, 6.190 geminae cum forte colum-
bae and 193 maternas agnouit auis: cf. dominae and geminae). Two inferences (complementary, rather
than mutually exclusive) can be tentatively made if we accept this parallel as a real allusion: first, that
Propertius recognised Virgil’s association of the Golden Bough with the gold tablets; second, and perhaps
more interesting, that Propertius read Aeneas’ catabasis as in a sense a poetic initiation, as an immersion
into the world of the literary past97.
By way of conclusion, let us briefly survey the evidence presented in this essay. Firstly, Aeneid 6 fea-
tures possible allusions to both the gold tablets as physical objects and the texts inscribed on them. Sec-
ondly, Theocritus’ Dioscuri and Apollonius’ Argonautica contain three episodes, the former one and the
latter two, that apparently reproduce the narrative pattern of a scene from the tablets. Thirdly, Callimachus’
Hymn to Athena arguably alludes to the same scene, whereas three Latin poets – Virgil, Propertius, and
Ovid – seem to acknowledge Callimachus’ debt to the texts of the gold tablets. Finally, it can be specu-
lated that Philitas’ Demeter already made use of the same texts, since Callimachus, Apollonius, Virgil and
Propertius appear to conflate in a number of contexts allusions to both Philitas’ poem and the hypothetical
‘Orphic’ poem as they can be reconstructed from the available evidence. All these parallels are admittedly
not sufficient to prove beyond any doubt that the texts of the gold tablets were known to Hellenistic and
Roman poets, but, on the assumption that these texts derive from a single poem which would have had not
just religious but also literary currency, the parallels do indeed look like deliberate allusions.
91 For possible links with mystery cult in Philitas’ Demeter, see Marinčič (2007: 28–38), although, as he concedes (p. 34),
“[i]t is impossible to ascertain what role, if any, Demeter’s mysteries played in Philetas’ poem”.
92 For Propertius, see most conveniently Bowie (1985: 83f.) and Spanoudakis (2002: 59–64 and passim).
93 Spanoudakis (2002: 293–299).
94 Müller (1987: 55 and 64).
95 Kyriakou (1995: 210–214) and Spanoudakis (2002: 301–303).
96 Marinčič (2007: 28–38).
97 On the epic underworld as a metaphor for poetic tradition, cf. P. Hardie (2004).
36 B. Kayachev
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Boris Kayachev, University of Leeds, Department of Classics

clbak@leeds.ac.uk

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BORIS KAYACHEV

T HE S O -C ALLED O RPHIC G OLD T ABLETS IN A NCIENT P OETRY AND P OETICS

aus: Zeitschrift für Papyrologie und Epigraphik 180 (2012) 17–37

© Dr. Rudolf Habelt GmbH, Bonn

TH E S O -C A LLED O R PH IC G OLD TA BLETS IN A NCI EN T P OET RY AND P OET ICS *

29 Janko (1984: 99), Ferrari (2008: 25), Riedweg (2011: 248).

33 Sens (1997: 109).

58 Tablets 5–7 in Graf and Johnston (2007: 12–14).

84 In addition to Andrews (1998: 15f.), cf. Marinčič (2007: 42f.).

88 Cf., from the Renaissance perspective, Murrin (1969: 75–97).

Boris Kayachev, University of Leeds, Department of Classics

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