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OUP CORRECTED PROOF – FINAL, 19/08/22, SPi
Studies on the Derveni Papyrus
Volume 2
Studies on the
Derveni Papyrus
Volume 2
Edited by
G L E N N W. M O ST
Great Clarendon Street, Oxford, OX2 6DP,

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Contents
Notes on Contributors vii

List of Illustrations ix
List of Tables xv
Abbreviations xvi
Introduction xvii
Glenn W. Most
PA RT I T WO E D I T IO N S O F T H E F I R S T C O LUM N S
1. The Derveni Papyrus, Columns 41–7 (formerly I–VII):

A Proekdosis from Digital Microscopy 3
Richard Janko
1a. Methodology and Criteria of Reconstruction 3
1b. Diplomatic Transcript and Palaeographical Commentary 16
1c. Text, Translation, and Apparatus Criticus 38
1d. Postscript 54
2. The Derveni Papyrus, Columns -2–VII: A Critical Edition from
Digital Microscopy 58
Valeria Piano
2a. Methodology and Criteria of Reconstruction 58
2b. Diplomatic Transcript and Palaeographical Commentary 84
2c. Text, Translation, and Apparatus Criticus 119
PA RT I I Q U E S T IO N S O F U N I T Y
3. The Cult of the Erinyes, the Villa of the Mysteries, and the Unity
of the Derveni Papyrus 151
Richard Janko
4. The Opening Lemmas 182
David Sedley
PA RT I I I H E R AC L I T U S A N D T H E D E RV E N I AU T HO R
5. Cosmic Order, the Erinyes, and the Sun: Heraclitus and

Column IV (44) of the Derveni Papyrus 211
Gábor Betegh and Valeria Piano
vi contents
6. Heraclitus in the Opening Columns (III–VI (43–6)) and in Columns

XI (51) and XX (60) of the Derveni Papyrus 247
Vojtěch Hladký
PA RT I V O T H E R A SP E C T S O F T H E PA P Y RU S
7. Notes to Derveni Papyrus, Column XXI (61) 277

Alberto Bernabé
8. Practices of Interpretation in the Derveni Papyrus and the
Hippocratic Text On Dreams (Vict. 4) 291
Mirjam E. Kotwick
9. Orphism in Macedonia: The Derveni Papyrus in Context 313
Angelos Boufalis
Bibliography 349
Index of Passages in the Derveni Papyrus and in Other Ancient Authors 371
Index of Names 384
Index of Subjects 389
Index of Greek Words Discussed 396
Index of Words in Janko’s Edition of the First Columns 398
Index of Words in Piano’s Edition of the First Columns 403
Notes on Contributors
Alberto Bernabé is Emeritus Professor of Greek Language and Literature at the

Universidad Complutense, Madrid. He is editor of Poetae Epici Graeci (19962) and
Orphicorum Fragmenta (2004–7, 3 vols.) in the Bibliotheca Teubneriana and the author of
several books and many articles on Orpheus and Orphism.
Gábor Betegh is Laurence Professor of Ancient Philosophy at the University of Cambridge.

He works on ancient philosophy, in particular on ancient metaphysics, cosmology, the
ology, and the connections between ancient philosophy and the history of religions. He
published The Derveni Papyrus: Cosmology, Theology and Interpretation (2004).
Angelos Boufalis is an archaeologist. He holds a PhD in Greek epigraphy from the Aristotle
University of Thessaloniki. He has published or has forthcoming studies on subjects such
as Greek epigraphy, archaeological epistemology, and modern ethnography. He is now
preparing an edition, with commentary, of the pre-Hellenistic inscriptions of ancient
Macedonia.
Vojtěch Hladký is Assistant Professor of Philosophy and History of Science at the Charles
University in Prague. He works on ancient and Renaissance philosophy and partly also on
French epistemology. He is author of The Philosophy of Gemistos Plethon: Platonism in Late
Byzantium, between Hellenism and Orthodoxy (2014).
Richard Janko is Gerald F. Else Distinguished University Professor at the University of

Michigan. He has written on the Aegean Bronze Age, Homer and the early epic tradition,
Empedocles, the Derveni papyrus, and Aristotle’s Poetics, and has reconstructed and pub-
lished Books I–IV of Philodemus’ On Poems from carbonized papyri. He was elected a
Foreign Member of the Academy of Athens in 2017.
Mirjam E. Kotwick is Assistant Professor of Classics at Princeton University. She has pub-
lished articles and books on Greek philosophy and literature and their textual traditions,
including Alexander of Aphrodisias and the Text of Aristotle’s Metaphysics (2016) and Der
Papyrus von Derveni (2017).
Glenn W. Most retired as Professor of Greek Philology at the Scuola Normale Superiore di
Pisa in 2020 and is a regular Visiting Professor on the Committee on Social Thought at the
University of Chicago and an External Scientific Member of the Max Planck Institute for
the History of Science in Berlin. He has published books and articles on Classics, ancient
philosophy, and other fields.
Valeria Piano is Assistant Professor of Classical Philology at the University of Florence. She
has published extensively on the Derveni papyrus and edited several Greek and Latin liter-
ary papyri, including P. Herc. 1067, which contains part of the historical work by the Elder
Seneca. She is on the editorial board of the Corpus dei Papiri Filosofici Greci e Latini.
viii notes on contributors
David Sedley retired as Laurence Professor of Ancient Philosophy at the University of

Cambridge in 2014. His books include The Hellenistic Philosophers (1987, with A. A. Long),
Plato’s Cratylus (2003), The Midwife of Platonism: Text and Subtext in Plato’s Theaetetus
(2004), and Creationism and Its Critics in Antiquity (2007), based on his 2004 Sather
Lectures.
List of Illustrations
1. Black and White Plates (after p. 150)
1. Derveni papyrus KPT col. II, frr. G6+G5a juxtaposed to show mismatch in fibres lower
down (montage by Juliet Christin and Araceli Rizzo of infrared photographs by Spyros
Tsavdaroglou). © Archaeological Museum of Thessaloniki, Hellenic Ministry of
Culture and Sports/Archaeological Resources Fund (Law 3028/2002).
2. Derveni papyrus col. 41, to show location of kollesis in frr. F10+F14+F19 and join in
fibres in frr. F14+F18 (montage by R. Janko of infrared photographs by Spyros
3a. Derveni papyrus col. 42, frr. G11+F5a juxtaposed to show match in fibres (montage
by R. Janko of infrared photographs by Spyros Tsavdaroglou). © Archaeological
Museum of Thessaloniki, Hellenic Ministry of Culture and Sports/Archaeological
Resources Fund (Law 3028/2002).
3b. Derveni papyrus cols. 42–3, frr. G5a and F9 juxtaposed to show match in fibres (montage
by R. Janko of infrared photographs by Spyros Tsavdaroglou). © Archaeological
4a. Derveni papyrus cols. 43–4, frr. G5b and F7 juxtaposed to show possible match
in fibres (montage by R. Janko of infrared photographs by Spyros Tsavdaroglou).
© Archaeological Museum of Thessaloniki, Hellenic Ministry of Culture and Sports/
Archaeological Resources Fund (Law 3028/2002).
4b. Derveni papyrus cols. 44–5, frr. H46+F15 and G12 juxtaposed to show possible
match in fibres (montage by R. Janko of infrared photographs by Spyros
5. The portions of the Derveni papyrus-roll. The black lines in bold mark the different
portions into which the papyrus-roll broke. The letters correspond to the glass cases
in which the fragments are currently kept: the letter which classifies a fragment,
therefore, is indicative of the position that the fragment originally occupied in the
unopened roll. Besides the seven glasses, A–G, there are also glasses H and I: they
contain the (tiny) fragments whose position in the unopened roll is unknown.
© Leo S. Olschki Editore, Florence (courtesy of G. M. Parássoglou and
K. Tsantsanoglou).
6. Derveni papyrus, relocation of fr. F5a in col. VII (Piano ed.). The image shows the
analogy of the shape of the F-sections in cols. VII (47) and VIII (48) in Piano’s edi-
tion. The area occupied by fr. F5a (end of col. VII (47)) in Piano’s edition is almost
x list of illustrations
entirely preserved in the F-section of the next circumference (col. VIII (48)), as indi-
cated by the rectangle: the relocation of fr. F5a as proposed by Piano (which is
slightly different from the one proposed by Janko) recreates a shape of the F-section
placed at the end of col. VII (47) which, in light of the shape of the F-section placed
at the beginning of col. VIII (48), is closer to the one expected. Montage by V. Piano
of infrared photographs by Makis Skiadaressis. © Archaeological Museum of
Thessaloniki, Hellenic Ministry of Culture and Sports/Archaeological Resources Fund
(Law 3028/2002). © Leo S. Olschki Editore, Florence (courtesy of G. M. Parássoglou
and K. Tsantsanoglou).
7. Derveni papyrus, new join of fr. F17 in col. IV (Piano ed.). Left: the image shows the
analogy of the shape between the F-section as reconstructed by Piano at the end of col.
IV ((44), frr. H46+F15+F17 in background) and the F-section placed at the beginning
of col. III ((43), frr. F9+F8, outlined by the black line in foreground): the placement of
fr. F17 in col. IV (Piano ed.) recreates a similar shape to the one assumed by the
F-section in the earlier circumferences, since the shape of fr. F17 resembles that of the
bottom part of fr. F8. Right: the image reproduces the F-sections placed in three con-
tiguous circumferences and shows their similar shapes. Montage by V. Piano of infra-
red photographs by Makis Skiadaressis. © Archaeological Museum of Thessaloniki,
Hellenic Ministry of Culture and Sports/ Archaeological Resources Fund (Law
3028/2002). © Leo S. Olschki Editore, Florence (courtesy of G. M. Parássoglou and
K. Tsantsanoglou).
8. Derveni papyrus, gG-sections in cols. I–III (Piano ed.). The frr. in foreground constitute
the gG-sections which occupy (in sequence) cols. I–III in Piano ed. They have been super-
imposed on frr. g12G1 (the best-preserved fragments of the same series), outlined in
background and in transparency, in order to show the level they occupy in the recon-
structed roll. Frr. G6 and G5 are placed in two consecutive circumferences because the
left-hand part of fr. G5 has the same shape as fr. G6 (as indicated by the broken rectangle).
Fr. G5a is a sovrapposto of G5 and, thus, must be placed one circumference later and at the
same height it occupies on fr. G5 (as indicated by the broken line). Montage by V. Piano of
infrared photographs by Makis Skiadaressis. © Archaeological Museum of Thessaloniki,
Hellenic Ministry of Culture and Sports/Archaeological Resources Fund (Law 3028/2002).
© Leo S. Olschki Editore, Florence (courtesy of G. M. Parássoglou and K. Tsantsanoglou).
9. Derveni papyrus, gG-sections in cols. -1–I (Piano ed.). The fragments in foreground
constitute the gG-sections which occupy (in sequence) cols. -1–I in Piano ed. They
have been superimposed on frr. g12G1 (the best-preserved fragments of the same
series), outlined in background and in transparency, in order to show the level they
occupy in the reconstructed roll. Fr. G6a (sottoposto to G6) has been placed between
frr. g17G8: the resultant pair G6a+G8 is compatible with the size of G1 (in transpar-
ency and in background). Frr. g19 and g17 show the same crack on the left-hand edge
(marked by the circle), and therefore they have been relocated at the same level (as
indicated by the broken line). Montage by V. Piano of infrared photographs by Makis
Skiadaressis. © Archaeological Museum of Thessaloniki, Hellenic Ministry of Culture
and Sports/Archaeological Resources Fund (Law 3028/2002). © Leo S. Olschki
Editore, Florence (courtesy of G. M. Parássoglou and K. Tsantsanoglou).
list of illustrations xi
10. Derveni papyrus, gG-sections in cols. -2–-1 (Piano ed.). The fragments in foreground
constitute the gG-sections which occupy (in sequence) cols. -2–-1 in Piano ed. They
have been superimposed on frr. g12G1 (the best-preserved fragments of the same
series), outlined in background and in transparency, in order to show the level they
occupy in the reconstructed roll. The grey fragment in the middle of the columns is
the best-preserved fragment among those of the F/E series (fr. E1): it indicates here
only the areas in which fragments F have to be placed. The broken line indicates a
crack that is shared by the three g fragments placed in sequence: g18, g20, g19; the
same crack occurs also in fr. g17 (cf. Plate 9), placed at the end of col. 0, i.e. one circum-
ference later than the one occupied by fr. g19. Montage by V. Piano of infrared photo-
graphs by Makis Skiadaressis. © Archaeological Museum of Thessaloniki, Hellenic
Ministry of Culture and Sports/Archaeological Resources Fund (Law 3028/2002). ©
Leo S. Olschki Editore, Florence (courtesy of G. M. Parássoglou and K. Tsantsanoglou).
11. A wingless Poinē flogging Sisyphus, Apulian red-figure volute-crater, Underworld
Painter, Munich Antikensammlung 3297, c.330–310 bc. Staatliche Antikensammlungen
und Glyptothek, Munich; photograph by Renate Kühling.
2. Colour Plates (after p. 150)
1a. Derveni papyrus col. 39 l. 5 (fr. G16), to show ⌊θ⌋υμὸς ἱκά̣⌊νοι⌋, the end of the first line
of Parmenides’ poem (montage of near- infrared digital microphotographs by
R. Janko). © Archaeological Museum of Thessaloniki, Hellenic Ministry of Culture
and Sports/Archaeological Resources Fund (Law 3028/2002).
1b. Derveni papyrus col. 46 (formerly VI) ll. 13–15 (fr. H18), to show Ο _ in left margin
between ll. 14 and 15, which begins ϕό̣β̣ου (montage by G. Ryan of digital microphoto-
graphs by R. Janko). © Archaeological Museum of Thessaloniki, Hellenic Ministry of
2a. Derveni papyrus col. 46 (formerly VI) ll. 10–11 (fr. G3), to show small Ο in margin just
above l. 11, which reads ϕ[ο]ρτ̣ |ίον (montage by G. Ryan of digital microphotographs
by R. Janko). © Archaeological Museum of Thessaloniki, Hellenic Ministry of Culture
2b. Derveni papyrus col. 45 (formerly V) upper margin (fr. G1), to show absence of
column-numbering (montage by G. Ryan of digital microphotographs by R. Janko).
Scale (at left) in mm. © Archaeological Museum of Thessaloniki, Hellenic Ministry of
3a. Derveni papyrus col. 43 l. 6 (fr. G6), to show the tips of the Σ of τιμάς overlapping the
kollesis (digital microphotograph by R. Janko). Scale (at left) in mm. © Archaeological
3b. As previous in infrared spectrum (near-infrared digital microphotograph by R. Janko).

xii list of illustrations
4a. Derveni papyrus col. 43 l. 9 (fr. G6), to show the Ο of ]υτο[ overlapping the kollesis
before the upper surface of the lower sheet breaks away to expose vertical fibres from
the backing (digital microphotograph by R. Janko). © Archaeological Museum of
(Law 3028/2002).
4b. Derveni papyrus col. 43 l. 8 (fr. G6) in infrared spectrum, to show the Ο of ]στο[
overlapping the kollesis before the upper surface of the lower sheet breaks away to
expose vertical fibres from the backing (near-infrared digital microphotograph by
R. Janko). © Archaeological Museum of Thessaloniki, Hellenic Ministry of Culture
5a. Derveni papyrus col. 41 l. 3 (fr. F10), to show ΚΑ[ overlapping the kollesis (digital
microphotograph by R. Janko). © Archaeological Museum of Thessaloniki, Hellenic
Ministry of Culture and Sports/Archaeological Resources Fund (Law 3028/2002).
5b. Derveni papyrus col. 41 l. 7 (fr. F14), to show tips of Κ in ϕυσικ[ overlapping the
kollesis (digital microphotograph by R. Janko). © Archaeological Museum of
(Law 3028/2002).
5c. Derveni papyrus col. 41 l. 11 (fr. F19), to show line of kollesis before the ΝΑΙ in ε[̣ ἶ]ναι (digital
microphotograph by R. Janko). © Archaeological Museum of Thessaloniki, Hellenic Ministry
of Culture and Sports/Archaeological Resources Fund (Law 3028/2002).
6a. Derveni papyrus, the omicron on fr. H18 (Piano ed.). Cols. V–VI: the omicron visible on
fr. H18 (bottom left-hand part of col. VI) is aligned with the level of l. 15 in col. V (red line).
Montage by V. Piano of infrared photographs by Makis Skiadaressis. © Archaeological
Resources Fund (Law 3028/2002). © Leo S. Olschki Editore, Florence (courtesy of
G. M. Parássoglou and K. Tsantsanoglou).
6b. Derveni papyrus, the omicron on fr. H18 (Piano ed.). Microphotograph in ultraviolet
spectrum. The green circle marks the possible relics of ink before the omicron (τ?); the
red rectangle marks the prominent fibre under the omicron. Digital microphotograph by
V. Piano. © Archaeological Museum of Thessaloniki, Hellenic Ministry of Culture and
Sports/Archaeological Resources Fund (Law 3028/2002).
7. Derveni papyrus, presence of a sottoposto under fr. G6 (Piano ed.), entire fragment (left)
and details (right). Microphotographs under visible light; the letters break off in coinci-
dence with the vertical line close to the right-hand edge of the fragment. Top right:
G6 l. 1: ΣΙΝ: only the first stroke of nu is visible: the second stroke breaks off in coincidence
with the beginning of the lower layer. Right, second from top: G6 l. 2: ΑΣ: the tips of the
sigma break off in coincidence with the beginning of the lower layer. Right, second from
bottom: G6 l. 4: ΤΟ: the omicron seems almost entirely written on the upper layer.
Bottom right: G6 l. 5: ΥΤΟ: the omicron breaks off in coincidence with the beginning of
the lower layer (only the left-hand part is visible). The lower layer shows traces of ink
which are not compatible with the right-hand half of the omicron (coloured in red).
Digital microphotographs and montage by V. Piano. © Archaeological Museum of
list of illustrations xiii

(Law 3028/2002).
8. Derveni papyrus, fr. G9 and its sovrapposto fr. G9a (Piano ed.). 8a. The infrared
photograph, by Makis Skiadaressis, reproduces fr. G9 in its entirety: the right-hand
half is occupied by a sovrapposto (fr. G9a). © Archaeological Museum of Thessaloniki,
Hellenic Ministry of Culture and Sports/Archaeological Resources Fund (Law
3028/2002). © Leo S. Olschki Editore, Florence (courtesy of G. M. Parássoglou and
K. Tsantsanoglou). 8b. Fr. G9, first line. Microphotograph in infrared spectrum. The
red line marks the beginning of the sovrapposto. The blue circle indicates the letters
written on the main layer (G9: ] κ ̣ α
̣ ̣[), the green rectangle the letters written on the
sovrapposto (G9a). 8c. Fr. G9, last line. Microphotograph under visible light. The
green rectangle marks the letters written on the sovrapposto (G9a). Before the ο
(right-hand edge of the fr.), the right half of π is visible: the ink is close to the preced-
ing ϕ, and there is not enough room to restore the left part of the letter: ϕ and π
belong to two different layers. Digital microphotographs and montage by V. Piano.
© Archaeological Museum of Thessaloniki, Hellenic Ministry of Culture and
Sports/Archaeological Resources Fund (Law 3028/2002).
9. Derveni papyrus, fr. F19: absence of kollesis (Piano ed.). 9a. Fr. F19, infrared photo-
graph by Spyros Tsavdaroglou. The arrow marks the point at which R. Janko detects
the line of the kollesis. The fibres, however, are continuous all over the fragment.
9b. Microphotographs of fr. F19 (visible light). The inspection with USB digital
microscope confirms the continuity of the fibres all along the fragment and also in
the portion delimited by the red rectangle, which marks the area of the presumed
kollesis detected by R. Janko. Digital microphotographs and montage by V. Piano.
10. The mysteries of Dionysus: a winged demoness distracted from flogging an initiate,
fresco from the Villa of the Mysteries, Pompeii (photograph by Elaine Gazda, follow-
ing the cleaning and restoration of 2014–15). By concession of the Ministero per i
Beni e le Attività Culturali e per il Turismo, Parco Archeologico di Pompei (all rights
reserved).
11. A winged Erinys in short chiton and high boots with a wingless companion, Apulian
red-
figure volute-
crater, circle of the Lycurgus Painter, c.350–340 bc. Badisches
Landesmuseum, Karlsruhe, B4; photograph by Thomas Goldschmidt.
12a. Derveni papyrus col. 45 (formerly V) l. 5, to show letters ]ουκαι[̣ in ἐκ τ]οῦ καὶ ̣
(montage of digital near-infrared microphotographs by R. Janko of fr. G10).
Archaeological Museum of Thessaloniki, Hellenic Ministry of Culture and Sports/
Archaeological Resources Fund.
12b. Derveni papyrus col. 44 (formerly IV) l. 7, to show correction ]ρειτα⟦κ̣ν⟧`ν̣΄ [ in

κατ[ατιμω]ρεῖ τἄν[ισ]α (montage of digital microphotographs by R. Janko of fr.
G13). Archaeological Museum of Thessaloniki, Hellenic Ministry of Culture and
Sports/Archaeological Resources Fund.
xiv list of illustrations
Figures
9.1 Orphism in Macedonia: sites and regions referred to in the text. Map in the
public domain (Wikimedia Commons), cropped and annotated by the author. 348
List of Tables
1.1 Widths of kollemata in the Derveni papyrus, based on state of model

in March 2020 12
1.2 Directly measurable widths of kollemata in Philodemus, On Poems 2 13
6.1 The sacrificial ritual for the Erinyes/Eumenides 259
8.1 Allegorical interpretation in the Derveni papyrus 299
8.2 Allegorical dream interpretation in Vict. 4 311
OUP CORRECTED PROOF –OUP
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CORRECTED
19/08/22, SPiPROOF – FINAL, 19/08/22, SPi
Abbreviations
Epigraphical abbreviations follow the conventions of the List of Abbreviations of

Editions and Works of Reference for Alphabetic Greek Epigraphy of the
Association Internationale d’Épigraphie Grecque et Latine; abbreviations of
ancient Greek and Latin literary texts mostly follow those in H. G. Liddell and
R. Scott, A Greek–English Lexicon: With a Revised Supplement, 9th ed. (Oxford:
Clarendon Press, 1996) and the Oxford Latin Dictionary, 2nd ed. (Oxford: Oxford
University Press, 2012).
BÉ Bulletin épigraphique, in Revue des études grecques (Paris, 1888– ).

BGU W. Schubart and E. Kühn, eds., Ägyptische Urkunden aus den Staatlichen
Museen zu Berlin. Griechische Urkunden, 9 vols. (Berlin: Weidmann,
1892–1937).
DK H. Diels and W. Kranz, eds., Die Fragmente der Vorsokratiker, vols. 1–3 (Berlin:
Weidmann, 1951–26).
IG Inscriptiones Graecae (Berlin, 1873– ).
Janko ed. Richard Janko’s edition of the Derveni papyrus, cols. 41–7 in this volume.
KPT Th. Kouremenos, G. M. Parássoglou, and K. Tsantsanoglou, eds., The Derveni
Papyrus. Studi e testi per il Corpus dei papiri filosofici greci e latini, vol. 13
(Florence: Olschki, 2006).
LIMC Lexicon Iconographicum Mythologiae Classicae (Zürich: Artemis Verlag,
1981–2009).
LM A. Laks and G. W. Most, eds., Early Greek Philosophy, vols. 1–9 (Cambridge,
MA, and London: Harvard University Press, 2016); French ed.: Les Débuts de
la philosophie grecque (Paris: Fayard, 2016).
OF O. Kern, Orphicorum Fragmenta (Berlin: Weidmann, 1922).
OP Fragments of the Orphic theogony in D. Sider, ‘The Orphic Poem of the
Derveni Papyrus’, in I. Papadopoulou and L. Muellner, eds., Poetry as Initiation
(Cambridge, MA, and London: Harvard University Press, 2014), 225–53.
OTF A. Bernabé, ed., Poetae Epici Graeci II: Orphicorum Graecorum et Orphicis
similium testimonia et fragmenta (Munich and Leipzig: Saur; Teubner, 2004–5).
Piano ed. Valeria Piano’s edition of the Derveni papyrus, cols. -2–VII in this volume.
SEG Supplementum Epigraphicum Graecum (Leiden: Brill, 1923– ).
SVF J. von Arnim, Stoicorum Veterum Fragmenta, 4 vols. (Leipzig: B. G. Teubner
Verlag, 1905).
Introduction
Glenn W. Most
Science progresses, if at all, only by fits and starts. Perhaps no other case in the
modern study of the ancient Greek world confirms this truism more strikingly
than does the Derveni papyrus. For difficulties of all sorts—from the lamentable
condition of its material preservation, to the profound perplexities posed to our
understanding by its contents and intentions, to delicate issues of scholarly
propriety and international cooperation—have caused notorious delays and
unfortunate misunderstandings in the history of the scholarship on this unique
document. Its discovery in 1962 at Derveni, a locality some ten kilometres north-
east of Saloniki in northern Greece, was reported, widely, prominently, and very
quickly, in numerous scholarly journals, often together with photographs of parts
of the papyrus,1 and a first preliminary edition was published as early as 1964.2
But the intense interest throughout the scholarly world that had thereby been
stimulated was frustrated by the fact that years, and then decades, went by with-
out a definitive scholarly edition appearing—indeed, the editio princeps of the
papyrus was not published until 2006.3 The inevitable result was that various
unauthorized partial transcriptions circulated privately, and eventually one was
published anonymously in 1982,4 thereby supplying a basis for research that was
of doubtful legality and of unverifiable authority, and impairing the international
scholarly cooperation that was a prerequisite for any further progress. For years,
some scholars used the available materials for teaching or for private studies, but a
cloud of uncertainty made joint public work impossible. Eloquent testimony to
this fact is provided by the relative paucity of detailed publications and the
complete absence, as far as I know, of any scholarly conferences on the Derveni
papyrus, during this whole period.
With this in mind, André Laks and I organized an international colloquium at
Princeton University in 1993; the results of that colloquium were published by us
as Studies on the Derveni Papyrus in 1997.5 This volume provided for the first
1 Hood (1961–2: 15 and fig. 14); Blake (1962); Daux (1962: 793–4 and figs. 4, 5); Hunger (1962);
Vanderpool (1962: 390 and fig. 4); Makaronas (1963); Ochsenschlager (1963: 246 and fig. 1); Picard
(1963: 179 and figs. 1, 2); Kapsomenos (1963, 1964b).
2 Kapsomenos (1964a). 3 KPT. 4 Anonymous (1982).
5 Laks and Most (1997a).
xviii Glenn W. Most
time a reliable basis for study of the papyrus by supplying an English translation,
prepared by the editors and revised with the help of Kyriakos Tsantsanoglou, of
as much of the papyrus as had been reconstructed at that time. In addition,
Prof. Tsantsanoglou presented the very first evidence for the opening columns of
the papyrus, which had been almost entirely unknown previously, thereby estab-
lishing the numeration of the columns that has been the standard one and, until
recently, the only one; and he checked the articles in that volume against his read-
ings of the papyrus. The result was an extraordinary, immediate, and uninter-
rupted increase in the publication of editions, commentaries, monographs, and
articles devoted to all aspects of the papyrus. While there remains for now (and
doubtless will forever remain) much controversy about many fundamental and
detailed issues regarding the meaning, context, and purposes of the Derveni
papyrus, at least the textual basis for most of its columns seems to be relatively
secure since the publication of KPT in 2006; and at last the numerous scholars
who disagree vigorously with one another about so much else about the meaning
of this text are largely in agreement about what precisely the text is that they are
disagreeing about.
But if this is largely true for the better-preserved later columns, whose existence
and approximate text were already known long before 1997, it is far from being
the case for the extremely fragmentary opening columns, of which, in a moment
of unforgettable drama at the beginning of his Princeton lecture, Prof.
Tsantsanoglou suddenly pulled out photographs and transcripts from his leather
briefcase. These first columns present profound difficulties both in their content
and in their text. In content, they appear to be of a very different character from
cols. VII (47) to XXVI (66): for whereas the latter part of the text is devoted
entirely, with the single perplexing exception of col. XX (60), to the detailed alle-
gorical interpretation, in terms of a type of physical cosmogony reminiscent of
certain early Greek philosophers, of a theogonic poem ascribed to Orpheus, the
first columns instead discuss such religious phenomena as the Underworld, ritual
sacrifices, Erinyes, and daimones, without any obvious or explicit relation to a spe-
cific text. What is the relation between these two parts of the Derveni text? In
1997, André Laks and I described the task of ‘reach[ing] a deeper understanding
of the relationship between the two parts of the papyrus’ as one of the questions
that at that time had ‘perhaps not yet sufficiently engaged scholars’.6
If this assessment remains largely true more than two decades later, this is
doubtless due to the fact that the material condition of the text in the first
columns, which must serve as the foundation for any interpretative hypotheses
about it, is vastly inferior to that in the rest of the surviving columns. Anton
Fackelmann’s heroic conservation and restoration of the carbonized remains of
6 Laks and Most (1997a: 5).

INTRODUCTION xix
the Derveni papyrus in 1962 was far more successful for the relatively well-
protected inner layers of the papyrus roll, which he was able to restore in an
astonishingly legible form, than it was for the outer ones, which were reduced by
the original cremation and by the later excavation to a very large number of
mostly very tiny fragments, whose wording, original position, and arrangement
can in many cases no longer be determined with complete certainty. The
immediate result is that, while there can be such a thing as a single generally
accepted standard edition of the later columns, this has not yet become possible
for the opening ones. Given the exiguous material basis for any such edition of
these columns and the very large number of imponderables that determine how
that scanty evidence is to be assessed, too much depends not upon generally
recognized ‘objective’ scientific data, but upon individual ‘subjective’ qualities of
judgement and taste, imagination and experience, interpretation and expectation,
for consensus on a certain number of crucial but controversial issues to be
attainable yet. Even the numeration of the columns that had been traditional
since 1997 has been called into question in recent years: depending on whether a
single sign in the margin of one of the columns is read as a stichometric indica-
tion meaning 15 and interpreted as designating line 1500, or is understood differ-
ently, the extant columns must be numbered either from -1 to XXVI or from
39 to 66 (hence in this volume both numerations are employed).
The resulting situation seemed to me to raise the danger of a degree of
fragmentation and lack of communication among members of the international
Derveni scholarly community that might once again impede further progress.
With this in mind, I organized, with the help of Dr Leyla Ozbek, a colloquium at
the Scuola Normale Superiore (Pisa, Italy) on 2–3 March 2018, which sought to
bring together a number of scholars who had worked on the opening columns of
the Derveni papyrus and to lay the basis for a more fruitful international collabor
ation in the future. Partial funding for the conference was provided by the Scuola
Normale Superiore.
After an introductory session in which various interpretative hypotheses
regarding the beginning of the papyrus were proposed for group discussion, the
rest of the first day was devoted to an intense and prolonged examination by all
the participants of high-quality digital photographs of the fragments of the first
columns. The second day was given over to lectures and discussion. The following
scholars, in alphabetical order, participated in the conference; if they delivered
lectures, the titles of those lectures are indicated:
Guido Bastianini
Gábor Betegh
Franco Ferrari, ‘Attori dei riti nelle prime colonne del papiro di Derveni’
Maria Serena Funghi
Richard Janko, ‘The Cult of the Erinyes and the Unity of the Derveni Papyrus’
xx Glenn W. Most
Mirjam E. Kotwick, ‘Practices of Interpretation in the Derveni Papyrus, Plato’s

Gorgias and the Hippocratic Text On Dreams’
Glenn W. Most
Dirk Obbink
Leyla Ozbek
Valeria Piano, ‘Criteri di ricostruzione del rotolo di Derveni: premesse
metodologiche per una nuova edizione’
David Sedley, ‘The Opening Lemmas of the Derveni Papyrus’
The present volume arises from that Pisa colloquium, but it is not simply a
reflection of it. On the one hand, for various reasons it turned out not to be
possible to include in this book all the papers that were delivered on that occasion:
to those scholars who enriched the conference by their oral and written
contributions but who are not represented here explicitly, I express my thanks.
On the other hand, I have added a number of essays to the present volume that
were not discussed at the Pisa colloquium but which I hope, together with the
Pisa papers, will provide a somewhat broader panorama of the contemporary
state of scholarship on the Derveni papyrus and thereby make this volume of
greater usefulness to readers.
This book falls into four sections.
The first part offers two separate editions of the first columns of the Derveni
papyrus, which have been prepared by the two leading textual scholars working
on it at the present time, Richard Janko and Valeria Piano. While these two
scholars did their work in constant and collegial exchange with one another, they
have arrived at results that are too different in many regards for it to have been
possible for them to prepare together a single joint edition. Their editions
naturally coincide to a large degree, but there are also a considerable number of
divergences in detail and in general conception, of which only the most obvious
example is the difference in numeration: Piano, like many scholars, follows the
KPT numeration indicated in Roman numerals, but adds some further columns
(numbered with negative Arabic numerals) before KPT’s col. I; Janko’s columns
have numbers that are higher by 40 and are indicated in Arabic numerals. The
differences between their editions are based upon not only personal style and
taste, but especially upon the interpretation and evaluation of physical traces that
are extremely uncertain, mostly incomplete, and highly ambiguous; and these
differences are, at least for now, irreducible.
Both Janko and Piano provide detailed introductory essays to their editions,
explaining their methodology and general procedures. In each case, the edition
itself is divided into two parts.
First, each provides a diplomatic transcript and a comprehensive palaeographic
commentary for the columns in question. Janko’s edition covers cols. 41 (I) to
47 (VII), Piano’s -2 (38) to VII (47). The diplomatic transcript is intended to
INTRODUCTION xxi
communicate to the reader as clearly and as unambiguously as possible exactly

what traces of writing can be found on the papyrus—only those letters that can be
regarded as certain (in the case of Janko) or as highly probable (in that of Piano),
i.e. traces that, however incomplete they are, nonetheless are such that they
(respectively either certainly or else with a high degree of probability) cannot be
any other letter than the one that is indicated in the text. Dots under letters mean
that the letter printed is not the only one that is compatible with the traces. The
accompanying palaeographic apparatus provides the detailed justification for
the interpretation of those traces, explaining the degree of probability of those
readings that have been chosen and what other possible readings the exiguous
traces permit, and with what degree of probability. The differences between the
two transcripts derive principally from the editors’ divergent interpretations of a
certain number of traces and from their disagreement about the placement of a
certain number of fragments. Our hope is that these two transcripts will provide
all interested readers, and not only professional papyrologists, with a secure basis
for understanding what is known about the first columns of the papyrus, for
assessing what can be known about them, and for estimating the probabilities of
what can only be guessed about them. We hope that readers will be encouraged to
undertake this challenging (perhaps better, daunting) task and will be assisted in
doing so by the thirteen high-quality colour images from digital microphotography
of some of the fragments of these columns that Richard Janko has made available
with his edition in this volume and by the ten plates that accompany Valeria
Piano’s introductory essay to her edition.
Second, both editors then supply an edition of the text of these columns,
accompanied by a translation and apparatus criticus. Their editions are based
upon the interpretations of the traces that are documented in their diplomatic
transcript and palaeographic commentary; but, unlike these, the editions present
their results not as a series of letters but rather as a prose text of ancient Greek
literature, insofar as the scanty traces can be understood in this way. The letters
are interpreted as parts of words as far as possible; the translation indicates how
these words and the sentences to which they belong are to be understood
according to the editor; the apparatus criticus is limited to proposals that are
compatible with the traces as these are established in the corresponding diplo-
matic transcript.
It should be evident that the two editors’ results depend not only upon their
extraordinary precision and meticulous exactitude of observation, but also upon
their highly disciplined activity of imaginative interpretation and supplementation
and their intimate familiarity with Greek papyri and with Greek philosophical
prose. I am sure that all those who are interested in the Derveni papyrus will
share my gratitude to Richard Janko and Valeria Piano for their unremitting and
indefatigable labour and will make judicious use of their work in moving ahead
in the coming years in interpreting this precious document.
xxii Glenn W. Most
The essays that follow exemplify some of the ways in which this material can be
deployed in dealing with central questions raised by this text.
In their contributions, both Richard Janko and David Sedley address directly
the fundamental question of the relation between the opening columns and the
rest of the Derveni papyrus. There is no papyrological reason to think that these
two sections do not form a continuous part of the very same treatise, in spite of
their apparent differences in content, indicated above; but if that is so, then how
are we to understand their connection with one another? Janko and Sedley take
two complementary, indeed specular approaches to this conundrum.
Janko argues that the Orphic text that we find cited and interpreted in the latter
columns played an essential role as a constituent part of the rites of mystical
initiation to the Orphic mysteries that are referred to in the opening ones. It is
well known that many ancient religious rituals combined certain actions that
were performed (ta drōmena) with certain verbal utterances that were pronounced
(ta legomena); and, on Janko’s account, in the case of the Derveni papyrus the first
columns would correspond to ta drōmena of the Orphic initiation rite, the last
ones to ta legomena. In a certain sense, Janko refunctionalizes the exegetical
portions of the text by conceiving them performatively within the context of the
practice of the initiatory ritual: to the philosophical and philological comparanda
that have most commonly been deployed by scholars as parallels for understanding
these allegorical and etymological hermeneutic practices, he now adds the reli-
gious comparanda furnished by a wide-ranging collection of testimonia, combin-
ing both textual evidence (recently discovered papyri as well as the more familiar
Greek and Latin authors) and pictorial evidence (especially the Villa of the
Mysteries at Pompeii). To both the initiation rites and the Orphic poem that was
used in these rites, the Derveni author applies the same kinds of techniques of
symbolic interpretation in order to ferret out their hidden meanings, of which
most adepts are unaware; but beyond this general continuity of method, it is the
Orphic ritual itself that provides the link that unifies the treatise. What makes
that treatise unique within our extant (and manifestly very incomplete) body of
evidence is that it combines within a single text both a mystical discourse that
tells a story about the gods and a physical discourse that interprets that mystical
one in terms of the physical origins of the world.
If Janko approaches the problem of the papyrus’s unity by assimilating the later
exegetical columns to the ritual described in the opening ones, Sedley proceeds in
a complementary manner by assimilating the earlier columns that discuss rituals
to the later ones that interpret the Orphic theogony. That is, he suggests that the
highly fragmentary discussion of Erinyes, souls, and ritual practices in the
opening columns was not a free-standing disquisition about these matters on
their own terms, but instead the remnants of a continuous commentary on the
first verses of the same Orphic theogony as the one interpreted in the later
columns, verses in which either these matters were explicitly mentioned as such
INTRODUCTION xxiii
or else other ones were discussed in such a way that the interpreter could feel
authorized to interpret them in these terms. Sedley contextualizes the practice of
the Derveni author within the broad evidentiary canon provided by the numerous
surviving ancient Greek commentaries on philosophical and other texts; and he
ingeniously analyses the remains of the first columns and offers detailed
reconstructions of their hypothetical original form, with the goal of reconstructing
opening verses of the underlying Orphic hymn such that all the surviving papyrus
fragments can be understood as interpretations of lemmas derived from it. His
bold reconstruction is intended not as a definitive statement of the actual original
language of these columns but diagnostically as a stimulus to encourage readers
to reflect on the degree to which the extant traces of these columns are compatible
with a different interpretation of their meaning that takes into greater account
what we know of ancient commentary practice.
The chapters by Janko and Sedley stand in a relation of complementarity to one
another in the most general terms of their approach, but they evince substantial
disagreements on many questions of detail and on the whole structure, contents,
and purpose of the treatise. Yet it is not entirely impossible that in their general
direction they might both to a certain degree be on the right track: the present
state of our evidence does not allow us to exclude the possibility that the whole
treatise might have interpreted the same Orphic theogony and that it might have
done so by discussing in its earlier sections ta drōmena of the Orphic initiation
ritual for which its latter part provided ta legomena.
In the course of their discussion of the question of the unity of the papyrus,
both of these chapters also pay particular attention to issues raised by Heraclitus’
philosophical views and their place in the treatise, as is only natural, given that
the Derveni author cites and discusses Heraclitus prominently in col. IV (44)—
this may well be the earliest surviving named reference to Heraclitus and
quotation from his works. It is these issues that are the central object of the two
following studies, one by Gábor Betegh and Valeria Piano and the other by
Vojtěch Hladký.
Betegh and Piano devote a remarkably detailed analysis to col. IV (44) itself
from papyrological and philosophical perspectives. This passage has been an
important focus of interest in studies on the papyrus for many years; here it is re-
examined with the closest possible attention not only to the latest advances in our
understanding of the text of the fragmentary first columns, as these have been
proposed and discussed, especially very recently, by these two scholars and by
others, but also to the ways in which various more and less probable textual
hypotheses bear upon what we can infer both about the nature of the Derveni
author’s treatise and his philosophical views and about Heraclitus’ own doctrines
about the world. The Derveni papyrus, the Derveni treatise, and Heraclitus are each
made extremely difficult for us to understand by all kinds of perplexities; the tri-
angulation of all three of them, such as it is performed in this chapter, must be
xxiv Glenn W. Most
conducted with the most scrupulous precision and the greatest awareness of the
tentativeness of interpretative hypotheses and of the availability of alternatives.
Nonetheless, the authors succeed in arriving at conclusions that are attractive, for
all their uncertainty: among these, that the form in which the Derveni author
quotes as a single text a passage from Heraclitus, which is also transmitted in its
two parts separately and without any connection by two later authors, is truer to
Heraclitus’ original wording than the versions of these later authors are; and that
the Derveni author has an ambiguous view of Heraclitus’ status, respecting his
authority but not hesitating to accuse him of having fundamentally misunder-
stood the roles of fire and of air in the formation of the cosmos.
Betegh and Piano concentrate on the column containing the sole explicit
mention of Heraclitus, but they take care to establish connections between that
passage and a number of other ones in the treatise. Hladký broadens the
discussion of Heraclitus in the Derveni treatise further by focusing attention not
only on col. IV (44) but also on other sections that may demonstrate a more
extensive influence of Heraclitus on the Derveni author than previous scholars
have noticed. He finds motifs reminiscent of Heraclitus’ thought and language
elsewhere in the papyrus, especially in cols. XI (51) and XX (60), and brings to
bear upon the Derveni treatise a number of other, later texts that were certainly
influenced by Heraclitus but have tended to be marginalized in recent scholarship
on both Heraclitus and the Derveni papyrus. In particular, Clement of Alexandria’s
Protrepticus and several of the inauthentic epistles transmitted under the name of
Heraclitus, while they were certainly composed centuries later and bear the
unmistakable traces of a variety of different philosophical schools, show specific
affinities in their conception and wording, even when they discuss such appar-
ently disparate issues as politics or medicine, with fragments from Heraclitus and
passages from the Derveni author; interpreted judiciously, they can be made to be
fruitful for understanding both of these early Greek philosophers. In the course
of his argument, Hladký also discusses the unusual ritual practices that are
referred to in the other early columns of the papyrus and suggests that a passage
in Clement’s Protrepticus might contain a hitherto unrecognized fragment of
Heraclitus. Finally, he raises the question of whether two short passages in cols.
XI (51) and XX (60) that are marked by paragraphoi and hence, given the way this
symbol is used elsewhere in the papyrus, might be expected to contain quotations
from writers other than the Derveni author, could in fact be two previously
unrecognized fragments from Heraclitus.
The final section of this volume brings together three papers, by Alberto
Bernabé, Mirjam E. Kotwick, and Angelos Boufalis, which examine issues that are
connected with other aspects of the Derveni papyrus, and not primarily with its
opening columns, but which do so also wherever possible in terms of the progress
that has been made in recent years in understanding not only those columns in
particular but also the treatise and its context in general.
INTRODUCTION xxv
Bernabé recently published together with Piano an online edition of the

Derveni papyrus,7 and he is currently engaged together with her in preparing a
collaborative commentary to accompany that edition. As a specimen of this
forthcoming work, he provides here his preliminary version of col. XXI (61). This
column, from the later and better-preserved part of the papyrus, is of great inter-
est philosophically: it describes a crucial phase in the cosmogonic process, in
which the elementary particles of existing things find other ones with which they
are compatible and unite with them to create more complex composites. The
corresponding verses of the underlying Orphic theogony are lost; but they can be
hypothetically reconstructed from the Derveni author’s interpretation of them
and can be presumed to have told how Zeus’s ejaculation produced the birth of
Aphrodite Ourania and of two goddesses associated with her, Persuasion and
Harmonia. By means of allegoresis, etymology, and synonymy, the Derveni author
transforms (and indeed, defuses) this highly sexual myth into a mechanical
account of material processes. In his analysis of this column, Bernabé demon-
strates that the author makes erudite use of doctrines associated not only with
Anaxagoras, but also with Empedocles and the Atomists.
Kotwick focuses in her exploration of the intellectual character of the Derveni
author, and of the kind of cultural situation out of which we may suppose him to
have arisen, not so much upon the contents of his treatise, as scholars have often
tended to do, but rather upon the interpretative methods he deploys in his
explications of ritual practices and the Orphic theogony. In particular, she shows
that his allegoresis relies on similarities that he observes between the elements of
his Orphic text and the genesis, development, and structure of the natural world;
these similarities can take the form of linguistic resemblances that he points to
between various words, or qualitative resemblances between various things. She
suggests that an important and hitherto unnoticed parallel to this methodology is
offered by the Hippocratic text On Regimen (dated to c.400 bce), and especially
by its fourth book, which provides a series of interpretations of dreams intended
to help diagnose the dreamer’s state of health. The analogies between the
exegetical methods in the two treatises, together with various affinities in contents
and philosophical references, suggest that the Derveni author, far from being an
isolated outlier, may have belonged to an intellectual context that was similar to
that of the Hippocratic author, and that perhaps he may even have derived his
own method from that of the professional interpreters of dreams.
While Kotwick seeks above all to establish affinities between the Derveni
author and a contemporary intellectual milieu, Boufalis investigates the religious
and cultural dimensions specific to the Macedonian context of the Derveni
papyrus itself. Local cults of Demeter, Persephone, Hecate, Orpheus, and other
7 Bernabé and Piano (online).

xxvi Glenn W. Most
divinities associated with mysteries provide the religious background for a

number of Orphic burials in Macedonia during the Classical and early Hellenistic
periods. Boufalis’s comprehensive collection of the archaeological evidence for
these burials demonstrates the remarkable degree of interest among members of
the local elite during the later fourth century bce in Bacchic and Orphic beliefs
regarding the afterlife and their desire to document their initiation into a mystery
cult that promised them a favoured status after their death. Three Appendices
present this evidence, consisting of gold lamellae, wall paintings and mosaics, and
other objects such as the spectacular Derveni crater, richly decorated with
Dionysiac scenes, in which the ashes of a relative of the man who owned the
Derveni papyrus were buried. Boufalis concludes by considering possible reasons
for the decision to burn the papyrus at its owner’s funeral and the question of the
functional relationship between that papyrus and the golden lamellae or pictorial
representations of papyri rolls that are found at other Macedonian graves. He
hypothesizes that the owner of the Derveni papyrus was a member of a smaller
intellectual elite standing in an ambiguous relation to the religious views of the
larger socio-economic elite to which he belonged.
Individually, all these papers demonstrate the continuing, indeed steadily
increasing vitality of contemporary studies on the Derveni papyrus; taken all
together, they show that constant collaboration and exchange among scholars is
crucial, and will continue in the future to be so, if we are to have any hope of
resolving some of its many mysteries. In 1997, André Laks and I concluded our
introduction to the first volume of Studies on the Derveni Papyrus by stating,
‘Fortunately, many questions remain open.’ Almost a quarter of a century later,
that statement, fortunately, is still true.
PART I
T WO E DIT ION S OF T H E
F IR ST C OLUM NS
1
The Derveni Papyrus, Columns 41–7
(formerly I–VII): A Proekdosis from
Digital Microscopy
Richard Janko
For Despina Ignatiadou,

who enabled this restudy of the papyrus
1a. Methodology and Criteria of Reconstruction
1a.1 Techniques of Reading: Ink, Fibres, and Burning
It is a pleasure to present here the current state of my text of these columns of the
papyrus, with palaeographical notes and an explanation of the technology that
has allowed me to read and photograph the papyrus, alongside a reconstructed
text, translation, and apparatus criticus. The edition that follows is provisional, in
the sense that work on the papyrus continues; however, since we are being visited
by the daimones of global pandemic it seems best to share it in its present state.
Scholars’ interest in the papyrus is so great that it has repeatedly been the object of
premature publication. My earlier work on it ceased in 2008, when I understood
that further progress was impossible unless the papyrus itself could be restudied.
At the generous invitation of Despina Ignatiadou, I was able to study it in person
in the Conservation Laboratory of the Archaeological Museum of Thessaloniki
for three weeks in 2014 and 2015. The staff of the Museum kindly enabled me to
obtain high-resolution scans of nearly all the old infrared photographs of it
(a couple seem lost). These are very important, because they preserve the fragments
I warmly thank Ori Bareket for working so hard on the digital model of the papyrus that I could pre-
sent these results (almost) by the editor’s deadline, and above all the American Council of Learned
Societies for the Fellowship that is now giving me the time to undertake this laborious task. Even so,
my text was not really ready by his deadline of March 2020; for later improvements, down to
September 2020, see my Postscript at the end. I am grateful to all the participants at Pisa for sharing
their views, to Dirk Obbink for letting us see some of the multispectral images that he helped to prod
uce in 2005, and to Glenn Most for bringing together our results in the present volume.
4 Richard Janko
in a better state than they are in today; the unpublished set by Spyros Tsavdaroglou,
made with infrared film in 1962 when the papyrus was in pristine condition and
had not yet been encased in glass, is much superior to those of Makis
Skiadaressis, which were made in 1978, when it had already suffered some
deterioration (it has suffered more since).1 The editio princeps of 2006 was based
largely on the latter set of pictures, reproductions of which it includes. More
recent editions of the papyrus differ profoundly both from older ones and from
each other; I must explain why.
When in May 2014 Demosthenes Kechagias kindly offered to let me test his
own USB digital microscope on the papyrus, by trial and error I discovered a new
way to photograph it at high resolutions without the reflections that bedevil its
study with conventional microscopy. The trick was not so much digital micropho-
tography in itself, but bringing the lens right down onto the glass so that the
reflections of the array of light-emitting diodes (LEDs) around the lens are mir-
rored back onto themselves at the edges of the legible image. Thus I obtained
4,500 microphotographs in visible light and another 5,000 in near-infrared light
(at a wavelength of 840 nanometers), all at very high magnifications (up to 37×
actual size), together with an invaluable set of notes. The images of the most dam-
aged sections of the papyrus shed a flood of new illumination on them, especially
when infrared images, those made with visible light, and the old photographs are
all examined side by side. Deciphering these images is far from straightforward,
because of the scale at which one is working; it is as different from conventional
papyrology as is a microscope from a magnifying glass. Some letters are visible
only in infrared, while others appear only in ordinary light. For example, the
extremely dark fragment G16, currently placed in col. 39, is legible only under
infrared. By this means I restored in l. 5 ἵπποι ταί με ϕέρουσιν, ὅσον τ’ ἐπὶ θυμὸς
ἱκάνοι, the first verse of Parmenides’ poem. Tsantsanoglou has objected to my
reading of the surviving letters ]ΥΜΟΣΙΚΑ̣ [ (with a sprawling mu), claiming
that the last letter is ε, represented by a high horizontal, rather than α̣ , represented
by the foot of the left diagonal.2 This rests on misinterpretation of a high dark
horizontal fibre, which is indistinguishable from ink in the reproduction of my
montage of photographs that was first published; a colour version is in Colour
Plate 1a.3 In order for research on the papyrus to continue to progress, I gave a
first draft of my new text to Mirjam Kotwick (when I was going through the four
operations that successfully saved my eyesight) to serve as the basis of her
1 All the frames were, evidently, opened and subsequently reclosed at some date; the terminus post
quem for the damage to a number of fragments is when Skiadaressis took these photographs in 1978.
The terminus ante quem is 1995 (Macfarlane and Del Mastro (2019: 12)). The pattern of damage is
fully consistent with the effect of lowering the overlying pane of glass onto the fragments without
ensuring that it could not actually press onto them. Fortunately the original state of the pieces can
almost always be recovered by digital reconstruction.
2 Tsantsanoglou (2017).
3 First published in Janko (2017a: 165, Εἰκ. 5); I had vainly begged the editor of ZPE to print it in colour.
The Derveni Papyrus, Columns 41–7 5
German commentary of 2017.4 Inevitably, however, as a result of our collabor

ation, of discussion with others, especially Vojtěch Hladký, and of further study
with a view to a much-needed editio maior, the text has continued to evolve. What
is presented here remains a draft, since I have not had time to finish my analysis
of all the new images, although this draft does supersede my text of 2017. The
reader is owed an explanation of why I keep changing my mind about some read-
ings and discovering other ones where nothing was read before.
It has taken almost infinite time, patience, and practice to learn to decipher the
new images. Carbon-black ink is made of almost the same material as papyrus
once it is carbonized, save that papyrus gets even darker as carbonization pro-
ceeds. The lower of the two layers of papyrus from which the sheet is made may
also show through as black. In the outermost fragments the edge of the papyrus
burns and blackens, leaving traces which may give the impression of being ink
but are in fact burning; beyond that burning, the eye must traverse a whitish area
before ink survives. In addition, the fire moved from the edges along fibres (espe-
cially horizontal ones), burning them black and spreading out in unpredictable
ways, creating large areas and random shapes that are hard to decipher in terms of
whether they are ink, burning, or a mixture of both, and that are open to different
interpretations. Also, the papyrus-roll was penetrated from the top by tiny roots
from plants, which show as brown in ordinary light but white in infrared. In
places, deposits of salts conceal its surface, though infrared light obviates most of
these. Moreover, being two-dimensional, the images almost lack shadows, making
it hard to distinguish overlying from underlying layers of papyrus. Small stray
pieces often hide the letters, especially in the form of patches of vertical fibres
pulled from the backing of the layer above. The infrared images are good at
revealing different layers but tend to wash out the ink when it lies in the middle of
the image; multiple overlapping images are essential, and they all need to be
organized and studied. Even now I am still coming across images that I had not
yet scrutinized, and juxtaposing images not previously juxtaposed; the hardest
task of all, the placing of sottoposti and sovrapposti, i.e. pieces from other layers, is
still far from complete. One naturally tends to persist with a previous reading
without looking closely enough: this is true of θεόν̣ at col. 41.7, where I now read
θεοπρό̣[πον, and εὐκ]ρι̣ νήτω[ι at col. 47.10, where I now read and supply
εἰσα]γινητῶ[ι. Lastly, there is the familiar phenomenon that one can only see a
given letter once one knows that it is there. For all these reasons, my edition con-
tinues to evolve, even though the papyrus has been enclosed since 2016 under
multiple sheets of glass in a new case, from which it may not be removed even for
experts to study it further; the shape of this case and its numerous reflections
make it immensely harder to read and document the fragments than before.
4 Kotwick (2017).
6 Richard Janko
1a.2 Techniques of Reconstruction: Stichometry,

Bibliology, and Fibres
Readers may well ask why I have imposed on them the inconvenience of altering
the column-numbers that were established by Kyriakos Tsantsanoglou in 1997, so
that the former col. I has become col. 41, II is now 42, and so on, with an incre-
ment of forty to each numeral.5 As was shown in 2016,6 there is a marginal sign in
fr. H18, namely Ο _ , i.e. an omicron with (probably) a short bar beneath it;
given the placing of this fragment, this sign is in the intercolumnium before col. 46
(formerly col. VI) between ll. 14 and 15. The sign, which is visible even in the first
editors’ reproduction of the inferior photographs by Makis Skiadaressis,7 lies to the
left of, and below, the peculiarly angular bottom-left corner of the Ο at the start of
l. 14, and well to the left of, and above, the vertical of the Φ that begins l. 15, with
undamaged, empty intercolumnium in between (Colour Plate 1b). This Ο _ looks
very like the kind of stichometric indication which was standard later to count the
number of lines (stichoi) in the papyrus-roll, so that the scribe could be paid the right
amount for his labour. Such signs occur every one hundred lines in papyri which,
like this one, contain lines that are the length of hexameters or indeed are lines of
verse. Since Ο is the fifteenth letter of the alphabet, this sign marks line 1500 (= 15 ×
100). Its presence proves that the Derveni papyrus was a full-length book-roll written
by a professional copyist who already used this convention.
This is the earliest known example of a stichometric sign by about a century,
when other book-rolls become available for comparison. The next may be the roll
of Metrodorus’ Adversus dialecticos from Herculaneum, where Ε with a bar over
it marks stichos 500; this papyrus is from the middle of the third century bce, as
its script resembles those in the Zeno archive.8 The roll of Stesichorus’ so-called
Thebaid, perhaps also from the middle of the third century bce, has a stichomet-
ric Γ with a bar over it indicating l. 300.9 The roll of Menander’s Sicyonius,
dated to the late third century bce, uses Η with a bar over it and Θ with no bar
but with a coronis to mark ll. 700 and 800 respectively.10 At Herculaneum, signs
normally have a bar above (sometimes omitted), or more rarely a bar above and
below, or only a bar below.11 Parallels for a stichometric sign with a single bar under
5 I have also renumbered sovrapposti and sottoposti so that they conform to the conventions stand-
ard in Herculanean papyrology. Thus where one fragment has three layers, the lowest (i.e. first)
becomes, for example, F5a instead of F5, the middle one F5b instead of F5a, and the uppermost F5c
instead of F5b. In addition, I have renamed the I-series of fragments with the letter J, so as to avoid
confusion with the numeral ‘1’.
6 Janko (2016a: 12–13 with fig. 15). 7 KPT, plate 6.
8 P. Herc. 255 in Oxford disegno vi. 1578 l. 4, fr. 1 col. ii in Janko (2008: 56–8). For the dating see
Cavallo (1983: 44), who compares P. Lit. Lond. 73, dated between 261 and 239 bce.
9 P. Lille inv. 76a+73. On the dating see Parsons in Turner and Parsons (19872: 124).
10 P. Sorb. inv. 2272b, with Turner and Parsons (19872: 74).
11 At Herculaneum, such signs are ‘di mano del copista sempre; o più piccole dalle lettere, cioè della
scrittura del testo, o uguali; d’ordinario con un trattino sopra, che naturalmente può mancare, in via
eccezionale con un trattino anche sotto, o soltanto sotto’ (Bassi (1909: 327)).
it first appear in the Herculaneum papyri. Thus P. Herc. 253 (Philodemus, De ava-
ritia) has the signs γ̄ δ η θ, and P. Herc. 1471 (Philodemus, De libertate dicendi)
has many letters with bars either above only or both above and below.12 The use of
a single bar under the sign is paralleled in later papyri of Homer from Egypt.13
Curiously, another Ο, this time tiny and with no bar either above or below it,
appears just three lines earlier, slightly above 46.11 and followed by intact empty
intercolumnium (Colour Plate 2a). The first editors took this to be a correction to
the first word in the line that reached back into the intercolumnium, and read and
supplied it as `ο΄̣ [ρ]νι̣ θ̣ [̣ ε]ιον. However, neither here nor in fr. G11, which I place at
col. 42.7, does the papyrus refer to a bird. The intercolumnar omicron is not close
to the margin but is separated from it by an empty space one letter wide; the cor-
rect reading of the main text is ϕ[ο]ρτ̣ίον, with the vertical of the Φ sloped to
avoid the tail of the Ψ above it.14 I interpret this marginal Ο as the temporary
record of a tentative initial line-count by the scribe, in which he obtained a slightly
different result.15 We may compare how the scribe of the Morgan codex of the
Iliad tended to overcount the verses, and its corrector to undercount.16 Other
codices provide visible evidence of errors in totalling at the bottom even of the
number of lines on the single recto or verso that had been copied above it.17
The presence of a stichometric Ο at col. 46.14–15, i.e. stichos 1500, means that
one should be able to calculate how long the roll originally was, if we assume that
the scribe’s recount of the stichoi was correct. If the residue of lines before the
start of this column, namely 1,486 (= 1,500 − 14), is exactly divisible by a whole
number greater than twenty (since there were at least twenty lines per column),
this should tell us how many columns are lost. Experiments with division show
that each column contained twenty-seven, twenty-eight, or thirty-three lines,
because these integers divide into 1,486 almost exactly (slight imprecision at the
level of a decimal point would be caused by minor variation in the number of
lines per column). Among these possibilities, we can determine that thirty-three
lines is the most likely: only this divisor predicts that all the stichometric signs
after the Ο will fall in the lower parts of the columns, which are now lost, whereas
the smaller integers twenty-seven and twenty-eight predict that the remaining
stichometric signs will fall where there visibly are none. Since, despite a dedicated
search of all the extant intercolumnia, I found no other stichometric signs, this
hypothesis is likely to be correct. Hence I conclude that the former col. VI is
column 46, and that all of the first editors’ column-numbers need to be increased
12 White (2009: 37 with table 4, 60–1).

13 Ohly (1928: 32, 38–9), citing his Homeric papyri nos. IV (1st cent. ce), XI (3rd cent. ce), and XIII
(3rd cent. ce).
14 Janko (2016a: 21 with figs. 30–1).
15 Cf. Mart. 2.8.3–4, on a manuscript made faulty by haste: non meus est error: nocuit librarius illis /
dum properat versus adnumerare tibi. This implies that the scribe was in too much haste to get to his
final task in copying, viz. to count the lines (Ohly (1928: 87)).
16 Ohly (1928: 90–2). 17 Ohly (1928: 92 n. 3).
8 Richard Janko
by exactly forty. Since twenty-six columns survive, it follows that the entire roll
contained roughly 2,160 stichoi arranged in sixty-six columns; in terms of the
number of columns, only 40 per cent survive. Thus Tsantsanoglou is right that
the treatise had plenty of room for other topics before the interpretation of the
Orphic theogony.18 If the loss of an average of eighteen lines at the bottom of each
extant column of thirty-three lines is brought into the calculation, only about a
fifth of the text remains.
Finally, the column-numbers that Tsantsanoglou recently alleged to stand in
the top upper margins above the columns are illusory, because he relied on the
old photographs in which, without the new technology, it is easy to misread as ink
dark cracks and fibres in the papyrus.19 Thus Colour Plate 2b shows at higher
magnification the upper margin of fr. G1, in which he deciphered the letters ΛΕ
(neither dotted) with a lunate epsilon.20 Although there are some blotches of
burning and streaks from burnt fibres, I think it will be agreed that the better
images offer nothing that can convincingly be read as letters.
The reconstruction of the opening columns tests the limits of the possible.
These columns, which discuss the interpretation of signs from burnt sacrifices
preliminary to the mysteries and of offerings to the Erinyes, have proved almost
insuperably difficult to read and reconstruct. This is owed both to their state of
preservation and to the bizarrerie of their content. The pieces from the outermost
part of the roll are smaller and more badly burnt. As I proved in 2008, its first edi-
tors of 2006, who broadly accepted the text first published in 1997, reconstructed
this section incorrectly, because they had not followed exactly the method that
was first developed by Daniel Delattre for reconstructing carbonized rolls from
Herculaneum.21 One must interleave fragments from each side of the outer stacks
of fragments from the burnt papyrus- roll in order to obtain their correct
sequence. The editors went wrong in col. 43, because they put fr. G11 in the
wrong hemicylinder (sezione) of the roll; the F- fragments and G- fragments
demonstrably derive from opposite sides of it.22 Meanwhile, in 2011, Valeria Piano
challenged the reconstruction of the opening columns that I had proposed in
2008, on the basis of the photographs that had been published in 2006.23 My
rearrangement of col. 43, in which I replaced fr. G11 with frr. G15 and G6,
depended on my claim that a kollesis, i.e. a join between the separate sheets of
papyrus from which the roll was manufactured, is visible in fr. G6, an unusually
18 Tsantsanoglou (2014: 15).

19 Tsantsanoglou (2014: 14–15); cf. Tsantsanoglou (2018: 21), where he states that ‘[i]t is a few dec-
ades now that I have given up microscopes, my only source of information being the published
photographs’.
20 See his plate at Tsantsanoglou (2018: 22). Lunate epsilon was not introduced until after c.300 bce
(Janko et al. 2021: 81).
21 Delattre (1989); Delattre (2006: 116–19 with planche 5); cf. Obbink (1996: 37–53), who indepen-
dently replicated Delattre’s breakthrough soon after.
22 See Janko (2008: 4–6). 23 Piano (2011: tav. 13a and 13b).
thick piece which is almost vertical down its right edge. The presence of a kollesis
will explain why the fibres before its right edge do not match those of fr. G5b to its
right. Piano contested the existence of this kollesis, and hence my reconstruction
of col. 43, on two grounds: (i) the images of fr. G6, in which I hold that the kollesis
is visible, do not depict one, since under the microscope one can see merely an
irregular break which exposes to the right of it the lower of the two layers from
which the sheet of papyrus is made; and (ii) the distance between the kolleses in
this part of the roll differs from the distances that are standard in the rest of it. I
shall address these arguments in turn.
(i) Piano disputed my claim that a kollesis runs along the right edge of fr. G6 by
publishing two photographs taken with the Archaeological Museum’s conven-
tional binocular microscope. According to her, these show that there is no kollesis
here, but only a broken edge that exposes underlying layers of papyrus.24 However,
this objection is far from conclusive.
Papyri do not usually break at a kollesis, but shortly after it, where the double
thickness of the two overlapping sheets (kollemata) ends and the second sheet is
most exposed to wear (they may also develop a vertical crack where the overlap of
the kollesis begins).25 Even though the images are two-dimensional, they show
that this has happened in the present case. After discovering that digital micros-
copy aided the reading of the papyrus, I was able to examine this question inten-
sively and to bring to bear on it multiple photographs both at a much higher
resolution and in the infrared as well as in the visible spectra. At least one further
layer of papyrus visibly runs under that which is present in most of fr. G6; that is
as we would expect in a kollesis. The kollesis itself is a faint vertical line; horizontal
fibres run from either side of it, as they should, but are discontinuous at the kol-
lesis itself. Since the images are in only two dimensions, they do not show whether
this straight edge marks a step down in level, but such an interpretation is close at
hand. The right tips of the letter Σ in l. 6 and the right half of Ο in l. 8, which
begin on the first kollema with horizontal fibres uppermost, cross this straight
edge onto the start of what appeared during autopsy to be a lower layer, which
likewise has the horizontal fibres uppermost. Colour Plates 3a and 3b are micro-
photographs of the Σ in l. 6. Piano26 believes that her two photographs show that
the tips of this Σ are broken off, but they can clearly be seen to run over the kol-
lesis even in her images, and even more clearly in my microphotographs. The tips
look visibly smaller, because of the effect of perspective at this high level of mag-
nification (up to 37×), where the papyrus steps down away from the viewer.
Beyond them, the surface of the lower sheet is broken away to expose vertical
fibres from its interior. These appear brown (because they are less burnt) in
24 Piano (2011: tav. 13a and 13b); Piano (2019: 19–22).

25 For an illustration see k13 in KPT, plate 13, and Janko (2016b: 131–2 with fig. 7).
26 Piano (2011: 34 with tav. 13).
10 Richard Janko
Piano’s photographs. Piano also claims that the omicrons in ll. 8–9 run across
what I interpret as the line of the kollesis on the same layer, and that the same
surface extends rightwards without a break past the kollesis.27 However, my
microphotographs (Colour Plates 4a and 4b) show that each Ο crosses the kollesis
before the upper surface of the lower sheet breaks away to expose vertical fibres
from the backing. The infrared image (Colour Plate 4b) shows that the line of the
kollesis continues vertically through the Ο; in the visible spectrum (Colour Plate
4a) this line is simply obscured by the ink, as one would expect. At one place
between ll. 8 and 9 a small stray piece of papyrus overlies the straight edge; this
sovrapposto creates the appearance that the straight edge is not straight, but the
piece clearly lies over both the left and the right sheets of papyrus. Below the sec-
ond layer with horizontal fibres lies a third surface with brown vertical fibres
uppermost, most clearly visible between ll. 7 and 8 and below l. 8, whereas the
rest of the fragment is black. This is the lower layer (the backing) of the sheet of
papyrus that forms the right-hand kollema.
(ii) Piano also contested my reconstruction on the ground that, if the kollesis in
col. 43 did exist, it would lie too close to the next kollesis in col. 45 and too near
the previous extant kollesis in my col. 41.28 She is absolutely correct that the pres-
ence of the latter kollesis requires that the widths of the initial kollemata, i.e. of the
sheets of which a papyrus-roll is made, were below the average of 16–17 cm: my
manual model suggested that the first three measurable kollemata were 12.2–12.4 cm
wide, and the next two 14.7 cm, while digital reconstruction yielded two kolle-
mata at 12.9 cm followed by another at 12.3 cm and two at 14.8–14.9 cm. Piano
objected that such short kollemata are not observed elsewhere in the roll.29 In
other words, there is a dispute over how much variation can be expected in
the lengths of kollemata, since the new reconstruction posits that the first three
kollemata were shorter than those in the rest of the roll.
Exactly how much shorter has been very hard to determine. Even papyrologists
will not appreciate how difficult it is to measure the widths of kollemata in the
Derveni papyrus, and how much guesswork goes into the calculations that differ-
ent scholars have provided, myself included. Only the extant pieces could be
measured directly, when access to them was allowed; these are very tiny, and their
exact size is liable to parallax error caused by the thickness of the glass in the
frames or by image-warp if they are measured from the old photographs. The
distances between many of them can be known only by calculating the widths of
lacunae, which may of course have been supplemented incorrectly. Only the cre
ation of a digital model, in which every piece is reproduced exactly to scale and
every lacuna is of exactly the correct width, can yield reliable measurements; such
a model has taken years to create and is still in progress. Worse, the creation of
27 Piano (2011: 35–7 with tav. 13). 28 Piano (2011).

29 Piano (2011: 24–5, 33–7 with tav. 13), and Piano (2016: 66); cf. Ferrari (2014: 55).
such a model can start only from the end of the roll, whereas the real problems lie at
its beginning. The fact that the columns are of variable width, unlike the situation
in prose texts copied after c.250 bce, makes it very hard to establish the dimen-
sions of many kollemata. Although, as we advance towards the centre of the scroll,
each successive volute must be shorter than its predecessor, variations in the tight-
ness with which the papyrus was rolled are always possible; such variations may
cause the widths of circumferences to decline unpredictably. The amount of empty
space left after each column and before the next is also unpredictable. If complete
physical fractures lie to the right of whole columns, these make matters still less
predictable; such breaks affect, for instance, the allowable lengths of supplements at
the line-ends of col. 44. Finally, the guidance that may be derived from the shapes
of the successive layers is limited, because in this papyrus (unlike in those from
Herculaneum, which underwent total carbonization) the only partial carbonization
of its exterior means that, as one goes outwards, less of each layer remains.
Cols. 53, 55, 59, and 60 all precede complete breaks from top to bottom, separ
ating these columns from the next one; luckily the fibres and patterns of fracture
prove that almost nothing is lost at any of these points. Earlier in the roll such
fractures are more frequent, because the extant pieces get smaller; they occur after
cols. 41, 42, 44, 46, and 47. In each of these cases the width of papyrus that is lost
may never be known exactly. These difficulties increase the importance of finding
kolleseis but decrease the reliability with which the kollemata can be measured.
Table 1.1 shows the widths of kollemata as calculated by the first editors (k1 to k17)
and by me (K -2 to K16) at the date of writing.30 My measurements of K5 to K16
are more reliable, because the breadths of the constituent fragments can be added
up across the entire width of the kollema without interruption. However, the
dimensions of K -2 to K4 are less so, because the complete breaks after cols. 42, 44,
46, and 47 mean that undetermined amounts of material are lost in the intercolum-
nia that are within all the kollemata as far as col. 48. Although there are some
discrepancies between our respective results, the first editors and I agree that the
kollemata at the beginning of the extant part of the roll were shorter than the rest,
like K15–17 at the end;31 kollema 15 is only 14.3 cm in width.
Such fluctuations are not surprising, since the widths of kollemata varied
within a single volumen, both in Egypt32 and at Herculaneum;33 however, the
magnitude of the fluctuations has not been fully appreciated. Although there is
little variation in the Timotheus papyrus of the late fourth century bce (21.4,
c.21.2, c.21.7, 21.9 cm),34 kollemata in third-century rolls can vary greatly: thus
30 26 February 2020. [As of January 2021, further study has proved that these measurements will change.]
31 As I have not had time to put the final agraphon in order, I cannot confirm the widths of K16 or K17.
32 Turner was first to study this, but had few examples of complete rolls to hand, because of his per-
petual neglect of those from Herculaneum (Turner (1978: 61–2)); see further Blanchard (1993: 21) and
Johnson (2004: 89–91), whose sample contains only ten rolls with more than one measurable kollema.
33 Capasso (1995: 59–65). 34 Johnson (2004: 90), with many further data.
12 Richard Janko
Table 1.1 Widths of kollemata in the Derveni papyrus, based on state of model in
March 2020
Kollesis no. Location of Frr. that attest the Width (cm) to next Width (cm) to
(KPT) kollesis kollesis kollesis (KPT) next kollesis (RJ)
⟨K -1⟩ ⟨col. 42⟩

K -2 col. 41 F10, F14, F19 — 12.94
none identified — 12.94
K0 col. 43 G6 — 12.32
K1 col. 44 H46, F15 14.6 14.96
K2 col. 45 G3 14.9 14.82
K3 col. 47 F5b 16.6 16.33
K4 col. 48 F2 16.2 16.10
K5 col. 50 E6 16.1 15.43
K6 col. 51 E4 16.5 16.26
K7 col. 53 E2 col. ii, J62, J65 16.4 16.14
K8 col. 54 C9 16.5 16.09
K9 col. 56 B6, H55 16.2 15.95
K10 col. 57 E13 16.4 16.11
K11 col. 59 B1 16.6 16.28
K12 col. 60 D5 16.7 16.70
K13 col. 62 B11, H38 17.0 16.97
K14 col. 63 A2, H26 16.5 16.23
K15 col. 65 A4a, H15 14.4 14.32
K16 col. 66 A6, H20 13.7 ?
K17 agraphon A9 10.7 ?
? unplaced ?H29, ?H58, ?H68, — —
J29, J46
P. Sorb. inv. 2245 of Homer’s Odyssey has kollemata of 26.7, 14.8, and 15.2 cm,
while P. Sorb. inv. 2272 of Menander’s Sicyonius has widths of c.17, 19, and 9.7 cm.35
The Livre d’écolier has a series of 16, 13, 10, 17, and 15 cm.36 As for later volumina,
the Iliad from Hawara in the Bodleian Library has kollemata of c.26, 24, 25, 17.8,
and 27 cm in width,37 although P. Oxy. 223, also an Iliad, varies much less.38 In
P. Oxy. 1017 of Plato’s Phaedrus, one kollema is 17.3 cm wide, but the rest are at
least 21.5.39 P. Berol. 16985 of Iliad 21–2 has four complete kollemata at 23–5 cm
but one at 11.7.40 P. Lit. Lond. 132 of Hyperides’ orations has twelve complete kol-
lemata, of which eleven range from 24.5 to 27.5 cm, but one is only 21.1 cm
wide.41 To turn to papyri from Herculaneum, the twenty-nine kollemata in
P. Herc. 1065, containing Philodemus’ De signis 3, range from 6.5 to 13 cm.42 The
35 Blanchard (1993: 21). A roll of Euripides’ Erechtheus (P. Sorb. inv. 2328) has kollemata 19.4 and
17.9 cm wide.
36 Turner (1980: 181 n. 21).
37 Bodl. MS. Gr. Class. a. 1(P), in Erbse (1969–88: i. p. xxxiv n. 49).
38 The widths are 23.1, 21.2, 21.9, 21.8, 21.3, 22.5, and 24.1 cm (Johnson (2004: 89)).
39 Johnson (2004: 89–90), with no further precision. 40 Johnson (2004: 90).
41 Johnson (2004: 90).
42 Capasso (1995: 60). There are one at 6.5 cm, two at 8, one at 8.3, one at 8.5, fifteen at 9, one at 9.3,
two at 9.5, five at 10, and one at 13, if I omit the final one (unfortunately the order in which they occur
is not reported).
Table 1.2 Directly measurable widths of kollemata in Philodemus, On Poems 2
P. Herc. Kollema Width in cm (in bold P. Herc. Kollema Width in cm (in

& no. face if completely & no. bold face if
cornice extant; amounts lost cornice completely extant;
no. are in angled brackets) no. amounts lost are in
angled brackets)
13.7 ≈ 5.2 + ⟨0.2⟩ +

1676 cr. 1 23 16.8 994 cr. 8 69 17.8
1676 cr. 1 24 16.5 994 crr. 70
14.0 est. ≈ 1.1 + ⟨2.4⟩ +

8–9 8.3
1676 crr. 25 … … …
14.2 est. ≈ 4.7 + ⟨1.9⟩ +

1–2 10.5
1676 cr. 2 26 994 cr. 11 80 16.0
15.7 est. ≈ 4.5 + ⟨11.2⟩

7.6
1676 crr. 27 … … …
15.7 est. ≈ ⟨3.5⟩ + 12.2

2–3
15.9 ≈ 1.1 + ⟨0.5⟩ +

1676 cr. 3 28 994 cr. 12 84 15.6
1676 cr. 3 29 17.1 994 crr. 85
16.8 ≈ 6.5 + ⟨0.2⟩ + 10.1 994 cr. 13

12–13 14.3
1676 crr. 30 86 16.0
3–4
1676 cr. 4 31 16.2 994 crr. 87 16.2 ≈ 3.6 + 12.6
17.0 ≈ 10.0 + ⟨0.2⟩ + 6.8 …

13–14
1676 crr. 32 … …
4–5
1676 cr. 5 33 16.1 994 cr. 15 90 15.5
… … … 994 crr. 91 15.0 = 2.6 + 12.4
15–16
1677a 40 16.6 994 cr. 16 92 14.5
cr. 3
… … … 994 crr. 93 16.4 = 1.5 + 14.9
16–17
1677a 43 16.0 994 cr. 17 94 15.7
cr. 4
… … … 994 crr. 95 15.8 = 3.8 + 12.0
16.2 ≈ 13.3 + ⟨0.8⟩ + 2.1 994 cr. 18

17–18
994 crr. 61 96 16.0
16.0 ≈ 15.9+ ⟨0.1⟩ 15.7 ≈ 0.2 + ⟨0.5⟩ +

5–6
994 cr. 6 62 994 crr. 97
18–19 15.0
… … … 994 crr. 98 15.7 = 13.4 + 2.3
19–2 (sic)
16.1 ≈ 3.3 + ⟨8.7⟩ + 4.1

994 cr. 7 67 15.3 994 cr. 2 99 10.5 (final agraphon)
994 crr. 68 — — —
7–8
variation is similar in the newly reconstructed roll of Philodemus’ De poem. 2,

which originally contained a hundred kollemata.43 Table 1.2 shows the widths of
extant kollemata in that scroll. If we exclude the final agraphon, they vary from
43 See Janko (2020a: 121–7 with table 3.9).

14 Richard Janko
13.7 to 17.8 cm in the same roll—indeed, in adjacent kollemata. While most kol-
lemata average about 16.1 cm wide, two of the first ones are estimated at 14 and
14.3; estimates are based on the width of column plus intercolumnium, which is
stable at 7 cm in width, and are completely reliable unless an incorrect number of
columns has been posited.44
If similar variation is found in the Derveni papyrus, the narrowness of the first
surviving kollemata will help to explain why the reconstruction of cols. 41–3 has
proved so difficult and controversial. The placing of the fragments by both Valeria
Piano and myself is not simply random but obeys the principles that govern the
reconstruction of carbonized rolls;45 if my results turn out to be incorrect, hers
are the likeliest alternatives, as I can attest from much trial and error with the
paper model that I first created in 2006. Despite many attempts, I have not yet
managed to devise a reconstruction that saves more of the phenomena than does
this one. My present arrangement depends on two factors: (i) the principle of
Occam’s razor, from which it follows that circumferences must not be multiplied
unnecessarily; (ii) the presence of the kollesis in col. 43 down the right edge of fr.
G6. The latter observation has had predictive value, in two ways. (a) The vertical
crack down fr. G5a, the left half of which is identical to G6 in shape but does not
match it in fibres (see Plate 1), appears to have been caused by pressure from the
double thickness of that kollesis above it one layer further on. (b) More import
antly, in my reconstruction of 2008, which I made with no access to the original,
I placed three fragments (F10, F14, and F19) below one another in column 41.
Critics should find it striking that the new images show, unexpectedly, that these
fragments all have a kollesis running down them, which is marked with a dotted
line in Plate 2; this reconstruction entailed positing two short kollemata ending in
col. 43, which was followed by the equally short one that is under dispute.
In 2008, I could not have known of the kollesis in col. 41, since the images that
had then been published were too pixellated to show it; for my reconstruction, I
relied solely on the numbers and shapes of the fragments and on the letters that
could then be read on them. But the new images have provided a papyrological
proof, by showing that a kollesis runs vertically down the right edges of frr. F10
and F14, when they are arranged precisely as I had arranged them in 2008. The
kolleseis on each fragment appear in Colour Plates 5a and 5b. The kollesis also
runs down the extreme left edge of fr. F19, exactly where I had placed it in the
same column (see Colour Plate 5c). Comparison of these images with those of fr.
G6 from col. 43 makes us familiar with how a kollesis appears in digital micropho-
tography, and so helps make the case that G6 also contains a kollesis.
In addition, the superior images prove that multiple papyrus-fibres connect the
top right edge of fr. F18 with the lower left edge of fr. F14 (this is visible even in
44 The most economical hypothesis regarding the number of lost columns can be determined in
each case by the use of modular arithmetic, as has been established by Essler (2008); cases where there
is doubt are omitted.
45 Janko (2017).
Plate 2), exactly as I had placed them in 2008 when I lacked access to such images.
I could not then rely on the letters to make this join, as only small traces of their
tops survive in fr. F14; now, however, the last letter, Σ, which is missing its upper
diagonal in fr. F18, has that diagonal completed by fr. F14. The join between frr.
F14 and F18 brings the further advantage that the editors had already joined F18
to H45, on the basis of both the writing and the fibres. Thus we now have an
ensemble consisting of frr. F10+F14+F18+H45. Even without such bibliological
proofs, in reaching a judgement scholars should also take into account the quality
of the Greek text that any reconstruction offers.46
Fibres are hard to match when gaps wider than a few letters separate different
pieces. In col. 41, my placing of fr. G7 to the left of the ensemble F10+F14+F18+H45
depends on the coherence of the resulting text, especially the supplements τὰ
σημαι[νό]μενα in l. 8 and κα`ί΄ω[σιν] ἀνημμέ[να] in l. 9, which straddle the two;
the fibres neither confirm nor refute the join. It was not difficult to link G7 to this
ensemble in terms of sense. The same was true of my placing of fr. F19 to the right
of H45, which is suggested by the supplements joining it to H45 and supported by
the kollesis down its left edge (Plate 2). Since F19 lies to the right of the kollesis, the
fibres of H45 cannot match those of F19. Finally, my placing of fr. G17 near the
right edge of the same column rests on just one syntactical sequence, namely τῶν |
[τελ]ε̣τῶν in ll. 8–9; the left edge of G17 lies too far from the right edge of F19 for
any join in fibres to be proved or disproved.
To what extent do matches in the fibres confirm the order of the columns? To
undertake such verifications, it is essential that the image of each fragment be
exactly the correct size and that the two fragments be brought together digitally
as closely as possible; this technique is used in Plates 1, 3a, 3b, 4a, and 4b, which
are adapted from the photographs of Spyros Tsavdaroglou. Each piece has been
resized against photographs that I took with scales on them.47 To begin from
col. 41, the fibres of fr. G17 match those of fr. G8, which contains the left mar-
gin of what I deem col. 42.48 However, col. 42 has been impossible to recon-
struct, for three reasons: (i) its middle lacks any securely placed ensemble of
fragments from the F-series; (ii) the G-fragments at its left and right edges lie
too far apart to enable their fibres to be verified against each other; and (iii) too
little text survives to supply a basis for any philological reconstruction. What is
certain is that my ensemble F10+F14+F18+H45+F19 cannot belong in col. 42
before G11, because in G11 the lines are spaced more closely together. The position
of G11 before G5a in the right half of col. 42 is proved by the match in their
46 Conversely, no amount of papyrological ingenuity regarding the offsets in the ‘Artemidorus

papyrus’ will convince me that the first-century geographer Artemidorus could have written the medi-
eval Greek that appears in part of it, rather than the Hellenistic Greek that was proper to his own time
(see Janko (2005)).
47 I thank Ori Bareket for performing this task, with the guidance of Sally Bjork of Visual Resources
Collections in the Department of Art History at the University of Michigan.
48 So KPT in their cols. I–II (their plate 1).
16 Richard Janko
fibres (Plate 3a),49 whereas the fibres of fr. G6, which KPT put before G5a in their
col. II,50 do not correspond to those of fr. G5a; although they look similar at the
top, the fibres lower down belie this (Plate 1). In addition, the fibres of G5a match
those of fr. F9, which contains the left margin of col. 43 (Plate 3b).51 The sovrapposto
G5b from col. 42 has to be placed in the next circumference, i.e. within col. 43. Thus
fibres and the sovrapposto G5b secure the sequence G11, G5a, F9+8, and G5b, which
straddle cols. 42–3. The fibres of fr. G5b may or may not match those of fr. F7, which
contains the left margin of col. 44 (Plate 4a).52
KPT’s placing of col. 44 before col. 45 seems correct, since the match in fibres
between frr. H46+F15 and G12 across the fracture is reasonably attractive (Plate
4b).53 However, it is not perfect, and this papyrus teaches one nothing if not self-
doubt. At least we can be sure that cols. 45–6 are physically joined, while the pres-
ence of two layers in fr. F3 secures the sequence of cols. 46–7.
1b. Diplomatic Transcript and Palaeographical Commentary
The diplomatic transcription given below shows only those letters that I regard as
certain. Descriptions of them where necessary, and of the traces of ambiguous, i.e.
dotted, letters are given in the palaeographical apparatus. A subliteral dot indicates
a letter the identification of which is in doubt, not one that is damaged but is none-
theless securely read. Each column is preceded by a list of the fragments that are
assigned to it, divided up by the sezioni of the circumference to which each belongs
(the divisions are marked with vertical bars). Pieces that show parts of two col-
umns are labelled accordingly, e.g. ‘G3 col. i’ and ‘G3 col. ii’. Pieces that show parts
of more than one layer are given letters to mark successive layers, as in ‘F5a’ and
‘F5b’ (such pieces are valuable for reconstruction, because they show where each
fragment has to belong in more than one circumference). Space for missing letters
and half-letters is shown as ‘[.₍.₎]’, and space for half a letter is shown as ‘[]’.
In the palaeographical apparatus, each line contains an apparatus for each frag-
ment that is placed within it as one advances across the line, e.g. F5a and then C1.
The following sigla are used:
ΦΜ photograph by Charalambos Makaronas, 1962
ΦT infrared photograph by Spyros Tsavdaroglou, 1962
ΦΣ infrared photograph by Makis Skiadaressis, 1978
Φμ microphotograph in visible light by Richard Janko, 2014–15
Φir microphotograph in near-infrared light by Richard Janko, 2015
49 This juxtaposition was first proposed in Janko (2008: 6–8), when I lacked good images; it is
accepted by Piano (2019: 21). KPT had placed G5a (their G5) after G15+G6 in their col. II (their plate 2).
50 Cf. KPT, plate 2.
51 So first KPT in their cols. II–III; despite their separation of these into two plates (plates 2–3) and
the amputation of the left part of F9 in their plate 3, improved images verify this result.
52 So already KPT, plate 3, but even images of a quality better than theirs do not guarantee this match.
53 Cf. KPT, plates 4–5.
Col. 41 (olim I)
G7 || F10 , F14, F18, H45, F19 (k-1 post litt. 20–2) || G17, G8 col. i
1 . . . . . . . . . . . . . .].κε[. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
. . . . . . . . . . . . . .]επιτο[. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
. . . .]ιδ[. . . . . . .₍.₎]κοιϲκαικα[. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
. .]υ. .ρα.[. . . . .]αιταϲημε[. . . . . . .₍.₎].ιρ[. . . . . . .
5 . . .₍.₎].δ.αν.[. . . .]πονπροε[. . . . . . . . .₍.₎]νεκαϲτο.[ ]
. . .]ιδινειμ[. . . . . .₍.₎].[. . . .]₍.₎η[. . . . . . . .₍.₎].αι [ ]
. . .]υπεθηκε[. .].περϕυϲικ[. . . . . . . .₍.₎]₍.₎αθεοπρ.[ ]
. . .].ταϲημαι[. .]μεναευχ.[. . . . . . . . .]των [ ]
. . .].τωνκα`ι΄.[. .₍.₎]ανημμε[. . . . . . . . .₍.₎].το. .₍.₎τω[. ]
10 . . . .]μοϲα[. . .]χηϲπ[. .]α[.].λ[. .]μεν[. . . .]₍.₎οη. . .ο[. . ]
. . . . . . . . .]υροϲυδατοϲδ.₍.₎ναιδη[. . . . . . . . . . .]εια
. . . . . . . .]₍.₎νεκαϲταϲημει.ανθρω[. . . . . . . . . .
13 . . . . . . . .₍.₎].υϲκαι. . .λοϲ. . . .ου[. . . . . . . . . . . . . .
desunt versus fere xx
col. 41 upper margin not preserved

1 F10, ].κε[ ].κ: in Φir, burning or medial trace as of right arm of ω; then lower half of
κ ε[: lower horizontal only, too flat to be ϲ
2 F10, ]επιτο[ ο[: left side and base of small curve above baseline (clearest in ΦΤ),
ligatured to the τ
3 G7, ]ιδ[ ]ι: no trace before ι (dark vertical fibre falsely suggests base of verti-
cal) δ[: surface stripped to right F10, ]κοιϲκαικα[ ]κ: lower half (clearest in
ΦΤ) α[: kollesis crosses left foot
4 G7, ]υ. .ρα.[ ]υ.: tip of left arm, fork, and vertical ending below baseline (clearest in
ΦΤΦir), only υ (horizontal fibre gives impression of η, but at wrong elevation); then, after vertical
root, medial curve as of lower right arc of small ο (no sign of supposed δ) .ρ: before ρ,
appearance of a rising left diagonal (on ΦΤ only) and then two verticals, but latter are certainly
burnt backing showing through damaged surface (the possible left diagonal is too far left for any
supposed α immediately to precede ρ) .[: left foot of diagonal, as of λ or α; not χ, as sur-
face is intact above leading between ll. 4 and 5 is one-fifth closer than between the other
lines, as if there were a change of layer between them, but none can be seen F10,
]αιταϲημε[ G17, ].ιρ[ .ιρ[: in ΦμΦir, surface one letter wide with no traces (vertical
fibres hide left edge); then lower two-thirds of a vertical, base of which ends in leftward curve;
then ρ with triangular loop (burnt fibres in ΦΤΦΣ suggest ιν)
5 G7, ].δ.αν.[ ].δ. . : much burning and no clear traces before a root; then δ with medial
horizontal and diagonals that trail below midline but do not reach baseline (too sprawling to be α);
then a letter largely hidden by vertical fibres (appearance of π or γ is merely burnt backing showing
through damaged surface) ν: clearest in ΦΤΦir .[: foot of left diagonal, α or
λ F10, ]πονπροε[ ]πον: end of high horizontal, right corner, and curved right vertical
(only π); small ο, complete save for bottom of circle; upper half of left vertical of ν (too steep for
μ) with start of diagonal and right vertical (clearest in ΦΤ) πρ: top of vertical, high hori-
zontal coinciding with fibre and curving right vertical that begins above line, only π; then vertical
and loop of ρ (clearest in Φir) ε[: left vertical and three horizontals, not ϲ (clearest in ΦΤΦμ)
G17, ]νεκαϲτο.[ (almost nothing visible in Φir) ]ν: end of diagonal joining right vertical that rises
slightly above line, even in Φir .[: curving vertical and start of high horizontal or
18 Richard Janko
diagonal, only μ, γ, or π (ν excluded) G8 col. i (fr. mounted upside down), empty
intercolumnium
6 G7, ]ιδινειμ[ ]ιδ: top half of vertical at edge before δ (both clearest on ΦΣ) νε:
right vertical of ν and lower half of ε hidden by vertical fibres, but reading not in
doubt F14, ].[ .[: in Φir, base of left vertical with wavy low horizontal, ε or β
only F10, ]₍.₎η[ ]₍.₎: in ΦΤΦir, foot of right diagonal, as of λ or α η[: left and
right verticals with medial crossbar, only η (κ excluded, as is clearest in ΦΤΦir), followed at once
by kollesis and vertical fracture G17, ].αι with empty intercolumnium (nothing legible in
Φir) ].: surface one letter wide partly hidden by vertical fibres; burning falsely suggests ν,
but no traces are visible G8 col. i, empty intercolumnium
7 G7, ]υπεθηκε[ υ: central vertical, fork, and left arm (right arm hidden by remains of
root), not ε ε[: after ε, burnt edge falsely suggests trace of a vertical F14,
].περϕυϲικ[ ].: dot on baseline, which may be tip of low horizontal, as of ϲ, or foot of
diagonal or of vertical κ[: kollesis runs through right tips G17, ]₍.₎αθεοπρ.[ ]
₍.₎: no traces θ: large round smudge, too big for ο ο: smaller round smudge slightly
above baseline, only ο π: left vertical connected by high horizontal (coinciding with
burnt fibre) to short curved vertical, with blob above line where the pen turned, only π, with top
right ligatured to next letter ρ.[: in Φμ, a left vertical, with lower part of upper loop, cer-
tainly ρ (lower part of vertical is crossed by two burnt horizontal fibres); then perhaps upper arc
of small round letter; no further traces for width of half a letter G8, empty
intercolumnium
8 G7, ].ταϲημαι[ ].: damaged surface with no certain traces; burnt backing showing
through in Φμ gives false impression of α F14, ]μεναευχ.[ .[: mostly hidden by
diagonal fibres such as often occur near a kollesis; perhaps small upper triangle as of α or δ
(burning gives false impression of ο) G17, ]των in ΦΤΦμ, before vacant intercolumnium
(τ has entire medial vertical, but horizontal is very hard to discern); only burning pre-
cedes G8 col. i, empty intercolumnium
9 G7, ].τωνκα`ι΄.[ ].: high horizontal ending with short upward curve, as of only ε or γ:
burnt patch at end of curve to left of root falsely suggests longer upper arm of ϲ `ι΄.[: ι
added in lighter ink above line (clearest in ΦΤΦir); then left medial horizontal, high for ω but
rather low for τ, which seems less likely (burnt edge, not ink, below) F14,
]ανημμε[ ]α: no traces precede G17, ].το. .₍.₎τω[ (the middles of ll. 9–10 broke
away only after ΦΤΦΣ were made, but the original of ΦΣ is lost) ].: right foot of a diagonal, α
or λ . .₍.₎: broken middle part, perhaps dim traces of three letters on ΦΤ, starting with base
of a vertical (surface was badly damaged even in 1962); nothing now legible ω[: a middle
horizontal, only ω G8 col. i, empty intercolumnium; Piano read ]α.ι. and I once read ]ι̣ or
]ν̣, but these are burnt fibres
10 G7, ]μοϲα[ ]μο: upper curve and steep right diagonal of μ; then small ο with lower
right arc under a sovrapposto with its fibres askew ϲα[: upper three diagonals and upper
right tip of ϲ visible between sovrapposto to left and vertical fibres to right (clearest in ΦΤ); then
upper triangle of α, with apex above line and its legs hidden by a sovrapposto, G7b, three letters wide
and one line high that extends to bottom edge, consisting of blank intercolumnium save for left
end of a paragraphē, of which two letter-widths survive; after α, stripped (apparent left angle and
horizontal as in π or γ are too high up to be other than burnt fibres) F18, ]χηϲ[ ϲ[:
left half, with arms missing F14, ]ϲπ[. .]α[ ϲπ[: in ΦΤΦir, right tip of diagonal
above line, only ϲ, completing that of F18; then, only in Φir, very top of a left vertical joining a
sagging upper horizontal, ending higher at right with start of right vertical, only π α[:
apex above line, too high up to be anything other than α H45, ].λ[ apparent left
diagonal is burnt papyrus; then λ complete with no crossbar F19, ]μεν[ μ: right
diagonal splaying rightwards to baseline, too steep save for μ ν: left vertical, diagonal, and
Another random document with
no related content on Scribd:
'Coming, Aggie; coming.'
. . . . . . .
Deprived of its detail, this is pretty much the story that Antony Blake
told Lotty Lee that autumn night as they sat together eating chocolates on
the big white stone on Whinny Moor.
And that is how Antony happened to be there.
CHAPTER III.
IN GIPSY CAMP AND CARAVAN.
B RIGHTER and brighter shone the moon, yet it was dark in that great
wood, into which the light could hardly penetrate. Solemn as a
cathedral, too, with far above them the black roof of interlacing pine-
trees.
Only here and there the chequered moonlight streamed downwards on
the soft carpet of needled foliage that lay beneath.
Pathway it could scarce have been called, save for the blazed trees, for
the boy Chops had done his work well, albeit he had wasted the properties.
There were places where the gloom was so complete that Frank Antony had
to feel for Lotty to make sure she was still by his side. And neither seemed
inclined to break the stillness just then.
The owls and other birds of prey were in evidence here, and once when a
pigeon was scared, and flew flapping upwards from its flat nest of heather-
stalks or its perch among the pines, some night-bird struck it speedily down.
No, not an owl; for owls do feed on mice and rats.
Then they came to a glade, and once more the moon shone merrily
above them, and the black shadows of Antony and his companion pointed
northwards and west.
'More than half-way home,' said Lotty.
'A strangely impressive scene,' said Antony.
'Are you very heavy, sir?'
'For my inches I scale a good deal, Lotty.'
'Well, you must walk round by the white stones yonder. All the centre is
a moving bog, you know. It bears my weight and Wallace's easily, and we
like to swing up and down on the turf. You'll see me swing in a minute. But
you might go through, then you would sink down and down and down
among the black slime, and not be seen again, never, never, never!'
'A very pretty prospect indeed, Lotty; but I think I'll go round by the
stones. I have rather an interest in myself.'
Lotty had her swing on the green, moving turf that covered the awful
abyss, and appeared to enjoy it very much; but presently they met again on
the other side. Antony paused for a moment to gaze into the star-depths.
'How beautiful!' he murmured.
'Are you very hungry, sir?' asked matter-of-fact Lotty.
'I could do with a bit of supper, I believe.'
'Because,' said Lotty, 'the light you see up yonder comes from Crona's
cottage. Crona is a witch; but she loves me, and often, when I am hungry,
she gives me milk to drink and sometimes an egg.'
'Well, by all means let us see this witch-friend of yours. Is she very
terrible, Lotty?'
'She has such kindly eyes!' Lotty answered. Then she guided Antony up
to the long, low hut on the cliff.
The girl simply lifted the latch and entered without ceremony. A peat-
fire was burning on a rude stone hearth, and near it sat Crona, warming her
skinny hands. A tame fox by her side yapped and howled, and a huge cat
put up her back. Crona closed the big Bible she had been reading, and laid it
reverently on the window-sill, with her spectacles above it.
'Oh, come your ways in, my bonny Lotty. But wha have you wi' ye? In
sooth, a bonny callant. And, oh me, Lotty, there is something tells your old
mammy this night o' nights that this callant, this bonny English callant,
will'——
She stopped suddenly.
'Forgive an old woman, sir,' she said to Antony, 'who is well-nigh in her
dotage.'
She hastily dusted a chair with her apron, and signed to Antony to sit
down.
The fire threw out a cheerful blaze, quite dimming the light of the wee
oil lamp that hung against the whitewashed wall.
Not very many miles from this same pine-wood is the 'blasted heath' of
Shakespeare; and this old woman, Crona, but for the look of kindness in her
eyes, might well have represented one of the witches in Macbeth. A witch?
Nay; but despite her high cheek-bones and wrinkled face, despite the gray
and elfin locks that escaped from beneath her white 'mutch' or cap, let us
rather call her 'wise woman,' for witches—if there be any such creatures—
never read the Book of Books.
Any age 'twixt seventy and ninety Crona might have been, or even more
than that; but Antony could not help noticing that she herself and all her
surroundings were wonderfully clean, the fireside tidy, and the delf that
stood on shelves or in cupboards shining and spotless. Her clothing,
moreover, was immaculate; and Antony, though a mere man, saw that some
of her garments were silk and almost new, so that they could not have been
cast-offs or misfits from the gentry in the neighbourhood. Indeed, old
though she was, she looked aristocratic enough to have repelled any well-
meant offers of charity.
But humble though the abode, there were several strange, richly inlaid
chests in it, and a cupboard or two in the antique that certainly would have
been valuable to the connoisseur.
Antony loved nature, but he also loved a mystery, and here surely there
was one.
The mystery was deepened when a remark that the young man made, or
a phrase used, in good French led the conversation into that language. But
when Antony made a somewhat awkward attempt to learn something of the
old lady's history she adroitly turned the conversation.
Crona's creamy milk, those new-laid eggs, and the real Scottish scones
with freshest of butter, made a supper that a prince would have enjoyed.
Crona now heaped more logs and peats on the hearth, for in these far
northern regions the early autumn evenings are apt to be chill.
The peats blazed merrily but quietly, the logs flamed and fizzed and
crackled, the jets of blazing gas therefrom lighting up every corner and
cranny of the old-fashioned hut. Fir-logs were they, that had lain buried in
moss or morass for thousands of years—had fallen, in fact, before the
wintry blast ages before painted and club-armed men roamed the forests all
around, fighting single-handed the boars and even bears in which these
woods abounded.
Frank Antony really felt very happy to-night. The scene was quite to his
taste, for he was a somewhat romantic youth, and everything strange and
poetic appealed to him. With Lotty, beaming-eyed and rosy with the fire,
sitting by Crona's knee listening to old-world tales and the crooning of old
ballads, the fox and the cat curled up together in a corner, the curling smoke
and cheerful fire, the young man was fascinated. Had London, he
wondered, with its so-called life and society, anything to beat this?
'Some one's knocking at the door,' said Lotty, whose hearing was more
acute than Crona's.
'It must be Joe,' said Crona. 'Poor Joe, he has been away in the woods all
the evening, and must be damp and cauld!'
Lotty hastened to admit a splendid specimen of the raven—or he would
have been splendid had not his wings and thigh-feathers been so draggled
with dew. He advanced along the floor with a noisy flutter.
'Joe's cold, and Joe's cross,' croaked the bird, giving one impudent glance
upwards at Antony, as much as to say, 'Who on earth are you next?' He was
evidently in a temper. 'Joe's cold, and Joe's cross—cross—cross!' he
shrieked.
Then he vented his passion on the hind-foot of the poor fox, which was
thrust well out from his body. Reynard quietly drew in that leg and showed
his teeth in an angry snarl. But the raven only held his head back, and
laughed an eldritch laugh that rang through the rafters. His next move was
to dislodge the cat and take her place on the top of Tod Lowrie, as the red
fox was called. Joe felt warm there, so he fluffed out his feathers and went
quietly to sleep.
When presently 'a wee tim'rous beastie' in the shape of a black mouse,
with wondering dark eyes nearly as large as boot-buttons, crept from a
corner and sat quietly down with its front to the fire and commenced to
wash its little mite of a face, Frank Antony thought he must be dreaming.
The cat took no notice of Tim (the mouse), and when Lotty bent down and
stroked tiny Tim with the nail of her little finger he really seemed to enjoy
it. Antony was prepared for anything that might happen after this.
When they were out again in the open moonlight, Antony said, 'Do you
often go to Crona's cottage, Lotty?'
'Oh yes, when I can spare time. Crona is a granny to me, and I love her
and Tim and Joe, Pussy, Tod Lowrie, and all.'
'A very happy little natural family.'
They were high on a hill by this time, and far beneath them, near the sea,
its long lines of breakers silvered by the moonbeams, white canvas tents
could be seen, and many moving lights.
'That is our pitch,' said Lotty. 'The big caravan is yours, sir; the little one
not very far off is mine. That long, black, wooden building in the centre is
the theatre and barracks.'
'How droll to have a theatre and barracks in a gipsy camp! I think I've
come to a strange country, Lotty.'
'Oh, you won't be sorry, I'm sure. Father can't thrash you, and Wallace
and myself will look well after you.'
'Thank you, Lotty.'
'I wonder who on earth Wallace is?' he thought.
He did not have long to wonder.
'I'm going to signal for Wallace,' said Lotty.
She stood on the very edge of a rocky precipice that went sheer down to
the green sea-links below, full three hundred feet and over. Close by was the
mark of a former fire.
'I always signal from here,' she said, 'and Wallace always comes. He is
never happy when I am far away, and keeps watching for me.'
It didn't take the little gipsy lass long to scrape dry grass and twigs
together. A leathern pouch hung from her girdle, and from this she
produced a flint and steel, with some touch-paper, and in less than half a
minute the signal-fire was alit.
A most romantic figure the girl presented as she stood there on the cliff,
looking straight out seawards, one hand above her brow to screen her eyes
from the red glare of the flames, her sweet, sad face a picture, with the night
wind blowing back her wealth of soft fair hair and the silken frock from off
her shapely limbs.
It was not the beauty but the sadness of Lotty's face that appealed to
Antony most.
Why sad? That was the mystifying question.
He had taken a strange and indefinable interest in this twelve-year-old
gipsy child. He had come down here to take away the caravan for which he
was to pay a solid five hundred guineas, and had made up his mind to stay
only a few days; but now on the cliff-top here he suddenly resolved that, if
he could be amused, he would remain at the camp for as many weeks. He
had no intention of travelling in the caravan during the wintry months. He
would take the great carriage south by rail, and, starting from Brighton, do a
record journey right away through England and Scotland from sea to sea,
starting when the first green buds were on the trees and the larks carolling
over the rolling downs of Sussex. So now he lay on the grass, waiting, and
wondering who Wallace would be.
Hallo! Lotty has gone bounding past Antony to meet some one, her face
transformed. No sadness now; only daft mirth and merriment, her arms
extended, her curls anyhow all over her face and neck. A scream of delight,
and next moment two very young and beautiful persons are rolling together
on the half-withered grass.
One is Lotty, the other is Wallace her Newfoundland. Jet black is he all
over, like the wings of Crona's raven—jet black, save for the glitter of his
bonny eyes, the pink of his tongue, and alabaster flash of his marvellous
teeth.
. . . . . . .
'See your room first, Mr Blake, and then come in to supper?'
The speaker was Nat Biffins Lee, master and proprietor of what he was
wont to call 'The Queerest Show on Earth,' a broad, square, round-faced,
somewhat burly man, with even teeth and a put-on smile that was seldom
unshipped. Dressed in a loose velveteen jacket, with white waistcoat
(diamond-mounted buttons), with an enormous spread of neck and upper
chest. His loose cravat of green silk was tied in a sailor-knot so far beneath
his fat chin that it seemed to belong more to the vest than to the loose shirt-
collar.
'Here, hurry up, you kinchin, Lot!—Down, Wallace; kennel, sir.' Biffins
cracked a short whip, and Lotty flew to obey.
The look of sadness had returned to her face. Her father's manner
seemed to frighten her. But she tripped like a fairy up the back steps of the
'Gipsy Queen,' and stood waiting him while he entered.
Antony stood for a few moments on the stairtop. He was dazzled,
bewildered. He had never seen so large a caravan, never could have
believed that the interior of a caravan could lend itself to such art-
decorations and beauty. This was no ordinary gipsy wagon, but a splendid
and luxurious home-upon-wheels. The curtains, the hangings, mirrors,
brackets, bookcase with pigmy editions of poetry and romance, the velvet
lounge, the art chairs, the soft carpets, the crimson-shaded electric bulbs
and the fairy lights gleaming up through beds of choice flowers above the
china-cupboard in a recess, all spoke of and breathed refinement.
But no sign of a bedroom, till smiling Lotty stepped forward and touched
a spring; then china-cupboard, with fairy lights and flowers and all, slowly
revolved and disappeared, and, in its place, gauzy silken hangers scarce
concealed the entrance to a pretty cabin bedroom, with curtained window
and white-draped couch which seemed to invite repose. A cosy wee grate in
a brass-protected corner, in which a cosy wee fire was burning, a small
mirrored overmantel—making the room look double the size—table,
looking-glass, books, pipe-rack, wine-cupboard, and a little lamp on
gimbals that was swinging even now, for the wind had commenced to blow
along the links, and the great caravan rocked and swayed like a ship in a
seaway.
There were wild-flowers in vases even here, and a blithe little rose-linnet
in a golden cage; but everything was so arranged that nothing could fall,
rocked and swayed she ever so much.
Frank Antony was more than pleased; he was astonished and delighted.
But who was, or had been, the presiding genius of all this artful beauty and
elegance? Ah! there she stands demurely now, by the saloon cabin, herself
so artless—a baby-woman. He drew her nearer to him to thank her. He
kissed her shapely brown fingers, and he kissed her on the hair.
'Good-night, Lotty. Oh, by the way, Lotty, tell Mr Biffins—tell your
father, I mean—that I am going to bed, too tired to take supper. Good-night,
child.'
Five minutes after, the little brass knocker rattled, and Lotty peeped in
again to say, 'All right about father, sir; and Chops will call for your boots
in the morning.'
Frank Antony switched off the saloon light, and, retiring to his small
cabin, helped himself to a glass of port and a biscuit, and then sat down by
the fire to read.
As he smoked his modest pipe, which soothed his nerves after his long
journey of over seven hundred miles, he felt glad he had not gone in to
supper.
Whether or not love at first sight be possible I cannot say—cannot be
sure; but no doubt we meet people in this world whom, from the very first,
we feel we cannot like. Nat Biffins Lee seemed to be one of these to Frank
Antony, at all events. There was that in his manner which was repellent,
positively or rather negatively repellent. The man was evidently on the best
of terms with himself, but his manners were too much of the circus-master
to please Antony. And the young man was discontented with himself for
feeling as he did.
Yet how could a man like this Biffins possess so gentle and sweet a child
as Lotty for a daughter? It was puzzling. But then, Mrs Biffins Lee, the
girl's mother—well, Lotty might have taken after her.
Perhaps Antony's thoughts were running riot to-night; one's thoughts,
when very tired, are very apt to. He had read a whole page of the little
volume he held in his hand without knowing in the very least what he had
been reading. He shut his eyes now very hard as if to squeeze away
drowsiness, then opened them wide to read the passage over again. It was a
translation from the writings of some ancient Celtic bard which he had got
hold of, strangely wild, almost uncouth, but still it seemed to accord with
the situation, with the boom of the breaking waves and soft rocking of his
home-upon-wheels. It was the lament of Malvina, the daughter of Toscar,
for the death of her lover Oscar:
'It was the voice of my love! Seldom art thou in the dreams of Malvina!
Open your aerie halls, O father of Toscar of Shields! Unfold the gates of
your clouds; the steps of Malvina are near. I have heard a voice in my
dream. I feel the fluttering of my soul. Why didst thou come, O blast, from
the dark rolling face of the lake? Thy rustling wing was in the tree; the
dream of Malvina fled. But she has beheld her love when his robe of mist
flew on the wind. A sunbeam was on his skirts; they glittered like the gold
of a stranger. It was the voice of my love! Seldom comes he to my dreams.
'But thou dwellest in the soul of Malvina, son of mighty Ossian! My
sighs arise with the beam of the east, my tears descend with the drops of
night. I was a lovely tree in thy presence, Oscar, with all my branches round
me; but thy death came like a blast from the desert, and laid my green head
low. The spring returned with its showers; no leaf of mine arose. The
virgins saw me silent in the hall; they touched the harp of joy. The tear was
on the cheek of Malvina; the virgins beheld me in my grief. "Why art thou
sad," they said, "thou first of the maids of Lutha? Was he lovely as the beam
of the morning, and stately in thy sight?"'
. . . . . . .
The 'Gipsy Queen' lay somewhat nearer to the cliffs than the barracks
and the other caravans and tents. She had been placed here probably that
Antony might have quietness.
Tall, rocky cliffs they were that frowned darkling over the northern
ocean—rocks that for thousands of years had borne the brunt of the battle
and the breeze, summer's sun and winter's storm. Hard as adamant were
they, imperishable, for ne'er a stone had they parted with, and the grass
grew up to the very foot.
The 'Gipsy Queen' was anchored fast to the greensward where the sea-
pinks grew, and many a rare little wild-flower. And this sward was hard and
firm, so that though gales might sweep along the links and level the tents it
could only rock and sway the 'Gipsy Queen.'
Silence gradually fell over the encampment. Guys had been slackened
round the tents, for the dews of night and the sea's salt spray would tauten
the canvas long ere morning. The shouting of orders ceased and gave place
to the twanging of harp-strings, the sweet strains of violin music, and voices
raised in song. But these also ceased at last, and after this nothing could be
heard save the occasional sonorous baying of some great hound on watch
and the drowsy roar of the outgoing tide. But soon
The tide
Would sigh farther off,
As human sorrow sighs in sleep.
It occurred to Antony to look out just once before retiring for the night.
So he passed through the saloon and gently opened the door. The white
tents moving in the moonlight, the big black barn of a theatre, the gray,
uncertain sea touched here and there with the sheen of moon and silver
stars. Was that all? No; for not far from his own great caravan was a cosy,
broad-wheeled gipsy-cart, from the wee curtained window of which a
crimson light streamed over the yellow sand.
It must be Lotty's and Wallace's he believed. And there was a sense of
companionship in the very thought that they were so near to him. So
Antony locked his door and retired.
. . . . . . .
Rat-tat-tat. Rat-tat-tat. Rat-tat-tat.
It is next morning now.
Rat-tat.
'Hallo! hallo!' roared Antony. 'What on earth'——

Then, remembering where he was, he jumped out of bed, flew through
the saloon, and opened the back-door.
A great, fat young face beamed up at him from the foot of the steps like
a setting sun.
'It's only me, sir. It's only Chops, come for your boots, sir.'
'Here you are, Chops lad. But mind you don't black these; they're patent
leather.'
'Lo'd love ye, sir, I knows to a nicety. I never does black patenters. Only
just spits on 'em, sir. Back presently, sir, wi' your cup o' tea.'
The figure retreated, taking the fat face and the patent leather boots with
it, and Frank Antony Blake yawned a bit and then proceeded to dress,
wondering to himself what pleasure, if any, the coming day might bring
him.
CHAPTER IV.
'EVER BEEN AN INFANT PRODIGY?' SAID LOTTY.
B UT the boy Chops returned almost immediately. 'Which I told

Skeleton,' he said touching his forelock with his left hand by way of
salute, 'to bring yer a cup o' nice tea, sir, an' breakfus is at eight; an' I
brought ye these, as I doesn't like to see a gent in 'is stockin'-soles like, an'
mayblins ye 'asn't got another pair o' shoes to yer name. These will fit, sir, I
thinks, thinks I.'
Antony had been standing in the back-door of the caravan, looking out
upon the brightness of a beautiful morning and the sunlight on the sea.
As the boy spoke he deposited a pair of huge, ungainly yellow slippers
close beside the young man's dainty feet.
Antony glanced but once at them and stepped back, almost appalled.
'Goodness!' he cried. 'What are these? Take the horrid—er—take them
away, boy.'
'A pair o' slippers wot belongs to the boss, sir. Oh, I'm sure 'e wouldn't
mind yer awearin' of 'em. Boss ain't a bad sort—sometimes.'
'There, there, you're a thoughtful lad, I'm sure; but—er—if you don't
mind, I'll wait for my boots.'
'Gemman wants ter see ye, sir,' said Chops a minute after.
The 'gemman' was the porter from the station, carrying Frank Antony's
bag on his left shoulder. He was smiling and pleasant, quite in keeping with
the sunny morning.
'I thank you, porter. This is ever so kind of you.'
'First train no' due yet, captain, for an hour and mair. Thought ye might
be needin' something oot o' the bag, and so here it is. No, as sure as death,
I'll no' tak' a penny. Weel, captain, as you are so pressin'. Thanks; and I'll
drink your very good health as soon's the train's oot o' the station.'
The porter had barely gone ere Skeleton hove in sight with a small tray
and the morning cup of tea.
Skeleton was very tall, very thin, and so sloping were his shoulders that
his jacket seemed slipping off him. His poor face was like that of a snipe,
and his eyes the eyes of an owl; two little spots of red were on his high
cheek-bones.
No need to be told that this was the Living Skeleton of Biffins Lee's
'Queerest Show on Earth.'
'Are you very ill, poor fellow?'
'What, me? No, sir, I'm first chop. Could get stout in three weeks.'
'Then, for pity's sake, take a three weeks' holiday and fill yourself out.'
'What, me? And spoil the whole show, and lose my income?'
His voice was like that of some one speaking up from a vault.
'I know what you 're thinking, sir.'
'Well?'
'I could see your lips moving, and you seemed to be mumbling a morsel
of the Immortal William to yourself. Would you like to have a look at my
wife, sir?'
Antony was sitting on a camp-stool, enjoying his tea.
'No, I don't want to have a look at her. What should I want to have a look
at your wife for?'
'Oh, she would please you all to pieces.—Mary, my sweet little darling,'
he cried, 'flutter this way a moment that our newly come Gipsy King may
feast his optics on thy fairy form.'
And Mary did flutter in sight, and presently stood beside Skeleton,
smiling and comely.
And this fairy must have turned the scale at five-and-twenty stone! But,
so merry her smile and the twinkle in her eyes that, rude though he felt it to
be, Antony could not help bursting into a hearty laugh. And she kept him
company too.
'I'm really not laughing, you know; but—ha! ha! ha! I'——
'And I'm really not laughing,' cried Mary. 'But—he! he! he! I'——
'This isn't your wife, Skeleton? Now, really, is it, you know?'
'In course she is,' cried the Skeleton. 'You don't mean to go for to think
that I'——
'No, no, my good sir, I shouldn't think so for a moment.'
Mary now hit her memento mori of a husband a ringing slap on his bony
back.
'Go and do something,' she exclaimed.
Skeleton was evidently accustomed to obey, and bolted at once to do
something.
Mary looked after him with a satisfied sigh.
'I've taught my hubbie what man's chief duty is: to do what his missus
bids him. Beautiful morning, isn't it, sir,' she added.
Antony made no attempt to deny it.
'You seem very happy here, on the whole,' he remarked.
'Oh, very, sir. But, of course, we all look forward to something better.'
'Beyond death and the grave, eh?'
'Who said anything about death and the grave? Who's going to talk about
graves on a day like this? No, sir; but hubbie and I, after a time, look
forward to retiring from the show-line and taking a little poultry and milk
farm. Then he'll grow fat and I'll grow lean, till we meet like, and live
happy ever after. But here comes Chops.'
And Mary floated away.
‘’Am an' heggs, sir; grilled salmon, sir; an' 'spatch-cock! An' w'ich will
yer 'ave?'
'What is 'spatch-cock, Master Chops?'
'First ye catches yer little cock, sir, no matter w'ere. Then, w'en 'e's dead
an' trussed, ye divides 'im down the back like a kippered 'erring, an' does
'im over a clear fire—gipsy fashion.'
'I'll have 'spatch-cock, Chops.'
'An' please, sir, I was to take the boss's compliments, an' would ye like to
'ave yer meals in the big marquee or in the caravan all by yerself like?'
'My compliments to your master, and please say I'm too shy yet, and so
I'll feed where I am for a day or two.'
'Right ye be, sir, an' I was to 'tend on ye like. An' Mrs Pendlebury will
make yer bed an' tidy up, an' Lotty Biffins Lee 'erself will put in the wild-
flowers.'
'Capital! But who is Mrs Pendlebury?'
'Why, she as 'as just gone hoff—Skeleton's wife.'
'Oh, I see.'
After breakfast Antony was wondering what he should do with himself
when there came a rat-tat-tat to the little brass knocker, and, without waiting
for a 'come in,' enter Biffins Lee.
'Morning,' he nodded.
'Morning, Mr Lee. Take a seat.'
'That's what I came to do.'
He excavated a huge cigar and was just about to light up, when——
'Hold a moment,' said Antony. 'If ever I become master of this charming
palace-on-wheels I will not permit even a duke to smoke and spoil the
beautiful curtains.'
'Right ye are, Mr Blake. I desists. Now,' he added, 'I want you to do just
as you like in my camp.'
'Thanks, old man! But I should have done what I liked anyhow. Always
have done. Always will.'
One does meet men sometimes, and women too, that one feels it
impossible to take to at first. From Antony Blake's point of view, this
Biffins seemed to be one of these.
In his heart of hearts he trusted he was not wronging the camp-master.
Rudeness young Blake could understand and forgive, but offensiveness
never. He, Antony, could not forget that he was a gentleman and one of
high-caste compared to this showman, and so he was prepared to keep him
in his place. Skeleton was a king compared to Biffins, and Mary was a
queen.
The man began to whistle an operatic air to himself—more of his ill-
manners—and Antony felt he should like to pull him up off his seat and
give him one good kick that should land him on the grass among the sea-
pinks.
But at present the caravan really belonged to Biffins Lee, and one must
think twice before kicking a man out of his own caravan.
'Well, Mr Blake,' said the showman presently, 'whether you buy the
"Gipsy Queen" or not, you'll make yourself at home with us for a week or
so, won't you?'
This was more kindly spoken, and Antony began to think he was
behaving like a cad to Biffins.
'Certainly, certainly, Mr Lee. Excuse my horrid cantankerous bluntness.
But I'll buy the "Gipsy Queen." There! That's settled. Cheque when you
like.'
'Spoken like a man, young fellow,' and Biffins held out his hand to
shake.
Antony could not well refuse this, but the grasp was not a warm one on
either side.
'Morning, Mr Blake. Must be going.'
'Morning, Mr Lee. Pray don't mention it.' And, whistling again to
himself, Biffins tripped down the stair and walked off.
Antony opened all the windows.
'How that man,' he said to himself, 'can be the father of that sweet lady
little Lotty is past all comprehension. However, the caravan is mine now.—
Yes, Mrs Pendlebury, come up and do the rooms. I'll walk by the shore for
half an hour.'
The tide was running in upon the yellow sand, each tiny wavelet wetting
it higher and higher up the beach, its long wavy line showing the tide was
beginning to flow. Scarce a whisper from the sea to-day, and its oily
reflection almost pained the eyes that received it. Out yonder on this glassy
mirror a little boat was bobbing, but so indistinctly that Antony could not at
first tell whether it was on the horizon or nearer hand. Presently, however,
he could see an arm raised and something flutter. A cry, too, or 'coo-ee!'
came across the water, plaintive almost as that of a sea-bird.
Antony waved his handkerchief in return, and almost immediately
noticed that the boat had changed its direction, and was putting back
towards a point of dark rocks that stood out into the sea about three hundred
yards to the west. Thither he bent his steps, the little craft appearing
suddenly to get very much larger and more distinct, and he could see now
that the single figure who sat therein was Lotty herself.
Next moment he was out on the point-end, the dingy's bows rasping on
the black, weed-covered boulder on which he was standing.
'Good-morning, dear. How well you row! Can I assist you up?'
'Oh no, Mr Blake, I am not landing yet. I have had breakfast ever so long
ago; and, look, I have caught all these fish! Mind you don't step on them.'
'Am I to come on board, then, and take the oars?'
'You may come on board, but not take the oars. You are just to sit in the
stern-sheets and be good.'
'Be good?'
'Yes, Mr Blake; you must not wriggle about, because the Jenny Wren is
small, and you are big. If you wriggled much you might capsize.'
'I won't wriggle a bit, Lotty. You are so good!'
'Well,' she told him, 'sit right in the centre aft there, and lean forward, so
that your weight may be divided.'
'This way?'
'That way, Mr Blake. Thanks.'
'It isn't a very comfy way to sit, Lotty, and I can't see you without
bending back my head.'
'You needn't see me. Keep your face down if you like, and look at the
fish. Once,' she continued, 'I took Chops out; but he wobbled and wriggled
so much I had to tell him to go; and, of course, he went.'
'What! Jumped into the water?'
'Yes, Mr Blake; he could see I was cross. But Chops is the best swimmer
in the world, so he soon got back to shore.'
'I hope, Lotty, you won't tell me to go.'
'Not if you sit still. That's it. Now, you can raise your head and shoulders
just a little, so that I can see you talking. Speak!'
'I've nothing to say, Lotty.'
'If you don't speak you'll have to sing, and that will be worse for you,
perhaps.'
'Well, child, I'm sure you love the sea.'
'Oh,' she cried enthusiastically, 'I love it! I love it always! I love all of it!
It is always speaking to me and saying things in calm and in storm. And all
the birds too; they are mine, you know. Watch that gull, Mr Blake, with his
clean, clean white wings. He knows me, you know, because I feed him. He
is coming nearer and nearer, tack and half-tack. You hear his wings now,
don't you? Whiff—whiff—whiff they say. Now, look, but don't move.'
This little gipsy lass lay on her oars for a moment, put half a tiny milk-
biscuit between her red lips, and held up her face. It was a sweetly pretty
picture. Bare arms, feet, and neck; tiny red hands that held the oars; hair
like dark seaweed afloat on her shapely shoulders.
Whiff—whiff—whiff went the clean white wings—it was underneath they
were so radiantly white, and ever and anon turned the bird's graceful head
to gaze red-eyed at Antony. Next moment the biscuit was whisked from the
child's lips, and the bird was sailing for the rocks.
'You have been very good to sit so still, Mr Blake. The birds will know
you now. I may take you out some time again. Sometimes I hoist a mainsail,
but not a gaff. You know what the gaff is, don't you, Mr Blake?'
'Oh, yes, a hook-thing you land salmon with when you'——
Lotty was laughing merrily. 'I see you've never been much to sea,' she
said. 'If I shipped the rudder and hoisted sail I suppose you couldn't manage
the tiller and the sheet of the main as well. You know in a little bit of a skiff
like this it wouldn't do to make fast the sheet, else if an extra puff came,
then, before you could ease off over she would go.'
'Precisely, Lotty, precisely.' He didn't know what else to say.
Lotty was silent for a moment. 'You know so little about boats, Mr
Blake,' she said demurely; 'but I know what I can do with you if I take you
for a sail.'
'Yes?'
'I should make you lie down fore and aft right along the keelson, on your
back, head to the bows so as I could see you. But quite still you know.'
'Certainly, quite still. I understand that.'
'Then I would have you for company, and you would do for ballast as
well.'
'Quite a charming arrangement, Lotty. But I wouldn't see much, would
I?'
'You would see me managing the sail and holding the tiller as I tacked or
took her about.'
'But tell me this, Lotty. Aren't you afraid of catching cold without shoes
or stockings?'
'Oh no. Besides, you see, shoes and stockings are properties, and I
mustn't spoil properties with salt-water and fishy slime.'
'No, that would never do, dear.'
'You're not making fun of me, are you?'
'I shouldn't dream of such a thing.'
'Very well. Now you may sing. "Row, brothers, row" will do.'
Luckily, Antony knew this beautiful hymn-like song, and he had a
splendid soprano voice. Lotty joined him, and there were tears in her eyes.
She lay on the oars again to wipe them.
'I think I must have caught a cold,' said this queer little gipsy girl. 'I say,
Mr Blake, have you ever been a freak?'
'A freak? Well, not at a show. My father called me a freak once, I think.'
'I'm a freak now, Mr Blake, and have been for many, many long years.
Heigh-ho!'
'Where does the freak come in, child?'
'Oh, I am a violinist, you know. Father says I used to sit up and play in
my bassinette. Then I'm a freak telling fortunes; but father takes the money.'
'No doubt.'
'Have you ever been an infant prodigy?'
'No, only an infant prodigal.'
'But when I was only four—ages and ages ago—I used to stand on one
leg on my father's hand when he was galloping round the ring on his Araby
steed. Then he would jerk his arm, and I would spring high in the air, turn a
somersault, and alight in the hand again with my arms turned up and my
eyes looking to heaven. And the people cheered, and I used to be handed
round for the ladies to kiss. I hated that part. Heigh-ho! We've only a little
show now, and if it wasn't for the merman we couldn't live.'
'Have you a real merman?'
'Father must tell you all about that,' she answered hurriedly. 'But mind,
Mr Blake, you must never ask me anything about the show. You promise?'
'I promise.'
'Never—never—never?'
'Never—never—never,' said Antony.
She quickly put about the boat. 'You see the flag half-mast, don't you?
Well, that is my recall. It will only be an hour's rehearsal to-day. Then, if
you please, Mr Blake, we'll go for a walk with Wallace.'
CHAPTER V.
THE QUEEREST SHOW.—A DAY IN THE WILDS.
H AD Frank Antony Blake not been one of the least inquisitive young
fellows in the world several things connected with Biffins Lee's
Queerest Show on Earth might have struck him as curious. He might
have asked himself why the show should have settled down here, in this
comparatively out-of-the-way part of a wild north coast. He might have
wanted to find out the secret of the merman which Lee advertised so freely
as the only creature of its kind ever captured. Why didn't this business-like
showman journey south with it, or rather him or her, whichever sex the
animal may have represented?
If such questions did present themselves to Antony's mind they were
very speedily dismissed again.
'It is no business of mine,' he told himself. 'I like a little mystery so long
as there is poetry and romance in it, and so long as I am not asked to solve
it. Elucidation is a hateful thing. Let me see now. I used to be good at
transposing letters and turning words into something else. "Elucidation?"
The first two syllables easily make "Euclid," and the last four letters "not I."
There it is: "Elucidation—Euclid. Not I." Suits me all to pieces, for I never
could stand old Euclid, and I was just as determined as any mule not to
cross the pons asinorum' (the bridge of asses).
There was a quiet but heavy footstep on the back stairs, and when
Antony opened the door the beautiful Newfoundland walked solemnly in
and lay down on the saloon carpet.
'Hallo! Wallace, old man, aren't you at rehearsal?'
Wallace never moved, nor did he wag even the tip of his tail; but not for
one moment did he take his wise brown eyes off Antony. The dog was
watching him, studying him, and without doubt trying to get a little insight
into his character. The scrutiny grew almost painful at last, and Antony, to
relieve the intensity of it, went and fetched a milk-biscuit from his little
cupboard.
'Wallace hungry, eh? Poor dog then!'

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Studies on the Derveni Papyrus,

volume II Glenn W. Most (Editor)

Studies on the Derveni Papyrus

Great Clarendon Street, Oxford, OX2 6DP,

Notes on Contributors vii

1. The Derveni Papyrus, Columns 41–7 (formerly I–VII):

5. Cosmic Order, the Erinyes, and the Sun: Heraclitus and

6. Heraclitus in the Opening Columns (III–VI (43–6)) and in Columns

7. Notes to Derveni Papyrus, Column XXI (61) 277

Alberto Bernabé is Emeritus Professor of Greek Language and Literature at the

Gábor Betegh is Laurence Professor of Ancient Philosophy at the University of Cambridge.

Richard Janko is Gerald F. Else Distinguished University Professor at the University of

viii notes on contributors

David Sedley retired as Laurence Professor of Ancient Philosophy at the University of

1. Black and White Plates (after p. 150)

2. Colour Plates (after p. 150)

3b. As previous in infrared spectrum (near-­infrared digital microphotograph by R. Janko).

xii list of illustrations

list of illustrations xiii

Thessaloniki, Hellenic Ministry of Culture and Sports/Archaeological Resources Fund

12b. Derveni papyrus col. 44 (formerly IV) l. 7, to show correction ]ρειτα⟦κ̣ν⟧`ν̣΄ [ in

xiv list of illustrations

1.1 Widths of kollemata in the Derveni papyrus, based on state of model

Epigraphical abbreviations follow the conventions of the List of Abbreviations of

BÉ Bulletin épigraphique, in Revue des études grecques (Paris, 1888– ).

xviii Glenn W. Most

6 Laks and Most (1997a: 5).

Mirjam E. Kotwick, ‘Practices of Interpretation in the Derveni Papyrus, Plato’s

communicate to the reader as clearly and as unambiguously as possible exactly

xxii Glenn W. Most

xxiv Glenn W. Most

Bernabé recently published together with Piano an online edition of the

7 Bernabé and Piano (online).

xxvi Glenn W. Most

divinities associated with mysteries provide the religious background for a

For Despina Ignatiadou,

1a. Methodology and Criteria of Reconstruction

1a.1 Techniques of Reading: Ink, Fibres, and Burning

The Derveni Papyrus, Columns 41–7 5

German commentary of 2017.4 Inevitably, however, as a result of our col­lab­or­

1a.2 Techniques of Reconstruction: Stichometry,

The Derveni Papyrus, Columns 41–7 7

12 White (2009: 37 with table 4, 60–1).

18 Tsantsanoglou (2014: 15).

The Derveni Papyrus, Columns 41–7 9

24 Piano (2011: tav. 13a and 13b); Piano (2019: 19–22).

27 Piano (2011: 35–7 with tav. 13). 28 Piano (2011).

The Derveni Papyrus, Columns 41–7 11

⟨K -1⟩ ⟨col. 42⟩

The Derveni Papyrus, Columns 41–7 13

Table 1.2 Directly measurable widths of kollemata in Philodemus, On Poems 2

P. Herc. Kollema Width in cm (in bold P. Herc. Kollema Width in cm (in

13.7 ≈ 5.2 + ⟨0.2⟩ +

14.0 est. ≈ 1.1 + ⟨2.4⟩ +

14.2 est. ≈ 4.7 + ⟨1.9⟩ +

15.7 est. ≈ 4.5 + ⟨11.2⟩

15.7 est. ≈ ⟨3.5⟩ + 12.2

15.9 ≈ 1.1 + ⟨0.5⟩ +

16.8 ≈ 6.5 + ⟨0.2⟩ + 10.1 994 cr. 13

17.0 ≈ 10.0 + ⟨0.2⟩ + 6.8 …

16.2 ≈ 13.3 + ⟨0.8⟩ + 2.1 994 cr. 18

16.0 ≈ 15.9+ ⟨0.1⟩ 15.7 ≈ 0.2 + ⟨0.5⟩ +

16.1 ≈ 3.3 + ⟨8.7⟩ + 4.1

Notes on Contributors vii

1. The Derveni Papyrus, Columns 41–7 (formerly I–VII):

7. Notes to Derveni Papyrus, Column XXI (61) 277

3b. As previous in infrared spectrum (near-infrared digital microphotograph by R. Janko).

German commentary of 2017.4 Inevitably, however, as a result of our collabor