Two themes, the elusiveness of wisdom and the distortion of speech, are traced through three important scenes of Herodotus' Lydian logos, the meeting of Solon and Croesus , the scene where Cyrus places Croesus on the pyre , and the advice of Croesus to Cyrus to cross the river and fight the Massagetae in their own territory . The paper discusses whether Solon is speaking indirectly at 1.29–33, unable to talk straight to Croesus about his transgressive (...) behavior: if so, that illuminates the dynamics of speech at a court. At 1.86–90 Croesus may not have fully understood what Solon earlier said to him. Cyrus may understand Croesus' report of Solon's words better than Croesus does himself. Herodotus' readers will also be uncertain what the response of Delphi will be to Croesus' indignant questioning: if a reader has failed to grasp the significance of Gyges' transgression five generations earlier, that reenacts the forgetfulness of figures in the text. At 1.207 Croesus' advice to Cyrus is of questionable wisdom: Croesus too cannot speak directly, and he has anyway learned the wrong lesson from his catastrophe, extrapolating too directly from his own experience. The conclusion suggests some reasons why Herodotus should have chosen to begin his History with Lydia, the kingdom that is on the cusp between East and West, and with Croesus, a figure that resists description in the easy formulations of Greek/barbarian discourse. (shrink)

The paper discusses the new ‘Croesus’s dedication’ from Thebes. It argues that we should read this inscription independently from Herodotus text, and, thus, suggests a different restoration for lines 4–5 based on contemporary epigraphic forms. The article also examines why the shield of Croesus can cause marvel. It situates the epigram in the context of traditions about Croesus’s dedications in general, as well as traditions about other powerful objects. The power of the shield that Croesus has (...) dedicated is not, I argue, that of a talismanic object, in the sense that its viewing has the power to affect the attitudes of the worshippers. Such traditions seem to be late in Greek culture. The shield of Croesus in the epigram is instrumental in confirming the power of Apollo Ismenios and making the truthfulness of his oracle manifest. (shrink)

In March 2005 a rescue excavation uncovered a spectacular new epigraphic find from Thebes. Now on display in the Archaeological Museum of Thebes, a column drum 0.41 m in height has inscribed on it two identical epigrams, one (the older one) written vertically in Boeotian script and a second (later) Ionian copy written horizontally on the other side. Nikolaos Papazarkadas published theeditio princepsof the epigram in 2014, using both inscriptions to create a composite text. As Papazarkadas realized, the column drum, (...) which has a chi-shaped orifice at one end meant to hold a stationary object, at one point displayed a ‘shining shield’ (φαεννὰν | [ἀσπ]ίδα, lines 3–4) that Herodotus had seen in the temple of Apollo Ismenius in Thebes. Moreover, this shield was interpreted by Herodotus (relying on the language of the inscription and likely on the commentary of temple staff) as having been dedicated by the Lydian king Croesus to the hero Amphiaraus, when he was ‘testing’ the various oracles in Greece in order to decide on a course of action against his rival Cyrus of Persia. (shrink)

Name der Zeitschrift: Klio Jahrgang: 98 Heft: 2 Seiten: 436-464.

This article seeks evidence of Herodotus's conception of his historical enterprise in the recurring scenes in which he portrays barbarian kings as inquirers and investigators. Through these scenes-involving most notably Psammetichus, Etearchus, Croesus, Cyrus, Cambyses, Darius, and Xerxes-the historian not only explores the character of autocrats, but also holds up a mirror to his own activity as inquirer. Once we recognize the metahistorical dimension of Herodotus's representation of inquiring kings, we can better understand the scenes in which these figures (...) appear and the historian who sees his own enterprise reflected or distorted in their efforts. I argue first that the tale of Darius's inquiry concerning the Paeonian wonder-woman is a paradigmatic Herodotean treatment of kingly inquiry in the way the historian both identifies with, and distances himself from, his kingly investigator. I then assess kingly research under three headings that reflect some of the many ways that Herodotean kings use and abuse investigation: Measurement and Self-Aggrandizement; Exploration and Conquest; Trial, Torture, and Test. Under the final rubric, kingly experiments are the focus, some involving human subjects , others involving the divine . Herodotus's extensive analysis of inquiring kings indicates that any earlier investigator-measurer, explorer, or experimenter-is a potential rival for him. If Herodotus is conscious that he is following in the footsteps of inquiring kings, however, his critique of their techniques and motives suggests that his inquiry is intellectually and ethically superior to theirs. Ultimately, then, Herodotus's exploration of regal investigation helps both to define and to lend authority to the historiê that he undertakes in the Histories. (shrink)

The founder of Psychical Research, though he has not yet received the honour due to him, seems to have been King Croesus of Lydia, who reigned from 560 to 546 B.C. He carried out an interesting experiment, recorded in detail by Herodotus,2 to test the clairvoyant powers of a number of oracles. He sent embassies to seven oracles, six Greek and one Egyptian. They all started on the same day. On the hundredth day each embassy was instructed to ask (...) its oracle, “What is King Croesus, the son of Alyattes, now doing?” The answer was to be written down and brought back. The oracle of Delphi replied as follows, in hexameters, as its custom was: “I know the number of the sands and the measures of the sea. I understand the dumb, and I hear him who does not speak.” Then it went on: “There comes to my mind the smell of a strong-shelled tortoise, which is being cooked along with lamb's flesh in a brazen vessel; brass is spread beneath it, and with brass it is covered.” As a matter of fact, this answer was perfectly correct. Herodotus tells us that “having considered what would be the most difficult thing to discover and to imagine,” Croesus “cut up a tortoise and a lamb, and himself boiled them together in a brazen pot.” What happened afterwards illustrates the difficulties of this sort of investigation, difficulties which still perplex us to this day. Croesus argued, reasonably enough, that if the Delphic priestess had clairvoyant powers, she probably also had the precognitive powers, she probably also had the precognitive powers which she claimed to have. But when he consulted the oracle later about his forthcoming expedition against the Persians, he received two answers, one of which was ambiguous—“When Croesus crosses the Halys he shall destroy a great empire”—and the other correct, but too obscure to be easily interpreted. (shrink)

The paper outlines several forms of ethical attitude to good life and good death in the Socratic literature of the fourth century BCE. A model for the Socratic discussions could be found in Herodotus’ story about the meeting between Croesus and Solon. Within their conversation, Solon shows the king of Lydia that death is a place from which the life of each man can be seen as the completed whole. In his Phaedo, Plato depicts Socrates’ last day before his (...) death in a similar spirit, as the completion of his beautiful life. However, there is no consensus regarding opinions on death among the Socratics. The final part of the paper outlines various meanings of death in the writings of the first generation of the Socratic authors, which arise from different attitudes that the individual philosophers hold regarding the soul as well as other topics. This part puts the principal emphasis on Aristippus, who is considered as the most controversial figure of the Socratic movement. Aristippus makes an interesting opposite to Plato concerning death, since he associates the philosopher’s endeavour for a good life solely with that which is here and now. (shrink)

This essay explains the appearance of tragic narrative patterns and motifs in the Croesus logos not as a passive manifestation of "tragic influence," but as a self-conscious textual strategy whereby Herodotus makes his narratives familiar and engaging while also demonstrating the distinctive traits of his own innovative discourse, historie. Herodotus' purposive appropriation and modification of tragic technique manifests the critical engagement with other authors and literary genres that is one of the defining features of the Histories. Herodotus embellishes the (...) story of Atys and Adrastus with numerous formal and thematic features of Attic tragedy. Uniquely in the Histories, the story traces the full arc of a tragic drama, from the king's ominous dream of Atys' death to catastrophe, lament, and burial. The celebrated climactic description of Adrastus' suicide, however, transcends Herodotus' dramatic model. In describing Adrastus as the most unfortunate man "of all that he himself knew," Herodotus introduces an idiom used elsewhere in the Histories to portray the activity of the histor, and thus places the unmistakable stamp of his own genre upon tragic narrative. In a fully mimetic episode that lacks the author's characteristically intrusive "voiceprint," Herodotus seems to suggest that he could beat the dramatists at their own game if he chose to play it. Two other episodes make similar use of tragic motifs on a smaller scale. In the story of Gyges and Candaules Herodotus adapts the Aeschylean motif of the decision made under duress to focus attention on human causation and socio-political issues of fundamental interest to him. Finally, the tragic stylization of Croesus' pyre scene allows Herodotus to manipulate audience expectations while subtly demonstrating, through the use of indirect discourse, the interest in source criticism that sets Herodotean historie apart from the poetic tradition. (shrink)

non, si Cambysae redeant et flumina Croesi,dicat ‘De nostro surge, poeta, toro’. In these two lines Propertius is proud to say that his puella would not dismiss him for the fabulous treasures of some dives amator. The problem is caused by the interpretation of Cambysae as given in all the manuscripts; it is difficult to understand both as a genitive singular and as a nominative plural. This form of the genitive is not, in fact, recorded before Apul. Fl. 15.12, and (...) the concurrent form Cambysis is even less common. Moreover, the Persian king Cambyses was not an example of opulence in Antiquity like the Lydian king Croesus, but of cruelty. The only passages where he is linked with the idea of richness are Apul. Mun. 26.13–15: Cambyses et Xerxes et Darius potentissimi reges fuerunt. Horum praepotentiam, quam ex opibus collegerant, lenocinium vitae effecerat celsiorem, and Juv. 14.328–31: Si nondum implevi gremium, si panditur ultra, | nec Croesi fortuna umquam nec Persica regna | sufficient animo nec divitiae Narcissi, | indulsit Caesar cui Claudius omnia, cuius | paruit imperiis uxorem occidere iussus, where we find apparently the same connection between Persian royalty and Croesus' richness that we read in Propertius' line. (shrink)

The discovery of the inscription with the name of [M]iltiades, which confirmed the statement in Dionysius Halicarnassensis 7. 3. 1 that a Miltiades was archon at Athens in 524/3, prompts a reconsideration of the problems presented by the accounts in Herodotus and in Marcellinus Life of Thucydides concerning the Philaid family. To the question, who is this Miltiades, the following answers have been given. ‘He is not a Philaid.’ The objection to this answer is that the Peisistratids either occupied the (...) archonship themselves or gave it to members of leading families, such as Cleisthenes the Alcmeonid in 525/4; if then this Miltiades was a member of a leading family, he is almost certainly a member of the Philaid family. ‘He is the elder Miltiades who founded the settlement in the Chersonese.’ In Herodotus' account Miltiades left Athens, where he was already powerful, at the beginning of a tyranny by Peisistratus; then after several operations in the Chersonese Miltiades was rescued by Croesus. The year in which Miltiades left Athens was either 561/0 or 556/5 and almost certainly the latter; for in 561/0 Croesus was not on the throne. The year 546 may be excluded; for in 546 autumn and winter Croesus had neither the time nor the opportunity to concern himself with Miltiades, since Cyrus was then at war with Lydia and seized Sardis.2 If Miltiades was powerful in 556/5, he was at that date no youngster but at least in his thirties—a man born say c. 590. In 524/3, being well on in his sixties and having spent thirty years and more in the Chersonese, this Miltiades is unlikely to have been the eponymous archon. We conclude, then, that the archon Miltiades in 524/3 was a different and younger Miltiades. Having cleared the ground on these two points, I turn to the central problem, whether there were two men called Miltiades, one born c. 590 and the other the general who died of a wound soon after 489, or whether there were three men called Miltiades, one of whom was in a generation intermediate between Miltiades born c. 590 and Miltiades dead c. 489. Either solution is chronologically possible. (shrink)

In lieu of an abstract, here is a brief excerpt of the content:Reconfiguring the Past:Thyrea, Thermopylae and Narrative Patterns in HerodotusJohn DilleryThe recurrence of the wise–advisor, the endless parade of dynasts who destroy themselves through their self–delusion and excess, the inevitability of vengeance are all familiar motifs and story–patterns to those who read Herodotus; and indeed, scholars have long recognized the repetition of character types and story–lines in his History.1 To this ever increasing list of repeated narrative patterns I would (...) like to add another: the duel and the sole survivor in Herodotus. In particular I will examine two passages from two widely separated parts of the history that bear a striking resemblance to one another:2 the contest between Argos and Sparta for the control of a place called Thyrea (1.82),3 and the Spartan defence of the pass at Thermopylae (7.175, 202–32).But in exploring the connection between these two events, and others like them, I would like to move beyond simply providing the taxonomy of a new story pattern; I would like also to raise historiographic questions of major importance. If Herodotus tells us two remarkably similar stories that are widely separated by time and narrative space—indeed one that comes from what we may call the more legendary portion, and one from the more historical—does that mean he wants us to see the events as similar or even connected in some way? If the connection between them cannot reliably be considered "intended," what do we make of the similarities? Was Herodotus a liar who had certain "default" settings into which his mind naturally slipped when inventing? To what degree is a robust or "thick" description of the duel useful, one that aims at recovering the cultural assumptions that shape Herodotus' understanding and so explains perhaps the similarities between the conflicts?4 What, finally, can be learned by trying to see how Thyrea can be seen as a model for Thermopylae?Indeed it is with this last issue that I believe most is to be gained towards a better understanding of Herodotus' overall aims in his History. The narrative of Thyrea reflects an unconscious tendency of Herodotus to present duels and their sole survivors as tests that require "ratification" by a second contest. The "Thyrea" pattern, when applied to the battle of Thermopylae, reveals the more famous conflict to be one that Herodotus reconfigured from a defeat into a victory. Thermopylae, after the fashion of Thyrea, was a contest that tested the national character of both Sparta and Persia; it was a battle that Herodotus tried to show the Spartans actually won; and as proof of the Spartans' victory, the true outcome of the battle was in a sense ratified by the refighting of the contest at the battle of Plataea. At the conclusion of the paper I will briefly examine the Thermopylae Ode (PMG 531) of Simonides and show by way of corroboration that Herodotus was not alone in reconstituting the battle as a victory.Using Thyrea as an interpretive guide to Thermopylae will not only help illuminate this reconfiguring of the more famous battle, it will also help to shed light on two interrelated problems of more general importance to the study of Herodotus that I mentioned at the outset: the issues of narrative patterning and of Herodotus "the Liar." At issue, ultimately, is the difference between history and fiction. I will show that although Herodotus may be engaged in activity that overlaps significantly with the creation of literature, inasmuch as distinct and therefore presumably unhistorical patterns for the duel can be seen to emerge in his work, he was nonetheless attempting to present what he believed were facts about real events and real persons from the past. The reconfiguring of Thermopylae, while partially a literary enterprise, must finally be understood as an attempt to capture the truths of history.5The Story of Thyrea (Hdt. 1.82)Herodotus reports that at around the time of Croesus' request for help against the Persians (c. 547 B.C.), Sparta and Argos were in dispute (eris) over the borderland of Thyrea, an area that had been under Argos' control but which at some point prior to that... (shrink)

The paper argues that the act of looking, as defined between the story of Gyges, Candaules, and the offended queen and the story of Solon's visit to Lydia, functions in the first book of Herodotus, and perhaps also elsewhere throughout the Inquiry, as a metaphor for the relation of the histôr to the object of his investigation. Further, by a careful comparison of the Gyges story in Herodotus with the queen's own narration in the enigmatic "Gyges Tragedy" , we can (...) define a Herodotean psychology of spectation that bears a striking resemblance to the specifically tragic psychology manifest in the fragment. Herodotus positions his readers, the paper argues, in the place of Gyges, forcing them to look-in their imaginations-on what does not belong to them, just as the theatai in the Theater of Dionysus must look in imagination on the scene described by the queen. While the tragic audience is protected from the fate of Candaules and of Gyges' descendant Croesus by the constitutive blindness of tragedy that prevents the spectators from seeing what happens in the mukhos, Herodotus' audience must seek some other reassurance that they will not face the voyeur's penalty. This paper finally argues that Solon's theôria, with its crucial purpose of establishing the nomoi of Athens and its crucial ethic of looking not at the object of desire but at the end, installs in Herodotus' historiê the psychology of tragedy: to look desiringly is to lose, but to look inquiringly is to learn. (shrink)

Herodotus’Historiesbegin in earnest with Lydia and the infamous tale of the fall of Candaules and the rise of the Mermnad dynasty under Gyges. Yet, for all that Gyges was evidently a transformational figure in Lydian history and, through the story of his usurpation of the throne from Candaules, came to occupy a prominent place in the received memory of the Lydian world, Herodotus tells us very little about Gyges himself or his reign. Chapters 1.13–14 tell us about the role of (...) the Delphic oracle in legitimizing the rule of Gyges in Lydia, as well as his lavish dedications at Delphi, in which he set a precedent followed by Alyattes and Croesus, the more notable among his successors. Yet, the remainder of his reign is summarized in less than one sentence: ‘He sent an army to Miletus and Smyrna as soon as he took power, and seized the citadel of Colophon, but no other great deed was done by him during his thirty-eight year reign … ’. (shrink)

In lieu of an abstract, here is a brief excerpt of the content:American Journal of Philology 121.2 (2000) 309-313 [Access article in PDF] James Romm. Herodotus. New Haven and London: Yale University Press, 1998. xv 1 212 pp. Cloth, $30; paper, $15. Yale's Hermes series offers this contribution by James Romm on Herodotus, a subject dear to the heart of the series' founding editor, the late John Herington. This series addresses itself, in the words of the editor, to the "nonspecialist (...) adult" or "uninstructed beginning student" (ix). Though an introductory "Hermes book" need not have a thesis to prove, Romm does start with an agendum. He sets out to show, he says, that the best way to appreciate Herodotus is not to worry about the historian's accuracy. Ideally, the reader should use a translation without footnotes and should "otherwise ignore modern fact- oriented treatments of the archaic period" (7). Romm intentionally avoids calling Herodotus a historian (8) in these pages. He concentrates on the first four books of the Histories, which he says readers find puzzling and often skip, moving on to the "more familiar ground of The Persian Wars" (10).But wait: Romm writes for the "uninstructed," for whom the Persian Wars will be presumably just as obscure as early Lydian history. How many Persian wars were there? Who won? Why do we care? Romm gives no early help to the reader who picks up Herodotus for the first time. Instead his first chapter, "Myth and History," begins with an unenlightening quotation from M. Ondaatje's English Patient and then makes the dubious statement (page 1) that "quite possibly" Croesus on his pyre could not have expected to be famous thousands of years later (because of Herodotus' Histories). In fact, Croesus went to great lengths in his lavish dedications at Delphi to make sure he would be remembered, and the Myson vase and Bacchylides 3 attest to the Lydian monarch's public relations success. A prominent Athenian family even apparently named a son after Croesus (CEG 27). Romm's focus on the first four books seems, in fact, to stem more from his own love of geography and ethnography in the early books--as attested in his useful The Edges of the Earth in Ancient Thought (Princeton 1992)--than from concern for the puzzled reader.The second chapter, "From Homer to Herodotus," presents more introductory material. Between Homer and Herodotus, it appears, there is not much that readers of the latter need take into account. One might have expected more substantial treatment (here and later) of Hesiod, the early poets, the Presocratics, and the Sophists. Hippocrates does not even make the index; Aesop gets three pages (15-17). Indeed it seems symptomatic of the shortcomings of this book that Romm avoids, overlooks, or ignores some of the commonplaces of Herodotean criticism. His earlier book, for example, touched on the theme [End Page 309] of the Noble Savage, but it never appears here. Romm's focus on his author and on the text is admirable, but he disserves the beginning reader by presenting Herodotus as a writer with little or no intellectual or literary history.In his next chapter Romm appears to ignore his earlier antihistorical statements by giving "a quick survey of archaic Greek and Near Eastern history" (32). It is here that we first learn of the great battles of 480 and 479 B.C.--but no mention as yet of Marathon. He appears to be providing, albeit sketchily, precisely the historical footnotes he earlier said were to be avoided. We hear, for example, that Cambyses' attack on Egypt was not a "personal vendetta" but "more likely part of a carefully planned program of imperial expansion" (42-43). He may be right, of course, but Herodotus' focus on unpredictable personal motivations instead of rational political ones deserves respect even in our modernist and democratic age. Herodotus would have had no trouble writing the histories of Lyndon Johnson or Richard Nixon.Chapter 4, "The Man and His Work," presents, with curious omissions, standard handbook information about Herodotus' life and his book. Herodotus "undoubtedly" spent time in Athens, "though the Histories gives curiously little evidence of this" (53... (shrink)

In lieu of an abstract, here is a brief excerpt of the content:Herodotus' Literary and Historical Method:Arion's Story (1.23-24)Vivienne GrayHerodotus' story of how the talented and original musical performer and conductor Arion of Methymna was rescued from the sea and carried to dry land by a dolphin is of great interest because of the literary and historical methods he uses.1 The story arises out of the siege of Miletus and is connected with it through Periander (1.20, 1.24.1, 7), but different (...) readings have been presented in order to make a better connection with the immediate or wider context.2 Questions have also been raised about the authenticity of Herodotus' inquiry and his own belief in the miracle.3 His normal inquiry (historia) involves akoe (what he heard), opsis (what he saw), and gnome (his judgment).4 He tells Arion's story mainly on the authority of the traditions of the Corinthians and Lesbians, whose agreement on it frames the story.5 He supplements this akoe with [End Page 11] apparent opsis, in the form of a "material proof": the dedication "of Arion" on a statue of a man on a dolphin, at Taenarum, to which his sources said the dolphin carried him. The genitive case of the dedication suggests that Arion dedicated it and inscribed it with his name.6 And Herodotus' description of the statue as "bronze, not big" suggests that he saw it. But he does not add his own gnome of belief, or disbelief, in the miracle.I would like to offer a new reading of Arion's story that combines insights into Herodotus' presentation of it and its context with some comments on Herodotus' own beliefs and his use of the oral traditions available to him.The StoryThe story goes that Arion had been spending most of his time at the court of Periander. Periander plays an important role in the story: his experience of Arion's miracle is the focus from beginning to end. The traditions that Herodotus cites present the story as a "very great wonder" () that "occurred to Periander in his lifetime" (1.23.1). They give an account of how it happened, and say that Arion gave an account to Periander, presumably in the same form (1.24.6). Periander experiences "disbelief" as a result of the "wonder" but conducts an "inquiry" that shows it to be true.7Arion decides to go west to acquire his fortune. He hires a Corinthian ship to take him back to Corinth, but the crew plots to rob him and make him kill himself, giving him a choice that seems to be no choice (): to kill himself on board and be buried, or to jump overboard (and not be buried). Arion promises to kill himself, but first secures the crew's permission to give a last performance, which he does in full dress, of "the shrill/rising tune" ().8 He then makes what appears to be the worse choice and jumps overboard, whereupon a dolphin rescues him and carries him safely to Taenarum. [End Page 12]Herodotus does not explain Arion's choice or directly connect his performance with his rescue, but Arion's religious dedication () at Taenarum implies that Arion, at least, believed that the dolphin came as a divine agent (1.24.8). Poseidon had a very famous shrine at Taenarum and was thought to save men from disaster at sea by sending his dolphin to assist them.9 Similar patterns of action in other stories strengthen the hypothesis that Arion has appealed to some divine force to rescue him.10 Croesus, for example, secures his divine salvation by shouting out to the god Apollo, appealing to him to stand by and deliver him from death if ever he has given him any gift that pleased him (1.87.1). Arion sings () instead of shouting, but a song from the world's best kitharode (1.23) is bound very much to please the god to whom it is addressed.11 The Magi sacrifice and sing () to the god of the wind and sacrifice to Thetis and the Nereids of the sea in order to quell a storm that is threatening them and prevent further... (shrink)