Franklin, John Curtis. 2016. Kinyras: The Divine Lyre. Hellenic Studies Series 70. Washington, DC: Center for Hellenic Studies. http://nrs.harvard.edu/urn-3:hul.ebook:CHS_FranklinJ.Kinyras.2016.
Part II: Kinyras on Cyprus
9. Kinyras the Kinyrist
A fundamental obstacle to connecting Kinyras with Kinnaru of Ugarit, and Syro-Levantine lyre-culture generally, is the relative scarcity and lateness of sources linking him to music. It is therefore best to begin by securing this elusive dimension, which should be the heart of Kinyras. Once that is established, his extra-musical associations can then be explored as special developments.
The Etymology of Kinyras
Homer’s mention of Kinyras in Iliad 11 [1] prompted an impressively learned disquisition by Eustathios in his twelfth-century commentary—our single richest source for the mythical Cypriot king, followed by choppy notices in the Pindaric scholia. One passage especially opens many windows on Kinyras’ complex mythology:
Kinyras … was a son of Theias, according to some; he was a very wealthy king of Cyprus, who hosted the Achaeans when they came, promising that he would also send necessary supplies to Troy. But they say that after defaulting he was cursed by Agamemnon. [2] [They] also [say] that he perished competing musically with Apollo—because he was an expert in music; which is even why Kinyras was named by derivation from the kinýra—while his daughters, fifty in number, leaped into the sea and turned into halcyons. [3]
Eustathios has taken the bulk of this passage, somewhat denser than his usual rolling prose, from the corresponding Homeric scholia—one of his principal sources—with mainly cosmetic variations. [4] As often, however, he includes further details, highlighted in my translation. These are crucial: Kinyras was a musician, and took his name from the kinýra. [5]
The etymology is not Eustathios’ own idea, for we will see it in a second Byzantine source, where the context is proverbial. And elsewhere he offers a parallel derivation of kinȳ´resthai (‘threnodize’ [6] ) from kinýra. He supports this assertion, raised in a discussion of the Homeric adjective kinyrḗ (‘mournful’), with a remarkable allusion to professional threnodes:
kinyrḗ: properly of those who sang songs for the dead, using the kinýra—which [sc. action] was even kinȳ´resthai. [7]
This derivation is too tangential to the Homeric passage, with too many idiosyncratic details, to be ad hoc invention; evidently Eustathios had access to a source well-informed about lamentation-singing in some parts and periods of the kinýra’s native range. That he is reproducing ancient etymologies is corroborated by the trope of Kinyras the Lamenter, present already in one of Ovid’s Greek models. [8] Since the derivation of kinȳ´resthai from kinýra is obviously of a piece with this, the whole complex can be traced back at least to the Hellenistic period. [9]
Of course this in itself does not guarantee that the etymologies were correct, as Hellenistic scholars delighted in fanciful lexical associations. But we saw that in the BA Near East the kinnāru was sometimes linked to mortuary cult and lamentation; I shall present further such material in Chapter 12, some bearing on kinýra itself in Greek sources. It may be objected that a direct connection between kinýra from kinȳ´resthai is ruled out by the differing quantities of upsilon (y/ȳ). [10] But we shall see below that ‘Greek’ kinýra often represents a variety of linguistic cognates from the East, most of which did indeed contain the long second vowel. [11] We may conclude that the ancient impulse to associate all these words was generally justified.
The Conflict with Apollo
I have already noted the faulty cultural assumptions beneath the view of J. P. Brown—writing without knowledge of Kinnaru—that Eustathios’ etymology of Kinyras < kinýra was a false, Christianizing interpretation. [12] The deficiency of this is still more evident from the larger context of the passage, since it cannot account for the further musical material which Brown did not address—the contest of Kinyras and Apollo.
Eustathios’ summary exhibits many details that would appeal to a Hellenistic poet or early imperial mythographer: ethnographic trivia from a marginal locale, aetiological metamorphosis, and etymological wordplay. Besides the derivation of Kinyras from kinýra itself, the halcyons are born from a “leap” (halésthai) into the “sea,” where thálassan may conceal a further play on hála (‘brine’) in an anterior source. [13] There was perhaps another pun on Apollo as ‘the destroyer’ (hence apolōlénai).
Yet the contest per se conforms to a well-known and generally older pattern, already found in Homer, relating to Apollo’s Panhellenic displacement of or syncretism with epichoric ‘rivals’. [14] Especially numerous are the Olympian’s musical competitions: the flaying of Marsyas; the thieving young Hermes’ threatening new lyre; [15] the killing of Linos for using linen lyre strings, or for putting his own musical ability on a level with the god’s. [16] There is also Apollo’s takeover of the Cretan deity Paiawon, echoed in his kidnapping of paian-singing priests in the Homeric Hymn to Apollo. [17]
So Apollo’s contest with Kinyras is readily viewed as a cultural ‘confrontation’, whether through ongoing commerce between Greece and Cyprus, the transplantation and growth of Apollo-cult on the island itself, or both. And there are other mythological expressions of this encounter, which is hostile only in the present case. [18] All such constructions must echo the long-term historical adjacency of Aegean and Cypriot musical traditions, and more specifically their lyric strains. [19] We shall see much further evidence for this in what follows.
Now Kinyras’ deception of Agamemnon is elsewhere attested and must derive from the lost epic Kypria. [20] But this episode was probably never linked to the contest with Apollo outside of a mythological handbook. In the imaginative reconstruction of C. Vellay, Agamemnon’s curse called down madness on Kinyras, who thus challenged Apollo and was killed by the god’s arrows, with his desperate daughters then throwing themselves into the sea. [21] But the italicized material has no basis in the text, and the Greek of the scholion and Eustathios can be punctuated to make a division into two separate myths a natural reading. [22] Madness and arrows aside, a king’s curse provoking a musical contest seems a very tenuous link. Agamemnon’s anger finds a more natural sequel in a Cypriot tradition treated by Theopompos, whereby the Mycenaean king and his men drove Kinyras from power. [23] Conversely, the many fatal confrontations between Apollo and upstart musicians strongly suggest that Eustathios’ contest was originally a self-standing myth.
Kinyras’ musical death and the metamorphosis of his daughters, however, are an organic unit. [24] The halcyon’s lament was proverbial already for Homer, [25] suggesting a connection between Kinyras’ ill-fated daughters and the topos of Kinyras ‘The Lamenter’ (see Chapter 12). [26] Note that kinȳ´resthai became a Hellenistic mannerism to evoke the plaintive songs of halcyons, swallows, and other sorrowing birds. [27] This provides an attractive context for the curious kinnyrídes, which Hesykhiοs glosses as ‘tiny little birds’. [28] The word is probably a poetic coinage, these creatures being otherwise unknown. [29] The feminine plural form, with what may be taken as a patronymic suffix, suggests something very close to ‘daughters of Kinyras’. [30] In any case, Kinyras’ halycon-daughters probably aetiologized female choruses like those shown on the Cypro-Phoenician bowls, which feature lyres, pipes, frame-drums, and dancers (see Chapter 11). One may compare the metamorphosis of the Pierides, rivals of the Heliconian Muses, into magpies; or the Meleagrides, sisters of Meleager, who, as they lamented their brother’s death, were transformed by Diana into guinea hens. [31] Equally apposite is a fragment of Alkman (ca. 625), seemingly from a prelude to a Spartan maiden-dance, in which the kitharōidós imagines himself an aged male halcyon, born along by a young female chorus:
O sweet-sounding, holy-voiced maidens, my limbs can
Carry me no farther. Come now, come—let me be a kērýlos,
Who flies above the blossom of the wave together with the halcyons,
With fearless heart, a sea-purple sacred bird. [32]
Carry me no farther. Come now, come—let me be a kērýlos,
Who flies above the blossom of the wave together with the halcyons,
With fearless heart, a sea-purple sacred bird. [32]
The image of a lyrist surrounded by birds is very ancient; the two elements are conjoined in iconography of the second and even third millennium, in both the Aegean and ANE. [33] These scenes are generally held to represent divine epiphany, whether effected by a musician alone or as part of a larger performance. [34]
I conclude therefore that Eustathios and the scholion present a fusion of two originally independent Kinyras myths, both rooted in archaic mythmaking. But the contest in its present form has passed through Hellenistic or later hands. The halcyon daughters could have appeared in one of the fashionable Hellenistic compendia of metamorphoses—perhaps Boios’ Creation of Birds. [35] Another more tangible candidate is the Novel History of the early imperial wonder-monger Ptolemy Khennos (‘The Quail’); I defend this suggestion in Appendix B. The episodes were eventually conjoined by someone wishing to develop a coherent biography of the Cypriot king, though whether they were ever causally linked is very doubtful.
Outplaying Orpheus and Thamyris
A second Byzantine source that makes Kinyras a musician is an anonymous epistolary poem, from a thirteenth-century codex but itself somewhat older. The poet flatters a musician-friend, likening him to:
Some Orpheus or Thamyris or even Kinyras—
With songs they charmed the trees, the stones, and animals. [36]
With songs they charmed the trees, the stones, and animals. [36]
These verses, though bland, preciously establish Kinyras as a proverbial musician. Indeed, the rhetorical structure, slight as it is, shows that he was considered the best of the lot. And the company he keeps verifies that Kinyras was a lyre-player. The poet was obviously familiar with the etymology known to Eustathios, which was therefore popular. Dismissing Kinyras’ inclusion here as a late, Christianizing artifact would strain incredibly against the cumulative evidence. It may be, however, that his association with kinýra—the instrument of David, and a potent Christian symbol—did give him a renewed edge against the lyrists of Greek pagan mythology. Still, any such favor that Kinyras enjoyed must have been equally rooted in living musical traditions going back to pre-Christian antiquity. In the home range of the knr, ‘Kinyras’—in whatever linguistic guise—will always have stood out from imported Aegean figures, no matter how firmly Hellenistic settlement in the East lodged them in local artistic and literary convention.
At first glance, admittedly, the musical deeds attributed to Kinyras are suspicious. In classical sources, the lyric control of animals and trees is credited not to Thamyris or Kinyras, but to Orpheus—who appears first in the poet’s list. Moving rocks is typically associated with Amphion and building seven-gated Thebes, but Orpheus too can move them in Euripides. [37] Later authors sometimes lump Orpheus and Amphion together for their magical music. [38] Our verses are thus something of a pastiche, and one may suspect that the powers of Orpheus and Amphion have been extended to Thamyris and Kinyras by artistic license.
Yet why should we suppose that this lyric pastiche did not equally entail an eastern contribution? David we saw charms beast, bird, and nature, and Solomon had power over animal and mineral. [39] When Constantine Manasses, a twelfth-century chronicler, attributes to David’s kinýra the power of charming “even stones,” it is surely more than conflation with Amphion. [40] One should equally resist bland Orphic interpretations of such images as a sixth-century floor-mosaic from a synagogue in Gaza, where David (tastefully restored) charms snake, lion, and giraffe with his lyre (Figure 15). [41] True, David is attired as a Byzantine emperor, and his instrument betrays centuries of Greco-Roman influence. [42] Yet this was still a synagogue; the mosaic’s dedicatory inscription is in Greek, but its donors have Jewish names. Hybrid iconography presupposes a receptive partner, and we have seen that the Syro-Levantine ‘lyrist with animals’ motif goes back to the EBA (Figure 6). [43] The mysterious, animal-charming ‘kinyrist’ of the eleventh-century ‘Orpheus jug’ holds more than enough eastern promise to account for the thaumaturgical Kinyras of our verses (Figure 13). [44] Jug and poem are separated by two millennia; but the gulf is largely spanned by the knr tradition itself. To ‘outplay’ Orpheus and Thamyris, Kinyras’ musical roots must have been as deep and wide as theirs—and more so in the Byzantine East.
The ‘Greek’ Kinýra
And so we come to the basic conundrum that has caused scholars to reject, as late artifice, Eustathios’ derivation of Kinyras < kinýra. [45] This is the apparent disparity between Kinyras’ nonmusical qualities in early Greek poetry, and the comparatively late first attestation of kinýra, in the LXX translations of the third century. It is often stated or assumed that this word was borrowed directly from Hebrew; many have held that it was coined to translate kinnōr. [46] Admittedly, the most visible subsequent examples are either in overtly Judaic contexts like Josephus, or in Christian writers who might seem to elaborate that tradition. [47] But this cannot be right.
Figure 15. King David with animals. Sixth-century floor-mosaic, Gaza (restored). Jerusalem, IAA 1980.3410. Drawn from SAM no. 72.
One immediate challenge is posed by generic-sounding definitions in ancient lexica—for example, “kinýra: a musical instrument; kithára”—where there is no obvious reason to exclude extra-Biblical contexts. [48]
Besides, Heb. kinnōr could have been rendered much more accurately than ‘kinýra’. The form itself, indeed, decisively places the adaptation well before the LXX. The Semitic originals from which a ‘Greek’ adaptation could derive would either have preserved the ancient vocalization kinnār– which persisted in North Syria, or come from the Canaanite/Phoenician sphere, where ā had shifted to ō by ca. 1800–1400. [49] While the original, unshifted vocalization has indeed left a few traces in our sources (see below), the upsilon of kinýra cannot have represented ā at any point in Greek history. By the same token, the Greek letter can only have corresponded to Semitic ō or ū prior to the fourth or even fifth century BCE, by which time its original sound—a back closed, rounded vowel of variable length (ŭ/ū)—was already assuming a pronounced fronted quality (like German ü) in the Ionic dialect (whose sound values became a point-of-reference when the Ionic alphabet was adapted, via Athens, for use in regional inscriptions beginning in the fourth century). [50]
A third-century Greek adaptation would thus have rendered Phoenician *kinnūr as *kin(n)our or even *kyn(n)our. In fact, the latter form is found in a typically calculated passage of Lykophron, whose Alexandra is a Trojan Cycle in miniature—a monstrous display of Hellenistic learning masquerading as the ominous ravings of Kassandra. [51] E. L. Brown argued convincingly that Paris is portrayed as a lyre-playing gadabout en route to Sparta, “passing the night by causing the nine-sail expeditionary band to leap-and-prance … to the accompaniment of the ‘eastern lyre’ (pròs kynoûra).” [52] This reinterpretation, which after all accords with Homer’s own depiction of Paris as a lyrist, [53] brings sudden sense to a passage that was already obscure to ancient critics. [54] But why did Lykophron adopt what from a contemporary Greek perspective was not only an archaizing phonetic spelling, but at odds with the short upsilon of kinýra, which on any account will have been current in the poet’s time? As it happens, etymological speculation about kinýra and its seeming relations provided considerable entertainment for Alexandrian and other Hellenistic savants. [55] These parallels assure us that Lykophron’s pròs kynoûra was a willful contrivance; conversely, kinýra must have had connotations he wished to avoid. Apart from any possible metrical convenience, the poet may have wanted to defamiliarize the word for poetic effect, enhancing his oriental characterization of Paris. Possibly he intended to present kinýra as pronounced in legendary times. On the other hand, long pronunciations of the second syllable would still have been heard in the Semitic dialects of Alexandria and the Levant. That Lykophron cast his coinage into the third declension, rather than the first of kinýra, equally accords with *Phoenician and Hebrew forms, which had lost their ancestral final vowels centuries earlier. [56] Remarkably, however, the poet gives his first upsilon its contemporary Greek value, as though tipping us off to his anachronistic novelty. [57] But then Lykophron is filled with riddles from start to finish.
In any case, it is certain that when the LXX represented kinnōr as kinýra, this was a true translation, using a ‘Greek’ word that long predated the new Hellenistic settlements that followed Alexander’s conquests. [58] It must have been obvious, of course, to all educated Jews, that kinýra and Hebrew kinnōr were essentially the same word. [59] Yet Hebrew will hardly have been the direct source of kinýra. We must look to the Greco-Levantine interface more broadly.
O. Szemerényi repeatedly traced Semitic loanwords in Greek to specific periods and source dialects, using vocalization as a key diagnostic. [60] The phonetic and phonemic inventory of an adapting language naturally reshapes the original, and the outcomes are often more than random distortions. [61] But the situation is seriously complicated by unknown and undeciphered intermediaries; crucial missing pieces are Minoan and other pre-Greek languages of the Aegean and Cyprus. The impact of these lost tongues on early loanwords must not be underestimated.
There is sufficient evidence to show that kinýra was once but one of several adaptations of knr in the Eastern Mediterranean. The Greek lexicographic tradition has preserved a few sparse traces of Syrian (i.e. non-Canaanite/Phoenician) originals. Thus, alongside Homeric kítharis (‘lyre-playing’ and later ‘lyre’), one finds the parallel kínaris. [62] It is impossible to say which form was modeled on the other; perhaps they developed side-by-side. Still more striking, Hesykhiοs has an entry for a verb kinarýzesthai, which he defines as “to lament with groaning.” [63] The derivation of this remarkable word from knr is again justified by the evidence, ANE and Greek alike, for the lyre’s association with lamentation (Chapter 12). And the upsilon of kinarýzesthai surely echoes the ancient Semitic form kinnāru(m), found at Ebla, Mari, and Ugarit. [64] It is thus potentially quite old in Greek, given the EIA evanescence of inherited final vowels in Aramaic, Phoenician, and Hebrew. [65]
These rare ‘unshifted’ forms are hard to pinpoint historically. One may think, for instance, of an adaptation from Aramaic during ‘Philistine’ settlement of the Amuq in the EIA, or a later trade colony like Al-Mina (ca. 800). [66] An equally attractive candidate is Cilicia, once part of the Hurro-Luwian state of Kizzuwatna in the LBA. [67] One should note here that Kinyras himself has a Cilician pedigree in several traditions, including one that makes his father Syrian. [68] Another was adopted—or contrived—by the mysterious Theodontius, a lost source for Boccaccio’s Genealogy of the Pagan Gods (ca. 1350–1375). But it is probably just a striking coincidence that these authors, followed by Étienne de Lusignan, give the spelling Cinaras rather than Cinyras. [69]
A Syrian musical milieu must also underlie the Cinara whom Horace loved in his youth—an allusion to the Syrian musiciennes who became a fixture of Roman streetlife after Pompey annexed the region in 64 BCE (see further Appendix C).
Another notable phonetic variant is the long upsilon of kinȳ´resthai versus the short vowel of kinýra, kinyrízein, and Kinýras. [70] There are other cases of Semitic loanwords preserving their vowel-length in Greek; there are also exceptions. [71] While kinȳ´resthai normally relates to threnody in Greek sources, [72] this need not require complete dissociation from knr, since the instrument’s use in and/or association with ANE lamentative contexts provides the necessary semantic link (Chapter 12). Moreover, while the derivation of kinýra from a long-vowel original like *kinnūr is beyond doubt, it is the long upsilon of kinȳ´resthai that corresponds more closely to the original Canaanite/Phoenician forms.
Thus, we should trust the instincts of sources that connect kinýra and kinȳ´resthai without batting an eye. Besides Eustathios, note several lexicon entries that are tied to a passage of Apollonios of Rhodes:
Amphikinȳrómenai: Apollonios. kinȳrómenai: playing music (mélpousai), singing; from the kinýra. [73]
For this etymology to work, the short-upsilon kinýra must stand generically for one or more ANE cognates that maintained the original long vowel; but such a universalizing usage is well paralleled (see below).
The relevant passage of Apollonios completes a simile that began with a sunny scene of happy, busy bees. These he compares, in a much discussed mood reversal, [74] with the Lemnian women ‘whining about’ the Argonauts, beseeching them not to leave:
Thus indeed did they,
Crying/Crooning (kinȳrómenai), pour themselves about the men in earnest
Saluting each with hands and speeches,
Imploring the gods to bestow a harmless homecoming. [75]
Crying/Crooning (kinȳrómenai), pour themselves about the men in earnest
Saluting each with hands and speeches,
Imploring the gods to bestow a harmless homecoming. [75]
The contrast between tenor and vehicle is jarring, discordant; many scholars agree with the scholiast that “the comparison is not sound nor harmonious in all respects … the meadow rejoices and exults, and yet the city is in pain, which is why he says ‘kinȳrómenai’.” [76] This straightforward reading is certainly natural, and accords with the earlier scene of Jason’s mother lamenting his departure (using the same verb). [77] Yet this makes all the more striking the lexicographers’ definition of the word as “singing” and “playing music.” The viability of a non-lamentative sense is seconded by another lexical entry—this time with no clear link to Apollonios—which connects kinýra itself with a verb kin ýrō, defined as both “threnodize” and “sing.” [78] These ‘positive’ musical definitions are a kind of lectio difficilior that must be explained.
R. J. Clare has explicated, in the larger Lemnian episode, Apollonios’ careful manipulation of emotional expectations, climaxing in the present scene with kinȳrómenai being “the crux of the entire comparison”; it is “a jolt in itself to realise that lamenting is being compared to rejoicing … a reflection of the sudden comprehension of the women as their idyllic interlude disintegrates and optimism turns to pessimism.” [79] Given Hellenistic interest in kinȳ´resthai and its apparent cognates, [80] it would seem that Apollonios has exploited, in support of his purposefully dissonant simile, a semantic bifurcation between the celebratory and plaintive that was inherent in the word. [81] This reading is supported by several performative nuances that result. Lamentation could be addressed to the gods apotropaically against future misfortune. [82] That is clearly operative here, and later we shall see a kinýra used in just this way. [83] But the image of women streaming out of a city equally evokes the ANE custom, attested in the Bible, of greeting victorious, homecoming warriors with celebratory music—just the outcome for which the Lemnian women beseech the gods. [84] This perverted ‘coming out’ scene neatly reprises the further careful permutation with which the Lemnian sojourn began—when the women, fearing that the arriving Argonauts were enemies, poured forth under arms. [85]
I conclude that Apollonios, like Lykophron, has carefully crafted his passage around an ongoing poetic and scholarly dialogue about kinȳ´resthai and its presumed cognates.
The phonetic discrepancy between forms in y and ȳ is explicable in regional terms, resulting from parallel adaptations in separate linguistic spheres. Leaving aside many self-conscious literary examples of kinȳ´resthai in Hellenistic and later poetry, [86] the harder demographic evidence of epigraphy indicates the word’s popular currency in Anatolian funerary inscriptions of the Roman era. [87] Here kinȳ´resthai describes lamentation—or better threnody (see Chapter 12)—by the bereaved when dedicating the stone; by committing this act to an ostensibly permanent medium, a one-time funerary rite was effectively converted into a perpetual mortuary cult. [88] That kinȳ´resthai was particularly at home in Anatolia would also help explain a passage in Aristophanes’ Knights (424 BCE), where the verb describes “lamenting a lyre-pipe concert (synaulían), the mode of Olympos” (the legendary Phrygian aulete). [89]
If kinȳ´resthai is indeed to be connected with knr, as seems inevitable—and note that an Anatolian context could be equally indicated by Lykophron’s Paris and even Apollonios’ Lemnian women—one might look to the westerly Phoenician expansion along the Anatolian coast in the eighth and seventh centuries, attested by inscriptions in Cilicia and Pamphylia, and other sporadic traces from Lycia and Caria in southwestern Anatolia. [90] Compare the threnodic Phoenician pipes known as gíngras, which our sources indicate took special hold among the Carians. [91] The word is also said to be an alternative name for Adonis:
The gíngras is a kind of small aulós, mournful and emitting a funereal sound, of Phoenician discovery and suitable for the Carian muse. And the Phoenician language calls Adonis Gingras, and their aulós takes its name from this. [92]
It has long been proposed to derive gíngras and several related words from knr, and to see Adonis-Gingras as a doublet of Kinyras. [93] If this derivation is right, gíngras would constitute yet another epichoric adaptation, presumably localized in Caria if one may trust the sources. [94] Although it would result in a remarkable semantic shift from lyre to pipes, [95] this might be explicable via the poetics of ritual performance. [96]
“Our Kenyristḗs Apollo”: Playing the Kinýra on Cyprus
The Anatolian associations of kinȳ´resthai encourage us to seek the origin of kinýra and other short-upsilon forms elsewhere. Admittedly parts of Anatolia remain poorly documented. Yet one cannot ignore Cyprus as a probable locus for parallel adaptations, since the island was the epicenter of Greek cultural and linguistic interface with Syria and the Levant from at least the twelfth century BCE. [97] This privileged position is reflected in a Cyprocentric conception of the eastern Mediterranean that must equally go back to the EIA migrations. Already for Homer, Menelaos’ homecoming route from Troy took him “wandering through Cyprus and Phoenicia and the Egyptian people”—that is, clockwise around what the geographer Strabo, commenting on the passage, called “the lands around Cyprus.” [98] The same idea helps account for the description of Paphos as ‘the center of the world’ (gês omphalós), alluding to its far-famed sanctuary, which rivaled Delphi itself. [99] Even after Greek horizons were expanded in the Hellenistic age, the island’s cultural prominence was out of proportion to its size; this is well illustrated by the Tabula Peutingeriana, a thirteenth-century map going back to a Roman original of later antiquity, with still older antecedents. [100] Here Cyprus, greatly magnified, is the focus of the eastern Mediterranean (Figure 16). [101]
Figure 16. Cyprus and the eastern Mediterranean according to the Tabula Peutingeriana. Used by permission of the Österreichische Nationalbibliothek, Vienna.
The island’s central location and large concentration of Greek-speakers provide a compelling explanation for how a specifically Greco-Cypriot form—I mean kinýra—could eventually prevail in the Hellenistic koine. Until recently this would have been but an educated guess. It can now be corroborated by evidence from Cyprus itself.
In 1959, a marble slab was discovered in secondary use at a church in the village of Nikokleia, near Palaipaphos. It contains an oath of allegiance to Tiberius, taken by the Community of Cyprus on the Roman emperor’s accession in 14 CE. [102] Several gods are invoked as witnesses:
By our Akraía-Aphrodite and our Kore and our Hylátēs-Apollo and our Kenyristḗs-Apollo and our saviors the Dioskouroi and the island’s common Boulaía-Hestia and the common ancestral gods and goddesses of the island and the god Caesar, august descendant of Aphrodite, and eternal Rome and all other gods and goddesses … [103]
When T. B. Mitford first published the stone in 1960, he read Apollo’s second cult-title as Ke[r]yṇẹ̄́tēn, connecting it with Keryneia on the north coast. This was not entirely satisfactory: the site is rarely mentioned in ancient sources, and none attests a connection with Apollo. [104] J.-B. Cayla has recently made a vital contribution, perceiving that the correct reading is in fact Ke[n]yṛ[i]ṣtḗn. This I can corroborate from my own examination of the stone. [105]
On Cyprus, and especially at Paphos, kenyristḗs inevitably evokes Kinyras. It clearly interprets the legendary Cypriot king as a form of Apollo. [106] But what exactly is implied?
As Mitford saw, the qualification of the oath-gods as ‘ours’ indicates their distinctively Cypriot status. The particular combination of divinities, however, remains obscure, with several being otherwise poorly attested. Mitford speculated that they were intended to represent the island regionally, and although the geographical associations of Kore and the Dioskouroi are too poorly known to permit conclusive demonstration, the hypothesis would accord well enough with the totalizing reference to “the common ancestral gods and goddesses of the island.” [107] Cayla uses this pan-Cypriot perspective to explain the surprising absence of such famous Cypriot powers as Paphian Aphrodite and Salaminian Zeus, strongly associated with particular cities. [108] But it is possible that these and other gods were indeed invoked in a lost stone containing the oath’s preamble. [109] In any case, while the precise rationale behind the surviving theoì hórkioi is still unclear, “Our Kenyristḗs Apollo” is a uniquely Cypriot figure.
Any deeper appreciation depends upon determining the meaning(s) of kenyristḗs. The word is clearly related to the verb kinyrízein, which, though only thrice attested, must once have been more widely current than this would suggest. [110] These two words are most naturally interpreted in light of three exact parallels from the world of lyre-playing, the agent-verb pairs kitharistḗs–kitharízein, phormiktḗs–phormízein, and lyristḗs–lyrízein. [111] Kenyristḗs should therefore simply mean ‘the kinýra-player’, and kinyrízein ‘to play the kinýra’.
And yet kinyrízein has been almost universally interpreted along different lines. This misunderstanding derives from the earliest attestation, a rhapsodic variant in the Iliad championed by Zenodotos (fl. ca. 285), Homeric critic and first librarian of Alexandria; it was later disputed by Aristarkhos of Samothrace (ca. 216–144), who advanced his own preference, which is itself distinct from what has come down in the manuscript tradition. We know of this scholarly issue from Aristonikos, a critic of the Augustan age who mentioned it in his Homeric commentary, along with many of Aristarkhos’ other readings, which he often contrasts with those of Zenodotos. The verse in question forms part of Achilles’ rebuttal of Phoinix who, as a member of the embassy sent by Agamemnon to soothe the sulking warrior, has just finished his cautionary exemplum about the destructive pride of Meleagros. The three versions are as follows:
Traditional: Do not confuse my angry-heart (thymón) with your lamenting and wailing (odyrómenos kaì akheúōn). [112]
Zenodotos: Do not confuse my angry-heart with your kinýra-lamenting (odyrómenos kinyrízōn). [113]
Aristarkhos: Do not confuse my angry-heart in my breast with your moaning (enì stḗthessin akheúōn). [114]
We are told that Zenodotos treated odyrómenos kinyrízōn “as if it meant thrēnôn”—that is, ‘singing a funeral dirge’. One can hardly suppose that Zenodotos did not know what the phrase meant: odyrómenos, and the correspondence of kinyrízōn with akheúōn, guarantee that kinyrízein could be at least connected with lamentation. And yet this would be readily explained by the kinýra’s use in threnody. [115] According to Aristonikos (evidently reproducing the opinion of Aristarkhos) Zenodotos’ variant was “un-Homeric and out-of-character” (parà tò prósōpon). [116] Not all modern scholars have been persuaded by this condemnation, [117] but editors have generally preferred the traditional version for its “parallelismus membrorum and the accumulation of synonyms,” while the variants of Zenodotos and Aristarkhos have been attributed to the Alexandrian desire to avoid such constructions, diversify at the expense of formulaic diction, and increase sentimentality. [118] Still, the variant enjoys solid precedents in the formulaic system. Odyrómenos stenakhízō, attested four times in the same position, would readily support a substitution of kinyrízōn in a lamentative sense without requiring that the two be strictly synonymous. [119] Crucial here is the frequent occurrence of kitharízōn (‘playing the kithára’) and collateral forms in the same verse-final position, typically preceded by an adverbial expression. [120]
When we come to consider kinýra-lamentation in more detail, I shall argue that Zenodotos’ variant introduces interesting nuances to the scene. [121] But first we must corroborate this ‘lyric’ interpretation of kinyrízein. Of the word’s two other attestations, which Classicists have hitherto overlooked, [122] it will suffice to present only the earlier here. The second, being quite late (ninth century), raises further historical issues and needs more convoluted argument; it is analyzed in Appendix D.
The Acts of Xanthippe and Polyxena are a pair of hagiographical romances variously dated between the third and fifth centuries CE, recounting the Christian conversions of the title figures—the wife and sister-in-law of Roman Spain’s governor in the time of Claudius. [123] At the relevant juncture, Xanthippe had sneaked out of the house, as her Christ-resisting husband slept, to seek the apostle Paul. Assaulted en route by a troop of demons, Paul materialized like a superhero to the rescue, after which he promptly baptized her as a precaution against further mishap. Safely home, Xanthippe pours out praise of Jesus and Paul:
I desire to keep silent, since human reason makes me afraid, lest I have not the grace of eloquence. I desire to keep silent, and am compelled to speak, for someone inflames and sweetens me within. If I say, I will shut my mouth, (yet) there is someone playing the kin(n)ýra in me (éstin tis kinnyrízōn en emoí) … Is it not that teacher that is in Paul … filling the heavens, speaking within and waiting without, sitting on the throne with the father and stretched upon the cross by man? [124]
Xanthippe’s irrepressible inner joy clearly does not support a threnodic sense for kinnyrízōn. Some scholars, seeking a parallel with the verb minyrízein, suggest a translation like “someone murmurs inside of me.” [125] Yet minyrízein typically connotes despondency; even its most positive possible sense, ‘sing in a low tune, warble, hum’, will hardly suit Xanthippe’s ebullience. [126] The metaphor must convey the ineffable and intimate—even erotic [127] —exultation with which Jesus fills Xanthippe. For this, thrilling lyre-music would be highly apt. Divine praise-hymns and other celebratory and amatory occasions are well known for the kinnōr in the Bible and the kinnāru elsewhere in the Syro-Levantine world, and are equally attested in Gk. for kinýra—Photios defining “musics” as “glad delights as from pipes and kinýra, and similar things.” [128] This lyric interpretation is corroborated by the –nn– of kinnyrízōn, which betrays an association with ANE forms like kinnōr (see below). In the Acts of Xanthippe, therefore, we have one of many illustrations of the Christian ‘conversion’ of earlier Pythagorean and Platonic ideas of cosmic harmony and the soul as an attunement (harmonía). [129] A particularly illuminating parallel comes from Clement of Alexandria (ca. 150–215 CE), who presents Jesus as a new Apollo, Orpheus, Amphion, or Arion—an enchanting “new song” (kainòn aîsma) or incantation (epōidḗ) to replace the seductive deceptions of pagan liturgical music: [130]
Tuning this world and this microcosm—I mean man, both soul and body—with the holy spirit, he plucks (psállei) this many-toned instrument—man—and sings thereto for God. [131]
Similar ideas relating to the knr specifically are found in St. Ephraim’s elaboration of the ‘Lyre of the Spirit’ and the ‘Lyres of God’. [132] Jesus is thus playing sweet, passionate music on Xanthippe’s ‘inner kin(n)ýra’. [133]
We must conclude that, while Apollo is not unknown as a lamenting god, [134] his Cypriot epithet kenyristḗs meant, first and foremost, the ‘kinýra-player’. This effectively glosses Kinyras himself, showing that this name/word too could entail a sense of agency: ‘Kinyras’ is ‘the kinýra-player’ (see Chapter 17). Kenyristḗs also presents an obvious parallel with kitharōidós (‘kithára-singer’), one of Apollo’s most familiar guises—reflecting his patronage of professional lyrists, in whose image he was typically represented. [135] But the insistence on “Our Kinyrist” shows that this Apollo, whatever the immediate reasons for his inclusion in the theoì hórkioi, [136] stands for the full musical range of the island’s own lyrical traditions. These used not the kithára, not the phórminx, not the lýra—but the kinýra. [137]
The deliberate and traditional character of the epithet, in an official document of Tiberian date, becomes all the more palpable when one considers the long musical engagement of Cyprus with the outside world, and especially the Aegean. The island and its singers helped formulate several Cyprocentric themes that found their way into mainstream Greek epic. [138] The lost Kypria—attributed in ancient sources to either Stasinos or Hegesias/Hegesinos of Salamis—must have contained the ‘Cypriot Hosting of the Achaeans’, with Kinyras’ terracotta fleet. [139] A lyre-singer Stesandros—or better Stasandros—of Salamis performed ‘battles à la Homer’ at Delphi, apparently in the sixth century; although Athenaios ranks him among historical kitharōidoí, he himself probably considered his instrument a kinýra. [140]
Mainstream Greek genres must also have been increasingly visible on the island with the emergence of international musical celebrities and professional concert circuits from the Classical period onwards. [141] Thus, the early fourth century saw Stratonikos—the Groucho Marx of the kithára—at Salamis and/or Paphos; while these anecdotes transpire in the royal courts, Stratonikos was equally famous for his public recitals. [142] Around the same time, Nikokles I of Salamis is said by Theopompos to have vied with Straton of Sidon in making his court luxurious, bringing citharodes and rhapsodes from Greece, as well as singing- and dancing-girls. [143] Cypriot patronage of dithyramb and tragedy is also attested: Alexander held musical contests in Phoenicia that were made splendid by the lavish expenditures of the island’s kings, who competed with each other as executive producers (khorēgoí). [144] It is in this same period that Cypriot statuary, as part of the medium’s more general assimilation to a Hellenistic koine, [145] shows several lyres which are influenced by the kithára in their upper structure, yet maintain the round base of their Cypriot ancestors (Figure 27e). [146] Yet even here such precedents as the Khrysokhou lyrist (Figure 17) and the instrument on the Louvre amphora (Figure 5.5q, tenth or ninth century) make unilateral ‘Greek influence’ a problematic assumption. [147]
Cypriot performers are well attested outside the island during the Hellenistic period, typically as victorious competitors at foreign festivals. [148] An inscription from Nemea, plausibly dated to 323/322, lists several Cypriot kings serving as theōrodókoi—that is, hosting the Nemean ambassadors who came to announce upcoming games. [149] Between the mid-second and early first century, a Cypriot branch of the Artists of Dionysos is attested, seemingly headquartered at Paphos; it was evidently promoted by the Ptolemies to support their dynastic cult during the troubled accessions of this period. [150] In the earliest inscription (ca. 144–131), the only one to give any information about the guild’s organization, a citharode Kriton is named president. [151] This is the first secure evidence that the word kithára was current on the island. Yet one can hardly assume that it had displaced kinýra. [152] The Artists of Dionysos were avowedly professional and international in outlook, and therefore cannot represent the totality of popular and cultic music-making on the island. [153]
Lost in Translation: Kinýra at the Syro-Levantine Interface
Because Cyprus was the ancient epicenter of Greek in the region, it was the island’s kinýra, rather than a number of parallel forms having all but disappeared from the record, which prevailed in the Hellenistic koine. That it was then used to render Heb. kinnōr is but one conspicuous example of a quite universalizing usage whereby kinýra became a blanket term for referring to the lyric cultures of Syria and the Levant. It is still possible, however, to detect linguistic and cultural multiformity behind a number of scribal variants in the transmission of Greek manuscripts, as well as several translation phenomena.
It is not unusual to encounter textual oscillations between –n– and –nn– in the representation of kin(n)ýra, Kin(n)yras, kin(n)yrós (‘plaintive’), and kin(n)ȳ´resthai (‘threnodize’). A single –n- is metrically guaranteed for all by Greek poetic sources, variously from Homer onwards; they are equally found in prose. It is clear therefore that these forms reflect genuine Grecophone pronunciations. This divergence from –nn– in the Near East must be due, like the short upsilon of kinýra, to phonetic differences in one or more adapting languages. Nevertheless, spellings in kinnyr– were clearly seen as legitimate by many authors and anonymous scribes, for whom an origin or association with Syria or the Levant, when not directly attested, may be reasonably inferred. Especially revealing is the exchange of kinýra and kinnýra in manuscripts of the LXX, where the Hebraic context helps explain the ‘confusion’—or better reverse engineering (and note that such a kinnýra was probably regarded as having a long upsilon). [154] Elsewhere an eastern provenance may seem likely on biographical grounds, but cannot be certainly established. [155] In Greek metrical works, forms with n must generally be preferred. [156] But otherwise there is no reliable criterion for deciding whether an author originally intended -nn– rather than –n-, or if one or the other was introduced by a scribe. In every case, however, these variants betray alternative and vital regional pronunciations. In the Byzantine period, there were certainly many bilingual scribes in and from Syria and the Levant (a considerable number of monks left Muslim Palestine for Constantinople in the eighth and early ninth centuries [157] ).
The great value of these nn variants is that they attest a fairly general belief that the several Greek words were etymologically related to Phoen. *kinnūr, Heb. kinnōr, etc. In particular I would emphasize that the variant of Kinnyras for Kinyras [158] echoes the ancient form Kinnaru at Ugarit. Indeed the principle of the lectio difficilior would normally urge us to accept ‘Kinnyras’ as the ‘correct’ reading, were not ‘Kinyras’ itself otherwise sanctioned by Greek usage. [159] In fact, neither ‘reading’ is exclusively correct: ‘Kin(n)yras’ was at home in more than one linguistic-cultural sphere.
The foregoing scribal variants are symptomatic of the long-term overlap of Greek and Syro-Levantine cultures, which, though a central feature of Greek-Cypriot life from at least the twelfth century BCE, became a much more widespread phenomenon in the Hellenistic period. Given this situation, it is likely that some ‘bi-musicality’, rather than the mere influence of scripture, underlies Byzantine writers’ periodic use of ki(n)nýra in contexts where one expects the simple Greek kithára. [160] John Tzetzes, the encyclopedic pedant of twelfth-century Constantinople, who was Georgian on his mother’s side and at least superficially familiar with a number of other languages, calls Pindar ‘the Theban kinýra’ without missing a beat. [161] Elsewhere Tzetzes replaces kithára with kinýra in paraphrasing Prokopios. [162] Similarly, Theodoros II, emperor of Byzantine Nicaea (1254–1258), expressed inexpressible Christian joy by rhapsodizing: “Who will take up the kinýra of Orpheus? Who will tune it in the manner of Pindar?” [163] There are many other examples of this interchangeability. [164]
In other cases when kinýra has won through against kithára, further dialectal variety lurks. Forms in kinnyr- or kinnar- must often have been leveled to kinyr- under mainstream literary influence in the Greek East—whether by translators of Syriac writings, bilingual Syro-Levantine authors, and/or later copyists of either. [165] Thus, in the Greek works attributed to Saint Ephraim (ca. 306–373 CE), one finds kinýra rather than the kinnār(a) Ephraim himself would have used in his native Syriac. [166] Philip of Side, in his early fifth century CE Christian History, used kinyrístriai of the female lyrists, in the temple of the Babylonian Hera, who accompanied the Muses’ spontaneous song on the night of Christ’s birth (among other portents); here too the cultural setting should imply an underlying Aramaic form. [167] The opposite process would have occurred with Aramaic translations of Biblical books (the targums), where the triconsonantal root knr would easily pass out of Hebrew vocalization. There is even a Syriac commentary on 2 Kings, attributed to Ephraim, in which ‘cinnara’ is called a translation of the Hebrew word. [168] One should be similarly sensitive to the frequent use of Greek kithára or psaltḗrion in Christian contexts where it answers to the original kinnōr of the Bible. [169] When this is found in texts deriving from the greater Syrian sphere—for instance with Gregory of Nyssa, in Cappadocia (d. after 394)—it is quite possible that the author himself would have used kinnār(a) when speaking to his neighbors.
Conclusion
I have shown that kinýra and several cognates, along with the instruments so designated, enjoyed a life in the Byzantine world independent of Biblical exegesis. [170] This is the cultural framework within which Eustathios and the anonymous poet still knew Kinyras as a proverbial lyrist, and accepted without question an etymological link with kinýra and kinȳ´resthai. Because the knr’s traditional range, for many centuries, fell largely within Byzantine territory, the burden of proof must be on those who would insist that, when a Christian author writes kinýra, he has only the Jewish instrument in mind, or that any symbolism he attaches to it derives exclusively from the Bible. His independence will be especially clear when not simply commenting on scripture, but engaged in his own creative work.
It is certain that the etymology of Kinyras from kinýra was no anachronistic Christian construct, but went back into the pagan past, and was long recalled by some in Cyprus and the Syro-Levantine home range of the knr. “Our Kenyristḗs Apollo,” as a recasting of Kinyras, looks back from Roman Paphos upon a distinctively Cypriot lyric art form stretching into past centuries. We must now trace this tradition as far back as possible, and determine the depth and nature of Kinyras’ involvement with it. Our first step takes us to the fifth century and the poet Pindar.
Footnotes
[ back ] 1. See p1.
[ back ] 2. I punctuate after Ἀγαμέμνονος following Erbse’s treatment of the parallel passage in the Σ.
[ back ] 3. Eustathios on Homer Iliad 11.20 (expanding upon material in the Homeric Σ): ὁ Κινύρας … Θείαντος ἦν κατά τινας παῖς, βασιλεὺς Κύπρου ζάπλουτος, ὃς παριόντας τοὺς Ἀχαιοὺς ἐξένισεν, ὑποσχόμενος καὶ ἐν Ἰλίῳ πέμψειν τὰ ἀναγκαῖα. φασὶ δὲ αὐτὸν ἀμελήσαντα ἐπικατάρατον γενέσθαι ὑπὸ Ἀγαμέμνονος· καὶ αὐτὸν μὲν ἀπολωλέναι ᾠδικῶς ἁμιλλώμενον τῷ Ἀπόλλωνι ὡς οἷα μουσικῆς τεχνίτην. διὸ καὶ Κινύρης ἐκλήθη παρωνύμως τῇ κινύρᾳ. τὰς δὲ θυγατέρας αὐτοῦ πεντήκοντα οὔσας ἁλέσθαι εἰς θάλασσαν καὶ εἰς ἀλκυόνας μεταπεσεῖν.
[ back ] 4. For Eustathios’ relationship to the scholia, see van der Valk 1971–1987:LIX §70 and n2; Dickey 2007:23–24 with further references.
[ back ] 5. Note how the added material has slightly disturbed the balance of μέν and δέ in the scholion. It is thus not strictly accurate to conclude that “la conséquence de cette mort pendant le concours justifiait son nom” (Baurain 1980a:7): Eustathios has drawn the etymology from elsewhere (see below).
[ back ] 6. For this dominant meaning, Σ Homer Iliad 17.5: κινύρεσθαι γὰρ τὸ θρηνεῖν; Σ Apollonios of Rhodes 1.292: σημαίνει γὰρ τὸ θρηνῳδοῦσαι; Suda s.v. κινυρομένη· ὀδυρομένη, θρηνοῦσα; s.v. κινυρόμεθα· θρηνοῦμεν; Photios Lexicon s.v. κινύρεσθαι· ὀδύρεσθαι; Hesykhios s.v. κινύρεσθαι· θρηνεῖν, κλαίειν (he also defines the hapax χλουνάζειν as κινύρεσθαι). With this word I shall mark the upsilon long (kinȳ´resthai) to help keep the issue of vocalization in mind.
[ back ] 7. Eustathios on Homer Iliad 17.5: Κινυρὴ δὲ κυρίως ἐπὶ ἀνθρώπων, οἳ κινύραις χρώμενοι ἀοιδὰς ἐπὶ τοῖς κειμένοις ἔμελπον, ὃ καὶ κινύρεσθαι ἦν. The feminine adjective occurs in a simile of a mother-cow standing κινυρή over a newborn calf; the comparison is to Menelaos guarding the fallen Patroklos (Homer Iliad 17.4–6). Space prohibits a detailed discussion of the passage and κινυρός itself. Fortunately this omission is not crucial, as the abundant material for κινύρα, κινύρεσθαι, and κινυρίζειν can by itself carry the coming arguments. I would simply state my view (and cf. Lorimer 1950:465) that κινυρός is indeed historically related to these words, as Eusathios and other sources assert, and that the Menelaos/Patroklos passage can be illuminated in light of the threnodic conventions which these words evoke (the cow’s cry for its calf is already a trope of Sumerian lamentation poetics: see Heimpel, “Balang-Gods,” Section 3c1). Kινυρή is glossed as οἰκτρά, θρηνητική, vel sim. in Apollonios Sophistes Homeric Lexicon, Suda, Photios Lexicon, Hesykhios, and Anecdota Graeca (Bachmann 1828–1829) s.v. κινυρή, κινυρόν (but Hesykhiοs also records what are clearly guesses from the Homeric context: ἁπαλή, ‘soft, tender’; νέα, ‘new, young’; s.v. κινυρόν· λεπτόν, ‘slender, weak’; καπυρόν, ‘loud’; ὀξύ, ‘shrill’); Eustathios and Σ have οἰκτρόφωνος.
[ back ] 8. See p280–282.
[ back ] 9. See especially p197n55, 280.
[ back ] 10. See p188n6, 199–200.
[ back ] 11. See p213–216.
[ back ] 12. Brown 1965:207–208: cf. p4.
[ back ] 13. The halcyon was also known as the ἁλιπορφυρίς: Thompson 1936:46.
[ back ] 14. See e.g. GR:188–189: “Apollo brings death to Linos, Hyakinthos, and Neoptolemos … The figure killed in this way is preserved in the divine domain as a dark reflection of the god. Even the Olympian god would not be what he is without this darker dimension.”
[ back ] 15. Franklin 2003:295–299.
[ back ] 16. For Linos, see p306.
[ back ] 17. Homeric Hymn to Apollo 388–544; cf. Burkert 1992:60, 63; Franklin 2006a:59–60. Homer knew a similar dispute between Apollo and Eurytos over archery: Homer Odyssey 8.224–228.
[ back ] 18. See p221, 226–235, 410, 512 .
[ back ] 19. Engel 1841 1:273, 2:109–115, saw here rather a conflict between Phoenician/pipes and Greek/κιθάρα (comparable to Apollo and Marsyas). This interpretation depends upon a proposed etymological connection of Kinyras with the Phoenician γίγγρας-pipes used in Adonis-lament (Athenaios 174f, etc.). The phonetic similarity of Kinyras and Gingras is admittedly striking, and some real connection should perhaps not be ruled out (see further p145, 202–204, 299n117). But recent scholarship has made clear that lyre and pipes were not immemorial enemies; their conflict emerged in the later fifth century, especially in Athens, where the αὐλός spearheaded the so-called New Music, the strong demotic associations of which implicated the instrument in contemporary social struggles (Wilson 1999; Martin 2003; Csapo 2004; Franklin 2013). Engel’s view was initially influential: Lenormant 1871–1872:255; Marquand 1887:335, “Kinyras was the personification of Phoinikian music, which was based upon the pipe”; Sayce 1898:264–265, proposing a further collateral form in Cenchreis/Kenkhreis (wife of Kinyras in Ovid Metamorphoses 10.435; Hyginus Fabulae 58); Roscher Lex. s.v. Kinyras (Stoll); HC:68–69 and n5, rather agnostic; Atallah 1966:312–313. It must have entered Cypriot encyclopedias, for the idea has come up in several conversations there.
[ back ] 20. See p1 and n2.
[ back ] 21. Vellay 1957:242, perhaps following Wagner 1891:182, quo terrore perculsae etc. (of the daughters).
[ back ] 22. See n2 and n3 above.
[ back ] 23. Theopompos FGH 115 F 103. See further p346–348.
[ back ] 24. So rightly Baurain 1980b:304 (“étroitement liée”).
[ back ] 25. Homer Iliad 9.561–564, etc.: see Thompson 1936:47. For the poetic topos of lamenting birds generally, including halcyons, Levaniouk 1999.
[ back ] 26. See p.289. The halcyon’s ocean habitat might also recall Kinyras’ own maritime associations: p326–330.
[ back ] 27. See e.g. [Moskhos] Lament for Bion 37–44, 46–49 (κινύρατο at 43). Swallows and κινύρεσθαι: Greek Anthology 5.237.1 (Agathias Scholasticus); 7.210.5 (Antipatros of Sidon). John Tzetzes, the twelfth-century Byzantine polymath, attests a more upbeat avine association: “the melodious κινύρα” was a nickname for the Iÿnx (Eurasian wryneck), a bird whose parts had many uses in love magic, and was called “an aid to lovers”: Chil. 11.380, line 582, Οἱ δὲ κινύραν ἐμμελῆ [sc. τὴν ἴϋγγα λέγουσι]; cf. 571, ἐρῶσι συνεργόν.
[ back ] 28. Hesykhios s.v. κιννυρίδες· τὰ μικρὰ ὀρνιθάρια.
[ back ] 29. This would account for the lexicographer’s generic-sounding definition: he (or his source) was guessing, but had some limited context.
[ back ] 30. Compare the Memnonides, sister-birds who arose from the ashes of Memnon’s pyre: [Moskhos] Lament for Bion 43; Ovid Metamorphoses 13.600–622.
[ back ] 31. Ovid Metamorphoses 5.294–678; 8.534–546.
[ back ] 32. Alkman 26 PMGF: οὔ μ’ ἔτι, παρσενικαὶ μελιγάρυες ἱαρόφωνοι, / γυῖα φέρην δύναται· βάλε δὴ βάλε κηρύλος εἴην, / ὅς τ’ ἐπὶ κύματος ἄνθος ἅμ’ ἀλκυόνεσσι ποτήται / νηδεὲς ἦτορ ἔχων, ἁλιπόρφυρος ἱαρὸς ὄρνις. The poet’s diction is obscure at several points, but this does not undermine the comparison. For the topos of the aged male halcyon, Thompson 1936:46–51; for the kērýlos, 139–140. For the citharodic/choral quality of these verses, see Nagy 1990:352 and Power 2010:202–203 and n44, noting the equally relevant fr. 38 ὅσσαι δὲ παῖδες ἁμέων ἐντί, τὸν κιθαριστὰν αἰνέοντι, “and all the younger girls among us praise the kitharistḗs” (trans. Power).
[ back ] 33. Examples include Figure 4 (1e, 1k, 1p, 1r, 4a–f?, 4j–l, 5e, 5i, 5g, 5o, 5t), 5 (1gg, 8f, 8h–i), 11, 13, 22, 47 (IIa–b). Note that some of my images do not preserve the bird element (for which see DCPIL); in other cases it appears as a feature of the instrument itself.
[ back ] 34. Cf. Power 2010:25 and n49.
[ back ] 35. For a convenient list of Hellenistic metamorphoses collections, Cameron 2004:272. Boios’ Ὀρνιθογονία: Philokhoros FGH 328 F 214 and the nine credited episodes in Antoninus Liberalis. Ovid contains a large number of bird-transformations, but his treatment of Alcyone followed two other traditions, represented by Nikandros (fr. 64 Gow/Schofield) and Theodoros (SH 750): see [Probus] on Vergil Georgics 1.399.
[ back ] 36. Anecdota Graeca (Cramer 1839–1841) 4:274.5–6: Ὀρφεύς τις ἢ Θάμυρις ἢ καὶ Κινύρας / ἔθελγον ᾠδαῖς δένδρα, θήρας καὶ λίθους (for dating, see p265).
[ back ] 37. Euripides Iphigeneia at Aulis 1211–1212; Apollonios of Rhodes 1.26–27; Konon Narrations FGH 26 F 1 (45); [Apollodoros] Library 1.3.2; Seneca Hercules Furens 569–572, Medea 228–229; [Orpheus] Argonautika 261–262; etc.
[ back ] 38. Pausanias 6.20.18; Macrobius Commentary on the Dream of Scipio 2.3.8.
[ back ] 39. See p178–179, 182–184 .
[ back ] 40. Constantine Manasses Chronicle 4687–4688: τῷ Δαβὶδ ἤχησε … / ἡ καὶ τοὺς λίθους θέλγουσα καλλιμελὴς κινύρα (ed. Lampsides).
[ back ] 41. IAA 1980.3410: Ovadiah and Ovadiah 1987:60–62 no. 83, pl. LVIII.1, LIX, CLXXVIII; SAM:112 (no. 72).
[ back ] 42. Compare those of the Bar Kokhba coins: p180–181.
[ back ] 43. Note the LXX’s supernumerary Psalms 151, where David, in recollecting his youth, juxtaposes his pastoral duties with his instrument-making and psalmistry: “I shepherded my father’s flocks. My hands made an instrument, and my fingers tuned this ‘psaltery’” (ἐποίμαινον τὰ πρόβατα τοῦ πατρός μου. / αἱ χεῖρές μου ἐποίησαν ὄργανον, οἱ δάκτυλοί μου ἥρμοσαν ψαλτήριον, 1–2).
[ back ] 44. See p159–161.
[ back ] 45. Those rejecting Kinyras < kinýra include, besides Brown 1965:207–208, Emprunts:69n2; Chantraine 1968 s.v. κινύρα; Baurain 1980a:11–12; Baurain 1980b:304. Boisacq 1938 s.v. was undecided.
[ back ] 46. Muss-Arnolt 1892:127; Lewy 1895:164 (“κινύρα = Hebr… . kinnōr”); von Kamptz 1956:129–130, 327 (conditioned by folk etymology with κινυρός); Frisk 1960 s.v.; Brown 1965:207; Emprunts:69 (apparently); Chantraine 1968 s.v. (“emprunt à l’hébreu kinnōr”); Kapera 1971:133 (“first used in the Septuagint … to render the Hebrew kinnōr”); Dugand 1973:200 (remodeled via κινυρός); Tischler et al. 1977:577; Beekes 2009 s.v. follows von Kamptz.
[ back ] 47. Hence the word was not given detailed treatment by E. Masson, who wished to concentrate on pre-Hellenistic borrowings (Emprunts:69n2).
[ back ] 48. Suda, Hesykhios, Photios Lexicon, Lexica Segueriana, Anecdota Graeca (Bachmann 1828–1829) s.v. κινύρα· ὄργανον μουσικόν, κιθάρα, vel sim.
[ back ] 49. See p55–57.
[ back ] 50. Thus Herodotos could already represent the Persian name Vištaspa as Hystáspēs; conversely the use of omicron + upsilon (ΟΥ) to represent /ū/ in Boeotian inscriptions by ca. 350 shows that upsilon was no longer suitable: see Allen 1987:66–69.
[ back ] 51. Fraser 1979 persuasively confirms those critics (going back to antiquity) who would see the whole Alexandra as the work of a second Lykophron in the second century BCE (in accord with the description of Rome’s power at 1229), rather than by ‘the’ Lykophron who was active in the early third; see also Fraser in OCD s.v. Lycophron.
[ back ] 52. Lykophron Alexandra 97–101 with Brown 1981:398–399. Brown’s hypothesis treats the noun as third-declension (see below); but his κύνουρα and consistent but unexplained κίνυρα for traditional κινύρα (for -ᾱ, cf. λύρα and κιθάρα) appear to be a lapse.
[ back ] 53. Homer Iliad 3.54; Ptolemy Khennos in Photios Library 153a1–5; Plutarch Alexander 15, Moralia 331d; Ailianos Various History 9.38; Stobaios Anthology 3.7.52; Eustathios on Homer Iliad 3.24, 54. While most of these sources are late, the lyre was a standard attribute of Paris in later Archaic and Classical vase-painting: LIMC s.v. Alexandros nos. 9–11, s.v. Paridis Iudicium nos. 9, 13, 17, 20–21, 29, 37–39, 45, etc.; SIAG:38, 52 fig. 16, 104 fig. 9; Gantz 1993 2:569.
[ back ] 54. Our only interpretive clue for what Scheer gives as πρὸς κύνουρα (99) is the scholiast’s πρὸς τὰς τραχείας πέτρας; but this is easily explained by false inference from Γύθειον as an ἀκρωτήριον τῆς Λακωνικῆς. Brown’s hypothesis does seem to be clinched by the bow-lyre imagery of 139–140 (τοιγὰρ ψαλάξεις εἰς κενὸν νευρᾶς κτύπον / ἄσιτα κἀδώρητα φορμίζων μέλη), noting especially that ‘plucking’ (ψαλάξεις) is atypical of Greek lyre-practice, but known for the kinnōr (see p58). Brown’s ultimate argument, incidentally, is that Greek Kynósoura is a deformation via folk-etymology (‘dog’s-tail’) of a Phoenician name (*kinnūr) for the constellation Lyra. Add to his dossier that Lyra is called kennar in a Pahlavi translation of a Greek astrological work, the Liber de stellis beibeniis: see p61n89.
[ back ] 55. An explanation of κινύρα through a player’s ‘moving’ (κινεῖν) of its strings (Suda s.v.: ἀπὸ τοῦ κινεῖν τὰ νεῦρα) was stretched to account also for κιθάρα and κίθαρις (Anecdota Graeca [Cramer 1839–1841] 4:35.13–14: παρὰ τὸ κίω τὸ κινῶ κίναρις καὶ κίθαρις; for κίναρις, see p198), and connected to their ability to ‘move’, i.e. arouse, love (Etymologicum Gudianum s.v. κίθαρις: ἀπὸ τοῦ κινεῖν τὸν ἔρωτα; s.v. κιθαρῳδός: παρὰ τὸ κινεῖν εἰς ἔρωτα τοὺς ἀκούοντας; Anecdota Graeca [Cramer 1839–1841] 4:35.10–11: κιθάρα, παρὰ τὸ κινεῖν εἰς ἔρωτα τοὺς ἀκούοντας, ἢ παρὰ τὸ κινεῖσθαι ῥαδίως). That these etymologies go back to Hellenistic speculation is confirmed by Apollonios’ treatment of κινύρεσθαι (see below) and the pre-Ovidian topos of Kinyras the Lamenter (Chapter 12). Moreover, Lykophron’s κυνουρ- as a contrived equivalent of κινυρ- is corroborated by the attempt of Apion (fl. ca. 25 CE) to derive κινύρεσθαι from κινεῖν + οὐρά (‘tail’) to explain Homer’s bovine κινυρή (Iliad 17.5) in terms of ‘tail-moovements’ (Σ Apollonios of Rhodes 1.292 = Apion FGH 616 F 51 = 48 Neitzel: κυρίως δὲ κινύρεσθαί ἐστιν ἐπὶ βοὸς καὶ εἴρηται παρὰ τὸ κινεῖν τὴν οὐρὰν ἐν τῷ μυκᾶσθαι). In doing so, the scholiast says, Apion was “transferring an etymological discovery” by his Alexandrian predecessor Apollodoros of Athens (ca. 180–110), a Homerist disciple of Aristarkhos who had derived ταῦρος (‘bull’) from τείνειν (‘stretch’) and οὐρά (‘tail’), i.e. in light of a bull’s posterior tendencies (Apollodoros FGH 244 F 277: καὶ Ἀπίων δὲ εὑρὼν τὴν ἐτυμολογίαν παρὰ Ἀπολλοδώρῳ ταύτην, ὅτι ταῦρος λέγεται παρὰ τὸ τείνειν τὴν οὐράν, μετέθηκε τὴν εὕρεσιν τῆς ἐτυμολογίας). Hesykhios s.v. κινούρας· τοὺς κακούργους ἵππους (LSJ: “shaking the tail, a sign of weakness in a horse”) is presumably related to these efforts.
[ back ] 56. They are generally represented in the Amarna letters (as also at Ugarit), but occasional omissions indicate a transitional state (Sivan 1984:114–123), as do inaccuracies of representation (Albright 1934:29 §61). The endings were certainly lost well before the eighth century, since it induced further developments complete by that time, as seen in e.g. the Greek letter-name ἰῶτα: the new final syllable of i̯ád was lengthened under accent to i̯ā´ d, which then became i̯ṓd under the Canaanite Shift, the influence of which continued to affect such cases of secondary (not inherited) ā. See Harris 1936:25 §8, 34–35 §11, estimating an eleventh-century loss; cf. Harris 1939:59–60; SL §21.13, 25.6.
[ back ] 57. Assuming that the upsilon has been correctly transmitted.
[ back ] 58. As rightly seen by Albright 1964:171n47; Baurain 1980b:305.
[ back ] 59. See above, p47 and n19.
[ back ] 60. Szemerényi 1968 (criticizing the tendency of Emprunts to ignore vocalization and trace all loans to Phoenician); Szemerényi 1974; Szemerényi 1981; Szemerényi 1986.
[ back ] 61. The view of Burkert is too categorical: “foreign words [sc. in Greek] … are accepted only in perfectly assimilated form as to phonetics and inflexion … They imitate and go into hiding, adapting themselves to the roots and suffixes of native Greek … Popular etymology plays its role in metamorphosis; no rules of phonetic evolution can be established” (1992:35, my emphasis).
[ back ] 62. Anecdota Graeca (Cramer 1839–1841) 4:35.13–14: κίθαρις· παρὰ τὸ κίω τὸ κινῶ κίναρις καὶ κίθαρις, ἢ παρὰ τὸ κίω, τὸ πορεύομαι (“kínaris and kítharis come either from kíō in the sense of kínō [‘I move’], or from kíō in the sense of poreúomai [‘I go’]”). That κίναρις is as genuine a word as κίθαρις seems guaranteed by the awkward etymological explanation from κινῶ (see n55). One could suppose that an intended κινύρα was influenced by κίθαρις, but this would leave unexplained why κίθαρις was given etymological attention rather than the more obvious κιθάρα.
[ back ] 63. Hesykhios s.v. κιναρύζεσθαι· θρηνεῖν μετὰ τοῦ γογγύζειν.
[ back ] 64. It will have been readily adapted to a well-defined pattern of Greek verbs that add -ζω to stems in -υ (τονθορύζω, γρύζω, γογγύζω, etc.).
[ back ] 65. Cf. p197 and n56 above; Aramaic: SL:270 (§32.24); CEWAL:400 §3.5 (Creason).
[ back ] 66. For the fast-developing picture in the Amuq, see the concise synthesis of Hawkins 2009. Al-Mina: Boardman 1980.
[ back ] 67. Cf. p96 above. Of course a substantial Phoenician cultural presence in the eighth century is attested by the inscriptions at Karatepe and Çineköy (Hawkins 2000 no. I.1, I.8; Tekoglu and Lemaire 2000). See the survey of Lipiński 2004:109–144.
[ back ] 68. See Chapter 21.
[ back ] 69. See Appendix F and G.
[ back ] 70. Thus Lewy 1895:164 rightly noted that Kinyras cannot be derived directly from kinȳ´resthai. For kinyrós, see p188n7.
[ back ] 71. Vowel length preserved: ὕσσωπος, χιτών, σινδών, μνᾶ: see discussions of Szemerényi 1968:194–197; also καυνάκης, Aram. gōnnakā. Loss of vowel length: βύσσος (flax and flaxen cloth) versus Akk. būṣu and Heb. būṣ, cf. Phoen. bṣ (Emprunts:20–22); μύρρᾰ (myrrh), Ug. mr (DUL s.v.), Can. mu-ur-ra (EA 269.16), Akk. murru (CAD s.v.), Aram. mūrā, Heb. mōr (cf. Emprunts:55; Chantraine 1968 s.v.). Some variations in vowel length are due to metrical utility, e.g. Σῐδόνες/Σῑδῶνος: Homer Iliad 23.743, Odyssey 15.425; cf. Brown and Levin 1986:78 with further permutations.
[ back ] 72. See definitions in n6 above.
[ back ] 73. Apollonios of Rhodes 1.882–883; Etymologicum Genuinum s.v. ἀμφικινυρόμεναι· Ἀπολλώνιος. κινυρόμεναι· μέλπουσαι, ᾄδουσαι· ἀπὸ τῆς κινύρας; much the same entry is found in Etymologicum Symeonis and Etymologicum Magnum s.v., the latter also with καὶ <κινύρετο>, ἐθρήνει. Μέλπειν often implies lyre-music: LSJ s.v.; Franklin 2003:297.
[ back ] 74. See the excellent analysis of Clare 2002:179–187, with literature in n16.
[ back ] 75. Apollonios of Rhodes 1.882–885: ὧς ἄρα ταίγε / ἐνδυκὲς ἀνέρας ἀμφὶ κινυρόμεναι προχέοντο, / χερσὶ δὲ καὶ μύθοισιν ἐδεικανόωντο ἕκαστον, / εὐχόμεναι μακάρεσσιν ἀπήμονα νόστον ὀπάσσαι.
[ back ] 76. Σ. ad loc.: ἡ δὲ παραβολὴ οὐχ ὑγιὴς οὐδὲ εἰς πάντα ἁρμόζεται … χαίρει καὶ ἀγάλλεται ὁ λειμών, καίτοι λυπεῖται ἡ πόλις, διό φησι κινυρόμεναι.
[ back ] 77. Apollonios of Rhodes 1.292.
[ back ] 78. Etymologicum Gudianum s.v. κινύρα· κιθάρα, ἐκ τοῦ κινύρω τὸ σημαῖνον τὸ θρηνῶ καὶ ᾄδω.
[ back ] 79. Clare 2002:184.
[ back ] 80. See p197 and n55 above.
[ back ] 81. There is a similarly willful mixture of joyous and plaintive context with kinȳ´resthai at 3.259 and 664.
[ back ] 82. See p30, 279.
[ back ] 83. See p302–303.
[ back ] 84. See p126.
[ back ] 85. Clauss 1993:140–142; Clare 2002:179–181.
[ back ] 86. The verb, like the adjective kinyrós, became a standing resource for Hellenistic authors, and a mannerism in late epic; they regularly refer to, or presuppose, lamentation in mythological contexts. A representative sample includes Kallimakhos Hymns 2.20 (see p126); Apollonios of Rhodes, passages already cited and 4.1063; Triphiodoros 430; Nonnos Dionysiaka 2.157, 4.199, etc.; Quintus Smyrnaeus 6.81, 7.335, etc; Kollouthos 216.
[ back ] 87. Three cases are undated but belong to the first centuries CE. The type may be exemplified by SEG 29:1202 (Lydia), an epigram for a Iulianos by his sons and wife, “who has miserable pain in her heart, lamenting your death my youthful husband” (ἥ τε | σύνευνος ἔχου|σα φρεσὶ λύπην | ἀμέγαρτον∙ / σεῖο | κινυρομένη θάνα|τον θαλεροῦ παρα|κοίτου, 7–13); similarly Calder 1928 319, cf. SEG 6:290 (Gözlu, Galatia); Mitchell et al. 1982 149e (Meyildere, Galatia). Of two examples from Thessaly, one lacks any Anatolian association (Peek 1955 694: Thessalian Thebes, third [?] century CE), but in the second the mother was evidently of Anatolian background, Dounda being a variant of Douda, common in Asia Minor (I.Thess.I no. 43B, Ktiri, third century CE; SEG 28:515). The form κινυραμένη in 5–6 is slightly puzzling: although an aorist is rightly read at [Moskhos] Lament for Bion 43 (despite LSJ s.v. κινύρομαι), here the funerary context makes one expect a present participle, as in the three foregoing parallels. Perhaps it is a lapicidal error (note that the cutter erroneously gave the accusative κινυραμένην).
[ back ] 88. See further p70n54.
[ back ] 89. Aristophanes Knights 9–11 (ξυναυλίαν κλαύσωμεν Οὐλύμπου νόμον. / μυμῦ μυμῦ μυμῦ μυμῦ μυμῦ μυμῦ. / τί κινυρόμεθ’ ἄλλως). Μυμῦ obviously imitates the αὐλός, but συναυλία implies an equal lyric component: see p295 and n95.
[ back ] 90. For Cilicia (Karatepe, etc.): see p252n50. For the Cebel Ires Daği inscription (Pamphylian border), Mosca and Russell 1987 (dating to ca. 625–600); Lipinski 2004:128–130 (ca. 650), cf. 141–143 for a survey of data relating to Lycia and Caria.
[ back ] 91. See p145n200. Sources for Carian lamenters generally: Reiner 1938:66.
[ back ] 92. Pollux Onomastikon 4.76: γίγγρας δὲ μικρός τις αὐλίσκος γοώδη καὶ θρηνητικὴν φωνὴν ἀφιείς, Φοῖνιξ μὲν ὢν τὴν εὕρεσιν, πρόσφορος δὲ μούσῃ τῇ Καρικῇ. ἡ δὲ Φοινίκων γλῶττα Γίγγραν τὸν Ἄδωνιν καλεῖ, καὶ τούτῳ ὁ αὐλὸς ἐπωνόμασται.
[ back ] 93. See p145, 190n19, 299n117. The unstable representation of Semitic stops is a known phenomenon: cf. Szemerényi 1968:197; for g < k, cf. e.g. Gk. γρύψ < Sem. kerūb (Szemerényi 1974:150); the opposite may be seen in καυνάκης/γαυνάκης < Aram. gōnnakā, or other Semitic forms (Hemmerdinger 1970:50–51).
[ back ] 94. For example, with backward shift of accent from Cypro-Phoenician *Kinnýras leading to syncopation of the second syllable and dissimilation of –nn- to –ng-?
[ back ] 95. Brown 1965:207.
[ back ] 96. For such an interpretation of the Ugaritic text RS 24.257, see p141–146. Further considerations, p291–303.
[ back ] 97. I am not insisting on an absolute division between Cyprus and Anatolia; if kinȳ´resthai may indeed be referred to Phoenician influence, a fortiori such a form would be viable on Cyprus itself with its sizeable Phoenician population. As I shall argue, however, the short-upsilon forms go back on the island to the LBA, and would thus be at least a parallel adaptation there: see p272–278.
[ back ] 98. Homer Odyssey 4.81–85 with Strabo 1.2.32 (τὰ περὶ Κύπρον χωρία).
[ back ] 99. Hesykhios s.v. γῆς ὀμφαλός· ἡ Πάφος καὶ Δελφοί. See further p411, 416.
[ back ] 100. For the antecedents of the Tabula Peutingeriana, see Bowersock 1983:169–186 passim (tracing to Agrippa); Talbert 2010, Chapter 5.
[ back ] 101. Admittedly this owes something to the mapmaker’s narrowing of water-bodies to accommodate land-masses. Nevertheless, the island is given relatively prominent treatment. Like Crete and Sicily, Cyprus features a road network, and only Cyprus and Crete have the word Insula written in full. All other islands, including the larger Sardinia, are represented very schematically. See Talbert 2010:89–90, 108.
[ back ] 102. For the development of τὸ κοινὸν τὸ Κυπρίων in Cypriot inscriptions, HC:185, 233–234; Mitford 1960c:77–78; HIOP 99 and notes.
[ back ] 103. Kouklia-Palaipaphos Museum, inv. 85; Mitford 1960c, cf. SEG 18:578; Karageorghis 1960:274 and fig. 53), revised reading by Cayla 2001 (SEG 51:1896) = I.Paphos 151, reprised in Cayla 2005 (SEG 55:1534): [νὴ τ]ὴν ἡμετέραν Ἀκραίαν Ἀφροδίτην κα[ὶ] | τὴ[ν ἡμ]ετέραν Κόρην καὶ τὸν ἡμέτερον Ὑλά|τη[ν Ἀπόλλ]ω καὶ τὸν ἡμέτερον Κε[ν]υρ̣[ι]σ̣τὴν (Cayla 2001: Κε[ρ]υν̣ή̣την Mitford 1960c) | Ἀπόλλω καὶ τοὺς ἡμετέρους Σωτῆρας | Διοσκούρους καὶ τὴν κοινὴν τῆς νήσου | Βουλαίαν Ἑστίαν καὶ θεοὺς θεάς τε τοὺ[ς] | κοινοὺς τῆς νήσου πατρῴους καὶ τὸν | ἔκγονον τῆς Ἀφροδίτης Σεβαστὸν Θεὸν | Καίσαρα καὶ τὴν Ἀέναον Ῥώμην καὶ τοὺ[ς] | ἄλλους θεοὺς πάντας τε καὶ πάσας κτλ.
[ back ] 104. Cf. HC:87.
[ back ] 105. Cayla 2001:78–79; pace Fujii 2013:80. I verified Cayla’s observation of a curve consistent with Ρ, not Ν, in the fifth position. To his upper and lower horizontal strokes, requiring restoration of Σ or Ε instead of Mitford’s H (four letters from the end), I can add that the sloping inner strokes of the Σ are just visible, at certain angles of light, along the left edge of the lacuna (having apparently helped shape the break). I thank the Department of Antiquities for permission to examine the stone at Kouklia on May 25, 2012; and J. Webb, G. Fawkes, and especially R. Walker for additional eyes and discussion. Walker also pointed out that ἡμέτερον κε[ν]υρ̣̣[ι]σ̣τήν yields a dactylic sequence (on the reasonable assumption that it shares the short upsilon of Zenodotos’ κινυρίζειν [see below] and the short-voweled Kinyras himself, both of which are metrically guaranteed).
[ back ] 106. The certain Κεν- for expected Κιν- is unproblematic, though interesting. Cayla 2001:78–79 (cf. Cayla 2005:229) rightly notes other oscillations of ι/ε in Cypriot inscriptions (e.g. Idalion/Edalion, Kition/Ketion). Because inherited ε becomes ι before ν in Cypriot (e.g. ἰν for ἐν, cf. Bechtel 1921–1924 1:403 §15; Masson 1988a:21; Ruijgh 1988:143; Risch 1988:71, 76), Cayla suggests that Κεν- may be hyperdialectal—an artificial form induced by a desire to create an impression of antiquity (the phenomenon is otherwise attested in Hellenistic Cypriot inscriptions: Steele 2013:150–151, 238–239). That Κεν- should reflect a genuinely ancient form is complicated by the agreement of Linear B ki-nu-ra (see Chapter 17) and Kinyras in Homer, on the one hand, and the consistent vocalization of knr as kin- at Ebla, Mari, Ugarit, Emar, and Alalakh. I recognize the potential ambiguity of representing vowels in these early scripts (note that oscillations between e and i vis-à-vis later Greek forms are not uncommon in Linear B [Risch 1966:154; Ruijgh 1967:71–72], and that an early Cypriot adaptation may have been exceptional. Yet Κεν- could also be a later development through the influence of Phoenician, where “short i was rather lax and open” (hence Μιλκ-/Μελκ-, etc.): SL §21.13; cf. ICGSL:48–49 [§8.74, 77]. Cf. Lipinski 2004:62, seeing Phoen. influence behind Edalion/Idalion; the same should apply to Kition/Ketion, a largely Phoenician site.
[ back ] 107. Mitford 1960c:77.
[ back ] 108. Cayla 2005:228.
[ back ] 109. Fujii 2013:78–82.
[ back ] 110. The scribal error of Κινυρίδαι for Κινυράδαι in Σ Pindar Pythian 2.27b might point in this direction.
[ back ] 111. Adduced with different emphasis by Cayla 2001:80–81.
[ back ] 112. Homer Iliad 9.612: μή μοι σύγχει θυμὸν ὀδυρόμενος καὶ ἀχεύων. Cf. Iliad 24.128, Odyssey 2.23, 4.100, 14.40.
[ back ] 113. Zenodotos: μή μοι σύγχει θυμὸν ὀδυρόμενος κινυρίζων.
[ back ] 114. Aristarkhos: μή μοι σύγχει θυμὸν ἐνὶ στήθεσσιν ἀχεύων.
[ back ] 115. See Chapter 12.
[ back ] 116. Aristonikos Grammaticus, On the Signs of the Iliad, 168 Friedlander: μή μοι σύγχει θυμὸν ἐνὶ στήθεσσιν ἀχεύων> ὅτι Ζηνόδοτος γράφει <ὀδυρόμενος, κινυρίζων>, οἷον θρηνῶν. ἐστι δὲ οὐχ Ὁμηρικόν, καὶ παρὰ τὸ πρόσωπον; Σ Homer Iliad 9.612: <ὀδυρόμενος καὶ ἀχεύων:> ὅτι Ζηνόδοτος γράφει <ὀδυρόμενος, κινυρίζων>, οἷον θρηνῶν. ἔστι δὲ οὐχ Ὁμηρικὸν καὶ παρὰ τὸ πρόσωπον. Ἀρίσταρχος δὲ <ἐνὶ στήθεσσιν ἀχεύων>. Aristonikos may, however, merely be offering his own interpretation of the divergence (so Duentzer 1848:131 and n62); Aristarkhos’ emendations were often not provided with commentary, and Aristonikos displays periodic independence and unreliability vis-à-vis his predecessor. See van der Valk 1963 1:537 (on Aristarkhos) and 1:553–592 (Aristonikos’ methods).
[ back ] 117. Duentzer 1848:131 and n62, approved Zenodotos’ two participles in asyndeton, finding the variant significantior … Achilles rem recte auget, Phoenicem monens, ne lamentationibus ipsum fatiget … Hic asyndeton gradiationem bene indicat. Aristarchos scripturam minus vivide rem describentem recepit. Cf. Lorimer 1950:465, “it hardly deserves the strictures of Aristarchos.”
[ back ] 118. See van der Valk 1963 2:1–37 and 113–118, especially 21 and 113–114 for the present verse (and quotation); cf. van der Valk 1949:104–105.
[ back ] 119. Ὀδυρόμενος στεναχίζω: Odyssey 1.243, 9.13, 11.214, 16.195.
[ back ] 120. Homeric Hymn to Apollo 515 (ἐρατὸν κιθαρίζων), cf. Homeric Hymn to Hermes 424 (λιγέως κιθαρίζων), 432 (ἐπωλένιον κιθαρίζων), 455, 510; Homeric Hymn to Aphrodite 80 (διαπρύσιον κιθαρίζων). Also Apollo 201, Hermes 17, 475.
[ back ] 121. See p316–318.
[ back ] 122. Thus van der Valk 1963 2:21, asserts that kinyrízein is “not attested in Greek,” and that Zenodotos “seems to have coined a new word, derived from κινυρός”; accordingly he interprets kinyrízōn as ‘whimpering’. The same etymological connection was drawn by Duentzer 1848:131 and n62. So far as I have found, only PGL s.v. κινυρίζω has recognized the word’s correct meaning (‘make music’) vis-à-vis the later attestations.
[ back ] 123. Gorman 2003:6–15; debt to Greek novel: Hadas 1953:xiii.
[ back ] 124. Acts of Xanthippe and Polyxena 14 (James 1893:68, cf. 54 for dating): trans. after Roberts et al. 1885–1896 9:209.
[ back ] 125. So in Roberts et al. 1885–1896 9:209. Leumann 1950:241–243 sought semantic enlightenment from the parallel pairs κινυρός/κινύρεσθαι and μινυρός/μινύρεσθαι and an appeal to the principle of Reimwortbildung (see generally Güntert 1914; cf. Frisk 1960 s.v. κινυρός). But his tidy historical scheme (μινυρίζω + μύρομαι > μινύρομαι; μινυρίζω + κινυρός > μινυρός; κινυρός + μινύρομαι > κινύρομαι) assumes that μινυρίζειν and κινυρός are the oldest forms because they alone are in Homer. The inadequacy of this approach is sufficiently shown by the lamentative κιναρύζεσθαι, which must be quite early (see p65n64). Two senses were rightly distinguished by Ptolemy of Ascalaon, Heylbut 1887:402.11–12 = Ammonios On Similar and Different Words 321: μινυρίζειν μὲν λέγουσι τὸ ἠρέμα προσᾴδειν, μινύρεσθαι δὲ τὸ θρηνεῖν· τὸ δ’ αὐτὸ καὶ κινύρεσθαι.
[ back ] 126. LSJ s.v.
[ back ] 127. An erotic reading fits well with the thematic interplay of sexuality, asceticism, Christian conversion, and marital harmony analyzed in this and related works by Gorman 2003:27–44 et passim. Recall the ancient linking of κίθαρις, κιθάρα, and κίναρις with κινεῖν (‘move’) and erotic arousal (n55 above), and cf. Analecta Hymnica Graeca, Canones Decembris, Day 26, Canon 51, Ode 8.57–58 (ed. Kominis/Schirò): καὶ κινύρα ψυχὰς θέλγουσα / πρὸς ἔρωτα τὸν ἔνθεον (of David’s lyre).
[ back ] 128. Photios Lexicon s.v. μουσικά· τερπνὰ τὰ δι’ αὐλῶν καὶ κινύρας καὶ τὰ ὅμοια = Anecdota Graeca (Bachmann 1828–1829) 1:304.
[ back ] 129. Aristotle On the Soul 407b–408a, etc. For the influence of these ideas on early Christian musical thought, HBMH:46–60, 96–97, et passim.
[ back ] 130. Clement of Alexandria Exhortation 1, especially 1.4–5. See Halton 1983; Cosgrove 2006:276–281; Kindiy 2008:138–149.
[ back ] 131. Clement of Alexandria Exhortation 1.5.4.
[ back ] 132. Palmer 1993, with further parallels from Greek patristic sources. See further p180.
[ back ] 133. There is considerable further evidence for the trope of Jesus as “the cosmic lyre-player” in early Christian thought: see Halton 1983:184–186 (quotation 184), noting especially Paulinus Carmina 20.30–61, where Jesus himself is treated as the lyre of God hung upon the cross (hanc renovaturus citharam Deus ipse magister, /
Ipse sui positam suspendit in arbore ligni, 51–52, etc.). Byzantine hymnography also developed the idea; note especially the opening of Ode 4 in Analecta Hymnica Graeca, Canones Januarii, Day 27, Canon 34 (ed. Proiou/Schirò): “Divine Lyre / Of secret songs, / Kinýra of the mysteries of Christ, / Cry faithfully out again, / Sounding with secret mystery” (Ἡ θεία λύρα / τῶν ἀπορρήτων ᾠδῶν, / ἡ κινύρα τῶν μυστηρίων Χριστοῦ / αὖθις κέκραγε πιστῶς, / μυστικῶς ἠχήσασα, κτλ, 3–7).
[ back ] 134. See p294–295.
[ back ] 135. While the term kitharōidós makes explicit that the lyrist was also a singer, kenyristḗs should not be taken to imply mere instrumental performance. For historically the role of kitharōidós evolved from that of the communal, ritual kitharistḗs who accompanied choruses but also sang preludes (prooímia)—whence Apollo’s other title ‘Muse-leader’ (Mousagétas)—and might also sing epic. This background is reflected in such early formulations as ἀνὴρ φόρμιγγος ἐπιστάμενος καὶ ἀοιδῆς, Homer Odyssey 21.406; ἀοιδοὶ καὶ κιθαρισταί, Hesiod fr. 305.2 M-W. See further Franklin 2003:299; Power 2010:201–215 (noting 205n49); Franklin 2011b.
[ back ] 136. One may recall here the Mesopotamian evidence for oaths sworn on musical instruments, and the LBA seal in which a harp-player apparently accompanies a loyalty oath (see p20–21). Note also the mutually binding pact between two warriors at Homer Iliad 22.254–255, where the gods “will be / The best witnesses and overseers of ‘accords’” (τοὶ γὰρ ἄριστοι / μάρτυροι ἔσσονται καὶ ἐπίσκοποι ἁρμονιάων); ἁρμονία is literally a ‘joint’ (e.g. mortise-and-tenon, Homer Odyssey 5.247–248, 361–362), but a secondary musical nuance could be equally operative.
[ back ] 137. One must therefore resist reducing all Cypriot representations of lyrists to ‘Apollo κιθαρῳδός’, as Karageorghis 1998:114 rightly stresses on more general grounds.
[ back ] 138. Franklin 2014.
[ back ] 139. For the attribution, Kypria T 3–4, 7–9, 11 EGF; 1, 3, 7–9, 11 PEG. The sources are discussed by Jouan 1966:23. For the Cypriot Hosting, see below p343–344.
[ back ] 140. Athenaios 638a = Timomakhos FGH 754 F 1 (with Wilamowitz’ convincing emendation of Σάμιον to Σαλαμίνιον); see further Franklin 2014:229–231. Zarmas 1975:15 mistakenly makes Timomakhos himself a Cypriot citharode.
[ back ] 141. For this long-term trend, see now Power 2010.
[ back ] 142. Athenaios 349e–f (Makhon 156–162 [11 Gow]), 352d; cf. HC:145–146. On whether the anecdotes relate to Paphos or Salamis, see Gow 1965:90–91. For Stratonikos generally, see Gilula 2000.
[ back ] 143. Theopompos FGH 115 F 114 = Athenaios 531a–d; cf. HC:145. Nikokles is also known to have staged choral and musical performances at the funeral of his father, Euagoras: Isokrates 9.1.
[ back ] 144. Plutarch Alexander 29.1–6: ἐχορήγουν γὰρ οἱ βασιλεῖς τῶν Κυπρίων … καὶ ἠγωνίζοντο θαυμαστῇ φιλοτιμίᾳ πρὸς ἀλλήλους. μάλιστα δὲ Νικοκρέων ὁ Σαλαμίνιος καὶ Πασικράτης ὁ Σόλιος διεφιλονίκησαν (2–3). We also hear of the aulete Dorion (GMW 1:226n138; AGM:54) visiting the court of Nikokreon of Salamis: Athenaios 337e–f.
[ back ] 145. Connelly 1991.
[ back ] 146. Cesnola 1894, pl. XXXIV no. 282 (= Myres 1914:359 no. 2254); Monloup 1994 no. 392. Note also Apollo’s instrument in the ‘Apollo and Marsyas’ mosaic, house of Aion, Nea Paphos (Daszewski et al. 1988:66 fig. 32; Michaelides 1992:61 no. 30). This is effectively a ‘Kenyristḗs Apollo’.
[ back ] 147. The Louvre amphora was so dated by Rutten 1939:436–438, but without stratigraphic information.
[ back ] 148. These are all from either Paphos or Salamis, the same sites which have produced inscriptions relating to the Artists of Dionysos (see below). A certain Antisthenes of Paphos (ca. 100) is called a μελοποιός (‘melody-maker’, ‘composer’), a word that may well imply stringed-instrument music (for the various subtle contrasts with κιθαρῳδός, see Power 2010:121, 234, 238, 511); but here κινύρα and κιθάρα would be equally possible. Antisthenes is no. 219 in Stefanis 1986, whose other examples include a Paphian trumpeter (σαλπιγκτής) Aristonax (no. 397, early first century; cf. Pouilloux 1976:161); a Paphian ‘herald’ (κῆρυξ) Zoïlos (no. 1034, early first century); a Salaminian piper (αὐλητής) Onasimos (no. 1947, third–second century); and a ‘costumer’ (ἱματιομίσθης) from Salamis named Stratokles (no. 2307, second quarter of the third century). Also known are a Cypriot πυθαύλης (‘Pythian-piper’, cf. LSJ s.v.; AGM:93 and n63) named Publius Aelius Aelianus who won victories at Delphi, Rome, Nemea, Argos, and several other places in the mid-second century CE (FD III.1 no. 547); and an anonymous Cypriot πυθαύλης καὶ χοραύλης buried at Rome (Pouilloux 1976:163 and n2, with references).
[ back ] 149. Nem. Inv. no. I 85 (stele): Miller 1988; Miller 2004:115.
[ back ] 150. Aneziri 1994, especially 186–194, with a collection of the nine inscriptions from Paphos and Salamis (the former probably being the guild’s headquarters); I.Paphos:386–389, 525 (§17); Anastasiades 2009, especially 200–203; Papantonio 2012:155 (further correlating the Artists with the advent of theaters on the island, in the context of Ptolemaic Dionysos-cult), cf. 344n303; Fujii 2013:18.
[ back ] 151. SEG 13:586; Mitford 1953:135–137 no. 10 with n14; Aneziri 1994 no. 1; Anastasiades 2009:198.
[ back ] 152. The only other attestation known to me is the mannered κίθαριν of I.Kourion 104 (ca. 130/131 CE), the Antinoos inscription: see p318–319.
[ back ] 153. An apt parallel here is the strong conservatism of Cypriot sanctuary architecture in this and later periods. Cf. Snodgrass 1994:171: “The Cypriote preference for the open-air courtyard sanctuary was so strong that, centuries later, it could resist and often defeat the influence of the Greco-Roman columnar temple, which eventually became a commonplace in countries lying to the south and east, as well as the west and north, of Cyprus.”
[ back ] 154. For example, the variant κιννύραις for κινύραις at LXX 2 Samuel 6:5: see the apparatus of Brooke and McLean 1906–1940 2.1:124.
[ back ] 155. In a homily falsely attributed to John Chrysostomus (ca. 347–407), a native of Antioch and later archbishop of Constantinople, one finds κιννύρα for κινύρα ([John Chrysostomus] On the Adoration of the Precious Cross, PG 62:752.72). Was this anonymous author himself Syrian? The Byzantine historian Nikephoros Kallistos (ca. 1256–1335) apparently used κιννύρα for David’s lyre in a hymn to Mary; he was active in Constantinople, but his native home is unknown: Carmina 4, stanza 23.3 (text: Jugie 1929–1930). Biographical data: Cross and Livingstone 1997 s.v.
[ back ] 156. The variant κιννύρονται appears in the Σ to Aiskhylos Seven against Thebes 122. An especially interesting case is found in the Laurentian codex 31.16, a fifteenth- or sixteenth-century collection including Aristophanes’ Knights. Ιn line 11 (for the passage, cf. p202n89 above), κινυρόμεθ’ was ‘corrected’ to κιννυρούμεθ’ (sic, see the apparatus of von Velsen’s 1869 Teubner edition. This manuscript is not the same as 31.15, which later editors rely on: I thank Giovanna Rao of the Biblioteca Medicea Laurenziana for confirming this). Was this false emendation metrically motivated, the scribe confused by the initial resolution (τί κινῡρόμεθ’ ἄλλως; οὐκ ἐχρῆν ζητεῖν ἔτι; ⏑ ⏑ – ⏑ ⏑ – | – – ⏑ – | – – ⏑ –)? Perhaps the copyist thought he saw a quick solution: had he assumed ῠ, his ‘correction’ would give an initially satisfying iambic metron (⏑ – ⏑ –), but leave the remainder a jumble.
[ back ] 157. Corrigan 1992:956.
[ back ] 158. See C. Baurain in Aupert and Hellmann 1984:111n20: two MSS (M and A) of Photios Library (the Theopompos fragment on Kinyras [FGH 115 F 103]: see p347), and the Codex Marcianus (Gr. 622) of Hesykhios, which has Κιννυράδαι, Κιννύρας, κιννυρή, and κιννυρίδες. This fifteenth-century manuscript is rather corrupt, probably copied from a tenth-century exemplar in southern Italy; beyond that the trail vanishes (Latte 1953–1956 1:XXIV–XXXIII). But the three forms show that this was no slip of the pen: the copyist thought this a legitimate way to spell these words.
[ back ] 159. Baurain in Aupert and Hellmann 1984:111n20: “nous ne sommes pas loin de penser qu’elle serait celle [sc. Kinnyras] qu’il conviendrait d’adopter s’il n’y avait pas l’usage consacré.”
[ back ] 160. For the notion of bi-musicality, see e.g. Nettl 1985:73–74.
[ back ] 161. John Tzetzes Khiliades 7.99, line 15: Ἡ Θηβαῒς κινύρα δε—τὸν Πίνδαρόν σοι λέγω, κτλ. Tzetzes apparently dabbled in “Alanic, i.e. Ossetian … Cuman, which belonged to the Turkic family, Seljuk Turkish, Latin, Arabic, Russian, and Hebrew”: Wilson 1983:192.
[ back ] 162. Prokopios On the Wars 4.6.30–31; John Tzetzes Khiliades 3.77–88, line 332. For the passage, see further p302–303.
[ back ] 163. Theodoros II Doukas Laskaris Epistles 195.19 (ed. Festa): τίς Ὀρφέως λάβῃ κινύραν; τίς ἁρμόσει κατὰ τὸν Πίνδαρον.
[ back ] 164. This was already seen in ancient definitions like κινύρα· ὄργανον μουσικόν, κιθάρα (see p195n48 for sources). It also explains random oscillations between κιθάρα and κινύρα in LXX translations of kinnōr (twenty and seventeen times respectively: HMI:106–107). Note also 1 Maccabees 4:54 (reconsecrating the temple ἐν ᾠδαῖς καὶ κιθάραις καὶ κινύραις καὶ κυμβάλοις, where κιθάρα stands for Heb. nēbel). Similarly [Philo] Biblical Antiquities (ca. 100 CE, ed. Harrington 1976), 2:8, where the Biblical invention of Jubal (Iobal) is expanded beyond the kinnōr to include cyneram et cytharam et omne organum dulcis psalterii. This apparently builds on LXX Genesis 4:21 Ιουβαλ· οὗτος ἦν ὁ καταδείξας ψαλτήριον καὶ κιθάραν, where ψαλτήριον will correspond to κινύραν, as regularly; hence also Augustine City of God 15.17.35; similarly in Michael the Syrian’s twelfth-century Chronicle 1.6 (Chabot 1899–1924 1:10).
[ back ] 165. It is hard to decide whether Greek poets or the LXX exerted the greater influence here. It probably varied regionally and with personal interests. Over the centuries, of course, as the mainstream was progressively Christianized, the ‘Biblical’ value of kinýra must have become increasingly influential.
[ back ] 166. The accuracy of the traditional attributions to Ephraim of these Greek writings, which purport to be translations of his works, is generally doubtful (Murray 2004:32–33). But the authorship of Ephraim himself is less the issue here than any author’s own ultimately Syrian origin, and/or his inspiration by Ephraim himself or his tradition.
[ back ] 167. The word is absent from LSJ. Philip of Side fr. 3.2 is found in the so-called Religionsgespräch am Hof der Sasaniden; the passage in question reads αὐτομάτως αἱ κινυρίστριαι ἤρξαντο κρούειν τὰς κινύρας καὶ αἱ μοῦσαι ᾄδειν. For the Greek text see Bratke 1899; for its inclusion among the fragments of Philip, Heyden 2006. The episode and word are repeated by John of Damascus (ca. 675–749), Sermon on the Birth of Christ 9.
[ back ] 168. In the Latin translation of Assemani 1732–1746 1:524A (comment on 2 Kings 3:15): ut ex Hebraeo verti posset, cinnaram.
[ back ] 169. For psaltḗrion, see p194n43, 215n164, 541 .
[ back ] 170. For the elusive question of how and when these words/instruments went out of practical (rather than learned) use, see Appendix D.