fletcher. apollodorus

K. F. B. FLETCHER

Classical Antiquity. Vol. 27, Issue 1, pp. 59–91. ISSN 0278-6656(p); 1067-8344 (e).

Copyright © 2008 by The Regents of the University of California. All rights reserved. Please

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DOI:10.1525/CA.2008.27.1.59.

Systematic Genealogies in Apollodorus’

Bibliotheca and the Exclusion of

Rome from Greek Myth

Apollodorus’ Bibliotheca is often used, though little studied. Like any author, however,

Apollodorus has his own aims. As scholars have noticed, he does not include any discussion of

Rome and rarely mentions Italy, an absence they link to tendencies of the Second Sophistic,

during which period he was writing. I refine this view by exploring the nature of Apollodorus’

project as a whole, showing that he creates a system of genealogies that connects Greece

with other places and peoples of the ancient world, specifically the Near East. The nature of

the Bibliotheca allows us to see these myths as a closed system, in which these genealogical

connections depend upon the perceived importance of these peoples; e.g. the Persians have more

connections with the Greeks than the Molossians do. It is from this system that Apollodorus

excludes Rome, thereby denying the Romans any genealogical connections with the Greeks and

thus marking them as being of little importance. The consciousness of Apollodorus’ decisions

is clear from the many opportunities he had to include Rome and the fact that his sources

contained myths about Rome or Italy. The Bibliotheca is a tendentious account of Greek myth

with its own goals, and our knowledge of Apollodorus’ aims must condition any use of this text.

Because we know so little about it, Apollodorus’ Bibliotheca often seems to

take on a timeless, canonical quality, as if it were something not to be questioned,

and scholars often use it accordingly. The text’s most famous student, Sir James

Frazer, exemplifies this attitude: “[Apollodorus’] book possesses documentary

value as an accurate record of what the Greeks in general believed about the

origin and early history of the world and of their race.”1 While few scholars today

I express here my thanks to Jay Reed, Benjamin Acosta-Hughes, Derek Collins and Adam Kemezis.

I also owe a debt of gratitude to Mark Griffith, not only for his editorial acumen, but also for finding

two anonymous readers who could contribute so much on the subject of Apollodorus; to them, too, I

give my thanks. All mistakes are, of course, my own.

1. Frazer 1921: xvii. For bibliography on the Bibliotheca, see Huys 1997, Huys and

Colomo 2004, and Huys’ valuable website http://perswww.kuleuven.ac.be/~u0013314/apollodorus

/index.htm.

Volume 27/No. 1/April 200860

would so readily accept such an assessment without question, this type of view

still underlies perceptions of the work’s purpose.2 Alan Cameron, for instance,

in a welcome new study of mythography, asserts that “no one would wish to

deny that [the Bibliotheca] is a well-organized, clear exposition of all the main

mythical sagas, deservedly still in use as a basic textbook.”3 While Cameron’s

position is a far cry from Frazer’s, it still privileges Apollodorus and bestows

on this text an authority dependent upon its perceived completeness. That the

Bibliotheca is useful is beyond question; that it is a complete account of Greek

myth is not.

Despite the seeming dogmatism of his statement, Frazer also noted that

Apollodorus curiously omits the Romans and the West more generally in his

collection.4 About fifty years later, Ewen Bowie remarked on Frazer’s observation

and situated Apollodorus’ choice within the context of Greek responses to Rome

during the Second Sophistic:

Apollodorus’s attitude is not puzzling. It supports rather than conflicts

with a second-century date. Like many other cultured Greeks of his time

the writer liked to forget from time to time the ubiquitous dominance of

Rome, and where better to exercise that amnesia than in a work devoted

to the safely antique and established Greek myths?5

Despite his recognition that Apollodorus’ exclusion of Rome fits within the

cultural milieu of the Bibliotheca, Bowie too falls prey to the same notions

of canonicity by referring to “the safely antique and established Greek myths.”

Conceived of in this way, Apollodorus is indulging an escapist fantasy, treating

a subject that would require him to stay away from Rome. But the issue is

not so simple and my intent here is to show that the omission of the Romans

is not a given (as Bowie seems to suggest) but a conscious decision on the

part of the Bibliotheca’s author and only a part of his systematic approach to

writing myth, which involves the creation of a series of genealogies connecting

Greeks with their Mediterranean neighbors, with more important peoples meriting

more connections.6 This collection of myths is a tendentious account, and an

2. Cf. Jacob 1994: 419: “Mais ce role privilegie de temoin de la tradition mythographique a

pour contrepartie d’appeler une lecture ponctuelle et documentaire, la Bibliotheque d’Apollodore

n’etant plus aujourd’hui qu’une machine a multiplier les notes en bas de pages.”

3. Cameron 2004: 103. Carriere and Massonie 1991: 16, who offer one of the best treatments

of the Bibliotheca, fall into a similar trap.

4. Frazer 1921: xii-xiii.

5. Bowie 1970: 23–24. Cf. Veyne 1999 who argues that many of the trends of the Second

Sophistic are actually much older, and so not specific to this period. Like Bowie, however, he does

see a nostalgia for independence in authors like Apollodorus (534–35). For a more nuanced view

of Greek identity in this period, see Jones 2004.

6. On the unified nature of the Bibliotheca, see Jacob 1994: 420–21 and Scarpi 1999: 2–3,

15–16, Drager 2005: 844–53 (esp. 847–48), and Smith and Trzaskoma 2007: xxxiii-xxxv. Cf.

Kylintirea 2002 (non vidi).

: Systematic Genealogies in Apollodorus 61

awareness of Apollodorus’ system of myths and its accompanying goals must

inform our use of it.7

In order to examine Apollodorus’ goals, it is necessary first to address three

things: how the Bibliotheca differs from other mythographic works; its relation

to earlier literature and its sources; and its date. While other Greek mythographers

writing in the Roman period, like Parthenius or Antoninus Liberalis, also include

very little Italian or Roman material (though even they offer much more than

Apollodorus), there is no attempt by such authors to create a narrative account

of Greek myth from creation to the death of Odysseus, as in the Bibliotheca.

Parthenius and Antoninus both offer thematic collections, whereas Apollodorus

focuses on genealogies and thus casts his net more widely, so we should have

different expectations of these different types of work.8 While Apollodorus does

not explicitly exclude Rome—he does not make anti-Roman statements, nor does

he provide any statement of purpose—this exclusion is evident from his creation

of a system of genealogies that connects Greece to much of the Mediterranean

world, but not to Rome.9 This system is what makes Apollodorus unique among

extant mythographers and also what allows us so readily to see what is missing.10

But talking about a work like the Bibliotheca in terms of purpose and intent

may strike some as misguided at best, and absurd at worst, both because of its

simple manner and its possible dependence on earlier works.11 Until recently, most

scholarly interest in the Bibliotheca stemmed from a desire to learn more about

earlier works of Greek literature, especially the Hesiodic Catalogue of Women

and the lost writings of Apollodorus of Athens, especially his On the Gods; both

of these works are often named as the main source of the Bibliotheca. For various

7. It is here that my approach differs from others who have focused on more literary aspects of

the Bibliotheca, most notably Carriere and Massonie 1991, Jacob 1994, and Scarpi 1999.

8. Cf. Cameron 2004: x-xi: “The Bibliotheca is the only comprehensive mythographic

work of its age. Most other mythographers of the Hellenistic and Roman period either have a

specialized purpose of one sort or another (genealogical lists, love stories, stories of metamorphosis

or catasterism); or else they provide mythographic companions to specific texts.” The closest in

terms of general coverage is the Latin Fabulae of Hyginus, though in its present form that work

serves more as a chrestomathy and is not organized as a narrative.

9. I qualify this claim by referring to the epigram that Photius (Bibl. cod. 186.142b) preserves

for a text that must be Apollodorus’ Bibliotheca. Van der Valk 1958: 167–68 and Carriere and

Massonie 1991: 163 n. 2 accept it as genuine, though few editors ever include it, and then only as

a separate section. The epigram suggests completion and the use of the text as a reference, obviating

the need to consult individual texts directly. On this epigram, see now Cameron 1995: 397–99 and

2004: 160–61.

10. On the way genealogical organization marks the Bibliotheca as different from other extant

works of mythography, see Jacob 1994: 421, who also notes that this choice of organization allows

Apollodorus great control over his material and its presentation. Cf. Scarpi 1999: 15–16.

11. On Apollodorus’ sources, see Jourdain-Annequin 1989: 234–40, Kylintirea 2002, Cameron

2004: 93–104, and Drager 2005: 854–86, who separates his discussion into “scheinbaren” and

“wirklichen” sources of the Bibliotheca. For a useful table of his source citations, see Scarpi 1996

(2000): 687–88. Smith and Trzaskoma 2007: xxxvi-vii neatly present the range of possibilities

for Apollodorus’ relation to his sources. I will return to the issue of Apollodorus’ sources when

discussing his exclusion of Italy and Rome.


reasons, however, it is unlikely that the Bibliotheca has such a simple relationship

with any one text: it bears little resemblance to the fragments of Apollodorus

of Athens and is not as closely related to the Hesiodic Catalogue as some argue

(largely to aid their reconstructions of this fragmentary work).12 Perhaps the

most obvious difference between the two works is the matrilineal focus of the

Catalogue and the decidedly patrilineal bent of the Bibliotheca. Thus, even in

the scant fragments of the Catalogue, we have references to women who do not

appear in the Bibliotheca.13 As will become clear, Apollodorus has relatively little

interest in women.

For the present argument, however, a full knowledge of the relationship of

the Bibliotheca to earlier works is not essential. My assumption is that unless

we hypothesize a work that covered all the material the Bibliotheca covers,

Apollodorus undertook a not inconsiderable amount of collection, compression,

and organization of the material available to him. (Further support for this

argument will come in the section on Rome and Apollodorus’ possible sources for

those sections, below.) As Brunt notes: “‘Fragments’ and even epitomes reflect

the interests of the authors who cite or summarize lost works as much as or more

than the characteristics of the works concerned.”14 What matters is the text as

it presents itself and the questions it raises: why this collection of these myths,

organized in this way, at this time?15 Whether the Bibliotheca is an epitome of

some lost or now fragmentary work or not, pursuing these questions can provide

us with information about this work as the product of a creative intelligence.16

12. On the Bibliotheca and Apollodorus of Athens, see Robert 1873: 9–34. Schwartz 1960:

127–34, 314–28 argues against using the Bibliotheca to restore the Catalogue; West 1985: 32–35,

44–46 argues that they are close enough that the Bibliotheca can help restore the basic outline

and sections of the Catalogue; Drager 1997: 43–66, 91–105 agrees; cf. Drager 2005: 864. On the

Hesiodic Catalogue of Women, see now the papers in Hunter 2005, almost all of which, following

West, operate under the assumption that Apollodorus followed the basic outline of the Catalogue.

A welcome exception is Fletcher 2005: 299–303, who questions the circular logic of using the

Bibliotheca to restore the Catalogue. Cameron 2004: 103 rightly observes that Apollodorus must

have been following multiple sources.

13. The most obvious omission from the Bibliotheca is Mestra, daughter of Erysichthon, the

subject of one of the longest extant fragments of the Catalogue (fr. 43 M.-W.). If Apollodorus

was using the Catalogue, then, he clearly adapted the material to fit his patrilineal focus, and also

excluded other myths. On patterns in the Catalogue of Women, see Osborne 2005, who focuses on the

role of women in the poem, outlining a general “plot” that stresses the physical beauty and fertility of

the women involved. This focus on women is remarkably different from the male-driven “plot” of

the Bibliotheca.

14. Brunt 1980: 494. His remarks throughout on the degree to which epitomes can vary from

their “source” are salutary. Cf. Erskine 2001: 30, who makes the point that citations are never neutral.

15. Cf. Smith and Trzaskoma 2007: xvi: “We have much to learn by looking at the mythog-

raphers’ explicit and implicit criteria of inclusion, what they find most important when summarizing,

how they attempt to reconcile variants or relate two different myths, and their place in transmitting

myth in the wider culture.” They also note that the degree of organization in the Bibliotheca suggests

that Apollodorus brought a clear idea of what he was doing to whatever he found in his sources

(xxxv). Cf. Drager 2005: 887.

16. It is also necessary to move past the old view that the Bibliotheca was simply a school

text (Robert 1873: 35; Wagner 1926: xxxiii; van der Valk 1958 esp. 102). Cameron 2004: 170


It may seem to some that we are foundering on the rocks with the phrase

“at this time,” since we cannot say for sure when Apollodorus was writing.17 Our

only solid piece of evidence is the reference to the Chronica of Castor (2.1.3[5]),18

almost certainly Castor of Rhodes, a contemporary of Cicero’s.19 Save for this

reference, Apollodorus generally cites earlier authors (see below), so this one

name bears a great deal of weight as the only terminus post quem. Otherwise,

we must rely on Apollodorus’ Greek, which seems to belong to the second or third

century CE.20 So, while we cannot date the work exactly, we know enough to place

it within a general period, roughly that of the Second Sophistic. We need not rely

on such an artificial term, however, or think too much about periodization, since

it is the general characteristics of this time that are significant here: the Roman

Empire had solid control over the Mediterranean world, and there was a certain

(though perhaps overstated) revival of Greek culture. Broadly speaking, this is

the milieu in which Apollodorus was writing, and it is within this context that

we must try to place the Bibliotheca and its system of genealogies.

GREEK GENEALOGIZING AND THE BIBLIOTHECA’S SYSTEM

Genealogy is a powerful tool in the Bibliotheca as elsewhere, because ge-

nealogies offer a picture of perceived connections between peoples and places

and times; they are, in short, a reflection of a perceived reality: “Genealogies put

things in their place.”21 In their temporal aspect, they are also aetiological, serving

to explain how the world reached its present state.22 In this capacity, genealogies

play an important role in justifying the present, for they offer a type of logic. On

the level of the individual, as exemplified by heroes’ genealogical recitations in

offers a more nuanced view on such a work’s purpose, observing that students would need the

same mythological information that any ancient reader would. In his words, “The teacher/student

hypothesis is not so much mistaken as overly restrictive.” Cf. van Rossum-Steenbeek 1998: 164–69.

17. On arguments concerning the dating and authorship of the Bibliotheca, see the overview

in Carriere and Massonie 1991: 7–12. Cf. Drager 2005: 839–40. I continue to use the name

“Apollodorus” for the sake of convenience, and do not place as much stock in the supposed anonymity

of this author as others do (cf. Scarpi 1999: 5, 16).

18. For references to the Bibliotheca, I give first the three numbers as used in Frazer’s Loeb

edition, and then the numbers used in Wagner’s Teubner. Scarpi 1996 (2000) conveniently uses both

numbers in his edition.

19. For Castor’s dates, see Jacoby’s commentary (FGrH 250). Cameron 2004: 103 rightly

observes that a reference like that to Castor could come from Apollodorus’ own reading. Even such

a brief reference helps remind us that there is an author behind the Bibliotheca. Some, however,

have athetized this reference; cf. Drager 2005: 838.

20. Carriere and Massonie 1991: 10–11 (see esp. n. 11) is the best recent treatment and includes

a useful overview of the scholarship in the note. I am content to use their range of dates: 180–230.

21. West 1985: 8. Cf. Asquith 2005: 276–77. This type of thinking underlies the approach of

Fowler 1998 and, in many ways, Jones 1999 and Hall 2002.

22. Cf. Saıd 1998: 7: “Mais les genealogies mythiques servirent aussi a expliquer la genese

du monde, preparant ainsi la naissance de la philosophie et des sciences. Elles permirent enfin de

fondre dans une tradition unique les legendes des differentes cites, de creer a partir de mythes epars

une mythologie unifiee et de jeter les bases d’une organisation temporelle qui relie le ‘temps des

dieux’ au ‘temps des hommes’ et preparerent ainsi l’apparition de l’histoire.”


the Iliad or by Pindar’s epinician odes, ancestors of quality assure descendants of

quality, securing the status of the latter; on a collective level, genealogies play

an important political role, providing justification for the current state of affairs,

as with fifth-century Athenian claims to Salamis on the basis of Ajax’s connection

with Athens in the Iliad.23

The functions of genealogy and its use as organizing principle reflect both

on a society’s use of myth as well as on the specific aims of individual accounts,

a point West stresses in relation to the Hesiodic Catalogue of Women, which

includes numerous genealogies (though not nearly as many as the Bibliotheca,

to judge from the extant fragments). And West could just as easily be talking

about the Bibliotheca when he says of the Catalogue that:

It did not consist merely of a congeries of traditional data about remote

periods which the poet happened to have acquired. It consisted of tradi-

tional material shaped, adjusted, combined, augmented, recomposed by

him in accordance with his own conceptions. It reflected the view-point of

his own time and place. This is one important reason why different poets

and logographers frequently gave divergent accounts. . . . Each had his

own perspective and was supplied with different material by his cultural

environment.24

There are numerous correspondences between almost all extant Greek mythical

genealogical accounts, despite the temporal distance between, say, “Hesiod” and

Apollodorus, but each account has unique elements or is—just as importantly—

a unique collection of otherwise attested elements, and thus reflects on the

particulars surrounding each composition. This difference between accounts is

what requires us to talk about a specific Homeric or Hesiodic or Apollodoran

view of Greek myth as opposed to “Greek myth” as some unified whole. Thus,

Apollodorus’ account is useful on two levels: the general and the specific, or the

broader Greek level and his individual view which reflects on his own times and

the circumstances under which he was writing.

The Bibliotheca is a synthesis of Greek mythic material gleaned from the

earliest sources available to Apollodorus, directly or indirectly, linked together by

an extended series of systematic genealogies. It is a work of individual scholarship

for Greeks written by a Greek living under the Roman Empire, who expresses his

worldview through a genealogical mapping of the world around him, a conceptual

map with mainland Greece at the center.25 The Bibliotheca is “a Greek book for

23. For the latter example, see West 1985: 10. More generally, see Jones 1999, who traces

the political importance of kinship—often established though such genealogies—from the Archaic

period to late antiquity.

24. West 1985: 11.

25. For a brief discussion of such Greek genealogies as Hellenocentric, see Hall 1996: 339. For

genealogy as a conceptual map, see Fowler 1998: 1 and Erskine 2001: 133. The landmark work

on the Greek use of genealogy to integrate foreigners is Bickerman 1952.


Greeks about Greeks and others—and it makes Greek sense of the others.”26 Only

through understanding the system that Apollodorus creates can we appreciate the

effect of his exclusion of Rome.

Before examining this system of myth, however, we must address two con-

cepts underlying the Bibliotheca: historical “reality” and Greek identity. Apol-

lodorus’ picture of the world is theoretically of a specific time, from its creation

to the death of Odysseus (and these specific end points are one part of Apol-

lodorus’ choices), but like all works of myth, the Bibliotheca is synchronic and

thus reflects no actual historical reality. Who, for example, are “the Egyptians” in

the Bibliotheca? This synchronism similarly complicates a discussion of Apol-

lodorus’ geography, as it is impossible to tell to what he refers when he uses

any given geographical term. Is “Cilicia,” for instance, to be identified with the

contemporary Roman province of that name, or does it signify an earlier concept

of that region preserved in myth? There is no way to be sure, and to a degree it

must always be both. Accordingly, it is worth stressing that Apollodorus’ mapping

of the world is conceptual, and that his particular perception of the world reflects

on his own temporal context regardless of when these myths originated; the world

had changed a great deal between Hesiod and Apollodorus, and the myths reflect

these changes. This synchronic view thus combines with Apollodorus’ system

of genealogies to create an idealized mythological world suitable for his time.

A related issue is the notion of Greek identity, generally and as relevant to the

Bibliotheca specifically. Recently this issue has been the focus of much attention,

and scholars tend to trace the development of what some now call “Hellenicity,”

the growing sense of Greekness in the Archaic period.27 The situation with

Apollodorus is different, however, because the text is so late (i.e., after the

development that scholars generally examine) and his account is synchronic.

There is no sense in the Bibliotheca of a development of Greek identity; rather, a

concept of Greekness already underlies the entire project of the Bibliotheca, and it

manifests itself both explicitly and implicitly. Apollodorus uses the terms �Ελλ�ςand �Ελληνες, but they appear most frequently in the context of his narration

of the Trojan war, in which it is necessary to refer to a large group of people

from various parts of mainland Greece. For the most part, however, the idea of

Greekness in the Bibliotheca is implicit, and such an idea of readily apparent

Greekness is necessary for Apollodorus to be able to position peoples as either

close to or distant from this identity.28

A basic factor in establishing Apollodorus’ focus is that he writes in Greek

and thereby places the work within a specifically Greek context. While language

26. As Redfield 1985: 102 says of Herodotus’ Histories.

27. Hall 2002 is the most recent and thorough attempt at tracing this development.

28. Too often scholars (including Hall 2002) who rely on Apollodorus for early Greek myths

overlook or at least do not address the difference of conception of Greekness in the Bibliotheca.

Apollodorus’ systematic approach means we should use his accounts very cautiously when trying

to hypothesize (much) earlier social developments.


of composition alone does not determine Apollodorus’ aim, the geographical

positioning of the Bibliotheca is also Greek, focusing primarily on mainland

Greek poleis like Athens, Argos, and Thebes. These places form the center for

Apollodorus’ discussion, which radiates outward from these areas but always

returns to them.29 It is this combination of Greek locations and Greek figures

(especially gods) that reveals the concept of Greekness underlying the Bibliotheca.

Additionally, Apollodorus’ citation of Greek authors adds to the impression of

a shared cultural heritage, and thus an idea of what it is to be Greek.30

It is with this notion of Greekness that Apollodorus strives to adapt and

incorporate some of the foreign peoples of the ancient Mediterranean. What

emerges from an examination of the Bibliotheca as a whole is a series of variations

on a theme that underlies this adaptation of foreign cultures: Greeks leave Greece,

establish connections with foreigners, then they or their descendants return to

occupy (often prominent) positions in Greece.31 As the following discussion will

show, there are numerous variations on this pattern, but the end result is clear:

foreign peoples become part of the Greek world and—to varying degrees—Greek

themselves through genealogical connections.32 This pattern is more systematic

in the Bibliotheca than in any other extant work and makes it possible for us to

talk about Apollodorus’ specific construction.

Apollodorus’ system places the peoples of the ancient Mediterranean and Near

East on a conceptual map that reflects not geography but perceived closeness of

relation; these genealogical relations reveal the relative perceived importance of

these foreign peoples. An examination of this process of genealogizing—and

the variations of this fundamental pattern—reveals that some peoples, such as

the Egyptians and Persians, have multiple connections with Greek figures, while

other peoples occupy a more marginal position and have only one—if any—such

genealogical relation. Notably absent from this matrix are the Romans and the

peoples of the western Mediterranean in general. This exclusion is particularly

relevant because of the time in which Apollodorus was writing, when the Roman

Empire controlled all of the Mediterranean world, including Greece, and numerous

myths had long since circulated connecting this area to its eastern neighbors.

Mythology by nature reflects the present, and while it is not always aetiological in

29. There is a tendency to connect Apollodorus with Asia Minor, as Carriere and Massonie

1991: 8–9 and 157 do, because of a perceived interest in areas to the east. As will become clear,

this focus on the east need not have anything to do with Apollodorus’ origins and, at any rate, pales in

comparison with his focus on central Greece.

30. Jacob 1994: 422–23, 427.

31. Olivi 1998: 170 recognizes aspects of this pattern in her discussion of the transmission of

Argive royal power in the Bibliotheca. Dougherty 1993 is also especially important for a discussion

of mythological patterns involving Greeks leaving Greece, though her focus is specifically on

colonization narratives. Jacob 1994: 422 overestimates the difficulties that a reader might have in

following the extended genealogies in the Bibliotheca.

32. For an overview of this type of Greek myth, see Bickerman 1952 and Georges 1994: 2–9.

Gruen 2006 provides a good introduction to these issues.


the strictest sense of the word, the repetition of traditional tales is premised upon

their continued value for the society in which they are being reenacted.33 The

exclusion of the Romans thus reflects a certain view of the present, which I will

explore below. The oddity of Italy’s almost complete absence from Apollodorus’

conceptual map will be all the more clear when contrasted with the inclusion of

other countries and the numerous connections they have with Greece.

Apollodorus’ genealogical system, as it pertains to foreigners, depends on

patterns of connection all based on movement of three kinds: centrifugal, cen-

tripetal, or circular.34 The center in this case is of course Greece, from which

all of these movements originate. These types are not mutually exclusive, be-

cause they also have a temporal aspect, being either terminal or temporary. Thus,

a centrifugal movement might be temporary, in that the Greek figure spends a

limited amount of time in a foreign place where s/he establishes a genealogical

connection with a foreign people, before moving on to another place (Heracles

exemplifies this type of movement). A terminal centrifugal movement would be

one in which the Greek person does not leave the new home, whether by choice or

by dying before he or she can leave (as with Io in Egypt).

While a movement may be terminal and centrifugal in the context of one

generation, it can be circular over the span of two or more generations. Thus,

larger, multi-generational patterns are comprised of simpler, single-generation

patterns, and it is this bigger picture that is important here because the Bibliotheca

is unique in following through multiple generations of various stemmata, thereby

giving us a long view. Because the single-generation patterns are the building

blocks for more complex connections, however, it is necessary to begin with them.

Since these patterns depend on a Greek encountering a foreign person, either

one or both persons has to travel, at least initially; in later generations, a person

of Greek descent can meet a foreigner because he or she is already in a foreign

land. Because many of Apollodorus’ genealogies involve colonization, recent

scholarship on colonization narratives can help illuminate the tendencies of the

Bibliotheca. In her work on such narratives, Carol Dougherty explores the reasons

why Greeks leave their homes, and the basic pattern she outlines is murder (or

other “civic crisis”)—Delphic consultation—foundation of a colony—resolution

33. A good recent formulation of this view is Wiseman 2004: 10–11: “To forestall tedious

terminological argument, let us define a myth as a story that matters to a community, one that is

told and retold because it has a significance for one generation after another. Such a story may be

(in our terms) historical, pseudo-historical or totally fictitious, but if it matters enough to be retold, it

can count as a myth.” This view is not contradicted by the argument made by some scholars (e.g.

Cameron 2004: xii) that myth by this point had become something that an educated person was

supposed to know; in leaving out these myths about Rome, Apollodorus is still making a statement

about what matters, and what is worth knowing.

34. Ruiz Montero 1986 discusses narrative patterns in the Bibliotheca within a Proppian

framework, though the examination is more about Greek myth in general than about Apollodorus

in particular. I introduce these terms here not to construct a strict classification, but rather to be

as descriptive as possible when discussing these basic elements.


of crisis.35 While some of the accounts in Apollodorus follow this exact pattern

(though Dougherty’s use of the Bibliotheca as a source raises its own issues), with

a greater focus on the connections between Greeks and foreigners, there is not

always such a clear progression, and murder is less often the reason why people

leave one location to go to another.

Another feature common to the Bibliotheca and the colonization narratives is

that the foreign persons involved are more often female than male. As mentioned

above, the Bibliotheca is markedly patrilineal in its focus, differing in this way

from the Catalogue of Women, with which it is often linked. The role that the

union of Greek male with foreign woman plays in colonization narratives is also

relevant here: “within the rhetoric of Greek colonial discourse, marriage with

a local woman or nymph signals control of the land and all its occupants.”36

Conversely, when the Greek who goes abroad is a woman in the Bibliotheca, she

usually has a child by a god or demigod as opposed to a foreign resident, often

before going to the foreign place; Auge, for instance, bears Telephus to Heracles

before she goes to Mysia (3.9.1 [103]). The gods play a related role in these

patterns, for they appear frequently, often at the head of family trees—and they

are Greek gods who have affairs with Greek women. While Greek heroes—like

Heracles, Jason, and Perseus—have affairs with foreign women, the only mortal

women to sleep with gods are Greek women (i.e. born in Greece or of Greek

descent; see below). The union of god and mortal woman is one that belongs

generally to the center, whereas nymphs and other female divinities often (but not

always) occupy the periphery, where they mingle with mortal men. Thus, these

patterns reflect perceptions of gender as well as cultural egotism.

Perhaps the major difference between the two models of Greek-foreigner

interaction is that the colonial pattern is always centrifugal and terminal, for

Dougherty’s examination reveals that colonizers cannot return to the metropolis

even if they so choose.37 In the Bibliotheca, however, heroes like Heracles and

Jason return to Greece after being abroad, and second- (or later) generation people

also return, as the Danaids and Europa do. The role of children generally is more

important for the continuous genealogical narratives of the Bibliotheca than in

the colonization myths, so there is an inherent focus on multiple generations and

multiple movements in the former.

These multi-generational variants on the basic pattern take several forms. In a

particularly simple one, there is a union between Greek and foreigner that produces

children about whom Apollodorus says nothing more, as with Bellerophon’s as-

35. Dougherty 1993: 15–27 and Dougherty 1998. Like Dougherty, I am looking at these patterns

not as an accurate reflection of what “really” happened, but rather as evidence for the way some

Greeks—and Apollodorus in particular—may have viewed what had happened. On such myths, cf.

Erskine 2001: 131–35.

36. Dougherty 1993: 69; she also notes that imperialism can be presented as erotic conquest

(75). For a similar discussion of modern colonial discourse, see Pratt 1992.

37. Dougherty 1993: 36.


sumption of rule in Lycia. Bellerophon leaves Greece and settles in Lycia, marry-

ing the princess Philonoe and inheriting the kingdom when King Iobates dies (2.3.2

[33]). Apollodorus includes no reference to any children, and Bellerophon appears

to do nothing of note after this.38 His movement is centrifugal and terminal, for he

ends up in Lycia and does not appear to leave. All that matters for Apollodorus

is that Bellerophon becomes the ruler of Lycia after marrying the princess.

By contrast, Apollodorus connects the Greeks and Lydians through Heracles,

who does not stay to rule, but leaves behind a son ostensibly to do so:

� �Οµφ�λης δ� �Αγ�λαος, �θεν κα� τ� Κρο�σου γ�νος.

2.7.8 (165)

From Omphale he had Agelaus, whence comes the family of Croesus.39

Heracles goes to Lydia to serve the queen, Omphale, for three years to atone

for the murder of Iphitus (2.6.3 [131]) and establishes a genealogical connection.

Apollodorus does not mention this Agelaus again in the Bibliotheca, so he appears

here only to cement the link between Greeks and Lydians (and his name might

suggest his position as ruler). Apollodorus’ tracing of this connection all the way

down to Croesus, however, highlights two important points, one general and one

specific. On the general level, the foreign people in the Bibliotheca with whom

the Greeks make connections are almost always royalty, which facilitates a view

of them as conceptual representatives of a people. The focus of the Bibliotheca as

a whole is on the upper echelons of society, both politically and socially, and the

Greek figures on whom Apollodorus spends most of his time are often descendants

of gods and usually rulers, and their struggles involve important pieces of property

and political power.40 Political power, in fact, is one of the motivating factors for

movement in the Bibliotheca; as Dougherty notes, two people contending for one

throne generally means that one person will leave.41

On a specific level, the connection with Croesus in the passage about Lydia is

unusual because it refers to a much later time period; in general, Apollodorus

limits himself to the Heroic Age (i.e., up to the point at which the people who

38. At 3.1.1 (3), Apollodorus identifies Sarpedon as a son of Europa and Zeus, though he

acknowledges that Homer calls Sarpedon the son of Zeus and Laodameia, daughter of Bellerophon.

At E. 3.35, Glaucus is the son of Hippolochus, but Apollodorus does not make it clear (possibly

because this section is only in the epitome) that Hippolochus was a son of Bellerophon, at least

according to Homer (Il. 6.196–99).

39. The text is that of Scarpi 1996 (2000). All translations are my own.

40. This limited societal focus marks a clear distinction not only between the Bibliotheca and a

good deal of Hellenistic and Roman mythological literature, but also between Apollodorus and other

mythographers. The only exceptions to this focus are: Molorchus, a χερν"της who hosts Heracles

but has no genealogical connections (2.5.1 [74]); Eumaeus, an ο#κ�της who has no children (E. 7.32);

and Naucrate, a δο$λη of Minos and mother of Icarus, who is another genealogical dead-end (E.

1.12).

41. Dougherty 1993: 17. See also Olivi 1998, who examines patterns of transmission of royal

power in Argos, using the Bibliotheca as a test case.


fought at Troy die) and earlier times. Such a reference breaks the confines of the

narrative by making a chronological leap. It collapses the time between Heracles

and Croesus, much as aitia (of which genealogy is a type) in general do, because

they have a dual focus on the past and the relevant present. The reference to

Croesus, in particular, reflects upon a Greek perception of when the Lydians

were important, as well as myth’s ability to incorporate historical figures (though

I would not want to push any neat distinction between “myth” and “history”).

Croesus and Heracles are connected because Croesus is the most famous king

of the Lydians from a Greek perspective.42 What other Lydian king could possibly

descend from the union of Omphale and Heracles?43

This brief reference to Croesus also gives us a glimpse of the choices that

Apollodorus makes in constructing his genealogies, regardless of whether he is

altering received tradition or choosing the variant most in accord with his aims.

For instance, Apollodorus’ account directly contradicts Herodotus’ discussion of

the kings of Lydia:

% δ� %γεµον�η ο&τω περι*λθε, ο+σα �Ηρακλειδ�ων, ς τ� γ�νος τ�Κρο�σου, καλεοµ�νους δ� Μερµν�δας. 0ν Κανδα$λης, τ�ν ο1 �Ελλη-νες Μυρσ�λον 3νοµ�ζουσι, τ$ραννος Σαρδ�ων, 6π7γονος δ� �Αλκα�ουτο+ �Ηρακλ�ος.

Herodotus Histories 1.7

Rule, belonging to the Heracleidae, passed over to the race of Croesus,

called the Mermnadae, in this way: there was a man, Candaules, whom

the Greeks call Myrsilus, tyrant of Sardis, the offspring of Alcaeus, son of

Heracles.

What follows in Herodotus is the story of Gyges and Candaules’ wife, who

together take the power from the Heraclid Candaules, son of Myrsus. There is

a connection between Greece and Lydian royalty either way, but at stake is the

perceived importance of the foreigner involved.44 For Apollodorus, Croesus is the

42. Croesus entered Greek myth immediately after his death and came to occupy a privileged

position, especially as a dramatic figure, as, for example, in Ion of Chios (for his satyr play Omphale,

see TrGF 12 F 17a-33a). Croesus, of course, also occupies a key place in the first book of Herodotus’

Histories, in which he is said to be the first foreigner to subjugate Greeks (1.6.2–3). Georges 1994

discusses the depiction of Croesus by Herodotus (167–84) and Bacchylides (167–73), arguing that

Croesus is depicted as Greek by Bacchylides and then transformed back into a foreigner by Herodotus

(169).

43. It is odd that the connection between Pelops and Lydia does not appear in the Bibliotheca.

Though Tantalus is linked with Sipylus (3.5.6 [47]), Apollodorus nowhere states that Tantalus is

Pelops’ father and Pelops is even called “the Elean” at 2.5.1 (76). Unfortunately, the parts about

Pelops are in the epitomized section (E. 2.3–10), so something may have been lost, though they

do follow shortly on the section about the punishment of Tantalus (E. 2.1), possibly suggesting a

connection. To add to the confusion, something seems to be missing between E. 2.1 and E. 2.2; at the

very least, E. 2.2 seems out of place here.

44. Georges 1994: 171 with n. 10 discusses Croesus’ connection with the Lydian Heraclids, and

sees a common thread in these accounts: “Agelaus is recognizably a Hellenized form of Panyassis’


Lydian king, precisely because Croesus enjoyed the kind of literary Nachleben

that Candaules did not. The irony is that Herodotus’ memorable depiction of

Croesus may ultimately have influenced Apollodorus, leading Apollodorus to

contradict him by making Croesus and not Candaules the descendant of Heracles.

Furthermore, Apollodorus—true to form—omits the detail provided by Herodotus

(1.7.4) that the Heraclid line in Lydia starts with Heracles and a slave woman (cf.

Diodorus 4.31.8).

The examples of Bellerophon and Heracles also highlight another funda-

mental element of these patterns: both heroes arrive in foreign countries un-

der shameful circumstances (Heracles must atone for murder and Bellerophon

is—wrongfully—accused of adultery), yet they both demonstrate their valor by

subduing the locals’ enemies and performing other noteworthy deeds. While

Apollodorus is not clear in connecting these deeds with Omphale’s sleeping with

Heracles (perhaps because Heracles’ prowess is self-evident), Iobates’ approval

of Bellerophon (he was originally supposed to kill him) is based upon this demon-

stration of prowess (2.3.2 [33]). Despite arriving under negative circumstances,

both heroes help create new royal lines. The important roles that Greeks con-

tinually play among foreigners demonstrate the cultural egotism of Greek myth,

which represents—and creates at the same time—the self as central to all actions.

From a Greek perspective, it is only natural that Greeks should occupy positions

of power among foreigners. The prowess that allows them to have such influence

abroad is a marker of this cultural egotism.45 Exclusion from this type of equation

(i.e. inherent worth leads to influence abroad) suggests some deficiency, and the

way Apollodorus constructs the world of Greek mythology forces us also to read

the absence of the Romans along such lines.

Similar to the myth of Heracles and Omphale is that of Perseus and An-

dromeda, which results in a genealogical connection between Greeks and Persians.

Perseus, son of Zeus, goes into exile with his mother Danae and later in his travels

comes to Ethiopia, where Cepheus is king. By killing the sea monster to whom

Cepheus must sacrifice his daughter Andromeda, Perseus earns the right to marry

this princess, whom he takes back to Greece with him (2.4.3–4 [43–7]). While

they create a new line of rulers in Tiryns, they have one child before they return:

γ�νοντο δ� � �Ανδροµ�δας πα8δες α9τ:;, πρ�ν µ�ν λθε8ν ε#ς τ<ν�Ελλ�δα Π�ρσης, >ν παρ? Κηφε8 κατ�λιπεν (6π� το$του δ� το@ςΠερσ:ν βασιλ�ας λ�γεται γεν�σθαι).

2.4.5 (49)

Lydian ancestor Acheles or Acheletes (fr. 17 K), as is Herodotus’ alternative, Alcaeus (1.7.2.).”

This formulation, however, does not take into account the fact that Herodotus’ Alcaeus is not an

ancestor of Croesus.

45. There may of course be some historical basis for this pattern, as Herodotus shows Greeks

like Demaratus in advisory positions among the Persians. That this pattern is not completely “real”

even in Herodotus, however, is clear from the story of Solon’s meeting with Croesus, which is

historically inaccurate.


Children were born to him by Andromeda: Perses, before they went to

Greece, whom Perseus left with Cepheus (it is said that the kings of the

Persians descend from Perses).

As with Croesus, the Persian kings only become important later in Greek history

(i.e. long after the Heroic Age), so the same chronological collapse is at work

here; these two genealogies demonstrate how myth is synchronic, picking up on

key points from various times in history and merging them into one.

Like Heracles, Perseus returns to Greece, leaving behind a new, mixed

line, and as with the relation between Croesus and Heracles, Apollodorus offers

no details on how the Persian kings are descended from Perses. This lack of

detail accords with Apollodorus’ aim in focusing on a specific time period, but

the collapse of time is also necessary because otherwise the actual connection

between Heracles and Croesus would be very distant, extending through numerous

generations. Even the briefest possible sketch of such a lengthy family tree could

do nothing but emphasize the distance between these two figures. Apollodorus

cuts out the middle of the line to juxtapose the beginning and end, thereby giving

an impression of closeness.

Occasionally a linguistic component reinforces these genealogical connec-

tions. In the case of Perses, the similarity of the words Περσε$ς and Π�ρσαιsuggests a link, and the name Π�ρσης acts as an intermediary. This etymology

thus provides proof for the genealogy. According to this formulation, the Per-

sians’ name for themselves is “actually” a Greek word, as it derives from the

name of a famous Greek hero. This type of translation (in this case, of Persian

into Greek) reflects on the cultural specificity of myth, which creates a way of

understanding the world as revolving around the self. Persian dominance in the

Near East is thus mitigated and perhaps explained through its dependence on

Greece. A connection with Greece is a requirement for doing anything important

as well as an endorsement of these accomplishments.

This same type of linguistic reasoning appears also in more complex forms

of this general genealogical pattern, as in that involving Medea. Like Andromeda,

Medea comes to Greece as the bride of a Greek husband who had gone abroad,

but she has multiple relationships with Greeks. After she kills the children she

has with Jason, she flees to Athens, where she bears a son, Medus, to Aegeus,

king of Athens (1.9.28 [147]). She and her son are later exiled because of her

plot against Theseus; she returns to Colchis, but Medus does not:

6λλB οCτος µ�ν πολλ:ν κρατ"σας βαρβ�ρων τ<ν DφB Eαυτ�ν χFρανGπασαν Μηδ�αν κ�λεσε, κα� στρατευ7µενος π� �Ινδο@ς 6π�θανεI

1.9.28 (147)46

46. Apollodorus uses the word barbaroi about a half-dozen times, but other than this reference,

it only appears in the epitome, referring to the Trojans during the Trojan war.


But he, having becoming master of many barbaroi, called the whole land

Media after himself, and died while marching against the Indians.

As with Περσε$ς and Π�ρσαι, the similarity between Μ"δεια and Μηδ�α suggests

a connection, and again an intermediary, half-Greek figure is introduced.47 The

same etymological thinking is operative here, and a foreign name is written into

the context of Greek myth. The nature of these intermediary figures, Π�ρσης and

Μ*δος, highlights the logic of this genealogical approach, for these eponymous

figures—and not their parents—represent the connection between Greece and

the foreign country; a new foreign line (one of any importance, at least) cannot

spring only from Greek ancestry, but must represent some combination of Greek

and foreigner. Thus the Persian kings descend from Perses more directly than

Perseus, and the Medes are named after Medus, not Medea. The necessity of a

mixed ancestry for connecting Greece and foreign countries is fundamental to the

genealogical system of the Bibliotheca, and here the distinction between Medus

and the barbaroi highlights the difference between the partially Greek rulers and

the peoples they rule.

Location also plays a central role in these patterns, as the myth of Medea

makes clear. A new foreign line has to come into being in a foreign context;

thus, Medea and Medus are exiled from Greece and Perses is left behind in

Ethiopia. The children of Perseus and Andromeda in Greece are—for all intents

and purposes—Greek,48 and it is only Perses, specifically born before Perseus and

Andromeda go to Greece, who becomes a sort of foreigner. Similarly, children of

foreign women often die or are killed (without issue) in Greece, as is the case with

Medea’s children by Jason as well as Hippolytus, Theseus’ son by the Amazon

Hippolyta.49 These figures die and so present no threat to the Greek order in

Greece. In this way, Apollodorus maintains a double standard: it is permissible

for a Greek to go to a foreign country and create a union which provides a new royal

line in the area, but non-Greeks do not come to Greece and have the same effect.50

47. Cf. Herodotus 7.61–62, who mentions Perses but not Medus, saying that the Medes, by their

own account, took their name from Medea.

48. It is odd that Apollodorus does not explicitly connect Andromeda’s father Cepheus with

Belus, a descendant of Io. He does name one Cepheus (2.1.4 [117], attributing the name to Euripides)

as the son of Belus, and Herodotus (7.61) makes the connection explicit. If we suppose that

Apollodorus is suggesting this connection, then Andromeda is essentially a Greek returning to

Greece (a pattern I will discuss below), making her children—like the offspring of Danaus (of

whom Perseus is one)—perfectly Greek. If he is not suggesting this connection, then he would be

downplaying it to make sure that there is an evident foreign element along with the Greek in the

Persian royal line.

49. In this context, it is significant that Apollodorus does not mention Hippolytus’ later incarna-

tion, Virbius, of whom he could have known.

50. While it is difficult to make conclusions just on the basis of the epitomes, it is possible that

Apollodorus does not explicitly mention Pelops’ connection with Asia Minor in order not to have

a foreigner coming to Greece and exerting significant influence, in part by starting a royal line. Cf. n.

43.


A related variation on the pattern of a Greek going to a foreign country and

having a child centers on the martial exploits of the Greek figure who has a

child abroad whose name is related to the location involved, but whose mother

is a non-local woman. For example, Cadmus (to whom we will return below)

is a descendant of the Greek Io and founder of Thebes in Greece, and ends his

life in Illyria. I underline here the words involving Greek military success and

leadership:

J δ� Κ�δµος µετ? �Αρµον�ας Θ"βας κλιπLν �Εγχελ�ας παραγ�νεται.το$τοις δ� Dπ� �Ιλλυρι:ν πολεµουµ�νοις J θε�ς Mχρησεν �Ιλλυρι:νκρατ"σειν, ?ν %γεµ7νας Κ�δµον κα� �Αρµον�αν Mχωσιν. ο1 δ� πεισ -θ�ντες ποιο+νται κατ? �Ιλλυρι:ν %γεµ7νας το$τους κα� κρατο+σι. κα�βασιλε$ει Κ�δµος �Ιλλυρι:ν, κα� πα8ς �Ιλλυρι�ς α9τ:; γ�νεται.

3.5.4 (39)

Cadmus, having left Thebes with Harmonia, went to the Encheleans, to

whom the god prophesied when they were being attacked by the Illyrians

that they would gain power over the Illyrians if they had Cadmus and

Harmonia as leaders. Obeying the oracle they procured them as leaders

against the Illyrians and won. And Cadmus became king of the Illyrians

and a son Illyrius, was born to him.

Apollodorus does not explicitly name Illyrius’ mother (again showing his interest

in fathers), though the references to Cadmus’ wife Harmonia in this passage

suggest that she is the mother. At any rate, there is no genealogical connection

with a foreigner.

Before we draw conclusions from this particular myth, it is useful to adduce a

close parallel from the same region, Neoptolemus’ encounter with the Molossians:

Νεοπτ7λεµος δ� µε�νας ν Τεν�δω; δ$ο %µ�ρας Dποθ"καις τ*ς Θ�τιδοςε#ς Μολοσσο@ς πεζ*Q 6π"Qει µετ? �Ελ�νου, κα� παρ? τ<ν Jδ�ν 6πο-θαν7ντα Φο�νικα θ�πτει, κα� νικ"σας µ�χηQ Μολοσσο@ς βασιλε$ει,κα� � �Ανδροµ�χης γεννST Μολοσσ7ν.

E. 6.12–1351

Neoptolemus, having stayed in Tenedos for two days at the advice of

Thetis, went by foot with Helenus to the Molossians and buried Phoenix,

who died during the journey. Having conquered the Molossians in battle

he became king, and had Molossus by Andromache.

Andromache was Hector’s wife, and travels with Neoptolemus as his prize; she is

not local to the region.52 Likewise, the name Molossus is transparently derived

51. The numbering for the epitome is standard, though the two epitomes, S and E, sometimes

preserve different readings (see below). When following one or the other, I will specify either S

or E. For the nature of these epitomes and their differences, see Wagner 1926: xxv–xxxiii.

52. The position of the Trojans and their allies within Apollodorus’ system is not clear, in part

because the sections involving Troy fall in the epitomes. In the case of the Molossians, Andromache


from the name of the people (or region), as is Illyrius. Unlike Perses and Medus,

who serve as intermediaries in a Greek linguistic connection between existing

names of peoples and characters in Greek myth, the figures Molossus and Illyrius

are simple fictions; in these cases the genealogical relationship is particularly

important, because the connections do not arise simply from the names; i.e., it is

not obvious that Molossus should be the son of Cadmus in the way that Perses, the

ancestor of the Persians, could only be the son of Perseus.

The locations involved in these two myths highlight how these patterns

depend, in part, on the position—cultural and geographical—of the foreign

peoples involved. The Molossians and Illyrians, to the northwest of Greece,

occupy a different conceptual position than do the Persians or Egyptians, for

example. The above two myths are the only ones in the Bibliotheca to treat the

Molossians and Illyrians, a reflection of the perceived unimportance of these

peoples.53 They occupy a marginal position, and do not receive the amount

of attention that societies of greater interest to the Greeks do; they are the

equivalent of fly-over country on Apollodorus’ conceptual map. Accordingly,

the connection is slight and not genealogical in the same way. The Greeks

establish their authority through military means and create a new line completely

unrelated to the region, suggesting that the local people are not worthy of a

genealogical connection.54 And, though Apollodorus is not explicit on this point,

these names provide etymologies for the region and are all the more telling for

their seeming arbitrariness, having no link to the names of their parents. The

Molossians are so named because Neoptolemus just happened to name his son

Molossus. Apollodorus clearly has less interest in peoples with less perceived

cultural capital.

This cultural capital is only “cultural,” however, in the broadest sense of

the word, for Apollodorus has little interest in anything but the genealogies of

people in power and major events, like the sagas of Troy and the Argonauts.

While the Bibliotheca includes numerous etymologies (mostly eponyms) and

some aitia, it provides no consistent focus on scientific or artistic innovations.55

seems to stand in for a Greek woman. In any event, what is important is that she is not local to

the region.

53. The lack of attention to the Molossians may suggest the lengths to which Apollodorus might

go to avoid a connection with Rome. Like the Romans, the Molossians had their own connection

with Troy, through Helenus, and a tradition stated that Aeneas visited the area on his way to Italy (see

Erskine 2001: 122–24). Apollodorus only says of Helenus that he went to Molossia and founded

a city (unnamed), and that Neoptolemus gave him his mother, Deidameia, to marry (E. 6.13). The

focus in this section is clearly on Neoptolemus and Molossus. But cf. 2.7.3 (143), where Apollodorus

includes a specifically Molossian hound. Apollodorus mentions Illyria briefly elsewhere, when some

of the Colchians colonize the nearby Apsyrtides islands (1.9.25 [137]) and when Io (2.1.3 [7]) and

Heracles (2.5.11 [114]) pass through, neither leaving a mark of any sort.

54. Strabo 7.7.8 stresses in his history of the region that Cadmus and Neoptolemus were outsiders

whose descendants came to rule in this area.

55. See now the useful indices compiled by Cremonesi 2000, who includes only seventeen

instances under the category “protoeurematologia” (6.4), even casting the net a bit wide.


In this way Apollodorus differs from other mythographers, like Hyginus, who

includes fabulae about the institution of games (273) and various inventions

(274), or Antoninus Liberalis, who ends almost every myth with an aition.56

Accordingly, we should be careful when using the Bibliotheca as a source for

these types of myth, and their absence marks another way in which this collection

is not “complete”; Apollodorus is clearly more interested in some types of myth

than others. He occasionally touches on such matters, but his focus on foreign

peoples does not revolve around them; while other contributions might influence

Apollodorus’ perception of a foreign people, in the context of his narrative these

peoples are marked only by their political sway and “power,” broadly defined.

There is similarly little ethnography in the Bibliotheca and little descriptive

distinction between the peoples involved; while these peoples have genealogical

connections with the Greeks, Apollodorus says little about their characteristics

or the places they inhabit. The exceptions are the Scythians and Amazons, on

whose differing customs Apollodorus remarks, thereby marking them as outside

his normal field of discussion.57

This lack of ethnography as well as a general absence of interest in topics

like πρ:τοι εDρετα� reveal the limits of Apollodorus’ focus. The Bibliotheca is a

systematic treatment of genealogies, punctuated by longer narratives involving

a particular hero or saga. A main focus is on the connections between the Greeks

and their more important (from a Greek perspective) neighbors, a focus that draws

attention to the absence of the Romans in this account. Accordingly, Apollodorus

provides more complex versions of these genealogical patterns for connections

with especially prominent peoples from the ancient world. And, while many of

these genealogies long predate the Bibliotheca, it is Apollodorus’ collection and

organization of them that allow us to look at them as part of a purposeful system.

It is worth concluding this section by examining at length an example of

the multigenerational, circular movements that involve Greeks going abroad,

establishing genealogical connections in key countries, and having descendants

who return to Greece to play significant roles. Many of the figures who enact

this pattern belong to the Inachid stemma, which occupies all of Book Two and

a large portion of Book Three, and revolves primarily around Argos.58 The first

56. Again, it is the systematic nature of the Bibliotheca that might lead us to look for such

things. Other mythographers pursue different themes, so we can see the lack or profusion of aitia as a

personal choice. Parthenius, for instance, is rather stingy with aitia, for they have little bearing on his

love stories; Antoninus Liberalis, on the other hand, with his focus on metamorphoses, is full of

aitia.

57. At 2.5.9 (98), in the context of Heracles’ ninth labor, he gives a brief account of who the

Amazons are and mentions their habit of disfiguring their right breasts in order to shoot a bow. E.

6.26 (S) refers to the Scythian—specifically Taurian—practice of sacrificing foreigners. Both of

these practices were well known before Apollodorus.

58. West 1985: 144–45 contrasts the Deucalionid and Inachid stemmata in the Hesiodic Cat-

alogue and notes that the latter differs by being connected with numerous foreign countries. He

goes on to suggest that the “Argive genealogy must once have existed without the haphazard foreign


part of the genealogy that interests us depends on Io’s wanderings. Apollodorus

narrates the story of Io’s metamorphosis and subsequent flight in much the same

way they appear in Aeschylus (PV 561–886), and she is paradigmatic of the Greek

connection with foreign lands, as even her wanderings provide a map of the world,

the places of which get their present names from Greek undertakings:

% δ� πρ:τον Uκεν ε#ς τ�ν 6πB κε�νης �Ι7νιον κ7λπον κληθ�ντα,Mπειτα δι? τ*ς �Ιλλυρ�δος πορευθε8σα κα� τ�ν ΑVµον Dπερβαλο+σαδι�βη τ�ν τ7τε µ�ν καλο$µενον π7ρον Θρ�Tκιον, ν+ν δ� 6πB κε�νηςΒ7σπορον. 6πελθο+σα δ� ε#ς Σκυθ�αν κα� τ<ν Κιµµερ�δα γ*ν, πολλ<νχ�ρσον πλανηθε8σα κα� πολλ<ν διανη�αµ�νη θ�λασσαν Ε9ρFπης τεκα� �Ασ�ας, τελευτα8ον Uκεν ε#ς ΑXγυπτον.

2.1.3 (7–8)

She went first into the gulf called “Ionian” after her, and then traveling

through Illyria and crossing the Haemus she crossed the ford then called

Thracian and now called Bosporus (“Cow-ford”) after her. Having gone

to Scythia and the Cimmerian land, having wandered over a lot of land

and swum across a lot of sea of Europe and Asia, at last she came to

Egypt.

In Egypt, Io bears Zeus’ son, Epaphus, then has to embark on a second journey—

this time to Syria—to find him when Hera has him abducted. Returning to Egypt,

she marries Telegonus, king of the Egyptians (who has a clearly Greek name),

whom Epaphus succeeds. Io’s long travels, which connect a larger geographical

area through names, at least, culminate in her becoming queen and then her son’s

becoming king of Egypt, that most prominent of ancient places in the Greek

view.59

The family tree of Io’s descendants on the following page (based on 2.1.4

[10–11] and 3.1.1 [2]) will help situate the figures relevant for the following

discussion as well as highlight the transparency of some of their names.60 A

variation of the main pattern here is that some of the local women (both Memphis

and Anchinoe) are children of a god, in this case the Nile, imagined as a deity. The

local partners, when not explicitly royalty, are necessarily somehow divine. Thus,

the only Egyptian human in the stemma, Telegonus, king of Egypt at the time

of Io’s arrival, has no genealogical connection with the subsequent rulers.61

attachments; a genealogist who aimed from the start to link the different nations would have treated

Greece as a unity.” This is precisely what Apollodorus does. On the modern book divisions, see

Drager 2005: 844.

59. For the Greek fascination with Egypt, see esp. Vasunia 2001 and Stephens 2003. Book 2

of Herodotus is the locus classicus for this fascination, on which see Georges 1994: 186–94.

60. For possible earlier versions of this family tree, see West 1985: 76–78.

61. The only person in this stemma whose origins Apollodorus leaves blank is Telephassa, wife

of Agenor and mother of Europa, Cadmus, Phoenix, and Cilix. Only Moschus (2.39–41) provides an

ancestry for her, making her the daughter of Libya and Poseidon. On her appearance in Moschus

and her genealogy, see Paschalis 2003: 155–56.


Telegonus Io Zeus Nile

Epaphus Memphis

Poseidon Libya

Telephassa Agenor Belus Anchinoe

Europa Cadmus Phoenix Cilix Danaus Aegyptus (Cepheus Phrixus)62

........................................

........................................

........................................

.....................

The geographical associations of several of these names are clear, especially

those that suggest connections with Egypt. While Apollodorus often includes

eponymous figures for relatively minor locations in Greece (e.g. Athamas founds

Athamantia [1.9.2 (84)]),63 the foreign people are generally associated with well-

known locations, so here Memphis establishes an easy link with one of the most

famous cities of Egypt; similarly, the Nile, as the most famous landmark in Egypt,

is the likeliest parent. Some of the names of the foreigners, however, are clearly

Greek, such as Telegonus, Anchinoe, and Telephassa. When place names do

not dictate specific names for people, the names are Greek, revealing the extent

to which these genealogies are specifically Greek constructions. The core may

represent some actual sense of the foreign, but the rest of the apparatus is clearly

artificial and Greek.

While the purpose of this discussion is not to discern what these myths “mean”

or what amount of “truth” they preserve, this is a fitting time to reiterate some

earlier claims. The focus here on the cultural specificity of myth does not mean

that the roles foreign peoples play in myth are completely fictional nor that they

are always forced upon them as part of some imperial project. That the Greeks

were influenced in their myth-making by their neighbors is undeniable, as is their

general cultural debt to these same neighbors.64 The existence of this debt is

not in question, and its extent is irrelevant here, where the aim is to explore the

perception of this debt as preserved in mythology many centuries later and what

this perception says about the process of writing Greek myth under the Roman

Empire. Genealogy is, after all, about relationships and codifying them in terms

of near and far.

These genuine contacts between Greeks and their neighbors are especially

important for this particular stemma, the Inachid line, as it is thought to preserve

62. Apollodorus adds these last two names essentially in parentheses, attributing them to

Euripides (fr. 873 Nauck).

63. For a list of the eponyms in the Bibliotheca, see Cremonesi 2000 s.v. “eponimia” (6.1.1).

64. For varying opinions on the degree of this debt and ways to assess it, see—among others—

Bernal 1987, 1991, 2001, Lefkowitz and Rogers 1996, and West 1997.


actual foreign elements, visible in some of the names of the people involved.

Belus, the father of Danaus and Aegyptus, seems to have some connection to

the Semitic deity Ba’al, who appears in various places in the Mediterranean and

whose name means “lord.”65 The names Cadmus and Europa, too, have plausible

Semitic etymologies, suggesting that these figures developed elsewhere or—if

in Greece—among people of foreign descent, or at least people who had heard

Semitic names.66 Agenor, whose name is clearly Greek, is paired with Belus, and

they serve as placeholders in this genealogy; their only significance is their names

and, as brothers, they appropriately represent the two halves of this genealogy,

as do Belus’ sons, Danaus and Aegyptus.67 In both pairs, there is a name that

recalls Greece and one that recalls a foreign land.

It is with these children of Belus and Agenor that a new extension of

the pattern begins to appear. These lines, it is necessary to stress, are very

much Greek; not only is their ancestor, Epaphus, entirely Greek, but all of

the non-Greeks involved in the stemma are divine in some sense. For all of

the focus on Egypt, there is little actual connection with the Egyptians. Of this

generation of children, Cadmus and Danaus are most famous, for they return

to Greece and their descendants play important roles there. It is this circular,

multigenerational aspect of the stemma that highlights the hellenocentrism of

the genealogizing project. This phenomenon has not gone unnoticed; as West

states:

The yoking of Aegyptus and Danaus together as brothers reflects the

desire to put the Danaoi of Greek heroic tradition on a par with the

ancients of Egypt, and the willingness to believe (as many classical writers

believed) in an oriental contribution to early Greek civilization. Egypt’s

claims to primacy, however, are countered by the consideration that the

brothers’ great-great-grandmother came from Argos in the first place.68

Hall is even more succinct:

These genealogies are, however, actually profoundly ethnocentric from a

Hellenic point of view, for they seek to trace the origin of all peoples

of the world back to Greek gods and heroes.69

Hall correctly notes that these genealogies are ethnocentric (as I have shown)

but goes too far in asserting that they function as part of a desire to make all

peoples Greek. I suggest instead that each such connection in the Bibliotheca,

65. West 1997: 442, 446.

66. On these etymologies, see most recently West 1997: 448–51.

67. West 1997: 446: “They are not credited with any deeds; they are merely links in a

genealogical series.”

68. West 1997: 446. Cf. Aesch. Suppl. 274–326, where the Danaids prove that they are Argive

because of their descent from Io, and thus have returned “home.”

69. Hall 1996: 339.


at least, represents a degree of approbation of the foreign people. Similarly, in

Hall’s formulation, this can seem one-sided, with the foreign peoples receiving

no benefit, but it is possible that some of these genealogical connections may have

come from the foreign peoples themselves in their dealings with the Greeks, as

possibly with the Persians.70 When these connections were first established, they

may not have been so imperialistic, since they were part of a shared language

of diplomacy.71 It is Apollodorus’ preservation of them, however, that represents

a new one-sidedness; the inhabitants of Persia in Apollodorus’ day can claim

no political benefit from a Greek connection with Persia’s kings, especially con-

sidering the decrease in importance of kinship for diplomacy under the Roman

Empire.72 Even if Apollodorus were copying all his myths verbatim from earlier

sources, it would still be his decision to present what he does, the way he does,

and—perhaps most of all—when he does that requires a reading of this work on

its own terms.

ITALY AND ROME73

In light of the systematic nature of genealogy in the Bibliotheca, the near-

complete absence of Italy is striking, especially since this exclusion represents a

conscious choice, depending neither on Apollodorus’ sources nor his opportunities

to include such material. While Apollodorus generally cites earlier sources

(Archaic and Classical), such a preference does not explain his omission of Italy

and Rome. Among sources we know Apollodorus uses (directly or indirectly),

Hellanicus, for example, treated Italy, providing an account of the founding

of Rome.74 Numerous other Greek authors discussed Rome’s origins before

the time of Apollodorus, such as the relatively early Antiochus Syracusanus

and Damastes Sigeus (both fifth century), as well as later authors like Conon,

Dionysius of Halicarnassus, and Plutarch, of whom the first two at least are earlier

70. Georges 1994: 67–71.

71. Georges 1994: 48, 66–69. See generally the valuable study of Jones 1999 and now Gruen

2006.

72. See Jones 1999: 107, who argues that such diplomacy came to matter only in dealing with

Rome and not at all in matters between other states.

73. Scarpi 1999 is the primary examination of Apollodorus’ treatment of Italy. My approach

differs from his in focusing on Apollodorus’ creation of a whole system of genealogies. Similarly,

I disagree with Scarpi’s argument (6–7) that Rome did not offer many myths to a writer like

Apollodorus. Scarpi also does not address the references to Italy in the epitomes, as he considers

their relation to the rest of the Bibliotheca uncertain (2, 14). As I hope to show, even if we accept

the epitomes as genuine, our view of Apollodorus’ treatment of Italy does not significantly change.

Drager 2005: 850–51 suggests that the lack of references to Rome and Italy are unproblematic

because of “der genetisch fruhen Zeit der Bibliotheke.”

74. Hellanicus FGrH 4 F 84 refers to the founding of Rome and F 111 is about the naming

of Italy. For Apollodorus’ use of Hellanicus Lesbius (whom he never explicitly names), see van

der Valk 1958: 134–43; but cf. Drager 2005: 883 n. 46. On Apollodorus’ possible distance from

the sources he cites, see Cameron 2004: 93–104. Cf. Kylintirea 2002.


than Apollodorus.75 To explain this omission of Italy and Rome by referring to

Apollodorus’ sources in particular is thus not possible, for earlier Greek writers

treating similar topics included these places.

In addition to having potential sources, Apollodorus had numerous oppor-

tunities to include information about Italy and Rome. Heracles had connections

with Italy and Rome from early on, and so afforded Apollodorus a way to include

these areas.76 Two Greek authors, both earlier than Apollodorus, reveal the mul-

tiple links Heracles had with Italy: Dionysius of Halicarnassus (1.39–44) cites

numerous authors to discuss these connections, thereby providing an indication of

their antiquity;77 Diodorus Siculus (4.20–22) shows just how many opportunities

Heracles’ time in Italy offered an author willing to exploit them. According to

Dionysius and his sources, Heracles had important links with Italy from when

he went there on his return to Greece with the cattle of Geryon. He had sons

Pallas, by a daughter of Evander (an Arcadian colonist who provides another link

to Greece), and Latinus, by an unnamed Hyperborean girl (RA 1.43.1). Diodorus

builds on this same adventure.78

Because this trip to Italy comes during one of Heracles’ labors, Apollodorus

includes it, but he avoids any connection with Rome and any genealogical

connection at all:79

δι? Τυρρην�ας YQει. 6π� �Ρηγ�ου δ� εVς 6πορρ"γνυσι τα+ρος, κα�ταχ�ως ε#ς τ<ν θ�λασσαν µπεσLν κα� διανη��µενος ⟨ε#ς⟩ Σικελ�αν,κα� τ<ν πλησ�ον χFραν διελθLν τ<ν 6πB κε�νου κληθε8σαν �Ιταλ�αν(Τυρρηνο� γ?ρ #ταλ�ν τα+ρον κ�λεσαν), 0λθεν ε#ς πεδ�ον _Ερυκος,>ς βασ�λευσεν �Ελ$µων.

2.5.10 (109–10)80

75. Antiochus Syracusanus FGrH 555 F 5–6; Damastes Sigeus FGrH 5 F 3; Conon Diegeseis

46, 48; Dionysius of Halicarnassus Roman Antiquities Book 1; Plutarch Life of Romulus. This list

is meant to be representative rather than complete. For an overview of early Greek references to

the founding of Rome and Rome’s connection with Troy, see Gruen 1992: 6–32. Cf. Bickerman

1952: 65, with n. 2; Erskine 2001.

76. On Apollodorus’ Heracles, see Scarpi 1998 and Scarpi 1999: 9–12.

77. Smith 1981: 25–45 discusses Dionysius’ treatment of early Rome and his sources, with

a focus on the information about Aeneas (cf. Horsfall 1979). Cameron 2004: 31 notes that Dionysius

cites more sources in Book 1 than later books because of the need to prove claims about more distant

time periods. For my purposes, it is enough to note that these myths long predate Apollodorus.

78. Another connection with Heracles is his granddaughter Rhome, daughter of his son Telephus,

after whom Rome is named (Plut. Rom. 2.1). For a collection of etymologies for the name of Rome,

see Maltby 1991 s.v. “Roma.”

79. Frazer 1921: 216 n. 5 notes that “It is somewhat singular that Apollodorus passes so lightly

over the exploits of Hercules in Italy, and in particular that he says nothing about those adventures in

Rome, to which the Romans attached so much significance.” Cf. Scarpi 1999: 7–8.

80. Some editors omit τ<ν 6πB κε�νου...κ�λεσαν, and most bracket it, including Scarpi. While

texts such as the Bibliotheca are prone to interpolation, Huys 1998: 125–27 argues convincingly

for this section—and others like it—being genuine. Were this section removed, though, there would

be even less about Italy in the Bibliotheca.


[Heracles] went through Tyrrhenia. One bull broke away (aporregnusi)

from Rhegium, and quickly fell into the sea and swam to Sicily. Having

crossed the neighboring land—called Italy from this (for the Tyrrheni

called a bull an italos)—it came to the field of Eryx, who ruled the Elymi.

There is no mention here or anywhere else in the Bibliotheca of Evander, though

he is undoubtedly Greek. Heracles does not meet a local woman as he does on

so many other occasions, but leaves once he recovers the bull by wrestling Eryx.81

Beyond the naming of Italy (and the allusion to the etymology for Rhegium),

Heracles’ trip leaves no lasting mark.82 Heracles’ search for a lost bull provides

the country with its name, suggesting that the land only becomes important and

needs a name when it is relevant for the Greeks. This etymology of “Italy”

(which also appears in Hellanicus FGrH 4 F 111) at the same time contradicts the

story of an eponymous Italus (already in the fifth-century Antiochus Syracusanus

FGrH 555 F 5).83 While the word “Italy” is still local, it derives its significance

only from a connection with Greece. And, as Apollodorus implies, the name of

Rhegium is also Greek.84 Heracles’ adventures produce names, but he establishes

no genealogical connections.

This lack of genealogical information is especially surprising in relation to

Heracles, since Apollodorus provides a list of sixty-nine of Heracles’ sons (no

daughters, though admittedly Heracles has very few by any account) at 2.7.7–8

(160–66). While Apollodorus does not generally include genealogical information

during the course of Heracles’ labors, there are names in this list that suggest

certain episodes, like his relationship with Epicaste, daughter of Augeas and

by Heracles mother of Thestalus, and Parthenope, daughter of Stymphalus and

mother of Everes (2.7.8 [166]). Similarly, in this list Apollodorus mentions

children from episodes already treated, though where he had not originally

mentioned any children, like the son by Omphale, and the son by Astydameia,

daughter of Amyntor. Because Apollodorus pays so much attention to Heracles’

children (his sons, at least), the omission of any from the west—not only those

in Italy but also Celtus, eponymous ancestor of the Celts—is glaring.85

81. On Apollodorus’ cursory treatment of Eryx and the potential there for including Rome and

Carthage, see Scarpi 1999: 10–11. On the connection of Venus Erycina and Rome, see Erskine

2001: 198–205, who sees the link as fostered by the Sicilians and of little importance in Rome.

Apollodorus’ project, of course, means contradicting many Greeks who wanted to establish a bond

with Rome through myth.

82. On this naming, see Scarpi 1999: 9–10, who notes that this is the only time “Italy” appears

other than in the epitomes.

83. For Italus, cf. Arist. Pol. 7.9.2; Verg. Aen. 7.177–82; Aul. Gell. 11.1.1.

84. On Apollodorus’ etymologies, see briefly Robert 1873: 6, who distinguishes between ones

where Apollodorus is explicit and others, like the one for Rhegium, that are not as apparent.

85. For Celtus, cf. Parth. Erot. Path. 30. On just how widespread mythical connections between

the Greeks and Celts were, see Lightfoot 1999: 531–33. The Celts only appear in the Bibliotheca

when the Argonauts sail by at 1.9.24 (134), which is also the only reference to Ausonia, as the

home of Circe. The Ligurians, too, appear only here, and then Heracles passes through Liguria at


Odysseus, too, had a claim to a share in the mythic history of the area around

Rome by the fifth century if not already by the sixth. He was connected with the

Tyrrhenians at Theogony 1011–16, where he is also said to be by Circe the father

of the suggestively named Latinus.86 As regards Rome specifically, according to

Dionysius, Damastes Sigeus (FGrH 5 F 3 = Dio. Hal. RA 1.72.2) agrees with

Hellanicus (FGrH 4 F 84) that Odysseus came with Aeneas to found the city.87

Other, later authors are more specific: Xenagoras (FGrH 240 F 29 = Dio. Hal. RA

1.72.5) names Rhomus, eponymous founder of Rome, as a son of Odysseus and

Circe; Plutarch mentions a Trojan woman named Rhome who marries Latinus,

son of Odysseus’ son Telemachus, and their child is Romulus (Rom. 2.3). By

Apollodorus’ time, Odysseus had a clear connection with Italy and Rome for a

Greek author wishing to use it.88

Odysseus occupies a unique position in the Bibliotheca as the only hero

whose nostos receives detailed description; it takes up the entire seventh (and

final) section of the epitome, but despite its length does not include Italy at

all. Epitome 7 (only in S) primarily summarizes Homer’s Odyssey, omitting

very little but adding several episodes, mostly subsequent to the end of that

poem, up to Odysseus’ death, which marks the end of the Bibliotheca. The ba-

sic narrative from Homer, which occupies E. 7.1–33, includes no reference to

Odysseus in Italy, though he and Calypso have a son Latinus at E. 7.24, about

whom Apollodorus says nothing more. In sections 34–40, Odysseus follows

Teiresias’ instructions on how to propitiate Poseidon and goes to Thesprotia.

There he meets the queen and has a son, Polypoetes, whom he leaves behind

as ruler (E. 7.34–35). This pattern is common enough (though we might have

expected Odysseus’ son here to have been named Thesprotus). Then Telegonus,

Odysseus’ son by Circe, comes to Ithaca, where he inadvertently kills his fa-

ther and then marries Penelope; Circe sends both of them to the Isles of the

Blessed (E. 7.35–37). Apollodorus finishes this section with variant versions of

the Odysseus and Penelope story (mostly about her infidelity), though none of

these mentions Italy. Apollodorus consciously ignores another opportunity to

include Rome.

For an author writing in the second or third century of this era, Aeneas pro-

vided perhaps the most obvious connection to Italy, though here, too, Apollodorus

2.5.10 (109) where, as Frazer 1921: 114–15 notes, Apollodorus could have included much more

information.

86. West 1966: 436 dates these lines to the middle of the sixth century and before 510.

87. On this reference to Hellanicus, see Solmsen 1986. In citing this controversial passage,

I am interested only in showing that the connection between Odysseus and Rome existed well

before Apollodorus’ time, and not in making any claims about the development or extent of this

connection.

88. Though no extant fragments suggest that Livius Andronicus’ translation of the Odyssey

added anything to the end of the poem, it is tempting to think that he may have somehow referred

to Odysseus’ connection with Italy or even Rome, in part explaining his choice of that particular

work for translation.


is silent.89 In the Bibliotheca, Aeneas appears as the son of Aphrodite and An-

chises (3.12.2 [141]) and as an ally of the Trojans (E. 3.34 [E]), but Apollodorus

only narrates two events involving Aeneas during the war, both from the Iliad:

Achilles takes his cattle (E. 3.32 [E]), and Diomedes wounds Aphrodite while

she is trying to save her son (E.4.1 [E]).90 Of what happens to Aeneas at the end of

the war, Apollodorus says only that

Α#νε�ας δ� �Αγχ�σην τ�ν πατ�ρα βαστ�σας Mφυγεν, ο1 δ� �Ελληνεςα9τ�ν δι? ε9σ�βειαν εXασιν.

E. 5.21 (E)

Aeneas fled, carrying his father Anchises; the Greeks let him go on

account of his piety.

This is the last appearance of Aeneas in the Bibliotheca and Apollodorus never

mentions any of his offspring, not even in the flight from Troy.91 Nor does

Apollodorus tell of Aeneas going to Italy. At the same time, Apollodorus does not

include any of the versions of the myth that depict Aeneas as a traitor, allowed by

the Greeks to leave Troy because of his services to them.92 Aeneas, in the context

of the Bibliotheca, is simply a genealogical dead-end, despite the prophecy about

his descendants at Il. 20.293–308 and subsequent similar literature. The reference

to Aeneas’ piety is only the merest nod to his importance after the Trojan War, but

even that need not suggest a connection with Rome; Aeneas was pious already

in Homer.93 Apollodorus, we should note, is not explicitly anti-Roman, but rather

decides to ignore the Romans without drawing attention to doing so, as if they

do not even deserve such mention.

Were Apollodorus simply following earlier sources, he would have found the

Greek traditions about Rome and Italy which fit his program in the Bibliotheca.

His exclusion of these genealogical connections suggests that he chose not to use

them, and this choice leaves Rome off the conceptual map of the Greek world in the

89. See Horsfall 1987 on the development of the Aeneas myth. Though we know less about

the origin and use of Aeneas’ connection with Italy and Rome, we know that it long predates

Apollodorus.

90. On the sections where Apollodorus overlaps with Homer’s accounts, see van Rossum-

Steenbeek 1998: 26–30, 70–72.

91. Scarpi 1999: 12 discusses the possible ramifications of the fact that only the Vatican epitome

(E) mentions Aeneas here, as well as Menelaus and Odysseus’ saving of Antenor’s sons.

92. On this supposed treason, see Horsfall 1987: 14, who says that “Aeneas’ alleged treason

results from an over-attentive and imaginative reading of Homer. . . . The ‘treason’ belongs firmly in

the world of sensationalist or propagandistic historiography.” This version is found in Acusilaus

FGrH 2 F 39. Apollodorus often cites Acusilaus, so it is possible that he may have had access to

this version, directly or indirectly. For Apollodorus’ use of Acusilaus, see Drager 2005: 883–85.

93. Horsfall 1987: 13–14 is a good treatment of the contested issue of how far back Aeneas’

piety goes. Cf. Smith 1981: 31. The earliest reference to Aeneas’ eusebeia is Xen. Cyn. 1.15, in 391

BCE (though some have argued that this work should be dated as late as the Second Sophistic). For a

fuller account of the Greeks letting Aeneas leave out of respect for his piety, see Quint. Smyrn.

13.300–53.


Bibliotheca. Thus Rome is absent here, despite its special position in the ancient

world; it could—and did—claim kinship both with Troy (as in the version made

famous by Vergil) and with Greece. This multiple kinship, which the Romans

used to their advantage, was originally made by the Greeks, for a purpose similar

to that of the Bibliotheca: to bring a foreign power into a Greek context.94 As

Gruen observes, “the Greeks imposed the Trojan legend upon the West as a form

of Hellenic cultural imperialism, only to see it appropriated by the westerner to

define and convey a Roman cultural identity.”95 The former approach is evident,

for example, in Dionysius of Halicarnassus (RA 1.5.2), who expressly intends to

show that the Romans were descended from the best sort of Greeks so that the

Greeks can accept the domination of the Romans. By making the Romans Greek,

Dionysius authorizes their rise to power and influence over the Greeks. This is one

approach that Greeks under Rome could take; that of Apollodorus is another. His

omission of Rome from the Greek genealogical map of the Bibliotheca reflects

an awareness of this appropriation and a response to it, likely aimed at the Greeks

who may have been tempted to use it.96

But perhaps it is too much to expect Apollodorus to include Rome itself, since

he only covers the time up to the death of Odysseus, well before the founding of

the city. And yet Apollodorus also only rarely refers to Italy in his section on the

aftermath of the Trojan War, a time in which—as we know from numerous other

sources—many Greek heroes found their way to Italy. Apollodorus’ references to

Italy in this section fill only a very small paragraph, which differs significantly

in the two epitomes; I include both for the sake of comparison:

�Οτι πλανηθ�ντες �Ελληνες `λλοι 6λλαχο+ κατ�ραντες κατοικο+σιν,ο1 µ�ν ε#ς Λιβ$ην, ο1 δ� ε#ς �Ιταλ�αν, ε#ς Σικελ�αν bτεροι, τιν�ς δ� πρ�ςτ?ς πλησ�ον �Ιβηρ�ας ν"σους, `λλοι παρ? τ�ν Σαγγ�ριον ποταµ7νI ε#σ�δ� οc κα� Κ$προν d;κησαν.

E. 6.15 (E)

Having wandered, some Greeks put in and settled some places, some

others, some in Libya, some in Italy, others in Sicily, some on the islands

near Iberia, and others by the Sangarion river. There are also those who

settled on Cyprus.

τ:ν δ� ναυαγησ�ντων περ� τ�ν Καφηρ�α `λλος 6λλαχ* φ�ρεται,Γουνε@ς µ�ν ε#ς Λιβ$ην, _Αντιφος δ� J Θεσσαλο+ ε#ς Πελασγο@ς

94. Jones 1999: 81–93 shows how the Romans took advantage of their dual kinship by choosing

which kinship to stress in which diplomatic situation. The Greeks, too, could pick and choose which

connection they would stress depending on their aims with the Romans (84).

95. Gruen 1992: 31; see also 44–46. For a different view of the situation, see Erskine 2001.

96. Erskine 2001 argues that Rome’s connection with Troy was emphasized more by Greek

cities than Rome itself (at least until Augustus), so Apollodorus may have been more interested in

convincing his Greek readers than in trying to make a statement to the Romans themselves. For some

of the ways that Greeks could speak to other Greeks under the Empire, see Veyne 1999, who uses Dio

Chrysostom’s Oration to the Rhodians (oration 31) as a touchstone.


κα� ⟨τ<ν⟩ χFραν κατασχLν Θεσσαλ�αν κ�λεσεν, J δ� Φιλοκτ"τηςπρ�ς �Ιταλ�αν ε#ς Καµπανο$ς, Φε�διππος µετ? τ:ν ΚF;ων ν _Ανδρω;;κατF;κησαν, �Αγαπ"νωρ ν Κ$πρω;, κα� `λλος 6λλαχο+.

E. 6.15 (S)

After they had shipwrecked near Caphareus, each was carried a different

direction: Gouneus into Libya; Antiphus the son of Thessalus into the

land of the Pelasgians, who taking the land called it Thessaly; Philoctetes

went to Italy, in Campania; and Pheidippus settled in Andrus with the

Coans; Agapenor went to Cyprus; and others went other places.

The Vatican epitome (E) provides a basic overview of places involved, while

the Sabbaiticus epitome (S) offers more details, including the names of the

individual Greeks involved. Neither offers much information about Italy beyond

S’s reference to Philoctetes, and there is no information about genealogy or other

local connections. And, other than the reference during Heracles’ trip, this is the

only passage in the Bibliotheca to mention Italy.

This lack of detail could be the result of epitomization, and editors of Apol-

lodorus since Wagner include after this section three paragraphs (called E. 6.15a-c)

from Tzetzes’ commentary on Lycophron’s Alexandra.97 These additional pas-

sages include a little more information about Philoctetes in Italy, though at least

part of this comes (at what remove we cannot tell) from Euphorion, whom Tzetzes

cites. Only the last of these three paragraphs provides any additional information

of significance about Italy:

Να$αιθος: ποταµ7ς στιν �Ιταλ�αςI κλ"θη δ� ο&τω κατ? µ�ν �Απολλ7-δωρον κα� το@ς λοιπο$ς, �τι µετ? τ<ν �Ιλ�ου Gλωσιν α1 Λαοµ�δοντοςθυγατ�ρες, Πρι�µου δ� 6δελφα� ΑXθυλλα �Αστυ7χη Μηδεσικ�στη µετ?τ:ν λοιπ:ν α#χµαλωτ�δων κε8σε γεγονυ8αι τ*ς �Ιταλ�ας, ε9λαβο$-µεναι τ<ν ν τ*Q �Ελλ�δι δουλε�αν τ? σκ�φη ν�πρησαν, �θεν Jποταµ�ς Να$αιθος κλ"θη κα� α1 γυνα8κες Ναυπρ"στιδεςI ο1 δ� σ@να9τα8ς �Ελληνες 6πολ�σαντες τ? σκ�φη κε8 κατF;κησαν.

E. 6.15c = Schol. ad Lyc. 921

The Nauaethus is a river in Italy. It is called this, according to Apollodorus

and the rest, because after the capture of Troy, the daughters of Laomedon

(and sisters of Priam), Aethylla, Astyoche, Medesicaste, coming to that

part of Italy with the other captive women, worried about their slavery in

Greece, burnt the ships, whence the river is called the Nauaethus (“Ship-

blazing”) and the women Nauprestides (“Ship-burners”). The Greeks

with them, having lost their ships, settled there.

Dionysius (RA 1.72.2–4) provides a group of similar stories, citing Hellanicus,

Damastes Sigeus, and Aristotle for the variants, and he himself connects the

97. These sections are Tzetzes’ comments on lines 902, 911, and 921 of the Alexandra. For this

part of the Vatican epitome and its possible relationship with Tzetzes, see Wagner 1891b: 278–89.


incident with the area around Rome. While this story of ship-burning is, in some

sources, connected with Rome’s founding, a reference to it does not guarantee

a mention of Rome’s founding, and there is none here.98 As it stands now, the

passage adds little to Apollodorus’ discussion except another Greek etymology

for a foreign place, and directly contradicts the tradition that these women were

part of a group of Trojans looking for a new home.

But despite the reference here to Apollodorus and another in E. 6.15a (=

ad Lyc. 902), there is little to recommend accepting these passages as a lost

part of the Bibliotheca. Wagner himself omits Tzetzes’ Πρι�µου δ� 6δελφα�here, because at 3.12.3 (146) Apollodorus provides the names Hesione, Cilla,

and Astyoche as the sisters of Podarces (later named Priam).99 Such contra-

dictions do appear in the Bibliotheca, however, so this alone does not justify

ignoring differences in detail.100 Similarly, Wagner hypothesized that Tzetzes

himself wrote the Vatican epitome, taking information from the Bibliotheca that

he found useful for his own work. His arguments on this point are sound, which

counter his inclusion of these paragraphs;101 if Tzetzes epitomized the Biblio-

theca for his own works—including the commentary on the Alexandra—then

it follows that anything he owes to Apollodorus should be in E. Either Tzet-

zes is not the author of E or these passages do not depend wholly on Apol-

lodorus. It is most likely that Tzetzes was using his epitome of the Bibliotheca

in conjunction with other sources for this part of the commentary, and thus both

references to Apollodorus mention him with other authors. There seems little

reason, then, to include these sections from Tzetzes in the Bibliotheca, and their

omission would reduce even further the amount of attention Apollodorus gives

to Italy.

Where does all this leave us with respect to Italy in the Bibliotheca? Apol-

lodorus passes up obvious chances to include well-known myths, many of which

were present in his sources. Although he does not treat the appearance of Italy

in the epitome, Scarpi best describes Apollodorus’ Italy:

Un terra “piccola,” percorsa rapidamente da nord a sud, dalla Liguria alla

Sicilia, quasi deserta se non disabitata, senza ostacoli. . . . e, nell’ottica

in cui penso si collochi la Biblioteca, non puo che essere una intenzionale

98. Vergil (Aen. 5.605–761) sets the story in Sicily, when some of the women with Aeneas burn

several ships at the transformed Iris’ instigation, which leads him to leave people behind. Horsfall

1979: 381–82 shows how widespread this myth was and the variety of locations to which it was

attached. On the application of the ship-burning topos to Rome, see Solmsen 1986: 104–10.

99. See Scarpi 1996 (2000) on E. 6.15c for this argument. He also observes that there are other

nostoi in these scholia but not in the Bibliotheca, so that “E tuttavia difficile credere che anche questi

frammenti dipendano dalla Biblioteca perduta.” These other nostoi would have provided additional

chances to discuss Italy, especially that of Diomedes, who was credited with founding numerous

cities in southeast Italy.

100. For contradictions in the Bibliotheca, see Robert 1873: 8–9, who provides several examples.

101. See Wagner 1926: xxviii-xxix. To my knowledge, no one has questioned this attribution.


svalutazione della penisola italica, tutt’al piu terra di banditi e di pirati,

che tuttavia non vale nemmeno la pena di disinfestare.102

The only Italians, as Scarpi notes, are the Tyrrhenians, most famous for their

abduction of Dionysus and subsequent metamorphosis into dolphins (3.5.3 [37–

38]). But Apollodorus does not link the Tyrrhenians with Lydia, as Herodotus does

(1.94), nor does he connect Tyrrhenus (or Tyrsenus), the eponymous ancestor of

the Tyrrhenians, with Heracles, as some authors do.103 The peoples of Italy do

not merit inclusion in Apollodorus’ genealogical system, not even as the black

sheep of any of the families.

Apollodorus’ exclusion of anything Roman is complete, and Italy appears less

than many other places do in the Bibliotheca. As he creates a notion of collective

identity, connecting numerous foreign peoples with Greece through systematic

genealogizing, Apollodorus also makes a powerful statement through exclusion.

The Romans, despite being the key players on the Mediterranean stage in his day,

figure not at all in the Bibliotheca’s mythic age. According to his genealogical

system, the Romans have no claim to Greek identity, but the Greeks themselves

have the most illustrious history and can lay claim to connections with the (other)

dominant peoples of the ancient world.

Apollodorus’ response to Roman domination is in no way unique, as numerous

other Greek authors focus in new ways (or at least with renewed effort) on a sense

of Greek identity in the Second Sophistic.104 What is unique is the systematic

nature of his project and its focus on myth. The Bibliotheca is a celebration of

a specific worldview, one constructed for his fellow Greeks under the Roman

Empire.105

102. Scarpi 1999: 10.

103. E.g. Dio. Hal. RA 1.28.1 and Paus. 2.21.3 say that Tyrrhenus is the son of Heracles and

Omphale. Cf. Hyg. Fab. 274.20, who does not name a mother. West 1966: 435–36 notes that

the Tyrsenoi of the Theogony need not be identified with the Etruscans and that, at any rate, the

Etruscans were the only Italian people important enough to the Greeks in the Archaic period to merit

a genealogical connection. Apollodorus, however, denies even this people such a link.

104. Swain 1996 is a recent example of current attention to these trends of the Second Sophistic.

Swain discusses the continued importance of a shared past (79); he does not see this focus as hostile

to Rome (as Veyne 1999 does at times), but rather as filling a need for self-definition under Rome

(89); but cf. Jones 2004. For Apollodorus’ position in this milieu, see Mactoux 1989, who takes

a similar view of the period in general: “Face a l’imperialisme de Rome definitivement etabli dans la

Mediterranee orientale depuis Actium et l’annexion de l’Egypte ptolemaıque, les Grecs se servent de

leur passe comme d’un pratique compensatoire et complementaire de la domination romaine” (248).

Cf. Jacob 1994: 422–23, 427–28 on Apollodorus as embodying a shared (idealized) past.

105. Mactoux 1989 unconvincingly suggests that the Bibliotheca is also a response to the spread

of Christianity, because of its pervasive polytheism. According to her, the Bibliotheca supports the

polytheistic Greek religious system by maintaining the connection between the heroes in the work

and the Greek gods; according to Apollodorus, Greece—and much of the Mediterranean—can trace

its origins to the Greek gods, and the proof of this is the continued existence of cities such as Athens

and Argos. Jacob 1994 and Scarpi 1999: 15–16 also support such a view.


How do we, then, as modern scholars, critics, and students read and use the

Bibliotheca? Certainly we can no longer accept Frazer’s view that this “book

possesses documentary value as an accurate record of what the Greeks in general

believed about the origin and early history of the world and of their race.”106

Arguing against this view may seem like attacking a straw man, but references

to the Bibliotheca still appear mostly in footnotes as confirmation of a myth, to

explain a myth, or to provide a fuller version of a myth. The work remains an

invaluable source, of course, but it is also a piece of literature with an author

behind it, and the myths as they appear in it fit his purpose. Any use of this

text must take this purpose into account. This is no record of what “the Greeks in

general believed” but rather what one individual Greek perhaps wanted to believe.

Louisiana State University

[email protected]

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fletcher. apollodorus

Documents

apollodorus book

knowledge of apollodorus

subject of apollodorus

nature ofthe bibliotheca

system of genealogies

little importance

huys andcolomo

greeks andthus