41Unlike Amun-Ra, the muse of history has not been kind to the στρατηγός of the Peritheban nome Kallimachos, son of Kallimachos.2 After having received semidivine honors in Thebes in March 39 BC, this high official of the Ptolemaic kingdom – the last surviving major monarchy of the post-Alexandrine world, then nearing its end – suddenly disappears from our sources. He will likely remain in the shadows from this point onward, unless new findings change the picture. Yet, the Theban archaeological area is – no less than that of Memphis – among the most investigated in Egypt.3

His pedigree should have granted Kallimachos a different fate. In addition to being the man in charge of the district around Thebes (Περιθήβας) at the beginning of a momentous decade – the 30s BC – he belonged 42to an influential Upper-Egyptian family of the Greek military elite during the reigns of Ptolemy XII Neos Dionysos (80–51 BC) and his daughter Cleopatra VII Philopator (51–30).4 In Donadoni’s words, he was the representative of a dynasty that exercised full viceroyal authority (“una autorità totale da viceré”) over the distant southern province.5 Huß, in his turn, states that the members of this family “ruled” in distant Upper Egypt like veritable kings (“wie veritable Könige”).6 This vision of things presupposes a center, i.e., Alexandria, as the seat of Ptolemaic power. It follows that the distance of the χώρα7 from Alexandria is nothing more than its peripherality – understood as a place where central authority control is rarefied or represented alternatively. The following analysis will help nuance this concept.

The above statements are connected to a thorny issue in the document’s exegesis, viz., the representation of power and the source of authority. On the other hand, even more than the much-scrutinized extent of Kallimachos’ authority,8 it is interesting to consider whether and to what extent the Alexandrian monarchy appears as an interlocutor of the protagonist of the inscription. Nobody has recently revived the old idea that Kallimachos wanted to become king instead of Cleopatra VII. At the end of this study, I reaffirm that the stela reveals no traces of illicit ambitions. Yet I do so in the sense that the “poetics of history” substantiating the text do not suggest this on the rhetorical level – which is my focus here.

In my opinion, this text’s intellectual attitude fits the semantic spectrum of White’s concept of emplotment.9 White’s theory on structural content and compositional nature in historical texts is applicable here with a broader scope. The premises of his seminal reflections on the poetics of history have now made the rhetorical, aesthetic, and moral dimensions of historiographical works familiar in their implicit and “pre-critical” elements. White maintained that histories “contain a deep structural content which is generally poetic, and specifically linguistic, […] which serves as the precritically accepted paradigm of what historical explanation should be”.10 Therefore, the literary form allows authors to formalize their culture, mentality, interests, and ideals. White considers the writing of history to be “poetic” in the sense that “the historian performs an essentially poetic act, in which he prefigures the historical field and constitutes it as a domain upon which to bring to bear the specific theories he will use to explain ‘what was really happening’ in it. This act of prefiguration [… is] characterizable by the linguistic modes in which [it is] cast”.11

Other powerful male members of this Kallimachos’ family – the ἐπιστράτηγος Kallimachos, the στρατηγός Apollodoros, the συγγενεῖς Kronios and Ision – are attested by a fair amount of documents.12 On the contrary, the rather unique and flamboyant honorary decree Turin Cat. 1764 (Fig. 1), engraved in a demotic Egyptian – still undeciphered13 – and a Greek version, is Kallimachos’ only known attestation. In addition to being unique both in Kallimachos’ dynastic history and in the well-known scarcity of Greek epigraphy in Thebes,14 this decree is notoriously as damaged and difficult to read as it is content-layered and structurally complex.

Fig. 1

Stela of Kallimachos (Turin Cat. 1764). Photo by Nicola Dell’Aquila/Museo Egizio.

As a further indication of its stratified nature, Kallimachos’ honorary decree was engraved on a 43much earlier royal stela. The late-Hellenistic reuse of the centuries-old monument only spared part of the original, conventional lunette. It depicted Amun-Ra (left) and Montu (right) being adored by now replaced figures under the winged sun-disc, and among hieroglyphic inscriptions (Fig. 2).15 The elegant Theban gods, the sun, and the central column of hieroglyphs were left untouched. The original pharaoh, instead – assuming one was actually depicted: which is likely, but not a given – was replaced with an unnamed and stylistically much less refined royal couple. Of course, the king is now Ptolemy XV Caesar, and the queen his mother, Cleopatra VII. The crude cartouches above their figures are blank (Figs. 3–4).16 However, the prescript of the Greek decree, with the ordinary dating formula (ll. 1–2), makes up well for the lack of the hieroglyphic royal names. Therefore, the assumption – which I will not discuss in-depth in these notes on 44the Greek part of the decree – that this anodyne vacuum is deliberate and subtends to a hostile attitude towards the Lagids is far from proven,17 and actually made weaker by an analysis of the Greek text.

Fig. 2

Stela of Kallimachos (Turin Cat. 1764), detail. Photo by Nicola Dell’Aquila/Museo Egizio.

Fig. 3

Stela of Kallimachos (Turin Cat. 1764), detail. Photo by Nicola Dell’Aquila/Museo Egizio.

Fig. 4

Stela of Kallimachos (Turin Cat. 1764), detail. Photo by Nicola Dell’Aquila/Museo Egizio.

The last original edition and major commentary of this extensive text before the ones I published in 2022 are those in Hutmacher’s 1965 study Das Ehrendekret für den Strategen Kallimachos (which occasionally merges completeness with pleonasm). Despite the challenging state of the inscription – or partly because of it – only sparse textual proposals have followed thereafter. Meanwhile, an important debate has arisen about the nature of the decree. It will be discussed infra.

I recently18 established the following text after observing this large, densely inscribed, and heavily damaged granite slab19 directly and through digital imaging. This edition brings together reassessed past conjectures and new proposals:

[Βασιλευόντων Κλεοπ]άτρας, θε̣[ᾶς Φ]ι̣λ̣ο̣π̣άτορ̣ο̣[ς, καὶ] Π̣τολ̣εμ̣α̣ί̣ο̣υ̣ τοῦ καὶ Κα[ί]σα̣ρ̣ος̣, θ̣ε̣οῦ Φ̣ιλοπάτορος Φιλο|² [μήτορος, ἔτους ιγʹ, Ἀρτ]εμι̣σ̣ίου ι̣ηʹ Φ̣αμενὼθ̣ ι̣η̣ʹ, ἔδ̣ο̣ξ̣ε̣ τοῖς ἀπὸ Διοσπόλεως τῆ̣ς [μεγ]ά̣λ̣η̣ς ἱερεῦσι τοῦ |³ [μεγίστου θεοῦ Ἀμο]νρασωνθὴρ, καὶ τοῖς πρε̣σ̣β̣υτέ̣ρο⟨ις⟩ κ̣α̣ὶ τοῖς ἄλ̣λοις πᾶσι· ἐ̣πε̣ιδ̣ὴ Κα̣λ̣λ̣ίμαχος ὁ συγγενὴ̣ς |⁴ [καὶ στρατηγὸς καὶ ἐπ]ὶ τῶν προσόδων τοῦ Περιθήβας̣ κ̣αὶ γ̣υ̣μνασίαρχος καὶ̣ ἱ̣ππ̣ά̣ρ̣χης καὶ πρότερον π̣αρα |⁵ [λαβὼν ὑπ’ ἐπισφαλῶ]ν̣ κ̣αὶ ποικίλων περιστάσεων κατεφθαρμένην̣ τὴν πόλιν ἔθαλ̣[ψ]ε κ̣ηδεμον̣ικῶς ἀν̣επιβ̣άρη̣τ̣ο[ν |⁶ διατηρήσας αὐτὴν ἐν] τ̣ῆι πάσηι εἰρήνηι, τὰ τε τῶν με̣γί̣στω̣ν [κ]αὶ πατρώιων θεῶν̣ ἱ̣ερὰ εὐσεβῶς ἐξ̣υπη̣ρέτησε καὶ το[ὺ]ς βίου̣ς |⁷ ὐτοῖς ἔσωσε] κ̣αὶ κ̣αθόλου πάντας, [δαπα]ν̣η̣σ̣άμενος ἀνὰ δαπ̣ά̣ν̣[α]ς τοὺς ἅ̣[πα]ν̣τ̣α̣ς̣ ἐποίησε ἐ̣ξαῦ̣τ̣ι̣ς δ̣ρ̣ᾶ̣[ν τε |⁸ καὶ εἰς ἀρχαίαν εὐ]δα̣ι̣μονίαν πάντα ἤγ̣α̣γ̣εν, ἀλήθεια̣ν μὲν κα̣ὶ̣ δικαιοσύνη̣ν̣ ἰ̣σ[χυ]ρ̣[ὰς ποι]ή̣σ̣[ας κ]αὶ δ̣ὴ̣ κ̣αὶ χρ[η]στ̣ό̣τητα |⁹ [παρασχών, φιλανθρω]πίαι δὲ καὶ τοῖς κατ’ εὐερ̣γ̣εσίαν ὑπε[ρ]β̣αλο̣ῦ̣[σ]ιν [ἀεὶ παραγενόμενος· ἔ]τι δὲ καὶ ν̣[ῦ]ν̣ [τῆι χώραι |¹⁰ ἐπιγιγνομένης τῆς σ]κληρᾶς̣ σιτοδείας ἐκ τῆς γ̣[ε]νομένης̣ ἀνι̣στορήτο̣υ̣ [π]ενία̣ς καὶ σχεδὸ̣ν τ̣ὴν π̣ό̣λ̣ιν τρ̣[ι]β̣ούσ[η]ς |¹¹ [ἀνάγκης ἐπιδ]οὺς μεγαλοψύχως ἑαυτ̣ὸν αὑτόκλητ[ος] ἐπὶ τῆι ἑκάστου τῶν ἐ̣ντοπίων σ̣ωτ̣η̣ρ̣ίαι ἐ̣σ̣έ̣φερε, πονήσας |¹² [ὥσπερ πατὴρ ὑπὲ]ρ̣ οἰκ̣⟨ε⟩ί̣ας πατρίδος καὶ τέκν̣ων γνησίων σὺν τῆι τῶν θεῶν εὐμ̣ε̣νείαι ἀνενλιπ̣εῖς μὲν διηνε̣[κ]ῶς |¹³ [κατὰ τὸν χρόνον τοῦ]τ̣ον π̣ά̣ντ[α]ς πάντων ἐ[τ]ήρ̣ησ̣εν, ἀνεπαισ̣θ̣ή̣τους δὲ τῆς περιστάσεως ἐ̣ξ ἧς παρέσχεν εὐθ̣ην̣ία̣ς |¹⁴ [διεφύλαξε]· συ[σ]χ̣ούσης δὲ τ̣ὴν ο̣ὖσαν σιτοδείαν καὶ ἐν τῶι ἐνεστῶτι ἔτει σ̣κλη̣ρ̣οτέρας καὶ̣ ἀτ̣μ̣ήτου σιτο̣[δε]ί̣ας̣ |¹⁵ [παραμεν]ο̣ύ̣σης μιᾶι μιᾶς ἀ̣β̣[ρ]ο̣χ̣ία̣ς καὶ πολὺ μᾶλλον ὡς οὐδεπώποτε τοῦ δ̣ε̣ι̣νοῦ καθ’ ὅλ̣ην ἐπι̣τ̣αθέ̣ντος |¹⁶ [τὴν χώραν,] π̣α̣ντε̣λῶς δὲ τῆς πόλ̣ε̣ω̣ς κρινομ̣ένης καὶ οὐθενὸς̣ ο̣ὐδεμίαν ἰδία̣[ν ἔ]τ̣[ι] πρὸς τὸ ζῆ̣ν διατε̣τραφό̣τ̣[ος] τ̣ὴ̣ν̣ |¹⁷ ἐλπίδ]α, πάντων δὲ διὰ τὴ̣ν ἀ̣πορί̣αν λελιπ̣οψυ[χ]ηκ̣ότω̣ν κα̣ὶ σ̣υνεγγὺς ἑκάσ̣του̣ παρ̣αιτου̣μ̣έν̣ου̣ π̣ά̣[ν]τ̣α̣ δ̣ὲ̣ |¹⁸ [οὐδὲν λα]μβάνοντος. ∙ ἐπι̣κ̣αλεσάμενος τὸν καὶ τότε συ̣⟨μ⟩παραστάντα αὐτῶι μέγιστον θεὸν |¹⁹ [Ἀμονρασωνθ]ὴρ καὶ εὐγενῶς μόνος ὑποστὰς τὸ βάρος πά̣λ̣ιν ὥσ̣περ̣ λαμπρ̣ὸς ἀστὴρ καὶ δαίμων ἀγαθ̣ὸς |²⁰ [τοῖς ἅπασι]ν ἐπέλαμψε· τὸν γὰρ ἑαυτοῦ βίον ὁλοσχε̣ρῶς ἀνέ̣θετο̣ τοῖς χρῆσθαι βουλομένοις̣, ἐ̣να̣ρ̣γ̣έστ̣α̣[τα] δ̣[ὲ |²¹ καὶ νῦν ἐβοήθησεν] τοῖς κατοικοῦσ̣ι τὸν Περιθ̣ήβας καὶ διαθρ̣έ̣ψ̣ας καὶ σώ̣σας πάντας σὺν γυνα⟨ι⟩ξὶ κα̣ὶ̣ τέ̣κνοι̣ς καθ̣ά̣π̣[ερ] ἐ̣[κ |²² ζάλης καὶ ἀντι]π̣άλων χειμώνων ε̣ἰς εὐδινοὺς λιμένας ἤγαγεν· τὸ δὲ πάντων πρῶτον καὶ μέγιστον τῆς |²³ [εὐσεβείας, ἔχω]ν ἐπιμελείας τῶν εἰς τὸ θεῖο̣ν ἀναπε̣μπομένων πάν̣τω̣ν̣ ὡς ἔν⟨ι⟩ κράτ̣ι̣σ̣τ̣α̣ ε̣ὐσεβ̣ῶς καὶ̣ ἀγρ̣ύπ[νω]ς̣ |²⁴ [ὑπὲρ τῶν ἱερῶν ἐφ]ρόντισεν, ὥστε ἀφ’ ὅ̣⟨τ⟩ου ὁ π̣α̣τὴρ20 τοῦ πατρὸς αὐτοῦ Καλλιμάχου τοῦ συγγενο̣ῦς καὶ ἐπιστρατήγ̣ου̣ |²⁵ [ἀνενεώσατο (or: ἀνεκτήσατο) αὐτὰς πο]ι̣ηθῆνα̣ι τ̣[ὰ]ς τῶν κυρ̣ί̣ω̣ν θ̣εῶν κ̣ω̣μασίας καὶ πανηγύρεις εὖ μάλα ὁσίω̣ς κ̣α̣ὶ̣ κ̣α̣λ̣ῶ̣ς ὥσπε̣[ρ] ἐπὶ τ̣ῶ̣ν̣ |²⁶ [ἀρχαίων χρόνων· Ἀ]γ̣α̣θῆι̣ Τύχηι· προσ̣αγορ̣εύεσ̣θαι μὲν αὐτὸν σ̣ωτῆ̣ρα̣ τ[ῆ]ς̣ π̣όλεως, ἥ ἐστι̣ν ἀρ̣χεῖον ὃ στ[ῆ]σον̣ [ἐσώθη, |²⁷ ἀναθεῖναι δ’ ὥσπερ τοῖς προ]εστῶ̣σι̣ κ̣ατὰ τὴ⟨ν⟩ γενέσι⟨ον⟩ ἡμέρ̣α⟨ν⟩ ἐ̣ν ἐπισήμοις τόποις τοῦ ἱε̣ρ̣ο̣ῦ̣ τ̣ο̣ῦ̣ μεγί̣σ̣[του] θ̣[εοῦ] Ἀμονρ̣α̣σω̣[νθὴρ |²⁸ τρεῖς εἰκόνας αὐτοῦ, μίαν] μὲν τοὺς̣ ἱερεῖς ἐκ σκληροῦ λίθου, δύο δ̣ὲ̣ τ̣ὴ̣μ πόλιν̣, ἣν μὲν χαλκῆν, ἣν δὲ [ὁ]μ̣ο̣[ί]ω̣ς̣ σ[κλ]η̣ρόλιθον, |²⁹ [ἄγειν δὲ κατ’ ἐνιαυτὸν ἐ]πώνυμ̣ον τὴν αὐ̣τ̣ὴν ἡμέραν [κα]ὶ̣ θύειν τοῖς κ̣υρίοι̣ς̣ [θ]εο̣ῖ̣ς̣ κ̣[αὶ στ]ε̣φ̣ανηφ̣[ορ]ε̣ῖν̣ κ̣αὶ εὐω̣χ̣ε̣[ῖ]σ̣θαι̣ |³⁰ [καθάπερ νόμιμόν ἐστιν]· τὸ̣ δὲ̣ ψ̣ήφ̣ι̣σμα̣ ἀν̣αγρ̣ά̣ψ̣α̣ι εἰ̣ς̣ σ̣τ̣ήλην ⟨λ⟩ιθίνη̣ν τ̣οῖς τε Ἑ̣λληνικοῖς καὶ ἐ̣γ̣[χ]ωρ̣ίοι̣ς γ̣ρά̣μ̣μασι, |³¹ [καὶ ἀναθεῖναι αὐτὴν ἐπὶ] τ̣ῆς κρ̣ηπῖδος τοῦ αὐτο̣ῦ ἱεροῦ, ὡ̣ς̣ κ̣αὶ δημο̣σία̣ι τέτευχεν αὐτ̣ὸ̣ς τῆς παρ̣[ὰ το]ῦ μεγίστο̣υ̣ θ̣ε̣ο̣ῦ |³² [Ἀμονρασωνθὴρ εὐμενείας, ὅ]πως εἰς τὸν α̣ἰ̣ῶ̣ν̣α αἰε̣ίμνηστ̣ο̣ι̣ [α]ὐτῶι [ὦ]σ[ι]ν α̣ἱ εὐεργεσίαι.

My translation:45

5[In the reign of Cleop]atra, goddess Philopator, and Ptolemy Caesar, god Philopator Philo|²[metor, year 13, Art]emisios 18, Phamenoth 18, the priests of the |³ [great god] Amonrasonther who are in Diospolis the Great, the elders and all the others, have decided as follows. The kinsman of the king, |⁴ [stratēgos], revenue officer for the Perithebes, gymnasiarch, and hipparch Kallimachos, who had previously |⁵ [taken] over the city when it was collapsing [due to] manifold [disastrous] circumstances, tended to it thoughtfully |⁶ [by keeping it] exempted from taxes in complete peace. He took great, pious care of the holy places of the great ancestral gods. He |⁷ [saved] the lives [of those in them] and, in general, everyone. One expense after another, he made everyone sacrifice again. He brought everything back |⁸ [to the ancient] happiness by strengthening truth and justice, |⁹ [displaying] his goodness of heart [without ever failing in the sense of humanity] and in deeds overflowing with solicitude. |¹⁰ [Moreover, when the] severe famine – caused by a crop failure like none hitherto recorded – [occurred in the country], and |¹¹ [poverty] brought the city almost to consumption, he [gave himself] with magnanimity, being spontaneously inclined towards the salvation of each of the local inhabitants and having labored |¹² [as a father on behalf of] the house that is the fatherland, and of the legitimate children, with the favor of the gods. He made sure that everyone was always sated |¹³ [at that time] and [kept] them unaware of the situation in which he was ensuring their prosperity. |¹⁴ In the present year, however, a harder, unbroken famine has joined the ongoing one. |¹⁵ The flood failures [followed] one another, an even worse fear loomed large over the whole |¹⁶ [country] – as never before – and the city was in a very critical condition: no one [any longer] had the intimate |¹⁷ [hope] to survive, everyone was languishing from poverty, every single person was soon lacking everything, and no one had |¹⁸ [anything to live] on. He called upon the great god |¹⁹ [Amonrasonth]er, who was by his side even then, and, having nobly shouldered – he alone – the burden again, he shone |²⁰ [upon everyone] as a bright star, as a good daimōn. He devoted his entire life [or: wealth] to those in need, |²¹ [he assisted again] the inhabitants of the Perithebes and nourished and saved them all, together with the women and the children, and brought them into a safe harbor, just as |²² [from a gale and from] contending winds. But the chief and most remarkable of his |²³ [pious] deeds consisted in [taking] care of everything that pertains to the divine sphere, attending |²⁴ [to the rites] in the best and most pious way, sleepless in his piety: just as when the father21 of his father Kallimachos, the kinsman of the king and epistratēgos, |²⁵ [restored the same] processions of the lord gods and the festivals in an exceedingly religious and happy way – just as in the |²⁶ [ancient times]. To good fortune. He shall be proclaimed savior of the city, which is the seat of the god and has been [saved] to endure. |²⁷ [Three statues of him shall be set up – as is done for those who are] over us – on his birthday, in the most significant points of the Temple of the great [god] Amonrasonther: |²⁸ [one] of hard stone by the priests, and two – one of bronze and the other likewise of hard stone – by the city. |²⁹ [Every year they shall celebrate] this same day as his eponymous day; they shall perform sacrifices to the lord gods, wear wreaths, and hold feasts |³⁰ [as is customary]. This decree shall be inscribed on a stone stela in both Greek and epichoric letters, |³¹ [and shall be set up in] the forecourt of the same Temple, since he himself – Kallimachos – has publicly experienced [the favor] of the great god |³² [Amonrasonther], so that for all time his benefactions shall exist in everlasting memory for him.22

Kallimachos’ honorary decree was issued by a priestly synod (ll. 2–3) convened at the Great Temple of Amun-Ra in year 13 of Cleopatra VII and Ptolemy XV Caesar, Artemisios 18, Phamenoth 18, i.e., in March 39 BC.23 The synod intended to exalt the στρατηγός as a savior (σωτήρ) (l. 26), a bright star, and a good δαίμων (l. 19), among other honors.

The inscription attests to a liminal age – i.e., the 46eve of the Ptolemaic collapse – that has always attracted considerable interest – even before the abbot Peyron’s 1830 editio princeps.24 One reason for this interest is that the stela preserves lively memories of the reign of the most famous queen of the ancient world – a true Western “obsession”.25 In my opinion, this has influenced the modern interpretation of the text, focused as this interpretation is on the dialectic between Kallimachos and his queen.

In 1968, Woodhead labeled the inscription as “thirty-two lines of extravagant gratitude toward, and of the bestowal of unwonted honors on, the governor of Egyptian Thebes under Cleopatra VII”.26 Nonetheless, it has revealed to be well more than that, rich as it is in the so-called poetics of history. As Heinen argues, despite its formal and content-wise Greek components, the Kallimachos Decree is also a profoundly Egyptian text.27 In it, plain Maatian (l. 8) and Sethian (l. 22) allusions28 coexist with other Greek topoi, titles, and elements within a Greek linguistic structure.

Woodhead’s dry caption catches the central puzzle of a decree issued during Thebes’ new Greek life29 as Diospolis (“city of Zeus”) the Great30 – the city of Amun’s interpretatio Aegyptiaca as Zeus (l. 2)31 – and in such tumultuous times. Its uplifting narrative is one of mortal danger, disruption, and salvation, but also chaos defeated and order reestablished. Danger and disruption were, of course, those undermining Thebes and the whole area Kallimachos was in charge of. As the inscription testifies in ll. 9–10 and 14–5, with Bernand’s restorations and mine, in 42 BC a “severe famine – caused by a crop failure like none hitherto recorded – [occurred in the country]” ([ἔ]τι δὲ καὶ ν̣[ῦ]ν̣ [τῆι χώραι | ἐπιγιγνομένης τῆς σ]κληρᾶς̣ σιτοδείας ἐκ τῆς γ̣[ε]νομένης̣ ἀνι̣στορήτο̣υ̣ [π]ενία̣ς)32 and again, in the following year, “a harder, unbroken famine […] joined the ongoing one” (συ[σ]χ̣ούσης δὲ τ̣ὴν ο̣ὖσαν σιτοδείαν καὶ ἐν τῶι ἐνεστῶτι ἔτει σ̣κλη̣ρ̣οτέρας καὶ̣ ἀτ̣μ̣ήτου σιτο̣[δε]ί̣ας̣) owing to the fact that “the flood failures [followed] one another” ([παραμεν]ο̣ύ̣σης μιᾶι μιᾶς ἀ̣β̣[ρ]ο̣χ̣ία̣ς]) (l. 15).

The priests credited Kallimachos with having fought these calamities through the favor of the great god Amonrasonther (ὁ μέγιστος θεὸς Ἀμονρασωνθήρ) – i.e., Amun-Ra, “king of the gods” (Ꞽmn-RꜤ nswt nṯr.w), as Peyron himself easily recognized.33 Kallimachos experienced (τέτευχεν) the god’s special favor (εὐμενείας) publicly (δημο̣σία̣ι) (ll. 30–31). Heinen interpreted this allusion, which is central to the story, as a reference to Amonrasonther’s apparitions or oracles after the στρατηγός had invoked him for the salvation of Thebes and the Peritheban nome from the famine.34 The appealing phrase ἐπι̣κ̣αλεσάμενος τὸν καὶ τότε συ̣⟨μ⟩παραστάντα αὐτῶι μέγιστον θεὸν, “he called upon the great god [Amonrasonth]er, who was by his side even then”, in l. 18, is the ideal hub of the “emplotment” – to cite a key concept by H. White discussed above.

The stela does not specify how Kallimachos’ invocation – ἐπίκλησις – took place. However, it is evident that the result of Kallimachos’ zeal was much more than intimate, interior, extra-sensory locution.35 Heinen drew this shareable conclusion from Coulon’s 2001 edition of a hieroglyphic text inscribed on the back pillar of a fragmentary striding statue of the στρατηγός Plato (Plṯn), son of Plato, found in the Karnak Cachette (CK 608).36 This autobiographical inscription, dated 6 October 98 BC – during the reign of Ptolemy X Alexander I – is more explicit than the 39 BC decree. One reads that Amun-Ra turned his face to Plato and showed himself, to quote Coulon's translation, “dans sa (pleine) manifestation”, talked to him, and even “envahi[t] [ses] membres”). Here is Coulon’s full translation of the passage:

Il déclare en adorant son maître Amon-Rê, roi des dieux. « Je suis (un homme) au cœur généreux ; je suis apparu dans ta demeure pour écrire ton nom ; une louange, à la mesure de la terreur que je ressens ! J’ai protégé ta ville contre (…) [Tu as tourné] ton visage vers moi en apportant toutes les félicités à quatre reprises. Tu as placé ton image vivante, Amon d’Opé de Djêmé, le dieu grand vivant à la tête des dieux, devant toi. Tu l’as rejoint sur son trône voilé (?). Il est alors apparu dans sa (pleine) manifestation (?) (…). Il a tourné son visage vers moi. Il a fait que je sois saisi d’allégresse, sa puissance ayant envahi mes membres. Il m’a révélé les directives (à suivre). Je <les> ai interprétées en sa présence comme des bienfaits que tu as faits pour moi. »37

Similar ancient testimonies about the “sensed presence” or “l’impression de présence” – i.e., epiphany or theophany – have also been interpreted in a 47psychological key, especially in the case of historiographical narratives about threatening conditions or extreme existential distress.38 This is certainly not the only key to understanding testimonies of this kind, nor the most common. As for the motif of epiphany, Kallimachos, too, “shone [upon everyone]” ([τοῖς ἅπασι]ν ἐπέλαμψε) (l. 20) – as a benevolent being. Indeed, Kallimachos shone upon everyone “as a bright star, as a good daimōn” (ὥσ̣περ̣ λαμπρ̣ὸς ἀστὴρ καὶ δαίμων ἀγαθ̣ὸς) (l. 19).

At least two interconnected perspectives are hence open: the place of the inscription among the epichoric autobiographical texts of accomplished officials, thoroughly assessed by Caneva and Pfeiffer,39 and its “literary” – rhetoric, aesthetic, and moral – scope, as highlighted in my commentary.40 I agree with Hutmacher, Blasius, and Pfeiffer41 regarding the crucial importance of an anecdote related by Seneca in his Natural Questions.42 Ultimately, it is ascribable to a mythopoietic tradition:43

Biennio continuo regnante Cleopatra non ascendisse, decimo regni anno et undecimo, constat. Significatam aiunt duobus rerum potientibus defectionem: Antonii enim Cleopatraeque defecit imperium.44

It is well known that, when Cleopatra was queen, it [scil. the Nile] did not rise for two years in a row, in the tenth and eleventh years of her reign [scil. 42 and 41 BC]. They say that this was a sign of the end for two rulers: for Antony and Cleopatra’s power did come to an end.45

Hence, also on the strength of additional arguments that I will not discuss here, the dating of the decree (summer 42 BC: the first flood failure; spring-summer 41: the first crop failure and the second flood failure; spring-summer 40: the second crop failure and the first adequate flood in two years; March 39: the synod, in an atmosphere of hope). Seneca’s continuo agrees well with συ[σ]χ̣ούσης and ἀτ̣μ̣ήτου in the decree.

Without resorting to Plutarch’s attitude towards similar interactions – when he states that there is no absurdity in the accounts showing Lycurgus, Numa, and similar leaders pretending (προσεποιήσαντο) to get directly from the gods the revelations that eventually resulted in the salvation of the same endangered people for whom they were contrived46 – Seneca’s information that the natural phenomenon he refers to was supernaturally linked to two rerum potientes and imperium ties in with the general scope of the priestly decree in a peculiar way. I am referring to one of its oldest and most discussed exegetic questions, i.e., Kallimachos’ status in the text of this inscribed “altarpiece”. Here, as I already noted above, the god is active above, while the priests and Kallimachos, who are the immediate recipients of his εὐμένεια (ll. 12, 32), act as mediators. At the same time, famine is subdued as a tamed evil, and the population is defended, as a victim, from evils. The only actions of the famine and the population are, respectively, to harm and praise.47

In the past, the debate was divided between, I would say, the “would-be king theory” and the “good-official theory”. The former is older and, therefore, more rooted than the latter. Among the proponents of the first view, some have regarded the σωτήρ Kallimachos either as a would-be usurper willing to cut off any Alexandrian connections,48 comparable to the “great prince” (wr Ꜥꝫ) Ptolemy – the future Ptolemy I Soter, then, formally, a satrap – of the 311 BC so-called Satrap Stela (Cairo CG 22182),49 or as an opportunist warlord heedless of the central power.50 As for the virtual non-existence of the στρατηγός outside the Turin stela, Blasius insinuatingly concluded that “the rest about Kallimachos […] himself is silence […]. Maybe he died before he could realize his ideas”.51 According to Blasius, Kallimachos’ “ideas” were none other than to seize the white crown.

The text of the stela says that the tender (l. 5) and fatherly (l. 12) benefactor “brought everything back [to the ancient] happiness by strengthening truth and justice” ([εἰς ἀρχαίαν εὐ]δα̣ι̣μονίαν πάντα ἤγ̣α̣γ̣εν, ἀλήθεια̣ν μὲν κα̣ὶ̣ δικαιοσύνη̣ν̣ ἰ̣σ[χυ]ρ̣[ὰς ποι]ή̣σ̣[ας]). Bernand interpreted this line as praise for not having lent an ear to lies or a hand to injustices.52 It is undoubtedly so, but in an even more intense sense. Strengthening, restoring, and maintaining truth and justice – as well as satisfying the 48gods and annihilating chaos (ỉsf.t) – was a traditional duty of the legitimate pharaoh. These duties were part of what Assmann defined as a “theo-politology of maintenance”.53 Above all, it was a legitimizing duty. Countless are the representations of the kings of Egypt engaged in “offering Maat” (mꝫꜤ mꝫꜤt), and there can be no complete exegesis of pharaonic ideology without understanding this complex concept, which encompasses truth, justice, order, and morality. Besides shining a quasi-royal light on Kallimachos – in an impressive way, because it employs a religious-ideological apparatus having significant impact from a local perspective – this terminology is appropriate when used, as in this case, in the wake of a cataclysm equivalent to chaos. As seen, a post eventum mythopoetic tradition known to us from Seneca interpreted the paralysis of the Nile’s floods as a warning to the Alexandrian monarchy.54

I want to insist on the legitimizing import of the above-quoted words. In the absence of other traces to the contrary, it is natural to believe that Kallimachos drew his legitimacy from the institutional context to which he belonged. The titles at the beginning attest to his and the synod’s fidelity to this larger context. In my opinion, Kallimachos shines in a quasi-royal light because he reflects the legitimacy of the context to which he belonged, which he served – and which, undoubtedly, served his harmless desire for recognition by rewarding him for his commitment and honoring him for his high family status.

The principal advocate of the “good-official theory” was Heinen55 – now followed by Caneva and Pfeiffer56 – based on autobiographical inscriptions of priests and royal officials who perpetuated their own deeds as good agents of the legitimate pharaoh. In their forthcoming study, Caneva and Pfeiffer offer several interesting parallels. Among them, that of the priest Teos from Tanis (3rd/2nd cent. BC) calling himself “Hapy for his city when the two lands were in drought” – Hapy, of course, is the Nile – and that of the influential Harwa, who, under the Twenty-fifth Dynasty, immortalized statements such as (I only quote some extracts): “I have raised up what is submerged; a high Nile am I; the barley of my land is good; my seed-corn is profitable to my city” (London, BM 55306); “I have done what men like and what the gods praise, a really honored one without fault, who gives bread to the hungry and clothes to the naked,57 who destroys pain and removes calamity” (Louvre, A 84); “The soul of the beneficent man is remembered because of his good deeds in his temple” (Berlin ÄM 8163); and “I went into Presence to loosen him who was bound […]. I gave things to him who had none […]. And my recompense is that I be remembered because of my beneficence” (Louvre, A 84).

Caneva and Pfeiffer also compare Kallimachos’ being equated with a bright star (ὥσ̣περ̣ λαμπρ̣ὸς ἀστήρ) (l. 19) to pharaonic examples,58 such as those of Sesostris I, “perfect god, star of the two lands” (Firenze 2540/2), and Ramses II, “star of heaven, whom Ra has elected for both lands” (DZA 29.088.330).59 Similar claims were made by Middle Kingdom officials: “I am a star for my peers, a leader for those greater than myself” (Siut I, 264), as well as one appearing as a “single pillar, a guiding star” (München, Glyptothek 40, 9). This equivalence has relevant connections with the Nile flood. Notably, Sirius – the Egyptian Sopdet and Greek Sothis – was called ὑδραγωγός, “bringer of water”.60 Discussing Kallimachos’ impressive status as a good δαίμων (δαίμων ἀγαθ̣ός) (l. 19) – again, with reference to the Nile flood61 – Caneva and Pfeiffer quote an inscription on the Gate of Euergetes in Karnak where Ptolemy III Euergetes (246–222/1 BC) is “Hapy of Egypt, Agathos Daimon (Wadjedj) of those who live in it” (Urk. VIII, 69 a). The focus is on the subsequent appropriation of such an august prerogative by royal officials – for instance, the aforementioned Teos of Tanis. It does not escape notice that the king is “Hapy of Egypt” while the Tanite priest is “Hapy for his city”. I will return to this point infra.62

This is a nuanced issue. The “good-official theory” seems to address it much better than the “would-be king theory” and its misleading immediacy. Caneva and Pfeiffer propose many parallels among Hellenistic honors bestowed upon non-royal benefactors within and outside Egypt, which I will not go over here for brevity. The concept is clear enough.

The Turin stela explicitly echoes the tone and phrasing of the great trilingual decrees of Canopus and Memphis – the Rosetta Stone – honoring respectively Ptolemy III in 238 BC and his grandson Ptolemy V Epiphanes (204–180) in 196 BC.63 The absence of a hieroglyphic version for Kallimachos 49is not as important as it may seem. Donadoni had two theories in this regard, the former being rather a mere guess: it may be due to the “provincial difficulty” (“difficoltà provinciale”) of finding someone who could translate the text into hieroglyphs, as if the decree were originally conceived in Greek – not a mere trifle! – or it may be due to the too compromisingly aulic nature of the hieroglyphic script (“carattere troppo compromettentemente aulico”).64 The latter theory implies some circumspection on the part of the authors of the text. The “would-be king theory” is forced to assume circumspection on the part of Kallimachos as a late-Hellenistic Nicolas Fouquet (Quo non ascendet?) and his local “accomplices” among the clergy.

The prescript begins, as said, in the most ordinary way with the date expressed by the regnal year of Cleopatra VII, “goddess Philopator”, set in the first place, and of her co-ruler Ptolemy XV “Caesar (τοῦ καὶ Κα[ί]σα̣ρ̣ος̣), god Philopator and Philometor”, along with the day of the Macedonian and Egyptian double month.65 Upholders of the “usurper” theory may regard the inclusion of the regnal year as a precaution to dissimulate Kallimachos’ actual intentions. However, the tone of the Greek text would have made such a precaution useless. Before being equated to a heavenly body and a minor god of Amun’s cortege, in l. 19, the στρατηγός is he who, on this earth, “nobly shouldered – he alone – the burden” (εὐγενῶς μόνος ὑποστὰς τὸ βάρος).66 One sees a subtle reference to the uniqueness of the high-born man. Εὐγένεια means nobility first of birth, then of mind.67 One further reads, in l. 11, that Kallimachos took action to save the population “spontaneously” (αὑτόκλητ[ος]) – motu proprio – and without orders or instructions.68 The simplest explanation lies in the fact that local authorities tend to take initiative in severe and exceptional circumstances. In this sense, I hesitated between translating τὸν γὰρ ἑαυτοῦ βίον ὁλοσχε̣ρῶς κτλ. (l. 30) as “his entire life” or “his entire wealth”, for both make sense in the greater context of this stela.

Is Kallimachos μόνος with respect to the queen and king? This dialectic is less than obvious. Again, is this image related to that of the λαμπρ̣ὸς ἀστήρ in l. 19? In my opinion, whether or not it has to do with the ideal presence of the sovereigns in the “emplotment”, whether or not it has an astronomical flavor, the surprising character of this singularity is, at the very least, defused by the duality of the sovereigns in the lunette and the prescript. Of course, an even more plausible interpretation would be to construe the text as meaning that Kallimachos alone took care of the population in the sense that the government, i.e., the Crown, alone took care of the population through Kallimachos – in the sense that the στρατηγός’ strength depended on the authority he derived it from, and everything he did he did in the wake of the queen’s wise government. Approaching the issue from a wholly different perspective, Bernand argued that merely mentioning Cleopatra and Ptolemy in an inscription where the whole merit of a good deed is ascribed to someone else is tantamount to putting them on metaphorical trial.69 Again, it is a nuanced issue, but also a communication code that is hard to crack because of its elaborate structure.

Of course, the absence of the hieroglyphic version is not as clearly explainable as it may seem. In this regard, it is noteworthy that the statement (ll. 21–22) that the star/Kallimachos brought the inhabitants of the Perithebes “into a safe harbor, just as [from a gale and from] contending winds” (καθ̣ά̣π̣[ερ] ἐ̣[κ | ζάλης καὶ ἀντι]π̣άλων χειμώνων ε̣ἰς εὐδινοὺς λιμένας) has been sophisticatedly understood as a reshaping70 of the Ptolemaic royal title ἀντιπάλων ὑπερτέρος (“triumphant over enemies”), with a subtle reference to Seth as the god of storms and disorder. In line 2 of the Greek part of the Rosetta Stone, this title stands as a paraphrase of Ptolemy V’s Golden Horus name, i.e., the falcon standing on the golden collar (Gardiner Sign List G8) nbw (sign S12),71 which Hutmacher regarded as a link to Seth as Lord of Nubt – the Greek Omboi.72

In ll. 4–5, Kallimachos “takes over” the city. The verb used is παραλαμβάνω, suggesting hereditary or even dynastic and royal succession.73 Though a champion of the “would-be king theory”, Hutmacher made a strong point by speaking of a “transposition” (Schwenkung) and insisting that the people, being rooted in tradition, were not capable of expressing their reverence and gratitude to a benefactor in any other way than by praising the ruler and his divinity. Thus, even if other people than the divine ruler performed good deeds, it was ultimately only he who made these deeds possible in the first place.74

50I think this interpretation is somewhat indebted to the classic image of the Egyptians as incapable of detaching themselves from traditions and reluctant to innovate. I will refer to two important texts I studied for my doctoral dissertation. In the Preface to the Papyri Graeci Regii Taurinensis Musei Aegyptii, for instance, the editor princeps of the stela, the abbot Peyron, espoused the classic representation of the Egyptians as very obedient (“addictissimi”) to venerable institutions consecrated by religion and antiquity (“religio et longa dies”) as closely related elements. Because of this, they abhorred novelty to the utmost degree (“a novis rebus quam qui novis abhorrebant”). In Peyron’s eyes, these were the social and religious “carceres” that held the native subjects of the Ptolemies captive. In this, they were completely distinct from the Greeks, both in the public and private spheres (“omnia definierint”), which it was religiously forbidden to cross (“quas transcendere nefas erat”).75 In his 1831 doctoral dissertation on Ptolemy VI’s Egypt, the young Droysen, in his turn, does not contradict Peyron when he icastically states that, their eyes and spirit turned to the ground, the Egyptians observed their African superstition with anguished care (“plebs […] Africanam istam superstitionem defixis in terram oculis mentibusque anxie observat”).76

According to Hutmacher, Kallimachos stepped in for the failing ruler and maliciously accepted the praise. However, it is significant that this same inference applies – even in a better way – to the “good-official theory”.

Seneca’s observation about the ominous double, or rhetorically duplicated, flood failure – an omen with a strongly dual character for the Cleopatra/Antony couple,77 according to Seneca, or the Cleopatra/Ptolemy couple – may help provide a broader perspective, going beyond the would-be king vs. good official debate. The Egyptian and Greco-Roman traditions contain plenty of episodes where the waters pay homage to a great man or an extraordinary fate. One’s mind goes to the so-called Famine Stela on Sehel Island, issued by the priests of Elephantine, where Ptolemy V (probably), disguised as king Djoser of the Third Dynasty, stops a severe famine thanks to the favor of Khnum, the god associated with the flood.78 To give an example of similar wonders related to watercourses, only thirty years had passed in 39 BC since, according to a tradition handed down by Plutarch, the stream of the Euphrates suddenly diminished in a miraculous atmosphere to let the Alexander-like Lucullus cross it.79

But, first, a decisive question comes to mind when searching for better clarification of Kallimachos’ metahistorical role. Did the savior of Thebes also save the monarchs, in a certain sense? The answer is less grand than the document itself. A step backward is required.

John Malalas tells that, in 48 BC, during the Alexandrian War, Julius Caesar “found that she [scil. Cleopatra VII] had been exiled to the Thebaid by her own brother Ptolemy [scil. XIII], who was displeased with her” (ἥντινα ηὗρεν εἰς τὴν Θηβαΐδα διωχθεῖσαν ὑπὸ τοῦ ἰδίου αὐτῆς ἀδελφοῦ Πτολεμαίου λυπηθέντος πρὸς αὐτήν).80 Capponi interprets this information in the light of the influence the ἐπιστράτηγος Kallimachos – our στρατηγός’ father, whom the Greek decree mentions in l. 24 (τοῦ πατρὸς αὐτοῦ Καλλιμάχου τοῦ συγγενο̣ῦς καὶ ἐπιστρατήγ̣ου̣) – exerted over the region. In short, Capponi regards the ἐπιστράτηγος Kallimachos as Cleopatra VII’s principal aide during this phase and the actual “prince” of Thebes.81 In other words, he was the man who fought for Cleopatra in that crucial phase of the Alexandrian War82 and was responsible, prior to Caesar, for her physical salvation from the persecution by her younger brother Ptolemy XIII (51–47 BC) and his grey eminences Potheinos, Theodotos of Chios, and Achillas. As evidence of this, Capponi quotes the 46 BC royal decree granting ἀσυλία to the temple of Isis, built by the ἐπιστράτηγος Kallimachos himself south of the Upper Egyptian Ptolemais.83 There, Cleopatra VII declared that the temple was erected “for our salvation” (ὑπὲρ τῆς ἡμετέρας σωτηρίας) (l. 12).84

Ultimately, σωτηρία85 is a crucial concept all along this analysis. I anticipate here something I will explain below: There may be no reference to the unnamed grandfather in l. 24, because ὁ π̣α̣τὴρ κτλ. should actually be read differently. Notwithstanding this new reading, the distant memory recorded in ll. 23–26 and its scholarly exegesis seem to form a coherent salvation scenario. In addition to meeting the material needs of the population – but he had 51already been the ἐπι̣κ̣αλεσάμενος τὸν […] θεὸν – the στρατηγός Kallimachos also

ε̣ὐσεβ̣ῶς καὶ̣ ἀγρ̣ύπ[νω]ς̣ |²⁴&nbsp;[ὑπὲρ τῶν ἱερῶν ἐφ]ρόντισεν, ὥστε ἀφ’ ὅ⟨τ⟩ου86 ὁ̣ ἀ̣σ̣τ̣ὴ̣ρ̣ (traditionally: ὁ πατὴρ) τοῦ πατρὸς αὐτοῦ Καλλιμάχου […] |²⁵&nbsp;[ἀνενεώσατο (or: ἀνεκτήσατο) (?) αὐτὰς πο]ι̣ηθῆνα̣ι87 τ̣[ὰ]ς τῶν κυρ̣ί̣ω̣ν θ̣εῶν κ̣ω̣μασίας καὶ πανηγύρεις εὖ μάλα ὁσίω̣ς κ̣α̣ὶ̣ κ̣α̣λ̣ῶ̣ς ὥσπε̣[ρ] ἐπὶ τ̣ῶ̣ν̣ |²⁶&nbsp;[ἀρχαίων χρόνων·]

that is, he

attended [to the rites] in the best and most pious way, sleepless in his piety: just as when his late-lamented father (traditional reading: the father of his father) Kallimachos […] [restored (?) the same] processions of the lord gods and the festivals in an exceedingly religious and happy way – just as in the [ancient times].

This reference to an unspecified past time requires historical contextualization. It is commonly agreed,88 though speculative,89 that the causes of such a memorable restoration of religious practices are to be found in a traumatic episode that had taken place almost half a century before. We learn from a digression in Pausanias’ Periegesis that, early in his second reign, Ptolemy IX Soter II (116–107, 88–80 BC) took a strong (παραστησάμενος) revenge on Thebes, which was then in one of its periodic upheavals.90 Once “wealthier than Orchomenos and the sanctuary of Delphi” – Pausanias continues – the city was so heavily struck that the Thebans could not even retain the memory of their past happiness (μηδὲ ὑπόμνημα […] τῆς ποτε εὐδαιμονίας). Of course, I exclude a direct link between Pausanias’ ποτε εὐδαιμονία and the religious and happy ἀρχαῖοι χρόνοι of l. 26 (also note the ἀρχαία εὐδαιμονία in l. 8). Some scholars have even interpreted the reference to the dire state in which the στρατηγός found the city, “collapsing [due to] manifold [disastrous] circumstances” ([ὑπ’ ἐπισφαλῶ]ν̣ κ̣αὶ ποικίλων περιστάσεων91 κατεφθαρμένην̣) (l. 5), as a discreet allusion – remember Bernand’s remark – to Ptolemy IX’s retaliation.92

Drawing on Scott’s ideas about the “public transcript” of the dominated, opposed but coexisting with a submerged “hidden transcript”,93 I suspect that the issuers of the decree – the priests – deemed neither the Crown nor themselves responsible for any unpleasant incident of the past. This is a survival strategy within not strictly favorable balances of power which involves maintaining a margin of autonomy by distancing oneself from seditious compatriots, or adopting communication codes based on encrypted irony or similar devices. One thinks of Polybius’ ideas about responsibility for the Fourth Macedonian War, viz., that the blame for retaliation falls on those who rise up, refusing to adapt to the new balance of power. The priests may even have introjected such a vision of things without consciously adopting it as a survival strategy. But there is no reason to dwell on their arrière-penseés.

Along with my proposed reading τοὺς ἅ̣[πα]ν̣τ̣α̣ς̣ ἐποίησε ἐ̣ξαῦ̣τ̣ι̣ς δ̣ρ̣ᾶ̣[ν] (“he made everyone sacrifice again”) (l. 7),94 the description of the στρατηγός’ early benefactions in ll. 6–8 is in tune with this decades-spanning scenario:

τὰ τε τῶν με̣γί̣στω̣ν [κ]αὶ πατρώιων θεῶν̣ ἱ̣ερὰ εὐσεβῶς ἐξ̣υπη̣ρέτησε καὶ το[ὺ]ς βίου̣ς |⁷&nbsp;[τῶν ἐν αὐτοῖς ἔσωσε] κ̣αὶ κ̣αθόλου πάντας, [δαπα]ν̣η̣σ̣άμενος ἀνὰ δαπ̣ά̣ν̣[α]ς τοὺς ἅ̣[πα]ν̣τ̣α̣ς̣ ἐποίησε ἐ̣ξαῦ̣τ̣ι̣ς δ̣ρ̣ᾶ̣[ν τε |⁸&nbsp;καὶ εἰς ἀρχαίαν εὐ]δα̣ι̣μονίαν πάντα ἤγ̣α̣γ̣εν […]

He took great, pious care of the holy places of the great ancestral gods. He [saved] the lives [of those in them] and, in general, of everyone. One expense after another, he made everyone sacrifice again. He brought everything back [to the ancient] happiness […]

This likely reference to past happiness now allows a clarification on the spatium historicum of the inscription. As I anticipated above, I now doubt that the reading ὁ π̣α̣τὴρ, in l. 24, is correct.

Fig. 5

Stela of Kallimachos (Turin Cat. 1764), detail of l. 24 (from ΑΦΟΛΟΥ to ΠΑΤΡΟΣ). Digital processing of RTI photo by Federico Taverni/Museo Egizio.

If it were correct, the grandfather of the στρατηγός Kallimachos, whom the inscription leaves unnamed, would be part of something similar to a dynastic “salvation-chain”. Blasius seems to suggest that Kallimachos’ hypothetical grandfather was left unnamed due to reluctance to evoke the consequences of the destruction carried out by the 52reigning queen’s grandfather, Ptolemy IX.95 However ingenious, this interpretation – if this is what Blasius actually meant – presupposes a desire to say and not say that is definitely not in keeping with documents of this kind.

Today I regard the reading and interpretation ὁ π̣α̣τὴρ τοῦ πατρὸς as no more than a fragile hypothesis. The likely traces of a Σ at the center of the missing word suggest ἀστήρ instead. If so, l. 24 contains a reference, not to the father of the father of the στρατηγός Kallimachos, but to the “dear soul” of the father of the Kallimachos honored in 39 BC, i.e., a reference to the “late-lamented” συγγενής and ἐπιστράτηγος Kallimachos. Furthermore, the disappearance of πατήρ does not necessarily cast doubt on Wilhelm’s subsequent integration [ἀνενεώσατο (vel ἀνεκτήσατο) αὐτὰς πο]ι̣ηθῆνα̣ι, i.e., on the ancient author’s action – even though Wilhelm proposed it having the unnamed grandfather in mind.

The fact is that the reading ὁ πατὴρ is very uncertain, unlike what is indicated in the old editions – starting from the editio princeps itself. Even Hutmacher had no doubts.96 In my 2022 edition of the text, I optimistically espoused the early and commonly agreed-upon reading ὁ π̣α̣τὴρ. Actually, the uncertainty is substantial and frustrating. In favor of the “genealogical” option, there are parallels such as the one found in an ostrakon – a memorandum – from the so-called Archive of Ḥor of Sebennytos. In Ray’s words, “it deals with a dream experienced by Ḥor during the invasion of Antiochus Epiphanes, and his report before the βασιλικὸς γραμματεύς of the Memphite region, which took place some eight or nine years afterwards, in December 159 B.C.”97 Isis told Ḥor in that dream:

“Alexandria is secure [against (?) the] enemy. Pharaoh records within it |¹⁵&nbsp;together with his brethren. The eldest son of Pharaoh wears the diadem. His son wears the diadem after him. The son of this son |¹⁶&nbsp;wears the diadem after him. The son of the son of the son of this son wears the diadem after him, for very |¹⁷&nbsp;many lengthy years […].”98

However, why would the decree not call this grandfather of happy memory by name? Was he an obscure character, as, for example, Lagus’ father? Furthermore, if we understood this passage as referring to the obscure grandfather, then it would be placing equal emphasis on the titles of the συγγενής and ἐπιστράτηγος Kallimachos, the father of the honored στρατηγός, and the merits of the unnamed grandfather. The wish to name the illustrious father would then have been the reason for writing “the father of the father” instead of ὁ πάππος, “the grandfather”. But this does not explain the omission of the grandfather’s name, which would, therefore, have as its only, unconvincing explanation a reverential courtesy towards Ptolemy IX’s memory.

Whereas Kallimachos the son was the “savior of Thebes” between the late ‘40s and early ‘30s BC, there is a possibility that Kallimachos the father, i.e., the ἐπιστράτηγος, was in charge of Cleopatra VII’s safety in the Thebaid between Ptolemy XIII’s revirement in early 48 BC and the arrival of Julius Caesar later that year. This fact alone would be significant even in the absence of a grandfather safeguarding the pax deorum after a traumatic interruption of the rites. If Kallimachos was actually the protector of Cleopatra in the Thebaid, this would have at least two implications, on the historical and the rhetorical levels, respectively. The first implication is that loyalty towards the Lagids was not absent in the deeds of Kallimachos’ family. There is no proof that Cleopatra VII was rescued as an act hostile to Alexandria. 53She eventually regained the throne. The second implication is that, being the offspring of a lineage of actual σωτῆρες – or better, the son of a σωτήρ – possibly influenced, determined, or facilitated the promotion of the younger Kallimachos’ image as it shines through the Turin stela in a memorial sense.

The “good-official theory” is most likely to be correct. However, the text is far from monotonous, catalogic, and technical. It is above all – as anyone can see – a well-crafted and well-written story whose core is subdivided, in an alternating pattern, into three critical moments (ll. 4–5, 9–11, and 14–18) and as many heroic interventions (ll. 5–9, 11–14, and 18–24).99 Furthermore, it has some peculiarities – if not in its phrasing, in its overall complexity. Is Seneca’s tradition about the double ἀβροχία of 42 and 41 BC as an a posteriori divine warning to Cleopatra VII and Mark Antony100 – or, closer to protocol, to Ptolemy XV? – to be considered in this epichoric context? If so, Kallimachos metahistorically emerged as he who put an end to ominous climate phenomena which, in the eyes of those who came later, seemed to endanger, in more than one sense, the status quo itself. Thus, Kallimachos rendered an excellent service to the status quo. The restored word [προ]εστῶ̣σι̣, “[those who are] over”, in l. 27, exemplifies this with a hint of realism. Of course, Kallimachos accepted praise for his deeds soon after.101 But could the son – and, according to past editors, the grandson – of a savior of the status quo on a rhetorical level reject that praise on the real level?

I think it is essential to consider that both the honors and the acceptance thereof were unavoidable responses to an ideological apparatus of the highest dialectic importance. In the ancient mentality, saving was something “genitivum”, i.e., capable of conferring authority on the saved one, whom the ancients equated with a reborn individual.102 This ideal substratum justifies an otherwise infamous line from Cicero’s autobiographical poem.103 One sees it at work in Livy when, in 168 BC, Ptolemy VI and Ptolemy VIII declare they are more grateful to Rome than to their parents and the gods for having been saved from Antiochus IV’s aggression.104

This ideal substratum is made explicit in ll. 11–12. Kallimachos saw to “the salvation of each of the local inhabitants […] having labored [as a father on behalf of] the house that is the fatherland, and of the legitimate children” (ἐπὶ τῆι ἑκάστου τῶν ἐ̣ντοπίων σ̣ωτ̣η̣ρ̣ίαι ἐ̣σ̣έ̣φερε, πονήσας | [ὥσπερ πατὴρ ὑπὲ]ρ̣ οἰκ̣⟨ε⟩ί̣ας πατρίδος καὶ τέκν̣ων γνησίων). He did it “self-called”, “unbidden” (αὑτόκλητ[ος]).105 He also did it “with the favor of the gods” (σὺν τῆι τῶν θεῶν εὐμ̣ε̣νείαι). Hence Woodhead’s description of the decree as “thirty-two lines of extravagant gratitude”. Ultimately, the proof of this is the dativus commodi [α]ὐτῶι in l. 32. The synod expresses the wish that Kallimachos’ benefactions “shall exist in everlasting memory for him” (εἰς τὸν α̣ἰ̣ῶ̣ν̣α αἰε̣ίμνηστ̣ο̣ι̣ [α]ὐτῶι [ὦ]σ[ι]ν α̣̣ἱ εὐεργεσίαι). For whom? For Amonrasonther himself. The memory referred to here is “for the greater glory of God”.106

As stated above, this complex and high-profile communication code of salvation and Chaoskampf (“struggle against chaos”) is enriched by a literarily accomplished frame story drawing on, and furthering, a tradition – i.e., a μῦθος. Indeed, the ubiquitous motif of Chaoskampf itself is intensely political.107

There is no need to go as far as to suspect a link between Kallimachos being honored as a πατήρ and the absence of an adult king alongside the queen, Cleopatra VII, and the child Ptolemy XV, who are the legitimate βασιλεύοντες of l. 1. Rather, the salvation is limited to the local inhabitants (ἐντόπιοι). Of course, one wonders whether the κάτοικοι the decree mentions in l. 21 are not equivalent or identical to the local inhabitants. The κάτοικοι in late Ptolemaic times were the military settlers,108 both Greek and Egyptian,109 and one must not forget Kallimachos’ role as στρατηγός and ἱππάρ̣χης.

The exquisitely local horizon of the inscription is also stated elsewhere: ll. 9–10, 16, 21, and 26. My reconstruction of one of the most troubled passages, in l. 26, where Kallimachos is proclaimed “savior of the city, which is the seat of the god and has been [saved] to endure” (σ̣ωτῆ̣ρα̣ τ[ῆ]ς̣ π̣όλεως, ἥ ἐστι̣ν ἀρ̣χεῖον ὃ στ[ῆ]σον̣ [ἐσώθη]),110 seems to go in this direction, revealing a well-developed sense of civic self-awareness. In this regard, there is no need to superimpose the political disorder of those ’40s and ’30s to the order literarily triumphing in the narrative of the decree, nor to consider this communication code as a code confusion of sorts, an attempt at a positive representation of what was actually a subverted status quo.

54Despite all the figures of speech shining through the text – including passages where Kallimachos is called αὑτόκλητ[ος] (l. 11) and even μόνος ὑποστὰς τὸ βάρος (l. 19) – no dangerous synecdoche emerges. This text’s remarkable richness converges on Kallimachos as the main element of a dense discourse reflecting reality and reformulating it: He is a Greek official, but the synod pays him a tribute where the classic response to royal euergetism is enriched with motifs such as Maat and the defeat of Seth; he has changed reality through the benefit of special epiphanies of Amun-Ra; and, though he is meritorious in himself, the past merits of his family converge rhetorically on him, for, the son of a savior, he has become, in his turn, a father for the saved city. In the end, this is my answer to the question I posed above: Did Kallimachos, the savior of Thebes, also save the monarchs, Cleopatra VII and Ptolemy XV? The answer is yes: Kallimachos did so through the legitimacy he derived from the status quo – a status quo that was real insofar as it was historically grounded, civic insofar as the recent history of the Thebaid was represented as coinciding with the history of his family, and rhetorical insofar as the text on the stela was suited to its intended audience. A status quo he had faithfully served, since nothing else and nothing more can be read into this text and the myth it narrates.

I am grateful to Livia Capponi and Stefano G. Caneva for helpful comments.

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