Myth, Religion, Tradition and Narrative in Late Antique Greek Poetry (Wiener Studien Beihefte - Arbeiten Zur Antiken Religionsgeschichte) 9783700185840, 3700185847

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WS BEIHEFT 41 ISBN 978-3-7001-8584-0

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783700

185840

Made in Europe

MYTH, RELIGION, TRADITION, AND NARRATIVE IN LATE ANTIQUE GREEK POETRY

Nicole Kröll is a researcher at the Institute of Classical Philology, Medieval and Neo-Latin Studies (Univ. Vienna).

NICOLE KRÖLL (ED.)

The volume shows the manifold themes of Greek poetry in Late Antiquity. Pagan and Christian concepts merge in the works of Nonnus of Panopolis and in the “Ekphrasis” of John of Gaza, the poems of George of Pisidia are read against the background of late antique philosophy and the autobiographies of Gregory of Nazianzus as literary forms of expression. The ekphrastic narrative techniques of Quintus Smyrnaeus and the composition of characters in Colluthus are analyzed, and Lycophron is proved as another source of Nonnus’ “Dionysiaka”. The contributions also deal with mythological characters, cyclopes and elephants, and late antique epigrammatic poetry is contextualized in the cultural and literary environment of the time.

WIENER STUDIEN • BEIHEFT 41

NICOLE KRÖLL (ED.)

MYTH, RELIGION, TRADITION, AND NARRATIVE IN LATE ANTIQUE GREEK POETRY

NICOLE KRÖLL (ED.)

MYTH, RELIGION, TRADITION, AND NARRATIVE IN LATE ANTIQUE GREEK POETRY

WIENER STUDIEN • BEIHEFT 41 Herausgegeben von Herbert Bannert und Kurt Smolak

MYTH, RELIGION, TRADITION, AND NARRATIVE IN LATE ANTIQUE GREEK POETRY

Edited by Nicole Kröll

Accepted by the Publication Committee of the Division of Humanities and the Social Sciences of the Austrian Academy of Sciences: Michael Alram, Bert G. Fragner, Andre Gingrich, Hermann Hunger, Sigrid Jalkotzy-Deger, Renate Pillinger, Franz Rainer, Oliver Jens Schmitt, Danuta Shanzer, Peter Wiesinger, Waldemar Zacharasiewicz

Layout: Institut für Klassische Philologie, Mittel- und Neulatein der Universität Wien

This publication is based on the following project: Austrian Science Fund (FWF): Hertha-Firnberg-Programm T875

This publication was subject to international and anonymous peer review. Peer review is an essential part of the Austrian Academy of Sciences Press evaluation process. Before any book can be accepted for publication, it is assessed by international specialists and ultimately must be approved by the Austrian Academy of Sciences Publication Committee.

7KHSDSHUXVHGLQWKLVSXEOLFDWLRQLV',1(1,62FHUWL¿HG and meets the requirements for permanent archiving of written cultural property.

All rights reserved. ISBN: 978-3-7001-8584-0 Copyright © Austrian Academy of Sciences, Vienna 2020 Printing: Prime Rate, Budapest https://epub.oeaw.ac.at/8584-0 https://verlag.oeaw.ac.at Made in Europe

CONTENTS – INHALT Herbert Bannert and Nicole Kröll Introduction – Einleitung ..............................................................

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Part One: Myth and Religion David Hernández de la Fuente A Dionysian  ? The ‘Good’ Indians as ‘Secret Converts’ in Nonnus’ Dionysiaca ............................................................

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Delphine Lauritzen Two Hymns for One Poem. Beyond ‘Pagan vs Christian’ in John of Gaza’s Ekphrasis .................................................................

45

Frederick Lauritzen Late Antique Philosophy and the Poetry of George of Pisidia .....

59

Domenico Accorinti Pagan and Christian Astral Imagery in Late Antique Poetry .......

69

Part Two: Tradition and Narrative Jan R. Stenger ‘Beim Häuten der Zwiebel’. Gregory of Nazianzus’ De vita sua as Autofiction ..........................................................................

93

Ursula Gärtner Ekphrastisches Erzählen bei Quintus Smyrnaeus. Zur Bedeutung von Einzelszenen, Visualisierung und Fokalisierung in den Posthomerica .......................................................................... 113 Arianna Magnolo The Alexandra in the Dionysiaca. Two Examples ......................

133

Nicole Kröll Reshaping Iliad and Odyssey. The Cyclopes in Nonnus’ Dionysiaca ..............................................................................

149

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Mary Whitby To See or Not to See? Nonnus’ Elephant Deconstructed (Dionysiaca 26.295 – 338) ........................................................ 165 Marcelina Gilka Like Mother, Like Daughter? Hermione in Colluthus’ Abduction of Helen .................................................................................... 187 Andreas Rhoby Inschriftliche griechische Epigramme in frühbyzantinischer Zeit (4.– 6. Jh.). Eine Fallstudie zur Evidenz auf den Inseln des östlichen Mittelmeers ............................................................... 211

Index of Passages ......................................................................... 231 General Index ........................................................................ 234

WIENER STUDIEN, Beiheft 41, 7 – 24 © 2020 by Österreichische Akademie der Wissenschaften Wien

HERB ERT BANNE RT AND N ICOLE KR Ö LL

Introduction What changes did Greek poetry undergo in Late Antiquity and in the early Byzantine period? Besides the increase in historiographical, rhetorical and panegyrical themes, were there other noteworthy innovations? And what about continuities? How did authors relate to the texts of the distant past or to their immediate predecessors? Let’s start with The Oxford Handbook of Late Antiquity on Greek poetry: “Studying late antique poetry means acknowledging a rebalance, evident to contemporaries but underestimated by modern historiography. The enormous amount of artistic and technical writing in prose, as well as the great personalities of orators and philosophers of the fourth and fifth century C. E. encouraged scholars to outline a literary world where poetry was quite marginal. … But the general primacy of prose does not imply the marginalization of poetry.”1 In Late Antiquity, poetry was far from marginalized. Not limited to special purposes or trotted out exclusively on special occasions, it was in everyday use as an ordinary form of literary expression. But what themes or subjects were available to Greek (and also Latin) poets at a time when pagans and Christians shared one world while subscribing to different religious beliefs and practices? The stock of myths of antiquity, albeit shaped, formed, and in many ways changed, still preserved its original broader thematic contours. It stood in contrast to the Christian narratives of the Old Testament and reports of the New Testament about the life, work and environment of Jesus of Nazareth. This narrative tradition was not limited to or exclusively related to the person of the Saviour in the New Testament ––––––––––– 1 Agosti 2012, 362; cf. Cameron 2004, 328 (2016, 164): “Indeed the resurgence of poetry after centuries of hibernation is one of the most intriguing features of the literary culture of late antiquity. In a world in many ways so different we might have expected a new kind of poetry, reflecting the virtual disappearance of the classical quantities from the spoken language … In fact, we find surprisingly little innovation along these lines. … The fact that we find the same development in both Latin and Greek literature encourages the hope of finding common features.”

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canon, but was supplemented by many additional tales both about Jesus and the apostles as evidenced in, for example, apocryphal books of the Bible. 2 Both of these mega-narratives, pagan mythology and the many narrative pericopes of the New Testament, form the matière of the most extensive and extraordinary poetic achievement of Late Antiquity, the Dionysiaca and the Paraphrase of the Gospel of John by Nonnus of Panopolis. The two epics, with their protagonists, the saviour deities Dionysus and Jesus Christ, were long regarded as a kind of manual of mythological traditions. This, and the observation that narrative and also content-related motifs could be used and combined, shows the flexibility with which both pagan and Christian material could be treated and could also be mutually adopted. 3 The poems of Nonnus of Panopolis also form the starting point for the present volume. Four international conferences held in recent years, with the general title ‘Nonnus of Panopolis in Context’, have focused on Nonnus and his literary and cultural environment and bear witness to a constantly growing interest in late antique Greek poetry. These events, as well as the conference proceedings that emerged from them, have already been published or are currently in press.4 They are the results of an intense exchange between scholars from different disciplines, primarily Classical Philology and Byzantine Studies, all of whom are dedicated to the study of late antique Greek and Latin literature and culture. The authors who appear in this volume are members of this international community, who in recent years have been in lively exchange with one another. Starting from research on Nonnus, it has expanded to other varied topics in late antique literature and culture. With a total of eleven contributions, the present volume continues this productive dialogue by taking a closer look at relationships between late antique Christianity and pagan traditions in Greek poetry. Which mythologi––––––––––– 2 Cf. Leppin 2015, 6 and passim. 3 An instructive example of the presentation of a famous New Testament episode, the Feeding of the 5.000, in Nonnus and in Prudentius is discussed in Smolak 2016. 4 The conference Nonnus of Panopolis in Context: Poetry and Cultural Milieu in Late Antiquity in 2011 in Rethymno was followed in 2013 by Nonnus of Panopolis in Context II: Poetry, Religion, and Society in Vienna, Nonnus of Panopolis in Context III: Old Questions and New Perspectives, 2015 in Warsaw, and Nonnus of Panopolis in Context IV: Poetry at the Crossroads, 2018 in Ghent. As a result of the first two conferences, the volumes Nonnus of Panopolis in Context: Poetry and Cultural Milieu in Late Antiquity with a Section on Nonnus and the Modern World (ed. Konstantinos Spanoudakis, Berlin Boston: De Gruyter 2014) and Nonnus of Panopolis in Context II: Poetry, Religion, and Society (edd. Herbert Bannert - Nicole Kröll, Leiden - Boston: Brill 2018) were published, the volumes of the other two conferences are in press.

Introduction – Einleitung

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cal themes were chosen by authors, into which new literary contexts were they translated, and to what extent did they undergo significant change? What Christian re-interpretations of pagan myths were there? Can Christian elements in the representation of pagan myths be identified, and vice versa? And finally, in what ways were well-known and traditional mythical narratives changed, ‘modernized’ and thus adapted? The contributions in this volume were originally presented at two separate conferences: The papers by Domenico Accorinti, Ursula Gärtner, David Hernández de la Fuente, Nicole Kröll, Delphine Lauritzen, Frederick Lauritzen, Arianna Magnolo, Andreas Rhoby, Jan R. Stenger and Mary Whitby were delivered at the international conference Two Myths and Two Languages: Pagans and Christians in Late Antique Poetry, which took place from 7 to 9 December 2017 at the Institute for Classical Philology, Medieval and Neo-Latin Studies of the University of Vienna (Austria); Marcelina Gilka’s contribution was presented at the international workshop From Athens to Constantinople: Late Ancient Greek and Byzantine Literature in Context, which was held on 6 June 2018 in cooperation with the Division of Byzantine Research at the Institute for Medieval Research at the Austrian Academy of Sciences. Both conferences were funded by the Postdoc-project Poetry – Character – Design: Narrative Strategies in the Dionysiaca of Nonnus of Panopolis (Hertha Firnberg Programme T875) under the management of the editor of this volume and funded by the Austrian Science Fund (FWF). A significant contribution to the research on authors and texts of late antique poetry was made by the workshop From Athens to Constantinople: Late Ancient Greek and Byzantine Literature in Context, which has now been extended into a regular workshop series. In collaboration with Christian Gastgeber (Institute for Medieval Research – Division of Byzantine Research at the Austrian Academy of Sciences) as well as Stefan Büttner and Herbert Bannert (Institute of Classical Philology, Medieval and NeoLatin Studies of the University of Vienna), the editor of the present volume has so far organized a total of four workshops with the aim of bringing together different academic disciplines dealing with the subject of late antique literature and culture.5 ––––––––––– 5 The first and second workshop, which were held on 6 June 2018 and 11 January 2019 respectively and dealt with various questions of late antique literature, were followed by a third on 14 June 2019, devoted to late antique philosophy (Betrachtungen zur Philosophie der Spätantike) and a fourth on 10 January 2020, The Poetry of George of Pisidia, that for the first time dealt comprehensively with the works of this important author from the transitional period between Late Antiquity and Early Byzantium.

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During these workshops, exchanges with scholars in the fields of Philosophy, Ancient History and Near Eastern Studies expanded the horizons of both classical philologists and Byzantinists with regard to literary and sociocultural phenomena of Late Antiquity in a most productive way. The diversity and richness of the contributions in this volume, therefore, also stem from their targeting different perspectives on a time-period that cannot be covered by a single scholar or a single research unit. The contributions will illuminate a rich and colourful selection of late antique Greek poetry. The division of the individual contributions into two main sections, Myth and Religion and Tradition and Narrative, should not be understood as sharp segregation, but as a looser broad thematic distinction between the two main groups of articles. 6 Part One, Myth and Religion, treats works by Nonnus of Panopolis, John of Gaza, and Georgios Pisides as well as examples of epigrammatic poetry. The intent here is to examine more closely the relationship between pagan mythologic traditions and the by then long established Christian religion: David Hernández de la Fuente, in a chapter on the Dionysiaca and the Paraphrase of Nonnus of Panopolis (“A Dionysian  ? The ‘Good’ Indians as ‘Secret Converts’ in Nonnus’ Dionysiaca”), stresses a remarkable detail in the attitude of both – Dionysus and Jesus Christ – towards trespassers or towards those who change their mind. God’s enemies are characterized through diverse narrative strategies that originate from the

 -figures of Greek literature, as in the case of Pentheus in the Dionysiaca. Probably, they also reflect other literary sources for ethnic alterity, as is the case with the Indians in the Dionysiaca or the Jews in the Paraphrase. Furthermore, they suggest interference from Christian ideas of sin and evil. Hernández de la Fuente analyzes narratives about these enemies of God or the gods but also exceptions, the possibility of repentance if God’s message be accepted. A specific focus lies on the Indians and the supporters of Dionysus, as well as on possible Christian subtexts in these scenes. In an innovative manner, Nonnus describes a whole series of conversions to the cult of Dionysus in his mythological poem that could be explained by acknowledging their connection to Christianity. This would explain the unusual Dionysian mercy and forgiveness. ––––––––––– 6 The authors of the contributions and the editor of the volume thank the anonymous reviewers for thorough reading and particularly Danuta Shanzer (Vienna) for her valuable suggestions and corrections.

Introduction – Einleitung

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Delphine Lauritzen, “Two Hymns for One Poem. Beyond ‘Pagan vs Christian’ in John of Gaza’s Ekphrasis”, argues that the second of the two prologues of John of Gaza’s Description of the Cosmic Painting, written like the rest of the poem in hexameters, should actually be divided into two hymns, each composed of an invocation and a prayer. The first of these addresses Apollo and the Muses (also the Sirens), deities classically linked to poetry; the second is directed to God as ruler of the cosmos. Working from diction, vocabulary, style, and images as well as intertextuality, the author shows how those two hymns only seemingly oppose the pagan and the Christian. As a matter of fact, both have the gift of inspiration as their theme, within a coherent system of metaphors which equates poetic and cosmic creation. George of Pisidia (seventh century A. D.), deacon and guardian of the sacred vessels of the church of St Sophia, is known for his historical and theological poems. Frederick Lauritzen, in his chapter on “Late Antique Philosophy and the Poetry of George of Pisidia”, discusses crucial philosophical and theological aspects of the poems, which he connects not only to the Neoplatonic philosophy of Proclus and his followers, but also to the Christian theologians involved in the religious disputes of the time of Heraclius. The author sees George of Pisidia’s poetry as neither purely poetic nor historical, but as philosophical. Domenico Accorinti’s contribution “Pagan and Christian Astral Imagery in Late Antique Poetry” focuses on a selection of shorter poems from Late Antiquity, both pagan and Christian (mainly inscriptions of the fourth to the early sixth centuries), where astral imagery is associated with eternal life. Accorinti pays particular attention to a group of ambiguous inscriptions from Aphrodisias which allude to the immortality of the soul and to the afterlife of the deceased among the stars, the Olympian gods, or the Isles of the Blessed. These documents are important for their popular religious content and also for their literary form: poetry deployed to express human’s most basic wishes and hopes. In this form of ‘Gebrauchsdichtung’, ideas of pagan and Christian thinking are combined. The contributions in the second part of the volume, Tradition and Narrative, use the poems of Gregory of Nazianzus, Quintus Smyrnaeus, Nonnus of Panopolis, Colluthus and early Byzantine epigrams to highlight and explain the adoption of literary techniques that were common in ancient rhetoric, the epic genre and in Hellenistic poetry:

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The autobiographical poems of Gregory of Nazianzus have been interpreted and evaluated in different ways. On the one hand, scholars have appreciated how Gregory’s poetic depictions of his own life display a level of personal introspection and interiority that appears almost modern. On the other hand, it has been argued that Gregory’s accounts, greatly indebted as they are to literary and rhetorical models, should be read as historiography, because the narrator claims to provide an accurate source of events. Jan R. Stenger, in his provocative contribution “‘Beim Häuten der Zwiebel’. Gregory of Nazianzus’ De vita sua as Autofiction”, reassesses Gregory’s persona in the extensive autobiography De vita sua (c. 2.1.11) to show that both readings fail to grasp the nature of Gregory’s narrative presentation. First, recent theories on autobiography and autofiction can help us understand the relationship between life and writing. With the help of these approaches the role of Gregory’s narrator and his influence on the interpretation of the poem as well as selected examples of Gregory’s rewriting of episodes of his life are problematized. In the end, Stenger argues that Gregory’s programme of rewriting his biography suggests that his life emerged only from the act of telling/writing and, in this form, would outdo competing versions spread by his enemies. Ekphrasis was an important compositional element both in the Posthomerica of Quintus of Smyrna and, subsequently, in the poetry of Nonnus. Ursula Gärtner’s fine chapter (“Ekphrastisches Erzählen bei Quintus Smyrnaeus. Zur Bedeutung von Einzelszenen, Visualisierung und Fokalisierung in den Posthomerica”) does not just investigate ekphrasis in the narrower sense. She asks, whether the more comprehensive definitions of ancient rhetoric, which emphasize enargeia in particular, allow for a better recognition of special features of narrative technique. Examples are drawn from Quintus’ episodic narration as well as from his techniques of focalisation, used in combination with those of visualisation. Arianna Magnolo’s chapter on Lycophron’s Alexandra and the Dionysiaca (“The Alexandra in the Dionysiaca. Two Examples”) shows that Nonnus used Lycophron’s poem as a source for both thematic as well as linguistic motifs. For his portrait of Iphigeneia in book 13.104 119 (which is quite different from what we know from Euripides and others), Nonnus most probably draws on Alexandra 194 199, where some of what will be considered hallmarks of Nonnian design are already to be found. The other topic is a single marked word (  ) which Nonnus uses twice: in the passage on the pantomime contest during the funeral games for Staphylus (Dionysiaca 19.152 154) and again in the context of the story of Pallene

Introduction – Einleitung

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(Dionysiaca 48.217 221). In both cases, Nonnus has not only singled out a characteristic Lycophronic feature for epic variation or ϟ , but also deliberately alluded to the puzzling Hellenistic poet to enrich his presentation with special elements of Dionysiac poetry. In her study on “Reshaping Iliad and Odyssey. The Cyclopes in Nonnus’ Dionysiaca”, Nicole Kröll analyzes the poetic design and narrative function of the Cyclopes in the Dionysiaca of Nonnus of Panopolis. Taking the presentation of the Cyclopes in the catalogue of troops in book 14 as a point of departure, she focuses on Nonnus’ special way of dealing with his poetic predecessors Homer, Hesiod, and Theocritus. To this end, special attention is paid to the Iliadic fighting scenes at the beginning of book 28 and to their reinterpretation in the context of Dionysus’ war against the Indians. On the basis of the absence of Polyphemus and of the presence of several other Cyclopes who appear as personalized and characterized co-fighters of the wine-god, Kröll demonstrates that Nonnus is generally consistent with ‘traditional’ poetic features but, at the same time, as often in his poems, deliberately diverges from his literary models. Mary Whitby, “To See or Not to See? Nonnus’ Elephant Deconstructed (Dionysiaca 26.295 338)”, shows how Nonnus enlivens the catalogue of Indian troops that occupies most of book 26 (44 349) with a variety of mythological and ethnographical material, including mythical birds and exotic animals as well as a longer passage on the elephant (295 333). Nonnus first vividly describes the appearance of the beast (295 315) and then how it attacks a human victim in war (316 329). A brief coda depicts how, after his Indian victory, Dionysus terrified the Amazons by riding an elephant into battle against them (330 333). In a later battle scene, Nonnus describes the death of the elephant that was pulling Deriades’ carriage (28.70 80). In these passages, as well as in many further brief mentions of the elephant, Nonnus combines strikingly accurate and vivid details about its appearance and behaviour with material that is implausible, false, and even surreal. Whitby’s chapter situates Nonnus’ elephants alongside those of some of his predecessors trying to shed light on Nonnus’ working methods, on how he put together his material on the elephant and how he made it his own. Marcelina Gilka, “Like Mother, Like Daughter? Hermione in Colluthus’ Abduction of Helen”: Only in Colluthus is Hermione given a scene of 61 verses (328 – 388) in which she laments her situation after the end of the Trojan War. Obviously, the depiction of Helen’s daughter must be interpreted in light of the character of her mother, and Gilka emphasizes the poet’s special technique in creating a minor character on the basis of familiar

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figures with well-delineated contours (drawing both on the Andromache of Euripides and Ovid’s Heroides). In his chapter “Inschriftliche griechische Epigramme in frühbyzantinischer Zeit (4. – 6. Jh.). Eine Fallstudie zur Evidenz auf den Inseln des östlichen Mittelmeers”, Andreas Rhoby analyzes a selection of epigrams from the islands of the Eastern Mediterranean with special attention to authorship, origin, metre, and donor. Epigrams preserved on stones, mosaics, frescoes, icons, and seals were used both as metrical and non-metrical texts for honorific and donor’s inscriptions as well as for sepulchral steles. Epigrams can also be found in manuscripts (as quasi-inscriptions and notes in margine), miniatures, or figure poems. From the fourth century on, epigrams in hexameters and in elegiacs (sometimes also in iambics) became popular especially to express gratitude towards bishops for charity donations and are particularly documented in the Eastern provinces of the Greco-Roman world. The present volume reflects the colourful and diverse themes of Greek poetry in Late Antiquity, when poetic forms voiced a wide range of literary expressions. We encounter human figures from mythology as well as Cyclopes and elephants, used not only to enrich the narrative, but also to structure the narration; pagan and Christian themes are combined in one text, as in the two hymns in the proem of John of Gaza’s Ekphrasis, and in mutual exchange, as in the conversion of people of different religious faiths in both poems of Nonnus of Panopolis. Narrative of the Self is used by Gregory of Nazianzus to situate his own work in a self-determined historical context and is also found in the poems of George of Pisidia, embedded in panegyric accounts of historical events. And finally, both art and effective dissemination of poetry are reflected in epigrammatic occasional poems, which use literary forms to express pagan and Christian concerns, hopes, wishes, and fears about the future, but also expressions of gratitude towards benefactors and donors. To provide a glimpse into this colourful and variegated world of late antique Greek poetry is the intention of our collection.

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Introduction – Einleitung

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HERBERT BANNERT UND NICOLE KRÖLL

Einleitung Welchen Stellenwert hatte Dichtung in der späteren Antike und in frühbyzantinischer Zeit? Gab es neben historiographischen, rhetorischen und panegyrischen Texten nennenswerte Neuerungen in der Dichtung? Und wie verhielten sich die Autoren gegenüber Texten früherer Zeiten oder auch bloß zu ihren unmittelbaren Vorgängern? Das Oxford Handbook of Late Antiquity sagt dazu Folgendes: „Studying late antique poetry means acknowledging a rebalance, evident to contemporaries but underestimated by modern historiography. The enormous amount of artistic and technical writing in prose, as well as the great personalities of orators and philosophers of the fourth and fifth century C. E. encouraged scholars to outline a literary world where poetry was quite marginal. … But the general primacy of prose does not imply the marginalization of poetry.“7 In der Spätantike wurde Dichtung nicht an den Rand gedrängt, ‚marginalisiert‘, sondern war ein integraler Bestandteil der Literatur und nicht nur besonderen Zwecken und Anlässen vorbehalten, sondern gehörte im alltäglichen Gebrauch zu den gängigen literarischen Ausdrucksformen. Welche Themen waren es also, die der griechischen Dichtung zur Verfügung standen in einer Zeit, in der Heiden und Christen in einer Welt unterschiedlicher religiöser Überzeugungen miteinander lebten? Der Mythenbestand der Antike, vielfach gestaltet und ausgestaltet, oft verändert und dennoch mit gleich bleibenden großen thematischen Linien, stand dem Themenkreis der Christen, ihren Erzählungen aus dem Alten Testament und Berichten aus dem Neuen Testament über das Leben, Wirken und über die Umwelt des Jesus von Nazareth gegenüber. Diese Erzähltradition war, vor allem in den Anfängen, nach dem Zeugnis der apokryphen Texte und Berichte ebenso wenig einheitlich und konnte infolgedessen auch verändert und ausgestaltet werden. 8 Jedes dieser Narrative, der pagane Mythos wie auch die neutestamentliche Erzähltradition, ist jeweils Thema der umfangreichsten und außergewöhnlichsten dichterischen Leistung der späteren Antike in griechischer Sprache, der Dionysiaka und der Paraphrase des Johannesevangeliums des Nonnos von Panopolis. Beide Epen, mit ihren Hauptgestalten, den Erlöser––––––––––– 7 Agosti 2012, 362; s. dazu auch oben Anm. 1. 8 Vgl. Leppin 2015, 6 und passim.

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Gottheiten Dionysos und Jesus Christus, wurden lange Zeit als eine Art Handbuch der mythologischen Traditionen verstanden. 9 Dies und die Beobachtung, dass erzählerische wie auch inhaltliche Motive verwendet und kombiniert werden konnten, zeigt die Flexibilität, mit der die heidnischen und die christlichen Stoffe behandelt und auch ineinander übernommen wurden. 10 Die Dichtungen des Nonnos von Panopolis bilden auch den Ausgangspunkt für die Genese des vorliegenden Bandes. Die in den vergangenen Jahren organisierten vier internationalen Tagungen, die den gemeinsamen Übertitel Nonnus of Panopolis in Context tragen, legten den Schwerpunkt auf den spätantiken Autor sowie sein literarisches und kulturelles Umfeld und zeugen von ständig zunehmendem Interesse an der spätantiken griechischen Dichtung.11 Diese Veranstaltungen und die daraus entstandenen, bereits publizierten oder aktuell im Druck befindlichen Tagungsbände sind die Ergebnisse intensiver Gespräche und Diskussionen zwischen Wissenschaftlerinnen und Wissenschaftlern aus unterschiedlichen Disziplinen, vornehmlich der Klassischen Philologie und der Byzantinistik, die sich allesamt der Erforschung der spätantiken griechischen und auch lateinischen Literatur und Kultur verschrieben haben. Die Autorinnen und Autoren des vorliegenden Bandes sind Teil dieses internationalen Netzwerks, das in den vergangenen Jahren in regem Austausch untereinander stand und, ausgehend von den Untersuchungen zu Nonnos, sich aus den unterschiedlichsten Perspektiven mit Themen und Fragestellungen zur spätantiken Literatur und Kultur auseinandersetzte. Diesen fruchtbaren Dialog möchte der vorliegende Band fortsetzen, indem er in insgesamt elf Beiträgen der Frage nachzugehen sucht, wie das spätantike Christentum mit paganen Traditionen umzugehen pflegte. Welche mythologischen Themen wurden von den Autoren behandelt, in welche neuen literarischen Kontexte wurden sie jeweils gesetzt und inwiefern erfuhren sie dadurch eine Veränderung und Umdeutung? Welche Interpretationen heidnischer Mythen in christlichem Sinn gab es? Welche christlichen Elemente in der Darstellung heidnischer Mythen können ausgemacht werden et vice versa? Und schließlich, auf welche Weise wurden bekannte und traditionelle mythische Erzählungen verändert, ,modernisiert‘ und so der Auffassung der eigenen Zeit angepasst? ––––––––––– 9 Vgl. Bannert 2014. 10 Ein solches Beispiel der Motivübernahme, die Erzählung von der ,Wunderbaren Speisenvermehrung‘ aus dem Neuen Testament bei Nonnos und Prudentius, bespricht Smolak 2016. 11 S. oben Anm. 4.

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Die einzelnen Kapitel gehen auf zwei Tagungen zurück: Die Beiträge von Domenico Accorinti, Ursula Gärtner, David Hernández de la Fuente, Nicole Kröll, Delphine Lauritzen, Frederick Lauritzen, Arianna Magnolo, Andreas Rhoby, Jan R. Stenger und Mary Whitby beruhen auf Vorträgen auf der internationalen Konferenz Two Myths and Two Languages: Pagans and Christians in Late Antique Poetry, die von 7. bis 9. Dezember 2017 am Institut für Klassische Philologie, Mittel- und Neulatein der Universität Wien stattfand; der Beitrag Marcelina Gilkas ist die erweiterte Fassung eines Vortrags auf dem internationalen Workshop Von Athen nach Konstantinopel: Spätantike griechische und byzantinische Literatur im Kontext, der am 6. Juni 2018 in Zusammenarbeit mit der Abteilung Byzanzforschung am Institut für Mittelalterforschung der Österreichischen Akademie der Wissenschaften (ÖAW) veranstaltet wurde. Beide Tagungen wurden durch das vom Fonds zur Förderung der wissenschaftlichen Forschung (FWF) geförderte Projekt des Hertha-Firnberg-Programms Poetik, Character Design und Erzähltechnik in den Dionysiaka des Nonnos von Panopolis (T875) unter der Leitung der Herausgeberin dieses Bandes ermöglicht. Einen wesentlichen Beitrag zum erweiterten Blick auf unterschiedliche Autoren, Aspekte und Texte der spätantiken Dichtung leistete die Veranstaltung Von Athen nach Konstantinopel: Spätantike griechische und byzantinische Literatur im Kontext, die zu einer Workshop-Reihe weiterentwickelt wurde. In Zusammenarbeit mit Christian Gastgeber vom Institut für Mittelalterforschung – Abteilung Byzanzforschung der ÖAW sowie Stefan Büttner und Herbert Bannert vom Institut für Klassische Philologie, Mittel- und Neulatein der Universität Wien organisierte die Herausgeberin dieses Bandes bislang insgesamt vier Ausgaben dieses Workshops mit dem Ziel, unterschiedliche Wissenschaftsdisziplinen zum Thema Spätantike zusammenzuschließen.12 Der durch diese Workshop-Reihe ermöglichte Austausch mit Forscherinnen und Forschern aus den Bereichen der Philosophie, der Alten Geschichte und der Orientalistik erweiterte das klassisch-philologische und byzantinistische Blickfeld auf kulturelle, literarische und geistesgeschichtliche Phäno––––––––––– 12 Der ersten und zweiten Veranstaltung, die am 6. Juni 2018 beziehungsweise am 11. Jänner 2019 stattfanden und sich mit unterschiedlichen Fragestellungen zur spätantiken Literatur beschäftigten, folgte am 14. Juni 2019 ein dritter Teil, welcher der spätantiken Philosophie gewidmet war (Betrachtungen zur Philosophie der Spätantike), sowie ein vierter am 10. Jänner 2020, der sich unter dem Titel The Poetry of George of Pisidia erstmals umfassend mit den Werken dieses Autors am Übergang von der Spätantike zur frühbyzantinischen Zeit auseinandersetzte.

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mene der Spätantike in außerordentlicher Weise. Die Verschiedenartigkeit und der Facettenreichtum der Beiträge im vorliegenden Band erklärt sich aus der Absicht, unterschiedliche Blickwinkel auf einen Zeitabschnitt zu dokumentieren, der nicht durch ein einzelnes universitäres Fach oder eine einzelne wissenschaftliche Forschungsinstitution abgedeckt werden kann. Die sehr unterschiedlichen Bereichen gewidmeten Beiträge sollen ausgewählte Aspekte der spätantiken griechischen Dichtung exemplarisch behandeln, wobei die Quellentexte stets im zeitgenössischen sozio-kulturellen Kontext verortet werden. Die Aufteilung der Beiträge in die beiden Teile Mythos und Religion sowie Tradition und Erzählung ist nicht als scharfe Abgrenzung zu verstehen, sondern soll lediglich die thematischen Grundzüge der Beiträge andeuten. 13 Teil Eins, Mythos und Religion, sucht anhand ausgewählter spätantiker poetischer Texte – aus Nonnos von Panopolis, Johannes von Gaza, Georgios Pisides und aus der epigrammatischen Dichtung – dem Verhältnis zwischen heidnischen Mythentraditionen und dem bereits etablierten christlichen Glauben nachzugehen: David Hernández de la Fuente untersucht in seinem Beitrag „A Dionysian  ? The ‘Good’ Indians as ‘Secret Converts’ in Nonnus’ Dionysiaca“ die Haltung und das Vorgehen des Dionysos in den Dionysiaka und jenes von Jesus in der Paraphrase des Johannesevangeliums gegenüber denjenigen, die ihr Tun bereuen oder ihre Meinung (und ihren Glauben) ändern. Gegner und Feinde werden jeweils durch Charakteristika gekennzeichnet, die von der Darstellung von ,Götterfeinden‘ ( ) der klassischen Literatur genommen sind, wie etwa Pentheus in den Dionysiaka. Für die Darstellung der Inder in den Dionysiaka und die der Juden in der Paraphrase greift Nonnos auf Erzählmuster zurück, die für die Kennzeichnung und Beschreibung von Fremden zur Verfügung stehen. Hernández de la Fuente arbeitet die narrativen Muster der Bezeichnung solcher Feinde der Gottheit heraus und bespricht vor allem auch Fälle, in denen Reue und Übernahme der Götterbotschaft zur Bekehrung führen. Besonderes Interesse gilt der Frage des Einflusses christlicher Denkweise in Szenen der Dionysiaka, in denen Dionysos ungewöhnliche Nachsicht und Vergebung gewährt. Delphine Lauritzen, „Two Hymns for One Poem. Beyond ‘Pagan vs Christian’ in John of Gaza’s Ekphrasis“, behandelt den zweiten der beiden ––––––––––– 13 Die Verfasserinnen und Verfasser der Beiträge und die Herausgeberin des Bandes danken den anonymen Gutachtern für die eingehende Befassung mit den Texten und besonders Danuta Shanzer (Wien) für nützliche Hinweise und Korrekturen.

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hexametrischen Prologe am Beginn der Tabula Mundi des Johannes von Gaza und zeigt, dass es sich dabei um zwei Hymnen handelt, von denen jeder, dem Genos entsprechend, aus einer Anrufung der Gottheit und einem Gebet besteht. Der erste Hymnus ist an Apollon, die Musen und Sirenen, klassische Dichtergottheiten, gerichtet; der zweite Hymnus ruft die göttliche Macht als Lenkerin der Welt an. Die genaue Beobachtung der Wortwahl, des Stils, der gewählten Bilder und auch verschiedener Verweise auf Subtexte zeigt, dass die beiden Hymnen nicht den Gegensatz zwischen heidnischer und christlicher Gottheit thematisieren, sondern einer allumfassenden, traditionellen Bitte um Inspiration für die Gestaltung der folgenden Dichtung dienen. Frederick Lauritzen, „Late Antique Philosophy and the Poetry of George of Pisidia“, behandelt Fragen der philosophischen und theologischen Aspekte der Dichtung des Georgios Pisides (6./7. Jh. n. Chr.) vor dem Hintergrund der neuplatonischen Philosophie des Proklos und seiner Nachfolger sowie der theologischen Dispute zur Zeit des Kaisers Herakleios (575 – 641). Die Interpretation ausgewählter Passagen aus den Dichtungen des Georgios Pisides zeigt aber, dass die Texte nicht in erster Linie als historische, sondern als philosophische Dichtung gelesen werden müssen. In seinem Beitrag „Pagan and Christian Astral Imagery in Late Antique Poetry“ stellt Domenico Accorinti eine Auswahl poetischer Texte der späteren Antike (in der Hauptsache heidnische und christliche Inschriften vom vierten bis zum frühen sechsten Jahrhundert n. Chr.) vor, in denen astrale Bilderwelten mit ewigem Leben assoziiert sind. Besonderes Interesse gilt einer Reihe von Inschriften aus Aphrodisias, die jeweils von der Unsterblichkeit der Seele und dem Nachleben unter den Gestirnen, den Olympischen Göttern oder auf den Inseln der Seligen handeln und so die Frage nach dem religiösen Hintergrund der Stifter aufwerfen. Die Texte sind wichtig als Dokumente volkstümlicher religiöser Einstellungen und auch wegen ihrer literarischen Form, zumeist als dichterische Epigramme. Sie bieten so unverfälschte Hinweise auf die Verwendung von Versen zum Ausdruck von Wünschen und Hoffnungen. In dieser Form der Gebrauchsdichtung sind somit Vorstellungen heidnischen und christlichen Denkens miteinander verbunden. Die Beiträge des zweiten Teils, Tradition und Erzählung, suchen am Beispiel der Dichtungen des Gregor von Nazianz, Quintus Smyrnaeus, Nonnos von Panopolis, Kollouthos sowie der frühbyzantinischen Epigrammatik die Übernahme literarischer Techniken zu erläutern, die in der antiken Rhetorik, im Epos und in der hellenistischen Dichtung Anwendung fanden:

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Jan R. Stenger macht in seinem Beitrag „,Beim Häuten der Zwiebel‘. Gregory of Nazianzus’ De vita sua as Autofiction“ darauf aufmerksam, dass autobiographische Texte eine wichtige, aber nicht selten vernachlässigte poetische Gattung darstellen. Die umfangreichen autobiographischen Texte des Gregor von Nazianz wurden in sehr unterschiedlicher Weise aufgenommen und interpretiert: man bemerkte die offene und oft schonungslose Selbstbeschreibung des Autors, die vielfach modern anmutet, man verwies aber auch darauf, dass die Texte andererseits, und das auch im Sinne des Autors, eher historische Dokumente darstellen, die in erster Linie literarischen Ansprüchen und Intentionen genügen. In seiner Untersuchung der umfangreichen Autobiographie De vita sua (c. 2.1.11) zeigt Stenger, dass beide Sichtweisen nicht das Wesentliche der Texte zu treffen vermögen. Neuere literarische Theorien zu autobiographischen Texten ermöglichen ein besseres Verständnis der Zusammenhänge zwischen Fakten der Biographie und deren literarischer Verarbeitung. Anhand einiger Episoden aus den autobiographischen Texten kann auch gezeigt werden, wie Gregor verschiedene Sicht- und Darstellungsweisen dazu benützt, biographische (Fehl-)Informationen seiner Gegner zu entlarven und richtigzustellen. Ursula Gärtner, „Ekphrastisches Erzählen bei Quintus Smyrnaeus. Zur Bedeutung von Einzelszenen, Visualisierung und Fokalisierung in den Posthomerica“, zeigt an ausgewählten Beispielen, in welcher Form und welchem Ausmaß Ekphraseis im Epos des Quintus Smyrnaeus eine wichtige Funktion übernehmen. Im Mittelpunkt des Beitrags steht weniger die Untersuchung der Technik der Ekphrasis im engeren Sinne, sondern die Frage, ob die umfassenderen Definitionen der antiken Rhetoren, die vor allem den Aspekt der enargeia herausstellen, Besonderheiten der Erzähltechnik besser erkennen lassen. Dies betrifft zum einen das bisweilen als episodenhaft empfundene Erzählen in den Posthomerica, zum anderen die Möglichkeit der Fokalisierung, die besonders in der Form von Visualisierung eine durchaus eigenwillige Rolle übernimmt. Arianna Magnolo, „The Alexandra in the Dionysiaca. Two Examples“, zeigt, dass Nonnos, erkennbar an einigen thematischen und sprachlichen Details, auch das bisher in Untersuchungen des epischen Stils wenig einbezogene Gedicht des Lykophron als Quelle benützt. So finden sich bei Lykophron (Alexandra 194 – 199) einzelne Details des Portraits der Iphigenie in den Dionysiaka (13.104 – 119), das sich von dem Bild, das Euripides und Andere zeichnen, stark unterscheidet. Noch deutlicher erscheint die Verwendung eines einzelnen Wortes, des signalhaften   , das Nonnos bei der Beschreibung des Pantomimenwettbewerbs anlässlich der Leichen-

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spiele für Staphylos (Dionysiaka 19.152 – 154) und noch einmal im Kontext der Geschichte der Pallene (Dionysiaka 48.217 – 221) benützt. In beiden Fällen hat Nonnos offensichtlich eine Besonderheit aus dem Kontext der Alexandra nicht nur aus Gründen der epischen ϟ eingefügt, sondern verweist auch mit Absicht auf das oft rätselhafte hellenistische Gedicht, um seine Darstellung mit besonderen Eigenheiten zu versehen. In ihrem Beitrag „Reshaping Iliad and Odyssey. The Cyclopes in Nonnus’ Dionysiaca“ beschreibt Nicole Kröll das poetic design und die dichterische Funktion der Kyklopen in den Dionysiaka. Deren Auftreten im Truppenkatalog des 14. Buches dient als Ausgangspunkt für eine Untersuchung der besonderen Art und Weise, wie Nonnos einzelne Vorgaben seiner epischen Vorgänger Homer, Hesiod, aber auch Theokrits ausgestaltet, und dies führt zu den Kampfszenen zu Beginn von Buch 28 und deren Bedeutung für die Darstellung des Kampfes gegen die Inder. Auffällig ist in diesem Zusammenhang, dass mehrere Kyklopen herausgehoben und als Mitkämpfer des Dionysos genannt werden, gerade aber der bekannteste Kyklop, Polyphem, nicht erwähnt wird und im Kampf fehlt – ein weiterer Beleg für die Technik des Nonnos, ,traditionelle‘, d. h. im frühen Epos gebräuchliche und aus der Dichtung bekannte Gestalten und poetische Darstellungsformen zu verwenden und erkennbar zu machen, gleichzeitig aber sie so umzugestalten, dass die Differenz zur Tradition sichtbar bleibt. Mary Whitby, „To See or Not to See? Nonnus’ Elephant Deconstructed (Dionysiaca 26.295 – 338)“, untersucht den Katalog der Inder in Buch 26.44 – 349 und zeigt, dass Nonnos die Aufzählung der einzelnen Kontingente mit mythologischen und ethnographischen Details erweitert, wobei sich neben mythischen Vögeln und exotischen Lebewesen auch ein längerer Abschnitt mit Indischen Elefanten beschäftigt (295 – 333). Nonnos beginnt mit der lebendigen Beschreibung ihrer äußeren Erscheinung (295 – 315), berichtet dann, wie ein Elefant Menschen angreift (316 – 329), und beendet den Abschnitt mit Dionysos, der nach seinem Sieg über die Inder auf einem Kampfelefanten gegen die Amazonen vorgeht (330 – 333). In der Erzählung einer späteren Kampfszene berichtet Nonnos vom Tod eines der Elefanten, die den Streitwagen des Deriades zogen (28.70 – 80). Bemerkenswert – und für Nonnos und seine Verarbeitung von Quellenmaterial sehr bezeichnend – ist, dass an den genannten Stellen und ebenso bei vielen anderen Erwähnungen von Elefanten genaue und verhaltenstypische Details zum Aussehen und zum Erscheinungsbild der Dickhäuter mit falschen, unglaubwürdigen und gelegentlich auch phantastisch anmutenden Behauptungen verbunden sind.

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Marcelina Gilka, „Like Mother, Like Daughter? Hermione in Colluthus’ Abduction of Helen“, untersucht die zentrale, 61 Verse umfassende Szene, in der Helenas Tochter allein, nach der Wegführung der Mutter, ihre Situation beschreibt (328 – 388). Kollouthos, der als Erster die Ereignisse ausführlich aus der Sicht Hermiones berichtet, hat die Figur der Hermione darstellungstechnisch nach der Gestalt ihrer Mutter Helena geformt und bedient sich dabei einzelner Details aus der mythischen Überlieferung, besonders aus der Andromache des Euripides und aus Ovids Heroides. In seinem Beitrag „Inschriftliche griechische Epigramme in der frühbyzantinischen Zeit (4. – 6. Jh.). Eine Fallstudie zur Evidenz auf den Inseln des östlichen Mittelmeers“ analysiert Andreas Rhoby ausgewählte Epigramme von den Inseln des östlichen Mittelmeers, wobei er insbesondere nach dem Autor, der Herkunft, dem Metrum und dem jeweiligen Stifter fragt. Auf Steinen, Mosaiken, Fresken, Ikonen und Siegeln erhaltene Epigramme wurden sowohl als metrische als auch als nicht-metrische Texte für Ehren- und Spenderinschriften sowie für Grabstelen verwendet. Epigramme finden sich auch in Manuskripten (als Quasi-Inschriften und Randnotizen), Miniaturen oder Figurengedichten. Vom vierten Jahrhundert an wurden Epigramme in Hexametern und in elegischen Distichen (manchmal auch in Jamben) vor allem als Dank an Bischöfe für die Spenden von Almosen populär und sind insbesondere in den östlichen Provinzen der griechischrömischen Welt dokumentiert. Der vorliegende Band spiegelt die Buntheit und die vielfältigen Themen griechischer Dichtung in der späteren Antike, als dichterische Formen für eine Vielzahl von literarischen Äußerungen zur Verfügung standen. Es begegnen Gestalten der Mythologie ebenso wie Kyklopen und Elefanten, eingesetzt nicht nur zur Bereicherung der Darstellung, sondern auch als Elemente der Strukturierung und des Aufbaus der Erzählung; es finden sich pagane und christliche Themen in einem Text vereint, wie in den beiden Hymnen im Proömium der Ekphrasis des Johannes von Gaza, und in gegenseitigem Austausch, wie die Bekehrung von Personen anderer religiöser Überzeugung in beiden Gedichten des Nonnos von Panopolis. Narrative of the Self wird von Gregor von Nazianz benützt, um das eigene Wirken in einen selbst bestimmten historischen Kontext zu stellen, und findet sich auch in den Gedichten des Georgios Pisides, eingebettet in panegyrische Berichte über historische Ereignisse. Und schließlich spiegeln sich die Verbreitung und das Niveau dichterischer Produktionen nicht zuletzt in der epigrammatischen Volksdichtung, die sich zum Ausdruck paganer wie auch christlicher Sorgen und Zukunftsängste, aber auch zum Ausdruck von Wünschen,

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Hoffnungen und Dankesbezeugungen wie selbstverständlich literarischer Formen bedient. In diese facettenreiche Welt griechischer Dichtung der Spätantike einen Einblick zu eröffnen, ist die Absicht unserer Zusammenstellung. *** References Agosti, G. (2012), Greek Poetry, in: Johnson 2012: 361 – 404. Bannert, H. (2014), Nonnos von Panopolis und das griechische Epos – Handbuch oder Poesie? Eine Anregung. Wiener Humanistische Blätter 55: 61 – 86. Bannert, H. and Kröll, N., edd. (2018), Nonnus of Panopolis in Context II. Poetry, Religion, and Society, Proceedings of the International Conference on Nonnus of Panopolis, 26th – 29th September 2013, University of Vienna, Austria (Mnemosyne Suppl. 408. Late Antique Literature), Leiden - Boston; reviews: F. Hadjittofi, CR 69.1 (2018): 90 – 92; Guy Walker, BMCR 2018.08.30; A. Lefteratou, Religious Study Review 45.1 (2019): 67; P. McKenna, CJ-Online 2019.06.06. Bergmeier, R. (22012), Schatten über Europa. Der Untergang der antiken Kultur, Aschaffenburg: 55 – 67; 147 – 159. Brown, P. (2006), The World of Late Antiquity AD 150 – 750, London 1971 (repr. 2006). Cameron, Alan (2004), Poetry and Literary Culture in Late Antiquity, in: S. Swain and M. Edwards (edd.), Approaching Late Antiquity, Oxford: 327 – 354; reprinted in: Cameron, Alan (2016), Wandering Poets and Other Essays on Greek Literature and Philosophy, Oxford: 163 – 184. Cameron, Alan (2011), The Last Pagans of Rome, Oxford - New York. Föller, C. and Schulz, F., edd. (2016), Osten und Westen 400 – 600 n. Chr. Kommunikation, Kooperation und Konflikt, Stuttgart. Gemeinhardt, P. (2007), Das lateinische Christentum und die antike pagane Bildung, Tübingen. Gigli Piccardi, D. and Magnelli, E., edd. (2013), Studi di poesia greca tardoantica. Atti della Giornata di Studi, Università degli Studi di Firenze, 4 ottobre 2012 (Studi e Testi di Scienze dell’Antichità 31), Firenze. Hardie, Ph. (2019), Classicism and Christianity in Late Antique Latin Poetry (Sather Classical Lectures), Oakland, CA. Hopkinson, N., ed. (1994), Studies in the Dionysiaca of Nonnus, Cambridge. Johnson, S. Fitzgerald, ed. (2006), Greek Literature in Late Antiquity. Dynamism, Didacticism, Classicism, Aldershot, Hampshire. Johnson, S. Fitzgerald, ed. (2012), The Oxford Handbook of Late Antiquity, Oxford. Kröll, N. (2016), Die Jugend des Dionysos. Die Ampelos-Episode in den Dionysiaka des Nonnos von Panopolis (Millennium-Studien / Millennium Studies 62), Berlin - Boston (print- and open-access-publication: https://www.degruyter.com/view/product/449537); reviews: D. Accorinti, Anzeiger für die Altertumswissenschaft 69 (Juli/Oktober 2016): 225 – 231; K. Ehling, Gymnasium 124 (2017): 379 – 381; B. Verhelst, Plekos 20 (2018): 219 – 225; D. Hernández de la Fuente, Cuadernos de Filología Clásica. Estudios griegos e indoeuropeos 28 (10/10/2018): 329 – 332.

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Leppin, H. (2015), Antike Mythologie in christlichen Kontexten der Spätantike (MillenniumStudien / Millennium Studies 54), Berlin - Boston. Liebeschuetz, W. (2015), East and West in Late Antiquity. Invasion, Settlement, Ethnogenesis and Conflicts of Religion (Impact of Empire 20), Leiden - Boston. MacGill, S. (2012), Latin Poetry, in: Johnson 2012: 335 – 360. Pollmann, K. (2017), The Baptized Muse. Early Christian Poetry as Cultural Authority, Oxford. Roberts, M. (1989), The Jeweled Style. Poetry and Poetics in Late Antiquity, Ithaca - London. Rochette, B. (2010), Greek and Latin Bilingualism, in: Bakker, E. J. (ed.), A Companion to the Ancient Greek Language (Blackwell Companions to the Ancient World), New York: 281 – 293. Scourfield, J. H. D., ed. (2007), Texts and Culture in Late Antiquity. Inheritance, Authority, and Change, Swansea. Smolak, K. (2016),    – elementa mundi. Das exegetische Potential der ,wunderbaren Speisenvermehrung‘ im Vergleich (Nonnos, Metabole 6, 25 – 55 und Prudentius, Apotheosis 706 – 735), in: R. Merker, G. Danek and E. Klecker (edd.), Trilogie. Epos – Drama – Epos. Festschrift für Herbert Bannert, Wien: 371 – 393. Spanoudakis, K., ed. (2014), Nonnus of Panopolis in Context. Poetry and Cultural Milieu in Late Antiquity with a Section on Nonnus and the Modern World (Trends in Classics Suppl. 24), Berlin - Boston. Stenger, J. (2009), Hellenische Identität in der Spätantike. Pagane Autoren und ihr Unbehagen an der eigenen Zeit, Berlin - New York. Whitmarsh, T. (2001), Greek Literature and the Roman Empire. The Politics of Imitation, Oxford.

Part One: Myth and Religion

WIENER STUDIEN, Beiheft 41, 27 – 44 © 2020 by Österreichische Akademie der Wissenschaften Wien

D AVID HER NÁNDEZ DE LA FUE NTE

A Dionysian  ? The ‘Good’ Indians as ‘Secret Converts’ in Nonnus’ Dionysiaca The vision of darkness and evil in the poetry of Nonnus of Panopolis is represented especially by the author’s attitude to the Indians, who are seen as the archetypal rivals of the divine deeds of Dionysus in his mission throughout our world.1 Even though there are other antagonists of the god in the Dionysiaca, such as Lycurgus, who is described as a well-known rival of Dionysus’ in the sixth book of the Iliad, or Pentheus, whose fame is due to Euripides’ Bacchae, 2 the Indians are described as quintessential enemies of the cosmic order in the poem. Far from the exotic image that they enjoyed in the Greek world since Herodotus, seen in some cases as that of a wise people, the most characteristic feature in the Dionysiaca is their impiety. It has been often said that the poet modelled Dionysus’s Indian expedition upon the conquests of Alexander, who was inspired by the ancient legend of Dionysus in India. Nonnus’ Indology is probably based on older sources regarding the mythical geography of India and the peoples he describes in Book 26, which will be the focus of this contribution. If the myth of Dionysus in India takes definitive form at the end of the 4th century B.C. (although it is surely older), with probable references to it in the fragments by Cleitarchus and Megasthenes, after the age of Alexander and especially with the reuse of the legend by the diadochs, the contrast between the civilizing work of Dionysus and the barbarous nature of the Indians will be emphasized above all.3 The Nonnian image of India is a highly symbolic one and its inhabitants appear constantly as archetypal enemies of the god. They are unjust, ungodly, barbarous, libidinous, and, paradoxically, black and with ––––––––––– 1 See the studies of Dostálová-Jeništová 1967, Schulze 1973 and Frangoulis 2010 as well as the long section on India in Chuvin 1991. 2 Needless to say that Nonnus echoes both characters in his poems, in books 21 and 44, for instance. 3 See MacCrindle 1901 / repr. 1971.

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curly hair (they are described by Nonnus with a fine hapax legomenon as  ).4 The myths of Dionysus contain even in its oldest strata an evident dichotomy between those who accept the worship of the newly arrived god, portrayed in several myths of hospitality, and the  who reject his cult and fight against the god in myths of resistance. The cases of Icarius and Lycurgus, both treated by Nonnus, are perhaps the most representative examples of both mythic patterns. Not only the main figures among Nonnus’ Indians, such as King Deriades and General Morrheus, but also the rest of their troops are archetypal . Taking this into consideration, we might ask what is the most striking difference between these wrongdoers in Nonnus’s poetry and the general context of the enemies of Dionysus in the literary tradition from Homer to Hellenistic and Imperial mythological poetry. Our working hypothesis dwells on the fact that Dionysus offers the Indians, especially to Deriades as well as to some minor characters, the possibility of a sort of  , that is to say, conversion, repentance or redemption through the acceptance of the Dionysian cult. Conversion has been described in the seminal 1933 essay by A. D. Nock, following the Jamesian psychology, as “a passion of willingness and acquiescence, which removes the feeling of anxiety, a sense of perceiving truths not known before, a sense of clean and beautiful newness within and without and an ecstasy of happiness.”5 We cannot appreciate that inner psychological process in the case of Nonnus, but in his poem, some of the enemies of the god – usually minor characters – immediately agree and accept the new cult in a sort of “conversion” to Dionysism. This seems to me prima facie a Nonnian innovation that should be thoroughly analyzed and explained in the light of a possible Christian interference in the plot of the poem. One of the most remarkable characteristics of this conversion is that it must remain secret. These converts cannot show themselves as followers of the new Dionysian faith in their current situation, amid the army of the god’s enemies, and we believe that Nonnus uses here a narrative model attested in the Gospel of John regarding key figures such as Joseph of Arimathea. Some of these ‘secret converts’ to Dionysus will be rewarded with a better life afterwards. Needless to say, Deriades, the main antagonist of the god, cannot accept the Dionysian mercy and therefore personifies both darkness and evil in the poem. ––––––––––– 4 See Espinar Ojeda 2003, 135f. 5 Nock 1933, 7 –8.

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The god’s enemies in the Dionysiaca basically show impiety and iniquity. The Indians are impious because they reject the god and his gifts; and they are wicked because they oppose his plans and attack Dike, who is defended by Zeus’ son, Dionysus, upon earth. Moreover, the  of these characters is evidenced in their constant denial of Dionysus’ divine condition. Nevertheless, there is a series of intermediate characters that change sides and accept conversion. Zeus sentences the Indians to destruction already in the prophecy to Aeon (7.73 – 105), when he predicts the apotheosis of Dionysus after the Indian campaign. As offspring of the Earth ( ) they are the main representatives of an ancient pre-Olympic order, which is by nature alien to justice. At the beginning of Book 12, Zeus reveals again his intention to destroy these people “who do not know justice” (12.1 – 3    !"#  $%). Zeus then commands the divine messenger, Iris, to announce that Dionysus must exterminate the race of the Indians “who know no piety” (19 – 21    …  $%). Dionysus’ mission is clear from this point onwards, but despite the command, the god will show mercy towards the evil Indians at some decisive moments of his campaign. He offers them a possibility of redemption, which in principle would have been strange to the tradition of the Indian wars of Dionysus and, of course, of his historical counterpart Alexander. A clear example of this unusual mercy can be seen already in the description of the first hostilities between the Dionysian and Indian troops in Asia Minor. Prior to the battle there is a warning from the rock of Niobe to the Indians: “Make not war against a god, foolish Indians! The son of Zeus!” (14.274f.). Some verses later, Dionysus sends a first embassy to the Indians, in the Homeric manner (14.295ff.), offering them the opportunity to avoid the fight and accept his worship, but the Indians reject it haughtily (14.320). Later on Orontes, one of Deriades’ generals, fights a duel with Dionysus, who ends up defeating him (17.168 – 224). But, strangely enough for a war epic, the god spares his life by voluntarily missing the deathblow to his rival (245ff.: ' + % @> >, | = 'X [  \ ]  ^ _`: literally, “accept the vine in peace or fight”). The herald’s message is described as true in 21.238 ( {>   ), with a vocabulary that reminds us of the first chapter of the Paraphrase where the Evangelist himself appears as the herald of Christ (Par. 1.17). However, Deriades rejects this offer as well, this time for a religious reason: he denies the divinity of Dionysus and declares, in a theological argument, that he is indifferent to the celestial gods (21.263f.). After the great battle at the Hydaspes River, the war is resumed in Book 26, with a list of the Indian army and their allies. The appearance of Athena in the dreams of Deriades, following the Homeric model as well, verses 1 – 37 is the starting point for the list, where Nonnus displays his knowledge of India. The sources that he used especially regarding proper and place names in previous poems, such as Dionysius’ Bassarika, have been admirably studied by the late Pierre Chuvin. 6 The names of the four generals of Deriades stand out here, Agreus, Phlogius, Paltanor, and Morrheus (26.44 – 93), for which Nonnus is the only known source. Let us consider briefly the profiles of Deriades and Morrheus as paradigms of the irreducible enemies of the god. Deriades is inflexible in his impiety, despite the many opportunities that Dionysus offers for repentance. Since his first appearance after the Homeric omens of Book 27 (1 – 18), he is portrayed as arrogant and impious. He is always threatening to enslave Dionysus together with the Olympians (70ff. and 89ff.) and blasphemously defines himself as an “earthly Zeus” (92ff.). His speeches in the poem are an accumulation of insolences leading to a climax after his aristia (32.184ff.)7 with his two successive duels with Dionysus (36.140 – 160 and 39.33 – 73). His wickedness is highlighted at every moment, even among his allies. Habrathoos, one of the Indian captains of the Caspires and the Arienes, is humiliated by him (157). In the first duel between Dionysus and Deriades, the most significant moment is the forgiveness granted by the god (Dion. 36.374 – 381): 375

"# } ~#     %   ‚   „‚.  \ #   †   "#‡,

––––––––––– 6 Chuvin 1991. See now the edition of Benaissa 2018. 7 Vian 1990, 120f.

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31

ˆ ]# ‰> >  % , Š  "  ‹’ > #·  \   “”  > , > ‡   • #· ˆ } > ] "#’.

“Deriades struggling with his throat entangled in the vine-twigs was choked and crushed in the winding trails. For all his labour he could not stir; wherefore he adjured in tones of madness and sent out a stifled cry from a throat now pious, and prayed with voiceless movements shedding tears of supplication; held out a dumb hand, with eloquent silence uttered all his trouble; his tears were a voice.” (transl. W. H. D. Rouse)

Deriades, suffocated by the vines, a paradoxical weapon, yet perfectly suitable for Dionysus,8 pleads mercy in silence (Š  "  ‹’ > #), or rather “with a testimonial silence” (> ‡), in a use of > that can indeed recall here the evangelical language. However, despite being released by a merciful Dionysus, Deriades persists in his defiant attitude as “captain of the god’s enemies” (40.67 

 ; see 36.386 ff.):9 Next, in his second duel with Dionysus, Deriades delivers a final speech (39.33 – 73) in which he explicitly denies the divinity of Dionysus. At last, after the fight and seeing himself already defeated, the scheme of defiance, opportunity, and denial is repeated as the poet recalls the previous duel. Deriades is once again aware of the possibility of repentance before the “witnessing presence of Dionysus” (> 'X 40.66),10 but persists in his attitude for “once again, he became a champion against the god and he had a divided heart, between destroying Bacchus or turning him into a slave” (40.67 – 69 –   ]  · ^ } >— |  , = ' + = %  , cf. also 36.390f.). Although in principle this was inspired by the Homeric model, the most striking difference of these epic duels is again the offer of forgiveness given by the god.11 As for the second main Indian leader, Morrheus, Deriades’ son-in-law, he stands out for two fundamental aspects that mark him under a negative light:12 his blackness, both physical and moral, and his libidinous desire for the Maenad Chalcomede (33 – 35), which leads him to an attempt of satisfying his sexual desire against her will. Between the recreation of the erotic ––––––––––– 8 Gigli Piccardi 1985, 135ff. 9 Simon 1999, 72. 10 In spite of the influential view of Vian 1997 we cannot but still suspect a Christian intertext in passages such as this one. 11 For the differences regarding the Homeric model Keydell 1927, 425, Collart 1930, 229 and Simon 1999, 116. 12 See in general Schulze 1973, 103 – 112.

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episode and Morrheus’ love pains, Chalcomede’s strategy succeeds in distancing the warrior from the fight. The young woman asks him to take a bath in the river before entering her bed (35.98 – 138) and the Indian captain falls into the trap, discarding his weapons (139 – 159) before entering in the river in a somewhat shocking scene (Dion. 35.188 – 196):

190

195

˜>‡ }  " > `,

ˆ ]# ™ " ‰  · † } š  $› ‹> œ>   ž", Ÿ  #, • ¡Š  †  · > ’    · ^ } "’, ¢ "Š †,  \    £,  — ˜, †>   †¤ .  \ ‡  ¤ †’ †·  – ‹   " ’  ¥[> Š`·

“… the cool sea cleansed his body, but the Paphian’s tiny dart was hot within him. In the waters he prayed to Erythraian Aphrodite of India, for he had learnt that Cypris is the daughter of the sea; but he came out still black from his bath, for his body was as nature had made it grow, and the brine changed not the man’s body or his colour, itself red though it was. So he washed his skin in a vain hope; for he had wished to become snow-white, and so desirable to the virgin maid.” (transl. W. H. D. Rouse)

In this digression, the poet seems to mock the efforts of the black Morrheus – in a clear identification of racial blackness with moral evil – to wash away his colour in order to whiten his skin. After this scene, the Indian warrior tries to rape Chalcomede, who is defended by a serpent (185 – 222). There are very interesting precedents for this episode and for the moral consideration of Oriental blackness in reference to Dionysian whiteness which can be found for example in a speech by Himerius (18.2f. Colonna, In civem Cappadocem auditorem) about a group of Indians who recognized Dionysus’ divinity and became members of his   . These black-skinned Indians, during their journey, camped in Cappadocia and bathed in a nearby spring, whose water was darkened as a result of the immersion of these new Dionysian faithful. In addition, in a funeral inscription from Antinoe and dated to the 3rd century A.D., an Ethiopian slave, after having declared to have been black in the body during his lifetime, but candid in the soul, compares himself to Dionysus’ expedition against the Indians:13 the striking similarity is the fact that the slave compares the blackness of his body with the black Indians and the whiteness of his soul to the deeds of Dionysus against the Indians. ––––––––––– 13 Gigli Piccardi 2003, 295 – 303.

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But, apart from the archetypal Indians as quintessential wrongdoers in war and sexual violence, it is more interesting for our purpose to survey the image of some of the good Indians and allies, who, in spite of their blackness, are described in a more positive light after accepting Dionysus’ cult. Interestingly, Nonnus’ description of India shows not only traces of mythical geography and fabulous tales from the literary tradition, 14 but also some hidden ‘Realien’, so that we might find some images of good Indians referring back to the echoes of possible historical deeds. Let us consider first the Nonnian narrative of the Indians’ conversion to the cult of Dionysus. The first of the converts is the aforementioned Paltanor, none other than one of the four great generals of Deriades. Paltanor, leader of the Zabii,15 is a convert to the faith of Dionysus, because as the poet states in 26, 65 and 67 “he was sensible and by his pious customs had Dionysus in his heart” (†"# | … {   „"# ŠX). In appearance he is part of the dark and evil army of the Indians, but his heart has already experienced  . Francis Vian notes in his 1990 edition of this book that the word „"#, which I freely translated as “having Dionysus in his heart” is used in other passages to point out the Dionysian conversions, such as that of the Hamadryad: ! – | – "# ¦ Š,  \ $›  †¤ , | \ }  § „"# ŠX (Dion. 22.99f.). In the case of Paltanor, this supporter of Dionysus will be rewarded, after the war, with his transfer to Thebes, “the city built by the lyre”, where he shall have a new life far from the dark Indians of his homeland (Dion. 26.65 – 71): 65

70

 \ # ¨ #  , ª †"# ™  #  «, ¬ ]>  § {   „"# ŠX· ˆ } ¥ ” > ¥# – "Š $%  ˆ  § >’X  ­’`·  \ `        \ "  ŠX. “Habrathoos came with a host of bowmen whom he had gathered in support, but he had been slow in arming for shame of his hair newly shorn. He nursed resentment and grievance against Deriades the horned king; because the overbearing monarch in a fit of mad folly had cut off all his hair, a bitter insult to an Indian. Compelled to join in the war, he came unwillingly, and hid the shame of his hairless temples under a high-plumed helmet, cherishing secret rancour in his heart. When battle came, he joined the fight in the daytime; but always in the hours of the night he would send a trusty servant to Bacchos, and tell him the plans of Deriades. Thus he fought secretly against Deriades, but openly against Dionysos.” (transl. W. H. D. Rouse, slightly modified)

The third Dionysian convert is captain Aretus, whose offspring was born mute after receiving a prophecy (250 – 294), in a story which recalls the paradoxical tradition but also has some Christian intertext. Aretus fights on the side of Dionysus in 32.188 and appears as another of the righteous Indians (26.255), especially since he was enrolled in Deriades’ army against his will. As a reward, some time after the Indian war (26.287ff.), Dionysus

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will show mercy to Aretus and his five sons (' ¥ ” † v, 288) and he will heal them. In another evidence of Dionysian mercy towards the Indians, Dionysus works the miracle of “untying the knot” of their muteness (" # ’ ˆ  % | ³ ˆ ]>,  \ {  ´ ’, | "#— ’ ‰˜ †”Š# +X, 288 – 290). The similarity between the vocabulary used here and that dealing with the muteness of Lazarus, as well as with other miracles of the Gospels,16 is remarkable (Dion. 26.250 – 290, cf. Par. 11.158f. on Lazarus: ]” , @[ , ¤. "  } ¤ …): 250 255

290

} #  †  § Ÿ †—   † –  Š […]  \  — ³”    —  ± >‹’, @ŠX  \ „’> ¹ŠX, º ŠX  \ ™"   \ ‰˜X ¹ §. […] » –  ' ¥ ” † , " # ’ ˆ  % ³ ˆ ]>,  \ {  ´ ’, "#— ’ ‰˜ †”Š# +X.

“Nor was old Aretos missing when Deriades summoned all to war. A heavy man he was […] He also armed his force under compulsion for the war, he and five sons, Lycos and Myrsos together, Glaucos and Periphas and Melaneus the lateborn. […] After the victory Lord Bacchos had pity on these, and loosed the tie of the tongue in their dumb throats, drove away the silence which had been their companion from birth, bestowed upon each a voice perfected at last.” (transl. W. H. D. Rouse)

The list of Indian troops of Book 26 concludes with the description of the allies (339 – 349). Some of them, such as the Ethiopians, who fight masked, and the Blemyes, are also seen in a positive way. The Blemyes, for instance, are shown as being “good blacks” whose history was already dealt with in Book 17 (385ff.) as the first example of converts to the Dionysian faith. In fact, the mention of these African peoples of Indian origin closing the list of Indian troops and allies, connects this list of Dionysus’ enemies and establishes an interesting relation between the Indian converts and the Dionysian hosts. The story of the Blemyes is told not by chance after the second great ––––––––––– 16 Especially Mk 7.32ff. where Christ heals a deaf and dumb man, untying the “knot” (7.35 †Š  „ ˆ § ³ ¤) has also been often noted, see Gigli Piccardi 1985, 107 – 109. Against this view Vian 1990, 96 and 285 defends the traditional pagan character of this story citing a passage by Plutarch (Quaest. Conv. I 613c). This is, in any case, a very significant analogy. See also the detailed commentary by Spanoudakis 2014.

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episode of hospitality in the Dionysiaca, that of Staphylus, which constitutes a caesura in the epic war narrative. In 17.385 – 397, captain Blemys “with curly hair” ('>  ), the eponymous leader of this people, described as a nation of Indian ascent, surrenders to Dionysus “Indianslayer” ($"X > ¤ !# ŠX) and accepts his divinity (Dion. 17.385 – 397): 385

390

395

 \ '>  , œ>  #  $%, ‹ Š"[   ˆ †  , $"X > ¤ !# ŠX.  \  ,  ’ >Š   `, \  ³X ’ £  ‚ > # > œ>  # +– $%,   >  \ {   § , ž  †\ [ , •`  –  X  ¼ ]   \ ½ %   ·  \ '> ¾± ¿  † + >  À>, † ¤ „ Ÿ Ã#·  Å   Æ ¹ !Ɣ  > Ã, ‰˜ 'Ç È> ~§ .

“Now woolly-head Blemys, chief of the Erythraian Indians, bent a slavish knee before Dionysos Indianslayer, holding the suppliant’s unbloodied olive branch. And the god when he saw the man bowed upon the earth, took his hand and lifted him up, and sent him far away with his polyglot people, putting a distance between him and the swarthy Indians, now hating the lordship and the manners of Deriades, away to the Arabian land, where beside the sea he dwelt on a rich soil and gave his name to his people. Blemys quickly passed to the mouth of sevenstream Nile, to be the sceptred king of the Ethiopians, men of colour like his. The ground of Meroe welcomed him, where it is always harvest, a chieftain who handed down his name to the Blemyes of later generations.” (transl. W. H. D. Rouse)

The god, as a reward for this conversion, sends these “people of many languages” to live in Arabia, away from the “dark Indians” (> # $%), and bestows upon them the command over the Ethiopians “who have the same colour”. It is curious that the Blemyes, people of southern Egypt and of semi-legendary aura, are aligned here with the god for being fair (17.391), because they actually harassed the southern border of the Empire and there were several campaigns against them (from the time of Diocletian up to the 5th century).17 Apart from the paradox of this treatment given the conflicting nature of the Blemyes, we can consider that this passage shows the reha––––––––––– 17 A general panorama in Gigli Piccardi 2017.

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bilitation of these people in religious and cultural terms. They were also known from the remnants of pre-Nonnian Dionysian poetry, for example, in what we know of the Bassarika of Dionysius. That epic poem included the Blemyes as one of the enemies of Dionysus, among other faithful commanders of Deriades. 18 Nonnus however eulogizes them as Dionysian ‘converts’ and extends their government from the ‘happy land’, perhaps the Arabia Felix (Yemen), to Meroe, in Ethiopia. In Antiquity, many sources established a certain kinship between the Indians and the Ethiopians, who are seen as a kind of exiled Indians (Philostratus, Vita Apoll. 3.20). Accordingly, there was also an old tradition regarding their benevolence towards Dionysus, in comparison with other dark-skinned barbarians, and therefore towards Greco-Roman culture. This view is attested, for example, in Dionysius Periegetes. Some passages of his Description of the earth deal with the origin, location, and customs of the Ethiopians, who are good barbarians of Indian ascent but described as godfearing: “So, then, there dwell around ox-feeding Erytheia, somewhere near the stream of Atlas, the god-fearing Aethiopii, blameless sons of the Macrobians …” ({ }  > " "’ œŠ   |   \ ¤

> Ÿ § , | ¹ # >‹§ Š …, 558 – 560). Both the Blemyes and the Ethiopians symbolize the good Indians in exile and the benevolence of Dionysus can also be explained on religious grounds as a reward for their conversion. Dionysus rewards these converts with mercy, miraculous healings, a new life, lands in the Greek mainland, command over other parts of the world, etc. But most important of all, the god grants them a way of escaping from the impiety and moral blackness of their fellow Indians, who have been doomed and sentenced by Zeus in the universal plan of the Dionysiaca. The contrast with Deriades and Morrheus is very striking if we compare their archetypal evil and darkness with the passages on Paltanor, Habrathoos, Aretus or Blemys. All of them are portrayed as “companions in their hearts” („" ) with the god. At last, we should briefly consider the possible parallel passages of these Dionysian converts from darkness to light in the Christian texts and especially in the Paraphrase of the Gospel of St John. First, in the Paraphrase the

 par excellence, parallel to the Indian king and generals, Pentheus ––––––––––– 18 Dostálová-Jeništová 1967 considered that this change of side could be explained as a reflection of the peace that was signed with the Blemyes in 451f., during the reign of Marcianus, while Chuvin 1991 prefers to emphasize the religious aspect, since it is necessary to recall that the Blemyes were well-known heathens, as worshipers of Isis, and enemies of Christianity.

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or Lycurgus, are personified by groups of Pharisees and Jewish priests, or by the Hebrew people (Hebraioi) in general. They appear constantly. They are witnesses of Jesus’ deeds, but they are non-believers and immune to the divine word (4.3 and 10, Š  ¥ ’# É  #, 9.73: # É  # and, regarding Jewish priests, 5.57f. Ê  Ë   ³ ¥" >‚ | $¤ †#). In a similar way to Deriades and the Indians, these enemies of Christ also reject his divinity in the Paraphrase. Both Dionysus and Christ claim for themselves the condition of the son of God and offer a new message enabling the possibility of conversion, but this is not accepted by the evillest rivals of the gods, as Nonnus portrays them. Unfortunately, there is less evidence regarding conversion and repentance in the Paraphrase. A reason for that is no doubt that, in comparison with the synoptic Gospels, where there are cases as the conversion of sinners such as Matthew (Mt 9.9 – 13, Mk 2.13 – 17 and Lk 5.27f.) or Zacchaeus (Lk 19.1 – 10) or the story of the bleeding woman (Mk 5.24 – 34, Mt 9.20 – 42, Lk 8.43 – 48), the Gospel of St John contains less episodes following these patterns. We do have the case of the adulterous woman (Jo 7.53 – 8.11), but since that episode was recognized as spurious very early on, Nonnus does not include it in his Paraphrase. In the New Testament the most evident parallels of conversion from physical and moral darkness to the true message of God, as we have seen in the Dionysiaca, are to be read in the Acts of the Apostles. A well-known passage in Acts 8.26 – 39 contains the conversion of a man of Ethiopia, an eunuch and treasurer at the court of Candace, queen of the Ethiopians. He travels from Jerusalem back to his homeland reading the words of Esaias, the prophet, and he is illuminated by Philip, who preached about Jesus to him. The eunuch sees some water and immediately believes that Jesus Christ is the Son of God: the symbolic baptism of a black man recalls the aforementioned passages in the Dionysiaca and the parallel sources. After his baptism, the man from Ethiopia becomes a fervent convert and apostle, preaching in all the cities on his way home. Regarding moral blackness, we cannot but briefly allude to the conversion of the archetypal convert  of the New Testament, Saul of Tarsos in Acts 9.1 – 22. Saul, who breathed out evil at the beginning of that chapter, represents like no other the figure of the convert who is blinded and mute after his fall and remains speechless until Ananias visits him and inaugurates his new life as apostle of the nations. In the case of Christian conversion, as Nock (1933, 254) points out, “it is clear that the two most important factors were prophecy and miracle”. Nonnus’ Indians were no

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doubt impressed by several Dionysian miracles, but in the Paraphrase prophecy and the appealing paradigm of Jesus are the strongest and most effective call to conversion. If we briefly turn to Nonnus’ Paraphrase, we do not find any explicit conversion from evil, because the poet is limited by the contents and peculiar nature of the Fourth Gospel, which, as it has been said, does not display many examples of repentance. The only explicit mention of conversion occurs in chapter 3, when John the Baptist is preaching repentance to the people and many are baptized and “lately converted” (3.120 – 123 †>³  }  \ |  Ì "%  \ ‰˜X  ` |    †" Š š  ). Some implicit allusions to conversion can be found in parables such as the sheep and the master (Jo 10.26 – 28) or the grain on the earth (Jo 12.24 – 26). But in order to find a real testimony of conversion in Nonnus’ Paraphrase the best thing to do is to examine the disciples themselves, such as Philip and Nathanael, who after some hesitation follow Christ in Jo 1.35 – 47 (Par. 1.171 – 174; 1.183 – 188): 171

185

171

185

 \ ˆ Ê É· ¥ ”   ^   ˆ +ˆ > , ‰ >  „· Ì  \ Š, É.  \ Ÿ  ˆ Š# ½  ¤  ]  \ Í ]"  "#’. […] X } À  —  Š ] ”Š# ÉX· À [ } Š    ˆ ] ; ŸX } Š ^ É X \ Š X· ]  \  [.  \ >  „ À  —  Š> ¥ ” †>  ‚· . “And nearby he found Philip. So the King called him To follow him and be his faithful fellow teammate: ‘You, too, O Philip, follow!’ Even while the words Rang in his ear, his footsteps overtook the voice. […] To him Nathaniel, ready-witted, tossed a proverb back: ‘Can any good thing come from Nazareth?’ To which Replied his partner Philip in these simple words: ‘Then, come and see!’ Nathaniel, nimbly following, The traveling King displayed him to the crowd at large …” (transl. M. A. Prost)

The disciples might be insolent sinners at first, but when they receive the word and the message of Christ, both of them convert and transform their lives. The poet emphasizes the awakening to a new path in the disciples’

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lives by following the master through the act of standing up and walking. He does this by using typical Nonnian expressions such as „s (“walker”) and underlining the swift movement of  . But the main vocabulary used to describe Dionysian converts in the Dionysiaca, especially referring to inner conversion, such as „" , is only to be found at the end of Christ’s mission in the Paraphrase. In chapter 15 and 17 these expressions are referred to regarding the disciples who, on the verge of Christ’s death, must face the beginning of their apostolic mission. They are then addressed as companions, single-minded friends, who from the beginning have witnessed Christ’s teaching and miracles and are now prepared to act as heirs of his message (Par. 15.109 – 111): 110

"’ †  "    ’ > Š X·  \ – †\   „" †   \ †” §  % •# ’ ]#·

110

“And you will preach about me from your own accounts, For you were my companions, single-minded friends; From the beginning you have witnessed all my deeds.” (transl. M. A. Prost)

The word is repeated twice in a short interval of verses in chapter 17 in the context of Christ’s particular prayer for his apostles, who will remain in the world to fulfil the preaching of the Gospel after Christ’s crucifixion and resurrection. Jesus will soon leave this world to go back to the Father and he worries about the unity of the disciples who will remain on earth. He prays to God to keep them united in their hearts, to avoid temptations and to be “single-hearted companions, so they may be like us, all one and unified”, that is to say, united with Christ in spirit as Christ is united with the Father (Par. 17.32 – 37):

35

35

X ’ ‹ } ] , †< ’ ¥    †  , ,   †Š · –  – ~> ± "Š ” „" ]  ¥     § ‹  . Î} , ± "Š ” „" , "  \ ,  Ï "  „[> ª  ~ . “They still are in the world, I soon will leave the earth to come back home to You. O Father, my disciples Are all united, pray protect them from abuse And from temptations of the adversary demon. O holy Father, guard these champions, Your cultists, So they may be like us, all one and unified.” (transl. M. A. Prost)

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Perhaps the most evident parallel to the ‘converted’ Indians is that of Nicodemus and Joseph of Arimathea: both of them are followers of Christ in secret so as to preserve their social status and because of their fear of the Jews, who are the enemies of Christ. Nicodemus visits Christ during the night (Ê «  ˆ ˆ >ˆ , Jo 3.2) and Joseph was a “secret disciple due to his fear of the Jews” ( — ¤ $¤ > } – ˆ " % $> #, ... Jo 19.38). Both of them could be echoed in the Nonnian character of Habrathoos, a secret follower of Dionysus in 26.152 – 172 who also communicates with him during the night (\ ’ !ˆ > ²) and was a secret enemy of the evil Deriades ( # } | ` >). We should turn now to the cases of Nicodemus and Joseph of Arimathea in the Paraphrase. Regarding Nicodemus, in chapter 3 of the Paraphrase, he meets Jesus in the night (>ˆ ) as an “unobserved walker” (> Ê „ ). The whole passage strongly emphasizes the moral contrast between darkness and light, in a parallel manner with the attitude towards the Indians who are attracted to the bright side of Dionysus (Par. 3.1 – 7):

5

5

Ð   ‹ˆ ª  # É  #, ˆ $> # >’ , ] ’· ½ ‹ À · > Ê „ Ñ‚ >ˆ ¿  "> X \  #· ]> Ÿ  « , •` " · \ } ‚ $¤ †#    ]  Í >" § À +‚ " Š  Š X … “There was a certain priest of Pharisaic blood, Of Jews a Lord, a propertied and upright man. His name was Nicodemus. Walking unobserved, He came to Christ at night, on surreptitious feet. By night he crept into the house of light; Jesus, Describing to the man the splendors of baptism, By words enlightened Nicodemus in the dark.” (transl. M. A. Prost)

Thus the “nightly appearance” (>" §) is turned to light and splendour of the faith ( Í), following the Johannine symbolism of light and darkness.19 The other ‘secret convert’ of the Gospel, Joseph of Arimathea, also shows remarkable parallels with the ‘good Indians’ in the Dionysiaca. He had fear ( ) of the Jews and still he was an “unperceived disciple” of Christ (Ò— "’  ’ ), Par. 19.192 – 199: ––––––––––– 19 Franchi 2016, esp. 253.

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195

195

 \ ™    $#’",  $> # ">  · • š  \ ˆ Ò— Ñ "’ ]  — †   [  "ˆ  ˆ #. Ê Ÿ !#" > #   Ÿ[# > ] . – „  # ˆ [³ > % "§·  \ \  X > «  $#’"· . “Thereafter, Joseph crept to Pilate to beseech, But cautiously, in terror of the Jews, for he Was Christ’s secret disciple, fond of listening, And sipped the milk of faith straight from his sacred lips. He entered in the house on genuflecting knees And begged the ruler for the corpse possessed of God, Who gladly gave the ever-living corpse to him. On silent feet came Joseph, ferrying the dead …” (transl. M. A. Prost)

Both characters are defined in the Paraphrase in relation to Christ’s mystical body. They both keep this relation secret, but it becomes clear after the crucifixion. Claudia Greco has studied the adjectives used regarding the carrying of Jesus’ body on the donkey and she has seen, not by chance, the parallel between Joseph of Arimathea, who carries the body of Christ to the sepulchre, and Nicodemus, who receives the body after the crucifixion.20 After considering these parallels in the Paraphrase, we can revisit our initial hypothesis. Can we, then, speak of a Dionysian ‘conversion’ in Nonnus? To sum up our view, if the myth of Dionysus is all about hospitality and rejection, we can also state that the ‘myth’ around Christ shows a clear parallel dichotomy regarding this alternative. That is to say, there is a parallel choice faced by those who encounter Christ on his way in the Christian narrative of the Gospels and the Acts. They can either accept his new message and follow him immediately or reject it and oppose him as classical

. The good news from the Christian perspective is that even these enemies of the God, as Saul himself, can repent, convert and turn to Christ’s side. We suspect that Nonnus takes into account the Christian idea of conversion when rehabilitating some of the traditional enemies of Dionysus, such as the dark and evil Indians. It would seem like there is a possibility of redemption in the ‘pagan’ poem: even if the ‘good Indians’ did not fight Dionysus before, they were still doomed as a part of that ‘evil race’ sentenced by Zeus already in Book 13 of the poem. In an innovative manner, ––––––––––– 20 Greco 2014, esp. 311.

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Nonnus describes a series of converts to Dionysism in his mythological poem that could be explained by acknowledging an important interference with Christianity. This would explain the unusual Dionysian mercy and forgiveness. But this will need to be further investigated in another occasion, since a more in-depth analysis of the vocabulary and the intention of the Christian sources of the Paraphrase seems to be needed. In any case, both Christ and Dionysus grant in Nonnus’ oeuvre an opportunity to  for those who are marked by evil. Of course, the subjects can freely choose whether they take advantage of it or not.

References Benaissa, A. (2018), Dionysius: The Epic Fragments. Introduction, Translation and Commentary (Cambridge Classical Texts and Commentaries 56), Cambridge. Chuvin, P. (1991), Mythologie et géographie dionysiaques. Recherches sur l’œuvre de Nonnos de Panopolis, avec un préface d’E. Will (Vates 2), Clermont-Ferrand. Collart, P. (1930), Nonnos de Panopolis. Études sur la composition et le texte des Dionysiaques (Recherches d’archéologie, de philologie et d’histoire 1), Le Caire. Dostálová-Jeništová, R. (1967), Das Bild Indiens in den Dionysiaka des Nonnos von Panopolis. AAntHung 15: 437 – 450. Espinar Ojeda, J. L. (2003), La adjetivación en las Dionisíacas de Nono de Panópolis. Tradición e innovación, hapax absolutos y no absolutos, Diss. Málaga. Franchi, R. (2016), Approaching the ‘Spiritual Gospel’. Nonnus as Interpreter of John, in: D. Accorinti (ed.), Brill’s Companion to Nonnus of Panopolis (Brill’s Companions in Classical Studies), Leiden: 240 – 266. Frangoulis, H. (2010), Les Indiens chez Nonnos. Différence et identité, in: M.- F. Marein, P. Voisin and J. Gallego (edd.), Figures de l’étranger autour de la Méditerranée antique. Actes du Colloque International “Antiquité méditerranéenne. À la rencontre de ‘l’autre’”, perceptions et représentations de l’étranger dans les littératures antiques, 12, 13 et 14 mars 2009, Université de Pau et des Pays de l’Adour (Collection Kubaba, Série Actes), Paris: 151 – 158. Gigli Piccardi, D. (1985), Metafora e poetica in Nonno di Panopoli (Studi e testi 7), Firenze. Gigli Piccardi, D. (2003), Dioniso e lo schiavo etiope (Inscr. métr. n. 26 Bernand), in: D. Accorinti and P. Chuvin (edd.), Des Géants à Dionysos. Mélanges de mythologie et de poesie grecques offerts à Francis Vian (Hellenica 10), Alessandria: 295 – 303. Gigli Piccardi, D. (2017), I Blemi alle frontiere dell’Alto Egitto nella letteratura tardoantica, in: M. Alviz Fernández and D. Hernández de la Fuente (edd.), De • a limes. El concepto de frontera en el mundo antiguo y su recepción, Madrid: 91 – 103 Greco, C. (2014), City and Landscape in Nonnus’ Paraphrase 12.51 – 69. Poetry and Exegesis, in: K. Spanoudakis (ed.), Nonnus of Panopolis in Context. Poetry and Cultural Milieu in Late Antiquity, with a Section on Nonnus and the Modern World (Trends in Classics Suppl. 24), Berlin - Boston: 303 – 312.

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Keydell, R. (1927), Zur Komposition der Bücher 13 – 40 der Dionysiaka des Nonnos. Hermes 62: 393 – 434 (reprint in: Werner Peek [ed.], Kleine Schriften zur hellenistischen und spätgriechischen Dichtung [1911 – 1976], Leipzig 1982: 443 – 484). MacCrindle, J. W. (1901 / repr. 1971), Ancient India as Described in Classical Literature, Amsterdam. Nock, A. D. (1933), Conversion. The Old and the New in Religion from Alexander the Great to Augustine of Hippo, Oxford. Prost, M. A. (2003), Nonnos of Panopolis. The Paraphrase of the Gospel of John, San Diego. Rouse, W. H. D. (1940), Nonnos. Dionysiaca, Mythological Introduction and Notes by H. J. Rose, and Notes on Text Criticism by L. R. Lind, 3 vols. (The Loeb Classical Library 344, 354, 356), London. Schulze, J. F. (1973), Das Bild des Inders in den Dionysiaka des Nonnos. Wissenschaftliche Zeitschrift der Martin-Luther-Universität Halle, Gesellschafts- und Sprachwissenschaftliche Reihe 22: 103 – 112. Simon, B., ed. (1999), Nonnos de Panopolis. Les Dionysiaques, tom. XIV: chants XXXVIII – XL (Collection des Universités de France Série grecque, Collection Budé 395), Paris. Spanoudakis, K. (2014), Nonnus of Panopolis. Paraphrasis of the Gospel of John XI, Oxford. Vian, F., ed. (1990), Nonnos de Panopolis. Les Dionysiaques, tom. IX: chants XXV – XXIX (Collection des universités de France Série grecque, Collection Budé 361), Paris. Vian, F. (1997), ¹> chez Nonnos de Panopolis. Étude de sémantique et de chronologie. REG 110: 143 – 160 (reprint in: D. Accorinti [ed.], L’Épopée posthomérique. Recueil d’études, Alessandria 2005: 565 – 584).

WIENER STUDIEN, Beiheft 41, 45 – 57 © 2020 by Österreichische Akademie der Wissenschaften Wien

DELPHINE LAURITZEN

Two Hymns for One Poem. Beyond ‘Pagan vs Christian’ in John of Gaza’s Ekphrasis Two hymns constitute the hexametric prologue of John of Gaza’s Description (beginning of the sixth century CE).1 Together with the Muses and the Sirens, Apollo coexists with God addressed as “Father”. Both are asked to grant divine inspiration to the poet. Evidently, these various conceptions were not considered incompatible. Moreover, the very presence of the ‘Pagan’ hymn when presumably the ‘Christian’ one could have stood on its own raises an issue: what was the poet’s intention in associating these contrasting views? The fact he chose to do so suggests that the strict ‘Pagan vs Christian’ approach does not lead to a correct interpretation. 2 The reading of the entire poem depends on this programmatic passage; therefore, this paper argues for a change of perspective. John of Gaza pays much care to the initial part of his poem. Although it is an ekphrasis, as the title indicates (]"  ¤ ¤ Å  ), the description proper only starts at verse 70 with the account of the first depicted character, the personification of Sky (Ouranos). An important part (nearly 10% of the 732 verses poem) is dedicated to the introduction. The technique which is developed here can be defined as ‘Aesthetics of Transition’. The poem opens with a 25 iambic trimeter prologue (Tab. 1 – 25). It allows the poet and his audience to access another area of language and thought, as this type of verse was perceived as being half-way between prose and poetry. 3 Following this first prologue is a second one of 28 hexameters (the object of our study, Tab. 26 – 53, cf. full text below), in the grand verse ––––––––––– 1 References to the poem are made according to Lauritzen, ed. 2015/22018; English translations are my own. 2 On this issue in relation to Nonnus of Panopolis, see Chuvin 1986, 387 – 396; Shorrock 2011, and the two crossed-perspective chapters of Shorrock 2016, 577 – 600 and Spanoudakis 2016, 601 – 624. 3 For the combination of iambic prologues and hexametric poems in Late Antiquity, see Cameron 1970, 119 – 129; on the ‘colloquiality’ of the iambus in these poems, see Agosti 2011, 219 – 255, esp. 222 – 224.

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form, the one of Homeric epics, which holds specific dignity. 4 The rest of the poem is then written in that meter. The last explicit transition is the one dedicated to the Cross (Tab. 54 – 69), which it is possible to read as the sign of all the other symbolic representations of the Universe. But ultimately, the choice of describing at first the group of characters linked with the Sun as the most important, central figure (Tab. 70 – 161) and even the following description of Aion, charged with significant symbolic value (Tab. 162 – 204) can be interpreted in the same perspective of a progressive approach to the core of the poem. The hymns are a central part of this highly elaborated construction. That the hexametric prologue is divided into two sections implies another transition. On the one hand, the beginning of the first hexametric prologue (= the first hymn) marks a change, not just from trimeters to hexameters, but also brings a progression in terms of content (Tab. 26 ‡ "Æ ; “Where am I taken?”).5 The iambic prologue was concerned with the circumstances linked to the person of the poet and mentioned the reality of the composition and declamation of the poem, while the two hexametric prologues aim for divine inspiration.6 On the other hand, the end of the second hexametric prologue (= the second hymn) announces the depiction of the Cross (Tab. 52f.) and smoothly leads to the first figure described by John of Gaza. Such attention paid to the transitional process gives us a key to understand the relation between the two hymns. To a certain extent, they appear as relatively independent from each other, so to say as two distinct prologues. They are part of the succession of introductive passages (iambic prologue, first hexametric prologue, second hexametric prologue, description of the Cross) driving to the description itself.7 However, though they might look distinct, the formal similarities (of structure, images, and language) between the two hymns are striking. Far from being antagonistic in their meaning, they rather seem two variations of the same theme. For, even from two different perspectives, they both ask for the same favour, the gift of inspiration, and ––––––––––– 4 On the Nonnian hexameter, see Magnelli 2016, 353 – 371. 5 On the reuse of the formula by Paul the Silentiary as an explicit sign that he refers to John of Gaza’s Ekphrasis, see Lauritzen 2013, 309 – 323, esp. 310 – 315. 6 For the notion of poetic inspiration in the passage of John of Gaza, see Gigli Piccardi 2014, 403 – 420, esp. 413 – 416. 7 A second set of prologues, of more reduced length, is to be found at the beginning of the second part of the poem: an iambic prologue telling of the interruption in the declamation which took place at midday (Tab. 386 – 389) and a hexametric prologue on Spring and roses (Tab. 390 – 395). On the structure of reduplicated prologues which Paul the Silentiary copied from John of Gaza, see Lauritzen 2013, 309 – 323, esp. 315 – 317.

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are concerned with the same topic, the celebration of the Universe (Jo. Gaz. Tab. 26 – 53):

30

35

40

45

50

30

35

™‡ "Æ ;   ’ ÚÆ ]" šÅ[X ¦Ã# Ç"# ¥  Û † } ‡ ¹># à ‹  ¥ ÆX Ì# ” Æ>  \ Ÿ Æ [ˆ „Å Ç  ]#   Å Û – ž# "Æ ‚ à  Ç # Ÿ  # Å[  È#  \ "Æ  Ç "Å †Å"  ‚ É †Ç#   Ç  " Ç#  Å  >à  Æ   , ™, Ñ  , ¡, Ý#, É Æ  , ¦Ã, 'Ã, žÃ, ÀÆ" , Þ, , $ Ç, Ÿ Æ , ÀÇ , ­  , • ÉÇ, ]" `. ž– # †Ç #Û ½Ò "[ ”# ˆ Å# Ƙ Æ  È "ˆ >  ÃÛ { – Æ# †Ç  § Å  "#à § Æ> Å . ™ Æ#, †Å>, Æ ,   >Û ˆ  Æ Ì”  !Ç šÅ[ "— Û ± – #à ÇX ”Å "  "Å  \ § Í   "> . â , > Å , ÃÛ Æ Æ> — È ã  Ç# [#à †Æ †— "Ç ¥ ÆXÛ ¤ åÛ  – Å Û † Æ ’ ] Ç %  Æ# #à % Å#. “Where am I taken? Winged through the air, with meaningful rush, The sweet-sounding voice of the Sirens leads me: I am eagerly Struck by the Muses’ plectra, strong sting. Following foreign paths, a pedestrian traveller in the sky, In a rage of creation, I am uplifted. So Apollo With an all embracing long leap of words Pursues and chases me to the starry-backed vault. Phoebus does not stop to excite my mind to revel With the meaningful pulse of wisdom in order that I dance And praise the heavenly genus of the Universe

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40

45

50

Stars, Vault, Earth, World, Water, Sun, Moon, Thunder, Lightning, Cloud, Bird, Angel, Fish, Ether, Night, Sea, the whole Nature, with meaningful daring. But you, fulfilled with exceedingly-intellectual eloquence, Singing Phoebus’ evoe from increasingly-intellectual beehives, Send a wise favourable wind, as I sail: For I am already shivering under the fulfilling rain of song; I let loose the vocal moorings of the swift bee. All-begetter, guardian, god-born, leader of the Universe! Whirling time praises your self-accomplished creation, Wise root of life; for you with your distributing cycle Wind round the god-receiving spinning axle And preserve the helm of the ever returning life. O Father, self-conceived of immaculate birth, shepherd! Send a flood of song, equip me with a more intellectual spirit, Revive my nature in verses with a strong rhythm Now even more! For the universe is sung. Starting from you, I will first sing the saving symbols of your Passion.”

First and foremost, one may wonder if the term ‘hymn’ is appropriate to characterize these two passages. John of Gaza himself gives confirmation, using the verbal forms >à  (Tab. 35) for the first hymn and !Ç (Tab. 45) for the second. Both are compounds of !Æ#, “to sing” in the sense of praise, as shown by the verb Å#, also used in the same passage (Tab. 52  – Å , “for the universe is sung”).8 A hymn is the praise of a god, as Menander Rhetor defines it: “ ‘Praise’ of some kind (…) occurs sometimes in relation to gods, sometimes in relation to mortal objects. When it relates to gods, we speak of ‘hymns’ and we divide these in turn according to the god concerned.”9 Of the two hexametric prologues of the Description, the first appears as a hymn dedicated to Apollo and his attendants (the Muses, the Sirens 10), the second as a hymn to God. Menander refers to the first kind as ‘paeans and hyporchemata’ (I, 331.22  å  \ !’  ), and logically does not mention the second as such, although he leaves the possibility open to call a hymn with the name of whoever god is praised, and he gives the example of the hymn to Zeus.11 ––––––––––– 8 Hesychius gives the same meaning: Lex. 4438   · >¤ . 9 Men. Rhet. I, 331.18 – 21 ]     , „} } Ÿ ¢ Š , „} } Ÿ – ·  \ • } Ÿ ² Š , ¯>  ¤,  \ Š> ¼  ¤  – ˆ Ì ; here and elsewhere, transl. Russell - Wilson. 10 On the relation between John of Gaza’s Description and Homer, see Lauritzen 2012, 221 – 234. 11 Men. Rhet. 1, 332.1f. ± } % ¥# % = ‚ [X]  ¯>  ¤ ¢=² ³ ¢ª² ˆ  , “Those (hymns) appropriate to other gods (than to Apollo,

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John of Gaza does not compose a single type of hymn, but combines the characteristic features of several (Men. Rhet. I, 333.7 \ [¯], “mixed hymns”). Taking as a paradigm Menander’s classification which distinguishes pairs of opposed types (I, 333.2 – 27), one may detect that John draws on the tradition of ‘cletic’ hymns (as opposed to ‘apopemptic’), ‘scientific’ (not ‘mythical’), ‘fictitious’ (not ‘genealogical’) and ‘precatory’ (not ‘deprecatory’). The main characteristic of a cletic hymn (from  Æ#, “to call”) is the invocation (§ ).12 As a direct address, one calls the god/goddess out by giving the epicleseis, the names which are attributed to him/her.13 Generally, the invocation takes place in the initial part of the hymn. However, the composition here is more complex than it seems. First, it is not until verse 39 that the invocation of the poetic deities can be found. They are gathered in a single formula launched by an exhortative particle (Tab. 39 ž– # †Ç #, “But you, fulfilled with exceedingly-intellectual eloquence!”). The invocation is followed by precisions on the characteristics and activities of the deity. The classical figures sing the evoe of Phoibos (Tab. 40 ½Ò "[ ). Technically speaking, however, the initial part of the hexametric prologue, albeit consisting in a narrative where the poet is involved with these same poetic deities (Tab. 26 – 38), does not stricto sensu belong to the first hymn, which only consists of Tab. 39 – 43. Therefore, the hexametric prologue falls not into two but three parts: a prelude setting up the poet and the poetic deities (Tab. 26 – 38), the first hymn addressed to the later (Tab. 39 – 43), and the second hymn dedicated to God (Tab. 44 – 53). So many divisions, so many transitions. In the second hymn instead, God is invoked twice (Tab. 44 ™ Æ#, †Å>, Æ ,   >, “All-begetter, guardian, god-born, leader of the Universe!”, with no less than four appellations and, again, in Tab. 49 â , > Å , Ã, “O Father, self-conceived of immaculate birth, shepherd!”, started with a vocative particle). According to this double invocation, the second hymn is divided in two sections. The first is centered on God’s activity as the divine whirl (Tab. 45 – 48). This ––––––––––– Dionysos, and Aphrodite, previously mentioned) are either called by the generic title ‘hymns’ or, more specifically, e.g. ‘To Zeus’”. 12 Cletic hymn: Men. Rhet. I, 333.8 – 10 \ } ¼ „ Ÿ ‹ \ %   – ‡ ¦ " = ž  =  ¥  , § ] % %, “Cletic hymns are such as most of those to be found in Sappho, Anacreon, and the other lyric poets, containing invocations of many gods”. 13 Men. Rhet. I, 335.22b ’  } –  – Î , “The appropriate figures are those of invocation”.

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development comes close to what Menander calls the “scientific hymn” ("> ).14 It has to do with searching the nature (physis) of God, as the movement and Time define the Universe. It is significant for the interpretation that close similarities are found with the description of the figure of Aion (Tab. 162 – 168):

165

¡ \ >Ã# †Æ#  ŸÈ " — "¤ Å †  ¥  # Å #"Ã Ç  ¬ ‡ " —  "># ÎÅ Í  Å Å#  Å >  ># +Å#  \  Ÿ  ¥ †Ç  ¥˜" Ì#.

165

“And self-conceived Aion of the many-spinning years Has his flourishing shape on another circular vault Father of fathers, measured on infinite paths Who with his intellectual whirl protects the birth of life, Lifting up the ever-spinning helm of harmony, Shepherds the turning year with its twelve months, And pours a time in another while silently slipping.”

Some terms are identical or closely related:  “Father” (Tab. 49),  Æ# “All-begetter” (44) ~  # “Father of Fathers” (164);  “self-conceived” (49 ~ 162); à “shepherd” (49) ~  Å “he shepherds” (167). Both passages express the same idea of the lifegiving whirl ("”) of Time: Ì”  … šÅ[ "—  (45f.); ”Å "  "Å (47) ~ ¬ ‡ " —  "># (165). There are also parallel verses on the image of the helm of ever-returning life:  \ § Í   "> (Tab. 48) ~ ÎÅ Í  Å Å# (Tab. 166). The notion of time as the world in motion is therefore expressed in two different ways, as the divine principle in the second hymn and as the description of the figure of Aion later in the poem.

––––––––––– 14 Scientific hymn: Men. Rhet. I, 333.12 – 15 ">\ } ¿> ‹ \ ™   \ œ † ,  ~ ¤ ž# "Š ,  ~ ¤  ,    .  \ ‹ \ % _"# Š> ¤ >, “Scientific hymns are such as were composed by Parmenides and Empedocles, expounding the nature of Apollo or of Zeus. Most of the hymns of Orpheus are of this kind”.

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Another pattern used by John of Gaza is the fictitious hymn ( , from # “to form, to mould”). 15 It consists in creating original personifications from every possible concept. The verb Menander uses, # Æ#, literally “making a body”, already appears in the iambic prologue (Tab. 19 †# Å — È  ÉÇ, “he (the artist) embodied body-deprived Nature”). This idea is developed in the first hymn, when the poet says that he will celebrate “the heavenly generation of the Universe” (Tab. 35  Å  … Æ ), and enumerates the natural elements which are represented as personifications on the artistic composition described by John. The list is summarized by the expression “the whole Nature” (Tab. 38 • ÉÇ). This latter notion is also personified on the work of art and, together with the personifications of Aether (Ÿ Ã) and of Universe (¡ ), is described at the end of the poem (Tab. 719 – 722). By announcing the various figures described in the poem as the full expansion of the concept of nature, this passage also comes across the previously mentioned type, the “scientific hymn”. Inversely, the “whirling time” (Tab. 45 Ì”  ) is very near to be a personification, as we saw with the terms of the second hymn being so close to the description of Aion’s figure. Thus, the rhetorical features which structure their respective composition are common to the two hymns. The same seems to be true of metaphors, repeated as in echo in both with only slight variants if not in the exact similar terms. However, this apparent parallelism conceals subtle, but real variations in terms of meaning. The last shared characteristic of the two hymns is prayer (Ã), the component of the precatory hymn ( ).16 It is noticeable that not only the request is the same for both the poetic deities and for God – the poet wishes, twice, a propitiatory wind to be sent to help his poetic sailing – but that it is expressed in parallel verses: Ƙ Æ  È "ˆ >  à (Tab. 41) Æ Æ> — È ã  Ç# (Tab. 50)

––––––––––– 15 Fictitious hymn: Men. Rhet. I, 333.21 – 24   } •  \ # %  \ ˆ  \ – % =  #, ² ¦# ¢—² ½   ,  \ Ì Þ,  \ Ì Ì  , “Fictitious hymns are when we ourselves personify a god or the generations of gods or daemons, as when Simonides speaks of the daemon Tomorrow, and others of Hesitation (Oknos), and so on”. 16 Precatory hymn: Men. Rhet. I, 333.24f. \ } ‹ ˜— — ] ¥> % ¥# % ç Í, “Precatory hymns are those which consist of bare prayer, with none of the other parts we have mentioned”.

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The verb is the same (Æ# “to send”), conjugated in the imperative mood, second person plural for the poetic deities, and second singular for God. In the first hymn, the image of the navigation is explicit ( È, “to me sailing” … >  Ã, “a favourable wind”). It echoes the maritime metaphor of the iambic prologue (Tab. 5f. ¢ † ` ‡ [` §  Å |  Æ —   Å# "Ç, “Like at sea in the swell of the heart | they [Effort (¹  ) and Thought (@ )] overturn our wretched nature”). In the second hymn, the metaphor is completed with the expression Æ> Ã, “the flood of singing”, already announced by  § , “the rain of song” (Tab. 42). Also, the object of the request is mentioned in similar formulas: " … Ã, “a wise wind” echoing È … ã  , “a more intellectual spirit”. Nonetheless, one can wonder if the two expressions are exactly synonymous, or, more exactly, if both have the same value. We would like to argue that the degree of the adjective  is to be understood as a real comparative of superiority. As the second verse of request (Tab. 50) is connected with the first one (Tab. 41), the only shift of meaning applies to the central notion, that is the adjectives " and È, placed right after the caesura. They both characterize in the same way, in the realm of the spirit, the nouns they qualify; yet, the comparative places above the already “wise” wind of the first hymn the “more intellectual” breath of the second. However, that is not to say that Apollo and the poetic deities are inferior to the Christian God because they are Pagan. The question does not arise in these terms. There is no opposition at religious level between the two hymns, for both share the same system of references, which could not be any other than Christian. That the God of the second hymn is the Christian God is made clear in several places. Foremost, the poet mentions the Cross as being the symbol of his Passion, with possessive pronoun and adjective of second person (Tab. 52f. † Æ ’ ] | Ç %  Æ# #à % Å#). Moreover, the second hymn contains quotations of Christian texts. The idiom šÅ[ "—  (Tab. 46) is based on Gregory of Nazianzus, Carm. Mor. 540.8 šÅ[   \ , where the original metaphor from the Septuagint is reactivated by adding the adjective " (Eccl. 1.6.1 š[ "   Š" ; Eccl. 1.20.1 š[ " "  ˆ Š). Rather significantly, John quotes the formula > Å (Tab. 49), only used once in the Acts of the Council of Ephesus (AD 431)  Å  (1.1.5, p. 66.31 Schwartz).

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Now, there are no explicit references in the first hymn that it would be Christian as such. Nevertheless, one can observe that a common vocabulary is used for both classical and Christian notions. A third term applies here, for the adjectives concerned are of Neoplatonic origin. As we saw, the divine ã  which can be read as the Christian ¤ is qualified as È (Tab. 50). In the next passage, i.e. the description of the Cross,  applies to the four elements constitutive of the Universe which are joined together by Aion (Tab. 62 † % Ç#) and to the Trinity itself, symbolized as three concentric circles around the Cross (Tab. 66 § è Ç ). It refers again to the Cross à propos the Angel, guardian of Ocean, who holds a wooden cross in his hand (Tab. 335 Ã> "Å ˆ ”Ç ]" [>). The other occurrences of  concern: the whirl of Aion (Tab. 165 ‡ "); celestial figures linked with the Sun, Sky (Tab. 153 —  Æ Θ ), the bird Phoenix (Tab. 609  …  ), the first personification of Abundance looking up the light of the Sky (Tab. 624 ˆ " ^ _Ç>); or Ether’s hair (Tab. 706  … † Å ). All are figures linked with the idea of the divine. The duplicate adjective Ã# is also applied to the character that the Seasons gaze at, be it the Sun or Aion (Tab. 652 à Š>). Interestingly enough, it also appears in the description of the personification of Sophia (Wisdom). In yet another metapoetic passage outside the prologues, the image of the bee of poetry (Tab. 106 ’ Χ Å  à ŠŠ) is the same as in the first hymn (Tab. 40 ”# ˆ Å#; Tab. 43 § … Å ). One may immediately associate the notion of Sophia with the Christian divine Wisdom, of which the most eminent representation is the church Hagia Sophia of Constantinople, contemporary of John of Gaza in its first state. Nuances can be made, as the corresponding adjective to Sophia, " , is found in the first (Tab. 41 " … Ã, “a wise wind”) as well as in the second hymn (Tab. 46 šÅ[ "— , “wise root of life”), and, in the rest of the poem, for the bird Phoenix (Tab. 597 "ˆ  ) and in reference to the scales held by the personification of Universe (Tab. 718 "‡  Å ). In the same passage on the personification of Sophia, Calliope, Muse of epic poetry, is said to be Å"# (Tab. 99 ™§ … Å"  ¹Ç ). This compound calls for another, the adjective ]"#. Its Christian acceptation is made clear by the fact that it is used for the Cross (Tab. 335 Ã> "Å ˆ ”Ç ]" [>, together with  ). Like in the previous examples, this use extends to the other ‘celestial’ figures of the poem, as in the description of Ether concerning

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Universe (Tab. 710  †Å[# Ç ]" X). But it is in reference to the process of poetic and artistic creation that this adjective seems to acquire its full meaning. In the first hymn, it applies to the rush of the Sirens (Tab. 26 ]" šÅ[X) and to the boldness of the poet (Tab. 38 ]" `). We find it in the counterpart of Sophia’s metapoetic passage, in the description of the twin personification Arete (Virtue), in relation to the metaphoric giving birth of a stream of thought (Tab. 113 ]" š‡). It also appears as a counterpoint to the poet’s boldness in relation to the painter’s artistic technique (Tab. 648 ]" Æ`). Finally, the compound †Å"#, a hapax, shows a connection with the noun "Å (poetic Ionian for Sophia) in the definition of poetic activity as Bacchic frenzy (Tab. 33  \ "Æ  Ç "Å †Å"  ‚, “[Phoebus does not stop to excite] my mind to revel with the meaningful pulse of wisdom”, with the dative syntagm in final position echoing Tab. 26 ]" šÅ[X). Thus, both hymns are filled with Neoplatonic adjectives used in a Christian perspective. The message is clear: only the true wisdom can lead to poetic creation. The metaphor of hunting, common to the hymns, is significant in that view. In the first hymn, Apollo “twists the poet round in an intricate leap of words” (Tab. 31 "Æ ‚ à  Ç #); like a hunter who tries to catch a wild animal, he “pursues and chases” him (Tab. 32 Å[ … È#). The same lexicon is used when the poet asks God to “capture (his) nature in verses with a strong rhythm” (Tab. 51 [#à †Æ †— "Ç ¥ ÆX). The final syntagma of that last verse (¥ ÆX), after the bucolic caesura, also recalls the plectra of the Muses which strike the poet as they would do of an ox, “with their strong sting” (Tab. 28 ¥ ÆX). However, the verb [#Æ#, whose original meaning in hunting and war contexts is “to take alive” gets charged with an extra sense. From “to preserve alive” it becomes “to restore to life, to revive”.17 Like we noticed above with the parallel verses asking for the wind of inspiration (Tab. 41 and 50), there is a twist in the interpretation of the same metaphor: where Apollo only “captures” the poet with the poetic technique, God “keeps him alive” in the realm of true poetry. This meaning ––––––––––– 17 Hesych. Lex. [ 212 [%  , ¥>; also with this meaning in Hom. Il. 6.46, 10.378, 11.131. An example of the metaphorical meaning is Il. 5.697f. ¼ ’ †Š , \ } — '  | [³ †>  %  " >, “But he got his breath back again, and the blast of the north wind | blowing brought back to life the spirit gasped out in agony” (transl. Lattimore). Also Cometas scholasticus, AP 9, 597, 6, on a doctor who brought his patient back to life; see Giommoni 2017, 194/195.

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is confirmed by the scriptural reference to “the wise root of life” (46 šÅ[ "— , cf. supra). Both Apollo and God are acting in the same universe of reference, although at a different level. The raison d’être of the prelude (Tab. 26 – 38) is to represent Apollo and the poetic deities as intermediaries between the poet and cosmic poetry, to be granted only by God. They send the poet on an ascendant journey, characterized by a vertical move, from earth to sky (Tab. 26 – 32). The voice of the Sirens takes him through the air (Tab. 26   ’ ÚÆ ). The Muses strike him as he rises up (30 Å ). The oxymoron between the fact that he is a “pedestrian” but “travelling in the sky” (29 Ÿ Æ [ˆ „Å ) underlines his change of status. Also, Apollo himself leads him upwards “to the starry-backed vault” (32 Ÿ  #). Thus, the poetic deities push the poet up on the way to heaven, the dwelling of God. The second part of the prelude (Tab. 33 – 38) concentrates on what is to be found up there, the subject of poetry. The poet is given as a task to celebrate “the heavenly genus of the Universe” (Tab. 35  Å  … Æ ). The formula is developed by a three verses enumeration (36 – 38) of the various types of beings which are parts of “the whole Nature” (38 • ÉÇ). They announce the personifications depicted on the Cosmic painting that John is about to describe in his poem. Now, Apollo is not responsible for these. His role only consists to “constantly encourage” the poet to reach that upper level of reality (34 É †Ç#   Ç ). The key verse to understand this dynamic is Tab. 33  \ "Æ  Ç "Å †Å"  ‚. Again, the double oxymoron between rationality ("Æ ; †Å") and frenzy ( Ç;  ‚) resolves in the miraculous unity of divine wisdom, the word "Å in the central position of the verse. The various levels of poetic understanding (the poet, Apollo, God) all agree on the idea that cosmic poetry is the only valid subject here. The harmony of the world reflects in the collaboration between the different protagonists of its celebration. Both the poet and Apollo participate to create cosmic poetry, but the ruler of the cosmos could not be anybody else than God. As the first verse of the hymn dedicated to him claims, he is the “leader of the world” (Tab. 44   >). The world is also said to be “his (self-accomplished) creation” (45 ˆ  Æ). When, in the first hymn, Apollo introduces the poet to the various components of Nature, presented in a kind of static and independent way from each other (Tab. 36 – 38), in the second hymn, it is God’s action i.e. Time (45  ) which sets

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the world in motion, therefore giving life to all these elements through the harmony it brings to the world. Once again, this view concerns the Christian cosmos. The whirl is “god-receiving” (47 ). Under this form, the term is first found in Gregory of Nazianzus (Carm. Mor. 961.12 – 962.1 ~

 [’); it is used in a slight variation in John’s poem about the Cross, referred to as “the glorious image of the double line which receives God” (Tab. 63  \  § Ç Æ ½ ŸÈ). Finally, one can compare the vertical representation of the upheaval of the poet, ascending from earth to heaven in the first hymn with the cyclic movement which rules the second. Time is “helicoidal” (Tab. 45 Ì”); God “with your distributing cycle | you wind round the god-receiving spinning axle” (46f. #à ÇX | ”Å " … "Å ). The notion of Christian cosmos gets confirmed in the description of the personification of Cosmos at the end of the poem, with the expression of “cosmic wisdom” (Tab. 717 "Å` Ã). Thus, there is no point to oppose the ‘Pagan’ figures to the ‘Christian’ God as providers of poetic inspiration. For the Sirens, the Muses, and Apollo are no longer deities in their own right. They are now part of the contemporary understanding of the world reflected by contemporary poetry. Nonetheless, they are not reduced to mere ornamental value. They still play some part in the organization of the Universe, but within the cosmic order which God guarantees. Between Pagan and Christian, the third term seemed Neoplatonism; however, John of Gaza gives more than one hint of the interpretatio Christiana he proposes of such philosophical views. The hymns of the Description are witnesses of a new era in early Byzantine literature: henceforth, the new god of cosmic poetry is not any longer sung only as Apollo, but also as Aion.

References Accorinti, D., ed. (2016), Brill’s Companion to Nonnus of Panopolis (Brill’s Companions in Classical Studies), Leiden - Boston. Agosti, G. (2001), Late Antique Iambics and Iambikè Idéa, in: A. Cavarzere, A. Aloni and A. Barchiesi (edd.), Iambics Ideas. Essays on a Poetic Tradition from Archaic Greece to the Late Roman Empire (Greek Studies), Lanham, MD - Boulder - New York - Oxford: 219 – 255. Cameron, Alan (1970), Pap. Ant. III 115 and the Iambic Prologue in Late Greek Poetry. CQ 20: 119 – 129. Chuvin, P. (1986), Nonnos de Panopolis entre paganisme et christianisme. BAGB 45/4: 387 – 396.

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Gigli Piccardi, D. (2014), Poetic Inspiration in John of Gaza. Emotional Upheaval and Ecstasy in a Neoplatonic Poet, in: K. Spanoudakis (ed.), Nonnus of Panopolis in Context. Poetry and Cultural Milieu in Late Antiquity with a Section on Nonnus and the Modern World (Trends in Classics Suppl. 24), Berlin - Boston: 403 – 420. Giommoni, F. (2017), ÀÆ § § . Gli epigrammi dei “minori” del Ciclo di Agazia (Edizioni dell’Orso), Alessandria. Lauritzen, D. (2012), La Muse d’Homère dans la Description de Jean de Gaza, in: L. Cristante (ed.), Il calamo della memoria. Riuso di testi e mestiere letterario nella tarda antichità V, raccolta delle relazioni discusse nel V Incontro Internazionale di Trieste, Biblioteca Statale, 26/27 aprile 2012 (Polymnia 16), Trieste: 221 – 234. Lauritzen, D. (2013), Paul le Silentiaire lecteur de Jean de Gaza, in: D. Lauritzen and M. Tardieu (edd.), Le voyage des légendes. Hommages à Pierre Chuvin (CNRS Alpha), Paris: 309 – 323. Lauritzen, D., ed. (2015/22018), Jean de Gaza. Description du Tableau cosmique, introduction, édition critique, traduction française, commentaire et lexique (Collection des universités de France Série grecque, Collection Budé 515), Paris. Magnelli, E. (2016), The Nonnian Hexameter, in: Accorinti 2016: 353 – 371. Russell, D. A. and Wilson, N. G., edd. (1981), Menander Rhetor. Introduction, Critical Edition, English Translation, Oxford. Shorrock, R. (2011), The Myth of Paganism. Nonnus, Dionysus and the World of Late Antiquity (Classical Literature and Society Series), London. Shorrock, R. (2016), Christian Themes in the Dionysiaca, in: Accorinti 2016: 577 – 600. Spanoudakis, K. (2016), Pagan Themes in the Paraphrase, in: Accorinti 2016: 601 – 624.

WIENER STUDIEN, Beiheft 41, 59 – 68 © 2020 by Österreichische Akademie der Wissenschaften Wien

FREDERICK LAURITZEN

Late Antique Philosophy and the Poetry of George of Pisidia George of Pisidia,1 a deacon of the church of Hagia Sophia during the reign of Heraclius (610 – 641),2 is either considered the last of the classical poets,3 or the first of the Byzantine ones.4 These two parties focus on his style, mainly his metre. He is one of the last to compose ‘Nonnian’ verse correctly5 and yet one of the first to employ the twelve-syllable verse systematically.6 It is unhelpful to judge a poet entirely on the form of his verse, rather than his content. Historians have squeezed information out of his texts, since they constitute some of the most important evidence about seventh century Byzantium.7 Here lies the problem: his verse form is interesting when compared to earlier writers and his texts are sources when compared to contemporary historians. The purpose of his poetry is left aside. Hermogenes claims that poetry and history are part of the same writing method, the elaborate or elegant.8 He also claims that their distinction is subordinate to the purpose of a work.9 The aim of this paper is to discuss the objective of George of Pisidia’s poetry, which is neither poetic nor historical but philosophical. ––––––––––– 1 The edition employed is that of Tartaglia 1998. 2 º³ ,  §  †  \  "Š ”, ˆ † ™ . ˔ ’ ’ Ÿ# Ÿ ]  , ìŸ î ˆ    \ ìŸ ˆ  – ™% , ]  ž –  \    œ³ Ÿ ˆ > ž , Sudae Lexikon º 170 Adler. 3 George of Pisidia as last classicizing poet in Agosti 2012, 363. 4 For George of Pisidia as first Byzantine poet see Lauxtermann 2003. 5 On the hexameters of George of Pisidia see Sternbach 1893, Gonnelli 1991, Whitby 2014, and De Stefani 2014, 377 – 380. 6 See Romano 1985. 7 See Whitby 2013. 8 ï —  \  ~   } — ~  " , –  \ ~ ‹ ] [  , #   \ ± ‹"> †   >  , Hermogenes, Peri ideon logou 2.12.2.5 – 8 Patillon. 9 ð >  ]  ] # – = †  \   \ — ]   \ ”, ñ Š †"’ , Hermogenes, Peri ideon logou 1.1.19.1 – 3 Patillon.

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The philosophical nature of George of Pisidia’s verse is apparent. He refers to philosophers by name (Hexaemeron 583 – 588): ž’ Ÿ} ˆ ‚ ¦ Å, ™#,  \ ˆ  ’ , Ÿ Å #Û ‘œ % ¥#  ,  \  #, Ã# †  \ ‚  ÅX , ² ˆ ¤,  \ à #    Æ ` , — "# ˆ ´.’ “Plato, speak to Aristotle! Convince your student, provided your words will persuade him: ‘descend from above, and speak below. Do not raise yourself with high arrogance, lest you, raising like the chick of an eagle, fall down again even if you do not wish, since you cannot bear the sun.’”

The subordination of Aristotle to Plato is typical of late antique and Byzantine thought.10 George of Pisidia criticizes Aristotle for his use of syllogisms. 11 He focuses more on Platonism and specifically: Plato, Porphyry and Proclus. The omission of Plotinus and Damascius is important, striking for us, but once more rather typical of Byzantine thought. This may be due to the limited interest of Plotinus in physiology, or nature in general. Damascius had sought shelter by the Shah of Persia. 12 Of those referred to by name, Porphyry is singled out for his allegorical reading of the scarab ––––––––––– 10 œ ] ¤ ½ Š •  ‚ – ž> > #    ,  , Ú  ,  , "> ,  \ — !}  Š — †’.   } – Š# ‹ % , ² – % #  \ % >#, Ÿ — ™# « > #  † ”  \  ‘!   ’,  – ˆ ,  , Marinus, Life of Proclus 13.318 – 323 Masullo; '  – „  ¤  >  ",  \ Š>  % ž% +  Š#,  \ – ™ #–   [ Š , } } % ># Ÿ , ’ • ‹ ¥ \ —  — = — — †> , Psellos, Chronographia 3.3.1 – 6 Reinsch. 11 Hexaemeron 559 – 566. 12 ™ · • Ê «  ‹ "" ‹ † ™  > ± žX·   „ ¦Š , ¦ „ ¡” ì  „ ÉŠ”, ™ ˆ „ @> , Ë   \  ‹ † É , $# „ º [  . Ê  Í   ,   Ÿ ‡ ¤  > "”ò·  \ ³  } •# § †  †     \ ÚX, ’ •   „ †"”§  † ˆ >§   \ ´ Š. ¢ – ‹ ô#   \ ™  – ]   \ > ’ ,  !§ %  ’ –   # ˆ  †> ± ¥ † – " {    Š % ˆ †"’ + > , } „¤  % Š# " =   —  ›  ”    [> , Sudae Lexikon P 2251 Adler.

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(1061).13 Allegory is not simply dismissed since such reading of the golden chain of Homer Iliad 814 is used at the beginning of poem 8 In Severum (1 – 12). Moreover, at the end of poem 10 De vanitate vitae the image of the charioteer from Plato’s Phaedrus15 is also employed (252 – 261). Therefore allegory is not dismissed as such, only Porphyry’s interpretation of the scarab. The Neoplatonist Proclus is referred to more directly, as a physiologist (61 – 80). The expressions recall his commentary on the Timaeus of Plato.16 He is singled out for his interest in syllables (65) which may recall the commentary on the Cratylus.17 There may be a reference to the Chaldean Oracles in Proclus (77). 18 There is a discussion on the one and the many typical of Plato’s Parmenides (1648 – 1657) which may recall Proclus’ commentary on the dialogue. 19 Thus George of Pisidia is engaged in philosophy, specifically Platonic thought. Even late antique commentaries on Aristotle are striking for the fundamentally Platonic approach to Aristotelian texts. The relation between God and Nature is rather central to the commentaries of Aristotle’s works on Physics, as it is a central concern for George of Pisidia. If one thinks specifically of the Hexaemeron it is clear that the philosophical interpretation of Nature is central to that poem. Indeed, the poem focuses on one specific verse of the Psalms (Septuaginta Psalm 103.24) which he paraphrases thus: ¢ † Š  – ] >, Š·  † "ò † , †³  ~ § § ’³ >. “O Lord, how have thy works been magnified! In wisdom hast thou made them all: the earth is full of thy riches.” (KJV Psalm 104.24)

George of Pisidia, Hexaemeron 55f. = 1863f. Gonnelli: ¢ † Ç  ¤ ­¤ % # ~ >ˆ  \ "—  >Å . ––––––––––– 13 Section on the Scarab: Hexaemeron 1052 – 1076. 14 The allegory of the golden chain of Homer is found in Psellos, Philosophica Minora 1.46. It is also found in Proclus’ commentary on the Parmenides and Timaeus. 15 The allegory of the charioteer of Plato’s Phaedrus is found in Psellos, Philosophica Minora 2.7. It is also found in Hermias’ scholia to the Phaedrus. 16 See Diehl 1903 – 1906. 17 See Pasquali 1908. 18 See des Places 1971, 206 – 212. 19 See Steel 2007 – 2009.

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“how the creative and wise creation of all creatures of God is magnified.”

The central notion in the original verse and in the paraphrase in George of Pisidia is that creation is connected with wisdom: the wise creation is the key to this poem. Thus an intellectual reading of Nature, such as that of commentaries on Aristotle’s works, seems appropriate. It also gives a better idea of the cultural atmosphere to which George of Pisidia belonged. A central matter in the relation between God and Nature is medicine, the art of healing what is in Nature. This explains why George of Pisidia also names two doctors: Hippocrates20 and Galen.21 The fact that creation is wise leads George of Pisidia to define God as a Universal Galen (1345). The question of wisdom within nature, and correct medical approach is clear in the poet’s attack on the Persian Mani (1351 – 1398). The idea is that it is not possible to have opposing principles governing the same process.22 The attack on Mani, not only indicates that George of Pisidia was not in favour of Persia, the declared enemy of Byzantium, but is striking because of the quotation from Hippocrates. George of Pisidia, Hexaemeron 1369 Gonnelli: Ç   Ç % •# Å “one is the spirit and flux of all.”

This is a paraphrase of the original of Hippocrates (De Alimento 23 Littré): õŠ÷š  , ”Š  , ”>   “One flux, one breathing, all connected.”

This very principle allows one to understand better the cultural and philosophical background of George of Pisidia. The line is quoted in Galen, 23 who had been singled out in the Hexaemeron. It is also quoted by Stephanos in his commentary on Galen24 and by Stephanos and Theophilos in their commentary.25 It also appears a few times in John Philoponus, in his commentary ––––––––––– 20 Hippocrates in George of Pisidia: Hexaemeron 931. 21 Galen in George of Pisidia: Heraclias 2.41; De res. 28; Hexaemeron 934, 1118, 1345, 1501. 22 Law of non-contradiction in Plato, Republic 436b and in Aristotle, Metaph. 1005b19f.; 1005b23f.; 1011b13f. Neoplatonists accept it, see Lloyd 1990, 126. 23 Galen, De causis pulsuum libri iv, 9.88 Kühn. 24 Stephanos, Commentarii in priorem Galeni librum therapeuticum ad Glauconem, 1.321.35 Dietz. 25 Theophilus Protospatharius et Stephanus Atheniensis Med., De febrium differentia 17.16 Sicurus.

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on Aristotle’s On generation and corruption,26 and his work on the eternity of the world which he wrote against Proclus. 27 John Philoponus has the distinction of being condemned at the council of 680f. as a heretic. These are the anathemas of 681 (Council of Constantinople 680f. acts 11.480.14f. Riedinger, 20th March 681): $# „    , „ — †#>  É , å }    , “John the Grammarian, named Philoponus, or rather wasted talent.”

(Council of Constantinople 680f. acts 16.702.18 – 22 Riedinger; 9th August 681): ¦X ‹‚   · ¡ŠX ‹‚   · ø#X ‹‚   · ™ŠX ‹‚   · ™ ŠX ‹‚   · ™X ‹‚   · “Anathema to the heretic Sergius (Patr. Cpl. 610 – 638), Anathema to the heretic Honorius (Pope 625 – 638), Anathema to the heretic Pyrrhos (Patr. Cpl. 638 – 641, 654), Anathema to the heretic Paul (Patr. Cpl. 642 – 653), Anathema to the heretic Peter (Patr. Cpl. 654 – 666)”

The condemnation is relevant since it concerns ideas expressed in 634 28 and then 638.29 Moreover, they were not just doctrines contemporary with George of Pisidia but affected also the poet’s patrons, most notably the Patriarch Sergius, recipient the Hexaemeron as well as some epigrams (13.88, 90, 106, 107 Tartaglia). Patriarch Sergius was also posthumously condemned at the synod of 680f. together with all other patriarchs in the period (610 – 666). The emperor at the time of these new doctrines was Heraclius who was the recipient of George of Pisidia’s poems 1, 2, 5 as well as epigrams (13.105, 109, 110 Tartaglia). The reason for the condemnation was their opinions on the question of Nature. The most radical of them, John Philoponus, had argued that since God was constituted of three hypostases (Father, Son, and Holy Ghost), each one ––––––––––– 26 J. Philoponus In Aristotelis libros de generatione et corruptione commentaria 106.33/34 Vitelli. 27 J. Philoponus De aeternitate mundi, 283.20 Rabe. 28 ¹onoergism, the belief that Christ had only one energy (activity). 29 ¹onothelitism, the belief that Christ had only one will.

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had its own nature (physis).30 His position was known as tritheism. 31 In 680f., the synod defines three hypostases for God and two natures for Christ. The question is the relation between the activity of an entity in relation to its nature. Leaving aside technical explanations, this is the topic of the Hexaemeron. However, the question of a correct nature in relation to God, explains the topic of poem 8 which attacks Severus of Antioch (512 – 518). Severus had been condemned for his doctrine concerning the natures of Christ in 536.32 Before the question of energies and wills emerges in the 630s, both parties condemned Severus and had done so for more than a century. Thus poem 8 needs to be seen with more relevant questions. The definition of nature and natures is central. However, in the poem there is an echo of the ecthesis of Heraclius dated to 638.33 The decree forbade all to speak about energies. The poem against Severus seems to refer to the suspension of judgement (George of Pisidia, In Severum 9 – 12 Querci in Tartaglia): ù « – Ÿˆ , } ‡ "Ç Æ ¨>   — ! Å>  "Ç, ’†Æ  Æ • ‡ – – >‡ Æ. “For it was not good, nor naturally convenient To weigh the superior nature But standing by established definitions To consider much with mystic silence.”

The theological desire to speak on the topic while the political will was against, appears to show George of Pisidia’s interest in religious and philosophical questions. One should remember that the ecthesis was issued in 638 to stop previous disputes on the relation between nature and energies which had developed mainly in 634 – 638. Thus George of Pisidia has ties with Patriarch Sergius (poem 8, 9 et alia). He also quotes passages employed by authors associated with monothelitite positions. His cultural milieu is that of those condemned at the synod of Constantinople in 680f. ––––––––––– 30 ž   ¤ ~    –     \ "Š  \  "  =   >, ¥ , ¢      \ ‹ §     >% ~Š,    \ "Š   \  >  \  „# ¤

 , ’!  \ Ÿ      ’ + >– !"³  ,  ‚     \     ‡ , Synod 680, Session 11.424 Riedinger. 31 See Van Roey 1980. 32 Justinianus, Constitutio contra Anthimum, Severum, Petrum et Zooram Amelotti - Zingale. 33 Ecthesis of Heraclius, Concilium Lateranum 649 act 3.156.20 – 162.13 Riedinger.

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That said, the cultural milieu of George of Pisidia was also the imperial court. While the religious authorities found fertile ground for controversy, the emperor seemed interested in keeping this debate quiet, while he was dealing with military matters. This is visible in George of Pisidia’s poems. The poems concerning Heraclius are useful for historians, while the poems related to patriarch Sergius are useful for theologians. This brings us back to the main question: why does he focus on the Neoplatonist Proclus? It has been argued that Maximus the Confessor between 634 and 638 employed the Neoplatonist Proclus’ texts to define his interpretation of Dionysius the Areopagite. The matter hinges on the term  >  Ç  which is not present in Dionysius but is found in Proclus.34 Briefly an energy is defined by one nature, not by a hypostasis. George of Pisidia without tackling this question directly is acutely aware that the crux of the matter is being discussed on the basis of Proclus. This is why he refers to Proclus, without condemning him directly. Suspending judgement on these matters seems important in the court of Heraclius. The relation between God and Nature in Neoplatonism is expressed also by the term theurgy, which means acting or operating on the divine or from the divine. Indeed it is a technical term employed extensively by Neoplatonists. Damascius distinguishes between two types of thinkers: he claims that Plotinus and Porphyry are philosophers, while Iamblichus and Proclus were experts of hieratic art.35 George of Pisidia seems to consider theurgy as negative (Heraclias 1.6 – 8 Pertusi in Tartaglia): ¤   ~ ’  # ¤ Ñ> ’ †># ™ ˆ ˆ — > — . “May the full moon shine, Assured that with Chosroes’ defeat, The Persians will not apply theurgy to creation.”

It is not only negative, it is Persian. Two other references in the Heraclias also associate it with Persia.36 A modern reader would simply recall the condemnation of theurgy by Augustine of Hippo in the De Civitate Dei.37 The ––––––––––– 34 See Lauritzen 2012. 35 ú ‹ } — ""  %, ¢ ™"Š  \ ™#  \ ¥ \ ""· ‹ } — ‹ ’, ¢ $  \ ¦> ˆ  \ ™  \ ‹ ‹ \  , Damascius, In Phaedonem 172.1 – 3 Westerink. Hieratic art is connected with theurgy in Iamblichus, De Mysteriis 5.18, 20, 8.4, 9.6, 10.5. 36 Heraclias 1.23, 1.25. 37 Augustinus, De civitate Dei 10.9.

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term theurgy however is a good Byzantine word and it is a positive concept employed officially in the documents of the Lateran Council of 649, to which participated Maximus the Confessor, and in the Ecumenical council of 680f. (session 4 [15th november 680]) and 8 [7th March 681]; Council of Constantinople 680f. acts 8.252.1 – 11 Riedinger): û ³  † ¤ ¤ #> + § ¤ Î> >> †> ž %  \ > † ¤ \ # ‰# >,  \ ’  „# ˆ  § ’# ] ¯# · “   } §  ¤ Ÿ ~å > ˆ  ’ ~å †” ~% „%  \  % # §  ˆ !Š ·  \ å   \  , • §  # ¤ > †\ ]  \ †”  . Š – „  —  \ ˆ ¤  ’  ³ , Ÿ ’>  "   – —  §  \ " # Š.” è–  † § § ’#  – % %· “¡ \  – å  — !  \ ¥ > , ñ ]  \  ’ ~å < „  # , ý ˆ  \ ¤  .” “Once more was read from the same manuscript another opinion of Saint Dionysius, bishop of Athens and martyr from his treatise on divine names. Similarly, the text of the opinion was opposed in this way: ‘Again, it is by a differentiated act of God’s benevolence that the SuperEssential Word should wholly and completely take Human Substance of human flesh and do and suffer all those things which, in a special and particular manner, belong to the action of His Divine Humanity. In these acts the Father and the Spirit have no share, except of course that they all share in the loving generosity of the Divine counsels.’ The removed passages from this opinion except these: ‘and in all that transcendent Divine working of unutterable mysteries which were performed in Human Nature by Him Who as God and as the Word of God is Immutable.’” (transl. Rolt 1920).

This is the council which condemned the patron of George of Pisidia, patriarch Sergius, as well as authors such as John Philoponus. Thus, the term theurgy creates a divide between two sets of authors in the seventh century: those who view it as a negative concept and those who accept and endorse it. The latter group was confirmed as orthodox by the Council of 680f., while the former were condemned as monoergists and monothelitites. George of Pisidia represents the culture of the faction at court under Heraclius which was posthumously condemned at the ecumenical council of 681. Thus George of Pisidia is not the last classical poet or the first Byzantine one, but an expression of late antique philosophy and theology of the court of Heraclius. One must draw one important consequence. George of Pisidia knows Porphyry’s allegorical readings, he is aware of Proclus’ commentaries on the Cratylus, Timaeus and Parmenides. His culture seems connected with the

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physiology studied by doctors like Hippocrates and Galen and by thinkers such as John Philoponus. Given that George of Pisidia reflects the culture of Patriarch Sergius at the court of Heraclius, he read these books in Constantinople and his readership was in the same city. These texts may have been transmitted directly from Alexandria in Late Antiquity to Damascus and then Baghdad from the 7th to the 10th century, but they were known, studied and referred to in Constantinople of the early seventh century, unlike the West and most of the Middle East. Therefore George of Pisidia’s poetry is essential for the study of late antique philosophy and represents proof that the texts were known in Constantinople. It is the main official evidence of direct knowledge and reading of Neoplatonic thinkers (Porphyry and Proclus) and of the Alexandrian commentators on Aristotle (John Philoponus) as well as medical writers (Stephanos). His philosophical and religious concerns, which mix both pagan and Christian principles, are the aim of his writing in verse and therefore of being a poet. George of Pisidia, for his contemporaries, may not have been the last of the classicizing poets or the first of the Byzantine ones, but was rather a philosopher and friend of monothelite heretics. This may be a further explanation for the sudden demise of the Nonnian hexameter verse with which he was now associated and which had been the fashion since the fifth century. References Adler, A., ed. (1928 – 1938), Suidae lexicon, 5 vols., Leipzig. Agosti, G. (2012), Greek Poetry, in: S. Fitzgerald Johnson (ed.), The Oxford Handbook of Late Antiquity, Oxford: 361 – 404. Amelotti, M. and Zingale, L. M., edd. (1977), Scritti teologici ed ecclesiastici di Giustiniano (Legum Iustiniani imperatoris vocabularium, Subsidia 3), Milano. De Stefani, C. (2014), The End of the “Nonnian School”, in: Spanoudakis 2014, 375 – 402. Diehl, E., ed. (1903 – 1906), Procli Diadochi in Platonis Timaeum commentaria, 3 vols., Leipzig. Dietz, F. R., ed. (1834), Scholia in Hippocratem et Galenum, vol. 1, Königsberg. Gonnelli, F. (1991), Il De vita humana di Giorgio Pisida, in: Bollettino Classico 12, 118 – 138. Gonnelli, F. (1998), Giorgio di Pisidia. Esamerone, introduzione, testo critico, traduzione e indici, Pisa. Kühn, C. G., ed. (1825), Claudii Galeni opera omnia, vol. 9: De causis pulsuum, De praesagitione ex pulsibus, Synopsis librorum de pulsibus, De crisibus, De diebus decretoriis (Medicorum Graecorum opera quae exstant 9), Leipzig. Lauritzen, F. (2012), Pagan Energies in Maximus the Confessor. The Influence of Proclus on the Ad Thomam 5. GRBS 52: 226 – 239. Lauxtermann, M. (2003), Byzantine Poetry from Pisides to Geometres. Texts and Contexts, vol. 1 (Wiener Byzantinistische Studien 24/1), Wien. Littré, É., ed. (1861), Œuvres complètes d’Hippocrate. Traduction nouvelle avec le texte grec en regard, collationné sur les manuscrits et toutes les éditions, vol. 9, Paris.

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Lloyd, A. C. (1990), Anatomy of Neoplatonism, Oxford. Pasquali, G., ed. (1908), Procli Diadochi in Platonis Cratylum commentaria (Bibliotheca Scriptorum Graecorum et Romanorum Teubneriana), Leipzig. Patillon, M., ed. (2012), Corpus Rhetoricum, tom. IV: Prolégomènes au De Ideis. Hermogène, Les catégories stylistiques du discours (De Ideis). Synopse des exposés sur les Ideai (Collection des universités de France Série grecque, Collection Budé 4), Paris. Places, É. des, ed. (1971), Oracles Chaldaïques. Avec un choix de commentaires anciens, Psellus, Proclus, Michel Italicus (Collection des universités de France Série grecque, Collection Budé 210), Paris. Rabe, H., ed. (1899), Ioannes Philoponus. De aeternitate mundi contra Proclum (Bibliotheca scriptorum Graecorum et Romanorum Teubneriana), Leipzig. Reinsch, D. R., ed. (2014), Michaelis Pselli Chronographia, 2 vols. (Millennium-Studien / Millennium Studies 51), Berlin - Boston. Riedinger, R., ed. (1984), Acta conciliorum oecumenicorum sub auspiciis Academiae scientiarum Bavaricae edita. Series secunda, vol. 1: Concilium Lateranense a. 649 celebratum, Berlin. Riedinger, R. ed. (1990, 1992), Acta conciliorum oecumenicorum Series secunda, vol. 2, pars 1/2: Concilium universale Constantinopolitanum tertium, Berlin. Roey, A. van (1980), Les fragments trithéites de Jean Philopon. Orientalia Lovaniensia Periodica 11: 135 – 163. Rolt, C. E. (1920), Dionysius the Areopagite on the Divine Names and the Mystical Theology, London. Romano, R. (1985), Teoria e prassi di versificazione. Il dodecasillabo nei Panegirici epici di Giorgio di Pisidia. ByzZ 78: 1 – 22. Sicurus, D., ed. (1862), Theophili et Stephani Atheniensis de febrium differentia ex Hippocrate et Galeno, Florence. Spanoudakis, K., ed. (2014), Nonnus of Panopolis in Context. Poetry and Cultural Milieu in Late Antiquity with a Section on Nonnus and the Modern World (Trends in Classics Suppl. 24), Berlin - Boston. Steel, C., ed. (2007 – 2009), Procli in Platonis Parmenidem commentaria (Scriptorum classicorum bibliotheca Oxoniensis), 3 vols., Oxford. Sternbach, L. (1893), De Georgio Pisida Nonni sectatore. Analecta Graeco-Latina Philologis Vindobonae Congregatis obtulerunt collegae Cracovienses et Leopolitani, Kraków: 38 – 54. Tartaglia, L., ed. (1998), Carmi di Giorgio di Pisidia. Testo greco a fronte (Classici UTET), Torino. Vitelli, H., ed. (1897), Ioannis Philoponi in Aristotelis libros de generatione et corruptione commentaria (Commentaria in Aristotelem Graeca 14/2), Berlin. Westerink, L. G. (1977), The Greek Commentaries on Plato’s Phaedo, vol. 2: Damascius (Verhandelingen der Koninklijke Nederlandse Akademie van Wetenschappen, Afdeling Letterkunde N. R. 93), Amsterdam. Whitby, M. (2013), George of Pisidia, in: R. S. Bagnall, Encyclopedia of Ancient History, vol. 6: Ge – In, Malden, MA. Whitby, M. (2014), A Learned Spiritual Ladder? Towards an Interpretation of George of Pisidia’s Poem On Human Life, in: Spanoudakis 2014, 435 – 457.

WIENER STUDIEN, Beiheft 41, 69 – 89 © 2020 by Österreichische Akademie der Wissenschaften Wien

DOMENICO ACCORINTI

Pagan and Christian Astral Imagery in Late Antique Poetry Yet portion of that unknown plain Will Hodge for ever be; His homely Northern breast and brain Grow to some Southern tree, And strange-eyed constellations reign His stars eternally. Thomas Hardy, Drummer Hodge

In a fascinating book titled Sul mare della vita (1969; 21989), Lidia Storoni Mazzolani (1911 – 2006), translator and friend of Marguerite Yourcenar,1 looks in depth at two late Latin funerary inscriptions. The first is the beautiful poem in iambic trimeters (41 verses) addressed by Aconia Fabia Paulina, a pagan woman, to Vettius Agorius Praetextatus, her husband, and written on the back of a funerary altar (CIL VI 1779 = CLE 111 = ILS 1259; Rome, post 384 AD);2 the other is the metrical inscription in elegiac couplets (24 verses) which Serena, a Christian woman, dedicates to Nymfius, her husband (CIL XIII 128 = CLE 2099 = ILCV 391; Valentine, mid-fourth century or early fifth century). 3 Both inscriptions have been studied by many scholars who have dealt extensively with the funerary language of these in––––––––––– 1 See Bonali-Fiquet 2006, 128: “En lisant Sul mare della vita elle a, dit-elle, éprouvé le plaisir que lui avait déjà procuré le premier livre de sa traductrice de ‘trouver […] l’érudition telle quelle, point encombrée pompeusement d’un jargon sociologique ou psychologique’.” 2 See Polara 1967 and 2000; Storoni Mazzolani 1989, 67f. (text and translation), 69 – 134, 189 – 191 (comm.); Courtney 1995, no. 32, 56 – 61 (text and translation), 252 – 255 (comm.); Henriksén 2008, 710 – 716, 723f. (text), who finds remarkable the use of the trimeter instead of the hexameter in the late fourth century (713); Cameron 2011, 301 – 304, 478 – 480. 3 See Storoni Mazzolani 1989, 137f. (text and translation), 139 – 173, 192 – 198 (comm.); Pailler 1986 dates the inscription to the mid-fourth century (164); Sivan 1989 favours a later date, probably the early fifth century (112f.); Storoni Mazzolani 1989, 177 gives 420 as probable date for the inscription.

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scriptions and the religion of the two dedicatees: Vettius Agorius Praetextatus (c. 310 – 384), the well-known senator and one of the last pagans of Rome, 4 and Nymfius, most probably a Christian who was one of the owners of a late antique Gallo-Roman villa at Valentine on the Upper Garonne in Novempopulana. However, Storoni Mazzolani has attempted a comparative study of both epitaphs and grasped with particular sensitivity the difference between these two significant testimonies of the pagan and Christian beliefs in Late Antiquity. It is not a matter of “a different evaluation of the moral law”, not even the idea of salvation. Rather, it is a matter of how both pagan and Christians hope to achieve salvation. 5 Praetextatus, taking no account of transient honours, has initiated Paulina into the mysteries and saved her from death, by consecrating his wife to the gods (ll. 18 – 25):

20

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quid nunc honores aut potestates loquar hominumque votis adpetita gaudia, quae tu caduca ac parva semper autumans divum sacerdos infulis celsus clues? tu me, marite, disciplinarum bono puram ac pudicam sorte mortis eximens, in templa ducis ac famulam divis dicas. te teste cunctis imbuor mysteriis

“Why should I now speak of offices and positions of authority and the joys sought by the prayers of men? For you always declared them to be transient and trivial, and have your fame as the priest of the gods, marked out by the sacred headband. You, my husband, rescuing me from the lot of the death, bring me, made pure and chaste by the blessing of your teachings, into the temples and consecrate me as a servant to the gods. In your presence I am initiated into all mysteries.”6

By his sancta fides, Nymfius has defeated tristes tenebras. By virtue of his merits, which for Serena, unlike Paulina, are important values, his fame has come to the stars. For his soul enjoys heaven, while his body lies in the tomb (ll. 1 – 6): Nymfius aeterno devinctus membra sopore hic situs est, caelo mens pia perfruitur. Mens videt astra, quies tumuli complectitur artus, calcavit tristes sancta fides tenebras. ––––––––––– 4 On Praetextatus’ historical legacy see recently Watts 2015, 215 – 217. 5 Storoni Mazzolani 1989, 183. 6 Transl. Courtney 1995, 59.

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Te tua pro meritis virtutis ad astra vehebat intuleratque alto debita fama polo.

“His body bound fast by eternal slumber, here lies Nymfius, his pious soul enjoying heaven. His soul looks upon the stars while the silence of the tomb embraces his limbs, and his holy faith trampled upon the sad darkness of death. In return for the merits of your virtue, your destined fame carried you to the stars, bringing you to heavens on high.”7

But at the end of these two inscriptions, in the face of death’s mystery, the gap between Paulina and Serena becomes more apparent. The pagan widow is sure to continue to live on, belonging to her husband post mortem too (ll. 38 – 41):

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his nunc ademptis maesta coniunx maceror, felix, maritum si superstitem mihi divi dedissent, sed tamen felix, tua quia sum fuique postque mortem mox ero.

“Now that these have been taken away I, your wife, pine in sorrow. I would have been happy if the gods had granted that my husband should survive me, yet I am still happy because I am and was and presently after death shall be yours.”8

On the contrary, the Christian widow can only live in hope of eternal life, because she does not have any certainty about the afterlife (ll. 19 – 24): 20

Parva tibi, coniunx, magni solacia luctus hunc tumuli titulum maesta Serena dicat. Haec individui semper comes addita fulcri unanimam tibi se lustra per octo dedit. Dulcis vita fuit tecum. Comes anxia lucem aeternam sperans hanc cupit esse brevem.

“Oh husband, as a small consolation of her immense grief, Serena, full of sadness, dedicates this inscription on the tomb to you. She, always present as the inseparable sharer of your couch, devoted herself singlemindedly to you through eight lustra. Sweet was life with you. Your wife, keenly desiring eternal light, hopes that this life be short.”9 ––––––––––– 7 Transl. Sivan 1989, 104. For astral imagery in Christian Latin epitaphs, see Trout 2011, 343; Trout 2013, esp. 6f., 10, 18, 20; Trout 2014, 226f. 8 Transl. Courtney 1995, 61. See Dronke 1984, 23: “The notion of the human love-union growing into an immortal union in the otherworld is here expressed with an integrity and a conviction that show what heights the pagan mysteries were still capable of inspiring. Paulina conceives herself an initiate as completely as Perpetua had conceived herself a Christian; for both, the way they see themselves is a foundation for luminous confidence, even in the moments of tragic crisis.” 9 Transl. Sivan 1989, 104.

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Here a reversal of roles seems to take place between the pagan and the Christian believer. This was expressed very well by Salvatore Sciascia in a review of the first edition (1969) of Storoni Mazzolani’s book: “And the pagan, one can say, is already Christian: and the Christian is still pagan. As always, however: for no one is ever entirely what he believes to be.”10 Maijastina Kahlos, in her monograph on Vettius Agorius Praetextatus, argues that Paulina’s final words can be read as a polemic against those who questioned the immortality of Praetextatus. First, Saint Jerome, who, in his consolation letter to Marcella for the death of Lea, calls Paulina uxor infelix (Ep. 23.3) for believing that her husband was in “the milky palace of the heavens”: o rerum quanta mutatio! ille, quem ante paucos dies dignitatum omnium culmina praecedebat, qui quasi de subiectis hostibus triumpharet Capitolinas ascendit arces, quem plausu quodam et tripudio populus Romanus excepit, ad cuius interitum urbs universa commota est, nunc desolatus est, nudus, non in lacteo caeli palatio, ut uxor commentitur infelix, sed in sordentibus tenebris continetur. “What a change of condition! He who a few days ago stood higher than the highest pinnacle of rank, who ascended the citadel of the Capitol as if triumphing over defeated enemies, whom the people of Rome welcomed with no little applause and stamping of feet, at whose death the whole city was moved to grief, is now abandoned and naked, lodged not in the milky palace of the heavens, as his unfortunate wife falsely claims, but in squalid darkness.”11

It is again Jerome who brings the same accusation against the pagan widow of Praetextatus, diaboli ancilla, in the contemporary consolation ––––––––––– 10 Sciascia 1972, 20. I wish to thank Sellerio Publishing House for providing me with a copy of Sciascia’s review housed in their archives. 11 Transl. Trapp 2003, 113. On Jerome’s vita Leae see Cain 2009, 76f., esp. 77: “Jerome aimed to teach a moral lesson by portraying Lea as a modern-day beggar – a very awkward fit for an aristocratic lady, needless to say – and Praetextatus as the unrighteous rich man roasting in an underworld furnace. The lesson, put simply, is that ‘we should not want to possess both Christ and the world, but let eternal things take the place of things that are short-lived and transitory … In order that we may live for ever, let us recognize that we shall die’. By Jerome’s reckoning Praetextatus epitomized worldly ambition at its most unblushing. Up until the very day of his death, he would enter the Capitol like a general returning victorious from battle, flanked by dignitaries and cheered by all who saw him. When he died all of Rome was moved to tears. Now in death this imperial celebrity is alone, naked, and held prisoner in the foulest darkness. Jerome’s Lea, by contrast, enjoys everlasting happiness and is welcomed by choirs of angels as she is comforted in Abraham’s bosom”; see also Cain 2013, 401 for the relationship of Jerome’s Epitaphium Sanctae Paulae to Ep. 23.

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letter to Paula for the death of Blesilla (Ep. 39.3). In this epistle, Jerome makes Christ himself speak in order to contrast Paulina’s faith in eternal life with the despair of the Christian Paula for her daughter’s death. 12 But Paulina’s certainty in an afterlife also clashes with a skepticism that often appears on pagan epitaphs. The pagan widow is persuaded that the gate of heaven is open to the wise who devoted themselves, as Praetextatus did, to the study of literature and philosophy (ll. 8 – 12):

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tu namque quidquid lingua utraq(ue) est proditum cura soforum, porta quis caeli patet, vel quae periti condidere carmina vel quae solutis vocibus sunt edita, meliora reddis quam legendo sumpseras.

“Whatever has been set forth in both languages by the devotion of the wise, to whom the gate of heaven stands open, either the poetry which skilled writers have produced or what has been put forth in prose – all this you leave in a better state than when you took it up for your reading.”13

And it is her conviction of Praetextatus’ ‘astral immortality’14 which Jerome refuses to accept, if the words in lacteo caeli palatio really refer to Paulina’s poem inscribed on the surviving funerary monument of Praetextatus.15 Both inscriptions testify to the belief in the afterlife which is widely known in Greco-Roman antiquity, especially in Neoplatonic and Neopythagorean texts, as well as in Jewish and Christian literature.16 Thus, it is no ––––––––––– 12 Jer. Ep. 39.3 Erubesce, ethnicae comparatione superaris. Melior diaboli ancilla quam mea est. Illa infidelem maritum translatum fingit in caelum, tu mecum tuam filiam commorantem aut non credis aut non vis. 13 Transl. Courtney 1995, 59. 14 For this concept see Nilsson 1954; Selter 2006; Obryk 2012, 94 – 115 (“Katasterismos und das Firmament als Zufluchtsort”); Wypustek 2013, 48 – 50 (“Astral Immortality”), 50 – 57 (“Apotheosis among the Stars in Verse-Inscriptions”). 15 Kahlos 2002, 174 – 178. See also Kahlos 1994, 16 – 19, 20 – 22. Contra, Cameron 2011, 301: “Where did she [Paulina] say that Praetextatus was in heaven? The natural assumption is in the same poem. Yet there are problems with this hypothesis. In the first place, the poem itself contains no such explicit claim. Second, Jerome must have written long before the completion and erection of the monument. Third, the standard modern treatment of these poems, by Polara, argues that they were inscribed years later and written by someone else in the names of the couple”; 304: “According to Jerome, Paulina claimed that her dead husband was now in lacteo caeli palatio. There is no such precise claim in the poem. Nothing closer than lines 8f., where Paulina praises Praetextatus for his study of the writings (Greek and Latin) of ‘the wise, to whom the gate of heaven lies open’.” 16 Bremmer 2002, 1 – 26; Lehtipuu 2007, 55 – 97 and 2015, 61 – 65; Endsjø 2009, 105 – 140; Finney 2016, 6 – 24; Somov 2017, 45 – 55, 73 – 84, 88 – 94, 151 – 180.

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wonder that expressions that refer to the immortality of the soul, the gate of heaven, the return of the dead to the stars, to Elysium or the Islands of the Blessed, are well attested, both in pagan and Christian epitaphs, as well as in Jewish funerary inscriptions.17 Recently, Andrzej Wypustek has also investigated whether references to the afterlife in funerary verse inscriptions of the Hellenistic and Greco-Roman periods can be connected with eschatological beliefs. He prefers to speak of a “metaphysical hope”: “A tomb inscription announcing the return of the soul to the Ether and its happy existence after death does not necessarily signify that the purchaser held a deep belief in life after death or systematized such views into anything like a doctrine. Such inscriptions do not necessarily have to be associated with the development of mystery cults or new eschatological ideas. Nevertheless, by referring to such traditional concepts, the Greeks did express – through poetry and mythology – a sort of metaphysical hope.” 18 However, it is important to note, with Iiro Kajanto, that “the belief in the soul’s immediate ascension to Heaven became popular only since the midfourth century”. 19 It is no coincidence therefore that both Paulina’s and Serena’s poems share the same astral dimension. For they are permeated by that ‘upperworldly’ imagery which is a feature, as Peter Brown has observed, of the religions of the late-antique Mediterranean. 20 Certain similari––––––––––– 17 Lattimore 1942, 26 – 43, 301 – 306, 311 – 314; Lehtipuu 2007, 99 – 117, esp. 102 – 108 (“The Ambiguity of the Epigraphic Sources”). For the astral imagery and the ambiguous reference to the resurrection in Daniel 12:2f., see recently Finney 2016, 32 – 34; Elledge 2017, 22. 18 Wypustek 2013, 48. For the eschatological beliefs in the sarcophagi, see Newby 2016, 301 – 308 (“Euphemisms for Death: Placing the Dead in Paradise”). 19 Kajanto 1978, 48. 20 Brown 1981, 2: “One thing can be said with certainty about the religion of the late-antique Mediterranean: while it may not have become markedly more ‘otherworldly’, it was most emphatically ‘upperworldly’. Its starting point was belief in a fault that ran across the face of the universe. Above the moon, the divine quality of the universe was shown in the untarnished stability of the stars. The earth lay beneath the moon, in sentina mundi – so many dregs at the bottom of a clear glass. Death could mean the crossing of that fault. At death, the soul would separate from a body compounded of earthly dregs, and would gain, or regain, a place intimately congruent with its true nature in the palpable, clear light that hung so tantalizingly close above the earth in the heavy clusters of the Milky Way. Whether this was forever, or, as Jews and Christians hoped, only for the long hiatus before the resurrection of the dead, the dead body joined in the instability and opacity of the world beneath the moon, while the soul enjoyed the unmovable clarity of the remainder of the universe”; cf. also Brown 1998, 636 and Brown 2015, 33 – 40. On the ‘upperworldly’ orientation in the visions of North African Christians, see Potthoff 2017, 183 – 185.

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ties between pagan and Christian texts that include a belief in the afterlife are also not limited to an expressive level, but mirror a “common mentality” of Late Antiquity.21 Moreover, a study by Antigone Samellas on the Christianization of the Greek East in Late Antiquity has highlighted that “[t]he novel eschatology did not replace the ancient beliefs about the afterlife, it was simply added to them. The inhabitants of the East, both before and after their Christianization, felt neither terror nor anxiety about their fate in the other world.”22 Thus, in this paper I will focus on a selection of texts from Late Antiquity, both pagan and Christian (mostly inscriptions from the fourth to the early sixth centuries), all in verse except the second, where astral imagery is almost always associated with eternal life. (1.) The first one is an epigram by Pope Damasus (305 – 384), who is a contemporary of Vettius Agorius Praetextatus: Ep. 20, Elogium of Peter and Paul, Basilica Apostolorum (S. Sebastiano)

5

hic habitasse prius sanctos cognoscere debes nomina quisq(ue) Petri pariter Pauli(que) requiris. discipulos oriens misit, quod sponte fatemur; sanguinis ob meritum Christumq(ue) per astra secuti aetherios petiere sinus regnaque piorum: Roma suos potius meruit defendere cives. haec Damasus vestras referat nova sidera laudes. “You should know that holy men once dwelt here, whoever you are who seek at the same time the names of Peter and Paul. The East sent its apostles, a fact we freely acknowledge. By virtue of their martyrdom – having followed Christ through the stars

––––––––––– 21 Kahlos 2002, 179: “In the fourth century different promises of personal salvation made by mystery religions and conceptions of the immortality of the soul spread by philosophical schools as well as monotheistic and syncretistic ideas of divinity, Judeo-Christian soteriology and eschatology seem to have melted into a common mentality. There was a common language with such slogans as heaven, hell or Tartarus, immortality, eternity, the communion of the holy, belief and salvation. These elements altogether formed the general climate of the ideas of immortality in the fourth century since the existential experience of mortality and death was common, a conditio humana.” See also Borg 2016, 283: “That so many Christians did not feel offended by being buried among their pagan peers may, however, also be due to the fact that their ideas and hopes with regard to death and what may lie beyond did not differ radically from traditional ones.” (I thank the author for sending me a pdf-offprint of her article.) 22 Samellas 2002, 10.

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they reached the heavenly asylum and the realms of the righteous – Rome has earned the right to claim them as her own citizens. These things Damasus wishes to relate in your praise, O new stars.”23

The Damasan elogium, which originally should have been located in the Basilica Apostolorum (S. Sebastiano) and is an important witness to the cult of the apostles, praises Peter and Paul who by their martyrdom have followed Christ per astra and reached aetherios … sinus regnaque piorum (4f.). They also are, as we read in the last line of the epigram, nova sidera (7). This designation of both apostles as “new stars” may also suggest a comparison with the Dioscuri, Castor and Pollux, who were identified with the constellation known as Gemini and were still honoured in fourth-century Rome. 24 It is also significant that the Theatines, the religious order founded in 1538 by Gianpietro Carafa (the future pope Paul IV) and Gaetano da Thiene, placed in 1578 an inscription near the staircase of their church in Naples, which originally had been built in the eighth century behind the columns of the temple of the Dioscuri, in order to contrast St Peter and St Paul with the pagan pair: EX DIRUTIS MARMORIBUS CASTORI ET POLLUCI FALSIS DIIS DICATIS NUNC PETRO ET PAULO VERI DIVIS AD FACILIOREM ASCENSUM OPUS FACIENDUM CURARUNT CLERICI REGULARES. MDLXXVIII. “By using the ruined marbles formerly dedicated to the false gods Castor and Pollux, now consecrated to the true saints Peter and Paul, the Theatines made [this stairway] for an easier ascent. 1578.”25

(2.) A prose epitaph from Pisidian Antioch, SEG XXXII 1302, dated to the fourth or perhaps fifth century, speaks of Gaius Calpurnius Collega Macedon, a city councillor, a very talented man who excelled in different fields: ––––––––––– 23 Ed. and transl. Trout 2015, 121, with commentary at pp. 121f. On this epigram see also Aste 2014, 83f. (text, transl. and comm.), 175f. (hagiographic notes); Dijkstra 2016, 124 – 129. 24 Trout 2005, 304f.: “The challenge issued by this elogium is not aimed at the legendary mortal agents of Roman destiny but rather at those whose merits, like Peter and Paul’s, won them victory over death and the responsibilities of astral guardianship. That might suggest Augustus and other deified emperors who took up starry afterlives, but a more likely target of this elogium’s counterclaim is an earlier pair of apotheosized eastern heroes, Castor and Pollux. […] Peter and Paul, likewise arrivals from the East, were now imagined (and perhaps represented) as similarly ensconced in the ‘realms of ether’, where they could be called upon as the city’s ‘new stars’. As the apotheosized agents of Christ, they were at least positioned to drive the Dioscuri from the field.” See also Dijkstra 2016, 128. 25 Text and translation in Lenzo 2015, 259.

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rhetoric, philosophy, and medicine. 26 It is by the providence of God and with an escort of sacred angels that this virtuous man, after leaving his clay tunic, went to the sky:

4

8

º. ¡ (Š) ¡§  ¹  >>’, ¥ ”[³ ], ¬ † † ` ‡, ² " „   [  ?], š’ †   ž  # ³ [ Æ ?], "" – ™#  \ ¦#> † [Æ  ?],   †   \ ] – > [>Ç  ?],  †  ³ ]   \ ~[ - - -],

¤ ò  \ ‹% # >ò [  ?] Ÿ [] ˆ †”  ³#, å = ] ± [Æ ]    , ˆ [] [] % † ¤ ’– Í – [?],   > ˆ ~‚ ‚ >>X  \ [ X]  \ [ "X ÆX?] º. ¡ Š ¹[ ³].

“C. Calpurnius Makedon, having furnished the tomb for his sweetest, most deeply-missed and [most divinely-beloved son?], (honoured) C. Calpurnius Collega Makedon, city councillor, a most notable man, who ‘was born with every virtue’, as the old [adage?] says, [who was spoken of?] as an orator in the company of the ‘first ten’ orators of Athens, as a philosopher [who praised?] the achievements of Plato and Sokrates, (and) as a public doctor [who emulated?] the work of Hippokrates in what he said and in what he did; after living among people for thirty years and [?] days, he [transferred?] from the presence of people to the sky by a god’s providence and with the holy angeloi as his companions, leaving behind his [parents] sooner than he should have, [casting off?] his “tunic of clay” here – alas!”27

Even though the language of the inscription is Hellenic, the text is open to both pagan and Christian interpretations, also considering that the stone does not present a cross or other Christian symbols. Particularly striking is the expression ‹% # at line 7, and that is the reason why I have chosen to cite this prose inscription in my paper. Christian Jones, in an ingenious article titled A Family of Pisidian Antioch (1982), persuasively argued against the previous discussion by William M. Ramsay (1919) that “[t]hough to modern ears these lines have a Christian ring, they in fact contain nothing which is exclusively Christian: for example, god is not described as ‘everliving’ or ‘immortal’. On the other hand, they contain several reminiscences of Neoplatonism […]. ‘The company of angels’ [7] is more striking. […]. ––––––––––– 26 Ramsay 1919, 2 – 5; Jones 1982, 264 – 269; Trombley 1995, I, 172 – 174; Horsley and Luxford 2016, 169f. (no. 12); Arena 2019, 89 – 94. See also Christol and Drew-Bear 2004, 107; Nissen 2006, 455f. 27 Text and translation according to Horsley and Luxford 2016, 169.

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The adjective ‹ might also seem suspicious in a Christian context. Both Old and New Testaments prefer £ to ‹ , and both refer to angels as £ but not as ‹.”28 Jones’s views have been substantially followed by Trombley: “G. Calpurnius Macedon seems thus to have been a Hellene, a supposition that is perfectly consistent with the known distribution of pagans and Christians down to the end of the fourth century.”29 Gregory H. R. Horsley and Jean M. Luxford, too, who have re-edited this inscription recently (adding some restorations proposed by Ramsay and Jones) in their essay on Pagan Angels in Roman Asia Minor (2016), agree with Jones and Trombley that this city councillor from Pisidian Antioch was unlikely to be a Christian, and therefore conclude that line 7 should refer to “pagan angeloi”.30 (3.) Some years ago Angelos Chaniotis drew attention to a group of ambiguous inscriptions from Aphrodisias which are dated between the fourth and early sixth centuries and have been included by Reinhold Merkelbach and Josef Stauber in their Steinepigramme aus dem griechischen Osten (SGO). 31 They allude to the immortality of the soul and the afterlife of the deceased among the stars, the Olympian gods, or the Blessed, and raise some problems of interpretation concerning their religious affiliation. Chaniotis observes that the dedicatees of three of these metrical inscriptions were not Christians, like the sophists Eupeithios (SGO 02/09/11) and Pytheas (SGO 02/09/22) and the Neoplatonic philosopher Asclepiodotus (SGO 02/09/06). The funerary inscription of this latter, “a devout polytheist”,32 combines astral immortality with dwelling on Olympus: SGO 02/09/06 (= ALA 54; c. 480)  | | žÆ| | Í š|,  †| _Ç# | ž| Å | >"Æ, | Ê • | È  \ |  – |–  à | ––– ––––––––––– 28 Jones 1982, 267f.; cf. Chuvin 2009, 263. On the ‘pagan angels’ in Asia Minor, see Cline 2011, 48 – 76 (“Angels of a Pagan God”) and Bowersock 2013, 97, who do not refer to SEG XXXII 1302, and now Horsley and Luxford 2016. 29 Trombley 1995, I, 174. 30 Horsley and Luxford 2016, 170. I thank Professor Horsley for sending me a pdf-offprint of this paper. 31 Chaniotis 2008, 258f. The inscriptions are listed at p. 258 n. 61: SGO 02/09/11 (epigram for the wise Eupeithios, late 4th century); 02/09/28 (epigram for Claudia, 4th or 5th century); 02/09/92 (fragmentary epigram for a girl, 4th – 6th century); 02/09/22 (epigram for Pytheas, c. 500); 02/09/06 (epitaph for Asclepiodotus, c. 490 – 500); 02/09/29 (epitaph for Euphemia, c. 528 – 558). 32 Brown 1992, 131.

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“He did not die, nor did he see the stream of Acheron, but in Olympus Asclepiodotus is among the stars – he who also built many splendid things for his motherland […].”33

As Chaniotis subtly remarks, texts like these imply that “the late pagans were trying to make clear that the Christians did not monopolize the idea of the immortality of the soul.”34 (4.) Another Eupeithios is celebrated in an inscription from Aphrodisias, dated by Joyce Reynolds to the second century and tentatively by Matylda Obryk to the fourth century, 35 as having rendered service to the city. It is very likely that this pious man who now dwells among the stars is the same person as the pagan sophist of the late fourth century mentioned in SGO 02/09/11 (= IAph2007 5.120): SGO 02/09/12 (= SEG XLVIII 1327; IAph2007 13.125; 4th century?)   •  >– ] Ò ´# Å  ] ŸÈÛ ½ ¤   , ìÅ ,   ¥# ˜>— Ç • ¹ Å> «  ] [[ ] “You have provided illustrious godlike works for the city, hero, living image of goddelighting piety. For this reason, Eupeithios, you now dwell among the stars, after you exhaled your soul, while playing in the day of March (or, while the day of March was playing).”36

It is also worthy of note that the clausula at line 3,  ¥# (cf. Euripides, Or. 1685 ¥# ), significantly recurs, with similar astral imagery, in a passage of Nonnus’ Paraphrase of St John’s Gospel, 20.43 (cf. also Dion. 2.268, 3.353, 6.317, 7.359, 8.409, 9.150, 13.296, 31.49, 38.352, 429, 48.707), where it explicitly refers to the resurrection of Christ from the dead and His ascension to the starry heaven (cf. Par. 12.133 †  Å#  # !˜Ç Ÿ  † È, 14.110 Ÿ  !˜Æ  †Ç  ] ¥#): Nonn. Par. 20.40 – 44   #   Ç# Ñ   Å, •  ± –   ¼ † , Ÿ Å " ¤ †Æ ¯ Ÿ Ç#, ––––––––––– 33 Transl. Rouché (ala2004). See Trombley 1995, I, 61; Wypustek 2013, 51. 34 Chaniotis 2008, 259. 35 See Obryk 2012, 106 – 108 (no. D7), who discusses the date at p. 106 n. 29. 36 Transl. Angelos Chaniotis, in Chaniotis and Mylonopoulos 2000, 221 (no. 350; slightly modified).

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 † Ç#  Ã  Ÿ  ¥# Æ   Å> –  Ã . “For not yet did the two disciples of Christ know that he, having quickly left the unreturnable ground after his fate, sleeping a wakeable sleep for only three daybreaks, returning from the dead would ascend into the celestial pole of the stars, having trampled the unloosed bonds of unbendable death.”37

(5.) Most problematic is an inscription for a woman named Claudia, dated to the fourth or fifth century, which consists of two parts. In the first one, Claudia is praised for her hospitality and pious works. For this reason, Justice put her pure body in a tomb, side by side with her husband. In the second part, the author takes up again her piety. For her pious and everlasting actions, Claudia went up to heaven, but Moira placed the body of the deceased in a tomb, joined to her husband: SGO 02/09/28 (= ALA 153; 4th or 5th century) A † \ "”Å[ ] |   \ Æ# |  ]# | ¡ >Å Ÿ[Æ]|#  Å >[Ã]|  ÇX | >Å#  [ ]|ˆ } Æ [>]|” Å[`] | B [¡ ]>Å Å|[ ] Ã|[] % | [] ˆ Ÿ |[]>, Æ Æ ‹ | [†]  ¹Å | >Å# ”>|[ ] \ ŸÆ | [± Å` | [Ç]X !  |[ – – | – A “In repayment for hospitality, and in thanks for pious works, Claudia, Justice has honoured you with (the) tomb of the dead, and has wedded your pure body (with it as a) lawful husband.” B “Claudia, who abounded in acts of piety which will ever be remembered, has rushed up to heaven, but Fate here below has joined her body, even after death, with a wedded husband, ?a tomb, ?by the pure …”38

Matylda Obryk rightly points out that “[d]ie Erwähnung der Moira neben der Dike des ersten Verses im Kontext des auf einen christlichen Hintergrund weisenden Kreuzes wirkt erstaunlich.” 39 However, even though this ––––––––––– 37 Transl. Sherry 1991. On this passage see Accorinti 1996, 155 – 165. 38 Transl. Rouché (ala2004). – The anonymous referee adds the following comment: “I would translate ‘with your lawful husband’ [SGO 02/09/28, A, l. 3]”. 39 Obryk 2012, 86.

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inscription parades terms like "”Å (“hospitality”) and  (“piety”), which draw upon both pagan and Christian sources, as the discussion on two epigrams by Macedonius Consul (AP 9.648 and 649 = 27 and 28 Madden) shows,40 it is not easy to see how it could have been written by a pagan. 41 But whoever may have been the author of this epigram from Aphrodisias, he displays his paideia by using the same incipit,  ˆ Ÿ >(), which appears twice in Quintus of Smyrna (2.658 and 14.2). (6.) A burial inscription from Nikaia, dating from the fourth or fifth century, eulogizes the virginity of Attia, a "" : SGO 09/05/15 (= NewDocs 4, no. 126; 4th/5th century)

5

5

ž "" .    Š  | "Š >   ½ []³  ‚ |   []` Û ç  |  \   ] ˜>’ |  £ ¤  \ ˆ ] | Î# ±   | []"’  Û  ,  >|[Š],    \ ¿    |[] – $ ] } ¤ [ - - - “Attia the philosopher. Garbing yourself in virginity you fled the evil of the world exalting, through your faith(fulness) and love, the name of God. Therefore, you and your soul have attained Paradise, wherein (are) holy Nous and the chorus of the saints with the prophets rejoicing. Farewell, sweet child, farewell and have mercy on your parents … [chil]d of God …”42

––––––––––– 40 On Macedonius’ attitude to Christianity in both epigrams, see Madden 1995, 14 – 17, 37 – 45, 210f., 212 – 214, who disagrees (41 n. 49) with Baldwin 1984, according to which “theme and language, then, are not good enough reason to interpret AP 9.649 as a strikingly unique example of obtruded Christian sentiment in Macedonius. Conforming or pious he may indeed have been: the epigram in question may safely continue to be seen as owing more to poetry than piety” (453). On "”Å see also Spanoudakis 2014, 167 (on Nonnus’ Par. 11.19b); for  cf. line 3 of the much-discussed epigram from Kotiaion, SGO 16/32/03 (Merkelbach and Stauber ad loc.: “Ein rätselhaftes Epigramm. Man kann es christlich-katholisch deuten oder novatianisch oder montanistisch, aber auch heidnisch.”). 41 Agosti 2010, 338 n. 47 too favours a Christian interpretation of this inscription. On the contrary, Peres 2003, 118 does not comment on the religious sentiment of this inscription. 42 Transl. Ross Shepard Kraemer, in Kraemer 2004, 268 (no. 98; slightly modified). – The anonymous referee adds the following comments: “‘exalting ... the name of God’ apparently suggests to read ¤: if not, I would rather think of ‘dignifying your name in front of God’. A few lines later, ‘be propitious to your parents.’”

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For Gregory Horsley this term can be compared with analogous forms such as   (“deaconess”) and should refer to a “philosopher-nun” who embraced virginity to keep herself free from the world’s evil. 43 Her parents commend her devotion to God’s name, her faith and love (3), and acknowledge in the last but one line her intercessory role (6).44 Now that she is dead, her soul dwells in Paradise, where are “holy Nous and the chorus of the saints with the prophets rejoicing” (4f.). There is no mention of heaven or stars here, yet there is little doubt that we have an astral imagery in absentia. Merkelbach and Stauber chose an effective title for this inscription, “Attia, eine christliche Philosophin (Nonne)”, also commenting, in the second volume of Steinepigramme aus dem griechischen Osten (2001), that “[d]ie christliche Religion sollte als die bessere Philosophie gelten, und Mönche und Nonnen waren die christlichen Philosophen.” Later on, Ross Shepard Kraemer, in Women’s Religions in the Greco-Roman World (2004), showed more prudence in labelling this inscription “A Woman Philosopher (?), Probably Christian.” However, both language and content do not leave room for doubt about the Christian context of this inscription which is clearly influenced by Platonic and Neoplatonic thought. 45 But what has not been noted, as far as I am aware, is that similar themes, such as the praise of virginity (a theme favoured by Nonnus46), the world’s evil influence, and Paradise, occur in a fairly contemporary inscription from Gdanmaa in Lycaonia (5th or 6th century), the Christian epitaph for Diomedes, whom God himself takes with him as Zeus did with Ganymedes: SGO 14/02/04, ll. 5 – 7 Έ   Ѥ  , ¬ ­ˆ  | ´  \  ` >  †”  | ’     \ ’  † ™  X.47 ––––––––––– 43 Horsley 1987, 257f. 44 According to Horsley 1987, 258, this intercessory role suggests a date in the fifth century or later. See also Gonzalez 2014, 42 n. 21: “A later dating is also suggested by the explicit dualism and the assumption of an immediate ascent.” 45 It suffices here to mention a term like ¤ at line 3, which “seems quite deliberate and brings to mind philosophical notions associate with that word” (Horsley 1987, 258). For £ ¤ see St John Damascene, Homilia in transfigurationem domini (CPG 8057), Kotter V, p. 448, ll. 26f.: ø    ’ !  ~# ‚ ‚ X £ ¤ % Š” ; on divine nous in Plotinus, see Noble and Powers 2015, 55f. 46 See Accorinti 2015, 55 – 61. 47 This epitaph has been accurately studied by Franceschini 2015, who, however, does not cite SGO 09/05/15. For the Ganymedes scene in Nonn. Dion. 25.429 – 450, see Spanoudakis 2014, 363 – 367.

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(7.) Incidentally, such Christianization of Ganymedes48 surfaces in an anonymous epitaph (early sixth century) preserved in the Salmasian Anthology, Anth. Lat. 92 Riese (= 81 Shackleton Bailey = 3 Zurli). The piece speaks of a deceased child abducted (raptus) by God for his own, whose soul is travelling to the stars. Here the astral imagery is especially developed and recurs at lines 3, 4, and 6: De christiano infante mortuo Nobilis atque insons occasu impubes acerbo decessit, lacrimas omnibus incutiens. Sed quia regna patent semper caelestia iustis atque animus caelos inmaculatus adit, 5 damnantes fletus casum laudemus ephebi, qui sine peccato raptus ad astra viget. Felix morte sua est, celeri quem funere constat non liquisse patrem, sed placuisse Deo. “A noble and innocent child died by cruel fate, instilling tears in everyone. But because the kingdom of heaven is always open to the righteous, and because a spotless soul enters heaven, let us condemn our weeping and celebrate the youth’s fate; he was without sin, he has been taken off to the stars, and he thrives there. He is blessed in his death, and it is clear that by his early demise he has not deserted his father, but has pleased God.”49

Some themes, such as the mors immatura, the uselessness of mourning, the immortality of the soul, and the soul among the stars are found in pagan epitaphs too. 50 However, the epigram’s superscription and the use of insons (1), iustus (3), inmaculatus (4), and sine peccato (6) express Christian faith. In particular, sine peccato and inmaculatus may allude to the Christian baptism of the little child (parvulus).51 (8.) To return to the "" Attia, whose soul has attained Paradise, this afterlife imagery recalls that of Syrianus’ epitaph (IG II/III2 13451; Athens; post 437), which Matylda Obrik has happily named “Ein Philosoph am Firmament”. 52 For, after accomplishing his mission on earth, the teacher of Proclus, the “new initiated” (’ , 2) Syrianus, ascends again into ––––––––––– 48 For this aspect, see Barkan 1991, 39. On the eschatological interpretation of the Ganymedes myth, see Wypustek 2013, 141 – 144. 49 Transl. Kay 2006, 72, cf. 72 – 75 (comm.). 50 See Lattimore 1942, 27f., 48 – 54, 184 – 187, 217 – 220, 301 – 304, 311 – 314. 51 Paolucci 2016, 14. 52 Obryk 2012, 143 – 146 (no. E12), with text, translation, and commentary.

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the “pole of the immortals” (] # † , 4).53 This inscription, which echoes Neoplatonic thought and is paired with Proclus’ epitaph preserved by Marinus, Vita Procli 36 (IG II/III2 13452 = AP 7.341 = GVI 1060),54 is badly mutilated and alternative readings and supplements have been suggested by scholars.55 Most recently, Christian Wildberg, while not supplementing the first two lines, the meaning of which seems to be obscure, suggested to integrate the second distich as follows: – – ] } ¦> ˆ ] , ¼’ †\ [   – ]  # — ][. ” ] ’  ³ •# " † [  ˜  ] # †  ¼ ]. “… But having shown humans how it is possible to become wise, he swiftly returned again to the vault of the immortals (i.e. the heavens).”56

(9.) And if the souls of Proclus and Syrianus dwell together in one place, that is in the pole of the immortals, as far as one can infer from their mutually complementary epitaphs,57 the wisdom of another philosopher, the pagan Hypatia, shines in the astral imagery of the much-discussed Palladas’ epigram (AP 9.400): ú  # , >%,  \ ± > , §   > ˆ ^ ‚ #Û Ÿ  ˆ  † > –   , ––––––––––– 53 Obryk 2012, 144f.: “Die Formulierung †  ¼ ] stellt eine Neuerung gegenüber all den anderen Erhebungsinschriften dar. Daß die Seele sich zurück in den Himmel begibt, beweist die starke platonische Färbung dieser Inschrift und steht im Einklang mit der Philosophie des Proklos. Die Heimat der Seele befindet sich bei Gott und nach dem Tode wird es ihr erlaubt, ihre Stellung zurückzuerlangen […]. Der Inhalt der Lehrtätigkeit des Syrianos bleibt der mangelhaften Erhaltung der Inschrift wegen leider unklar […]. Ihre Erwähnung zeigt jedoch den Einfluß der Philosophie des Proklos auf das Epigramm. Die Formulierung, daß Syrianos mit einer Aufgabe betraut worden ist, läßt vermuten, daß hier die Auffassung vorliegt, seine Seele gehöre zu den ‘Unbefleckten’. So zeigt die Erwähnung einer Mission, daß der Syrianos der Inschrift mit dem Lehrer von Proklos identifiziert werden darf.” 54 ™ †<  @Š  , ¬ ¦>  | †  ˆ +§ ˜    . | ”>ˆ  "# • ³  ”  Š · | Í  }  \ ˜>– % Ì  (“I, Proclus, was born of Lycian stock; Syrianus | Raised me here (in Athens) as successor to his teaching. | This shared tomb received both our bodies; | May a single place also obtain our souls”, transl. Wildberg 2017, 19). 55 For an accurate discussion, see Agosti 2008. 56 Wildberg 2017, 26. 57 Wildberg 2017, 20.

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®  ’, % # " , ¥  ¥ § "§  Š# .

“Revered Hypatia, ornament of learning, stainless star of wise teaching, when I see thee and thy discourse I worship thee, looking on the starry house of the Virgin; for thy business is in heaven.”58

According to a suggestive proposal made a few years ago by Enrico Livrea, it could have been composed as the funerary inscription of Hypatia. 59 Now, it is the virgin philosopher who reflects in some way the chastity ideal of the nun Attia, who put on virginity to flee the evil of human life. Once again “two myths and two languages”, to quote the well-chosen title of the Vienna Conference in December 2017, go well together. For, as Edward J. Watts highlights in his recent book on Hypatia, “her embrace of a celibate life can seem quite similar to the asceticism embraced by increasing numbers of elite Christian women in the later fourth and early fifth centuries.”60 Abbreviations Roueché, C. (22004), Aphrodisias in Late Antiquity. The Late Roman and Byzantine Inscriptions, url: http://insaph.kcl.ac.uk/ala2004, 11.07.2018. IAph2007 Reynolds, J., Roueché, C. and Bodard, G. (2007), Inscriptions of Aphrodisias, url: http://insaph.kcl.ac.uk/iaph2007, 11.07.2018. NewDocs New Documents Illustrating Early Christianity (see Horsley 1987). SGO Merkelbach R. und Stauber, J., Steinepigramme aus dem griechischen Osten, 5 vols., Stuttgart 1998 – 2004. ala2004

References Accorinti, D., ed. (1996), Nonno di Panopoli. Parafrasi del Vangelo di S. Giovanni, Canto XX (Pubblicazioni della Classe di Lettere e Filosofia, Scuola Normale Superiore, Pisa 15), Pisa. Accorinti, D. (2015), Nonnos und der Mythos. Heidnische Antike aus christlicher Perspektive, in: H. Leppin (ed.), Antike Mythologie in christlichen Kontexten der Spätantike (Millennium-Studien / Millennium Studies 54), Berlin - Boston: 43 – 69. Agosti, G. (2008), Dal cielo alla terra. Un epigramma epigrafico su Siriano. Incontri triestini di filologia classica 7: 103 – 115. ––––––––––– 58 Transl. Paton 1917, 223. Harrison’s rendering of this epigram is very free: “Searching the zodiac, gazing on Virgo, | knowing your province is really the heavens, | finding your brilliance everywhere I look, | I render you homage, revered Hypatia, | teaching’s bright star, unblemished, undimmed” (Harrison 1975, no. 67). 59 Livrea 1997. For this epigram, see more recently Vezzosi 2011 – 2014, 303 – 317; Beretta 2012. On the old (and new) question of Palladas’ chronology, see Benelli 2016; Cameron 2016; Floridi 2016. 60 Watts 2017, 75.

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Agosti, G. (2010), Paideia classica e fede religiosa. Annotazioni sul linguaggio dei carmi epigrafici tardoantichi. CCG 21: 329 – 353. Arena, G. (2019), Reminiscenze omeriche nell’epitaffio di un medico di Pisidia: formazione culturale delle élites tardoantiche fra paganesimo e cristianesimo. Commentaria Classica 6: 85 – 106. Aste, A., ed. (2014), Gli epigrammi di papa Damaso I, Tricase. Baldwin, B. (1984), The Christianity of Macedonius Consul. Mnemosyne 37: 451 – 454. Barkan, L. (1991), Transuming Passion. Ganymede and the Erotics of Humanism, Stanford, CA. Benelli, L. (2016), The Age of Palladas. Mnemosyne 69: 978 – 1007. Beretta, G. (2012), Il segno politico di Ipazia nella poesia civile di Pallada. Itinera, Rivista di filosofia e di teoria delle arti 4: 1 – 19 (url: https://riviste.unimi.it/index.php/itinera/article/ view/2330/2557, 11.07.2018). Bonali-Fiquet, F. (2006), La romancière et sa traductrice. La correspondance de Marguerite Yourcenar avec Lidia Storoni Mazzolani, in: B. Diaz and J. Siess (edd.), L’Épistolaire au féminin. Correspondances de femmes (xviiie – xxe siècle), Caen: 121 – 133 (url: http:// books.openedition.org/puc/10234?lang=fr#text, 11.07.2018). Borg, B. E. (2016), Slumber under Divine Protection. From Vague Pagan Hopes to Christian Belief, in: N. Hömke, G. F. Chiai and A. Jeni (edd.), Bilder von dem Einen Gott. Die Rhetorik des Bildes in monotheistischen Gottesdarstellungen der römischen Spätantike (Philologus Suppl.), Berlin - Boston: 263 – 288. Bowersock, G. W. (2013), Les anges païens de l’Antiquité tardive. CCG 24: 91 – 104. Bremmer, J. N. (2002), The Rise and Fall of the Afterlife. The 1995 Read-Tuckwell Lectures at the University of Bristol, London. Brown, P. (1981/22015), The Cult of the Saints. Its Rise and Function in Latin Christianity, Chicago - London. Brown, P. (1992), Power and Persuasion in Late Antiquity. Towards a Christian Empire (The Curti Lectures 1988), Madison, WI. Brown, P. (1998), Christianization and Religious Conflict, in: Averil Cameron and P. Garnsey (edd.), The Cambridge Ancient History, vol. 13: The Late Empire, A. D. 337 – 425, Cambridge - New York: 632 – 664. Brown, P. (2015), The Ransom of the Soul. Afterlife and Wealth in Early Western Christianity, Cambridge, MA - London. Cain, A. (2009), The Letters of Jerome. Asceticism, Biblical Exegesis, and the Construction of Christian Authority in Late Antiquity (Oxford Early Christian Studies), Oxford. Cain, A. (2013), Jerome’s Epitaph on Paula. A Commentary on the Epitaphium Sanctae Paulae (Oxford Early Christian Texts), Oxford. Cameron, Alan (2011), The Last Pagans of Rome, Oxford - New York. Cameron, Alan (2016), Palladas. New Poems, New Date, in: id., Wandering Poets and Other Essays on Late Greek Literature and Philosophy, Oxford - New York: 91 – 112. Chaniotis, A. (2008), The Conversion of the Temple of Aphrodite at Aphrodisias in Context, in: J. Hahn, S. Emmel and U. Gotter (edd.), From Temple to Church. Destruction and Renewal of Local Cultic Topography in Late Antiquity (Religions in the Graeco-Roman World 163), Leiden - Boston: 243 – 273. Chaniotis, A. and Mylonopoulos, J. (2000), Epigraphic Bulletin for Greek Religion 1997 (EBGR 1997). Kernos 13: 127 – 237 (url: http://kernos.revues.org/1300, 11.07.2018).

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Christol, M. and Drew-Bear, T. (2004), Caracalla et son médecin L. Gellius Maximus à Antioche de Pisidie, in: S. Colvin (ed.), The Greco-Roman East. Politics, Culture, Society (Yale Classical Studies 31), Cambridge: 85 – 118. Chuvin, P. (2009/11990), Chronique des derniers païens. La disparition du paganisme dans l’Empire romain, du règne de Constantin à celui de Justinien (Histoire 97), Paris. Cline, R. (2011), Ancient Angels. Conceptualizing Angeloi in the Roman Empire (Religions in the Graeco-Roman World 172), Leiden - Boston. Courtney, E. (1995), Musa Lapidaria. A Selection of Latin Verse Inscriptions (American Classical Studies 36), Atlanta, GA. Dijkstra, R. (2016), The Apostles in Early Christian Art and Poetry (Supplements to Vigiliae Christianae 134), Leiden - Boston. Dronke, P. (1984), Women Writers of the Middle Ages. A Critical Study of Texts from Perpetua († 203) to Marguerite Porete († 1310), Cambridge - New York - Melbourne. Elledge, C. D. (2017), Resurrection of the Dead in Early Judaism. 200 BCE – CE 200, Oxford. Endsjø, D. Ø. (2009), Greek Resurrection Beliefs and the Success of Christianity, New York. Finney, M. T. (2016), Resurrection, Hell and the Afterlife. Body and Soul in Antiquity, Judaism and Early Christianity (Bible World), New York - Abingdon. Floridi, L. (2016), Considerazioni in margine alla datazione di Pallada di Alessandria. ZPE 197: 51 – 69. Franceschini, A. (2015), Lessico e motivi tradizionali in un epigramma cristiano. Lexis 33: 477 – 489. Gonzalez, E. (2014), The Fate of the Dead in Early Third Century North African Christianity. The Passion of Perpetua and Felicitas and Tertullian (Studien und Texte zu Antike und Christentum 83), Tübingen. Harrison, T. (1975), Palladas. Poems, a Selection (Poetica 5), London. Henriksén, C. (2008), Dignus maiori quem coleret titulo. Epigrammata longa in the Carmina Latina epigraphica, in: A. M. Morelli (ed.), Epigramma longum. Da Marziale alla tarda antichità, from Martial to Late Antiquity. Atti del Convegno internazionale, Cassino, 29 – 31 maggio 2006, 2 vols., Cassino: II, 693 – 724. Horsley, G. H. R. (with the collaboration of A. L. Connolly and others) (1987), New Documents Illustrating Early Christianity, vol. 4: A Review of the Greek Inscriptions and Papyri Published in 1979, Marrickville, N.S.W. Horsley, G. H. R. and Luxford, J. M. (2016), Pagan Angels in Roman Asia Minor. Revisiting the Epigraphic Evidence. AS 66: 141 – 183. Jones, C. P. (1982), A Family of Pisidian Antioch. Phoenix 36: 264 – 271. Kahlos, M. (1994), Fabia Aconia Paulina and the Death of Praetextatus. Rhetoric and Ideals in Late Antiquity (CIL VI 1779). Arctos 28: 13 – 25. Kahlos, M. (2002), Vettius Agorius Praetextatus. A Senatorial Life in Between (Acta Instituti Romani Finlandiae 26), Rome. Kajanto, I. (1978), The Hereafter in Ancient Christian Epigraphy. Arctos 12: 27 – 53. Kay, N. M. (2006), Epigrams from the Anthologia Latina. Text, Translation and Commentary, London. Kraemer, R. S., ed. (2004), Women’s Religions in the Greco-Roman World. A Sourcebook, Oxford - New York. Lattimore, R. (1942), Themes in Greek and Latin Epitaphs (Illinois Studies in Language and Literature 28, 1/2), Urbana, IL.

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Lehtipuu, O. (2007), The Afterlife Imagery in Luke’s Story of the Rich Man and Lazarus (Supplements to Novum Testamentum 123), Leiden - Boston. Lehtipuu, O. (2015), Debates over the Resurrection of the Dead. Constructing Early Christian Identity (Oxford Early Christian Studies), Oxford. Lenzo, F. (2015), Ex dirutis marmoribus. The Theatines and the Columns of the Temple of the Dioscuri in Naples, in: J. Hughes and C. Buongiovanni (edd.), Remembering Parthenope. The Reception of Classical Naples from Antiquity to the Present (Classical Presences), Oxford: 242 – 265. Livrea, E. (1997), A. P. 9.400. Iscrizione funeraria di Ipazia? ZPE 117: 99 – 102 (= id., ™Â¡¹. 63 studi di poesia ellenistica, Alessandria 2016: no. 46). Madden, J. A. (1995), Macedonius Consul. The Epigrams (Spudasmata 60), Hildesheim Zürich - NewYork. Newby, Z. (2016), Greek Myths in Roman Art and Culture. Imagery, Values and Identity in Italy, 50 BC – AD 250 (Greek Culture in the Roman World), Cambridge. Nilsson, M. P. (1954), Die astrale Unsterblichkeit und die kosmische Mystik. Numen 1: 106 – 119. Nissen, C. (2006), Prosopographie des médecins de l’Asie Mineure pendant l’Antiquité classique. I. Catalogue des médecins, Diss. Paris, École pratique des hautes études. Sciences historiques et philologiques (url: http://orbi.ulg.ac.be/handle/2268/40510, 11.07.2018). Noble, C. I. and Powers, N. M. (2015), Creation and Divine Providence in Plotinus, in: A. Marmodoro and B. D. Prince (edd.), Causation and Creation in Late Antiquity, Cambridge. Obryk, M. (2012), Unsterblichkeitsglaube in den griechischen Versinschriften. Untersuchungen zur antiken Literatur und Geschichte (Untersuchungen zur antiken Literatur und Geschichte 108), Berlin - Boston. Pailler, J.-M. (1986), L’énigme Nymfius. Gallia 44: 151 – 165. Paolucci, P. (2016), Pentadius Ovidian Poet. Music, Myth and Love (Anthologiarum Latinarum Parerga), Hildesheim - Zürich - New York. Paton, W. R. (1917), The Greek Anthology, with an English Translation, vol. III (Loeb Classical Library), London - New York. Peres, I. (2003), Griechische Grabinschriften und neutestamentliche Eschatologie (Wissenschaftliche Untersuchungen zum Neuen Testament 157), Tübingen. Polara, G. (1967), Le iscrizioni sul cippo tombale di Vezzio Agorio Pretestato. Vichiana 4: 264 – 289, also in: Polara 2001, 37 – 55. Polara, G. (2000), Iscrizioni e propaganda. Il cippo tombale di Pretestato, in: F. E. Consolino (ed.), Letteratura e propaganda nell’Occidente latino da Augusto ai regni romanobarbarici. Atti del Convegno Internazionale, Arcavacata di Rende, 25/26 maggio 1998, Roma: 107 – 126, also in: Polara 2001, 57 – 71. Polara, G. (2001), Ricerche sulla tarda antichità, Napoli. Potthoff, S. (2017), The Afterlife in Early Christian Carthage. Near-death Experience, Ancestor Cult, and the Archaeology of Paradise (Routledge Studies in the Early Christian World), London - New York. Ramsay, W. M. (1919), A Noble Anatolian Family of the Fourth Century. CR 33: 1 – 9. Samellas, A. (2002), Death in the Eastern Mediterranean (50 – 600 A. D.). The Christianization of the East, an Interpretation (Studien und Texte zu Antike und Christentum 12), Tübingen. Sciascia, L. (1972), Sul mare della vita. Il Giornale di Sicilia, 30 aprile 1972: 1, 20 (“Gli zii e i nipoti”).

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Selter, B. (2006), Astral Immortality in the Carmina Latina Epigraphica of the City of Rome. A Comparison between Pagan and Christian Views. SEJG 45: 47 – 106. Sherry, L. F. (1991), The Hexameter Paraphrase of St. John attributed to Nonnus of Panopolis. Prolegomenon and Translation, Diss. Columbia University. Sivan, H. S. (1989), Town, Country and Province in Late Roman Gaul. The Example of CIL XIII 128. ZPE 79: 103 – 113. Somov, A. (2017), Representations of the Afterlife in Luke-Acts (International Studies in Christian Origins, The Library of New Testament Studies), London - New York. Spanoudakis, K. (2014), The Shield of Salvation. Dionysus’ Shield in Nonnus’ Dionysiaca 25.380 – 572, in: id. (ed.), Nonnus of Panopolis in Context. Poetry and Cultural Milieu in Late Antiquity with a Section on Nonnus and the Modern World (Trends in Classics Suppl. 24), Berlin - Boston: 333 – 371. Storoni Mazzolani, L. (1989/11969), Sul mare della vita (La diagonale 41), Palermo. Trapp, M. (2003), Greek and Latin Letters. An Anthology, with Translation (Cambridge Greek and Latin Classics), Cambridge. Trombley, F. R. (1995/11993/1994), Hellenic Religion and Christianization. C. 370 – 529, 2 vols. (Religions in the Graeco-Roman World 115), Leiden - New York - Köln. Trout, D. (2005), Damasus and the Invention of Early Christian Rome, in: D. B. Martin and P. Cox Miller (edd.), The Cultural Turn in Late Ancient Studies. Gender, Asceticism, and Historiography, Durham - London: 298 – 315 (= Journal of Medieval and Early Modern Studies 33 [2003]: 517 – 536). Trout, D. (2011), Borrowed Verse and Broken Narrative. Agency, Identity, and the (Bethesda) Sarcophagus of Bassa, in: J. Elsner and J. Huskinson (edd.), Life, Death and Representation. Some New Work on Roman Sarcophagi, Berlin - New York: 337 – 358. Trout, D. (2013), Fecit ad astra viam. Daughters, Wives, and the Metrical Epitaphs of Late Ancient Rome. JECS 21: 1 – 25. Trout, D. (2014), ‘Being Female’. Verse Commemoration at the Coemeterium S. Agnetis (Via Nomentana), in: C. Harrison, C. Humfress and I. Sandwell (edd.), Being Christian in Late Antiquity. A Festschrift for Gillian Clark, Oxford: 215 – 234. Trout, D., ed. (2015), Damasus of Rome. The Epigraphic Poetry, Introduction, Texts, Translations, and Commentary (Oxford Early Christian Texts), Oxford. Vezzosi, G. (2011 – 2014), Gli epigrammi gnomici e filosofici di Pallada di Alessandria, Diss. University of Salerno - University of Salamanca. Watts, E. J. (2015), The Final Pagan Generation. Transformation of the Classical Heritage, Oakland, CA. Watts, E. J. (2017), Hypatia. The Life and Legend of an Ancient Philosopher (Women in Antiquity), New York. Wildberg, C. (2017), Proclus of Athens. A Life, in: P. d’Hoine and M. Martijn (edd.), All From One. A Guide to Proclus, Oxford: 1 – 26. Wypustek, A. (2013), Images of Eternal Beauty in Funerary Verse Inscriptions of the Hellenistic and Greco-Roman Periods (Mnemosyne Suppl. 352), Leiden - Boston. Zurli, L. (2007), Unius poetae sylloge. Anthologia Latina, cc. 90 – 197, Riese = 78 – 188, Shackleton Bailey, recognovit L. Zurli, traduzione di Nino Scivoletto, Hildesheim Zürich - New York.

Part Two: Tradition and Narrative

WIENER STUDIEN, Beiheft 41, 93 – 112 © 2020 by Österreichische Akademie der Wissenschaften Wien

J AN R. STENGE R

‘Beim Häuten der Zwiebel’ Gregory of Nazianzus’ De vita sua as Autofiction Introduction No one ever in Greek antiquity wrote so much and so often about himself and his thoughts as Gregory of Nazianzus (329 – 390 CE) did. In numerous poems and orations he looked back on the deeds and events of his life, and he presents himself to us as a man who was constantly struggling to make sense of a biography that seemed to be riddled with misfortunes, including three abortive episcopacies. If other writers are content with publishing just one autobiography, Gregory needed several attempts. The striking feature, in particular of his later poems, is that he appears to revisit over and over again the same episodes of his life, while also reusing material from his earlier writings. 1 One single life was even not enough, for Gregory would have needed no less than nine lives to match the nine epitaphs he composed for himself as the final words on his doings.2 Fittingly, the poetic ‘I’ of the highly contemplative elegy De humana natura is wondering ‘Who was I? Who am I? Who will I be? I don’t know for sure’, articulating uncertainty about his own existence and identity. 3 It is no wonder that later readers jumped at the chance of listening to the authentic voice of Gregory the Theologian that seems to be encapsulated in his prolific writing. Already Edward Gibbon appreciated the immediacy of Gregory’s long poem De vita sua, hearing Nature herself speaking from Nazianzen’s verses.4 Georg Misch in his magisterial survey of the autobiography was excited to find in Gregory’s poems a major step in the history ––––––––––– 1 For Gregory’s practice of self-quotation see, for example, Greg. Naz. Carm. 2.1.1.96 –100 and 2.2.7.43 – 47. Cf. McGuckin 2001a, 161 – 164. See Van Dam 2003, 171 – 185 on Gregory’s literary presentations of himself, further McLynn 1998, 483. 2 Carm. 2.1.91 – 99 (PG 37:1446 – 1452). 3 De humana natura (Carm. 1.2.14) 17: è ,  ’ ŸÅ,  ’ ] ; ù " ^ . 4 Gibbon 1776 – 1788, ch. 27 n. 29.

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of the genre because Gregory had achieved such a level of subjectivity and interiority that it put him on a par with Augustine and modern classics. 5 Other scholars have followed suit and mined the poems for information not only on the historical events during his tenure at Constantinople, but also on the author’s mindset, preoccupations and innermost feelings. Raymond Van Dam, for example, though being alive to the constructive character of Gregory’s persona in the poems, still offers a very psychologising reading, noting that one poem was “full of self-pity” and a kind of “bibliotherapy” to its distraught composer.6 On the other hand, it has been argued on account of Gregory’s selfpresentation that we should approach the autobiographical poems as historiography in the manner of Herodotus and Thucydides. The narrator, according to this view, emerges as an accurate recorder of events, which does not seem to leave room for the highly subjective and introspective Gregory so dear to many modern readers.7 Against the backdrop of these contradictory interpretations this chapter aims at a reassessment of the nature of Gregory’s autobiographical poetry, in particular of the narrator persona in his De vita sua (Carm. 2.1.11). I shall propose a new approach to these pieces that can shed fresh light on the relation between writing one’s own life and reality. Autobiography, Fiction, and Autofiction As a gateway to Gregory’s elusive ‘I’ we can briefly turn to a modern book that caused furore in Germany some years ago. It was in 2006 that the Nobel laureate Günter Grass published his memories covering the period from his childhood in the city of Danzig (1939) until the completion of his chef-d’œuvre Die Blechtrommel (The Tin Drum) in 1959. In Beim Häuten der Zwiebel (Peeling the Onion), which notably does not bear the sub-title ‘autobiography’ on its cover, Grass did not present an accurate and full account of the formative period of his life as an author. 8 Rather, he shared with his readers recollections of individual episodes, interspersed with frequent reflections on the power and reliability of memory. Strikingly, his memory emerges as highly problematic, often eluding any attempt to put our ––––––––––– 5 Misch 1950, 600 – 624, here 624. 6 Van Dam 2003, 172 and 173: “These self-pitying sentiments can easily seem pathetically self-indulgent, especially in such circumstances of despair for both Gregory and his parents … This early poem was hence too maudlin and full of self-pity to be a convincing interpretation of his early life.” 7 Abrams Rebillard 2012, referring to Carm. 2.1.10 – 14, 19, 34, 39 and 68. 8 Grass 2006.

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finger on it. The theme of lying and deception is never far, and so the narrator appears as an elusive and unreliable figure. 9 In addition, in many places the work draws attention to the gulf between the narrator in the present and the character Grass in the past, sometimes even referring to the narrated persona not in the first person, but in the third.10 On the whole, Grass frustrates our expectations generated by the seeming identity of author, narrator and narrated character. Some years earlier, Grass in an interview confessed that he did not like autobiographies at all but rather preferred recounting his life in variation and coding autobiography as fiction or novel.11 Returning to Late Antiquity, I suggest that we adopt the attitude of the ideal reader envisaged by Grass and be wary of taking narratives such as Libanius’ Autobiography, Jerome’s famous Epistle 22 and Augustine’s Confessions cavalierly as accurate reflections of the writers’ memory or, even more daringly, of historical reality itself. So far, I have spoken somewhat unreflectively about the ‘autobiographical’ poems of Gregory, because that is what the pieces themselves suggest and how modern scholars are used to addressing them; this is, for example, also the title of Carolinne White’s English translation.12 However, we need to bear in mind that there was no such thing in antiquity as a well-defined genre of autobiography, and as we just have seen, the label does not suit every modern text purporting to present an author’s life, either. 13 To characterize writings that, like Grass’s memories, deliberately blur the lines between autobiography and fiction, modern literary studies have introduced the notion of ‘autofiction’, a hybrid that appears to paradoxically blend autobiographical narrative with fictional elements.14 The term has been coined by ––––––––––– 9 See for example Grass 2006, 9/10. “Die Erinnerung liebt das Versteckspiel der Kinder. Sie verkriecht sich. Zum Schönreden neigt sie und schmückt gerne, oft ohne Not. Sie widerspricht dem Gedächtnis, das sich pedantisch gibt und zänkisch rechthaben will” (8). 10 Grass 2006, 37/38, 51. At one point, Grass speaks of “mein behauptetes, doch immer wieder im fiktionalen Gestrüpp verschwindendes Ich” (39). 11 “Es ist immer die Frage, in welcher Form man am besten lügen kann. Ich habe ein ziemliches Misstrauen gegenüber Autobiografien. Wenn ich eine Möglichkeit sähe, mich gewissermaßen in Variation zu erzählen – das wäre vielleicht reizvoll. Aber eigentlich mag ich Autobiografisches in der verschlüsselten Form der Fiktion, des Romans, lieber.” (Grass in an interview with Der Spiegel in 2003, cited by Platen 2006, 295). 12 White 1996; see also Tuilier - Bady - Bernardi 2004, liv. The Greek title given in the manuscripts to Carm. 2.1.11 is ìŸ ˆ + >¤ Å. 13 For ancient autobiographical writing see, apart from Misch 1950, the contributions in Baslez - Hoffmann - Pernot 1993. 14 See Zipfel 2009a and 2009b; Wagner-Egelhaaf 2013a; Hansen 2017.

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the French writer and literary scholar Serge Doubrovsky (1928 – 2017) in 1977 in order to identify fiction of real events or facts15 and since then has been adopted by literary studies, increasingly in the past few years.16 While we usually read autobiographies with the expectation that they allow us a glimpse into the ‘real’ lives of their authors, in reading fiction we are willing to suspend disbelief and do not attempt to relate too strictly the fictitious world to reality, although it normally contains features of the real world. 17 However, literary autobiographies, in particular some recent ones, sometimes undermine this clear-cut distinction and appear to blur the lines between strictly factual and novelistic, fictional first-person narratives. Doubrovsky’s term ‘autofiction’, that is, ‘self-fiction’, has furnished literary studies with a tool to describe elusive texts such as Goethe’s Dichtung und Wahrheit.18 Like Grass’s Beim Häuten der Zwiebel, autofictional narratives often discuss and problematize the function and trustworthiness of memory as the foundation of any account of a life in first-person. To compound the issue of reliability and constructiveness, the texts sometimes feature an unreliable narrator whose slips and omissions stimulate the reader to reflect on the relationship between recollecting, writing and reality. 19 The interpretive device of autofiction has been defined in different ways, which might warn us against applying it too eagerly to ancient literature, in particular as GrecoRoman antiquity did not possess our modern categories of autobiography and fiction in the first place.20 However, one thought-provoking aspect promises to be fruitful for the study of ancient texts: autofiction often has a prominent poetological element and highlights the concept of authorship; it suggests a convergence of life and art or writing, to the extent that text production becomes an integral part of the life. 21 This perspective might help us to make sense of the variations in which Gregory presents his own life. ––––––––––– 15 Doubrovsky 1977. The term ‘autofiction’ appears on the back cover of Fils. 16 Autofiction in Greco-Roman literature has also been the topic of a conference held at the Catholic University of Eichstätt in July 2017. See the proceedings in Bitto - Gauly - Müller (forthcoming). 17 For the concept of the autobiographical pact see Lejeune 1975. It is defined as a contract between the author and the reader that supposes an identity of name between the author, whose name appears on the cover, the narrator of the story and the character whose life is narrated. 18 Johann Wolfgang von Goethe, Aus meinem Leben: Dichtung und Wahrheit (From My Life: Poetry and Truth, 4 vols., 1811 – 1833). 19 For the relationship between autofiction and unreliable narration see Hansen 2017. 20 For divergent definitions of autofiction see Zipfel 2009b, 298 – 311, who differentiates three types. 21 See Wagner-Egelhaaf 2013b.

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The Narrator of De vita sua In Migne’s Patrologia Graeca the Poemata de seipso comprise 99 pieces of various length and different metres. 22 Many of them consist just of a handful of lines, but there are also substantial poems of several hundred lines. Not all of them are autobiographical in the strict sense. As Gregory composed a good number of them after his retirement from the see of Constantinople in summer 381, it is no wonder that some deal in detail with his experiences and adversities in the capital.23 That is also the case in the masterpiece of the collection, the De vita sua, a poem of 1949 Euripidean iambic trimeters.24 In this poem, Gregory reviews his life from birth to the abandonment of the bishopric of Constantinople, albeit in uneven coverage: while his earlier life is related episodically and far from exhaustively, the years in the capital receive a much more fine-grained treatment. The reason for this is that Gregory intended the work as an apologia, a poetic defence speech that justified his recent actions and his right to act as bishop of Constantinople. 25 Accordingly, already the proem sets out in very clear terms the programme of the poem and defines the role of its narrator.26

5

èˆ ¤ > Š , % †%  % †”§  — „, Í’ ¼ ”%. ‹ } – ¯# , ‹ ’ †# "  ¥, •# ¥, ^ ,  \ š§   .  – ˆ Š ’ " } ’.  [ }  §  " ,  >  \ Š    £ ,

––––––––––– 22 PG 37:969 –1452. For an introduction to Gregory’s poetry see Simelidis 2009, 21 – 57. Cameron 2006 places Gregory’s verses in the context of the poetic production of Late Antiquity. 23 For Gregory’s life and literary activities in the retirement after 381 see Ruether 1969, 48 – 54; McGuckin 2001b, 371 – 398. 24 Carm. 2.1.11 (PG 37:1029 – 1166). Edition, French translation and notes in Tuilier - Bady Bernardi 2004; German edition, introduction and commentary in Jungck 1974; English translation in White 1996. 25 Van Dam 1995, 140 – 141; McGuckin 2001a. McGuckin 2001b, 376 speaks about a “propaganda battle” after Gregory’s abandonment of the episcopate. Elm 2000 regards the ensemble of Or. 42, 43, De vita sua and De se ipso et de episcopis (Carm 2.1.12) as a programmatic set that informs the addressees about true Christian leadership. McLynn 1998 argues that De vita sua is virtually an auto-hagiography that presents Gregory as a holy man and exemplar of sanctity. 26 De vita sua 1 – 19. The translations are taken, in slightly modified form, from White 1996.

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10

15

5

10

15

ˆ   . ˆ ’ !å  , ± « • ’ ~%, – ¤ > , • ’ „”¤ , Í    ·  – ~  >. ¥ , ˆ ˆ  § Ÿ> ,   Ÿ ’, ¢ „%, ˆ Š, §  \   Ú", ô³ >’ , % ¥# Ì , ¡# >    \ ’ > , Š ’, ¥ , ˆ ˜>>  \ –  ’  †   "  , †” ç !  \ ˆ ³ . “The purpose of this work is to explore the course of my misfortunes or, if you like, my successes: for some would describe it one way, others in another, each, so I believe, according to his own inclination: but inclination is not a reliable basis for judgement. The verse form, providing a remedy for pain, adds a playfulness, being both a means of instruction and a source of pleasure for the young, a delightful consolation. To you the work is addressed, you who once were mine but now are another’s, you who share the same belief (even if any of you is a heretic). For all are well-disposed to me when my lips are closed. You men, the glorious name27 of the earth, who inhabit the second world, as I see it, clothed in the beauty of earth and sea, the newly built Rome, the seat of a new nobility, the city of Constantine and a monument to his power, listen, you men, to a man who is completely devoid of falsehood, and who has suffered greatly amid many twists of fortune, out of which there has arisen a greater understanding.”

Gregory opens the poem with an allusion to Isocrates’ Antidosis, one of the most famous examples of the ancient apologia, and announces that he is going to correct mistaken views about his life and actions.28 Thus, from the outset the narrative is presented to the audience, his former followers and the inhabitants of the capital, not in unmediated ways, as if the readers would look at the bare events themselves, but the story is told by a narrator who has his own agenda and gives shape to the material accordingly. This figure is a ––––––––––– 27 For this reading see the note in Tuilier - Bady - Bernardi 2004, 146. 28 Cf. Isocrates, Or. 15.4. Libanius’ Autobiography begins in very similar manner (Or. 1.1).

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homodiegetic or autodiegetic narrator, as he recounts his own experiences in first-person and moreover, seems to be identical with Gregory, the former bishop of Constantinople. 29 The topic with which the narrator is going to deal is identified as the course of his life, his biography, or, more precisely, the judgement on his life, as it is evaluated in the categories of fortune and misfortune. Strikingly, Gregory’s life appears as a contested one, with contrasting views on it circulating in the public. Thus, from the outset the poem suggests that there may be several competing versions of a life. While the reader might assume that there is something like the historical reality of a human life, the stability of data on actions and events, the proem rather makes clear that what will be remembered is an interpretation of these facts, the memory shaped from a specific vantage point. Although the narrator points out that personal inclination (ˆ Ç ) is not a reliable basis for judgement, he does not explain how one could arrive at a proper and accurate verdict on a man’s life. To compound the problem, the following lines at the same time draw attention to the playful character of poetry and its pedagogic, even medical functions.30 How both aspects go together and how the poem’s playfulness might fit with the serious agenda of reaching a definitive judgement on Gregory’s fate is not stated. Gregory only lays claim to ‘greater understanding’, which seems to enable him to give a trustworthy account of his life. Paradoxically, however, he pretends to have fallen silent (11), as if with his abdication from the see of Constantinople he also had lost his poetic voice – a claim that is belied by the following almost 2,000 lines.31 In a sense the historical figure Gregory and the person of the narrator are not identical to the main character of the poem. Some lines later, returning to his silence, the narrator reveals that he is already a corpse teeming with numerous diseases; and at the end of the poem, right in the first line of the epilogue, this motif is resumed again, when we are told “My account is at an end: here stand I, a living corpse, beaten and yet – amazingly – victorious”. 32 ––––––––––– 29 See Genette 1980, 246 – 252 on the autodiegetic narrator. 30 For these two functions of Gregory’s poetry see his programmatic piece To his own verses (Carm. 2.1.39) 37 – 46. 31 Gregory here employs the trope that the dead are judged favourably by everyone. See Jungck 1974 ad loc. 32 De vita sua 33 and 1919/1920: ™ >·  ˆ ] . | ~ – ¤

Š  – "" . In the first instance, the reference seems to be not only to Gregory himself, but also to Christian clergy in general. For the motif see also Carm. 2.1.1.547 and 2.1.19.96 – 98. Cf. Simelidis 2009, 211/212.

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The narrator appears to be a figure from the beyond, a dead person looking back to the life of the human being that he once was. This difference between the Gregory of the past and the narrator in the present, who is recalling what he was doing and suffering, is indicated also in other places and makes the audience aware that his life is viewed from some distance. 33 The narrator’s presence in his account, his function as an audible mediator, is also highlighted in many other passages, as a matter of fact. 34 Reading of Gregory’s youth, his strained relationship with Basil of Caesarea, his triumphs in Constantinople and his eventual departure from the episcopate, it is hard to miss the frequent narrator comments which briefly interrupt the flow of the story and reflect on the act of telling Gregory’s life. For example, when he introduces his account of the events in Constantinople, that is, the main part of the poem, he says,35 556

560 556

560

† ¤ ’  ¤ > ˆ Š. †% ’  ”#,   ¼ †#, ¿’ ~å  ] – ˆ  ] ¤, §  " , †   ,  >  }  " ç Ú’ ’ } Ú . “Here I come to the serious part of my account: I shall say what I have to say, even though I speak to those who know it well, so that although you do not have me, you may have this account which can act as a remedy for pain a reproach to my enemies, and a testimony to my friends of the ways I was wrongly treated despite having done no wrong.”

A fine case in point is also a passage in which he suddenly pauses in the report about his consecration as bishop of Sasima in 372 CE.36 There, he addresses his own soul and asks “why do you seethe? Restrain the untamed colt by force. My words must turn towards the winning-post”. 37 With these and many similar self-addresses Gregory points out the narrator’s role in the story, the presence of the figure who gives shape to the autobiographical account, and he does so in a very self-conscious manner. The narrator ––––––––––– 33 See, for example, De vita sua 43/44, 463 – 467, 1038 – 1041. 34 For the authorial narrative situation and the mediacy of the narrative presentation see Stanzel 1984. 35 De vita sua 556 – 561. 36 This episode is related in De vita sua 386 – 485. See McGuckin 2001b, 194 – 203. 37 De vita sua 414f.: è, >, [ ; ^ ˆ % ò. | ˆ Š  ¼  ‹ .

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appears as someone who consciously relates the deeds and experiences of the narrated character in a particular fashion and order, rather than just lending his voice to, as it were, autonomous memory. In so doing, Gregory conveys the image of spontaneity, of producing his remembrances on the spot. Frequently, the narrator is wondering how he should continue the account, how he can adequately articulate the events and whether or not he should tell us about some incidents and actions. 38 Gregory’s authorial presence suffuses the whole poem. We are thus not only constantly reminded of the narrator’s decisions about the course of the narration, but also made aware of the compositional process and the fact that we are confronted with a representation of a life, not life itself. If we needed another reminder, Gregory even addresses the very book he is writing: “Why then the amazement? You, my book, must proclaim it to the world, lest such great grace escape the notice of future generations.” 39 There is, of course, an air of historiography in these lines, but it is more important that they underscore the representational character of De vita sua. This is also foregrounded some lines further down, when the narrator asks, “Is there some writer who could bring my account to its conclusion?”40 Throughout, then, the poem draws the audience’s attention to its literary nature, to the making of the life. What we observe in the almost 2,000 iambics is not so much Gregory’s course of life, but rather the creative process of shaping or even generating it: a life in the making. Fictionalizing Gregory’s Life We must also not forget that, given the contemporary form of autobiographical writing, Gregory’s choice of the presentation mode was rather unconventional. While Libanius, the emperor Julian and Augustine chose prose for recounting their actions and experiences, the retired bishop dropped traditional oratory in favour of verse-making. As a result, Gregory’s various attempts at versifying his life were restrained by the requirements of metre and rhythm, and the highly artificial linguistic register of epic and tragedy. Unsurprisingly, there are a great deal of Homeric and Euripidean ––––––––––– 38 E.g. in De vita sua 101 – 111, 414f., 736f., 1273 – 1277, 1308, 1396 – 1401, 1557. 39 De vita sua 1351/1352:  ¼ ˆ ¤’· , Š X, | ¤ —    ¯  . For ancient authors addressing their own books see, for example, Horace, Epist. 1.20.1 – 5, Martial, 1.3, Strato of Sardis, 49 (AP 12.208), with Floridi 2007, 274 – 279. 40 De vita sua 1398:  > "Š  ‚ X   ;

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reminiscences in his autobiographical poems; 41 in addition, a poet writing so extensively about himself and defending his stance might have reminded the knowledgeable reader also of the Alexandrian poeta doctus Callimachus.42 With the choice of the poetic diction come almost naturally formulas, phrases and tropes that are at home predominantly in mythmaking and storytelling.43 When he relates the events around the duplicitous figure of Maximus the Cynic, Gregory starts a new phase of his narrative in epic or novel-like manner:44 “It was night and I lay sick”, he tells us, “Like thieving wolves they [Maximus’ supporters] appeared suddenly within the fold, with a crowd of hired mercenaries from the fleet.”45 We are transported by Gregory’s vivid language to a scenario that appears to be taken directly from an epic depiction or one of the Greek love romances. And Gregory continues in this manner. Some lines later he again uses a formula that recalls epic storytelling (“Then dawn came.”).46 Such techniques, to be sure, can also be found in the genre of historiography, but in this context, in an iambic poem and a passage full of figurative language such as animal metaphors, they must have made the contemporary reader think of mythic tales and fables in poetic style.47 Elsewhere, in a poem recalling Gregory’s activities as a church leader in Constantinople, he even more openly crosses the boundary between factual account and imaginative writing. Deeply saddened by the loss of his episcopal status and influence, the poetic narrator there indulges in memories of his ––––––––––– 41 Wyss 1983, 839 – 859 lists classical quotations and allusions in Gregory’s works. See further Demoen 1993, especially on Gregory’s use of Homer. 42 For the considerable influence exerted by Callimachus on Gregory’s verses and the latter’s receptiveness to Hellenistic poetry see Simelidis 2009, 30 – 43 and De Stefani and Magnelli 2011, 554 – 557. Gregory’s defence of his composing verses and polemic against his critics in the poem To his own verses (Carm. 2.1.39) also recalls the Alexandrian poet. See Hawkins 2014, 146 – 148. See further his use of satirical writing in Or. 42 and of the iambic mode in the poem De seipso et de episcopis (Carm. 2.1.12). Cf. Meier 1989, 15 – 17 and Hawkins 2014, 169 – 180. 43 In general, Gregory’s language is characterized by the extensive use of poetic words. See Ruether 1969, 57f. 44 For Gregory’s struggle with Maximus Heron see De vita sua 728 –1112. See McGuckin 2001b, 311 – 325. 45 De vita sua 887 – 889: À±” «· †< ’ ] · ‹ ’ ² Š |   "   #  ]#, | ± ]  > † ¤ >. 46 De vita sua 898 (Ð   ), further 1353. Cf. Xen. HG 2.1.22; An. 4.3.8.; Genesis 19:15; Judith 14:11; Acta Pauli et Theclae 30. 47 See also the use of a Homeric simile in Carm. 2.1.1.529 – 540 (uprooted pine tree at a river in flood). Cf. Homer, Il. 11.492 – 497, 13.137 – 143, 17.53. Demoen 1993, 239/240.

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preaching in the church of Anastasia established by him in the capital. Yet, the guise in which the church gathering is reimagined could not be further from a sober, historiographical account:48

5

Ê — >± ¯· ž     ’  § † "# Ú    · ñ ³  Ÿ± †\   {  † >"— ½ · ½’ ž     †  > ˆ, †§   ] >. Ì[   !  ,  !"> , } – }    .

“I was sleeping a sweet sleep, when a dream put the Anastasia before my eyes, showing her to the desires I had in daytime. She first raised the sublime doctrine remaining at the ground to the highest summit of the mountain. Therefore, they call the temple by the name Anastasia, the excellent work of my industrious hand. I seemed to sit on the throne elevated, but not supercilious, for not even in dream I loved haughtiness.”

Gregory then goes on to depict how he, surrounded by the leading ranks of the Church and the people, delivered his sermon, to impressive acclaim. In his dream he watches himself as the victorious promoter of the Nicene doctrine of the Trinity swaying the entire population from humble to the most illustrious (9 – 20).49 Finally, however, he wakes up, only to realize that reality is no longer so glamourous (47 – 55). The dream is a nostalgic prelude to a lament of loss and a farewell to the world. 50 With the dreamlike vision Gregory uses a mode that allows him to embellish his greatest triumphs in Constantinople while at the same time evading any attempt at holding him accountable for everything that he quite boastfully tells us. 51 The status of the narrated event remains ambiguous. Although the narrative gesture suggests that Gregory affords us a glimpse into his deepest thoughts and feelings, it also casts some doubt on the relation between poetic depiction and factual reality. ––––––––––– 48 Carm. 2.1.16.1 – 8 (PG 37:1254f.). The translation is my own. 49 For Gregory’s fascination with dreams see Szymusiak-Affholder 1971 and Miller 1994, 232 – 249. 50 See also Carm. 2.1.6, a lament over the loss of his position and popularity in the capital, further 2.1.5. 51 Van Dam 2003, 177f. points out that Gregory with this poem tried to explain away the contradiction between his claim on the Anastasia and his sudden abandonment of the episcopate. Gregory “now managed his current pain by transforming his earlier experiences into a dream world” (177).

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In De vita sua, it is true, the narrator does not go so far as to push his narration into the realm of deceptive dreams. He does allow himself the freedom to embellish his memories, though. A fine case in point is the bestknown passage of the poem, the detailed narration of his journey from Alexandria to Athens in November 348.52 Scholars have long noticed that the depiction of the storm at sea bears the mark of rhetorical schooling, in particular of the set pieces that students were supposed to rehearse over and over again.53 The vivid presentation of ships struggling amid towering waves had been a staple of ancient poetry from Homer’s Odyssey and Apollonius’ Argonautica onwards.54 We may also add here that De vita sua as a whole exhibits the signs of Gregory’s considerable accomplishment in oratory, drawing as it does on thoughts and phrases from Demosthenes and other canonical prose writers, and employing many rhetorical figures.55 It is, however, not only the background of rhetorical schooling that betrays in the depiction of the storm the skilful hand of the poet. 56 From the beginning to its end the episode is carefully crafted: Gregory is building up suspense, highlights the dramatic nature of the event, in some places inflating the dangers, uses the historic present tense to put the action before our eyes, further relates his prayer to Christ in direct speech, and is steering the episode toward the culmination of his sudden rescue by divine intervention.57 Moreover, before the episode the narrator announces that he is going to tell no more than is necessary.58 Nothing could be further from the truth. In actual fact, he wallows in a detailed, graphic depiction of the ship braving the powers of the elements, the seamen’s screaming and the sudden encounter with a vessel from Phoenicia which provides relief only for a moment before the waves strike again. This amount of detail, notably even several decades after the events, and the all-over coverage of the storm experience make the ––––––––––– 52 De vita sua 111 – 210. See McGuckin 2001b, 47 – 83 and Elm 2012, 23 – 26 on Gregory’s stay in Athens. 53 See Webb 2009, 146 on the storm at sea as a traditional subject in the rhetorical schools. 54 See Dunsch 2013. 55 Jungck 1974, 24 – 26. 56 Jungck 1974, 158f. (on l. 131) notes that the ekphrasis of the storm clearly alludes to Homer, Od. 5.291ff., 313ff. and [Aeschylus], Pr. 1082ff. 57 Gregory’s accomplishment as a storyteller is also demonstrated in the episode of his installation in the Church of the Apostles at Constantinople (1305 – 1395), in which he not only employs various narrative techniques to great effect, but also uses quotations from tragedy and a Homeric model (Homer, Il. 10.408 – 411). See Jungck 1974, 207 – 209 for the references. 58 De vita sua 111.

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event, alongside his appointment as bishop of Sasima, the most prominent episode of Gregory’s life prior to his move to Constantinople.59 Yet, the poetic presentation is not determined by Gregory’s penchant for colourful storytelling alone. Rather, the extensive description of the life-threatening days aboard serves as a prelude to Gregory’s radical devotion of his life to God. Paralleled with the ritual of baptism, the near drowning in the Mediterranean is recreated as a conversion experience, a major turning point in his life. 60 At the same time, Gregory highlights that it was his fervent prayer to Jesus that rescued not only him, but the entire crew of the ship.61 With this happy ending he intimates that already back then it was his spiritual strength and leadership that secured the salvation of the community. It would be naïve not to suspect that the salvific captaincy of the young Gregory is intended as an indication of his later qualities as shepherd of his congregation.62 Intriguingly, Gregory related his sea journey from Egypt to Greece also in two other works, in the poem De rebus suis, written probably around 371 (Carm. 2.1.1), and in the funeral oration for his father, delivered in 374 (Or. 18).63 When we compare these three versions we easily see that they differ not only in length and the amount of detail, but also in their significance. 64 There are, of course, close similarities, and the bare fact of the event is the same. However, in De rebus suis the terror of the storm at sea is centre stage. 65 While Gregory there also stresses, as the climax, his conversion ––––––––––– 59 Both episodes are one hundred lines long each. See 386 – 485 on the consecration as bishop of Sasima. 60 McGuckin 2001b, 53 – 55 speculates that the experience on sea motivated Gregory to seek baptism in Athens. That reading, however, is unconvincing as it is completely based on silence: Gregory does not mention his baptism. See Breitenbach 2003, 157f. 61 De vita sua 202 – 210. McGuckin 2001b, 52 remarks: “Gregory thus assumed heroic proportions, as the real savior of the vessel.” 62 In addition, the whole section on Gregory’s stay in Athens is intended to justify his studies in classical rhetoric. He insists that, although he had a burning desire for learning, it was his firm purpose to put it in the service of faith. The retrospective construction is evidently targeted at his critics. Cf. Breitenbach 2003, 143f. 63 It is worth noting that the episode does not feature in Gregory’s detailed account of his student time in Athens in Or. 43 (delivered in autumn 381 or in 382 in Caesarea). 64 McGuckin’s 2001b reading of the three versions (48 – 54) is highly speculative and in places not sufficiently aware of the differences between them. His speculation that Gregory drafted a first version of his experience immediately after his arrival at Athens is not warranted by the evidence. Further, he overemphasizes the parallels between Gregory and Homer’s Odysseos (sic!) and even compares his mother Nonna in Or. 18 with Penelope anxious to intercede for her son Telemachus in danger on sea. 65 De rebus suis 307 – 321.

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experience, the dedication to God (320/321), there is no mention of anyone except himself, and the dramatic rescue is not even told. It is important that the episode is placed in the context of Gregory’s current anxieties and worries. He states that he is hopeless and does not know what the next day will bring; he is in tears and anxious about what God will do with him (294 – 306). Thus, the episode of the storm, as a recollection, serves to put his current woes into perspective, to make sense of his current hardship. The narration in the funeral speech, by way of contrast, focuses on a dream vision that his parents had when Gregory was sailing to Athens: 66 è¤ ]  } †  } ‹ ’ , – >§ "   ¤ Š>  ,  \ ˆ § †’ >, % ># ’ §    , ¢ ¯ >  ]# ˆ  ˆ, ~ † ’ . è¤  \ ~ †’# ¯ #’ , †’  ¤ ]#, ˆ !  ¤ Š# . œŠ †> †# †\  \ "#,  \ ! #³#, ¯# ] ), —  — †— †å  §  ,  \ § ˆ   †”  Š †\ — §,  ± ‚ ‚ X. ¡ \ ~ ˜ †Š· ~¤ – ~

  ,  \ ô ^ ~å   ± ˆ † X   ’  . “In this my condition, my parents felt for me, my danger having been communicated to them by a nightly vision, and they aided me from the land, soothing the waves by prayer, as I afterwards learned by calculating the time, after I had landed. This was also shown me in a wholesome sleep, of which I had experience during a slight lull of the tempest. I seemed to be holding a Fury, of fearful aspect, boding danger; for the night presented her clearly to my eyes. Another of my shipmates, a boy most kindly disposed and dear to me, and exceedingly anxious on my behalf, in my then present condition, thought he saw my mother walk upon the sea, and seize and drag the ship to land with no great exertion. We had confidence in the vision, for the sea began to grow calm, and we soon reached Rhodes after the intervention of no great discomfort.”

Nothing of this is mentioned either in De rebus suis or in the extended version of De vita sua. The comparison of the three accounts demonstrates strikingly how Gregory reworks his experiences for present purposes. He revisits decisive episodes of his life, rewrites and reorients them, so that they fit the occasion and his communicative goals. Raymond Van Dam has stressed ––––––––––– 66 Or. 18.31 (PG 35:1024f.). Translation by Browne and Swallow 1894. See Miller 1994, 243 – 245 on Gregory’s use of his parents’ dream here.

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that it is characteristic of Gregory’s autobiographical writing to present his life in fragments, to take single episodes, reshape and rearrange them. 67 This technique of fragmentation certainly allowed him better than continuous, exhaustive coverage to give particular significance to individual actions and experiences. What is more, a skilfully composed account like the storm at sea shows once more that what we read in De vita sua is a crafted or literary life. With its classical echoes, its numerous rhetorical figures and refined narrative technique, the poem exhibits the literary quality of Gregory’s life. That is not to say that his biography is turned into bona fide fiction, but it is clear that the course of his life has undergone a thorough editing process. 68 Ambiguities and Variation If passages such as the dramatic rescue on sea point to the crafted nature of the life, the frequent narrator comments, which we already have mentioned, intensify this impression. Let us return to the opening lines of the poem. There, Gregory underscores the playful character of verse-making, further the potential ambivalence inherent in such an attempt of versifying a life. As a result, the status of the following narrative seems somehow equivocal, oscillating between serious apologia and intellectual divertissement. Later, when relating the machinations of the party of Maximus the Cynic, Gregory makes reference to the trope of life being a stage, a kind of comedy play, and he returns to that idea some lines further down.69 By doing so, the narrator draws the reader’s attention to the fact that at least some of what happened to him had a theatrical quality, as if it were not totally real but a performance of human actors in a theatre play. 70 On the other hand, the narrator of Gregory’s life frequently emphasizes the veracity of the account and lays claim to the status of a faithful recorder of the events. More than

––––––––––– 67 Van Dam 1995, 139. See also the list of ten episodes that constitute Gregory’s life in his epitaph Carm. 2.1.93 (= AP 8.79, PG 37:1448). 68 See, however, Jungck 1974, 175 (on ll. 541f.), who notes, “Hier kann Gregor der Vorwurf nicht erspart werden, daß er die Sache jeweilen allzu unbedenklich so gedreht hat, wie es ihm paßte.” Jungck refers to Ep. 182.5 and 183.6 (both from 383). 69 De vita sua 865 – 867, 908. Significantly, with a reference to Iphigeneia’s replacement by a deer (Euripides, IT 28) in 863 Gregory puts even more emphasis on the farcical and theatrical character of the events. For the trope of life as a stage see also Ep. 178.10. 70 In another passage Gregory ironically appropriates the language of tragedy, and makes the reader aware of this. See De vita sua 1804 – 1807, similarly in Carm. 2.1.12.134f. Demoen 1993, 245f.

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once he reassures his audience that he is going to reveal everything, seemingly anxious not to provoke suspicion about his report.71 That is, however, not the whole story. At least as frequently, he appears to undermine his own claims to accuracy and full coverage. Reading the De vita sua one is struck by the sheer frequency of comments on the narrator’s silence and selectiveness. For example, in lines 1232 – 1237 he addresses an imagined interlocutor, or possibly himself, saying “if you are fond of talking or full of zeal … then talk, but with fear and not continuously, do not say everything nor speak to all people nor everywhere, but think to whom, how much, and where, and when”.72 The poem’s narrator is not only a careful, circumspect figure, but is often deliberately withholding information, at times justifying his discreetness with consideration for decorum, at other times leaving out details or entire episodes he deems inessential. “That is why I have to watch my words particularly carefully”, he declares, “wisely saying some things but listening to others; there is also a time when it is right to refrain from both equally.”73 For that reason, we can never be sure as to how much and what we are told in the autobiography. The narrator may possess privileged access to the events and experiences of his own life, but it is he who decides whether or not they are revealed to the public. In one passage, in the introduction to the storm episode, he almost emerges as an unreliable narrator, when he casts doubt on his version of the incident. Not only that he is lengthily considering whether he should keep silent or tell the story; he also hints at a conflict between his words and his present state of mind. 74 Finally, he decides not to relate the events in order not to appear as arrogant, but only to tell “what is necessary” (111) nonetheless, and that in no less than one hundred lines. Although at one point he wants the bare facts to speak for themselves (438), the speaking ‘I’ and his account become elusive and defy any attempt at obligating him to give us a full account. One reason for omissions is, to be sure, Gregory’s attempt to avoid accusations of vainglory and arrogance from his enemies, but at the same time he draws attention to the selective nature of his report. ––––––––––– 71 See, for example, De vita sua 17 – 19, 365 – 367, 557 – 561. 72 De vita sua 1232 – 1237: ’ Ÿ "#  = [’> # |  \ ˆ Í  — š>’   | ( ³ – ½   ¤  )·|  , † "X } } , | —  ’ † å }   ¤, | ’ ] ª •    >   . Further, see 108 – 110, 211f., 386 – 388, 951 – 953, 1308. 73 De vita sua 1250 – 1252: •   ± > "> , | – }  , % ’ Š "% , | ] ’ •’ †#¤ " †” . 74 De vita sua 101 – 111.

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As a result, we can never forget that Gregory’s rereading and rewriting of his life presents us with just one possible version of the path of his biography. As there are divergent judgements of his career circulating in the public, so Gregory himself produces alternative accounts. If his enemies spread rumours about his failures and misfortunes, he himself is able to counter them with better alternatives every time. The act of versifying his life, of taking a particular narrative path, then exhibits the control and mastery that Gregory wants to reclaim. 75 Whatever his critics and former supporters say, the frequent intrusions into the narrative made by the first-person narrator underline that he is in control of the trajectory of his life and determines how his contemporaries and posterity will judge him. They depend on him telling the events and giving shape to them. Essentially, the reflections on speaking and silence make clear that it is he who creates the facts, to the extent that the written life becomes a substitute for his real person:76 †% ’  ”#,   ¼ †#, ¿’ ~å  ] – ˆ  ] ¤, §  "  “I shall say what I have to say, even though I speak to those who know it well, so that although you do not have me, you may have this account which can act as a remedy for pain.”

In the light of Gregory’s numerous comments on the narrator’s power and control, the trope that the text is a substitute for its writer is given a twist: the ‘real’ Gregory will disappear behind his versified, textual life, the only thing that will be available to posterity.77 ––––––––––– 75 The sense of empowerment given by “putting something of my own struggles into verse” (Æ  ¤  % †% #) is clearly indicated by his poem To his own verses (Carm. 2.1.39, the quote in line 24). Further, the final lines of Carm. 2.1.10 with the mention of Gregory’s name also appear to indicate that Gregory when refuting his critics’ version reassumes control over his life. See Simelidis 2009, 150. 76 De vita sua 557 – 559. The trope that the writing becomes a substitute for the writer is common in ancient letter writing. See Greg. Naz. Ep. 201.2, 222.2 and Or. 6.8 (SC 405: 140). Gregory’s address to his pen in Carm. 2.1.34.1f. also suggests that the pen is a kind of extended mind and that writing verse is a means of keeping control. In line 125 he indicates that speaking/writing and life are the same (¡ \    «, •’ «  ). Finally, in the poem Against Maximus (Carm. 2.1.41), Gregory equates writing with his nature (º"  ’ ˆ , " †\ "Š , |  ¯  š,  \ ˆ   >, 55f.). 77 Gregory envisages his own narrative afterlife and fame in Carm. 2.1.19.16 – 39.

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Conclusion Gregory was constantly rewriting the course of his life, in particular in the time after his retirement from the episcopacy of Constantinople. Discomfited by the unsuccessful tenure of the bishopric and enraged by the malign rumours spread by his enemies, he time and again tried to adapt the account of his actions and experiences to the needs of each occasion. So each composition cast him and the events in a new light. As he had to settle so many old scores, his life in its written presentation dissolved into a multitude of versions. We should not go so far as to argue with Van Dam that Gregory left us with nothing but “retrospective falsifications”, because the binary of true and false is misleading here. 78 Gregory’s many poetic lives are not entirely fictitious. Rather, they emerge as carefully crafted and redacted variations, in which reality, however we define it, cannot be neatly disentangled from fiction. In this respect, Gregory did what much later Günter Grass craved: to tell one’s life in variation. What is essential is that the narrator-poet Gregory appears as the creator of his own life. His numerous meta-textual comments remind us of the inseparable unity of life and authorship. Although De vita sua throughout makes reference to reality outside the text, the narrator’s self-reflexive comments raise the question as to whether a life, understood as a coherent narrative, really exists beyond the text. What remains of a lived life is a narrative that is drawn from the narrator’s selective memory, is redacted in retrospect, follows principles of coherence and, crucially, is intended to make sense. There seems to be no life outside the text, because every version of his biography is an improviso revision, overwriting earlier accounts. Life and writing become coterminous, so that with the control of the text Gregory also keeps control over the course of his life. To make this clear once and for all, he insists in the epilogue: “No one, whatever his views, will harm my life but neither will he help.”79 In other words, he versifies an orthodox version of his life that is going to determine the perception by posterity. If my reading of Gregory’s autobiographical, or rather autofictional, poems is valid, we should abandon the wish to detect reality unmasked behind his verses, because wherever we look, we will find nothing but Gregory’s poetical life. ––––––––––– 78 Van Dam 2003, 185. 79 De vita sua 1935f. (†¤ ’, •# ]  ,  ˜ , | ’ ’ ‰’). Jungck 1974 ad loc. refers to the similar thought in Or. 22.9 (SC 270:238).

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McGuckin, J. A. (2001b), Saint Gregory of Nazianzus. An Intellectual Biography, Crestwood, NY. McLynn, N. B. (1998), A Self-Made Holy Man. The Case of Gregory Nazianzen. JECS 6: 463 – 483. Meehan, D. M., transl. (1987), Saint Gregory of Nazianzus. Three Poems: Concerning His Own Affairs, Concerning Himself and the Bishops, Concerning His Own Life (Fathers of the Church 75), Washington, DC. Meier, B. (1989), Gregor von Nazianz, Über die Bischöfe (Carmen 2,1,12). Einleitung, Text, Übersetzung, Kommentar (Studien zur Geschichte und Kultur des Altertums 2.7), Paderborn. Miller, P. C. (1994), Dreams in Late Antiquity. Studies in the Imagination of a Culture, Princeton, NJ. Misch, G. (1950), A History of Autobiography in Antiquity, transl. by E. W. Dickes, 2 parts, London. Platen, E. (2006), “Ich, ausgetauscht gegen mich, bin Jahr für Jahr dabei gewesen”. Versuch über die Funktion des Autobiographischen und seiner Überschreitung in Günter Grass’ Mein Jahrhundert, in: U. Breuer and B. Sandberg (edd.), Autobiographisches Schreiben in der deutschsprachigen Gegenwartsliteratur, vol. 1: Grenzen der Identität und der Fiktionalität, München: 291 – 305. Ruether, R. R. (1969), Gregory of Nazianzus. Rhetor and Philosopher, Oxford. Simelidis, Ch. (2009), Selected Poems of Gregory of Nazianzus: 1.2.17; II.1.10, 19, 32: A Critical Edition with Introduction and Commentary (Hypomnemata 177), Göttingen. Stanzel, F. K. (1984), A Theory of Narrative, transl. by Ch. Goedsche, Cambridge. Szymusiak-Affholder, C.- M. (1971), Psychologie et histoire dans le rêve initial de Grégoire le théologien. Philologus 115: 302 – 310. Tuilier, Â. and Bady, G., edd., and Bernardi, J., transl. (2004), Saint Grégoire de Nazianze, Œuvres poétiques, tome 1, 1re partie: poèmes personnels, II, 1, 1 – 11, Paris. Van Dam, R. (1995), Self-Representation in the Will of Gregory of Nazianzus. JThS 46: 118 – 148. Van Dam, R. (2003), Becoming Christian. The Conversion of Roman Cappadocia, Philadelphia. Wagner-Egelhaaf, M., ed. (2013a), Auto(r)fiktion. Literarische Verfahren der Selbstkonstruktion, Bielefeld. Wagner-Egelhaaf, M. (2013b), Einleitung. Was ist Auto(r)fiktion?, in: Wagner-Egelhaaf 2013a: 7 – 21. Webb, R. (2009), Ekphrasis, Imagination and Persuasion in Ancient Rhetorical Theory and Practice, Farnham. White, C., ed. (1996), Gregory of Nazianzus. Autobiographical Poems (Cambridge Medieval Classics 6), Cambridge. Wyss, B. (1983), Gregor von Nazianz. RAC 12: 793 – 863. Zipfel, F. (2009a), Autofiktion, in: D. Lamping (ed.), Handbuch der literarischen Gattungen, Stuttgart: 31 – 36. Zipfel, F. (2009b), Autofiktion. Zwischen den Grenzen von Faktualität, Fiktionalität und Literarität?, in: S. Winko, F. Jannidis and G. Lauer (edd.), Grenzen der Literatur. Zu Begriff und Phänomen des Literarischen, Berlin: 285 – 314.

WIENER STUDIEN, Beiheft 41, 113 – 132 © 2020 by Österreichische Akademie der Wissenschaften Wien

URSULA GÄRTNER

Ekphrastisches Erzählen bei Quintus Smyrnaeus. Zur Bedeutung von Einzelszenen, Visualisierung und Fokalisierung in den Posthomerica 1. Vorbemerkungen Im Folgenden geht es um ein narratives Gestaltungselement, das für die Literatur der Kaiserzeit und Spätantike charakteristisch ist und auch schon öfter behandelt wurde, nämlich die Betonung des Visuellen. Aus der paganen lateinischen Literatur sei etwa auf die Werke Claudians verwiesen, bei denen sich das Phänomen besonders auffällig zeigt.1 In der christlichen Literatur hat beispielsweise Roberts bei Venantius Fortunatus das mosaikhafte Erzählen, den ‚jeweled style‘, hervorgehoben; in der griechischen Literatur haben Miguélez Cavero und Kröll zu Nonnos und anderen Epikern gezeigt, dass „Ekphrasis und ekphrastische Erzähltechniken [...] zum Kompositionsprinzip erhoben und als konstituierende Kraft für die Einheit des Werkes gesehen“ werden können. 2 Für die Bedeutung des Visuellen generell sei Morales’ Buch zu Vision and Narrative in Achilles Tatius’ Leucippe and Clitophon genannt.3 Es soll hier also die Frage gestellt werden, inwieweit die Betonung des Visuellen auch für den so offensichtlich homerisierenden Quintus Smyrnaeus zutrifft, d. h. ob er vergleichbare Techniken aufgreift und sie sich, wie auch z. B. alexandrinisch-kallimacheische Techniken, homerisierend zu eigen macht.4 Nach einigen einleitenden Bemerkungen zu Quintus und seinem Werk sowie Überlegungen zu antiken wie modernen Aspekten zur Ekphrasis sollen einige Passagen aus den Posthomerica vorgestellt werden, in denen der Dichter, wie ich meine, das zeittypische visuelle Element aufgreift, dieses aber für den gebildeten Leser zugleich zu einem organisch eingebundenen ––––––––––– 1 Vgl. z. B. Cameron 1970. 2 Roberts 2002; ders. 2009, 173 – 175; 232 – 237; Miguélez Cavero 2008, 283 – 309; Zitat: Kröll 2013, 120. 3 Morales 2004. 4 Einen ähnlichen Ansatz, aber andere Gewichtung bot Newbold 1981.

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Baustein seines homerischen Epos werden lässt. Der Schwerpunkt wird dabei auf Fokalisierung und Visualisierung in Einzelszenen liegen. 5 2. Einleitung 2.1. Quintus Smyrnaeus Die Posthomerica des Quintus Smyrnaeus, heute zumeist gegen Ende des dritten Jahrhunderts n. Chr. datiert und in ihrer Entstehung in Kleinasien verortet,6 erzählen in 14 Büchern die Ereignisse um Troia nach der Bestattung Hektors bis zur Abfahrt der Griechen und dem Sturm, der viele von ihnen vernichtet. Die Analepsen, vor allem zu Beginn mit Verweisen auf die Ilias, sowie die Prolepsen, vor allem am Ende mit Verweisen auf die Odyssee, markieren deutlich die Einordnung zwischen die beiden homerischen Epen. Das Spiel mit einem scheinbar fehlenden Proömium zu Beginn, mit einem Binnenprömium im 12. Buch und auffallend gestalteten Schlusspartien lassen den Leser durch gezielte Verweise auf Anfangs- und Endgestaltungen den Text als ‚Intertext‘ verstehen. 7 Lange Zeit eher gering geschätzt oder nur im Rahmen von Quellenfragen gelesen, versucht man in den letzten 15 Jahren dem Dichter und seinem Werk gerecht zu werden; insbesondere die durchaus kallimacheische Leseweise Homers und die entsprechende Aneignung und Präsentation des Stoffs lassen einen höchst gebildeten Autor vor unserem Auge entstehen, der seine eigenen Vorstellungen für ein gebildetes Publikum konsequent umsetzt.8 2.2. Zum Begriff ‚Ekphrastisches Erzählen‘ Der Begriff ‚ekphrastisches Erzählen‘ wurde gewählt, um eine Erzählstrategie, die in diesem Aufsatz vorgestellt werden soll, zu kennzeichnen. Er ist als Arbeitsbegriff gemeint und hat eher deskriptiven als normativen Charakter. Eine Annäherung sei im Folgenden umrissen. 2.2.1. Zur Ekphrasis aus antiker Sicht Es werden im Anschluss zwar nicht Ekphraseis im engeren Sinne im Zentrum stehen; dennoch sei von diesem Begriff ausgegangen. Dass er, anders als seit dem letzten Jahrhundert üblich, in der Antike nicht nur Darstellungen ––––––––––– 5 Siehe unten 3.3. 6 Vgl. z. B. Gärtner 2005, 23 – 29; dies. 2010, IXf., mit weiterführenden Hinweisen. 7 Gärtner 2017. 8 Vgl. die grundlegenden Arbeiten von Bär 2007 oder Maciver 2012 sowie den Sammelband von Baumbach - Bär - Dümmler 2007.

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echter oder fiktiver Kunstwerke in literarischen Texten betrifft, ist allgemein bekannt. Hierzu, wie zur Funktion und Bedeutung der Ekphrasis generell, sind gerade in letzter Zeit einige Untersuchungen erschienen. Von den zahlreichen Arbeiten zum antiken Verständnis der Ekphrasis sei auf das grundlegende Buch von Webb verwiesen.9 Hier soll lediglich ein Aspekt herausgestrichen werden: In den rhetorischen Handbüchern der Kaiserzeit werden unter dem Begriff Ekphrasis vor allem  "à , ,Klarheit‘, und † , ,Deutlichkeit, Lebendigkeit, Anschaulichkeit‘, hervorgehoben. Dabei wird der visuelle Aspekt betont. So lesen wir schon in der frühesten uns erhaltenen Erklärung, nämlich in den Progymnasmata des Aelius Theon (wohl aus dem ersten Jahrhundert n. Chr.) Folgendes (118.7f. Sp.): ]" Å †   ˆ † % ¯’ ˜ ¥# ˆ Ç, „Ekphrasis ist ein beschreibender Redeteil, der das Dargestellte deutlich vor Augen führt.“ Oder (119.28f. Sp.): † ¤ ˆ „å  –   , „die Deutlichkeit, beinahe zu sehen, was erzählt wird.“ Ergänzend ließe sich noch speziell zu dem Begriff der † Dionysios von Halikarnass anführen (Lys. 7):10 ] }  \ — †  — ~ @>Å> Ɣ . ¯ ’ †\ Ç Å  !ˆ – Ÿ à ¥> –  , Å  ’ † § %   > Ç# Ø# . „ — Æ# —    @>Å>   ¯# ]   ˆ = > =  ± ˆ ¤, ¬  !Ø   – Ç „å  \ ²  ¤ ª  „ šÃ# Ÿ` È „. „Es hat aber auch der Stil des Lysias viel Anschaulichkeit. Dies ist nämlich eine bestimmte Fähigkeit, die das Gesagte in den Bereich der Sinneseindrücke führt, sie entsteht durch das Aufgreifen der Begleitumstände. Wer also seine Denkkraft auf die Reden des Lysias lenkt, wird nicht so begriffsstutzig oder unsensibel oder schwerfällig im Verstand sein, dass er nicht glaubt, Geschehnisse, die dargelegt werden, zu sehen und mit den Figuren, die der Redner vorführt, persönlich zusammen zu sein.“

Ziel ist es demnach, den Rezipienten, d. h. den Hörer oder den Leser, zu einem Zuschauer einer imaginären Szene, 11 wenn nicht sogar durch die Betonung des Visuellen zu einem Teilnehmer der Szene zu machen. Im Vordergrund steht also zunächst weniger das Beschriebene selbst als vielmehr ––––––––––– 9 Webb 2009; vgl. ferner Zanker 1981; Becker 1992 und 1995; Miguélez Cavero 2008, 283 – 288; Menze 2017, 18 – 42. 10 Zanker 1981, 297; Übersetzung von U. G. 11 Webb 2009, 3.

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die Wirkung, die die Beschreibung auf den Rezipienten hat. Erwähnt sei noch, dass in den rhetorischen Abhandlungen der frühen Kaiserzeit auf die Emotionen verwiesen wird, die Ekphraseis bei den Rezipienten hervorrufen können; dabei spielt ~Ã, die Freude, eine besondere Rolle. 12 Ps.-Longinos 15 schließlich versteht unter "  Å  Bilder, in denen der Sprecher die Hörer Dinge, die er sieht, nachvollziehen lässt, wobei Emotionen von zentraler Bedeutung sind. 2.2.2. Zur Ekphrasis aus moderner Sicht Der Begriff Ekphrasis ist in der Moderne meist auf Objekt-, d. h. vor allem Kunstbeschreibungen eingeengt. 13 Weiterreichende Überlegungen zur Intermedialität und Visualisierung sind freilich nahezu unüberschaubar. 14 Drei Aspekte seien hier hervorgehoben: Erstens: Da auch ich im Folgenden über ‚Bilder‘, ‚Bildliches‘, ‚Visualisiertes‘ sprechen werde, ohne die Begriffe scharf trennen zu können, sei auf die nützlichen Definitionen Poppes verwiesen. Unter dem Phänomen der literarischen Visualität versteht sie „[v]isuelle Darstellungsweisen im Text [...], denen eine semantische und/oder strukturbildende Funktion zugewiesen werden kann“.15 Das kann man noch durch die nahe liegende ‚ornamentale‘ Funktion ergänzen.16 Es sind dies die Partien im Text, in denen nach Lobsien „die Selbstpräsentationstendenz der Sprache“ zurückgenommen und der Bezug zur außertextuellen Gegenständlichkeit unmittelbarer wird. 17 Hierbei wird freilich zwischen Rezipient und Autor ein Pakt geschlossen, der zum einen auf die Illusion abzielt, dass wir tatsächlich sehen, was beschrieben wird, 18 zum anderen können ekphrastische Partien auch als Metaphern für die Dichtung verstanden werden, da sie den Blick nicht nur auf das Beschriebene, sondern auch auf die Art und Weise, wie der Text auf den Rezipienten wirkt, lenken und so zu einer mise ––––––––––– 12 Vgl. z. B. Nikolaos Prog. 70.7 – 15; dieser verweist vor allem bei der epideiktischen Rede auf die Freude (ˆ § †"# ~— †§   †   Æ , „das Bewirken von Freude an der Ekphrasis bei denen, die in den Theatern sitzen“) oder bei der Beschreibung von Zerstörungen auf den Schrecken; vgl. auch Prog. 71.3 – 5; Quint. Inst. 8.3.67. Vgl. Webb 2009, 74 und 99f.; Menze 2017, 37 – 40. 13 Einführend aus dem Bereich der Klassischen Philologie: Bartsch und Elsner 2007. 14 Eine nützliche Einführung aus dem Blickwinkel der Klassischen Philologie bot in jüngster Zeit Menze 2017, 5 – 56. 15 Poppe 2007, 31. 16 Vgl. Menze 2017, 55: „Sie dient auf basaler Ebene der Ausschmückung des Textes durch visuelle, den Realismus stärkende Details.“ 17 Lobsien 1990, 90 – 97; vgl. Menze 2017, 8 – 13. 18 Vgl. Becker 1992, 8 – 11.

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en abyme werden können.19 Zu fragen ist dabei, wie der Autor einerseits die Aufmerksamkeit des Rezipienten von der Textualität ablenkt, andererseits durch die Metaphorik, die der Ekphrasis als Metapher für die Dichtung innewohnen kann, gerade auf die Textualität verweist. Ein sehr häufig behandelter Aspekt ist zweitens das Verhältnis von Narration und Deskription vor dem Hintergrund der Frage, ob Narration diachron, Deskription synchron ist, und inwieweit letztere statisch oder doch auch dynamisch sein kann; verwiesen sei hier auf die grundlegenden Arbeiten von Fowler oder Genette.20 Drittens ist bemerkenswert, dass die emotionale Wirkung beim Rezipienten in den modernen Konzepten in der Regel kaum berücksichtigt wird. 21 Hier kann freilich der Ansatz der Fokalisierung mit Gewinn eingesetzt werden, wenn im Sinne Genettes oder de Jongs das Erzählerblickfeld bei einer ekphrastischen Passage zwischenzeitlich auf das Blickfeld einer beteiligten Figur eingeengt wird; falls dabei auch das Innenleben der Figur sichtbar wird, kann man von ‚interner‘ Fokalisation, sonst von ‚externer‘ Fokalisation sprechen. Wird aus dem Blick des allwissenden Erzählers berichtet, spricht Genette von ‚Nullfokalisierung‘, was mit dem ‚auktorialen Erzähler‘ bei Stanzel vergleichbar ist.22 Somit werden gerade auch bei ekphrastischen Passagen Emotionen, die von bestimmten Figuren als Focalizer beim Betrachten durchlebt werden, durch Empathie auf den Leser übertragen. 23 2.2.3. ‚Ekphrastisches Erzählen‘ Der Begriff soll die Passagen kennzeichnen, in denen zwar nicht Ekphraseis im engeren Sinne vorliegen, der narrative Anteil jedoch deutlich hinter einem bildhaften zurückzutreten scheint, d. h. das Visuelle in der Darstellung überwiegt. Dies lässt sich, wie gezeigt werden soll, besonders bei Auftritts––––––––––– 19 Vgl. Becker 1992, 21 – 24. 20 Fowler 1991; Genette 2010; Menze 2017, 13 – 15. In den theoretischen Schriften der Antike wurde hier nicht unterschieden; vgl. Webb 2009, 8. 21 Vgl. z. B. Poppe 2007; Nünning 2007; Wolf 2007; vgl. weiters Menze 2017, 40 – 42. Fragen dieser Art werden allerdings unter den Aspekten der ästhetischen Illusion bzw. Immersion behandelt; vgl. etwa Wolf 2013. 22 Die Blickrichtung kann bei der Fokalisierung fest bei einer Person oder variabel, d. h. im Wechsel bei verschiedenen Personen zu finden sein; als multipel kann man die Situationen beschreiben, in denen ein Ereignis von verschiedenen Personen betrachtet wird. Vgl. Genette 2010; de Jong 1987; Stanzel 2008. Im Folgenden wird statt des bisweilen als irreführend empfundenen Begriffs der Nullfokalisierung auch vom Blickwinkel des auktorialen Erzählers gesprochen. 23 Vgl. Hillebrandt 2011, 15 – 23 und 64 – 84; Menze 2017, 41f.

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szenen einzelner Figuren festmachen. Hierbei spielen die oben genannten Aspekte der Ekphrasis eine wichtige Rolle. 3. Beispiele aus den Posthomerica des Quintus Smyrnaeus24 3.1. Ekphraseis im engeren Sinne Zur Ekphrasis im engeren Sinne sollen nur einige Anmerkungen gemacht werden. Denn die beiden zentralen Ekphraseis, die des Schilds des Achill in 5.6 – 101 vor dem Streit um die Waffen und die des Schilds des Eurypylos in 6.198 – 293, sind u. a. von Baumbach und Maciver eingehend behandelt worden. 25 Es sei nur darauf verwiesen, dass Quintus in diesen Fällen mit der Lesererwartung zu spielen scheint. Ausdrücke des Sehens sind nämlich im unmittelbaren Zusammenhang nicht zu finden; erst in Buch 7, als Odysseus Neoptolemos zum Eintritt in den Kampf überredet und ihm Achills Waffen beschreibt, die er ihm geben will und die Neoptolemos ja nicht kennt, verwendet er in seiner Rede den Ausdruck (7.200f.): – \ Æ ¤ Ÿ ] , „die Waffen, die auch dir beim Anblick ein großes Wunder sein werden.“26 Erst zwei Bücher nach der ausführlichen Schildbeschreibung wird demnach der visuelle Eindruck, der bei Homers Schildbeschreibung im 18. Buch der Ilias während der Beschreibung selbst zu lesen ist,27 nachgetragen und Odysseus zu einem Focalizer, der den Schild ähnlich wahrzunehmen scheint wie der Erzähler selbst bei der eigentlichen Schildbe––––––––––– 24 Quintus Smyrnaeus wird zitiert nach Vian 1963, 1966, 1969. Die Übersetzungen stammen aus Gärtner 2010. 25 Baumbach 2007 zu beiden; James und Lee 2000, 33 – 64; Maciver 2012, 39 – 86, nur zum Schild des Achill. 26 Q. S. 7.200 – 207: ... Ç# ¥  , – \ Æ ¤¢ ² Ÿ | ] , ¯    \  ˆ Ú}   | "\    ÅX ’ †\ ÇX | [‚ Æ” {  † >Æ, | ¤  \  · % ’ ½ È   | ½Æ  ]    †  ½’ †", | Ÿ —    — ˆ Í \   \ |  , †< }  "Å "Æ#  [. „... als er jene unvergänglichen schuf, die auch dir ein großes Wunder beim Anblick | sein werden, weil Erde und Himmel und Meer | rings um den Schild gearbeitet und in einem unendlichen Kreis | Tiere ringsum sorgfältig verfertigt sind, die solchen in Bewegung gleichen, | ein Wunder auch für die Unsterblichen. Von den Sterblichen aber hat solche noch niemals | einer gesehen zuvor unter den Menschen noch getragen außer deinem Vater, den die Achaier wie Zeus verehrten | alle, den ich aber am meisten liebte, da ich ihm freundschaftlich gesonnen war.“ 27 Dezidiert visuelle Elemente fehlen; anführen ließe sich: Il. 18.519: "\ [Ã# – Ares und Pallas sind „beide deutlich sichtbar“; 549: ˆ — \ ¤ Æ> – „das war ringsum gefügt zum Erstaunen.“

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schreibung. 28 Odysseus gibt dabei diesen Eindruck an den angeredeten Neoptolemos als etwas real Nachzuvollziehendes weiter, holt für den Leser die erste Schildbeschreibung vor das innere Auge und bestätigt sie als ‚echter‘ Betrachter in ihrer Richtigkeit.29 Zu beachten ist dabei Odysseus’ Schlussbemerkung in 7.204f.: % ’ ½ È   | ½Æ  ]    † , „Von den Sterblichen aber hat solche noch niemals | einer gesehen zuvor unter den Menschen.“ Allerdings ist es ja der Schild der Ilias. Das heißt, hier liegt vielmehr ein poetologisches Spiel vor: Neoptolemos hat den Schild noch nicht gesehen; die zweite Beschreibung ist intradiegetisch sinnvoll. Ferner ist Odysseus’ Aussage so zu verstehen, dass alle Menschen zuvor etwas Vergleichbares noch nicht gesehen hatten. Wir Leser hingegen haben diesen Schild bereits tausend Jahre zuvor gesehen, nämlich bei Homer.30 Auch bei der Beschreibung des Schilds des Eurypylos finden sich Ausdrücke wie ‚war dargestellt‘ oder ‚wie echt‘, aber kein Ausdruck des Sehens, obwohl die Szenen aus Herakles’ Leben recht anschaulich berichtet sind. 31 Gleiches gilt für die Beschreibung des Gürtels und des Köchers des Herakles, die Philoktet erhält (10.179 – 205). Ferner lässt sich auch ein Spiel mit der Lesererwartung nach der Art und Weise und dem Grad der Visualisierung erkennen. Bei der Beschreibung der Höhle der Nymphen (6.471 – 491), einem Eingang in den Hades, finden sich auffallend viele Ausdrücke des Sehens; dies ist auch dadurch zu erklären, dass deutlich unterschieden wird, was Sterbliche dort sehen und was auch Unsterbliche bewundern, wenn sie dort eintreten, und was schließlich diese ––––––––––– 28 Dies wird an den ähnlichen Formulierungen deutlich; vgl. Baumbach 2007, 121 – 124; Maciver 2012, 54. 29 Vgl. Baumbach 2007, 121f. 30 Baumbach 2007, 126 – 128, verwies auf die „an sich überraschende Beschreibung genau desselben Gegenstands“ (126) und erklärte die unterschiedliche Darstellung entweder als „bewusste Provokation“, da Homers Beschreibung ersetzt werden solle, als komplementäres Werk, das die Lücken bei Homer auffülle, oder als Arbeit eines Homerphilologen, der die von alexandrinischen Gelehrten in ihrer Echtheit angezweifelte Schildbeschreibung Homers austausche. Zu Recht führte Baumbach die Beschreibung der übrigen Waffen an, was das Bemühen um Vollständigkeit zum Ausdruck bringe sowie die größere Autorität, da der Autor „umfassendere ‚Kenntnisse‘ über die Waffen des Achill besitzt als seine Vorgänger“ (128 Anm. 36). 31 Erst danach folgt eine Reaktionsbeschreibung, die, wie unten gezeigt wird, typisch ist (6.294 – 307): Die Troer sehen und freuen sich über die Erscheinung des Eurypylos, der samt seinen Waffen dem Ares gleicht. Dieses Mal wird der Blick dann auf die Einzelreaktion des Paris eingeengt, der sich freut, da Eurypylos kam: Wie ihn sah er zuvor keinen unter den Troern und Griechen. Dabei vergleicht er ihn mit Herakles.

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allein sehen, nämlich den Weg der glückseligen Götter. Für uns Leser hingegen bleibt die Höhle mit ihren zwei Wegen eigentlich visuell recht unbestimmt. 32 Schließlich wird sogar eine Ekphrasis verweigert: In Buch 2 gibt Priamos Memnon beim Abendessen zum Willkommen einen vielfassenden Becher (2.136 – 147a); wir erfahren noch, dass dieser golden war (138) und dass Hephaist damit etwas tat; doch folgt nun wider Erwarten keine Beschreibung, die beim Leser durch die Einführung des Materials und des Künstlers Hephaist aufgerufen wurde, sondern ein Besitzerkatalog. Die intertextuellen Bezüge zu Homer sind überdeutlich; der Becher weist auf den berühmten Nestorbecher zurück, dem in Il. 11.632 – 637 eine Ekphrasis gewidmet ist, die hier fehlt; der Besitzerkatalog dagegen verweist auf das Zepter Agamemnons in Il. 2.101 – 108.33 Am Schluss der Passage heißt es dann, dass Memnon jenen überaus schönen Becher in seinem Sinn bewunderte, indem er ihn ringsum betastete.34 Die Leser erfahren nicht nur nicht, was dort dargestellt war, sondern sind durch das ‚Betasten‘ besonders deutlich vom Nachvollzug ausgeschlossen. ––––––––––– 32 Zur Lokalisierung vgl. Leclerc 2014. 33 Q. S. 2.136 – 147a:  Ÿ } Å | ¹Æ "Æ#  ‚ Å >ÆX | >ÅX,  š % Å"# Â">à | "  >ˆ ], •’ { ¡>Æ , | ¨\   Æ· ¬ ’ ¥’ “  >‹Æ % |  X  ÆX· ¬ ’ ì ÅX   Å, | è#\ ’ ì   ÷ – ¬ X |  ± · ¬ ’ “  @ Æ· | – „ @ Æ# ™X , •  ] | >‹Æ #Æ · ˆ Æ ‹ ˆ  †Æ. | ¡ Æ  } †  † "\ ¹Æ# | " "#. „So sprach er und hob mit seinen Händen einen vielfassenden Becher hoch | und hieß Memnon herzlich mit dem mächtigen Pokal willkommen, | dem goldenen, welchen gab der umsichtige, an beiden Füßen lahme | Hephaistos als treffliches Werk, als er heiratete die Kyprogeneia, | dem hochmächtigen Zeus; der aber gab ihn seinem Sohn als Geschenk, | dem gottgleichen Dardanos; der schenkte ihn seinem Kind Erichthonios, | Erichthonios aber dem hochherzigen Tros; der aber hinterließ ihn | dem Ilos mit seinen Besitztümern, der schenkte ihn Laomedon; | aber Laomedon gab ihn dem Priamos, der ihn | seinem Sohn schenken sollte; das aber erfüllte ihm der Gott nicht. | Jenen überaus schönen Becher bewunderte in seinem Sinn Memnon,| ihn ringsum betastend.“ – Vgl. Ferreccio 2014, 89f.; 90: „l’]"  disattesa produce alla mente del lettore cólto un effetto di . Il gioco emulativo di QS consiste nell’intersecare e mescolare situazioni omeriche diverse, fino a creare un’opera simile a un tessuto cangiante, multicolore, di cui tuttavia si vuole che la trama sottesa traspaia.“ 34 Das Verb " "# kommt selten vor. Interessant ist, dass man es in Od. 15.462 findet, wo Eumaios über die Entführung von der Insel Syria berichtet; seine Eltern erhalten dabei goldene Ketten, die die Mägde und die Mutter ringsum betasten, aber auch betrachten. Für die verräterische Sklavin ist dies das Zeichen zur Entführung des Knaben; bei der Flucht raubt sie drei Becher. Für den gebildeten Leser ergibt sich durch die verschiedenen intertextuellen Anspielungen und Abweichungen ein amüsantes Beziehungsgeflecht.

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Es sei in Hinblick auf die Ekphraseis im eigentlichen Sinne also das Spiel mit der Differenz betont, wer was wann sieht und wie der Leser in diesen Prozess des Sehens eingebunden wird. 3.2. Ekphrastisches Erzählen 1: ‚Tableaus‘ Ebenfalls nur kurz soll auf die Erzählweise eingegangen werden, die gerne als Erzählen in Tableaus, Szenen oder Einzelbildern bezeichnet wird. Auf vergleichbare Phänomene in anderen Epen der Kaiserzeit und Spätantike wurde oben schon verwiesen. Genannt sei noch zu Nonnos Krölls Deutung der Visualisierung und des Geflechts von thematischen Bezügen und Verweisen hierbei als Komposition, „die weniger linear als flächig und in die Breite verläuft, sodass der Leser zum regelrechten Zuschauer eines Spektakels, gleichsam nicht nur zum Augen-, sondern auch zum Ohrenzeugen des epischen Geschehens wird.“35 Ergänzend sei noch Miguélez Cavero zu Triphiodor zitiert: „[...] instead of narrating the progress of the plot, Triphiodorus is | describing scenes.“36 Man könnte auch auf bildliche Darstellungen wie etwa die Aufteilung der Eroberung Troias in Einzelszenen auf den Tabulae Iliacae verweisen.37 Diese Fokussierung auf Einzelszenen könnte auch die bisweilen kritisierte reihende Erzählweise in manchen Teilen der Posthomerica erklären, wie etwa die starke Betonung der einzelnen Bücher zu Beginn oder die losere Szenenfolge im letzten Buch. 38 Dass dies aber bei Quintus nicht zu auffällig hervortritt, liegt an der gleichzeitig immer vorhandenen starken Homerisierung. 3.3. Ekphrastisches Erzählen 2: Einzelszenen, Fokalisierung, Visualisierung Als Schwerpunkt sollen Szenen betrachtet werden, an denen das ekphrastische Erzählen in Verbindung mit Visualisierung und Fokalisierung eine ganz eigenwillige Ausprägung erhält. Nach antikem Verständnis sind nicht nur Objekte, Orte, Tiere und Pflanzen Gegenstand von Ekphraseis, sondern auch Geschehnisse, Zeiten oder Personen; letztere sollen nach Möglichkeit ganz, d. h. von Kopf bis Fuß, beschrieben werden. 39 Hierbei lässt sich bei Quintus ein gezielter Einsatz erkennen, den er dazu nutzt, neue Personen einzuführen. Besonders auffällig ist dies am Anfang des ersten Buchs gestaltet. ––––––––––– 35 Kröll 2016, 179. 36 Vgl. Miguélez Cavero 2008, 288 – 294, auch zu Musaios und Kollouthos (288f.). 37 Hierzu vgl. Squire 2011. 38 Vgl. z. B. Duckworth 1936; Vian 1963, XXVI; Keydell 1963, 1293; Appel 1994, bes. 5 –7; Schenk 1997. 39 Vgl. Webb 2009, 61 – 86; vgl. z. B. Aphthonios Prog. 37.

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Nachdem in den Versen 1 – 17 eine Art Einführung zum Stand der Lage gegeben wurde,40 setzt die Erzählung mit dem Auftritt Penthesileias ein (18 – 32). Nach der Information über ihre Beweggründe folgt ab Vers 33 eine ekphrastische Passage, die dem Aussehen ihrer selbst sowie ihrer Begleiterinnen gewidmet ist. Zunächst heißt es von Penthesileia aus auktorialer Sicht, dass sie ihre Gefährtinnen überragt; dies wird in Folge für den Leser mit zwei Gleichnissen visualisiert, in denen sie mit Mond und Sternen (37 – 40) sowie mit der Eos (48 – 51) verglichen wird. Bär hat zu Recht auf die Wichtigkeit der Lichtmetaphorik in diesem Zusammenhang verwiesen. 41 Anschließend wird die Reaktion der Troer geschildert (1.53b – 61):

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Â"\ } è%   †Ç Æ’ † , ¼’ †Å     >Ã Ç  ŸÆ  , †Å š ‹ "\ ÈX ¥"#  Æ   \  ˆ ^ ‰È, Å  ¢’² † , !’ ‰"Ç ’ ‹ ‰" \   Å Å, Ÿ< ’ "Ç   à , % ’ †"Ç 

Å †Æ    Æ Ã. „Die Troer aber eilten ringsum von allen Seiten und staunten sehr, als sie sahen des unermüdlichen Ares Tochter mit hohen Beinschienen, den glückseligen Göttern gleichend, da ja in ihrem Antlitz zugleich eine schreckliche und eine glänzende Schönheit aufging, sie lächelte lieblich, unter Brauen aber glänzten sehnsuchterweckende Augen wie Strahlen, Scham ließ die Wangen erröten, über denen lag göttliche Anmut, angetan mit Wehrkraft.“

Auffällig ist, wie die Schönheit nicht selbst beschrieben, sondern durch die Troer fokalisiert wird, was durch die Betonung von ‚sie sahen und staunten‘ markiert ist. Die folgende Ekphrasis vollziehen die Leser somit durch die Troer visualisiert nach. Penthesileia wird dabei nicht wie verlangt von Kopf bis Fuß beschrieben, der Blick streift vielmehr nur kurz die Beinschienen und verweilt dann für den Rest beim Antlitz, dessen charakteristische Verbindung von schrecklich und schön ausgeführt wird. Die Fokali––––––––––– 40 Grundlegend Bär 2007, 32 – 40; aufgegriffen und erweitert 2009, 138 – 166; vgl. ferner Baumbach 2007, 107 – 112; Maciver 2012, 27 – 38; Gärtner 2017, 315 – 324. 41 Bär 2009, 196 – 198.

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sierung bleibt aber auch im Folgenden noch beibehalten, wenn die Freude der Troer durch ein weiteres Gleichnis versinnbildlicht wird, in dem sie mit Bauern verglichen werden, die sich nach Regen sehnen und nun Iris und dunklen Himmel sehen (1.63 – 69). Dann wechselt die interne Fokalisierung, denn jetzt ist nur noch von der Reaktion eines einzelnen, nämlich Priamos, die Rede. Seine Reaktion, als er Penthesileia sieht (83), ist eine Mischung aus Freude und Trauer, da er seiner erschlagenen Kinder gedenkt. Auch diese Reaktion ist durch ein Gleichnis veranschaulicht (1.76 – 85a):

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 ’ •’ —   †’   – à ‹Å# ŸÆ ‹ˆ " = Æ  = X Ÿ§ Ç Ú}   ’  Ç  Í` " ÚÅ ,  } • ˆ  , •# ’ ¥  ˆ Ÿ  § †   , ] ’ ] à  ¥ Ÿˆ !ˆ " Æ·  ¥ — >‹ˆ @ Æ †Æ  ™ Å ·  ¤ } à , ˆ } Æ ŸÆ  Å# ¥>’  Æ#. „Wie wenn ein Mann, der viel erduldete wegen seiner blinden Augen und sich sehnt, das heilige Licht zu sehen oder zu sterben, entweder durch das Bemühen eines trefflichen Arztes, oder weil ein Gott seine Augen von der Finsternis befreite, das Licht der Morgenröte sieht, zwar nicht so wie zuvor, aber dennoch wird er ein wenig aufgemuntert nach dem großen Elend, er hat aber noch einen schlimmen Schmerz des Leidens an seinen Augen zurückbehalten: so also sah der Sohn des Laomedon die gewaltige Penthesileia; ein wenig freute er sich zwar, mehr aber noch trauerte er um seine erschlagenen Kinder.“

Es ist bezeichnend für Quintus, dass nun im Gleichnis das Sehen selbst thematisiert wird und geradezu metapoetisch zu deuten ist, geht es doch in dem gesamten Abschnitt darum, Erzähltes, hier ein Geschehen sowie eine Person, durch unterschiedlichste Möglichkeiten der Visualisierung dem Leser sichtbar zu machen, was im Text dennoch niemals die gleiche Wirkung haben kann wie das eigene Sehen mit gesunden Augen. Zu Beginn der Handlung begegnet dem Leser demnach eine lange ekphrastische Partie zur Einführung einer neuen Hauptperson. Zur Visualisierung verwendet der Autor nicht nur die auktoriale Sicht (Nullfokalisierung), sondern auch wechselnde interne Focalizer, was durch die zahlreichen Verben des Sehens markiert wird. Hinzu kommt eine ungewöhnliche Häufung

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von Gleichnissen, die sowohl das Aussehen Penthesileias wie ihre Wirkung und schließlich das Sehen selbst für die Rezipienten verdeutlichen. Insgesamt tritt also die Erzählung hinter dem Bildhaften zurück. Schließlich wird durch die Beschreibung der Emotionen der Focalizer (Staunen, Freude bzw. gemischte Freude) die emotionale Wirkung des Beschriebenen durch Empathie auf den Leser übertragen oder zumindest nachvollziehbar gemacht. Dass dies nicht Zufall, sondern eine Erzählstrategie ist, soll ein kurzer Überblick zeigen. Zum einen bleibt das Visuelle für das erste Buch bestimmend. Wenig später folgt die Reaktion der Griechen, als sie Penthesileia aus der Ferne sehen (1.205 – 219): Sie staunten, als sie sie sahen; wieder folgt ein Gleichnis (Feuersturm) und schließlich wird die interne Fokalisierung erneut auf eine Person, hier einen anonymen  , eingeschränkt, der in einer Rede seiner Verwunderung Ausdruck verleiht. Später im Kampf sind es wiederum die Troer (1.353f.), die Penthesileia kämpfen sehen und staunen; wieder folgt ein Gleichnis zu Penthesileia (Wirbelsturm; 355f.) und die Rede eines  (357 – 372). Dieser glaubt, einer der Götter sei zur Hilfe gekommen; er meine nämlich nicht, eine Frau zu sehen (363), sondern eine Göttin. Erneut wird mit der Zuverlässigkeit der internen Focalizer gespielt. Durch eine Mauerschau nehmen die Leser wenig später (403 – 476) die Perspektive der Troerinnen ein. Das Buchende schließlich greift mit der Schilderung von Penthesileias Tod die Anschaulichkeit des Anfangs wieder auf. Als Achill sie mitsamt ihrem Pferd mit seinem Speer durchbohrt hat, wird ihre Sterbeszene ähnlich ekphrastisch gestaltet (610 – 676). Erst wird mit einem Doppelgleichnis die Wirkung des Speers veranschaulicht (er wird verglichen mit einem Bratspieß sowie einem Speer eines Jägers, der einen Hirsch durchbohrt und an einen Stamm heftet; 613 – 618), dann aus auktorialer Perspektive ihr Fall und ihre Lage beschrieben, was schließlich in einem zweiten Gleichnis (gestürzte Tanne; 625 – 627) versinnbildlicht wird. Sie selbst wird dabei als à – „betrachtenswert“ (629) – bezeichnet. Schließlich folgt die Reaktion der Troer, die, als sie das sehen, in die Stadt fliehen, voller Angst und Kummer, was wieder durch ein langes Gleichnis verdeutlicht wird (Seeleute verlieren ihr Schiff und retten sich ans Land; 633 – 639). Doch damit nicht genug, auch der toten Penthesileia ist ein vergleichbarer Abschnitt gewidmet. Wieder haben wir eine Mischung aus auktorialer Beschreibung und interner Fokalisierung – dieses Mal zunächst durch Achill, der die Tote verhöhnt (643 – 653); auktorial wird dann die Schönheit der Toten beschrieben (657 – 661a), die Reaktion erfolgt wieder in interner Fokalisierung durch die Griechen, die sehen und staunen (661b – 670), und dann wieder eingeengt

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auf einen, hier auf Achill selbst (671 – 674) mit ausführlicher Darstellung seiner Gefühle; erneut wird dies durch Vergleiche und Gleichnis (Götter, schlafende Artemis; 662; 663 – 665; 674) weiter visualisiert. Ähnliches lässt sich in anderen Büchern zeigen. So wird auch Memnon im 2. Buch als neue Hauptperson ganz vergleichbar eingeführt.42 Die Troer freuen sich, als sie ihn in der Stadt sehen (2.100 – 103a), was durch ein Gleichnis unterstrichen wird (Freude der Seeleute nach einem Sturm; 103b – 105); wieder verengt sich der Blick dann auf einen, hier Priamos und seine Reaktion (106 – 110). Die Darstellungen der Leichenspiele im 4. Buch haben durchgängig ekphrastischen Charakter, zumal sie durch die Zuschauer als interne Focalizer wahrgenommen werden. Der Auftritt des Eurypylos im 6. Buch ist wieder ganz vergleichbar mit dem Motiv des Sehens und Staunens sowie mit Gleichnisreihen gestaltet (6.119 – 132). Ähnliches gilt für den Anfang des 7. Buchs, in dem man durch Odysseus und seine Begleiter Neoptolemos zum ersten Mal begegnet (173 – 177), wie auch später für die Reaktion der Griechen (452 – 473) bei dessen Anblick oder für die erste Wiederbegegnung von Diomedes und Odysseus mit Philoktet im 9. Buch (353 – 425) in seiner verwahrlosten Höhle, was dann bei der Begegnung mit den Griechen im Lager mitsamt seiner Heilung (459b – 479) und eingeengt schließlich bei dem Treffen mit den Atriden (480 – 485) wiederholt wird. Vergleichbares sieht der Leser schließlich im 13. Buch bei der Begegnung Menelaos’ und Helenas (385 – 402) oder bei Demophoons und Alkamas’ Begegnung mit Aithre (500b – 543). In allen Fällen tritt das Bildhafte in den Vordergrund. Dies erhält dabei nicht nur ornamentale, sondern auch semantische und strukturbildende Funktion. Immer ähnelt sich das Muster aus auktorialer Beschreibung, Markierung durch Begriffe des Sehens, allgemeiner und dann auf einzelne eingeengter emotional aufgeladener Fokalisierung verbunden mit auffallend vielen Gleichnissen und Vergleichen. Man hat im Zusammenhang mit ekphrastischem Erzählen in kaiserzeitlichen Epen bereits auf den Einfluss des Dramas verwiesen. So etwa Miguélez Cavero: „Another consequence of the importance of the ]"  is the transformation of what is shown not only in what we see looking through a window, but further in the display of what happens on a stage.“43 Dies erklärt nicht nur die Einzelszenen, sondern eben auch die Ankündigung und Beschreibung neuer Personen bei deren Auftritt sowie die Reaktion des intradiegetischen Publikums darauf. ––––––––––– 42 Vgl. Ferreccio 2014, 69 – 78. 43 Miguélez Cavero 2008, 287.

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Dass Quintus damit spielt, soll eine Reihe von Varianten des Musters zeigen, denn im 10. Buch tritt Eris auf und treibt die Schlachtreihen zusammen (53 – 73). Von ihr heißt es gleich zu Beginn aus auktorialer Sicht, sie sei für niemanden sichtbar: ½  " Æ (54); für uns als Leser wird das veranschaulicht, indem wir lesen und uns daher vor Augen stellen, dass rings um ihre Schultern blutiger Nebel lag (54f.). Ihr grauenvolles Wirken im Kampf wird in den folgenden Versen ekphrastisch dargestellt (10.53 – 65):

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è± ’ ¥ Ÿ Ì % ì Æ> >¤ ù½  " Æ· \ – Æ" ¥ “> ‹ · "Å } Æ  Æ> >ˆ ¥ } èÈ# † „Ã>, ¥’  %· — } É  \   Æ "Æ   à  " > Å .  } Æ’ †” ‰Å Ç  È# · Ç ’ †”   ]¢²   Æ Ç X·  } Å ] † ÚÆ · § ’ !ˆ \ Å>   Æ  · >ˆ ’ ¥> >¢²—  Æ>· Æ ’ Ÿ} Ç ‰Ç> Ÿ[Ç . ù ’ ^˜ >Ã Ç !Å· — – ¥ ˆ † Æ ]. „Die trieb zu einem Ort Eris, die auf Schlachtgetümmel sann und für keinen zu sehen war. Denn rings um die Schultern umgab sie blutiger Nebel. Sie schritt einher, wobei sie ein großes Getümmel zusammenballte, bald zu der Troer Schar, bald zu der der Achaier. Voll Eifer waren furchtlos um sie Phobos und Deimos und ließen die starksinnige Schwester des Vaters stattlicher erscheinen. Die aber wuchs aus Kleinem stark an voll Kampfbegier. Waffen aus Stahl hielt sie, befleckt von Mordblut. Sie schwang den heillosen Speer in die Luft. Unter ihren Füßen bewegte sich die schwarze Erde. Des Feuers Hauch atmete sie aus, des schrecklichen. Laut schrie sie immerzu und trieb die Männer an. Die aber liefen sofort gegeneinander und begannen die Feldschlacht. Die schreckliche Gottheit nämlich führte zu einer gewaltigen Tat.“

Hier liegt eine bemerkenswerte Umkehrung vor; denn während sonst die internen Focalizer in der Regel mehr sehen als wir Leser, wird uns an dieser Stelle ein für Menschen unsichtbares Vorgehen verdeutlicht und wir als Leser werden somit privilegiert. Ein Gleichnis auf Eris liest man nicht, aber das Gebrüll der Kämpfer wird im Folgenden mit dem Tosen der Winde, dem Dröhnen des Feuers und dem Rasen des Meers verglichen (66 – 71), gleich-

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sam als werde der Mangel des Visuellen auf Menschenebene im Gleichnis aufgegriffen und deshalb der akustische Aspekt im Gleichnis verdeutlicht. Zumindest erwähnt werden muss in diesem Zusammenhang auch die ekphrastische Darstellung der Erblindung des Laokoon, den Athene zur Strafe erst alles doppelt sehen, und als er weiter Anweisungen gibt, erblinden lässt (12.395 – 417). Die Stelle wurde oft behandelt; verwiesen wird dabei zumeist auf das medizinische Interesse des Quintus, der hier ein Glaukom zu beschreiben scheint.44 In unserem Zusammenhang ist ein anderer Aspekt wichtiger: Derjenige, der das Unheil sieht, wird nicht nur blind – eine für Seher nicht untypische Strafe –, seine Erblindung wird auch noch für uns Leser aus auktorialem Blickwinkel sichtbar und somit nachvollziehbar gemacht. Der folgende Auftritt der Kassandra (12.525 – 575) entspricht in etwa dem oben skizzierten Schema, freilich mit einer spezifischen Akzentuierung von Sehen und Glauben Finden. Zuvor werden die Unheilsomina auktorial ekphrastisch dargestellt (503 – 520); die internen Focalizer zeigen die unterschiedlichen Reaktionen: Die Troer sehen die Omina zwar, können sie aber durch den Einfluss der Keren nicht verstehen (521 – 524); Kassandra sieht und versteht sie, kann ihre Bedeutung aber ihren Mitbürgern nicht vermitteln; die Bedeutung der Omina-Ekphrasis verstehen somit nur wir Leser. Ganz trefflich ist schließlich zu Beginn des 13. Buchs bei der Freudenfeier der Troer wegen des vermeintlichen Abzugs der Griechen ekphrastisch geschildert, welche Wirkung Alkohol auf die Sehfähigkeit hat (13.5 – 7a):  Æ  Å  , | \   } Å   —  \  Ã, | \   }  Å·  Ç " >ˆ | Ÿ} †"Ç` Ÿ Å  ¿ , | >#   ˆ Ÿ¤ . „Bist du aber eine der Sterblichen, die auf Erden wohnen: dreimal selig dir dann Vater und hehre Mutter und dreimal selig die Brüder! erwarmt ihnen doch wohl sehr der Mut immer in Wohlgefühl um deinetwillen, wenn sie ein solches Reis zum Reigen gehen sehen.“ Übersetzung: W. Schadewaldt) wie seiner selbst (6.160 – 169a:   # ¤-

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der homerischen Sprache – natürlich die zahlreichen in diesen Passagen eingebundenen Gleichnisse auf den homerischen Subtext zurück. Es entsteht daher der Eindruck, dass Quintus das zeitgenössische ekphrastische Erzählen durch intertextuelle Bezüge sowie homerisierende Elemente und Färbungen seiner Fortschreibung der Ilias einverleibt. Lohnenswert wäre noch ein Blick auf Ortsbeschreibungen, 50 wo das Spiel mit intertextuellen Bezügen zu Homer und Verweisen auf die zeitgenössische Kultur des Tourismus, d. h. auf ‚Dinge, die man noch sehen kann‘, 51 dem Werk einen hellenistischen Touch gibt. Dazu ist hier nicht der Platz. Eines sei zum Ende aber noch erwähnt. Sinnträchtig schließt das Werk mit der Zerstörung des Griechenlagers durch Poseidon und Apoll (14.632 – 658); diese Darstellung hat durchaus ekphrastische Züge, zumal am Ende (14.649b – 655): 650

655 650

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Ú } Æ’ ]  †  Æ #52   Å·  \  !Ç ’ † Ç"  Ì Æ,  Ç ’ ]   Å  –  Æ .    ’   ,   Æ> ,  ’ # †Ç#, " ’ †’ Ÿ    . – – Æ >  # †Æ  ˆ  · . „Es dröhnten aber laut die Gestade und von Grund auf Dardanien, und unsichtbar und völlig vom Meer überspült wurde der ungeheure Schutzwall, er versank in der Erde, die sich weit auftat. Allein Sand war noch zu sehen, als das Meer zurückwich, unten an den dröhnenden Steilküsten, und er erstreckte sich fern hin am Gestade. Aber das vollbrachte wohl der Unsterblichen Unwille.“

–––––––––––  Í ˆ ‰" , | ½’ ¥’ ½ >  · Æ ’ ] Ÿ# . | ... ¢ Æ, Ç , ¥  Å  Æ  , Å ’ Ÿ% | Ç# £˜  . „Denn noch nie habe ich so eines gesehen mit den Augen, weder Mann noch Weib, heilige Scheu faßt mich, wenn ich dich ansehe. ... wie ich vor dir, Frau verwundert bin und starr bin und mich gewaltig fürchte, deine Knie zu berühren.“ Übersetzung: W. Schadewaldt). – Vergleichbar ist ferner bei Apollonios Rhodios die Reaktion der Gefährten Jasons nach dessen Verschönerung durch Hera vor seiner Begegnung mit Medea (3.919 – 926); vgl. Bär 2009, 236 – 238. 50 Vgl. Carvounis 2014; vgl. z. B. die Steine der Niobe (1.294 – 306) und der Hekabe (14.347 – 353) sowie den Fluss für Memnon (2.556 – 566). 51 Carvounis 2014, 190; Vian 1959, 120f. 52 Zur Textkritik: †  Æ # interpunctione post ]  omissa Tychsen: † } Æ # codd., post versum lac. stat. Vian.

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Gerade im Kontrast zum visuellen Charakter des Beginns wird dem Leser am Ende bildlich vor Augen geführt, dass der Stoff vor Troia auserzählt ist. Es bleibt nur noch, die Leere zu beschreiben. Neuer Stoff wird da zu sehen sein, wohin die Griechen vereinzelt in den letzten Versen des Epos gelangen.

Referenzen Appel, W. (1994), Grundsätzliche Bemerkungen zu den Posthomerica und Quintus Smyrnaeus. Prometheus 20: 1 – 13. Bär, S. (2007), Quintus Smyrnaeus und die Tradition des epischen Musenanrufs, in: Baumbach - Bär - Dümmler 2007: 29 – 64. Bär, S., ed. (2009), Quintus Smyrnaeus, „Posthomerica“. 1. Die Wiedergeburt des Epos aus dem Geiste der Amazonomachie, mit einem Kommentar zu den Versen 1  219 (Hypomnemata 183), Göttingen. Bartsch, S. u. Elsner, J. (2007), Ekphrasis. Introduction. Eight Ways of Looking at an Ekphrasis. CPh 102 (Special Issues on Ekphrasis): i – vi. Baumbach, M. (2007), Die Poetik der Schilde. Form und Funktion von Ekphraseis in den Posthomerica des Quintus Smyrnaeus, in: Baumbach - Bär - Dümmler 2007: 107 – 142. Baumbach, M., Bär, S. u. Dümmler, N., edd. (2007), Quintus Smyrnaeus. Transforming Homer in Second Sophistic Epic (Millennium-Studien / Millennium Studies 17), Berlin New York. Becker, A. S. (1992), Reading Poetry through a Distant Lens. Ecphrasis, Ancient Greek Rhetoricians, and the Pseudo-Hesiodic „Shield of Herakles“. AJPh 113: 5 – 24. Becker, A. S. (1995), The Shield of Achilles and the Poetics of Ekphrasis (Greek Studies), London. Cameron, Alan (1970), Claudian. Poetry and Propaganda at the Court of Honorius, Oxford. Carvounis, K. (2014), Landscape Markers and Time in Quintus’ Posthomerica, in: M. Skempis u. I. Ziogas (edd.), Geography, Topography, Landscape. Configurations of Space in Greek and Roman Epic (Trends in Classics 22), Berlin - Boston: 181 – 208. Duckworth, G. E. (1936), Foreshadowing and Suspense in the Posthomerica of Quintus of Smyrna. AJPh 57: 58 – 86. Ferreccio, A. (2014), Commento al libro II dei Posthomerica di Quinto Smirneo (Pleiadi 18), Roma. Fowler, D. P. (1991), Narrate and Describe. The Problem of Ekphrasis. JRS 81: 25 – 35. Gärtner, U. (2005), Quintus Smyrnaeus und die Aeneis. Zur Nachwirkung Vergils in der griechischen Literatur der Kaiserzeit (Zetemata 123), München. Gärtner, U., ed. (2010), Quintus von Smyrna. Der Untergang Trojas. 2 Bde., Griechisch und deutsch (Edition Antike), Darmstadt. Gärtner, U. (2017), Ohne Anfang und Ende? Die Posthomerica des Quintus Smyrnaeus als ‚Intertext‘, in: Chr. Schmitz, J. Telg (genannt Kortmann) u. A. Jöne (edd.), Anfänge und Enden. Narrative Potentiale des antiken und nachantiken Epos (Bibliothek der klassischen Altertumswissenschaften N. F., 2. Reihe 154), Heidelberg: 313 – 338. Genette, G. (32010), Die Erzählung, übers. v. A. Knop, Paderborn. Hillebrandt, C. (2011), Das emotionale Wirkungspotenzial von Erzähltexten. Mit Fallstudien zu Kafka, Perutz und Werfel (Deutsche Literatur. Studien und Quellen 6), Berlin.

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James, A. u. Lee, K., edd. (2000), A Commentary on Quintus of Smyrna. Posthomerica V (Mnemosyne Suppl. 208), Leiden - Boston - Köln. de Jong, I. (1987), Narrators and Focalizers. The Presentation of the Story in the Iliad, Amsterdam. Keydell, R. (1963), Quintus von Smyrna. RE 24.1: 1271 – 1296. Kröll, N. (2013), Ekphrasis im spätantiken Epos. Die Dionysiaka des Nonnos von Panopolis. Graeco-Latina Brunensia 18: 117 – 130. Kröll, N. (2016), Die Jugend des Dionysos. Die Ampelos-Episode in den Dionysiaka des Nonnos von Panopolis (Millennium-Studien / Millennium Studies 62), Berlin - Boston. Latacz, J. (1966), Zum Wortfeld ‚Freude‘ in der Sprache Homers (Bibliothek der klassischen Altertumswissenschaften, Reihe 2, N. F.17), Heidelberg. Leclerc, Y. (2014), L’antre des nymphes de Quintus de Smyrne et le Nekyomanteion d’Héraclée du Pont. Réexamen des sources. REA 116: 61 – 81. Lobsien, E. (1990), Bildlichkeit, Imagination, Wissen. Zur Phänomenologie der Vorstellungsbildung in literarischen Texten, in: V. Bohn (ed.), Bildlichkeit. Internationale Beiträge zur Poetik (Edition Suhrkamp 1475 = N. F. 475, Poetik 3), Frankfurt a. M.: 89 – 114. Maciver, C. A. (2012), Quintus Smyrnaeus’ Posthomerica. Engaging Homer in Late Antiquity (Mnemosyne Suppl. 343), Leiden - Boston. Menze, M. A. (2017), Heliodors ‚klassische‘ Ekphrase. Die literarische Visualität der Aithiopika im Vergleich mit ihren Vorläufern bei Homer und Herodot sowie ihrer Rezeption bei Miguel de Cervantes (Orbis Antiquus 51), Münster. Miguélez Cavero, L. (2008), Poems in Context. Greek Poetry in the Egyptian Thebaid 200 – 600 AD (Sozomena 2), Berlin - New York. Morales, H. (2004), Vision and Narrative in Achilles Tatius’ Leucippe and Clitophon (Cambridge Classical Studies), Cambridge. Newbold, R. F. (1981), Space and Scenery in Quintus of Smyrna, Claudian and Nonnus. Ramus 10: 53 – 68. Nünning, A. (2007), Towards a Typology, Poetics and History of Description in Fiction, in: Wolf - Bernhart 2007: 91 – 128. Ozbek, L. (2007), Ripresa della tradizione e innovazione compositiva. La medicina nei Posthomerica di Quinto Smirneo, in: Baumbach - Bär - Dümmler 2007: 159 – 183. Poppe, S. (2007), Visualität in Literatur und Film. Eine medienkomparatistische Untersuchung moderner Erzähltexte und ihrer Verfilmungen (Palaestra 327), Göttingen. Roberts, M. (2002), Venantius Fortunatus’ Life of St. Martin. Traditio 57: 129 – 187. Roberts, M. (2009), The Humblest Sparrow. The Poetry of Venantius Fortunatus, Ann Arbor, MI Schenk, P. (1997), Handlungsstruktur und Komposition in den Posthomerica des Quintus Smyrnaeus. RhM 140: 363 – 385. Squire, M. (2011), The Iliad in a Nutshell. Visualizing Epic on the Tabulae Iliacae, Oxford New York. Stanzel, F. K. (82008), Theorie des Erzählens (UTB 904), Göttingen. Tsagalis, Chr. (2012), From Listeners to Viewers. Space in the Iliad (Hellenic Studies 53), Cambridge, MA - London. Vian, F. (1959), Recherches sur les Posthomerica de Quintus de Smyrne (Études et commentaires 30), Paris.

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Vian, F., ed. (1963), Quintus de Smyrne. La suite d’Homère, tom. I: livres I – IV, texte établi et traduit (Collection des universités de France Série grecque, Collection Budé 161), Paris. Vian, F., ed. (1966), Quintus de Smyrne. La suite d’Homère, tom. II: livres V – IX, texte établi et traduit (Collection des universités de France Série grecque, Collection Budé 173), Paris. Vian, F., ed. (1969), Quintus de Smyrne. La suite d’Homère, tom. III: livres X – XIV, texte établi et traduit (Collection des universités de France Série grecque, Collection Budé 193), Paris. Webb, R. (2009), Ekphrasis, Imagination and Persuasion in Ancient Rhetorical Theory and Practice, Farnham - Burlington, VT. Wolf, W. (2007), Description as a Transmedial Mode of Representation. General Features and Possibilities of Realization in Painting, Fiction and Music, in: Wolf - Bernhart 2007: 1– 87. Wolf, W. u. Bernhart, W., edd. (2007), Description in Literature and Other Media (Studies in Intermediality 2), Amsterdam - New York. Wolf, W. (2013), Aesthetic Illusion, in: W. Wolf, W. Bernhart u. A. Mahler (edd.), Immersion and Distance. Aesthetic Illusion in Literature and Other Media (Studies in Intermediality 6), Amsterdam - New York: 1 – 63. Zanker, G. (1981), Enargeia in the Ancient Criticism of Poetry. RhM 124: 297 – 311.

WIENER STUDIEN, Beiheft 41, 133 – 148 © 2020 by Österreichische Akademie der Wissenschaften Wien

ARIANNA M AGNOLO

The Alexandra in the Dionysiaca. Two Examples The obscure quality of Lycophron’s extravagant work, 1 the Alexandra, has always been one of its most remarkable features. Its definition in the Suda as the “dark poem” (ˆ ˆ  ) has become proverbial. The Alexandra is so complicated that it cannot be read without the help of a paraphrase or a commentary. This polarizing characteristic has determined its fortune over time, even though it was often met with negative judgment. We know that in the Byzantine era the poem was a classic in every respect, providing inspiration for many authors. 2 However, the Lycophronean allusions that some scholars found in some late antique poets3 suggest that its ‘canonization’ process started exactly in this ‘transitional’ period. 4 One of these poets is Nonnus, who seems to have chosen the work of Lycophron as one of the sources for his Dionysiaca. However, while the main commentaries on the Nonnian poem do mention some references to the Alexandra, they mostly do so in an occasional manner, in the footnotes and without any specific or detailed analysis. Yet, a complete and systematic investigation proves interesting, because, if we view these allusions as a whole, we can see Nonnus’ well-defined plan in making use of this source.5 It is clear that for Nonnus the Alexandra is not simply a container of erudite data to extract and embed randomly in the thread of his narration, but rather a generally meaningful text that he adapts to the needs of his own poem. ––––––––––– 1 I want to clarify right away that I will not deal with the debated and so far unsolved problem of Lycophron’s chronology and identity, as it goes beyond the scope of this paper. By the name ‘Lycophron’ I mean to refer to his poem. 2 Cf. De Stefani - Magnelli 2009, 595 – 620. 3 Cf. De Stefani - Magnelli 2009, 594. 4 Furthermore, Hernández de la Fuente 2008, 5 brings our attention to the fact that the papyrus fragments of the poem we possess date between the first and the second century: this means that the Alexandra was read in Roman Egypt. 5 For such an investigation, see my PhD dissertation (University of Genoa, December 2018).

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This paper will focus on two case studies that I consider particularly significant: the first one is of thematic nature, while the second one is concerned with language. Indeed, Nonnus appears to be fascinated by both aspects, showing interest in some of the uncommon mythical variants recorded by Lycophron as well as in some words that occur only in Lycophron’s work and are presumably his own invention. 6 In order to shed light on both Nonnus’ peculiar way of exploiting this author and the purpose underlying such practice, I am going to analyze a theme and a word that occur in two different passages of the Dionysiaca and which, in my opinion, have been drawn from Lycophron. 1. Iphigeneia as a witch At the beginning of book 13 of the Dionysiaca, Zeus sends the messenger of the gods, Iris, to announce to Dionysus, who is still with Rheia, the future that he shall face before he can ascend to Olympus. The god will have to fight a war against the impious Indians, to defeat their king Deriades, and then start a long journey in order to spread his own cult all over the world. What follows is the first part of the catalogue of the forces that make up the Dionysiac army. This section, like all other catalogue parts, is enriched by Nonnus with mythical digressions. The passage I have decided to analyze can be found in one of those digressions, i.e. the one devoted to Iphigeneia that closes the description of the second Boiotian contingent7 (vv. 104 – 119):8 105

110

¿  ] # ” ¼ ž %,  ’ , †  $  ,  –  Š ‰ ŠX  – #‚  > ˜>’ $" ,  \ – " "   >‚, Î    ^   $" , ñ _>± †  ¢ ž§ † ˆ    >, ]  Š Â\ >"Š   $" , „  ž# †Š ˆ ’ ¥˜"  [# † ¥  ’ ,

––––––––––– 6 My assumptions are limited by our dependency on available studies, which are very scarce. On this problem with reference to the concept of £ ” see Guilleux 2009, 221 – 224. 7 I have decided to quote the entire passage related to Iphigeneia because it will be useful for some considerations concerning the analysis of her portrait. 8 The reference edition for book 13 of the Dionysiaca is Vian 1995.

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"X  § "#   ½, Š  ‰˜} ¤  †   è Š# "–  ”# † – ’#,   Š> ,  \ "X  – #‚ #ˆ Î [³ _.

“Those also came who possessed the place where the assembling Achaians found refuge, rocky Aulis, pavement of the Archeress: where the goddess in heavy resentment received at her altar in the mountains the offering of a pretended Iphigeneia, and a wild pricket of the hills was burnt in a blameless fire, changeling shape of the true Iphigeneia who had been carried away. She it was that cunning Odysseus brought to be Achilles’ bride before the trouble, and hence Aulis has the name of matchmaker for Iphigeneia who never married at all; for a guiding wind whistled over the Argive ships, flogging the quiet top of the calm which had kept back the ships, and brought a rescuing breeze for the fawnslayer king. But the girl passed at last on high to the Taurian land, and there she was taught the inhospitable law of their horrible kettles, in cutting up men for meat; but beside the murderous altar she saved the life of her seabeaten brother Orestes.”9

In this passage Nonnus summarizes the myth of Iphigeneia’s sacrifice. In the conclusion of the story, he embraces the variant (attested, for instance, in Euripides’ Iphigeneia in Tauris) according to which the maiden is rescued from her sacrifice by Artemis. The goddess eventually replaces her with a deer (here, more precisely, with a pricket 10) and leads her to the Taurian land, where she becomes her priestess. 11 For the purpose of this paper, I will focus on the gloomy portrait of Iphigeneia painted at the end of the passage (vv. 116 – 119),12 which seems to be based on the one sketched out by Lycophron in Alexandra 194 – 199:13 195

 ¥  \ —  >   \ — ¥"  ^ Ú#    " # Ú} #  ð>   "[ † > % "Å  § , ¬   "Š” " %  [>   >ò. 14

––––––––––– 9 The translation of the passages from the Dionysiaca is taken from Rouse 1940. 10 Cf. infra. 11 The myth was narrated in the Cypria (fr. 23 Bernabé): cf. Gigante Lanzara 2000, 223. For a detailed discussion of the sources for this myth, see Gantz 1993, 686f. 12 Cf. Schulze 1973, 25 – 27, Vian 1995, 219, and Gonnelli 2003, 76f. 13 The reference edition for the text of the Alexandra is Hornblower 2015. 14 Here I chose to keep the transmitted text   >ò, which seems to me more appropriate to syntax, deviating from the edition of Hornblower, who accepts Wilamowitz’s correction into   > .

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195

“He will groan for his fate and for his vain sea-voyaging, and for her who vanished, and is now changed in form to an old woman near sacrificial basins and lustral water, and a cauldron, seething with flame from the depths of hell, which the Dark Woman will blow on as she boils the flesh of dead men in the pot, a skilled cook.”15

Although this kind of portrait, like the Nonnian one,16 is introduced by various references to the Euripidean model, 17 it proves to be genuinely Lycophronean.18 As a matter of fact, the variant embraced here can also be found in other sources, but Lycophron appropriates it through an undoubtedly personal re-elaboration, drawing a picture characterized by dark and grotesque shades. 19 The novelty is Iphigeneia’s shift from the role of victim, as described by Euripides even after her rescue, to that of victimizer. A grim and bloody feature characterizes the maiden, who, contrary to what happens in the tragic model, takes revenge for having been destined to death through a series of macabre sacrificial killings20 and even by practicing cannibalism. 21 Every trace of piety Euripides had given her is fully lost: Iphigeneia “trae dietro di sé la sanguinosa traccia dell’assassinio virtualmente compiuto come un miasma incancellabile che ne stravolge la coscienza e l’immagine. (…) Gli Achei mostruosi, mangiatori di carne umana, ministri di sacrifici orribili agli dei, producono la fanciulla mostruosa, a sua volta scannatrice dell’Ellade.” 22

The result is a painting in which the myth is deformed to excess, to the point of being unrecognizable. The two characteristics which mark the story of Iphigeneia, i.e. the submission of the young female to the decision of a ––––––––––– 15 The translations of the Alexandra are taken from Hornblower 2015. 16 On the sources of the Nonnian passage, see Schulze 1973, 23 – 27. For an accurate list of references, see Vian 1995, 219. 17 For an exhaustive list of the punctual references to the Euripidean tragedy and to the other sources employed by Lycophron see Mari 2009, 436, n. 69 and Cusset - Linant de Bellefonds 2014, 6 – 34, which also includes a large inventory of iconographic parallels. 18 Cf., e.g., Mari 2009, 435. 19 On this topic cf. Sistakou 2012, 131 – 190. 20 In Tauris the cult of Artemis Tauropolos implied that the foreigners landing on those beaches had to be sacrificed to the goddess: cf. Ciaceri 1901, 164. Nonnus summarizes this element in a striking and incisive manner with the adjective  ”#, “inhospitable”, referring to the kettles (’#) at v. 117. 21 Mari 2009, 435f. highlights that this detail is in line with the Greek tendency to confine human sacrifices to the mythical sphere: cf. Hughes 1991, 71ff. 22 Gigante Lanzara 1997, 95.

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male and the time when she becomes the centre of the cult, are completely disconnected;23 they almost seem to relate to two separate characters. Therefore, there is no doubt that Nonnus draws from Lycophron the idea of representing Iphigeneia as a witch. In fact, the two poets provide a portrait of Iphigeneia that is very similar, primarily from a stylistic point of view, because of their taste for paradox that dominates a very theatrical scene. The authors display a certain satisfaction for the gruesome details and use words that evoke increasingly darker24 images.25 At the end, the reader is projected from the horrific to the grotesque, thanks to a note that, in that specific context, sounds humorous. In addition, also from a strictly lexical point of view, which is closely connected to the thematic one, it is possible to trace some significant parallels between the two authors. First, it has been noticed that the Nonnian word  (v. 108), i.e. the idea of substituting the deer (] " ) with a pricket, is likely to come from Lycophron (vv. 190f.:  %   , ’  † "    |  ˆ   " #  šŠ ).26 Secondly, some scholars have argued that the iunctura   ^ (v. 109) echoes Alexandra 195 ¥"  ^ .27 Thirdly and most importantly, three more elements are worth analyzing. The first one is the kettle used by Iphigeneia to stir the flesh of the sacrificed men, referred to by Nonnus with the noun ’# (v. 117) and by Lycophron with the verb [> (v. 199), which is an £ ”. The second one is the concept of anthropophagy, referred to in the Nonnian passage by means of the participle  Š> (v. 119), which is probably meant to echo, through a wordplay on its root,   > , another £ ” that closes the horrifying Lycophronean description. ––––––––––– 23 Cf. Mari 2009, 436f., where it is specified that this feature keeps from assimilating Iphigeneia to Cassandra. Cassandra’s story is marked by two similar moments, but in the second one, i.e. that of the cult, she does not change: she becomes the object and not the subject of a cult and, unlike Iphigeneia, does not lose her innocence. 24 An attention to the effect of colours is also characteristic of the Nonnian descriptions, even though here it is to be understood in a metaphorical sense. 25 Cf. Marandino 2014, 2 – 4, who notices “come la parola suggerisca con forza la presenza di un’immagine: essa sembra possederne la stessa sostanza e Licofrone pare percepirne la sua natura visibile, la sua forza raffigurativa. I contorni visibili delle immagini evocate si toccano l’un l’altro come a formare un mosaico, le figure vaghe hanno un significato tanto necessario e tanto perfetto quanto quelle precise. (…) Talora sembra che l’immagine stessa prenda il posto della parola nel verso. (…) Licofrone ha dinanzi a sé, o meglio dietro di sé, tutto l’immaginario mitografico greco, rispetto al quale la parola è soprattutto una lente di ingrandimento, che approfondisce i dettagli descrittivi per costruire la sua immagine, evocarla al lettore.” 26 Cf. Zoroddu 1997, 137. 27 Cf. Zoroddu 1997, 139.

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Finally, the adverb ‰˜ (v. 116), which could be an interpretatio of the word    at the beginning of v. 196 of the Alexandra. Scholars do not agree on the meaning of this word, but, if we follow Nonnus, we could translate it as “old”, 28 thus considering it as an exterior reflection of Iphigeneia’s grim inwardness, who, with her black face (cf. v. 198   and, further, v. 325  § ), reminds of Medea or Hecate.29 On the other hand, the basin used to collect the sacrificial blood (Alexandra 196) and the act of blowing on the cauldron (Alexandra 198), which definitely contribute to the horrific effect, are not mentioned by Nonnus. So, this horrific effect is toned down in the Nonnian representation, which proves less frightening than that of his model. Moreover, Nonnus replaces the two £ ” of his model with two words that are more common. This does not seem accidental, as his choice to replace these words could be dictated by a need to hint at the linguistic innovations of his predecessor and to provide an interpretation of them. The act of stirring the human flesh in the kettle is hastily dealt with through the phrase “the inhospitable law of their horrible kettles”, which seems to convey some reticence on the part of the poet. The specific, almost technical meaning of the Lycophronean   >ò, “cookery”, is lost in the Nonnian substitute  Š> . However, the latter maintains the black humour on which the grotesque so strongly depends, but for a different reason, namely because the verb  Š#, “to cut up”, “to devour”, often refers to animals, 30 and in this context it is clearly to be interpreted this way. But the exegetic purpose seems to prevail over the horrifying one. This is not unusual in a catalogue, which is traditionally an erudite section; it is a kind of competition, in the display of a personal baroque style31 that is meant to compete with the Lycophronean one, which can also be defined as baroque. 32 By ‘agonistic dimension’ I mean the typically late antique tendency to compete with the ––––––––––– 28 Cf. also Vian 1995, 219. Some commentators of the Alexandra tend towards this evocative interpretation (cf., e.g., Gigante Lanzara 1997, 98), which is also supported by the scholia (cf. Sch. in Lyc. 196a, Leone 2002, 42:    } —  >  †  "  = —     Ÿ    – ˆ — # §  !ˆ % Ë’#), but not by Wilamowitz 1883, 256, who, with Ciaceri 1901, 164 believes that the term is to be translated “from the city of Graia” in the sense of Aulidensis. 29 Cf. Fusillo - Hurst - Paduano 1991, 178, who recall a fragment of Hesiod (23b Merkelbach West) and one of Stesichorus (215 Page) for the association of Iphigeneia with Hecate; for the association with Medea cf., instead, Cusset - Linant de Bellefonds 2014, 33. 30 Cf. LSJ, s. v. 31 Nonnian style has been recognized as baroque: cf., e.g., Schmiel 1998, 400. 32 Cf. Gigante Lanzara 1997, 94. The same tendency can be observed towards Callimachus in two passages where Nonnus seems to imitate his realistic style in describing the action of cleansing the sweat of animals (Dion. 25.330 – 332 and 42.19 – 22 cf. Lav. Pall. 9 – 12).

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predecessors, alluding to them and at the same time showing a personal style ([§ ) so that the reader can appreciate innovation in comparison with tradition. 33 To Lycophron’s incisive and imaginative expressions consisting of non-stop sequences of rare words, Nonnus opposes his narrative epithets and his well-known structure built through the accumulation of nouns and adjectives, all of which also evoke images, though not as powerfully as Lycophron does. Nonnus’ choice positions him as an erudite poet who is explaining and interpreting another learned poet in his own personal way. His description is less bloody, but this highlights his will to show his own style rather than a tendency to reticence. Once more, Nonnus incorporates a typically Lycophronean feature into his poem, and he uses it for a different purpose. Lastly, it should be noted that the above-mentioned features can be observed in both poets also in the part that precedes the terrifying portrait. This clarifies Nonnus’ choice of the Lycophronean depiction of this grotesque moment as a model in this section of the poem. In particular, I would like to point out two details. The Lycophronean prophetic narration of the episode (vv. 183 – 195) alludes to the fake marriage with Achilles, a ruse to lure Iphigeneia to the sacrificial altar. The fact that this marriage never took place is a cause of despair for the hero, who is portrayed as a troubled lover wandering in search of a maiden that, although not dead, does not exist anymore (vv. 186 – 189; 192 – 195; 200f.).34 The motive of the wandering Achilles gripped by a heart-breaking love35 recurs almost like a refrain in the episode, in alternation with the gloomy images of Iphigeneia, creating an increasing sense of anguish in the reader. The two characters function as two sides of the same coin, unable to coexist. Nonnus also alludes to the marriage that was never celebrated, maybe attracted by the paradoxical quality of the situation (vv. 110 – 112), but avoids reproducing this peculiar motif, seen especially in the expression >"Š   $" (v. 112), “matchmaker for Iphigeneia who never married at all”, to which another paradoxical iunctura,   ^   $" (v. 109), “changeling shape of the true Iphigeneia”, can be added. In addition, following a typi––––––––––– 33 On this topic cf. for example Agosti 2006, 33 – 60. 34 This is an original element in the framework of the more common tradition of Achilles’ Scythian stay: cf. Cusset - Linant de Bellefonds 2014, 11 – 15. According to Sbardella 2009, 57 this is a significant example of the fusion realized by Lycophron between epic and tragedy and of the simultaneous overcoming of both genres. 35 On this representation of Achilles cf. Fantuzzi 2012, 28ff., who rightly observes that Lycophron’s Alexandra “often slyly magnifies Achilles’ susceptibility to the ladies as a stain on his martial-heroic career.”

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cally Hellenistic tendency, both authors insert in this episode a linguistic/ paretymological Í, an excursus about the origin of an expression/word. In Lycophron the term is ž#  , a Scythian coastal road named after Achilles because he run on it (vv. 192 – 195)36, in Nonnus the term is  (“Aulis”), which in his opinion hints at the room ( ¼ ) prepared for Iphigeneia’s fake marriage (vv. 111f.). This element as well seems to find an explanation in connection with Nonnus’ competitive strategy. Finally, it is important to consider that, because it takes place before the first and not the second Trojan expedition, 37 the sacrifice of Iphigeneia is linked to Telephus’ myth, which Nonnus (in other passages 38) draws from Lycophron. The allusion to a mythical motif that is related to Dionysus’ intervention in the Trojan War inside the catalogue of the Dionysiac forces could serve as a further trait d’union between this war and the Indian one. Like in Lycophron, this motif is meant to detract the glory of the winners of the Trojan War: however, in this Nonnian passage, it is also used to celebrate the future winner of the Indian war. We can see that Nonnus has selected an exquisitely Lycophronean masterpiece which, regarding the literary genre, cannot be classified either as epic or as tragic and is marked by outstanding expressionism, strong colours, a taste for paradox and a baroque style. All these characteristics had probably been judged by Nonnus to be particularly adequate for his own personality as a ‘Dionysiac’ poet. After all, the Iphigeneia outlined by Lycophron encourages a comparison with the figure of the maenad. The latter proves to be morally superior because the Dionysiac rituals she performs, although truculent, are not mere acts of violence due to resentment, unlike the rituals performed by Iphigeneia. On the contrary, they have a more elevated function, which is universally redemptive, a function that is fulfilled by Iphigeneia only towards her brother Orestes (cf. vv. 118f.). The masterpiece selected from the source has then been included in a definitely epic (specifically Homeric) section of the Dionysiaca, in compliance with Nonnus’ need for  . 39 ––––––––––– 36  ±  ]# š  ’  | ] †   >">  , |  ¥  \ —  >  |  \ — ¥"  ^ Ú#. 37 Cf. Cusset - Linant de Bellefonds 2014, 7. 38 Cf. Dion. 9.204, where the iunctura ' >[ seems to echo Lyc. 207 ¦" >[ , and Dion. 11.172, where the iunctura Š ]” seems to echo Lyc. 213 †” Š . Both these expressions, discussed in my dissertation, belong to the section in which Lycophron hints at the myth of Telephus. 39 On Nonnian  see, e.g., González Senmartí 1981, 101 – 107.

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2. Oenomaus   In book 19, after Staphylus’ death (and his ‘etymological’ metamorphosis, beside the analogue ones of Methe and Botrys), Dionysus decides to organize funeral games in his honor. In the following verses (152 – 154) the god introduces the pantomime contest:40   ‹Š ,   Ÿ % ,   ùŸ>   Û ~  Š  ,   †’   %. “This is no race for horsemanship, no games of Elis, this is no course of Oinomaos with death for his goodsons. My turning-point is the dance, my starting-point the skipping feet.”

Here Dionysus clearly draws a distinction between the contest he arranged and the Olympic contests, represented by the chariot race, the most emblematic competition that is closely linked to the mythical exemplum of Oenomaus. Therefore, we are in the presence of a Š , in which the god proudly affirms the originality of something that depends directly on him. This time my analysis will focus on a single word,   (v. 153), which Nonnus seems to derive from Lycophron, Alexandra 161.41 Vv. 156 – 163 run as follows:

160

160

¬ — \ ~’   \  ±   ">  > Î ’, ] œ ± Ÿ @ > Š >– Š ¹   ¤ ¨\  >  _X  ,   š   "  >   ,  „ ¡ >  {>. “He was young twice, and when he fled from the heavy rapacious desires of the ruler of ships, Erechtheus sent him to the fields of Letrina, to grind smooth the stone of Molpis (he who sacrificed his body to Zeus the Rain-god) and to kill the suitor-murderer with unholy schemes for slaying a father-in-law, which the son of Kadmilos devised.”

––––––––––– 40 The reference edition for book 19 of the Dionysiaca is Gerbeau 1992. 41 The parallel is noticed also by Vian 2003, 153.

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This is a digression inside another digression: the story of Pelops inside the excursus about Helen’s five husbands. Pelops is Menelaus’ grandfather and Menelaus is one of Helen’s five husbands. This passage, like the Nonnian one, deals with the myth of Oenomaus, who would challenge the suitors of his daughter Hippodameia to a chariot race contest and kill them if he defeated them. In one version of this myth, Pelops manages to defeat Oenomaus thanks to the help of the charioteer Myrtilus (here defined as “son of Kadmilos”, i.e. of Hermes42), who sabotaged Oenomaus’ chariot, which was, until then, unbeatable (see v. 162: “unholy schemes for slaying a fatherin-law”). Thanks to this ploy, Pelops manages to marry Hippodameia. 43 The word in question, located in emphatic position at the beginning of v. 161, refers to Oenomaus just like in Nonnus, although in Nonnus the reference is conveyed through a hypallage, since the adjective grammatically refers to  . The strongest element supporting the idea of a relationship between Nonnus and Lycophron is the fact that the adjective seems to be an invention of the latter, as it is not attested in any other source. Together with the other probable neologism  "  , it frames the participle š  , 44 emphasizing the concept of murder accomplished by three characters with whom the three words of the verse are to be connected respectively (Oenomaus –  , Pelops – š  , Myrtilus –  "  ). The compound, whose meaning is clarified by the scholia – which also explains how Oenomaus was killed45 – has clearly a narrative value and could have attracted Nonnus’ attention for this reason. As a matter of fact, our author wants to stress the most macabre and reprehensible detail of the mythical episode without narrating it in full, since this is beyond the scope of his work. ––––––––––– 42 This epithet is used by Nonnus in Dion. 4.88. 43 For the sources of this myth and its variants see Fusillo - Hurst - Paduano 1991, 174 and Hurst 2008, 121. 44 Cf. Gigante Lanzara 2000, 217: “l’intento caricaturale trova sfogo nei due neologismi che occupano quasi per intero il verso incorniciando il participio š  .” This is an example of “three-word trimeter”: cf. Marcovich 1984, 163, who notes that “the obscure, oracular style of Lycophron’s Alexandra was just calling for such massive words and emphatic lines, reaching the highest TWT frequency recorded in antiquity (1/24).” 45 Cf. Sch. Tzetzae in Lyc. 161 (Scheer 1908, 76):   }  ˆ ùŸ  – ˆ   ± § § >  e Sch. in Lyc. 161 (Leone 2002, 36): X – † „ ™˜ ˆ ùŸ   – >—    \ ¹>>, ¿ ± ± ¤ £  ¤ †  † ‚  † †  –  – ]”#   \   ± ± ˆ ˆ — †”  † ‚ .

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A second aspect that should be taken into account is the fact that the Lycophronean word occurs in another passage of the Dionysiaca, in the context of the story of Pallene, in book 48 (vv. 217 – 221)46:

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¯  ”# ¦  † ˆ ]#  \  ! #, ¬ "`  `   ] #    , ’ ž" , >[>  †  >"Š#  #.

“I need not tell you of Sithon’s hateful love and your marriage delayed; how he took in hand a murderous blade to kill your wooers, and let you grow old without a taste of Aphrodite, scattered your hopes of a husband and left your bed solitary.”

Just like in the previous passage, it is Dionysus who speaks, addressing the maiden in order to persuade her that the murder of her father Sithon, committed by the god himself before his marriage with her, was an act of justice. The gloomy figure of Sithon is very similar to that of Oenomaus. In fact, just like the latter, because of a perverse and morbid feeling of love for his daughter, he prevented her from marrying by killing her suitors in a wrestling match.47 According to Dionysus, he had to die because he acted as an obstacle to the natural course of life. Here the word   does not refer to Oenomaus, or, better, to Oenomaus’ race, but rather to Sithon’s spear. Nonnus uses this linguistic device to establish a connection between two characters, presenting the myth of Oenomaus as a negative exemplum similar to the story of Pallene, even though in the case of Pallene Dionysus has a solution to offer. In this way, Nonnus creates a network of connections based on the Lycophronean word. In the Alexandra, the adjective underlines Oenomaus’ evil nature and compares it with Pelops’ to emphasize the brutality of one of the Greek commanders, Menelaus, Pelops’ grandson. Inter alia, this Greek commander is also one of Helen’s husbands and Helen is a character strictly linked to the Trojan War. The final message is that evil is a natural characteristic of the Greek people. In the Dionysiaca, the word   has a disparaging power and occurs in two speeches of the protagonist, where he uses it for the same purpose but, of course, in different contexts. In the first case, Dionysus wants to stress the peaceful and carefree nature of the funeral games for Staphylus, which are fully ‘Dionysiac’, by juxtaposing them to the bloody ––––––––––– 46 The reference edition for book 48 of the Dionysiaca is Vian 2003. 47 Cf. vv. 90 – 98. The myth, revisited by Nonnus in a personal way, is narrated by Parthenius of Nicaea: cf. Accorinti 2004, 603 and Lightfoot 1999, 403f.

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competition of Oenomaus. In the second case, he aims at presenting himself as a guarantor of justice, restoring a natural order that had been altered for too long, in the frame of a story that effectively constitutes a doublet of that of Oenomaus. It should also be noted that these are not the only allusions to this myth in the Nonnian poem, 48 but that only in these two passages Nonnus resorts to the term in question. So Nonnus seems to have a precise project in mind or, better, his use of this word reveals his broader intention which starts from Lycophron. In other words, Nonnus uses this term specifically in these passages not only because it is adequate to the needs of his narrative, but also because he wants the reader to dive into the context from which it has been extracted, to enrich the poem with greater complexity. Consequently, I can argue that, through the use of this word, which is likely to be Lycophron’s own coinage, Nonnus stresses the importance of Dionysus’ role in the ‘universal history’ as a guardian of peace and justice, in contrast with the violence represented by the Indians – and the Greeks as depicted in Lycophron’s poem. Here we could also read a wish to refer to Alexander the Great and to the other controversial figures of intermediaries and appeasers celebrated in the final part of the Alexandra.49 Finally, Dionysus’ function as guardian of peace is closely related to his ability to provide comfort in the face of death – in our case of Staphylus’ and Sithon’s death – which is one of his distinctive traits and no doubt an equally important one. 3. Conclusions In both sections of this paper, we saw how Nonnus selected and used a characteristic Lycophronean feature. The first section presented an unusual mythical variant re-elaborated in a similarly paradoxical and grotesque style, while the second section dealt with a word that is likely to be Lycophron’s own coinage and is reused by Nonnus in two contexts that are very similar to each other. However, this paper showed that thematic and linguistic references are tightly interwoven. In fact, when drawing a theme from the Alexandra, Nonnus generally adds linguistic echoes, so that the reader can ––––––––––– 48 Other references to this myth in Dion. 20.154 – 165; 33.294 – 296; 37.138 – 142, 308f. and 428 – 430. 49 On these figures, particularly on that of Alexander the Great, see Amiotti 1984, 113 – 121, who identifies an opposition between this picture of Alexander, recorded by Lycophron, and the Livian tradition, which instead sees the story of Alexander as the failure of the construction of a universal empire, caused by the Romans, and Hurst 1996, 61 – 68, who considers Alexander a mediator.

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recognize the model; and vice versa, when he borrows a word, he transfers it into a context that is highly significant because of its similarity with the original one. In addition, both examples share one and the same aim. Nonnus’ intention seems to be to compare the Indian war with the Trojan War in order to celebrate the winner of the former and his pacifying role, in a strongly agonistic framework. Dionysus’ superiority is highlighted through the contrast with the Lycophronean Greeks, which in Nonnus are represented by the characters of Iphigeneia and Oenomaus, respectively in the catalogue of the Dionysiac forces and in the Dionysiac games for Staphylus (i.e. inside two ‘Dionysiac’ sections of the Indian war). Iphigeneia, as well as Oenomaus in his connection with Pelops, are negative characters who respond to violence with violence, as it is customary in barbaric cultures. Since they prefer war to peace, the Lycophronean Greeks can be equated to Nonnus’ Indians, who refuse to convert to Dionysus. Similarly, Dionysus can be assimilated to the figures that are celebrated in the Alexandra because they break a long chain of death: Alexander the Great and the Romans.50 Indeed, although Alexander is never mentioned in the Dionysiaca, he is implicitly present as a sort of double of Dionysus, as the god owes his literary fortune to him. 51 Furthermore, Romans are explicitly praised in books 3 52 and 4153, and additionally ––––––––––– 50 I would like to remember that the parts of the Alexandra alluding to the Romans are still subject of discussion among scholars. Nowadays most of them think that the entire poem was written by a Lycophron who lived in the 2nd century B.C.: cf., e.g., Hornblower 2015, 36f. and McNelis - Sens 2016, 11. However, Nonnus is likely to have read the Alexandra as we have it and the poem as a whole is the only element to be important for my aims. 51 Cf. Bowersock 1994, 156 – 166. 52 Cf. Dion. 3.188 – 203: ¬  ¤ ¥   ’ Š# | ~   , •  ¼ † |   >  †  [  Š , |    ½> †³> ¥>  ” , | $  §  ˜  „‚Û |  \ š Ë   | #‚ § ] ]  \ § ¡ # |   ,  # " , ¬ ˆ  \ | { , ¬   " , ¼  ¤  | § ˆ  \  Ñ>  \ š _Š> | Ÿ     ]    |   Š  Â’#Û |  \ " † ˜ Û  \ X ˆ ‰"‡ | ¤   Š#   >” ¥  ´ |   ^, • > Š > | Š  >#   > Ì  >. 53 Cf. Dion. 41.389 – 398: § • ½> •  ˆ ~Š, | ô³` } [ ` #’   ¨± |  , '` }  [  ~ %, | „

#  " # †\ % | "Š !   >’ ¡ Û | \ –      ½  ’” | Ÿ’ >  , ¥ [ | '>ˆ      ’ |    „¤  \ ,   Ò % | ¥ >³  ,   ¥ >.

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through prophecies. Since scholars have argued that these references to the Romans can be interpreted as references to the Eastern Empire54, I can say that the present study sheds light on the Nonnian attempt to connect his poem and the universal mission of its god to history. In short, the use of Lycophron’s poem seems functional to the aforementioned opposition, which is designed to celebrate Dionysus, passing through Alexander the Great, and, ultimately, the Eastern Empire. From a metaliterary perspective, I can argue that Nonnus’ choices are not simply motivated by a wish to change traditional Homeric epics according to  , but also to distinguish from Homeric epics with an epic that is uniquely Dionysiac and is the perfect manifestation of its protagonist. In other words, Nonnus distinguishes from Homer with Dionysus resorting to Lycophron. References Accorinti, D., ed. (2004), Nonno di Panopoli. Le Dionisiache, introduzione, traduzione e commento, vol. IV (canti XL – XLVIII), testo greco a fronte (BUR, Classici greci e latini), Milano. Agosti, G. (2006), La voce dei libri: dimensioni performative dell’epica greca tardoantica, in: E. Amato, A. Roduit and M. Steinrück (edd.), Approaches de la Troisième Sophistiques. Hommages à J. Schamp, Bruxelles: 33 – 60. Amiotti, G. (1984), Alessandro Magno e il mito troiano in Licofrone e nella tradizione occidentale, in: M. Sordi (ed.), Alessandro Magno tra storia e mito, Milano: 113 – 121. Bernabé, A., ed. (21996), Poetae epici Graeci. Testimonia et fragmenta, pars I (Bibliotheca scriptorum Graecorum et Romanorum Teubneriana), Stuttgart - Leipzig. Bowersock, G. (1994), Dionysus as an Epic Hero, in: N. Hopkinson (ed.), Studies in the Dionysiaca of Nonnus, Cambridge: 156 – 166. Ciaceri, E., ed. (1901), La Alessandra di Licofrone. Testo, traduzione e commento, Catania. Cusset, C. and Linant de Bellefonds, P. (2014), La figure très hellénistique d’Iphigénie dans l’Alexandra de Lycophron... Quels parallèles dans l’iconographie ? Aitia 4: 1 – 34 (http:// journals.openedition.org/aitia/849, viewed 16.07.2018). Cusset, C. and Prioux, É., edd. (2009), Lycophron. Éclats d’obscurité, actes du colloque international de Lyon et Saint-Étienne, 18 – 20 janvier 2007 (Mémoires. Centre Jean Palerne 33), Saint-Étienne. De Stefani, C. and Magnelli, E. (2009), Lycophron in Byzantine Poetry (and Prose), in: Cusset - Prioux 2009: 593 – 620. Fantuzzi, M. (2012), Achilles in Love. Intertextual Studies, Oxford. Fusillo, M., Hurst, A., and Paduano, G., edd. (1991), Licofrone. Alessandra (Biblioteca letteraria 10), Milano. Gantz, T. (1993), Early Greek Myth. A Guide to Literary and Artistic Sources, Baltimore London. ––––––––––– 54 Cf., e.g., Mazza 2010, 145 – 163.

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Gerbeau, J., ed. (1992), Nonnos de Panopolis. Les Dionysiaques, tom. VII: chants XVIII – XIX, texte établi et traduit (Collection des universités de France Série grecque, Collection Budé 347), Paris. Gigante Lanzara, V. (1997), I vaticini di Cassandra e l’interpretazione trasgressiva del mito. SCO 45: 85 – 98. Gigante Lanzara, V., ed. (2000), Licofrone. Alessandra, testo greco a fronte (BUR, Classici greci e latini), Milano. Gonnelli, F., ed. (2003), Nonno di Panopoli. Le Dionisiache, introduzione, traduzione e commento, vol. II: canti XIII – XXIV, testo greco a fronte (BUR, Classici greci e latini), Milano. González Senmartí, A. (1981), La  como principio estilístico de las Dionisíacas de Nono. AFB 7: 101 – 107. Guilleux, N. (2009), La fabrique des hapax et des prôton legomena dans l’Alexandra. Entre connivence et criptage, in: Cusset - Prioux 2009: 221 – 236. Hernández de la Fuente, D. (2008), La Alejandra de Licofrón en la Biblioteca Universitaria de Salamanca. RPL (Suplemento Monográfico “Tradición Clásica y Universidad”) 34: 3 – 13. Hornblower, S., ed. (2015), Lykophron. Alexandra, Greek Text, Translation, Commentary, and Introduction, Oxford. Hughes, D. D. (1991), Human Sacrifice in Ancient Greece, London - New York. Hurst, A. (1996), Alexandre médiateur dans l’Alexandra de Lycophron, in: M. Bridges and J. Ch. Bürgel (edd.), The Problematics of Power. Eastern and Western Representations of Alexander the Great (Schweizer asiatische Studien, Monographien 22), Bern: 61 – 68; reprinted in: Hurst, A., ed. (2012), Sur Lycophron, Genève: 59 – 67. Hurst, A., ed. (2008), Lycophron. Alexandra, texte établi, traduit et annoté, en collaboration avec A. Kolde (Collection des universités de France Série grecque, Collection Budé 468), Paris. Leone, P. L. M., ed. (2002), Scholia vetera et paraphrases in Lycophronis Alexandram, Galatina (Lecce). Lightfoot, J. L. (1999). Parthenius of Nicaea. The Poetic Fragments and the Erotika Pathemata, Oxford. Marandino, A. (2014), Uccisioni sacrificali e rappresentazioni del grottesco nell’Alessandra di Licofrone. La parola e l’immagine (1). Aitia 4: 1 – 28 (http://journals.openedition.org/ aitia/1041, viewed 16.07.2018). Marcovich, M. (1984), Three-Word Trimeter in Greek Tragedy, Königstein. Mari, M. (2009), Cassandra e le altre. Riti di donne nell’Alessandra di Licofrone, in: CussetPrioux 2009: 405 – 440. Mazza, D. (2010), ¡ÂÀ ¦ùÀÀ. L’impero romano nelle “Dionisiache” di Nonno di Panopoli (III 188 – 201, 358 – 371 e XLI 155 – 184, 387 – 399). RCCM 52: 145 – 163. McNelis, C. and Sens, A. (2016), The Alexandra of Lycophron. A Literary Study, Oxford. Rouse, W. H. D. (1940), Nonnos. Dionysiaca, Mythological Introduction and Notes by H. J. Rose, and Notes on Text Criticism by L. R. Lind, 3 vols. (The Loeb Classical Library 344, 354, 356), London. Sbardella, L. (2009), L’Alessandra di Licofrone come esperimento di un genere epico-tragico. Alcune considerazioni generali. SemRom 12: 37 – 60. Scheer, E., ed. (1908), Lycophronis Alexandra, vol. II scholia continens, Berolini.

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Schmiel, R. (1998), The Style of Nonnos’ Dionysiaca. The Rape of Europa (1.45 – 136) and the Battle at the Hydaspes (22.1 – 24.143). RhM 141: 393 – 406. Schulze, J. F. (1973), Die Iphigenie-Geschichte bei Nonnos. ZAnt 23: 23 – 27. Sistakou, E. (2012), The Aesthetics of Darkness. A Study of Hellenistic Romanticism in Apollonius, Lycophron and Nicander, Leuven. Vian, F., ed. (1995), Nonnos de Panopolis. Les Dionysiaques, tom. V: Chants XI – XIII, texte établi et traduit (Collection des universités de France Série grecque, Collection Budé 370), Paris. Vian, F., ed. (2003), Nonnos de Panopolis. Les Dionysiaques, tom. XVIII: chant XLVIII, texte établi et traduit (Collection des universités de France Série grecque, Collection Budé 425), Paris. Wilamowitz-Moellendorff, U. von (1883), Die beiden Elektren. Hermes 18: 214 – 263; reprinted in Wilamowitz-Moellendorff, U. von, (1972), Kleine Schriften VI, Berlin Amsterdam: 161 – 208. Zoroddu, D. (1997), Un pesce di nome œ . Storia di un prestito eschileo in Nonno di Panopoli e altre esperienze intertestuali, in: Mazzoli, G. (ed.), Discentibus obvius. Omaggio degli allievi a Domenico Magnino, Como: 127 – 142.

WIENER STUDIEN, Beiheft 41, 149 – 164 © 2020 by Österreichische Akademie der Wissenschaften Wien

NICOLE KRÖLL

Reshaping Iliad and Odyssey. The Cyclopes in Nonnus’ Dionysiaca Point of Departure and Goals The focus of the present study lies on the question of how the poet from Panopolis deals with his literary model Homer and how he handles the vast epic tradition for which the Homeric poems, throughout the centuries, have been both the starting point and the culminating centre. Looking at the rather scarce work that has already been done on the Nonno-Homeric relations, 1 the goal of an analysis of Homeric influence on Nonnus is twofold. First, highlighting the techniques of the reception of Homer as the archegetes of epic poetry traces the evolution of this genre back to its roots and accounts for a deeper understanding of the Homeric original itself, which keeps being mirrored in poetry throughout the centuries. Secondly, tracing the Homeric influence on Nonnus promises to provide a deeper insight into the highly conservative nature of ancient literature and artistic forms of expression in general. In other words, a deeper understanding of Nonnus’ poetical means sketches the outline of the late antique conception of poetry, which is constantly circling around the anchor of Homer, even (or rather particularly) when the author in question intentionally deviates from the ‘classic’ ––––––––––– 1 Some groundwork has been done in Nonno-Homeric research: notably the introductory remarks and commentaries on relevant text passages in the Budé edition of the Dionysiaca initiated and fostered by Francis Vian (Vian et al. 1976 – 2006), as well as various individual contributions in theme issues and companions on Nonnus: Hopkinson 1994, Bannert - Kröll 2016 and a paper by Gianfranco Agosti and Enrico Magnelli on Homeric Nonnus in vol. 1 of the forthcoming Brill’s Companion to the Reception of Homer (Agosti - Magnelli, forthcoming). Especially the books of Robert Shorrock, notably The Challenge of Epic (Shorrock 2001), deal with the Homeric frame of the Nonnian oeuvre and successfully demonstrate intertextual relations within characteristic epic stock elements. Whereas Nonnian researchers rely on the vast field of Homeric studies and take these as a starting point for their own works on the late antique poet, Homeric research refers rather scarcely to Nonnus and detailed analysis of Nonno-Homeric relations are nowhere to be found.

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Homeric archetype. For the aim of this paper, I will take a closer look at one particular passage in the Dionysiaca in order to demonstrate Nonnus’ literary technique of mapping ‘typical’ Homeric scenes and characters within his distinctive Dionysian setting. Homer’s Cyclopes In the context of the battle description at the beginning of book 28, the Cyclopes are introduced as military supporters of the Dionysian troops. 2 The famous Homeric Polyphemus, who most prominently appears in book 9 of the Odyssey when encountering Ulysses and his companions, 3 is not to be found here. Apart from book 9, Polyphemus is characterized also in other passages of the Odyssey: right at the beginning of the epic in Od. 1.69 – 71 KHLVGHVFULEHGDVWKHVWURQJHVWRIDOO&\FORSHV੖Ƞȣ țȡȐIJȠȢਥıIJ੿ȝȑȖȚıIJȠȞ_ ʌ઼ıȚȞ ȀȣțȜȫʌİııȚ Od. 1.70f.) and in book 10 as violent and menGHYRXULQJȀȪțȜȦʌȩȢIJİȕȓȘȢȝİȖĮȜȒIJȠȡȠȢਕȞįȡȠijȐȖȠȚȠOd. 10.200). The Cyclopes in general are mentioned together with the Giants in Od. ੮Ȣ ʌİȡ ȀȪțȜȦʌȑȢ IJİ țĮ੿ ਙȖȡȚĮ ij૨ȜĮ īȚȖȐȞIJȦȞ  DQG EHFDXVH RI WKHLU VXSHrKXPDQ VWUHQJWK DUH ODEHOOHG DV ³H[FHHGLQJO\ PDQO\´ ਕȖȤȠ૨ ȀȣțȜȫʌȦȞ ਕȞįȡ૵Ȟ ਫ਼ʌİȡȘȞȠȡİȩȞIJȦȞ Od. 6.5) and “overbearing´ ȀȣțȜȫʌȦȞ į¶ ਥȢ ȖĮ૙ĮȞਫ਼ʌİȡijȚȐȜȦȞਕșİȝȓıIJȦȞOd. 9.106). Apart from the prominent feature of Polyphemus in the Odyssey, it is indeed striking that there is no evidence whatsoever of the Cyclopes and Polyphemus either in the Iliad or in the Homeric Hymns. Thus, the Homeric Cyclopes are exclusively transmitted through Ulysses’ encounter with Polyphemus and their Odyssean context in general. This is of particular interest when analyzing Nonnus’ transformation of the Cyclopes in his Dionysiaca, because he seems to ignore the Homeric setting when inserting them as characters into his Dionysian narrative. The fact that Polyphemus, the most prominent of all Cyclopes, does not appear as an acting character throughout the whole epic, but is rather referred to and imagined by other characters, is, as I would like to argue, an intentional strategy of our poet.

––––––––––– 2 Vian 1990, 186f. n. 1 highlights the fact that only in Nonnus the Cyclopes are fighting on Dionysus’ side against the Indians. 3 For the different mythical traditions about the Cyclopes – Homeric Polyphemus and Ulysses, Hellenistic Polyphemus and Galatea, the forging Cyclopes and Zeus – cf. Roscher 1890 – 1894; Eitrem 1922, 2332 – 2336; Touchefeu-Meynier 1992, 154f.; Walde 1999; Käppel 2001; Seaford 42012; Moraw 2020, 19 – 54.

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Cyclopes in the Dionysiaca: the Catalogue of Dionysian Troops in Book 14 and the Battle in Book 28 Let us now take a closer look at the Dionysiaca. At first, Nonnus shows the Cyclopes in a setting that differs strongly from the context that his readers are familiar with, given their knowledge of the Homeric texts. Instead of inserting the well-known character of Polyphemus as one of the main antagonists to the hero or instead of just mentioning the Cyclopes merely as a group, our poet brings together different kinds of traditions concerning the one-eyed giants. In the Dionysiaca the Cyclopes appear, primarily, as fighters in the Iliadic context of Dionysus’ war against the Indians: they are part of the catalogue of Dionysian troops in book 14 and presented among Dionysus’ co-fighters in battle (Dion. 14.52 – 66): 4

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65

ȀȣțȜઆʌȦȞį੻ij੺ȜĮȖȖİȢਥʌ੼ȡȡİȠȞāੰȞਥȞ੿Ȥ੺ȡȝૉ Ȥİȡı੿ȞਕșȦȡ੾țIJȠȚıȚȞਕțȠȞIJ઀ȗȠȞIJȠțȠȜ૵ȞĮȚ ਩ȖȤİĮʌİIJȡ੾İȞIJĮțĮ੿ਕıʌ઀įİȢ਷ıĮȞਥȡ઀ʌȞĮȚ țĮ੿ıțȠʌȚ੽ȜȠijંİııĮȤĮȡĮįȡĮ઀Șʌ੼Ȝİʌ੾ȜȘȟ țĮ੿ȈȚțİȜȠ੿ıʌȚȞșોȡİȢ਩ıĮȞijȜȠȖંİȞIJİȢੑȚıIJȠ઀ Į੿ı੼ȜĮȢĮੁș઄ııȠȞIJİȢਥș੾ȝȠȞȠȢਥıȤĮȡİ૵ȞȠȢ ʌȣȡıȠijંȡȠȚȢʌĮȜ੺ȝૉıȚȞਥșȦȡ੾ııȠȞIJȠȝĮȤȘIJĮ઀ ǺȡંȞIJȘȢIJİȈIJİȡંʌȘȢIJİțĮ੿Ǽ੝ȡ઄ĮȜȠȢțĮ੿ਫȜĮIJȡİ઄Ȣ ਡȡȖȘȢIJİȉȡĮȤ઀ȠȢIJİțĮ੿Į੝Ȥ੾İȚȢਞȜȚȝ੾įȘȢ ਝȜȜ੹IJંıȠȢțĮ੿IJȠ૙ȠȢਥȜİ઀ʌİIJȠȝȠ૨ȞȠȢਥȞȣȠ૨Ȣ ਕȖȤȚȞİij੽ȢȆȠȜ઄ijȘȝȠȢ ਕʌંıʌȠȡȠȢਫȞȞȠıȚȖĮ઀Ƞȣ ੖IJIJȚȝȚȞਫ਼ȖȡȠț੼ȜİȣșȠȢਥȡ੾IJȣİȞĮ੝IJંșȚȝ઀ȝȞİȚȞ ਙȜȜȠȢ਩ȡȦȢʌȠȜ੼ȝȠȚȠijȚȜĮ઀IJİȡȠȢāİੁıȠȡંȦȞȖ੺ȡ ਲȝȚijĮȞોīĮȜ੺IJİȚĮȞਥʌ੼țIJȣʌİȖİ઀IJȠȞȚʌંȞIJ૳ ȞȣȝijȚį઀ૉı઄ȡȚȖȖȚȤ੼ȦȞijȚȜȠʌ੺ȡșİȞȠȞ਱Ȥઆ

“Battalions of Cyclopians came like flood. In battle, these with weaponless hands cast hills for their stony spears, and their shields were cliffs; (55) a peak from some mountain-ravine was their crested helmet, Sicilian sparks were their fiery arrows. They went into battle holding burning brands and blazing with light from the forge they knew so well – Brontes and Steropes, Euryalos and Elatreus, (60) Arges and Trachios and proud Halimedes. One alone was left behind from the war, Polyphemos, tall as the clouds, so mighty and so great, the Earthshaker’s own son; he was kept in his place by another love, dearer than war, under the watery ways, for he had seen (65) Galateia half-hidden, and made the neighbouring sea resound as he poured out his love for a maiden in the wooing tones of his pipes.” (transl. Rouse 1940, vol. 1, 477) ––––––––––– 4 The Greek text of all Nonnian passages cited follows the Budé edition of Francis Vian et al., the English translations are taken from Rouse 1940.

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What is particularly noteworthy concerning this passage is the fact that the Cyclopes are introduced as rather unconventional fighters due to their use of unusual weaponry. They are said to move into battle “with weaponless hands´ Ȥİȡı੿Ȟ ਕșȦȡ੾țIJȠȚıȚȞ Dion. 14.53)5 and “cast hills for their VWRQ\ VSHDUV´ ਕțȠȞIJ઀ȗȠȞIJȠ țȠȜ૵ȞĮȚ _ ਩ȖȤİĮ ʌİIJȡ੾İȞIJĮ Dion. 14.53f.). In DGGLWLRQ WKH\ PDNH XVH RI FUDJV DQG FOLIIV DV GHIHQVLYH ZHDSRQV ਕıʌ઀įİȢ ਷ıĮȞਥȡ઀ʌȞĮȚDion. 14.54) and fiery sparks serve as their arrows against the HQHPLHVȈȚțİȜȠ੿ıʌȚȞșોȡİȢ਩ıĮȞijȜȠȖંİȞIJİȢੑȚıIJȠ઀Dion. 14.56). Furthermore, it is made explicit through a list of names within the text that all Cyclopes are present with the conspicuous exception of Polyphemus, the only Cyclops who comes out of the Homeric poems as an individual character (Dion. 14.61 – 66). This exception plays a vital role not only for the reception of the Cyclopes as mythical figures but also for Nonnus’ reflection on epic poetry in general. Precisely in this uncommon configuration, they reappear at the beginning of book 28 where they take part in the fight of the Dionysian troops against the Indians (Dion. 28.172 – 271). Here, Nonnus presents a selection of individual Cyclopes who are familiar to the reader from the aforementioned passage in book 14. By singling them out and calling them by name, Nonnus assigns to them a decisive role as Dionysus’ co-fighters and designs a QDUUDWLYHFRQWH[WIRUWKHP7KHUHLV$UJLOLSRVWKH³EULJKW´RQHਕȡȖ੾Ȣ ZKR literally fights with fire against his foes (Dion. 28.172 – 186), Steropes, “the lightener”, who uses fire from Sicily (Dion. 28.187 – 194), and Brontes, the “thunderer” (Dion. 28.195 – 237), who attacks his opponents with thunder and rain. As their names (which are part of Nonnus’ pervasive etymologizing strategy) 6 already imply, the Cyclopes act exactly as their mythical nature would suggest and, once again, Nonnus amuses himself and his readers by rearranging the epic context through the incorporation of unorthodox and unexpected topics that usually do not belong to the traditional epic style. Nonnus continues his passage on the fighting Cyclopes with a close up on individual pairs of fighters as well as on actions performed by the Cyclopes as a group. Brontes threats Deriades, the Indian leader himself, by throwing a lump of rock towards him and making him miserably fall off his elephant (Dion. 28.195 – 232). A group of other Cyclopes appear as big as a mountain ––––––––––– 5 The Nonnian adjective ਕșઆȡȘțIJȠȢ with the meaning “without breastplate or body armour” (LSJ) is found outside the Dionysiaca only in Cyril of Alexandria, e.g. in De sancta trinitate dialogi 424.20; cf. also Gerlaud 1994, 25 n. 1. 6 For this literary technique concerning the Cyclopes see Gigli Piccardi 1985, 140 – 142 and Vian 1990, 160f.

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and pushes back the Indians to the coastline (Trachios, Elatreus, Euryalos in Dion. 28.238 – 250). And Halimedes, after having thrown a rock against Phlogios and Deriades, kills 12 Indian fighters by means of one single yell (Dion. 28.251 – HVSįઆįİțĮij૵IJĮȢ਩ʌİijȞİȝȚોȢȝȣț੾ȝĮIJȚijȦȞોȢDion. 28.272). To close the scene, Nonnus moves to the Olympic realm, where the gods take notice of the ongoing furious fight that is taking place down on earth (Dion. 28.268 – 271). In the subsequent narration of the Indian war the Cyclopes also take part in the naval battle of book 39, where they are seen again throwing rocks, this time on the ships of their opponents (Dion. 39.218 – 221). The narrative context for the fighting Cyclopes is clearly Iliadic and, thus, Nonnus follows a specific literary strategy: when selecting the Cyclopes (who have no distinctive features within the Homeric poems, with the obvious exception of Polyphemus who is actually not present in Nonnus) and when putting them in an unmistakable Iliadic context, our late antique poet shows his impressive skills at creating ‘Homeric style’ poetry by actually crafting something that is entirely non-Homeric. Hesiod’s Cyclopes The Cyclopes are also known as the mythical forgers of Zeus’ thunderbolts, a tradition that cannot be found in Homer but can be traced back to Hesiod. 7 In his Theogony, Hesiod presents the Cyclopes as sons of Gaia and Uranus and calls them by the same names used by Nonnus (Hes. Th. 139 – 146): 140

145

īİ઀ȞĮIJȠįૅĮ੣Ȁ઄țȜȦʌĮȢਫ਼ʌ੼ȡȕȚȠȞ਷IJȠȡ਩ȤȠȞIJĮȢ ǺȡંȞIJȘȞIJİȈIJİȡંʌȘȞIJİțĮ੿ਡȡȖȘȞੑȕȡȚȝંșȣȝȠȞ, Ƞ੄ǽȘȞ੿ȕȡȠȞIJ੾ȞIJİįંıĮȞIJİ૨ȟ੺ȞIJİțİȡĮȣȞંȞ ȅੂį੾IJȠȚIJ੹ȝ੻ȞਙȜȜĮșİȠ૙ȢਥȞĮȜ઀ȖțȚȠȚ਷ıĮȞ ȝȠ૨ȞȠȢįૅੑijșĮȜȝઁȢȝ੼ıı૳ਥȞ੼țİȚIJȠȝİIJઆʌ૳· Ȁ઄țȜȦʌİȢįૅ੕ȞȠȝૅ਷ıĮȞਥʌઆȞȣȝȠȞȠ੢ȞİțૅਙȡĮıij੼ȦȞ țȣțȜȠIJİȡ੽ȢੑijșĮȜȝઁȢਪİȚȢਥȞ੼țİȚIJȠȝİIJઆʌ૳ā ੁıȤઃȢIJૅ਱į੻ȕ઀ȘțĮ੿ȝȘȤĮȞĮ੿਷ıĮȞਥʌૅ਩ȡȖȠȚȢ

“And again she bore the proud-hearted Cyclopes Thunderer, Lightner, and Whitebolt stern of spirit, who gave Zeus his thunder and forged his thunderbolt. In other respects they were like gods, but a single eye lay in the middle of their forehead; they had the surname of Circle-eyes ––––––––––– 7 For a brief reference on Nonnus’ technique of merging Homeric and Hesiodic traditions on the Cyclopes see Gerlaud 1994, 4f. and 178f. on vv. 59/60, and on the tradition concerning the forging Cyclopes cf. Gerlaud 1994, 178 on vv. 52 – 58.

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because of this one circular eye that lay on their forehead. And strength and force and resource were upon their works.” (transl. West 1988, 7)

Brontes, Steropes and Arges, huge like gods but one-H\HG ȝȠ૨ȞȠȢ įૅ ੑijșĮȜȝઁȢȝ੼ıı૳ਥȞ੼țİȚIJȠȝİIJઆʌ૳+HVTh. 143), are described as the forgers RI =HXV¶ WKXQGHUEROWV DQG IXOO RI VWUHQJWK DQG FUDIWVPDQVKLS ੁıȤઃȢ IJૅ ਱į੻ ȕ઀ȘțĮ੿ȝȘȤĮȞĮ੿਷ıĮȞਥʌૅ਩ȡȖȠȚȢ+HV Th. 146). In order to emphasize their divine descent from Gaia and their extraordinary might, they are mentioned together with the Giants Kottos, Briareos and Gyes, monsters with 100 arms and 20 heads (Hes. Th. 147 – 160), who are also identified as Gaia’s sons hated by their father Uranus. The tradition of these three Hesiodean Cyclopes can be found in various other sources: in the Bibliotheca of Pseudo-Apollodorus (I 1.1f.), 8 in one fragment of the Orphic writings (Orph. fr. 13.30ff. Diels - Kranz = 82F Bernabé), in the etymological explanations for their descriptive names in fragment 118 of Zeno’s commentary on Hesiod’s Theogony 9, and in the Pseudo-Nonnian commentary on Gregory of Nazianzus’ orations (Ps.-Nonn. 4.76.17 – 21). 10 There the Cyclopes are characterized as the personal helpers of Zeus in his battle against the ‘Gigantes’. Steropes and Brontes appear as successful soldiers of the gods while Zeus uses thunder and lightning against the usurpers (Ps.-Nonn. 4.76.18  ਲ਼ȈIJİȡંʌȘȞțĮ੿ǺȡંȞIJȘȞIJȠઃȢȤĮȜțİ઄ȠȞIJĮȢIJ૶ǻȚ੿IJ੽ȞȕȡંȞIJȘȞțĮ੿IJ੽ȞਕıIJȡĮʌ੾ȞțĮ੿IJȠઃȢțİȡĮȣȞȠ઄Ȣ As a first result it can be concluded that, with the presentation of the fighting Cyclopes, Nonnus aims at presenting himself as the legitimate heir and successor of the epic tradition going back to Homer and Hesiod. In merging the three Hesiodean Cyclopes with the Iliadic context our poet draws a connecting line from his literary antecedents to his own time. Iliadic and Odyssean Cyclopes in Nonnus The atypically Homeric frame with the Cyclopes as protagonists of an Iliadic-style battle is further developed through a series of allusions to particular narrative models, which are specific to single events or individual characters within the Iliad. In this respect, I would like to expand on Robert Shorrock’s commentary on the beginning of book 28, who, in his book The ––––––––––– 8 This source not only contains the same three names – Arges, Steropes and Brontes – but also associates them with the three Giants. 9 See von Arnim 1905/2004, 34 ad loc. 10 See Nimmo Smith 1992, 147.

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Challenge of Epic, overlooked a series of small but significant narrative details and saw, at this point of the narrative, “little specific Homeric resonance”. 11 On the contrary, as the following analysis will demonstrate, a special ‘Iliadic flavour’ can be recognized in two of the Cyclopes. In his fight against Brontes in Dion. 28.218 – 220, Deriades falls off his chariot like a fir tree when he is hit by the lump of rock, a scene that is comparable to those in which, respectively, Simoeisios is killed by Ajax in book 4 and Asios is killed by Idomeneus in book 13 of the Iliad (Hom. Il. 4.482 – 487 and 13.389 – 391):

220

ਹİȡંșİȞʌȡȠț੺ȡȘȞȠȢਕʌૅ਱ȜȚȕ੺IJȠȣʌ੼ıİį઀ijȡȠȣ ੪ȢਥȜ੺IJȘʌİȡ઀ȝİIJȡȠȢਫ਼ʌ੼ȡȜȠijȠȢਸ਼IJİʌİıȠ૨ıĮ ਙıʌİIJȠȞİ੝ȡİ઀ȘȢʌİȡȚį੼įȡȠȝİțંȜʌȠȞਕȡȠ઄ȡȘȢ

“He fell down headlong out of his lofty car like a tall highcrested firtree, which falling (220) encompasses a vast space of wide earth.” (transl. Rouse 1940, vol. 2, 361)

Like the episode with Deriades in the Dionysiaca, the scene with Simoeisios in the Iliad contains a fall that is compared to that of a tree when it gets cut off (cf. ੕ijȡĮ੅IJȣȞț੺ȝȥૉʌİȡȚțĮȜȜ੼ȧį઀ijȡ૳, Hom. Il. 4.486). This image is used again to describe the fate of Asios, now lying dead next to his own chariot (cf. ਵȡȚʌİ įĩ` ੪Ȣ ੖IJİ IJȚȢ įȡ૨Ȣ ਵȡȚʌİȞ ਲ਼ ਕȤİȡȦ૗Ȣ _ ਱੻ ʌ઀IJȣȢ ȕȜȦșȡ੾ Hom. Il. 13.389f., and ੬Ȣ ੔ ʌȡȩıșૅ ੆ʌʌȦȞ țĮ੿ įȓijȡȠȣ țİ૙IJȠ IJĮȞȣıșİ઀Ȣ +RP Il. 13.392). These details can be interpreted as Nonnus’ deliberate play with his poetic model: in drawing a parallel between the fates of Simoeisios and Asios and that of the Indian leader, he hints at Deriades impending defeat by the hand of Dionysus at the end of the Indian war. Here Nonnus goes even one step further in his playful Homeric reference: the fact that Deriades is hit by a rock is a reference not only to Iliadic themes but also to the Odyssean Polyphemus who tries to hit the fleeing Ulysses and his companions (Hom. Od. 9.537 – 540). 12 This textual relation shows Nonnus’ technique of reworking Homer freely, in this case by multiplying the theme of Polyphemus introducing a whole group of rock-throwing Cyclopes. Moreover, by making Deriades (Dionysus’ enemy) the target of the rocks, Nonnus reverses the narrative function of the Cyclop(e)s: in the Odyssey, Polyphemus is the quintessential antagonist, in the Dionysiaca, the Cyclopes fight on the side of the hero. ––––––––––– 11 Shorrock 2001, 73. 12 Cf. Vian 1990, 325f. on vv. 222 – 225.

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Furthermore, one may add to the list of Homeric references the physical appearance of Brontes resembling that of Odyssean Polyphemus when being described as a one-eyed giant who is terrifying the Indian fighters (Dion. 28.225 – 227):13 225

ȂોțȠȢ਩ȤȦȞੁıંȝİIJȡȠȞਕİȡıȚȜંijȠȣȆȠȜȣij੾ȝȠȣ țĮ੿ȕȜȠıȣȡȠ૨ʌȡȠȝ੺ȤȠȚȠȝ੼ı૳ıİȜ੺ȖȚȗİȝİIJઆʌ૳ ȝĮȡȝĮȡȣȖ੽IJȡȠȤંİııĮȝȠȞȠȖȜ੾ȞȠȚȠʌȡȠıઆʌȠȣ

“He was as tall as highcrested Polyphemus. In the middle of this grim champion’s forehead glared the light of one single round eye.” (transl. Rouse 1940, vol. 2, 363)

/LNHZLVHWKH&\FORSV+DOLPHGHVZLWK³KLVJUHDWURXQGH\H´ʌȡȠıઆʌȠȣ_ țȣțȜ੺įȠȢDion. 28.259f.), throws a rock against Phlogios, who manages to take flight to Deriades’ chariot (Dion. 28.251 – 267). This scene is very likely to remind the reader of the scene in the Odyssey where Polyphemus casts off several lumps of rock against Ulysses and his companions who are taking off to continue their journey (Hom. Od. 9.481f.): ੀțİįૅਕʌȠȡȡ੾ȟĮȢțȠȡȣij੽Ȟ੕ȡİȠȢȝİȖ੺ȜȠȚȠ ț੹įįૅ਩ȕĮȜİʌȡȠʌ੺ȡȠȚࢡİȞİઁȢțȣĮȞȠʌȡ૴ȡȠȚȠ “And [he] broke off the peak of a high mountain and hurled it at us, and it fell a little in front of the dark-prowed ship.” (transl. Murray 11919/21995, 351)

and again (Hom. Od. 9.537 – 540):

540

ǹ੝IJ੹ȡ੖ȖૅਥȟĮ૨IJȚȢʌȠȜઃȝİ઀ȗȠȞĮȜ઼ĮȞਕİ઀ȡĮȢ ਸțૅਥʌȚįȚȞ੾ıĮȢਥʌ੼ȡİȚıİį੻ੇȞૅਕʌ੼ȜİࢡȡȠȞ ț੹įįૅ਩ȕĮȜİȞȝİIJંʌȚıࢡİȞİઁȢțȣĮȞȠʌȡ૴ȡȠȚȠ IJȣIJࢡંȞਥįİ઄ȘıİȞįૅȠੁ੾ȧȠȞਙțȡȠȞੂț੼ıࢡĮȚ

“But the Cyclops lifted up again a far greater stone, and swung and hurled it, putting into the throw infinite strength. He threw it a little behind the dark-prowed ship, (540) and barely missed the end of the steering-oar.” (transl. Murray 11919/21995, 355)

Furthermore, the theme of the rock-throwing Cyclopes is resumed in book 39 where they are casting rocks against Indian ships in the naval battle (Dion. 39.218 – 221):

220

ȀȣțȜઆʌȦȞį੻ij੺ȜĮȖȖİȢਥȞĮȣIJ઀ȜȜȠȞIJȠșĮȜ੺ııૉ ੒Ȝț੺įĮȢਕȖȤȚ੺ȜȠȚıȚȞੑȚıIJİ઄ȠȞIJİȢਥȡ઀ʌȞĮȚȢā Ǽ੝ȡ઄ĮȜȠȢįĩ ਕȜ੺ȜĮȗİȞਖȜȚȡȡȠ઀ȗ૳į੻țȣįȠȚȝ૶ ਕȖȤȚȞİij੽ȢȠ੅ıIJȡȘıİȞਥȢਫ਼ıȝ઀ȞȘȞਞȜȚȝ੾įȘȢ

––––––––––– 13 Cf. Vian 1990, 162.

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“Troops of Cyclopians navigated the sea, showering rocks from the shore upon the ships; Euryalos shouted the watery, and Halimedes high as the sky dashed raging into battle with brineblustering tumult.” (transl. Rouse 1940, vol. 3, 139)

The special Odyssean flavour of the Nonnian passage in book 28 is further intensified through the characterization of the Cyclops Halimedes who, unlike his counterpart Polyphemus, actually manages to escape a flying arrow launched by Phlogios. Moreover, he makes use of his raucous voice to beat 12 Indian opponents with one single yell (Dion. 28.270 – 273). 14 Here, Nonnus not only embeds the Cyclopes into both an Iliadic and Odyssean framework, but also inserts further distinctive motives. In addition, the Iliadic connotation is reinforced by placing the scene with the Cyclopes into a greater Iliadic setting: a presentation and detailed description of the characteristic types of Dionysian weapons in vv. 7 – 34 of book 28 is followed by the battle between the Dionysian and Indian troops in vv. 35 – 44, which includes a number of duels (Dion. 28.45 – 95) and ends up in the extensively narrated aristeia of the Indian fighter Corymbasus (Dion. 28.96 – 171). Together with the fighting Cyclopes, these battle scenes are to be seen as a precise and accurate re-modelling of corresponding Iliadic fighting scenes. The Hellenistic Cyclops Nonnus’ engagement with his forerunners can be further grasped by examining his way of incorporating the famous figure of Polyphemus into his Dionysian poetics. The physical absence of Polyphemus during the whole narration of the Dionysiaca is made explicit in the catalogue of Dionysian troops in book 14 (Dion. 14.61 – 66):

65

ਝȜȜ੹IJંıȠȢțĮ੿IJȠ૙ȠȢਥȜİ઀ʌİIJȠȝȠ૨ȞȠȢਥȞȣȠ૨Ȣ ਕȖȤȚȞİij੽ȢȆȠȜ઄ijȘȝȠȢਕʌંıʌȠȡȠȢµȞȞȠıȚȖĮ઀Ƞȣ ੖IJIJȚȝȚȞਫ਼ȖȡȠț੼ȜİȣșȠȢਥȡ੾IJȣİȞĮ੝IJંșȚȝ઀ȝȞİȚȞ ਙȜȜȠȢ਩ȡȦȢʌȠȜ੼ȝȠȚȠijȚȜĮ઀IJİȡȠȢǜİੁȠȡંȦȞȖ੺ȡ ਲȝȚijĮȞોīĮȜ੺IJİȚĮȞਥʌ੼țIJȣʌİȖİ઀IJȠȞȚʌંȞIJ૳ ȞȣȝijȚį઀ૉı઄ȡȚȖȖȚȤ੼ȦȞijȚȜȠʌ੺ȡșİȞȠȞ਱Ȥઆ

––––––––––– 14 (…) ȠIJ੼ȦȞ į੻ ʌİȡ੿ ĭȜȠȖ઀ȠȚȠ ijȣȖંȞIJȠȢ | ȜȠ઀ȖȚȠȞ ਕȞșİȡİ૵ȞĮ įȚĮʌIJ઄ȟĮȢ ਞȜȚȝ੾įȘȢ | įઆįİțĮ ij૵IJĮȢ ਩ʌİijȞİ ȝȚોȢ ȝȣț੾ȝĮIJȚ ijȦȞોȢ, | ȜȣııĮȜ੼ȘȢ ʌȡȠȤ੼ȦȞ ੑȜİı੾ȞȠȡĮ ȕંȝȕȠȞ ੁȦોȢ, “But Halimedes, angry that Phlogios had retreated, opened his deadly throat, and with one loud roar slew twelve men by pouring out one man-destroying boom of his furious voice”, transl. Rouse 1940, vol. 2, 365. Cf. Achilles’ yell in Hom. Il. 18.214 – 229.

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“One alone was left behind from the war, Polyphemos, tall as the clouds, so mighty and so great, the Earthshaker’s own son; he was kept in his place by another love, dearer than war, under the watery ways, for he had seen (65) Galateia half-hidden, and made the neighbouring sea resound as he poured out his love for a maiden in the wooing tones of his pipes.” (transl. Rouse 1940, vol. 1, 477)

The literary tradition that Nonnus takes up in these lines can be traced back to Hellenistic poetry: in Idyll 6, Theocritus shows Polyphemus playing syrinx at the shore, and, again, in Idyll. 11.38, the Cyclops is waiting in vain IRU*DODWHDZKLOHVLQJLQJDORYHVRQJIRUKHUıȣȡ઀ıįİȞįૅ੪ȢȠ੡IJȚȢਥʌ઀ıIJĮȝĮȚ ੰįİ ȀȣțȜઆʌȦȞ  Similarly, Moschus takes up this love theme in his Epitaph for Bion when showing Galatea mourning over the dead poet (vv. 58 – 63). 15 It is quite striking that Polyphemus’ absence in the Dionysiaca is drawn attention to by recalling his relationship with Galatea several times throughout the epic poem. First, the reader is reminded of the love-story between Polyphemus and the Nereid in the elaborate description of the flood in book 6, when the shepherd-god Pan addresses the swimming Galatea and offers to save her (Dion. 6.300 – 325). Carried by the enormous flood tides, the Nymph rejects Pan’s offer and claims to have no interest in Polyphemus and his love songs on the Sicilian shore (Dion. 6.322 – 324): ȀĮă ȖȜȣțİȡ੾ȞʌİȡਥȠ૨ıĮȞ਩ĮȀ઄țȜȦʌȠȢਕȠȚį੾Ȟ ȅ੝ț੼IJȚȝĮıIJİ઄ȦȈȚțİȜȚ੽ȞਚȜĮǜIJȠııĮIJ઀ȠȣȖ੺ȡ IJ੺ȡȕȠȢ਩ȤȦȞȚijİIJȠ૙ȠțĮ੿Ƞ੝țਕȜ੼ȖȦȆȠȜȣij੾ȝȠȣ “Let be the song of Cyclops, though it is sweet. I seek no more the Sicilian sea; I am terrified at this tremendous flood, and I care nothing for Polyphemos.” (transl. Rouse 1940, vol. 1, 237)

Similarly, the scene in which Dionysus is seeking advice from HeraclesAstrochiton brings to mind the tale about Galatea and Polyphemus. In his tale about the origins of the population of Tyre, the city-god Heracles mentions Galatea in a catalogue of water nymphs who were all struck by the arrows of Eros and, thus, could not escape the bonds of love (Dion. 40.553 – 557). As an example, he mentions Galatea abandoning the sea in order to join Polyphemus, who had obviously succeeded in charming her with the music of his pastoral syrinx (Dion. 40.553 – 557): ––––––––––– 15 For further literary sources for the myth on Polyphemus and Galatea cf. Chuvin 1992, 162f., Hordern 2004 and Cusset 2011.

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« ȉȠııĮIJ઀ȘȢįĀ ਥȟਖȜઁȢĮੈȝĮij੼ȡȠȣıĮțĮ੿Ƞ੝țੑȜ઀ȖȘȢਕʌઁʌȘȖોȢ ੂȝİ઀ȡİȚīĮȜ੺IJİȚĮȝİȜȚȗȠȝ੼ȞȠȣȆȠȜȣij੾ȝȠȣ țĮ੿ȕȣș઀ȘȤİȡıĮ૙ȠȞ਩ȤİȚʌંıȚȞਥțį੻șĮȜ੺ııȘȢ ʌȘțIJ઀įȚșİȜȖȠȝ੼ȞȘȝİIJĮȞ੺ıIJȚȠȢİੁȢȤșંȞĮȕĮ઀ȞİȚ

“Another sprung from the sea so great and not from a little fountain, Galateia, has desire for melodious Polyphemos; (555) the deepsea maiden has a husband from the land, she migrates from sea to land, enchanted by the lute.” (transl. Rouse 1940 vol. 3, 193)

The action performed by the sea-goddess Galatea, smitten by the charms of the rustic Polyphemus, seems an unexpected break with a tradition as old as Theocritus’ Idylls. Usually, it is Polyphemus who is sitting on the seashore waiting in vain for the Nereid, not the other way around, as in this passage of the Dionysiaca. For a better understanding of how Nonnus reworks epic traditions, some other passages of the Dionysiaca that deal with the relationship between Galatea and Polyphemus should be considered. In addition to book 40, Nonnus inserts the Nereid in several other narrative contexts where she is explicitly acting against the ‘traditional’ Hellenistic model. In book 39, she appears on the battlefield during the ongoing fight between Dionysian and Indian troops, believes to have recognized Polyphemus in the midst of the combatants and implores both Aphrodite and her own father Nereus to support the fighting Cyclopes and Polyphemus (Dion. 39.257 – 294). Furthermore, Galatea shows her emotional bonds with the absent Polyphemus when he fights with his mace in book 43 (Dion. 43.266f.). 16 Nonnus pursues a specific goal in taking up this myth: neither Ulysses’ encounter with the Cyclops nor the blinding of Polyphemus or his curse are ––––––––––– 16 Other than in the already cited passages, Galatea appears as dancer and singer at the weddings of Poseidon and Beroe (Dion. 43.389 – 393) and Dionysus and Pallene respectively (Dion. 48.196f.). The passage of book 39 provides us with a further reminiscence of Polyphemus, namely the words uttered by his father Poseidon who reprimands Dionysus for not having called upon his son to partake in the fighting, for he surely would have guaranteed a victory of the Dionysian troops against Deriades and the Indians (Dion. 39.273 – 291). See esp. Dion. 39.279 – 284: Ǽੁ į੻ IJİ੽Ȟ ਥʌ੿ įોȡȚȞ ਥȝઁȢ ʌ੺ȚȢ ੆țİIJȠ Ȁ઄țȜȦȥ, | ʌĮIJȡ૴ȘȞ įૅ ਥȜ੼ȜȚȗİȞ ਥȝોȢ ȖȜȦȤ૙ȞĮ IJȡȚĮ઀ȞȘȢ, | țĮ઀ țİȞ ਫ਼ʌ੻ȡ ʌİį઀ȠȚȠ ıȣȞĮȚȤȝ੺ȗȦȞ ǻȚȠȞ઄ı૳ | ıIJ੾șİĮ ȕȠȣțİȡ੺ȠȚȠ įȚ੼șȜĮıİ ǻȘȡȚĮįોȠȢ, | țĮ੿ ʌȠȜઃȞ ਙȜȜȠȞ ੖ȝȚȜȠȞ ਥȝ૶ | IJȡȚંįȠȞIJȚ įĮ૘ȗȦȞ | İੁȢ ȝ઀ĮȞ ਱ȡȚȖ੼ȞİȚĮȞ ੖ȜȠȞ Ȗ੼ȞȠȢ ਩țIJĮȞİȞ ૅǿȞį૵Ȟ, “If my son the Cyclops had come to your conflict, and banished the prong of my trident, his father’s, then indeed as the ally of Dionysus he would have pierced the chest of honoured Deriades on this field–he would have destroyed a great and terrible host with my threetooth, and slain the whole Indian nation in one day!,” transl. Rouse 1940, vol. 3, 143.

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to be found in the narration of the Dionysiaca, the well-known Odyssean scene is suppressed completely. 17 Moreover, not even the Hellenistic matrix of the Galatea-Polyphemus story is pursued in the ‘traditional’ way. Instead, Nonnus devises a role reversal for Galatea and Polyphemus: Polyphemus is absent from the scene, whereas Galatea brings him back to her own and the reader’s minds when looking for him on the battleground and worrying about his safety. The presentation of this myth points towards the particular Nonnian way of dealing with inherited poetic traditions. The literary device of having a character (Polyphemus) who is physically absent but, at the same time, is there through the memories of other characters (the narrator, Galatea and Poseidon) gives an important position to both the poetic character of Polyphemus and Nonnus’ literary models, Homer and Theocritus. Thus, Polyphemus and Galatea function as a symbol of Nonnus’ relationship with his predecessors. Above all, Nonnus’ predilection for poetic reinterpretations of traditional mythic narrations should be seen in the light of rhetorical influence on his late antique poetic features. A parallel of Nonnus’ free handling of mythological traditions about the Polyphemus-Galatea story can be found in the works of Lucian, who, in his first Dialogue of the Sea gods, recounts a conversation between the Nereids Doris and Galatea where the first is mocking the latter because of the clumsy Cyclops’ adoration for her. Here, Lucian delivers a rhetorical showpiece in which Galatea takes the Cyclops’ side and points to a series of positive arguments for this love in order to challenge Doris’ depreciative remarks. With his reinterpretation of the Hellenistic story of Galatea and the Cyclops, Nonnus generates his own specific style of Dionysian epic, which often displays a strong rhetorical quality. The Narrative Goal of the Cyclopes-Scenes Nonnus’ habit of imitating and reinterpreting Homer and the Hellenistic poets is more than just a way of showing appreciation for his predecessors, as it is in fact an instrument to shape his own narrative. In Nonnus’ work, the Cyclopes are symbols of the divine power and cosmic order granted by Zeus and the Olympian gods. 18 The connection of the Cyclopes with the cosmic ––––––––––– 17 For the analogies between Lycurgus in the Dionysiaca and Polyphemus in Theocritus’ Idyll 11 cf. Shorrock 2001, 163 n. 183. 18 On the Cyclopes’ cosmic function as Zeus’ helpers and their link to the cosmic dimensions of the Dionysiaca see Vian 1990, 163 – 165.

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realm can be found in the aforementioned passage in Hesiod’s Theogony, but also in Scholion 351a on Aeschylus’ Prometheus Bound. 19 Here a summary of the fight of Zeus and the Olympian gods against the Titans is given, during which Zeus is helped by “the three one-eyed Cyclopes, Brontes, 6WHURSHV DQG $UJRV´ ੒ į੻ Ƞ੝ ȝંȞȠȞ IJȠઃȢ IJȡİ૙Ȣ ȝȠȞȠijș੺ȜȠȣȢ ਩ȜĮȕİ Ȁ઄țȜȦʌĮȢ IJઁȞ ǺȡંȞIJȘȞ IJઁȞ ȈIJİȡંʌȘȞ țĮ੿ IJઁȞ ਡȡȖȠȞ  DQG E\ ³WKH WKUHH +HNDWRQFKHLUV .RWWRV %ULDUHRV DQG *\JHV´ ਕȜȜ੹ țĮ੿ IJȠઃȢ IJȡİ૙Ȣ ਦțĮIJંȖȤİȚȡĮȢIJઁȞȀંIJȠȞIJઁȞǺȡȚ੺ȡİȠȞțĮ੿IJઁȞī઄ȖȘȞ ,PPHGLDWHO\DIWHUWKH\ successfully bind and throw their opponents in the Tartarus, Typhon, a monster with countless heads of various animal species, rises up against =HXVEXWLVDWODVWGHIHDWHGE\=HXV¶WKXQGHUEROWVțİȡĮȣȞȦșİ઀Ȣ DQGEXULHG underneath Mount Etna in Sicily. The myth of Typhon has a prominent place in the second book of the Dionysiaca, where the usurper is deceived by Cadmus, Dionysus’ grandfather and antecessor as Zeus’ ally and co-fighter. 20 Likewise, the Cyclopes are to be seen as earthly helpers for the divine power of Zeus when they support his son Dionysus by using the characteristic tools of his father, thunderbolts and lightning. Just as Cadmus manages to deceive Typhon in book 2, the Cyclopes in book 28 succeed in helping both Dionysus and Zeus against the Indians and their king Deriades. Thus, a direct link can be drawn between the fighting scene in book 28 and the Typhonomachy. 21 The function of the Cyclopes as order-keeping forces is further explored in the passage where the Cyclops Argilipos (when using fire against the Indians) is contrasted to two mythical figures, namely Salmoneus and Capaneus (Dion. 28.184 – 186), who are both known as notorious usurpers and have been punished by Zeus’ thunderbolts: 22 ੝ȤਪȞĮȈĮȜȝȦȞોĮȞંș૳įૅਵȜİȖȟİ țİȡĮȣȞ૶  185 Ƞ੝ȤਪȞĮȝȠ૨ȞȠȞ਩ʌİijȞİșİȘȝ੺ȤȠȞāȠ੝ȝ઀ĮȝȠ઄ȞȘ Ǽ੝੺įȞȘıIJİȞ੺ȤȚȗİȝĮȡĮȚȞȠȝ੼ȞȠȣȀĮʌĮȞોȠȢ “(…) chastising with pretended thunderbolt not one Salmoneus alone, slaying not only one enemy of God; not one Euadne alone groaned, or only one Capaneus was scorched up.” (transl. Rouse 1940, vol. 2, 359) ––––––––––– 19 For the scholion on Prometheus Bound see the edition of Herington 1972. 20 For a reference to possible analogies between Typhon in the Dionysiaca and Polyphemus in the Odyssey and their relations to Cadmus and Ulysses respectively see Shorrock 2001, 50 n. 71. 21 For the Cyclopes as symbols of divine power also Deriades’ adhortatory speech to his troops in book 27 has to be considered (Dion. 27.70 – 74, 85 – 101). There he orders his fighters to spare the Cyclopes for the reason of their usefulness in the production of thunderbolts for himself after his supposed victory over Zeus. 22 Cf. Gigli Piccardi 1985, 142 and Vian 1990, 323f. ad loc.

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By integrating the Cyclopes into the narration, Nonnus establishes strong ties between Dionysus, the protagonist of his epic, and Zeus. Both have to face dangerous adversaries – the Indians and the Giants – and are, at last, able to respectively achieve and retain their divine position. Dionysus is predestined to succeed in his fight against the Indians: the thunderbolts he uses as essential weapons are handed to him from his father Zeus and function as a foreshadowing of Dionysus’ own divine status. Nonnus’ decision to embed the Cyclopes in his narration might have also been inspired by Hellenistic sources, like Callimachus’ hymn to Artemis (Call. hym. 3.9), in which the goddess prompts her father to instruct the Cyclopes to fabricate bow and arrows for her in order to legitimize her divine nature. Moreover, in lines 46 – 85 of the hymn, Artemis (together with her newly acquired maidens) watches the Cyclopes in the act of forging, experiences the visual and acoustic effects of hammering, and requests the Cyclopes to craft bow, arrows and quiver for her. 23 In his writing, Nonnus further develops the acoustic and visual elements of this scene into a visualisation and personalisation of abstracta and adds metaphoric meaning. The action of forging, which is typical for the Cyclopes, is transposed into their fighting against the Indians. Their fighting technique resembles the procedure of forging Zeus’ thunderbolts. As their names suggest, they act as thunder and lightning themselves and represent the acts that are traditionally ascribed to them. In this respect, the poet follows his predilection for a macroscopic picture for his narration. The fighting of the Cyclopes (throwing rocks and using Zeus’ weapons of thunder and lightning) in the Dionysiaca is reminiscent of the fight of the Olympian gods against the Giants and therefore inserts a traditional mythical story into the Dionysian realm of Nonnian epic. The universal and cosmological meaning of Dionysus’ acts and deeds is accentuated by the figures of the Cyclopes, who bring Homeric, Hesiodic and Hellenistic elements into the story and are instrumental to the narrative goal of the Dionysiaca: Dionysus’ apotheosis. Nonnus’ poetic strategy also includes the active involvement of the reader, which, in our passage, is made explicit through the laughter of Zeus watching the ongoing action from above (Dion. 28.233 – 237). The reaction of the all-knowing father of the Olympians mirrors the reception of the scene by the erudite late antique reader, who is able to recognize and appreciate the specific Nonnian features of the Dionysian epic. ––––––––––– 23 On the Cyclopes making thunder and lightning for Zeus see also A. R. 1.510 and 1.730.

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References Agosti, G. and Magnelli, E. (forthcoming), Homeric Nonnus, in: Ch.-P. Manolea (ed.), Brill’s Companion to the Reception of Homer. From the Hellenistic Age to Late Antiquity (Brill’s Companions to Classical Reception), Leiden - Boston. Arnim, I. ab (1905/2004), Stoicorum veterum fragmenta, vol. 1: Zeno et Zenonis discipuli (Sammlung wissenschaftlicher Commentare), Leipzig. Bannert, H. and Kröll, N. (2016), Nonnus and the Homeric Poems, in: D. Accorinti (ed.), Brill’s Companion to Nonnus of Panopolis, Leiden - Boston: 481 – 506. Bernabé, A., ed. (2004), Poetae epici Graeci. Testimonia et fragmenta pars II: Orphicorum et Orphicis similium testimonia et fragmenta, fasciculus 1 (Bibliotheca Scriptorum Graecorum et Romanorum Teubneriana), München - Leipzig. Chuvin, P. (1992), Nonnos de Panopolis. Les Dionysiaques, tom. III: chants VI – VIII (Collection des universités de France Série grecque, Collection Budé 352), Paris. Cusset, Ch. (2011), Cyclopodie. Édition critique et commentée de l’Idylle VI de Théocrite (Collection de la Maison de l’Orient méditerranéen ancien, Série littéraire et philosophique 46), Lyon. Diels, H. and Kranz, W., edd. (61951), Die Fragmente der Vorsokratiker, griechisch und deutsch, vol. 1, Zürich etc. Durand, G. M., ed. (1976), Cyrille d’Alexandrie. Dialogues sur la trinité, vol. 1 (Sources Chrétiennes 231), Paris. Eitrem, S. (1922), Kyklopen. RE XI/2: 2328 – 2347. Gerlaud, B. (1994), Nonnos de Panopolis. Les Dionysiaques, tom. VI: chants XIV – XVII (Collection des universités de France Série grecque, Collection Budé 361), Paris. Gigli Piccardi, D. (1985), Metafora e poetica in Nonno di Panopoli (Studi e testi 7), Firenze. Gow, A. S. F., ed. (21952), Theocritus, 2 vol., Cambridge. Gow, A. S. F., ed. (1952/1966), Bucolici Graeci (Scriptorum Classicorum Bibliotheca Oxoniensis), Oxford. Herington, C. J., ed. (1972), The Older Scholia on the Prometheus Bound (Mnemosyne Suppl. 19), Leiden. Hopkinson, N. (1994), Nonnus and Homer, in: N. Hopkinson (ed.), Studies in the Dionysiaca of Nonnus (Proceedings of the Cambridge Philological Society Suppl. 17), Cambridge: 9 – 42. Hordern, J. H. (2004), Cyclopea. Philoxenus, Theocritus, Callimachus, Bion. CQ 54: 285 – 292. Käppel, L. (2001), Polyphemos, Der Neue Pauly (DNP) 10: 76. Mondi, H. (1983), The Homeric Cyclopes. TAPhA 113: 17 – 38. Moraw, S. (2020), Die Odyssee in der Spätantike. Bildliche und literarische Rezeption (Studies in Classical Archaeology 7), Turnhout. Murray, A. T., ed. (11919/21995), Homer. Odyssey, 2 vols., with an English translation, revised by G. E. Dimock (The Loeb Classical Library 104 and 105), Cambridge, MA London. Nimmo Smith, J., ed. (1992), Pseudo-Nonniani in IV orationes Gregorii Nazianzeni Commentarii (Corpus Christianorum, Series Graeca 27. Corpus Nazianzenum 2), Turnhout. Roscher, W. H. (1890 – 1894), Kyklopen, in: id., Ausführliches Lexikon der griechischen und römischen Mythologie II/1, Leipzig: 1676 – 1690 (repr. Hildesheim 1965).

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Rouse, W. H. D. (1940), Nonnos. Dionysiaca, Mythological Introduction and Notes by H. J. Rose, and Notes on Text Criticism by L. R. Lind, 3 vols. (The Loeb Classical Library 344, 354, 356), London. Sauer, B. (1894), Polyphemos (2), in: W. H. Roscher (ed.), Ausführliches Lexikon der griechischen und römischen Mythologie III/2, Leipzig: 2698 – 2712 (repr. Hildesheim 1965). Scarpi, P., ed. (1996), Apollodoro. I Miti Greci (Biblioteca), traduzione di M. G. Ciani (Scrittori Greci e Latini), Milano. Scherling, K. (1952), Polyphemos (2). RE XXI/2: 1810 – 1822. Seaford, R. A. S. (4  &\FORSHV ȀȪțȜȦʌİȢ  LQ S. Hornblower, A. Spawforth and E. Eidinow (edd.), The Oxford Classical Dictionary (online), Oxford, http://www.oxfordreference.com.uaccess.univie.ac.at/view/10.1093/acref/9780199545568.001.0001/acref9780199545568-e-1972?rskey=bqEP3I&result=1, viewed: 19.07.2018). Shorrock, R. (2001), The Challenge of Epic. Allusive Engagement in the Dionysiaca of Nonnus (Mnemosyne Suppl. 210), Leiden - Boston - Köln. Simon, B. (1999), Nonnos de Panopolis. Les Dionysiaques, tom. XIV: chants XXXVIII – XL (Collection des universités de France Série grecque, Collection Budé 395), Paris. Solmsen, F., Merkelbach, R. and West, M. L., edd. (1970/31990), Hesiodi Theogonia, Opera et Dies, Scutum, fragmenta selecta (Scriptorum Classicorum Bibliotheca Oxoniensis), Oxford. van Thiel, H., ed. (22010/11996), Homeri Ilias (Bibliotheca Weidmanniana), Hildesheim Zürich - New York. Touchefeu-Meynier, O. (1992), Kyklopen. Lexicon Iconographicum Mythologiae Classicae (LIMC) VI/1: 154 – 159, VI/2: 69 – 75. Vian, F. (1990), Nonnos de Panopolis. Les Dionysiaques, tom. IX: chants XXV – XXIX (Collection des universités de France Série grecque, Collection Budé 332), Paris. Vian, F. and Delage, É., edd. (1974/1980/1981), Apollonios de Rhodes. Argonautiques, texte établi, commenté et traduit, 3 tom., Paris (Collection des universités de France Série grecque, Collection Budé 233, 273 and 279). Walde, Ch. (1999), Kyklopen. Der Neue Pauly (DNP) 6: 961f. West, M. L. (1988), Hesiod. Theogony and Works and Days, transl. with an Introduction and Notes, Oxford - New York. West, M. L., ed. (2017), Homerus. Odyssea, recensuit et testimonia congessit (Bibliotheca Scriptorum Graecorum et Romanorum Teubneriana), Berlin - Boston.

WIENER STUDIEN, Beiheft 41, 165 – 186 © 2020 by Österreichische Akademie der Wissenschaften Wien

MARY WHITBY

To See or not to See? Nonnus’ Elephant Deconstructed (Dionysiaca 26.295 – 338)* 1. Introduction and Background Book 26 of the Dionysiaca, the second book of Nonnus’ Indian War narrative, is largely taken up with a catalogue of troops intended to evoke that in the second book of the Iliad.1 Nonnus individualizes each of the fourteen Indian contingents (26.44 – 349) with a characteristically virtuoso series of anecdotes – sometimes a mythological tale, 2 elsewhere drawing on ethnographical material about the strange customs of remote nations.3 Exotic birds also feature: the orion and the catreus (26.201 – 211, incorporating 212 – 214)4 and, towards the end, two “exotic” animals, the hippopotamus that is said to swim in the Indus as it does in the Nile (26.236 – 244)5 and, for the ––––––––––– * I thank Herbert Bannert and Nicole Kröll for inviting me to participate in the conference in Vienna in December 2017 at which this paper was delivered. I am also grateful to Amin Benaissa for giving me access to his edition of the poet Dionysius before publication (2018). The editions of the Dionysiaca by Francis Vian 2003 and Gianfranco Agosti 2004 provided a fundamental starting-point for this study. Jonathan Bardill has offered prompt and constructive comments and generous bibliographical assistance. I also thank the anonymous referee for helpful points of detail. 1 Vian 2003, 69. 2 E.g. 26.101 – 145 Tectaphos, prominent among the Bolinges, who was suckled by his daughter to prevent him dying of starvation while imprisoned. The tale is paralleled in the Greco-Roman tradition and Nonnus may have derived it from the largely lost poem on Dionysus’ Indian War, Dionysius’ Bassarica: Agosti 2004, 158; Benaissa 2018, 28f. See further below on the Bassarica. 3 E.g. 26.55 – 59 the inhabitants of Gazos, fortified with impregnable walls of linen; 26.94 – 100 the Ouatokoitai who sleep on their long ears. 4 These birds are known only from Strabo and Aelian, see Vian 2003, 279; Agosti 2004, 170f., both with further references. 5 It is associated with the eleventh contingent, from the 300 islands. Nonnus introduces the hippopotamus in the context of explaining that one branch of the Indus joins up with the Nile. On this geography, see Chuvin 1991, 288f., with Miguélez Cavero 2016, 572, on the influence of the novel in Nonnus’ linking of Egypt and India.

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penultimate contingent from Mount Oeta,6 a longer account of the elephant (26.295 – 338). Herodotus set the trend for detailed excursus of exotic animals by including in his book on Egypt descriptions of the crocodile (2.68 – 70), the hippopotamus (2.71), the phoenix (2.73) and the ibis (2.76), but not the elephant. And the novelist Achilles Tatius, writing in the later second century CE, punctuates the Egyptian adventures of his lovers Leucippe and Clitophon with digressions on the hippopotamus (4.2), the elephant (4.4) and the crocodile (4.19). These anticipate Nonnus’ hippopotamus and elephant, not least in their irrelevance to the main plot. 7 Nonnus’ wide-ranging debt to the novel and in particular to Achilles Tatius is now well documented, and a recent study by Hélène Frangoulis includes a comparative analysis with Nonnus’ elephant.8 A second key influence underlying Nonnus’ descriptions is the rhetorical exercise of ekphrasis (vivid description), one of the progymnasmata or preliminary exercises in set-piece composition undertaken in schools as part of training in declamation. Laura Miguélez Cavero has noted that the handbook on the composition of progymnasmata attributed to Theon (1st c. CE) explicitly mentions Herodotus’ animal and bird descriptions as examples of ekphrasis,9 an indication of their continuing prominence into Late Antiquity. In the period between Herodotus and Achilles Tatius a wealth of elephant lore was preserved in scientific writers, notably Aristotle’s History of Animals, Pliny’s Natural History and, from the late second or early third century CE, Aelian’s On the Nature of Animals.10 Roughly contemporary with Aelian is the didactic poem of Ps.- Oppian, the Cynegetica, written under Caracalla (perhaps about 215 CE). Ps.- Oppian includes the elephant in his catalogue of hunted animals with horns in book 2 (2.489 – 500), which is, I believe, the only surviving account of the elephant in Greek hexameters prior to Nonnus. ––––––––––– 6 Homonymous with Mt. Oeta in Thessaly, scene of Heracles’ death. Other names in the catalogue evoke Heracles, who also conquered India: Chuvin 1991, 306 – 308. 7 Although Miguélez Cavero (2010, 271) demonstrates that Achilles Tatius’ hippopotamus excursus has a moral for later plot developments. 8 Frangoulis 2014, 131 – 140. Cf. Vian 2003, 90; Miguélez Cavero 2016. 9 Theon 118.15 – 17 (ibis, hippopotamus, crocodile), 120.3 – 8 (criticism of Herodotus’ description of the ibis), cited by Miguélez Cavero 2016, 572 n. 102; cf. ead. 2014, 246f. See also Miguélez Cavero 2010 on exploitation of the progymnasmata in animal descriptions in Achilles Tatius. 10 These authors discuss the elephant in more than one place. Scullard 1974 provides useful digests: 37 – 52 (Aristotle); 208 – 218 (Pliny and associated writers); 222 – 230 (Aelian, esp. NA 4.31).

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Nonnus’ overall theme for the central books (13 – 40) of the Dionysiaca, the story of Dionysus’ expedition to and conquest of India, is linked to Alexander the Great’s journey there, which had included a visit to Nysa (327 BCE), reputed to be the birthplace of Dionysus.11 The development of this Dionysus legend cannot be charted precisely, but it was narrated in eighteen books by the poet Dionysius in his Bassarica, probably composed in the late first century CE or at the turn of the second century. 12 The surviving fragments (together with place-name evidence from Stephen of Byzantium) demonstrate that Nonnus used the Bassarica – and indeed his own poem may have superseded it – but regrettably they display no evidence of elephants. 13 However, Arrian’s monograph on India, which arose from his account of Alexander’s Indian expedition,14 also composed in this period, does include a section on capturing and taming elephants (Indica 13). And Philostratus’ Life of Apollonius of Tyana, commissioned by Julia Domna, wife of Septimius Severus, devotes several chapters of book 2 to the elephants encountered while Apollonius and his disciple Damis were travelling in India (2.6, 11 – 16). 2. Nonnus’ Elephant This material provides a rich background against which to scrutinize Nonnus’ elephant description in book 26. Nonnus draws on a range of sources: standard elephant lore transmitted by the natural historians; on the literary tradition starting with Homer and Herodotus through to the novelists Achilles Tatius and Heliodorus; on accounts of how elephants deal with a foe; and, I suggest, on some directly observed knowledge of elephant behaviour.15 While Nonnus’ elephant description has affinities with ekphrasis in its account of different parts of the animal’s body, it frequently departs from ekphrasis,16 in particular in its lack of clarity (sapheneia) and vividness ––––––––––– 11 For Nysa as Dionysus’ birthplace, cf., e.g., Homeric Hymn 1.9; Philostratus, VA 2.8. Herodotus located Mount Nysa “in Ethiopia, beyond Egypt” (2.146.2, cf. 3.97.2). 12 Date: Benaissa 2018, 1f. Benaissa 2018, 31 – 50 discusses the development of the legend, suggesting (46f.) that the Bassarica was the first large-scale poem on this subject and (48 – 50) that the poem may have played a role in the resurgence of the tale in the Antonine period. The shorter four-book Bassarica of Soterichus of Oasis (who flourished under Diocletian) is entirely lost. 13 Chuvin 1991, 306 – 308. 14 As described at Anabasis 5.5.1. 15 Agosti 2014 argues that “a sharp look at real life” underlies many passages of Nonnus’ poems (quoting 166). 16 Cf. Faber 2016, 448.

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(enargeia), identified in the handbooks as the crucial and distinctive characteristics of ekphrasis.17 Ruth Webb’s ground-breaking study (1999) established that ekphrasis was conceived as making the hearer “almost see” the subject under discussion by conjuring in the mind visual images (phantasiai) of familiar things, and that through this technique it operated persuasively on the listener’s mind.18 Parts of Nonnus’ elephant description have clear visual resonances, but other features, such as its colour, are symbolic,19 or paradoxical.20 In particular, key characteristics of the elephant, such as its trunk and tusks, are explained only obliquely and “with a certain vagueness”. 21 I will suggest that in describing the elephant Nonnus assimilates it not only to familiar images, but also to other exotic beasts associated with Egypt, especially the hippopotamus (Dion. 26.236 – 244; Herodotus 2.71, Achilles Tatius 4.2f.) and the crocodile, which is the most prominent of Herodotus’ Egyptian animals (2.68 – 70), and is also given a key place by Achilles Tatius in the last chapter of book 4 (4.19). In this way Nonnus departs from ekphrasis, which traditionally uses comparisons with the familiar (rather than the exotic) to lend vividness. The resulting elephant is at once an implausible hybrid and a realistic beast. Nonnus’ account of the thirteenth contingent, dominated by the elephant description, is one of the longest in the catalogue (26.295 – 338), conspicuously positioned in the penultimate position. Nonnus may take his cue from Achilles Tatius in making the elephant the most prominent animal in his catalogue. Achilles Tatius moves from the hippopotamus (4.2f.) to the elephant by having the general Charmides say of the hippopotamus: “He is, one might say, the elephant of Egypt, and indeed in strength he is only second to the Indian elephant.”22 The elephant is portrayed as both the mightiest of beasts and that which above all evokes India. Laura Miguélez Cavero has persuasi––––––––––– 17 E.g. Theon 119.27 – 29  \ } †"# ¿Û  "’    \ † ¤ ˆ „å  –   , “The virtues of ekphraseis are the following: above all clarity and the vividness which makes one almost see what is being spoken about” (transl. Webb). Cf. Ps.-Hermogenes p. 23 Rabe; Nikolaos p. 68 Felten, stressing that it is vividness which differentiates ekphrasis from mere description (all available in Webb 1999, Appendix A). 18 See further Webb 2016. 19 See further below, sec. 4. 20 As argued by Frangoulis 2014, 136 – 140. 21 “His descriptions carry a certain vagueness, even when they are apparently generous in details” (Agosti 2014, 151). 22 4.3.5, transl. Gaselee. ’ †, ¢ Ÿ, †" ŸŠ .  \ – Š "   Ÿ — †"  $¤.

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vely argued that the elephant is the symbol of Dionysus’ Indian foes, whereas Dionysus himself is associated with felines such as the lion, leopard and panther.23 This interpretation makes sense of the flash-forward at the end of Nonnus’ elephant excursus (26.329 – 333) which describes how “after the Indian war” Dionysus led elephants to the land of the Amazons and terrified them “as he sat on the back of a colossal elephant”: the triumphant god has now gained control over his enemy’s territory and their elephant emblem. And the description of the death of an elephant drawing the chariot of the Indian king in book 28 (70 – 80) similarly foreshadows this outcome. Nonnus’ account in book 26 falls into three parts: the description of the elephant (295 – 315), the elephant attacking (316 – 328), and the coda (329 – 333). I quote the whole account, but focus on the first two sections, arguing that they are complementary (Nonnus, Dionysiaca 26.295 – 338): 295

300

305

310

315

è ] #’  , •  ¥> ùÍ ,  ’  # †"#Û ª "Š “  Š # † >% [³  > >  Š`, Ú} #Û  \   ¥ †’ ¥X, † ˆ >   ¥  ’>,     ]# § ‰ [> , § ŠX  ˜³> £ ,

 X §,  #  # \  >’, ]# Í   ’#  \ "— †> (+‚ >  ³X †ˆ ]# ’  † ># † ’#, Š#  ˆ Í   Š  „‚)  \ Š ># †   ’>,   ˆ ]# >ŠÛ ^ }    ŸŠ >% Í  È>, !˜" ’ ,  . Ë> } ` ½  }   ,  ’  `,  # # ‰` š[  ½`Û >– }  [>  #’  ‚ ">— †   ¥  ’. ™ ’ †  > § #

––––––––––– 23 Miguélez Cavero 2014. E.g. Dion. 1.24f. “I will hymn the son of Zeus, how he slew the Indian nation, with his team of pards riding down ( Š ) the elephants” (transl. Rouse).

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320

325

330

335

295

300

305

310

  > †  Ú  ’, ”    "# + £, Š# +   ]"> Ÿ’. ™ ’  ³  ³   Ú [   £   ‚, ¥ }     ’” #‡. ¡ \ > Š †\ "  !˜  Ú[   ’, Ÿ Š# +ˆ Í>  >   ]  \ ]  –   „# > ˆ †’   , ¥ %  Š#    ã ‰#. è± } ¥ ” > ¥# – "Š $% ¡ >   – [  ž [>   Ÿ " ’  >  , Ú # "‡ †"’# †"#. ž– – } – §. œ ! } @> > `     «  ™> , ‰  †"   –  ~Š#,  > ¹  %  } ª   . ¡  ‹ † ! +  Ì #  ˆ †>’ œ  † . “After these all who were allotted the curves of Oeta armed themselves, tree-covered mother of elephants, who live immeasurably long; Nature granted that they live for the circuits of two hundred years, bending many times about the turning-post of eternal time, – or even three hundred. Elephants graze side by side; from the very tip of the foot to the head the skin is black; it has jutting teeth in long jaws, a pair of them, shaped like the reaper’s sickle with hooked claw, and sharpened edge; it tramples a line of trees with its far-reaching feet, and is like a camel with its curving neck (on its capacious back it carries an innumerable swarm of riders closely packed, swinging its steady foot with unbending movement of the knee). It has a broad forehead and the shape of its head is like a viper, with short curved neck; and it has a subtle likeness to the face of pigs with its two matching eyes, towering high, immense. As it rolls in its gait its ears with their scant flesh that hang close beside the temples, move like fans in a little breeze of gentle wind; lashing its body frequently in a quivering movement

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320

325

330

335

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the restless tail shakes, slender and short. Often in warfare, shaking its jutting jaw it charges on a man, colossal beast, bull-headed, wielding the strange sickle of jagged teeth on either side of its mouth, brandishing the natural spear on each side of its jaw. Often it lifts straight up in its rapacious throat the warrior who has been pierced, high in the air, with breastplate and shield, then throws the man flat down with the javelin of his jagged tooth. As the corpse rolls involuntarily in a vortex of dust, it spears him from on high as he wanders and whirls round and round: it agitates and twists the jagged arc of its curving jaw this way and that beside its projecting teeth coiling like the viper’s vertebrae and stretching down to its feet the sharpened sword of its teeth. After the Indian war, lord Dionysus led these creatures over the Caucasian plain of the Amazonian river and terrified with fear the fine-helmeted women, as he sat on the back of a colossal elephant. But this was after the strife. For the conflict against Lyaeus when Deriades issued his summons, at that time came the champion Pyloites, steering to the fray an elephant, upright on its feet; he had the war-mad blood of the stock of Marathon, of fair progeny. And there followed him to the conflict a neighbouring people who spoke another tongue and left behind Eristobareia with its fine battlements.”24

3. Life-span and habits With the imposing tetracolon at 296, Nonnus positions himself in the didactic tradition, combining phrases from Dionysius Periegetes and [Manetho].25 His epithet ’  evokes Calypso’s island, the archetypal locus amoenus,26 but may also hint at the elephant’s well-known facility in knocking down trees, mentioned at 303f.27 The opening lines (296 – 299) invoke standard elephant lore, describing habitat, longevity and gregariousness. Herodotus similarly opens his account of the crocodile with generalities, mentioning winter hibernation, amphibious nature and the laying of ––––––––––– 24 Except where specified otherwise, translations of Nonnus are my own. 25 D.P. 593  … †"# (of Ceylon, famous for elephants, cf. Ael. NA 16.18), [Manetho] 1.53 # †"#; noted by Vian 2003, 285. The line-end is repeated by Nonnus at 17.382, 36.162. Earlier writers apply the adjective to crows, e.g. Philostratus, Her. 19.17 (dative plural). 26 Od. 1.51 in eadem sede; cf. Julian, Misopogon, 21.22 (352a). 27 E.g. Aristotle, HA 2. 497b 29f., 9. 610a 0 – 24; Ps.- Opp. Cyn. 2.532 – 535 (discussed below, sec. 6).

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eggs (2.68.1). According to Philostratus (2.12) there are three types of elephant – from the marsh, the mountain and the plain – but Nonnus’ elephant is from the mountain of Oeta.28 The elephant’s longevity is a standard topic of the natural history writers: Aristotle gives Nonnus’ figure of 300 or 200 years and an alternative shorter life span of 200 or 120 years.29 In fact, according to H. H. Scullard’s excellent study The Elephant in the Greek and Roman World, the elephant lives about as long as a man.30 In general (as we shall see)31 Nonnus avoids engaging in debates associated with the elephant, but these expansive lines devoted to longevity locate his elephant within the existing tradition and establish from the outset the extraordinary nature of the beast. The elephant’s gregarious grazing habits are also well known, mentioned, for example, by Arrian.32 4. Colour Nonnus begins his physical description of the elephant by describing it as black from head to toe (300), a point that is rare in elephant descriptions. 33 Most writers do not refer to its colour. Silius Italicus, however, mentions the blackness of Hannibal’s elephants as they are brought into battle at Cannae: “The huge black beasts were brought up and Italian manhood was matched against monsters” (appellitur atra | mole fera, et monstris componitur Itala pubes, 9.570f., transl. Duff, adapted). This passage reinforces the argument of Laura Miguélez Cavero that Nonnus’ opening emphasis on the elephant’s blackness is linked to his insistence on the blackness of Dionysus’ enemies, the Indians,34 whose symbol the elephant is.35 Nonnus’ unusual initial focus ––––––––––– 28 Cf. 22.38, 24.138 ‰# †"#. On Oeta, see n. 6 above. Herodotus 4.191.2f. mentions that elephants (and other beasts) inhabit a mountainous and wooded area of western Libya. 29 HA 8. 596a 11f.; 9. 630b 20 – 24. Cf. Ael. 4.31, 9.58, 17.7; Ach. Tat. 4.4.3. 30 Scullard 1974, 45f. 31 Sec. 5. 32 Indica 13.6 ˆ  ; cf. Pliny, Nat. 8.11. 33 Vian (2003, 286) cites Avienus, Descr. Orb. 777 taetros elephantes (referring to the elephants of Ceylon) and Sid. Carm. 22.56 nigrantes elephanti (in a vivid account of spoils displayed in a triumph). Cf. also Horace, Epode 12.1 mulier nigris dignissima barris. 34 E.g. Dion. 29.17, 31.175, 37.48 and passim. 35 Miguélez Cavero 2014, 269; she cites the medical writer Aretaeus of Cappadocia (c. 150 – 200 CE), a contemporary of Galen, in his account of the disease elephantiasis: SD 2.13.2 — }     # £  … (“in colour all are intensely black”), 2.13.3 †"  } ¤   , [" — , >\ }  \ X Í

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on colour signals that his elephant is emblematic of a powerful and menacing adversary. 5. Tusks At 301 – 303 Nonnus describes the elephant’s tusks, which are likened to a sickle (£); the same image is used again at 318 in the description of an elephant attacking a victim. 36 The analogy with a sickle and the phrase

 X §,37 “with sharpened edge” (303), suggest that the tusks have a blade, and indeed Silius Italicus describes a fighting elephant in the war with Hannibal having a blade attached to its tusks: “to each tusk was fastened a blade, whose point came close and flashed down straight from the curved upper part” (ebori praefixa comminus hasta | fulget ab incurvo derecta cacumine cuspis, 9.582f., transl. Duff). But in his account of the fighting elephant (26.316 – 328), Nonnus follows up the sickle analogy (26.318), with a series of comparisons to pointed weapons: in 26.319 “spear” ( Ÿ’) stands at the line-end in parallel to £ (318); at 322 the tusks are a “jagged-toothed javelin” (   … #‡), 324 describes a victim being impaled, as with a javelin (!˜  Ú[) and the passage closes with the phrase “the sword of its teeth” (328 ã ‰#). Nonnus may well have been aware of the armed elephant, but he well understands that the elephant’s main weapon is the point of its tusk. In his hippopotamus excursus earlier in book 26 Nonnus uses similar language to describe the way the hippopotamus deploys its two prominent lower canine teeth to cut through crops in eating (Nonnus, Dionysiaca 26.236 – 244):

240

   ˜’"  ”Š# š „‡ ’  !   ’ ¿ ’ , ª †¤ À } ^  #  , >  ’ ¯  !ˆ „    ŠÛ †’ Ÿ  }   Ÿ‡     [# š ¯ ,  \ —   ]# > £   %

––––––––––– (“elephants alone are black, their skin dark-coloured, like night and death”), drawing on Scullard 1974, 220. 36 Dion. 26.318 ”    "# + £, “wielding the strange sickle of jagged teeth on either side of its mouth”. Cf. Hes. Theog. 175 £    , 179f. £, |  —    , of the sickle used by Cronus to castrate his father Uranus. 37 Koechly’s emendation for §, accepted by Vian 2003 and Agosti 2004.

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‡ `  >" ’ , —   "> .

240

“There, cutting through the black-pebbled stream with his hoof, the watery river horse swims, a wanderer, just like the one who cleaves the summer-generated swell of my Nile, dwelling there, a damp traveller through the deep water, with long jaws; and onto the shore he mounts tearing apart the wooded ridge with the spear of his jagged teeth; and, as he has a moist unserrated jaw for seizing crops, with this imitation sickle he cuts the grain-bearing corn, reaping the sheaf-bearing produce without iron.”

The hippopotamus similarly operates “with the spear of his jagged tooth” (26.241 Ÿ‡   ), which is likened to a sickle (26.243 ‡ `). It too has long jaws (26.240    Š, cf. 26.301    ) and operates like a reaper (26.244 —  , cf. 26.302 § ŠX … £ ), in culling crops from farmland. The sickle image is applied to the hippopotamus already in Nicander, “and launches a ruinous sickle upon the ploughlands” (Š` }  — †  £, Theriaca 567, transl. Gow - Scholfield). Nicander goes on to describe how the hippopotamus emerges from the mud of the Nile to devour the young growth (Theriaca 568 – 571) in a manner very similar to Nonnus’ description of hippopotamus behaviour. 38 And in his elephant description, Nonnus has chosen language that draws attention to the similar impact of the elephant’s tusks and the hippopotamus’ teeth. As we have seen, Achilles Tatius calls the hippopotamus “the Egyptian elephant”:39 Hence Nonnus’ identical language of the hippopotamus’ canine and the elephant’s tusk may well signal his awareness of this comparison. The accuracy of the sickle analogy for the elephant’s tusk is a secondary consideration. In consistently referring to the elephant’s tusk as a “tooth” (26.301, 318, 322, 326), Nonnus follows Herodotus40 and thereby avoids confronting a ––––––––––– 38 See further below sec. 6 on this passage of Nicander. Pliny, Nat. 11.160 compares the projecting teeth of the elephant with those of the boar and the hippopotamus. At Aelian, NA 13.22 £ is used in a different sense, of the goad used by an elephant’s trainer to encourage him to kneel before the king. Ach. Tat. 4.4.6 describes the goad as an “iron axe” (> ¤ ), and Cutler (1985, 127 and fig. 6) notes that the end of the goad is curved. 39 4.3.5, quoted in sec. 2, n. 22 above. 40 3.97.3 †"  ‰ > Í, “twenty huge elephant teeth/tusks,” in a list of donations given by the Ethiopians to Persia.

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lively controversy, well illustrated in Ps.- Oppian’s account of the elephant. Ps.- Oppian includes the elephant in his catalogue of horned animals that are hunted: bulls, various deer, wild goats and sheep, oryx and rhinoceros (book 2); animals noted for their teeth or tusks are reserved for book 3. 41 The author begins polemically (Ps.- Oppian, Cynegetica 2.491 – 495):  – † Š ! Š , Í  >> †’  ˆ  , ¥ } ’ > ‰± †> ‰ [, % }   > ’   ½ . “Those two mighty weapons in their jaws, which rise like tusks towards the heavens, others of the vulgar race call deadly teeth; wherein they err: we are pleased to name them horns.” (transl. Mair)

The next twenty lines are devoted to defending this position, which is also presented at length by Ps.- Oppian’s contemporary Philostratus (VA 2.13), who attributes the horn theory to Juba.42 Philostratus, however, comes down in favour of tusks.43 Achilles Tatius too mentions the similarity to horns (4.4.4), but both for him and for Nonnus, who share an interest in the similarity between the elephant and hippopotamus, the elephant’s tusks are unequivocally teeth.44 In contrast to Ps.- Oppian (2.492), Nonnus nowhere uses  >> , the standard word for a tusk or projecting tooth, applied by Herodotus to the prominent teeth both of the crocodile (2.68.3) and the hippopotamus (2.71). 6. Feet Nonnus moves from the elephant’s tusks to describing how it tramples trees (26.303f.). In fact, the elephant’s chief weapons are not the feet, but its tusks and trunk, as demonstrated in Nonnus’ very realistic description of the fighting elephant at 316 – 328. Aristotle notes that the elephant pulls up trees ––––––––––– 41 Cf. the review at Cyn. 3.1 – 6. 42 Juba II, the learned king of Mauretania and ally of the Romans under Octavian/Augustus. 43 Aelian is neutral at 4.31, but favours horns at 11.37. 44 Ach. Tat. 4.4.4 ± } –  Ÿ   \ !˜   "# [  –  ˆ †”>, †˜ ‡   Š.47 “In the green glens of many cliffs he stretches root and branch upon the ground, oaks and wild olives and the high-crowned race of palms, assailing them with his sharp tremendous jaws.” (transl. Mair, adapted)

But trampling is associated by Nicander with the hippopotamus as it emerges from the river to find food (Nicander, Theriaca 566 – 571): 566

570

= ¿> ˆ À !} ¦  Ÿ   Û Š` }  — †  £, •   \ †    ˆ ’ Š  ,  †#  >  „  †  Š  >  † Š#.

“… or that of the river-horse which the Nile beyond Saïs with its black soil nurtures, and launches a ruinous sickle indeed upon the ploughlands. (For the beast, emerging from the muddy ooze of the river when the pastures grow green and the fallow has put forth grass, tramples and leaves behind a deep track as long as that which it devours with its jaws as it cuts its returning swathe.)” (transl. Gow - Scholfield)

Here Nicander’s †# (570) is suggestive of Nonnus’  # (26.303).48 And Nonnus’ epithet “far-stretching” ( Š ) of the elephant’s feet (304) may evoke the trail of destruction left by its large footprints, analogous to that suggested by Nicander for the hippopotamus at 570f.49 In ––––––––––– 45 HA 2.497b.29f. 46 HA 9.610a.20 – 24 ]  \ † #    †\ § § . 47 Here, as in 2.491 (quoted above), Ps.- Opp. prefers Nonnus’ term > “jaw” (Dion. 26.316 > § , cf. 301, 319) to the more scientific  >> , “tusk”. Note also Ps.-Oppian’s ‡ … Š, with Nonnus’  X § (26.303). 48  # is Vian’s convincing emendation for the less colourful  # of the manuscript, supported by its use in the sense “trampling” at Dion. 36.239. 49 Cf. Vian (2003, 286) “l’adjectif vise la taille des pattes.” Nonnus uses this epithet only here of the elephant’s feet; at 28.17 and 36.188 it is applied directly to the elephant in the line-end  >’# †"#; not elsewhere in Dion.

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omitting to mention that the elephant first uses its head, tusks, and trunk to bring down trees, as Aristotle describes, Nonnus assimilates his elephant to Nicander’s hippopotamus in respect of the trampling devastation it causes,50 as well as the sickle-like operation of its teeth/tusks (sec. 5 above). 7. The elephant and other animals In lines 304 – 310 Nonnus makes explicit comparisons between the elephant and more familiar animals: the camel for the curve of its neck (304f.), the viper for the shape of its head (308) and the pig for its eyes (309f.).51 In so doing he turns to more typical ekphrastic techniques aimed at enabling the audience to visualize the subject by evoking a familiar mental image. 52 Herodotus draws analogies with both the horse and the ox in describing the hippopotamus (2.71), while he compares the eyes of the crocodile to those of a pig (2.68.3), contrasting them with its large teeth and tusks.53 Ps.- Oppian, on the other hand, considers the eyes of the elephant large, though small for the size of the beast (2.520f. – ‰" \  > |  =  ’ †  ,   † ), an error that is paralleled in at least one late antique artistic depiction of the elephant.54 Like Ps.- Oppian, Nonnus too may intend an implicit contrast between the elephant’s small pig-like eyes (310) and its overall massive size, emphasized by the ponderous opening compound adjectives at 311 (!˜" ’ ,  ). The elephant’s size is mentioned again in the account of it charging to attack, “colossal beast” (317 Ú  ’). As for the elephant’s distinctive trunk, Nonnus merely alludes to it at 308 in the phrase “viper-like head” (†   ’>). This brief reference is developed more fully below in the account of how in war an elephant seizes its victim with its trunk before impaling him with the tusk (320 – 328):55 at ––––––––––– 50 See further Aelian, NA 5.53 on the grazing habits of the hippopotamus, which illuminates Nicander’s phrase  > : the hippopotamus does not emerge from the river and immediately eat, but walks alongside the crop until it has passed the area it wishes to devour. It then works backwards with the river behind, so that it can readily withdraw if threatened. 51 It was held (e.g. Pliny, Nat. 8.27, Ael. NA 1.38) that the elephant could be frightened by the grunting of pigs, a legend perpetuated in George of Pisidia’s Hexaemeron 965f. (ed. Gonnelli 1998). 52 See above, sec. 2. 53 Herodotus distinguishes the crocodile’s teeth and tusks, whereas Nonnus simply presents the elephant’s tusks as teeth (sec. 5). 54 See Cutler, 1985, 127 and fig. 6, for a large-eyed elephant on a pavement from the Aventine depicting a fight between an elephant and a bull. 55 As shown in the fight between the elephant and the bull on the Aventine pavement: see previous note.

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325f. the trunk is described as “the jagged arc of its curving jaw” (Í>  > |  ). In adding the adjective “jagged” 56 Nonnus amalgamates the trunk and tusks into a single weapon. At 316 the phrase “shaking its jutting jaw” (Æ> § #) also alludes to the trunk, even though the adjective § is applied to the tusks at 301, hence again assimilating trunk and tusks. 57 Finally at 327 the viper analogy for the trunk is repeated in the phrase “coiling like the viper’s vertebrae” (> ˆ †Ã   ). With Nonnus’ allusive and impressionistic description of the elephant’s trunk, we may contrast Ps.- Oppian’s much more straightforward account (Ps.- Opp., Cynegetica 2.522 – 524): % ’ ´ ± !   š , ’  ’ , Å —  >.  ˆ ]">  Û ` – > š# ]>. Between them [the eyes] projects a great nose, thin and crooked, which men call the proboscis. That is the hand of the beast;58 with it they do what they will.’ (transl. Mair)

Unlike Nonnus, Ps.- Oppian does not shrink from the technical word Å (2.523), just as he earlier used  >> when describing the tusks (2.492). Achilles Tatius also calls the trunk a proboscis and likens it to a trumpet in appearance and size (4.4.4);59 he then goes into considerable detail about the elephant’s clever use of its trunk in securing food and conveying it to its mouth or even to its master as a special treat (4.4.5 – 6). Nonnus’ viper analogy is effective in evoking the trunk’s lively movement, but paradoxical in that the elephant and the viper are traditional enemies. Pliny, for example, describes how serpents encircle elephants and fetter them: both combatants die, since the elephant crushes the serpent as it falls (Nat. 8.32).60 And a similar scene of combat between an elephant and a viper is depicted on a ––––––––––– 56   is regularly used of teeth, see LSJ s.v. and cf. the adjective   > used in connection with the tusks, sec. 5 above. 57 Cf. Ps.- Opp. Cyn. 2.535 for > used of the tusks. 58 A common analogy, e.g. Aristotle, HA 2.497b26f., Pliny Nat. 8.29, Ael. NA 4.31. See further Vian’s note on 26.316 – 319 (2003, 288). 59  ”± } % ‰#    ‚  ,  –   } — ˜  \ ˆ   , … 60 Aelian, NA 6.21 has a different account of a snake tricking and then strangling an elephant.

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mosaic pavement from Dermech.61 On the other hand, one of the vignettes in the Great Palace mosaic in Constantinople depicts an elephant strangling a lion in the viper-like grip of its trunk. 62 A further animal analogy is implicit in Nonnus’ phrase Š >#, literally “broad-browed shape”, at the beginning of line 308. As commentators have noted, Nonnus’ epithet >#, found only here in the Dionysiaca, is used by Homer of oxen:63 it at once points forward to Nonnus’ own coinage  > (“bull-headed”), describing the fighting elephant charging at 317, and evokes the comparison between the elephant’s jaw and the head of an ox found already in Achilles Tatius.64 And since Achilles Tatius dubs the hippopotamus “the Egyptian equivalent of the elephant” (4.3.5), the analogy may even be traced back to Herodotus’ comparison between the size of a hippopotamus and that of an ox (2.71). Nonnus’ first animal analogy, at 304f., is the camel “with its curving neck” (" †>).65 In fact the long, arched neck of a camel is not at all like that of an elephant, which has virtually no neck, as Nonnus says at 309, where the elephant’s neck is still described as “curved”, but also  , “small”, “scant” (   ˆ ]# >Š).66 The similarity between the elephant and the camel is that both can carry men: in Philostratus’ Life of Apollonius (2.6), Apollonius and Damis meet Indian nomads, some of whom are riding elephants, while others ride camels. Nonnus develops this point in the following parenthesis. 8. The warrior elephant With the words “On its capacious back it carries an innumerable swarm of riders closely packed” (305f. +‚ >  ³X | †ˆ ]# ’  † ># † ’#), Nonnus seems to have in mind the towers that elephants could carry into war. These were large enough to accommodate ––––––––––– 61 Cutler 1985, 128 and fig. 8. 62 In the south-west portico, discussed by Cutler 1985, 125f. and fig. 2. Image: Brett et al. 1947, no. 61, pl. 41; Jobst 1997, fig. 47. 63 Il. 10.292, etc. And in the didactic tradition, the epithet is applied by Ps.- Oppian to Syrian bulls (Cyn. 2.102). 64 4.4.4  Š †\ †"  ~ > , ¿ % % ~ " ’. The Romans called elephants “Lucanian cattle”, e.g. Silius Italicus 9.572f. 65 Nonnus repeats the phrase " †> also at 36.185 in the context of an attacking panther leaping onto the neck of an elephant, but elsewhere it is used of a bear (40.47, 43.348). 66 Achilles Tatius notes correctly that the crocodile has no neck (4.19.4).

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ten to fifteen Indians according to Philostratus (VA 2.12), but a more plausible three soldiers according to Pliny (Nat. 8.22) and Aelian (NA 13.9). The novelist Heliodorus, probably roughly contemporary with Philostratus, 67 has a vivid description of the Ethiopian use of elephants at the battle of Syene, in which archers shoot from turrets on the elephants’ backs, each manned by six men; any enemy survivors are tossed in the air and trampled underfoot by the elephants (9.18).68 Equally graphic is Silius Italicus’ account (9.570 – 598) of the battle of Cannae in which Hannibal used elephants carrying towers from which men armed with javelins, fire and stones first discharged rocks and missiles (9.576 – 580);69 subsequently one elephant impales and kills Ufens with its tusk (9.584 – 586),70 while another pierces the corselet of Tadens with its tusk without wounding him and swings him high in the air. 71 Later (9.626 – 631) Mincius approaches an elephant with drawn sword, but is caught up in the elephant’s trunk72 and brandished, before being dashed to the ground. These passages anticipate Nonnus’ description of an elephant attacking a victim at 26.316 – 328. Scullard reproduces two representations of an elephant bearing a tower or platform carrying soldiers, in each of which the elephant also has a victim trapped in its trunk, 73 corroborating the idea that towers might be used in conjunction with an attack by the elephant itself.74 Elsewhere in the poem, however, Nonnus presents a different view of the elephant’s role in battle. Sometimes he envisages a single rider on the neck of an elephant, as when Dionysus rides an elephant to conquer the Amazons ––––––––––– 67 Bowie 1996, 676. 68 These elephants are said to be clad in iron in battle, in addition to having a tough hide that shatters any spear that strikes it, cf. n. 77 below. 69 Cf. Nonnus’ “swarm of riders” (306); Silius’ elephants, like those of Nonnus (300), are black (9.570), cf. sec. 4. 70 The tusk has a blade fixed to it (9.582f.): Nonnus may have been aware of this tactic when comparing his elephant’s tusk to a sickle, see sec. 5 above. Nonnus has two further possible references to armed elephants (Dion. 27.135 ># †"#, 137 "# †"#) but both are imprecise, see Vian 2003, 290. 71 Tadens resourcefully takes the opportunity to blind the elephant, causing it to rear up and throw the tower from its back, leading to general catastrophe (Sil. 9.591 – 598). Nonnus reserves the injured elephant for a later point in the narrative, 28.70 – 80: see above sec. 2. 72 Called a “hand” (628 manus), cf. n. 58 above. 73 Scullard 1974, plate VIIb, a terracotta statue from Myrina, in which the victim in the elephant’s trunk is identified by his shield as a Celt; and fig. 23 (p. 245) an engraved gemstone reproduced from Daremberg and Saglio fig. 2624. 74 So too in Pliny, Nat. 8.27. See further Scullard (1974, 240 – 245), who considers it unlikely that an elephant could have carried more than two or three soldiers.

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after the Indian war (26.332 Ú# "‡ †"’# †"#).75 But most commonly, Nonnus’ elephants are yoked in pairs to draw a chariot, like the horses of Homeric warfare: in a passage modelled on Iliadic battle scenes, Deriades checks the elephants of his “twin-yoked carriage” (21.212 >[> "X) as Dionysus approaches, 76 and when one of Deriades’ elephants is wounded in the neck,77 it shakes the carriage in agony and disengages the yoke-straps, until the driver cuts it free and substitutes another elephant.78 Nonnus’ warrior elephants operate in a range of ways, according to the needs of the moment – and not necessarily mutually consistent.79 Nonnus knew that elephants carried towers of armed warriors in Hellenistic and Roman warfare, but this style of warfare is not appropriate for the epic resonance he wishes to evoke in the poem as a whole. In the last line (307) of this aside, Nonnus describes the steady gait of the tower-bearing elephant. His reference to the elephant’s unbending knee perpetuates without comment a piece of elephant lore already rejected by Aristotle. 80 To convey the same idea, Nonnus coins ‰  (“upright on its feet”) at the end of this passage (26.335), used again in describing the death of Deriades’ elephant (28.72).81 And at 33.278, amidst a series of vignettes that evoke dead of night, Nonnus humorously includes an elephant sleeping upright propped against an oak tree. 82 ––––––––––– 75 The line is repeated at 39.91 (of the Indian king); cf. 24.137f. of a Bacchant; 24.173 – 175 Deriades retreats +[ "`  # †"#; 36.217 – 220 a wounded Indian falls off his elephant into the dust. 76 Also 27.238 a satyr lashing a tiger caused panic among the cars of yoked elephants ("  „[># †"#), cf. 36.366. 77 Although many ancient writers comment on the thick skin of the elephant that makes it impervious to wounds, e.g. Ps.- Opp. Cyn. 2.527 – 529; cf. also n. 68. 78 Dion. 28.73 – 80. Cf. Sarpedon’s wounding of the horse of Patroclus (Iliad 16.466 – 476) or Diomedes’ rescue of Nestor (8.80 – 112). 79 See further Vian 2003, 289f. on the fighting elephant in Nonnus; Miguélez Cavero 2014, 271 – 277. 80 Aristotle, HA 2.498a 9 – 11 „ ’ †"  ¯# ² ]  , – > [  \  –  (“The elephant does not behave as some used to allege, but settles down and bends it legs”, transl. Peck). Aristotle adds that the elephant, because of its weight, cannot sit on both sides at once, but reclines either on its left or right side, and in that posture goes to sleep; but it bends () its hind legs just like a human. Aelian, however, also perpetuates the myth that the elephant sleeps on its feet, 4.31  Š  — ‰ . 81 Cf. also ‰ > (36.184), used of small children by Nicander (Al. 419). 82 33.278f.     †"  –  ` [v.l. X] |   ¯ Í > !ˆ >\ % † (“and a high-stepping elephant by a neighbouring wood [wall] | slept an upright sleep, his back supported against an oak-tree”). Further references: Vian 2003, 286f.

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9. The walking elephant Nonnus returns to the elephant’s gait in the closing lines of his description (26.311 – 315): the skinny ears,83 hanging close beside its temples, move like fans in the wind and the short quivering tail lashes the body. This is a realistic account that is not closely paralleled elsewhere in elephant descriptions. Ps.- Oppian, for example, alludes briefly and implausibly to the “rather small” ears of the elephant as “hollow” and “polished” (2.519f. Í"   †’ ½   , | , ” ), a description also paralleled in elephant representations on pavements.84 Closer to Nonnus is Aelian’s account of elephants spreading their ears like sails, as ostriches spread their wings when charging in attack. 85 And Achilles Tatius includes in his tale of Leucippe and Clitophon the fable of the lion, the elephant and the gnat from the Aesopic tradition: chastened at his own fear of the cock, the lion comes upon an elephant and asks why the elephant’s ears constantly move. A gnat buzzes past and the elephant explains that if the gnat gets inside its ear channel “I am dead.”86 The story indicates that it was well known that the elephant moved its ears, and indeed Nonnus is likely to have been familiar with the Achilles Tatius passage. As for the tail, Achilles Tatius accurately describes the tail of the hippopotamus as short and hairless (4.2.2 –    \ ˜— %): this is more plausible than Herodotus’ comparison with a horse’s tail (2.71) and indeed not inappropriate for the elephant’s tail. 87 Achilles Tatius also has a meticulous account of the crocodile’s tail, including the detail that it uses it like a whip (”) when hunting, inflicting multiple injuries on its victim with a single blow.88 But neither he nor Ps.- Oppian mention the elephant’s ––––––––––– 83 ù½    . The adjective, here only in D., is rare: Ps.- Oppian describes Syrian bulls as } …   (Cyn. 2.106), shortly after designating them ># (2.102): cf. n. 63 above. 84 Cutler 1985, 126 and figs. 3 and 4. 85 8.10 †  } ‹ § !ˆ ¤ >¤ –  † Š ¢ ‹  % > % % #, ¿ ¼ – > γ   = "Š> = † , “And the animals attack, their ears in passion spread wide like sails, after the manner of ostriches which open their wings to flee or attack” (transl. Scholfield). 86 Ach. Tat. 2.21.3f., cf. Fable 259 (p. 474 Loeb transl. Perry). I thank Laura Miguélez Cavero for drawing the Achilles Tatius passage to my attention. 87 Cutler 1985 notes that the elephant’s tail is not always correctly represented on mosaics, for example on the pavement of the tetraconch at Seleucia-Pieria the elephant “terminates in a delightful but physiologically absurd tassel” (126 and fig. 3). And the elephant strangling a lion on the Great Palace mosaic has a furry tail (n. 62 above). 88 4.19.2 – 4: with ” at 4.19.4, cf. Dion. 26.314 >– }  [>  , of the elephant.

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tail. Nonnus, however, captures its lithe vitality: it is indeed “short’ († ), but also “slender” (">’ , a new coinage) and “restless” (¥  , all 315), by contrast to the elephant’s “steady” ( ˆ, 307) gait. Gianfranco Agosti has drawn attention to Nonnus’ similar description of satyrs running: their ears blow back and flap against their cheeks, while their horse’s tail lashes their loins on either side. 89 However, the linguistic overlap with our passage is limited to the notion of the breezes fanning the ears (Dion. 14.139 [ § , Dion. 26.313 š[  ½`), together with the reference to flapping ears and lashing tail in combination. Nonnus accurately describes the appearance of the elephant’s ears (312) and the way in which it flaps them while walking (313), as opposed to when running like the satyrs or charging a foe, as in Aelian. The account of the tail (314f.) is extremely precise, and the whole passage suggests authentic knowledge of an elephant’s gait, appended to the anecdotal and literary compendium that informs the earlier part of the description. 10. Conclusions With this veracious and original detail on the gentle rolling gait of the peacetime elephant, Nonnus asserts his mastery of ekphrasis, the art of bringing clearly before the mind’s eye the object described. Earlier in the passage, comparisons with other familiar animals (304 a camel; 308, 327 a viper; 310 a pig), although typical of the ekphrastic style, have limited value in illuminating the elephant’s appearance. The camel analogy introduces realities of Hellenistic and Roman elephant warfare in which the animals might carry armed soldiers, but this is not how the elephants in Nonnus’ poem operate. The viper comparison vividly evokes the elephant’s trunk, in this line (308) conveying the impression that after the broad brow the head is all trunk; only at 325 – 328 is the viper trunk described in conjunction with the dangerous tusks. Comparison with the eyes of a pig is a hackneyed ekphrastic trope applied to a number of animals. The likeness of an elephant to a bull is merely suggested linguistically without expansion (308, 317). This association of the elephant with other animals is complicated in the account of its tusks and trampling (301 – 304), which evoke literary descrip––––––––––– 89 Agosti 2004, 182f., citing Dion. 14.138 – 142 ½  } ¥"# | #  [ §  | Ÿ >§,   †>  | † , ‹ }   – ³> |   " ’ Ÿ”Š ] ’, “When they ran, the winged breezes blew back their two ears, stretched out straight and flapping against their hairy cheeks: behind them a horse’s tail stuck out straight and lashed round their loins on either side” (transl. Rouse).

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tions of the more exotic hippopotamus in particular, as well as the crocodile. In omitting to give a clear description of the elephant’s distinctive tusks and trunk, Nonnus assimilates the elephant to the exotic animals associated with Egypt by his literary predecessors. Nonnus’ elephant description (26.295 – 315) is to be read in conjunction with the account of the fighting elephant that immediately follows (26.316 – 328), where imagery introduced in the initial description is picked up and often expanded and clarified. 90 The initial description serves as background to the macabre and very vivid account of two elephant assaults, first an attack with the tusks, and second holding the victim aloft with the trunk before dashing him to the ground to complete the slaughter with the tusks. 91 For this Silius Italicus’ account of Hannibal’s fighting elephant (9.570 – 598) provides an illuminating intertext, mentioning as it does very similar tactics on the part of the elephant, as well as the black colour of the beast and the sickles attached to its tusks.92 Nonnus’ passion for the bizarre and fascination with the imagery of whirling and rolling makes this horrific account highly visual and effective. What of the preceding elephant description (295 – 315)? Although it culminates in the engaging account of the elephant gently flapping its ears and flicking its tail, the medley of elephant lore, animal comparisons, literary allusion and verbal ingenuity does not always result in visual clarity. Unlike Ps.- Oppian, Nonnus chose not to delineate precisely the most obvious features of the elephant’s physiognomy, its tusks and trunk. And yet he is more accurate than Ps.- Oppian in describing the eyes and ears, not to mention the tail. Cutler’s study of elephant depictions on late antique pavements indicates how very vague many craftsmen were about what an elephant actually looked like. While I am inclined to doubt whether Ps.- Oppian had actually seen an elephant, Nonnus, despite his vagueness and studied allusiveness, persuades me that he had.

––––––––––– 90 For example, the sickle-like tusk and the viperine and bull-like head. The need to read ekphrastic passages in conjunction with narrative material elsewhere in the poem is stressed by Faber 2016, 447 – 449. 91 The repeated  (“often”) at 316 and 320 indicates that Nonnus describes two separate types of elephant attack, as in the Silius passage. 92 See sec. 8 above. Aelian 8.10 has a description of frightened elephants killing any hunter who falls by dashing him to the ground, trampling him and wounding him with the tusks. This immediately precedes the ostrich comparison mentioned above, sec. 9.

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References Translations of the following authors are taken from the Loeb Classical Library (Harvard University Press, Cambridge, MA): Achilles Tatius (transl. Gaselee), Aelian (transl. Scholfield), Aristotle, History of Animals (transl. Peck), Babrius and Phaedrus, Fables (transl. Perry), Nonnus (transl. Rouse), Philostratus, Life of Apollonius (transl. Conybeare), Pliny, Natural History (transl. Rackham), Ps.- Oppian (transl. Mair), Silius Italicus (transl. Duff). Accorinti, D., ed. (2016), Brill’s Companion to Nonnus of Panopolis (Brill’s Companions in Classical Studies), Leiden - Boston. Agosti, G., ed. (2004), Nonno di Panopoli, Le Dionisiache. Introduzione, traduzione e comment, vol. III: canti XXV – XXXIX, testo greco a fronte (BUR, Classici greci e latini), Milano. Agosti, G. (2014), Contextualizing Nonnus’ Visual World, in: K. Spanoudakis (ed.), Nonnus of Panopolis in Context. Poetry and Cultural Milieu in Late Antiquity, with a Section on Nonnus and the Modern World (Trends in Classics Suppl. 24), Berlin - Boston: 141 – 174. Benaissa, A., ed. (2018), Dionysius. The Epic Fragments. Introduction, Translation and Commentary (Cambridge Classical Texts and Commentaries 56), Cambridge. Bowie, E. L. (31996), Heliodorus. Oxford Classical Dictionary: 676. Brett, G., Macaulay, W. J. and Stevenson, R. B. K. (1947), The Great Palace of the Byzantine Emperors. Being a First Report on the Excavations carried out in Istanbul on Behalf of the Walker Trust (the University of St Andrews) 1935 – 1938, London. Chuvin, P. (1991), Mythologie et géographie dionysiaques. Recherches sur l’œuvre de Nonnos de Panopolis (Vates 2), Clermont-Ferrand. Cutler, A. (1985), The Elephants of the Great Palace Mosaic. Bulletin de l’Association internationale pour l’étude de la mosaique antique (A.I.E.M.A.) 10: 125 – 131. Faber, R. A. (2016), Nonnus and the Poetry of Ekphrasis in the Dionysiaca, in: Accorinti 2016: 443 – 459. Frangoulis, H. (2014), Du Roman à l’épopée. Influence du roman grec sur les Dionysiaques de Nonnos de Panopolis, Besançon. Gonnelli, F., ed. (1998), Giorgio di Pisidia. Esamerone, introduzione, testo critic, traduzione e indici, Pisa. Gow, A. S. F. and Scholfield, A. F., edd. (1953), Nicander. The Poems and Poetical Fragments, Introduction, Translation and Notes, Cambridge. Jobst, W. et al. (1997), !stanbul. Büyük saray mozayi"i, ara$tirmalar, onar%m ve sergileme 1983 – 1997 = Istanbul. Das große byzantinische Palastmosaik, seine Erforschung, Konservierung und Präsentation 1983 – 1997 = Istanbul. The Great Palace mosaic, the story of its exploration, preservation and exhibition 1983 – 1997 (Arkeoloji ve Sanat Yay%nlar%. Müze, sergi, ve koleksiyon kataloglar% dizisi 6), Istanbul. Miguélez Cavero, L. (2010), Rhetorical Displays of Knowledge in Leucippe and Clitophon. Animal Talk. Prometheus 36: 263 – 283. Miguélez Cavero, L. (2014), Nonnus’ Natural Histories. Anything to Do with Dionysus?, in: L. A. Guichard, J. L. García Alonso and M. Paz de Hoz (edd.), The Alexandrian Tradition. Interactions between Science, Religion and Literature (IRIS. Ricerche di cultura europea / Forschungen zur europäischen Kultur 28), Bern - Berlin etc.: 245 – 286.

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Miguélez Cavero, L. (2016), Nonnus and the Novel, in: Accorinti 2016: 549 – 573. Scullard, H. H. (1974), The Elephant in the Greek and Roman World (Aspects of Greek and Roman Life), London. Vian, F., ed. (2003/11990), Nonnos de Panopolis. Les Dionysiaques, tom. IX: chants XXV – XXIX (Collection des universités de France Série grecque, Collection Budé 361), Paris. Webb, R. (1999), Ekphrasis, Imagination and Persuasion in Ancient Rhetorical Theory and Practice, Farnham - Burlington, VT. Webb, R. (2016), Sight and Insight. Theorizing Vision, Emotion and Imagination in Ancient Rhetoric, in: M. Squire (ed.), Sight and the Ancient Senses, London - New York: 205 – 219.

WIENER STUDIEN, Beiheft 41, 187 – 209 © 2020 by Österreichische Akademie der Wissenschaften Wien

MARCELINA GILKA

Like Mother, Like Daughter? Hermione in Colluthus’ Abduction of Helen1 In his only surviving work, the ° — Ë , Colluthus dedicates sixty-one verses to Helen’s little daughter Hermione and her distress when she discovers that her mother is gone. He is the first and only ancient author to feature Hermione’s perspective on the events in such depth. The following three sections will explore how the Hermione scene functions within the epyllion as a whole and in what ways it draws on the previous literary tradition surrounding the figure of Hermione, both as a child and as an adult, notably in Euripides’ Andromache and Ovid’s Heroides 8. Hermione’s Mythical Background First, it will be useful to give an overview of the representations of Hermione’s background in classical texts before Colluthus. Naturally, the child is always mentioned in conjunction with her parents. Her debut appearance by name is in the Odyssey (Od. 4.12 – 14): Ë` } \  ’ ]" , †\ — ˆ % †   ’ † ’, Ë, ñ ^ ] >§ ž" . “To Helen the gods granted no more offspring, since she had first given birth to a lovely daughter, Hermione, who had the appearance of golden Aphrodite.”

Already here two prevailing themes are introduced which recur throughout ancient literature whenever Hermione is mentioned: firstly, her status as Helen’s only child, and secondly, her beauty. In Il. 3.174f. Helen regrets that she came to Troy ¤ |    >. The attribute Š , an epithet used for children, can be rendered as “most beloved”, but literally ––––––––––– 1 This chapter has been adapted from my 2014 MSt dissertation of the same title. All translations are my own.

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means “the latest born”, i.e. the youngest, and is also applied to only children (see LSJ ad loc.).2 Hesiod stresses Hermione’s looks and tells that her birth was unexpected, perhaps in the sense that her parents had given up any hope for children (Hes. fr. 155.94 – 95 Most = 204.94 – 95 Merkelbach - West): ñ  Ë  "> †  ¥. “[Helen] bore beautifully-ankled Hermione in the palace, an unhoped-for child.”

But elsewhere Hesiod also mentions that she has a brother (Hes. fr. 248 Most = 175 Merkelbach - West): ñ  ’ Ë >% ¹#· „  ’ ] À  [  “She bore Hermione to spear-famed Menelaus: but as the youngest she bore Nicostratus, scion of Ares.”

Since Nicostratus is described as „  , we can argue that he has only been conceived after the war and Hermione was still an only child when Helen left Sparta. But in Sophocles’ Electra Clytaemnestra makes it clear that Menelaus had two children with Helen before the war (Soph. El. 539 – 541). Hermione in Euripides’ Andromache stresses, in turn, that she is Helen’s only child (Eur. Andr. 898f.).3 Hermione’s beauty is of course associated with Helen who is known to be the most beautiful woman in the world. In the Odyssey passage above, Hermione is said to have the looks of golden Aphrodite. In Homer, Aphrodite and Helen are half-sisters, since both are the daughters of Zeus, wherefore we can infer that Hermione’s beauty is inherited from the mother’s side. Hermione is used in love poetry as a comparandum for beautiful women. Sappho fr. 23.3 – 5 Campbell: ––––––––––– 2 On Ç cf. Rengakos 1994, 146f. 3 Various other sources further complicate Helen’s motherhood: there is a tradition by which Helen and Theseus are the natural parents of Iphigenia, who is then adopted by Agamemnon and Clytaemnestra (Paus. 2.22.6f. = Stesichorus fr. 191 PMGF = 86 Finglass, Lycophr. Alex. 103 – 105, Nicander fr. 58 Schneider = Antoninus Liberalis 27.1, Euphorion fr. 90 Powell = 86 Lightfoot). The Cypria-writer maintains that Helen and Menelaus had a son Plisthenes and that she also bore Aganus by Paris (Cypria fr. 10 Davies = schol. Eur. Andr. 898). The scholiast on Il. 3.175 lists three children of Menelaus and Helen: Hermione, Nicostratus and Aithiolas. Ariaethus also mentions one Maraphius (FGrH 316 F 6).

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] Ÿ#[ ] œ  >[ ] ”  ’ œ  ’ †[] “… look Hermione herself to compare you to blonde Helen”

Propertius 1.4. 5 – 8: tu licet Antiopae formam Nycteidos, et tu Spartanae referas laudibus Hermionae, et quascumque tulit formosi temporis aetas; Cynthia non illas nomen habere sinat: “You may cite with praises the looks of Nycteus’ daughter Antiope and of Spartan Hermione, and all the women the age of beautiful time has brought forth: Cynthia won’t let them have a name.”

Although the passage from Sappho is very fragmentary, it is mostly agreed that the speaker praises the beauty of a girl by comparing her to Hermione and then to Helen. Since the praise is likely to be climactic, as in the piece by Propertius, we can expect the comparisons to become bolder, as an even better comparandum to match the girl’s supreme looks is sought every time. Thus, we should understand that, since Hermione is listed before Helen, the beautiful daughter is still in her mother’s shadow. It is this very theme that can be observed most of the time whenever Hermione is mentioned. Normally we only ever encounter her when Helen is the main subject under discussion. Hermione is then presented either for the sake of mythological completeness or to make a point about the characterization of Helen, whether it is demonizing or sympathetic. Sappho demonstrates the great power of love using Helen as an example. Passion for Paris took hold of Helen #}   } "# ’# |   †  (“nor did she at all remember her child | nor her dear parents”: Sappho fr. 16.10f.). Thus Sappho very much excuses Helen’s actions, saying that erotic love is even stronger than the love for one’s parents and children.4 In Stesichorus fr. S104.10 PMGF = 113.10 Finglass, as in Iliad 3 above, Helen seems to voice her longing for Hermione, thereby ––––––––––– 4 West 2002, 211 aptly points out that this is “a sympathetic response to the story from a woman with a daughter of her own whom she would not exchange for the whole of Lydia ([Sapph. fr.] 132)”.

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marking her change from the ruthless adulteress back into the good wife and caring mother. In Triphiodorus, Helen’s neglect of Hermione adds to her image as a volatile character. Athena chides her: ½ ’ Ÿ   } Š  | Ë   ; (“Don’t you pity your former husband nor long for your daughter Hermione?”; Triph. 493f.) Similarly to the bitter Sophoclean Clytaemnestra (Soph. El. 539 – 541), in Euripides Clytaemnestra is also angered that her own daughter Iphigenia was killed on account of Helen, while Hermione is alive (Eur. IA 1201 – 1205). Here Hermione is objectified as a precious possession which Helen does not deserve and of which she should have been stripped, according to Clytaemnestra’s an-eye-for-an-eye logic. The passage that most strikingly shows how Hermione is seen in relation to Helen and also addresses the question why she was an only child is a comment by Porphyrius (Porphyrius ad Od. 4.11 Schrader): –  [}] Ë  — Ë ];  ˆ –   ˆ  § >  . Š – §  §  Ÿ ˆ  % è³#  \ % Ë’#,  †> ‡  ‹ , ¿ ˆ  ">`, ž”  ~> §  ]. ˆ }  % ^  ¥ « Š   \  , ˆ }  ½   \  . – ¤ ] Ì, ¿    [   \ ¿ ˆ  ]`. †" }  \ „ ’ · ‘Ë` } \  ’ ]" .’  % , ¿ †\  ` = ¿ ’ ž”>  — ‡. “[but] why did she only give birth to Hermione? Because giving birth to many would alter the beauty of the woman. For since she was destined to be seized into the war between Trojans and Greeks, the gods gave her no other offspring, so that her beauty may be preserved and that Alexander would delight in it. But being completely childless was ill fortune and bad, while giving birth was good fortune and a blessing. For that reason she bore one, so that she may be considered blessed and that she may keep her beauty. The poet too adds: ‘To Helen the gods granted no more offspring’, plausibly, that she may still be in her fullest bloom and not have offspring by Alexander.”

Porphyrius notices that Hermione is crucial to constructing the figure of Helen. He represents Helen as an instrument with which the gods steered the Trojan War. The reasoning is rather simple: Helen has to be beautiful for Paris; children spoil a woman’s looks; therefore she has to be childless; but childlessness is a  ; so the happy medium is for her to have just one child. However, this leaves us with an ambivalent attitude towards Hermione who is seen as a “necessary evil”. Again, she only exists as an accessory of her mother, to aid a particular portrayal of her. She is needed in order to make Helen privileged; but at the same time she devalues her from a

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patriarchal perspective, by claiming through the birth some of the beauty that is reserved for Paris or whichever man possesses Helen. Thus, there is a dichotomy between two aspects of female nature: bearing children and being sexually desirable. Furthermore, a kind of rivalry is created between the child and the lover. Paris also somewhat competes with Hermione for Helen’s attention in Ovid’s Heroides. Following a version of the myth in which Paris was entertained at the Spartan court for some time before he sailed off with its queen, Ovid makes him say in his letter to Helen (Ov. Her. 16.255f.):5 oscula si natae dederas, ego protinus illa Hermiones tenero laetus ab ore tuli. “If you had given your daughter kisses, forthwith I would joyfully snatch them from her soft mouth.”

This sketch of a scene is brief, but very telling: Paris channels his as yet unrevealed passion for Helen and first erotic contacts with her through Hermione. But from Hermione’s perspective this must mean that she witnessed the development of their relationship, probably as the whole family was spending time together with their Trojan guests. What is more, the girl must have been close enough with Paris to let herself be kissed by him. He must have won her over by giving her attention, though not for her own sake, but in order to gain favour with Helen. One can imagine that this is even worse, for when the couple left Sparta, Hermione would not only have been deserted by her mother, but also cheated by Paris whom she trusted and was attached to. Thus the daughter is again only a puppet in her mother’s story. So far, we have mostly found Hermione mentioned either very generally as Helen’s beautiful child or when she is spoken of and remembered in a Trojan context. There are only two extant sources before Colluthus that describe the very moment of her abandonment in Sparta. Ps.- Apollodorus informs us that Hermione was nine years old when Helen left (Epit. 3.3): ~ } †  Ë   ¤ , †  –  % #,   § >ˆ ± ‚. “And she, leaving behind nine-year-old Hermione, put onboard most of the belongings and was carried away with him by night.”

In another passage from the Heroides the adult Hermione herself reminisces about that ominous day (Ov. Her. 8.75 – 80): ––––––––––– 5 This is similar to Vergil, Aen. 4.84f. where Dido is secretly in love with Aeneas and gremio Ascanium genitoris imagine capta | detinet, infandum si fallere possit amorem.

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vix equidem memini. memini tamen: omnia luctus, omnia solliciti plena timoris erant. flebat avus Phoebeque soror fratresque gemelli, orabat superos Leda suumque Iovem. ipsa ego non longos etiam tunc scissa capillos clamabam ‘sine me, me sine, mater abis?’ “Certainly, I hardly remember. But I do remember still: everything was mourning, everything was full of worried fear. Grandfather cried and her sister Phoebe and her twin brothers, Leda prayed those above and the highest Jove. I myself cut off my locks which were not yet long then and cried ‘Without me? Without me, mother, you go away?’”

The overwhelming grief is apparent: Hermione cuts off some hair, as is customary when a loved one has died. She also depicts the whole family’s shared sorrow and points out the individual responses of her grandparents, aunt and uncles. In the brief snapshot of the girl’s incredulous questions Ovid powerfully conveys the childish inclination of never wanting to be separated from the mother. But nowhere is the child Hermione treated at such length and in so much detail as in Colluthus. Hermione in Colluthus After the Judgement of Paris (Coll. 121 – 189) Colluthus’ narrative does not have a real climax. Paris does not encounter any problems while sailing to Sparta (Coll. 190 – 246), although there are a number of clearly bad omens for the voyage, which are simply ignored. Helen follows him willingly, they board the ship and set sail for Troy (Coll. 247 – 325). Thus, the divine plan is fulfilled and the narrative could well end here in a straightforward way, celebrating the affection of the couple, carefree for the time being, and leaving the apparent problems related to the union to be the concern of other poets. But that would make the piece rather boring. Instead, the text goes on: Ë ’ (Coll. 326). The sudden introduction of the name at the beginning of the line, fitting the abrupt style of the epyllion,6 switches the scene from the open sea back to a chamber in the Spartan palace without warning. At once we remember that something has been completely forgotten in the story: Helen’s daughter Hermione has been left behind by her mother, and we witness the child’s ––––––––––– 6 On the lack of connections between the scenes in Colluthus, see Livrea 1968, xx and Schönberger 1993, 16.

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lament as she realizes it. This, of course, now casts the seemingly perfect romance of Helen and Paris in an unfavourable light. Hermione has not even been alluded to before. 7 Paris carries Helen away from Menelaus’ chamber (323), but there is no indication that Hermione is also sleeping there, as we learn a little later (332). Hermione is not famous enough for us to think about her automatically in conjunction with the story of Helen’s abduction, and her appearance is therefore very unexpected. The scene featuring Hermione spans about 24 hours, but the delineations of time and the sequence of events are rather blurry, perhaps reflecting the fact that Hermione would have remembered that day in a distorted way. After Helen has left with Paris at dawn (Coll. 316 – 318), Hermione wakes up in the morning (‹  [...] Ú , Coll. 327) and discovers her absence. In tears, she asks her handmaidens where her mother could have gone and the girls cry with her (Coll. 328 – 333). The attendant women (>  , as distinct from her peers, the   ) gather around her and try to comfort her, saying that Helen will return soon and thinking up explanations for her disappearance (Coll. 334 – 345). But Hermione easily disproves those possibilities and gets even more worried (Coll. 346 – 362). She says that she has looked for Helen in the woods, but could not find her (Coll. 356 – 358). This seems odd, since we have just been told that she was conversing with the women after she had woken up. Apparently there has been a time warp in the meantime. Since the whole scene is made up mostly of these two monologues, it seems that they are more than just abstract. We must imagine them as dramatic, accompanying action, spanning several hours. The speeches are a condensed showcase of the things that would have been said (again and again?) during the day. 8 Especially the plural voice of the attendants must be understood as an amalgam of utterances by different speakers.9 Thus, when the women say that Hermione will see her mother even while she is weeping (Coll. 337), we may suppose that they simultaneously take her for a walk to look for Helen in all the places they mention, and each time the girl replies that she cannot find her there, and is ––––––––––– 7 Cuartero i Iborra 1992, 38 agrees that Colluthus left her out of the proem on purpose to surprise his readers. 8 This may be an argument in favour of the suggestion by Cadau 2015, 206 – 223 that the epyllion served as a pantomime libretto. On the treatment of Hermione in that monograph, see also Gilka 2015. 9 This is a good strategy for keeping the epyllion short, but this is certainly not the primary aim. Vian 1969, 73f. points out that Quintus Smyrnaeus collapses several speeches by Sinon into one (Q.S. 12.375 – 386).

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at a loss. Another, perhaps more plausible, possibility is that Hermione rejects their suggestions straightaway (Coll. 347f.), but nevertheless goes out to search the area and test her own, much gloomier, speculations (Coll. 352 – 362). At some moment it becomes evening, as we can infer from Hermione’s remark that the stars are rising (Coll. 350). From this point the narrative sequence becomes clearer. Hermione is exhausted with crying and falls asleep (363 – 368). She dreams of Helen who tells her that she has been abducted (Coll. 369 – 378). Hermione awakens with a start, cries even more than before, and commands birds to report the ‘abduction’ to Menelaus who is in Crete (Coll. 379 – 384). We may deduce from the presence of the birds that it is now early morning. The episode closes with Hermione once more wandering in vain, seeking Helen (Coll. 386), and one gets the impression that she is going to spend yet another day in this way. 10 The first thing Hermione does when she appears in the text is to throw off her veil (˜   Š: Coll. 326). Colluthus introduces the detail of the veil in order to establish major inter- and intratextual links. The discarding of the veil bears significant connotations with bereaved Homeric women. The wording is modelled on Il. 22.406 (]˜  Š) where Hecuba does the same to express her mourning for Hector. A little later (Il. 22.739f.), Andromache collapses, shocked at the news of her husband’s death, and her head-dress (’) falls off her head. In the Odyssey Nausicaa and her handmaids " `  \  ¥ ] [, ˆ ’  ¤  (Od. 6.100).11 Through the comparison of Hermione with those predecessors general themes emerge that will become relevant throughout the passage. The same action of losing the veil can mean two very different things in Homer: in the two Iliadic examples it stands for deep anguish whereas in the Odyssey it shows the girls’ high spirits. While at her age we should expect Hermione to take off her veil in order to play with her companions, she casts it off and then weeps together with the   (333). Her situation is thus contrasted with Nausicaa’s, and actually corresponds to that of the adult women in the Iliad, as Hermione too has lost a dear person. At this point we are introduced to the fact that the girl is much more grown up than she should be. Her serious behaviour is contrasted with the immaturity of Helen who is impulsive and naïve enough to escape with a stranger who tells her that Aphrodite wants her to be his bride (247 – 314). Accordingly, the com––––––––––– 10 For the uniqueness of Colluthus’ representation of a female child, see Gilka, forthcoming. 11 On these and other Homeric veils see Llewellyn-Jones 2003, 28 – 32 where the synonymity of  Š and ’ is also established.

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parison of Hermione with Hecuba who mourns for her child somewhat establishes a reversal of the mother-daughter relationship between Hermione and Helen. Furthermore, the parallel with Andromache who cries for her husband – who is the same person as Hecuba’s son – foreshadows the theme of competition of erotic vs filial love, already apparent in Sappho 16, Porphyrius and Ovid, Her. 16 above, and continued by Colluthus. LlewellynJones argues that the tossing away of the veils by Hecuba and Andromache signifies their loss of status through the death of their male guardian: while Hector was alive they enjoyed his protection and were literally protected under their veils; now they are vulnerable and exposed to attacks from other men. 12 Although Helen is not Hermione’s male guardian, the girl still feels exposed and fearful without her present. We need to bear in mind that Menelaus, too, is not at home, so that she is now without either parent. However, the fact that she throws away the veil because of Helen’s disappearance suggests that the attachment to her mother and the homely safety it brings are at least as important, if not even more important, to the little girl than her father’s actual power over palace and kingdom. Finally, while the Iliadic women’s laments for Hector mark the beginning of the end of the Trojan War, Hermione’s lament for her mother can be interpreted as its starting point. The abandonment of female headgear is a recurrent motif at various stages of Colluthus’ epyllion. In the proem the poet calls upon the Trojan nymphs who often leave their ’ and their toys on the shore and go dancing on Mt. Ida (2 – 4). The resonances with the Nausicaa passage are striking, and the same contrast with Hermione is present. But apart from the apparent differences between the nymphs and the girl, they have something in common: in both cases the action of taking off the headdress is a marker at the opening of a new scene. Thus, we can suppose that Hermione and the nymphs have similar functions in the narrative.13 The nymphs, a Colluthean substitute for the Muses, 14 are a source of information for the narrator. But significantly he only asks them to tell him what they know about the events up until the Judgement of Paris (5 – 13). As we have noted, the Hermione scene is somewhat detached from what came before it, and forms an unhappy contrast to Paris’ and Helen’s seemingly happy ending. Therefore, while the earlier events are covered by the account of the nymphs who merrily leave their headbands, Hermione, who casts off her veil in despair, assumes the authority over the latter part of the proem. ––––––––––– 12 Llewelyn-Jones 2003, 130f. 13 Paschalis 2008, 139, who describes the poem as a series of aitia, points out that both the proem and Hermione’s lament feature similar questions, such as ‘how?’, ‘why?’, ‘where?’. 14 On the bucolic character of this, see Magnelli 2008, 153.

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Another instance of the headgear motif can be found in lines 81f., where Cypris makes herself up for the beauty contest and  Š”   Š wreaths her hair with gold. This seductive context possibly introduces the meeting of her sister Helen and Paris in Sparta, for which Aphrodite herself is responsible after all and for which she has given instructions (295f.). So again the abandonment of the veil may introduce a new section, although, admittedly, it does not stand at its beginning. The last fall of a veil in The Abduction is found in the epilogue. When Paris is about to enter Troy with Helen, Cassandra watches the scene from the acropolis and, since she knows that their union is going to bring doom upon the city, she tears her hair and ]˜  Š (389).15 Of all the headgear motifs, this one most clearly echoes that of Hermione, both lexically and in being closest to her situation. Hermione and Cassandra, two mourning mortals, are opposed to the divine bliss of the nymphs of the prologue and Aphrodite. Hermione casts away her veil upon Helen’s departure, and Cassandra mirrors this by reacting in the same way upon Helen’s arrival at the gates of Troy. Colluthus’ epyllion is a prequel to the Iliad,16 and the Cassandra episode forms a transition between the two. In fact, it even echoes the ending of the Iliad where Cassandra, again standing on a high point, sees Priam approaching the city gates in his chariot, bearing the dead body of Hector (Il. 24.696 – 709). Thus the admission of Helen into the city foreshadows the mourning she will bring upon it. Not only do Hermione and Cassandra represent the two sides involved in the war to come, Greece and Troy, respectively; they may also draw attention to the contrasts between the Iliad and The Abduction. The expressions of grief in both characters are prompted by the same event, but in different ways. While Hermione in her bedroom cries for her destroyed family and palace (384), Cassandra on the acropolis mourns Troy. Similarly, through Helen’s crossing of the sea, we move from the internal to the external; from the miniature epyllion which explores the sorrows of a small child and the influence of the abduction on the private domestic sphere to the big epic about the big city where Helen’s flight has a political impact. Colluthus is the very first to expand on the topic of the little Hermione and her personal relationship with Helen. Of the previous literary treatments Homer and Hesiod note that her daughter is dear to Helen. In Ovid, Her. 16 she shows her affection for her child with kisses. Hermione’s attachment to her mother is also apparent in Her. 8. Colluthus goes even further in high––––––––––– 15 Paschalis 2008, 134f. has also paralleled this line with Hecuba’s mourning. 16 On its function as a prequel, see Karavas 2018.

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lighting their bond, to contrast the previous circumstances with Helen’s sudden absence. Hermione addresses her handmaidens (Coll. 330 – 332):   , §  ¤ Š ' ’, ñ  [ˆ ± †\ #  +¤ ]  !³>  \ †   {>  ’; “Girls, where has my mother gone, having left me with many sighs, she who yesterday took the keys of the bedchambers and while putting me to sleep slumbered and entered one bed with me?”

 +¤ suggests that Helen locked the door from the inside in order for her and Hermione to be safe and undisturbed.17 Therefore, Hermione may conclude that wherever her mother has gone, she did so of her own free will, because she must have unlocked the door. 18 It has been argued that ]  !³> , translated by Mair as “fell asleep”, is a tautology. Livrea disagrees, as the two words have different meanings. 19 He claims that !³> denotes “esser stanco, addormentarsi”. The LSJ s.v. !³# in fact gives “to be drowsy, tired” as a possibility, but also notes that in other places it is used simply with the meaning “to sleep”. Livrea ad loc. cites !³> in line 368 as a parallel for meaning “drowsy”. But I think both there and especially in line 349 (!³>) the verb should be rendered as “to sleep”. However, if we look up the non-epic form !# – whose sense Colluthus perhaps had in mind, but wanted to give it a poetic colour – it can mean “to put to sleep” in the active. For an object we can supply Hermione from ± †\ in the previous line. So the picture this rendering would paint is that Helen was putting her daughter to bed, but fell asleep herself in the process. This would then even make the phrase the very opposite of a tautology. The bed-time ritual is a deeply poignant moment and demonstrates the intimacy of the mother-daughter-relationship. However, it is very hard to believe that that night Helen would have actually fallen asleep when she had an escape planned. Rather, she would have waited for Hermione to be asleep before ––––––––––– 17 Livrea 1968, ad loc., draws a comparison with Achilles Tatius 2.19.4f. where Leucippe’s mother always sleeps with her daughter and takes care to lock the door doubly, both from inside and outside. 18 Schönberger 1993, 71 unnecessarily and arbitrarily attributes the fact that Hermione noticed nothing and that Paris could enter the chamber although it was locked to the “Zauberwirkung Aphrodites”. In fact, Helen would have simply opened the door and Hermione would not have heard her leaving, because she was asleep. On page 73 Schönberger contradictorily adds that “Hermione und Kassandra sind vom Zauber nicht erfasst”. 19 Livrea 1968, ad loc.

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making preparations20 and sailing away by daybreak. But the events are told from Hermione’s own perspective and, since Helen apparently took care to make everything seem normal and unsuspicious, we hear the scenario that would usually take place, rather than what really happened. Line 332 continues:  \ †   {>  ’. On the one hand, this is a minor hysteron proteron which, like the temporal incongruities in her second speech discussed above, can be explained with Hermione’s emotional turmoil. On the other hand, the powerful image of the shared bed is given prominence through being placed at the end of the speech. Later in line 373 Hermione, in passing, provides the additional information that this is her father’s bed, i.e. his and Helen’s marriage bed. The fact that Hermione occupies it during Menelaus’ absence from home is therefore significant. It has been rightly argued that “she almost substitutes for him”.21 The fusion of erotic and filial love alluded to in previous texts here manifests itself in the symbolism of the bed. It is the place in which Helen would sleep and have sex with Menelaus, in which she would have conceived and probably given birth to their daughter, and in which they now cuddle and sleep together. In short, it is the emblem of the family bliss and stability which has the woman at its centre. Thus, when Helen flees from the Spartan bedroom in order to join that of her lover, she deserts not only her husband and child but disrupts the entire basis of the household (cf. Hermione’s words at Coll. 384 that Paris    ”Š   [...]  ”  #).22 In the sketch of the day of Helen’s disappearance in Her. 8 (cited above, p. 191f.) Hermione is surrounded by her relatives to share in her grief; although it is only a brief passage, the individual reactions of five family members are described. In contrast, in The Abduction the princess seems very isolated. Her only interlocutors are her female attendants, but it is questionable how much they really feel for her. Her address to the birds at 382 is also a demonstration of her loneliness. After Hermione’s initial question the narrator resumes: ]  >> , >#Š }   (Coll. 333). However, the handmaidens’ wailing seems less sprung from heartfelt sympathy, but rather from duty. Their lamentation has a theatrical flavour, with Hermione leading the dirge and the girls responding as a chorus. The chief concern of the adult women is to stop their protégée from crying: †Š | Ë >  †’  >  (Coll. 334f.). Their speech is ––––––––––– 20 In the version offered by Proclus’ summary of the Cypria, Paris and Helen have intercourse that night and then bring many belongings onto Paris’ ship. 21 Paschalis 2008, 140. 22 On beds as social symbols in Homeric epic, see Zeitlin 1996, 26 – 32.

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much more about maintaining appearances than about providing real comfort. At 337 they remark that Hermione’s  \    are disfigured because of the crying – this is almost ironic, given that in earlier texts the girl’s beauty is constantly stressed as her trademark. The women also tell the child that her mother will come back soon (Coll. 336f.) and make guesses as to where she may have gone (340 – 361). It is doubtful, however, whether they actually believe their own rhetoric. The women’s suggestions as to what could have detained Helen are: (a) she went to a meeting of young women, but wandered off the path; (b) so maybe she is sitting on the meadow of the Hours; (c) or she went to take a bath in the river and tarried there. Hermione’s response addresses those assumptions directly (Coll. 347f.): Helen knows the hill (a?); she learnt the flow of the rivers (c); and she knows the paths to the roses and the meadow (c&b). Instead, Hermione has her own suppositions about what could have happened if she can exclude the possibility that her mother got lost. She voices them pathetically as apostrophes to Helen, and they also somewhat correspond to the versions of the attendants (Coll. 352 – 362): Helen did not meet other women, but wild beasts that killed her (a); rather than strolling to the meadow she took the chariot, had a fatal (?) accident and lies in the coppice (b); if she was bathing in the river she drowned (c). But for each explanation Hermione herself provides a plausible counterargument straightaway. We witness her train of thought as she is coming to terms with the lack of certainty. She vacillates between utter despair and moments of logical reasoning. She is sensible enough to check her own mistaken deliberations and defends herself quite vehemently against being mislead by others:   "  , >  ; (“What are you talking to me, women?”: Coll. 348). We may compare Hermione’s surprisingly critical judgement with the lack of resource of her attendants and with the previous scene in which Helen shows herself incredibly gullible (Coll. 247 – 314). She opens the gates of her palace to a stranger, is alone with him and blindly trusts the ambiguous truths he tells about himself. Then she instantly agrees to escape with him, because he took her fancy. Neither do we hear of any divine agency. So Helen must just be incredibly whimsical, which maybe also led the attendant women – who know her character – to think it plausible that she would wander off and get lost on her way. In fact, she is almost childish in her behaviour. Throughout the narrative, Colluthus conveys the impression that Helen is much younger than she really is, by calling her a Š" (Coll. 12f.; 276; 304; 315; 388) and avoiding references to her status as the wife of

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Menelaus.23 There is also no mention of the fact that she is a mother before she leaves Sparta. As Livrea (ad loc.) rightly points out, the reference to the meadow of roses at Coll. 348 alludes to Helen picking them and, alongside other elements, evokes Mosch. Eur. 30 – 32. But if we are to liken Helen’s situation to that of a flower-gathering maiden who is then kidnapped by a lusty Olympian, the case of Persephone seems even more appropriate.24 For Hermione perfectly suits the part of a Demeter who searches the whole world to find her child. This role reversal may be a response to the Rape of Persephone by Claudian whom Colluthus knew, as has been demonstrated by Cadau. 25 Interestingly, the imagery of headgear presented above is also found in the Homeric Hymn to Demeter. When the goddess hears her daughter’s cries she tears her veil with her hands (’   [: Hom. Hymn. 2.40) and hastens to rescue. Later, in mourning, she is covered ( – §   >: Hom. Hymn. 2.182) and holds the veil in front of her face (  \  Š: Hom. Hymn. 2.197). Furthermore, Hermione’s nature is depicted as that of an adult at 367f.: the princess falls asleep, weighed down with weeping, and the poet comments that this is often the case with >  . The obvious example is Penelope in Od. 4.787 – 794 who falls asleep whilst worrying about Telemachus. Thus Colluthus reverses the standard roles of child and parent, by presenting us with an infantile mother and a grown-up young girl. The part of the Hermione episode that is most complex and therefore most difficult to interpret is the dream scene. The girl is said to wander about "Š` ‰# (Coll. 369). The dream is widely understood to be of the False Gate which is earlier also described as that of "Š (Coll. 321).26 But the dream’s origin is a riddle. While in Homer some deity is always responsible for sending dreams to humans, Colluthus is not clear about this aspect, thus inviting speculations as to where the words uttered in the dream come from. This ambiguity has been described as deliberate. 27 The passage opens with an assertive Hermione accusing Helen for abandon––––––––––– 23 See Paschalis 2008, 145. 24 Another example of this motif is Creusa: she collects flowers and is then led away by Apollo and assaulted while calling for her mother (Eur. Ion 887 – 896). Moreover, in Euripides’ scenario Helen is snatched up by Hermes while she is gathering roses and is carried to Egypt (Hel. 240 – 251). 25 Cadau 2015, esp. 48 – 50. 26 For the suggestion of moving verses 316 – 321 before 369, see Livrea 1968, ad loc. 27 Cuartero i Iborra 2003, 194. Magnelli 2008, 172 n. 95 agrees.

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ing her. Again sounding like the moralizing parent, she employs rhetorical questions (Coll. 374f.):     ;   ³ ; ¯#    ’ Î ž" ; “Which mountain have I left out? What hills did I neglect? Is this in accordance with the harmony of beautiful-haired Aphrodite?”28

Thus confronted, Helen, like a child, refuses to take the blame and lays it on Paris instead (Coll. 377f.):  , — " –  Š`· „  [   ,  †[ Š: Coll. 386). She could not have taken the dream that seriously after all, if she still continues searching. Hermione apparently does not know what she is supposed to think – and neither does the reader. Colluthus shows again that he likes introducing a certain state of affairs and then letting us fill in the gaps between the lines. The Adult Hermione As shown in the first section of this chapter, there are very few instances in literature before Colluthus that portray Hermione during her childhood in any detail. However, we hear much more about her as a grown-up, owing to her somewhat difficult marital status. According to most accounts, Hermione was betrothed to her cousin Orestes from a young age, and in some accounts already married to him during the Trojan War by her grandfather Tyndareus; but Menelaus is in Troy, unaware of the engagement, and towards the end of the war promises his daughter’s hand in marriage to Achilles’ son Neoptolemus (also called Pyrrhus), provided that he captures Troy; 32 Neoptolemus then snatches Hermione away from Orestes (schol. Od. 4.4, Ov. Her. 8.31 – 36, Servius ad Verg. Aen. 3.330 and 297). Their wedding feast is celebrated by Menelaus in Od. 4.3 – 9, but the marriage notoriously remains childless (Pherecydes fr. 98 FHG = fr. 10 Dolcetti = schol. Eurip. Orest. 1654). However, Pyrrhus has a son, Molossus, with Andromache whom he brought back as a slave from Troy (Paus. 1.11.1; Apollod. Epit. 6.12). Thereafter Orestes, after murdering his mother, kills Neoptolemus also and claims back his bride (Apollod. Epit. 6.14; Verg. Aen. 3.325 – 332). Hermione and Orestes have a son Tisamenus who succeeds to the throne of Sparta (Apollod. Epit. 6.28; Paus. 2.18.6). ––––––––––– 31 Paschalis 2008, 140. 32 He gives this promise in Quintus Smyrnaeus 6.85 – 92.

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While in all the above sources only the bare facts about Hermione’s situation are given, we also have literary treatments which are more focussed on her own feelings, the two major ones being Euripides’ Andromache whose subject is Hermione’s jealousy of the eponymous heroine, and Ovid’s Heroides 8, written as a love letter by Hermione herself to Orestes. In the following I shall examine how Helen’s abandonment of her child as narrated by Colluthus can be linked intertextually to representations of Hermione’s future life in other sources. The adult Hermione is first and foremost a tragic figure. Sophocles wrote a play with the title Hermione that dealt with similar issues to the Andromache of Euripides. Unfortunately, it is lost but for a few fragments which do not aid the present discussion.33 Hermione is a marginal character in Euripides’ Orestes where the plot is slightly different from the tradition: when Menelaus refuses his help in defending Orestes and Electra from punishment for the killing of their mother, the siblings take Hermione hostage and threaten to kill her. Finally Apollo ex machina announces, amongst other things, that, although Neoptolemus was hoping to wed her, Orestes is supposed to take her as his bride (Or. 1653 – 1659). Hermione herself only speaks briefly at 1321 – 1346 when she is being lured into the trap by Electra, but from their dialogue we can see that she is willing to help her cousins (1344f.) who then take advantage of her trustfulness. We also learn at 1340 that she was nursed by Clytaemnestra, supposedly after Helen had gone to Troy. In Euripides’ Helen Hermione is mentioned briefly, but significantly: after the Trojan War, Helen relates the fact that her daughter is still unmarried and childless to her own alleged adultery (Hel. 688 – 691). Even though in this version Helen is freed from the charge of infidelity, since it was her eidolon that went to Troy while she herself was in Egypt, this does not change the perceptions of others nor the fact that her child had to grow up without both parents. Helen’s reputation has also dishonoured Hermione in the eyes of potential husbands. Her actions would thus have ruined her daughter’s whole life, both in the early years and in adulthood. This is not surprising, since, as has been shown above, Hermione’s very existence as a mythological figure is inextricably connected with – and even due to – her mother’s infamy. ––––––––––– 33 Sophocles TrGF F 202f. A hypothesis survives in Eustathius ad Od. 1479.10. Plays of that title are also attested for Theodorus (TrGF 134 F1), Pacuvius and possibly Philocles (TrGF 24 F 2).

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It has been persuasively argued that Apollonius of Rhodes in the Argonautica portrays the young Medea in a way that foreshadows her representation as a child-killing mother by Euripides.34 I would like to apply this method to The Abduction and test to what extent Colluthus’ little Hermione is consistent with the way she was represented as an adult in earlier literature. Euripides’ Andromache is the first extant text in which Hermione’s own character is established. She is presented as Neoptolemus’ young bride, humiliated by her own sterility and the fact that her husband’s concubine Andromache has born him a son. The princess fears that the slave woman could therefore displace her. While her husband is away, Hermione, with Menelaus’ support, tries to kill her rival and the child, but Peleus steps in and reprimands them. Menelaus’ confidence wanes and he leaves. Deserted by her father, Hermione now fears that Pyrrhus will kill her when he hears of the evils against Andromache. She repeatedly tries to take her own life, but is prevented by her nurse. Thereupon Orestes, who happens to be in the area, visits and – after the message of Neoptolemus’ death has arrived – takes Hermione as his bride, since she had been engaged to him even before Pyrrhus married her. Against Pagani, who calls the Euripidean Hermione “una creatura piuttosto mediocre”35, I contend that she is depicted with considerable complexity. There are two very different sides to her character. The Hermione we see in the first half of the play is an extremely disagreeable person. Her character is drawn as the opposite of the sympathetic Andromache who presents herself enduring the hardships of servitude as befits her royal blood. Because of her status as the lady of the house she is arrogant and demeaning to Andromache (Andr. 147 – 180). At Andr. 205 – 212, the Trojan indicates that her mistress is beautiful, but a bad wife for her lack of respect and devotion to Neoptolemus. The beauty she is so famous for in the works of other authors may have developed into vanity. The other side of Hermione’s character emerges after Menelaus’ departure when she becomes hysterical, suicidal and – if the words of her nurse can be trusted – even remorseful (Andr. 805). We understand that the self she exhibited before was only a mask covering up her emotional instability. She is now perhaps slightly more likeable because of the pitiful state she is in, but her behaviour is still far from honourable. ––––––––––– 34 Dyck 1989; Knight 1991; Byre 2002 calls this the “Euripidean hypothesis”; contra Mori 2008, 187 – 189. 35 Pagani 1968, 205.

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In the Andromache Hermione “is comprehended [...] in terms of her past”.36 As we would expect, although Helen is not a dramatis persona, her presence looms on the scene throughout. Hermione herself, tellingly, remains mute about Helen, and when Andromache mentions her she clearly hits Hermione’s sore spot (Andr. 248f.). Allan sums up the dynamic: “The mother’s notorious promiscuity seems to have affected her daughter. Andromache insinuates that Hermione’s monogamous jealousy is really just another form of her mother’s sexual insatiability (Andr. 218f., 229 – 231).”37 Peleus also claims that she is not good enough for his grandson, because daughters are like their mothers (Andr. 619 – 623). Helen did most probably indeed have a great influence on Hermione, but this has nothing to do with genetic disposition. Rather, the childhood trauma of losing her mother, which is the subject of Colluthus’ work, has left lasting psychological damage. Perhaps the young woman desperately seeks exclusive attention from her husband, since she did not enjoy it from her parents as a child. The idea of compensating for parental affection through an erotic relationship is also present in Colluthus, as we have observed with regard to Menelaus’ and Helen’s bed that the love of the married couple and the love of the child are intermingled. Furthermore, the grown-up Hermione must be so obsessed with monogamy, because an extramarital affair has caused her much distress before. Her hatred of Andromache may be even greater for her Trojan origin (Andr. 173 – 177): the Spartan princess is scared that the barbarian will steal Neoptolemus from her, just as Paris, Andromache’s brother-in-law, once stole Helen. Her inability to become pregnant has in addition led to an inferiority complex. Thus, when Andromache is prepared to give her own life for the life of Molossus (Andr. 407 – 418), this would be especially infuriating to Hermione whose selfish mother would have never made sacrifices for her. As to Menelaus, he has spoilt his daughter very much in the past, as she herself boasts when she first appears at Andr. 147 – 153. Even now, as a married woman, she is still very much “daddy’s little girl” and Menelaus protects her in Pyrrhus’ household. Father and daughter seem to be very close, even though they have an unconventional way of bonding, namely their joint attempt at murdering Andromache and her son. Their victim refers to them as “the two vultures” (\ ¤ : Andr. 75). In Colluthus, too, Hermione looks to Menelaus and maybe idolizes him as a hero who would bring back her mother. Both Menelaus and Hermione act in a very selfassured manner towards someone weaker, but wimp out before figures in a ––––––––––– 36 Allan 2000, 88. 37 Allan 2000, 183.

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higher position. When Menelaus leaves, reproached by Peleus, Hermione voices her disappointment (Andr. 854f.) and we cannot but remember that this is the second time in her life in which she is let down by a parent. As a response to the abandonment by father and mother, respectively, Euripides’ and Colluthus’ Hermione both cast their veils to the wind (Coll. 326; Andr. 830f.). But apart from that their personalities could hardly differ more: from girlhood in the epyllion to her appearance in tragedy, Hermione’s self-confidence has drastically diminished. While in the former she behaves like an adult, in the latter her irrationality and youth are stressed again and again (Andr. 184f., 192, 238, 326). Both characters are given bad advice by some >  , but while the Colluthean version refuses to listen to them, her adult counterpart tells how she was influenced by their ill talk, inciting her to attack Andromache (Andr. 929 – 938). She lays all the fault for her wrongdoing with them and, unable to accept the fact that she is barren, she accuses Andromache of drugging her (155 – 160). A reminiscence of this is found in the devious Helen in Colluthus who blames Paris for her ‘abduction’. In Andr. 826 – 828 Hermione, in her frenzy, says that she will pluck her hair and scratch her cheeks and the nurse tries to restrain her from disfiguring herself; in the Harpage the women say something similar to the girl (Coll. 338f.). In both situations the character is deeply aggrieved and does not care about her appearance, which is atypical of the Euripidean Hermione. A few lines later, at Andr. 831 – 835, she dramatically bares her breasts. This again is a behaviour we know well from an account about Helen, including the Andromache itself, 38 as well as from Colluthus’ own shameless Aphrodite (Coll. 154 – 157). Thus, we may conclude that Euripides’ Hermione, despite trying not to, has in a sense become just like her mother. If Colluthus was inspired by some motifs pertaining to the tragic Hermione, he used them on the one hand to contrast his young character with the one portrayed by the predecessor, and on the other hand to align the Hermione of Euripides with his Helen. Consequently, we have to wonder whether the little girl in Colluthus is destined to become like that after being wronged by her parent. Scholars have debated, on slim evidence, whether Colluthus was familiar with Ovid’s Heroides.39 In Her. 8 Ovid depicts an adult Hermione who in ––––––––––– 38 Eur. Andr. 627 – 630, Ar. Lys. 155f. (the scholiast ad loc. says that the story derives from the Little Iliad (= fr. 19) and was also treated by Ibycus = Ibyc. fr. 296 PMGF). 39 I believe this to be quite possible. At the very least, the two poets share a fondness of bringing to the fore obscure mythical connections and of giving intriguing perspectives to

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turn differs from Euripides’. There is a slight difference in the plot: Hermione was married to Orestes, but Neoptolemus abducted her, since Menelaus unwittingly had promised her to him in Troy. Now she writes to Orestes, begging him to come and rescue her. At the beginning she describes how Neoptolemus dragged her into his house, and compares her suffering to that of Andromache (Her. 8.11 – 14). While this cannot but be an intertextual comment on Euripides’ play, it is also true that this Hermione would be sympathetic to Andromache and identify with her, because in this version they would be on a similar level, both kept as Pyrrhus’ lovers against their will. In contrast to the passive, unstable Euripidean Hermione, the Ovidian character knows what she wants and prompts Orestes to take action (Her. 8.16). We can see the same assertiveness in Colluthus’ young Hermione. While in the Andromache she would be content with anyone as a husband, if he is faithful, here she is actively driven by love for Orestes. Moreover, unlike the tragic Hermione, she is very open about her past. She admits herself that having Orestes as her husband made up for not having parents in childhood (Her. 8.89 – 101). Interestingly, she says that her mother missed the first years of her life and describes her own development from being a toddler, learning to speak and reaching for her parent’s neck (Her. 8.91 – 95), so Ovid must have imagined that she was abandoned much earlier than at the age of nine. She heart-rendingly recalls Helen’s escape (Her. 8.73 – 81, partly cited above) and her return, recalling how she went out to meet her mother whose face she did not know: te tamen esse Helenen, quod eras pulcherrima, sensi | ipsa requirebas quae tua nata foret. “I still figured that you were Helen, because you were the most beautiful, but you asked around which one your daughter was” (Ov. Her. 8.97 – 100). This passage captures the theme of Hermione as being outshone by Helen’s fame and beauty. As to her own looks, Hermione tells about her constant weeping that makes her cheeks incultae (Her. 8.64), which is strikingly similar to the handmaids’ concern about her appearance in Colluthus (Coll. 338f.). Surprisingly, when we might expect Ovid’s narrator to blame her mother for her cruel fate, she instead wonders why the heavens are against her (Her. 8.87f.). In fact, she even turns the tables and from the start of her letter cites her parents’ story as a model for her own when persuading Orestes to fight for her (Her. 8.19 – 22). Menelaus and Helen, she says, will approve of the fact that their child follows love (Ov. Her. 8.38 – 40): ––––––––––– well-known episodes. For the debate see Zöllner 1892, 55 –115; De Lorenzi 1929, 42 – 58; Livrea 1968, xiv – xxiii.

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succubuit telis praepetis ipse dei. quem sibi permisit, genero concedet amorem. proderit exemplo mater amata suo. “[Menelaus] himself succumbed to the shafts of the flying god. The love he allowed himself he will grant his son-in-law. My beloved mother will be useful with her example.”

That Menelaus will grant to Hermione’s husband what he allowed himself may be another way of spoiling his daughter. The verse about Helen is more complicated: Which exemplum does Hermione mean? Her mother’s elopement for the sake of true love or – on the contrary – her return home? Ovid is intentionally ambiguous: in lines 41f. Hermione likens Pyrrhus’ role to Paris’, which implies that she really believes that Helen, like herself, was kidnapped. However, it is more probable that Hermione knows the truth full well, but bends it for the purpose of creating a more suitable precedent. Had it not been for Helen as the cause of the war, Hermione would have been spared the nightmare of the union with Pyrrhus in the first place. Still, rather than bearing grudges, the young woman does her best to turn the events into a useful argument for herself. Despite her unhappy plight, she still manages to find a solution. This practical and resourceful Hermione is much closer in personality to the Colluthean one than Euripides’ version. However, we should remember that shrewd manipulation as a means to saving one’s skin is also Helen’s speciality. So again Hermione cannot escape her mother’s legacy; however, the difference between the Euripidean and the Ovidian Hermiones is that the former is destroyed by her past, whereas the latter has not only come to terms with it but also reinvents it to her own present advantage. Through this, the daughter is finally able to ‘outgrow’ the mother.

References Allan, W. (2000), The Andromache and Euripidean Tragedy (Oxford Classical Monographs), Oxford. Byre, C. S. (2002), A Reading of Apollonius Rhodius’ Argonautica. The Poetics of Uncertainty (Studies in Classics 20), Lewiston - Queenston - Lampeter. Cadau, C. (2015), Studies in Colluthus’ Abduction of Helen (Mnemosyne Supplement, Late Antique Literature 380), Leiden - Boston. Cuartero i Iborra, F. J. (1992), Col·lut, El Rapte d’Hèlena. Text revisat i traducció (Escriptors Grecs, Poesia grega tardana II), Barcelona. Cuartero i Iborra. F. J. (2003), Mitos en Nono de Panópolis y Otros Poetas del Alto Egipto, in: J. A. López Férez (ed.), Mitos en la Literatura Griega Helenística e Imperial (Estudios de Filología Griega 8), Madrid: 175 – 195.

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Davies, M. and Finglass, P. J., edd. (2014), Stesichorus: The Poems (Cambridge Classical Texts and Commentaries 54), Cambridge. De Lorenzi, A. (1929), Il proemio del Ratto di Elena di Colluto. Rivista Indo-Greco-Italica 13: 28 – 58. Dolcetti, P., ed. (2004), Ferecide di Atene. Testimonianze e frammenti. Introduzione, testo, traduzione e commento (Hellenica 14), Alessandria. Dyck, A. R. (1989), On the Way from Colchis to Corinth. Hermes 117: 455 – 470. Gilka, M. (2014), Like Mother, Like Daughter? Hermione in Colluthus’ ‘Abduction of Helen’, MSt Dissertation, University of Oxford. Gilka, M. (2015), Rez.: Cadau (2015). BMCR 2015.12.21. Gilka, M. (forthcoming), Colluthus and Dracontius. Mythical Traditions and Innovations, in: B. Verhelst and T. Scheijnen (edd.), Walking the Wire. Latin and Greek Late Antique Poetry in Dialogue, Cambridge. Karavas, O. (2018), Triphiodorus’ ‘The Sack of Troy’ and Colluthus’ ‘The Rape of Helen’. A Sequel and a Prequel from Late Antiquity, in: R. Simms (ed.), Brill’s Companion to Prequels, Sequels, and Retellings of Classical Epic (Brill’s Companions to Classical Reception 15), Leiden - Boston: 52 – 70. Knight, V. (1991), Apollonius. Argonautica 4.167 – 70 and Euripides Medea. CQ 41: 248 – 250. Livrea, E. (1968), Colluto. Il ratto di Elena, introduzione, testo critico, traduzione e commento (Edizioni e saggi universitari di filologia classica 9), Bologna. Llewellyn-Jones, L. (2003), Aphrodite’s Tortoise. The Veiled Woman of Ancient Greece, Swansea. Magnelli, E. (2008), Colluthus’ ‘Homeric’ Epyllion, in: K. Carvounis and R. Hunter (edd.), Signs of Life? Studies in Later Greek Poetry (= Ramus 37.1/2): 151 – 172. Mori, A. (2008), The Politics of Apollonius Rhodius’ Argonautica, Cambridge. Pagani, G. (1968), La figura di Ermione nell’Andromaca euripidea. Dioniso 42: 200 – 210. Paschalis, M. (2008), The Abduction of Helen. A Reappraisal, in: K. Carvounis and R. Hunter (edd.), Signs of Life? Studies in Later Greek Poetry (= Ramus 37.1/2): 136 – 150. Rengakos, A. (1994), Apollonios Rhodios und die antike Homererklärung, München. Schönberger, O. (1993), Kolluthos. Raub der Helena, Griechisch - Deutsch, Würzburg. Vian, F., ed. (1969), Quintus de Smyrne. La Suite d’Homère, tom. III: livres X – XIV (Collection des universités de France Série grecque, Collection Budé 193), Paris. West, M. L. (2002), The View from Lesbos, in: M. Reichel and A. Rengakos (edd.), Epea Pteroenta. Beiträge zur Homerforschung. Festschrift für Wolfgang Kullmann zum 75. Geburtstag, Stuttgart: 207 – 219 (= M. L. West 2013, Hellenica. Selected Papers on Greek Literature and Thought, vol. 2, Oxford: 392 – 407). Zeitlin, F. I. (1996), Playing the Other. Gender and Society in Classical Greek Literature (Women in Culture and Society), Chicago. Zöllner, F. (1892), Analecta Ovidiana, Diss. Leipzig.

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ANDRE AS RH OB Y

Inschriftliche griechische Epigramme in frühbyzantinischer Zeit (4. – 6. Jahrhundert). Eine Fallstudie zur Evidenz auf den Inseln des östlichen Mittelmeers* Einleitung Epigramme haben in der griechisch-lateinischen Kultur eine lange Tradition. Sie sind in ihrem Ursprung meist kurze, zweckbestimmte Aufschriften, deren früheste inschriftlich erhaltene Zeugnisse bis in das 8. Jahrhundert v. Chr. zurückreichen. Der Terminus †Å  in seiner metrisch-inschriftlichen Bedeutung ist im 5. Jahrhundert v. Chr. erstmals belegt. 1 Die kontinuierliche Entwicklung des Genres reicht über die Spätantike in das byzantinische und das westliche Mittelalter bis in die frühe Neuzeit, und existiert im griechischen Bereich bis in das 19. Jahrhundert weiter. Stifterepigramme in byzantinischem Stil sind im Sinne des Byzance après Byzance im ekklesiastischen Milieu beinahe unverändert in orthodoxen Kirchen in Istanbul und anderen Teilen des Osmanischen Reiches bis in die 1830er- und 1840erJahre zu finden. Gleichzeitig entstehen dort auch Epigramme, die unter bewusstem Rückgriff auf Antike und Spätantike die Sprache und die metrische Form dieser Epochen imitieren. 2 In Byzanz erfreute sich das Epigramm großer Beliebtheit. Verse begegnen als auch heute noch in situ vorhandene Stifter- und Grabinschriften, als gnomische Verse und vieles mehr. Die begrenzte Länge, noch Kriterium des antiken Epigramms und auch dessen, was man heute weitläufig unter Epigramm versteht, spielte in Byzanz keine Rolle: Epigramme reichen von Monosticha bis zu metrischen Inschriften, die Dutzende von Versen umfassen. 3 ––––––––––– * Für Hinweise danke ich dem anonymen Gutachter. 1 Zusammenfassend Rhoby 2009, 37 und Anm. 1 (Lit.). 2 Rhoby (in Druck). 3 Zum byzantinischen Epigramm Lauxtermann 2003a; Rhoby 2009; Rhoby 2010; Rhoby 2014; Rhoby 2018.

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Ab dem 7. Jahrhundert und dann in voller Ausprägung ab dem 9. Jahrhundert ist der sogenannte byzantinische Zwölfsilber das bevorzugte Metrum des Epigramms. Dieser basiert auf dem jambischen Trimeter, wobei auf Auflösungen verzichtet wird, die Verse paroxyton enden und auch der Akzent vor den Binnenschlüssen B5 und B7 geregelt ist; gelesen wird nach dem Wortakzent.4 Bereits im 4. und bis zum 6. Jahrhundert sind inschriftliche jambische Trimeter zu finden, die spätere Entwicklungen vorausnehmen, 5 wobei dieser Trend in Kleinasien ausgeprägter gewesen sein dürfte als in Griechenland, wo traditioneller Hexameter und elegisches Distichon länger Bestand hatten.6 Besonders gut zu beobachten ist die Entwicklung vom jambischen Trimeter (mit Auflösungen) zum regelmäßigen byzantinischen Zwölfsilber im Œuvre des Georgios Pisides, des Hofdichters des Kaisers Herakleios in der ersten Hälfte des 7. Jahrhunderts.7 Hexameter und elegisches Distichon verschwinden in inschriftlicher Form in Byzanz zwar nicht ganz, machen aber in der Überlieferung des epigrammatischen Erbes maximal 5 % aus und werden nur dann herangezogen, wenn der Autor bzw. der hinter dem Auftrag stehende Auftraggeber bzw. Sponsor etwas Herausragendes zum Ausdruck bringen und sich im Rahmen der Selbstdarstellung auch auf besondere Weise präsentieren wollte.8 In der Spätantike bzw. im frühen Byzanz sind inschriftliche Hexameter und das Distichon hingegen noch sehr präsent und überwiegen im Vergleich zu inschriftlichen Jamben. Interessant zu beobachten ist die bewusste Koexistenz von Jamben und Hexametern (bzw. dem elegischen Distichon) auf spätantiken Grabdenkmälern. Es gibt antike und spätantike Beispiele von Gräbern, auf denen für jeden Verstorbenen ein Epigramm angebracht ist: Ein solches Beispiel aus der zweiten Hälfte des 3. Jahrhunderts n. Chr. stammt (wahrscheinlich) aus Byzantion und wurde von einem Reisenden, der auch eine Zeichnung anfertigte, in der zweiten Hälfte des 16. Jahrhunderts offenbar noch in situ gesehen: Die Jamben beschreiben die Bestattung der Ehefrau durch ihren Gatten. Der später verstorbene Gatte ist dann das „Sprecher-Ich“ des Epigramms in elegischen Distichen.9 ––––––––––– 4 Maas 1903. 5 Rhoby 2011. 6 Sironen 2017. 7 Lauxtermann 2003b. 8 Zum Konzept siehe die allgemeinen Überlegungen von Greenblatt 2005, XI/XVII, 1 – 9. 9 (ajtar 2000, Nr. 387 (mit Angaben zur Publikation der Zeichnung aus dem 16. Jahrhundert). Weitere Beispiele dieser Art sind bei Peek 1955, Nr. 2016 – 2018, 2038 – 2039 (= Peek 1960, Nr. 468 – 472) zu finden.

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Dieser Beitrag setzt sich zum Ziel, Aspekte von Text und Kontext von frühbyzantinischen inschriftlichen Epigrammen im Hexameter und elegischen Distichon zu behandeln. Beachtet werden dabei griechische Epigramme, wenngleich im Oströmischen Reich bis in das 6. Jahrhundert auch metrische Inschriften auf Latein geschaffen wurden, in erster Linie in Konstantinopel, und hier insbesondere im 4. und 5. Jahrhundert als Ausdruck römischer Staatlichkeit und ehrenvoller Selbstrepräsentation des Kaisers und seiner aristokratischen Beamtenschaft.10 Neben Konstantinopel und anderen Zentren wie etwa Ephesos war es der Osten (d. h. teilweise Kleinasien, aber vor allem Syrien, Palästina, auch Ägypten), wo vom 4. bis 6. Jahrhundert griechische Epigramme im Hexameter und elegischen Distichen, sehr oft im Rahmen von Mosaikdarstellungen, geschaffen wurden. 11 Dies hat mit dem reichem Stifterwesen in diesen Regionen zu tun, wobei oft Bischöfe als Stifter fungieren, nicht nur bei kirchlichen Stiftungen, sondern auch von Bauwerken im öffentlichen Raum.12 Sprachlich ist häufig Homer als Vorbild auszumachen. 13 Besonders augenscheinlich ist dies in einem wohl in das 6. Jahrhundert zu datierenden Epigramm aus Epiphaneia am Orontes (heute verbaut in der Großen Moschee von Hama): Vers 1 lautet in Anlehnung an den Beginn von Homers Ilias   ], ¤Û Å ] Ê ¥ („Junger Mann, nenne mir diesen Mann; wer ist der Treffliche?“). Die Stiftung handelt von der Verbreiterung eines Bades. 14 Aber auch abseits der großen politischen und kulturellen Zentren wurden – zumindest gelegentlich – metrische Inschriften (in Hexametern und Distichen) geschaffen, und auf diese und deren Kontext soll nun eingegangen werden. Als Fallbeispiele werden in der griechischen Inselwelt vorgefundene christliche Inschriften herangezogen. Zeitlich sei der Fokus auf das späte 4., das 5. und 6. Jahrhundert gerichtet, d. h. auf die frühbyzantinische Zeit, in der insgesamt – auch in den vorhin erwähnten Zentren – abgesehen vom ––––––––––– 10 Nicht selten erscheinen diese Epigramme als Bilinguen, um dem Verständnisbedürfnis der lokalen griechischsprachigen Bevölkerung gerecht zu werden. Siehe dazu Rhoby 2019. 11 Eine Zusammenstellung des epigrammatischen Materials findet sich bei Merkelbach und Stauber 1998 – 2004, vor allem in Band 4 (Die Südküste Kleinasiens, Syrien und Palaestina). 12 Siehe u. a. Avramea 1989, Baumann 1999 und Haensch 2011. 13 Siehe zuletzt Agosti 2017. 14 Merkelbach und Stauber 1998 – 2004, Nr. 20/06/01 (mit deutscher Übersetzung); siehe auch Mango 1986, 28 und Taf. 1. In dem für solche Epigramme typischen Frage-AntwortSpiel gibt der anonyme Sprecher in den auf Vers 1 folgenden Zeilen Auskunft über den Stifter.

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Grabepigramm ein Rückgang der Produktion metrischer Inschriften zu beobachten ist.15 Folgenden Fragen soll nachgegangen werden: Von welcher (sprachlicher) Qualität sind die jenseits der Zentren im genannten Zeitraum entstandenen Epigramme? Von wem wurden sie in Auftrag gegeben, und von wem wurden sie verfasst? Was kann allgemein über ihren Kontext gesagt werden? Kea Auf der Attika vorgelagerten Insel Kea wurden mehrere Grabepigramme gefunden, die zuletzt in das 4./5. Jahrhundert n. Chr. datiert wurden.16 Auf einem heute im Epigraphischen Museum in Athen aufbewahrten Steinblock sind drei Hexameter eingeritzt, die einen für Grabinschriften nicht untypischen Fluch darstellen, der sich an jene wendet, welche wagen, das Grab auszurauben bzw. die Gebeine zu bewegen. 17 Der Text lautet (in normalisierter Orthographie): ìÍ  Æ Ç \ ‰Æ –  ” , §  Ç ]”#, ]  à Ÿ”` Û    Æ †\ #  †% †”  Ç.18 „Wenn du mich mit den Händen (wie ein Hund) aufspüren und meine Gebeine in Unordnung bringen willst, (dann) bleib vor der Tür stehen, damit du niemals einen Fuß hineinsetzt. Es ist dir nämlich nicht erlaubt, mich von meinen Häusern zu vertreiben!“

Wie leicht zu erkennen ist, weist das Epigramm in allen drei Versen metrische Versehen auf (an den unterstrichenen Stellen). Es folgt jedoch einem Muster von Grabinschriften vom Typus „Du fragst“ bzw. „Du willst erfahren“, der auch sonst des Öfteren in antiken und spätantiken Inschriften überliefert ist.19 Ein ähnlich beginnendes, wiewohl weit längeres Epigramm, nach Peek zu datieren in das 3. Jahrhundert n. Chr., war auf einer Grabstele in Athen angebracht. Vers 1 lautet: ìÍ    † Æ ,   ˆ > Æ > "#ˆ †     \ "Æ# Æ#  ¤   " Å. ž ] , ˜>Ã, Æ à Û Å> >–  \ –  Å ½">  Å . œÈ  ~ Ç ¤ ¤ ¹ Å ~  \ ™ Å ˆ žÅ> ), Ÿ% ), ¼ †% ) (sic!). 24 „Nachdem ich nur ein wenig Lebenslicht genossen habe, liege ich hier und ließ den Zuspruch meiner Eltern aufhören. Aber dennoch, Seele, freue dich sehr! Den verderblichen Netzen und jämmerlichen Schlingen der Sünden entfloh ich. Es starb die Dienerin Gottes Maria, auch Patrikia, am 10. des Monats April der 2. Indiktion, im Alter von 16 Jahren.“

Der Beginn des Epigramms, in dessen erstem Vers ein prosodischer Verstoß vorliegt ("# ), dürfte Grabverse des Gregor von Nazianz zum Vorbild genommen haben: Drei von dessen (Grab-)Epigrammen beginnen mit ––––––––––– 21 Petzl 1987; Floridi 2013; vgl auch Kiourtzian 2000, 65f. 22 Nur ein weiteres Epigramm aus Ägina ist in „byzantinische“ Zeit zu datieren: Es handelt sich um die aus sechs Hexametern bestehende, in das Jahr 359 zu datierende Ehreninschrift für Publius Ampelius, den proconsul Achaiae (Hallof 2007, Nr. 786; vgl. Robert 1948, 5ff.). Er dürfte ein Heide gewesen sein (Jones, Martindale, Morris 1971, 56f.). 23 Zu einem analogen Fall Rhoby und Schreiner 2018, 611 – 613. 24 Hallof 2007, Nr. 962; siehe auch Mentzou-Meimare 1977 – 1979, Nr. 115.

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è>  und bestehen noch dazu aus jeweils zwei elegischen Distichen. 25 Das in Vers 2 verwendete   " Å kommt auch bei Nonnos (Dionysiaca 11, 207 und 365) vor. Als Autor wird wohl ein Athener Bürger auszumachen sein, der mit den epigrammatischen Konventionen seiner Zeit vertraut war. Paros Nur eine weitere metrische Inschrift ist in dem von Georges Kiourtzian herausgegebenen Corpus der griechischen Inschriften der Kykladen vom 3. bis zum 7. Jahrhundert n. Chr. zu finden. Sie stammt aus Paros, ist in das 5./6. Jahrhundert zu datieren und ist in einen Stein eingeritzt, der heute im Bereich der berühmten Kirche Panagia Ekatontapyliani zu finden ist. Allerdings ist nur die erste Zeile ein Vers (Hexameter), die zweite Zeile stellt den Beginn von Psalm 90 (91), 1 dar: ¦ >ˆ „* , " , "¤26 – –  – " È. ø  % †  Å ¤ ®˜Å> † Æ` ¤ ¢…².27 „Das Kreuz siehst du, Neid, geh weg! Das Übel nämlich verjagt es (das Kreuz) in die Ferne! Wer im Schutz des Höchsten wohnt, im Schatten des ¢Allmächtigen².“

Der auf das Kreuz bezogene Vers, der den Phthonos („Neid“), ein der byzantinischen Tradition eigenes Synonym für ,zerstörerische Kraft‘,28 anspricht, ist insofern apotropäisch, als die Kraft des Kreuzes als Gegenpol für die Vertreibung des Bösen präsentiert wird. 29 Der Vers, ein prosodisch einwandfreier daktylischer Hexameter, ist formelhaft, und so wird er von einer Vorlage zusammen mit dem Psalm kopiert worden sein. Interessant ist jedoch, dass der Psalmvers auf dem Stein nicht zu Ende geführt ist, obwohl noch Platz vorhanden gewesen wäre.30 Man kann also davon ausgehen, dass der Anbringer der Inschrift diese inhaltlich entweder nur rudimentär verstand oder bereits eine unvollständige Vorlage ––––––––––– 25 Beckby 1957, Nr. 7, 82, 135 (vgl. auch Nr. 21). 26 Vgl. z. B. Basileios von Seleukeia, or. XXI: Migne 1864, 264A: ô˜ ˆ " ,  \ ‚  >#  Š. 27 Kiourtzian 2000, Nr. 60 und Taf. XVI; Felle 2006, Nr. 472. 28 Dazu Hinterberger 2013. 29 Dazu Walter 1997. 30 Dafür gibt es auch Parallelen aus späterer Zeit, nämlich nicht zu Ende geführte Bibelzitate auf Schriftrollen von Heiligen in spätbyzantinischen Kirchen, z. B. in der Kirche Panagia tu Arakos auf Zypern: Winfield 2003, Abb. 264 – 288.

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vor sich hatte. Doch dies ist irrelevant: Die bloße Präsenz des (fragmentarischen) Psalms verleiht der Inschrift an Bedeutung, da sie die Präsenz Gottes symbolisiert.31 Psalm 90 (91) ist im Übrigen mehrfach inschriftlich überliefert, insbesondere in Inschriften aus Syrien und Palästina.32 Der Inschrift aus Paros sehr nahe kommt eine Inschrift auf einem Armreif mit Medaillon aus der Nähe von Bethlehem, der ins 4. bis 6. Jahrhundert gehört: Während auf dem Armreif Psalm 90 (91), 1 – 3 steht, ist auf dem Medaillon ª ˆ „ % –   („Der eine Gott, der alles Übel besiegt.“) zu lesen. 33 Diese apotropäische Inschrift ist auch auf frühbyzantinischen Amuletten zu finden.34 Thasos Im Museum von Thasos (Inv.-Nr. 463) wird eine Marmorplatte aufbewahrt, in die eine lange, über 23 Zeilen laufende Grabinschrift eingeritzt ist, die traditionell in das 4./5. Jahrhundert datiert wird. Nicht nur aufgrund ihrer Länge ist die Inschrift außergewöhnlich, sondern auch aufgrund der Tatsache, dass es sich um Verse handelt. Der Text lautet nach der Edition von Denis Feissel:

5

10

[]  [Å] > [] à ìÅ, > Æ  >ˆ "% †   , — ÅX >      >Ã,  Ç ’ £ È  Å  Å#   Û ¥  Ÿ  Å  []¤ Ç = š = Å Ç>’  ´  +, ¢ Ÿ\  \   >  Æ « Û ,  ¢ ¥ > — []–   Æ, Ÿ — ш ]# +  > ¤, ¬  "  § Å ù È#Û [È –  Æ  ¤ Æ> Û  ¤ } > Æ# Æ Æ šÃ  ÇX.35

––––––––––– 31 Vgl. Rhoby 2012; Rhoby 2020. 32 Z. B. Jalabert und Mouterde 1939, Nr. 341 und 675; Jalabert und Mouterde 1955, Nr. 1488 und 1748; Jalabert und Mouterde 1959, Nr. 2234. Siehe auch Felle 2006, 523 (Index); Feissel 1984. 33 Piccirillo 1979 = SEG 29, Nr. 1606; Felle 2006, Nr. 411. 34 Cline 2018, 356/357. 35 Feissel 1983, Nr. 265; vgl. SEG 18, Nr. 369.

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5

10

Dalmatia, Tochter des großherzigen Eugenios, die das süße Licht des Lebens kostete, liegt hier. Eine elende Krankheit bezwang sie im dritten Jahr, die zugleich ihre helle Stimme und den Geist der Gedanken beendete. Wie der Wirbelwind eine Frühlingsblüte, Rose oder Lilie trägt, so beeilte sich Hore, diese abzureißen, da der Tag immer kurz ist, auch für das Schöne. O, welch unendlicher Schmerz wäre wegen des Kindes geblieben, wenn nicht Christus seinen Eltern Trost gespendet hätte, er, der ihm das Leben der unvergänglichen Quelle der Himmlischen offenbarte. Denn es lebt, da es als Weg ein Ende des Todes erlangte. Diese Worte sprach der Vater am Grab, indem er Tränen vergoss.

Wie bereits Feissel36 und andere37 feststellten, weisen die Hexameter zahlreiche metrische Unregelmäßigkeiten auf. Dennoch ist der Versuch des Autors klar zu erkennen, homerische Formulierungen zu verwenden. Auftraggeber des Epigramms wird der im letzten Vers erwähnte Vater gewesen sein. Der Name der Verstorbenen, Dalmatia, der nur an dieser Stelle belegt ist, könnte auf eine Abstammung der Familie aus dem heutigen Dalmatien hindeuten. Einen bislang nicht beachteten, zweiten (allerdings lateinischen) Beleg für den weiblichen Vornamen Dalmatia bietet ein Gedicht des bekannten Gelehrten Magnus Felix Ennodius (473/74 – 521), der als Bischof von Pavia wirkte. Auch dieser verfasste auf eine domna Dalmatia ein Grabepigramm in elegischen Distichen, 38 das in das Jahr 509/10 datiert wird.39 Ob es sich bei den beiden Verstorbenen um dieselbe Person handelt, muss offen bleiben. Allerdings ist im Gedicht des Ennodius nicht von einem dreijährigen Kind die Rede, sondern von einer virgo („Jungfrau“). Ebenfalls offen bleiben muss die Frage, ob das griechische Grabepigramm tatsächlich aus Thasos stammt oder ob der Inschriftenträger erst später auf die Insel gelangte. Kreta Auch aus dem frühbyzantinischen Kreta sind nur wenige metrische Inschriften auf uns gekommen, die aus der Zeit nach dem 4. Jahrhundert ––––––––––– 36 Feissel 1983, 220. 37 Dunant u. Pouilloux 1958, 196/197. 38 Epitaphium domnae Dalmatiae (carm. 2, 148): Vogel 1885, 270: Funus obit, virgo quotiens in busta refertur. / Unum iter est mortis criminis obsequium. / Dalmatiae meritis victa est natura rebelli, / Degeneri caelum nobilitate tenet. / Hoc satis est mundum calcasse in corpore mundi, / De vitio sumptam cedere nil vitiis. / Stemmatis haec lucem transcendit sole pudoris, / Mens cum proposito consociata fuit. 39 Siehe Martindale 1980, 341.

Inschriftliche griechische Epigramme in frühbyzantinischer Zeit (4. – 6. Jahrhundert)

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stammen. Nur zwei Epigramme, bei denen es sich um Grabverse handelt, sind in das 4./5. bzw. das frühe 6. Jahrhundert zu datieren. Das erste stammt aus Hagios Ioannes in der Nähe von Chania und lautet in normalisierter Orthographie wie folgt:

5

¡Ç  Æ > % '  %  –   "Å ˜>—  ÚÒ Æ >   †   ÅX >  " †\ Å ]"> ÎÃ, – ˜>§ +\ ‚ " – 'Å ">Ç . ¡Ç     Ç È  % " Æ"#.40

5

„Die beste Erde bedeckt den Körper von mir, Banao, aber die Seele erfreut sich im Paradies mit den jungfräulichen siegreichen Märtyrern, seit ich rein dem Leben entlief, während die Seele zur gleichen Zeit der Versuchung durch Beliar (d. h. den Teufel) entfloh. Gesegnete Erde bedeckt zwei Körper von sich liebenden Geschwistern.“

Folgende metrische Auffälligkeiten sind feststellbar: Synizese von Alpha ( ) und Omega (#) in '  % in Vers 1, langes Epsilon () von †Å in Vers 3, wobei dies aber auch schon bei Homer sehr häufig vorkommt.41 Hätte der Autor  " (vgl. diesselbe Position im Vers bei Greg. Naz., PG 37, 906A: ™% } Š ’  ") geschrieben, würde die erste Silbe von †Å allerdings nicht lange gemessen werden. Alles in allem handelt es sich um ein Epigramm von guter prosodischer Qualität, das im klösterlichen Milieu entstanden sein könnte und für zwei Schwestern42 vorgesehen war, wenn man insbesondere Vers 5 (Ç È  % " Æ"#) so deuten kann. Die Wendung +\ ‚ in Vers 4 – von Gianfranco Agosti so richtig interpretiert (im Gegensatz zu früheren Editoren, die †\ ‚ lasen)43 – kommt auch bei Nonnos von Panopolis in ähnlichem Zusammenhang vor. 44 Darüber hinaus erinnert Vers 4 auch an den vierten Vers des oben zitierten Grabepigramms aus Ägina:  \ –  Å ½">  Å . Das zweite Grabepigramm, verfasst für ein kleines Mädchen, wurde in Kastelli Kissamu in Westkreta gefunden: ––––––––––– 40 Bandy 1970, Nr. 93; siehe dazu auch die Bemerkungen von Agosti 2016, § 6 – 8. 41 Bandy 1970, 123. 42 So Agosti 2016, § 7. 43 Ibid. 44 Dionysiaca 8, 392f.: ¡ \  « ¦Æ  " ,  +\ ‚ | > җ  \ Ç † à   ˆ œÇ .

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¦§  Ÿ >" , 45 "Å, Ç ­>È >  † †X  >Å , [ ˜>—] § †(Ã), Ñ()Æ, [Í?]" .46 „Dieses Grabmal, auf welches du blickst, Freund, ist das eines verständigen Mädchens namens Theodora, das im elften Jahr dahinging. Du nahmst die auserwählte Seele dieser in voller Blüte Stehender, Christus!“

¦§  (bzw. ) ist ein weitverbreiteter Beginn in spätantiken Grabepigrammen. 47 Die Hinwendung zum Betrachter bzw. Leser ist in sehr ähnlicher Form in einem Grabepigramm aus Kyzikos an der Südküste des Marmarameers, das in die spätere Kaiserzeit zu datieren ist, zu finden: Vers 1, ein daktylischer Pentameter, lautet: ¦§ †å †Ç,   . 48 Das Adjektiv >"# in Vers 1 ist mehrfach bei Nonnos,49 aber auch bei Gregor von Nazianz zu finden, 50 und auch § kommt öfters bei Nonnos vor.51 Vers 3 ist sehr unsicher, da große Teile vom Herausgeber der Inschrift ergänzt wurden. Von besonderem Interesse ist ein ebenfalls aus Kissamos stammendes Grabepigramm, das von den Editoren in das 5./6. Jahrhundert datiert wird. Der metrische Charakter der Inschrift wurde von Angelos Chaniotis klar nachgewiesen, obwohl der Text nicht vollständig überliefert ist.52 Eingeleitet wird das Epigramm von einer Überschrift: $()¤ Ñ()Æ, à  § †  Æ . ™#Å  • Ç  — […]  53 " ˜] ‰— †\ Æ  †Ç . „Jesus Christus, erinnere dich an die Frau, die hier liegt. Dieses Grab hat sich weit geöffnet und Petronia bedeckt, die ruhmreiche (Frau?), indem es sie auf die erbarmungslose Erde gerissen hat.“54 ––––––––––– 45 Vgl. in ähnlichem Zusammenhang (ebenfalls ein Grabepigramm) Merkelbach und Stauber 1998 – 2004, Nr. 22/15/02:  à >" ] ´# . 46 Bandy 1970, no. 103. 47 Siehe Cougny 1890, 624 (Incipit-Liste). 48 Merkelbach und Stauber 1998 – 2004, Nr. 08/01/31. 49 Dionysiaca 16, 185; 46, 285; 47, 238 etc. 50 Migne 1862, 443A, 505A. 51 Von den im TLG (eingesehen am 31.1.2020) zu findenden neun Belegen zum Genitiv § enstammen sechs Nonnos. 52 Chaniotis 2002, 157/158; vgl. SEG 50, Nr. 920. 53 Vermutlich [> ]  mit pleonastischem  am Ende. 54 Chaniotis 2002, 158. Deutsche Übersetzung nach A. Chaniotis mit leichter Adaptierung: Chaniotis übersetzt die letzte Zeile „indem er sie auf die erbarmungslose Erde gerissen hat“, doch der Handlungträger ist nicht Christus, sondern das Grab.

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Chaniotis bezeichnet die Zeilen 2 und 3 als „eher ungeschickte Hexameter“, doch trifft dies auch auf die Überschrift zu, die ebenfalls ein „ungeschickter“ Hexameter sein dürfte. Der Autor des Epigramms war somit mittelmäßig mit der Komposition von Hexametern vertraut, scheiterte jedoch an der korrekten Umsetzung. Dennoch hebt sich auch dieses Epigramm vom Rest der sonst in einfacher Prosa gestalteten Grabinschriften auf Kreta in dieser Zeit ab. Zu den Versen 2/3 vgl. Apollon. Rhod., Argonautica 4, 1350/1351: …   †>˜  | Æ †>  Ç"` Å … Während die drei zitierten Grabepigramme aus dem Westen Kretas stammen, sind aus Gortys, der spätantiken Hauptstadt Kretas, auch Ehreninschriften zu finden, wobei eine aus der ersten Hälfte des 5. Jahrhunderts die jüngste zu sein scheint. 55 Der aus elegischen Distichen bestehende Text lautet wie folgt:

5

5

ìŸ Ã’ †   @Å> Τ56 !> ¬ ¡Ã — ¤ ]  Æ. žÅ > ’ ] Å Û §  Ÿ { Ÿ >Å ,  ’ Å> Æ . ¦§ } ¡ Å †   Ã>, Æ $>Å Ç ÚÆ.57 „Blicke auf mich, dieses Abbild hier des reinen Präfekts Leontios, der das grau gewordene Kreta alleine wieder jung machte! Ich wurde neben den Toren der Dike aufgestellt; für die gerechten Richter nämlich bin ich mild, für die ungerechten (stelle ich) Angst (dar). Kalleinikos ließ mich errichten auf wohlwollendes Geheiß der Insel, (mich) die zweite Sonne der illyrischen Erde.“

Hier handelt es um ein offizielles, an der Basis einer Statue angebrachtes Epigramm, das in seiner Form jenen Epigrammen gleicht, die auf Statuenbasen in Konstantinopel zu lesen sind. 58 Hervorzuheben ist auch das besondere Layout: Pro Vers ist je eine Zeile vorgesehen, die Pentameter sind auch auf dem Stein eingerückt. Der gefeierte Leontios ist praefectus praetorio Orientis Illyrici;59 Kalleinikos dürfte der Gouverneur der Insel Kreta ge––––––––––– 55 Zu den anderen, die zwischen dem Ende des 3. und der zweiten Hälfte des 4. Jahrhundert datieren, Guarducci 1950, Nr. 282 – 285, 306, 312 – 325. 56 £> alii. 57 Robert 1948, 14f.; Guarducci 1950, Nr. 325; Last Statues of Antiquity (http://laststatues. classics.ox.ac.uk/, eingesehen am 31.1.2020), Nr. 787. 58 Mango 1986. 59 Martindale 1980, 668 (Leontius 5).

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wesen sein, 60 der auf Geheiß des Provinzialrats (Vers 5) eine Statue des Präfekten beim Eingang des Prätoriums bzw. des Gerichts, hier – ebenso wie im folgenden Epigramm – metaphorisch als Å bezeichnet,61 aufstellen ließ. Im letzten Vers kommt es zu einem gewissen Perspektivenwechsel: Während in den vorherigen Versen die Statue der Sprecher ist, bezieht sich Vers 6 auf den Präfekten Leontios selbst. Vorbild neben anderen Ehreninschriften aus Gortys dürfte hier insbesondere ein aus der zweiten Hälfte des 4. Jahrhunderts stammendes Epigramm an der Basis der Statue des Präfekten Aphthonios gewesen sein, 62 die gegenüber dem Prätorium (Å) aufgestellt war: žÅ  Å ˆ ¥  ¯   žÅ ¿> ž" ,   ˜Ã"X #  \   >§ , %   % –  [ .63 „Gegenüber der integren Dike ließ der glänzende Aristeides den integren64 Präfekten aufstellen,65 der Stimme der Honoratioren und dem Geheiß des Rats gehorchend, indem er wenig gegenüber dem vielen Guten als Dank zurückgab.“

Zypern Zypern ist im Vergleich zu den vorher genannten Inseln anders zu bewerten: Die Insel ist weit weniger abgelegen, und Einflüsse von der Südküste Kleinasiens bzw. dem Nahen Osten sind spürbar. Drei in Mosaik gelegte Epigramme (eines ist nur sehr unvollständig überliefert) wurden in einem Haus in Kurion gefunden, das einem Eustolios gehörte. Sie sind in Erholungsräumen erhalten, die in der Nähe eines von Eustolios gestifteten Bades errichtet wurden. Das erste Epigramm lautet: ž\ Å # #, \  Ã>  ¤  ”    \ ¤    ––––––––––– 60 Ibid. 251 (Callinicus 1). 61 Robert 1948, 90, 99f.; BE 2013, Nr. 513. 62 Vgl. Vallarino 2012, 62. 63 Vallarino 2012, 59; cf. BE 2013, Nr. 513 (dort auch Angaben zur Prosopographie). 64 ¥  bedeutet wörtlich lauter bzw. unbefleckt (und ist in dieser Bedeutung ein bedeutendes Epitheton der Muttergottes in späteren byzantinischen Texten), kann hier aber in übertragenem Sinn auch als integer übersetzt werden (vgl. Vallarino 2012, 62; BE 2013, Nr. 513). Inhaltliche Verwandtschaft besteht freilich auch zum Adjektiv Î des vorherigen Epigramms. 65 D. h. „die Statue des integren Präfekten“.

Inschriftliche griechische Epigramme in frühbyzantinischer Zeit (4. – 6. Jahrhundert)

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¿  [È 66 Ç Ã  Ѥ.67 „Anstatt mit großen Steinen, anstatt mit hartem Eisen und heller Bronze und mit stählernem Adamant haben sich diese Häuser mit den vielverehrten Zeichen Christi umgürtet.“

Im Mittelpunkt des Epigramms steht ein Topos, der auch in späteren byzantinischen Epigrammen, die etwa auf Objekten der sogenannten Kleinkunst angebracht sind, zu finden ist. Die Steine, das harte Eisen, die helle Bronze, und selbst Adamas68 sind unterlegen im Vergleich zu den Ç Ã  Ѥ, d. h. den „vielerflehten“ bzw. „vielverehrten“ Zeichen Christi, womit die auf Christus bezogene Mosaikausstattung gemeint ist. Das Epigramm wurde in der Forschung auch als Beispiel für die Präsentation christlicher Propaganda am Übergang von paganer zu christlicher Kultur interpretiert. In dem metrisch-prosodisch einwandfreien Hexameter-Epigramm sticht das seltene Ç in Vers 3 hervor: Der oft als Vorbild dienende Kallimachos verwendet es,69 aber auch bei Nonnos begegnet das Adjektiv, zweimal in der Paraphrase des Johannes-Evangeliums (3,148; 16, 97). Das zweite, nicht ganz vollständig erhaltene Epigramm im EustoliosKomplex in Kurion besteht aus zwei Hexametern: œ”Æ    >È[ ¤] []" ŠŸÈ¢ ² ¦#"Ç   \ [ìÅ] Æ>.70 „Die Exedra (d. h. das mit Sitzen versehene Gemach) und diesen wohlduftenden Raum versorgen (d. h. schmücken) die Schwestern Scham, Besonnenheit und Frömmigkeit.“

In Vers 1 liegt eine Anspielung auf Homer vor:   >È kommt u. a. in Od. 4, 121 vor,71 Æ>() begegnet u. a. bei Homer (Od. 17, 310.319) und bei Nonnos (Dionysiaca 3, 252; 34, 113).72 Obwohl dieses Epigramm seinem Inhalt nach weit älter sein und in einen reinen paganen ––––––––––– 66 Male ed. ”È  Nicolaou. Ein Blick auf die Inschrift macht deutlich, dass es sich um ein Zeta und nicht um ein Xi handelt. 67 Nicolaou 2001, 14; Hauben 2004, 275f. Siehe auch Megaw 1974, 59f. und Abb. 3. 68 Adamas ist ein trojanischer Held; wörtlich bedeutet das Wort unbezwinglich / unveränderlich / fest / unerweichlich usw. 69 Hymn. 2, 80; 4, 316 (siehe Mineur, Komm. ad locum). 70 Nicolaou 2001, 15. 71 Ibid. 72 Vgl. auch TLG.

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Kontext passen könnte, fügt es sich gut in das christliche Umfeld des vorherigen Epigramms und der Mosaikgestaltung. Der Leser/Betrachter wird mit den Prinzipien des christlichen Glaubens vertraut gemacht: Scham bzw. Ehrgefühl, Besonnenheit und Frömmigkeit. 73 Anstatt ìÅ, wie in früheren Editionen ergänzt, ist alternativ auch an ìÅ 74 und (metrisch schlechter) œ oder ì zu denken. Rhodos Ein aussagekräftiges Beispiel aus Rhodos, ebenfalls kein großes Zentrum politischer und geistiger Macht, erinnert einerseits aufgrund seines offiziellen Charakters an jenes Epigramm aus Gortys, das sich auf die Statue des Präfekten Leontios bezieht, andererseits aber auch an die letztgenannten Verse aus Kurion, die den Übergang von paganer zu christlicher Welt dokumentieren. In eine hexagonale Basis einer Statue eingeritzt, lautet es:

5

,  , ª  , , ½ >  ¤ † Æ †Æ ”Å   †Æ  , –  \ ~Æ — Æ î § † ˆ ž  ôÅ# >ˆ Ÿ§ ¬ }  \ ç Æ  [à ± Æ  . 75

5

„Herakles, Blut des Zeus, Tiertöter, nicht nur du allein wurdest in früherer Zeit als jemand, der Unglück abwehrt, geboren, sondern auch unsere Generation gebar einen Herakles, den tüchtigen Anastasios, den ruhmvollen Gründer (?) der Rhodier, der dich auch hier aufstellte mit (deinen) ausgezeichneten Kämpfen.“

Die fünf Hexameter, die nach Louis Robert in das 4. oder 5. Jahrhundert zu datieren sind,76 vergleichen Anastasios mit Herakles – ein Vergleich, der nicht ungewöhnlich ist.77 Aus Vers 5 ist zu schließen, dass auf der Basis auch eine Statue des Herakles in Verbindung mit seinen berühmten Taten dargestellt gewesen sein dürfte. Anastasios, der ôÅ# >ˆ ŸÃ, 78 war entweder kaiserlicher Gouverneur der Insel oder ein lokaler Stifter aus angesehener Familie, 79 wobei mit ŸÃ der „Bebauer“ oder „Stifter“80 ––––––––––– 73 Nicolaou 2001, 16. 74 Ibid. 15. 75 Deligiannakis 2008, 144; BE 2009, Nr. 597. 76 Robert 1948, 117f. 77 Deligiannakis 2008, 145. 78 Jones, Martindale und Morris 1971, 59 (Anastasius 2). 79 Ibid. 80 Vgl. LSJ 1996, s.v.