Selections from the Poems of Paulinus of Nola, including the Correspondence with Ausonius: Introduction, Translation, and Commentary [1 ed.] 1138561355, 9781138561359, 2022047441, 2022047442, 9781032458243, 9780203710845

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Selections from the Poems of Paulinus of Nola, including the Correspondence with Ausonius

This volume offers a broad introduction to one of the most exciting chapters of Late Antiquity through direct testimony from one of the last representatives of Roman Antiquity, Ausonius of Bordeaux, and his radical Christian protégé, the populist bishop and experimental poet Paulinus of Nola. The first comprehensive volume in English dedicated to these works in over a century, this book also offers representative selections from Paulinus’ vast poetic output, from the publicly performed poems that mark his contribution to the emerging cult of the saints to his experimental Christianization of a wide range of Classical genres. Preceded by a substantial introduction discussing the modern significance of these works and their original contexts, the translation is accompanied by running notes for ease of reference and an interpretive commentary rich with illustrative parallels. Taken together, the correspondence with Ausonius and the selections from Paulinus epitomize the personal, political, and spiritual conflicts of their age, offering a lively and concentrated introduction to the life and thought of these two underappreciated contemporaries of Jerome and Augustine. Accompanied by new and provocative interpretations with detailed but concise historical and biographical guidance, this accessible and stylish translation will appeal to scholars and students of Classics, Late Antiquity, religious studies, social history, and world literature. Alex Dressler is Professor of Classics at the University of Wisconsin– Madison. His published works include Personification and the Feminine in Roman Philosophy and articles on Latin literature of all genres and periods, including Roman drama, the ancient novel, epic, epistolography, and lyric poetry, on a wide range of topics, ranging from gender and class to aesthetics and phenomenology.

Routledge Later Latin Poetry Edited by Joseph Pucci Brown University, USA

The Routledge Later Latin Poetry series provides English translations of the works of those poets writing in Latin between the fourth and the eighth centuries inclusive. It responds to the increasing interest in later Latin authors and especially the growth in courses devoted to late antiquity. Books in the series are designed to provide comprehensive coverage to support students studying later Latin poetry and to introduce the material to those wishing to read these important and often under translated works in English. The RLLP is devoted to publishing creative, accessible translations. Each volume is self-contained: introductory material contextualizes the life and output of the poet in question, and includes manuscript and editorial details; some discussion of metrics and Latinity; and a sense of how the work being translated might be interpreted (including where possible the scholarly history of the same). This section concludes, as need be, with maps and a list of any editorial changes made by the translator to the established Latin text. At the conclusion of each volume, in addition to endnotes and a works cited list, there is a general index that, beyond allowing readers to negotiate content, also serves as a glossary of names, dates, figures, places and events. Volumes hew, as much as possible, to line-for-line versions of the Latin original, so that those who come to the translations with a knowledge of Latin can orient their reading with the original. By offering English translations of later Latin poetry with comprehensive supporting material the series enables a greater understanding of late antiquity through one of its most important literary outputs. The poems are significant sources for the culture, religion and daily life of the period and clear and imaginative translations also offer readers the chance to appreciate their quality. The Complete Works of Claudian Translated with an Introduction and Notes Neil W. Bernstein Selections from the Poems of Paulinus of Nola, including the Correspondence with Ausonius Introduction, Translation, and Commentary Alex Dressler For more information about this series, please visit: www.routledge.com/ Routledge-Later-Latin-Poetry/book-series/LLP

Selections from the Poems of Paulinus of Nola, including the Correspondence with Ausonius Introduction, Translation, and Commentary Alex Dressler

Designed cover image: The Women at Christ’s Tomb and the Ascension (the Reidersche Tafel), Rome or Milan, c. 400. Ivory plaque, 18.7 cm × 11.5 cm × 0.6/0.7 cm. Munich: Bayerisches Nationalmuseum, Germany. © The History Collection/Alamy Stock Photo First published 2023 by Routledge 4 Park Square, Milton Park, Abingdon, Oxon OX14 4RN and by Routledge 605 Third Avenue, New York, NY 10158 Routledge is an imprint of the Taylor & Francis Group, an informa business © 2023 Alex Dressler The right of Alex Dressler to be identified as author of this work has been asserted in accordance with sections 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reprinted or reproduced or utilised in any form or by any electronic, mechanical, or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publishers. Trademark notice: Product or corporate names may be trademarks or registered trademarks, and are used only for identification and explanation without intent to infringe. British Library Cataloguing-in-Publication Data A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Names: Paulinus, of Nola, Saint, approximately 353–431, author. | Dressler, Alex, translator, writer of additional commentary. Title: Selections from the poems of Paulinus of Nola, including the correspondence with Ausonius : introduction, translation, and commentary / Alex Dressler. Description: Abingdon, Oxon ; New York, NY : Routledge, [2023] | Series: Routledge later Latin poetry | Includes bibliographical references and index. Identifiers: LCCN 2022047441 (print) | LCCN 2022047442 (ebook) | ISBN 9781138561359 (hardback) | ISBN 9781032458243 (paperback) | ISBN 9780203710845 (ebook) Subjects: LCSH: Paulinus, of Nola, Saint, approximately 353–431—Translations into English. | Paulinus, of Nola, Saint, approximately 353–431—Correspondence— Translations into English. | Ausonius, Decimus Magnus—Correspondence— Translations into English. | Paulinus, of Nola, Saint, approximately 353–431— Criticism and interpretation. | LCGFT: Poetry. | Personal correspondence. | Literary criticism. Classification: LCC PA6554.P5 A24 2023 (print) | LCC PA6554.P5 (ebook) | DDC 871/.01—dc23/eng/20221028 LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2022047441 LC ebook record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2022047442 ISBN: 978-1-138-56135-9 (hbk) ISBN: 978-1-032-45824-3 (pbk) ISBN: 978-0-203-71084-5 (ebk) DOI: 10.4324/9780203710845 Typeset in Times New Roman by Apex CoVantage, LLC

To Frédéric Neyrat – a radical Gaul

Contents

Citations and Conventions Acknowledgments 1

Introduction 1 2 3 4

5

2

1

From Ausonius to Paulinus: The Significance of the Correspondence 1 The Problem of Paulinus, Part 1: Whose Poetry? 8 The Problem of Paulinus, Part 2: Whose Property? 13 Major Themes in the Selections From the Poems of Paulinus 24 A Self and Money 24 B Music and Time 33 C Christ (and Felix) 41 Text and Translation 52 A How We Have Ausonius and Paulinus 52 B Translation Two Ways 58

The Earlier Letters 1 2 3 4 5

xiii xiv

To Paulinus: Ausonius, Letters 17 78 To Paulinus: Ausonius, Letters 18 79 To Paulinus: Ausonius, Letters 19 80 To Paulinus: Ausonius, Letters 20 82 Appendix: Paulinus to Gestidius (Poems 1, Date Uncertain) 84

78

viii 3

Contents The Principal Correspondence 1 2 3 4 5 6

4

87

To Paulinus: Ausonius, Letters 21 87 To Paulinus: Ausonius, Letters 22 89 To Ausonius: Paulinus, Poems 10 90 To Paulinus: Ausonius, Letters 24 98 To Ausonius: Paulinus, Poems 11 102 Appendix: Ausonius to Paulinus, Letters 23 104

Selections From the Poems of Paulinus Self, Money, Music, Time, and Christ: From Poems 15=Fourth Natalicium (January 398), ll. 1–49 108 1 Self 109 A From Poems 13=Second Natalicium (January 396), ll. 1–19 109 B From Poems 21=Thirteenth Natalicium (January 407), ll. 175–97, 344–413, 672–703 110 C From Poems 26=Eighth Natalicium (January 402), ll. 395–428 113 D From Poems 31=Consolation to Pneumatius and Fidelis (ca. 393–408), ll. 593–628 114 2 Money 116 A From Poems 15=Fourth Natalicium (January 398), ll. 50–83 116 B From Poems 16=Fifth Natalicium (January 399), ll. 254–88 117 C From Poems 18=Sixth Natalicium (January 400), ll. 40–51, 211–80 118 D From Poems 20=Twelfth Natalicium (January 406), ll. 1–27 120 E From Poems 21=Thirteenth Natalicium (January 407), ll. 414–459 121 F From Poems 21=Thirteenth Natalicium (January 407), ll. 488–550 122 G From Poems 25: Epithalamium (Written Between 400–407), ll. 69–104 124 H From Poems 31: Consolation to Pneumatius and Fidelis (393–408), ll. 485–544 125

108

Contents ix 3

Music 127 A From Poems 6=Praise of John (Early 390s), ll. 1–26 127 B From Poems 17=Farewell (Propemptikon) to Nicetas (prob. 400), ll. 101–51 128 C From Poems 18=Sixth Natalicium (January 400), ll. 1–24 129 D From Poems 27=Ninth Natalicium (January 403), ll. 60–106 130 E From Poems 27=Ninth Natalicium (January 403), ll. 149–247, 307–28 131 F From Poems 20=Twelfth Natalicium (January 406), ll. 28–61 135 G From Poems 21=Thirteenth Natalicium (January 407), ll. 47–104, 272–83, 326–43 136 H From Poems 22=Incitement to Jovius (ca. 400), ll. 1–34 138 4 Time 139 A From Poems 14=Third Natalicium (January 397), ll. 1–20 139 B From Poems 16=Fifth Natalicium (January 399), ll. 1–16 140 C From Poems 21=Thirteenth Natalicium (January 407), ll. 1–25 140 D From Poems 21=Thirteenth Natalicium (January 407), ll. 117–153 141 E From Poems 23=Seventh Natalicium (January 401), ll. 1–44 142 F From Poems 26=Eighth Natalicium (January 402), ll. 1–28 143 G From Poems 27=Ninth Natalicium (January 403), ll. 1–37, 107–26 144 H From Poems 31=Consolation to Pneumatius and Fidelis (393–408), ll. 227–50 146 5 Christ 147 A From Poems 22: Incitement (Protreptikon) to Jovius (ca. 400), ll. 51–95 147 B From Poems 25=Epithalamium (Written Between 400–407), ll. 141–98 148

x

Contents C From Poems 27=Ninth Natalicium (January 403), ll. 45–59 150 D From Poems 27=Ninth Natalicium (January 403), ll. 248–306 150 E From Poems 27=Ninth Natalicium (January 403), ll. 491–510 152 F From Poems 31=Consolation to Pneumatius and Fidelis (ca. 393–408), ll. 43–102 153 G From Poems 31=Consolation to Pneumatius and Fidelis (ca. 393–408), ll. 425–74 155

5

Comments: The Earlier Letters

159

1 To Paulinus: Ausonius, Letters 17 159 2 To Paulinus: Ausonius, Letters 18 161 3 To Paulinus: Ausonius, Letters 19 162 4 To Paulinus: Ausonius, Letters 20 164 5 Appendix: Paulinus to Gestidius=Poems 1 166 6

Comments: The Principal Correspondence

169

To Paulinus: Ausonius, Letters 21 169 To Paulinus: Ausonius, Letters 22 176 To Ausonius: Paulinus, Poems 10 179 1–18: Answering Ausonius 181 19–42: Classical Background of Christian Culture 183 43–103: Incarnation and “Salvation Economics” 185 103–180: Classical Culture and “Salvation Economics” 189 181–276: Response to Specific Criticisms From Ausonius 198 278–331: Conclusion – The Christian Life 203 4 To Paulinus: Ausonius, Letters 24 205 5 To Ausonius: Paulinus, Poems 11 208 6 Appendix to Principal Correspondence 4: Ausonius, Letters 23 212 1 2 3

7

Comments: Selections From the Poems of Paulinus Self, Money, Music, Time, and Christ: Poems 15.1–46 215 1 Self 218 A Poems 13.1–19 218 B Poems 21.175–97, 344–413, 672–703 219

215

Contents xi C Poems 26.395–428 222 D Poems 31.591–628 223 2 Money 225 A Poems 15.50–83 225 B Poems 16.254–88 231 C Poems 18.40–51, 211–80 232 D Poems 20.1–27 237 E Poems 21.414–59 239 F Poems 21.488–550 242 G Poems 25.69–104 243 H Poems 31.485–544 247 3 Music 248 A Poems 6.1–26 248 B Poems 17.101–51 251 C Poems 18.1–24 255 D Poems 27.60–106 255 E Poems 27.149–247, 307–28 257 F Poems 20.28–61 262 G Poems 21.47–104, 272–83, 336–43 263 H Poems 22.1–34 266 4 Time 270 A Poems 14.1–20 270 B Poems 16.1–16 274 C Poems 21.1–25 274 D Poems 21.117–153 275 E Poems 23.1–44 277 F Poems 26.1–28 279 G Poems 27.1–37, 107–26 280 H Poems 31.227–50 282 5 Christ 284 A Poems 22.51–95 284 B Poems 25.141–98 289 C Poems 27.44–59 295 D Poems 27.248–306 296 E Poems 27.491–510 301 F Poems 31.43–102 301 G Poems 31.425–74 305

xii

Contents Bibliography 1 2

311

Editions, Translations, Commentaries, Dictionaries, and Anthologies 311 Scholarly and Other Works 313

Index

323

Citations and Conventions

All ancient works are cited by their most obvious modern title (for instance: Livy, History, Lucretius, The Nature of Things) rather than the more accurate, let alone Latin, title (for Livy: From the Founding of the City and/or Ab Urbe Condita). Most but not all cited works are included in published translations in the bibliography, where less conventional title translations have determined the title that appears in the rest of the volume: for instance, On the Commonwealth, rather than On the Republic, for Cicero’s De Republica, reflecting Zetzel (1999). More standard works receive conventional designations. Horace’s lyric poetry, or carmina (Latin, “songs”), for instance, appears as Horace’s Odes, a conventional title for many Roman poets’ works where it otherwise has no conventional rendering; as a result, in the case of Catullus or Paulinus, for instance, I offer an English translation that preserves the titular function of the Latin carmina, in their case Poems. For more obscure or less standard works, where the translation is obvious, I have tried to use the most descriptive title that remains close to the traditional Latin title (for instance, Cicero, In Defense of Flaccus, for Pro Flacco), but for works with complex titles that are rarely translated, I cite them by my own English translation, along with the Latin: for instance, Augustine, On the Care of the Dead (De Cura Mortuis Gerenda); Jerome, Preface in Arms (Prologus Galeatus). Other common-domain, standard reference works, such as the Thesaurus Linguae Latinae, the Patrologia Latina, and various English translations of the Bible (Douay-Rheims=DR, King James Version=KJV, New Revised Standard Versions=NRSV), are cited thus, by volume, page, and column, or chapter and verse. The only other abbreviation that appears in the volume is: “cp.” for “compare,” which introduces parallels from ancient or modern writers.

Acknowledgments

This labor of love owes a debt to many individuals and at least one institution. To the Office of the Vice Chancellor for Graduate Research at the University of Wisconsin, I owe a few summers of generous funding. To Rebecca Langlands, I owe a debt of gratitude for helping me find the dazzling remains of Paulinus’ churches in Cimitile and for acting as a translator for me with Enzo, the learned guide and groundskeeper. Philip Hardie provided me with drafts of his book, read some of my work on Paulinus, and offered extremely generous encouragement. James Uden has always encouraged my eccentric love of Late Antique Latin poetry (he got there long before I did) and never looked askance at me for taking so long on the same project. Patricia Rosenmeyer and Amy Richlin indulged my enthusiasm for these most goyish authors. Readers contracted by Routledge at various points in the proposal and execution of the book also deserve special thanks: two seminal scholars of Late Antiquity whose combined work on Paulinus has guided my approach to his life and work, as they have all Paulinans – Dennis Trout and Catherine Conybeare – reviewed the proposal and offered invaluable guidance for the development of the project. The final reader, who remained anonymous, exhibited a depth of engagement and keenness of interest that “mere” translations rarely find; I could not incorporate all the advice, but I intend to make it the cornerstone of future work. Above all, I thank Joseph Pucci, an incomparable mentor and a model of passionate scholarship, whose edition of Harrington’s Medieval Latin first introduced me to Paulinus of Nola and whose patience and support for this volume may help others access Paulinus’ challenging political project and pathbreaking poetry: tibi disciplinas, dignitatem, litteras (Paulinus, Poems 10.93).

1

Introduction

One became great by expecting the possible, another by expecting the eternal; but he who expected the impossible became greatest of all. – Kierkegaard (1983 [1843], 16)

1

From Ausonius to Paulinus: The Significance of the Correspondence

Two factors account for the dramatic correspondence of the radical Christian poet Paulinus of Nola (354–431 AD/CE) and his conservative Classical teacher from childhood and onetime cultural model, Ausonius of Bordeaux (c. 310–395 AD/CE). The two factors are property and poetry. After radicalizing as a Christian in the mid-390s, Paulinus liquidated his vast properties, leaving the myriad manors of himself and his wife Therasia in Gaul and Spain, to take up permanent residence in Nola, a hundred miles or so from the city of Rome, and help the poor who gathered around the shrine of Saint Felix (d. c. 250?) in the city of Cimitile (named after the “cemetery” there).1 Ausonius replied: “Never will I weep for the ravaged demesnes/ of the ransacked and scattered house of the old Paulini” – but it is was too late.2 Paulinus had already announced his plans to the likes of Saint Jerome: he was to use the capital from his liquidated estates to build churches and shelters for the Nolan proletariat.3 Was Paulinus following Christ, or was he following Felix, who was following Christ?4 Whoever it was, it was not Ausonius. In the not-too-distant future, such people would occasion outbursts of indignation, commonplace in irascible ideologues like Jerome but rare in the works of the “vastly gentle” Paulinus (Poems 31.511–514, included as excerpt 2H in Part 5 of this volume=Selections from the Poems of Paulinus): Perverted wretch! You stint your fellow shareholders in nature. Because of their need, you take their share with greed. DOI: 10.4324/9780203710845-1

2

Introduction All that disposable income, which you hide in a hole in the ground, belongs to the poor, you unrighteous oppressor.

Such discourse against the selfish elite did not preclude self-aggrandizement on Paulinus’ part. His professions of humility were often far from humble (Poems 27.135–147, included as excerpt 4G in Part 5: Selections): Yes, it is true we have come to possess the perpetual honor of our patron: so close in standing we dwell . . . I too will come forth, the impresario of this jubilation amid the hymns our brethren sing. I will be as the standard bearer of this federation. Yes, even though crowds of people, each from a different region utter prayers matching mine with joyful devotion on this day, it is still uniquely suitable for me to rejoice with more bounty and more distinction today. No dependent is more indebted to him than I. For me, on that day, more personally than my own private star, he was set aside. Such was the birthday of that patron who ever abides. Certainly, the exaggeration is typical of patronal systems and courtly societies, the very systems that Ausonius and Paulinus navigated every day, but rarely do clients or courtiers claim exceptional distinction for themselves – rather the opposite, as we see here in Ausonius’ praise of the emperor, again in terms of his (Ausonius’) own property (Speech of Thanks [Gratiarum Actio], §7, cp. Sowers 2016, 514–15): I cannot honestly parade the ancestor masks of my elders . . . but I can state simply, rather than proclaim, these well-known attributes: a fatherland which is not without luster, a household that brings no shame, an innocuous family, an unaffected personal inoffensiveness, modest wealth, but wealth enriched by literature and culture, modesty without meanness, a noble character, a spirit not lacking in magnanimity, a decent lifestyle, personal presentation, and domestic accessories. In contrast with Ausonius, Paulinus has pulled out all the stops – in the abjection that he exhibits, the elevation that he assumes, and in the property of which he divests himself. The second factor that accounts for the correspondence between the two representatives of the cultural conflict of the late fourth century was poetry. The Roman world became acquainted with Paulinus’ contradictory image of self-aggrandizement and self-abnegation in the texts collected at the center of this volume, the first (and maybe last) authentic, real-time

Introduction 3 correspondence in verse from Greco-Roman antiquity, here entitled “The Principal Correspondence of Paulinus of Nola and Ausonius of Bordeaux.”5 Paulinus comes first in that invented title, even though fifty years younger than its then octogenarian co-author, because Paulinus is the star. The Correspondence with Ausonius is, to be sure, the most dramatic part of the works, mostly poetry, collected here, but it also includes the letters that Ausonius sent to Paulinus before the latter’s radicalization, some in prose, which I call “The Earlier Letters,”6 while the rest of the volume, the largest part, comprises “Selections from the Poetry of Paulinus” (hereafter “Selections”). This section comprises thematically related excerpts of Paulinus’ completely Christian poetry, traditionally called carmina or “songs” – mostly hymns to Saint Felix, called Natalicia or “birthday poems” or “poems of nativity” (Natalicia, sing. natalicium, Lat. “of or pertaining to a birthday”). Most of these Paulinus wrote, and almost certainly performed before his congregations, for Felix on the anniversary of his death – that is, his birth into eternal life: January 14 (Felix died and/or ascended to heaven about 150 years before Paulinus’ permanent move to Nola).7 For its formal diversity, its wealth of sociological details from that time of cultural transformation, and a synoptic view of the intellectual history of the period, Paulinus’ Christian poetry presents a gorgeous primer of the period. Written in a number of meters, but usually that of epic, satire, and pastoral in Classical Greco-Roman poetry (the long, rolling, but flexible dactylic hexameter), the writing subsumes nearly every genre of Classical literature, ranging in tone, topic, and function: offering a saint’s life in yearly installments (Selections 2A–B), tours of the grounds of the Cimitile project (Poems 21), recent events in the community, news from abroad, tales sublimely ridiculous (the miracle of the lost cows made Felix a patron saint of lost pets in some Catholic guides; to the attendees of his festival, it demonstrated the saint’s investment in the “little guy”: Poems 18=Selections 2C, ll. 218–316, excerpted), and tales simply sublime: the fending off of conflagrations that threatened the community, the fending off of barbarian invasions (Poems 26=Selections 1C, ll. 413–29).8 Sometimes, Paulinus just used a poem to welcome fellow erstwhile glitterati (Poems 21=Selections 3G, ll. 60–83, Poems 27=Selections 3E, ll. 149–328): “men,” and women, “with hair not long and trimmed over a shameless brow, but cut close to the skin in chaste ugliness, half-shorn irregularly, shaved off in the front, leaving the brow naked,” the missionary bishop Nicetas of Remesiana (from Dacia), Mr. Melania the Younger (Pinian) and both Melanias, Younger and Elder: “[t]he appearance, disposition, and smell of such monks cause nausea in people.”9 This was the new world that Paulinus was forging from the liquidated estates of the old and from the political pretensions and art for art’s sake

4 Introduction of Ausonius and his kind. They had been respectable doctors, school men, moderately hedonistic proprietors of grand estates, tutors to the rich and famous, poets, a nun or two, and statesmen marshalling all these positions to the continuation and expansion of their class (Sivan 1993, 123–8). They did not include fanatics, melancholics, ecstatic public performers of poetry conveying intimations of immortality from birdsong (Paulinus, Poems 23, Selections 4E, ll. 27–44); no passionate biblical exegetes of voluminous proportions (see Paulinus’ Letters), competitors in abjection, ideological controversy, and prophetic criticism of Rome’s ruling classes (see the excerpts from the Poems and Letters already quoted). These were a new breed, comprising Paulinus’ new friends: Martin, Victricius, Jerome, Augustine, the Melanias – direct or indirect models or otherwise invaluable comparanda for all the artists and intellectuals who have tried to balance institutional credibility, formal experimentation, and community participation, from Saint Francis to Mao Zedung (cp. Jameson 1996). In the Introduction that follows, I review “the Problem of Paulinus,” which I define first (Introduction 2) as the problem that Paulinus himself had with the Classical culture that Ausonius represented and how he (Paulinus) repurposed that culture for radical Christianity, and next (Introduction 3), in terms of whether we should consider Paulinus’ repurposing of Classical poetry a legitimate instance of something new in the history of culture or more of the same – that is: aristocratic domination=poetry as property, with property restricted to as few as possible. Here I will argue, a little polemically, that what Paulinus did with poetry, combined with what he did with his estates, really constituted a radical project – in the sense that Karl Marx gives to the word: it grasped the root (in Latin, radix) of a problem and sought to extirpate it.10 For Paulinus, as for the apostles before him, and to a certain extent Marx after him, the root of the problem was property.11 With this conviction, Paulinus distinguishes culture and politics, poetry and property, so that they are no longer two familiar faces of the same elite strategy of self-promotion and personal enrichment but rather vital instruments in ideological struggle. In this supposition, I cast my hand with an older, ostensibly less sophisticated tradition of readers of the Correspondence who see it as evidence a fundamental break, even a kind of “culture war,” comparable to the ideological controversies between communism and capitalism in the twentieth century.12 On the one side stood the residual values of the earlier persecuted minorities that comprised the long development of Christianity from the prophetic justice tradition of exiled Jews, from their colonized descendants in Roman Palestine, and from the diasporic early Christians and their persecuted brethren – the “pariah peoples” of Max Weber’s “Sociology of Religion.”13 On the other side stood the “official morality” of conservative

Introduction 5 Christians like Ausonius, a “social order of which the other-worldly is a separated neutralizing or ratifying component” (Williams 1977, 122). In other words, as Peter Brown (2012, 202) puts it: “Christ did not challenge Ausonius’s world. From a safe distance beyond the stars, He simply guaranteed it.”14 Against this background, the work of Paulinus, beginning with the Principal Correspondence, constitutes “a reaching back to those meanings and values which were created in actual societies and actual situations in the past” – in the experiences of Weber’s “pariah people”; the “meanings and values” included “service without reward,” even economic redistribution, or “redemption.”15 As a result of the uneven development of the practices that emerged from this contradictory constellation of values, the radical asceticism of Paulinus was “always likely to be uneven and . . . certain to be incomplete” (Williams 1977, 124).16 This is why, as I will discuss in Introduction 3, a critique of elite asceticism has become reflexive in historical studies of the period, tracking the unevenness of Paulinus’ radical JudeoChristian values and justifying the critique through the historical incompleteness of the cultural practice that always only could have emerged. After discussing this “problem of Paulinus” in two parts in Introduction 2–3, I will next review the topics that organize the Selections that make up the bulk of this volume (Introduction 4). Though his Christian inflection fundamentally transforms them, many of these topics also appear in Ausonius’ poetry: self, money, music, time, Christ.17 This section (Introduction 4) comprises three mini-essays, linking the first two terms (self and money) and the second two terms (music and time) and treating the third, by way of the incarnation of Christ, as its own topic. The justification for the choice and distribution of topics in Part 4 is that it shows how Paulinus distributed them: his money, his poetry (=music), his time, and time itself – in the form of the liturgical calendar that he was busy embellishing with Felix’s feast day – all were subordinate to Felix, who was subordinate to Christ. Finally, I briefly describe the material makeup and historical transmission of the Latin texts on which these translations are based and my approach as a translator (Introduction 5). Between the conceptual discussion here and the contextual instruction in the running notes and commentary, readers should be able to recognize the shared frames of references of Ausonius and Paulinus and thus appreciate their contributions to Classical, Christian, and subsequent Euro-American literatures. Together the two poets explored the limits of a powerful but exclusionary hegemonical tradition of thought and expression and the promise held out for popular participation and aesthetic experimentation by a rupture from such a tradition. English-language readers who seek further guidance in the literature of the period are encouraged to seek out the rest

6 Introduction of the books in this series, as well as the handful of extraordinary English volumes dedicated to Paulinus and his age, from Helen Waddell’s colorful evocation of that world in the first chapter of The Wandering Scholars, a text that inspired many Anglo-American modernists when it was published in 1927, to the characteristically vivid portraits of individuals and social movements by Peter Brown in texts that have inspired thinkers from the French philosopher Michel Foucault to the Marxist theorist of postmodernity, Frederic Jameson.18 Paulinus’ poems of nativity, excerpted in the first section of the Selections, dedicated to the subject of “the self,” include most of the autobiographical passages on which the current reconstruction of Paulinus’ cultural project is based. Along with the running notes that accompany them in Selections 1 and the remainder of this section of the Introduction, these excerpts paint a picture of the life of Paulinus, which will enable the reader to understand the Correspondence and the Selections of the Poems as part of a spiritual autobiography coming to expression in “confessional poetry” (see the General Comments of Selections 2D and of Poems 10=Principal Correspondence 3, especially). Above and beyond the remaining sections of this introduction (especially Introduction 4A, 4C, and 5A), the General Comments of Selections 2A–E are dedicated to Paulinus’ context, including the possibilities for popular performance in the period and the language available for him to express his concept of wealth and the vectors and limits of its redistribution (see the General Comments of Selections 2C and 2D, especially). The ethical, aesthetic, sociological, and philosophical qualities of his poetry can be appreciated apart from these historically specific considerations, but the unexpectedness of their emergence out of the teaching of Ausonius, as an exponent of Classical culture, cannot. Born to wealthy aristocrats on the “western shores” of Gaul with manorial holdings as far afield as Nola in 352 or 353 CE (Poems 21=Selections 2B, ll. 366–8), Paulinus was entrusted to Ausonius’ education around the age of six (ca. 358 CE) and remained in his tutelage until the teacher was summoned to educate an even more illustrious pupil, the son of the western Emperor Valentinian I, Gratian, in 366 or 367 CE. Ingratiating himself to the future emperor, Ausonius ascended to the consulship in 379, a year or so after Paulinus, younger but from a far more illustrious family, held the office.19 Not long after that, pursuing his own parallel political trajectory, but at an earlier age to the extent that he came from a richer family (“only the claim of a very old age makes me better,” Ausonius: see previous), Paulinus passed a peaceful proconsular governorship in Campania, the province in which Nola is located, thanks to

Introduction 7 Felix, as he would later have it, in 380–381, before returning to Gaul, “relieved of the staves of [his] authority” (Paulinus, Poems 21=Selections 2B, ll. 395–6). There followed a stormy period of political rivalry and religious controversy in the Western Empire, extending from the short-lived usurpation of Magnus Maximus in Britain and the murder of Gratian in 383 to the socalled Altar of Victory controversy in 384, and from the execution of the truly radical ascetic Priscillian at Trier, the Gallic capitol of the Western Empire, in 385 or 6, to the violent death of Paulinus’ brother under mysterious circumstances around the same time, which would have taken Paulinus too, he tells us, if not for Felix (Poems 21=Selections 2B, ll. 416–20): When I was suffering, in trouble from the blood of my murdered brother, and the problems of my kin put me in danger, born from blood, and the government agent was already coveting my income, You saved my neck from the blade, O Father, and my father’s estate from confiscation. In the same stormy period, through his marriage to the equally illustrious and wealthy Christian Therasia, Paulinus began to cultivate a range of Christian associations, including Martin of Tour, Victricius of Rouen, and Melania the Younger – not without his wife’s influence.20 It was then in 389, counting back from his first response to Ausonius in the Principal Correspondence, that Paulinus had relocated to Therasia’s ancestral holdings in Spain (“Later, an emigré/crossing the Pyrenees”: Poems 21=Selections 2B, ll. 398–9). There, he missed the first few letters of the Principal Correspondence, and only received them, he alleged, sometime around the summer of 393 (Poems 10=Principal Correspondence 3, ll. 1–2, 5–8) Four summers had already come to the tough ploughmen and winter shivered as often with white frost when . . . a felicitous missive with a pack of good wishes appeared and rendered the long-missed presents manifold. It was actually three letters that teemed with multiple matters, but also a sheet of verse with a three-fold song. Only two of these Ausonian installments of the Principal Correspondence appear to survive (Ausonius, Letters 21–2=Principal Correspondence 1–2; cp. Introduction 5A subsequently), and the ones that finally reached Paulinus

8

Introduction

offered more than just “good wishes” (Paulinus, Poems 10=Principal Correspondence 3, ll. 9–12): Much sweetness in music, some bitterness in complaints, devotion, afraid to be critical, had mixed, but a father’s soft-heartedness outweighed a critic’s harshness as I balanced the stings and kindness, in my soul. By that time, however, Paulinus and Therasia had lost their son of eight days, “called to heaven, just as soon/as he was given” (Poems 31=Selections 1D, ll. 601–2), and Paulinus had received baptism. Then, accusing Ausonius of being the real instigator (“You drive verses hard inside my flesh”) but reaffirming his friendship and promising to remember him forever (Paulinus, Poems 11=Principal Correspondence, ll. 5, 45–68), Paulinus announced his renunciation to the world and, in another paradox, decided with Therasia to maintain a celibate marriage, before he moved to Nola to devote his sensational abjection to lavish works for the rural poor for good in 395.21

2 The Problem of Paulinus, Part 1: Whose Poetry? How can we square Paulinus’ fabulous display of personal aggrandizement with his equally exaggerated professions of humility and ostensibly real adoption of poverty? How can we reconcile the Ausonian education in rhetoric and aesthetics with the anti-Ausonian, paradoxically exuberant, but also ascetic poetry that followed? Against the broader background of the Principal Correspondence, and the relationship with Ausonius, this question, which I am calling “the problem of Paulinus,” can be put another way: how can we square the Christian espousal of humility that motivated Paulinus’ contribution to the Correspondence and later Christian poetry, with the form of that very poetry, which Christian contemporaries of Paulinus, such as the intellectual giants Jerome and Augustine, viewed as part of the secular riches of Classical Antiquity that radical Christianity must abjure?22 Here we must be careful to discern a further division in the question: how did Paulinus and his generation repurpose the Classicizing poetry of Ausonius and his models, and then, as a subsequent question: were their efforts successful, at least by the standards of transformation that they set for themselves, if not also by standards that we might set for them, secular or sacred?23 The first question will be the subject of this section (“whose poetry”), and the second question, how successful was Paulinus, will be the subject of the next (“whose property”). Questions of the status of art and religion, or aestheticism and asceticism, have a long history in the Classical and Christian literatures of Greece and

Introduction 9 Rome. Students of Classical Latin will think of the gorgeous poetry of the late Republican scientific epic, The Nature of Things, written by the “Epicurean fundamentalist” Lucretius (ca. 94–55 BC/E), who defied the teachings of the school of Epicurus in writing poetry at all (Sedley 2003, 43–6, 91–3). Students of Christian Latin will think of the anguish that adoring Vergil’s Aeneid causes Augustine in the Confessions (Stock 2007, 2–6). Anyone who has taken a class on world literature or “great books” will think of Plato and his “ancient quarrel between poetry and philosophy” in the Republic (Republic 10, 607bc, with Most 2011). Students of modern literature may recognize the issue in the form of the question “Art or Propaganda?” among Black radicals and Marxist intellectuals of the early twentieth century.24 What is refreshing about Paulinus but is not easy to reconcile with his break from Ausonius, with the high-profile problematizers of aesthetic experience in Greco-Roman antiquity (Plato and Augustine), or with the asceticism of the later radicals of the twentieth century, is how free from anguish about literature and art Paulinus seems to be.25 Indeed, his most ascetic excesses, the vile mortification of his body and its assimilation to the abject bodies of the poor, abhorred by later Ausonian poets like Rutilius Namatianus, seem to have proceeded from the same love of spectacle and sensuous display as his poetry, painting, architectural experimentation with sacred space, and cultivation of popular religious festivals.26 This is what Rutilius had to say, looking back on Gaul after the barbarian depredations of Paulinus’ old age (Going Home, 1.519–522, trans. Malamud 2016, 57–8): Not long ago, our friend, a youth of noble birth, appropriately wed, with ample means, went mad, abandoning the world and human race for exile in this filthy den, the fool! As the commentary in this volume will discuss, the terms that the disillusioned landowner and pagan reactionary Rutilius uses to describe such monastic melancholia were first used by Ausonius to describe Paulinus.27 Distinguishing himself from later Ausonian reactionaries like Rutilius, Paulinus integrated personal abjection and collective elevation, cultivating popular belief in the magic of relics and the agency of the saints which also set him apart from his soberer contemporaries like his friend Sulpicius Severus and his remote acquaintance Augustine.28 To understand how Paulinus did this and the crucial role that poetry played in his project, the reader should have some familiarity with how Ausonius did it, which is based in turn on how “Classical” Latin poets, Ausonius’ school texts (Catullus, Vergil, Horace, Statius, all first centuries BC/E–AD/CE), also linked property and poetry. In essence, they equated them: asceticism, understood

10

Introduction

as thrift and resistance to personal pleasure, was the condition of aestheticism, understood as the disciplined pleasure, combined with moral edification, that poetry could provide – the maximum amount of pleasure to be squeezed from deliberately slender means, which only those of sumptuous education could pull off.29 When Horace adapted the literary principles of an earlier, more academic age to his milieu, he seminally declared: “the aim of the poet is to instruct and delight”; readers have rarely recognized, though Horace makes it clear later in the Art of Poetry, that “instruction” in this formula has a fundamentally financial application: instruction ought to make the reader thrifty, and thrift ought to put them in possession of wealth they called moderate (in Latin, paupertas, whence “poverty”), in contrast with fabulous wealth (divitiae) or absolute poverty (egestas).30 As a result of this background, to be a good poet, which meant to produce beautiful and ethical poetry, required being a good person, which meant accumulating, but moderating the display of, wealth. Ausonius makes this clear in one of his less appreciated experiments in combining culture and politics (≈poetry and property). The poem entitled “My little estate,” which begins, “Hello there, little property,” culminates with the following (Horatian) “philosophy” (De herediolo, ll. 17–28): Now you may know how “big” my manor is, and you’ll know too who I am and who you are, if you can too, although it is hard to “know thyself.” As soon as we examine the old saw “gnôthi seauton,” we abandon it. I hold two hundred acres of pastureland, a vineyard of a hundred, and half as much in meadowlands and twice as much in forest as fields and meadows and vineyards combined, and not a farmer more or less; a fountain and a modest well and the riverine tide (of the Garonne), which runs me back and forth across my home. I always store up proceeds for two years. Hunger comes first to him who has a short supply of produce. Peter Brown takes Ausonius’ attention to very specific economic considerations as proof of the significance of wealth and property and commodities to Ausonius and his contemporaries.31 To Brown’s authoritative work, I would add that the collocation of this “home” economics with poetry is not coincidental. In the earlier correspondence to Paulinus, Ausonius effervesces with thanks to Paulinus for some homegrown condiment and delicacy, sends a poem in return for the gift, and includes a request that Paulinus “ship back some gift from his munificent/ministry of poetic distributions” (Ausonius, Letters 19 in Green=The Earlier Letters 3B, ll. 45–46). Poetry is part of the

Introduction 11 economy, and the economy is vested in estates, which enable the production of new commodities: delicacies from farm to table and poetry from manor to manor. But if someone begins to liquidate the estates, as Ausonius rightly believed Paulinus planned to do, they were threatening poetry, and thus by implication the ruling class. We should not underestimate the real material value of poetry in the period, not in the sense that readers paid for it, but in the sense that it was underwritten by extraordinary wealth and the taste to know how to use it. Ausonius was writing poems and did not need a flashy estate, but a flashy estate would do just as well, as Brown also notes in his description of Ausonius’ class (2012, 196): But what they did have in common was a mystique of wealth, which gave solidity to their own, often fragile fortunes. It bathed their lives in a sense of splendor and excitement. Divided and precarious though they were, they were the felices, the lucky ones. It is for this reason that we should listen attentively to the message their art and furnishings conveyed. Let us do this by entering into their villas as if they were palaces of dreams. This “mystique of wealth” is simultaneously cultivated and resisted in Ausonius’ poem “My little estate.” He doesn’t go too far in the direction of cultivating the real wealth – the estate itself – nor too far in the direction of divesting the symbolic wealth, the poetry, of its connection to the real wealth, the property: “Not rich, not poor, but spare though free from meanness, I have lived.”32 Ausonius was able to achieve with poetry about estates what the rest of Brown’s “lucky ones” achieved with “art and furnishings” in their estates. In doing so, Ausonius provided a paradoxical blueprint for Christian radicals such as Paulinus’ own contemporary, Prudentius. The slightly better known, certainly more professional, poet of the same generation as Paulinus used poetry to design but did not dare (and certainly could not afford) to really build a Christian version of Brown’s Ausonian “palaces of dreams.” This is the personal “monument,” the “palace” of the soul, that Prudentius “completes” at the conclusion of his work, Battle of the Soul (Psychomachia), ll. 840–874 (trans. Eagan 1962, 108): The spirit . . . enters through these doors this inner shrine In each of the four ages of man’s life And gilds the holy place with chaste desires . . . Nay more, an equal number of bright gems, Set in the walls, shine brightly and the light

12

Introduction Pours forth from their clear depths in living hues . . . The heavy cables of the pulley creaked Within the shrine a lofty hall is built Upheld by seven pillars, crystal clear, Whose capitals are topped with milk-white stone Cut into cones, with lower edge upturned And curved in likeness of a shell, a pearl Which Faith had for a thousand talents bought, Derived from auction of her property.

No doubt because he lacked the means, Prudentius also lacked the inclination to auction off his property and literally, really devote himself to the public extravagance of Paulinus. Prudentius’ barbed assessment of the new beneficence in the epilogue of his life’s work is practically Gibbonian (Prudentius, Epilogue 5–10, with Hershkowitz 2017, 9–10; Guttilla 2005, 105–7): Let another person give cash on which the poor subsist. We dedicate our quick iambic verse and rolling trochees. Indigent in holiness, we are not “men of power” to help the poor. Writing as an advocate of secularization, Gibbon blamed the so-called Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire on “specious demands of charity and devotion,” as the modern historian Bryan Ward-Perkins recalls (2005, 40–1). In the “measured twentieth century prose” of a later modern historian, as described again by Ward-Perkins, we find a similar inflection of the economic explanation of the fall of Rome: religiously (mis)guided resource (mis)management. Even a fellow Christian radical, Prudentius, betrays an Ausonian disdain, based on a principle of real and aesthetic economy, in his reaction to redistribution of real wealth that “men of power” (read: Paulinus) promoted in their poetry and practice. By the same token, we can assume Prudentius would view Paulinus’ redistribution of symbolic wealth, namely the public performance of poetry and art for the mixed crowd, including the Nolan proletariat at the festivals of Felix, with a similar disdain. Whatever the “true” explanation for the “fall” of Rome may be, ancient and modern critics alike (from Ausonius to Bryan Ward-Perkins) recognize the unity of contradiction of real and symbolic expressions of wealth and the contradictory attitudes that this complex unity elicited in the late fourth century AD/CE. All also recognize the havoc that the extreme Christian

Introduction 13 radicalism of Paulinus could wreak on the subtle amalgam of real and symbolic wealth in the economy of their culture, for better or worse: “Never will I weep for the ravaged demesne/of the ransacked and scattered house of the old Paulini,” wrote Ausonius in the Principal Correspondence (4=Letters 23 in Green, ll. 107–108, quoted previously). But the house was in fact scattered, and Christianity was (at least avowedly) the cause. Ausonius wept; Prudentius rolled his eyes. But the poor people who participated in the spectacle at Nola, like those who spontaneously acclaimed Paulinus a bishop in Spain under the influence of the historically populist Holy Spirit, probably felt very different.33

3 The Problem of Paulinus, Part 2: Whose Property? When Paulinus described his offensive odor in the passage quoted in Introduction 1 previously, he begins to tell us what this novel synthesis of politics and culture felt like and shows us how he managed to develop it in contrapuntal dialogue with the conventions of rhetoric and education and with the prevailing distribution of wealth and power of his age (Letters 22.2, trans. Walsh 1966, 197–8): [P]ale of face . . . not proud in embroidered garments, but humble ones in bristly clothes of goat’s hair; not bodyguards in fine mantels, but men draped in rough cloaks, fastened up not with military belt but with a length of rope; men with hair not long and trimmed over a shameless brow, but cut close to the skin in chaste ugliness, half-shorn irregularly, shaved off in the front, leaving the brow naked. Let them be unadorned, with the adornment of chastity, and let their appearance suitably uncultivated, honourably contemptible. Spurning their natural physical attraction for inner adornment, they should even be eager to look disreputable. . . . The appearance, disposition, and smell of such monks cause nausea in people. When Paulinus describes the lifestyle that he pursued after his radicalization to his friend, Severus, a fellow former man of property, his use of rhetorical paradox in the phrases “suitably uncultivated” and “honourably contemptible” make his consciousness of the reversal of Ausonian living fully clear, but it also makes clear that his new personal presentation is equally designed, deliberate – in short, a matter of style (Brown 2012, 220–1). It is paradoxical to think of something as concrete as the wholesale liquidation of one’s vast ancestral wealth as a matter of style, and of course, as many scholars are quick to emphasize, Paulinus did not really liquidate everything – how long would it have taken to do so, and how vast would be the devastation

14

Introduction

for countless dependents?34 As we’ll see in the following, when we discuss his aspiration to exemplarity (Introduction 4C), Paulinus’ renunciation was calculated to exceed the more sensuous “splendor – the sheer éclat . . . of late Roman houses” – where they stood, in Brown’s description, with their “explosion of color on their walls and floors” (2012, 192), Paulinus, Therasia, Melania, and their friends sought “flashing gems of the virtues like living jewels/on the hearts that their cultured thoughts make beautiful” (Paulinus, Poems 21=Selections 3G, ll. 75–6, italics added). The obvious rejection of the values of art and society explicit in the words “uncultivated” and “contemptible” and the vivid evocation of an alternative dimensions of “virtues like living jewels” (italics added) all imply a higher source of social and aesthetic value: the new sense of “beauty” (read: lack or even ugliness) derives not only from the absence of basic cosmesis but also from the presence of the positively repellent (ornatu . . . inornati, cultu . . . deformantur). Opposed in this paradoxical way to cultivation, the lifestyle of Paulinus and his kind became a culture of un-culture, even a counterculture: an “attack on the traditional institutions that reproduce cultural-ideological relations – the family, education, media, marriage and the sexual division of labour,” and we might add the military (“fastened up not with military belt”), with an “emphasis on freedom to question and experiment, a commitment to personal action, and an intensive examination of the self” (Whiteley 1992, 83). Of course, Paulinus was not “countercultural” in the modern sense outlined in this quotation from the rock musicologist Sheila Whiteley, at least if we associate that term with radical politics – a politics rejecting traditional forms of the state, for instance.35 Paulinus also failed to advocate the total abrogation of private property, which is the rather high bar that the intellectual historian Peter Garnsey sets for the attribution of such politics to pre-modern thinkers.36 Nor was Paulinus any kind of socialist in the modern sense: he did not advocate systematic redistribution of real wealth (he still didn’t live with the houseless/landless followers of Felix, for that matter: he lived upstairs: Poems 21=Selections 1B, ll. 389–90), and scholars debate whether, as an indirect representative of the state, Paulinus recognized the poor in a meaningful way.37 Peter Brown may overstate the case when he writes: “Paulinus and his friends [had] no separate vantage point from which to view the poor as a distinct economic and social category. For, by the definition of poverty which was central to their view of Christ, it was they who were the ‘poor.’”38 But the clear-eyed cultural historian Michelle Salzman provides the material evidence to back up some version of Brown’s contention (Salzman 2002, 203): In certain ways Paulinus saw his new life as a redefinition of traditional aristocratic notions such as otium [“leisure”], now lived out in a Christian

Introduction

15

setting. Nor did his choice bring ruin to himself and his family, as his friends had feared. Rather, Paulinus secured the continuing prosperity of his relations; his family continued to act as influential patrons, albeit of Christian shrines, still feuded with other aristocratic families, and still enjoyed their ancestral estates near Bordeaux into the fifth century. Thus the family of Paulinus prospered in material terms . . . and achieved social prestige – success in traditional aristocratic terms – but it did so by attaining ecclesiastical, not secular office. We will return to such critiques of Paulinan asceticism later. In the meantime, it is worth noting the extent to which their economically critical terms are already anticipated by Paulinus himself.39 Another scholar who follows Brown and Salzman, emphasizing the continuity of Paulinus’ and Ausonius’ projects, perhaps unwittingly suggests this: “Even Paulinus himself had marveled: [‘what did I have then when I was said to be a senator/like I have now when I am said to be the poor?’]”40 Seeing this as Paulinus’ frank admission of the selfish motivations of his entire project, David Hunter suggests that the pursuit of “heavenly rewards” (read: cultural capital) was a means of earning “earthly rewards” (read: real capital) among “aristocratic ascetics of the late fourth century,” who thus “demonstrated their continued adherence to the values and lifestyles of their class.”41 Supporting this quasi-“Brownian” notion that aristocratic asceticism entailed self-aggrandizement and continuing the old ways of dominating and exploiting the legally oppressed majority of the Roman population is Paulinus’ frank disregard for the poor in other connections.42 His obsessive commitment to “sell what he had and give to the poor,” to paraphrase the Gospel,43 does not stop Paulinus from celebrating the fiery destruction of the few remaining hovels that blocked the view of his new basilica (Poems 28.60–74): Now I will tell the story of the sign that Felix the venerable recently brought to light, in a quick account. Right in the middle of the field adjacent to this venerable basilica, there were two little shanties thatched out of kindling which stood rude in the line of sight and were unattractive to look at, ruining all the beauty of our designs. That vulgar eyesore obscured the view like a blindfold. The wide door of the basilica opened out into a random obstacle, which the obstruction of a little hovel made unavoidable. The inhabitants of the shelters had been giving us trouble because of our passionate ardor to demolish it all. They swore that they would agree to a price for their very lives

16 Introduction before they could be forced to leave their land. To me it seemed a trivial complaint. But even to endure it, I admit – it made me feel resentment. Trying to win the debate was exhausting really. There is something to be said for Paulinus’ candor at moments like this, but the elitism of Ausonius and his kind is obvious.44 Less obvious but more instructive, we see here the really aesthetic orientation of Paulinus’ radicalism.45 This aestheticism partly explains the revolutionary appearance of Paulinus’ cultural project: it was, maybe above all, a matter of appearances – not in the reductive sense that it was superficial or hypocritical but in the sense that he concerned himself with the most social aspect of cultural activity, the being perceived of people and things in the shared spaces of literature, art, performance, lifestyle, and design.46 Paulinus followed Classical culture in seeking to aestheticize daily life, but he surpassed that culture in extending this aestheticization to every possible aspect of existence, and even to other individuals with whom he shared this existence, to the point of democratizing it at Nola – a least relatively.47 That all this was aesthetic and not (just) religious is clear from Paulinus’ attitude to the poor who blocked the view of his religious project, even as he accorded them a central place in it. Taking the aesthetic dimension of Paulinus’ project seriously, I would suggest that we can solve the problem of Paulinus by comparing it with the aestheticism of a later age, perhaps even our own: the aestheticism, or various ideas of “art for art’s sake,” developed in European culture in the nineteenth and twentieth centuries and maybe culminating in countercultural movements of the Euro-American 1970s.48 In addition to attracting some interest from nineteenth- and twentieth-century poets, from the Decadents in France and England to the Beats in the United States, the culture of Late Antiquity in the Christian West resembles the counterculture of Euro-American modernity not only in the consistent adoption of Bohemian lifestyles and appearances but also in astoundingly inconsistent politics, which for modern artists have been sometimes conservative, even fascist, sometimes socialist, and sometimes indifferent to all collective movements.49 Above all, the bizarre relationship of nineteenth-century aestheticism to the Catholic church, exemplified by the late-life conversions and renunciations of various writers and artists, as well as the hunger for charismatic martyrs from Alfred Dreyfus to Che Guevara, all appear not qualitatively different from Paulinus’ own hunger for redemption and obsessive renunciation and his own cultivation of the martyrdom of Felix.50 Against the combined background of Ausonius and Paulinus, “the professional devotees of high art” in late modernity were in practice simply unwinding the threads of culture and experience that the newly ascetic

Introduction

17

Paulinus managed to braid with Christianity from the Ausonian aestheticism of the mid-fourth century.51 Commonplaces of modern thought prohibit making such transhistorical connections. Suggesting that counter-cultural movements in art and literary history have been contingent on the development of capitalism (Berman 1982, 15–36), they find support relevant to Paulinus in Max Weber’s Protestant Ethic and the Spirit of Capitalism (2005 [1930], xxviii–xxxix, described by Harpham 1987, 29): According to Weber the spirit of asceticism left the monasteries at the end of the Middle Ages and entered everyday life. . . . With this move worldly success was legitimized, but at the expensed of the ‘spontaneous enjoyment of life’ [Weber 2005 (1930), 111–12] . . . now fallen victim to the relentless demands of economic competition. But even Weber, in the more nuanced expansion recorded in his opus Economy and Society, foregoes the linear narrative of Catholicism-ReformationCapitalism and then by implication Romanticism, art for art’s sake, and the Avant Garde; instead, Weber suggests, the development of Christianity, rather than giving rise to a modern dialectic of asceticism, aestheticism, and religion, actually followed from such a dialectic, which was already at play in Roman cities of the first century AD/CE: (Weber 1968, 482–3): “the economic foundation of the urban man’s life has a far more rational character, viz. calculability and capacity for purposive manipulation,” which gives rise to “a rational worldview incorporating an ethic of compensation,” which calls in turn for a “rational . . . systematiz[ation of one’s] own personal conduct” (1968, 481–3, 541–4, at 483 and 544). Avoiding the later puritanical rejection of art and beauty that attracted Weber’s attention in the Christian Reformation of Early Modern Europe (Weber 2005 [1930], 113–15, cp. 1968, 544), Paulinan asceticism uses Ausonian aestheticism to push Christianity as an “ethic of compensation,” or rationalistic quid pro quo, to its limit. Paulinus’ spectacular abnegation is a direct product of the “ethic of compensation” and the “rational patterning of life” that seek “unconditional subjection of the world to the norms of religious virtue” and call for “a revolutionary transformation of the world” (Weber 1968, 549). Splitting the difference between Weber’s delimitation of asceticism to its early modern forms and the more expansive view of the phenomenon advocated by other thinkers, such as Harpham, quoted previously, we should not implicitly subscribe to Weber’s Protestant Ethic and oppose ascetic and aesthetic practices.52 Recognizing different varieties of asceticism, we should instead distinguish Weber’s anti-aesthetic early modern asceticism, with its proto-capitalistic emphasis on accumulation through saving for the sake of production, from Paulinus’ thoroughly aesthetic, Late

18

Introduction

Antique asceticism, with its potlatch-like emphasis on spectacle, expenditure, and consumption – that is, sacrifice.53 As part of his particularly aesthetic asceticism, the threads that Paulinus braided with Ausonius’ aesthetics, running from his own time right through the post-Catholic, post-Romantic nineteenth to twentieth centuries, were several. The first was a complete reversal of “bourgeois” (or Ausonian) materialism: the culture of decent wealth (paupertas), which ancient people of property located on a continuum with fabulous wealth (divitiae) and opposed to absolute poverty (egestas), which is what Paulinus avowed.54 The second was a willingness, even a zeal, to undergo extensive experiments in living (the Dandy, the Bohemian, the “accursed poet,” the saint); the seeds of this lay in the Classical “art of living,” which, according to the French philosopher Michel Foucault, saw its “golden age” in the first century CE but “concerned only the social groups, very limited in number, that were bearers of culture” and never really went beyond the fastidious selffashioning of the few.55 The third thread of Paulinus’ post-Ausonian asceticism, a kind of reflex of the other two, was a commitment to the power of art, which persisted to express itself in specifically Catholic and implicitly Paulinan terms in the later period (E. Dowson, “Extreme Unction” [1894], ll. 17–20 in Beckson 1981, 92): Yet, when the walls of flesh grow weak, In such an hour, it well may be, Through mist and darkness, light will break, And each anointed sense will see. Paulinus’ desire for a total experience of the senses includes that desire to “transfigure the commonplace,” which has been called “realism,” but it has its roots, as the founding figure of comparative literature, Erich Auerbach, demonstrated, in the Judeo-Christian celebration of the “humble” (sermo humilis), or the quotidian – even the ugly – in Late Antiquity.56 The realization of this desire for direct contact with the world of material things in the “social realism” of nineteenth-century Euro-American novelists, the predecessor of the forms of aestheticism or “art for art’s sake” that persist from Oscar Wilde to Andy Warhol, is, then, only a late variation of a perennial characteristic of expression, with clear roots in Greco-Roman antiquity.57 With a characteristic appeal to the senses and penchant for “the low,” the post-Classical prototype of this desire for realism appears well formed in the poems of Ausonius. The most famous examples can be found in the images of the workers on the banks of the river Moselle, in Ausonius’ celebrated poem of the same name (ll. 161–168, 202–208, 458–460). But this detailconscious concern to relate “everyday” experience to the experience of men

Introduction

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of property also appears in the Earlier Letters to Paulinus, in Ausonius’ portrait of a certain Philo, his agent of estate and sometime capitalist instrument (Letters 20B=Earlier Letters 4B, ll. 10–15): Up close and personal, see the sight of him as he appears: the image of a glower, white with age and grim and fierce, stubbly picture of luck gone evil – Terence’s Phormio, Plautus’ weevil, with burrs much worse than an anemone or my verse. While the seriocomic tone persists in Paulinus, we also find a moving statement, in the mouth of a poor laborer, of the plight of poverty.58 Appealing to Felix to restore his lost cows in one of Paulinus’ miracle tales, the cowherd says (Poems 18=Selections 2C, ll. 276–280): My home feels shut to me, since now without my wards, there is nothing for me there, I am alone, without what I desire – sweet to look at, sweet to work! To grant the poor profit and pleasure – that will be grace, for sure. When the cowherd later criticizes Felix for being a bad patron, we may even detect a criticism on behalf of the poor of Paulinus himself. This possibility logically follows from the scholarly commonplace that everywhere sees Felix as a stand-in for Paulinus (both being “patrons” of one kind or another).59 This commonplace is usually invoked to the detriment of Paulinus, who by implication sought to elevate himself in the analogy with the sainted Felix and promote aristocratic culture by other means. One scholar has even suggested that Paulinus “invented” the figure of Felix as a “patron saint” in order to produce within himself, an actual patron in Roman society, a new form of elite to supplement the old (Ausonian) man of property – and keep the poor in their place.60 All that is a true description of one facet of Paulinus’ project. To most scholars, it is the salient facet. Nevertheless, Paulinus’ experiments in life and art are so complex and varied, to reduce his poetry and art to its role in perpetuating aristocratic institutions is simply selective – at any rate teleological: consistent with its critical approach to appearances (and implicit rejection of aesthetics: see n. 46, previously), it plays down

20

Introduction

what appears to be the case from the Principal Correspondence, and then it infers from the more complex direction of history as a whole the indeterminate experience, unleashed in the poetry and spectacle of Nola, of the true subalterns of the Roman Empire.61 At the very least, the reduction of Paulinus’ project to its aristocratic function risks once more excluding the poor in whose very name it is being carried out. In other words, scholars who seek to expose the persistent elitism of Paulinus as a proponent of poverty risk recapitulating the very exclusion of the poor that they hope to redress; they deny the ability of the poor to change history.62 Attempting to avoid this and to increase access to other points of view in Late Antiquity and of Late Antiquity, the present volume presents generous Selections from the Poems of Paulinus against the background of the Earlier and Principal Correspondence with Ausonius. In the rest of this section and in the Comments that accompany the poems for readers interested in further analysis and context, it attempts to present at least in a nutshell the main points of view of a handful of recent scholars. But my discussion of Paulinus and Ausonius throughout this volume also reflects a more tendentious, provocative view. After all, to be more candid than a critic or translator probably should, I think Pope John Paul II was essentially right, when, visiting Nola on Paulinus’ feast day in 1992, he identified Paulinus as a consummate practitioner of the “radical message” of the Gospel. Approaching Paulinus through Ausonius, I try to follow the model of secular interpreters like Brown and Salzman (discussed previously), identifying Classical parallels to Paulinus’ Christian project and explaining them in terms of social antagonism. But because my secular approach is still based on a kind of faith – my “faith” in the unprovable possibility of Paulinus’ “good faith” as an advocate of the poor – it may make Paulinus more accessible to religious or “faith-based” perspectives, too. Paulinus said: “Our art is our faith [fides], and our music is Christ.”63 But the concept of faith in his work is extremely complex. In the translation of this quotation included in the Selections, I render the phrase “our art is our good faith.” I do so because there is a fundamentally transactional aspect to Paulinus’ faith. As Peter Brown has shown on many occasions, Paulinus is completely honest about the purpose of his project: the more he could immiserate himself in the service of the poor, the better off he would be in heaven, following the example that Jesus Christ furnished in the incarnation: “He could have come a rich man, but He chose to be poor.”64 Paulinus’ biographer Dennis Trout (1999, Chapter 4) has called this the “salvation economics” of Paulinus of Nola, and it appears in Paulinus’ first contribution to the Principal Correspondence (Poems 10=Principal Correspondence 3, ll. 53–56):

Introduction 21 For us, as a human, he stripped himself and dressed in us and made between humanity and God immortal commerce. In that process that Christians call the incarnation, an absolute value, the quantitative infinity of immortality, expressed itself in a qualitatively new way, in the physical form of a human body. And because God in the eyes of fourth-century Christians was, like the Emperor, a kind of absolute aristocrat, a man of property multiplied to an infinite degree, the incarnation was a process of economic exchange: a speculative enterprise in which one party (the Creator) invested literally everything – the Infinite, the Absolute, Eternity, Himself – in the market of another party (creation, the created, His creatures) and thus instituted a real market in immortality.65 To those who had the means to participate in this new economy, this lavishing of their substance on the poor was, in the traditional terms of the Roman aristocracy, an absolute waste – a disinvestment from public and private markets alike.66 It was, in the words William James, a “divine irrationality of devotion making a sacrificial gift of all it has.”67 Because it was a “waste” in the here and now, people like Paulinus were not buying immortality in heaven with this “sacrificial gift”; salvation was no guarantee.68 They were, rather, like finance capitalists today, speculating on the possibility of infinite value, value divested of its material form, which, in the late fourth century, was simply Eternity: how much more profitable [utilius] it is to invest your property [rem] for large returns [multiplicandam pecuniam] in the Lord’s bank [mensa Domini, a.k.a. the alms table] than to let it lie idle with credit that bears no interest [sterili fide], with no return for the investor [nullo reditu creditoris].69 Emphasizing this unquestionably financial foundation of Paulinus’ project, I often translate Paulinus’ references to “faith” with the word “credit,” where the concept finds its place in a quasi-capitalist configuration of credit (fides), wealth (res, property or matter, the “stuff” of creation and commerce alike), and that form of self-interested “speculation” (spes) that modern Christians call “hope” (Poems 21=Selections, 2G, ll. 425–431, 439–447): My good faith [ fides] betrayed my fatherland and house. It walked abroad in far-flung lands to do commerce [commercia].

22

Introduction It threw it all away to buy [emit] the bearing of the Cross. The wealth [res] of the earth was spent on speculation [spes] in the realm of heaven. Subsidized by God, stronger from good faith [ fides] than wealth in the flesh [res carnea], this speculation [spes] yields unending wealth [res] while wealth in the flesh [res carnea] spoils the speculation [spes] . . . What property [res] confers more wealth [pretiosior] than this property [res] does? If the entire universe had been my personal property [res priuata], a better owner than Christ the Lord [possessio Christo] there could never be. Who rendered [praestitit] me here and now the owner [possessor] of such a property [res], even in trust [spes]? Who obligated me to reject that property [res] there in exchange for Christ [pro Christo], converting Christ to my profit [Christum uerteret in rem]? Who but You, opponent of my wrongdoing, O Felix, the friend of my wellbeing, and the eternal source of my strength?

At its most extreme, this “faith” is based, as the anthropologist David Graeber (2011, 387) says, “on the assumption that we’re so absolutely, thoroughly disentangled from the world that we can just toss all other human beings – or all other living creatures, even, or the cosmos – in a sack, and then start negotiating with them.” And it is true, as Graeber also explains, that such assumptions only make sense in societies thoroughly saturated with the most extreme attributes of a “market mentality” – that is, societies of exploitation in which even people are commodities, whether in the form of their labor or as slaves.70 What astonishes me about the metaphor that structures Paulinus’ “faith,” however, is the specificity, precision, and clarity with which it allowed the poet to identify all the fields of personal profit, real and cultural, that he had had once shared with Ausonius. I believe this was a direct consequence of how really “speculative” Paulinus’ “faith” was. It is probably true that at the end of the day – or, say, in the next century – Paulinus’ “speculation” paid off in material terms.71 But our capacity to even recognize the difference and subsequent interaction of ostensibly unconnected terms – God, money, art – surely derives from the hybrid of Christian

Introduction

23

and aristocratic (read: Ausonian) sensibilities that Paulinus developed. In other words, we still use Paulinus’ system of fiscal and faith-based metaphors when we recognize how hard it is to separate supposedly disinterested cultural productions of poetry and beauty from their real material value or political effects: Very wealthy Romans even derived status from their costly libraries and expensive literary education. This was a world where display of social superiority could be very subtle – while paying out huge sums of money for the barbarian slaves and exotic beasts, whose slaughter in the amphitheatre was necessary to secure his status, a Roman aristocrat could also lay claim to a philosophical education that set him above such things. (Ward-Perkins 2005, 151) What Paulinus tried to do, after recognizing the ultimate identity of an “expensive literary education,” “huge sums of money,” and “slaughter,” was to separate the first term in that sequence – literary education, which was certainly the most adaptable of the three – from the less flexible material underpinnings of the last two terms, money and slaughter. The result for him was the poetry and spectacles of faith that he attempted to spread to the poor, who were in their sensational abjection no less integral a part of his whole aesthetic enterprise.72 Who knows if he was right or wrong about the profits that he would receive from this in heaven? To put this in secular terms: who knows whether what he did was really good? It was the gamble described by Kierkegaard in the previous epigraph: “he who expected the impossible became greatest of all.” Whatever the result, the combination of radicalization, poetry, Christianity, and aristocratic culture made it possible for us to recognize Paulinus’ project in its total reality – that is, in terms of the real character of inequality and exploitation on which it was based (through his precise metaphors of economic inequality) and its ideological superstructure or symbolic (for instance, theological) significance. Perhaps recognizing the interrelation of these terms in some small way, Paulinus used all the instruments of aristocratic culture (painting, building, poetry, lifestyle) to stage a moment in which the “expensive literary education” could be kept apart from the “slaughter” of Roman culture. In doing so, he expanded access to the culture of property, not without material entailments (witness the shelters) and, for a short time at least, challenged the monopoly on culture maintained by the Ausonian aristocracy.73

24

4

Introduction

Major Themes in the Selections From the Poems of Paulinus

As discussed at the outset of this Introduction, this volume contains three sections: “The Earlier Letters,” featuring a mix of letters, almost entirely from Ausonius to Paulinus – all written before Paulinus’ radicalization, which we can date by letter to the middle of the 390s; the second part comprises the first, increasingly demanding letters that Ausonius wrote to Paulinus after around four years of lapsed communication; these climax in Paulinus’ longest poem in response, Poems 10 of his collected works, included here as Principal Correspondence 3, an apology in the technical sense of the Greek word – a work of defense, in which one takes oneself or a cause in which one is implicated as a defendant (cp. Plato’s Apology of Socrates, with the philosopher and philosophy, or Tertullian’s Apology with Christians and Christianity).74 The third and longest section of the volume comprises “Selections from the Poetry of Paulinus.” This started life as a supplement to the main themes of the Principal Correspondence, but I let it grow when it became obvious that to begin documenting even the key themes of the Principal Correspondence meant including nearly all the key themes of Paulinus’ poetry. Since the diction and concerns of every passage that illustrates these themes betray studied similarity, the benefits of including them, as a kind of extended commentary on the Principal Correspondence, seemed obvious. The remainder of this section is a review of the themes of the Selections, which can be read as part of the introductory essay but also as a supplement to the Comments on the Selections, where I will often refer to the present discussion. A Self and Money The first two themes, which I will treat in one section here because they are (initially) so closely connected for Paulinus, are selfhood and wealth, or money. In Poems 10, the entire trajectory of personal identity appears first in biographical passages like these (Principal Correspondence, ll. 23–26, 93–96): Once not with equal skill, but equal zeal, we two agreed to rouse deaf Phoebus from his Delphic cave and call the Muses gods . . . To you I owe my learning, rank, and language, literature and toga, social advancement, height, and standing – patron, teacher, father!

Introduction

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Marking his concern with lower things (such as himself) by his choice of meter (see ll. 13–18), Paulinus presents a biographical reference to Ausonius’ role in his life and thus to their original affinity as “other selves” to one another through shared the practices and passions of poetry. In his response to Paulinus’ response, Ausonius makes the expression of this commonplace of friendship and identity, or selfhood, all but explicit (Letters 24 in Green=Principal Correspondence 4, ll. 36–37): “A better example of friendship we had furnished/than Scipio the Great and wise, undying Laelius.” With this reference to these two Romans of the late Republic, Ausonius refers to the Classical treatment of friendship in Roman philosophy in which they starred, Cicero’s work Laelius on friendship (Laelius de amicitia), where indeed we find the following definition of friendship (80): “For the definition of [the true friend] is the person who is, even though he is another, the same: another self (qui est tamquam alter idem).” Where the shared practice and passions of poetry inform the first testament to the self via friendship in his first approach to Ausonius, Paulinus refers in the second of the parts quoted previously to the external features of his personal identity, or self, status: his being in the eyes of others, which (he claims) he owes to Ausonius (“learning, rank, and language”).75 The second subject of the anthology, wealth or money, is so closely related to the first, it is separated from it in the Selections only because the separation facilitates the inclusion of a few other passages, which really are about money in itself (which after all was the primary object of Paulinus’ renunciation). Some of these we have seen in connection with the cowherd of Paulinus, Poems 18, where his class character – that is to say, his earnings and his relation to the means of production – are a fundamental part of who he is and how he appears in the poem. But before we find Paulinus extending his concern with money and the circulation of wealth so far from the self (that is, literally, in a discussion of someone else), it appears in Paulinus’ relationship with himself, his “subjectivity,” as exemplified by the subjection of God in Christ in the incarnation and the effects of that event on the innermost part of the self (Poems 10=Principal Correspondence, ll. 53–62): … For us, as a human, he stripped himself and dressed in us and made between humanity and God immortal commerce. His radiance in heaven – when it’s shaken our hearts with light, he wipes the morbid mold from our dull frame, remakes the bearing of our thought

26 Introduction and empties what before he did uphold in trade for pleasure undefiled. After the incarnation, the definition of God is self-surrender – what Paul called “emptying out” (Gr. kenôsis in Paul, Philippians 2.7, trans. NRSV): “though he was in the form of God, [Christ Jesus] emptied himself [ekenôse], taking the form of a slave, being born in human likeness. And being found in human form, he humbled himself. . . . Therefore God also highly exalted him.” Alongside this notion of kenôsis in Paulinus appear two aspects of selfhood as he described it: again, the idea of an internal aspect of the self (or subjectivity) and an external aspect of the self (personality, personhood), represented first by the idea of Christ assuming human being as a kind of garment, visible from without (thus: “dressed in flesh”), and second, the effect that this God in human attire has on humanly human individuals such as Ausonius, Paulinus, or us: “shaken our hearts with light . . . remakes the bearing of our thought” (see Comments on Poems 11=Principal Correspondence 3, l. 61). Augustine also describes Christ as “dressed in flesh” (carne indutus: Expositions on the Psalms 30(2).9). In this use, the word induere, or “dress,” comes to describe a kind of reverse exemplification or a transformation of the self not into another but by another (God become Christ) into themselves: God “imitates” human beings by becoming Christ, which makes it possible for human beings to imitate God (or Christ in the canonical formulation of Thomas à Kempis) and in becoming God to become themselves – self-realization (Paul, Romans 13:14): “dress in Christ” (enduesthai Khriston; the Greek enduesthai is almost the exact etymological counterpart of the Latin induere; see Introduction 4C, subsequently). Paulinus explains his experience of self-realization not only as transformation but (more accurately: from the point of view of the Fall of humanity) as renewal.76 Ausonius is mad at him, but he ought to forgive him because, in fact, Paulinus’ transformation is not Paulinus’ “fault” (Poems 10=Principal Correspondence 3, ll.136–43): All the more is it right to forgive me, the readier is the recognition of my renewal by the greatest begetter, in this: this is not my act. I do not think, for that, I ought to be alleged as a culpable sin to confess that I change my mind since I voluntarily profess not in my own mind did I change my former life. Mine is a new mind, a mind not mine, as once was not mine, now I avow with God as author.

Introduction

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This is the “immortal commerce” that Paulinus has in mind, where in that key Latin word commercium (see Poems 10=Principal Correspondence 3, l. 56, quoted previously), as Trout suggests with the quasitranslation of “salvation economics,” money and wealth make their first appearance too. Immediately after pronouncing his adherence to the “immortal commerce” instituted by Christ in Poems 10, Paulinus says (ll. 63–64): “He claims in whole a lord and master’s right/over mind, mouth, head.” Then immediately he makes the economic subtext of the relation of property in another person, called enslavement, explicit; with this explication, the image of slavery disappears and a new economic image – that of a kind of proto-capitalism, an image indeed of a new “economy” – appears (Poems 10=Principal Correspondence, ll. 70–81): What we seem to spurn, it does not cast away as cheap or common riches but reminds us they are worth more, owed to Christ, to God who promised more in heaven. Whether wasted out of hand or saved in Him, with interest it’s repaid; Good guard without deception to investors, he’ll repay increased investment. More bountiful, with extortionate generosity, God will redeem spent money. Of course, the concept of “redemption” that Paulinus here envisions is completely personal – in other words, it is not “just” economic – or status conscious in Roman terms of slaver and enslaved. Paulinus is after all seeking redemption not of the money that he “wasted” on the poor but of himself, which is again his inmost part. In addition to its role in Paulinus’ salvation economics, money is relevant to the Correspondence and the Selections because Paulinus is attentive to financial details in general, sometimes providing fodder for modern critics – but again, it is remarkable how closely the modern critic’s criticism echoes Paulinus’ own self-criticism. A “lying scandal” that beset Paulinus before his radicalization, which included contemporary rumors that the future saint was implicated in the murder of his late brother, is a case in point (Walsh 1966, 220, cp. n. 20, previously). Denying that his renunciation entitled him to any particular esteem, Paulinus plausibly castigates himself to his friend Severus on the grounds that he could have and should have radicalized earlier, and under less convenient circumstances:

28

Introduction besides, my life in this world, often tried by toils and labours, learned to hate what perturbed me. . . . Finally, when I seemed to obtain rest from lying scandal and from wanderings. . . . I enjoyed the leisure of country life and my religious duties, surrounded by pleasant peace in my withdrawn household.77

More innocuous examples of Paulinus’ interest in wealth and class in their own right include Felix’s inheritance, as well as his own (Poems 16=Selections 2B, ll. 270–288, as well as Poems 15.10–20, included at the beginning of the Selections for reasons explained in the Comments there): Our good Father willed us to be affluent even so our riches badly trafficked in our sins in trade for better riches in exchange for all wealth and all ambitions and noble rank and empty offices – for them, we take Felix as all wealth and fatherland and house. You are my father, nation, land, and assets . . . Your bosom is our nest. In cherishing that, we grow. Trading our bodies for a different form, we remove our earthly source. In the seed of God’s own Word, we’re converted into birds. Moving far beyond the relatively reductive economic imagery of enslavement, Paulinus outlines a really complex economy, with the subjection of economic transactions to yet more transactions, again prefiguring finance capitalism: “riches . . . trafficked . . . in trade . . . in exchange” or – in a modern or even postmodern idiom: “new kinds of profits available in financial transactions themselves and as such.”78 Consistent with his inhabitation of an economy of enslavement in which individuals were the commodities of exchange, Paulinus sees the transformation of wealth by finance not in the inanimate commodities of artifacts but in that “tool with a soul,” the human being (Fitzgerald 2000, 5–7). With the phrase “converted into birds,” Paulinus subordinates a new quasi-capitalist notion of accelerated exchange to an old-fashioned (Classical) myth of physical transformation: the words that occasion the translation (in Latin: mutantes, vertimur) apply no less to exchanging currency than to mythological metamorphosis.79 The other way in which money informs the Correspondence and the Selections from Paulinus is summarized in the Latin word munus (pl. munera, cp. officium), which means gift, obligation, duty – in short, anything but commodity. A commodity is something produced for its value in exchange, or sale, which is an aspect of exchange that transpires (for Romans, at least) with the immediacy of a promise: for just as when one says, “I promise,”

Introduction 29 and the sheer statement of this has the force of an action, so too a poem or letter delivered by mail or personal performance constitutes at the moment of delivery the return of a previous favor and the making good of an implicit contract; every well-wrought epistle can become itself a form of action – word becomes deed – analogous to one party of a sale paying another on the spot: “What I speak is hence assured:/Fate demands what you earned [merita].”80 The difference between the commodity and the munus, or officium, which I have sometimes translated as “affectionate obligation,” is that the munus masks its commodity character by inserting a delay between the time of the service and the “counter-service,” or return (“assurance,” “earning”).81 Examples of the “affectionate obligation” (or munus) include observation of the necessary decorum in the delivery of a poem, which is in fact the leading event of the Principal Correspondence (Ausonius, Letters 21 in Green=Principal Correspondence 1, ll. 1–2): “This is the fourth letter in which I expose my well-known complaint,/Paulinus.” Examples of the “counter-service” include Ausonius’ request that Paulinus intervene in a local dispute to secure the material interests of an absentee owner, in the person of his sometime slave turned entrepreneur Philo, discussed previously.82 The difference between Ausonius’ engagement in this symbolic economy of aristocratic discretion and Paulinus’ accounts of the same practice after his radicalization is one that characterizes many Christian versions of Classical practice and makes the Christians refreshing: the Christian calls the exchange what it is; he doesn’t just exhibit the force of obligation, actively colluding with his fellow aristocrat to disguise the self-motivated economic dimension of their transaction; instead, he narrates and describes the process in its very midst, bereaving it of its efficacy or “felicity” in maintaining the old social relationship (see Introduction 4C, subsequently). In his first, hurt contribution to the Principal Correspondence, Ausonius uses a language well known to Paulinus (Letters 21=Principal Correspondence 1, ll. 3–6): And yet not a single page has returned the affectionate obligation of sending me good morrow with a pack of salutation. What did an infelicitous missive do to deserve such rejection, as your inactivity spurns it with, with such sustained contempt? Affectionate obligation, felicity, contempt – this is the language of those aristocratic exchanges which masks “the spirit of calculation, economic interests (in the narrow sense), especially those relating to consumption” (Bourdieu 1990, 192). In what appears to be his last contribution to the Principal Correspondence, Paulinus explains that he has honored Ausonius in sufficiently indirect ways, over time, to mask the commodity character, or self-interestedness,

30

Introduction

of their relationship. At the same time, he reveals the artifice at work in that relationship all along (Poems 11=Principal Correspondence 5, ll. 8–16) You always had my heart. Even now to honor you with every obligation and loyal affection is always my ritual. Never even with a slender blemish were the thanks I feel for you made maculate with me. I always feared to hurt you even with a glance or slight you with an unintended meaning. And when I came to you to show respect, I set my mouth more circumspect and sculpted eyes and brow in happy light in fear unfair suspicion lead a father-figure I revere to draw a furrowed umbrage even from my quiet heart. Affectionate obligation, or munus and officium, personal feeling (loyal affection=pietas), ritual (obseruare). With the last word, I would argue, Paulinus changes the nature of the correspondence by revealing his consciousness of the aristocratic charade in which he was previously engaged. The word can be used for traditional relationships and does not by itself denote any coldness. Of analogous relations in practice Cicero writes (Letters to Friends and Family [Ad Familiares] 5.8.4): “He honors me like a second father and loves me too [obseruat . . . diligit].” On the one hand, Cicero like Paulinus recognizes the difference between adherence to an external law, the expectations demanded of paternalism (obseruat), and the more heartfelt “affection” (diligit) which must accompany it but can’t be taken for granted. On the other hand, Paulinus emphasizes the difference between these two sides of social obligation and aristocratic exchange. Endowing his writing at this moment with a remarkable “realism,” he describes the self-conscious manipulation of appearance aimed at pleasing social superiors: “And when I came to you to show respect, I set my mouth/more circumspect.”83 Paulinus styles his relationship with Felix, his patron saint, on the aristocratic model in which we find him irritably wriggling in the Principal Correspondence, as discussed in Introduction 3, previously. Many have remarked upon this feature of late fourth-century Christian theory and practice in general. What distinguishes Paulinus, and what comparison with his old patronal relationship to Ausonius shows, is that Paulinus can be more honest with Felix, even acknowledging the blatant self-interest and thus “narrowly” economic character of their relationship (Poems 21=Selections 2E, ll. 443–447): Who rendered me here and now the owner of such a property even in trust? Who obligated me to reject that property there

Introduction 31 in exchange for Christ, converting Christ to my profit [uerteret in rem]? Who but You, opponent of my wrongdoing, O Felix, the friend of my wellbeing, and the eternal source of my strength? Scholars have long noted the persistence of aristocratic indirection in Paulinus’ relationship with Felix (cp. the “Brownian notion” discussed previously and the insistence on the patronal “friendship” between person and patron in the passage just quoted here). But it may be more interesting and instructive at this point in the history of the interpretation of these poems to observe the frank admission of economic interest, which Paulinus makes perfectly clear at various points in his collected works with the phrase also isolated by Brown, commercium spiritale (cp. “immortal commerce” in Introduction 4 previously, and Poems 21=Selections 2E, ll. 425–432, here): My good faith betrayed my fatherland and house. It walked abroad in far-flung lands to do commerce. It threw it all away to buy the bearing of the Cross. The wealth of the earth was spent on speculation in the realm of heaven. Subsidized by God, stronger from good faith than wealth in the flesh, this speculation yields unending wealth while wealth in the flesh spoils the speculation. The speculation yet leaves wealth untouched if the conqueror is good faith. With this nakedly economic imagery, Paulinus acknowledges the transactional nature of his relationship with Felix, and he does so without the anxious defensiveness that characterizes his disavowals to Ausonius in the Principal Correspondence. Indeed, practically every poem of nativity that Paulinus writes to Felix over the course of his life at Nola features a joyous recognition of the “narrowly economic” character of their relationship, even if the old language of obligation and duty appears along with the more heartfelt language of sincerity that we saw in the Classical example of Cicero (Poems 18=Selections 3C, ll. 1–5): Every year it has been my sound policy, because of devotion, to celebrate today and make my speech its servant. Sacred duty is incumbent on me. From my mouth, the poems must mention Felix. With promised verse, my joy and happiness must be set to music. The enormous earnings [merita] of my dear patron must be performed in song.

32

Introduction

It may well be that Paulinus could achieve the pitch of sincerity that he does in such poems precisely because, once he had exposed the possibility for hypocrisy in the old system in the poems of the Principal Correspondence, he could avow renewed sincerity in the later poems of the Selections. In the same poem of nativity, Paulinus describes the ascension of Felix (Poems 18=Selections 3C, ll. 6–10): Pursuing the heights by a path that is tight on a hard road fully passable to few is how I announce he reached the innermost hearths of the high citadel! Brothers and sisters, be in harmony with me and sing along. I beg and pray: pour out your hearts in undefiled excess. Sacred pleasure and undefiled love songs suit good faith. While the language of longstanding affection and duty persist, Paulinus repurposes the economy of self-interested transactions that yield material profits to serve individuals formerly excluded from the economy of aristocratic discretion, namely the poor (Poems 20=Selections 2D, ll. 11–23) These are the terms that I have been given by Felix my patron. Nothing of mine is from me, and all that is mine is from him. Take his birthday now for instance. Just as in years past, each time that day touched me especially in the flower of its prime, and I had no resources for provisioning the holy feast, when the day was at hand and still, I had no possible means, from anyone at all, for making provisions – then suddenly, see! a generous patron granted me enough to supply a grand banquet: a sow and two pigs. From their flesh, the poor were fed, and then, since God had given us undeniable signals, through the meat itself, that this was a miracle, from the very same livestock we also took material for this song. By the time one gets to the language of miracles and poetry at the end of this passage, it is easy to forget the overtly economic acknowledgment of contract, stipulation, and property of the first two lines, but the clear reference to food as material, and poetry as a mediated form of the same material, reminds us of this, even in the midst of a “miracle.” The allusions to Classical Latin poetry make the contrasts between the old aristocratic insincerity of Paulinus’ relationship with Ausonius and the new Christian candor of his relationship with Felix even clearer. On the one

Introduction

33

hand, Paulinus is providing his patron the “promised verse” that the old poets like Vergil and Horace, always the “friends” and never the employees of patrons like Maecenas (or so they claimed), were wont to provide in the golden age of Latin literature – never (they also insisted) as the due rendering of a service for which the patron had previously paid (room and board, a library, an estate).84 On the other hand, the sheer mention of food and feeding the poor, especially in the particular meter of Paulinus’ nativities for Felix, strikes a lower tone, one familiar from the lengthy series of sometimes bloated verse that readers of Classical Latin associate with the Roman genre of satire: there, food and feast always signaled the poet’s participation in lower genres – the self-conscious debasement of poetry.85 Here, then, we find the “mixed style” of “realism” that Erich Auerbach attributed to late antique Christian literature (see previously). What Paulinus makes clear, in contrast with Auerbach, is the extent to which such literary “realism” is a direct product of the non-comedic application of poetry to economic transactions, and thus of Paulinus’ unexpected materialism.86 Far from transcending the basic concern with economic interests, then, Paulinus’ transcendental turn as a Christian poet itself allows him to discuss these interests, especially in the person of himself, without concealment. His discussion in turn represents both the psychological impact of money and the reality of wealth and exchange in human society. It does so (usually) by way of “metaphor,” imagining and explaining the psychological impact of money in terms of the real difference that God and saint make to a human life. But because his metaphors hew so close to real experience in the ancient economy, it is hard to tell whether he is speaking metaphorically about God as opposed to describing the effects of God, expressed in the lives of the saints, in real and material life in his community. When he starts doing this, he recognizes the contingency and malleability of the material economy, promotes its progressive reorganization, and attacks one of the fundamental roots of inequality and oppression in human society: the distinction between the haves and the have-nots. B

Music and Time

Just as the previous topic of money entails concrete and abstract dimensions, with images of hard cash and obvious inequality alongside images of divine transcendence and practically physical transport, the topics of music and time together present a similar relationship to one another: for Paulinus, as for many Christian worshippers in his time, following the lead of Ambrose, the pioneering author of hymns in Christian liturgy, music is the experience of time; time is in turn a medium of value, and it can be enriched or impoverished in ways that tend to favor individuals or in

34 Introduction ways that tend to favor groups – just like the circulation of wealth in society.87 Not surprisingly, given his politics elsewhere, Paulinus advocates the broadest circulation of music and has a broad idea of it too: for him, like the Greeks of the Classical period, “music” comprises matters of inspiration in mental and emotional life, with inherently physical manifestations, including the fine arts of poetry, painting, and performance – all the fields of cultural practice associated with the Muses (whence “music”) in Archaic and Classical Greek and Latin literature – but it also extends to the senses believed to be lower in Greco-Roman aesthetic and social theory, including taste and smell.88 There are, then, two ways in which Paulinus’ poetry presents itself as music, or better a kind of “Musaic” utterance. The first is through the engagement with the Classical past that most readers associate with Paulinus’ long response to Ausonius in the Principal Correspondence: “Why, father, bid the Muses I dismissed/to come back to my heart?”89 In this model of cultural production, poetry appears as a kind of material overaccumulation, which Paulinus’ asceticism is eager to redress: it is showy and ineffective, wealth (of a symbolic kind) squandered on self-aggrandizement rather than genuine interpersonal communication (Paulinus, Poems 10=Principal Correspondence, ll. 109–112): As for my return, still I prefer you ask the source that can permit it. Could I imagine that you could recall me when you pour out barren prayers on things not holy, when you implore, against His power, “Castalian Muses?” In terms of the larger system of his thought and writing, Paulinus’ identification of the uselessness of poetry is a result of its devaluation by relatively recent historical developments – namely, the coming of the Kingdom of God. No longer an adequate instrument of “credit” (or faith: fides), it is a property devoid of substance, an unreal “thing” (from Latin, res) – which is to say, a quasi-thing, and thus almost no thing, a “name” (nomen) devoid of power and divinity (numen).90 A dead currency, poetry (Paulinus claims) no longer rewards investment. The Classical idea of poetry as a medium of value, a form of material wealth, nevertheless persists in Paulinus’ Christian poetry, only transformed, reappraised, or even “redeemed” (more subsequently). In his first attempts at Christian poetry, Paulinus uses a Classicizing language of aesthetic disvalue to construe the biblical paraphrases of earlier Christian poets as a kind of byproduct of the true (prose) anti-artistry of the Gospel. God might indulge such “slender” efforts as his, but neither He nor the faithful needed them. Certainly they did not constitute communities

Introduction 35 through participation in the Holy Spirit (Paulinus, Poems 6=Selections 3A, ll. 11–16): Still, it is granted the Great to make outlay of care, even slight. Heaven’s inhabitants do not disparage our worthless praise. Part of their works is acclaiming the works of the faithful, and nothing I will sing is new or mine. The prophets said it all before. For in the saints’ talk, free and plain, was the Coming assured. The “salvation economics” discussed in the previous sections continues (the third line of the quotation is practically Protestant), but when he claims to be merely setting scripture to song, Paulinus is suggesting that the Musaic art of poetry practiced by pre-Christian poets like Ausonius was overvalued, really only a means of conveying pre-established information – repeating the Gospel. At the same time that he debases poetry in this way, however, Paulinus opens the door to his own ascetic appropriation of Classical aesthetics.91 Five years after his renunciation, Paulinus contrasts himself to “those who are mightier in feckless gold,” comparing that year’s extremely long poem of nativity to the so-called “Widow’s Offering” in Mark (12:41–4) and Luke (21:1–4; Poems 18=Selections 2C, ll. 49–51): I don’t fear rejection, because not cheap to Christ was the outlay of devotion of the poor. Happy, with praise two coins, the pious widow’s net worth, he received. English tradition calls her two coins “mites,” which du Cange’s lexicon of Medieval Latin identifies as small change, a quadrans or quarter of an as, deriving the English name of the currency from Jerome’s Latin translation of the Greek New Testament: “the tiniest currency [moneta minutissima], which the Greeks called ‘slight’ [leptos].”92 Paulinus compares his poetry to this cheap offering, consistent with the devaluation of poetry to which he subjected Classical verse in the Principal Correspondence, but now that that medium has been devalued, it can serve, in a proper Christian way, as a medium of great value, realized in an exchange with God or his financial representatives to mortals, such as Saint Felix. The last word of in the definition that du Cange’s Medieval Lexicon provides for the “slight” currency of the widow’s mites (leptos) is rich with aesthetic, in addition to economic, significance. The term furnished a buzzword for the pre-Christian poets of the Late Republican and Early Imperial avant garde: Catullus, Propertius, Horace, Vergil – all, along with Statius’ selfconsciously minor poetry of the late first century AD/CE, were models for

36

Introduction

Ausonius’ poetry of precious experimentation. Called “Alexandrian” from its association with the elegance of the Hellenistic royalty of Egypt, dubbed “neoteric” or “modernist” by the contemporary witness of its development in the Roman Republic, the orator Cicero, this originally countercultural poetry presented an alternative to the fusty grandeur of earlier epic poets like Homer and Ennius.93 Trading verses and inciting editorial engagement, poets trafficked in wit and scholarly debate, disclaiming genius by affirming irrelevance only to subtly correct or clarify one another in increasingly daring compositions (Sowers 2016, 511–12, 521–7). Unquestionably quoting Paulinus back, Ausonius attests to the survival or revival of this aesthetic attitude near the end of the fourth century (Letters 17 in Green=Earlier Letters 1): You even added sweet adulation to the mix of poetic craftsmanship: “He who in his daring gave his name to Icarus’ sea, and he who drifted a middle course to the bastions of Chalcidice.” Aren’t you really saying that your live and sublime style (or “daring”) is recklessness, and my restraint, which a son should imitate, is rich in generous discretion (“a middle course”)? It is exactly the opposite. You fly so high, you will not fall. At my age, it’s enough just to d9rift. Here the poet sees and raises his protégé’s display of learning, lowers himself in the process of elevating the other, and asserts his intellectual equality through false modesty (Sowers 2016, 513–17). This penny-pinching aesthetics of intellectual incision is the background for Paulinus’ more extravagant Christian Romanticism, revalorized in Paulinus’ Christian asceticism and serving now as a more popular (widely circulating) means of exchange, linking the highest and the lowest in the universe in Paulinus’ public performance of yearly poems of nativity for Felix. “Pneumatic musicology” is the name that one scholar has given to this more widely circulating poetry of Paulinus (Fontaine 1980, 393–413). The sonorous phrase describes the linguistic consequence of the revelation of the working of the Spirit (Greek, pneuma) in Christian life, as described in the Pentecost of the Christian Bible (Acts 2:1–15) – and indeed by Paulinus himself (Poems 27=Selections 3D, ll. 95–99): [W]ith a luminous trail of fire, it shot down there where the harmonious hearts of the young apostles gathered. Soon like a fire with a strange sudden sound it settled on the men from all the nations assembled, and then in each of them in but one breath, it sounded different.

Introduction 37 The implicit reference to poetry here appears in the “harmonious hearts of the young apostles.” The musical word that starts the phrase (concors) is part of a larger Classical way of understanding and creating social “harmony” on the model of poetry and song.94 Like the Spirit in the Pentecost, and maybe even in the Spirit, as a result inspiration, poetry becomes a veritable agent in the creation of ever larger and more complex organizations of society, until it becomes unclear where the individual creativity of the poet ends and the Spirit begins or where the Spirit ends and society begins – in Jerusalem in the 30s, in Nola in the 390s. Paulinus thus calls Christ “the real author of my song[,]/the real David” who “rehabilitated the lyre of this body” and, as God, “hung this lyre/on the wood of the tree of Himself to make repairs” (Poems 20=Selections 3F, ll. 43–56): That is how He fitted a mortal instrument to the divine dance, when He assembled a single lyre from various nations and framed in a single body a wide range of races. Trinitarian theology meets biblical typology, or the practice of interpreting people and things from the “Old Testament” as prefigurations of the New (see C subsequently), and the complexity of literal and figurative descriptions defies analysis: is the lyre a metaphor for the human body or for society, or is the human body a metaphor for society, inscribed on the body in the form of the incarnation and crucifixion through the agency of the Holy Spirit?95 Though Paulinus derives his poetry of the passions from the psalmody of the Hebrew Bible, it has parallels in experiments in liturgy and ritual in Paulinus’ own period, including prayer, baptism, and the doctrine of the resurrection.96 The literally spiritual function that he assigns to poetry derives from the “pneumatic” understanding of Davidic song, assumed among early Christians (Acts 1:16–22) and explicated by the apostle Paul where the work of the Holy Spirit and the diversity of the Pentecost are again apparent (1 Corinthians 14.14–15, trans. KJV): For if I pray in an unknown tongue, my spirit [spiritus] prayeth, but my understanding [mens] is unfruitful. What is it then? I will pray with the spirit, and I will pray with the understanding also: I will sing with the spirit, and I will sing with the understanding also [psallam spiritu . . . et mente]. Joined to the voice invoked by poets, the spirit that joins understanding was the force of eternal life (1 Corinthians 15.42, 44–5, trans. KJV, modified): So also is the resurrection of the dead. . . . It is sown an animate body [corpus animale]; it is raised a spiritual body [corpus spiritale].

38 Introduction There is an animal body, and there is a spiritual body. And so it is written, The first man Adam was made a living soul [animam viventem]; the last Adam [Christ] was made a quickening spirit [spiritum vivificantem]. The Greek that Paul uses for “spirit,” and that the Vulgate translates with the Latin equivalent, is again pneuma. Paulinus’ friend, Nicetas of Remesiana, wrote that music in the form of psalmody is “a revelation of the sending forth (emissio) of the Creating Spirit and the renewal of the world” (trans. Walsh 1949, 70=§7 in Burn 1905, 74). If “music” thus mobilizes pneuma, and pneuma is the stuff of resurrection, then Paulinus’ poetry here seems to partly initiate the process: “Psalmody enacts . . . a Christian reading . . . by which the Church and the Lord render themselves mutually present to one another.”97 After renouncing the Alexandrian aestheticism of Ausonius, Paulinus adapts Paul’s implicit “musicology” of the Spirit to his own performances of the poems of nativity (Poems 15=Selections: Self, Money, Music, Time, Christ, ll. 26–42): And so, O lyre, rise. Extend your sinews one and all. Arouse the power of my soul. Let love my still unsinging insides pound until the shaken sound box (my heart) makes my teeth throb. May plectrum tongue pick mouth harp loud . . . It is not hard for you, all powerful God, to open my mouth in cultured song when you bid dumb things speak and dry things flow . . . You made the unbreakable rock open up in a creek. You bade the arid earth all of a sudden start streaming and watered the wastes rewarding your peoples’ speculation. Dry though their souls were, they flooded with thankful devotion. The streaming rock refreshing them from the living font was Christ. Recalling Alexandrian erudition in the last line (note also “cultured song” in l. 37), Paulinus first addresses the lyre that he notionally holds, then imagines his body as the extended physical substrate of its music, becoming lyre, while the “cultured song” that he is himself ostensibly producing reveals itself to be the miraculous act of God.98 Related through the role of water in Paulinus’ poetics, baptism furnished earlier Christians like Tertullian (second–third c. AD/CE) with a model for such musical interactions of matter and spirit. The veritable founder of Christian Latin, Tertullian called this “concorporation” and discussed it with the image of the hydraulic organ (Tertullian, On Baptism 8.1):

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39

We accept that human art summons air [spiritum] into water and gives life to their co-constitutive embodiment [concorporationem . . . animare] with such glorious sound [spiritu tantae claritatis] by the simple addition of the hands [to the keyboard]. Will we not accept that God makes music of spiritual grandeur [sublimitatem modulari spiritalem] in his instrument [the human being] through the holy hands [of the priest]? Going one step further than Tertullian, Paulinus does not merely use the production of music to illustrate the “concorporation” of matter and spirit; he also suggests that music is such a concorporation of matter and spirit, including God (a.k.a. the Holy Spirit).99 By thus describing music theologically and sanctification musically (and both baptismally), Paulinus suggests that aesthetic production has a special relationship to divine work and that the two, the work of God and the (art)work of human beings, contribute to and maybe even cause one another.100 In addition to elevating music to this pitch of participation in eternity, Paulinus explores the way that it unfolds in the experience of time for individuals and communities. Because of his greater fame, it is easy to forget that Augustine was writing the Confessions at the same time as Paulinus (some scholars used to think he wrote them for Paulinus).101 Where Augustine “discovered” his consciousness by trying to distinguish his sense of time from the recitation of a hymn of Ambrose in time, Paulinus performs a similar analysis of experience in the midst of performing his own poems.102 His frequent descriptions of himself becoming a lyre are the first examples of this. Other examples include his frequent discussions of change and the progress of time, as he waits for Felix’s saint’s day to return and marks its duration with the poetic measures of his “song” (Poems 23=Selections 4E, ll. 12–16, 27–8, 31–31, 37–40): Just as with tuneful sound, the linnets fill the woods, just silent in their unkempt lodgings, happy now that spring has sprung, when the song of each bird tongue sounds different from the other as their wings are different color, so I remember this day too . . . O God, O source of the word, assent with a nod as the word. Make me sing with the sweet voice of spring like a bird . . . Dappled in her utterance, though in the single color of her feathers, she pours the liquid of transforming songs in not one tone . . . In contrast, Christ, let grace and beauty spring from me continuously, even as I beg and pray that I may be

40

Introduction like the bird in her variety, bestowing verses promised annually, with utterances of changing styles even in a single mouth.

By comparison with the bird, Paulinus experiences sameness in difference as he continues to utter changing song as one and the same person for one and the same “person” – Felix or God and Christ and the Holy Spirit.103 Like Augustine, then, Paulinus says that he is who he is by virtue of being himself over time. Unlike Augustine, or at least in a very different way, Paulinus preserves and develops that experience of perceptible self-identity in time through music and the material forms of Classical poetry. On the one hand, a learned allusion to his own virtuoso composition of individual poems in different meters recalls the scholarly dimension of “Alexandrian” poetry that he shared with Ausonius: “changing styles even in a single mouth” – this is the Alexandrian virtue of poikilia or in Latin variatio.104 An allusion to Vergil’s “linnet” in the passage quoted previously (see Comments on Poems 23=Selections 3E, ll. 9–16) emphasizes the Alexandrian inheritance, introducing a “foreign” (Classical) voice into the domestic, even personal Christian song. On the other hand, the same lines contain a thoroughly Christian suffusion of the medium of the “self” through everything in the form of God and the Spirit. To return to the Pentecost once more, Paulinus uses nearly identical language to describe the transformation of diverse people who still maintain their individuality in its work as well (Poems 27=Selections 3D, ll. 66–8): Endowed with the expression of unknown speech, each recognized his own voice in a foreigner’s mouth and no more knew the chatter of foreigners in his own mouth now. There again language proves the medium of divine transformation. In contrast with Augustine, Paulinus explicitly pairs this radical interiority with human history and the politics of the day, distinguishing between secular and sacred time unfolding in the same moment and writing his patron Felix into history (Poems 27=Selections 4G, ll. 107–109): Therefore, then, as the Lord did deck the sky with stars, the fields with flowers, and the year with time, so too He decked time itself with holidays. God’s aestheticization of time is explicitly musical: holidays are “harmonious intervals” (120). With the help of God, this “song” has a salvific function: “even among the tribes of the unkind Alans,” it would help the singer to “utter [his] prayers and vows” “in whatever little songs [he] chose.”105 Through the threat of depredation of the “barbarian” invasions, song

Introduction 41 continues to anchor the individual to God and thus proves the medium of personal connection with the universe.106 Song thus serves the same function as the martyrs and confessors whose holidays it accompanies – all mediate (Poems 21=Selections 4D, ll. 138–53): From this it follows that, for witnesses made sacred by their suffering, for confessors too, our faithful populations cultivate with serious merrymaking the sacred days of exit from this fallen world to God . . . Today’s the day the old man died in body . . . [A] bloodless sacrifice and victor, He went home to heaven. He was happy to leave the earth because Christ called. Still He received the martyr’s wreath because He had avowed the will to suffer the Passion in his mind. If holidays are God’s way of reconciling humanity’s temporal being with divine eternity, music is the medium of the reconciliation. Poets intercede to help the process – or maybe they just intervene to help us notice it. At any rate, because it is composed of a finer grain of matter than sickness and health, it is easy to miss. More obvious to Paulinus and his fellow worshippers at Nola was the all-but-bodily intercession of Saint Felix, often “right here in the nearly physical act.”107 The model for this intercession was the incarnation, but in the context of Paulinus’ Nolan poetry and performance, the incarnation is just a higher degree of integration of matter and spirit, on a continuum with poetry understood as a form of music. To the extent that such music participates in the Passion, which includes, with the incorporation of music in the adoration of Felix, an “actively creative and ecstatic love-passion” (Auerbach 2014 [1941], 175), Paulinus proves once more a kind of Romantic poet, making Ausonius into a poet of Classical restraint.108 Paulinus proves, in his own words, then, positively Icarian, and Ausonius figures Daedalus, the supreme representation of the supposedly pre-modern idea of art as skill, and not expression.109 C

Christ (and Felix)

As stated at the outset of this section, I include the topic of Christ last among the Selections and accord it its own section of the introduction because all the themes of Paulinus’ poetry, especially those of Self, Money, Music, and Time, are fundamental to how Paulinus’ presents Christ in the Poems. I include Felix in parentheses in the title of this section because, just as

42 Introduction all the other themes are inextricable from Christ, so the theme of Christ is inextricable (for Paulinus) from Felix (Ruggiero 1990, 43). To illustrate the interconnectedness of Christ/Felix with all the themes of the Selections, the section of this volume that includes them starts with the passage of 49 lines, the opening of the Natalicium of 398 CE/AD where all the themes appear and climax in Christ: Poems 15=Selections: Self, Money, Music, Time, and Christ, ll. 1–49. One way to analyze the integration of the major themes that come together in the excerpt would be this: (1) Time: ll. 1–4, (2) Self: ll. 4–9, (3) Money: ll. 10–16, (4) Self: ll. 17–20, (5) Christ: ll. 21–25, (6) Music/ Christ: ll. 26–49. Illustrating the inextricability of the themes and the affinity or near identity of Christ and Felix, however, each section thus analyzed can be further analyzed in terms of the other themes, in almost fractal ways. Accordingly, though the opening four lines of that selection are concerned with time as Paulinus describes the occasion of Felix’s saint’s day, they also find the theme of money, correlated to time (l. 1: “Let the yearly prayer . . . and the yearly payment”), Christ (l. 3: “so glorious in Christ”), self (3–4: “My own [birthday] is/not precious, thus”; cp. l. 5: “it has something special for your own,” – that is, for Paulinus himself), all in an address to Felix (ll. 2–3: “O Felix effulgent,/so glorious in Christ”) – all within the first three lines, just as they are (in bigger proportions) in the remainder of the selection. Given the embedding of all the themes of the Selections in one another and the importance that Paulinus put on his renunciation of wealth, it is not surprising that, of all the themes that Paulinus uses to understand Christ’s role in human experience, money remains the most important. Just as God humbled himself in Christ, so Paulinus humbled himself in wealth and status and (in Roman terms) identity (Brown 2012, 221–3, cp. the “Brownian” notion of God and saint above discussed in Introduction 3, previously). The spokesman of the Nicene Creed (327 AD/CE) explains such “economics” without Paulinus’ economic language, and while other Greek Christian authors of late antiquity may have anticipated Paulinus’ notion of the economy (see, for instance, Behr 2000, 33), Athanasius’ bare description of the doctrine of the incarnation effected in God’s adoption of humanity as Christ reveals the originality and thoroughness of Paulinus’ more patently financial representation of the so-called divine economy or economy of salvation (On the Incarnation of the Word 44, trans. Thomson 1971, 247): For this reason the Saviour rightly put on a body in order that the body being joined to life, might no longer remain as mortal in death, but having put on immortality, might then rise up and remain immortal. . . . [T]herefore he put on a body, that coming across death in the body he might efface it.

Introduction 43 Devoid of commercial language at best intimated elsewhere in the same treatise, the doctrine of the incarnation shows forth in a presentation of Classical restraint. There is the subtle dialectic of directions, such as in and up: “the Saviour . . . put on a body” (in Greek, enduesthai=“get dressed in”); as a result the body would “rise up” (in Greek anestê). Augustine, like Paulinus, will intensify this dialectic of directions from up and in, to up and down, but all the “pro-Nicene” writers emphasize the surprisingly logical aspect of the mystical transaction, evident in Athanasius’ attention to cause, effect, and explanation (“For this reason . . . that the body . . . having put on . . . might then”).110 Occasionally Paulinus will present the incarnation in such textbook Athanasian language. In uncharacteristic “apologetic” moments (or moments of quasi-forensic argumentation), Paulinus exploits the putative logic of the doctrine and the supposed absurdity of non-Christian representations of divinity to advance an account of Athanasian literalism (Poems 19.129–40): Is Isis, then, a goddess? A female goddess? If she is, she doesn’t have a body, and sex without body, birth without sex is inconceivable. How then did she get the Osiris whom she sought? And how did the “goddess” not know where to look? A goddess can never be a mother or a woman. God is one – one virtue, triple power: the Father is one, the Son is one within Himself, and from the Father of the word the Spirit comes, three names that always are one God. The nature of God alone is God, what Son and Spirit are, so too is Father. Son is born from Father. Spirit comes from Father. With this, there is nothing in common in all of nature and in all the things of creation. Written a decade after the Principal Correspondence in 405 AD/CE, Paulinus’ repetition of the preposition “from” (ex) reflects the growing orthodoxy of Latin Christianity in the time that Augustine was composing the proNicene work, On the Trinity (see n. 110, previously); the same is true of the predicates of each “person” of the trinity, “born” (natus) and “proceeding from” (procedens ex) the Father. This metaphysical kernel of the incarnation already appears in Paulins’ wide-ranging letter to Ausonius (Poems 10=Principal Correspondence 3, ll. 123–4, translated even more literally here): “He who, over all that is [super omne quod est] or [vel], in his totality [totus], in everything everywhere [in omni ubique], directs all [regit omnia] with Christ instilled in all things [omnibus infuso rebus . . . Christo].” Even in this incisive formulation, all the problems of the incarnation, and some of the solutions, appear in the midst of the Principal Correspondence. For at first glance this passage

44

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would appear to suggest that God and Christ are not one and the same being, since God is in the active position (“above”), and Christ, “instilled in all things” (rebus), approaches a passive position (“in,” subsequently). On the other hand, to say that God is “all in everything” (totus in omni) leaves no place for Christ – another problem, analogous to the old two-body problem of Aristotelian physics (Aristotle, Physics 4.1): how can two bodies occupy the same space? The seminal answer developed by theologians over the course of the fourth century was that they can’t, and so God and Christ are one and the same: “Instilled in the world, God builds [mundo infusus fabricat]; present everywhere [ubique positus], He builds. . . . He governs what He has made in person [praesentia sua].”111 What makes Latin Christology distinctive as a theological field apart from its Greek models or counterparts is the comparative “poverty” of Latin as a philosophical language, because this “poverty” (note already the reference of the metaphor) allowed Latin writers to make more subtle and thoroughgoing connections between philosophical abstractions, such as space, body, time, and action.112 This is not to say that Latin writers could not do philosophy in pure abstraction. Witness Augustine’s literal description of the presence and agency of God in the Tractate on John quoted previously. But even there, in Augustine’s formulation, the seeds of a metaphor, or the “root” of a bigger system of figurative language, is implicit.113 The very word that Augustine uses to express God’s agency “in person,” the aesthetically and theologically loaded term praesentia, always had a legal and economic ring in Latin. As recorded in the Digest of Justinian, for example, the second century jurisconsult Scaevola wrote: “Whatever is not paid you by Publius, I shall pay in cash [me repraesentaturum]” – that is, make it present here and now, or “present” it.114 While Augustine uses this idea of “presence” in an abstract philosophical way, analogous to the English, the word almost always appears in equally economic and theological terms in Paulinus, as in this description of new ascetics like himself (Poems 10=Principal Correspondence 3, ll. 169–71): On hope and credit they follow God whose down payment [mercede] is pledged, and the reliable guarantor [certus auctor] will not refuse it to those who give credit, if only the here and now does not overwhelm them with empty things. Where God for Augustine had been “present” in creation and the incarnation, Paulinus looks forward to his future presence and compares it with the debased presence, “the here and now,” of all the empty things that he has

Introduction 45 renounced: uacuuis praesentia rebus.115 Faith becomes “credit” in the economic sense that it acquires in modern finance where it denotes an aspect of exchange deemed necessary for future growth – but one which (in contrast with the supposedly endless growth of modern capitalism) will one day be made good by God. Christ is thus the down payment, which generates revenue as a form of capital in the works of the saints, on which ascetics like Paulinus can “speculate” (or invest their hopes: Latin, spes), but God guarantees the economy “in person” – that is, with real assets ( praesentia sua). Connecting this economic dimension of incarnation and salvation to his own imitation of Felix’s imitation of Christ for the benefit of the congregation at Nola, Paulinus uses the same economic/incarnational language to describe the performance of his yearly “payments” to Felix. The poems that he claims to owe Felix and pays in full in the new year (January 14) appear as a substitute for the more expensive material goods which he has after all already renounced (see especially Poems 18=Selections 2C, ll. 40–51). Because he refers to “paying” these prayers or vows in person (that is, performing the poetry before his congregation), I take extra pains to translate most instances of the Latin that features the root prae- from Augustine’s divine praesentia, with some English version of “here and now” (Poems 10=Principal Correspondence 3, ll. 443–4): “Who rendered me here and now the owner of such a property/even in trust?” The answer of course is Felix, but “Felix” (which after all is a Latin adjective meaning both “happy” and “productive,” even “rich”) is hard to discern, in the context of the Principal Correspondence, as it is everywhere else in Paulinus’ poetry, from Christ.116 First Paulinus said: “If the entire universe had been my personal property, a better owner than Christ the Lord there could never be.” Then he asked the rhetorical question quoted before: “Who rendered me here and now . . . ?” At this point in reading or hearing, the answer to the question would appear to be Christ. But then Paulinus adds another question: “Who . . . convert[s] Christ to my profit?/Who but you . . . O Felix . . . ?” Since I have already discussed Paulinus’ financialization of this process in what Dennis Trout has called his salvation economics in Introduction 4A previously, I will dedicate the rest of this section to illustrating and explaining Paulinus’ Christology in terms of its non-monetary appearance in his poetry, which ranges from mildly polemical apologetic writing to didactic discourse of the kind that he produces in his exegetical prose letters; from theological accounts of the incarnation of Christ to more historiographic reflections on the effects of the incarnation in history. The former, apologetic and didactic writing, appear not only in the poems of nativity, dedicated as they were at least in part to the instruction of the Nolan congregation, but also in other Christian poetry, written for different occasions – like weddings and funerals, whose participants Paulinus thought to bring into

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closer community with one another through instruction.117 The latter, historiographical writing on Christ, appears primarily in the form of the saint’s life of Felix that Paulinus provided in various installments in the poems of nativity; these are not a big part of the selections that deal with Christ in Selections 5 (but see Poems 27=Selections 5E, ll. 500–10); a special style of biblical allusion that Paulinus cultivates in his treatment of Felix, however, is. Sometimes explicit in the form of sustained reference (“Still, since . . . we mentioned it, let’s look/closer at the symbol of the kingdom”), sometimes implicit in the incorporation of Latin translations of the Jewish and Christian Bibles, Paulinus often represents current events and local history as themselves fulfillments of sacred history.118 Called “typology” from the Greek word tupos (“imprint,” “form,” or “model”), as well as “figurative interpretation” from the Latin translation of the Greek word (figura), this literary and historical Principal “creates a connection between two events or persons in which one signifies not only itself but also the other – and that one is encompassed or fulfilled by the other” (Auerbach 2014 [1938], 96). In the traditional application of the early Church, this means that descriptions of events in the Hebrew Bible “prefigure” (or somehow prophesize) events of the New Testament, while at the same time, the earlier events somehow also do not quite become themselves until they are fulfilled in the later events that they prophesize (Auerbach 2014 [1938], 110–13). Common examples of the tradition before Paulinus include Paul’s explanation of the crossing of the sea in Exodus as a “figure” for baptism or of the rock which yielded water to Moses’ staff as a “figure” of Christ or Tertullian’s representation of Adam and Eve as prefigurations of Christ and the Church, respectively.119 But Paulinus, writing after the incarnation (and the fulfillment of Hebrew figures in Christian history), accelerates the usual historical process so that what once took generations can now transpire, in the model of the incarnation of Christ, at a single moment in time, including the life of a single individual. The primary example of this that he develops, which is thus essential to understanding his Christology (on which it is itself based), is Paulinus’ representation of Felix as not quite himself – that is, “Felix” (productive, happy, rich) – until he has renounced his wealth and died, willing to die (as a confessor) for the faith. Equipped with this accelerated notion of figuration and self-realization, Paulinus uses typology to bind the Nolan present with the past of the New Testament, which was itself bound by typology to the past of the Hebrew Bible. Thus, after discussing Abraham’s fecund period in Canaan, Paulinus explains the immigration of Felix’s father from Syria to Nola as commencing “a symbolic genealogy” (Poems 15=Selections 1A, ll. 61–5). Likewise, embedding typology within typology and excavating the past as a form of equally symbolic and “historically real prophecy” (Auerbach 2014 [1938], 82),

Introduction 47 Paulinus offers an account of Jacob’s usurpation of the cattle of Laban as a prefiguration of Christ (Poems 27=Selections 5D, ll. 256–7). The mark on the cattle was not that of Laban, but the mark of life. For the mark of death would be for them to be unmarked in Christ. But this very account of Christ’s fulfillment of the historical figure of Jacob itself “prefigures” the visit of Paulinus’ friend, the Bishop Nicetas, to Nola on January 14, 403 (Poems 27=Selections 5D, ll. 248–51): Blessed to the Lord is Nicetas, too, as temperate as Jacob beside the well of living water who was shepherd of sheep and lambs. Once this man here also gathered the branches from three different trees with the same idea. With this subtle transition from sacred history to the present day, Paulinus reveals the philosophical complexity of the idea of history at work in such typology. Is “this man” who is mentioned in the third line of the quotation Nicetas or Jacob? Grammatically and contextually, it appears to be Nicetas, but literally and thematically it appears to be Jacob (Nicetas did not, as far as we know, gather significant branches from three different trees in Paulinus’ experience). Finally, the very idea of the “idea” (sensus) of Jacob or Nicetas in Paulinus’ description seems to refer less to any psychological feature of the historical individuals than to the spiritual or intellectual significance (sensus) which both historical moments, that of Jacob and that of Nicetas (mediated by Christ’s own fulfillment of the figure of Jacob in the Christian Bible), somehow embody.120 What later Christians would call the fulfillment of figures between the Old and New Testament, and what Greeks before and after Paulinus might call “the imitation of Christ” at the heart of the lives of the saints, Paulinus and his Latin contemporaries, such as Saint Martin in Sulpicius Severus, understood as the imitation of exempla, a process of moral education (Langlands 2018, 32–7, 41–2, cp. Moss 2010, 20–23) with roots reaching far into Roman antiquity (Severus, Life of Martin 25.4–5, with Trout 1999, 2–7, 61–7, trans. Burton 2017, 127, italics added): He urged upon us the example of Paulinus . . . as the most notable of present times. Paulinus, he said, had cast aside his mighty riches and followed Christ – almost the only one in these times who had fulfilled the commandments of the Gospel. It was Paulinus, Martin proclaimed, that we should follow; Paulinus we should imitate. The present generation was blessed in having such a pattern [documento] of faith and

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This passage seems far removed from biblical typology and the doctrine of the incarnation, but in fact the dynamics that Sulpicius describes Martin deploying are identical in both. Like the incarnation and crucifixion in the treatment of the apostle Paul, Paulinus’ imitation of Christ abrogates a prior condition (Gal. 3:13, trans. NRSV): “Christ redeemed us from the curse of the law by becoming a curse for us – for it is written, ‘Cursed is everyone who hangs on a tree.’” Analogous to the Hebrew Bible in the perspective of Paulinus and his contemporaries, the Christian Bible said: “it is easier for a camel to go through the eye of a needle than for someone who is rich to enter the kingdom of God” (Matthew 19:24, trans. NRSV). But in his renunciation, like Christ in the resurrection, according to Martin according to Severus, Paulinus “rendered possible what was impossible.” He did this by example (Latin, exemplo), just as God did in the incarnation (Poems 31=Selections 5F, ll. 55–8): Out of love for Him, His Son took up my limbs, from maiden born a human being, from conception in a maiden. Sustaining every human thing, the Lord of everything takes everyone in a single body, in becoming enslaved. This act is an instance of exemplification in the important moral and sociological sense that Romans attributed to the term exemplum because, almost paradoxically, it describes an event that is equally extraordinary (and thus unique) and repeatable (by – successful – imitation).121 The incarnation happened once, and it changed history. But part of the change effected by it is that it may continue to change history, as individuals continue to imitate the “example” of Christ and then imitate the example of those who, like Saint Paul, imitate the example of Christ, thereby imitating the example of Paul, imitating Christ, in ever-widening circles of Christian communities.122 In other words, as Richard Burton, the commentator on the Life of Saint Martin composed by Severus, wisely sees: there is a certain quasi-legal sense in which the representatives of Christ on earth (from Latin repraesentatio) are effectively indistinguishable from Christ, in the same way that Christ, as the representative of God on earth, is also, in the doctrine of the incarnation, indistinguishable from God (Burton 2017, 38–9). As a result of this dynamic of representation, the aspiration to holiness taken by each individual in a

Introduction 49 community is an aspiration to be like other holy individuals in the same or in contiguous communities (now or in the past: the sancti, “holy ones,” and later “saints”), all of whom are aspiring to be like Christ.123 If Paulinus’ doctrine of the incarnation is inseparable from his salvation economics, as I began to explain in Introduction 4A, we see now that it is also inseparable from a doctrine of exemplification and imitation, or the way in which the appearance of God in human form (=incarnation) not only changed humanity ontologically (by purifying all human flesh by its sojourning in a single fleshly body) but also (after the fact, but in a now constitutive way) in history (Burton 2017, 39–40). In other words, the ontological change effected by the incarnation, in addition to metaphysically “restoring” people to a state in which they had perhaps never before existed (Paul’s “new creation”), also had a determining effect on how people would live their lives going forward, from the moment of the incarnation, both individually in hermetic isolation and collectively in ascetic communities or, in the case of Paulinus, in the interaction of ascetics with communities of others.124 We need look no further in Paulinus’ work for the practical effects of the incarnation on human history than in the relatively new genre of historical writing, and specifically biography, that Paulinus and his contemporaries were busy developing in the late fourth century. In the veritable saint’s life that Paulinus provides for Felix throughout the earlier poems of nativity (Poems 15–16), Paulinus exhibits a complete understanding of the paradox of the incarnation – that is, how the execution of personal identity or the self that results from martyristic suffering, by making individuals resemble God as Christ in the incarnation, helps them become their true, or highest, selves. Just as God became a self by becoming Jesus, so Felix became a self by imitating Christ (Poems 15.194–97): And so the happy suffering [passio] of holy punishments squeezed Felix from the heavy chains of his unseeing imprisonment, while all the punishments his subject flesh was dressed in [induerat] were earned from Christ as victory palms by his suffering [patientia]. Here, the passio describes the persecution of Felix on analogy with “the Passion” of Christ, which, Paulinus always stresses, is a process of self-realization (Poems 13=Selections 1A, ll. 1–2): “O Felix, you have the name you have earned, and you, one and the same,/have been earned by your name: Happy.” The “heavy chains and unseeing imprisonment” that originally hampered Felix from becoming Felix (Latin, “happy”) in Paulinus’ description of the passion of Felix in Poems 15, denote, in the old Platonic sense, derived from Pythagoras, “the body, a grave”; it is after all his expansion

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of the concept of this image that permits Paulinus to call the poems that he performs on the anniversary of Felix’s death “nativities” (though they are in reality “deathday” poems: see Introduction 1 previously). At the same time, the concept and image of the “subject flesh” (subdita caro) from Paulinus adds to the Platonic imagery of imprisonment another Platonic image, that of ascent – to enlightenment, for instance – and its opposite, going down (subdo means to “put, place, or lay under”). But the dynamic of these images, inside/outside (imprisonment), up/down (subjection, ascension), is intensified in Christianity, especially among the enthusiastic slavers of Roman society, to the point of becoming something new, namely the concept of subjectivity, the experience of truly feeling, passion in the Passion (of Christ), understood as a kind of subjection, or enslavement, but one which looks forward to its own elevation in purchase, manumission, or redemption. The Latin that lies behind that key word of Christianity is transactional, originally meaning “buying back,” but by modeling himself on a more recent, less dramatic figure than Christ, the confessor Felix, Paulinus imbues his characteristically financial understanding of the incarnation with a much more domestic, human feeling (Paulinus, Poems 27=Selections 3E, ll. 155–7): My heart is abasing itself for the encampment of Christ. So, let my soul exalt itself right now and declare what once the lover betrothed to the Lord, her lover, sang, calling. Forged as it was in the political condition of persecution, or the interpretation of politics as persecution, the Christian’s avowal, “I am a Christian,” which fills the lives of the saints, is the simplest expression of this passionate desire for self-realization, modeled on and inaugurated by the incarnation but softened and as it were impassioned by the lives of the saints.125 The figure of the confessor finally picks out the absolute interiority of the experience, which paves the way for the later Christian transformations of the erotic that will produce Romanticism and secures a place for Paulinus in the pre-history of the Euro-American concept of the self (Auerbach 2014 [1941], 178–87, at 178): “The stance of the soul is dynamic and potential rather than truly productive; it is more receptive and full of longing than really active.” This is why Paulinus represents Felix’s confession as a form of selfrealization through a pun on the saint’s name (in Latin, “happy”): “O Felix, you have the name you have earned, and you . . ./have been earned by your name: Happy [Latin, felix].”126 In the more modern idiom of the philosophy of language, the willingness of Saint Felix to suffer apart from any actual suffering, which made him a confessor of the faith, rather than a witness (or

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a martyr), just was his confession – a verbal, but also a dispositional, as well as paradoxically active state.127 His confession in turn had been felicitous, or effective, because, like the pronouncement of a formula in Roman law or the counter-service of the aristocratic gift discussed in 4A previously, word and deed coincided in a way that somehow modified the situation in which the coincidence occurred: the law was passed, the relationship was established or maintained, the faith was demonstrated (in effect, if not in fact), and the imitation of Christ had been achieved.128 The power of such events to modify the situation in which they occur, in the context of the festivals staged by Paulinus for the Nolan proletariat, is enhanced by Paulinus himself representing, or rather re-presenting (imitating and instantiating), the example of Felix – or rather Felix’s exemplification of the incarnation of Christ: the re-presentation of the divine presence that was the incarnation. Near the outset of the seventh poem of nativity, delivered on January 14, 401 AD/CE, Paulinus draws all the terms – Christ, money, exemplification, music (including the act of profession of poetry), and self – together in an account of his very performance (or “presentation”), which, he claims, is like that of the nightingale, with a single exception (Poems 23=Selections 4E, ll. 37–43): In contrast, Christ, let grace and beauty spring from me continuously, even as I beg and pray that I may be like the bird in her variety, bestowing verses promised annually, with utterances of changing styles even in a single mouth. Indeed, the richness of the grace and favor of the Lord always augments the substance in the wonderous virtue of which Christ our God lets his friend Felix traffic. The difference between the song of the bird and the song of the poet inspired by Felix (inspired by Christ) is that, even if the poet stops singing, because his song participates in Felix’s exemplification of Christ, and because the effects of the incarnation have changed the course of human history, the effect of the song persists – as Athanasius might say: it “no longer remain[s] as mortal in death” or in the passing of the moments in which the voice of the poet recedes (cp. Augustine in the General Comment on Poems 14=Selections 4A) but rather, “having put on immortality,” it “then rise[s] up and remain[s] immortal.” To the Athanasian idea of the incarnation, Paulinus adds not only the idea of the exemplification of Christ in the lives of the saints that he shares with contemporary hagiographers like Sulpicius, author of the Life of Martin, and not only the idea of confession that he shares with Augustine and the acts of the martyrs, but also, as always, a commercial and economic facet: a capitalistic “augmentation” of

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“the substance” of the physical structure of the world that saints enhance with their miracles, and perhaps above all the idea of grace. Born of the gift economy of patronage and denoting both the positive feelings that accompany a gift for the giver and the receiver but also the perceptible aspect of the gift that attracts us to it (its “charisma,” cp. Greek kharis), the idea of grace expressed in saintly miracles accomplished in “imitation” of the incarnation denotes both the physical manifestation of the gift of God, God’s gift of himself, and the new economy with eternity that that endowment of the world inaugurates.129

5 Text and Translation A How We Have Ausonius and Paulinus The works of the two Bordelais are multifarious, frequently challenging any modern attempt to sort them by genre and complicating ancient and modern attempts to organize them in the form of collected works. The French editor Dolveck (2014, 13) calls the “collected works” of Paulinus of Nola a purely modern reconstruction. Ausonius’ most authoritative English editor, R.P.H. Green (1991, xli), whom I generally follow in my text of Ausonius and in the order of the Principal Correspondence, likewise reminds the reader that “[n]o single manuscript contains all of Ausonius’ extant works.” For Ausonius’ letters in particular, another English commentator, Charles Aull (2017, 139), identifies two possible periods for the collection and publication of the letters of Ausonius, one by the poet himself in the years before the Principal Correspondence, and another (set of two!) posthumous publication(s), comprising sources from the 390s, when the Earlier Letters and Principal Correspondence with Paulinus can be assumed to have begun (Trout 1999, 30). Modern scholarship consistently refers to Ausonius’ letters in three or more distinct recensions, prioritizing none as definitive and reflecting the different numberings of the texts at which multiple editors, working in multiple languages (Schenkel; Peiper; Pastorino; Evelyn White; Green, as concordantly recounted, in Italian, in Mondin 1995, xv), including different counts of one of the (maybe most interesting) letters: Ausonius’ last (?) response to Paulinus, which this volume presents in two different versions, first as the 124-line penultimate part of the Principal Correspondence (Ausonius, Letters 24 in Green=Principal Correspondence 4) and then as a fiftytwo-line appendix to the Principal Correspondence (Ausonius, Letters 23 in Green=Principal Correspondence 6). Here, more for its suggestiveness than out of any confidence that it can be verified, I adopt Green’s theory that redundancies in the sprawling poem suggest that it is some kind of garbling of two versions of the same poem: the shorter version was the first letter,

Introduction 53 which Ausonius actually sent to Paulinus, and the longer was the version revised for publication.130 The works of the two poets intersect outside the Earlier Letters and the Principal Correspondence, however, in the curious instance of another poem which survives in versions of drastically different lengths, in both poets’ manuscripts, a “prayer” (or oratio, cp. English “orison”), which Dolveck (2014, 218–19, 228–9) provocatively identifies as evidence of a thoroughly Christian collaboration, or at any rate theme and variation, established at some point between the two poets. Ignoring the interesting light that this textual uncertainty casts on the different degrees of Christianization of the two poets (at least the longer version of the two prayers is attributed to Paulinus: Dolveck 2014, 221–2), the partial coincidence of their divergent manuscripts illustrates the vagaries of ancient authorship in general and the complexity of the relationship of these two authors in particular. In the light of the mutual enfolding of their manuscript traditions in the case of their so-called “prayer” (oratio), it is less surprising to consider another aspect of Paulinus’ works that also defies modern attempts at rectification. This is the arbitrary modern division of the works of Paulinus into usually two volumes, one of “letters” (Hartel and Kamptner 1999b; Walsh 1966, 1967) and one of “poems” (or carmina: Hartel and Kamptner 1999a; Walsh 1975), as if the former were exclusively prose and the latter were exclusively occasional, epideictic, lyric, didactic – in short, anything but epistolary. But in fact, Paulinus’ two contributions to the Principal Correspondence, the epistolary centerpiece of this volume, are indeed themselves “songs” (carmina): Poems 10–11=Principal Correspondence 3 and 5. Some of the works that modern editors collect with Paulinus’ ostensibly prose “letters,” on the other hand, contain a large volume of poetry – most notably, as Dennis Trout (2017, 261) observes, Letters 32 to Paulinus’ friend Sulpicius Severus: Now, with its 108 lines of continuous verse dominating its form, it may appear sufficiently anomalous within the contemporary corpus of epistulae to provoke reflection on the overall architecture of the standard edition. A minor example of such a work, contained here as an Appendix to the Earlier Letters, is Paulinus’ earlier prosimetric letter to the fellow Gallic aristocrat, Gestidius (Paulinus, Poems 1=Earlier Letters 5). With this prosimetric letter, like Ausonius in the other Earlier Letters (especially Ausonius, Letters 17, 19, and 20=Earlier Letters 1, 3, and 4), Paulinus starts in prose and ends in poetry, making, as Trout (2017, 216) continues, “the boundary between letters and poems . . . a murky one even before the current scheme

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was codified in the earliest printed editions.” The basic fact, emphasized by Dolveck (2014, 131–2), is that, with the possible exception of the poems of nativity (Natalicia), most ancient editions of the works of Paulinus organize the poems by features of form and content, not chronology, even as (in a concession to modern taste) the Selections of Paulinus in this volume present the poems, where possible, especially in the case of the Natalicia, in the order in which representative modern editors have decided that they were written (see especially Walsh 1975, 6–7). The final embarrassment to modern efforts at standardization, also partly reflected in the Selections of this volume, are those instances in which Paulinus does the same thing, for the same people, in ostensibly separate pieces of prose and verse. Thus, in Letters 22 to Jovius, Paulinus offers a kind of pastiche of Classical philosophy, in prose, to enjoin his probably pagan addressee to convert to Christianity; in Poems 16, partly included as Selections 2B, 4B, and 5A in this volume, Paulinus offers a kind of pastiche of Classical poetry, in verse, to enjoin the same addressee to do the same thing.131 Ancient editors may have had more sense than their modern successors when they included such works back to back in the same manuscripts. Although they lack such obvious prose counterparts, several “poems” excerpted in the Selections of this volume nevertheless prove equally “epistolary,” featuring addressees whom they enjoin, epistle-wise, to some course of action or belief. Thus, Poems 17, 25, and 31 address Nicetas of Remesiana on his departure from Nola, Titia of Beneventum and Julian of Eclanum on the day of their wedding, and Pneumatius and Fidelis on the death of their child, respectively. In all instances, as Trout says, the “boundary” between letter and poem is “murky,” to say nothing of those poems that Paulinus may have sent, without the trappings of a letter, to other addressees, such as Ausonius himself, who then sent those poems back to him, by way of quotation (thus Ausonius, with the poem beginning “Europe and Asia”=Ausonius, Letters 17=Earlier Letters 1=Paulinus, Poems 3 in Hartel and Kamptner 1999a). Does such a poem become a letter once it is a part of a letter, and if so, who is the author of such a poem as a letter?132 Reconstructing the general “logic” of the late antique manuscript of Paulinus, Dolveck (2014, 132) outlines an elegant solution. Starting with Paulinus’ letters in prose, with the addressees whom Paulinus addressed the most (such as Sulpicius Severus) in first place, followed by those whom he addressed less frequently (like Delphinus, Amandus, and Victricius) in the next places, and ending, as far as the prose sequence is concerned, with onetime addressees, last among them, the aforementioned Jovius, the manuscript would next feature, by way of transition, the poem to Jovius, followed in turn by the poetic epistles, which I here call the Principal Correspondence,

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of Paulinus and Ausonius. Poems of indeterminate genre (from the point of view of epistolarity), which nevertheless record specific addresses (like Pneumatius and Fidelis, Nicetas), come next, followed in the end by Paulinus’ translations of the psalms, which Hartel by the order of inclusion and others (Trout 1999, 85–6) believe to be works that Paulinus composed early in his radicalization; because these do not directly relate to themes developed in the Principal Correspondence, with one exception, I do not include them in the Selections.133 Beyond this general outline, the manuscripts that survive exhibit the usual features of such traditions: ranging in date from the ninth to the sixteenth centuries, “certain manuscripts have lost or voluntarily omitted the poems” or “have omitted the letters” (Dolveck 2014, 133); none date from the time of the authors themselves; wherever they contain the Principal Correspondence, the letters appear in different orders; poems that comprise two meters appear sometimes as different poems, or even reversed – and this despite Paulinus’ announcement (in Poems 10=Principal Correspondence 3, ll. 13–18) of the order that he will pursue (“elegiac meter,” “iambic agility,” “heroic defense” or dactylic hexameters).134 For the chronological arrangement of the letters, in which again I follow the suggestion of Green, editors rely on internal clues, including, in Green’s (1991, 648) words, “a gradation in the precision of the diagnosis and in the severity of Ausonius’ complaints.”135 Otherwise, when Ausonius begins, “This is the fourth letter in which I expose my well-known complaint” (Letters 21=Principal Correspondence 1), we must infer the loss of three earlier epistles, between the upbeat, thoroughly Classical Earlier Letters and the new sequence, the Principal Correspondence. When Ausonius continues, “I would have thought that the complaint that I had sent you” (Letters 22=Principal Correspondence 2), we can infer that he is referring to the previous (“fourth”) letter. Paulinus confirms something along these lines when he next (?) writes, “Four summers had already come . . . when . . . I saw not a single letter penned by your hand,” until “a pack of good wishes appeared,” which was “actually three letters” (Paulinus, Poems 10=Principal Correspondence 3). From this we know a slew of letters arrived for Paulinus in Spain, but Paulinus’ identification of the number three complicates the count, leading other editors to reverse the order of the first two letters so that only two would be missing, even if the content of the letters – the greater generality of Ausonius “first” contribution in Green (“This is the fourth letter”) – would appear to have come before the more urgent second (see previous n.). When Ausonius writes, “Away, Paulinus, away we shook the yoke” (Letters 24=Principal Correspondence 4), we assume that he is referring to the obstinacy of Paulinus’ belated response (Poems 10), and when Paulinus writes, “Again you say” (Poems 11), we assume he responds to the response.136

56 Introduction In whatever order they contain the Principal Correspondence, whether it is alongside the Earlier Letters in the manuscripts of Ausonius or mixed with prose and poetry in the manuscripts of Paulinus, all such collections exclude the poems of nativity. In contrast with the (prose) letters and other poems, editors as early as Paulinus’ period (perhaps including Paulinus himself) collected the Natalicia composed for Saint Felix as a unified series. This at least is what the nineteenth-century editor Hartel inferred from the pattern of differences that he detected in the extant manuscripts (Hartel and Kamptner 1999a, xxxiii): Although both kinds of codices, the more intact as well as those that have been mutilated, show the greatest discrepancies in often added or subtracted individual words and entire verses, they nevertheless derive from a single archetype, which it is likely was produced by the author himself or by the Nolan church. For this reason, I [the editor Hartel] have assumed that it contained all the poems of nativity composed as a memorial to Felix. The basis for Hartel’s assumption is the close correlation of the contents of the two best manuscripts, the ninth-century “Ambrosian” manuscript (codex Ambrosianus, designated A in critical editions), named after the Milanese library in which it is currently housed, and containing poems by Juvencus and Fortunatus, among others, and the tenth-century “Munichite” manuscript (codex Monacensis, designated D in critical editions), held now in the Bavarian State Library.137 Both manuscripts contain all fourteen extant poems of nativity, in the same order (Hartel and Kamptner 1999a, xxiii–xxvi, xxxiii). Along with the “Parisian” manuscript (codex Parisinus, designated Q in critical editions), these poems contain more or less the same number of more or less identical Natalicia in the same order (due to a complex history of dis- and reassembly, the Parisian manuscript lacks five).138 As a result, Hartel believed that these manuscripts derived from the single “archetype” or original, possibly edited by Paulinus himself, finding support for this theory in the reconstruction of another branch of manuscripts, comprising manuscripts of Brussels, Bologna, and Urbino, on the one hand, and of St. Petersburg (originally Saint Germain) and Parma, on the other (Hartel and Kamptner 1999a, xxxi). These manuscripts contain between five and nine of the fourteen extant poems of nativity in the same order as one another but in a slightly different order from the aforementioned manuscripts (“A,” “D,” and “Q,” previously), which suggests that they derived from the Paulinan or Nolan original posited by Hartel through the mediation of a common ancestor.

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The discovery or reassessment of additional manuscripts, including lengthy quotations of Paulinus’ account of the biblical murals of Nola, which the medieval Irish philosopher Dungal used to refute iconoclasts of the ninth century (Noble 2009, 306–13), have complicated the relatively simple scheme proposed by Hartel and Kamptner (1999a, originally published by Hartel in 1894) but not so dramatically as to alter the presentation of the present volume: the organization of the Earlier Letters and Principal Correspondence still depends on internal cues for its chronology, as does the organization of the poems of nativity (Dolveck 2014, 119–24). In the case of the latter, these include the mention of the new Emperor Honorius, the “child Caesar” of Poems 21=Selections 4C, l. 20, in his defeat, aided by Stilicho, of the “impious tyrant,” Radagaesus, who died in 406. Since Paulinus performed the poems nativity on Felix’s feast day of January 14, we can assume this poem, looking back on the previous year, appeared in 407. Since the poems of nativity were performed every year, we can, with a few more similar instances of corroboration (Dolveck 2014, 122), securely date them. Doing so reveals an extremely varied but also relatively brief poetic career: starting with the Principal Correspondence of the mid-390s and extending to the last Natalicium of 418, Paulinus’ concentrated poetic output covered barely twenty years – in a life of nearly eighty (ca. 354–431 CE). Considering this ratio, it is worth returning to Hartel’s theory and noting what it suggests: Paulinus himself only cared – perhaps unsurprisingly – to maintain a record of the poems for Felix. All the other poems, and certainly whatever he would have written in answer to Ausonius’ Earlier Letters, the aging saint did not see fit to keep. Only the Natalicia seemed worth saving, and because the only other thing that Paulinus sought to save in Nola was the church itself, with its shelters for the poor, we can only assume that the Natalicia were meant to perform a similar function. Although they may have circulated individually, along with the Principal Correspondence and the occasional poems of consolation (Poems 31), congratulation (Poems 25), or exhortation (Poems 22), the ultimate function of the poems of nativity was to memorialize a radical experiment in community. Beyond that community and the blueprint for it implied in the Natalicia, the rest were “trifles” (Paulinus, Letters 28.6, trans. Walsh 1966, 99–100, cp. Sowers 2016). To paraphrase his description of another “trifle,” the panegyric that he composed for Emperor Theodosius in 395, Paulinus aimed to “proclaim . . . not so much an [aristocrat] as a servant of Christ, a man whose power lay not in the pride of despotism but in the humility of service.”139 From the context of their performance for the economically mixed congregation of Nola, the poems of nativity are an artifact of this service.

58 B

Introduction Translation Two Ways

With one exception, which I’ll discuss subsequently, the practice that I have adopted for translation is different for the two poets, reflecting a process of growth in my acquaintance with them. I started the Ausonius translations, especially those of the Earlier Letters, first, in hopes of getting to the Principal Correspondence. My attitude to the Earlier Letters of Ausonius to Paulinus was the same that I would adopt to any Classical Latin author. I assumed that the organization of images and economy of expressive structures were the most salient elements of composition. In other words, in translating Ausonius, I took pains to preserve a more “one-to-one” proportion between the words in Latin (the source language) and the words in English (the target language). Because the last syllable or two of every Latin word indicates its grammatical role in the sentence (Christus is always the doer, and Christum always the one to whom something is done), Latin sentence structure is much more flexible than English. One consequence of this is that it is much easier for Ausonius to appropriate phrases from earlier poets for new contexts. Another is that the order of words and phrases is much more variable: parallelism is very easy to maintain, and Ausonius maintains it everywhere, which makes his poetry very symmetrical and fluent. Even if one loses the thread of the argument or the specific relationship of the words and phrases in the poet’s development of a sentence or multi-sentence unit, which is usually organized around a specific theme, such as “silence in nature” in the opening poem of the Principal Correspondence, the tendency of each unit of speech to recapitulate some feature of the previous unit makes it easy to find one’s way back in. As a result of this symmetry, the internal features of individual units of meaning, the precise source of the shadow that defines a verbal image, for instance, is less important than the description of the shadow falling in the same place in the line, which means aurally recurring on reading aloud at more or less regular intervals. This makes a principle of linguistic economy, exemplified by a one-to-one correspondence of words and phrases in Latin and English, very important. My goal in translating Ausonius was thus to produce verses whose succession of images, tones, and idiomatic or imagistic phrasing would give the reader a sense of walking through a well-organized house, where every room was similarly proportioned and where the décor of each was a striking and original composition of elements familiar from other rooms, and ultimately from other houses, decorated by owners who shared a repertoire of style and the sufficient means for employing it, in the same neighborhood. The poetry of Paulinus, especially in the poems collected in the Selections, is entirely different. Even when Paulinus is concerned to maintain

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parallelism, as he does in the passages of poetry dedicated to interpreting scriptural precedents (see Introduction 4C, previously), the parallel units are much less tightly organized, spanning whole lines, or even couplets, as compared with the more economical correspondences of argument and image that occur even in single lines of Ausonius (Paulinus, Poems 31=Selections 2G, ll. 487–494): Learn from the biblical passages concerning the poor, concerning the rich. In Abraham lies the poor, and the rich in the fire. When justice changes the scales, they will feel joy, who wept before, and the rich will live the life of the completely poor. The poor will enjoy a good rest, to the full. They are paid at last. The rich will scream in the fire and pay the price. The rich will beg for barely a drop from the poor. When they were on top, they denied the poor who went begging even a scrap. The poetic form of this passage is based on the dactylic hexameter, which is rendered here with the longer English line but alternates with a shorter line, which, in Latin, comprises roughly two truncated halves of the hexameter, and is called a pentameter; the couplet that they form constitutes the form of Greco-Roman verse called “elegy” (see Comments on Poems 10=Principal Correspondence 3, ll. 13–8). Even while the constraints of the couplets of this form force Paulinus to write effectively in bursts of two lines at a time, terms from the earlier lines, and especially from the shorter end of the couplet (the pentameter), are repeated at the beginning of the longer, next line, and the idea or image is again elaborated differently and extended over several lines. As always for Paulinus, the restricted economy of traditional forms of aristocratic expression was not enough. In contrast, even when Ausonius is writing straight hexameters, which permit far more running on between the lines, Ausonius’ poetry says less – or rather says it differently, more economically: he need not confine his thoughts to pairs of lines, and yet he does (Principal Correspondence 4=Ausonius, Letters 24 in Green, ll. 34–39): The glory of Nisus and the glory of Euryalus already faded! Faded the glory of that friend of Pythagoras. A better example of friendship we had furnished than Scipio the Great and wise, undying Laelius. From our shared pursuits and our hearts, we were even greater for this: we lived in a worse era.

60 Introduction In contrast, when Paulinus is writing hexameters, free from the confines of the couplet of the elegiac meter, he develops arguments at greater and greater length, and the complexity of propositions that he conjoins prohibit economic translation and call for an English of practically Whitmanian exuberance (Poems 10=Principal Correspondence 3, ll. 156–168): My mind is not out of its mind, and my life is not one of flight from social participation, in the cave of Lycia, in the way that you write that Pegasus’ knight lived out his life, though many people cultivate pathless places when a divinity makes them. Just as eminent intellectuals once did for their pursuits and the Muses too, so now chaste souls who have accepted the meditation of Christ are thronging to do. They are neither out of their minds nor choosing from savagery to live in deserted places, but rather they are engaged in looking at stars on high and God, and the truth in the depths they have chosen to contemplate. Free from empty cares they love leisure. From the noise of the forum and bustle of affairs and all the work that is not amenable to the gifts of heaven and the empire of Christ – out of love of salvation, from them they hide. Consistent with his “liberal” indifference to decorum, understood in ancient terms as a matter of restraint, Paulinus alternates such argumentative passages with more narrative passages. When this happens, even though he is using the same (comparatively run-on) Latin meter of the hexameter, I have allowed a principle of economy to creep back in, as when Paulinus relates the story of the cowherd who desperately sought to find his stolen cows (Poems 18=Selections 2C, ll. 234–239): These, then, were the precious consolations of his life, and when the poor man sank into a deeper sleep one night, he lost them. They were abducted in silent banditry. Rising the next morning to yoke them the usual way, the miserable wretch began to search, first in the stables and soon outside in the usual fields, all unsuccessful. The English lines are more or less iambic, at five or six beats a line depending on delivery, but they have modulated into this more compressed meter from the more expansive earlier lines describing the moral and economic conditions of the peasant’s relationship with the saints. In Latin, the meter of both passages is the same (the dactylic hexameter), but I have shaped

Introduction

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their English translation differently to preserve the more complex effects of correspondence and parallelism, theme and variation, restraint and exuberance, which occur within each larger structure (rather than the structure itself). When, on the other hand, a meter is really different, as we find in Paulinus’ polymetric poems (for example, Poems 10=Principal Correspondence 3), the lines of the translation modulate back to something economically similar to the original Latin, making the bold about-face of the changing meter perceptible to the English reader (Poems 10=Principal Correspondence 3, ll. 17–20): Now this elegiac meter says goodbye: she’s given her greeting, “good morrow” for the rest, and holds her peace. Why, father, bid the Muses I dismissed to come back to my heart? The “elegiac meter” that is the object of Paulinus’ self-reference is formed on the long and stately dactylic hexameter, familiar from Roman epic – above all the Augustan poets Vergil and Ovid. Ovid himself, as detailed in the notes on the passage just quoted, already played with the idea that the second line in the opening meter of Poems 10=Principal Correspondence 3, being a contracted version of the first, exhibited some “disability.” To capture its effects in English I have used a “rolling rhythm” that tends to exhibit more than one unstressed syllable between the stressed syllables that mark the meter (“she’s gíven her greéting”), but when Paulinus shifts into the iambic meter with the famous lines that begin his manifesto, I tried to use iambics just like he did (“Why, fáther, bíd the Múses Í dismíssed”). The Latin rarely rhymes, but internal rhyming is so abundant, as a function of the inflectional nature of the Latin language (homeoteleuton), that I have freely availed myself of rhyme, assonance, and consonance, at the ends of lines, and within lines, as when I have Paulinus write, “Why, father, bid the Muses I dismissed.” Rhymes also appear to sustain momentum (Poems 10=Principal Correspondence 3, ll. 165–6): Free from empty cares they love leisure. From the noise of the forum and bustle of affairs and all the work that is not amenable to the gifts of heaven and the empire of Christ – out of love of salvation, from them they hide. And to effect closure [Poems 10=Principal Correspondence 3, ll. 330–1]: If that’s your pleasure too, do thanks for a friend’s good investment. If not, then simply leave me to Christ’s assessment.

62 Introduction In only one poem in the entire volume, I have adopted a style that may startle readers who are used to the equivalential style of modern translation. This is the adoption of a broadly Elizabethan stanzaic and rhyme scheme for the set piece that Ausonius sends to Paulinus, before Paulinus’ radicalization, to ask his protégé for help resolving the economic emergency to which I alluded in Introduction 4A previously. The economic issue itself (grain distribution) does not matter here, except to partly justify the choice to adopt a modern form of verse, which more clearly demarcates the shift in genre from the prose letter that introduces the poem (Ausonius, Letters 20A) to the poem that asks Paulinus to do the favor (Letters 20B). The point of this demarcation is to mark the difference between, as it were, the gift that Ausonius offers as an incentive, if not a direct “payment” to Paulinus (the poem itself = Earlier Letters 4B), and the prose introduction that serves as its giftwrap (Earlier Letters 4A). All this exemplifies in a particularly concrete way the peculiar mix of money-grubbing and mystification that characterized Roman elite in all periods, and especially in the late fourth century, as described in Introduction 3 and 4A previously. The second justification for the choice is to serve as an example, here at least, of the most extreme form of liberty that my translational preference for functional equivalents, as opposed to literal renderings, permits. The meter of the Latin in this instance is an iambic meter with alternating longer and shorter lines, without perceptible stanzas, identical to the meter that Paulinus adopts in the middle section of his polymetric manifesto, iambic couplets comprising one trimeter and one dimeter (Poems 10=Principal Correspondence 3, ll. 19–102).140 Here is the Latin that begins Ausonius, Letters 20B=Earlier Letters 4B: Philon, meis qui vilicatus praediis, ut ipse vult, ἐπίτροπος (nam gloriosum Graeculus nomen putat quod sermo fucat Dorius) suis querellis asserit nostras preces, quas ipse lentus prosequor. In literal English, this would read: Philo, who acts as superintendent of my estates, [or] as he fancies, the ‘administrator’ [Greek: epitropos] – since, a Hellenophile, he thinks that [any] term which the Dorian dialect imbues confers glory – supports my requests with his complaints, which I will relate with deliberation.

Introduction 63 Since Ausonius concerns himself with the “realistic” situation of grain supply, he borrows much of the diction, tone, and theme of this poem, including two patent references in the introductory prose section and the poem itself (Plautus’ Weevil, Terence’s Phormio) from Roman comedy – a genre which scholars still mine for details about everyday life, economy, and law, but which stopped being composed and performed in Rome almost 500 years before Ausonius wrote, about the same amount of time that separates us from Elizabethan and Jacobin traditions of poetry, song, and performance. For this reason, in the case of this one poem, I offer a free translation in the form of the stanza pattern deployed in John Donne’s “Song” of 1633: Go and catch a falling star, Get with child a mandrake root, Tell me where all past years are, Or who cleft the devil’s foot, Teach me to hear mermaids singing, Or to keep off envy’s stinging, And find What wind Serves to advance an honest mind. With the exception of one line in Paulinus, Poems 1 (to Gestidius)=Earlier Letters 5 (Appendix), this is the only verse translation in the volume in which the English lines do not correspond with the Latin. Instead, I offer: Philo, agent of estates, in ambition, entrepreneur (a bit of a Greek, he calculates that foreign words infuse grandeur), with his complaints, makes acquisitions in the field of my petitions, which I will try to inventory by and by.

Philo, who acts as superintendent of my estates, [or] as he fancies, the ‘administrator’ [epitropos] (since, a Hellenophile, he thinks that [any] term which the Dorian dialect imbues confers glory) supports my requests with his complaints, which I will relate with deliberation.

Exemplifying my preference for functional equivalents in extremis, I preserve (and extend) the interlingualism of the Latin (Greek epitropos vis-à-vis

64 Introduction Franco-English “entrepreneur” and the italically extra-Francified “grandeur”); the colloquialism and comparatively low register of technical vocabulary in the Latin (for instance: vilicatus=“who acts as superintendent of my estates”) appears in the financial jargon of English (“calculates,” “makes acquisitions,” “inventory”) even though the individual words that the English here translates are not themselves literally financial (for instance, asserit ≠ “makes acquisitions”). The poem is, finally, in Latin, actually quite riddling. This is part of the elite strategy of flattering agonism discussed in Introduction 4B previously: the idea seems to be if the reader can understand it, then they belong to the same high class of interpreter as the writer of the poem, who is thus not only challenging the reader but providing them with an opportunity to prove their mettle, in addition to complimenting them with the assumption that they can. Believing as much as most modern translators of Classical literature that the aim of the translator is to “commentate” and explain, as well as reproduce and make equivalent, I have generally attempted to avoid making the English as difficult as the Latin – not as much in Ausonius, who is, after all, more often than not, generally aiming for an aesthetic effect, as in Paulinus, who is often equally concerned with instructional, even catechetic communication. As an example of this difference, in Ausonius’ poem under discussion, I have offered a deliberately rebarbative translation of the last “stanza” of the poem, whose Latin original is, in my view, pretty hard to decipher in itself. Seeking functional equivalents of Ausonius’ erudition, even as I “commentate” socio-historically, I have deployed the twentieth-century theoretical jargon of comparative sociology: “If you grant this as a service [si impretratum munus abs te accepero]/you will be exalted/religiously in front of Ceres,/Epimenides . . . and Bullworth keeper of managers/[who] will be remunerated less than your personal Mana.” With the sociological term of art, Mana, understood in the Maussian sense of “honor conferred by wealth,” as explained in the Comments on this passage near the end of the volume, I try to demonstrate just how close Ausonius is coming to acknowledging the nearly capitalist character of the Late Antique economy, which nevertheless always remained committed to denying its profit motive and material interest: “since you/would do/a counterservice for me in money’s lieu,” or more literally: “since the gift-and-notpayment [munus: see Introduction 4A previously] will be yours” (Ausonius, Letters 20B, l. 50=Earlier Letters 4, ll. 69–71). In the elevated register of his salvation economics, Paulinus will make the financial dimensions of Late Roman exchange even more explicit, and when he does, I take pains to offer English even more concrete: thus, munus (“gift, counterservice, ‘favor’”) appears as “affectionate obligation” (cp. Latin officium, “duty, service”); more extensively – and liberally (Poems 21=Selections, 2G, ll. 441–2): If the entire universe had been my personal property [res priuata], a better owner than Christ the Lord [possessio Christo] there could never be.

Approximate indicaons of most places menoned in the Earlier Le ers and the Principal Correspondence; the Lan name as it appears in Ausonius and Paulinus follows the nearest modern equivalent, as used in the translaon; underlining denotes places of residence or personal signifcance for Ausonius or Paulinus.

Rennes/Condate Redonum

Atlanˆc Bordeaux/Burdigalia

Poi˜ers/Pictones Rom/Raraunum Saintes/Santonus Libourne/Lucaniacum

Agen/ Aginnum Calahorra/Calgurris Zaragosa/Caesaraugusta Calatayud/Bilbilis

Lérida/ Hilerda

Map 1 Gaul and Environs.

Perugia

Rome

Sagunto

Tyrrhenian Sea

Introduction 65

“Gibraltar”/Calpe

Narbonne/Narbo Mar˜us

Barcelona/Barcino Tarragona/Tarraco

Complutum, “near Madrid” Mérida/Emerita Augusta

Toulouse/Tolosa Ebromagus (mod. Bram)?

66

Introduction

The first line is perfectly literal (Si totus mundus mihi res priuata fuisset . . .), but the second line departs considerably from the Latin. Literally, the Latin reads: “this possession of property (that is, ‘the universe’: haec possessio) would be more powerful (potior) with Christ (Christo) as its owner and master (domino).” My freer translation reflects my belief that the Latin uses the language of enslavement in an economy less and less vested in enslavement and more and more reified as its own field of activity, even as a “market,” making ownership and the acts of owning more salient than “mastery” (dominus).141 While staying as close to the Latin in terms of lines as I could, I have nevertheless availed myself of such functional equivalents, including interpretive expansions of metaphors that strictly speaking occur in only a line or two of Latin. When this occurs, I use the commentary at the end of the volume to further justify my choice and, I believe, explain the original.

Notes 1 On the lives and times of Ausonius and Paulinus, see, respectively, Sivan (1993, Chapters 4, 6, and 7), and Trout (1999, Chapters 1–4); with Brown (2012, Chapters 12–13), these sources have guided the approach to the material here. For more detail and deep analysis, see Mratschek (2002, 49–73, 209–41). 2 Ausonius, Letters 24 in Green (1991), the edition whose numbers I use throughout and translate here as Principal Correspondence 4, at l. 107. On the manuscripts and early printed editions of Ausonius and Paulinus, see Introduction 5A subsequently. Except where noted, all translations throughout the volume are mine. 3 Jerome, Letters 53.2, with Mondin (1995, lxii–iii), and Trout (1999, 91–103). 4 See Introduction 4C subsequently. 5 For a technical outline, see Green (1991, 647–9, 654–6). For more general and accessible introductions to the importance of letters in Late Antiquity, see the essays collected in Sogno, Storin, and Watts (2017, 1–37), especially Aull (2017), and Trout (2017, especially 257–8); see also Trout (1999, 67–89) and Conybeare (2000, 19–40). On Greco-Roman letters as literature, see Trapp (2003, 1–46), and the essays in Morello and Morrison (2007). 6 As discussed in Introduction 5A subsequently, Paulinus probably didn’t preserve his side of the earlier correspondence; the “Earlier Letters to Paulinus” assembled here nevertheless include a few quotations from Paulinus, along with a prosimetric epistle, a mixed memo of verse and prose, from the same period: Earlier Letters 5 – Appendix=Paulinus, Poems 1. 7 On the performance of the poems of nativity, see the General Comment of Selections 2C. 8 Among the poems of nativity (Natalicia) in the selections are other, non-nativity, sometimes also epistolary poems of many genres: epithalamia (poems for weddings), consolationes (poems for funerals), and so on. For a succinct and comprehensive overview of these genres in the context of Paulinus’ Christianization, see Roberts (2010).

Introduction 67 9 Letters 22.2, trans. Walsh (1966, 197–8). Unless noted, all translations from the Letters are by Walsh (1966, 1967). For more on Paulinus’ ascetic style, see Poems 31=Selections 5G, ll. 453–4. 10 Marx, “Introduction,” A Contribution to the Critique of Hegel’s Philosophy of Right (1843–44), from marxists.org [www.marxists.org/archive/marx/ works/1843/critique-hpr/intro.htm], accessed May 1, 2021: “Theory is capable of gripping the masses . . . as soon as it becomes radical. To be radical is to grasp the root of the matter.” 11 See 1 Timothy 6.10 (trans. DR): “For the desire of money (cupiditas) is the root (radix) of all evils.” In City of God 1.10, Augustine begins his demonstration of the proposition that “holy people [sancti] lose nothing in the loss of temporal things,” with this passage of 1 Timothy, and brings his demonstration to a climax with Paulinus (trans. McCracken 1957, 53): Thus my friend Paulinus, Bishop of Nola, who voluntarily gave up great wealth and became exceedingly poor [pauperrimus], yet abundantly holy [copiossisime sanctus], when the Barbarians sacked even Nola itself and he was in their hands, used to pray in his heart, as I afterwards learned from him, “Lord, let me not be tormented [excrucier] on account of gold and silver, for thou knowest where all my possessions [omnia mea] are. See further Comments on Poems 26=Selections 1C, l. 401. 12 See M.S. Williams (2010, 91–2), summarizing Ebbeler (2007, 314–15), who develops Roberts (1985) and Mratschek (2002, 164–6), with broader discussion of the interpretive question of “conflict” or “accommodation” between “pagans” and “Christians” in the mid fourth century in Salzman (1990, 196–231). For other arguments in favor of a “conflict” approach to the Principal Correspondence, see Conybeare (2000, 156–7, cp. 147). Supporting the appearance of a break is the fundamental structure of “closure” that Cameron (1989, 148–50, 154–6) attributes to Late Antique asceticism as well as the desire for self-definition, on which see Markus (1990, 19–84, especially 35–9). On the “cold war” dichotomies of earlier scholarship on the period, see Drake (2017, 19–25). 13 Weber (1968, 492–9). For the reality (?) of the Christian persecutions, see Streeter in Ste. Croix (2006, 3–34). 14 Cp. Weber (1968, 491): “What the privileged classes require of religion, if anything at all, is . . . legitimation.” 15 Williams (1977, 122); on the economic origins of “redemption” in the world of the Hebrew Bible, see Graeber (2011, 84–7). 16 I will describe the inconsistencies in Paulinus’ theory and practice in terms of “aestheticism” and “asceticism” in Introduction 3 subsequently; as background to that discussion, I use here the language developed by the Marxist cultural historian Raymond Williams to describe the Christian bases of Romantic socialist movements in nineteenth century Britain. 17 The last is rare in Ausonius, but see Letters 24=Principal Correspondence 4, ll. 104–6, and Introduction 5A, subsequently. 18 On Waddell, see Uden, cited in n. 49, subsequently. For the extended influence of the period through the work of Peter Brown (culminating in 2014 [1981]), see, for instance, Foucault (1986, 7–8, cp. 1999 [1980], 183–4), and Jameson (1996). 19 See Sivan (1993, 62–3), with Comments on Ausonius, Letters 18=Earlier Letters 2, ll. 3–6.

68

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20 Brown (2012, 210–11) suggests that Paulinus radicalized – and divested himself of property – partly to avoid the fate of proscription that implication in his brother’s death might have incurred; cp. Trout (1999, 63–7). Cynical readers might see Paulinus’ radicalization as an evasive strategy, but such a “calling from necessity” was a coherent element of Late Antique asceticism, theorized as more or less equivalent to the more illustrious callings from divine and human agency by Paulinus’ exact contemporary, John Cassian (Conferences 3.4.4–5.1). On the controversy on the role of women in the Christianization of the Roman aristocracy, in the Principal Correspondence and in scholarship of the period, see the Comments on Ausonius, Letters 22=Principal Correspondence 2, l. 31, and the General Comment on Poems 25=Selections 2G. 21 Although more scholarly discussion can be found in the Comments on the passages cited to reconstruct the biography, the most incisive tool for understanding the timeline of Paulinus’ life and works is Trout (1999, 289–92). On the paradox of celibate marriage, see the General Comment on Poems 31=Selections, and Comments on Poems 25=Selections 5A, l. 191. 22 For a detailed analysis of Paulinus’ great response to Ausonius, Poems 10=Principal Correspondence 3, in these terms, see Trout (1999, 82–7). For recent, excellent overviews with in-depth discussion of relevant issues from a variety of standpoints, see W. Otten and K. Pollman (2007), and note especially Vessey (2007), with Mastrangelo (2009, 2016) and O’Daly (2016). For a nuanced deconstruction of the distinction between the “Classical” and “Christian” in fourth century Latin literature, see M.S. Williams (2010, 102–5). 23 For a comparable approach to the evaluation of an ideologically remote political and cultural movements (twentieth-century communist China), see Meisner (1999, xi). 24 See, for instance, Du Bois (1926) and Locke (1928); Adorno, Benjamin, Bloch, Brecht, and Lukács (2007). 25 Possibly contra Vessey (2007, 48): “Paulinus . . . had, without knowing it, lent his hand to one of the most laborious acts in European literary history: the displacement of Roman poetry by biblical-exegetical prose” – but see n. 62: “Displacement, not replacement.” I think Mastrangelo (2009, 323–4) also underestimates Paulinus’ autonomy, or the paradoxical extent to which the devaluation of poetry could serve poetic ends: see Introduction 4B, subsequently. 26 On the popular religious festivals of Paulinan Christianity, see Trout (1995), with Wickham (2009, 51–7). 27 Ausonius, Principal Correspondence=Letters 21 in Green, ll. 69–72, with Trout (1999, 71–2), cp. Harpham (1987, 25–6), Toohey (2004, 132–60). 28 See Augustine, On the Care of the Dead (De Cura Mortuis Gerenda) 1, 20–21, with Brown (2014 [1981], 30–7), and Rose (2013, 40–3, 47–9). Miller (2009, 66–7) assimilates Paulinus to Augustine, in contrast with Trout (1999, 244–51), who leaves open the possibility of a difference of opinions about popular customs; contrast Jerome (surprisingly moderate: Against Vigilantius 7–8, with MacMullen 2003, 474). The later Gallic bishop, Caesarius of Arles, positively policed the poor, aiming at total extirpation of local customs, resorting to the encouragement of informers (Grig 2004, 203–4); Saint Martin set fire to pagan temples (Severus, Life of Martin 12–13); see Goldschmidt (1940, 138–9). Compared with these, Paulinus’ passive acquiescence to an opportune conflagration at Poems 28.60–74 discussed in Introduction 3 subsequently is benign. Cp. also his more open attitude to extravagant displays of feeling: see Poems 31=Selections 5G, ll. 447–53, with Comments.

Introduction 69 29 Cp. M.S. Williams (2010, 98–101). For the “looser,” extra-Christian sense in which asceticism combines the self-control exhibited by denial with the “gratification” that results, see Harpham (1987, xiii, cp. 1998, 359–60), with concrete application to Paulinus’ contemporary Augustine in Stock (2007, 7–46, cp. Harpham 1987, 91–134). 30 Horace, Ars Poetica 325–57, with rem servare (“preserve your estate,” 329) as the aim of instruction (praecipies, 355). For the denomination of wealth, see n. 54, subsequently. 31 Brown (2012, 190–1), with Ando (2012, 178–80). 32 Ausonius, Elegy for my Father (Epicedion in Patrem=Poems 5.6). 33 Paulinus, Letters 1.10, trans. Trout (1999, 94): “On the day of the Lord, when he deemed it fit to be born in the flesh, as He Himself is witness, by the sudden compulsion of the crowd [vi multitudinis] yet, I believe, seized by His command, I was consecrated to the priesthood.” See also Letters 2.2, 3.4 (vim . . . plebis). 34 On the public havoc wreaked by the similar liquidation of Melania and Pinian, see Brown (2012, 296–8). 35 But see Paulinus, Letter(s) 25 (and 25* §1, trans. Walsh 1966, 80): “But if you do not wish to retire from military service, realise that you must change your service, not drop it; change it to that military service which is better accordingly as God is a greater King than is man.” 36 Garnsey (2007, 93, 126–7); for a different account, see Brown (2012, 131–8, 145–6). On Paulinus’ complex and inconsistent theory and practice, see Trout (1999, 146–7, 153–4). 37 On redistribution and recognition in modern radical politics, see Fraser and Honneth (2003, 8–26); for Paulinus’ (less systematic) understanding, see Trout (1999, 136): “The poor depended on the generosity of the rich to survive; the rich required the poor to drain off the lethal superfluity of their wealth,” with Paulinus, Letters 34.2, trans. Walsh (1967, 164): “Money [usura pecuniae] is not lasting, and must be enjoyed in common, for there is no eternal possession of private property [non priuatae rei aeterna possessio],” with Mratschek (2002, 128–9). Modern Catholic political thought, developed by Pope John Paul II at the end of the cold war, but embraced before that by notable Christian radicals like Dorothy Day, saw the voluntaristic aspect of this process, which they termed “personalism,” as a more holistic – and dependable – means of redistribution than the more systematic (impersonal) forms of redistribution undertaken by the welfare state: see Loughery and Randolph (2020, 136–41, 151–77). 38 Brown (2016, 84); for a discussion of Augustinian sources supporting this view, see Allen and Neil (2011, 188–90). 39 See, above all (in prose), Paulinus, Letters 34, especially §2, with Mratschek (2002, 123): “The theory was drafted in financial jargon [im Jargon der Finanzsprache] . . . in which fides [‘faith’] means both ‘credit’ and ‘belief.’” 40 Poems 21=Selections 2E, ll. 458–459, with Hunter (2007, 79). For a more openended take, see Mratschek (2002, 122): “In his letters and poems he developed his own theory of wealth which was more accommodating than that of his monastic colleagues and thus facilitated the integration of the old senatorial aristocracy and political upper class into the ascetic movement.” 41 Hunter (2007, 78). For the (now commonsense) application of the French sociologist Pierre Bourdieu’s categories of real and symbolic “capital” (see nn. 46, 56, and 82, subsequently) to the pre-modern cultures of Greece and Rome, see Habinek (1998, 66–7), Lowell (2001, 40–1, 53–6), and Parker (2011, 160–3).

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42 Elsewhere Brown (2012, 122) is sympathetic to the cause of the celebrity populist bishops of Paulinus’ age: “The career of Ambrose shows that the entry of members of the upper classes into the affairs of the churches was not a mere ‘takeover’ of Christianity by the rich. It was a novel alliance that joined different layers of the late Roman society to form a hitherto unprecedented grouping. . . . Led by a bishop such as Ambrose, a new force had entered the cities of the Roman world.” 43 Matthew 9:21, epigraph of Brown (2012), discussed as the center of Paulinus’ radicalization by Mratschek (2002, 120–1), cp. John Paul II (1992). 44 For further discussion of Paulinus’ aesthetics in Poems 28, see Comments on Poems 6=Selections 3A, ll. 22–26. 45 This also appears in Paulinus’ relative indifference to the favorite pastime of his contemporaries – ideological controversy, personal axe-grinding, and eventual enlistment of state violence to establish orthodoxy: Trout (1999, 234), O’Donnell (1985, 96), and Ebbeler (2012, 81–4, cp. 73–5). 46 On the sociality of appearances in aesthetic production, see Adorno (1997 [1970], 111–18, 328–9); Bourdieu (1990, 135). 47 For the first use of the key term “democratization,” including the provocative suggestion of “a victory of the periphery over the center,” see the Marxist historian of late antiquity, Mazzarino (1960, especially 37–9), with qualified recuperation in MacMullen (2003, 477–8). 48 In his posthumously published lectures, through the idea of the “Cynic mode of being,” Foucault (2011, 181–8) traces a direct line from late Classical and medieval asceticisms through nineteenth-century revolutionary movements, the “realism” of modern art, and the lifestyles of the contemporary left. 49 As Uden (2018, 629–30) points out, the seminal volume on Late Antique Latin poetry, The Jewelled Style by Roberts, takes its name from Oscar Wilde’s (1998 [1890], 102–23) description of Huysmans (2003 [1884]). On the broader inscription of “Late Antique” culture in European modernism (and specifically postmodernism), see Elsner and Hernández Lobato (2017b, 19–20). 50 For selective overviews of individual cases, see Bourdieu (1996, 129–31), Hanson (1997, especially Chapter 4), and Counter (2020). For examples in Paulinus, see Poems 23=Selections 4E, ll. 9–16, and Poems 31=Selections 4D, ll. 593–4, with Comments. 51 See Harpham (1998, 357–8): “In the discourse of the aesthetic, modernity rearticulates in a secular vocabulary the traditional religious concern with self-negation, self-overcoming, self-alienation, self-transcendence as ways of achieving a pure presentness, an openness to being”; cp. Harpham (1987, 24–5, at 24): “In the same spirit, Thomas Mann called ‘professional devotees of high art’the ‘Early Christians.’” 52 Weber’s (2005 [1930], xxxiii) opposition of asceticism and aestheticism depends on an identification of capitalist “rationality” with the increasing abstraction of wealth from the senses exemplified by money; in addition to being historically too narrow (Harpham 1987, 30: “Early asceticism is capitalism without the money”), this opposition of asceticism and aestheticism is also falsified by later developments in capitalism – the amplification of spectacle that later Marxists will trace (critically enough, to be sure) to late modernity from Roman Christianity: “The spectacle is capital accumulated to the point that it becomes images” (Debord 2014 [1967], 17=thesis 24, with theses 138–144 at 2014 [1967], 77–80, on Christian Late Antiquity). 53 Bataille (1989 [1967], 46): “They were as concerned about sacrificing as we are about working”; cp. the perfectly comparable explanation of Tibetan monasticism in Bataille (1989 [1967], 106–10, 116–17).

Introduction 71 54 For a succinct overview of the Latin, prompted by claims of the “poor poet” exactly comparable to Ausonius’ self-presentation in Speech of Thanks (Actio Gratiarum) quoted previously, see Kay (1985, 141–3), with broader cultural background in Finley (1973, Chapter 2); Brown (2012, 23–4). 55 See Foucault (1986, 45); for a good example, see Seneca, Letters on Ethics 5.4 and 108.16 (trans. Long and Graver 2015, 31, 428): Our aim is to live according to nature, is it not? This is contrary to nature: tormenting one’s body, swearing off simple matters of grooming, affecting a squalid appearance, partaking of foods that are not merely inexpensive but rancid and coarse. . . . All my life . . . I have abstained from perfumed oil: the best smell for the body is no smell at all.

56

57 58 59 60 61

62

63 64 65 66

Seneca implicitly contrasts his cleanly asceticism with the self-fashioning of the Cynics, who are reputed to have originated later Christians’ messy asceticism, but description of it in practice in Latin literature is new to Paulinus. On Ausonius’ association of this with the recrudescent Cynicism of the late fourth century, the heretical Priscillian movement, see Trout (1999, 67–77). For the effects of this radical movement on late fourth-century Gaul, see Mratschek (2002, 56–7). On “Bohemia and the invention of an art of living,” see Bourdieu (1996, 54–7). On realism in modernity (discussed in Classical terms), see Danto (1981, 29–32). On sources and stylistics of sermo humilis in the fourth century AD/CE, see Auerbach (1965, 27–66, cp. 1953, 3–23), with Jameson (2013, 141–3). On the “cult of the ugly” in modern aesthetics, see Adorno (1997 [1970], 63–83, especially 65–6), with Classical background in Zanker (1987, 139–42). Again, see Zanker (1987, 6–12, 22–4). For an influential discussion of the “Alexandrianism” of Late Antique Latin poetry, with allusion to nineteenth-century French literature, see Fontaine (1981, 60–5, 98–9). On the tone of the poem, see Fielding (2018). On the limits of Ausonius’ realism, against which Paulinus’ extended treatments of rural life in the Natalicia seem positively journalistic, see Miller (2009, 49, 52–4). For a review of the commonplace, and an elaboration of this argument, see Dressler (2018, 219–22). Grig (2004, 105–10), cp. Brown (1981, 56–9), Trout (1999, 168–9, 236–41). Although his equation of patron saint and Roman patron (see nn. previous) permits a reduction of religious to social history, Brown is always more nuanced in practice (1981, 54–68, at 63, for instance): “Christian writers did not mindlessly create a mirror in Heaven that reflected, in rosy tints, the hard facts of patronage and prepotenza that they had come to take for granted on the late-Roman earth.” See further Comments on Paulinus, Poems 20=Selections 2D, ll. 1–10. Williams (1977, 114): “It would be wrong to overlook the importance of works and ideas which, while clearly affected by hegemonic limits and pressures, are at least in part significant breaks beyond them, which may again be neutralized, reduced, or incorporated, but which in their most active elements nevertheless come through as independent and original.” Cp. Rancière (2001, 127–218). Poems 20=Selections 3F, l. 32. Poems 31=Selections 2H, l. 523, with Brown (2016, 84–5). Brown (1974, 36–7), with more parallels from visual culture in Nees (2002, Chapter 1). Brown 2012, Chapter 3, with further documentation and discussion in Mratschek (2002, 121–35).

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67 When James (1902, 304) adds, “its sensibilities, namely,” he designates the aesthetic dimension of Paulinus’ project – the use of sonorous poetry and sumptuous display, deployed in the style of the day, as Paulinus describes it in Poems 10=Principal Correspondence 3, ll. 172–3: “what they do not see, the burning senses,/penetrating heavenly secrets – they deserve and get them.” 68 See especially Poems 31=Selections 2H, ll. 515–34, and Letters 22.24, trans. Walsh (1967, 71): “You realise that for those struggling in the contest the difficulty of doing this is as great at the glory of those who have endured the conflict and won through. So in the meantime, whilst I am still wrestling, whilst there are combats without and fears within [2 Corinthians 7:5], do not think or speak too highly of me, but have fear.” Cp. Letters 24.5–6, 9, 40.11, and Mratschek (2002, 135). 69 Letters 34.2, in my translation, but for “large returns,” “invest,” and “investor,” taken from Walsh (1967, 164); cp. see Liddell, Scott, and Jones (1940), under sterilis, B2; also Mratschek (2002, 134–5, at 132–3): “In various metaphors of rich harvests on fertile soil and of financial transactions that in no way avoid comparison with stock market transactions and financial speculation of our time, Paulinus emphasizes that those who renounce their wealth, and their heirs, can receive this capital back in eternal riches with a hundredfold profit.” On the prefiguration of modern capitalism in the markets in eternity surrounding temples and churches from China to Europe through the Middle Ages, see Graeber (2011, 253–66, 282–7). 70 See Graeber (2011, 188–207) with Coffee (2017, 13–16). 71 See Salzman, quoted in Introduction 2, previously. See also Sivan (1993, 178–9). 72 For a description of their anti-glamorous appearance in the beneficence of Saint Lawrence, see Prudentius, Crown of Martyrs 2.145–57, trans. Krisak 2020, 38–9, with discussion in Brown (2012, 77f.): There is a man who cannot see, Eyeless in Rome, his sockets empty. He figures out his wayward way By tapping with a guiding staff. A cripple with a broken knee, A man with one leg (withered short), And one with one leg only half The other, drag their limping steps. Here’s one with ulcerated sores From which the rancid liquids flow, And one whose hand is withered so The muscles shrink to the elbow. 73 For a vivid scholarly evocation of this democratizing of art and literature, see Trout (1996, 179–84). For the modern analogue between counterculture and politics, see Fisher (2021, 177): “the cultural expressions, although they fed into the political struggles, were in many ways stronger than the actual political struggles were capable of being. That’s precisely why . . . they were able to survive the political struggles and were able to be retrospectively commodified after the event.” The same can be said of the radical impulse of Christian asceticism in the late fourth century and the rest of the Middle Ages. 74 In all cases, perhaps following the model of Plato, the comparison with philosophy seems inevitable: Tertullian, Apology 46–8, Paulinus, Poems 10=Principal Correspondence 3, ll. 159–68, with Price (1999, 118–19); cp. Apuleius, Apology

Introduction 73

75 76 77 78 79 80 81 82

83 84 85

(Pro se de magia) 4–12. Otherwise, Paulinus’ treatment of the genre offers the usual inversion of the Classical models that he would have learned from Ausonius: starting with himself as the subject of defense in ll. 13–16 of Poems 10=Principal Correspondence 3, he eventually takes the charges as a mark of honor and refers the defense to God “as agent” (l. 129 at 126–30). For an outline of these two aspects of selfhood in Latin literature of the Classical period, see Dressler (2016, 60–8), discussing Augustine (38–40). With the following passage from Paulinus, cp. James (1902, 205–11). Letters 5.4, trans. Walsh (1966, 56). See further Poems 21=Selections 2E, ll. 416–520. Jameson (1998, 142). See Horace, Odes 2.20.10 with mutor, quoted and discussed in the Comments on Poems 15=“Self, Money, Music, Time, Christ,” ll. 16–20, also Odes 3.10.7–8, quoted and discussed in the Comments on Poems 21=Selections 1E, l. 445. Ausonius, Letters 9 in Green, ll. 100–101; cp. Conybeare (2000, 97–109) with Classical background in Lowrie (2009, 286–99). For the language of such delivery of a promise and/or performance of obligation, see n. 114, subsequently. See the Comments on Ausonius, Letters 20 in Green=Earlier Letters 4b, especially on ll. 68–71. Bourdieu (1990, 104–6), applied to Classical Latin in Stroup (2010, 66–100). In a detailed description of the process, Sivan (1993, 137) describes how “Sextus Aurelius Victor, a man of some literary talent,” owed his success in politics “to the literary appreciation of the emperor Julian,” the apostate, but: “If Victor symbolises the success of talented provincials, he also demonstrates the attendant hazards. Valentinian I seemingly had no room in his administration for a man who spent his spare time composing imperial biographies. Ausonius, on the other hand, had some regard for this genre,” so “[i]f Victor wished to resume his career, he could do so under no better patronage than that of . . . Ausonius.” See further Ando (2012, 191–2). Reading this, Ausonius would agree with The Daodejing of Laozi (Chapter 38, trans. Ivanhoe 2002, 41): “When benevolence was lost there was righteousness;/ When righteousness was lost there were the rites.” White (1978, 74–92), and the work which furnishes the phrase that I used to translate carmine uoto (White 1993, 3–34, 110–55, especially 14–20, 139–42). Gowers (1993, 124): Miscellaneous, and wallowing in the muddy and messy areas of life, satire drags itself straight down to the bottom of the Roman literary hierarchy. . . . From the earliest times, it was a rag-bag which held all the aspects of Roman life for which there was no room anywhere else: autobiography, jokes, daily conversation, miscellaneous lists. And food . . . belongs there too.

Almost all the topics that Gowers attributes to satire occur in the Selections in this volume: for autobiography, in addition to food, see all the poems in Selections 1; for miscellaneous lists, see Poems 18=Selections 2C, ll. 44–7, Poems 25=2G, ll. 69–104; for jokes, see Comments on Poems 18=Selections 2C, ll. 227–9; for food, see Poems 20=Selections 2D, ll. 13–27. 86 That is, “a distinguishable set of attitudes and activities . . . which can be summarized as an overriding preoccupation with the production or acquisition of things and money” (Williams 1983, 197), implicitly applied to classical Latin poetry in Bowditch (2003, 31–63, 161–210, 252–3). On “the material turn” of the fourth century AD/CE, see Miller (2009, 1–17).

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87 For an introduction to the genre of the hymn in the Latin poetry of the late fourth century, see Richardson (2016, 8–17). For an overview balancing historical detail and interpretation, see Brennan (1988, 267–81). 88 Harvey (2006, 87–8), Toner (2015, 165–8), cp. Miller (2009, 108–9). 89 Poems 10=Principal Correspondence 3, ll. 19–20, cp. Poems 22=Selections 4H, ll. 7–19. 90 Paulinus, Poems 10=Principal Correspondence 3, ll. 115: sine numine nomina Musas. Cp. Tertullian, Against Praxeas 7 (trans. Bettenson 1956, 105): “For who will deny that God is a body, although ‘God is a spirit’ [John 4:24]? For a spirit is a body, of its own kind, in its own form.” 91 Cp. Witke (1971, 76–7). 92 2 minuta with du Cange, Carpenter, Henschel, et al. (1883–1887, col. 404a, see under minuta 1). I can find no Classical precedents for this application of minutum, but for the “modesty topos” comprising it, see Curtius (1963, 86–7), with more references in Dressler (2018, 226–8). 93 See Johnson (2007, 176–9, 181–2, 187–8). 94 See Cicero, On the Commonwealth, 2.41 (trans. Zetzel 1999, 56–7): In playing the lyre or the flute, and of course in choral singing, a degree of harmony must be maintained among the different sounds. . . . So too the state, through the reasoned balance of the highest and the lowest and the intertwining orders, is harmonious in the concord of very different people. What musicians call harmony in regard to song is concord in the state.

95 96 97

98

99

100 101

For Christian contexts and elaborations of the theme, see Fontaine (1980, 401– 2), with Hardie (2019a, 124–8). On the interaction of the literal and figurative in Paulinus’ writing, see Conybeare (2000, 97–106, 111–17). For the specific application of this interaction to poetry and the “music” of the psalms, see Poems 17=Selections 3B, ll. 105–8. For Paulinus’ Davidic imagery, with further documentation and discussion, see especially Poems 17=Selections 3B, ll. 113–116, and also Poems 6=Selections 3A, ll. 22–6. Fontaine (1981, 18), cp. Miller (2009, 63–5); on Augustine’s comparative ambivalence, and the ambivalence of their contemporaries, see Clark (2011, 172–9, at 172): “In late antiquity, some people needed convincing even about song.” For the application of music to the individual human organism, see Cicero, Tusculan Disputations 1.19: “In such a way, from the nature and shape of the entire body, movements arise in various ways like sounds in a song.” In contrast with Cicero, Paulinus attributes a more literal music to the spirit and discerns its action at every level of existence: animal, human (individual and collective), cosmic (divine). See further Clark (2011, 168–70). Elsewhere Nola literally flowed with new water as a result of the Spirit and prayer: Poems 21=Selections 1B, ll. 672–703. On the materiality of the water in baptism as a source of its efficacy, see Foucault (2016, 118–19). See especially Poems 20=Selections 3D, l. 60–99. Augustine wrote On Music before Paulinus’ radicalization of 395 where he nevertheless provides a more “rationalist” definition (1.2.2–3): see Brennan (1988, 272–3), with Conybeare (2006, 144–72, especially 156–60), on the “irrationality” of Augustine’s ratiocinations of the period.

Introduction 75 102 See General Comment on Poems 14=Selections 4A. 103 Made palpable by his “song,” Paulinus’ interiority encompasses God, also like Augustine’s (Confessions, 1.2, trans. Wills 2008, 4): “how can I ask you to come to me, who would not exist if you were not already in me?” See further Pranger (2007, 56): “Just as with Ambrose the separation from day and day, night and night, is a matter of voice, so for Augustine it is voice . . . that makes his confession work”; further documentation and discussion in Dressler (2016, 183–98). See also Nicetas of Remesiana, On the Goodness of Psalmody 5: “With pleasure [suaviter] the psalm is heard in singing [psalmus auditur cum canitur]”; cp. Dressler (2018, 217–18). 104 Miller (2009, 76–7) likewise describes a “polychromatic poetics.” Ambrose more subtly employs polyptoton (or the proliferation of key words with variation): Pranger (2007, 51–4). For the idea of a neo-Alexandrianism in Latin poetry of Late Antiquity, see Charlet (1988, 77–81). 105 Poems 26=Selections 4F, ll. 23–8. 106 For Paulinus’ attempts to connect with the universe including the “barbarian” or foreigner, see Poems 10=Principal Correspondence 3, ll. 208–20. 107 Poems 26=Selections 1C, l. 401. On the aesthetic contexts of such “presence,” see Miller (2009, 67–73). 108 Consistent with Auerbach’s historical claim about the emergence of “Passio as Passion” in twelfth century mysticism (Auerbach 2014 [1941], 171–5), Paulinus usually portrays Christ as “the King,” who is insusceptible to passion (or “impassible”), as compared with the later emerging figure of “Christ incarnate” that interests Auerbach (2014 [1941], 171); the confessor, Felix, in contrast, does not exhibit this anti-Romantic “impassibility,” and it is on Felix that Paulinus most directly models himself (see further Introduction 4C subsequently). 109 See Letters 17=Earlier Letters 1, quoted in Introduction 1, previously. For the two notions of art, as skill and expression, see Staten (2011, 223–4); for their insertion in ascetic discourse of the late fourth century AD/CE and early modernity, see Harpham (1987, 29–36). 110 For the quoted term, see Ayres (2010, 118–20). 111 Augustine, Tractate on the Gospel of John 2.10, quoted and discussed in Ayres (2010, 196); for background in Tertullian, which prefigures Paulinus’ slightly Stoicizing language, see Colish (1990, 23–5), and Comments on Poems 21=Selections 4D, ll. 117–28, and Poems 22=Selections 5F, ll. 90–1. 112 For the first disingenuous description of the Latin language as a “poorer” medium for philosophy than Ancient Greek (in Lucretius 1.136–9), see Farrell (2001, 39–51). 113 On “root” metaphors in Roman philosophy, see Schrijvers (1998). 114 Digest 17.1.62.1, trans. Watson (1998, 40), with Ker (2007). 115 Paulinus, Poems 10=Principal Correspondence 3, ll. 326–7. Cp. Latin ratio vs. fides, colorlessly translated, à la Augustine and the Latin philosophical tradition, as “reason and faith,” but much more accurately – at any rate etymologically – rendered “calculation” and “credit.” 116 For instances the performative presence described in this paragraph, including the Latin morpheme prae-, see Paulinus, Poems 21=Selections 1B, ll. 389–91, Poems 27=Selections 3E, ll. 184–6, and Poems 26=Selections 1C, ll. 401–3. 117 See especially Poems 22=Selections 3H, Poems 25=Selections 2G, 5B, and Poems 31=Selections 1D, 2H, 4H, 5G.

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118 Poems 27=Selections 5D, ll. 273–4, where see Comments for other instances of Paulinus’ figurative treatment of current events. 119 Paul, 1 Corinthians 10:1–6, Tertullian, On Monogamy 5, with Boyarin (1994, 85–105), and Auerbach (1938 [2014], 79–83), respectively. 120 Auerbach (2014 [1938), 82–3. That the “idea” which gives history its meaning in typology is elsewhere defined as spiritual (Auerbach 2014 [1938] 83 quotes Tertullian, On the Resurrection 20: interpretari spiritaliter, p. 96: intellectus spiritualis) establishes another analogy with the incarnation of Christ: just as the “idea” of Christ, the Church, and the visit of Nicetas hovers around the historical account of Laban, the Holy Spirit hovered over Mary: “Christ was given shape by the Holy Spirit when once it enclosed/the Virgin in its shadow” (Poems 27=Selections 5D, ll. 277–8: formauit uirgine Christum). 121 Lowrie (2009, 349–50), Langlands (2018, 39–40). 122 Cp. Harpham (1987, xiv, 27, 42–3). Whether this structure of imitation functions to produce authority and hierarchy, as argued influentially by Castelli (1991) for Paul, is an open question: Burton (2017, 40, n. 44). 123 See especially Paulinus, Letters 11.13. 124 For the “new creation,” see Galatians 6:15, and 2 Corinthians 5:17, with Auerbach (2014 [1938], 93–5). 125 First in Greek in Polycarp of Smyrna 9.10, trans. Rebillard (2017, 97): “If you vainly imagine that I will take an oath on Caesar’s genius [Greek, tukhên] . . . hear me speak plainly: ‘I am a Christian [Khristianos eimi].’” See further Comments on Poems 15=Selections: Self, Money, Music, Time, and Christ, l. 316, and General Comment on Poems 21=Selections 2B, along with Foucault (2016, 8–11) with suggestive discussion in terms of theatrical performance – that of Classical Athenian tragedy, and specifically Sophocles’ Oedipus: Foucault (2016, 23–5), with discussion of the juridical aspect of confession in Ando (2012, 135–9=history, 186–92=theory). 126 Poems 13=Selections 1A, ll. 1–2. Cp. Perpetua, Felicity, and Companions 4.5, trans. Rebillard (2017, 345): “The holy Perpetua [sancta Perpetua] responded: ‘I am a Christian [Christiana sum], and in order to deserve to be perpetual [merear esse perpetua], I persevere in the confession of the name of Christ [in Christi nominis confessione],’” where note the pun (sancta Perpetua, esse perpetua), comparable to Paulinus’ pun on the name of Felix. On the linguistic status of martyristic confession as “performative utterances,” see Boyarin (1999, 95–6). For the “performativity” of the name of Felix, see General Comment on Selections 2E, including Comments on Poems 21=Selections 2E, l. 414. 127 In the Classical Roman theory of exemplification, this “speech-act” theoretical idea of the felicity of performance and imitation is explicit (Seneca, Letters 11.9): “O happy [felicem] the man who improves you not only in person [praesens] but even in consideration [cogitatus],” translated and discussed in Dressler (2012, 161). 128 Before Paulinus’ devotion to Felix, Ausonius recognized this “performative” capacity of epistolography with the same word (in-felix) in Letters 21=Principal Correspondence 1, l. 5, and Paulinus, Poems 10=Principal Correspondence 3, l. 5. 129 For an example of the physically perceptible, and positively beautiful – in short, valuable – Classical background for this Christian notion of grace, see Paulinus, Poems 1=Earlier Letters 5 (Appendix), with Comments on l. 10. 130 Following Pastorino (1971), Green (1991, 655) writes: “The revised version, whether or not it was actually sent to Paulinus, remained with Ausonius’

Introduction 77 131 132 133

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papers, while the shorter and earlier version was included among the poems of Paulinus.” Dolveck (2014, 39), Trout (2017, 244–5). Without discussing the idea that a non-epistolary particle of a poem included in an epistle becomes epistolary, Rosenmeyer (2001, 5–16) outlines a theory of narrative temporalities that can accommodate such transformations (74–5). Poems 6=Selections 3A, ll. 1–26, the so-called “Praise of John” (laus iohanni(s) in the manuscript). Preserved completely in only one manuscript from the ninth century, the poem is securely attributed to Paulinus as the subject of his correspondence with Jerome: see General Comment on Selections 3A, also Dolveck (2014, 46). Paulinus, Poems 10=Principal Correspondence 3, ll. 1–102, for example, is polymetric (elegiac and iambic), but sometimes separated from the later dactylic section of the same poem (ll. 103–331). The unity of Poems 11=Principal Correspondence 5, although it is also polymetric, is more secure: several Ausonian manuscripts include Paulinus’ poem “as a block, without the introduction of a red letter” (Dolveck 2014, 157). For a concise English overview of the earliest printed editions, see Goldschmidt (1940, 31–3). For the sake of consistency with the standard edition in English, I follow Green, with whom Dolveck (2014, 185) agrees: “putting ‘This is the fourth letter” [Letters 21=Principal Correspondence 1, l. 1] first and then “In my last letter” [Letters 22=Principal Correspondence 2, l. 2] second is the most elegant solution.” Most other editors, however, have reversed the order. Dräger (2002, 78–9), for instance, chooses to emphasize the extent to which the correspondence is already underway by putting Ausonius, Letters 22 in Green (“I would have thought the complaint that I had sent you/in my last letter”) before Letters 21 in Green (cp. Mondin 1995, lx–lxi). This would make Letters 22 in Green one of the three letters that, based on the opening of Letters 21 (“This is the fourth letter”), Green assumes to be lost. See further the Comments on Ausonius, Letters 21=Principal Correspondence 1, l. 1, and Paulinus, Poems 10=Principal Correspondence 3, l. 7. See Green (1991, 647–9), where note the detailed correspondence concerning the names of Spanish cities in letters by both poets: Paulinus, Poems 10=Principal Correspondence 3, ll. 231–3, vis-à-vis Ausonius, Letters 24=Principal Correspondence 2, ll. 80–1. To view the manuscript in its entirety (shelf mark CLM 6412), see https://iiif.biblissima.fr/collections/manifest/f00537d6ae0e69ef7ae725573315c98244e1850f. See further Dolveck (2014), 52–3. On the membra disiecta (or “decomposed parts”), see Jeudy (1984–1985, 135–6). Trans. Walsh 1966, 100, with discussion in Dolveck (2014, 42–3, 124–5). In my generally iambic translation of that section of the Principal Correspondence, I add breaks that produce quasi-stanzas, but these are really paragraphs that reflect changes in theme rather than proper stanzas reflecting formal organization. See the General Comment of Selections 2D.

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The Earlier Letters

1 To Paulinus: Ausonius, Letters 17 The horses of the sun had just been buried in Gibraltar, and the straits of Iberia issued hisses from Titan fire.1 Stirring the cattle who yield to her carriage, the Moon prepared to rival her brother and conquer the dark with her flares. The birds and the human beings, that species whom worries defeat, 5 just fell silent in the immobile oblivion of peaceful sleep. The Ides had passed. Mid-December had hurried to latch her final hours to January’s chariot, ready to dash. Though long, Night gave her orders to the feast, nineteen days away, to speed posthaste.2 10 I bet you don’t know what I mean to say with all these lines. My faith, I don’t understand it very well myself, but I have an idea: “It was just becoming evening, the day before the fourteenth of December,3 when I received your letter,” which was lettered indeed. You had attached the most enjoyable possible poem to it, that précis which you had just abridged from Suetonius’ three volumes, On the Kings.4 You did it with so much eloquence! I know of no one else who has done something as unnatural, really, as you: concision without loss of clarity. The part that I particularly excerpted for my records was this (Paulinus, Poems 3): Europe and Asia, two great continents that Sallust doubts to add to Libya, which Europe touches and one could call the third – many have ruled them, history forgets them, Roman tongues can’t name their foreignness – Numídián Avélis, Íllibánus, and Vonónes DOI: 10.4324/9780203710845-2

5

The Earlier Letters 79 (a Párthián), Caránus (made the names of Mácedónians) Nechépsos (taught about the mysteries vain), Sesóöstrís (who ruled devoid of fame) . . .5 How proficiently and neatly, how sonorously and sweetly, you used the Latin system of accentuation, so the foreign names still preserved their true and native accents! And what shall I say about that eloquence? I clearly swear, of all the younger Romans, none equals you in poetic cleverness. At least that’s what I think. If I’m mistaken, I’m your “father”; put up with me, and don’t demand criticism when devotion stands in the way. In fact, when I love with devotion, I criticize seriously and sincerely. Grant me such gifts often, I implore you, and I will be flattered and satisfied. You even added sweet adulation to the mix of poetic craftsmanship: He who in his daring gave his name to Icarus’ sea, and he who drifted a middle course to the bastions of Chalcidice.6 Aren’t you really saying that your live and sublime style (or “daring”) is recklessness, and my restraint, which a son should imitate, is rich in generous discretion (“a middle course”)? It is exactly the opposite. You fly so high, you will not fall. At my age, it’s enough just to drift. I dictated this to you quickly and on the spot the morning after that evening because your messenger was pressing me for an answer. If I had the time, it would have been my pleasure to luxuriate more wordily to you and force you to do a return. Be well.

2 To Paulinus: Ausonius, Letters 18 “Paulinus, to you from Ausonius.” Even thus, the verse preferred for you to come out first and be the vanguard of my name. Although in the official list of the Roman calendar your consulship of ivory came before my tenure in the office, and though the victory palm of your poetry is already sovereign 5 and decked at the top with the ribbon that my palm lacks, nevertheless, only the claim of a very old age makes me better – but what does old age matter? No crow before swan. Although the bird of the Ganges may live many centuries,7 the regal peacock’s hundred eyes are never vanquished. 10 I give as much ground to your Genius as I am vanguard to your age. My Dabbling stands when your Inspiration enters.8

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The Earlier Letters Live, be well, and weave a wreath of as many New Years as made our fathers together, mine and yours.

3 To Paulinus: Ausonius, Letters 19 A. With what kindness I am treated when a complaint on my end need not even be sent but is taken up in advance, Paulinus my son! You were worried that the olive oil you sent was disagreeable, so you doubled your duty and bestowed on me heaps of that Barcelonian brinesauce also known as muria. Of course, you know that that name, muria (used by the people), is neither usual nor possible for me to say when the most educated of old, while they were squeamish about Greek words, had no Latin to predicate of relish. At any rate, whatever we call that “liquor of allies,” I’ll fill me up my plate, so juice, so rare upon our fathers’ table, brim my spoon. But what is so affectionate and generous as the fact that you, to share with me, deprive yourself of the first delicacy of the season of spring? Sweeter than honey, more charming than the Graces’ loveliness, you need to be squeezed with paternal embraces by everyone! But this and all the other evidence of your generous soul someone else, at some other time, could offer, even if but rarely. But that specimen of culture in your letters, of pleasure in your poetry, of its creativity and composition – I swear by everything it will never find an imitator, even if he admits it must be imitated. As to that “little project” you bid, I’ll do it. I’ll file your choice material high and low and although your hand has already put the final touch on it, I’ll work it heaven-high with stores of polish (more to follow your orders than to improve it). In the meantime, however, to keep your messenger from returning with no poetic present, I thought a few iambs could play preface while I lay the foundations for your request for a piece in epic meter. Still, this one (provided you and the evening star stay safe for me), as I dashed it out in one sitting after hours, as it itself will show – it still has yet to receive its final inspection. Farewell. B. O Iamb,9 quicker than the darts of Persia and Crete and wings of birds, O Iamb, you – fuller to flow than course of rushing Po,10 thicker to teem than hail’s thudding roar, faster to flash than lightning’s flickering fire –

5

The Earlier Letters through winds now, now with hoofs of Perseus and Arcady’s rich hat conveyed, take flight!11 If myth that Hippocrene by strike of foot burst out when neighing courser poured it forth is true, then spout of Pegasus gave you birth,12 you yoked the meter of these new feet13 first and with nine holy Muses joined in chorus, you brought death quick upon the snake at Delos.14 So, bring this greeting fleet-foot, wing-foot too, straight to Paulinus’ door, I mean near Toulouse,15 and if his strength is back now and he moves with motion fast of body convalesced, then make him send the “hail” he’s bidden back. Do not malinger now, now while I speak come back already. Double of your author’s race,16 who had flown unhurt above berserk Chimaera’s three-fold flame and fire so close, say “hail”; say, “Your friend and neighbor and your patron orders you fare well, your talent’s foster-father, the author of your status.” Say “teacher” too, say “father,” and say all the names that flatter and revere affection, and after “hail” and “be well,” come back. But if he asks how I, in ripe and not unpolished age, did judge his recent work, you say that you don’t know but soon enough a chariot full of heroic couplets is coming. Yoke it I shall to some short mules whose backs the lash has broken in the rounds of mills where bulky gears of stone they turn, and these three messengers, my friends, they’ll pull. Perhaps he’ll ask, “Who are these friends you mention who will make the trip?” Then tell him: “Triple Dactyl whom I’ve seen myself on a torturing gelding prepared; slow Spondee too, his friend, who stalls my pace although he takes up equal space, and, opposite of me but still the same, not equal and not different, Trochee by name.” Announce them at a run, don’t stall, fly through, And meantime ship back some gift from his munificent ministry of poetic distributions.

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The Earlier Letters

4 To Paulinus: Ausonius, Letters 20 A. A situation that has come out of nowhere puts the many and frequent instances of gratitude that you owe me in a row for you, and your natural capacity for beneficence dresses them up, Paulinus my son. Since, when I ask, there is nothing you withhold from me, you embolden my zealotry more than you mellow it, and now too you will be put to the test in the case of Philo, my sometime property manager. In Ebromagus,17 he has stored the merchandise that he acquired in various markets, taking advantage of the permission of your people, but now there’s a chance he might be excluded from the market prematurely. Now, if you do not accede to my request and let the man extend his right of stay at his convenience and charter a “pinnace,” or some boat, for the possible export of some of our revenue and bring relief from the famine at Libourne18 right now, then the whole household of this sophistiqué19 will be reduced, not to the state of Cicero’s Sicily oration, but to the state of Plautus’ Weevil.20 To get my request more easily – or to make you a little more anxious to refuse it – I sent this letter signed and sealed with iambs to you, so you can’t claim the messenger was underdressed if he shows up without the credit of a signet. I signed it, moreover, not, as Plautus says, “with tokens and letters which she did resend,”21 but with the character of a poet, so you may know it more a mark of fire than a simple stamp. B. Philo, agent of estates, in ambition, entrepreneur (a bit of a Greek, he calculates that foreign words infuse grandeur), with his complaints, makes acquisitions in the field of my petitions, which I will try to inventory by and by.22 Up close and personal, see the sight of him as he appears: the image of a glower, white with age and grim and fierce, stubbly picture of luck gone evil – Terence’s Phormio, Plautus’ weevil,23 with burrs much worse than an anemone or my verse.

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The Earlier Letters Whether it was late or hot for sowing crops, the year deceived him of his skimpy yield, the blot of his occupation peeved him. Thinking the weather the etiology that he didn’t know meteorology, he shook the book at the gods and let himself off the hook. Neither constant gardener nor plowing specialist, less of supplies and of merchandise more a trade protectionist, he charged the earth with unreliable credit for underproduction and optioned instead that he speculate on interest rate in Greek, in local market trade.24 Smarter than the sages seven25 of Greece, he comes the eighth expert with his stock of leaven purchased at salt rate. He’s leading the field in innovation of entrepreneurial motivation; on land and sea on sale, he traffics in suburb, slum, and sticks, and city.

83 20

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In merchantman, skiff, craft, and sail and ship, Garonne and Tarn26 he’ll cross, enriching himself while my funds fail. With gain offset by loss and loss by fraud, as far as your own Ebromagus,27 he travelled in order (he says) to find a storehouse to unload his boat from there of the provisions that he stowed.

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So don’t begrudge this guest a couple28

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*

84

The Earlier Letters for soon assisted by the vessel that you helped him get, all the way up to the port of the town he will bring relief from the famine now on the roll to Pomerol29 even now like the sacks of Perugia or Sagunto.30 If you grant this as a service, you will be exalted religiously in front of Ceres.31 Triptolemus also called Epimenides, and Bullworth,32 keeper of managers, will be remunerated less than your personal Mana, since you would do a counter-service for me in money’s lieu.

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5 Appendix: Paulinus to Gestidius (Poems 1, Date Uncertain) It is certainly an insult to offer the man of property who overflows with luxuries of the sea a gift that is uncouth and earthy, but still I decided to send you these figpeckers that the slave boys brought me as night fell. I wanted to have a reason to say something to you, my companion of the soul, and to look like I was adding a little extra to the conversation, too. Still, because I was embarrassed at how few birds there were, I stitched more words with verses to them, as if bombast could be a supplement to their count. Since both are faulty, the verses and the birds, if you forgive them in generosity and friendship, you yourself will make the insufficiency of the former less uncivilized and the chatter of the latter less monotonous. Take then these pairs of wings that have been pastured on country thorns. The canny fowler lurked for coots and found them, tricking birds with whispers like their own, he snagged the gullible lot with baited twigs and brought his slim prize, not a little service, and then he spread them out on fowlers’ slab. First looking fat, the set thinned imperceptibly as down the table it went. To manifest their gleaming thinness less, their fat wings blocked the view with saving grace.33

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The Earlier Letters 85

Notes 1 2 3 4 5

6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24

That is, the fire of the sun. New Year’s Day, which followed the Saturnalia. See n. previous. Otherwise unknown. Utterly obscure, but see Evelyn White (1921, 82–3): “The first two kings are unknown: for Vonones see Tac[itus,] Ann[als 2.1.58, 68]. Caranus, a Heraclid, was the reputed successor of Macedon, son of Deucalion and ancestor of the Macedonian kings. For Nechepsos, see Julius Firmicius, Math[eseos=Astrological Learning 8.5], and for Sesostris, Herodotus [2.104–111].” Icarus and Daedalus, the mythical craftsman and father of Icarus, respectively: see Introduction 4B. The phoenix. Dabbling=Lat. Camena; Inspiration=L. Musa, personifications of poetic activity. See Comments on Ausonius, Letters 21=Principal Correspondence 1, l. 74. For Iamb, a personification of the unit of verse structuring each line of this poem (the English phrase “and wings of birds” in l. 2 comprises two iambs), and for other such units of verse, see Comments on ll. 38–43 of this poem. A great river in Northern Italy. Perseus is the hero of Greek mythology who killed Medusa and grew Pegasus, the horse with wings, from the blood. Pegasus struck the ground near Mount Helicon, the sacred precinct of the goddesses of poetry, in mainland Greece and produced the “The Horse’s Fount” (Hippo-crene). Whatever its shape, the basic unit of Greco-Roman verse was called a foot: see Comments on Paulinus, Poems 10=Principal Correspondence 3, ll. 13–8. Ausonius personifies the poetic meter as a companion to Apollo when, like Bellerophon in the previous lines, he slew the python at Delphi, as detailed in Homeric Hymn to Apollo 350–74. See Comments on Ausonius, Letters 19=Earlier Letters 3B, l. 15. Pegasus (see l. 10, previously) whom Bellerophon rode (in flight) to slay the mythical beast, the fire-breathing Chimaera (“she-goat”). Probably modern Bram; see Comments on Ausonius, Letters 19=Earlier Letters 3B, l. 15. In Latin, Lucaniacus, site of one of Ausonius’ estates. Philo. Reference to two Classical texts: Cicero’s orations Against Verres (which were delivered in lieu of discussion of grain legislation) and Plautus’ Curculio (Latin, “Weevil”), a play about a kind of con man (see Comments). Plautus, Pseudolus, l. 42, rendered with Shakespeare, All’s Well That Ends Well, 3.6.123. On the unusually free translation of this poem, see Introduction 5B. “Plautus’ weevil” does not occur in the Latin here but is imported from the prose of 19A for the rhyme. 35–36, speculate/in Greek. The Latin is an untranslatable pun referring to “Greek credit,” which is to say, no credit at all (cp., for instance, a “Dutch treat”; see also n. on l. 15 previously).

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The Earlier Letters

25 Solon, Chilon, Cleobolus, Thales, Bias, Pittacus, and Periander – at least in Ausonius’ own Play of the Seven Sages (Ludus Septem Sapientum); practically mythologized politicians and scientists from Classical Greek lore. 26 Great rivers in southern France; the first appears frequently in Ausonius’ poetry: see Ausonius, Letters 24=Principal Correspondence 4, l. 66; cp. Introduction 2. 27 Elsewhere translated “near Toulouse”: see Comments on Ausonius, Letters 19=Earlier Letters 3B, l. 15. 28 The asterisks indicate a line lost in transmission; similar evidence of corruption at this point in the MSS. appears in the repetitive “now . . . even now” in ll. 59, 62. 29 In Latin, Lucaniacus=Libourne in A previously; probably “now prime claret country” (Kay 2001, 146, on Ausonius, Epigrams 32.7), hence Pomerol, an Appellation d’Origine Contrôlée for wine in modern France, here (for the rhyme). 30 Sites of great sieges in the late first century BC/E civil wars of Augustus (see, for instance, Propertius, Poems 1.21) and the second Punic War (217 BCE), respectively. 31 Goddess of grain and agriculture. 32 Epimenides was a prince associated with Eleusinian mysteries of archaic and classical Greece. See especially the Homeric Hymn to Demeter, ll. 147–62, 470– 89, and the Library of Apollodorus 1.5.2. Elsewhere he appears as the Cretan philosopher who coined the so-called liar’s paradox when he said: “All Cretans are liars.” See also Diogenes Laertius, Book 1.109–115. In Greek, Buzyges, perhaps another name for Triptolemus, is a similar quasi-mythical culture hero, here named Bullworth (for “keeper of managers”; editors have proposed the rare Latin word uilico, “manager,” in place of the nonsensical Tullianum). 33 Other than Ausonius, Letters 20B (on which see Introduction 5B), only here does translation depart numerically from the original (by one line).

3

The Principal Correspondence

1 To Paulinus: Ausonius, Letters 21 This is the fourth letter in which I expose my well-known complaint, Paulinus, and it prods you with solicitous speech in your malingering. And yet not a single page has returned the affectionate obligation of sending me good morrow with a pack of salutation. What did an infelicitous missive do to deserve such rejection, 5 as your inactivity spurns it with, with such sustained contempt? Enemy opposite enemy nevertheless, in a foreign language, accepts salutation, and “hello” finds a place amid weapons. Stones answer human beings, when speech, which echoes from hollows, responds. Responds, as well, the calling reflection of the dells. 10 Rocks on beaches raise their voices. Rivers babble. Turf of Hybla, buffet for the bees, does whisper and hum.1 Even on shores of reeds there is a certain measure of music. With their breezes, the tresses of pine trees make tremulous colloquies whenever the lissome East wind solicits their serrated foliage. 15 Nature makes nothing dumb. Neither the bird of the air 17 nor quadruped keep silent. The snake makes its own noise. 18 The herd of the depths whispers with a thin substitute for a voice.2 19 Chants of Dindyma echo in the lurid grove of Gargara. 16 Castanets make sounds when they’re hit. Pounded, the ground booms with the feet of dancers; tight-skinned, clang hollow tambourines. Nilotic rods of priests of Isis move that throng along. The gong of Dodona’s tripods never ceases to buzz in time with the bowls that respond to the light thrumming they learn from the rhythmic ringing of the striking tongues.3 25 Only you, as if living in silence in Amyclae in the days of Oebalus DOI: 10.4324/9780203710845-3

88 The Principal Correspondence or as if the Child of Horus4 is putting his seal on your lips, are, Paulinus, resolutely silent. I know it’s shame, a special failing that is only sustained by constant delay. While you feel ashamed of long silence, you start to like ignoring affectionate obligations.5 Long leisure loves vice. Who keeps you from writing hello and goodbye on pages of happy messages and sending them with ready brevity? I for one do not propose the fabric of your letters be epic poems6 and tablets scratched with speeches manifold. With but one letter of the alphabet, the Spartans wrote and satisfied that mad king, even though they said no.7 Truly, brevity is pleasant. They say that this is what born-again Pythagoras taught. To all that his talkative followers disseminated in enigmatic expressions, he said yes and no only. O what an absolute standard of language! For nothing is quicker and nothing more pregnant than what, approved or denied, they affirm or rebuff. No one satisfies with silence. Brief talk is enough. But where did I, an idiot signifying nothing, get carried away? Our faults are the same and different. Talking too much and totally quiet, we are both unpleasant. Let me not to the marriage that us confined be devoutly demure; love is not love puts flattery behind the truth. My sweet Paulinus, you changed your mind! The vast tracts of Basque country and the snowy stopovers of the Pyrenees made you forget your father’s region. For why should I not rebuke you, as you deserve, O soil of Spain? May the Carthaginians level you! May Treacherous Hannibal set you aflame!8 May the exile Sertorius seek you out as his center of insurrection again!9 Well, the glory of our fathers’ land and the pillar of the senate will dwell in Calatayud and Calahorra, clinging to rocks, or among the ruins scattered through the stony mountains on the scorching Segre river where thirsty Lérida looks down.10 Is this, Paulinus, where you’ll store the stripe of your senatorial toga? Is that where you’ll bury your ancestral political career? Who, at last, has convinced you of such long silence? Henceforth let the irreverent lose the use of their voice! May they feel no pleasure, even in the songs of the poets or in the subtle musical measure of beguiling complaints. May the noises of no wild animals, no flocks, and no birds

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The Principal Correspondence 89 charm them, let alone the hidden denizen of pastoral groves who always follows our littlest utterances, namely Echo. May they dwell in abandoned wastelands and wander, unhappy and hungry on the slopes of the Alpine mountains, in silence, as they say once, 70 out of his mind and eschewing all assemblies and traces of humankind, homeless Bellerophon roamed pathless places. This do I pray. May you, Boeotian powers of the Muses, hear this call. Recall our bard to our Latin Inspirations.

2 To Paulinus: Ausonius, Letters 22 I would have thought the complaint that I had sent you in my last letter, Paulinus – that that would have bent you; my grievance, not unpleasant, would draw forth your voice. But you, as if you had taken sacred vows, devout, you keep Your silence deep. You persist in this rule of speechlessness. 5 Has it been forbidden? Or are you ashamed that a friend is still living with a father’s claim on you, and you remain a dependent successor? Fear like that shakes cowards. You need have no such worry. Rather, dare to renew the custom of sending and accepting but a greeting. And if some treacherous person is making you 10 an object of persecution, if the weighty condemnation of some inquisitor is your worry, take recourse to the timeworn arts of concealment. Once upon a time they say the woman11 whom the abusive violence of the Thracian king12 de-tongued, made use of weaving to make known her wrongs and published his offense in the woof of silent threads. 15 A modest maiden13 is also said to have disclosed her passion with an apple, and she did not blush, complicit with this silent fruit. The subject of the king14 is said to have entrusted the royal crime to scratchings in the dust; earth kept it faithfully for a time, until the reed the wind filled freed the message with its music. 20 You can make signs in milk. Until it is warmed the page will keep them all invisible. With an ember or two, the writing will show. Even imitate the Lacedaemonian staff. By writing in a continuous line on the wrappings that surround the polished wood, you could produce a veritable book of parchment, which, untied, 25 will furnish letters answering to no order, out of joint, until you wrap it up around a rod with the same outline. I could describe innumerable and long accepted devices

90

The Principal Correspondence of concealment and disclosure of encrypted messages, Paulinus, if you fear exposure and your worry is the charge of being my friend. That Tanaquil, your wife,15 can be kept in the dark. Despise all other people. Only don’t disdain to pronounce a word to me, your foster-father.16 I am he who first supported you and taught you, first proponent of your offices.17 I was the first to welcome you to the fellowship of the Muses.

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3 To Ausonius: Paulinus, Poems 10 Four summers had already come to the tough ploughmen and winter shivered as often with white frost when not a single note had been sent to me from your mouth; I saw not a single letter penned by your hand. Then a felicitous missive with a pack of good wishes appeared and rendered the long-missed presents manifold. It was actually three letters that teemed with multiple matters, but also a sheet of verse with a three-fold song.18 Much sweetness in music, some bitterness in complaints, devotion, afraid to be critical, had mixed, but a father’s soft-heartedness outweighed a critic’s harshness as I balanced the stings and kindness, in my soul. All that will have its place, though, when, with the heavier noise of heroic defense19 my case be pled. In the meantime, iambic agility will run its course for a little and bring a return of words on a different foot.20 Now this elegiac meter says goodbye:21 she’s given her greeting, “good morrow” for the rest, and holds her peace. Why, father, bid the Muses I dismissed to come back to my heart? Denied to Inspirations and to Apollo barred, this breast is sworn to Christ. Once not with equal skill, but equal zeal, we two agreed to rouse deaf Phoebus22 from his Delphic cave and call the Muses gods. We sought the gift of speech, which our God gave, in wood and mountain; now a new force moves our thought, a greater God says change our ways.

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The Principal Correspondence He claims the gift man owes him – namely, that we live life for the Father – and free time for frivolity, on work or holiday, or tales of words he disallows, so we can serve his laws and tell his light apart, which philosophers’ cunning force and speakers’ art and poets’ fiction clouds, as they steep our hearts in frivolous lies and only ply our mouths and bring us nothing that salvation brings or truth unclothes. In fact, what truth or goodness could they hold without the source of all, the road to goodness, truth, and God beheld in Christ alone? Truth’s light, life’s way, the virtue of the father, force, thought, strength, power, sun of justice, spring of goodness, and God’s flower, born of God, who sowed the world, the life to our mortality, the death to our dying, he is master of the virtues, God to us. For us, as a human, he stripped himself and dressed in us and made between humanity and God immortal commerce.23 His radiance in heaven – when it’s shaken our hearts with light, he wipes the morbid mold from our dull frame, remakes the bearing of our thought and empties what before he did uphold in trade for pleasure undefiled. He claims in whole a lord and master’s right over mind, mouth, head, and wants to be known, thought, believed in, read, and feared and treasured. The empty passions that the toil of living on the present path inflames, belief24 in life to come with God erases. What we seem to spurn, it does not cast away as cheap or common

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92 The Principal Correspondence riches but reminds us they are worth more, owed to Christ, to God who promised more in heaven. Whether wasted out of hand or saved in him, with interest it’s repaid; Good guard without deception to investors, he’ll repay increased investment. More bountiful, with extortionate generosity, God will redeem spent money. Whether one is free or busy or committed or setting all in him, don’t think him lazy or perverse or blame him for unfaithfulness. Can faith be missing in a Christian when being Christian is a proof in kind of faithfulness, and disloyalty disobeys Christ?25 When we learn to foster this, can I withhold from you, my father, all the holy privileges and terms of love God meant me owe? To you I owe my learning, rank, and language, literature and toga, social advancement, height, and standing – patron, teacher, father! Then why, you argue, am I so long away? and you’ll get angry faithfully. Say benefit, compulsion, pleasure – each can be excused. Forgive me like a lover26 if I do what’s best. Rejoice if I live to my taste. My absence from the land of my fathers for three whole years and my choice of another world for my prodigal wandering, where I forgot the work of culture that I shared with your life, is what you blame me for, out of loyalty stirred in holy complaints. I embrace this venerable stirring of a father’s heart. Give thanks I must for his anger when it means his feelings are secure. As for my return, still I prefer you ask the source that can permit it. Could I imagine that you could recall me when you pour out barren prayers on things not holy, when you implore, against his power, “Castalian Muses?”

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The Principal Correspondence Those are not the powers that will recall me to home and you. What is granted – nought, without his power, but deaf names you call, “the Muses,” asking nothing, gentle breezes steal; annulled, the quick winds scatter pointless prayers. If not addressed to God, in empty clouds they’re caught and do not enter into the high King’s starry court. If you care for my return, then look and pray to him who shakes the heaven-high firmament that burns with thunder, who flashes trident fire and does not churn empty murmur, who grants to heaven suns enough and showers too, who is above all that exists, or wholly mixed, directing all things everywhere, instilled in all as Christ, who holds and moves our minds and who arrays our times and places. If he determines something different from our wish, it’s he who must be turned with prayer to what we will. Why blame me? If the acts I do with God as agent anger, he’s author and defendant (if it can be said). His is the privilege to shape and change my mind. For if you remember my old ways, which you knew, then I’ll confess myself I’m not the one who, at that moment I was: though not considered crooked, crooked still was I, astute to darkness of untruth and wise in foolishness to God, living on death’s food. All the more is it right to forgive me, the readier is the recognition of my renewal by the greatest begetter, in this: this is not my act. I do not think, for that, I ought to be alleged as a culpable sin to confess that I change my mind since I voluntarily profess not in my own mind did I change my former life. Mine is a new mind, a mind not mine, as once was not mine, now I avow with God as author. If, in my action or character, he saw something worth his service, to you the glory and to you the thanks are owed: your teaching made it worth Christ’s love. That’s why you ought to be happy and not complain that this Paulinus who grew from your work and ways is yours (you do not deny your paternity, even as you think me crooked), and I so changed my plan that I might deserve to belong to Christ while I am also of Ausonius. He27 it is who will repay the profit of your praise with the first fruits from your tree. This is why I beg that you be happier and not waste

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The Principal Correspondence the great goods sprung from your source by disdaining their profit. 155 My mind is not out of its mind, and my life is not one of flight from social participation, in the cave of Lycia, in the way that you write that Pegasus’ knight28 lived out his life, though many people cultivate untrodden places when divinity makes them. Just as eminent intellectuals once did for their pursuits and the Muses too, so now chaste souls 160 who have accepted the meditation of Christ are thronging to do. They are neither out of their minds nor choosing from savagery to live in deserted places, but rather they are engaged in looking at stars on high and God, and the truth in the depths 165 they have chosen to contemplate. Free from empty cares they love leisure. From the noise of the forum and bustle of affairs and all the work that is not amenable to the gifts of heaven and the empire of Christ – out of love of salvation, from them they hide. On hope and credit29 they follow God whose down payment is pledged, And the reliable Guarantor will not refuse it to those who 170 give credit, if only the here and now does not overwhelm them with empty things and what they see they spurn and what they do not see, the burning senses, penetrating heavenly secrets – they deserve and get them. Perishing things are at hand to our vision, denied are things everlasting, 175 and now we follow on credit what we see in our mind, spurning the changing shapes, the spectacles, of things and the “goods” that harry our badly bodily vision. But for those who have already seen the light of the true and the good, the feeling that is lodged in them is this: 180 the forever of the coming age, the emptiness of what is. But if I do not have the same renown as they, then why the same slander? My faith in my wish is the same, but to one who inhabits an ideal landscape and makes his residence on a rich coast even now, whence comes this untimely reproach 185 of places? Would that the envy of others that plucks at me be justified! I will welcome insults in the name of Christ. No squeamish shame affects minds shielded by God, and the praise I’ve spurned will return when Christ is judge. Don’t carp at me, honorable father, then, like my involvement

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in these pursuits is bad. Don’t revile me my wife 190 or defective mind. Mine is not Bellerophon’s panicky mind. My wife is not Tanaquil. She is Lucretia. And I haven’t suddenly forgotten my fathers’ region. I look up to my Father on high, since only he who notices him is truly remembering heaven. Father, know 195 not unmindful of heaven or out of my mind, I am living and dwelling in civilization. In essence devout pursuits vouch for a person’s ways. For never will any people know God on high through impiety. Many people and places may lack cultivation and law; 200 what place is without at least rural ritual? How does outside depravity harm it? Why do you hurl “the vast tracts of Basque country and the snowy stopover of the Pyrenees” at me, as if I intended to lodge at the very first border of Spain, as if mine were not 205 a region of town and country where up to the edge of the world rich Spain lies open to the sunset? Still, had I the luck to live with the thieves in the hills, I wouldn’t be shivering in a hovel transformed into those tenant farmers with whom I lived in communal barbarity, 210 would I? A clean mind catches no evil, no spot sticks on its sleek insides. That’s why who lives in Basque tracts clean of crime, untouched, well-balanced, catches no moral sickness alone in the kitchen of thieves. But why am I on trial on account of that? 215 On the rare occasion that I invest in far off regions, they neighbor arrogant cities, packed with rich human amenities. And if I had lived in the land of the Basques, why do you not suppose that the migrant foreigners, transformed by my habits, wouldn’t trade their wild rites for ours? 220 But when you put the demesne of Spain on the same level as cities in ruins, and your poetry catalogues ghost towns and mountainous Calahorra and Bambola, looming on sharp rocks, and the hill of Lérida, lying under it30 – all these you toss 225 at me, as if I lived with these people in exile from my hearth past city roofs and roads of humans – in ignorance of the Iberian world, do you think that these are the riches of Spain, when this is where Atlas stands massive beneath the world’s weight and his mountain, our final allotment and the earth’s gate, is cleaving bicoastal Gibraltar even now with its towering height? 230 Do only Calatayud, Calahorra, and Lérida count to the credit

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The Principal Correspondence of the land of Zaragosa, where even idyllic Barcelona and Tarragona’s marked heights see the sea? How can I number the cities outstanding in land and growth where felicitous Spain stretches into the double ocean, the Guadalquivir expands the Atlantic and the Ebro the Tyrrhenian, emptying out in the fullness of two distant bodies of water,31 and bounds the world at the universe’s border? O eminent master, if you had a mind to describe the place you inhabit, would you choose Bordeaux with its lights to conceal and instead write Bohemia, black as tar? When you banish from mind the leisurely baths of Bigorre, and give yourself the gift of well shadowed groves, designing homes to be glad in, fantastically floored, do you live in hovels of gloom and sheds of thatched roofs in wastelands reserved for the loincloths of the Bigorre?32 As a consul of power who himself disparages the arrogant walls of Rome, don’t slight sandy Bazas. Because your land grows green with the plows of Poitiers, should I lament how far, ah far from the actual Roman Capitol the bench of the senator fell to “Rom,” so-called?33 And your purple toga, how it molders in spite of its right to shine untouched in gold amid embroidered Caesars’ robes in the stately city of Latin Quirinus, entwining the still living honor of flourishing office? Yes, you – when you are “held up” in the demesne of Libourne,34 living even so as to outdo the children of Romulus with their towering roofs – couldn’t one say you “slum” on the basis of the neighborhood since it has shared a name with “Rennes,” so-called?35 Many a place can be mocked. One can make fun of ones he made up. But when the tongue runs soft and the teeth gnash hard and the game is magnificent insults and making mockery fructify sweet and bad with the tangy acid of satire, it’s a matter for poets, not for people who claim to be parents. Devotion and credit36 demand that what slander fashions the mind of a father, good in desire, should never admit. Though it slink in his ear, he won’t let it cling and stick inside his heart. The mob that sinister rumor makes malignant considers it criminal to change one’s life and established ways

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not always. A turn to the better is worthy of praise. If you should hear 270 I stay unchanged, then demand more zeal, and then more duty.37 If I live crooked and not straight, if I trade sacred for profane and modesty for conspicuous consumption, grand for poor in laziness, inaction, and obscurity, then have pity for 275 a friend who has turned to the worse.38 To be mad is permitted a gentle parent if a friend should slip off straight paths of habits and scolding will help . . . But if instead you chance to hear that I choose and pursue willing devotion of my heart to the reverend empire of Christ 280 and to pious God, whom I pursue through an educable trust,39 and if I’m convinced by reminders from God that a mortal gets eternal revenue40 bought at the cost of things at hand – I don’t think this should displease a reverend parent such that he think life for Christ is a form of deviance, since that’s what Christ commends, and what I like; I feel 285 no shame about this “deviation.” By those who take different ways, I do not delay to be called a fool, as long as my decision is considered wisdom to the King of eternity. A person is so little, of body sick, of duration quick – without Christ, just shadow and dust. 290 What he condones and what he condemns are only worth as much as the judge who dies with himself. Then his “deviance” is his comrade when the dying decision passes away with the judge who decided. But if our principal care when the time is here isn’t worrying that we live in accordance with the teaching of Christ the Lord, late will it be to lament when we’re stripped of our mortal form: 295 too afraid of the trivial debates of the human tongue, we did not fear the weighty rage of the divine Judge! Sitting at the right hand and set upon the throne of the eternal Father, as King over all, he will come 300 as the years fall, to judge over peoples all on the same scale, as he renders to each their achievements’ worth. So I believe. Full of fear, my zeal speeding faster, I work for relief from the debt of my wrong, be it granted, ere death. Against His arrival, faithful in every fiber, my heart shakes; leaps 305 my soul, on guard for what is coming, in terror lest, because of my body, it surrender in nauseous unease and sink with the weight of things when the endless signal

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The Principal Correspondence sounds and the sky unseals, but my soul proves unable to rise with its agile wings when comes the King but sinks amidst the Nobilities of the blessed millions. Agile in empty air, from the chains of the world all unfettered, they will step with easy momentum up the sheer face of heaven, riding the soft backs of clouds across constellations to reverence the starry King in the air alighting and joining their glorious forces adoring Christ. My fear is here, and here is my work: let not the last day catch me unconscious in black shadows in a meaningless action, spending worthless seconds in blank anguish! For what will I do if I drowse in appeasing prayer when Christ flashes at me from his bastion, the atmosphere? Blind with the sudden beams of the coming of the Lord, will I look for the desperate refuge of nighttime shadow when the light has been turned on me and I am routed? Let neither doubt in truth nor work of anguish nor love or pleasure in things at hand bring that! And so I’ve decided to end my collapse in conversion and mark my anguish off with the life beyond, as I trust in the fullness of time in God in common and wait for terrible death with a heart full calm. If that’s your pleasure too, do thanks for a friend’s good investment. If not, then simply leave me to Christ’s assessment.

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4 To Paulinus: Ausonius, Letters 24 Away, Paulinus, away we shook the yoke. Well, well did we know the mingling that maintained it, light for its yokemates to bear, and sacred. A gentle harmony plied it with regular reins. Through the years as they were rolling in their long chains, it was unhinged by no complaints. No anger, no misinterpretation, 5 no wariness all-too ready to believe in false allegations invented seductively plausible causes to ill sway it. So tranquil was the yoke, so gentle too, our families both maintained it to old age from the font of their youth.41 Placed fast on the devoted shoulders of their heirs, 10 they willed it stay till the faraway day of the ages tear it. And it did stay, while loyalty rejoiced, and no worry toiled in fulfilling reciprocal obligations.42 Rather, of their own accord,

The Principal Correspondence 99 they kept pace with one another without a guide. This yoke is so gentle, even the horses of the God of War would abide it; so would those wild stallions from the barn of Diomedes, or the coursers who plunged into the River Po that unknown son of the Sun from under the reins he had just gained, thunderstruck Phaëton!43 Away, all the same, it is shaken. It is not the fault of us two, but of one only, Paulinus: you. For I will carry it forever on a pacific back. Only I have been abandoned by the partner of my work. Lacking one companion, the other cannot carry a double load as quick. My mind and my capacity are not slipping. It’s a bad deal to carry a burden when the duty of both has been shifted onto the jilted party and the other’s bulk doubles its heft. Even thus the rotten part of a person passes its infection to the healthy member. A crisis hits the smallest section of the body, and in every joint the whole edifice starts tottering. What a celebrity you stole from the crowd! Ah how you cheat the good hope of the elite! The whole nation was talking about their gratitude for us. They were getting ready to count us among the friends of a better era. The glory of Nisus and the glory of Euryalus already faded!44 Faded the glory of that friend of Pythagoras. A better example of friendship we had furnished than Scipio the Great and wise, undying Laelius.45 From our shared pursuits and our hearts, we were even greater for this: we lived in a worse era. Quicker, I reckon, could Alexander of Macedon untie the yoke of the storied Gordian knot, twisted invisible, with its head enwrapping its foot.46 Something somehow too big we must have boasted for the goddess Revenge47 to come crashing on our great hopes! Like this once, long ago, when the Persian was readying to put the stamp of his history on the lands of the Greeks, the avenging Goddess bottled-up the words that he boasted and stopped him. Full of revenge, she was already posing as Athenian Nemesis, as she trampled the vanquished Medes.48 Why now this terrible longing to aggravate sons of Romulus? In clouds and in black havoc, go and attack your Persians, your Arabs. Cast our Latin names far away from yourself.

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100 The Principal Correspondence Go battle your other friends, over there, somewhere where that resentful spleen of yours and that vermilion venom can find hearts that it can threaten with your deception! Paulinus and Ausonius are men whom the purple toga of senators has decked with golden hems. O Nemesis, it does not suit us to fall for the traps of an immigrant goddess! What am I complaining about? Why attack a freak of the Orient? Western shores are killing me. New Carthage in Spain is the cause of my pain. The snow sown heights of the Pyrenees, double ocean

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* * * * perhaps his accent and clothes along with his secure homeland * * * * and vast tracts, over mountains, far off and under a different sun his district displaces each person, past cities and rivers across the expanse of heaven and earth that extends from Mérida on the rippling Guadiana to the lovely Garonne.49 People who long for togetherness think all things are far. But if slight is the road and the span of time that it imposes is short, the space-eclipsing medium of words and careful affection can make far places close. Even thus, Saintes borders Bordeaux, and soon again it borders Agen and the people of the farms of Aquitaine. Even thus with its archways, the five townships of Alpine Vienne are entwined by Arles, not to mention Narbonne, at the very same distance. May you, O mighty Narbonne, soon annex Toulouse!50 If the distance of the neighboring urban emplacements were this, I could embrace you then, as though in my very arms you fit. Then the whispers of our inmost expressions could fill your ears! But now, past the Alps, past the marble wall of the Pyrenees, your home is “the Zaragosa of Caesar” and, by the banks of the Tyrrhenian sea, “Tarragona and Barcelona,” poised over the oyster-rich sea.51 I, on the other hand, am protected from the common crowd

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The Principal Correspondence by the hills of Bordeaux and three close rivers’ flow.52 I pass my leisure on vineland slopes of the good earth, bountiful to the tiller, in fields growing green with life, in a grove of flashing shadows, and then at the busy church around the corner. So many estates, all so close, in the district of Novare I rotate with the seasons, arranging the neighborhoods, to take the chill out of winter weather and let the delicate north wind breathe a finer climate in the furious heat. Without you, though, the seasons arrive with a dull ennui, spring drizzles without a flower, the summer catches on fire,53 the goddess Pomona performs no autumnal symphonies of smell, and Aquarius threatens a winter with oceans unfurled.54 O sweet Paulinus, do you recognize your crime? I too have faith, my reverend love never changes – for the old Paulinus. It lasts even still, it endures: the harmony shared by our fathers, mine and yours.55 If anyone but Odysseus could string his bow or the spear of Achilles flashed agile for any other master,56 only then would that goddess Revenge57 neglect our old pact. But why do I cast dark songs in resentful verse? My soul should apply itself to more favorable prayers. Let fear go far from here. My faith is secure: if God the Father and the Son ever hear the words of devoted wills, my prayer can make you return. Never will I weep for the ravaged demesne of the ransacked and scattered house of the old Paulini, while you wander tracts as vast as sprawling Spain is, forgetting old friends and pledging faith to strangers. Come running back, you are summoned in the wishes and prayers of the good and lordly. For you are my glory, my magnificent worry! Hurry while you’re still young and our waning maturity can offer inexhaustible energy, at your pleasure. When, when will the slave with his newsflash ravish my ear? “Paulinus is here! From the snowy cities of Iberia, he already departed. Now nearing the farms of Tarbe, now darting through the streets of Ebromagus, he promenades in his brother’s estates. He cruises the racing river even now!58

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The Principal Correspondence Now we can see him. Now, around the bend, they steer the prow, 120 as he enters the thronging harbor of his hometown, and a whole crowd of passersby turns to mark his arrival! Now, right now, he just went past his door and knocks on yours!” Is it really true? Or are these dreams, imagined by lovers?

5 To Ausonius: Paulinus, Poems 11 Again you say: against you all unquiet, my silent tongue has held out hard. You blame me for self-satisfied idleness in secret places. Above it all you add the charge of gross neglect of friendship. You allege a redoubtable spouse, but you drive verses hard inside my flesh.59 My prayer is “spare me.” Neither hurt your own nor stir the honey of a father’s words in cup of wormwood, bitter. You always had my heart. Even now to honor you with every obligation and loyal affection is always my ritual. Never even with a slender blemish were the thanks I feel for you made maculate with me. I always feared to hurt you even with a glance or slight you with an unintended meaning. And when I came to you to show respect, I set my mouth more circumspect and sculpted eyes and brow in happy light in fear unfair suspicion lead a father-figure I revere to draw a furrowed umbrage even from my quiet heart. In this my image, my household honored and still honors you. In our love for you we are as one in sympathy as we agree that we owe honor unto Christ all with one mind. Please tell me what spleen sealed your heart to your friends? What sound did Gossip take through ears too open to itself to make inroads into a devoted friend, to shake his brain, and rend new injuries in faith so long in old devotion trained? Did it ill sway a tranquil parent to harm his children? But my mind knows its guilelessness is unfeigned. Accused of failing to observe its father, devotion disclaims all undeserved. It will not tolerate slanderous charges. It is absolutely innocent. It is more grievously pained by unjust assault, as sensitive to hurt as free from fault. You complain that I shook off the yoke by which I had

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The Principal Correspondence been bound to you in our shared zeal? Just this I vow I did not do because a yoke binds equals. No one joins the strong and weak. There is no concord in the reins if the span of the yokemates who yield to it is uneven. If you combine a bull with a calf or a horse with an ass or put a coot beside a swan or a magpie by a nightingale, if mistletoe with evergreen and bush with chestnut tree you match, you might compare us two, but neither Cicero nor Vergil60 can hold a yoke with you. If I am bound by love – I will dare to boast I’m a pair with you only thus: the sweetness of friendship in mutual chains links small and great in a pact everlasting of love reciprocal forever between you and me in commensurate laws. No untoward tale dashes this yoke from our shoulders. No long separation in faraway lands now tears the two of us apart. None will ruin us. Be I distant in time or space, I nowhere live in soul apart. Even life itself will abandon my body before your face fades from my heart. Every passing moment given over to dying beings assigned, while in this cell the body I’m confined in any sphere, not far in sphere but near the light it’s you I’ll store within the weft of me. I’ll see you in my heart, I’ll fold you in devoted thought, all places next to me. Then when I’m free from this imprisoning body and soar from earth afar, whatever star our common Father appoints me, in soul I’ll take you there. The end that from my body me undoes will not undo our love. Surviving from the ruin of my limbs, my mind of stars’ extraction will keep its own ideas and feelings like perforce it keeps its life – undying, unforgetting, for all time remembering and alive.

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6 Appendix: Ausonius to Paulinus, Letters 23 Alternate version of Principal Correspondence 4=Ausonius, Letters 24 Away, Paulinus, away we shook the yoke. Well, well did we know the mingling that maintained it, light for its yokemates to bare, and sacred. A gentle harmony plied it with regular reins. Through the years as they were returning in their long chains, it was never moved by gossip, it was never moved by complaints. Away we shook it, but you’re guilty; I will carry it forever on a pacific back. Only I have been abandoned by the partner of my work. Lacking one companion, the other cannot carry a double load as quick. My mind and my capacity are not slipping. It’s a bad deal to carry a burden when the duty of both has been shifted onto the jilted party and the other’s bulk doubles its heft. Even thus the rotten part of a person passes its infection to the healthy member. A crisis hits the smallest section of the body, and in every joint the whole edifice starts tottering. Still, let me be crushed before an old and faithful companion should fade away while I survive. At least then, in time memorial, my empty solace will be to remember the friend who absconded. Disloyalty!61 You could have torn the yoke of Pirithous62 from Theseus and severed Euryalus from Nisus, his comrade. If you encouraged desertion, Pylades would have left Orestes behind; Damon of Syracuse would have forfeited. O sweet Paulinus, do you recognize your crime? I too have faith, my reverend love never changes – for the old Paulinus. It lasts even still, it endures: the harmony shared by our fathers, mine and yours. If anyone but Odysseus could string his bow or the spear of Achilles flashed agile for any other master, only then would “a mind not mine” neglect our old pact. But why do I cast dark songs in resentful verse? My soul should employ itself in more favorable prayers. Let fear go far from here. My faith is secure: if God the Father and the Son ever hear the words of devoted wills, my prayer can make you return. Never will I weep for the ravaged demesne of the ransacked and scattered house of the old Paulini, while you wander tracts as vast as sprawling Spain is, forgetting old friends and pledging faith to strangers. Come running back, you are summoned in the wishes and prayers

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The Principal Correspondence 105 of the good and lordly. For you are our glory, our magnificent worry! Hurry while you’re still young and our waning maturity can offer inexhaustible energy, at your pleasure. See there, the slave with his newsflash will prick up my ear: “Paulinus is here! From the snowy cities of Iberia he already departed. Now nearing the farms of Tarbe, now darting through the streets of Ebromagus, he promenades in his brother’s estates. He cruises the racing river even now! Now we can see him. Now, around the bend, they steer the prow, as he enters the thronging harbor of his hometown, and leaves all his friends behind to embrace just you! Now, right now, he just went past his door and knocks on yours!” Is it really true? Or are these dreams, imagined by lovers?

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Notes 1 Hybla: a city in Sicily, settled in pre-Roman times by the Greeks: see Comments on ll. 12 and 65. 2 Fish. For the reordering of the lines, see Green (1991, 650). 3 Dindyma, Gagara, Dodona: cities of mainland Greece (see Comments on ll. 16, 23–5, 26), with a circumlocutory description of prophetic instruments similar to Tibetan “singing” bowls. 4 Harpocrates, an Egyptian deity, often depicted with finger at lip: see Comments. 5 In Latin, officia. 6 Literally, “lengthy poems.” 7 Philip of Macedon, requesting permission to invade: see Plutarch, On Talkativeness 21 (Essays on Ethics [Moralia] 513a). 8 In the mid-republic, Spain was a major theater of the Romans’ century-long war against their Mediterranean rival, Carthage, whose general, Hannibal (ca. 247– ca. 182 BC/E), became a byword for anti-Roman treachery. 9 A Roman statesman (b. ca. 126, died 73 BC/E), who rebelled against Rome rule in Spain. 10 See Paulinus, Poems 10=Principal Correspondence 3, ll. 221–38. 11 Philomel. For (mostly Ovidian) sources for this and the following stories, see Comments on ll. 12–27. 12 Tereus. 13 Cydippe. 14 Midas. 15 Therasia: see Comments on l. 31, and also Paulinus to Ausonius, Poems 10=Principal Correspondence 3, ll. 190–2. 16 In Latin, altor. 17 See, in addition to the Introduction 1, Ausonius to Paulinus, Letters 18=Earlier Letters 2, ll. 1–6, with Comments. 18 Principal Correspondence 1–2 previously; the third letter appears to have been lost. 19 A reference to the epic meter (dactylic hexameter) beginning in l. 103.

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A reference to the iambic meter beginning in l. 19. The meter of lines 1–18. Apollo. The Latin adds “with one another”: aeterna . . . in utroque se commercia. In Latin, fides, elsewhere “credit.” In Latin, non esse Christo subditum: literally, “not to be subject to Christ.” Literally, “forgive me, lover [amans].” Christ. Bellerophon. In Latin, speque fideque. In Latin, Bilbilis, Calagurris, and Hilerda: see Comments. The first river flows west and hence to the Atlantic Ocean; the second flows east, and hence to the western part of the Mediterranean designated Tyrrhenian, which the peninsula of Spain separates. In Latin, ll. 241–6, Bohemia, a modern term derived from Ausonius’ reference in the Latin to the Boii (a Celtic people), of various locations near the borders of modern France and Italy; “Bigorre” (l. 242), a modern city in the southwestern France, still named for the springs or “baths” that Paulinus describes, Bàgneresde-Bigorre, Maroialicus (l. 242) but distinct from the original inhabitants, designated by the Latin Bigerris, in English Bigorre (l. 246), a “Baskish” people, according to Strong (1903, 207–8), supported by the etymologies of a later Latin writer of the same region (cp. Herren 1976), whom Collins (1992b) identifies as Celtic. In Latin, Vasatas, Pictones, and Rauranum or Raraunum. On the last, see n. 35, subsequently. The second, translated here with the name of the city, Poitiers, denotes a region named for a tribe in Latin. In Latin, Lucani; elsewhere Lucaniacum. In Latin, Condate, one of several Gallic towns, only one of which, the most northwestern, is now called “Rennes.” The whole passage (from “Rom” in l. 252 to “Rennes” in l. 259) seems to call Ausonius’ out for his tendentious treatment of local names, aimed at assimilating Paulinus’ current illustrious residence to more downscale areas of similar designation or location. In Latin, fides pietasque. In Latin, officium; elsewhere, “affectionate obligation.” In Latin, in mala peruersi, more literally, “bent to bad things”; translated “crooked” at ll. 133, 150, previously. In Latin, docili pro credulitate. In Latin, praemia empta. See l. 98, subsequently. In Latin, officii. Diomedes, the king of Thrace, kept flesh-eating horses whom Hercules quelled. For the chariot of Mars, see, for instance, Ovid, Affairs (Amores) 1.2.23–4. For the story of Phaeton, see Ovid, Metamorphoses 2, especially ll. 150–328. For these legendary friends and lovers of Latin literature, see Vergil, Aeneid 5.294, 9.176–445. For these exemplary friends from the Roman aristocracy (second century BC/E), see Cicero, Laelius on Friendshipa, especially §§1–5, where note their correspondence to Cicero and his friend and addressee Atticus, as here. That is, Alexander could untie the famously inextricable knot more easily than the bond of their friendship could be undone.

The Principal Correspondence 107 47 Rhamnusia. 48 The Battle of Marathon, 490 BC/E. 49 For the geography, see Ausonius, Letters 20B=Earlier Letters 4, l. 47. The Guadiana River marks the boundary between modern Spain and Portugal. 50 In Latin, Narbo Marcius; the exact meaning of the epithet is unknown. For the remaining geography, see Comments on Ausonius, Letters 19B=Earlier Letters, l. 15. 51 See Paulinus, Letters 10=Principal Correspondence 3, ll. 231–8. 52 Garonne, Dordogne, and Isle. 53 Literally, “the scorching constellation of the dog,” including Sirius, the Dog Star, “burns.” 54 The goddess of fruit-trees and “the water-bearer,” a constellation, respectively. 55 See ll. 8–11, previously. 56 On the test of the bow, which only Odysseus could string, see Homer, Odyssey 21.91–5; on the magical exclusivity of Achilles’ spear, see Homer, Iliad 16.141–3. 57 Rhamnusia. 58 From Tarbe (in Latin, Tarbellica), in southwest France, near the border with Spain, Paulinus is imagined journeying East, overshooting Bordeaux to the south, stopping at Ebromagus, in central southern France, a city on the Garonne River, to then sail upstream to Bordeaux, to the northwest. On Ebromagus, see Comments on Ausonius, Letters 19B=Earlier Letters, l. 15. 59 See Ausonius, Letters 22=Principal Correspondence 2, l. 31, previously. 60 Exemplars of Classical learning in prose and verse, respectively: Cicero (106–43 BC/E), Vergil (70–19 BC/E). 61 In Latin, a vocative (“O disloyal one”: impie), elsewhere usually translated in terms of “devotion.” 62 For Pirithous and Pylades, the respective sidekicks of Theseus and Orestes, as well as Damon of Syracuse, who stood surety at the risk of death for his friend Pythias against Dionysus I of Syracuse (ca. 432–367 BC/E), see Martial, Epigrams 7.24.3–4; cp. Cicero, On Duties [De Officiis] 3.45. For the other allusion here (to Nisus and Euryalus), as well as those subsequently (to Odysseus and Achilles, for instance), see the similar or identical passages throughout Ausonius, Letters 24=Principal Correspondence 4.

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Self, Money, Music, Time, and Christ: From Poems 15=Fourth Natalicium (January 398), ll. 1–49 Let the yearly prayer of my will and the yearly payment of my tongue come back to me, O Felix effulgent, so glorious in Christ, on this, your “birth” day. My own is not precious, thus. Though countless crowds in public joy in it, it has something special for your own. Not much to bestow, Christ gave us to you, his own dear friend, to own, not because you deserve dependents so low, when God in perpetual triumph thinks to accompany you worthwhile, but because we are poor in justice and salvation, Our good Father willed us to be rich in such a way our riches badly trafficked in our sins in trade for better riches in exchange for all wealth and all ambitions and noble rank and empty offices – for them, we take Felix as all wealth and fatherland and house. You are my father, nation, land, and assets. Our cradle has been relocated to your lap. Your bosom is our nest. In cherishing that, we grow. Trading our bodies for a different form, we remove our earthly source. In the seed of God’s own word, we’re converted into birds and with feathers, we burst. We know the yoke of Christ, when you lift it, is light. In you, Christ is sweet and delightful, though we are worthless, bitter. That’s why we must hold the day that gave you birth in reverence, because it was then that you abolished all bad things for us, dead to the world, born for good in Christ. DOI: 10.4324/9780203710845-4

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Selections From the Poems of Paulinus 109 And so, O lyre, rise. Extend your sinews one and all. Arouse the power of my soul. Let love my still unsinging insides pound until the shaken sound box (my heart) makes my teeth throb. May plectrum tongue pick mouth harp loud. Not mine to rouse Castalian Muses, hallucinations of bards, and call deaf Phoebus from his Aonian hollow. The chorister of my song is Christ. By Christ endowed, though I have sinned, I dare to avow the heavenly story of the saint.1 Not hard for you, almighty God, to open my mouth in cultured song when you bid dumb things speak and dry things flow and hard things open. You made the donkey bray with speech. In the mouths of suckling babes, you put songs of perfect praise. You made the unbreakable rock open up in a creek. You bade the arid earth all of a sudden start streaming and watered the wastes rewarding your peoples’ speculation. Dry though their souls were, they flooded with thankful devotion. The streaming rock refreshing them from the living font was Christ. A fraction of the human race, I too depend on that endowment, Christ, of your dew. Parched, I pray for living gulps of you. Give me the word from your fountain. Without you I cannot avow your story. For indeed your martyr’s glory is your glory.

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From Poems 13=Second Natalicium (January 396), ll. 1–19 O Felix, you have the name you have earned, and you, one and the same, have been earned by your name: Happy. It is again the day that you entered the rolls of heaven when Christ his majesty accepted you, confessor. Now is the time to keep our promise and lavish you thanks. O father, O lord and master, you are so good to your servants, though they be unworthy: you granted us our wish, at last to celebrate your birthday at your house! Fifteen years, a long time, quickly passed, since at this holy rite, I made my vow and promised you my heart.2 Even when tribulations had scattered me over land and sea, far from your abode, in another world, you knew –

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110 Selections From the Poems of Paulinus you who are always and everywhere close to me – because I called you on life’s hard paths of uncertainty. I entered the seas. You were my captain. Fear of peril vanished in love of you, never without you. For I felt your bastion as I vanquished savage seas in our Lord Christ. On the land and over waves because of you, I am always safe. I beg and pray: implore the one in whose great name you stand to bring peace to your near and dear with everlasting devotion. B.

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From Poems 21=Thirteenth Natalicium (January 407), ll. 175–97, 344–413, 672–703 Always have I honored this day more, thinking it to be my actual birthday, than the very day on which I was born. Worthy rather was that day to mourn. Thrust then into worldly finitude, sinner falling from a sinner’s belly, gotten from the darkness of wrongdoing, mother bore me guilty from day one. Cursèd be that day, then, when for wrongdoing, from wrongdoers I came forth. Blessèd be for me that day of “birth” when my patron scaled the universe: Felix raised to power, virtue, with both enriched to cleanse me of my filth, casting off these chains, redeemed he me from the baleful death of my “birth” day. Every time the orbit of the year turns its circle all take up this day. Every year new kindnesses repair rich diversities of gifts which Christ gives his comrade Felix to make mine. Come to all, this selfsame day unchanging brings me still new subjects for my song. ..... Now for you, my reverend Father, my Protector forever – the one who uplifts me, O Felix so precious to Christ – I harmonize my song; I count out modest words of thanks. You have endowed me with a wide array of still new gifts. Supporting my estate in this life here, they justify speculation

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Selections From the Poems of Paulinus in the future. That I owe myself to you, to memory I declare because I was bequeathed by Christ to you as a gift from my first year. If gifted speaking coursed from me in gushing waves and a hundred openings of my mouth resounded with a thousand tongues – not even if I overflowed in the loan of all these fountains – could I expound all the endowments invested by Christ the Lord in Felix, his friend, then channeled to me, his dependent, when he became a Confessor. Which gift should I mention before the other? Different in denomination, equally generous in value, so many accrue. I couldn’t choose which is better than which to declare for the record. Abundance throws ready judgment into confusion. If I return to my beginning and if I pass in review the gifts he here made mine, with equal devotion at different times, I could count the hairs on my own head, good Felix, before I could recount the gifts that you laid at my door. If I could only reach them, you first tossed me seeds of the proceeds of heaven for a salvific cause. For I was a boy when I travelled from western shores of Gaul and my tentative steps first touched your doors. I beheld the stupendous memorials of holy works electric above the threshold where, in body interred and locked inside, you poured out good deeds far and wide. I gulped the good faith of your godly name with all my heart, I basked in your light, and I fell in love with Christ. You guided me, a young man, to the office of the fasces. You restrained my hand. Each day you saved my salvation. Clean of the condemnation of human blood3 I remained. You were there when in my youth I had the first fruits of my beard trimmed at your tomb, as though it were you who sheared them.4 After that rite of passage had passed in the grace of your presence, I began to trace the foundations to be laid here in Campania. You built a chamber-to-be for your humble servant. Investing my heart with the Spirit, with a silent thought, you bid a way to be opened and paved straight to your house; you commanded the vault attached to it to rise above the roof

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112 Selections From the Poems of Paulinus from a long way off. The shelter that the homeless used before was under that. Behind all this a double-vaulted building rose where our present chambers are a shelter still. A portico below now serves for the poor and ill. It supports us too, a home built over the hospital where we dwell. Right here, the health of the destitute rooms with our own wounds, roommates beneath the same roof. Let us render comfort to one another as friends right here. Let their prayer fortify our foundations. Let our roof shelter the kindred bodies of our brethren, the destitute. At any rate, when I was relieved of the staves of my authority,5 six in number, and when I ceded that axe, immaculate of all slaughter, because you called me back, I made a return to the one-time shores of my birth, and my worried mother. Later, an émigré crossing the Pyrenees, I approached our neighbor, the Spaniard. There, according to the law of human beings, you endured my taking the conjugal yoke; you made two souls a merger6 where the wellness of one soul through a doubling of the flesh might yet offset the salvation that the other one put off. Such was the other path from which my life came forth and though I began to promote it far away in another world on the thundering shores of Gaul, pulsing with the froth of the Atlantic Ocean, sundered from your home I was not far from there in mind. Clinging to Felix’s bosom all the time, I felt Felix standing by my side in all my business, working for all goodness in all things in public and private. He alone protected me. He was the asset of my business, he made Christ’s power happy, forever presenting prosperity here, and disarming disaster. ..... So now I will sing the work of the water. O Felix, pray to the Lord for a gift of a word from the Word to rush in me even now with an ease of speech like the bounty of the stream, the gift that you gave in the volume of water that flows in this house, your court – all of it: the waterworks for which on our behalf you were petitioning,

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Selections From the Poems of Paulinus 113 and which the Lord bestowed and ornamented and augmented in the works that he conferred upon our fields as they were thirsting. From that bounty once again the rock of Christ has flowed, restoring the gift of the devotion of old, that he might irrigate an entire region that had been dry before then and bring the earth lying waterless all of a sudden to then begin to flood; in the holy court of his dear Felix, with different visitors gathered from diverse townships, from the streams and the bountiful tributaries there rush all at once new drafts into capacious basins, wells, and cisterns. But who, O ultimate source, would gift my wasteland with your irrigation of the dry rock of my heart and build this house on a firm foundation? Who will slake me with the waves of you, which yield my arid heart a vein of living water springing for eternity? But even in the very word I speak, a trickle of a thread of speech has also issued from that tributary where the waves of water overflow. For who, O ultimate power of the ultimate Father, Christ, can say anything at all without you? Your Spirit fills our breath when your name is said, and in its light we make out the light of the Father and Son alike. Thus, in its holy guidance we avow that God and the Father are Christ. Still, since I carry the name of the living source in my mouth, while a trickle of the stream of the word has filled my mouth, my lips take up its flavor and my hot tongue bespeaks the work of the water as if it had been soaked with greater bounty, with jaws undried. C.

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From Poems 26=Eighth Natalicium (January 402), ll. 395–428 Let’s not discuss past proofs of other powerful debts. We know it from experience. The fear from a fresh ordeal still shakes our souls. Remembering it, we contemplate all that we almost lost when our houses were blazing. The cinders of the flames grow warm again, although they have been quenched and cover our minds with the amassing love of Felix the Great. We saw him when he was right here in the nearly physical act of blocking the flames with his hand and of protecting our thresholds adjoining his own, which the flames, as if afraid,

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Selections From the Poems of Paulinus shrank from almost touching before the saint’s withstanding face. Recoiling from the height of our home, which they were ready to capture, they approached it but then they burned out in the hovel next door. What a wonder I declare! Without so much as a breeze, the air was suddenly still. The wind in the leaves scarcely stirred a murmur to keep the flying fire from advancing further, hurling itself through the thatched huts of the neighborhood. Abandoned by the dwindling winds, the flames refused to continue, lagging exhausted and wasting their food. In the same way, even now, Felix, use your resources to free us from danger and keep evil from our house. May fearsome anger recoil with its gory lash, only roaring at a distance. You, enwrap yourself in that virtue and power of forefending battles in which you were clad when the banks of the nearby mountains could not contain the inundation from the sudden rain that swelled them, and crashing down headlong upon your halls, they overflowed and would have shattered the little shacks attached to your vast abode in a violent deluge till the flood reversed, because you made it change direction! Now in a new bed, the furious river runs through an area different than it did. It circumvents our houses as it takes a distant passage. Now, as then, when a crashing wave of battles is drawing close, avert it from our homes; let hands that lack devotion stay away from holy places. Let your grace be a bastion. Let enemy combatants, as if they were demons, fear your halls. Keep stains of slaughter far from what you saved from fire and water.

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From Poems 31=Consolation to Pneumatius and Fidelis (ca. 393–408), ll. 593–628 O Celsus the love, Celsus the loss, and Celsus the light of family and friends, you graced us quickly, Celsus, but your grace lasts long for you. For us too it will certainly be enough,

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Selections From the Poems of Paulinus 115 if now that you’re near the Lord you remember us. Although you were young in your age, your earnings were colossal. Your time was short. Your devotion was powerful. Now it has been demonstrated: the kingdom of heaven is home to children who, in mind in life in faith, are also like our son. He too was called to heaven, just as soon as he was given, and he had your name too. We prayed so long for offspring, but because we were undeserving we never earned the joy of his later devotion. To you then, Celsus, in lands forever green, we give that boy in faith, to share your joy and life, for you to play with. To the charge of our neighbors, the martyrs, in the district of Madrid7 we entrusted him, in the compact of a grave, that he might draw on the blood of the local saints and mix a bit of our souls into their flame. Thus, for us former sinners, too, perhaps this little drop of blood of ours8 will be a light like you. Celsus, help your brother. Be a fellow laborer in devotion, and we will find a place of rest in both of you. Live forever as brothers. Live as partners. Dwell together in that happy place you both deserve. Dispel the sins of your fathers, brothers. Use what your innocence has earned to be hallowed advocates on our behalf. You, Celsus, lived as many years as that little life of ours lived days, older inasmuch as he died first but younger to the extent that he lived less. So, in a certain sense, because he departed earlier, there he is your elder. So then, Celsus, take your family’s side alongside your brother. By virtue of paternity we also are your blood. When you mention your mother Fidelis and your father Pneumatius, don’t forget your friends, Therasia and Paulinus.

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Selections From the Poems of Paulinus By virtue of your prayers we will share a bastion in Christ when He is merciful to your family, including us.

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From Poems 15=Fourth Natalicium (January 398), ll. 50–83 And so, come close and be my guide that I might trace the story of your friend Felix from its origin.9 A noble birth and eastern in extraction, Felix was not fit for any other fatherland except the one that provided us patriarchs, except the one that provided us prophets, the hallowed receptacles of Christ. From there, the Gospel sound effulged like light; from there it poured its waves on the tongues of the Apostles over the entire world. Not yet born, but owed to God, when his begetter departed, Felix came to Italy in his father, and that is how he came to term upon our shores, a citizen in his heart, who remembered being born in no other land than ours.10 Father Abraham was just like this. Following the orders of God, he traded the land of his fathers for foreign sod. He sowed his hallowed seed in the fields of Canaan. Through his11 offspring departing for lands of foreign sojourn a symbolic genealogy brought Felix in our direction. A faith brought to perfection brought him in his procession from such a source to us, to be a vein of faith devout. Felix is at rest, interred in his flesh, even now – except in spirit, alive in Christ. When the exalted virtue of his earnings is at work, he trades the hardness of the rock for the seeds of Abraham and unto the good of life, he animates them. Begotten in this city then, by Syrus his begetter, He dwelt in Nola the beloved in the image of a father’s homeland. Prospering somewhere agreeable, bequeathed a great deal of gold, he flourished, rich in wealth, even as heir he was not alone. With his brother, Hermias, who was named for their father, Felix divided earthly wealth. Of that which was in heaven alone he took ahold. A difference of opinion divided the brothers twain. The world motivated Hermias. Christ elevated Felix to Himself. The first preferred unstable investments. The second preferred the firm. The first inherited things at hand. The second exchanged earth for heaven, inheritance for kingdoms. Not his father’s heir like the first, he was co-heir with Christ.

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Selections From the Poems of Paulinus 117 B.

From Poems 16=Fifth Natalicium (January 399), ll. 254–88 I already told the story of how he defeated death and personal glory. Now come and listen to another example of the confessor’s victory: how he conquered greed. Many a house and much property were part of the wealth that was his from his father’s bequest. The confessor was slated for proscription. But when politics settled, he had permission, if he wanted it, to stake a claim to what was his. Nevertheless, he preferred to observe the word of Paul the apostle:12 all things are lawful unto me, but not beneficial. Preferring the useful to the acceptable, he rejected his right to the confiscated wealth as if it would infect him with the fallenness of the earth. Everybody upbraided him. Chief among them was a lady from a famous family, a widow named Archelais, as much a saint for her devotion as she was wealthy and eminent. She venerated Felix as a saint with devoted faith. To her, he also felt affectionate. Venerating him to the degree that he had earned, they say she took it for granted that he would agree with her on the basis of their relationship. She pestered his devoted heart with constant complaints. Why was he renouncing his claim to be repaid when the money was his and waiting? Taking back that capital at a high rate of interest, he could distribute it to the destitute. Many were the works that she often conferred from her own reserves. He was simply happy in his honest sense devotion. He smiled at her fretful femininity with heartfelt indulgence. He knew in himself well enough how the treasure already laid up in heaven would offset the loss that he took in earthly wealth. He had an effective response, then, to his friends who pressed him: you want me to waste eternal income to recover earthly investments? Riches with death are worth less than salvation with destitution. Rich, I will be poor of God. If I am poor, I will have Christ. Apart from riches, my riches will be the generosity of Christ. Holding on to this thought, he rented a pauper’s yard. As a tenant farmer,

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Selections From the Poems of Paulinus he worked the modest property of a couple of acres without the right of calling it his own, without a servant. The wealth that flowed from this needy hut, he squandered on the Lord. He always shared his produce with the poor, and with the poor, his room and board.

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From Poems 18=Sixth Natalicium (January 400), ll. 40–51, 211–80 I for my part do yield to those who are mightier in feckless gold, whose cloaks are unfurled, heavy with coin, when the needy are filled. They throw open their ready resources with magnanimous hand while, betrothing their soul with various dowries, near they stand, matched in attitude and distinct in capacity. With no less alacrity, tables fat in food, paintings, tapestries, candelabra, they dedicate – magnificent, silent. In contrast, with my tongue’s office zero in riches, I indenture myself in my debt’s service and, cheap offering though I am, I pay for myself with myself. I don’t fear rejection, because not cheap to Christ was the outlay of devotion of the poor. Happy, with praise two coins, the pious widow’s net worth, he received. .....

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Open your hearts, I beg and I pray. It won’t cost you a lot. If you do, I will say something huge in a few measly words. If you remember the widow detailed in the first part of my talk, whom, telling her apart, not from her resources, but the worth of her thought, as she was giving her all, God preferred to those who gave a lot – 215 then bear me too as I speak great things in a slight account. These words of mine are like her mites, which were endowed with value by devotion, which made gold cheap. Once upon a time there was a person, slender in means, plebeian in origin, rural in upbringing, supplementing his meager poverty on the rent of twin 220 cows which he hired out. Now he would be employed in hauling freight with them, contracted locally. Now he earned his wages from their labor. These were the proceeds of his poverty (less the plow).13 Speculation, accumulation, each

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were equally stressful to someone poor like that. Less dear, his offspring and himself to him. He considered the cows his children and possessions. No less effort did he expend to feed his cattle than to raise his children – even less generous to his children than his precious flock. No paltry pasture, no sterile straw he fed them; but, cold in an open shelter, he gave the grain that he denied his children and himself. He starved – wanting on his own account, magnanimous to the cows whose fruitful toil filled his want. These, then, were the precious consolations of his life, and when the poor man sank into a deeper sleep one night, he lost them. They were abducted in silent banditry. Rising the next morning to yoke them in the usual way, the miserable wretch began to search, first in the stables and soon through customary fields, all unsuccessful. Spent in empty wandering, now he was at a distance, and now he was near again but found no footprint. Filled with devotion as he was, he soon gave up on human help; his hopes were dashed and yet in his broken heart God filled his downcast mind with breath, and he raised it to heaven. His soul was refreshed. His devotion took hope for granted, and he drank it up. His prayer was a sharer in it. Now he seeks the holy hall of Felix with quick step and ample grief. He throws himself before the doors. He kisses the threshold, and with tears, he soaks the floor. Now lying here, he makes demands on Felix the devoted as if he had been the watchman of the cows who had been stolen in the night. He mixes his prayerful words with these laments. “O Felix, you are holy to God. You are the wealth of the poor, always happy (he meant ‘felicitous’), always rich to those in need. God made you the relief of tired people, a break for the afflicted, and a balm for the wounded hearts of those who grieve. And for this reason, lying back, Destitution rests its head in you as in its father’s lap. O holy Felix, you who have always pitied my toil and work, have you forgotten me now? I ask you why, now that I’ve been stripped to my skin, have you left me behind? The cows I lost were your precious gift, which I begged you to keep in trust, and you protected them too. With your perpetual goodwill, you put them to pasture on my behalf. Your stewardship and your right hand were enough to keep them safe

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120 Selections From the Poems of Paulinus and fat, but this night took them back! Poor wretch, just tricked, what should I do? Whom do I charge? Or do I lodge a complaint against you with you? Do I accuse my patron himself of negligence? You let me slip into a sleep so deep that I wasn’t even conscious of the thieves as they were breaking down the door. You let them do it: didn’t break their hardened hearts with fear or turn a light on their theft in the dark or care to make a clue betray their departure. So, where do I run now? What recourse have I got? A shadow falls on all my things. My home feels shut to me since now without my wards I am desolate. There is nothing for me there, no thing I want – sweet to look at, sweet to work! To grant the poor profit and pleasure – that will be grace, for sure…” ..... And thus he actually complained, with an irritable tone but a faithful mind, and as he was praying without cease the martyr heard, happy with the unpleasant supplicant, and making a joke with the Lord, smiled at the complaint. D.

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From Poems 20=Twelfth Natalicium (January 406), ll. 1–27 Often, from mental devotion, a good lord and master plays the part of servant to his precious dependents. With the affection of a father, he protects his property in them. More personally invested in their support, he shows a prying concern for those servants even more when they are poor in virtue and self-help. If one, for instance, has promised to celebrate a special occasion, the kind of practice that the custom of humankind demands, but he lacks resources to make it happen, in his enthusiasm the master will take care of the needy servant. Rich in the resources the poor slave lacks, the master covers the cost of the grand event. These are the terms that I have been given by Felix my patron. Nothing of mine is from me, and all that is mine is from him. Take his birthday now for instance. Just as in years past, each time that day touched me especially in the flower of its prime, and I had no resources for provisioning the holy feast, when the day was at hand and still, I had no possible means, from anyone at all, for making provisions – then suddenly, see!

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Selections From the Poems of Paulinus 121 a generous patron granted me enough to supply a grand banquet: a sow and two pigs. From their flesh, the poor were fed, and then, since God had given us undeniable signals, through the meat itself, that this was a miracle, from this same livestock we took this material.14 Through exalted reckoning, God goaded humans to reach for Christ and faith instead of fleshly need for on account of this disgraceful act of our own greed the present narrative will teach how God has given signs through livestock who lack human reckoning.

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E. From Poems 21=Thirteenth Natalicium (January 407), ll. 414–459 You, Felix, always felicitated me. With unending devotion, you, Father and protector, you kept me from my wretchedness. When I was suffering, in trouble from the blood of my murdered brother, and the problems of my kin put me in danger, born from blood, and the purchaser was already coveting my income, You saved my neck from the blade, O Father, and my father’s estate from confiscation. You stockpiled me and mine for Christ the Lord. Why Christ brought aid to my house and my head at that moment, why Felix’s powerful care was close at hand, the grand event that followed this made plain: it was to change my social position and my decision about my life. My good faith betrayed my fatherland and house. It walked abroad in far-flung lands to do commerce. It threw it all away to buy the bearing of the Cross. The wealth of the earth was spent on speculation in the realm of heaven. Subsidized by God, stronger from good faith than wealth in the flesh, this speculation yields unending wealth while wealth in the flesh spoils the speculation. The speculation yet leaves wealth untouched if the conqueror is good faith. Rather, changed for the better by the divine entitlement, wealth is transformed by it, deposited in heaven far from the earth, easy to scatter, but rendered eternal when Christ insures it in a trust. He does not only reimburse the sum total of the deposit, but the interest is compounded

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Selections From the Poems of Paulinus for the lenders who redeem the cash that they invested in the trust. He makes himself the wealth of his trustees. What property confers more wealth than this property does? If the entire universe had been my personal property, a better owner than Christ the Lord there could never be. Who rendered me here and now the owner of such a property even in trust? Who obligated me to reject that property there in exchange for Christ, converting Christ to my profit? Who but you, opponent of my wrongdoing, O Felix, the friend of my wellbeing, and the eternal source of my strength? You traded my fatherland for a superior acquisition when you made yourself my fatherland. You broke these chains of flesh away from us. Raising us from this wasting blood of corruption, You chose us from the shores of our homeland. We emigrated to you as our home instead. You made us take deep breaths and hope for heavenly things, and then you switched our family of origin and its mortal forebears. Now among friends of the Lord in heaven, by transcribing our name in the eternal record, you altered the mortal source of our birth and erased our faces of death. You wrote us in the book of salvation instead. For what did I have then, when I was said to be a senator, like I have now, when I am said to be the poor?

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From Poems 21=Thirteenth Natalicium (January 407), ll. 488–550 For me to compare the house that I now occupy with the mansions that I left behind, you need to compare what I now have with what I remember I had had, but with judgment suitable to it. 490 What house could be as beautiful and what field of my mortal estate as fertile for me as precisely the stock Christ put in my poverty? Through him I overflow with Felix, my lucrative holding of never-ending dividends. But to recall the plantations of my former social class, 495 all that once, whatever its form, to me was one time great was dust and the wind-like image of an empty shape. If there were gold and precious stones, the good would consider them a worthless expense, an expensive pollution for the covetous.

Selections From the Poems of Paulinus 123 But now I am free from resources – not resources, but rather, free from accursed burdens, at liberty to profit in poverty, free from all that having. Now the chains of my enemy have no uncovered part to latch onto.15 The illicit image of the deceiving world with its many forms falls quick from the easy body, with not a single loved thing choking it. O indigence of Christ which I revere and value higher than the entire world! Depriving people of their wealth, you pay them from the heavenly treasury, like dredging the earth of its filth. You demolish our earthly structure as you build the eternal up. In a new market for currency, you convert the wages of the earth for the cash of life. For loss and gain, you make an exchange where saving costs us and spending is the way to make a profit, but if the expenditure is unethical it counts as a loss. For only under the account of Christ does liquidating one’s estate at the command of God bring profit. Investing in scandalous secular enterprises is the real waste. Conspicuous consumption and self-promotion are the wages of greed, and they gamble with life. In each of them alike there hides a malignant death, which the desiring things of the earth finish off no less than rotten lust, seductively sweet. But you magnificent Felix, your desire is to make me destitute of wealth like that and to make me rich with life instead. In poverty’s attire, in the eyes of the rich of the world, from you I acquire no end of death worth mourning for. In their use of mortal money all that the rich procure is to burn forever, in the company of worms. Not only in these rooms do you will us to dwell by your side. You are already planning to support us as your roommates in eternal life, to mold us on the model of our Lord Christ since you came to completion in the image of Him you assumed while walking the earth, O erstwhile human, rich and then poor. For who is unaware of that destitution of yours, and how, as a Confessor, overjoyed when the government seized your wealth, you entered them in a holy account? Endowed with that, Felix, you tended your old age day by day in a yard that you had on rent. That’s why you strive to make your hospital guests

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Selections From the Poems of Paulinus the same as you. In their devotion, the destitute do not in fact look altogether different from you. In truth, The road of Christ and the road of the rich are as out of joint as wolves are at odds with lambs, as shadows with light. Open is the road, vertiginous is the slippery slope, and wide is the way to hell as it speeds the greedy rich who sink beneath the weight of amassed possessions. For martyrs and for peaceable confessors, a very few, the road of Christ is wide open, though sheer is the path. Because of a weight limit then, this road is closed to those who overpack. The decorous thing is for servants and followers of the blessed martyr to be restrained, to be slender, to be undressed of obnoxious impediments. From healthy destitution let them get thin. Thus may they also make it through the tight gate of the Lord and climb His sublime mountain’s height.

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From Poems 25: Epithalamium (Written Between 400–407), ll. 69–104 But you, O children of Christ, abjure all things for which the cost is condemnation, for which the use is destruction.16 Believe the words of the Bible: for those who desire them there rises the stuff of punishment from personal luxuries. Isaiah warns that women who wear wardrobes of purple and silk and sinuous dresses of crimson that crinkle with gold in folds that they draw all around their ankles will be bound by brassieres of coarse cables. Clad in sackcloth, bound by the ropes, without end, they will toil under the big stones of a prison mill. Those ladies who lard their hair with a pile of locks will bear the disgrace of a shaven head laid bare. Avoid adornment in such endowments, O newlywed! Your husband is a saint, and only the empty senses like such things. Don’t go wishing in your wandering to be recognized by the nostrils when you walk, with perfume in your clothes and locks. Don’t sit with tortured masses of intricately plaited tresses like a building with a tower for a head. From your glamor you will only become the deplorable source of diseased seduction to men worked up for the worse.

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Selections From the Poems of Paulinus 125 Don’t go desiring like a creature with a foul mind to be attractive to your husband by adding inches to your person. You too, O saintly boy, as a lover, don’t worry about physical beauty. To holy scripture, stay devout.

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For Christ already offset that loss by adorning you with a beautiful soul whose dowry is riches perpetual. He has endowed the two of you with shamefast presents once and for all: 95 hope, devotion, faith, peace, self-control. The word of God is silver, and the Holy Spirit is gold; the glories of good works are jewels for your minds. If your modest lifestyles ever bother your noble minds, and if it flatters your hearts’ conceit for a price to solicit it, 100 let past instances of holy figures and the shamefast plainness of the earliest human beings fortify your restraint. Look at the ancient examples of our parents residing in paradise: a single field was their whole universe.17 H.

From Poems 31: Consolation to Pneumatius and Fidelis (393–408), ll. 485–544 But God has taught us the truth. The one who sowed the world Himself explains the entire truth of His works. Learn from the biblical passages concerning the poor, concerning the rich. In Abraham lies the poor, and the rich in the fire. When justice changes the scales, they will feel joy, who wept before, and the rich will live the life of the completely poor. The poor will enjoy a good rest, to the full. They are paid at last. The rich will scream in the fire and pay the price. The rich will beg for barely a drop from the poor. When they were on top, they denied the poor who went begging even a scrap. Now not a bit of relief will drip on the burning rich from even the little finger of the poor, because not a crumb for the mouth of the hungry poor ever fell from the great tables of those feasters crammed full.

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126 Selections From the Poems of Paulinus Let us learn from these intimations how it is holy justice to live as Christ and award the poor their part as a class. You consider the needy disgusting. When you recoil from the destitute, you have an intimation of the sentence devoted to you. Wondering at how you sparkle in lavish attire, you don’t even realize the vile and disgusting lifestyle you show inside. The wardrobe of your mind comprises all that appalls you in the bodies of the poor only with more disgusting, viler rags and sores. You who are rich and greedy, who scoff at the blind and who avoid touching the lepers, prefer to cherish your leprosy inside. To human eyes they are damaged and destitute, yes, but you are hideous to God in the damage of your soul. Perverted wretch! You stint your fellow shareholders in nature. Because of their need, you take their share with greed. All that disposable income, which you hide in a hole in the ground, belongs to the poor, you unrighteous oppressor. Why keep someone else’s possessions? Why speculate in the stuff of renunciation, stolen from its owner by you when you’ll never possess it? When you raise your angry brow with a furrowed look at the poor who disgust you, you become heartless for what is wealth in name alone. You refuse even to use the word human to describe the people who don’t seem utterly flooded with the same luxury. They come in the form of the son of god when he appeared in the world. He could have come a rich man, but he chose to be poor. And when he came, God did not choose the ones at the top. He chose the wretched of the earth. He let the weak destroy the strong. The rich with their riches, the strong with their might, and even the wise man of prodigious understanding may no longer be glad in themselves.

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Selections From the Poems of Paulinus 127 No one can put faith in personal wealth and continue applauding themselves since all that is sown is reaped from the origin, God. Christ came as a refuge, forged in the person of the destitute to the disgrace of the rich, to the glory of the wretched. We are His hungry. Let us run after His divine perfume, and it will keep the stench of death from us. Who else can grant me the privilege of mixing priceless balm of nard with my tears as I wash the holy feet of my Lord? I care for you too, my friends. Put effort toward careful devotion. Belong to God the infinite in the marriage of your mind. The time is at hand. The Lord is nigh. Prepare yourselves to appear at the arrival of the King. Only a little time remains! Make use of your resources in a generous show of devotion and tear the root of evil from your hearts. Lock the price for your lives in the heart of the poor. Sanctify your heads with exorbitant acts of devotion. Scrub with your hair, wash with your eyes, and kiss the immaculate footprints of our Lord Christ.

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From Poems 6=Praise of John (Early 390s), ll. 1–26 O Father of things on high, eternal Power of heaven, Companion of our Salvation, O Glory of the Saints, O Christ, O Holy Spirit, inhering in the Father and Son alike, O Guide of our minds and our mouths who gives us the strength only earned by faith: yours is the power in full to pour ingenious voice in unspeaking animals! Show us John who rushes down from the Gospel-source and courses through the dry waterway of our song. He alone was such a one as could have given to the world the One18 he through new miracles bade to be born. It is permitted to trivial talents to spend themselves on the great. Heaven’s inhabitants do not disparage our worthless praise. Part of their works is acclaiming the works of the faithful, and nothing I will sing is new or mine. The prophets said it all before. For in the saints’ talk, free and plain,

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Selections From the Poems of Paulinus was the Coming assured. They immortalized life and death, if earning heaven with blood can be called “death.” Our prayer is but to unfurl their words with our song’s strains and with a rhyme to expand our readers’ minds. Still, it is right to compare the small to the great, the new to the ancient, to the uninformed the Consummate, the Eternal to those in decline. When God was still inspiring what those before us said, David made the Holy Name unto the lyre to fit by hammering harmonious strings with the heavenly pick! Right too for us to just make mention of God and to admit an idea of heaven in breasts benighted by many a sin.

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From Poems 17=Farewell (Propemptikon) to Nicetas (prob. 400), ll. 101–51 The land will be receding from the sea. The bay of the Adriatic, calm, will be accommodating as the wave unrolls and as the sail billows with west wind. Cruising from there to its ocean neighbor, you’ll travel in a ship armed with the name “Salvation.” In the Cross your sailyard,19 you’ll conquer safe from storm and wind. Let happy sailors’ rhythmic songs of rowing change their time becoming hymns. They’ll bring companion winds with voices of devotion with them to the ocean. Sea-wide, loud as a clarion, the tongue of Nicetas shaping psalms will sing Christ to all; it is immortal David with the lyre. When all hear “Amen” and the holy man sing to the Lord, the whale will tremble. Clear past monsters, happy in wanton whirls, all will pass. Everywhere blossoming with wide smiles, the dolphins will play nearby.

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Selections From the Poems of Paulinus 129 Rivalling humans, even without a voice, they’ll express like joys. For what is insensible to God? What not alive? His word sowed all Creation. So, the silent depths of the ocean know and cry the praise of God. Witness to this for us in the old prophet20 the whale that stirred in the depths to the nod of the Lord and snatched him when engulfed, then coughed him up. Now, however, the very beast before our bard will devour a chorus of faith with his ears alone. The stuff of song will glut his unfilled belly. C.

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From Poems 18=Sixth Natalicium (January 400), ll. 1–24 Every year it has been my sound policy, because of devotion, to celebrate today and make my speech its servant. Sacred duty is incumbent on me. From my mouth, the poems must mention Felix. With promised verse, my joy and happiness must be set to music. The enormous earnings of my dear patron must be performed in song. Pursuing the heights by a path that is tight on a hard road fully passable to few is how I announce he reached the innermost hearths of the high citadel! Brothers and sisters, be in harmony with me and sing along. I beg and pray: pour out your hearts in undefiled excess. Sacred pleasure and undefiled singing suit good faith. Can anyone holding Christ with love and fear forbear from taking joy today? Can anyone walk devoid of prayer with all the resources of talent and tongue and money that they bear when the elements themselves are adopting a bright and festal attire and showing how even the denizens of the heavens rejoice in Christ? Do you21 see how the joy of the universe shines in luminous

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Selections From the Poems of Paulinus holiness in the middle of bright day? A luminescence lays ahold of everything. Dry showers come in a powder from the clouds as a veil of snow ensconces the earth.22 The ground, the roofs steeped in snow, the forests, the hills, and the mountains 20 dressed in snow do witness to the hoary glory of the old saint.23 The angelic elements themselves show how among the devoted famous Felix acquired light and peace in the tranquil places through which the milky blanket of the silent heavens passes.

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From Poems 27=Ninth Natalicium (January 403), ll. 60–106 One day follows the solemn event. Till the festival lights on the people again, we now count seven weeks from when with a luminous incandescence the Holy Spirit was sent from heaven to share out tongues and one and the same God crisscrossed different mouths. Then every species of chattering with one mouth he sounded. Endowed with the expression of unknown speech, each recognized his own voice in a foreigner’s mouth and no more knew the chatter of foreigners in his own mouth now. Barbarians started to sing words long known to people unknown to themselves and unknown to their own, while, in all of them, one Spirit with different voices was praising God who alone is one. It was as when the lyre from the strike of likewise one pick sets different sounding strings in motion or puffed lips touch flutes of bounden reeds, drawing a song entirely one from but one mouth, more than one sound. Under its mistress, Art, it harmonizes different notes. The apertures ring with breath as the dexterous fingers, now opening, now closing, likewise direct it. Running in fast variation in windy passages, the musical strain goes back and forth as it crosses the hollow channel, and the flute comes alive, unwinding unceasing song. Even so, did God alone both construe and review the ever resonant harmony, which he sent through the body of every thing, himself the designer of nature entire, of art, and of every work the end and the beginning. The maker of good things maintains them when they are made and remains in himself in the mutual faith in which the Father remains in the word and the Son in the Father reigns.

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Selections From the Poems of Paulinus 131 Nothing can happen without the one through whom, the one and the same, all things that become abide, all things he knows, in the word as guide. On the Cross, with the royal red of his costly blood, he took the swift steep path through the clouds to the height 90 of heaven. He flew over angels. He took his seat at the right hand of his begetter. Such cosmic gifts he spread as the Holy Spirit, begotten only by one, and come from the Father. And although this God proceeding from God can be anywhere, with a luminous trail of fire, it shot down there 95 where the harmonious hearts of the young apostles gathered. Soon like a fire with a strange sudden sound it settled on individuals from all the nations assembled, and then in each of them in but one breath, it sounded different. Even so, the one who construed the hymning sinews 100 of the ready lute in prophetic song sang the same good news, hammering different voices from his human vocal cords.24 Just so, when drunkenness filled the minds of the elect, they vomited holy praise from immaculate gullets. Their hearts were drunk with God. Who will take pity 105 on me and fill my mouth from that stream of heady sobriety? E. From Poems 27=Ninth Natalicium (January 403), ll. 149–247, 307–28 Hale to you, dear day! Hale to you, my light! Hale and be well! For me you are always a holiday, but this year in particular you rose 150 and shone even brighter for me. Along with Felix’s legacy you bring back Nicetas. The love of two saints thus accompanies my two birthdays today, as I celebrate the departure, only in body, of the elevated martyr, and as I adore, also in body – do you see? – this priest. My heart is abasing itself for the encampment of Christ. 155 So, let my soul exalt itself right now and declare what once the lover betrothed to the Lord, her lover, sang, calling. The snow passes. The winter has departed. Resounds the voice of the dove across our country. Its flowering is the source of fragrance for the vines. We marvel at heavenly lilies across the earth. 160 From where, I beg and I pray, with the change of the seasons, does the year

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Selections From the Poems of Paulinus so suddenly hurry in spring, and flowers in the cold fields appear? From Nicetas, the anointed of Christ the Lord,25 and from his friends who have come here. Let winter head far away. Over us, from far away, let the everywhere quickening wind blow perfumed breath. The breeze of the spirit from blessed fields blows from his heart. Chaste living and a mind shining bright with the limpid truth make Nicetas into the flowers of Christ, and his perfume. What can I, a poor unintelligent child, possibly utter from my heart or mouth to pay such a service its worth? Now there is really a need for Felix himself in this my service to take from Christ what wealth he may provide for me in person so I can thank him worthily. And now too I would like living channels of water of perennial life to gush from my stomach. Only thus, not with my mouth, but by the service of Christ could I expound that happiness, which also from Christ’s service, floods the heart of my chest with unprecedented richness. It makes this a twofold birthday for me with the love of Felix, manifold itself. In this light shining now, here face to face, my vision falls on Nicetas who smiles at me. With the vision of this parent whose love commands me more than anything, a Nicetas do I become. I bear the image of his blessed name inside my mind, which triumphs along with the leader for whom it wished. Seeing this person right here after such a long time on this your birthday, O Felix most glorious, should I not confess that he came with your hand for a guide? For who will be unable to discern from such a clear sign that this came from your prayer for me? Certainly, I was hardly able to wish, let alone imagine, even in a dream, that Nicetas would enter into the very birthday scene of holy Felix, and that at the same time I would hold him in my arms, and that I would be singing you, Felix, my debt with him in the audience! But what should I do? So divested of riches, so poor of table, so wretched, and yet even now I get to raise my hand to the splendid feast! No, I cannot even guess what would be fitting for me to pay in exchange for what at this very moment I take up. What word is worthy of such a judge? So, for this reason, saint, please provide for your pauper. Only thus

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Selections From the Poems of Paulinus 133 could I be bold enough to try to speak as your friend deserves. I beg that you and yours accede to my prayers, O Felix! Your wish, my vow, I speak: it is mine too. Actually, more truly are these vows my wish. Your lofty eminence has no use for earthly joys. Still, since our joys are victory palms for you, you condescend to consider the wishes of your friends your own. For this reason, Felix, I also make my request to your many parents.26 You be present too.27 But you,28 ask them now to come when I call them. You who29 inhabit the happy gardens of the pleasure park of heaven and who relax in the shadow of the lofty altar of the Lord, O gorgeous chorus of the apostolic flock, and you O patriarchs of the earlier race, choirs of leaders, divided in two groups of twelve:30 God assigned the name of the fathers of nations and races bound for the kingdom of heaven to you! Of you I make the same request. O saintly prophets, it is you I supplicate, you who sang that God would come in our own flesh, and when the bodies had been cut down and the blood was shed, you martyrs were witnesses of the death and birth of the lamb. You all became the single offspring of the divine wellsprings, which Abraham the devout, Isaac the sanctified, and gentle Jacob begot with God. Measureless was the count of your seed which had been divided between those who earn heaven and those who fade. The first rival the stars of the sky, the second the sand that lies upon the earth. From all sides, for the love of Felix, I have faith you all were there on that day to cheer the eminent merit of your fellow confessor from obligation, loyal and affectionate. All the same, I do not stake my claim to such a reward before I should, and for this reason I do not pray that all the saints should breathe upon my senses, as if I were worth such a service, nor ask the voice of the turtle dove, which across the whole wide world is heard by the happy earth, to resound in my own mouth. Only let Felix’s eminence be suited by a divine inspired voice, and Nicetas also. For he is a priest and a child of the Lord sent to me from a land far off. Look! Here he has come on this very day.31 The man with the mouth of a teacher is as good

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134 Selections From the Poems of Paulinus as he is holy with a conquering soul and the body it conquered. O if the Angel with forceps of fire could take me a chunk of burning coal from the very altar of the Lord from far, far off and scorch these sinning lips of mine, which have grown malignly fat, and purge the dirt of excrement condensed inside my mouth! Then and only then will I serve drafts better than my mouth to this one here, and not even from my mouth, but from the mouth of Nicetas my hearer. The rough and croaking speech of this dull sinner32 will not molest his virgin ears and abuse their learning, only then. Still, because my teacher is sitting beside me in person, face to face, before us there, my reverend eye will traverse him again and again. Perhaps from the mouth of that sage, as happened once upon a time to the worn-out flock of Jacob the shepherd, I will conceive ideas within my heart, though it be barren, fructified. ..... But what will I do? I am reckless, hanging aloft in the dangerous air. Ascending heights so sheer, I dare to put my faith in a frangible wing. Singing the birthday of the outstanding martyr, in terms of some insubstantial matter, as has become my habit, I flashed to the height of things. Mid-sentence, flying above the stars, I stretched my audacious mind to the font of being. Where did I get such spirit? From what wind was I lifted to sublimity? In my enlargement, I don’t recognize my heart. Moved by some now greater thought, I feel Nicetas. He sits so close to me. He touches me, breathing beside me, arm in arm, my brother, my double! Beside me here, the fiercer spirit of his breath invests me. With his power, he stirs an unfamiliar fire inside me in my effort. Every fiber of my chilly being, as if a torch were set beneath it, comes alive. But no, let me check my breath. Inspirited, I am breathless with speaking things above my station. Slight as I am, I am blown back to the ground

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Selections From the Poems of Paulinus 135 that I had forsaken. On a level foot of song, I will walk from now on. Although I couldn’t begin to pronounce the sublime earnings of Saint Felix without some praise to God, it’s you, O practically sainted Nicetas, whom I want to take me up in a fatherly bosom, while I rest my head beneath your learned breast. The heart in it is kind to me, as you season me, tasteless though I be; a fluid vein of riches submerges my thirsty senses in an endless stream. F.

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From Poems 20=Twelfth Natalicium (January 406), ll. 28–61 What I sing is not made up, even if I use the art of poetry. I chronicle history, not with poetic license, but with fidelity. Far be it from me, a servant of Christ, to make pronouncements of lies. Let people devoted to the false content themselves with art of such a kind. Our art is good faith, and our music is Christ. He taught how a miraculous peace coalesced in himself from a song that was discordant once, which he fused onto a single body, on adopting the human, who then infused a bounteous God by virtue of his power, to join the two within himself and render vastly different natures one. To make the human God, God made himself a human, God descended from God, not as a gift of grace but as himself his nature,33 because he is the ultimate Father’s only heir; only his is the property that he instantly confers on individuals whose bountiful credit has issued in heavenly earnings. This, then, is the reason why he is the real author of my song. The real David, he rehabilitated the lyre of this body. Lying in silence with strings still broken from an old crime and fittings that had been rotten for some time, it was restored on the Lord adopting it for a proper purpose. When God was woven into mortal things, he made them again regain the shape they had when they first blossomed, to make all new, to make all shake off its exhaustion. God himself, as master craftsman, has hung this lyre on the wood of the tree of himself to make repairs.

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Selections From the Poems of Paulinus As the Cross stripped the sin of the flesh, so he refurbished it. That is how he fitted a mortal instrument to the divine dance, when he assembled a single lyre from various nations and framed in a single body a wide range of races. Now the voice of the lyre of the Gospel fills all things since the striking pick of the word has excited the strings with the praise of God, the golden lyre of Christ makes the entire world achieve perfect pitch with tongues beyond number, and new songs ring for God’s accompaniment.

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From Poems 21=Thirteenth Natalicium (January 407), ll. 47–104, 272–83, 326–43 Where then will I begin to weave the song? What good works of Felix should I report? Which of the many things that he does for everybody here, should I describe first? Should I discuss his works at home, for which I uniquely and particularly owe him? No, let me speak again, instead, of what I remember well enough: the things that he conferred on me and mine, especially when I talked in an already published work about all he indiscriminately distributed to others and to us. So now with a grateful heart I’ll start to weave a little book of what he generously lavished on just us. Because year after year he himself offers me changing material, I will not move my foot to the single law of a given genre; I will change the register. Against established practice, I will alter the meters even in the course of a single work of literature. For as the fertile field of holy Felix has begun to blossom with new flowers, even here two buds of Christ have come – Turcius of devoted mouth and Suerius in the flower of youth – their sainted mothers too, and their daughters who are their like, Alfia also, a noble lady like the sister of Philemon whom Paul the Apostle addresses in the heading of his epistle;34 Eunomia is here as well, a heroic maiden, already betrothed to the everlasting marriage bed of heaven, a pleasure to Christ whom he stole with impatient love from her mother’s breast. On her he poured the ointment of his name. From this, the modest head of her mind is anointed, the hair of her soul is perfumed, and both exhale the sacred fragrance of her starry bridegroom. She is Melania’s sister, and at the same time, like a daughter who found a sibling teacher, she clings in triumph to her side. Both have been retained by divine dowries at the same time,

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Selections From the Poems of Paulinus and wear the flashing gems of the virtues like living jewels on the hearts that their cultured thoughts make beautiful. An ample entourage of princesses follows them, dressed in the matching color of maiden clothes, a sacred band. Educated Eunomia, under the leadership of Melania, here shaping her vessel with her voice in psalms of strains restrained, is heard by Christ who delights in the cherished lamb as the girl, their little leader, with her immaculate mouth directs the blessed choirs of saints’ companions, trained by God. This, then, was the beautiful unity that persuaded me, even now in my contemplation, to imitate the variegated field of different flowers in a song that plays with many meters, even as I marvel how the bosom of Felix blossoms abundant as the countryside, plentiful in the changing light, with the many pilgrims, sent to him with Christ for a guide and crowded masses who, like cherished children, gather around Felix, as around a father. All throughout his territory, all of a sudden, his dwelling has begun at last to bourgeon with every kind of shelter, the rooftops resound with sober songs of voices befitting him. May he take pleasure in them and himself marvel at how his visitors are wards worthy in body and mouth, males and females both, with equal virtue in their souls. Like the elder founder of a colony, he rejoices in the growth of new shoots in the olive grove on the fertile hill as he notices the tillers on his own lands, which Christ divinely sowed. So, let the meadow of my song flower with new output and with the praise of the Lord, the architect of the mouth and of all kinds of art. Let poetry run on a changing foot. Let elegiac verses follow the iambs with which they should be woven now. Let epic provide the head and foot of my book. ..... Glorify God with me, with people sagacious and true. O children joined in soul, intone our hymns. As the decachord of psalms35 resounds when its strings are struck, as its discordant chords resolve to matching notes, even so does the lyre of our physical structure resound – as though three tongues sang in one mouth. Yes, we are three in number. In our minds, we are one and the same. But in these three, more souls than we resolve. May heaven’s register keep the names of these souls intact:

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138 Selections From the Poems of Paulinus Albina was chorister; Therasia was her match. Joined to this yoke is a twin, and that makes three, their leader: Avita, mother of the hymnal flock. ..... And so let us parents nine, all with offspring accompanying, be in tune at heart, as though we were one harp. Let us make ourselves a lyre, all of us, to form a single song, an instrument comprised of different strings. Tenth among us let Aemilius come. Only then will the Law as a symbol repeat itself in a chorus, come to completion, in us.36 Only then, in this number of people, will the living strings bespeak the work of salvation on the harp of peace. Felix will be the pick to this, our lyre. With this plectrum, Christ will strike the lyre’s decachord of cords in triumph. This is the lyre that resonates when Christ gives music shape in us: symphonic consonance that swells the senses. It happens if our sense of peace in every fiber of our being achieves harmony with God, as if our faith in mind were one in body. The human being who fills our lyre with holy laws is comprised of all the movements and all the numbers of life. His life keeps time with every part of Holy Law because each note rings from strings struck once and for all. H.

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From Poems 22=Incitement to Jovius (ca. 400), ll. 1–34 I hereby declare to myself that your songs will be based on holy scripture. Inflamed with the power of Christ, you will open your brilliant mouth for the Father on high. Only begin to bestow your heart on matters of God and lift your ideas from the earth to the divine, rectified. Soon the sky will open, and a new light will shine upon your eyes. By a silent channel, with a blast of joy in secret places, the Holy Spirit will make your insides quake. O come and take out your lyre! Begin something great and shake out your fruitful breast. Don’t waste your talent on the usual songs. Let greater matters, rising hence, be weighed. Don’t sing false songs – “On the Judgment of Paris,” and

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Selections From the Poems of Paulinus 139 “On the Clash of the Giants.” We will say such child’s play had been your early work. Playing games befit your youth. Now that you’re older, let your spirit be bigger, your heart at the height of its powers. Scorn trivial “Inspirations.” Adopt the subject matter which those modest ways that suit your age and which the beauty and grace of your face demand.37 Conceive divine ideas. If you accept any prestige and any renown from lies and empty things, when you sing fictions in those outdated songs, or when you record earthly deeds that have been done by kings, and you praise their standards as they go triumphing – you will not acquire praise from people like them, though you deserve it. You will only ornament them with the greater resources of your word. But from undertakings like these,38 what glory will come! You will build up your consecrated mind even as you exercise your tongue. You will lay hold of glory and life as well. If you are smart and read the true miracles and wonders of God on high, you will learn how nearer and dearer to him you can be. If you give him credit even as you wonder, you’ll begin to love, and in loving God you’ll be loved by Christ in return. Until now, that siren of your mouth has been a spokesman of no use at all. Sing the acts of heaven. It will be sublime.

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From Poems 14=Third Natalicium (January 397), ll. 1–20 Resplendent comes the festal day, the most adored on the earth, and with it comes Felix’s birthday, when, in body, to the earth he died but he was born in Christ in the stars on high. A martyr without blood, he acquired that heavenly prize, when, not opting out of paying the price, as a confessor God took his devoted mind, in lieu of blood, on credit. Assessor of our secret hearts, he pays those who are prepared and those who actually suffer the same rate. Because he surveys their inner being enough, he waives the price of flesh with devotion justified: a bloodless martyrdom is best, at least if the mind is ready to suffer and devotion burns for God. The will that will endure it

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Selections From the Poems of Paulinus is payment enough. The ultimate test is the wish to earn it. That then was the day, which started Felix in the exalted work in the sky, which we today observe with holy rites. Then, after the solstice,39 and the time when, in body, Christ was born, he transformed the frigid winter with new sun. As the day went on, making mortals a present of his salvific dawn, he ordered the nights to withdraw into themselves. Twenty days later,40 his light dawns now and sets the celestial seal of Felix’s worth on this day for us.

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From Poems 16=Fifth Natalicium (January 399), ll. 1–16 One moment follows another. Time goes, and time comes. Day is herded by day, one and all, and the world turns. All things pass by. The glory of the saints alone survives in Christ, who makes all new, but himself remains. And so, at last, arise, O day returned to me, O most desired day of all the year, you who renew sweet celebrations and my prayers! You bring me back a birthday that demands from me a sacred gift. In it, the masses will rejoice, but these joys touch me most of all, since I am due to count the gifts of this my tongue enslaved to my Felix. For him, my heart is out of circulation. To him, I am dedicated. For him, a saint, it is right for me in yearly songs to render services of mouth in celebration. I hereby declare this year his gains and their basis and how from them he garnered the profits of heavenly praises and days without end and a title to great station.

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From Poems 21=Thirteenth Natalicium (January 407), ll. 1–25 Bright in the welcome turning of the season is the peace that brings the year in the light of calm when winters cease. The day that bears the seal of the ennoblement of Felix is opening, and the people are relieved. To take pleasure in minds at ease, to wipe the dark of a frightening war from them – this, in his triumph, Felix encourages. Himself the patron of peace in the company of his parents, Paul and Peter, in the company of his brothers, the martyrs, he interceded with the King of kings so that He would

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Selections From the Poems of Paulinus prolong the period of Roman dominion with a friendly nod and turn from the very gates of the Capitol the pressing Goths. He directed death and the fetters that they had brought against the very people who threatened the Roman state. Now that our terror is driven out, as when the rain is done, as when the clouds are gone and one looks back, it is a pleasure to compare the past with things right here. The night that passed in the flood of days of this last year – how horrid it was! It was then that the fiery fury sparked by divine rage infiltrated the cities of Italy with the enemy invaders. Now consider how powerful, in just the same way, were the works of Christ in his nonviolence.41 The victory of the child Caesar42 restored peace. Although he is tender in age, in arms he is fierce. He prevailed by virtue of the power of God. He shattered merely mortal strength. Our enemies have been sacrificed along with their impious tyrant43 who was defeated by Christ.44 D.

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From Poems 21=Thirteenth Natalicium (January 407), ll. 117–153 But I have trust. Since every single thing in life remains in flux, uncertain, stuck in slippery ambivalence; time’s wheel with narrow compass spins our lives, which fall and rise on bumpy roads where this journey our life must be unrolled – all this is why our teacher Foresight warns us not to put our faith in or applaud ourselves or anyone else. Always, even if we walk in paths of righteousness, we must still look for stumbling-blocks until we grasp the palm of long-sought glory when the race is run. That’s why we have the blessed martyrs. They were raised unto the crown45 of heaven by the power of their perfect virtue. We, their own posterity, when we confess the name of Christian, we pay due praise for this: they shed their blood to vouchsafe sacred credit; they sowed the seeds of perpetual profit; if we follow in the martyrs’ steps, we too will profit from our parents’ revenue.

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Selections From the Poems of Paulinus From this it follows that, for witnesses46 made sacred by their suffering, for confessors too, our faithful populations cultivate with serious merrymaking the sacred days of exit from this fallen world to God. On days of life through death to dying time, on days of rest like this for holy Felix, we’re thankful for the ennoblement of Christ. Today’s the day the old man47 died in body, avowing his confession prior to battle. After the battle, on the day of peace, a bloodless sacrifice and victor, he went home to heaven. He was happy to leave the earth because Christ called. Still he48 received the martyr’s wreath because he had avowed the will to suffer the Passion in his mind.

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From Poems 23=Seventh Natalicium (January 401), ll. 1–44 Spring unlocks the voices of the birds. My tongue too has a spring of its own. It is Felix’s birthday. In its light winter flowers and people take delight, and even if the season of dismal cold drags storms into the midst of ice and snow, the earth is frostbitten, and the year is frozen stiff, for us at least devoted joys now render spring a happy time. They shoo the worries from our hearts, and grief – the winter of the mind. Clouds of sadness recede from peace of mind. I recognize this day just like the bright white bird with wings of black, just like the devoted partner of the dove, the turtle, and the gentle swallow act as if they knew the friendly days were back. Just as with tuneful sound, the linnets fill the woods, with those of unkempt lodgings, who just now were silent but that happy spring has sprung, when each bird tongue sounds different from the other as their wings are different color, so I remember this day too. Every year, with the honor due to Felix the great with holy festivals it is made new. To the year’s delight, peaceful spring is born again right now. New measures for my mouth, songs unbridled with new vows,

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Selections From the Poems of Paulinus 143 and I myself spring different voices now. O God, inflate my heart. Christ, I am thirsty. Fill me from your lofty fountains. Yet, if it comes from you, then even a drop suffusing my innermost parts will be a river. Is it any wonder, when, with the littlest moisture, you fill small souls to bursting, and transformed into the paltry person of a human being, you filled the universe up with seed eternal, as with a drop of blood, you saved the entire world? O God, O source of the word, assent with a nod as the word. Make me sing with the sweet voice of spring like a bird. Hidden in green front, with but a single tongue, the bird is wont to soften the secret country sides with registers of many measures. Dappled in her utterance, though in the single color of her feathers, she pours the liquid of transforming songs in not one tone. And now she rolls the level measures, and now she strings the wind with her long whistles, beginning her song again as if it were a dirge, when all of a sudden she cuts lamentation short and breaks her strain to leave our ears thunderstruck. In contrast, Christ, let grace and beauty spring from me continuously, even as I beg and pray that I may be like the bird in her variety, bestowing verses promised annually, with utterances of changing styles even in a single mouth. Indeed, the richness of the grace and favor of the Lord always augments the substance in the wonderous virtue of which Christ our God lets His friend Felix traffic. He brings forth clear signs of salvation: miracles and wonders. F.

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From Poems 26=Eighth Natalicium (January 402), ll. 1–28 Here comes the day. Do you see how it completes the cycle of the year? In Felix’s name, the light becomes lustrous again. With happy words we would rejoice if only this uneasy moment could endure a happy voice! But even if we find ourselves beset by war on this day, still it will be a day of happiness and peace. Battles may be terrible and riot. Peace will come with freedom to our minds. The mind that has been trained to maintain its heartfelt vows, rejoicing with decorum in the Lord on days of festival, does not unlearn the delightful habit of being cheerful. So yes, although you live in a dismal time, get rid of this

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144 Selections From the Poems of Paulinus unseasonable gloominess. Good joy, sweet words, all things of happiness and devotion – let’s love and appreciate these on the day of Felix, a day of birth without an end, because Felix was born for time everlasting then. When he discharged his time of embodiment, he traveled to life eternal in the air. So, let the frightened feel no fear. Let their hearts recover and welcome joy inside. It’s best to let everything saddening fly far from the holy day that the glory of such a confessor makes shine. Outstanding among all days and for all time, he makes it teem with people as adornments. On this day, I would happily celebrate, even if Goths had driven me in misery and subjection. Even among the tribes of the unkind Alans, and even if my neck were weighed down by heaping chains, the enemy could not weigh down the soul in my captive limbs. My heart would not be conquered. My proud devotion would cast dismal slavery underfoot. In whatever little songs I chose, my love would be free to utter its prayers and vows. G.

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From Poems 27=Ninth Natalicium (January 403), ll. 1–37, 107–26 Now is the time to be born, O day that always returns to me with a tardy dawn. You fly to set and hasten on, so slow to approach, so fleet to go. O lingering long moments while the radiant circuit of the slow year rolls along, I await you patiently, heart rapt with attentive prayers. How I long for you to shine for me all days! If otherwise you come but now and again, then offset such delays and lengthen like summer days the time that you shine or strike a balance with that day that kept the world awake and bid the season to stay, putting nighttime off, and with long daylight doubled human work. Now, dear day, under a heaven much too quick the rule of the brumal season steals you from us. Brief days clip the winter moments, which stick in the dark. But it is good Sun shines for you, whose grace is perpetual, while Christ plies the light for the nearby iridescence of his own birthday, as a ray.49 Never have sunsets hidden the splendor, Felix, of your everlasting station. Go, flying day. Flow on. I will not call you to return. I won’t complain that you’re too quick: for even without you, Felix shines for me, forever present, with light undimmed.

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Selections From the Poems of Paulinus 145 If his actual birthday goes away, it’s something better for the light of this birthday himself to shine forever, nor is he a saint from the day. Oh no, his rank and station make the holiday. Even if the crowd distinguishes his birthday from all other days when they run to the holy doorways in greater number, we still and always witness the people gathering near us for the birthday of Felix. What day, I ask, ever rises without prayers or vows or with a shortage of magnificent crowds? Nevertheless, I will avow the right of this day to remain uniquely beautiful since Felix in the fullness of time laid aside his earthly raiment, called to the stars in the sky to be made a permanent retainer in the blessed place. Reckoning strengthens faith when it reckons the days divided among sure dates and it stamps the liturgical year with those holidays on which the ancient patriarchs felt fear before the Lord and his wonders . . . ..... Therefore, then, as the Lord did deck the sky with stars, the fields with flowers, and the year with time, so too he decked time itself with holidays. Thus, when the people’s energy flags in daily acts of devotion, at least they get a break: after a certain amount of time, the will comes back, and they do the holy rites gaily. After they settle into the festal year, their minds attend to the Lord. It is exhausting to be incorruptible always and serve justice. To people accustomed to be remiss, it’s work to give up sin. A person can run into the pit; they cannot escape by running up the cliff. The road of falling here is easier. Steeper is the road of life. The open road is for many. The steep is for few. That’s why, to enfold them all in the wings of devotion, the good Lord provided holidays as harmonious intervals for the weak to make their way to the top of virtue’s citadel while out of a sense of affectionate obligation at least they skim the coattails of Christ. Yea, may even his hems cure them who are no exiles to the region of salvation but dwell in the servants’ hall of life perpetual. Far though they are from first place, from second they are not far all. First place in life thus goes to those who entwine all days with incessant goodness. Every instant with restrained

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Selections From the Poems of Paulinus worship we must celebrate the holy Passover of Christ.50 But if my harvest blossoms mixed with thistles and my heart is spurred in its lack of cultivation by the thorns of earthly work, at least on holidays I may strive to attach myself to the Lord and touch life with a part of myself, even at its outmost border, and keep my body from dragging me down with death for a partner. Although it is true we have come to possess the perpetual honor of our patron (so close in standing we dwell), even when it is not his birthday, with incessant and devout celebration – even still, to help us slaves born in our master’s house, unwind from worry on his festivals and sing these vows, I too will come forth, the impresario of this jubilation amid the hymns our brethren sing. I will be as the standard bearer of this federation. Yes, even though crowds of people, each from a different region utter prayers matching mine with joyful devotion on this day, it is still uniquely suitable for me to rejoice with more bounty and more distinction today. No dependent is more indebted to him than I. For me, on that day, more personally than my own private star, he was set aside – O birthday of that patron who ever abides!

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From Poems 31=Consolation to Pneumatius and Fidelis (393–408), ll. 227–50 Let us unlock the eyes and the ears of our minds to Christ. Opened to God like this, the mind is closed to sin. For God has already revealed his promise to corporeal vision. In the clear light of day, he has made the hidden known. In each and every body, the seeds of the earth and the stars of the sky practice showing us what resurrection looks like. Day and night, sunset and sunrise, all take their place in a series: in the night I die, and in day again I rise. Quiet in the image of a physical death do I sleep but I spring from sleep as from obliteration. The harvest, the leaves of the forest, and the seasons – do they not rise and fall from these same laws? In the rising of spring, after dying in winter, the image of things is new again, come back to life.

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Selections From the Poems of Paulinus 147 What the human being will do once only, his objects, the physical things of the world, do continually. “What body will the dead adopt when they come back? How can a human rise from ashes?” they ask. If words signed by the holy prophets cannot convince you, unspeaking things affirm your faith; trust in the visible. Notice how seeds only grow, even in the fields allotted to them, when waste dissolves what came before it with debris. Naked are they sown. They are harvested, clothed. When you throw dry germs, you reap them, fruitful and multiplied.

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From Poems 22: Incitement (Protreptikon) to Jovius (ca. 400), ll. 51–95 If you cast your mind unto heaven, and over the stars, even higher, you desire to know what is and what has been in time before, John will teach things more absolute than the ages and the world. In the beginning, he says, was the word. In surety of the word was God rejoicing, the word was of God, even as God was the selfsame word. Nothing without this word. All things created quicken in it. It rules all things. All things are subject to it and obey. All nature in unending enslavement is set in front of God, by name adoring its begotten begetter. Every tongue even now is avowing across humanity that he who rules as Lord in his Father’s sovereignty is Jesus. Our standing in salvation, our personal credit, rests upon that name. It aims at life eternal for ages and ages. Mortal as we are, we are secure in his divine service. We depend on him to conquer the frailty of our nature with acts of purity and to break the chains of unbending death, subjecting our body to laws without a body, by means of him, as we chase the divine traces of our God Christ with weapons divine, body and soul trained under mind. For the mind is subject to God when it takes up the arms of salvation and seizes dominion in its own flesh and soul, and makes all humans rightful masters of themselves. Thus dedicated to the one and only Lord, they exercise eternal rule

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Selections From the Poems of Paulinus over their frame, hating iniquity, to vice invulnerable, with all their virtues marshalled, they are braver. Set straight, they are the truly human. Strong in their mind, where the light of reason resides, they guide their feelings and ideas like slaves without a fight. They steer their hearts with easy reins. And you, when your mind is magnificent, burning with sparks from the height, climb with your soul to the farthest reaches of heaven to rest your head in the Lord’s lap. Soon in your gaping, Christ will give you his breast that overflows with holy milk. He will infuse your mind with the light divine. He will part the darkness so you can behold the great courthouse of God, and you will tremble there, where wisdom, the mother of all, as Christ who always remains in himself knows all. According to her will, God who is judge of his own works structures them, changes their shape, prolongs and brings back the moments of life. She rules the seas, stars, winds, and skies made by virtue of her power, as we see in the infamous demise of the despot Pharaoh who drowned when the sea was reversed. Learning the hard way, he demonstrated in himself the powerful movements of the elements first. All things tremble for the one whom all things serve. For at one moment the earth that they shared was holding just the Jews who then alone had been God’s chosen people.

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From Poems 25=Epithalamium (Written Between 400–407), ll. 141–98 Let a priest love a wife who comes with a companion in Christ. Let him love, let him appreciate, her beauty in the light of her heart. A lector of the narrative of the Heavens, let him learn that she was made to be an aid to man by divine work. And let the woman, in her turn, receive Christ in her partner, 145 holy like her husband, in humbleness of mind. Even thus she may be soldered unto the Holy Body in welded joint and man may be her crown, as Christ is his topmost point. With such a marriage as this, Eve was acquitted of enslavement, and Sarah was freed to equal her devoted husband. 150 On a condition such as this, beside his own betrothèd,51 Jesus stands, turning water to sweet wine as their best man.52

Selections From the Poems of Paulinus 149 For Mary, the mother of the Lord, to be there too, it is meet and due – for she gave birth to God in pure safe maidenhood when God himself established himself a temple of choice within the consecrated maiden in the form of hidden rain, descending like a shower from a cloud high in the sky falls on a fleece in silence as soft dew. How God in a maiden mother adopted human being has been a mysterious thing, which no one understands. O strange and new design of the Lord for human salvation! The woman is pregnant without sharing a bed, betrothed to the man but not yet subject to the husband, a mother from giving birth, and yet she wasn’t a woman from sex. A bride by contract, not a wife in body yet a mother with a child, by man inviolate. What a magnificent sacrament! The Church is the wife of Christ, the Lord’s betrothed, and yet his sister by it.53 A kind of bride by contract, a sister since she is not subject yet * * * * * * * * * Even now she remains a mother from the seed of the eternal word, pregnant with populations, which she gives birth. Likewise sister and bride, not by a function of the body, but of the mind to a husband who is not human, to God, she is joined. This Great Mother births the elderly no different from the infant. This her offspring has no gender and no age. And this is the blessed begetting of God. He is not from human seed, but from a higher species. And this is why the Apostle says there is no male and there is no female in Christ, but the same body and faith. For all of us are one body, and all of us are the limbs of Christ, and Christ is all our body’s head. And now since we have put on Christ and taken Adam off we are headed for adopting angels’ look. All who are born need to be baptized for precisely this: that each sex can achieve the perfect husband and Christ the King, all things in everything, collective head,

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Selections From the Poems of Paulinus may give his limbs to his Father for his Kingdom. The frail lives of all, which yet comprise a body everlasting, will tarry no more in marriage and being married Remember me in living always inviolable and alike, and let the Cross instead be your reverend yoke. You children of that Mother54 who is both sister and bride, be worthy of these terms of devotion at heart. And run as brother and sister to meet your bridegroom, Christ, and thus be everlasting body of one flesh. May both of you be bound by love, entwining Christ in the Church, which Christ adores with love in turn.

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From Poems 27=Ninth Natalicium (January 403), ll. 45–59 So too do all adore the day that God as the son of a maiden for all our sakes adopted human being and likewise when, in supplication with symbolic gifts and a star to guide them, the sages visited the child,55 and the day the river Jordan trembled at him whom it bathed with John the Baptist when it made all the waters sacred to reinaugurate the nations,56 or the day that was made sacred from that symbol when God first began to work and the water that was poured he transformed into wine as sweet as nectar.57 What of the Passover feast? For surely the Church proclaims each and every day unending Pesach. It testifies the Lord died on the Cross and from the Cross came life for all. Even so, once a year, the entire world observes this magnificent sacrament of utmost holiness to all in the month that they appoint for joint abasement when they celebrate the eternal king whose body lives again.58

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From Poems 27=Ninth Natalicium (January 403), ll. 248–306 Blessed to the Lord is Nicetas, too, as temperate as Jacob59 beside the well of living water who was shepherd of sheep and lambs. Here too he also gathered the branches from three different trees with the same idea. He placed them at the water as he calls the flock together. He husbands them. With branches three, on conception, and with color

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Selections From the Poems of Paulinus 151 he impregnates them so that, with branches three, striped from stripped bark, the issue of the holy herd would thus pass muster for marked. 255 The mark on the cattle was not that of Laban, but the mark of life. For the mark of death would be for them to be unmarked in Christ. Just like this, in the name of the trinity, grace makes renewal in our barren souls. In congress with the word, the Spirit as a husband fills them, while the Church which is fertile with the womb of a maiden 260 marks them out from within on conception for God. The mother of salvation, focused on the branches three, she60 absorbs the slippery seed of the word, marked with a seal by the beam of his everlasting face. Then the barren bore the seven, and then the fertile failed,61 265 and God was humbling the proud and elevating the humble. Just like this, I look on Nicetas. As if I were the thirsty sheep myself, I have run down, as if the spring were just found, to the water of life. Parched as I was, I felt my dugs suddenly start to enlarge. Focused for so long on the mouth of the teacher who fed me, 270 I looked the speckled branches of his smart heart up and down. I guzzled the colors I had seen through the fixed beams of my vision. From the irrigation of his mind, he bathed me in his streams divine. Still, since in these branches three, we mentioned it, let’s look closer at the symbol of the kingdom of heaven in them if you like. The branches three, each from three trees, are gathered 275 by the patriarch: the fragrant from the balsam, the sleek from the planetree, the hard from the nut. The Spirit is in the planetree, the Virgin in the balsam, and Christ in the nut. For the planetree spreads its branching boughs in a cover of shadows, and Christ was given shape by the Holy Spirit when once it enclosed the Virgin in its shadow; the branch of the balsam, 280 from the tree of David, I think, is verdant, because the expectant Virgin brought a fragrant flower from it.

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Selections From the Poems of Paulinus The branch of the nut is Christ, because in nuts there is fodder inside. The wall outside is bitter with the core covering the green rind. Try to tell God apart from the cloak of our body: that’s Christ. Fragile is he in the flesh, food in the word, bitter in the Cross. Hard is the crust, but the word is in the Cross, there is food in the Cross, which encloses the heavenly marrow of Christ in the flesh. He is sweet in the Cross as well, because our God – yea, our life – drew life from the tree. My life is hanging in the balance on the wood, so the price of my life is God. Because you are life, Christ, what can I pay you in exchange for my life, unless by chance I take the cup of salvation that your right hand is offering me to drink? Only thus may I be washed by a hallowed swallow of that exorbitant death. So, what should I do? For even if I dispatch my body, cheap to myself, to the flames, not even thus, with the shedding of blood, could I repay the debt I duly owe you. Even then, all I could do is reimburse you with myself for myself. Whatever deal I make, O Christ, I will always fall short of you. You suffered for cheap slaves, O Christ, because the debts that you paid were my debts and not yours. What love will be a recompense for you, Lord? You became my image so I may be your image, though a slave. Should one not rate the acquisition of their own salvation for a dwindling estate, the exchange of things that perish for things everlasting, and selling the earth for the purchase of heaven, an excellent trade? See how much more than death on the Cross God bought me for? Driven into the form of a slave and suffering, He bought us cut-rate slaves with costly blood.

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From Poems 27=Ninth Natalicium (January 403), ll. 491–510 Don’t be surprised if holy sheepfolds grow at this site.62 Everywhere does the everlasting glory of Christ grow in might. The honorable ranks of saints are piled on it. All admit

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Selections From the Poems of Paulinus 153 that God is one because the world is lit by the Holy Spirit, and when the Son rules with his Father, heir coeval in eternity, then the grace of devotion in the sowing of the light of truth makes seeds of everlasting life teem manifold for the people. Because a shepherd who is good enlarges his sheep, high Christ supports more spacious pens for the flocks of his reimbursement.63 Throw yourself64 among them, bishop chorister, as you sing in psalms. Send the Lord my prayers in hymns. Combine your joys with mine. Rejoice in the celebration of our common patron.65 And when the time is right, on behalf of a sinner,66 then intercede with the Lord as he enjoys the rank and honor of his confessor.67 With Felix to lead you, up the sheer steep path your prayers will soar, and he will meet you on your way to heaven’s ears. Because of your appeasing with rites and psalms, Christ will come down to your prayerful offices with godhead favorable. Even thus will he veil in shadow the church and its people and make a white cloud pass through the sanctuary walls. F.

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From Poems 31=Consolation to Pneumatius and Fidelis (ca. 393–408), ll. 43–102 Devoted parents, please stop sinning with all these tears. You risk making devotion a moral failure. To grieve for a blessed soul out of devotion is disloyal. Vicious is love that weeps for a person who is now rejoicing with God. Is it not obvious? Taken that far, devotion brings sin in its wake, proving our faith has been fake, in that we are reproving the laws of God out of obstinate moral confusion when what God settled on unsettles us.

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It is better to mourn for those shadows of human beings which we produce when we pervert our soul, because we forget the image of heaven that our compassionate Father still beckons back to his kingdom, its pristine source. Out of love for him, his Son took up my limbs, from maiden born 55 a human being, from conception in a maiden. Sustaining every human thing, the Lord of everything takes everyone in a single body, in becoming enslaved.

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Selections From the Poems of Paulinus Being the Ultimate before, he became a slave in form. The form of God, he rules beside his father, God who rules. He took the form of enslavement, abrogating the crime that made the human enslaved to punishment and death. In the image of enslavement, in becoming our flesh the Lord restored his servant to freedom, thus restoring to me the image of heaven through Christ who shed the earthen Adam on the Cross. And this is why that Creator of mine took on my flesh and death. To buy me back,68 he paid a precious price. Before the event, he had given me many gifts: the promise of salvation, the lessons to walk good ways.69 But even though the medicine was established first in the Law, I did not wash the hardened wound of my Father off. I put no faith in waiting for gifts from God, although the prophets with the mouth of God were sent before. Because the human race lost hope in salvation when the light of faith disappeared, it plummeted in shadows everywhere. That was when sin began to rule in our bodies: death lies in sin, and a demon lies in our obliteration. Bitter terror and moral confusion were casting the captive human being deeper and deeper into death. In the meantime, the Father himself from the height of heaven beheld the infectious fall of humans with compassion. The serpent who lorded it over the fallen in obdurate death could not be accepted. For everything good he70 sent his Son who obeyed him freely. With his Father in complete agreement as God, he was concerned with the common good. Coming with divine devotion, becoming human, perfect in each, he proves God’s being is blended in frail flesh. Fulfilling the functions of human beings, but adopting healing decrees, he shows the signs of God concealed inside. With a human voice, he teaches things divine. Even as his physical

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being conducts mortal things, he acts beyond sin. Concerned to secure the proceeds of his work for himself, he takes our nature, yes, but not our faults. Because he is good, he made human nature good for good. Their thought made human beings fall, vitiating themselves. And that is why the architect of human beings entered a mortal body, becoming human through no fault of his own.

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For how else could he abrogate our crimes, unless he was free of them himself becoming the defendant for the release of us defendants? Death would never acquit the sinner since it’s justified holding sinners in the chains of sin.

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From Poems 31=Consolation to Pneumatius and Fidelis (ca. 393–408), ll. 425–74 425 Break the stone of my heart, Jesus my savior. Let my insides liquify. In a spring of devotion, pour them out. You are my wellspring, Christ. I beg you: swim within the fibers of me. Let my live veins leap with the water of you. For you are the wellspring where life flows. Grace emanates from you. In you is the light that spreads through every people. 430 If anybody drinks of you, they will revive, Christ, from a fresh sweet draft. They won’t be thirsty but still, for you, they’ll thirst. For anyone who slakes their thirst on the surplus of the divine word will thirst even more for the sweetness they swallowed. For you are our bread, you are the wellspring of salvation, Lord and God. Our souls will always thirst and hunger for you. Fasting is not hunger. Neither is thirst dry. Both dine on life unless the mind has you to eat and drink. Always endless flowing liquid you, when you are drained in a swallow, you outdo the thirsty riot of drinkers, fuller still. You really are every sweetness, God and Christ, and love, and so

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Selections From the Poems of Paulinus you can replenish, but you can never fill. Always every liquid desire is greedy, thirsting after you. They may swill you. Their love will not be filled. And this is how devotion can be so total that continual love will fall to you, Christ, endowing your friends with life continual. Grant me even now that I may grieve, God. Right here, you will sow the seeds of everlasting happiness in this, our salutary weeping. Actually, no. I beg and I pray: let this grief now last as long as it takes anything already happening to pass this little space. Go away, you “happy” people; I prefer partners in weeping to help me reap long lasting joy from these brief tears. If only a sackcloth of rough hide should weigh upon me as I grieve, and while it hides me, prick me with goat spines,

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only then, when the Father is merciful, will I be gifted with the ring 455 of rank that has been earned. Wrap me then in the dress of joy. If I hunger for justice from fasting, then only, the Father will sacrifice a fatted calf for me with justice and right. I’d rather fast from bread than from the holy word. No wine at home. For the water of light, I thirst. 460 Cruel starvation can crucify me here. Ugly destitution can afflict with bitter rags and here beset me as I shrink. I want the rich to pass me by right here at the door of their grand estates, despising to even relieve me with their scraps. I want no silks from China to flash upon me with the dye 465 of Tyria, the envy of a body bound to burn. Only thus will I escape the eternal fire, which follows the purple attire, working the cost of those clothes off in the fire. Here let us lie instead in wretched abjection in a heap of excrement where the dogs will lick our festering scabs,

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Selections From the Poems of Paulinus 157 and then, freed in a happy death from a life of bitterness, let a gentle angel meet us on our way and set our persons in happy triumph in the laps of the patriarchs, far from Hell which rages across the gaping chaos.

Notes 1 Literally, “tell the story of the saint and things of heaven” (sanctum et caelestia fari). 2 381 or 382 AD/CE: Trout (1999, 276), Mratschek (2002, 53–4). 3 That is, from inflicting capital punishment. 4 376–81 CE: Trout (1999, 285–7), Mratschek (2002, 53–4). 5 The governorship of Campania in 381 CE. 6 Of his wife, Therasia, and himself: see Trout (1999, 59), Mratschek (2002, 55–6) 7 In Latin, Complutum. 8 Paulinus and Therasia’s son, Celsus (by metonymy). 9 After addressing Christ, as contained in Selections: Self, Money, Music, Time, Christ, ll. 37–49, previously. 10 Literally, “for no one but us.” 11 64, Abraham’s. 12 In Latin, the teacher: 1 Corinthians 6.12. 13 More literally, “Now taking the wages of his labor as the proceeds of his poverty after renting out (the cows) for someone else’s plow.” The point, in any case, is the alienation of labor. 14 The subject matter of the poem. 15 Probably the Devil: see Comments. 16 Addressed to Julian of Eclanum (386–454) and his wife Titia. 17 Adam, Eve, and Eden. 18 Christ or John himself; unclear. 19 Literally, “in the sailyard of your cross.” 20 Jonah 1:17–2:10. 21 Plural, to the congregation. 22 Alternatively (Latin teneris for cineris), trans. Walsh (1975, 114): “The rain falls in dry form from fluffy clouds.” 23 Felix. 24 David. 25 In answer to the question posed in ll. 161–2. Following Walsh (1975, 276) and Ruggiero (1990, 384), I read “anointed” (unctus) instead of “accompanied” (iunctus). 26 See ll. 209–12, just subsequently. 27 Plural (patriarchs, apostles). 28 Singular (Felix). 29 Plural (the “apostolic flock,” l. 209). 30 Walsh (1975, 406): “The twelve sons of Jacob and the twelve apostles. It is important to note that Paulinus summons them in the role which the Muses enjoy in classical poetry.”

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31 Implying the presence of Nicetas at the performance of the poem, and see ll. 314–316, subsequently. 32 Referring to himself. 33 Cp. Walsh (1975, 158): “The Son is not His Father’s grace, but His nature.” 34 Philemon 1.2 where note Appia. 35 See Psalms 33.2 (trans. KJV): “Praise the LORD with harp: sing unto him with the psaltery and an instrument of ten strings.” 36 For law, understand the Ten Commandments of the Hebrew Bible. 37 Or mouth (in Latin, ora). 38 Christian reading and writing of any kind. 39 December 25; cp. Poems 27=Selections 4G, ll. 16–17. 40 January 14, Felix’s day of ascension. 41 Literally, of Christ the peaceable (placidi). 42 Honorius (384–423 AD/CE), a “child” (puer=boy) of twenty-three, whose father-in-law, the general Stilicho, defeated the Ostrogoths in 406. 43 Radagaesus: see Comments. 44 For clarity in English, the order of the clauses and lines departs from the Latin. 45 Or “crowd” (in Latin, corona). 46 In Latin, “martyrs.” 47 Felix. 48 Felix, now beatified (hence, here: “He”). 49 December 25 vis-à-vis January 14, Felix’s feast day; cp. Poems 15=Selections 4A, ll. 13–20. 50 Easter (in Latin, Pascha). 51 Plural. 52 In Latin, pronubus, “groomsman,” but as epithet of Juno (Vergil, Aeneid 4.166: pronuba), it seems to mark another Christianization of pagan commonplaces: see General Comments on Selections 2G. 53 The sacrament of the previous line. 54 The Church. 55 Matthew 2:9–11. 56 Matthew 3:16, cp. John 2:35 (trans. NRSV): “The next day . . .” 57 John 2:1–11. 58 Matthew 28:6, John 20:8. 59 In Latin, Israel. 60 The Church. 61 The goats. 62 The new additions to Paulinus’ building projects at Nola, which could fit more people (“sheep”) on Felix’s feast day (Letters 32.1). 63 Or redemption. 64 Addressing Nicetas of Remesiana, a theorist of the psalms, on his visit to Nola on January 14, 403: see General Comment on Poems 17=Selections 3B. 65 Felix. 66 Paulinus. 67 Felix. 68 Me, supplied. 69 Here and after, the Hebrew Bible. 70 God.

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Comments The Earlier Letters

1 To Paulinus: Ausonius, Letters 17 General Comment. The evidence of a correspondence between the poets, which preserves one of Paulinus’ earliest known poems (for the other two, see General Comment on Paulinus, Poems 1=Earlier Letters 5: Appendix), is dated to the decade before Paulinus’ radicalization but sometime after his concentrated political activity in the 380s, when he divided his time between Aquitaine and Spain from his marriage to Therasia.1 The poems that it includes suggest an aristocratic custom of regular New Year’s greetings to maintain patronal relations. These take the form of often “prosimetric” paignia, from the Greek for “fun” or “playthings,” which were a common practice in later Roman poetry: cp. Ausonius’ Eclogues and Technopaignia (literally, “Art Games”), and nearly all the works of the earlier fourth-century poet Optatian (Squire 2017, 49–53). Such “games” were part of the education of elite Romans, as Ausonius explains in a poem commemorating one of his old teachers and colleagues, “whether he spilled out words in formal metric verse/ or the speech of rhythmic prose” (Professors of Bordeaux 3.3–4, trans. Warren 2017, 69). See also General Comment on Ausonius, Letters 19A=Earlier Letters 3. Bet, know. This kind of joke in prose about the language of poetry in the confines of a single work also occurs in the first-century CE/AD philosopher Seneca’s prosimetric (Menippean) satire, The Pumpkinification [Apocolocyntosis] of the Emperor Claudius (trans. Kaster and Nussbaum 2010, 216), §2: Already Phoebus had drawn the arc of his light Inward, taking a shorter path. The hours Of shadowed Sleep were growing longer . . . I think you’ll understand me better if I say: it was October 13th. DOI: 10.4324/9780203710845-5

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December. As with Letters 18=Earlier Letters 2, l. 13, where see Comment, this timeframe suggests a yearly exchange of New Year’s notes between Ausonius and Paulinus. See also Introduction 4B. Précis, On the Kings. Nothing survives of the work of Suetonius that provided the content, but versification of difficult material was a school exercise in which Ausonius would have trained Paulinus. The meter of the poem is that of epic, the dactylic hexameter, probably encouraged by its political historical content. The final line exemplifies the penchant for paradox among fourth-century aesthetes and intellectuals: after naming the king Sesoöstris, it discounts his fame with a synonym for the idea of fame – namely name (sine nomine Sesoostris; cp. Hernandéz Lobato 2017, 305–6). Eloquence. The cult of eloquence was a hallmark of Classical culture, notoriously absent from the Judeo-Christian scriptures (Augustine, Confessions 3.5.9). This was the primary field of Ausonius’ instruction in the schools of Bordeaux, where he first encountered Paulinus: see, for instance, The Professors of Bordeaux, trans. Warren (2017, 67–79). “Father.” This is the first occurrence of this common honorific in the Earlier Letters, and it is developed at length by Paulinus later, indicating the prevalence of patriarchy and patronage in late Roman society, including an obsession with status and comparisons between status.2 Writing to the younger Augustine, a more accomplished cleric and scholar, Paulinus uses the same patronal language (Letters 4.3, trans. Walsh 1966, 50, with Ebbeler 2012, 81–98, especially 83–4): If one thinks of the office we share [the bishopric], you are my brother. But if one considers your maturity of mind and thought, you are my father though you may be younger in years. In contrast with his use of patronal language with Ausonius, Paulinus’ use of the same with Augustine marks a middle point between the literal application of the concept in real society and the final apotheosis of the concept in the Christian idea of the patron saint, and of God as a patron (see Introduction 4C, and Poems 10=Principal Correspondence 3, ll. 193–5); there, “Father” is literal, denoting Paulinus’ biological parent (193); metaphorical, denoting Ausonius’ superiority in status (195); and somehow both, denoting God the Father (l. 194). Icarus. Another quotation from Paulinus, probably from an earlier poetic letter to Ausonius, in which the poet-pupil described their relationship in adulatory dactylic hexameters. Force, return. In the Classical context, the combination of force and compensation are erotic; in light of the age-asymmetry of the two males, pederastic (see, for instance, Plato, Symposium 184de, cp. C. Williams 2010,

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81–6). See also Comments on Ausonius, Letters 21=Principal Correspondence 1, l. l, and on Letters 24=Principal Correspondence 4, l. 124, as well as Paulinus, Poems 11=Principal Correspondence 5, ll. 1–5.

2 To Paulinus: Ausonius, Letters 18 General Comment. A probable New Year’s greeting (see General Comment on Letters 17=Earlier Letters 1, previously), this poem fulfills what one historical linguist has influentially called the “phatic” function of language (Jakobson 1960, 356): “the phatic function serves to establish, prolong or discontinue communication [or confirm whether the contact is still there] (as in ‘Hello?’).” On the dating of the letters in this sequence, see Introduction 5A. 2, “verse preferred.” That is, for the sake of the meter (elegiac): see Introduction 5B. 3, consulship. Scholars’ inference that Paulinus was consul is based on these verses. In Latin, they are more ambiguous, because Ausonius and Paulinus were both “suffect” consuls, or “consuls appointed after,” that is, in the second part of the year, rather than “consuls ordinary,” who gave their name to the year: for instance, “when Plancus was consul”=42 BC/E (Horace, Odes 3.14.28: consule Planco). For an overview of the intersection of Paulinus’ and Ausonius’ careers at this point, see Introduction 1. On the significance of the consulship in Ausonius’ time, see Brown (2012, 95–6): “It is a commonplace to speak of the consulship of the fourth century as if it were an office stripped of all authority. . . . But for a Roman nobleman . . . [i]t was a numinous office, heavy with archaic grandeur,” citing Ausonius, Gratiarum Actio [Speech of Thanks], 5.21–2). Along with this dazzling honor, the consulship also ensured the continued circulation of wealth among its aristocratic recipients, who used it as a steppingstone to profitable provincial offices and influential positions in the imperial court (Sivan 1993, 1–10, 49–50, 119). 5–6, palm. Mratschek (2002, 51–2) takes this as a literal reference to a poetry competition that Paulinus won at school (see Ausonius, Professors of Bordeaux 5.7–8, trans. Warren 2017, 67–79), but Green (1991, 640) believes the language is figurative. 8, swan. For another instance of this imagery and some discussion of its sources, see Paulinus, Poems 11=Principal Correspondence 5, ll. 34–5, with Comments. 13, New Years. See Witke (1971, 11): “This poem is probably a new year’s greeting.” 14, fathers. Like his son, Iulius Ausonius lived a long time, so although Paulinus was forty years younger than Ausonius the poet, some relationship

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between their fathers is possible (and accepted by Trout 1999, 28 n. 30, and Mratschek 2002, 51). Certainly, in his short period of political eminence in the time of Gratian’s ascendancy (see Introduction 1), Ausonius had connected his then-octogenarian father with other local and international aristocrats (Sivan 1993, 131–4), a description that fits their neighbors, the Paulini. See further Ausonius, Parentalia 1.1–4, where note, as here (l. 2 previously), the direct translation of age into status (rank, order, dignity: ordo, honor, etc.).

3 To Paulinus: Ausonius, Letters 19 A. General Comment. The prose section of this letter exemplifies the commodity character of Late Antique epistolography and prepares the way, thematically in the sequence and probably actually in real life, for Ausonius’ more pressing, potentially expensive later request (see Paulinus, Poems 1=Earlier Letters 5: Appendix, subsequently, the letter from Ausonius included in the Comments there, and Introduction 4B). The formula of this commodity chain is: yearly notes endowed with high symbolic value through their poetic refinement maintain the relationship between the correspondents, not without additional “work” by both participants, sharing and revising one another’s poems, along with the possibility of asking for more expensive, material favors (like economic assistance in the next letter)3. The poetic missives endow the whole process with symbolic value, distancing it from material exchange and thereby masking material exchange when it happens, whether that results in brine sauce (Lat. muria) here or in more consequential entrepreneurial endeavors, as in Ausonius, Letters 20=Earlier Letters 4. See further Introduction 4A. Muria. Originally a preservative, this sun-fermented compound of salt and water (in Greek halmê), to which other ingredients, such as fish, meat, and vegetables, could be added, had both cheap and expensive varieties. See Columella, On Farming (De re rustica) 12.6, 25; for other varieties, including the Greek to which Ausonius alludes, see Pliny, Natural History 14.77–8. For practical applications, see Apicius, On Cooking (De re coquinaria) 7.1.6. 7.7.2. Touch, polish. Marks of the “Alexandrian” aesthetic of Hellenistic sophisticates: see Introduction 4B. B. General Comment. Appended to the first part, which serves to present it as a gift, this poem exemplifies Ausonius’ mix of specific occasions, local color, and generic conventions to embroider daily life and thus keep politically and personally meaningful relationships alive in spite of distance in space and time. The specific occasion in this instance is Paulinus’ illness (ll. 16–17), and the local color is the geography of southwest France,

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Aquitaine, where “the correspondents retired from the strain of public life, Paulinus from his governorship in Campania in 381/2 and Ausonius after he had been politically sidelined from the assassination of Gratian in 383” (Mratschek 2002, 207–8). The generic convention that Ausonius embroiders is the use of the iambic meter and some myths of the origins of the genre with which it was originally associated (Green 1991, 642): “Terentius Maurus . . . tells how the iamb evolved from the cheers of the local inhabitants as they watched Apollo slay the Python.” 6, Hippocrene. See Rutilius Namatianus, “Going Home” (De Reditu Suo), 263–6, trans. Malamud (2016, 50): Sheer miracles should not belong to Greeks alone! The spring of Helicon was authored by a horse: let us believe these waters came from such a source, just as a hoof dug out the Muses’ spring. 15, near Toulouse. In Latin, Ebromagus, which is “near Toulouse” (in southwestern France) from the point of view of Bordeaux (western France); elsewhere Hebromagus, Ebromagum, Hebromagum, or Eburomagus, on which see Green (1991, 642): “there was a town of this name (now Bram) . . . halfway between Toulouse and Narbonne. It would be a suitable place to convalesce.” Writing later to his fellow radical Bordelais, Severus, Paulinus expresses a desire like Ausonius’ in Poems 23/24=Principal Correspondence 4/6 (Letters 11.14, trans. Walsh 1966, 104): Come to me, if possible with all haste. I have nothing except Christ; come and see if I have nothing when I have Him who has everything. For I have not abandoned Hebromagus in order to win a little garden, as you suggest. Rather I have preferred to my inheritance and to my fatherland the garden of Paradise. For a review of other possible locations, see Mratschek (2002, 192–204). 18, 23, 24, “hail,” fare well. The Latin treats the words for “hail” or “greeting” (Latin, ave and uale, “hail” and “farewell”) as almost physical objects. In response, one expects the return gift or “counter-service” (see subsequently, Principal Correspondence 4B) of another “hello,” ideally in kind: for instance, poem for poem. Here, however, Ausonius is asking for a real service, based on real commodities (food). 38–43, Dactyl, Spondee, Trochee: meter. The English translation is more than usually “polymetric” here: it switches from the run of iambs and acceptable substitutions to different successive meters. Ausonius’ Latin in Letters 19 does not change meters as the English translation does, but

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Ausonius uses “polymetry” elsewhere (Letters 13–14). See Comments on Paulinus, Poems 10=Principal Correspondence 3, ll. 13–18, and Introduction 5B for the few other examples of such liberties in translation in this volume; for formal experimentation in poetry in the late fourth century, see Comments on the word Précis in Ausonius, Letters 18=Earlier Letters 3. 39–44, Then tell him. By including a message within his message, Ausonius personifies his poem (a feature of Classical correspondence that masks the employment of human messengers, usu. their owner’s property by enslavement, and enslaved readers). Sometimes through this shift in message, the poet addresses his own book (Ovid, Tristia 1.1; Horace, Letters 1.20) and sometimes the Muses, which this poem also suggests, in its identification of poetic meters (see previously) as assistants; cp. Lygdamus=Tibullan Poems (Corpus Tibullianum), 3.1.15–28. 46, poetic distributions. In Latin, musici promptarii. The phrase is practically a Latin calque for the now-commonplace sociological notion of “symbolic capital.” See Introduction 2, 4A.

4 To Paulinus: Ausonius, Letters 20 A: General Comment. In the first part of this letter, designated A in modern editions, Ausonius engages in the time-honored aristocratic custom of disavowed participation in the mixed state-commercial economy, here of Roman grain (see Introduction 4A).4 At the end of the Late Republic in 55 or 54 BC/E, Cicero earlier offered a toned-down version of the rhetoric that conceals economic interests in the language of “love” or friendship (Cicero, Letters to Friends 13.40, trans. Shackleton Bailey 2001, 263, modified): My request is the same as ever. I want you to accommodate Avianius with regard to his shipments of grain, both as to place and time of disembarcation. In both respects his wishes were met, likewise at my intercession, for the three years during which Pompey presided over the business. The long and short of it is that you have the opportunity to oblige me greatly [gratissimum], if you will let Avianius, since he thinks that I love him, know that you love me. That will oblige me very much indeed [pergratum]. Such uses of “gratitude” were the substrate out of which the Christian idea of grace was developed among Roman Christians of property, like Ausonius. See especially Paulinus, Poems 1 (to Gestidius)=Earlier Letters 5 (Appendix). B. On the liberties that I have taken with the adaptation of a “modern” (Elizabethan) poetic form for this poem, see Introduction 5B, where note

Comments 165 also the further discussion of the second part of this letter, designated B in some modern manuscripts, as the substance of the gift, or pay, that Ausonius offers Paulinus in exchange for the proposed favor (work or service). 15, Phormio, Weevil. This and other language in the poem reflect the influence of Roman comedy, whose stock character of the finagling “clever slave” frequently hoodwinked his old slaver. Phormio is the titular character in a Roman comedy of the mid-Republic (ca. 160s BC/E), identified by older critics by the generic name of “parasite” – that is, a stock figure of flattery who assists the ill-conceived plans of wayward sons of the aristocracy and overpaid mercenaries for access to money, food, wine, and sex. “Weevil” is the name of another “parasite” (in Latin, Curculio) from a play of the same name by Terence’s predecessor, Plautus (late third-early second century BC/E). On the figure of the parasite, see Damon (1997, 37–40), McCarthy (2000, 62–3). 19–36, deceived, etiology, shook, charged, earth. Other representations of the property manager in Latin literature (vilicus, or “bailiff” in older English translations) also attribute evasive excuse-making to this middlemanagement type of enslaved laborer whom the Romans evidently found useful to think with (Nelsestuen 2014, 146–8). The examples most relevant to Ausonius are Classical (Horace, Letters 1.14.10–13): The person who lives in the country is happy, I say. But you say the person who lives in the city. He who likes the lot of another will certainly rue his own, and both are fools. Unfair, they blame the undeserving place, but the problem remains within their soul, which never escapes itself. A couple of generations after Horace, Seneca recounts an encounter with this figure, now in old age but still at work at his (Seneca’s) country estate (Letters on Ethics=Epistulae Morales 12.1–2), about which Seneca finally says (§4): “My suburban villa has done me a service: it has brought my age before me at every turn.” Similarly, Horace’s account of the correspondence with the property manager serves an introspective function. It is tempting to think that Ausonius’ prosimetric epistle here recalls these two earlier prose and poetic treatments of the enslaved superintendent, but unlike them, Ausonius does not adopt their introspective turn but keeps the letter focused exclusively on Philo’s failings and external property (contrast the interiority that he attributes to his enslaved scribe at Ephemera 7.14–18, 34–36, and the occasion for introspection provided by his villa in “On his little estate” (De Herediolo), quoted and discussed in Introduction 2).

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66–7, Epimenides. The invocation of lying through the figure of Epimenides (see note on line), the Cretan prophet who said, “All Cretans are liars,” is appropriate for the context: Aristotle saw practices aiming at “the acquisition of money and of as much money as possible” as a form of chicanery.5 Fatefully, in the Pseudo-Pauline Epistle to Titus 1:10–14, the Christian tradition of Paulinus adds Jewishness to the association of Cretan lying, profiteering, poetry, and fable (trans. NRSV, underlining added): There are also many rebellious people, idle talkers and deceivers, especially those of the circumcision; they must be silenced, since they are upsetting whole families by teaching for sordid gain what it is not right to teach. It was one of them, their very own prophet, who said, “Cretans are always liars, vicious brutes, lazy gluttons.” That testimony is true. For this reason rebuke them sharply, so that they may become sound in the faith, not paying attention to Jewish myths or to commandments of those who reject the truth. For examples of patent anti-Judaism in Paulinus, see Comments on Poems 22=Selections 5A, l. 94. 68–71, Mana, counter-service. Literally (ll. 49–50 in Latin): “I will situate them [locabo] in such a way to be placed second [postferendos] to your divinity [numini – an emendation: Green 1991, 222], since this will become your office [munus . . . tuum],” or: “I will hire them [locabo] to be put second on your account [nomini – the reading of the manuscripts].” After the lacuna, the text becomes increasingly uncertain and, to the extent that certainty is possible, riddling. The language of the English translation is borrowed from Mauss (1990 [1922], 8): [T]wo essential elements . . . can be clearly distinguished here: the honour, prestige, and mana conferred by wealth; and the absolute obligation to reciprocate these gifts under pain of losing that mana. . . . On the other hand, these gifts can be obligatory and permanent, with no total counter-service in return. On this substitution, see Introduction 4A–B.

5 Appendix: Paulinus to Gestidius=Poems 1 General comment. This letter to an otherwise unknown Gallic landowner (Trout 1999, 56–7, Mratschek 2002, 185–6, 336–7) represents one of three short poems that survive from before Paulinus’ radicalization. One of the others, Paulinus, Poems 1, only survives in Ausonius, Letters 17=Earlier Letters 1,

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previously. The other is very similar to the poem included with this letter, as witness its opening lines (Paulinus, Poems 2, ll. 1–2): “To be pleased with the precious gift [munus] of an impoverished friend [pauperis . . . amici],/you can’t compare the gifts of riches [munera . . . ditia] that you send.” In addition to the crypto-economic term of aristocratic exchange (munus: see Introduction 4A and General Comments on Ausonius, Letters 18A=Earlier Letters 2), Paulinus’ pose of poverty in the opening of Poems 2 plays on Classical commonplaces of the poor poet and thus furnishes an ironic model of the real poverty that the poet will assume after his radicalization (see especially Hardie 2019b, 258–9). This language of exchange, including the expanded concept of the economy of real goods and services that it can denote, recurs, applied to a rural laborer, in the poem appended to the letter to Gestidius (ll. 5–6): “not/a little service” (non paruo munere). Accompanied by the language of aristocratic affection in the prose opening and of physical beauty understood as grace in the poetic conclusion, the complex of poem and letter makes the inversion of aristocratic values that will define Late Roman asceticism undeniable. See also Introduction 3. Companion. The word which this phrase translates, unanimitas, is an abstract noun, meaning “oneness or concord of mind or soul,” a thing in itself (a substantive). Paulinus applies the abstraction itself to Gestidius, as courtly diction in English permits referring to a sovereign as “Your Majesty.” In Paulinus’ later Christian Letters, the word unanimitas expresses the concept of the incorporation of separate and diverse individuals in the body of the Church, Christ: see Paulinus, Poems 25=Selections 5B, ll. 81–82, with Conybeare (2000, 68–72); cp. germanitas (“brotherhood”), in the Comments on Poems 21=Selections 2F, ll. 526–37. 10, grace. For an example of poetic “grace,” also applied to bare birds in verse correspondence, see Ausonius, Letters 1 (Ausonius “To Hesperius”): As he who lays waste to the olive of Piceno, the thrush, is fattened in his haunch, or the one who makes plunder of vine out of glassy grapes gets stuck in the nets blowing loose like a wave made of clouds in the dusk or drawn tight in dew at dawn, so too I sent from my pens kept for winter, themselves willing their capture, twice ten birds, since that was the number that under the evening glow night flight brought quick. To these we added as spoils from our home cistern a pair of ducks, despoilers of the blue, with oars for feet, with their broad beaks

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Comments and legs like blood. Their rainbow color feathers paint them with a flashing brush surpassing neck of dove. This produce was not stolen from my board, but rather more your eating is my pleasure.

15

For the general idea of grace in Christian doctrine, see Selections 5, especially F=Paulinus, Poems 20, ll. 38–42, but also 3, especially E=Poems 23, ll. 27–44, which, as in the letter to Gestidius previously, also features a bird. The birds surprisingly anticipate the doctrine of the incarnation and atonement, where Christians also locate grace (in the sense of God’s generosity, or generous self-sacrifice as Christ), when Ausonius suggests that they “willed” their own capture, death, and consumption. See the final paragraph of Introduction 4C. Even after his radicalization, Paulinus continues at least to receive gifts from his friends, often valuable ones, too (see Letters 5.21), though he makes the most of those that are valueless by worldly standards, like the symbolic bread of Christian fellowship; literary exchange and revision continue to accompany such presents. See Comments on Ausonius, Letters 19=Earlier Letters 3, previously, with Conybeare (2000, 24–31).

Notes 1 See Trout (1999, 55–6), Mratschek (2002, 55–6), and General Comment on Ausonius, Letters 19B=Earlier Letters 3. 2 See Ausonius, Letters 22=Principal Correspondence 2, ll. 7, 33; Paulinus, Poems 10=Principal Correspondence 3, ll. 11, 19, 90, 95, 107, 189, and especially ll. 193–7, with Ebbeler (2007, 304–7, 311–13). 3 Trout (1999, 57–8); Gurd (2012, 76–104), Sowers (2016), McGill (2017), cp. Mratschek (2002, 187–8). 4 Garnsey (1983, 125–6, 129–30), Whittaker (1983, 170–3); see further Temin (2013, 97–114). 5 In Greek, kapêlikê, with Newman (1887, 186); see also Graeber (2011, 33–4).

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Comments The Principal Correspondence

1 To Paulinus: Ausonius, Letters 21 General Comment. For discussion of this letter in the extant sequence and its thematic relation to the previous letters, see Introduction 5A. 1, fourth, expose. Probably, as outlined by Green (1991, 647–9) and discussed in Introduction 5A, three previous letters have been lost, since it is unlikely, given Paulinus’ eventual response, that the substance of Ausonius, Letters 18–20=Earlier Letters 2–4, demanded a response of the kind that Ausonius now laments missing; “it is possible,” however, Green writes, “that Paulinus’ absence began with his convalescence at Ebromagus” (1991, 647); see Ausonius, Letters 19B=Earlier Letters 3, ll. 16–17. Other commentators read the opening line (which is in the perfect tense in Latin), not as an epistolary perfect (written from the point of view of the reader: “I was writing to tell you . . .”) and translated in the present tense here, but rather as a true perfect: “My fourth letter exposed . . .” and this is the fifth (Amherdt 2004, 102–3). 1, letter, complaint. Parallels with Ovid, especially his Poems of Mythological Heroines (Heroides), endow the language of the epistle with an erotic edge. For an example, see the Comments on Paulinus, Poems 10=Principal Correspondence 3, l. 4. Distinguishing between the ostensibly separate domains of desire and friendship may be a greater concern for modern readers than for readers of Greco-Roman antiquity. The intensity of both domains, the one based in the erotic and the other in the social solidarity that bound elites against the exploited majority of the populations surrounding them, fed off each other in a kind of feedback loop, with the result that discourses of friendship frequently mine other domains for their vocabulary, making it hard to tell which, if either, is the source of the intensity of the other (Halperin 1990, 77–8, 83–7, at 84): “friendship is parasitic in its conceptualization on kinship relations and on sexual relations”; see further Richlin (2006, 4–9). DOI: 10.4324/9780203710845-6

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For the use of kinship relations, see Comments on Ausonius Letters 18=Earlier Letters 2, on “father.” For the erotic language of the Correspondence in general, see Knight (2005), also Ebbeler (2007, 308–10), and for further additional examples, see Paulinus, Poems 10=Principal Correspondence 3, ll. 1–4, with Comments, and Ausonius, Letters 17=Earlier Letters 1, on “pleasure” and “force.” 2, malingering. Elsewhere, Ausonius expresses a more complex attitude to “malingering” that he also describes in this letter (residem previously, as compared with desidia in Ausonius, Letters 2.1–2, 10): Finally free from the beguiling fetters of delay [mora], we left the plushy pleasures of Bordeaux . . . No free time, for us, for lying idle [desidia]. Strictly the word residem in Latin lacks the connotations of feigned illness in the English, but Ausonius elsewhere directs his correspondence to Paulinus’ health (see, for instance, Letters 19B) and will again accuse him of a kind of mental illness for his change of ways subsequently, l. 72. For later examples, probably derived from Ausonius and Paulinus, see Curtius (1963, 87–9). 3, obligation. In Latin, the traditional language of reciprocal social performances, which cannot be reduced to their formality, and may or may not (as here) feature the material entailment of a gift: officium pium (almost “filial duty”): see Paulinus, Poems 10=Principal Correspondence 3, l. 89–91, also Introduction 4A. 4, good morrow. The archaic formulation reflects Ausonius’ epic-religious fausta . . . orsa. See Comments on Paulinus, Poems 10=Principal Correspondence 3, l. 18 subsequently. 5, infelicitous. In Latin, non felix, which denotes both the experience of being happy and the condition of being productive – that is, in the present instance, of effecting a response from the wayward addressee. 10, responds, responds, reflection. With a common device and suggestive description of the phenomenon of echo, Ausonius compresses a wealth of auditory phenomena in a single line, both the form of echo (sermo redit, redit et where note the effect of diminishment: redit-redit-et) and its synaesthetic name, which was all but a technical term in classical Latin. The phrase vocalis imago (“aural reflection,” “calling image”) echoes several Classical predecessors: a b

Cicero (Tusculan Disputations 3.2): “the praise of good people echoes [resonat] like a reflection [imago] of virtue”; Vergil (Georgics 4.50): “the reflection of the voice [vocis . . . imago], bounced back, returns”; and

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Horace who all but names the susceptibility of the phenomenon to such literary gamesmanship (or play, “allusion,” from ad-ludere, ludus, “game”; cp. M.S. Williams 2010, 97–8) when he describes the sound of his poetry as a “playful echo” (iocosa imago: Odes 1.12.3–4, also 1.20.8).

Ausonius finally names this effect, as a personification, in l. 68. Given that she is there the goddess Echo, and that Paulinus refashions “pagan” divinities of sound, the Muses, at a decisive point in Poems 10=Principal Correspondence 3, ll. 19–30, it feels like he is once more consciously sanitizing Ausonius’ “calling reflection” of Echo when he describes the Shulamite of the Song of Solomon (Poems 27=Selections, 3G, ll. 156–7), in a later poem, thus: And now let my soul exalt itself and declare what once the lover betrothed to the Lord, her lover, sang, calling [uocalis]. Appropriating the alternative history of the Jews, Paulinus’ use of the same word (uocalis) suggests that the Hebrew Bible was the original of which Greco-Roman tradition was the copy. While this move is itself Classical (cp. Hinds 1998, 8–9), it was widespread among Christian intellectuals who followed their Hellenistic Jewish forebears and suggested that the actual source of pagan inspiration was none other than the (now Christian) God (Tertullian, Apology 47.2): “What poet [poetarum], what sophist [sophistarum], did not drink from the fountain of the prophets [prophetarum]?” 9–19, speech, rocks, bees. For the history and future of these commonplace invocations of nature, see Curtius (1963, 92–4, with 93 where note: “quadrupeds, birds, and reptiles”). 12, Turf, buffet, hum. The programmatic concatenation of sounds of buzzing (ss, p/b, um) constitutes the final Latin of the line (sussurat: “whisper and hum”), as well as the line as a whole, which thus warrants reading aloud: Hyblaeis apibus saepes depasta susurrat. The imagery here and subsequently, especially in view of the dangers of sound and silence, recalls the post-Classical poem once attributed to Ausonius, Peruigilium Veneris 50–3, 90–7: She orders her tribunal stand amid Hyblaean flowers. She’ll make decrees. The Graces will sit beside her. O Hybla, scatter the flowers of the year! O Hybla, your garment of Aetna’s flowers wear! ... She sings. We’re silent. When will my spring come?

172

Comments O when will I be as the swallow, no more silent? I destroyed my muse being silent. Apollo denies me. So Amyclae, when silent, silence destroyed.

For more on the places mentioned in this line, see the comment on l. 65 subsequently. 14–15, tresses, solicits, foliage. In another irresistible catachresis, the Latin word for the foliage of trees is simply “locks” (coma). See again Peruigilium Veneris 3–4: “In spring birds take the veil/and groves unloosen locks for lordly showers.” 16, Dindyma, Gargara. Pagan sites of Cybele, the mother goddess of castration; Gargara is the summit of Mt. Ida, a haunt of the Muses, whose music Paulinus must also hear in Poems 10=Principal Correspondence 3, ll. 23–30 subsequently. Green (1991, 650) suggests that Ausonius could be teasing Paulinus with these and later Lovecraftian epithets of the old gods. 23–5, Dodona, tongues. A major oracle of Apollo was in Dodona, in Epirus, in Northwest Greece. Some configuration of contiguous bronze tripods emitted a continuous sound when struck there. Asking questions by scratching on lead tablets, supplicants would receive an answer of yes or no. See Shorrock (2011, 35): That writers felt it necessary to emphasize time and again the silence of the oracles suggests that theme of prophecy and inspiration continued to exert a powerful influence, that the traditional routes to divine knowledge still presented a challenge and threat to a newly emerging Christian age. 26, Amyclae, Oebalus. For the place, see Comments on l. 12, previously, where add: a b

it was an Italian city, named after the city of the Peloponnese of which it was a colony, Oebalus was its king, and by some accounts a grandfather of Helen (later of Troy).

In his commentary on the phrase “silent Amyclae” in Vergil (Aeneid 10.564), Servius records several theories for the proverbial silence of the place: including that the Spartans who lived there were persuaded by Pythagoras to abstain from killing animals and were consequently overcome by the snakes.1 Other explanations for the “silence of Amyclae” are: (1) inspired by Pythagoras in another way, the resident Lacedaemonians took a collective vow of silence every fifth year (a Classical instance of asceticism), or

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(2) they were simply too meek (and thus “silent”) to “talk back” (?) when a hostile force proceeded to destroy them. 27, Horus. Harpocrates, enacting the hieroglyph for child, but interpreted by Romans as making a gesture of silence: Ovid, Metamorphoses 9.691–92, and Augustine, City of God 18.5: “And since, in nearly every temple in which Isis and Serapis are worshipped there was a statue, which seemed to warn one to be quiet with its finger pressed to its lip, Varro thought this meant that we should not mention that they had been humans.” 28, shame. In Latin, pudor denotes a feminine characteristic that can nevertheless be generalized to members of both sexes and remain a virtue. Translating this word as “shame” can be reductive in the context of women’s values, but, in the context of male taunts, seems about right. See Langlands (2006, 38–9). 31, obligations, leisure, vice. For the first, see Comments on l. 3 previously. For the rest, cp. the language of luxurious indolence in the protoProtestant ethic of industrious Classical leaders and litterateurs (Catullus, Poems 51.15–16): “Leisure [otium] has done in/happy cities and kings.” In Ausonius, such language includes “vice” (culpa), which may be a more depraved form of social transgression than a “failing” (vitium) in Classical Latin. The latter denoted less the sense of sin to which Christianity would elevate it than a defect of character in respect to personal flourishing or social success. See, for example, Horace, Letters 1.18, or Seneca, Letters on Ethics 17.11–12: Epicurus says: “For many people, getting rich is not an end but only a modification of unhappiness.’ I am not surprised. The failing is not in their possessions, but in their soul [non est enim in rebus vitium sed in ipso animo].” The difference between a “failing” of things and a “failing” of the soul is tantamount to the difference between a “flaw” and a “sin,” corresponding to the rough distinction between Classical and Christian ethics that identifies the former as “eudaimonistic,” or based on a holistic sense of flourishing in human society, and the latter as deontological – that is, obligatory – and transcendent. See also Paulinus, Poems 10=Principal Correspondence 3, ll. 101–2 35, epic. Cp. Ausonius’ promise to send a greater poem “in epic meter” in Letters 19=Earlier Letters 3A. 39, born-again. Ausonius uses Horatian language to refer to Pythagoras’ doctrine of the transmigration of souls (Horace, Epodes 15.21): “May the mysteries [arcana] of born-again Pythagoras [Pythagorae . . . renati] not trick you.” The silence of Pythagoras may be at the back of Ausonius’ mind

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elsewhere too. See Kay (2001, 97) on Epigrams 11=32 in Warren (2017), quoting an epigram from the Selections of Planudes, a Byzantine compilation including Greek epigrams from much earlier in the Classical period: The painter brings Pythagoras in person. You could see his voice – if only Pythagoras wanted to speak! The anonymous epigram highlights the distinguishing characteristics of visual and aural culture, and by extension of art and literature. This concern with the specificity of creative media in the epigram resembles Ausonius’ earlier attempt to make words sound like things (onomatopoeia, ll. 9–25, previously). 48–50, let, confined. In Latin, more literally: “I can’t keep silent [nec possum reticere] since frank devotion [libera . . . pietas] never bears/the yoke [iugum] and does not like [amat, ‘love’] to put truth after flatteries.” With these words, Ausonius all but quotes the classical poet Catullus’ epistolary elegy of thanks to his friend (Poems 68b.1–2): “In what a great way Allius helped me, Muses,/I can’t keep silent [nec possum reticere].” The formulation is almost proverbial (cp. Cicero, Philippics 1.29, Calpurnius Siculus, Eclogues 6.78), in addition to being Classical in the context of the meter, hence the bald Shakespearianism in the English. For the yoke, see Ebbeler (2007, 308–9): “In an epistolary context the yoke could also refer to the dialogue, oral or written, between two interlocutors (cf. August. Ep. 72.3)”; cp. Conybeare (2000, 152). In his epithalamium or wedding poem, Paulinus adopts Christ’s statement, “My yoke is sweet, my burden light” (Matthew 11:30), in the predictable Classical connection with marriage (c. 25.5–6): “For light is your yoke, Christ, when the will is ready/to take it up. Love bears it with easy obedience.” See also Paulinus, Poems 15=Selections: “Self, Money, Music, Time, and Christ,” l. 21, as well as Poems 25=Selections 5B, l. 192, and Poems 21=Selections 1B, ll. 398–40. 51–2, changed, mind. In Latin, not “mind” (mens) but “habits” or “ways” (mores); both accusations, change of mind and of ways, are taken up again and again by Paulinus throughout Poems 10=Principal Correspondence 3, especially ll. 156, 195–8. 52–3, vast tracts, region. The rhetorical figure of “reproach” (skhetliasmos), which Paulinus will identify as such in Poems 10=Principal Correspondence 3, ll. 184–5, where see Comments. 54–5, Carthaginians, Hannibal, Sertorius. Ausonius recalls several conflicts to which Spain was theater in the middle Republic (ca. mid-third to early-first centuries BCE). From Paulinus’ response (Poems 10.202–27 subsequently), these stock figures of Spanish depredation appear out of date.

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Sertorius was a rogue aristocrat who founded an independent Republic in Spain, so Ausonius’ choices of examples also suggest subversion of Roman values. See further Griffin (2018, 92). 63, irreverent, voice. Possibly a reference to Paulinus’ wife Therasia: see Comments on Ausonius, Letters 22=Principal Correspondence 2, ll. 6–7 and 31. 65, beguiling complaint. In Latin, blanda . . . querela, a formulation close to Paulinus’ description of Ausonius’ own letter (Poems 10.9–10). Paulinus may respond to this point at Poems 10=Principal Correspondence 3, ll. 128–30, 136–8. For the collocation blanda . . . querella, see Statius (late first century AD/CE), whose super-sibilant description of a snake and the land of Hybla appear in ll. 12 and 18 of Ausonius, previously (Statius, Silvae, 1.45–9): Whither the beguiling complaints of the lively mouth, the kisses of his embrace rank with spring flowers, the tears in laughter mixed, the voice when he spoke, mixed with the honey of Hybla for which the snake would give up his hiss [sibillam]? See ll. 111–2 of the same poem where note (as previously at l. 26) Oebalides (“son of Oebalus”) and Amyclae. Statius’ poem is about the death of its addressee’s enslaved boy favorite, which puts Paulinus in the position of the dead boy and Ausonius in the position of the mourning poet-lover-slaver (“master”). For a Christian development of the theme of the sweetness of suffering, see Poems 31=Selections 5G, ll. 447–54. 72, Bellerophon, mind, eschewing. For the collocation of “mind” (mens) and being mad (amens; inops in Ausonius), see Paulinus, Poems 10=Principal Correspondence 3, l. 195–6, with additional reference to Bellerophon (191), the mythical slayer of monsters in remote locales, who fell into madness, died in ill repute, and became a byword for depression in ancient therapeutic discourse (Toohey 2004, 37–41). Cicero associated himself with Bellerophon when he left Rome in grief for his daughter’s death near the end of the Republic (Tusculan Disputations 3.63): From this it arises that, in mental anguish, some people hunt for solitude, as Homer says of Bellerophon: who miserably mourning was wandering fields of Aleion, eating his very heart, eschewing the traces of humans. For further scholarly discussion of the allusion to Cicero and the translation from Homer (Iliad 6.201–2), see Green (1991, 652).

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74, Boeotian powers, Muses, Inspirations. The latter translates the Latin word Camenae (singular, Camena), the name of indigenous Roman divinities associated with water and later, probably because of the near homophone carmen (plural, carmina, “song(s)”), associated with poetry and assimilated to the Muses (on the association of water and poetry, see Introduction 4B). Outside of Ausonius, the collocation of the two names appears infrequently and only in archaic contexts: Livius Andronicus’ third-century BC/E translation of the Odyssey (Warmington 1936, 24–5=Aulus Gellius, Attic Nights 18.9.5): “Declare for me, Inspiration [Camena], the well-versed man”; cp. the second-century BCE Annals of Ennius: “You’ll know when they say ‘Muses,’ we say ‘Inspirations’” (quoted in Varro, On the Latin Language, in Warmington 1940, 370–1: see further Hinds 1998, 51–74). By placing “Muses” and Inspirations in parallel positions in the final lines of Letters 21, Ausonius repurposes Livius and Ennius’ original clash of cultures (Italy and Greece) with a new clash of cultures: Christianity and the world (saeculum).

2 To Paulinus: Ausonius, Letters 22 General Comment. For discussion of this letter in the extant sequence and its thematic relation to the previous letters, see Introduction 5A. 1–3, complaint, grievance, pleasant. On the paradox achieved by the combination of Latin querella, blanda obiurgatio and its relationship to ancient ideas about poetry, see Comments on Ausonius, Letters 21=Principal Correspondence 1, l. 65. 2, letter. Discussing the manuscript technically designated V, Green writes (1991, 653): Neither V’s heading to this letter (epistula subinde scripta) nor its first word (proxima) proves that it followed Ep. 21, but this seems to be the case. The letter reads like a brief note sent after a weightier letter; that weightier letter, unless it is Ep. 21, receives no attention from Paulinus, since hardly anything in this cannot be satisfactorily related to extant material. Ausonius is here more impatient and aggressive, and shows greater insight: he gives the answer to his earlier question quis prohibet . . . ? ([Letters] 21.32–3). The material that surrounds the bland reiteration of exempla is notably barbed. The letter seems to have reached Paulinus too late to receive anything but the briefest acknowledgment [in Paulinus to Ausonius, Poems 11=Principal Correspondence 5, ll. 1–9]. For more on the reconstruction of the chronology, see Introduction 5A.

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4–5, vow, devout, rule. Most commentaries suggest that Ausonius is beginning to suspect a religious explanation for Paulinus’ continuing disengagement and thus resorting to the language of mystery cults and monastic orders. 6–7, forbidden, you. Persistent questions vetting different explanations for the unresponsiveness of habitual correspondents are a commonplace of ancient epistolography (Pliny the Younger, Letters 3.17): Is everything all right, that your letters have stopped coming for so long now? Or is everything all right, but you are busy? Or are you not in fact busy, but you have no opportunity, or very little, to write? On the other hand, as Ausonius will all but explicitly say later in l. 31, he may here implicitly charge Paulinus with being uxorious, or unbecomingly beholden to his wife (uxor), Therasia. Finally, the language of the line is legal and administrative (proditor, quaesitor, censura), recalling Paulinus’ legal troubles in connection with his brother’s death: Paulinus, Poems 21=Selections 2E, ll. 416–20. 7, father’s, successor. A now-familiar reference to the obligations of status obtaining between the two (see Comments on Ausonius Letters 18=Earlier Letters 2, l. 1: “preferred”), or else a possible reference not to Paulinus’ direct obligation to Ausonius but to his “inheritance” of an obligation from his biological father’s past friendship with Ausonius (and/or Ausonius’ biological father: see Comments on Ausonius Letters 18=Earlier Letters 2, on “fathers”). 9–10, sending, accepting, greeting. See Ausonius, Letters 21=Principal Correspondence 1, ll. 7–8. 12–27, timeworn, concealment. In its relationship to Classical poetry, this section of the poem may be the richest and most complex. After the relatively concise introduction establishes the context and function of the letter (ll. 1–12), Ausonius offers a Classical catalogue of mythological examples. Formally, the catalogue divides the opening (ll. 1–12) from the conclusion (ll. 28–35). Functionally, it throws the action of conclusion into high relief, as, issuing actual imperatives (l. 31: “Despise . . . don’t disdain”), Ausonius offers a strong statement of his relationship to Paulinus (l. 33): “I am he . . .” This statement appears descriptive, but it is really performative: by reasserting his status and the privileges that it entails, Ausonius challenges Paulinus to respond (see Introduction 4A). The mythological examples of Ausonius’ catalogue confirm this interpretation; each feature uses of language, mostly from Ovid, not just to describe but also to control and modify states of affairs:

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Comments 13–5: after she was sexually assaulted by Tereus, the “Thracian king” who cut out her tongue (in Latin, elinguem), Philomela used the visual language of a tapestry that she wove to illustrate the crime and thereby out the king (Metamorphoses 6.577–8); 16–7: Acontius, the Athenian youth, rolled an apple inscribed with the words, “I promise to marry Acontius,” at the feet of the maiden Cydippe who, on picking it up and reading it in surprise, committed herself to marriage against her will (Ars Amatoria 1.457–8): “Cydippe was tricked by the words that the apple carried:/unsuspecting girl, whom words now hers ensnared” (cp. Heroides 21.103–8). 18–20: the royal servant of Midas, just after the king grew the ears of an ass, confided the secret of the king’s transformation to a ditch, where “the buried words, then stirred/by light south wind, did out the ears of the king” (Ovid, Metamorphoses 11.89–90); 21–7: the one historical example, which does not come from Ovid, describes techniques of cryptography proper, including a brief description of invisible ink (milk) and a long description of the staff that Spartans used to encode a written message through transposition: Plutarch, Life of Lysander 19.

31, Tanaquil. Of Paulinus’ wife, Therasia, suspecting her hand in his radicalization, which Cooper (1992) dismisses as a commonplace of Roman criticism of Christianity rather than a real case of historical influence. Certainly, through her associations, Therasia offered a wide range of high-profile Christian connections (Mratschek 2002, 75–6, cp. Poems 21=Selections 3G, ll. 60–83, 280–3). The ambiguity of Tanaquil in the Classical context reflects the ambiguity of women’s agency in imperial Christianity: an early matriarch of the monarchical period, wife of the fifth king of Rome, described in Livy (History 1.34–41), she appears as a proverbial harridan in the early imperial misogynist Juvenal (Satire 6.566–9): She asks [from astrology] when will her melancholy mother die already, before she asks the same about you, your Tanaquil. When will she cart off her sister, her uncle, and her lover – will he outlive her? What better gift could divine powers give her? The question to which Juvenal’s satire is directed, should a man seek marriage (where the answer is no), adds point to Ausonius’ insult to Therasia. From Paulinus’ indignant response (Poems 10=Principal Correspondence 3, l. 192), it would be pleasant to infer that fourth-century Christians had different attitudes to women than their Classical predecessors. Jerome, no

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feminist, but generally Juvenalian, attributes positive qualities to Tanaquil (Against Jovinian 1.49): Tanaquil is more famous than her husband. Antiquity has hidden him among the many names of the kings, but a virtue rare among women has . . . secured her position in the memory of all time. Paulinus (already cited) opposes Tanaquil to Lucretia, the paragon of feminine virtue in the same parts of Livy’s history, so while, like Juvenal and Ausonius, Paulinus sees Tanaquil in a negative light, the kind of female agency that Ausonius identifies as “Tanaquilian” is nevertheless a good thing in Paulinus. See further Clarke (1994, Chapters 2 and 4), with Trout (1999, 68–77). 34, proponent. See, in addition to Introduction 1, also Ausonius, Letters 18=Earlier Letters 2, ll. 1–6, with Comments.

3 To Ausonius: Paulinus, Poems 10 General Comment. As noted throughout these Comments, Paulinus fills this poem with verbal echoes of Ausonius’ first contributions to the Principal Correspondence, especially the language of paternity, calling Ausonius his “father” (see especially ll. 89–102). Like the more general verbal parallels between the poems, the recurrence of patronal language in Poems 10 is not simply deferential, however; it also has a persuasive function, constituting nothing short of an assertion of control over one’s social superior by holding them to the higher standard that their elevated status demands (Paulinus, Poems 10=Principal Correspondence 3, ll. 265–7): Devotion and credit demand that what slander fashions the mind of a father, good in desire, should never admit. Cp. Poems 11=Principal Correspondence 5, ll. 6, 15, 26. For a Classical example of this strategic application of patronal language to social superiors, see Seneca to Nero (On Mercy 1.8.4, trans. Kaster and Nussbaum 2010, 153): “[T]he words and deeds of people in your position make the rounds in gossip: that’s why no one has to be more careful of their reputation than those whose names will be on everyone’s lips, whatever sort of name they’ve deserved.” In emphasizing their relative status, Poems 10 also demonstrates the public character of any formal correspondence that transpired between individuals of Ausonius’ and Paulinus’ renown. Such letters were never exclusively

180 Comments private affairs, and any reference to an individual’s social position gains in significance against the background of other unnamed readers who, if the attribution of social superiority fits, may be assumed to expect that the addressee will conform to it (Ebbeler 2012, 8, 11–12, 75–81). In other words, just because Paulinus claims that he did not receive the more urgent letter sent by Ausonius at the outset of Poems 11, that does not mean that it was simply lost in the mail. In a similar epistolary feud in Paulinus’ time, the older Jerome accuses the younger Augustine of writing letters “to” himself (Jerome), which he (Augustine, according to Jerome) really meant to draw attention to himself (Augustine) at his elder’s expense.2 In the late Republic, Cicero likewise in his Letters to Atticus 9.7c suggests that Caesar’s letter to Oppius was really directed at himself. In all these examples, the public character of epistolography makes letters more than mere vehicles of information; they are, rather, social acts in themselves, quite apart from their reception by the intended addressee (see Introduction 4A). This means that correspondents may say one thing but really be doing something else. In the present instance, even if Paulinus is attempting to reconcile with Ausonius, as some scholars have suggested (see Introduction 1), Poems 10 nevertheless documents a break (in the sense that Severus gives to the Latin word documentum in the Life of Martin 24.4–5, quoted and discussed in Introduction 4C). This makes Poems 10 a special instance of confessional poetry, not primarily in the sense that it imparts information only accessible to the writer but in a more historically specific Christian sense. The poem constitutes an instance of self-exposure (publicatio sui) in which someone publicly identifies themselves as a sinner or a believer (or both), because this is a condition of joining a new community which will simultaneously reconcile the one who confesses in public with God (Tertullian, On Penitence 9, trans. Le Saint 1959, 31): “Therefore it must not be performed solely within one’s conscience but it must also be shown forth in some external act.” In other words (Foucault 2016, 212): “speech here has the value of the cry, an expressive value.” Paulinus participates in this expressivity beyond truth, which Christians called faith, when, at the climax of Poems 11, he tells Ausonius: “So I believe” (l. 302: credo equidem), but the whole poem can be interpreted as an “external act” of “expressive value,” which constitutes Paulinus’ radicalization in its very publicity. This public dimension of Poems 10 makes it the leading event in the multimedia project of religious definition, in poetry, art and architecture, song, smell, epistolography, and personal style, which Paulinus will pursue with the move to Nola, which will sometimes fulfil the more familiar confessional function of the “designation of sin” (Foucault 2016, 212), as in Paulinus, Poems 21=Selections 2B, ll. 180–2: “sinner falling from a sinner’s belly,/gotten from the darkness of wrongdoing,/mother bore me guilty from day one.” There, as

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here, Paulinus’ confessional poetry can be defined by its degree of expressiveness, or “feeling in public,” at least as much as its ostensible function, whether that is a simple description (for instance, “I am a sinner,” or “I am a Christian”) or an attempt to affect its addressee (to reconcile oneself with one’s estranged mentor, for instance). See General Comment on Selections 2B. 1–18: Answering Ausonius 1, four. In Latin, the syntax more literally parallels the opening of Ausonius, Letters 21=Principal Correspondence 1, l. 1 (“This is the fourth letter in which I expose to you my well-known grievance” [Quarta tibi haec notos detexit epistula questus]). 4, penned. In Latin, notata manu. Cp. Ovid, Heroides 3.1–2: “The letter that you are reading comes from Briseis the captive,/in Greek that is not well-penned by a foreigner’s hand [notata manu].” On parallels with the Heroides in general, see the Comments on Ausonius, Letters 21.1–2. For erotic dimensions of the Correspondence, see especially Ausonius, Letters 24=Principal Correspondence 4, l. 124. 5, felicitous. Throughout the opening, Paulinus also responds to Ausonius verbatim: Ausonius laments that his “missive” is feckless (infelix charta: Ausonius, Letters 21=Principal Correspondence 1, l. 5); Paulinus calls it “felicitous” (felix) – that is, both happy and effective, a word that will be very important in Paulinus’ frequent apostrophes to Saint Felix (but see also Comments on Ausonius, Letters 21=Principal Correspondence, 1.5). Other language, like that of gifts (“rendered . . . presents [dona]”), recalls Ausonius’ use of traditional Roman language of “duty” or affectionate obligation (officium: see again Comments on Letters 21=Principal Correspondence 3, l. 3, and Introduction 4A). The phrase “pack of good wishes” in Paulinus (10.5: salutifero . . . libello) recalls Ausonius’ “pack of salutation” (Letters 21.4: salutigeris . . . libellis). See comment on l. 18 subsequently. On the combined efficacy, happiness, and productivity (or felicitas) of Felix, see Comments on Poems 21=Selections 2E, l. 414, and Introduction 4C. 7, letters. Probably Ausonius, Letters 21, 22=Principal Correspondence 1–2, and another letter now lost, “which reached Paulinus in 393, in the fourth year after his withdrawal from Aquitaine to Spain. According to the number of letters received, Paulinus answers in three different meters” (Dräger 2002, 214). Since Ausonius does not mention this span of time, for which Paulinus later claims that he was reproached (l. 103, subsequently), some readers have inferred that the lost letter dealt with the length of Paulinus’ withdrawal to Spain (Amherdt 2004, 20, with Ausonius, Letters 21=Principal Correspondence, 1. 53, and Introduction 1 and 5A, for Spain; for more on the possible contents of the lost letter, see Mondin 1995, lx–lxi).

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9–10, sweetness, bitterness. The culinary aesthetics of this literary critical language is common in Ausonius. See, for example, Letters 11.1–8: O you who fatten the lovely acid of satire with fecund tongue, Tetradius, you take care lest the bitter compound be tart without the sweet. You make your Muses work. You mix splenetic song with honey and you blend all things tart and all things lacking zest with your good taste. It is a constant feature of the Correspondence, frequently marked by the “complaint”: Ausonius, Letters 21=Principal Correspondence 1, l. 65; see also ll. 260–4 in this poem, with Comments, and especially Paulinus, Poems 11=Principal Correspondence 5, ll. 6–7; see also Poems 27=Selections 3E, ll. 326–8. 9–11, complaints, devotion, father. See, for these key words, the Comments on Ausonius, Letters 20=Earlier Letters 4, l. 65, on Letters 21=Principal Correspondence 1, l. 65, and in Poems 31=Selections 5G, ll. 447–54. 13–18, heavier, heroic, foot. In Latin, the last word is pes, also=the minimal unit of ancient poetic meter, referring to “polymetry” or the use of multiple meters in a single poem, which, in contrast with Classical poets (who avoided it across the board), Ausonius and Paulinus use to modulate tone and establish themes (whence “heavier,” “heroic,” here). Thus, in the Principal Correspondence, whereas the elder Ausonius proceeds from one long line to another (in the imposing dactylic hexameter of Roman epic and satire), his self-styled inferior, Paulinus, proceeds from the long line to the shorter pentameter, producing the poetic meter that ancients called elegiac, associated with erotic themes and thus considered inferior to martial epic or moralistic satire in Classical Latin (Ovid, Amores 1.1.1–4): Arms in a serious meter and the violence of war was I set to write, my form a match for content. The second line was the same, then Cupid – well, they say he laughed and took a single foot away. In Ovid’s case, the “foot” that Cupid filched also refers to the metrical unit that notionally distinguishes the long hexameter line from the shorter pentameter. Beginning with this more modest meter, Paulinus recalls Ovid’s pun on metrical feet when he announces here his intent to send “a return of words on a different foot [discreto pede]” – literally a “separated” or “removed [metrical] foot” – and then proceeds to another meter, the similarly light iambics of ll. 19–102.

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Explaining the shift from elegiac to iambic and then finally (in ll. 103ff.) to dactylic meters in Poems 10, scholars suggest that the tone of Paulinus’ response changes from “calm in the iambic distichs” (see comment on l. 19 subsequently) to “resentful and occasionally aggressive in the hexameters” (Consolino 2017, 107–9, at 109, cp. Filosini 2008, 40–1). At least initially, then, Paulinus avoids matching his old master meter for meter and opts instead for (formal) modesty, even as he responds to him word for word and eventually grows quite passionate. See General Comment on Poems 11=Principal Correspondence 5, subsequently. 18, morrow. Literally, “when Elegiacs have made a beginning and opened the way for the others” (ut fecere aliis orsa gradumque); the formulation recalls Ausonius’ Letters 21=Principal Correspondence 1, l. 4: “sending me good morrow with a pack of salutation” (fausta salutigeris ascribens orsa libellis), where see Comments. 19–42: Classical Background of Christian Culture 19, father, Muses, dismissed. In one of his late poems from exile (8–17 AD/CE), addressed to his persecutor, the Emperor Augustus, Ovid alleged that he was punished in part for his earlier erotic poetry (Tristia 2.3): “Why now am I recalling my offenses, punished Muses?” Paulinus seems to recall exactly this collocation of heightened questioning, poetic passion, and exile – in his case, elective (cp. Classen 1999, 238–51), 21, Inspirations. See Comment on Ausonius, Letters 20=Principal Correspondence 1, 1. 74. 24–30, rouse, Phoebus, new, thought, God. Additional Classical parallels to the precise formulations are part of the various appropriations of the concept of the “bard” (uates) in Classical poetry: see comments on ll. 37–8 subsequently. Describing the epiphany of Bacchus in the country, Horace writes (Odes 3.25.1–3): Where, Bacchus, do you pull me, full of you? To what groves do you haul me, and to what woods, fast with new thought? Vergil’s account of the prophet, Sybil, overtaken by Apollo is another source (Aeneid 6.77–9): Still unable to bear colossal Apollo in the cave the bard is flailing wild from her heart to shake the great god out.

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Finally, Ausonius himself uses the phrase in a decidedly lower register when he advises his friend, the fellow Gallic landowner, Theon, not to plagiarize the verses of another poet, Clementinus, out of laziness (Letters 13, ll. 8–15): What news do the Muses and Apollo, the singer, report? These Muses, mind you, were not planted in the font of Helicon or some horse. From Clement’s heart they come and fill the vacuous poets with a thought that is not their own, and rightly too. For more on the woods and groves of Classical literature and poetry, see Comments on ll. 159–68, subsequently. See also Paulinus, Poems 15=Selections: Self, Money, Music, Time, Christ, ll. 30–1. 26–7, Muses, gods, gift, gave. In Latin, Musas, numina, munus, munere, where l. 27 reads, literally: “the gift [munus] of speech, given by the gift [munere] of God.” The word munus will occur again in l. 31 and in Ausonius, Letters 20b=Earlier Letters 4, l. 71 (Latin, l. 50), where it is translated as “counter-service” to highlight its transactional quality. The other key word of this sentence, numen, recalls the end of Ausonius, Letters 21=Principal Correspondence 1, l. 73: “Boeotian powers [numina] of the Muses.” With the repetition of munus here, along with the assonance and alliteration of the terms for Muse and divine power (numen), Paulinus seems to suggest a revolutionary (and of course false) etymology, which would derive forms of poetic inspiration traditionally associated with the Muses and Classical mythology from the “gift” of (Christian) God: munusàMusa, numen. This may explain the unusual persistence of the Classical term of divinity, numen, unique to Christian poets in the period: Green (1973, 79–80); cp. Comments on ll. 112–15 subsequently. 36, tell his light apart. Literally, “discern his light” (lucem . . . cernamus suam). The word for “discernment” elsewhere describes for Paulinus the act of distinction that makes it possible to tell the invisible apart from the visible world (Poems 15.361): “we discern disembodied enemies with our souls” (incorporeos animis decernemus hostes; cp. Prudentius, Crown of Martyrs [Peristephanon, trans. Krisak 2020] 1.97: “Do you make out how openly wild demons here be crushed?”). With the same word, Paulinus elsewhere identifies the function of light in this process (Poems 21.696–8): Your spirit itself inspires you to be sung, in light of the light in which [quo lumine lumen] we make out the Father and the Son alike [par cernimus]. See also Paulinus, Letters 23.18 (trans. Walsh 1967, 22): “Their light is Christ, in whose light we shall see light,” with Psalm 36(35).10: in lumine

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tuo videbimus lumen; also the Nicene Creed: “Light from light” (lumen e lumine: Denziger 1908, 30), and Tertullian, Against Praxeas 8 (trans. Bettenson 1956, 120): “The Spirit makes the third from God and the Son . . . the point of focus of a ray third from the sun”; also Apology 21.10 (trans. Glover and Rendall 1931, 107–9): When a ray is projected from the sun, it is a portion of the whole, but the sun will be in the ray, because it is the sun’s ray, nor is it a division of nature, but an extension. Spirit from Spirit, God from God – as light is lit from light [lumen de lumine accensum]. With a similar phrase, the great progenitor of Christian poetry, Ambrose, celebrates the rooster’s role in “separating night from night” (Hymns 1.8 [Aeterne rerum conditor]: a nocte noctem segregans). See Pranger (2007, 53–6). For more on “the aesthetics of light,” see Miller (2009, 97–100), with Eco (2002, 43–51). 37–8, philosopher’s cunning force, speakers’ art, poets’ fiction. In Latin, uis sophorum callida arsque rhetorum et/figmenta uatum, almost all technical terms for specific specializations in speaking and writing throughout Classical antiquity: sophorum is originally Greek (and hence both technical and, in literary Latin, informal: sermo humilis); ars rhetorum may as well be the title of a Roman handbook (The Art of Rhetoric=Ars Rhetorica); figmenta means “things made up” and is the source of our word “fiction” (Paulinus, Letters 38.6, trans. Walsh 1967, 190): “Let the orators keep their literature, the philosophers their wisdom, rich men their wealth, and kings their kingdom.” Note here how Paulinus equates traditional learning and material wealth; see also Augustine, Letters 101.2, Jerome, Letters 21.7, and Paulinus, Letters 16.11. At various points throughout the poetry, Paulinus revisits this (now religious) commonplace about (poetic) commonplaces, which originated in philosophy (Xenophanes [d. 475 BCE], B1.13–24 West=21B 1DK=Athenaeus 462c – f, ll. 21–2): “Not right to recount the fights of Titans, Giants, Centaurs –/fictions all [plasmata], of our old fathers.” With a reference to the indigenous Latin deities of inspiration (Camenae; see Comments on Ausonius, Letters 21=Principal Correspondence 1, l. 74, previously), Paulinus elsewhere enjoins a fellow Christian to forsake the same deities, with the same reference to giants, Poems 22=Selections 3H, ll. 12–3, 15–6, 21. 43–103: Incarnation and “Salvation Economics” 43–56, light, force, thought. Arguably, this “enthusiastic” passage (Walsh 1971, 73) offers a less orthodox account of the identity of God than later, self-consciously trinitarian passages (for instance, Poems 27=Selections 5D, ll. 273–99, with Walsh 1971, 73): “Vis [‘force’] can be seen as an equivalent of uirtus [‘power’], but the use of mens [‘mind, thought’] seems

186 Comments closer to Modalism or Monarchianism, denying separate personalities to members of the Godhead. More orthodox is Paulinus’ later description of the trinity – mens una, triplex vis (19.647[: ‘one Mind, in Power three’]).” 53–4, stripped, dressed. In Latin, se exuit and nos induendo. The combination of exuo and induo, which are virtually cognates, has a long history for a peculiar relation in Roman thought, which will remain important in Christianity.3 On the one hand, it refers, as the translation here indicates, to the simple act of dressing and undressing. Thus, Paulinus’ contemporary, the poet Prudentius, in his poem “Battle of the soul” (Psychomachia), writes (125–6): “For far-seeing Virtue got dressed [induerat], fastened in adamant,/ in her threefold breastplate.” On the other hand, already in Classical Latin, the word induo describes the relation of exemplification, or taking on oneself some aspect of the character of another, so that the first-century CE philosopher Seneca can incite his reader to imitate the late Republican moral hero Cato (Letters on Ethics [Epistulae Morales] 67.12): “Dress yourself in [indue] the soul of a great man!” For Christian use, see Paul, Galatians 3:27, for instance: “For as many of you as have been baptized into Christ have put on [Vulgate: Christum induisitis] Christ” (cp. Romans 13:14, 1 Corinthians 15:53–54, Colossians 3:10). See also the Comments on Poems 21=Selections 2F, ll. 526–37, and Introduction 4C. 53–6, commerce. For this key word, and for similar formulations of Paulinus’ “salvation economics” (so Dennis Trout: see Introduction 3–4A), see the autobiographical passages in Selections 1–2, subsequently. 61, the bearing of our thought. In Latin, habitus mentis. The term, which describes individuals’ physical expression of their upbringing and class background in modern social theory, can similarly refer in Latin to one’s appearance or cultivation but also to one’s general behavior, “ways,” or habits (mos, moralis, etc.: cp. Bourdieu 1990, 53, with Holsinger 2005, Chapter 3). The point of the comparison with modern social theory is to suggest the extent to which, with the Christian invocation of “habit” here, something similar is achieved: that is, the conflation of accidental accessories of identity with essential accessories, or properties, of being, or (grammatically) the so-called “‘substantive attributive’ use of habitus” (Ployd 2015, 71 n. 45). Since mos is sometimes a synonym in Paulinus for mens (see ll. 138–49 subsequently; also Ausonius, Letters 21=Principal Correspondence 1, l. 50), the idea of the “bearing of one’s thought” is figurative (the alternative, literally meaning, “mind of one’s mind” or “way of one’s ways,” for instance, is redundant). Paulinus’ use here may thus owe something to Paul’s idea of the “inner being” (Romans 7:22, literally, “the human being inside” or in an older idiom one’s “inner man”: Gr. ho eisô anthropos; cp. Mratschek 2002, 135).

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To change the “bearing of one’s thought” is therefore to change not one’s external appearance but one’s internal “appearance” – that is, one’s essence: a “person” with a bearing figuratively inside the person that one literally bears (oneself and one’s body). See Severus, Life of Martin 3 (trans. Burton 2017, 96–7): So drawing the sword with which he was girt, he cut the cloak in two and gave half to the beggar, and clothed himself again in what was left. Then some passers-by laughed; a sorry sight he looked with his clothing thus abridged [truncatus habitu]. This conflation of outside and inside in Christian idiom ultimately lies behind the later English use of “habit” to denote the (fundamentally transformative) clothing of the member of a religious order (W. Langland, Piers Ploughman, Prologue, l. 3): “In habite of an hermite.” The transformation effected by such “garments” is total: for whom, after all, is a hermit dressing up? For the Stoic background of religious interiorization of outward appearance, called “cosmetic theology” by one scholar, see the General Comment on Selections 2G. 70–80, belief, riches, owed, interest, investment, extortionate, redeem. In Latin, fides, opes, creditas, fenore, (aucta) aera, usura (pecuniam) restituet. For Paulinus’ concept of faith (credit), see Introduction 3–4A. The word spretam, from sperno (cognate with the English “spurn”), often occurs in conjunction with these words, as it does in l. 70 (“What we seem to spurn”) and again, subsequently: ll. 173–6. In itself it does not quite mean “spent” as translated here, on the strength of the context, but rather “rejected.” 84–8, unfaithfulness, faith, faithfulness, disloyalty, disobeys. Except for the last phrase (on which more presently), all the others are varieties of the Latin term pietas, more usually translated “devotion” throughout this volume, and a keyword for Paulinus, which he subjects here to a variety of rephrasings (polyptoton) and thus inflects with many meanings. In Classical culture, “devotion” (pietas) was not an exclusively or even primarily religious motive in the sense that it would become in the fourth century. After the turn of the second century CE/AD, Pliny asks Trajan for a priesthood (Letters 10.1.13; cp; Paulinus, Letters 12.5): With the privilege of a priesthood [iure sacerdotii], I can pray to the gods on your behalf publicly, just as I now pray to them with devotion in private [pietate privata]. Although it is directed to the gods, this piety has the emperor as its object. In the more radical Christian work contained in the Selections from Paulinus,

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the piety is both directed to and concerns the same individual(s): God, Christ, Felix, sometimes even the prophets of the Hebrew Bible and later New Testament holy men, indiscriminately as though they were one (which they may in some sense be: see Poems 27=Selections 3E, ll. 200–4, with Introduction 4C). Gone is any trace of mortality, as it appeared in large part in Pliny’s devotion to the Emperor or in a smaller, persisting part of Paulinus’ devotion to Ausonius here. As a result, the old, concealed economy of aristocratic patronage becomes completely abstract, resulting in a new, more inclusive “economy” of goods, rewards, and services that unifies the highest and the lowest in creation (Poems 21=Selections 1B, ll. 393–4): “Let their prayer fortify our foundations. Let our roof/shelter the kindred bodies of our brethren, the destitute.” 89–92, this, father, terms, owe. The first word refers to the terms for faithfulness deployed in the previous lines (and discussed in the previous note), while “father,” as seen elsewhere in the correspondence (Ausonius, Letters 17=Earlier Letters 1, on “father”), is a common honorific for an individual who ranks higher than another in some respect, which furnishes the precise analogy by which, through the figure of Ausonius in his own contributions to the correspondence, Paulinus arrives at God, the Father. See Introduction 3. The phrase “terms of love” (cara nomina, literally “dear names”) objectifies the relationship of affection between Paulinus and Ausonius, which makes it quantifiable in terms of aristocratic reciprocity or affectionate obligation – that is, a quantifiable exchange of countable terms in letters – which the concept of debt denoted by the word “owe” (debere) in l. 91 reifies. Paulinus thus subsumes the whole aristocratic economy of affectionate obligation to the economy of heaven and earth that God, like a federal government, “guarantees” (see l. 76, previously, with Augustine, On Grace and Free Will 15): “God rewards your earnings [coronat merita tua] not as your earnings, but as his gifts [tamquam dona sua]”; saints such as Felix are in this analogy the primary shareholders in the stock company of salvation.4 For “father,” see Comments in Ausonius, Letters 17=Earlier Letters 1. 93, owe. In the original, this word is actually in l. 95, where the greater freedom of word order in Latin allows it to receive the most emphasis. 101–2, lover, taste. This conclusion of the iambic middle section (see comment on l. 13–18, meter, previously) is both less and more unusual in the Latin. “Lover” (amans) is by no means exclusively erotic in Latin, so it may be softer than the English suggests.5 The point, at any rate, is the intensity of the term (cp. the more usual diligens at l. 66, of God: “wants to be . . . feared and treasured”). On the other hand, Paulinus’ description of his radicalization as a matter of “taste” (libet) diminishes the force that he assigns it elsewhere (ll. 126–46,

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for instance). Presumably, Paulinus is looking at himself through the eyes of Ausonius and thus describing Christian ethics in terms of its Classical antecedents. Where the first has been called a “deontological” ethics, or an ethics of obligation, the second has been called a “eudaimonistic” ethics, or ethics of self-realization; it is based less on external notions of conformity with absolute law than on the correct performance of one’s social role, as a function of one’s choice of career, friends, etc. On the transition between the two systems of ethics, see Foucault (2016, Lectures 4 and 10), with Comments on l. 316, subsequently. 103–180: Classical Culture and “Salvation Economics” 103–6, three, wandering. Paulinus’ early life was characterized by the itinerance of all global elite. The first half of his life comprised extensive stays with various responsibilities and opportunities for secular and Christian social networking from Aquitaine to Rome, from Rome to Campania, where he encountered Nola, and back to Aquitaine (where “he resumed his relationship with Ausonius”: Mratschek 2002, 55–6) and then to Spain, where he met his wife Therasia, whom Ausonius alleges to be instrumental in his radicalization: see Poems 21=Selections 1B, ll. 395–413, and Introduction 1. On the “three years,” see Comments on l. 7, previously. 112–15, “Castalian,” power, Muses, powers, names. For the first term, see ll. 19 and 22–7, previously. The rest, in Latin, form a euphonious sequence of consonants and vowels with ideological implications (l. 115): sine numine nomina Musas (“names without power, the ‘Muses’”). With this assonance and consonance, Paulinus all but explicitly avows the strategy of undermining the essence of things by emphasizing the play of words afforded by their names. For the same “nominalist” approach to the Classical gods, see Paulinus’ address to the agnostic Jovius in Letters 16.4 (trans. Walsh 1966, 154–5): [H]ow can divine strength and power be accorded to abstractions lacking not only the name of creator but also the status of created thing? They are empty terms, not names of spirits or of bodies able to accomplish or give meaning to events. . . . [W]ith foolish imagination they endow these hollow names, as though they were also deities, with bodily form, and more foolishly still they accord them the honour due to gods. So images of Hope, Nemesis, Love, and even Madness are venerated. For a similar strategy in a poem to the same Jovius, see Poems 22=Selection 3H and 5A. Since Ausonius invoked Nemesis in his last known communication with Paulinus, the doctrine expressed in the quotation may be

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a comment on that, too: Ausonius, Letters 24=Principal Correspondence 4, ll. 48–59. On the basis of continued correspondence with individuals like Jovius, Ebbeler (2007, 314–15) concludes that Paulinus may have stayed friends with Ausonius. See Introduction 1. 118, King’s, court. For the explicit development of the two-world theory of “salvation economics” (Trout), see Paulinus, Letters 29.6–7, trans. Walsh 1967, 108: “So it is our procedure, not that of outsiders, that I shall clearly follow if I proclaim the worldly as well as the spiritual nobility of this maidservant of God.” See further Introduction 3 and 4B. 121, trident, churn, murmur. The first is a traditional attribute of Jupiter (see Servius’ commentary on Vergil, Aeneid 1.133): “Jupiter uses trident lightning [trifido . . . fulmine].” The phrase “empty murmur” is also Vergilian and comes from Iarbas’ jealousy of Aeneas and Dido (Aeneid 4.208– 210: et inania murmura miscent, at 209): Or, Father, when you hurl your bolts of lightning, are we afraid for nothing? Blind in clouds, do fires only scare our souls and churn up empty murmurs? Meanwhile Ausonius’ Vergilianism is in fact Lucretian. It was Lucretius who, though a rationalist and materialist (see comments on ll. 37–8 previously), was congenial to Christians in his fundamentalist opposition to the “superstition” opposed by Christians (=polytheism) but who, also by the same fundamentalism, was one of their great contenders (cp. Sedley 1998, Chapter 3). See, for instance, Lucretius’ heroization of the opponent of Classical religion, Epicurus (The Nature of Things, 1.68–9): “he whom neither gossip of the gods nor lightning bolts nor heaven/overwhelmed with threatening murmur [minitanti/murmure].” As the phrase echoes in Latin literature, Paulinus reassigns it from Jupiter to God and next negates the atheism originally expressed by the “murmurs” and “empty lightning” of Lucretius. Where, in short, Lucretius demythologizes natural phenomena, which Vergil will “remythologize,” Paulinus sacralizes them (Hardie 1986, Chapter 5, and Gale 1994, 4–5, 189–91). 123–4, above all, wholly mixed, with Christ. For an overview of trinitarian theology pertaining to this formulation, see Introduction 4C. Walsh (1975, 392–3, cp. 25) notes the predominantly Classical resonance of the thunder that Paulinus here applies to God, exemplified further by the traditional epithet of Jupiter, namely “the Thunderer” (Tonans) in Paulinus, Poems 22.149 (where note also uoue, “pray/vow”): see Walsh (1971, 80, 1975, 392–3, cp. 25), Trout (1999, 82), and Hardie (2019a, 32). 125, arrays our times. In Latin, tempora . . . nostra deponit. See Seneca, Hercules Oetaeus, 1096: qui tempora digerens (“who, organizing time

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. . .”). See also Prudentius, Book of Hours, Poem 5: “Hymn for lighting of the lamps,” ll. 1–2, trans. Richardson (2016, 46): “Author of glowing light, our kindly guide,/Who dost divide the times with changes sure.” 127–30, wish, will, acts, God, author, defendant. On the name of “God” in this line (Lat. numen, “the Divinity”), see Comments on ll. 112–15 and 156–65. With the other terms, the passage incorporates a few significant aspects of both Roman tradition and cutting-edge fourth–fifth-century intellectual historical developments – namely that of “the will” as the faculty of freedom and moral choice, in human beings, in God, and their relationship. On the cusp of conversion, Augustine famously writes (Confessions 9.1.1): “And this was everything – to not want [nolle] what I was wanting [uolebam] and to want [uelle] what you were wanting [uolebas, whence uoluntas].” With the same understanding, and in a more elaborate metaphor, Paulinus writes (Letters 9.2): “With the Spirit for our captain and the word of God on the oars, let us be steered to the port of what we want [literally, our will: nostra uoluntas].” The other terms used by Paulinus to understand “the will” in this passage are completely Classical. Forensic and juridical valences characterize the words act, agent, author, and defendant, which all lie at the heart of many Romance and even English language conceptions of agency developed after Augustine (and Paulinus): see also Paulinus, Letters 45.5 to Augustine, with extensive discussion in Frede (2011, Chapters 5 and 9) and Inwood (2005, Chapters 5 and 11). 130, change mind. In Latin, uertere sensus, which recalls Ausonius’ powerful rebuke (Letters 21.50): “My sweet Paulinus, you changed [uertisti] your mind [ways, mores].” The object of the phrase (Latin, sensus) does not denote “feelings” (cp. “the senses”) as much as ideas of conviction: see especially Poems 22=Selections 5A, ll. 76–8, where sensus appears alongside the more patently passionate “heart” (pectora). 131–3, confess, not, moment. In Latin, literally: “I will confess of my own will [fatebor sponte], I am not the person who, at that moment, “under” that/time, I was [eum modo me non esse sub illo/tempore qui fuerim.]” Cp. Horace, Odes 4.1.1 (non sum qualis eram bonae/sub regno Cinarae): “I’m not the man I was/under the dominion of merciful Cinara.” The latter is certainly an erotic interest, whose reality and social class (real, fictitious, pseudonymous, generic; enslaved, manumitted, self-employed, etc.), critics have much contested. That Paulinus is here haunted by the ghost of Horace’s ghosts (Cinara) finds further confirmation in the resolution to which Horace’s poem next points: “Savage mother of Desires . . . go where the flattering prayers of young men recall you [blandae iuuenum te revocant preces]”; reminiscences of this line occur in Ausonius’ plea to the Muses – that is, to Paulinus – in Letters 21=Principal Correspondence 1, ll. 73–4:

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“This do I pray [precor] . . . Recall our bard [uatem reuocate] to our Latin Inspirations.” Another possible parallel includes Horace’s marked expression (Odes 4.1.2): “Spare me, I pray I pray” (parce precor, precor). 133–5, crooked, astute, darkness, foolishness. The word for crooked is, in Latin, peruersus, which here bears all the connotations of its English derivative and appears again as “turned to the worse,” in l. 275, subsequently. “Astute to darkness of untruth” renders the Latin: falsi caligine cernens; literally, “discerning of the false in darkness,” where Paulinus generally uses the concept of “discernment” to denote the opposite ability to perceive the transcendent in the immanent. See previously, l. 36: “tell his light apart” (lucem . . . cernamus suam), with the Comments there; Paulinus here envisions the reversal of such discernment, which likewise recalls Ambrose’s “separat[ion of] night from night,” quoted and discussed previously, in the same comment. 136–43, new, renewal. Developed for the first time here (but see Poems 6=Selections 2A, l. 14), spiritual renewal is a programmatic part of Paulinus’ poetry, especially when he is describing (or alluding to) his own poetry: see, for instance, Poems 20=Selections 3F, ll. 43–53, with Hardie (2019a, 153–8). 138, this is not my act. See Comments on ll. 127–30, previously. 139–42, confess, profess, avow. In Latin, confessus, professus, fateor (cp. l. 132: “confess”=fatebor). The last word contains the simplest form of the root of the others, whose even simpler form is the verb for, fari, one of the most pregnant words for speaking in the Latin language (Bettini 2008). Paulinus’ contemporary, Prudentius, describes “confessors” like Felix who “avow God one at the cost of their blood” (Crown of Martyrs [Peristephanon, trans. Krisak 2020], 1.23: unicum Deum fateri sanguinis dispendio). Some relationship to the term as the title of Augustine’s Confessions is probably relevant: see O’Donnell (1992, vol. 1, 3–7). The negative of the word, infiteor, appears subsequently, l. 149: “you do not deny your paternity.” On confessors, see Introduction 4C, and on the Correspondence as “confessional poetry,” see the General Comment to this poem. 145–6, service, glory, thanks, owed. Some form of commerce between human beings and God of the usual kind is outlined here; unusual is the addition of a third party between human and God, namely Ausonius. Paulinus presents himself as doubly indebted: first to God, who gave him the Gift whereby he changed his life; second to Ausonius, who gave him (Paulinus) the “gifts” on account of which God would give him (Paulinus) the Gift – surely his “new life.” In exchange for this exchange (between God and Paulinus), Paulinus owes Ausonius thanks and glory. The latter is a normal expectation for aristocratic benefactors, which Seneca markedly rejects as part of a proto-Christian ethic of faith, not works, in his treatise On Favors

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4.11.1 (trans. Griffin and Inwood 2011, 91): “I am not out to get profit or pleasure or glory when I do a favor [beneficium].” In his later thinking on related matters, Augustine maintains the terms of such exchanges between God and his creations but also discusses the negative, costlier remainder, the human being “distributing disrepute to himself, but glory to Him” (sibi tribuens ignominiam, illi gloriam: Four Books against Two Letters of the Pelagians [Contra duas epistolas Pelaganiorum libri quattuor], 3.5.14). Presumably, Paulinus gets the disrepute, and Ausonius (and God) get the glory and thanks. Note that Paulinus puts the process in economic terms, and Augustine does not. According to the much later Council of Trent (Denziger 1908, 276): “The Lord . . . whose bounty towards all men is so great, that He will have the things, which are His own gifts, be their merits.” In Paulinus’ post-aristocratic interpretation, Ausonius occupies an intermediary point of redistribution between God and Paulinus in this process of downward divine distribution. Paulinus thus complexifies the economy of salvation, multiplying points for aristocrats to extract value. Cp. the later Christian idea of the “community of the saints” with its background in the Classical theory of friendship, in Comments on Poems 11=Principal Correspondence 5, ll. 49–68. 149, paternity. See Comments in Ausonius, Letters 17=Earlier Letters 1, on “father.” 152–3, profit, tree.Again, Paulinus outlines a spiritual commerce between creator and creation, and specifically creature, which he then splits to make a place for Ausonius: see comments on ll. 145–6, previously. Emphasizing the creaturely aspect of himself, and by implication the structural analogy between Ausonius and God as co-creators, Paulinus appears to be the tree. In a parallel context, addressing a more advanced cleric on the occasion of his own ordination, Paulinus says (Letters 2.4, trans. Walsh 1966, 42): “I shall be your joy if I am recognized by my good fruit as a branch of your tree”; cp. Walsh (1966, 215 n. 28): “This passage provides evidence that Amandus had instructed Paulinus for his baptism.” As elsewhere, Paulinus translates Classical culture into Christian culture almost word for word, or else reveals the indistinguishability of the two cultures from certain points of view. What Ausonius was to Paulinus before his radicalization, Amandus was after it. For the biblical background of the “first fruits” motif, see Leviticus 23:20, with Curtius (1963, 87). Curtius further demonstrates that the biblical background foregrounds the economic aspect of the agricultural image, quoting Alan of Lille (ca. 1128–1202, trans. from Curtius=Patrologia Latina 210, 586B): “Not less he sins who hideth wealth [censum condit] in field/Than he who shutteth knowledge in his mouth.” For Paulinus’ critical contribution to discourses of wealth such as this, see Introduction 1. 156, mind, out of. A response to Ausonius, Letters 22=Principal Correspondence 2, l. 70, his bizarre phrase (mens demens, literally, “unminded

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mind,” “demented mentality,” etc.) is sensible as a play on words but not as a designation of any constituents of anatomy or cognition. As always, the curious phrase admits of Classical and Christian interpretations. In Christian terms, it may refer to the Pauline dispensation of the “inner man” discussed in the Comments on “ways” and “thought” (habitus mentis) in l. 61 previously. Here, analogously, there is the person (“Paulinus”), and there is the soul (Paulinus proper), and it is in the latter that this “mind” in right order resides; when that well-ordered mind exceeds the confines of the “inner man,” it becomes de-mens: a mind out of place. In Classical terms, to have a mind out of its mind is to experience specifically poetic inspiration, the “third kind of madness,” described by Socrates in Plato’s Phaedrus (245a, trans. Nehamas and Woodruff 1997, 523) If anyone comes to the gates of poetry and expects to become an adequate poet by acquiring expert knowledge of the subject without the Muses’ madness, he will fail, and his self-controlled [sôphronountos] verses will be eclipsed by the poetry of men who have been driven out of their minds [mainômenôn]. When Paulinus confronts another Classicizing poet, Jovius, he uses the same terms of self-control and irrational inspiration (Poems 22=5A, ll. 70–8 and 79–86, respectively). By appropriating the rhetoric of inspired insanity even as he disavows madness, Paulinus makes a place for the old Platonic model of inspiration in the Christianity of his time. 156–65, pathless, Divinity, high. The first term constitutes a direct reference to Ausonius, Poems 21=Principal Correspondence 1, l. 72, repurposed from a term of reproach there to a term of praise here, and so restored to its original (Classical) force (Lucretius, The Nature of Things, 1.924, 132–4, trans. Stallings 2007, 30): For Muses, stirring up my thoughts. My mind abuzz, I blaze New trails across their mountain haunts, among untrodden ways . . . Why? Because I teach great truths, and set out to unknot The mind from the tight strictures of religion, and I write Of so darkling a subject in a poetry so bright. The image in Lucretius expresses the inheritance of the rarefied poetics of the post-classical (“Hellenistic”) literature of ancient Greece, channeled by Ezra Pound (1926, 207) when he wrote: “there is no high-road to the Muses” (“Homage to Sextus Propertius,” l. 16). This is its value to Ausonius. For Paulinus, it may be the fundamentalism of Lucretius that provides the “untrodden places” their glamor. See Comments on Poems 21=Selections

Comments 195 2F, ll. 538–50, and on Poems 27=Selections 4G, ll. 117–18, and Introduction 4B. Similarly, the Classicizing word, translated here as Divinity (Lat. numen: see Comments on ll. 26–7, 127–130, and subsequently, 311–15) is, according to Walsh (1971, 59–60), used rarely, as it is here, for “the person of God rather than the quality of numinousness or power” (on Paulinus, Poems 6.103, 10.187, 22.117). In its very diffuseness, combined here with the idea of the heights and the depths (l. 164), the term raises the tone that Paulinus achieves in this passage to the ostensible antithesis of Ausonian Hellenism – namely the sublime, which many modern scholars of Latin literature find in the passage of Lucretius that immediately follows the previous (The Nature of Things 1.951–2, 958–64, trans. Stallings 2007, 30–1): But since I’ve taught that atoms are as solid as can be, And flit, unconquered, endlessly throughout eternity . . . The universe must therefore have no limits in its sweep In all directions, for if it did, then it would have a bound And if it has a boundary, then something must surround It from without, so that the eye can follow only so Far and no farther. And since we must confess that there is no Thing beyond the universe, then it can have no border, And stretches limitless and without end. For the Lucretian sublime in Paulinus’ poetry, with special attention to Poems 10=Principal Correspondence 3, ll. 304–29, see Hardie (2019a, 37–8) and Comments on ll. 311–15, subsequently. 157–8, Lycia, knight. The second is Bellerophon, and the first is a place of his wanderings. Here Paulinus most directly addresses Ausonius’ harshest criticism, and veiled curse, from Letters 21=Principal Correspondence 1, ll. 69–72, where see Comments; see also Introduction 1. 159–68, intellectuals, leisure, forum. These are the standard terms that Romans of the Classical period used to denote business (neg-otium, the opposite of leisure: otium), filling the Letters of Pliny the Younger, for example, and felt by such writers to necessitate an ethics and aesthetics of withdrawal (Pliny, Letters 3, trans. Radice 1963, 36): I wonder how our darling Comum is looking, and your lovely house outside the town, with its colonnade where it is always springtime, and the shady plane trees. . . . Are you there, enjoying them all in turn, or are you as usual for ever being called away to look after your affairs?

196 Comments . . . But isn’t it really time you handed over those tiresome petty duties to someone else and shut yourself up with your books in the peace and comfort of your retreat [successu]? Paulinus develops the theme in more patently Christian (and self-consciously allegorical) terms in Letters 9.3: To what do we look forward, if not to Jesus our Lord, who has the power to assent to our prayers and save us from our weak soul and from the tempest, so we not withdraw in winter or on holiday [sabbato] – in other words, in resting [otium] from works of the spirit and in the infertility of good works? For the “holiday” is a time of rest [sabbatum otiosum est], and winter is bereft of the birth of things. Christians are thus waiting for Christ to make them into Plinies of the soul – that is, Classical men of state, who claimed to pursue really important intellectual work during their breaks from only ostensibly important political life (Cicero, On Duties 3.1): “He used to say he was never at work as much as when he was at leisure.” For discussion of Augustine’s relevant reception, see Brown (2012, 164). For the development of the conceit in later European aestheticism, see Bourdieu (1996, 56): “Thus, according to Balzac, in a universe divided into ‘three classes of being’ – ‘the man who works’ . . ., ‘the man who thinks’, and ‘the man who does nothing’ and devotes himself to the ‘elegant life’ – ‘the artist is the exception: his idleness is a form of work, and his work a rest.’” For further parallels of this kind, see Introduction 3. For a portrait of the reclusive rustications of poets and philosophers, which was already hackneyed at the turn of the first and second centuries CE/AD, see Tacitus, Dialogue on Orators [Dialogus de Oratoribus], 12.1–2): But the grottoes and groves and withdrawal itself . . . bring me so much pleasure that I count it among the profits of poetry [carminum fructus] that it is not composed in noise, with a client sitting at the door, or amid the self-abasing tears of defendants. Instead the heart [animus] withdraws into regions pure and innocent and fulfills itself in holy dwelling places [fruiturque sedibus sacris]. This is the origin of rhetorical skill [eloquentiae], this is its innermost citadel. This was the lifestyle [habitu cultuque] of that accommodating lady (Eloquentia, “rhetorical skill,” personified), when she first insinuated herself into the shamefast hearts [pectora] that were untouched as yet of all imperfections [vitiis].

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The great French scholar of Late Antique Latin poetry, Jacques Fontaine, wrote (1972, 583–5, at 583): Retreat . . . is for Paulinus the condition of meditated and continual conversion. Such a move is also consistent with the prophetic tradition illustrated by Christ, and already proposed by Tertullian on the subject of the martyrs cut off in their prison, as well as the neo-Stoic tradition represented by Seneca, Maternus, and Pliny. All this is put into the service of Paulinus’ description of Spanish ascetics to Ausonius in Poems 11, and according to Trout (1999, 85 n. 27), it finds an echo in the probably contemporary composition, Poems 6.224–31: And so, he abandoned the house of his holy parent, albeit it was immaculate. He ran from the toxic gatherings of crowds of humans, seeking the lonely lands of untrodden places, where, open to holy instruction and free from contagion, his unworried mind could look at itself alone. With bristles of hunchbacked camels his clothes were sewn, to harden limp limbs to luxury, to keep deep sleep far off from his smarting body. Along with the pastoral language, the fifth line of the passage, “look at itself alone” recalls the Classical treatment of the story of Narcissus in Ovid (Metamorphoses 3.339–510), which culminates with Narcissus’ almost ascetic cry (476): “If only I could abandon my very body!” The “untrodden places” of the third line of the passage recall Paulinus’ sublime image of rustication in ll. 156–65, previously. 169, down payment. In the stream of keywords of hope and faith, and speculation and credit, we find here the term for collateral goods (sponsa mercede). See further Introduction 3–4A. 170, Guarantor. This word in Latin (auctor) is used of God in a different but related semantic field, that of the courts, in ll. 127–30 previously, where see Comments. 173–7, perishing, bodily. Such phrases abound in Paulinus and testify to the longstanding influence of Platonic dualism, with its keen (ostensibly critical) attention to appearances of things, to the point of being almost clichéd to Paulinus. A poem included in a letter to a reluctant convert, Licentius, compresses the substance of this whole hexameter passage (ll. 154–180) into a single elegiac couplet (Letters 8, verse ll. 5f.): “With an array of shapes, now [the sense of things at hand: praesentia rerum] is seductively sweet [malesuada] – alas,/how it harries you! Even so, mighty

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Rome has broken the strong.” Commentators frequently note the Platonic provenance of the imagery and the perfect fit with Paul’s famous image, “now we see through a mirror in an allegory [en ainigmati],” with Fitzmyer (2008, 499). For other uses of the term, see Comments on Poems 31=Selections 5F, ll. 90–1. The economic language in the immediate context of Paulinus’ representation of reality is by no means absent from Paul, whose “glass darkly” (another, more famous translation of the phrase from 1 Corinthians 13) Paulinus here also recalls: metaphors of inheritance, long-distance trading, and investing locally are constitutive of Paul’s metaphysics, but they are not operative in the utopian eschatology that the most famous passage from 1 Corinthians previously most closely recalls (Butcher 1939, 486–7). In fact, Paulinus’ contribution is not primarily the explication of Paul’s alleged Platonism (Augustine dominated that enterprise: see Comments on Poems 6=Selections 5A, ll. 51–7, Boyarin 1994, 27–9) but rather his relentless insistence on the economic construction of salvation, in a Classical idiom familiar to his audience. See also Introduction 4C. 181–276: Response to Specific Criticisms From Ausonius 181–2, renown, slander. In a doubly clever move, Paulinus rejects Ausonius’ assimilation of him to the anchorites and hermits of the new monasticism while vindicating such extremists from Ausonius’ aspersions. In addition, as discussed in connection with ll. 145–6 and 152–3 previously, Paulinus has already forfeited any renown (gloria) that he may achieve to Ausonius on the grounds that he (Paulinus) is in part Ausonius’ creature. Therefore: (1) anchorites and the new monastics deserve renown/glory, not condemnation (as Ausonius suggested); (2) Paulinus is not like them, anyway, and so he does not deserve such glory for any radicalization; (3) any glory that he does deserve belongs to Ausonius, so if Ausonius wants to deprive him (Paulinus) of this, he is really depriving himself of glory. On this strategy in apologetic arguments, see Keulen (1997, 21): “The form of reasoning is one of several ‘layers’: ‘I am not X. But even if I were, the case would be either Y or Z; if it were Y, it would be quite legal; and if it were Z it would be absurd,” where for “legal” read exemplary and for “absurd,” sin. 182, faith, wish. In Latin: fides uoti par est, that is, Paulinus wants, like the anchorites and monastics whom Ausonius reviles, to achieve such a total renunciation of the world, but he has not done so yet. He wishes/prays (votum) for this. 183, landscape. In Latin, locus amoenus (“pleasant place,” even “pleasance”), a generic term for a generic pastoral setting: “the ease of a rural scene, with its tree, its greensward, its brook” (Rosenmeyer 1973, 186; see

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also Curtius 1963, 192–3, 195–6); cp. Horace, Art of Poetry (Ars Poetica 14–19): With generally serious beginnings and promising something big, some widely shining purple patches, on they stitch, either one or two: the grove, the altar of Diane, the ideal fields and their streams running quick. See also much earlier Ennius (Annals 173): “through urban idyll with smooth movement river runs.” 184–5, reproach, places. In Latin, locorum invidia. Responding to Ausonius’ criticism of Spain, Paulinus identifies Ausonius’ tack as a rhetorical device: reproach (Greek, skhetliasmos), a figure of “indignation” in Classical rhetoric and poetics. Frequently directed against places of ill repute or common objects, such as boats, which do disservices to people, such as shipwrecks, “reproach” is a species of apostrophe, or second-person address, defined in passing in the rhetorical handbook of the late Roman Republic, the Rhetoric to Herennius 4.22: “‘Exclamation’ is that which effects a show [significationem] of some pain or anger [indignationis], by means of the accosting [compellationem] of a person or a city or a place or some such thing.” See, for example, Ausonius, Letters 21=Principal Correspondence 1, l. 53. 187, God. Lat. numen: see Comments on ll. 156–65, previously. 190–2, defective, Bellerophon, Tanaquil, Lucretia. The first term denotes a material failing rather than a moral vice: uitio mentis, with Comments on Ausonius, Letters 22=Principal Correspondence 2, l. 31, with Bellerophon at l. 72. Tanaquil and Lucretia are standard examples of bad and good women, not without reference to their sex lives and power over men, derived from Roman history (Livy, History 1.34.34–41). Paulinus here combines them to contradict Ausonius, Letters 22=Principal Correspondence 2, l. 31, where note “your Tanaquil,” with Comments. Here too, as previously (see previous comment), Paulinus’ Christian diction cuts through the euphemisms and (by implication) stale repertoire of Classical commonplaces. 193–5, Father. Note the full inflection of all senses of this keyword in the correspondence: one’s ancestors, God the Father, and Ausonius (honorific). Cp. Paulinus’ account of the “symbolic harlot” (meretrix sed mystica, Poems 26.143), Rehab of the bible (26.139–41): Her life, her fatherland, and house disdained in preference to God, as all she found soon enough in our good Lord.

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Since this is the same language that Paulinus uses to describe his renunciation (see Poems 15.10–14=Self, Money, Music, Time, Christ, in Selections), we may add regional origin to the extension of the keyword “father.” 201–3, rustic, stopover, Basque. Given Roman attitudes to foreigners with fewer books and buildings, Paulinus’ concession of some “rustic ritual” (agresti ritu) is enlightened for his age (cp. Ausonius Letters 21=Principal Correspondence 1, l. 51, with Collins 1992b, 41–2). His contemporary, Prudentius, describes people historically martyred by the urban Basques in a very different way (Crown of Martyrs 1.94–5, cp. Krisak 2020, 32: Vascons): Now do you believe, you stupid onetime pagan Basques, that your gruesome blunder sanctified their blood as sacrifice? Do you believe the breath of those you slaughtered reaches God? The city in which Prudentius encounters these people is none other than Calahorra: see ll. 223–4, with Comments, subsequently. For a comparison of the attitudes of the two poets, see Hershkowitz (2017, 56–7), with additional background in Diaz and Menéndez-Bueyes (2005). 211, clean, insides. Did Paulinus read Seneca’s contemporary, the most difficult and individualistic of Classical Roman poets, Persius (34–62 AD/ CE)? His introspection – and bad conscience – might appeal to the Christian poet (Satires 5.26–9): This is where I dare to demand one hundred maws so all that I have plunged inside my cockled heart with clean sound I’ll haul out. My words will unseal, lurking in my insides obscure, the unspeakable. 213, crime, untouched. In Latin, the whole phrase (quisquis agit purus sceleris uitam integer) all but quotes the Classical poet Horace (Odes 1.22.1): integer uitae scelerisque purus (see next note). 213–15, clean, crime, thieves. The image of the embattled Christian as the hero of civilization has a long history, which culminates in the violence of European settler colonialism (cp. General Comment on Poems 17=Selections 3B, ll. 101–51). With his allusion to Horace (see previous comment), Paulinus suggests it began with a poet’s folly (1.22.1–12): One clean of life and without spot of sin, will need no Moorish bow or javelin or quiverfull of arrows dipped in poison, Fuscus, my friend, although he wanders through hot shoals

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of Lybia or incommodious Caucasus or banks where laps the storied river Hydaspes. For wandering in the Sabine woods beyond the line and worry free, unarmed I sang of Lalagé and found a wolf flee me. Divested of any interest in erotic pursuits (such as Lalagé in ll. 9–12), the first Christian figure to represent such daring was of course Christ, the “sign of contradiction” (Luke 2:34: sêma antilegomenon), who “could not get the better of that fundamental contradiction, which, humanly speaking, proved stronger than he was” (John Paul II 1979, 124; see further Comments on Poems 21=Selections 4D, ll. 117–31, subsequently). Such “signs of contradiction” are central to Paulinus’ Christian poetry, and he makes one of himself with this description of “stand[ing] alone, and somewhat fatuously fearless amid the knives and fists of the thieves’ kitchen” (Chesterton 1902, 123). Thieves are exactly what Paulinus’ uncontacted Basques would be in Roman law: “Those are enemies against whom the Roman People has declared war. The rest are praedones or latrones [thieves or bandits],” translated and discussed in Hopwood (1998, 195); cp. Collins (1992c, 6), and Isaacs (2004, 408–9). 218–20, rites. Paulinus appears here (remarkably: see comments on ll. 201–3 previously) to envision a missionary project among the Basques, like that of his friend Nicetas of Remesiana among the Dacians: see Poems 17=Selections 3B, ll. 101–135 (see also ll. 197–216, 237–49, 259–64). Roman imperialism and Christian missions could go hand in hand, and the missions would benefit from the exchange: “It is evident . . . that the more effective protection against the barbarians still comes back to Rome . . . which acquires a greater importance and efficacy in the name of Christ, the pax Christiana, and reaffirms the eternity of the City” (Costanza 1988, 56–62, at 68–9, cp. Trout 1999, 214–15). 223–4, Calatayud, Calahorra, Lérida. The first is the birthplace of Paulinus’ close contemporary and temperamental opposite (self-effacing, systematic) Prudentius (348–413 CE: see Hershkowitz 2017, 12–13). In fact, it was probably in Calahorra that Prudentius encountered the Christianized urban Basques whom he scorns in the quotation in the comments on ll. 201–3 previously. The second location, elsewhere Augusta Bilbilis, was the birthplace of the classical poet Martial (Epigrams 1.61.1–2, 7–12): Verona loves the combos of her learned bard. Mantua is fertile with her Vergil . . . Two Senecas and exclusively one Lucan

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Comments are on the liquid lips of Cordoba . . . You, Licinianus, will be the boast of our home Bilbilis, not omitting me.

Martial’s hometown pride would aid Paulinus in his defensiveness, demonstrating the different attitudes that different individuals could assume to the imperial regions of center and periphery: see Juhle (2019, 79–83), where note the Latin rusticitas. 231–2, Zaragoza, Barcelona. The first, also called Saragossa, is, in Latin, Caesarea Augusta, a kind of lux colonial outpost of the capitol and its ways; the second is Barcino amoena: on amoenus (“pleasant, ideal”); cp. l. 183, “an ideal landscape.” 244, homes, glad. In other words, to change lux for lux and then call the former shabby is disingenuous. The standard of luxury here arises from the competitive private building projects, Neverland Ranches on a wide scale, concentrated in southern France and other demesnes of the pumping economy of men and women of property in the Late Empire. See Comments on ll. 259–9, subsequently 248–52, Bazas, Poitiers, capitol, “Rom.” In Latin, Bazas is the modern name of the land of the Vasates (in Latin, Vasatas) in southwestern France, like Rauranum (or Raraunum), another town of western Gaul, now Rom. The “actual Roman capitol” is Ausonia in Latin, a Greek designation of southern Italy that furnished a name for the Rome of the future in the prophetic voices of Vergil’s Aeneid (3.171). In Paulinus, the point of the whole formulation seems to be the play on names: ancient (Greco-Roman), modern (Franco-Spanish), a little far (from the capitol, Rome: Poitiers), and a little (but not much) farther (Rom). 252–5, toga, Quirinus, entwining. With words such as “entwining” and “molders” (in Latin, sordescere, “get dirty”), not to mention “still living honor of flourishing office” (florentem . . . meriti uiuacis honorem), Paulinus adds an organic layer to the imagery of the neglected toga, lamented by Ausonius in Letters 21=Principal Correspondence 1, l. 60 previously. “Latin Quirinus” was an alternative name for Rome ever since it incorporated the Sabines in its earliest history and took a name from their language or culture in deference to its now-mixed nationality (Livy, History 1.3). Like Ausonia previously, the word “Quirinus” thus exemplifies the openness of the Latin language, to which Ausonius claims such fealty, to foreign influence and innovation of just the kind that Paulinus is attempting. 256–9, roofs. Paulinus writes (257): aemula Romuleis habitans fastigia tectis; literally, “living in rooftops that rival houses of Romulus,” that is, houses in Rome (the urbs Romulea). The first word of the line, aemula, is the adjective form of the noun aemulatio, which describes the competitive

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exemplarity that characterized the Roman elite throughout the Classical period and well into Ausonius’ period, particularly in the matter of his villas (Brown 2012, 185–207; cp. Comments on l. 244 previously). It was precisely this principle and practice of aristocratic rivalry (aemulatio) that Paulinus would re-appropriate for Christian ends, winning the competition of conspicuous consumption by renouncing conspicuous consumption – conspicuously (Brown 2012, 219–29). 260–4, mocked, game, mockery, tangy, poets, parents. As before, Paulinus uses explicitly literary critical language to identify Ausonius’ conventional rhetorical strategies as just that – strategies, even ploys.6 Paulinus puts the finest possible point on this self-consciousness when, in the course of the poem, he accuses Ausonius of acting more like a poet and less like a parent, when the latter is what Ausonius claims to be, and which Paulinus appears happy to concede: see especially l. 96. 268–70, mob, not. The German commentator Dräger (2002, 229–30) provides an inventory of translators’ various attempts to make sense of this line and settles on something like the English here (which the punctuation of Hartel and Kamptner 1999a, 36, supports). The problem is the location of the phrase “not always” in Latin and the uncertain syntax of the phrase “established ways”; cp. Paulinus, Poems 24.25: “my mind knows its guilelessness is unfeigned [non fictae].” 278–331: Conclusion – The Christian Life 299, He. Because, as the ultimate judge, he must interact with human beings, Paulinus refers to the person of God that is perceptible to us – namely Christ. See Introduction 4C. 311–15, air, alighting, Christ. The combination of height and fear that Paulinus effects in the climax of his great reply combines the key features of the sublime in Greco-Roman aesthetic theory, leading Hardie, one of its great exponents, to conclude (2019a, 81–8, 93–9, at 27): “One might see the posthumous flight of the soul to heaven as a metapoetic figure for the new, and sublime, poetic flight of Paulinus’s Christian poetry” (cp. ll. 156–65, previously). By the time it comes to expression in Paulinus, the background of the aesthetic category of the sublime is complex – Classical, Christian, and Jewish. See Longinus, On the Sublime 9.9 (trans. Porter 2016, 107, with discussion in 107–16): [T]he lawgiver of the Jews, no ordinary man . . . understood and expressed God’s power in accordance with its worth when, at the very beginning of his Laws, he wrote (I quote), “God said” – what? – “‘Let there be light’, and there was light; ‘Let there be earth,’ and there was earth.”

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The Christian counterpart to which Paulinus most directly alludes in his efforts to “grasp vigorous thoughts” (Porter’s definition of the sublime)7 is the apostle Paul, who first appropriated the Jewish sublime recognized by Longinus for Christian ends (1 Thessalonians 16–17, trans KJV, cp. Martin 1993, 123–9): For the Lord himself shall descend from heaven with a shout, with the voice of the archangel, and with the trump of God: and the dead in Christ shall rise first: Then we which are alive and remain shall be caught up together with them in the clouds, to meet the Lord in the air: and so shall we ever be with the Lord. Drawing on all these sources, Paulinus’ poetry reveals a utopian impulse: the reconciliation of cultural differences in the highest aesthetic category that his own tradition recognized. 316–23, fear, unconscious, drowse, shadows. See Paul, 1 Thess. 5.6, trans. NRSV: “So then let us not fall asleep as others do, but let us keep awake and be sober”; cp. Luke 21.34–6. 316, fear. In his late work on Late Antique Christianity, the French philosopher Michel Foucault identifies the key difference between Classical and Christian experiences of the self (or subjectivity) in terms of this emotion (2016, 126–7): [A]nxiety will be . . . the fundamental element in the system of salvation as Christianity conceived it. . . . [W]ith this anxiety, this metus, this fear . . . two things stand out. On the one hand, there can be no uncertainty with regard to access to the truth . . . that the truth really has been revealed in Scripture. . . . This will be the pole of faith. But, on the other hand, there must be constant anxiety in the subject’s relationship to himself, in the soul’s relationship to itself, because here, on the one hand, one must never be certain that one is absolutely pure and, on the other, one must never be sure that one will be saved. This “polar” conception of belief as faith in scripture and doubt in oneself explains the vivid description of the resurrection of the dead that Paulinus is about to describe: it is a consequence of and attempt to further secure “the pole of faith” by means of the pole of fear. But it also explains the diffidence that he expresses concerning his radicalization. See also Brown (1981, 64–5) and Introduction 2. For another example, see Poems 31=Selections 2H, ll. 537–8. 326–7, conversion. Literally, “it was decided [by me] to stop my downfall [casus] in mid-course [prae-] by turning it [-uertere] to the

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Way [proposito=asceticism].” The complex English idea that I render here as “stopping in mid-course” follows from the parts of the Latin infinitive praeuertere. By itself, the verb uertere means “to turn,” which evokes the image of conversion, even as this is not quite true to Paulinus’ experience: Augustine converted from a faith that was recognized to be different from Christianity (Manicheanism), but Paulinus was already Christian and thus did not convert as much as radicalize in the mid390s (Trout 1999, 66–7). For the use of the Latin propositum to denote asceticism, see especially Paulinus, Letters 5.4 (trans. Walsh 1967, 56, modified): Finally, when I seemed to obtain rest from lying scandal and from wanderings, unbusied by public affairs and far from the din of the marketplace, I enjoyed the leisure of country life and my religious duties, surrounded by pleasant peace in my withdrawn household. So gradually my mind became disengaged from worldly troubles, adapting itself to the divine commands, so that I strove more easily towards contempt for the world and comradeship with Christ, since my path already bordered on the Way [proposito]. See also Fontaine (1972, 581–2), with Trout (1999, 17–18). On the “lying scandal” named at the outset of the quotation, see General Comment on Selections 1B. 330–1, pleasure, assessment. After the soaring eschatological hexameters of ll. 304–29, Paulinus presents his choice for the ascetic way (propositum: see previous Comments) with a tone very different from the diffident end of the iambic middle section of the poem, previously. There it was a matter of taste, in which Ausonius should consider indulging his former student (see Comments on ll. 101–2); now Ausonius’ acceptance is preferred but ultimately indifferent.

4 To Paulinus: Ausonius, Letters 24 General Comment. Inconsistencies in the manuscripts and editorial intervention are especially concentrated on this poem and the shorter version subsequently (Ausonius, Poems 23=Principal Correspondence 6 – Appendix). For the resolution that I have adopted, see Comments on ll. 94–5 and 114, in addition to Introduction 5A. 1–5, yoke. See Comments on Ausonius, Letters 21=Principal Correspondence, ll. 38–50. 8–14, families, heirs, obligations. See Ausonius, Letters 18=Earlier Letters 2, l. 14.

206 Comments 27–9, rotten, member, tottering. See Ovid, Metamorphoses 1.190–1: “but let the incurable part of the body be cut by the lance, lest the healthy fall with it.” Writes Green (1991, 656): “Paulinus’ reaction is easily imagined, and may indeed be expressed in [Letters 1.5, trans. Walsh 1966, 32–3]”: Let him be severed from your body as a useless right arm if he is not united to you in the body of Christ. Let him be plucked out like a harmful eye if he overshadows your holy body with his blemish or blindness. Once the Classical understanding of human harmony cross-pollinates with Christianity, the Pauline associations of such imagery are probably inevitable (1 Corinthians 12: 25–6 (trans. KJV)): That there should be no schism in the body; but that the members should have the same care one for another. And whether one member suffer, all the members suffer with it; or one member be honoured, all the members rejoice with it. The conciliatory character of this message for likeminded Christians is clear; less clear is Paulinus’ acceptance of Christians of a different mind, like Ausonius. 30–7, hope, Nisus, Pythagoras, Laelius. Cp. Seneca, Letters on Ethics 21.5 (trans. Long and Graver 2015, 76–7): What Epicurus was able to promise to his friend, I promise to you, Lucilius: I shall find favor with posterity, and I can bring others’ names along with me, so that they will endure as well. Our poet Virgil promised eternal remembrance to two people, and gives it to them too: Fortunate pair! If there is anything that poems of mine can do, no future day will ever erase you from the memory of ages, while Aeneas’s line shall dwell, on the unmoving rock, the Capitol, and while the Roman father still holds sway. The allusion to the pederastic pair of Nisus and Euryalus (in Ausonius, as in Seneca) once more opens an erotic dimension in male friendship, which Christianity would police. See Augustine’s description of his youthful friendship (Confessions 2.2.2, with translation from Dressler 2016, 38–9): “But no limit was held from soul to soul, to the extent that there is a luminous line of friendship, but clouds were being belched from the muddy lust

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of the flesh . . . so the serenity of affection could not be separated from the darkness of desire.” Cp. Comments on Ausonius, Letters 1=Principal Correspondence 1, l. 1. 60–6, Spain. See Comments on Ausonius, Letters 21=Principal Correspondence 1, ll. 54–5. 82–90, crowd, slopes, Novare. The mixing of high- and low-class communities, like the mixing of climates and environments of Ausonius’ design for living, recalls the vistas of the Moselle, which the poet in the poem of the same name compares to his “home” river, the Garonne, as described here (453–6, 458–60, 482–3, trans. Warren 2017, 30–1): I’ll pursue your praises further, northern river; add cities you slip past in your silent channel . . . add the productive farmers on both your banks and you, amid the labors of men and oxen, lapping the banks, traversing the fertile fields . . . Noble in your blue pools and sounding torrents, to the seal-like Garumna I commend you. See also Ausonius, Letters 20B=Earlier Letters 4, l. 47. 91–4, without. Using an ancient figure of speech called adunaton, or the impossibility topos, Ausonius inverts the customary order of nature. Cp. Vergil, Eclogues 7.57–60, where the poet-shepherds lament the loss of the archpoet Daphnis. See also Comments on l. 124, subsequently. 94–5, unfurled. The manuscript that preserves the bulk of Ausonius’ poetry (called V in critical editions) divides this poem into two letters at this point; following Green (1991, 654–6), I assume that they are one, but I have marked a slight break in the translation here so that readers can evaluate the effects of that difference for themselves. See Introduction 5A. 96, 104–6, faith, God, prayer. This is Ausonius’ first and only reference to God and Christ in the Principal Correspondence: for some discussion, see Introduction 1. Other references to God and Christ include The Daily Round (Ephemeris) 2–3, the latter of which, a “prayer” (oratio) is also included among the works of Paulinus! See Warren (2017, 6, 66) and Introduction 5A. For further discussion, see Green (1991, 250–1). 114, pleasure. The manuscript called H in critical editions ends the poem here, and so I have marked a slight break, as I do in ll. 94–5, previously. A close relative of this manuscript, which is called P and is believed to derive from the same source as H, features the next ten lines. On the manuscript tradition in general, see Introduction 5A. 124, lovers. An allusion to the Augustan poet Vergil best described by Masterson (2016, 14):

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Comments Making use of glamorous Virgil, Ausonius offers the carnal – undeniably in the past and perhaps in a moment if the spell has worked – relation between Amaryllis and Daphnis as a metaphor for his friendship with Paulinus: their relation has a similar intensity.

For other intimations of eroticism in the correspondence, see Comments on Ausonius, Letters 21=Principal Correspondence 1, l. l, and in the next poem in this sequence, in possible answer, Paulinus, Poems 11=Principal Correspondence 5, ll. 1–5. For Paulinus’ later sanitization of the image of the lover’s dream for a description of Christian friendship, see Poems 27=Selections 3E, l. 191.

5 To Ausonius: Paulinus, Poems 11 General Comment. Paulinus’ final contribution to the correspondence reverses the tone achieved, especially by the poetic meter, in the previous contribution. Where that poem proceeded from a “modest” to a more passionate meter (from elegy to hexameter: see Comments on Poems 10=Principal Correspondence 3, ll. 13–18), this poem reverses the process, suggesting closure, beginning with Paulinus grievously pained and in high dudgeon (28, 30: “You complain that I shook off the yoke?”) and ending with earnest affirmations of affection (55): “I’ll see you in my heart, I’ll fold you in devoted thought.” This movement of closure suggests that the correspondence is complete, at least on Paulinus’ side, and may thus argue against those who interpret his letters as conciliatory (see Introduction 1). 1–5, hard. Masterson (2016, 15–16) detects a sexual double-entendre beginning with the suggestion of erectile hardness in line 1 and culminating with the image of penetration in l. 5 (“you drive verses hard inside my flesh”; Masterson 2016, 16): The imagination may run wild until the word “verse[s]” . . . arrives at the end of the line to attempt to make it all innocent, but this is an insufficient remedy. The “damage” has been done, for the reader has been on a journey and memory will abide. The not to be spoken pain (or is it pleasure?) of being penetrated is called to mind briefly; the verse may be hard but who doesn’t like poetry? In this reading, Paulinus’ reference to Ausonius’ characterization of his wife Therasia (“a redoubtable spouse,” l. 5) is textbook homosociality – men needing women to expedite male relations where too much male intimacy would be taboo: Sedgwick (1985, 2–3), with Richlin (1993, 529–30, 548–54), Williams (2012, 121–30), applied to Augustine in Dressler (2016,

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38–46). See Comments on Ausonius, Letters 21=Principal Correspondence 1, ll. 1–2, and on Letters 24, l. 1. Scholars have also used these lines to reconstruct the chronology of the Principal Correspondence. Because Paulinus here takes up the charge of “gross neglect of friendship” at greater length than he did in Poems 10=Principal Correspondence 3, Green (1991, 653) suggests that Ausonius, Letters 22=Principal Correspondence 2 “seems to have reached Paulinus too late to receive anything but the briefest acknowledgement,” in Poems 10, until now. 6–7, wormwood, bitter. See Lucretius, The Nature of Things, 4.1–14, excerpts, trans. Stallings 2007, 106): I wander in the uncharted country of the Muses – none Before me has set foot here – and I thrill to come upon Springs untouched by any lips, and here to slake my thirst . . . Nor is my method to no purpose – doctors do as much; Consider a physician with a child who will not sip A disgusting dose of wormwood: first, he coats the goblet’s lip All round with honey’s sweet blond stickiness. In Lucretius’ analogy, the poet is the doctor and the reader whom the poet is attempting to convert to Epicureanism is the child. Paulinus’ allusion to Lucretius is striking, then, because it reverses his usual presentation of Ausonius as the adult and himself as the child. See Comments on Principal Correspondence 2=Paulinus, Poems 21, ll. 89–91. The literary critical language in Lucretius parallels other instances of such “culinary aesthetics” in the Correspondence (see Comments on Ausonius, Letters 21=Principal Correspondence 1, l. 65, where note “bitterness”: subamara). In a letter to another acknowledged master of Roman learning and style, Symmachus, Ausonius uses similar imagery (Letters 12, ll. 2–8, cp. Sowers 2016, 536–7, McGill 2017, 256–63): You have persuaded me that my letter, which I wrote to you at Capua, presents a compositional coif that it is not utterly inhumane – a conviction that lasts no longer than it takes me to read your letter! It holds me fast, guzzling in your beguilements, as if I had tasted the dew of the gods, to the last. When I put your little missive away and I try to be honest with myself, however, my work begins to savor of wormwood, as I catch a whiff of yours, which is soaked in honey. 35–6, yoke, weak. See Leviticus 19:19, Deuteronomy 22:10, through 2 Cor. 6:14.

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35–6, swan. See Lucretius, The Nature of Things (De Rerum Natura) 3.6–8, trans. Stallings (2007, 73): After all, why would a swallow Strive with swans? How can a kid with legs that wobble catch Up with the gallop of a horse? – the race would be no match. See also Paulinus, Poems 22=Selections 5A, l. 68, with Comments. 47–8, face, heart. Cp. Rutilius Namatianus in “Going Home” (De Reditu Suo), written after 417, and thus conceivably in the lifetime of Paulinus (ll. 53–4, trans. Malamud 2016, 44): “Accursed oblivion will hide the sun before/the honor that I owe you leaves my heart.” In this section of the poem, Rutilius is addressing Rome, which makes Paulinus’ earlier use of the phrase for Ausonius more poignant: Paulinus takes his leave of Ausonius with a claim to remember him always, and Rutilius shows that what Paulinus was really abandoning (and swearing to remember) was the very culture of Rome represented by Classicizing poets such as Ausonius and Rutilius. Indeed, the source for both Paulinus’ and Rutilius’ avowal of affection and fidelity is Vergil, Eclogues, 1.60–1, 64: The darting deer will graze on the plane of the sea and the straits will leave nude fish on the shore before . . . before the face of the great man slips from my heart. The “great man” in Vergil’s first Eclogue is Augustus; the figure of speech whereby the deer graze the sea are called adunata (Greek=“impossibilities”). The Latin of the three phrases of Vergil, Paulinus, and Rutilius, is, respectively: ante . . . quam nostro illius labatur pectore uoltus prius ipsa recedet/corpore uita meo quam uester pectore uultus quam tuos tuus ex nostro corde recedat honos The Latin is significant because where Vergil wrote labatur (“slips”), Rutilius and Paulinus write recedat (“leaves” in Malamud, “fades” in Paulinus here). If this indicates that Rutilius was responding to Paulinus, then he is re-Classicizing the Classical text that Ausonius Christianized by returning it to its original political reference: Rome and Augustus. If there was no culture war on the Classical side of the late fourth century, there was by the early fifth, and the terms were established in the previous generation. 49–68. Amherdt (2004, 197–8) identifies this section as the Christian counterpart to the pastiche of “pagan” reflections on friendship in ll. 1–48

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(see previous Comments). In it, Paulinus attempts to address theoretical problems posed for Classical friendship by Christian theology and contemporary social experience: (1) If love of Christ supersedes all other forms of love, what place is there for traditional friendship between individuals? See Augustine, Confessions 4.4–9. (2) If friends change fundamentally, by conversion or radicalization, for instance, is it possible to maintain friendship? See Cicero, Laelius on Friendship 74. The pains that Paulinus takes to integrate Christian friendship with its Classical predecessors are evident by comparison with the treatment of “conversion” (or individual transformation) in the Classical theory of friendship found in Aristotle, Nicomachean Ethics, Book 8.7 (trans. Ross 1980, 204): [F]or much can be taken away and friendship remain, but when one party is removed to a great distance, as God is, the possibility of friendship ceases. This is in fact the origin of the question whether friends really wish for their friends the greatest goods, e.g. that of being gods; since in that case their friends will no longer be friends to them, and therefore will not be good things for them (for friends are good things). Compared with his approach to Ausonius in this poem, Paulinus had more success making the transition into “spiritual” friendship (amicitia spiritalis) with friends such as Severus who radicalized with him (which suggests that Paulinus never completely solved the problem discussed in terms of apotheosis by Aristotle, at least where other less “godly” individuals were concerned, but cp. his address to Jovius, Poems 22=Selections 3H, 5A). For the presentation of friendship in wholly Christian terms, see Letters 11.14 (trans. Walsh 1966, 104, emphasis added): [I]f you . . . are rather slow in longing for my presence, then you are sinning not against me, who am always a sinner unworthy of your sight, but against the Lord himself, if you think that I shall cease to have sustenance for this mortal life once I have begun to possess God. On friendship in general, see Paulinus, Letters 1, 5, 17, 22–24, 27–32, with Trout (1999, 212–13), and Conybeare (2000, Chapter 3, and p. 16): “letters express the love of friends, which reflects and is enriched by Christ’s love; in loving a friend more fully, one will also love Christ more fully, and hence become more fully Christian.”

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For later Catholic treatments of Christians as “friends of Christ,” which includes a Paulinan “salvation economics” by way of Saint Augustine, see Moorman (2017, 257–60, 264–5). 57–68, remembering. Paulinus’ account of his own death is Classical in origin and Christian in development, maintaining all the elements of, but inverting, traditional accounts of death and (poetic) immortality, while marrying them (in Classical fashion) to friendship, consistent with the context of the Correspondence. Classical and Christian models of how death deals with friendship, or how friends deal with death, appear in Cicero and Augustine (Cicero, Laelius on Friendship 102, trans. Dressler 2016, 43): However suddenly Scipio was stolen from me, he lives even still and will live forever. For I fell in love with the virtue of the man, and that has not died, nor does it comport itself before my eyes alone – I who have always held it in my hands – but it will also be clear and distinctive to posterity. Cp. Augustine, Confessions 9.2.6 (quoted and translated in Curtius 1963, 80): Now his ear hangs no longer on my mouth, but the mouth of his soul lies at the eternal fount . . . and he is blessed without end. Yet I believe that he is not so intoxicated therewith as to forget me. For Thou, Lord, whom he drinks, rememberest us. Cicero’s account is paradoxical enough (elsewhere in the same work, he sounds like Saint Paul when he says, in friendship, “the dead are alive”: Laelius on Friendship 23), but Augustine and Paulinus increase the paradox when, consistent with the specifically Christian doctrine of the immortality of the soul as a personal experience, they focus on the persisting psychology of the individual who died, not the effects of his memory on the living.8 At the same time, Paulinus’ account is more consciously centered on poetry and Classical claims to poetic immortality (see Horace, Odes 2.20, quoted and discussed in the Comments on Poems 15=“Self, Money, Music, Time, Christ,” ll. 16–20), which we see in the “Preface” (ll. 43–5) of his contemporary, the professional poet, Prudentius: see Comments on Poems 27=Selections 3E, l. 311.

6 Appendix to Principal Correspondence 4: Ausonius, Letters 23 General Comment. On the peculiar relationship between this poem and its near twin, see the General Comment on Ausonius, Letters 24=Principal Correspondence 4, and Introduction 5A. Because this poem contains verbatim parallels to that, I only comment on the different passages here.

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17, memorial. In Latin, memori sub aevo. The phrase, a rare one in Latin, occurs in a very similar context in Statius. In a sustained description (ecphrasis) of a diminutive statue of Hercules, the poet praises its owner, Vindex, for his devotion to a deceased friend, Vestinus (Statius, Silvae 4.6.94). The combination adjective-preposition-noun, based on the word aevus (“time”), seems to be a mannerism of Statius, who uses the phrase, which is otherwise almost unattested, another three times in his corpus in the same position (line-end): Thebaid 11.577, Silvae 2.3.63, 2.7.73. The Ausonian adoption of the mannerism, with the adjective “memorial” (memori) occurs again in a medieval hymn to the mother of Augustine, Monica (in Dreves 1896, no. 433 on p. 245): Ah how much gratitude a faithful people owes you in the course of time memorial! You blessed them with the ultimate service, mother of brightness. 19, Pirithous, Pylades, Damon. Ausonius alludes to a fascinating footnote in Classical literary history, the first–second century AD/CE epigrammatist Martial’s allusion to an unknown interloper’s efforts to drive a wedge between himself and another poet, the satirist Juvenal (Martial, Epigrams 7.24.3–4): “Orestes would have hated Pylades with the unspeakable slander you make up./Adoring Pirithous would have forsaken Theseus.” 29, mind not mine. In Latin, mens altera, a new or different mind, a “change of heart” (so Green), but the phrasing seems to use Paulinus’ own words against him, since in the great reply from the Principal Correspondence he had tried to explain that God was the one who came up with the plan to change his ways: “Mine is a new mind, a mind not mine, as once/ was not mine, now I avow with God as author” (Principal Correspondence 3=Paulinus, Poems 10.142–3). In the published version (Ausonius, Letters 24=Principal Correspondence 4, l. 101), the phrase will be changed to “that goddess Revenge” (Latin, Rhamnusia vis-à-vis mens altera). 50, friends. In the published version (see General Comments on Letters 24=Principal Correspondence 4), we find, perhaps not surprisingly, a less personal line. There Paulinus’notoriety and public persona is emphasized: “a whole crowd of passersby turns to mark his arrival”; the emphasis here is much more personal and intimate. It is tempting to think that, with hindsight and a view to publication, Ausonius changed it to make himself appear less vulnerable.

Notes 1 Vegetarianism was a code word for ascetic extremism in the ancient world, not unlike Paulinus’ Christianity in Ausonius’ eyes: see Seneca, Letters on Ethics 108.22, with alienigena sacra, “exogenous rites,” and Paulinus’ biographer, Trout (1999, 72–6).

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2 See Jerome, Letters 72, with Conybeare (2000, 14–15), and Ebbeler (2012, Chapter 3). 3 To be more specific, induo is the usual word for this relation; exuo, at least in Christian discourse, appears unattested, not least because it is theologically difficult: the idea of Christ taking himself off on analogy with a garment suggests an alteration in his essence (or self: se), which would threaten the unity both of his Godhead and of the trinity (see comments also on ll. 123–4 subsequently). The Latin of some manuscripts omits the problem word. Where the standard edition of Hartel and Kamptner (1999a) prints what I translate here (nos induendo se exuit), variations include nos induendo induit and nos induendus induit. The first is redundant. The second Conybeare accepts and translates (2000, 154): “We have to clothe ourselves in his divinity, and for our sake he had to be clothed in our humanity,” or more compressed (my translation): “He in whom we must be clothed clothed himself in us.” It is hard to tell whether Prudentius’ use of the problem-word for the exorcism of a demon supports or challenges its application to Christ in the manuscript of Paulinus (Prudentius, Crown of Martyrs [Peristephanon, trans. Krisak 2020] 1.108): “The throttled robber strips himself of their abandoned bowels [praedo vexatus relictis se medullis exuit].” 4 Baker (1983, 74–6, 82–3), and Introduction 4A. For Protestant developments that illuminate the original system, see Moorman (2017, Chapter 5). 5 But see Thesaurus Linguae Latinae, vol. 1, pp. 1957, l.79–1958, l.35. 6 Cp. comments on ll. 9–10, 260–4, Ausonius, Letters 21=Principal Correspondence 1, l. 65, and Paulinus, Poems 11=Principal Correspondence 5, ll. 6–7. 7 Porter (2016, 109), cp. “conceive divine ideas” in Paulinus, Poems 22=Selections 3H, l. 19. 8 See, for instance, Prudentius, Against Symmachus 2.182–6: But why do I contemplate such things? God threatens – look! – with rigorous glory, and denies the record of my works will perish, even in death. “There is no death,” he says, “for the human being who breathes inside; he pays eternal punishment for the body he failed to regulate.” For related passages on friendship, see Dressler (2016, 39–46).

7

Comments Selections From the Poems of Paulinus

Self, Money, Music, Time, and Christ: Poems 15.1–46 General Comment. Probably by coincidence, this Natalicium, or poem of nativity (see Introduction 1), contains all the themes that make up the categories of the Selections from the Poems of Paulinus collected here: see Introduction 4, especially 4C. In the present instance, although other analyses are possible, one way to analyze the stated themes would be: (1) (2) (3) (4) (5) (6)

Time: ll. 1–4 Self: ll. 4–9 Money: ll. 10–16 Self: ll. 17–20 Christ: ll. 21–25 Music/Christ: ll. 26–49

To demonstrate the unity of these themes throughout the Selections, and only to a slightly lesser extent in the Principal Correspondence, I include this opening passage at the beginning of the Selections, offering more extended comments on themes that will recur throughout the Selections. 1–3, “birth” day. The day of Felix’s birth or “nativity” (Natalicium, the genre of poem that Paulinus invented for Felix and performed on the anniversary of Felix’s death and ascension, January 14: see Introduction 2). Felix died of old age sometime after the Decian persecutions of 250 AD/CE, not in the persecutions, and for this reason, as the Calendarium Romanum of Vatican II (Vatican City 1969, 112), or the official Roman Catholic register of saints’ days, maintains: “But St. Felix was a confessor of the faith; he did not undergo martyrdom.” The authority for this statement is probably Paulinus: see General Comment on Poems 15–16=Selections 2A–B subsequently. 5–6, friend. For more on this idea of the community between God and saint, see Comments on ll. 45–6, subsequently. DOI: 10.4324/9780203710845-7

216

Comments

10–15, rich. For more on Paulinus’ “salvation economics” (Trout), see Introduction 3, 4A; the numerous Comments on Poems 10=Principal Correspondence 3, ll. 77–102; and the passages collected in Selections 2, subsequently. Here, Paulinus suggests that the sole purpose of his wealth was its own renunciation, a form of compensation for his moral deficiencies apart from wealth. Yet the emphasis that wealth receives (note l. 15: tu pater et patria et domus et substantia nobis) remains considerable, whether or not he has it. 16–17, lap, bosom. In Latin, gremium, sinus. Cp. John 1:18 (trans. DR): “No man hath seen God at any time: the only begotten Son who is in the bosom [in gremio] of the Father, he hath declared him.” See also Poems 22=Selections 5A, l. 81. 16–20, nest, form, feathers, burst. The Classical precedent for this bird metamorphosis makes it a figure of poetic achievement, so that once more (see Introduction 3), Paulinus combines asceticism (self-abasement) and aestheticism (poetic glory), after the model of the Augustan poet Horace (Odes 2.20.1–12, 17–20): On no typical or slender wing am I, of double-form through air of liquid, a bard, uplifted. On lands no longer do I linger. Than resentments bigger I leave cities behind. The blood of parents of the lower classes, is not I. The one you call and who will die, Maecenas mine – not I. I will not be confined to Stygian tide. At this very moment on my calves is springing ragged skin. I trade [my form] for pale wing up high, giving birth to buoyant feathers on my fingers and on my sides . . . Known I will be by Colchian and by Dacian, hiding his fear of Marsian army, and by distant Gelonians. Yes, it is I whom one day learnèd Spaniards and Rhone-drinking French will read. In addition to the extended language of metamorphosis in the central italicized stanza, which Paulinus compresses in the lines of Poems 15, the second italicized portion makes it likely that Paulinus, who had lived in both Gaul (“France”) and Spain, was thinking of this very poem, and of himself as Horace’s future reader. 27–9, insides, pound, box. See Isaiah 16.11, trans. KJV: “Wherefore my bowels shall sound like an harp for Moab, and mine inward parts for Kir-haresh.”

Comments 217 26–29, rise, ring, heart, strum, mouth. See Introduction 4B. 30–1, Castalian, hallucinations, Phoebus, Aonian. See Paulinus, Poems 10=Principal Correspondence 3, ll. 19–26. There, instead of “hallucinations of bards” (phantasmata uatum) Paulinus dispels “poets’ fiction” (figmenta uatum). For “bards” as “poets,” see Comments on Ausonius, Letters 21=Principal Correspondence 1, ll. 19 and 24–30. 32, chorister. In Latin, incentor. 33, tell your story. In Latin, fari; cp. l. 45–6, subsequently. 34, God. Cp. Christ in l. 49, subsequently. By shifting the name of the addressee, Paulinus signals his understanding of trinitarian theology. See further Introduction 4C. 35, cultured. Sometimes “learned” (Latin, doctus). A buzzword of the “modernist” (neoteric, Alexandrian) poets from the Classical period of Latin poetry from the late Republic to the early Empire. See Introduction 4B. 36, donkey. See Numbers 22.28, trans. KJV: “And the LORD opened the mouth of the ass, and she said unto Balaam, What have I done unto thee, that thou hast smitten me these three times?” Skipping Paulinus, Curtius (1963, 236–7) attributes the first use of Balaam’s ass as a figure for poetic inspiration to the seventh century British Latin poet, Aldhelm. See ll. 30–1, and Poems 6=Selections 3A, l. 6, but Classical precedents may also exist: see, for instance, Apuleius, Metamorphoses 11.2–3, with Finkelpearl (1998, 204–6). 37, sucklings. Supplied to clarify the allusion to Psalms 8.2, trans. KJV: “Out of the mouth of babes and sucklings hast thou ordained strength because of thine enemies, that thou mightest still the enemy and the avenger.” See also Paulinus’ friend, Nicetas of Remesiana, quoting Matthew 21:16 (On the Goodness of Psalmody 9, trans. Walsh 1949, 72): “However, the Lord rather opened than closed the mouths of the little ones when He said: ‘Have you never read, Out of the mouth of infants and sucklings thou has perfected praise.’” 40, speculation. In Latin, spes (“hope”); see Introduction 2. For the rest, see Numbers 20.10–12. The prominence of “trust” or “credit” (credidisti) in the episode is consistent with the relation of speculation, credit, and profit (or hope, faith, and eternity) that constitutes Paulinus’ “salvation economics.” See Introduction 3 and 4A. 43–45, dew, gulps, fountain. Liquid imagery is a constant characteristic of Paulinus’ treatment of the complex of divinity and inspiration, traditionally associated with the Muses and the waters of Helicon (see Curtius 1963, 233–4). For an especially developed example, see Poems 31=Selections 3G, ll. 425–48. On traditional attitudes to the Muses, see Comments on Ausonius, Letters 22=Principal Correspondence 2, ll. 38–50, and 74, also Paulinus, Poems 10=Principal Correspondence 3, ll. 21–31, throughout.

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Comments

45–6, avow, martyr, your glory. For the first term, in Latin fari, see l. 33, previously. By “martyr,” Paulinus means confessor: see Introduction 4C, and the General Comment in Selections 2A subsequently. In Latin, laus (literally, “praise”), the glory of martyrs and confessors, belongs to Christ, and reciprocally, the glory of Christ belongs to martyrs and confessors, to the extent that they are friends (see ll. 5–6, previously) and “friends hold everything in common” (Cicero, On Duties 1.154, cp. Plato, Republic 5: 449c5) – a concept that later Christians will develop as “the community of saints”: see Comments on Poems 10=Principal Correspondence 3, ll. 84–8, 89–91, 145–6, and on Poems 11=Principal Correspondence 5, ll. 49–68.

1

Self

A. Poems 13.1–19 General Comment. Paulinus wrote the first poem of nativity for Felix (Poems 12) from Spain in 395, around the same time that he was writing the Principal Correspondence with Ausonius. Based on internal evidence (ll. 6–7), Poems 13 was written in Nola but not delivered in performance.1 Each of those poems (12–13) is fewer than 40 lines, as compared with Poems 14, the third Natalicium, delivered at Cimitle, the “cemetery” of Felix outside Nola, in 397, which totals 135 lines. Clearly, the character of the project was changing, attesting to its experimentalism. For more on the composition and chronology of the poems, see Introduction 5A. 1–2, “happy.” Paulinus plays everywhere on the original meaning of Felix’s name, from the Latin, felix, which ranges in meaning from agriculturally productive, or profitable, to lucky or propitious (whence English “felicitous”), to affective elevation (“happy” per se): cp. Poems 18=Selections 2C, ll. 265–74; Introduction 4C, with linguistic background in the Comments on Poems 21=Selections 2E, l. 414. 3, Confessor. On the difference between a confessor and a martyr, see Introduction 4C, and General Comments on Poems 15–16=Selections 2A subsequently. 5, father. For the changing meanings of this term in the late fourth century, see Comments on Ausonius, Letters 17=Earlier Letters 1. 6–9, fifteen years. Before returning to Bordeaux and Spain to marry Therasia, Paulinus had been governor of Campania. If this is the second poem of nativity, following the first that Paulinus wrote from Spain before embarking to Nola for life (Poems 12), then it was probably written in 396, a year after the Principal Correspondence. From this estimate, Walsh (1975, 367–8) infers that Paulinus was governor of Campania in 381–3 AD/CE, fifteen years before the date of Poems 13. For Paulinus’ time as governor,

Comments 219 see Poems 21=Selections 3B, ll. 365–78, and Introduction 1. For the dating of the poems of nativity, see Introduction 5A. 9–11, tribulation. Probably the death of his brother, but possibly also the death of his infant son with Therasia: see Poems 21=Selections1B, ll. 414–20, and Poems 31=Selections 1D, ll. 591–628, respectively. 14–15, captain. For an elaboration of this theme, see Poem 17=Selections 3B, ll. 105–8. B.

Poems 21.175–97, 344–413, 672–703

General Comment. Alongside Poems 27 (see Selections 3D, E, G, 4G, and 5D subsequently), Poems 21 is probably the most important poem of nativity for the wealth of information that it provides not only about the ritual practice and other “current events” associated with Felix’s festival of 407 but also and especially about Paulinus’ own biography and the visit of illustrious fellow ascetics, Melania the Younger (then in her late 20s) and her husband Pinian (Valerius Pinianus). Melania was, like Paulinus, one of the richest Romans of the age. Under the guidance of her grandmother, the equally illustrious but slightly less well-documented Melania the Elder (see especially Paulinus, Letters 29), the Younger renounced her wealth and set about founding ascetic communities comparable to Paulinus’ own complex in Cimitile/Nola. Comparable to Paulinus in another way, the pair of Melania and Pinian also cultivated a “syneisaktic” or celibate marriage.2 Although Paulinus was, like Melania, the star of the marriage, Paulinus’ wife Therasia was, like Pinian, not without her own share of quasi-clerical glory; witness her frequent inclusion in the “signatures” of Paulinus’ letters to eminent friends and her appearance alongside Melania here.3 As for Paulinus’ account of his own life in Poems 21, it is refracted through the prisms of hindsight, generic conventions, and the dictates of audience and occasion of composition (Trout 1999, 16): Although such moments of reflection on his own past are indispensable for the reconstruction of Paulinus’ life, they . . . were equally literary acts, no less conditioned by the ‘resources of the medium’ [De Man 1979, 920] or the artistic expectations of the audience than, for example, Augustine’s Confessions. Implicit in Trout’s judicious discussion is a model of autobiography which is neither “documentary” (Trout 1999, 17) nor strictly fictional – a model of autobiography, as a “literary act” (De Man previously). As part of this “act,” language does not describe a preexisting state of affairs but rather establishes it (see also Introduction 4A). In the Christian terms of the third

220 Comments and fourth centuries, the most important example of this form of speech as action (or “speech act”) is confession, the person who does it being a confessor, or “someone who is prepared to make the profession of faith right to the end, that is to say to the point of risking death” (Foucault 2016, 84). Paulinus takes pains to present this clamorous form of faith unto death in his biography of Felix (see General Comment of Selections 2A, and Introduction 4C), but it is also present in his autobiography, where the avowal of original sin (Poems 21.179–84: see Comments subsequently) precedes the “autobiography (ll. 344–413) and reinforces the notion of Paulinus’ poetry as a specifically Christian form of “confessional poetry”: see General Comment on Paulinus, Poems 10=Principal Correspondence 3. 175–97. Like Poems 10=Principal Correspondence 3, Poems 21 is a virtuoso performance composed in many meters, starting with the most common elevated form of dactylic hexameter (1–104), modulating into the present meter (iambic trimeter), followed by elegiac couplets (272–343), before returning to dactylic hexameter for the bulk of the poem (344–858). For more discussion of such “polymetry,” see Comments on Paulinus, Poems 10=Principal Correspondence 3, l. 13–18, and on Ausonius, Letters 19b=Earlier Letters 3, ll. 38–43. 179–84, sinner. The idea of original sin had yet to be completely developed in Latin Christianity, but it is intimated here, as it is in Augustine’s Confessions 1.7.11 (O’Donnell 1992, vol. 2, 42, cp. Trout 1999, 233). Systematically developing the doctrine in the aftermath of the Pelagian controversy, Augustine later purported to find it fully formed in Paul, Romans 5:12 (cp. Psalms 51.5): Augustine, Unfinished attack on Julian’s second reply (Contra secundam Iuliani responsionem imperfectum opus) 1.25, with Brown (1980 [1967], 396–7). See General Comment on Poems 25=Selections 2G, subsequently. 190, death. Paulinus here provides the fourth century’s answer to the earlier question of the apostle, Paul (Romans 7.24, trans. KJV): “O wretched man that I am! who shall deliver me from the body of this death?” 196–7, song. See, for instance, Poems 20=Selections 2D, ll. 11–23. 351–7, tongues. See Vergil, Georgics 2.42–6 (trans. Dryden 1697, 73, ll. 59–62): Not that my song, in such a scanty space, So large a Subject fully can embrace: Not tho I were supply’d with Iron Lungs, A hundred Mouths, fill’d with as many Tongues. See also Vergil, Aeneid 6.625–7, Ovid, Metamorphoses 8.553–5, with further documentation and discussion in Hinds (1998, 35–46). For the liquid imagery of song, see ll. 672–8, subsequently, and Introduction 4B.

Comments

221

355, friend. Cp. Poems 14=Self, Money, Music, Time, Christ, ll. 45–6. 374, fasces. The symbol of the magistrate representing the right to bear violence, whence the valorization of violence and state authority in “fascism.” Probably through a variety of connections, not least with Ausonius, Paulinus acquired the symbol of office when he became the consular governor of Campania in his twenties or thirties, reenacting there the Roman ritual of “first clippings” (of the beard, at the end of adolescence, traditionally dated to the age of twenty: l. 377, cp. Richlin 1993, 547–8), in the early 380s, after he was appointed suffect consul (that is, the second of the year), and then senator ex officio in Rome in the late 370s. See Trout (1999, Chapter 2 and Appendix B), and Introduction 1. 374–6, condemnation. Christians at the time held themselves in political office to higher standards of clemency, according to Ambrose (Letters 25.3). Otherwise, this is a commonplace in later poets’ reflections on their political careers (Rutilius Namatianus, Going Home, 59–60, trans. Malamud 2016, 47): “it’s to the people’s, not the prefect’s credit that/no crimes have forced me to unsheathe my sword.” 380–94, foundations, house, roof, poor, hospital. Later the same area was beset by fire: see Introduction 3. This passage collapses the time between the slow development of Paulinus’ ideas for building projects at Nola and their eventual execution into a remarkably narrow compass: cp. the slower progress of radicalization described in the earlier Letters 5.4–5, with Trout (1999, 17–20), quoted in part in the Comments on Poems 21=Selections 2E, ll. 416–23. For some art historical commentary, see Goldschmidt (1940, 174–5). 382, spirit. Not literally (and hence not capitalized in the sense of the Holy Spirit); the Latin says that the Saint was “breathing [inspirans] with a silent thought [tacita mente] the idea [cura]” of building the road “into the poet” (mihi) whom it (the Spirit, God) also “ordered” (iuberes) to build one. On the other hand, if that “idea” or “concern” to build was itself filled by the breath of God (viz. the Spirit), then it probably refers to the “heart,” the seat of ideas of concern, as translated here. 395, authority. See Comments on Poems 13=Selections 1A, ll. 6–9, previously. 398–408, yoke, Gaul. Paulinus implies that he and Therasia have returned from her ancestral lands in Spain to his in Gaul, exemplifying the itinerance of the fourth-century global elite (cp. Ausonius, Letters 24=Principal Correspondence 4, ll. 87–90). On Paulinus’ marriage to Therasia, the equally affluent Spanish noblewoman who radicalized before Paulinus, and whom Paulinus and Ausonius credit or blame for his renunciation, see Trout (1999, 67–71), with Comments on Ausonius, Letters 21=Principal Correspondence 2, l. 31. Part of the purpose of marriage is to compensate for the feeling of personal weakness that expressed itself in self-doubt, “where the wellness of

222 Comments one soul through a doubling of the flesh/might yet offset the salvation that the other one put off” (Poems 21=Selections 1B, ll. 402–3; see in general Poems 25=Selections 5B, ll. 141–98). Classical philosophers (in contrast with popular morality) also adopted this view of the wife as a supplement and support of personal virtue (Foucault 1986, 159–64), so that Paulinus’insistence on the continuity between Classical and Christian cultures would probably attract more assent among their readers than Ausonius’ retrogressive masculinity when he calls Therasia, Paulinus’ wife, “your Tanaquil” (Ausonius, Letters 22=Principal Correspondence 2, l. 31). For Paulinus’ more or less egalitarian marital theory, see especially Poems 25=Selections 5B, ll. 141–98, General Comments on Selections 2G, and Poems 21=Selections 3G, l. 96. 672–8, water. A reference to Felix’s intervention in a dispute about access to water between Nola proper and Cimitile, the town where Felix’s remains received the enhancements of Paulinus’ building project, this passage is also notable for the way in which it disorders literal and figurative references to water and song: see Introduction 4B. For the historical background, see Trout (1999, 192–4). For a similar multisensory (synesthetic) development of the doctrine of the trinity, with background in Classical and modern poetics, see Comments on Poems 23=Selections 4E, ll. 19–26. 686, new. Combined with water, the idea of novelty suggests Paulinus’ ideal of his own poetry: see Hardie (2019a, 157), and Poems 10=Principal Correspondence 3, ll. 135–43. 687–703, source. For the liquid imagery of God and Christ, as a double of poetic inspiration, see Poems 27=Selections 3E, ll. 175–7, and Introduction 4B. 688–91, foundation, water. A subtle amalgam of two sayings of Christ: (1) “Everyone then who hears these words of mine and acts on them will be like a wise man who built his house on a rock” (Matthew 7:24, trans. NRSV); (2) “If you knew the gift of God, and who it is that is saying to you, ‘Give me a drink,’ you would have asked him, and he would have given you living water” (John 4:10, trans. NRSV). C.

Poems 26.395–428

General Comment. The subject of this excerpt is the same local catastrophe described in next year’s poem of nativity, Poems 28.60–167, quoted in part and discussed in Introduction 2. In addition to demonstrating the documentary character of the Natalicia as reports of recent events and local history, the recounting of the fire here provides the thematic background for the global history exemplified by Alaric’s Visigothic attack on Rome in 401–3, thus illustrating Paulinus’ use of poetry to mediate between different levels or scales of time: local, global, individual, historical (see Introduction 4B).

Comments

223

For a summary of the scholarly discussion around the date, see Walsh (1975, 403) and Introduction 5A, and for more direct discussion of the invasion itself, see the beginning of this same poem=Selections 4F, subsequently. On Paulinus’ eventual capture by foreign invaders, see Comments on l. 401, subsequently. 401, physical. In Latin, corporeo (with prope for “nearly”). On the technical term, see Poems 10=Principal Correspondence 3, l. 176, and Comments on Poems 31=Selections 5F, ll. 90–1. For a less technical (more Classical) use, see Poems 25=Selections 2G, l. 92. When Paulinus was later captured by Gothic invaders in 410, Augustine reports that Felix finally revealed himself completely (On the Care of the Dead [De Cura Mortuis Gerenda], 16.19): “Not only in the effects of his favors, but even in the very eyes of human viewers, we hear from no uncertain rumors but rather from reliable witnesses that the confessor Felix whose home you faithfully protect appeared when Nola was under attack by the barbarians.” 407, wonder. In Latin, mira loquar. The idea of “miracle” or “wonder” (miraculum) invoked by Paulinus here is consistent not only with his sense of the physical efficacy of the saints in daily life but also with his sense of the miraculous as an occasion of heightened aesthetic (sensory) engagement, which the freeze-frame imagery of the poem about the fire illustrates. See especially the last pages of Introduction 4B. 416–26, enwrap, often, now. In Latin, a sprawling simile that replicates syntactically the flooding that it describes, it begins with the injunction to Felix to enwrap himself in that power (l. 416: illam . . . uirtutem . . . indue) that he used on previous occasions of natural disaster (ll. 417–22, with qua at 417), which will furnish a comparison between then (l. 421: ita fecisti) and now, when Paulinus asks him to use the power again to avert attackers (ll. 422–6: ut nunc . . . ducat . . . auerte). D.

Poems 31.591–628

General Comment. Ostensibly a consolation piece, this poem incorporates a range of genres and topics and furnishes several selections in the present volume (2H, 4H, and 5F–G). To help the reader access the range of Paulinus’ verse and its strategies of coherence, I offer an extended introductory note to all the excerpts here. The Italian editor, Bordone (2017, 23–9) identifies it as a verse-treatise, possibly entitled “On the Death of a Christian Child,” comprising four parts: (1) an “occasional” (occasion-specific) introduction commemorating the death of Celsus, the son of Pneumatius and Fidelis, and establishing a

224

Comments

connection between them and Paulinus and Therasia, his wife, on the grounds that they too had a child named Celsus who died in infancy (ll. 1–54); (2) a “catechetic” (instructional) section on the doctrines of the incarnation, resurrection, and atonement (ll. 55–380: see 4H and 5F, subsequently); (3) a “paranetic” (inspirational) section (Gr. paramuthikos), in which the negative theme of “contempt for the world” alternates with the positive theme of hope in the hereafter, including some of the few genuinely invective passages in Paulinus (381–590, excerpted 2H and 5G, subsequently; cp. Paulinus, Letters 13.17–21, and Introduction 1). (4) the final section, a more conventional benediction, returning through a request to the newly dead Celsus, to the relationship between Pneumatius and Fidelis, asking the dead child to deliver a message to the other dead Celsus. With long multigeneric poems of this kind, attached as they are to specific occasions, commentators generally debate the “unity” or cohesiveness of the work, and this poem is no exception (Bordone 2017, 29–30, cp. Scourfield 2013). Ancient standards for “unity” were different from ours, however (O’Hara 2007, 21–7, cp. Anderson 1982, 255–76), and later writers of the middle ages developed complex techniques for “controlling” “digression” in the name of beauty or delight (Heath 1989, 137–9) – all of which seem fully operative in Paulinus’ “digressive” doctrinal experiments in genre (cp. Poems 31=Selections 2H, 5F and G); add to these the sense of unity imparted by occasion, or the sense of rhetorical presence at the time of address, also characteristic of the Natalicia, and the complex unity of Paulinus’ poetic productions becomes clear: see Comments on Poems 6=Selections 3A, ll. 22–6. At the same time, depending on the conditions of reception (in person or in a letter, for instance), the poem could also present an epistle on analogy with Paulinus’ contributions to the Principal Correspondence: see Introduction 5A. 593–4, quickly, Celsus. A Roman cognomen or (more or less) proper name, identical to a Latin adjective denoting height or elevation (for instance, in heaven) but nearly homonymous with a Greek verb denoting haste (infinitive: kelsai), suggesting a bilingual pun – a name for those who died too soon (or “hurried”) to heaven (“the heights”). 601, our son. On the death of Paulinus and Therasia’s child of the same name and his deposition in the Spanish city of Complutum (“near Madrid” in l. 607 subsequently) before the permanent move to Nola, see Trout (1999, 84–5). The consolatory conceit on which Paulinus plays throughout this poem is that children who live in a fallen world are better off dead. In a letter

Comments 225 probably written at the time of the death of his infant son (Walsh 1967, 334–5), Paulinus presents an inversion of the theme (Letters 36, trans. Walsh 1967, 175): Pray also for me that I may not die in my sins. . . . Rather may my days be lived to the full, so that I die at a hundred yet still be a boy, in malice as children and in sense perfect [1. Cor. 14:20]. For medieval examples of the commonplace, see Curtius (1963, 98–101). One modern example (Rilke, First Elegy [1912], ll. 87–9=Mitchell 1982, 7) demonstrates the debt of modern aestheticism to Christian ascetism (see Introduction 3): In the end, those who were carried off early no longer need us: they are weaned from earth’s sorrows and joys, as gently as children outgrow the soft breasts of their mothers. But we, who do need such great mysteries, we for whom grief is so often the source of our spirit’s growth – : could we exist without them? Rilke’s aestheticism recalls Paulinus asceticism in a few ways: (1) the idea that the living depend on the “those who were carried off early” corresponds to Paulinus’ positioning of the dead children as advocates and intercessors, (2) the lush aspiration to “our spirit’s growth” (seliger Fortschritt) recalls Paulinus’ passionate asceticism, and (3) both adore the “mysteries” (Geheimnisse). 617–8, advocates. On the intercessionary role of saints, including those who died in infancy or childhood, see Brown (1981, 69–71). 617, 625–6, fathers, brothers; mother, Fidelis, Therasia. The first in Latin, pares . . . parentum (pair, parents), is more inclusive than “fathers, brothers,” but in the second, in Latin, the fathers come first. The translation departs from this to preserve some of the poetic effects of the Latin, but throughout the passage, Paulinus emphasizes male relationships more than female: cp. Poems 25=Selections 5B, l. 191.

2

Money

A.

Poems 15.50–83

General Comment. The genre of saints’life preceded Paulinus, just as (arguably) the genre of self-life, or auto-biography, did: finding autobiography in Augustine and saint’s life in his close friend Severus’ biography of Martin of Tours, Paulinus adapted them to the local conditions of performance and

226 Comments “popular entertainment” (Fielding 2018) in Nola. In both cases, life of saint and life of self, Paulinus’ distinctive tendency is to distribute the life across several separate works – an installment plan that reinforces his complex Christian conception of time as both serial and circular (see General Comment on Poems 14=Selections 4A). In terms of biography, all that we know of Felix comes from Paulinus (Walsh 1975, 8–10; Otranto 1997, 51–2; Grig 2004, 105 n. 1). In Poems 16, looking back on the Natalicia of the previous year, Paulinus writes (Poems 16.17–26): In a pamphlet published before this here, there appeared the first acts of the martyr: home, early career, and family; then how, called up the ranks of saintly service, he preferred to indenture himself to Christ eternal. He would not wander his father’s paths through the byways of the world because his father had lived under Caesar, an old soldier. We also spoke of the torture in acrid rooms the confessor endured. Death itself he would have willed to take if God had not got in before the swords and loosed him from undue persecution for other acts with the divine word. Born possibly of Jewish parents whose “harsh laws [his brother] chose in preference” to Christianity (Poems 15.98, with Walsh 1975, 370 n. 19), Felix lived in Nola, probably during the Decian persecutions of the midthird century, almost suffering proscription himself (16.258–9, cp. Otranto 1997, 51–2). Not dying but showing “the will to suffer the passion in his mind” (Poems 21=Selections 4D, l. 153), he became associated with a number of miracles, especially healing and exorcism, and became venerated as a confessor, not a martyr, because he was not finally killed by his persecutors: Introduction 4C.4 Coming from a wealthy background, but suffering the temporary loss of his property, Felix decided that he preferred the sanctity of poverty, rented a yard, and grew produce for the locals lacking in food security (Poems 16=Selections 2C, ll. 284–8). If that story sounds familiar from the life of Paulinus, that’s because, in a certain sense, Paulinus fabricated it, just like he fabricated the life of Paulinus (that is, his life choices, in addition to his presentation of his own life: see General Comment on Selections 1B). This does not mean that the stories of the saint’s life have no basis in historical fact, even if they are “characterized by a certain vagueness and atemporality, and not anchored in precise historical events.”5 Rather, the lives of both saints, past and future, were a mix of legend, symbolization, and belief, such that the line between fact and

Comments 227 fiction (as we understand it: cp. Poems 20=Selections 4F, ll. 28–30), even in day-to-day life, was porous and shifting. At any rate, Paulinus’ fabrication of his own life was far reaching, extending from stories that he and others told about himself to how he dressed, spent his money, the art that he chose for his churches, the artful artlessness of his own abject appearance, and above all what he chose to believe about himself.6 With longstanding family connections to Nola, and himself a governor of the province at the age of thirty-five (in 381: Trout 1999, 48–9, and Introduction 1), Paulinus grew up hearing about Felix and made of the illustrious stories of his future patron a model to follow. Here is where the technical distinction between confessor and martyr comes into play: Paulinus portrays Felix as a special kind of “bloodless sacrifice and victim” who would have endured death for avowing Christ (=confession: “I am a Christian”) but managed not to die (Introduction 4C and General Comment in Selections 1B). For Paulinus, this paradoxical “bloodless martyrdom” allowed the saint to have his cake and eat it too, opening the way for aspirations to saintliness, once reserved for the dead, on the part of otherwise long-lived ascetics like himself.7 Paulinus’ writings on Felix played a formative role in the development of the cult of the saints in Late Antiquity (Trout 1999, 185–6) because they provided a model of a life of sanctity in place of a sanctifying death. During his life, Felix inherited his position as the leading figure of Nola from an earlier bishop. Sharing some airtime with Felix in the second installment of the saint’s life, the Bishop Maximus fled persecution only to be sheltered by the more faithful Felix, who had stayed back to await persecution (Poems 16.28–37, cp. 229–53, and Grig 2004, 108): This bishop who had been sick in the lonely highlands, was breathing out his life, in flight from the enemy advance, and Felix was following orders. With his very body he supported him, hidden for safekeeping in the house of a poor man. Once he had discharged these affectionate obligations, with blessings from the old man’s mouth, he left. In a couple of days, he hid the man clandestine under the roof of his own house and harried the Lord in heaven with a mind not so clandestine. Beyond the constellations, in exchange for this good behavior, he directly connected with God whom he battered for peace with prayer. While escaping from the same persecutors, the layman Felix evinced that superhuman quality which attests to blessedness in late antique hagiography, the “ambiguous body” of a trickster figure (Poems 16.63–79, with Miller 2009, 112–15):

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Comments Look, even now they are here! They seek him with drawn swords, when suddenly either his enemies’ heads or the looks of the man are transformed. They know him, but they do not know him; mad, they ask for Felix, but when Felix appears, he appears unseen. The man is both himself, and not. When near, he is far. To his fellow citizens, he becomes both strange and familiar. To the believers who see his face with the eyes of faith, he stays the same. To his enemies, he is changed. In himself, he felt the plan of Christ protecting him. To those who questioned him, he laughed and said: “I do not know the Felix you pursue.” They passed him on the spot, while he left by the avenue at which the Lord confused the dogs that flashed their jaws for naught. Not too long had they traversed the way and inquired of all where Felix was, when someone clued them in and blurted out. He didn’t understand the situation; he thought the men insane and raving when they did not see him right in front of them right after they had talked with him in open conversation.

In the aftermath of the persecutions of the early church, those who had refused to renounce their Christianity and suffered for “confessing” it were accorded special status even while they lived, and even without ordination, sometimes filling in for more officially recognized priests.8 Endowed with supernatural capacities even while they were alive, such “holy” women and men (sanctae and sancti, or the sancti) were not really distinct from the supernatural intermediaries of God called “saints” (sancti) in the Catholic Church today.9 At any rate, Christians believed that the personality of the former “holy ones” would persist beyond the grave, much as Paulinus claims when he adapts the Classical idea of the immortality of friendship to his own friendship with Ausonius (Poems 11=Principal Correspondence 5, ll. 49–68, where “affectionate obligation” plays a large part, as it does in Paulinus’ account of the relationship of Felix and Maximus in l. 32 of Poems 16, quoted previously). After his death, Felix ascended spiritually to heaven even as he remained on earth “only in body” where he continued to “pour out good deeds far and wide” (Poems 27=Selections 3E, l. 153, and Poems 21=Selections 1B, l. 371) in language that recalls the ascension of all pure souls described to Ausonius in Poems 10=Principal Correspondence 3, ll. 309–15, with Poems 18.138–44 here): Meanwhile climbing high on the wings of tranquility and lifted from his immaculate body, all the happy

Comments 229 crowds of devoted souls amassing in the seven-story sky came out to meet him. Choirs of angels packed in lines emerged from all the opening doors of the heavenly sky. Escorting him as he flew in starry triumph, all the blessed brought him face to face with the King: the supreme begetter. Preceding the miracle tale of the rural laborer, the first posthumous intercession that Paulinus attributes to Felix earns him his later designation as the patron saint of lost pets and illustrates his Paulinan preference for giving assistance in lowly things – the mystery of the stolen cows described in Poems 18=Selections 3C subsequently.10 To center a poem of praise on a notable episode in the life of the honorand is completely Classical – the basis of the Homeric Hymns, for instance (Richardson 2016, 4–6). Nevertheless (Roberts 2010, 63): “The importance of . . . wonder-working for the cult of the saints confers far greater importance on these narratives than, for instance, the exemplification of the god celebrated in a pagan festival receives.” Other descriptions of Felix’s miraculous agency include Poems 21=Selections 1B, ll. 672–86), Poems 20=Selections 3D, ll. 11–27, and Poems 26=Selections 1C, ll. 395–412. 56–65. This entire section of the poem is transitional: in Latin, Felix’s father’s departure from Syria is described “from there” (inde: Syria), and the return from the biblical episode to Felix’s genealogy is described “from where” (unde: Canaan). 57–64, Felix. An elaborate and emphatically patriarchal account of Felix as a symbolic successor to the patriarch Abraham, the account of Felix’s birth plays fast and loose with biology, chronology, and geography, sidelining any maternal contribution (cp. “begotten, not made” in the Nicaean formulation: Burrus 2000, 48–50) and rendering Felix paradoxically indigenous to two places, the Holy Land and Roman Nola, one of which he never lived in. 61–71, Abraham. See Genesis 25:5–8. In a free association that characterizes his prose letters (Conybeare 2000, Chapter 5), Paulinus here resorts to a personalized form of interpretation of sacred history known as “typology” whereby the interpreter views events from the Hebrew Bible as prefigurations of the New Testament: see Jerome, Letters 53 (to Paulinus), §§4, 8, quoted in part and discussed in Comments on Poems 17=Selections 3B, ll. 113–6; see also Poems 22=Selections 5A, ll. 51–7, and Poems 27.248–50. In contrast with more common instances of the practice of typology, which apply it exclusively to the Bible, Paulinus applies it here to even more recent history, Felix’s paternity, as he applies it to the experience of his contemporary Nicetas in Poems 17=Selections 3B, l. 107. See also Introduction 4C

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65, symbolic genealogy. In Latin, mystica origo, translated “source” in l. 51, previously, the phrase as a whole can also mean “a descent/birth that has yet to be revealed,” which describes the patriarchal parthenogenesis of Felix’s birth implied by Paulinus here. For the word as a reference to symbolism and typology (see Comment on ll. 61–71, previously), see Prudentius, Psychomachia 50–9, 62–3: This line traced before us is a figure for our upright foot to follow: if we stay awake, take arms in hearts of faith, let every portion of our flesh though it be captive slave to vile desire, be free by arms acquired at home, then we will know what this symbolic figure nine times two, three hundred too, may mean. Soon Christ himself, the true minister . . . will enter this slight hut our heart and show a noble guest: the trinity. Interpreting Abraham’s rescue of Lot with a force of 318 homeborn slaves as a symbolic figure (figura mystica, 48), Prudentius identifies the ancestral “line” (50: Latin, linea, geometric or genealogical line) of Abraham as itself a figure (or outline), which we can follow as the tracing of a future drawing or poem (Pelttari 2019, 87–8): “the number 318 stands for Christ because in Greek the number is written TIH: the tau represents the cross, while iota [I] and eta [E] are the first two letters of the name of Jesus [IESOUS].” In the similar visual context of the cross, the word mysticus in Paulinus also denotes symbolism (Letters 32.12): “The trinity flashes in a total symbol [pleno . . . mysterio].” See also Jerome, Letters 53 (to Paulinus), §8: “They signify [praefigurant] something far different than they say [sonant] . . . [as] symbolically contained in the Psalms [in Psalterio mystice continentur].” 68–71, Abram. See Genesis 17.5 (trans. NRSV): “No longer shall your name be Abram, but your name shall be Abraham; for I have made you the ancestor of a multitude of nations.” With the explanation of Pelttari (2019, 78): “Indeed the name Abram means ‘exalted father,’ whereas Abraham means father of many, with ‘nations’ understood.” This is a comment on Prudentius, Psychomachia 1–4 (trans. Isbell 1971, 127): The faithful old man who first showed the way of faith became a father late in life: his became a race blessed by God and his name, Abram, which his father gave him became Abraham when God spoke with him.

Comments 231 76–80, wealth. A classic statement of Paulinus’ “salvation economics” (Trout: see Introduction 3, 4A) here ascribed to Felix, whose stark contrast with his own brother recalls that of Paulinus with his brother (Letters 35, trans. Walsh 1967, 172): “But I earnestly confess that I am grieved not so much at my brother’s bodily death as at his spiritual indifference.” Scholars remain unsure whether this is the same brother who met the violent end reported by Paulinus in Poems 21=Selections 2E, ll. 416–20. B.

Poems 16.254–88

General Comment. The next installment of the life of Felix, on which see General Comment on 2A, previously. 254–5, story, confessor. For part of the story and the term “confessor,” see the General Note on Poems 15=Selections 2A, previously, and Introduction 4C. 258, proscriptions, settled. Sometime after the death of Decius, the instigator of the great persecution: see General Comment on Poems 15=Selections 2A. Alternatively, the Latin (confessor proscriptus erat) may be interpreted: Felix was slated for proscription, or the confiscation of property, because he was a confessor – that is, refused to sacrifice to the spirit of the Emperor on the grounds that he was a Christian, like a different Felix commemorated in the contemporary correspondence of Saint Cyprian (Letters 24.1.1, trans. Brent 2006, 84): “It is also true that Felix . . . lay next to me in chains. . . . He and Victoria, his wife, and Lucius, forced into exile, have abandoned their estates that now the treasury holds in possession.” 260–1, Paul. 1 Corinthians 6:12 (trans. NRSV): “‘All things are lawful for me,’ but not all things are beneficial. ‘All things are lawful for me,’ but I will not be dominated by anything.” Since Felix will reject the proposal to reclaim his proscribed wealth for the benefit of the poor, he may exhibit an individualism inconsistent with the notion of community implied in the “benefit” that Paul recommended to the Corinthians (Fitzmyer 2008, 263– 4); it is, however, consistent with the occasionally anti-social self-fashioning of Paulinus’ asceticism (Introduction 2). 264–76, Archelais. A holy woman who may have survived being thrown to lions by the proconsul Leontius (!) outside of Nola, along with the future Saints Thecla and Susanna, in 293 AD/CE: Balducci (2013). Her saint’s day is five days after that of Felix: January 19. She receives short shrift from Paulinus, especially compared with the anonymous woman of modest means depicted later in the poem (Poems 16.155–76): And so, with the guidance of God, amidst the little walls of a distant courtyard, [Felix] found a narrow hole where an old cistern ran dry in a covered cavern.

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Comments Close by, there dwelt in a ramshackle cabin, a woman, sainted to God; not knowing the confessor in hiding, she feared for Felix, all but complicit with Christ. The miracle I sing! The genius of the Lord who was feeding his ward, and the feeder knew not! Now loaves were breeding! Now the food that she usually cooked for herself grew different, as she stood outside herself and God administered the food she distributed where Felix was hidden, and the Lord was his witness. Even when she entered she did not notice he had entered; when she left she only remembered her own entrance. Busy with the food she brought, although the feeding of the saint was done by her own hands, she didn’t notice such munificence. She could not know inside her heart what she did in the godhead of Christ, not her own thought. In front of his hiding place, on the pit where he hid his face, she entered and left food nearby, and this food she assumed that she left home. So always she did, remembering then not remembering the food she served.

It is tempting to think, however variously he treats them, the persistence of stories about such women in Nola attest to their ongoing role as authorities in the earlier Christianity of the community – “remembered and not remembered,” like the food that the unnamed woman provided Felix, and like the women mentioned only glancingly in the Christian Bible: Schüssler Fiorenza (1994 [1980], 48–56). For other examples of holy women in Paulinus, see Poems 26.80–149. 276, smiled. Cp. Felix’s reaction to the cowherd who rebukes him in Poems 18=Selections 2C, ll. 265–74, at ll. 313–6, subsequently. Both instances represent the kindness and affection that were supposed to subtend patronal relations between Romans of vastly different status: see Introduction 4A. 277–83, salvation. On this “salvation economics,” see Comments on Poems 10=Principal Correspondence 3, ll. 43–103, and Introduction 3. C. Poems 18.40–51, 211–80 General Comment. As discussed in the General Comment of Selections 2A previously, this is the first miracle of Felix recounted by Paulinus in the Natalicia. The most notable feature of the narrative is probably the ethopoeia, or impersonation, of the rural laborer in ll. 254–312 (excerpted subsequently). As I have argued elsewhere (Dressler 2018, cp. Introduction 3), Paulinus’ representation of a rural laborer is all but unprecedented in Latin

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poetry and holds the key to understanding the political implications of his Christianity. The figure of the rural laborer (or rusticus) was nevertheless a common object of impersonation in the rhetorical training of young Roman men of property (Quintilian, The Orator’s Education 6.2.17, trans. Russell 2002, 53, cited and discussed in Roberts 2010, 64–6): “It is quite right to use the word êthos [cp. ethopoeia, previously] of the sort of school exercises in which we often represent countrymen [rusticos], superstitious men, misers, and cowards.” One of the greatest scholars of late antique Latin poetry, Jacques Fontaine (1981, 172 n. 305), sees in passages such as these all but indisputable proof of the public performance of the poems of nativity for economically mixed congregations, refuting more skeptical critics in advance: We refuse to think that Paulinus reserved [them] for a little ascetic circle of the privileged. Even if this is only an argument from silence, we have no trace of a double [performance]: a sermon in prose in the church, and a poem for an exclusively literary audience. The importance given, in form as well as content, to the most naïve popular miracles does not encourage the “elitist” hypothesis, and that is so, even if certain effects and niceties were only comprehensible to the literate. Some scholars reject the possibility of public performance for economically mixed congregations as a sustained Paulinan fiction (Sciajno 2008, 26–9). They argue that the poems were too long for public performance, as if any poem could not have been performed in part (one of the added benefits of presenting Paulinus as I do in the Selections is that it suggests how internally unified individual parts of poems can be). Otherwise, they claim the tone is snide, as if Paulinus does not explain at length how flawed individuals in attendance will be second only to the saints in the life after death: “Far though they are from first place, from second they are not far all” (Poems 27=Selections 4G, l. 126). The most honest answer to the ultimately unknowable question of whether Paulinus truly performed his poems for the Nolan proletariat is provided by the Paulinus translator and scholar P.G. Walsh. At different times in his career, Walsh (1966, 12) argued for both views, using his intimate knowledge of Paulinus’ style as justification each time: “The unlettered rustics he describes whiling away vigils with joking and heavy drinking, or trooping openmouthed around his churches at Cimitile, are hardly the most suitable recipients for a recitation of Vergilian hexameter. ” In time he came to a different conclusion (Walsh 1971, 83): “His poems were meant to serve the same purpose as his illustrations of scriptural stories on the church walls: the instruction of the simple (27.540ff.). This explains the comparative

234 Comments simplicity of his narrative style and his frequent didactic digressions.” But as the poems of nativity addressed to fellow elite celebrants of the Nolan holidays of Felix suggest (Poems 21=Selections 3G, ll. 79–83, 27=3E, ll. 314–19), these audiences need not be opposed. His skepticism about the “unlettered rustics” notwithstanding, Walsh adduces other illustrations of Paulinus’ rapport with the popular audience: “Let me remind you all of a recent work,/which I think you’ll find it easy to remember” (Poems 19.383–4, cp. General Comment on Selections 2A). We can’t know anything for certain about antiquity: Borges somewhere suggests that everything attributed to Classical Antiquity was a forgery of early medieval monks, and some have argued that Ovid didn’t really go into exile, he just wrote volumes of poetry as if he had – a political satire or a proto-postmodern persona/performance piece. Maintaining my faith in the good faith of Paulinus (see Introduction 3), I believe he probably performed at least parts of all the Natalicia, except for the first two, for reasons outlined in Introduction 5A, for the economically mixed congregation for whom he claimed to perform them. 46–51, riches, widow. A reference to the “widow of the mites” from Luke 21:1–4. With further possible background in Exodus 25:3 through Jerome’s Preface in Arms (Prologus Galeatus), written around 391 in defense of his translation of the books of Samuel and Kings (Praefatio Hieronymi in Libros Samuel et Malachim in Migne, Patrologia Latina, vol. 28, col. 547): “Before the tabernacle of God, each person offers what they can: some bring gold and silver and precious gems, some bring linen and purple cloth, some scarlet and indigo. For us it will be enough if we can offer the pelts and hides of goats.” Since parts of Jerome’s preface derive from his Letters to Paulinus (53 and 58), the appearance of the widow there seems significant: “Two pieces of bronze did the widow offer [misit, cp. ‘mites’] to the temple treasury, and it was preferred to the riches of Croesus” (53.10). For the Classical aesthetics underlying Paulinus’ Christian praise of poverty, see Introduction 4B. 211, beg, pray. In Latin, precor: for its Classical source, see Comments on Paulinus, Poems 10=Principal Correspondence 3, ll. 131–3. The word occurred previously in Poems 18=Selections 3C, l. 9, where, as in the Principal Correspondence and perhaps here, it had a material reference, picking out the quality of sound, or aesthetic character, of the language that it introduced: “I beg and pray: pour out your hearts in undefiled excess” of song. See also Poems 23=Selections 4E, l. 38, and 31=Selections 5G, ll. 447–53, where note Comments. 213, “talk.” In Latin, sermo. A word associated since Horace (65–8 BC/E) with low speech (cp. the Christian register of sermo humilis, “plain speak,” the style of the Bible and the sermons of Ambrose and Augustine:

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see Introduction 2, and Paulinus, Poems 6=Selections 3A, l. 15), it acquired a moralistic association through the early publication of his diatribes, or “rants” (Horace, Satires [Sermones] 1.4.39–42, 45–49, trans. Rudd 2005, 17): First, I’d exclude myself from those who can properly be called poets. You would not consider it enough simply to turn a metrical line. Nor, if a man wrote, as I do, in a style rather close to prose [sermo], would you count him as a poet . . . That’s why people have asked whether comedy is genuine poetry, for in language and subject-matter it lacks the fire and force of passion, and except that it differs from prose [sermo] in the regularity of its rhythm, it is prose [sermo] pure and simple. Horace’s association of this prosy plain speak with comedy is also relevant to Paulinus’ cowherd: such low trades and pecuniary concerns were endemic to the genre in Rome (see Richlin 2017, 138–42, 169–71, 184–98) and probably part of Paulinus’ “performance” in this piece (Fielding 2018, 3–6). 216, slight. A buzzword of the Hellenistic aesthetics of the small, as discussed in Introduction 4B. 227–9, generous, children, flock. Whether Paulinus is mocking the cowherd described in this passage is uncertain.11 On the one hand, it seems comical to us to say the cowherd pampered his cattle more than his children. On the other, debt bondage of family members is always possible in subsistence/slave societies, where children and family were “pledged” as “surety” (pignus) and were, like movable property (pignora=pignus, pl.), likewise subject to abduction – not then, just suffering and starvation, but even enslavement and rape (Graeber 2011, 158–62, cp. Ando 2012, 182–6). In a sermon on the story of Naboth and Ahab in the Bible (1 Kings 21), the first a debtor and the second a rapacious landowner, the populist bishop Ambrose uses the same language as Paulinus, explaining the psychology of crushing debt in societies caught between honor and commerce, like Rome (1.1): Shaken by this fear, the human race departs from its land. The poor man flees with his children, weighed down by their property [pignore]. The wife follows in tears just as if she were wailing for the death of her family, because even if she lost the protection of her husband, she would still have his grave, and even if she has no children, she still need not grieve for their becoming refugees; she need not bewail the displacement of her tender offspring, worse than death.

236 Comments See further 5.21: I myself saw a poor man [pauperem] . . . take his children to auction just to postpone punishment. . . . The poor man returns to his shelter [hospitium] with his family [cum suis], seeing all his possessions torn away [direpta . . . omnia], crying over the starvation of his children and grieving that he had not instead sold them to someone who could feed them. If the fate of the utterly poor was worse than death, and the cows were the one thing keeping the cowherd (and his family) from utter poverty, he may well have treated his cows better than his children; their lives depended on the cows’ continued health and exploitability. 230–232, cold, shelter. Does the cowherd live in the same building as his cows? See the cynical presentation of Golden Age simplicity in the early second century CE/AD Roman satirist Juvenal (Satires 6.1–4, trans. Green 1967, 35): During Saturn’s reign I believe that Chastity still Lingered on earth, and was seen for a while when draughty Caves were the only homes men had, hearth fire and household Goods, family and cattle all shut in darkness together. 249–50, doors. Fielding (2018, 8–11) detects a comic recollection of a commonplace of erotic poetry – the implacable doorman who keeps the poetlover from his mistress (Ovid, Affairs [Amores], 1.6.15–18, trans. Green 1985, 93): It’s just you I fear. You’re stubborn. You alone need my flattery; You hold the bolt that could finish me off. Just look at this doorpost, all wet with my tears. (If you want A really good look at it, why not undo the bars.) 253, laments. The same word (querela) is used by Ausonius (Letters 21=Principal Correspondence 1, l. 65) and Paulinus (Poems 10=Principal Correspondence 3, ll. 9–10). 224–74, negligence. In this ironic sendup of “salvation economics” (Trout: see Introduction 3, 4A), the cowherd accuses the saint of bad credit – that is, lack of faith (fides, elsewhere translated “devotion”; see Introduction 3). 289, grace. The economic valence of this word, a “freebie,” is at the fore. Cp. the application of the word to a commodity in Paulinus, Poems 1= Earlier Letters 5 (Appendix), ll. 9–10.

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313, complained. The same Latin word as in l. 253 previously, where see Comments. D.

Poems 20.1–27

General Comment. Quite by coincidence (cp. General Comment to Selections: Self, Money, Music, Time, and Christ), this poem distills Paulinus’ theory of economic, ethical, and aesthetic value into a short span of lines, providing a rudimentary outline of the late fourth-century theory of value that informs Paulinus’ “salvation economics” (see Introduction 3, 4A). In this poem, the sources of value for the late fourth-century Christian elite, and by virtue of their supremacy maybe also for the very economy of the Roman world, appear under three or four distinct descriptions: 1–5, patriarchal/domestic/affective: Always emphasizing the patriarchal orientation of the system (l. 2: “with the affection of father), Paulinus discusses “servants” and their relationship to their “master” (slaver or employer), identifying the longstanding principal that the household and its needs are the basis of all economy (see, for instance, Aristotle, Politics 1.9, with Meikle 1997, 44–9). Without abandoning the explicitly economical language, Paulinus nevertheless also articulates its interpersonal and affective form. Paulinus demonstrates the affective dimension by highlighting two sides of the ancient economy in the opening two lines: first, the objective basis of the economy in the enforced dependency of the patronized, employed, or enslaved lower classes on the landed aristocracy; second, the subjective understanding of that economy on the part of the aristocracy, which Paulinus signposts with a metaphor (ll. 1–2): “a . . . lord and master (in Latin plural, domini, of legal and economic status) plays the part/of servant (famulantur) to his precious dependents (caris . . . alumnis).” 5–10, material, unequal, mystified: The next level of description of the late fourth-century Roman economy again combines objective or real parts of the economy with the conventional subjective or symbolic understanding of the Roman aristocracy. Tellingly, the passage culminates with the objective representation but spends more time discussing symbolic uses of resources: • •

objective: “rich in the resources the poor one lacks,” “cost of the grand event” (l. 9–10: inops, cui diues opum, qua pauper egebat/cumulandae impendia mensae); subjective: special occasion (sollemnis . . . usus, l. 5), custom of humankind (moris . . . humani, l. 6), enthusiasm (studio, l. 8).

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Comments As elsewhere, Paulinus thus reveals, from beneath the subjective veil of religious sentiment, what he otherwise admits to be the objective conditions of material resources and concrete inequality; cp. the ascending order of the components of his identity as a function of his relationship with Ausonius: father, homeland, house, wealth (tu pater et patria et domus et substantia nobis). 11–18, salvific: After analyzing the economy in this way, Paulinus expounds on his favorite idea of the ancient economy, which is to say, the symbolic form or subjective representation of it that he prefers – namely salvation economics (l. 11): “These are the terms that have been given to me by Felix my patron.” 18–27, as a field of exchange or “market”: Taking this ultimate concept of abstract value for real value, Paulinus next shows how the former can be transformed into the latter and vice versa: first, with the material objects of economic exchange – food (specifically “a sow and two pigs,” l. 19) and then the value that such miraculous exchanges assure for both religious and aesthetic production. For the first, Paulinus describes “undeniable signals (signis) . . ./that this was a miracle” (ll. 20–1=religion); for the second, he describes his later poetic elaboration of the miracle as “material for this song” (in Latin materiam: ll. 22–3=aesthetics).12 Cutting across both registers and signaling class difference, Paulinus dedicates the entire passage to the most idiosyncratically Roman appearance of the ancient economy – public festivals as jointly sumptuous and spiritual (or at any rate social) exchanges: “the grand event” (l. 17 in English, 18 in Latin: dapem largam, cp. l. 15: epulum sollemne, and on the role of civic expenditure in the transition from Classical to Christian economic practices, see Brown 2012, 61–74).

Supporting accounts of history that see the modern concept of the economy as uniquely oriented toward production and growth (Temin 2013, 114–16, cp. Hann and Hart 2011, 56–68), Paulinus ostensibly de-emphasizes these aspects of his “ancient” economy, preferring their subjective or ideological function as metaphors of salvation. The idea of production nevertheless appears even within this framework in the happy coincidence connoted by the name of his great patron: Felix, a Latin adjective denoting the equally moral and material abundance that results from economic productivity. Nevertheless, the persistence with which Paulinus notes the material reality of the economy, and especially the inequality that its material distribution ensures, is something new (see Introduction 3). For a continuation of this line of thought, with further support for the interpretation of the saint’s name, see Comments on Poems 21=Selections 2E, l. 414.

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1–10, enthusiasm, master. The combination of status, affection, cultural observance, and material inequality described here is an exemplary instance of the affectively charged relationship with social superiors that informed Late Roman notions of patron saints, and how Paulinus adapted the Roman institution of patronage (Brown 2014 [1981], 63). See further Introduction 3. 2, father. See Comments on Ausonius, Letters 17=Earlier Letters 1. 19–24, poor, fed, miracle, song. On Paulinus’ positive attitude to popular ritual and practice, see Introduction 1. 24–7, reckoning. In both phrases, the repetition of “reckoning” reflects the repetition of the Latin, ratio, which denotes an act of financial accounting, relevant to the context of scarcity of basic resources, or an act of inference through “logic” (cp. typology), according to which the sacral setting elevates everyday events, such as being hungry, to spiritual significance, such as faith: see Comments on Poems 17=Selections 3B, ll. 113–6, subsequently. In sum, “human reckoning,” or reason (ratio), which the cattle lack (l.27), is not responsible for salvation (only faith is: see, for instance, 1 Corinthians 1: 20–5), but it makes the salvific aspect of daily life, its spiritual significance, perceptible (Romans 1:20). E.

Poems 21.414–59

General Comment. Like the previous excerpt from Poems 20=Selections 2D previously, Paulinus’ most distilled statement of his salvation economics from Poems 21 here demonstrates the full range of the concept of the economy in ancient thought, from personal wealth, which traditionally resided in landed property (ll. 414–24), to salvation economics, which Paulinus innovatively divests of its reference to property (ll. 425–54), in terms of Paulinus’ personal autobiography (ll. 416–20; cp. General Comment on Selections 1B) and as the germs of the later proto-protestant Christian doctrine of works and salvation called the “community of the saints” (ll. 454–7, at 454: “Now among friends”; see Comments on Poems 10=Principal Correspondence 3, ll. 84–8, 89–91, 145–6, and on Poems 11=Principal Correspondence 5, ll. 49–68). Corresponding to these divergent senses of the economy, ranging from real to symbolic, is the double meaning, literal and figurative or objective and subjective, of the name of Paulinus’ patron, Saint Felix: literally, felix denotes an objective quality that produces a positive outcome, and hence by extension productivity; figuratively, it refers to the condition of someone or something assumed to arise from such positive and productive or “bountiful” circumstances – namely “happiness.” See the next Comments (on l. 414, subsequently).

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414, Felix. In Latin, tu Felix semper felix mihi, literally: “You, Felix, [are] always profitable, active and effective/conferring of grace, holy/festal, and/or joyful” – all possible meanings of the Latin adjective that furnishes Felix’s name.13 The economic sense, which may be the most concrete (see General Comment on Selections 2D), comes to the fore in Ausonius’ description of a river that rivals “The Moselle,” ll. 369–70 (trans. Warren 2017, 28): “the bountiful Alisontia, which, gliding/softly through rich soil, licks the fruitful banks” (cp. Paulinus, Poems 10=Principal Correspondence 3, l. 250: “felicitous Spain”). The other, subjective sense of felix, as happy, characterizes Paulinus’ feelings toward Felix whenever he mentions him and to some extent Felix’s own general attitude (for the first, see Poems 27=Selections 3E, ll. 225–34, for the second, see Poems 16=Selections 2B, l. 275, Poems 18=Selections 3C, ll. 315–6). Somewhere between these different senses of felix, the word also denotes the productive or bountiful; applied to the saint, it denotes his divine power, or ability to effect immediate change in the material world (see, for instance, Poems 26=Selections 1C, ll. 401–3), which in turn reflects his ability to effect change in the spiritual world – that is, to confer grace. Thus, in the letters of the third-century bishop Cyprian of Carthage, Felix’s likely contemporary and our source for the early institutionalization of the idea of the confessor (as opposed to martyr), we find a non-elite correspondent addressing the near-martyr Lucianus with the words (Cyprian, Letters 21.3.1): O te felicem, which Brent (2006, 74) renders: “You bring . . . the favor of your blessing.” Even in his response to Ausonius, without mentioning Felix, Paulinus plays on most of the meanings of the Latin word: see Comments on Paulinus, Poems 10=Principal Correspondence 3, l. 5, and in general, Introduction 4A and 4C. All these senses of felix reflect what one pioneering scholar of Late Antiquity calls “the spirituality of the great landowners of the fourth century” (Fontaine 1972, 581–7), quoting Paulinus, Letters 39.2 (trans. Walsh 1967, 198): Let us ensure that the field is not barren; let us strain our energies according to the Lord’s law, and cultivate ourselves to the fertility which we owe to God and which is useful for ourselves. A similar assimilation of external and internal property lies behind the idea of the cultivation of the soul (cultura animi) developed as the model for culture as such in Cicero’s Tusculan Disputations (2.13, with Connors 2003, 62–3). See further Horace, Letters 1.14.1–5 (trans. Ferry 2001, 63): Manager of my woods and my little estate . . . Let’s vie with each other to see who’s better,

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You at clearing brambles from the land, Or me at clearing brambles from my mind. Let’s see which one of us is in better shape, Whether it’s Horace himself or his Sabine farm. See also the Comments on Ausonius, Letters 20=Earlier Letters 4, ll. 19–36. The later Gallic bishop Sidonius Apollinaris continues to use the metaphor of corporeal and incorporeal estates (Letters 8.4.1): “It is difficult to tell whether the field or the character [rus an ingenium] of the owner is better cultivated.” See finally Paulinus, Poems 28.279–300, where note infelix (l. 299) 416–23, brother, agent, income. Paulinus’s brother died violently and mysteriously, leading to a modest detective enterprise among scholars who have made from the scant evidence of the event (this passage, and possibly Letters 5, 35 and 36: more subsequently) a variety of interesting observations about Roman law, social custom, and political unrest in the time in question (388–393 AD/CE): see Sivan (1996, 170–4), Trout (1999, 63–6), Mratschek (2002, 55–8), and Introduction 1. Most of what we know about the details of Paulinus’ career we owe to the image of radicalization that he develops around himself in these lines and around Felix, Paulinus’ “unconscious layer of the self” (Brown 2014 [1981], 54–6 in Grig 2004, 110), in Poems 16.254–88=Selections 2B, previously. For the most elaborate but vague description of his radicalization that touches upon the “lying scandal” that ensued from his brother’s death, see Comments on Poems 10=Principal Correspondence 3, l. 316. For discussion of Paulinus’ autobiographical strategies, see Trout (1999, 15–22), with General Comments on Selections 1B and 2A. 425–39, commerce. See Comments on Poems 10=Principal Correspondence 3, ll. 43–103, and Introduction 3, 4A. 440–42, confers, owner. On the translation and interpretation of these terms, see Introduction 5B. 445, converting, profit. As elsewhere, Paulinus alludes to the Augustan poet Horace (65–27 BC/E), who re-interpreted the myth of Jupiter impregnating Danae in the form of a golden shower as an allegory for the use of bribery to obtain sex (Odes 3.16.1–8): Locked up in a brazen tower, Danae with a wide-awake dog and vigorous doors, would be safe enough from nightly adulteries with prohibitive watchers if the timorous doorman of the hidden maiden, Acrisius, was not made foolish

242

Comments by Jupiter and Venus. God converted into cash found a safe and easy path.

Paulinus’ plan for his own immortality exactly reverses that of Horace’s Jupiter: Paulinus surrenders cash, Jupiter becomes it; Paulinus abandons the body, Jupiter seeks it out. F.

Poems 21.488–550

General Comment. For the autobiographical context of these excerpts, see General Comment to Selections 2B. 458–9, poor. For an ingenious interpretation of these lines as a reference to the prestige that followed his renunciation, see Hunter (2007, 79), quoted and discussed in Introduction 2. See also Comments on ll. 513–14 and 531 in Poems 31=Selections 2H subsequently. 496–7, image. The language of appearance is Platonic: see Comments on Poems 10=Principal Correspondence, ll. 173–6. 503–4, image, enemy. For the former, see previous. The “enemy” is probably Satan (see, for instance, Athanasius’ Life of Antony 196.5– 197.7), but Paulinus’ earlier possible targeting for proscription implies that the enemy is the Roman state, or the devil working through it: see Introduction 1A. 506–25, rotten. Paulinus weds his ubiquitous “salvation economics” to a more traditional Pauline Christian language of flesh and decay: cp. 1 Corinthians 15:35–58. 505, loved, choking. In Latin, nullis suffocat amoribus. Cp. Augustine, Confessions 10.2.10, trans. Wills (2008, 216): “unless attachment [amore] to the visible enslaves them [subduntur].” 506–20, indigence. In a true instance of the rhetorical figure of apostrophe, the sudden introduction of a metaphorical addressee, “the indigence of Christ,” also constitutes a synecdoche, or reference to the whole by way of a part. The form of synecdoche is traditional: like Homer when he calls Achilles the “strength of Achilles,” Paulinus may be referring to Christ until he invokes Felix (l. 521). Since in Paulinus’ theory of sainthood, saints participate in Christ’s divinity and Christ is God (cp. Miller 2009, 109–12, Introduction 4C), when Paulinus personifies the indigence of Christ as a figure of Felix too he illustrates the operation of sainthood as a function of trinitarian theology (God+Christ+Spirit ≈ Christ+Felix+Indigence). This becomes explicit when he addresses Felix in ll. 527–30, just subsequently: “You (Felix) came to completion in the image of him (Christ) you assumed,” where Christ everywhere else “assumes” our fleshly form: see, for instance, Poems 10=Principal Correspondence 3, l. 54.

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524–5, burn. For an expansion of the uncharacteristic theme of fleshly torture, see Poems 31=Selections 2H, ll. 495–504. 526–37, dwell, model, Christ, imitations. Cp. Letters 11.1–2 (trans. Walsh 1966, 90, italics original): What shall I render to my Lord for this grace in addition to all that he has rendered to me? For through this grace He has joined you to me . . . as an inseparable companion and partner in the spiritual brotherhood of His affairs. Christ said: “Who is My mother or who are My brethren? Surely not those who are born of the will of the flesh and of intercourse in sleep, but those born of God through the Wisdom of God which is Christ. . . . He took the form of our lowly bodies to shape us to the body of His glory.” The partnership of spiritual brotherhood (germanitas spiritalis) is a more humanly intimate counterpart to the “immortal commerce” that Paulinus describes between human beings and Christ in his account of salvation economics without Felix: see Poems 10=Principal Correspondence 3, ll. 485–544, with Introduction 3, 5A, and the Comments on the phrase “companion of the soul” (unanimitas) in Paulinus, Poems 1=Earlier Letters 5 (Appendix). 538–50, road. For the historical elitism of the contrast between the wide, populous road and the narrow road of the few, see Comments on Poems 10=Principal Correspondence, l. 159. The association with the literary critical or aesthetic origins of the imagery is emphasized by some key words of that tradition in this passage: slender (tenuem, l. 548), thin (leuem, l. 549), decorous (decet, l. 547), sublime (excelsum, l. 550). For the Christian background, see Poems 27=Selections 4G, ll. 117–18. Otherwise, see Introduction 4B. 543–48, martyrs, confessors. Paulinus equates the two, as usual, almost implying their identity. When he refers simply to “the blessed martyr” in ll. 546–7, he is assimilating all three, Christ, martyrs, and confessors, into a single identity. A logical extension of the assimilation of martyrs and confessors (see General Comment on Poems 15 and 16 in 2A previously), this assimilation of now three divine agents reflects the trinity. G. Poems 25.69–104 General Comment. This poem presents one of Paulinus’ most marked Christianizations of a Classical genre, the epithalamium (or “poem before the bedroom door”: Gr. epi thalamon), a celebration of marriage, comparable

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to Paulinus’ Christianization of another paradigmatically Classical genre, that of consolation, in Poems 31=Selections 2D previously. There, Paulinus’ Christian message to resist grief through reflection on the immortality of the soul nevertheless had some ancient philosophical precedents (see General Comment). With this epithalamium, in contrast, scholars agree that Paulinus’ advice for young Christian newlyweds to renounce all sexual intimacy cuts to the quick of the institution of marriage and has no Classical precedent (Chiappiniello 2007, 118–22). The scholarship summarized by Chiappiniello pays special attention to the structure of the poem, showing how, like Poems 31, an “occasional” poem written for a rite of passage extends to encompass doctrinal discussion on a range of topics: an etiology (or origin story) of marriage based on Genesis 23–4 (ll. 1–26), which transitions via typology (l. 27: “the ancient image,” prisca imago, with Comments on Poems 17=Selections 3B, l. 107) to a prohibition against all material and literary extravagance in the present occasion, which includes some circumlocutory description of the bride (ll. 27–68), one Titia, daughter of Aemilius of Beneventum, marrying Julian of Eclanum (386–454), the son of Memor, and according to Augustine, his one-time addressee, a future heresiarch (Letters 101.4, discussed in Walsh 1971, 399–400, and Brown 1980 [1967], 383–4). This anti-marital or ascetic core identifies conspicuous consumption, wealth, and money with the erotic aspects of marriage, itself an economic institution. The didactic (or instructional) core of the poem begins with the passage translated here and ends with the first couple (Adam and Eve) as models of ascetic poverty (ll. 101–4). Replacing the traditional recourse to myth in Classical wedding poems is an intricate sequence of biblical “instances” of married virtue (ll. 105–66: exempla), which culminates in an ecclesiological account of the church as the bride of Christ (ll. 167–90), based on the notoriously complicated teaching of Paul in Gal. 3.28 (trans. NRSV: “no male or female . . . in Christ Jesus”) and 1 Cor. 11.3 (trans. NRSV: “the husband is the head of his wife”): see Schüssler Fiorenza (1994 [1980], 45–7), Peppiatt (2015, 21–3). What Paulinus makes of the apostle’s riddling ruling on gender hierarchy – is the founder of the church a misogynist or crypto-feminist? – can be seen in Poems 25=Selections 5B, ll. 159–82. Trout (1999, 216–18) adduces parallel language in one of Paulinus’ letters to a male friend, suggesting an egalitarian assimilation of male and female relationships (Letters 11.5, trans. Walsh 1966, 94): For each of us was two, since our flesh rebelled from and was at variance with the spirit, and there was no peace within us since the outer human being was at war with the inner. But now through the kindness

Comments 245 of Him who hath made both one, we two are one because in both of us there is a single spirit, and we are not separate since we belong to one body. Julian of Eclanum grew to adopt a more egalitarian conception of Christianity, only to be crushed by Augustine’s obsession with original sin in the decade or two following the composition of this poem (Brown 1980 [1967], 393–6). In the monumental work on the Christian reception of Classical philosophy, Colish (1990, 106) describes Paulinus’ approach to marriage as a “cosmetic theology,” which “restores an authentically Stoic sense to the topic . . . by interiorizing the meaning of the individual’s outward appearance” (cp. the idea of “unanimity” implied here with that in Paulinus, Poems 1=Earlier Letters 5 (Appendix); Colish 1990, 105): Paulinus treats the husband and wife as moral equals, both in principle and in practice. In neither case is he preoccupied with physical attractiveness as a stimulus to lust and in each case he treats his dedicatees as three-dimensional human beings whose primary appeal for each other lies in the sphere of mind and character. On the limits of interpreting such positions as egalitarian, see Burrus (2000, 5–6). For another instance of this “cosmetic theology,” see Poems 10=Principal Correspondence 3, l. 61, with Comments. Special Comment – Date: In contrast with the poems of nativity and in the absence of much external evidence about Julian and Titia, as with Pneumatius and Fidelis in Poems 31=Selections 1D, 2H, 4H, 5G (in parts), it is difficult to date this poem securely. Because Julian was ordained as a deacon in 408, and because his father Aemilius returned from his position as ambassador to Constantinople after 407, Dolveck (2014, 555–6) dates the poem to that period, citing Paulinus’ description of his dazzlement by the recent restoration of these Christian stars (Poems 25. 203–4, 209–11): But what is that odor that wafts to our nose from the skies, and whence that unexpected light that dazzles our eyes? I recognize the man on whom the holy odors are attendants, and on whose face the starry beauty shines. Here he is, here is the man. If these lines refer to the return of Aemilius after 407, then this poem appears to be among Paulinus’ last poems, including Poems 31 and the fourteenth

246 Comments Natalicium preserved as fragments in the anti-iconoclastic tract of the medieval Irish philosopher Dungal (see Introduction 5A). 69–70, children. For the identity of the addresses, see General Comment previously. On Paulinus’ later relationship with Julian, see Trout (1999, 232–3). 71–80, bible. See Isaiah 3.24 (trans. NRSV): Instead of perfume there will be stench, instead of a girdle, a rope, And instead of elaborate coiffure, baldness; instead of a rich gown, a sackcloth skirt. Then, instead of beauty, shame. 81–2, saint. For the shifting meaning of this term in the period and context, see General Comment in Selections 2A. 62, empty. On the Platonism implicit in the attribution of emptiness to the senses, see Poems 10=Principal Correspondence 3, ll. 173–6. 85–90, tower, inches. See Juvenal, Satires 6.501–4 (trans. Green 1967, 49–50): so fierce their quest for beauty, so many tiers and storeys, the weight of hair built up on her head! Such heroic stature – the front view, at least; from behind she’s much shorter. See also Jerome, Letters 130.7: “to pile her towering top with purchased hair.” On the Christian concern with personal comportment, reminiscent of the Stoics, see General Comment to this poem, previously. 93–4, offset. For a similar description of the advantageousness of marriage for salvation economics, see Paulinus’ account of his own marriage to Therasia in Poems 21=Selections 1B, ll. 401–3. 103–4, universe. Reconstructing the doctrine of Julian of Eclanum from Augustine’s Unfinished attack on Julian’s second reply [Contra secundam Iuliani responsionem imperfectum opus=Op. Imp.], Brown (1980 [1967], 384) writes: We can even see a charming strain of ‘primitivism’ in Julian. His picture of the state of Adam in paradise, the ‘harmless farmer of pleasant plot’ [Op. Imp. 6.12] with God as a friendly landlord [6.20], is one of a long series of idealized pictures of peasant life. . . . Even when Julian married, Paulinus of Nola could bless this simple, clerical occasion, untouched by the vulgarity of a fashionable wedding, as an attempt to

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recapture the simplicitas, the unaffected innocence [Paulinus, Poems 25.102] of Adam and Eve. With Julian in Poems 25, Paulinus either read his crowd right or once more helped to aestheticize the ideologies of his age (even as he might himself demure from the ideology that followed, as he did from Julian’s Pelagianism: Trout 1999, 233). H.

Poems 31.485–544

General Comment. A poem of consolation for the death of Celsus, the child of Paulinus’ and Therasia’s fellow aristocratic ascetics, as described at the General Comment in Selections 1D. Other parts of the same poem are included in Selections 4H and 5H–G. Like the previous excerpt from the wedding poem to Julian and Titia, this excerpt presents an extended didactic treatment of the origin of “salvation economics” (ll. 515–34) in the incarnation of Christ. See further Introduction 4C. 485, sowed. In Latin, sator=sower. Another Classical word for divinity, hardly attested in Christian prose but not uncommon to the poets: see Walsh (1971, 80–2), and cp. numen in Principal Correspondence 3=Paulinus, Poems 10, ll. 26–7. 487–8, poor, Abraham, rich, burning. A parable in the context of Christ’s discussion of “serving God and Mammon,” Luke 16.19–22. 499, intimations. Another instance of typological interpretation: see, for instance, Poems 17=Selections 3B, ll. 113–6, and Introduction 4C. 504–10, inside. An elaborate development of the idea of the “inner human,” the human being inside, developed by Paul: see Poems 10=Principal Correspondence 3, l. 61, where note the ambiguity of “habit” for state of being and state of attire. See Introduction 4A and C. 513–4, ground. For an alternative, more capitalistic expression of the same idea, see Letters 10.1 (trans. Walsh 1967, 87) where (contra Brown in Comments on l. 531 subsequently) Paulinus speaks from an affluent perspective: It was from your hands that I received the talent of saving grace, which must not be buried in the earth or left twisted in a handkerchief. It must be invested with the money-lenders, so that by them the sum may be multiplied with abundant interest. Paulinus refers to the famous parable of the talents: Matthew 25:14–30. 515–24, destroy. In Latin, describing the purpose of God, literally “to destroy all that is strong [fortia] by means of all that is weak [infirmis],”

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summarized in the later theological concept of the sign of contradiction: see Comments on Poems 10=Principal Correspondence 3, ll. 213–5. 531, we. See Brown (2016, 84), quoted in Introduction 2. 537–8, arrival. For the derivation of standards of ethical conduct from the imminence of the end of the world, or eschatology, see Paulinus, Poems 10=Principal Correspondence 3, l. 316. 540, root. In Latin, radix mali: cp. n. 10 in Introduction 1. 543–4, Christ. Probably an injunction to what later Catholics will call corporal works of mercy, since Paulinus developed the doctrine that the person of Christ was accessible through the bodies of the contemporary poor; cp. Letters 23, where note §§23–31, with Comments on Poems 21=Selections 3G, l. 50, subsequently. For abasement of tears and hair to Christ, see John 12:3.

3

Music

A. Poems 6.1–26 General Comment. From an elliptical criticism of the new Christian poets by Jerome in his correspondence with Paulinus (Letters 53, 58) and from some parallels in diction between this poem and Paulinus’ first reply to Ausonius in Poems 10=Principal Correspondence 3 (Green 1973), this poem appears to have been composed in the midst of Paulinus’ radicalization, when he knew what he wanted but perhaps did not know quite how to do it yet. An early date for this poem (probably in or before 394 CE) is supported by its conformity with the then-increasingly established forms of Christian verse, the “scriptural poems” (so Walsh 1975, 16–20) or “mini-epics” (epyllia, sing. epyllion), which versified passages, episodes, and entire books from the Bible.14 In a captivating piece of Late Antique detective work, Trout (1999, 99–100) posits that Jerome had already read this poem by Paulinus – and not liked it. Where Jerome everywhere lists John the Baptist among the models of ascetics for new Christians, he is absent from Jerome’s reply to Paulinus, a vicarious snub of the Baptist’s self-appointed verse biographer (Jerome, Letters 58.5, with Trout 1999, 99 nn. 114–15). Reviewing and revising decades of scholarship, Vessey (2007, 33–40, 47–8) suggests that Jerome is attempting to dissuade Paulinus from writing Christian poetry at all and instead to turn his hand (as he did in the Letters=Walsh 1966, 1967) to scriptural exegesis. Always a rebel, albeit a delicate one, Paulinus took the message his own way, abandoning such paraphrases of the bible as Poems 6 for biblical exegesis in poetry: see, for instance, Poems 27=Selections 5D, subsequently. To

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compose poetry like a Christian was more important than making Christian stories into poetry. See Selections 3H, 5A=Poems 22 in part. 1–6, Father, animals. An elaborate Christian reimagining of the Classical invocation of the Muses, descending from God (l. 1) to the Son (l. 2) to the Holy Spirit (l. 3) without differentiating them (consistent with trinitarian theology) before identifying its thematic subject, John the Baptist, in l. 7. On the trinity, see Paulinus, Poems 10=Principal Correspondence 3, ll. 123–4, and Introduction 4C. 2, glory. A marked metaphorical expression, the phrase refers to a whole (Christ) by way of part (glory), either belonging to himself or traditionally associated with him through others (here=the “saints”). If the former, the figure is a synecdoche, if the latter, a metonymy. Cp. the “indigence of Christ,” Poems 21=Selections 2F, l. 506, previously. 4, guide. Singular, not plural. The spirit? See Juvencus’ Four Books of the Gospel (Evangeliorum Libri Quattuor), Preface, ll. 25–7, trans. McGill (2016, 34): So come! Be near, o sanctifying Spirit, Source of my poem, and you sweet Jordan, flood me with pure drafts, to speak as Christ deserves. On this passage of Juvencus, written ca. 330 CE, see McGill (2016, 114), on Witke (1971, 200, cp. 75–6): “this is the earliest invocation in poetry of Christian sources of inspiration, the Holy Spirit and the Jordan, in place of traditional classic sources like Apollo, the Muses, and springs.” See Introduction 4A. 6, faith, character. In Latin, fides, but not a part of Paulinus’ “salvation economics” at this early date. See Introduction 3. 7–8, show. In Latin, one word, the imperative form of the verb praesta (“make present, tender in the form of ready money”), is the first independent verb (or main clause) of the long sentence (or “period”) that opens the poem: it names in a single (poetically untranslatable) sentence the act of representation that the poet commands the trinity to complete. The fluid imagery that is common in Paulinus’ other treatments of music and poetry has special significance in a poem about the Baptist (Introduction 4B). Characteristically, however, the imagery “spills over,” describing God’s inspiration of animals (including humans?) with the word “pour” (infundere, l. 6) and John himself, whom Paulinus envisions “coursing down” into his song from the “source” of the Gospel (decurrere, l. 7–8, cp. ductum de fonte). 6, animals. Perhaps our bodies: the Plato-scholar and lapsed Catholic, Gregory Vlastos describes the human soul as “an immigrant from another world . . . stuck inside an animal” (1991, 55–6); cp. Balaam’s ass in Poems

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15=Selections: “Self, Money, Music, Time, Christ,” l. 35, previously, and “The Heavy Bear Who Goes With Me” (Schwartz 1967, 74–5). 8, burning, probably “refining.” 11, trivial talents. On the background of this dichotomy in the aesthetics of Hellenistic poetry, see Introduction 4B. 14, new. Paulinus probably disavows originality only here; elsewhere, the novelty of his own poetry, as a reminder of the spiritual renewal effected by Christ, obsesses him: Hardie (2019a, 153–4); cp. Poems 10=Principal Correspondence 3, ll. 135–43. 15, plain. In Latin, sermo, a reference to the “plain speak” of the Gospels. See Augustine, Confessions 6.58, trans. Wills (2008, 116): “The Bible speaks to all in plain words and a humble style, but also tests the concentration of those ‘not lightly caring’ [Sirach 19.4, cp. l. 11, previously].” See also Poems 18=Selections 2C, l. 213. 22–6, David. On David as the Judeo-Christian counterpart to the Classical figure of the bard, see Comments on Poems 17.101–51=B in this section. For the psalmist’s lyre as an emblem of Late Antique aesthetics, see Augustine, City of God 17.14, discussed and translated by Hardie (2019a, 122–34, at 122–3): Now David was a man skilled in songs, who loved musical harmony not for the pleasure that the common people take in it, but for the purpose of faith, and he used it in the service of his God, the true God, by giving a mystical prefiguration of a matter of great importance. For the concord of different sounds, according to reason and due measure, makes known the unity of a well-ordered city, fitted together in harmonious variety. As Hardie explains, discussing many of the poems from this section of the Selections (128–34), Paulinus already developed Augustine’s cosmopolitan image of unity in difference in the local milieu of the interaction of rich and poor at Nola, not always without conflict, as we saw in the instance of the burning huts that obstructed Paulinus’ renovations of the basilicas of Felix, described in Poems 28 and discussed in Introduction §3 (Hardie 2019a, 129): The aesthetics of variety extends, bizarrely, to unsightly ruins. Paulinus’s plans for extending and beautifying the cult center had been marred by two ugly (deformia uisu) wooden huts in the center of the site, whose occupants refused (reasonably enough, one might have thought) to have them demolished. . . . In an unusual focalization the obstructive owner of the huts is first allowed to lament the dwellings to which he was misguidedly attached, and then is put in the position

Comments 251 of a detached observer “wondering” at the aesthetic effect of these two modes of destruction. On “wonder” (miror, miraculum) as a specifically Christian description of aesthetic experience, see Comments on Poems 27=Selections 3G, l. 160, subsequently, with Roberts (2010, 62–3). For a programmatic passage of Paulinus’ poetics of “variety” (Hardie, previously), see Poems 21=Selections 3G, ll. 84–104, subsequently. 25, idea of heaven. See Paul, Romans 11.34 (trans. KJV): “For who hath known the mind [sensus] of the Lord? or who hath been his counsellor?” By producing an effect that the apostle deems difficult, or even impossible, Paulinus suggests that aesthetic production (poetry, music) has a kind of material result: art becomes a device for reorganizing the animal senses in such a way that they attain spiritual functions. See also comment on lines 26–9 in Poems 15=“Self, Money, Music, Time, Christ,” and Introduction 4B. B.

Poems 17.101–51

General Comment. This poem in the genre of “farewell” (propemptikon) was written to Nicetas, described by Walsh (1967, 13–16) as “the missionary bishop of Dacia famed as the probable author of the Te Deum” and himself a theorist of Christian musicology (see Comments on 113–16, subsequently). One of the most famous examples of propemptika among the Latin Classics was Horace’s “Farewell to Vergil” (Odes 1.3.7–8, trans. Lombardo 2018, 9, 11): “O ship entrusted with half my soul:/Render intact your debt to Attica’s shores.” While Horace’s poem is not written in the Sapphic meter that Paulinus uses in his poem to Nicetas, Horace himself uses such “Lesbian” meters throughout his lyric works, which makes them, alongside the Island of Lesbos from which they derive their name, iconically pre-Christian and thus part of another Classical pastiche that Paulinus Christianizes (cp. General Comments of Selections 2D and 3H). A historian of the period (Sivan 1995, 87) alludes to the originally military function of the genre of farewell poem in Greco-Roman literature, presumably thinking of the Augustan example of Tibullus (Elegies 1.3). If true, this genealogy of the genre highlights another aspect of the occasion that gives rise to it in Paulinus: the military imperialism that partly supported Nicetas’ mission to Dacia (Sivan 1995, 90) and which Paulinus describes elsewhere in the same poem (205–20): They who are hard in land and in soul, the Albanians harsher even than their snow, now metamorphosed into sheep they go

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Comments to courts of peace with you. Never conquered in a battle, they refused to bend their backs in servitude until those same backs bent to the yoke of God the True they bend in joy. Richer now than on receiving wages for his labor, now the upraised Albanian who gathered gold with hand in a mine gathers it from heaven in mind. What a change in substance! What a beauteous transformation of the hinterland! The thieves who thirsted for blood in the mountains have become as monks, peacetime’s hostages.

This passage should be taken as a limit to any positive interpretation of Paulinus’ treatment of non-Romans elsewhere: for instance, the Basques of Poems 10=Principal Correspondence 3, ll. 213–5. At the same time, Paulinus’ more fantastic approach to colonization there – the whole scenario is imaginary – highlights the different practices, if not different outlooks, of late fourth-century Christian men of power. 107, the Cross. It is a commonplace of Christian thinkers to compare the cross to other objects to explain its meaning (allegoresis and typology: see Poems 27=Selections 5D, ll. 248–86), but Paulinus here reverses the process. After he endows everyday objects (like the mast of Nicetas’ ship) with allegorical meaning, he then suggests that the allegorical meaning, for instance the ability of the mast to represent the cross, endows the literal or concrete object with supernatural effects – protecting human beings from sea monsters, for instance (Auerbach 2014 [1938], 98–9): “[T]his force . . . is not only expressed or, as it were, imitated by the sign or symbol. It is actually present in and contained by the symbol in such a way that the symbol itself can act and be acted upon in its place. . . . [U]nder these conditions, the symbol acquires magical powers.” In his contemporary writing On the goodness of psalmody, Nicetas was more orthodox in his interpretation of the symbolic poet of the cross whom Paulinus also mentions, David, even as his use of typological interpretation more ambitiously projected the image of the Cross back into David’s lyre (De Psalmodia Bonae 4, trans. Walsh 1949, 68): [David] was still a boy when his sweet, strong song with his harp subdued the evil spirit working in Saul [1 Kings 16:14–23]. Not that there was any kind of power in the harp, but, with its wooden frame and the strings stretched across, it was a symbol (figura) of the Cross of Christ.

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It was the passion that was being sung, and it was this which subdued the spirit of the Devil. For more on such reversals of figuration, see Comments on Poems 20= Selections 3D, l. 60. For the talismanic properties of “the true Cross” in Paulinus’ experience, see Letters 31.1, with an extended poetic allegory of the cross in Poems 27=Selections 4D, ll. 273–99, subsequently, and for typology in general, Introduction 4C. 113–6, David. For David as the archetype of the poet in Paulinus, see Poems 20=Selections 3E, ll. 43–61. The figure of David is complex in Christian poetry of the late fourth century, symbolizing at least three other figures: the poet, the reader, and by way of symbolizing Jesus Christ, whom he “prefigures” as God’s (earlier) king of kings, he comes to figure figures themselves. In other words, David becomes himself the symbol of symbolism, the representative of “historically real prophecy” (Auerbach 2014, 85–93) and thus a privileged example of the form of reading called typology (from the Greek typos=figure, cp. Latin figura), in which figures of the Old Testament “prefigure” figures of the New (other such figures of figures include the parting of the Red Sea and the veil of Moses: 2 Corinthians 3:12–18, with Exodus 14:15–31, 34:33–5, in Boyarin 1994, 73–6, 97–105, with Introduction 4C; see also Smith 1976, 61). Elsewhere David is a figure for the reader, as in the letter that Jerome wrote to Paulinus, in which he quoted Psalm 118 (Vulgate)=119.18 and which was later used as a preface to Jerome’s Bible (Letters 53.4): “Open my eyes [revela . . . occulos meos],” said David, and I will contemplate the wonders of your law”; because the law is a matter of the spiritual [spiritalis est] and stands in need of opening up [revelatione] to be understood, and also so that we may behold the glory of God with an open face [revelata facie]. David supplants the muses throughout Paulinus’ treatment, but he also “opens” the aesthetic pleasure associated with the muses to ethical and intellectual growth, modeling both the infinite good of the incarnation and the historical revelation of its truth in scripture, respectively. See further Poems 22=Selections 5A, ll. 51–7, with Comments. 121–4, dolphins. Through the story of the poet Arion, carried to shore in full regalia by them, Greco-Roman culture associated dolphins with poetry and the defeat (or at least seduction) of nature (Herodotus, Histories 1.23): “Arion of Methymna was conveyed to Taenarus on a dolphin, being then a lyrist of that age who was second to none.” Paulinus could have accessed

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the story in Aulus Gellius, Attic Nghts 16.19, but if he had a source for this section, it was probably Ovid (Roman Holidays 2.83–6, trans. Nagle 1995, 59–60), where Ovid is clearly alluding to Horace’s portrait of the poet in the natural world, in Odes 1.22, for which see Comments on Poems 10=Principal Correspondence 4, ll. 213–15. 126, sowed. See Comments on 113–6, previously. 129–32, whale. See the Jonah 2:1–11, where note, of Jonah (in verse 3), “I have cried [clamavi] to the Lord,” in light of 126, subsequently: “cry [clamant] the glory of God.” 133–136, devour, ears, belly. Describing the local peasantry who learn the Gospel from the murals that he commissioned for them in his new basilica, Paulinus develops a similar conceit (Poems 27.584–592): So, the letter shows what the hand has unfolded. Each points out the paintings to the other while they read them to themselves, a little later remembering the nourishment and feeding welcome hunger with their eyes. In their amazement, better practice steals inside as from a trick of painting they forget starvation and sobriety inebriates them as they guzzle it. Making light of their hunger, Paulinus assimilates the poor to the monsters appeased by the song of Nicetas (just as he makes light of the Albanians’ exploitation in the mines in the passage quoted in the General Comment, previously). In contrast with the monster, however, aesthetic experience fills the hungry congregation with a paradoxical “sober drunkenness” – the same state that accompanies the democratization of the church at Pentecost (Poems 27=Selections 3D, ll. 95–9, and Introduction 4B). In other words, assimilation of the two forms of proletariat, animal and human, need not work to the detriment of the latter, since the ostensibly lower state, the paradoxical drunkenness of art, elevates human beings (above the ostensibly lower state of animals) regardless of class (at least for the community with which the poet actually interacted in Nola-Cimitile, in contrast with the more far-flung Albanians of Nicetas’ mission). For a similar reclamation of the “disordering of the senses,” mixing and matching hunger and drunkenness with sight and sound, cp. Socrates’ celebration of madness in Plato, Phaedrus 243e7–245b6 (on Paulinus’ “disordering of the sense,” see Comments on Poems 23=Selections 4E, ll. 1–16). There, Socrates describes the erotic charge, analogous to rhetoric and poetry, of intimate elite encounters. Paulinus in contrast describes the phenomena at a collective, social, popular level.

Comments 255 C.

Poems 18.1–24

General Comment. A typically temporally oriented opening of one of the later installments of Paulinus’ “Life of Felix” (see General Comments in Selections 2A), this excerpt establishes the setting of the recitation of a posthumous chapter of Felix’s sainted existence – his intervention in the life of the lowly cowherd featured at length in Poems 18=Selections 2C, ll. 211–80. 3–4, duty, promised. In Latin, munus, elsewhere translated “affectionate obligation”: see, for instance, Ausonius, Letters 21=Principal Correspondence 1, l. 3, and Paulinus, Poems 10=Principal Correspondence 3, l. 89–91, also 26–7. The phrase “promised verse” (carmine uoto) alludes to poetic patronage of the Classical period: see Introduction 4A, with White (1993). 6, road. Another adaptation of the “modernist” aesthetic values of Hellenistic Egypt and Late Republican and Augustan Rome to Christian ethics: see Introduction 4B. “Passable” (per-via) here corresponds with “pathless” (a-via) in Poems 10=Principal Correspondence 3, l. 159. 8, sing. For other references to the occasion of performance, see Poems 18=Selections 2C, l. 211. 9–10, sacred pleasure. On such mashups of aesthetic (possibly erotic) and ascetic language, see Comments on Poems 10=Principal Correspondence 3, l. 101–2 and 213. 22, elements. Unclear whether it is a personification or a real supposition of sentience. Cp. the later personification of William of Saint Albans: “the elements do witness to the martyr’s suffering; for neither rain nor any drop of dew moisten the earth” (Life of Saint Alban 25, in Latham, Howlett, and Ashdowne 1975–2013, see under elementum). Paulinus’ application of the same word that he uses to describe climate to angels and demons suggests that the ostensibly supernatural beings are nevertheless physical – invisible but perceptible. See Introduction 4B. For an extended prose treatment, see Paulinus, Letters 16.2–5, 9. 23, acquired. In Latin, proprietary (potiri): the final windfall in “salvation economics.” See Poems 10=Principal Correspondence 3, ll. 53–6. D.

Poems 27.60–106

General Comment. Part of the great poem of nativity commemorating the visit of Nicetas of Remesiana to Nola on Felix’s feast day in 403. For historical background, see the General Comment on Poems 17=Selections 2B, ll. 101–51, with more of this poem in Selections 3E (where see General Comment) and 5D–E.

256 Comments 60–71. For discussion of Pentecost as the background to this excerpt, see Introduction 4B. The original account is the opening episode of the Book of Acts (2:1–6, trans. NRSV): And suddenly from heaven there came a sound like the rush of a violent wind, and it filled the entire house where they were sitting. Divided tongues, as of fire, appeared among them, and a tongue rested on each of them. All of them were filled with the Holy Spirit and began to speak in other languages, as the Spirit gave them ability. . . . And at this sound the crowd gathered and was bewildered, because each one heard them speaking in the native language of each. For the Pentecost in the Hebrew Bible, see Leviticus 23:16, trans. NRSV: “You shall count until the day after the seventh sabbath day, fifty days; then you shall present an offering of new grain to the Lord.” 62, incandescence. In Latin, a fiery light (ignito . . . lumine), based on Acts 2.3: “parting tongues, as it were of fire” (trans. DR). Although Paulinus refers to “tongues,” the probable literal meaning of the passage from Acts (“different languages”) is clearer in his expression. 64–71, one. Consistent with trinitarian theology, the Holy Spirit is God (the Lord, Christ, etc.): see, for instance, Poems 10=Principal Correspondence 3, ll. 123–4. 81–106. With an extended series of interlocking similes (see Comments on Poems 6=Selections 3A, ll. 22–6), Paulinus imposes unity across the different images or “vehicles” of the simile with recurrent language for the music from the lyre and flute (ll. 72–80) and with a combination of poetic reference and aesthetic theory – specifically, a characteristic “phenomenology” or study in the first-person experience of music (see Introduction 4B). Using a Vergilian tag to personify art as a “mistress” (l. 75=Aeneid 8.442, 12.427: arte magistra), Paulinus presents art first as an animating force and then, when God becomes the master maker (or artist: Greek, poêtês) in the next phase of the simile (ll. 81–5), art reveals “herself” to be, after the death of Christ (ll. 89–92), nothing less than the Holy Spirit (ll. 92–9), the one prefigured – like the coming of Christ, the Spirit at Pentecost, and perhaps Paulinus at Nola – in the old archpoet David (ll. 100–2; cp. Comments on ll. 100–3 subsequently and Poems 27=Selections 3F, ll. 233–4). Where Augustine would use human consciousness and the qualities of first-person experience to understand the nature of the trinity (Matthews 1992, 12–15), Paulinus uses the first-person experience of the artist (or musician) to understand, by way of the trinity, community (ll. 98–9). 81, construe, review. In Latin, modulator et arbiter.

Comments 257 84, maker. In Latin, opifex. Elsewhere in Classical Latin the immanent craftsman god (or demiurge) of Platonism: Cicero, The Nature of the Gods 1.18. 93–4, come, proceeding. In Latin, respectively, spiritum . . . procedentem (l. 93) and deus ipse deo ueniens (l. 94), more literally: “the proceeding Spirit God Himself coming from God,” also identified as only-born, onlybegotten, or even born-only-once (in spite of being three): unigena (see Paulinus, Poems 5.47). For the trinitarian theology outlined in the phrasing, see Introduction 4C, and Poems 25=Selections 5B, ll. 173–4. The potential omnipresence of God (“can be anywhere,” l. 94) is also a consistent feature of trinitarian discussion, especially considering the question of “theophanies,” throughout the third and fourth centuries AD/CE (Ayres 2010, 187–92). 100–3, hymning sinews. The strings of David’s lyre; the analogy between David’s song and the “song” of the Spirit is “typological”: see Poems 22=Selections 5A, ll. 51–7 and Poems 17=Selections 3B, ll. 113–6, with Comments. 106, sobriety. Paulinus assimilates the criticism of the scoffers at the Pentecost (Acts 2:12–3, trans. NRSV): “All were amazed and perplexed, saying to one another, ‘What does this mean?’ But others sneered and said, ‘They are filled with new wine.’” Thus, drily, Conzelmann (1987, 15): “The phenomenon of enthusiasm and intoxication are related.” See also Poems 24.683–8, and 27.580–95 where Paulinus juxtaposes the metaphorical inebriation of art with the literal inebriation of alcohol, as he elsewhere compares real and figurative forms of water and musical instruments (Introduction 4B). For past and future examples of the conceit in Christian Latin poetry of the period, see Goldschmidt (1940, 156–7). E.

Poems 27.149–247, 307–28

General Comment. After Poems 21 (see Selections 1B, 2E–G, previously), this poem contains the amplest autobiography and traditional (political as opposed to social) historical context: the visit of Nicetas, the “missionary bishop” of Dacia (see General Comments on Poems 17=Selections 3B previously) to Nola on the festival of Felix in 403. In addition to locating this poem in time through Nicetas’subsequent departure for Albania (see again Poems 17, previously), Poems 27 is most famous for its location in space: the new basilica of Paulinus, through which he takes Nicetas and the other assembled members of the audience (Poems 27.637: “You (all) who have gathered together here for a sacred ritual [sancta pro religione]”), as detailed in ll. 345–647, and discussed with special attention to art historical detail by Goldschmidt (1940, 48–51, 129–62) and Greco-Roman aesthetic theory by Goldhill (2012, 93–8).

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The description of song in this excerpt (though scattered: ll. 225–47, 307–28) gains in significance from its performance for Nicetas, the theorist of psalms: see Comments on Poems 26=Selections 4F, ll. 21–5. 156–60, calling, flowering. In ll. 158–60, Paulinus virtually quotes the Song of Songs (2.11–12, trans. KJV): “For, lo, the winter is past, the rain is over and gone; The flowers appear on the earth; the time of the singing of birds is come, and the voice of the turtle [dove] is heard in our land.” See also l. 228, subsequently. From the strong presence of the female voice in the opening verses of the Song of Songs (1.2: “Let him kiss me with the kisses of his mouth”), Paulinus also seems to personify his soul and self as feminine (ll. 156–7): “what once the lover betrothed [sponsa amans] . . . sang, calling [canebat . . . vocalis].” For other Paulinan identifications with (or appropriations of) the feminine, see Dressler (2018, 229–31). 160, marvel. Elsewhere, “wonder” (miramur), denoting aesthetic appreciation: see Poems 26=Selections 1C, l. 407. 169, perfume. See 2 Corinthians 2:15 (trans. NRSV): “For we are the aroma of Christ to God among those who are being saved and among those who are perishing.” 175–7, water. For a similar (but also literal) “work of the water,” see Poems 21=Selections 1B, ll. 672–703, with further discussion in Introduction 4B. 180–3, image. In Latin, benedicti nominis instar. For such internalization of images (or exempla) as a key to Christian self-development, including the imitation of Christ, see Poems 10=Principal Correspondence 3, l. 54, and Introduction 4C. For the interchangeability of names and identities, as a function of the idea of the persons of the trinity and as a motor for the imitation of Christ, see Poems 10=Principal Correspondence 3, ll. 123–4. 183, triumph. A more than usually sustained example of the Christian development of Paul’s image of the soldier of Christ in the Classical context of Ancient Rome, the word “triumph” denotes the procession (ironically parallel to the despoliation of Jerusalem depicted within the Arch of Titus) conducting victorious general to the Capitol. Given the processional tour of the new basilicas on which Paulinus takes his audience and readers in ll. 345–647 (see General Comments previously), the image of a pageant for Nicetas appears almost literal. 186, confess. In two of three senses of the word in Early Christianity – not the admission of wrongdoing but the avowal of faith and the declaration of praise (Augustine, Expositions of the Psalms 7(2).19 (trans. Boulding et al. 2000, 128, underlining added): Therefore, after saying, I will confess to the Lord, the psalmist added this final passage, And I will sing to the name of the Lord most high,

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to make sure that we do not take it to mean confession of sins. Singing belongs to joy, but repentance of sins to sadness. 189–91, dream. Ausonius dared to imagine (fingere) the same dream about Paulinus: Letters 24=Principal Correspondence 4, l. 115–6, 123–4 (with fingunt at 124). For Paulinus, the alternative to mere dreaming is conscious wishing (27.189–90, trans. Walsh 1975, 277, emphasis added): “Who could fail to observe this clear evidence that your prayer has brought me a blessing which I could scarcely pray for or even dream of attaining?” See further Vergil, Aeneid 6.450. For an almost explicitly erotic use of the same figure of thought, see Ausonius, Letters 25=Principal Correspondence 4, l. 124. 198, saint. Ruggiero (1990, 385) concurs with Walsh (1971, 406 n. 2) that Paulinus addresses Nicetas with this epithet (sancte), but there is no reason to exclude Felix as its addressee, or even the two of them, merged into one. The requirement of death for membership in the community of the saints was not as strict in Paulinus’ time as it would become in later iterations of the idea, and one of the perks of membership was partly merging with, or becoming interchangeable with Christ, at least on earth (see General Comments on Poems 15–16=Selections 2A). This means that, when he asks the “saint” of l. 198 to give him the gift of song, Paulinus can address a living Nicetas, assimilated to a dead (and “sainted”) Felix, and thus address Felix too. All this is characteristic of the logic of fungibility belonging to the concept of debt that informed the doctrine of the atonement from the beginning: see, for instance, Graeber (2011, 78–85), and Introduction 4C. 200–4, prayer, vow, wish. For the operation of these financial instruments of “salvation economics,” see Comments on Poems 10=Principal Correspondence 3, ll. 145–6. In a metapoetic context, as here, by identifying his own agency as an author of poetry and prayer, Paulinus exemplifies the Christian tendency to call attention to and implicitly condemn (“call out”) Classical conventions. The Classical convention appears in the erotic context of Ovid, who affirms and denies divine inspiration in the same breath (Art of Love 1.25, 30, trans. Green 1985, 166, 167): “Nor shall I falsely ascribe my arts to Apollo. . . . Aid my enterprise, Venus!”). With his emphasis on wish (and implicitly also perhaps will: uota), Paulinus is, in contrast with Ovid, saying something that his actual immediate performance, including his enthusiastic expression, confirms. This is not to say he is “sincere” (though it encourages that interpretation) but again to emphasize the extreme ideological unity at which Christianity aimed. 205–16, relax, blood, witnesses. When Paulinus describes the sainted souls of the once living as “you who relax in the shadow of the lofty altar of the Lord [sub excelsa domini requiescitis ara],” he may recall Revelation

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6.9 (trans. DR): “And when he had opened the fifth seal, I saw under the altar [subtus altare] the souls of them that were slain for the word of God, and for the testimony which they held.” Supplying the Greek martyrion for “testimony,” Goldschmidt (1940, 140) quotes the passage as a parallel for a later passage from Paulinus, Poems 27, not included in the Selections (ll. 400–3): Upstairs, so to speak, from the awnings of sacrosanctity, all protected in high windows, the altars are watching. Inside [intus] and underneath [sub] lies the resting place of saints, and then the apostolic ashes. 207–24, you. Arranged to parallel several biblical descriptions, the catalogue of choirs welcoming Felix to heaven resembles the one in the old (ca. 360s?) Te Deum (in the translation of The Book of Common Prayer): The glorious company of the Apostles: praise thee. The goodly fellowship of the Prophets: praise thee. The noble army of Martyrs: praise thee. Some medieval manuscripts attribute the hymn to Nicetas, whose arrival in Nola is being celebrated by Paulinus in this very poem (ll. 184–234; cp. Poems 21=Selection 3G). Scholars have noted parallels between the language of the Te Deum and Nicetas’ own (prose) writings which include the work On the Creed (De Symbolo), where one finds similar enumerations of heavenly ranks.15 214, sang, come. In Latin, praecinistis≈figure in advance, by “typological” interpretation: see Poems 17=Selections 3B, ll. 113–6, and Poems 22=Selections 5A, ll. 51–7. 223, merit. Elsewhere translated “earnings,” and a key part of salvation economics: see especially Poems 20=Selections 3F, ll. 38–42, subsequently, with Comments on Poems 10=Principal Correspondence 3, ll. 89–91, and Introduction 4C. 226–7, pray, breath, senses. In Latin, sensibus adspirare precor: all together, the words of the phrase seem to describe the Holy Spirit, as the divine medium of human will (precor), breath (adspirare), immanence in the world and communicability to corporeal experience (sensibus). In the context of poetic inspiration and performance here, Paulinus seems once more to highlight the Pentecostal aspect of Christian poetry: see Introduction 4B. 228, turtle. See ll. 156–60, previously. 233–4. Through untranslatable features of the Latin, including an extremely rare near-perfect rhyme, Paulinus makes a couplet that signals the end of one

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section (or moment in performance) and the beginning of another: ecce diem uenit, uir tam bonus ore magistro/ quam sacer est uictore animo uel corpore uicto . The phrase “mouth of a teacher” may be even more abrupt in Latin than the English suggests. Analogous to the phrase “mistress Art” in l. 75 (arte magistra) of the same poem=Selections 3D, previously. In later Latin, the use of the noun “teacher” (magister) as an adjective becomes so common as to mean “belonging to, coming from or characteristic of the master,” or even “belonging to or characteristic of the Lord” (Latham, Howlett, and Ashdowne 1975–2013, see under magister, 13a–b). With this understanding of “teacher” as an adjective denoting a characteristic of the Lord, Nicetas himself, as a teacher, approaches divinity (that is, becomes sanctus and so a “saint”; note sacer, “holy” in l. 234). In other words, the mouth of Nicetas just is the mouth of God, in the same way that Paulinus’ poetry, with the application of the adjective magistra (in l. 75), becomes the art of the Lord (cp. “our music is faith” discussed in Introduction 3). All this is consistent with the laxer criteria for membership in the community of the saints that characterized the concept in Paulinus’ period: see also Comments on l. 198, previously. 235–8, Angel, lips, fire. See Isaiah 6.5–7 (trans. KJV): Then said I, Woe is me! for I am undone; because I am a man of unclean lips, and I dwell in the midst of a people of unclean lips: for mine eyes have seen the King, the LORD of hosts. Then flew one of the seraphims unto me, having a live coal in his hand, which he had taken with the tongs from off the altar: And he laid it upon my mouth, and said, Lo, this hath touched thy lips; and thine iniquity is taken away, and thy sin purged. 245–7, Jacob. The substance of this simile receives extensive elaboration in the passage that immediately follows this: ll. 238–304=Selections 5D. 310–11, insubstantial. In Latin, materia leuiore=“lighter fare.” Poems 20=Selections 2D, ll. 13–27, may provide an example. For the Hellenistic aesthetics of the small from which this passage signals a departure, see Introduction 4B 311, flashed. In Latin, emicui. Cp. Latin emicem in Prudentius, Prologue 42–4: Even as I write, even as I speak, I want to flash forth, free from these chains of the body, and go where my nimble tongue will finally take me. 314, recognize. Recalls the earlier account of Pentecost in ll. 65–8=Selections 3D; cp. Introduction 4B. With the additional phrase “moved by some

262 Comments now greater thought” (in Latin: maior agit mens), Paulinus gives the idea of (non)recognition a new significance. The phrase recalls his own words to Ausonius in Poems 10=Principal Correspondence 3, ll. 24–30, which were themselves an allusion to Horace (see Comments there). “Recognition” and “non-recognition” of the kind that Paulinus assumes here thus acquire a specifically literary, even “metapoetic” meaning: it refers to recognizing (or not) references to other poets (Hinds 1998, 9–10, 14–16). To the metaliterary gamesmanship, Paulinus adds a theological and polemical cultural dimension when he proceeds in this passage to allude even more elaborately to Classical poetry than he did with the single phrase in the Principal Correspondence. The entire description of poetic ascent that ends this selection (ll. 307–22) recalls Horace, quoted and discussed in part in the Comments on Poems 15=Self, Money, Music, Time, Christ,” ll. 16–20, previously, and Introduction 4C. When Paulinus now claims not to recognize himself – or rather his poetic potential and output (“my heart”: mea pectora) – he thus suggests three things: (1) literally, in the context, he is being taken over by the Holy Spirit à la Pentecost and so he ceases to be the author of the poem; (2) figuratively, by way of allusion to other poets, he suggests that this Classical language of poetic inspiration has become unfamiliar to him as a Christian now – he doesn’t recognize it and maybe worries, when it appears, that he is going too far for a Christian; and finally (3) returning to the Pentecostal context of the occasion of Nicetas’ visit and Paulinus’ visitation/inspiration by the Holy Spirit, he suggests that, whether or not any poet recognized it, the Classical language of poetic inspiration was actually Christian (Pentecostal) to begin with. Inspired, they were channeling a god that they did not recognize, and only now, through the testimony to the Holy Spirit provided by scripture, can Christian poets of Paulinus’ time understand what the Classical poets did not. See Comments on Ausonius, Letters 21=Principal Correspondence, l. 10. 323, earnings. See Comments on l. 223 previously. 324, practically. See General Comment of Selections 2A. 326–8, tasteless, fluid. With these words, Paulinus combines the culinary aesthetics of Ausonian cleverness (see Comments on Paulinus, Poems 10=Principal Correspondence 3, ll. 9–10), with his own Christian poetics of liquid and sometimes even baptismal inspiration (see Introduction 4B). F Poems 20.28–61 General Comment. From another yearly poem of nativity, this excerpt exemplifies Paulinus’ unique use of material metaphors of musical instruments to explore his own experience of time and poetry, as well as the

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miraculous interaction of matter and spirit comprised by the incarnation of Christ: see Introduction 4B–C. 29–30, made up, art, fidelity. See also Poems 15=Selections: Self, Money, Music, Time, Christ, ll. 30–1. In Latin, “not with poetic license” is sine fraude poetae. 32, faith. See Introduction 3. 33–42. The near rhymes in the Latin that begin the section are unusual (34–5): disparis harmoniae quondam, quam corpus in unum/ contulit adsumens hominem, qui miscuit almum. They seem to signal the growing affinity of different kinds of body exhibited in the incarnation. The passage then proceeds through the Pauline philosophy of the gift (or grace) to the purely Paulinan “salvation economics” (41–2): property (proprium), credit (fides), earnings (mereri, cp. merita). For the same sequence, see Poems 10=Principal Correspondence 3, ll. 43–103. 43–62. The merging of different images in time and place – the cross, the notional lyre repaired by God as a musical demiurge, the Pentecostal description of nations along with “tongues beyond number” – are common in Paulinus’ treatment of music, reflecting the use of literature and art to form communities in Nola: see Introduction 4B. The phrase used to describe the assembly of the lyre “into a single body” (corpus in unum, l. 56) is identical to the Latin line describing the incarnation (l. 35). See Poems 6=Selections 3A, ll. 22–6. 48–53, refurbished. In Latin, renouaturus, another image of renewal: see Poems 21=Selections 1B, l. 686: “new drafts.” 60, pitch. In Latin, personat . . . uno modulamine; the first word of the phrase, believed by Romans to refer to the sound of a voice projected through a theatrical mask (Latin, persona), recalls the role of individuals (or personae), “persons,” in the incarnation. The subject of the verb personat here, chelys, denotes the shell of the tortoise used for stringed instruments, recalling the role of the living creature in the production of the instrument and thus symbolizing the resurrection: the animal killed for the instrument comes back to life in the song. The phrase “the golden lyre of Christ” is also pregnant with ambivalence: it denotes, on the one hand, the lyre that Christ plays à la David but also, on the other, that Christ himself is the lyre, played by God – that is to say, himself (Fontaine 1980, 398–402). See also Poems 22=Selections 3H, ll. 33–4, subsequently. G.

Poems 21.47–104, 272–83, 336–43

General Comment. For the autobiographical context of these excerpts, see General Comment to Selections 2B.

264 Comments 50, home. Probably for Paulinus, local collaborators including Therasia, the intimates and servants mentioned in the Letters (Conybeare 2000, 33–9), and the dependents, including those “hospitalized” (or hosted) at Cimitile – the rural poor: see Poems 21=Selections 2B, ll. 387–94. For a vivid account of the coalescence of these categories during the visit of Victor, another notable, see Letters 23.9 (trans. Walsh 1967, 11): He carried out his manual labor on my behalf and made this dish with a single helper. This latter man I had taken in from the countryside and was nursing back to health. In years he is old but in mind a child, for in his failing days he has been reborn to grace, and his aged flesh has blossomed forth to new life. The cooking of brother Victor has made him fat, for as a rustic he issued to such food and it suits his toothless gums. For more context, see Burrus (1995, 141–3), and Poems 31=Selections 2H, ll. 537–8. On the conceit of youth in age, see Comments on Poems 31=Selections 5F, ll. 51–4. 56–9, meters. On the “polymetry” exhibited in this poem, see Ausonius, Letters 19B=Earlier Letters 3, ll. 38–43, and Paulinus, Poems 10=Principal Correspondence 3, l. 19. 60, fertile, Felix. On the connection between these terms and ideas, see Comments on Poems 21=Selections 2E, l 414. 60–1, flowers. For an expansion of this theme, see ll. 84–99, subsequently. 63, mothers, Eunomia, Melania. See also ll. 278–83, subsequently. Avita, the wife of Apronianus, was a fellow aristocratic ascetic; Albina was the wife of Publicola, and the mother of Melania (the Younger), on whom see General Comment on Selections 2B=Poems 21, previously. If the description here refers to a real event, the role played by women in the community of Nola was much greater than elsewhere. Contrast the less experimental asceticism cultivated by Severus of Primuliacum, the biographer of Saint Martin whose authority he cited for his anti-feminist practices (Severus, Dialogues 2.9): “Do not let a woman enter the camp of men. . . . Let a woman stay far away, passing her time in her tent. . . . The first virtue in this, the greatest triumph – is for her to stay unseen.” For other instances of mixed male and female monastic choruses in Southern Italy at the time, see Poems 17.85–88, with Otranto (1997, 41–3). On the symbolic function of music in the maintenance of Christian communities, see Trout (1999, 209). 74, dowries. The Romans use the word dowry (dos) strictly to denote the sum intended for the husband from the wife or her guardians, but a “less accurate use” (Thesaurus Linguae Latinae vol. 5.1, p. 2044, l. 19) denotes gifts given by the husband to the wife before marriage. In Christian contexts, in which the soul is considered God’s bride-to-be, in the ascetic renunciation of

Comments 265 marriage, for instance, this use is common, and can be specific: “conscience is God’s gift [dos] to the soul from the very beginning” (Tertullian, Against Marcion, 1.10, in Thesaurus Linguae Latinae 5.1.2044.45–54 at 51–2). 83–104. A programmatic statement of Paulinus’ poetic theory: see Comments on Poems 6=Selections 3A, ll. 22–6. 74–6, jewels. On the paradoxical jewel-madness of Late Antique ascetics, see Paulinus’ exact contemporary (and fellow Gaul), Victricius of Rouen, Praising the Saints (De Laude Sanctorum), trans. G. Clark (1999, 396–7, quoted and discussed in Miller 2009, 98–9): Here are diadems adorned with the varied lights of the jewels of wisdom, intellect, knowledge, truth, good counsel, courage, endurance, self-control, justice, good sense, patience, chastity. These virtues are expressed and inscribed each in its own stone. Here the Savior-craftsman has adorned the crowns of the martyrs with spiritual jewels. Let us set the sails of our souls towards these gems. 96, equal. For more evidence of Paulinus’ gender egalitarianism, see especially Poems 25=Selections 5B, ll. 141–98, and General Comment on Selections 2G. 97, colony. In fact, Paulinus’ role at Nola was analogous to that of a colonizer, as his discussion of the Basques may suggest: see Comments on Poems 10=Principal Correspondence 3, ll. 213–20, and General Comment on Selections 3B. 156–7, soul, lover, calling. Probably the Song of Songs. See also Ausonius, Letters 21=Principal Correspondence 1, l. 10. Note the contrast with the previous line (156): whereas there the heart is abasing itself (humile . . . pectore), here the soul is exalting (exultet . . . anima). The almost erotic, at any rate desperately energetic, “call” to God is also Augustinian (Confessions 1.1–3). 160, marvel. By using a word associated with the miraculous (miramur: see l. 87 previously), Paulinus highlights his sense of the work of God in everyday life; this same heightened attention characterizes his perception of what we would consider proper miracles (in the supernatural sense), as when he repurposes the sustained description of technical objects from its purely aesthetic Ausonian use for the saint’s miracle tale at Poems 23.125–59. 276, physical structure. In Latin, compago, a “joining,” as in carpentry. Cp. Paulinus, Letters 16.2 (trans. Walsh 1966, 153): “they can believe . . . the world of which we are a part, does not endure because every structure [compago] can be broken down.” 330–3. Archetypical Judeo-Christian typology, combined here with numerology. See Introduction 4C.

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340–1, comprised, movements, numbers. In Latin, compositus, the same word used of the lyre in 329 previously, here its meaning is probably closer to “well-comprised”; Nicetas is described as a “man of parts,” meaning aspects of (Christian) culture, only in the same way that a stringed instrument consists of “parts” (of materials). “Movements and numbers” in Latin is simply “numbers” (numeris), but the meaning of this, in addition to perhaps “keeping time” in music (compare l. 342), also extends to the parts of a dance, in the sense in which we might speak in theater of a “musical number” (or routine). See Cicero, On the Ends of Good and the Bad (De Finibus Bonorum et Malorum), 3.25: “What we would call good-deeds or acts well done, and what they [the Stoics] would call ‘proper functions’ [Gr. katagorêmata], comprise all the ‘parts’ of virtue.” Cicero says this after comparing virtue to the performance as distinct from the performer or the dance as distinct from the dancer. Cp. Origen, Commentary on Paul’s Letter to the Ephesians 3.3=Bettenson (1956, 202, underlining added): A man is said to have ‘made’ a house when he has brought every component part of the building to completion. This is what I think the Apostle is saying here, that no one has ‘done good’ [Romans 3:12=Psalms 14.1=53.1], that is that no one has brought goodness to complete fulfilment. In both cases, that of the Stoic and that of the early Christian, perfect goodness is represented as (at least in theory) achievable. Paulinus seems to suggest that it has been achieved in the case of “practically sainted Nicetas” (l. 324, subsequently). H.

Poems 22.1–34

General Comment. The opening section of a relatively short poem (166 lines), addressed to a certain Jovius, whom Paulinus identifies as a marital relation, “a kinsman joined to me by marriage pact” (Poems 22.163: cognatum iunctum mihi foedere). Corresponding in the works of Paulinus with another communication to the same individual, the prose Letters 16, the poem (which also appears in part in Selections 5A) is worth comparing to the Principal Correspondence with Ausonius. In both, Paulinus tries to communicate with less committed Christians, or even non-Christians (Jovius), in their own terms about why his way of life and thought is best: in poetic terms to Ausonius (whence the language of the muses) and in philosophical terms to Jovius. With Ausonius, Paulinus adopts a more general poetic language (Poems 10=Principal Correspondence 3, ll. 110–18, for instance), with only occasional flashes of natural philosophical diction (ll. 123–5,

Comments 267 where see notes). With Jovius in the prose letter and in this poem, Paulinus uses a more specific poetic source – namely, not for the first time, the late Republican philosophical poem of atoms and void, Lucretius’ The Nature of Things.16 Given Lucretius’ atheistic orientation, his founding text of materialism is a surprisingly prominent part of Paulinus’ poetic toolkit – but the surprise is diminished if we realize that, like the Christians of the late fourth century, although himself an atheist, Lucretius was a trenchant and vituperative critic of the pagan gods and all forms of pagan ritual (The Nature of Things 1.80–101, for instance), and based one of his most memorable, most purple passage on the image of a shipwreck, which, it turns out, was the nominal occasion of Paulinus’ joint protreptics, in poetry and prose, to Jovius (Lucretius, The Nature of Things 2.1–4, trans. Stallings 2007, 36): How sweet it is to watch from dry land when the storm-winds roil A mighty ocean’s waters, and see another’s bitter toil – Not because you relish someone else’s misery – Rather, it’s sweet to know from what misfortunes you are free. For more on the shipwreck in Paulinus’ approaches to Jovius, see Comments on Poems 22=Selections 5A, ll. 92–3, subsequently. Consistent with a difference in genre, but reflecting and probably determining Paulinus’ choice of Lucretius as poetic background, the prose letter that Paulinus sends Jovius is explicitly occasioned by the specific event – Jovius’ donation of some silver for Paulinus’ church complex at Nola, the sending of the silver by ship, a storm that wrecks the ship, and the recovery of the silver by people on one of Jovius’ properties (Letters 16.2, trans. Walsh 1966, 152): But in your reply you were louder in complaint about the unkindness of the storm than in gratitude for the kindness of God. You attributed not only all the motions of the elements . . . but also our actions . . . to empty concepts of fate and fortune, as though they were powers equal to God. The precise philosophical orientation of Jovius (Stoico-Aristotelian – that is, then, a mishmash) and of the diction of Paulinus’ response (Epicurean, Lucretian) – are less important than the general rhetorical function to which the terms and concepts are put – namely persuasion, even conversion. Part of a quasi-genre called “protreptic” in Greco-Roman rhetorical theory, poems and speeches addressed to this end are a species of deliberative rhetoric (Aristotle, Rhetoric 1.3=1358b9: protropê, with Roberts 2010, 55–6), frequently focused on philosophy or literature, which they oppose to politics or business.17

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Addressing Jovius in his curiosity about Christianity, Paulinus wrote a work of literal, etymological conversion (Letters 16.6): “Transform [uerte=‘turn around, convert’] your point of view [sententiam], convert [uerte] your style of expression [facundiam].”18 Where Classical protreptics encouraged their addressees to “convert” from daily life to more specialized disciplines, like philosophy (sententia) and literature (facundia), Paulinus’ Christian protreptic encourages Jovius to “convert” from Classical philosophy-and-literature to their Christian counterparts (Letters 16.6, trans. Walsh 1966, 158): Tell me, to whom are you paying tribute when you are reading Cicero and Demosthenes from cover to cover? Or when you tire of being steeped in the common run of books, and turn again those pages already read of Xenophon and Plato, Cato and Varro, and many whose books you possess while I perhaps do not even know their names? You have freedom from duties to occupy yourself with these, but you are too busy paying tribute to them to learn of Christ, who is the wisdom of God. Consistent with the totalizing tendency of his work, its mobilization of poetry, philosophy (in letters like Letters 16), architecture, and (lack of) personal grooming (see Introduction 3), Paulinus’ approach to Jovius is two pronged: prosaic (philosophical) and somewhat technical in the occasional Letters 16 and poetic, even sublime, in the more general Poems 22.19 Nevertheless, the two contributions to the genre of “protreptic” are not redundant. The first, prose contribution is mostly demolitional: undermining the opposition (Classical literature, philosophy, etc.); the second, poetic contribution is protreptic in the proper sense, pointing the way to the (allegedly only) alternative – Christianity. 1–3, myself, based, open. An odd beginning, comparable to Ausonius’ assertion that Paulinus will not sell off his estates when he had probably already begun to do so: Ausonius, Letters 24=Principal Correspondence 4, ll. 107–8. When Paulinus incites Jovius to “base” his poems on scripture and to do so with an open mouth, he more literally says: Inflamed with the power of Christ, you will make holy scripture the foundation of your songs [carmina/. . . condere], as you prepare to open your eloquent mouth [ora soluturum . . . facunda] for the Father on high. Paulinus precisely identifies the moment of both inspiration and conversion in which Jovius reads the Bible and begins to write poetry not necessarily about biblical episodes but rather of the sort that a person who has

Comments 269 experienced conversion would write. See the General Comment of Selections 3A. 7–9, Spirit, quake, lyre. On the term for and role of the lyre (chelys) in Paulinus’ poetry, see Poems 20=Selections 3F, l. 60, with Comments. On the Pentecostal poetics, or theory of inspiration through the holy Spirit, see Introduction 4B. With the visceral description of the poet’s quaking innards (quatiet uiscera), Paulinus recalls the more developed descriptions of himself becoming lyre elsewhere: Poems 27=Selections 3D, ll. 100–2, Poems 20=Selections 3F, ll. 44–61, Poems 21=Selections 3G, ll. 332–9, and next note. 11, weighed. A virtual quotation of the invocation of the Muse that opens the second half of Vergil’s Aeneid (7.44), in Dryden’s translation (1697, 402, ll. 66–7): “A larger Scene of Action is display’d,/And, rising hence, a greater Work is weigh’d.” In the Aeneid, the new beginning marks a shift to a new part of the poem – the imperialist foundation of the Roman Empire. In contrast with the “innovation” of imperialism, Paulinus is inciting Jovius to a new life, a new self: Poems 10=Principal Correspondence 3, ll. 29–30, 137, 142; cp. Poems 27=Selections 5C, l. 49, 5D, l. 258, Poems 20=Selections 3F, ll. 44–53, with Herrero de Jáuregui (2010, 145–50). 12–13, Judgement, Giants. Generic titles/subjects of epic poetry from history, or quasi-history (the preconditions of the Trojan war) and myth. In what appears to be a joke in his letter to Augustus, Ovid combines both themes (Tristia 2.333–5, trans. Green 2005, 34): “but if/you bid me tell of the Giants blasted by Jupiter’s firebolts,/my efforts are bound to wilt under such a load.” See Innes (1979, 167–8). 16, Inspirations. In Latin, Camena, a form of Muse. See Ausonius, Letters 21=Principal Correspondence 1, l. 74 19, conceive. On some accounts, the very definition of the sublime: see Comments on Poems 1=Principal Correspondence 3, ll. 311–15. 20–4, fictions, kings. The two subjects of epic: myth or history – for instance, Ovid’s Metamorphoses or Lucan’s Civil War, respectively. 28, life. On the commonplace of the new life in conversion narratives, see, in addition to Comments on l. 11 previously, James (1902, 209–10). 34, siren, spokesman. More literally: “Let that trumpet of your voice which has resounded to no purpose until now, recite divine acts already.” But despite a difference in vowel lengths, persŏnă (“resonant,” an adjective) sounds like persōnā (“sound forth,” an imperative), and both recall the Latin word persona, identity, person, or role. Elsewhere Paulinus appears to pun on these combined senses, representing himself as a lyre which comes to life in being played, or being made to “resound,” by the divine spirit of Christ, one of the “persons” of the trinity who “en-person-ates,” or makes a person out of, Paulinus (hence, “spokesman” here): Poems 20=Selections

270

Comments

2F, l. 60. For more examples of such “dynamic personifications” in Classical Latin, with some Christian examples (Augustine and Prudentius), see Dressler (2016, 76–95). 35, sublime. In Latin, celsius, literally: “let it intone them a little higher,” but supplied here in view of the prominence of sublimity in Poems 22 as a whole: see Selections 5A, with Comments. See also Poems 31=Selections 1D, ll. 593–4.

4 Time A. Poems 14.1–20 General Comment: As discussed in Introduction 4B, Paulinus’ treatment of time in the poems of nativity is distinctive of Christian approaches to poetry and music, comparable to the seminal phenomenology of time developed by Augustine in the last books of the Confessions, and derived (by Augustine) from the poetry of Ambrose (Confessions 11.4.35, trans. Wills 2008, 278, emphasis added): The hymn line Deus Creator Omnium [“God Creator of Everything”] has eight syllables . . . and the long ones take twice the time to pronounce as the short ones. . . . But . . . how did I retain the short in order to apply it as a measure to the long . . . ? Where has the short one gone, and where the long . . . ? Both . . . do not exist. Nonetheless I do measure. . . . So those ended sounds are not themselves being measured, but something in my mind that they left behind them and that is still there. Focused on individual consciousness, Augustine emphasizes the seriality of time. Organizing collective events at the outset of the poems of nativity (much like Ambrose, and Prudentius: see Hymns for Hours and Seasons, trans. Richardson 2016), Paulinus emphasizes time’s recurrence.20 In this, Paulinus adds to the Augustinian individualism a Christian appropriation of “pagan” festivity – already scripted in Ambrose’s liturgical hymns but particularized by Paulinus for the feast of Felix on January 14. Often marking the New Year venerated by “pagans,” which Christians like Pope Leo I (c. 400–461) were eager to transform, Paulinus thus participated in the Christianization of time, legitimating the gradual allotment in the course of the fourth century of Christmas to the Saturnalia of December: “we are celebrating our true beginning; for the birth [generatio] of Christ is the source and origin of the Christian people; the birthday of the Head is also the birthday of His body.”21 In Classical contexts, for obvious reasons, time intimates death, not eternity, as it will for Christian representations of psychology, which

Comments 271 nevertheless continued to use the Classical language of succession, punctuality, and recurrence illustrated in the philosopher Seneca, a forerunner of Augustine’s phenomenology of the Confessions (Seneca, Letters on Ethics 12.7–9, trans. Long and Graver 2015, 50): The regular alternation of the heavens gives us more nights and more days, but does not change their nature, sometimes briefer, sometimes more protracted. Every day, then, should be treated as though it were bringing up the rear, as though it were the consummation and fulfillment of one’s life. Likewise (Seneca, Letters on Ethics 24.19–20, trans. Long and Graver 2015, 89): “We do not meet death all at once; we move toward it bit by bit.” We die every day, for every day some part of life is taken from us. Even when we are still growing, our life is shrinking. We lost our infancy, then childhood, then youth. All our time was lost in the moment of passage, right up to yesterday, and even today is divided with death as it goes by. Focused on ephemerality rather than eternity, Seneca’s epistolography provides two axes of temporality, which recur in Paulinus’ poems and letters, only in a compressed Christian form, highlighting the social dimension of time and again, recurrence: where Seneca’s Letters present an axis of “singularity and closure” (Letter 24 previously) and an axis of “momentum and multiplicity” (Letter 12 previously; Ker 2009, 161–8), Paulinus’ poems of nativity present a single axis of singularity and momentum. The singularity is the unification of time engendered by the collectivity of the Church, and the momentum is sacred history, which offers enough time for everyone, starting with the birth of Jesus, probably encompassing the conversion of Constantine, and scheduled to culminate with “the return of the Lord in glory to gather His faithful from the four corners of the world” (Markus 1990, 88–9, at 88): This strained time-scheme was reflected in the rhythm of Christian worship. The life of the faithful unfolded between two “ends”, the one already achieved [=the incarnation], the other still in waiting. Their worship constantly recalled them to a sense of the tension between the “already” and the “not yet.” See further Paulinus, Poems 10=Principal Correspondence, ll. 304–29. Selecting singularity and momentum from the Senecan representation of

272

Comments

time, Paulinus makes the Senecan-Augustinian experience of the self accessible to all, adding music too. Only occasionally in Paulinus do we encounter the old aristocratic aspects of time that appear in Seneca as “multiplicity,” analogous to the wealth and leisure required to write many letters, and “closure,” the function of the signet ring that seals the letter. When Paulinus does include these aspects of time in his letters, his formulations remain Classical (and aristocratic: Paulinus, Letters 11.13, trans. Walsh 1966, 102, with italics added): “Live as one dead. Crucify yourself to the world, and the world to you, dying every day by faith in the word and living in the word of faith.” Written generally for fellow men of property, in contrast with the more populist poems of nativity, Paulinus’ Senecanism is conspicuous (Seneca, Letters on Ethics 1.2, trans. Long and Graver 2015, 25, modified with italics added): “Can you show me even one person who sets a price on his time, who knows the worth of a day, who realizes that he is dying every day?” Happy with his introspective paradoxes, the thrifty aristocrat conjured in Paulinus’ allusion to Seneca had no need for the public festivals inaugurated in Paulinus’ poems of nativity (cp. Seneca, Letters 7), which thus celebrate life with vivid descriptions of the opening of Spring. Other Christian authorities were not so sanguine, and thus rather Senecan, for example, Origen in his rejection of civic festivals (Markus 1990, 100–1 on Origen, Against Celsus 8.21–2): “What matters is communion with God, which is achieved by upright living and contemplation of the truth. For the wise man all days are, as they are in God’s sight, the same – celebrations are otiose.” In contrast with elitists like Origen (cp. Augustine), Paulinus relished popular festivals and the continuing participation of the dead in the lives of the living that they marked. From this, as from much evidence besides, we can see in the temporal disquisitions that open many of the poems the outline of a plan to democratize time (in contrast with Augustine’s privatization in the Confessions).22 The last comparandum that illustrates the populist aspects of Paulinus’ treatment of time is the didactic poem, dedicated by the boy genius of Classical Roman poetry, Ovid, to January 1st (Roman Holidays, ll. 71–82, trans. Nagle 1995, 39): The happy day is dawning. With heart and voice attend Lucky words are required on this lucky day. Let lawsuits fall on deaf ears, and frenzied disputes be gone; adjourn your work, you jaundiced horde. Do you see how the atmosphere shines with scented flames and saffron crackles on the lighted hearth . . . ? Consuls elect, newly and duly attired and escorted,

Comments

273

sit on their new chairs of office . . . When Jupiter surveys the whole world from his stronghold’s vantage, there’s nothing to watch over that isn’t Roman. Welcome, happy day, and many happy returns, fit object for worship by the people who rule the world. Many Ovidian phrases recur in the opening of Paulinus’ poems of nativity, such as the phrase “the happy day is dawning” (see Poems 14=C, ll. 15–20 subsequently), but also the poet’s self-consciousness about his very act of speech (72: “Lucky words are required”; cp. Paulinus, Poems 16=2B, subsequently, ll. 12–13: “right . . . to render services of mouth . . . in celebration”). As we will find in Paulinus, and as Paulinus no doubt found in Ovid, there is a rhetoric of presence (75: “Do you see . . . ?”). The location of presence is, however, very different. The orientation of Ovid’s calendar is global (“Jupiter surveys the whole world,” 85); the orientation of Paulinus’s is local, even peripheral (Nola is pretty far from Rome; Cimitile, the site of Felix’s festival, is outside Nola: see Introduction 1). Other contrasts include Ovid’s elitism (“jaundiced horde,” 74) and attention to rank and status (73, 81). In the light of such contrasts, Paulinus appears positively populist, as usual. 4–12, blood. The price for which one usually “buys” martyrdom is a bloody death, but to become a confessor, as opposed to a martyr, one need only be willing to pay the price of redemption to secure redemption. See General Comment on Poems 15 in Selections 2A previously and the Comments on “will” (voluntas) in Poems 10=Principal Correspondence 3, ll. 127–30. The same phrasing describes Felix as a confessor in Poems 18.151; cp. Poems 16.23–4 and Introduction 4C. The rest of the passage contains the usual vocabulary of Paulinus’ salvation economics – earnings (merita), credit/devotion (fides): see Poems 10=Principal Correspondence 3, ll. 89–91, Poems 20=Selections 3F, ll. 38–42, subsequently, and Introduction 4A. 13–20, new sun. By the end of fourth century, Christ had taken on the vaguely Classical epithet of the New Sun, since December 25 (Christmas in most Euro-American cultures) had been the game day of Constantine’s favorite god, the relatively young (post-Julio-Claudian), Sol Invictus (“Invincible Sun,” or “Invincible Sun God”: Deus Sol Invictus) and also the time of the winter solstice and thus the day on which the sun was “born” again with the new increase of the hours of daylight. See further Salzman (1990, 149–53), cp. Markus (1990, 103–4). For Paulinus’ meteorological martyrology in general, see Introduction 4B–C. 20, earned, Comment on ll. 4–12 previously, and Poems 21=C subsequently, l. 3.

274 B.

Comments Poems 16.1–16

General Comment. Another typically temporally oriented opening of a poem of nativity, this one dedicated to Paulinus’ informal “Life of Felix,” on which see General Comment on Poems 15=Selections 2A. 2, herded, glory. For this strange description of the “singularity” and “multiplicity” of time (see General Comment of Selections 4A, previously), see Horace, Odes 2.18.15: “day is herded [truditur] by day”; to “herd time” seems to mean to drive it along (Petronius, Satryicon 45.2): “What is today will be no more tomorrow: that’s how life is herded along.” Horace’s poem is a characteristic avowal of (relative) poverty, which resonates everywhere with Paulinus’ own more radical avowal. Horace seems to refer to his patron Maecenas (as Paulinus would refer to his patron Felix: see Introduction 3), and the succession of days provides the background for the futility of conspicuous consumption in the present (Odes 2.18.9–19): But faith and a great vein of talent is mine. Though I am poor, a wealthy man looks after me. I ask no more from Gods above or better bounty of my wealthy friend. Enough of blessings have I in just my Sabine farm. Day is herded by day, and new moons hurry to their own destruction, and you buy marble to be cut for your tomb itself, which you forget, and build a house instead. To the Classical Latin use of mortality to critique conspicuous consumption, Christianity adds the more positive incentive of the community of the saints, described in l. 3. 4, in Christ. On the survival of the saints “in Christ,” see Introduction 4C. 8–10, masses, I. Exemplifies the balance that Paulinus tried to strike between elitism and populism: see previously, General Comment, Introduction 1, 3, and Roberts (2010, 61–2). 7–14, services. On this “salvation economics,” see Comments on Paulinus, Poems 10=Principal Correspondence, ll. 43–180, with Introduction 4A. C.

Poems 21.1–25

General Comment. For more on Paulinus’ use of “life-writing” (autobiographical or biographical), see the General Comment on Selections 2B and 3A. Somewhat unusually, Paulinus’ first-person exploration of time in this

Comments 275 poem is rather specific, referring not to the experience of time promoted by poetry and song in general (see Introduction 4B) but to time experienced as history by the poet, the people of Nola, and the Roman Empire; see also Poems 26=Selections 1C, ll. 395–429. 3, seal. Cp. Poems 16=Selection B previously, ll.19–20. 4–12, war. From this reference to the victory of the General Stilicho over the Ostrogoths in 406 AD/CE, Walsh (1975, 386, cp. 6–8) dates this poem to January 14, 407. For more on dating the poems of nativity, see Introduction 5A. 6–8, company. Markus (1990, 98): “The martyrs were, after the Apostles, the supreme representatives of the community of the faithful in God’s presence. In them the communion of saints was most tangibly epitomized.” Cp. Brown (1981, 64–8). 13–15, rain, pleasure, compare. A mashup of the Republican natural philosophical poet Lucretius (The Nature of Things 2.1066–7) and the Augustan (early imperial) poet Vergil (Georgics 1.413). 17, rage. See Comments on l. 24, subsequently. 20, Christ, tenderness. For this definition of Christ as a “sign of contradiction,” see Comments on Poems 10=Principal Correspondence 3, ll. 213–15. 24, tyrant. Referring to the same event, Augustine (City of God 5.23) accuses the Ostrogothic general Radagaesus of worshipping demons, suggesting that God sent him as a “merciful scourge” of those Romans who doubted the power of the Christian God to protect them from such demons (cp. the “Pagan” gods). Perhaps this is the “divine rage” that Paulinus describes in l. 17, previously (cp. Brown 1981, 73–4). D.

Poems 21.117–153

General Comment. For other excerpts from this poem, accompanied by contextual discussion, see Selections 2B. 117–28, Foresight. In Latin Providentia, an extended form of the word prudentia, meaning moderation with a view to the end, or rationalizing ends and means, in accordance with the idea of reason that Classical philosophers, especially Stoics, identified as god, the omnipresent, omniscient, immanent soul of the world, a.k.a. Nature, Fate, Foresight: Greek, Pronoia (Seneca, Letters on Ethics 124.7–8, trans. Long and Graver 2015, 499): “Our view is that to be happy is to be in accordance with nature.” From the idea of living “in accordance with nature,” which means aligning one’s own subjective capacity to look to the future with the objective existence of the universe as a providential construction of God (=reason, etc.), Stoics developed the idea of virtue and the perfectibility of virtue,

276 Comments which Seneca attributes to the acquisition of “reason” and progress in philosophy.23 Nothing could be further from the idea of “perfect virtue” that Paulinus uses Stoic language to develop throughout this passage: “flux” (fluitans), “slippery ambivalence” (anceps lubrico . . . statu), is the language of the materialist physics of the Classical philosophers (see Poems 22=Selections 5A, ll. 51–2, 70–78, 87–93), but where the materialist philosophers everywhere advocate self-sufficiency, Paulinus advocates renunciation (ll. 123–5): “Foresight warns us not to put our faith in or applaud ourselves/or anyone else.”24 129–31, virtue. The idea of the perfectibility of virtue is Stoic (see previous Comment). The word in Latin (uirtus) originally denoted “manliness” (Lat. uir=man) and by extension self-control, the quintessential quality (in old Latin) of the ideal (free, propertied, citizen) male (Lucilius, d. 103/2 BC/E, 1326–1338 in Marx 1904–5): “Virtue, Albinus, means being able to pay in full/the true price for the things we live and do.” Contrast this Classical conservative model of “virtue” as thrift with the more extravagant Christian notion of “virtue” that appears as “power in weakness,” absolute expurgation of the self, in the apostle Paul (2 Cor. 12:9–10, trans. DR): “And he said to me: My grace is sufficient for thee; for power [uirtus] is made perfect [perficitur] in infirmity.” For Paul, as for Paulinus, such “power” is anything but thrifty and conservative; it is extravagant, the emptying out of all that one has, which Paulinus attempted to achieve in his profligate renunciation and redistribution of wealth (cp. Kearney 2009, 144). On the opposite of virtue, “vice” or “sin,” see Comments on Poems 10=Principal Correspondence 3, ll. 43–56, and for power in weakness, on ll. 213–15. For an example of the relationship of virtue and power in a trinitarian context, see Poems 19.129–40, quoted and discussed in the Comments on Poems 10=Principal Correspondence 3, ll. 123–4. 133, avow. In Latin, confessione. See Comments on Poems 21=Selections 4D, ll. 138–53. 138–153, witnesses, confessors. For the relationship between these technical terms of honor and beatification (witness=Gr., martus; English, martyr), see Introduction 4C, and General Comments of Selections 2A, previously. The collocation of all terms appears explicit in Tertullian, Apology 49.5, trans. Glover and Rendall (1931, 221): I am a Christian certainly – but if I wish to be [Certe, si velim, Christianus sum=confession]. Then only can you condemn me, if I wish to be condemned. When then your power against me is, unless I so will, no power at all, your power depends on my will, not on power in you.

Comments E.

277

Poems 23.1–44

General Comment. Possibly the most complex opening of a poem of nativity, this excerpt expounds the passing of time but defies easy categorization within the Selections. Like the opening excerpt from Poems 15, entitled “Self, Money, Music, Time, and Christ,” this passage embeds many themes of Paulinus’ poetry in one another, as the grammatical complexity of expanded simile that begins it (ll. 9–16) suggests. 9–16, I recognize, remember. A complex simile in three parts (in Latin), with one sub-section, or additional compressed simile, in the first: first (ll. 9–14), the description of the birds (swallow, turtle dove, and an uncertain “bright white bird with wings of black”: pinnis candida nigris/ales, l. 10–11, a “swift” in Walsh 1975, 393 n. 2); again in the first (ll. 14–15), a comparison between the sound of the birds’ songs and the appearance of their plumage; second (ll. 16–17), Paulinus’ description of himself, literally – “just as [the three birds] recognize these days as their friends [cognoscit amicos/. . . dies] . . . so I remember this day too [ego hunc agnosco diem], which . . .” The translation begins where the simile ends (“I recognize”) and ends by recapitulating the beginning (“I remember”). If there is any difference between the two words for “recognition” in the Latin (cognoscit, agnosco), it is that the first, applied to the birds, applies to empirical knowledge, or knowledge from the senses (hence here “act as if they knew”), and the second to intellectual knowledge, or understanding (hence here, “recognize”/“remember”). The passage mentions five kinds of birds in total: the three mentioned previously (swallow, turtle dove, uncertain third) and the two mentioned after (ll. 12–13 in Latin=ll. 13–14 in English), the again unidentified birds “of unkempt lodgings,” or shaggy nests, and the “linnet” (acalanthis), whose description comes from one of Vergil’s poems of farming (Georgics 3.338, trans. Dryden 1697, Georgic III, ll. 522–3): “When linnets fill the woods with tuneful sound,/And hollow shores the halcyon’s voice rebound.” Vergil’s language for plumage elsewhere (Aeneid 8.723: quam variae linguis) also parallels Paulinus’ comparison of the birds’ “tongues” (or song) and color (plumage): ll. 14–15. On the whole, the Latin syntax separates its constituents pretty clearly, but various correspondences cut across the parts and across the simile and the earlier lines of the poem (l. 6: “devoted joys,” l. 10: “devoted partner,” also “partner”=cognota, that is “known or familiar,” as compared with “I recognize,” cognosco), affects, perceptions, and cognitions (l. 12, “friendly days”=ll. 9–10 in Latin, amicos/. . . dies; happiness: “happy spring has sprung”=reduci . . . laetantur uere, l. 14; cp. “a happy time,” l. 7=l. 5–6 in Latin: laetum/uer). The complexity of the syntax, its combination

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of corresponding pairs, enjambement brief (amicos/. . . dies) and long (14–15: “when each bird tongue/. . . different from the other . . . different color”=volucres/tam uariae . . . quam . . .) exemplifies Paulinus’ post-Ausonian “Romanticism” of “Whitmanian exuberance” (see Introduction 5). In the post-Romantic symbolist poets of the nineteenth century, Paulinus’ long distance inheritors (see Introduction 3), the preferred form of this exuberance becomes synesthesia, which aims at “reaching the unknown by the disordering of all the senses” (Stefans 2021, 357). For a similar synesthetic description of the trinity in terms of light and water, see Poems 21=Selections 1B, ll. 695–703; cp. Poems 27=Selections 3D, ll. 252–64). 18–20, now. With the omission of finite verbs, the clauses produce a kind of tableau, or static image, which highlights the striking final metaphor of natural quickening: Latin infinitive uernare=“to spring,” applied by the poet to his own act of performing poetry, here “I myself spring different voices now.” 20–6, Christ, drop, world. An untranslatable feature of the Latin has special relevance to trinitarian theology: deus, influe cordi, Christe, meo, which reads word for word: “O God, inflate the heart, O Christ, of mine” (literally, “my heart”). In other words, the phrase “heart of mine” is a strong grammatical unit (noun-adjective pair: cordi . . . meo), but just as the identity of the heart is sustained across the invocation of Christ (cordi, Christe, meo), so too the identity of God is sustained across the predicate of the sentence (influe cordi . . . meo: “inflate the heart of mine, of me”). See Comments on Poems 10=Principal Correspondence 3, ll. 112–15. The effect of this sustained, complex, and distributed invocation of God, Christ, and the word is to ground this whole passage about time, music, and poetry in the identity of the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit but also in the identity of the poet’s own experience, his being the same over time as he experiences it (cp. the “phenomenology” of time and music discussed in Introduction 4B). 27, source. See Poems 21=Selections 2F, ll. 506–7. 28, sweet. See Ovid, Art of Love (Ars Amatoria) 3.311–16: The sirens were those monsters of the sea. With a voice that was sweet they waylaid any ships that they might meet . . . Song is a seductive thing, so let your girlfriends learn to sing. The looks of many girls had their voice for a pimp. The mythico-erotic allure of the Ovidian background underlines the sharp distinction that Paulinus proceeds to draw between his supernatural Christian song and the song of the mortal birds in l. 37: “In contrast . . .” For further discussion of this passage, see Introduction 4C.

Comments 279 31–2, dappled. A more compressed expression of the unity in variety described in the complex simile of ll. 9–16 previously. See also Comments on Poems 6=Selections 3A, ll.22–6. 32. Liquid imagery for song: see Poems 15=Selections: Self, Money, Music, Time, and Christ, ll. 82–3, and Introduction 4B. 37–8, contrast. See Introduction 4B. 37–43, grace, virtue, wonders. The single word for divine grace and physical beauty (gratia: see Paulinus, Poems 1=Earlier Letters 5, l. 10, for instance) appears twice in this passage, first as an aesthetic characteristic of Paulinus’ poetry and then as the theological attribute of miracles. Appearing in the material world as the visible expression of God’s work, miracles present an analogue to the poet’s organization of form and content: see Poems 20=Selections 2D, ll. 24–7, and Introduction 4C. F. Poems 26.1–28 General Comment. This excerpt combines Paulinus’ usual opening exploration of the experience of time in the yearly poems of nativity with a less common concern with current events. For this tactic, as well as the context of the poem, see General Comment on 1C, previously, and Introduction 2B and 4B. 2, luster, light. In Latin, inlustrem . . . lucem, cognates that recall the complicated identity of goodness and light, or God and illumination, more explicit elsewhere. See Poems 10=Principal Correspondence 3, l. 36. 4, moment. Thought by Walsh (1975, 403) to refer to the midst of the invasions of Alaric, “king of the Visigoths or western Goths; at the time of the invasion of the Visigoths in 401 the Alans were Roman allies, but were tending towards alliance with the Visigoths.” For further documentation and discussion, see Roberts (2010, 60–1). According to Augustine, Paulinus was taken hostage by the Alans when they sacked Gaul in 410: Augustine, On the Care of the Dead (De Cura Mortuis Gerenda) 16.19, with Mratschek (2002, 62–3): see also Poems 26=Selections 1C, ll. 400–3. 7–10, peace, cheerful. For the idea of inner peace, see Comments on ll. 21–5 subsequently. The idea of being happy in adverse circumstances (gaudia, laetum, etc., both repeated here and subsequently: l. 11, “good joy”=bona gaudia) has a Classical precedent in the Stoic idea that even positive emotions have objectively good and bad varieties (Seneca, Letters on Ethics 59.1–2, trans. Long and Graver 2015, 172): It is our doctrine that pleasure [voluptas] is a fault. Be that as it may, “pleasure” is the word we generally use to refer to a glad feeling of the mind. I know, say I, that if we make words adhere to our statutes, then pleasure is discreditable, while joy [gaudium] pertains only to the wise person.

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The background to this claim is the Stoic belief that all external conditions, including the status of one’s country, are “indifferent” – that is, neither good nor bad (Seneca, Letters on Ethics 9.18, trans. Long and Graver 2015, 43): Stilpo’s homeland fell to invaders; his children were lost, his wife was lost, and he alone survived the destruction of his people. Yet he emerged happy [beatus]; and when Demetrius . . . asked him whether he lost anything, he replied, “All my goods are with me.” The difference between Paulinus and the Stoics here is, as always, the democratization that his devotion to public performance for economically diverse audiences promotes. The idea of “rejoicing with decorum” – more literally, “to take chaste joy on days of festival” – encapsulates the paradox that Seneca describes in the first quotation, but the mental disposition that Paulinus describes, which is the yearly practice of gathering to celebrate Felix at Cimitile outside Nola, is not the solitary virtue that Seneca praises in the ancient Epicurean of the second quotation but rather the repeated and collective joy of shared, recurring practice open to any devoted Christian, regardless of their prior “training” (askêsis, cp. asceticism) in Hellenistic philosophy. The Stoic provenance of this valorization of (now collective) inner life becomes indisputable when, in ll. 23–7, Paulinus recalls the Stoic “paradox” that “only the wise (for Christians, read: faithful; for Paulinus: read: devoted to Felix, that is, ‘the happy’) are truly free” – that is, not enslaved (see Cicero, Stoic Paradoxes 5). Cp. “free” (liber) in l. 28. 21–5, sing. The authorities for this somewhat anti-Roman sentiment are, according to Paulinus’ friend, the theorist of psalms, Nicetas of Remesiana, Paul, James, and John (On the Goodness of Psalmody §10, trans. Walsh 1949, 73): “And we know that later on the Apostles also did this, since not even in prison did they cease to sing.” Paulinus makes the subversive political implications of an otherwise hackneyed phrase explicit when he calls it “inner peace”: Costanza (1988, 62–5). 28, prayers, vows. In Latin, both are uota: see Poems 10=Principal Correspondence 3, ll. 123–30. Notable here is the persistence of “will” or desire (uoluntas) through changing political conditions – steadfastness, or “devotion” (pietas) – and the proximity of desire (=will=wish=prayer) to song. For more on “will,” see Introduction 4C. G.

Poems 27.1–37, 107–26

General Comment. Part of the great poem of nativity commemorating the visit of Nicetas of Remesiana to Nola on Felix’s feast day in 403. For historical background, see the General Comment of Selections 2B, ll. 101–51, with more of this poem in Selections 3D–E and 5D–E.

Comments

281

4–5, rolls, prayers. In Latin, uertitur (cp. “reverse, verse”) and uota. As elsewhere (see Poems 26=Selections F previously, l. 28), Paulinus’ poetry (uertitur ≈ verses) and prayers (=vows to annually observe the festival of Felix) come together. The idea of recurrence, or the “(re)turn” of the year, informs the idea of verse, or poetry (uersus), comprising lines that recur with regular intervals (as a plow moves back and forth across a field), which Paulinus underlines with a slight enjambment: “turns/around” (Latin, dum . . ./sustineo, ll. 4–5). 9–11, day. See Joshua 10:13–14. 15–18, light. See Poems 10=Principal Correspondence 3, ll. 133–5, and Poems 26=F previously, l. 2. Consistent with the Christian association of Christ and the sun (see Poems 14=Selections 4A, ll. 13–20, previously) and the late fourth-century identification of Christ and the saints, the “whose” of l. 15 refers (Latin, cui), as almost the “its own” (=the sun?) in l. 23, to different entities included in the sentence: Felix, the sun, or (possibly) Christ (ipse? Latin l. 18). On the use of grammatical apposition in the establishment of identity in Christian Latin, reflecting trinitarian concerns, see Comments on Poems 25=Selections 5B, ll. 173–4. 20–1, quick, undimmed. In Latin, breuem, praesans, comprise two “times”: secular (ephemeral) and divine (eternal). 34–7, sure dates. A crisp distillation of late fourth-century Christian efforts to re-organize time outlined in the headnote of this section of Selections, which Paulinus expands in the remainder of this selection, after the discursive discussion of Christ and the Holy Spirit contained in Selections 5C and 3D, respectively. 107–10, holidays. Cp. Ambrose, Hymns 1 (trans. Walsh and Husch 2012, 3): Eternal founder of the world, who rules the night and day, and gives the seasons their established times to lend relief to wearied lives. 117–18, road. See Matthew 7:13 (trans. NRSV): Enter through the narrow gate; for the gate is wide and the road is easy that leads to destruction, and there are many who take it. For the gate is narrow and the road is hard that leads to life, and there are few who find it. For the Classical background, see Comments on Poems 21=Selections 2F, ll. 538–50.

282 Comments 120, harmonious intervals. In Latin, congrua interualla (l. 121); both words refer to music at Cicero, On the Commonwealth 2.69 (via the more Classical congruens), and On the Nature of the Gods 2.146. 124, hems. See Matthew 9:20. 135–47, unwind, impresario, private. This passage clearly distills Paulinus’ perception of his own role as the “impresario” of Felix (Brown 1981, 63–4, Trout 1999, 161–5) – namely to ensure popular participation and recreation while promoting his own contradictory image of self-aggrandizement and self-abnegation (see Introduction 1). H.

Poems 31.227–50

General Comment. For the didactic context of this excerpt, see General Comment on Selections 1D. As elsewhere in this section, the significance of this passage is the way that it splits the difference between literal and figurative or historical and typological descriptions of time and events; the quotidian recapitulates and prefigures Christ’s resurrection in sacred history and all Christians’ hope for resurrection in a sacred future. 229, corporeal. See Comments on Poems 31=Selection 5F, ll. 91–2. 231–40, resurrection. According to the Italian commentator (Bordone 2017, 57–62), Paulinus’ use of the resurrection as a source of consolation may be his own innovation, paralleled only in Ambrose’s earlier prose oration, where it is not so imagistically developed, On His Brother Satyrus (2.3): What grief is not consoled by the gift [gratia] of resurrection? What mourning is not precluded if you believe that nothing is lost in death – or more specifically, that an early death makes further loss impossible? In any case, the Christian source appears to be Paul, 1 Corinthians 15.36 (trans. NRSV): “Fool! What you sow does not come to life unless it dies.” Probably following Paulinus (so Richardson 2016, 13–14), Prudentius elaborates Paul with natural philosophical imagery as well (Hymns for Hours and Seasons 10.117–24, trans. Richardson 2016, 71): Be silent now, you sad lament! You mothers all, suspend your tears! Let no one mourn their dear ones lost: this death is but renewal of life. Just so dry seeds grow green again, when dead and buried in the ground, and from the depths of earth restored, repeat the harvest of past years.

Comments

283

Prudentius’ treatment of the theme is more immediate and less technical, but Paulinus is characteristically more empathetic and invested (cp. Poems 31=Selections 1D, ll. 593–628). For the source of the vegetal imagery in ritual planting at the tombs of the saints, see Brown (1980 [1967], 75–6). Pertaining to the renewal of spring in all places, Paulinus’ description grafts the resurrection into a network of repurposed natural philosophical imagery with extensive Classical roots (Seneca, Letters on Ethics 36.11, trans. Long and Graver 2015, 145): Another day I will give you a fuller explanation of how all things that seem to perish are in fact transformed. He who departs with the expectation of returning ought to depart calmly. Consider cycles in the natural world: you will see nothing that is actually extinguished; rather, things descend and rise again by turns. The same natural imagery characterizes Paulinus’ presentation of the festival of Felix, which also took place at a time of renewal – the new year (January 14): see 4A–C, E–G, previously. 231, practice, looks. In Latin, meditatur, faciem, which Walsh (1975, 317) renders: “All the seeds of the earth and the stars of heaven give thought [cp. English “meditate”] to this phenomenon [faciem] of resurrection of the entire body”; cp. Ruggiero (1990, 432, my translation): “All creatures in every body aspire [aspirano=meditatur] to a form [forma=faciem] of resurrection.” Paulinus’ allegorical use of natural processes as prefigurations of the supposedly equally real resurrection to come resembles the “figural interpretation” or typology that he uses elsewhere: see Introduction 4C, with Auerbach (2014 [1938], 97–8), and note the earliest Christian Latin of Tertullian (Apology 48.7, trans. Glover and Rendall 1931, 215–16): God . . . gave [the universe] the breath of life by that spirit, which gives life to all lives (souls), [and] sealed it to be itself a testimony for you, a type of human resurrection [humanae resurrectionis exemplum]. Day by day light is slain and shines once more; darkness in due turn departs and follows on again; and the dead starts come to life . . . everything is saved by being lost; everything is refashioned out of death. 235, physical. In Latin, corporeae. See Comments on l. 229, previously. 241–2, objects, physical, continually. More literally, “the bodies of the world submitted to the human being [here=‘physical objects’: homo, cui subdita mundi/corpora] do again and again [frequenter agunt].” In his meditations on time in the final books of the Confessions, Augustine uses the temporality of created things to explain personal existence before

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Comments

the resurrection in a similar way (11.9.7): “We know, my Lord, we know, because insofar as anything is not what it was and is what it was not, it is, in that way, dying and rising (moritur et oritur).” Where Augustine describes personal time, Paulinus describes natural time, as elsewhere he describes historical time: see, for instance, Selections 5C, F. 243–4. The suggestion of dialogue with an imaginary speaker strikes a choral note. See, for instance, Seneca, Trojan Women 406–7 (trans. Dressler 2017, 163): “You ask where will you lie when life is done?/With things that are unborn.” 249–50, sown. Cp. 1 Corinthians 15:44–5, with Introduction 4B.

5

Christ

A. Poems 22.51–95 General Comment. For this poem, a “protreptic” part of Paulinus’ intellectual project of evangelizing an otherwise unknown poet-philosopher, Jovius, see 3H previously. For a general overview of Paulinus’ Christology, the subject of this excerpt, see Introduction 4C. 51–7, John, word. John 1:1. As discussed in the General Comment on 3H, Paulinus’ “protreptic” strategy in this poem turns on the contention that all philosophical riches of Greco-Roman culture were surpassed by, if not actually derived from, Judeo-Christian culture – a common strategy of Christian apologists from the second to fourth centuries CE. Discussing the Stoics, for instance, Tertullian (Apology 21.10–14) claims that much GrecoRoman wisdom merely recapitulated Judeo-Christian lore. Discussing “the Platonists,” Augustine specifies further (Confessions 7.9.13): They say: “Your Son is before all time and above all time unchangeably present in eternity with you . . . ” But those books do not say: “At the appointed time he died for sinners,” or “you spared not your OnlyBegotten, but for our sake offered him up.” To these philosophical schools in the present poem, Paulinus adds Epicureanism: see Comments on ll. 68 and 81, subsequently. 53, absolute. In Latin, ulteriora – literally, more remote and/or closer to the earliest beginning of things and to the point of their most total realization; cp. the Alpha and Omega of Revelation 1:8, but also the idea of teleology in Classical philosophy, which Paulinus suggests appeals to his addressee. See, for instance, Aristotle, Metaphysics 8.1050a (trans. Makin 2006, 11): [E]verything that comes to be proceeds to an origin and an end. . . . For it is not that animals see in order that they may have sight but they have sight so that they may see.

Comments 285 The principle acquires a more general ethical application in Latin in Cicero’s review of Hellenistic philosophy, On the Ends of the Good and the Bad (De Finibus Bonorum et Malorum) 3.30: “The greatest good [summum bonum], which I call the Absolute [ultimum].” In his letter to the same addressee (see General Comment on 3H previously), Paulinus rejects the rejection of teleology promoted by the Classical philosophers who interest Jovius (Letters 16.2, trans. Walsh 1966, 153): “for they argue that this world . . . was made by no creator, and so has no beginning [principii] or end [finis].” 54, surety. Unusual in Latin, obside uerbo. Green (1973, 84) identifies this as a bold paraphrase of John 1:1: “Paulinus was eager to give Jovius a glimpse of new horizons and not restrict his vocabulary.” 59, begotten. The Latin of manuscripts diverges on this theologically fraught line, offering either (as translated here) geniti nomen genitoris, or nomen geniti et genitoris. With et (Latin “and”), the line reads: “by name adoring the begotten and the begetter” – that is, both the Son and the Father (Ruggiero 1990, 305 n. 10). If Paulinus wrote, on the other hand, “begotten begetter” then he was referring to the Father as the Son, consistent with the trinitarian doctrine that identified them as one (Augustine, Soliloquies 1.4, trans. Ayres 2010, 29): “one God . . . one true eternal substance, where is no discord, no confusion . . . where begetter [qui gignit] and Begotten [quem gignit] are one [unum est].” 60–2, tongue, avowing, Jesus. See Philippians 2.11: “And that every tongue should confess [confiteatur] that the Lord Jesus Christ is in the glory of God the Father.” Alluding to Paul in a poem addressed by a poet to a poet, Paulinus appropriately identifies two aspects of language – its sound and its effects. For the first, in a move that is rare in his work, as it is in that of the apostle Paul, Paulinus calls Christ “Jesus” and refers, like Paul, to the utterance of the name (Iesus): Poems 22.61, 24.471, 27.419 (the two exceptions to this use of “Jesus” to convey the utterance of the name are Poems 25=Selections 5B, l. 151, and Poems 31=5G, l. 425, on which see Comments). For the second, the effective function of language, or the capacity of language to constitute an act (as when one says, “I bet . . .”), Paulinus, like Paul in the previous quotation, describes the act of avowal of “every tongue” as a form of confession (Latin, l. 61: fatetur). For the role of effective utterances in Christianity, see Introduction 4C, with further discussion in the Comments on Ausonius, Letters 22=Principal Correspondence 2, ll. 12–27; also General Comment on Selections 2E, including Comments on Poems 21=Selections 2E, l. 414. 67, without, body. In Latin, non corporeis in corpore. 68, chase, traces. In Latin, sectantes uestigia. The phrase effects a synthesis of Classical language and Christian meaning. The Christian meaning comes from Paul (Romans 1:20, trans. NRSV): For what can be known about God is plain . . . because God has shown it. . . . Ever since the creation of the world his eternal power and divine

286

Comments nature, invisible though they are [invisibilia], have been understood [intellecta] and seen through the things he has made.

The Classical language comes from Lucretius’ Latin epic explication of Epicurus’ materialist and basically atheist philosophy from the Late Republic (The Nature of Things 3.1–4, trans. Stallings 2007, 72]): You, who first amidst such thick gloom could raise up so bright A lantern, bringing everything that’s good in life to light, You I follow, Glory of the Greeks, and place my feet Within your very footsteps. Paulinus elsewhere invokes Vergil’s invocation of this passage (see Principal Correspondence 4=Poems 11, ll. 35–9, with Comments there), so it is likely that he is also thinking of Lucretius here even as he rejects his Epicurean philosophy almost from the outset of the poem (35–37): Stop prodding at knowledge of “natural causes” and of the origin of the universe, rootless student of the delusions of that lunatic Epicurus, who projected, engendered of atoms in the void, an infinite multiverse. Again, though a committed atheist, Lucretius probably appealed to Paulinus and his generation for his “fundamentalist” attitude (albeit to philosophy, not religion) and his hostility to Classical tradition (see General Comment on Selections 3H). 69, body, soul, mind. In Latin, mente animam corpusque. For the distinction between soul (Latin anima=Greek psukhê) and mind (≈spirit, Greek pneuma), see 1 Corinthians 15.45 (trans. DR): “The first man Adam was made into a living soul; the last Adam into a quickening spirit,” with Ephesians 4.23 (trans. DR): “And be renewed in the spirit of your mind.” Addressing the seemingly Stoico-Epicurean Jovius in this poem, Paulinus is in implicit dialogue with at least Epicureans, who distinguished between a concentrated masculine mind (animus) and a diffuse feminine soul (anima): see, for instance, Lucretius, The Nature of Things, 3.94–416. 70, arms. See Ephesians 6.13 (trans. DR): “Therefore take unto you the armour of God, that you may be able to resist in the evil day, and to stand in all things perfect.” 70–8, masters, themselves. In fact, the ideal of Classical philosophy, as early as Plato (Phaedrus 237e–8a, trans. Nehamas and Woodruff 1997, 517):

Comments 287 Now when judgment is in control and leads us by reasoning toward what is best, that sort of self-control [sôphrosunê] is called “being in your right mind”; but when desire takes command in us and drags us without reasoning toward pleasure, then its command is known as “outrageousness”. On the value of the “liberal arts,” including philosophy, the imperial Stoic philosopher Seneca writes (Letters on Ethics 88.29, trans. Long and Graver 2015, 315): Can the liberal studies fashion such a spirit? Self-control [temperantia] takes command of our pleasures: some it despises and excludes, others it moderates, reducing them to healthy limits and never seeking them for their own sake; for it knows that the best limit on the objects of desire is to take what you need, not what you want. This “temperance” that Jovius would seek from Classical philosophy, Paulinus finds in the Gospel (77): “they guide [temperat] their feelings and ideas like slaves.” 77, ideas. In Latin, sensus, of subject matter (hence “ideas”): see Poems 31=Selections 3H, l. 19. 79–80, burning, sparks. In Latin, superni seminis igne/ardet – that is, literally, “it burns [ardet] with the fire [igni] of the seed [seminis] from on high [superni].” Paulinus again activates the language of sublimity in natural philosophy associated with Lucretius (see Comments on l. 68, previously). For Lucretius, atoms were seeds, and the sparks produced in the combustion of wood were evidence of their “seminal” activity (Lucretius, The Nature of Things 1.901–3, trans. Stallings 2007, 29): This is true without a doubt. Yet fire is not innate In wood. No, wood has many seeds of heat [semina . . . ardoris] which congregate By friction and which set the forests blazing. Cp. also Paulinus’ prose letter to Jovius (Letters 16.11, trans. Walsh 1966, 161): “May your mind, which has been fired by the heavenly seed [semine] and now gives off divine heat [ardorem], be guided by faith and directed to Christ, the very citadel of wisdom.” 81, lap, gasping. In Latin, gremio, inhianti. Intratextual, referring to Paulinus’ own poetry for its Christian meaning (see Poems 15=Selections: Self, Money, Music, Time, and Christ, ll. 16–17; gremium with sinus; cp. Poems 31=Selections 5G, ll. 473–4), and intertextual, referring to another poet,

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again Lucretius, for its Classical (philosophical) meaning (The Nature of Things 1.30–7, trans. Stallings 2007, 4): Meanwhile, Holy [Venus], both on dry land and on the deep, Make the mad machinery of war drift off to sleep. For only you can favour mortal men with peace, since Mars, Mighty in Arms, who oversees the wicked works of wars, Conquered by Love’s everlasting wound, so often lies Upon your lap [gremio], and gazing upwards, feasts his greedy eyes On love, his mouth agape [inhians] at you, Famed Goddess, as he tips Back his shapely neck, his breath hovering at your lips. 82–3, overflows, infuse. For the liquid image of inspiration, Poems 15=Selections: Self, Money, Music, Time, Christ, ll. 26–42, and Introduction 4B. 84, tremble. The habitual fear of the Christian (Comments on Poems 10=Principal Correspondence 3, l. 316) made over as the Classical sublime: see Comments on Poems 11=Principal Correspondence 3, ll. 311–15 85–6, wisdom, Christ. In one line in Latin (85): omniparens sapientia Christus, where one adjective (omniparens=all producing) modifies one subject described two ways: wisdom and/as Christ; cp. “begotten Better” previously, l. 59. See also Letters 16.1 (trans. Walsh 1966, 158): “You are too busy paying tribute to [Cicero, Demosthenes, etc.] to learn of Christ, who is the wisdom of God,” more literally, “Christ, that is, the wisdom of God” (Christum, hoc est sapientiam dei). 92–3, elements. For a similar Christian account of material phenomena, see Tertullian, On Baptism 9.1 (trans. Evans 1964, 19): See how many then are the advocacies of nature, the special provisions of grace, the customary observances of conduct, the types, the preparations in act or word, which have laid down the rule for the sacred use of water. The first, that when the people are set free from bondage in Egypt and by passing through the water are escaping the violence of the Egyptian king, the king himself with all his forces is destroyed by water. This is a type made abundantly clear in the sacred act of baptism: I mean that the gentiles are set free from this present world by means of water, and leave behind, drowned in the water, their ancient tyrant the devil. In the lines following this (not included in the Selections), Paulinus alludes to the shipwreck that he and Jovius also discuss in Letters 16 (Poems 22.98– 9): “I know you won’t say now that random chance/is causing accidents in sea and storm.” See General Comment on 3H.

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93, tremble. More sublimity: see Comments on Paulinus, Poems 11=Principal Correspondence 3, l. 121, and in this selection previously, on l. 68. 94, Jews. Like fellow Christians of Late Antiquity, but in a characteristically milder and more indirect manner, Paulinus vilifies Jews for not recognizing Christ as the Messiah (cp. Tertullian Apology 21.15, trans. Glover and Rendall 1931, 109): “The Jews knew that Christ was to come, of course, for it was to them that the prophets spoke. Even now the Jews look for his coming, nor is there any other greater cause for clash [compulsatio] between us than that they do not believe he has come.” Cp. Augustine, Sermons 341.23, trans. Hill (1997, 302). In the life of Felix (Poems 15=Selections 2A, ll. 50–83), Paulinus distinguishes Felix from his anti-ascetic brother in a complex comparison of Hermias to the Jews and Felix to the Christians, in analogy with Esau and Jacob, respectively (ll. 89–94): The conflict that groaned in the guts of their holy mother, now rages inside the womb of the world. Rude and uncouth for the partisans of Esau the hairy traitor, it put the Jews in servitude to a younger people. But ours was a better beginning. Partisans of Jacob, sleek and gentle, we walk the easy path of light and peace. The same comparison recurs in Letters 23.40–1; 24.1, 7. In criticizing Milton (1608–74), Ezra Pound (1934, 109) uses an identical ethico-aesthetic anti-Judaism, describing “his beastly Hebraism, and the coarseness of his mentality” (underlining added; cp. “rude and uncouth,” in Latin hirsuti, previously).25 On the other side of the modern political spectrum, the image of conflict in the first lines of the quotation recurs in a famous phrase attributed to the Italian philosopher and political theorist Gramsci (in Žižek 2010, 95): “The old world is dying and the new world struggles to be born” – Pauline imagery (Romans 8:22–3, trans. NRSV): We know that the whole creation has been groaning in labor pains until now; and not only the creation, but we ourselves, who have the first fruits of the Spirit, groan inwardly while we wait for adoption, the redemption of our bodies. B.

Poems 25.141–98

General Comment. For an overview of the content and context of this poem, see General Comment in Selections 2G previously. The section translated here effects the transition between the concrete occasion of the

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wedding of Titia and Julian of Eclanum described there, and a more general discussion of the Church as the bride of Christ. Alongside the Christology of the selection, the principal interest of this passage lies in Paulinus’ treatment of women, his probable assertion of their equality to men, and his relatively novel (eventually condemned) development of the doctrine of celibate marriage (syneisaktism), made explicit in l. 191: “Live forever inviolable and alike” (on which see Comments subsequently). 141, priest. In Latin, clericus. Derived from the Greek klêros, meaning “share” or inheritance; cp. Matthew’s the election to the apostles in Acts 1:17, trans. NRSV: “For he was numbered among us and was allotted his share in this ministry [Greek, elakhen ton klêron; Latin, sortitus est sortem].” 143–4, lector, narrative, aid. In Latin, lector, historia, and auxilio, respectively. The first is a rank in the Church (Tertullian, Against Heretics 41: “a deacon today, a lector tomorrow”), which Walsh (1975, 399–400) uses as a basis for dating the poem (see General Comment on 2G, previously). The second (historia) denotes the Bible as a book elsewhere in Paulinus (Poems 15.261) but also a story from the bible, in a visual representation (Poems 21.531–2: uidetur/historia). The second, auxilio corresponds to adiutorium in the Latin of the Vulgate translation of the creation of Eve (Genesis 2:18). 145–8, like, body, crown, point. As discussed in the General Comment on this poem included in Selections 2G, previously, Paulinus perfectly preserves the riddling contradiction of Paul’s statements about spouses in 1 Cor. 11:3. Thus, in ll. 145–6, Paulinus makes spousal equality unequivocal: sancto sit ut aequa marito (literally, “so that she be equal to her holy husband”);26 then in ll. 147–8, he reverts to the Pauline imagery that has been historically understood as a prescription for male supremacy (trans. NRSV): “But I want you to understand that Christ is the head of every man, and the husband is the head of his wife, and God is the head of Christ.” Among the many controversies that Paul’s Greek has occasioned, foremost is the question of the meaning of “head,” whose sense ranges over the ideas of authority, glory, hair, or identical substance, to name a few (Peppiatt 2015, 87–92). The other controversy is whether the apostle refers to all women, and thus to women as a class, rather than just wives (in Greek “wife”=gunaikos, that is, wife or woman: see Peppiatt 2015, 27–8). Making matters worse (or better?), Paulinus avoids “head” altogether and uses two different words where the apostle (and the Vulgate) has one word repeated three times (Greek, kephalê, Latin, caput): vertex, apex (l. 148). These may be synonyms, varied simply to avoid repetition, or Paulinus could allude to the interpretive controversy whereby the Pauline original (kephalê/caput) means several things. Since feminist interpretations of the apostle require some ambiguity in the meaning of head in this section (as does any sound interpretation, since the passage is so riddling), Paulinus’ use of two different words could hint at his egalitarian inclination: “man’s”

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relationship to “wife” (or woman) is not (exactly) the same as Christ’s relationship to “man” – thus, not exactly a relationship of superiority (if that is the meaning of “head” – which a trinitarian reading of the line prohibits: God does not have power over Christ; God is Christ: Peppiatt 2015, 89), cp. l. 187, subsequently). Supporting an egalitarian interpretation of Paulinus is his development of the same “cosmetic theology,” or divine rules for personal adornment (Colish in Selections 2G previously), for both women and men, earlier in the same poem: Poems 25=Selections 2G, ll. 69–92, previously. 147, body. Walsh (1975, 250) takes this differently: “Thus she can grow into his [the husband’s] body and be interwoven with his frame.” I take the line not as a description of the creation of Eve in reverse, which emphasizes the persistence of male identity, but as a reference to the collectivity of the couple (cp. Badiou 1990, 90: “love is the minimal form of communism”), which anticipates the collectivity of the church (Greek, koinonia; Latin, communicatio: Acts 2:42, 1 Corinthians 10:16), described as the body (and bride) of Christ in ll. 167–76, subsequently. 149–52, enslavement. Another instance (see Comments on ll. 145–8) of Paulinus’ Pauline ambiguity. The description of the abrogation of the subordination of women in ll. 149–50 (tali coniugio . . .) is once more unequivocal, but the analogy with Christ in ll. 151–2 (tali lege) disorders things. Even the most progressive Christian would demur from equating Christ and the couple from the wedding at Cana in status (cp. Peppiatt 2015, 88), while the word that describes their “condition” in Latin (lege, law) can also denote a regulation, implying subjection. 150, Sarah. See Genesis 11:20 and Galatians 4.22. 151–2, betrothed, Jesus. One of the few instances where Paulinus calls Christ “Jesus,” here possibly to preserve the pun with the more canonical pagan counterpart, Iuno pronuba (Aeneid 4.166 vis-à-vis Paulinus’ Iesus/ pronubus). For “betrothed,” the Latin is suis nubentibus=“when Jesus’ own friends were married,” a reference to the wedding at Cana recounted in John 2:1–10; cp. Paulinus, Poems 27=Selections 5C, l. 52. The line could apply (via typology: see, for instance, Poems 15=Selections 2A, ll. 61–71, with Comments) to the members of the church as Christ’s collective “bride.” For further parallels and background, see Castelli (1985, 71–3). 151–3, beside, near. With his recollection of Jesus’ presence at the wedding at Cana, Paulinus Christianizes the standard theme in Classical epithalamia, or “poems before the bridal chamber,” whereby the poet invites and reports the arrival of fertile and festal deities (Statius, Silvae 1.2, ll. 1, 5–6, 9, 15–16, trans. Nagle 2004, 40–1): Whence ring the hills of Rome with holy song? . . . Behold, a long way off, Muses move out

292

Comments from song-filled Helicon. They shake nine torches . . . Among them, looking bold, Elegy nears . . . Venus herself, our founding hero’s mother, has played the role of leading in the bride.

See Chiappiniello (2007, 122): “One further point . . . is the replacement of the role of Juno pronuba by Jesus pronubus who will be present at the wedding ceremony of Julian and Titia, and will be the guarantor of their marital harmony” (see Poems 31=Selections 5G, l. 425). Paulinus seems to identify Christ working through the officiant of the wedding, his Nolan acquaintance, the Bishop Aemilius (for whom see Poems 21=Selections 3G, l. 330) at ll. 231–4 of the present poem: Imbue the newlyweds with this holy bishop’s protection. Through his pure hands, assist their hearts’ restraint. May the harmony of virginity fill them both or at least may they both of holy virgins be the seed. With the last line, cp. Jerome, Letters 22.20, trans. Wright (1933, 95): “I praise wedlock, I praise marriage; but it is because they produce me virgins.” 153–8, shower, fleece. Cp. Paulinus’ typological interpretation of Psalms 71.6, trans. NRSV: “He shall come down like rain upon the fleece; and as showers falling gently upon the earth”: “He came down on the fleece, that is, He was instilled in the maiden [in uirginem fusus] in a silent descent” (Letters 19.3, trans. Walsh 1966, 181, modified). Paulinus uses the same word to describe the “instillation” of matter by God effected in the incarnation in Poems 10=Principal Correspondence 3, l. 123: “instilled in all as Christ.” See Introduction 4C. For more on typology or figural interpretation, see Comments on Poems 17=Selections 3B, ll. 113–6, and Introduction 3C. For a Classical parallel, see Horace, Odes 3.16.1–8, quoted in Comments on Poems 21=Selections 2E, l. 445, previously. 159, adopted. In Latin, assumpsit, to take on as a garment 160, mysterious. In Latin, arcani. 163, betrothed, subject. Here Paulinus clarifies Paul’s equivocation in 1 Corinthians 11:3. Where the apostle wrote “man is the head of woman,” which may also be translated, “the husband is the head of the wife,” Paulinus distinguishes between the man as male (Latin, uiro) and as husband (non . . . subiecta marito), suggesting that women’s demotion in status is not a function of being female but of being married (and specifically, sexually active in marriage; cp. syneiskatism in General Comment previously and Comments

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on ll. 145–8 and 191). Being a function of a social choice, the subordination of women is, in Paulinus’ Roman utopianism, avoidable. 171–82, she. The Church. See, in addition to 1 Corinthians 11:3 and Galatians 3:28, Ephesians 4:4–5 and 1 Corinthians 12:27, trans. NRSV: “Now you are the body of Christ and individually members of it.” For bibliography, see Comments on ll. 151–2, previously. 171, seed. On the word of God (=the Holy Spirit), see Introduction 4C. For some Christian “seminology,” or doctrine of divine seed and insemination, see Comments on Poems 27=Selections 5D, ll. 261–3, subsequently. 173, sister, bride. Applied by Juno to herself in Vergil, Aeneid 1.47, trans. Dryden (1697, 233): “the sister wife of Jove.” Along with “Great Mother” (genetrix) in l. 164, Paulinus’ attempt at Christianization of Classical language is patent (Lucretius, The Nature of Things 1.1, trans. Stallings 2007, 3): “Life-stirring Venus, Mother [genetrix] of Aeneas and Rome.” For the same language applied to Cybele, see Lucretius 2.595–9, trans. Stallings (2007, 53): “Thus she is known/As the Great Mother [magna mater], Mother [genetrix] of Gods and Wild Beasts.” 173–4, body, mind, husband, human. For the first two terms, the Latin has sine corporis usu,/mente, where note the lack of conjunction (Latin, sed=“but”=asyndeton) between the phrases “function of body” (corporis usu) and “of the mind” (mente, literally: “not by a function of body but by the mind”). In similar way, for the second two terms, the Latin has uir=man (see Comments on ll. 145–8, previously) and homo, respectively. In both paired phrases, Paulinus uses a Latin lacking in conjunctions and abounding in apposition to describe the incarnation and paradoxical unity of God and Christ, first developed by Tertullian (Apology 21.14, trans. Glover and Rendall 1931, 109): Thus what has proceeded from God, is God and God’s son, and both are one. Thus Spirit from Spirit, God from God – it makes in mode a double number, in order not in condition [status], not departing from the source, but proceeding from it. This ray of God . . . entered into a certain virgin, and, in her womb fashioned into flesh, is born, man mingled with God. The flesh informed by the spirit is nourished, grows to manhood, speaks, teaches, acts – and is Christ. Examples of similar Latin include Poems 10=Principal Correspondence 3, ll. 43–62, Poems 27=Selections 3D, ll. 93–4, and ll. 187, subsequently. 178, species. In Latin, genus – kind, or even category (of being). Translated differently: any ontologically different category of material. Cp. the phrase “order of matter” [genus materiai] in Lucretius (The Nature of Things 2.303–6).

294 Comments 179–82, apostle. In Latin, magister (“teacher”) with Latin that raises the same issues of terminology, definition, and grammar discussed in previous Comments (especially on ll. 145–8, 178). “Male and female” is more literally “neither woman nor male” (nec femina nec mas, l. 179), referring to the first by gender and the second by sex, not for the sake of meter, but parallel to the Vulgate, and in contrast with the more proper Greek, arsen kai thêlu=“male and female” (Galatians 3:29). For the awkward English, “us are one body” (unum corpus sumus, l. 181), see 1 Corinthians 12:27, trans. DR: “Now you [plural] are the body of Christ and members of member [Greek, melê ek merous; Latin, membra de membro].” 183, put on, take off. In Latin, Christum induti deponimus Adam. For induti (“put on”), see Poems 10=Principal Correspondence 3, l. 54. 186, husband. Again, uirum (literally, “man”). 187, collective head. In Latin, commune caput . . . Christus, with the grammatical apposition that characterizes discussion of the trinity in Latin: see Comments on ll. 173–4, previously. While this association of head with royalty, and thus authority, may support a “complementarian” (that is, hierarchical) reading of gender relations in 1 Corinthians 11–13, Augustine offers a more egalitarian gloss of the same image, which Paulinus’ whole account by no means excludes (Sermons 341.10, trans. Hill 1997, 291, italics added): “So this is the proclamation of our Lord Jesus Christ insofar as he is a mediator, insofar as he is the head of the Church; that God is a man, and man is God.” Considering this parallel, we may interpret the husband’s “headship” of the wife not as a reference to superiority but as a reference to his social function: he is mediator between the woman and her new family, family connections, social role, status, and so on. In the same way, Christ mediates between the relationship of God and all human beings. For the development of this point by Lucy Peppiatt, see Comments on ll. 145–8, previously. 189–90, no, marriage. See Mathew 22:30, trans. NRSV: “For in the resurrection they neither marry nor are given in marriage, but are like angels in heaven.” With this line, Paulinus brings his anti-marital marriage poem (epithalamium) to fulfilment: see General Comment in 2G previously. 191, inviolable. A clear reference to syneisaktism (see General Comment, previously), which Paulinus (and his wife Therasia) explain to another couple in Letters 44.4 (trans. Walsh 1967, 237, modified): “See how you remain the married couple you were, yet not coupled as you were. You are yourselves yet not yourselves.” The play on words with “couple” and “coupled” (con-iuges 2×) all but translates the Greek term syneisaktism (=putting [-aktism, from agô] in connection [eis] with [syn]). 191, remember. In Latin, memores. Walsh (1975, 402) sees a play on words with the name of Julian’s father, Memor, but in the context of Paulinus and Therasia’s syneisaktic marriage, the line also recalls Paul’s injunction,

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beginning the discourse on marriage in 1 Corinthians 11:1: “Be imitators of me, as I am of Christ.” The Greek word for “imitators” (mimêtai) is cognate with Paulinus’ Latin, memores. Paulinus’ subtle insertion of Julian’s biological father and himself as a kind of spiritual father (or at least model) exemplifies his self-fashioning notion of creative imitation (via rivalry) in the lives of the saints in history and in contemporary communities of the holy: see Introduction 4C. For a similarly paternalistic Latin injunction, see Paulinus’ closing remarks to the recently deceased children in Poems 31=Selections 1D, ll. 623–8. 192, instead. Only implicit in the Latin, referring to the “sweet yoke” of Christ as an alternative to the traditional “yoke” of marriage. See Ausonius, Letters 21=Principal Correspondence 1, ll. 38–50, with Comments, Paulinus, Poems 21=Selections 2B, ll. 398–402, with Matthew 11:30, and Chiappiniello (2007, 128–30). 195, brother, sister. Another reference to syneisaktism: see l. 173, previously. C.

Poems 27.44–59

General Comment. Part of the great poem of nativity commemorating the visit of Nicetas of Remesiana to Nola on Felix’s feast day in 403. For historical background, see the General Comment on Selections 2B, with more of this poem in Selections 3D (the immediate sequel of this passage), 3E, and 4G. After the discussion of the Nolan festivities as local instances of the Christianization of time effected by the new holidays in the first part of Selections 4G previously, Paulinus proceeds here from a description of more universal holidays: Christmas, or the birth of Christ, which Christians had gradually pinned down, in the course of the fourth century, to the Classical holiday of the winter solstice (cp. Comments Poems 10=Principal Correspondence 3, ll. 133–5), and the holidays of Epiphany (ll. 45–52) and Easter (ll. 53–9). For more on Paulinus’ use of poetry to mediate between different levels or scales of time, such as local and global (as here), see Introduction 4B. 46–7, symbolic, sages, star. See Matthew 2:7–11. With the phrase “a star to guide them” (Latin, stella duce), cp. Poems 27=Selections 3D, l. 88: “the word as guide” (principe uerbo). The word for “symbolic” (mystica) originally denoted anything connected with secret rites, at Eleusis, for instance, but through uses like Paulinus’ here it comes to denote anything “that has non-literal, usu. allegorical or symbolic, meaning” or a “non-literal sense or mode of interpretation” (Latham, Howlett, and Ashdowne 1975–2013, see under mysticus, 3 and 7). 48, John. The Baptist: see Matthew 3:16. For an example of the typological significance of this passage in early Christian commentators, see

296 Comments Tertullian, On Baptism 9.1, quoted in Comments on Poems 22=Selections 5A, ll. 92–3. 50, symbol. In Latin, signo: see Comments on Poems 27=Selections 5D, ll. 250–6, subsequently. 51–2, wine. The wedding at Cana: see John 2:9–11; cp. Poems 25=Selections 5B, ll. 151–2, previously. 53–4, Passover, Pesach. In Latin, paschale and pascha: see Matthew 26:2, Mark 14:1, and Luke 22:1. D.

Poems 27.248–306

General Comment. Like the previous selection, this is part of the great poem of nativity commemorating the visit of Nicetas of Remesiana to Nola on Felix’s feast day in 403. For further historical background, see the General Comment of Selections. For the immediate context, see the long discussion of music and poetry in Poems 27=Selections 3E, ll. 149–247, 307–28. The inclusion of this part of the poem in Selections 5 here demonstrates Paulinus’ habitual embedding of each topic of the Selections, and especially the topic of Christ, in one another: see especially Introduction 4C and the General Comment on Poems 15=Selections: Self, Money, Music, Time, and Christ. This passage is one of Paulinus’ most developed poetic deployments of biblical typology, or allegorical interpretation of the Hebrew Bible through the events narrated in the New Testament, with special reference to the incarnation of Christ and its transformative effects on human history (see Introduction 4C), as allegedly prefigured, here, in the account of Jacob and Laban in the Hebrew Bible. In contrast with the more extended deployments of figurative, allegorical, or typological interpretation in the prose letters of exegesis (on which see Conybeare 2000, 97–110), Paulinus’ treatment of this episode differs from those of the letters and from those of his contemporaries, such as the slightly earlier and later exegetes of the same story, Ambrose and Augustine, by an additional level of allegorical significance. Encouraged no doubt by the occasion in which he deployed the episode, in the presence of Nicetas and the Nolan congregation who participated in Nicetas’ visit on January 14, 403, Paulinus sees the story of Jacob and Laban not just as a prefiguration of the coalescence of the trinity in the New Testament of his Christian past but also as a figuration of the missionary activity of Nicetas, and by implication the local ministry of Paulinus himself in their shared Christian present: see Comments on ll. 248–50, subsequently. For Ambrose’s treatment of the same theme, see Jacob and the Happy Life, 4.18–5.20 (trans. McHugh 1972, 117–84), and Augustine, Sermons 341, “On the Three Ways of Understanding Christ in Scripture: Symbolized by Jacob’s Three Rods,” especially 23–5 (trans. Hill 1997, 283–309).

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297

248–50, Nicetas, Jacob, lambs. The description has two meanings, literal and figurative, with further meanings ramifying in the figurative and illustrating Paulinus’ notion of the lives of the saints as unfinished history (see Introduction 4C and General Comment, previously). Literally, the simile describes what Jacob did to trick Laban, his father-in-law, into giving him (Jacob) the livestock out of which he (Laban) had already tricked his son-in-law, as Jacob explained to his wife, Laban’s daughter, Rachel (Genesis 30:29–31, especially 31.7–10, trans. NRSV): You know that I have served your father with all my strength; yet your father has cheated me and changed my wages ten times, but God did not permit him to harm me. If he said, “The speckled shall be your wages,” then all the flock bore speckled; and if he said, “The striped shall be your wages,” then all the flock bore striped. Thus God has taken away the livestock of your father, and given them to me. Though he attributed the results to God, the trick that Jacob used to secure this redistribution of Laban’s livestock to himself was narrated earlier in Genesis and is the subject of the simile that begins in earnest (describing Nicetas, not Jacob) in the next lines (see Comments on ll. 250–5 subsequently). Figuratively, the description is an instance of the interpretative approach to the Hebrew Bible by Christian commentators called “typology” (see Comments on Poems 17=Selections 3B, ll. 113–6), whereby later Christian readers interpret an episode from the Hebrew Bible as a “prefiguration” (even a “prototype”) of an episode from the Christian Bible. Here the typology, or figurative interpretation redeployed in the very presentation of the connected episodes, contains an additional dimension, which points from the Christian past reported in the New Testament to the Christian present being produced by Nicetas, Paulinus, and their congregations. Thus, from the past (Hebrew Bible) to the later past (New Testament), Christ realizes the “type” of the Church represented by Jacob, while from the Christian past to the Christian present, Nicetas with the “flock” of his ministry, the evangelized of the city that is now contained in modern Serbia (or Albania: see General Comment on Selections 3B), realizes in turn and at a later date Christ’s (now past) realization of Jacob. 252, placed, calls. The change in tense from past to present enhances the ambiguity by which Paulinus may be speaking literally of Jacob (in the past) or figuratively of Nicetas (in the present). 250–5, bishop, gathered, conception, color, stripped, marked. Words for different kinds of marks are used somewhat interchangeably in this passage, collapsing together different senses for each word corresponding to

298 Comments different forms of sign. For the more literal account, see Genesis 31.37–9, trans. NRSV: Then Jacob took fresh rods of poplar and almond and plane, and peeled white streaks in them, exposing the white of the rods. He set the rods that he had peeled in front of the flocks in the troughs, that is, the watering places, where the flocks came to drink. And since they bred when they came to drink, the flocks bred in front of the rods, and so the flocks produced young that were striped, speckled, and spotted. The story illustrates a commonplace belief of ancient reproductive lore, called “maternal impression” in the scholarship (Snowden 1983, 95–6), which held that fetuses could be visibly affected by the sights to which their carriers were exposed at the moment of conception (Heliodorus, An Ethiopian Romance 4.8, trans. Hadas 1957, 95): When I brought you to birth I found you white, a complexion alien to the native Ethiopian tint. I knew the reason for this: when I consorted with my husband I was looking at the picture which represented Andromeda just as Perseus had brought her down from the rock, and my offspring unhappily took on the complexion of that body. See also Augustine, Sermons 341.23 (trans. Hill 1997, 302): “That’s why he was making sure of this with the striped rods, which the ewes would see as they conceived, and from this kind of desire impressed upon them through their eyes they would give birth to striped offspring.” 258–63, like, name, trinity, marked, word. The Latin for “trinity” here is in nomine . . . trino (literally, “in the threefold name”). With this transition, Paulinus makes the typological significance of the earlier line explicit (“Just like this”: sic), but he also characteristically “confuses” (or disorders) the different levels of interpretation, or the different parts of the simile. As the bride of Christ, who marks her with his gaze in their immaterial intercourse (“congress with the word,” l. 259), the Church is inseminated by the Holy Spirit (“the slippery seed”: see Comments on ll. 261–3 subsequently). At the same time, and paradoxically, Paulinus describes the Church looking not at the Father/Son/Spirit who impregnates her but at the branches from Jacob’s story in the Hebrew Bible. Combined with the sensuous (and sensual) imagery of vision and absorption, Paulinus’ “disordering” of the parts of the simile recalls his use of synesthesia elsewhere (cp. Poems 23=Selections 4E, ll. 1–16, with Comments). Paulinus’ disordering of the levels of typology has an intertextual, or allusive, basis, in the pseudo-Pauline Ephesians 1:13, trans. NRSV: “In him

Comments 299 you also, when you had heard the word of truth, the gospel of your salvation, and had believed in him, were marked with the seal [signatus] of the promised Holy Spirit.” In Poems 26, the Church is “marked with the seal” of the Spirit’s gaze (signatur, l. 263), which corresponds to the Spirit marking the believer with a seal in the Vulgate translation of Ephesians: signatus (cp. Augustine, Sermons 341.23: desiderio per oculos impresso, translated in previous). 259, husband. An instance of the grammatical apposition that characterizes Latin treatments of the trinity, the Latin reads uir spiritus, where uir can mean both “man” and “husband,” and the context of immaculate conception suggests the latter. See also Comments on Poems 25=Selections 5B, ll. 171–88. 261–3, slippery, absorbs. A graphic representation of insemination (“absorbed,” Latin bibit: literally, “drink”), the two words violate Classical decorum and metapoetically describe Paulinus’ own, more Romantic (at any rate effervescent) ideal of style, which, being poetic, is also the “offspring” of the Holy Spirit (see Introduction 4B). Contrast Aulus Gellius, Attic Nights 1.15.1: “It is easy to surmise that, in the case of those frivolous, feckless, and disruptive speakers, throwing themselves into slippery, sliding words and disintegrating in the flood of matters devoid of meaning, language stems, not from the heart, but from the mouth.” Equipped with a more complex and nuanced understanding of the interaction of matter and spirit, Paulinus is able to valorize the physical in all its “slipping” and “sliding.” 265, proud, humble. With “humbling the proud” (tenuante superbos) and “elevating the humble” (dilatante . . . tenues), Paulinus recalls the mission statement of the Roman Empire, put into the mouth of Aeneas’ father, Anchises, in the Aeneid (6.853): “To spare the conquered [parcere subiectis] and subdue the proud [debellare superbos].” Referring to Vergil’s Hellenistic inheritance, however, Paulinus replaces “subdue” with something akin to attenuate or refine (tenuante, with Introduction 4B): since Classical Latin literature represents Vergil’s Hellenistic background in terms of wealth, or value, and specifically the wealth that comes from restraint (or “attenuation”), Paulinus makes Vergil’s martial imagery rather monetary. In a similar way, by changing Vergil’s injunction from “spare the conquered” to “elevate the humble,” Paulinus replaces the Classical asceticism of fiscal restraint (parcere) with his own lavishly aestheticized ascetics: dilatante in Classical Latin can denote linguistic abundance (Cicero, In Defense of Flaccus 12: non dilitabo orationem meam): “I will not swell my style.” 273, mentioned. See Augustine, Sermons 341.23, trans. Hill (1997, 301): Since I’ve mentioned nuts, something else occurs to me which we can indeed most suitably weave into this sermon, because we have come to be dealing with the locked-up meaning of symbolic sacraments.

300 Comments 276, balsam. See Walsh (1975, 407): “In the Vulgate the first tree is a poplar (Gen. 30.37), but the Septuagint has sturax, the incense bearing shrub, as here.” Cp. Ambrose (Jacob and the Happy Life 4.19, trans. McHugh 1972, 156): “By the storax is meant the incense and the evening sacrifice that is offered to God the father in the psalm [140/141.2]; by the walnut bough, the priestly gift that is offered by Christ. . . . By the plane tree is meant an abundance of spiritual fruit, because a vine attaches itself to this tree so that the tree may be fertile through the symbiosis”; also, Augustine, Sermons 341.25 (trans. Hill 1997, 4): “I consider the rod of the plane tree suitably refers to the Holy Spirit, because there is no doubt that the balsam rod which is left is to be attributed on account of its delightful odor to the undefiled integrity of Mary, the virgin.” That Augustine delivered his analysis in a sermon reinforces Paulinus’ probable performance of this part of his poem for a popular audience; cp. Paulinus, Poems 27.542–68. Elite members of the audience, or subsequent elite readers, would find in the variations of all three exegetes a pattern of illustration and emendation familiar from the literary displays of erudition associated with the modernist poets of the late Republic and early Empire (Augustan period), which derived in turn from the post-Classical Greek culture of Hellenistic Alexandria: see Introduction 4B. 278–80, planetree. For the annunciation whereby the Spirit “covered” Mary in a shadow, associated with the planetree because of its broad boughs (Plato, Phaedrus 229ab, Cicero, On the Orator 1.28), see Luke 1:35. 280–1, verdant, virgin, David. In Latin, uirga (branch), and uirgo (maiden). The English “verdant” does not appear in the Latin but preserves the play on words that justified the typological interpretation. The styrax, in the present context, seems to be “the tree of David,” because the New Testament traces the genealogy of Jesus to David, David was the son of Jesse (1 Samuel 16.1–20), and Jesse is described as a tree in a passage that predicts the coming of the messiah, in conjunction with the work of the spirit, as here in Paulinus, in Isaiah (11:1–2). Elsewhere (Poems 20=Selections 3F, ll. 43–53), Paulinus associates the lyre of David with the Cross of Jesus’ crucifixion. 284, tell. To “tell apart” (in Latin, cerne, cp. “discern”) is the word that Paulinus always uses to compare material and immaterial or immanent and transcendent properties of any compound of creation. See Poems 10=Principal Correspondence 3, l. 36. 288–305. As developed a statement of “salvation economics” (Trout) as Paulinus offers anywhere: see Introduction 3–4A, notable here because of its clear embedding in the more common patristic techniques of typology and exegesis.

Comments E.

301

Poems 27.491–510

General Comment. For the context of this poem, see the General Comments on its earlier sections, excerpted as Selections 5B and C, previously. 491–9, sheepfolds, site. In Latin, caulas and spatiis (“spaces”), with no deictic (“here”), but Paulinus has just finished giving Nicetas of Remesiana (see General Comments on Selections Poems 17=Selections 3B, ll. 101–51) a verbal tour of new additions to his Nolan building projects (cp. Letters 32.1, trans. Walsh 1967, 134): “I am highly delighted that we [incl. Sulpicius Severus] have together exhibited the one appearance of heart and body, and of works and dedications as well, by simultaneously bestowing basilicas on the Lord’s folds [ouilibus].” The imagery of animal husbandry that Paulinus introduces to describe the congregation metaphorically furnishes the language that he uses for his Christology (“sowing,” propagato, l. 496; “teem manifold,” multiplicat, l. 497; “shepherd” and “flocks,” pastor and oues, l. 498; livestock, ouilia, l. 499). As always, Paulinus supplements such descriptions with the language of markets and commerce (“reimbursement,” redemptis, l. 498). 500–1, chorister, sing, psalms. A recombination of the Latin terms for clerical office and liturgical song: recinens antistes, psalmis, hymnis. For more on the role of “hymns” in Latin Christian poetry of Late Antiquity, see General Comment on Poems 17=Selections 3B. 509–10, shadow, cloud, sanctuary. Apocalyptic imagery, denoting supernatural visitation. Walsh (1975, 409) cites Revelation 14:14, trans. NRSV: “And I saw, and behold a white cloud; and upon the cloud one sitting like to the Son of man.” Here, however, Paulinus refers specifically to the shrine of Felix, where devotees would pour oil through the saint’s interred body and then anoint themselves with the byproduct, which they believed to be medicinal. With decay over time, the dust of the saint’s remains began to come out with the liquid. Is this the source of the cloud that fills the sanctuary? Elsewhere Paulinus celebrates this dust, saying that Felix used it to “show us inside his bones himself” (Poems 21.577–642, at 582). F. Poems 31.43–102 General Comment. For more on the context and genre of this poem, see General Comments on Selections 1D. 43, parents, sinning. For the identities of the parents and children involved in this poem, and on the genre that it represents, see General Comment in Selections 1D, with additional excerpts 2H, 4H, and subsequently, 5G. For the complex of moral terminology denoted by “sinning” (in Latin peccare), see next Comment.

302 Comments 44, failure. In Latin, culpam. See Comments on Ausonius, Letters 21=Principal Correspondence 1, l. 31, and on Paulinus, Poems 10=Principal Correspondence 3, ll. 101–2. 45, disloyal. A sharper paradox in Latin, “devotion [pietas] that positively violates devotion [impia],” playing on the difference between Classical and Christian senses of pietas or “devotion” as, for instance, devotion to family and country, on the one hand, and devotion to God and Christ, in defiance of family and country, on the other. Cp. the different uses of “father” throughout the Earlier Letters and the Principal Correspondence: see the Comments on Ausonius’ use of “Father” for himself in Letters 17=Earlier Letters 1. 43–50, devotion, fake, unsettles. This is Paulinus’ most direct adoption of the Classical commonplace of consolatory literature that grief is undignified – often “effeminate” (Horace, Odes 1.24.19–20): “hard – but putting up with it [patientia] assuages/all that it is not permitted [nefas] to fix.” Cp. Cicero, Tusculan Disputations 3.47: “That [virtue] should command that part of the soul which ought to obey her is what a man must ensure . . . as an owner does a slave, a general a soldier, or a parent a child.” Refreshing in Paulinus’ treatment is the avoidance of any negative gendering in the show of grief. See Comments on Ausonius, Letters 22=Principal Correspondence 2, l. 31, and the Comments throughout Selections 5B. For further documentation and discussion of the commonplace, see Bordone (2017, 54–7). Later in the poem (see Selections 5G, subsequently), Paulinus will reconsider this initial anathematizing of grief and in this follows his earlier contemporary Ambrose more than his exact contemporaries, Augustine and Severus (Ambrose, On His Brother Satyrus 1.10, trans. Sullivan and McGuire 1953, 165–6): But we have not committed a serious fault [culpam] by our weeping. Not every display of sorrow is a sign either of lack of trust in God or weakness in ourselves. . . . Hence, I frankly allow that I, too, have wept, but the Lord also wept. He wept for a stranger [John 11:35]; I weep for my brother. In one He wept for all; I will weep for you, my brother, through all. For Paulinus’ change of mind about demonstrative weeping, see ll. 449– 52 in the same poem=Selections 5G, subsequently. 51–4, mourn, pervert, compassionate, source. This line universalizes to all humanity the commonplace of consolatory literature from Biblical and Classical antiquity sometimes called “death in good time” (opportunitas mortis: Bordone 2017, 48–9) – that is, the idea that admirable individuals who die young are lucky, and those who survive are lucky in losing them,

Comments 303 because if they had lived, they might have become worse people in the future (Seneca, Consolation to Marcia 22.2, trans. Hine 2014, 30): Think of the thousands of faults that affect the mind: upright, talented individuals who show promise in their youth do not always maintain it until old age, but are often driven off course; either degeneracy attacks later in life, hence all the more shamefully, and starts to bring discredit on honorable beginnings; or they sink to the level of cafés and bellies, and all they care about is what they eat and what they drink. See also Wisdom 4.8–11 (trans. NRSV, italics added): For old age is not honored for length of time, or measured by number of years; but understanding is gray hair for anyone, and a blameless life is ripe old age. There were some who pleased God and were loved by him, and while living among sinners were taken up. They were caught up so that evil might not change their understanding or guile deceive their souls. Following the ancient commonplace that the life of the individual recapitulates the life of the species, and mixing it with doctrine of the atonement attested in authorities like Athanasius (On the Incarnation 8–7), Paulinus here suggests that all humanity has sunk to Seneca’s “level of cafés and bellies” since creation and that it is only by the addition of blessed deaths, the death of Christ and the deaths of the young and innocent, that the still surviving remainder of an essentially sinful humanity is redeemed. For an active representation of how this may happen from the same poem, see Selections 3D, ll. 623–8. For a political and historical elaboration of the commonplace – better to die than to see the state of things today – see Ambrose, On His Brother Satyrus 1.31–3; for more instances of this and related commonplaces of youth, age, and death, Curtius (1963, 98–101). 55–6, maiden. See especially Poems 25=Selections 5B, ll. 153–66. 57–8, everything, everyone, single. For Paulinus’ poetics of unity in diversity, more usually represented with lyric and musical imagery, see Poems 6=Selections 2A, ll. 22–6. 59–66, form, crime. The latter is, in Latin, culpam (see l. 44, previously). Notable in the rest of the passage is Paulinus’ adherence to conventional, relatively image-free Nicaean language (“form,” for instance) and simultaneous avoidance of the usual imagery for the “refurbishment” of humanity effected by the incarnation – the images of himself becoming lyre. It is possible that the mournful mode of the poem as a consolation precluded the more celebratory associations that the lyre acquires in Paulinus’ other treatments. See, for instance, Poems 27=Selections 3D, ll. 100–2, Poems 20=Selections 3F, ll. 44–61, Poems 21=Selections 3G, ll. 332–9.

304 Comments 85–6. On the grammatical apposition, including lack of conjunctions (asyndeton), which Paulinus uses in trinitarian concepts, see Comments on Poems 25=Selections 5B, ll. 173–4. 67–90, lessons, medicine, wash, God. Textbook language of Nicaean Christology and lapsarian history whereby God gave humanity three forms of evidence for knowing himself and thus doing good (Athanasius, On the Incarnation 12): the image of himself in which he made humans, the testament of the prophets in the Law – that is to say the Hebrew Bible – which Paulinus mentions here; and his signature in creation itself (the visible that reveals the invisible: Paul, Romans 1:20, assumed and expanded in Poems 22=Selections 5A where note Comments on l. 68). When all these failed, because God felt compassion for humanity (l. 81, miseratus, cp. Athanasius, On the Incarnation 8, eleêsas), He embarked upon the incarnation both to remediate or “redeem” (buy back) humanity from its self-inflicted enslavement (self-sale) to death and to provide new “signs” (l. 90, signa) by which humanity may know God – namely the incarnation, crucifixion, and resurrection (Athanasius, On the Incarnation 9–12). Paulinus develops this argument in another image that he tends to use for his own poetry but again here presents in Nicaean simplicity, the image of washing (l. 72, Latin, dilueram; cp. Tertullian, On Baptism 2.2 (trans. Evans 1964): “Well then, is it not a marvel that by bathing death is washed away [dilui]?” For liquid imagery in Paulinus’ own poetics, see Introduction 4B. 90–1, physical. In Latin, corporeus: rare (and somewhat technical) in Classical Latin – and thus only once in the less technical Principal Correspondence (see Poems 10=Principal Correspondence 3, l. 176), the word often appears in the atomist Lucretius, with whom Paulinus elsewhere appears familiar: see Comments on Poems 10=Principal Correspondence 3, l. 159, and Poems 22=Selections 5A, l. 68; cp. Poems 11=Principal Correspondence 5, ll. 6–7. See also Paulinus, Letters 16.2 (trans. Walsh 1966, 153, modified): Who indeed does not see that this physical world [mundum . . . corporeum] is controlled by a nonphysical force [ui incorporea], that when the mind of the divine Spirit pours into and mingles with the great body of the universe which It created, the whole mass of creation is roused to life, ordered for employment, confined to its position, and organized for eternity [diuternitatem]? For more on Classical natural philosophy, see Comments on Poems 31=Selections 4H, ll. 231–40. On the Stoic source and the trinitarian development of the doctrine of “pouring” and “mingling” (infusa atque permixta, previously), see Comments on Poems 10=Principal Correspondence 3, ll. 123–4. 98, fault. In Latin, crimen; cp. culpam, “failure,” previously.

Comments G.

305

Poems 31.425–74

General Comment. For more on the context and genre of this poem, see General Comments on Selections 1D. 425–46, liquify, sweetness, weeping. For Paulinus’ characteristic imagining of love, prayer, and by implication of the latter, poetry through water, marked in addition with the aesthetic tag of “sweetness,” see Poems 21=Selections 1B, ll. 672–703, and Introduction 4B. 425, Jesus. One of very few mentions of Christ by his first name, and the only one where Paulinus is not referring to the utterance of the name (see Poems 22=Selections 5A, ll. 61–2). In the unusual use of the first name here, Hartel and Kamptner (1999a, 478) suspect an allusion (Juvencus, 1.769, trans. McGill 2016, 34): “But once the savior Jesus touched her hand.” 447–54, grieve, pray, happiness, weeping, actually, partners. Marked by a reference to “prayer” (precor, l. 449), a word that often through alliteration highlights the aural character, or aesthetic aspect, of the language that it introduces (see Comments on Poems 18=Selections 2C, l. 211: pandite corda, precor), the present passage is aesthetic in the more specific way that Paulinus and Ausonius associate with art and literature, which Paulinus uses here to express the complexity of Christian mourning, the response to death that sees it as both an end and a beginning: like Augustine watching a tragedy, or like himself when he read the distressing but beautiful poetry of Ausonius (Poems 10=Principal Correspondence 3, ll. 9–10), Paulinus takes pleasure in unhappiness, joy in grief, like the audience of shows: “even unhappiness can be cherished” (Augustine, Confessions 4.2.2–4, at 3, trans. Wills 2008, 43, applied to mourning for a real loss at Confessions 4.5.10: “Weeping is a bitter thing . . . and gives us pleasure [res amara . . . delectat]”). See further Comments on Ausonius, Letters 21=Principal Correspondence 1, l. 65, where note “bitterness” (subamara). In the same part of the passage, Paulinus’ change of mind about weeping (“Actually, no”=potius, l. 449) strikes a choral note, as does the desire to extend one’s grief. Rarely, however, do the sentiments appear as straightforwardly as this; more often, they are distanced from the authority of the speaker – in the mouths of the Trojan Women, where exaltation in grief contradicts the author’s Stoicism, and even its proponents condemn it (see also Comments on ll. 43–50 of this poem in Selections 5F, previously; Seneca, Trojan Women 1009–17, trans. Dressler 2017, 184–5) Sweet is a group of mourners to someone who grieves. Sweet are populations, noisy with weeping.

306

Comments The tears and the lamentation that teem from a crowd of people weeping the same way stings more gently. Always, ah always, uncharitable is grief. It rejoices when its fate is dispensed to many and is not satisfied to be punished alone. Suffering a fate common to all is something no one refuses.

Where Paulinus seeks “partners in weeping” (flentum consortia, l. 451), Seneca’s Trojan women seek to suffer “a fate that is common to all” (ferre quam sortem patiuntur omnes, l. 1016). What distinguishes the two attitudes to grief, Classical (Stoic) and Christian, is the revalorization of extremes of even negative feeling as a means of obtaining flourishing in the future (postmortem) in the Christian context: “to . . . reap long lasting joy [gaudia longa metam]” (l. 452).27 Although they too seek joy in suffering, Stoics seek it in the present (Seneca, Letters on Ethics 59.14, trans. Long and Graver 2015, 175): “The wise person is filled with joy, cheerful and calm, unalarmed; he lives on equal terms with gods.” Using language identical to Paulinus sometime in the fifth century, Sedulius contextualizes the post-Stoic, Christian concern for future joy (Carmen Paschale 1.364–8, trans. Springer 2013, 21): So, from the review here of the causes of ancient death, I shall hasten on to new life, and, even while sowing tears, Shall harvest enduring joys, for we who weep in Adam, As we sow our seeds shall soon all shout for joy, Carrying in our sheaves at Christ’s coming. With Sedulius’ phrases “sowing tears” (lacrimasque serendo) and “harvest enduring joys” (gaudia longa metam), as well as “sow our seeds” (semina mittentes), cp. Paulinus’“reap long lasting joy” (gaudia longa metam) and “sow the seeds of everlasting happiness” (praeserere aeternae semina laetitiae, l. 448). 453–4, sackcloth, spines. In Latin, saccus/caprigenuum saetis. Commenting on Paulinus’ description of then-fashionable ascetic garb (see Introduction 2), Walsh (1966, 256) writes: Such garments of goat or camel’s hair, worn in imitation of John the Baptist (cf. Paulinus’ Letter 49.12) were the regular clothing of fourthcentury monks in both the Western and Eastern worlds. St. Martin likewise recommended such a garb; cf. Severus, [Life of Saint Martin 10.7, trans. Burton 2017, 107: “Most were clad in camel-hair [camelorum saetis]; softer dress was there considered reprehensible. This must needs be the more remarkable, as many of them were accounted of

Comments

307

noble rank; otherwise indeed had they been brought up, yet they submitted themselves to this degree of humility and patience”]. 455–6, ring, dress. In Latin, anulus and stola. A verbal echo of the parable of the prodigal son (Luke 15:21–4). The “ring” of “rank” or “office” (honoris) may also hint at the late Republican symbol of membership in one of the highest classes (the equestrian), and the word for robe or dress (stola) may denote priestly status, so the lines may also allude to earning a particular rank, in earth or in heaven, through ascetic practice. Certainly, for “fatted,” Paulinus’ replaces the saginatus of the Vulgate with the more Classical opimus, with all its semi-secular baggage (cp. spolia opima, or highest object of military triumph; cp. ovantes, “triumphing,” in l. 473, subsequently). 459–60, word, water. Cp. the “chorus of faith” that Nicetas feeds to the sea monster’s “ears only” in Poems 17=Selections 3C, ll. 133–6, as well as the Nolan water allegorized in Poems 21=Selections 1B, ll. 672–86. In a consolatory context, Ambrose recalls Psalms 79.6 (On his Brother Satyrus 1.33, trans. Sullivan and McGuire 1953, 176): “Our food is in weeping and our drink is in tears.” 461–70, starvation, rich, destitution, dogs, scabs. Recalling the parable of Lazarus and the rich man (Luke 16:19–21). With the rejection of expensive items, including “silks of China” (Serica . . . uestis, l. 465), which were proverbial in Roman sumptuary legislation (Tacitus, Annals 2.33, for instance), Paulinus makes a Classical addition to the biblical imagery, which also recalls the poems of refusal of conventional values or recusatio written by Roman love poets (Propertius 1.14.21–3, trans. Slavitt 2002, 31): What good, then, are silks [Serica]? As long as I stay on her regular route, I’m grateful, honored, and happy, the equal of any man alive. For another Christian elaboration of the theme of the poet-pilgrim as a lover against the world, see Poems 10=Principal Correspondence 3, ll. 213–15, with Comments. The aspirational quality of Paulinus’ description of the imitation of poverty challenges Peter Brown’s provocative claim that Paulinus identified with the poor at the expense of their identity as a class: Introduction 3. 473–4, laps, hell, gaping chaos. In Latin sinibus, Gehenna, hiante chao. Alongside the obvious Hebraism, the description is vaguely Lucretian (and hence natural philosophical): see Comments on Poems 22=Selections 5A, l. 81 (where the word for “lap” is different: gremio, but see Poems 15: Self, Money, Music, Time, and Christ, l. 17 with sinus), but the same language occurs in Tertullian (Apology 48.12, trans. Glover and Rendall 1931, 217): “the end, that border-line that gapes between” (fines et limes, medius qui interhiat).

308

Comments

By calling chaos gaping, Paulinus (with Tertullian) recalls the Greek etymology of khaskô (whence khaos, whence the English “chasm,” and the Latin verb hio): to gape, open in a yawn. The word for triumph in the same section (ovantes, l. 473) also has Classical overtones – political (see Comments on ll. 455–8 previously). As with the Lucretian notes elsewhere in Paulinus (see previously), the tone is one of sublimity, which the tradition provided a basis for identifying as Hebraic: see especially Poems 10=Principal Correspondence 3, ll. 311–15, and the background of the imagery in Tertullian, Apology 47.

Notes 1 The English thus adds “here”; the Latin expresses this as a likelihood with the tense and meaning of the key word exoratum est (l. 6): “has been obtained by prayer.” It is, however, conceivable that Paulinus was still in Spain and his departure was imminent – that is, already decided and thus implicitly granted. See Sciajno (2008, 25). 2 See The Life of Melania the Younger [Vita Melaniae Junioris] 2–8, cp. Paulinus, Poems 25=Selections 5B, ll. 191–8, with Clark (1984, 94–5). 3 Poems 21=Selections ll. 3G, 60–83 with 272–83; cp. Conybeare (2000, 81–5). Mratschek (2002, 334–6). For further discussion of the better-documented Melania, see the Life of Melania, translated by Clark (1984), with Trout (1999, 225– 7), Brown (2012, 292–300), and the volume of Chin and Schroeder (2017). 4 See Poems 18=Selections 2C, also Poems 26.318–37, 384–94, continued in Selections 1C previously. 5 Otranto (1997, 51–3, at 51), recounting the probably historically accurate institutional history of the Nolan church that structures Paulinus’ account of the life of Felix. 6 On his appearance, see Introduction 3; for an example of what he chose to believe, cp. the miraculous healing of his own eyesight that he attributes to Saint Martin (Life of Martin 19.3, with Trout 1999, 62): “allegory does not obviate a literal reading of this passage”; cp. Paulinus, Poems 23. 7 See, for instance, Poems 14=Selections 4A, ll. 1–12, 21=4D, ll. 129–37, 148–53, with Grig (2004, 106–8) and Hunter (2007, 74–82). See also Introduction 2. Paulinus calls Felix “a martyr in order to exalt him” (Goldschmidt 1940, 134), tendentiously conflating the category of sanctity with that of confessors: see, for instance, Poems 18=Selections 2C, l. 315. 8 Hall (2006, 472–5), with theological explanation by Paulinus in Poems 26.195– 269; cp. Grig (2004, 11–14). 9 For instance, Parkinson (1911), where note Felix in the section “Origin”; on the flux in terminology in the Early Church, see Louth (2011, 3–10). 10 I can find no formal source for this designation, but Googling “saint felix nola pets” on July 2, 2021, I found a variety of references to this province of the saint, including a saint’s medallion on etsy: www.etsy.com/listing/968022483/saintfelix-of-nola-medal-patron-of-lost. See further Craughwell (2007, 255). 11 Both interpretations have been advanced in recent publications: see Fielding (2018) and Hardie (2019b), discussed in Dressler (2018, 223–31, especially 223 n. 87).

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12 For the specifically aesthetic sense of the general Latin term materia, meaning “theme,” see Walsh (1971, 157), with Ruggiero (1990, 254): “the topic of the poem” (l’argomento del canto). 13 For technical outline, see Thesaurus Linguae Latinae, volume 6, under felix, pp. 437.24–37 (profitable), 437.44–438.74 (holy, festal), and 438.75–84 (conferring grace), 441.7–60 (joyful), 446.20–84 (effective). 14 See, for instance, Juvencus’ Four Books of the Gospels: Evangeliorum Libri Quattuor=McGill (2016), with Trout (1999, 84–5). 15 Theologische Realenzyklopädie (Berlin 2001), 23.1, p. 24. 16 See especially Comments on Poems 31=Selections 5F, ll. 90–1, also in Poems 10=Principal Correspondence 3, l. 121, 156–65, and Poems 22=Selections 5A, especially the Comments on l. 68, for a possible explanation of Lucretius’ surprising recurrence in Paulinus. 17 Cp. Augustus, Incitement to Philosophize (Hortationes ad Philosophiam, Suetonius, Life of Augustus 85); Seneca the Younger, Incitements (Exhortationes, Lactantius, Divine Institutes 1.7.13); and Ausonius, A Book to Incite His Grandson (Liber Protrepticus ad Nepotem=Ausonius, Letters 22). See also Augustine on Cicero, Confessions 3.4, with sources in Görgemanns (2021, §2), and Slings (1995). 18 Herrero de Jáuregui (2010, 142–3), with Clement of Alexandria, Protrepticus 10.93.1 (quoted and translated) on 143: “Let us convert (metanoêsômen) and pass [metastômen] from [ex] ignorance to [eis] knowledge, from insensibility to continence, from injustice to justice, from atheism to God.” 19 For Paulinus’ probable allusion to this specific event in the more general poem of protreptic, see Comments on Poems 22=Selections 5A, l. 92–3 20 For further background in Augustinian thought, see Brennan (1988, 273–6), Pranger (2007, 56–61). For the beginning of the Ambrosian hymn, see Comments on Selections 4G=Poems 27, ll. 107–10. 21 Leo I, Tractate 26.2, translated and discussed by Markus (1990, 105); see Poems 25=Selections 5B, ll. 159–82. For an account with more detail, including the treatment of individual holidays, see Salzman (1990, 237–41). On the considerations of genre informing Paulinus’ representation of time, see Roberts (2010, 58). 22 For Paulinus’ populist difference from Augustine in terms of ritual, see Augustine, On the Care of the Dead [De Cura Mortuis Gerenda], 1–2, 20–1, with Brown (1981 [2014], 30–7), and Grig (2004, 105–10), with summary in Rose (2013, 40–3, 47–9); cp. Trout (1999, 244–51). For extensive summary of scholarship, see MacMullen (2003, 473, n. 22). 23 For the Stoic background, see Gill (2006, 145–66), with “early medieval” developments in Colish (1990, 19–27), on Tertullian but equally relevant to Paulinus’ treatment of Stoic natural philosophy. 24 For further examples of the materialist language of physics and self-sufficiency, see Seneca, Letters on Ethics (trans. Long and Graver 2015, 192, 169, 25, 40): “If a thing is perfect, what can be added to it? Nothing. . . . Hence nothing can be added to virtue either” (66.9); “the human being is matter in flux” (58.23); “time . . . is . . . [a] fleeting, slippery thing” (1.3); “the wise person is selfsufficient and for this reason has no need of a friend” (9.1). 25 For more general anti-Judaism in Paulinus, see Poems 31.359–80, and Letters 11.6; 23.16, 22; 31.3; 50.11. 26 Walsh (1975, 150) takes this in a completely different way: “In her turn the woman must strive to attain equality with her consecrated husband by welcoming

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Christ’s presence in his person.” The argument for Walsh’s emphasis on male supremacy is the authoritarian interpretation of the “head” language in the following line, but this is inconsistent with (1) Paul’s inconsistency in the original (see General Comment on 2G previously); (2) Paulinus’ unequivocal analogy between the female addressee and Sarah in l. 150 (Walsh 1975, 250: “Sarah became the free equal of her holy husband,” emphasis added); and (3) Paulinus’ own claim about the abrogation of status, based on Galatians 3.28, in ll. 179–82, subsequently. 27 Such Romanticism was by no means the rule in contemporary Christianity and attests here as everywhere to Paulinus’ greater openness to “lower” passions and pastimes. See Introduction 2 and contrast Martin, according to Paulinus’ contemporary and friend, the fellow Gallic ascetic, Sulpicius Severus (Life of Saint Martin 27.1, trans. Burton 2017, 129): “No-one ever saw Martin angry; no-one saw him perturbed, sorrowful, or laughing; he was always one and the same, showing a sort of heavenly joy [laetitiam] in his countenance.” But see 7.2, trans. Burton (2017, 103): “Martin ran up weeping and wailing.”

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Index

Abraham 46, 116, 125, 133, 229–30 aesthetics 8–14, 195–7, 256; and asceticism 15–20, 123–4, 196–7, 225, 234, 299; and beauty/grace (gratia) 51–2, 84, 120, 138–9, 143, 167–8, 279; culinary 80, 90, 96, 102, 182, 209; of grief, anger, etc. 225, 305–6; and/of miracles, wonder 51–2, 113–14, 120–1, 137, 223, 238–9, 250–1, 265, 279; and the senses 131–2, 251, 254, 260, 277–8, 298–9; see also Alexandrianism; poetry/poetics; sublime affection see friendship; obligation Alexandrianism 34–6, 234–5; as background 118, 134, 243, 255, 299; in terminology 217, 250, 261; in tone, genre 80, 127 asceticism 3–15, 68n20, 172–3, 225–7, 248, 306–7; and Classical philosophy 18, 194, 196–7, 279–80; and gender 7, 14, 124–5, 219, 265; and renunciation 42–8, 72, 126–7, 150, 203, 227–8, 244, 276; see also aesthetics; Paulinus; women and gender Augustine 160, 180, 205, 275; on confession 192, 219, 258–9; on friendship, gender, and sexuality 206–7, 211, 213, 244–7, 294; and literature 8–9, 180, 234–5, 250, 305; and/on Paulinus 39, 67n11, 68n28, 223, 272, 275, 279; on sin and subjectivity 188, 191, 193, 220; on time 39–40, 75n103, 270–2, 283–4; and the trinity 43–5, 256, 285, 300; and typology 296, 298–300

Ausonius: and Christianity 4–5, 53, 89, 101, 177; on family and friends 2, 79–80, 98–105, 104–6, 161–2, 178–9, 182, 184, 207–8; on Paulinus 6–7, 12–13, 25, 78–90, 98–102, 104–5, 172–7; wealth, status, and career 3–4, 6, 10–11, 79–80, 82–4; see also Paulinus Brown, P. 6, 11, 14–15, 31, 42–3, 161, 246–7, 282, 307 camenae see muses; poetry/poetics capitalism 4, 16–18, 21, 27–8, 45, 51–2, 64, 247; see also salvation economics Cicero 175, 180; on friendship 25, 30, 164, 175, 212; as example 82, 103, 268, 288 colonization 4, 137, 200–1, 251–2, 265; see also foreigners/“barbarians” confession: etymology 180, 192, 219–20; and martyrdom 49–50, 76nn125–6, 124, 142, 218, 240, 243, 273; of praise 141, 258–9, 285; see also Felix (Saint); poetry/poetics counterculture 14, 16–18, 36, 72n73 credit see faith David 128, 135–6, 250–3, 256–7, 300 devotion/loyalty (pietas) 21, 145–6; personal 79, 80, 96–7, 101–2, 104, 117–18, 274; personal as spiritual 92, 103, 129, 187–8; spiritual 98, 110, 115, 119–20, 139–40, 143–6, 302; see also faith/credit (fides); friendship

324

Index

Epicureanism see philosophy exemplarity: of Christ 25–6, 47–51, 186; instances of 88–90, 99, 125, 244; see also friendship; mythology; typology faith/credit (fides); as belief 94, 96–7, 115, 125, 204; of God, Christ, Felix, etc. 111, 130–1; in finance/“salvation economics” 20–3, 44–5, 91, 108, 111, 147; and poetry 34, 129, 135; see also confession; devotion/loyalty (pietas); hope/speculation (spes) father 160, 188, 199–200; of family 80, 115–17, 161–2, 177, 179, 225–6, 245, 294–5; of God, saint, etc. 91, 97, 103, 121–2, 130–1; of patrons 79, 89–90, 95, 102, 104, 179–80, 302; see also incarnation feasts see holidays Felix (Saint): biography 46, 116–18, 139–40, 143–4, 225–32, 289; as confessor 41, 49–51, 139, 142, 153, 215, 226–8, 231–2; and his name 46, 50–1, 109, 218, 239–41, 264; and Paulinus 2, 6–7, 30–3, 45, 120–2, 140, 146, 215, 282; as saint 21–2, 75n108, 110–14, 119–23, 222–3, 301 foreigners/“barbarians”: and colonization/conquest 95–6, 200, 223, 251–2; and language 40, 78–9, 87, 99–100, 130, 202 Foucault, M. 6, 18, 180, 189, 204, 220 friendship 169, 206–9, 218; in a Christian context 114–16, 210–11; Classical 25, 33, 164, 228; instances of 89–90, 98–105, 166–7; see also Augustine; Ausonius; Paulinus God see father; incarnation; trinity Hebrew Bible see Abraham; David; typology holidays 40–1, 129–30, 140, 145–6, 150, 196, 270–3; Felix’s feast day 109–10, 120–1, 143–5 Holy Spirit see incarnation; Pentecost; poetry/poetics; trinity hope/speculation (spes) 21–2, 31, 38, 72, 109, 110, 118, 121, 197, 217

Horace: on poetry 9–10, 35–6, 171, 199, 234–5; on poets 200–1, 216; on social relations 165, 191–2, 240–2, 274, 302 imperialism see colonization; foreigners/“barbarians” incarnation 41–52, 135–6, 149–55, 263; as atonement 25–6, 152–5, 168; and exemplarity/typology 186–7, 296–300; and grammar 281, 293–4, 299, 304; and S/spirit 37–8, 131, 151–2, 269–70, 292; and “salvation economics” 20–1, 91, 185–7 Jerome 8, 68n28, 253, 292; and Paulinus 1, 4, 234, 248–9; see also letters/epistolography Jews and Judaism 4, 148, 166, 171, 203–4, 226, 289 letters/epistolography 7–8, 28–9, 52–5, 82, 90, 179–80 liturgy 33–4, 37–8; see also holidays; poetry/poetics Lucretius: and poetry 8–9, 194–5, 209–10, 286–8; and religion 190, 267, 304 lyre: as figure of unity 130, 136, 138, 263; Paulinus as 37–40, 109, 135, 137, 269, 303; see also David; poetry/poetics martyrs see confession; Felix (Saint) Melania(s) see Paulinus, and friends; women and gender modernity 6, 9, 14–17, 27, 225, 238, 289 muses 34, 89–90, 92–3, 109, 249, 291–2; see also poetry/poetics music see poetry/poetics mythology 101, 138–9, 163, 172–3, 183–4, 189–90; instances of 81, 99, 175, 177–8, 241–2, 278; and poetry 244, 259, 269, 272–3; see also muses; poetry/poetics Nicetas see Paulinus, and friends

Index obligation/duty (munus, officium) 28–32, 64; sacred 133, 145–6, 181; social 87–8, 97–8, 102, 173, 227–8 Paul: on marriage and community 206, 231, 244–5, 289–95; and poetry 37–8, 204, 253; quoted 117, 136, 149, 285; and “salvation economics” 198, 276, 298–9 Paulinus: and asceticism 34, 36, 117–18, 204–5, 216, 231, 264; on Ausonius 79–80, 92–4, 96, 102–3; and Ausonius, his patron 7–8, 30–3, 179–80, 188, 192–3; and Ausonius compared 1–6, 18–19, 29–30, 41; family 114–16, 241; and friends 3–4, 53–5, 131–4, 136–9, 150–1, 245–6; and politics 6–8, 57, 79–80, 141, 143–4; on poverty and the poor 12–16, 123–7, 250–1, 264; and “salvation economics” 21–3, 26–33, 44–5, 49, 65–6, 91–2, 108–12, 121–6, 152, 237–9, 273; and/on women 95, 137, 148–51, 244–5, 264, 290–1, 294; see also Augustine; Ausonius; Felix (Saint); Jerome; poetry/poetics; Therasia Pentecost 36–41, 130–1, 256–7, 265; see also poetry/poetics performance see poetry/poetics philosophy 8–9, 24–5, 173, 275–6, 279–80, 284–7; according to Paulinus 91, 267–8; see also friendship; Lucretius; Seneca Phoebe see affection pneumatic musicology see poetry/poetics poetry/poetics: Classical 4, 34–6, 58, 268; as complaint/lament 87–90, 92, 169–70, 175; confessional 93, 180–1, 192, 220; and fiction/lies 91, 109, 135, 185, 259; genre 3, 33, 53–4, 96, 159, 178–9, 182, 234–5, 246, 251, 269; metrics 3, 33, 40, 55, 59–62, 79–81, 137, 139, 160–1, 182–3, 208, 220, 248, 291–2; and performance 6, 12, 16, 34, 36, 38–41, 45, 51, 57, 218, 225–6, 232–4; and poets 18, 183, 216, 253–4; and property 9–33, 81–2; and publication 52–3, 57, 136, 213; as Spirit, song, psalmody

325

34–41, 127, 134–5, 143, 192, 221, 249, 252–3, 260–3, 278, 280; and/ as water 109, 111–13, 132; see also David; Horace; lyre; muses; Pentecost; Vergil poverty and the poor: actual 19–21, 23, 118–20, 165, 231, 254; ascetic 117–18, 122–3, 226, 235–6, 244, 307; assumed 8, 167, 274; in Christ 123, 126, 248; words for and meanings of 10–11, 18, 44; see also Paulinus Prudentius 11–13, 192, 200–2, 230, 282–3 psalmody see poetry/poetics salvation economics see credit/faith (fides); hope/speculation (spes); Paulinus satire see poetics Seneca 71n55, 159, 192–3, 201–2, 270–3, 305–6 slavery/enslavement, enslaved people: actual 22, 27–8, 84, 164, 170, 175, 235–6; imagined 101, 105, 120, 165; metaphorical 50, 146–7, 152–4, 304 song see poetry/poetics speculation see hope/speculation (spes) Stoicism see philosophy; Seneca sublime, the: in height 93–4, 124, 131, 134–5, 147, 203–4, 216, 228–9; in tone, genre 3, 79, 97–8, 138–9, 142–3, 152–3, 194–5, 243, 268–70 Tertullian 38–9, 197, 276, 284, 288, 293 Therasia 1, 7, 112, 177–8, 189, 208, 219 trinity, the 113, 127, 130–1, 278, 285; see also incarnation typology 37, 46–8, 229–30, 257, 282–3, 291–2, 296–300; see also David; exemplarity; incarnation Vergil 9, 33, 103, 183, 190, 201–2, 207, 220, 251, 277, 299 wealth see capitalism; Paulinus; poverty and the poor women and gender 43, 94–5, 117–18, 136–8, 148–50, 221–2, 290–4; see also Therasia